Summary: Bones decides to get Jim a very embarrassing personalized gift- a shirt that says “I love being ticklish”
Words: 3,666
I.
March 22 is a date that Jim has never really looked forward to. More often than not, he’s even dreaded it. Having his birthday on the same day his dad died, an event he’s reminded of every year because the every planet in the Federation finds it necessary to broadcast the fact that Hey! It’s the day of the Kelvin Incident! That’s right everyone! The day George Kirk was captain for 12 minutes and saved 800 lives and totally fucking died in the process (and oh yeah he saved his son too he was born during this, but that’s not important). For that very reason, Jim tends to ignore the day in its entirety rather than celebrate one aspect and mourn the other.
Oddly enough, the thing that changed Jim’s perspective was joining the very organization that—to this day—refuses to shut up about the Kelvin Incident. Of course, that’s not actually because of Starfleet Academy, the classes, and it sure as hell wasn’t thanks to the majority of the Starfleet Brass. Nope. His mind changed because of a grumpy drunken cadet seated next to him on the shuttle he boarded. That first birthday at the Academy changed Jim’s typical routine of getting himself black out drunk and beat up in some hole-in-the-wall bar. In fact, Jim didn’t even realize the date that first year. He’d been too busy with his studies and hanging out with McCoy that when the date actually came around, Bones set down three glasses before filling them with brandy. At Jim’s confused expression, Bones just gave him a small smile, a quiet happy birthday, and tapped his glass against the one between them. And so a tradition was born.
Having that tradition didn’t stop Bones from adding to it and getting Jim presents. Though, as to not make the day any more emotional than it already was, the gifts were generally gag gifts; just something to make Jim happy. Of course sometimes Bones likes to make Jim happy by giving him embarrassing gag gifts (such as moments after the tradition was born when Bones gave Jim the biggest dildo he could possibly find and had him open it while they were with Pike). Their second year is no different, except that at this point Bones has far more ammo to actually embarrass one James T Kirk, which of course leads to the beginning of the end.
Upon opening the small bag which Bones had placed in front of him, Jim raises an eyebrow as he asks, “A shirt? Considering last year you got me a dildo, I’m a little disappointed. It’s like you aren’t even trying to top that.”
Bones’ only response is to nod at Jim to continue. Rolling his eyes, Jim pulls the shirt from the bag and unfolds it. After fumbling with it for a moment, Jim flips it to the front so he can read it. It’s only facing him for a moment before Jim is slamming it into his lap, words covered. The laughter erupting from Bones certainly can’t be helped. Jim on the other hand is uncharacteristically silent due to embarrassment. Bones knew Jim could blush a pretty pink, but the vibrant red covering his friend’s face is a hilarious surprise. As Jim bites at the inside of his cheek, trying to not smile/scream/curse and whatever else he’s certainly tempted to do, Bones concludes, “I definitely topped last year.”
Jim gives a jerky nod in agreement. With a smirk, Bones asks, “So you gonna read what the lovely shirt says?”
“I’m sorry, what? No.”
“Oh come on, kid. I got this just for you—my best friend. Just read what it says. For me.”
It takes a number of tries. Before those attempts are even made, Jim goes through a multitude of emotions, all pictured very nicely in his little face journey from embarrassed indignation to resigned acceptance. Clicking his tongue, Jim lifts the shirt and opens his mouth to read exactly what it says before promptly slamming his mouth shut once more. Jim does this at least three times before Bones is trying to move his friend along once more. So with a deep breath, Jim blurts, “Ilovebeingticklish.”
“Yeah you do.”
In order to save Jim from his own embarrassed thoughts (because that is of course Bones’ only motive), he quickly begins a very one sided tickle fight. Already majorly useless in his embarrassment, Jim had all of zero chance of fighting off his determined friend even before those skilled doctor’s hands started counting his ribs. Bones mock lectures, “Now Jim, I can’t have you letting your brain mess you up too bad. A little embarrassment is good but if I let you overthink anything and jump to stupid conclusions, we’ve got a problem. But you can’t overthink if you can’t think at all so let’s get to work then, shall we? Doctor’s orders.”
Pushing at McCoy’s hands, shirt forgotten, Jim pleads, “Bohohones, come ohon! Stahap! I’m fihihine!”
Ignoring Jim’s words, Bones shifts his hands to squeeze at his hips, causing him to shriek and buck. “Kid if you can still talk then no, this isn’t fine. The only words I wanna hear from you are an honest thank you. Because you might hate to admit it, but you do like it. The shirt I mean. I’ve heard you admit to liking being ticklish before. I can only expect that admission to come forward if I’ve got you drunk enough, or stupidly tired. I’ll take what I can get. So since you’re still talking, what do you say?”
