Archive of Our Own

Bones spread the quilt on the bed, studying it. It glittered and winked at him. The complex pattern like a field of stars, dark scattered with light flowing into light touched with dark. Deep and pale blues, soft grays, white, silver. Plain fabrics and tiny prints pieced and quilted in intricate designs. Alien yet familiar.

Quilt. Comforter. A gift of comfort. Gift of love.

He wasn't sure just what he'd expected...the usual birthday mishmash. Old Bones buried under motley bottles of brandy---no, they knew he'd gone light on the booze since Morostia. Self preservation was operating there.

Instead there was this. They'd chosen very carefully, wanting something very special, given by all of them. Sulu and Uhura had picked it out. A hundred beautiful quilts, they said, but only one had been perfect.

It was Spock's idea though, dredged up by Christine from those faultless Vulcan memory banks. He could just see Spock, a magician-computer plucking out possibilities like shiny metal rabbits. "Dr. McCoy has expressed a fondness for...." But he'd remembered Bones mentioning the quilt he'd had on his wall as a kid. That one had been appliquéd with circus scenes. His mother had collected hand made quilts. She even had one from the nineteenth century, and one from the twentieth.

It had to have cost a small fortune, even with the eight of them chipping in. Fine hand work like that--Halkan work was very precious. It was...a treasure.

And the gift had touched him, complete with teary eyes and the traditional lump in his throat. It was good to be able to feel that kind of pain again.

They'd done all they could, the rest was up to him. They'd proffered shoulders to cry on, and tempting shore leave diversions. Given him time, privacy--withdrawing the obvious sympathy he didn't want, sneaking in as many subtle kindnesses as they could manage. Put up with his slashing tongue when all the black bitterness and bile started to surface. That was the first emotion he'd gotten back...anger.

The memories flickered in his mind, piecemeal flashes....

A return mission, 5 months ago. Off course in a magnetic storm. Sole survivor of the shuttlecraft crash on Morostia.

Struggling with the jungle. Trying to communicate with the elusive Zyzll.

Captured with them by the Nic'clcli, Morostia's dominant species, great silver-black beetles, intelligent...cruel. He was an oddity to them, featherless biped, but useful enough for the kresh caves.

They subdued him with an injection of their own venom. Shipped him, chained with the Zyzll, in their strange sarcophagus vessels, across the inland sea to the great caves. Away from the shuttle craft, and rescue.

The caves. A bleak limbo lit by the lurid glow of the kresh. Hand picking the glowing violet center, eye-heart-brain of the iridescent, crystalline fungi that grew along the rock walls, refusing to tolerate the touch of any tool.

Carrying the kresh to the brewing vats before its color could fade, chemical decomposition transforming the profound narcotic into deadly poison.

Endless days of that, and at night...the pens.

He looked down at his hands, the luminous scars shining faintly.

The Zyzll. Would he ever understand them? Fragile, feathered creatures, deft with their claws, picking the kresh. They had understood he was a prisoner like themselves. Been religiously precise in measuring his fair share of water and food, his bowl of thin kresh spiked gruel. Share the clean straw when it came.

But they shrank from him. Would not let him touch them, or touch him. His nude body like a featherless corpse of their own kind. He remained repulsively alien to them, even in shared captivity. He doubted they would have taught him their language, even if his vocal cords could have formed the sounds, as impossible to him as the beetle clicks.

Could he really have helped them when the Yellow Death came, the virulent mutation of Benecian malaria? Or could he only not endure not trying? But when he did try, forcing help on them, laying hands on one of their dying.... They had swarmed over him then, shrieking, and pulled him away. Used a gruel bowl to smash his hands.

Bones shuddered, rubbing the faint scars with his fingers. They would fade slowly. Three operations, but M'Benga had given him back his hands.

He had handled almost all of it now, could accept the memories with no more than a healthy flinching. He could handle all of it...except what he'd done to himself to be able to endure it.

He had hoped the Nic'clcli guard would kill him, seeing him useless. But apparently they were letting him live, or letting him die if it happened.

So he did it himself, as best he could with mangled hands, unable even to pick kresh for poison. He'd shut himself up. Entombed himself. Like that old horror story, the Poe story about the twins. Sealed up the part of him that hurt too much to bear, walled it up alive in his own flesh.

And after he'd done that he didn't care enough anymore to try to kill himself, kill the zombie body. It was all a cold gray world he moved through, crawled through. The only accents the pain, and the faint, blurred pleasure of kresh gruel slurped from a bowl, weighting his mind to sleep.

He barely remembered those last few days. The malarial fever claimed him, kindling his body so there was some heat in the cold gray world. The Zyzll would not come near him, not even to ladle water down his throat. He lay, burning, wondering what would happen when the fever flame came to that final inner wall....

Then rescue, first hope long abandoned. Rescued, saved, resurrected. And, resurrected, he had an obligation to live, to fulfill the miracle in the eyes that surrounded him.

But he couldn't, not those first weeks. It was too soon to make that promise, that commitment to life. After his hands, if his hands came back, that would be soon enough to climb out of his coffin. It hurt to be dead, but it hurt to come alive. That paradox alone kept him numb and dazed. Between operations he'd hidden, a reluctant Lazarus, dazzled by the light. He'd turned from them all at first. Jim and Spock were the hardest, they shone too bright in that clouded world. He avoided them when he could, or averted his eyes.

In sickbay they’d tapered him off the kresh, a mild addiction in humans, a small favor of fate. M'Benga took him onto the table once, twice, three times. And Bones waited, with something that resembled patience, as his hands slowly healed.

Then he was functional, and an Earthquake at Federation Outpost Omega III had given him plenty to do, suddenly. He'd taken to surgery like a demented vampire. Wielding his scalpel with grim pleasure in his skill. The only thing that seemed real to him was that intimate contact with flesh, with death. It was a lust, an insatiable hunger, until he realized the only salvation would be to give a damn again whether the patient lived or died.

Maybe a saint could endure it, pinned in the center of a paradox. It was supposed to be a path to enlightenment. But he couldn't endure it, he had to be either dead or alive. So the catatonic twin had stirred, awakened, and begun to claw its way out of its coffin of flesh, layer by layer, from the inside out. Ugly days. He'd hated everything bitterly and vehemently, especially himself....

Bones sighed. Lord, but he was glad that part was over. The way had cleared, slowly but surely, a parting of veils, and he had emerged once more into the land of the living. A bit rusty and creaky from lack of practice, but alive again.

Or almost alive. The world still seemed a bit clouded and fuzzy--or maybe he was just numb with relief.

His intercom buzzed, he went to answer it.

"Bones," Jim said, "I have here a bottle of the finest Halkan brandy, said to rival even the Saurian."

He hesitated. "Give me a few minutes.

"We'll be waiting."

