Show Me

McCoy/Chapel Pirate!AU written for Talk Like a Pirate Day

Mature rating for sex, language, and silliness.

She tried to keep her eyes off of him as he stood, strong legs braced to withstand the rocking of the ship on the rough waters of the Atlantic. Because he could not see her, his face was unguarded and he looked slightly ill.

"Dammit, Jim" he muttered when the deck's surface tilted suddenly down. He leaned over the rail and was violently ill. She could see the muscles in his back strain as he coughed, then wiped his mouth and continued staring at the black waters. Her gaze was unbroken on him for several moments as she remembered how he had saved her from the lecherous hands of that blasted Scotsman. "I know you're there, Lady Christine."

She dropped the parasol that she had intended to use as a weapon with a gasp. "H-how did you know?"

"You smell different that the other…bilge rats on this ship." His hard face almost smiled, but it was hard to tell in the dusk. "Like flowers or something that reeks of the same."

Christine bent down to pick up the damned umbrella. "Reeks?" She knew that she was showing herself to be a damsel in distress, but this man's…manner caused her much of that distress. "You are saying that I smell distasteful?"

There was no doubt about it now. He was definitely grinning. "Not distasteful, Lady. Just a little different."

"I was trying to find you, Mr. McCoy." She decided to change tactics and throw him off guard. It did not work.

"You were, were you?"

"Yes." She put the steel into her voice that so cowed the men in her life. They never failed to obey her when she used this tone. "I am ready to go back to my fiancé now. He is going to be worried."

"That's not how it works, love." Forgetting momentarily the rocking boat, he leaned against the rail and turned his full attention on her. "We take you back when the captain is ready to, not before. Besides, your so-called fiancé is a land-lubber bastard as well as far inferior to you in all ways. He hasn't coughed up even a shilling for you yet."

Her face reddened and she took deep breaths to keep from screaming at him like a fishwife. "Roger is not inferior! He saved me from a life of infinite boredom spent never knowing what is beyond the dreariness of society. He said he would show me the world!"

This was not a new conversation, but one the man loved to bring up to cause her to lose her cool. As she always did when he spoke to her.

"And what do you think is going to happen when you go back to his sorry self, Christine? Is he going to allow you to do your writings and follow him on his expeditions? Or is he going to make you round with many children and keep you locked in the kitchen while he leaves for months on end?"

A few things Christine had discovered about Leonard McCoy the past few weeks aboard the pirate ship Enterprise were the following. One, he was infuriating. Two, he never forgot anything she told him and as her assigned guard, she had confided in him quite a bit. Three, he was stubborn and always right. It did not matter what she said, he would shake his head condescendingly at her and state his opinion plainly, usually citing some pirate code that backed up his ridiculous statements. Finally, he was protective and rather gentle for a dirty pirate. He hardly let the other men talk to her, let alone lay a finger on her now wind-chapped and reddened skin.

She tried to remember his good qualities when she was in an argument with him. Right now, her anger gave him the upper hand.

"Why do you care, Mr. McCoy? And the name is Lady Christine. Do not forget."

"My name is McCoy. Do not forget that, Lady." Somehow he had backed her up against the railing herself, trapping her arms at her sides as her parasol went flying over the railing. His wet body was plastered to hers and she bit her lip, trying not to let on how nervous he was making her. He had said he admired her strength, though, so maybe she should play the part of the wilting wallflower and swoon.

His breath was warm against her ear and she shivered, realizing that he could see right through her. "Soon," he breathed. When he let her go, she did not have to fake her wobbly legs, but he did not seem to notice as he took her arm, leading her back to her room, telling her to stay this time. Like she has anywhere else to go.

Her door flew open the next evening to admit a cleaned-up version of her protector. His much cleaner cheeks were still a bit rough as there were a couple nicks in the skin from a straight razor. She welcomed his presence as she just did not do inactivity well and they had forced her to spend the day in her cabin alone after her escapade the day before. The spark of pleasure in her stomach from his attention made her frown up at him as he stood in front of her.

"McCoy?"

"Aye, it's me, woman. Stop staring!" Her frown turned to a smile at his embarrassment, unused to seeing him out-of-sorts. "I lost a wager and so had to do…this." He scowled, but it just wasn't as effective with the smooth skin.

"It is very…different." No, she told her hands. You do not need to touch to see how smooth it is. You have a wonderful man waiting eagerly for your arrival back home in England. He would never presume to yell at you or manhandle you or push you roughly against the wall and—

"Are you okay, Lady? You look a bit flushed." He peered intently at her, no doubt wishing to prove his title as ship caretaker-always the one to wrap up the cuts and set the bones. The captain even called him "Bones"; but before he had been the one to wrap up her twisted ankle from her nasty fall the second day of captivity, she had thought it a little strange. Shouldn't they all be called Bones? Every one of the men's arms bore the same black skull-and-crossbones mark, indicating their loyalty to Captain Jim. No matter how unsavory of characters these pirates may be, they rallied under the leadership of their captain. McCoy was special, though, set apart from the rest of them through his gentleness. Well, at least with her.

