Happy Valentine's Day! Have some smut!
Okay, this fic is for sleepygoof8784! She was kind enough to bid on a fic over at help_haiti, and it is due today, so I guess that makes it a Valentine's Day present. Not that McCoy likes Valentine's Day. I'm sure he doesn't. (Kirk does, though. I bet he hand draws his valentines and everything.)
Title: Quarterly Physical Reports (or Why You Should Never Trust the Enterprise CMO)
Word count: 5800~
Pairing/characters: McCoy/Chapel, Uhura
Rating: hard R for adult content (NC-17 if you're very sensitive to that sort of thing)
Warnings: sexytimes? inappropriate use of the sickbay?
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, all that jazz.
Note: I was given a hilarious prompt, but they had to go and start it all emo. I promise it doesn't end with any angst. I've never actually written this pairing before (though I totally ship it), so this was a lot of fun to try my hand at. And, as usual, my word count gets away from me. Thanks to my darling ciryatureseaelf for doing a speedy beta job. All mistakes are mine.
She had received a commendation.
The notice arrived via personal communiqué that morning and she grinned, put on her uniform (yes, she did have a tendency to check for messages while still wrapped in a bathtowel, what of it?), grabbed a five minute breakfast in the galley and made her way to sickbay. She greeted Nurse Beckett and Nurse Chandra no differently than she did every other day, perused the shift schedule and did an inventory check to make certain no supplies needed stocking. Grabbing a free PADD from the properly allocated cabinet, she began to take down exact numbers and created a service request form.
"A little early to be putting in for a cargo transfer, isn't it?" Contrary to popular cliché, the comment came not from a warm voice directly behind her ear, but rather from a figure standing a meter or so behind with his back to her. He was hunched over his desk with his computer screen turned toward him, tapping the scrolling corner with an impatient finger as figures and information steamed past at a dizzying pace.
Christine favored his back with her customary oh-so-reasonable gaze and pitched her voice to match. "Never too early to make sure we don't run out of anything important. We have enough emergencies around here."
He glanced over his shoulder at her. She could have sworn she saw his eyes flick down toward her feet and then back up, but he was back to the screen again and surely she could be imagining things. "Trying to impress again after that fancy commendation you got, then." Her spine stiffened and she was sure that she looked suitably confused as he finally straightened up and turned around. "Oh yes - I heard about it. You are a part of my staff, after all."
That wasn't what puzzled Christine, though; usually commendations were received due to a commanding officer's report, an acknowledgement made that a person had gone generally above and beyond his or her duties. Christine had naturally assumed that Doctor McCoy had been at least partly responsible for such recognition of her skills. It seemed instead that she had only the captain to thank for it.
It was a little upsetting, actually.
Doctor McCoy folded his arms across his chest, looking as grave as he ever did. "Congratulations, by the way. You do deserve it, Nurse Chapel."
"Thank you, doctor." What a heartfelt conversation that was.
She went back to her work, and he neglected to make another comment about her over-preparation with the stock list. Everyone in sickbay knew that they rarely had to take Doctor McCoy's admonishments too seriously; a grouchy exterior appeared to be his default way of keeping his environment under control. The crew was always more likely to see him scowl than smile, to hear him gripe and sigh rather than dole out praise. The medical crew had known this beforehand; they had all worked side by side at the Starfleet hospital before being assigned to a starship. The only difference was that he hadn’t been of the Chief Medical Officer track back then. And being in charge only seemed to make him grumpier.
Many people had finally written it off as amusing, but never Christine. It had only made her curious, really. Curious to know if he ever did get rid of that worried crease between his eyebrows, if he ever smiled at anyone other than the Captain. If keeping his liquor cabinet in sickbay was meant to be ironic or his own personal form of rebellion against Starfleet code. If arguing with Mr. Spock had less to do with a mere difference in philosophy and more to do with a desire to draw the First Officer out of his comfort zone.
The time she had spent trying to parse out the puzzle had led to an after-shift drink at his desk one evening, a couple of months back. He had been exhausted due to an influx of (thankfully) minor casualties that day and was already a little drunk by the time she had found him. She had been prepared to scold him for not getting any rest and instead ended up sitting with him. It was an invitation that her curiosity simply could not pass up.
It was his own fault; he shouldn't have disbelieved her when she had told him that she could take her whiskey straight as well as the next girl. She had downed a double shot of bourbon right there in front of him. His gape led her to assume that he was suitably impressed. She had told him about her grandfather who lived on old Virginia land, and how much he enjoyed his bourbon as well. She had another drink and told him about how she had always wanted to go to Georgia, how she was fairly sure that was the area where he had been raised by the way his accent slipped out occasionally. She had another drink and told him about Roger Korby, the medical archaeologist wonder boy who she had almost married, the man who she had dropped the instant he had decided that it was alright to abandon her for a few years, all for the sake of his precious research.
And then she had stopped and stood to excuse herself. After all, she had just been babbling on for an hour or so; Doctor McCoy had only joined in with the odd question and sardonic comment. He had only watched her intently, as though he had looked but never quite seen her before.
She had gotten no more than two steps from the corner of his desk when she felt a hand catch her elbow. Alcohol could be blamed for a lot of things, and so she had certainly blamed it for the jitters that suddenly beset her.
He had kissed her. And she, for some unfathomable reason, had smiled, given an awkward trembling little laugh and raced for the door.
It was never mentioned. In fact, he had shown no signs that he had remembered it at all. Had he had more to drink more that night, she almost would have believed that.
A month later she had worked up the courage to make it up to him. Caught him in a near-empty rec room during the delta shift and sat down with a deck of cards. Turned out his mother was quite the fan of gin rummy, and had passed on all of her delicate secrets to her son. He had told her that, and other things too, about his daughter who he hadn't seen in nearly two years and pranks he had watched people pull in med school and how the Captain had basically slept on his couch rather than in his own assigned quarters all through their time at the Academy. She hadn't one clue what had made him decide to talk, only knew that she felt a brand new appreciation for his demeanor in sickbay, now knowing that wasn't all that was going on in his head.
Eventually, he had told her it was time for him to get some rest and politely left her company. She would have been lying if she hadn't admitted to being a little disappointed. More than a little. As he walked out of the room, leaving her to aimlessly shuffle her deck, her mind began to wander toward the Truth of the Matter. The Truth unfortunately circled back to a few main points: 1) she hadn't had a good flirt with someone in a long time, to say nothing of the rest of it, and she damn well thought she deserved a little attention considering the reputation their captain had already garnered on his away missions, 2) it was definitely a mistake to make the object of your affections, nevermind your lust, a man who was your superior officer and not known for being the sunniest person, 3) said superior officer was a fairly excellent kisser. Better than Roger had been. And he wasn't bad to look at either, and so he was divorced, that didn't mean he never wanted to look at a woman again. He seemed to have indicated that well enough.
