FIC: The Ringmaster, 2/4
Title: The Ringmaster 2/3
Author: sangueuk
Rating: nc-17 overall
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Wordcount: this part 3,800 words
Summary: AU set sometime in the 19C before medical hygiene and dermal regenerators, McCoy, the circus hobo clown is summoned by Ringmaster, Kirk, who needs some medical attention. It’s essential to read PART ONE first.
Warnings: Some circus slang but, have no fear, there are no scary clowns, only Bones.
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley.
Author’s notes: Thanks to the wonderful abigail89 for beta reading.
Intriguing snippet: After the last performance of the run, Kirk waited outside the tent, thinking about what he should do. No one could see him in the shadows. Just fifty steps to McCoy’s trailer. That’s all it would take.
Awesome banner by the gorgeous avictoriangirl
The Ringmaster - part 2
Forty-five minutes after McCoy left his trailer, Kirk strode through the backyard of the main arena. Wooden slop shoes lay in a heap to one side, while the tumblers waited to break into the ring. A few nodded, some smiled and one or two looked at their feet when Kirk swaggered past.
He hovered on the edge of the hippodrome, waiting for the drum rolls, his heart beating faster; he knew McCoy would be performing his walk-around act somewhere in the seats, and he took a moment to scan them before stepping into the floodlights.
“Ladies and gen-tle-men!” he began, hat in one hand, cane in the other, automatic pilot, leaving him free to search the silhouetted figures and look for movement. Despite the blinding lights, earsplitting music from the small orchestra and the stench of horse-shit and sweat, popcorn and greasepaint, his senses cut through it all. But he didn’t see McCoy and he was annoyed that he’d even noticed the doctor’s absence.
After the show, Kirk was uncharacteristically in need of space. He returned to his trailer and drank brandy while staring at his candle flickering and huffing on the table. His thigh, where Missy had gouged and McCoy had tended it, felt tight and sore. His cock burned and it was as if the lioness had scored there, from tip to base, as if McCoy had spilled whiskey directly onto his hard dick, soothing and smarting all at once. Jerking off left him feeling angry, dissatisfied.
He took an age to get to sleep, his legs kicking all night, his skin felt like he’d been dragged across gravel by one of the mares.
His body boneless, his limbs like those of a corpse, Kirk watched from his bed as his mind dodged and parried, weighed and measured and, he liked none of the conclusions it came to.
+++
Kirk hadn’t cast eyes on McCoy for fourteen long hours. He’d given up trying to sleep, jerked off again, stared at the ceiling, tried to read, felt nothing but exhausted yet shot through with a flame of something he couldn’t douse.
Finally, the smell of bacon from the cook shack lifted him from the bed. This wasn’t like him, he thought, as he splashed ice cold water onto his face. The best thing was to scratch this itch so he could get on with his previously uncomplicated and fulfilling life.
He looked about his trailer, at the spot where McCoy had knelt to stitch him up, at the chair he’d sat in while the thread tugged at Kirk’s skin and his cock throbbed and ached under his shirt-tail, so close…fuck it- there was something intensely annoying about the doctor: a combination of petulance and compassion that confused the fuck out of him.
Kirk couldn’t shove the image of McCoy’s face from his mind, that moment just after Kirk had kissed him; those furious eyes yet soft, plum-colored lips. Everything about McCoy, as if he were offering and daring at the same time. And, Kirk couldn’t believe it - there was another unasked for twinge in his groin. This was the first time in Kirk’s twenty-six years that he’d found his virility so damned annoying.
The cry of, “Flag’s up!” followed by the bang of the gong, reminded him how hungry he was.
He caught himself scanning the lot again and put his irritation down to lack of sleep. And food - he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the previous day.
Kirk headed for the cook shack, still dressed in his buckskin pants, boots and white shirt from the night before, suspenders hanging over his hips, hair fastened behind. It was another Indian summer and he welcomed the sun on his pale skin; it might make him look less of a kid. He’d shave after breakfast, once Rand hauled her ass out of bed and heated up some water for him. In fact, he might take a bath - it had been over a week.
“Morning, Captain!” Cupcake, the cook, waved his fish slice at him, “What’ll it be? We got pancakes, side of eggs, bacon, biscuits-“
Kirk licked his lips. He took in Cupcake’s belly, straining behind his apron.
“Maybe just eggs.”
“Scrambled?”
“Sure.”
He turned his back on Cupcake while he waited. The tent was empty. Circus folk slept late - shit, he normally did but he needed to get out of his trailer, needed to stop jerking off before he snapped his cock off. And just when he was enjoying a rare moment of not needing to cross his legs, there McCoy was. Fuck.
McCoy loped through the tent flaps, unshaven, still wearing that dumb coat. Didn’t he have any civvies and why the fuck didn’t he lace up his boots? Kirk felt his palms sweat but he wasn’t a poker genius for nothing, so he managed to break his best smile, the kind women in sequined leotards couldn’t resist. Well, Kirk had already worked out that McCoy was a contrary son-of-a-bitch, but he was nevertheless surprised that his smooth as silk smile had the opposite effect intended and sent McCoy one hundred and eighty degrees about, in the opposite direction, right back out of the tent. At least McCoy had the decency to pretend he’d forgotten something, the way he clutched at his pockets, muttering, “Dammit!” before he disappeared. At that moment, Kirk remembered what the big top looked like when they’d removed the king pole and felt about as crumpled.
