Nowhere to Hide (from yourself)
Oct. 28th, 2017 10:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerI was thinking about Kirk's ability to just throw a wrench into any plans, ever. And realizing, hey, that sounds familiar, I wonder what–HELLBLAZER.
Mostly based on the TV show, with more of the (unseen on TV) history, such as the history of the mad king Konstantin and the Laughing Magician.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse)/Constantine crossover
Summary: Dr McCoy is drinking in a bar when a handsome stranger walks in. Then things get weird.
Word Count: 1021
Rating: Teen
Warnings: McCoy gets drunk (or drugged).
Mostly based on the TV show, with more of the (unseen on TV) history, such as the history of the mad king Konstantin and the Laughing Magician.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse)/Constantine crossover
Summary: Dr McCoy is drinking in a bar when a handsome stranger walks in. Then things get weird.
Word Count: 1021
Rating: Teen
Warnings: McCoy gets drunk (or drugged).
Dr. McCoy notices the kid when he comes in. Blond-haired, blue eyed, looks and acts almost impossibly young, and the classic leather jacket and tight jeans don’t help him seem any older. “J’habirhi! Since when did you end up on Iovis?”
The bartender just grunts and starts to pour a mixed drink for the newcomer, seemingly uninterested.
“He’s happy to see me, really,” he explains with a grin to the entire bar, glancing around like he’s looking for a victim. McCoy busies himself with his bourbon, but it’s apparently too late, because the blond slides into the seat next to him, impossibly, dangerously close. “Hey.”
“No,” the doctor growls, voice lower, more dangerous from the unwanted closeness to another human being.
“I didn’t even say anything yet,” the kid says, mock hurt in his voice, and—yeah, okay, a glance was a bad idea, because pretend or not, that pout is lethal. “I’m a really flexible guy.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m up for anything once. Whatever you want, I’ll go along.”
“What if I want to drink in peace?” McCoy snarls back, because, dammit, he’s too old to be falling for this crap.
The silence is blessed, and then it suddenly feels like it’s empty. Lonely. He tries to embrace it, tries to go back to being content with what he has left, and—he can’t. He can pretend, but somehow that jackass of a kid managed to break his happy little illusion that he was all right with the world as it is, that he just had to live with the facts, broken as the world is, and not want anything.
“I would go,” the stranger drawls, deliberately, and he does everything he can to stop himself from being happy about the fact that he hadn’t managed to scare someone off this time, “…but I think you’re lying to yourself.”
“You a psychologist, now?” the doctor snipes.
“…In the school of the bar, yeah.” He knows it’s a bad idea, but he glances back up, and this time there’s a healthy distance between them that suddenly feels light-years away. There’s something ancient and sad in those eyes, like the kid, young as he is, has somehow seen the weight of the world. “No one really wants to be alone.”
“Then why do so many of us end up alone in bars?” McCoy asks curiously, because so far, the stranger hasn’t been driven away by the doctor’s nasty attitude. Something Joce had insisted everyone would be, and of everything she’d said, that was something the doctor didn’t disagree with.
“It’s not a matter of choice, but necessity,” the kid explains, taking a long sip from whatever tall glass the bartender hands him. He’s still too bright, too perfect, but the fact that there’s something dark lurking underneath that pretty boy exterior…it probably shouldn’t, but it reassures Leonard anyway. “Some of us are cursed. Things happen, and it’s like the universe hates us. Some of us are the curse. Which are you?”
He grimaces and stares moodily at his drink. “I don’t think I buy the distinction,” he says eventually, and the sudden interest on the kid’s face is almost addictive. It’s been ages since anyone’s listened to him and had any interest, even the sort of polite, academic, strangers-drinking-in-a-bar way that’s going on now. “It’s not either all our fault or the universe’s. There’s always shared fault.”
“Wow, that’s deep,” the stranger responds, and then sticks out a hand to shake. “Jim Kirk, by the way.”
“Leonard McCoy.” He’s not sure why he doesn’t mention the doctorate. Sure, he’s not a practicing doctor, probably couldn’t be, probably had his license revoked, but it’s not like he hadn’t earned that, ages ago.
He’s not entirely sure how he gets from where he was to telling this stranger all his darkest secrets (well, aside from the stuff about his dad). He’s vaguely certain that a question about how he’d ended up on a different planet when he hated space travel had been asked by Jim, who was being, at the same time, more sympathetic and more matter-of-fact than anyone he’d talked to. “Wife took the planet in the divorce. All I got left is my bones,” he explains slightly drunkenly. Judging by the number of glasses in front of them, though, they’ve had a lot of alcohol.
“That’s rough,” Kirk responds in the same tone that you’d comment on the fact that it was raining and a stranger forgot their umbrella. It’s soothing, for some reason.
“What about you? What’s a boy from Iowa doin’ out here in the black?” he asks, letting his accent slip loose since the blue-eyed dreamer seems to like it, if the way his tongue slips out to caress his lips is any indication.
“Just riding my bike, drinking, and having one-night stands around the Midwest was a little too restrictive for me. Much better to do it from planet to planet.” And that’s an evasive answer, not a real one.
“What’s the real reason, kid?” he snarls, leaning in closer than he should to those falsely innocent blue eyes.
The lie wavers around for a second more and then disappears. Jim smirks dangerously, and he suddenly appears like a predator, someone else who’ll waltz into his life and burn it down to the ground. If he had any self-preservation instincts left, he should pull back, run away, but instead he doesn’t move. It’s not like he’s frozen; he knows, somewhere, he consciously made a choice. He’s not sure when, but it happened. “Well,” Jim responds, tongue caressing every letter, “You.”
