Fic: Never Before (McCoy/Chapel)

[urbancate]

Title: Never Before
Rating: R
Word Count: 1500
Summary: Written for this prompt from Sinfest v4:

She said she's never been
Never been touched before
She said she'd never been
This far before
She said she'd never liked
To be excited
She said she'd always had
Had to fight it (and she never won)
 

McCoy - Leonard, Doctor - she is not sure how to think of him in this moment - Leonard is close. She's close, too, but not as close as he is. In a few more strokes his rhythm - the slick, deep, in and out, retreat and thrust and grind of sex and sex - his rhythm will falter, stutter, he will groan and growl and grimace and it will be over. And she will still just be close. So she does the only thing she can think of: she arches more sharply, pitches her moans and sighs higher, twists one hand harder into the sheet beside her, throws her head back as part of the dramatic finale.

 

Only...

 

McCoy - Leonard - has stopped moving. And not because he's done. She opens her eyes to find his sex-dark eyes studying her and a scowl forming across his forehead. "You fakin' it?"

 

No one, not even Roger, in his time, has ever asked her that question. She swallows, hard, doesn't speak. The scowl becomes the trademark eyebrow raise of doom. This is not how this is supposed to go.

 

"Christine," he prompts, raising himself higher on his forearms to study her more completely up and down. He also pushes higher inside her and she whimpers a little - why can't he just keep going?

 

That eyebrow is still raised, demanding that she answer, spill, speak. She nods and looks away. This is not how this is supposed to happen at all.

 

"Why?" His voice is gentle and confused and bed-rough all at the same time.

 

"I..It's...I just can't."

 

"Can't?"

 

"I never have. But it's okay. Really. Just keep going." She likes his body in motion, their bodies in motion together. Would he please just start moving again?

 

"No."

 

"No?" It's the most ridiculous staring contest ever, a coitus interruptus showdown.

 

"What do you mean never?" Oh, god, he's going to interrogate her on her feminine failings while he is still inside her.

 

"Never means never."

 

"Not even on your own?"

 

"No." She wants to cry and push him away or pull him in deeper. She doesn't know what she wants to do, so she turns her head to look at the wall.

 

"God, Christine," his hand, gentle on her jaw, brings her back to look at him. "Why didn't you say anything?"

 

She sighs. "Because I didn't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it." She looks away again. She's flushed with embarrassment now, not arousal or sex - all of that has cooled.

 

He pulls out and away, sits on the edge of the bed for a moment before grabbing his pants and getting dressed.

 

It's official, she thinks, hugging a blanket to her chest as he leaves, Worst Third Date Ever.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

They don't talk about it. They work together as they always have – easy and efficient and professional. The humor sort of disappears, though. But it's a small thing, she decides. Better that they do it this way, act like it never happened. When she thinks about it at all, replays it in the privacy of her mind, in the privacy of her quarters, she is mortified. She actually cries one night into her pillow. It never mattered all that much before, why does it matter now?

 

 

-

 

 

 

She has control issues, she knows that much. She doesn't surrender. She fights. Even against a physical surrender that is actually just a function of the autonomic nervous system. You could have an orgasm when you're dead, she remembers from a classroom lecture. Yeah, right.

 

 

-

 

 

 

She doesn't even try doing it for herself. She doesn't try anymore what doesn't work.

 

 

-

 

 

 

It's late, she's in her pajamas, when the door alert chimes. McCoy is the last person she expects to see when the door swooshes open, but there he is - leaning into her space as soon as the space is available, one hand braced against the frame.

 

"You didn't think I'd just give up, did you?"

 

"Well, yes?"

 

"Not on your life, Christine." He cups her jaw with one of those big hands, pulls her up for a kiss. A closed-mouth, nearly sexless kiss. A nothing of a kiss, really. Except his eyes are intense and heated. Except she shivers a little. Except it absolutely makes her toes curl.

 

She blinks when he pulls back. What is he doing? What is this? "What are you doing?"

 

"Just putting you on notice."

 

He disappears down the corridor.

