Fic: Foregone Conclusion (1/1)
Title: Foregone Conclusion
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 997
Summary: If plans counted for anything, Leonard McCoy would certainly not be where he is right now. For team_jones at st_respect’s Ship Wars, for Challenge Prompt #1: “First Date.” Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Banter-y. Just banter-y, really.
Foregone Conclusion
If plans counted for anything, Leonard McCoy would be in his room, in his bed, with the heavy breath of one James T. Kirk coming quick against the crook of his neck; their sweat-slick chests brushing as he leaned down for a kiss that tasted of brown sugar and bourbon against a backdrop of nut, the salty undertones of Jim seeping through like the sunbeams that escape the horizon before dawn.
In reality, though, plans don’t count for shit; and Leonard is carefully monitoring the normalization of Jim’s immune system after the kid had broken out in hives and nearly fucking suffocated after his first bite of dessert.
“Some evening,” Leonard mutters darkly as he presses the last hypospray against Jim’s arm, his neck too swollen to inject.
“It wasn’t so bad,” Jim shoots back, voice still rough; “Though I was hoping it would have culminated in the swelling of areas other than my neck.”
Leonard snorts, but something in him eases to hear that humor; that flagrant, wild abandon: “What are you, ten?”
“I never claimed to be particularly refined, Bones.” Ain’t that the truth. “And besides, would you have me any other way?”
“I’d have you be something other than a fucking walking allergy.”
“But then I’d be boring,” Jim protests, and Leonard finds his own lips quirking as Jim’s bow downward at the edges.
Leonard massages deft fingers against Jim’s slowly-shrinking glands, pausing in his examination at the base of his throat for the moment it takes to shoot an incredulous glance up through his eyelashes: “Doubtful.” And while his eyes remain on Jim’s neck, the splotches of angry red finally beginning to subside, he can feel Jim’s pout without seeing it - he can feel it, and that’s how he knows this is right.
“Want to give me a hand job while I sit here and wait for this shit to run its course?”
And from anyone else, Leonard might have said the question came out of nowhere; with Jim, though, it’s par for the course, so he pulls his hands away from Jim’s skin slowly, straightening himself with careful precision before narrowing his eyes down at Jim, trying to balance fascination and, fuck all, arousal, with something vaguely resembling propriety.
He meets Jim’s carefully-schooled expression of innocence, and fails miserably.
“Blow job?” Jim tries casually; “I’m flexible.”
“Damnit, Jim,” Leonard grinds out, smooth and sharp like ice on gravel; “I’m not servicing your cocky ass in the hospital I work in.”
“So you’d suck me off in a hospital by which you weren’t employed?” Jim asks with the subtlest, cheekiest quirk of his eyebrow, and it takes everything Leonard has in him not to ravish the arrogant fucker where he sits: still just a little puffy, a little rosy - and gorgeous, goddamn him.
“I’m not one of your floozies, Jim.”
“Floozies,” Jim chokes on his laughter - but the sound, after hearing Jim cough and gasp for breath just hours before, sends a shiver up Leonard’s spine. “Fuck, I love you.” And doesn’t that just shoot motherfucking sparks through his veins. “But those floozies probably would have figured I’d be allergic to Betelgeusian syrup before they put it in the pecan pie they were planning on using to lure me into their beds, which is more than we can say for you,” Jim stares him down pointedly as the last of the unnatural flush fades from his skin. “Thought they’d have taught you that in finishing school or some shit. First rule of courting: don’t try to kill your date.”
“You’re a goddamn menace,” Leonard grouses as he runs his tricorder over Jim one last time; truth is, he feels downright horrible that this whole affair started with his hare-brained attempt at romancing Jim via a home-cooked meal; “At least when you were wheezing you couldn’t talk.”
“Still,” Jim continues as if Leonard had never spoken, as he always does; as Leonard prays he always will, “even if you’re a bastard who’s secretly plotting my baking-induced demise, I’d say you’re worth toughing out another night with. You seem like a nice enough guy,” Jim weighs his worth with a wicked grin. “Good breeding. Intelligent. Skilled with your hands,” he kinks his neck just so to take a sidelong glance at Leonard’s profile, where his jeans hug the curve of his hips; “Hell of an ass.”
With a scoff, Leonard replaces his scanner, rubbing his palms down his thighs as he pauses, closer than necessary, next to Jim - who looks uncharacteristically content where he’s sitting on the biobed; “Does that mean I get a second date?” he asks, only half-sarcastic, only half-sure of the answer he’ll get.
The kiss that’s pressed against his lips in reply is patient, long-suffering; sweet in ways Leonard doesn’t recognize, but suddenly knows that he wants to - it’s them, and it fucking fits. “Is that a yes?” he asks against Jim’s mouth without opening his eyes, without knowing they’d closed in the first place.
“That’s a yes if you promise not to feed me anything that’ll make me puff up like a fucking balloon.”
Leaning in to run his tongue along the sensitive dip just below Jim’s earlobe, Leonard growls more than speaks: “That could be arranged.” His mouth curls upward as Jim stills, moans at the contact, tenses with pleasure as he traces the line of Jim’s jaw with his teeth. “But I’ll have you know my pie is legendary,” Leonard murmurs as he brushes the tip of his nose against Jim’s, lets the heel of his palm tease along the jut of Jim’s pelvis until his breath comes quicker, harder.
“I’ll have you know my cock is legendary,” Jim parries with thick, heady need, thrusting his hips upward until his half-hard erection presses, insistent, against Leonard's wrist. “And it’s never caused an allergic reaction.”
