Star Trek Fic: Kiss It Better
Dec. 21st, 2021 05:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lair***
Title: Kiss It Better
Author:kat_lair / Mistress Kat
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: T
Word count: 1,534
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: Bones is furious. Jim knows this because instead the usual angry tirade of cursing and lecturing, interspersed with empty threats to resign, he is quiet and efficient, only speaking when absolutely necessary to tell Jim to turn this way or that, to wiggle his fingers to see if they still work. His tone is clipped, the words economical and it’s like being treated by a brick wall, impenetrable and iced over with midwinter frost.
Author notes: This was written forundeadrobins' Kissathon and their prompt 'kissing it better'. Posted on AO3 at the time but because I also like to have my fics on my DW, here it is.
Kiss It Better on AO3
Bones is furious. Jim knows this because instead the usual angry tirade of cursing and lecturing, interspersed with empty threats to resign, he is quiet and efficient, only speaking when absolutely necessary to tell Jim to turn this way or that, to wiggle his fingers to see if they still work. His tone is clipped, the words economical and it’s like being treated by a brick wall, impenetrable and iced over with midwinter frost.
The eyes would surely give him away, except he is refusing to meet Jim’s gaze head on, only focused on his mangled arm, or the spot just above his right shoulder.
It’s enough to penetrate through Jim’s well-structured mental defences about why putting himself in danger is rational, justified and morally right in 99.99% of the cases and the haze of pain meds the good doctor had slipped him without his explicit consent.
It’s enough to make him downright worried.
Okay, so this is the third time in as many days that Jim has ended up in the sickbay with moderate to serious ailments, but none of them have been his fault or strictly unavoidable. Sure, he could’ve let Cupcake be shot on the leg instead stepping in front of him but then it would’ve been Cupcake on the stretcher. And he could’ve refused the traditional dish the Zenian ambassador presented him but then they’d be in a middle of a diplomatic incident instead something a shot of adrenaline fixed right up. Well, in about six hours after a course of antihistamines. And yes, okay, today he could’ve waited for reinforcements instead using his arm to slow down a malfunctioning piece of machinery but then there would probably be several injured limbs for McCoy to patch up rather than just Jim’s single arm.
“We’re done,” Bones grinds out. It doesn’t sound like he’s just talking about the treatment. He turns around, not even tidying up the instruments, not even giving Jim instructions on the care of his injury, seemingly determined to leave both to the nurse, which is so out of character that Jim’s worry turns into panic.
Jim Kirk doesn’t panic. It’s basically the core tenet of his personality and the reason he’s in the position he is, but the prospect of Bones walking out wrapped in cold fury that shuts Jim out, that pushes him away instead keeping him warm and close with the strength of McCoy’s anger born out of care… Well. It tips him right over.
“Wait,” Jim says. His uninjured hand shoots out and clamps itself around the crook of Bones’ elbow. “We’re not done yet.”
Bones freezes. His face is angled to the side, but Jim can see the way the corner of his jaw twitches, just once. It’s like watching granite shift.
The nurse casts a nervous glance between the two of them and decides to remove both the tray of instruments and himself from the medbay, activating the privacy field on his way out. Just as well, Jim thinks absently. He doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen next, but he sure as hell knows they don’t need any witnesses for it.
“Bones…” he starts, but McCoy cuts him right off.
“Captain.”
The title is like a slap to the face. Jim shakes it off.
“We’re not done because…” His mind, still panicking, still stuck on the certainty that if he lets Bones walk out now, there may not be a way to get him to return, follows the time-honoured tradition of panicked minds everywhere, and drops clean out of the chain of command between instinct and vocal cords. “Because you haven’t kissed it better yet.”
Jim’s eyes bug out a little. It’s not what he expected to come out of his mouth, not even in the same ballpark, because while he’s a firm believer in using levity to reduce tension, this very clearly isn’t a tactic that’s going to work here. His mind scrambles back onto the controls like a pilot that was thrown off for a moment and now has the thankless task of trying to avoid a looming crash.
“Uh. Ha. I mean…”
Bones turns. He doesn’t attempt to shake Jim’s hand off, so Jim decides not to draw attention to the issue and leaves it where it is.
