SHIP WARS: TEAM MCCHAPEL: PROMPT 3 ENTRY
Title: Instincts of My Own
Ship: Chapel/ McCoy
Author: seren_ccd
Beta: fringedweller
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Very slight blood-play, slight dubious consent.
Disclaimer: They are not mine. 'Tis a pity, really. Title comes from Wild by Poe.
Summary: It's taken five hours for Christine to become this shaking, quietly gasping shell of herself that wants one thing.
It's been five hours since Christine and Dr McCoy were exposed to the pollen.
Five hours since they'd been thrust into quarantine in a spare lab, wearing only light tunics due to their over-sensitized skin.
Five hours analyzing the chemical to see if there was another way (any way) to counteract it before it took them over.
Five hours for Christine to become this shaking, quietly gasping shell of herself that wants one thing.
McCoy.
She wants him inside of her. She wants to feel and taste all of him.
And she sees the exact same want in his eyes.
When he deigns to look at her, that is.
He's in his corner with his PADD and equipment, she's in hers. They discovered the hard way (heh, she thinks) that just being within a two foot radius of the other is bad news.
A part of her wants to say, literally, 'Screw it,' and let the chemical take it's course, but nature is a bitch and the plant the pollen comes from is carnivorous. It doesn't fade, it increases. You literally copulate until you die, typically within reach of tentacles that drag you inside for dinner.
"I think I've managed to isolate the enzyme," Christine says to Spock and his science team. "I'm sending it now. You can see-"
"Chris..."
She freezes at the sound of McCoy's voice. Just stops. She gets to her feet and, for the first time in an hour, faces him.
He's got bloodshot eyes, sweat trickling down the side of his face and is goddamn gorgeous.
Five hours. They've run out of time.
"Turn off the surveillance, Spock," McCoy says staring at Christine.
"Doctor, I don't--"
"Turn the fucking surveillance off, Spock!"
"It's okay, commander," Christine says with a calm she truly doesn't feel. "You have the pieces. Put them together for us, please."
"Understood, lieutenant. Spock out."
Silence.
"This is not how I imagined it," McCoy says.
"Me neither."
His mouth twists. "I don't think I can be gentle, Chris."
"I don't think I want you to be," she whispers.
And then he's there, kissing her with a ferocity that should scare her, his hands are rough and she. Just. Wants. More.
His tongue strokes hard against hers and she matches his fervor with a need that continues to grow.
She tears his shirt off of him, catching a nail on his skin. Her mouth instantly latches onto the small wound, lapping the small beads of red. If she was at all Christine, instead of pure want, perhaps she'd have a problem with tasting his blood.
But she doesn't.
Neither does he. McCoy groans at the sensation of her tongue on his skin. Tangling a hand in her hair, he yanks, baring her throat to him which he sucks until she cries out. The cry only serves to make him suckle harder wanting to tear the very sound from her as though it were a tangible thing.
He stops the assault on her throat to claw at her tunic dress. It rips down the front and he immediately palms her breasts. She arches her back into his touch and grabs fistfuls of his hair to guide his mouth. McCoy flattens his tongue and slowly drags it over her nipple. She literally cannot breathe through the stimulation, her vision begins to go hazy. Then he bites down hard and she gasps in a breath.
"So good, so good," he murmurs into her skin.
"More," is her reply.
Her tunic and panties falls to the ground. His trousers are gone with a pull of a drawstring, then he's raking his hands down to her thighs and hoisting her up, her legs wrap around his bare hips. His cock drags hot against her cunt and she moans while she presses against him.
McCoy drops her on the desk, the cool surface a welcome shock to her heated skin. Their mouths clash together in a fusion of teeth and tongues. She reaches for him and he makes a noise deep in his throat at her touch, she strokes him once then guides him to her sex. The head of his cock brushes against her already swollen clit and Christine shudders. The part of her brain that is still rational knows how long it's been for her and that this is going to hurt, no matter how aroused she is.
"Look at me," he growls.
The instant their eyes meet, he thrusts home.
Christine's orgasm is already five hours in the making, so she comes immediately in a daze of pain and pleasure. McCoy swallows her cries with his mouth. He thumbs her clit to make her come again.
"More, more, damn it," he says. "Need more."
It's the pollen, she knows that has turned her body into pure need and it frightens her how much she wants this and how helpless she is to stop it. She comes again with a cry that hurts her throat and Christine struggles to swallow.
McCoy pulls out of her completely and before she can sob in protest, he's pulled her to her feet and spun her around to face the desk.
She wants to keep touching him, but he forces her hands down on the desk.
"You're going to take it," he grunts. "You've got to take it, honey."
"Yes, yes," she chants.
McCoy's large hands cover hers as he pushes into her so hard her teeth click together.
"Tight, fuck, Christine, take it." McCoy is pounding into her and the desk is digging into the tops of her thighs. He hits a spot deep within and she's coming again, all the nerves in her body screaming.
He erupts into her with an agonized groan. McCoy slumps over her, and they shiver with aftershocks.
His cock is still hard inside her.
And Christine craves more.
"They'll figure it out," he says, his body rocking into her.
"If they don't?" she asks.
McCoy says nothing, just kisses the bruise forming on her neck.