Archive of Our Own

They’re alone in the labs when Spock makes his suggestion. McCoy is all too used to Spock asking things when ready to ask, not when the moment is the most opportune, and so he doesn’t think much of it when Spock announces he has a request to make of McCoy.

The nature of the request is unusual, though.

“Come again?” McCoy asks, staring wide-eyed at his partner.

They’ve been together for a while now, well into their second five-year-mission, but Spock has never asked for something quite like this.

“I would like for you to impregnate me, Doctor.”

“Yes, I uh, I heard you the first time, Spock.”

Of course, Spock raises an eyebrow at him, wondering at Humans and their habit to question their own ears.

“Is this a sex thing?” he asks, feeling his heart pick up speed.

He hadn’t thought about it, but now,  just the idea… He imagines Spock opening up for him, soft and wet, taking his release and insisting it would make him pregnant…

He licks his lips. Oh, he hopes it’s a sex thing.

“Sexual intercourse is certainly required,” Spock replies calmly.

“What about Jim?”

“He may observe should he so wish.”

Licking his lips again, mouth suddenly dry, McCoy considers him. There has to be a reason Spock is asking him, and not the both of them. Though he’s not convinced Jim will want to join in on this one.

“Alright, do you have any special requests for this? What are you expecting of me, exactly?”

He bounces on his heels, meets Spock’s fingers when he holds them out for a Vulcan kiss. There’s a slight zap to their connection, always causing him to feel a little giddy. It hadn’t been easy, convincing himself to give this a chance. Now, here, Spock’s eyes gentle as they gaze at him, he wonders why he ever hesitated.

“I will be monitoring my body to ensure the most ideal moment. I am merely expecting you to indulge me at the time I request.”

“Can do.”

“Thank you, Doctor. It may also benefit the objective if you were to announce your intention to impregnate me during the act.”

Slowly, a grin spreads over McCoy’s face.

“Oh, darlin’” he drawls, reaching over to trail a finger down Spock’s cheek, “I think I’d enjoy that. And you’ll be ready for it, won’t you? You’ll look so good with a baby in you, Spock.”

A small shiver makes its way through Spock’s body, his jaw clenching underneath McCoy’s touch. It’s rare to see him so worked up outside the bedroom. Sometimes McCoy wonders if he ever truly relaxes.

“Yes,” Spock replies, voice steady. “I shall endeavor to be ready. However, it may take us several tries to achieve it.”

“God, Spock.” Eyelids lowering to half-mast, McCoy walks into Spock’s personal space, slots himself between Spock and the work bench beside him. “I think maybe we should get a head start and get some practice in, don’t you?”

“I do not believe practice is needed. However, if you are suggesting we engage in sexual relations, our quarters would be preferable to the lab.”

McCoy pulls him in, taking his time, hand on his neck to guide him. When their lips are a hair’s breadth apart, he holds Spock still.

“I’m suggesting you take my cock right here, darlin’, so I can practice showing you just how much I need to put a baby in you.”

Spock releases a shaky breath, hands gripping at McCoy’s forearms. He looks unsteady. Like he needs it.

“You want that? You want me to get you pregnant, fill you up until you can feel it growin’ inside you?”

When Spock honest to god moans, McCoy feels a heavy dose of arousal coursing through him. He captures Spock’s lips, tastes them thoroughly, licking into his mouth while he puts his free hand to Spock’s stomach. Palm flat over it, he presses harder into the muscle, just a little, just enough for Spock to realize what he means.

“Please,” Spock gasps, stomach pressing back into his touch. “Yes, please.”

Grin spreading over his face, McCoy proceeds to do just that.

☆☆☆

He sits down next to Jim in the mess hall the next morning, rubbing tiredly at his face. Spock had kept him up half the night, clearly insatiable now that he’d been brave enough to tell McCoy how he really wants to get fucked.

“Did you know Spock’s got a pregnancy kink?” he asks Jim, not expecting the spray of coffee erupting from his mouth. “Jesus, Jim, you okay?”

“Spock’s got a what now?” Jim asks, wiping at his mouth and coughing.

McCoy shrugs, leaning back in the chair. Spock had left early in the morning, off to meditate in his own quarters or maybe get some extra lab work in.

“He asked me last night. If I would, you know. Get him pregnant.”

Eyes wide, Jim stares at him for a long moment.

“And what did you say?”

“Well, I agreed to it, of course!”

Jim looks unconvinced.

