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Fic: Crossing the Line (Kirk/McCoy, NC-17)
Title: Crossing the Line
Author: Green
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Fear leads to anger, anger leads to...
Notes: Possibly the beginning of a series.
Kirk gets shot in the chest, not two inches away from his heart, and is beamed directly to sickbay.
McCoy doesn't panic. He's done this plenty of times. He repairs the damaged tissue and stays silent. He knows this is strange behavior, but he couldn't care less. This is the fourth mission in a row that's left Kirk injured.
Two inches, he thinks. Just two measly inches away from death. Kirk doesn't sweat it, doesn't seem scared, just looks up at McCoy and says, "Fix me up, Bones."
Still, McCoy says nothing. He notices, in a vague sort of way, that he's shaking with rage. Not good to have shaking hands when you're a goddamned doctor, his mental voice reminds him. This steadies him enough to finish, but then he's standing still beside Kirk and doing a hell of a lot of nothing.
"Bones?" Kirk says. Asks, in his own way, just what the hell is wrong.
Two inches.
The sound that comes out of his mouth is nothing short of a snarl. He grabs Kirk by the wrist, pulls him up off the cot, and drags him into his office. He doesn't know what he's doing until they're there, standing in front of each other, and he's panting with anger.
"Bones?" Kirk says again, this time softer. "It wasn't that bad."
"The hell it wasn't," McCoy says, putting his hands on Kirk's shoulders and pushing him towards the desk. Kirk stops when his ass hits it and he sits, looking bewildered. It's enough to make McCoy even angrier.
"Do you know how many times I've had to patch you up in the last month?" he says. It's a rhetorical question, and so help him, if Kirk tries to answer he's going to punch him.
Kirk doesn't say anything, just stares at him.
"You-" McCoy says, getting closer, pushing more, and then his rage gets the better of him and he slams his mouth against Kirk's with a clash of teeth and tongue.
Kirk goes absolutely still, then wraps his arms around McCoy and kisses back.
"Sonofabitch," McCoy pants out, then kisses him even harder. He can taste blood -- he's bitten Kirk's lips -- but he doesn't care. He wants to do something to make sure Kirk is still with him.
"I'm alive," Kirk says, and arches beneath McCoy's hands. "It's okay."
Alive, yes. Fully alive and hard against his hip, so McCoy shifts and brings them together, cock to cock through the thin material of their uniforms. Kirk groans and bucks against him.
"I could kill you myself," McCoy says against Kirk's mouth, sloppy and surreal. "Reckless bastard."
Then they are straining against each other, grinding and panting, and McCoy tightens his hold. His fingers will leave bruises, but he doesn't care. He only wants to feel Kirk give way under him, to show him... something. Something.
"Bones," Kirk whispers, and if it was a little louder it would be a whimper. He sounds fragile on the edge of his orgasm.
"C'mon, Jim. C'mon," McCoy whispers back, pushing harder.
"Oh my God, oh my God, yes," Kirk says and bucks against him once more and comes, shuddering against McCoy's body, holding on to his shoulders like he might fall down to his knees.
McCoy isn't so desperate that he'll come in his pants, not like Kirk, but seeing him like this tempers the anger and brings it down to a low simmer. "Okay," he says. "Okay."
"Fuck," Kirk gasps out, leaning back on the desk and loosening his hold on McCoy. "Since when..."
Since when do we do this? hangs in the air, and McCoy doesn't have an answer.
"It doesn't-" McCoy starts to say, then cuts himself off. It means something, he can't say it doesn't mean anything, but he's confused enough to keep his mouth shut.
Kirk hears something else, though, and jerks back. McCoy can feel him pulling away in other ways, too. "It doesn't. Right."
"I didn't mean-"
"It's fine," Kirk says. "You got an extra uniform? I seem to have spilled something on mine."
McCoy can't help it. He laughs, nervous and pitched an octave too high, but it's a laugh and it makes something inside him loosen up. "In the closet," he says. "I'll leave you to it," because that's as good an excuse as any to get away from what's not being said here.
END
Author: Green
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Fear leads to anger, anger leads to...
Notes: Possibly the beginning of a series.
Kirk gets shot in the chest, not two inches away from his heart, and is beamed directly to sickbay.