 

She stews about it all night, barely sleeping. Notice? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

 

 

-

 

 

 

She discovers very quickly the next day exactly what it means. McCoy is waging a war. On her. A dedicated campaign of fluttery clandestine touches and intense looks. Her neck, her elbow, the inside of her wrist, even her thigh below her uniform. Any opportunity he has, he touches her. He doesn't say anything, he just looks at her like pure sex and traces fingertips along her skin at random.

 

It drives her fucking insane. In the "I'd like to fuck you, insanely, right now, please and thank you" way. One whole shift of Leonard McCoy's campaign to turn Christine Chapel into a gooey mess and she's ready to jump his bones, yes she just made that terrible joke in her head.

 

Three shifts and she's ready for a visit to the asylum. Whatever asylum she can find that still considers sex part of the therapy. Three shifts and she's cornering him in his office. "Stop it."

 

"Stop what?" He looks up from his chair.

 

"Seducing me, you idiot. Just stop it!"

 

"So it's working."

 

"Of course it's - I mean, no!" She turns sharply on her heel to exit. He's laughing behind her.

 

"Nurse Chapel!"

 

"Yes, Doctor McCoy?"

 

"Don't even think about self administering."

 

She blinks at him. "What?"

 

"Leave this situation to an expert."

 

She stomps away.

 

 

-

 

 

 

Five shifts. Forty hours. The Seduction of Christine Chapel by Dr. Leonard McCoy continues.

 

-

 

 

 

Nine days. Seven shifts. Fifty-six insanity-inducing hours followed by nine sleepless, sweaty nights of tossing and turning while her blood itches underneath her skin and not once does she ever touch herself. She's unraveling, rising to fever pitch, higher and higher, and she's terrified and ravenously hungry. She's a creature of need and desire. It's insane and wonderful.

 

 

-

 

 

 

On the tenth day, he doesn't touch her. His eyes are the same, but he keeps his hands to himself. By the time shift is over, she is shaking. But she has reached a decision. She finds him in his office again.

 

"Tonight, McCoy."

 

"What's wrong with right now?"

 

"But -"

 

"Close the door, Christine."

 

"But -"

 

"Just do it."

 

She closes the door and leans back, tries to gather her wits, or at least stop shaking.

 

"I'm not giving you time to sit around in your quarters and think about this too hard." He's invading her space again, looming over her. God, he is tall, she thinks. When he kisses her this time it's with both hands on her jaw and it's completely different from last time. His mouth is hot and demanding and devouring, all the things his eyes have been promising. His tongue swoops in and he tastes so good. He bites at her lip and she sucks on his tongue and it's like they're inventing kissing.

 

She hasn't been able to think straight for days and now she can't think at all. Somehow she's sitting on his desk and her legs are wrapped around his lean hips and it's not enough, his mouth is not enough, so she starts tugging at his shirt.

 

"Not yet," he laughs softly against her mouth.

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because." As if that answers that. And it doesn't. Until his hands are pushing her uniform skirt up and up and his thumb brushes against the focal point of all her need.

 

"Oh, god," she moans and can't believe the sound of her own voice, can't believe she's about to come apart all over McCoy's desk.

 

"Don't think about it," he says and he's pushing her panties down and using his fingers to open her up where she's wet, so wet, she's never been so goddamn drenched in her life. Two of those long fingers thrust inside her while his thumb presses and circles at her clit. He's fucking her with his fingers and she's going to explode. Never, never before. His tongue in her mouth mimics his fingers and everything swirls out of control. Christine whirls beyond control or fight or thought. She just winds up tighter and tighter until it's all too too much and there's no choice but release and flight.

 

She thinks she screams a little.

 

 

-

 

 

 

She knows she screams a lot, later, in his bed. Her legs are draped over his shoulders and his head is intent between her thighs. He eats her out, he fucks her with his tongue, and she screams and comes and laughs. And he does it again. And again. Until she's sure she doesn't have any more to give, that her body is done.

 

He proves her wrong with a single, sure thrust. He grins down at her and she smiles up at him. "You are a wicked, wicked man, Leonard."

 

"Only for you, woman. Only for you."

Comments

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Thank you! It's my personal canon that Bones is actually a wicked sexy man. XD