“Is that what it would take?” Bones asks. His voice is almost calm, curious even, but now his gaze is square on Jim’s face and there is no mistaking the simmering anger there.
Jim’s relieved. This he can deal with. Maybe. “What?” he asks, still trying to steer the conversation to more familiar ground.
“Is that what it would take to make you think twice before you throw your life away over and over again like it’s worth nothing?”
Jim blinks. “That’s not…”
“Is that what it would take to make you think for one precious second of those who…” Bones visibly bites off the end of the sentence before it slips out of his mouth. The ice of his earlier demeanor is cracking and it’s cracking fast, like someone had stepped onto a frozen surface of a lake only to find that it only looked solid but was in fact dangerously thin underfoot.
No prizes for guessing who was about to plummet right into it.
Bones steps closer, closer, until he’s looming right over Jim, still sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. The space between his knees is pushed unceremoniously wider as Bones occupies it with an almost casual sense of entitlement that makes Jim’s breath catch and wraps his hands onto the tattered remains of Jim’s uniform. If this was anyone else, Jim would be re-establishing his personal boundaries with some prejudice by now but it’s Bones and so his body just yields, arching backward, his injured arm held awkwardly to the side.
“It’s not a strategy I’ve considered before,” Bones murmurs and with a sudden, painful clarity Jim realises he’s lying. “But I’m willing to give it a try.”
His hand has migrated to cup the back of Jim’s neck, fingers grasping at the short stands of hair just enough to tilt his head backwards. There’s no sign of the earlier cold indifference now. The heat in Bones’ eyes lights Jim up from the inside and he knows this won’t be any friendly peck, that this is a kiss meant to cut more than heal.
He surges up and closes the distance between them himself.
If Bones is surprised, he gives no indication, instead taking instant possession of the kiss, angling Jim’s face as he pleases and licking straight into his mouth, all teeth and desperation, and lingering traces of fury.
Jim doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t want to.
He hooks his legs behind Bones’ knees, clutches at him as well as he can one-handed, open, open, open, letting him take what he wants. Letting him give Jim what he needs; a reason to stay, a reminder that he’s wanted.
Eventually the kiss slows down, Bones’ tongue stroking over Jim’s almost sweetly, his lips nipping at the corner of Jim’s mouth before withdrawing.
Jim breathes out, long and shuddering. Bones doesn’t seem much better off.
“I’m sor—”
“Don’t.” Bones shakes his head, his forehead rolling against Jim’s for a moment, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Don’t say what you don’t mean.”
Jim swallows the explanation. Bones is right that he doesn’t regret what he did. But he’s also wrong because Jim is sorry for making Bones worry, for making him angry or sad or think he couldn’t have this. But perhaps now is not the time to make that distinction.
For a moment Jim is afraid Bones is going to apologise or explain away what just happened but he doesn’t, instead stepping back and regarding Jim silently for a long time.
Finally, he nods, as if deciding something.
“Twenty-four hours,” he says.
“Of what?”
“Of observation on sickbay until you’re released to your quarters.”
Normally, Jim would protest that but right now it feels like a much milder sentence than expected.
“Alright,” he agrees. “Twenty-four hours.” And then they will talk, he adds silently, filling in the secondary – or perhaps the primary – purpose of Bones’ time limit.
Something like apprehension flits over Bones’ expression, a mix of resignation and determination that Jim wants to unpack immediately. But he’s got twenty-four hours to plan this now and he’s going to make good use of it. The blind panic of losing Bones has receded and his focus has shifted to figuring out exactly what it will take to dismantle Bones’ defences and objections, which will be numerous, he can already tell.
Bones looks like he’s going to say something else but instead he just pivots on his heels and walks out without so much as a backward glance.
That’s okay. Jim’s got enough intel now. He stretches out on the bed, and somewhere, under the exhaustion of pain and adrenaline and shifted worldview, a grin starts to break free. Oh, it won’t be easy, but nothing worth having in his life has ever been that. Jim’s feeling confident. A day is more than enough time.
After all, they don’t call him a tactical genius for nothing.
