Angsty Kirk/McCoy Fics (PG-13 & NC-17)

  • Feb. 28th, 2011 at 7:38 PM
emiliglia: (kirk/mccoy-3)
Both written for the FML Flash Challenge at [livejournal.com profile] jim_and_bones, so they're angsty by nature (not to be confused with Naughty by Nature). Summary for each is the prompt that it was written for.

Title: Lock the Door, Kill the Light
Rating: Kirk/McCoy
Pairing: PG-13
Word Count: 805
Summary: "Offered to cook my best friend dinner and to give him a backrub after he'd had a really bad day. He laughed at me, said I just wanted to get into his pants, and told me to fuck off. I really just wanted to give him a backrub-- my day sucked too. FML."

+++

Rubbing at tired eyes with his left hand, Leonard enters his access code with his right. Chronologically-speaking the day is nowhere near done, but it is for him. Another Vulcan refugee lost to the psychic trauma of all those deaths and not a damn thing Leonard could have done about it.

He reflexively goes for a tricorder that he doesn't have when the door slides open to reveal Jim lying face-down on the sofa, his head pillowed on crossed arms. They aren't supposed to be sharing quarters, but Jim had shown up saying he had nowhere else to go, that he wasn't comfortable taking Captain Pike's quarters, which Leonard had understood as he'd kept those that he'd been originally assigned instead of taking Doctor Puri's.

So while Jim being here isn't a new development, his current bearing certainly is. Leonard takes in the stiff line of Jim's shoulders and suddenly needs to reassure himself that he can help at least one person today.

"Jim?" he tries and doesn't continue until Jim responds with a muffled grunt. "How are you feeling?" His answer is unintelligible, so Leonard moves closer. "What was that?"

"Today sucked," Jim says curtly, turning his head to the side so he's facing Leonard. The low lighting is making the dark circles under his eyes look even worse, but Leonard doesn't say anything since he doubts he looks much better. "I can't do this," Jim adds more quietly, the harsh edges of his words gone.

It's so comfortable and familiar, supporting Jim and being the one to believe in him, that Leonard steps up immediately. "I think you're doing pretty damn well all things considered."

"Really, Bones? I seem to remember your exact words being you've got to be kidding me."

Leonard's jaw tenses. He's already apologized, so he sees no point in defending himself or offering Jim excuses. What he needs to do is get Jim out of this funk, and maybe Jim feeling better will help Leonard do the same. He lowers himself to perch on the edge of the couch, his ass next to Jim's waist, and Jim didn't really seem to be expecting or wanting a comment from Leonard as he keeps going.

"Finally got long-range communication reestablished today, and the first thing Barnett says - in front of everyone on the bridge, I might add - is Kirk, why the hell are you on the Enterprise?" Jim goes on to describe his public reaming by the admirals, how they didn't even take a moment to seem happy that there's at least one ship with her crew left alive, and how they wouldn't stop calling him Cadet Kirk and eventually asked to speak to Commander Spock instead.

During all of this, Leonard watches Jim's posture get tenser and tenser, until he's practically curled in on himself even while still sprawled out on his stomach. Leonard reaches out, resting a hand on Jim's back to try and ground him the way physical contact always seems to, but it doesn't seem like enough. Leonard starts rubbing at muscle, getting his fingers in to ease the stiffness, but Jim shrugs out of and rolls away from his touch before Leonard can even start with his other hand.

"Knock it off, Bones," Jim says, sitting up fully, and he sounds so fucking weary, like he's doubled in age since Leonard last saw him.

"You're just tired, Jim. You know Barnett's had it out for you since day one, and Komack was probably feeding more fuel into the fire. They can't tarnish the crew's opinion of you. They've seen you in action; Barnett hasn't."

"So you're, what? Trying to invalidate how I feel?"

"No, but you need to recognize that stress is blowing this out of proportion. You've been through a lot, you haven't been getting enough sleep, and have you even eaten today?" Jim's silence is all the answer Leonard needs, and it makes him sigh. "Come on, let me make you dinner."

Jim's laugh is a low, dry sound. "What are you doing, Bones? Trying to get into my pants?"

He can't be sitting here anymore. He can't be in the same room with Jim, whose feelings of failure are so magnificently reflecting Leonard's own. Leonard stands, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm trying to make my best friend feel better, but he's being an asshole."

Jim doesn't even look at him. "Oh, now that's just rich coming from you. Fuck off, Bones."

Leonard grits his teeth with a tight, "Fine," before storming out. It isn't until he's back in the corridor that he pauses. "They're my fucking quarters, jackass," he growls, clearly startling the gaggle of ensigns passing by.

He leans against the wall next to the door, trying to figure out if this day could possibly get any worse.


Title: Ripping Off the Bandaid
Rating: Kirk/McCoy
Pairing: NC-17
Word Count: 1,115
Summary: "Today I promised myself I'd talk to him about this and figure out what we're doing. I ended up in a supply closet with my pants around my ankles and a dick in my mouth. FML."