“There you go!” Cupcake’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. The cook handed him two plates, one laden with pancakes smothered in syrup, another with egg and bacon. Kirk realized he was too lax with his crew, needed to do something about this insubordination. “I’ll bring you coffee,” Cupcake said, seemingly oblivious to Kirk’s muttered complaints.
Kirk nodded his thanks and considered taking his food back to his trailer, when Spock appeared at his elbow.
“May I join you, Jim?”
“Sure.” He looked at the tables, all free but one was out of sight of the tent flaps so, if McCoy’s stomach brought him back, he wouldn’t spot Jim straight away. Irritation flared in his cock again.
Spock brought his cup of warm milk and plate of fruit over and settled gracefully in the fold up-chair opposite Jim.
“Chekov informs me Missy is suffering some discomfort, Jim.”
“That crazy bitch. What’s the problem?” Jim said, as he tucked into the food. Much to his delight, the eggs were amazing, light, creamy and comforting.
“Chekov was unable to ascertain the precise cause but reports Mr. Scott’s suspicion is that it may be her teeth.”
Jim sat back, glugged the last of his coffee and waved to Cupcake for a refill. “Why her teeth?”
“She is shaking her head inordinately. It would seem logical her mouth or ears are causing her pain.”
Kirk surveyed Spock’s impassive face. He really did have a strange manner about him with his non-descript, flat accent and dark, possibly oriental skin; it all added to the mystique of his mind-reading act. No one knew for sure where Spock was from and no one dared ask. It amused Kirk that someone who made his living supposedly plundering people’s true secrets and desires should be so taciturn.
“Makes sense,” Jim said finally. He took a breath, hated that it might be because he was about to suggest, “I’ll go visit McCoy. Guy seems pretty good with animals-“
“May I suggest you remunerate him?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll make sure he gets what’s coming to him.” Kirk tried to suppress a grin but Spock had spotted it.
“Jim?”
Spock touched Kirk’s hand briefly and Kirk shook him off with a smile. Was it a question? There was no hint of curiosity in Spock’s baritone. He leaned back in his chair and Spock raised an eyebrow. To an observer, their communication, honed after many years of friendship and trust, would have been almost invisible, it was so subtle.
Kirk stayed him with a raised hand.
“Fuck off out of my head, Spock.” His grin widened. “Save it for the gallery.”
“I had no intention-“ a slight widening of Spock’s eyes revealed what Jim had come to know as ‘amused Spock’.
“Good.” Two cups of coffee and Kirk was about as shored up as he could be. Looked like the bastard hobo wasn’t coming back for food after all. That was one skittish character if even his stomach wasn’t going to get him out of the open.
“Time to take that mountain to Mohammed,” he told Spock and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“I do not follow-“
“No, you wouldn’t.” Kirk punched Spock on the arm, impressed by how his friend didn’t react to the invasion of his personal space in the slightest. “Oh, and, Spock,” he called over his shoulder, “if you see Rand, tell her to head on over with some hot water, huh? I’m gonna take a bath!”
+++
The first autumn leaves rustled at Kirk’s ankles while he waited for McCoy to open the trailer door. He felt a little exposed; the circus crew either came to him or, if it was business, to the Red Wagon. He clenched and unclenched his fist and tried not to look like he was straining to hear any sounds behind the scuffed door.
Another half a minute, and he decided he wasn’t waiting another second, damn him. And then, of course, McCoy’s stubble-dashed features scowled at Jim through the cracked door.
“What?”
“And good morning to you too, doctor.”
“I’m a clown, not a doctor, dammit.” Jim wasn’t prepared for the effect that standing so close to McCoy would have on him. It was as if a warm wind had licked at his face, made him stand upright, take notice. McCoy’s hair was a little wild, like he’d recently gotten up and run his fingers through it. He was in his shirtsleeves and hadn’t attached the collar so the shirt fell open at his neck, revealing a few hairs curling at the dip above his collar bone.
“And why are you in such a grouchy mood on a fine day like this?”
Kirk indicated the brilliant sky and tepid sun, stepping back from the petulant son-of-a-bitch so as not to crowd him.
“You should see me when it rains.”
Jim barked out a laugh and noted, with an ache in his chest, that McCoy was smiling straight back at him. Plump, purple lips pulled back for a fleeting flash of teeth. Then back to scowl-face. Blink and you’d miss it. But the way his eyes lit up, even for that split second, made Kirk wonder what could make him look like that again.
He suddenly remembered why he was there. Just as his mind decided to throw up a less useful memory of how McCoy had tasted the night before, dark and rich and-
“I need you to take a look at Missy. Spock reckons she’s got something up with her teeth,” he said, clearing his throat.
