Fic: Out Of The Ash I Rise With My Red Hair, R

[fringedwellerfic]

Title: Out Of The Ash I Rise With My Red Hair
Author: fringedwellerfic
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Rating: I don't know, call it R for safety. Not much more than kissing is shown, but more is implied. Oh, and one naughty word.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, obviously.
Warnings: None.
Summary: Christine dyes her hair and is very pleased with the result.
Author's Note: A fill for the prompt from the kink meme for McCoy being attracted to Chapel with dyed hair here.

Title taken from Sylvia Plath:

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And eat men like air




Admiral Reinhardt’s annual Masquerade Ball was legendary amongst Starfleet personnel. Once a year on Starbase India the main conference suites were transformed into a ballroom of the highest luxury. Gentlemen wore their snappiest suits, ladies wore their most elegant gowns and anybody that didn’t fit neatly into a category wore whatever they wanted to.

The only rule of the evening was that everybody wore a mask to conceal their identity. There were no fraternization regulations to worry about, no policies about alcohol intake or inappropriate behaviour. Everyone was there to enjoy themselves, and if that enjoyment spilled out into the empty residential section and the multitude of private rooms, well, nobody cared. Not for that night, anyway.

Needless to say, getting an invitation to the masquerade was a big deal; just because your ship was to be docked at Starbase India while the party was on was no guarantee that you got to go. After all, someone had to stay on board and staff the ship. In the end, each section held a lottery. If you didn’t care that much for such things, your ticket could reach quite a high price on the Enterprise’s thriving black market.

Christine had won her ticket fair and square, and she was determined to use it. Freed at last from the lonely shackles of her engagement to Roger Korby, it was time for her to move on and enjoy her youth while her breasts still had a trace of perk left in them. And while she didn’t feel ready to start an affaire with someone she served with, there were seven other ships docked at India. Surely there was one man who could help her break her five year celibate streak?

The whole ship fizzled with excitement about the party. Lieutenant Commander Scott had been seen carefully steaming his best kilt, while the captain had been buzzing around sickbay all morning trying to get McCoy to authorise some eye drops that would make his eyes gleam.

“I’ve been told they’re my best feature,” he had said, winking at one of her nurses. “Well, the best that can be seen while fully clothed, anyway.”

McCoy had called him a beetle brained popinjay, slapped him across the back of the head and threatened him with a series of painful injections before stomping back into his office and locking the door.

“What’s up with him today? It’s the worst I’ve seen him in a long time.” Christine didn’t think twice before pumping Kirk for information. He was almost as bad a gossip as Keenser.

“He won a ticket to the masquerade and I’m ordering him to go. He’s annoyed because he’d rather sit in his quarters and get drunk alone rather than meet a nice woman and have drunken, anonymous sex.”

Kirk shook his head in amazement, as if the thought of self denial was tantamount to kicking puppies. Christine shook her head in amusement, wondering if there was anyone more clueless than her boss. If he just opened his eyes he’d know that half the women on the ship would give their right arm to be invited into McCoy’s bed. She should know, because she was one of them.

Oh, you couldn’t blame her. There’s only so long you can work in close quarters with a handsome, intelligent, competent man before you idly imagine him without his uniform. And after that incident with the exploding flora on Vectis Prime and the hastily rigged decontamination shower, she knew exactly what was under that uniform. She’d dreamt of his sculpted arms and broad shoulders for weeks afterwards.

She was content to lust from afar though; he’d never given her the slightest indication he saw her than anything other than a valued colleague, and she wasn’t about to swap a dead relationship for an unrequited crush on her boss.

She’d use tonight to get back in the saddle, so to speak, and then move on to the possibility of a more lasting relationship as and when an opportunity presented itself.

Christine gave Kirk the eye drops in exchange for the information. It never hurt to have a few favours owed to you by the captain. Besides, you couldn’t blame a person for wanting to look their best and she was resorting to artificial methods herself.

Apart from a rebellious streak in her teens when she had dyed her hair an unappealing, dull black, Christine hadn’t really bothered with it much. Her hair was blonde and fine, and she kept it at a length that meant it could be pulled into a neat bun or braid. It was kept there by an alarming number of grips and clips that had a habit of slipping out as the day wore on.

There wasn’t really much to say about it. It wasn’t long and seductive like Uhura’s hair, or bouncy and fun like Gaila’s ringlets. Although she and Janice had similar colouring, Janice’s thicker hair could achieve styles that her own silky hair would slip straight out of.

In short, her hair was boring and predictable. And even if it was only for one night, she wanted hair that was wild and adventurous, hair that made her look sexy and desirable. She wanted “fuck me” hair.

