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It was, to be perfectly honest, a little theatrical.
Corpse delivery was a task that could easily be delegated, and was definitely below the station of the First Officer. If asked-and assuming the bold question asker didn’t simply earn themselves a brush with the Agonizer for insubordination-Spock would probably say that he simply wanted to ensure the good doctor’s research material arrived in one piece, that he didn’t trust others not to be careless with it.
Leonard was almost positive that Spock simply wanted to ensure that he knew exactly who had provided him with his next project.
Not that he’s complaining, of course-he does enjoy a good autopsy, especially on a species he's had less hands-on experience with. Romulans are supposed to be remarkably similar to Vulcans, and Leonard can hardly wait to take this one apart and see first hand just how deep those similarities run.
But it was still hard not to think Spock was being a little ridiculous, hauling a limp Romulan over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Blood, thickening rapidly as the corpse comes to room temperature, but not quite coagulated yet, drips sluggishly from the wound on the back of the Romulan’s head, and Leonard can just picture the trail of green leading from the transporter room all the way to his sick bay. Someone will clean it up-neither Spock nor Leonard are concerned with who. The halls of this ship have seen far greater quantities of blood, and come out the other side still mostly clean.
Spock looks at Leonard intently, as if awaiting acknowledgment or direction. He probably is. There’s a reason he’s not gunning for a promotion like anyone else in his position would be-for some strange reason, Spock actually likes following instructions. With this in mind, Leonard directs Spock to an operating table, and helps him settle the limp corpse onto it.
“You know, when I was growing up, my family had this old barn cat,” Leonard tells him, in lieu of a thanks. “He was always bringing back dead mice. Dropped ‘em right at my feet, like he was giving me a gift. First thing I ever dissected, actually.”
“A mouse?”
Leonard grins.
“The cat.”
Spock raises his brow, but doesn’t respond. Leonard doesn’t expect him to.
“You sure none of this green sludge is yours?”
“I am certain.”
Leonard still gives Spock a visual once over, just to be safe-he’s still pissed at him over the last time he tried hiding an injury. It’s hard to tell, though, when he’s just come back from an away mission-he hasn’t even washed the blood off yet, red and green flecks still spattered across his face like freckles.
It makes for a very handsome picture.
“Hmm. If you’re sure. Well, don’t just stand there-if you’re expected someplace, quit crowding my sickbay.”
“I am not expected anywhere else at this time.”
Leonard grins again at that, and immediately presses a pair of blunt-tipped shears into Spock’s hand. His fingers close around the tool reflexively.
“Then make yourself useful, and get our patient prepped for surgery.”
Spock, of course, does not smile, but there’s a certain look in his eyes that Leonard has come to understand might as well be a grin.
“Of course, doctor.”
Spock slices the Romulan out of his clothing quickly and efficiently, leaving the corpse nude under the clinical lighting of the surgery suite. Spock then sets about cleaning the body of dirt and dried blood, and Leonard begins calibrating his equipment. He pulls up a few references on his PADD of Romulan anatomy, and Vulcan anatomy for comparison, then, just for fun, pulls up Spock’s own medical records. The minutia of his systems might deviate in places, but his internal anatomy hardly got anything from his human side-it’s basically Vulcan standard, green blood, weird heart, and all. He’ll serve as a perfectly suitable reference point for comparative study-perhaps in a greater capacity than just his medical records.
This done, Leonard allows himself a moment to simply observe Spock prepping the body for him. Christine does amazing work, and he wouldn’t trade her for any other nurse in the fleet, but having Spock assisting just gave the already pleasurable experience of performing an autopsy that little extra spark. He responds so well to orders, as long as they’re from people he respects-so, really, he only responds well to orders from Leonard and Jim. But he responds to their particular orders very, very well.
Leonard has never had the pleasure of Spock’s assistance during an autopsy on a being so similar to himself, however-both anatomically and, he notices, superficially. Similar build, at least, tall, slim, and lightly muscled. Same hair, though that’s more or less a given. Of course he has the distinctive forehead ridges of a Romulan, but the rest of his face is passably similar to Spock’s as well, in superficial, general ways. The shape of his chin, his nose-obviously different, of course, but similar enough to notice if you’re looking for it. It’s not lost on Leonard, nor is the fact that Spock himself chose this specimen in particular to bring back from what was no doubt a group of several kills.
