Beautiful, Dirty, Rich

AN: Inspired by "Beautiful, Dirty, Rich" by Lady Gaga!

Disclaimer: SSDD

Rating: T

He threw his head back, laughter bubbling in his throat. The car was going way too fast and the girls were screaming and landmarks and trees and buildings rushed by. He pushed the limits of the car until he could feel the car, as if he was part of it, and they moved in sync. The louder their voices got, the harder he revved the engine.

This little voice in the back of his mind, whatever rationality he had, tried to talk him down from his high, but he wouldn't stop. Short of killing himself, he wouldn't stop.

The girl in the passenger seat grabbed his arm. Her long nails dug into his skin, her long hair whipped him as the wind gushed in through the open windows he locked. It was exhilarating, and his best friend, tucked in the back behind him, had let go of his reservations miles ago, one flask of bourbon later.

It had been the girls' idea to get out of San Francisco for break, to get as far away from the academy as they could on one tank and when they broke down, find the nearest town. They lived hard, fast and beautiful, and that was why he put up with them for so long. The more scared they got, the more gorgeous they were, and they were petrified. He flashed his smile, and her grip eased, but when he drifted around the corner, another shriek ripped out of her throat and Bones' gripped his headrest for dear life.

He was pushing two-hundred and fifty when they hit the outskirts of Las Vegas and he slowed to a crawl for him, around one-fifty, just slow enough to avoid the flashing lights and fast enough to keep their hearts from maintaining a stable rhythm.

They ditched the car in a parking garage and found themselves in the red light, bathed in the morbid, alluring color. The girls led the way, always knowing exactly where to go and he followed with Bones' right behind him. Bones' was always reluctant to go along with him, but he agreed this time, refusing to have to head back to Georgia and be anywhere near his ex-wife. He would have gone if his daughter was there, but she had been sent to some boarding school.

The girls pushed open the doors to a club, after leading them through an alley. The smell of alcohol and sex and sweat and perfume wafted out of the double doors and seemed to pull him in by the throat. The music inside was loud, base rocking the building and the two girls slipped onto the floor, avoiding the fight about to break out with he and the doctor found themselves at the bar, their earlier buzz starting to sober off. Bones' took another shot of bourbon and he threw back a shot of gin. The familiar burn scraped down his throat and he smiled, resting the glass down, awaiting another and tossed that one back as well.

The girls sauntered over, their hair still perfect, even after the way they ran their fingers through it while they danced and each took a shot of Patrón then another one for good measure before grabbing him and McCoy and pulling them out onto the floor.

The darker haired one, the one from the passenger seat, wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned close, pressing as tightly as she could, her breath ghosting over his neck. She turned around, throwing her arms over her head and back around his neck and slithered down and back up, winding her hips.

He glanced over her shoulder, where he had a clear view of the door and saw someone walk in her was sure he knew, but he was too shit-wrecked to think of the name.

"Is that Uhura?" The blonde, twin sister to the other, with obviously bleached hair, shouted over the music, leaning close to him, as if to make sure he heard her.

"I think so." Her sister slurred, glancing over her shoulder at him, smiling deviously. He rolled his eyes and stepped away from her. She took the dismissal in stride, joining her sister and turning heads.

He pushed through the crowds toward the bar, where he saw Uhura.

"Oh, it's you." She scoffed when she turned to him. She grabbed her glass, and leaned back against the counter. "I should have figured you'd be here. Haven't gotten in a fight yet, have you? Pike would be proud." She added, dismissively, tossing her hair over her shoulder and flashed him a smile that was as deadly as it was attractive.

"You here alone?"

"Are you propositioning me?" She asked, laughing.

"No." He shot back, taking the hit to his ego, again. "Just wondering."

"There's a group of us. I'm just the first one here." She glanced at the door before looking back at him. He had already tossed back another shot of gin. "Are you fishing for something? Gaila isn't going to be here." She offered acidly.

"Just wondering if that high-strung boyfriend of yours is going to be here." He served back, smiling when her eyes went wide before narrowing.

"We aren't dating, you backwards farm boy. Not anymore." She clarified. "And for your information, he is here. Well, he's in Nevada. A group of the professors are here for a conference." Her eyes locked with his. "You looking for him?"

