Scratching An Itch
Sep. 21st, 2009 10:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fringedwellerfic posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
singularityTitle: Scratching An Itch
Author:fringedwellerfic
Pairing: McCoy/Chapel
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluffy ridiculousness
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Being turned into a Labrador puppy wasn't as bad it could have been; Christine's bed was warm and soft, just like her.
Author's Notes: How the hell I wrote 5000 words of McCoy turning into a puppy fic I have no idea, but I'm glad that seren_ccd was bitten by the same bug!
Fill for the kink meme here.
You could always count on Leonard McCoy.
You could count on him being grumpy and irritable in the mornings before he had his coffee. You could count on him using sarcasm as a staff management technique. You could even count on him sloping off to the bridge during slack periods in sickbay instead of doing the paperwork that was rightfully his.
But he’d never leave you hanging. If he said he’d be somewhere, then there he was. If he said he felt a particular way, then you could be damn sure he felt it. And if he told you that he’d meet you in the cozy-looking restaurant across the road from your hotel at half past seven on your first night of shore leave, then there he’d be.
Except he wasn’t.
Christine waited for three quarters of an hour, longer than she’d ever waited for a date in her life. The looks she had been sent by the serving staff started out as admiring, but ended up as pitying as she checked and rechecked her chronometer and ploughed determinedly through the jar of breadsticks on the table.
She eventually left, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She went back to her hotel room, heels tapping furiously at the marble floor of the establishment’s lavish reception area. She passed fellow crew on their way out to explore the exotic city, and resisted the urge to snarl at their friendly greetings.
It wasn’t their fault she had been stood up.
She pulled off the simple but elegant black dress and scrubbed the carefully-applied make up from her face. She threw the set of matching underwear back into her carry case with some force. Yanking on a swimsuit and a robe she went to find the hotel’s swimming pool and take out her frustration on the water.
Sixty lengths later she was tired, but still angry.
She eventually fell asleep to a replay of a holovid, a tragic story where the tall, dark and handsome male lead died of a horrible illness six minutes in. She couldn’t help but cheer.
McCoy couldn’t believe it. He literally could not believe it. All he had wanted was a present for Christine, something shiny and delicate to drape around her graceful wrist. He’d finally been brave enough to do something other than worship from a distance, and by some grace of the gods she had agreed to join him for dinner on their next shoreleave.
He was going to do it right. Just because his marriage had gone down in flames, it didn’t mean he didn’t know how to court a lady right. Flowers delivered to her room before the meal, nice unpretentious restaurant, conversation that didn’t involve the discussion of bodily fluids, and a little gift to declare his intentions.
He’d headed out earlier in the day to explore the crowded market place, so reminiscent of the souk and the bazaar of centuries ago. Hundreds of vendors offered everything from incense to carpets, adorable animals to bolts of shimmering cloth, tempting edible sweetmeats to delicate, handmade jewellery.
He’d dismissed earrings as he’d never seen her wear any, and the simple silver pendant she wore beneath her uniform had belonged to her grandmother. There didn’t seem to be much point in buying her another.
Besides, her wrists had always called to him. When they were fully dressed in sterile surgical whites, the brief flash of pale skin between her gloves and her uniform sleeve was all that he saw of her body. Her wrist would dart in and out of his field of vision as she passed him the tools he no longer needed to ask aloud for, and that small area of uncovered skin was far more tantalising than the length of her bare leg descending from her blue uniform dress.
Not that he wanted her to start wearing the trouser option, though.
He’d tried just about every stall in the market, and was beginning to feel the start of a good old fashioned McCoy temper tantrum starting. Nothing was right. The bracelets were all too chunky, too brassy, too large. She had delicate wrists, and he had imagined a fine trickle of liquid moonlight circling around one, perhaps carrying a few tiny stars along with it in the shape of small crystals dotted here and there.
He shook off the last vendor with a scowl, and started back in the direction of the hotel. He’d rather turn up empty handed and keep searching for the perfect gift, than doom them with something tacky and ill-fitting. He’d better get moving, he realised as he noticed the time. He didn’t want to be late.
He felt a tugging at his shirt sleeve, and found an elderly woman standing impossibly close. He jumped a little, as he could have sworn that she hadn’t been there a second earlier.
“I have what you are looking for,” she said firmly. “You will follow me.”
He began to back away from her, an apology tumbling from his lips, but the old woman was firm.
“I have the perfect gift for your woman,” she said, walking away. “You will follow me.”
McCoy checked his chronometer and hesitated. He could allow himself five minutes to check out the woman’s stall. Five minutes, declare his regret at nothing being quite right, and then back to hotel in time for a shower before dinner.
He found the old woman again, the yellow of her headscarf flashing in and out of the crowd like a bee in a field of brightly coloured flowers. She turned right, down a side alley and he followed like an eager puppy.
Her stall was small, but it was perfect. Each piece of jewellery was a work of art, and McCoy regretted not finding her sooner. He reached out to touch a bracelet pinned to a velvet panel, but had his hand swatted by the old woman.
“No! This is the piece for you.”
Aggrieved, his eyes found the small pouch she brought out from under the stall. She took his hand and opened his palm, then poured the contents of the pouch onto it. It was everything he had been hoping for.
Thin bands of flexible silver wire looped around each other, supporting tiny diamond-like stones. It was elegant and beautiful, and suited Christine perfectly.
“You see?” said the woman proudly, picking up the bracelet and laying it on his wrist. “It stretches to fit the bearer. It would even fit you.”
She fiddled with the catch, and the bracelet did indeed seem to grow larger to cover his thicker wrist. The hair on his arm seemed to darken against the silver shine.
He had opened his mouth to ask for the price, to make a show of haggling before giving in to the extortionate amount she would no doubt charge, but no sound would come out. He cleared his throat and tried again, but nothing except a throaty growl would come out. McCoy turned to the old woman, confused, but she just looked at him serenely.
She seemed to grow suddenly, shooting up into the sky then he howled with pain as his head pounded. His vision blurred, and the world shifted into shades of grey.
