The Bet, or Gossip Gets Around, Kirk/McCoy and Sulu/Chekov, NC-17
Title: The Bet, or Gossip Gets Around
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Kirk/McCoy, hinted Sulu/Chekov
Summary: Written for kilala10 and happy_trekmas.
McCoy wasn't sure how he'd come to this. When he woke up this morning, he sure as hell didn't think he'd wind up in the captain's bed by night's end. With one arm curled around Jim, who was surprisingly cuddly and wonderfully naked, he stared up at the ceiling and pondered his incredibly strange day. It all started with a bet. Well, maybe it started with a conversation. With Jim Kirk, one never really knew where things ended or began. They just appeared, out of nowhere, once he was stuck in the middle with no way to escape it.
---
It started in medical. Yes, that was it. About an hour into alpha shift, but Kirk was still in medical completing his monthly exam because he'd decided to show up a half-hour late. He'd come in under extreme duress, having been accosted by Spock on his way to the bridge, literally dragging his heels every step of the way.
Nurse Chapel just smiled as Kirk pulled himself out of his black mood long enough to flirt with her, asking whether or not she was going to attend the Christmas party Scotty was throwing that evening. McCoy rolled his eyes as he set up a bio-monitor for the examination.
While McCoy worked, taking down notes and observations on his padd, Kirk kept up a playful steam of banter which needed no extra participation.
"So, I told Chekov to just try talking to him, you know? I mean, he's an engineer, too. Kind of. I'm sure he gets off quantum theory and warp drive mechanics just as much as he does, right? I told him pilots are really freaky, right up there with Orions and librarians."
McCoy snorted a bit under his breath as he tapped the bio-monitor's screen. This one had been on the fritz lately and Scotty had been due to send someone to fix it for days.
"What?” Kirk asked, an innocent smile on his face. "Does that shock you?"
"Kid, you couldn't do anything to shock me anymore." McCoy fiddled with the bio-monitor, which currently said that either Kirk had somehow transformed into a Vulcan overnight, or he was dead. "I just wish you would set a better example for that kid. At least wait until he's legal before you indoctrinate him in your debauchery."
Kirk's eyes narrowed. "I doubt that."
McCoy laughed. He'd seen and discovered at least six new types of alien STIs in his tenure as Kirk's physician, treated injuries he'd barely even read about in medical school, learned about the mating habits of nearly every known alien race in the Federation. No, Kirk's penchant for trouble would never, ever surprise him.
"What's so funny?" Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a ten-year-old boy.
"Do you take it as a personal challenge to keep me on my toes, or what?"
The bio-monitor started beeping wildly and three nurses ran out to see what the problem was. McCoy waved them off before delivering a swift smack to the side of the machine, which promptly stopped beeping, but maintained an ominous humming sound which didn't bode well.
"I'm a doctor, not a goddamn mechanic," he muttered.
"Wanna bet?"
"What?"
"Do. You. Want. To. Bet?"
McCoy sighed, turning to stare at his friend. "Bet what?"
"That I can't shock you anymore."
Kirk leaned forward on the biobed, staring down at his hands. McCoy couldn't get a good look at his face. He looked like a damned pouting teenager. Something flared underneath McCoy's skin.
"What the hell? I bet you can't shock me."
Kirk looked up, a strange, lopsided grin on his face. "And what do I get if I win?"
The monitor started humming louder. McCoy eyed it warily and wondered, yet again, why the hell engineers were so damn slow when it came to repairs outside of their precious engine room.
"I dunno." McCoy said, searching behind the machine for the off-switch, if there was one.
"You know what? We'll figure that out after I win."
"You can't have a bet if you don't know what you're gonna win, Jim. Jim?" McCoy turned back to the biobed. It was empty. He sighed.
Maybe he'll find someone else to annoy now, he thought. The machine behind him suddenly sparked loudly, making McCoy jump at least a foot in the air, to the amazement of his staff.
"Someone get me a goddamn engineer!"
---
McCoy wasn't one to do things half-way. As a doctor, he prided himself on his ability to stay focused and calm under extreme pressure, while still doing his job better than anyone in Star Fleet. He may have inherited his post as CMO of the Enterprise through tragedy, but he would keep it through hard work and ingenuity.
Maybe that's why, despite their complete lack of commonality, their friendship was so strong. Jim Kirk never half-assed anything either, instead taking things too far in the opposite direction. McCoy could respect taking risks, even if he didn’t much like them, himself.
But that couldn’t completely explain why his shoulder’s tightened when he read Kirk’s note, which he found on his desk right before his lunch break.
Bones, meet me in my quarters at 1800 hours tonight, after the Christmas party. Don't be late.
-Jim
That apprehensive, anxious feeling hadn’t dissipated by the time he sat down to lunch. He scanned the room, hoping to see Kirk, but he must have decided to skip lunch again. He sighed.
"You should be careful, you know," Uhura said, sitting down in the chair across from McCoy. Spock sat next to her.
McCoy was pleased to note they both were eating some sort of vegetarian Vulcan lunch with lots of fruit. "Careful about what?"
Uhura rolled her eyes and turned to Spock who, despite his stoic appearance, managed to look decidedly uncomfortable.