Interesting.
Leonard flicks through information on his PADD, making sure it’s angled so Spock can catch enough of a glimpse to see his own records being perused, and Leonard fights to contain a satisfied smirk when Spock’s breath hitches almost imperceptibly.
If he didn’t know Spock so well, he’d almost think he was scared.
He sets the PADD aside, and snaps on a pair of latex gloves, a bit slower and more deliberately than is strictly necessary, then, without preamble, begins cutting a y-shaped incision into the corpse’s sternum with a scalpel. A real, old fashioned scalpel-laser scalpels are preferable for surgery, granting greater precision and reducing bleeding, assuming you wanted your patient to come out the other end alive. But his patient is well and truly dead already, and Leonard has a fondness for the tactile experience of digging through layers of soft, delicate flesh with a sharp object. Green blood wells up, following his scalpel and oozing from the incision, trickling sluggishly across the chest of the Romulan. Dead blood doesn’t flow nearly as freely, which is always a little disappointing, but what it lacks in quality it certainly makes up for in quantity as Leonard slowly frees skin from fat, fascia, and muscle, all varying shades of green and slick with blood. He’s soaked past the wrists when he’s done, and only then does he take a break from admiring his work to instead observe his temporary assistant.
Spock is staring at the exposed ribs. His expression is, of course, just shy of being completely inscrutable-save for a faint dust of green across his cheekbones and ear tips. His pupils are dilated, huge and round and dark. His breath comes just a bit too fast, only noticeable in contrast to his usual measured consistency, but oh does Leonard notice.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on in that supposedly big brain of yours? Or are you just gonna keep gawking?”
Leonard grins in satisfaction as his words break Spock from his trance, causing him to jump just slightly before regaining his composure.
“I am simply…observing your work,” he answers, hesitating slightly. Spock doesn’t hesitate about anything, normally, but of course, right now he’s not Commander Spock, First Officer of the ISS Enterprise. He left that at the door when he decided to play nurse, and he and Leonard have played this game enough times that they’re both well aware of this fact.
“Any thoughts?”
“The similarities in our anatomy are…remarkable.” He practically breathes that last word, all but confirming Leonard’s suspicions. He smirks.
“Maybe I ought to open you up for comparison,” he teases, testing the waters. Spock sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, and lets it out shakily.
“…That would be…inadvisable,” Spock replies, sounding almost regretful.
“Sure, sure,” Leonard answers dismissively. “Would be fun though, wouldn’t it? Hand me that laser saw, will you?”
Leonard waits with uncharacteristic patience for Spock to process that a request has been made of him. Soon enough, he obediently offers Leonard the requested tool so that he may begin the process of cutting through ribs. Here Leonard prefers modern convenience-rotary blades are loud and kick up dust, making them much more useful as an interrogation tool or a threat than as proper medical equipment. The laser saw slices through each rib like butter, and soon the thoracic cavity is completely exposed. Similar in layout to a human’s, minus the positioning of the heart, and the fact the whole damn thing is grey and green instead of pink and red.
“Is that how you look inside?” he asks, aiming for casual-to-threatening and landing instead somewhere in the ballpark of awe-and-arousal. He bites the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t want to give the game away so fast, but he’s wet already, and even over the thick coppery scent of blood Spock can probably still smell it.
“As I have stated, the similarities in our anatomy are remarkable.”
“Which means?”
“Which means this is, indeed, ‘how I look inside’.”
“Is that why you brought him to me?” Leonard hazards asking.
“You have a standing request for intact alien bodies, to facilitate your research,” Spock answers, avoiding Leonard’s gaze by staring instead at the newly exposed lungs in the chest cavity before him.
“Which you’ve made a habit to hand-deliver to my sick bay. If you were anyone else I’d think you were angling for brownie points.”
“As you are so fond of pointing out, doctor, I am quite unlike ‘anyone else’ aboard this ship.”
Leonard rolls his eyes.
“Anyone but our friend here,” he replies, gesturing towards the corpse. Blood flicks from his fingertips at the sudden motion, spattering the already mottled flesh. Spock raises a questioning brow. “He looks like you. You know he looks like you. On the inside, and out. What, did you pick the tallest one there by accident?”
