Kirk/McCoy fic: Once There Was a Way To Get Back Home
Okay, how many nightmare-hurt/comfort fics have I written now? That's two for this fandom - hell, for this pairing - and I am fairly certain I have at least one per movie for PotC. What can I say, I have a thing.
Also, using Beatles lyrics for the title makes me happy.
Title: Once There Was a Way To Get Back Home
'It was nobody's business but their own. That was what he told himself on the mornings he woke up in Jim Kirk's bed.' Or, Kirk and McCoy sleep together and then have the sex.
Author: Dala
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: standard applies; title from the Beatles' "Golden Slumbers"
Warning: implied child abuse, death of an OC
Once There Was a Way To Get Back Home
It wasn't weird. It was maybe a little pathetic, and okay, pretty fucking codependant; but that was not the same thing. And besides, it was nobody's business but their own.
That was what he told himself on the mornings he woke up in Jim Kirk's bed.
It had started back in their second semester, right around finals. A nasty strain of flu wormed its way through campus to knock out a couple dozen instructors and sixty cadets before the inoculations got updated. Jim, of course, was allergic to the vaccination. McCoy could only be grateful that at least he'd actually thought to mention this one before he'd gotten a hypospray in the neck.
Jim was the worst kind of patient no matter the circumstances. He was perfectly willing to suffer broken ribs or a black eye in silence (and to the detriment of his overall health), but being sick turned him into a miserable, snuffly, whiny infant. Though McCoy had worked three consecutive shifts that weekend, the sight of Jim curled up around a box of tissues kept him from falling directly onto his bed. Instead he heated up some chicken soup and tea, propped the whole mess on a lap desk, and sat beside Jim to hold his shoulders steady while he ate (grumbling all the while that it was too hot and his throat hurt and what he really wanted was strawberry ice cream). It made for a sort of annoying lullaby, apparently, because next thing McCoy knew he was slumped against the pillows, his legs still dangling awkwardly off the bed.
Jim sighed, dumped the dirty dishes on the floor, and prodded him until he was lying flat. His skin was still too warm through several layers of fabric as he worked himself inside McCoy's jacket. McCoy was just explaining that he was a doctor, not a damned teddy bear, when he fell back asleep. He woke to morning light streaming through the third-story window and Jim sitting against the wall, peering down at him.
McCoy blinked at him long enough to ascertain that his eyes were clear for the first time in four days, then dragged a pillow over his head. "Turn th' goddamn sun off."
"You snore a lot less once you've taken a good knee to the kidneys," Jim informed him.
"My ex-wife could've told you that," said McCoy with a groan, stretching out the kinks in his back.
And that was it, pretty much. He let Jim take the first shower because he'd managed to work up quite the funk, then they went for breakfast (dry toast and orange juice being all Jim was allowed). McCoy figured it beat passing out in the on-call room or on one of the beds at the hospital.
Most of the rest of campus trickled out over the next few weeks, off to visit their families or take on summer internships. The most McCoy had to look forward to was maybe, maybe the promise of being allowed within a hundred yards of Jocelyn's parents' annual Labor Day barbeque, so he elected to remain in the dorm. He was a little surprised when Jim did the same, then analyzed his surprise and realized he had no idea what Jim did or didn't have back in Iowa. Once or twice he had mentioned that his mother had gone back to Starfleet some time after his father's death, but McCoy was unaware of any messages passed between them and didn't even know if her post took her off-planet.
One early July night he was awakened by the muffled sounds of distressed sleep. It was still second nature to roll out of bed before he'd even opened his eyes; for one disorienting moment he expected to see a crib by the window. As he stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his face, Jim kicked his comforter all the way off the bed and said clearly, "Please...."
The fear in his voice shook the last vestiges of fatigue away. McCoy knelt down and reached for his arm. Jim shrank from his touch, still asleep.
"Hey, it's okay." He touched Jim's pinched face with gentle fingers. Jim whimpered and folded his arms against his torso as though protecting himself. McCoy felt a knot start to twist in the pit of his stomach. "Wake up, kiddo. 'S just a dream."
