la_dame_boheme

                He could understand the little girl’s distress. The raven haired toddler was just less capable of controlling her emotions than her father, but if Jim had had the choice, he’d be crying in the dark of their quarters just like she was. Spock was in sickbay, still. She was doing better, but she was still hurt, and little Amanda was having a hard time adapting to her mother’s absence. Jim was too. It wasn’t normal, or right. It wasn’t a life-threatening injury, Bones had made that very clear. It was just a typical away-mission wounding. But it was enough, and Jim didn’t like it. And apparently, neither did Amanda. The young Vulcan girl hadn’t stopped crying all night. She was only barely two years old, and all she knew was that Mommy wasn’t there. Mommy didn’t hum a quiet Vulcan tune to help her to sleep, or kiss her head and tuck her in. Jim was a pretty strong person; he had to be to be effective at his job. But this was killing him.

                Jim sat up in bed and turned on a low light, blinking at the sudden brightness. Amanda was still curled up in her tiny bed, clutching her blue Starfleet issue fleece blanket and the stuffed Tribble Scotty had given her, her cries still babyish in sound. Her startlingly blue eyes were too bright, washed clean with tears and vibrant, just like Jim’s were when they teared up. It was very late, around 2 in the morning, Terran-standard, and he knew she hadn’t slept at all. “Starshine…” he said quietly, cocking his head and looking at her from his spot on the bed. She looked up at him, hiccupping and snuffling into her fuzzy stuffed animal. “Come here, baby girl…” He beckoned her, and the little girl sat up, grabbing her blanket and Tribble and toddling her way out of bed and over to him, still crying. Her neat braid was messy and frizzy from tossing and turning, and he smoothed a few soft, wayward hairs back from her face when she came near enough.

                Jim picked her up gently and set her in his lap, holding her against his chest, where she curled up her face and cried. He rubbed her back, shushing gently, pressing his lips against her head. He still couldn’t get over how much she looked like her mother. Long, dark hair, pointed ears, small pale face. Except for the eyes. The brilliant blue eyes that were so much his and were his father’s before that. The blue eyes that caught every single star in space when they curled up together in the observation deck. It gave him an idea that might calm her down. “Hey, Starshine, you wanna go look at space with me?” he asked quietly, whispering against her hair. The little girl coughed on her sobs and tears and nodded, breath hitching. He nodded. It was too cold to sleep in anything but sweatpants and a sweatshirt, so he was at least decent. He wrapped her up tight in her blanket and picked her up, walking with her out of the room.

                The ship’s captain took his small daughter through the dimly lit halls up to the observation deck. It was always empty during this late shift; the only ones up were the second shift officers, and they all had duties to distract them from leisurely stargazing. He walked with her to a chair right in the front, and pulled her up into his lap, rocking her quietly. She was still crying quietly, loneliness filling her beloved eyes. He sighed gently and rubbed her back, thinking about when he was this little, and grief and emptiness still haunted his mother at night. She would sing to him back then, rocking him and singing in her quiet, airy, pretty soprano. He could remember what she sang…heard it in his dreams even now, or in quiet moments on the bridge after long, difficult away missions. It was soothing, even in troubled times, to think about her lilting voice singing him to sleep. He swallowed, and took a deep breath, hoping his mother’s never-forgotten comforts would help his little girl get some rest.

                “Black bird singin’ in the dead of night….” He sang against her hair, very softly. The observation deck was empty and silent, so even his quiet song filled the room. “Take these broken wings and learn to fly…all your life…” He heard her hiccups and sobs start to settle down, and her little face tilted up to look at him. Usually it was her mommy who sang her to sleep. Usually some quiet Vulcan lullaby; some dark and low melody that vibrated in her chest with her mother’s rich alto. But this was different. This was Daddy’s voice, scratchy and reedy and thin. “You were only waiting for this moment to arise…” Jim watched Amanda hug her Tribble tighter, snuggling closer to him, watching him eagerly for more. “Blackbird, fly. Blackbird, fly…” He smiled a little at her, stroking her tears from her face with his thumb. “…into the light of the dark black night…” Amanda yawned, and he smiled again, watching the sapphire eyes finally close. He hummed the tune, watching her face as she slowly drifted into sleep. But even though she was asleep, he didn’t stop singing. It was a comfort to him too.

