notabricklayer | (no subject)

(no subject)

McCoy has fallen into a rhythm in the bar - waking up late (for him), coming down eventually to see if anything particularly interesting is going on, pick up something for lunch, trade in a stack of videos for a brand new stack of videos, and go back upstairs.

This morning, he is downstairs much earlier.

He is in uniform for the first time in a week.

And he doesn't detour at the Bar, striding straight to the door, no pauses, no stops, just a quick trip to the front door, which hisses open obligingly, dragging him back aboard his shipboard life.

If he were to stop, he'd never make it through that door.

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Her nails graze over his ribs, and she growls a little under her breath.

"Don't you dare."

He chuckles, reaching up to trap her hands.

"I'm sure I have some heavy weather gear in a locker around here somewhere." He notes innocently. "Parkas and the like."

He traps her hands, she takes the peak of his shoulder blade between her teeth, just hard enough to make her presence known. The bite becomes a sucking kiss and she growls against his skin.

Gooseflesh rises at her ministrations - he really has been missing her, body and soul. Gently he turns in her arms, because he wants to see her for real, not just as a reflection (or an owl).

She's glaring at him, which is difficult to take seriously with that little smirk haunting the corner of her mouth.

"Now I am cross with you," she says, trying for imperious.

"Oh? Why is that?" He asks, tweaking a lock of her hair, thoughtfully straightening her collar (and lingering over her collarbones).

She glances up, and if that lifts her chin to give him better access, so be it. Her hands play over his torso, her fingertips marking the line of muscle and bone.

"For making promises and then rescinding them."

Hmmph.

"Care to teach me the error of my ways?" He asks lightly, his fingers tracing up the column of her neck, the line of her jaw.

She hums under her breath, and her eyes fall closed, her body closing the distance between them.

When she can find the words, her voice is pitched low, and he can tell he's having an effect on her. "Not especially, no. Your ship, your lessons."

"Speaking of that..." He rumbles, but she is warm against him, and he abruptly decides he can find out later. Now, he finds that kissing her is much more imperative.

Much more imperative.

God, he missed her.

Olga moans quietly against his mouth, her hands threading around his neck, pulling him close. His hunger ripples through her like sunshine, and she drinks deeply from his mouth, letting him feel how much she missed him, too.

Kissing is so much better than talking at this point, she agrees.

"Missed you, darlin'." He murmurs quietly against her skin. He is just so damned glad to see her.

Edited 2010-12-24 07:01 (UTC)

My love.

The words echo through him, a thousand kisses spilling down his spine, the sensation not nearly as intense as it usually is when they're at Milliways.

She tugs her gloves off, and then her coat, letting it fall where it may, too focused on his mouth to care.

It is enough, it is more than enough. He could spend forever learning the tastes and textures of her mouth. He is about to say as much when the shrill sound of the bosun's whistle sounds over the intercom.

"Sickbay to Doctor McCoy." He sighs, breaking the kiss regretfully. There is a reason he finds Milliways to be such a luxury.

She pulls back and smirks at him, her hands still playing over his skin, teasing down lower, along the waistband of his uniform trousers.

This should be interesting.

He raises an imperious eyebrow at her - surely she wouldn't.

Right?

Surely.

"McCoy here." He calls, giving her a warning look. "What's going on up there?"

She sees that Look and gives him one right back, licking her lips as she slowly settles to sit on the foot of his bed, tugging him along with her.

She leans in to brush a kiss across his stomach, deft fingers quietly undoing the tabs that fasten them shut.

She is deeply distracting, and it's a moment before he remembers he's supposed to be listening to the explanation one of the duty nurses is rambling on about. Something about physicals and duty rosters and her fingers are like fire on his skin. Firmly he catches her hands and attempts to concentrate.

She doesn't need her hands, silly human.

She just needs the memory of the last time she took him over her lips and made him tremble for her.

She closes her eyes and draws that memory to the surface, and then replays it for him, in exquisite sensory detail.

He bites his lip to keep from crying out, but there's nothing that can stop the other reactions - a heaving breath, his body rocking into the hold that isn't there.

He realizes belatedly that the nurse has fallen silent, and must be waiting for an answer. Problem being, he has no idea what the problem is.

Damn and blast, and dear God his brain has gone woolly.

"Can it wait... until tomorrow?" He finally responds, hoping that it doesn't sound too gasped. There's precious little he can do about that.

Olga realises he has responsibilities, and tones it down a little, just enough that he can speak again. She rests her forehead against his hip, her hands gripping his thighs, breathing him in.

She takes pity on him and time slips, back to retrieve the memory of the woman's question for him. She doesn't let go the hold she has on his nervous system though. That sweet ache is too delicious to let go.

"Sir?" She sounds confused, so he must have not gotten it right. Suddenly though, he has the question in his head, and Olya has granted him enough mercy to get his wits back together... somewhat.

"Section three down in Engineering just needs standard labwork run - finish that out, and we'll start the next section tomorrow." He answers more correctly, releasing her hands to run his fingers through her hair.

She leans forward and nuzzles against his erection through his uniform trousers, a definitive nudge.

"Yes sir. Do you wish to be notified of any unusual findings, sir?" He desperately wants to say no, and please don't call at all until his next duty shift comes around. But he's on board ship, not at leisure, and he's been working as a duty doctor too long to give in to that temptation.

"Yes, nurse. Have fun with the boys. McCoy out." He waits a moment for the connection to cut out, and then grumbles more softly, "You are being a devil, you know that?"

Edited 2010-12-27 08:35 (UTC)

She sits back a bit, but doesn't relinquish her grip. There's a mischief in her eyes that is only ever there for him. If he described that look to anyone else who knew her, they would call him mad.

"You want I should stop?"