![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: In the Mood
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathierif_fic
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Leonard McCoy
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: slash
Word Count: 1374
Summary: The second he set foot into Spock’s quarters, he felt that something was off.
Author’s Notes: Written for![[community profile]](https://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo, prompt: emotion manipulation.
Leonard frowned, his shoulders knotting with tension, as he slowly set foot in Spock’s quarters.
He had been here before, of course – hell, he almost lived here, with clothes in one of Spock’s drawers and everything, including a toothbrush, although he stole Spock’s toothpaste – and he knew immediately that something was wrong.
Something was definitely off.
His frown deepened.
Spock was nowhere to be seen, but Leonard didn’t worry about that. Spock had invited him, had given him the access codes, and was most likely finishing up something and would join him soon.
Leonard grumbled under his breath and stepped further into the room. It was almost too cool for a Vulcan, he realized with a sudden start, and the feeling of wrongness that had befallen him when he’d first set foot into Spock’s quarters tonight intensified until it was a hard ball filling his entire consciousness and awareness. Maybe Spock was sick? Leonard’s brain immediately came up with all kinds of possible space diseases, one worse and more outrageous than the last one flittering through his mind.
He frowned and slowly sank down onto the edge of Spock’s bed. Briefly, he contemplated contacting Jim, to get a team to find Spock, but then, he took a deep breath and held it for a long moment. It wasn’t quite the meditation technique Spock had taught him – as much as he’d tried it, he didn’t quite manage to still his thoughts when Spock wasn’t there to guide him through the steps – but it was close enough.
He sighed quietly. He would give Spock another five minutes, and then he would make Jim track him down, and if he was lucky, he wouldn’t sound like a worried mother hen when he made that call.
He’d barely come to that decision when the door opened and Spock stepped into the room, a tray in his hands. He arched an eyebrow when he caught sight of Leonard perched on the edge of his bed, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the mattress next to him.
“You are early,” Spock stated and put the tray down on the table. “I did not expect you for another thirty-seven point three minutes.”
Leonard shrugged and stood. His instincts screamed at him that something was off, that Spock acted strange, and his fingers itched to grab a tricorder and find out what exactly was wrong.
“Leonard, are you paying attention?” Spock enquired and stepped up to him. He visibly hesitated before reaching out and brushing his fingertips against Leonard’s temple.
“Yeah, dammit, of course I’m paying attention,” he snapped, sharper than he had intended to. He was paying attention, and it wasn’t his fault that right now he was paying more attention to the possible symptoms of a still hypothetical sickness Spock was suffering from than the Vulcan’s words. He was still worried, and it made him tense and short-tempered.
Spock frowned slightly and sat down next to Leonard, who instinctively leaned into his familiar warmth. Spock remained still, but after a long moment, he reached out again and brushed his fingertips against Leonard’s wrist.
As far as Vulcans were concerned, it was a pretty forward gesture, and it made Spock’s intentions very clear.
Too clear, Leonard thought uncomfortably. So far, Spock had mostly refrained from touching him more than short, fleeting catch of his fingertips, the graze of a strong nail, the brush of long fingers against Leonard’s body, and that usually came at the end of the night, when Spock had figured out his mood and dared to ask for the physical affection of his body, but not now, when the evening had barely started.
Symptoms clicked together in Leonard’s brain, like intricate puzzle pieces that slowly fell into place and offered him a complete picture.
He knew this – the lowered temperature in the room, the stiffness he would feel when he leaned further into Spock’s body, the urge to touch…the diagnosis was obvious.
“Leonard?” Spock’s voice now sounded worried. “Leonard, are you feeling well?”
Leonard snapped out of his thoughts again. “Me? I’m fine,” he said hastily and reached for Spock’s wrist, to find out if the Vulcan’s pulse was normal the old-fashioned way.
Spock’s skin burned under his grip – something that definitely did not fit in with the other symptoms, he realized with a confused frown.
“Are you?” he asked slowly. “No double-vision, no numb tongue, no weird…stuff going on?”
“I am well,” Spock assured him.
“Are you sure?” Leonard pressed, and Spock carefully rested his hand on Leonard’s, where it was still wrapped around his wrist.
“Yes, Leonard,” he said patiently. He waited for a moment before adding, “Since you are already here, would you help me with the preparation of our evening meal?”
Leonard blinked confusedly at him. “Evening meal?” he repeated with a puzzled frown. “What?”
Spock tilted his head to the side slightly. “Is this not customary for two people who are…dating?” he asked. “To share a meal?”
“Yeah, but…” Leonard shook his head dazedly. This wasn’t something they’d ever done before, together. Usually, they ate in the mess, together with Jim, and retired to Spock’s quarters afterwards.
He shook his head again and exhaled while his glance fell onto the tray Spock had brought with him. “What do you want me to do?” he simply asked.
Spock directed him to get cutlery to the table and slowly, the fear that Spock could be ill started to fade.
