Title: Interference
Rating: R rating.
Characters: Spock/McCoy
Series: Star Trek TOS
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. This is for fun.
A/N: Wrote this on a whim

Summary: Shore leave isn't off to a good start. Spock's patience is tried. McCoy is bitten by something, which injects him with an unknown venom that removes all inhibitions. McCoy ends up completely unleashing on Spock.

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The kiss was longer than the first by three seconds. It was no less heated. McCoy's hand had stilled on where they'd been stuck on trying to push off his trousers.

"If you think I'm going to forgive you for being an obstinate, hard-headed--" McCoy started the moment they broke for air. Spock couldn't deny the pleasure at how McCoy's conviction seemed less. Spock pulled him back in, hand tightening in brown hair, cutting him off once again. Belatedly, Spock realized that he had loosened his grip on the doctor to do so. Although a marginal change, it was enough that McCoy could leave at any time. It was fortunate then, that Doctor McCoy appeared to have lost interest in trying to get away from Spock.

Instead, he was pressing a growing bulge against the Vulcan's stomach. He kissed Spock back with surprising vigor; perhaps, he hazarded, a desperation that seemed born from a long, concealed desire. Spock wondered what it would have been like without whatever that unknown chemical was. It seemed this was something the doctor had long kept hidden, and now that he was suddenly free to do so, he intended to take full advantage of it. McCoy licked at the corners of his mouth, coaxed them open before pushing his tongue past his lips. It was an unusual way to show affection, but not an unattractive one. McCoy appeared content to explore every portion of his mouth with increasing urgency.

Spock's gut twisted in response. He clamped down on the groan rising up. There was no need to. McCoy broke off with a loud moan that would have effectively covered his own reaction if it had slipped.

McCoy managed a weak, crooked grin. He looked dazed. "I take it back, you're not obstinate or hardheaded." As if to reward him, the doctor slipped his hand down. He ghosted his palm across the tented front of Spock's pants. Spock's jaw tightened in the effort to keep himself expressionless. The seeming lack of response on the Vulcan's face didn't seem to deter McCoy. He leaned forward.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. I'm not sure I even do exactly." another graze of teeth, against his collar bone. "I just remember..." he was moving to Spock's shoulder. "...back then, thinking how you looked when you told that Trelane character off. I don't think I'd ever seen you that emotional before. My god, telling something like that off?" another nip, just short of breaking skin. "But the worst was back when you saved me in that arena. You didn't have to, Spock, and I had to go pushing your buttons anyway after. A part of me was wondering what it'd be like if you'd cracked right then. You know that old story about angry make-up sex. Can you imagine going at it right then and there?"

Despite knowing the effects of the chemical so far, Spock noted that it was astonishing just how little regard McCoy had for what he was saying. There was no filter, no delay, no consideration. It was the most honesty he'd ever seen from a human being. Everything about him right now was unrestrained. Spock had usually regarded McCoy as one of the humans most prone to emotionalism and uncontrolled outbursts, that he didn't appear to censure himself very much.

He was clearly in error.

"Don't even get me started on the touch telepath business," McCoy was saying. "I always wondered just how sensitive you Vulcans are with your fingers. With the way you go about things--" McCoy brought Spock's hand up. He drew a thumb into his mouth. Spock's mouth parted. It was hot, almost excessively so, too good. The sensation blotted out all reason for that instant, a super nova going through his mind. All he could concentrate on was the movement of his tongue. McCoy would suck heavily, then swirl his tongue on the pad, then gently nip with his teeth. Spock's hips pushed up against the doctor's thighs.

The doctor gave one near bite then mercifully drew back. Spock was disconcerted to find that he was breathing hard, his length straining painfully against his uniform.

McCoy looked far too pleased with himself at the discovery. "I bet I could get you off right in the middle of a hallway doing this." As if to prove it, he drew the pad of his tongue up the length of Spock's index finger. He twitched in response. "It'd be like sucking you off right then and there and nobody would know it."

Had it been under any other circumstance, Spock would have found the words inane, unnecessary. Redundant. Giving a complete narrative of his actions was highly illogical, especially as he did possess functional eyes and he was already observing with no small amount of interest what McCoy was doing. Now he couldn't help but grow more aroused.

"Yes," Spock answered raggedly. He could feel himself growing harder with each second, even as his hands roamed the doctor's wiry body. His fingers dug into the slight swell of his rear, instinctively trying to control each thrust and push that would be bring more friction to his own erection.

That single, uneven word seemed to do McCoy in. He faltered.

"And then there was that time where you came in sickbay after hours...." McCoy was mumbling now. Spock could only catch a few words here and there. McCoy nuzzled his face against the crook of his neck."...wondered...right there...desk..."