“Fuhuck yohou!”
Bones narrows his eyes, taking to intently scratching under Jim’s bottom rib. He threatens, “You know I could say you’ve gotta admit you like this instead of just a simple thank you.”
The date is then marked as the fastest Jim has ever expressed gratitude.
II.
The sudden sound of something (or someone) falling and feet pounding against the ground is not the first thing Leonard wants to hear as he’s unlocking his apartment door after a long shift at Starfleet Medical. He’s rather tempted to just turn around and maybe crash at Christine’s place. But that requires getting there and whatever Jim is doing right now cannot be bad enough to warrant the extra effort. With that in mind, McCoy braces himself and pushes open the door.
Jim sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, surrounded by an apartment unchanged from when he left is not at all what Bones was expecting. He raises an eyebrow, becoming increasingly suspicious of his roommate. “Jim… what’s going on?”
Jim looks away from whatever asinine holovid he’s watching over to Bones with a smile on his face. Shoving a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth from the container in his blanket-covered lap, Jim pays no mind to his frankly disgusting behavior as he speaks with his mouth still full. “Nuffin. Me time wif a movie.”
Running a hand down his face, Bones can’t believe how much of a child Jim is and just how much the trouble maker reminds him of his little girl. The comparative of course has him going into parent mode. Exasperated, he chides, “Okay, first: don’t talk with your mouth full Jim, it’s gross. Second: you’re hiding something. You flipped shit when I put my key in the door.”
If this kid wants to be a captain, he’s really gotta work on his poker face because wow he can’t lie worth shit. Jim is way too quick in his rambling response, “What? I’m not hiding anything. I’m being totally normal. Sooo normal. Why would you think anything different?”
Bones scowls at Jim before making to yank the blanket off Jim, who quickly latches on in order to keep it on his torso. “No! Don’t take that!”
Point made, Bones lets go and watches as Jim rearranges the blanket so that he’s holding it tightly around himself, ice cream now forgotten on the table. “…so. You want to tell me what you’re hiding now?”
Unable to actively lie to Bones, Jim looks down and away. Bones warns, “If you don’t tell me I’ll just have to make you.”
Still refusing to fess up to Bones, Jim also refuses to look at him. Taking that as answer enough, McCoy begins his extraction methods. Jim being adamant in keeping the blanket wrapped around him rather than perhaps defending himself certainly makes things easier. Unimpeded, Bones’ fingers expertly begin digging into Jim’s sides through the blanket, which does not offer nearly the kind of protection Jim thought it might.
Bones happily continues tickling Jim into compliance without resistance. It doesn’t take long before squirming around in hysterics is enough of a defense for Jim’s body and his hands are finally making their appearance to attempt grabbing at Bones’ hands. It’s at this point that Bones pushes the blanket off of Jim completely as it’s no longer being held in Jim’s death grip.
Bones freezes above Jim.
Jim catches his hands with a squeak.
The two stare at each other, neither moving nor saying anything.
The shocked expression on Bones’ face merges into an amused smirk whereas Jim’s surprise shifts to a bashful smile. Smugness creeping into his voice, Bones states, “You’re wearing the I Love Being Ticklish shirt I got you. See? You do like it.”
Rather than forming an intelligent response to Bones’ comment—which might not have even been possible for Jim at that moment—he just turns his head into the couch cushions beneath him with an embarrassed whine spilling from the smile still plastered on his face. Bones laughs, “Oh come on, kid. We both know it. You’ve said it before. Admit it.”
Jim lets go on Bones’ wrists in favor of covering his face and attempting curl in on himself. Determined, Bones lightly tickles behind Jim’s ears, along his exposed neck, and under his chin. The gentle touch is enough to have Jim giggling once more.
“Admit it.” A whine. “Come on.” A few giggles. “You like being tickled and wearing that shirt. Just say it.” An attempted slap. “I know why you’re not saying it. It’s just so I keep tickling you. Right? You aren’t talking because you don’t want me to stop. And it’s because you really really like being—”
Bones lets a rare wide smile spread across his face as his fingers continue their movements even as he stops with the teasing. Though he takes a moment to point out, “You did only ask me to shut up, not to stop tickling you.”
“I hahate you.”
III.
Aboard the Enterprise, the shirt doesn’t make any appearances considering Jim is always wearing his Command Gold shirt and is rather aware of his position as captain. It likely wouldn’t sit too well if any of the crew caught their superior officer wearing something as unprofessional and embarrassing as that. However, there are some nights when the Captain’s Quarters seem entirely too large and empty, especially after a long day. On those nights, he needs a bit of familiarity and nostalgia for comfort.
