Fic: "Last Call"
Title: Last Call
Summary: A one-night stand, started in an off-campus bar.
Pairing: McCoy/it's a surprise!woman
Rating: R/NC-17
Content Advisory: Nothing that you shouldn't guess from the rating.
Word Count: 2225
Notes: For igrockspock, who left me a prompt a few days ago. (If you know the prompt, you'll know the pairing, and it's not that difficult to figure out, but I'll leave readers who are unspoiled with the mystery.) This doesn't fit anywhere near any other ficverse I've ever written.
It was a dive, McCoy knew, but he liked this bar for several reasons: a decent drink selection, the fact that it was close enough to campus to catch public transport but far enough away that it was mostly civilians, and the fact that it was dark enough that he could ignore everyone else if he wanted to. Sometimes he didn't want to ignore them, though, such as the woman, dark-haired, wearing civvies but clearly Starfleet, who sat on the bar stool next to McCoy. "Whiskey. Straight up."
"What kind?" the bartender asked.
She pushed her hair back behind her ears and said, "I don't care."
Well, now, that was unacceptable. "Yes, she does," McCoy said. "Woodford Reserve, distiller's select."
The glare he received from that was remarkable. "I don't know you. Do not order for me."
"Ma'am, life's too short to waste it on rail drinks," he drawled, but finished his drink--the selfsame Woodford Reserve distiller's select, on the rocks--and stood. "My apologies for intruding on your time." He circled around four or five other people to find another seat, closer to the end of the bar and nowhere near the dark-haired woman. Grabbing a handful of peanuts, he popped a couple into his mouth and waited for the bartender to come back to him.
Zie did, a few minutes later, with a glass of what looked like what he'd been drinking before. "This is from her," zie said, with a head gesture that let him know that zie meant the dark-haired woman. "She says sorry."
McCoy raised both eyebrows, but the bartender shrugged. "I don't know. Ask her yourself." Zie shrugged, and went back to serving drinks.
He leaned forward, and the dark-haired woman--pretty, definitely--was also leaning forward, on her elbows. He raised a single eyebrow at her, and she tilted her head minutely.
It was clearly an invitation. McCoy stared at his drink--his third, and his last if he wanted to join her and not have the evening end early--weighed his options for about two seconds, and moved back to his original seat, fortunately not occupied.
"I guess the bourbon was to your liking," he said.
"It was surprisingly good," she said. "Also, you're 'fleet."
Well, Academy, but close enough. He didn't even ask how she knew. "So are you. That doesn't automatically make either of us a decent person."
"Point." She took another sip out of her glass. "Well, are you?"
He shrugged. "My best friend thinks I'm okay. My ex-wife thinks I'm hellspawn. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. You?"
She shrugged as well. "My best friend thinks I need to get laid, but my best opportunity for such decided to take a trip off-planet for the entire time I'm down here."
Well. That was honest. "And you think I'm a good second choice?"
She looked him up and down. "You have good taste in alcohol and you are, by far, the best-looking man in the bar. You bothered to remind me that you could be an asshole, and I'm sure you are, but I doubt you're a serial killer, and I can take care of myself."
There was clearly something wrong with him, that her threat made him almost as hot as her assertion that he was the best-looking man in the bar. "McCoy," he said. "Leonard McCoy."
"Kate," she said, with a hesitation that let him know that it wasn't her actual name. The name was familiar enough on her tongue, though, that it was probably her middle name, or a close friend. "Caitlin, actually." He revised his mental spelling to 'Cait.' Didn't particularly matter to him whether he had her real name or not. "Your place or mine?"
"I've got a roommate who's currently trying to break some sort of orgasms-per-hour record with a lovely young woman named Gaila," McCoy said. "Even if you're just in temporary accommodations, it's got to be better than that."
Cait laughed, the sound surprisingly pure for all the world-weary cynicism in her face. "Yeah. It's better than that. Come with me." She finished her drink, stood, dropped a credit chip on the bar, and waited for him to do the same. McCoy swallowed the rest of his bourbon, crunched a piece of ice, left his own credit chips, and followed her out.
She was tall; taller than he'd thought, probably only three or four inches shorter than he was, and wearing boots with short but noticeable heels that put her nearly eye-to-eye with him. Also mostly legs. He could definitely get on board with that. "Done checking me out?" she asked, amusement in her voice.
"Hell, no," he said, "but we can go, if that's what you're asking."