“I did not know what food you wanted,” Spock said as he put several steaming plates on the table. “However, careful observations of your eating habits allowed me to develop an algorithm that gives a seventy-eight point three percent probability that this meal is to your satisfaction.”
Leonard stared at the plate and then at Spock.
“You developed an algorithm…dammit, man, why didn’t you just ask me what I like?” he asked with an exasperated shake of his head and grabbed his fork.
Spock sat down across from him and frowned again. “It would have ruined the surprise,” he explained as if it was the most logical thing in the world.
“No, it wouldn’t,” Leonard answered. He took a mouthful of food and enjoyed the burst of flavor across his tongue. “Who said it would?”
Spock swallowed a bite of his own meal before answering, “Jim.”
“Jim, huh,” Leonard growled and took another bite while the puzzle pieces in his mind moved apart and fitted together in a completely different pattern.
He knew this was familiar, but he hadn’t expected to find Jim’s behavioral patterns pasted onto Spock, and that had been what had thrown him off, he thought with a frown, but decided to make sure that this time, the puzzle pieces were all in the correct place.
“Jim Kirk…gave you dating tips?” he asked, the food forgotten for a moment as he worked through that thought in his mind.
Spock nodded. “I asked him what the customs for this are,” he answered.
Leonard was caught between disbelief and amusement. “Let me guess,” he said, emotions held back as much as he could, “he said to set the scene – drinks, music, favorite food…” he trailed off. “Is that why it’s so cold in here?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. He knew Jim Kirk and his tricks, after all.
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “I adjusted the temperature…” he started, but Leonard didn’t let him finish. He slipped his fingers over the small table and against Spock’s, clumsily touching him in affection, a gesture that Spock had showed him, again and again, and that he still couldn’t manage on his own.
“I thought you caught some kind of fever, you…” he groused, but a smile played around his lips as relief and love flowed over the bond their physical contact had established. “How about you re-adjust the temperature in here, we finish dinner and then…” his smile widened. “Then you tell me what else Jim taught you? And maybe…maybe we try something?”
Spock’s fingers brushed against his, hot and dry, exactly how they were supposed to be. “I find that acceptable,” he said, and Leonard grinned, happy and relieved.
Maybe it would become a really good evening, after all – despite the bad start it had taken for him.
~end.
Author:
kathierif_ficFandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/Leonard McCoy
Rating: FRT-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Warnings: slash
Word Count: 1374
Summary: The second he set foot into Spock’s quarters, he felt that something was off.
Author’s Notes: Written for
kink_bingo, prompt: emotion manipulation.Leonard frowned, his shoulders knotting with tension, as he slowly set foot in Spock’s quarters.
He had been here before, of course – hell, he almost lived here, with clothes in one of Spock’s drawers and everything, including a toothbrush, although he stole Spock’s toothpaste – and he knew immediately that something was wrong.
Something was definitely off.
His frown deepened.
Spock was nowhere to be seen, but Leonard didn’t worry about that. Spock had invited him, had given him the access codes, and was most likely finishing up something and would join him soon.
Leonard grumbled under his breath and stepped further into the room. It was almost too cool for a Vulcan, he realized with a sudden start, and the feeling of wrongness that had befallen him when he’d first set foot into Spock’s quarters tonight intensified until it was a hard ball filling his entire consciousness and awareness. Maybe Spock was sick? Leonard’s brain immediately came up with all kinds of possible space diseases, one worse and more outrageous than the last one flittering through his mind.
He frowned and slowly sank down onto the edge of Spock’s bed. Briefly, he contemplated contacting Jim, to get a team to find Spock, but then, he took a deep breath and held it for a long moment. It wasn’t quite the meditation technique Spock had taught him – as much as he’d tried it, he didn’t quite manage to still his thoughts when Spock wasn’t there to guide him through the steps – but it was close enough.
He sighed quietly. He would give Spock another five minutes, and then he would make Jim track him down, and if he was lucky, he wouldn’t sound like a worried mother hen when he made that call.
He’d barely come to that decision when the door opened and Spock stepped into the room, a tray in his hands. He arched an eyebrow when he caught sight of Leonard perched on the edge of his bed, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the mattress next to him.
“You are early,” Spock stated and put the tray down on the table. “I did not expect you for another thirty-seven point three minutes.”
Leonard shrugged and stood. His instincts screamed at him that something was off, that Spock acted strange, and his fingers itched to grab a tricorder and find out what exactly was wrong.
“Leonard, are you paying attention?” Spock enquired and stepped up to him. He visibly hesitated before reaching out and brushing his fingertips against Leonard’s temple.
“Yeah, dammit, of course I’m paying attention,” he snapped, sharper than he had intended to. He was paying attention, and it wasn’t his fault that right now he was paying more attention to the possible symptoms of a still hypothetical sickness Spock was suffering from than the Vulcan’s words. He was still worried, and it made him tense and short-tempered.