McCoy raised an eyebrow,”I wasn’t planning on losing any fingers just yet,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“You’ll have to knock her out. ‘sides, Scotty will be there and he’s got her round his little finger,” Kirk grinned, “long as he keeps her belly full.”
McCoy appeared to ponder him for a moment, the way he looked Kirk up and down; Kirk shifted one foot to the other, suddenly feeling a little warm. “So she was hungry the day she took a swipe at you?” McCoy said.
His eyes went wide and…Kirk looked away, gestured to the lions’ tent. “Not exactly-” Kirk looped his thumb into his pants’ pocket and noticed how McCoy’s eyes darted towards the movement then flickered back to Kirk’s face. “She doesn’t like to share.”
“I get that,” McCoy’s voice was gruff, and he looked away. “I’ll fetch my bag. We’ll need a prime cut of meat so I can spike it with chloroform.”
Kirk nodded. He backed away form the door and waited while McCoy picked up what he needed, enjoying and hating the tightening in his groin and the little pulse of heat in his balls when McCoy emerged again, squinting in the sunlight, bag in hand.
Kirk couldn’t make heads or tails of the feeling of pride as they walked alongside each other the short distance to the cat wagons. He’d forgotten how tall McCoy was, how they were shoulder to shoulder. He made a point of increasing the distance between them; yet, seemingly without any exertion on his part, McCoy fell into step with him again.
Dry-mouthed and distracted as hell, Kirk realized he’d have to slip back into command persona. While McCoy couldn’t smell his arousal, he knew that Missy read his moods with ease and they wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near her until she’d reached a semblance of calm.
“Scotty!” Kirk bellowed as they approached the cat wagons, “get your ass out here.”
The heady stench from the cats was overpowering and Kirk noticed how McCoy’s hand went up to his face for a moment. “It’s pretty high in the heat,” he observed. “The slangers get a lot of headaches. And the horse crew.”
McCoy nodded and passed under the canopy which shielded the cats from the sun. Kirk followed, enjoying the opportunity to look at the hobo’s dusty coat and long legs without giving himself away.
Missy pressed herself up against the cage as soon as she saw him, dipping her head, rubbing her lips against the bars, fixing Kirk with that look where he wasn’t quite sure whether she wanted to eat him or not. He kind of liked it.
+++
“Cap’n!” It was Scotty. “Aye, and the Doctor. You come tae feed the cat, eh?”
Scotty caught Kirk’s eye and they both laughed, the sound unsettling the cats who set to deep, rumbling growls.
Kirk saw McCoy roll his eyes, “I’m not a doctor, I’m-“
“Yer what we call a ‘forty-miler’,” Scotty said, winking at Kirk. “Isn’t that right, Cap’n?”
“It’s just an old bit of circus slang,” Kirk said, turning away from McCoy and scanning the cages. “Means you’re new to circus life-“
“An’ maybe a bit wet behind yer ears!” Scotty chuckled. He wore a white wife-beater and wool britches and his arms were covered in tattoos.
“Why forty miles?” McCoy said.
“Mebbe you’ve never been further than forty miles from home, lad?”
“I’m older than you, lad, and I’ll have you know.” McCoy trailed off, as if he’d realized he was being teased. Kirk decided he liked that dark scowl a whole lot and he found himself wondering what that handsome face would look like when all the barriers had dropped.
“Get a steak so we can dose her,” Kirk said.
+++
McCoy sat on his steps smoking a cigar, watching as Rand and Chekov filled the tin bath they’d set up outside the Captain’s trailer. He had nothing better to do; it was hours until the last show of the run and he’d packed up most of his stuff already. He could do with a bath himself but then, he didn’t have anyone who’d run around for him like Kirk did. So, like everyone else on the lot, he made do with a washbowl and cloth. The only thing McCoy was looking forward to about tomorrow was a soak at the bathhouse in town, before he caught the coach the next afternoon.
Kirk emerged from the trailer in his underwear and undershirt, squinting in the sun. McCoy wondered at how his eyes seemed to sparkle in the autumn light. There was no reason for him to be wearing his top hat but Kirk had it on nevertheless and this irritated McCoy more than made sense. He watched through a cloud of smoke as Kirk undressed, how he disappeared from sight for a moment while he dipped down behind the chest-high screen to remove his underwear. When he stood up he looked McCoy’s way and held his gaze for a moment, licked his lips and stepped into the bath. Rand had her back to him all the while and McCoy could see her busying herself with the shaving equipment.
McCoy had given up on working out Kirk’s relationship with everyone. He knew the circus was owned by some guy called Pike who’d suffered a fall from the wires and cut his career short. He lived in San Francisco. Then there was Chekov, he thought -- watching, Rand shift to the other side of the bath as she leaned forward -- Chekov was young, did all the organizational work, planned the tour, the logistics, dealt with the crew - only a kid, but had his whole life ahead of him. McCoy looked down at his calloused hands and felt an ache in the pit of his belly. He needed a drink, so he stood up and sauntered over to the screen. Kirk lay back, his head tipped , sun-streaked hair flowing behind him, and his neck exposed, while Rand steered the razor around his Adam’s apple. She caught his eye and McCoy nodded and pulled back. Kirk immediately opened his eyes,
“Bones!” he said, and closed them again.
