Fic: No Complaints, Kirk/McCoy, soft PG
Title: No Complaints
Author/Artist: sistercoyote
Pairing(s): McCoy/Kirk
Rating: really soft PG; some kissing, some implied violence in the setup, and that's it.
Summary: Kirk tries to drag the truth out of a reluctant (and bruised) Bones
Notes/Warnings: None, unless calling a grown man Cupcake offends you.
Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda yadda.
McCoy shakes his head, slipping through the dormitory doorway. Jim's chatting up a pretty Andorian girl he doesn't recognize - probably one of the new cadets - across the Quad, and although he'd intended to go down to Bayside, have a tasteless reconstituted bourbon, and nurse his injuries, Jim's easy grin and body language set his teeth back on edge.
Besides, the way my day's gone a tsunami would up and drown us all.
The image suits his dark mood, even if he does know better. Starfleet's shore protection and early alert systems are excellent.
With a sigh he slips into their room and tosses his medkit and satchel onto his bed. He long ago figured out the exact length of the three steps between the door and the closet-sized bathroom. As usual between inspections, their room is a mess of his notes and Jim's clothes.
And if that doesn't sum the two of us up, nothing ever will.
He hooks a pair of Jim's briefs on the toe of his boot and kicks them over to the other cadet's bed before stopping in front of the mirror. The black eye is already spectacular. The bruise on his cheekbone will be in another hour or so. The laceration on his right temple is no longer oozing blood, and the split in his lip is a thin black line. He peels off his shirt, wincing, and finds the dark purple bands he expected on his upper arm. And, no surprise, he's abraded his knuckles.
Damn. Chapel and I should have fixed each other up before we got back. Jim's reputation for fights is bad enough.
The dorm door shushes open when he's half-finished mopping himself up, and he rolls his eyes. Just what he needs.
"Hey, Bones, some of us're - what happened to you?"
Jim crosses the room before McCoy can get out of the bathroom, and he finds himself pinned up against the sink, Jim's hands reaching for his face.
He snags one before the fingers can touch the cut or the bruise. "Nothing to worry about."
"I thought you were doing sim-work today." Jim catches McCoy's cheek in his free hand. "The simulator's supposed to be safe."
"Not if you're in it," he snaps, reaching up to take away the offending hand.
Jim stares at him, then takes the dare in McCoy's change of subject. "You know what? I asked about the Kobyashi Maru, and did some research. No one's ever succeeded in rescuing her, but I could only find one instance of a complete failure. Depending on how you define failure."
McCoy's got both Jim's wrists now and he still can't get away from the sink. "Dammit, Jim," he starts, but Jim's mouth is suddenly soft on his and he forgets what he was going to say. More things he shouldn't be surprised by - Jim's kiss is very gentle on his bruised lip.
"You were saying?"
"Nothing you haven't heard before, nor won't hear again. And again, and every time you exasperate me."
Jim chuckles and uses the wrists McCoy is still holding to draw them both back into the room, where he uses a foot to push McCoy's kit awkwardly onto the floor and then flops over backward. McCoy is tempted to release Jim's wrists and let him drop on his own, but he figured out early on that Jim's been allowed to free fall far too often. So he eases him down until he can safely let go and braces his own elbows on the bed, Jim looking up at him with a sweeter grin than he'd given the girl on the Quad. McCoy gives him a lopsided quirk of the lips in return, and then Jim's fingers come up to trace the bruise on his arm.
McCoy sighs and grimaces.
"Seriously, Bones."
"I told you, Jim, it's nothing."
Jim presses on the bruise, and McCoy hisses at him.
"I ticked Christine Chapel off."
"She's got big hands," Jim says, wrapping his own more gently around McCoy's arm, just below the purple marks.
"Dammit, Jim, I don't want to talk about it!"
"Okay. We'll talk about something else." He cocks his head. "I'm going to take it again."
"What? Are you out of your mind? Nobody takes the damn thing twice."
Jim shakes his head, taking advantage of McCoy's distraction to settle them more comfortably on the bed so McCoy's not supporting most of his weight on his elbows and forearms. "Nope. I don't believe it's impossible to win. If someone can fail completely, someone can succeed completely."
"And of course you're that someone. Or did you just enjoy killing us all, and the humiliation that went with it?"
McCoy regrets the sharp words when Jim's face goes momentarily hard. "There's always a way out," he says, firmly, and his eyes look through McCoy instead of at him before he relaxes again and brushes another kiss against McCoy's throat. "Now. I told you what I've been up to."
McCoy sighs and rolls onto his back. "You never give up, do you."
Jim reaches out to touch the darkening bruise on McCoy's cheek; this time, McCoy lets him, just as he lets Jim pick up his right hand and inspect the mess he made of his knuckles.
"I handled the flight simulation better than usual," he says. "Which I realize isn't saying much. Since we've got that exam in two days, Christine and I went off-base to do a little studying."
