"Deader than Fuck" - Kirk/McCoy
Fandom: Star Trek XI, 2009, Reboot, whatever you wanna call it.
Pairing: James Kirk/Leonard McCoy
Rating: PG13 for some language.
Word Count: 865.
Notes: Picked up this prompt off the kinkmeme, part 14, page 15.
Kirk's drowning/drowned, McCoy saves him. Slash, gen, I don't mind. I just wanna see McCoy being tooooooooootally awesome and Jim realizing this.
I don't know if I really showed Bones to be a badass. But he does save Jim. :D
---
The water had kind of been a surprise.
Not that water had been totally out of the realm of possibility, but Jim had been under the impression that the planet they were scouting was a completely barren, deader than fuck, desert. They'd beamed down, he'd taken one step, and been fully submerged in freezing cold, thicker than normal, water. In the three seconds between his foot going straight through the sandy looking ground, and the water rushing up to wrap around and trap him, he'd had an odd bit of insight about why Frank, the asshole, had always been so adamant about his learning to swim.
Jim had refused to learn just to spite him.
He really wished he had been a bit maturer about the whole thing. Frank had only hit him once, and he'd kind of deserved it for stealing his car. He hadn't been the nicest man. Totally emotionally unavailable, honestly, but not really violent.
Jim had a split second of bitterness that he was drowning and all he could think about were the virtues of his step dad. His lungs were beginning to burn, and the urge to breathe was starting to feel a lot like a gag reflex. The muscles in his abdomen spasmed, and his head pounded in a dull way. His chest really hurt.
Things were starting to blur together, his vision was getting spotty. He couldn't believe he was going to drown in a desert. He couldn't understand why someone hadn't fished him out already. Wasn't it in his file that he couldn't swim? That he sank like a rock weighted down by solid marble? He kicked his legs, but they were going numb and felt like heavy, useless things.
After about two minutes and thirty seconds if being submerged, right before his vision blacked out entirely, Jim had a moment of disappointment that he wasn't having amazing flash backs to all the awesome missions he'd completed. Like rescuing the Orion slave girls, and helping that planet of weird lizard people find a peaceful alternative to eating each other alive.
He had a vague awareness of movement, and cold, cold air on his skin. A disconnected awareness of lips pressing to his and forcing sweet, sweet oxygen into his lungs; forcing him cough up water. His hearing was muffled, but after a few seconds of spasming and struggling to inhale deep, wet breaths, it came rushing back. The sound of phaser fire, rapid and jarring, was the first thing he heard, followed up by Spock's voice giving concise orders to the landing team. Jim's blurry, slow vision struggled to lock onto the person hovering above him.
“Jim, c'mon man,” a southern drawl was demanding, a hand patting his cheek to draw him out of the haze of near death. “Goddamn fool, why didn't tell me you couldn't swim?”
His voice sounded a bit frantic, and Jim really, really wanted to reassure him somehow. No methods to do so came to mind, so he settled for slowly, heavily, forcing himself into a sitting position. Bones was right on top of him, pressing him back down.
“Stay low, man, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Bones sounded upset. “Nearly drowning wasn't enough, you want to get shot too?”
Jim coughed up more water, his throat burning horribly, “What the hell is going on?”
Bones was toying with a hypo, adjusting it, Jim belatedly realized his friend was bleeding from a wound on his upper arm. The blood pouring down his already wet skin. Wet because he must had dove into the water to fish his captain's sorry hide out.
“We were attacked the second we materialized,” his friend was saying, finally jamming the hypo into Jim's neck and almost looking apologetic at his hiss of pain. “You only avoided taking a bullet to the brain because you fell through the ground. Lucky bastard.”
“Bullet?” Jim questioned, his brain feeling a bit sluggish.
“Yeah, a bullet,” Bones said, looking like he should be rolling his eyes but was too tired to. “These people use primitive weaponry. Kept us occupied for longer than I want to admit.”
He pressed his hands to either side of Jim's face and leaned in close. “I couldn't see you in the water. When I finally got you I thought that you were dead. You didn't respond.”
“'M alright, Bones,” Jim said, taken aback by the intensity of the doctor's eyes. “A little waterlogged.”
Bones looked furious, his grip on Jim's face tightening, “You were an inch away from cardiac arrest, you asshole.”
Jim felt decidedly uncomfortable with the intensity of his friend's gaze, and strove to change the subject. “You're bleeding.”
“It's nothing,” came the immediate, offhand response. “Clemmons got hit in the eye. He's dead. I'm still alive.”
“So am I,” Jim said, reaching up to cover his friend's hands with his own.
Bones pressed their foreheads together as Spock finally got through to be beamed up. Their molecules started to come apart when he spoke again.
