Title: I Bake for You
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy
Disclaimer: Do not own, sadly, anything except the plot bunnies and the actual writing.
Author’s Note: I have almost completed a Kirk/McCoy prompt fic for space_wrapped; because, in my little brain, I eventually see K/M evolving into K/S/M years down the road, this sequel demanded to be written. It can still be read as a stand-alone. :D
Summary: McCoy baking is a sign that Jim recognizes all too well.

FYI – Prompt fic to be released on December 3rd. Prompt reads: The very first time Jim and Bones spend the holidays together, Bones sort of freaks out completely without warning and starts to bake manically. Pies, cookies, bread, etc. Jim tries to figure out what is driving such crazypants behaviour.

Spock’s ears pick up the following conversation between the Captain and the Doctor as he almost rounds a corner:

“Not that I’m complaining, Bones—” Kirk’s voice is muffled by the sound of chewing. “—but you know what this means, right?”

“What in God’s name as you blabbering on about, kid? And damn it, Jim, swallow before you choke.”

“Mmmm… sooo gwood.”

A sharp smack, a cough and Jim complaining, “Ow! Ow! Hey, I was going to finish that!”

Spock turns the corner and halts. His eyebrow ascends to a proper inquisitive height.

Doctor McCoy is scowling and attempting to protect the mauled remains of a fragile food substance. Spock can smell it; its odor is surprisingly pleasant. The Captain is dancing around, face red, chanting “Bones Bones Boooones!”

Neither Human has noticed him. “Good evening,” greets the Vulcan.

They pause, McCoy’s head snapping towards Spock as he unbalances with surprise—not just because their antics are being observed by the First Officer, but because Jim has successfully wrapped himself around the Doctor like a cephalopod.

The two Humans tip over and the object in McCoy’s hand shoots across the floor, bounces to a stop at Spock’s boots. He tilts his head in study of it.

Kirk is talking as he untangles his limbs from the Doctor’s—and quickly gets out of reach of those choking hands. (Spock will intervene the moment before his Captain loses consciousness, if necessary.) “Oh hello there, Spock. That’s a cinnamon bun—for you.”

“JIM!” is McCoy’s outraged cry.

“A…cinnamon bun? Why would one offer another a partially consumed—”

“Nothin’, Spock! Jim’s lyin’ through his Goddamn teeth.”

Jim looks affronted and hurt. “Bones, how can you say that?”

“‘Cause I didn’t bake no Goddamn cinnamon rolls for Spock, you idiot!”

“Didn’t you?” Jim replies mildly. The Enterprise officers engage in a stare-down.

Spock decides that he must interrupt. “Doctor. Captain. If you please, desist.”

They both turn to look at him. Then Kirk seems to regain his senses and helps his CMO up from the floor. McCoy grimaces, grumbles and rubs at his rear. Spock can only assume that it has suffered an injury in his fall.

“Do you require medical attention, Doctor?”

McCoy goes still. His facial expression indicates Human awkwardness. “No! No, Mr. Spock, I’ll be fine.”

Jim makes a noise.

“I am pleased that you are well.” Spock pauses, sorts through a mental list of questions (arranged by relevancy). “I was unaware that you… bake, Doctor McCoy.”

Now the Human’s face is suffused with blood. Embarrassment, Spock knows but does not understand. McCoy does not deny Spock’s conclusion.

“I admit that I am intrigued by this addition to your set of skills.”

The Captain interrupts with “Bones’s got some fantastic skills, Mr. Spock.”

Spock asks Kirk, “Do you make reference to his extracurricular kitchen skills or his sexual skills, Captain?” Humans are wont to imply the latter.

“Both,” grins his superior officer.

“That’s it! See if I stand here and take this kind of insolent whistle-blowin’!” McCoy drops Jim’s hand, and stomps over to the Vulcan. “Move. Somebody’s gotta clean up this mess.” He squats down, picking up the remnants of a cinnamon roll. (Or is it bun? Spock has heard both references but the difference is unclear.)

He steps back, allowing McCoy more personal space (and himself). The man is muttering threatening words which Spock hears very clearly. They pertain to the Captain and could be considered treasonous. He decides that he will ignore this instance, as the CMO’s irascibility is common knowledge but the Human’s penchant for harm has no substance. Substance that he has experienced (barring unpalatable medicinal concoctions), besides the occasional vitriol.

Then McCoy straightens, gives him a sharp nod (ignoring the lingering Captain) and disappears around the corner of the ship’s corridor.

“Fascinating.” Spock turns back to his Captain with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Spock. I have a feeling that Bones will make you another batch of those buns.”

“I do not understand.”

“You will. I did, and I can’t say that I regret it.”

With those words, the Captain of the Enterprise returns to duty. Spock, in that moment, perhaps, comprehends the meaning of confusion.

Bones holds off visiting the kitchens for three whole days (a record, in Jim’s opinion, for a man in love) before Jim catches him in the act late one Gamma shift.

“Bones…” he calls out into the vacated area. The smell of something delicious sets his stomach to gurgling with impending happiness.

“Ah shit,” he hears. There is a resounding bang and clatter.

Jim slides up to the counter opposite of a bent-McCoy and admires the view. “Nice,” he murmurs.

