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singularityTitle: The Awful Daring Of A Moment's Surrender
Author:fringedwellerfic
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously.
Warnings: Shifting POV. Also, she slaps him once, but he doesn't seem particularly bothered by it. So, none.
Author's Note: From the kink meme prompt here. Title from TS Eliot.
They all sat in the small antechamber, not looking at her, pointedly not looking at each other.
“Well,” Kirk said, at last, “We can rule me out, anyway."
McCoy’s face twitched, not quite smiling. This was a textbook example of an away team mission gone disastrously wrong. This should have been a simple mission to exchange cultural and scientific information between the Federation and a non-allied but friendly power. Now here they were, stuck in a holding room because one of their party had unwittingly violated one of the taboos of the Ilyrian people.
Kirk’s attempt at humour was well meaning, but useless. McCoy knew damn well that Kirk wasn’t the virgin the Ilyrians had requested make themselves known; he also knew that he didn’t qualify either. Eying up the rest of the room’s painfully embarrassed inhabitants he would have put his money on Spock being the one not qualified to enter the Temple. Chapel had been engaged, and nobody as beautiful as Uhura got to their late twenties without being in a relationship at some point, or at least a succession of one night stands.
No, he decided firmly, Spock it was. Vulcan mating rituals were shrouded in secrecy, even after the destruction of their homeworld and the need for procreation increased. No doubt they were as repressed about sex as they were everything else.
Uhura returned from the outer room, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“Report, Lieutenant,” Kirk said brusquely.
“Apologies Captain, there was a mistranslation of the original transmission from Ilyria.” A brief flicker of annoyance showed on Uhura’s delicate features; she obviously blamed herself for the mistake. “The Universal Translator does not handle Ilyrian well. We thought that they requested that only personnel who were or have been sexually active enter the Temple complex. In actuality, only persons who have achieved qionshalaar are allowed to enter. And leave.”
“Qionshalaar?”
“The best translation I can make is “joining”. What it means, in its most basic form, is a person who has achieved orgasm while having intercourse with a partner, and brought their partner to climax also. There are many shades of meaning that I can’t adequately translate yet, sir. Not without more time. ”
Kirk frowned. “But that’s what sex is, surely? And we’ve all had sex otherwise we wouldn’t have been on this mission to start with. ”
Ah, McCoy mused. There’s the flaw in the ‘Spock is a virgin’ theory. He wouldn’t have beamed down if he wouldn’t have been allowed into the complex. So, the larger question remained. Who was it? Before he and Jocelyn went to hell in a handbasket, they set the sheets on fire regularly. He sure as hell didn’t count.
Jim had stumbled home with a date enough times during their shared dorm room years to disqualify himself from the Ilyrian’s virgin status. McCoy had invested in a heavy-duty set of ear protectors; he and Jim were best of friends, but there was a limit to the number of times he needed to hear Jim pant out his climax. And some of those women were screamers.
Spock remained impassive, sitting neatly in his chair with impressive posture. No play of emotion showed in his face, and he did not speak. The logical course of action would be for the ‘virgin’ to own up; Vulcans had no concept of embarrassment in this sort of situation. Spock’s silence spoke volumes, McCoy realised. Uhura’s quick glance in Spock’s direction and brief smile answered McCoy’s next question, which left...
Which left Chapel.
He turned to his Head Nurse, most trusted and respected colleague, and, in the course of the last three years, friend. She was standing at a window, fists clenched at her side, a blush turning the back of her delicate neck a fetching pink colour. He couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. He’d seen that body language before, when she’d made a mistake somehow, or failed to achieve something. She was angry, and she was embarrassed.
Oh. Oh.
“Lieutenant Chapel?” Jim’s tone was gentle, and as tactful as he could manage. “Lieutenant, I understand this is a sensitive issue, but I’m afraid that I have to ask.”
Chapel turned around, smoothing her uniform skirt into place. ‘Another tell,’McCoy thought, ’She does that before going into a battle. Usually with me when I’ve upset her sacred duty roster, or dared to reorganise the store cupboard in my own damn sickbay.’
“I believe that I would qualify as not achieving the Ilyrian’s qionshalaar, Captain. If I had known, I would never have volunteered for the landing party. May I ask, what do the Ilyrians feel about my presence here? I understand that I have violated one of their taboos.”
Uhura and Kirk exchanged glances. Uhura looked like she needed a stiff drink.
“They understand that it was a legitimate mistake, but they are adamant that everyone who leaves the Temple must have undergone quionshalaar. To offend them would be to risk two years’ worth of diplomatic effort.” Uhura looked vaguely queasy at the implications of her statement. McCoy knew his gut was rolling.
“Bullshit.” McCoy was vaguely surprised to hear the words come from his mouth. “There’s nothing stopping us from just beaming straight up to the ship right now. We can apologise later, send them a fruit basket or something. “
“To offend the Ilyrians would be in direct conflict of our orders from Starfleet Command, doctor. We were ordered to do nothing that would disrupt the trade agreement that has taken two years to broker. Plainly put, this planet is the best source of high grade dilithium in this quadrant. We cannot offend the Ilyrians.” Spock spoke directly, with no regard for the flush of colour on Chapel’s face.
The Matriarch of the Temple appeared in the doorway, flanked by two lesser priestesses. She looked upset and flustered, and was wringing her hands. Jim and Uhura left the group to speak to her; Chapel returned to the window, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. McCoy started to pace the opposite wall, pausing occasionally to watch Chapel as she bit absently at the corner of her thumb.
’She’s making her mind up about something,’ he thought. ‘She only does that when she has to make a hard decision.’
Twenty minutes later, Jim and Uhura returned, looking grave.
“We’ve got two options,“ Jim said, his voice decidedly neutral. “The first is that we all return to the ship right now. The Matriarch won’t try to stop us, and we can be out of the system in less than ten minutes. There will be diplomatic fallout, but that’s not our problem.”
“What’s the second option, Captain?” Chapel asked, her voice a lot steadier that it had any right to be in this situation. God damned control freak.
“The second option is that the Matriarch is willing to lend you the, uh, services of one of her priests or priestesses. We beam back to the ship and you stay until you reach qionshalaar. Then they’ll let you go too. They’ve already set a room up, just through that door.”
Chapel opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.
“No way. Not going to happen, Jim. Get Scotty to beam us out of here, we’re done with this place.”
