Farfalla the Butterfly-Kitten < blueberrysnail @ yahoo.com >
Rating: PG for implied casual whatever
Written for the 2004 Kirk/McCoy Fest, and inspired by pretty places I have been, including a certain parking lot.
"How old did you say this thing was? Your daughter keeps it in such good condition." Jim Kirk's arm hung out of the window, resting against the side of the antique flitter, and he caressed its body leisurely.
"2211," McCoy answered indirectly. "And these are worth even more than you'd think, 'cos that was the only year they had these miniature fin things on the back." He nodded his head towards the rear of the vehicle. "Toyota changed the model again in '12." His gaze didn't move from the view in front of him; Joanna would dissolve into a puddle of hobbyist grief if he even put a scratch on her gargantuan mechanical baby.
The flitter cruised at a careful speed above the forest of tulip poplars. Jim relaxed against his seat, hungrily absorbing the beauty of the scenery around him as if it would enhance his own. A liquid golden glow of late-afternoon sun fell across the landscape like runny egg yolk, illuminating the flitter from a strange angle.
McCoy wanted very badly to turn his head sideways to look at Jim, to see what the sunlight was doing to that already radiant face. But his cautious medical mind could easily imagine the consequences--first, the flitter would lose elevation and they'd crash into the tree canopy. Then, while they would frantically shift to grab at the control panel to free their craft, it would fall backwards to the forest floor, crushing them both, AND destroying Joanna's precious little pet.
Maybe he would just wait until they stopped.
It couldn't possibly be long now. This range of hills was starting to bring back memories from ten, twenty years ago. Illogically, he felt a pang of surprise that they still looked just the same as they always had. Well, why shouldn't they? After all, mountains didn't divorce their wives and fly off into outer space to spend their days with comets....
.....Comets, and Jim, were exciting, and unpredictable, and worth the personal instability, McCoy decided. After all, he was here and Jocelyn was not, and that was what was important at the moment.
"This is it," McCoy said out loud after a few more minutes.
Kirk shielded his eyes against the pink-blue-orange brilliance of the mountain sunset and looked up. "Wow," he commented softly.
The flitter was landing on the edge of a steep mountain slope, overlooking a deep valley full of trees and a gentle, irregular range beyond. The patterns of the shadows alternating with the illumination of the setting sun shifted comfortably by the minute. The air smelled of healthy, rich dirt, and in the distance a graceful black bird flew a bisecting arc across the sky.
Kirk sat in the soft leather seat, silent and motionless with admiration. After some time, McCoy broke his reverie. "For three hundred years, the McCoy family's been bringin' their sweethearts up to this place to, uh, watch the sunset together." He paused to chuckle softly. "Least, that's what we always told our mamas."
"Three.... hundred.... years," Kirk repeated, smiling winningly. "Bones, I'm... honored." He was also, from
the looks of it, amused.
"It's probably me that should be honored," McCoy muttered, mirroring his smile in his own special, cantankerous way. "Aren't you supposed to be the best kisser in the galaxy or something?"
"Why, Bones, where did you hear that?"
"Half my nurses, for one thing." McCoy turned the motor off.
"Half your nurses must have a very good imagination," Kirk retorted.
Suddenly it was McCoy who was still and silent, for a moment. "Jocelyn never wanted to come out here."
"I can't imagine why. This is one of the most beautiful places on this planet!"
"I know. Believe me, *I* don't need any convincin'. I'm just glad you see it the same way I do." And finally, with the engine turned off and the flitter resting safely on a bed of dandelions and clover, Leonard McCoy turned his head to look at Jim.
Warm, inviting hazel eyes greeted blue. Jim knew he was being admired, and leaned back against the pliant leather seat, relaxing seductively. "I've never been kissed in Georgia before," he commented airily.
"What are you, keeping a travelogue?" McCoy was grumbling, but Jim could tell the idea tickled his
"If I'm the best kisser in the galaxy, don't I need to keep track of how much of the galaxy I've kissed?" Jim was quick to reply. "And really--the galaxy shouldóby rights--include this mountaintop. I couldn't be the best kisser, or the best--anything!--in the galaxy unless I'd done it here."
"Well, it's certainly *my* favorite part of the galaxy."
It was said with a familiar smirk, and an even more familiar look in his eyes. McCoy had felt himself the target of it before, but never at such a point-blank range, and never with such immediacy. McCoy let them pull him closer, and when he was at comfortable arm's reach, he placed one hand on the base of Kirk's cheek,
beneath his ear.
He brought their faces together.
Kirk's lips were thick, soft, active. He had been passive before the kiss, but now he took the lead. McCoy grew dizzy with pleasure under the skilled choreography of Kirk's mouth. They wrapped their arms around each other and fell backwards into the painstakingly restored plush leather seats.
All around them, the colors danced and dwindled on the mountainside as their bodies moved together in the flitter. And Dr. McCoy, following three hundred years of family tradition, had a very good time *ignoring* the sunset.
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