Disclaimer:I don't not own Star Trek or any of it's characters. Do you THINK I would be here if I did?! So I do not in any way shape or form own any of the plot or the characters. They belong to whoever owns 'em. I just took the general idea for a test jaunt. So, don't sue me...not that it would be beneficial, as I am a poor university student, yadda yadda yadda.

Authors Note: I wanted to thank all my reviewers. Firstly, you all rock! Your comments, advice, and praise has helped me immensely in the writing of this chapter. Please continue to tell me your thoughts, and feed this starving writer! Also, sorry that it took about a year or so to finally begin to finish up this tale. As much as I love it, it seemed to get perpetually put on the backburner whenever a random plot bunny would strike! Hee!

A/N: Seriously, I hate the world. I had planned to finish this story in this chapter, but the damn thing got way too long halfway through writing it. So rather then SPAM you all with a massive 10 page chapter, I found a good place to split it up. Hopefully I will have fully completely AND FINALLY ENDED this stupidly long chapter (part 2) soon. Stay tuned folks! There be McCoy and Spock smut ahead!

What A Hand Towel Can't Hide

'This love....This love is a strange love....A faded kind of day love....This love.. Give in to me...Give in to me...'

The rough weave of the towel felt brisk and decidedly rough as he vigorously scrubbed it across his scalp. It felt good, good in the way a neck massage only feels good a few moments after the expert hands have left the skin, when the tight pain suddenly gives way to pleasure, spreading in that unique rush of warmth, that glow of physical satisfaction that highlights the nerves, flushing the skin in a pleased, healthy blush. It was a simple pleasure, something easily taken for granted and often ignored entirely in the face of this fast paced and increasingly technologically driven world.

It was things like this, these simple pleasures, like that of a hot, honest-to-god water shower, or the contentment that only a full belly can bring, and yes, even the rough way a towel rubbed across your scalp..it was these things that affirmed his belief that some of life's greatest pleasures could be earth shatteringly basic.

And in essence, in the face of this often intimidating and confusing technological world, it was those things that he subscribed too, those little human pleasures and experiences. And in letting himself indulge, in experiencing them as human kind had for countless centuries before, he somehow felt that he was closer to the breadth of mankind then anyone living now in this day and age could ever get...

It made him feel that much more human, he supposed.

He was halfway through rubbing the towel through his hair when he realized it. Something suddenly felt different. Changed. He couldn't explain the feeling, he just knew it. He knew it despite the fact that the deck plating at his feet was still the same mess of sharp indentations and curves under around his bare, inquisitive toes, and that the barely discernable thrum of the engines still hummed around him.

Something was off, something wasn't right...

An unexplainable tension tightened his shoulders, the sensation pricking the hair on the back of his neck in a sudden gust of goose bumps. And with a slow, deliberate movement born of the confidence that comes from many years aboard the Enterprise, he slowly let the towel slip from his face, unveiling his gaze to the room.....

For one slow, age long minute all he could do was stare.

He couldn't even think. What he was seeing just didn't even register. All he could feel was the tightness in his cheeks as his eyes blew wide, the slackness of his mouth as his jaw loosened, and the feeling of his eyebrows trying to disappear into his tousled, water slicked hair.

He didn't really know it till later, but right then, his eyes were seeing it, but his mind couldn't hold the image, so he didn't really see the reclining man in front of him, his legs crossed as he maintained his meditative posture, his slender-fingered hands resting demurely on his thighs as his loosely flowing black robe rippled, baring his naked chest to the firelight.

Neither did he really see that god damned tilt of his head or follow the movement of that single expressive eyebrow as it arched up. And he definitely didn't see that subtle twitch that ghosted around the corners of his lips, or the imperceptible movement that tensed the muscles of his thighs, as if he was resisting the impulse to rise. Nor did he really register that strange, simmering look that remained strong in those dark brown eyes.

It was the same thing he had seen all too fleetingly only three days before as he landed, sprawled out on the deck plating, covered in the man's warmth and heady presence, now it was a look that refused to be suppressed or dampened, one that shined with a secret warmth and a dozen different things that he couldn't even begin to understand.

Except that he really did see it. He saw it all... Sweet Georgia! Damn that green blooded son of bitch anyway!

Even years later, he still couldn't for the life of him recall what had been going through his mind in those moments. In fact he had a sneaking suspicion he hadn't even have any at that point!

Nooo he had been too god damn busy trying to do those little things ... like continuing breathing and trying for the life of him to close his country-boy like gape and collect his open mouth from where he was quite certain it had landed somewhere down on the deck plating.