And that was where good, rational, practical Christine had fallen prey to damned stupid human urges (what she would have given for a Vulcan dose of logic right then; she bet Nyota never had these problems). Right at the moment where she had veered off from the hall that led to her own quarters and gone to his instead. Right at the moment where she had stepped into his rooms without an invitation, in spite of the bewildered look on his face and the forming question on his parted lips. Right at the moment where she had seduced the CMO of the Enterprise.
It had been all confusion and half-formed protests, him getting caught in his boots and trousers, her hair tangling when she tried to let it down, desperate touches and breathy sounds of terror and the frequent “I don’t think we should-“ followed by a gasp and wandering fingertips.
The worst part of it? The whole fiasco had actually been kind of wonderful. Okay, so he clearly hadn’t done that sort of thing in a while, but what he lacked in finesse he had made up for in everything else. Ten points to southern gentlemen everywhere, she was baited and hooked.
And when she had woken up the next morning, he was nowhere to be found.
She had learned later that he had been called for an away mission, but still, no note on the table? Not one word as he had slipped out that morning? And then, worst of all, barely being able to meet her eyes let alone speak to her for the next month? Had it really been so terrible? Had she shattered something into a thousand glittering pieces just by not knowing it was breakable in the first place? Had she forgotten the most basic human instinct on the evolutionary books? Had all these years of school and training turned her into some callous, plastic non-sensual automaton and he was just too polite to tell her so?
She needed to calm down.
For the next eight hours, Christine did her job as well as she always did and tried to her hardest to ignore that same throat-clenching nausea she had been harboring for the past month. She was not like this. She did not have these problems. She was not about to start having problems like these. So she decided to preoccupy her mind with new strategies she had been looking up for three-dimensional chess; she was meeting Nyota at dinner for a game. Apparently there was some great bet between she and Spock about whether or not she could ever beat him; she had become determined ever since the Captain had managed it, and so she was trying her hand against every willing opponent she could track down.
Christine cleaned up the station she had been working at for the day, glad for one of those rare bouts of silence. They were getting down to the late night shift and the ship was starting to slow and quiet. The only other nurse on duty had been called to the biology lab, and she was finishing up. Almost time for dinner and a nice game of chess. The face of a friend and some time playing strategy wars could only brighten her mood.
She touched a panel, switching the lights off in her section. Pushed a pin back in her hair when she saw it escaping in the reflective surface of a transparent aluminum cabinet. The door was meters away, and she was almost to it-
“Nurse Chapel.”
Christine tried to sigh as softly as she could. She turned around to greet the only face that would ever dare to stop her on her way out. “Yes, Doctor?”
He wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring at a PADD in his hands, utterly preoccupied. “We seem to have a problem.”
She found herself swallowing hard without meaning to, noticed a strange flip in her stomach, although it might have just been her diaphragm clenching. There went her appetite for the evening. “Why is that?”
He finally looked up, turning the PADD around and holding it aloft for her to see. Which was silly because she was too far away to make out any of the words on it, and he certainly knew that. “According to my charts, your quarterly physicals aren’t up to date.”
Christine let go of the breath she was all too aware she had been holding. “I had no idea.” She reached a hand to the back of her neck and scratched gracelessly. “It must have completely slipped my mind; I’ll get it done first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll get it done now, please.” He didn’t really sound like he was saying ‘please’ at all.
“Doctor McCoy-”
“Nurse Chapel, I don’t think I have to tell you the kind of schedule Starfleet keeps this boat on. I have to get all the physicals catalogued and sent back to them with the captain’s Quarterly Report, and they’re due tonight.”
Her sigh wasn’t quiet at all then. It was defeatist enough for him to know she was acquiescing, though. “On the table, if you would.” He motioned to the examination bed nearest to him, briefly checking the equipment readouts to make sure nothing needed adjusting (to avoid an incident like last week’s where Nurse Beckett had thought Officer Kavuu was going into cardiac arrest all because she hadn’t noticed that the equipment at that station had not been recalibrated since Mr. Spock’s physical. It had been really very funny, in retrospect).
Christine pushed herself up onto the bed and laid down, willing her expression to be blank or better yet, bored. She stared resolutely at the ceiling, feeling a stubborn heat creep up to the tips of her ears. It wasn’t exactly fair, was it? That he be the only qualified physician on duty when this just had to get done? Thanks a lot God, or karma, or cosmic balance of the universe. Someone was doing a bad job, and she was fairly sure it wasn’t her.
“Blood pressure is one-twenty-four over seventy-eight.”
That was relatively normal, considering. After all, the medical profession hadn’t created the term ‘white coat blood pressure’ for nothing. Her numbers should have been skewed all over the map, the way she could feel that panic uncurling slowly in her abdomen.
“Heat rate’s a little faster than normal.”
She fought the urge to snort and say something snide, taking a deep breath to try and steady herself. Ridiculous organ, the heart. Overreacted about all sorts of unnecessary things. Anticipated actions that were only being brought up in the subconscious mind (all right, maybe not so subconscious, but it wasn’t her fault that the man was standing right next to her while she was flat on her back).
And now his hands were pressing lightly against her stomach.
“Looks like everything’s in the right place, at least.”
Of course, of course, he’s the doctor who doesn’t trust all the techno-gadgets and magical machines, of course he has to be the one doctor on the whole damned ship who still prefers the hands-on approach to medicine when the computers currently scanning her body were doing a fine enough job in telling him exactly how all of her organs were doing, and why did she have to give him this tight-lipped smile, play along when she really didn’t feel like it today….
“Sit up for me.”
She did as he asked, abruptly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her knees accidentally colliding with his hip. Well, that helped a lot. What also helped was the little chill she was feeling from the air vent above her head, making her curl her arms around her own waist. She resolutely did not to press her knees back against his body for the added warmth.
The light he was shining in her eye was a surprise, but she held still as his thumb graced the crest of her cheek, palm braced against the side of her face. She was not thinking of the fact that his hand had been in that exact place only a few short weeks ago for an entirely different reason. She sure as hell did not feel embarrassed to still be thinking about it and damnit, why didn’t men ever talk about anything? Was there a secret code that every woman was missing? An eyebrow code maybe? He and Mr. Spock seemed to communicate that way often enough.
He was checking her glands when he informed her, “You’ve lost a pound or two since the last time.”
That surprised her.
