Fic: Rulebreaker (Kirk/McCoy)
Title: Rulebreaker
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Fandom: Star Trek XI AU
Summary: Now that he’s graduated high school, there’s one last rule Jim has to break
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2800
Beta: florahart
A/N: I originally started this last year, but I hit a wall. Today, I got the wall to crumble so I could finally finish it. Well, unless I listen to the muse and try to write a sequel.
Warning: Student/teacher relationship. Please don’t read if that squicks you!
The halls of Riverside High are oddly quiet. The final bell rang hours ago. Jim Kirk can’t remember a time when he’s ever been at the school this late, so maybe it’s normal. It’s always loud in the mornings, especially when the band is practicing formations at the football field. That’s when detention is usually scheduled, and Jim’s got a lot of experience with that. Not that he attends it every time it’s assigned, but he does go just enough to keep him from getting suspended. While he believes that rules are created for him to break, he knows that graduating is too important to fuck up. He might have the grades, but they don’t mean much if he gets kicked out.
None of that matters anymore now. His last final is over, and he knows he aced it. He’s a damn genius, after all, so it’s not like these stupid exams are much of a challenge. Graduation is tomorrow, the whole big ceremony that people have been talking about for months. Parties, robes, all that shit that doesn’t matter at all. He’s not going to be there, not going to comb his hair and follow a restrictive dress code, not going to stand around with a bunch of assholes that’ll be happy to see the last of him.
As he walks the empty halls of the school, he wonders how anyone could ever miss this place. He’s going to get out of this town as soon as he can pack his shit, and go off to college somewhere exciting where no one knows who he is and no one cares. There won’t be any more of the whispers about ‘that’s George Kirk’s son…such a disappointment’ or ‘he’s a good for nothing…his father, God rest his soul, would be ashamed’. His father died a fucking hero on the day Jim was born, so all he has are the whispers and constant stories about brave George Kirk risking his life to save kids from a burning apartment building. So brave that he put those strangers above his own family, Jim thinks bitterly. While his wife was going into premature labor, he’s off being the big hero firefighter and getting himself killed.
Some hero.
When Jim reaches the second floor, he hears a noise down the hall and ducks into the boys’ bathroom. He isn’t supposed to be in here, not when even most the teachers have left for the day, but it’s one of those stupid rules that he chooses to ignore. Sure, he had plans to roar out of the parking lot on his bike and go persuade someone to buy him a bottle of whiskey so he could celebrate alone, but those plans changed by the time he reached the parking lot and saw the blue Ford still parked in the teachers’ lot. He doesn’t know why Mr. McCoy is working late on the last day of school, but he isn’t above taking advantage of the fact.
Jim is a graduate now. He has been for several hours, which means there aren’t any threats of suspension or worries about failing anymore. He can do whatever he wants without any risk to his future. And he knows exactly what he wants to do, what he’s wanted to do for two years, and he can’t help being a little excited now that he’s able to take action. He glances in the mirror above the sinks and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s looking more shaggy than sexy right now, and he hates how it’s curling up against the back of his neck. Makes him look girly.
He turns on the faucet and gets water in his hands before he brings them up to move through his hair again. It takes him a couple of minutes of work, but his hair looks a lot better when he’s done. He drags his fingers over the faint marks on his face, always slightly aware of them even though they don’t seem to detract from what everyone says is a pretty face. Just depends on the person talking whether it’s said complimentary or negatively.
It’s been long enough that the hallway should be clear. He waited outside when he saw that McCoy’s car was still here, not reentering the building until the rest of the teachers’ lot was mostly empty, and he’s starting to get impatient. He wants to do this before he changes his mind, not that that’s too likely. Jim isn’t afraid of being impulsive and bold, even if this idea he’s got is near the top of a list of reckless acts. Maybe the fact that he’s actually been somewhat behaving himself recently so he could get out of this damn place has made him a little more rash than usual.
There’s no noise outside the bathroom, so he leaves it and continues towards his destination. When he reaches the biology lab, he stretches his fingers out before curling them into his palm. Now that he’s standing outside the closed door, he has to take a moment to remind himself that this is real and not just another pathetic daydream he’s having while jerking off. Damn if he isn’t already half-hard just from thinking about it.
He opens the door and enters the classroom, frowning when he finds it empty. The frown fades when he sees McCoy’s briefcase by the desk. He hasn’t gone home if that’s still here. Jim walks to the back of the class where McCoy’s desk is and sits in his chair. There’s a photograph lying face down on the corner of the desk that he picks up and studies. He’s seen it dozens of times since McCoy showed up at the school last year, but he still can’t resist looking again.