"Close enough," she said, and set out to the bus stop at a fairly brisk pace. He sauntered a step or so behind, not bothering to hide the fact that he was watching her rear end.
The public transit ride was fairly quick, not quite twenty minutes, and they made small talk about Federation politics, recent movies, and other things as unrelated to their actual identities as possible. She was housed in one of the halls for ship-duty officers while on shore leave, in a small apartment with a tiny kitchenette and a queen-sized bed. There was no way that she'd scored those accommodations without being a senior officer, and probably along the lines of an XO, a chief engineer, or better. "Bathroom's through there," she said, pointing behind her, as he stood on one side of the bed and she on the other. "Do you need anything, or want anything to drink? Water?"
McCoy shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
Cait nodded twice, and started unbuttoning her shirt.
"Hey," McCoy said, and rounded the end of the bed. "Let me." He covered her fingers with his--hers were much cooler--and slipped the buttons himself. Cait dropped her hands to his waist, and pulled his shirt up enough to reach his skin. He didn't jump when she touched him; he'd always run warm to the touch and was used to cold fingers. Jocelyn used to call him a furnace, usually in disgust during the hot Atlanta summers. It wasn't cold out--he'd been comfortable in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans--but Cait seemed not to mind, as she tried to get her hands on as much of him as possible.
"You're quite warm," she remarked, echoing his thoughts.
"Normal for me," he said. He'd gotten her shirt open and pushed it off her shoulders, letting the silky material slide down. She dropped her hands briefly and let the shirt fall to the floor. Replacing her hands at his waist, she slid the t-shirt up, and he raised his hands and allowed her to take it off.
He stared at her breasts, pushed high by her black bra, for a moment or two before dragging the pad of his thumb across her lips and leaning in to kiss her. She tasted of expensive bourbon and salt and seemed to be just as interested in exploring his mouth as he was hers. She'd probably catalogued the scars he had from biting the inside of his cheek during flight sims, he thought, and slid his fingers into her hair, loose about her shoulders.
He felt her hands slide from his skin, and a moment or two later, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her bare chest to his, moving a bit side to side. Breaking the kiss just to groan and return a few seconds later, he cupped her breasts and circled her nipples with his thumbs.
It all went very quickly after that. She shucked off her own jeans and boots, even without breaking the kiss, and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and pushed them off his hips. Not being apparently as coordinated as she, he ended the kiss, removed all of his remaining clothing, and stood in front of her. She looked down, and a small smug smile curved her lips.
"I like that reaction," McCoy said, and Cait laughed.
A minute later, they were on the bed, wrestling for dominance; McCoy won initially and bent down to suck the tip of one nipple, but when he released it from his mouth, she flipped them over. He looked up at her, not entirely surprised, and filled his hands with her breasts.
Before too long, she leaned off the side of the bed, retrieved a condom from the pocket of her jeans, slid it on him, and lowered herself onto his erection in a tight, wet slide that drew a groan from both of them. McCoy clenched his fingers in the bed linens and thought of the least sexy things he could--the Prime Directive, Andorian shingles, his Stellar Cartography professor--in hopes that he'd last long enough to get her off first, but she did a particular shimmy with her hips on the way down that shattered his concentration and almost sent him over the edge.
Well, then. Two could play at that game. McCoy licked his right thumb and pressed it into Cait's clit, stroking until she lost her rhythm, clenched around him, and cried out. He grasped her hips and gave one last desperate thrust before coming so hard he saw stars.
She slid off almost immediately; he got up, went to the bathroom, and disposed of the condom before he made any more of a mess than necessary. After wiping himself off, he looked around the small room for a moment before leaving. Under the towel rack was a small shelving unit; it contained a few neatly-folded gold uniform tunics. McCoy carefully unfolded one to look at the sleeve. Three stripes; one thin between two thick. Cait, or whatever he name was, was a captain. Impressive, and somehow also unsurprising. He replaced the uniform carefully and left the bathroom.
Cait was sitting upright in her bed, the sheet carefully tucked just under her armpits. "I'm not kicking you out," she said, "but I am shipping out at 0800."
"That's fine," he said. "I go on shift at 0800." He didn't, actually; not until 1200, but it was a polite lie of the kind his mama used to call 'social lubrication.' "Do you mind if I stay for a while?"
"No, that's fine," she said.
Awkward? Very. He lay down on the other side of the bed, and she slid down as well. After a few minutes, he rolled to face her, and she turned her back to him and scooted closer. He rested an arm carefully on her side, hand on her hip, and she relaxed, slowly, one major muscle group at a time.