The Vulcan grunted. He ground him down on his lap with a particularly hard pull at the thought. McCoy's litany had died down, into a low sequence of pants and moans that vibrated right against Spock's ear. He seemed to have forgotten, for the moment, everything else but continuing this. No matter how hard he tried to grasp at reason, tried to put that safe distance between this and himself and frame this in logic, he found he couldn't. It fluttered away from him, continued to be out of reach. Spock's single thought mirrored McCoy's. For several long minutes, they continued to move together.

He was overcome by a strange need to see McCoy. Spock opened his eyes. He didn't even remember closing them. He drew back slightly. The doctor's own eyes were closed in concentration. He was undulating against him with an almost primordial abandon. The sheer unrestrained sight of it stirred something in the Vulcan. It was something he'd spent his lifetime trying to quell. It was a powerful surge of emotions, wild and chaotic. McCoy's movements summoned up images of a time long gone but still deeply set in his race's genetic memory. It summoned up images of pon farr, teeth biting and flushed skin, faces twisted with a violence and passion that should be distasteful, but couldn't be controlled.

It struck Spock deeply. His mouth went dry. For a long moment, he could only watch speechlessly at the unintentional display, battling the rising instinct, the one that said to take this, claim as his own and quickly, before another could: all that mattered was mating and quelling that need.

McCoy didn't appear to notice Spock staring or the struggle within. Eyes still closed, the doctor licked his lips even as he ground himself on just about any part of Spock he could reach. Spock's skin tingled. Even with his full uniform on, and McCoy's pants in the way, he could feel every part of the doctor. McCoy would brush against his erection, Spock's stomach, and sometimes, tantalizingly, the movement would bring the doctor's posterior to graze against him. He could smell the scent, McCoy's and his, heavy in the air. It was heady, dangerous.

Spock wanted him right then and there, with an intensity that managed to disturb him.

"Doctor," he tried breathlessly.

McCoy either ignored him or didn't hear him.

"Doctor McCoy."

The man groaned but slowed. He didn't quite stop. McCoy looked questioningly at him even as he ground himself on Spock's thigh. Spock felt his own breath catch in response. It took all of his training to get the next sentence out.

"I regret that I cannot. Something has divested you of all your inhibitions," even now, all Spock wanted to do was plunge into his body, mark him. Spock swallowed. "It would not be ethically sound to continue this under these circumstances."

From the look on the doctor's face, McCoy had been expecting this. He didn't look pleased despite being correct.

"Now, Mr. Spock, you can either join me or you can watch. I'm getting off one way or another." Now he did stop moving on his lap. Spock managed to stop himself from forcing the doctor to move himself. "I blame you for this anyway."

McCoy locked eyes with him. It was a peculiar look, challenging perhaps. He wasn't even certain why he thought that last part. A flicker of movement caught Spock's eye. He looked down. The doctor slid his hand down into his open pants. He cupped and stroked himself. He stroked himself languidly, hips pushing to meet his own hand. Spock could feel the doctor watching him, even as he couldn't look away. McCoy was getting even closer to coming. He could tell from the increased pace, his breathing, the short thrusts. He was going to do so without Spock.

On that barbaric, primitive level, the one Vulcans hadn't quite managed to erase just yet, it infuriated him. It challenged that part of him he'd just suppressed.

"Spock," McCoy gasped. His hand stroked up his length, thumb rubbing hard over the head.

That was enough. Spock grasped McCoy's wrist, stopping him mid-pull, other hand gripping his chin roughly and turning him to him. He kissed him roughly.

McCoy smirked into his mouth as if he'd just won, even as Spock pushed him against the tree and dragged his pants off, before undoing his own.

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He felt relaxed, calm. Spock straightened his uniform. Behind him, he could hear McCoy, sorely, gathering his clothes, and humming some strange, ancient Earth song, and doing so off key. Spock could hear his breathing from here. He could tell that it was still uneven. McCoy had looked, for all the world, like he'd just run twenty miles, but he looked as pleased with himself as Spock felt. Spock was not displeased about today's events.

"We have delayed longer than is necessary, Doctor," Spock said. It was positive sign when he received no argument. McCoy was not in the mood to argue whether the delay was necessary or not. "We must now return to-"

There was a thud. Spock turned around. McCoy had suddenly dropped to a heap. Spock strode over and knelt. He He pressed his fingers to the meld points on the doctor's face. The man was unconscious. Sweeping the limp man in his arms, he set off swiftly back towards the others.

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Forty seven hours passed since Spock had returned to camp with an unconscious McCoy in his arms. Forty six point five since McCoy was taken to sickbay and the science teams sent out to track down whatever had affected him. Spock had stopped by sickbay sporadically since then, once or twice with Jim, but usually on his own. Doctor M'benga finally admitted him at the end of the forty-seventh hour. He ushered the Vulcan into the lab.