"Nyota has asked me to discuss the matter of this bet with you-”
Uhura jumped into the conversation, apparently unable to contain herself. "I know he's your best friend, but I think this game you've been playing with him needs to end."
McCoy recoiled at the stern look in Uhura's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, unless you mean the fact that he's now trouncing me in chess because your pointy-eared boyfriend keeps teaching him new ways to beat me."
Spock's eyebrows raised, but Uhura looked so appalled she was unable to speak. "I believe the game to which Nyota refers concerns the affections of our captain, Doctor."
"His...affections? Now just what the hell are you driving at?"
Spock opened his mouth to reply, but once again Uhura spoke faster. "You mean you really don't see it? The entire crew knows Kirk's been trying to get you to go out with him for months now."
"Are you serious? This isn't some kind of sick joke?" McCoy turned to Spock for confirmation.
"It has come to my attention that Kirk has been…infatuated with you for quite some time," Spock said, staring at his lunch like the key to all Vulcan mysteries was hidden inside his grapefruit.
Uhura waited for Spock to continue and, after the silence lengthened between them, she spoke.
"If you're not interested, just tell him. Don't string him along."
McCoy gaped at her. “Look, I-I didn’t even know all this was going on.”
Uhura glared at him. “Right. And all those nights you spend drinking together are completely platonic.”
McCoy looked to Spock for help, but the Vulcan was still staring into his lunch. He shook his head slowly back and forth. “But that doesn’t make any sense. They are platonic. They are.”
“Don’t you get it? The constant flirting, injuries, and drunken fights-he does all that stuff because he wants your attention.” Uhura stood sharply, picking up her tray with unnecessary force. “Just figure this out before Kirk does something really crazy, okay?”
She stalked off toward another table. Spock‘s shoulders slumped minutely as he rose to follow Uhura. He looked at McCoy, but just nodded in his direction before leaving.
---
McCoy spent the rest of his shift in a haze, unable to get his mind off Kirk. After the third time he’d tried to use a hypo to check a patient’s throat, Nurse Chapel sent him to his office, as he had yet to permanently maim his paperwork.
A couple hours of filling in tedious information brought little equilibrium to his mind. Was Uhura right? Was there something he’d missed? It had been a bit of a strange month, if McCoy really thought about it. Kirk had been spending lots of time with him, but they were friends. And, although Uhura was an absolute genius, she did spend all day attached to the Enterprise’s rumor mill. Who knew what she might have heard? It was probably just a gross overestimation. Hell, he was just happy that Uhura was finally getting along with Kirk, at least enough to be concerned for him. Much better than wanting to punch him in the gut every time he entered a room or opened his mouth.
McCoy checked the clock on his padd-alpha shift was almost over. He figured things would be quieter, so he wandered out of his office, keeping an eye out for Chapel. His stubborn head nurse was nowhere in sight.
The doors to medical slid open, Sulu holding up a limping Chekov, both still wearing their fencing uniforms.
McCoy groaned. “What did you two manage to do this time?” He rushed to Chekov’s side, helping him onto an empty bed.
Sulu, at least, had the decency to look down at his feet, but Chekov smiled widely. “Practicing, again. I rolled my ankle during some new footwork. It’s complicated.”
McCoy pulled off Chekov’s shoe delicately and examined his ankle.
“He’s a bit too enthusiastic, sometimes,” Sulu said, hovering near Chekov.
“I can see that.” McCoy rolled Chekov’s ankle gently. “Does this hurt?”
Chekov winced and Sulu grabbed his hand.
McCoy set Chekov’s ankle down and reached for a muscle regenerator. “Nothing’s broken, but you have some torn ligaments. You’ll need to sit tight for a while until everything heals.”
“Will I still be able to go to the Christmas party?” Chekov asked, a frown overtaking his features.
“I don’t see why not.”
Chekov nodded, then turned and muttered something into Sulu’s ear. The helmsman blushed and looked down at his feet again.
“Okay, what is it?” McCoy said, still running the regenerator over the skin on Chekov’s ankle.
“What?” Sulu said, his voice an octave too high above normal.
McCoy looked at Chekov, who was grinning widely. “Spit it out, kid, or I’m going to let these heal the normal way.”
McCoy’s threat didn’t even faze him. “We heard that you talked with Uhura and Spock today.”
“And what does that have to do with anything? I talk to them all the time.”
Chekov muttered something to Sulu, then elbowed him in the ribs.
Sulu grunted. “Okay, okay-we heard about the bet.”
McCoy dropped the regenerator, which struck the floor with a clatter. He reached for it swiftly, then stood back up. Sulu looked shocked, but Chekov seemed fit to burst with the laughter he struggled to keep in.
“What’s so funny about that? Kirk just likes to annoy me. We’re friends.” McCoy turned the regenerator back on and continued drawing it over Chekov’s ankle.
Now even Sulu seemed amused. “Yeah, friends.”
McCoy realized that Sulu had not yet released Chekov’s hand. Sulu, following his gaze, just smiled.
“I guess you are as oblivious as Uhura says you are. I didn’t believe it.”
“If you two have something to say, just come out and say it already. I’ve had about enough of everyone being so goddamn vague today.” McCoy clicked off the regenerator. “And don’t think about going anywhere-you need to sit still for another half-hour until the muscles fully heal.”