The next thing McCoy knew, someone's comm was beeping at him and it was 0615. Cait was already up, carefully zipping the top of her duffel bag. She wore the black undershirt but not the gold tunic; a neatly-folded one sat on top of the bag. "Do you mind if I use your shower?" he asked, voice fuzzy with sleep.
"That's fine. Just give me a moment." She went into the bathroom, grabbed a few items, and stepped out. "All yours."
He showered quickly and pulled his clothes from last night back on. They didn't smell too badly. He finger-combed his hair into order, rinsed his mouth out with water and a dab of her toothpaste which she had helpfully left, and thanked God that he had a job where he left his uniform at work. He didn't really want to go back to his room and walk in on Jim giving (or receiving) a wake-up call.
Exiting the bathroom, he walked out to the living room and waited a moment as Cait rooted around in her kitchen. "If you want, I've got coffee," she said, turning around and indicating the coffeemaker.
"I'd love some, if you don't mind," he said. Cait smiled and hit the button; a couple minutes later, he took the cup from the one-cup machine--Captains really do get much better accommodations, he thought--and inhaled the sweet, sweet scent of caffeinated heaven.
He watched Cait clean out her kitchen and throw all the perishable items into the recycler, but before he'd finished his cup, the door opened with a soft shhk.
Cait's head flew up, her eyes wide, and they both turned to the door, where an auburn-haired woman in operations red with lieutenant commander stripes around her wrists had entered. "Hey, One. Time to go back into the black!" She spied McCoy a second or two later. "Well, hello there, mister. One, who's this?" She held out a hand. "I'm Cait, the best friend. I hope you were awesome, 'cause she needed it."
McCoy blinked, and shot a glance at--well, whoever she was, because "One" wasn't any kind of name he'd ever heard. "Dr. Leonard McCoy, ma'am," he said, holding out a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I was just about to head out, though." He turned, kissed Cait-the-pseudonymous on the cheek, and said, "You have a good mission, Captain."
She nodded mutely, and he gave Cait-the-actual a short nod before leaving.
As he left, he heard Not-Cait say, "Thanks, Cait. I gave him your name!" and Actual-Cait burst into laughter.
Oh, Jim was going to laugh. If he ever told him.
Summary: A one-night stand, started in an off-campus bar.
Pairing: McCoy/it's a surprise!woman
Rating: R/NC-17
Content Advisory: Nothing that you shouldn't guess from the rating.
Word Count: 2225
Notes: For igrockspock, who left me a prompt a few days ago. (If you know the prompt, you'll know the pairing, and it's not that difficult to figure out, but I'll leave readers who are unspoiled with the mystery.) This doesn't fit anywhere near any other ficverse I've ever written.
It was a dive, McCoy knew, but he liked this bar for several reasons: a decent drink selection, the fact that it was close enough to campus to catch public transport but far enough away that it was mostly civilians, and the fact that it was dark enough that he could ignore everyone else if he wanted to. Sometimes he didn't want to ignore them, though, such as the woman, dark-haired, wearing civvies but clearly Starfleet, who sat on the bar stool next to McCoy. "Whiskey. Straight up."
"What kind?" the bartender asked.
She pushed her hair back behind her ears and said, "I don't care."
Well, now, that was unacceptable. "Yes, she does," McCoy said. "Woodford Reserve, distiller's select."
The glare he received from that was remarkable. "I don't know you. Do not order for me."
"Ma'am, life's too short to waste it on rail drinks," he drawled, but finished his drink--the selfsame Woodford Reserve distiller's select, on the rocks--and stood. "My apologies for intruding on your time." He circled around four or five other people to find another seat, closer to the end of the bar and nowhere near the dark-haired woman. Grabbing a handful of peanuts, he popped a couple into his mouth and waited for the bartender to come back to him.
Zie did, a few minutes later, with a glass of what looked like what he'd been drinking before. "This is from her," zie said, with a head gesture that let him know that zie meant the dark-haired woman. "She says sorry."
McCoy raised both eyebrows, but the bartender shrugged. "I don't know. Ask her yourself." Zie shrugged, and went back to serving drinks.
He leaned forward, and the dark-haired woman--pretty, definitely--was also leaning forward, on her elbows. He raised a single eyebrow at her, and she tilted her head minutely.
It was clearly an invitation. McCoy stared at his drink--his third, and his last if he wanted to join her and not have the evening end early--weighed his options for about two seconds, and moved back to his original seat, fortunately not occupied.
