Star Trek XI Ficlet: The upside to getting bloodied and bruised [Kirk/Spock/McCoy; R]
Title: The upside to getting bloodied and bruised
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Rating: R
Length: 1,200 words
Disclaimer: Belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry.
Spoilers: Just the new film
AN: Claiming my anonymous from st_xi_kink, for the prompt: Kirk manages to get himself totally brutalized. Awkward comforting and patching up from McCoy and/or Spock ensues, possibly followed by sex. Originally here.
He was really hoping not to make a big deal out of this. But as Spock was the one to drag him back to the ship, and Bones is one Spock drags him to, that was something of a pipe-dream. There is a moment when Bones just looks at him.
“I don’t even know where to start,” he says.
Jim manages, through his bloody lip and loose tooth, to say, “In my defence…”
“No. No defence, you lunatic. Do you have any bloody idea how stupid that was?”
Jim tries to answer, chokes, and spits blood onto the white sheets. It stops the argument anyway. Bones leaps into action, dabbing at the sliced wounds with something that stings and burns.
“That is not the worst of it.”
Jim looks up to see Spock just inside the medical bay.
“You’re supposed to be on the bridge,” Jim says.
Bones talks over whatever Spock says in reply (Uhura has the conn, or Sulu. It doesn’t matter which). Bones asks, “What?” He steps back, looking Jim up and down, and spits curses. Bones doesn’t bother with niceties, or the fact that Spock is still there, still watching with bland curiosity. He grabs Jim’s shirt, and pulls, tearing it off him. The tug of dried blood on the fabric makes Jim wince, and then yell.
“Goddamnit, Jim. What the hell happened?”
Jim looks down, feeling himself go slightly cross-eyed what with his pounding headache, and the colours painted on his chest. Bones touches one of the bruises, and Jim… He will swear later that he didn’t faint. But when he next hits awareness, with blurry eyes, and a new feeling of drugged well-being, he has been pulled back against Bones’ chest, and Spock is sitting in front of them on the bed. Spock’s hand is settled on Jim’s shoulder, holding him upright.
“It’s nothing, you know,” Jim says. He feels Bones snort behind him. Spock raises an eyebrow. Jim continues, “The last time I was this messed up, you were the one that did it. Let me tell you, you haven’t been pounded on ‘til a Vulcan chokes you over the console of your ship.”
“It wasn’t your ship at the time,” Spock answers, and his expression has turned more fixed than ever.
Jim doesn’t have the energy to fight with them. He catches his reflection on one of the medical bay’s shiny surfaces, and frowns at it. “Fuck.”
“Your nose was already crooked,” Bones murmurs, and starts gently cleaning the blood from Jim’s hairline.
“Old war wounds,” Jim explains, for Spock’s benefit. He half-expects Spock to ask which war, but the idiom appears to be understood. Bones starts work on the head injury; Jim hisses as the skin is drawn back together. He looks at Spock, and it’s absurd to be proud now, when Spock had practically tossed Jim over his shoulder to bring him home, when Jim had been out of it enough to babble his delirious thanks for the rescue. But he doesn’t want Spock to see him react to the pain.
Spock isn’t looking at Jim’s face, but at his neck.
Bones must notice the sudden quiet, because he glances up. He passes something to Spock and says, “Put that on the bruises on his throat, or he won’t be able to talk tomorrow. On second thought-”
Spock says, “I’m not a doctor.”
“No, but I've only got two hands, and all my nurses are off dealing with the chaos out there. Help, or go be busy and important on the bridge. I don’t have time for your-”
“All right,” Spock says, and his fingertips are cool on Jim’s neck.
If Jim had any sense, or self-preservation instincts, he would be more wary of Spock’s hands around his throat. As it is, he moans at the sudden easing of pain, and shifts under Bones’ hands.
Bones sighs, and his breath falls on Jim’s bare shoulder. It’s the meds, or the dizzy relief. Back on his beautiful ship, with Bones being exasperated behind him, and Spock being resigned in front of him. He’s shirtless, and bruised and bloody, and their hands are all over his newly-sensitive skin. It’s their own fault, really.
Jim moans - tips his head back and cants his hips forward. His head hits Bones’ shoulder and his knees brush Spock’s thigh. They freeze.
Eventually Bones manages, “You can’t be serious.”
“What?”
“You’re essentially a slab of pulverised meat right now. And you’re still thinking about…? You realise we could probably break something just by breathing on you the wrong way?”