It’s the happy couple celebrating like they don’t have a care in the world. McCoy is smiling, showing off fucking dimples, looking too damn good in a black tux and not many years older than Jim is now. The woman is pretty, maybe too pretty in that arrogant way Jim hates. Like she’s aware of how good looking she is and is too smug at having caught a man like McCoy. Jim’s never even met the Wife, but he knows that she’s not good enough for McCoy just from how she smirks in her own wedding photo.
“James? What are you doing here?” McCoy’s question makes Jim stop glaring at the photo of the perfect wife for the perfect man in the perfect fucking marriage they must have.
“What? You thought I’d leave this hellhole without saying goodbye to my favorite teacher?” Jim asks, putting the frame back on the desk before he leans back in McCoy’s uncomfortable chair. He smirks and raises his feet, balancing his boots on the desk as he stares at McCoy, who has taken off the ridiculous white lab coat that he often wears over his slacks and shirt. There’s no tie, either, which is possibly the first time Jim’s ever seen McCoy not look impeccable, like he’s working on Wall Street instead of a moldy smelling bio lab in a crappy high school.
McCoy arches a brow and purses his lips. Those damn lips that Jim shouldn’t even notice because he likes to fuck girls, not have perverted fantasies about a stubborn male teacher who’s so damn optimistic that rainbows probably shoot out his ass whenever he farts. McCoy tilts his head slightly and says, “I assumed that you’d be speeding away from town as fast as that deathtrap you call a motorcycle would take you.”
“That’ll be tomorrow or maybe tonight. Depends on my mood, teach,” he says with a shrug of his shoulder. He kicks his boots against McCoy’s desk, feeling a sense of satisfaction when the frame falls over and he’s no longer got Perfect Wife smirking at him. Glancing at McCoy, he leans further back in the chair and flashes a lazy smile. “You know, I’m not a student anymore. Can’t threaten me with detention or extra homework now.”
“I’m aware of that, which is why I’m curious what you’re still doing here,” McCoy points out in that low drawling voice that just clarifies the fact that he doesn’t belong here. Jim doesn’t know why anyone would move here, to this tiny hick town in Iowa with a population that meddles in each other’s business and still considers his dad to be the town hero even after eighteen years. He wants out so bad that he can’t imagine anyone, especially someone like McCoy and his Perfect Wife, wanting to move here.
“I already told ya, McCoy. Favorite teacher, goodbye, all that bullshit,” he says, waving his hand in the air in a dismissive manner. Jim had the advanced biology class last year, so he hasn’t had McCoy as a teacher since, but he’s still watched and wanted and hated the man for making his head all fucked up. He smirks again. “You know you’re gonna miss me.”
“Have you decided on your plans now that you’ve graduated?” McCoy asks, not showing a single sign that Jim’s getting to him. He never does. Unlike all of Jim’s other teachers, McCoy never has written him off as a complete failure or suggested there might be other alternatives to passing class, like he’s going to fail just because he’s a troublemaker. Those classes, with the teachers who fuck him with their eyes while trying to be all subtle about what they really want, he takes particular delight in passing with the highest scores in class. McCoy is the rarity that actually looked at him like he was something other than his father’s fuck up of a son with no hope for a decent future before his grades proved he’s a fucking genius when he bothers to apply himself.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’ll steal a car and drive east,” he muses, deliberately playing up his attitude because he knows it annoys McCoy even if the bastard won’t ever show it.
“That’s funny. You see, I received a request for a letter of recommendation from Berkeley a couple of months ago. Last time I checked, that’s west, not east,” McCoy drawls as he leans against a stool and pins Jim with that thoughtful gaze that seems to see right through him. “You can do a lot more with your life if you forget about stealing cars, James.”
That’s another thing. It’s always James, never Jim or even Jimmy, to McCoy. Not even his mother calls him James. With a dumb name like Leonard, he has to know about nicknames. He moves his gaze over McCoy, lingering on the way the gray fabric of his pants fits his thighs so snugly and the bare skin visible at the vee of his shirt where the top two buttons are unfastened. When he reaches McCoy’s face, he sees that earnest, open expression that has been there since Jim first strolled into Advanced Biology last year to find a just graduated college and sickeningly enthusiastic new teacher waiting to begin class.
