evening_bat: Bat in flight, silhouetted against the moon. (Default)
[personal profile] evening_bat
Okay, so I resisted for over two years but the Star Trek reboot movie finally got to me. And poking around for fic introduced me to [livejournal.com profile] jim_and_bones, which is a wonderful place dedicated to Kirk/McCoy of all ages, eras and universes. Most of the content is members-locked but if you're a fan of the characters, the actors and pretty pictures, it's worth signing up.

And apparently those pretty pictures prompt me to write! Who knew? :D I'm not sure how long this writing momentum will last but I'm going to enjoy the ride while it does. In the meantime, here's my comment fic responses for this week:

Prompt: Clown Pics on [livejournal.com profile] jim_and_bones

On With The Show

Word Count: ~ 620

"I hate this planet," McCoy grumbled to himself as he slunk out of the claustrophobic heat of the diplomatic-dinner-turned-rave. If he’d wanted to play dress up and fight his way across a dance floor, he'd have let Jim drag him out clubbing on their last shore leave.

He leaned against the wall, gratefully sucking in lungfuls of cool air. He rubbed a hand over his his face and grimaced at the slippery feeling of thick face paint under his fingers.

"Oh wonderful," he muttered, eyeing the smears of white and black streaking his hand. Of course he'd forgotten about the culturally significant and “absolutely utterly necessary so stop complaining, Bones!” makeover inflicted on everyone lucky enough to be invited (read: ordered) to attend this damn banquet. He huffed an irritable sigh and scraped his hand against the rough wall to clean it. “Wouldn’t want to mess this outfit up, now would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jim’s voice commented from behind him. “I think it has its own appeal.”

McCoy snorted and scowled at him. “You would,” he snapped. Though it did cheer him a bit that Jim’s good looks weren’t quite sufficient to carry off the mismatched, ill-fitting clothing they’d been issued for the evening. Apparently garish orange was beyond the limits of even Jim’s unholy charisma. Not that Jim minded, the smug bastard.

“At least they didn’t slather you with this greasepaint crap,” McCoy bitched.

“Being the captain has its benefits,” Jim agreed cheerfully, closing the distance between them in a loose-limbed saunter that gave McCoy yet another reason to hate the ugly outfits they’d been stuffed into for the night.

McCoy ignored his reaction to the sight and pinned Jim with a glare. “Yeah, well you keep those benefits the hell away from me.”

Jim may have escaped face paint by virtue of his rank but they’d dusted his hands with some kind of glittery crap. McCoy had stuck around to make sure it was safe but he’d made himself scarce when the natives started cooing at Jim about showing the marks of his favour. Unsurprisingly, Jim’s jacket was liberally covered with various sparkling streaks of colour.

Jim caught the look and grinned. “Making friendly with the natives,” he remarked.

“Just like you’re supposed to,” McCoy conceded. He’d long had to reconcile his possessive streak where Jim was concerned. Between Jim’s sociable nature and Starfleet’s tendency to whore out its handsome young captain, there was no room for fits of jealousy.

Jim’s smile softened and he stepped deep into McCoy’s personal space, halting barely a breath away. “Rather make friendly with you,” he confided, voice dropping to a heated murmur.

“Dammit, Jim,” McCoy managed to get out, tensing despite himself as Jim lifted his hands between them.

Jim just laughed breathily at the token protest, evidently fascinated by the way McCoy’s muscles twitched under the light touch of his fingers.

McCoy let his head drop back against the wall, too close to see the trails of gold Jim was tracing along his chest and arms. He didn’t need to see them, he could feel every inch.

Jim leaned in as his fingers slid over McCoy’s shoulders. “They may have left marks on me,” he whispered into McCoy’s ear, “but you’re the only one wearing my touch.”

McCoy’s breath hitched and he shifted abruptly in Jim’s loose grip, splaying one hand across Jim’s lower back as he hooked the other around Jim’s neck and dragged him into a kiss.

“Is that so?” he drawled when they broke apart. “Guess I’ll have to see what I can do to even things up.”

Jim groaned enthusiastic approval as McCoy lowered his mouth to Jim’s neck, intent on leaving a few marks of his own.

Prompt: Cowboy Pics on [livejournal.com profile] jim_and_bones

All The Trails Lead You Home

Word Count: ~ 1950

It wasn’t that he hadn’t already been planning to call Finnegan out. Jim had chased reports of him across three counties, there was no question that he’d have just walked away. Besides, mediocre bounty notwithstanding, Finnegan was a ham-handed thug and knocking him down a few pegs would be a pleasure in and of itself.

