sharpestscalpel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sharpestscalpel) wrote2011-01-16 10:46 pm
sharpestscalpel) wrote2011-01-16 10:46 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Tickle My Fancy
Gift for europa_kore in the mccoy_chapel 2010 Fic Exchange
Title: Tickle My Fancy
Author:sharpestscalpel
Character/Pairing(s): McCoy/Chapel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,060
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: If I owned them, there's no telling what I'd actually be doing with them.
Notes: This is foreuropa_kore who prompted tickling in a general sort of way. I hope this tickles your fancy!
It started innocently enough. McCoy stepped backwards and Chapel put her hand just above his hip, where his uniform top had escaped his waistband, an unexpected span of warm skin. Instead of continuing his backwards motion, McCoy jerked forward and away as though she had burned him. He covered it, though, stepped back to make sure she was steady on her feet, in no danger of falling, before heading back to his office.
Christine Chapel didn't wonder about it, though she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the tips of her other fingers, savored the warmth she'd felt from his flesh. McCoy was her boss but he was exactly the kind of broad, slightly awkward man she fell for time and again - she could at least appreciate the contact. Chapel tossed her head and got back to work.
At least until it happened again. McCoy was already red along the tops of his ears and cheekbones, an endearing blush as he sat, without a shirt, on the bio bed in front of her. The lacerations on his chest weren't that deep but they wound around his torso, evidence of the talons he'd barely escaped. Chapel walked her fingers along the flesh as it knitted together, pink and healthy and sensitive, and McCoy swallowed a sound suspiciously like a laugh as the muscles of his side spasmed.
"You're ticklish." She meant it to be a bland observation. But the width of his shoulders, olive skin dusted with freckles, was already stretching her professionalism and her voice was throaty, teasing.
His habitual scowl darkened McCoy's features. "Involuntary response, Christine. Gargalesis. It ain’t knismesis, at least.”
Chapel was watchful; McCoy retreated into medical terminology when he was feeling out of his depth, when he was feeling uncertain. She suspected his ex bore only slight responsibility for that - social anxiety and its associated coping mechanisms often had deep roots. He was anxious about his response. Possibly embarrassed. Chapel pulled her fingers back. “Perfectly natural, Dr. McCoy. If you’ll just twist at the waist for me so I can check your range of motion?”
The routine had relaxed him enough that the rest of the treatment and exam had gone smoothly. But this time, as McCoy retreated to his office to yell at Kirk about foolish away missions and damn fool transporter stunts, Chapel pondered. And, after a few drinks with Gaila and Nyota, she’d resolved to test the stimulus, push for more response.
She’d been subtle, though, at least at first. Casual touches, nothing that would be inappropriate between the friends they were becoming. McCoy was acerbic and brilliant, tightly wound and driven; he didn’t flinch back from Chapel’s own intelligence or try to belittle her work as a nurse. he made her laugh and - she considered those occasions to be special triumphs - she made him laugh, head thrown back to reveal the flash of white teeth and the strong column of his neck. As much as she enjoyed the flashes of emotion that sparked in his eyes when she answered him with a particularly sharp retort, she enjoyed the reflexive widening of his eyes when she touched him, casually and easily, as though half the ship weren’t terrified of him.
His waist was always good for a response. If she could catch his skin, the reaction was stronger but he flinched away even from fingers over both of his uniform shirts. The inside of his elbow, she’d had the opportunity to discover during an impromptu water volleyball tournament organized by Kirk one shore leave, resulted in the usual physical twitching as well as a hot gasp that she definitely wanted to inspire again.
The back of his neck, during a friendly neckrub after a long surgery, got no reaction but fingernails trailed delicately over the arch of his foot had him giggling - honestly giggling - as he scurried away.
Those weren’t the only responses she noted. McCoy flushed, every time, and if she’d managed to get in a particularly good tickle, he turned his body away from her, shielded his groin from her view. He wasn’t blatant about it - but that made the discovery even more satisfying.
The tickling turned McCoy on.
Chapel sat with the knowledge for a few days. There were no specific regulations prohibiting a relationship between them. But it was still risky - they worked in close proximity to each other. Still... you had to take risks. They made a good team, both in Sickbay and during their off hours.
The next time it happened, they were watching a movie. Chapel had made herself comfortable, leaned into his side for the warmth and the ability to hide her eyes from the scary things happenings on the screen. She wormed a hand underneath his shirt and ran her nails over the lines of his ribs.
“Dammit, Christine,” McCoy yelped. But instead of letting him withdraw, Chapel followed his body until they were sprawled on the couch, her weight pressing against him and his eyes wild as his hands flailed, unsure of a safe place to land.
“I like you, McCoy. I think you like me, too. And, even more than that, I think I know something else you like.” She wriggled her fingers at the soft skin exposed by the way his waistband had been pulled slightly down and he bucked underneath her.
When they settled again, Chapel was straddling him, his erection an obvious bulge at the juncture of her thighs. His hair was mussed and Chapel was panting from the effort of holding on to him. Chapel pulled her hands away from him, held them up with deliberation.
“What do you say, McCoy? Want to play?” She sounded more confident than she felt, a nervous flutter warring with arousal in her belly.