“I notice your problem relates more to the specifics than the general.”
“Excuse me?”
Jim tries his best attempt at a pout. “I was a hostage! A really badly treated hostage at that.”
“Which is exactly my point!”
“So be gentle.” It’s really easy to just shift a little more, so he’s lying against Bones, and so Spock has to brace himself up to stop from landing on him.
Jim hasn’t looked at Spock yet, not sure he wants to test that response before he’s more sure. He turns anyway.
Spock says, “Lie very still,” and edges his long fingers into Jim’s pants. It’s lucky that Spock is taking them off, because this is the closest Jim has been to coming in them for a very long time.
Jim has Bones behind him, holding him up, and Spock sliding down the bed. Bones’ mouth on his, and his fingers rubbing the undamaged skin at the crease of his thigh and the cleft of his ass. Spock’s mouth on his cock, and the noise he almost makes when Jim’s hands twitch in his night-black hair. Oh, Jim’s feeling no pain.
He misses what happens right after he comes. He’s been awake for pretty much three days straight at this point, being punched for what seemed like all of that time. But Jim wishes he had seen it, because when he looks again, Spock has something which might be a flush on his cheeks, and Bones looks incredibly pleased with himself. He’s sure as hell going to investigate that one later, but now… Now, he really wants to sleep for a little while.
Bones is saying, “You better not so much as think of running off half-cocked like that again. Or you can find someone else to patch you up.”
Jim looks at his reflection again. A solid sixty-percent of his skin appears to be covered in either bruises or bandages. His lip is split, and a cut which Bones had thought too small to bother with is lazily trickling blood. This excepted, it was a successful mission. He’s back on his beautiful ship, with Bones on one side of him, and Spock on the other.
He grins, and his lip starts bleeding again. Jim says, “But you can’t argue with my results.” He falls asleep to the sound of Bones ranting about Starfleet’s selection criteria for command, and Spock’s meditative silence. Tomorrow, they’re only going to be more angry with him, when the relief wears off. But tonight, Jim is pretty sure that if anyone comes looking for more of his blood (what isn’t on the dirt floor of his cell, or on the sterile dressings here) these men will have it covered. He sleeps peacefully.
FIN. Feedback always welcome.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters/Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Rating: R
Length: 1,200 words
Disclaimer: Belongs to Paramount and Gene Roddenberry.
Spoilers: Just the new film
AN: Claiming my anonymous from st_xi_kink, for the prompt: Kirk manages to get himself totally brutalized. Awkward comforting and patching up from McCoy and/or Spock ensues, possibly followed by sex. Originally here.
He was really hoping not to make a big deal out of this. But as Spock was the one to drag him back to the ship, and Bones is one Spock drags him to, that was something of a pipe-dream. There is a moment when Bones just looks at him.
“I don’t even know where to start,” he says.
Jim manages, through his bloody lip and loose tooth, to say, “In my defence…”
“No. No defence, you lunatic. Do you have any bloody idea how stupid that was?”
Jim tries to answer, chokes, and spits blood onto the white sheets. It stops the argument anyway. Bones leaps into action, dabbing at the sliced wounds with something that stings and burns.
“That is not the worst of it.”
Jim looks up to see Spock just inside the medical bay.
“You’re supposed to be on the bridge,” Jim says.
Bones talks over whatever Spock says in reply (Uhura has the conn, or Sulu. It doesn’t matter which). Bones asks, “What?” He steps back, looking Jim up and down, and spits curses. Bones doesn’t bother with niceties, or the fact that Spock is still there, still watching with bland curiosity. He grabs Jim’s shirt, and pulls, tearing it off him. The tug of dried blood on the fabric makes Jim wince, and then yell.
“Goddamnit, Jim. What the hell happened?”
Jim looks down, feeling himself go slightly cross-eyed what with his pounding headache, and the colours painted on his chest. Bones touches one of the bruises, and Jim… He will swear later that he didn’t faint. But when he next hits awareness, with blurry eyes, and a new feeling of drugged well-being, he has been pulled back against Bones’ chest, and Spock is sitting in front of them on the bed. Spock’s hand is settled on Jim’s shoulder, holding him upright.
“It’s nothing, you know,” Jim says. He feels Bones snort behind him. Spock raises an eyebrow. Jim continues, “The last time I was this messed up, you were the one that did it. Let me tell you, you haven’t been pounded on ‘til a Vulcan chokes you over the console of your ship.”