Once again, the words appeared without the intervention of his higher brain functions. Chapel glared at him, Jim’s lips twitched slightly and Spock raised an eyebrow.
So, no change from the usual there, then.
“I don’t believe it is your place to speak for me, Doctor McCoy,” Chapel said frostily.
“You’re not having sex with a stranger Christine, so don’t even think about doing something stupid for the sake of some hunks of rock,” he shot back, gearing up for one of their stand-up, knock down fights that usually happened in the privacy of his office, or at least a store cupboard.
Whatever Chapel was going to say was interrupted by Spock’s calm tones.
“There is a third option available to Lieutenant Chapel, should she choose to utilise it. One that would keep the diplomatic channels on track and would negate the need to engage in sexual intercourse with a stranger.”
“Well, Spock?” Jim said, intrigued. “Spit it out.”
“I propose that Lieutenant Chapel choose one of us to stimulate her into orgasm. Perhaps it would be easier for her to achieve quionshalaar with a known and trusted colleague than a stranger.”
Jim blinked in surprise, Chapel made a strange choking noise and Uhura gave Spock a look that promised danger and surprise in his near future. McCoy’s gaze kept flicking towards Chapel, who had walked away. Her fists clenched briefly, her thumb got a quick chew as she gave a measured look at the rest of the party, then she smoothed down her skirt before returning to the group.
“I’m not particularly happy with how today has turned out,” she began evenly, sending an apologetic look at Uhura, who gave her a tight smile of support. “But I’m not willing to be the reason that the Federation has to start two years worth of work from scratch. No,” she said, raising a hand as McCoy opened his mouth to speak. “Shut up, Len, let me finish. If we don’t get the dilithium here, then the Romulans will, or the Klingons. That will give them a strategic advantage in this quadrant that could mean real problems for the Federation. People will die.”
Spock nodded his agreement at her logical and unemotional assessment of the situation; McCoy had never wanted to punch him in the face more. For some reason Chapel admired the stoic science officer, and his approval meant a lot to her, he knew.
“I save lives, Captain, not endanger them. However, I can’t honestly say that I’m keen to have sex with a complete stranger. So, I’ve decided...” she paused to take a breath, her face flushing madly. “I’ve decided that I’m going to go into the room that they’ve prepared, and wait for whoever decides that they’re willing to help me achieve qionshalaar. If nobody feels that they can, then send in one of the Matriarch’s priests. I’d also appreciate it if everyone else left.”
She gave a weak smile, then turned on her heel and walked determinedly towards the door set in the far wall. It closed with a decided click. The noise echoed throughout the cold marble room.
Talk about awkward silences.
“Well,” said Jim eventually, “I suppose it comes down to whether Chapel prefers blonds or brunets, doesn’t it?” He flashed a quick grin at the rest, which fell on decidedly stony ground.
“It is my understanding that Lieutenant Chapel was engaged to be married to Dr Roger Korby, a male,” Spock said tightly. “As she requested that a priest be solicited for her should we be unable to reach a decision, it is logical to deduce that Lieutenant Uhura’s participation is not required.”
Uhura arched an eyebrow, but remained silent. McCoy would be the first to admit that he and Spock didn’t always see eye to eye, but they were both men, and McCoy recognised the look on Uhura’s face only too well. Spock was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. If he volunteered his services, Uhura would be incredibly displeased and McCoy could only guess how a creative a woman like Uhura could get when showing her displeasure. If Spock claimed immunity because of their relationship, he forced the Captain into an even more difficult decision. It was almost enough to make McCoy feel sorry for the pointy eared bastard. Almost.
McCoy looked at Jim, whose brow was furrowed with thought. Despite his well-earned womanising reputation, Jim had been nothing but professional with his crew. In the three years of their mission, he had kept his trysts to shore leave and visiting guests, a fact that he often bemoaned in their after-hours drinking sessions. Sleeping with Chapel needn’t make it onto the official record – in fact, McCoy knew for sure that Jim damn well wouldn’t log this incident whatever happened – but it would mar his own personal record for professionalism.
Even as Jim opened his mouth to say something about duty and responsibility and safeguarding professional relationships, McCoy started walking across the room.
“Beam back to the ship, Jim. We’ll see you later,” he said with grim determination. Putting to one side their friendship, and their hard-won respect for each other’s talents and abilities, and his genuine affection for the intelligent, caring and downright irritating control-freak of a woman on the other side of the door, there was one overriding reason why he had to be the one that helped her leave this godforsaken planet.
He was the only person today who had called her by her given name, and she was the only one who called him by his. He’d be damned if she was coaxed into orgasm by someone who called her Lieutenant Chapel. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
He opened the door, and let it close firmly behind him.
She had sat herself on the end of the large bed, and placed her hands neatly in her lap. She bent her legs gracefully at the knee, and kept her feet pointing towards twelve o’clock, just as her grandmother had taught her ladies sat. Just because she was about to have sex with a superior officer was no reason to drop her standards, she thought hysterically.
She didn’t dare to think too hard about who would come in through the door. There was no way it would be Spock; if it were, she would have to send him away. Despite finding his mind stimulating, and the thought of sex with a touch-telepath fascinating, there was no way that she would hurt Nyota in that way. She valued her friendship far too much to let this sordid situation ruin it.
At least in Captain Kirk she could be guaranteed an expert in seduction; she’d heard of his reputation, and had been assured by at least three dreamy-eyed crewmembers that had been at the Academy with him that it was completely justified. If there was any man to take on the challenge of her little problem, then it was the captain.
After all, there was no chance it would be Len. The captain wouldn’t let it happen; they were far too close in the chain of command to risk something like this screwing sickbay up. It was a pity, she thought idly. She’d spent more time than she’d like to admit thinking about his strong, sure hands, always so steady, always so safe. His hands weren’t the only part of his body she liked to think about, either, but she saved those thoughts for the private moments before she slept, pushing her body towards peaks of pleasure. But having him here, having to admit to him her weakness, her vulnerability...no, it would be too much to take. She’d never be able to look him in the eye again.
She heard the door open, and she sat even straighter, pulling her spine into a position that an empress wouldn’t be able to find fault with. She heard footsteps walk slowly across the marble floor, and her heart lurched suddenly. She knew those footsteps. She’d heard them a million times, hoped to hear them a million times more before she retired.
“So,” he said, the Georgia drawl more pronounced in this alien place, “They see fit to give us anything to drink?”