And there’s nothing left to say to that, really; Leonard figures he’ll just save the rest for date number two.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 997
Summary: If plans counted for anything, Leonard McCoy would certainly not be where he is right now. For team_jones at st_respect’s Ship Wars, for Challenge Prompt #1: “First Date.” Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Banter-y. Just banter-y, really.
Foregone Conclusion
If plans counted for anything, Leonard McCoy would be in his room, in his bed, with the heavy breath of one James T. Kirk coming quick against the crook of his neck; their sweat-slick chests brushing as he leaned down for a kiss that tasted of brown sugar and bourbon against a backdrop of nut, the salty undertones of Jim seeping through like the sunbeams that escape the horizon before dawn.
In reality, though, plans don’t count for shit; and Leonard is carefully monitoring the normalization of Jim’s immune system after the kid had broken out in hives and nearly fucking suffocated after his first bite of dessert.
“Some evening,” Leonard mutters darkly as he presses the last hypospray against Jim’s arm, his neck too swollen to inject.
“It wasn’t so bad,” Jim shoots back, voice still rough; “Though I was hoping it would have culminated in the swelling of areas other than my neck.”
Leonard snorts, but something in him eases to hear that humor; that flagrant, wild abandon: “What are you, ten?”
“I never claimed to be particularly refined, Bones.” Ain’t that the truth. “And besides, would you have me any other way?”
“I’d have you be something other than a fucking walking allergy.”
“But then I’d be boring,” Jim protests, and Leonard finds his own lips quirking as Jim’s bow downward at the edges.
Leonard massages deft fingers against Jim’s slowly-shrinking glands, pausing in his examination at the base of his throat for the moment it takes to shoot an incredulous glance up through his eyelashes: “Doubtful.” And while his eyes remain on Jim’s neck, the splotches of angry red finally beginning to subside, he can feel Jim’s pout without seeing it - he can feel it, and that’s how he knows this is right.
“Want to give me a hand job while I sit here and wait for this shit to run its course?”
And from anyone else, Leonard might have said the question came out of nowhere; with Jim, though, it’s par for the course, so he pulls his hands away from Jim’s skin slowly, straightening himself with careful precision before narrowing his eyes down at Jim, trying to balance fascination and, fuck all, arousal, with something vaguely resembling propriety.
He meets Jim’s carefully-schooled expression of innocence, and fails miserably.
“Blow job?” Jim tries casually; “I’m flexible.”
“Damnit, Jim,” Leonard grinds out, smooth and sharp like ice on gravel; “I’m not servicing your cocky ass in the hospital I work in.”
“So you’d suck me off in a hospital by which you weren’t employed?” Jim asks with the subtlest, cheekiest quirk of his eyebrow, and it takes everything Leonard has in him not to ravish the arrogant fucker where he sits: still just a little puffy, a little rosy - and gorgeous, goddamn him.
“I’m not one of your floozies, Jim.”
“Floozies,” Jim chokes on his laughter - but the sound, after hearing Jim cough and gasp for breath just hours before, sends a shiver up Leonard’s spine. “Fuck, I love you.” And doesn’t that just shoot motherfucking sparks through his veins. “But those floozies probably would have figured I’d be allergic to Betelgeusian syrup before they put it in the pecan pie they were planning on using to lure me into their beds, which is more than we can say for you,” Jim stares him down pointedly as the last of the unnatural flush fades from his skin. “Thought they’d have taught you that in finishing school or some shit. First rule of courting: don’t try to kill your date.”
“You’re a goddamn menace,” Leonard grouses as he runs his tricorder over Jim one last time; truth is, he feels downright horrible that this whole affair started with his hare-brained attempt at romancing Jim via a home-cooked meal; “At least when you were wheezing you couldn’t talk.”
“Still,” Jim continues as if Leonard had never spoken, as he always does; as Leonard prays he always will, “even if you’re a bastard who’s secretly plotting my baking-induced demise, I’d say you’re worth toughing out another night with. You seem like a nice enough guy,” Jim weighs his worth with a wicked grin. “Good breeding. Intelligent. Skilled with your hands,” he kinks his neck just so to take a sidelong glance at Leonard’s profile, where his jeans hug the curve of his hips; “Hell of an ass.”
With a scoff, Leonard replaces his scanner, rubbing his palms down his thighs as he pauses, closer than necessary, next to Jim - who looks uncharacteristically content where he’s sitting on the biobed; “Does that mean I get a second date?” he asks, only half-sarcastic, only half-sure of the answer he’ll get.
The kiss that’s pressed against his lips in reply is patient, long-suffering; sweet in ways Leonard doesn’t recognize, but suddenly knows that he wants to - it’s them, and it fucking fits. “Is that a yes?” he asks against Jim’s mouth without opening his eyes, without knowing they’d closed in the first place.
“That’s a yes if you promise not to feed me anything that’ll make me puff up like a fucking balloon.”
Leaning in to run his tongue along the sensitive dip just below Jim’s earlobe, Leonard growls more than speaks: “That could be arranged.” His mouth curls upward as Jim stills, moans at the contact, tenses with pleasure as he traces the line of Jim’s jaw with his teeth. “But I’ll have you know my pie is legendary,” Leonard murmurs as he brushes the tip of his nose against Jim’s, lets the heel of his palm tease along the jut of Jim’s pelvis until his breath comes quicker, harder.
“I’ll have you know my cock is legendary,” Jim parries with thick, heady need, thrusting his hips upward until his half-hard erection presses, insistent, against Leonard's wrist. “And it’s never caused an allergic reaction.”
And there’s nothing left to say to that, really; Leonard figures he’ll just save the rest for date number two.