[Fic] You Eighteen Yet? [5/6]
You Eighteen Yet?
Fifth Time: 17 and 344 days
» Fandom: Star Trek (STXI Universe)
» Chapter Rating: T
» Classification(s): Humor, Romance, Action/Adventure
» Warnings: Language, Sexual Situations
» Pairing(s): Bones/Chekov
» Summary: Five times Bones asked the kid how old he was, and the one time he didn't have to. Cute and/or sexy times with the good doctor and his bit of Russian jailbait. Will contain mentions of other parings.
Chapter-specific warning: hurt/comfort and FLUFFY SAPPY AAAAAAARGH. DX
[ 1st] [ 2nd] [ 3rd] [ 4th] [ 5th] [ +1]
Fifth Time: 17 and 344 days
"Doctor."
Someone was touching his face, gently. He became aware of the slight pressure only gradually, rising slowly from the black depths of utter exhaustion.
"Doctor McCoy," said the voice again, low and soft. The cool fingertips traced lightly over the ridge of his brow, stroking back the hair that had fallen in his face as he slept. Still floating in the dark behind his eyelids, he frowned.
"…Bones. Please vake up. Ze keptin-"
"…Jim?" McCoy croaked, eyes blinking sluggishly open. A blurry figure resolved itself into Chekhov, face wan and drawn in the cold sterile light. The Russian crouched next to him, hand now resting on his rough, unshaven cheek.
McCoy lay curled up and fully dressed on the hard loveseat he kept in his office, face mashed into a lumpy accent pillow that had seen better days. It took him a moment to remember that his office adjoined sickbay, and another to remember why that was important.
"God, Jim!" A brief jolt of adrenaline had him jackknifing into a sitting position, every aching joint and muscle protesting fiercely, but when he would have continued to his feet Pavel put hand on his chest and held him in place.
"Ze keptin is awake, Bones. He is vanting me to tell you-"
Bones batted the hand away and hauled himself to his feet, hobbling like a crippled man for the doorway. A scrape and scuffle of boots told him Chekhov was right behind him.
There in the center bed was his captain, lying very still and ghastly pale against the white sheets. The monitors that clustered around him like vultures beeped regularly, keeping morbid watch over his vital signs. Bones checked them reflexively as he staggered his way to the bed and gripped the metal frame to hold himself upright. "Jim?"
When those bruised eyes slid open and the captain smiled, fucking smiled at him… "Jesus wept, Jimmy, you had me going," the doctor told him, sagging with relief. Pavel was there, arm sneaking around his waist in mute support.
"Sorry 'bout that," the other man whispered. He coughed weakly.
Bones reached unsteadily for the PADD chart at the foot of the bed, unhooking it and bringing it close enough to read. "Broken bones, burns, contusions, and a phaser hit that stopped your heart for a bit. Your throat hurts because we had to put you on a ventilator."
"Shit," Jim said faintly. "This might be a personal best for me. This or that one time with the horny lava people."
"Damn it, Jim, it's not a laughing matter!" Bones growled. "You could have died!" You did die, a couple of times. I had to bring you back.
Jim's eyes flicked around the room then, to the other beds and empty chairs. "Hey, where's my trusty XO? Coulda sworn I saw him get winged at least once."
Bones glowered down at him. "I'm so sorry, Jim," he said gravely.
"…what?" the other man said, smile fading. "What-what happened?"
"I… I tried my best, but-"
Jim's eyes had gone wide and glassy. His lips parted in mute protest. No.
"-somehow, the hobgoblin still managed to pull through."
Jim stared at him for a beat. "Bones…" He let out a shaky laugh, covering his face with the arm that didn't have an IV stuck into it. "Bones, that wasn't fucking funny. God, I hate you."