“I do not do anything ‘by accident’,” Spock answers pointedly, and now it’s Leonard’s turn to suck in a shuddering breath, a shiver bolting down his spine. That’s as good as an admission, coming from Spock. If he was denying it, he’d call it a coincidence.
They’ve been dancing around this subject for a while now, really. Playing this game. Spock drags a corpse into his sick bay. Spock watches him dissect it, helps him take notes, hands him tools. All tasks far below his station. Spock is well known to be of the opinion that if you want something done right, you do it yourself. He gets his hands dirty. This isn’t, technically speaking, unusual.
Except Leonard is one of the few people on this ship Spock actually trusted to do his damn job correctly. He performed surgery on the man, for star’s sake. Leonard has no doubt in his mind that Spock would rather perform surgery on himself with a mirror than let someone he didn’t trust completely put him under.
So it’s not a simple case of micromanaging.
Which leaves one alternative. Spock, for whatever reason, enjoys this. The only question Leonard has been stumped by is exactly in what way. Spock doesn’t make things like this easy, doesn’t communicate his intentions clearly, the things he wants or needs or likes. Whether it’s to be a pain in the ass or because he genuinely doesn’t know how to, Leonard isn’t sure. But it’s a puzzle he’s happy to take his time trying to solve, because it’s always incredibly satisfying to do so, to see Spock simultaneously annoyed to be figured out and too pleased to do anything about it. And Leonard is fairly certain he’s finally cracked this particular desire wide open.
“Would you like to find yourself on my autopsy table, Spock?” he asks. He’s asked plenty of people the same question-a threat, and not a subtle one. He’s never said it like this before, though. Soft, genuinely questioning. A little teasing, just to be safe, because vulnerability is dangerous and terrifying to the both of them and this veneer of rivalry is a comfort neither of them is completely willing to go without. And above all else, maddeningly horny.
He watches Spock’s reaction carefully. His pupils are huge. His expression is carefully, almost aggressively neutral, the way he gets when he’s working way too hard to control his face. Overcompensating for the intensity of his feelings. Leonard stares him down, watching carefully for the cracks in the mask, and is finally rewarded by a small, barely-there nod. Leonard grins.
“Good boy,” he praises, and Spock shivers, his eyes fluttering shut. “You wanna watch, darlin? I’ll treat him real gentle, show you just how I’ll take care of you.”
“Is this a threat?” Spock asks quietly. He knows it isn’t. If Leonard wanted him dead, he’d be dead by now, or at least well on his way.
Leonard’s grin widens.
“A promise.”
He plunges his hands into the exposed cavity, forceful still, but gentler than he normally would. Caresses the lungs on top, much larger than a human’s with no heart in the way to compete with for space. Faintly green, and slippery, like everything else inside the body. His fingers trail down, Spock’s eyes tracking the motion with rapt attention. Imagining himself in the Romulan’s place, perhaps. Dead? Or still alive? Conscious even, in a way that only makes sense in fantasy, watching every move Leonard makes? He’ll make sure to prise those answers from Spock soon enough, but for now he lets himself enjoy the slow, sensuous touch of room temperature innards. Soon his fingers curl around the Romulan’s heart, tucked safely away in his side, larger than a human’s and colored a deep, rich green. He squeezes, just slightly, the tough muscle barely compressing against his grip.
“I’ll keep yours in a jar. Right on my desk. Pickle it so it keeps and I can look at it forever.”
He says it lightly, teasingly, but he’s not joking, and he thinks Spock knows that. He fully plans on keeping their hearts, if the opportunity presents itself, Jim and Spock both. Ideally it won’t ever come up, if the three of them approach anything close to their natural life spans, but in their line of work they don’t often have the luxury of “ideally”. It never hurts to plan ahead. Leonard is pretty sure Jim intends to eat parts of them should they die, in some perverse display of respect. He’s made his peace with that. There are worse things to happen to your corpse.
The fact Spock isn’t chastising him for his sentimentality is testament to how deeply invested he’s become in the proceedings. He just keeps staring, face flushed, pupils blown wide enough to nearly eclipse his irises. Leonard knows from experience that Spock’s control is tight enough that it usually takes a concentrated effort on both his and Jim’s part to get his cock free from his sheath without Spock willingly allowing it to happen, and that he absolutely refuses to let himself get hard while still clothed, because it’s “undignified”-Leonard’s carefully honed “Vulcan Bullshit Translator” reads that as “embarrassing and sticky”. But based on the way he shifts his weight, this just might be hitting all the right buttons to get his cock showing some interest despite Spock’s best efforts.
