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Jun. 10th, 2009 12:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cathybites5 Times Leonard McCoy Actually Said No to Jim Kirk
[star trek: reboot, mccoy/kirk, r, 1615 words]
SIGH. Wings lost, but I finished this anyways. SO. I took requests for a Five Things meme, and I wasn't going to make any of them really ficcy, but this one got away from me. requested by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
loveflyfree
1. McCoy hears himself rambling to the kid next to him, but he can't make himself shut up. Doesn't really want to because as long as he can concentrate on the failings of his life, he can ignore the cold, empty void he's committed himself to - and, dammit, there he goes.
He takes a swig from his flask and offers it to the kid, who introduces himself as Jim Kirk. McCoy nods, feels a moment of connection, solidarity, with Jim, who's the only other person on the shuttle who looks worse off than him. McCoy relaxes a little and starts to make a snide comment about the snippy glorified flight attendant who had yanked him from the comfort of the bathroom when the intercom crackles and the captain's voice says, "Prepare for liftoff."
McCoy feels his stomach drop, and he has to clutch the edge of his seat to keep his hands from shaking. His brain rapidfire flips through the images of every shuttle accident he's ever seen, and he's ready to jump out of the shuttle, Starfleet be damned, when there's a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. McCoy tenses and looks over at the kid, who's looking back, lips curling up into a wicked smile. And for an all-too brief moment, McCoy forgets about everything - the shuttle, the Ex, inevitable death in space - and can only concentrate on Jim Kirk's red mouth shaping out words McCoy barely hears.
"I can always punch you out."
McCoy blinks, takes a moment to process what he said - because he'd been half-convinced a very different proposition would be on the table. He considers it for a second before shaking his head, and he can't help the smile. "No thanks, kid. I prefer to sedate myself the old-fashioned way." He raises his flask again, and Jim flashes him a grin, almost blinding in the darkness of the shuttle
2. A month into the semester, and McCoy still isn't sure how he ended up with Jim Kirk following him around. Not that he's complaining - although he makes sure to do so, and loudly, whenever Jim barges into his room unannounced, which is often - but with the crapfall his life's taken the past year or so, he figures it's only a matter of time before Jim gets bored and moves on to other people.
McCoy spends a lot of time trying to convince himself it won't be a big deal when it happens.
It's not happening today, though, he can tell himself that. Jim had arrived an hour ago, and no matter how many times McCoy tells him he needs to finish studying, Jim ignores him, stretching out on McCoy's bed and pestering him about going out.
"It's not like you don't already know this stuff. Let's go out and relax a little." When McCoy doesn't answer, Jim jabs at him with his toe and says, "C'mon, Leonard."
The last person to call him Leonard had been the Ex, on the day the divorce had been finalized, and McCoy bristles at hearing it again. He glares at Jim over his shoulder. "Could you not call me that? And could you also get your damn feet off my bed?"
Jim wriggles his toes at him, but he sits up, arms resting on his thighs as he leans forward. "Why not? It's your name."
"All the same, McCoy's just fine."
Jim makes a face. "There's gotta be something else. Everyone calls you McCoy."
McCoy snorts and rolls his eyes. "What? You have a burning need to be different from everyone else?"
Jim's response is so soft, McCoy almost misses it, maybe was supposed to have missed it. "Maybe you're different to me."
There's a sudden pressure in McCoy's chest. He thinks it's gas for a moment, then realizes, no, it's hope. He turns around, says, "What?"
For a split-second, Jim's expression is wide-open, even though McCoy's not entirely sure of what he's seeing. Then it folds in on itself, re-emerges as the shit-eating one McCoy's become all-too familiar with.
"Can I call you Lenny?"
McCoy resists the urge to throw his stylus at Jim. "No."
"Lenmeister?"
This time, McCoy gives in to the urge.
3. "I can't miss the test," Jim says, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Before McCoy can push him back down, he shudders all over and collapses on the bed. McCoy smirks and passes the scanner over him again.
"You're running a fever of 104, you're severely dehydrated, and you're going to come down with the shits any second now. Your ass is staying bed."
