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"Without you being in danger"? You were about to walk off in the direction of hostiles after I told you--multiple times--I could handle it. I figured that was warning enough.

[His eyes are laser-focused on him, completely unwavering in his handling of the situation.]

[ Miles' clear gray ones are just as focused, just as stubborn. Alight with anger to boot. ]

That wasn't your call to make. You can't just remove me from what I'm doing just because you don't think I'm capable!

I can and I did when I decided that dragging you back injured or dead would put the mission in more danger than just pre-empting you on that front.

[ Not even a hint at refuting the underlying issue here, huh. Miles' eyes narrow, his tone dropping to an angry hiss. In the next moment he's getting right up in Jim's face; his height disadvantage is mostly negated by the two of them both sitting on the bed. ]

Then you step in front, maybe, or we work together elsewhere. [ Nevermind he'd have objected to that too. ] Instead you made that decision for me.

[He doesn't move back an inch, merely lifts his chin a bit.]

"I don't lead from the back" is what I remember you saying, so that was off the table and I told you to help out the retrieval team. You rejected that too.

[Well, at the very least, Miles was okay enough to get this pissed off at him.]

[ Perfectly safe, and the wooziness is wearing off quickly. Physically he's perfectly fine when he might have come back from that misadventure missing or dead ... But there are softer gaps in his armor than his physical status. ]

You don't get to tell me to do anything, Jim Kirk.

[He narrows his eyes.]

Which is exactly why I stunned your ass into unconsciousness.

Oh yes, much better. Take the decision entirely out of my hands because you know better, and your bones don't break if someone looks at you funny.

[He holds his breath for a second. Oh.

He breaks eye contact as his eyes flick to the side of the room and he lets out the breath. What do you even say to that?]

Jesus, Miles. There were Soviets swarming the area. That wasn't the place where you were needed.

[ Sorry, Jim. You've fallen afoul of the trap that is saving Miles' physical wellbeing at the accidental cost of his mental wellbeing. He'd gotten so used to being taken seriously here, despite everything, and the Dendarii too ... However sensible Jim's objections are, it still wrenches him right in an old, old wound. ]

Needed for my mental capabilities? More valuable as a tactician?

I had it covered by myself.

[Jim didn't like the tone behind what Miles was saying. He rolls his eyes mostly at himself.]

Okay walk me through what would have happened if I hadn't done what I'd done.

[ A good dodge; Miles frowns, temporarily foiled. It doesn't stop him from reaching out to push Jim lightly. Trying to provoke him into a physical response without hitting him again. ]

I'd have been fine. You'd have covered me, and I'd have finished the extraction mission. Which I told you at the time.

[ Push, push. ]

[Jim grabs Miles' wrist on one of the pushes, connecting their mindscapes once more, Jim's own positively flaring across the link, not in anger but in frustration. Mixed in there was plain relief that all Miles had had was a broken arm from the encounter.

Kirk did his damnedest to try to convey that the decision he made was one in the moment, to minimize potential casualties, heck even showing him some of the quick calculations he had made back then, wanting to eliminate as many variables as he could while pulling off what he was sent off to do. He had had everything figured out to do what he needed by himself. The odds that Miles would be incapacitated in some way or other were too high to justify adjusting his own plan of execution.

And there was just a hint of confusion as to why Miles was so stuck on this, they achieved what they needed to and things were improving with the situation.]

[ Miles is stubborn in return, unbending. The underside of his usually bright mental landscape is now entirely exposed, all long falls and dizzying abysses. This particular cliff plummets straight down to the core of him, far beyond Jim's telepathic reach. Every small mental movement echoes, the area dizzyingly sensitive after having dealt with it in one way or another all his life.

People make that kind of calculation about him all the time. And they're right a good percentage of the time, and they may even be acting in Miles' best interest. But they're not his decisions. (His parents had understood the importance of this; others, less so.) Miles has clawed and fought so hard for the basic ability to function on his own. Having it torn from him, even in a combat situation, is no small thing.

It doesn't all come through as clearly as that, but it provides the background to everything else going on. Echoes of issues going deep down. Not your decision, he repeats. You don't get to decide for me. ]

[That was a lot more than he thought he would find there, recognizing that what all this was about was far beyond what he was capable of. Out of respect, he didn't even bother trying to feel at those mental wounds. He senses the old turmoil deep within, pulled out of the crevices by what he recognizes as his own actions. A little bit of chill settles on his end at this realization.

He reaches out and grabs Miles' other wrist, brows furrowing more.

We can't go back now and undo it.]

[ Another flare of anger, bright and hot. Nearly a dare.

You could fucking apologize. ]

[Good, something he can deal with. He takes the anger and returns with his own flare, less bright, to be replaced with a more consistent presence of determination, nearly a wall.

I'm not sorry that I did what I did when I did it because you're here right now in one piece and we did what we set out to do.]

[ The anger redoubles - and finding no purchase on Jim's solid wall of determination, builds pressure instead. Not quite so angry, something a bit different. More dizzying, like having one foot over the edge of a cliff as one's balance shifts into freefall.

