Dinner Bell Ring
Jan. 8th, 2010 10:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sharpestscalpelThe sing-song humming, if the blond man on the table had been interested in deciphering it, would have recognizable words. Though it still would not necessarily have sense to the casual onlooker.
"I'm a little doctor, short and stout --"
The happy little tune was interrupted by a pained groan and the doctor in question, neither short nor stout, slapped Jim Kirk's face.
"Shut the fuck up unless you're going to goddamn thank me for it, you little dickbait."
Kirk was restrained, medical-grade restraints rated high enough to hold angry Vulcans - or Klingons or Romulans or who the fuck ever. McCoy had made sure he was not suddenly going to be faced with an enraged nonhuman patient, especially in the secure rooms where he would be unable to call for help.
The refeeding was going well. It had not been, strictly speaking, completely necessary to install a tube down Kirk's throat to his stomach but it meant the man had no choice in the matter and... McCoy liked how it stretched Kirk's pink cocksucking mouth wide.
He poured more protein slurry down the hatch.
"Here is my scalpel, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout - tip me over and fuck your eyes out."
McCoy ran a hand over the bio bed - the probes responded more readily than he was used to yet - he didn't know if he'd ever get goddamn used to the tingle of their response. But there it was, changing the readings on the machine, monitoring Kirk's nutrient intake.
Not nearly efficient enough yet.
"You know, I think tomorrow we'll treat you to some old-fashioned care. You ever had an enema, snatchmouth?"
Kirk moaned again, as his belly filled past the point of sickness; his vomit surged back up the feeding tube and McCoy laughed, delighted, and made sure he didn't choke.
"I'm a little doctor, short and stout --"
The happy little tune was interrupted by a pained groan and the doctor in question, neither short nor stout, slapped Jim Kirk's face.
"Shut the fuck up unless you're going to goddamn thank me for it, you little dickbait."
Kirk was restrained, medical-grade restraints rated high enough to hold angry Vulcans - or Klingons or Romulans or who the fuck ever. McCoy had made sure he was not suddenly going to be faced with an enraged nonhuman patient, especially in the secure rooms where he would be unable to call for help.
The refeeding was going well. It had not been, strictly speaking, completely necessary to install a tube down Kirk's throat to his stomach but it meant the man had no choice in the matter and... McCoy liked how it stretched Kirk's pink cocksucking mouth wide.
He poured more protein slurry down the hatch.
"Here is my scalpel, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, hear me shout - tip me over and fuck your eyes out."
McCoy ran a hand over the bio bed - the probes responded more readily than he was used to yet - he didn't know if he'd ever get goddamn used to the tingle of their response. But there it was, changing the readings on the machine, monitoring Kirk's nutrient intake.
Not nearly efficient enough yet.
"You know, I think tomorrow we'll treat you to some old-fashioned care. You ever had an enema, snatchmouth?"
Kirk moaned again, as his belly filled past the point of sickness; his vomit surged back up the feeding tube and McCoy laughed, delighted, and made sure he didn't choke.
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no subject
Date: 2010-01-09 04:02 am (UTC)