Friday, January 12, 2007

Why Not You? NC-17

Disclaimer: Paramount owns these characters in real life. I own them in my dreams.

Archiving: ASCEM, THFFF, Acidqueen. All others ask permission, please.

Why Not You? NC-17

Warning: Some explicit sex and dialogue. Blame it on Acidqueen.

Summary: McCoy’s got the blues but someone’s got the cure.

~Chapter 1

McCoy hopped off the streetcar at St. Charles and Lowerline, bowed his head against the rain and walked back the way he came with his hands shoved in the pockets of his chinos. His brown linen shirt was rumpled and open on his chest and clung to his back and shoulders with rain and sweat.

Spring in New Orleans was hot.

He heard the sirens of emergency vehicles approaching to clear the flitter bender that blocked the streetcar tracks.

He was trying to get to a small Italian place on South Carrollton but he wasn’t hungry anymore. He thought he’d grab a bottle somewhere and head back to his family’s old Greek Revival townhouse in the Garden District. But as he waited on the corner for the light to change, he thought that maybe he wasn’t even up for that.

He crossed Lowerline and glanced up at the sound of a hoverbarge humming along out of sight on the other side of the levee. Red and blue light caught the corner of his eye. Neon. One rarely saw neon these days.

Mildly curious, he walked a few yards down the street and saw a small, Victorian shotgun shack on the corner of Lowerline and Pearl that had been converted into a bar. The neon sign glowed in the dark recess of the gallery. He could just make out weathered green shutters opened to let in the late evening air. The whitewashed boards of the gallery groaned when he walked across them and the bartender looked up when McCoy stopped in the doorway.

The bar was dark and narrow. A man desultorily sank balls at a pool table and an Andorian sat at one end of the bar, his antennae drooping as he stared into the vapor that rose from his glass. The bartender went back to paring a lime, apparently uninterested one way or the other if McCoy came in or not. The place looked untouched by technology except for a sleek jukebox in one corner. Robert Johnson finished singing “From Four Till Late” and Howlin’ Wolf took over with “Backdoor Man”. Ceiling fans creaked listlessly overhead. It smelled of beer and sweat, tomatoes, laurel and cayenne pepper. The place was perfect. McCoy stepped over the threshold into 1949.

He swiped the water and perspiration out of his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair. He stood at the bar.

“Get you something?” asked the bartender, not looking up from his lime.


“Tennessee or Kaintuck?”

“Tennessee. Make that on the rocks. In a short glass.”

The bartender set the drink in front of him with a hard look. McCoy jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “How about a round for the house,” he said.

The bartender snorted. “Big spender.”

McCoy grinned internally. Just perfect. He grabbed a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar. He wandered over to the jukebox and programmed in Muddy Waters, Blind Willie, B.B. King and Bobby Bland. He went back to the bar and stared into his glass. He thought about the two dead kids. He thought about Jim. Jim always took it hard when he lost a member of the crew. But this time, McCoy didn’t have any words for him. All he could see was those two crewmen with their big eyes and their smooth cheeks.

“Cheer up, Charlie.”

He lost track of time as he stood with his forearms propped on the bartop and his glass held lightly between his fingertips. The ice had melted and a layer of clear liquid floated over the dark. He frowned and turned at the sound of the voice.

“Oh hi, gorgeous,” he said, his expression softening.

“Don’t you just hate when people try to make you smile when you don’t want to.”

“Anybody but you.”

“Aw. That’s sweet.”

He glanced over her head at the doorway. “You looking for me?” he asked.

“Sure,” she answered.

McCoy’s smile almost reached his eyes but he still did not offer her the empty stool next to him.

“Don’t mind if I do.” She tucked the skirt of her miniscule white sundress under her thighs and sat down anyway. Water dripped from her hair and slicked the smooth skin on her neck and shoulders.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone,” he said.

She shrugged. “Knock yourself out,” she said.

He sighed and turned back to the bar. He found himself wishing he’d left his communicator back at the house. He took a sip of his drink and grimaced. He signaled the bartender for a fresh one. He didn’t ask her if she wanted a drink.

