Plumb Crazy

"Mmm…" McCoy leaned his head back against Scotty's shoulder, smiling at the warmth of his nose against his cheek as several kisses were planted there. He gently intercepted the broad hands sliding up his chest, lightly massaging the calloused digits while turning to return the playful pecks. Naturally, a full on kiss ensued, and McCoy sunk contentedly further into the curve of the engineer's body. Several blissful moments elapsed as the pair exerted their passions. Abruptly, the doctor broke the kiss to turn and examine the hand he was holding aloft by the wrist.

He squinted.

"Lights twenty-five percent." The room responded, and McCoy traced a rosy blister from Scotty's palm to the index finger knuckle. He slowly rounded on the Scotsman to find a preemptively apologetic expression in place. McCoy's eyes narrowed wrathfully before lifting the left hand and, with little search, revealing an identical injury on the side from pinky to wrist . He raised his eyebrows and frowned tersely. "Well?" he demanded of the slightly exasperated and grudgingly remorseful Scotty. McCoy fixed him with an invincibly condemning gaze and Scotty avoided it as long as possible before sighing and meeting the expectant look resignedly.

"If it hurt I'd come up, Leonard…" The doctor crossed to his in-room medkit, having elicited the explanation he desired, and began rummaging through the contents.

"I don't know whether to be more insulted that you didn't tell me again, or that you passed up an opportunity to come and see me." He eyed a hypospray closely and then abandoned it, continuing his search. "Ya gotta take care of yourself, I told you that last time; a little something always leads to a bigger something, so what was it this time?"

"Generator." Scotty stared sullenly at the ceiling, half listening to the familiar lecture.

"Yup, I thought so. Ya know, some guys came in today with burns. I bet they were working on it with you, Jesus, at least some people have half a brain… oh…" the last few words softened to a crotchety mutter as McCoy leaned nearly into his bag. "Here we go, some good old fashioned balm."

He returned, a sternly satisfied facial arrangement focused on the criminal hands. Scotty watched morosely as the doctor applied the salve with intentionally more vigor than was necessary.

"Can't quite figure out what it is about your type… it's not intentional masochism and it's not a nerve deficit… you just can't stop your work for half a second to patch yourself up decently." He popped the lid on and returned to his bag at a contented bustle.

"Ah guess tha's part of it…" Scotty watched the doctor's business-like return to the bed. "Ah jest don' notice, is all. If ah stopped workin' every time I got a scratch or cut or sometin', ah really'd be off tha job more'n not."

"Pssh, sure, sure," McCoy murmured as he replaced himself in the engineer's embrace. "I get that… you're used to little things like this," he examined his handiwork keenly. Scotty made an exasperated cluck.

"Then why on Earth d'ya make such a big, hairy deal outta it?"

"Lights out," McCoy commanded before answering, "because I'm a doctor, sweetie, and not a peaceable one at that. I like to take care of you, especially if I can get you riled up in the process; your accent goes plumb crazy." A weary smile touched Scotty's features as McCoy planted cautious kisses on either burn and muttered, "There, I'll kiss it better." He turned a rougeish grin to the Scotsman and stated, "I remember exactly where we were – do you?"

"Hmm…" Scotty ran his hands up the smooth cloth of McCoy's shirt and touched their noses together. "Ah think we were somewhere around…"