tuesday, suck it
THIS IS FOR kirbybits BECAUSE WE LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH.
DISCLAIMERS:
1. I DON'T EVEN KNOW
2. WINE.
"Fuck, dude," says Jim, thirty minutes into his Quarterly Staff/Officer Interaction Protocol Refresher vid. "This shit is boring. D'you think they'll know if I fast forward through the rest?"
Bones shrugs, without looking up.
"BONES," says Jim. "BONES I NEED YOU."
"What," says Bones, crankily. Jim notices he doesn't commit to putting his book down, only sticks his finger in place.
"Bones," says Jim. "This shit is really boring. You have to help me. I'm going to die."
"It'll go faster if you drink more," says Bones, holding out the bottle. "Or easier, anyway."
Jim tilts the bottle up. "Ughhhhhh," he says at the end of a swig. "Why does this bureaucracy shit suck so hard? Is the next quarter's vid going to have me doing some kind of 12 Steps shit, telling people how I feel and atoning and shit?"
"You just said shit so many times," Bones says mildly.
"Well, it's how I feel," Jim sulks into the bottle. "Shit stink stink. Shit."
"Just fast forward it, Jim," says Bones. "Pike probably figures you'll do that anyway. They should have learned by now to put anything important in the first five minutes if they want you to see it.
Jim hits the button and the stiff, awkward actors roleplay in stiff, awkward high speed.
"I'm awesome at staff/superior interactions anyway," he grumbles. "Everybody knows, if they want to talk about stuff that is awesome, they come to me, and if they want to talk about their feelings, they take it to your mangina of empathy."
"This might be why they keep sending these training vids, Jim," Bones says. But he closes his book and sets it aside while he says it, which Jim counts as a big step in the right direction.
"WHATEVER," says Jim. "You know that when it really counts I am really good at talking to people. But too much self-analysis makes people feel weird. So I keep it awesome. Besides, I have never said anything truly inappropriate to somebody in the crew."
Bones just raises an eyebrow.
"Okay, so, I did tell Spock to stick it in his candyhole, but everyone knew I was joking!"
"I'm going to stick it in your candyhole," Bones says, moving across the room.
"Uh, okay, that's weird. Should I feel turned on? Or creeped out? Or--should I report this to Admiral Pike? Fill out some paperwork with Spock? I--" Bones shuts Jim up with his mouth and pushes him back onto the bed.
"Shut your candyhole," he mutters into Jim's neck. His hands are doing distracting, exciting things in the region of Jim's pants. Jim huffs up at the ceiling.
"Wait," he says. "Where exactly is your candyhole? Is it your mouth, or is it your asshole. Or is it like a mangina? There's nothing more ignorant sounding than using terminology you don't know!"
"Jim," says Bones.
"What," says Kirk.
"Shut your mouth and let me have my conjugal relations with you."
"Oh," says Kirk. "Okay."
He takes off his shirt. His sensitivity training has, after all, made him more aware of others' needs.
DISCLAIMERS:
1. I DON'T EVEN KNOW
2. WINE.
"Fuck, dude," says Jim, thirty minutes into his Quarterly Staff/Officer Interaction Protocol Refresher vid. "This shit is boring. D'you think they'll know if I fast forward through the rest?"
Bones shrugs, without looking up.
"BONES," says Jim. "BONES I NEED YOU."
"What," says Bones, crankily. Jim notices he doesn't commit to putting his book down, only sticks his finger in place.
"Bones," says Jim. "This shit is really boring. You have to help me. I'm going to die."
"It'll go faster if you drink more," says Bones, holding out the bottle. "Or easier, anyway."
Jim tilts the bottle up. "Ughhhhhh," he says at the end of a swig. "Why does this bureaucracy shit suck so hard? Is the next quarter's vid going to have me doing some kind of 12 Steps shit, telling people how I feel and atoning and shit?"
"You just said shit so many times," Bones says mildly.
"Well, it's how I feel," Jim sulks into the bottle. "Shit stink stink. Shit."
"Just fast forward it, Jim," says Bones. "Pike probably figures you'll do that anyway. They should have learned by now to put anything important in the first five minutes if they want you to see it.
Jim hits the button and the stiff, awkward actors roleplay in stiff, awkward high speed.
"I'm awesome at staff/superior interactions anyway," he grumbles. "Everybody knows, if they want to talk about stuff that is awesome, they come to me, and if they want to talk about their feelings, they take it to your mangina of empathy."
"This might be why they keep sending these training vids, Jim," Bones says. But he closes his book and sets it aside while he says it, which Jim counts as a big step in the right direction.
"WHATEVER," says Jim. "You know that when it really counts I am really good at talking to people. But too much self-analysis makes people feel weird. So I keep it awesome. Besides, I have never said anything truly inappropriate to somebody in the crew."
Bones just raises an eyebrow.
"Okay, so, I did tell Spock to stick it in his candyhole, but everyone knew I was joking!"
"I'm going to stick it in your candyhole," Bones says, moving across the room.
"Uh, okay, that's weird. Should I feel turned on? Or creeped out? Or--should I report this to Admiral Pike? Fill out some paperwork with Spock? I--" Bones shuts Jim up with his mouth and pushes him back onto the bed.
"Shut your candyhole," he mutters into Jim's neck. His hands are doing distracting, exciting things in the region of Jim's pants. Jim huffs up at the ceiling.
"Wait," he says. "Where exactly is your candyhole? Is it your mouth, or is it your asshole. Or is it like a mangina? There's nothing more ignorant sounding than using terminology you don't know!"
"Jim," says Bones.
"What," says Kirk.
"Shut your mouth and let me have my conjugal relations with you."
"Oh," says Kirk. "Okay."
He takes off his shirt. His sensitivity training has, after all, made him more aware of others' needs.