“I’m gonna check on Missy,” McCoy murmured, eyes fixed on the soapy neck, the dip at his collar-bone. He was sure Kirk always took his baths like this, always had Rand shave him with the cut throat razor, always…the bastard.
“Sure, you do that.”
Somehow, despite being half hard, McCoy managed to walk to the cat tent without a limp. He waited outside until he was calm so as not to wind her up. She’d woken up and was grumbling, no doubt missing her tooth. Scotty seemed happy enough
And he owed it to Kirk to fill him in on her progress, not least because he’d slipped him a few bucks, and he wasn’t going to wait until the guy had finished his bath because it might look like he gave a damn that Kirk was naked and-
“Missy’s doing fine,” he said, peering down at Kirk’s pale knees where they stuck out of the water.
Kirk smirked. McCoy felt a wave of anger prickling at his neck and shoulders. Rand looked at him and smiled.
“She’ll be your friend for life now, McCoy. Seeing as you fixed her,” she said.
“She doesn’t know he fixed her, Janice. She’s still got more teeth than brains,” Kirk grinned. Beautiful blue eyes, glinting like he understood animals, like he understood what everyone was thinking.
“How’s your leg?” McCoy said, “You shouldn’t get it wet.”
“I’ll be fine. I heal quick, always have.” Kirk sneezed suddenly and then grinned at McCoy, rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. “Only time I don’t sneeze is in the winter.”
“Yeah?” McCoy had his hands in his pockets, wondering how he’d hide the fact that the sight of that naked chest, the thought of what was under the water was making him madder by the minute.
Rand left them, taking the shaving kit back to the trailer and emerging with an enormous, white towel. She handed it to McCoy, who rolled his eyes then watched her waltz off towards the cook shack, her long skirt swaying over her boots.
“Fine looking woman,” he felt compelled to say, frowning at Kirk.
“That she is,” he agreed, removing his hat and holding it out for McCoy who took it and watched in horror as Kirk ducked under the water, so his legs slid down the bath, and his shoulder length hair disappeared for a few seconds. The water was full of salt, and was a little cloudy but he could see Kirk’s cock as the bastard wriggled around and washed his hair. He felt his throat constrict and looked away just as Kirk emerged again with a whoosh, spitting out water at him.
“Hey!”
Kirk laughed as McCoy wiped his eyes and cheeks. “Wanna get in? Shame to waste a hot bath.”
“Asshole,” McCoy said, fighting to stem a smile.
Kirk’s pale skin gleamed in the low sun and McCoy watched his biceps flex when his hands went up to his hair to squeeze the water out. He blinked at McCoy and McCoy blinked right back.
“Hand me that towel.”
McCoy didn’t quite like that tone, the way there seemed to be an assumption that people would just do what Kirk asked.
But he handed him the towel and before he had time to move out of range, Kirk stood up with a rush of water falling away from his body. It must have been mild shock, because McCoy just stared as Kirk unfurled the towel, wrapped it round his waist, and stepped out of the bath onto the mat Rand had thrown down for him. The screen would have hidden him from the view of any passers by but from McCoy’s perspective, he saw every magnificent inch or Kirk’s pale, muscled body.
“Thanks,” Kirk said, leaning towards him so his eyes seemed to be the only thing in McCoy’s universe. His breath smelled sweet and milky like the coffee he must have downed at breakfast. A breakfast McCoy had missed.
He watched, frozen to the spot, as Kirk turned and climbed the step to his trailer, leaving wet footprints in his wake, his ass cheeks clearly outlined against the thin fabric of the towel.
+++
After the last performance of the run, Kirk waited outside the tent, thinking about what he should do. No one could see him in the shadows. Just fifty steps to McCoy’s trailer. That’s all it would take. His feet felt heavy. It was all out, all over and they’d begun packing up the seats - the poles and Top would be packed away in the morning. He listened to Chekov giving orders to the crew. Kirk never slept the night before they moved on. He should go search out Spock for a game of cards or chess. And an image flashed in his mind of McCoy in full costume, what he would look like bent over outside the tent, touching his toes while Kirk thrust into him, an image that had been haunting Kirk since the night before, since--
+++
Kirk kicked open the door to McCoy’s trailer. He didn’t appear to be surprised to see him. McCoy sat on a stool in front of the mirror with his back to the door - a flickering candle the only light. He’d loosened his suspenders and un-tucked his shirt. His coat lay on the floor. Kirk could make out his dark eyes in the mirror and his day old stubble. The remnants of white face make-up caught what little light there was as he rubbed a cloth against the shadows under his eyes, that he could only partially remove with cold cream.
“Close the door, it’s cold,” he said simply, his voice dark and rich like bitter chocolate.
on to PART THREE
Feed-back is LOVE!
