Originally written/posted: March 2013
Fandom: Star Trek (AOS) (2009)
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: General
Word Count: 600~ words
Warnings: Canon Compliant, so canon-typical violence. Hurt/Comfort
Notes: Oh, Star Trek fandom in the early 2010s, I will never forget you. I have a few fics from this era of my writing. My deepest apologies in advance, I’m not quite sure I ever completely nailed Bones in these, but they were super fun to write so, I preserve them here.
Jim wakes up with the sun, like clockwork, whenever he’s home. The artificial lights of the ship are different than the sun filtering in through Bones’ second-story bedroom window, and Jim hadn’t realized how much he missed it, missed this—this waking up with Bones and having fresh, un-recycled air to breath in; of course, they were never curled around each other quite like the way they’re comfortable with now, but it’s still familiar—until he didn’t have it anymore.
He loves the ship, loves her like a child (if he has to listen to another one of Bones’ lectures about how his love for the Enterprise is borderline romantic again, it’ll be too soon) but it’s nice to feel the grass beneath his toes again, to look at the sun without the barriers space provides.
He blinks his eyes sleepily, willing the lingering exhaustion that comes with getting a full-nights sleep to go away, and turns his attention to Bones’ huddled, sleeping form underneath the burrito of blankets. Jim doesn’t know how he manages to cocoon himself in bed like he does, when they fall asleep with their legs tangled, arms wrapped around each other, but it makes a warm feeling build slowly in his chest and spread throughout his entire body, warming him from the inside.
Bones is snoring, letting out these little huffs of breath that catch on the end, like they want to get caught in his nose, but make it out anyway, and he finds it all so ridiculously adorable that he’s almost horrified that he even has the thoughts to begin with—let it known that Jim is not a sappy person, has never been, but there’s something about Bones that makes him the exception that proves the rule.
He can’t help himself around him. It’s a disease at the highest stage, a curse to the highest degree, but if he’s honest to himself, he doesn’t particularly mind it, anyway.
“Bones,” his stomach grumbles. Bones does the cooking.
Jim may or may not have almost burned down the apartment building last week. Twice.
He’s not allowed in the kitchen without supervision anymore—which is totally not necessary, but if it makes Bones not so grumpy and broody all of the damn time, he’ll take what he can get.
“Bones,” he repeats, and the bundle doesn’t even so much as breathe.
That can’t be healthy.
“C’mon,” he whines–actually whines–and while he’s not proud of it, it’s one of the only ways that has a 85.56% success rate of getting Bones’ ass out of bed. “Bones, get up. I’m hungry and you won’t allow me to cook for us.”
Bones grunts, or at least Jim thinks he grunts, he can’t really be sure. “Away.”
Bones makes an abortive movement with his hand that is obviously meant to be threatening, but only ends up in the ballpark of embarrassing. Jim finds it really fucking endearing.
“Bones,” Jim pauses; it’s time to bring out the big guns, apparently, “I set fire to one of your medical journals. Accidentally.”
There’s a bustle of movement, Bones shooting up so fast and panicked-eyed that Jim would feel guilty if he wasn’t trying to hold back laughter. His hair is sticking out in brown, tangly tufts on the top of his head, his ridiculous mouth is slack and Jim really wants to kiss him, but that would be really fucking inappropriate, too, given that his boyfriend is probably 0.2 seconds away from cardiac arrest.
“Jim,” Bones hisses, looking angry and scared and downright devastated.
Jim is a horrible person, really.
“What did you do?”
Jim smiles, cheekily, and wraps a broad hand around Bones’ forearm. He looks like he’s about to bolt, and yeah, Jim kind of feels bad about it now. “Nothing,” he says. “Your journals are fine.”
Bones narrows his eyes at him as soon as it clicks and glares. It would make a lesser man wither, but being as Jim Kirk is all man and then some, he just sits there with an amused smirk on his face. “Dammit, kid.”
He relaxes back into the blankets, and Jim huddles warm and close to him. The surefire way to get Bones’ forgiveness and approval is cuddling—Jim was shocked, too—and he’s going to cuddle the hell out of him, obviously. He octopus-wraps his limbs around Bones so he can’t possibly try and escape, and buries his face into the crook of where neck meets shoulder.
“Get off of me, you infant,” Bones grumbles, but his hand comes to rest on the back of Jim’s neck, comforting and tender.
Jim presses a laugh into his neck, and sighs. “Feed me.”
Bones hides a snort into Jim’s forearm that’s caging him to the bed, and pushes the limb off of him grumpily. “Fine, fine.”
Before he leaves the room, Jim feels the bed dip again under Bones’ weight, can feel his breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. “If you ever try that again, Jim, I will cut off your dick with such medical precision you will be thanking me. Got it?”
Jim doesn’t suppress the shivers that climb up his spine, and shoots him a grin lazily. “Duly noted.”
“Good,” Bones presses a kiss to Jim’s forehead before he can hear him in the kitchen, pots banging together and cabinets closing, and the only thing Jim can think of as he pushes himself off of the bed is how damn lucky he is.