Still, Jim thought dazedly as one of those heavy fists broke his nose and knocked him reeling, this wasn’t exactly the neat capture he’d planned. Another blow sent him to his knees and he threw himself backwards as Finnegan tried to stamp on his hands.

The loud crack of a gunshot froze both of them in their tracks, attention swivelling immediately to the rumpled looking man standing just outside of the bar from which Jim and Finnegan had recently emerged. One of the bar’s patrons, Jim remembered, sitting in a tight-shouldered hunch at the bar as he drank his way through a bottle of spirits.

“That’s enough!” the man barked, rifle already lowered from the warning shot he’d granted them, now tucked firmly against his shoulder and pointed steadily at Finnegan’s chest.

Jim was never one to miss an opportunity and he hastily put a safe distance between himself and Finnegan, half-raising his hands in a placating gesture when hazel eyes flicked briefly over him. He didn’t like losing a fight but he was momentarily grateful for the blood dripping from his nose. He’d play the victim if it meant keeping that rifle trained away from him.

Finnegan showed no such restraint. “This ain’t none of your business. Suggest you stay out of it,” he sneered.

“You don’t know shit about my business,” the man with the rifle replied flatly. “And I don’t give a shit about yours. Back off. Now.”

Finnegan’s bluster quickly wilted under the man’s unwavering aim.

That earned Finnegan a scornful snort but Jim’s rescuer seemed equally annoyed by the older man who strolled almost leisurely into view from around the corner.

“‘Bout time you got here,” he grumbled.

“Why should I hurry when I’ve got fine, upstanding citizens like yourself helping me to keep the peace?” the older man replied dryly. “You looking for a star of your own, McCoy?”

The stream of invective that followed that question seemed to indicate otherwise.

“-just do your damned job so I can keep this idiot from bleeding all over the street, would you?”

That snapped Jim out of the comfortable haze in which he’d been observing and he flinched automatically from the broad hands that reached towards his aching face.

McCoy rolled his eyes as he crouched down beside Jim. “You want to hold still and let me fix that nose before it heals crooked and messes up your pretty face?”

“You’re pretty good looking yourself but I don’t see why that means I ought to let you anywhere near me or my nose,” Jim replied pleasantly, smiling tightly at him.

“Because I’m about the only decent doctor ‘round here - certainly the only one who’ll set that without charging half the bounty you’re going to claim on that ape. That enough reason for you?”

Jim blinked at him, taken aback. Drinker, gunslinger and now a doctor? Who the hell was this McCoy anyhow?

“Sure, that’ll do,” he replied, bracing himself.

McCoy’s touch was surprisingly light, a startling contrast to his harsh tone. “Won’t take but a second,” he assured Jim as he settled his thumbs to either side of Jim’s nose. “Just let me-”

Jim howled as his nose exploded with pain.

“Thanks for that,” he bit out, barely resisting the urge to cup his hands protectively over his face.

“You’re the one that walked into a fist,” McCoy retorted unsympathetically. “Maybe this’ll teach you to duck next time.”

“Bounty?” the sheriff inquired pointedly.

Jim glanced over and found them man watching them with open curiosity, Finnegan well in hand.

McCoy grunted an acknowledgement. “He’s on your wall, Pike. And he was after the girls inside.”

“Throw him in a cell, Sheriff! He’s a pig,” announced the lovely redhead standing in the doorway to the bar. Finnegan’s pawing at her had been what prompted Jim’s rushed attempt to bring him in.

“Though you should have waited until he’d had another drink or three,” she added in a loudly whispered aside to Jim. “When he gets like that, he can’t even walk straight, much less hit what he’s aiming for.”

Jim grinned ruefully and tipped her a casual salute. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

She flashed him a bright, flirtatious smile and flounced back into the bar. McCoy turned his back and followed her inside without another word, to Jim’s mild surprise. He’d half expected the man to linger and spread his bad temper around a bit more.

“Come on, kid,” Pike said, casually driving an elbow into Finnegan’s gut as the man belatedly began to struggle. “We’ll get you sorted along with this one.”

Jim brightened, scrambling to his feet and trailing the man to the local jail.

It was only after he’d collected his money that he ambled back to the bar. He wasn’t in any particular hurry to rush off to the tiny rooms of the hotel he’d inspected earlier in the day and he had enough in his pockets to treat himself for a good day’s work done. The redhead was still there when he slipped inside, he was pleased to see. So was McCoy, though the good doctor appeared far the worse for wear this time, slumped into his folded arms on the surface of the bar.