Jim came awake with a shudder. Panting, he stared wildly at McCoy for a few seconds before recognition flashed in his eyes.
"Bones?"
"Just a bad dream," McCoy murmured. He realized his fingers were still curled against Jim's cheek and so he moved to his shoulder, rubbing at the tense muscles. "Want me to get you some water?" Jim shook his head, drawing harsh breaths into his lungs. "Anything else, then?"
"I -" He bit his lip, turned his face in toward the pillow.
McCoy shifted back on his heels. "What is it, Jim?"
"Will you get in bed with me?" His voice was low and he wouldn't look at McCoy. Even in the dark McCoy could see him flushing. "I don't mean - just to -"
Clearing his throat, McCoy pushed himself up and said, "Yeah, sure." Jim gave him an quick, almost furtive smile and held the covers back. He turned away to face the wall, which McCoy found something of a relief. He'd seen too much in Jim's unguarded expression already and he didn't entirely trust what he read there. Settling back with an arm behind his head, he could feel Jim gradually relaxing and tried to do the same.
Fact was, he hadn't shared a bed with anyone since those last few weeks before he moved out of the house he'd grown up in. It would have been longer still, except that Joanna had once found him on the couch in the morning and gotten so upset that neither he nor Jocelyn let it happen again. She was too young to understand why they were fighting, but she sure as hell knew her mommy and daddy were supposed to sleep in the same room. So they'd lain awake night after night, side by side, silent and distant while the old farmhouse creaked around them.
If he could do that, he could certainly lie here beside his best friend and not watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, not shift closer to press his face between Jim's shoulder blades and his arm against Jim's flank. Just to make sure, he waited until Jim was asleep and then wriggled so that he was on top of the covers. Although he still woke up with a hard-on, he was able to creep off to the bathroom without disturbing anything but his dignity.
Jim wore a t-shirt and pajama pants to bed from then on, just as McCoy did.
It wasn't a regular thing by any means. Jim found his way into other beds pretty frequently and McCoy went on a few dates himself; by unspoken agreement neither of them brought anyone back to their shared room. And though McCoy sometimes woke to find a bruised and bloody-knuckled roommate sacked out beside him, Jim never crawled into bed with the scent of sex clinging to his skin.
Being a light sleeper, McCoy could usually catch the thread of a bad dream like he had that first night. Jim would start to thrash and mumble into his pillow - "no" and "don't" and "be good, I promise." If McCoy climbed in next to him and talked to him softly the nightmare faded away, let him slip into deeper sleep. But from time to time he'd get there too late and Jim would snarl "motherfucker" or "I'll kill 'im," his fists bunched up in the sheets and his jaw clenched so tight it made McCoy's own head ache. McCoy knew better than to touch him, then; and Jim was always first out of bed those mornings.
Their first year McCoy had gone back to Georgia to spend the holidays with his aunt, unaware that Jim waited out two weeks alone in their dorm. Aside from Christmas Day, which Jocelyn oh so graciously allowed him to share, he decided to spend the next winter break on campus. The hospital was grateful for his availability, busy with patients but understaffed as always around December and January. Still, he agreed to take New Year's Eve off so Jim could drag him to Gary's bitchin' party. It was allegedly being held on a rooftop somewhere on Academy grounds. McCoy would believe it when he saw it; Starfleet seemed to reserve all its biggest assholes for security duty.
He ended up ringing in the New Year on an operating table. The patient was a six-year-old human boy. With his shaggy brown hair and bright green eyes he could have been Joanna's twin (she was going through a cowboy phase and had persuaded some poorly supervised friend of hers to lop off her ponytail). But Joanna had been the picture of health from the moment her tiny pink body was placed in his arms; and this boy had been born with a bad heart. Though his parents had joined Starfleet for the medical benefits, his body rejected every measure his doctors took to see him through childhood.