“Go,” the woman said from miles above. “Go to your woman.”
She lifted her foot and brought it down on the pavement firmly. The noise hurt McCoy’s ears and he backed up hurriedly, only to stumble and fall over his own legs. The woman stepped towards him again, and McCoy literally turned tail and ran.
He threw himself forwards, his brain struggling to process extra legs and a new world of scent that blasted his brain with its fierceness. Towering people thundered past him, some catching him a glancing blow with their feet. He tumbled to a halt underneath a market stall, panting furiously. It was there that his brain had the chance to catch up with the events of the day.
He investigated his new body with horror. There was hair, everywhere, short and black. He had no arms, four legs, a tail and an incredibly long tongue. His vision was sharp but lacking colour; his sense of smell had increased a thousand fold.
There was no escaping it. He was a dog, and a small one at that.
What the hell was he going to do now?
“Go to your woman,” the crazy lady with the jewellery had said. McCoy planned to do just that.
Christine woke a few hours later, the holovid on its second run in the corner of the room. A noise had awakened her, something unusual. She muted the woman sobbing at her lover’s bedside and listened again.
Sure enough, a faint scratching sound was coming from the hallway. Pulling her robe tight around her, she opened her door and looked around. There was nobody there, not even a member of the serving staff. She was about to go back in when a snuffling noise from her feet caught her attention, just as a wet little nose pushed at her bare toes.
She leapt back with a curse, and the small black puppy took it as an invitation to follow her into the room. Before she could catch it, it had had made its way to the centre of the living area and started to yap loudly. She closed the door in order to trap the creature, who was now running in circles excitedly on the carpet. Her heart swelled briefly. She had never seen anything so adorable in her life.
“Are you lost, sweetheart?” she crooned as she dropped to her knees next to the puppy. She reached out a hand to stroke its short hair, and laughed as the small dog launched itself into her lap. She scratched behind its ears, and it panted in delight. It curled up, small and defenceless, and her heart melted.
“Somebody must love you, to give you such a pretty collar,” she said, trying to catch a glimpse of an identity tag. There was none.
“A man of mystery, are you?” she chuckled, as the puppy licked at her fingers. She lifted to puppy onto its back to check, then set it right-side up again.
“Yes, definitely a man,” she said aloud, smiling at the disgruntled look on the dog’s face. It returned to exploring her fingers one by one.
“As gorgeous as you are, you can’t stay here. I bet some lucky little girl is wondering where you wandered off to,” Christine told the puppy as she gently placed him on the floor. She opened the door to the corridor again.
“Come on, boy. Come on. Time to go home.” She patted the side of her leg invitingly, but the dog plopped itself down firmly on the rug covering the marble floor. She tried more verbal encouragement, but the dog stayed put. When she lifted the small dog into her arms it whined so pitifully that she couldn’t bring herself to put it outside.
“I suppose the least I could do is feed you,” she said. Her own stomach rumbled loudly, and the dog yapped.
“Sorry sweetheart, I never got around to having dinner tonight myself. How about we order some room service, and eat together?”
The dog put its head on her chest and sighed loudly. Christine laughed, and took it for a yes.
She sent an order down to room service and it wasn’t long before two large plates of cooked meat and fried potatoes were delivered, along with bottles of water and wine. Christine scraped the fried potatoes onto her plate before shredding the meat into bite-sized pieces for the dog.
She felt the dog’s dark eyes on her as she doused her double portion with fragrant malt vinegar.
“These are no good for little dogs. You eat your steak like a good boy, and let me eat the naughty fried potatoes. Besides, I’ve earned them tonight. There’s nothing like comfort food when you’ve had your heart broken.”
She speared some of the steaming potatoes, and brought them to her mouth. She was mid-bite when the dog left his plate of shredded steak to lay his lead on her leg and whine pitifully. She stretched out a hand to smooth his hair.
“It’s ok, boy. Don’t be sad. I promise I’ll spend one night in my room acting like the world has ended, and then put on a smiling face tomorrow. Nobody will know how upset I got, except for you. Deal?”
The dog snorted in disgust, pressed his cold nose against her leg once more and then returned to his meal. They ate in silence, in perfect accord.
Christine made a makeshift water bowl out of a wide, shallow decorative bowl. The little dog lapped eagerly at the water, its long pink tongue splashing liquid everywhere.
“Messy pup!” Christine chided, fetching a towel from the bathroom to mop up the spill. The dog click-clacked his way around the room, investigating the furniture and her belongings. He stuck his head right into her carry-case and emerged with her communicator in his mouth and her lacy underwear wrapped around his head.
He made a strangled sound, and she ran over to prise the communicator from his strong jaws.
“No! Bad boy! Drop it! Drop!”
He did as he was told, and she was able to rescue the communicator from his drooling mouth. He darted away from her playfully when she reached for her underwear, and they spent a fun five minutes chasing each other around the room. The game ended when one of his legs got trapped in the material and he tumbled to a halt in the middle of the rug. She quickly pulled the lacy material away from him and stuffed it back into the carry case, which she zipped firmly shut.
“Time for bed, I think,” she said, hunting around the room for a makeshift basket. By the time she had assembled a nest of blankets for him, he had somehow scrambled up onto the large bed, his tail wagging furiously.
“Dogs do not sleep on beds, humans do,” she said firmly, but he barked loudly three times, and hit her with the biggest puppy-eyes she had ever seen. He spun in a circle, then lay down on the bed and wiggled into the covers.
She cracked.
“Just this once,” she warned him. “This is not to become a habit.”
He yapped and gave her hand another lick. She rolled her eyes and began to strip off her robe.
“I’ve got to stop being such a sucker for big brown eyes,” she muttered to herself, slipping under the covers. The dog inched closer to her, affecting a nonchalant manner. She rolled onto her side, and it cuddled into her warmth.
“You’re not exactly who I planned to spend the night with,” she whispered as she dimmed the lights using the control panel above the bed. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
The dog let out a big sigh, and nestled even closer.