The bartender took the old drink and set down a new one. “You gonna drink it this time?”

McCoy scowled and took a deep gulp. “Happy now?”

The bartender raised his brows and wiped his way down the bar with a dirty rag.

“I thought you drank bourbon,” she said.

“Whiskey is bourbon.”

“It looks different.”

“It’s how it’s aged and filtered. Where it’s made. Listen, I really don’t—.”

She motioned to the bartender. “I’ll have what he’s having.”

McCoy knocked back his drink. “Another for me while you’re at it,” he said.

The bartender poured their drinks and set the half-full bottle in front of them.

“I’m not staying,” McCoy said.

The bartender looked at the woman then looked at McCoy. “You’re crazy,” he said. He walked away, leaving the bottle.

She helped herself to another drink. “I don’t bite, you know. Not hard, anyway,” she said.

The corner of McCoy’s mouth crimped.

“No smiling,” she said, pointing sternly at his face.

He tried to hide his smile by taking a drink. Then he laughed. “I guess I am being a jerk.”

“Kind of.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days,” she said.

“Yeah.” He swirled the ice in his glass. He looked at her. “You’re all so young. You. Jim. Even Spock.”

“I’m not so young.” She took a long swallow of her drink and looked up at him with watering eyes. She couldn’t quite stifle a cough.

“You’re a child.”

“Thanks grandpa.”

That earned her another grin.

“A girl could learn a lot from a guy like you.”

A blush crept up his neck. His grin widened. “I know a little,” he said.

“Just a little?”

“Well, more than a little. I am a doctor, after all.” A hint of his normal flirtatiousness peeked through and she responded with a seductive smile of her own.

B.B. King came on the jukebox with “The Thrill is Gone”. McCoy slipped and arm around her waist and lifted her off the stool. He caught her hand in his and said, “Now, that’s enough of that. Shut up and dance. Then go away and leave me alone.” They did a slow two-step across the room to the tiny dance floor by the jukebox.

She looked up at him. “You blush easily.”

“Do I?” His face grew hot. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“It’s very charming.” She gazed at his face. “You’re not so old. You’re not even the next generation.”

“Well, I’m feeling it lately.”

She stood back in his arms. Her eyes wandered down his lean body. She stepped back in and wound her arms around his neck, laying her cheek on the exposed skin of his chest.

“Are you coming on to me?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

He snorted. “I should be so lucky.”

“I would be the lucky one,” she said. She pressed her lips to the hot skin on his neck. She pushed her fingers into his hair, brought his head down and kissed him. He tensed, relaxed then tensed again. When he opened his mouth to speak, she slipped her tongue inside and pressed her thigh gently between his legs. His arms came around her back and he gave into the kiss with the softest of moans from deep in the back of his throat. She leaned her lower body into to his.

He suddenly realized that she was serious. He drew his head back abruptly and set her away from him at arm’s length.

“You don’t want to start something you can’t finish,” he said. “Not with me. And not tonight.” He headed back to the bar.

After a moment, she followed him. When she reached the bar, he was pouring another drink from the bottle. He wouldn’t look at her.

“I know what I’m doing,” she said.

He shook his head. “No. No you don’t.” He downed his drink and wiped his chin with the back of the hand that held the glass. His blue eyes glittered at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asked.

“What? Beat it, kid. I’m old enough to be your…cousin.”

“You are afraid.”

He looked at her closely. Even though the light was low, her pupils were far too dilated. He chuckled with something like relief. “You’re smashed, baby,” he said, turning back to the bar.

“I only had two drinks.”

“A girl your size, sometimes that’s all it takes. And I believe you had three.”

“If you think I’m drunk, then take me somewhere I can sleep it off,” she said.

“Go back to the ship.”

“I’d rather stay with you.”

He watched her in the mirror, then he shrugged with one shoulder and a tilt of his head. “Ok. But sleeping it off means sleeping it off.”


“Ok. Let’s go.” He handed his credit chit to the bartender.

The bartender swiped it and gave it back with a wink. “Have fun, kids,” he said.