This was why he sometimes hated space. There was always something scrambling up his molecules, there was always something lurking around the next nebula that was going to infect you with some sort of deadly space fungus, or some sort of god forsaken anomaly or space entity hell bent on rampage and general destruction, or a roaming band of violent natives, or planet eating space worms, and advanced aliens with superiority complexes that gave even Jim a run for his credits.

Well he had had enough already!

He figured that about now the universe owed him a few favours, but no what does cheating both lady luck and the grim reaper for the good of both mankind and the entire damn galaxy get him? Butt naked, and dripping in the middle of none other then Spock's god damn living room that's what! The man not only being the cause of his inner turmoil but a Vulcan to boot! It sounded like something straight out of one of those god awful, old time soap operas that Joanna had always obsessed over in her teenage years.

Somewhere, right at that moment, some sadistic bastard was laughing their ass off at him. He just knew it.

'Of all the days to wander around naked Leonard..' A snide little voice snarked somewhere in his brain. And this time, he was actually inclined to agree with it. He would have even rolled his eyes at himself at that moment if he had been able to scrape two brain cells together.

'Fat chance Leonard old boy.' He told himself fatalistically, rightly guessing that any chance of regaining his higher brain functions, even after such a shock and embarrassing surprise as this, had been totally destroyed by the smouldering gaze of the man in front of him.

His toes curled into the deck plating, poised for a flight to no where, and for a few wild, half panicked seconds that dawn on him before he fully took what he was seeing, and before those exotic scents that had filled his nostrils had fully impacted his brain. Before the realization really hit, he wondered if he could just feint to the left and streak through the door.

But as appealing as thought was to escape from that bold-as-brass stare, in truth it would likely be just as bad to bound through the halls absolutely starkers, if that didn't get the female ensigns twittering and mock fainting then he didn't know what would.

If Jim ever found out about this there would be no living with him for weeks... Or until he called the man in for a surprise performance physical out of sheer spite, just to teach the smug little bastard a lesson .....whatever came first.

So, instead, since there really wasn't anything he could actually do, he attempted to look as dignified as one could look when caught in their birthday suit...

In one jerky movement he stumbled a half step backwards, his mouth closing with an audible snap as the hand holding that tiny little hand towel flew to cover his groin. Despite the fact that the green blooded Vulcan had likely already gotten quite the eyeful.

'Hope he got a good view.' He snarked sarcastically, internally shaking his head at himself as a smouldering blush that rivalled the crimson walls of the mans quarters chased his barely hidden mortification up his cheeks and neck.

He held onto that hand towel like he did his mangled pride and bruised ego, tightly and with great care, trying to ignore the fact that the merger piece of brown cloth barely covered anything to begin with. It was enough to make him actually fidget under that unfathomably dark eyed stare, as that same heated look as before simmered behind those rapidly darkening, almond shaped eyes. A look that intensified still further as the man abruptly moved, unfolding himself easily from his pillow top perch and rising gracefully to his feet.

And strangely, the thing he noticed first was the soft, subtly green-shaded skin of the man's bare feet, the pale, delicate looking skin remaining completely hairless, in stark contrast with his own tanned and calloused ones, the tops darkened with a few dark brown hairs. His eyes were drawn to them, watching as the loose sable robe swirled and sucked at the air around the Vulcan man's ankles. Bare feet. For some reason the mere idea of Spock wandering around barefoot was ludicrous.

'He would thought that the over-grown, pointy eared robot slept in his uniform...' He mused with an inner grin, feeling a trickle of his usual self confidence returning at the thought.

But instead of speaking, he found himself still uncommonly tongue tied, only able to slowly wrench his gaze up from the mans feet. Raising them gradually, like thick molasses as it inches slowly down the sides of an upturned bowl, the solid syrup only grudgingly moving at first, but turning slowly into a unstoppably dense avalanche of sugary sweetness as it eventually gains momentum….racing thickly down towards an eager finger or tongue.

And his eyes slowly travelled up the man like that, the heated air suddenly turning cloyingly thick in his lungs, like he was drinking in the air rather then breathing it. The strong, foreign herbs of the man's mediation incense searing his throat, leaving him suddenly parched and wrung of moisture.

But to his credit Spock said nothing of his blatant scrutiny, allowing him to stare, until he was actually mapping out the man's lean form with his gaze. Something which only seemed fair, as the mans own piecing eyes had refused to leave his, resting so firmly and unfailingly upon him that it was almost enough to distract him from the fact that he was still completely starkers. Almost.

