Fic: How Leonard McCoy Got Drunk, Got Kissed, and Got Fucked (Gen: Leonard McCoy)
Title: How Leonard McCoy Got Drunk, Got Kissed, and Got Fucked
Author: wook77
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Character: Leonard McCoy
Rating: Gen - PG for minor sexual content
Wordcount: ~650
Warnings: minor spoilers for Star Trek XI
Summary: He's drunk and she's pretty. That's the honest answer as to how Leonard McCoy finds himself on a shuttle heading to Star Fleet.
A/N: The medical babble is from this article about Leonard McCoy and definitely is not my own. Title shamelessly adapted from Kaayvya Viswanathan's book. Scenario probably not at all true for Star Trek verse but the basis is a RL friend's recruiting experience into the U.S. Navy. Beta'd by the amazing why_me_why_not.
He's drunk and she's pretty. That's the honest answer as to how Leonard McCoy finds himself enlisting in Starfleet. It's not like the story hasn't played itself out for hundreds of years. The recruiter seduces the recruit, gets him or her drunk, gets him or her to sign up for the service, and then they're locked into a contract on a flying machine of death stuck within a vacuum of disease.
Leonard McCoy is, in a word, brilliant. It's not that he sings his own praises but his body of work (and at his age) clearly illustrates it. Fresh out of med school, he'd developed a neural grafting procedure that connected the graft to the ganglia through axonal pathways. That's not including the way that he'd flown through medical school. Add in his problem solving skills and he's one of the best doctors around.
The recruiter knows all that, gets it all out of him in the bar in the middle of Iowa as he sits drinking synthetic Kentucky burboun to drown his sorrows. She listens to him, leaning in and patting his shoulder as he bemoans the fact that his wife has everything; his practice, his house, his horses, his daughter. Everything.
She buys him a drink, and then another. Mentions that he needs to get away from the bitch, completely away from her. Maybe even go to another planet. Or, at the very least, San Francisco. He nods emphatically. He does need to get away. Iowa clearly isn't far enough away, not with his ex-wife's damnable lawyer calling him every other day demanding more money or belongings. There isn't anything left to take, dammit.
"I know," she murmurs, rubbing circles on his back and laying her head on his shoulder, "all you have left is you. You should take yourself far away from her."
"I should," he agrees, putting his arm around the woman while the woman sneaks her hand into his lap and massages his cock. He's harder than he should be considering how drunk he is at the moment. God, she's beautiful, he thinks to himself. What the hell does she see in me? he wonders.
"I'll be right back," she murmurs again and when she returns, there's another snifter of bourbon and some papers. "Here," she says, these will make sure that she can't take that last piece of you."
He signs the papers with a flourish. "I'll show the bitch," he says.
"Oh baby," the woman says and then presses a kiss against his cheek. "Can I see you again?"
"What's wrong with now?" he demands.
"I want to see you in the morning. Come to my place," she says and then writes down a string of directions. He doesn't recognize the directions as leading to the shuttle docks, doesn't realize that the papers he had signed were his enlistment papers. Instead, he's thinking about the way that her nails had felt against his cock and the scent of her hair.
Before he can respond, a fight erupts across the bar and the girl is gone. He can't even remember her name. Instead, he snatches the directions off the table and heads back to the rundown motel he'd been crashing in. Tomorrow morning, he'll go and meet that girl, get laid, and show his ex-wife that other people still want him.
Except in the morning, he's feeling rough and gets off to a late start, forgetting to shave or take a hangover pill. He barely makes it to the spot when he's processed and sent aboard a shuttle. He hides in the bathroom as reality hits him. Hell. He'd signed up for Starfleet. He's fucked six ways to Sunday. When he's pulled out of the bathroom by security, he sits down in the only empty seat and sees someone - who looks just as fucked as he is - sitting next to him.
It's the start to a beautiful friendship.
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.
Author: wook77
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Character: Leonard McCoy
Rating: Gen - PG for minor sexual content
Wordcount: ~650
Warnings: minor spoilers for Star Trek XI
Summary: He's drunk and she's pretty. That's the honest answer as to how Leonard McCoy finds himself on a shuttle heading to Star Fleet.
A/N: The medical babble is from this article about Leonard McCoy and definitely is not my own. Title shamelessly adapted from Kaayvya Viswanathan's book. Scenario probably not at all true for Star Trek verse but the basis is a RL friend's recruiting experience into the U.S. Navy. Beta'd by the amazing why_me_why_not.
He's drunk and she's pretty. That's the honest answer as to how Leonard McCoy finds himself enlisting in Starfleet. It's not like the story hasn't played itself out for hundreds of years. The recruiter seduces the recruit, gets him or her drunk, gets him or her to sign up for the service, and then they're locked into a contract on a flying machine of death stuck within a vacuum of disease.
Leonard McCoy is, in a word, brilliant. It's not that he sings his own praises but his body of work (and at his age) clearly illustrates it. Fresh out of med school, he'd developed a neural grafting procedure that connected the graft to the ganglia through axonal pathways. That's not including the way that he'd flown through medical school. Add in his problem solving skills and he's one of the best doctors around.
The recruiter knows all that, gets it all out of him in the bar in the middle of Iowa as he sits drinking synthetic Kentucky burboun to drown his sorrows. She listens to him, leaning in and patting his shoulder as he bemoans the fact that his wife has everything; his practice, his house, his horses, his daughter. Everything.
She buys him a drink, and then another. Mentions that he needs to get away from the bitch, completely away from her. Maybe even go to another planet. Or, at the very least, San Francisco. He nods emphatically. He does need to get away. Iowa clearly isn't far enough away, not with his ex-wife's damnable lawyer calling him every other day demanding more money or belongings. There isn't anything left to take, dammit.
"I know," she murmurs, rubbing circles on his back and laying her head on his shoulder, "all you have left is you. You should take yourself far away from her."
"I should," he agrees, putting his arm around the woman while the woman sneaks her hand into his lap and massages his cock. He's harder than he should be considering how drunk he is at the moment. God, she's beautiful, he thinks to himself. What the hell does she see in me? he wonders.
"I'll be right back," she murmurs again and when she returns, there's another snifter of bourbon and some papers. "Here," she says, these will make sure that she can't take that last piece of you."
He signs the papers with a flourish. "I'll show the bitch," he says.
"Oh baby," the woman says and then presses a kiss against his cheek. "Can I see you again?"
"What's wrong with now?" he demands.
"I want to see you in the morning. Come to my place," she says and then writes down a string of directions. He doesn't recognize the directions as leading to the shuttle docks, doesn't realize that the papers he had signed were his enlistment papers. Instead, he's thinking about the way that her nails had felt against his cock and the scent of her hair.
Before he can respond, a fight erupts across the bar and the girl is gone. He can't even remember her name. Instead, he snatches the directions off the table and heads back to the rundown motel he'd been crashing in. Tomorrow morning, he'll go and meet that girl, get laid, and show his ex-wife that other people still want him.
Except in the morning, he's feeling rough and gets off to a late start, forgetting to shave or take a hangover pill. He barely makes it to the spot when he's processed and sent aboard a shuttle. He hides in the bathroom as reality hits him. Hell. He'd signed up for Starfleet. He's fucked six ways to Sunday. When he's pulled out of the bathroom by security, he sits down in the only empty seat and sees someone - who looks just as fucked as he is - sitting next to him.
It's the start to a beautiful friendship.
As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.