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When you see this, post a little weensy excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y. Gacked from [livejournal.com profile] astolat.

So here we go, with some not so small excerpts from stories. Comments and encouragement welcome :)


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Their gazes met, und McCoy held his breath as he felt the sudden energy between them. "Jim…"

Kirk reached out, hesitating for a second – then he closed his hand around McCoy's head and pulled him into a kiss. The first one was brief, the second much longer. McCoy clamped his hands around Kirk's waistline, pulling their bodies together; Kirk's other hand rubbed over his back.

"Oh Bones," Kirk murmured softly when their lips parted.

"What are we doing?" McCoy said, his voice shaken. But he still pressed his cheek on Kirk's, deeply inhaling the well-known scent of his friend. "It feels so good," he whispered.

"You're not the only one who wants this," Kirk said and pulled him into another kiss. "Though it's a bit more complicated than that."

"It's about Spock too," McCoy said.

"Yes. And I don't want to hurt you. Any of you."

But in contrast to his words, Kirk still had his arms around McCoy. In a sudden, renewed surge of love, McCoy pressed some kisses on Kirk's neck and side of the face before meeting his eyes.

"This is the first time I feel alive and whole in the last weeks, Jim. I dream about you – and Spock, both of you. I dream of being with you, really with you, you understand?"

"Yes." Kirk met McCoy's gaze. "I didn't see it in my dreams, but the thoughts - hopes - keep popping up. I wanted it for a long time."

"You – what?" McCoy held his breath. "Really? You never even hinted on anything, ever."

"How would you have reacted, say, five years ago? Even one year ago?"

"Don't know," McCoy said. "Well, yes…maybe you're right. It has to do with the fal-tor-pan, I'm sure."

Kirk nodded. "I don't care why it changed; I only know it did change. I'm reacting much more to both of you than in the past, and you do too. We badly need to talk to Spock, trying to find out what he thinks."

McCoy heaved a sigh, slowly pulling away from Kirk. "I wish. Just thinking about talking to him makes me nervous. Can you imagine us bringing up the idea of a…I don't know, love triangle?"

"We need to." Kirk eyed McCoy. "Should I talk to him first? Or shall we talk tonight?"

"Don't you see him this afternoon?" McCoy asked. "I wouldn't mind if you tested the waters. For the first time in decades, I'm absolutely not sure how he will react - although I've been in his head," McCoy added with a nervous little laughter.

"Okay." Kirk nodded, then straightened his uniform. "I'll try my very best. We've waited for a while, we can wait a little longer, right?"

"Right," McCoy agreed. He didn't voice the possibility that they'd have to wait forever. Even knowing that Kirk felt like he did didn't really relieve his mind. The three of them were so entangled by now that he couldn't really imagine them getting together without Spock. It just wouldn't feel right. Kirk was about to leave through the door when McCoy caught his arm. But he swallowed down the words he really wanted to say, no matter what happens, I love you, and said instead, "I hope you'll get through to him, Jim."

"Have to," Kirk said and patted McCoy's hand. "We'll make it work." He added a flash of a Kirk smile and left the apartment for another busy day.




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Kirk waited in front of the door, trying to keep his breathing on level. It was one hour since he's read the note on his console – by pure chance, he usually wasn't home so early – and had given it a few minutes to sink in before he left the house again.

It didn't give him much detail, but it undoubtedly came from Max, sent three hours earlier.

Hi Jim,

I'm on Earth for one night. I may have a treat for you. If you're willing, come to beam point 445.945.111.AXF (no looking up!) and come to room 955. No luggage necessary.

Max Fe.


He'd been surprised, but in a good way. He'd thought about it for a moment, feeling that he'd liked to ask Spock and Bones before going there, but the one was involved with some Vulcan embassy stuff this night and the other was on a conference, and none of them reacted to a brief call.

It left Kirk to make his own decision. He'd imagined their reaction if he told them afterwards what he'd missed, and they'd quirked an imaginary brow at him and called him stupid. Max had been tested and was acceptable for and accepted by both. There was no reason to think that this here wouldn't be acceptable too, no matter what was going to happen.

Kirk tried to reply to the message, but couldn't. His only possible answer was to show up at the room and trust Max. He forwarded the message to his lovers, the only little cover backup he needed, and left the apartment again to go to the closest public beam point. It would be an expensive evening, but he hoped it would be worth it.

The door of the room opened, and he stepped in.

"Hi -" Max, he wanted to say, but his friend pulled him into his arms and closed one hand around his mouth.

"No word," Max whispered in his ear, and Kirk nodded in surprise. The room door snapped close, and he slightly leaned into the hold.

"You've got the choice. You can submit to me tonight, and I'm going to blindfold you, tie you up and do something very special with you, or you can go on top together with me. No discussion. Make your choice. Nod for the thing you agree too. Do you want to be on top…or bottom…top….or bottom…?"

Kirk's mind raced, torn between the possibilities that both sounded hot beyond measure at the moment. But when Max tightened his grip on him and asked him again, he knew that it would be more fun to give in to the other one's wishes tonight. Obviously, Max was in total top space, and it made Kirk weak in his knees in a way only Max could achieve.

"So you choose bottom?" Max asked again to make sure, and Kirk nodded.

"Okay. Close your eyes. Don't move. Don't talk."



