Moving Day (RP)

[sharpestscalpel]

It was easy enough to empty sickbay out. Most of the wounds coming in were superficial – the real power struggle would take a few more days while alliances and allegiances shook themselves out of the wash. Uhura looked good in the chair and she’d already held it – with a knife blade so lazy from Chekov that the whole defense would have been an insult to the assassin if he hadn’t gurgled out his last breaths onto the floor at Uhura’s booted heels.

McCoy motioned to the last of the nurses and they scattered to take their positions in the halls. It wasn’t that McCoy trusted them. It was that they damn well knew better than to try anything on him or he’d make them wish he’d killed them before he fucked them.

Now it was just a matter of getting Kirk out the door. He hadn’t given the man any warning – it was more fun to keep him guessing.

The probes opened the door to the iso room at McCoy’s approach.

He was smiling.

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[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk watched him, his suspicion imperfectly concealed. The display was overt, obvious, and yet: what was the object? McCoy's intact and presumably well-satisfied equipment? His wiry but well-fed frame, muscles shifting as he moved to the bed? The direction of his travel--namely, not towards Kirk--itself?

He shrugged. He was always cold these days.

"Not my room," he said. "Wouldn't object, though."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

It wasn't a standard bed. Not nearly as big as Pike's - the greedy motherfucker - but enough to do the job and provide some comfort. The sheets were a high enough thread count to earn McCoy that hedonist label. He slid under the blankets and sprawled - his most typical demeanor - with his head on two stacked pillows.

"Temp, fucking up 5 degrees."

He stretched, arms pushing back against the headboard and his toes curled over the bottom of the mattress, and then eased onto his side, to face Kirk.

"I always treat my guests right, Blue. Just one more fucking thing you will finally figure out."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

His brain sluggish, Kirk nonetheless felt intensely the foolishness of falling asleep in a room with another person. It shouldn't have been any different from the brig, or sickbay. Anyone could have killed him with very little trouble. Without even touching him. And yet, the homey--for a certain value of homey--surroundings caught him off guard, which had the effect of putting him on it.

But it went both ways. McCoy, apparently, didn't think he had anything to fear from Kirk. Yet another show of his confidence, without any need to shove it in Kirk's face. He knew that Kirk had nothing to gain by killing his only benefactor.

"I've got a lot on my mind," he said dryly, vageuly acknowledging the vast array of things he hadn't figured out. First among them, why they were engaged in a fucking sleepover. What McCoy wanted from him. His thoughts drifted, but he was loathe to lay down. Wary.

"Who's the girl?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

That got a reaction - McCoy tensed slightly even though he held his position, slightly curled, one hand tucked beneath a pillow.

"Something else for you to learn real quick - you want to spread gossip, I will make you the fucking subject of it, I tell you goddamn what."

His voice was low, a reminder of the instruction he had issued Kirk that day in the brig.

"Now, you asking about my wife or my ex-daughter?"

And just like that, the menace was gone and he was as inviting as ever, warm and sincere and genteel.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk stared at him balefully. Who the fuck was he going to tell? Project one when McCoy eventually went back to sickbay was figure out if he was even technically still alive or had rank. Didn't mean he was going to start running his mouth.

Just common fucking sense. Not the twist of fear in his gut, no. Or the relief at the new tone, the obvious warning that shift itself should be swallowed by bourbon and confusion.

"Yeah," he said. That covered the basics, anyway. He wasn't stupid enough to ask too much about anyone's past, or why they'd ended up here. But it was a piece of information, that was sure. Had to be hard to leave a piece like that back home. Not that Kirk would know. Even in a place like this, other people had families. Photos. "What're their names?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

He stared across the room for a moment.

'Lights, goddamn 10%."

McCoy returned to his back, idly stroked his cock with his thumb as he spread his legs and settled himself.

"Wife is Jocelyn. You might know her better as the wife of Senator Reginald Bainesbridge."

His snort was a clear indication of his opion on that matter.

"Daughter is Joanna and I am legally prohibited from speaking about her."

Pike's pull had only gone so far. He was not well-trusted by the Fleet higher-ups who had approved his position.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk blinked in the sudden dimness, though whether at the unwanted display--yeah, not that subtle--or the name even he wasn't sure. At this point, it didn't occur to him to wonder if McCoy was trying to tempt him. He was firmly convinced he'd never feel that stir of desire again. No, it was solely to demonstrate what he himself was not capable of. What he'd never have from a sweet number like that.

Sure, he'd be able to fuck again. On the receiving end, and he'd done that before plenty without feeling anything about it one way or the other. But McCoy was determined to remind him, constantly, of his deficiencies. Of his own inability to take pleasure in it ever again, or to put it to a girl like Uhura who liked it a little rough once in awhile.

Still, he had trouble looking away, and trouble covering that fact in the heady state McCoy had put him in. Didn't mean anything but that he was starved: for attention, for stimulus, for anything in his field of vision that wasn't grey walls and death.

"That's too damn bad," he said, not specifying which piece of information prompted the remark. He was so tired, but there was this edge to it that was like trying to sleep on gravel. "They look happy."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

"Uppity woman, that one. She's a goddamn fucking firecracker."

For the first time, McCoy's voice held actual, recognizable fondness and admiration.

And fatigue. It had been a long day. He deserved the 48 hours off-shift he had managed to arrange for himself. And it wasn't like Chapel didn't know how to comm if there was trouble.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk, too, was fading, despite his wariness. He could not maintain vigilance. His head bowed, his body swaying slightly until he caught himself, snapping back upright.

"S'nice place you've got," he mumbled. "Thanks f'r the drink."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

"Sleep fucking tight, James T. Kirk."

McCoy's eyes gleamed in the little bit of light left. Then he turned to his other side and closed his eyes and slept.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk did not sleep right away.

He watched McCoy for awhile, like a starved dog at the edge of a fire. It might lick out and burn you, or someone might kick you away from what little warmth you've managed to find.

But it caught up with him, eventually. Everything that had happened (and not), all the adrenaline and anticipation and hell, simple walking had done him in. He drifted off, eventually curling into a fetal position on the sofa bed, his face turned towards McCoy as if he could keep watch through lowered eyelids.