"Shut up. Your first officer is fine, everybody else is fine. You're the one-" and Bones's voice failed him. Those first few hours after the mission, when Jim wouldn't stabilize and wouldn't stop bleeding, he'd felt as useless as all the king's horses and all the king's men; powerless to stop his friend's life from slipping through his fingers like sand from a broken hourglass. "You need to stop doing this to me, Jim. I'm an old man, I can't take the excitement."
The impish grin he got was a pale shadow of its normal self. "Sorry. Won't happen again."
McCoy glared down at him. "I'll chain you to this bed."
"Kinky." The captain sighed and closed his eyes. "You were sleeping in your office?"
"Yeah."
"Thought so. Asked Mr. Chekhov to get you to a real bed."
McCoy glanced to his right and saw the navigations officer waiting there patiently. These days he always just seemed to be there. Waiting patiently. Pavel smiled at him, and Bones surprised himself by smiling back. A bit bashful under Jim's knowing gaze, he jerked his eyes back to the other man. "I could do with some shut-eye," he allowed. "It must be the middle of Gamma Shift by now." At the very mention of sleep his limbs got heavier, and he smothered a creeping yawn with his hand.
Jim made a shooing motion. "Go. I'm good now, right?"
"Seems that way." He thought about adding, Try not to die while I'm gone, but it was still a bit too immediate to joke about. He settled for a brief, manly shoulder-pat. "G'nite, Jim."
He and Chekhov were almost too the door when Jim spoke again. "Uh, Bones?"
The doctor looked back over his shoulder.
Jim licked his lips. "Where is Spock? I mean... "
Bones smirked, tiredly, and stared pointedly down at the blanket-swaddled figure on the cot next to Jim's sickbed, invisible from the captain's prone position. "Oh, the same place he's been for the last ten hours."
Jim's brow crinkled. "Where?"
Bones pointed, but felt compelled to add, "Just let him sleep. He's been here as long as I have."
The sickbay doors closed on Jim completely ignoring Bones's advice, as he often did.
Time seemed to slip out of focus then, his vision narrowing and blurring at the edges. He had flashes of the hallway, the lift, and then suddenly they were at his quarters and Pavel was asking for the third time, "Doctor, your code?"
Once inside, it became a major battle just to remain upright long enough to get his shoes off. In the end, Pavel pushed him down on the bed and said, "Let me." The boots were fought off, then the socks. "Lift your arms," he coaxed, and tugged his shirt and black undertunic off. Only when the Russian reached for his fly did Bones give a grunt of protest.
"Vhat? You vant to sleep vith your pants on?"
"... no." Jesus, this was infantilizing. He would have been more embarrassed if he wasn't so fucking tired.
Happily, Pavel didn't linger over the task. In a few seconds Bones was down to his boxers, and managed with the last of his strength to grab for the edge of his regulation coverlet and bring it up to his chin. He didn't want to think anymore, he just wanted empty, peaceful, dreamless sleep. His temples throbbed like broken teeth but his muscles were at last unclenching, leaving his limbs feeling leaden and unresponsive. His eyes closed.
"... Bones?
Christ.
"Can I- can I sleep vith you?"
Christ on crutches.
The doctor cracked a heavy eyelid. Pavel was standing next to the bed with a solemnity that rivaled funeral parade rest, a look of almost painful earnestness on his face. "It has been... a very behd day. I do not vant to sleep alone," he blurted.
Bones just looked at him.
"And... I zink... you also should not sleep alone, doctor." Now Pavel was studying his feet, looking adorably bashful.
"... h'm'ny?" McCoy mumbled, finally.
The Russian looked up. "Shto?"
Bones cleared his throat. "How many? Months 'til your birthday?"
Pavel smiled, a shy little tilt of lips. "Twenty-one days, doctor."
They stared at each other for a moment, one side hopeful, the other wondering exactly when his life had become a teenage romcom.
In the end it was of course McCoy who caved. He rolled on his back, eyes closing again, and said gruffly, "Do what you want."
