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Date: Fri, 16 Jan 2004 22:54:24 -0600
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW TOS: A Snowy Night 1/1 (S/Mc)[NC-17]
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Title: A Snowy Night in Georgia
Author: Lyrastar
Series: TOS
Pairing: S/Mc
Rating: NC-17
Contact: Lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com or 
www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher
Disclaimer: Paramount...
Summary:  A little mix-up on the way to shoreleave.


A SNOWY NIGHT IN GEORGIA


They sat side by side on the bench seat built for two.  McCoy only 
woke up once on the way there.  He stretched and rolled both sleepy 
eyes around the Earthbound public transport shuttle.  "Are we there 
yet?"

Spock answered blandly, "No, but if you had agreed to the use of the 
transporter, we would be."

"Right.  So wake me up when we get there."  McCoy yawned and fell 
immediately back to sleep, his head lolling onto Spock's shoulder.

Spock made no effort to move away but sat stiff and proper, his face 
straight ahead.  Other passengers cast bemused glances in their 
direction, but Spock deflected each one with a look from his eyes.  
McCoy's head rocked and rolled a little with each respiration, and 
Spock settled back just a little further in the seat, making a little 
well for the head between his muscles and the seatrest.  Leonard 
snuggled down into it in contentment.




When he awoke next, they had arrived at the hotel transportation 
station. "Welcome to the Four Seasons, Georgia" read the large print 
text on the wall.

McCoy stretched and rubbed his eyes.  "About time," he said, as he 
picked up his satchel.  "You remember the room number they sent you?"

"Of course."  Spock sounded faintly offended.
 
"Great. Gimme the passchip, then. You program the luggage tube. I'm 
going straight to the room."

McCoy accepted the datawafer that Spock handed him.   It had been 
programmed with codes sent from the reservation office.  That was one 
of the conveniences of these major hotel chains.  Everything was so 
convenient.  Impersonal, yes, but ever so convenient.

"Thanks, hon.  See ya in a minute.  It sure is good to be home."  
McCoy bounced once on his toes before heading off into the throng of 
passengers bound for the turbolifts.  He swiped the passchip at the 
lift scanner as he entered.

He had his whole day all planned out.  A little time on the golf 
course, a longer time in the golf club lounge, a dinner of some of 
the best low country boil in the hemisphere, a little club hopping 
around revitalized Underground Atlanta, and then to bed to rest up 
just to get up and do it all over again.

But the first thing was to get out of this uniform and into more 
suitable clothes.  

Odd.  The rest of the guests in the turbolift all seemed distinctly 
over dressed.  Woolens, thermals, hats, scarves, boots--the gamut.  
Tourists.  You'd think they'd at least check the damn weather 
reports.  Sunny seventies forecast for all week.  A perfect Georgia 
December and some great weather for the links.

The lift indicated his floor, the thirty-seventh, and directed him to 
his room, 37642J.  He swiped the card past the door.  The guest 
computer accepted the code and allowed him entrance.  This sure did 
beat standing in line.  

When he stepped inside the room, he had his first twinge of regret.  
It was dark and heavy with mass-produced decor.  He should have 
insisted upon one of the quaint little B&Bs with some good old 
southern ambiance, but Spock had made all the last minute 
arrangements.  The Four Seasons was nice, but so generic.  He could 
be anywhere.

He set his satchel down on the table and looked down at the standard 
hotel literature.  In fact--

He picked up the introductory brochure on the writing desk.  "Welcome 
to the Four Seasons Georgia.  We hope you enjoy your stay...."  
Nice.  The only problem was that it was bilingual. Written first in 
Standard--and then in Cyrillic characters. 

McCoy went to the window and drew back the drapes.  A light blanket 
of snow covered the terrain.  But the brochure was right about one 
thing.  The Caucasus Mountains were certainly beautiful this time of 
year.  

The door chimed.  McCoy let Spock in and gestured to the 
window.  "Spock, do you notice anything at all--unusual about our 
view?"

Spock walked to the window and calmly surveyed the vista.  He 
pronounced,  "This is not Atlanta."

McCoy pursed his lips. "No, it isn't"

Spock pulled out his personal tricorder.  "Latitude: north 41 
degrees, 43.118 minutes.  Longitude: --"

McCoy interrupted and waved the brochure in his face.  "It's 
T'bilisi, Spock.  T'bilisi, Georgia, Eurasia!  How can you have an IQ 
of 238 and confuse the Southern US with Western Asia?"

Spock turned around and began to lecture.  "It is a simple 
misunderstanding, Doctor, and one quite easily rectified.  There is a 
transporter platform in the hotel transportation port.  I will have 
our baggage redirected--"

"Oh no you don't!  This is my vacation too, and I am not spending one 
single second of it as disassembled molecules.  Especially not in a 
civilian machine that probably hasn't been serviced since Stalin wore 
short pants."

