Fic: Four Green Things Jim Kirk Likes (And One He Loves)
Title: Four Green Things Jim Kirk Likes (And One He Loves)
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: One-sided Kirk/Spock, briefly.
Rating: PG-13.
Length: 1222 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: See title.
Notes: Yeah, so, the 'five things' virus has hit me too, except it's four things this time because my brain couldn't think of enough green things to fill the 'five things and one blank' skeleton. Enjoy?
Four green things Jim Kirk likes (and one he loves).
Winona's eyes.
-when he can see them.
Winona's a headstrong woman. When she gets her mind wrapped around something, it's nigh impossible she's going to let go 'till the job's done or the fat lady sings, and-Jim knows-never before had the fat lady sung before he got his job done, especially on the farm.
But after Frank, Winona hadn't stared anyone in the face for a long, long time. Because of blame, probably. Maybe she blamed it all on herself. The way Frank wasn't a good enough boyfriend to act like a good stepfather, or how she wasn't there to witness her own son almost kill himself with George's stupid old car. Or how his bruises weren't just from hitting the dust at thirty miles per hour out on Iowa's dirt. Yeah, that one's probably stuck with her to this day, and there's no end to the guilt Jim feels about that.
But Frank had been long gone the day Jim stepped his foot on the Corvette's accelerator. Winona just needed a little push, and that did it. Faster than it took Frank to yell at him down on the way to the cop station, because, hell, Jim's mother is a few things, but ignorant is not one of them.
Iowa.
All Iowa is is corn, really. You can't go a mile in either direction without running yourself into a corn field and getting yourself lost or covered in stalks or bugs. When Jim was eleven, he would go into the maize fields looking for a challenge, and usually cheated his way out of them when it got dark and his eyes stung with frustration. He didn't (still doesn't) quite have the knack of navigation that Chekov has, but it hadn't stopped him from trying then and does nothing to get him to quit now.
'Sides, the only thing better than being surrounded by space is being surrounded by good, green earth. By home, if that's any comparison. Even if he's getting the two confused, he'll never forget just how it was like growing up on Iowan soil, because Iowa's as much a home as any, and he'd spent his whole goddamn life in that state long before he ever realized he'd been born light-years out of it.
He's just never admitted just how much he loves it, though. Everyone needs an anchor.
Orion women.
It's not only the pheromone thing, but that's one of many reasons why it was so easy for him to get comfortable around Gaila. Starfleet is known for its spectrum of exotic and sometimes colorful enlisters, and what with Jim's personality, it's not hard to figure out where Gaila fits into that particular picture. She's just so fresh-what the hell do you do? You can't ignore that.
Maybe Jim's kind of a misogynistic ass only sleeping with her for what she's got to offer superficially, but he's never looked deep enough in a woman to fall in love with their personality. He's too young for love. Real love. He doesn't want to end up like his mother.
But Gaila's bubbly and makes adorable faces at him and she's got the loveliest damn skin he's ever seen (pardoning Uhura, that is), and she's got her own agenda, too. So they can just fuck and be happy about how good the sex is, and not fight over how bad their 'relationship' is, because they don't have one. Except maybe when she says "I think I love you" and all he can do is stop and fumble for a response that'll probably get him slapped, because maybe she does actually love him-shit, he doesn't want to get into that.
Yeah, he's shallow as a puddle of mud. Hell, he's Jim Kirk. He's allowed to be as damn stupid as he wants.
(Stupid's not the only thing he feels when chunks of the Farragut drift across the hailscreen.)
Absinthe.
McCoy has had a stash since he brought his flask of whiskey up on that shuttle and met Jim for the first time, and it's only grown in size since. Jim's captain, but he doesn't penalize McCoy for the liquor he doesn't bother to hide. It's kind of mind-blowing, actually, how much he has; there's Andorian and Cardassian ale, greel, Romulan ale, Saurian brandy, Salurian rum, a little bit of champagne, kanar, gin, vodka, several bottles of jack, scotch and Irish whiskey, Kentucky bourbon, and a decanter of absinthe.