“When I was your age, I probably wouldn’t have listened, either,” McCoy continues, completely unaware to the fact that Jim’s mentally undressing him. “But you have so much potential, James. I’ve seen your test scores, and you’re definitely one of the brightest students that I’ve had in class. Don’t waste your life out of some sort of teenage rebellion. I know that you’re better than that.”
“My age? What was that, five or six years ago?” Jim snorts and swings his feet down off the desk. “Save the wisdom for someone who wants to hear it, McCoy.” He stands up, the back of his knees sending the rolling chair some distance behind him, and puts his hands on the desk. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that you’re too smart to just give up and continue on this careless suicidal path that you seem to be on,” McCoy says, that earnest look even more nauseating now because he actually believes what he’s saying. McCoy shakes his head suddenly, running his fingers through his dark hair as he frowns. “You know what? Go ahead and ruin your life if you want. I’ve done what I can, and the rest is up to you. It’s not like I can challenge you to go to college and make something of your life if you’re determined to live hard and die young.”
When McCoy frowns, he looks stressed and frustrated. Jim also notices circles beneath his eyes and wonders if he isn’t sleeping for some reason, not that he can ask or even cares. McCoy is a pain in his ass, the do-good teacher that won’t give up on him like everyone else does, and no number of sexual fantasies can change the resentment that Jim feels towards him. Only, it sounds like McCoy is giving up, and Jim doesn’t like how that feels. “Why can’t you challenge me?” Jim asks, feeling slightly desperate as McCoy studies him. “Dare me, teach.”
“This isn’t something that anyone else can make you do, James. You have to dare yourself,” McCoy tells him as he rubs the back of his neck. It’s what he does whenever he’s frustrated by a student in class, Jim knows, not that he spent most of last year studying Mr. McCoy more than Advanced Biology. Of course he didn’t.
“Yeah, well, whatever,” he mutters. He didn’t come here for another lecture or push towards college. He’s already decided to go, mostly because it’ll mean he can leave this town and become completely independent. He’s not going to end up working for some smug asshole at a garage like his uncle does, angry all the time and bitter about never doing more with his life. Frank’s a good man, but Jim doesn’t want a future taking orders from imbeciles and having to find happiness in an endless stream of one night stands and bottles of booze.
“It’s getting late,” McCoy points out as he straightens up and pushes the stool back under the lab counter. “You should be out celebrating your graduation, James.”
“Have to pack up my shit so I can leave this town,” he says, rather pleased that McCoy doesn’t even flinch when he’s cursing in front of him. He gets to his feet and walks around the desk to where McCoy is standing.
“Good luck, James,” McCoy says, holding out his hand.
It’s time. There’s a slight moment of panic, when his belly feels like it’s knotted up and the reality that this is the last time he’s going to see McCoy hits him, but he pushes past it because this is the last time he’s going to have this chance. Jim reaches out to take his hand and shakes it, stroking his thumb over the warm skin and not letting go as he finally does what he came here to do. He steps closer and grips the back of McCoy’s head, kissing him hard.
There’s a gasp as his lips press against McCoy’s mouth, and Jim takes advantage of it, pushing his tongue inside as he presses closer to McCoy. He feels hands on his shoulders, squeezing tightly before pushing him away, but he stands firm, licking the inside of McCoy’s mouth and tugging on that dark hair that’s even thicker than he imagined. When he feels McCoy push his shoulders harder, he curls their tongues together once more then he steps back and breaks the kiss.
“Just a little good luck kiss, teach,” he says with a forced smirk once he catches his breath. He takes one last look at McCoy, committing the image to memory before he hurries out of the room, not giving McCoy time to say or do anything until he’s out the door, and he thinks maybe he hears 'James' called out behind him. He runs down the hallway and stairs, his lips wet and tingling and the vision of a shocked and flushed McCoy in his head.
When he reaches his bike, he’s breathing hard and sort of scared. He straddles it and roars out of the parking lot, not wanting to risk getting caught by taking too long to leave. He’s never kissed a guy before nor has he ever forced anyone, ever, until now. McCoy didn’t kiss him back, didn’t really give any indication that he enjoyed it, which makes Jim feel a little disgusted with himself. He doesn’t regret it, though, even if it’s made him feel more confused about everything. He’s wanted that kiss for two years, and now he can leave this place without always wondering what it’s like to kiss McCoy.
The perfect little wife might get to keep him, but at least Jim has had a small taste.