"Doctor, your presumption is patently impossible since the 
transporter was not invented until--"

"Forget it Spock.  I'm *not* getting in there.  When does the next 
North American Express leave?"

Spock consulted the computer.  "Two hours, six minutes.  But I submit 
that this is not a logical course of action considering all the 
factors."

McCoy began to pull off his boots.  "Humor me," he griped.  "You owe 
it to me for our little 'round the world tour here.  Or call it an 
anniversary present."

Spock raised an eyebrow.  "By the Terran calendar, our anniversary 
would not be for another seventy-two days."

McCoy snorted.  "Aw, and to think I was sure you wouldn't remember.  
Maybe you can't tell drachma from a Dixiecrat, but at least you're a 
closet romantic."

McCoy tossed himself down on the bed and wiggled his toes 
suggestively.  "So, what do you want to do until then?"   He patted 
the other pillow.  The hotel pamphlet, which had dropped from his 
hand, crinkled under his arm as he moved.

Spock seemed oblivious to his proposition. Instead he picked up the 
Tourist's Guide to the Western Russian Confederation, which was 
displayed on the nightstand.   "There are a number of historical 
museums, some unique architectural sites and a restored cave-age 
settlement all of which may have points of interest."

McCoy scoffed, and then his eye caught something on the 
pamphlet.  "Hey Spock, T'bilisi is famous for its natural hot 
springs.  And this hotel has a spa centered around one."

Spock continued reading.  "Of course you may indulge yourself as you 
choose.  I, however, did not bring a bathing suit."

McCoy's grin broadened to its limit.  "That's okay.  Neither did I."

Spock looked over at the bed and the man lounging on it.  This time 
he raised both eyebrows.  But he set down the tourist guide and began 
to remove his boots.



Still, McCoy beat him down to the spa.  There was a common pool, of 
course, but also private baths fed from piped hot-spring water.  The 
tubs were lined up in a row on the edge of the third floor balcony.  
They were unroofed and open to the air, but enclosed on the three 
other sides by a privacy barrier.  The front was left open for a 
breathtaking view of the mountains. McCoy paid for one and eased 
himself down the steps. 

The balcony faced the back of the hotel and the north face of the 
range. There was little traffic here, as this stretch of mountain was 
cold and hash and undeveloped.    As the range curved around to the 
northeast, ski slopes, lodges, and quaint little villages budded up 
through the snow steadily increasing in density.  As the range curved 
around the city, the south-facing ridge was positively covered in 
tourist traps, over-priced restaurants and gaudy souvenir shops. 

But here there was only the rugged beauty of the ancient hills and 
wild sweep of the wind over the ancient guardian peaks.  He sunk a 
little lower into the swirling water of the spa and let the eddies 
wash his mind free.  The tension in his muscles ebbed away into the 
heat and the warmth began to permeate him from outside in. All in 
all, this little diversion might not be so bad.

Leonard McCoy had traveled far and wide across the galaxy.  He had 
seen countless numbers of wondrous and beautiful sights, but it had 
always been alone.  Since Spock had come to him that one magical 
night, he discovered how little that meant without someone with whom 
to share the experience.  He found that he wanted to start at the 
beginning and do it all over with Spock.  Either that or stay in one 
moment forever with him.  

It never seemed to particularly matter which one it was to be, as 
long as Spock was the constant.  McCoy touched himself wistfully, 
letting the months of memories stand in for the man, at least until 
his arrival.

Speaking of Spock, the door to the hallway opened and he entered.  
McCoy turned his head to look.  Spock wore only a white terrycloth 
robe with the Four Season's logo on the breast.  Somehow he managed 
to pull it off with dignity, McCoy thought.  Trust a Vulcan to look 
more like a cleric from the Four Seasons, Mount Seleya than a would-
be hot-spring skinny dipper.  

McCoy shook his head in bemusement.  "Hop on in Spock, the water's 
great.  And a helluva lot better than standing out there freezing.  
It's not even thirty degrees."  He gestured at the air/water 
thermogram.

Spock looked skeptically at the roiling surface of the spa.  It cast 
plumes of steam off into the crisp afternoon sky and smelled more 
than a little of sulfur.  "Are you certain that this is not some form 
of retribution for my minor geographic diversion of our vacation 
plans?"

McCoy chuckled and moved up a step in the tub and reclined so that 
his lower abdomen was visible.  He moved one hand beneath the water 
and a rather impressive erection bobbed up around his 
navel.  "Believe me; I'm not mad.  In fact, I'm rather beginning to 
like it here.  Now get in."

