Jim arched against McCoy's hand, staring at them both through narrowed golden eyes. His finger ran along the juncture of his thigh and pelvic area, and gasped. The curls were damp already, the flesh sensitive and responsive. He was very used to the concept, from the other side, but he didn't suppose he could have imagined the sensation any more than a woman could really imagine having a penis. Not accurately, anyway.

It struck him that his own technique was about to be improved beyond measure.

One newly-slender finger dipped into the molten core of his vagina, the very fact of which only turned him on more, which he supposed was ridiculous but wasn't in a position to debate right now. The slick folds welcomed him as he drew his hand up, and... ah! He gasped again, louder, his eyes flying open.

Spock and McCoy need to touch him or each other more or something. Something needed to happen or he was going to die here on this table.