Fic: Fourteen Hours (Kirk/McCoy
It's fic(let). No, really. No, seriously. I am just as shocked as you are.
Title: Fourteen Hours
“Fourteen hours.” His breath was warm on Leonard’s skin. “Fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes, fifteen seconds.”
Author: Dala
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Standard applies
Notes: inspired by these pictures on jim_and_bones (locked comm; come join us to see)
Absorbed in finishing up his report, Leonard didn’t hear the quiet whush of the bedroom door sliding open, nor the pad of bare feet across the floor. So he about jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Jim, what the hell?”
Though neither of them had bothered to turn on the lights, the glow from the console screen bathed Jim’s rumpled hair and sleep-heavy eyes with an eerie light. Jim switched it off, wrapped his hand around Leonard’s elbow, and began to gently but firmly tug him back to bed. Leonard put up a few protests for form’s sake but, knowing he’d write more concisely with a few more hours’ sleep, let himself be towed in Jim’s wordless wake.
Jim turned him loose beside the bed. When Leonard put a knee on it, he suddenly found himself bowled flat on the mattress with a starship captain sprawled across his back like an octopus. He made a noise that was definitely not a squawk as he flailed beneath Jim’s weight -- how could a grown man be so solid but still retain all the awkward sharp angles of a teenager? -- but it did no good. Jim just anchored both feet under his ankles and hung on
Finally Leonard stopped struggling. “I was just --”
“Nope,” said Jim, his voice scratchy like it always was first thing in the morning or whatever the hell time it was now. “Not allowed.”
Leonard pulled his left arm out from where it was trapped under his chest, muttering, “Am I allowed to breathe?”
Jim seemed to consider this for a moment before he slid just slightly to the right. Fantastic. Now Leonard was only being ninety percent squashed. But if this was what it took after four days of near silence...
Whether it was the darkness of the room, Leonard’s prone position, or something else ticking in that brain of his, it worked. Jim shifted atop him, circling an arm around his ribs. Leonard tried not to wince at the pressure.
“Fourteen hours.” His breath was warm on Leonard’s skin. “Fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes, fifteen seconds.”
Leonard snorted. “Did you get Spock to confirm that?”
“Don’t,” Jim whispered, soft and sharp all at once.
Closing his eyes, Leonard turned his head until he was clear of the pillow. “I know,” he said quietly, pressing his lips to the corner of Jim’s mouth. “But I’m here, I’m fine, and so are all those sick people.”
Jim ducked his chin and let out a soft noise against Leonard’s nape, not quite a grunt. He knew that; he’d written his own report. Just as he knew the weapon meant to vaporize the hospital bunker had misfired, leaving most of them alive beneath the rubble but interfering with their vital signs in the Enterprise’s system.
Leonard didn’t remind him of the plague, the attack, the cure they’d developed despite it. He didn’t say he’d been doing his job to the best of his abilities. He didn’t tell Jim that he was being ridiculous and dramatic and it was going to be a long five years if this was how he reacted every time Leonard found himself in a delicate situation. He said nothing about the missions that put Jim on his table, bloody and broken, or how often it happened because he deliberately put himself between danger and someone weaker or smaller. Jim had been in a coma three times since they’d left Earth, for fuck’s sake. It was a new Starfleet record.
He only fumbled for the arm wrapped around his middle.
“Let’s just go to sleep,” he said, sighing with relief as Jim shifted a little more onto his side, though he was still curled protectively over Leonard’s body.
Jim’s fingers stroked his face, a ghost of a touch, before he laid them over Leonard’s open hand. “Yeah,” he murmured, settling his cheek on Leonard’s shoulder.
His stubble prickled Leonard’s skin, his bony hip was digging into Leonard’s ass, and the nerves in Leonard’s arm were already going dead. He couldn’t imagine Jim was much more comfortable.
But for the time being Leonard lay still beneath him, trusting that the tension would drain away, Jim’s head would fall beside his on the pillow, and they’d both sleep easier for it.
