You know, most people would love to have a sexy brunet coming over twice an hour to whisper things in your ear while you're on the job. Who wouldn't want someone with the ass of a god to wander over, brush his hand against your shoulder, lean in nice and close, lips against the shell of your ear, and murmur something meant only for you? Normally, that would be absolutely fantastic. Brilliant. Wank material.
There's only one problem: the sexy brunet is Leonard H. McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of the USS Enterprise, and the things he's whispering aren't sweet little nothings, but reminders that Jim promised that he'd eat an honest-to-god, healthy, no-nonsense salad sometime during the course of the day.
It's driving Jim batshit crazy.
The first time isn't so bad. It's fair game. Jim had promised, after all, that he would repent for his food-loving sins by eating something green without burying it in fatty dressings. It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime things just to get Bones out of his hair about the five pounds he'd gained on his last physical.
What's the big deal? Five pounds is, like, nothing. It's not even three percent of his weight, but Bones harped at him about it like he'd gained a whole goddamn whale and Jim swore the man's head was going to explode all over Sickbay in a rain of fiery, peach-scented death, so he'd agreed to this salad business. Just for today.
God, what a bad decision that's turning out to be.
The second time Bones reminds him, Jim promptly turns around and retorts that it's not even lunch yet, and as captain of the Enterprise, he's more than capable of remembering what he's supposed to be eating, thank-you-very-much.
By the sixth reminder, lunch can't come soon enough. Unfortunately, the Universe, as it often does, has other plans. Just as Jim is heading down to the Mess to get the Dreaded Greens, a yellow alert sounds through the ship, and he has to race back up to the bridge to deal with a random encounter with some sort of space-cow. Seriously.
They've just bumped into a goddamn galactic bovine like some sort of wandering tractor on an Iowan farmstead. No damage done to either party, thank the powers that be, so Jim goes back down, eats his lunch, and only remembers as he's returning to the bridge that his meal hadn't contained any salad. Shit.
So, the seventh reminder comes promptly after that, and Jim begins to wonder how the hell Bones even knew he hadn't eaten that salad, even if he'd lied right through his teeth that he had. Had Bones followed him? Did he have some sort of camera in Jim's intestines? Direct link to Jim's meal card? Potentially all three.
Then again, at this point, Jim wouldn't be surprised if Bones could somehow smell the lack of salad in his pores, or something. The man does tend to have uncanny doctor powers.
Cue reminders eight through fourteen. Jim's mood descends into the blackest pits of Hell and doesn't plan on coming back up for air any time soon.
Screw you, everyone else on the bridge, for thinking this is cute. Pavel giggles quietly whenever Bones saunters on over. Sulu has this smirk. Uhura looks like she thinks they're flirting and don't have balls big enough to admit it for what it is. Spock is… Well, Spock can probably hear those whispers, and isn't at all interested in coming to Jim's defense.
Jim can hear it now: Captain, the Doctor is correct to encourage you to eat more vegetables. I'm an annoying pointy-eared asshole who likes to pretend he knows what's best for you. All anybody ever hears come out of my mouth is 'blah blah blah LOGIC!'
Hee hee hee. Jim pats himself on his back for his excellent mental rendition of Spock and makes a pact with himself to dress up as a Vulcan for Halloween, but then his peripheral vision lets him know that Bones is on the prowl again and heading straight for him.
It's almost the end of his shift, so this should be the final reminder before he goes to get dinner, but at this point, Jim is planning on deliberately not eating salad just to spite the shit out of Bones, so he just looks up at the doctor, puts on a sweet smile and tells him that, yes, he knows he promised to eat a salad and he's going to go do that as soon as the shift change happens.
So then the shift change happens and Jim gets dinner and heads to his own quarters to eat in peace and HAH, FUCK YOU, IT'S A HAMBURGER AND FRIES. Not a shred of green in sight, so Jim takes a moment to childishly revel in his pseudo-badassery. Nobody can make him do something he doesn't want to!
Just as he's about to take his first bite into that greasy delicacy, there's a knock at the door, and Jim doesn't even get a chance to tell whoeveritis to come in before Bones smugly saunters right in with a bowl of salad in one hand and a fork in the other. Damn it.
"Doctor's orders," Bones instructs as he sets the salad down in front of him on the desk and Jim looks up at the doctor as if Bones has handed him a death sentence, instead.
"You've been deliberately annoying the hell out of me all day. Why should I eat your salad?" Jim asks haughtily, figuring he's got Bones backed into a corner with that one.
Instead, the doctor just leans forward, setting his hands on the captain's desk, and he looks him straight in the eye. "'Cause I know how to make you do exactly what I want, kid," he drawls, all Southern accent and smirk, and Jesus Christ, Jim knows he turned on the smolder because the room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer and his pants two sizes smaller.
"Bullshit." Jim tries to hold his ground, but he's already forgetting about the hamburger that's somehow vanished into the waste bin. Subconsciously, he already knows he's completely fucked. Oh, God, he hopes he's completely fucked.
"You eat that salad and I'll make sure you don't even remember your own name in the morning."
Touché.
"Half the salad and you throw in a blowjob," Jim replies, leaning back in his chair and trying not to give away the game by palming himself.
"How about you eat the whole salad and I let you throw in a blowjob?"
"…Deal."
Maybe salads won't be so bad after all.