She gestured towards a sideboard that held a decanter of golden liquid and several glasses. He sniffed at it, shrugged and poured two glasses. He sat next to her and handed one over.
“Bottoms up,” he said, sipping from his glass. She shot him a quick look of anger – what was that, a joke? Did he think this was funny? She opened her mouth and knocked back the liquid in a rush. He blinked at her, obviously surprised, and continued to sip his. She got up and poured herself another, turning her back on him, the faint trembling of the decanter against the glass the only tell-tale sign of her shaking hands.
She jumped when his arm reached around her to steady her hand; his voice rumbled deeply in his chest as he spoke directly into her ear.
“You do not have to do this. Say the word, and I’ll go, get one of the priests. Hell, say the word and we’ll be in the next system over in a few minutes. “
She let him take the decanter from her and place it back on the counter. He didn’t move, his heat surrounding her, his larger hand curling protectively around her smaller one. She flexed her fingers, pushing them between his.
“I’m doing this. We’re doing this. So let’s get on with it, shall we?”
She turned in his embrace, and pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. She caught him by surprise, and took the opportunity to lick at his lips until he opened them. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, causing him to groan and clutch her tightly to him. It didn’t take him long to fight her for dominance; their breaths coming in harsh pants as they nipped and licked at each other’s mouths. In the end he used his height and weight advantage to gain the upper hand, backing her against a wall and pinning her hands above her head. The cool marble was a shock to her heated skin; she gasped as she came into contact.
“Wait just a minute there, Christine,” he growled directly into her ear, his free hand running slowly up and down the length of her clothed body. “I think I’ve got a few questions you should answer first.”
“My shots are all up to date,” panted Christine, wriggling futilely against his grip. “I’m clean and I’m not going to get pregnant. Come on, damnit. Let’s get it over with.” What the hell was the hold up?
He snorted, the puff of hot breath doing wonderful things to her ear.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. You were engaged to Roger Korby for a year before he went off on that damn expedition. You’re seriously telling me that you didn’t have an orgasm in all that time?”
She flushed and wriggled harder, but he just increased the pressure of his grip.
“Answer me, Christine, or I beam up to the ship right now, dilithium be damned,” he warned.
“Of course I had orgasms,” she hissed, looking him directly in the eye for the first time since he walked in the room. “Roger was a very considerate lover. It’s just...” She trailed off, head dropping to her chest as she breathed heavily and gathered the shreds of self esteem that survived her disastrous relationship with the archaeologist. “We never had them together, if you know what I mean. That’s what the qionshalaar is, as best as I can guess.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes burning into her.
“It’s that moment when you know that you’ve brought your lover to bliss, just as you’re toppling over the edge yourself,” he said, not breaking his gaze. “It’s watching them writhe beneath you knowing that your hands, your lips are the reason they’re lost in pleasure, burning up, just as you’re on fire yourself. That’s what qionshalaar is, Christine. It’s not just being able to get your partner off; it’s about getting off yourself because they are too.”
Christine couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t move if she tried.
“I’ve never...” she began, trailing off as the words fell away. “I can’t...Roger tried so hard.”
McCoy scowled. “Bullshit. No he didn’t.”
Anger flared up in Christine again, making her wriggle harder, lash out with her feet and her legs.
“How dare you insult him like that? He did try, he did, he’d take ages...it wasn’t his fault!”
“So whose fault was it? Yours?” he said sarcastically, dodging most of her thrashing. Her face must have betrayed her, shown her deepest secret, because his face gentled and his tone softened. His voice was the one he saved for children, for victims of terrible accidents, for people he didn’t want to hurt.
“Oh, honey,” he said, letting go of her arms and pulling her into a tight embrace. “You can’t believe that.”
“What am I supposed to believe?” she managed to choke out, struggling to free herself then giving up abruptly. “Some women just don’t orgasm through penetration, they just don’t. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It didn’t make my relationship with Roger any less normal, any less real.”
“No,” he said, smoothing a hand through her hair with one hand, holding her waist with the other. “The part when he put his consciousness into an android body and tried to do the same to you, that’s when it got a bit weird.”
Christine gasped, slapped him hard across his jaw, and then collapsed in snorts of unladylike, undignified, uncontrolled laughter.
“Well, you have me there,” she managed eventually, tears streaming down her face. She wasn’t quite sure if they were tears of laughter or sadness, but she knew they were a long time coming. “Cheaper than a divorce, though.”
He snorted with laughter and tightened his grip on her. “You’re right about that,” he admitted.
They stood there for a while, struggling to retain their laughter. One would rein themselves in, only to be set off again by a howl from the other. Somewhere during the laughter they sank to the floor, propping their backs against the cool marble. He slung a heavy arm across her shoulders, and she curled into his side, her fingers toying with the embroidered insignia on his uniform.
“Sorry I hit you in the face,” she said at last, wincing at the red mark that still lingered.
“That’s alright. Try not to do it again, though. You hurt.”
“You’re such a baby,” she accused fondly, prodding lightly at the mark. He pushed her hand away, keeping hold of it so he could drop a kiss on her fingers. Her stomach lurched a little. She had never thought of him doing that before, but that little demonstration of tenderness was a hundred times better than the far lewder acts she had dreamed about him performing.
“I bet Roger was a real sweetheart, wasn’t he Chris?” McCoy said lightly, fingers toying with tendrils of her hair that had fallen from her usually neat chignon. “I bet that he’d do whatever you want in bed. I bet that all you had to do was snap your fingers and he’d do exactly what you wanted him to. Am I right?”
She tensed in his arms, although she didn’t know why. He wasn’t being rude, or abrasive.
“Well,” she began, uncertainly, “He was a gentleman. He never...pushed.”
“Ah,” McCoy said, nodding. He didn’t say anything else, and the silence ate at Christine.
“He’d go down on me,” she said eventually, hating herself for speaking but unable to let the silence continue. “Every time. He knew how I liked it. Then when we had sex, I knew how to please him. I liked it when I could make him lose control, when he broke apart. I liked knowing I could do that to him.”
“Ah,” said McCoy again. “Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“It explains why you and Roger couldn’t manage to get there together. You’re too much of a control freak to let him see you that vulnerable and out of control, and he was too much of a wuss to push you there.” McCoy shrugged, the play of muscles in his shoulder and chest doing interesting things to his uniform top. “It makes sense now.”
Christine scrambled out from under his arm, stood up, and stalked away from him.
“I am not a control freak!” she hissed, her eyes narrowed with anger.