Chekov and Sulu looked at each other for a moment, like they were debating something.
“Well, I guess Uhura told you that Kirk has been interested in you for a while-” Sulu said.
“Forever,” Chekov said.
“-and that he has been trying to figure out how you feel recently-”
“And if you want to be intimate with him.”
Sulu blushed. “-but you haven’t been very, ah, receptive to his advances.”
“Intimate?” McCoy said, voice cracking a bit on the last syllable.
“Like, do you want to make love to him? Sleep with him? Fuck him?” Chekov asked.
“Pavel!” Now it was Sulu’s turn to elbow him in the ribs. “That’s private.”
“But I want to know. And it’s not like Kirk is going to ask him, no matter what advice he gave me about you.”
“Wait, wait,” McCoy said, holding up his hands. Something he’d tuned out earlier that day, during his conversation with Kirk, clicked into place inside his mind. “Are you two dating?”
Chekov laughed. “I can see why the captain likes you, Doctor. You’re cute when you’re confused.”
Sulu’s smile turned into a glare almost instantly. “Yes, we are dating. And the legal age of consent in space is sixteen, in case you were wondering.”
McCoy, whose mouth had been open to protest that very thing, shut it with an audible snap. “Does Kirk gossip with the whole ship, or what?”
“No,” Sulu said. “He doesn’t gossip at all-not about you, anyway. But it’s pretty obvious how he feels.”
“But how do you feel about him?” Chekov asked.
McCoy realized he couldn’t answer him, and he mumbled something about staying put before beating a hasty retreat without answering his question.
---
McCoy decided not to go to the Christmas party after his shift ended. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing not only Uhura and Spock, but now Chekov and Sulu, as well. His mind was practically reeling, and crying out for a shot of whiskey, but something inside him said getting drunk was not the best decision right now. He felt like he’d been dropped into an alternate reality-well, another alternate reality where everyone was gay and he just hadn’t caught on yet.
What all had he missed out on, then? Being CMO of a ship like the Enterprise was tough work, but McCoy always considered himself a particularly perceptive individual. He and Kirk had been spending a lot more time drinking (well, drunk) than usual, but they drank a lot while they were at the Academy, too. And nothing had happened.
If Uhura was somehow right, for the sake of argument, then how did McCoy feel about Kirk? McCoy struggled to remember some of their more wild nights, where he’d gotten between Kirk and much bigger, scarier individuals to drag his friend away before he wound up with brain damage after being some thug’s punching bag for too long.
Even if those nights usually ended badly, they started off well enough. A few rounds of shots, some rousing conversation (at least on Kirk’s end) about the bar’s more sexy patrons, maybe a few rounds of pool while drinking a few more shots. Nothing strange there.
Except, McCoy thought as he turned on the shower and stepped in, there was that time he-well, he kissed you.
But those were just drunken PDA, really. A confused thank you for saving him from yet another bar brawl with his head still attached.
McCoy was sure Uhura would say that the drinking meant Kirk wasn’t brave enough to tell him on his own-Kirk needed a little liquid courage for anything remotely emotional to surface. Uhura would say that the fights were just a way to get to the patching up afterward; quiet moments back in the dorm, stuck in each other’s personal space as McCoy fixed whatever injuries needed fixing. And, if Kirk sometimes fell asleep on his bed next to him, well, they were both just worn out, weren’t they? Uhura would probably say something about cuddling and needing physical affection. Which was just completely off-base.
And, if this line of ridiculous questioning were really to be pursued to its fullest extent, then all the time he spent getting ready before they went out to the bars for the night wasn’t really for the potential ladies he could meet, it was for the one man he was going to see.
McCoy got out of the shower and toweled himself off, then reached for his uniform. “Computer, what time is it?”
“The time is 1745 hundred hours,” the computer replied.
McCoy froze, staring into the mirror, stopping right in the middle of adjusting the sleeves of his uniform. While systematically believing that nothing could happen between him and Kirk, he’d been getting ready. And not for a casual round of drinks. For a date.
Good God, McCoy thought. I’m in love with Jim Kirk and I didn’t even know it.
Still reeling from his latest revelation, McCoy struggled to seem normal as he walked to Kirk’s quarters. The party was just ending, apparently, because he passed many revelers in various states of inebriation.
When he finally stood before Kirk’s door, he reached out to knock, then drew his hand back. Reached out, then drew back again.
McCoy shook his head vigorously. There was just too much he’d learned in the space of one day-what he needed was some time to think things over, reach some sort of clarity about the situation before he rushed headlong into whatever it was Kirk had planned for him.
He turned to leave Kirk’s door, when he noticed Uhura, Spock, Sulu and Chekov standing in a small group at the end of the hallway. Each of them was covered in bits of glittery confetti, while a thin piece of streamer hung from one of Spock’s ears. McCoy would have laughed out loud at the sight, except for the fact that their suddenly unified stares scared all the laughter right out of him.
With a sharp about-face, McCoy turned back to the door and knocked. His back burned with the weight of their stares until the doors slid open, and McCoy nearly leaped inside. The room was dark, but he could see a shadowy figure silhouetted before him.
“Lights,” Kirk said.