"I guess the bourbon was to your liking," he said.
"It was surprisingly good," she said. "Also, you're 'fleet."
Well, Academy, but close enough. He didn't even ask how she knew. "So are you. That doesn't automatically make either of us a decent person."
"Point." She took another sip out of her glass. "Well, are you?"
He shrugged. "My best friend thinks I'm okay. My ex-wife thinks I'm hellspawn. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle. You?"
She shrugged as well. "My best friend thinks I need to get laid, but my best opportunity for such decided to take a trip off-planet for the entire time I'm down here."
Well. That was honest. "And you think I'm a good second choice?"
She looked him up and down. "You have good taste in alcohol and you are, by far, the best-looking man in the bar. You bothered to remind me that you could be an asshole, and I'm sure you are, but I doubt you're a serial killer, and I can take care of myself."
There was clearly something wrong with him, that her threat made him almost as hot as her assertion that he was the best-looking man in the bar. "McCoy," he said. "Leonard McCoy."
"Kate," she said, with a hesitation that let him know that it wasn't her actual name. The name was familiar enough on her tongue, though, that it was probably her middle name, or a close friend. "Caitlin, actually." He revised his mental spelling to 'Cait.' Didn't particularly matter to him whether he had her real name or not. "Your place or mine?"
"I've got a roommate who's currently trying to break some sort of orgasms-per-hour record with a lovely young woman named Gaila," McCoy said. "Even if you're just in temporary accommodations, it's got to be better than that."
Cait laughed, the sound surprisingly pure for all the world-weary cynicism in her face. "Yeah. It's better than that. Come with me." She finished her drink, stood, dropped a credit chip on the bar, and waited for him to do the same. McCoy swallowed the rest of his bourbon, crunched a piece of ice, left his own credit chips, and followed her out.
She was tall; taller than he'd thought, probably only three or four inches shorter than he was, and wearing boots with short but noticeable heels that put her nearly eye-to-eye with him. Also mostly legs. He could definitely get on board with that. "Done checking me out?" she asked, amusement in her voice.
"Hell, no," he said, "but we can go, if that's what you're asking."
"Close enough," she said, and set out to the bus stop at a fairly brisk pace. He sauntered a step or so behind, not bothering to hide the fact that he was watching her rear end.
The public transit ride was fairly quick, not quite twenty minutes, and they made small talk about Federation politics, recent movies, and other things as unrelated to their actual identities as possible. She was housed in one of the halls for ship-duty officers while on shore leave, in a small apartment with a tiny kitchenette and a queen-sized bed. There was no way that she'd scored those accommodations without being a senior officer, and probably along the lines of an XO, a chief engineer, or better. "Bathroom's through there," she said, pointing behind her, as he stood on one side of the bed and she on the other. "Do you need anything, or want anything to drink? Water?"
McCoy shook his head. "No, I'm fine."
Cait nodded twice, and started unbuttoning her shirt.
"Hey," McCoy said, and rounded the end of the bed. "Let me." He covered her fingers with his--hers were much cooler--and slipped the buttons himself. Cait dropped her hands to his waist, and pulled his shirt up enough to reach his skin. He didn't jump when she touched him; he'd always run warm to the touch and was used to cold fingers. Jocelyn used to call him a furnace, usually in disgust during the hot Atlanta summers. It wasn't cold out--he'd been comfortable in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans--but Cait seemed not to mind, as she tried to get her hands on as much of him as possible.
"You're quite warm," she remarked, echoing his thoughts.
"Normal for me," he said. He'd gotten her shirt open and pushed it off her shoulders, letting the silky material slide down. She dropped her hands briefly and let the shirt fall to the floor. Replacing her hands at his waist, she slid the t-shirt up, and he raised his hands and allowed her to take it off.
He stared at her breasts, pushed high by her black bra, for a moment or two before dragging the pad of his thumb across her lips and leaning in to kiss her. She tasted of expensive bourbon and salt and seemed to be just as interested in exploring his mouth as he was hers. She'd probably catalogued the scars he had from biting the inside of his cheek during flight sims, he thought, and slid his fingers into her hair, loose about her shoulders.
He felt her hands slide from his skin, and a moment or two later, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her bare chest to his, moving a bit side to side. Breaking the kiss just to groan and return a few seconds later, he cupped her breasts and circled her nipples with his thumbs.
