It was a dark and cloudless night.  Thousands of stars twinkled far above the rocky peaks of the Seirra Nevada range.  A light wind whipped around El Capitan only be dissipated in the fringes of the ancient sequoia groves.  The giant treetops swayed ever-so slightly dropping the occasional needle down to the forest floor.  In a small clearing by the brook, the embers of a campfire smoldered slowly to ash.

On either side of the firecircle lay a lumpy Starfleet issue Bivvysack.  One snored lightly.  The other thrashed jerkily about.

"Spock, I can't get it up!" McCoy's frustration broke through the darkness.

Spock's rich baritone chimed in.  "Doctor, there is a logical way to proceed.  Simply press at the base, then glide your fingers along the center of the shaft and up to the top."

McCoy retorted, "I know how to work a fabriseal, you thick-headed Vulcan; it's stuck!  I can't get the sack closed."

"There is a 89.42% probability that the problem is due to a vapor lock.  To correct that you first push the interlock down, hold long enough to release the pressure, then slide it up to seal."

"That's what I'm doing you god-damned green-blooded son-of-a-bitch!  How can you hold galactic expert status in quantum mechanics but not understand the word 'stuck'?"  McCoy thumped violently on the fabriseal mechanism on his side of the sleeping sack.

"Likewise, Doctor, I do not understand your vehement insistence on joining our Bivvysacks together.  It can matter little if we sleep together or separately for one night."

"Spock," McCoy grumbled, "haven't you ever made love under the moonlight?"

"As you have borne witness to the full extent of my sexual experience, you are already aware that the answer to that is 'no'.  And as there will be no moonlight tonight, I fail to see how the question is relevant."

From the foot of their sack McCoy groaned.  "Spock, it's a manner of speaking.  Snuggling together in cool night air and making love in the great outdoors is a beautiful, spiritual experience.  That is. assuming we don't freeze to death first."  McCoy tugged at the seal again.

Spock said, "Perhaps.  But according to my research, as well as the user's manual for the Bivvysacks, individual use is standard practice outside of exigent circumstances."

The thrashing abated.  McCoy uncurled to lay face-to-face with Spock.  Their noses al but touched.  McCoy smiled.  "Well, you must not have researched the adult scenarios.  I promise you, this is an exigent circumstance.  I most urgently want to--" McCoy craned his neck and whispered something in Spock's ear.  Even in the darkness he could see the eyebrow rise beyond the bangs.

"Indeed?  That sounds--fascinating.  I begin to see the logic of your argument," said Spock.

"I thought you would," grinned McCoy.

Spock turned on to his side to face McCoy.  Under the covers, he reached a hand to the doctor's side of the Bivvysack.

There was a pop and a series of soft crackles.  The thrashing redoubled.  McCoy's side of the sack suddenly began to fan madly up and down.

"Spock!  Open that other seal now!" McCoy shouted.

Across the firepit, the second Bivvysack jerked.  Jim sat upright, instantly alert.  "What is it?" Jim barked.

"Nothing, Jim," said McCoy.

"Is there another problem with the seal, Doctor?" asked Spock.

McCoy answered, "It's not the seal, it's the beans!  If we don't air out this sack right now--"

Spock sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. With alacrity he reached for the seal. "Again, I accede to your logic." There was a soft hiss as the seal released.  Spock flapped the top layer up and down a few times, then rezipped his side.

Jim sank back down into his sack.  "Would you two keep it down, please.  I have a whale of a headache."

"You want a hypo, Jim?" asked McCoy, settling back down into the bedding.

"No," Jim said irritably.  "What I want is to sleep it off.  Your father's secret ingredient had quite a kick."

"Well, so did my father," said McCoy wryly.

Jim flung an arm over his eyes.  "I'm sure.  Now get some sleep, you two.  Or at least keep it quiet."

Crawling over McCoy's bare chest, Spock reached for the other seal.  He zipped it without difficulty, then remained right where he was, his body sprawled invitingly across McCoy's.

"Now that's more like it," McCoy said affectionately. "But don't touch me back there again tonight, okay?  After two bowls of beans, that's playing with a loaded weapon."  McCoy pulled Spock tight against his body and kissed him tenderly.   Soft snoring started up again across the firepit.

Losing himself in the passion, McCoy shifted under Spock's weight.  All of a sudden,  McCoy shouted out, "Ouch!  Move a minute.  Something's digging into my hip!"

"That is my erection, Doctor," Spock said placidly.

"Keep it down!" Jim growled, his back to them.

McCoy pushed him off.  "Not that, you pointy-penised Vulcan, here!  I think I am laying on a rock."  McCoy rubbed his hip ruefully.  "You always get the side without the rocks."

Spock's eyebrows shot to their absolute limit.  "Doctor, the immensity of the illogic in that single statement utterly stupefies the mind.  For one, the Thermaforce pads on which we rest will support 27.492 kg/sq. cm.  It is not possible for you to feel the terrain through the pad."

Spock continued, "However, when humans get to be a certain age, I understand that they develop assorted aches and pains.  Perhaps you are simply to old for this sort of activity."

McCoy snorted.  "You think so, do you?  Come here and we'll just see about that."

Jim scooted a little farther away and pulled the edges of the sack up around his ears.

McCoy pulled Spock close.  Their hands explored the wonderfully familiar territory of each other's skin.  Their tongues thrust together, rough and hungry for more.  With one hand Spock rummaged through the side pocket of the rucksack that lay under his head.   From it he pulled a gray tubular contraption.  He pressed on the bottom and a soft white gob extruded into his palm.

Startled, McCoy pulled out of the kiss. "Spock, is that--"

"A marshmelon," Spock said mildly.

"What the hell are you going to do with that?" McCoy asked, incredulous.

In response, Spock squished the marshmallow flat in his hand and reached low into the sack.

"Ahh--" McCoy threw his head back and moaned.  Spock disappeared from view, his head buried deep in the sack.

McCoy rocked and bucked,  silent under Spock's ministrations.  At long last he choked low in his throat and slacked limp in relief.

Spock slid up to lie next to him, arms wrapped each around the other.  Something thick and gooey pooled in the grooves of McCoy's abdomen, smearing even further as Spock settled deeper into the embrace. 

"Uh, Spock, is that marshmallow--melon that I feel?"

"Not entirely, Doctor," Spock confessed.  He pressed his soggy crotch tightly against the doctor's hip.   His penis lay soft and flaccid.

With one finger McCoy reached towards Spock's face and wiped a white smear off of Spock's chin.  He popped the finger into his mouth and grimaced.  Not the best combination.

McCoy sighed. "Great, just great."  He yanked the rucksack out from under Spock's head and rummaged through it in vain.

"Jim," McCoy called.

"Jim!" he repeated louder.  Only soft snoring came in reply.

Reaching over, McCoy grabbed the dinner bell and clanged it twice with vigor.

Jim shot bolt upright on the pad and twisted back around, immediately ready for action. "What!  What is it?"

McCoy dropped the bell and grinned sheepishly, gesturing at his own sticky chest.  "Sorry to bother you, Jim, but, uh, have you got a clean towel over there?"

Spock shugged innocently and settled back to stare at the stars.