They always start like this: Rian pushes her pillows into place against the headboard and leans back, and McCoy settles against her. She wraps her arms around him and lets her long dark hair spill over his shoulder, and they breathe together as she touches him gently. She's wearing her watch—functional, unadorned stainless steel, the sort a man might wear—but no other jewelry. He's in street clothes; she's in her "Starfleet Crew" T-shirt and jeans; their feet are bare. She kisses his temple and says, like always, "Tell me your word."
"Red." It never changes.
"Good." Rian kisses him again. "Now get up and undress the rest of the way." She drops her arms to let him stand, and she sits back to watch.
McCoy takes off his shirt and is about to drop it on the floor, but she shakes her head. "You know better than that. Fold it and bend over."
He folds it and lays it over the back of the chair, then bends over in front of her. She slaps him across the ass, not lightly, but not as hard as she can—she's a rower, so that's pretty hard. He stays in place, hoping for another, and he hears her laugh. "You want more?"
"You know I do." He lets out the snap on his words.
"Don't take that tone of voice with me, Leonard."
Her voice is amused. "No, you're not. Stand up and take off the rest of your clothes."
He does, and this time he folds them—once is playful, but more than that will genuinely annoy her. He stands naked in front of her, though she's still sitting back, fully dressed. They've been friends for two years, doing this for one, but he still can't help blushing when she takes long moments to look him up and down, her eyes steady on his before moving down to graze over his shoulders, his chest, the cuts of his hips, the arch of his cock as it lengthens under her gaze, his thighs, his calves, even his feet. "God, you're gorgeous," she says, and the words aren't new, either, but she says them like she means it, like it's a surprise how much she means it, every single time. She nods toward the edge of the bed. "Kneel down here."
McCoy obeys and kneels beside the bed. Rian leans forward and runs her hand through his hair before trailing her fingers down over the rim of his ear, across the line of his jaw to his lips. He opens his mouth to lick at them, suck them if she'll let him; she does, and he swirls his tongue around her fingertips and her calluses. Her other hand falls to the back of his head, and she says, "Do you know what you look like doing that?" He doesn't want to answer—doesn't want to take her fingers out of his mouth—and Rian continues, "Next time I fuck you, I want you to do that to my cock. Suck me off before I let you have it." He looks up at her with what he hopes she knows is a yes, and she smiles. "I knew you'd like that idea."
She takes her fingers away and stands up. She strips off her T-shirt and lets him look—per usual, she's got nothing on underneath it. Her breasts are the perfect size for his hands, and he wants to suck on her nipples until they’re like hard candy in his mouth. But instead she hands him the shirt and says, “Put this in the laundry.”
He stands up and does. When he turns back around, she’s unbuttoning her jeans, and he can see the top of what look like white panties beneath. For a moment he wants nothing more than to slide his fingers beneath them and stroke her clit until she’s so wet that he’s coated in it, too.
She looks like she knows what he’s thinking, but when he steps closer, she says, her tone a mild warning, “Stay there.” She takes off the jeans, and she is, in fact, wearing white panties—trimmed with lace, and he’d love to pull them down and lick her, too, until she's gasping and holding his head in place and keeping him there until he makes her come. Her smile edges up, like she really knows what he’s thinking, and she says, “Fold these and lay them on the dresser.” He does, and she sits down on the edge of the bed. She spreads her knees and pats them, and says, “Come here.” He kneels between them, like he’s done many times before, and she cups his head in her hands. “Do you want to touch me, Leonard?”
“Yes,” he says.
She smiles as though he’s said something to amuse her, and she continues, “Do you want to lick me?”
“Leonard. I've told you not to take that tone with me.”
He tries to look contrite, but it’s difficult and probably not particularly successful, as he isn’t contrite in the slightest.
“Get over my knee. You know what’s coming to you.”
Oh, he does. He stands up, then stretches himself across her lap.
When she spanks him, it’s in bright crimson-tinged flashes of not-exactly-pain.
He can’t quite make himself push up into it, ask for it—still too ingrained in him that nobody wants this, that nobody asks for this. Even if he can feel how hard he’s getting, even if he gasps and shudders when her hand strikes his ass. Her other hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, reassuring and restraining at the same time, holding him down. Now when she spanks the curve of his ass, the tops of his thighs, he can’t arch his neck in response—and his hips rise of their own volition, welcoming her hand, as much as she wants to give him. He bites his lip to keep from crying out, even though please and yes are trying to fight their way up.