“You might try eating more for breakfast and sitting down longer when you do.” It nearly sounded like she was being scolded. It didn’t help that as the CMO, he had access to the galley records and was expected to review everyone’s eating habits. “You don’t always have to be fifteen minutes early, you know.”
She opened her mouth to give him a smart comeback when she suddenly realized just how she was being touched, something she had been too keen on ignoring since she had sat down. While one set of fingers were checking near her pulse point with all the professionalism they normally maintained, the fingers of the other hand were slipping tentatively toward the back of her neck. A finger brushed her earlobe and she nearly jumped. “Doctor McCoy….”
And if she was a more than a little baffled, he wasn’t making any effort to clear the air for her. He only leaned closer, taking up her breathing room, making it hard to focus on anything but his eyes.
She wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. If he wanted something, he’d have to come and get it. Anyway, she was fairly sure she had just turned to stone from the shock. She couldn’t have moved if they had sounded a red alert at this point.
And he was already losing his nerve. His gaze was falling toward her knees, his lips pressing together in that grim line that she knew too well.
Don’t you dare go shy on me now. “You owe me an explanation, I think.”
There was a defeated huff and he closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not that great with apologies.”
Well, that was one way to go about it. She raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s helpful. I’m so glad I know that now.”
“This is a bad idea, you know.”
She couldn’t help the way her own gaze drifted guiltily at that. “Thanks,” she murmured.
“I’m your superior officer.”
“Spock and Uhura seem fine. Once they got through their simultaneous anxiety attacks about it.”
“I’m older than you.”
Oh, really. “Not by much,” she nearly laughed.
“I’m divorced and have a child.”
And then she did laugh, rolling her eyes for good measure. It was nice to get some of her poise back, even if it was at his expense. “Yes, because the ‘I’ve got baggage’ conversation really does get more original once you’re a few millions miles away from Earth.” She leaned back on her hands, peering up carefully into his face.
She could have sworn he was keeping down a chuckle of his own. “You’re pushy and argue too much and you enjoy giving me a hard time.”
“You like that, though.”
He turned his head in an effort to hide the side of his mouth that was creeping up at the corner. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I do, don’t I?”
She stopped herself short of mentioning that it seemed to be a trend with anyone he kept close. Like a certain captain and his Vulcan first officer.
“I’m sorry.” He was looking at her then, really looking at her for what felt like the first time since that ill-advised drink at his desk two months ago. “It’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve actually had to talk to anyone about anything, if that makes any sense. I know I shouldn’t have let it go like that, but I was trying to think it through before I… well. Thinking was turning into a handy excuse by the end.”
As apologies went, Christine actually had to give him credit. It was better than Roger’s apology had been. Better than the non-existent apology from her senior prom date and the unapologetic apology of the first doctor she had ever dated. Of course, there was the matter of, “So you decided that the ‘urgent quarterly physical’ was the way to go.”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I thought that might turn around and bite me in the backside. Should have known better. It’s really more the sort of thing….”
“…the Captain would do,” she finished for him. When his eyes went wide, she snickered. “Oh, come on, there was no chance that I didn’t know where you were going with that.”
A doleful expression crossed his face and he touched a few buttons on a nearby screen, powering down the equipment for the exam table. Christine frowned, reaching a hand up to his shoulder; she hadn’t meant to put him off. All right, maybe comparing someone to Captain Kirk wasn’t the best way to get them in the mood, but that didn’t mean that-
“Aren’t I supposed to get a breast examination in my physical?”
It struck her instantly how incredibly indelicate that was. And he seemed to think so too, judging by the gape and covering cough. But sticking to her guns was looking like the only way out of this one. So she batted her eyelashes for fun and decided it was the most innocent query in the world. Play with me, she thought. I dare you.
He narrowed his eyes at her. She fancied she could see the neurons light behind, connecting, making those subconscious microsecond decisions that the human brain makes thousands, millions of times each day. He probably had no clear idea how he had come to his final determination, only that somehow, somewhere in his mind in the space of a moment, he had weighed the options and paged through past experiences and predicted all possible futures, until he arrived here.
He turned back to her and something altered, seeped out from a buried place, affecting his posture and face, the glint in his eye and the space he took up in the room. While she still maintained that comparing him to the Captain hadn’t been exactly fair, she could see in this new stare the sort of man who Jim Kirk had instantly befriended years ago. Someone who was just on the right side of wicked, just sarcastic and bad-tempered enough to be best sort of cohort.
Or lover.
And he was closing on her. Christine’s hands clenched the edge of the examination bed without thought. She waited for hands to reach her skin or a fierce kiss that would make her head hurt from spinning. What she got was a glance toward the wall behind her.
It took her a moment to understand; the divider curtain. She leaned back awkwardly and yanked it toward the end of the bed, barely registering that he was doing the same on the other side. Their hands brushed as the curtains came together, and she pulled back like spooked rabbit, gritting her teeth in irritation. Now was definitely not the time to get skittish. It’s not like she had any good reason for it at this point.
His nerves, on the other hand, had formed up to steel in the last few seconds, and he didn’t flinch as he reached around to the back of her uniform and unzipped it without fanfare. His hands gently pulled the fabric around her shoulders and down her arms, barely grazing skin in the process. She took a shaky breath and tried to remind herself that he had seen it before. Once before. Once before when he had seemed too nervous to look.
He wasn’t now. Now he was fixing her with his practiced doctor’s gaze. “Arms up,” he murmured, and she followed the direction as though it was a real examination, as though she didn’t remember what was coming next. He pressed carefully along the curve of each breast before palming them cautiously through fabric. Christine bit her lower lip, determined not to make a sound, but her fingers were curling frantically above her head. Catching the movement in his periphery, his eyes darted up to watch.
It wasn’t long before she blurted out, “Isn’t the extra barrier making your job more difficult?” She was well aware of how desperate the inquiry made her sound, but damnit if she cared one bit.
He raised an eyebrow at her, more potent then a verbal scold. “In a hurry, are we?” At least he sounded amused and assented all the same, reaching around her back once more and unhooking her bra, taking his time so he didn’t get tangled up. The piece of lingerie was boring little baby blue number, but Christine was a sensible sort of girl and she hadn’t known she was going to end her day like this, so she thought she should be forgiven. The article was discarded and his hands were back, teasing and pinching in tender places.
She arched her back a little more than she had intended to, nearly sliding off the exam bed in the process. He took a step forward, pressing her back with the weight of his body, curling one arm around to settle against her lower back. The rough scrape of fabric against the skin he’d been paying such expert attention to was tantalizing and puzzling at the same time; she spent a moment wondering how he had managed to get so close before realizing that, in all her wanton glory, she had spread her legs wide open and he was now standing between them. She couldn’t imagine what sort of impression she was giving, between now and the last time.