***
Title: Kiss It Better
Author:
kat_lair / Mistress KatFandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: T
Word count: 1,534
Disclaimer: Not mine, only playing
Summary: Bones is furious. Jim knows this because instead the usual angry tirade of cursing and lecturing, interspersed with empty threats to resign, he is quiet and efficient, only speaking when absolutely necessary to tell Jim to turn this way or that, to wiggle his fingers to see if they still work. His tone is clipped, the words economical and it’s like being treated by a brick wall, impenetrable and iced over with midwinter frost.
Author notes: This was written for
undeadrobins' Kissathon and their prompt 'kissing it better'. Posted on AO3 at the time but because I also like to have my fics on my DW, here it is. Kiss It Better on AO3
Bones is furious. Jim knows this because instead the usual angry tirade of cursing and lecturing, interspersed with empty threats to resign, he is quiet and efficient, only speaking when absolutely necessary to tell Jim to turn this way or that, to wiggle his fingers to see if they still work. His tone is clipped, the words economical and it’s like being treated by a brick wall, impenetrable and iced over with midwinter frost.
The eyes would surely give him away, except he is refusing to meet Jim’s gaze head on, only focused on his mangled arm, or the spot just above his right shoulder.
It’s enough to penetrate through Jim’s well-structured mental defences about why putting himself in danger is rational, justified and morally right in 99.99% of the cases and the haze of pain meds the good doctor had slipped him without his explicit consent.
It’s enough to make him downright worried.
Okay, so this is the third time in as many days that Jim has ended up in the sickbay with moderate to serious ailments, but none of them have been his fault or strictly unavoidable. Sure, he could’ve let Cupcake be shot on the leg instead stepping in front of him but then it would’ve been Cupcake on the stretcher. And he could’ve refused the traditional dish the Zenian ambassador presented him but then they’d be in a middle of a diplomatic incident instead something a shot of adrenaline fixed right up. Well, in about six hours after a course of antihistamines. And yes, okay, today he could’ve waited for reinforcements instead using his arm to slow down a malfunctioning piece of machinery but then there would probably be several injured limbs for McCoy to patch up rather than just Jim’s single arm.
“We’re done,” Bones grinds out. It doesn’t sound like he’s just talking about the treatment. He turns around, not even tidying up the instruments, not even giving Jim instructions on the care of his injury, seemingly determined to leave both to the nurse, which is so out of character that Jim’s worry turns into panic.
Jim Kirk doesn’t panic. It’s basically the core tenet of his personality and the reason he’s in the position he is, but the prospect of Bones walking out wrapped in cold fury that shuts Jim out, that pushes him away instead keeping him warm and close with the strength of McCoy’s anger born out of care… Well. It tips him right over.
“Wait,” Jim says. His uninjured hand shoots out and clamps itself around the crook of Bones’ elbow. “We’re not done yet.”
Bones freezes. His face is angled to the side, but Jim can see the way the corner of his jaw twitches, just once. It’s like watching granite shift.
The nurse casts a nervous glance between the two of them and decides to remove both the tray of instruments and himself from the medbay, activating the privacy field on his way out. Just as well, Jim thinks absently. He doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen next, but he sure as hell knows they don’t need any witnesses for it.
“Bones…” he starts, but McCoy cuts him right off.
“Captain.”
The title is like a slap to the face. Jim shakes it off.
“We’re not done because…” His mind, still panicking, still stuck on the certainty that if he lets Bones walk out now, there may not be a way to get him to return, follows the time-honoured tradition of panicked minds everywhere, and drops clean out of the chain of command between instinct and vocal cords. “Because you haven’t kissed it better yet.”
Jim’s eyes bug out a little. It’s not what he expected to come out of his mouth, not even in the same ballpark, because while he’s a firm believer in using levity to reduce tension, this very clearly isn’t a tactic that’s going to work here. His mind scrambles back onto the controls like a pilot that was thrown off for a moment and now has the thankless task of trying to avoid a looming crash.
“Uh. Ha. I mean…”
Bones turns. He doesn’t attempt to shake Jim’s hand off, so Jim decides not to draw attention to the issue and leaves it where it is.