“You better goddamn stay that way too.”
Pairing: James Kirk/Leonard McCoy
Rating: PG13 for some language.
Word Count: 865.
Notes: Picked up this prompt off the kinkmeme, part 14, page 15.
Kirk's drowning/drowned, McCoy saves him. Slash, gen, I don't mind. I just wanna see McCoy being tooooooooootally awesome and Jim realizing this.
I don't know if I really showed Bones to be a badass. But he does save Jim. :D
---
The water had kind of been a surprise.
Not that water had been totally out of the realm of possibility, but Jim had been under the impression that the planet they were scouting was a completely barren, deader than fuck, desert. They'd beamed down, he'd taken one step, and been fully submerged in freezing cold, thicker than normal, water. In the three seconds between his foot going straight through the sandy looking ground, and the water rushing up to wrap around and trap him, he'd had an odd bit of insight about why Frank, the asshole, had always been so adamant about his learning to swim.
Jim had refused to learn just to spite him.
He really wished he had been a bit maturer about the whole thing. Frank had only hit him once, and he'd kind of deserved it for stealing his car. He hadn't been the nicest man. Totally emotionally unavailable, honestly, but not really violent.
Jim had a split second of bitterness that he was drowning and all he could think about were the virtues of his step dad. His lungs were beginning to burn, and the urge to breathe was starting to feel a lot like a gag reflex. The muscles in his abdomen spasmed, and his head pounded in a dull way. His chest really hurt.
Things were starting to blur together, his vision was getting spotty. He couldn't believe he was going to drown in a desert. He couldn't understand why someone hadn't fished him out already. Wasn't it in his file that he couldn't swim? That he sank like a rock weighted down by solid marble? He kicked his legs, but they were going numb and felt like heavy, useless things.
After about two minutes and thirty seconds if being submerged, right before his vision blacked out entirely, Jim had a moment of disappointment that he wasn't having amazing flash backs to all the awesome missions he'd completed. Like rescuing the Orion slave girls, and helping that planet of weird lizard people find a peaceful alternative to eating each other alive.
He had a vague awareness of movement, and cold, cold air on his skin. A disconnected awareness of lips pressing to his and forcing sweet, sweet oxygen into his lungs; forcing him cough up water. His hearing was muffled, but after a few seconds of spasming and struggling to inhale deep, wet breaths, it came rushing back. The sound of phaser fire, rapid and jarring, was the first thing he heard, followed up by Spock's voice giving concise orders to the landing team. Jim's blurry, slow vision struggled to lock onto the person hovering above him.
“Jim, c'mon man,” a southern drawl was demanding, a hand patting his cheek to draw him out of the haze of near death. “Goddamn fool, why didn't tell me you couldn't swim?”
His voice sounded a bit frantic, and Jim really, really wanted to reassure him somehow. No methods to do so came to mind, so he settled for slowly, heavily, forcing himself into a sitting position. Bones was right on top of him, pressing him back down.
“Stay low, man, are you trying to get yourself killed?” Bones sounded upset. “Nearly drowning wasn't enough, you want to get shot too?”
Jim coughed up more water, his throat burning horribly, “What the hell is going on?”
Bones was toying with a hypo, adjusting it, Jim belatedly realized his friend was bleeding from a wound on his upper arm. The blood pouring down his already wet skin. Wet because he must had dove into the water to fish his captain's sorry hide out.
“We were attacked the second we materialized,” his friend was saying, finally jamming the hypo into Jim's neck and almost looking apologetic at his hiss of pain. “You only avoided taking a bullet to the brain because you fell through the ground. Lucky bastard.”
“Bullet?” Jim questioned, his brain feeling a bit sluggish.
“Yeah, a bullet,” Bones said, looking like he should be rolling his eyes but was too tired to. “These people use primitive weaponry. Kept us occupied for longer than I want to admit.”
He pressed his hands to either side of Jim's face and leaned in close. “I couldn't see you in the water. When I finally got you I thought that you were dead. You didn't respond.”
“'M alright, Bones,” Jim said, taken aback by the intensity of the doctor's eyes. “A little waterlogged.”
Bones looked furious, his grip on Jim's face tightening, “You were an inch away from cardiac arrest, you asshole.”
Jim felt decidedly uncomfortable with the intensity of his friend's gaze, and strove to change the subject. “You're bleeding.”
“It's nothing,” came the immediate, offhand response. “Clemmons got hit in the eye. He's dead. I'm still alive.”
“So am I,” Jim said, reaching up to cover his friend's hands with his own.
Bones pressed their foreheads together as Spock finally got through to be beamed up. Their molecules started to come apart when he spoke again.
“You better goddamn stay that way too.”