"Sounds fine so far. You like her."
"She's competent, which is more than I can say for some of our so-called instructors," McCoy says, pulling his hand away.
"And, what? You didn't actually make her mad, did you?"
"No," McCoy suddenly feels every year of his age, and then some. "She just happened to pick the bar where Cadet Cupcake and his friends were drinking."
"Bullshit."
McCoy gestures at his cheek. "Does this look like bullshit to you? Don't answer that."
"It looks like -"
"I said, don't answer that."
Jim grins and draws his finger over his lips, but doesn't actually shut up. "So, what? You recognized him and hit him for me? How sweet."
"Don't be an ass." McCoy reconsiders. "Don't be more of an ass than usual." He isn't about to tell Jim the irritating truth: he hadn't even seen the other man until Christine's eyes had gotten wide and McCoy'd found himself hauled up by the now-bruised arm and tossed casually against the bar.
He frowns slightly; Jim looks at him, eyebrows raised. "Christine does have a mean right hook."
"Christine recognized him and hit him for me? Well," Jim says, and his eyes are twinkling in a way that soars right past mischievous and hits orbit somewhere near pure chaos, "I didn't know she'd even noticed me. Or that I'd told her that story."
"You know, this really isn't funny."
"No, Bones. It's not," Jim agrees. "But you won't tell me if I keep it serious. You're still trying not to tell me."
"It's damned embarrassing, is what it is," but he sighs as Jim's hand settles on his cheek again. "Yes. It was a bar brawl. Christine hit him because he grabbed me, and she wasn't having any of it."
"Then I'm glad she was there," Jim says, and his face is almost as serious as when they were discussing the Kobyashi Maru. "Someone should be there to defend you."
"Oh, I defended myself," McCoy says, considering his abraded knuckles. "I'm not an idiot, Jim. I just don't like brawling in the first place. Turns out Cupcake and his friends had made trouble in that bar before, and they were just waiting for a reason to toss him on his ear. I'd ask how someone with that kind of discipline problem made it into the Academy, but here we are."
That earns him a genuine laugh. He turns his head, slightly; Jim's bright eyes have softened. "Here we are. And it seems to me," he continues, hooking his leg over McCoy's and drawing them together, "that I owe you one."
"You owe me a hell of a lot more than that," McCoy answers, and then their lips are pressed together again, the kiss more insistent. It hurts. For once, he doesn't feel like complaining.
Author/Artist: sistercoyote
Pairing(s): McCoy/Kirk
Rating: really soft PG; some kissing, some implied violence in the setup, and that's it.
Summary: Kirk tries to drag the truth out of a reluctant (and bruised) Bones
Notes/Warnings: None, unless calling a grown man Cupcake offends you.
Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda yadda.
McCoy shakes his head, slipping through the dormitory doorway. Jim's chatting up a pretty Andorian girl he doesn't recognize - probably one of the new cadets - across the Quad, and although he'd intended to go down to Bayside, have a tasteless reconstituted bourbon, and nurse his injuries, Jim's easy grin and body language set his teeth back on edge.
Besides, the way my day's gone a tsunami would up and drown us all.
The image suits his dark mood, even if he does know better. Starfleet's shore protection and early alert systems are excellent.
With a sigh he slips into their room and tosses his medkit and satchel onto his bed. He long ago figured out the exact length of the three steps between the door and the closet-sized bathroom. As usual between inspections, their room is a mess of his notes and Jim's clothes.
And if that doesn't sum the two of us up, nothing ever will.
He hooks a pair of Jim's briefs on the toe of his boot and kicks them over to the other cadet's bed before stopping in front of the mirror. The black eye is already spectacular. The bruise on his cheekbone will be in another hour or so. The laceration on his right temple is no longer oozing blood, and the split in his lip is a thin black line. He peels off his shirt, wincing, and finds the dark purple bands he expected on his upper arm. And, no surprise, he's abraded his knuckles.
Damn. Chapel and I should have fixed each other up before we got back. Jim's reputation for fights is bad enough.
The dorm door shushes open when he's half-finished mopping himself up, and he rolls his eyes. Just what he needs.
"Hey, Bones, some of us're - what happened to you?"
Jim crosses the room before McCoy can get out of the bathroom, and he finds himself pinned up against the sink, Jim's hands reaching for his face.
He snags one before the fingers can touch the cut or the bruise. "Nothing to worry about."
"I thought you were doing sim-work today." Jim catches McCoy's cheek in his free hand. "The simulator's supposed to be safe."
"Not if you're in it," he snaps, reaching up to take away the offending hand.
Jim stares at him, then takes the dare in McCoy's change of subject. "You know what? I asked about the Kobyashi Maru, and did some research. No one's ever succeeded in rescuing her, but I could only find one instance of a complete failure. Depending on how you define failure."