                He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke up, it was to his friend’s hand on his shoulder. He looked up and blinked, Amanda was still asleep in his lap, and they were both in pajamas. Bones watched them for a few minutes, his face unreadable. “Rough night?” he asked, voice gentler than Jim was expecting. The captain simply nodded, sitting up in his seat. Bones watched as Jim stood up with Amanda, who adjusted and went back to sleep with her head on her father’s shoulder. “I’ll be on the bridge in a minute. Lemme go lay her down.” His friend nodded and watched as the father and his Starshine trundled their way out of the observation deck, Jim humming something sounding remarkably like the Beatles.

la_dame_boheme

            When Head Nurse Chapel let the three Cardassian Sunrises get the better of her libido, she had little else on her mind except herself and the Chief Medical Officer in a hotel bed with no clothes on. She had expected sex, and sleep, and that was all. What she had not expected was the mind-blowing, body-shaking, sweat-producing, scream-inducing climax he left her with. She had not expected the wonderful smothering heat of his tanned skin, the taste of bourbon and Romulan Ale on his lips and tongue, and the deceptively-hidden muscles of his chest and abs. She had not expected the tenderness with which he pressed kisses to her earlobe and neck and shoulder. She had not expected the softness of his large, clean hands against the skin of her legs and hips. Christine hadn’t expected the ease at which Leonard McCoy could pick her up and pull her against his chest while his hips slid in rhythm against hers. She hadn’t expected the softness of his massive amounts of black hair under her fingertips or the gentle pressure his lips exerted against hers. The nurse hadn’t expected to see his perpetually frowning face smooth in affection, or the coarse, biting voice to be smooth and luscious in its moans. And most of all, Christine Chapel had not expected to fall in love.

            The primal heat, stifling and raw and passionate, had cooled only to leave them both laying upright against the cheap wooden headboard, her comparatively pale skin flush against his. Their bodies gleamed with slowly-cooling sweat, their hair perfectly disheveled and the blankets damp and tangled around their legs. It wasn’t like any hook-up Christine had ever had. Usually her one-night-stands comprised of quick or drunken sex, maybe a nap, usually one or the other of them getting up, putting on their sticky clothing and leaving. This was not one of those one night stands. This was something she knew didn’t have a name. A shiver slid down her spine when a draft from the seedy motel’s cracked walls danced across her sweaty skin, and Len’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer to his warm chest. The doctor had his nose and lips buried in her fragrant golden hair, and he was tenderly stroking her arm. It was warm, and sweet, and Christine closed her eyes, wishing the digital clock on the bedside would cease it’s telling of time. It was completely not a side of the CMO anyone (except maybe Jim) had ever seen, and she only wished it hadn’t taken her this long to see it. That, and the sex was truly fabulous.

It had been a while since she’d had sex, for one thing. While her fiancé was missing in the black vacuum of space, Christine had tried to stay faithful. But after six years, she had started to lose hope of ever finding him and was starting to need to feel the release of sexual energy. And small flings had occurred, none of them notable, at least until tonight. For another thing, Leonard McCoy was one of those truly rare specimens who was rough and tender at the same time. He was fevered and slow, heated to the touch and cool against her lips. His eyes could be deep and all-seeing and yet glassy and lusty and powerful. He was a lot of things at once, and when all those things combined, he was truly overwhelming. Her skin still burned from his gentle touches, and her breathing was tight and labored with the exertion of their activities and the emotional effects of his musky, clean smell in her lungs. Chris couldn’t breathe, and she didn’t care.

She smiled a little when his lips moved from her hair to her forehead. While on leave, he had let a scruffy yet undeniably handsome and becoming beard grow. It scratched gently against her forehead, and the nurse leaned into the kiss. Her eyelids were drooping drowsily with the heady and powerful comfort she felt in his arms. It was only by his words that she was pulled from her stupor. “Ya know…” he said, voice husky and hinted with the lazy Mississippi accent that slipped out when he wasn’t reining it in, “…that was fun. We should do that again some time.”

Christine chuckled a little and tilted her lips up to meet his. After a few seconds of sweet pecks and deep, lingering kisses, she said quietly, her voice a breathy whisper, “Doctor’s orders?”

