(no subject)
an itch that needs scratching
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/McCoy
Warnings: Slash. D'uh.
Word count: 1.374
Rating: R, possibly
His idea, in Captain James T. Kirk’s opinion, had been quite genius.
All aboard the Enterprise, the Christmas cheer had been slowly but surely spreading; at first some tinsel here and there, paper cut-outs of reindeers and snowflakes soon following, and two weeks before Christmas, there was hardly a room or hallway on the Enterprise not adorned with Christmas decorations of one kind or another. Even mistletoe, which, as a matter of fact, had led to more than one awkward encounter aboard the ship, especially the one conveniently located between the elevator and the bridge.
After dancing around the procedure more than once, trying to avoid Uhura and Spock alike, the former giving him a deathly glare at every encounter, the latter sparing the mistletoe no second glance before continuing on, Kirk had been quickly growing tired of it. There were only so many times he could deal with a deeply embarrassed, stuttering Chekov, and it had grown more unnerving every single time.
Hence, after briefly contemplating a ban of mistletoe all around his starship, Jim had instead decided to snatch the mistletoe located between the elevator and bridge, and found a better place for it-namely, his pants. Conveniently attached to the buttonhole of his pants, to be exact.
The reactions had been priceless. Much like every encounter under the mistletoe had been awkward, so were the stares he had been attracting ever since; embarrassed yeomen everywhere, and if looks could kill, ever passing Lieutenant Uhura on the ship would have been the end of him. And now that he had been the cause of any and all awkwardness, it had been infinitely better.
Hence, a genius plan. For a while, at least, until Jim happened to encounter a rather … uncomfortable problem.
Which was why Kirk found himself visiting sickbay, and for once in his life, deeply embarrassed.
*
There had been many, many a time when Doctor Leonard McCoy of the USS Enterprise had severely doubted the sanity of his Captain and best friend, one James T. Kirk.
When said captain showed up in sickbay, the only room in all of the Enterprise that hadn’t been copiously decorated with pointless Christmas reminders, thanks to the grumblings and shouting of the doctor, with an actual mistletoe attached to, apparently, the buttonhole of his regulation pants…
Bones could do little but roll his eyes.
“Let me guess-you’re desperately hurt, and need me to kiss it better?” Bones voice was dripping with sarcasm, and he was more than a little surprised to find Jim actually ducking his head and--Leonard could have sworn he was hallucinating--blushing.
Clearing his throat, Jim nervously licked over his lips before he ran a hand through his hair and looked up again. “Actually, uh, it’s more of…” He managed a nervous smile as he went on, “An itch that needs scratching. Badly.” Bones had been about to retort, when Jim continued, causing Bones to raise an eyebrow. “And literally.”
The captain took another few steps into the sickbay, before hopping onto one of the beds as he chuckled dryly. “I thought it would be a fun idea. Y’know, the whole mistletoe tradition, attaching one to my belt-“ It earned him a blank stare, and Jim rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you’ve got to admit, it’s an awesome idea. Not that anyone would fall for it, but turns out, well…“ He trailed off, obviously uncomfortable finishing his sentence, and Bones furrowed his brows for a moment, before a smirk began tugging at his lips. Turning into a full blown grin, before he had to turn away for a moment lest he started laughing.
“You’re allergic,” he reasoned, once he had gained enough control to speak without sounding entirely smug, and the blush on Jim’s face growing a deeper shade of red, accompanied by the glare the younger man shot him, confirmed his suspicion. “Shut up. It’s not funny. It’s a rash and it’s there and Bones, this isn’t funny! It actually hurts!”
That was the last straw of Bones’ composure, and he burst out laughing again. It certainly hadn’t been the first time one of Jim’s plans had backfired, but rarely did they with such hilarious results-hilarious to him at least, since the captain seemed less than pleased, whereas Bones much welcomed the change of pace for something not life-threatening, and plain amusing.
“Now, can you help me out or not, doc?” He grumbled, lower lip stuck out in a pout as he crossed his arms over his chest, and hell if that picture didn’t make the whole thing look even more ridiculous. Biting down on his lower lip to tone the laughter down, Leonard nodded after a moment, though there still was laughter lacing his voice as he assured his friend that yes, certainly, just a moment, and with that, he went over to one of the cabinets to find the right hypospray.
Much to Jim’s dismay, which he quickly voiced. “A hypo? Really? Don’t you have any-OW. Fuck, Bones!” While the younger man had been busy complaining, Bones had simply taken the opportunity to swiftly apply the hypospray, then quirked an eyebrow at the other. They had a five year mission ahead of them, and McCoy had quickly found out that Kirk couldn’t complain if he didn’t know what was going on, hence, the hypospray had become to Bones what the épée was to Helmsman Sulu.