“Well, he didn’t ask me,” he says, throwing the dirty napkin onto his tray. “Not quite my thing, though.”

Taking a sip of coffee, McCoy considers him.

“You’re welcome to watch, if you like. Spock said as much.”

Smile warm on his face, Jim shakes his head.

“You two have fun,” he tells him. “We’ve had a rough few weeks, I’m glad he’s finding the time to relax and indulge.”

McCoy hums.

“Hard to believe we’re reaching the end of our second five-year mission. Still not sure how you managed to convince me.”

Jim’s smile widens, and he grabs one of McCoy’s hands, kissing the back of it.

“Couldn’t do it without you, Bones. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Unless Spock demands my presence in bed again, sure.”

Throwing his head back to laugh, Jim squeezes his hand before letting it go.

“He’s really working you, Bones. Some of us have to visit the gym.”

“Pssht. It’s not like that. And you are welcome to join us.”

Jim shakes his head again, and they spend the rest of breakfast chatting about other things. It was one of the things that had surprised him at the beginning of their relationship, that Spock was the one with the higher libido. McCoy didn’t mind, and he and Jim did have their own private times as well, but now and then when Spock got into a more intense period of sexual needs Jim seemed content to hand him over to McCoy.

Sometimes they managed to coordinate something with all three of them, and McCoy thought longingly of their next scheduled shore leave. He would have liked Jim to watch, he realizes, as they part ways in the corridor outside the mess.

Well. Perhaps next time.

After shift, he meets Spock in his quarters, finds him already seated shirtless on the couch.

“Eager, are we?” he asks, raising a brow at the way Spock sits with folded hands as if waiting for a report rather than sex.

“I found that last night’s activities were beneficial to improving my chances of a successful pregnancy. Your encouraging words had a certain… effect on my Vulcan biology.”

“Did they now?” Closing the distance, McCoy pulls off his uniform, leaving the undershirt on for now. “Any particular phrase you’d like to hear again?”

He sits on Spock’s lap, cups his face with thumbs brushing over cheekbones. Spock is as gorgeous as always, dark brown eyes fully focused on McCoy. He’s hard, too, must have been ready for some time, if he’s already out of his sheath.

“According to my calculations it is the combination, rather than any particular phrase.”

“Of course it is,” McCoy murmurs, kissing the side of his jaw, open-mouthed and wet.

His fingers trail over pointed ears, his hips slotting into place to grind down on Spock. He smiles when he feels Spock’s hands digging into his sides, pulling him closer.

“There’s no rush, Spock,” he soothes in his ear, breathing a warm puff of air into it that has him shuddering underneath him. “We’ll take our time. Want you relaxed for me, think you can do that, darlin’?”

“Yes,” Spock sighs, tilting his head as McCoy sucks on his neck, feels his pulse increase under his tongue.

He runs his hands down Spock’s chest, feeling the curls of hair and teasing his nipples.

“Mm, you’d get sensitive here, wouldn’t you?” he whispers, circling and rubbing at his nipples until they harden. “God, I can’t stop thinking about it, what you’d look like with a baby in your arms… Givin’ me some real baby fever here, Spock.”

“While a fever sounds unnecessary, I am pleased that you–“

He pauses, abrupt, as McCoy bites his earlobe, words turning into a soft moan instead.

“What was that, Spock?”

“I am pleased that you wish to raise a child with me.”

McCoy’s heart almost stops. It’s one thing to make it into dirty talk, to tell Spock how good he’d be, how much McCoy wants to see him pregnant, but this? It’s too real, is the thing, and he swallows down the lump in his throat.

The answer is on the tip of his tongue, too raw and emotional. Instead he buries his face in Spock’s neck, shifts his hips to grind against him, focusing on the pleasure instead. He wants it, wants it too much, has always wanted a whole bunch of children running around his feet.

And to have it with Spock? Jim, too, of course. He wouldn’t know what to do with the kids, but he’d still be there, perhaps reading them bedtime stories and showing them how to make hot cocoa.

The lump in his throat won’t leave, and so McCoy gives it up, lifts his head to kiss Spock instead, comb his fingers through soft strands of hair and not caring in the least that he may well come in his pants.

If this keeps up he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to take it.

☆☆☆

Things continue for a couple of evenings, Spock waiting in his quarters after shift. They’re on a star-charting mission, for once, a calm lull that apparently fits perfectly for exploration of all the variations one can come up with to convey the intent to impregnate. Spock had asked him to study. Perhaps he believed there was a magic word that would actually get him pregnant somehow, but McCoy found himself occupied with the request all the same.

