Title: Interference
Rating: eventual R rating.
Characters: Spock/McCoy
Series: Star Trek TOS
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. This is for fun.
A/N: Wrote this on a whim

Summary: Shore leave isn't off to a good start. Spock's patience is tried. McCoy is bitten by something, which injects him with an unknown venom that removes all inhibitions. McCoy ends up completely unleashing on Spock.

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Shore leave, as Spock had discovered early on, rarely passed without incident.

They had landed on an uninhabited planet and quickly set up a makeshift camp. It was compromised of a temporary shelter, equipped several benches, tables and planet itself was tropical, dense, lush red and blue jungles, and agreeable in its temperature. It reminded Spock of Vulcan, although he had never seen such a wide range of colors before.

It didn't take long for Jim to gather the others for a meal and the ritual drinking that seemed popular during some during shore drinks were quite strong, a product of lieutenant Winson's hand, as well as Mr. Scott's expertise at the subject. It took approximately thirty four minutes for the first of the crew to show signs of being affected by it.

It was one point four hours and five minutes when they noticed their Chief Medical Officer was missing.

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He hadn't been able to raise McCoy on his communicator, the jungle interfering with the reception, but his signal pointed him out as east of the camp. Spock found him standing in a clearing nearly a mile away. The man was standing in a clearing, heavily shaded from the twin suns. His back was to him. McCoy was rubbing at the base of his neck. Judging from the his body language and the way he was looking around, something had puzzled him. Spock noted the tricorder at his feet, the disturbed dirt around it and crushed plant under it, all of which established that it had landed unceremoniously and suddenly.

The Vulcan stepped into the clearing. "Doctor."

McCoy turned. He looked startled for a moment, then guilty. Spock drew close. As he did so, he saw the kit at McCoy's feet. It was used by away teams to take samples, as well as do a limited analysis on location. It wasn't something one brought on shore leave post-area check.

"You left camp," Spock said simply. It was a question left hanging.

"It was getting too hot in there," McCoy said testily. "Not everyone's ready to plant themselves down here and call it home. This planet is too damn hot."

It is an optimal temperature, Spock thought, but he also knew the doctor was attempting to bait him. His heritage had always been a cause of fascination for the human. He didn't rise to it. He considered the problem at hand. McCoy was wearing several layers, the black undershirt and the science blues, which would only make it more difficult to tolerate the heat. Beaming up to the ship was out of the equation outside of a medical emergency, until the next rotation of the planet. They hadn't had a full shore leave in months. Doctor McCoy himself had insisted on the extra measure to ensure they did. It left limited options. The only courses of action were to either locate somewhere cooler (a futile exercise, as it was eight degrees hotter out in the sun) or to remove some layers of clothing. He decided not to give that thought voice either. Spock studied the surrounding jungle, took note of the colorful avian that took flight, the foreign, yellow tipped flowers, the rippling stream to the left and then back to the doctor. He was starting to perspire.

Stubbornly, McCoy scooped up the tricorder he'd dropped and swiveled to scan a nearby herbaceous plant.

"May I remind you that the purpose of this venture is for recreation and relaxation of the crew. Yourself included."

"You aren't the only one who likes to work a little during shore leave, Mr. Spock. There's a lot of flora and fauna out here that need studying."

He was still rubbing at his neck absently. McCoy caught the pointed stare and dropped his hand.

"I swear something bit me a few minutes ago. Can you check it out? I can't see it." He craned his neck, giving the Vulcan a clear view of the nape of his neck. Spock leaned in ever so slightly. The skin looked unbroken, no raised welts or signs of an entry wound from a bite. The flesh was revealing the beginning signs of a rash, which Spock suspected was more due to McCoy than any insect.

"There is nothing there," Spock said. "I would suggest that you cease in further aggravating the area with more scratching."

McCoy gave him a dirty look.

"Please return to the camp. You do not look well." McCoy opened his mouth to protest. Spock went on before he could. "The temperature will drop a few degrees in the evening and I estimate ten to fifteen degrees further at nightfall. It will be a more tolerable range for you then. I will accompany you if you wish to continue your investigation at that time."

"I don't need a chaperone," McCoy grumbled, but looked inexplicably pleased with the compromise.