+++

His anxiety level is so high that Jim feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin at any moment. He can deal with phaser fire, pissed off races, and Bones pre-coffee with no problem but needing to bare his heart and soul is what scares him the most.

It's not that he doesn't like the fucking. He fucking loves the fucking. But it usually only happens when one or the both of them are drunk, and then someone's always sneaking back to their quarters afterward. Jim may not be the poster boy for commitment, but he's an all-or-nothing kind of guy. He needs to know exactly where they stand, needs to know if Bones doesn't take it seriously before Jim gets in too deep.

Who is he kidding, though, really? He's already in too deep, has been for a long time now. But if Bones doesn't want him the way he wants Bones, Jim tells himself that it would be better to end it quickly, like ripping off a bandaid.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, before girding his loins and entering sickbay.

Jim actually kind of likes being in sickbay. Bones got his staff out of the habit of stopping to salute superior officers on the basis that insubordination will be overlooked if it keeps said officer from bleeding to death. It's kind of nice to have at least one place where he gets treated like everyone else.

He affects a shit-eating grin when his eyes meet Chapel's, and he knows the once over she's giving him is to make sure there aren't any parts of the ship sticking out of him. Which is kind of unfair, considering that's only happened once. "Is Bones around?"

She points in the direction of the lab that Bones has decreed as his own. "Just don't touch anything; you know how he gets."

Jim's expression becomes more who, me? never as he heads in Bones' direction. Touching hadn't been his purpose for coming here, not lab equipment nor the doctor that uses it.

Bones is staring at projections of replicating cells with his brows all furrowed. Jim recognizes the red and white blood cells, can tell that they aren't human, but that's about it.

Hey, Bones, can we talk? sounds lame, even in his head, so instead Jim tries, "Bones, you got a minute?"

"If it isn't ship business, it'll have to wait until my shift is over. Don't need my staff thinking they can have social calls while they're on-duty."

Jim runs a hand through his hair. "I'd rather not wait. It's… important."

Bones turns away from the display screen to face Jim fully for the first time since he entered the lab. His eyebrows morph from drawn concentration into arched expectation. "This better not be like that time you called to say there was an emergency in your pants."

"That was a legit medical emergency."

"Yes, but you could have just said that you picked up a Cartellian leech on the away mission instead of making everyone in my general vicinity think it was a booty call." Bones pauses for a moment, like he's thinking over what happened. "Although I suppose its preferable for people to think I'm getting laid than for them to know I'm removing a parasite from your scrotum."

Jim doesn't find it painfully sexy the way Bones' accent makes scrotum roll off his tongue. He really, really doesn't. "Getting laid is actually what I wanted to talk to you about." Oh, that was smooth, Jim winces. "This thing between us, I…" Jim gestures vaguely. "What are we doing, Bones?"

He can see the way Bones' back straightens even as he looks away. Jim gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. "I think this should wait until after shift," Bones says, his voice too calm to be delivering anything but bad news like when he has to tell a patient that there's nothing that can be done.

"Bones…"

"This isn't something I want to talk about right now, Jim." He's rising from his seat, crossing the lab to the supply closet towards the back. Jim really should just leave, but he's got a masochistic streak that's three klicks wide. He follows Bones, feeling suddenly angry that Bones can just shrug him off like this, even after they've been friends for so long.

"Bones!" he tries again, watching the movement of those broad shoulders as Bones digs through boxes of slides and specimen trays, but Bones puts down whatever he's holding to glare at him before Jim can get another word in.

"You can be such a selfish bastard, you know that?" Bones is practically snarling, his expression wild like it had been when they'd first met on the shuttle, perhaps even more so because it contradicts his uniform and the neat way his hair's combed. "Did you even stop to think that-"

Jim stops whatever tirade's coming with a harsh kiss. Fuck ripping the bandaid off; Jim wants to feel every little pull on skin and hair because he's not yet ready to see the fresh scar it was covering.

Bones doesn't pull away. If anything, he's pulling Jim closer, tighter, his legs parting for Jim to slide one in between even as he presses Bones against the shelf. Bones is pressing the tips of his fingers so hard into his shoulders, his back, his ass that Jim knows there's going to be bruises, and part of him feels like he shouldn't be getting so turned on right now, but with his thigh wedged between Bones' legs, he can feel that Bones is too.

Jim's body goes into automatic, his fingers undoing Bones' pants and shoving them down far enough to draw Bones' cock out even as Jim drops to his knees. He hears something that can only be Bones hitting his head against the shelf, followed by hissed cursing, but there's a hand holding the back of his head - supporting, not pushing - and Jim has to squeeze his eyes shut because he doesn't want to see the expression on Bones' face right now. Jim just sucks and licks like he still wants Bones' taste in his mouth for weeks afterward, and Bones' thighs quivering under his hands are the only warning he gets before Bones comes.

"Jim," Bones says, his voice completely wrecked as he pants. "Do you want-"

"No," Jim replies too quickly, but he can't have Bones touch him. He'll be as good as lost. "I need to get back to the bridge."

He leaves without so much as a glance back, not seeing all the confused faces he leaves in his wake.

Fuck.


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