Spock rarely asked for indulgences, after all, but McCoy was no poet. It occupies him as he treats the usual slew of burns from engineering ensigns, and he almost doesn’t notice lieutenant Danvers as she waits for him to finish applying the dermal regenerator over ensign Alvaros’ fingers.

“And what can I do for you, Lieutenant?” he asks putting the regen away as it seems she, at least, has no need for it.

“Just a headache. I’ve had some trouble sleeping lately.”

He checks her over, finding her stress levels a little on the high side.

“Don’t tell me Spock is working you too hard?” She shakes her head, but McCoy still huffs. “I swear he sometimes forgets us humans can’t work for days on end without sleep.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, he often admonishes us for being too much like you and the captain.”

McCoy raises an eyebrow at that, checking her neck and shoulders for sore spots. It’s likely that the cause of her headache is the stiffness of her muscles.

“Well, he’s one to talk.”

She smiles at him, too kind to have any complaints about her boss. Though, of course, she is all too aware of McCoy’s close relationship with him.

“I think a few sessions in the massage chair will do you good,” he concludes, “and less bending over experiments without stretching.”

“Fair enough,” she sighs.

“Oh, and Danvers?” he adds as she makes to leave, turning back to him with wide eyes. “Next time you come see me as soon as the headaches start, and not a moment later.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She hesitates for a moment, then smiles. “And good luck. We’re all keeping our fingers crossed.”

He blinks, but before he can ask she disappears, leaving him confused. Good luck with what? He might have to ask Spock. She’s one of his science minions, after all.

It's in the middle of updating himself on the latest pediatrics news – for no specific reason at all – that Spock comms him.

“Doctor, if you will meet me in my quarters immediately,” he says in lieu of greeting.

“What, now? In the middle of shift?”

“You promised you would honor my request for the most opportune moment.”

McCoy considers it. There’s nothing pressing needing his attention, and Spock has never asked to have sex in the middle of shift before. Well, not like this, at least.

“Give me five minutes,” he agrees, feeling anticipation stir within him.

He tells Chapel he’s taking the rest of the day off and checks through his current work to make sure he isn’t leaving anything time sensitive behind. He also changes into a clean uniform.

He finds Spock standing in the middle of his quarters, waiting for him to arrive. His eyebrow rises the moment McCoy steps through, no doubt ready to complain how it took him longer than the promised five minutes.

“You sure it has to be right now?” McCoy asks, cutting off the complaint before it leaves Spock’s lips.

“I am certain, Leonard.”

Licking his lips, McCoy takes a moment to observe Spock. He’s only wearing his black undershirt and a pair of briefs, hands behind his back.

“Couldn’t wait for me to undress you?”

It’s a good look on him, he thinks. Already a damp patch is forming at the front of Spock’s briefs, McCoy bouncing on the soles of his feet as a smile stretches across his face. Through the shallow bond they share he can feel Spock’s impatience, the way it slowly seeps into arousal. His own cock starts to fill in response.

“I need you to ejaculate inside me at a minimum three times in the coming two hours,” is what Spock says, eyes dragging down McCoy’s body. “Please undress.”

With that, Spock turns and walks behind the partition hiding his bed. McCoy swallows, throat thick with need as he stands for just a moment longer, drawing out the moment. It isn’t that rare for Spock to demand specific sexual acts or tell McCoy to hurry up, but something about this sounds calculated. As if three times in two hours is just the recipe they need to get him pregnant…

He shivers lightly, then pulls his shirts off before kicking off his shoes. Uniform pants and boxers follow after, and he trails after Spock in his birthday suit. It’s warm enough in Spock’s quarters that it’s the preferable state of dress, anyway.

Spock, too, has rid himself of clothing and lies on the bed, legs spread and hands gripping at the pillow. He’s a veritable feast, sheath glistening wet already, cheeks flushed just enough to be noticeable as McCoy takes him in. He’s in for a treat, that’s for sure.

“How do you want it, darlin’?”

He moves closer, stops just by the edge of the bed. The Enterprise isn’t precisely fitted like a luxury hotel, and Spock fills most of the bed the way he sprawls out in clear invitation.

“Leonard,” Spock says, already breathless, less controlled than he’d usually be.

Often, McCoy has to coax him into relaxing, work him slowly open and shower him in praise until he melts into the bed. Now, Spock’s sheath is already parting, brown eyes demanding as they gaze up at him.