"Well, we were able to narrow down the insect out of ten different specimens," the man leaned over and drew out a clear container. He handed it to Spock. Instead was a tiny, multi-legged creature, with five limbs on each side, and faceted eyes. The wings were iridescent and jagged. He could make out tiny, cheliceral fangs on it. The insect was barely the size of a child's fingernail.

"Found some around where you found Doctor McCoy, found a whole lot more near their host plant in the valley below," M'benga explained. "They appear to be in a symbiotic relationship. You'd find it quite interesting."

Now he was handed a PADD. M'Benga touched the edge of the viewport with a stylus. The screen rippled on as Spock watched, displaying a sprawling, bloated plant with teeth. It was large, veins pulsing, and seemingly comprised of thick roots and a massive, bulbous mass tipped with purple "teeth". Every few seconds the organism would pulse, teeth twitching and revealing a bright pink, fleshy interior. Surrounding it, half hidden in the jungle foliage and rocks, were bones and flesh in varying states of decay. Spock noted what looked like a dense cloud of black and blue that appeared to shimmer above it. They had the same color as the sample in M'Benga's cylinder.

The doctor set the container down, his attention on the PADD.

"These insects are too small to take down anything on their own and the plant's not going anywhere... but that's where that relationship comes in. The insects basically fan out, sting something, then return home. You already saw what the effects were of that venom. Our tricorders picked up some pheromones in the air put out by the plant. If those remains are anything to go by, it uses it to lure the sting victim in. Since the victim's already lacking inhibitions and just about everything that goes with it, it'd be too late. Almost lost an ensign getting that bit of data by the way," M'benga looked back meaningfully at the boy lying on the bio-bed behind him. He was still asleep. Even from here, Spock could make out what looked like friction burns on his neck and shoulders. The doctor turned back, indicated the roots on the PADD screen with the pen. "The plant can use those tentacles to grab at something within ten yards for a split second, but it looks like it can only do it a few times a day before it needs more energy to do so."

Spock peered at the PADD. "The plant offers security and food, the insects travel where it can't and hunt for it. The plant gets the main portion while the insects are left with the remains."

M'benga nodded.

"Like I said, it's an interesting relationship. Not unlike ants in the Pseudomyrmex genus and trees from the Aciacia genus back on Earth. Except theoretically, these can take down pretty much anything if you're not careful."

"Fascinating," Spock said. Symbiotic systems were not confined to Earth or Vulcan, in fact, it was necessary in the survival of ecosystems throughout the galaxy, but it never failed to offer something of scientific interest to observe such a system in its natural setting. More so when there weren't sentient hands involved. He wondered how it would deter the large-bodied, immediate threat, such as a midsized or larger herbivore or omnivore. Its mutualistic relationship only solved the problem of bringing food to it, but from what Spock could tell at this time, not the problem of defense. The flexible roots would not function long enough outside of that brief window of time to do much damage. The insect's venom wouldn't act fast enough to stop such a creature from damaging it.

Had it not been for today's earlier events, he would have liked to study it thoroughly. He handed the PADD to M'Benga.

The doctor took the offered slate back. He tucked it under his arm. "The good news is the damage isn't permanent. I'd say a full recovery in two-three days and Leonard'll be back to normal. Tell me, how did you know to to force the compound by sweating him out?" he asked.

The Vulcan didn't quite frown. "Explain."

"He got hit with two of those things, so he got a double dose. Eventually Leonard would've been drawn right to that plant if it weren't for you. Even if he was sweating from the heat alone, it would've been too slow. You helped his body purge most of it early before it was too late. "

"I see," Spock said neutrally. The lack of clarification from the first officer, one that bordered on evasiveness, seemed to trigger something: the doctor was studying him carefully. Spock returned the scrutiny impassively.

"Well, whatever you did, it worked."

Again, M'benga scrutinized him, as if Spock would now be forced to give some explanation.

"Is he conscious, Doctor?" Spock asked simply.

"Just regained consciousness a few minutes ago," M'benga shrugged. "You can see him if you want but he's in a pretty foul mood."

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McCoy looked miserable, for lack of a better word. The look soured even more, peculiarly enough, when he caught sight of Spock coming in. He tried to turn over away from Spock, but was stopped by the sensors and wires attached to him. He swore quietly at them and rolled once more onto his back.

"You are the last person I want to see right now," he groaned. He threw an arm over his eyes, as if by blocking Spock from his vision, he would vanish. Strange. Spock took his place at the side of the bed anyway.

