All Through The Night

by slash4femme

Summary:

Spock can't remember if they've had this conversation before

Notes:

 beta read by cardiac_logic who is both wonderful and awesome. Written as a follow up fic for this prompt here over at st_tos_kink. 

McCoy sighs, sitting further back in his armchair. He closes his eyes and thinks about retirement again, thinks about his house just outside of Atlanta, thinks about his garden and his grandchildren. A life that is calm, safe and peaceful. This is as good a time as any to go back to all that, now that he knows neither he nor any other member of the crew is going to be sent to prison, now that Spock is alive again. It’s good, that’s good, and it’s even better that Spock remembers who he is now. McCoy hadn’t expected it to be quite as painful as it had been for that stretch of time when Spock only remembered Jim. It made sense in some ways. Spock and Jim, always the two of them together, but still it had hurt. McCoy takes a sip of his drink and thinks about retirement again; he doesn’t want to think about Spock anymore, because thinking about Spock is almost always painful, at least since the end of the five-year mission - Spock going to Gol, Spock dying, Spock trapped inside his head driving him slowly insane. McCoy sighs, let go, he tells himself gently like he’s been telling himself since Spock announced his decision to go to Gol, just let him go.

He sets his glass down on the table and leans his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. He doesn’t mean to, but he must have fallen asleep, because the next time he opens his eyes it’s much later. McCoy glances around, disoriented for a few moments, then realizes he’s been woken up by the buzzer to the front door. He stands, ignoring the twinge that goes through his left knee, and heads for the door. He blinks a couple times at the sight of Spock standing on the other side.

“Spock?”

“Doctor McCoy.”  Spock is still in full dress uniform, looking exactly the way he had at the reception that evening. He nods his head slightly at McCoy, “May I enter?”

McCoy stands back and lets him in, suddenly feeling a little awkward in jeans and a soft shirt.

Spock takes a few steps into the room and stands stiffly, hands clasped behind his back. McCoy watches him.

“How can I help you?” he finally asks, running his fingers through his hair and glancing toward the kitchen to catch the time. God it’s late, what could Spock possibly want this late?

“I apologize,” Spock inclines his head again, “for the lateness of the hour; it took me quite some time to disengage myself from the Captain.”

It’s alright, McCoy thinks to himself; he’s happy for them both, he really is. He tries to smile and fails. “Is there something you wanted, Spock?”  

“Yes, Doctor.” Spock draws himself up a little straighter. “First, however, I would like to inform you that although I believe I have regained most of my memories, I cannot be completely certain that we have not already had this conversation before. Therefore if I have already asked what I am about to of you and I am breaking some prearranged agreement by mentioning it, please accept my apologies.”

McCoy blinks at him as he attempts to unravel that particular gem of Vulcan obtuseness.  “Ok, Spock.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Go for it.”

Spock straightens further, if that’s even possible. He does not actually speak; instead he does something McCoy had up until that point thought there was roughly the same chance of happening as Kirk leaving Starfleet and taking a vow of celibacy. McCoy stares dumbly at the two fingers Spock is holding out to him while his brain comes to a complete screeching halt.

“Doctor,” Spock finally says; although he hasn’t dropped his hand, his voice sounds strange, rough, almost fragile. McCoy is still staring at Spock’s hand; maybe he’s misunderstanding this, maybe he doesn’t remember correctly, but the only memory that’s playing through his head right now is of Spock’s parents doing this, and he’s probably wrong, he’s got to be wrong. His hand comes up anyway though; his fingers touch against Spock’s fingers lightly, just barely there, and McCoy leaves them there with the tips of two of their fingers touching. He looks up at Spock, sees the flush that’s starting to crawl up Spock’s neck and tint the tips of his ears green.

One of Spock’s arms comes out and wraps around McCoy’s waist, slowly pulling McCoy closer so that their bodies are almost, but not quite, touching. Spock presses his hand against McCoy’s, strokes his fingers along McCoy’s fingers, presses their palms flat, and they’re just close enough that McCoy can feel Spock shudder against him. Spock lowers his head a little and presses his lips against McCoy’s very lightly, dry and awkward. McCoy finally moves, one hand coming up to twist in Spock’s hair, pressing their lips hard together, and his own mouth is open then and Spock’s mouth opens willingly under his, allows McCoy’s tongue full entry to taste and feel and McCoy had always imagined Spock to be aggressive and controlling but Spock only gives, body pliant against McCoy’s, mouth willing and open.   

“Couch,” McCoy says and then kisses Spock again and Spock has both arms around McCoy, now holding him close, and they both take a couple awkward steps backwards and McCoy’s legs hit the edge of the sofa and he sits down, pulling Spock on top of him. McCoy can’t stop kissing him, Spock’s mouth is hot and tastes of tea and spice. McCoy manages to get the front of Spock’s uniform jacket open and presses his hands against the tight turtleneck underneath. Spock’s body is hot and hard under all the layers, and Spock presses himself into McCoy’s touch like he’s starved for it. Finally they both pull back, both flushed and panting.

“Doctor, we need to talk.”

McCoy licks his lips and watches Spock watch the small action, watches Spock flush deeper than he already is, and smiles. “Leonard.”

“Leonard,” Spock pulls McCoy closer, “we need to talk.”

“Yeah.” McCoy’s suddenly nervous.

“I wish to announce you as my mate,” Spock says, all formal and emotionless, and it would have come off a lot better if McCoy hadn’t been sitting most of the way in his lap.