The monitor whined for a full minute before McCoy could make his throat work well enough to call time of death.
It was gone 0100 by the time he'd scrubbed out to see the family. The boy's father broke down, head buried in his arms. But his mother thanked McCoy, pressed his cold hand between her palms and said she knew he'd done everything he could to save their little boy. He made it down the hallway and around the corner before he threw up on the freshly buffed tile floor.
The party must have gotten busted early because Jim was sprawled out on his stomach when McCoy got home. He peeled his stale clothing off in the dark and stood at the foot of his bed for five, maybe ten minutes. Then he turned and let himself down on Jim's bed, slowly and haltingly, his limbs jerking and swinging like the antique marionette his father had bought Joanna when she was two - the summer before he'd gotten sick.
He rolled onto his side, then forward to lay an arm across Jim's back. Before he could settle his weight Jim twisted, reaching for him. McCoy put his face into the crook of Jim's neck. Kid never did learn to stay down when he was meant to. Jim's hands kept stroking over the thin cotton of his shirt long after the tears had dried.
There were no official quarters assigned to stowaways aboard the USS Enterprise. The first night after the destruction of the Narada - or rather late afternoon, which was when Jim was finally threatened off the bridge by the combined authority of his acting CMO and first officer - McCoy knew where Jim would agree to lay his head. He could have chosen the captain's quarters, as Pike was in no position to claim them; or he could have selected one of dozens of cabins that were now empty, their intended occupants lost in the first attack.
McCoy understood Jim's reluctance, as he didn't particularly feel entitled to the CMO's small suite. Therefore they both retired to the cramped cabin where McCoy had originally been assigned (Jim said flatly that if he was being put to bed, so was McCoy and that was a direct fucking order). They were out cold for seven hours, then rose for nineteen more to oversee the continued care of wounded personnel and the repairs to a wounded ship, respectively.
On the second night, McCoy had been dozing for fifteen minutes when he felt Jim slide close. His cock was hard against McCoy's hip, and when McCoy turned over Jim slipped a hand behind his neck and kissed him.
They moved together in the dark blue regulation sheets, hands clutching and hips rocking. McCoy gripped Jim's thighs as his kisses dropped lower and lower down his belly. He didn't know which of them needed this more; he'd always suspected it would be himself, but Jim kept saying his name so ragged and desperate.
"Bones," he cried again, and McCoy didn't ever want to be called anything else in bed. He sucked hard and relentless until Jim pulsed in his mouth. Bitterness lingered on his tongue as Jim tugged him up, licked at his swollen lips, kissed him hungrily while wrapping his fingers around McCoy's cock. It kept McCoy from saying anything as he came and he figured that was probably for the best.
Same went for the separate, shiny new quarters that came standard with commendation. All the senior officers had so much to see to before departure, no one more than the captain. McCoy simply didn't have time to miss what they'd shared - not the night before they'd docked, not everything that had preceded it. He'd have thought that after three years of sleeping together, having sex wouldn't be such a big deal. In a way it wasn't, because they'd gotten up the morning after to bicker over who got the bathroom first, just like always. But there was something new in Jim's eyes now. He never named it, never even brought it up; it was there between them all the same, and it made it difficult for McCoy to look too hard at him.
It took four solid weeks on the ground and a few butterfly kisses from his daughter. Hell, it took pretty much every moment since the day Jocelyn had said she wanted a divorce. But lying awake by himself on the night before they were scheduled to head out, he finally accepted that the light in Jim's eyes might just be the reflection of what he hadn't been able to say.
And when they had finally left Earth's orbit, if he felt an urge to wander the corridors - well, this was the first night of the next five years, it only made sense to get to know the nooks and crannies of the old tin can.
And if he found himself outside the captain's quarters, it was because he knew he'd have to memorize every possible route from here to sick bay.
Still, he wasn't startled when the door slid open. Just raised an eyebrow at Jim, who propped his hip against the frame and pulled his face into an exaggerated frown.
"I can't sleep, Bones. Bed's too big."
