wook77 | Fic: Square Peg, Round Hole(Star Trek: McCoy/Kirk Rated: Hard R)

Title: Square Peg, Round Hole
Author:

wook77
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: Hard R
Wordcount: ~2600
Warnings: Spoilers for the movie
Summary: Kirk's playing board is full, he's got a peg for every slot. McCoy wonders where he can fit in.
A/N: Originally partially posted here. The original prompt was Kirk/Bones. Medical checkup, Bones trying to keep professional and not let anything on about being attracted to Kirk. Kirk starts out completely oblivious. Also, sex in the sickbay. Preferably not established relationship. I failed at the prompt the first time around. I sort of succeeded this time. Unbeta'd. Any errors, let me know and I'll fix 'em.

"Why am I not surprised?" Bones says as two security officers carry Jim into the medical bay.

"Heyabonthhowthitgoa?" Jim slurs so that McCoy is left translating the speech into an approximation of a greeting.

"It would be nice if, for once, you came into medical without having the everlasting shit kicked out of you," he mutters as he goes to find a painkiller. Without turning to address the security officers, he gestures towards an open bed and orders, "Just put him over there. I'll deal with him."

There's a thud and then a groan before the doors open and shut. "Why tho mean ta me?"

"Probably because you deserved it. What was it this time?" McCoy fills the syringe with the bare minimum dosage and then turns and jabs it into Jim's neck before he can react. "Married woman? Recently divorced woman with a jealous ex-husband? Uhura?"

"Will you stop that?!" Jim recoils and then slumps onto the bed. "None of that."

"Yeah? So what exactly earned you the beating this time?" McCoy ignores that it's Jim's flesh under his hands as he tugs the shirt up to reveal the bruises all over his chest. He ignores the way that the unmarked flesh calls to him rather than the marked flesh. It's the marked flesh that should call to him right now. His hands are rougher than they need to be as he palpates the bruises and checks for broken ribs.

"Ouch!" Jim tries to shy away from his touch, making McCoy even rougher in his handling as he grabs Jim's jaw and checks it for fractures. "Ouch!"

"Sorry," he says gruffly when he's anything but sorry.

"No, ur na," Jim mutters as Bones keeps his jaw firmly shut.

"What?" McCoy asks as he releases the jaw and then, unable to resist, soothes the marks his fingers left in Jim's cheeks and jaw.

"That's better," Jim sighs as he turns into Bones's touch. "Touch me like that some more."

"You're a demanding asshole."

"I know. You wouldn't deny a hurt man his final wish, would you?" Jim reaches up and grabs Bones's hand, making him cup Jim's cheek fully, pushing his fingertips into his hair.

"Why are you doing this?" Bones asks, body rebelling against his brain as he reaches out and touches Jim's chest with his other hand, fingers brushing up and down along his sternum. Jim shivers under his touch and he does it again and again.

"Because you won't," Jim answers and then sits up abruptly, swaying drunkenly under the effects of the painkiller. Before Bones can formulate a response, Jim's lips are on his and his tongue is tracing Bones's lips. Moaning into those lips, McCoy opens his mouth and his tongue pushes out to tease at Jim's. His hand is trapped between their bodies and Jim's hand, warm and naked, feels different from his own, clothed and chilled.

Uncaring that Jim's hurt, McCoy forces himself closer, their teeth gnashing against one another as he finally lets go under the onslaught of want and need and feeling.

The swish of the door interrupts and McCoy pulls back quickly, panting and disbelieving. "Captain, other than advising that you avoid chasing after unavailable women and getting yourself embroiled in barfights, I'm afraid that you'll just require time to heal these bruises."

"Thank you, Doctor," Kirk says with an all-too-knowing leer. Leaning closer to McCoy, he whispers, "This isn't over, you know."

"I know," he says, resigned to whatever whims Jim might have.

A week goes by and McCoy relaxes just a bit. There are no further incidents and they slide back into their easy routine and rhythm. That is, Kirk annoys him and he snaps at Kirk. This is much easier as long as McCoy doesn't remember the feel of Jim's lips on his, Jim's flesh under his hands, Jim's tongue against his.

Another week goes past and they slide further back into that comfort level. He should've known, from the careless way that Jim's acting, that he's planning something. McCoy is just too satisfied that his attraction to Jim and Jim's inability to not shag anything and everything that moves have finally parted ways. Jim's found another conquest and McCoy can get back to the business of sublimating his needs.

