Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/233783.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Star_Trek_(2009)
  Relationship:
      Leonard_McCoy/Lenore_McCoy
  Character:
      Mirror_Leonard_McCoy, Mirror_Lenore_McCoy
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Child_Abuse, Mirror_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-04-12 Words: 2026
****** The Days of Wine and Roses ******
by SharpestScalpel
Summary
     (Mirror) Leonard McCoy was fifteen when he lost what was left of his
     virginity.
Notes
     Okay, look, I don't generally warn for much because this is all
     mirror universe stuff and I figure if you're reading then you are
     aware. However, this is a bit of backstory fic (original_fine asked
     for something from McCoy's childhood) and it is wrongity wrong wrong.
     Like, here is the deal: mother/son incest, sexual abuse of a minor
     (it's still abuse even if he likes it), mention of animal torture
     (though nothing graphic because, omg, ew), and the implication that
     his mother is something of a black widow. If that doesn't send your
     squick-meters into the red, rock on. If it does, I totally
     understand. This hasn't been betaed because I really couldn't send
     this to anyone. *laugh*))
"Mama, please." Fifteen-year-old Lenny H. McCoy yelped and twisted, risking
teeth on his most sensitive parts, at the hard pinch to his tender inner thigh
that followed his unthinking words.
Lenore McCoy, three times a widow now that her last husband was safely in the
ground, buried that very morning, and already back to her maiden name, pulled
back away from her only child's spit-covered dick long enough hold his gaze and
cock an eyebrow. "What did I tell you about that, Lenny?" She waited, red lips
poised to suck him back into her mouth.
"Sorry, sorry. Lenore." It was habit more than any particular familial feeling
that kept him calling her mama when he was feeling dizzy and tense. Lenny
wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel for Lenore but when he thought about
it everything was just sort of blank and fuzzy in his head. Something that
should be there, if he believed what other people told him, but that just
seemed absent. Or not even possible. Maybe he couldn't feel anything there at
all.
That was probably for the best, all things considered. Love seemed to just
confuse things for everyone involved; Lenny didn't like being confused, was
smart enough that he rarely had to deal with it.
"Good boy, baby." Her praise was nice but the real reward was the way she
pulled him back into her mouth with the strength of suction and the long, slow
slide of her tongue on the underside of his hard on.
He'd asked around a little bit, the other boys in his class, as subtle as a
bunch of ten-year-old boys could be about sex, when it started happening. Lenny
didn't remember his own father (Lenore had never married him); his first step-
father had been nice, though. Sammy had disappeared after yelling through the
house, chasing Lenore from room to room and shouting at her about things Lenny
hadn't been able to understand then and couldn't remember clearly now. They'd
gone fishing together, Sammy and Lenny, so when his mama had told him she
needed company because she was sad that Sammy was gone, he had sort of
understood. Understanding had not made what followed seem normal and the
responses of his classmates, in hushed and reverent whispers, had confirmed it:
Regular little boys did not get blow jobs from their mamas when their step-
fathers went missing.
Still, it had felt good. And he'd felt, finally, something like closeness to
his mama. When she ran fingers through his hair, ruffling it, Lenny had known
finally that he was her good boy, that she didn't mind (or maybe she still just
didn't know) about what he'd been up to in the woods, things for which he felt
a sort of muffled guilt after the fact, almost like he had an intellectual
knowledge that he was misbehaving and felt guilty for not feeling guilty.
It had happened again after her next husband woke up dead one morning - a
victim of an undiagnosed food allergy. Lenny had been 13 then, and David had
been an asshole anyway. He hadn't felt anything, had watched in fascination as
the men in biohaz suits came to take away the reeking corpse. Lenny and Lenore
had burned the bed out in the middle of a back field with a firebreak carefully
cut into the ground around it. No need to be irresponsible with their fire, she
had told him. Then she'd made him drop to his knees so she could teach him how
best to please a woman.
He's spent the entire year and a half of her marriage to David jerking off and
imagining the girls in his class without their clothes on, maybe without their
skin on; he was an eager student. And an excellent one. Lenny was not slouch in
the brains department, as his granny had taken to saying. The taste of eager
woman was hot on his tongue, and he responded with a precision uncommon in a
boy of his age. Lenore stroked his head - when he looked up, it was to see her
with her head tipped back, face to the sun like some flower, teeth digging into
her lower lip. He liked how that looked.
David had been a saint in comparison to Leon. Leon had political ambitions and
he thought Lenore looked just like the right kind of political wife. She had
agreed. Lenny thought things were going well with this marriage - he never
heard them fighting. But he never heard them fucking either and he'd long since
developed a habit of leaving his window open, his room below hers, to catch the
sound of her crying out her completion, whatever husband or man was there
venting his lust in her body groaning in counterpoint.
It really shouldn't have been a surprise, not after there hadn't been any
sounds for 6 months, when Leon was killed in a car accident, his brakes failing
around a hair-pin curve. His mama was dangerous when she wasn't happy, after
all.