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Despite his recommendation, Spock would catch McCoy scratching at his neck every now and then. In fact, he had been doing so with increased frequency every forty-eight seconds. They were less than half a mile back when McCoy halted.

"Spock..."

The Vulcan turned. McCoy wobbled on his feet and then started to go down. The Vulcan strode forward to intercept him. He was stopped by the doctor holding up a hand. His other hand was propping himself on a tree trunk. His head was down, chest heaving a little as he panted.

"I'm fine," McCoy groaned. "It's this heat."

Doctor McCoy was not one of the more rational humans Spock had ever known. Time and time again, the doctor defied his own needs, constantly overlooking his own health for others. Even when there were no patients, he expressed a stubborn insistence that he was fine, with a persistence that was remarkable. At the very least, he was dehydrating in this heat. Spock touched his shoulder, ready to support him the rest of the way back.

McCoy lifted his head. Spock caught a glimpse of something brilliant, open and unguarded, and for a moment, wild, in his blue eyes, right before he suddenly found himself pushed against a nearby tree. The doctor had pressed himself full length against him, as if he somehow thought he could mold himself to every part of him. He was breathing hard.

"Doctor, you are suffering from heat delirium," Spock said coolly. "You are not in your right mind."

"No it's not! When you've gone to medical school, you can start making the medical calls here. I'm the doctor and I'm saying I'm not," McCoy fisted a hand in his shirt. He was staring at Spock with an openness he'd never seen before. "I'm thinking the straightest I ever have."

With that he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the Vulcan's jaw. Despite all of his training, he couldn't deny the shock that swept over him, before it was swiftly pushed aside.

The reduction in inhibition was something he often witnessed with the consumption of alcoholic based beverages. He did recall seeing McCoy try a sip of something Mr. Scott had offered.

Spock did the only logical thing. It wasn't to return the insistent kisses McCoy kept trying to press to his mouth. He didn't move to avoid them, as that would imply discomfort, and the human part of him was determined to retain his Vulcan dignity. He did his best to ignore them right now. He plucked the tricorder from the case at the doctor's hips. He flipped it open and aiming it in McCoy's general direction, turned it on. Startled, the other man looked down. He frowned.

"I'm not drunk," McCoy said emphatically. Spock ignored him and continued scanning him. "I'm not, dammit!" The protest sounded defensive, perhaps because Spock hadn't given any sign that he believed him. It was a strange trait inherent in emotional beings, particularly humans: this need that required others give a verbal or visual cue to reassure them of their own stance. The defensiveness was illogical as well: if McCoy were truly sober, as he claimed, then there would be no need for such a reaction. When Spock didn't show any signs of giving up on the tricorder, McCoy grumbled and then settled on grazing his teeth against the Vulcan's neck. Spock shuddered slightly despite himself. The sensation was not unpleasant.

He had to ascertain what was causing this. He was also finding it more difficult to think when McCoy worried at one of his ear lobes like that. "You are acting in a manner that is most irregular. Even for you."

"I told you, something bit me! And don't give me that nonsense that you didn't see anything, I swear I felt a prick!" The doctor was working his way up his ear. Spock swallowed. He noticed belatedly that they'd somehow slid halfway down the tree trunk. McCoy was determinedly trying to perch on his lap.

"I do not indulge in the act of making wild conjectures," Spock replied stiffly. "There is something wrong with you," he conceded anyway.

"Whatever it was, it must've stripped me of something. Modesty, common sense. Not like I've had much to begin with, willingly running after you and Jim all the time."

McCoy smiled as if he'd made a joke. Spock didn't see the humor in it. He didn't usually see the humor in much of what McCoy said.

The doctor was correct, however. There was no sign of any ethanol in his blood stream, nor was he exhibiting the signs of inebriation. McCoy's speech was not slurred, his were eyes clear and sharp, and judging from the deft fingers of one of his hands wrapped around the back of his neck, his coordination was also very much intact.

"You are not inebriated," he told him. It would be less than one point seven three four seconds before McCoy would engage in 'gloating' at being correct. "There is, however, traces of an unknown compound in your-"

"It's actually freeing," McCoy mused to the air.

Spock paused, momentarily caught off guard by the seemingly non sequitur. He stonily regarded the man on his lap. "What is, doctor?"

"This," he said vaguely. He leaned back and grinned lopsidedly at Spock. The expression was giddy.