All right, Bones thought as he folded up his quilt again, a glass of brandy. He hadn't had much wine earlier, just enough to make him pleasantly muzzy and convivial. He wasn't about to drop off the deep end at this stage of the game anyway. He began to smile to himself, as he stroked the glimmering fabric. Maybe a little indulgence in an old familiar pleasure would part those final veils.

He'd decide where to put the quilt later. Probably hang it on the wall over the bed. Tonight he had every intention of sleeping under it.

It would be good to visit with Jim and Spock too. He still felt a little shy with them. How long had they been lovers now? Nine months since Spock had gone into pon farr and Jim had saved him. Almost three before he'd found out what was going on, and he was captured soon after that. He let his mind go back--happy to have a past that went back beyond Morostia.

He walked down the hall toward the lift, remembering the last trip to Berengaria. One more routine beam down gone wrong. The ugly shoulder wound Jim had taken, the barbed arrow dipped in dragon's blood. Dragon's blood! The things he was expected to find antidotes for! And the cure was as weird as the cause. Fewmets, indeed!

He'd chased all over hell's half acre with Naragull, the Dragon Wizard, hunting up the fresh dragon droppings. And the other ingredients Naragull had supplied were almost as unappetizing. Even after he'd manufactured that foul concoction to counter the poison, the wound had still been affected, refusing to heal.

Through it all, Spock had divided his time between the bridge and sick bay, hovering, pale and grim, until Jim began to recover. Then, a week after Jim was back on light duty, he'd checked the wound and found it freshly opened, and Jim covered with a savage array of bites and bruises. Grip marks from a man's hand. And he'd just stared, two and two adding up the five thousand and four.

"Yes." Jim said, as simply as that.

"Spock.... ?" He touched a vicious bite.

"It's not usually like that. It was because I almost died. We were both a little crazy."

Crazy in love for sure. It still frightened him some to match Spock to those cruel marks of passion. Probably frightened Spock too. Didn't surprise him though, he'd always known there was a passionate soul jealously guarded within that rigid Vulcan prison. It wasn't usually like that, Jim had said, meaning violent...not passionate. He couldn't help wondering....

"It's not that I want to pry," he'd told Jim, "I just want to know all about it."

And Jim had smiled. "If you mean who does what...both of us...everything."

There was a sort of perverse logic to it, fortune flinging together two flagrant heterosexuals. He'd worried about Spock, putting all his emotional eggs in one basket. But it seemed to have done nothing but good for both of them. Jim was gentler, Spock was warmer, and they anticipated each other to death. The Enterprise had never run so smoothly.

He came out of the lift and headed for Jim's quarters. As far as he could tell, the bond had only grown stronger in the months he'd been gone. He didn't quite know where he fit in anymore. He knew they cared about him...they’d always be friends he could count on. Hell, Jim had combed the quadrant looking for him. But they were so much...for each other now. Well, that was to be expected.

So was feeling odd man out.

The old triad had always been a bit tenuous anyway, him and Spock teetering around Jim. He'd complained enough about it then. Now he missed it, even the squabbling.

Suppressing his intimate musing, Bones buzzed at the door, went in. He was a little disconcerted to find Jim in some sort of short robe, barefoot and barelegged. Spock's blue tunic was off too, for a Vulcan that made him relatively as naked as Jim. All in black now, neatly arranged in a chair in the far corner of the room. His eyes met Bone's briefly, a little wary, brooding.

Odd. Spock had been acting...what...the past couple of days? Tense, evasive, measuring? Something indefinable and disconcerting, after his relative warmth.

"Have a chair," Jim offered, and Bones plopped down. He felt overly aware of the bed...the whole atmosphere felt intense and, well...well, he knew they were going to make love later. He could tell now...little things. Spock's voice, there was a kind of purr in it. And they'd avoid touching each other, but the glances would trade back and forth.

He wished he could just relax and enjoy the fact they were comfortable enough to have him here now. If he didn't relax, he'd end up with his mouth full of foot and embarrass all of them. Reason enough to be a little tense....

"I was lured here with a promise of nectar and ambrosia," he said, hoping to jolly things up.

Jim grinned, producing a lozenge shaped bottle. "I got Spock to use his influence to obtain this rare vintage. The Halkans are most impressed with the Vulcans."

"A most promising race, the Halkans," Spock responded, picking up his cue.

Bones nodded, "Good people, very humane. A little elitist for my taste though. It would be the Vulcans who finally talked them into joining the Federation."

"The Medusans were also instrumental," offered Spock.

"Like I said, elitist."

Jim had uncorked the bottle, and was pouring brandy into three snifters, passing them around. "Their brandy is also elitist, I'm told. And to honor your birthday, Spock is condescending to share a glass."

"Happy Birthday," Spock intoned from his corner, raising his glass in salute.

"Ih'temkati," Jim said. "That's Vulcan for "Cheers".

Spock raised both eyebrows, but did not condescend to reply. Maybe it was Vulcan for "Cheers".

"Ih'temkati," Bones said, raising his glass to them. Kind of a nice word, he decided, if you didn't bite your tongue on it. Or maybe that was how you knew you'd had enough to drink. Nice solution to a problem the Vulcans didn't have.

He swirled the brandy its glass, inhaling, letting the delicious aroma rise and tickle his nose with its heady fragrance. Old pleasures.... He took a delicate sip. He loved brandy, holding a little pool of paradoxes on the back of his tongue. Cool warm, sharp soft, soothing sting. Liquid fire vapor. Exquisite stuff. This was as good as Saurian, but with its own endearing peculiarities. He smiled to himself as a flicker of memory crossed his mind--Spock haughtily accusing him of being a sensualist.

He raised his eyes to find them both watching him intently.

"It's very good."

Spock looked at Jim. Jim looked at Spock. They both looked back at him. What was going on? Then Jim came over, leaned against the wall next to him.

"We wondered," Jim said, "if you would like to spend the night with us?"

"Together?" he asked, foolishly.

He was very conscious of Jim's face, the teasing half smile, close to his own. Aware again of the intense atmosphere in the room. Knowing why now.

Grateful for the brandy, he peered into the snifter, tilting the amber liquid back and forth. Only his hand was shaky, and the brandy looked oddly blurred....

Oh damn, he thought as the tears suddenly spilled over, damn. I should have known they'd think of something. The glass was lifted out of his hand and strong arms went around him.

"It's all right," Jim said, cradling him. "Cry."

Whatever final veil had lingered was gone, abruptly, and feeling flooded through him. First the sudden rush of tears, then half-choked laughter, then confused longing--the possibility of desire. Followed by fear, a cold undercurrent.

Grasping for control, he clung to Jim, took a deep breath--then pulled away gently, shaking his head. "Thank you, but...."

"Oh, stay," Jim whispered. "We want you to stay."

Involuntarily his eyes went to Spock. It had to have been Jim who had thought this up. Spock couldn't have wanted...but he had agreed to it. Spock, the ultimately private being. He was here, brandy glass in hand, and a token garment discarded. Enigmatic as ever.