“No, of course you’re not,” he agreed blithely. “Tell me Christine, why aren’t you shouting?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve just insulted you and the memory of the man you were planning to spend the rest of your life with. Why aren’t you screaming the place down?”
Christine was lost for words. “I....” she managed. “You...” She trailed off.
“You’re not shouting because you don’t want to make a scene,” he said, smirking triumphantly, pulling himself upright. “It’s the same reason you drag me into my office when you want to argue with me. You don’t want to lose control around people, let them see that you’re not totally on top of things one hundred per cent of the time. It’s why you freak out if I mess with the duty rosters, or decide I want to move equipment around. You like things when you’re in control, Chris. You don’t like coming out of your safety zone, which is why you never managed qionshalaar. You’re scared.”
“I am not!” she gasped.
He smiles. “Prove it,” he said.
She leaped at him, dragging his head down for a blistering kiss. He returned it in kind, slipping a hand around her waist to hoist her upwards. She locked her legs around his waist and bit down on his lower lip, sucking at it immediately afterwards to soothe the nip. He growled, walked them towards the bed and threw her down on it before covering her body with his.
She tried to roll so she was on top but he wouldn’t let her, using his greater weight to pin her to the bed as he mouthed at her breasts through her tunic. Hot, sharp flashes of pleasure shot along her nerves, causing her toes to curl in her shiny black boots. His hands roamed her body, assessing, squeezing, pinching. She ran her fingers through his thick dark hair, tugging on it so she had access to his neck.
She squealed as she was suddenly flipped onto her stomach. His fingers pulled and tugged at the fastenings of her uniform and the blue fabric was pulled from her with a shout of success. She wriggled around to face him again, and managed to pull both layers of his uniform top from him before kneeling up to lave at his nipples with a delicate flicking of her tongue. He groaned and submitted to her exploration of his chest, but as she dipped her head lower he took her gently by the hair and brought her up to his face.
“Not yet,” he said, delicately biting at the junction between her neck and her shoulder, a spot that Christine didn’t know was supposed to feel so good. She moaned in frustration, her hands going to his belt and fly. He kicked off his shoes as she pulled down his uniform trousers and underwear together, and reached out to stroke firmly along his length.
Before she knew it she was on her back on the bed again, one of his hands pinning her hands firmly above her head. As she writhed and wriggled, he ran a finger along the top of the lace on her bra, dipping into the soft cup to pinch and roll the nipple there. He tugged at the bra, pulling the cups beneath her breasts so he had access to the flesh with his hot mouth.
Christine bucked and writhed against his hard body as he took his time covering every centimetre of exposed skin on her breasts. No amount of pleading or cajoling would make him go any faster – his grip on her wrists remained firm but not unkind. She felt herself get slicker and slicker, the electric shocks of pleasure shooting through her body centring at her core.
He brought his mouth back to hers for another long, passionate kiss. She longed to touch him, to run her fingers through his hair, to grab at his firmly muscled backside but he wouldn’t let her, no matter how hard she pleaded or much she rubbed herself against him.
By the time he skimmed his hand down her body to rub lightly at her clit through the lace of her underwear, Christine’s body was on fire. Every press of his thumb against her core made the sensation almost unbearable, the pleasure almost too much to handle. It felt like hours passed as he played with her, always stopping just short of pushing her over the edge of pleasure. She bucked and writhed in frustration, causing him to grunt with laughter. Eventually he pulled the side of her lingerie away to allow first one then two fingers to enter her slick channel. He let out a groan as she clamped down on his fingers as he flexed them, pumping them in and out.
“Please,” she managed to gasp out. “Please, Len, please...”
There was a tearing sound just before the remnants of her underwear went sailing across the room. He let go of her arms as he shifted to stand at the end of the bed. He slid his hands under her body to lift her hips. Christine felt the head of his thick shaft nudge at her slick entrance before he pushed inside with one strong movement.
Admittedly, it had been a long time for Christine, but she could never remember sex with anyone being as intense as this. She locked her feet around his waist and gasped as the new angle increased the pressure and the pleasure. Electric shocks zipped everywhere in her body and she couldn’t help herself. She was falling over the edge.
“I’m, I’m...” she managed to gasp, clutching at his shoulders, bucking upwards sharply. He grunted and increased the speed of his thrusts. A few flicks of his thumb against her clitoris were all it took for her to lose herself in a tsunami of bliss. She made damn sure she clenched her inner muscles as hard as she could, causing him to stutter in his thrusts and shout his release as pleasure ripped through him as well.
He collapsed forwards onto the bed, trapping her body underneath his. She lay gasping, buzzing with aftershocks from her fingertips down to her toes. She unlocked her legs from his waist as he looked up from her chest.
“You can move your arms now,” he told her, dropping small kisses along her ribcage. Blearily she looked up to realise that her arms had stayed firmly planted over her head, even though his hands had shifted a while ago. She looked away, amused, and brought her hands down to cover her face.
“I still have my boots on,” she said, embarrassed, peering out through her fingers.
“I know,” he grinned. “I liked that.”
She sat up so she could unfasten her twisted bra then dropped it off the side of the bed. McCoy pulled them both up the length of the bed until they were twined together under the covers, boots and all.
“Losing control once in a while isn’t so bad,” she said eventually, idly stroking her thumbnail along the curve of his bicep.
“I know,” he said, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “I was thinking that next time I could be the one pinned to the bed. Lord knows, you’re strong enough to do it. I’m going to be aching tonight.”
She looked up at him, curiously. “You want a next time?”
“Honey, I’ve spent the last few years desperately hoping for a first time. I’m not about to quit now!”
She puffed out her laughter against his chest, and burrowed in closely.
“I’ll have to see where I can fit you in my schedule,” she yawned, closing her eyes. “I may have to change the duty rosters.”
“Finally,” he muttered, “I get to make a mark on those damn things.”
She slapped him affectionately; he just laughed and tightened his grip around her.
Jim Kirk sat in his ready room, a polite smile plastered on his face as he attempted to soothe the ruffled feathers of the Ilyrian priestess.
“I’m sure that my crew will be ready to leave the Temple complex soon, Matriarch, just as soon as qionshalaar has been achieved. You have to understand that we humans don’t have the special abilities that you Ilyrians do, so it may take some time...”
He blanched as the Matriarch explained why she was calling.
“Really? How many times? ”
Author:
fringedwellerficPairing: McCoy/Chapel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously.
