The BLTS Archive - Dark Side of The Moon
sixth in The Ox series
by kvw (riordan10@yahoo.ca)

---

Warnings: sex, male/male slash, language

Disclaimer: Star Trek does not belong to me. This
is non-profit fanfic.

Continuation of: Entering the Marketplace with Helping Hands.

---
"Water that is too pure has no fish."
   Ts'ai Ken T'an
---

Spock of Starfleet, Spock of Vulcan, whose personal life had
undergone a big change, asked to take some leave.

Kirk was taken aback. McCoy had just asked for the same
thing, though a few days earlier. In fact, the doctor had
already left and his temporary replacement was on board.

After mulling it over, Kirk ok'd Spock's request. The First
Officer had racked up a lot of overdue leave and regulations
required that he take it one way or another. Kirk had no
idea where McCoy had disappeared to, but he assumed that
Spock would head off to Vulcan.

Spock had decided to follow McCoy. The doctor didn't know
this. If he'd suspected, he probably would have taken better
care to cover his tracks. The shuttle connections had been
easy to trace.

McCoy had headed for Xerebus, a man-made moon in orbit
around a star prone to solar flares and erratic movements.
Whenever the sun's hydrogen spit, a dome would cover the
day-side of Xerebus, creating a perpetual night over the
entire satellite. The darkness made the streets and bars
impossible to police, so the local constabulary stopped
trying at those times. Visitors understood that anything
could happen; accordingly Xerebus attracted an ungainly and
underground sort of visitor.

McCoy's shuttle had docked at the main port. After a
relatively small bribe, Spock learned that McCoy had booked
overland transportation. Spock rented another flyer from the
same company and hacked through the dashboard locator chip
into the mainframe.

As Spock neared the doctor's destination, he considered that
he wasn't sure of his reception. There was the chance the
doctor had not travelled alone. The company's computer
didn't reveal the number of occupants in the aircars. If
McCoy was alone, it might be exactly what he wanted.

McCoy had parked beside a tavern bearing a half-lit sign
reading F--len A-gel. The engine was cold; he'd been there
for a while.

The bouncer eyed Spock curiously but stepped aside to let
the Vulcan pass. Spock pushed open the door and was hit by
bedlam.

Huge, furry creatures at a table by the door were arguing,
pounding their drinks and paws loudly as they growled
overtop of each other. Two Andorians at the next table were
watching them, antennae bent forward in interest, and three
Ferengi in a booth were watching the Andorians.

A lithe, Deltan woman walked by Spock. He felt his body's
reaction before he saw her. She gave him an interested
smile, but he moved away between the tables and towards the
dance floor.

He paused, eyeing the couples and trios dancing to strange,
lilting music being played by a four-armed woman on stage.
Her instrument was composed of several curled flutes coming
from a single mouthpiece; her rhythm section was a rodent
hopping on a snare drum.

Something with tentacles brushed by Spock. He felt a few
stealthy probes. He grabbed one of the feelers with his
Vulcan strength, just long enough to make his point. The
tentacled creature promptly disappeared in the crowd.

He walked by the booths. Every one was occupied, and while
all their occupants varied, their general dishevelled
condition did not. Spock kept his eyes forward and pretended
not to notice illegal transactions, illegal weaponry, and
not-illegal-and-more-interesting sexual activities taking
place both under and on top of the tables.

Coming from the flashing strobes at the dance floor, it took
his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light at the bar.
When they cleared, he was startled to find McCoy on a stool
only a few feet away. The doctor was unshaven, dressed in
muted brown clothing, and holding a bottle of something
questionable.

In a low voice, McCoy said, "Coming in here like that, you
risk getting your Fleet-issued boots stolen, not to mention
your Vulcan-issued ass kicked."

Spock had changed into civilian clothing except for his
footwear. Outside of his boots, he owned only sandals.

"Yes, they're that obvious," McCoy said. "What are you doing
here?"

Spock took a seat beside him. "I followed you."

"Yeah, I got that. Why?"

They were interrupted by the appearance of a large man who
dropped onto the stool at McCoy's other side. He noted
Spock. Then he put an arm around McCoy's shoulders and said,
"Vulcan who?"