“If you were wanting to talk to him, you’ll have to wait. He’s in no fit state to talk right now,” the girl remarked sadly as she brought Jim a drink.

“Too bad,” Jim said. “I was hoping to talk to him about splitting the bounty.”

“Oh, he won’t take anything,” she replied.

Jim gave her a skeptical look. “He’s entitled.”

“He won’t!” she insisted. “And you won’t be making a friend of him if you push that.”

“I’m not interested in making friends. I want to settle the debt,” Jim replied firmly.

She considered for a moment. “If you think you owe him something, then see him home,” she finally said. “He took care of you this afternoon, you can take care of him tonight.”

“Sounds fair enough,” Jim allowed. “For now. Though I’m not sure he’ll thank you for handing him off to a stranger,” he teased.

“Ah, but you’ve proven yourself to be a good man so I know he’s in safe hands,” she returned, eyes sparkling as she leaned forward and dropped a delicate kiss on the tip of Jim’s still-throbbing nose.

Jim shocked himself by blushing. “I suppose now I’ll have to be,” he conceded after clearing his throat. “So where am I taking him?”

Fortunately, McCoy’s residence was nearby. The man was a mess, had nearly drunk himself into a stupor while Jim had been busy with Pike. Jim slung one of McCoy’s arms over his shoulder, wrapped his own arm around the man’s waist and was still bearing most of McCoy’s weight as they staggered down the dusty streets. With some prodding, McCoy roused enough to help with getting into his house and then Jim settled for dragging him into the bedroom and dropping him onto the thin mattress. Jim sighed as he looked down at the snoring heap McCoy had become. He’d stick around ‘till morning, he decided. The least he could do was make sure that McCoy made it through the night and get him dried out tomorrow.

He almost regretted the decision when he confirmed that McCoy suffered hangovers every bit at gracefully as Jim had expected. Which was to say, not at all.

But damn it, he owed the man and Gaila at the bar had been right after all. McCoy grumbled and bitched and wouldn’t hear of taking any of Finnegan’s bounty. Repeated questions just made him uncomfortable and pricklier than ever. Jim finally threw up his hands and stomped off to the boarding house. He’d stick around town for a few days, he decided, and find some way to repay McCoy.

At least, that was the plan.

Two days later, Harry Mudd came into town, selling his latest brand of snake oil and Jim gleefully dragged the notorious con man off to Pike. The following week, he caught sight of Tristan Adams and wasted no time hauling the disgraced doctor in to answer for his crimes. Not long after, he helped the town fend off the attacks of a roving band of bandits.

“And here I thought this place would be boring!” he exclaimed to McCoy one afternoon as the doctor tended to a graze he’d suffered in pursuit of another bounty.

“It was nicely uneventful before you showed up,” McCoy complained as he finished cleaning the wound.

“Then I’m glad I could bring some life to the place, Bones!” Jim declared, slinging his good arm around McCoy’s neck.

He still hadn’t quite repaid the man for breaking up that fight on the day they first met. But he’d cheerfully forced himself into McCoy’s life, deciding that if he just managed to lighten the man’s habitually gloomy mood, he could call it even. So he gave him a nickname inspired by the injury that had practically introduced them, kept him company, kept him fed and watered, and forced him out of his self-imposed isolation. It caught Jim by surprise when one of the nights they spent crawling into a bottle together ended with them tangled up together on McCoy’s mattress but he wasn’t complaining. McCoy seemed pleased enough with the turn of events - Jim knew enough know to understand that he could ignore most of McCoy’s grumbling, since it rarely reflected the affections that ran deep underneath. Life hadn’t been especially kind to either of them but their rough edges fit together startlingly well. And if Jim had stopped looking for justification to leave months ago, well, he didn’t think McCoy minded.

He still hadn’t expected Pike to corner him about it.

“You know, McCoy thinks you need someone to take care of you,” he remarked one day, appearing suddenly at Jim’s elbow.

Jim valiantly pretended that he hadn’t jumped nearly a foot in surprise. “Me? I need someone to take care of me? I’m sorry, have you met Bones?”

Pike snorted. “I think you both need keepers.”


“But I think maybe you’ve already found them,” he continued, catching and holding Jim’s eyes with a long, serious stare.

Jim tensed, caught on the edge of a decision he’d been trying to avoid. None of this had featured anywhere in any of his plans.

