Fic: Catching Fire, Ch 22b/22: Under Control (NC-17)
Previous chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14a 14b 15 16a 16b 17a 17b 18a 18b 19 20 21a 21b 21c 22a
Mid October: morning.
Len had a day off, and it was the university’s fall break, so he and Jim had a rare full day to spend together. Jim quietly got up just before seven to let Maisy out into the yard, then went to the bathroom himself and tiptoed back to the bedroom, to find Len wide awake and waiting for him, naked, in their bed.
“Jim,” Len said, smiling at him with a glint Jim knew and appreciated. “I hope you’re planning on getting back in here.” Len patted the sheets next to him.
“You do, huh?” Jim said, half of his mouth quirking upwards. “Why? You got something planned?”
“Thought we could strip each other down and fuck each other into next week. Unless you’re too busy. Studying, and such,” Len said, licking his lower lip in a way that made Jim’s toes curl.
“Lemme check my calendar,” Jim said. He stripped his boxers off, and turned around and picked his phone up off the low dresser, leaning forwards, and swaying his hips back and forth. He was pretty sure he could feel Len eye-fucking him, so he teased a little more before he turned back around.
“As it turns out, I’m clear till six, when I’ve got a dinner date with my husband,” Jim said. “The only thing I have to study today is anatomy. Oh, and sexual response of the human male.”
“As it turns out, I’m also free,” Len said. “Now. You gonna get over here, or am I gonna have to come get you?”
“I’ll make it easy on you, old man,” Jim said, climbing back onto the bed. He backed himself against the wall at the head of the bed, and unzipped his pressure garment to peel it off. “Might not get my twenty-three hours today,” he said, tossing the jacket-like object aside. He sat cross-legged, with his back against the wall.
“That’d be a terrible, terrible shame,” Len said, maneuvering himself so he was in front of Jim. “But I’m a doctor, so I can write you an excuse note,” he said, tracing with his index finger along the line the lower border of the garment left along Jim’s abdomen.
Len burrowed his face into Jim’s chest, inhaling the concentrated scent of Jim-ness that the pressure garment kept in all night. The faint rubbery scent that the garment left behind when it was new was long gone, and just Jim was left. Hands at Jim’s hips, he tugged gently, to try to get Jim away from the wall.
“C’mon, last I checked, that wall didn’t need to be held up. C’mon down here with me,” Len said. The bedclothes swished gently as he moved them aside.
Jim inched away from the wall, facing Len, and, when there was room, he lay on his back, pulling Len down on top of him. Len inhaled again, dragging his nose and slightly open lips lightly across Jim’s chest, raising goosebumps on both of their bodies with the light contact. He flicked one nipple with his tongue, and pulled back and blew on it gently, to watch it form a peak, and then found it again with his tongue. He treated its neighbor the same way, and enjoyed Jim’s quiet sighs of pleasure as he worked his lips up to his clavicle, over to his suprasternal notch, up past his prominent thyroid cartilage, and then along the angle of his jaw to the shell of his ear.
In the last couple of months, they’d found that Len could finally rest his whole weight on Jim without causing discomfort, so he did so, and they both vocalized their pleasure at the full frontal contact.
As Len was hoping he would, Jim turned his neck and lifted his chin to expose more to Len’s attentions. With Jim’s neck turned and extended, Len could see the line that marked the beginning of the full-thickness skin graft that covered the worst burns. He traced that line with lips and tongue, and felt Jim stiffen and go still.
“Bones … don’t. Please.” Jim turned his head back again.
Len pushed up on his hands and knees, and closed his eyes, sighing. He’d heeded Jim’s nonverbal cues, for the last several months, and avoided paying any sensual attention to any of his scarred areas, but he couldn’t let them fall into that habit. He couldn’t.
“Jim … I miss you, damn it,” he said softly. “I miss the half of you that I’m not allowed to look at, not allowed to touch, not allowed to love.”