Lenny bit his own lip now, head tipped back not toward the sun but so he could
squeeze his eyes closed against the ceiling of the hay loft above him. Lenore's
mouth was teaching him new ways to torture, soft scrape of teeth followed by a
gentle sucking to soothe the little hurt, hands petting his thighs and easing
him through the anguish of waiting when she pulled back before he could come.
This time she didn't return to her task and Lenny opened his eyes - Lenore was
spreading herself out on the pile of hay he'd come up here to relax in with a
book and a beer he'd filched from the fridge. She was hiking the skirt of her
dress up, not wearing any panties and even Lenny knew that was a sign she'd
been planning this because who didn't wear underwear to a funeral unless they
were going to get up to some business afterwards?
Still, it made his mouth water as she pulled the fabric off over her head and
if she was wanting him to eat her out, well, he was a devoted son. He'd damn
well go for it and touch himself in the process. But when he settled down on
his knees, low between her legs, Lenore shook her head and clutched his
shoulder, pulled him up until he was settled on top of her. "You been with a
woman before, baby?"
The question caught him off guard, caught as he was by the feel of his cock
dragging across her naked belly. "No. Not really." He'd fumbled with a couple
of the boys and girls in his class but the boys had been clumsy and the girls
had been nervous. It was more efficient - and more satisfying because Lenny
knew what he liked - to just touch himself, lube his hand and fuck into it as
he made the springs of his mattress squeak.
She looked pleased, smiled big and open at him with her hazel eyes shining.
Lenny had his mother's eyes, everyone said it, and he wondered with a sudden
violent curiosity if his own eyes lit up like that for anyone. "Come here then,
baby." Lenore reached down to help him find her entrance, grasped him by the
hip with her other hand to direct him forward.
His cock slid into her and it was a little like dying, a little like when he
slid his knife into the warm wet innards of small animals. The image bloomed in
his mind and he settled his forehead against the jut of her collarbone so he
could focus on it clearer, see it as he made unpracticed thrusts against her,
in her, and it was like learning to breathe all over again as she met his hips
with her own and modeled a rhythm he could follow - at least for a few minutes
until the need to stutter against her made him erratic again, his orgasm
rushing up from the bottom of his spine to the top of his head until he thought
he'd be lucky not to find the hair singed from his scalp.
He panted, moist breathe on her skin, and she gave him a minute before pushing
as his weight. Lenny wasn't a small boy - he'd taken after his father,
according to his granny, in that regard at least. He moved back, sat on his
heels, and pushed his hair out of his eyes.
Lenore's hands drifted between her thighs, one finger reaching deep into her
own cunt to capture some of the slickness of his come. "Look at me." He obeyed,
her sharp tone not to be argued with, and watched as she brought the glistening
finger to her mouth. "Now finish your job, baby." She spread her legs wider so
his shoulders would fit, hitched her thighs up over the strength of them so he
could get closer.
The sounds - when Lenore and Leon had made them the first few months of their
marriage - had been enough to make it clear: Leon was a selfish douchebag in
the sack. Lenny knew how to take care of his mother just the way she liked and
he went to work with the fervor of a lover trying to make up for two years of
unsatisfactory fucking.
He was doing a goddamn good job of it if the way she was squirming was any
indication. Lenny kept his mouth working at her, tongue on her clit and big
hands moving the way she had taught him, not needing direction now because he'd
replayed it in his own head so many times, one hand up to her breast to squeeze
and catch at her nipple, the other spearing into her, pulling his own come out
of her so he could suck it up, taste it mixed with her own wetness.
His own cock, tender and hurting from the hay he was rubbing against now that
he was sprawled out and feasting on her, wasn't even a thought - at least it
wasn't until it started to get hard again. He humped against the hay with a
little more determination - the stab of the stalks of it just more sensation.
He needed sensation; Lenny just wanted to feel it.
Her orgasm wrung a scream out of her and Lenny felt something like what others
would describe as pride curl through his chest. He kept at her until her hands
were pushing him away even as her voice made him want to crawl even closer.
"Oh, baby, you're so good to your mama."
She never wanted to hear it during, him naming her for what she was. Lenny
didn't try to analyze it, though. He didn't care. "Thank you, mama." He kissed
his way up until he could curl in the straw beside her, cock leaking against
his belly but his hands staying away even though he wanted to grab it and
stroke until he came all over her clean skin, stretch marks from pregnancy
glistening with his semen. He'd lick it off of her like he'd sucked it out of
her, he could promise that.
Instead, Lenore's hands found him, touched him light and teasing while she
laughed at his quick recovery time. "You're good at this, Lenny. It'll come in
handy for you, I just bet it will." She brought him off quicky.
It left him gasping, on his back in the straw, muscles lax with the promise of
deep slumber if he'd just close his eyes. He could only watch, blinking against
the haze of sleep that wanted to take him, as she rose, brushed herself off so
she could step back into her dress.
"Don't be late for dinner, baby. We've got casseroles to eat up." Lenore's
mouth quirked into a half-smile at the mention of the funeral food brought in
an informal procession by the neighbors and community members who were
suspicious but still mindful of their manners.
The casseroles would keep, he thought. Lenny closed his eyes when she was down
the ladder and no longer in sight, and settled down for a nap.
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