The enigma laid his brandy glass aside and rose from his chair, crossing to stand before him, head bowed. His voice was hoarse. "The invitation is from both of us."

Spock's eyes lifted to meet his, and Bones experienced the eerie, infrequent sensation that the barriers were down, that Spock was there for him. As always the intensity made him nervous. He never knew whether to believe it, whether he was projecting....

I'll have to believe it, he thought, if this is going to work.

He didn't break from the dark, level gaze, or try to cover the unasked questions.

"From both of us," Spock repeated. "Stay...please."

Bones let his eyes fall again, accepting that offering. It would have been impossible any other way. And it was both of them, together, that he wanted. To share....

Jim moved into his line of vision again, the question still in his eyes.

"Yes," he answered. "Yes, I'd like to."

Then, defensively, he reached for his glass, nursing it between his hands. It was a great night for plumbing the depths of brandy snifters. He was nervous again. Now that it was agreed, he didn't know how to go about it. All the actual details seemed suddenly impossible. How the hell were his clothes supposed to come off? He didn't want to be naked just yet. And who was going to do what to whom? He'd never....

He was frightened again, dammit. His inner self curling up, clammy and fetal. Then Jim was with him, crouched at his side, a hand gentle on his arm.

"Need some more brandy?"

"No," Bones smiled weakly. "I don't want to anaesthetize myself."

And Jim made his eyes hold, as Spock had, until they felt together, one very shaky Bones and friend.

"Nothing you don't want, Bones."

"Whatever...." It was the best he could manage just then, but he felt better.

Jim stood back from the chair. "I have an extra robe you can wear if you like."

"Please."

He took the robe Jim tossed him from the closet, and went into the head. Stripped, took his second shower of the evening, feeling like a compulsive idiot. He put on the robe and looked at his face in the mirror. His features uneasy, shifting back and forth between glower and grin.

"You did say you wanted this, didn't you?" he asked his image. "So stop worrying about it. You'll be all right. You've been through worse things together. Just take things as they come...."

The shakes and the giggles rushed to attack him from all sides. He leaned against the basin, which quivered in response. "Just go slow," he corrected himself. Chortled. It was all happening so fast....

Sex. Another old pleasure. He hadn't done anything more than masturbate...and sex was a sour pleasure when you were sick with yourself. He hadn't wanted just to get laid, he needed to make love. But with Jim and Spock?

Yes. Jim and Spock. He wasn't passionately in love with them, but there was passion in the love he felt for them. They were beautiful to him, in all ways. And part of him had envied their loving. He loved women, but there was no woman in his life now that he was as close to. He should be able to respond to them. He knew his own body, male bodies, what gave pleasure.

It would be all right. If it didn't work, they could stop.

He hovered in the doorway a moment, surveying the scene, still hesitant to enter. The lights were lowered now, and a tape of sensuous Aldebaran jazz was playing, subtle, smooth music. They had spread a cover and some pillows on the floor. Jim threw off his robe and flopped down in the center, naked and unselfconscious. Spock lay on the far side, propped on an elbow, having courageously removed his black shirt and boots.

Bones felt ridiculously grateful that the pants stayed on, that he wasn't the only one having difficulty with procedure.

He went and lay on Jim's other side. Sharing Jim felt comfortable. Spock seemed close and guarded again, and Bones wasn't sure he was ready for that confrontation either. He tried to settle himself a little better, easing another pillow behind his head, his movements all stiff and awkward, tightening even more as he brushed against the naked body beside him.

Not wanting to touch it. Wanting to....

"Hey," Jim said, and tousled his hair. Then the hand moved to the side of his face and Jim kissed him, brief touch of lips. Bones felt himself recoil slightly, startled by even that light touch. Jim waited, his fingertips still brushing cheek and throat, not trying to pull him closer, watching his eyes for some sign of acceptance. Bones made himself relax, half willing, half letting himself become human flesh instead of wooden puppet. He brought one hand up to touch Jim's arm, his fingers exerting the faintest pressure.

Jim kissed him lightly, and again, lingering, sharing the unexpected softness, soft as a woman's lips. The warm mouth moved on his, teasing with little nips. Tongue tip flicked over the surface of his lips, moist tickling, but did not probe. Lips caressed softly again, barely touching, then withdrew.

"Think you can stand it?" Jim asked, mouth quivering.

"It's bearable."

It was all right. Jim made it easy, teasing away the nervousness.

"Any special way you want to go about this?" Jim asked gently. Bones felt himself blush, looked away. Jim kissed his shoulder, waiting. He looked back again.

"Let me watch," he asked, still a little embarrassed. Wanting time.

Jim grinned, mused his hair again, then he lay back, turning his face to Spock. The Vulcan utterly still, but intent, coiled, waiting. They regarded each other, focused on some inner moment, some inner resolution of readiness. Then Spock moved forward slightly, his face poised above Jim's. He raised his eyes to meet Bones' briefly, a dark, impenetrable glance. Then he bent his head down to Jim, brushing eyes, mouth, throat, with soft deliberate kisses, performing the erotic gestures with ritual precision, slow, exact, yet afraid to linger. But the precision itself conveyed a sensuality, the certain knowledge that each touch had lingered here before, and here, and here. Like charting a map of passion across his Captain's body.

The lips drifted down, across the shoulders and sleek gold chest, erected each nipple with little green licks. Moved down the belly in slow strokes, tongue teasing the navel, cheek brushing curling pubic hair. Jim's breath quickened, his near hand reaching to clasp Bones'. The Doctor realized, with some embarrassment, that he was holding his breath, and released it with a sigh. Entranced, he watched Jim's cock swell, lengthen, stretching itself under the supple caresses of the alien tongue.

The hand that held his tightened, and he returned the pressure. Jim smiled at him again, then closed his eyes in a shudder of pleasure, the smile still on his lips. Spock took the swelling cock in his mouth and Jim gasped, his head tossing on the pillow. Bones felt his heart quicken, and his hand felt sweaty in Jim's. He squeezed it again, then gently pulled his own hand away. He felt it was time for some gesture on his part. He knew they'd let him play voyeur all night, if that was what he wanted, but he wanted more. To touch, and be touched.

He leaned over Jim and pressed his lips to the lingering smile. Jim's mouth responded to his touch, but passively, letting him take the lead. He nuzzled awhile, with dry, soft kisses, then licked the silky edge till they parted, opened. Their tongues reached tentatively, touched, rubbed against each other like shy animals in the warm wet darkness.

Bones eased away slowly, sealing the parting with another kiss. Found Spock's dark, curious gaze on them when he lifted his head. He grinned sheepishly, flushed, averted his eyes. When he looked up the Vulcan was again busily at work on Jim's cock. Bones slid his hand onto Jim's chest, fingertips teasing the stiff nipples. Crossed over the planes of the torso, grazed the ridge of the hip bones and onto the thigh. Smooth swell of muscle to the knee, faint tickle of bronze hairs under his palm. His fingertips moved inside, up the softer swell to the crotch, touched the scrotum. Balls were such funny, vulnerable things. He gathered them in his hand, testing weights, textures. He felt Jim's hand on his knee, fingers teasing along the edge of his robe.

