FIC: Smooth as Sandpaper, Warm Just Like the Winter
Title: Smooth as Sandpaper, Warm Just Like the Winter
Author: _samalander
Fandom: ST:AOS
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,091
Warnings: Pretty much PWP, but: het, sex, genderswap (always-a-girl!Chekov)
Characters/Pairings: McCoy,/female!Chekov
Summary: In which Polina and Leonard both want something from each other, and dammit, they get it.
Notes: I asked for prompts to get me through a couple plane rides, and rubynye gave me the following: Walk Right Through
girl!Chekov/McCoy, gangly
Overriding the lock on Doctor McCoy's office is rather laughably easy; Polina makes a note to point this out to the Captain, as it wouldn't do for someone of malevolent intent to so easily intrude on the CMO.
Fortunately, her intent is not malevolent, if not benign. He glances up (all eyebrowy, saying she shouldn't be in there, and she kisses him and tackles him. She blows him hard, then demands he fuck her and climbs into his chair.
Afterwards She says "Now all day you will remember me."
He says, "I'm gonna remember you for the rest of my life," so earnestly she blushes, his eyes open wide, loking young as any boy she could've dreamed of.
This is what happened next.
Title is from Modern Swinger by The Pink Spiders.
Dedicated, as things should be, to the lovely and brilliant prompter, rubynye
Disclaimer: Star Trek is property of people who are not me.
Overriding the lock on Doctor McCoy's office is rather laughably easy; Polina makes a note to point this out to the Captain, as it wouldn't do for someone of malevolent intent to so easily intrude on the CMO.
Luckily for the Doctor, Polina isn't a malevolent person. She smiles as the door slides open, her eyes meeting his and drinking in the shock beneath his straight eyebrows, his forehead knitted up in shock or anger or something, his long fingers paused on the PADD in front of him, mid-scroll. She imagines the soft press of those fingers, the whirling lines that are unique to him pressing into her skin and taking what he wants, what she gives, and she moves into the room. She'd hesitate to call herself predatory because she feels her body so stretched out, knobby knees and spindly elbows, but she could understand if an observer made that mistake, the way she's moving slowing, centering on him, orienting her gravity towards the chair, the desk, the bulk of McCoy.
He stands like a flicker, knees and hips moving without his input, and she worries, for a blank moment of terror, that he will say no, he will send her away or insist (like so many on this damned ship do) that she is a child, that this isn’t a choice she gets.
Fuck them, and fuck their paternal bullshit.
She echoes a move she saw Gaila do once, places the right hand on her collarbone and drags the fingers across it, dipping into the hollow of her throat and then down towards her breasts.
She feels ridiculous, and neither of them has said a word.
Finally he swallows hard, and the bobbing of his Adam's apple finds her voice for her.
"Doctor," she says, and she hears the harshness of her accent, twisting the soft c of Standard into a k, embarrassingly.
"Chekova," he replies, and she smiles at the way he uses her name, more like a hello, like a welcome than a rebuke. She thinks he might want this, might not be an idiot about it.
She's in his space now, breathing in his scent - coffee and antiseptic and something that doesn't have a name, maybe, something like sweetness, but not cloying. He reaches a hand out, moves to brush a tendril of a curl from her eyes and pauses, those delicious fingertips hovering over the swell of her cheek.
"You shouldn't be here."
She doesn't want to talk about this, so she closes the distance between them before she loses her nerve, throws two arms around his neck and whispers, "Yes I should," as she laces her fingers together to leverage his head down for a kiss.
She's not short, not the way Chapel is, but he's tall, and he bends at the waist to take her mouth, his hands sliding into the small of her back like magnets propel them. He holds her gently and kisses her fiercely, tongue and teeth and lips all making her think that she is the only one on the ship, the only one he ever thinks of.
"Want you," she murmurs against his lips, before diving back into the morning-roughness of his stubble and the taste of coffee.
"Want you too, darlin'," he whispers back as she moves her mouth to his neck, fingers tracing the slight curves of his chest and sides.
She grins wickedly at this permission, this go-ahead and puts her hands flat on his chest to propel him back into his chair. He folds willingly, letting her take the lead, demanding she do it, his eyes laughing at her brashness. She's loving every second of this, that the big strong doctor lets little Chekova have her way with him.
