Fic: The Trouble With Cultural Aphrodisiacs - Star Trek Reboot - Crack!

[pslasher]

This was originally written for a jim_and_bones away mission prompt.  I'm really enjoying Ship Wars.  I've even managed to read all the fics for this round and vote, and look through the Battle Post a bit.  And wow, the Battlle Posts rock!  I was laughing and smiling, and I just enjoyed the hell out of the whole thing.  Especially sending telegrams with lunasky3 !  I commented on a few entries, but felt a bit too shy to post anything new yet.  Maybe next time, now that I've got my feet wet.  On to the fic:

Title:  The Trouble With Cultural Aphrodisiacs
Author: pslasher
Pairings:  Kirk/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy/Uhura/Spock
Rating: PG-13 for language and non-graphic mentions of sex
Word Count: 900
Prompt: Written for a prompt poll at jim_and_bones.
Notes:  CRACK!  Also, cleaned up a bit.  Crossposted to kirk_mccoy, and the Archive of our Own.  eBook downloads of this fic available here.

 

The problem with accepting something to drink or eat on any planet they visited is you never knew what you were going to get. And you never knew what it would do, because alien notions of sex and propriety could be downright strange.

There was the race of technophiles that dosed Scotty, Chekov and Sulu with a hallucinogen that convinced them the Enterprise was sentient and in love with all three of them. And the ceremonial nut bread on the world with trees two hundred feet tall with nuts two feet around. Those had made everyone horny as fuck, and McCoy had barely gotten them out before someone started fucking right there in front of their honored hosts. And who could forget the love potion one crafty Ambassador slipped Kirk to try and make him fall in love with his daughter? Not McCoy, who had to initiate an emergency beam up to the Enterprise with Kirk and hit him with adrenalin and every antihistamine Sick Bay had so he didn't die from anaphylactic shock!

After that McCoy developed a severe dislike for away missions, even more than he already had because of shuttles and transporter beams. It was just one goddamned headache after another. Senseless nonsense that other races couldn't keep to themselves, and he'd had just about enough of saving everyone‘s ass every other week.

But then there was the mission where Chekov ate far more of the blue fruit than was strictly necessary for the ritual dinner before trade negotiations, and became enamored with the dozens of cat-like creatures roaming the banquet hall. He spent a good half hour stroking their long fur and murmuring softly to them before McCoy decided that something had to be done. He had his tricorder out, ready to diagnose and fix the problem, when he was intercepted by the High Priest.

“But sir,” the man had pleaded. “It’s an honor for your young crewman to react so deeply to the fruit. The Gods have smiled on him!”

“Honor, my ass,” McCoy had muttered. The kid had looked a right fool directing that besotted look at the two furry creatures in his arms. But Jim had shaken his head a bit when McCoy tried to make the man understand that he was going to reverse the effects, and do it right goddamn now, so get out of the way. Chekov didn’t look to be in any danger beyond humiliation, so he sighed and let the fruit run it’s course. The trade agreement had been signed enthusiastically by their new alien friends, but he put his foot down with Jim when they were back on the ship. He was going to take readings of everything new they had to eat, and that was that.

Not that it had done them any good. Apparently aphrodisiacs came in more forms than just food and drink.

They found that out the time the Enterprise crew was invited to Andor for the yearly harvest festival. The Andorians had arranged them into groups of four on cushions around low, small tables, then proceeded to get them so high off spicy smelling incense they were practically falling into each others laps. The whole evening passed in a blur of Uhura’s sultry voice in his ear translating the prayers and songs, Jim’s hands stroking his thighs, and Spock actually smiling at him. A tiny smile, but still there. When McCoy woke the next morning he was snuggled in bed with the three of them. He remembered Uhura saying the festival was in honor of the four Andorian Gods and Goddesses of fertility, and vowed to take these things seriously from now on.

But McCoy must have forgotten the lesson, because he was surprised all over again on some new planet not a month later. They were a culture that worshiped sacred flowers, and as the leader of the Enterprise and the representative of the Federation, Kirk was required to participate in the ritual before they would sign on with the Federation.

He watched as Kirk’s hands and face were slowly decorated with strong geometric designs, painted in indigo ink by a pretty, voluptuous girl. After a while Kirk slowly started fidgeting, tapping his toe and jiggling the hand not being painted. It wasn’t until he widened his legs by slouching down more in the chair and looked up at McCoy with a flush on his painted cheeks that he realized Kirk was turned on! Turned on and hard and breathing heavily, and what the hell was in that ink they were using. Kirk may be a horny bastard, but he was capable of controlling himself when the moment called for it, and this moment definitely called for it.

The second the woman was done with Kirk, McCoy hauled him out of the chair and back to the spacious quarters Kirk had been given for the stay. He intended to administer an antidote to whatever was in the paint and assure the safety of his Captain, but before he could do either he found himself with an armful of eager, hard Kirk.

Kirk had his tongue in McCoy’s mouth and his hands down his pants, and Jesus he felt good. McCoy considered pushing him away, stunning him if he had too. But really, Kirk seemed ok to him. What would be the harm in holding off on the medical exam for a while?