Suddenly there’s no distance between them, lips pressing closer and closer as if this Jim Kirk wants to crawl inside his chest, and despite the fact that he remembers what happens when love goes sour, despite that he hasn’t kissed anyone since Jocelyn, he gives as good as he gets, slipping tongue in, and then suddenly it’s hot and dirty.
And just as suddenly, a black as vast and terrifying as the expanse of space swallows him whole, before he even has the ability to scream.
The bartender just grunts and starts to pour a mixed drink for the newcomer, seemingly uninterested.
“He’s happy to see me, really,” he explains with a grin to the entire bar, glancing around like he’s looking for a victim. McCoy busies himself with his bourbon, but it’s apparently too late, because the blond slides into the seat next to him, impossibly, dangerously close. “Hey.”
“No,” the doctor growls, voice lower, more dangerous from the unwanted closeness to another human being.
“I didn’t even say anything yet,” the kid says, mock hurt in his voice, and—yeah, okay, a glance was a bad idea, because pretend or not, that pout is lethal. “I’m a really flexible guy.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m up for anything once. Whatever you want, I’ll go along.”
“What if I want to drink in peace?” McCoy snarls back, because, dammit, he’s too old to be falling for this crap.
The silence is blessed, and then it suddenly feels like it’s empty. Lonely. He tries to embrace it, tries to go back to being content with what he has left, and—he can’t. He can pretend, but somehow that jackass of a kid managed to break his happy little illusion that he was all right with the world as it is, that he just had to live with the facts, broken as the world is, and not want anything.
“I would go,” the stranger drawls, deliberately, and he does everything he can to stop himself from being happy about the fact that he hadn’t managed to scare someone off this time, “…but I think you’re lying to yourself.”
“You a psychologist, now?” the doctor snipes.
“…In the school of the bar, yeah.” He knows it’s a bad idea, but he glances back up, and this time there’s a healthy distance between them that suddenly feels light-years away. There’s something ancient and sad in those eyes, like the kid, young as he is, has somehow seen the weight of the world. “No one really wants to be alone.”
“Then why do so many of us end up alone in bars?” McCoy asks curiously, because so far, the stranger hasn’t been driven away by the doctor’s nasty attitude. Something Joce had insisted everyone would be, and of everything she’d said, that was something the doctor didn’t disagree with.
“It’s not a matter of choice, but necessity,” the kid explains, taking a long sip from whatever tall glass the bartender hands him. He’s still too bright, too perfect, but the fact that there’s something dark lurking underneath that pretty boy exterior…it probably shouldn’t, but it reassures Leonard anyway. “Some of us are cursed. Things happen, and it’s like the universe hates us. Some of us are the curse. Which are you?”
He grimaces and stares moodily at his drink. “I don’t think I buy the distinction,” he says eventually, and the sudden interest on the kid’s face is almost addictive. It’s been ages since anyone’s listened to him and had any interest, even the sort of polite, academic, strangers-drinking-in-a-bar way that’s going on now. “It’s not either all our fault or the universe’s. There’s always shared fault.”
“Wow, that’s deep,” the stranger responds, and then sticks out a hand to shake. “Jim Kirk, by the way.”
“Leonard McCoy.” He’s not sure why he doesn’t mention the doctorate. Sure, he’s not a practicing doctor, probably couldn’t be, probably had his license revoked, but it’s not like he hadn’t earned that, ages ago.
He’s not entirely sure how he gets from where he was to telling this stranger all his darkest secrets (well, aside from the stuff about his dad). He’s vaguely certain that a question about how he’d ended up on a different planet when he hated space travel had been asked by Jim, who was being, at the same time, more sympathetic and more matter-of-fact than anyone he’d talked to. “Wife took the planet in the divorce. All I got left is my bones,” he explains slightly drunkenly. Judging by the number of glasses in front of them, though, they’ve had a lot of alcohol.
“That’s rough,” Kirk responds in the same tone that you’d comment on the fact that it was raining and a stranger forgot their umbrella. It’s soothing, for some reason.
“What about you? What’s a boy from Iowa doin’ out here in the black?” he asks, letting his accent slip loose since the blue-eyed dreamer seems to like it, if the way his tongue slips out to caress his lips is any indication.
“Just riding my bike, drinking, and having one-night stands around the Midwest was a little too restrictive for me. Much better to do it from planet to planet.” And that’s an evasive answer, not a real one.
“What’s the real reason, kid?” he snarls, leaning in closer than he should to those falsely innocent blue eyes.
The lie wavers around for a second more and then disappears. Jim smirks dangerously, and he suddenly appears like a predator, someone else who’ll waltz into his life and burn it down to the ground. If he had any self-preservation instincts left, he should pull back, run away, but instead he doesn’t move. It’s not like he’s frozen; he knows, somewhere, he consciously made a choice. He’s not sure when, but it happened. “Well,” Jim responds, tongue caressing every letter, “You.”
Suddenly there’s no distance between them, lips pressing closer and closer as if this Jim Kirk wants to crawl inside his chest, and despite the fact that he remembers what happens when love goes sour, despite that he hasn’t kissed anyone since Jocelyn, he gives as good as he gets, slipping tongue in, and then suddenly it’s hot and dirty.
And just as suddenly, a black as vast and terrifying as the expanse of space swallows him whole, before he even has the ability to scream.