He stood in the center of the room, arms bare as his hands poised on his hips, balancing on high-heeled boots of black leather. His tiny outfit, two pieces of red leather edged in something white and fluffy, left an expanse of skin tantalizingly exposed, his hard abdomen almost gleaming in the sudden light. His blue eyes were edged with black on the edges, and a blonde wig ended just at the line of his jaw. To top off the ensemble, he had a Santa hat sitting on his head to one side, a tiny bell tinkling softly as his head turned.
McCoy gaped at him, paralyzed by what he was seeing. Kirk. In a woman’s Christmas costume. Grinning like he knew exactly what McCoy was thinking. But he couldn’t know what McCoy was thinking, because he certainly wouldn’t guess that his friend wasn’t just shocked, he was extremely turned on.
“I win,” Kirk said.
McCoy opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. All the sudden, the room started to spin, as if the sight of Kirk dressed like that somehow unhooked the last mooring he had to earth, sending him spiraling off into space.
His eyes fluttered closed and everything went black.
When McCoy’s eyes opened, he was lying down, with Kirk’s face hovering over him and his hands on McCoy’s shoulders.
“Did I just faint?” McCoy asked.
Kirk smiled. “Uh, yeah. I think you did. Very Scarlett O’Hara, I might add. But I think that might have been my job, seeing as I’m the one in the skirt.”
McCoy groaned, staring anew at Kirk’s Christmas costume. From where he was sitting on the couch, McCoy got a superb view of Kirk’s long, toned legs, amply exposed by that scrap of leather he called a skirt.
“Look, I-I’m sorry if this didn’t turn out right. I guess this wasn’t the best way to tell you how I feel,” Kirk said, pulling the Santa hat off his head with a sharp jingle of its bell and tossing it aside. “But, damn it, how else was I supposed to get you to notice me?”
McCoy, overwhelmed by the lack of logic Kirk displayed by somehow thinking dressing up like a woman was the best way to ask another man out on a date, sat up suddenly, bringing himself face to face with Kirk.
“You idiot,” he said. “This is how you get a man’s attention.”
McCoy slid a hand around Kirk’s neck and kissed him. Kirk’s gasp was, in McCoy’s mind, totally worth the new confusion his body and mind were suddenly engaged in. His mind wanted nothing more than to put on the breaks, to stop and think things through, because this was his best friend, perhaps his only friend and if he was wrong about all this then-
Kirk reached for McCoy’s free hand and placed it on his hip, right above the skirt. Kirk reached out and drew him closer, deepening the kiss as their bodies touched.
That was when McCoy’s mind promptly shut up.
His hand slid greedily across Kirk’s skin, taking in every inch. Kirk moaned loudly, hands sneaking up underneath McCoy’s uniform. Without warning, Kirk pulled away from the kiss, tugging McCoy’s uniform up over his head roughly, then throwing the shirt over his shoulder.
McCoy stared at Kirk, whose cheeks were flushed and his wig askew. Pieces of white fuzz had come off between them, sticking to the couch and McCoy’s pants. “You look ridiculous,” he said.
“And sexy.” Kirk grinned.
“And sexy,” McCoy growled, yanking Kirk’s wig from his head and tossing it over his own shoulder.
“Hey, I was going to save that, you know.” Kirk ran a hand through his now-exposed hair.
The red leather top must have been fairly cheap-it ripped with little resistance as McCoy tore it in two. Kirk laughed, still trying to kiss McCoy even as he threw the shirt to the floor.
“If I had known it was gonna be this easy, I would have done this a long time ago,” Kirk said between the lazy kisses he planted along McCoy’s neck.
McCoy didn’t reply, just reached between them to stroke Kirk’s growing erection through his skirt. He groaned loudly, abandoning McCoy’s neck for his mouth. They fell back onto the couch, Kirk sprawled over McCoy, whose hands gripped Kirk’s back tightly. A bit of maneuvering and suddenly their dicks touched-McCoy arched upward as Kirk ground down, delicious friction sending sparks up and down McCoy’s nerves.
But it wasn’t enough. McCoy’s hands cupped Kirk’s ass, then he hooked his thumbs underneath the skirt and tugged it down. The fabric ripped clean in two, this time, and Kirk sat up so McCoy could remove the offensive article of clothing.
He gaped at the sight of Kirk, his dick straining against his belly as his hands unzipped McCoy’s pants. McCoy lifted his hips as Kirk struggled to get both pants and boxers off at the same time.
“Wait, my shoes,” McCoy said, sitting up, feeling extremely hazy.
Kirk groaned, in annoyance this time, as he tugged off McCoy’s boots and the rest of his clothes while simultaneously fending off McCoy’s roving hands.
Finally, Kirk turned back to McCoy, who dragged them both back down onto the couch, hands and mouth insistent.
“But what about my shoes?” Kirk asked.
McCoy stared at the boots for a moment. “Leave them on.”
McCoy still wasn’t sure how he’d come to this, but coming all over Kirk’s hand as he stroked him from behind, feeling each thrust as Kirk fucked him, was the best outcome he could have imagined. After migrating from the couch to the bed, Kirk was now resting peacefully in McCoy’s arms. McCoy sent a silent thank you to Uhura, Sulu, Chekov and, yes, even Spock. Because with Jim Kirk, one never really knew where things ended or began. And if this moment could stay forever, McCoy would be more than grateful.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Kirk/McCoy, hinted Sulu/Chekov
Summary: Written for kilala10 and happy_trekmas.