Spock dropped his robe.  Starting with one tentative toe, he got in.  
The water swirled at his legs, making the fine hairs dance. McCoy 
gave a playful tug at his ankle,  and Spock half fell, half sat down 
on the middle step.  The warm water washed over his chest and nipples 
and he was forced to agree that it was not at all unpleasant.  He 
edged down to the lower step, beside Leonard, and let his senses 
surrender.  

"That's better," said McCoy.  He scuttled sideways away from the 
entry steps to the bench seat that ran around the whole circumference 
of the tub.   Spock followed him around the side until they sat 
facing the winter mountain vista.  It didn't get much better than 
this.

Until Leonard slid his left hand onto Spock's thigh.  

Not to be outdone, Spock slid his right hand over onto Leonard's 
leg.  Leonard reached over and placed Spock's hand between his legs, 
smack dab on his thrumming penis.  He grunted happily and slid his 
body a little further down in the tub and his own hand a little 
higher up on Spock's body.  With slow, lazy movements, he began to 
stroke the secrets of Spock's sex.

Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Spock copied his movements.  From the 
sound Leonard made, it seemed to be the correct thing to do.

The touch was warm and soothing, but not really sexual at first.  
More possessive, the comfort of security and of basal needs being 
met.  McCoy rippled his fingers over the sheath, until the Vulcan's 
penis had emerged under the water to its full, glorious length.  

Only a few months ago McCoy had summoned his courage and asked Spock 
how many persons had seen him like this.  Erect, burning, in love.  
His discomfiture had been worth it when he had been told he was the 
only one.  McCoy had never thought much of the value of virginity, 
but there was something utterly overwhelming about knowing that he 
was the only one Spock had ever allowed so near.

McCoy stroked slowly, languidly in no hurry for anything but to savor 
the moment.  Spock's hand moved in the same tempo.  For a long time 
they sat content in the warmth and steam and the heat of each other's 
company.  

Gradually Leonard's breathing deepened.  His heart sped faster and 
the ache in his belly told him that this would no longer be enough.  

McCoy sped up his motions on Spock's body, but Spock kept the same 
agonizingly careful time.  McCoy shifted and twisted, thrusting into 
Spock's hand to increase the stimulation, to urge Spock on, but it 
was pointless to goad a Vulcan.  

McCoy groaned in frustration and turned to angle his body toward 
Spock's.  He moved his hand back onto the Vulcan's inner thigh and 
began to kneed fiercely, hard enough to hurt a Human, just enough to 
get Spock's attention.  

Spock turned his head to him and fixed him with his bottomless eyes. 
McCoy craned his neck over and kissed him with all his passion.  He 
locked his arm around Spock's neck and pulled him closer, crossing 
tangling their legs together.  He held their two bodies as tightly 
together as humanly possible, probing deep into Spock's heat with his 
tongue.  

Spock never varied the slow, incendiary rhythm between his legs, but 
with his other hand he stroked up the length of Leonard's body, 
massaging his fingers over the ruddy skin until Leonard thought he 
would dissolve with pleasure.  He ran his hand up the side of 
Leonard's torso, over the fine lines of the shoulder blade, into the 
little hollow where shoulder becomes neck, up the pulsing arteries 
and veins to the meld points.  He brushed the surface and let the 
full strength of Leonard's desire wash over him.

And then Spock began to speed his strokes.

McCoy choked and pulled away, gasping, using all of his willpower too 
cool himself.  He held Spock by the shoulders and caught his 
breath.  "Wait a minute.  I've got a better idea."  He smiled saucily 
and pulled Spock over and on to his lap.

Buoyed by the water, the Vulcan's weight was now negligible.  McCoy 
steered his willing body over the center of his thighs.  He leaned 
back against the edge of the tub and wrapped his arms tightly around 
Spock's torso.  From behind he whispered hoarsely in Spock's 
ear, "Now, relax your sphincter and sit on my dick."

Spock balked.  McCoy held him tighter.  Covering his neck with little 
nibbles he whispered again, "It's all right. Trust me; I'm a doctor."

This time Spock flexed his thighs and lowered himself down over 
Leonard's burning body.

McCoy's eyes flew open at the shock of contact.  Every time was like 
the first dizzy thrill of discovery and he was spinning with joy.  
The rough hairs of Spock's back grated against his chest, over the 
sensitive nerves of his nipples, pressing in and back with each 
rocking movement of Spock's body against his.  The forced intensity 
of the simple sensation was torture, but each time McCoy tried to 
pull away, Spock only leaned further back against him.  McCoy had 
always thought if he ever lost his potency he would probably be able 
to orgasm with his nipples.  Some intoxicated part of his brain 
wondered if he would get to test that theory tonight.  

He leaned forward in the tub and with his body, forced Spock to do 
the same.  He locked his wrists together and took the Vulcan's weight 
against his arms, an easy task in the water.  He whispered to Spock 
to stay forward and fuck his lap silly until they both came. 