Christine chose not to care about it. “Can I put my arms down now?” She tilted her chin up and looked him in the eye, inhaled the scent of him. Not the musk and spice of old romance novels, the go-to fragrance for any male of countless species across the galaxy, but the individual scent that was him as a person. Underneath the surgical soap and whiskey, something that was unidentifiable and unique.
He had nodded at her; as she lowered her arms, she pulled a few key pins out of her hair, sending it tumbling down her back. Without a mirror she couldn’t be sure the move had looked all that sexy. It might have just looked a mess, but then, it was going to get messy anyway. Thinking the same ought to be true for him, she reached up and threaded her fingers into his hair as well, tugging him closer as she went. He took the hint and brushed his lips across her own, too lightly. He did it again and once more before finally kissing her, deep and slow. She sighed on some high note and her eyes slid shut. It reminded her something of a tide, and found she couldn’t stop her hands as they ran recklessly through his hair and down his back. She was rucking up his uniform shirt, finally reaching skin-
“Christine?”
Dinner. Chess.
His head snapped up. A soft, mortified sound escaped her before she could think to stop it and he quickly clapped a hand over her mouth and held her fast.
“Christine….”
Oh god, this is not happening. She buried her face in his shoulder, seizing the front of his uniform in an iron grip.
“Doctor McCoy, is that you back there?”
Christine looked up at him, mouthing the words I’m sorry. She hoped she looked as horrified as she felt. She watched him take a moment, a breath, watched him draw his shoulders down and regain some sliver of his composure. “Yes, hang on,” he snapped out, and at least it sounded just like him on any ordinary day. He stepped back, fixing her with furious stare before tugging down his shirt and slipping out between the curtains.
Christine held her breath.
“Sorry, Doctor, I didn’t mean to bother you-“
“It’s my last quarterly physical, Lieutenant. Make this quick.”
“Sorry, yes, I was just looking for Nurse Chapel. She was supposed to meet me in the galley after she finished her shift.”
“Nurse Chapel wasn’t feeling well. She said she had a pretty bad headache, and asked to spend some time in one of the isolation chambers so she could get out of the light. She’s probably done for the day.” His usual brusqueness, followed by a belated attempt at civility: “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
The pause was just a fraction too long for comfort.
“No… thank you, Doctor. Sorry to have interrupted you.”
“Good evening, Lieutenant.”
Boot soles tracking back the way they had come. The slide of the sickbay doors. Silence, then a few abrupt steps.
The rustle of sharply parted curtains. “And that just happened to slip your mind?”
“It really did,” Christine groaned, running a hand through her hair and yanking hard on a chunk of it. “And I think she probably knows now.”
“What, when you made your plans did you make sure to tell her ‘oh, by the way, if I don’t make it, it’ll probably be because I took a page out of your book and jumped a superior officer, and I’m waiting for him to get back to me on it?’”
She cringed. “No, but….” She pointed down to where he had dropped her bra.
On the floor.
She watched as he drew a swift breath through his nose, clearly willing himself to calm down. It didn’t look like it was working. “Christine-”
“Leonard.”
Luckily, that seemed to throw him enough to slow his momentum. He blinked, searching for words he hadn’t found yet, opening and closing his mouth in rapid sequence. She reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve, pulling him back toward her. He reluctantly went. “It was… sort of, kind of funny?”
The look he gave in return suggested that it would be some time before he could share in that sentiment. “I bet you hated being a teenager,” she guessed. “Getting caught doing anything wrong by the wrong person.”
He snorted a resounding ‘yes’ on that.
Her mouth twisted in concern as she tried to figure out how she was going to salvage this one. Then, in one brilliant turn of inspiration, she wriggled clumsily on the table until a pair of mismatched panties joined the bra on the floor. His expression bounced between dismay and confoundedness until, at last, he seemed to settle.
They were still in his sickbay after all. He might as well be bemused.
“There has to be a better way we could have gone about all of this,” he insisted, staring at the undergarments on the floor.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, taking his hand in hers and guiding it slowly between her legs, “To appease your delicate sensibilities, the next planet we get shore leave on, you can take me out to dinner. We’ll go out dancing. Take a ride on a riverboat. Whatever you want.”
Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were glazing over with heat, one hand playing at skin that slipped between his fingertips, the other clutching at her hip. She was happy enough to have him distracted, especially if he was going to curl inside her just like-
Things went blurry in her vision from there, though she would always remember the look on this face when he finally eased into her, all relief and strung out hunger. The sort of lust people couldn’t put name to because it wasn’t fierce and fast and easy. She hung onto that look as her body began to tremble and wind tighter, as she stopped being able to control what slipped from her lips and tongue or what she did with them.
Long minutes later, she felt certain that anyone looking in on them could have guessed their urgency simply by the arrangement of their clothes; her uniform pooled at her waist and her booted feet hooked behind his back, his trousers open, shirt lying in a crumpled heap next to her. There was sweat trickling down the side of his face, but she couldn’t wipe it away or even move to taste it, not with her head snapping back at another sinful thrust. Given a few minutes she knew she could come again, but he was so close and she really thought it might kill him if he were stalled one more time.
Her knees were slipping against his sides, slick, cramping and getting weak. She curled her fingers against the back of his neck. “Come on,” she whispered.
In the past she had always thought of it as an encouragement rather than a command, but he complied in seconds, shuddering hard as his breath was forced from his lungs in one violent rush. His head fell against her shoulder and she held him there for a long time.
After a while the world (or the galaxy, in this case) rushed back in, as it was wont to do. They slowly began to pull each other back together, handing bits of clothing over and straightening each other’s hair, checking to see if they had been overeager and left any marks. (She had. A bright purple one near his collarbone. It made her feel like she was sixteen again, and she couldn’t decide if that was a bad thing or not.)
She found herself smiling as she pulled her dress back up. “Can I ask you a question?”
His shirt was halfway over his head, breath still coming in shallow pants. He paused and turned his eyes toward the wall. “Now?”
The slow resurfacing of that trademark irascibility was really sort of endearing at this point. “Why does the Captain call you ‘Bones’?”
A look of brief concentration was suddenly replaced by something she had least expected; an absolutely indecent smirk. He left off the shirt for a moment, leaning over her and tracing his thumb behind her ear. “Not for the reason you’re thinking,” he chuckled, voice still rough and lower than usual. “Really.”
Couldn’t blame a girl for trying, at least. As she tilted her head back to catch his lips, Christine suddenly wondered when the quarterly physicals were actually due.
He still hadn’t checked her spine, after all.