Curious, daring himself, he bent and touched the balls with his tongue. He explored a little, licked, sucked, drew one into his mouth and circled it. He felt detached, a little silly and uncomfortable, but it wasn't unpleasant. He was enjoying being on the transmitting end of favorite sensations. Pleasing was always a pleasure for him. And Jim was loving every minute of it, sighing blissfully under their ministrating tongues.

Growing bolder, Bones inched up to share the penis with Spock, one on each side of the straining organ. The Vulcan didn't pull away at his approach, and their tongues lapped, overlapped. Delicious sensation, that moist edge to edge brushing, sending faint tingles along his spine. Bones directed his attention back to Jim, ran his tongue up the length of the shaft, took the head into his mouth.

Next time somebody calls me a cocksucker, he thought ruefully, little will they dream....

Bones felt Spock move back, watching. He felt self-conscious then, but continued to suck Jim softly. Moved slowly up and down the length, testing how much was comfortable, liking the contrast of delicate satiny skin sleek over the hard shaft....

One of Spock's hands moved smoothly through his hair, the first touch Spock had offered him. The one hand stroked his hair softly, soothing. The other grasped the shaft beneath his lips, rotated Jim gently in his mouth as Bones swirled his tongue around the head, around the rhythm Spock was spinning. Spock's touch was gentle, urgent without forcing him. He let himself go with it. Jim moaned, body stretched taut, hips lifting, beginning a pulsing thrust. A swirling vortex that drew him down. Insistent. Throbbing.

Then Spock's hand held his head still. Bones felt Jim's approaching orgasm hover and wane. The rhythm that bound them dissolving into silence, a waiting filled with Jim's deep breathing, and Spock's, aroused now too. Bones felt vaguely disappointed, because he had sensed them together for a moment.... But another moment he would probably panicked, afraid that Jim would come in his mouth. Is that such a horrible idea, he asked himself? Spock's hand moved out of his hair, flowing into a caress. Bones slid his mouth off the erect cock, giving it two farewell licks.

Jim sighed, deeply. "You are both incredible."

Then Jim sat up and kissed them both in turn. Still playful with him, the kiss accompanied with a fierce bear hug that left Bones breathless. Then, eyes glowing, Jim rose to his knees and reached out for Spock. Almost in slow motion, they drew into an embrace, their bodies molding. Jim's hands circled Spock's back, gathered his ass, pressing his closer, rubbing against him. Mouths met in deep sensual kiss, opening to each other moist and hungry, tongue delving. The Vulcan's air of restraint was gone. He clung to Jim, drinking his kisses. They pressed close for another moment, then Jim took hold of Spock's shoulders, pushed him away, looking down very deliberately at the trousers.

"Those obviously have to go."

Jim reached out casually, deliberately, ran his fingers down across Spock's chest, following the line of hair that ran down his belly. Fingers curved in at the waist band, opened the fly, slid in along the opening they made. Spock's lips parted, eyes closed, his head dropping back as he gasped softly. Bones felt his first erotic surge, watching that gesture, reaction---a delicious flush spreading through him. Jim turned and smiled at him, eyes hot and hooded, an acknowledgment and an invitation. Then Jim bent and gave Spock a quick sharp bite on the belly, and tipped him over, laughing and mock pinning him to the floor.

"Lie back," he ordered, as Spock struggled a bit, and Spock obeyed. "Care to assist me, Doctor?"

Bones moved to hold him. Together they slid the remaining garments over hips, knees, feet. Bones slipped off the robe, and Jim tossed all the clothes together in a heap. Jim knelt between Spock's legs, his fingertips, again casual, deliberate, tracing lazy paths on belly and thigh. They skimmed inner flesh, trailed over balls and up to brush the rising cock.

"Spock favors fingertips," he informed Bones, repeating the delicate caresses. "He says too much pressure dulls the sensation."

Then his hands gripped the inner thighs, squeezed hard. Spock moaned, parting his legs wider. Jim looked at Bones, shrugged.

"I have admitted, on occasion, that pressure offers an effective contrast," Spock whispered.

Bones lay back beside Spock, watching his face as Jim caressed him. That whisper had been rough with pleasure...and tension. He felt troubled again, wanted to ask Spock--but Jim lay down between Spock's legs and began to suck him. The Vulcan's body spasmed, went rigid. He began to cry out sharply, the cry catching on itself, repeating, each one unfinished, as Jim sucked hard and quick. Then wailing softly, as the tongue tip delicately circled the double ridges of the head. Bones watched Spock's face melting, reforming, swimming in passionate anguish. Beautiful, awesome, to see those dark, exotic features so aroused.... He slid one hand across Spock's belly.

"Wait!" Spock gasped, his fingers closing in a fierce grip on Bones' hand.

Concerned, Jim stopped, hands resting quietly on Spock's thighs. "I'm sorry. I was pushing."

"I seem to be hypersensitive this evening," Spock whispered hoarsely, eyes closed.

The hand that held his trembled, and Bones knew Spock was frightened. "Spock, we don't have to...."

Spock gripped his hand tighter. He shook his head abruptly, in soundless negation, his eyes squeezed shut, tremors coursing through his body. The Vulcan drew several deep breaths, calming the quaking. When he spoke his voice was still hoarse, desperate. "I do wish...to share...with thee. But, it is...difficult."

The dark eyes opened to meet his, seeking. Again the intimate contact. So close. Too close? Spock seemed to hover on the brink of trust, poised for flight.

I could hurt him so easily now, Bones realized. Spock was totally vulnerable to him now, revealing, sharing sexuality and emotion, fused in a single taboo.

He remembered all the old taunts. Half the time he hadn't really believed he could hurt Spock, with all his waspish attacks, digging, picking and probing. Just another old gallant tilting at windmills. But there had been times he'd gone for blood...been pleased to draw it. Sometimes he'd wanted to hurt. Sometimes it had been the only way to be close.

He smiled crookedly, uncertain, afraid to move. The tense grip relaxed, slightly. Fingers moved up, tentatively, to touch his face. Eyes still holding, that fearful sweet acknowledgment of self. Bones covered the hand with his own, looked at it, curling defensively in his own. Gently he opened it, his thumb sliding up the palm, smoothing the long, exquisite fingers.

"You have such beautiful hands," Bones murmured. He pressed the palm to his lips, felt the fingers curve against his cheek. Spock's other hand rose to touch the back of Bones' hand, fingertips tracing the silvery pattern of scars. He drew Bones' hand to him in turn, kissed the lingering marks.

"Old scars," Bones assured him. "Well healed now."

