Oh help...
I am writing Pike fic. I should have known this would happen.
But dammit, I'm no good at this! I haven't written anything in years - I'm so out of practice. I've got - something right now, but I have no idea where it's going or what to do with it.
Christopher Pike isn’t entirely sure when he realised that recruiting Jim Kirk into Starfleet was simultaneously the best and worst decision he’d ever made in his life, but, flat on his back in the Enterprise’s sickbay, staring up at the blank canvas of the ceiling and idly listening to the young cadet-cum captain-cum pain in the ass arguing with Doctor McCoy, the thought comes back to him with a peculiar intensity.
Kirk’s face hoves into view on his left-hand side, battered face flushed with victory and a certain smug pride. His blue eyes are sparkling with that devilish charm that has distracted Pike in more than one way and on more than one occasion. An angry scar curves around one eye, the cheekbone below is red and swollen, and a necklace of finger marks decorates his neck, somehow only serving to lend him the appearance of a particularly rakish space pirate.
“Excuse me, sir?” The blue eyes blink in surprise.
“What?” Startled, Pike struggles to focus his eyes on Kirk. His vision is blurred in one eye, and he closes and then opens them in quick succession, but the blur remains. McCoy told him it was a side-effect of the drugs keeping the slug fastened to his brain stem immobile until they could reach Earth, but it is proving most distracting, particularly when he’s confronted with the vision of two Jim Kirks.
His focus slips again. Two Jim Kirks. Idly he wonders whether the universe could cope with two Kirks. One was headache enough. Although two of them would certainly prove interesting in the bedroom. Not that he was likely to be indulging in any such extracurricular activities anytime soon - pinned on his back, legs useless, like a bug in an entomologist's lab, like the damn bug attached to his brain that's causing all this trouble.
“Captain?”
“What?” Pike struggles to pull himself up, and Kirk leans forward to prevent him, palms flat on Pike’s chest. “Did I say that out loud?”
Too close for comfort now, warm hands resting on Pike’s abdomen, Kirk nods. His eyes are wide and, damn him, entirely too amused.
“Oh. Fuck.”
Pike closes his eyes. Perhaps this is a dream or another hallucination. It wouldn’t be the first. McCoy sedated him as soon as they dragged him into sickbay, but he woke up hours later, fists flailing, cursing in nine languages, utterly convinced that he was back on the Narada. He wasn’t, of course, and the only restraint keeping him pressed to the biobed was his own useless body, but it had been so real.
He cracks one eye open hopefully, but no, Jim Kirk is still there. Dammit.
“Sorry, sir. I can leave if you-”
“No, it’s alright, Kirk. It’s not you.” It is him, of course. He’s too young, too much, too close, and damn him, completely out of reac-“Fuck! Doctor!”
McCoy moves into his view alongside Kirk, a swift indecipherable glance passing between them as Kirk steps back slightly to allow McCoy access. He looks awful, five o’clock shadow now apparently extending well into twelve o’clock, dark shadows under his eyes, and he smells like a Klingon brothel. Or what Pike would imagine a Klingon brothel would smell like, had he ever in fact set foot in one.
He supposes he ought to be thanking McCoy - after all, if it wasn’t for the doctor Kirk wouldn’t even have been aboard the Enterprise, and she’d probably be floating in pieces alongside her six sister-ships right about now as a result. Even so, gratitude aside - and there’ll be a time for that later, Pike hopes, as he can think of more than a few ways to express his thanks to Kirk - right now he’s more concerned about the apparent lack of filter between his brain and his mouth, as McCoy’s mouth tightens and he shoots a dark glower at Kirk as the younger man not-so-subtly sniffs at McCoy.
“I said that out loud again, didn’t I?” Kirk nods again, now making no attempt whatsoever to hide his amusement. His wide mouth curves in a smile, and Pike finds his eyes drawn to it, wondering what it would felt like to touch those lips, to move in and feel Kirk’s soft breath against his skin…
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Pike clamps his hand over his mouth, eyes slamming shut. “Doctor, please, kill me now.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” Kirk interjects, “not after I went to all the trouble of saving your ass.”
What is this? What am I doing with it? Where am I going?
*sighs*
This is why I don't write fanfic.