“Yeah, well, half of me-or, more specifically, thirty percent of me-isn’t very lovable anymore,” Jim said, turning away. “I don’t want you to see the scars. I don’t want you to remember what happened. I don’t want to remember what happened. So why can’t you just be satisfied with my front half, and forget about the rest? That’s where most of the good stuff is anyhow.”
Len’s eyes opened wide, and his jaw dropped. “‘The good stuff?’ Jesus, Jim! Is that how you believe I think of you? How you think I love you? Just for the gonads? I’d’ve hoped you thought better of me.”
“Bones, no! That’s not what I mean, and you know it. That’s not how we love each other-not just that way.”
“Fine, Jim-then please understand this: I love all of you. All of you. And we’re not gonna forget what happened-neither one of us. I sure as hell wish it never happened-God, I do, Jim, more than anything-but it did.” Len paused, and collected his thoughts, because he wanted to get this right. “When I see your scars, do you know what I think?”
Jim shook his head.
“All I think, when I see them, is how god-damned lucky I am to have you with me still. How precious life is, and-” he had to swallow hard, past the aching lump in his throat, to continue- “how all I want to do, for the rest of my life, is hold you, and love you. All of you.”
Jim covered his face with his hands. “But Bones … it’s so … ugly. I’m so ugly.”
“Stop it, Jim! You’re not ugly. Every bit of you is gorgeous. Hell, I’ve probably spent more time looking at your scars than you have, since I don’t need two mirrors to see ‘em. I bet you think I try not to look, don’t you? When we’re in the shower, or when I’m rubbing the lotion in, when you won’t even let me have the lights on. But I look, Jim. I look as hard as I can. I know your scars, just like I know the rest of you. Like, I bet you didn’t know there’s this one spot, just over your left shoulder blade, that’s a heart shape. It’s fading, now, but I bet it’ll always be there. Did you ever notice that spot?”
Jim shook his head. “Why would you even look? It’s so … awful.”
“Because it’s you, Jim. I love everything about you. Everything. And damn it, I’m gonna prove to you I don’t find anything about you ugly at all. Prove to you that you’re not ugly.”
“How?” Jim asked. “How can you prove the opposite of what I believe? The opposite of what I know? How can you prove the opposite of the truth?”
Len closed his eyes again, in pain for himself, but mostly for Jim.
“Roll over, on your belly. Please?” he asked.
“Bones …” Jim whispered, whimpered. “I can’t.”
“I’m begging you, sweetheart,” Len said. “Can you hear how my voice sounds? I’m desperate for you. I want to make you feel good, show you how much I love you-all of you. Please, darlin’. Please let me. Please let me try. If turns out to be too much, right now, just tell me when to stop, but we’ll at least have gotten somewhere we haven’t been yet. So please, I’m begging you. Let me prove to you how gorgeous and perfect you are.”
Jim was silent for a long, long minute. Len could hear his breathing-in, out; in, out; over and over. He was reminded, for a moment, of the regular and too-even sound of the ventilator, on Jim’s first day in the burn unit. He quickly put that thought from his mind, and concentrated on the sound of Jim’s normal, natural breathing. Len tasted acid, and his insides quaked at the thought of Jim refusing him this request-this plea.
“Close the shades,” Jim said, almost so quietly that Len couldn’t hear him, “and leave the lights out. And I’ll try. I’ll try, Bones. That’s all I can promise.”
“That’s all I need, sweetheart.” Len closed all the shades, and returned to the bed. It was dim in the room, but Len knew his eyes would adjust to the light level. And it wasn’t about his eyes, anyhow. It was about Jim. And Jim could have it as dark as he wanted, and this would still work. Could still work.
Len took a calming breath as he heard Jim’s body sliding across the cool cotton sheets. He carefully climbed onto the foot of the bed, letting Jim get used to this position that now felt so unnatural for him. He breathed out, slowly, as he finally saw the entirety of Jim’s posterior surface, laid out for him, only him.
