My best shirt... For use_theforce_em
Title : My best shirt...
Author : mytsie
Recipient : use_theforce_em
Pairing : Kirk/Spock, kinda. Mostly nonpairing.
Rating : PG
Word count: 1200~
Summary : The tale of the five times Jim Kirk's shirt was ruined and the one time Kirk ruined his own shirt.
Disclaimer : If I owned anything, I'd probably know by now.
A/N : I hope this is what you were thinking of, and I hope you enjoy it~! It's a little short, and for that I sincerely apologize, but I couldn't seem to make it lengthier without losing some of the fun in it.
Five times Kirk's shirt was ruined....
1. Touched the Book
Okay, so maybe, just maybe hitting on that alien priestess had been a bad idea. Who knew she had a wall-mounted holy tazer and bodyguards the side of bulldozers? Certainly not Jim Kirk.
“You had to go and touch the sacred book, didn't you?” McCoy snapped with a weary vehemence borne of years upon years of tolerance. Jim shot him a wry grin as they ducked back into the alcove. A green energy blast whizzed by him and rang against the bulkhead at this side.
“Oh thank you, Captain,” Jim sing-songed as he withdrew the phaser from his hip and leaned around the corner. “Thank you for curing my space cancer by grabbing the magical book.”
“It's called Xenopolycythemia.” How Bones managed to growl that, Jim wasn't certain. “And the cure is with Spock in the main database.”
“Details, Bones,” Kirk professed and twisted around to spy his friend. "Besides--"
“Goddammit, Jim,” Bones hissed and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him away just as one of the many terrifying guards lurched around the corner. The front of Kirk's shirt gave with a sharp rip and he stumbled, narrowly avoiding the blow intended for him.
“Ah man,” Kirk hissed as he spun and stunned the guard with a well placed shot. “I liked that shirt.”
2. Run Amok
“Now, Spock,” Kirk backed up, the sharp heat around him was punctuated by the severe lack of breeze and the massive amount of red dust that they'd managed to kick up. The air on New Vulcan was fierce and unforgiving, it felt like it was a thousand degrees out here, and he had this stupid ceremonial sash tied around his hips. The real kicker, however, was the bloodthirsty, livid expression on Spock's face as he lifted his crazy Vulcan-Killing-Stick above his head. “This is just the blood fever talking!”
“Jim, duck you idiot!” Bones snapped somewhere to his right and Jim leaped to the side. The blade came down, razor sharp and with enough force that it cracked when it struck the floor. Though Jim managed to get out of the way unharmed, his shirt had a fine cut down the length of it, just shy of his spine.
“Hey buddy,” Jim tried as Spock turned his feverish gaze on him. “Can't we just talk this out?”
Pon Farr was not fun, no matter what those pamphlets said.
3. Action
“I saids be quiets yous,” the blue fedora to his right hissed and Kirk eyed him.
“Do you just pluralize everything?” Kirk prompted and was knocked across the back of the head with a Tommy-gun, just for his trouble. He stumbled and fell to his knees as the pain resounded through his skull. He barely had time to think before the two gangsters on his left and right grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Unfortunately, as they lifted him, the fedora thought it would be a great idea to intimidate him, and grabbed the collar of his shirt. As he twisted it, it ripped with a woeful sound and Kirk managed to sigh.
“We're gonna puts you on ice, rights after we takes ya ta tha boss.”
“This one was new,” Kirk whined and was summarily ignored.
4. Gamesters
“Ten thousand on the human woman!”
“Twenty on the Orinian!”
“You're both fools, I say death to both, first round.”
As Kirk listened to the disembodied voices debate Uhura's fate, his expression tightened almost painfully. He glanced to his right-he could just barely see his Communications Officer, steel faced and resolved, despite the stupid warrior-bikini they'd stuffed her in. A glance to his left told him that there was no easy way out of here.
As the voices argued, Kirk took a deep breath and shot up, striking the large, animalistic guard with his shoulder. The beast cried out and stumbled, Kirk's shoulder popped and the searing pain helped to center him. He made it halfway to Uhura before one of the female guards took him out. A clean blow across the upper back sent him sprawling. The woman didn't bother to help him up, she just pulled him back to his spot by the hem of his shirt. As she twisted him around and propped him up, the fabric gave and the shirt tore diagonally across the back.
Had Jim Kirk been conscious, he would have sworn.
5. Naked
“Sulu! Put the sword down!” Kirk cried out but he most assuredly did not yelp as Sulu's Katana snapped past his left side, cutting the air with an effeminate swish. Uhura, who was pinned to the shirtless pilot's side by his (surprisingly) muscular arm, swatted at him.