Reaching out, McCoy traces fingertips along the length of Spock’s thigh, feels him shudder underneath his touch.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, scratching nails gently over Spock’s kneecap until he twitches. “You want to get pregnant that bad, huh? You want my cock filling you, over and over, until my come is spilling out of you, is that it?”

“Yes,” Spock groans, bucking his hips up.

He’s a wet dream come true, needy in a way that drives McCoy crazy. He grips his own cock, gives it a few slow strokes to harden fully. Spock’s lok, in turn, starts peeking out of his sheath. With it comes the fra’als, thin and writhing, glistening wet.

“Say it, Spock.” He can tell it annoys Spock that he’s still standing, an urge through the bond for McCoy to stop teasing. “You know it’ll make it better, darlin’.”

“Leonard,” Spock sighs, letting his eyes flutter closed as McCoy kneels on the bed between his legs. “Please. You must… I need…”

“What’s that, Spock?”

McCoy drags his hands up and down the inside of Spock’s thighs, spreading them wider and kneading the tense muscles. There’s always tension in Spock’s body, no matter how much he works on him. Still, Spock draws in a deep breath, arching his back with it, and allows McCoy to push his legs apart as far as the bed allows.

“You want me?” he urges, turning to Spock’s hips, digging the heels of his palms into Spock’s hipbones and leaning his weight down until the breath leaves Spock’s lungs in a rush. “You want me to take you?”

A hand shoots out to take hold of McCoy’s arm, just shy of painful. When it moves him, it pushes his hand towards Spock’s sheath in a silent reply.

“You’ll have to use your words,” McCoy tells him, although he allows the fra’als to caress his fingers, slicking them up.

“Touch me,” Spock orders, voice deep and dark and McCoy has to bite his lip against a moan.

Rather than touch, he leans down and uses his mouth, licking at Spock’s lok and sucking at his fra’als until he’s a trembling, moaning mess. It had taken him a while to figure out the best way to get Spock relaxed enough that his sheath could take his cock – apparently Vulcan loks are both smaller and softer than human cocks, and McCoy is well endowed enough that even Jim got impressed the first time.

He traces the rim of Spock’s sheath with his fingers as his mouth works him over, teasing and stimulating in equal amounts, Spock’s hand burying itself in McCoy’s hair to push him closer. His taste is familiar by now, filling his senses as he swallows down excess slick and smears it through Spock’s pubic hair and over the sensitive skin between hip and thigh. He could spend all night like this, but he knows what Spock wants, feels a thrill run through him at the thought of Spock taking him deep.

Moving lower, he licks between Spock’s folds at the base of his lok, then lower still, dipping into his hole. They’d been having sex for some time before Spock informed him of its existence, another one of those Vulcan biological secrets that he’d very much like to write a paper on but knows would send the entire planet of Vulcan into an uproar.

For mating, Spock had said, leaving it vague as he was wont to do. McCoy wonders now what exactly that means. Surely it doesn’t mean Spock could actually…? He lifts his face up for a moment to catch his breath, wiping at his mouth with the back of an arm.

Spock keeps his head thrown back, more reactive and vocal than usual. He dismisses the idea that Spock is heading into pon farr. He knows the symptoms now, and they don’t involve excessive moaning.

“Please,” Spock mumbles, tightening the grip on McCoy’s hair for a moment.

“You still haven’t told me what you want, darlin’,” McCoy reminds him, lazily swirling a finger through the cluster of fra’als reaching out of his sheath.

They twitch and shudder at the contact, curling around his finger and squeezing softly. If they have a purpose outside of pleasure he has yet to understand it. Spock lifts his hips up again, lok nudging McCoy’s chin. He grins.

“Something tells me you’re desperate to get fucked, aren’t you?” He caresses down the length of Spock’s sheath, finds that little fold that soon gives way to his touch, revealing the soft opening where McCoy’s dick will soon push inside. It’s warm, swollen from arousal, Spock biting back a shout as McCoy rubs a thumb over the fold before pushing a finger inside. “Want you ready for me, Spock. Want you wet and loose, think you can do that for me?”

“Yes, please, yes,” Spock sobs, almost shaking as he takes McCoy’s finger inside himself.

Vulcans may have perfect muscle control but he’s always been a little tight at first – except now, as McCoy dips his finger in and out, he feels perfectly relaxed.

“Damn, Spock, look at you. You’ll be ready for my cock in no time.”