He claimed the Vulcan's hand again. His lips wandered over it, small kisses. He let his tongue dip into the hollow of the palm then, inspired, stroked up the length of the fingers to the tips, began to nip, suck the sensitive pads. Spock gasped, sighed softly, as each finger was taken in turn.

"I see you've discovered fingers," Jim smiled, rejoining them, shifting his position to lie on the other side of Spock.

Sharing Spock now, Bones thought. Grateful that Jim had withdrawn, let them find each other. He smiled back into the relieved and playful eyes. "Seemed logical."

"Indeed," Jim returned, drawing Spock's other hand to his lips, going to work on it while Spock shivered with pleasure.

"Have you tried toes?" Bones asked, between thumb and forefinger.

"Toes? Not for sucking...in massaging...."

"For sucking," Bones said, happy to add something to the repertoire. "Marvelous. I'm very fond of toes."

"Toes," Jim repeated, in a tone of malicious delight.

"If you were planning to engage in that particular activity now, I am not certain I could endure it...after fingers," Spock added, by way of explanation. "Perhaps, since the good Doctor is fond of toes...."

"I'm just getting started here," Bones grumbled, feeling quite at home. The good old days---only better.

"If you can stand fingers and ears, Mr. Spock, I'm sure you can endure toes."

"Ears?" Bones smiled.

"Bones, don't tell me you've overlooked such an obvious erotic target?"

"I've had a lot of visual distraction."

"You take ears. I'll try toes."

"You know," Bones said, after investigating assorted nooks, crannies, curves, ridges, and points, "some artist should invent sculpture that's meant to be licked."

"That idea has been explored, Doctor," Spock elucidated, wiggling as Jim held his feet, nibbling an assortment of toes, "in numerous and often curious fashions, by various sculptors throughout the galaxy. On Earth edible...."

"You son of a bitch," Bones growled, and kissed him. Spock squirmed to be so rudely muffled, then succumbed, returned the kiss. Bones' lips parted eagerly, gratefully, at the touch of Spock's tongue. Twined, caressed it with his own, then drew it into his mouth, sucked, savoring the dark bittersweet taste like an exotic liquor. Jim moved behind them, arm circling them, embracing their embrace.

I want this, I really want this, Bones thought happily. The three of them pressing close. Gentle blind nudge of cock nuzzling between his cheeks. Delicious nudge of cock against his belly. When had it become natural? Not outside looking in, but inside, together, with them Somewhere with Spock, worrying about Spock.

It was wonderful to be alive again. To play....

Jim pulled him onto his back. Three heads jostled for position, lips tongues reaching to share a single succulent kiss. Jim shifted, tongue teasing his ear, sending shivers. Spock's lips traveled, leaving a trail of hot, moist kisses, like hungry mouths, along his torso. His own fingers sinking deep in the silky mass of Spock's hair. Jim blew in his ear, began whispering suggestions, words tickling softly with breath and tongue. A tiny sharp bite on the lobe.

"Or vice versa," Jim finished, leaning back.

"Simultaneously?" he asked doubtfully. Then Spock's mouth covered his cock, and he didn't want to think of anything but swelling waves of warm wet velvet lapping over him.

"Shall I suck balls or toes?" Jim asked.

"Oh god," he groaned. "Both, either."

"I haven't tried balls tonight."

Bones raised himself on his elbows to watch their caresses. He couldn't believe Spock's tongue. He couldn't believe any of this. These exquisite slurpings of his body. Wonderful to have a body. To be shared. Spock sucked, sliding down his cock. Jim sucked, took both balls into his mouth, stroking between them. Mouths still fastened on him, they bent his legs and drew his feet up to massage. Tickled his toes. Spock's fingers skimmed his thighs, electric sparks flickering. Jim's hand's kneaded his ass. Their tongues bathing him.

Pleasure waves pulsed from his groin, swelled, mounted. He began to writhe in their grasp, his body undulating with the sweep of the waves. Thrusting with hips, back arching. He could feel his toes curling and uncurling, as they always did when he began to lose control.

"Oh, stop." he whispered frantically. "Stop, I'll come."

They stopped, waited for the waves to subside a bit.

"Simultaneously?" he asked again. He wasn't sure how practical that fantasy of Jim's was, or if he could handle it. But he wanted to try. "Both of us. Everything." Jim had said. And Bones wanted everything. With both of them.

Jim considered for a moment. He looked up at the bed, peered thoughtfully around the screen at the desk.

"I'm a doctor, not an acrobat."

"I'd rather stay where we are," Jim said. "I think we can just snuggle up like spoons."

Jim reached over to the bed and groped behind a pillow, pulled out a bottle of creamy lotion. He squeezed a line of the pearly liquid down the length of Bones' cock, smoothed it over the shaft, under, around. The hand slid up, squeezing shaft, head.

"Muuuuumph." Bones murmured, appreciatively. "Silky."

"Argeelians are connoisseurs of the accoutrements of fucking," Jim said, sitting back to admire his gleaming handiwork.

Bones looked around. Three cocks all taut and sleek. Jim a bit thicker, him, a bit longer, glistening from the cream. He'd been told the nice mushroom head on his cock was better than a French tickler. And...well, thank god they'd been spared a Spockian lecture on The Aesthetic Superiority of the Vulcan Cock. Gorgeous thing. Belonged on a temple altar.

They were just looking at each other, Jim and Spock, kneeling before him, the tension drawn out between them. The who doing what decision saved for the last minute--except that he was in the middle whatever. Bones felt his stomach flutter. We can always stop, he told himself. Spock held out his hand and Jim squeezed a soft mound of cream in the center. The hand lowered to Jim's cock, glided over the straining surface, polished it. Then, not looking at him, Spock lay down at Bones' side, forehead nuzzling his shoulder. Bones flooded with tenderness and desire.

"Are you sure?" Bones asked, tracing the outline of an ear.

Spock nodded, kissed Bones' shoulder.

He let Spock lie flat on his stomach, stroked him, massaged his back, shoulders, bent over to kiss the back of his neck. Slowly, his tongue licked, following the sensitive line of the spine down to Spock's ass. He hesitated a second, then grasped Spock's buttocks firmly, parted them, delved into the cleft. Spock moaned, deep in his throat, his whole body shuddered, hips lifted, pressing against him. Encouraged by Spock's reaction, Bones plunged on. Spock was such a clean beast. There was just the sharp cedary scent of his sweat, sweet taste of flesh. Feeling daring, his tongue tickled the anus, rimmed, probed. He slid his other hand under the Vulcan's raised hips, rubbing cock and balls as he licked. Spock quivering with pleasure.

He felt Jim's touch on his shoulder and sat back, sliding his hand over to replace his tongue. Three fingers circling, sinking in a whirlpool of flesh. Jim kissed him hungrily, not playful now, fierce, passionate. Licking his lips, biting. Jim pulled away, hot eyes burned into his, questioning. Bones nodded, his heart drumming in his chest. He was caught in their fervor, uncertain if he was more excited or frightened. Jim got hold of the lubricant and squeezed it onto Bones' fingers, letting him work it into Spock's ass.