The masterlist of all my fanfiction is here
Author: sangueuk
Rating: nc-17 overall
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Wordcount: this part 3,800 words
Summary: AU set sometime in the 19C before medical hygiene and dermal regenerators, McCoy, the circus hobo clown is summoned by Ringmaster, Kirk, who needs some medical attention. It’s essential to read PART ONE first.
Warnings: Some circus slang but, have no fear, there are no scary clowns, only Bones.
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley.
Author’s notes: Thanks to the wonderful abigail89 for beta reading.
Intriguing snippet: After the last performance of the run, Kirk waited outside the tent, thinking about what he should do. No one could see him in the shadows. Just fifty steps to McCoy’s trailer. That’s all it would take.
Awesome banner by the gorgeous avictoriangirl
The Ringmaster - part 2
Forty-five minutes after McCoy left his trailer, Kirk strode through the backyard of the main arena. Wooden slop shoes lay in a heap to one side, while the tumblers waited to break into the ring. A few nodded, some smiled and one or two looked at their feet when Kirk swaggered past.
He hovered on the edge of the hippodrome, waiting for the drum rolls, his heart beating faster; he knew McCoy would be performing his walk-around act somewhere in the seats, and he took a moment to scan them before stepping into the floodlights.
“Ladies and gen-tle-men!” he began, hat in one hand, cane in the other, automatic pilot, leaving him free to search the silhouetted figures and look for movement. Despite the blinding lights, earsplitting music from the small orchestra and the stench of horse-shit and sweat, popcorn and greasepaint, his senses cut through it all. But he didn’t see McCoy and he was annoyed that he’d even noticed the doctor’s absence.
After the show, Kirk was uncharacteristically in need of space. He returned to his trailer and drank brandy while staring at his candle flickering and huffing on the table. His thigh, where Missy had gouged and McCoy had tended it, felt tight and sore. His cock burned and it was as if the lioness had scored there, from tip to base, as if McCoy had spilled whiskey directly onto his hard dick, soothing and smarting all at once. Jerking off left him feeling angry, dissatisfied.
He took an age to get to sleep, his legs kicking all night, his skin felt like he’d been dragged across gravel by one of the mares.
His body boneless, his limbs like those of a corpse, Kirk watched from his bed as his mind dodged and parried, weighed and measured and, he liked none of the conclusions it came to.
+++
Kirk hadn’t cast eyes on McCoy for fourteen long hours. He’d given up trying to sleep, jerked off again, stared at the ceiling, tried to read, felt nothing but exhausted yet shot through with a flame of something he couldn’t douse.
Finally, the smell of bacon from the cook shack lifted him from the bed. This wasn’t like him, he thought, as he splashed ice cold water onto his face. The best thing was to scratch this itch so he could get on with his previously uncomplicated and fulfilling life.
He looked about his trailer, at the spot where McCoy had knelt to stitch him up, at the chair he’d sat in while the thread tugged at Kirk’s skin and his cock throbbed and ached under his shirt-tail, so close…fuck it- there was something intensely annoying about the doctor: a combination of petulance and compassion that confused the fuck out of him.
Kirk couldn’t shove the image of McCoy’s face from his mind, that moment just after Kirk had kissed him; those furious eyes yet soft, plum-colored lips. Everything about McCoy, as if he were offering and daring at the same time. And, Kirk couldn’t believe it - there was another unasked for twinge in his groin. This was the first time in Kirk’s twenty-six years that he’d found his virility so damned annoying.
The cry of, “Flag’s up!” followed by the bang of the gong, reminded him how hungry he was.
He caught himself scanning the lot again and put his irritation down to lack of sleep. And food - he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime the previous day.
Kirk headed for the cook shack, still dressed in his buckskin pants, boots and white shirt from the night before, suspenders hanging over his hips, hair fastened behind. It was another Indian summer and he welcomed the sun on his pale skin; it might make him look less of a kid. He’d shave after breakfast, once Rand hauled her ass out of bed and heated up some water for him. In fact, he might take a bath - it had been over a week.
“Morning, Captain!” Cupcake, the cook, waved his fish slice at him, “What’ll it be? We got pancakes, side of eggs, bacon, biscuits-“
Kirk licked his lips. He took in Cupcake’s belly, straining behind his apron.
“Maybe just eggs.”
“Scrambled?”
“Sure.”
He turned his back on Cupcake while he waited. The tent was empty. Circus folk slept late - shit, he normally did but he needed to get out of his trailer, needed to stop jerking off before he snapped his cock off. And just when he was enjoying a rare moment of not needing to cross his legs, there McCoy was. Fuck.
McCoy loped through the tent flaps, unshaven, still wearing that dumb coat. Didn’t he have any civvies and why the fuck didn’t he lace up his boots? Kirk felt his palms sweat but he wasn’t a poker genius for nothing, so he managed to break his best smile, the kind women in sequined leotards couldn’t resist. Well, Kirk had already worked out that McCoy was a contrary son-of-a-bitch, but he was nevertheless surprised that his smooth as silk smile had the opposite effect intended and sent McCoy one hundred and eighty degrees about, in the opposite direction, right back out of the tent. At least McCoy had the decency to pretend he’d forgotten something, the way he clutched at his pockets, muttering, “Dammit!” before he disappeared. At that moment, Kirk remembered what the big top looked like when they’d removed the king pole and felt about as crumpled.
