When the grandfather clock delivered its hourly chime, McCoy awoke with a sting of panic, the way people do when they had not intended to fall asleep. He rose abruptly, which knocked the book he'd fallen asleep under to the floor. The thickly braided knit rug cushioned its fall, but when McCoy reflexively went to rescue it, he hit his knuckles on the coffee table. He swore, left the book where it was, and looked at the clock, holding his right hand with his left. It was seven o'clock, but he didn't know how long he'd slept, if it was seven in the morning or seven in the evening. It was winter, and dark outside at both those times.

"Have mercy," he muttered, and wandered around a bit to find a clock that kept twenty-four-hour time. He called out for Spock, but got no response. It must be seven at night, then, because Spock said he'd be home late, but certainly he meant before morning. That must mean that McCoy had napped for two hours.

Standing in the kitchen, with a head full of cotton-wool, McCoy struggled to decide what he wanted to do at this point. Did he want to eat something? Maybe just a cup of coffee to wake him up. Was there anything that still needed to be done today?

McCoy was so drowsy yet, he was tempted to head upstairs and go to bed. But no, he wanted to be awake when Spock returned home. His heavy-lidded gaze fell on the dining-room table, and he smiled wickedly to himself. What was on the table had improved their sex life exponentially. Sure, plenty of couples purchased devices that served that purpose. Objects that vibrated, or warmed anything they touched. Those things were usually portable, handheld, and at the cutting edge of technology. What Spock and McCoy had enlisted the aid of was two hundred years old, and required a flat surface and thirty-two separate pieces.

It was a chess set.

McCoy had not expected things to turn out the way they had. He'd always been a little jealous of Jim, sharing game after game of three-dimensional chess with Spock, and one day he'd asked Spock to teach him so they could play together. To do this, Spock set up a two-dimensional chessboard. McCoy was a little miffed, and asked, "How will I know when I'm ready for the three-dimensional version?"

"I will tell you when you are ready," Spock said, and his tone made McCoy's balls ache.

Spock dryly showed him the mechanics of the game, and a few basic tactics, but it was when McCoy began to delve into the game's strategies that he realized how sexually charged chess could be. To begin with, the game was quiet and intimate, and two players might spend an hour, or three, gazing at the board, and at each other. A connection happens, whether you wish it or not, and the game becomes a relationship. You begin to feel a thrill, watching your opponent making himself vulnerable, challenging you to take advantage of his vulnerabilities. Or perhaps he asserts himself, exploiting your weaknesses without mercy. McCoy always lost, though over time he took longer to lose and became more dignified about it. To know he would lose to Spock and to fight anyway, that was exciting to him. Being overcome, defeated utterly but gradually. Spock was known to play a slow, teasing game, and often, when he finally brought out his powerful Queen, McCoy would become aroused. Sometimes he wanted to touch himself while they played, though he could not imagine that this would improve his game.

After experiencing all this, McCoy was no longer a bit jealous of Jim, for his hours spent playing with Spock. He was now insanely jealous.

Just looking at the chessboard on the table, with the remnants of last night's game, McCoy decided what he wanted to do. He was more awake now, or rather, certain parts of him were. Spock could arrive home at any time, and it would be best to have patience, and jump on him when he walked in the door. But McCoy wasn't thinking on that level just now. He had it in mind to go upstairs and have a little alone time.

The bedroom was chilly, and that just about changed his mind about the whole thing. Now was usually the time when McCoy came up to reset the temperature in the bedroom, so it would be warm when he and Spock were ready for bed. He stood in the doorway a moment, contemplating whether to go back downstairs and lie on the couch, or to just scrap the idea and do something else, when he felt that familiar tickle, starting in his medulla oblongata and spreading to his frontal lobe. Spock was very near. Their link buzzed softly all the time, but Spock's proximity intensified it just slightly.

There was no question about the bedroom being the destination point now. McCoy cranked the heat up, as Spock opened the front door. He knew Spock would find him, so he waited.

Spock came in carrying a shopping bag, and McCoy could sense something unusual going on. "I apologize," Spock said, "I could have returned earlier, but Jim visited the Academy today, and we had a long discussion. Afterwards, I needed to complete an errand before I returned home."

McCoy pointed to the shopping bag. "For that?"

"Yes. Jim informed me that today is St. Valentine's Day, and he asked me what I was doing for you. He attempted to explain the origins of the holiday, but his inability to connect the deeds of the Christian martyr to either the Roman observation of the avian mating season or the contemporary practices of the holiday suggested to me that, like most Earth holidays, its purpose has become to honor the present, rather than the past." Spock paused, and his tone changed. "Am I correct in presuming that we have never before observed Valentine's Day together?"