He studied her for a handful of long heartbeats, eyes big and surprisingly serious. Then he stretched, arms above his head, revealing the vulnerable span of his stomach. “I did always enjoy a bit of recess, I must admit.” His accent was out in force and one side of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
Chapel grinned back, giddy. “Somehow, I figured you might.” She leaned down, pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. And then Chapel’s fingers made themselves busy.
europa_kore in the mccoy_chapel 2010 Fic ExchangeTitle: Tickle My Fancy
Author:
sharpestscalpelCharacter/Pairing(s): McCoy/Chapel
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,060
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: If I owned them, there's no telling what I'd actually be doing with them.
Notes: This is for
europa_kore who prompted tickling in a general sort of way. I hope this tickles your fancy!It started innocently enough. McCoy stepped backwards and Chapel put her hand just above his hip, where his uniform top had escaped his waistband, an unexpected span of warm skin. Instead of continuing his backwards motion, McCoy jerked forward and away as though she had burned him. He covered it, though, stepped back to make sure she was steady on her feet, in no danger of falling, before heading back to his office.
Christine Chapel didn't wonder about it, though she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the tips of her other fingers, savored the warmth she'd felt from his flesh. McCoy was her boss but he was exactly the kind of broad, slightly awkward man she fell for time and again - she could at least appreciate the contact. Chapel tossed her head and got back to work.
At least until it happened again. McCoy was already red along the tops of his ears and cheekbones, an endearing blush as he sat, without a shirt, on the bio bed in front of her. The lacerations on his chest weren't that deep but they wound around his torso, evidence of the talons he'd barely escaped. Chapel walked her fingers along the flesh as it knitted together, pink and healthy and sensitive, and McCoy swallowed a sound suspiciously like a laugh as the muscles of his side spasmed.
"You're ticklish." She meant it to be a bland observation. But the width of his shoulders, olive skin dusted with freckles, was already stretching her professionalism and her voice was throaty, teasing.
His habitual scowl darkened McCoy's features. "Involuntary response, Christine. Gargalesis. It ain’t knismesis, at least.”
Chapel was watchful; McCoy retreated into medical terminology when he was feeling out of his depth, when he was feeling uncertain. She suspected his ex bore only slight responsibility for that - social anxiety and its associated coping mechanisms often had deep roots. He was anxious about his response. Possibly embarrassed. Chapel pulled her fingers back. “Perfectly natural, Dr. McCoy. If you’ll just twist at the waist for me so I can check your range of motion?”
The routine had relaxed him enough that the rest of the treatment and exam had gone smoothly. But this time, as McCoy retreated to his office to yell at Kirk about foolish away missions and damn fool transporter stunts, Chapel pondered. And, after a few drinks with Gaila and Nyota, she’d resolved to test the stimulus, push for more response.
She’d been subtle, though, at least at first. Casual touches, nothing that would be inappropriate between the friends they were becoming. McCoy was acerbic and brilliant, tightly wound and driven; he didn’t flinch back from Chapel’s own intelligence or try to belittle her work as a nurse. he made her laugh and - she considered those occasions to be special triumphs - she made him laugh, head thrown back to reveal the flash of white teeth and the strong column of his neck. As much as she enjoyed the flashes of emotion that sparked in his eyes when she answered him with a particularly sharp retort, she enjoyed the reflexive widening of his eyes when she touched him, casually and easily, as though half the ship weren’t terrified of him.
His waist was always good for a response. If she could catch his skin, the reaction was stronger but he flinched away even from fingers over both of his uniform shirts. The inside of his elbow, she’d had the opportunity to discover during an impromptu water volleyball tournament organized by Kirk one shore leave, resulted in the usual physical twitching as well as a hot gasp that she definitely wanted to inspire again.
The back of his neck, during a friendly neckrub after a long surgery, got no reaction but fingernails trailed delicately over the arch of his foot had him giggling - honestly giggling - as he scurried away.
Those weren’t the only responses she noted. McCoy flushed, every time, and if she’d managed to get in a particularly good tickle, he turned his body away from her, shielded his groin from her view. He wasn’t blatant about it - but that made the discovery even more satisfying.
The tickling turned McCoy on.
Chapel sat with the knowledge for a few days. There were no specific regulations prohibiting a relationship between them. But it was still risky - they worked in close proximity to each other. Still... you had to take risks. They made a good team, both in Sickbay and during their off hours.
The next time it happened, they were watching a movie. Chapel had made herself comfortable, leaned into his side for the warmth and the ability to hide her eyes from the scary things happenings on the screen. She wormed a hand underneath his shirt and ran her nails over the lines of his ribs.
“Dammit, Christine,” McCoy yelped. But instead of letting him withdraw, Chapel followed his body until they were sprawled on the couch, her weight pressing against him and his eyes wild as his hands flailed, unsure of a safe place to land.
“I like you, McCoy. I think you like me, too. And, even more than that, I think I know something else you like.” She wriggled her fingers at the soft skin exposed by the way his waistband had been pulled slightly down and he bucked underneath her.
When they settled again, Chapel was straddling him, his erection an obvious bulge at the juncture of her thighs. His hair was mussed and Chapel was panting from the effort of holding on to him. Chapel pulled her hands away from him, held them up with deliberation.
“What do you say, McCoy? Want to play?” She sounded more confident than she felt, a nervous flutter warring with arousal in her belly.
He studied her for a handful of long heartbeats, eyes big and surprisingly serious. Then he stretched, arms above his head, revealing the vulnerable span of his stomach. “I did always enjoy a bit of recess, I must admit.” His accent was out in force and one side of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
Chapel grinned back, giddy. “Somehow, I figured you might.” She leaned down, pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. And then Chapel’s fingers made themselves busy.
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