She sinks to her knees between his legs, and in her rush to get at his skin, her hands slip on the fastenings of his pants. She laughs and he joins her, and she thinks, in nonsense, because she's good at nonsense, that it is a little pre-orgasm, their joy cresting together before their bodies echo the laugh.
His hands find hers and they undo his trousers together, her fingers nowhere near as long and elegant as his, but he likes them, lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses the palm, and she supposes that his little adorations are sweet.
She reaches into his pants - no underwear, hallelujah, and runs her hand over the warm length of his cock, smiling at the smoothness. In the stories she reads, the protagonists always mention their mouths watering at the thought of sucking dick, but hers doesn't, she just gets excited, gets a little wetter between her legs at the idea of bringing someone pleasure with her mouth, with her skills, like the derivative of orgasm should be blow job.
It's not impressive, she doesn't think, the actual penis itself, but she leans in as she pulls it out of his pants, mouthing kisses along the shaft and he groans, so she does it again.
"Polly," he sighs, and she smiles before running her tongue up the bottom of his shaft. She likes it, him calling her that, a little secret name they can share.
She doesn't know if she should call him Leonard or Len or Leo or Doctor or McCoy, so she runs her tongue around the head, under the foreskin, and he groans again before she wraps her lips around him and begins to suck.
He throws his head back, a little victory for her, and his hand comes up to tangle in her hair. He's not pushing or forcing, just adding to the connection, and she grins around him, using her hand to work the parts of him her mouth can't cover.
(The porn stories always have men and women in them who can take their lovers into and down their throats, but Polina hasn't mastered that trick, doesn't know how they do it, doesn't try because she can’t think of anything more embarrassing than vomiting during a blowjob, especially one given to a doctor who would probably make her go get checked for some kind of awful disease and besides, that is why she HAS hands anyway.)
Her other finger plays along his perineum, tracing as far back as she can get with him seated and his pants still around his thighs. He's enjoying it, she knows, because he's babbling at her, more promises and filthy lies about her mouth and her beauty and good girl, sweet girl, pretty Polly all spilling forth as she works, bobbing her head still, licking at the bottom of his cock as she moves.
(She's good at this, she enjoys this, but my god, after a while with some men it gets boring, the same movements and the same reactions and just come already, my jaw hurts, but it's not like that with the Doctor, he's doing as much work as she is, petting her and moving his hips and giving her delicious little moans and whimpers to enjoy.)
His hips stutter and she pulls off, grinning up at him as he comes back to himself.
"Polly?"
"I do not want you to come in my mouth," she explains, and she hates her accent even more in that moment because she's talking about sex, abut lovemaking, and it could so easily be math or physics or cooking, and not the craggy doctor and the gangly navigator moving together in tandem.
"Of course," he says, disengaging his hand from her hair. "You want me to get a-"
She doesn't know what he'd offer - a tissue, maybe, or a sock or a towel - because she stops him from getting up, hands safely on his hips, and she stands.
"No," she tells him, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, pushing them down from under her uniform skirt. "I do not want you to finish yet."
She watches his gorgeous understanding bloom across his face, his green-brown eyes widening to understand that yes, she wants penetration, she wants to take as well as give, there are two of them here.
He grips the armrests of his chair as she slips into his lap, straddling his thighs.
"How do you like it?" he asks, tracing his thumb across her cheekbone, and she thinks she has chosen wisely, because none of the young boys she has bedded before ever thought of more than one way, the way they wanted, frantic like a jackhammer.
She catches his hand and brings it down between her legs, presses his fingers to her clit and moves them, shows him how she touches herself when she's sure her roommate is asleep at night, the way she teases and moves and he gets it quickly, firm presses of fingers working her.
(Her mama gave her a book when she turned 12, a book that explained the parts of a woman and what they meant and when they talked about it later, Irina could only use the broadest of terms, blushing and stuttering like Polina never has, but the phrase pleasure button has always stayed with her, her mama's charming euphemism for clit, and McCoy must know the term too, because that's how he uses it, like something designed to bring her pleasure with every press and she's riding his leg, his hand as he uses his thumb to press the button and a long finger slips inside of her and she lets a throaty groan out and he says something that must be filthy, he's damn good at filth, and she wants the rest of him.)
