Genre Drabbles, Round 6
chaosraven asked for McCoy/Chekov, Reboot-style. Would've been finished sooner, but my latest fic for Ship Wars was kicking my ass. >_< Sorry for the delay!
Adventure
Phaser blasts fire past the dubious shelter provided by a fallen tree trunk. Every now and then Pavel chances a quick shot back at their attackers, trying to hold them at bay while McCoy tries-futilely, so far-to make contact with the Enterprise. It’s been going on like this for nearly ten minutes when Pavel turns to him, face lit in a manic grin even as the trunk beside him takes a hit.
“Avay missions are so exciting!”
McCoy groans and rolls his eyes, jabbing a stern finger at his boyfriend. “No more poker nights with Jim for you.”
Angst
“It vasn’t your fault.”
McCoy blinks and stares up at the ceiling. They talk about nearly everything together, but never this. And he doesn’t think that this is the best time. But he recognizes the tone in his lover’s voice, knows that this isn’t going to be dropped.
“You are too hard on yourself. You did everything you could.”
“Yeah. I know I did.” The breath he takes isn’t quite steady. “It just wasn’t enough.” His hand moves to the other side of the bed, finds it as empty and cold as it has been for weeks.
“You’re still gone.”
Drama
“She is wery beautiful,” Chekov says, his voice just a hair shy of normal.
“Yeah.” McCoy should let it drop there, but he doesn’t. “Former Miss Atlanta, you know. Lucky for all of us Jo got her good looks.”
“She is . . .” The younger man seems to be searching for the right words. “Different than I expected.”
“Yeah. My fault, probably,” McCoy mutters.
“Do you still love her?”
The question blindsides him. He opens his mouth to say something angry, but nothing comes out. And he realizes that despite everything . . .
He just plain doesn’t know.
Fantasy
“You vant me,” he whispers, hips moving sinuously against McCoy’s where they pin him to the bed.
“You’re not even real,” McCoy growls, but his hips arch. Hell, he’s only human, unlike the thing on top of him.
“But I am.” Soft lips pressed to his jaw, the smell of fresh soap and skin. “I made myself real. From your thoughts, Leo, your vicked sinful thoughts that summoned me.”
“No.” McCoy’s eyes slam shut on temptation. “This is just a dream.”
The incubus laughs as the room echoes with the sound of his zipper opening. “Feel free to pretend so.”
Friendship
“Sticky and hot,” McCoy says, pouring another shot. “Bad enough that by August you wanted to just walk around ass-naked.”
Chekov lifts an eyebrow-kid’s been spending too much time with Spock. “You must have been wery popular vith the ladies.”
McCoy snorts. “How ‘bout you?”
“Nyet.” Chekov shakes his head. “Too cold in Russia to valk around naked.” McCoy’s laugh is full-throated this time, and he knocks back his shot as Chekov grins. “Good, yes?”
“Not bad.” McCoy eyes the vodka bottle with something approaching respect. “Next time, though, you’re trying whiskey.”
The boy’s grin widens. “Next time. Da.”
Horror
The process is experimental, but it works. Chekov, his beautiful, fragile Pasha, is brought back from the brink of death. Alive, whole and out of the woods.
Until things start to give out.
McCoy sits in his office with the door locked and strict orders that he’s not to be disturbed. Quickly but methodically, he pores through the crew’s medical files.
The liver is most worrying at the moment, so McCoy focuses on that. There’s a small voice gibbering at the back of his head, horrified and panicked, but he’s getting better at ignoring it.
He has to fix him.
Humor
“Damn it, kid, let me go!”
“Nyet.” Chekov sits at the edge of the bed, cool as you please, and even grins a little. “Not until you say it, Doctor.”
“I’m not gonna lie. Now stop behaving like a child and-”
“Do you think that calling me a child is appropriate right now?” Chekov asks. “Or perhaps that excites you?”
Leonard’s eyes narrow. “No, it doesn’t excite me. I’m not a pedophile. Now undo the damned handcuffs!”
“Say it.”
With a resigned huff, Leonard lets his head fall back against the pillows. “Fine. Whiskey was invented in Russia. Happy?”
Hurt/Comfort
“Can I get you anything else?” Leonard knows he’s hovering, knows it must be annoying as hell. He can’t help himself. “Water, or . . . well, I wouldn’t usually advocate alcohol as a painkiller, but-”
“Leo.” Pavel uses his uninjured arm to pull him onto the couch next to him. “I am fine.” He presses a soft kiss to his lover’s temple. “I am not broken,” he whispers.
“You could have been.” Leonard’s next breath is unsteady. “Damn it, you’re a navigator, not a botanist. Shouldn’t have even-”
“Hush.” Warm arms wrap around him. “I’m safe now.”
Mystery
“Thanks for the help, kid,” McCoy grumbles. “I don’t know if it’s some sort of practical joke or what, but it’s beyond me.”