You'd think he'd be good at it after all those years with his ex-wife. You'd think but you'd be wrong because McCoy can't stop thinking about the way that Jim had pressed against him, bruises and cuts and all. He remembers it every time he's called to the bridge, every time they get together for drinks, every time Kirk asks for a status report on this crew member or that one.

He's had a taste and that should be enough. He hates people, after all. He's bad relationship material, too. Just ask his ex-wife. But he can't help wondering if maybe she'd been the wrong fit; a circle trying to fit into a square slot. He wonders if, maybe, Jim Kirk is the square peg to fit that slot. Then he laughs at himself. Jim Kirk is definitely not a square peg. Hell, he's not any sort of peg at all. He's the fucking playing board with plenty of pegs trying to fit into him.

There's Uhura who is his round peg, the one he keeps trying for. There's Spock and he's a square peg if there ever was one. There's Scotty, who's definitely triangular. There's Sulu, the star. There's Chekov, the trapezoid. There's Pike, the dodecahedron. There's even the older Spock and he's definitely the center pillar of the playing board, the rhombus or parallelogram or some other such shape.

There isn't a slot on the board for McCoy, not one that he wants to fit anyway.

By the time a third week passes after Jim had kissed him, McCoy has resigned himself to his fantasies and nothing else. He doesn't bother to look around to see if there's anyone at all. He's old enough to know better than to get involved with someone he'll be trapped on a ship with for five long years. When the relationship stops working, well, the Enterprise is large but definitely not large enough to deal with that. He's bitter (like anyone wouldn't guess that). He's poor relationship material.

In short, he's a trifecta of failure when it comes to relationships so it's a good thing that Jim hasn't done anything other than ignore the kiss. He's definitely not thinking about the brush of lips and flesh under his hands when the doors to his medbay swish open and he hears Jim's voice, singing a bawdy song that Chekov taught him.

"What brings you to my medlab with that sort of godawful noise?" he says snidely as he leaves his office and stops dead in his tracks. Jim looks like hell. His cheeks are swollen (at least what he can see of Jim's cheeks considering how much blood there is all over his face), his hands are raw, there's blood all over his shirt and he's definitely going to need stitches along his hairline. "What did I tell you after your last trip to my medbay, Jim?"

"That you weren't interested in kissing me?" Jim says as he collapses against a bed, lying down and moaning.

"No. I said to stop chasing after married women and/or Uhura. I can only hope that it was Uhura that did this to you. The poetic justice of you getting your ass kicked by a translator would not escape me in the least." His hands are tender even if his words aren't as he touches Jim's face and feels for bruises.

"Not any of that," Jim says as he leans into Bones's touch. "Touch me."

"How much have you had to drink?" he asks as his fingertips dance across Jim's face, searching for broken bones.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." Now that the initial worry has passed, he notices that the cut along Jim's hairline isn't nearly as bad as it appeared from across the room. In fact… in fact, it looks like it's painted on. "What's this about, Jim?"

"I've been waiting weeks, Bones, weeks," Jim says, sounding like a whining child, a tone that's never worked on Bones before.

"For what?" he asks as he starts to leave to grab a cloth to clean Jim's face.

Jim's hand on his wrist stops him. He finds himself pulled back around until he's standing between Jim's legs. They're too close, far too close for him to be comfortable with the current positions. He can smell Jim. There's no alcohol around this time, no pain or fear scent clinging to him. There's only clean soap and Jim.

"For you."

"Jim, don't start this," he says as he resists the way that Jim's tugging him, hand on his waist as he tries to pull Bones closer. He'd meant to sound angry and is horrified at the plaintive tone that comes out.

"You started it." Jim's smirk is firmly on his face.

"Then I'm finishing it. No, not interested." He pushes against Jim's chest, trying to extricate himself but Jim's legs swing around and lock around his waist, trapping him completely. Instead of feeling claustrophobic, though, he's turned on, far too tempted to lean into Jim's warmth.

"Yes, you are. Just admit it so you can fuck me," Jim says as he leans forward and licks across Bones's neck. "Or I can fuck you if that's what you want. Either way, come on and do something about this."

"Jim, I'm not going to do this. You've got too many pegs," he says and knows, full well, that he doesn't make a lick of sense to anyone outside of his own head.

"Sorry?"

"Your board's full. You've got all the slots filled. There isn't a slot for me to fit."

"Care to explain? Or should I ask to have some of whatever it is you're drinking?"

"Look. Remember that thing when we were kids? You put the round peg in the round hole. You put the square peg in the square one?" Bones pauses to watch Jim nod at him as if he were a particularly slow puppy. "Well, all your slots are full. I'm a peg without room in your life."