"Need-" she gasps, fumbling again for his cock, and she knows he understands because he backs off his ministrations and lets her take the lead again, so she does, rising to her knees in the chair and positioning him to slip into her.
They both let out rumbles of pleasure as she sinks onto him, and when they're connected at the hips she pauses a second, getting used to the sensation of his cock, and he breathes heavily, his hands on her hips, maintaining eye contact like breaking it might drain the life from him.
"Feel so good, darlin'," he gasps out after a minute, "So sweet."
She starts to move then, rising up onto her knees to sink down, his fingers burning on he waist. He's thrusting into her as she bears down, and it's so good, so hot and right, she has to lean in and kiss him hard. He kisses her back, hand leaving her hip to sneak down and thumb at her clit and she pants against his neck as they move and he touches and it's all so much, she wants to cry for the soothing burn of it, of him, of everything.
She doesn't come screaming like the girls in the vids, like the skinny bottoms who get drilled against the wall by bigger, hairy men. She just pants against his neck, whimpering as the tempo increases and he thrusts and they move together until she's clenching around him, quiet outside but a maelstrom inside, a wild animal seeking only the pool of his eyes and the quench of his mouth.
She rides him to completion, and he comes quietly, too, just a huff of air before he's holding her close, pulsing and shuddering and she's not totally sure where or who she is for the few moments after.
She comes back to herself because of pain in her knees, bruised against the armrests and the burning of her thighs. It grounds her, makes her remember that she is Polina Chekova, and she kisses him one more, sweetly, before climbing off.
She bends to retrieve her panties, but instead of sliding them back up her spider's legs, she presses them into his hand. He looks shocked at first, but then he smile and licks his lips.
"This mean you'll come back for these?"
She nods. "As long as you will keep them," she says and bends to kiss him one more time, before taking the band from around her wrist, the elastic she uses to keep her hair back when she works, and slides is down, around the base of his cock and slipping it behind his balls, where is doesn’t cut off circulation, but he'll feel it. "Now all day you will remember me," she tells him, and he laughs.
"I'm gonna remember you for the rest of my life," he tell her so earnestly she blushes, his eyes open wide, looking young as any boy she could've dreamed of.
Author: _samalander
Fandom: ST:AOS
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 2,091
Warnings: Pretty much PWP, but: het, sex, genderswap (always-a-girl!Chekov)
Characters/Pairings: McCoy,/female!Chekov
Summary: In which Polina and Leonard both want something from each other, and dammit, they get it.
Notes: I asked for prompts to get me through a couple plane rides, and rubynye gave me the following: Walk Right Through
girl!Chekov/McCoy, gangly
Overriding the lock on Doctor McCoy's office is rather laughably easy; Polina makes a note to point this out to the Captain, as it wouldn't do for someone of malevolent intent to so easily intrude on the CMO.
Fortunately, her intent is not malevolent, if not benign. He glances up (all eyebrowy, saying she shouldn't be in there, and she kisses him and tackles him. She blows him hard, then demands he fuck her and climbs into his chair.
Afterwards She says "Now all day you will remember me."
He says, "I'm gonna remember you for the rest of my life," so earnestly she blushes, his eyes open wide, loking young as any boy she could've dreamed of.
This is what happened next.
Title is from Modern Swinger by The Pink Spiders.
Dedicated, as things should be, to the lovely and brilliant prompter, rubynye
Disclaimer: Star Trek is property of people who are not me.
Overriding the lock on Doctor McCoy's office is rather laughably easy; Polina makes a note to point this out to the Captain, as it wouldn't do for someone of malevolent intent to so easily intrude on the CMO.
Luckily for the Doctor, Polina isn't a malevolent person. She smiles as the door slides open, her eyes meeting his and drinking in the shock beneath his straight eyebrows, his forehead knitted up in shock or anger or something, his long fingers paused on the PADD in front of him, mid-scroll. She imagines the soft press of those fingers, the whirling lines that are unique to him pressing into her skin and taking what he wants, what she gives, and she moves into the room. She'd hesitate to call herself predatory because she feels her body so stretched out, knobby knees and spindly elbows, but she could understand if an observer made that mistake, the way she's moving slowing, centering on him, orienting her gravity towards the chair, the desk, the bulk of McCoy.