There was a pause, then series of frantic rustles. He couldn't stop his mouth from curving, any more than he could stop the blissful sigh as Pavel scooted under the covers and burrowed into him, body heat sinking into Bones's chilled skin like a spring thaw. The kid was grabby as an octopus, but damn, it felt good.
The Russian buried his face in the juncture of Bones's shoulder and neck, and the doctor's arm went around him almost automatically, hand smoothing down the bumps of his ribcage to rest at his bare hip.
Hmmm.
"Pavel?" he said, without opening his eyes.
"Pasha."
Bones's eyebrow twitched. "...Pasha?"
"Da?"
"Are you completely naked?"
The damn brat actually snorted, wiggling deeper into Bones's arms and lifting his face to kiss the side of Bones's chin. "I find undervear... constricting. I usually do not vear it," he confessed, with a throaty little laugh.
The doctor did his best to summon up a scowl, but even those muscles had stopped obeying him. He settled for a mildly disapproving "Hmph," and stroked the tender line where leg met lower abdomen. Tensor fasciae latae muscle, his ever-helpful medical training supplied.
The gentle fingers that had woken him earlier were back, brushing down the stubbly curve of his jaw. "Bones…"
"Hmph?"
Pavel chuckled. "I like it vhen you are too tired scold me."
The last thing McCoy felt before finally succumbing to exhausted sleep was the warm press of lips to the corner of his mouth, and the deeper, dreamier euphoria of falling asleep tangled up in someone he loved.
Author Note:
If you think about it, McCoy must have an iron stomach or ulcers the size of dinner plates. And I was soooooo sleepy by the end of this. I wanted to crawl in bed and not get out til Monday.
A kind reviewer pointed out that I have been misspelling Chekhov's name. Yes, yes I have been, and deliberately. From another author note:
"Chekov versus Chekhov: a single K- that is how this character's name is spelled, in canon and in fancanon. I accept this, but I don't like it. The only place I can express my preference for the real thing is here, in my own fic. AND SO I WILL! FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU"
Sorry, it's a Russian studies thing. XD
Also, next chapter: TEH SEX. Friendly warning.
Fifth Time: 17 and 344 days
» Fandom: Star Trek (STXI Universe)
» Chapter Rating: T
» Classification(s): Humor, Romance, Action/Adventure
» Warnings: Language, Sexual Situations
» Pairing(s): Bones/Chekov
» Summary: Five times Bones asked the kid how old he was, and the one time he didn't have to. Cute and/or sexy times with the good doctor and his bit of Russian jailbait. Will contain mentions of other parings.
Chapter-specific warning: hurt/comfort and FLUFFY SAPPY AAAAAAARGH. DX
[ 1st] [ 2nd] [ 3rd] [ 4th] [ 5th] [ +1]
Fifth Time: 17 and 344 days
"Doctor."
Someone was touching his face, gently. He became aware of the slight pressure only gradually, rising slowly from the black depths of utter exhaustion.
"Doctor McCoy," said the voice again, low and soft. The cool fingertips traced lightly over the ridge of his brow, stroking back the hair that had fallen in his face as he slept. Still floating in the dark behind his eyelids, he frowned.
"…Bones. Please vake up. Ze keptin-"
"…Jim?" McCoy croaked, eyes blinking sluggishly open. A blurry figure resolved itself into Chekhov, face wan and drawn in the cold sterile light. The Russian crouched next to him, hand now resting on his rough, unshaven cheek.
McCoy lay curled up and fully dressed on the hard loveseat he kept in his office, face mashed into a lumpy accent pillow that had seen better days. It took him a moment to remember that his office adjoined sickbay, and another to remember why that was important.
"God, Jim!" A brief jolt of adrenaline had him jackknifing into a sitting position, every aching joint and muscle protesting fiercely, but when he would have continued to his feet Pavel put hand on his chest and held him in place.
"Ze keptin is awake, Bones. He is vanting me to tell you-"
Bones batted the hand away and hauled himself to his feet, hobbling like a crippled man for the doorway. A scrape and scuffle of boots told him Chekhov was right behind him.