“Is that what it would take?” Bones asks. His voice is almost calm, curious even, but now his gaze is square on Jim’s face and there is no mistaking the simmering anger there.
Jim’s relieved. This he can deal with. Maybe. “What?” he asks, still trying to steer the conversation to more familiar ground.
“Is that what it would take to make you think twice before you throw your life away over and over again like it’s worth nothing?”
Jim blinks. “That’s not…”
“Is that what it would take to make you think for one precious second of those who…” Bones visibly bites off the end of the sentence before it slips out of his mouth. The ice of his earlier demeanor is cracking and it’s cracking fast, like someone had stepped onto a frozen surface of a lake only to find that it only looked solid but was in fact dangerously thin underfoot.
No prizes for guessing who was about to plummet right into it.
Bones steps closer, closer, until he’s looming right over Jim, still sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. The space between his knees is pushed unceremoniously wider as Bones occupies it with an almost casual sense of entitlement that makes Jim’s breath catch and wraps his hands onto the tattered remains of Jim’s uniform. If this was anyone else, Jim would be re-establishing his personal boundaries with some prejudice by now but it’s Bones and so his body just yields, arching backward, his injured arm held awkwardly to the side.
“It’s not a strategy I’ve considered before,” Bones murmurs and with a sudden, painful clarity Jim realises he’s lying. “But I’m willing to give it a try.”
His hand has migrated to cup the back of Jim’s neck, fingers grasping at the short stands of hair just enough to tilt his head backwards. There’s no sign of the earlier cold indifference now. The heat in Bones’ eyes lights Jim up from the inside and he knows this won’t be any friendly peck, that this is a kiss meant to cut more than heal.
He surges up and closes the distance between them himself.
If Bones is surprised, he gives no indication, instead taking instant possession of the kiss, angling Jim’s face as he pleases and licking straight into his mouth, all teeth and desperation, and lingering traces of fury.
Jim doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t want to.
He hooks his legs behind Bones’ knees, clutches at him as well as he can one-handed, open, open, open, letting him take what he wants. Letting him give Jim what he needs; a reason to stay, a reminder that he’s wanted.
Eventually the kiss slows down, Bones’ tongue stroking over Jim’s almost sweetly, his lips nipping at the corner of Jim’s mouth before withdrawing.
Jim breathes out, long and shuddering. Bones doesn’t seem much better off.
“I’m sor—”
“Don’t.” Bones shakes his head, his forehead rolling against Jim’s for a moment, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Don’t say what you don’t mean.”
Jim swallows the explanation. Bones is right that he doesn’t regret what he did. But he’s also wrong because Jim is sorry for making Bones worry, for making him angry or sad or think he couldn’t have this. But perhaps now is not the time to make that distinction.
For a moment Jim is afraid Bones is going to apologise or explain away what just happened but he doesn’t, instead stepping back and regarding Jim silently for a long time.
Finally, he nods, as if deciding something.
“Twenty-four hours,” he says.
“Of what?”
“Of observation on sickbay until you’re released to your quarters.”
Normally, Jim would protest that but right now it feels like a much milder sentence than expected.
“Alright,” he agrees. “Twenty-four hours.” And then they will talk, he adds silently, filling in the secondary – or perhaps the primary – purpose of Bones’ time limit.
Something like apprehension flits over Bones’ expression, a mix of resignation and determination that Jim wants to unpack immediately. But he’s got twenty-four hours to plan this now and he’s going to make good use of it. The blind panic of losing Bones has receded and his focus has shifted to figuring out exactly what it will take to dismantle Bones’ defences and objections, which will be numerous, he can already tell.
Bones looks like he’s going to say something else but instead he just pivots on his heels and walks out without so much as a backward glance.
That’s okay. Jim’s got enough intel now. He stretches out on the bed, and somewhere, under the exhaustion of pain and adrenaline and shifted worldview, a grin starts to break free. Oh, it won’t be easy, but nothing worth having in his life has ever been that. Jim’s feeling confident. A day is more than enough time.
After all, they don’t call him a tactical genius for nothing.
***