He stands like a flicker, knees and hips moving without his input, and she worries, for a blank moment of terror, that he will say no, he will send her away or insist (like so many on this damned ship do) that she is a child, that this isn’t a choice she gets.
Fuck them, and fuck their paternal bullshit.
She echoes a move she saw Gaila do once, places the right hand on her collarbone and drags the fingers across it, dipping into the hollow of her throat and then down towards her breasts.
She feels ridiculous, and neither of them has said a word.
Finally he swallows hard, and the bobbing of his Adam's apple finds her voice for her.
"Doctor," she says, and she hears the harshness of her accent, twisting the soft c of Standard into a k, embarrassingly.
"Chekova," he replies, and she smiles at the way he uses her name, more like a hello, like a welcome than a rebuke. She thinks he might want this, might not be an idiot about it.
She's in his space now, breathing in his scent - coffee and antiseptic and something that doesn't have a name, maybe, something like sweetness, but not cloying. He reaches a hand out, moves to brush a tendril of a curl from her eyes and pauses, those delicious fingertips hovering over the swell of her cheek.
"You shouldn't be here."
She doesn't want to talk about this, so she closes the distance between them before she loses her nerve, throws two arms around his neck and whispers, "Yes I should," as she laces her fingers together to leverage his head down for a kiss.
She's not short, not the way Chapel is, but he's tall, and he bends at the waist to take her mouth, his hands sliding into the small of her back like magnets propel them. He holds her gently and kisses her fiercely, tongue and teeth and lips all making her think that she is the only one on the ship, the only one he ever thinks of.
"Want you," she murmurs against his lips, before diving back into the morning-roughness of his stubble and the taste of coffee.
"Want you too, darlin'," he whispers back as she moves her mouth to his neck, fingers tracing the slight curves of his chest and sides.
She grins wickedly at this permission, this go-ahead and puts her hands flat on his chest to propel him back into his chair. He folds willingly, letting her take the lead, demanding she do it, his eyes laughing at her brashness. She's loving every second of this, that the big strong doctor lets little Chekova have her way with him.
She sinks to her knees between his legs, and in her rush to get at his skin, her hands slip on the fastenings of his pants. She laughs and he joins her, and she thinks, in nonsense, because she's good at nonsense, that it is a little pre-orgasm, their joy cresting together before their bodies echo the laugh.
His hands find hers and they undo his trousers together, her fingers nowhere near as long and elegant as his, but he likes them, lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses the palm, and she supposes that his little adorations are sweet.
She reaches into his pants - no underwear, hallelujah, and runs her hand over the warm length of his cock, smiling at the smoothness. In the stories she reads, the protagonists always mention their mouths watering at the thought of sucking dick, but hers doesn't, she just gets excited, gets a little wetter between her legs at the idea of bringing someone pleasure with her mouth, with her skills, like the derivative of orgasm should be blow job.
It's not impressive, she doesn't think, the actual penis itself, but she leans in as she pulls it out of his pants, mouthing kisses along the shaft and he groans, so she does it again.
"Polly," he sighs, and she smiles before running her tongue up the bottom of his shaft. She likes it, him calling her that, a little secret name they can share.
She doesn't know if she should call him Leonard or Len or Leo or Doctor or McCoy, so she runs her tongue around the head, under the foreskin, and he groans again before she wraps her lips around him and begins to suck.
He throws his head back, a little victory for her, and his hand comes up to tangle in her hair. He's not pushing or forcing, just adding to the connection, and she grins around him, using her hand to work the parts of him her mouth can't cover.
(The porn stories always have men and women in them who can take their lovers into and down their throats, but Polina hasn't mastered that trick, doesn't know how they do it, doesn't try because she can’t think of anything more embarrassing than vomiting during a blowjob, especially one given to a doctor who would probably make her go get checked for some kind of awful disease and besides, that is why she HAS hands anyway.)
Her other finger plays along his perineum, tracing as far back as she can get with him seated and his pants still around his thighs. He's enjoying it, she knows, because he's babbling at her, more promises and filthy lies about her mouth and her beauty and good girl, sweet girl, pretty Polly all spilling forth as she works, bobbing her head still, licking at the bottom of his cock as she moves.