She woke up the next morning to a loud banging on the door. The puppy was curled into a neat little ball and snoring in an adorable fashion.
After tugging on the robe and pulling a hand through her hair, she opened the door. A concerned-looking Kirk was standing there, his fist raised to pound again.
“Christine, is Bones here?”
Christine blinked at his urgent tones.
“I haven’t seen him since the day before yesterday, at the end of beta shift.”
Kirk frowned. “But he was supposed to be having dinner with you last night. It was all he was talking about.”
Christine stiffened, her voice turning slightly frosty.
“He decided not to turn up for our date, captain. He must have had a better offer.”
Kirk’s frown turned into an outright scowl.
“If you believe that Nurse Chapel, you’re twenty times a fool. His room is empty, never been slept in. He won’t answer his communicator and nobody’s seen him since he entered the market yesterday afternoon to hunt out that damn bracelet. Bones is missing, and we can’t find him.”
Christine paled, and covered her mouth in shock.
“’I’ll help, join a search party,” she stammered, but the captain shook his head.
“We already have teams scouring the city for clues. I need you to stay in the hotel lobby, and watch for him coming in. Raise me on the communicator if you spot him.”
Christine nodded wordlessly, and Kirk strode off quickly in the direction of the lifts. She shut the door, and turned back to the bed. The puppy had disappeared under the sheets, and was wriggling around in a highly distracting manner. She whipped off the sheets to reveal him eagerly investigating the very male portion of his anatomy with his tongue. Christine pulled a face.
“You are so male,” she hissed at him, and swooped him up into her arms. She deposited him outside on the balcony, and left him to do what he had to while she showered as quickly as she could.
The puppy was sitting outside the bathroom door whining quietly when she emerged in her towel.
“I’m sorry, boy,” she said, stooping down to scratch behind his ears. “I’m just worried, that’s all. Someone I love has gone missing, and I spent all last night cursing his name when he could be out there somewhere lost, or hurt, or...” She choked on her tears, and the puppy pulled himself up onto his hind legs to lap clumsily at her face.
She smiled, and gently pushed him away.
“A nice sentiment, pup, but I know where your tongue has been recently. Come on, let me get dressed. We’ll have a word with the desk staff while we’re in the lobby, and see who you belong to.”
Christine nipped back into the bathroom to wash her face again, and when she came out she found the puppy industriously pulling her carrycase across the floor to her. He sat quietly on the floor and watched her avidly as she towelled herself dry and pulled on underwear. He seemed to lose interest as she found her uniform tunic, and growled a little as she pulled on a pair of black trousers.
“Hush,” she told him sharply. He whined, but submitted, rolling on his back to show her his pale, rounded tummy. She took a minute to tickle it, sending him into paroxysms of delight. She picked him up and tucked him under an arm, picked up her communicator and headed out to the lobby to McCoy-spot.
If there was a better place to be than Christine Chapel’s lap, then McCoy didn’t want to know about it. His vision may be in greyscale, but his ears had never been sharper and his sense of smell was heightened beyond belief. He could hear the steady thud of her heartbeat, and the delicate smell of her rose-scented soap was tickling his nose delightfully. On her lap he picked up the darker, muskier undertone of her natural scent which was far more intoxicating. He blamed it for making him too dizzy to think straight, to try and find a way to communicate with her. He yawned, his stomach full from the sausages she had fed him by hand from her plate. Her rhythmic stroking of his ears was hypnotically blissful, and he could feel his tail thumping against her leg in counterpoint. This did not bother him as much as he knew it should have done.
She was worried about him, he knew that. Those tears she had shed had nearly killed him; the last thing he wanted was to bring her pain. A very small, evil part of him was secretly pleased to hear her talk about him and love in the same sentence, although he could have lived without Jim spilling his guts about how excited he had been when she had agreed to have dinner with him.
If he could just get through to her somehow, convince her to take him back to the ship and run him through the scanners in sickbay, he knew everything would work out just fine. Chekov hadn’t suffered any side effects after being de-evolved into a golden tamerind monkey that one time, after all. He’d even learned not to go poking about in ancient abandoned laboratories, something that the Enterprise’s security teams could do with a lesson in.
He could feel Christine’s fingers tug gently at the bracelet-turned-collar around his neck.
“Spot your owners, yet, boy?” she asked, peering down at him. McCoy shut his eyes disdainfully, and wriggled onto his back. Christine sighed, and started to stroke his stomach gently. Tingles of pleasure zipped back and forth along his body, and he sighed. He’d miss this when he changed back.
It was hard for him to measure time like this, but Christine had ordered another meal during their time in the lobby. She had picked at her food, and ended up hand feeding him choice tidbits. Late in the day his ears pricked up as he recognised his own scent and that of someone very familiar. He poked his head up from Christine’s lap and placed his two front paws on the table as Jim approached. He was carrying a bundle of blue and black clothes - his own uniform, McCoy realised.
“Anything to report, Lieutenant?” Jim asked as he reached the table in the lobby that Christine had chosen earlier that morning. He reached out absently to stroke McCoy’s head as Christine tried to stop her voice from wobbling as she reported in the negative.
McCoy couldn’t resist, and gave one of Jim’s fingers a little nip with his sharp puppy teeth. Jim swore and yanked his hand away.
“Vicious pet you’ve got there. Where’d you pick him up?”
“He appeared at my door last night, captain, and he hasn’t left me since. I told the hotel manager, but she said that there were no dogs on this planet, and no guest had reported one missing. I guess he’s a mystery.”
“Just like these.” Kirk hefted the bundle of clothes onto the table. “Some of the street vendors remembered McCoy from yesterday, he must have visited every jewellery stall in the market. We found these neatly folded in a side alley, along with his boots, communicator and all his credit chips.”
Christine frowned.
“You mean to say he stripped naked in a side alley for no reason, then disappeared.”
Kirk shrugged helplessly.
“There were no signs of violence in the alley, no blood on his clothing, and all his money is still there. Unless he’s fallen victim to a rogue band of nude doctor-kidnapping desperados, I’m all out of ideas.”