There in the center bed was his captain, lying very still and ghastly pale against the white sheets. The monitors that clustered around him like vultures beeped regularly, keeping morbid watch over his vital signs. Bones checked them reflexively as he staggered his way to the bed and gripped the metal frame to hold himself upright. "Jim?"
When those bruised eyes slid open and the captain smiled, fucking smiled at him… "Jesus wept, Jimmy, you had me going," the doctor told him, sagging with relief. Pavel was there, arm sneaking around his waist in mute support.
"Sorry 'bout that," the other man whispered. He coughed weakly.
Bones reached unsteadily for the PADD chart at the foot of the bed, unhooking it and bringing it close enough to read. "Broken bones, burns, contusions, and a phaser hit that stopped your heart for a bit. Your throat hurts because we had to put you on a ventilator."
"Shit," Jim said faintly. "This might be a personal best for me. This or that one time with the horny lava people."
"Damn it, Jim, it's not a laughing matter!" Bones growled. "You could have died!" You did die, a couple of times. I had to bring you back.
Jim's eyes flicked around the room then, to the other beds and empty chairs. "Hey, where's my trusty XO? Coulda sworn I saw him get winged at least once."
Bones glowered down at him. "I'm so sorry, Jim," he said gravely.
"…what?" the other man said, smile fading. "What-what happened?"
"I… I tried my best, but-"
Jim's eyes had gone wide and glassy. His lips parted in mute protest. No.
"-somehow, the hobgoblin still managed to pull through."
Jim stared at him for a beat. "Bones…" He let out a shaky laugh, covering his face with the arm that didn't have an IV stuck into it. "Bones, that wasn't fucking funny. God, I hate you."
"Shut up. Your first officer is fine, everybody else is fine. You're the one-" and Bones's voice failed him. Those first few hours after the mission, when Jim wouldn't stabilize and wouldn't stop bleeding, he'd felt as useless as all the king's horses and all the king's men; powerless to stop his friend's life from slipping through his fingers like sand from a broken hourglass. "You need to stop doing this to me, Jim. I'm an old man, I can't take the excitement."
The impish grin he got was a pale shadow of its normal self. "Sorry. Won't happen again."
McCoy glared down at him. "I'll chain you to this bed."
"Kinky." The captain sighed and closed his eyes. "You were sleeping in your office?"
"Yeah."
"Thought so. Asked Mr. Chekhov to get you to a real bed."
McCoy glanced to his right and saw the navigations officer waiting there patiently. These days he always just seemed to be there. Waiting patiently. Pavel smiled at him, and Bones surprised himself by smiling back. A bit bashful under Jim's knowing gaze, he jerked his eyes back to the other man. "I could do with some shut-eye," he allowed. "It must be the middle of Gamma Shift by now." At the very mention of sleep his limbs got heavier, and he smothered a creeping yawn with his hand.
Jim made a shooing motion. "Go. I'm good now, right?"
"Seems that way." He thought about adding, Try not to die while I'm gone, but it was still a bit too immediate to joke about. He settled for a brief, manly shoulder-pat. "G'nite, Jim."
He and Chekhov were almost too the door when Jim spoke again. "Uh, Bones?"
The doctor looked back over his shoulder.
Jim licked his lips. "Where is Spock? I mean... "
Bones smirked, tiredly, and stared pointedly down at the blanket-swaddled figure on the cot next to Jim's sickbed, invisible from the captain's prone position. "Oh, the same place he's been for the last ten hours."
Jim's brow crinkled. "Where?"
Bones pointed, but felt compelled to add, "Just let him sleep. He's been here as long as I have."
The sickbay doors closed on Jim completely ignoring Bones's advice, as he often did.
Time seemed to slip out of focus then, his vision narrowing and blurring at the edges. He had flashes of the hallway, the lift, and then suddenly they were at his quarters and Pavel was asking for the third time, "Doctor, your code?"