McCoy doesn't panic. He's done this plenty of times. He repairs the damaged tissue and stays silent. He knows this is strange behavior, but he couldn't care less. This is the fourth mission in a row that's left Kirk injured.
Two inches, he thinks. Just two measly inches away from death. Kirk doesn't sweat it, doesn't seem scared, just looks up at McCoy and says, "Fix me up, Bones."
Still, McCoy says nothing. He notices, in a vague sort of way, that he's shaking with rage. Not good to have shaking hands when you're a goddamned doctor, his mental voice reminds him. This steadies him enough to finish, but then he's standing still beside Kirk and doing a hell of a lot of nothing.
"Bones?" Kirk says. Asks, in his own way, just what the hell is wrong.
Two inches.
The sound that comes out of his mouth is nothing short of a snarl. He grabs Kirk by the wrist, pulls him up off the cot, and drags him into his office. He doesn't know what he's doing until they're there, standing in front of each other, and he's panting with anger.
"Bones?" Kirk says again, this time softer. "It wasn't that bad."
"The hell it wasn't," McCoy says, putting his hands on Kirk's shoulders and pushing him towards the desk. Kirk stops when his ass hits it and he sits, looking bewildered. It's enough to make McCoy even angrier.
"Do you know how many times I've had to patch you up in the last month?" he says. It's a rhetorical question, and so help him, if Kirk tries to answer he's going to punch him.
Kirk doesn't say anything, just stares at him.
"You-" McCoy says, getting closer, pushing more, and then his rage gets the better of him and he slams his mouth against Kirk's with a clash of teeth and tongue.
Kirk goes absolutely still, then wraps his arms around McCoy and kisses back.
"Sonofabitch," McCoy pants out, then kisses him even harder. He can taste blood -- he's bitten Kirk's lips -- but he doesn't care. He wants to do something to make sure Kirk is still with him.
"I'm alive," Kirk says, and arches beneath McCoy's hands. "It's okay."
Alive, yes. Fully alive and hard against his hip, so McCoy shifts and brings them together, cock to cock through the thin material of their uniforms. Kirk groans and bucks against him.
"I could kill you myself," McCoy says against Kirk's mouth, sloppy and surreal. "Reckless bastard."
Then they are straining against each other, grinding and panting, and McCoy tightens his hold. His fingers will leave bruises, but he doesn't care. He only wants to feel Kirk give way under him, to show him... something. Something.
"Bones," Kirk whispers, and if it was a little louder it would be a whimper. He sounds fragile on the edge of his orgasm.
"C'mon, Jim. C'mon," McCoy whispers back, pushing harder.
"Oh my God, oh my God, yes," Kirk says and bucks against him once more and comes, shuddering against McCoy's body, holding on to his shoulders like he might fall down to his knees.
McCoy isn't so desperate that he'll come in his pants, not like Kirk, but seeing him like this tempers the anger and brings it down to a low simmer. "Okay," he says. "Okay."
"Fuck," Kirk gasps out, leaning back on the desk and loosening his hold on McCoy. "Since when..."
Since when do we do this? hangs in the air, and McCoy doesn't have an answer.
"It doesn't-" McCoy starts to say, then cuts himself off. It means something, he can't say it doesn't mean anything, but he's confused enough to keep his mouth shut.
Kirk hears something else, though, and jerks back. McCoy can feel him pulling away in other ways, too. "It doesn't. Right."
"I didn't mean-"
"It's fine," Kirk says. "You got an extra uniform? I seem to have spilled something on mine."
McCoy can't help it. He laughs, nervous and pitched an octave too high, but it's a laugh and it makes something inside him loosen up. "In the closet," he says. "I'll leave you to it," because that's as good an excuse as any to get away from what's not being said here.
END
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this is totally hot and completely achy at the same time. I seem to have a major love for this pairing when one of them is being all "oh no, we can't" about it for some reason or other. GAH. Definitely continue this!
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I will definitely write more in this 'verse, I just need to focus on something else right now. Will get back to it as soon as I can.
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Bravo!
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I love his intensity here. So much love for Jim, even if this 'doesn't mean anything'.
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What a powerful little fic! It said a lot about both of their characters while being sexy at the same time!
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Yeah, pretty much all I can say is 'ouch'. Oh, and also A+ job!
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