"It appears you are still suffering some lingering traces of the compound." Spock said lightly.

"Did you just try to tell a joke?" McCoy said around his arm. "It wasn't funny."

"I never 'joke', Doctor."

"No, of course not."

The doctor fell silent. It was strange. Just hours ago, McCoy had been spilling everything, all his anger and frustrations, and then writhing under Spock as he thrust into his body, all with the same honesty only a mind meld would have gotten. Now he was closed once more, and after earlier, Spock felt it keenly. He would not have noticed it earlier. Now he would either have to wait for McCoy to either broach the subject or for the man to dismiss him. He wouldn't push the issue.

McCoy was the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry."

"Your response is not logical. Getting stung was not your doing."

The doctor dropped his arm from his face and looked up at Spock. There was frustration his face, regret, but then something else. Guilt. "Well I'm sorry anyway, dammit! My god, what I said to you? I ripped right into you, you just took it, and you can't tell me none of that struck home. It was uncalled for. I know it doesn't mean a damn thing to you, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry for most of what I said!"

He was correct. It wasn't rational, but some small part of him had felt the impact of McCoy's words. It was distasteful to admit to such a thing, but he was aware that some of what McCoy had said had fueled the anger he'd allowed himself to show down there. It hadn't just been due to trying to counter their situation or McCoy throwing the communicator. Even if the doctor had been affected by that venom, Spock was very much aware of the fact that it didn't put the words into his mouth. They had been there all along. All the venom had accomplished was dropping that barrier that previously stopped them before coming out.

Spock lifted an eyebrow, and somewhat coldly; "'Most', doctor?"

McCoy looked embarassed, as if caught out in the open, then resigned. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well I don't think the rest is any secret anymore," he said gruffly. He went on, defensively. "I don't have to apologize for liking you, just maybe for fact that I have bad taste! Just that it went down the way it did. It feels like I forced you into it."

"I must remind you that it would be impossible for you to force me physically into anything. I am a Vulcan. You would need to gain a minimium of three times your body mass to approach a means to counter my own strength. You were never in any position to force me."

The doctor didn't look comforted by the hard facts as he'd laid them out before him. He looked annoyed.

"Well, I'm surprised you didn't just snap me in half once I started running my mouth off," he muttered. "I'll be damned if I didn't deserve it."

Vulcans did not gain any pleasure in violence, even when it was necessary. In this situation, force would not have solved anything and the loss of their CMO would have impacted the performance of the ship. Spock kept that to himself. McCoy seemed intent on disparaging himself. It wasn't logical, and he could see no use in indulging in it. He tried a different tactic.

"I've noticed humans have a need to dwell extensively on the past and shoulder burdens that are either not theirs to bear, or even if they were involved in some way, take on the burden that will yield no positive result in doing so. It appears even more prevalent when the present and future cannot be impacted by such a compulsion," Spock said. He added. "I find it puzzling. I will admit, however, that what occurred planetside was not how I had imagined our initial coupling happening."

"That's not even the poi ---wait, what did you say?" McCoy was giving him a strange look.

Perhaps McCoy was suffering some additional, unknown side effects from the ordeal. It seemed to have caused temporary hearing loss. He would have to make note of it to Doctor M'benga.

"What happened back on the planet was not how I had imagined such a bonding between us happening, either the circumstances or the locale," Spock repeated patiently. "It was... unexpected."

McCoy was sitting up, making a mess of the wires and sensors. The guilt and regret was quickly being pushed downwards, replaced by aggravation. "You mean to tell me that you've thought about us... and you didn't think to say a damned word the entire time?!" he exclaimed.

Perhaps the insect's toxin did not have nearly as great an influence as we thought, thought Spock with a bare trace of displeasure. McCoy certainly didn't appear to hold back nearly as much as much as Spock had just thought, even without the presence of the venom. The readouts he'd seen had pointed to the chemical stripping all inhibitions, but McCoy wasn't doing nearly as much to restrain his mouth.

"No. I could not find an appropriate time or place to indicate my interest," Spock said stiffly. "May I remind you, doctor, that you didn't do think to do same either, despite clearly harboring these feelings for some time."

They stared at each other, McCoy regarding him angrily, Spock returning it with a carefully controlled look of stony disinterest. McCoy finally cracked a lame grin. "Look at us, already back to going at each other's throats." He still looked troubled. Spock could easily trace the reasons for it. McCoy had been inhumanly open about himself earlier, while he had no way of ascertaining the same about Spock.

"The overall experience was not unpleasant," Spock said. "I would not, doctor, be adverse to pursuing such an experience at later date. Under different conditions, of course."

"I could think of a lot better words for it," McCoy said, but that last stubborn vestige of guilt slowly drained from him.

(END)