Imagine, if you will…
that Leonard McCoy finally musters up the courage to ask you out. You accept, gladly, and he takes you for a nice dinner before the two of you retire to his couch and enjoy a movie together. At some point during the evening, you fall asleep. This story picks up the following morning…
"Well, well, well, good morning sleepyhead," McCoy greets with a wry smile from across the room. He sips his coffee slowly without taking his eyes off you.
"Hi…" you reply shyly, with a small yawn. The pink creeps into your cheeks as you sit up and tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear. You can't help but notice that Doctor McCoy is freshly showered, shaven, and already in uniform. "I can't believe I slept through the night!" you mutter in embarrassment.
"Neither can I," Bones teases. "Sorry for boring you to death."
He hands you a cup of coffee, which you accept gratefully as he takes a seat on the couch beside you.
"Why didn't you wake me?"
Leonard shifts in place uneasily. "Oh, I don't know. You just looked so damned comfortable I couldn't bring myself to disturb you," he admits honestly, meeting your gaze out the corner of his eye.
You give him a small smile. "So you watched me sleep all night instead?"
"First of all," McCoy begins defensively, "I 'observed' you. I am a doctor after all, not some sort of pervert."
You raise an eyebrow at him playfully, mimicking his favored form of expression.
"And secondly," Leonard continues, "it was only half the night." He winks, eliciting an embarrassed giggle from you.
"Alright Darlin'-" McCoy places a hand on your knee as you imagined a father would his daughter. "What can I getcha? I'm making breakfast. Omlette? French toast? You name it, it's yours."
"Ooohhh, French toast sounds delicious…" you admit, suddenly ravenous.
McCoy prepares the food swiftly as you drink your coffee, willing the caffeine to kick in as soon as possible. You catch him glancing at you several times as he cooks, since the kitchen is conveniently open to the living space.
"You talk in your sleep, you know…" McCoy remarks casually.
"I do not," you insist with a confident smile.
"Sure you do. It's downright adorable."
"Oh really?" you challenge. "And what did I say?"
"Well, I could only catch bits and pieces," he lies thoughtfully, transferring your breakfast from pan to plate. "But from what I could tell, it was mostly about me."
A huge grin spreads across your face in amusement as he approaches.
"You are a bad man, Leonard McCoy," you goad with mock disapproval.
The doctor hands you your French toast, and you are unable to hide your astonishment upon taking the first bite. "This is amazing!" you exclaim enthusiastically.
"Well now, don't sound so surprised. Every good southern boy knows how to cook."
"Oh yeah?" you ask flirtatiously between bites. "What else to good, southern boys know how to do well?"
McCoy cocks his head mischievously. "Don't even get me started."
Things quiet down after breakfast, each of you dreading your imminent departure. It was a workday after all, and seeing as you were not part of the medical team, you and McCoy did not cross paths very often. The time had come for you to go put on your red shirt.
Leonard walks you to the door to see you out.
"I had a really nice time," you say with a shy smile.
"So did I," McCoy reciprocates candidly. "Even if you did lose consciousness halfway through the night..."
You smack his shoulder sportively, shaking your head, but in truth, you adored his cynical mockery.
McCoy leans forward, looking into your eyes and tilting your jaw up with his index finger. Your heart flutters as his warm lips come into contact with yours. It was a chaste kiss at first, but when neither of you wants to pull away, Bones steps in closer, placing his arms around your waist as you breathe each other in. You open your mouth, desperate for oxygen, but equally delighted when McCoy deepens the kiss. His tongue is still sweet from the maple syrup and yet bitter from his black coffee. You find the combination exhilarating. Or perhaps the sensation you are experiencing is merely lightheadedness.
"Leonard," you breathe softly, finally breaking away, but only for need of air.
"Tell me to stop and I will," he says calmly, continuing his assault of kisses along your jaw and down your neck until his teeth graze your collarbone.
"Please don't stop," you beg desperately, craving his touch like an addiction.
A/N Shall I continue, or leave the rest to your imagination?