There was a warm breeze whistling through the air on Risa this evening. Beach-goers spread themselves on blankets over the sand and breathed deeply to inhale the balmy, almost sensual scent of Risa's eternal summer air. Others, in a futile attempt at activity, waded languidly in the temperate water as tropical fish swam idly near.

Spock lay witness to all this with abject disapproval.

Despite his current displeasure, it had been Spock's suggestion that the crew take shore leave on Risa. The majority of the crew consisted of humans and, after all, humans required ample rest to function at full capacity.

This had been his irrefutable reasoning to Captain Kirk, who took to the idea with enthusiasm. No doubt fantasizing about scantily clad women on the beach for the entirety of the trip there.

And yet, as his eyes roved once again to a lone figure standing in the shallow tide, Spock was forced to admit what a rash and foolish idea it had been.

Much like the women of the Captain's fantasies, Doctor McCoy was also wearing swimwear. A simple dark blue brief, with no frivolous pattern or embellishments. It was not even the most outlandish or revealing swimsuit on the beach. However, Spock thought with disapproval, it was no way for a ship's chief medical officer to dress himself—carelessly revealing his bare torso and legs for anyone to see.

Spock had vowed to himself that after the brief flirtation in medical bay, he would entertain no more…distractions with the Doctor. They were both professionals, highly regarded in their fields, and both crucial to the success of the 5 year mission. If Spock could not function as a science officer, or the Doctor could not function as a medical officer, the ship would fall to chaos. Spock would not have that.

Thus, Spock jerked his eyes away from the Doctor for the fourth time that hour, and settled his gaze on his captain a few feet away. Unsurprisingly, Jim was surrounded by a gaggle of Risan women.

This was a race that thrived by giving complete control to their base impulses and the desires of those around them. It was a concept alien to Spock, and it occurred to him that of all the crewmembers vacationing here, he was the most monumentally out of place. It was, in fact, illogical for him to stay sitting on a beach towel in the midst of so much self-indulgent frivolity.

Perhaps it would be best to find a more secluded area of the beach to meditate. Standing up to leave, Spock's line of vision happened by chance to once again coincide with the Doctor's position, some three yards from where he was before.

Next to a Risan male, who appeared to be initiating a conversation.

Spock's brows furrowed. The man's swimsuit—if one could call it that—left little to the imagination, being constructed merely of two strips of braided cloth that barely covered his genitals, and did not even attempt to cover his buttocks.

The Risan appeared to be offering something to the Doctor—a drink. Without doubt one of the gaudy, colorful alcoholic beverages so popular on Risa. It was just about the only thing they served on the planet, it seemed like, aside from the equally gaudy array of extravagant meals and desserts.

Spock paused momentarily, waiting for the Doctor to refuse. Surely he would have no interest in accepting a drink offered by some stranger on the beach.

Apparently Spock had underestimated the Doctor's fondness for alcohol, because he took it and drank heavily. A thoughtless, irresponsible, even selfish thing to do. The Doctor should be aware of the risk of taking food or drink from unknown persons.

Spock watched the doctor take another gulp, and the Risan clap his hands in an obnoxious display of mirth. He set his jaw. If the Doctor was too steeped in Risa's profligacy to remember how to behave as a Starfleet officer, Spock would remind him.

Before he could think of what to say, he was trudging across the sand toward them.

ooOoo

McCoy toasted the Risan's hospitality before taking another sip of the strange, fruity drink the man had offered him. He was tall, muscular like most Risan men, with a golden tan that set off his green eyes beautifully. Looked as if he was just about made for the beach, McCoy thought.

Though he couldn't help his mind from noting what a stark contrast the man made to a certain Vulcan.

McCoy blinked and took another sip, trying to dispel that train of thought.

After he'd been discharged from sickbay, Spock had made quite clear his lack of interest in continuing their little tryst by avoiding McCoy. It was humiliating, but McCoy had to admit to himself that he should have seen it coming. Spock was always going to choose the Enterprise over him. Romance just wouldn't fit into Spock's carefully controlled life, ruled by logic and efficiency.

McCoy smiled bitterly. Logic. He was sure Spock found his desire for him meaningless at best; at worst, a burden. He could just imagine Spock lecturing him about the follies of human affection in his cold, unfeeling way.

As if summoned, McCoy heard a voice from behind them.

"Doctor McCoy, if I could have a word."