Spock frowned slightly and sat down next to Leonard, who instinctively leaned into his familiar warmth. Spock remained still, but after a long moment, he reached out again and brushed his fingertips against Leonard’s wrist.
As far as Vulcans were concerned, it was a pretty forward gesture, and it made Spock’s intentions very clear.
Too clear, Leonard thought uncomfortably. So far, Spock had mostly refrained from touching him more than short, fleeting catch of his fingertips, the graze of a strong nail, the brush of long fingers against Leonard’s body, and that usually came at the end of the night, when Spock had figured out his mood and dared to ask for the physical affection of his body, but not now, when the evening had barely started.
Symptoms clicked together in Leonard’s brain, like intricate puzzle pieces that slowly fell into place and offered him a complete picture.
He knew this – the lowered temperature in the room, the stiffness he would feel when he leaned further into Spock’s body, the urge to touch…the diagnosis was obvious.
“Leonard?” Spock’s voice now sounded worried. “Leonard, are you feeling well?”
Leonard snapped out of his thoughts again. “Me? I’m fine,” he said hastily and reached for Spock’s wrist, to find out if the Vulcan’s pulse was normal the old-fashioned way.
Spock’s skin burned under his grip – something that definitely did not fit in with the other symptoms, he realized with a confused frown.
“Are you?” he asked slowly. “No double-vision, no numb tongue, no weird…stuff going on?”
“I am well,” Spock assured him.
“Are you sure?” Leonard pressed, and Spock carefully rested his hand on Leonard’s, where it was still wrapped around his wrist.
“Yes, Leonard,” he said patiently. He waited for a moment before adding, “Since you are already here, would you help me with the preparation of our evening meal?”
Leonard blinked confusedly at him. “Evening meal?” he repeated with a puzzled frown. “What?”
Spock tilted his head to the side slightly. “Is this not customary for two people who are…dating?” he asked. “To share a meal?”
“Yeah, but…” Leonard shook his head dazedly. This wasn’t something they’d ever done before, together. Usually, they ate in the mess, together with Jim, and retired to Spock’s quarters afterwards.
He shook his head again and exhaled while his glance fell onto the tray Spock had brought with him. “What do you want me to do?” he simply asked.
Spock directed him to get cutlery to the table and slowly, the fear that Spock could be ill started to fade.
“I did not know what food you wanted,” Spock said as he put several steaming plates on the table. “However, careful observations of your eating habits allowed me to develop an algorithm that gives a seventy-eight point three percent probability that this meal is to your satisfaction.”
Leonard stared at the plate and then at Spock.
“You developed an algorithm…dammit, man, why didn’t you just ask me what I like?” he asked with an exasperated shake of his head and grabbed his fork.
Spock sat down across from him and frowned again. “It would have ruined the surprise,” he explained as if it was the most logical thing in the world.
“No, it wouldn’t,” Leonard answered. He took a mouthful of food and enjoyed the burst of flavor across his tongue. “Who said it would?”
Spock swallowed a bite of his own meal before answering, “Jim.”
“Jim, huh,” Leonard growled and took another bite while the puzzle pieces in his mind moved apart and fitted together in a completely different pattern.
He knew this was familiar, but he hadn’t expected to find Jim’s behavioral patterns pasted onto Spock, and that had been what had thrown him off, he thought with a frown, but decided to make sure that this time, the puzzle pieces were all in the correct place.
“Jim Kirk…gave you dating tips?” he asked, the food forgotten for a moment as he worked through that thought in his mind.
Spock nodded. “I asked him what the customs for this are,” he answered.
Leonard was caught between disbelief and amusement. “Let me guess,” he said, emotions held back as much as he could, “he said to set the scene – drinks, music, favorite food…” he trailed off. “Is that why it’s so cold in here?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. He knew Jim Kirk and his tricks, after all.
Spock lifted an eyebrow. “I adjusted the temperature…” he started, but Leonard didn’t let him finish. He slipped his fingers over the small table and against Spock’s, clumsily touching him in affection, a gesture that Spock had showed him, again and again, and that he still couldn’t manage on his own.
“I thought you caught some kind of fever, you…” he groused, but a smile played around his lips as relief and love flowed over the bond their physical contact had established. “How about you re-adjust the temperature in here, we finish dinner and then…” his smile widened. “Then you tell me what else Jim taught you? And maybe…maybe we try something?”
Spock’s fingers brushed against his, hot and dry, exactly how they were supposed to be. “I find that acceptable,” he said, and Leonard grinned, happy and relieved.
Maybe it would become a really good evening, after all – despite the bad start it had taken for him.
~end.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-08 04:36 pm (UTC)associative*smacks the math teacher out of me* going to add up to one single conclusion - especially with Jim Kirk involved and throwing things off. And Spock was too adorable, trying to do something nice and surprise Bones. Loved it.(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-12 04:42 pm (UTC)*grins* *pets your inner math teacher and feeds it chocolate*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-12 04:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-12 04:49 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-09-12 05:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-15 03:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-11-15 06:23 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading!