Detente

[sharpestscalpel]

It had chaffed at first. Jocelyn had left him to rot, pissed as hell about the kid. He’d mulled over vivid revenge fantasies until, the first time he saw her afterwards, he’d had to clench his fists in his pockets so they wouldn’t reach out of their own accord and settle over her fine collarbones and reel her in for a taste old-fashioned McCoy justice like spit in her eye.

But in the end, he hadn’t blamed her. She was a conniver and he hadn’t ever been as willing a participant in her scheme as she’d have liked. Jocelyn had deserved a shot a making it on her own terms. She’d taken that chance.

She hadn’t done half-bad for herself, McCoy had to admit. But then, neither had he. Especially considering where Pike had found him. Every day spent in solitary – it had worn on him, made him tired and angry and hungry for hurting things in ways he’d never been on the outside.

Pike had come, waving a shiny new medical license and a Fleet uniform, an offer too good to pass up. CMO of the Fleet’s fancy new darling of a flagship or shitting his bed out of boredom inside four walls with no windows? At least in space he’d see the stars.

The stars and pretty little officers all dressed up like they were real shitting captains. Uhura strode over to his table, tiny body full of energy and violence in a way that made her extra appealing to look at, and took the other seat without asking.

“McCoy, what the hell?” Uhura hadn’t really counted on Kirk coming back. She surveyed the emaciated man – she’d teased him about his slim hips but this was ridiculous – sitting slightly behind the doctor, watching everything from those haunted blue eyes.

Uhura was the one chaffing now, all the power she’d thought she had coming with a ride-along, circumscribed from being absolute. She had the ship. But McCoy had his sickbay. And she’d eventually need it, need him. Pike had given McCoy more than he’d expected – but he’d still fucked them both because they were stuck with each other.

“You want to make this an official conversation, we can take it back to your office… Captain.” The pause was significant, not quite insulting but certainly not currying favor.

Her headshake was minimal but definite. Their dependence on one another wasn’t known – and she’d prefer to keep it that way. McCoy had never made a play for power that Uhura knew of but he’d have all of her enemies rallying behind him if the stalemate became common knowledge.

“Kirk.” Uhura acknowledged him at least. He had his rank, she’d checked the computer records. He’d need McCoy to clear him for duty before he could set foot on the bridge and even then Uhura wasn’t about to trust the blond man. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant to see him alive, especially if being in the good doctor’s care mean McCoy had something invested in him. There was some sort of opportunity here, she just had to sniff it out.

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[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

By the time Kirk joined them, McCoy stripped Chapel's panties from her, the blue scrap left dangling from one ankle that was hanging off the bed. Her legs were spread wide to allow his hand access and he was whispering in her ear as she wept and writhed.

McCoy looked up at the sound of the door.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Chapel was not an unattractive woman, and under other circumstances, seeing McCoy (still wearing his pants) with his fingers up her and her eyes screwed shut as he glanced up over his prey would have had Kirk hard almost instantly. But there was not a twinge from the limp organ under two layers of the best terrycloth. It was all intellectual: the lowered lids, the sweep of his eyes across them both, the step forward through the remnants of steam as it escaped. If he'd been either of them, the sight of a fucking scarecrow would just about ruin this moment for good, but he guessed he was pretty glad he wasn't either of them anyway.

He finished his perusal, and his eyes met McCoy's.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel's state of being was up for grabs but being McCoy was really pretty awesome. At least McCoy thought so, when he thought such things.

He removed his fingers and shushed Chapel's whine of protest by running the damp digits over her lips before motioning for Kirk to join them on the bed.

"She likes some fucking being talked to and I am goddamn all talked the hell out."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

It sounded like something between a favor and a command, though Kirk wasn't about to mistake it for the former. He approached, towel tucked firmly into itself as he was firmly of the unoriginal opinion that however weird male genitalia were by default, mutilation of them wasn't the most arousing thing. He lowered himself on the other side of Chapel, mirroring McCoy's position to bend close to her ear. She was flushed with desperation and god knew what else she was getting from this--not that he doubt McCoy's ability to bring her off, but he doubted very much just what was going on in that head of hers. He doubted even she knew.

"Told you he'd take care of you," he murmured as she panted. "You nice and wet for him, baby?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel nodded frantically. McCoy muffled his chuckle in the fabric of the dress she was still wearing and worked his way down until one of her legs was over his shoulder and he was settling in between her thighs.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk loved sex. He loved it enough that it had been a long time since he'd had to force anything, to try not to think about what he was doing, or let it get to him. Sex had been a fairly substantial pastime.

Neither was he unused to getting whatever job done he had to. But now, knowing what he did, knowing he couldn't ever, was different. He had to suppress that despair he'd first felt, looking down at the gathered skin where his scrotum had been. Sure, he could still get someone off. And that would carry some satisfaction with it. But knowing he'd never want it, never feel it, was a void he didn't know how to fill yet.

"Good girl," he soothed, his breath tickling the fine hair behind her ear. "So nice and ready for him. Bet you taste so good, it's a fucking favor to let him eat you out like that. He good at it, baby? Bet he's got a clever tongue, knows just how to treat a sweet little piece like you."

He kept up a meaningless stream, not touching her, but unable to keep from stealing glances down her body.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

The way Chapel fought her own pleasure was usually good enough to get McCoy going - but this time he was more interested in the way Kirkw as wallowing in his own convictions of impotence. His mouth was talented and he knew Chapel inside and out, but his tongue stroked her by rote, the bulk of his mind occupied with how to jolt Kirk back into some semblance of awareness. The nerves had healed by now. The hormone treatment was keeping him at pre-castration hormone levels. Hell, at pre-suicide-by-assassination-attempt levels.

Fucking stubborn bastard. McCoy liked him.

And he liked the filthy words Kirk was whispering to Chapel's eager ear - nice to find someone capable of being goddamn vocal.

Chapel arched under his mouth, her hand reaching to grasp at Kirk's shoulder.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

It was almost odd, being touched like this, without intent to harm or heal. Even if she had no idea what she was doing at this point.

"That's it," he murmured. "Wish you could see him, buried nose-deep in your cunt. It's a pretty picture, baby."

It was, in a curiously abstract way. Never before had Kirk been aesthetically appreciative like this, unmoved otherwise. It was more disconcerting than anything else.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel sobbed when she came, with a drawn out wail of grief and pleasure.

McCoy kissed the tops of her thighs and smoothed her dress back into place, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand like a kid with watermelon or some similarly messy fruit. He moved back up on the bed until he could rest his head on a pillow.

"There you go, Chrissy. Didn't we fucking take care of you?" His hand was heavy on her stomach and Chapel's nod was uncoordinated, disjointed with relief.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

McCoy was a puzzle. One Kirk was finding himself more fascinated by all the time. What, exactly, did he get out of "taking care of" Chapel and Rien and whatever else? How was it related to whatever had made her this way? And what, exactly, was meant by including him? It had to be more than the constant fucking reminder of his own lack.

He leaned back from her ear, his head coming to rest on the pillow on the other side of her, and looked at the ceiling for a moment.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

The three of them were still and quiet until Chapel moved, rose from the bed to gather her things. She was almost shy as she fidgeted with her skirt and her knitting, blushing prettily whenever she looked in Kirk's direction.

For his part, McCoy was comfortable - he didn't move, just watched as she got herself put back together, sans the underpants that were crumpled on the floor on his side of the bed. She didn't need those - even though the walk back to her quarters would be drafty.

"You go get some sleep, Chapel." She nodded at his words and, still running her hands over the back of her skirt to make sure nothing was showing, she backed out of the room without another word, with only another nod to the man she called Bones.

Once the door had closed behind her, McCoy shook his head. Then he raised his hips so he could shuck his own pants without getting up. He was half-hard from eating her out, from Kirk's words, from the whole fucking situation but he didn't touch himself or make a move toward Kirk. McCoy settled back and pulled the blanket up over him and yawned.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk's confusion could only grow. McCoy had been almost sweet to Chapel--had, indeed, taken care of her even if the reasons for the need to were his own. And now he made no move to relieve himself, and for a moment it caught Kirk off guard such that he didn't move, either. Just lay there, prone and waiting, towel rucked up slightly around knobby knees and quickly growing chilled.

Was McCoy waiting for him? Was Kirk supposed to make the first move, to keep McCoy from having to? He knew he could not simply lie here, awkwardly, in bed and uncertain. For one, it was far too intimate, more so even than anything that had gone on that day. Which suddenly seemed overwhelming, now that it had stilled around them.

He rolled onto his side, fighting the urge to lick his dry lips.

"You need something?" he asked, his voice low and inviting.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

It was fucking tempting. Kirk was offering - but he didn't want it yet - McCoy had seen the academic interest in Kirk's eyes. He had a little more goddamn work to do. So he yawned again, tucked himself over onto his side, facing Kirk.

"About 6 or 7 uninterrupted fucking hours is what I need." Sleep would be sweet, too. "What about you, Blue? You looking for a fucking goodnight kiss?" With that, McCoy reached to hold Kirk's chin, leaned forward to brush a sweet and soft kiss over the blond's chapped lips. He waited a few heartbeats, then moved their mouths together again, still gentle, still easy until he was done.

McCoy rolled to his other side, bundling himself in the blankets. "Hit the lights when you go to bed. And get some damn moisturizer or something on those lips before you spring a damn open wound from gnawing on them or something."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk stared at him, lips parted, for what seemed like an eternity. That had not been what he was expecting, which was, he now realized, foolish. McCoy wasn't the type to force his dick down a man's throat. He still didn't know what the man wanted, or was waiting for, though he seemed pretty keen on keeping Kirk on edge.

He didn't recognize the basic sweetness of the kiss until it was over, though he had, unconsciously, been on the point of responding.

Kirk blinked again, and then got up, moving almost automatically. Like Chapel, perhaps, but then again not at all. He'd been bent beyond his own recognition, but not broken. There were some sweats folded on the back of the sofa--he put them on, pulled the bed out, and ordered the lights off, all unthinking.

And then lay there, unable to stop thinking in the dark.