"Yes," Spock gasped, hips writhing. "Yes. I want you. Now."

Eager, Bones lay on his side, pulling Spock back against him. Fit his cock to Spock's asshole. He meant to go gently, slowly, but it was so easy, Spock so relaxed. He slid in smoothly, one long delicious plunge. Tight, hot....

"Bones," Spock moaned, "Bones Bones Bones...."

He cried Spock's name in return, pressing deep, deep.

Strong muscles tightened, squeezed.

He drew back, plunged again.

"Oh Bones...."

Again.

In the midst of this burst of passion, he felt Jim behind him, touching him. A hand was sliding between his cheeks, laden with the silky cream. Bones slowed as the gentle fingers penetrated him, swirled up within him, moving in rhythm with his own subdued thrusts. Fingers were nothing new to him--and it was Jim's hand, he told himself, Jim's. Such experts, those fingers, at conjuring pleasure. Jim's other hand in his hair, massaging his scalp, sending shivers of delight coursing the length of his spine, dissipating the tension. Spock's hips snuggled against him, matching his movements, matching the tender probing fingers.

Then the fingers left him, and he felt Jim's cock guided between his buttocks, rubbed gently, fitted, pressed. His rhythm faltered completely. Suddenly there seemed to be far too many arms and legs. He felt imprisoned between their bodies. Trapped. He told himself to relax. Took deep breaths. He opened a little and the head of Jim's cock went into him. He cried out, wincing with pain. His rectum tightening against the invasion, this thing inside him. His guts seethed with anger, fear, humiliation. His own cock shriveling in Spock's ass.

"I'll pull out," Jim said.

"No." He wanted it to work, wanted it to. "No."

Relief and misery mingled as Jim left him, in spite of the protest. He felt as if he'd failed them all. He loved doing it to Spock. Loved it.... But he'd never had a cock inside him before, anything that big. Of course it would hurt at first. Jim wasn't trying to ram it up him. He didn't know how much of his reaction was physiology, how much was stupid male pride.... He realized, with shame, that he was crying. He was spoiling everything.

"Bones," Jim's distressed voice. Both their hands soothing him. "Bones, I'm so sorry I hurt you."

"I'll get used to it..." Dammit, everything he said was wrong too. "Didn't hurt that much...scared, dammit...my fault..."

"No, my fault. We were all excited, and I just wanted it to work. I pushed you too fast, like I pushed Spock. I get caught up.... Here, Spock has a tissue for you."

Bones wiped his eyes, blew his nose. Spock proffered a waste basket, efficient as ever in a crisis. The storm subsided in him, leaving him a little shaky, sheepish. "Can we try again?"

"If you want."

"I want."

Spock touched Jim's shoulder, exchanging glances, then turned to face him. "Perhaps I can help...if you would permit. I can perform a three way meld."

"Meld?" Bones felt his body tighten, the butterflies start to swarm in his stomach again. Turning his mind over to Spock at the O.K. Corral had saved his life, but the contact had been cool, distant, unpleasant. The meld with the Mirror Spock had been terrifying...though there was a brief flash, an emotional exchange when the alternate encountered an unexpected McCoy, an unexpected self. And later, with the Vians, Spock had "made him comfortable", laying gentle healer's hands on him without invasion.

"I realize your past experiences have not been pleasurable. And I was, myself...hesitant...to offer this."

Bones remembered that fierce grip on his exploring hand, the dark, searching eyes. He met those eyes again, nodded. "I understand."

"It was my failure, not to have offered before. It would please me if you would accept now. This is not pon farr, there will be no permanent bond. And I will not endeavor to control your mind, only to assist you to relax."

"Yes," he answered. "I'd like to try. Thank you."

Spock gathered him gently in his arms, kissed him, lips on lips. Bones let himself bask against the heat of Spock's body, returned the light kisses. Licked Spock's lips, hungry for more. Spock's mouth opened to him, and he sought the moistness, the rich flavor. I could kiss you forever, he thought, forever. Fingers caressed his face, settling into position. Warmth, gentleness entered his mind, a presence, no thoughts. He probed it curiously, sensed fire, cloaked desire. He kissed Spock more passionately, and a tongue of flame flickered in his mind, licked. Then the flame cloaked once more.

This is pleasurable? Spock asked, within his mind.

Yes...very.

He could feel another presence, very faint. Jim? There was no thought response, but Jim snuggled closer.

The bond is there, soon I will draw him into the meld. This way will be simplest, least confusing to you. "Now, Bones," the spoken words echoed strangely in his mind, round and warm, "Bones, touch me."

His hand glided down Spock's body, tingling. Brushed the crisp pubic curls, stroked the swollen cock. He thought of Spock entering him, and his mind shied away in terror. He couldn't have handled that, just too big....

With the meld you could, Spock's mind soothed him, though it was a partial consideration. More than that I wished...wish to experience you within me.

Bones smiled, pressing close. He caressed the jade cock, feeling the little flames flicker and spurt under his stroking. He remembered fingertips, trailed his hand lightly. Spock shivered, sighed, and Bones felt the double ridges of the head flare, pulsing against his skimming fingers, pulsing soft green flame in his mind. He circled them curiously, delighted with the novelty, delighted with Spock's delicious shivers, so sensitive to his touch. The Vulcan's hand reached over, fingertips repeating the delicate touches on the glans of Bones' penis.

The hot, alien touch stirred him, and Bones lowered his own hand slightly, circling the sculptured shaft, stroking as he wished to be stroked. Spock's hand fit itself to Bones' thickening organ, matching the gestures, fingers wrapping, pressing against the sensitive underside, skillfully milking. Bones was fully erect now, his cock straining in Spock's grasp, and Spock's cock in his. As he continued the strong strokes, he let his thumb toy with the flaring double ridges once again, wondering what it would be like to take them in his mouth, suck each curved edge in turn, run his tongue between them....

As the image filled Bones' mind, Spock moaned in response, his body arching. A gulf, a channel opened between them and Bones flooded with flame. Linked, the blazing flood rushed through him, through Spock, through him again. For a moment they formed a flaming figure eight, a fiery mobius strip, spinning dizzily. Then parted, gasping....

Bones felt Spock's hand smoothing his hair, his cheek, the deep voice smoothing his mind. Is it too much?

No. Not too much--just overwhelming.

In order to respond to you, I have had also to relinquish some control. The additional stimulation is intensely arousing.

An accurate description, Bones decided, feeling his cock jerk in memory, anticipation. He smiled back at Spock's inner smile. They lay a moment, their minds teasing, playing with fire. Jim here too, waiting, a golden flame glimmering, pulsing within them. Then Spock clasped Bones' hand and guided it down again, pressing his swollen genitals into the willing fingers, nuzzling his face in the hollow of Bones' shoulder.