Christine looked at him, aghast.
“Please tell me you have another explanation for him disappearing. “
Jim shook his head.
“It’s amazing how Vulcan you sound, Nurse. Spock said pretty much the same thing. He and Scotty are recalibrating the long range sensors to scan the planet’s surface for his DNA. Sulu’s taking over on search party detail down here. Go back to your room and rest for a bit, we’ll keep you posted if we find anything.”
Christine lifted McCoy gently down to the floor, and then stood up herself. “If it’s an order, captain,” she said. “I’m not sure how much rest I can get with him missing out there, though.”
Jim laid a kindly hand on her shoulder, and McCoy couldn’t help but let out a low growl. When Jim let out a laugh, he pounced on his boot and tried to bite through the shiny leather.
“Bad puppy!” Christine hissed, tapping him firmly on the nose. McCoy blinked and let go of the boot.
“He’s defending you, Christine,” Jim teased, shooting a smile at the puppy. “He’s adopted you now. There’s no getting rid of him.”
Christine bent down and hauled McCoy up into her arms. “He’ll have to learn some manners if he wants to be kept,” she warned him, looking him straight in the eye. “No biting anyone, especially the captain. Understand, pup? Or it’ll be time for a little operation for you.”
McCoy let out a grunt that could be understood as affirmative, if you understood Labrador. Christine nodded to the captain who was wincing in male sympathy for the dog, and walked away, scratching idly at a wonderful spot right on the top of McCoy’s head. McCoy lay in her arms in total bliss, and only complained briefly when she deposited him in the bed in her room.
She pulled off her uniform and replaced it with the pyjamas of the previous night. She slid into bed, and he immediately cuddled in close to her. She lay on her back and repositioned him so he lay on her stomach, his head pillowed on her ample breasts.
I can die and go to heaven right now, he thought blissfully. It turns out there is a better place than her lap after all.
The bracelet began to feel warmer, suddenly. He shifted about, and tried to reach it with one of his legs. They weren’t long enough, though, and the warmth was beginning to get uncomfortable. He scrabbled at it vigorously and began to whine.
Christine sat up, concerned.
“What’s the matter, boy?” she asked. “Collar too tight?”
Her fingers reached behind his head, and after a few seconds she found the clasp. She unlocked the bracelet, and before McCoy could so much as whine in relief, a massive rush of colour and pain hit him suddenly like a punch to the face.
He shut his eyes and moaned, and was very surprised to hear it emerge as a moan, and not a whine. He didn’t have long to think about it however, as Christine let out a shrill, if somewhat muffled, scream.
He realised with start that he was human again, stark bollock naked and laying with his head between Christine’s breasts. He reared back in alarm, got tangled in a sheet and disappeared with a flailing of arms and legs over the side of the bed.
”Len?” Christine managed tentatively from the top of the bed.
A long drawn-out groan was her reply.
“I hit my head,” he said dazedly.
“You were a dog,” she said, as if she didn’t quite believe the evidence of her own eyes.
“I got better,” he offered, still processing the events of the last two days.
Christine reappeared, her face a picture of worry and bewilderment. He let her check him over for trauma as he wiggled all his fingers in turn, delighted beyond belief to have his digits returned to him. He never knew how much he valued his toes before.
“Why were you a dog?” she asked, her hands lingering on her upper arm.
He made a decision, reached out and pulled her into his lap. She didn’t even pretend to put up any resistance. He wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his nose in her hair.
“I followed some crazy lady down an alley, picked out a bracelet for you, she laid it across my wrist, and the next thing you know I’m trying to cover five miles on puppy feet to get back to you.”
Her face softened.
“You were buying me a present?” she asked, her fingers stroking softly over the shell of his ear. Tingles of very familiar pleasure shot down his spine and he shivered.
“Well, I suppose I’ll let you off the hook for standing me up, then,” she said as he tightened his grip on her and altered the angle of his neck so she had better access to his ear.
“We still had our date,” he argued. “We had dinner together. I even let you have all my fries.”
Christine blew a raspberry.
“Date don’t count if your partner gets turned into another species. Besides, you were the only one getting lucky afterwards. Don’t think I didn’t see you under the covers.”
McCoy blushed, but sailed valiantly on.
“I defy any man not to do that if he could,” he said, chin held high.
Christine laughed, and it only took him a split second to join her. She stopped laughing as he kissed her, and the noise turned into a throaty moan. Suddenly more grateful than ever for his hands, he ran them over any part of her body he could reach. She moved off his lap to reposition herself, and he took that opportunity to move them both back up onto the bed.
Christine found herself underneath his weight again, only this time it was a far more pleasurable experience for everybody involved. He explored every inch of her body with his tongue and lips, then again with his fingers and the palms of his hands. By the time he slipped deep within her she was teetering on the verge of her own bliss; by the time he exploded within her she had come and gone and risen again twice more, each time resurrected to pleasure by his sure touch.
They lay curled together afterwards, and she absently extended her hand to rub his stomach gently. He rolled over to whisper in her ear, an arm thrown possessively over her breasts.
“Bet you’re glad I didn’t get that little operation now, aren’t you?”
She let out her laughter in an unladylike snort, which set him off too. He rolled off her, and frowned as something uncomfortable poked him in the backside. He fished around behind him and came up the bracelet.
“I think this belongs to you,” he said, holding the necklace between two fingers. It was no longer warm to the touch, so he supposed it was safe for her to wear. She took it and laid it gingerly across her arm. They both waited with baited breath, but there was no miraculous transformation.
“It’s beautiful,” Christine said quietly, her eyes taking in every delicate twist of wire, every subtle sparkle from the shining stones. “I’ve never owned anything so lovely, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said, fastening the clasp around her wrist and turning it this way and that so he could admire it from every angle. “But any more jewellery you get from me will be from a reputable dealer, not a crazy woman with a puppy fixation.”
“You’ll just give it to a crazy woman with a puppy fixation,” she teased, scratching behind an ear again.
“Arf,” he said in pleasure, settling down to enjoy the benefits of a woman who knows exactly how a man needs his ears to be scratched.
