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kathierif_ficTitle: Hot and Exotic
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/McCoy/Kirk
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Shore leave. All Leonard wants to do is get drunk
A/N: For kink_bingo, prompt sex work/prostitution. 1834 words.
The scotch burned down his throat in the satisfying way that only the real stuff, but never the synthetic alcohol they usually drank on board of the ship, managed to achieve.
Leonard McCoy grimaced, hunched his shoulders and raised his glass to indicate to the bartender, who was displaying an impressive dexterity when it came to using his tentacles to mix and shake two drinks at the same time, that he wanted – needed – another drink.
The guy was good. Seconds later, McCoy had a fresh glass with two fingers of amber liquid in front of him. He nodded his thanks, not bothering with an attempt at conversation, and lifted the glass to his lips.
He was supposed to be halfway around the planet at this point of time, spending his shore leave with his kid and spoiling her rotten to make up for the fact that he wasn’t there for a major part of her life, but he’d let his guard down around his ex-wife and that fucking new lawyer partner she had, revealing how much he’d been looking forward to spending time with his little girl. Before he’d been able to really realize what had happened, the visit was cancelled due to him being a bad influence or whatever.
Bad influence, his ass.
He snorted into his drink and took another sip. There was nobody here to chide him for his drinking habits, nobody who even cared. He was here because of that, dressed in civilian clothes. Nobody knew him, nobody recognized him, nobody cared for him, and that was fine with him.
He wanted to be alone and miserable, dammit.
Alone, miserable and stinking drunk.
He didn’t look up when someone slithered onto the barstool next to him. He wasn’t interested in conversation.
“Hey,” someone murmured into his ear. The voice was deep and seductive, but the modulation was a little too even to be natural. Whatever species this person belonged to, they did not communicate with words, therefore making the use of a voice modulator necessary, the part of Leonard’s brain that was still scarily sober whispered.
The rational part of his brain sounded a lot like Spock these days.
He risked a glance sideways to find out what species he was dealing with, more out of scientific curiosity than anything else, but all he could make out in the dim light of the bar was an elegant, slender body wrapped in layers upon layers of silk. Not a single piece of skin was visible, the face was hidden beneath a turban and a breathing mask.
He could make out a pair of huge, dark eyes behind that mask, eyes that were wide and shimmering slightly.
He vaguely remembered a planet, several months back, with an almost liquid atmosphere and almost hedonistic inhabitants that were curious about everything, particularly things Leonard surely had not been keen on discussing in a public forum with strangers.
“Long way from home,” he said. His words were almost clear, with just the hint of a slur along the edges.
He could almost pass as completely sober.
The alien tilted its head to the side at an angle that was painful for most humanoid races.
“So are you, friend,” he replied and leaned a little into Leonard’s body.
For a split second, Leonard tensed. He wanted to pull away and point out that they weren’t friends, maybe start a fight, but he stopped himself before those thoughts could go anywhere and drained his glass.
He was not Jim Kirk. He would not start a bar fight while on shore leave.
“You look like a man on a quest for satisfaction,” the alien purred after a moment of silence. “Perhaps more satisfaction than this drink can bring you?”
Long fingers brushed suggestively along Leonard’s arm in a swirling pattern.
A pattern he recognized. This, he realized, was this species’ form of foreplay – on their skin, he remembered, the pattern would touch upon several trigger points.
What the alien had done was his equivalent of grabbing Leonard’s dick in public.
He swallowed thickly. Weird, his brain supplied, that he knew all this but didn’t remember the species’ name. He knew how to treat this alien for a variety of illnesses, but he didn’t remember what they called themselves.
“Listen,” he said quietly. “This is not…”
“Perhaps something rare and exotic,” the alien interrupted. “Something hot and dry.”
Liquid atmosphere, Leonard thought. Of course something hot and dry would be rare and exotic for the alien.
The hand was creeping up Leonard’s arm now. For a split second, he was tempted to give in, to let the alien take his money for a crazy, reckless night of abandon, but, if he was honest, crazy reckless things weren’t really his strong side.
They were much more Jim’s area of expertise.
Gently, he reached out and placed his hand on the alien’s forearm in the pattern of regretful declination. It had taken him days to get it right, back then, days of Spock patiently showing him how to twist his fingers into the right position. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m…spoken for.”
The alien’s hand didn’t move away from his arm, but he shifted his fingers until they were in another pattern he recognized easily.
A pattern he was familiar with.
This was an urgent request for help, masked to allow the alien to keep his honor.
The comfortable buzz of alcohol all but disappeared as he felt the small muscles around his spine tense up.