Another moan, long and outdrawn as Spock jerks against him to take him deeper. McCoy adds another finger, feels that wet heat swallow him down as easy as breathing. He’s almost painfully hard by now, but he’s used to taking his time with Spock. Even when Spock is in a rush he takes a lot longer to get ready compared to Jim, who McCoy suspects is simply a natural at taking cock.

He spares a stray thought to Jim, half wishing he was there to see, to tease McCoy to the brink of orgasm as he fights to hold it in until he can finish inside Spock. It’s really been too long since they had time for a thorough threesome…

“Leonard, I am ready. You must enter me.”

Spock looks half lost in pleasure already, desire shining out of his eyes as he makes his demand. His hand has fallen to McCoy’s shoulder, fingers digging into flesh. The other hand is just shy of tearing the pillow apart, which has happened before. McCoy shifts on his knees, leans over Spock to kiss him, open-mouthed and filthy.

“You ready to get pregnant?” he asks, keeping his voice low and husky as Spock’s breathing picks up, mouth falling open. “You ready to take my cock and let it fill you, you gonna be good and take all my come, too?”

“Yes.” The word falls like a hoarse whisper from Spock’s parted lips, and McCoy can feel his heart pound in his side under McCoy’s hand. “Yes, Leonard, I’m ready, I can tell…”

“Can tell?”

Spock blinks, slowly, wets his already wet lips and lifts a hand to trail a finger kiss down the side of McCoy’s face.

“We will succeed,” Spock mumbles, tracing McCoy’s lips, too, for good measure. “The timing is correct… My body will be at maximum capacity to receive your seed.”

McCoy can’t help a small grimace at that, but somehow Spock still makes it sound sexy. At least, sexy enough that he stays hard, and this is all for Spock, anyway.

“Maximum capacity, huh?” he muses, tilting his head to catch the side of Spock’s fingers with his mouth in a quick kiss. “And you said you needed… three loads of seed?”

By the way Spock’s eyes glaze over it’s clear he isn’t finding the phrasing awkward in the least. Instead he gasps a breath, eyes rolling back in his head as he tilts his head back, leaving himself open and vulnerable for McCoy to claim.

“God, Spock.” He leans in to kiss at Spock’s neck, using teeth to mark him just the way Spock always goes wild for. “You’re so hot for this, it’s… Can hardly believe it…”

Arousal courses through his body in waves, sweat gathering at his hairline from the heat of Spock’s quarters and his body, making him shudder with want. He wants it to be true, he thinks. The timing is correct… Driven by the sudden urge to fulfill his promise to Spock, to truly get him pregnant, McCoy scrambles to fit himself between Spock’s legs at an angle that allows him to press the head of his cock between the lips of his sheath.

The fra’als stir in excitement, soaking his cock with the slick, natural lubricant that Vulcans are gifted with. Groaning at the sight, McCoy lifts a shaking hand to part the sides Spock’s sheath further, nudging that last fold aside until his cock can slot into place.

Spock releases a shuddering sigh, limbs melting into the mattress as he opens up for McCoy. It’s easy to enter him, easier than it’s ever been before. Wet heat envelops him, pulls him inside until his head spins from the sensation. In the back of his skull, Spock’s unfiltered pleasure explodes into a cacophony of colors that dance in front of his vision.

“Damn,” he swears, pulling one of Spock’s legs up against his chest. “You weren’t kidding, sayin’ you were ready for me.”

He pushes inside as deep as he’s used to, and is surprised that he can keep going. Deeper, until he bottoms out, balls resting against Spock’s heated skin as they lock together.

And they do lock together, is the thing. The fra’als have extended, longer than he’s ever seen them, sticking to his skin like little suction cups, an almost-itch that makes his skin tingle.

“Spock?” he asks, slightly alarmed.

“Oh,” Spock moans, the sound reverberating through his whole chest. “Oh, Leonard, fill me… need it…”

Swallowing down his nerves, McCoy makes an experimental thrust. He can move just enough to let Spock feel it, to make his cock drag against Spock’s insides until the fra’als stretch enough for a steady stream of moans to fall from between Spock’s parted lips. His cheeks and chest are flushed with color, his lok swollen and sensitive as McCoy takes it in hand.

Spock comes right away, a shout preceding his release as he spills all over McCoy’s hand, lok pulsating in his grip. It stays hard, of course. McCoy flicks his thumb over the ridges below the head, forcing himself to stay still until he can move without risk of immediately joining Spock. It had been a near thing, the way their bond transfers more pleasure than normally, but he’ll be damned if he comes after just one thrust.