"But you're the heart-shaped one," Jim says, confusion completely evident.

Oh, McCoy thinks to himself. He'd forgotten about that peg. Trust Jim to say something that goes straight to his gut, sappy and romantic without being either at all. He echoes his thought out loud, "Oh."

"Now can we get to fucking?" Jim tightens his legs and pulls McCoy closer as he speaks. "I need you, Bones, fucking need you. Stop fighting this. Me."

McCoy groans as Jim's lips touch his neck once more, teeth nipping at his collarbone and then Jim's mouthing up his neck to his ear, sucking the lobe in between his teeth and nibbling there. Reacting without thought, he thrusts forward into Jim, groins lining up. He moans and then moans once more as Jim says, "That's it, Bones, I can't fight both of us anymore."

"Goddammit, Jim," he moans. "This fucks up the friendship and I'll kill you."

"Won't, not if you don't let it."

"I'm holding you to that," he mutters before sliding a hand into Jim's hair, fingers brushing across Jim's ear. He uses his grip to hold Jim's head steady as he takes control of Jim's mouth, kissing him, demanding entrance so that their tongues can touch and flesh (oh god, unbruised flesh underneath his hands this time) for him to explore without worrying over whether he's making Jim's condition better or worse. He leaves Jim's mouth to explore his neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, nipping and sucking in turns.

"Just like that, god, just like that," Jim moans as he arches backwards, hands falling to catch him and keep him upright. Bones doesn't want that so he pushes, making Jim fall to the bed. His hands are everywhere, unfastening the buttons of Jim's regulation trousers, pushing them aside and down his legs, forcing them to unlock from his body as he explores Jim's bared legs. His hands massage Jim's thighs, tightening and then loosening as he avoids Jim's cock, no matter how much Jim arches and moves so that Bones might brush against it. "Fucking cocktease, just touch me."

Jim's hands come up to make Bones do what he wants but Bones grabs them with one hand and pins them against Jim's chest, holding them there one handed as his other hand continues to tease along Jim's inner thighs, light, tormenting touches that do nothing but tickle and arouse.

"You're killing me here," Jim says, running his mouth like he always does. Of course he'd talk during sex. He wouldn't be James Tiberius Kirk otherwise.

"Good. You've been killing me for years," he says back, snarky tone in full force.

"Suck me or fuck me, just stop teasing, Bones," Jim says as he bucks up, trying desperately for any sort of touch on his cock at all.

"You're a demanding bitch, aren't you? What did I see in you?" he says as he brushes up Jim's thigh and then studiously avoids his cock as he continues until he holds both of Jim's hands in his, entwining their fingers. Jim lunges up and attacks his mouth, melding them together as he frots against Bones, creating friction as their cocks brush against one another over and over.

"My inventiveness? My willingness to go where no man has gone before?" Jim says with a leer.

"What makes you think no man has gone here before?" Bones asks as he matches Jim's rhythm.

"Let me have my fantasy, Bones," Jim says and then disengages their hands after giving Bones's hands a squeeze. His hands slide down Bones's body until he grips both their cocks in his hand. It only takes a couple of pulls before Bones's back arches and he comes in that grip while Jim's lips are on his neck, worrying a spot just under where his collar would hide the mark that's sure to raise the next day. Jim moans against his neck as he comes, surprisingly quiet in that moment. Bones would've put money down that he was very vocal when he came, shouting prayers and names hoarsely. Instead, it's a soft exhalation, more of a puff of air against Bones's damp skin than a moan.

"Fuck," Jim says as he leans his weight against Bones.

"I wouldn't do that," Bones says as he slumps.

"What?"

"Lean like that. My knees are about to go out."

Jim laughs and then tugs at his waist, pulling him so that he slumps onto the bed on top of Jim, legs dangling awkwardly over the edge.

"Did you really have to paint all that blood on you?" he finally mutters as he realizes that the blood from Jim's cheeks and fake split lip is probably smeared all over his face.

"Had to get your hands on me somehow. It worked the last time and I figured why mess with success?"

"You're an asshole," Bones mutters, making the insult sound more like an endearment.

"I know but I'm your asshole," Jim says, cheek clearly evident in his tone.

"We're not doing this in the medbay again."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean it."

"Sure you do."

"Seriously, Jim. You're the captain and I'm your chief medical officer."

"Fraternization. It's my favorite rule to break." Jim pulls his face down for another kiss and Bones promptly forgets about the unlocked door or the possible interruptions. Jim sweeps over him as his words from earlier fill Bones's mind. Maybe he does have a place in Jim's board.

As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.