“Are you certain?” the alien purred. “For this is a unique opportunity. Only few left. Hot, dry and wild.”
Leonard’s mind raced as he tried to figure out what the alien was trying to tell him. The clues were all there, he just had to put them correctly together. He’d always liked puzzles, and diagnosing a disease was a lot like a puzzle.
Seduction. Help.
He shook his head slightly.
Only a few left. Hot, dry.
His heart beat a hard rhythm against his ribs. He could think of only a few species that were threatened by extinction - only a few left - and only one of them could be classified as hot and dry.
Vulcans.
Wild.
There was only one thing that could make a Vulcan wild, as far as he knew, wild and willing to go along with anything resembling seduction by a stranger.
Only one thing that required medical help.
Dammit.
“How much?” he asked while already reaching for his jacket with the arm that was not in the vice-like grip of the alien.
The sum that the alien told him was enough to make McCoy groan in disbelief, but there was no time to barter.
A life was at stake.
“All right, fine, let’s go,” he snapped. The alien was still clinging to his arm, but he was moving. Slowly.
Too slowly.
“Payment first, friend,” he insisted in that velvety, computer-generated voice. Leonard fought hard not to reach out and press down on another trigger point, one that caused excruciating pain.
He resisted the urge because it wouldn’t be as satisfying as slamming his fist in the alien’s face, but smashing his breathing mask would kill him and Leonard was not willing to go that far. Not ever. Besides, the alien wouldn’t be able to lead him to the Vulcan when unconscious.
“I’m paying this much because you want to make sure your ass is safe if he kills me, aren’t I?” he growled as he handed the money over.
The alien tilted his head. The money disappeared somewhere in the folds of silk, and then, finally, they were moving out of the bar and across the street, cold wind whipping Leonard’s face and sobering him up completely. Adrenaline raced through his blood stream, and he knew he was only feeling the cold because it was such a contrast to the heat seeping into his skin from where the alien was still touching him.
He was led to the small hotel where Leonard had thought about booking a room before drinking had become his paramount goal, and Leonard frowned.
Something was odd.
The puzzle pieces didn’t quite fit together the way they were supposed to.
“Here,” the alien purred and opened the door to a room. He yanked, and Leonard stumbled forward, into the darkness.
The heat had been turned up to Vulcan preferences, the lights had been dimmed until it was almost impossible for human eyes to make out anything beyond vague schemes.
Leonard felt his heartbeat keenly in his chest. Every breath he took seemed to be unnaturally loud in the room.
He took a small step forward – and cursed when his shin hit the edge of something hard.
If there was a Vulcan, he had already taken in Leonard with all of his senses. If there was a Vulcan in need of medical help, he would have addressed Leonard already, one way or another.
Suddenly, he doubted that the alien had told him the truth.
Something was off.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, warm, dry fingers brushed against his face. Leonard startled and cursed, but he reached out almost at the same time. He grabbed material, fabric, and moved his hand upward, to feel for a pulse, for the tell-tale signs of fever.
Fingers closed around his.
“Leonard,” the familiar voice of Spock murmured. “I am well. You do not need to fret.”
“Spock.” The tension suddenly left Leonard’s body, and he almost stumbled before leaning against Spock’s strong chest. “What the…”
Spock’s arm came up around his shoulders, holding him in a very human embrace and warming him. But Leonard didn’t want to be held right now, he wanted to shed light onto the entire, bizarre situation.
“Lights,” he snapped. Immediately, the lights in the room turned up, revealing not only Spock in civilian clothing, but also the box – a suitcase – he had stumbled into, and behind him, almost out of his field of vision unless he turned in Spock’s embrace, Jim Kirk.
He’d taken off the turban and breathing mask, revealing tousled blond hair and a wide grin. His eyes were lined with thick, dark black, the skin around them crinkled in amusement.
“You,” Leonard said, as calmly as he could, “are going to give me back my money, or there will be no sex.”
“Aw, Bones.” Jim stepped closer and pressed himself against them, “that’s not how this is supposed to go.”
“I fail to see the allure of the scenario in the first place,” Spock pointed out.
Jim grinned and kissed behind Leonard’s ear briefly. “Trust me, Bones does,” he said confidently. “Even if it took some persuasiveness to get you to this point.”
“No, I don’t,” Leonard growled, thinking back to the spike of adrenaline, but when Jim dropped the silk robes and revealed the naked skin underneath, free for Leonard to touch, he didn’t hesitate.
After all, he had paid a hefty sum for this night.
Even when Jim would give the money back.