“Oh, Jim,” he murmured. “My love, my husband, my life.”
He placed his hands gently on the backs of Jim’s calves. They were narrower than they’d been last spring, before, but still strong and elegant. He traced the shallow valley demarcating the division of the two heads of the gastrocnemius muscle, feeling the flat, hard surface with his palm. Jim’s body was taut like a piano string, waiting for the hammer to fall and send it into jangling vibration.
“Your legs are so strong,” Len said, gently running his palms over the backs of Jim’s calves, the hollows behind his knees. “I remember that time in the PT gym, just before you got out, when you were on the leg-press machine. Remember that? That poor girl who was working with you completely lost it when you pressed the whole stack of weights like it wasn’t even there. And she made you quit, because you ‘shouldn’t be able to do that.’” Len chuckled at the memory of the expression on the young woman’s face.
“You remember that? It was the day before you got out. Three days after we got married.” He traced the cool metal of his ring over the back of Jim’s knee, and felt him shiver.
“I remember,” Jim said.
Len’s hands moved up past Jim’s knees, to the backs of his thighs. Jim’s arms were at his sides, his hands locked against his thighs like a soldier standing straight, stiff as rigor mortis. Len covered Jim’s wire-tense hands with his own, and heard the gentle tap of their rings contacting each other. He straddled Jim’s lower legs, careful not to put any weight on his extended knees, and grasped Jim’s hands gently but firmly.
“Try to let go, darlin’,” Len said. “Let me move your arms a little.”
“Okay,” Jim said. He could do it-he knew he could handle Len touching and moving his arms. His arms, at least till they reached the shoulder joint, were fine.
Len felt Jim’s whole body relax, ever so slightly, and he slid Jim’s hands up towards his shoulders, so he was lying in a more natural, more relaxed position.
“That’s good, Jim. That’s good. How are you feelin’?”
“I feel … exposed,” Jim said.
“An honest answer,” Len said. His hands were resting on the lightly-furred backs of Jim’s thighs-a comfortable place for both him and Jim at the moment. He slid his palms upwards, fingers cupping the twin swells of Jim’s buttocks, thumbs stroking the creases between his cheeks and thighs.
“Now, how can you possibly say all the good stuff is on the front?” Len asked, teasing with his light touch. He let the drawl creep farther into his voice than usual, because he knew Jim liked it. “This is for certain my second-favorite part of your anatomy,” Len said, hands gently caressing and kneading, thumbs marking the boundary creases they found. “Round, and firm, and succulent, with just the right amount of give. I could say more, if you want,” Len said, easing his knees farther up the bed, to extend his reach, letting his voice distract Jim from his feeling of exposure.
“Say more, Bones. I love to hear you talk.”
“It’s not time for dirty talk, though, darlin’. We’ll do that later, if you want.”
“I want, Bones. You know I always want,” Jim said, his voice no longer quite so harsh and strained.
“I do too, sweetheart. But now it’s time to talk about other things. Like how perfectly my hands fit here,” he said, shifting upwards slightly, so his fingers turned outwards to Jim’s hips, and his thumbs dipped into the dimples of his sacral bone. “Like your ass was molded on my hands, for a perfect fit.”
“Or maybe your hands were molded on my ass,” Jim said. Len could hear that most of the tension was gone from Jim’s voice, and the lump in own his throat grew again.
“Maybe,” he said huskily. “But it sure does feel good, putting my hands on you.”
“Yeah. It does,” Jim said.
Len slid his outward-turned hands up further, to Jim’s narrow waist. He traced the remnants of the wrinkly lines left by a night’s sleep on top of the gathered elastic of his boxers, and then moved upwards to trace the faint line left behind by the bottom of the pressure garment. Jim didn’t protest that Len’s hands were moving upwards, so he kept going.
He’d been allowed to touch, occasionally, in the last couple months, with fingertips and open hands, so he knew what kind of movement and pressure Jim could tolerate on his new, fragile skin.