“How about it, kid?” Pike asked, turning one hand over to display a silver star. “Want to make it official? Paying off the bounties you bring in is driving the county bankrupt.”

“You’re offering me a job?” Jim asked, totally astonished.

Pike shrugged. “You could do a hell of a lot of good if you were doing it full time and had the authority to back it up.”

“There’s a lot of people back home who’d laugh in your face at the idea of me as a lawman,” Jim commented, mind whirling.

Pike just smiled. “Kid, we both know that ‘home’ is here.”

Jim swallowed hard and plucked the star out of Pike’s hand, smiling wide enough that it hurt. “Yeah, you’re right. It is.”

He couldn’t wait to tell Bones. If the doctor had thought Jim made his life exciting before he claimed a real stake in it, he hadn’t seen anything yet.

Prompt: Convention Pics on [livejournal.com profile] jim_and_bones

Q & A

Word Count: ~ 2000

(Please to not be expecting anything remotely like realism here. Ridiculous self-indulgent AU ahoy!)

There were days when Leonard McCoy marvelled at how damn lucky he’d been. His messy divorce had wiped him out, personally and professionally. He’d lost everything, including the temper and the pride that would normally have caused him to refuse a university friend’s sympathetic invitation to come stay with him while he licked his wounds. Geoff had been patient for a while, had let Len self-medicate himself into a drunken stupor more days than not. Then he’d declared that if Len was going to make free with his home, he could make himself useful.

“How would you like to help me design a few alien species?” he’d asked.

All of Len’s incredulous protests that he was a doctor, not an expert in imaginary biology went ignored and Geoff happily dragged him into the project. That was how he found out that Geoff had made some very strange professional contacts after graduation and eventually led to Len getting a new job as a creative consultant in some crazy video game. It wasn’t anything that Len had ever imagined himself doing but it provided a paycheque and it wasn’t as if he had anything else to work on. Cobbling together some weird-looking aliens was as good a distraction as any - and turned out to be surprisingly fun. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d been drawn into the design process until the day he got into a screaming match with one of the junior writers.

“Look, just design the critters to our specs! We’re telling you what they need to-”

“How stupid are you? That isn’t how the damn species works!” McCoy ranted, flinging up his hands in digust.

“They work however we tell you they work!”

“Okay, fine! New question. How stupid do you think your players are? You’re contradicting yourselves in about six different places! And all you have to do to fix the damn problem is have the main character get jumped by a bunch of the scavengers instead of have him trip over the high level warrior types when they’re on a whole other world!”

Instead of a termination notice, the argument earned a round of applause and Len netted himself a promotion to senior consultant and ended up on the writing team. After the game turned out to be a huge success, the single game spawned a sprawling franchise and Len was swept into the sequels before he’d quite figured out what had happened.

So yeah. On good days, Len recognized that he’d been absurdly lucky, despite the mulishness which should have destroyed his entire life instead of just his marriage.

...Then there were days like today, when Len was just baffled by the question of how the FUCK did this become my life?

He leaned over in his chair as people shuffled around the microphone in the crowd. “Why the hell did I let you talk me into this? And what moron thought that I was the right person to sit on a convention panel, for Christ’s sake?” he hissed to Geoff.

“Christine pulled out because of that problem with her fiance. We needed the warm body and you know it,” Geoff shot back. “And a lot of the fans want to talk to you. Now, if we could just get you to smile instead of looking like you want to bite someone...”

Len bared his teeth in something that bore little resemblance to a smile.

“Not a bad try but we’ll work on it,” Geoff assured him, visibly restraining laughter.

“Oh wow! It looks like we have a really special question for our panel!” the amplified voice of the panel attendant boomed over the chatter of the crowd.

Len bit back a sigh and turned back to see what was going on, wondering what fresh hell the fans were about to sling their way. It took a minute to spot what all the excitement was about and Len was hard-pressed to cover his reaction when he recognized the man accepting the mic.

What the hell was Jim Kirk doing here?

“Hey guys!” he greeted them cheerfully. “Sorry to crash your panel - I know it’s all about the game side of things. But I’ve played all the games - Awesome, by the way! Can’t wait for the next one! - and I had a question for you. And I’m kind of hoping you can settle an argument I’m having with Spock.”

“Go ahead,” Geoff said pleasantly. “If we can help clear things up on the movie side, we’d be happy to help.”

“Great - thanks!” Kirk flashed his trademark smile. “I was wondering about the end of the sequel, where both protagonists are working together. It’s not just for the sake of convenience, is it? I mean, I know it’s all to save the galaxy and such but it always seemed to me that there was more to it than military pragmatism. I thought it was friendlier than that.”