McCoy twisted around wildly, gaping. This was the first time Spock had talked to him in weeks. McCoy had been preparing to forget Spock on this vacation, yet here he was to pick at his wounds. As if he'd give that green-blooded goblin the satisfaction. The doctor tried to regain his composure, steeling his expression.

The Risan turned to Spock and smiled beatifically.

"Would you like a drink, Mr. Vulcan? Your friend seems to enjoy them quite a bit."

Spock's lips pursed.

The Risan continued, gesturing toward a small hut in the distance. "My bar is actually right over there; we make the best—"

"That will be all. Come with me, Doctor."

Spock pressed his hand to McCoy's back, guiding him away from the seashore toward a nearby nature path.

McCoy tried shrugging him off, but the Vulcan propelled him forward with immovable force, his face unreadable.

"Good to see your manners are as abysmal as ever." McCoy snapped.

"And your common sense is as absent as ever."

"Excuse me?"

"Doctor," Spock returned, "Did it not occur to you that that Risan's intentions may have been dishonorable? That the drink he offered you might have been drugged, or that he might be trying to intoxicate you for the purpose of taking advantage of you? Perhaps you thought that merely because this is a Federation planet, you could implicitly trust any person who approached y—"

"Christ, Spock, he's just a kid. He was obviously trying to advertise his bar, nothing more."

"His age is irrelevant. For all your talk of my supposed lack of self-preservation, you seem to be just as reckless."

McCoy winced at the mention of the sickbay visit. Of course Spock was heartless enough to casually allude to it like it was nothing. Or could it be that it was just as ever-present in Spock's mind as it was his?

"Furthermore, it is no way to comport yourself in front of the crew, carelessly downing alcohol as if it were water."

"Oh, don't give me that. I don't see you getting on Jim's case—he's arguably the most debauched of the entire crew. Unless it's a hobby of yours to throw a wet blanket over any bit of enjoyment in my life."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nevermind it, Mr. Spock. If you're done lecturing me, I'd like to get another one of those drinks—Jelrei, I think he called it."

By then they had stopped in a remote clearing in the nature path, far from the beach-goers. McCoy turned to head back, but Spock gripped his shoulder, staying him.

"If you intend to ignore my advice, I feel it's my responsibility to keep you from further endangering yourself." The Vulcan said, turning McCoy to face him.

"This isn't even about the drink, is it Spock?

"And what else would it be about, Doctor?"

"Eyes up here, devil-ears."

McCoy watched Spock come to the realization that he had been speaking directly to McCoy's swimsuit for the past minute. His eyes snapped up to meet McCoy's, still maintaining an expression of stoicism. Infuriating, damnable stoicism.

McCoy jerked his shoulder out of Spock's grasp, stepping forward until the two men were face to face.

"Y'know Spock, maybe the heat's getting to me, but this seems like the optimal moment to tell you just what's on my mind, and you're going to listen."

"Doctor—"

"You're a coward, is what you are. Here we are in the middle of a pleasure planet, surrounded by paradise, and the only way you can figure to get my attention is making up some ridiculous excuse about booze. Well, you can't have it both ways. You can't insert yourself into my life and pretend to be indifferent to me at the same time. If you haven't the courage to acknowledge what really happened in sickbay, I have no interest in—"

McCoy was prevented from continuing his tirade on account of Spock's lips slanted over his, silencing him.

McCoy had not imagined the Vulcan's lips to be so soft. Spock always seemed as if he were a being made of stone. Hard and unyielding. But his lips were disarmingly gentle. The hand he brought to McCoy's face was gentle. The Vulcan traced his fingers down the doctor's cheek, along his jaw, resting on his chin and gently pushing to break the kiss. McCoy took is hand in both of his, smirking up at him in triumph.

"A kiss, Spock? How unlike you."

"As you said, perhaps it is the heat affecting me. But I felt it appropriate. This is Risa, after all."

Yes, Spock did suggest the trip for McCoy's sake :)

At this point, I'm not even writing these with the Kelvinverse characters in mind, even if the initial chapter referenced Beyond. It's all Nimoy and Kelley. You may envision whichever characters you like, though!

Thanks for reading this fic. It was a fun first dip into fanfiction. Although I'm still working on Strange Heart Beating, I look forward to writing a lot more. Maybe a DS9 Kira/Jadzia one next...