Spock wanted his mate to be happy, so throughout the house he had conceded to McCoy's interior decorating decisions. Big ornate quilts in loud colors on the bed and sofa. Azaleas in the flower boxes. Gingham on the dining table. McCoy had proudly conjured a Southern cottage inside their narrow pastel house in San Francisco.

But Spock had one room which was his and his alone, and which conformed to every Vulcan standard. A simple bed, a slab to burn incense or candles on, and the ritual drinking vessels. Spock made an effort to use the room without interrupting the rhythms of the Terran day, or making McCoy feel like he was being abandoned for this refuge. If he and Spock had made love the night before, he might wake in the morning to find Spock had gone to meditate in his room. But if Spock had sought out his room the previous evening before bed, McCoy could count on waking to find himself in his mate's arms.

***

When the shuttle dropped him off at the house, Spock did his best to be silent. This was just a formality. He and McCoy were linked so strongly, McCoy would know when he was drawing near. But that didn't mean that he should do away with courtesy. He opened the door slowly, taking care not to bump it with his satchel. He removed his boots and padded across the front room, setting his satchel on the davenport rather than risk it clunking on the hardwood floor. His desire to return home to his mate as quickly as possible meant that he had not slept in ninety-four hours, and he was beginning to feel fatigued. He wished to retire to his room and rest there, so that he might greet his mate properly, with energy and willingness. He shed his travel clothes and went to pick up his meditation robes, only to find that they were not folded on the bed in his room.

Immediately he suspected a trick.

There was no reason why his robes should not be there, where he'd left them. He surmised that they had been moved to the bedroom. He checked the laundry room first, then the bathroom, and did not find them. Finally, he made his way upstairs, to the bedroom. Sure enough, his robes were draped on the back of the easy chair by the window. A sliver of gray light came in from between the curtains. Spock's internal clock told him it was a quarter after five. He crept past the bed, where his mate seemed to be asleep. Spock felt that he might be awake, but it could instead be that he was in the REM stage of sleep. Brain activity made these two phases difficult for him to discern, in humans.

Whichever state it was, it did not change as Spock passed by. He lifted the robe from the chair, and it rustled softly, in Spock's ears. Most likely the noise would have escaped human hearing.

It seemed to be what McCoy would call "the perfect crime." Spock stepped lightly past the bed again.

"Spock."

Spock froze. He held perfectly still long enough to have taken two breaths.

"Come here."

Spock resumed his respiration and approached McCoy's side of the bed. He stood there, naked, his robe draped over one arm to cover himself somewhat. McCoy pushed the quilt aside to show Spock his morning erection.

"Get in bed," he said.

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched. "My journey was long. I wish to rest and meditate."

"Another few minutes won't kill you. Please. It's so hard." McCoy had his hand there now. He was rubbing it just enough to keep it from aching.

"Leonard, you have never learned patience."

"No, I admit I haven't. But I have learned how to do this." With his free hand, he reached out and grabbed Spock's exposed wrist. He pulled, but of course Spock did not budge, so instead his hand slid down until his fingers brushed Spock's. McCoy's arousal shot straight up through Spock's arm and invaded his mind. McCoy could feel it; now Spock was becoming aroused too. Sighing happily, McCoy rubbed his fingers in circles over Spock's palm, letting Spock soak up his amorous state of mind.

"Leonard, when I chose to bond with you, I trusted that you would not exploit our link in this manner."

"That'll teach you to trust a rascal like me." McCoy yanked on Spock's arm again, and Spock went willingly this time, falling smoothly into the bed. "Here, we'll make it quick. You do me and then I'll do you." McCoy took Spock's hand and put it on his erection. He snuggled close, burying his face in Spock's neck, inhaling his scent. For some reason he found Spock's musk even more appealing first thing in the morning, when he wasn't quite awake yet. He rocked his hips. "It's good. Squeeze harder."

Spock closed his fist tightly, making it more difficult for McCoy to push himself back and forth. He grunted with each stroke. His orgasm was completely average, which was just what he was expecting, and he smiled and groaned afterward. Sometimes it was nice to be satisfied sexually without feeling completely emotionally drained and overwhelmed.

But Spock did not give him any time to relish the afterglow. He quickly demanded that McCoy hold up his end of the deal, taking McCoy's hand and placing it, just as had been done to him a few minutes earlier.

McCoy began without protest, lazily stroking Spock and giving him kisses under his jaw, which is where his lips happened to be at that time. For the moment, he wasn't interested in moving about and making a serious effort.

To his dismay, Spock wasn't going to let him get away with this behavior. He pulled back to find McCoy's eyes were closed. He insisted that McCoy open them. "Look at me when you are pleasuring me," he demanded.

With some hesitation, McCoy looked into Spock's eyes, knowing and dreading the intensity he would find there. McCoy had only wanted a leisurely morning orgasm, something that would not require him to even wake up all the way. Now Spock was turning it into something entirely different. His eyes blazed with memory. All the sex they'd ever had, McCoy could see now in those dark eyes. He was wide awake now, pumped full of adrenaline by his lover's command. He was being shown just what happened when he tried to get his way by tricking Spock.

Spock did not even break eye contact when he climaxed. His body convulsed, but he just stared straight back at McCoy, unblinking, while the heat of his seed hit McCoy's belly and spilled over McCoy's fingers.

Spock was still looking forward to meditative rest, but he could not get up and just go to his room, in the state he was in. "I must shower now," he said, getting up.

"Great! I'll join you." McCoy said gleefully. He flung aside the damp sheet and started to follow Spock.

"Leonard."

"Then I'll leave you alone, I promise." He flashed an impish grin, which suggested he had a whole warehouse of tricks stored up in his brain, that he'd been thinking up the whole time Spock had been gone.

Spock asked, out of curiosity, "What was the last thing you said to me that I could trust was the truth?"

McCoy considered the question for a moment, then said, "'Nice to meet you, I'm Doctor Leonard McCoy.'"