“It’s not that they’re friends,” Len startled himself by answering but then this was a question he’d pondered long and hard while working on the script. “They’re not, really. But they respect each other. And they learn to trust the other to have their backs. And for men like that, respect and trust are more significant than friendship.”

“Huh,” Kirk replied thoughtfully. Len didn’t think he was imagining the weight of that famous blue stare as Kirk considered his words. “Thanks. That’s actually really helpful. And I should probably turn this back over to the fans!” he added, handing the mic back and treating the room to another blast of his charisma as he made his exit.

* * *

Since Kirk had seen fit to drop in on a game panel, Len figured that returning the favour was only fair play. He was more circumspect than Kirk had been - no difficult feat - when he slipped into the panel featuring actors from the upcoming movie adaptation. Len was neither as distinctive nor as fond of adoration as Kirk was so he was able to weave his way through the convention crowds without attracting any undue attention. The attendees of this panel were a very different mix of people than the group who’d attended the writing panel, which came as no great surprise.

Generally speaking, the people who took the time to sit in on Q & A sessions with the design and production staff tended to be the more serious fans. They had their share of crazies, of course, but they were pretty dedicated to the franchise. The much larger crowd of squealing fans who’d descended on the movie panel were another story altogether. From the breathless questions being directed at the panel, it seemed pretty clear to Len that most of the people here were a hell of a lot more interested in the actors than in the movie they were here to promote. He scowled to himself. None of this was doing anything to change his conviction that there were no good video game movies.

There were a handful of famous faces sitting on the panel but Jim Kirk was clearly the centrepiece - and loving every second. He joked, he flirted, he effortlessly charmed the entire crowd. He had the girls giggling and blushing and the guys grinning like they were old friends. Len had to admit, if grudgingly, that Kirk seemed to be genuinely committed to the movie, speaking with enthusiasm about his role. Then again, he’d be a pretty piss-poor actor if he couldn’t fake sincerity on demand.

Len had taken his obscurity for granted so he was badly startled when Kirk’s eyes landed on him during a pause between questions. Surprise flashed briefly across his face before warming into a pleased smile. Caught off guard, Len nodded awkwardly in response and fled as soon as the next bubbly teenager started speaking into the mic.

* * *

Len had gratefully retreated to his hotel room as soon as he’d been released from his convention duties. He wasn’t sociable at the best of times and had no desire to mingle with a few hundred plus starstruck strangers. He appreciated that appearances at such events were all part of the massive effort to get the fans engaged but sweet-talking people had never been his forte. He’d done his part by fielding the questions with which he’d been peppered all day long. His evening plans consisted of room service, a bottle of bourbon and whatever television program annoyed him the least. Distracted by the catalogue of available programming, he didn’t think twice about answering the knock on his door.

Instead of the steak he’d ordered, he found Jim Kirk in hallway.

Len blinked at him. “You’re not room service,” he said stupidly.

“Not the last time I checked,” Kirk answered brightly. “Does that mean I can’t come in?” he prompted after Len failed to do anything beyond staring blankly at him.

Southern manners kicked in before common sense, prompting Len to step back and gesture Kirk inside before he actually registered the question. He bit back a curse as Kirk swept past him, closing the door behind the movie star that apparently had nothing better to do than visit a cranky writer.

How is this my life? Really - how? Len wondered as he followed Kirk into the room, claiming the chair opposite from the one into which Kirk had decoratively sprawled.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Kirk?” he asked. He tried to keep it from sounding too much like what the hell do you want? but didn’t think he’d been terribly successful, if the bemused smile on Kirk’s face was any sign.

“Jim,” the man insisted.

“Okay, Jim,” Len agreed. “Now what do you want?”

So much for trying to play nice, Len sighed internally. Oh well. It would probably do Kirk - Jim - some good to deal with someone who didn’t fawn all over him.

“I was kind of hoping you might be willing to talk a bit more about the question I asked earlier,” Jim confessed, with what he clearly thought was an endearing grin.

“What?” Len blurted. Okay, so that was a bit less articulate a response than he’d intended but damn it, the kid’s eyes really were as blue as everyone said they were. “Why?”

“Well, Len - Len?” he checked, waiting for Len’s impatient nod, “I told you I played all the games. I really do think they’re great. And sure, the movie’s going to be a huge blockbuster no matter what we do but I still want to do a good job with it.”

Len eyed him suspiciously. “You’re so keen to be the best space marine you can be that you’d ditch one of the biggest fan events of the year to come chat with me?”