“There you go!” Cupcake’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. The cook handed him two plates, one laden with pancakes smothered in syrup, another with egg and bacon. Kirk realized he was too lax with his crew, needed to do something about this insubordination. “I’ll bring you coffee,” Cupcake said, seemingly oblivious to Kirk’s muttered complaints.
Kirk nodded his thanks and considered taking his food back to his trailer, when Spock appeared at his elbow.
“May I join you, Jim?”
“Sure.” He looked at the tables, all free but one was out of sight of the tent flaps so, if McCoy’s stomach brought him back, he wouldn’t spot Jim straight away. Irritation flared in his cock again.
Spock brought his cup of warm milk and plate of fruit over and settled gracefully in the fold up-chair opposite Jim.
“Chekov informs me Missy is suffering some discomfort, Jim.”
“That crazy bitch. What’s the problem?” Jim said, as he tucked into the food. Much to his delight, the eggs were amazing, light, creamy and comforting.
“Chekov was unable to ascertain the precise cause but reports Mr. Scott’s suspicion is that it may be her teeth.”
Jim sat back, glugged the last of his coffee and waved to Cupcake for a refill. “Why her teeth?”
“She is shaking her head inordinately. It would seem logical her mouth or ears are causing her pain.”
Kirk surveyed Spock’s impassive face. He really did have a strange manner about him with his non-descript, flat accent and dark, possibly oriental skin; it all added to the mystique of his mind-reading act. No one knew for sure where Spock was from and no one dared ask. It amused Kirk that someone who made his living supposedly plundering people’s true secrets and desires should be so taciturn.
“Makes sense,” Jim said finally. He took a breath, hated that it might be because he was about to suggest, “I’ll go visit McCoy. Guy seems pretty good with animals-“
“May I suggest you remunerate him?”
“Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll make sure he gets what’s coming to him.” Kirk tried to suppress a grin but Spock had spotted it.
“Jim?”
Spock touched Kirk’s hand briefly and Kirk shook him off with a smile. Was it a question? There was no hint of curiosity in Spock’s baritone. He leaned back in his chair and Spock raised an eyebrow. To an observer, their communication, honed after many years of friendship and trust, would have been almost invisible, it was so subtle.
Kirk stayed him with a raised hand.
“Fuck off out of my head, Spock.” His grin widened. “Save it for the gallery.”
“I had no intention-“ a slight widening of Spock’s eyes revealed what Jim had come to know as ‘amused Spock’.
“Good.” Two cups of coffee and Kirk was about as shored up as he could be. Looked like the bastard hobo wasn’t coming back for food after all. That was one skittish character if even his stomach wasn’t going to get him out of the open.
“Time to take that mountain to Mohammed,” he told Spock and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
“I do not follow-“
“No, you wouldn’t.” Kirk punched Spock on the arm, impressed by how his friend didn’t react to the invasion of his personal space in the slightest. “Oh, and, Spock,” he called over his shoulder, “if you see Rand, tell her to head on over with some hot water, huh? I’m gonna take a bath!”
+++
The first autumn leaves rustled at Kirk’s ankles while he waited for McCoy to open the trailer door. He felt a little exposed; the circus crew either came to him or, if it was business, to the Red Wagon. He clenched and unclenched his fist and tried not to look like he was straining to hear any sounds behind the scuffed door.
Another half a minute, and he decided he wasn’t waiting another second, damn him. And then, of course, McCoy’s stubble-dashed features scowled at Jim through the cracked door.
“What?”
“And good morning to you too, doctor.”
“I’m a clown, not a doctor, dammit.” Jim wasn’t prepared for the effect that standing so close to McCoy would have on him. It was as if a warm wind had licked at his face, made him stand upright, take notice. McCoy’s hair was a little wild, like he’d recently gotten up and run his fingers through it. He was in his shirtsleeves and hadn’t attached the collar so the shirt fell open at his neck, revealing a few hairs curling at the dip above his collar bone.
“And why are you in such a grouchy mood on a fine day like this?”
Kirk indicated the brilliant sky and tepid sun, stepping back from the petulant son-of-a-bitch so as not to crowd him.
“You should see me when it rains.”
Jim barked out a laugh and noted, with an ache in his chest, that McCoy was smiling straight back at him. Plump, purple lips pulled back for a fleeting flash of teeth. Then back to scowl-face. Blink and you’d miss it. But the way his eyes lit up, even for that split second, made Kirk wonder what could make him look like that again.
He suddenly remembered why he was there. Just as his mind decided to throw up a less useful memory of how McCoy had tasted the night before, dark and rich and-
“I need you to take a look at Missy. Spock reckons she’s got something up with her teeth,” he said, clearing his throat.