It all went very quickly after that. She shucked off her own jeans and boots, even without breaking the kiss, and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and pushed them off his hips. Not being apparently as coordinated as she, he ended the kiss, removed all of his remaining clothing, and stood in front of her. She looked down, and a small smug smile curved her lips.
"I like that reaction," McCoy said, and Cait laughed.
A minute later, they were on the bed, wrestling for dominance; McCoy won initially and bent down to suck the tip of one nipple, but when he released it from his mouth, she flipped them over. He looked up at her, not entirely surprised, and filled his hands with her breasts.
Before too long, she leaned off the side of the bed, retrieved a condom from the pocket of her jeans, slid it on him, and lowered herself onto his erection in a tight, wet slide that drew a groan from both of them. McCoy clenched his fingers in the bed linens and thought of the least sexy things he could--the Prime Directive, Andorian shingles, his Stellar Cartography professor--in hopes that he'd last long enough to get her off first, but she did a particular shimmy with her hips on the way down that shattered his concentration and almost sent him over the edge.
Well, then. Two could play at that game. McCoy licked his right thumb and pressed it into Cait's clit, stroking until she lost her rhythm, clenched around him, and cried out. He grasped her hips and gave one last desperate thrust before coming so hard he saw stars.
She slid off almost immediately; he got up, went to the bathroom, and disposed of the condom before he made any more of a mess than necessary. After wiping himself off, he looked around the small room for a moment before leaving. Under the towel rack was a small shelving unit; it contained a few neatly-folded gold uniform tunics. McCoy carefully unfolded one to look at the sleeve. Three stripes; one thin between two thick. Cait, or whatever he name was, was a captain. Impressive, and somehow also unsurprising. He replaced the uniform carefully and left the bathroom.
Cait was sitting upright in her bed, the sheet carefully tucked just under her armpits. "I'm not kicking you out," she said, "but I am shipping out at 0800."
"That's fine," he said. "I go on shift at 0800." He didn't, actually; not until 1200, but it was a polite lie of the kind his mama used to call 'social lubrication.' "Do you mind if I stay for a while?"
"No, that's fine," she said.
Awkward? Very. He lay down on the other side of the bed, and she slid down as well. After a few minutes, he rolled to face her, and she turned her back to him and scooted closer. He rested an arm carefully on her side, hand on her hip, and she relaxed, slowly, one major muscle group at a time.
The next thing McCoy knew, someone's comm was beeping at him and it was 0615. Cait was already up, carefully zipping the top of her duffel bag. She wore the black undershirt but not the gold tunic; a neatly-folded one sat on top of the bag. "Do you mind if I use your shower?" he asked, voice fuzzy with sleep.
"That's fine. Just give me a moment." She went into the bathroom, grabbed a few items, and stepped out. "All yours."
He showered quickly and pulled his clothes from last night back on. They didn't smell too badly. He finger-combed his hair into order, rinsed his mouth out with water and a dab of her toothpaste which she had helpfully left, and thanked God that he had a job where he left his uniform at work. He didn't really want to go back to his room and walk in on Jim giving (or receiving) a wake-up call.
Exiting the bathroom, he walked out to the living room and waited a moment as Cait rooted around in her kitchen. "If you want, I've got coffee," she said, turning around and indicating the coffeemaker.
"I'd love some, if you don't mind," he said. Cait smiled and hit the button; a couple minutes later, he took the cup from the one-cup machine--Captains really do get much better accommodations, he thought--and inhaled the sweet, sweet scent of caffeinated heaven.
He watched Cait clean out her kitchen and throw all the perishable items into the recycler, but before he'd finished his cup, the door opened with a soft shhk.
Cait's head flew up, her eyes wide, and they both turned to the door, where an auburn-haired woman in operations red with lieutenant commander stripes around her wrists had entered. "Hey, One. Time to go back into the black!" She spied McCoy a second or two later. "Well, hello there, mister. One, who's this?" She held out a hand. "I'm Cait, the best friend. I hope you were awesome, 'cause she needed it."
McCoy blinked, and shot a glance at--well, whoever she was, because "One" wasn't any kind of name he'd ever heard. "Dr. Leonard McCoy, ma'am," he said, holding out a hand. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I was just about to head out, though." He turned, kissed Cait-the-pseudonymous on the cheek, and said, "You have a good mission, Captain."
She nodded mutely, and he gave Cait-the-actual a short nod before leaving.
As he left, he heard Not-Cait say, "Thanks, Cait. I gave him your name!" and Actual-Cait burst into laughter.
Oh, Jim was going to laugh. If he ever told him.