The CMO smiled against her lips, kissing her again, liquor-laced tongue sliding against hers, the feel almost enough to thoroughly intoxicate her again. “Doctor’s orders…” he said. His words made her lips vibrate and made her head reel. Christine fell into his kisses again. He had laid a warm hand against her jaw and throat, and she laid her own hand over the back of his, her long fingers wrapping around his palm. The hours were stretching, moving from night into morning, but the time was lost on the head nurse. Bones’ hands and skin and lips had reduced everything they touched to a superfine liquid that was slowly dripping lower and lower onto the mattress with him. His kisses trailed from her lips to her jaw and neck and collar and chest, dragging an invisible line of cold fire between her pale breasts, down the line of her sternum, over lightly sculpted abdominals and lower into secret places seen only by the under sides of bed sheets.

            All at once, tiny actions of his full lips had frozen her in place and in seconds had her writhing fluidly under his hands and tongue, gentle moans starting to bubble in her ribs and pour their way from her gasping mouth. The sounds gathered speed and volume and began rasping in her chest until her taut muscles finally shattered into their mercuric, molten state again, leaving her spent and sweating into the blankets. Her chest heaved as it pulled in the air she hadn’t taken, stealing back the breaths his tongue’s dance had stolen from her. The two medical staff were horizontal again on the stained mattress, and McCoy pulled himself up from her toned thighs to cup her against his chest and slide a pillow beneath her dizzy, throbbing head.

His lips, heavy with the taste of their night’s labors, gingerly pressed against her temples, which were heavy forcing her sluggish blood through her veins. The room spun in front of her blue eyes, which she locked on his face. She could see him smile through her fog of lust and of climax and release. That smile, so rarely seen, bright as diamonds and just as elusive, sent sharp bolts running through her heart, and she knew in that instant that this dalliance would not be their last. She knew that she was seeing a mirror image of the emotions stirring in her soul, and she knew that this was something completely new to her and wonderfully thrilling. Christine knew that this violent and delicate spark was pure, true, sudden love. And she knew it was the last thing she ever expected.

Courtesy, </a></b></a>crescent_grin

001. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
002. I will respond by asking you ANY five questions of a very intimate and creepily personal nature. Or not so creepy/personal.
003. You WILL update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
004. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
005. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.


Questions asked by quicksilvermad
1. I grew up watching Star Trek. Are you a new fan of Trek because of the movie? If so, are you going to familiarize yourself with the series?

I am a new fan because of the movie, yes. My friend talked me into going to see it, and I absolutely fell in love with the universe (which I used to make fun of). It's simpler to grasp than Star Wars, and the characters themselves are so magnetic and likeable and distinctive that it's very easy to get to know them. I don't enjoy movies in which I have to struggle to keep characters apart, or in which it's difficult to understand a character's motives. Star Trek introduces the characters and displays their compexities, and they're addictive. I definitely plan on familiarizing myself with the series. I watch TNG when it's on SciFi, and I watch TOS on YouTube when I can. I also have a link to a fan Wiki that I have been trawling through quite a bit lately. I'm so terribly hooked.

2. What is your favorite book and why?

This is actually a very difficult question to answer. I have A LOT of favorite books. I've been a bookworm since I was little, and therefore finding just ONE book to call my favorite is almost impossible. I'm a big Harry Potter fan, just as I'm a fan of several other hundreds of books, sooooo....I'm gonna have to say that one of my tops is Wicked: the Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire. I was a fan of hte musical first and foremost, and then when I found out it was a book, I had to find it and read it. It's very deep. I love books that are easy to read, yet make you think, and Wicked is definitely one of those. Its political without being upfront and too far left or right wing, its humorous without being slapstick, and it's got just the right touches of angst, romance, suspense, and sensuality needed to make it a well-rounded read. Its one of those books I never get tired of reading, and I always find new things to enjoy each time I crack it open.


3. Have you ever walked out on/turned off a movie because you couldn't stand it any longer?

Well, not really, but I felt like I wanted to during Napolean Dynamite. I know, this is probably a sin, but I really truly do not like the movie. I don't enjoy the ignorant humor, or the over the top schticks of the characters. It didn't have a plot of any substance to me, nor was it thought provoking or meaningful in anyway. Honestly, why is a ringer tee with "vote for pedro" grounds for a cult following? What is funny about an immature high schooler drawing imaginary animals in a Trapper Keeper? Really? Someone explain this to me, cause I don't get it.