“I think you’re putting a lot of faith in the power of a tube of hair dye,” Nyota mused as she perched on the sink of Christine’s bathroom.

“The dress will help,” said Gaila as she rinsed the excess dye from Christine’s hair. “It’s a “fuck me” dress. And I should know.”

“Don’t forget the shoes,” said Janice from the doorway. She passed Uhura another cocktail and took a sip of her own. “Those shoes have never failed me. If I can’t have a good time tonight, at least my shoes can.”

She sighed and looked forlorn. Uhura passed Christine a towel and laid a comforting arm around Janice’s shoulders.

“Never mind Cinderella, you shall go to the ball. I’ll swap you my ticket for your duty shift.”

Janice’s eyes widened. “You’re willing to give up a ticket to the hottest party in the sector for the pleasure of bringing whoever has the conn their evening meal and take dictation all night? Who are you, and what have you done with Uhura?”

Christine laughed as she towelled the water from her hair. “Just ask yourself, Janice, who will be in charge tonight? “

Gaila laughed as she started to pull a comb through Christine’s hair.

“Role-playing, Nyota? I didn’t think that ‘The Naughty Captain and the Friendly Yeoman’ was Spock’s sort of fun.”

“You’d be surprised at the sort of fun I have,” Uhura said, arching a perfectly plucked brow.

“Trust me, I don’t have that sort of fun,” grumbled Janice, “You’d have thought that with his reputation Kirk would have tried something. Not so much as an innuendo! I’m deeply disappointed.”

All she got for her disappointment was a wet towel in the face, which threatened to devolve into a pillow fight until Christine threw her best friends out of her room so she could finish getting ready by herself. Janice’s shoes were amazing – strappy and glossy and amazingly sexy. It took her a little while to get used to the spiked heels, but soon she was confident enough to walk about her cabin in them. After she dried her hair it fell in soft copper waves around her face and shoulders. She pulled a few side strands up into a loose chignon, but let the rest tickle her shoulder blades. It was a matter of minutes to apply the barest of make-up, but it took considerably longer to wiggle into Gaila’s dress. For something that showed so much skin, it had an awful lot of material.

Christine was displaying far more cleavage than she ever had before, but that was the point. She dusted a shimmering powder across her breasts for good measure, just to hammer her point home. The dress was virtually backless, making wearing underwear impossible. Christine paled a little at the thought of going out so uncovered, but took another sip of the strong cocktail that Janice had poured and gathered her courage to the sticking place. The whole point of the evening was to get out of her clothes as soon as possible. This was just helping the situation move along. She ran the applicator over her back, spreading the shimmering powder there too.

She gulped the rest of the cocktail and poured herself another.

The dress was floor length, with a split up the side of the skirt that displayed a lot of leg. A lot of leg. Going for broke, she dusted the length of one leg with the rest of the shimmering powder.

She looked positively iridescent, the black dress complimenting her pale skin and cloud of fire-hued hair. After slipping on the traditional mask, she was virtually unrecognisable. Turning her head this way and that, she approved of the woman in the mirror. A final spray of perfume and she was gone to beam down, invitation in hand.


Two hours later, she was standing at the long bar in the ballroom, trying to flag down a bartender long enough to get an order in. The room was packed to bursting point, it was as hot as Mercury and if she didn’t get a drink soon she’d die of heat exhaustion. This was the first time she’d had to herself since she’d entered the ballroom. She had to give points to Gaila and Janice, the dress and the shoes had done their work well; she’d never had so much male attention in her life.

She’d been whirled around the dance floor countless times, a new partner cutting in as soon as the music paused. She’d been treated like fragile crystal, held firmly in an iron grip and groped continuously. She was having a brilliant time. If only she could find a man she wanted to do more than dance with, and order a drink, her night would be complete.

A half-full glass whizzed down the bar, sliding neatly into her hand. Her benefactor was leaning casually against the glass of the countertop, his features unrecognisable under his mask. He was tall, dark and wide through the shoulder. She raised the glass to her lips, nodding her thanks. Her acceptance made him walk lazily towards her. Even in her borrowed heels he was still taller than her, and Christine could feel the virility exude from him in waves. He was wearing spicy cologne, and it made her want to lean forwards and bury her nose in his neck. It was oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place it, which made her desperate to smell it all the more.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said, trying to see if there was anything recognisable about the way he stood. So far, there was nothing to suggest he was anything but a perfect stranger. He nodded, and brought his mouth to her ear. His hot breath sent shivers down her very exposed spine, and all she could do was nod to his suggestion that they dance.