"Yes, that's right."

Spock nodded. "There are many things I still do not remember."

"I know. It's okay."

McCoy tried to peek inside the bag, but Spock pinched the top shut and raised one eyebrow at him. "Jim made specific suggestions about the gifts I should purchase for you, and I followed his instructions."

He reached into the bag. The suspense was torturing McCoy; he could not even imagine what Jim had told Spock to buy, and he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed when Spock pulled out an expensive, but conventional, box of chocolates. "First," Spock explained, "he told me to acquire these. 'To fatten him up,' was the reasoning."

"How very thoughtful of Jim." McCoy rolled his eyes.

Spock dipped into the bag once more and brought forth a small plush animal. McCoy did not recognize what sort of creature it was meant to represent; the past few years there had been such a craze for plush extraterrestrial animals, he's been unable to keep up with the endless varieties lining the shelves. McCoy could not even tell where on the food chain this animal might be, on its native world. The toy was a cute exaggeration, but the real creature probably resembled a member of the Terran family Leporidae. It had long ears, and a red bow was tied around its neck. McCoy took the toy from Spock's hand and marveled at its softness: the synthetic fur was superior to real fur, more silky and lustrous even than rabbit. He held it to his cheek.

"Mmm, it's gorgeous." He looked at the box of candy, sitting on the chest of drawers next to the bag, and changed his mind about being disappointed in it. Maybe he'd have just one, or two.

"Are these appropriate gifts?" Spock asked. "When Jim told me to purchase them he seemed to be suppressing laughter. I checked the Terran Encyclopedia at the Academy and found the information there to be consistent with Jim's suggestions, so I do not know what he found humorous."

McCoy shook his head. "Who cares what Jim thinks is funny. Let's open up this box of chocolates." He took the box and examined the list of ingredients. "Sucrose," he read. "Can you have one?"

"The sucrose would produce a mild euphoric effect, and my judgment would be impaired. Afterward, I would experience a variety of mild pathologies as my body attempted to rid itself of the toxin."

"That's the most depressing thing I've ever heard."

"Leonard, I did not purchase the confections for myself, but for you."

McCoy opened the box and selected one at random, ignoring the picture guide on the underside of the lid, and popped the whole thing in his mouth. He could tell it was superior chocolate; it melted instantly on his tongue. He closed his eyes and let the sweetness melt its way over his tongue and down his throat.

"This is brilliant," he said at last. "Are you sure you can't kiss me and just have a little taste? That couldn't hurt."

Spock found this suggestion acceptable. He took McCoy in his arms and kissed his open mouth. He did not have the same weakness for cacao derivatives that humans possessed, but he could appreciate the rich sweetness as he sought it out in the depths of McCoy's mouth. When his tongue plunged particularly deep, McCoy groaned, and Spock abruptly broke the kiss.

"When a person receives gifts of this nature on Valentine's Day, are they expected to give anything in return?"

McCoy considered this. "I suppose they're expected to give affection, in return." He looked up into Spock's eyes, mischievously.

"Then I will take what is my due," Spock said, and began to remove McCoy's clothing.

As soon as he had touched McCoy, he could feel that his mate had been aroused for some time, probably prior to his arrival. "What were you doing before I returned home?" he asked.

McCoy tilted his head toward Spock but closed his eyes, relishing the feeling of Spock tugging at his clothes. He was still smiling. "Oh, I was just thinking about you capturing me and mating."

Spock thought of the chessboard in the dining room and observed dryly, "The English language has many opportunities for suggestive double meanings."

"I've got a suggestive double meaning for you, you walking computer. Let's see if you can decipher this message." He tossed the stuffed animal aside, onto the pillows, and then he grabbed Spock by the shirt and fell backwards onto the bed, taking Spock with him.

There was the usual awkward removal of shoes and clothing to slow down the proceedings, but this was more than made up for when Spock raised himself up on his knees, straddling McCoy's body, and unfastened his trousers. McCoy loved to watch Spock take it out when it was already hard. When he could see it, erect and twitching, it was easier for McCoy to imagine it inside him, and now, as he became more aroused at the sight of it, he began to vocalize softly with each exhalation.

Spock tilted his chin toward the nightstand, signaling to McCoy that he should fetch their bottle of oil. McCoy rolled over so he could reach to open the drawer, and as soon as he had the bottle in his hand Spock pinned him to the mattress, face down.

