"To Err is Human"

Spock/McCoy, Kirk; Rated PG-13; festival, humor

2005 ASCEML Awards - 1st Place Spock/McCoy Fest

Dr. Leonard McCoy leaned back in his chair and looked out his office door, making sure he was alone in sickbay. He had another... he looked at the clock on the corner of his desk... seven hours, fifty-two minutes and ten seconds left on his shift before he was off duty and able to treat Spock to the special Valentine's Day surprise he'd planned. An eternity in just under eight hours.

McCoy leaned over his computer console and typed up a quick electronic message to Spock. He wouldn't spoil the surprise, but he'd definitely give him something to think about. No use being the only one distracted all day.

He opened up the intra-ship message system and typed:

My hunka-hunka-burning love,

All day I picture curves arching under me Dripping the sweat of passion, the heat Equaled by no other. We quest together for the Coolness and calmness that follows it.

Tonight I must make this image into reality. I cannot live on images. Sustenance craves Veritability of pleasure, not phantoms of fever. Each moment stretches into eternity;

I long to run my hand down the spine, cup Each buttock in turn, lick a line of Shivers along the spine hiding behind you. Soon I will make love to you.

Meet me in the small auxiliary lab next to the botany lab on deck seven at 2300 tonight.


McCoy scanned what he wrote, his finger hovering over the button that would send the message to Spock's computer.

"Excuse me, Doctor."

He jerked in surprise, and his finger pressed the screen. The message disappeared and the notice "Message Sent" appeared on screen. If there'd been any changes he wanted to make, it was too late.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Nurse Chapel said apologetically. She stood in the doorway to McCoy's office holding a stack of padds.

McCoy sighed. Back to reality. He looked at the clock again. Only seven hours thirty three minutes and forty-four seconds.

~ * ~

Captain James Kirk looked down as the padd in his hand beeped at him. *Mail. Probably some stupid report I'm supposed to scrutinize carefully and comment on. *

He called up the message and read in growing amazement as the racy love poem touched him in more places than his heart. He looked at the sender and almost choked. He'd known the doctor considered him a close friend, but he'd just about given up on Bones ever looking at him with more than friendship. Well, well, he thought, it looks like my Valentine's Day won't be spent looking at porn. He typed in a reply:

My love muffin,

I've been hoping for a while that you would return my affections. Valentine's Day is the perfect time to act on our feelings. I'll bring the restraints, you bring the lube.

2300 tonight, the auxiliary lab next to the botany lab, deck 7. I'll be there.

He went to press the "reply to sender" button when Yeoman Rand bumped his arm. His hand crashed into the padd. He looked down quickly, and noticed the message had vanished from the screen. "Message Sent" had taken its place.

"Sorry, Captain," Rand apologized.

"No harm done, Yeoman," Kirk assured her, turning off the padd.

He handed her the padd, and turned back to the viewscreen, mind already fast-forwarding ahead to the activities he had in mind for the doctor.

He never realized that the "reply shipwide" button was right next to the "reply to sender" button.

~ * ~

Uhura read the message then swiveled in her chair to glance at the captain, then back at the message. He couldn't be crazy enough to actually think she'd show up. One kiss -- and that one under duress -- didn't make a relationship. And if he got the message that she'd be willing to heat up the sheets with him based on that...

No, she certainly wasn't going to show. Otherwise he might not like what she'd be tempted to with that lube.

~ * ~

Pavel Checkov read the message for the fifth time. Finally! He had wondered if the captain would pick up on the subtle messages he'd been sending him since joining the crew. He wondered which of them the restraints were for. He licked his lips in anticipation of the evening assignation.

~ * ~

Kevin Thomas Riley hit the delete button on the terminal, even after the message had been purged from the screen. He'd had his suspicions that the captain buttered his bread with the wrong side of the knife, but to have them confirmed in such a manner! He shivered as if toxic hands had run down his spine. Well, there was no help for it. As much as he liked serving on the Enterprise, he had no other choice. He keyed in a command and started composing a transfer request to Starfleet Command.

~ * ~

Janice Rand tore through her closet. The perfect outfit just had to in there! The most important night of her life called for a knock-out, drop-dead, take-me-on-the-spot outfit. She'd brushed her hair out, long and loose, so the captain could run his hands through it. She wondered if he'd make her keep calling him "captain" or if she'd be allowed to call him "Jim." She guessed it depended on what kind of kink he was in to. That train of thought gave her an idea. She abandoned the closet and started rifling through drawers. In the second one she found what she was looking for: an old-fashioned red leather bustier, complete with a velvet o-ring collar and matching red pumps. She raced back to the closet, grabbed the pumps and started to undress.

~ * ~

McCoy was tired. More tired than he thought he'd be. Some equipment malfunctions had led to a day filled with tedious testing and more testing. Everything had finally been repaired, but it'd left him with hardly a chance to eat lunch, let alone see or talk to Spock. He hadn't even had time to see if Spock responded to his Valentine's message.

A quick shower and change, and he headed toward the lab on deck seven. He was passing a storage locker when a hand shot out and drug him inside before he could react.


"Shhhh," a voice whispered in his ear, breath musky and hot.

McCoy recovered quickly. The familiar voice and body he was pressed tightly against were as familiar to him as his own. "Spock! What are you doing?"

"I think it's best we avoid your intended rendezvous location."


It was hard to see Spock's expression in the dark closet, but McCoy thought he saw the Vulcan's eyebrows rise in amusement. "You haven't checked your messages today, have you?"

"No." McCoy was even more puzzled. "Why?"

Spock's hands caressed McCoy's back in long, leisurely strokes. "I think we're better off in here."

"Here? A cramped, smelly maintenance closet?" McCoy felt like he had a question mark permanently attached to his mouth.

Spock leaned down and licked McCoy's lips. "Does the location really matter as long as we're together?"

Vulcan logic. Hard to argue with.


Kirk was whistling to himself as he headed for the lab on deck seven. He was wearing his frictionless zebra print thong under a long, red bathrobe. If he ran into anyone along the way, he'd simply say he'd been working out and didn't want to walk the corridors in sweat-soaked clothing. His handcuffs -- special made and covered with the fur of webbits from Alpha Centauri Prime -- were tucked snug in his left pocket.

He opened the door to the lab and walked in, his mind on the midnight pleasures he was expecting to indulge in. Anything was better than old porn vids and his right hand.

The doors swished shut behind him and he stopped dead in his tracks. An assortment of faces swam before him: Checkov, Rand, Scotty, McGivers, and a host of others. From the looks on their faces they were not in the best of moods.

"Uh," the captain stammered, hoping it was all just a bad dream and he'd wake up any moment, cradled in the arms of his Bonesy-wonesy. "What's going on?"


Copyright February 2005 by Cait N.

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