Everyone knows how sensitive Vulcan hands are. Well, mostly everyone. Since Vulcans are mum on all things tradition and culture, it would be little known knowledge that Vulcan hands are an erogenous zone. It's one of the reasons they shrink from and avoid contact. As a doctor, McCoy is privy to much about other species, and sometimes he really hates that knowledge.

The first time it happened, it was unintended, a simple brush of fingertips as a PADD was passed from one hand to another. Though however casual it may have been, McCoy didn't miss the subtle stiffening of Spock's back or the tightening around the half-Vulcan's eyes or the clenching of said fingers into a fist. And seeing as Spock wasn't going to mention it to the clueless Captain, Bones decided not to mention it either.

The second time seemed more deliberate, though still as if Jim had no idea what he was doing to his First Officer. McCoy kept telling himself that Jim really had no idea. Because really, he rationalized, He wouldn't be flirting with that damn green-blooded hobgoblin. And he then proceeded to attempt to wipe that particular mental image from his mind via a nicely aged bottle of whiskey.

After witnessing a third time, McCoy could no longer fool himself into thinking it was casual touching no matter how drunk he got. They had held hands, held fucking hands. Granted it had only lasted a split second and was probably nothing more than a clasp at most, his mind seemed hell-bent on overanalyzing it.

He could no longer ignore this. Obviously Jim had no idea what he was doing with Spock, and Spock—well Spock was a different matter altogether, and to be honest he didn't and probably would never know what went on in that Vulcan mind. It was intervention time.

Jim looks up from his data PADD at the soft beep emanating from the door. "Enter." And the person on the other side wastes no time in opening the door, its light swishing sound nearly drowned out by the thundering steps that begin as McCoy stomps into the room and right up in Jim's personal space. Jim doesn't say anything, only leans back and looks at his friend as if the doctor is wielding a hypo (which Jim just knows is hidden somewhere on his person, waiting to jab into his poor tender neck). McCoy glares at him and silence reigns. Jim clears his throat, uncomfortable with the proximity of his friend and unsure why exactly he is in fact that close.

"Something you need Bones?"

Oh, if looks could kill. The glare deepens. A finger is pointed accusingly in Jim's face. "You mind telling me what fuck is goin' on?"

Jim's eyebrows shoot up, faintly reminiscent of a certain pointy-eared bastard, but Bones refuses to think about that.

"Don't play dumb with me Jim, we both know you aren't. Now I'll say it again. Do you mind telling me what the hell is goin' on with you and Spock?"

Jim's expression changes swiftly several times. Confusion, surprise, embarrassment, and then settles on blank. He swallows thickly.

"Oh, that. Well, Bones, I was going to tell you—"

Just then the door to his quarters swished open again, this time admitting none other than the object of their discussion.

"Captain, I do realize you are busy, but I thought perhaps we could—"

Spock stopped short at seeing Dr. McCoy in the room. He quirked an eyebrow, seeing the doctor's looming figure and his proximity to the Captain. A sort of staring contest ensued between the good doctor and the half-Vulcan, leaving Jim to look between the two helplessly.

Jim clears his throat for the second time that evening and stands, moving to shove both men out of his quarters. He places a hand on each of their shoulders and marches them to the door. He is met with little resistance as they are both still consumed in their stupid staring contest. Really, what is Bones thinking? Everyone knows Spock can outstare even a computer.

"Well, as much as I'd love to continue this conversation, I really have much work to catch up on. You know how it goes. Can't be remiss in my captainly duties now can I?"

Bones sputters, "Wha—Dammit Jim, we are going to talk about this!"

Spock's response is infinitely calmer, must have something to do with that Vulcan-emotion-suppression thing he does all the time. "As you wish Captain, though I do hope we can continue our conversation from earlier, at a later date."

Jim gets a large grin on his face and finally succeeds in pushing both men out into the hall. Spock stands there calmly, though the subtle look on his face cannot be misinterpreted as anything but the smirk that it is. Bones is the picture of frustration on the other hand.

"Dammit Jim! Why the hell can't you just tell me what is going on between you two!"

Jim's smile falters slightly, "Well I—"

Spock interrupts and finally speaks directly to McCoy. "Are you referring to our having intercourse, Doctor? Or are you referring to our being late to shift this morning. I must apologize for that as it was entirely my doing."

Bones gaped. His mouth tried to form words, and failed. He gaped some more. Spock for his part looked rather smug, well as smug as a damned Vulcan can look anyway. He raised an eyebrow at the speechless doctor and turned to nod at Jim.

"Captain."

With that he turned and strode off down the corridor, allowing himself to have a small smile as he heard Dr. McCoy's voice echo after him.

"Dammit Jim! My mind! My poor mind!"

-Fin-

A/N: Okay so that was completely different from what I had in mind. Still, what do you think?