End
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Fandom: Star Trek XI AU
Summary: Now that he’s graduated high school, there’s one last rule Jim has to break
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 2800
Beta: florahart
A/N: I originally started this last year, but I hit a wall. Today, I got the wall to crumble so I could finally finish it. Well, unless I listen to the muse and try to write a sequel.
Warning: Student/teacher relationship. Please don’t read if that squicks you!
The halls of Riverside High are oddly quiet. The final bell rang hours ago. Jim Kirk can’t remember a time when he’s ever been at the school this late, so maybe it’s normal. It’s always loud in the mornings, especially when the band is practicing formations at the football field. That’s when detention is usually scheduled, and Jim’s got a lot of experience with that. Not that he attends it every time it’s assigned, but he does go just enough to keep him from getting suspended. While he believes that rules are created for him to break, he knows that graduating is too important to fuck up. He might have the grades, but they don’t mean much if he gets kicked out.
None of that matters anymore now. His last final is over, and he knows he aced it. He’s a damn genius, after all, so it’s not like these stupid exams are much of a challenge. Graduation is tomorrow, the whole big ceremony that people have been talking about for months. Parties, robes, all that shit that doesn’t matter at all. He’s not going to be there, not going to comb his hair and follow a restrictive dress code, not going to stand around with a bunch of assholes that’ll be happy to see the last of him.
As he walks the empty halls of the school, he wonders how anyone could ever miss this place. He’s going to get out of this town as soon as he can pack his shit, and go off to college somewhere exciting where no one knows who he is and no one cares. There won’t be any more of the whispers about ‘that’s George Kirk’s son…such a disappointment’ or ‘he’s a good for nothing…his father, God rest his soul, would be ashamed’. His father died a fucking hero on the day Jim was born, so all he has are the whispers and constant stories about brave George Kirk risking his life to save kids from a burning apartment building. So brave that he put those strangers above his own family, Jim thinks bitterly. While his wife was going into premature labor, he’s off being the big hero firefighter and getting himself killed.
Some hero.
When Jim reaches the second floor, he hears a noise down the hall and ducks into the boys’ bathroom. He isn’t supposed to be in here, not when even most the teachers have left for the day, but it’s one of those stupid rules that he chooses to ignore. Sure, he had plans to roar out of the parking lot on his bike and go persuade someone to buy him a bottle of whiskey so he could celebrate alone, but those plans changed by the time he reached the parking lot and saw the blue Ford still parked in the teachers’ lot. He doesn’t know why Mr. McCoy is working late on the last day of school, but he isn’t above taking advantage of the fact.
Jim is a graduate now. He has been for several hours, which means there aren’t any threats of suspension or worries about failing anymore. He can do whatever he wants without any risk to his future. And he knows exactly what he wants to do, what he’s wanted to do for two years, and he can’t help being a little excited now that he’s able to take action. He glances in the mirror above the sinks and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s looking more shaggy than sexy right now, and he hates how it’s curling up against the back of his neck. Makes him look girly.
He turns on the faucet and gets water in his hands before he brings them up to move through his hair again. It takes him a couple of minutes of work, but his hair looks a lot better when he’s done. He drags his fingers over the faint marks on his face, always slightly aware of them even though they don’t seem to detract from what everyone says is a pretty face. Just depends on the person talking whether it’s said complimentary or negatively.
It’s been long enough that the hallway should be clear. He waited outside when he saw that McCoy’s car was still here, not reentering the building until the rest of the teachers’ lot was mostly empty, and he’s starting to get impatient. He wants to do this before he changes his mind, not that that’s too likely. Jim isn’t afraid of being impulsive and bold, even if this idea he’s got is near the top of a list of reckless acts. Maybe the fact that he’s actually been somewhat behaving himself recently so he could get out of this damn place has made him a little more rash than usual.
There’s no noise outside the bathroom, so he leaves it and continues towards his destination. When he reaches the biology lab, he stretches his fingers out before curling them into his palm. Now that he’s standing outside the closed door, he has to take a moment to remind himself that this is real and not just another pathetic daydream he’s having while jerking off. Damn if he isn’t already half-hard just from thinking about it.
He opens the door and enters the classroom, frowning when he finds it empty. The frown fades when he sees McCoy’s briefcase by the desk. He hasn’t gone home if that’s still here. Jim walks to the back of the class where McCoy’s desk is and sits in his chair. There’s a photograph lying face down on the corner of the desk that he picks up and studies. He’s seen it dozens of times since McCoy showed up at the school last year, but he still can’t resist looking again.