McCoy wasn't sure how he'd come to this. When he woke up this morning, he sure as hell didn't think he'd wind up in the captain's bed by night's end. With one arm curled around Jim, who was surprisingly cuddly and wonderfully naked, he stared up at the ceiling and pondered his incredibly strange day. It all started with a bet. Well, maybe it started with a conversation. With Jim Kirk, one never really knew where things ended or began. They just appeared, out of nowhere, once he was stuck in the middle with no way to escape it.
---
It started in medical. Yes, that was it. About an hour into alpha shift, but Kirk was still in medical completing his monthly exam because he'd decided to show up a half-hour late. He'd come in under extreme duress, having been accosted by Spock on his way to the bridge, literally dragging his heels every step of the way.
Nurse Chapel just smiled as Kirk pulled himself out of his black mood long enough to flirt with her, asking whether or not she was going to attend the Christmas party Scotty was throwing that evening. McCoy rolled his eyes as he set up a bio-monitor for the examination.
While McCoy worked, taking down notes and observations on his padd, Kirk kept up a playful steam of banter which needed no extra participation.
"So, I told Chekov to just try talking to him, you know? I mean, he's an engineer, too. Kind of. I'm sure he gets off quantum theory and warp drive mechanics just as much as he does, right? I told him pilots are really freaky, right up there with Orions and librarians."
McCoy snorted a bit under his breath as he tapped the bio-monitor's screen. This one had been on the fritz lately and Scotty had been due to send someone to fix it for days.
"What?” Kirk asked, an innocent smile on his face. "Does that shock you?"
"Kid, you couldn't do anything to shock me anymore." McCoy fiddled with the bio-monitor, which currently said that either Kirk had somehow transformed into a Vulcan overnight, or he was dead. "I just wish you would set a better example for that kid. At least wait until he's legal before you indoctrinate him in your debauchery."
Kirk's eyes narrowed. "I doubt that."
McCoy laughed. He'd seen and discovered at least six new types of alien STIs in his tenure as Kirk's physician, treated injuries he'd barely even read about in medical school, learned about the mating habits of nearly every known alien race in the Federation. No, Kirk's penchant for trouble would never, ever surprise him.
"What's so funny?" Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, looking like a ten-year-old boy.
"Do you take it as a personal challenge to keep me on my toes, or what?"
The bio-monitor started beeping wildly and three nurses ran out to see what the problem was. McCoy waved them off before delivering a swift smack to the side of the machine, which promptly stopped beeping, but maintained an ominous humming sound which didn't bode well.
"I'm a doctor, not a goddamn mechanic," he muttered.
"Wanna bet?"
"What?"
"Do. You. Want. To. Bet?"
McCoy sighed, turning to stare at his friend. "Bet what?"
"That I can't shock you anymore."
Kirk leaned forward on the biobed, staring down at his hands. McCoy couldn't get a good look at his face. He looked like a damned pouting teenager. Something flared underneath McCoy's skin.
"What the hell? I bet you can't shock me."
Kirk looked up, a strange, lopsided grin on his face. "And what do I get if I win?"
The monitor started humming louder. McCoy eyed it warily and wondered, yet again, why the hell engineers were so damn slow when it came to repairs outside of their precious engine room.
"I dunno." McCoy said, searching behind the machine for the off-switch, if there was one.
"You know what? We'll figure that out after I win."
"You can't have a bet if you don't know what you're gonna win, Jim. Jim?" McCoy turned back to the biobed. It was empty. He sighed.
Maybe he'll find someone else to annoy now, he thought. The machine behind him suddenly sparked loudly, making McCoy jump at least a foot in the air, to the amazement of his staff.
"Someone get me a goddamn engineer!"
---
McCoy wasn't one to do things half-way. As a doctor, he prided himself on his ability to stay focused and calm under extreme pressure, while still doing his job better than anyone in Star Fleet. He may have inherited his post as CMO of the Enterprise through tragedy, but he would keep it through hard work and ingenuity.
Maybe that's why, despite their complete lack of commonality, their friendship was so strong. Jim Kirk never half-assed anything either, instead taking things too far in the opposite direction. McCoy could respect taking risks, even if he didn’t much like them, himself.
But that couldn’t completely explain why his shoulder’s tightened when he read Kirk’s note, which he found on his desk right before his lunch break.
Bones, meet me in my quarters at 1800 hours tonight, after the Christmas party. Don't be late.
-Jim
That apprehensive, anxious feeling hadn’t dissipated by the time he sat down to lunch. He scanned the room, hoping to see Kirk, but he must have decided to skip lunch again. He sighed.
"You should be careful, you know," Uhura said, sitting down in the chair across from McCoy. Spock sat next to her.
McCoy was pleased to note they both were eating some sort of vegetarian Vulcan lunch with lots of fruit. "Careful about what?"
Uhura rolled her eyes and turned to Spock who, despite his stoic appearance, managed to look decidedly uncomfortable.
"Nyota has asked me to discuss the matter of this bet with you-”
Uhura jumped into the conversation, apparently unable to contain herself. "I know he's your best friend, but I think this game you've been playing with him needs to end."