McCoy snatched his chit back with a glare. “Come on,” he said and stalked out of the bar.

“We’re not going to call a cab?” she asked. She struggled to keep up with him. Warm, fat raindrops splashed against her face and on the tops of her breasts.


“Well, at this pace, I’ll be sober by the time we get back to your place.” She was practically trotting. He had shoved his hands back in his pockets and she linked her arm through his. He tried not to think about the feel of her breast against his arm. He slowed, but only slightly.

“There’s a streetcar stop a couple of blocks from here. We can catch it there.”

The streetcar thundered past them when they were about a half a block away from the stop. They ran and caught it as it clacked away; the other passengers reached out and cheerfully pulled them aboard the packed car. An elderly woman sitting in the seat at his hip smiled up at McCoy and said, “Well darlin’, don’t you just have the prettiest blue eyes?” He blushed and mumbled a thank you. “Aww,” she said.

They stood swaying in the crush of hot, damp bodies with her breasts pushed against his back. McCoy found a handhold on the rail above them, but she had only him to hold when the streetcar lurched forward after the next stop. Her arm came around his waist under his shirttail and she gripped the waistband of his pants to keep from falling. When the ride smoothed out again, she relaxed her hand and placed her palm against his flat abdomen. He turned his head slightly toward her but didn’t say anything. She slipped her fingers under his waistband and used her thumb to stroke the sparse, silky hair beneath his navel. He inhaled sharply. She felt the muscles of his belly quiver when she brushed her fingertips through his pubic hair.

“Don’t,” he said softly. His blood flushed hot under is skin. His scrotum tightened.

“What are you going to do about it?” she whispered.

He debated, but only for a moment. He turned carefully around and held the rail above him with both hands. Better to press his growing erection into her than the guy who was standing in front of him. He braced his legs outside of hers. Her dress was very short. She moved her hands under his shirt and hooked her thumbs through the belt loops at his hips. Her breasts brushed his chest. She smiled up at him but he wouldn’t look at her. She shook him gently by his belt loops.

“What?” he said, looking over her head out the front window of the streetcar.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He frowned. “No. You should probably eat something. Let’s go get some shrimp at Andre’s.”

She stood on her toes and got very close to his face. “Kiss me,” she said, louder.

The guy behind him nudged him in the back. “Saddle up cowboy or switch places with me.”

“Mind your own business,” McCoy said without turning around. The man snickered.

The streetcar shuddered to a stop and disembarking passengers pushed McCoy tightly against her. There was just a hairsbreadth between her lips and his. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin. He gazed in fascination at the dark silk of her lashes. The car leapt forward and his lips touched hers.

Her mouth parted and his will left his body the way warm water breaks through the bottom of a brown paper bag.

He held the rail with one hand cupped the back of her neck with the other. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and maneuvered her between his legs with his with his knees. The kiss went on and on until faintly, over the roar and thump of the streetcar, he heard the conductor drawl, “First St! St. Charles and First.”

McCoy grabbed her hand and they jumped off the car to a smattering of applause and good-natured hoots. The rain stopped but the breeze rattled the oaks, dousing them with water from the leaves as they walked quickly across St. Charles and headed down First. Gnarled, black branches overhang the cracked sidewalk and muffled the sound of the traffic from St. Charles.

McCoy stopped suddenly and backed her into a tree trunk. They stood in the fork between two massive roots. He pressed his hips gently against her and put his lips close to her ear.

“Do you feel that?”

She could feel his erection hard against her pubic bone. She nodded.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispered in her ear. He ducked his head and looked into her face. She nodded again.

“Yes,” she said. The word was soft, sharp exhalation.

“I want to put your nipples in my mouth. I want to lick your pussy and hear the sounds you make when you come.” He pushed away from her and backed a few feet down the sidewalk. He took his communicator out of his pocket and flipped it open. “McCoy to Enterprise. One to beam up,” he said, staring at her.

She held up her hands. “Wait a minute! What are you doing?”

“I just came to my senses.”

“You’re going back to the ship?”

“No, you are.”

“What? I am?”