If Spock were a human, he might have fallen into worrying. Instead he calmly closed the tricorder. This was something that would require the Enterprise's medical and research facilities. He didn't have enough data to make any solid evaluation how long this would affect the doctor. McCoy was currently toying with the shoulder seam on Spock's shirt. Spock lifted an eyebrow questioningly. "Not having to wonder if I'm about to offend someone. Not having to second guess myself," McCoy clarified. "Not worrying if I'm about to put my foot in my mouth, not having to hold back. Not that you'd know a damn thing about that."

Spock noted the sudden shift in tone. It was the only warning that the situation had suddenly become dangerous. McCoy had quickly lost that playfulness he had just been exhibiting. What was in its place was undoubtedly more familiar. Exasperation. McCoy leaned forward, finger stabbing towards his chest. His face twisted with frustration.

"You're always keeping yourself so tightly wound I'm surprised you haven't had a complete breakdown by now. You can't tell me it's any more healthier bottling everything up all the time than being far too emotional! For God's sake, there's a middle ground, and you're allowed to take it! You'd think it'd kill you to show some happiness once in a while when Uhura does something nice for you, or when Jim got you something for Christmas."

Spock didn't reply. There wasn't room to anyway. Even he could detect the hurt in McCoy's voice, something that wasn't just born from the substance affecting him.

"Goddamn you. Goddamn you for being an insensitive, emotionless, depressing, cold blooded Vulcan," McCoy hissed. "And I'm just as much to blame for being fool enough to--"

McCoy decided not to even finish with his tirade. Angrily, the doctor was trying to get off Spock's lap and away from him. He found himself with his arms suddenly full of a squirming bundle of limbs, boots, and flailing arms. The position McCoy had managed to get himself in earlier was a tenuous one at best. Spock didn't know what other effects he could be suffering from that substance in his system. Letting him out of his sight was ill-advised. Spock tightened his arms around him.

"What in hell's name are you doing?! Let me go!" McCoy snapped.

"No."

McCoy renewed his struggles anyway, even though they both knew he wasn't capable of overpowering a Vulcan. He did so out of a stubbornness that Spock suspected wasn't necessarily native to humans, just McCoy.

"If I release you now, you will wander off. You would then run a very high chance of becoming lost or discovering one of the native predators."

The explanation should have mollified him. The doctor swiveled awkwardly to glare balefully at him.

"I told you, I'm thinking clearly. Maybe that's the problem, I'm thinking too clearly!"

Spock resisted pointing out that there was no such thing. "You are making rash judgments. While some inhibitions are unessential, a good many do have their basis. They can serve both to fit into social groups as well as to act as a protective survival function. And you are displaying none whatsoever."

McCoy looked like he was going to explode any moment.

"Could you stop talking logic for one damn minute?!"

"That would be illogical."

"Maybe you should've gotten stung, it'd be an improvement!" McCoy complained. To his credit, he finally gave up trying to break Spock's grip.

"Insults will not improve either of our situations, doctor."

There was a silence while McCoy considered his options.

"So what, you're going to hold me here? For how long?!"

"As long as it takes for either the substance to leave your system or for Jim to send out search parties. However, I would rather not wait for either," Spock corrected. He awkwardly reached between their bodies and drew out his communicator. He flipped it open. It blipped on.

McCoy promptly plucked it out of his hands and flung it over his shoulder. It flew it several yards behind him. It vanished through the wall of leaves. For the second time in that day, shock washed over the Vulcan, this time followed by the first hints of actual anger. McCoy was acting in a manner that was exceedingly illogical and dangerous, and if he could feel emotions, it would start to annoy him. He couldn't go retrieve it without letting the doctor go and they both knew that. For a second, Spock considered using a nerve pinch on him. There were several factors against him: his hold had to be maintained, and he didn't have the element of surprise. McCoy had seen him do it before. He had an estimated eleven percent chance of successfully using it on McCoy under these circumstances. It left no other alternative but to wait.

Spock raised his eyes and leveled an icy stare at McCoy. McCoy squared his jaw in return.

"No, we're going to get this out between us right now. You aren't going to let me leave. There's a lot I've always wanted to tell you and I'll be damned if I'm passing this chance up," McCoy said with some relish.

(TBC)