"Me? No." He spat quickly, trying not to look suspicious. He figured she saw right through him. She laughed but said nothing. Someone she knew must have arrived because she smiled at him and turned away, heading toward the entrance.

"What was that about?" The dark haired girl asked, her silken voice even more slurred than it was before. It smelled of triple sec, faint orange and heavy alcohol. She always smelled like oranges.

"None of yours." He stated coldly, and she shivered mockingly in response.

"Have another. You're getting to be no fun." She mewled, handing another glass to him. He took it quickly and downed it, the burn more intense than it had been before. Whiskey. One-eighty proof. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze.

He laughed to himself. He hadn't changed much since that bar fight that landed him a proposition to join Starfleet. He still drank more than he could handle, he still used sex like a drug. He hadn't changed much.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He whispered to the ceiling, smiling fading on his lips. He couldn't help that he was addicted. It was easier to drown out sensations, memories, pain, than to face them. And bad habits die hard.

"Who are you talking to?" The lighter-haired one asked. He ignored her and pushed past the sisters to McCoy. They jeered at him, melting into the crowd, finding it all to easy to replace him with someone more interesting in falling victim to them.

"Something on your mind?" McCoy said, his Southern drawl starting to come out thicker and thicker.

"Let's get out of here."

"Thought you'd never ask, honey." He laughed, following him out, the night air sobering him up a little. At least he could breathe again. "What's got you in such a rush?" McCoy asked, not missing a beat.

"You know where that conference is?"

"The what?"

"The conference."

"That doesn't help me at all." McCoy stated flatly, his confused tone making Jim laugh.

"Where did we leave the car?"

"Assuming it's still there? In that direction." He pointed absently. "Or that one." He added, his other hand pointing in the opposite direction, his brows knitted together in confusion.

With one Hell of a miracle, they found the cars, keys still inside and started to head out of Las Vegas, somewhere toward Reno, McCoy's best guess as to where whatever conference he was talking about might be. He was pushing two-hundred again, and even drunk, Bones' was out of his mind scared. If he thought we was afraid of space, it had just gotten replaced with Jim's driving.

He didn't want to be driving for hours, like he would have been if they had followed the customary, and safe, as McCoy pointed out, speed limits. McCoy had already dosed him with some medication that was working the alcohol out of him, and he was sober enough to drive, just not enough to consider his own safety. Then again, he didn't have to be sober to be reckless, and Bones knew this, and he sighed, slumping in the passenger seat, praying that they make it to Reno in one piece. He only laughed and pushed forward, even as the sun was long set behind the horizon and the clock inched toward nine-thirty. There was only a half an hour to go on his crazed, half-informed mission.

He couldn't even think of why he was so desperate to get to Reno. When that thought crossed his mind, he slammed onto the brakes, hard, the car skidding forward before coming to a complete stop in the middle of some back road that would have had McCoy nervous if he wasn't reeling from nearly getting whiplash.

"What the Hell are you doing?" His best friend screamed, twisting in his seat to stare at him with wide eyes, reflecting the light of the moon, only deepening that hysterical look of fear in his eyes. "You out of your mind?" The voice was accompanied by one vice-like grip on his forearm and another to the dash in front of the passenger seat.

"I might be. Bones, what the Hell are we doing?"

"What? I thought you knew! I was just dragged along. What the -? Goddammit, Jim."

He just laughed at his friend and pulled the car over to the shoulder.

"So now what? The locator says we're just outside of Reno." McCoy stated, gesturing to the dashboard computer. "I really don't want to suffer you driving all the way back to Las Vegas."

"So, hotel in Reno?"

"You think we'll find one?"

"I have no idea. But it's either that, or head to the next city."

"Reno it is." McCoy stated, almost too excited to get out of this deathtrap. He typed in a search for hotels and found one with two rooms and booked them from the car and they continued into the city, following the onscreen directions and the speed limit. It was just past ten thirty when they found the hotel, parked and checked-in and McCoy abandoned him at his designated room before heading to his own.

