notabricklayer | (no subject)

(no subject)

Morning comes slowly, which is something of a novelty to McCoy - he heads in early, and heads out late, just due to the nature of his work.

The second novelty comes when he wakes up enough to place himself, and there is a warm presence curled up beside him, heavy in the hollow of his shoulder. Memory flares back into existence, and he smiles into the early-morning dark.

He is really not sure how he got to be this lucky. He has no idea why she stayed with him, or even went forward with anything after he over-reacted.

He wonders if she meant what she made him promise.

There's only one way to find out, for certain. Very gently, almost regretfully, he smooths her hair back from her face (so peaceful, so beautiful) and presses a kiss to her brow.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It's a glorious slow ascension, and she revels in every sweet moment of it. Steady is good. Driving is oh so good. He's gentle and relentless and she thinks she might just die here and that would be perfectly fine with her.

He can tell she's nearing the end when she arches back, her voice tight and quiet, soft cries ground out through parted lips in time with the press and release of her hips.

He stays with her, his hands firm over her hips to keep her from arching right off the bed, enjoying her gloriously exuberant enjoyment. Her fall, abrupt and beautiful, is a point for his pride if nothing else - it's always good to know that skills haven't been lost.

Soothingly, he strokes her thighs while waiting for her to relax again, his rhythm slowing, but damn it's hard not to grin like an idiot.

She covers her face with her hands for a moment, hiding the breathless smile that she can't seem to shake. Aftershocks still ripple through her, and every sweet touch sends another rocketing up her spine. When she can breathe again, she brushes her hair back and looks at him, smirking, gently rising to pull him up her body.

She lays back, her heels keeping him close, her hands wiping away the slickness from his chin. She can taste herself on his lips, and that makes that smug grin of his that much easier to bear. She growls against his mouth,

"Fuck me."

Short. Sweet. To the point.

Effective.

Very effective.

He stares at her for a brief moment, wondering, his eyes darkening further as he studies her flushed face. That, however, is one command he has no intention of refusing. His lips crash down on hers in a fierce, plundering kiss, and after a few moments of adjustment he is buried inside her, her heat setting his blood on fire.

She returns that kiss with a rare passion, her arms winding around his neck. He thrusts into her, and she gasps, groans aloud, rising up to meet him. Her strong legs wind around his waist and she breaks the kiss, pushing him up so he can get better leverage. It's her turn to watch, and she does, with wide grey eyes and a wanton ghost of a smile.

It's been a very long time since she's had a good seeing to, and judging by the look of utter bliss washing over her features, he is just what the doctor ordered.

He only comes in prescription strength, but if used with a doctor's supervision, very effective.

"You are amazing." He breathes, bracing himself over her. That smile may be one of the sexiest things he's seen, just visible in the early morning light. "Simply amazing."

He's not too sure he can stand too much more of this, but he can definitely stand with finding out. He is a very rigorous scientist, and this experiment bears taking to completion.

And as any scientist would tell you, repeatable results are the only true test.

She's dancing with him now, her hands braced on his forearms, her hips moving in counterpoint, taking what she needs from him, and feeding it back to him tenfold.

"Not quite," she breathes, laughing softly. "You can still -- ah -- speak."

He grins lopsidedly at her grin, but it's a short-lived expression. Her movement is utterly destroying his mind, focusing on her body under and around him.

"I'm stubborn." He admits, but only with a struggle to remember what he's supposed to be saying in the first place. McCoy likes her dancing. Likes it quite a lot, actually.

"I like that, about you."

She pulls him back down for another searing kiss, holding him close so she can feel his heart pounding. The shift in angle draws another long, shuddering sigh from deep in her chest. Her eyes close and she gives herself over to it, letting the heat and pleasure overwhelm her senses all over again, long slow pulses twisting through her frame.

He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he is going to be sore as hell later today, maybe tomorrow.

He doesn't give a damn though.

He drops his head to her shoulder, his breath harsh in his throat, everything tight and heavy and need, aching grasping need grips him like a fever, unshakable and overwhelming.

And then his world explodes, fire and light and release and this wonderful woman in his arms.

Her hands stroking idle patterns down from his shoulder blades to the small of his back and up again, a soothing touch. She turns her head to his cheek, her alto purr humming against his ear. It takes a long time for the little electric arcs of pleasure to stop trickling through her body, and she's content to hold onto him until they do.

"Good morning," she murmurs.

His muscles finally relax and he shifts, just enough to not flatten her.

"Very good morning." He agrees, smiling against the sheets. "Today's already off to a much better start than the last."

"You have a talent for stating the obvious, don't you?"

She smirks, using the opportunity to reach for a cigarette. It's already lit when she rolls back over, staring at the ceiling with a look of supreme contentment on her features.

The sole of her bare foot trails down the back of his leg.

He hums, thoughtfully, brushing her hair back, tucking it behind her ear.

"It's a well-honed skill, I'll have you know. People count on my ability to state the obvious, half the time because they're doing their damnedest to ignore it."

Count on, get irritated by, whatever.

She hums, smirks at him, her chin rising just a bit at his touch. She takes a long drag on the cigarette and turns her head slightly to exhale.

"You were right."

"Of course I was." He retorts, the drawl purposeful rather than due to stress. "I'm a doctor, after all. It's my job to know these things."

Her eyes narrow, and the hand not holding the cigarette comes up to lay a finger across his lips, her lips twisting in a wry smile.

"Did you want to check my pulse rate again? Hmm?"

"You did give me a hell of a scare. Seems I can't ever come in here without acquiring a patient." He sobers, because the list of people that come in here with problems (or who manage to get new problems here) gets longer every time he shows up.

Sometimes he wonders if there's a curse. A 'Dr. McCoy isn't allowed to have down time' curse.

She quirks an eyebrow at him, her hand turning so she can run her knuckle down his jaw.

"So now you're my personal doctor, hmm?"

"No." His first loyalty is, has to be, the crew of the starship Enterprise. And as a subset of that, his first priority among the crew is the command crew. Most important of all, his job is to keep Captain Kirk alive, sane, and able to command.

It really doesn't matter what he wants. Not until his tour of duty is done.

"But if I'm here, I'd be mighty displeased if you went to someone else."

She settles back, watching those blue eyes, feeling the tide of loyalty and devotion pouring off him.

"You worry too much, Lyonya. Don't add me to your list."

He smiles, but does not reply. He's fairly sure she'd protest, but she's already on the list. He can't put her as high on that list as he'd want, but... yes. On the list. He's a perfectionist, a detail-obsessed perfectionist. This is, perhaps, why he's gotten to CMO.

Instead, he presses a kiss to her cheek, and shifts to sit up, stretching kinked muscles.

She already knows about the perfectionist part of his personality, and there are bits of her that are aching in the most pleasant way from his attention to detail. Not that she's complaining.

She keeps a hand on him as he moves away, still enjoying the first cigarette of the day.

"What time is it?"

Telekinesis, he decides, would be a great power to have. Then he could grab his tricorder without getting out of bed.

He's fairly sure Spock would have something to say about that reasoning, so it goes on the list of 'things I'm never going to tell the First Officer', a list that gets longer by the day. Shoving that thought aside, he fumbles for the bedside clock.

"Looks like... six hundred hours." He squints at the red numerals, not overly impressed with the technology. "Lazy morning, it seems."

Olga grunts, leaning over to stub out her cigarette before rolling back. She punches her pillow a few times and then snuggles down into the covers, not ready to face the world yet.

"If you wait another hour, hour and a half maybe, I will buy you breakfast."