Caught in a bad romance

[sharpestscalpel]

The locked console gave a gentle trilling chime and McCoy looked over at it.

It didn't make that sound very often but, from the slowly spreading smile on his face, it was evident that he appreciated when it did.

The smile only widened as he read the communication sent from Earth. He readjusted himself in his pants as he scanned the words a second time.

That red silk had felt good, confining and constricting in all the right ways. Still, he'd have to buy her something pretty to make up for it. And if she floundered around trying to explain the new panties to that impotent fuckwad dicksnot of a senator she'd married, all the better.

McCoy's fingers were swift as he typed his response.

Aw, baby, there’s no damn reason to be like that about it. And you also know if Reggie gives you any trouble I’ll cut his fucking cock off and make him eat it like sashimi.

Hell, I’ll probably do that at some goddamn point anyway for fucking marrying my wife.

Besides, I know you found it and had two fingers in that pretty pussy faster than I’d be able to get into your pants if I’d been there. Don’t pretend to me it didn’t make you wet – you act like I don’t shitting know you, woman.

Just like you know I took the blue silk with me last time. Keep it in the top drawer of my nightstand for just in case I get lonesome.

You head of the Empire yet?

-L

He chuckled as he sent it off through protected, nearly invisible channels.

Comments

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Jos had been angry. Angrier than he'd ever seen her. He still wasn't sure if she'd had fucking feelings for the kid or if he'd just fucked up one of her goddamn schemes.

Woman was always scheming something.

"Some. Enough to interest her."

McCoy knocked back the rest of his drink, went to the bar for a refill. He considered - and then brought the bottle back to the couch with him. He grasped Kirk's hand in one of his own to steady it as he refilled the glass.

The amber liquid in his own glass matched the ring around his eyes as he thought about Jocelyn. No one else like her.

"You fucking trust me when I tell you: you want to hold her goddamn interest, I tell you what."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Had McCoy failed to? Was that what had happened? He seemed to have it back, to some extent anyway. Enough to exchange a hundred goddamned messages a day. What part was Kirk playing in that, he wondered.

He nodded, not missing the "my interest" hidden in the sentiment. The alcohol was going straight to his head again, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much. He was fucked either way, and he might as well be fucked by or with this maniac as anyone else. Until and unless he could get the upper hand. But that was the long game. The kind Kirk had better start learning how to play.

"I'm getting that," he said.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

"Pissing her off ain't a damn good idea either - ain't like I called the fucking cops on myself."

McCoy chuckled, fond.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

McCoy was a grade-A lunatic, that was what. With good liquor.

"Seems like she got over it."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

He stretched his legs out, comfortable.

"She likes to lord it over me. That woman can hold a goddamn grudge. Don't stop her from loving what I got to offer."

If it had been anyone else, he'd have grasped his cock, sated for the moment from the video he'd sent her and the favorable response, through his pants in an obscene gesture. But this was Jocelyn. And that woman needed a fucking challenge like most organisms needed air, needed food and water. McCoy never bored her and she'd never be able to let him go. He didn't have her pegged entirely - and that was why he goddamn knew he was stuck in the same trap right there with her.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

McCoy's easy physical comfort was part of his menace; Kirk could not relax so completely, and the distinction was telling. Though Kirk was looser, now, from the shower and liquor and talk than he'd been in awhile. Not off his guard, but... slightly lulled, despite himself.

He'd never had anything like what McCoy was describing. As fucked up as it was, there wasn't anyone waiting for him anywhere. No alliances in wait, nothing to call his own.

"Sounds like an arrangement," he said. "What do you offer?"

It was a slightly dangerous question, but only depending on the answer McCoy chose to give.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

There were two voices in McCoy's head:

There was the voice that was him, that let him sprawl and fuck and take the risks that came as easy as breathing to him. That was the voice that chanted the names of bones, organs, muscles in glee when there was a significant injury for him to heal. That was the voice that liked the taste of blood.

The other voice was something separate it felt like at times: cautious, considering, assessing risks and factors and outcomes without ceasing. It woke him up at night sometimes with how damn loud it could get, counting out the possibilities and potential consequences. That was the voice he'd only ignored on one significant occasion - much to his own chagrin. It was the voice of a mindful parent, keeping safe eyes open for gators while the child swam in the river.

Right now, both voices were in accord. Blue Kirk would still turn on him given the chance. But he was coming over to McCoy's side of the fucking fence. McCoy could afford to give him a little bit, a chance to taste what McCoy gave so freely to Jocelyn.

But the kid's timing was shit. He wouldn't appreciate a physical display at the moment - and that was how McCoy and Jocelyn best communicated.

And so he considered his answer, rolled it around in his mouth with another swallow of his drink. It took different forms. Jocelyn got one thing and his pet nurses each got something different, too. It'd look different with this one, McCoy was willing to bet. But it all came down to one thing in the end.

"Belonging."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

There were few more alluring things McCoy could have said. Few things that Kirk's native suspicion would want to roll over for, despite not really knowing what the word meant. Not in any real sense. Because along with the conscious distrust of both man and concept was the vast, untapped reality that it was exactly what Kirk needed. What he longed for, and this world had never given him but a taste of.

He swallowed, face naked for an instant with something like longing before it was covered again. In a sense, he was part of McCoy's collection already. In another, he was on the cusp of choosing to be. As long as he could make himself believe it was a choice, and reciprocal.

Of course he knew none of this--just a little jolt of something he couldn't place.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

It felt sweet to be right. He'd been watching, seen that flash of naked longing. It was what he'd been gambling on and everything was coming up with his fucking number.

McCoy wouldn't push the moment.

"I figure you need a little more meat on you before heading to the goddamn gym - and before those cocksuckers get a good look at you. Wouldn't want them to be all underestimating my good work."

He gestured towards the console.

"Your computer access is fine, I checked it the fuck out myself. Spend some time catching up."

McCoy himself retrieved a book, sprawled on his bed, and read. He was aware of Kirk but gave no sign of it.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

It took Kirk a moment to collect himself and move. As if waiting for the other shoe, disbelieving that he now had computer access and McCoy was just going to... read.

He avoided swaying as he rose, though his head was feeling it, and made his way to the terminal. As with the replicator, his codes were operational. But Starfleet was used to sudden, unexcused absences, and any alliances he'd had had been severed, so there wasn't much of a personal nature to see. You didn't leave calling cards, especially linked to Pike's latest example. Unless, of course, you were a Rigellian prince. Assholes.

And the news was scarce. No word about Pike or Spock, though Kirk confirmed that Uhura was in charge now, that Chekov had been bumped up, and various personnel shifts had resulted in the scramble. Apparently that fucker Leslie was doing his job, but Kirk had never considered it more than a stepping stone anyway so decided not to give a rat's ass.

But his name, rank and accounts were still active, waiting, as if he'd just stepped out on shore leave. For months. It was a strange oversight on Spock's part, and Kirk had to assume McCoy was right. There was something between those two, something that went beyond political alliance and possibly beyond the loyalty a dog owed its master. Something that had distracted his attention from fully cleaning up the mess.

There was more Kirk wanted to know, of course, but if you were clever enough almost everything left a trail. And Kirk wasn't about to go snooping for dirt on McCoy's own terminal without some pretty sure safeguards. He'd just have to wait. He glanced over at the man, wondering what he could have done. Wondering what it was he had, that his little life fell around him like it did. That such a sick fuck wasn't either dead or running the place. And maybe that was the secret he'd found--how to live in the middle.