You did what you set out to do. I did nothing. ]

[A flare of frustration of his own comes through but suddenly backs away when he feels that new sensation from Miles. Much different than anything he experienced in their shared mindscape before. His grip on both of Miles' wrists tightens a bit, as though he was able to stop Miles going any further on that edge by adjusting the physical.

You organized teams and helped to extract critical data that Kitty gave her life to obtain. A low burn of embers in the background, heat gently sending out tendrils, stubbornly wanting Miles to back away from that precipice.]

[ It's a warning rattle. Miles himself doesn't know he broadcasts it; he's too much of a fish to see the water he's swimming in. The feeling doesn't abate yet, but neither does it worsen. Just perched, precariously.

He inches closer on the bed, close enough that he can fist his hands in the front of Jim's shirt while Jim still maintains his grip on Miles' wrists. Very close to Jim now, practically in his face. Not enough. Never enough. ]

[Nothing would be.

A very familiar feeling for Jim. A hollow amusement flickers into the mindscape, there and gone. He lets Miles adjust, pulling him in closer by the wrists, then ducks his head down the extra couple of centimeters to press their foreheads together, eyes flickering down to see those fists curled into his shirt, then back up to look into those stubborn grey eyes.

The comfortable heat of desire is starting to lazily make its way across the link when he tilts his head to firmly press his lips to Miles'. His mindscape brightens--this was definitely familiar territory.]

[ Ah. It's not quite what his impulses were driving him to do - but it's an excellent substitute. That stomach-dropping feeling intensifies as Miles abruptly throws himself into the kiss as hard as he can. Perhaps fortunately for all involved, kissing men still counts as enough of an inherently bad decision for Miles (in his head, anyway) that he feels grimly satisfied by the act long before his own desire starts to pick up heat.

He kisses back angrily and ferociously. Fingers twisting hard in the front of Jim's shirt as his teeth scrape at Jim's lower lip. He leans forward with all of his weight. Pressing Jim down with everything he has rather than the other way around. Not enough, indeed. He wants - a lot of things, but mostly he wants Jim right now, and he wants unrestricted physicality, so he can forget how much his fragility restricts him... ]

[Jim can feel that sensation, nearly dizzying and distracting him from bracing himself when his world axis tilts. He can feel the irritability behind the kiss, still not wavering in his own decisions, not even a ripple of doubt. A brief low growl in the back of his throat but whether it was more frustration or want wasn't clear even to himself.

No matter how much Miles protested, verbally, mentally or emotionally, and for whatever reasons, Jim knows he tactically did the right thing. That yawning chasm he got a brief feeling of in Miles' mindscape--more through indirect means than directly sensing it--well, he couldn't have predicted that, no matter what kind of field training he had. He accepted that, respecting Miles' right to be furious at him, letting a couple of thoughts leak across, showing that he had considered how he'd personally react to the situation both while he was making the decisions and while he thought about different ways it could have panned out on his way over here. There was no doubt in his mind that he was prepared for a really negative reaction. His own mindscape was chaos, that warmth turning into flame now reaching aggressively across the their link.

When he gets his bearings, he briefly lets go of Miles' wrists instead bringing his hands up and under the back of his shirt, Jim's blunt fingernails curling into Miles' lower back, pulling him down, needing that physical friction to come somewhere close to matching the mental. He matches Miles' bruisingly hard kisses, unrestrained hunger pulling across his mind.]

[ Good. The issue itself may not be resolved, but this is a wonderful, glorious distraction. Miles' own desire sparks into life as well; he lets it consume him, doesn't even try to hold it back due to nervousness about Jim being male. If anything that makes it better right now, new and exciting and desperately physical. It helps, too, that Jim at least understands Miles' fury and doesn't try to undercut it. If he can't get an apology then that will have to do ...

Better is the feeling of Jim's fingers digging into his back. His spine is noticeably curved back there, and Miles' skin is just itching for more contact. He just keeps getting closer to Jim. Until he's practically in the other man's lap, pressed close and fitting in neatly next to him. (One perk of being so small is that he's quite good at fitting himself in neatly.) He drags a hand down Jim's shirt in return, then slides it up under the bottom of it once he finds the hem. From there he skates his fingers over Jim's stomach muscles. All the while he doesn't let up kissing for a moment. He's downright ferocious with it. ]

[He shudders at the touch. Shifting his hands down and under Miles' thighs, Jim pulls Miles to sit squarely in his lap. His hands trail back up, feeling every vertebra up his back, pushing his shirt with them until he breaks the kiss to pull it up and over his head, attempting to catch a breath of air.

There's a vague background humming of contentment, not dismissive of their discussion earlier, just more comfortable in this element, in familiar territory. Knowing Miles still wanted this too was a good sign.

His hands on either side of Miles' neck, he crushes their lips together once again. He pauses briefly to lift his own shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside to be found later before going back in to wrap his arms fully around Miles' smaller frame (God but he was enjoying how well Miles fit) to pull them chest to chest. He nipped at Miles' lower lip trailing harsh kisses and light bites down his jaw down to the side of his neck.]

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