“Wait, you want what?” McCoy twists around to look at Spock.  

“To officially claim you as my mate,” Spock tells him softly, his eyes suddenly lowering away from McCoy’s stare. “If I have already asked this of you and you have already denied me and I am simply failing to remember it, please . . .”

“No,” McCoy reaches out and takes Spock’s hand in is own, “no, I just . . . it’s just, I . . .” He sighs and runs one hand through his hair again. “I didn’t know you felt that way about me until about ten minutes ago and this is all very fast.”

Spock’s eyes snap up to meet his and he looks at McCoy for a long time. “You held my katra.”

McCoy rolls his eyes, “Don’t remind me.”

“So we have truly never spoken of this before?”

“No,” McCoy’s eyes narrow, “Spock? How long?”

“Leonard.”  Spock places two fingers against McCoy’s cheek and it’s enough for tonight; it’s enough, and McCoy lets his arms come to rest around Spock’s shoulders before leaning forward, turning his face and sucking those fingers into his mouth. Spock’s whole body shudders and he gasps very softly, and McCoy draws Spock’s fingers as far into his mouth as he can, his thumb coming up to rub against Spock’s palm before he pulls Spock’s hand away from his mouth.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. But right now, come to bed, Spock.”

Spock only nods, eyes dark and wide. McCoy slides off Spock’s lap and pulls Spock by the hand through to his bedroom. He kicks PADDs and journal articles out of the way on their way to the bed, wishing he’d cleaned, but Spock doesn’t comment. He strips off his own shirt easily, tossing it aside, tries desperately to remember if he still has lube in the bedside table, and starts trying to get Spock out of his uniform jacket. Spock lets him strip off the heavy top layer of the uniform before pulling McCoy close for another kiss, and McCoy moans into the kiss and Spock kisses him back harder. They pull away; Spock strips the second layer of the uniform shirt off and McCoy unbuttons his own pants, pushes them down and off along with his underwear, tries not to be self conscious about his age or his mediocre looks. Spock’s chest looks exactly like the last time McCoy had seen it - slim, hard muscled with thick dark hair. McCoy presses one hand against it and then sits on the bed, and Spock comes and sits next to him, touching him lightly on the shoulder, on the throat, touching his cheek, his chest, small gentle touches across his body. There is something about the way Spock is sitting, the way he is touching McCoy, that makes McCoy reach forward and catch Spock’s hand in his own.

“Spock?”

Spock looks up at him, “Yes, Leonard?”

“Have you ever done this before?” he asks as gently as he can.

Spock tilts his head to the side, “Not that I am aware of.”

McCoy closes his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath, “Ok,” he says softly, “ok.”

He touches Spock’s cheek and kisses him again, deep and wet, lying back on the bed and pulling Spock down on top of him. He strokes his hand down Spock’s chest, tugging lightly at the hair there, circling around and then lightly pinching Spock’s nipples. Spock arches against him, and McCoy slides one hand between Spock thighs, presses his forehead against Spock’s shoulder and palms Spock through his uniform pants. Spock is already hard, and McCoy is grateful for that because he’s been hard since they first kissed and it’s good to know he’s not the only one who’s quite this desperate for something to happen. Spock kisses his ear, and McCoy undoes Spock’s pants, pushes at them and both of Spock’s hands come down to help and between the two of them they get Spock out of his remaining clothes. McCoy spreads his legs a little wider and pulls Spock down on top of him again, settling Spock between his legs.

“Hey, beautiful.”  He strokes one hand across Spock’s face, touches his ears, the tip of his nose.

“Leonard.” Spock’s breath is ragged and he’s flushed all the way down his chest, rocking his hips against McCoy’s. 

“Darlin’.” McCoy thrusts his hips up against Spock’s, their cocks rub together briefly and McCoy gasps and moans and Spock pushes himself up so that he can more easily thrust down against McCoy, and McCoy reaches above his head, yanks open the bedside table drawer praying he still has lube. It takes him a few seconds, mostly because Spock is sucking on his shoulder now, thrusting down against him and McCoy’s pretty sure he’s going to have a fairly large mark tomorrow right where his shoulder meets his throat.

“Darlin’. . . sweetheart.” McCoy manages to grab one of Spock’s hips, lining their cocks up, and wraps one, now slick, hand around them. Spock stills above him and McCoy looks up to see Spock watching him, something very open and vulnerable in his eyes, and he can’t wait anymore and he starts thrusting into his own hand along Spock’s cock. He can’t breathe, he can’t think, the angle’s not great, and Spock’s moving awkwardly against him, but it’s still good, very, very good. Spock is hot, slick with sweat, lips soft and sweet touching across McCoy’s face, shoulder and chest, body pressed against McCoy, rocking against him. Spock makes a tiny sound into McCoy’s throat and McCoy’s coming across himself and Spock, and Spock shudders and comes as well, before crashing down on top of him.

They lie together for a while before Spock rolls to one side, and McCoy starts to try and get feeling back into his left arm.

“Spock?” Spock rolls towards him and McCoy reaches out for him, “Are you ok?”

“I am well, Leonard,” Spock says, face pressed into McCoy’s hair, and McCoy would have never imagined Spock to be a cuddler, but then again he’d never imagined he’d ever have any reason to find out. Spock tilts McCoy’s face up and kisses him sweetly on the lips.

McCoy strokes one hand up Spock’s chest and closes his eyes, “Good.”