Warnings: Shifting POV. Also, she slaps him once, but he doesn't seem particularly bothered by it. So, none.
Author's Note: From the kink meme prompt here. Title from TS Eliot.
They all sat in the small antechamber, not looking at her, pointedly not looking at each other.
“Well,” Kirk said, at last, “We can rule me out, anyway."
McCoy’s face twitched, not quite smiling. This was a textbook example of an away team mission gone disastrously wrong. This should have been a simple mission to exchange cultural and scientific information between the Federation and a non-allied but friendly power. Now here they were, stuck in a holding room because one of their party had unwittingly violated one of the taboos of the Ilyrian people.
Kirk’s attempt at humour was well meaning, but useless. McCoy knew damn well that Kirk wasn’t the virgin the Ilyrians had requested make themselves known; he also knew that he didn’t qualify either. Eying up the rest of the room’s painfully embarrassed inhabitants he would have put his money on Spock being the one not qualified to enter the Temple. Chapel had been engaged, and nobody as beautiful as Uhura got to their late twenties without being in a relationship at some point, or at least a succession of one night stands.
No, he decided firmly, Spock it was. Vulcan mating rituals were shrouded in secrecy, even after the destruction of their homeworld and the need for procreation increased. No doubt they were as repressed about sex as they were everything else.
Uhura returned from the outer room, looking extremely uncomfortable.
“Report, Lieutenant,” Kirk said brusquely.
“Apologies Captain, there was a mistranslation of the original transmission from Ilyria.” A brief flicker of annoyance showed on Uhura’s delicate features; she obviously blamed herself for the mistake. “The Universal Translator does not handle Ilyrian well. We thought that they requested that only personnel who were or have been sexually active enter the Temple complex. In actuality, only persons who have achieved qionshalaar are allowed to enter. And leave.”
“Qionshalaar?”
“The best translation I can make is “joining”. What it means, in its most basic form, is a person who has achieved orgasm while having intercourse with a partner, and brought their partner to climax also. There are many shades of meaning that I can’t adequately translate yet, sir. Not without more time. ”
Kirk frowned. “But that’s what sex is, surely? And we’ve all had sex otherwise we wouldn’t have been on this mission to start with. ”
Ah, McCoy mused. There’s the flaw in the ‘Spock is a virgin’ theory. He wouldn’t have beamed down if he wouldn’t have been allowed into the complex. So, the larger question remained. Who was it? Before he and Jocelyn went to hell in a handbasket, they set the sheets on fire regularly. He sure as hell didn’t count.
Jim had stumbled home with a date enough times during their shared dorm room years to disqualify himself from the Ilyrian’s virgin status. McCoy had invested in a heavy-duty set of ear protectors; he and Jim were best of friends, but there was a limit to the number of times he needed to hear Jim pant out his climax. And some of those women were screamers.
Spock remained impassive, sitting neatly in his chair with impressive posture. No play of emotion showed in his face, and he did not speak. The logical course of action would be for the ‘virgin’ to own up; Vulcans had no concept of embarrassment in this sort of situation. Spock’s silence spoke volumes, McCoy realised. Uhura’s quick glance in Spock’s direction and brief smile answered McCoy’s next question, which left...
Which left Chapel.
He turned to his Head Nurse, most trusted and respected colleague, and, in the course of the last three years, friend. She was standing at a window, fists clenched at her side, a blush turning the back of her delicate neck a fetching pink colour. He couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t need to. He’d seen that body language before, when she’d made a mistake somehow, or failed to achieve something. She was angry, and she was embarrassed.
Oh. Oh.
“Lieutenant Chapel?” Jim’s tone was gentle, and as tactful as he could manage. “Lieutenant, I understand this is a sensitive issue, but I’m afraid that I have to ask.”
Chapel turned around, smoothing her uniform skirt into place. ‘Another tell,’McCoy thought, ’She does that before going into a battle. Usually with me when I’ve upset her sacred duty roster, or dared to reorganise the store cupboard in my own damn sickbay.’
“I believe that I would qualify as not achieving the Ilyrian’s qionshalaar, Captain. If I had known, I would never have volunteered for the landing party. May I ask, what do the Ilyrians feel about my presence here? I understand that I have violated one of their taboos.”
Uhura and Kirk exchanged glances. Uhura looked like she needed a stiff drink.
“They understand that it was a legitimate mistake, but they are adamant that everyone who leaves the Temple must have undergone quionshalaar. To offend them would be to risk two years’ worth of diplomatic effort.” Uhura looked vaguely queasy at the implications of her statement. McCoy knew his gut was rolling.
“Bullshit.” McCoy was vaguely surprised to hear the words come from his mouth. “There’s nothing stopping us from just beaming straight up to the ship right now. We can apologise later, send them a fruit basket or something. “
“To offend the Ilyrians would be in direct conflict of our orders from Starfleet Command, doctor. We were ordered to do nothing that would disrupt the trade agreement that has taken two years to broker. Plainly put, this planet is the best source of high grade dilithium in this quadrant. We cannot offend the Ilyrians.” Spock spoke directly, with no regard for the flush of colour on Chapel’s face.
The Matriarch of the Temple appeared in the doorway, flanked by two lesser priestesses. She looked upset and flustered, and was wringing her hands. Jim and Uhura left the group to speak to her; Chapel returned to the window, careful not to make eye contact with anyone. McCoy started to pace the opposite wall, pausing occasionally to watch Chapel as she bit absently at the corner of her thumb.
’She’s making her mind up about something,’ he thought. ‘She only does that when she has to make a hard decision.’
Twenty minutes later, Jim and Uhura returned, looking grave.
“We’ve got two options,“ Jim said, his voice decidedly neutral. “The first is that we all return to the ship right now. The Matriarch won’t try to stop us, and we can be out of the system in less than ten minutes. There will be diplomatic fallout, but that’s not our problem.”
“What’s the second option, Captain?” Chapel asked, her voice a lot steadier that it had any right to be in this situation. God damned control freak.
“The second option is that the Matriarch is willing to lend you the, uh, services of one of her priests or priestesses. We beam back to the ship and you stay until you reach qionshalaar. Then they’ll let you go too. They’ve already set a room up, just through that door.”
Chapel opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.
“No way. Not going to happen, Jim. Get Scotty to beam us out of here, we’re done with this place.”
Once again, the words appeared without the intervention of his higher brain functions. Chapel glared at him, Jim’s lips twitched slightly and Spock raised an eyebrow.