The desire for fulfillment is great.

Bones tongued Spock's ear, moist sliding down smooth, shivering them both. He cupped Spock's balls, feeling them taut and round in his palm. Bright sparks swarming. He squeezed them gently. Gasped, even as Spock did. It seemed he could feel his own sperm, as he felt Spock's teeming within him, within them, millions of bright ecstatic fireflies.

Enter me, Spock begged. Enter me.

Bones turned Spock over, pulling him close. The plea made him throb with desire. The throbs echoed in Spock's throat, soft moans that grew as he fit them together. He went in little by little, teasing them both with tiny thrusts of excruciating pleasure. The entire length of the canal he probed lined with sparkling fireworks of sensation. A million tiny explosions set off by the touch of his cock. Explosions that rippled, squeezed. He inched in, pulled back, filling them both with torment and delight. Then he grasped Spock's hips firmly and thrust in to the hilt, a long slow scream of pleasure filling both their throats. He pulled back to thrust again.

"Wait, wait," Spock groaned. Bones felt Jim move close behind him again, kissing his ear hello, the dim presence in his mind growing closer with the touch. Jim leaned forward over him, and one of Spock's hands rose to touch his face. In a sudden surge of power, the presence sprang to life in his mind, bright and glittering, and he was caught in the field of energy that magnetized between the two of them, another bright flood that overwhelmed him.

Be with me. Stay with me, Spock called. Bones clung to him, floated. A raft of flesh on a sea of lava borne gently backwards into Jim's hands. The hands caressed his flesh, shaped, defined his own body for him, stroking his back, kneading his buttocks. He felt beautiful in those hands. Gently, tenderly, they parted him, opened him. Bones gasped aloud at the sweet surge as Jim kissed him softly, the warm wet tongue flickering against him, then lapping, laving him, washing him with soft golden waves. Jim teased, tongue and mind darting like dolphins frolicking in the sea of his pleasure, tickling him till he squirmed with delight.

Jim moved back then, his hands still holding him open, to let the head of the cock touch Bones again, soft as a kiss at his center. Behind that soft kiss the tight hard shaft. Fear came again, golden weapons swam in his mind, bright cruel tools of flesh. The fear glided smoothly from him, Spock taking it into himself, dissipating it. Spock did not fear, he yearned, desired, hungered. Jim touched gently, so gently, burning eagerness leashed, power restrained. Teasing, tantalizing, his mind offering offering. Bones' body opened, entreated, and Jim pressed slowly into him. Bones' tensed, swirled in a dizzy eddy, half pain, half pleasure.

Their minds crooned, tender fierce lullabies of desire, hungering to share him.

Open. Be open. Spock whispered.

Oh, I want you, Jim pleaded, pulsing within him. Want me. Want me.

And he trusted, accepted, the pain dissolving. Piercing sweetness filled him. The bright sparks bursting in his own body as Jim entered him, pressing close. His own tightness squeezing Jim, Spock squeezing him. Brightness bursting.... He opened, opened, and Jim burrowed, alive within him. And he into Spock. Spock pressing back to meet him. To meet Jim, burrowing through him to Spock. Their energy rose, their bodies surging against him. Waves of flame crashed against him, engulfed him, drowned him, obliterated him. Frenzied, he twisted between them.

"Please," he cried out, "It's too much. I can't. I can't."

They were stopped, suddenly. Their breath all heaving. Spock trembling like a leaf. Concerned, Bones stroked him blindly. The flame in his mind trembled, trembled. He felt dazed, shocked, as if he'd dropped abruptly from a dream. Jim's hand stroked him as he stroked Spock. They were all trembling, mind and body.

You all right? Jim asked.

"I don't know."

First too much pain, now too much pleasure.... They throbbed in his mind, their shared desire an agony in him, their longing aching down to his marrow. They belonged to each other. And he didn't belong between them like this. He couldn't contain that much passion. It only effaced him....

His own distress brought a flood of mutual guilt from both sides. Threads of emotion tangled and snarled in his mind. For a moment he could not tell who felt what. Then Spock began to disentangle them, separating out each bit of misery and frustrated tenderness. Jim became whole again, a single presence. Bones clung to Spock, their mutual sense of failure vibrating them like a single chord. Jim calling to each of them, defining each of them within his mind. Then, somehow, Spock divided one chord into two.

Forgive me. A pained whisper in his mind. It is so difficult to both control and experience....

"There's nothing to forgive."

"I have lost control more than once."

Bones, Jim said, so close, intimate, be patient with us. It's a first time for us too.

He felt so confused, uncertain. He still wanted them, wanted so much.... But it wouldn't work. They were two, not three....

Minds, bodies moved to comfort him again. They twined memories around him, moments mating him with each, with both, weaving him through their lives. Showing the empty place when he was gone, aching joy-worry of his return. Decision to offer this loving, wanting to give, share, receive. Bittersweet tension of now, their desire, love, need interwoven with his, hungering....

"I'll try," he laughed softly, wearily. He gathered himself, trying to feel centered between them again, joined in mind as well as body.

Jim kissed the back of his neck, whispered, "You find the rhythm."

"Yes," Spock said, "you guide us.

Bones began to move again, hesitantly, fumbling to grasp the sense of togetherness. So difficult. His body bounced, shuttled back and forth between them. Awkward tangle of limbs. Flapping of flesh against flesh. His mind still confused, shaken. Jim whispering, soothing him, soothing Spock, focusing them with his certainty. Bones shifted, pulled Spock closer, pressed his hips back against Jim, nestling their bodies together. He slowed his movements, breathing deeply, feeling the reality of their bodies, one within the other.

Their physical energy connected suddenly, and his friends moaned softly, restraining, holding back the passionate surge of being. Their bodies pressed against, into him, still, but quivering, quivering. They needed release. Would they be able to stop this time? If....

He surrendered the "if'. If he drowned, he drowned. Drowning was supposed to be one of the better deaths anyway, once you surrendered....

Something in him freed, he moved more easily now. Stroking slowly still, but smoothly, sliding back and forth between them, between two exquisite pleasures. Like a bird gathering for flight, he quickened, skimmed, lifted. He flew between them, each stroke a wing beat lifting him higher. He soared, rose to meet them where they hung suspended, waiting, quivering. His being trembled, stretched on two vast wings beating.

Centered between them, he opened to them utterly. They came together, melted, merged, dissolving into him like clouds, like fire, like water flowing...sweet endless flood of passion. Wave of love, desire, joy drowning him, merging into one element. Rapture the breath of being he drew into himself...and gave...and gave....

This is us, he thought, purely happy. All of us...all of us.

Spock laughing softly helplessly. Jim laughing tears on his shoulders. Their laughter filling him. Tears, laughter, joy pouring into him, a fountain of joy welling, rising, more than he could hold.

Now, he cried softly, Now now now.