(She's good at this, she enjoys this, but my god, after a while with some men it gets boring, the same movements and the same reactions and just come already, my jaw hurts, but it's not like that with the Doctor, he's doing as much work as she is, petting her and moving his hips and giving her delicious little moans and whimpers to enjoy.)
His hips stutter and she pulls off, grinning up at him as he comes back to himself.
"Polly?"
"I do not want you to come in my mouth," she explains, and she hates her accent even more in that moment because she's talking about sex, abut lovemaking, and it could so easily be math or physics or cooking, and not the craggy doctor and the gangly navigator moving together in tandem.
"Of course," he says, disengaging his hand from her hair. "You want me to get a-"
She doesn't know what he'd offer - a tissue, maybe, or a sock or a towel - because she stops him from getting up, hands safely on his hips, and she stands.
"No," she tells him, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, pushing them down from under her uniform skirt. "I do not want you to finish yet."
She watches his gorgeous understanding bloom across his face, his green-brown eyes widening to understand that yes, she wants penetration, she wants to take as well as give, there are two of them here.
He grips the armrests of his chair as she slips into his lap, straddling his thighs.
"How do you like it?" he asks, tracing his thumb across her cheekbone, and she thinks she has chosen wisely, because none of the young boys she has bedded before ever thought of more than one way, the way they wanted, frantic like a jackhammer.
She catches his hand and brings it down between her legs, presses his fingers to her clit and moves them, shows him how she touches herself when she's sure her roommate is asleep at night, the way she teases and moves and he gets it quickly, firm presses of fingers working her.
(Her mama gave her a book when she turned 12, a book that explained the parts of a woman and what they meant and when they talked about it later, Irina could only use the broadest of terms, blushing and stuttering like Polina never has, but the phrase pleasure button has always stayed with her, her mama's charming euphemism for clit, and McCoy must know the term too, because that's how he uses it, like something designed to bring her pleasure with every press and she's riding his leg, his hand as he uses his thumb to press the button and a long finger slips inside of her and she lets a throaty groan out and he says something that must be filthy, he's damn good at filth, and she wants the rest of him.)
"Need-" she gasps, fumbling again for his cock, and she knows he understands because he backs off his ministrations and lets her take the lead again, so she does, rising to her knees in the chair and positioning him to slip into her.
They both let out rumbles of pleasure as she sinks onto him, and when they're connected at the hips she pauses a second, getting used to the sensation of his cock, and he breathes heavily, his hands on her hips, maintaining eye contact like breaking it might drain the life from him.
"Feel so good, darlin'," he gasps out after a minute, "So sweet."
She starts to move then, rising up onto her knees to sink down, his fingers burning on he waist. He's thrusting into her as she bears down, and it's so good, so hot and right, she has to lean in and kiss him hard. He kisses her back, hand leaving her hip to sneak down and thumb at her clit and she pants against his neck as they move and he touches and it's all so much, she wants to cry for the soothing burn of it, of him, of everything.
She doesn't come screaming like the girls in the vids, like the skinny bottoms who get drilled against the wall by bigger, hairy men. She just pants against his neck, whimpering as the tempo increases and he thrusts and they move together until she's clenching around him, quiet outside but a maelstrom inside, a wild animal seeking only the pool of his eyes and the quench of his mouth.
She rides him to completion, and he comes quietly, too, just a huff of air before he's holding her close, pulsing and shuddering and she's not totally sure where or who she is for the few moments after.
She comes back to herself because of pain in her knees, bruised against the armrests and the burning of her thighs. It grounds her, makes her remember that she is Polina Chekova, and she kisses him one more, sweetly, before climbing off.
She bends to retrieve her panties, but instead of sliding them back up her spider's legs, she presses them into his hand. He looks shocked at first, but then he smile and licks his lips.
"This mean you'll come back for these?"
She nods. "As long as you will keep them," she says and bends to kiss him one more time, before taking the band from around her wrist, the elastic she uses to keep her hair back when she works, and slides is down, around the base of his cock and slipping it behind his balls, where is doesn’t cut off circulation, but he'll feel it. "Now all day you will remember me," she tells him, and he laughs.
"I'm gonna remember you for the rest of my life," he tell her so earnestly she blushes, his eyes open wide, looking young as any boy she could've dreamed of.