Prompt link: http:/ l i v e j o u r n a l .com/st_xi_kink_?thread=12205008. Original request: "I'm fed up of reading Spock/McCoy/Kirk fic where McCoy is insecure and the third wheel or treated like some sort of pity fuck. I would really, really like some fic where he is secure, and maybe even the center of attention for once. And I'd prefer if the others aren't insecure either."
Jim Kirk was trying to steal his heart, and he was sure the kid didn't even know it. Recognizing the tell-tale signs of lust and the hellbugs fluttering in his gut, he sat pondering at his desk in sickbay. With a rueful, crooked smile he raised a toast and looked to the brightly lit ceiling above him. Appreciating the burn of a good whisky, he savoured it as long as he could before stowing the bottle away in a security locked drawer in his desk. How fitting, he mused, that it would be the one right below the drawer that contained three emergency hyposprays he kept loaded and at the ready; two would treat one of Jim's more obscure allergies and the other...well.. while he was sure he'd never have to administer another shot to cure a bought of Risan Ringworm, he really wasn't willing to take the chance. Jim had a wandering eye when it came to danger but, thankfully, he had dexterous precision. The kid would have perished to the great beyond without him.
Noting that he had been technically off-duty for almost an hour now, he pulled his blue uniform shirt over his head and tossed it on top of his medical bag. Rolling up the sleeves of the fitted black undershirt, he grabbed a PADD and tried to pretend that he had better things to do besides ponder Jim Kirk.
Leaning back in his chair, he imagined himself calling Jim out on his shit. They had always bantered back and fourth, interaction that many would consider flirting. He cringed inside at the word. He still had trouble disassociating it from his years growing up with tanned Southern girls and cherry flavoured lips. While he had enjoyed his fair share of sticky summer encounters in the back of old man's antique Impala or romps that were kept secret by one of the hundred willow trees that littered his home town, he could never exactly grasp how to give back what the girls were selling. Being a southern gent had only worked to his advantage when he had hit his college years. The women a couple years his senior had liked his dedication to school and his patience in relationships. It was what had snagged him Jocelyn.
He was darker now, and yes, slightly cynical; age and loss will do that to a man. He didn't exactly have people flocking to him at the Academy, at least not openly, and he hadn't necessarily been disappointed about it. The freshmen that were beginning their medical career admired him from afar, and why wouldn't they? He was already published and reputable, having developed his own treatments that the neurology students would be reading about. That and he had already sowed his oats and could write a thesis on the effects of hangovers while cramming for an exam. To sum it up, the most social he had been at the academy was during the weekly group meetings he organized for astrophobia.
He had felt awkward and out of place with so many youths around him, more content to stay at home on a Friday night and talk to Joanna via satellite about her week at school. She would prattle on about her classmates and show him the various baubles and trinkets she had made. Occasionally she would regale him with tales of how many frogs she had caught that week from the river near her house. Apparently Jocelyn had taken up that pass time with her in his absence. He wasn't above admitting that his ego had been happily stroked upon Joanna's assurance that he was still her wingman at catching the slippery creatures.
Wondering how he had gone from thoughts of Jim to Jocelyn, he stretched his legs before standing to grab his bag and close up shop for the night. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he stuffed his uniform shirt between the zipper and walked out of his office. Nodding to Chapel on his way out, he made his way to the mess intending to grab a bite to eat before settling in for the night.
On his way the turbolift, his mind eventually faded once more to thoughts of Jim. And his swooning. That one time in sickbay...damned kid had been turned inside out, blushing scarlet when he had performed an exam of a fractured rib. Even with such temptation before him, his hands didn't linger any longer than necessary against the warm skin. He wondered when Jim had suddenly shifted him into a different gear, seeing him in this new light. Perhaps it wasn't intentional; maybe Jim had simply noticed him for the first time, even after years of friendship. He knew he was attractive, and finally free of his post-divorce hell and endless self-deprecation, he could finally consider himself a 'catch' again.
The turbolift signaled his arrival and walking through the doors, he gave his hair a quick finger-comb, happy to undo the slicked military style he wore all day. Messier and much more suited to his liking, he nodded at the crew members he passed along his route to the mess hall. One of them, of course, would be Jim; he must have been just getting off duty, or just starting? He could never keep up with the workaholic schedule Jim followed. Seeing the blue eyes shift to him and away from a group of yeomen he had been conversing with, McCoy allowed himself a small smirk and a wink when he was sure the others weren't looking. Satisfied with the slightly flushed features and tight nod that was returned to him, he maneuvered his way to the replicator for a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Locating a table near the wide window alcove, he sat with his back to the majority of the room and wondered idly if Jim would join him.
He had been talking to a couple yeoman near the bar area of the mess, when his Chief Medical Officer decided to walk in looking like sex on legs. While Leonard McCoy followed a strict medical code of honour and integrity, Bones was another entity all together. Bones had longer-than-regulation, tousled hair and exposed, chiseled forearms; he walked slower, his eyes were a little more lidded than usual, and it all went straight to Jim's head. It was all a perfect compliment and contrast to Chief Medical Officer to the flagship: hair slicked to perfection, an almost permanently crinkled brow, and a clinical tone so harsh it cut almost entirely through his natural drawl. Also a turn on.
A hazel eye winked at him and he swallowed the tangle of nerves in his throat. Returning the nod, he was glad to note that no one had noticed the slip in protocol. He cursed internally at the other man before returning his attention to his crew members and finishing up his orders for the day. Turning, he made his way to the spot he knew Bones would be occupying and quickly assessed once again how he found himself lusting after his best friend of four years. He had been present for the evolution, or possibly the return, of Leonard McCoy, so there was little he didn't know about the man. He was proud that Bones had slipped back into a more healthy mental and emotional space, cause damn it had been a rough couple years for his friend. Jim's belly flip-flopped as he approached the object of every recent fantasy and slid into the chair across from his friend.
Leaning forward, he allowed himself his usual carefree smirk and questioned the doctor about his blatant disregard for protocol, "Do you want a reprimand?"
He watched his friend smile at his plate and lead toward him. Huddled together this close, Jim was sure they probably had that up-to-no-good, michevious look about them. The reply was accompanied by a dark smirk, "And if I do?"
Heat seemed to radiate from the question and Jim swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, "Doctor McCoy, I simply can't have his insubordination on my ship. What am I to do with you?"