McCoy shoved at his bare chest, Jim laughed and grabbed his hand - and they stepped over the theshold together.
Also, using Beatles lyrics for the title makes me happy.
Title: Once There Was a Way To Get Back Home
'It was nobody's business but their own. That was what he told himself on the mornings he woke up in Jim Kirk's bed.' Or, Kirk and McCoy sleep together and then have the sex.
Author: Dala
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: standard applies; title from the Beatles' "Golden Slumbers"
Warning: implied child abuse, death of an OC
Once There Was a Way To Get Back Home
It wasn't weird. It was maybe a little pathetic, and okay, pretty fucking codependant; but that was not the same thing. And besides, it was nobody's business but their own.
That was what he told himself on the mornings he woke up in Jim Kirk's bed.
It had started back in their second semester, right around finals. A nasty strain of flu wormed its way through campus to knock out a couple dozen instructors and sixty cadets before the inoculations got updated. Jim, of course, was allergic to the vaccination. McCoy could only be grateful that at least he'd actually thought to mention this one before he'd gotten a hypospray in the neck.
Jim was the worst kind of patient no matter the circumstances. He was perfectly willing to suffer broken ribs or a black eye in silence (and to the detriment of his overall health), but being sick turned him into a miserable, snuffly, whiny infant. Though McCoy had worked three consecutive shifts that weekend, the sight of Jim curled up around a box of tissues kept him from falling directly onto his bed. Instead he heated up some chicken soup and tea, propped the whole mess on a lap desk, and sat beside Jim to hold his shoulders steady while he ate (grumbling all the while that it was too hot and his throat hurt and what he really wanted was strawberry ice cream). It made for a sort of annoying lullaby, apparently, because next thing McCoy knew he was slumped against the pillows, his legs still dangling awkwardly off the bed.
Jim sighed, dumped the dirty dishes on the floor, and prodded him until he was lying flat. His skin was still too warm through several layers of fabric as he worked himself inside McCoy's jacket. McCoy was just explaining that he was a doctor, not a damned teddy bear, when he fell back asleep. He woke to morning light streaming through the third-story window and Jim sitting against the wall, peering down at him.
McCoy blinked at him long enough to ascertain that his eyes were clear for the first time in four days, then dragged a pillow over his head. "Turn th' goddamn sun off."
"You snore a lot less once you've taken a good knee to the kidneys," Jim informed him.
"My ex-wife could've told you that," said McCoy with a groan, stretching out the kinks in his back.
And that was it, pretty much. He let Jim take the first shower because he'd managed to work up quite the funk, then they went for breakfast (dry toast and orange juice being all Jim was allowed). McCoy figured it beat passing out in the on-call room or on one of the beds at the hospital.
Most of the rest of campus trickled out over the next few weeks, off to visit their families or take on summer internships. The most McCoy had to look forward to was maybe, maybe the promise of being allowed within a hundred yards of Jocelyn's parents' annual Labor Day barbeque, so he elected to remain in the dorm. He was a little surprised when Jim did the same, then analyzed his surprise and realized he had no idea what Jim did or didn't have back in Iowa. Once or twice he had mentioned that his mother had gone back to Starfleet some time after his father's death, but McCoy was unaware of any messages passed between them and didn't even know if her post took her off-planet.
One early July night he was awakened by the muffled sounds of distressed sleep. It was still second nature to roll out of bed before he'd even opened his eyes; for one disorienting moment he expected to see a crib by the window. As he stood in the middle of the room, rubbing his face, Jim kicked his comforter all the way off the bed and said clearly, "Please...."
The fear in his voice shook the last vestiges of fatigue away. McCoy knelt down and reached for his arm. Jim shrank from his touch, still asleep.
"Hey, it's okay." He touched Jim's pinched face with gentle fingers. Jim whimpered and folded his arms against his torso as though protecting himself. McCoy felt a knot start to twist in the pit of his stomach. "Wake up, kiddo. 'S just a dream."
