Be gentle with me, this is my first time...
Title: Nurse Chapel's Education
Author
i_msoashamed
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Old School TOS use of the word "penetrate". Chapel has some internalized homophobia.
Disclaimer: I ain't got no beta, mostly because I am such a n00b I have no idea how to go about finding one. Paramount is watching us masturbate. Also, there's this little place on Argon 5 where the girls aren't girls...
It was gamma shift on the Enterprise, and the only sound to be heard in the lab was the hum of the air vents.
Nurse Chapel took another petri dish from the incubator, made the required measurements, marked the changes on her PADD, and sighed. Doctor McCoy would have performed the task himself, but it was Friday night--or had, been, until 2 hours ago--and he was currently on shore leave. Christine was the last person to begrudge him that: the man hardly seemed to sleep, most nights, and made up for it by shouting at his staff the next day.
He'd come to her quarters to drop off the lab's authorization codes beforehand, Mr. Spock in tow. Christine has been saved from her usual tongue-tied response at the sight of those sculpted eyebrows by the fact that the good Doctor was looking quite strange in jeans and a white T-shirt. Even stranger, he'd been jovial enough to slap Mr. Spock on the back as they'd left, though she suspected that had more to do with the bulge she could see in his back pocket than anything else. Why a man with so much intelligence would continually ruin himself with the demon alcohol was beyond her, but Mr. Spock was with him. He'd keep the Doctor out of trouble.
Dear Mr. Spock. Christine found herself rubbing her thumb against the white mark her wedding ring had left on her finger, her mouth smiling as her eyes grew sad. She'd been having those dreams again...dreams where a tall dark man would come to her and take her in his arms, whispering how he loved her, that he'd always loved her but had never been able--
She jumped at the swoosh of the automatic door, followed by a lot of swearing as Dr. McCoy stumbled into what sounded like a table laid with medical instruments. She couldn't see him, because the lab was a kind of inner sanctum in sick bay, with its own manual door. And she didn't need to see the owner of the second voice to know who it was.
"Doctor, you are intoxicated."
It was a kind of dark purr, and she felt her knees quite literally weaken, a tingling sensation beginning somewhere below her navel. It was always like this: never getting any better, never with any less intensity, never taking her any less than completely unawares. The symbols on her PADD were the same, but she found she couldn't make them out any more than if they had been scrambled.
McCoy grumbled something about how he was not only intoxicated, he was bleeding to death, but it was broken off by the sound of someone sitting heavily on a biobed. Or, perhaps, being forced onto a biobed.
"I accompanied you to this place with the expectation that we were to have what is called "a drink"--" Christine suddenly realized that Spock was in the middle of what was, for him, a tirade, and they had probably been keeping it up all the way back from the transporter room where a sleepy ensign was in charge of beaming up people when they got too drunk to find their tricorders. "I do not wish to speculate upon the reason why several of the dancers greeted you by name, even though to my knowledge this is the first time you had visited this planet. Nor do I wish to know why you had a hypospray in your back pocket filled with what was evidently an extremely strong tranquilizer."
"I was rescuing you--"
"The Klingon's advances were unpleasant, but I was capable of dealing with them without your assistance. If you had not interfered, the Klingon's companions would not have taken offense, and you would not have received the knife wound which I am now obligated to treat you for."
"Aw, Spock," McCoy drawled, "I never knew you cared."
"I am quite unable to understand your constant need to disagree," said Spock, "nor your habit of making comments with inappropriate subtexts." Christine heard the sound of a spray-on bandage being applied, the slide of a drawer. "It is the logical course of action that I take care of your injuries. If the ship's doctor was incapacitated, it would limit the Enterprises' ef--"
"Shut up, Spock," she heard McCoy say, and Nurse Chapel was pushing open the lab door to guiltily announce her presence. The one-inch gap revealed Mr. Spock sitting at the computer, McCoy standing next to him. The Doctor was holding Mr. Spock's face between his two hands, and their lips were pressed together passionately.
There was a tinkling noise as Mr. Spock's hand released the antibiotic hypospray he'd been holding and it broke on the floor.
Christine's back was pressed to the wall beside the lab door before she realized how she'd gotten there, and her hand was pressed to her mouth. She thought she'd never get over the shock. How could Doctor McCoy, a respected man who had gone to a prestigious university, ever do something so vile?
It was only then that she heard the sound of lips parting.
Shuffling sounds brought her to the crack in the door again, and she caught her breath. Dr. McCoy had been forced onto his knees by Mr. Spock, who had his hand twisted in the older man's hair. McCoy had the pop-eyed look of someone being penetrated by a Vulcan mind-meld. Mr. Spock's face was expressionless, though his long-fingered hand trembled slightly as he turned the Doctor's face up to his.
He's killing him, she thought, and was about to scream for help when she heard the Doctor's voice over the roar of blood in her ears.
"Yes, yes, please, yes..."
Mr. Spock pulled him to his feet, threw him down on the nearest biobed, and climbed on top.
