Title: Endymion

Author: Tempest

Series: TOS

Paring: S/Mc

Rating: PG, for some implied suggestions of sex

Summary: Spock and McCoy spend a lot of time off duty. Just looking at them, they have to be lovers, right? Then just what are they doing behind closed doors?

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all of its relations are property of Paramount and Viacom. I only own this story. Problems with male homosexuality? Please stay away. Flames and feedback are welcome. For archiving, please ask author permission first.

Author’s Notes: First of all, my sincerest thanks to Qzeebrella for doing the beta on this story.

To move on, let me explain this one. What you are about to read will have what many may describe as out of character behavior. That’s fine. But, people in high stress situations do things that others may not find rational or appropriate. For instance, the human genome project would dress up as Vikings and shoot nerf balls at each other on Fridays. That taken into account, nothing that the characters in this story do is really that weird, or, actually, that improbable.

The question to ask is why. Why? Well, plenty of K/S and just regular gen stories have Kirk and Spock doing all sorts of activities off duty, playing chess, working out in the gym and the like. McCoy and Spock don’t usually have the same courtesy afforded to them. So, to satisfy my own curiosity, I created this.



By Tempest

September 4, 2005



Commander Spock and Doctor McCoy were in a relationship. The entire ship was aware of it. Despite how they always fought; despite the fact that more jibes slipped past their lips than praise, the crew knew it to be true. The only difficulty was explaining why they knew it.


      It was mostly a feeling. A room with the two of them lit up with energy. The looks passed between them were electric. And they touched. A lot. Certainly a lot more than was normal for two platonic male friends, especially when one of them was Vulcan. Not to mention that they spent an inordinate amount of time off duty, together, in private. They would leave sickbay together, or one or the other’s quarters, talking sometimes, arguing more likely, over some topic. Close together, but not touching, seemingly having done nothing but argue in private for the past two hours. And yet, once in a while, it would appear that they were wearing each other’s uniforms. None of this was lost on the crew. The only difficulty was that despite all of these implications, there was yet an incident between the two that would prove it.


      Never a kiss, never a hug, not so much as a pet name in passing. Yet, it was impossible to shake the impression that they were, in fact, lovers. And the inescapable feeling had become so certain that particular members of the senior staff had taken it upon themselves to prove it, not for personal gain, but for satisfaction of their own curiosities.



      It was Jim Kirk who tried the direct approach. But there was a difference between direct and rude. He could never come out and just ask “Hey, are the two of you doing to horizontal tango?” Especially not to Spock, who would most likely be so offended by both the abruptness and the question that he would find a way to be occupied in his labs for the next three weeks. And if that happened, Kirk could say goodbye to chess games.


      No, his direct approach, much like his style of captaincy was “less talk, more action.” He would simply need to catch them in the act. Not that Kirk was a voyeur; far from it. He respected the privacy of everybody as much as he could, but dammit, the curiosity was killing him.


      His plan came to a crux one night in the mess hall. He had been entering just as Spock and McCoy had been placing their trays in the slot to be cleaned. Kirk smiled and walked up to them. “You two don’t have time to keep a lonely Captain company through his dinner?”


      McCoy stopped in his path to smile at Kirk and shake his head. “Not tonight, Jim, sorry. You should have gotten here earlier. We’ve got plans tonight.”


      *Aha,* Kirk thought to himself. “Sleep over with footsie pajamas?”


      McCoy smirked and Spock, who stood slightly off to the side to allow them their conversation, seemingly rolled his eyes. “Can you imagine him in those? His feet would be as pointed as his ears.”


      Kirk nodded; a smile on his face. “That’s true. So what are you two really going to be up to?”


      “Just plans, Jim. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to mind your own business?”


      Kirk raised his hands in a gesture of retreat. “Just go. Don’t drag my mother into this.”


      Spock was about to ask the question, of how McCoy whose hands were empty could possible drag an elderly woman between them, when the doctor grabbed hold of him and all but dragged him from the mess hall.


      Kirk shook his head to himself and turned toward the chow line. He had his plan, and damned if he wouldn’t have his answer by the end of the evening.