“Let me go!” Uhura seethed and Sulu let out a hearty laugh before swiping at Kirk again. Kirk jumped back, rapidly losing ground to the advancing Sulu.
“I will protect your honor, fair maiden!” Sulu proclaimed heartily and cast a dreamy look at the woman in his arms.
Kirk saw his opportunity and took it without question. He dove inward with the speed and agility he'd earned over many, many years of bar fighting. Sulu realized what he was up to, but he was too late to get a decent swing in. Kirk dropped him with an efficiency that would have made Spock proud-he probably hadn't even broken Sulu's nose.
“Oh god,” Uhura exclaimed as Sulu collapsed and left only her and Kirk standing.
“He'll be fine,” Kirk assured her and blinked as she rushed to his side.
“You're bleeding!” Uhura exclaimed and Kirk looked down-Sulu's sword had caught his side. It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding. It had cut straight through his shirt and nicked him.
“Goddammit,” Kirk seethed as he fingered the ruined fabric.
"Is it serious?" Uhura prompted urgently and Kirk scowled.
"That was my last good shirt! Now I'll have to wear that green one."
The dry, unforgiving look Uhura shot him went completely unnoticed.
And the one time Kirk ruined his own shirt.
1. Force
“Spock, don't get up,” Kirk hissed and gingerly attempted to turn his XO over. The Vulcan let out a low breath tinged with just the edge of sound-it was a cry of pain, sharp and violent, even if it seemed like nothing. Kirk frowned as he spotted the open wounds across Spock's back and shoulders.
In the dim light, the ribbons of green looked almost black. He was bruised, yellow and orange marks mottled his skin, and it looked like the cartilage plate above his left side had been fractured. Kirk scowled-he'd dealt with broke ribs, but never something like this. The whip-marks bled sluggishly and Kirk exhaled with slow, contained emotion as he watched them.
“Hold on,” Kirk pleaded and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric resisted his pull, but gave along the seam as he twisted it. It ripped, even and straight, in long, thick strips. He managed to wrap the injuries-the gold of his shirt looked absolutely horrific with that dark blood seeping through it-but Spock didn't look much better for it. With a frown, Kirk took his hand and idly stroked the pulse point on Spock's wrist. Though he didn't speak, Spock seemed to relax at the sensation.
“Did I miss the invitation for this love-fest?” When Kirk looked up and his eyes locked on Leonard McCoy, he hardly even noticed that the doctor was dressed in full Nazi regalia.
Author : mytsie
Recipient : use_theforce_em
Pairing : Kirk/Spock, kinda. Mostly nonpairing.
Rating : PG
Word count: 1200~
Summary : The tale of the five times Jim Kirk's shirt was ruined and the one time Kirk ruined his own shirt.
Disclaimer : If I owned anything, I'd probably know by now.
A/N : I hope this is what you were thinking of, and I hope you enjoy it~! It's a little short, and for that I sincerely apologize, but I couldn't seem to make it lengthier without losing some of the fun in it.
Five times Kirk's shirt was ruined....
1. Touched the Book
Okay, so maybe, just maybe hitting on that alien priestess had been a bad idea. Who knew she had a wall-mounted holy tazer and bodyguards the side of bulldozers? Certainly not Jim Kirk.
“You had to go and touch the sacred book, didn't you?” McCoy snapped with a weary vehemence borne of years upon years of tolerance. Jim shot him a wry grin as they ducked back into the alcove. A green energy blast whizzed by him and rang against the bulkhead at this side.
“Oh thank you, Captain,” Jim sing-songed as he withdrew the phaser from his hip and leaned around the corner. “Thank you for curing my space cancer by grabbing the magical book.”
“It's called Xenopolycythemia.” How Bones managed to growl that, Jim wasn't certain. “And the cure is with Spock in the main database.”
“Details, Bones,” Kirk professed and twisted around to spy his friend. "Besides--"
“Goddammit, Jim,” Bones hissed and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him away just as one of the many terrifying guards lurched around the corner. The front of Kirk's shirt gave with a sharp rip and he stumbled, narrowly avoiding the blow intended for him.
“Ah man,” Kirk hissed as he spun and stunned the guard with a well placed shot. “I liked that shirt.”
2. Run Amok
“Now, Spock,” Kirk backed up, the sharp heat around him was punctuated by the severe lack of breeze and the massive amount of red dust that they'd managed to kick up. The air on New Vulcan was fierce and unforgiving, it felt like it was a thousand degrees out here, and he had this stupid ceremonial sash tied around his hips. The real kicker, however, was the bloodthirsty, livid expression on Spock's face as he lifted his crazy Vulcan-Killing-Stick above his head. “This is just the blood fever talking!”