“I’m sure you could manage on your own,” Chekov says generously.
“Now, we both know that’s a lie. I’m a doctor, not a mathematician.” McCoy glares at the PADD in Chekov’s hands. “So what is it?”
“It is a cipher.” He glances up and blushes. “It, ah, may take some time to solve vithout the key. Perhaps vith your help . . .”
“Well.” McCoy sighs. “Looks like you’re stuck with me awhile.”
“I vill manage somehow.”
Parody
Pavel Chekov is nobody’s fool; he knows he doesn’t stand a chance with the new CMO, and he kicks himself for entertaining the idea for even a moment. After all, Leonard McCoy is brilliant-a medical prodigy, he overheard once, and it’s true-and gorgeous, with eyes nearly as blue as the captain’s and a sort of scruffy Southern charm. Never mind the fact that he hardly seems like he should be old enough to shave, much less to have to do so twice a day. Gangly teenager or not, he’s out of Chekov’s league and the navigator knows it.
Romance
“It’s not like I never thought about it,” McCoy grumbles. “I’m old, not dead.”
Chekov’s eyes look ridiculously green by candlelight, and they shine when he grins. “Not so old.”
“Yeah, well.” McCoy clears his throat. “I mean to say, you’re . . . well, you’re gorgeous, and brilliant, and I just figured you wouldn’t have any use for a worn-out old-” He groans, covers his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorta crap at this.”
He feels fingers brush the hand he has on the table, and he looks up to see his date smiling softly.
“You’re doing fine.”
Suspense
Fourteen hours. That’s how long he has, according to optimistic projections, before the lungs will deteriorate beyond redemption. They’re lucky, at least, that the virus didn’t spread far before they’d caught it. There are ten crewmembers in quarantine at the moment, and his staff is keeping them comfortable, but that’s going to be worth exactly shit if McCoy can’t come up with a cure.
He’s solved worse medical mysteries than this before, he reminds himself. There’s no need for the panic that keeps trying to rise. McCoy glances into Sickbay, sees pale skin and blonde curls.
No need to panic.
As per usual, first to comment gets to pick the fandom/pairing. Your choices:
Adventure
Phaser blasts fire past the dubious shelter provided by a fallen tree trunk. Every now and then Pavel chances a quick shot back at their attackers, trying to hold them at bay while McCoy tries-futilely, so far-to make contact with the Enterprise. It’s been going on like this for nearly ten minutes when Pavel turns to him, face lit in a manic grin even as the trunk beside him takes a hit.
“Avay missions are so exciting!”
McCoy groans and rolls his eyes, jabbing a stern finger at his boyfriend. “No more poker nights with Jim for you.”
Angst
“It vasn’t your fault.”
McCoy blinks and stares up at the ceiling. They talk about nearly everything together, but never this. And he doesn’t think that this is the best time. But he recognizes the tone in his lover’s voice, knows that this isn’t going to be dropped.
“You are too hard on yourself. You did everything you could.”
“Yeah. I know I did.” The breath he takes isn’t quite steady. “It just wasn’t enough.” His hand moves to the other side of the bed, finds it as empty and cold as it has been for weeks.
“You’re still gone.”
Drama
“She is wery beautiful,” Chekov says, his voice just a hair shy of normal.
“Yeah.” McCoy should let it drop there, but he doesn’t. “Former Miss Atlanta, you know. Lucky for all of us Jo got her good looks.”
“She is . . .” The younger man seems to be searching for the right words. “Different than I expected.”
“Yeah. My fault, probably,” McCoy mutters.
“Do you still love her?”
The question blindsides him. He opens his mouth to say something angry, but nothing comes out. And he realizes that despite everything . . .
He just plain doesn’t know.
Fantasy
“You vant me,” he whispers, hips moving sinuously against McCoy’s where they pin him to the bed.
“You’re not even real,” McCoy growls, but his hips arch. Hell, he’s only human, unlike the thing on top of him.
“But I am.” Soft lips pressed to his jaw, the smell of fresh soap and skin. “I made myself real. From your thoughts, Leo, your vicked sinful thoughts that summoned me.”
“No.” McCoy’s eyes slam shut on temptation. “This is just a dream.”
The incubus laughs as the room echoes with the sound of his zipper opening. “Feel free to pretend so.”
Friendship
“Sticky and hot,” McCoy says, pouring another shot. “Bad enough that by August you wanted to just walk around ass-naked.”
Chekov lifts an eyebrow-kid’s been spending too much time with Spock. “You must have been wery popular vith the ladies.”
McCoy snorts. “How ‘bout you?”
“Nyet.” Chekov shakes his head. “Too cold in Russia to valk around naked.” McCoy’s laugh is full-throated this time, and he knocks back his shot as Chekov grins. “Good, yes?”
“Not bad.” McCoy eyes the vodka bottle with something approaching respect. “Next time, though, you’re trying whiskey.”