“I can’t work in this wreck of a death trap!” Bones throws a metal spoon that skitters towards Jim, who leans out of the way and watches it drop from the counter.

“We’ve had this discussion, Bones. The Enterprise is equipped with the latest technology.”

“Except for a decent stove. It burns every damn cookie, cake, and pie!”

“I don’t smell burnt anything.” Jim tests the air again, just in case.

“Not yet, ya don’t. But if I don’t watch it constantly, I’ll have to make more dough. That’s the last of it.” McCoy indicates the glowing window set into the wall. Then Jim’s beloved doctor sighs heavily and slumps onto a stool. “I don’t care what y’all yahoos think. There ain’t nothin’ like a good ol’ electric stove—”

“—in Georgia—””

McCoy nods magnanimously. “In Georgia.”

“—at your mama’s house,” Jim finishes.

Bones glares at him. “Don’t insult my mama, Jim.”

His hands go up automatically in a gesture of good will. “Never. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Bones’ eyes soften. “Don’t say that, kid. With your luck, it’ll happen.”

“And you’ll be here to bring me back.” Jim reaches out; they clasp hands. There is a moment of silence, full of unspoken words of love, between them. Then Jim eases back. “So. When were you going to tell me about Spock?”

“Jim…” McCoy’s face goes pale, his evening stubble a dark contrast. Jim wonders idly if Bones will let him shave him again. Last time that led to some rather… fun activities. Jim shifts in his seat. Refocuses on what McCoy is saying. “I’d never—”

“I know that, Bones. I know you wouldn’t cheat on me,” he replies gently. “But you can’t help the way you feel. It’s okay.”

“No,” the other man moans, “it isn’t, Jim! I keep thinking that I’m crazy, ’cause I have to be—absolutely fucking nuts when I have you and, Jesus, we’re talking about the hobgoblin for crying out loud—”

Jim decides that it’s now or never. And hasn’t he always been the one to jump straight into the fire? “Bones,” he says sharply, enough to break through his lover’s rambling. “You are a little bit in love with Spock. And you know what? I think I am too.”

Bones stares at him before comprehension dawns. “What?” The man swallows hard. “Jim, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if we both feel this way about Spock, maybe there is a good reason. Maybe it’s… right.”

“Do you know how crazy that sounds!” Bones is up in an instant.

Jim stands more slowly. “I’ve heard crazier,” he shrugs.

“I’m serious, kid! Jim, if we both—both feel something for somebody else…”

“No.” The word is harsh enough to bring Bones up short in his agitated state. “I love you, Bones. That hasn’t changed. Will never change. Do you understand?”

McCoy’s reply is soft. “Yes, I do. I love you too.”

Jim walks around the counter to his partner and pulls him close. They share a kiss, a mere brushing of lips, as a reminder. Bones relaxes under his hands.

“Then what do we do about Spock?”

“Why,” Jim grins suddenly, “the only logical thing a Human can do, Doctor McCoy.”

Bones raises an eyebrow in question.

“We seduce him,” Kirk clarifies.

“Jim,” McCoy says slowly, “I’m not sure it’s possible to seduce a Vulcan.”

“I like a challenge,” the Captain purrs. “And I think Spock would enjoy your cinnamon buns.”

McCoy does blush. Jim nips at the doctor’s jaw before tangling a hand into that short dark hair. Bones is getting distracted, when is perfectly fine.

“How about those chocolate honey sandwich things you made—”

“Jim, seducing Spock and getting him drunk should be mutually exclusive.”

For now, Jim thinks.

Then Bones kisses the corner of his pouting mouth. “It’s not ethical. But I can certainly make some for you.”

He pulls back, a wicked grin on his face. “Great. I know just how we can use them tonight.”

“Jim, I don’t have time—”

They both go still, their brains finally registering the surroundings that had been previously muted by their ardor. “Bones, I think—”

“Shit! Damn it, Jim, I told you they would burn if I wasn’t paying attention!” Jim has to let him go then, as McCoy dives for the control settings.

When all is said and done (cursed and banged around), Jim stares down at a tray of ruined treats with great sadness. Bones tosses a towel beside the tray, then smacks Jim’s hand as it reaches for a black smoking piece of cookie.

“Don’t eat that, stupid.” Then Bones half-turns away and announces, “If you go find a couple of extra pots, I suppose I could make those florentines now.”

Jim doesn’t need to be told twice.

Later, as Jim is licking leftover chocolate off of Bones’ belly, McCoy sighs and says to him, “Do you think Vulcans have any special recipes?”

He pauses. “Don’t know. I bet we could ask old Spock.”

Bones looks at him as if he’s crazy.

“I also bet that he would give us some pointers, too,” adds Kirk.

Then Bones drops his head back down onto the bed. Jim feels triumphant when he hears, “Yeah, maybe we could.”

Yes, they can. Jim Kirk has a sneaking suspicion that the elder Spock will be pleased to share a few Vulcan cultural wooing techniques with them.

He slides across Bones and they wrap up in each other’s arms. When his brain is drowsy in its afterglow, a thought pops into his sleepy head.

Was elder Spock’s McCoy a baker as well?

He vows resolutely to ask.

-Fini

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