"No idea," McCoy said.

"I am S'Pell," Spock said. "And I was just going to buy a
round of drinks."

The bartender somehow heard through the din and a line of
bottles appeared down the bar. As Spock paid, he said to
McCoy, "May I ask your name?"

McCoy was frowning at him and it took him a few seconds to
respond. "Murray."

"I'm honoured to meet you, Murray," Spock said. "And your
acquaintance is?"

McCoy gave him a what-the-hell-are-you-up-to look. Spock
felt he could well ask the same in return. Spock would not
pry into McCoy's private life. However, as the doctor's
husband, he had a right to insist that those private
activities not be conducted in such a disreputable
establishment as this one.

When it appeared that McCoy wasn't going to answer, the
large man said, "Lotar."

Spock gave him a formal nod.

Lotar eyed him, perhaps wondering if the Vulcan's courtesy
was a way of making fun of him. Eventually he must have
decided no, because he picked up the drink Spock had bought
him.

A silky voice breathed in Spock's other ear. "Vulcan boy,
you look lonely."

He turned. A woman (he assumed it was a she), part-lizard
and part something he couldn't identify, smiled a
pointy-toothed grin at him. He hadn't heard her approach. A
glance down revealed why. She hovered just above the ground.

Her long tongue flicked over his ear. "Love your boots."

Her violet eyes and versatile tongue were not unattractive.
Noting that McCoy had turned on his stool so that his back
was to him, Spock remembered something his mother used to
say – two can play this game.

He asked the lizard to dance. She glided with him to the
dance floor. He put his arms around her; she put her tail
around him. He discovered, belatedly, that that left her
hands free to wander.

By the time he extricated himself and returned to the bar,
he was quite ruffled.

And McCoy was nowhere to be found.

The bartender gestured at a booth at the back wall. "They
went there. Lots of other chances here for someone like
you."

"I prefer blue eyes," Spock said.

The bartender shrugged. "That's up to you, but his friend
was pretty big."

Spock approached from an oblique angle. It allowed him to
get a view of the booth before the people inside would see
him. McCoy and Lotar appeared to be doing nothing more than
talking, so Spock went up to the table.

"Murray, I am here to collect the dance you promised me."

McCoy and Lotar startled. Their hands came up from under the
table.

Pretending not to notice, Spock added, "When your
acquaintance was in the facilities, you agreed to one
dance."

Lotar gave McCoy a puzzled look. The doctor was staring at
Spock as if he'd never seen him before.

Then McCoy found his balance again. "That was in return for
the Corlinian shirt you're wearing, S'Pell." To Lotar, he
added, "Don't you think it's a nice shade of green?"

Lotar chuckled.

"It is a fair exchange," Spock said. "But the manner in
which I give you the shirt is up to me."

"You can decide how. I'll decide when," McCoy said.

Spock held out a hand. McCoy took it and allowed the Vulcan
to lead him to the dance floor.

The female and rodent band was playing a slow number, but
McCoy grasped Spock's forearms in a way that would keep
several inches between them as they danced.

"Spock, Lotar is half Nausicaan. They don't take well to
being interrupted."

"Nausicaans do not take well to anything," Spock said. "Your
choice of partner is peculiar."

"Hardly. Nausicaans are well known for their endurance."

Spock blinked. He'd never heard the doctor make even the
mildest of off-colour jokes.

"Spock, what do you want? Just tell me."

"I hoped we could continue our last conversation."

"And it couldn't wait until I got back to the ship?"

"No, not since you decided to come here. You are part of a
high family house and this is an unacceptable place for you
to be."

"And you knew I was in this particular bar before you
started after me?" McCoy said. "At least I'm in the corner.
I saw the way that you and Miss Iguana were dancing in the
middle of the everybody."

"Leonard, your friend is not safe company."

"Lotar and I have known each other for years and you may
notice that I'm still in one piece. He even knows that my
name isn't Murray," McCoy said. "Are you still brooding over
what happened in auxiliary control?"

"I do not brood."

"You make everything so big. Sometimes sex is just sex."