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For a long time, Leonard McCoy, citizen of Earth, had tried to get into a medical advancement program on Vulcan. With his specialization in xenobiology and neurocrafting, it was the only road worth pursuing. Of course, Terran medicine wasn't all rattles and beads but close to it, compared to Vulcan knowledge.

However, only a small percentage of aliens were allowed to go to Vulcan every year, and he never ended on those lists. In a Federation with the central world Vulcan, all other planets were just second-class, easily subjected to the whims of the ruling nation.

Damn them, he thought.

It was time for plan B, he decided after the third try, and signed up for a marriage program, fully knowing that in such a deal, he would probably end up as the weaker partner in every respect. It didn't matter. It would be worth it, as long as he could study at the Vulcan facilities.

Torn between hope for success as much as for failure, he waited a few months and was about to forget his subscription when he was called to the Vulcan Embassy on a Saturday. The note was formal, stiff, very Vulcan and only told him that in accordance to his marriage offer, he would have to undergo some tests.

They wanted everything from him, it seemed. They took blood and urine samples, had him checked on a med bed with deep scan, performed a superficial mind meld on him, ordered him to a standard physical and wanted him to tell all of his medical curriculum (although they had it on paper in front of them). One of the Vulcans seemed to be an expert and went quite into detail, but McCoy handled the cross-examination well. His motivation was logical to them, and in the end they seemed pleased by his performance, well, pleased by their standards.

"Are you still sure you want to take this path, Dr. McCoy?" an elder Vulcan finally asked.

"Yes, I am," McCoy answered firmly. The Vulcan exchanged a glance with his neighbor, then nodded slightly.

"In this case, report here next Tuesday at 1100 your time for a final test. It will take three days."

"Three days," McCoy said surprised. "Do I need to bring anything with me?"

"You won't need anything, doctor. Just time and dedication to your goal."

"That won't be the problem." McCoy said.



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And then the unexpected happened: Spock took McCoy's wounded hand, tenderly removing it from the doctor's own hold.

McCoy's eyes followed Spock's fingers, as they rubbed softly over the cut, as if they could seal it by their sheer presence. He looked up, meeting Spock's gaze. Its intensity took his breath away and as if in slow motion and by a will of their own, their faces came closer and closer…

Spock jerked away, pulling back a few steps. "I…apologize," he mumbled, and turned on his heels, leaving Sickbay as quickly as possible.

McCoy stared down on his hand, where the blood was still flowing. What was a little physical pain, compared to his heartache?




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He never slept well. Well, he had, some time in the past, but it was a bit blurred now. At the moment, there wasn't a good night's sleep to be had. But he didn't want to take any pills; he didn't want to start using that kind of crutch that was prone to abuse. And the second reason, though he never voiced it even to himself, was that he wanted to be alert and ready…if she came.

Of course, it was illogical. It was over. She probably couldn't care less for him at this point, and it was extremely unlikely that she would ever show up here by chance.

Had he thought it over, he would have said the same about Luna Station. But he didn't want to go there now. Really not.

He turned around in bed for the umpteeth time and sighed. This did no good. He'd get up, do something sensible for a while and try again. He could tire himself out a little; they had a training wheel in the lab. He could –

He froze as he heard the characteristic click of the door, followed by the small, screeching sound it made when it swung open.

Everything in him coiled up in panic…and then in relief. At least, now was his moment that he could be active and do something before she'd get him. His right hand slipped under the cushion, searching for the phaser. It was warm in his hand, a deceptively little potential killer – but of course, it was set to stun. He didn't want to kill anyone…did he?

There were quiet steps in the corridor, and he clamped his fingers around the phaser,
thumb on the trigger, before moving out of bed. There was a protective shadow behind the bedroom's door, and he sneaked into it, face to the room. The steps drew closer, and McCoy held his breath until they passed him. Then, in a quick, determined movement Spock would've been proud of, he jumped out of his hide and closed his left underarm around the intruder's neck, pulling the person close to his chest before putting the phaser's point on his head.




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Just when Kirk wanted to step nearer, Spock turned around in his usual fluid movement. He clasped his hands behind his back, and for a second it reminded Kirk painfully of those many moments where his first officer made his report...

"Jim, there is something that I need to verify."

For Spock the voice was just a bit more controlled than usual - for a human Kirk would have described that kind of voice as 'deadly serious'. He was not sure whether he should sit or stay, thus helplessly undetermined standing with his coffee in the middle of the room. A lot of things came into his mind, but his final answer sounded flat and uninviting even to his own ears.

"Yes?"

Spock's face froze slightly.

"It seems my arrival has come untimely. Perhaps I should leave again - "

"No," Kirk said hastily. "No," he added warmer. "It's just..." His voice trailed off. Just the funny feeling that there was something between them that was unsettled. Something that badly needed to be talked about. Something he just didn't remember. And he feared to hear his suspicions to be put into words.


I skipped some of the really bad ones. But actually, the list is shorter than it was for many years, thanks to my finishing the MU series and The'lan :)

(no subject)

Date: 2007-08-05 05:22 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] epistrophia.livejournal.com
I want to read more of all of these!

(I suppose I could do this meme - the truth is, all my writing is WIP and seems destined to stay IP...)

(no subject)

Date: 2007-08-06 09:41 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] syredronning.livejournal.com
Hehe, thanks.

What a pity about your WIPs. Maybe just trying for drabbles for a while? Sometimes they work wonders with the muses...

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