4. In your profile, you say you've been to Greece with a professional children's choir. Where in Greece? And what was your favorite part of it all?

We started out our tour in Athens, where we stayed one night in a hotel before boarding a cruise ship. You might have heard about the cruise ship that sank just off the coast a few years ago? The Sea Diamond? The summer before it sank, our choir was on board. Lovely, yes? Well, we were on the ship for about 4 days, and in that time we visited most of the islands around Greece, including Mykonos (my favorite), Crete, and Ephesus, Turkey. Myself and one other girl in our choir contracted the flu, so our trip to Crete was quite unpleasant. It was hot, the tour was very long and entirely in the sun, and I ended up vomiting all over the grounds of some Minoan ruins. Not many Americans can say they've thrown up on the isle of Crete. But it was very cool to get to visit Ephesus, which is the location where the book of Ephesians in the Bible was written. It was absolutely beautiful there, and the Turkish markets (and the apple tea) were fabulous. Probably my favorite part was the location. I've always been a huge mythology nut, so I've always loved Greece for its history. It was so cool to walk around meditation caves of ancient Christian scholars, and to visit beautiful, weathered ruins and see the ancient amphitheatres in which all Thespians' history began. That was especially cool, since I'm an actress.

5. What, in your opinion, is the absolute best brand of coffee?

I have to say, my favorite coffee is Einstein Bros. French Dark Roast. I love dark roast coffees, and for some reason, Einstein  Bros. just does it best. I do enjoy Starbucks and Duncan Donuts, but Einstein's my favey. Part of it, too, is the fact that my family used to live near an Einstein Bros, before I drank coffee, and the smell is something I remember from my childhood, because my mother, sister, and I would meet up with family friends every week for breakfast during the summer time.
 

just an update.

*I have seen Star Trek three times. Its wonderful.

*ate at the Diner Diner with

steelerswheel

*went to a movie with the guy I like cause his family is having a hard time, and his mama asked my mama if we could entertain him and his little sister. we went out to dinner and saw Night at the Museum 2. It was cute.

*officially a senior in high school. I got a penis drawn on my car, thanks to that. its coo, its coo

* not much has happened since. developed a love of criminal minds and so have spent the last 4 days watching the series online. also developed an interest in heroes and have been downloading epsidoes.

I will keep you updated as the summer flies by.

                The apartment was dark, and felt empty. It was very late, but Agent Dr. Spencer Reid was still awake, mind troubled. Granted, he was also in too much physical pain to sleep. He, nor the doctors, were quite sure how he’d gotten off as relatively unscathed as he had. Spencer had seen a hit-and-run victim once in college. Broken skull, torso completely crushed, both arms and a leg broken…basically, the body was shattered, bruised, and gashed, bone fragments jutting from the skin like bleached white daggers covered in blood. And that had just been a hit. That vic hadn’t been run down…they hadn’t had friction-hot black rubber and two tons of steel roll over their chest, flattening them into the asphalt. But Spencer Reid had, and he’d been carried away with a crushed ribcage, a broken collarbone and sternum, three shattered vertebrae, and a concussion and internal bleeding. But it wasn’t because of these injuries that he now laid on his back on the living room floor.

                They had given him morphine. Morphine, of all things, to dull the pain. For three days, Reid had been on an IV drip with something more deadly to him then pure sulfuric acid being poured into his veins. When he first woke up, six days after being run down by a violent unsub, he could only detect the faintest hints of the familiar drug in his system. By then, Morgan and Garcia and the rest of the team realized the mistake and had his medicine switched to a non-narcotic painkiller. But damage had been done. His past…dark and deadly and seductive…was brought back into stark focus, and he wasn’t even conscious. He’d spent a further three weeks in hospice care while his body healed enough for him to move without killing himself. But eventually, the hematomas formed in his bones and after being locked into a thick, rigid plastic backbrace that went from the middle of his chest to his hips he was allowed to go home. But the injuries and the pain were not what were keeping him up. The three-day-long steady intake of his worst enemy was.

                He couldn’t keep his mind off of it. It wasn’t a craving. He knew cravings…he was never strong enough, really, to resist them. If this were a true craving, he would have already been out looking for the clear liquid he desired. This was more a preoccupation with the drug…an inability to take his mind off of it. He’d been alright when he was doing the desk work he’d requested from Hotch. But as soon as he finished a report, the downtime left his constantly-moving mind free to return to the seductive yearning that was always waiting for him now. The fact that the hospital, in their attempts to save his life, may have possibly ruined it again. The irony almost made him laugh, if it weren’t for the cold, sick guilt making bile rise in his throat.