So, no change from the usual there, then.
“I don’t believe it is your place to speak for me, Doctor McCoy,” Chapel said frostily.
“You’re not having sex with a stranger Christine, so don’t even think about doing something stupid for the sake of some hunks of rock,” he shot back, gearing up for one of their stand-up, knock down fights that usually happened in the privacy of his office, or at least a store cupboard.
Whatever Chapel was going to say was interrupted by Spock’s calm tones.
“There is a third option available to Lieutenant Chapel, should she choose to utilise it. One that would keep the diplomatic channels on track and would negate the need to engage in sexual intercourse with a stranger.”
“Well, Spock?” Jim said, intrigued. “Spit it out.”
“I propose that Lieutenant Chapel choose one of us to stimulate her into orgasm. Perhaps it would be easier for her to achieve quionshalaar with a known and trusted colleague than a stranger.”
Jim blinked in surprise, Chapel made a strange choking noise and Uhura gave Spock a look that promised danger and surprise in his near future. McCoy’s gaze kept flicking towards Chapel, who had walked away. Her fists clenched briefly, her thumb got a quick chew as she gave a measured look at the rest of the party, then she smoothed down her skirt before returning to the group.
“I’m not particularly happy with how today has turned out,” she began evenly, sending an apologetic look at Uhura, who gave her a tight smile of support. “But I’m not willing to be the reason that the Federation has to start two years worth of work from scratch. No,” she said, raising a hand as McCoy opened his mouth to speak. “Shut up, Len, let me finish. If we don’t get the dilithium here, then the Romulans will, or the Klingons. That will give them a strategic advantage in this quadrant that could mean real problems for the Federation. People will die.”
Spock nodded his agreement at her logical and unemotional assessment of the situation; McCoy had never wanted to punch him in the face more. For some reason Chapel admired the stoic science officer, and his approval meant a lot to her, he knew.
“I save lives, Captain, not endanger them. However, I can’t honestly say that I’m keen to have sex with a complete stranger. So, I’ve decided...” she paused to take a breath, her face flushing madly. “I’ve decided that I’m going to go into the room that they’ve prepared, and wait for whoever decides that they’re willing to help me achieve qionshalaar. If nobody feels that they can, then send in one of the Matriarch’s priests. I’d also appreciate it if everyone else left.”
She gave a weak smile, then turned on her heel and walked determinedly towards the door set in the far wall. It closed with a decided click. The noise echoed throughout the cold marble room.
Talk about awkward silences.
“Well,” said Jim eventually, “I suppose it comes down to whether Chapel prefers blonds or brunets, doesn’t it?” He flashed a quick grin at the rest, which fell on decidedly stony ground.
“It is my understanding that Lieutenant Chapel was engaged to be married to Dr Roger Korby, a male,” Spock said tightly. “As she requested that a priest be solicited for her should we be unable to reach a decision, it is logical to deduce that Lieutenant Uhura’s participation is not required.”
Uhura arched an eyebrow, but remained silent. McCoy would be the first to admit that he and Spock didn’t always see eye to eye, but they were both men, and McCoy recognised the look on Uhura’s face only too well. Spock was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. If he volunteered his services, Uhura would be incredibly displeased and McCoy could only guess how a creative a woman like Uhura could get when showing her displeasure. If Spock claimed immunity because of their relationship, he forced the Captain into an even more difficult decision. It was almost enough to make McCoy feel sorry for the pointy eared bastard. Almost.
McCoy looked at Jim, whose brow was furrowed with thought. Despite his well-earned womanising reputation, Jim had been nothing but professional with his crew. In the three years of their mission, he had kept his trysts to shore leave and visiting guests, a fact that he often bemoaned in their after-hours drinking sessions. Sleeping with Chapel needn’t make it onto the official record – in fact, McCoy knew for sure that Jim damn well wouldn’t log this incident whatever happened – but it would mar his own personal record for professionalism.
Even as Jim opened his mouth to say something about duty and responsibility and safeguarding professional relationships, McCoy started walking across the room.
“Beam back to the ship, Jim. We’ll see you later,” he said with grim determination. Putting to one side their friendship, and their hard-won respect for each other’s talents and abilities, and his genuine affection for the intelligent, caring and downright irritating control-freak of a woman on the other side of the door, there was one overriding reason why he had to be the one that helped her leave this godforsaken planet.
He was the only person today who had called her by her given name, and she was the only one who called him by his. He’d be damned if she was coaxed into orgasm by someone who called her Lieutenant Chapel. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
He opened the door, and let it close firmly behind him.
She had sat herself on the end of the large bed, and placed her hands neatly in her lap. She bent her legs gracefully at the knee, and kept her feet pointing towards twelve o’clock, just as her grandmother had taught her ladies sat. Just because she was about to have sex with a superior officer was no reason to drop her standards, she thought hysterically.
She didn’t dare to think too hard about who would come in through the door. There was no way it would be Spock; if it were, she would have to send him away. Despite finding his mind stimulating, and the thought of sex with a touch-telepath fascinating, there was no way that she would hurt Nyota in that way. She valued her friendship far too much to let this sordid situation ruin it.
At least in Captain Kirk she could be guaranteed an expert in seduction; she’d heard of his reputation, and had been assured by at least three dreamy-eyed crewmembers that had been at the Academy with him that it was completely justified. If there was any man to take on the challenge of her little problem, then it was the captain.
After all, there was no chance it would be Len. The captain wouldn’t let it happen; they were far too close in the chain of command to risk something like this screwing sickbay up. It was a pity, she thought idly. She’d spent more time than she’d like to admit thinking about his strong, sure hands, always so steady, always so safe. His hands weren’t the only part of his body she liked to think about, either, but she saved those thoughts for the private moments before she slept, pushing her body towards peaks of pleasure. But having him here, having to admit to him her weakness, her vulnerability...no, it would be too much to take. She’d never be able to look him in the eye again.
She heard the door open, and she sat even straighter, pulling her spine into a position that an empress wouldn’t be able to find fault with. She heard footsteps walk slowly across the marble floor, and her heart lurched suddenly. She knew those footsteps. She’d heard them a million times, hoped to hear them a million times more before she retired.
“So,” he said, the Georgia drawl more pronounced in this alien place, “They see fit to give us anything to drink?”
She gestured towards a sideboard that held a decanter of golden liquid and several glasses. He sniffed at it, shrugged and poured two glasses. He sat next to her and handed one over.