Jim glares up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Under the splotches scattered all over, his skin is too pale for McCoy's liking, and despite the air-conditioning, he's been sweating heavily all morning. None of that seems to matter to Jim, though, and McCoy can't say he's surprised. "C'mon, Bones, I know I can beat it this time, but not if I'm not there." He bats his eyes and pouts a little, a trick that has worked on McCoy far too often than he'd like to admit. But not today, not with Jim barely able to keep his eyes open.
"No."
Jim's face steels into a determined look, and he sits up, managing to actually get to his feet this time. "You can't keep me here."
McCoy sighs and grabs the hypo he'd prepared ahead of time. Jim squawks in protest but McCoy grabs ahold of him, and seconds later, the sedative has done its job. McCoy catches Jim before he falls to the floor, and hauls him back onto the bed. "Told you to stay put, you stupid ass" he mutters. He lays Jim out and pulls the covers over him. Jim's out cold and no one else is around, so he gives in to indulgence for a moment, fingertips ghosting over Jim's jawline, cheekbone, lips, before he forces himself to turn away.
4. Over the past two years, McCoy has lost count of the times he's tagged along with Jim to one of the local bars. He's seen Jim in all stages of inebriation; he's seen him hit on every type of girl imaginable; he's seen him trade punches with just about every species in the Federation. He can tell right from the beginning whether Jim wants to go out to get laid or wants to get in a fight. On a few occasions, he's surprised by Jim wanting to just relax and drink a few with McCoy.
Tonight, unfortunately, is apparently going to be a get-Jim-laid kind of night. Jim's preening in front of McCoy's mirror, smoothing his shirt down and -- oh, for fuck's sake, twisting around to check out his own ass. McCoy rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his text.
He hears Jim coming up behind him and tenses a second before Jim is leaning on him, elbows digging into McCoy's shoulders. "You ready, Bones?"
McCoy takes a deep breath, and that's a mistake. His lungs are filled with Jim's scent, and his dick gives an interested twitch. Not for you, he thinks irritably, and he rolls his shoulders, shaking Jim off.
"Some of us actually have work to do. You'll have to entertain yourself tonight." He can feel Jim frowning at him, and McCoy turns to look at him before Jim can get a word out. "No."
"I can't go out without my wingman. I need you."
"Like hell you do!" The irritation rises sharp and quickly, needles working into his skin. "You don't need anyone, Jim, and you sure as hell don't need me there to watch you try to get laid." There are more words clamoring to get out, words McCoy's never said outside of his head, but he snaps his mouth shut on them, turns back to his desk.
"Bones--" and McCoy jabs a finger towards the door.
"I mean it, Jim. No."
A long moment passes before he hears Jim leave, and McCoy bangs his head against the desk. He's shaking all over, and although he didn't feel like getting a drink with Jim, he thinks he could go for one anyways. He reaches for his secret stash, and that's when the door opens again and Jim walks back in.
"What the hell?"
McCoy starts to stand and Jim pushes him back down. He looks angry. Angry and determined, and McCoy is struck by the thought that he's going to make a damn hot captain one day.
"It's your turn to listen," he says. But instead of saying anything else, he leans down and kisses McCoy. It's hard and fierce, and McCoy barely has time to react before Jim pulls away. "Don't you dare tell me what I do and don't need, got me?"
McCoy nods, mind still racing to catch up on what just happened. Jim gives him another hard look, then smiles brightly, just like that first time in the shuttle, and leans in to kiss him again.
5. He's dying. McCoy is pretty damn sure of that. He gasps, trying to suck air into his overheated lungs. Jim's hand ghosts up his side, licks of heat trailing after his fingers, and McCoy feels like he's going to burst into flame at any moment. "Dammit, Jim," he rasps out, and his hands scramble over his sheets, grabbing fistfuls of cotton.
Jim pulls off with a slurp, tongue teasing at his slit before he lifts his head. He smirks at McCoy, hand sliding down to jerk him slowly. "What's the matter? Want me to stop?"
McCoy growls and grabs Jim's head, fingers tangling in his hair before pushing him back to his cock. "No, don't you fucking dare."
feedback loved! thank you for reading!