More to come?
Author
i_msoashamed
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Old School TOS use of the word "penetrate". Chapel has some internalized homophobia.
Disclaimer: I ain't got no beta, mostly because I am such a n00b I have no idea how to go about finding one. Paramount is watching us masturbate. Also, there's this little place on Argon 5 where the girls aren't girls...
It was gamma shift on the Enterprise, and the only sound to be heard in the lab was the hum of the air vents.
Nurse Chapel took another petri dish from the incubator, made the required measurements, marked the changes on her PADD, and sighed. Doctor McCoy would have performed the task himself, but it was Friday night--or had, been, until 2 hours ago--and he was currently on shore leave. Christine was the last person to begrudge him that: the man hardly seemed to sleep, most nights, and made up for it by shouting at his staff the next day.
He'd come to her quarters to drop off the lab's authorization codes beforehand, Mr. Spock in tow. Christine has been saved from her usual tongue-tied response at the sight of those sculpted eyebrows by the fact that the good Doctor was looking quite strange in jeans and a white T-shirt. Even stranger, he'd been jovial enough to slap Mr. Spock on the back as they'd left, though she suspected that had more to do with the bulge she could see in his back pocket than anything else. Why a man with so much intelligence would continually ruin himself with the demon alcohol was beyond her, but Mr. Spock was with him. He'd keep the Doctor out of trouble.
Dear Mr. Spock. Christine found herself rubbing her thumb against the white mark her wedding ring had left on her finger, her mouth smiling as her eyes grew sad. She'd been having those dreams again...dreams where a tall dark man would come to her and take her in his arms, whispering how he loved her, that he'd always loved her but had never been able--
She jumped at the swoosh of the automatic door, followed by a lot of swearing as Dr. McCoy stumbled into what sounded like a table laid with medical instruments. She couldn't see him, because the lab was a kind of inner sanctum in sick bay, with its own manual door. And she didn't need to see the owner of the second voice to know who it was.
"Doctor, you are intoxicated."
It was a kind of dark purr, and she felt her knees quite literally weaken, a tingling sensation beginning somewhere below her navel. It was always like this: never getting any better, never with any less intensity, never taking her any less than completely unawares. The symbols on her PADD were the same, but she found she couldn't make them out any more than if they had been scrambled.
McCoy grumbled something about how he was not only intoxicated, he was bleeding to death, but it was broken off by the sound of someone sitting heavily on a biobed. Or, perhaps, being forced onto a biobed.
"I accompanied you to this place with the expectation that we were to have what is called "a drink"--" Christine suddenly realized that Spock was in the middle of what was, for him, a tirade, and they had probably been keeping it up all the way back from the transporter room where a sleepy ensign was in charge of beaming up people when they got too drunk to find their tricorders. "I do not wish to speculate upon the reason why several of the dancers greeted you by name, even though to my knowledge this is the first time you had visited this planet. Nor do I wish to know why you had a hypospray in your back pocket filled with what was evidently an extremely strong tranquilizer."
"I was rescuing you--"
"The Klingon's advances were unpleasant, but I was capable of dealing with them without your assistance. If you had not interfered, the Klingon's companions would not have taken offense, and you would not have received the knife wound which I am now obligated to treat you for."
"Aw, Spock," McCoy drawled, "I never knew you cared."
"I am quite unable to understand your constant need to disagree," said Spock, "nor your habit of making comments with inappropriate subtexts." Christine heard the sound of a spray-on bandage being applied, the slide of a drawer. "It is the logical course of action that I take care of your injuries. If the ship's doctor was incapacitated, it would limit the Enterprises' ef--"
"Shut up, Spock," she heard McCoy say, and Nurse Chapel was pushing open the lab door to guiltily announce her presence. The one-inch gap revealed Mr. Spock sitting at the computer, McCoy standing next to him. The Doctor was holding Mr. Spock's face between his two hands, and their lips were pressed together passionately.
There was a tinkling noise as Mr. Spock's hand released the antibiotic hypospray he'd been holding and it broke on the floor.
Christine's back was pressed to the wall beside the lab door before she realized how she'd gotten there, and her hand was pressed to her mouth. She thought she'd never get over the shock. How could Doctor McCoy, a respected man who had gone to a prestigious university, ever do something so vile?
It was only then that she heard the sound of lips parting.
Shuffling sounds brought her to the crack in the door again, and she caught her breath. Dr. McCoy had been forced onto his knees by Mr. Spock, who had his hand twisted in the older man's hair. McCoy had the pop-eyed look of someone being penetrated by a Vulcan mind-meld. Mr. Spock's face was expressionless, though his long-fingered hand trembled slightly as he turned the Doctor's face up to his.
He's killing him, she thought, and was about to scream for help when she heard the Doctor's voice over the roar of blood in her ears.
"Yes, yes, please, yes..."
Mr. Spock pulled him to his feet, threw him down on the nearest biobed, and climbed on top.
More to come?