kirking: (Default)
ᴊᴀᴍᴇs ᴛ. ᴋɪʀᴋ ([personal profile] kirking) wrote2016-06-16 04:14 am

open post ;





you know the drill. prompts, pics, starters, tfln: do it and receive rp.
maythrowup: (III)

I took you up on that waiting a year thing, I am so sorry.

[personal profile] maythrowup 2018-07-14 11:10 am (UTC)(link)
[Bones heaves a sigh at that that he feels all the way down to... well, to his damn bones. Shoulders hunching, taking just one more moment to himself, he'd angle his body a little away from Jim; force of habit, when he wasn't altogether comfortable with what was brewing in his gut that he was bound to say out loud anyway; and looking up at him from halfway over a shoulder, he'd posit:]

Well, guess I can't say 'it wouldn't have killed you to be more romantic about it', if you're here thinking I'd set you on fire. Know who'd have to deal with that kind of clean-up? Me. Know who'd bitch the whole time about the smell of dermaline gel? You.

[Okay, so that was partially getting it off of his chest, and partial avoidance right there. A vintage blend, for Leonard.

But it just wouldn't seem to unstick from his damn tongue. He'd said to Jim, 'hell, you don't want to marry me'; and there hadn't been a note of argument. A phantom of it. And why should that upset him? It wasn't as if he'd responded to the proposition with abject enthusiasm. He'd treated it as if Jim had asked him how he'd like to die, or if he wanted to play Russian Roulette, just the two of them. So maybe he didn't deserve to be indignant.

But when it came down to it, he also wasn't the one who had decided to ask. Jim didn't do anything half-assed that he really cared about-- rule breaking, hair-brained schemes to save the universe, arguing with superior officers. Hell, he'd seen the man give more heart to a bar fight. And he knew how Bones felt about a suggestion like that. What it had done to him before. They both knew each other's pasts too well, old, favoured books they read over and over in the lines of each other's foundations and decisions and reactions.

It hurt, was what it came down to. It felt like he'd asked because he had to, and that Jim thought it was as damn stupid an idea as it sounded, and for some hypocritical, nonsensical, blasted god-damn reason, that hurt, and it hurt bad, and that sting wasn't ebbing just yet.

It'd take a few hours, and few more drinks. To be able to pretend it had, anyway.]


...I'm done having a heart attack. [He settled on, with a roll of eyes, before going for the bottle himself.] AND I need another drink, but I'll nurse this one, and I know how to pour.

Are you ready to go back to discussing our 'options', or was that the only thing in your arsenal?
maythrowup: (VI)

that's the only threat I make

[personal profile] maythrowup 2018-07-23 02:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[And then Jim says it. The thing that could make his eyes roll so far back into time, they could probably shift the course of history again, all by themselves.

Space Piracy.]


I'll tell you another thing you're no-good at-- this discussion your insisted on.

[That's right, he was giving Jim ownership of it. Full custody, as it were. He'd walked in here, ready at most for a very good time exploring the map of Jim's body, old faithful scars and trigger points along a web of nerves he liked to play instrumentally, a little too fond of the myriad of noises Jim could make in the rare moments where words failed him. At worst, he'd expected a stiff drink, a hot shower, and a good lie-in.

What he got? An emotional ambush, where it seemed they were both being held hostage, a gag shoved so far down their emotional gullets that neither one could scream or spit out anything useful.

Space. Fuckin'. Piracy.]


You propose, and as if that didn't feel ridiculous enough, you go ahead and ask if I'd like to commit treason and be forced to live with half-blind Spock for the rest of my days! I didn't get a damn medical degree and bring your moronic ass back from the dead so I could betray an inter-galactic army all because you read too many damn children's stories and want to wear a feather in your cap! [He could feel his temper rising. Admittedly, it was a common enough feeling.

Helped to smother down all the other ones, which he threatened to feel a little more acutely. Things like hurt or care. Those always came in too clear, too much to him. They were easier to tamp down under the guise of annoyance than to face, more often than not, even if they tended to steer the wheel anyway, unacknowledged.]


My no-ideas have been better than your ideas, so far! Hell, Jim-- if the options are marry you or treason, you'd better go pick out a white dress. Or else kiss my ass goodbye, because if this is all you've got, like hell I'm not getting a transfer.
maythrowup: (II)

/7 years later...

[personal profile] maythrowup 2018-09-20 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
[Crimeny, if the universe depended on Jim Kirk not cracking a joke in a tense situation, no one would be calling Star Fleet Boy Friday over here a hero...

Bones' hand is already half-raised at that retort, unsure if he wants to gesture widely in a fan of fingers to an invisible audience as if to ask you see what I have to deal with?, or if he wants to put that hand up to cover his chin, his nose bridge, his forehead, or his entire damn face. The hand gets caught in limbo instead and just stays... up. As if he could catch the next quip clean out of the air. Because of course there'd be a next quip.

(It's always a tell, when he's anxious. How goddamn stressed his body gets, each muscle moving suddenly and without his direction, then holding still and stiff as a board. Tense. There's tenseness all over-- his jaw, his shoulders...)

And then there's the dress comment and it's all Bones can do not to storm out of the damn room. Or pour a third, fourth, and fifth drink and resume his inevitable descent into alcoholism.]


Nothing with you seems less dramatic.

[He managed through his teeth, a good portion of the romance in Jim's statement having been shafted by the first three sentences out of his mouth. Bones is trying, against his better judgement, not to explode. Not to get too defensive, too angry, while Jim is obviously trying his best not to downplay, not to focus on asides that make all this less vulnerable. Less real.

Both of them, for the record, are doing a shit job.

But they're trying.]


I'm not getting transferred and letting you run this damn ship into the ground, yourself inside it, with some sparkly-eyed new recruit with a perfect GPA and no experience as your CMO.

[It's the closest he can get to romance in return, with his fuse so burned out. Nearly to the quick, where the dynamite sat in wait.]

I am not getting a transfer and I am not committing treason and I am not letting you be a damn fool all alone in space with only Commander Hobgoblin looking over your shoulder, with the one eye you're leaving him.

So you'd better get a preacher and a sheet of paper for me to sign. 'Cause I guess that means we're getting married.

[And given half a second more to think about it, to let the adrenaline wear down, he might change his mind and bolt instead. He was going with the inertia, for now. When there was no better plan, you take the one that's as good as it gets.

He thought more of their relationship than that, and that could bug him later. For now, this.]