[star trek: reboot, mccoy/kirk, r, 1615 words]
SIGH. Wings lost, but I finished this anyways. SO. I took requests for a Five Things meme, and I wasn't going to make any of them really ficcy, but this one got away from me. requested by
loveflyfree1. McCoy hears himself rambling to the kid next to him, but he can't make himself shut up. Doesn't really want to because as long as he can concentrate on the failings of his life, he can ignore the cold, empty void he's committed himself to - and, dammit, there he goes.
He takes a swig from his flask and offers it to the kid, who introduces himself as Jim Kirk. McCoy nods, feels a moment of connection, solidarity, with Jim, who's the only other person on the shuttle who looks worse off than him. McCoy relaxes a little and starts to make a snide comment about the snippy glorified flight attendant who had yanked him from the comfort of the bathroom when the intercom crackles and the captain's voice says, "Prepare for liftoff."
McCoy feels his stomach drop, and he has to clutch the edge of his seat to keep his hands from shaking. His brain rapidfire flips through the images of every shuttle accident he's ever seen, and he's ready to jump out of the shuttle, Starfleet be damned, when there's a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. McCoy tenses and looks over at the kid, who's looking back, lips curling up into a wicked smile. And for an all-too brief moment, McCoy forgets about everything - the shuttle, the Ex, inevitable death in space - and can only concentrate on Jim Kirk's red mouth shaping out words McCoy barely hears.
"I can always punch you out."
McCoy blinks, takes a moment to process what he said - because he'd been half-convinced a very different proposition would be on the table. He considers it for a second before shaking his head, and he can't help the smile. "No thanks, kid. I prefer to sedate myself the old-fashioned way." He raises his flask again, and Jim flashes him a grin, almost blinding in the darkness of the shuttle
2. A month into the semester, and McCoy still isn't sure how he ended up with Jim Kirk following him around. Not that he's complaining - although he makes sure to do so, and loudly, whenever Jim barges into his room unannounced, which is often - but with the crapfall his life's taken the past year or so, he figures it's only a matter of time before Jim gets bored and moves on to other people.
McCoy spends a lot of time trying to convince himself it won't be a big deal when it happens.
It's not happening today, though, he can tell himself that. Jim had arrived an hour ago, and no matter how many times McCoy tells him he needs to finish studying, Jim ignores him, stretching out on McCoy's bed and pestering him about going out.
"It's not like you don't already know this stuff. Let's go out and relax a little." When McCoy doesn't answer, Jim jabs at him with his toe and says, "C'mon, Leonard."
The last person to call him Leonard had been the Ex, on the day the divorce had been finalized, and McCoy bristles at hearing it again. He glares at Jim over his shoulder. "Could you not call me that? And could you also get your damn feet off my bed?"
Jim wriggles his toes at him, but he sits up, arms resting on his thighs as he leans forward. "Why not? It's your name."
"All the same, McCoy's just fine."
Jim makes a face. "There's gotta be something else. Everyone calls you McCoy."
McCoy snorts and rolls his eyes. "What? You have a burning need to be different from everyone else?"
Jim's response is so soft, McCoy almost misses it, maybe was supposed to have missed it. "Maybe you're different to me."
There's a sudden pressure in McCoy's chest. He thinks it's gas for a moment, then realizes, no, it's hope. He turns around, says, "What?"
For a split-second, Jim's expression is wide-open, even though McCoy's not entirely sure of what he's seeing. Then it folds in on itself, re-emerges as the shit-eating one McCoy's become all-too familiar with.
"Can I call you Lenny?"
McCoy resists the urge to throw his stylus at Jim. "No."
"Lenmeister?"
This time, McCoy gives in to the urge.
3. "I can't miss the test," Jim says, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Before McCoy can push him back down, he shudders all over and collapses on the bed. McCoy smirks and passes the scanner over him again.
"You're running a fever of 104, you're severely dehydrated, and you're going to come down with the shits any second now. Your ass is staying bed."