Jim's pretty sure Scotty's the main reason why the size of what McCoy had collected before has suddenly blown way out of proportion, but the absinthe is definitely McCoy's, because who else would want to drink that shit if they hadn't gone through a divorce? Not that Jim was assuming anything about how McCoy liked to deal with adversity, or anything. That was his business.
Still, the first time he drank it (a lot of it), when he couldn't see straight or think straight or walk straight and McCoy had to drag him into his own bed and leave him there until he got his shit together, Jim couldn't help but think Jesus, Bones, get over yourself. Jim's got a large tolerance for alcohol, but he isn't too sure that absinthe's psychoactive properties are all that fake. He hasn't touched it since, and it dwindles slowly away when he's not looking.
But when he does look at it-yeah, he likes to look at it-it reminds him an awful lot of the neon at the bars he used to pick fights in and of the corn he used to shuck under Winona's supervision, or a million other things. It's kind of nice when you can look, but can't touch.
Spock's blood.
It's weird.
He can see it in Spock's veins, the ones close to the top of your skin on your hands and your wrists. Jim spent a good deal of time flipping his own hands over and staring at the little spiderwebs of blue, when they stuck out when he clenched his fist or picked something up. Uhura-and Bones, too, he's the doctor-know more about it than he does, alien physiology, whatever. But it's green and Spock isn't green on the outside, except for little olive tinges in the corners of his mouth or the thinest part of his ear where light can shine through if it's bright enough. And his hands, where all the veins live. And it's weird.
If he taunted Spock until the green arteries shoed up against his neck and betrayed that coldly calm face-that'd be a double whammy, right there, and of course Jim would gloat over that but only after he got to stare. If he said something lewd or obnoxious or just plain damn vile and watch the blood green up in Spock's face. If he said the same in the dark and warm of Spock's quarters and got to see him flush green elsewhere.
So it takes a lot for Jim to not catch Spock's wrist when he's handing Jim something Starfleet-related and likely important and just stare at it, follow the veins up to his palm, where they are on his own hand, and the outside of his thumb and fuck if he he feels all kinds of frustrated disappointment when the alien hands disappear behind Spock's back and Jim's just waiting on tenterhooks for the day Spock will let him touch, and not just look.
Author: sidhefaer
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: One-sided Kirk/Spock, briefly.
Rating: PG-13.
Length: 1222 words.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: See title.
Notes: Yeah, so, the 'five things' virus has hit me too, except it's four things this time because my brain couldn't think of enough green things to fill the 'five things and one blank' skeleton. Enjoy?
Four green things Jim Kirk likes (and one he loves).
Winona's eyes.
-when he can see them.
Winona's a headstrong woman. When she gets her mind wrapped around something, it's nigh impossible she's going to let go 'till the job's done or the fat lady sings, and-Jim knows-never before had the fat lady sung before he got his job done, especially on the farm.
But after Frank, Winona hadn't stared anyone in the face for a long, long time. Because of blame, probably. Maybe she blamed it all on herself. The way Frank wasn't a good enough boyfriend to act like a good stepfather, or how she wasn't there to witness her own son almost kill himself with George's stupid old car. Or how his bruises weren't just from hitting the dust at thirty miles per hour out on Iowa's dirt. Yeah, that one's probably stuck with her to this day, and there's no end to the guilt Jim feels about that.
But Frank had been long gone the day Jim stepped his foot on the Corvette's accelerator. Winona just needed a little push, and that did it. Faster than it took Frank to yell at him down on the way to the cop station, because, hell, Jim's mother is a few things, but ignorant is not one of them.
Iowa.
All Iowa is is corn, really. You can't go a mile in either direction without running yourself into a corn field and getting yourself lost or covered in stalks or bugs. When Jim was eleven, he would go into the maize fields looking for a challenge, and usually cheated his way out of them when it got dark and his eyes stung with frustration. He didn't (still doesn't) quite have the knack of navigation that Chekov has, but it hadn't stopped him from trying then and does nothing to get him to quit now.
'Sides, the only thing better than being surrounded by space is being surrounded by good, green earth. By home, if that's any comparison. Even if he's getting the two confused, he'll never forget just how it was like growing up on Iowan soil, because Iowa's as much a home as any, and he'd spent his whole goddamn life in that state long before he ever realized he'd been born light-years out of it.