Jim came awake with a shudder. Panting, he stared wildly at McCoy for a few seconds before recognition flashed in his eyes.
"Bones?"
"Just a bad dream," McCoy murmured. He realized his fingers were still curled against Jim's cheek and so he moved to his shoulder, rubbing at the tense muscles. "Want me to get you some water?" Jim shook his head, drawing harsh breaths into his lungs. "Anything else, then?"
"I -" He bit his lip, turned his face in toward the pillow.
McCoy shifted back on his heels. "What is it, Jim?"
"Will you get in bed with me?" His voice was low and he wouldn't look at McCoy. Even in the dark McCoy could see him flushing. "I don't mean - just to -"
Clearing his throat, McCoy pushed himself up and said, "Yeah, sure." Jim gave him an quick, almost furtive smile and held the covers back. He turned away to face the wall, which McCoy found something of a relief. He'd seen too much in Jim's unguarded expression already and he didn't entirely trust what he read there. Settling back with an arm behind his head, he could feel Jim gradually relaxing and tried to do the same.
Fact was, he hadn't shared a bed with anyone since those last few weeks before he moved out of the house he'd grown up in. It would have been longer still, except that Joanna had once found him on the couch in the morning and gotten so upset that neither he nor Jocelyn let it happen again. She was too young to understand why they were fighting, but she sure as hell knew her mommy and daddy were supposed to sleep in the same room. So they'd lain awake night after night, side by side, silent and distant while the old farmhouse creaked around them.
If he could do that, he could certainly lie here beside his best friend and not watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, not shift closer to press his face between Jim's shoulder blades and his arm against Jim's flank. Just to make sure, he waited until Jim was asleep and then wriggled so that he was on top of the covers. Although he still woke up with a hard-on, he was able to creep off to the bathroom without disturbing anything but his dignity.
Jim wore a t-shirt and pajama pants to bed from then on, just as McCoy did.
It wasn't a regular thing by any means. Jim found his way into other beds pretty frequently and McCoy went on a few dates himself; by unspoken agreement neither of them brought anyone back to their shared room. And though McCoy sometimes woke to find a bruised and bloody-knuckled roommate sacked out beside him, Jim never crawled into bed with the scent of sex clinging to his skin.
Being a light sleeper, McCoy could usually catch the thread of a bad dream like he had that first night. Jim would start to thrash and mumble into his pillow - "no" and "don't" and "be good, I promise." If McCoy climbed in next to him and talked to him softly the nightmare faded away, let him slip into deeper sleep. But from time to time he'd get there too late and Jim would snarl "motherfucker" or "I'll kill 'im," his fists bunched up in the sheets and his jaw clenched so tight it made McCoy's own head ache. McCoy knew better than to touch him, then; and Jim was always first out of bed those mornings.
Their first year McCoy had gone back to Georgia to spend the holidays with his aunt, unaware that Jim waited out two weeks alone in their dorm. Aside from Christmas Day, which Jocelyn oh so graciously allowed him to share, he decided to spend the next winter break on campus. The hospital was grateful for his availability, busy with patients but understaffed as always around December and January. Still, he agreed to take New Year's Eve off so Jim could drag him to Gary's bitchin' party. It was allegedly being held on a rooftop somewhere on Academy grounds. McCoy would believe it when he saw it; Starfleet seemed to reserve all its biggest assholes for security duty.
He ended up ringing in the New Year on an operating table. The patient was a six-year-old human boy. With his shaggy brown hair and bright green eyes he could have been Joanna's twin (she was going through a cowboy phase and had persuaded some poorly supervised friend of hers to lop off her ponytail). But Joanna had been the picture of health from the moment her tiny pink body was placed in his arms; and this boy had been born with a bad heart. Though his parents had joined Starfleet for the medical benefits, his body rejected every measure his doctors took to see him through childhood.
The monitor whined for a full minute before McCoy could make his throat work well enough to call time of death.
