It Comes To This

His hands slid over the others chest, long fingers exploring, questing over sensitive flesh. The strong fingers dipped and swirled, caressing gently here, softly tugging at the slight hair on the chest. Lips moved down the slope of the neck, teeth biting almost playful at a shoulder. The fingers had found one of the small hard nipples and began caressing and worrying at it until it stood full and erect, the lips continued downward to replace the hands, leaving them free to slide lower still. The owner of the hands let his mouth travel back up, hotly claiming the others. The man on the bed rapped his arms around the others waist drawing him close, smiling as he heard his name rasped in that low, possessive growl, letting his hands roam freely down to the others firm buttocks. . .
The alarm sounded so loud and harshly sudden that Leonard McCoy nearly fell off the bed. Swearing he sat and slapped his hand down on the computer pad silencing the alarm. Leonard swore again but this time for at totally different reason. He was drenched in sweat and uncomfortably aroused from the dream. Sighing slightly he got up and made his way to the shower.
He hated this, it was slightly permissible for him, as a full grown man, to have wet dreams from time to time, and since he had given up trying to convince himself he was straight a long time ago, in no way surprising that those dreams should be about another man. What he hated was the fact they should involve that particular man, and that they should happen with such regularity for, oh, years upon years at this point.
McCoy let his head rest against the cool, wet tile of the shower wall.
“Give it up Leonard”
He told himself wearily
“You’re an old man. You’ll be retired soon. Nothing between you and him is going to change. You’ll always be too much of a coward to admit anything and he’ll always be . . .well himself. It’s time to let it go.”
Still he’d had this conversation with himself enough times to know it wouldn’t change anything, not really. He couldn’t will himself to stop being, completely, desperately in love; after all he’d been trying for years. He turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. Wearily he picked up his uniform and began dressing, turning his mind to the work that no doubt awaited him. As ironic as he had always found it, the best way for him to keep his mind way from the previous line of thought was his excessive work-aholicism. If it hadn’t been for his work, McCoy didn’t think he would have made it through all these years. He ordered up the latest paper he was in the middle of writing onto the computer, along with his first cup of coffee of the day, and got to work.