The joy flowed, flowed, and he with it. Out of himself and into the universe....

The universe. Warm, dark. He drifted down, wondering vaguely if he'd fainted. No, just no way to be there and here at the same time.... He felt his body against their. The meld dissolved--not feeling things from the inside out now. He settled against them, the pillows, the cover, returning comfortably to flesh. Part of him still drifting, floating around somewhere. In that other world. A few feathers of his being. Come back, come back, he called softly to himself, we have to live here. Breathed a shaky sigh, feeling whole again.

More than whole. Full.

"Good?" Jim asked, nuzzling. Lips so gentle.

"Incredible."

They stirred, disentangled themselves gently. Kissed. Lay awhile, drifting. He caressed Jim's hand, pressed it to his heart. Heart beat. Pulse beat. He looked over at Spock, far away, rapt.

"What're you thinking?"

"I was contemplating," Bones closed his eyes, listening to Spock's voice, a black velvet professor, "certain concepts of basic geometry."

"Geometry?" he asked lazily.

"I realized, or perhaps experienced would be a better word, the fundamental nature of the point, line angle, triangle, circle, sphere, and...."

"And?"

"And from the sphere I returned to the point...actually it is the transition between the sphere and the point that is most fascinating."

"A simultaneous implosion and explosion?" Kirk offered.

"Possibly."

"I thought that would be mutually exclusive?" Bones said.

"Possibly."

Bones was suddenly very curious. "What did they look like?"

"Look like?" Spock seemed startled.

"Yes, were they like blueprints, or holographs, or what?"

"They were quite luminous...and pulsating."

"Did they have wings?"

"Indeed," Spock confessed, "there were wings. However, they were invisible."

"Maybe to you...." Then he had to shush Jim, giggling on his shoulder.

"All mimsy were the borogroves," Jim babbled. "And the momeraths outgrabe."

"Why Alice?" Bones wanted to know.

"I don't know.... A momerath is a furry sphere, like a tribble, but with wings."

Spock was puzzled. "According to Humpty Dumpty, a rath is a kind of green pig, whereas mome...."

"In that Wonderland, maybe. But in this one a momerath is a flying tribble."

"Possibly."

"Spock is unsurpassed in post coital metaphysics," Jim confided, then wriggled over him to kiss Spock, gentle, teasing.

I know that kiss, thought Bones. He lay on his side, watching them, bathing in the atmosphere of warm intimacy. Jim drew back from the kiss, with a cocky little half smile on his lips, and a definite air of "I told you so."

Spontaneously, Spock smiled back, a bright happy smile that lit his face. He turned to Bones, sharing the moment of joy. Then Spock yawned, an equally spontaneous, and very large yawn. Bones and Jim both burst out laughing. Spock tried to look offended, but seemed to be having some trouble raising his eyebrows.

Impulsively, they both bent to kiss the Vulcan. They did their best to adjust, to fit each of them into one kiss, but this time there seemed to be an inordinate number of chins and noses. They drew back a little, looking at each other.

"How'd we do it before?' Jim asked. "We didn't bump."

"One of life's mysteries," Bones concluded, settling for an ear.

Jim laid a row of kisses, like buttons, down Spock's torso, tenderly nibbled his cock, licked back up to his navel.

"You," he accused Spock, "are sticky."

"Inelegant," Spock mumbled, cuddling against Bones, "but accurate."

Jim got up and sauntered off to the head. Bones drew Spock even closer, stroked the gleaming hair, sleek soft as cat fur.

"Mmmmm, Bones," Spock murmured, drowsy.

Bones stroked him till he fell asleep.

Jim came back from the head with a towel over his shoulder, picking up two unfinished brandies on the way. In some other space/time this had begun, sipping brandy. There was more than one way, Bones reflected, to reach an alternate universe. Jim stood over them, grinning down at the sleeping Vulcan. Handing the brandies to Bones, he knelt beside Spock and cleaned his belly, turned him, lightly mopped his ass with the towel. Spock barely stirred.

"We really burned him out," Jim whispered tenderly. He moved over and went to work on Bones. The towel was moist and tingly, and gave off a sharp woodsy smell.

"What's on that thing?" Bones wanted to know.

"Another Argeelian accoutrement. I got carried away last shore leave."

"Smells fantastic. Sort of like Spock."

"That's why I bought it. It would be nice to smell like a tree, but Humans, Spock tells me, smell like plomeek soup."

"Jesus."

"He considered it quite a compliment."

"Not my idea of an aphrodisiac."

"What is?'

"Oh, Denebian oysters, with some good brandy," he raised his glass in salute, "and...." He faltered. He'd been going to say "a beautiful woman." Just shooting his mouth off. Well, why be embarrassed about that? Jim, of all people, knew the joys of beautiful women.

"And?" Jim asked. That damned Chesire Cat grin.

"And the appropriate company," he finished, grinning back.

"The appropriate company is very important." Jim turned out the light and crawled under the covers, retrieved his brandy and snuggled close. They clinked glasses in the dark, savoured the luxurious nightcap. "That bottle of Halkan brandy is yours, you know. I always meant you to have it. But is was the best lure I could dream up."

"Maybe I'll save it...for my next birthday celebration."

"For whenever feels right," Jim said, and kissed him. Lips warm and tasting of brandy.

Had he been asking that? Yes, yes he had. It was their world, not his. But he was part of it, they could be three as well as two. It was a world he knew he'd return to. He tried to feel into the future, to feel beyond this perfect contentment, into desire, wanting this again. It felt lovely, but hazy, far away. He wanted to celebrate life's ordinary pleasures again, and making love with them would always be extraordinary.

"Probably take me that long to save up enough energy to take you two on again."

"Spock will need some recuperation too. But I doubt it will take either of you quite that long."

"No?"

"No."

"You know, I think you're right." Trading another brandy flavored kiss. "But it would make a lovely birthday tradition...the pon Bones. Spock'd like that. Very traditional people, the Vulcans."

Jim was giggling again. They were both sleepy enough to be getting silly. He put his brandy aside, and Jim did too. Nestled together.

"You know what was most special?" Jim asked.

"No, what...besides everything?"

"The laughter. We never laughed like that before." In the darkness Jim teased his lips with a finger, got it bit, laughed again, softly. Warm arms circled him, held him close. "I'm so glad you stayed, Bones. I was afraid you'd run away."

"Almost did."

"I knew we'd be good for each other. Just too much love there to waste."

Bones hugged him tightly, tears welling up. "I love you too. Very much."

"You know, if you ever need the words from Spock...he can say them."

"It was enough," Bones said, "just to feel it."

They arranged themselves for the night, curling up in their love making position, three sated spoons. Lay quiet in each other's arms, drifting into sleep. Sinking and rising on soft dark waves, a sea of stars. Bones tugged the cover up to his chin, draped a leg over Spock's thigh.

"You should've told me I'd be sleeping over," he grumbled happily. "I'd have brought my quilt."