It’s another night after a long alpha shift with far too much paper work and even more pointless transmissions from upset admirals. Jim swears that if he has to hear Komack belittle him over an official comm link once more any time soon he may just lose his cool and say exactly what he thinks instead of standing by and parroting a “yes sir.” Pike would understand. Maybe. Hopefully. Okay, Jim definitely has to make sure he doesn’t mouth off to Komack. But fuck Komack.
Jim undresses and tosses his uniform off to the side of his room before flopping face first onto his bed. He lays there miserable for a few moments before pushing himself out of bed. Shuffling over to his closet, Jim decides it’s definitely a night he wants some extra comfort. He throws on the shirt Bones got him years back (only because it’s extremely soft, no other reason) before crawling beneath the covers on his bed, curling up against the pillow. For the sake of settling down before trying to sleep, Jim aimlessly scrolls through academic journals on his PADD. Exhaustion taking its hold, Jim falls asleep halfway through a technical journal on transwarp beaming with zero thoughts towards the boorish admiral.
Startled awake by the blaring klaxon and rattle of the ship, Jim frantically grabs for his comm. Once it’s in hand, he’s rushing out of his quarters up to the bridge with his comm link open asking for an update. The response is brief: Klingons. As captain, Jim needs to be on the bridge now because his silver lady is under attack.
Racing onto the bridge as soon as the turbolift doors open, Kirk calls out, “Status report!”
Lieutenant Kevin Riley is the one to give him the run down as other members of the senior crew begin filtering in. A Klingon vessel has fired on the Enterprise and is ignoring all hailing attempts thus far; their intentions are unknown. However after the first weapons use, the Klingons have yet to fire again. At the end of the quick brief, each member of the senior bridge crew has arrived to man their posts and relieve the junior officers. Kirk orders, “Uhura, open a channel.”
“This is Captain James T Kirk of the USS Enterprise. You’ve ignored all hailing attempts and then—”
“Captain, we’re being hailed.”
Shocked at the sudden change of course the Klingon ship has taken, Kirk looks to Spock, who seems just as perplexed. Looking back to Uhura, Kirk says, “Put it on the view screen, Lieutenant.”
Just a moment later, the view screen is filled by a Klingon looking rather happy with his smarmy smile. The Klingon captain rather warmly greats, “Ah, my dear Captain Kirk! Just the man I was hoping to see.”
Jim nearly laughs at his terrible luck. Of all the people to see, it has to be this guy. Turning to Uhura, he kindly asks her to cancel red alert. As annoyed as Jim is at the situation, he can’t help but be slightly amused. With a smile, Jim addresses, “My dear Captain Koloth. To what do I owe the displeasure of having you fire on my ship? Which I assume was simply to get me on the bridge for a chat instead of having to speak to the perfectly competent officer with the conn.”
Dismissively Koloth assures, “Oh your garbage ship is fine, Kirk. I assure you that my intentions are peaceful. It was, as you said, just to get you. We have history, you and I. Do pardon the wakeup call; I forget that you soft humans need so much disuse of your bodies in order to function. I also see you Earthers continue with—how shall I say it? Nonessentials. You even have such soft attire for sleeping with cute sayings.”
With an eyebrow raised in confusion, Jim looks down at just what he’s wearing. Now he remembers: he went to bed in his boxers and what has been dubbed the t-word shirt. And with the red alert, he didn’t really have a chance to change. Well fuck.
Attempting to ever so casually cross his arms over the writing on his shirt, Jim asks, “How about we leave my pajamas out of this and get to the matter at hand, shall we? What is it you want and how quickly can I get you to leave?”
Mock offended, the Klingon Captain holds a hand against his chest as he admonishes, “Why, Captain Kirk! There are no current hostilities between us or our people, not yet at least. Maybe I just wanted to talk.”
“Lieutenant Uhura. Would you please end communications?”
“Hold on now! Fine. Always spoiling the fun, Kirk. But, I’ll get to business.”
Smirking, Jim goads, “Klingons? Fun? Never thought I’d see the day. But please, attempt to explain yourselves. It’d better be good, Koloth. You fired on my silver lady. I can assure you Engineer Scott won’t be happy. I do hope you remember the Sherman’s Planet incident that occurred when you invoked the ire of my Chief Engineer.”
A flash of fear crosses over the face covering the view screen. Why the Klingons fear creatures as fluffy and adorable as Tribbles, Jim may never understand. He’ll also never be unamused by it. Glaring at Kirk for daring to bring up that incident, Koloth threatens, “Mention that again, Kirk and I’ll come for those pajamas of yours. I might not know why, but I saw your silly embarrassment, Captain.”