~end.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Spock/McCoy/Kirk
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Shore leave. All Leonard wants to do is get drunk
A/N: For kink_bingo, prompt sex work/prostitution. 1834 words.
The scotch burned down his throat in the satisfying way that only the real stuff, but never the synthetic alcohol they usually drank on board of the ship, managed to achieve.
Leonard McCoy grimaced, hunched his shoulders and raised his glass to indicate to the bartender, who was displaying an impressive dexterity when it came to using his tentacles to mix and shake two drinks at the same time, that he wanted – needed – another drink.
The guy was good. Seconds later, McCoy had a fresh glass with two fingers of amber liquid in front of him. He nodded his thanks, not bothering with an attempt at conversation, and lifted the glass to his lips.
He was supposed to be halfway around the planet at this point of time, spending his shore leave with his kid and spoiling her rotten to make up for the fact that he wasn’t there for a major part of her life, but he’d let his guard down around his ex-wife and that fucking new lawyer partner she had, revealing how much he’d been looking forward to spending time with his little girl. Before he’d been able to really realize what had happened, the visit was cancelled due to him being a bad influence or whatever.
Bad influence, his ass.
He snorted into his drink and took another sip. There was nobody here to chide him for his drinking habits, nobody who even cared. He was here because of that, dressed in civilian clothes. Nobody knew him, nobody recognized him, nobody cared for him, and that was fine with him.
He wanted to be alone and miserable, dammit.
Alone, miserable and stinking drunk.
He didn’t look up when someone slithered onto the barstool next to him. He wasn’t interested in conversation.
“Hey,” someone murmured into his ear. The voice was deep and seductive, but the modulation was a little too even to be natural. Whatever species this person belonged to, they did not communicate with words, therefore making the use of a voice modulator necessary, the part of Leonard’s brain that was still scarily sober whispered.
The rational part of his brain sounded a lot like Spock these days.
He risked a glance sideways to find out what species he was dealing with, more out of scientific curiosity than anything else, but all he could make out in the dim light of the bar was an elegant, slender body wrapped in layers upon layers of silk. Not a single piece of skin was visible, the face was hidden beneath a turban and a breathing mask.
He could make out a pair of huge, dark eyes behind that mask, eyes that were wide and shimmering slightly.
He vaguely remembered a planet, several months back, with an almost liquid atmosphere and almost hedonistic inhabitants that were curious about everything, particularly things Leonard surely had not been keen on discussing in a public forum with strangers.
“Long way from home,” he said. His words were almost clear, with just the hint of a slur along the edges.
He could almost pass as completely sober.
The alien tilted its head to the side at an angle that was painful for most humanoid races.
“So are you, friend,” he replied and leaned a little into Leonard’s body.
For a split second, Leonard tensed. He wanted to pull away and point out that they weren’t friends, maybe start a fight, but he stopped himself before those thoughts could go anywhere and drained his glass.
He was not Jim Kirk. He would not start a bar fight while on shore leave.
“You look like a man on a quest for satisfaction,” the alien purred after a moment of silence. “Perhaps more satisfaction than this drink can bring you?”
Long fingers brushed suggestively along Leonard’s arm in a swirling pattern.
A pattern he recognized. This, he realized, was this species’ form of foreplay – on their skin, he remembered, the pattern would touch upon several trigger points.
What the alien had done was his equivalent of grabbing Leonard’s dick in public.
He swallowed thickly. Weird, his brain supplied, that he knew all this but didn’t remember the species’ name. He knew how to treat this alien for a variety of illnesses, but he didn’t remember what they called themselves.
“Listen,” he said quietly. “This is not…”
“Perhaps something rare and exotic,” the alien interrupted. “Something hot and dry.”
Liquid atmosphere, Leonard thought. Of course something hot and dry would be rare and exotic for the alien.
The hand was creeping up Leonard’s arm now. For a split second, he was tempted to give in, to let the alien take his money for a crazy, reckless night of abandon, but, if he was honest, crazy reckless things weren’t really his strong side.
They were much more Jim’s area of expertise.
Gently, he reached out and placed his hand on the alien’s forearm in the pattern of regretful declination. It had taken him days to get it right, back then, days of Spock patiently showing him how to twist his fingers into the right position. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m…spoken for.”
The alien’s hand didn’t move away from his arm, but he shifted his fingers until they were in another pattern he recognized easily.
A pattern he was familiar with.
This was an urgent request for help, masked to allow the alien to keep his honor.
The comfortable buzz of alcohol all but disappeared as he felt the small muscles around his spine tense up.