Jim glares up at him with red-rimmed eyes. Under the splotches scattered all over, his skin is too pale for McCoy's liking, and despite the air-conditioning, he's been sweating heavily all morning. None of that seems to matter to Jim, though, and McCoy can't say he's surprised. "C'mon, Bones, I know I can beat it this time, but not if I'm not there." He bats his eyes and pouts a little, a trick that has worked on McCoy far too often than he'd like to admit. But not today, not with Jim barely able to keep his eyes open.
"No."
Jim's face steels into a determined look, and he sits up, managing to actually get to his feet this time. "You can't keep me here."
McCoy sighs and grabs the hypo he'd prepared ahead of time. Jim squawks in protest but McCoy grabs ahold of him, and seconds later, the sedative has done its job. McCoy catches Jim before he falls to the floor, and hauls him back onto the bed. "Told you to stay put, you stupid ass" he mutters. He lays Jim out and pulls the covers over him. Jim's out cold and no one else is around, so he gives in to indulgence for a moment, fingertips ghosting over Jim's jawline, cheekbone, lips, before he forces himself to turn away.
4. Over the past two years, McCoy has lost count of the times he's tagged along with Jim to one of the local bars. He's seen Jim in all stages of inebriation; he's seen him hit on every type of girl imaginable; he's seen him trade punches with just about every species in the Federation. He can tell right from the beginning whether Jim wants to go out to get laid or wants to get in a fight. On a few occasions, he's surprised by Jim wanting to just relax and drink a few with McCoy.
Tonight, unfortunately, is apparently going to be a get-Jim-laid kind of night. Jim's preening in front of McCoy's mirror, smoothing his shirt down and -- oh, for fuck's sake, twisting around to check out his own ass. McCoy rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his text.
He hears Jim coming up behind him and tenses a second before Jim is leaning on him, elbows digging into McCoy's shoulders. "You ready, Bones?"
McCoy takes a deep breath, and that's a mistake. His lungs are filled with Jim's scent, and his dick gives an interested twitch. Not for you, he thinks irritably, and he rolls his shoulders, shaking Jim off.
"Some of us actually have work to do. You'll have to entertain yourself tonight." He can feel Jim frowning at him, and McCoy turns to look at him before Jim can get a word out. "No."
"I can't go out without my wingman. I need you."
"Like hell you do!" The irritation rises sharp and quickly, needles working into his skin. "You don't need anyone, Jim, and you sure as hell don't need me there to watch you try to get laid." There are more words clamoring to get out, words McCoy's never said outside of his head, but he snaps his mouth shut on them, turns back to his desk.
"Bones--" and McCoy jabs a finger towards the door.
"I mean it, Jim. No."
A long moment passes before he hears Jim leave, and McCoy bangs his head against the desk. He's shaking all over, and although he didn't feel like getting a drink with Jim, he thinks he could go for one anyways. He reaches for his secret stash, and that's when the door opens again and Jim walks back in.
"What the hell?"
McCoy starts to stand and Jim pushes him back down. He looks angry. Angry and determined, and McCoy is struck by the thought that he's going to make a damn hot captain one day.
"It's your turn to listen," he says. But instead of saying anything else, he leans down and kisses McCoy. It's hard and fierce, and McCoy barely has time to react before Jim pulls away. "Don't you dare tell me what I do and don't need, got me?"
McCoy nods, mind still racing to catch up on what just happened. Jim gives him another hard look, then smiles brightly, just like that first time in the shuttle, and leans in to kiss him again.
5. He's dying. McCoy is pretty damn sure of that. He gasps, trying to suck air into his overheated lungs. Jim's hand ghosts up his side, licks of heat trailing after his fingers, and McCoy feels like he's going to burst into flame at any moment. "Dammit, Jim," he rasps out, and his hands scramble over his sheets, grabbing fistfuls of cotton.
Jim pulls off with a slurp, tongue teasing at his slit before he lifts his head. He smirks at McCoy, hand sliding down to jerk him slowly. "What's the matter? Want me to stop?"
McCoy growls and grabs Jim's head, fingers tangling in his hair before pushing him back to his cock. "No, don't you fucking dare."
feedback loved! thank you for reading!
