kirktastic: ((Kirk/Bones) Friends. Lovers. Always.)
James T. Kirk ([personal profile] kirktastic) wrote2009-11-24 09:18 pm

[A Stupid Hot Mess] -- [Kirk and Bones]

After the communication with Bones, Kirk already knew this was going to not go well. He had left a last note to Bones, giving him the location of a small lounge near the residential area. It was supposed to be for ambassadors, but hell, he was Captain. He could use it, and he could lock it down.

He also knew the replicator had access to the alcoholic menu.

He flopped down with a grunt into a heavily padded chair and closed his eyes. His left hand was throbbing slowly in time with his heart beat, and he told it to leave him alone. This was the absolute last thing he ever wanted to be doing.

And Bones was forcing him to. Fuck.

[identity profile] kirktastic.livejournal.com 2009-11-27 10:13 pm (UTC)(link)
Kirk's fingers curled into fists at his side, the memory of bar fights and back alleys flooding into his mind. Taunts followed by that exact tone, those exact words, each one that made his blood boil.

Kirk turned slowly and faced Bones, "Then come over here like a fucking man and say that to my face."
Edited 2009-11-27 22:16 (UTC)

[identity profile] dctr-mccoy.livejournal.com 2009-11-27 10:23 pm (UTC)(link)
Locking eyes with Kirk, he walked over slowly, back straight, stopping only when he was right in front of his captain. "I'm right here, Jim. You going somewhere?"

[identity profile] kirktastic.livejournal.com 2009-11-27 10:39 pm (UTC)(link)
"Interview sure as fuck seemed over, Doc." Kirk said tersely, fists clenched tightly enough at his sides that the bones throbbed in time with his heart.

[identity profile] dctr-mccoy.livejournal.com 2009-11-27 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)
"Way I remember it," Bones said, holding his ground, "I called you a hypocrite, you didn't like it, and decided to take off. Or is that you 'handling it'?" Bones asked, making quotation marks with his hands.

[identity profile] kirktastic.livejournal.com 2009-11-27 10:56 pm (UTC)(link)
Every instinct, cultivated over years and years of time and being forced to fight for pride, survival, and less, told him to deck Bones in the face. Bones wasn't a trained fighter. He'd go down easy. He'd pay for it. Bones was pushing him on purpose. Bones knew what set him off.

He felt his fist tighten and come up. He watched Bones' eyes flinch shut.

What are you doing, Jim?

He turned on his heel and walked out of the door, letting it hiss closed behind him as he walked down down the hall.

He needed to think.