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As Dawn Turned to Dusk
By Tempest
December 26, 2001
As the red-hot sun of Vulcan set, and the sky turned to dusk, a man sat on the terrace, the cooling night breeze blowing around him, staring into the night. The man, Leonard McCoy, was very grateful for the calming effect sunsets on him. He needed to stay calm; others needed him to stay calm. He knew that he did not need to stay outside his room; privacy had become priority, ever since the fal tor pan, and Kirk was staying out of his way, hoping to help him relax.
Kirk had left with Scott to further investigate the stolen Bird of Prey, and wouldn't back until early in the morning. That left him with the room to himself for the night, and gave him a chance to get some sleep; he hadn't slept well since the whole incident had occurred. But the sky had him spellbound, and he sat, and let the memories pour in.
He had always found sunsets pleasant to watch, but the Vulcan sunset was particularly meaningful to him. The colors were spectacular, but the memories associated with them dwarfed every color imaginable. As he sat, he allowed himself to think about the last time that he had witnessed such a sunset; the last time he had been truly happy.
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It had been only a year since he had last been on Vulcan. He had come on business, but not his own. Spock had needed to sort out some property issues, and wherever Spock went, he did as well. He had not wanted to be isolated from the Vulcan for the weeks the closing would take. So he packed up, and left for Vulcan to be at Spock's side.
But when Spock had said that he would be busy, he meant for the entirety of the two weeks. For two whole weeks, Spock had barely been around. It had been hard on him; he missed Spock terribly, and had only gone to Vulcan to be close to him. Aside from that, the weather was nearly unbearable for his human body, and the only time he was comfortable outside was at night. It was late on the evening before they were due to return to Earth. He had been tired, frustrated, and more than a little lonely. He had sat outside as the sun began to set, savoring the cooling air. The colors had captivated him, had gone past his consciousness and had reached into his very soul. He sat, so intent on watching that he hadn't heard the footsteps behind him.
But he had felt the warm hand on his shoulder, and he had heard the soft, deep voice murmur to him, "Leonard, what are you doing out here? It will become too cold for you." Only then had he torn eyes away from the majestic site, to lay them on something infinitely more lovely. Spock was standing behind him, in the black, Vulcan robe that fit him so well, black hair shiny as silk, brown eyes as melting as the richest chocolate. And his heart melted, as if it were made of the same chocolate as Spock's eyes, when he took in the sight of his Vulcan, his gaze so warm, so full of concern for him.
"Spock," he breathed, as he stood up to face him. He wrapped his arms around the hot Vulcan body, savoring the scent of fresh eucalyptus that emanated from the Vulcan. McCoy released Spock's waist, and moved a hand to lovingly caress one of Spock's splendidly pointed ears, feeling the heat radiating from the body in his arms. He gently guided Spock's head closer to him, and touched his lips with his own. The warmth and wetness that greeted him sent a tingle of pleasure throughout his body. Spock's tongue brushed against his lips, almost as if knocking. He smiled against Spock's mouth, and happily parted his lips. Spock's tongue entered his mouth, and twined with his own. He sighed softly, feeling Spock respond. After a minute or two, McCoy pulled back, and favored Spock with a small smile.
"I thought you were too busy for me, Spock," McCoy said, still smiling, but completely serious.
Spock reached out to run a long finger across McCoy's cheek. "No, my qomi. I could never be too busy for you," Spock said, serious as ever. Spock tilted McCoy's head with his hands, and leaned in to nuzzle the human's ear with his hot mouth. Just as he anticipated, his attention kindled a fire in McCoy, starting within his heart and radiating outward. With a loud moan, McCoy moved even closer toward him. Spock slipped his arms under McCoy's shirt, behind his back, and caressed with long strokes, running the tips of his fingers over that one place on McCoy's neck that always drove him wild.
"Mmm, Spock, you know how to get me just where you want me, don't you? You've been doing that for the past fifteen years. At least let me return the favor." And with that, he pulled back slightly, out of Spock's grasp, and reached over to unclasp Spock's robe. The robe had fallen to Spock's shoulders, exposing his chest. McCoy reached out and fondled one of the olive green nipples. It tightened under his attention, and he savored the feel. He moved to lavish attention on Spock's other nipple, rolling it around in his fingers, hearing the Vulcan's gasp, he smiled triumphantly. When that nipple hardened as well, he moved his hand down slightly, and ran it through the dark chest hair. The hair was so soft under his hands, and the way it curled through his fingers was very pleasant.