      Two hours later, Kirk was en route to McCoy’s quarters. Chekov and Sulu were in tow, deciding that if there was a chance to satisfy their own curiosity, they would not decline the Captain’s invitation.


      When they arrived, they were pleasantly surprised to find that the doctor’s quarters were unlocked. They entered, trying not to make too much noise, and turned towards the bed, freezing at what they saw.


"I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er..." McCoy blinked, looking up at Kirk and the rest of the bridge crew. He and Spock were sitting on the middle of his bed, each finger of both hands decked out in little Scottish costumes. "Can we help you?"


      Kirk could not keep from gaping at the sight. He had come to see if he could catch them copping a feel, not...acting out Shakespeare with finger puppets! He just could not believe it. Of all things to do in one’s spare time. Macbeth with finger puppets!


      Chekov and Sulu were in similar positions, and uncertain of what to say, they backed out, leaving Kirk alone to face his friends.


      McCoy rose from the bed, his expression anything but amused. “Can we help you?” he repeated. His voice tight.


      Kirk shook his head. “Never mind, Bones. You two...just get back to whatever it is you were doing.”


      And with that, Kirk turned on his heels, leaving the two alone to finish Act III.



      It would be weeks before speculation began again about the two science department heads. The story Kirk brought back was met with mixed speculation. Finger puppets was a little hard to swallow.


      However, the crew once more became firmly convinced in their theory after the testimony of one Ensign Andy Ianson. The young ensign had run into the recreation lounge three weeks after Kirk’s failed voyeurism, spouting “you’re not going to believe this” before telling his tale.


      Having just been relieved of his duty in the security office, Ianson was making his way down the deck five main corridor, on his way to the mess hall for a cup of coffee.


      En route, he passed Spock’s quarters, and would have thought nothing of it, but he had heard a most curious sound.




      It was coming from the back wall. Ianson, a knowledgeable security man, had the entire blueprints of the ship memorized, for search purposes. The bed was against the back wall.




      There it was again. Louder this time. Ianson was about to dismiss it, preparing to write it off as a peculiar Vulcan ritual, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Doctor McCoy’s voice.


      “Dammit, Spock!” McCoy’s voice was raspy, his breaths sounding shallow. “Harder!”


      Ianson’s eyes went wide. That was it. This was the proof that the crew had been waiting for. And he was going to get to tell them. Not waiting another minute, the Ensign scampered off towards the lounge, ready to tell whoever was off duty of his discovery.


      A pity that he had not waited the moment longer before leaving. For he would have found the perfectly rational explanation he had been searching for. Not perfectly rational, actually, but it was an innocent one.


      On the other side of those doors, Spock and McCoy, fully clothed, were standing by the divider in Spock’s quarters. McCoy was rushing side to side, in a state of active sweat. Spock was calmer, seemingly not living up to McCoy’s desires. And they were hitting a small, rubber ball against the back wall of the Vulcan’s quarters.

      “Spock,” McCoy continued, bouncing the ball off the palm of his hand against the wall again, “didn’t you ever learn to play handball? If you want it to have the proper rebound, you’ve got to hit it harder.”



      With Ensign Ianson’s story circulating through the rumor mill, the speculation about Spock and McCoy’s off duty relationship was raging stronger than ever before. They were being watched, constantly, and there was an unofficial tally of who won each argument.


      Yeoman Rand and Lieutenant Riley had just stepped off the turbolift on deck five. Rand was on duty and delivering Kirk his dinner and Riley was off duty but had decided to keep her company. And their conversation, like so many recently, turned to the topic of Spock and McCoy.


      “I know this is really none of my business,” Rand preempted, “but I just can’t help but wonder which one is on top. They both seem so-”


      “I know what you mean,” Riley cut in, and whatever he was about to say next was interrupted when the door to Spock’s quarters flew open.

      Out rushed Spock, wearing a black cowboy hat. He started running towards the turbolift, and was half way there when a second figure emerged from his quarters.


      It was McCoy, in a white cowboy hat. His hand together, fingers interlaced so that thumb and forefinger were out in a simulation of a gun, he took aim and fired, making the sounds of a phaser.


