Fic: Occupational Hazards (1/1)
Title: Occupational Hazards
Rating: R
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy/Chapel
Word Count: 719
Summary: Sex pollen is a dangerous, dangerous thing. For rubynye, who requested “Kirk/McCoy/Chapel, sex pollen. One gets sex pollened and the other two tire them out and everyone has a good time.” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I hope you can forgive some senseless absurdity in the name of sexing, doll -- I didn’t even attempt to be very serious with this one ;)
Occupational Hazards
In any other circumstances, on any other day, she’d have said that fitting the three of them on a single biobed was an impossible task.
Turns out, she’d have been wrong.
They’re slung at awkward angles, boneless and weightless and too fucked-out to really care much, and that might have something crucial to do with it, she’ll admit. In fact, that probably has quite a lot to do with it, but the fact remains. Head to chest and hand to breast and legs tangled to the point where they’d trip over each other if they tried to move without formulating a detailed plan for the maneuver -- they manage, and she’d marvel at it, if she could actually think past the haze of having just been thoroughly sexed by Captain James T. Kirk and his better half, the brilliant Doctor McCoy, for twelve fucking hours.
She giggles at the pun in her own mind, and her companions, similarly worn at her sides, pay her no heed as the high wears off in its own good time.
“S’curious,” McCoy’s voice breaks through, the pitch a little off, but starting to normalize, starting to come back to itself; “no one’s been off-ship in weeks, and this kind of thing takes effect immediately. How the hell’d it happen?”
Christine sighs, her nipple bouncing around the cup of Kirk’s hand where he’s got it resting, just there, as her chest heaves with the breath. “At least no one was hurt,” she says airily, staring at the ceiling and counting the beats of her heart as it slowly decelerates to a liberal interpretation of normality.
“Fuck if I’m complaining,” Kirk adds with a sort of giggle, a huff of a laugh, and McCoy joins in, a gruff chuckle before the three of them are smirking happily once again.
“You’re feelin’ alright?” McCoy asks her, turning with some small concern lacing his brow, but he needn’t have bothered: given the givens, he should know, quite intimately, that she’s more than just ‘alright’.
“Fine,” she answers, still a little dreamy, and it’d be nice if she could care that she needs to come back to being a professional, come back to being a respectable adult instead of a starstruck girl who just had more orgasms in half a standard day than she thinks she’s had in total since she lost her virginity at the age of seventeen.
When they finally decide to get up and rejoin the world, she’s the last one to stand and dress; she doesn’t even bother to really smooth out the wrinkles in her uniform, just shrugs on one of the rarely-worn lab-coats from the supply cabinet and rolls with it.
_______________________
Later in the day, when she’s finally got her wits about her again, she realizes that she probably could have gone about things a bit more cautiously, and none of this would ever have happened.
Of course, it’s not her fault that most of the more exotic toxins they’ve come in contact with, and have thus acquired specimens of for analysis and experimentation, are notoriously difficult to test without exposure. And Pharmaceuticals on Deck Five had told her, quite plainly, that they needed an active sample of the notorious “sex pollen” if they were ever going to develop a legitimate antigen that would allow an away team to come back from negotiations with actual, viable results, aside from being screwed stupid.
So, it was for the good of the ship, really, for the Federation at large, in fact, that she’d bitten the bullet and popped the damn container open.
And if she’d just so happened to send her assistants on errands at just the right moment, and if she’d managed to comm both the Captain and the CMO on urgent business just before she opened the vial -- well, neither of them remember that happening, now, so it’s really irrelevant.
She sends a sample to Deck Five as a hazardous transport, and puts the remaining coitophyta spores back in storage, thrice-bright smile stretching her cheeks.
Rating: R
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy/Chapel
Word Count: 719
Summary: Sex pollen is a dangerous, dangerous thing. For rubynye, who requested “Kirk/McCoy/Chapel, sex pollen. One gets sex pollened and the other two tire them out and everyone has a good time.” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I hope you can forgive some senseless absurdity in the name of sexing, doll -- I didn’t even attempt to be very serious with this one ;)
Occupational Hazards
In any other circumstances, on any other day, she’d have said that fitting the three of them on a single biobed was an impossible task.
Turns out, she’d have been wrong.
They’re slung at awkward angles, boneless and weightless and too fucked-out to really care much, and that might have something crucial to do with it, she’ll admit. In fact, that probably has quite a lot to do with it, but the fact remains. Head to chest and hand to breast and legs tangled to the point where they’d trip over each other if they tried to move without formulating a detailed plan for the maneuver -- they manage, and she’d marvel at it, if she could actually think past the haze of having just been thoroughly sexed by Captain James T. Kirk and his better half, the brilliant Doctor McCoy, for twelve fucking hours.
She giggles at the pun in her own mind, and her companions, similarly worn at her sides, pay her no heed as the high wears off in its own good time.
“S’curious,” McCoy’s voice breaks through, the pitch a little off, but starting to normalize, starting to come back to itself; “no one’s been off-ship in weeks, and this kind of thing takes effect immediately. How the hell’d it happen?”
Christine sighs, her nipple bouncing around the cup of Kirk’s hand where he’s got it resting, just there, as her chest heaves with the breath. “At least no one was hurt,” she says airily, staring at the ceiling and counting the beats of her heart as it slowly decelerates to a liberal interpretation of normality.
“Fuck if I’m complaining,” Kirk adds with a sort of giggle, a huff of a laugh, and McCoy joins in, a gruff chuckle before the three of them are smirking happily once again.
“You’re feelin’ alright?” McCoy asks her, turning with some small concern lacing his brow, but he needn’t have bothered: given the givens, he should know, quite intimately, that she’s more than just ‘alright’.
“Fine,” she answers, still a little dreamy, and it’d be nice if she could care that she needs to come back to being a professional, come back to being a respectable adult instead of a starstruck girl who just had more orgasms in half a standard day than she thinks she’s had in total since she lost her virginity at the age of seventeen.
When they finally decide to get up and rejoin the world, she’s the last one to stand and dress; she doesn’t even bother to really smooth out the wrinkles in her uniform, just shrugs on one of the rarely-worn lab-coats from the supply cabinet and rolls with it.
_______________________
Later in the day, when she’s finally got her wits about her again, she realizes that she probably could have gone about things a bit more cautiously, and none of this would ever have happened.
Of course, it’s not her fault that most of the more exotic toxins they’ve come in contact with, and have thus acquired specimens of for analysis and experimentation, are notoriously difficult to test without exposure. And Pharmaceuticals on Deck Five had told her, quite plainly, that they needed an active sample of the notorious “sex pollen” if they were ever going to develop a legitimate antigen that would allow an away team to come back from negotiations with actual, viable results, aside from being screwed stupid.
So, it was for the good of the ship, really, for the Federation at large, in fact, that she’d bitten the bullet and popped the damn container open.
And if she’d just so happened to send her assistants on errands at just the right moment, and if she’d managed to comm both the Captain and the CMO on urgent business just before she opened the vial -- well, neither of them remember that happening, now, so it’s really irrelevant.
She sends a sample to Deck Five as a hazardous transport, and puts the remaining coitophyta spores back in storage, thrice-bright smile stretching her cheeks.