“Jim, duck you idiot!” Bones snapped somewhere to his right and Jim leaped to the side. The blade came down, razor sharp and with enough force that it cracked when it struck the floor. Though Jim managed to get out of the way unharmed, his shirt had a fine cut down the length of it, just shy of his spine.
“Hey buddy,” Jim tried as Spock turned his feverish gaze on him. “Can't we just talk this out?”
Pon Farr was not fun, no matter what those pamphlets said.
3. Action
“I saids be quiets yous,” the blue fedora to his right hissed and Kirk eyed him.
“Do you just pluralize everything?” Kirk prompted and was knocked across the back of the head with a Tommy-gun, just for his trouble. He stumbled and fell to his knees as the pain resounded through his skull. He barely had time to think before the two gangsters on his left and right grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Unfortunately, as they lifted him, the fedora thought it would be a great idea to intimidate him, and grabbed the collar of his shirt. As he twisted it, it ripped with a woeful sound and Kirk managed to sigh.
“We're gonna puts you on ice, rights after we takes ya ta tha boss.”
“This one was new,” Kirk whined and was summarily ignored.
4. Gamesters
“Ten thousand on the human woman!”
“Twenty on the Orinian!”
“You're both fools, I say death to both, first round.”
As Kirk listened to the disembodied voices debate Uhura's fate, his expression tightened almost painfully. He glanced to his right-he could just barely see his Communications Officer, steel faced and resolved, despite the stupid warrior-bikini they'd stuffed her in. A glance to his left told him that there was no easy way out of here.
As the voices argued, Kirk took a deep breath and shot up, striking the large, animalistic guard with his shoulder. The beast cried out and stumbled, Kirk's shoulder popped and the searing pain helped to center him. He made it halfway to Uhura before one of the female guards took him out. A clean blow across the upper back sent him sprawling. The woman didn't bother to help him up, she just pulled him back to his spot by the hem of his shirt. As she twisted him around and propped him up, the fabric gave and the shirt tore diagonally across the back.
Had Jim Kirk been conscious, he would have sworn.
5. Naked
“Sulu! Put the sword down!” Kirk cried out but he most assuredly did not yelp as Sulu's Katana snapped past his left side, cutting the air with an effeminate swish. Uhura, who was pinned to the shirtless pilot's side by his (surprisingly) muscular arm, swatted at him.
“Let me go!” Uhura seethed and Sulu let out a hearty laugh before swiping at Kirk again. Kirk jumped back, rapidly losing ground to the advancing Sulu.
“I will protect your honor, fair maiden!” Sulu proclaimed heartily and cast a dreamy look at the woman in his arms.
Kirk saw his opportunity and took it without question. He dove inward with the speed and agility he'd earned over many, many years of bar fighting. Sulu realized what he was up to, but he was too late to get a decent swing in. Kirk dropped him with an efficiency that would have made Spock proud-he probably hadn't even broken Sulu's nose.
“Oh god,” Uhura exclaimed as Sulu collapsed and left only her and Kirk standing.
“He'll be fine,” Kirk assured her and blinked as she rushed to his side.
“You're bleeding!” Uhura exclaimed and Kirk looked down-Sulu's sword had caught his side. It wasn't deep, but it was bleeding. It had cut straight through his shirt and nicked him.
“Goddammit,” Kirk seethed as he fingered the ruined fabric.
"Is it serious?" Uhura prompted urgently and Kirk scowled.
"That was my last good shirt! Now I'll have to wear that green one."
The dry, unforgiving look Uhura shot him went completely unnoticed.
And the one time Kirk ruined his own shirt.
1. Force
“Spock, don't get up,” Kirk hissed and gingerly attempted to turn his XO over. The Vulcan let out a low breath tinged with just the edge of sound-it was a cry of pain, sharp and violent, even if it seemed like nothing. Kirk frowned as he spotted the open wounds across Spock's back and shoulders.
In the dim light, the ribbons of green looked almost black. He was bruised, yellow and orange marks mottled his skin, and it looked like the cartilage plate above his left side had been fractured. Kirk scowled-he'd dealt with broke ribs, but never something like this. The whip-marks bled sluggishly and Kirk exhaled with slow, contained emotion as he watched them.
“Hold on,” Kirk pleaded and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. The fabric resisted his pull, but gave along the seam as he twisted it. It ripped, even and straight, in long, thick strips. He managed to wrap the injuries-the gold of his shirt looked absolutely horrific with that dark blood seeping through it-but Spock didn't look much better for it. With a frown, Kirk took his hand and idly stroked the pulse point on Spock's wrist. Though he didn't speak, Spock seemed to relax at the sensation.
“Did I miss the invitation for this love-fest?” When Kirk looked up and his eyes locked on Leonard McCoy, he hardly even noticed that the doctor was dressed in full Nazi regalia.