He decided to take a risk-but that was the name of the game. He said what was on his mind.
“Here’s where the bottom edge of the burns were. You don’t have any scarring here; it’s smooth, and pink, and soft, like baby Jamie’s skin.” Len gently caressed Jim’s smooth lower back, over his kidneys, and the bottom of his rib cage. He didn’t mention how, at the first dressing change, even this relatively mildly burned area was raw and weeping, with most of the epidermal layer dead and gone, debrided away in the first surgery. It was astounding to Len how it was so perfect, now.
“Perfect,” he said, echoing his own thoughts.
He slid his hands up further, into the areas that were definitely scarred, but hadn’t needed grafts. There were patches of perfect, fragile, pink skin, with islands of redder or whiter scar tissue, tiny areas of deeper burning, where grafts hadn’t been needed because they would heal from the outside in. He felt Jim tense slightly, as his hands entered this more sensitive territory.
Len decided not to say anything, and let his actions speak. He leaned down and kissed the lowest of the scarred areas, ever so lightly, and skirted his lips across to another island of redness. He pulled back for a moment, and put his palms over the unburnt oval area in the center of Jim’s back where his carbon-fiber SCBA tank had shielded him from the worst of the heat.
“Your air tank saved you, in so many ways,” Len said, stroking the one unscathed patch on Jim’s upper back.
He slowly slid his hands outward, over Jim’s shoulder blades. The skin was whorled with scars, random patterns of furrows and raised areas, that no scientist yet understood the exact reasons for.
“Bones,” Jim said, and Len could feel the tension rising again, in Jim’s body, and in the air they both breathed. Jim’s hands made fists in the sheets, where they rested on the bed, just above his shoulders.
“These scars, Jim. They’re here. It’s true. But to me, they’re not ugly. When I see them, when I feel them, all I think about is how close I came to losing you, and how grateful I am that I didn’t. I think about how amazing your body is, how these areas healed themselves, with just the aid and protection of some creams and bandages. You healed these parts, yourself, and that’s beautiful to me, Jim. It’s strength, and perfection, and beauty.”
Jim listened to Len’s voice, and to his words, and slowly, slowly, the truth of them started to sink in. Slowly, slowly, Len’s gentle hands, sliding across the scars, massaged the truth into Jim’s body, into his skin, into his soul.
Jim jumped as an unexpected sensation hit him out of the blue. He couldn’t identify it-couldn’t say whether it was hot, or cold, or … anything. It was electric. It happened again, and this time, on the undamaged skin where his air tank had protected him, where the nerves were undamaged, he could tell it was wet. At the same time as he processed that sensory information, he heard Len’s choked-back sob.
“You’re so perfect, Jim. So strong and beautiful, and I nearly lost you,” Len said. “God, Jim. I wouldn’t have made it.”
“Bones, shhh. It’s all right. We’re here, together, right? We’re okay,” Jim said. “I’m okay.”
Len swallowed hard, tasting the metallic taste of suppressed tears, and briefly removed one hand from Jim’s body to swipe his forearm across his face. “I feel exposed, now, too.”
“We’re safe,” Jim said. “We’re safe, naked and exposed as we are, Bones, because it’s us. Right?”
“Yeah,” Len said. They both understood that something had shifted, something had changed in the balance of what was happening. Something good.
“Say more, Bones,” Jim said.
Len moved his hands even further up, into the areas on each side of Jim’s upper back, where Dr. Isaacs had used thin layers of skin, harvested from Jim’s upper thigh, to graft over the deepest burns, after the ones on his neck. The donor skin was run through a machine to perforate it, to allow it to stretch to several times its usual surface area, so skin taken from one rectangular patch on Jim’s upper thigh covered two wide swaths across his upper back. They later learned that those two areas were where the seams had popped on his turnout gear, leaving him exposed to the intense heat in the room.
“Here’s where the grafts are,” Len said.