He's just never admitted just how much he loves it, though. Everyone needs an anchor.
Orion women.
It's not only the pheromone thing, but that's one of many reasons why it was so easy for him to get comfortable around Gaila. Starfleet is known for its spectrum of exotic and sometimes colorful enlisters, and what with Jim's personality, it's not hard to figure out where Gaila fits into that particular picture. She's just so fresh-what the hell do you do? You can't ignore that.
Maybe Jim's kind of a misogynistic ass only sleeping with her for what she's got to offer superficially, but he's never looked deep enough in a woman to fall in love with their personality. He's too young for love. Real love. He doesn't want to end up like his mother.
But Gaila's bubbly and makes adorable faces at him and she's got the loveliest damn skin he's ever seen (pardoning Uhura, that is), and she's got her own agenda, too. So they can just fuck and be happy about how good the sex is, and not fight over how bad their 'relationship' is, because they don't have one. Except maybe when she says "I think I love you" and all he can do is stop and fumble for a response that'll probably get him slapped, because maybe she does actually love him-shit, he doesn't want to get into that.
Yeah, he's shallow as a puddle of mud. Hell, he's Jim Kirk. He's allowed to be as damn stupid as he wants.
(Stupid's not the only thing he feels when chunks of the Farragut drift across the hailscreen.)
Absinthe.
McCoy has had a stash since he brought his flask of whiskey up on that shuttle and met Jim for the first time, and it's only grown in size since. Jim's captain, but he doesn't penalize McCoy for the liquor he doesn't bother to hide. It's kind of mind-blowing, actually, how much he has; there's Andorian and Cardassian ale, greel, Romulan ale, Saurian brandy, Salurian rum, a little bit of champagne, kanar, gin, vodka, several bottles of jack, scotch and Irish whiskey, Kentucky bourbon, and a decanter of absinthe.
Jim's pretty sure Scotty's the main reason why the size of what McCoy had collected before has suddenly blown way out of proportion, but the absinthe is definitely McCoy's, because who else would want to drink that shit if they hadn't gone through a divorce? Not that Jim was assuming anything about how McCoy liked to deal with adversity, or anything. That was his business.
Still, the first time he drank it (a lot of it), when he couldn't see straight or think straight or walk straight and McCoy had to drag him into his own bed and leave him there until he got his shit together, Jim couldn't help but think Jesus, Bones, get over yourself. Jim's got a large tolerance for alcohol, but he isn't too sure that absinthe's psychoactive properties are all that fake. He hasn't touched it since, and it dwindles slowly away when he's not looking.
But when he does look at it-yeah, he likes to look at it-it reminds him an awful lot of the neon at the bars he used to pick fights in and of the corn he used to shuck under Winona's supervision, or a million other things. It's kind of nice when you can look, but can't touch.
Spock's blood.
It's weird.
He can see it in Spock's veins, the ones close to the top of your skin on your hands and your wrists. Jim spent a good deal of time flipping his own hands over and staring at the little spiderwebs of blue, when they stuck out when he clenched his fist or picked something up. Uhura-and Bones, too, he's the doctor-know more about it than he does, alien physiology, whatever. But it's green and Spock isn't green on the outside, except for little olive tinges in the corners of his mouth or the thinest part of his ear where light can shine through if it's bright enough. And his hands, where all the veins live. And it's weird.
If he taunted Spock until the green arteries shoed up against his neck and betrayed that coldly calm face-that'd be a double whammy, right there, and of course Jim would gloat over that but only after he got to stare. If he said something lewd or obnoxious or just plain damn vile and watch the blood green up in Spock's face. If he said the same in the dark and warm of Spock's quarters and got to see him flush green elsewhere.
So it takes a lot for Jim to not catch Spock's wrist when he's handing Jim something Starfleet-related and likely important and just stare at it, follow the veins up to his palm, where they are on his own hand, and the outside of his thumb and fuck if he he feels all kinds of frustrated disappointment when the alien hands disappear behind Spock's back and Jim's just waiting on tenterhooks for the day Spock will let him touch, and not just look.