McCoy recoiled at the stern look in Uhura's eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, unless you mean the fact that he's now trouncing me in chess because your pointy-eared boyfriend keeps teaching him new ways to beat me."
Spock's eyebrows raised, but Uhura looked so appalled she was unable to speak. "I believe the game to which Nyota refers concerns the affections of our captain, Doctor."
"His...affections? Now just what the hell are you driving at?"
Spock opened his mouth to reply, but once again Uhura spoke faster. "You mean you really don't see it? The entire crew knows Kirk's been trying to get you to go out with him for months now."
"Are you serious? This isn't some kind of sick joke?" McCoy turned to Spock for confirmation.
"It has come to my attention that Kirk has been…infatuated with you for quite some time," Spock said, staring at his lunch like the key to all Vulcan mysteries was hidden inside his grapefruit.
Uhura waited for Spock to continue and, after the silence lengthened between them, she spoke.
"If you're not interested, just tell him. Don't string him along."
McCoy gaped at her. “Look, I-I didn’t even know all this was going on.”
Uhura glared at him. “Right. And all those nights you spend drinking together are completely platonic.”
McCoy looked to Spock for help, but the Vulcan was still staring into his lunch. He shook his head slowly back and forth. “But that doesn’t make any sense. They are platonic. They are.”
“Don’t you get it? The constant flirting, injuries, and drunken fights-he does all that stuff because he wants your attention.” Uhura stood sharply, picking up her tray with unnecessary force. “Just figure this out before Kirk does something really crazy, okay?”
She stalked off toward another table. Spock‘s shoulders slumped minutely as he rose to follow Uhura. He looked at McCoy, but just nodded in his direction before leaving.
---
McCoy spent the rest of his shift in a haze, unable to get his mind off Kirk. After the third time he’d tried to use a hypo to check a patient’s throat, Nurse Chapel sent him to his office, as he had yet to permanently maim his paperwork.
A couple hours of filling in tedious information brought little equilibrium to his mind. Was Uhura right? Was there something he’d missed? It had been a bit of a strange month, if McCoy really thought about it. Kirk had been spending lots of time with him, but they were friends. And, although Uhura was an absolute genius, she did spend all day attached to the Enterprise’s rumor mill. Who knew what she might have heard? It was probably just a gross overestimation. Hell, he was just happy that Uhura was finally getting along with Kirk, at least enough to be concerned for him. Much better than wanting to punch him in the gut every time he entered a room or opened his mouth.
McCoy checked the clock on his padd-alpha shift was almost over. He figured things would be quieter, so he wandered out of his office, keeping an eye out for Chapel. His stubborn head nurse was nowhere in sight.
The doors to medical slid open, Sulu holding up a limping Chekov, both still wearing their fencing uniforms.
McCoy groaned. “What did you two manage to do this time?” He rushed to Chekov’s side, helping him onto an empty bed.
Sulu, at least, had the decency to look down at his feet, but Chekov smiled widely. “Practicing, again. I rolled my ankle during some new footwork. It’s complicated.”
McCoy pulled off Chekov’s shoe delicately and examined his ankle.
“He’s a bit too enthusiastic, sometimes,” Sulu said, hovering near Chekov.
“I can see that.” McCoy rolled Chekov’s ankle gently. “Does this hurt?”
Chekov winced and Sulu grabbed his hand.
McCoy set Chekov’s ankle down and reached for a muscle regenerator. “Nothing’s broken, but you have some torn ligaments. You’ll need to sit tight for a while until everything heals.”
“Will I still be able to go to the Christmas party?” Chekov asked, a frown overtaking his features.
“I don’t see why not.”
Chekov nodded, then turned and muttered something into Sulu’s ear. The helmsman blushed and looked down at his feet again.
“Okay, what is it?” McCoy said, still running the regenerator over the skin on Chekov’s ankle.
“What?” Sulu said, his voice an octave too high above normal.
McCoy looked at Chekov, who was grinning widely. “Spit it out, kid, or I’m going to let these heal the normal way.”
McCoy’s threat didn’t even faze him. “We heard that you talked with Uhura and Spock today.”
“And what does that have to do with anything? I talk to them all the time.”
Chekov muttered something to Sulu, then elbowed him in the ribs.
Sulu grunted. “Okay, okay-we heard about the bet.”
McCoy dropped the regenerator, which struck the floor with a clatter. He reached for it swiftly, then stood back up. Sulu looked shocked, but Chekov seemed fit to burst with the laughter he struggled to keep in.
“What’s so funny about that? Kirk just likes to annoy me. We’re friends.” McCoy turned the regenerator back on and continued drawing it over Chekov’s ankle.
Now even Sulu seemed amused. “Yeah, friends.”
McCoy realized that Sulu had not yet released Chekov’s hand. Sulu, following his gaze, just smiled.
“I guess you are as oblivious as Uhura says you are. I didn’t believe it.”
“If you two have something to say, just come out and say it already. I’ve had about enough of everyone being so goddamn vague today.” McCoy clicked off the regenerator. “And don’t think about going anywhere-you need to sit still for another half-hour until the muscles fully heal.”
Chekov and Sulu looked at each other for a moment, like they were debating something.