Jim does his best not to flinch at the sneered threat; he mostly succeeds—externally at least. Acting unfazed, Jim smoothly quips, “Well then Klingon eyesight must be rather poor because you seem to be seeing things.”
“On the contrary, Captain,” Spock interjects from his station, “Klingons have eyesight comparable to that of Vulcans in its acuteness. In addition, they can differentiate between a far greater range of color frequencies.”
Kirk turns to face Spock and just throws his hands out in a bit of a what-the-fuck-man gesture. He’s about to voice his thoughts on the timing when Koloth thinks allowed, “Perhaps while I wait for your response I’ll go find out precisely what that shirt you’re wearing means. The only word I need is that last one there. Ticklish? What odd Earther thing is that?”
Whipping around to face the view screen far faster than can be brushed off as casual, Jim quickly clears his throat. “So… truce then? I won’t mention the Tribble Incident.”
Koloth smiles widely. It may be a truce and level playing field but it sure feels like a loss to Kirk. “We’re in agreement then. You don’t mention that and I won’t mention this ‘ticklish’.”
“SO! Captain Koloth. What’s your business with the Enterprise? You’ve been dancing around the topic.”
“Ah yes. Wonderful deflection. You see it’s rather simple,” Koloth jeers. “I noticed your ship nearby and felt I definitely owed you another meeting. I believe I’ve won this bout. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Taking a long breath in through his nose, Kirk keeps his professional expression firmly in place. He calmly states, “My dear Captain Koloth. About this business of yours… you have five minutes to turn your ship around and get it out of Federation space.”
Not letting his mood dampen, Koloth gives a small respectful yet simultaneously mocking bow before ending the transmission. Once the screen goes blank, Jim falls back into his chair with a loud groan. At the same time, the bridge crew begins laughing. Even Spock has that stupid amused eyebrow raise going on. Jim whines, “I got out of bed for that, dammit! Fuck, I hate Koloth.”
“We all did, Captain,” Sulu points out, gesturing to his striped pajama pants and lack of a shirt. “And we all look so very professional.”
After all that time on the bridge, Jim realizes he hasn’t actually processed what everyone came onto the bridge wearing—minus himself because it was pointed out to him and he really could’ve done without that. He takes the moment to scan the room. Chekov is pretty average with sweatpants and an undershirt. Uhura is wearing shorts and a tank top, similar to what she was putting on when Jim was hiding under Gaila’s bed. Spock has on some fancy Vulcan “robe” (but it’s definitely a nightgown). A bit surprised, Jim asks, “Am I the only one who doesn’t wear pants to bed? Seriously no one else sleeps in their underwear?”
Uhura smirks and teases, “You’re also the only one who sleeps in ‘I love being ticklish’ shirts.”
Again, Jim crosses his arms over the words on his shirt. This time, he doesn’t have captain mode on and is unable to stop the blush from rising to his cheeks. He’s quick to defend, “It was a gag gift from Bones. It’s soft. That’s it.”
“But Keptin, zen why are you so embarrassed? Zere must be a reason. Perhaps because you like ze shirt. Because shirt is true?”
Did Chekov just tease him? That was definitely a teasing tone. Jim’s almost too amazed at this revelation to get more flustered. But only almost. Trying to be commanding, Jim tells him, “Now is not the time for you to remind us you’re our Russian wiz kid.”
“So that means Pavel is right,” Sulu points out.
Jim remains silent, trying to keep a hold on his unraveling composure. Obviously, in the midst of the captain’s attempts at calming down and forgetting the entire encounter is the perfect time for Spock to give his own input, observing, “The ensign is in fact correct. Though I am not entirely certain of when he acquired the gift from Doctor McCoy, it was prior to his final year at Starfleet Academy, as I was witness to the Captain, then a cadet, crossing the academy grounds while wearing the article in question. As we can all plainly see, he is still in possession of the shirt and continues to wear it; it can thus be assumed our Captain indeed has an attachment to the shirt. Proceeding to Mr. Chekov’s second point regarding the accuracy of the shirt’s statement. Whenever being tickled, typically by Doctor McCoy, Jim neither protests nor makes any attempt to get away. Instead he simply laughs and genuinely appears to be enjoying himself, which McCoy often finds necessary to point out. After such instances, he is happier than before the act and overall has a more relaxed and carefree mood. Taking these into account, we can conclude that the captain does in fact enjoy being tickled.”
Staring at his first officer, mouth agape, Jim can’t figure out just how to respond. Instead, he settles for pouting in his chair while failing to ignore the good-natured jeering and prods from the makeshift family that is his senior bridge crew.