McCoy raised an eyebrow,”I wasn’t planning on losing any fingers just yet,” he said, narrowing his eyes.
“You’ll have to knock her out. ‘sides, Scotty will be there and he’s got her round his little finger,” Kirk grinned, “long as he keeps her belly full.”
McCoy appeared to ponder him for a moment, the way he looked Kirk up and down; Kirk shifted one foot to the other, suddenly feeling a little warm. “So she was hungry the day she took a swipe at you?” McCoy said.
His eyes went wide and…Kirk looked away, gestured to the lions’ tent. “Not exactly-” Kirk looped his thumb into his pants’ pocket and noticed how McCoy’s eyes darted towards the movement then flickered back to Kirk’s face. “She doesn’t like to share.”
“I get that,” McCoy’s voice was gruff, and he looked away. “I’ll fetch my bag. We’ll need a prime cut of meat so I can spike it with chloroform.”
Kirk nodded. He backed away form the door and waited while McCoy picked up what he needed, enjoying and hating the tightening in his groin and the little pulse of heat in his balls when McCoy emerged again, squinting in the sunlight, bag in hand.
Kirk couldn’t make heads or tails of the feeling of pride as they walked alongside each other the short distance to the cat wagons. He’d forgotten how tall McCoy was, how they were shoulder to shoulder. He made a point of increasing the distance between them; yet, seemingly without any exertion on his part, McCoy fell into step with him again.
Dry-mouthed and distracted as hell, Kirk realized he’d have to slip back into command persona. While McCoy couldn’t smell his arousal, he knew that Missy read his moods with ease and they wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near her until she’d reached a semblance of calm.
“Scotty!” Kirk bellowed as they approached the cat wagons, “get your ass out here.”
The heady stench from the cats was overpowering and Kirk noticed how McCoy’s hand went up to his face for a moment. “It’s pretty high in the heat,” he observed. “The slangers get a lot of headaches. And the horse crew.”
McCoy nodded and passed under the canopy which shielded the cats from the sun. Kirk followed, enjoying the opportunity to look at the hobo’s dusty coat and long legs without giving himself away.
Missy pressed herself up against the cage as soon as she saw him, dipping her head, rubbing her lips against the bars, fixing Kirk with that look where he wasn’t quite sure whether she wanted to eat him or not. He kind of liked it.
+++
“Cap’n!” It was Scotty. “Aye, and the Doctor. You come tae feed the cat, eh?”
Scotty caught Kirk’s eye and they both laughed, the sound unsettling the cats who set to deep, rumbling growls.
Kirk saw McCoy roll his eyes, “I’m not a doctor, I’m-“
“Yer what we call a ‘forty-miler’,” Scotty said, winking at Kirk. “Isn’t that right, Cap’n?”
“It’s just an old bit of circus slang,” Kirk said, turning away from McCoy and scanning the cages. “Means you’re new to circus life-“
“An’ maybe a bit wet behind yer ears!” Scotty chuckled. He wore a white wife-beater and wool britches and his arms were covered in tattoos.
“Why forty miles?” McCoy said.
“Mebbe you’ve never been further than forty miles from home, lad?”
“I’m older than you, lad, and I’ll have you know.” McCoy trailed off, as if he’d realized he was being teased. Kirk decided he liked that dark scowl a whole lot and he found himself wondering what that handsome face would look like when all the barriers had dropped.
“Get a steak so we can dose her,” Kirk said.
+++
McCoy sat on his steps smoking a cigar, watching as Rand and Chekov filled the tin bath they’d set up outside the Captain’s trailer. He had nothing better to do; it was hours until the last show of the run and he’d packed up most of his stuff already. He could do with a bath himself but then, he didn’t have anyone who’d run around for him like Kirk did. So, like everyone else on the lot, he made do with a washbowl and cloth. The only thing McCoy was looking forward to about tomorrow was a soak at the bathhouse in town, before he caught the coach the next afternoon.
Kirk emerged from the trailer in his underwear and undershirt, squinting in the sun. McCoy wondered at how his eyes seemed to sparkle in the autumn light. There was no reason for him to be wearing his top hat but Kirk had it on nevertheless and this irritated McCoy more than made sense. He watched through a cloud of smoke as Kirk undressed, how he disappeared from sight for a moment while he dipped down behind the chest-high screen to remove his underwear. When he stood up he looked McCoy’s way and held his gaze for a moment, licked his lips and stepped into the bath. Rand had her back to him all the while and McCoy could see her busying herself with the shaving equipment.
McCoy had given up on working out Kirk’s relationship with everyone. He knew the circus was owned by some guy called Pike who’d suffered a fall from the wires and cut his career short. He lived in San Francisco. Then there was Chekov, he thought -- watching, Rand shift to the other side of the bath as she leaned forward -- Chekov was young, did all the organizational work, planned the tour, the logistics, dealt with the crew - only a kid, but had his whole life ahead of him. McCoy looked down at his calloused hands and felt an ache in the pit of his belly. He needed a drink, so he stood up and sauntered over to the screen. Kirk lay back, his head tipped , sun-streaked hair flowing behind him, and his neck exposed, while Rand steered the razor around his Adam’s apple. She caught his eye and McCoy nodded and pulled back. Kirk immediately opened his eyes,
“Bones!” he said, and closed them again.