Once inside, it became a major battle just to remain upright long enough to get his shoes off. In the end, Pavel pushed him down on the bed and said, "Let me." The boots were fought off, then the socks. "Lift your arms," he coaxed, and tugged his shirt and black undertunic off. Only when the Russian reached for his fly did Bones give a grunt of protest.
"Vhat? You vant to sleep vith your pants on?"
"... no." Jesus, this was infantilizing. He would have been more embarrassed if he wasn't so fucking tired.
Happily, Pavel didn't linger over the task. In a few seconds Bones was down to his boxers, and managed with the last of his strength to grab for the edge of his regulation coverlet and bring it up to his chin. He didn't want to think anymore, he just wanted empty, peaceful, dreamless sleep. His temples throbbed like broken teeth but his muscles were at last unclenching, leaving his limbs feeling leaden and unresponsive. His eyes closed.
"... Bones?
Christ.
"Can I- can I sleep vith you?"
Christ on crutches.
The doctor cracked a heavy eyelid. Pavel was standing next to the bed with a solemnity that rivaled funeral parade rest, a look of almost painful earnestness on his face. "It has been... a very behd day. I do not vant to sleep alone," he blurted.
Bones just looked at him.
"And... I zink... you also should not sleep alone, doctor." Now Pavel was studying his feet, looking adorably bashful.
"... h'm'ny?" McCoy mumbled, finally.
The Russian looked up. "Shto?"
Bones cleared his throat. "How many? Months 'til your birthday?"
Pavel smiled, a shy little tilt of lips. "Twenty-one days, doctor."
They stared at each other for a moment, one side hopeful, the other wondering exactly when his life had become a teenage romcom.
In the end it was of course McCoy who caved. He rolled on his back, eyes closing again, and said gruffly, "Do what you want."
There was a pause, then series of frantic rustles. He couldn't stop his mouth from curving, any more than he could stop the blissful sigh as Pavel scooted under the covers and burrowed into him, body heat sinking into Bones's chilled skin like a spring thaw. The kid was grabby as an octopus, but damn, it felt good.
The Russian buried his face in the juncture of Bones's shoulder and neck, and the doctor's arm went around him almost automatically, hand smoothing down the bumps of his ribcage to rest at his bare hip.
Hmmm.
"Pavel?" he said, without opening his eyes.
"Pasha."
Bones's eyebrow twitched. "...Pasha?"
"Da?"
"Are you completely naked?"
The damn brat actually snorted, wiggling deeper into Bones's arms and lifting his face to kiss the side of Bones's chin. "I find undervear... constricting. I usually do not vear it," he confessed, with a throaty little laugh.
The doctor did his best to summon up a scowl, but even those muscles had stopped obeying him. He settled for a mildly disapproving "Hmph," and stroked the tender line where leg met lower abdomen. Tensor fasciae latae muscle, his ever-helpful medical training supplied.
The gentle fingers that had woken him earlier were back, brushing down the stubbly curve of his jaw. "Bones…"
"Hmph?"
Pavel chuckled. "I like it vhen you are too tired scold me."
The last thing McCoy felt before finally succumbing to exhausted sleep was the warm press of lips to the corner of his mouth, and the deeper, dreamier euphoria of falling asleep tangled up in someone he loved.
Author Note:
If you think about it, McCoy must have an iron stomach or ulcers the size of dinner plates. And I was soooooo sleepy by the end of this. I wanted to crawl in bed and not get out til Monday.
A kind reviewer pointed out that I have been misspelling Chekhov's name. Yes, yes I have been, and deliberately. From another author note:
"Chekov versus Chekhov: a single K- that is how this character's name is spelled, in canon and in fancanon. I accept this, but I don't like it. The only place I can express my preference for the real thing is here, in my own fic. AND SO I WILL! FFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU"
Sorry, it's a Russian studies thing. XD
Also, next chapter: TEH SEX. Friendly warning.