The band was playing a slower number, and Christine melted into her mystery man’s strong arms. He guided her expertly, and although his touch was light it contained a controlled strength that sent her heartbeat racing. They didn’t speak, but they didn’t need to. He stroked the small of her back gently as they drifted over the floor, and Christine could feel her body start to respond to his. If his elevated pulse and slightly dilated pupils were anything to go by, he wasn’t immune to her either.

As the band stopped playing, another man tried to cut in. He was repelled with a fierce glare from her mystery man, who had pulled her closer. Christine didn’t object, and she practically purred with satisfaction as she wound her arms around his neck as the music started up again. One of his hands trailed through her hair, letting the silky strands slip through his fingers. His hands were large but elegant, and he had carefully clipped nails. They intrigued her; she felt as if she should know them somehow. Then he tightened his grip on her, and she forgot about his mysteriously familiar hands and concentrated instead on what she imagined them doing to her utterly pliant body.

They danced for what seemed like hours, their bodies brushing against each other with increasing fervour. Christine was giddy with the rush of passion she felt for his commanding presence. Other men had stopped trying to interrupt them, and the one brave woman that had tried to entice him away had been sent packing by Christine very quickly indeed.

She kept trying to peek under his mask, but its contours disguised his features well. He spoke very little, and it was hard to hear him over the music and the crowd anyway. He was strong and moved with a grace that surprised her. He was tall with dark hair; her inner romantic, usually crushed firmly down, was disappointed that he wasn’t McCoy, but she could give herself the gift of pretending just for this one night. Sex was inevitable, she knew. From the looks they were gathering on the dance floor, the rest of the party knew it too.

When the song ended, she stepped out of his embrace. He stared at her, his brow furrowing with confusion. She extended her arm, and he took her hand. She led him from the dance floor, ignoring the claps and whistles of the drunken dancers. Her face flushed as red as her newly-dyed hair, and she let him take over when they reached the crowded floor. He used his bulk to clear them a path to the door.

The corridor outside the ballroom was silent; the difference in noise between the ballroom and the long white stretch of space was a shock. For the first time that night she heard her mystery man’s voice as he moved his head down to kiss her for the first time.

“Christine,” he murmured, just as their lips met. Her senses were assaulted by the power of his kiss, and it took her longer than it should have to realise that he had used a name that she hadn’t given him. The tiny part of her brain that was capable of rational thought struggled to make connections as she drowned in him, pushing herself up on her toes to deepen and prolong the scorching kiss.

“He knows my name,” her brain managed, “even though I haven’t given it to him and my hair is a different colour than it was six hours ago. He smells familiar, and I know his hands, and he must be from the Enterprise and...”

And. She figured it out as they parted for air. He didn’t stop her as she reached for his mask with trembling fingers, removing it gently to reveal the man she knew it had to be. Sure enough, McCoy stood before her, his dark eyes showing nothing but honest passion tempered with a slight nervousness. He took off her mask, carding his long fingers through her hair as he did so.

“As much as I love you as a blonde, you’re very sexy with red hair, Christine,” he said, his low voice doing pleasurably terrifying things to her insides.

“I could be persuaded to keep it,” she said, trying not to let the fact she was juggling with her career affect the level of terror in her voice.

“I think you’ll find I can be very persuasive,” he said, pulling her back into the circle of his arms again. Anything she might have said in return was lost in the endless pleasure of his persuasiveness, which carried them down the corridor and into the nearest empty residential suite.

They lay together afterwards, unwilling to move from the heat of the other’s naked, sated body.

“How did you know?” she said, as he let her hair slide through his fingers again.

“I’m a doctor, honey, in case you hadn’t noticed. We learn a few things in med school that have an application beyond the examination room.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she laughed.

“I wasn’t talking about that, although I commend you on the thoroughness of your study of the female anatomy.“ She let her hand fall to give him an affectionate spank on the backside, which she absently rubbed as she continued with her question.

“At the party, how did you know who I was? I tried so hard to be different tonight.”

He laughed, and used the hand bunched in her hair to pull her close for a kiss.

“You could dye your skin purple and your hair blue, and I’d know you from a mile away, Christine Chapel,” he said as they broke for air. “You walk with a wiggle that’s enough to drive a sane man crazy with lust, and I don’t know anyone else that uses a perfume that smells like peaches. I smell it every time I come near you, and all I want to do is pull you into the nearest cupboard and fuck you until it's all I can smell."

She kissed him that time, sliding their bodies together so they could rock and rub against each other in a way that caused sparks to fly again.

“Consider me persuaded,” she gasped, he did something with his tongue that he must have got an A+ for in medical school. “For now.”

He grinned against her flushed skin, and promised himself that keeping her persuaded was going to be the most important part of his day from now on.