“The execs are going to kill me,” Jim admitted cheerfully. “But the other guys will cover for me. And it’ll all be worth it if I can prove Spock wrong about the fact that the only reason our characters worked together was because “it was the only logical solution.’”

“Jesus,” Len sighed explosively. “Are you here to improve your performance or piss off your co-star?”

“Pick whichever reason you like better,” Jim answered, with another blinding smile. “Besides, I’m pretty sure any conversation with you is going to be more interesting than about 98% of anything being discussed downstairs.”

“Given the kind of things I heard during that panel today? That’s not saying a whole lot for my conversational skills, Jim,” Len replied dryly.

“Too true!” Jim laughed and Len firmly told himself to ignore the rush of nervous arousal that followed. His life had taken a few surreal turns but there was no way that Jim Kirk had actually dropped in to visit and chat him up. Things like that didn't happen outside of those stupid movies Jim was always acting in.

“So come on, Len!” Jim coaxed. “Save me from the fans. And maybe you can even help me...get a feel for the character?”

Len raised an eyebrow at the blatant flirtation. Okay, so maybe this was really happening. “Do those lines really get you anything you want?” he wondered.

Jim smiled lazily and Len flushed at the openly appreciative look Jim ran over him. “Oh, Len. They get me everything I want.”

Prompt: Casual Pics on [livejournal.com profile] jim_and_bones


Word Count: ~ 530

“Bones!” Jim shouted as soon as McCoy opened the door to their dorm room. “You’ve been holding out on me!”

McCoy halted mid-step, scowling suspiciously at Jim.

Jim supposed the fiendish grin might be a warning sign. This didn’t stop him from letting the expression widen until it showed teeth.

“What the hell,” McCoy asked flatly, resuming his progress. He shut the door behind him, kicking off his shoes before cautiously edging his way into the room.

“Bones, Bones, Bones,” Jim sighed, shaking his head sadly. “Just look at you.”

Actually, for someone who’d sat through a day of classes and then went on to complete a full shift at the infirmary, McCoy looked pretty good. His scrubs were even clean, if a bit rumpled. Which was good since McCoy was always easier to persuade on days when he didn’t come home wearing vomit.

“I look the same as I always do,” McCoy growled.

Jim pointed at him. “See, that is exactly my point. You look the same as usual. When instead, you could look like this."

And then he lifted his PADD and flipped it around so McCoy could see the picture Jim had been looking at. Jim had never truly appreciated the appeal of a well-worn pair of jeans until he’d seen a younger McCoy slouching in faded, torn denim.

“Dammit, Jim!” McCoy shouted, flushing immediately. “Where the hell did you find that?”

Jim tsked at him. “You have to be more careful,” he chided mockingly. “You never know what will end up on the ‘net these days.”

McCoy lunged forward, clearly intent on ripping the PADD out of Jim’s hands. Jim cackled and squirmed out of reach, evading McCoy’s flailing with ease. Playing keepaway was good for a few minutes of fun but Jim had bigger plans. He waited for the right moment, then ducked under McCoy’s defenses and tripped them both to the floor. McCoy cursed but had never been a match for Jim in hand to hand.

“Goddammit,” McCoy sighed in deep irritation as Jim pinned him. “The hell do you want?”

Jim chuckled, low and dirty. “I want to know what it’d take to get you into an outfit like that.”

McCoy raised an eyebrow, impressively disdainful for someone who was flat on their back. “Do I look like I’m interested in playing dress up?”

“You’re never interested in having any fun,” Jim replied. He adjusted his position atop McCoy, lightly grinding their bodies together. “I’m hoping to convince you otherwise.”

McCoy swallowed, eyes darkening. “If you’re serious, I suggest you start by giving me a damn good reason to get out of these clothes,” he said, hands settling on Jim’s hips.

“Good point,” Jim acknowledged, already reaching for McCoy’s shirt.

The fatal flaw in Jim’s plan didn’t occur to him until after he had McCoy stripped and gasping under him. Now that he had McCoy naked, he was in no hurry to put clothes back on him. Oh well, he thought at he leaned down to continue kissing him senseless. He could adapt his plans to compensate. He was flexible like that.

One of these days I might get around to longer attempts at writing for these two. In the meantime, I will just sit back and be shocked that I managed this much. :D


evening_bat: Bat in flight, silhouetted against the moon. (Default)

September 2014

21222324 252627

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Apr. 22nd, 2019 04:49 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios