Title: Etta James Perfect
Author: Quirk of the Trade
Genre: fan fiction
Rating: PG, PG-13?
Disclaimer: I don't own Star
Trek: TOS nor do I make any monies off of this fiction. I don't own Etta James or anything related to her, especially her
song 'At Last'.
Warnings: Vagueness, mentions of alcohol, drugs and an established Spock/McCoy relationship.
Unbetaed, all fuck ups are mine.
The lounge singer was good, Leonard McCoy reflected
as he sipped his bourbon neat. Millions of light years away from Earth and a local dive was the same as anywhere- a breathy
brunette on the stage, alcohol flowing like there were no hangovers in the morning and a full house of people buzzed on something
a tad stronger. Well, except for himself.
A blonde dropped down beside him on the plush velveteen cushions of the
couch he was on, poured into a stunning black number matched only by the bling of her CZ necklace and the chili pepper red
of her lipstick. Gripping his knee with one overly manicured hand, she tilted her head and looked up at him through her eyelashes.
He smiled and shook his head gently. "No thanks."
Pouting just a little, she winked at him and rose
to her feet to drift back into the crowd.
The blonde wasn't the first to approach him tonight. Others had stopped,
offering a drink or a smile, and he'd turned every one of them down. Not that he wasn't in the mood; just not a one of them
in all their luster moved him the way he wanted to be moved. Damn, it'd been a long time since he had just kicked back and
listened to mu-
"Hi, Jim," he replied, pulling the glass from his mouth
and looking up. The captain was dressed in civvies; the blue eyed man was glad he hadn't referred to him by his rank. Behind
the blond man stood his dark haired shadow, also in civilian dress, if anything a Vulcan wore could be considered more relaxed.
Feeling mellow, McCoy couldn't help the smile that spread across his face at the sight of his friends. "Hi, Spock. Here to
enjoy the music? Or is it the view?"
A nod of his head indicated the crowd of attractively dressed men and women,
and not, around them.
"I'm actually here to mingle," Kirk admitted. "You'll have to ask Spock why he's here."
waitress, not the one who had brought McCoy his drinks, stopped beside them. "Can I get you two gentlemen anything?"
The waitress nodded and moved on to the bar.
"And that is my cue to get
mingling. Gentlemen, have a good night." Tipping an imaginary hat, their captain was on his way.
They were silent
for a moment. McCoy sipped his drink, eyes leveled at the neckline of Spock's non-regulation shirt, a metallic brown tunic
layered with an ecru turtleneck and paired with heavy sable colored pants. Ms. Waitress brought the Altair water and left
just as quickly, her tray heavy with a myriad of alcoholic beverages. The lounge singer finished her set and moved on, making
way for another.
"Would you like to have a seat, Spock?"
"Thank you, doct- excuse me, Leonard. Yes."
McCoy moved his legs out of the way to let the Vulcan past him to the side the short sofa had open space. The dark haired
male stepped past with his long legs, more graceful than anyway Leonard had ever managed with his own, and settled into the
space at his right. "I trust everything has been satisfactory so far?"
Switching his glass to his left hand, he reached
with the other for Spock's hand between them on the cushion, slipping two fingers underneath in a practiced motion as his
hand curled just so to hide it. "It has been. Do you think Jim ever gets tired of escorting you on these little rendezvous
jaunts just to help us keep everything quiet?"
"I would never presume to know Jim's feelings. It is much easier to
simply ask him."
The new singer was deep, gutsy. Her throaty voice mimicked Etta James perfectly, singing about her
love having come along.