Bones was well and truly fucked and he knew it. There were two sets of voices in his head and both were insisting he was insane. Insane to have ever contemplated this – not that there was a moment in the last umpteen years he hadn’t really ever not contemplated this; contemplating this was his favourite fucked up secret (or so he had thought) perversion. But surely, doubly, triply, irrevocably insane to have finally allowed himself to go – be taken - here.
He rested his head back against the tree trunk and smiled, despite himself. After all these years. Shit, shoulda gone there, come here, done this sooner, one of his voices proffered, with a shit eating grin.
Shut the hell up, you moron, the other voice said. What in the Sam Hill do we do now??
The forest was quiet around them and the embers of the fire that had earlier warmed them were almost spent but their diffuse dark orange glow and the reflected light from the moon that spilled down between the branches combined with his blown-wide pupils to give him something approximating a sense of night vision within their immediate vicinity.
Spock, all 6’1’’ of him, all long lean muscle and unmessable ebony hair, almost untouched by the years that had taken their toll on the rest on humanity, lay close alongside him, the doctor’s arm around his shoulders and his head resting on the doctor’s chest. As stark bollock naked as he was.
Spock languidly traced his fingers along the centre of the Doctor’s body down towards his navel with an untroubled and contented expression on his face that only Jim could see from his position, curled up like a cat on the good Doctor’s other side. Also stark naked, he rested his head on Bones’ thigh and let out a sigh of contentment.
And wondered precisely how many ‘marsh melons’ Jim had stuck up his arse that evening. How many was immaterial. However many there had been he was entirely confident Spock had ably eaten every last one out.
It was the smores that had started it. Everything had been going so well until the smores. What was it with Vulcans and chocolate?? And what did Jim think he was doing? He knew about chocolate. First, he had plied him with Romulan Ale then out came the chocolate. If he didn’t know better he’d start to think Jim had set all this up. No, wait.. He wouldn’t. They were married, for fuck’s sake. I mean, that was one of his major problems with this.
“Something wrong, Bones?”
“Life is not a Dream. Have some chocolate, Spock. How about a little Romulan Ale, Bones? Let’s play ‘Chase the Marsh Melon'? Followed by something not even my wildest fantasies could have conjured up? Are you quite sure this is not ‘a dream’, Jim?”
"And how come he never showed me his tongue was that long in all my medical exams, dammit!"
"Vulcan tongues, Doctor, are made of a tissue very similar to penile tissue. They .. extend .. and harden .. at times of arousal. And I was, and am, entirely aroused by you. The reaction can, of course, be suppressed through mental discipline but there are times when it is best to let physiognomy take its natural course."
“Dear God, I knew there had to be a reason every time I go to Church I end up thinking about you; it’s the gargoyles...”
“Indeed, Doctor, there are stories of a pre-reform clan that visited your planet. It is entirely possible your people chose to immortalise them in that fashion.”
“I knew it! You're a Hobgoblin!”
Spock raised his head from the doctor’s chest and pulled him into a soft and gentle kiss. Bones eyes filled with tears.
“I didn’t realise there’d be kisses after,” he said, quietly.
“What, you thought we’d kiss, fuck, and leave? Plan a beautiful seduction under the stars of our very best friend and up and leave it at that?” said Kirk, teasingly incredulous.
“No, Bones. Not gonna be like that.”