“Bottoms up,” he said, sipping from his glass. She shot him a quick look of anger – what was that, a joke? Did he think this was funny? She opened her mouth and knocked back the liquid in a rush. He blinked at her, obviously surprised, and continued to sip his. She got up and poured herself another, turning her back on him, the faint trembling of the decanter against the glass the only tell-tale sign of her shaking hands.
She jumped when his arm reached around her to steady her hand; his voice rumbled deeply in his chest as he spoke directly into her ear.
“You do not have to do this. Say the word, and I’ll go, get one of the priests. Hell, say the word and we’ll be in the next system over in a few minutes. “
She let him take the decanter from her and place it back on the counter. He didn’t move, his heat surrounding her, his larger hand curling protectively around her smaller one. She flexed her fingers, pushing them between his.
“I’m doing this. We’re doing this. So let’s get on with it, shall we?”
She turned in his embrace, and pushed herself up onto her tiptoes to kiss him. She caught him by surprise, and took the opportunity to lick at his lips until he opened them. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, causing him to groan and clutch her tightly to him. It didn’t take him long to fight her for dominance; their breaths coming in harsh pants as they nipped and licked at each other’s mouths. In the end he used his height and weight advantage to gain the upper hand, backing her against a wall and pinning her hands above her head. The cool marble was a shock to her heated skin; she gasped as she came into contact.
“Wait just a minute there, Christine,” he growled directly into her ear, his free hand running slowly up and down the length of her clothed body. “I think I’ve got a few questions you should answer first.”
“My shots are all up to date,” panted Christine, wriggling futilely against his grip. “I’m clean and I’m not going to get pregnant. Come on, damnit. Let’s get it over with.” What the hell was the hold up?
He snorted, the puff of hot breath doing wonderful things to her ear.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. You were engaged to Roger Korby for a year before he went off on that damn expedition. You’re seriously telling me that you didn’t have an orgasm in all that time?”
She flushed and wriggled harder, but he just increased the pressure of his grip.
“Answer me, Christine, or I beam up to the ship right now, dilithium be damned,” he warned.
“Of course I had orgasms,” she hissed, looking him directly in the eye for the first time since he walked in the room. “Roger was a very considerate lover. It’s just...” She trailed off, head dropping to her chest as she breathed heavily and gathered the shreds of self esteem that survived her disastrous relationship with the archaeologist. “We never had them together, if you know what I mean. That’s what the qionshalaar is, as best as I can guess.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes burning into her.
“It’s that moment when you know that you’ve brought your lover to bliss, just as you’re toppling over the edge yourself,” he said, not breaking his gaze. “It’s watching them writhe beneath you knowing that your hands, your lips are the reason they’re lost in pleasure, burning up, just as you’re on fire yourself. That’s what qionshalaar is, Christine. It’s not just being able to get your partner off; it’s about getting off yourself because they are too.”
Christine couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t move if she tried.
“I’ve never...” she began, trailing off as the words fell away. “I can’t...Roger tried so hard.”
McCoy scowled. “Bullshit. No he didn’t.”
Anger flared up in Christine again, making her wriggle harder, lash out with her feet and her legs.
“How dare you insult him like that? He did try, he did, he’d take ages...it wasn’t his fault!”
“So whose fault was it? Yours?” he said sarcastically, dodging most of her thrashing. Her face must have betrayed her, shown her deepest secret, because his face gentled and his tone softened. His voice was the one he saved for children, for victims of terrible accidents, for people he didn’t want to hurt.
“Oh, honey,” he said, letting go of her arms and pulling her into a tight embrace. “You can’t believe that.”
“What am I supposed to believe?” she managed to choke out, struggling to free herself then giving up abruptly. “Some women just don’t orgasm through penetration, they just don’t. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It didn’t make my relationship with Roger any less normal, any less real.”
“No,” he said, smoothing a hand through her hair with one hand, holding her waist with the other. “The part when he put his consciousness into an android body and tried to do the same to you, that’s when it got a bit weird.”
Christine gasped, slapped him hard across his jaw, and then collapsed in snorts of unladylike, undignified, uncontrolled laughter.
“Well, you have me there,” she managed eventually, tears streaming down her face. She wasn’t quite sure if they were tears of laughter or sadness, but she knew they were a long time coming. “Cheaper than a divorce, though.”
He snorted with laughter and tightened his grip on her. “You’re right about that,” he admitted.
They stood there for a while, struggling to retain their laughter. One would rein themselves in, only to be set off again by a howl from the other. Somewhere during the laughter they sank to the floor, propping their backs against the cool marble. He slung a heavy arm across her shoulders, and she curled into his side, her fingers toying with the embroidered insignia on his uniform.
“Sorry I hit you in the face,” she said at last, wincing at the red mark that still lingered.
“That’s alright. Try not to do it again, though. You hurt.”
“You’re such a baby,” she accused fondly, prodding lightly at the mark. He pushed her hand away, keeping hold of it so he could drop a kiss on her fingers. Her stomach lurched a little. She had never thought of him doing that before, but that little demonstration of tenderness was a hundred times better than the far lewder acts she had dreamed about him performing.
“I bet Roger was a real sweetheart, wasn’t he Chris?” McCoy said lightly, fingers toying with tendrils of her hair that had fallen from her usually neat chignon. “I bet that he’d do whatever you want in bed. I bet that all you had to do was snap your fingers and he’d do exactly what you wanted him to. Am I right?”
She tensed in his arms, although she didn’t know why. He wasn’t being rude, or abrasive.
“Well,” she began, uncertainly, “He was a gentleman. He never...pushed.”
“Ah,” McCoy said, nodding. He didn’t say anything else, and the silence ate at Christine.
“He’d go down on me,” she said eventually, hating herself for speaking but unable to let the silence continue. “Every time. He knew how I liked it. Then when we had sex, I knew how to please him. I liked it when I could make him lose control, when he broke apart. I liked knowing I could do that to him.”
“Ah,” said McCoy again. “Well, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“It explains why you and Roger couldn’t manage to get there together. You’re too much of a control freak to let him see you that vulnerable and out of control, and he was too much of a wuss to push you there.” McCoy shrugged, the play of muscles in his shoulder and chest doing interesting things to his uniform top. “It makes sense now.”
Christine scrambled out from under his arm, stood up, and stalked away from him.
“I am not a control freak!” she hissed, her eyes narrowed with anger.