Author:
fringedwellerficPairing: McCoy/Chapel
Rating: R
Warnings: Fluffy ridiculousness
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: Being turned into a Labrador puppy wasn't as bad it could have been; Christine's bed was warm and soft, just like her.
Author's Notes: How the hell I wrote 5000 words of McCoy turning into a puppy fic I have no idea, but I'm glad that seren_ccd was bitten by the same bug!
Fill for the kink meme here.
You could always count on Leonard McCoy.
You could count on him being grumpy and irritable in the mornings before he had his coffee. You could count on him using sarcasm as a staff management technique. You could even count on him sloping off to the bridge during slack periods in sickbay instead of doing the paperwork that was rightfully his.
But he’d never leave you hanging. If he said he’d be somewhere, then there he was. If he said he felt a particular way, then you could be damn sure he felt it. And if he told you that he’d meet you in the cozy-looking restaurant across the road from your hotel at half past seven on your first night of shore leave, then there he’d be.
Except he wasn’t.
Christine waited for three quarters of an hour, longer than she’d ever waited for a date in her life. The looks she had been sent by the serving staff started out as admiring, but ended up as pitying as she checked and rechecked her chronometer and ploughed determinedly through the jar of breadsticks on the table.
She eventually left, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. She went back to her hotel room, heels tapping furiously at the marble floor of the establishment’s lavish reception area. She passed fellow crew on their way out to explore the exotic city, and resisted the urge to snarl at their friendly greetings.
It wasn’t their fault she had been stood up.
She pulled off the simple but elegant black dress and scrubbed the carefully-applied make up from her face. She threw the set of matching underwear back into her carry case with some force. Yanking on a swimsuit and a robe she went to find the hotel’s swimming pool and take out her frustration on the water.
Sixty lengths later she was tired, but still angry.
She eventually fell asleep to a replay of a holovid, a tragic story where the tall, dark and handsome male lead died of a horrible illness six minutes in. She couldn’t help but cheer.
McCoy couldn’t believe it. He literally could not believe it. All he had wanted was a present for Christine, something shiny and delicate to drape around her graceful wrist. He’d finally been brave enough to do something other than worship from a distance, and by some grace of the gods she had agreed to join him for dinner on their next shoreleave.
He was going to do it right. Just because his marriage had gone down in flames, it didn’t mean he didn’t know how to court a lady right. Flowers delivered to her room before the meal, nice unpretentious restaurant, conversation that didn’t involve the discussion of bodily fluids, and a little gift to declare his intentions.
He’d headed out earlier in the day to explore the crowded market place, so reminiscent of the souk and the bazaar of centuries ago. Hundreds of vendors offered everything from incense to carpets, adorable animals to bolts of shimmering cloth, tempting edible sweetmeats to delicate, handmade jewellery.
He’d dismissed earrings as he’d never seen her wear any, and the simple silver pendant she wore beneath her uniform had belonged to her grandmother. There didn’t seem to be much point in buying her another.
Besides, her wrists had always called to him. When they were fully dressed in sterile surgical whites, the brief flash of pale skin between her gloves and her uniform sleeve was all that he saw of her body. Her wrist would dart in and out of his field of vision as she passed him the tools he no longer needed to ask aloud for, and that small area of uncovered skin was far more tantalising than the length of her bare leg descending from her blue uniform dress.
Not that he wanted her to start wearing the trouser option, though.
He’d tried just about every stall in the market, and was beginning to feel the start of a good old fashioned McCoy temper tantrum starting. Nothing was right. The bracelets were all too chunky, too brassy, too large. She had delicate wrists, and he had imagined a fine trickle of liquid moonlight circling around one, perhaps carrying a few tiny stars along with it in the shape of small crystals dotted here and there.
He shook off the last vendor with a scowl, and started back in the direction of the hotel. He’d rather turn up empty handed and keep searching for the perfect gift, than doom them with something tacky and ill-fitting. He’d better get moving, he realised as he noticed the time. He didn’t want to be late.
He felt a tugging at his shirt sleeve, and found an elderly woman standing impossibly close. He jumped a little, as he could have sworn that she hadn’t been there a second earlier.
“I have what you are looking for,” she said firmly. “You will follow me.”
He began to back away from her, an apology tumbling from his lips, but the old woman was firm.
“I have the perfect gift for your woman,” she said, walking away. “You will follow me.”
McCoy checked his chronometer and hesitated. He could allow himself five minutes to check out the woman’s stall. Five minutes, declare his regret at nothing being quite right, and then back to hotel in time for a shower before dinner.
He found the old woman again, the yellow of her headscarf flashing in and out of the crowd like a bee in a field of brightly coloured flowers. She turned right, down a side alley and he followed like an eager puppy.
Her stall was small, but it was perfect. Each piece of jewellery was a work of art, and McCoy regretted not finding her sooner. He reached out to touch a bracelet pinned to a velvet panel, but had his hand swatted by the old woman.
“No! This is the piece for you.”
Aggrieved, his eyes found the small pouch she brought out from under the stall. She took his hand and opened his palm, then poured the contents of the pouch onto it. It was everything he had been hoping for.
Thin bands of flexible silver wire looped around each other, supporting tiny diamond-like stones. It was elegant and beautiful, and suited Christine perfectly.
“You see?” said the woman proudly, picking up the bracelet and laying it on his wrist. “It stretches to fit the bearer. It would even fit you.”
She fiddled with the catch, and the bracelet did indeed seem to grow larger to cover his thicker wrist. The hair on his arm seemed to darken against the silver shine.
He had opened his mouth to ask for the price, to make a show of haggling before giving in to the extortionate amount she would no doubt charge, but no sound would come out. He cleared his throat and tried again, but nothing except a throaty growl would come out. McCoy turned to the old woman, confused, but she just looked at him serenely.
She seemed to grow suddenly, shooting up into the sky then he howled with pain as his head pounded. His vision blurred, and the world shifted into shades of grey.
“Go,” the woman said from miles above. “Go to your woman.”