“Well, I guess Uhura told you that Kirk has been interested in you for a while-” Sulu said.
“Forever,” Chekov said.
“-and that he has been trying to figure out how you feel recently-”
“And if you want to be intimate with him.”
Sulu blushed. “-but you haven’t been very, ah, receptive to his advances.”
“Intimate?” McCoy said, voice cracking a bit on the last syllable.
“Like, do you want to make love to him? Sleep with him? Fuck him?” Chekov asked.
“Pavel!” Now it was Sulu’s turn to elbow him in the ribs. “That’s private.”
“But I want to know. And it’s not like Kirk is going to ask him, no matter what advice he gave me about you.”
“Wait, wait,” McCoy said, holding up his hands. Something he’d tuned out earlier that day, during his conversation with Kirk, clicked into place inside his mind. “Are you two dating?”
Chekov laughed. “I can see why the captain likes you, Doctor. You’re cute when you’re confused.”
Sulu’s smile turned into a glare almost instantly. “Yes, we are dating. And the legal age of consent in space is sixteen, in case you were wondering.”
McCoy, whose mouth had been open to protest that very thing, shut it with an audible snap. “Does Kirk gossip with the whole ship, or what?”
“No,” Sulu said. “He doesn’t gossip at all-not about you, anyway. But it’s pretty obvious how he feels.”
“But how do you feel about him?” Chekov asked.
McCoy realized he couldn’t answer him, and he mumbled something about staying put before beating a hasty retreat without answering his question.
---
McCoy decided not to go to the Christmas party after his shift ended. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing not only Uhura and Spock, but now Chekov and Sulu, as well. His mind was practically reeling, and crying out for a shot of whiskey, but something inside him said getting drunk was not the best decision right now. He felt like he’d been dropped into an alternate reality-well, another alternate reality where everyone was gay and he just hadn’t caught on yet.
What all had he missed out on, then? Being CMO of a ship like the Enterprise was tough work, but McCoy always considered himself a particularly perceptive individual. He and Kirk had been spending a lot more time drinking (well, drunk) than usual, but they drank a lot while they were at the Academy, too. And nothing had happened.
If Uhura was somehow right, for the sake of argument, then how did McCoy feel about Kirk? McCoy struggled to remember some of their more wild nights, where he’d gotten between Kirk and much bigger, scarier individuals to drag his friend away before he wound up with brain damage after being some thug’s punching bag for too long.
Even if those nights usually ended badly, they started off well enough. A few rounds of shots, some rousing conversation (at least on Kirk’s end) about the bar’s more sexy patrons, maybe a few rounds of pool while drinking a few more shots. Nothing strange there.
Except, McCoy thought as he turned on the shower and stepped in, there was that time he-well, he kissed you.
But those were just drunken PDA, really. A confused thank you for saving him from yet another bar brawl with his head still attached.
McCoy was sure Uhura would say that the drinking meant Kirk wasn’t brave enough to tell him on his own-Kirk needed a little liquid courage for anything remotely emotional to surface. Uhura would say that the fights were just a way to get to the patching up afterward; quiet moments back in the dorm, stuck in each other’s personal space as McCoy fixed whatever injuries needed fixing. And, if Kirk sometimes fell asleep on his bed next to him, well, they were both just worn out, weren’t they? Uhura would probably say something about cuddling and needing physical affection. Which was just completely off-base.
And, if this line of ridiculous questioning were really to be pursued to its fullest extent, then all the time he spent getting ready before they went out to the bars for the night wasn’t really for the potential ladies he could meet, it was for the one man he was going to see.
McCoy got out of the shower and toweled himself off, then reached for his uniform. “Computer, what time is it?”
“The time is 1745 hundred hours,” the computer replied.
McCoy froze, staring into the mirror, stopping right in the middle of adjusting the sleeves of his uniform. While systematically believing that nothing could happen between him and Kirk, he’d been getting ready. And not for a casual round of drinks. For a date.
Good God, McCoy thought. I’m in love with Jim Kirk and I didn’t even know it.
Still reeling from his latest revelation, McCoy struggled to seem normal as he walked to Kirk’s quarters. The party was just ending, apparently, because he passed many revelers in various states of inebriation.
When he finally stood before Kirk’s door, he reached out to knock, then drew his hand back. Reached out, then drew back again.
McCoy shook his head vigorously. There was just too much he’d learned in the space of one day-what he needed was some time to think things over, reach some sort of clarity about the situation before he rushed headlong into whatever it was Kirk had planned for him.
He turned to leave Kirk’s door, when he noticed Uhura, Spock, Sulu and Chekov standing in a small group at the end of the hallway. Each of them was covered in bits of glittery confetti, while a thin piece of streamer hung from one of Spock’s ears. McCoy would have laughed out loud at the sight, except for the fact that their suddenly unified stares scared all the laughter right out of him.
With a sharp about-face, McCoy turned back to the door and knocked. His back burned with the weight of their stares until the doors slid open, and McCoy nearly leaped inside. The room was dark, but he could see a shadowy figure silhouetted before him.
“Lights,” Kirk said.