McCoy grunted. "Why, you treacherous…" Spock snatched the bottle up with his free hand and deftly held it in his palm while he unscrewed the top with thumb and forefinger. McCoy still wanted to struggle a little bit, for the fun of it, so Spock held still, easily suppressing McCoy's efforts with one arm, and waited him out. When McCoy was ready to give in, he relaxed his body and sighed, and Spock lifted his hand to pour the oil into it. It was a little cool, so he warmed it between his fingers while he wedged his knees between McCoy's in order to mount him properly.

This was not McCoy's favorite position, and Spock usually tested his responsiveness to the arrangement by using one oiled finger. If McCoy held still, and did not push back, then perhaps he was not enjoying it so much, and Spock would turn him back over and mount him in the missionary style.

But it really wasn't so difficult to sell McCoy on the idea. The position Spock had him in did not feel so sweetly intimate; he could not look into Spock's eyes, wrap his arms and legs around Spock's body. But its advantage was that he had more mobility, they he could push back, raise or lower himself, or tilt his pelvis to allow Spock in deeper. Sometimes McCoy just had to take for granted that Spock loved him and treasured him, and tell himself that it was okay this time to just go for the dirty pleasure, for the rapturous sting of Spock hitting his prostate, over and over.

Spock leaned forward and snaked one arm under McCoy to lift his hips. This had the immediate effect of him penetrating much more deeply than McCoy had expected, and he produced an involuntary groan. Spock took the soft toy from where it lay askew on the pillow and placed in under McCoy's hips, then gently guided him back down. McCoy's cock sank into the sumptuous fur, and he was overwhelmed by the splendid softness of it. He wiggled around, to feel the silky fur tickling his cock and balls.

Spock appreciated this squirming. He estimated that the increased friction and clamor McCoy was providing would reduce the duration of this session from fifteen minutes, eight seconds to eleven minutes, thirteen seconds.

McCoy thrust desperately against the stuffed creature, unable to get enough of the feel of the fur. He put his head down to look underneath him, and saw his thick, hard cock buried in the plush toy, the red, moist head emerging with each thrust. It was so deliciously naughty, he couldn't help but come, soaking the toy's silky fur.

Before their bonding, the physical reactions of McCoy's body when he climaxed could provoke Spock to climax in sympathy, but only if he chose to; otherwise, the urge could be suppressed it he desired a longer session. However, his link with McCoy had become so strong, the psychological and emotional effect was too overwhelming. Even though he had been firmly entrenched in the plateau phase, Spock could not resist the urge now, and he ejaculated hard. He cried out, pushing into McCoy's body, which was a few seconds ahead of his and already relaxing.

It was hard work for an old man. Once McCoy had finished coming, he collapsed flat on the mattress. Spock removed the soft toy and set it aside, to be dealt with later, and he hauled McCoy up properly onto the bed for a snuggle.

Spock was satisfied with the results of using the toy. It could be washed, and he could use it again and again, for the same purpose, or to rub all over McCoy's naked body, or to press between them…

"So, what possessed you to do that?" McCoy asked drowsily.

"I came to the conclusion while we were copulating. When I was doing my research at the Academy, I found that chocolate has been shown to have mild aphrodisiac properties."

"While we were…?"

"A third traditional Valentine's Day gift, which I did not purchase today, is a bouquet of flowers. The reproductive segments of plants provide pleasant sensory input for humans. So I hypothesized that the plush animal must also have some sexual significance. Since the chocolates are used before the act, to stimulate sexual desire, my theory was that the toy was used during the act. Was I mistaken?"

"Trust me, you didn't make a mistake." McCoy nuzzled Spock's shoulder and mumbled sleepily. "I think the stuffed animal is supposed to be a token of tenderness…for periods in between copulation."

"I see. It reminds the person of their loved one?"

"In this case it certainly will. Every time I see that thing I'm going to think of you." McCoy slowly rolled over, to settle himself in for sleep. "In fact, I might need to keep it out of sight, or else I'll end up having a coronary."

"I will not allow that to happen. You heart is not yours to damage. It belongs to me."

As McCoy drifted off to sleep, Spock came up with sixty-two distinct sexual variations which involved the plush toy. When he added to this the variable of chocolate, the number of combinations increased to 3,596. And when chess was added as an element of foreplay, it became 330,832 variations. Spock regretted that they would not live long enough to try them all, but he amused himself that evening, narrowing it down to the most promising 7,305 variations, which would keep them busy every day for the next twenty years, including leap days.