“Don’t be scared, give it a squeeze,” Leonard encourages, taking Spock’s hand in his own slippery, blood soaked one and guiding it towards the body. Spock shivers, and does as he’s told, pressing his bare hand against the organ and gently compressing it. Green blood streaks his fingers and palm, as his fingertips skate across the slick surface of the Romulan’s heart. Leonard watches, amused-it’s almost like it’s his first time playing in some entrails, or something. Then again, Spock doesn’t often allow himself to have fun. Maybe it really is the first time he’s been inside a body cavity for anything other than learning, or killing. A shame, if that’s the case, because he’s clearly enjoying himself. Spock's lips part slightly, and he wets them with his tongue, before swallowing hard. He squeezes the heart again.
Spock now fully occupied, Leonard takes the opportunity to circle around and press himself against Spock’s back. He moves slowly, telegraphing his intentions and movements-no matter how horned up he is, Spock still has the instincts of a killer, and Leonard doesn’t feel like spooking him today. Once he’s safely tucked against his body, it’s simple enough to undo his trousers and take a look at what he’s working with, which Spock allows him to do easily, almost distractedly. As Leonard thought, the tip of his cock is already peeking free from Spock’s sheath, smearing slick and precum into his underwear. He rubs the head teasingly with his gloved, bloodied palm, and Spock lets out a small gasp, and a cut-off whimper. Leonard smirks.
“Someone’s excited,” he teases, working Spock’s cock further free from his sheath, smearing blood along its slick length as he hardens fully in Leonard's hand. Spock is being annoyingly silent following his initial outburst, shaking slightly with the effort of suppressing his reactions, and Leonard tuts at him. “Now, you know better than that, darlin’. Show our guest a little respect. You went to all that trouble to kill him and bring him back to me, after all, and now you wont even show us how much you’re enjoying this? I might stop if you keep that up.”
Leonard knows better than to expect Spock to truly drop every aspect of suppression-he’s not sure he even consciously can. But he can make him stop being so damn quiet, at least, because he whimpers and whines and moans too pretty to be keeping so quiet all the time. True to his threat, his motions still, his fingers gripped loosely around Spock’s cock until he whines, and bucks his hips.
“Good boy.”
Leonard grins at the whimper the praise pulls from Spock, and continues jerking him off. Spock takes the initiative to plunge his other hand into the Romulan’s body unprompted, and Leonard watches in fascination (and quickly ratcheting arousal) as those long, sensitive digits glide across the intestines, loops of guts twining around his fingers.
“How does it feel?”
“...Wet,” Spock answers honestly, and Leonard laughs.
“Wet and warm and sticky, right? Well, not so warm now. Dead cold, probably. You’re still nice and warm inside.”
Spock nods. His hips buck again.
“Don’t forget I’ve been inside you before, darlin’. I already know what you look like, what you feel like. Did you forget? That you let me knock you out and cut you open? That you let me take care of you already? Maybe if you’re good, you can stay awake next time.”
Spock gasps again, and something about that promise must have done it for him, because his fingers clench around the Romulan’s heart hard enough to tear through it, and he shudders and bucks his hips, and with a whimper he cums hard enough that it lands on the body in front of him.
Leonard tugs Spock around by his hips, and he’s muzzy and tired enough in the immediate afterglow to let him, to let Leonard kiss him hard and biting and harsh without even thinking to kiss back for a moment. He soon returns to the moment enough to bite back, to weakly fight the tongue pressing messily into his mouth despite how much Leonard knows Spock loves it. They pull apart gasping, and Spock doesn’t fuss when Leonard leaves sticky green handprints on his already stained uniform, allowing him to grab him by the shoulders and push him to his knees. Only two people get to see him like this, and Leonard is honored to be one of them, because it’s really such a pretty picture. He admires him for a moment, submissive and panting and bloodied, wide eyes looking up at Leonard slightly lost, awaiting instruction. Stars, but he follows instructions well like this. Leonard grins, and tugs his uniform pants down past his knees, letting them pool on the floor.
“Get to work,” he coos, and Spock obeys.