She lifted her foot and brought it down on the pavement firmly. The noise hurt McCoy’s ears and he backed up hurriedly, only to stumble and fall over his own legs. The woman stepped towards him again, and McCoy literally turned tail and ran.
He threw himself forwards, his brain struggling to process extra legs and a new world of scent that blasted his brain with its fierceness. Towering people thundered past him, some catching him a glancing blow with their feet. He tumbled to a halt underneath a market stall, panting furiously. It was there that his brain had the chance to catch up with the events of the day.
He investigated his new body with horror. There was hair, everywhere, short and black. He had no arms, four legs, a tail and an incredibly long tongue. His vision was sharp but lacking colour; his sense of smell had increased a thousand fold.
There was no escaping it. He was a dog, and a small one at that.
What the hell was he going to do now?
“Go to your woman,” the crazy lady with the jewellery had said. McCoy planned to do just that.
Christine woke a few hours later, the holovid on its second run in the corner of the room. A noise had awakened her, something unusual. She muted the woman sobbing at her lover’s bedside and listened again.
Sure enough, a faint scratching sound was coming from the hallway. Pulling her robe tight around her, she opened her door and looked around. There was nobody there, not even a member of the serving staff. She was about to go back in when a snuffling noise from her feet caught her attention, just as a wet little nose pushed at her bare toes.
She leapt back with a curse, and the small black puppy took it as an invitation to follow her into the room. Before she could catch it, it had had made its way to the centre of the living area and started to yap loudly. She closed the door in order to trap the creature, who was now running in circles excitedly on the carpet. Her heart swelled briefly. She had never seen anything so adorable in her life.
“Are you lost, sweetheart?” she crooned as she dropped to her knees next to the puppy. She reached out a hand to stroke its short hair, and laughed as the small dog launched itself into her lap. She scratched behind its ears, and it panted in delight. It curled up, small and defenceless, and her heart melted.
“Somebody must love you, to give you such a pretty collar,” she said, trying to catch a glimpse of an identity tag. There was none.
“A man of mystery, are you?” she chuckled, as the puppy licked at her fingers. She lifted to puppy onto its back to check, then set it right-side up again.
“Yes, definitely a man,” she said aloud, smiling at the disgruntled look on the dog’s face. It returned to exploring her fingers one by one.
“As gorgeous as you are, you can’t stay here. I bet some lucky little girl is wondering where you wandered off to,” Christine told the puppy as she gently placed him on the floor. She opened the door to the corridor again.
“Come on, boy. Come on. Time to go home.” She patted the side of her leg invitingly, but the dog plopped itself down firmly on the rug covering the marble floor. She tried more verbal encouragement, but the dog stayed put. When she lifted the small dog into her arms it whined so pitifully that she couldn’t bring herself to put it outside.
“I suppose the least I could do is feed you,” she said. Her own stomach rumbled loudly, and the dog yapped.
“Sorry sweetheart, I never got around to having dinner tonight myself. How about we order some room service, and eat together?”
The dog put its head on her chest and sighed loudly. Christine laughed, and took it for a yes.
She sent an order down to room service and it wasn’t long before two large plates of cooked meat and fried potatoes were delivered, along with bottles of water and wine. Christine scraped the fried potatoes onto her plate before shredding the meat into bite-sized pieces for the dog.
She felt the dog’s dark eyes on her as she doused her double portion with fragrant malt vinegar.
“These are no good for little dogs. You eat your steak like a good boy, and let me eat the naughty fried potatoes. Besides, I’ve earned them tonight. There’s nothing like comfort food when you’ve had your heart broken.”
She speared some of the steaming potatoes, and brought them to her mouth. She was mid-bite when the dog left his plate of shredded steak to lay his lead on her leg and whine pitifully. She stretched out a hand to smooth his hair.
“It’s ok, boy. Don’t be sad. I promise I’ll spend one night in my room acting like the world has ended, and then put on a smiling face tomorrow. Nobody will know how upset I got, except for you. Deal?”
The dog snorted in disgust, pressed his cold nose against her leg once more and then returned to his meal. They ate in silence, in perfect accord.
Christine made a makeshift water bowl out of a wide, shallow decorative bowl. The little dog lapped eagerly at the water, its long pink tongue splashing liquid everywhere.
“Messy pup!” Christine chided, fetching a towel from the bathroom to mop up the spill. The dog click-clacked his way around the room, investigating the furniture and her belongings. He stuck his head right into her carry-case and emerged with her communicator in his mouth and her lacy underwear wrapped around his head.
He made a strangled sound, and she ran over to prise the communicator from his strong jaws.
“No! Bad boy! Drop it! Drop!”
He did as he was told, and she was able to rescue the communicator from his drooling mouth. He darted away from her playfully when she reached for her underwear, and they spent a fun five minutes chasing each other around the room. The game ended when one of his legs got trapped in the material and he tumbled to a halt in the middle of the rug. She quickly pulled the lacy material away from him and stuffed it back into the carry case, which she zipped firmly shut.
“Time for bed, I think,” she said, hunting around the room for a makeshift basket. By the time she had assembled a nest of blankets for him, he had somehow scrambled up onto the large bed, his tail wagging furiously.
“Dogs do not sleep on beds, humans do,” she said firmly, but he barked loudly three times, and hit her with the biggest puppy-eyes she had ever seen. He spun in a circle, then lay down on the bed and wiggled into the covers.
She cracked.
“Just this once,” she warned him. “This is not to become a habit.”
He yapped and gave her hand another lick. She rolled her eyes and began to strip off her robe.
“I’ve got to stop being such a sucker for big brown eyes,” she muttered to herself, slipping under the covers. The dog inched closer to her, affecting a nonchalant manner. She rolled onto her side, and it cuddled into her warmth.
“You’re not exactly who I planned to spend the night with,” she whispered as she dimmed the lights using the control panel above the bed. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
The dog let out a big sigh, and nestled even closer.
She woke up the next morning to a loud banging on the door. The puppy was curled into a neat little ball and snoring in an adorable fashion.