FIN
And now I must away. It is Valentine's Day and I have dinner reservations with my lady. Hope you all do something wonderful.
Title: Quarterly Physical Reports (or Why You Should Never Trust the Enterprise CMO)
Word count: 5800~
Pairing/characters: McCoy/Chapel, Uhura
Rating: hard R for adult content (NC-17 if you're very sensitive to that sort of thing)
Warnings: sexytimes? inappropriate use of the sickbay?
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue, all that jazz.
Note: I was given a hilarious prompt, but they had to go and start it all emo. I promise it doesn't end with any angst. I've never actually written this pairing before (though I totally ship it), so this was a lot of fun to try my hand at. And, as usual, my word count gets away from me. Thanks to my darling ciryatureseaelf for doing a speedy beta job. All mistakes are mine.
She had received a commendation.
The notice arrived via personal communiqué that morning and she grinned, put on her uniform (yes, she did have a tendency to check for messages while still wrapped in a bathtowel, what of it?), grabbed a five minute breakfast in the galley and made her way to sickbay. She greeted Nurse Beckett and Nurse Chandra no differently than she did every other day, perused the shift schedule and did an inventory check to make certain no supplies needed stocking. Grabbing a free PADD from the properly allocated cabinet, she began to take down exact numbers and created a service request form.
"A little early to be putting in for a cargo transfer, isn't it?" Contrary to popular cliché, the comment came not from a warm voice directly behind her ear, but rather from a figure standing a meter or so behind with his back to her. He was hunched over his desk with his computer screen turned toward him, tapping the scrolling corner with an impatient finger as figures and information steamed past at a dizzying pace.
Christine favored his back with her customary oh-so-reasonable gaze and pitched her voice to match. "Never too early to make sure we don't run out of anything important. We have enough emergencies around here."
He glanced over his shoulder at her. She could have sworn she saw his eyes flick down toward her feet and then back up, but he was back to the screen again and surely she could be imagining things. "Trying to impress again after that fancy commendation you got, then." Her spine stiffened and she was sure that she looked suitably confused as he finally straightened up and turned around. "Oh yes - I heard about it. You are a part of my staff, after all."
That wasn't what puzzled Christine, though; usually commendations were received due to a commanding officer's report, an acknowledgement made that a person had gone generally above and beyond his or her duties. Christine had naturally assumed that Doctor McCoy had been at least partly responsible for such recognition of her skills. It seemed instead that she had only the captain to thank for it.
It was a little upsetting, actually.
Doctor McCoy folded his arms across his chest, looking as grave as he ever did. "Congratulations, by the way. You do deserve it, Nurse Chapel."
"Thank you, doctor." What a heartfelt conversation that was.
She went back to her work, and he neglected to make another comment about her over-preparation with the stock list. Everyone in sickbay knew that they rarely had to take Doctor McCoy's admonishments too seriously; a grouchy exterior appeared to be his default way of keeping his environment under control. The crew was always more likely to see him scowl than smile, to hear him gripe and sigh rather than dole out praise. The medical crew had known this beforehand; they had all worked side by side at the Starfleet hospital before being assigned to a starship. The only difference was that he hadn’t been of the Chief Medical Officer track back then. And being in charge only seemed to make him grumpier.
Many people had finally written it off as amusing, but never Christine. It had only made her curious, really. Curious to know if he ever did get rid of that worried crease between his eyebrows, if he ever smiled at anyone other than the Captain. If keeping his liquor cabinet in sickbay was meant to be ironic or his own personal form of rebellion against Starfleet code. If arguing with Mr. Spock had less to do with a mere difference in philosophy and more to do with a desire to draw the First Officer out of his comfort zone.
The time she had spent trying to parse out the puzzle had led to an after-shift drink at his desk one evening, a couple of months back. He had been exhausted due to an influx of (thankfully) minor casualties that day and was already a little drunk by the time she had found him. She had been prepared to scold him for not getting any rest and instead ended up sitting with him. It was an invitation that her curiosity simply could not pass up.
It was his own fault; he shouldn't have disbelieved her when she had told him that she could take her whiskey straight as well as the next girl. She had downed a double shot of bourbon right there in front of him. His gape led her to assume that he was suitably impressed. She had told him about her grandfather who lived on old Virginia land, and how much he enjoyed his bourbon as well. She had another drink and told him about how she had always wanted to go to Georgia, how she was fairly sure that was the area where he had been raised by the way his accent slipped out occasionally. She had another drink and told him about Roger Korby, the medical archaeologist wonder boy who she had almost married, the man who she had dropped the instant he had decided that it was alright to abandon her for a few years, all for the sake of his precious research.
And then she had stopped and stood to excuse herself. After all, she had just been babbling on for an hour or so; Doctor McCoy had only joined in with the odd question and sardonic comment. He had only watched her intently, as though he had looked but never quite seen her before.
She had gotten no more than two steps from the corner of his desk when she felt a hand catch her elbow. Alcohol could be blamed for a lot of things, and so she had certainly blamed it for the jitters that suddenly beset her.
He had kissed her. And she, for some unfathomable reason, had smiled, given an awkward trembling little laugh and raced for the door.
It was never mentioned. In fact, he had shown no signs that he had remembered it at all. Had he had more to drink more that night, she almost would have believed that.
A month later she had worked up the courage to make it up to him. Caught him in a near-empty rec room during the delta shift and sat down with a deck of cards. Turned out his mother was quite the fan of gin rummy, and had passed on all of her delicate secrets to her son. He had told her that, and other things too, about his daughter who he hadn't seen in nearly two years and pranks he had watched people pull in med school and how the Captain had basically slept on his couch rather than in his own assigned quarters all through their time at the Academy. She hadn't one clue what had made him decide to talk, only knew that she felt a brand new appreciation for his demeanor in sickbay, now knowing that wasn't all that was going on in his head.
Eventually, he had told her it was time for him to get some rest and politely left her company. She would have been lying if she hadn't admitted to being a little disappointed. More than a little. As he walked out of the room, leaving her to aimlessly shuffle her deck, her mind began to wander toward the Truth of the Matter. The Truth unfortunately circled back to a few main points: 1) she hadn't had a good flirt with someone in a long time, to say nothing of the rest of it, and she damn well thought she deserved a little attention considering the reputation their captain had already garnered on his away missions, 2) it was definitely a mistake to make the object of your affections, nevermind your lust, a man who was your superior officer and not known for being the sunniest person, 3) said superior officer was a fairly excellent kisser. Better than Roger had been. And he wasn't bad to look at either, and so he was divorced, that didn't mean he never wanted to look at a woman again. He seemed to have indicated that well enough.