“How detailed were your calculations, anyway?” he asks, out of breath. “Down to the minute?”

There’s an incomprehensible mumbled reply, possibly in Vulcan. He draws in a deep breath, then focuses on a second thrust. Out, in a slow, gradual move, just shy of stretching the fra’als to the point where pleasure turns to pain.

“Leonard,” Spock cries out, shoulders digging into the mattress as he arches his back again, careful not to jostle his hips too much.

It’s a hell of a compliment, he thinks, to have Spock at his mercy. It’s rare for him to let go like this, rare for him to be rendered speechless, not a single logical retort in sight.

“Gorgeous,” McCoy breathes, and snaps his hips forwards as hard as he can.

A second wave of orgasm hits Spock, and this time it pulls McCoy along. He fills Spock with a deep groan, knees and thighs trembling with the effort to stay upright. The pleasure through the bond is different, too. Like a deep, heavy purr, curling around his mind. He has to blink several times before his vision comes back to him, has to kickstart his lungs with a shaky gasp.

Good lord, he thinks, grateful that sex isn’t this good every time. He’d never survive it. He’d never stop fucking Spock if it overwhelmed all his senses to the point of crumbling into unconsciousness.

“Twice more, Leonard.”

It takes him a moment to realize that was Spock, and what he meant. Looking down, the fra’als are still happily sticking to his skin. They are going to have a conversation after this.

“I don’t know if I can,” he moans in protest, only realizing as he shifts to find a more comfortable position that he’s still hard.

He pauses, wetting his lips nervously. He’s hard, and not just hard – he’s practically aching to keep fucking Spock, to fill him again and again, and that has got to be Spock projecting on him through the bond.

“Just, uh, just so I know what to expect,” he starts, wondering if he should call Jim over for at least some moral support so he doesn’t descend into insanity. “How long am I s’posed to stay hard in this scenario?”

Spock watches him through half-lidded, bleary eyes, satisfaction written all over his face.

“Twice more, Leonard,” he repeats. “We cannot take any chances.”

“Right.” He squeezes Spock’s thigh, hitches it a little higher up. “Two more. I can do that.”

If I survive this, he thinks, I’ll let Jim have Spock to himself for at least two weeks.

His knees are already protesting, his heart beating a mile a minute. Of course Spock would let him do all the hard work, keeping him stuck inside until he’s come more times than a man of his age reasonably should.

He’s not complaining, though. He feels so good he barely knows what to do with himself, glancing down at where they’re joined together, buried deep inside Spock to keep his come inside, too.

“If this doesn’t get you pregnant, I don’t know what will,” he mutters, rotating his hips until the room fills with the sounds of pleasure again.

He bends over Spock, kisses at his chest and circles a nipple with his tongue, desire burning hot in his belly as he only lasts four more thrusts until they both come in sync courtesy of the bond and Spock’s impeccable timing.

He pants against Spock’s chest, mouth open and drooling just a bit, beyond caring. His whole body trembles, mind once again swimming with the echo of Spock’s pleasure like electric pulses shooting through him. He needs a moment – a long one – to recover. Hadn’t Spock said within two hours? It can’t have been more than twenty minutes.

It takes several minutes before he manages to find his voice again.

“You’re gonna kill me if you keep this up,” he groans into Spock’s chest, feels Spock’s hands caress his back and neck, the curve of an ear.

“You are performing admirably,” Spock says, sounding more like himself, save for the gravelly note to his voice. “The ritual is soon complete.”

“The what-now?”

Spock hums, thumb stroking along McCoy’s jawline.

“It may be that a third time is in excess… However, as my fra’als have yet to detach, it is imperative that you ejaculate inside me a third time, Leonard.”

He can only muster up a wordless noise, half-complaint, half-anticipation. That second orgasm really took its toll on him.

“In fact,” Spock continues, as if he hadn’t been a babbling mess minutes prior, “it is likely that the first time was successful, considering my wits returned to me soon after.”

Spock’s really serious about this, he thinks, half hysterically. He’s still hard. Pushing himself up, he meets Spock’s expectant gaze. His expression is soft, the way he gets sometimes when he indulges them, forgets to hold himself to such rigorous Vulcan standards. McCoy is struck by the fact that Spock is his, that he is privileged enough to see him like this, open and warm. He longs, then, for Spock’s words to be true.