“I’m gonna check on Missy,” McCoy murmured, eyes fixed on the soapy neck, the dip at his collar-bone. He was sure Kirk always took his baths like this, always had Rand shave him with the cut throat razor, always…the bastard.
“Sure, you do that.”
Somehow, despite being half hard, McCoy managed to walk to the cat tent without a limp. He waited outside until he was calm so as not to wind her up. She’d woken up and was grumbling, no doubt missing her tooth. Scotty seemed happy enough
And he owed it to Kirk to fill him in on her progress, not least because he’d slipped him a few bucks, and he wasn’t going to wait until the guy had finished his bath because it might look like he gave a damn that Kirk was naked and-
“Missy’s doing fine,” he said, peering down at Kirk’s pale knees where they stuck out of the water.
Kirk smirked. McCoy felt a wave of anger prickling at his neck and shoulders. Rand looked at him and smiled.
“She’ll be your friend for life now, McCoy. Seeing as you fixed her,” she said.
“She doesn’t know he fixed her, Janice. She’s still got more teeth than brains,” Kirk grinned. Beautiful blue eyes, glinting like he understood animals, like he understood what everyone was thinking.
“How’s your leg?” McCoy said, “You shouldn’t get it wet.”
“I’ll be fine. I heal quick, always have.” Kirk sneezed suddenly and then grinned at McCoy, rubbing the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. “Only time I don’t sneeze is in the winter.”
“Yeah?” McCoy had his hands in his pockets, wondering how he’d hide the fact that the sight of that naked chest, the thought of what was under the water was making him madder by the minute.
Rand left them, taking the shaving kit back to the trailer and emerging with an enormous, white towel. She handed it to McCoy, who rolled his eyes then watched her waltz off towards the cook shack, her long skirt swaying over her boots.
“Fine looking woman,” he felt compelled to say, frowning at Kirk.
“That she is,” he agreed, removing his hat and holding it out for McCoy who took it and watched in horror as Kirk ducked under the water, so his legs slid down the bath, and his shoulder length hair disappeared for a few seconds. The water was full of salt, and was a little cloudy but he could see Kirk’s cock as the bastard wriggled around and washed his hair. He felt his throat constrict and looked away just as Kirk emerged again with a whoosh, spitting out water at him.
“Hey!”
Kirk laughed as McCoy wiped his eyes and cheeks. “Wanna get in? Shame to waste a hot bath.”
“Asshole,” McCoy said, fighting to stem a smile.
Kirk’s pale skin gleamed in the low sun and McCoy watched his biceps flex when his hands went up to his hair to squeeze the water out. He blinked at McCoy and McCoy blinked right back.
“Hand me that towel.”
McCoy didn’t quite like that tone, the way there seemed to be an assumption that people would just do what Kirk asked.
But he handed him the towel and before he had time to move out of range, Kirk stood up with a rush of water falling away from his body. It must have been mild shock, because McCoy just stared as Kirk unfurled the towel, wrapped it round his waist, and stepped out of the bath onto the mat Rand had thrown down for him. The screen would have hidden him from the view of any passers by but from McCoy’s perspective, he saw every magnificent inch or Kirk’s pale, muscled body.
“Thanks,” Kirk said, leaning towards him so his eyes seemed to be the only thing in McCoy’s universe. His breath smelled sweet and milky like the coffee he must have downed at breakfast. A breakfast McCoy had missed.
He watched, frozen to the spot, as Kirk turned and climbed the step to his trailer, leaving wet footprints in his wake, his ass cheeks clearly outlined against the thin fabric of the towel.
+++
After the last performance of the run, Kirk waited outside the tent, thinking about what he should do. No one could see him in the shadows. Just fifty steps to McCoy’s trailer. That’s all it would take. His feet felt heavy. It was all out, all over and they’d begun packing up the seats - the poles and Top would be packed away in the morning. He listened to Chekov giving orders to the crew. Kirk never slept the night before they moved on. He should go search out Spock for a game of cards or chess. And an image flashed in his mind of McCoy in full costume, what he would look like bent over outside the tent, touching his toes while Kirk thrust into him, an image that had been haunting Kirk since the night before, since--
+++
Kirk kicked open the door to McCoy’s trailer. He didn’t appear to be surprised to see him. McCoy sat on a stool in front of the mirror with his back to the door - a flickering candle the only light. He’d loosened his suspenders and un-tucked his shirt. His coat lay on the floor. Kirk could make out his dark eyes in the mirror and his day old stubble. The remnants of white face make-up caught what little light there was as he rubbed a cloth against the shadows under his eyes, that he could only partially remove with cold cream.
“Close the door, it’s cold,” he said simply, his voice dark and rich like bitter chocolate.
on to PART THREE
Feed-back is LOVE!
The masterlist of all my fanfiction is here