The boy’s grin widens. “Next time. Da.”
Horror
The process is experimental, but it works. Chekov, his beautiful, fragile Pasha, is brought back from the brink of death. Alive, whole and out of the woods.
Until things start to give out.
McCoy sits in his office with the door locked and strict orders that he’s not to be disturbed. Quickly but methodically, he pores through the crew’s medical files.
The liver is most worrying at the moment, so McCoy focuses on that. There’s a small voice gibbering at the back of his head, horrified and panicked, but he’s getting better at ignoring it.
He has to fix him.
Humor
“Damn it, kid, let me go!”
“Nyet.” Chekov sits at the edge of the bed, cool as you please, and even grins a little. “Not until you say it, Doctor.”
“I’m not gonna lie. Now stop behaving like a child and-”
“Do you think that calling me a child is appropriate right now?” Chekov asks. “Or perhaps that excites you?”
Leonard’s eyes narrow. “No, it doesn’t excite me. I’m not a pedophile. Now undo the damned handcuffs!”
“Say it.”
With a resigned huff, Leonard lets his head fall back against the pillows. “Fine. Whiskey was invented in Russia. Happy?”
Hurt/Comfort
“Can I get you anything else?” Leonard knows he’s hovering, knows it must be annoying as hell. He can’t help himself. “Water, or . . . well, I wouldn’t usually advocate alcohol as a painkiller, but-”
“Leo.” Pavel uses his uninjured arm to pull him onto the couch next to him. “I am fine.” He presses a soft kiss to his lover’s temple. “I am not broken,” he whispers.
“You could have been.” Leonard’s next breath is unsteady. “Damn it, you’re a navigator, not a botanist. Shouldn’t have even-”
“Hush.” Warm arms wrap around him. “I’m safe now.”
Mystery
“Thanks for the help, kid,” McCoy grumbles. “I don’t know if it’s some sort of practical joke or what, but it’s beyond me.”
“I’m sure you could manage on your own,” Chekov says generously.
“Now, we both know that’s a lie. I’m a doctor, not a mathematician.” McCoy glares at the PADD in Chekov’s hands. “So what is it?”
“It is a cipher.” He glances up and blushes. “It, ah, may take some time to solve vithout the key. Perhaps vith your help . . .”
“Well.” McCoy sighs. “Looks like you’re stuck with me awhile.”
“I vill manage somehow.”
Parody
Pavel Chekov is nobody’s fool; he knows he doesn’t stand a chance with the new CMO, and he kicks himself for entertaining the idea for even a moment. After all, Leonard McCoy is brilliant-a medical prodigy, he overheard once, and it’s true-and gorgeous, with eyes nearly as blue as the captain’s and a sort of scruffy Southern charm. Never mind the fact that he hardly seems like he should be old enough to shave, much less to have to do so twice a day. Gangly teenager or not, he’s out of Chekov’s league and the navigator knows it.
Romance
“It’s not like I never thought about it,” McCoy grumbles. “I’m old, not dead.”
Chekov’s eyes look ridiculously green by candlelight, and they shine when he grins. “Not so old.”
“Yeah, well.” McCoy clears his throat. “I mean to say, you’re . . . well, you’re gorgeous, and brilliant, and I just figured you wouldn’t have any use for a worn-out old-” He groans, covers his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorta crap at this.”
He feels fingers brush the hand he has on the table, and he looks up to see his date smiling softly.
“You’re doing fine.”
Suspense
Fourteen hours. That’s how long he has, according to optimistic projections, before the lungs will deteriorate beyond redemption. They’re lucky, at least, that the virus didn’t spread far before they’d caught it. There are ten crewmembers in quarantine at the moment, and his staff is keeping them comfortable, but that’s going to be worth exactly shit if McCoy can’t come up with a cure.
He’s solved worse medical mysteries than this before, he reminds himself. There’s no need for the panic that keeps trying to rise. McCoy glances into Sickbay, sees pale skin and blonde curls.
No need to panic.
As per usual, first to comment gets to pick the fandom/pairing. Your choices:
- Star Trek: Kirk/Spock, McCoy/Chekov, Uhura/Chapel (please specify preference re: TOS, Reboot, and/or Mirrorverse)
- Supernatural: Sam/Dean (PLEASE NOTE that I have never actually sat down and written anything for this fandom, and I'm way behind having only seen through the first few episodes of Season 4. But it sounds like fun, so what the hell.)
- RPS: Pine/Quinto (please see above, but replace "I'm way behind" with "I know nothing about these two but what I've read in fanfic.)
- Sherlock Holmes: Holmes/Watson
- Doctor Who: Doctor/Rose
- Torchwood: Jack Ianto (I've written one thing for this pairing, but hey, it's Torchwood. Can't be too terribly hard. Right?)
- Crossover crackiness: Kaylee/Scotty (IDEK. Blame the_deep_magic .)