Blood
Title: Blood
Author: Kat
Word Count: 1010
Rated: G...maybe pg for mentions of minor ouchies
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Summary: Blood should not be sexy.
Notes: This wasn't going to involve even a little bit of blood at first, and thankfully, it was kept to small cuts...I...have no idea where this came from. It was very nearly NC-17 though...
It was completely by accident that they managed to stumble upon the rebel’s hideout, and it’s nothing but luck that they managed to get out again completely unscathed, save for the few minor bumps and bruises and superficial cuts that come from stumbling blindly though a rainforest on an unfamiliar planet. Still, Bones is taking no chances, insisting that even the most minor of cuts can lead to a slow and painful death if not taken care of properly---infection, unknown spores, plant life, anything could have been in that air, Jim, blah blah blah.
Jim’s this close to calling the good doctor on his bullshit, because his fussing over the scrape on his calf is starting to get annoying, and it doesn’t help that Bones himself has a freely bleeding gash on his cheek.
He keeps telling himself that blood is not sexy, especially when the cut should have stopped bleeding by now, (Bones had explained it away--facial wounds and excess bleeding or some such shit) but his eyes are following the drops as they ooze over the sharp angle of his friend’s cheek bone (Bones has lost weight again. He’s always nagging at Jim to eat more and then he goes and skips whole meals sometimes himself as soon as he thinks Jim won’t notice, and blames it on work when he does.) and down through the rough stubble of his jaw. He wants to lick it off, taste his friend’s life essence, the thing that makes Bones Bones. Will it taste different from his own? Jim doesn’t exactly go around drinking blood, but he’s been in enough fights to know what his own blood tastes like. Hell, he’s been in enough fights to know what a few other unlucky people’s blood tastes like (biting is fighting dirty, he knows, but Jim has never been above fighting dirty if it’ll get him his way). He’s finding that the longer he watches the slow trickle of red drip down Bones’s face, the more he just wants to lean forward and---
“Jim? You ok there?” Jim’s eyes snap back to his friend’s. Bones looks concerned and Jim realizes that his leg has been bandaged tightly in sterile white gauze. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Chekov picking at the corner of a bandage on his arm. Bones either hasn’t noticed or he’s waiting to chew the kid out for it later. Maybe when they’re not still hiding out in hostile territory.
“Fine.” He says, and his voice is a little rough, so he clears his throat and tries again. “I’m ok. Thanks. Um…” he reaches for Bones’s medical stuff and picks out the disinfectant shit he’d been putting on all the open wounds, the stuff that stings like hell for the first ten minuets after application. Bones hadn’t brought along a dermal regenerator because it had just been a routine check up in a village at the edge of the forest. The people there are rather primitive and distrustful of technology. It’s why they had opted to beam down in the forest instead of closer to the village. Of course, someone had forgotten to tell them there was a civil war going on…“…you’re still bleeding.” He motions to the side of the doctor’s face. Bones reaches up to brush at his cheeks, sighing when his fingers come away red.
Jim smacks his hand gently away when he reaches for the disinfectant and opens up a sterile wipe. He cleans the cut carefully, smiling at the odd looking patch of clean skin surrounded by the grime and dirt that has accumulated on Bones’s face. He’s opening a bandage when a small drop of blood escapes the cut and rolls slowly down the doctor’s cheek. He reaches out and catches it on his finger, sticking the digit in his mouth. It tastes of dirt and sweat and that irony-metal taste all blood has, and maybe it’s because he’s handling sterile things, but there’s an underlying hint of something that makes him think of antiseptic, which is something he’s always associated with Bones. Tastes like Bones. Satisfied, he cleans his hands off with another wipe before cleaning the small smear of blood and bandaging the cut, all the while ignoring Bones, who is staring at him with his lips parted in something akin to horror. He gives his friend his best, most innocent smile before turning to the rest of the away team, leaving the doctor to re-pack his med kit.
“Everyone ok?” He asks quietly, receiving murmured affirmatives from the other five. He nods and begins discussing retreat tactics. Wouldn’t it figure that Scotty could beam them down into the forest, but they have to be in the village to be beamed back up? Something about the total canopy cover making it to difficult to lock on to them. Bones joins him a moment later, insisting that the routine check up still go as scheduled, and Jim agrees, but says they’ll need phasers and a few different pieces of medical equipment now that the threat level of the mission has been stepped up. Also, he wants to change out some of the ensigns for ones more combat-experienced. It’ll stall a bit and make Bones’s job a little bit harder, since they’ll have to beam up inside the village, but all agree it’s for the better.
The trek to the village is at least half an hour, and they’re all on alert, just in case they walk into anymore hidden camps. Jim is in the lead with Spock and Bones on either side of him. He’s ignoring the small, quick looks his CMO keeps shooting him---knowing Bones and his stupid boarder-on-germaphobic tendencies, he’s going to get the first degree and a whole slew of reasons why ingesting even a little bit of other people’s blood is a huge medical no-no, and Jim’s not really sure how he’s going to explain his impulsive action to his friend, but he’s James T. Fucking Kirk, and he’ll make it up as he goes along.