"The way you aroused me was not simple stimulation," Spock
said.

"How do you know? I could be that way with everybody."

Spock studied the doctor's face. "*Are* you that way with
everybody?"

The doctor's gaze was steady but hooded. "And that's your
business how?"

Spock nodded slightly, accepting the rebuke.

"Are you upset about how fast you came?" McCoy asked.

Spock blinked. "My people do not use such slang. The Vulcan
word is fhy'lhi. It means realization."

"That is a nicer word," McCoy agreed. "It doesn't change my
point. Besides, what does it matter how quickly you would
have... realized? Let it go."

"I have had other intimacies. The way you touched me was
different."

McCoy sunk into thought which, Spock knew, could be a bad
thing.

"Spock, I don't know how you got from premature ejaculation
to 'your touch was different', but it's an awfully twisted
route."

"I do not suffer from premature ejaculation," Spock said.
"My average duration is thirteen minutes, forty-nine
seconds."

McCoy eyed the Vulcan. "At what point do you start
counting?"

"Your ride is leaving," Spock said suddenly.

"What?" McCoy took a second before he understood. He glanced
at the booth.

Another man had joined Lotar. They were kissing.

"It's been a while since I've seen Lotar. He hasn't changed
much," McCoy said with a humoured smile.

Spock damped down a frown, but it hit full tilt across his
face when McCoy returned to the booth and kissed Lotar
thoroughly before introducing himself to the other man. When
Spock got to the table, it was apparent that the third man
was not a problem. McCoy, Lotar, and he were talking and
joking.

"Vulcans no join," Lotar said when Spock squeezed onto an
empty part of the bench.

Unsure what Lotar meant (either he didn't want Spock there
or he knew that Vulcans usually limited the number of
players on the field to two), Spock shot McCoy an inquiring
glance.

The doctor ignored him and Lotar decided to as well. The
third man, a striking-looking blonde human, held out a hand.
"Hello."

Spock took the hand lightly, his mind shielded. Despite
that, he felt a tug of attraction to the human. He silenced,
wondering at it. He had been attracted to the female
reptilian as well. Was the problem with him? Or was it the
atmosphere? The air around him certainly seemed to be
steeped in sex.

Under lowered brows, he watched McCoy. The doctor's manner
was casual, even easy, despite the perceptible fact that
Lotar was groping him under the table.

This was not the doctor Spock knew. On board the Enterprise,
McCoy was almost as reclusive as the Vulcan. There had been
no obvious women around him.

Noting the doctor's preference, Spock amended the thought to
include no obvious men either. This exhibitionist streak was
odd. But, thinking of Lotar, it was not new. McCoy had
played this game before.

If Spock were honest with himself, he would have admitted to
envy at the doctor's ability to take a lover and move on.
Spock had never mastered the technique. Sexual contact had
always been accompanied by circumstances, responsibilities,
considerations - things requiring awkward closure.

McCoy tugged Lotar's earlobe with his teeth and said, "I'll
be right back." He stood and left the booth. Spock waited a
moment, musing, and then slipped out after him.

The doctor had gone to the facilities. He was standing in
front of a urinal, penis in hand, when Spock came up beside
him, reached down, and closed his fingers around McCoy.

The doctor could hardly stop in mid-stream. He had to take
the touch.

"Spock, what the--?"

"My name is S'Pell, Murray," Spock said as he kissed McCoy's
rounded eartip.

"You must really want to get beaten up by a Nausicaan,
S'Pell," McCoy muttered, but his voice dropped as Spock ran
his tongue behind the doctor's ear.

A man at the next urinal looked over and grinned. Spock
closed his eyes to shut him out.

He felt McCoy's penis start to harden under his hand. It
occurred to him that he'd seen stalls when he came in. He
opened one eye long enough to locate them and figure out
which ones were unoccupied. Then he whispered, "Come with
me."

He expected an argument, but the doctor followed without a
word. They got to a stall. Spock locked it behind them,
pushed McCoy into a sitting position on the edge of the
lavatory, and dropped to his knees.

Spock was still holding McCoy's cock. He lifted it up and
put his lips to the underside, but then he felt the doctor
move him away.

