McCoy, mouth thoroughly occupied with Jim's, arched back into Spock as she pressed up behind him, her hand gliding smoothly beneath his shirts. He knew he'd missed them, but he hadn't realised just how much he'd been starved of this until now - he wanted them as close as possible, to assure himself they were back and safe.

His own hands shifted, one travelling up inside Jim's oversized shirt, the other reaching back to touch the side of Spock's face, tracing her cheekbone - different, but still familiar.