“No, of course you’re not,” he agreed blithely. “Tell me Christine, why aren’t you shouting?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve just insulted you and the memory of the man you were planning to spend the rest of your life with. Why aren’t you screaming the place down?”
Christine was lost for words. “I....” she managed. “You...” She trailed off.
“You’re not shouting because you don’t want to make a scene,” he said, smirking triumphantly, pulling himself upright. “It’s the same reason you drag me into my office when you want to argue with me. You don’t want to lose control around people, let them see that you’re not totally on top of things one hundred per cent of the time. It’s why you freak out if I mess with the duty rosters, or decide I want to move equipment around. You like things when you’re in control, Chris. You don’t like coming out of your safety zone, which is why you never managed qionshalaar. You’re scared.”
“I am not!” she gasped.
He smiles. “Prove it,” he said.
She leaped at him, dragging his head down for a blistering kiss. He returned it in kind, slipping a hand around her waist to hoist her upwards. She locked her legs around his waist and bit down on his lower lip, sucking at it immediately afterwards to soothe the nip. He growled, walked them towards the bed and threw her down on it before covering her body with his.
She tried to roll so she was on top but he wouldn’t let her, using his greater weight to pin her to the bed as he mouthed at her breasts through her tunic. Hot, sharp flashes of pleasure shot along her nerves, causing her toes to curl in her shiny black boots. His hands roamed her body, assessing, squeezing, pinching. She ran her fingers through his thick dark hair, tugging on it so she had access to his neck.
She squealed as she was suddenly flipped onto her stomach. His fingers pulled and tugged at the fastenings of her uniform and the blue fabric was pulled from her with a shout of success. She wriggled around to face him again, and managed to pull both layers of his uniform top from him before kneeling up to lave at his nipples with a delicate flicking of her tongue. He groaned and submitted to her exploration of his chest, but as she dipped her head lower he took her gently by the hair and brought her up to his face.
“Not yet,” he said, delicately biting at the junction between her neck and her shoulder, a spot that Christine didn’t know was supposed to feel so good. She moaned in frustration, her hands going to his belt and fly. He kicked off his shoes as she pulled down his uniform trousers and underwear together, and reached out to stroke firmly along his length.
Before she knew it she was on her back on the bed again, one of his hands pinning her hands firmly above her head. As she writhed and wriggled, he ran a finger along the top of the lace on her bra, dipping into the soft cup to pinch and roll the nipple there. He tugged at the bra, pulling the cups beneath her breasts so he had access to the flesh with his hot mouth.
Christine bucked and writhed against his hard body as he took his time covering every centimetre of exposed skin on her breasts. No amount of pleading or cajoling would make him go any faster – his grip on her wrists remained firm but not unkind. She felt herself get slicker and slicker, the electric shocks of pleasure shooting through her body centring at her core.
He brought his mouth back to hers for another long, passionate kiss. She longed to touch him, to run her fingers through his hair, to grab at his firmly muscled backside but he wouldn’t let her, no matter how hard she pleaded or much she rubbed herself against him.
By the time he skimmed his hand down her body to rub lightly at her clit through the lace of her underwear, Christine’s body was on fire. Every press of his thumb against her core made the sensation almost unbearable, the pleasure almost too much to handle. It felt like hours passed as he played with her, always stopping just short of pushing her over the edge of pleasure. She bucked and writhed in frustration, causing him to grunt with laughter. Eventually he pulled the side of her lingerie away to allow first one then two fingers to enter her slick channel. He let out a groan as she clamped down on his fingers as he flexed them, pumping them in and out.
“Please,” she managed to gasp out. “Please, Len, please...”
There was a tearing sound just before the remnants of her underwear went sailing across the room. He let go of her arms as he shifted to stand at the end of the bed. He slid his hands under her body to lift her hips. Christine felt the head of his thick shaft nudge at her slick entrance before he pushed inside with one strong movement.
Admittedly, it had been a long time for Christine, but she could never remember sex with anyone being as intense as this. She locked her feet around his waist and gasped as the new angle increased the pressure and the pleasure. Electric shocks zipped everywhere in her body and she couldn’t help herself. She was falling over the edge.
“I’m, I’m...” she managed to gasp, clutching at his shoulders, bucking upwards sharply. He grunted and increased the speed of his thrusts. A few flicks of his thumb against her clitoris were all it took for her to lose herself in a tsunami of bliss. She made damn sure she clenched her inner muscles as hard as she could, causing him to stutter in his thrusts and shout his release as pleasure ripped through him as well.
He collapsed forwards onto the bed, trapping her body underneath his. She lay gasping, buzzing with aftershocks from her fingertips down to her toes. She unlocked her legs from his waist as he looked up from her chest.
“You can move your arms now,” he told her, dropping small kisses along her ribcage. Blearily she looked up to realise that her arms had stayed firmly planted over her head, even though his hands had shifted a while ago. She looked away, amused, and brought her hands down to cover her face.
“I still have my boots on,” she said, embarrassed, peering out through her fingers.
“I know,” he grinned. “I liked that.”
She sat up so she could unfasten her twisted bra then dropped it off the side of the bed. McCoy pulled them both up the length of the bed until they were twined together under the covers, boots and all.
“Losing control once in a while isn’t so bad,” she said eventually, idly stroking her thumbnail along the curve of his bicep.
“I know,” he said, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “I was thinking that next time I could be the one pinned to the bed. Lord knows, you’re strong enough to do it. I’m going to be aching tonight.”
She looked up at him, curiously. “You want a next time?”
“Honey, I’ve spent the last few years desperately hoping for a first time. I’m not about to quit now!”
She puffed out her laughter against his chest, and burrowed in closely.
“I’ll have to see where I can fit you in my schedule,” she yawned, closing her eyes. “I may have to change the duty rosters.”
“Finally,” he muttered, “I get to make a mark on those damn things.”
She slapped him affectionately; he just laughed and tightened his grip around her.
Jim Kirk sat in his ready room, a polite smile plastered on his face as he attempted to soothe the ruffled feathers of the Ilyrian priestess.
“I’m sure that my crew will be ready to leave the Temple complex soon, Matriarch, just as soon as qionshalaar has been achieved. You have to understand that we humans don’t have the special abilities that you Ilyrians do, so it may take some time...”
He blanched as the Matriarch explained why she was calling.
“Really? How many times? ”
(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-15 05:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-15 05:21 pm (UTC)