“It was that or the rash, you should be grateful,” he told him, still unable to keep the smirk off his face, and Jim grumbled something under his breath that could have been anything from a thank you to an insult, and trudged off-but not without dropping the mistletoe off on the bed he’d sat earlier.
Shaking his head, McCoy grabbed the offending weed and carelessly dropped it into the trash, expecting full well that it had been the last he had seen of mistletoe in his sickbay.
*
In retrospect, Bones really should have expected that Jim wouldn’t give up that easily.
Thanks to the Enterprise’s Christmas cheer, no one had gotten into any trouble recently, and the sickbay was therefore blissfully empty. Which left McCoy with nothing to do but paperwork to avoid the aforementioned cheer spreading throughout the ship, and he all too gladly occupied himself with that rather than face any other crewmember singing carols or attaching paper cut-out reindeers to the walls.
Christmas wasn’t McCoy’s favorite time of year, to say the least. He didn’t care much for all the pretentious friendliness everyone tried to put on, nor did he care for any sort of Christmas party Kirk certainly already planned, and least of all the entirely useless decorations.
All in all, Bones had figured himself relatively safe in the sickbay--that was, until Jim decided to show up, once more, in sickbay no two days after his last, well, unfortunate problem.
And this time, again, he showed up with mistletoe attached to his pants. “Dammit, Jim,” Bones sighed exasperatedly as he rubbed his temples, once he’d looked Kirk over once, “Don’t you ever learn?”
This time, all he got in response was a grin threatening to split Jim’s face. “I know, I know, I’m a repeat offender and all, but I do learn,” he gave back as he took a few steps closer, right into the doctor’s personal space.
Which didn’t in the least deter Bones, who already went on with his lecture, “Mistletoe is poisonous, you’re allergic to it, and still you insist on carrying it around until someone falls for it? I can’t believe you, Jim!” Instead of replying, Jim just laughed softly as he hooked his fingers into the pockets of McCoy’s pants and pulled him closer.
“Stop worrying, Bones. It’s fake mistletoe this time, I promise,” he told him, the grin on his face nothing short of mischievous, as he tugged the fake mistletoe off his pants, and instead, in one fluid motion attached it to Bones’. “But the tradition stands.” With that, Jim easily dropped to his knees in front of the doctor, with only a mumbled, “Merry Christmas, Bones.”
And maybe, just maybe, Bones could get behind the whole Christmas cheer spreading through the ship.
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/McCoy
Warnings: Slash. D'uh.
Word count: 1.374
Rating: R, possibly
His idea, in Captain James T. Kirk’s opinion, had been quite genius.
All aboard the Enterprise, the Christmas cheer had been slowly but surely spreading; at first some tinsel here and there, paper cut-outs of reindeers and snowflakes soon following, and two weeks before Christmas, there was hardly a room or hallway on the Enterprise not adorned with Christmas decorations of one kind or another. Even mistletoe, which, as a matter of fact, had led to more than one awkward encounter aboard the ship, especially the one conveniently located between the elevator and the bridge.
After dancing around the procedure more than once, trying to avoid Uhura and Spock alike, the former giving him a deathly glare at every encounter, the latter sparing the mistletoe no second glance before continuing on, Kirk had been quickly growing tired of it. There were only so many times he could deal with a deeply embarrassed, stuttering Chekov, and it had grown more unnerving every single time.
Hence, after briefly contemplating a ban of mistletoe all around his starship, Jim had instead decided to snatch the mistletoe located between the elevator and bridge, and found a better place for it-namely, his pants. Conveniently attached to the buttonhole of his pants, to be exact.
The reactions had been priceless. Much like every encounter under the mistletoe had been awkward, so were the stares he had been attracting ever since; embarrassed yeomen everywhere, and if looks could kill, ever passing Lieutenant Uhura on the ship would have been the end of him. And now that he had been the cause of any and all awkwardness, it had been infinitely better.
Hence, a genius plan. For a while, at least, until Jim happened to encounter a rather … uncomfortable problem.
Which was why Kirk found himself visiting sickbay, and for once in his life, deeply embarrassed.
*
There had been many, many a time when Doctor Leonard McCoy of the USS Enterprise had severely doubted the sanity of his Captain and best friend, one James T. Kirk.
When said captain showed up in sickbay, the only room in all of the Enterprise that hadn’t been copiously decorated with pointless Christmas reminders, thanks to the grumblings and shouting of the doctor, with an actual mistletoe attached to, apparently, the buttonhole of his regulation pants…
Bones could do little but roll his eyes.
“Let me guess-you’re desperately hurt, and need me to kiss it better?” Bones voice was dripping with sarcasm, and he was more than a little surprised to find Jim actually ducking his head and--Leonard could have sworn he was hallucinating--blushing.