McCoy's got both Jim's wrists now and he still can't get away from the sink. "Dammit, Jim," he starts, but Jim's mouth is suddenly soft on his and he forgets what he was going to say. More things he shouldn't be surprised by - Jim's kiss is very gentle on his bruised lip.
"You were saying?"
"Nothing you haven't heard before, nor won't hear again. And again, and every time you exasperate me."
Jim chuckles and uses the wrists McCoy is still holding to draw them both back into the room, where he uses a foot to push McCoy's kit awkwardly onto the floor and then flops over backward. McCoy is tempted to release Jim's wrists and let him drop on his own, but he figured out early on that Jim's been allowed to free fall far too often. So he eases him down until he can safely let go and braces his own elbows on the bed, Jim looking up at him with a sweeter grin than he'd given the girl on the Quad. McCoy gives him a lopsided quirk of the lips in return, and then Jim's fingers come up to trace the bruise on his arm.
McCoy sighs and grimaces.
"Seriously, Bones."
"I told you, Jim, it's nothing."
Jim presses on the bruise, and McCoy hisses at him.
"I ticked Christine Chapel off."
"She's got big hands," Jim says, wrapping his own more gently around McCoy's arm, just below the purple marks.
"Dammit, Jim, I don't want to talk about it!"
"Okay. We'll talk about something else." He cocks his head. "I'm going to take it again."
"What? Are you out of your mind? Nobody takes the damn thing twice."
Jim shakes his head, taking advantage of McCoy's distraction to settle them more comfortably on the bed so McCoy's not supporting most of his weight on his elbows and forearms. "Nope. I don't believe it's impossible to win. If someone can fail completely, someone can succeed completely."
"And of course you're that someone. Or did you just enjoy killing us all, and the humiliation that went with it?"
McCoy regrets the sharp words when Jim's face goes momentarily hard. "There's always a way out," he says, firmly, and his eyes look through McCoy instead of at him before he relaxes again and brushes another kiss against McCoy's throat. "Now. I told you what I've been up to."
McCoy sighs and rolls onto his back. "You never give up, do you."
Jim reaches out to touch the darkening bruise on McCoy's cheek; this time, McCoy lets him, just as he lets Jim pick up his right hand and inspect the mess he made of his knuckles.
"I handled the flight simulation better than usual," he says. "Which I realize isn't saying much. Since we've got that exam in two days, Christine and I went off-base to do a little studying."
"Sounds fine so far. You like her."
"She's competent, which is more than I can say for some of our so-called instructors," McCoy says, pulling his hand away.
"And, what? You didn't actually make her mad, did you?"
"No," McCoy suddenly feels every year of his age, and then some. "She just happened to pick the bar where Cadet Cupcake and his friends were drinking."
"Bullshit."
McCoy gestures at his cheek. "Does this look like bullshit to you? Don't answer that."
"It looks like -"
"I said, don't answer that."
Jim grins and draws his finger over his lips, but doesn't actually shut up. "So, what? You recognized him and hit him for me? How sweet."
"Don't be an ass." McCoy reconsiders. "Don't be more of an ass than usual." He isn't about to tell Jim the irritating truth: he hadn't even seen the other man until Christine's eyes had gotten wide and McCoy'd found himself hauled up by the now-bruised arm and tossed casually against the bar.
He frowns slightly; Jim looks at him, eyebrows raised. "Christine does have a mean right hook."
"Christine recognized him and hit him for me? Well," Jim says, and his eyes are twinkling in a way that soars right past mischievous and hits orbit somewhere near pure chaos, "I didn't know she'd even noticed me. Or that I'd told her that story."
"You know, this really isn't funny."
"No, Bones. It's not," Jim agrees. "But you won't tell me if I keep it serious. You're still trying not to tell me."
"It's damned embarrassing, is what it is," but he sighs as Jim's hand settles on his cheek again. "Yes. It was a bar brawl. Christine hit him because he grabbed me, and she wasn't having any of it."
"Then I'm glad she was there," Jim says, and his face is almost as serious as when they were discussing the Kobyashi Maru. "Someone should be there to defend you."
"Oh, I defended myself," McCoy says, considering his abraded knuckles. "I'm not an idiot, Jim. I just don't like brawling in the first place. Turns out Cupcake and his friends had made trouble in that bar before, and they were just waiting for a reason to toss him on his ear. I'd ask how someone with that kind of discipline problem made it into the Academy, but here we are."
That earns him a genuine laugh. He turns his head, slightly; Jim's bright eyes have softened. "Here we are. And it seems to me," he continues, hooking his leg over McCoy's and drawing them together, "that I owe you one."
"You owe me a hell of a lot more than that," McCoy answers, and then their lips are pressed together again, the kiss more insistent. It hurts. For once, he doesn't feel like complaining.