Spock pressed his palms against the seat of the tub and proceeded to 
do just that.  


Afterwards, they sat back warm and content, and stared at the 
mountains.  Leonard kept his arm wrapped around Spock's shoulders, 
pulling him nearer with little rhythmic little tugs.  It was awkward 
and a little chilly, but absolutely perfect and he wouldn't have 
moved for all the gold in the Urals.

The warmth of the bath was both pleasant and comforting, as the sun 
sank behind the mountains and the temperature began to drop even 
more.  The snow-covered peaks began to glow in hues of orange and 
pink and violet.  All was quiet but for the crack and pop of bubbles 
as they burst from the water jets and the faint whistle of the wind 
in the clear valley air.  

Yet neither felt the need to say a thing.  Until it began to snow.

McCoy felt it first.  A light touch on his face, colder than the 
spray from the tub.  And then he saw the dusting of flakes in the 
air.  He held out his tongue until he caught one ethereal 
crystal. "Snow."

"Yes," Spock murmured against his ear.  "Perhaps we should go in."

McCoy scoffed without malice.  "Why?  So we won't get wet?  I thought 
you were the logical one.  I want to stay right here.  I love the 
snow.  I never got to see it as a child.  Both of my parents hated 
the cold."  Despite the chill of the air on his spa-warmed arm, he 
held up five fingers and wiggled them catching as many flakes as he 
could on the tips, watching as each one sublimated away, too rapidly 
for him to even see. 

"I suppose you didn't either," McCoy commented absently, his mind 
more on his childlike game.

"Quite the contrary," Spock corrected.  "Most winters my father would 
take me to Mount Jifihed, a peak on the Kleffist plateau and one of 
the highest elevations on Vulcan. There, there is glacial permafrost 
and, not infrequently, snow."

"A Vulcan vacation?" McCoy wondered.  "I thought you didn't believe 
in those."

"We do not.  My father had an interest in both the rare ecosystem and 
in the insular sect that inhabited that area.  I believe he was 
trying to pique my interest in either social anthropology or 
intraplanetary sciences to follow in his footsteps."

"I guess it didn't work."

"Not in the way he had intended.  I recall my first look at the 
mountaintop from our flitter.  It jutted straight up to the sky and 
disappeared into a cloud.  Then my father steered the flitter up its 
side, and us straight into the mist.   I could not yet interpret the 
instrument panel, so I had no concept of how far up we were going or 
what wonders could hide shrouded in the mysteries of a cloud.  

"He stopped at the village and opened the door.  He was lecturing me 
on the customs of the people and how I should behave, but I was too 
fascinated by the snow and mist to pay any attention.  I couldn't see 
more than a meter or two.  The white glare from the ground glossed 
over almost everything.  I took a few steps and my father disappeared 
in the mist.  Now I could see nothing but glimmers of white and gray 
and silver. I was all by myself in this mystical place.  The air was 
cold and unexpectedly damp. I put my hand straight up and touched the 
cloud in which I stood, illogically unsure of how it would be 
different from the air at my side, but expecting something ineffable 
and strange.  

"My father appeared from behind me and slapped it down.  He continued 
his lecture.

"But as we came down the mountainside again and I said goodbye to my 
cloud, I vowed to return and learn the mysteries of air and space.  I 
had always felt myself to be an alien, both on Earth and Vulcan, but 
up in the nebulous space of that cloud, I was free to be only me.  I 
felt it held my answers."

McCoy squeezed his shoulders.

Spock finished.  "And I was correct."

McCoy squeezed him tighter, and held.

The sun had sunk behind the ridge.  The last of the light was fading 
from the sky.  The stars began to twinkle from the heavens and still, 
the light dusting of snow continued to fall, melting harmlessly into 
the steam of the bath.  Soon it would be too dark to see even the 
mountains.  Really, there was no reason to stay.

"Doctor, the Express leaves in thirty-four minutes.  We should be 
dressing and preparing to meet it."

Leonard sunk down a little further in the tub.  He let the warmth 
wash over his neck, his face, his hair.  Then he popped up suddenly 
and swung his legs up over Spock's lap.  He placed his feet 
strategically to let the jets massage his soles and his left knee 
strategically to tease the sensitive place on Spock's belly.

The icy flakes tingled on his face.  He leaned back, sideways, 
trusting Spock's arm to support his weight and stared up at the 
starry sky, and thanked it for delivering to him so much joy, however 
late in life that may be.

He cuddled a little deeper into Spock's embrace and smiled up at his 
love from the stars.  "Why?  What's your rush?  There'll be another 
shuttle tomorrow."



~Lyra, December 2003




[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]


 

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