That the first round did succeed. That before their mission ends, the crew will be subjected to the cries of an infant, the pitter-patter of tiny feet… He loses himself in the fantasy for a second, until Spock leans up to capture his mouth in a heated kiss.

He loses himself in the kiss instead, lets Spock coax his mouth open, sucks on his tongue while Spock hums with contentment. It doesn’t matter if Spock’s pregnancy kink is just that, a wishful fantasy for them to indulge in on occasion. Spock is all he needs, together with Jim. What they have is more than he’d ever hoped for. More than he deserves.

“Spock,” he mumbles into the kiss.

He wants to say the words out loud, wants to make sure Spock knows how he feels. Still, Spock reads it in his mind, eyes crinkling at the corners as the sentiment is returned. Warmth, belonging, home. A place within each other’s hearts and minds that fills him to the brim with wonder.

“Now,” Spock breathes into the kiss. “This is the moment.”

McCoy nods, moves his hips, quick and short thrusts that work towards the finish line. Forehead to forehead he ignores the ache in his body, feels Spock with his mind instead, tangled together until it’s hard to tell where one begins and the other ends.

Parted from me, yet never parted, one of them thinks, and then they crash into each other in shared release.

It’s possible that he blacks out, because the next thing he knows he’s lying down in bed, half on top of Spock but no longer inside him. Wide-eyed, he keeps a hand to Spock’s side, checking his pulse. It takes them a long while to return to normal levels, the bed becoming wet and sticky the longer they lie in it.

“Well,” McCoy sighs eventually, “that was… God, Spock, that was almost too good.”

“It was quite satisfactory.”

Coming from Spock it’s practically gushing. McCoy props himself up by the elbow, giving Spock his least impressed raised eyebrow.

“I’ll show you satisfactory,” he grumbles, though the smile that breaks out on his face betrays his teasing for what it is. “Let’s clean up?”

Spock nods, and aids his unsteady legs towards the shower.

It is quite some time before they return to bed.

☆☆☆

It’s something like three weeks after what McCoy silently dubbed the best damn sex of his life, sorry Jim, and he’s busying himself on Jim’s lap. Hands roam under shirts, Jim’s mouth kiss-swollen and spit-slick as McCoy grinds down on him. They really don’t get to do this often enough, he thinks, lifting Jim’s shirt up over his head and licking his lips at the sight of all that naked skin.

“Wanna ride you,” he growls, Jim’s eyes lighting up before fluttering shut as McCoy tips his head back and gets to work on his neck.

“Bones, god, just like that,” he moans, clinging to the back of McCoy’s shirt as he attempts to grind up into him, searching for more friction.

It’s quick work to open up Jim’s pants, McCoy lifting up on his knees to let Jim shimmy out of them, just enough to free his cock. Even the captain gets a much too tiny bed, but Jim sits propped up against an almost alarming amount of pillows, and McCoy has just about had it with Jim’s latest alien distraction. That cock is for him, and for Spock, mission be damned.

“Bones, slow down, I’m not going anywhere,” Jim laughs, pressing a kiss to his lips before making himself comfortable against the pillows. “Not that I mind terribly…”

Just as McCoy starts struggling with getting his own uniform off, the door opens with a quiet hiss. Spock’s arrival isn’t surprising, but not entirely expected, either.

“Over here!” Jim calls, grin turning sultry as he motions for McCoy to keep taking his clothes off.

Spock appears from behind the partition wall, but he looks – different. Flushed. Eyes filled with excitement, body barely allowing itself to still as he stands before the bed.

“Leonard,” he says, seemingly uninterested in joining them. “Doctor M’Benga was able to perform the tests properly just now. The results are positive.”

McCoy stares at him. So does Jim. Tests? What tests.

“Did I miss something?” he asks, confused.

His dick is confused, too, unsure of whether it should expect Spock to join in on the action or not. Spock’s expression turns into something narrow-eyed and dangerous.

“The pregnancy test, Leonard,” he says, folding his hands behind his back and giving McCoy a thoroughly unimpressed look. “I had thought you knew that results are not reliably accurate for Vulcans until the third week from conception.”

“Conception…” McCoy mumbles, stunned. “You mean–“

He whips his head around to stare at Jim, whose slack-jawed face is no help. He turns back to Spock. Looks down at his own hands, which are shaking slightly.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh god.”

He’s glad he’s already on a soft surface, because he falls into a seated position as the air leaves his lungs. He drags a hand over his mouth, feeling utterly ridiculous with his pants halfway off and his shirt askew.

