Title: Antipositional Breakthrough
Rating: R
Characters: Spock/McCoy
Series: Star Trek TOS
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. This is for fun.
A/N: Written for "st_tos_kink" on livejournal. The request was "Spock keeps losing to Kirk in chess because of Kirk's unpredictable, illogical, and emotional moves, right? So somehow (I dunno, maybe Kirk suggests it as a joke while he's gloating) Spock and Bones get together and engage in a light mind meld to play a game of chess against Kirk, to combine Spock's logic and Bones' emotions. It's a surefire win!

Only, the meld goes deeper than they intended (revealing some hidden ~feelings~ [or just plain lust] to each other) and they end up going at it in front of Kirk without them really quite realizing what they're doing.".

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It was the eighth round of chess, with another win under the Captain's belt. Kirk set the opposing king piece down. Spock knew enough about humans and Jim to recognize the smugness radiating from him. In a few more seconds, he would no doubt engage in the human practice of "gloating".

The Vulcan wasn't proven wrong. Two point six seven seconds later, Jim leaned backwards.

"Spock, I'm almost thinking you're just having an off day. Maybe Bones could always help you. You know, fight fire with fire!" Kirk grinned widely. To his surprise, his first officer looked thoughtful.

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It didn't take long for McCoy to answer the summons. Jim hadn't said much about why, but it didn't sound like an emergency. The door whooshed open. He found Jim and Spock seated at a table, with game of 3D chess between them. Jim swiveled in his chair.

"Bones, we need your help. I've been winning the past several rounds," Jim explained. "I suggested that he fight fire with fire."

McCoy turned to Spock, unable to resist his own smirk.

"Why, Spock, are you admitting that your Vulcan logic can't beat out some good human emotion?"

"I am doing nothing of the sort. I am merely conducting an experiment."

An experiment? McCoy's interest was piqued. They had plenty of their differences on the merits of logic versus emotions. When had Spock actually wanted his input on the matter? Not that McCoy was ever shy about offering his opinion ever. But more often than not, he could tell it wasn't usually welcome. Now Spock was actually asking for help in the matter. He wasn't sure what to expect.

"You want me to coach you?" the doctor asked, the disbelief plain. "You know more about this game than I do."

Spock, the green-blooded bastard, didn't even try to dispute that. No modesty, no attempts at it even. He just accepted it as simple fact.

"That is not necessary. I require this," and Spock held up his hands, fingers slightly splayed out. The gesture was unmistakable.

"You want a mind meld." What good was that going to do? If he couldn't coach him to begin with, a mind meld wouldn't change anything. He wasn't hiding some technical knowledge of the game there. Still, curiosity got the best of him. He moved closer. Spock leaned forward, and pressed hot fingers to McCoy's didn't feel much of anything. Ever since observing that first mind meld in sickbay with the patient, he'd assumed it to be invasive, probing, or at the very least, damned uncomfortable. Instead, McCoy was puzzled to find that it only felt pleasantly warm. It almost felt like there was another presence nearby, the nearness comfortable, natural. It didn't last long. It felt like as soon as Spock had placed his fingers on his skin, he was already removing them a second later.

"That was it?" McCoy asked, baffled. For a moment, he could have sworn he felt a twinge of disappointment when Spock withdrew.

Spock lifted an eyebrow. "Doctor, I assure you, I have no desire to acquaint myself with your volatile emotions more than is necessary."

McCoy grimaced at him. Jim tried to hide the smile threatening his poker face. The captain motioned towards the board. "If you're finished, gentlemen, let's play."

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The doctor sat quietly nearby, watching. Spock to his left, Jim to his right, and the tiered board on the table between them. The game was already well underway. Whatever that mind meld was supposed to do, McCoy wasn't sure what it was supposed to do here. Spock's hand was lifting the rook and moving to bring it up to the third tier. From the looks of it, he was about to capture the captain's bishop, and put that rook in place to force Jim's king into a check. McCoy winced internally.

That wasn't a good move. It was the correct technical move to counter Jim's maneuver, but that was the problem. Spock played like a damn computer, with his own set of rules, McCoy thought irritably, and he knew Jim well enough to know he was counting on that. It was walking Spock right into a trap. Going in for the kill like this was only playing into his hands. McCoy kept his mouth shut. He didn't like the thought of another CMO telling him how to run his own sickbay. The same went with a good game of chess.

Still... if it were him, he'd have moved the rook over to that space over there, away from the king. Sacrifice it. It'd confuse the hell out of him. Jim would take it, of course. There wouldn't be any chance of danger to his pieces. The move itself wouldn't have much of a point. But it would lull him into thinking it was an easy move. A loss like that here and there would only make him gain confidence. Logically, the moves wouldn't make much sense; it'd be losing pieces pointlessly. But in the other playing field, the psychological and emotional one, it all led to getting Jim away from his turtling in a corner. It'd also confuse his perception of how to deal with Spock.

Spock's hand suddenly changed mid-air. He neatly placed the rook in the square he'd been thinking of. Jim's mouth twitched.

Engaging him on an emotional level. An interesting theory, Doctor. McCoy jumped despite himself. He looked suspiciously at Spock. The Vulcan didn't seem to feel his stare, regarding the board with those usual aloof eyes.