“Ready to beam up, sir.”

“Stand by, Enterprise,” said McCoy.

“Leonard, I’m not drunk,” she said.

“That’s not the reason.”

“What is it, then?”

He paced back and forth in front of her. “You think you know what I want but you don’t,” he said.

“So, tell me what you want.”

“I just want to get laid, ok? I want to fuck someone. Get a blowjob. Feel live flesh under my hands with no strings and no promises.” He stopped pacing and looked at her. “I can’t ask that of you.” He started to flip open his communicator again.

“You think you know what I want but you don’t,” she said softly.

That drew him up. She raised a brow. “Ah, see. I cornered you with your own logic.”

He raised his arms then brought them down with an exasperated sigh.

She reached up and touched his lower lip with her fingers. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

“All the things we went through on the ship these last few days? I was there too. And just like you, I need to do something that will make me feel alive. To get a little piece of myself back.” she said.

“You came to me for that?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Why me?”

“Why not you?”

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. “Jim would kick my ass if he found out.”

“He wouldn’t be all that happy with me either.” She kissed him. “So let’s not tell him.”

His communicator chirped. He flipped it open. “Never mind.”

“Say again, Dr. McCoy?”

“Cancel beam up. McCoy out.”


They walked down the root-buckled sidewalk. Neither of them could think of anything to say but it was not uncomfortable. After a while, he took her hand. When they reached the iron gates of his townhouse, she pulled him into a kiss.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked softly.

“Oh god, yes.”

They hurried up the stairs to the front door and before he could even palm the lock, she was fumbling at the buttons on his shirt and he was licking and sucking her nipples through her dress. They stumbled into the foyer and slammed into the wall next to the front door. They kissed hungrily, yanking in frustration at buttons and fasteners that wouldn’t come undone. McCoy grabbed her wrists.

“Wait,” he said.

“Oh Leonard, please don’t stop now.”

“No, no. I need to check to see if the caretaker’s still here.”

“I’m still here but I was just leaving, sir.” The caretaker brushed by them and opened the door.

McCoy turned and quickly blocked her body with his. She buttoned her dress and smoothed her hair.

“Monsieur Laurent, I was rude to you this morning. I apologize,” said McCoy.

“You are rude to everyone in the mornings, Doctor McCoy,” said Laurent, managing to look offended and amused at the same time. “There is brandy in the library and a tray of sandwiches in the stasis unit. I will see you in the morning.”

“Make that afternoon,” said McCoy.

Laurent nodded and fitted a canvas fedora on his head. “Oui. Demain après-midi. Au revoir, Doctor.” He nodded again. “Mademoiselle.” He pulled the door gently closed behind him.

“Would you like a brandy?” asked McCoy.

“Sounds good.”

He led her down the wood-paneled hallway to the library. He instructed the computer to raise the lights. The room was furnished with a combination of contemporary and antique furniture. Floor to ceiling mahogany bookcases lined the walls, the shelves filled with leather-bound books, art and mismatched bookends. The books alone had to be worth a fortune; a Degas sculpture was carelessly placed among precariously stacked padds. A com screen glowed discreetly in the alcove of an exquisite escritoire. He glanced at the screen, checking for messages while he poured their drinks from a crystal decanter. He turned to her.

“I’ve been dirtside five minutes and here’s Tulane asking me for a consult. I’ll just be a second.” He walked over and handed her her drink, then went back to the com.

She watched his slender body move beneath his damp, wrinkled clothes. As he scrolled through the medical read out, he pushed back his wet hair with two fingers, scratched the back of his head and stood with his hands on his hips. She wandered over and leaned against the wall, gazing at his face. He smiled without looking at her, his attention absolutely focused on what he was reading. She’d seen him like this on the Enterprise, on the rare occasions she had reason to visit the science lab: he and Spock, accomplished scientists, working almost in tandem, barely needing to speak to one another. To see his brilliant mind at work was thrilling to watch.

When he completed the consult, he looked at her and she could almost see McCoy the physician falling away, only to be replaced by this other man, this alluring, blue-eyed lover.

