Author's Notes: Written in response to Porn Battle VIII's prompt 'kiss'. Spock/Uhura/McCoy
McCoy liked to think he was a straightforward kind of guy. His ex-wife would confirm that he didn't pussy-foot around – particularly in the bedroom. Like everything else, he attacked sex directly. He didn't cuddle and he didn't kiss, not really. A perfunctory press of his lips against hers at the hideous social events she'd insisted they attend. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, a wet slide of his mouth against hers as he groaned and came inside her. She had always wiped her mouth with distaste afterwards. He was not the only one that didn't really like kissing.
So when teenagers or Jim – in behavioural terms, they were pretty much one and the same thing – spent untold hours making out on couches, in doorways, at nightclubs and anywhere else they thought they'd find a modicum of privacy. Well, McCoy just Didn't Get It. The phrase "get a room" might be cliché, but was also a relevant suggestion. Why fumble in public when you could fuck in private?
But then he had to go and challenge that pre-conception, didn't he? Like he challenged everything, that contrary, green-blooded, pointy-eared, undeniably-sexy hobgoblin. One blatantly private moment in a blatantly public place: his sickbay.
God knows what was even wrong with him. Did Vulcans get sick? It didn't seem logical. But the door was broken and didn't make its artificial swish-click as it opened, a sound designed to counter-act the eerie silence of a person's entrance that had been simply unacceptable when this door's prototype was first produced. In spite of over-sensitive hearing – and perhaps that was the problem in the first place – Spock did not look up when McCoy entered. And McCoy didn't think to say anything to alert the pair to his presence as he stood in the doorway watching them.
A pale, olive-hued hand wrapped around her scarlet-clad hip. He did not indent the soft skin there, so his touch must be light. The left hand was raised, bent at the elbow, fingertips tenderly brushing the skin of her jaw. His eyes were shut, which seemed an oddly emotional reaction to the contact. His face was otherwise serene, skin pale and perfectly smooth. He was sat on the edge of an examining table, and Lieutenant Uhura had insinuated herself between his legs, the upper half of her body leaning in towards him. Their lips were joined, not in passion, but in tenderness. They moved slowly together, subtle movements that suggested an in-depth prior knowledge of the other's body and needs. McCoy swallowed when he saw Spock pink tongue slip along Uhura's lower lip, and the soft sigh she gave in response. The Vulcan's lips quirked in the closest McCoy had ever seen him come to a smile.
Then his eyes were open and immediately on McCoy. He shouldn't have to blush – this was his damned med bay, after all. But he did. He blushed and swallowed and cleared his throat, and resisted the temptation to re-adjust his pants. "If you don't mind, Lieutenant, I have an examination to complete?"
"Yes, Doctor," she replied. She at least had the good grace to blush. Spock, he noticed, did not. Bastard.
Spock watched her go, eyes never leaving her figure. McCoy couldn't decide whether this was because he genuinely couldn't take his eyes off her, or because he was trying to goad the doctor into a response.
Either way, he hated to admit it, but he suspected Spock had converted him to kissing.