"You shouldn't play around with sex," McCoy said.

"You do," Spock said, leaning forward and putting his mouth
to McCoy's penis again.

"I'm not talking about me. You're going to have to live with
yourself after this."

"It is my prerogative," Spock said.

"You're the only person I know who can use big words while
his mouth is full."

Spock closed his eyes again. He wanted it to be only him,
his desire, and a disconnected penis in his mouth.

He grasped the base of the shaft in one hand while he sucked
the top between his teeth. McCoy, perhaps understanding the
game, quieted.

Spock tasted an inviting, warm tang. He mouthed the tip,
gently probing the opening, and then drew the head back in
his mouth as his tongue touched the sensitive spot just
below the ridge.

The shields in his mind frayed. He could feel McCoy's
arousal, swirling to join his own in his illogical thoughts
and pulsing neurons. His penis grew heavy between his legs
and prickled against his undergarments.

He opened the fastening of his pants. His organ was wet with
pre-seminal fluid. He wanted to push it into something, a
woman, a man, that space between his pillow and mattress.
Anywhere.

Against all instincts, he kept his hands away from it and
stayed on his knees. His organ tingled. He knew it would be
bright green and swollen, a sight that excited him. He
wanted to rub it against the penis in his mouth that was
throbbing hot in its own anger.

He sucked hard, a rough action that caused a gasp from
above. Wetness flooded onto his tongue, a human taste rich
with hints of iron and salt. The head flared, hardening and
demanding, but he was stronger here. The cock in his mouth
would submit when he wanted it to.

Spock abruptly drew off of it and ran his tongue lightly
down to where his fingers held the base in a tight grip. He
felt the testicles struggling to ascend under his palm. He
opened his eyes. They were filled and tight. With his other
hand, he pulled them gently, though the movement was still
enough to cause a cry overhead. He drew them into his mouth,
mindful of their sensitivity. He could feel his own
testicles in tandem, aching to disgorge seed into the shaft.
The pressure was excruciating.

He loosened his hold at the base, but just slightly, enough
to be able to stroke upwards. A huge well of fluid appeared
at the tip. He sucked it in, his mouth watering at the
gorgeous, intimate taste. Then he covered the head of
McCoy's penis with his mouth, holding it as deeply as he
could while he began rubbing up and down the length, his
palm moving violently over the fierce stiffness. Let it
come, he thought as he worked the cock. Let it happen, that
moment of intensity, of shuddering realization. He wanted it
for both of them.

He continued his controlled, harsh actions until, suddenly,
his shields disintegrated. Agony and uncontrolled need
blasted through his mind. It wasn't an anonymous cock in his
mouth anymore, but McCoy, bucking against him, unable to
stop and yet, somehow, in the midst of the whirlwind,
worried about him at the same time. He sent the thought back
- I can take it. Let go.

McCoy gave in and the hard release of orgasm swept from him
to Spock. Spock felt volleys of hot, crisp seed in his
mouth. He swallowed until he couldn't anymore. Then he
jumped to his feet, taking McCoy up with him. He wrapped his
arms around McCoy and crushed him against him while his cock
shot over and over in what he was sure would be an unholy
mess.

When it began to ease, Spock heard his own voice, brutal and
yet euphoric at the same time, his groans coming from the
bottoms of his lungs.

He quieted as it passed, and discovered that they were
against the back wall of the stall, Spock's forearms skinned
on the rough paint. Somehow underneath them, McCoy had
managed to brace them with one foot on the lid of the
lavatory and one hand on the handle, which meant that the
toilet was flushing and flushing.

Spock pulled them back, supporting them so that McCoy could
let go. They both remembered at the same time where they
were and McCoy began to laugh.

In a whisper Spock could barely hear, McCoy said, "If we
were anywhere else, we'd be arrested. How would we explain
that to the captain?"

Spock's lips twitched in amusement. They twitched again when
McCoy murmured, "I don't think you lasted thirteen minutes
and forty-nine seconds." He glanced down at the stickiness
on their shirts between them. "Unless you're going to say
that wasn't your fhy'lhi or whatever."

"I said that was an average. I can go longer," Spock
whispered back.