“Yes, Leonard,” Spock says, impatiently. “I am pregnant.”

McCoy breathes, blinks, breathes again. Then he jumps off the bed, struggling to right his clothes again.

“Come on, then,” he says, taking long strides towards the door.

“Whoa, Bones! Where are you going?”

“Sickbay!” he yells over his shoulder, Spock on his heels as he all but runs towards a turbolift.

Once they arrive in sickbay, both M’Benga and Chapel greet them with huge grins on their faces that tell McCoy all he needs to know. He still stalks into the labs, Chapel hurrying to pull out the data cards he’s searching for.

“Now, Doctor,” she says, sticking a card into the terminal, “you mustn’t blame us for not calling you down right away.”

He ignores her, reads the data thoroughly as Spock stands beside him, calmly reading with him. The results are as positive as Spock claimed. He sits, lucky there is an actual chair to fall into rather than the floor.

“Oh my god,” he says, just as Jim arrives, cheeks red from running.

“Bones?”

He gives Jim a wild look, then turns to Spock, who now sports a frankly upsettingly smug expression.

“Doctor, you are going to become a father,” Spock says.

“Again,” Jim adds.

“Oh my god,” McCoy repeats.

What the hell is Joanna going to think? Is he too old to become a father again? But Spock looks quietly pleased, and McCoy's chest blooms with a sudden and deep ache, a love so large it’s painful.

“Spock,” he says, helplessly.

Vaguely, he notices Jim usher Chapel out of the labs, closing the door behind them. With just the three of them, McCoy allows his lower lip to wobble.

“Leonard, I had thought the news would be pleasing to you.”

He nods, having some kind of out-of-body experience. It’s as if he’s floating just to the side of his body, aware of what it’s doing but unable to control it.

“I think he’s just in shock,” Jim says, patting McCoy on the shoulder. “I guess you sprung that on him with no warning.”

“On the contrary, Jim, Leonard was present for the entirety of the conception.”

McCoy makes a noise, small and disbelieving. Jim sighs, shaking his head with a soft smile.

“Spock, we’ve talked about this. You need to be very clear when it comes to Bones, or he’ll draw his own conclusions.”

“I asked him to impregnate me. How much clearer can one be?”

“Oh, sweet Mary,” McCoy breathes, burying his face in his hands. “I thought you meant it as a sex thing! How in the blazes was I supposed to know you can actually get pregnant! Humans and Vulcans aren’t even compatible as far as I know! Or thought I knew!”

Silence for a moment. Jim clears his throat, then clears it again.

“…perhaps I should have informed you in more detail of Vulcan biology,” Spock concedes.

“Perhaps!” McCoy echoes.

“Well,” Jim says, coughing a little. “If I may offer my congratulations? And make sure you don’t expect me to take care of any diapers. I’m glad to be an uncle, but that’s as far as I’ll go, I’m afraid.”

Lifting his head to glare at Jim, McCoy slams his hands down over his knees.

“You’re finding this a little too amusing for my taste!” Then adds, turning towards Spock, “and you! We have no idea what your pregnancy is going to be like! Not a single more away mission for you!”

Spock releases a small breath that may or may not be a sigh, and offers his fingers. McCoy meets him automatically, then grumbles in irritation. The pleased emotional transference through the bond mellows him a little, but only a little.

“I have the outmost faith in you, Leonard.”

He struggles for a moment longer, then gives up, allowing the tears in his eyes and the wobbly smile on his face to break through. He stands, lets Jim hug him and Spock kiss him, blinking furiously.

“It’s gonna take a while to sink in,” he mumbles, wiping at his cheeks with a sleeve.

“You’ve got time,” Jim promises.

With the two of them squeezing him between them, like steady anchors at sea, McCoy thinks that maybe he does. He kisses Spock again, puts a shaky hand over his stomach, imagining what the future might be like.

“I’m not sure I’ll sleep a wink until we’re back on solid ground,” he confesses.

“I’m sure Spock can apply his Vulcan nerve pinch if the need arises,” Jim teases him, taking his hand, fingers interlocked. “And if you worry too much we’ll find ways to distract you.”

“Indeed,” Spock says, taking his other hand.

Their love seeps into him, a soft wave of warmth, through his hands, through their bond. A baby won’t even be the strangest thing to happen to them over the course of their mission.

“Alright,” he says.

Quietly, he thinks:

I love you.