Ficlet: Heritage Month (Scones, PG-13)
Title: Heritage Month
Fandom: Star Trek TOS/Star Trek XI (pick your naked Scottishman!)
Pairing: SCONES (Scotty/Bones)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, crack, silliness, nudity
Word Count: 565
Note: Written for
cards_slash as part of my Rock, Paper, Cynic Fanfic Meme. Also written for the "Public Nudity" square of my
trek_crackbingo card. Multitasking!
Every year for a period of four weeks which were deemed "Scottish Heritage Month", Montgomery Scott refused to wear pants.
This was problematic for a number of reasons. First, the fact that "Scottish Heritage Month" was not an actual holiday, much less the religious holiday that Scotty claimed it was.
Second, the fact that Jim had the admirals on his ass about following regulations (again) and really couldn't afford to let his Chief Engineer abstain from the normal uniform.
There was paperwork for that sort of thing, according to some yeoman or other, but Scotty was damn well not going to fill it out. It was his buggering heritage.
Third, the fact that Scotty's hairy legs sticking out of a kilt was, to put it gently, quite upsetting to a number of the more easily disturbed crew. Scotty also adhered to tradition by not wearing any form of undergarment. It was his heritage.
On the day in question, Captain James Tiberius Kirk was entering into yet another argument over Scotty's abuse of the dress code. It was the tenth day of Scottish Heritage Month. Scotty had decided that this year it would occur for twenty five days between the Cardassian Month of the Harvest and Month of Rejuvenation. This is what Jim had to deal with.
"Just fill out the paperwork!" Jim pleaded, "At least that! Just the paperwork!"
"I'm not going to fill out any fucking paperwork for my heritage!"
"Then how about tights? Some nice regulation tights to go under your--"
"It's not a skirt!" Scotty shouted, "And I will not wear tights. You dinnae make Re'lara in communications wear regulation tights!"
"SHE DOESN'T HAVE LEGS!"
"Semantics!"
Jim ran his hand through his hair (at this rate he would be bald before thirty) and gazed at the ceiling imploringly. His eyes drifted downward (as eyes do) until they finally rested on the door where--
"Bones?"
"Hey, Jim." McCoy greeted him with a smile and a jaunty wave. He was in possibly the best mood since, well, ever as far as Jim could tell.
It was probably because McCoy wasn't wearing any pants.
"Bones?"
"Yes Jim?"
"How come you aren't wearing pants?"
"Scottish Heritage Month." McCoy answered swiftly, "Now if you don't mind, I have plans for this man."
Jim blinked. Looked at McCoy, who was touching Scotty somewhere under the kilt and Jim did not want to see that. He didn't even want to know that ever happened.
"You're not Scottish." He protested, hoping for at least some modicum of sanity from his best friend. Bros before hos, after all.
"Semantics." McCoy responded. He tugged at the far too brief breifs he was wearing under his regulation medical shirt and glared at Scotty. "Monty, I don't have all day. You can be naked in the next ten minutes or I'm locking you out of our quarters."
Scotty shrugged at Jim and followed McCoy out of the Engineering bay.
Jim felt like he wanted to cry.
Nearly an hour later Jim was sitting in his chair (his lovely, understanding, comfortable chair) and contemplating all the ways he could bleach his brain when lieutenants Sulu and Chekov came onto the bridge, taking their places at the helm.
They were both completely naked.
"Wha--?" Jim began.
They turned to him and, in unison, chimed out "Scottish Heritage Month."
Jim let his head fall into his hands.
Fandom: Star Trek TOS/Star Trek XI (pick your naked Scottishman!)
Pairing: SCONES (Scotty/Bones)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, crack, silliness, nudity
Word Count: 565
Note: Written for
cards_slash as part of my Rock, Paper, Cynic Fanfic Meme. Also written for the "Public Nudity" square of my
trek_crackbingo card. Multitasking!
Every year for a period of four weeks which were deemed "Scottish Heritage Month", Montgomery Scott refused to wear pants.
This was problematic for a number of reasons. First, the fact that "Scottish Heritage Month" was not an actual holiday, much less the religious holiday that Scotty claimed it was.
Second, the fact that Jim had the admirals on his ass about following regulations (again) and really couldn't afford to let his Chief Engineer abstain from the normal uniform.
There was paperwork for that sort of thing, according to some yeoman or other, but Scotty was damn well not going to fill it out. It was his buggering heritage.
Third, the fact that Scotty's hairy legs sticking out of a kilt was, to put it gently, quite upsetting to a number of the more easily disturbed crew. Scotty also adhered to tradition by not wearing any form of undergarment. It was his heritage.
On the day in question, Captain James Tiberius Kirk was entering into yet another argument over Scotty's abuse of the dress code. It was the tenth day of Scottish Heritage Month. Scotty had decided that this year it would occur for twenty five days between the Cardassian Month of the Harvest and Month of Rejuvenation. This is what Jim had to deal with.
"Just fill out the paperwork!" Jim pleaded, "At least that! Just the paperwork!"
"I'm not going to fill out any fucking paperwork for my heritage!"
"Then how about tights? Some nice regulation tights to go under your--"
"It's not a skirt!" Scotty shouted, "And I will not wear tights. You dinnae make Re'lara in communications wear regulation tights!"
"SHE DOESN'T HAVE LEGS!"
"Semantics!"
Jim ran his hand through his hair (at this rate he would be bald before thirty) and gazed at the ceiling imploringly. His eyes drifted downward (as eyes do) until they finally rested on the door where--
"Bones?"
"Hey, Jim." McCoy greeted him with a smile and a jaunty wave. He was in possibly the best mood since, well, ever as far as Jim could tell.
It was probably because McCoy wasn't wearing any pants.
"Bones?"
"Yes Jim?"
"How come you aren't wearing pants?"
"Scottish Heritage Month." McCoy answered swiftly, "Now if you don't mind, I have plans for this man."
Jim blinked. Looked at McCoy, who was touching Scotty somewhere under the kilt and Jim did not want to see that. He didn't even want to know that ever happened.
"You're not Scottish." He protested, hoping for at least some modicum of sanity from his best friend. Bros before hos, after all.
"Semantics." McCoy responded. He tugged at the far too brief breifs he was wearing under his regulation medical shirt and glared at Scotty. "Monty, I don't have all day. You can be naked in the next ten minutes or I'm locking you out of our quarters."
Scotty shrugged at Jim and followed McCoy out of the Engineering bay.
Jim felt like he wanted to cry.
Nearly an hour later Jim was sitting in his chair (his lovely, understanding, comfortable chair) and contemplating all the ways he could bleach his brain when lieutenants Sulu and Chekov came onto the bridge, taking their places at the helm.
They were both completely naked.
"Wha--?" Jim began.
They turned to him and, in unison, chimed out "Scottish Heritage Month."
Jim let his head fall into his hands.