Spock covered McCoy's hand with his own and moved it off his chest. He reached over and removed McCoy's shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Spock then picked him up, held him securely in his arms, and placed him gently on the floor, with the shirts supporting his head for comfort. Then Spock bent down over him, and starting with his neck, planted a trail of kisses down his body, down to his bellybutton. When Spock reached his bellybutton, he teased it with his tongue, letting the heat and wetness seep into him from the contact. He tried to sit up, but Spock would not allow him. So he lay on his back, with Spock touching him all over, causing him to burn with need, desire, and love. He, in response to the Vulcan's stimulations, reached down to run his fingers through Spock's perfect, black hair. It was silky to the touch, and he rejoiced in the fact that, once again, he caused Spock to sigh with pleasure.
Spock moved his hand to run up McCoy's arm. His hand sought McCoy's, and when he found it, he raised two fingers to stroke two of McCoy's. The heat and warmth had begun to build inside of them, and Spock leaned over to pull him into another wet, hungry kiss. His eyes closed at the sensation of the warm mouth pressing against his, the wet tongue brushing his lips, entering him. Spock then moved off McCoy, rolled over and stared into a pair of twinkling, cool, blue eyes.
"Why did you stop, Spock?" McCoy breathlessly sighed, curious as to what had stopped the burst of pleasure. Surely, Spock knew was happening to them both.
"I thought that you might want to feel something much more pleasurable, my qomi," Spock had replied, and with that, he had raised his other hand, the one not in contact with McCoy, to his temple.
Spock softly whispered, "Your mind and mine, Leonard, together as they should be." Their minds had met with ease, due to the familiarity. He could feel all of Spock's emotions and sensations: his love, his growing pleasure, the peace he felt when holding his mate, and McCoy knew that Spock could feel the same in regard to his own emotions.
He groaned, "Oh God, yes Spock! You know what I want."
"Indeed I do, Leonard." Spock rolled on top of his mate. He caressed McCoy's chest, and rubbed his nose with his own. They then began to make love, slowly, sweetly, and tenderly. It was as pleasurable as when they had first joined. Fiery pleasure engulfed him. With a cry of pure ecstasy, he called out the name of his beloved as their souls met in an overpowering wave of love and passion, only experienced when they, two halves of One, were united.
Time slipped away. And when he finally returned to his body, the warmth sill flowing throughout his soul, he laid passively in Spock's arms, relying on them to keep him grounded to reality. Spock gently nuzzled the back of his neck affectionately, while they shared the aftermath of the intimacy of love. He finally managed to move enough to turn in Spock's arms. He stared into the dark brown eyes, looking into Spock's soul. He saw only love, caring, and sated desire.
"Spock, that was wonderful. But is it just me, or have we not done anything like that in a long while?"
"Yes Leonard it was, and it is true that we have not made love like that in 4.2-" McCoy cut him off with a tender kiss on the lips.
"I love you Spock; I have for a very long time."
"And I you, my Leonard."
"Spock," McCoy's voice turned very serious, and very quiet. "Will it always be like this?"
"Leonard," Spock said, his voice deep and resonant. "We have had fifteen years together, and our bond has only strengthened over time. We will stay together as long as we both live, my qomi. My thoughts and affections will always be of thee. My memory is full of thoughts of us, and nothing can ever take that away. I will always love you, my Leonard. Forever." Spock reached out for McCoy's hand while he had spoken his love, and squeezed it encouragingly. McCoy then rested his head against Spock's shoulder, their bodies curled around each other for warmth. He smiled up at Spock in peace and understanding, before drifting off to sleep, Spock watching over him. And there, in the dark colors of the end of a Vulcan sunset, the two mates connected as intimately as they ever had.
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McCoy came back to the present, as the memory faded into completion. He felt the tears well up at the thought of what Spock had said. "Well," he whispered bitterly, "Apparently forever isn't as long as it was supposed to be." But the memory of the soft, wet lips on his, the hot hands traveling over his skin suddenly became too much for him to bear, and the tears spilled over.
He missed Spock terribly. He had woken up many times since Spock's death, and ultimate rebirth, in cold sweats, suffering from nightmares. And he had reached for his mate, for comfort, only to find that Spock was no longer with him, no longer his. And that, in itself, was unbearable.
He wiped the hot tears from his eyes, and looked up as the sun gave way to the dark night sky. The air had turned cold, and he needed to get inside soon. But as he rose from his chair, he looked into the distance. He could make out the shape of a lone man, standing out as a shadow in the night, seemingly staring back at him. And he knew on an instinctual level that it was Spock. A smile crossed his lips; maybe Spock would be his again. He just needed to make him remember.
Finit