It was gone 0100 by the time he'd scrubbed out to see the family. The boy's father broke down, head buried in his arms. But his mother thanked McCoy, pressed his cold hand between her palms and said she knew he'd done everything he could to save their little boy. He made it down the hallway and around the corner before he threw up on the freshly buffed tile floor.
The party must have gotten busted early because Jim was sprawled out on his stomach when McCoy got home. He peeled his stale clothing off in the dark and stood at the foot of his bed for five, maybe ten minutes. Then he turned and let himself down on Jim's bed, slowly and haltingly, his limbs jerking and swinging like the antique marionette his father had bought Joanna when she was two - the summer before he'd gotten sick.
He rolled onto his side, then forward to lay an arm across Jim's back. Before he could settle his weight Jim twisted, reaching for him. McCoy put his face into the crook of Jim's neck. Kid never did learn to stay down when he was meant to. Jim's hands kept stroking over the thin cotton of his shirt long after the tears had dried.
There were no official quarters assigned to stowaways aboard the USS Enterprise. The first night after the destruction of the Narada - or rather late afternoon, which was when Jim was finally threatened off the bridge by the combined authority of his acting CMO and first officer - McCoy knew where Jim would agree to lay his head. He could have chosen the captain's quarters, as Pike was in no position to claim them; or he could have selected one of dozens of cabins that were now empty, their intended occupants lost in the first attack.
McCoy understood Jim's reluctance, as he didn't particularly feel entitled to the CMO's small suite. Therefore they both retired to the cramped cabin where McCoy had originally been assigned (Jim said flatly that if he was being put to bed, so was McCoy and that was a direct fucking order). They were out cold for seven hours, then rose for nineteen more to oversee the continued care of wounded personnel and the repairs to a wounded ship, respectively.
On the second night, McCoy had been dozing for fifteen minutes when he felt Jim slide close. His cock was hard against McCoy's hip, and when McCoy turned over Jim slipped a hand behind his neck and kissed him.
They moved together in the dark blue regulation sheets, hands clutching and hips rocking. McCoy gripped Jim's thighs as his kisses dropped lower and lower down his belly. He didn't know which of them needed this more; he'd always suspected it would be himself, but Jim kept saying his name so ragged and desperate.
"Bones," he cried again, and McCoy didn't ever want to be called anything else in bed. He sucked hard and relentless until Jim pulsed in his mouth. Bitterness lingered on his tongue as Jim tugged him up, licked at his swollen lips, kissed him hungrily while wrapping his fingers around McCoy's cock. It kept McCoy from saying anything as he came and he figured that was probably for the best.
Same went for the separate, shiny new quarters that came standard with commendation. All the senior officers had so much to see to before departure, no one more than the captain. McCoy simply didn't have time to miss what they'd shared - not the night before they'd docked, not everything that had preceded it. He'd have thought that after three years of sleeping together, having sex wouldn't be such a big deal. In a way it wasn't, because they'd gotten up the morning after to bicker over who got the bathroom first, just like always. But there was something new in Jim's eyes now. He never named it, never even brought it up; it was there between them all the same, and it made it difficult for McCoy to look too hard at him.
It took four solid weeks on the ground and a few butterfly kisses from his daughter. Hell, it took pretty much every moment since the day Jocelyn had said she wanted a divorce. But lying awake by himself on the night before they were scheduled to head out, he finally accepted that the light in Jim's eyes might just be the reflection of what he hadn't been able to say.
And when they had finally left Earth's orbit, if he felt an urge to wander the corridors - well, this was the first night of the next five years, it only made sense to get to know the nooks and crannies of the old tin can.
And if he found himself outside the captain's quarters, it was because he knew he'd have to memorize every possible route from here to sick bay.
Still, he wasn't startled when the door slid open. Just raised an eyebrow at Jim, who propped his hip against the frame and pulled his face into an exaggerated frown.
"I can't sleep, Bones. Bed's too big."
McCoy shoved at his bare chest, Jim laughed and grabbed his hand - and they stepped over the theshold together.