      Spock, incredibly, ducked, and rolled, causing the two younger crewmembers to scurry out of his way. Neither managed to say a word, mesmerized by what was occurring before them.


      McCoy walked calmly, taking another, more careful aim, and fired again. “Got you,” he whispered.


      Spock stopped in the middle of his step, fell to the ground, and play dead, his hat falling off.


      McCoy, a grin on his face, walked over to the turbolift. Spock had only been two yards away. Grabbing hold of the Vulcan’s arms, McCoy began to drag him back to his quarters, taking the time to tip his hat in courtesy to Rand and Riley.


      It was only after the doors slid closed that Rand and Riley found the ability to speak, and to continue with their business.


      “Well,” Riley said as they walked, “I guess that answers your question.”



      Two months later, after a stop over at space station K-12, Scotty and Uhura were sharing a drink in the observation lounge. On the other side, Spock was reading the briefing for their next mission.


      Although Scotty was hardly one to be taken in by ship’s gossip, even he could not ignore the peculiar jewelry that rested on the third finger of Spock’s left hand.


      It had appeared three days ago, after Spock and the doctor had returned from brief leave granted to them on the station. The ring was silver, circular, but with a peculiar cut at the top, much like a puzzle piece. It was assumed that McCoy’s ring, nearly identical, had the complimentary cut, so that the two would fit together to become whole.


      Scotty, who was over all very practical, had to admit that it was quite the romantic declaration. But he just could not, for the life of him, understand why they would get rings, but still remain so coy about their off duty relationship. Half the time, when Kirk would make a comment, it was as though neither of them understood what he was hinting at.


      Uhura seemed to follow his attention, interrupting his thoughts with “It looks good on him, doesn’t it?” Her voice was soft, as she obviously did not want to catch the Vulcan’s attention.


      “Aye, and on Leonard too. I just wonder if the shape has some special meaning the rest of us just don’t understand.”


      “Who knows?” Uhura replied. “It’s probably something that’s private, since Mister Spock’s so Vulcan.”


      While the two were speculating, the doors to the observation lounge had opened, and McCoy had entered. He spied Spock on the other side of the lounge and made his way, not saying a word to the other two occupants of the room.


      The doctor plopped himself down next to the Vulcan, and leaned over, beginning to whisper in Spock’s ear. The Vulcan lifted the tell-tale eyebrow. “Here?”


      McCoy nodded adamantly, his mischievous toothy grin on his face.


      Across the room, both Scotty and Uhura were fixated on them. Wondering just what McCoy had in mind.


      In the next second, McCoy’s hand was beside Spock’s, nearly touching. Their rings were together, and the next four words that came from both their mouths simultaneously were the last things either of the other occupants expected. Calm, forceful, and with McCoy fighting back laughter, “Wonder twin powers, activate!”



      After the now famous Observation Lounge Incident, nobody knew what to think. The evidence still appeared stacked in favor of the fact that the two most senior officers in the science department were engaging in some “experimentation of their own,” but at the same time, if they were, they seemed to be handling themselves no better than two fifteen year olds.


      Perhaps it was possible that the two of them were simply close friends, Captain Kirk told himself. After all, he and Gary had been nearly inseparable, but that hadn’t made them in love. After the finger puppets, he was a bit jaded.


      But it was on his watch that McCoy, as he often did, came up to the bridge to pester the crew. After spending a few minutes talking to Kirk about the next mission, and paying Uhura a flattering compliment on her hair, he crossed the bridge to Spock.


      Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a lollipop and handed it to the Vulcan, saying with a lascivious smile “A sneak peak of what I’ve got planned for tonight.”


      They spoke the same language, as the Vulcan took the candy and put it on this console. Although his expression did not seem to change, he appeared excited.


      With a wink in Kirk’s direction, McCoy left the bridge. Kirk sat for a moment, confused. A candy eating contest. That’s what the two of them were so happy about: Candy. Sometimes, his friends confused the Hell out of him.


      It wasn’t until after his shift, as he sat reading his latest Dickens novel that it occurred to him. McCoy hadn’t given Spock a lollipop. He’d given him a sucker.



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