She rubs his ass lightly with one hand and says, “You took that very well.”
He manages a, “Thank you.” Wants to ask for more. Can’t make himself do it.
“In fact,” Rian says, “you took that so well that I’ll give you a reward. One of two things. Would you like to know what they are?”
Some very small part of him wants to snap, of course I do, but most of him just wants to say, “Yes.” Wants to let her give him whatever she wants to.
“The first option is that we can stop the spanking, and I’ll let you touch me with your fingers. I probably won’t let you make me come, but I haven’t completely decided. The second option is that you can bring me your belt and get a longer whipping, and then I’ll let you lick me. If you do it right, I’ll let you make me come, but only if you do it right. Which would you prefer?”
He has to swallow before he can say, “The second option. Please.”
She moves her hand from his neck and pats his bottom lightly. He can’t help the intake of breath; he’s more sensitive there than he’d realized. “Good,” she tells him. “Now go get me your belt.”
McCoy gets up and crosses the room to unwind the old leather belt from the loops of his jeans. He can feel Rian watching him, and when he turns back, her expression is warm even though she’s not visibly smiling. She pats her right thigh, and he hands her the belt and then puts himself back into place. She runs her hand over his ass, his thighs, his hips, and he can’t help relaxing into it even though he knows what’s coming.
And then she starts whipping him.
It’s sharp, stinging; it’s like a fiery electric line drawn across his ass. On the second stroke he gasps and drops his head; on the fifth he can’t help crying out. On the eighth he shudders, and he doesn’t know whether it’s an attempt to get away or a request for more. But she gives him more anyway. The eleventh goes across the tops of his thighs, and he jolts in surprise. The twelfth is lighter, but the thirteenth is the hardest yet, and “Rian!” bursts out of him before he realizes it. At fifteen he realizes he’s still hard; at sixteen he realizes he’s even harder than he was going into it. At eighteen he whispers, “Please.”
She pauses. “Please what?”
He could ask her to stop, and even though it’s not a safeword, she probably would.
Instead he answers, “Harder. Please.”
She gives him what he asks for.
He’s trembling by the time she stops. She rubs his ass, her hand soft and cool against the abraded skin, and she rubs his back, too, loosening tight muscles. She leans down to stroke his hair, and whispers, “That was so good, Leonard. You did so well. You can lick me now, if you’d like.”
She keeps her fingers in his hair as he kneels between her legs.
She stands to pull the underwear down and off, and he wants to sit back on his heels and look at the sight of her naked, long and lean and with her hair cascading around her shoulders, but that’s not what she told him to do. Instead, when she sits back down and guides him forward, he presses an illicit kiss to the inside of her thigh and gives her his mouth the way she likes it.
Rian makes gorgeous noises, sighs that sometimes include his name. She tells him what he wants—faster, there, yes, like that. She shivers around him, and he wants to run his hands up the muscles of her calves and thighs, but she didn’t tell him he could do that. He swirls his tongue in circles around her clit, sometimes stopping to drag over it, and her fingers tighten in his hair.
It’s after one of those times that McCoy, conscious of his tactical advantage, pulls back and says as humbly as possible, “May I make you come?”
She starts laughing, and pulls on his hair to yank him back into place. “Yes. And don't think I don’t know that you did that on purpose.” He just smiles and licks her faster, sucks at her clit, uses the point of his tongue on it—then slows down, teases, until she gasps, “Do it, or you can watch from across the room while I do it myself.”
He does it, and smiles as he listens to her long, low moan as she climaxes.
When she’s shuddered out the aftershocks, she pushes him gently back and says, “Stand up.” He does, and she reaches up to trail her fingers over his ass, still hot and stinging. “I bet that’s pretty tender now, right?” He nods, and she goes on, “Good. That’s what you’re going to be lying on when I fuck you. Lie down, head on the pillow, hands on the bedposts. They don’t move. Do you understand?” He nods again, and she says, “Yes or no, Leonard.”
“Good. Because if they move, I tie them, and you don’t get to come.”
He spreads himself on the bed and she climbs on top of him, looking down at him with her knees on either side of his hips. Some of her hair has spilled forward, and he desperately wants— “I want to touch your hair,” he blurts out.