“It wasn’t your ship at the time,” Spock answers, and his expression has turned more fixed than ever.
Jim doesn’t have the energy to fight with them. He catches his reflection on one of the medical bay’s shiny surfaces, and frowns at it. “Fuck.”
“Your nose was already crooked,” Bones murmurs, and starts gently cleaning the blood from Jim’s hairline.
“Old war wounds,” Jim explains, for Spock’s benefit. He half-expects Spock to ask which war, but the idiom appears to be understood. Bones starts work on the head injury; Jim hisses as the skin is drawn back together. He looks at Spock, and it’s absurd to be proud now, when Spock had practically tossed Jim over his shoulder to bring him home, when Jim had been out of it enough to babble his delirious thanks for the rescue. But he doesn’t want Spock to see him react to the pain.
Spock isn’t looking at Jim’s face, but at his neck.
Bones must notice the sudden quiet, because he glances up. He passes something to Spock and says, “Put that on the bruises on his throat, or he won’t be able to talk tomorrow. On second thought-”
Spock says, “I’m not a doctor.”
“No, but I've only got two hands, and all my nurses are off dealing with the chaos out there. Help, or go be busy and important on the bridge. I don’t have time for your-”
“All right,” Spock says, and his fingertips are cool on Jim’s neck.
If Jim had any sense, or self-preservation instincts, he would be more wary of Spock’s hands around his throat. As it is, he moans at the sudden easing of pain, and shifts under Bones’ hands.
Bones sighs, and his breath falls on Jim’s bare shoulder. It’s the meds, or the dizzy relief. Back on his beautiful ship, with Bones being exasperated behind him, and Spock being resigned in front of him. He’s shirtless, and bruised and bloody, and their hands are all over his newly-sensitive skin. It’s their own fault, really.
Jim moans - tips his head back and cants his hips forward. His head hits Bones’ shoulder and his knees brush Spock’s thigh. They freeze.
Eventually Bones manages, “You can’t be serious.”
“What?”
“You’re essentially a slab of pulverised meat right now. And you’re still thinking about…? You realise we could probably break something just by breathing on you the wrong way?”
“I notice your problem relates more to the specifics than the general.”
“Excuse me?”
Jim tries his best attempt at a pout. “I was a hostage! A really badly treated hostage at that.”
“Which is exactly my point!”
“So be gentle.” It’s really easy to just shift a little more, so he’s lying against Bones, and so Spock has to brace himself up to stop from landing on him.
Jim hasn’t looked at Spock yet, not sure he wants to test that response before he’s more sure. He turns anyway.
Spock says, “Lie very still,” and edges his long fingers into Jim’s pants. It’s lucky that Spock is taking them off, because this is the closest Jim has been to coming in them for a very long time.
Jim has Bones behind him, holding him up, and Spock sliding down the bed. Bones’ mouth on his, and his fingers rubbing the undamaged skin at the crease of his thigh and the cleft of his ass. Spock’s mouth on his cock, and the noise he almost makes when Jim’s hands twitch in his night-black hair. Oh, Jim’s feeling no pain.
He misses what happens right after he comes. He’s been awake for pretty much three days straight at this point, being punched for what seemed like all of that time. But Jim wishes he had seen it, because when he looks again, Spock has something which might be a flush on his cheeks, and Bones looks incredibly pleased with himself. He’s sure as hell going to investigate that one later, but now… Now, he really wants to sleep for a little while.
Bones is saying, “You better not so much as think of running off half-cocked like that again. Or you can find someone else to patch you up.”
Jim looks at his reflection again. A solid sixty-percent of his skin appears to be covered in either bruises or bandages. His lip is split, and a cut which Bones had thought too small to bother with is lazily trickling blood. This excepted, it was a successful mission. He’s back on his beautiful ship, with Bones on one side of him, and Spock on the other.
He grins, and his lip starts bleeding again. Jim says, “But you can’t argue with my results.” He falls asleep to the sound of Bones ranting about Starfleet’s selection criteria for command, and Spock’s meditative silence. Tomorrow, they’re only going to be more angry with him, when the relief wears off. But tonight, Jim is pretty sure that if anyone comes looking for more of his blood (what isn’t on the dirt floor of his cell, or on the sterile dressings here) these men will have it covered. He sleeps peacefully.
FIN. Feedback always welcome.