                Reid was sweating now, lying on the floor of his living room in a t shirt, pajama bottoms, and the stiff brace. Fear was turning into nausea and denial. This preoccupation, as he liked to call it, was becoming more, and he could feel it. He tried embracing the pain that gripped his chest sharp steel bands, searching for anything to distract him. But he was hot, and sick, and brokenhearted with himself for the tortured animal he was watching himself turn in to, all over again. The preoccupation was becoming a demand…a need…a craving. His mind, always so brilliant, and so kind, refused to travel down that torturous path again, but his body screamed at him violently that he needed the crystal-turned-liquid that would save him and free him from this agony.

                Spencer rolled over onto his side, curling up as much as he could, hiding behind his arms as coarse sobs ripped at his throat and tore new phantom gashes in his slowly healing lungs. “No…no, no no no no nononono…..” he cried to himself. “I c-can’t do it again…I can’t l-lose their tr-trust..” He wept into the champagne-colored carpet, ignoring the light friction of the plastic fibers against his face. Strings of his soft, clean, mousy brown hair fell over his face and hands, and he shook gently, the self-loathing he felt making his pale skin crawl. The behavioral analyst begged with the demon in his own mind…he begged for release, for sympathy, and for mercy. He begged for the pain of his wounds to consume him…to free of the chains his own mind had wrapped him in. His gut-deep sobs eased to quiet, breathless heaves, and one spider-like hand gripped the carpet as he pulled himself up and to his feet.

                His hair swung in his face as Spencer dragged himself into the kitchen. The feverish necessity had brought with it a heavy sweat, and he felt heat from the blood pulsing under his skin and behind his eyes. He opened the freezer to coax icy air across his burning face. Several items fell from the freezer; a few packaged dinners, a tray of ice cubes, and a long-forgotten half-eaten cherry popsicle. And something else entirely. A small, clear glass bottle, no bigger than an inch tall and half an inch in diameter. It had the complex plastic stopper that penicillin bottles had, and a white label around the glass. It was filled to the brim with transparent liquid, and the touch of the icy cool bottle made Reid’s blood stop pulsing. He thought he’d thrown it all away. He’d cleared his entire freezer, but he must have missed one. One tiny bottle of cheap heroin, cut with hospital-grade morphine. His breath was suddenly heaving again, and he felt his skin crawl. But now that he had it in his hands…he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. He dived out of the room and into his bathroom. It was still there, right where he’d left it. The small ziplock baggy tucked behind a loose tile on the wall and shoved into a hole in the plaster. The baggy that held a thin rubber tourniquet, a lighter for sterilization, and a hypodermic needle. He pulled the baggy out, and prepared himself to watch his life disintegrate by his own hands.

Name your 15 absolutely favorite couples (het/slash/canon/fanon) and ask people to see what trends they notice about your couples. Try to pick different fandoms. Borrowed from x5649

1. Tim Riggins/Eden Hailey (Friday Night Lights, Fanon)
2. Tami Taylor/Eric Taylor (Friday Night Lights, Canon)
3. Dean Winchester/Juliet Merrill (Supernatural, Fanon)
4. Meghan Winchester/Logan Cale (Supernatural, Fanon)
5. James T. Kirk/Rebekah Grayson (Star Trek, Fanon)
6. Spock/Nyota Uhura (Star Trek, Canon)
7. Pogue Parry/Ayden Teague ( The Covenant, Fanon)
8. Caleb Danvers/Sarah Wenham (The Covenant, Canon)
9. Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones (Torchwood, Canon, Slash)
10. Owen Harper/Theodora Connelly (Torchwood, Fanon)
11. Hoban Washburn/Zoe Washburn (Firefly and Serenity, Canon)
12. Inara Serra/Mal Reynolds (Firefly and Serenity, Canon)
13. Remy LeBeau/Georgia-Lynn Foster (X-Men, Fanon)
14. Tony Stark/Pepper Potts (Iron Man, fanon and implied)
15. Sylar/Spencer Reid (Heroes/Criminal Minds, Slash)