Was he hearing things? There wasn't any answer. McCoy settled back in his chair, right as the captain reached for the board. Jim reacted like McCoy had expected. He'd seized what really was a freebie. McCoy could count on Jim analyzing the surrounding possible moves: as emotional as a human was compared to Spock, Jim was a starship captain. He'd looked at the surrounding moves, and found that there wasn't any trap lying around. Not on that tier or the other tiers. He set the taken piece down on the table, a victim of war.

"Are you sure you're feeling well, Spock?" Jim asked, almost conversationally.

He's either trying to find out what Spock's doing, or he's trying to psych Spock out, McCoy thought suddenly. To all intents, for Spock, of all people, it looked like a mistake. Any human player could make it and no one would think of it. But Spock wasn't human. Normally, he wouldn't ever make an error like that.

There was no answering voice, not like earlier. Only the following sense, a strange confidence about the matter that wasn't his. Of course Spock couldn't get psyched out, he was a Vulcan.

"I'm feeling well, Captain." Spock said. McCoy silently wished Spock would hurry up and stop taking his time.

For the next several minutes, Spock made more purely logical moves and then one or two moves that were as equally wasteful or hasty as the first one. Some worked, others were almost impatient. It seemed to throw Jim off. Naturally, Jim didn't show it, he kept up that easy smile, the intent look on the board. McCoy could see it in his eyes though.

The doctor found the gap between Spock and himself closing inch by inch. He hadn't even noticed that he'd pulled his chair up next to Spock. It just seemed the natural thing to do: better to see the board from Spock's point of view, really. It was only logical. Jim didn't seem to have noticed either: the game Spock was putting on had his full attention.

Nimble fingers moved the pieces in turn. McCoy found his eyes torn between watching the game, and then imagining those fingers elsewhere. He wasn't sure why that thought suddenly turned that way, but it felt natural. He'd considered the thought once, Spock and himself together, but it'd seemed so strange, so impossible that he'd just laughed it off. He and Spock were always at each other's throats, pushing each other's buttons. Spock was as Vulcan as they came, and McCoy was always goading him. Spock was also his superior. McCoy chalked it up as having too much time on his hands between shifts.

Now it didn't seem nearly as unwelcome. Or as strange. He got the distinct feeling that Spock didn't dislike his goading as much as he let on, that illogically, he found it stimulating. He thought of how heated those fingers had felt during that mind meld, brown hair tousled, the restrained strength in those hands, or how his blue eyes would look while he pounded away at him ...

McCoy realized with a start that he was viewing himself through Spock's eyes, not his own.

Spock suddenly made what looked like a hasty move, one that looked overconfident. He suddenly sent his queen hurtling towards Jim's king. There wasn't any way to take the queen without losing a piece and exposing his king to the nearby knight. Jim reacted on instinct and moved the king away. It left the king safe and the queen suddenly surrounded. Spock was probably going to lose the queen. It was a good move, one that McCoy wouldn't have exactly thought of himself. Maybe the queen was at risk but it had moved Jim's king out of that stronghold he'd built. It was a surprisingly successful move, unexpected but it a moment, McCoy couldn't tell if that was the damn Vulcan or if he'd just thought that himself. Neither could he pin who was the source of pleasure at the move's success. Either way, it went straight to his dick.

When Spock made to push a pawn into another move, McCoy gave him a warning squeeze on the thigh, a silent 'no'. He wasn't sure if it was a good move or not, but it felt right not to. Not that Spock needed that warning, that mind meld was obviously helping Spock's game somehow. Spock reacted, and placed the pawn exactly as he would have normally. McCoy focused on the game once again. His hand flattened on the Vulcan's leg, and absently he began to rub small circles there, getting tantalizingly closer to his crotch with each pass...

He didn't notice Spock's moves getting bolder and more erratic. McCoy was finding it harder to concentrate on the game though...

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Kirk didn't notice it at first. He'd been staring at the board, trying to figure out what Spock was doing. He wasn't sure what exactly Spock's mind meld would do: McCoy hadn't said anything the whole time, just watched the game as spectator. If he hadn't seen that a mind meld had taken place, he wouldn't have seen the point of McCoy coming along. Whatever it was, Spock was suddenly playing a new game, and Kirk hated to say it, but he might actually lose.

It was only when he made his next move and there wasn't any answering move that he looked up.

Spock had his arms full with his Chief Medical Officer. McCoy was practically crushed against him, half sitting on the Vulcan's lap, and for all the world, looking like he was trying to inhale his mouth. Jim's throat went dry for a second at the flicker of tongue pushing into his First Officer's mouth. Spock had a hand to McCoy's neck, and the other to his hip, grinding the doctor down against his lap. They didn't even seem to notice him staring. In fact, he wasn't even sure they noticed that they were crawling up each other right in front of him. Spock's hand drifted from McCoy's neck and disappeared up his shirt.

Kirk could only imagine what his faced looked like right now. Probably stunned, mouth hanging open a little. As surprised as a starship captain wasn't supposed to ever look in front of the crew.

Well, one thing was for certain. It looked like the game wasn't going to be finished any time soon. McCoy was sucking Spock's fingers in his mouth. In turn, the Vulcan gave a hard buck up against the doctor.

Well, if you can't beat them..., Kirk thought wryly as he palmed at the growing bulge in his pants.

(end)