It’s the happy couple celebrating like they don’t have a care in the world. McCoy is smiling, showing off fucking dimples, looking too damn good in a black tux and not many years older than Jim is now. The woman is pretty, maybe too pretty in that arrogant way Jim hates. Like she’s aware of how good looking she is and is too smug at having caught a man like McCoy. Jim’s never even met the Wife, but he knows that she’s not good enough for McCoy just from how she smirks in her own wedding photo.
“James? What are you doing here?” McCoy’s question makes Jim stop glaring at the photo of the perfect wife for the perfect man in the perfect fucking marriage they must have.
“What? You thought I’d leave this hellhole without saying goodbye to my favorite teacher?” Jim asks, putting the frame back on the desk before he leans back in McCoy’s uncomfortable chair. He smirks and raises his feet, balancing his boots on the desk as he stares at McCoy, who has taken off the ridiculous white lab coat that he often wears over his slacks and shirt. There’s no tie, either, which is possibly the first time Jim’s ever seen McCoy not look impeccable, like he’s working on Wall Street instead of a moldy smelling bio lab in a crappy high school.
McCoy arches a brow and purses his lips. Those damn lips that Jim shouldn’t even notice because he likes to fuck girls, not have perverted fantasies about a stubborn male teacher who’s so damn optimistic that rainbows probably shoot out his ass whenever he farts. McCoy tilts his head slightly and says, “I assumed that you’d be speeding away from town as fast as that deathtrap you call a motorcycle would take you.”
“That’ll be tomorrow or maybe tonight. Depends on my mood, teach,” he says with a shrug of his shoulder. He kicks his boots against McCoy’s desk, feeling a sense of satisfaction when the frame falls over and he’s no longer got Perfect Wife smirking at him. Glancing at McCoy, he leans further back in the chair and flashes a lazy smile. “You know, I’m not a student anymore. Can’t threaten me with detention or extra homework now.”
“I’m aware of that, which is why I’m curious what you’re still doing here,” McCoy points out in that low drawling voice that just clarifies the fact that he doesn’t belong here. Jim doesn’t know why anyone would move here, to this tiny hick town in Iowa with a population that meddles in each other’s business and still considers his dad to be the town hero even after eighteen years. He wants out so bad that he can’t imagine anyone, especially someone like McCoy and his Perfect Wife, wanting to move here.
“I already told ya, McCoy. Favorite teacher, goodbye, all that bullshit,” he says, waving his hand in the air in a dismissive manner. Jim had the advanced biology class last year, so he hasn’t had McCoy as a teacher since, but he’s still watched and wanted and hated the man for making his head all fucked up. He smirks again. “You know you’re gonna miss me.”
“Have you decided on your plans now that you’ve graduated?” McCoy asks, not showing a single sign that Jim’s getting to him. He never does. Unlike all of Jim’s other teachers, McCoy never has written him off as a complete failure or suggested there might be other alternatives to passing class, like he’s going to fail just because he’s a troublemaker. Those classes, with the teachers who fuck him with their eyes while trying to be all subtle about what they really want, he takes particular delight in passing with the highest scores in class. McCoy is the rarity that actually looked at him like he was something other than his father’s fuck up of a son with no hope for a decent future before his grades proved he’s a fucking genius when he bothers to apply himself.
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe I’ll steal a car and drive east,” he muses, deliberately playing up his attitude because he knows it annoys McCoy even if the bastard won’t ever show it.
“That’s funny. You see, I received a request for a letter of recommendation from Berkeley a couple of months ago. Last time I checked, that’s west, not east,” McCoy drawls as he leans against a stool and pins Jim with that thoughtful gaze that seems to see right through him. “You can do a lot more with your life if you forget about stealing cars, James.”
That’s another thing. It’s always James, never Jim or even Jimmy, to McCoy. Not even his mother calls him James. With a dumb name like Leonard, he has to know about nicknames. He moves his gaze over McCoy, lingering on the way the gray fabric of his pants fits his thighs so snugly and the bare skin visible at the vee of his shirt where the top two buttons are unfastened. When he reaches McCoy’s face, he sees that earnest, open expression that has been there since Jim first strolled into Advanced Biology last year to find a just graduated college and sickeningly enthusiastic new teacher waiting to begin class.