He sat down on a slightly shabby leather couch and held out his hand to her. She took his hand and sat next to him. He put his arm around her and settled her against his side, kissing the top of her head.

“This is a beautiful room,” she said.

“I’m sorry. Let me show you the rest of the house.” He started to rise but she pressed him back.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Is this your family home? I thought you were from Georgia.”

“I am from Georgia and that’s where I live when I’m on Earth for any extended period of time. This is sort of a summer house. Back in the 19th century, one of my grandfathers bought this because he did extensive business in here. It passed down from son to son until I inherited it. My cousin and his kids mostly use it now. If they’re here, I usually stay in the garçonnière behind the house.”

“Was your family wealthy?”

“Sometimes,” he chuckled.

The vibration of his voice in his chest felt good against her back and she snuggled deeper into his embrace. He took her drink from her hand and set their glasses on the coffee table. He took her shoulders and laid her back on the couch. He traced her eyebrow with his fingers then trailed them down her cheek to her lips. He slipped two fingers into her mouth. She sucked them gently as he moved them slowly in and out. “I want to put my cock there,” he murmured. He removed his fingers and kissed her softly. He undid the tiny buttons down the front of her sundress but left it covering her breasts. She gasped as he trailed his fingertips down the opening and circled a finger around her navel. He continued down until he came to her underwear. “I don’t know why women even bother with these tiny, ridiculous things,” he said.

“They serve their purpose.”

He hooked a finger under the elastic leg of her panties and pulled it aside to expose the tender mound of her pussy. “I guess they do.” He stroked a finger between her labia. “Mmm. You’re wet,” he whispered. “That for me?” She caught her lip between her teeth and nodded. He slid his middle finger into her then brought his finger to his mouth. “I knew you’d taste good.”

He lifted her off his lap and stood, pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders and baring her breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured. He bent his head and sucked first one nipple into his mouth and then the other.

He led her upstairs to the bedroom.

He was a creative and directive lover, commanding her to put her hand here or there, telling her when to open her mouth, instructing her to turn over. He held her on the razor’s edge of orgasm with his fingers and tongue for long, tortuous minutes and when he finally entered her, he said breathlessly, “Oh, baby. You’re so tight.” He was vocal and expected the same from her, demanding answers to his questions.

“Does that feel good?”


“Say please.”


“Do you like it when I fuck you hard?”

“Yes. Oh! Yes.”

That night, he awakened her three times. And in the morning, incredibly, he was hard and ready and she pushed him off her, laughing, sore, spent.




McCoy leaned against the back of the turbolift wall with his head down. He caught a yawn in his fist.

“You look a little tired there, Bones. Too much fun on your leave?”

“I’ve been tired since medical school. That’s what us old doctors always say, anyway.”

Kirk grinned. “In other words, that’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”


“Anybody I know?”

McCoy blinked sleepily and shook his head, chuckling. Kirk gazed at him for a long moment.

“Bones, sometimes I think that I don’t know anything about you.”

“Who me?” he said, exiting the turbolift. “I’m an open book. See you around, Jim.”




Llew said...

*grins* You just like leaving Jim clueless-- admit it. That priceless bemused expression, eyebrows peaked together, lips parted, hamster running madly in the little wheel... ;)

Ah, this is a treasure. What delights me most about it is the time you take describing all the incidentals-- the books, the Degas, the way he uses two fingers to push back his hair from his eyes-- it gives him a richness that i never considered, but suits him so well that now i can't imagine him any other way.

Rich. Very rich. Lovely.

Carole said...

Hi T'Prahn. I'm a trek fan, myself. All of them. Good fanfiction. -Carole

baltimore needs federation assistance said...

As per usual awesomeness. The detailing, that is where you are always excellent; the rain, the catcalls on the bus, even the watered down bourbon,and best of all a commanding Dr.McCoy in the sheets made this another jewel in your fan fic crown!(You always make the interactions and behaviors of the characters feel so real, the setup for this fic,post traumatic stress relief, was perfection!)

Anonymous said...

I just keep coming back to this, with giggles and a little shame. more please.