But dammit, I'm no good at this! I haven't written anything in years - I'm so out of practice. I've got - something right now, but I have no idea where it's going or what to do with it.
Christopher Pike isn’t entirely sure when he realised that recruiting Jim Kirk into Starfleet was simultaneously the best and worst decision he’d ever made in his life, but, flat on his back in the Enterprise’s sickbay, staring up at the blank canvas of the ceiling and idly listening to the young cadet-cum captain-cum pain in the ass arguing with Doctor McCoy, the thought comes back to him with a peculiar intensity.
Kirk’s face hoves into view on his left-hand side, battered face flushed with victory and a certain smug pride. His blue eyes are sparkling with that devilish charm that has distracted Pike in more than one way and on more than one occasion. An angry scar curves around one eye, the cheekbone below is red and swollen, and a necklace of finger marks decorates his neck, somehow only serving to lend him the appearance of a particularly rakish space pirate.
“Excuse me, sir?” The blue eyes blink in surprise.
“What?” Startled, Pike struggles to focus his eyes on Kirk. His vision is blurred in one eye, and he closes and then opens them in quick succession, but the blur remains. McCoy told him it was a side-effect of the drugs keeping the slug fastened to his brain stem immobile until they could reach Earth, but it is proving most distracting, particularly when he’s confronted with the vision of two Jim Kirks.
His focus slips again. Two Jim Kirks. Idly he wonders whether the universe could cope with two Kirks. One was headache enough. Although two of them would certainly prove interesting in the bedroom. Not that he was likely to be indulging in any such extracurricular activities anytime soon - pinned on his back, legs useless, like a bug in an entomologist's lab, like the damn bug attached to his brain that's causing all this trouble.
“Captain?”
“What?” Pike struggles to pull himself up, and Kirk leans forward to prevent him, palms flat on Pike’s chest. “Did I say that out loud?”
Too close for comfort now, warm hands resting on Pike’s abdomen, Kirk nods. His eyes are wide and, damn him, entirely too amused.
“Oh. Fuck.”
Pike closes his eyes. Perhaps this is a dream or another hallucination. It wouldn’t be the first. McCoy sedated him as soon as they dragged him into sickbay, but he woke up hours later, fists flailing, cursing in nine languages, utterly convinced that he was back on the Narada. He wasn’t, of course, and the only restraint keeping him pressed to the biobed was his own useless body, but it had been so real.
He cracks one eye open hopefully, but no, Jim Kirk is still there. Dammit.
“Sorry, sir. I can leave if you-”
“No, it’s alright, Kirk. It’s not you.” It is him, of course. He’s too young, too much, too close, and damn him, completely out of reac-“Fuck! Doctor!”
McCoy moves into his view alongside Kirk, a swift indecipherable glance passing between them as Kirk steps back slightly to allow McCoy access. He looks awful, five o’clock shadow now apparently extending well into twelve o’clock, dark shadows under his eyes, and he smells like a Klingon brothel. Or what Pike would imagine a Klingon brothel would smell like, had he ever in fact set foot in one.
He supposes he ought to be thanking McCoy - after all, if it wasn’t for the doctor Kirk wouldn’t even have been aboard the Enterprise, and she’d probably be floating in pieces alongside her six sister-ships right about now as a result. Even so, gratitude aside - and there’ll be a time for that later, Pike hopes, as he can think of more than a few ways to express his thanks to Kirk - right now he’s more concerned about the apparent lack of filter between his brain and his mouth, as McCoy’s mouth tightens and he shoots a dark glower at Kirk as the younger man not-so-subtly sniffs at McCoy.
“I said that out loud again, didn’t I?” Kirk nods again, now making no attempt whatsoever to hide his amusement. His wide mouth curves in a smile, and Pike finds his eyes drawn to it, wondering what it would felt like to touch those lips, to move in and feel Kirk’s soft breath against his skin…
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Pike clamps his hand over his mouth, eyes slamming shut. “Doctor, please, kill me now.”
“Hey, don’t do that,” Kirk interjects, “not after I went to all the trouble of saving your ass.”
What is this? What am I doing with it? Where am I going?
*sighs*
This is why I don't write fanfic.