In fact the man watched him with such intensity that it lended in rendering him mute, finding himself unable to do anything but breath harshly, almost panting as the other hand that did not clutch the little square of cloth at his groin, twitched fitfully along his hip, as if he was about to gesture, or even take a step forward, but then aburptly thought better of it...

The silence was so deafening that he almost wished for the red alert to sound, for anything! For something to shake them both out of this age-long moment, something that to him was far too disturbingly familiar to the kind of nightmare that only every new, self-conscious Ensign has. The one where they stride into the bridge in nothing but the vivacious shade of their full-on mortification and embarrassment when the hapless officer realizes it, looking down in dawning horror at the uniform and underclothes that is no longer there.

The moment was broken however when he let his tongue sweep out to lick at his bottom lip, his nervousness and uncertainty finally finding an outlet as he worried the lip between his teeth.

He was taken aback when the mans eyes suddenly snapped upwards, following the minute movements of his tongue as it ran across his dry lips, tasting the nervous sweat that had broken out across his upper lip, his mind racing as the man took a measured step forward, shortening the distance between them in a move he was sure was meant to unsettle him on purpose.

'What's he playing at?' He wondered suddenly, his own eyebrow raising as his mind worked furiously. Something didn't add up here, something wasn't right, he was missing something.. There was a part to this dance that had not yet been revealed.

He had expected that Spock would have at least said something by now, figured he couldn't have been able to resist it. After all, Vulcan or not, it wasn't like catching your friendly neighbourhood doctor, and verbal sparing partner butt naked in the middle of your quarters happened every other day!? But no, the man hadn't even said a damned word! It was as if he was waiting for something...

He had expected those and a hundred other things. But they didn't come.

He said nothing, did nothing.., He just stood there, slowly and sporadically advancing, as if unsure of him. Spock was NEVER unsure, never hesitant. What in blazes was going on here!?

Finally he couldn't stand it anymore, standing around like a slack-jawed teenager caught staring at his first crush was certainly getting old, they were fully grown adults, and trained Starfleet officers for god sakes!

'Right, because you flounce around naked in Spock's quarters on a regular basis.' The little voice commented snidley. 'I wish.' He mentally replied, carefully ignoring the fact that he was essentially having an arguement with himself.

He blamed Spock.

This was all that point-earred hobgoblins fault! Him and his damned 'curiousity' and bloody complusion to continually sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He was often surprised that he himself hadn't suffered a massive cornary already, just from the stress. The pointy-earred hobgoblin deserved a serious dressing down!

It was those few thoughts that suddenly brought back his red hot temper, leaving him feeling extradinarly indigant and pissed off. As if the stress, anger, uncertainity and confusion of the last few days had just compiled upon each other in one single moment, overwhelming him with the emotions of the last four days in a landslide of emotion.

And if he had only been wearing some god damned pants he would have seriously considered ripping the Vulcan a new one right then and there... However the lack of pants, and clothing in general was still a serious issue.

After a few noted moments of silence he began to feel remarkably like they were caught in the middle of some sort of damnable cat and mouse game. And worst of all, he realized that he was the mouse, the shrieking, quivering little creature that desperately sought escape to nowhere.

Even the image was undignified, because he, Doctor Leonard McCoy, Chief medical officer of the USS Enterprise quivered in the face of no one. Not even if they were butt naked, and caught in the presence of a bare-chested, rippling robed, barely-covered mind blowingly sensual Vulcan.

....And while he was busy deluding himself, he also decided he wanted a five hundred acre horse ranch in the southern mountains of Georgia, his own research lab with unlimited funding, and a beach front bungalow on Risa.

Sometimes he wondered if it was actually possible for the universe to physically hate him..... Spock would of course say no, pointing out a dozen and a half reasons why even forming such a statement was both illogical and going against all the known laws of astrophysics and science to boot...But no, he knew better, because there was absolutely no way that this could have happened to him without some sort for nefariously evil aid.

Someone out there was out to get him, he knew it.

..Damnit.

A/N #1: AUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH. (Flails around) I really, SERIOUSLY wanted this to be last chapter. Not that I don't adore this story, because I do. It has been fun and interesting to write. However I DID want to wrap it up in this chapter. (HA!) Apparently though our boys had other plans. (Smacks the boys. Then pets them because they are so cute when they are indignant!)

A/N #2: The title for this story is a weird one actually. It is mixed lyric title that I got inspired to 'create' after hearing: "Give in to me." By Michael Jackson and "This Love" by Sarah Brightman. It just felt...right so I went with it. Only broke about a dozen laws in the process, but it was worth it! Ha!