And that was where good, rational, practical Christine had fallen prey to damned stupid human urges (what she would have given for a Vulcan dose of logic right then; she bet Nyota never had these problems). Right at the moment where she had veered off from the hall that led to her own quarters and gone to his instead. Right at the moment where she had stepped into his rooms without an invitation, in spite of the bewildered look on his face and the forming question on his parted lips. Right at the moment where she had seduced the CMO of the Enterprise.
It had been all confusion and half-formed protests, him getting caught in his boots and trousers, her hair tangling when she tried to let it down, desperate touches and breathy sounds of terror and the frequent “I don’t think we should-“ followed by a gasp and wandering fingertips.
The worst part of it? The whole fiasco had actually been kind of wonderful. Okay, so he clearly hadn’t done that sort of thing in a while, but what he lacked in finesse he had made up for in everything else. Ten points to southern gentlemen everywhere, she was baited and hooked.
And when she had woken up the next morning, he was nowhere to be found.
She had learned later that he had been called for an away mission, but still, no note on the table? Not one word as he had slipped out that morning? And then, worst of all, barely being able to meet her eyes let alone speak to her for the next month? Had it really been so terrible? Had she shattered something into a thousand glittering pieces just by not knowing it was breakable in the first place? Had she forgotten the most basic human instinct on the evolutionary books? Had all these years of school and training turned her into some callous, plastic non-sensual automaton and he was just too polite to tell her so?
She needed to calm down.
For the next eight hours, Christine did her job as well as she always did and tried to her hardest to ignore that same throat-clenching nausea she had been harboring for the past month. She was not like this. She did not have these problems. She was not about to start having problems like these. So she decided to preoccupy her mind with new strategies she had been looking up for three-dimensional chess; she was meeting Nyota at dinner for a game. Apparently there was some great bet between she and Spock about whether or not she could ever beat him; she had become determined ever since the Captain had managed it, and so she was trying her hand against every willing opponent she could track down.
Christine cleaned up the station she had been working at for the day, glad for one of those rare bouts of silence. They were getting down to the late night shift and the ship was starting to slow and quiet. The only other nurse on duty had been called to the biology lab, and she was finishing up. Almost time for dinner and a nice game of chess. The face of a friend and some time playing strategy wars could only brighten her mood.
She touched a panel, switching the lights off in her section. Pushed a pin back in her hair when she saw it escaping in the reflective surface of a transparent aluminum cabinet. The door was meters away, and she was almost to it-
“Nurse Chapel.”
Christine tried to sigh as softly as she could. She turned around to greet the only face that would ever dare to stop her on her way out. “Yes, Doctor?”
He wasn’t even looking at her. He was staring at a PADD in his hands, utterly preoccupied. “We seem to have a problem.”
She found herself swallowing hard without meaning to, noticed a strange flip in her stomach, although it might have just been her diaphragm clenching. There went her appetite for the evening. “Why is that?”
He finally looked up, turning the PADD around and holding it aloft for her to see. Which was silly because she was too far away to make out any of the words on it, and he certainly knew that. “According to my charts, your quarterly physicals aren’t up to date.”
Christine let go of the breath she was all too aware she had been holding. “I had no idea.” She reached a hand to the back of her neck and scratched gracelessly. “It must have completely slipped my mind; I’ll get it done first thing tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll get it done now, please.” He didn’t really sound like he was saying ‘please’ at all.
“Doctor McCoy-”
“Nurse Chapel, I don’t think I have to tell you the kind of schedule Starfleet keeps this boat on. I have to get all the physicals catalogued and sent back to them with the captain’s Quarterly Report, and they’re due tonight.”
Her sigh wasn’t quiet at all then. It was defeatist enough for him to know she was acquiescing, though. “On the table, if you would.” He motioned to the examination bed nearest to him, briefly checking the equipment readouts to make sure nothing needed adjusting (to avoid an incident like last week’s where Nurse Beckett had thought Officer Kavuu was going into cardiac arrest all because she hadn’t noticed that the equipment at that station had not been recalibrated since Mr. Spock’s physical. It had been really very funny, in retrospect).
Christine pushed herself up onto the bed and laid down, willing her expression to be blank or better yet, bored. She stared resolutely at the ceiling, feeling a stubborn heat creep up to the tips of her ears. It wasn’t exactly fair, was it? That he be the only qualified physician on duty when this just had to get done? Thanks a lot God, or karma, or cosmic balance of the universe. Someone was doing a bad job, and she was fairly sure it wasn’t her.
“Blood pressure is one-twenty-four over seventy-eight.”
That was relatively normal, considering. After all, the medical profession hadn’t created the term ‘white coat blood pressure’ for nothing. Her numbers should have been skewed all over the map, the way she could feel that panic uncurling slowly in her abdomen.
“Heat rate’s a little faster than normal.”
She fought the urge to snort and say something snide, taking a deep breath to try and steady herself. Ridiculous organ, the heart. Overreacted about all sorts of unnecessary things. Anticipated actions that were only being brought up in the subconscious mind (all right, maybe not so subconscious, but it wasn’t her fault that the man was standing right next to her while she was flat on her back).
And now his hands were pressing lightly against her stomach.
“Looks like everything’s in the right place, at least.”
Of course, of course, he’s the doctor who doesn’t trust all the techno-gadgets and magical machines, of course he has to be the one doctor on the whole damned ship who still prefers the hands-on approach to medicine when the computers currently scanning her body were doing a fine enough job in telling him exactly how all of her organs were doing, and why did she have to give him this tight-lipped smile, play along when she really didn’t feel like it today….
“Sit up for me.”
She did as he asked, abruptly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her knees accidentally colliding with his hip. Well, that helped a lot. What also helped was the little chill she was feeling from the air vent above her head, making her curl her arms around her own waist. She resolutely did not to press her knees back against his body for the added warmth.
The light he was shining in her eye was a surprise, but she held still as his thumb graced the crest of her cheek, palm braced against the side of her face. She was not thinking of the fact that his hand had been in that exact place only a few short weeks ago for an entirely different reason. She sure as hell did not feel embarrassed to still be thinking about it and damnit, why didn’t men ever talk about anything? Was there a secret code that every woman was missing? An eyebrow code maybe? He and Mr. Spock seemed to communicate that way often enough.
He was checking her glands when he informed her, “You’ve lost a pound or two since the last time.”
That surprised her.
“You might try eating more for breakfast and sitting down longer when you do.” It nearly sounded like she was being scolded. It didn’t help that as the CMO, he had access to the galley records and was expected to review everyone’s eating habits. “You don’t always have to be fifteen minutes early, you know.”