“When I was your age, I probably wouldn’t have listened, either,” McCoy continues, completely unaware to the fact that Jim’s mentally undressing him. “But you have so much potential, James. I’ve seen your test scores, and you’re definitely one of the brightest students that I’ve had in class. Don’t waste your life out of some sort of teenage rebellion. I know that you’re better than that.”
“My age? What was that, five or six years ago?” Jim snorts and swings his feet down off the desk. “Save the wisdom for someone who wants to hear it, McCoy.” He stands up, the back of his knees sending the rolling chair some distance behind him, and puts his hands on the desk. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know that you’re too smart to just give up and continue on this careless suicidal path that you seem to be on,” McCoy says, that earnest look even more nauseating now because he actually believes what he’s saying. McCoy shakes his head suddenly, running his fingers through his dark hair as he frowns. “You know what? Go ahead and ruin your life if you want. I’ve done what I can, and the rest is up to you. It’s not like I can challenge you to go to college and make something of your life if you’re determined to live hard and die young.”
When McCoy frowns, he looks stressed and frustrated. Jim also notices circles beneath his eyes and wonders if he isn’t sleeping for some reason, not that he can ask or even cares. McCoy is a pain in his ass, the do-good teacher that won’t give up on him like everyone else does, and no number of sexual fantasies can change the resentment that Jim feels towards him. Only, it sounds like McCoy is giving up, and Jim doesn’t like how that feels. “Why can’t you challenge me?” Jim asks, feeling slightly desperate as McCoy studies him. “Dare me, teach.”
“This isn’t something that anyone else can make you do, James. You have to dare yourself,” McCoy tells him as he rubs the back of his neck. It’s what he does whenever he’s frustrated by a student in class, Jim knows, not that he spent most of last year studying Mr. McCoy more than Advanced Biology. Of course he didn’t.
“Yeah, well, whatever,” he mutters. He didn’t come here for another lecture or push towards college. He’s already decided to go, mostly because it’ll mean he can leave this town and become completely independent. He’s not going to end up working for some smug asshole at a garage like his uncle does, angry all the time and bitter about never doing more with his life. Frank’s a good man, but Jim doesn’t want a future taking orders from imbeciles and having to find happiness in an endless stream of one night stands and bottles of booze.
“It’s getting late,” McCoy points out as he straightens up and pushes the stool back under the lab counter. “You should be out celebrating your graduation, James.”
“Have to pack up my shit so I can leave this town,” he says, rather pleased that McCoy doesn’t even flinch when he’s cursing in front of him. He gets to his feet and walks around the desk to where McCoy is standing.
“Good luck, James,” McCoy says, holding out his hand.
It’s time. There’s a slight moment of panic, when his belly feels like it’s knotted up and the reality that this is the last time he’s going to see McCoy hits him, but he pushes past it because this is the last time he’s going to have this chance. Jim reaches out to take his hand and shakes it, stroking his thumb over the warm skin and not letting go as he finally does what he came here to do. He steps closer and grips the back of McCoy’s head, kissing him hard.
There’s a gasp as his lips press against McCoy’s mouth, and Jim takes advantage of it, pushing his tongue inside as he presses closer to McCoy. He feels hands on his shoulders, squeezing tightly before pushing him away, but he stands firm, licking the inside of McCoy’s mouth and tugging on that dark hair that’s even thicker than he imagined. When he feels McCoy push his shoulders harder, he curls their tongues together once more then he steps back and breaks the kiss.
“Just a little good luck kiss, teach,” he says with a forced smirk once he catches his breath. He takes one last look at McCoy, committing the image to memory before he hurries out of the room, not giving McCoy time to say or do anything until he’s out the door, and he thinks maybe he hears 'James' called out behind him. He runs down the hallway and stairs, his lips wet and tingling and the vision of a shocked and flushed McCoy in his head.
When he reaches his bike, he’s breathing hard and sort of scared. He straddles it and roars out of the parking lot, not wanting to risk getting caught by taking too long to leave. He’s never kissed a guy before nor has he ever forced anyone, ever, until now. McCoy didn’t kiss him back, didn’t really give any indication that he enjoyed it, which makes Jim feel a little disgusted with himself. He doesn’t regret it, though, even if it’s made him feel more confused about everything. He’s wanted that kiss for two years, and now he can leave this place without always wondering what it’s like to kiss McCoy.
The perfect little wife might get to keep him, but at least Jim has had a small taste.
End