After tugging on the robe and pulling a hand through her hair, she opened the door. A concerned-looking Kirk was standing there, his fist raised to pound again.
“Christine, is Bones here?”
Christine blinked at his urgent tones.
“I haven’t seen him since the day before yesterday, at the end of beta shift.”
Kirk frowned. “But he was supposed to be having dinner with you last night. It was all he was talking about.”
Christine stiffened, her voice turning slightly frosty.
“He decided not to turn up for our date, captain. He must have had a better offer.”
Kirk’s frown turned into an outright scowl.
“If you believe that Nurse Chapel, you’re twenty times a fool. His room is empty, never been slept in. He won’t answer his communicator and nobody’s seen him since he entered the market yesterday afternoon to hunt out that damn bracelet. Bones is missing, and we can’t find him.”
Christine paled, and covered her mouth in shock.
“’I’ll help, join a search party,” she stammered, but the captain shook his head.
“We already have teams scouring the city for clues. I need you to stay in the hotel lobby, and watch for him coming in. Raise me on the communicator if you spot him.”
Christine nodded wordlessly, and Kirk strode off quickly in the direction of the lifts. She shut the door, and turned back to the bed. The puppy had disappeared under the sheets, and was wriggling around in a highly distracting manner. She whipped off the sheets to reveal him eagerly investigating the very male portion of his anatomy with his tongue. Christine pulled a face.
“You are so male,” she hissed at him, and swooped him up into her arms. She deposited him outside on the balcony, and left him to do what he had to while she showered as quickly as she could.
The puppy was sitting outside the bathroom door whining quietly when she emerged in her towel.
“I’m sorry, boy,” she said, stooping down to scratch behind his ears. “I’m just worried, that’s all. Someone I love has gone missing, and I spent all last night cursing his name when he could be out there somewhere lost, or hurt, or...” She choked on her tears, and the puppy pulled himself up onto his hind legs to lap clumsily at her face.
She smiled, and gently pushed him away.
“A nice sentiment, pup, but I know where your tongue has been recently. Come on, let me get dressed. We’ll have a word with the desk staff while we’re in the lobby, and see who you belong to.”
Christine nipped back into the bathroom to wash her face again, and when she came out she found the puppy industriously pulling her carrycase across the floor to her. He sat quietly on the floor and watched her avidly as she towelled herself dry and pulled on underwear. He seemed to lose interest as she found her uniform tunic, and growled a little as she pulled on a pair of black trousers.
“Hush,” she told him sharply. He whined, but submitted, rolling on his back to show her his pale, rounded tummy. She took a minute to tickle it, sending him into paroxysms of delight. She picked him up and tucked him under an arm, picked up her communicator and headed out to the lobby to McCoy-spot.
If there was a better place to be than Christine Chapel’s lap, then McCoy didn’t want to know about it. His vision may be in greyscale, but his ears had never been sharper and his sense of smell was heightened beyond belief. He could hear the steady thud of her heartbeat, and the delicate smell of her rose-scented soap was tickling his nose delightfully. On her lap he picked up the darker, muskier undertone of her natural scent which was far more intoxicating. He blamed it for making him too dizzy to think straight, to try and find a way to communicate with her. He yawned, his stomach full from the sausages she had fed him by hand from her plate. Her rhythmic stroking of his ears was hypnotically blissful, and he could feel his tail thumping against her leg in counterpoint. This did not bother him as much as he knew it should have done.
She was worried about him, he knew that. Those tears she had shed had nearly killed him; the last thing he wanted was to bring her pain. A very small, evil part of him was secretly pleased to hear her talk about him and love in the same sentence, although he could have lived without Jim spilling his guts about how excited he had been when she had agreed to have dinner with him.
If he could just get through to her somehow, convince her to take him back to the ship and run him through the scanners in sickbay, he knew everything would work out just fine. Chekov hadn’t suffered any side effects after being de-evolved into a golden tamerind monkey that one time, after all. He’d even learned not to go poking about in ancient abandoned laboratories, something that the Enterprise’s security teams could do with a lesson in.
He could feel Christine’s fingers tug gently at the bracelet-turned-collar around his neck.
“Spot your owners, yet, boy?” she asked, peering down at him. McCoy shut his eyes disdainfully, and wriggled onto his back. Christine sighed, and started to stroke his stomach gently. Tingles of pleasure zipped back and forth along his body, and he sighed. He’d miss this when he changed back.
It was hard for him to measure time like this, but Christine had ordered another meal during their time in the lobby. She had picked at her food, and ended up hand feeding him choice tidbits. Late in the day his ears pricked up as he recognised his own scent and that of someone very familiar. He poked his head up from Christine’s lap and placed his two front paws on the table as Jim approached. He was carrying a bundle of blue and black clothes - his own uniform, McCoy realised.
“Anything to report, Lieutenant?” Jim asked as he reached the table in the lobby that Christine had chosen earlier that morning. He reached out absently to stroke McCoy’s head as Christine tried to stop her voice from wobbling as she reported in the negative.
McCoy couldn’t resist, and gave one of Jim’s fingers a little nip with his sharp puppy teeth. Jim swore and yanked his hand away.
“Vicious pet you’ve got there. Where’d you pick him up?”
“He appeared at my door last night, captain, and he hasn’t left me since. I told the hotel manager, but she said that there were no dogs on this planet, and no guest had reported one missing. I guess he’s a mystery.”
“Just like these.” Kirk hefted the bundle of clothes onto the table. “Some of the street vendors remembered McCoy from yesterday, he must have visited every jewellery stall in the market. We found these neatly folded in a side alley, along with his boots, communicator and all his credit chips.”
Christine frowned.
“You mean to say he stripped naked in a side alley for no reason, then disappeared.”
Kirk shrugged helplessly.
“There were no signs of violence in the alley, no blood on his clothing, and all his money is still there. Unless he’s fallen victim to a rogue band of nude doctor-kidnapping desperados, I’m all out of ideas.”
Christine looked at him, aghast.
