Blue Skies, Prompt #18: Some kind of stranger
Title: Some kind of stranger
Author: erynwen
Prompt: Blue Skies prompt #18: sweat
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters & Pairings: Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy
Rating & Warnings: PG-13 for dirty fantasies, modern day AU
Word Count: 588
Summary: Breaking down with his car is not how he planned to spend his weekend.
Breaking down with his car in Shitplace, Nowhere, on a day on which you could fry an egg on the stones on the roadside, is not how he planned to spend his weekend.
Stupid car.
Jim kicks at the tire, frustrated, only to regret it immediately, as his toe starts throbbing.
He leans against the door, dragging his hand over his face, heaving a sigh. He doesn’t even know where he is, or where the next workshop might be, and curses under his breath.
Fucking perfect.
He stands there for a very long time, sun climbing higher in the sky, the air growing warmer around him, when he hears a car approaching. He looks up hopefully as an old Volvo pulls over, comes to a stop behind him.
A cowboy boot hits the ground, followed by a jeans-clad leg. Big hands come to rest on the doorframe, and a man gets out of the Volvo, dark hair flowing to his chin, brow furrowed, black tank top clinging to a well-defined chest.
“Are you all right?” he calls, voice heavy with a southern accent that makes Jim chew his lips.
“Yeah, my car broke down, and I’m kinda stranded, but apart from that...” Jim trails of, shrugging.
The man steps closer. Jim tries not to notice how the muscles in his thighs shift with every step.
He comes to a stop next to Jim, reaches out to open the hood.
Jim does not notice his big hands, the nimble fingers curling around the metal.
The man leans down, tugs on cables and prods at screws and does all those things his mechanic does, and which Jim never quite understood.
Jim watches as the man takes a step forward, buries himself deeper in the car’s engine, grumbling and cursing under his breath. Sweat breaks out on his body, glistening on his neck and arms, running down muscles and under the tank top.
Jim licks his sudden dry lips.
The man straightens, wiping off sweat of his forehead with his wrist, puffing out air at the loose strands of hair falling into his face.
Jim does not imagine licking that sweat off the neck the guy is stretching just now.
“I’m afraid I can’t do much out here, but I could tow you to town.”
Jim nods, and closes the hood as the man walks back to the Volvo to fetch his tow-rope.
Jim does not check out the man’s ass as he bends down to the trunk of his car.
The man drives up in front of Jim’s car, gets out again and secures the tow-rope around the bumper of Jim’s car, than his own.
Jim doesn’t watch strong hands tying knots, tugging to make sure they’ll hold.
Jim gets into his car, rubbing sweaty palms over his knees.
He is not hard.
And he does not jump as the man raps his knuckles against the doorframe.
“The way you’re staring at me all the time, you could as well tell me your name.”
“I’m not… I mean, I wasn’t…” Jim stammers helplessly, and watches the man quirk an eyebrow at him.
“It’s Jim, Jim Kirk.”
“Leonard McCoy.” They shake hands through the open window.
“Lucky for you, it’s not a far ride, so sit back and enjoy the view. Oh, and make sure you don’t bump into my rear end.” Leonard smirks as he walks slowly back to his car.
Jim leans back in his seat, shaking his head at himself.
This is going to be a long ride.
Author: erynwen
Prompt: Blue Skies prompt #18: sweat
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters & Pairings: Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy
Rating & Warnings: PG-13 for dirty fantasies, modern day AU
Word Count: 588
Summary: Breaking down with his car is not how he planned to spend his weekend.
Breaking down with his car in Shitplace, Nowhere, on a day on which you could fry an egg on the stones on the roadside, is not how he planned to spend his weekend.
Stupid car.
Jim kicks at the tire, frustrated, only to regret it immediately, as his toe starts throbbing.
He leans against the door, dragging his hand over his face, heaving a sigh. He doesn’t even know where he is, or where the next workshop might be, and curses under his breath.
Fucking perfect.
He stands there for a very long time, sun climbing higher in the sky, the air growing warmer around him, when he hears a car approaching. He looks up hopefully as an old Volvo pulls over, comes to a stop behind him.
A cowboy boot hits the ground, followed by a jeans-clad leg. Big hands come to rest on the doorframe, and a man gets out of the Volvo, dark hair flowing to his chin, brow furrowed, black tank top clinging to a well-defined chest.
“Are you all right?” he calls, voice heavy with a southern accent that makes Jim chew his lips.
“Yeah, my car broke down, and I’m kinda stranded, but apart from that...” Jim trails of, shrugging.
The man steps closer. Jim tries not to notice how the muscles in his thighs shift with every step.
He comes to a stop next to Jim, reaches out to open the hood.
Jim does not notice his big hands, the nimble fingers curling around the metal.
The man leans down, tugs on cables and prods at screws and does all those things his mechanic does, and which Jim never quite understood.
Jim watches as the man takes a step forward, buries himself deeper in the car’s engine, grumbling and cursing under his breath. Sweat breaks out on his body, glistening on his neck and arms, running down muscles and under the tank top.
Jim licks his sudden dry lips.
The man straightens, wiping off sweat of his forehead with his wrist, puffing out air at the loose strands of hair falling into his face.
Jim does not imagine licking that sweat off the neck the guy is stretching just now.
“I’m afraid I can’t do much out here, but I could tow you to town.”
Jim nods, and closes the hood as the man walks back to the Volvo to fetch his tow-rope.
Jim does not check out the man’s ass as he bends down to the trunk of his car.
The man drives up in front of Jim’s car, gets out again and secures the tow-rope around the bumper of Jim’s car, than his own.
Jim doesn’t watch strong hands tying knots, tugging to make sure they’ll hold.
Jim gets into his car, rubbing sweaty palms over his knees.
He is not hard.
And he does not jump as the man raps his knuckles against the doorframe.
“The way you’re staring at me all the time, you could as well tell me your name.”
“I’m not… I mean, I wasn’t…” Jim stammers helplessly, and watches the man quirk an eyebrow at him.
“It’s Jim, Jim Kirk.”
“Leonard McCoy.” They shake hands through the open window.
“Lucky for you, it’s not a far ride, so sit back and enjoy the view. Oh, and make sure you don’t bump into my rear end.” Leonard smirks as he walks slowly back to his car.
Jim leans back in his seat, shaking his head at himself.
This is going to be a long ride.