Clearing his throat, Jim nervously licked over his lips before he ran a hand through his hair and looked up again. “Actually, uh, it’s more of…” He managed a nervous smile as he went on, “An itch that needs scratching. Badly.” Bones had been about to retort, when Jim continued, causing Bones to raise an eyebrow. “And literally.”
The captain took another few steps into the sickbay, before hopping onto one of the beds as he chuckled dryly. “I thought it would be a fun idea. Y’know, the whole mistletoe tradition, attaching one to my belt-“ It earned him a blank stare, and Jim rolled his eyes. “C’mon, you’ve got to admit, it’s an awesome idea. Not that anyone would fall for it, but turns out, well…“ He trailed off, obviously uncomfortable finishing his sentence, and Bones furrowed his brows for a moment, before a smirk began tugging at his lips. Turning into a full blown grin, before he had to turn away for a moment lest he started laughing.
“You’re allergic,” he reasoned, once he had gained enough control to speak without sounding entirely smug, and the blush on Jim’s face growing a deeper shade of red, accompanied by the glare the younger man shot him, confirmed his suspicion. “Shut up. It’s not funny. It’s a rash and it’s there and Bones, this isn’t funny! It actually hurts!”
That was the last straw of Bones’ composure, and he burst out laughing again. It certainly hadn’t been the first time one of Jim’s plans had backfired, but rarely did they with such hilarious results-hilarious to him at least, since the captain seemed less than pleased, whereas Bones much welcomed the change of pace for something not life-threatening, and plain amusing.
“Now, can you help me out or not, doc?” He grumbled, lower lip stuck out in a pout as he crossed his arms over his chest, and hell if that picture didn’t make the whole thing look even more ridiculous. Biting down on his lower lip to tone the laughter down, Leonard nodded after a moment, though there still was laughter lacing his voice as he assured his friend that yes, certainly, just a moment, and with that, he went over to one of the cabinets to find the right hypospray.
Much to Jim’s dismay, which he quickly voiced. “A hypo? Really? Don’t you have any-OW. Fuck, Bones!” While the younger man had been busy complaining, Bones had simply taken the opportunity to swiftly apply the hypospray, then quirked an eyebrow at the other. They had a five year mission ahead of them, and McCoy had quickly found out that Kirk couldn’t complain if he didn’t know what was going on, hence, the hypospray had become to Bones what the épée was to Helmsman Sulu.
“It was that or the rash, you should be grateful,” he told him, still unable to keep the smirk off his face, and Jim grumbled something under his breath that could have been anything from a thank you to an insult, and trudged off-but not without dropping the mistletoe off on the bed he’d sat earlier.
Shaking his head, McCoy grabbed the offending weed and carelessly dropped it into the trash, expecting full well that it had been the last he had seen of mistletoe in his sickbay.
*
In retrospect, Bones really should have expected that Jim wouldn’t give up that easily.
Thanks to the Enterprise’s Christmas cheer, no one had gotten into any trouble recently, and the sickbay was therefore blissfully empty. Which left McCoy with nothing to do but paperwork to avoid the aforementioned cheer spreading throughout the ship, and he all too gladly occupied himself with that rather than face any other crewmember singing carols or attaching paper cut-out reindeers to the walls.
Christmas wasn’t McCoy’s favorite time of year, to say the least. He didn’t care much for all the pretentious friendliness everyone tried to put on, nor did he care for any sort of Christmas party Kirk certainly already planned, and least of all the entirely useless decorations.
All in all, Bones had figured himself relatively safe in the sickbay--that was, until Jim decided to show up, once more, in sickbay no two days after his last, well, unfortunate problem.
And this time, again, he showed up with mistletoe attached to his pants. “Dammit, Jim,” Bones sighed exasperatedly as he rubbed his temples, once he’d looked Kirk over once, “Don’t you ever learn?”
This time, all he got in response was a grin threatening to split Jim’s face. “I know, I know, I’m a repeat offender and all, but I do learn,” he gave back as he took a few steps closer, right into the doctor’s personal space.
Which didn’t in the least deter Bones, who already went on with his lecture, “Mistletoe is poisonous, you’re allergic to it, and still you insist on carrying it around until someone falls for it? I can’t believe you, Jim!” Instead of replying, Jim just laughed softly as he hooked his fingers into the pockets of McCoy’s pants and pulled him closer.
“Stop worrying, Bones. It’s fake mistletoe this time, I promise,” he told him, the grin on his face nothing short of mischievous, as he tugged the fake mistletoe off his pants, and instead, in one fluid motion attached it to Bones’. “But the tradition stands.” With that, Jim easily dropped to his knees in front of the doctor, with only a mumbled, “Merry Christmas, Bones.”
And maybe, just maybe, Bones could get behind the whole Christmas cheer spreading through the ship.