Author: Kat
Word Count: 1010
Rated: G...maybe pg for mentions of minor ouchies
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Summary: Blood should not be sexy.
Notes: This wasn't going to involve even a little bit of blood at first, and thankfully, it was kept to small cuts...I...have no idea where this came from. It was very nearly NC-17 though...
It was completely by accident that they managed to stumble upon the rebel’s hideout, and it’s nothing but luck that they managed to get out again completely unscathed, save for the few minor bumps and bruises and superficial cuts that come from stumbling blindly though a rainforest on an unfamiliar planet. Still, Bones is taking no chances, insisting that even the most minor of cuts can lead to a slow and painful death if not taken care of properly---infection, unknown spores, plant life, anything could have been in that air, Jim, blah blah blah.
Jim’s this close to calling the good doctor on his bullshit, because his fussing over the scrape on his calf is starting to get annoying, and it doesn’t help that Bones himself has a freely bleeding gash on his cheek.
He keeps telling himself that blood is not sexy, especially when the cut should have stopped bleeding by now, (Bones had explained it away--facial wounds and excess bleeding or some such shit) but his eyes are following the drops as they ooze over the sharp angle of his friend’s cheek bone (Bones has lost weight again. He’s always nagging at Jim to eat more and then he goes and skips whole meals sometimes himself as soon as he thinks Jim won’t notice, and blames it on work when he does.) and down through the rough stubble of his jaw. He wants to lick it off, taste his friend’s life essence, the thing that makes Bones Bones. Will it taste different from his own? Jim doesn’t exactly go around drinking blood, but he’s been in enough fights to know what his own blood tastes like. Hell, he’s been in enough fights to know what a few other unlucky people’s blood tastes like (biting is fighting dirty, he knows, but Jim has never been above fighting dirty if it’ll get him his way). He’s finding that the longer he watches the slow trickle of red drip down Bones’s face, the more he just wants to lean forward and---
“Jim? You ok there?” Jim’s eyes snap back to his friend’s. Bones looks concerned and Jim realizes that his leg has been bandaged tightly in sterile white gauze. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Chekov picking at the corner of a bandage on his arm. Bones either hasn’t noticed or he’s waiting to chew the kid out for it later. Maybe when they’re not still hiding out in hostile territory.
“Fine.” He says, and his voice is a little rough, so he clears his throat and tries again. “I’m ok. Thanks. Um…” he reaches for Bones’s medical stuff and picks out the disinfectant shit he’d been putting on all the open wounds, the stuff that stings like hell for the first ten minuets after application. Bones hadn’t brought along a dermal regenerator because it had just been a routine check up in a village at the edge of the forest. The people there are rather primitive and distrustful of technology. It’s why they had opted to beam down in the forest instead of closer to the village. Of course, someone had forgotten to tell them there was a civil war going on…“…you’re still bleeding.” He motions to the side of the doctor’s face. Bones reaches up to brush at his cheeks, sighing when his fingers come away red.
Jim smacks his hand gently away when he reaches for the disinfectant and opens up a sterile wipe. He cleans the cut carefully, smiling at the odd looking patch of clean skin surrounded by the grime and dirt that has accumulated on Bones’s face. He’s opening a bandage when a small drop of blood escapes the cut and rolls slowly down the doctor’s cheek. He reaches out and catches it on his finger, sticking the digit in his mouth. It tastes of dirt and sweat and that irony-metal taste all blood has, and maybe it’s because he’s handling sterile things, but there’s an underlying hint of something that makes him think of antiseptic, which is something he’s always associated with Bones. Tastes like Bones. Satisfied, he cleans his hands off with another wipe before cleaning the small smear of blood and bandaging the cut, all the while ignoring Bones, who is staring at him with his lips parted in something akin to horror. He gives his friend his best, most innocent smile before turning to the rest of the away team, leaving the doctor to re-pack his med kit.
“Everyone ok?” He asks quietly, receiving murmured affirmatives from the other five. He nods and begins discussing retreat tactics. Wouldn’t it figure that Scotty could beam them down into the forest, but they have to be in the village to be beamed back up? Something about the total canopy cover making it to difficult to lock on to them. Bones joins him a moment later, insisting that the routine check up still go as scheduled, and Jim agrees, but says they’ll need phasers and a few different pieces of medical equipment now that the threat level of the mission has been stepped up. Also, he wants to change out some of the ensigns for ones more combat-experienced. It’ll stall a bit and make Bones’s job a little bit harder, since they’ll have to beam up inside the village, but all agree it’s for the better.
The trek to the village is at least half an hour, and they’re all on alert, just in case they walk into anymore hidden camps. Jim is in the lead with Spock and Bones on either side of him. He’s ignoring the small, quick looks his CMO keeps shooting him---knowing Bones and his stupid boarder-on-germaphobic tendencies, he’s going to get the first degree and a whole slew of reasons why ingesting even a little bit of other people’s blood is a huge medical no-no, and Jim’s not really sure how he’s going to explain his impulsive action to his friend, but he’s James T. Fucking Kirk, and he’ll make it up as he goes along.