She opened her mouth to give him a smart comeback when she suddenly realized just how she was being touched, something she had been too keen on ignoring since she had sat down. While one set of fingers were checking near her pulse point with all the professionalism they normally maintained, the fingers of the other hand were slipping tentatively toward the back of her neck. A finger brushed her earlobe and she nearly jumped. “Doctor McCoy….”
And if she was a more than a little baffled, he wasn’t making any effort to clear the air for her. He only leaned closer, taking up her breathing room, making it hard to focus on anything but his eyes.
She wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. If he wanted something, he’d have to come and get it. Anyway, she was fairly sure she had just turned to stone from the shock. She couldn’t have moved if they had sounded a red alert at this point.
And he was already losing his nerve. His gaze was falling toward her knees, his lips pressing together in that grim line that she knew too well.
Don’t you dare go shy on me now. “You owe me an explanation, I think.”
There was a defeated huff and he closed his eyes for a moment. “I’m not that great with apologies.”
Well, that was one way to go about it. She raised her eyebrows at him. “That’s helpful. I’m so glad I know that now.”
“This is a bad idea, you know.”
She couldn’t help the way her own gaze drifted guiltily at that. “Thanks,” she murmured.
“I’m your superior officer.”
“Spock and Uhura seem fine. Once they got through their simultaneous anxiety attacks about it.”
“I’m older than you.”
Oh, really. “Not by much,” she nearly laughed.
“I’m divorced and have a child.”
And then she did laugh, rolling her eyes for good measure. It was nice to get some of her poise back, even if it was at his expense. “Yes, because the ‘I’ve got baggage’ conversation really does get more original once you’re a few millions miles away from Earth.” She leaned back on her hands, peering up carefully into his face.
She could have sworn he was keeping down a chuckle of his own. “You’re pushy and argue too much and you enjoy giving me a hard time.”
“You like that, though.”
He turned his head in an effort to hide the side of his mouth that was creeping up at the corner. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I do, don’t I?”
She stopped herself short of mentioning that it seemed to be a trend with anyone he kept close. Like a certain captain and his Vulcan first officer.
“I’m sorry.” He was looking at her then, really looking at her for what felt like the first time since that ill-advised drink at his desk two months ago. “It’s been a hell of a long time since I’ve actually had to talk to anyone about anything, if that makes any sense. I know I shouldn’t have let it go like that, but I was trying to think it through before I… well. Thinking was turning into a handy excuse by the end.”
As apologies went, Christine actually had to give him credit. It was better than Roger’s apology had been. Better than the non-existent apology from her senior prom date and the unapologetic apology of the first doctor she had ever dated. Of course, there was the matter of, “So you decided that the ‘urgent quarterly physical’ was the way to go.”
He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I thought that might turn around and bite me in the backside. Should have known better. It’s really more the sort of thing….”
“…the Captain would do,” she finished for him. When his eyes went wide, she snickered. “Oh, come on, there was no chance that I didn’t know where you were going with that.”
A doleful expression crossed his face and he touched a few buttons on a nearby screen, powering down the equipment for the exam table. Christine frowned, reaching a hand up to his shoulder; she hadn’t meant to put him off. All right, maybe comparing someone to Captain Kirk wasn’t the best way to get them in the mood, but that didn’t mean that-
“Aren’t I supposed to get a breast examination in my physical?”
It struck her instantly how incredibly indelicate that was. And he seemed to think so too, judging by the gape and covering cough. But sticking to her guns was looking like the only way out of this one. So she batted her eyelashes for fun and decided it was the most innocent query in the world. Play with me, she thought. I dare you.
He narrowed his eyes at her. She fancied she could see the neurons light behind, connecting, making those subconscious microsecond decisions that the human brain makes thousands, millions of times each day. He probably had no clear idea how he had come to his final determination, only that somehow, somewhere in his mind in the space of a moment, he had weighed the options and paged through past experiences and predicted all possible futures, until he arrived here.
He turned back to her and something altered, seeped out from a buried place, affecting his posture and face, the glint in his eye and the space he took up in the room. While she still maintained that comparing him to the Captain hadn’t been exactly fair, she could see in this new stare the sort of man who Jim Kirk had instantly befriended years ago. Someone who was just on the right side of wicked, just sarcastic and bad-tempered enough to be best sort of cohort.
Or lover.
And he was closing on her. Christine’s hands clenched the edge of the examination bed without thought. She waited for hands to reach her skin or a fierce kiss that would make her head hurt from spinning. What she got was a glance toward the wall behind her.
It took her a moment to understand; the divider curtain. She leaned back awkwardly and yanked it toward the end of the bed, barely registering that he was doing the same on the other side. Their hands brushed as the curtains came together, and she pulled back like spooked rabbit, gritting her teeth in irritation. Now was definitely not the time to get skittish. It’s not like she had any good reason for it at this point.
His nerves, on the other hand, had formed up to steel in the last few seconds, and he didn’t flinch as he reached around to the back of her uniform and unzipped it without fanfare. His hands gently pulled the fabric around her shoulders and down her arms, barely grazing skin in the process. She took a shaky breath and tried to remind herself that he had seen it before. Once before. Once before when he had seemed too nervous to look.
He wasn’t now. Now he was fixing her with his practiced doctor’s gaze. “Arms up,” he murmured, and she followed the direction as though it was a real examination, as though she didn’t remember what was coming next. He pressed carefully along the curve of each breast before palming them cautiously through fabric. Christine bit her lower lip, determined not to make a sound, but her fingers were curling frantically above her head. Catching the movement in his periphery, his eyes darted up to watch.
It wasn’t long before she blurted out, “Isn’t the extra barrier making your job more difficult?” She was well aware of how desperate the inquiry made her sound, but damnit if she cared one bit.
He raised an eyebrow at her, more potent then a verbal scold. “In a hurry, are we?” At least he sounded amused and assented all the same, reaching around her back once more and unhooking her bra, taking his time so he didn’t get tangled up. The piece of lingerie was boring little baby blue number, but Christine was a sensible sort of girl and she hadn’t known she was going to end her day like this, so she thought she should be forgiven. The article was discarded and his hands were back, teasing and pinching in tender places.
She arched her back a little more than she had intended to, nearly sliding off the exam bed in the process. He took a step forward, pressing her back with the weight of his body, curling one arm around to settle against her lower back. The rough scrape of fabric against the skin he’d been paying such expert attention to was tantalizing and puzzling at the same time; she spent a moment wondering how he had managed to get so close before realizing that, in all her wanton glory, she had spread her legs wide open and he was now standing between them. She couldn’t imagine what sort of impression she was giving, between now and the last time.