Title: Fourteen Hours
“Fourteen hours.” His breath was warm on Leonard’s skin. “Fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes, fifteen seconds.”
Author: Dala
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Standard applies
Notes: inspired by these pictures on jim_and_bones (locked comm; come join us to see)
Absorbed in finishing up his report, Leonard didn’t hear the quiet whush of the bedroom door sliding open, nor the pad of bare feet across the floor. So he about jumped out of his skin when a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Jim, what the hell?”
Though neither of them had bothered to turn on the lights, the glow from the console screen bathed Jim’s rumpled hair and sleep-heavy eyes with an eerie light. Jim switched it off, wrapped his hand around Leonard’s elbow, and began to gently but firmly tug him back to bed. Leonard put up a few protests for form’s sake but, knowing he’d write more concisely with a few more hours’ sleep, let himself be towed in Jim’s wordless wake.
Jim turned him loose beside the bed. When Leonard put a knee on it, he suddenly found himself bowled flat on the mattress with a starship captain sprawled across his back like an octopus. He made a noise that was definitely not a squawk as he flailed beneath Jim’s weight -- how could a grown man be so solid but still retain all the awkward sharp angles of a teenager? -- but it did no good. Jim just anchored both feet under his ankles and hung on
Finally Leonard stopped struggling. “I was just --”
“Nope,” said Jim, his voice scratchy like it always was first thing in the morning or whatever the hell time it was now. “Not allowed.”
Leonard pulled his left arm out from where it was trapped under his chest, muttering, “Am I allowed to breathe?”
Jim seemed to consider this for a moment before he slid just slightly to the right. Fantastic. Now Leonard was only being ninety percent squashed. But if this was what it took after four days of near silence...
Whether it was the darkness of the room, Leonard’s prone position, or something else ticking in that brain of his, it worked. Jim shifted atop him, circling an arm around his ribs. Leonard tried not to wince at the pressure.
“Fourteen hours.” His breath was warm on Leonard’s skin. “Fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes, fifteen seconds.”
Leonard snorted. “Did you get Spock to confirm that?”
“Don’t,” Jim whispered, soft and sharp all at once.
Closing his eyes, Leonard turned his head until he was clear of the pillow. “I know,” he said quietly, pressing his lips to the corner of Jim’s mouth. “But I’m here, I’m fine, and so are all those sick people.”
Jim ducked his chin and let out a soft noise against Leonard’s nape, not quite a grunt. He knew that; he’d written his own report. Just as he knew the weapon meant to vaporize the hospital bunker had misfired, leaving most of them alive beneath the rubble but interfering with their vital signs in the Enterprise’s system.
Leonard didn’t remind him of the plague, the attack, the cure they’d developed despite it. He didn’t say he’d been doing his job to the best of his abilities. He didn’t tell Jim that he was being ridiculous and dramatic and it was going to be a long five years if this was how he reacted every time Leonard found himself in a delicate situation. He said nothing about the missions that put Jim on his table, bloody and broken, or how often it happened because he deliberately put himself between danger and someone weaker or smaller. Jim had been in a coma three times since they’d left Earth, for fuck’s sake. It was a new Starfleet record.
He only fumbled for the arm wrapped around his middle.
“Let’s just go to sleep,” he said, sighing with relief as Jim shifted a little more onto his side, though he was still curled protectively over Leonard’s body.
Jim’s fingers stroked his face, a ghost of a touch, before he laid them over Leonard’s open hand. “Yeah,” he murmured, settling his cheek on Leonard’s shoulder.
His stubble prickled Leonard’s skin, his bony hip was digging into Leonard’s ass, and the nerves in Leonard’s arm were already going dead. He couldn’t imagine Jim was much more comfortable.
But for the time being Leonard lay still beneath him, trusting that the tension would drain away, Jim’s head would fall beside his on the pillow, and they’d both sleep easier for it.