“Are you certain?” the alien purred. “For this is a unique opportunity. Only few left. Hot, dry and wild.”
Leonard’s mind raced as he tried to figure out what the alien was trying to tell him. The clues were all there, he just had to put them correctly together. He’d always liked puzzles, and diagnosing a disease was a lot like a puzzle.
Seduction. Help.
He shook his head slightly.
Only a few left. Hot, dry.
His heart beat a hard rhythm against his ribs. He could think of only a few species that were threatened by extinction - only a few left - and only one of them could be classified as hot and dry.
Vulcans.
Wild.
There was only one thing that could make a Vulcan wild, as far as he knew, wild and willing to go along with anything resembling seduction by a stranger.
Only one thing that required medical help.
Dammit.
“How much?” he asked while already reaching for his jacket with the arm that was not in the vice-like grip of the alien.
The sum that the alien told him was enough to make McCoy groan in disbelief, but there was no time to barter.
A life was at stake.
“All right, fine, let’s go,” he snapped. The alien was still clinging to his arm, but he was moving. Slowly.
Too slowly.
“Payment first, friend,” he insisted in that velvety, computer-generated voice. Leonard fought hard not to reach out and press down on another trigger point, one that caused excruciating pain.
He resisted the urge because it wouldn’t be as satisfying as slamming his fist in the alien’s face, but smashing his breathing mask would kill him and Leonard was not willing to go that far. Not ever. Besides, the alien wouldn’t be able to lead him to the Vulcan when unconscious.
“I’m paying this much because you want to make sure your ass is safe if he kills me, aren’t I?” he growled as he handed the money over.
The alien tilted his head. The money disappeared somewhere in the folds of silk, and then, finally, they were moving out of the bar and across the street, cold wind whipping Leonard’s face and sobering him up completely. Adrenaline raced through his blood stream, and he knew he was only feeling the cold because it was such a contrast to the heat seeping into his skin from where the alien was still touching him.
He was led to the small hotel where Leonard had thought about booking a room before drinking had become his paramount goal, and Leonard frowned.
Something was odd.
The puzzle pieces didn’t quite fit together the way they were supposed to.
“Here,” the alien purred and opened the door to a room. He yanked, and Leonard stumbled forward, into the darkness.
The heat had been turned up to Vulcan preferences, the lights had been dimmed until it was almost impossible for human eyes to make out anything beyond vague schemes.
Leonard felt his heartbeat keenly in his chest. Every breath he took seemed to be unnaturally loud in the room.
He took a small step forward – and cursed when his shin hit the edge of something hard.
If there was a Vulcan, he had already taken in Leonard with all of his senses. If there was a Vulcan in need of medical help, he would have addressed Leonard already, one way or another.
Suddenly, he doubted that the alien had told him the truth.
Something was off.
Suddenly and unexpectedly, warm, dry fingers brushed against his face. Leonard startled and cursed, but he reached out almost at the same time. He grabbed material, fabric, and moved his hand upward, to feel for a pulse, for the tell-tale signs of fever.
Fingers closed around his.
“Leonard,” the familiar voice of Spock murmured. “I am well. You do not need to fret.”
“Spock.” The tension suddenly left Leonard’s body, and he almost stumbled before leaning against Spock’s strong chest. “What the…”
Spock’s arm came up around his shoulders, holding him in a very human embrace and warming him. But Leonard didn’t want to be held right now, he wanted to shed light onto the entire, bizarre situation.
“Lights,” he snapped. Immediately, the lights in the room turned up, revealing not only Spock in civilian clothing, but also the box – a suitcase – he had stumbled into, and behind him, almost out of his field of vision unless he turned in Spock’s embrace, Jim Kirk.
He’d taken off the turban and breathing mask, revealing tousled blond hair and a wide grin. His eyes were lined with thick, dark black, the skin around them crinkled in amusement.
“You,” Leonard said, as calmly as he could, “are going to give me back my money, or there will be no sex.”
“Aw, Bones.” Jim stepped closer and pressed himself against them, “that’s not how this is supposed to go.”
“I fail to see the allure of the scenario in the first place,” Spock pointed out.
Jim grinned and kissed behind Leonard’s ear briefly. “Trust me, Bones does,” he said confidently. “Even if it took some persuasiveness to get you to this point.”
“No, I don’t,” Leonard growled, thinking back to the spike of adrenaline, but when Jim dropped the silk robes and revealed the naked skin underneath, free for Leonard to touch, he didn’t hesitate.
After all, he had paid a hefty sum for this night.
Even when Jim would give the money back.
~end.