She wasn't sure the others ever saw this side of him. This thought gave her the courage to ask it.

"Are you going to answer my question from before?"

"What question would that be?" His eyes were fixated on the bed, so she followed his line of vision to see the red nightgown the captain had provided for her (God knows where he got it-she didn't really want to know) laid out on the bed. She snatched it up and threw it out of sight, blushing.

"Why do you have that?"

"The captain gave it to me. I needed something to wear to bed besides this dress."

His large hands gripped her arms and she could see the scars on his hands turn white. "What else have you accepted from the captain, Christine? You smile so innocently, yet your eyes hold the guilty look of every woman I've known."

"You must have not been looking at proper women, McCoy, because I am not guilty of anything except failing to escape you when I had the chance. Let. Go. Of. Me." She pronounced each word carefully, not allowing her voice to tremble. He dropped her arms quickly and stepped back.

"You've reached under my skin, woman, and wrenched out my sense." He shook his head in disbelief. "I do not know how you did it, but you make me care."

She took a step towards him almost without thought, but he held up a hand. "Only if you are sure. There is no going back. I will not return you to that bastard excuse of a fiancé." His eyes burned. "You will be mine."

She took a moment to weigh her options, knowing what her decision was going to be. There was no way she could resist this man—she had known that from the first time he had held her ankle in his hands and told her sternly to stop crying like a baby. She hadn't been crying because of the pain, damn it all to hell, but he had not seemed to care.

"Show me, then, Leonard."

At her words, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her, pushing apart her lips for the invasion of his tongue. He kissed nothing like she had experienced before, with none of the practiced finesse and tender caresses. He almost mauled her in his eagerness to claim, gripping her hips, then her backside, biting down on her lip sharply when she protested.

"It will not be easy. Hold on." He turned her around to undo the buttons in the back of her dress, cursing when they proved to be more difficult that he imagined.

"Don't tear it. It is my only one," she said and he growled in response. When the last button popped free, the dress fell to the floor of the cabin and Christine closed her eyes.

"No, do not hide." His rough hands touched her face. "Watch." He let his hand fall from her face to her neck and then to her breasts, cupping one and then the other, sighing deeply with satisfaction at her intake of breath before pushing her down on the bed.

He stripped himself much more efficiently than he had her and she watched as his scars and marks were revealed, including the dark one on his arm. The scars proclaimed him as one who had been part of this life longer than she cared to know, while the tattoo showed his loyalty to his ship.

She stood to draw her finger across each scar on his chest, kissing the fading cuts when her fingers went lower. It was his turn to close his eyes and he allowed her the touch, hissing when she stroked him curiously.

Taking over, he dropped her on the bed and then kissed down her body, nipping at her sensitive skin as she moaned his name, twisting in the rough sheets.

Her head spun when he began to lick and she wondered why he would be doing that—it was not sanitary—before her vision blurred and she begged him to do it some more. Christine was breathing hard when he finally meandered his way back up her body to her lips.

His fingers found their way inside her and she moaned again, acting like a common whore, but beyond caring-McCoy didn't care, if his groans were any indication. She heard a muttered "fuck" and she tensed, wondering what was wrong with her.

"No, no. It is okay. You are just…tight. This is going to hurt."

"I know. My mother always said it would."

"Do not mention you mother. Just. Just, kiss me." He took her mouth in his and distracted her from the slow invasion with deep kisses that caused her head to spin even more.

It did hurt, but the pleasure that followed was worth any small amount of pain. His movements were strong, yet gentle—rather an indicator of the man himself. McCoy thrust into her faster after she relaxed around him, reaching between their bodies to touch her, moaning nonsense words and the recurring phrase of "mine-you are mine." He brought her pleasure before taking his own and collapsed to her side.

She traced his scars again and then the ink on his upper arm and the one she just discovered on his hip as he dozed in her arms, wondering about her future and how he fit it. "Did that answer your question?" he murmured.

"Whatever do you mean?" She whispered back teasingly, "The why do you care so much inquiry?"

"Aye. That's the one."

"I understand your answer. But you may have to explain it to me again because I am just a feeble woman."

He grunted. "Give me time. I am not seventeen anymore."

No he was not. And she was not a woman to regret her decisions, so she wrapped herself up in his arms and fell asleep.