He opened the door and threw his stuff inside, not paying attention to where it landed, but winced when something crashed, and he really hoped he wouldn't have to pay for that. He didn't check to see what it was, however, heading back into the lobby to see what, or who, was around. He was still working off the vaguest of hangovers and he liked to walk off the last tendrils of it.

The lobby was empty, with the exception of the concierge, who was too busy looking at something on the computer to even notice he was there. He started looking around at the announcements and flyers scrolling across the walls. One of them caught his eye and he reached out to the wall, his fingertips stopping the announcement from moving further down the wall. Placing two fingers in opposite corners, he tugged, and the text grew larger.

Under the large emblem of Starfleet was an announcement for a conference and he started reading through the list, scrolling through the attachments of the schedule, the lecturers and some notable attendees. He was starting to lose interest when a name caught his eye, and he stretched the document larger, as if that mattered at all. He heard footsteps come up behind him and flicked the announcement away, swiping his fingers across the wall. He felt like a teenager with a crush as a dull yet heated blush rose on his cheeks as he tried to act innocent. Whoever was standing behind him must be laughing.

"Cadet?"

The voice was cold, level. They had not been laughing. That made his embarrassment worse. He turned and his heart dropped. He tried to smile and prayed it worked.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't expect to see you here." The professor stood there, dressed in the black, fitted off-duty uniform that clung in all the beautiful places, what a thought, hands behind his back, his customary stance.

"Well, yeah. I was in Vegas," he started, running his hand through his hair nervously. "I just sort of ended up here. It was getting late." He wondered if that even made any sense.

"I see."

He felt awkward. Really. Awkward. He shifted his weight continuously. In the end, he opted to just turn and leave, thinking in the back of his mind that it was sort of rude to just run off without excusing himself. He made his way back to his room and fumbled through his pocket for the key to the door but couldn't find it.

"God damn." He swore, falling back against the door and sliding down to the floor. With his luck he probably left the damn thing in the room. He wouldn't be surprised. He forgot what Bones' room number was. He sighed and closed his eyes, rapping his head against the door distractedly.

He heard the lock click open and he startled awake, unsure of when he had started to drift off, looking up in a daze.

"I discovered this on the lobby floor. I believe you dropped it when you departed."

His cheeks flushed again, and he chuckled to himself as he used the door to push himself up, too close, and his eyes went wide and he stumbled back.

"Sorry." He said quickly, trying to give his professor more space. He fought the urge to roll his eyes at himself, really starting to feel like a hormonal teenager, all flustered and beside himself.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

"What? No. I'm fine."

He felt those eyes give him a once over, as if he didn't believe the words, then offered him the key, which he grabbed, accidentally brushing his professor's fingers in the process.

The electric shock that powered through him was startling. He couldn't help but stare, hand still slightly outstretched, not knowing what to do with it, nor with the strange numb, tingling feeling left behind from the shock. His professor seemed just as taken aback, but in a mush more subtle way; his eyes were fixed on his hand, as if he didn't recognize it. When their eyes finally met, neither one of them said anything.

Behind him, the door, sensing movement again, slid open and he nearly fell backwards, saved by his latching onto that strong lean wrist out of reflex. It managed to prevent him from falling on his ass, and in return got him pushed into the room.

When he managed to regain his balance, he was standing in the middle of the room, a good two feet from Spock, because now, in his hotel room, the man was not his professor.

The man was nothing more than intense, powerful, intimidating and unbearably hot. He could feel the heat from where he stood. It stalled him. It was beautiful. Those dark eyes connected with his, the near black color warming to a lurid brown, tempting and dirty with promises. When his voice cracked through silence, it was deep, alluring, a rich tone. Amazing.

"James." No one called him that. Hearing his name in that tone nearly made his knees weak, but he was not going to collapse. No.

At least not yet.

He took a step forward, needing to get closer, even if he wasn't entirely sure what was going on, this was hot and he couldn't resist. There was something almost intoxicating about the improbability of this that made it hard to stop, even if he had wanted to do so. Which he didn't.

He heard his name in that same burning tone and he couldn't help himself, he fluidly moved forward, capturing that face between his palms, crushing their lips together. Nothing else really mattered at the moment.

It was all beautiful, dirty, rich.