“No. Your hands stay where they are.”
Rian sinks down onto his cock, and he loses every breath in his lungs. She leans forward and presses down on his shoulders, pinning him. “Don’t come. You know better than that.”
“Won’t come,” he gasps.
“That’s right. You won’t until I say you can.” She moves, luxuriantly, up and down, and he forces his eyes open so that he can watch the curve of her back and the arch of her neck. The pleasure is exquisite; the cotton of the quilt is like sandpaper on his burning ass; both together make him thrust up and moan, and he has to tighten his fingers on the posts to keep them where they are. “How's your ass?” she asks, smiling like she knows the answer.
“Hurts,” he manages.
“I thought so. Was it worth it?”
He remembers the taste of her in his mouth and says, “God, yes.”
She rides him with closed eyes and a small smile on her face, and McCoy keeps his own eyes open so that he can watch her. She’s going slowly, whether deliberately to tease or not he doesn’t know, but he does know from experience that if he tries to speed her up, she’ll just tie him and continue at whatever pace she likes. She twists her hips, enough to let him feel her tighten around him; he gasps her name, and she says, “How does that feel?”
“Good. Please, Rian—”
“Please what?” She leans forward, lets her hair fall to brush his chest and shoulders.
“Please—” It’s hard to admit how much he wants it, even harder to ask for it.
She reaches down to outline his lips with one finger. “I can’t give it to you if you can’t ask for it.”
He closes his eyes. “Please let me— I want to— Please let me come.”
She kisses him gently. “One day you’ll be able to ask for that with your eyes open.” She kisses him again and says, “You can come, Leonard. You’ve been so good for me. Whenever you want to, you can come.”
He does, with her breath mingling with his and her hair falling around him. He cries out, and she whispers, “Let it happen,” as it rolls through him. “You’ve done so well, been so good. Let me have it.” And he does, until it leaves him limp and breathless and he can open his eyes again. She puts her hands over his on the bedposts and draws them down, then wraps her arms around him. “I need to come again,” she tells him. “Do you want to hold me while I do?”
“Rather do it for you,” he says.
“Mmm, somebody’s feeling sassy and satisfied with himself. But the question hasn’t changed.”
“Yes,” McCoy says. “Yes, I want to.”
She moves off him, and he sits up to lean against the headboard. She settles back in his arms and says, “You may touch my breasts if you like,” which of course he’s not going to say no to.
Her nipples are already hard, and he wishes he could feel her getting hotter and slicker as he plays them between his fingers. “Can I kiss your neck?” he asks.
“Yes,” she tells him, and he moves her hair to the side and kisses her nape and the side of her throat, caresses her nipples and breasts, and watches her stroke herself, one finger and then two and then three over her clit. She lets her head loll on his shoulder, and he kisses her ear and the declivity beneath it.
She gasps, high and sharp, once and then again, and he feels her shaking with orgasm. She slumps back against him, and he holds her like that until she has her breath back. Then he takes her left hand in his, brings it to his mouth, and kisses her wetness from her fingers.
“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” Rian says, but he can hear the smile in her voice. “Stubborn bastard,” she adds, and he knows that they're back to themselves now, just Rian and McCoy, two doctors and Starfleet cadets who happen to do things in their spare time that are nobody’s business but theirs.
He just laughs, and winds a length of her hair around his fingers.
Three days later, they’re at war. Deployment is madness, everyone’s running to their ships—and there’s Rian in front of him.
"Farragut," she says, gripping his hand.
Even as he recognizes his irrationality—it makes sense to split up medical personnel—McCoy can’t help the twist in his stomach. He’s old-fashioned, he knows it, but he likes keeping his friends close, especially when they’re all about to shot out to God-knows-where in space. He decides to hold out hope that Jim will get assigned with him, at least.
"Enterprise," McCoy says, and grips back just as tightly.
Rian starts, as though she's going to turn and head for her ship, and he lets her go. But she leans up and kisses him, hard, and he returns it, burying his hands in her hair even if it does mess up her neat uniform braid. “Stay safe,” she says, and her smile is lopsided. “We’ve got things to do when we get back.”
“Yeah,” he says, and hugs her. “You stay safe, too.” He holds her like that for a moment, then lets her go, because a battle is about to happen and they have to take their places in it.
The Farragut is the first ship to come out of warp over Vulcan.