He stood in the center of the room, arms bare as his hands poised on his hips, balancing on high-heeled boots of black leather. His tiny outfit, two pieces of red leather edged in something white and fluffy, left an expanse of skin tantalizingly exposed, his hard abdomen almost gleaming in the sudden light. His blue eyes were edged with black on the edges, and a blonde wig ended just at the line of his jaw. To top off the ensemble, he had a Santa hat sitting on his head to one side, a tiny bell tinkling softly as his head turned.
McCoy gaped at him, paralyzed by what he was seeing. Kirk. In a woman’s Christmas costume. Grinning like he knew exactly what McCoy was thinking. But he couldn’t know what McCoy was thinking, because he certainly wouldn’t guess that his friend wasn’t just shocked, he was extremely turned on.
“I win,” Kirk said.
McCoy opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. All the sudden, the room started to spin, as if the sight of Kirk dressed like that somehow unhooked the last mooring he had to earth, sending him spiraling off into space.
His eyes fluttered closed and everything went black.
When McCoy’s eyes opened, he was lying down, with Kirk’s face hovering over him and his hands on McCoy’s shoulders.
“Did I just faint?” McCoy asked.
Kirk smiled. “Uh, yeah. I think you did. Very Scarlett O’Hara, I might add. But I think that might have been my job, seeing as I’m the one in the skirt.”
McCoy groaned, staring anew at Kirk’s Christmas costume. From where he was sitting on the couch, McCoy got a superb view of Kirk’s long, toned legs, amply exposed by that scrap of leather he called a skirt.
“Look, I-I’m sorry if this didn’t turn out right. I guess this wasn’t the best way to tell you how I feel,” Kirk said, pulling the Santa hat off his head with a sharp jingle of its bell and tossing it aside. “But, damn it, how else was I supposed to get you to notice me?”
McCoy, overwhelmed by the lack of logic Kirk displayed by somehow thinking dressing up like a woman was the best way to ask another man out on a date, sat up suddenly, bringing himself face to face with Kirk.
“You idiot,” he said. “This is how you get a man’s attention.”
McCoy slid a hand around Kirk’s neck and kissed him. Kirk’s gasp was, in McCoy’s mind, totally worth the new confusion his body and mind were suddenly engaged in. His mind wanted nothing more than to put on the breaks, to stop and think things through, because this was his best friend, perhaps his only friend and if he was wrong about all this then-
Kirk reached for McCoy’s free hand and placed it on his hip, right above the skirt. Kirk reached out and drew him closer, deepening the kiss as their bodies touched.
That was when McCoy’s mind promptly shut up.
His hand slid greedily across Kirk’s skin, taking in every inch. Kirk moaned loudly, hands sneaking up underneath McCoy’s uniform. Without warning, Kirk pulled away from the kiss, tugging McCoy’s uniform up over his head roughly, then throwing the shirt over his shoulder.
McCoy stared at Kirk, whose cheeks were flushed and his wig askew. Pieces of white fuzz had come off between them, sticking to the couch and McCoy’s pants. “You look ridiculous,” he said.
“And sexy.” Kirk grinned.
“And sexy,” McCoy growled, yanking Kirk’s wig from his head and tossing it over his own shoulder.
“Hey, I was going to save that, you know.” Kirk ran a hand through his now-exposed hair.
The red leather top must have been fairly cheap-it ripped with little resistance as McCoy tore it in two. Kirk laughed, still trying to kiss McCoy even as he threw the shirt to the floor.
“If I had known it was gonna be this easy, I would have done this a long time ago,” Kirk said between the lazy kisses he planted along McCoy’s neck.
McCoy didn’t reply, just reached between them to stroke Kirk’s growing erection through his skirt. He groaned loudly, abandoning McCoy’s neck for his mouth. They fell back onto the couch, Kirk sprawled over McCoy, whose hands gripped Kirk’s back tightly. A bit of maneuvering and suddenly their dicks touched-McCoy arched upward as Kirk ground down, delicious friction sending sparks up and down McCoy’s nerves.
But it wasn’t enough. McCoy’s hands cupped Kirk’s ass, then he hooked his thumbs underneath the skirt and tugged it down. The fabric ripped clean in two, this time, and Kirk sat up so McCoy could remove the offensive article of clothing.
He gaped at the sight of Kirk, his dick straining against his belly as his hands unzipped McCoy’s pants. McCoy lifted his hips as Kirk struggled to get both pants and boxers off at the same time.
“Wait, my shoes,” McCoy said, sitting up, feeling extremely hazy.
Kirk groaned, in annoyance this time, as he tugged off McCoy’s boots and the rest of his clothes while simultaneously fending off McCoy’s roving hands.
Finally, Kirk turned back to McCoy, who dragged them both back down onto the couch, hands and mouth insistent.
“But what about my shoes?” Kirk asked.
McCoy stared at the boots for a moment. “Leave them on.”
McCoy still wasn’t sure how he’d come to this, but coming all over Kirk’s hand as he stroked him from behind, feeling each thrust as Kirk fucked him, was the best outcome he could have imagined. After migrating from the couch to the bed, Kirk was now resting peacefully in McCoy’s arms. McCoy sent a silent thank you to Uhura, Sulu, Chekov and, yes, even Spock. Because with Jim Kirk, one never really knew where things ended or began. And if this moment could stay forever, McCoy would be more than grateful.