“Please tell me you have another explanation for him disappearing. “
Jim shook his head.
“It’s amazing how Vulcan you sound, Nurse. Spock said pretty much the same thing. He and Scotty are recalibrating the long range sensors to scan the planet’s surface for his DNA. Sulu’s taking over on search party detail down here. Go back to your room and rest for a bit, we’ll keep you posted if we find anything.”
Christine lifted McCoy gently down to the floor, and then stood up herself. “If it’s an order, captain,” she said. “I’m not sure how much rest I can get with him missing out there, though.”
Jim laid a kindly hand on her shoulder, and McCoy couldn’t help but let out a low growl. When Jim let out a laugh, he pounced on his boot and tried to bite through the shiny leather.
“Bad puppy!” Christine hissed, tapping him firmly on the nose. McCoy blinked and let go of the boot.
“He’s defending you, Christine,” Jim teased, shooting a smile at the puppy. “He’s adopted you now. There’s no getting rid of him.”
Christine bent down and hauled McCoy up into her arms. “He’ll have to learn some manners if he wants to be kept,” she warned him, looking him straight in the eye. “No biting anyone, especially the captain. Understand, pup? Or it’ll be time for a little operation for you.”
McCoy let out a grunt that could be understood as affirmative, if you understood Labrador. Christine nodded to the captain who was wincing in male sympathy for the dog, and walked away, scratching idly at a wonderful spot right on the top of McCoy’s head. McCoy lay in her arms in total bliss, and only complained briefly when she deposited him in the bed in her room.
She pulled off her uniform and replaced it with the pyjamas of the previous night. She slid into bed, and he immediately cuddled in close to her. She lay on her back and repositioned him so he lay on her stomach, his head pillowed on her ample breasts.
I can die and go to heaven right now, he thought blissfully. It turns out there is a better place than her lap after all.
The bracelet began to feel warmer, suddenly. He shifted about, and tried to reach it with one of his legs. They weren’t long enough, though, and the warmth was beginning to get uncomfortable. He scrabbled at it vigorously and began to whine.
Christine sat up, concerned.
“What’s the matter, boy?” she asked. “Collar too tight?”
Her fingers reached behind his head, and after a few seconds she found the clasp. She unlocked the bracelet, and before McCoy could so much as whine in relief, a massive rush of colour and pain hit him suddenly like a punch to the face.
He shut his eyes and moaned, and was very surprised to hear it emerge as a moan, and not a whine. He didn’t have long to think about it however, as Christine let out a shrill, if somewhat muffled, scream.
He realised with start that he was human again, stark bollock naked and laying with his head between Christine’s breasts. He reared back in alarm, got tangled in a sheet and disappeared with a flailing of arms and legs over the side of the bed.
”Len?” Christine managed tentatively from the top of the bed.
A long drawn-out groan was her reply.
“I hit my head,” he said dazedly.
“You were a dog,” she said, as if she didn’t quite believe the evidence of her own eyes.
“I got better,” he offered, still processing the events of the last two days.
Christine reappeared, her face a picture of worry and bewilderment. He let her check him over for trauma as he wiggled all his fingers in turn, delighted beyond belief to have his digits returned to him. He never knew how much he valued his toes before.
“Why were you a dog?” she asked, her hands lingering on her upper arm.
He made a decision, reached out and pulled her into his lap. She didn’t even pretend to put up any resistance. He wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his nose in her hair.
“I followed some crazy lady down an alley, picked out a bracelet for you, she laid it across my wrist, and the next thing you know I’m trying to cover five miles on puppy feet to get back to you.”
Her face softened.
“You were buying me a present?” she asked, her fingers stroking softly over the shell of his ear. Tingles of very familiar pleasure shot down his spine and he shivered.
“Well, I suppose I’ll let you off the hook for standing me up, then,” she said as he tightened his grip on her and altered the angle of his neck so she had better access to his ear.
“We still had our date,” he argued. “We had dinner together. I even let you have all my fries.”
Christine blew a raspberry.
“Date don’t count if your partner gets turned into another species. Besides, you were the only one getting lucky afterwards. Don’t think I didn’t see you under the covers.”
McCoy blushed, but sailed valiantly on.
“I defy any man not to do that if he could,” he said, chin held high.
Christine laughed, and it only took him a split second to join her. She stopped laughing as he kissed her, and the noise turned into a throaty moan. Suddenly more grateful than ever for his hands, he ran them over any part of her body he could reach. She moved off his lap to reposition herself, and he took that opportunity to move them both back up onto the bed.
Christine found herself underneath his weight again, only this time it was a far more pleasurable experience for everybody involved. He explored every inch of her body with his tongue and lips, then again with his fingers and the palms of his hands. By the time he slipped deep within her she was teetering on the verge of her own bliss; by the time he exploded within her she had come and gone and risen again twice more, each time resurrected to pleasure by his sure touch.
They lay curled together afterwards, and she absently extended her hand to rub his stomach gently. He rolled over to whisper in her ear, an arm thrown possessively over her breasts.
“Bet you’re glad I didn’t get that little operation now, aren’t you?”
She let out her laughter in an unladylike snort, which set him off too. He rolled off her, and frowned as something uncomfortable poked him in the backside. He fished around behind him and came up the bracelet.
“I think this belongs to you,” he said, holding the necklace between two fingers. It was no longer warm to the touch, so he supposed it was safe for her to wear. She took it and laid it gingerly across her arm. They both waited with baited breath, but there was no miraculous transformation.
“It’s beautiful,” Christine said quietly, her eyes taking in every delicate twist of wire, every subtle sparkle from the shining stones. “I’ve never owned anything so lovely, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said, fastening the clasp around her wrist and turning it this way and that so he could admire it from every angle. “But any more jewellery you get from me will be from a reputable dealer, not a crazy woman with a puppy fixation.”
“You’ll just give it to a crazy woman with a puppy fixation,” she teased, scratching behind an ear again.
“Arf,” he said in pleasure, settling down to enjoy the benefits of a woman who knows exactly how a man needs his ears to be scratched.