To tide you over while your chapter remains elusive and difficult I give you this because I love your story so much... Not as good as anything you write and completely unbeta'd but hopefully something in it will help you tame those wild ideas.
♥ Masked Anon
Christine Chapel knew. She always knew. Especially when it came to Dr. McCoy. She knew where he was, where he was going, what he needed, what he wanted. She knew his every move. It's why Dr. McCoy valued her so much. He'd never met a nurse that could match him so well. Even better, every little request, no matter how trivial or demeaning was met without complaint. She was quiet, effecient, really the best nurse a doctor could ever ask for. And she knew her stuff. It made Dr. McCoy feel safe and secure every time he had to go down to a planet on some trivial mission with Jim Kirk and that pointy-eared bastard that his sickbay was left in the charge of clearly capable hands.
The only thing that bothered McCoy about his Head Nurse was that she was gorgeous. Gorgeous to him at least. Others may just see her as cute or pretty. But to McCoy she was a hot, sexy, beautiful little vixen. Large, intelligent crystal blue eyes framed by dark, thick lashes. Pale, smooth skin and thick, silky, golden blonde hair. Her lips were full and bright pink. She had the perfect amount of curves for her petite frame and was nearly a head shorter than McCoy, which he didn't mind seeing as he usually got a nice view of ample cleavage when he was looking down at her. Combine all that with the standard Starfleet uniform for it's female cadets, Christine Chapel became all gorgeous, creamy long legs that led to a pert, round, shapely ass. No one had the right to look like that in front of McCoy, how was he to focus?
So, yes, McCoy would admit he was physically attracted to his head nurse. He admired her for her professional work demeanor. And he liked her sparkling, friendly personality. If he told this to anyone fingers would be pointed that he was infatuated with Christine Chapel. That he wanted to date her. That he wanted to fuck her. And when he admitted it to himself, McCoy would admit that all three of those things were very, very true.
Nothing would ever come of it, though. He was nearly ten years her senior. Sure, he got along well with all the young crew members, but those were friendships, not relationships. And though there were no strict guidelines about dating on the Starship he was also her superior, her boss, a relationship under those circumstances just didn't seem acceptable. Then there was the most important fact that he knew she didn't see their relationship as anything more than platonic, a good, solid working relationship and a nice trusting friendship.
All that being said, McCoy still liked to look. And occasionally, on days when he was feeling particularly daring, touch. Again it was the blessed Starfleet uniforms that did McCoy the biggest favor. It didn't take Chapel moving much to have the skirt shift enough that McCoy was able to catch a glimpse of underwear. The slip of a collar to reveal the top of her bra cup. They were usually white undergarments, occasionally a soft pink, nothing remarkable, but somehow they always managed to get McCoys pulse racing just a bit faster. If the slip was unexpected, his breath would catch and he would have to cover it up by yelling at some hapless nurse or engineer or Jim Kirk, whoever happened to be closest. Then he would smirk to himself as Christine quickly tried to adjust whatever portion of her uniform had caused a reveal of underwear, casting furitive glances around to make sure no one saw it.
It wasn't just the hidden clothing articles and skin that held McCoy's attention. He may be a man, but he wasn't Jim Kirk, he knew how to appreciate the joys of a woman's body without rudely oggling. He loved watching her graceful, purposeful movements. Her sweet, gentle voice was always a soothing balm to his constantly frazzled nerves. And when she smiled. Forget the underwear. It was the smile that made him melt. To Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel was perfect. And that pissed him off.
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zvi and
The Day Nurse Chapel Wore Red and Dr. McCoy Lost It (1)
Date: 2009-07-22 08:56 pm (UTC)♥ Masked Anon
Christine Chapel knew. She always knew. Especially when it came to Dr. McCoy. She knew where he was, where he was going, what he needed, what he wanted. She knew his every move. It's why Dr. McCoy valued her so much. He'd never met a nurse that could match him so well. Even better, every little request, no matter how trivial or demeaning was met without complaint. She was quiet, effecient, really the best nurse a doctor could ever ask for. And she knew her stuff. It made Dr. McCoy feel safe and secure every time he had to go down to a planet on some trivial mission with Jim Kirk and that pointy-eared bastard that his sickbay was left in the charge of clearly capable hands.
The only thing that bothered McCoy about his Head Nurse was that she was gorgeous. Gorgeous to him at least. Others may just see her as cute or pretty. But to McCoy she was a hot, sexy, beautiful little vixen. Large, intelligent crystal blue eyes framed by dark, thick lashes. Pale, smooth skin and thick, silky, golden blonde hair. Her lips were full and bright pink. She had the perfect amount of curves for her petite frame and was nearly a head shorter than McCoy, which he didn't mind seeing as he usually got a nice view of ample cleavage when he was looking down at her. Combine all that with the standard Starfleet uniform for it's female cadets, Christine Chapel became all gorgeous, creamy long legs that led to a pert, round, shapely ass. No one had the right to look like that in front of McCoy, how was he to focus?
So, yes, McCoy would admit he was physically attracted to his head nurse. He admired her for her professional work demeanor. And he liked her sparkling, friendly personality. If he told this to anyone fingers would be pointed that he was infatuated with Christine Chapel. That he wanted to date her. That he wanted to fuck her. And when he admitted it to himself, McCoy would admit that all three of those things were very, very true.
Nothing would ever come of it, though. He was nearly ten years her senior. Sure, he got along well with all the young crew members, but those were friendships, not relationships. And though there were no strict guidelines about dating on the Starship he was also her superior, her boss, a relationship under those circumstances just didn't seem acceptable. Then there was the most important fact that he knew she didn't see their relationship as anything more than platonic, a good, solid working relationship and a nice trusting friendship.
All that being said, McCoy still liked to look. And occasionally, on days when he was feeling particularly daring, touch. Again it was the blessed Starfleet uniforms that did McCoy the biggest favor. It didn't take Chapel moving much to have the skirt shift enough that McCoy was able to catch a glimpse of underwear. The slip of a collar to reveal the top of her bra cup. They were usually white undergarments, occasionally a soft pink, nothing remarkable, but somehow they always managed to get McCoys pulse racing just a bit faster. If the slip was unexpected, his breath would catch and he would have to cover it up by yelling at some hapless nurse or engineer or Jim Kirk, whoever happened to be closest. Then he would smirk to himself as Christine quickly tried to adjust whatever portion of her uniform had caused a reveal of underwear, casting furitive glances around to make sure no one saw it.
It wasn't just the hidden clothing articles and skin that held McCoy's attention. He may be a man, but he wasn't Jim Kirk, he knew how to appreciate the joys of a woman's body without rudely oggling. He loved watching her graceful, purposeful movements. Her sweet, gentle voice was always a soothing balm to his constantly frazzled nerves. And when she smiled. Forget the underwear. It was the smile that made him melt. To Leonard McCoy, Christine Chapel was perfect. And that pissed him off.