Christine chose not to care about it. “Can I put my arms down now?” She tilted her chin up and looked him in the eye, inhaled the scent of him. Not the musk and spice of old romance novels, the go-to fragrance for any male of countless species across the galaxy, but the individual scent that was him as a person. Underneath the surgical soap and whiskey, something that was unidentifiable and unique.
He had nodded at her; as she lowered her arms, she pulled a few key pins out of her hair, sending it tumbling down her back. Without a mirror she couldn’t be sure the move had looked all that sexy. It might have just looked a mess, but then, it was going to get messy anyway. Thinking the same ought to be true for him, she reached up and threaded her fingers into his hair as well, tugging him closer as she went. He took the hint and brushed his lips across her own, too lightly. He did it again and once more before finally kissing her, deep and slow. She sighed on some high note and her eyes slid shut. It reminded her something of a tide, and found she couldn’t stop her hands as they ran recklessly through his hair and down his back. She was rucking up his uniform shirt, finally reaching skin-
“Christine?”
Dinner. Chess.
His head snapped up. A soft, mortified sound escaped her before she could think to stop it and he quickly clapped a hand over her mouth and held her fast.
“Christine….”
Oh god, this is not happening. She buried her face in his shoulder, seizing the front of his uniform in an iron grip.
“Doctor McCoy, is that you back there?”
Christine looked up at him, mouthing the words I’m sorry. She hoped she looked as horrified as she felt. She watched him take a moment, a breath, watched him draw his shoulders down and regain some sliver of his composure. “Yes, hang on,” he snapped out, and at least it sounded just like him on any ordinary day. He stepped back, fixing her with furious stare before tugging down his shirt and slipping out between the curtains.
Christine held her breath.
“Sorry, Doctor, I didn’t mean to bother you-“
“It’s my last quarterly physical, Lieutenant. Make this quick.”
“Sorry, yes, I was just looking for Nurse Chapel. She was supposed to meet me in the galley after she finished her shift.”
“Nurse Chapel wasn’t feeling well. She said she had a pretty bad headache, and asked to spend some time in one of the isolation chambers so she could get out of the light. She’s probably done for the day.” His usual brusqueness, followed by a belated attempt at civility: “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
The pause was just a fraction too long for comfort.
“No… thank you, Doctor. Sorry to have interrupted you.”
“Good evening, Lieutenant.”
Boot soles tracking back the way they had come. The slide of the sickbay doors. Silence, then a few abrupt steps.
The rustle of sharply parted curtains. “And that just happened to slip your mind?”
“It really did,” Christine groaned, running a hand through her hair and yanking hard on a chunk of it. “And I think she probably knows now.”
“What, when you made your plans did you make sure to tell her ‘oh, by the way, if I don’t make it, it’ll probably be because I took a page out of your book and jumped a superior officer, and I’m waiting for him to get back to me on it?’”
She cringed. “No, but….” She pointed down to where he had dropped her bra.
On the floor.
She watched as he drew a swift breath through his nose, clearly willing himself to calm down. It didn’t look like it was working. “Christine-”
“Leonard.”
Luckily, that seemed to throw him enough to slow his momentum. He blinked, searching for words he hadn’t found yet, opening and closing his mouth in rapid sequence. She reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve, pulling him back toward her. He reluctantly went. “It was… sort of, kind of funny?”
The look he gave in return suggested that it would be some time before he could share in that sentiment. “I bet you hated being a teenager,” she guessed. “Getting caught doing anything wrong by the wrong person.”
He snorted a resounding ‘yes’ on that.
Her mouth twisted in concern as she tried to figure out how she was going to salvage this one. Then, in one brilliant turn of inspiration, she wriggled clumsily on the table until a pair of mismatched panties joined the bra on the floor. His expression bounced between dismay and confoundedness until, at last, he seemed to settle.
They were still in his sickbay after all. He might as well be bemused.
“There has to be a better way we could have gone about all of this,” he insisted, staring at the undergarments on the floor.
“I’ll tell you what,” she said, taking his hand in hers and guiding it slowly between her legs, “To appease your delicate sensibilities, the next planet we get shore leave on, you can take me out to dinner. We’ll go out dancing. Take a ride on a riverboat. Whatever you want.”
Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to hear her. His eyes were glazing over with heat, one hand playing at skin that slipped between his fingertips, the other clutching at her hip. She was happy enough to have him distracted, especially if he was going to curl inside her just like-
Things went blurry in her vision from there, though she would always remember the look on this face when he finally eased into her, all relief and strung out hunger. The sort of lust people couldn’t put name to because it wasn’t fierce and fast and easy. She hung onto that look as her body began to tremble and wind tighter, as she stopped being able to control what slipped from her lips and tongue or what she did with them.
Long minutes later, she felt certain that anyone looking in on them could have guessed their urgency simply by the arrangement of their clothes; her uniform pooled at her waist and her booted feet hooked behind his back, his trousers open, shirt lying in a crumpled heap next to her. There was sweat trickling down the side of his face, but she couldn’t wipe it away or even move to taste it, not with her head snapping back at another sinful thrust. Given a few minutes she knew she could come again, but he was so close and she really thought it might kill him if he were stalled one more time.
Her knees were slipping against his sides, slick, cramping and getting weak. She curled her fingers against the back of his neck. “Come on,” she whispered.
In the past she had always thought of it as an encouragement rather than a command, but he complied in seconds, shuddering hard as his breath was forced from his lungs in one violent rush. His head fell against her shoulder and she held him there for a long time.
After a while the world (or the galaxy, in this case) rushed back in, as it was wont to do. They slowly began to pull each other back together, handing bits of clothing over and straightening each other’s hair, checking to see if they had been overeager and left any marks. (She had. A bright purple one near his collarbone. It made her feel like she was sixteen again, and she couldn’t decide if that was a bad thing or not.)
She found herself smiling as she pulled her dress back up. “Can I ask you a question?”
His shirt was halfway over his head, breath still coming in shallow pants. He paused and turned his eyes toward the wall. “Now?”
The slow resurfacing of that trademark irascibility was really sort of endearing at this point. “Why does the Captain call you ‘Bones’?”
A look of brief concentration was suddenly replaced by something she had least expected; an absolutely indecent smirk. He left off the shirt for a moment, leaning over her and tracing his thumb behind her ear. “Not for the reason you’re thinking,” he chuckled, voice still rough and lower than usual. “Really.”
Couldn’t blame a girl for trying, at least. As she tilted her head back to catch his lips, Christine suddenly wondered when the quarterly physicals were actually due.
He still hadn’t checked her spine, after all.
FIN
And now I must away. It is Valentine's Day and I have dinner reservations with my lady. Hope you all do something wonderful.