Surprisingly, there was some tissue in the dispenser. He
began cleaning them off. Then they pulled their pants back
up and McCoy said, "Ok?"

"Yes," Spock said, hoping he sounded so. He opened the stall
door and stepped out.

There were several beings using the washroom. Two of them
smiled at him, but the rest were uninterested. He and the
doctor were able to leave with little remark.

Spock continued on outside to his flyer. He waited fifteen
minutes, but McCoy didn't show. He wasn't sure if he
expected him to.

He returned to where he'd rented the flyer and asked the
attendant there to take a message for Murray.

"We're not an answering service," the attendant growled.

"Murray rented the other T-Seventeen," Spock said. He wrote
the name of a rooming motel on a PADD before adding a large
tip to the rental fee. Upon seeing it, the attendant nodded.

"If I see him, I'll let him know."

Spock booked in at the rooming motel. He had just washed up
and settled into the bed with the entertainment viewer when
he heard a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Room service."

He recognized the voice. The bait - I can go longer - had
been picked up. McCoy entered the room carrying a bottle of
illegal wine.

"Did you bring Lotar?" Spock asked.

"Did you want me to?" McCoy asked.

"He did seem to have the gift of artful conversation."

McCoy laughed, then settled on the bed beside Spock and
opened the bottle. There was a single glass on a beside
table. As he poured, he asked, "Is there another?"

"We will have to share." Spock took a sip of the wine. It
was cool and delicious.

"When I said I'd marry you, I didn't agree to spending
nights together," McCoy said.

"You told me that before," Spock said. He took a longer
drink, gave the glass to the doctor, and, with his chilled
fingertips, touched the side of McCoy's face.

"I don't agree to be faithful," McCoy said, his voice a
little husky now.

"Neither do I," Spock said.

"I mean, you're no Nausicaan. And you still owe me that
Corlinian shirt."

Spock allowed a small chuckle. It felt good. And safe.

"Take off your clothes and you can have the shirt," he said
and turned off the light.

---

When Spock woke, a few small rays of orange sunlight were
coming through the thin curtains. The dome must be open, he
thought. The inhabitants and visitors of Xerebus would have
to return to being law-abiding. The night of anything goes
was over.

McCoy was curled up next to him in bed, his face relaxed in
the unconscious freedom of sleep. Spock wondered what it
would be like when the doctor awoke. Would they be able to
look at each other? Would they be uncomfortable? They had
allowed each other some rather intimate liberties,
including, Spock mused with delight and apprehension, McCoy
allowing Spock to enter him.

There was some wine left. Spock took a drink from the
bottle, moving slowly in hopes that he wouldn't disturb the
doctor, but McCoy was like a cat-on-call. He was awake in an
instant.

He gave Spock a tousled, warm smile before snuggling deeper
into the pillows.

"Leonard," Spock said.

"If you've got regrets, Spock, swallow them down. We're big
boys and we can handle this."

"I was about to say good morning."

McCoy lifted his head long enough to give Spock a quick look
and say, "Good morning to you too. Go back to sleep."

Spock waited a moment before asking, "What are we going to
do today?"

McCoy sighed. "Just five minutes more, Vulcan."

Spock waited.

McCoy, feeling the Vulcan's eyes on him, sat up. "All right.
What *are* we going to do today?"

"I asked you first."

McCoy gave him a thoughtful look, perhaps wondering if
Spock's question had a hook to it. "You're on leave and I'm
on leave."

"Yes."

"We could do whatever we want."

"I concur."

"After we sleep in," McCoy said, emphasizing the last two
words, "we'll get some breakfast and then leave this
oh-so-lovely moon and go wherever we want. You in?"

Spock nodded. "Yes."

"Except Vulcan. We can go anywhere except there. Bad things
happen to me there, especially that last visit. That was a
doozy. I got married to this really serious, dull man."

With his usual straight face, Spock said, "I hear he has one
noteworthy talent."

"Yeah? What's that?" McCoy asked.

"His new average duration is twenty-two minutes and nineteen
seconds."

McCoy laughed so hard that Spock spilled the wine.

---

End -- Ox series