“Looks like lizard skin,” Jim said. “Those’re the worst parts of all.”
“Not to me,” Len said. “To me, it looks like the pattern of shadows you see when light comes through a window screen on a spring day. Or, maybe like the patterns of the powdery feathers of a moth’s wings. Delicate, ethereal, beautiful, but also functional. And it’s such an amazing thing that your body could do-using skin from your leg to cover those terrible wounds, and help heal them. Your body, helping itself. It’s perfect, Jim.”
Jim felt Len’s fingers sliding delicately over the grafted areas. The sensation was confusing, because the nerves were damaged in unpredictable patterns, and his brain couldn’t quite work out where Len’s fingers and palms really were. It wasn’t unpleasant, though-just different.
He was perfectly able, however, to process that Len had shifted further up his body again, and was now straddling his rear. He could feel Len’s flaccid penis nestled up against him, which another time, given the fact that they were naked and in bed, might have bothered him, but he understood that their experience right now was sensual, not sexual-a difference that Jim hadn’t fathomed until he’d spent several months with Len.
All his senses were heightened. He could hear his own pulse, and feel every square inch of the front of his body pressed into the bed. He imagined he could even hear Len’s fingers traveling across his skin, but decided his brain was playing tricks on him, turning sensation into sound. He could smell his own scent, mingled with his husband’s, and tasted the memory of ten thousand kisses pressed to his lips. His brain was playing tricks on him, for sure, because he was convinced he could see Len’s intense expression, his perpetually-flared nostrils that always made him look turned on, the parallel wrinkles between his brows from a lifetime of disapproving scowls, his lush lips that Jim suddenly yearned to suckle at, bite delicately. Later.
“Bones,” Jim said softly.
“Too much?” Len asked.
“No, it’s … no. It’s a lot. But it’s not too much.”
“That’s good, darlin’.”
Len took a deep breath as he slid just one hand up to the area on Jim’s neck and lower scalp, where the wound had required a full-thickness graft taken from his abdomen, where only a nearly-invisible straight line remained. He knew Jim could only feel the edges of the graft, since nerves hadn’t yet grown into the middle sections, and knew that Jim despised the bald spot over his occipital protuberance, which would eventually be cosmetically revised to give him a more normal hairline.
He let his hand rest on the back of Jim’s neck, without moving it at all.
“It’s all right, Bones,” Jim said, sliding his right hand around to cover Len’s hand on the back of his neck.
“I’ve always loved your neck,” Len said, and Jim knew it was true-Len always went straight for his neck when they got physical, almost vampire-like in his attention to the area.
“And I’ve always loved your belly,” he continued. He slid his hand away, and Jim let his hand fall back to the cool sheet. “Now I can kiss them both at the same time,” Len said, as he folded himself over Jim’s body to gently nuzzle the periphery of the grafted area.
Jim unexpectedly laughed, breaking the solemnity of the mood. “Bones, that’s so gross!”
“It’s not gross,” Len said, his breath and lips tickling Jim’s hairline as he traced the grafted area. “It’s amazing. Astounding.”
Jim relaxed again, and stayed relaxed as Len retraced every square inch of his back with his fingers. He felt himself melting into the bed, wondering when he’d end up in a puddle on the floor under the bed, as Len gradually replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing the uneven topography of his healing back.
“How are you feeling now, Jim?” Len asked, after an unidentifiable length of time had passed. It could’ve been two minutes, or half an hour, or two hours-Jim had no idea.
“Good,” Jim said. “You’re making me feel good, Bones.”
“Can I turn the lights up, darlin’?”
Jim tensed again, and Len felt it.
“It’s okay, Jim. Whatever you like.”
“Not yet, Bones. Maybe soon. But I’m not quite ready for that yet,” he said quietly.
“That’s all right. At your own pace, sugar.”
“But keep pushing me, a little more each day, Bones,” Jim said, after another moment. “I need it. Just a little-like this morning. You know how hard you can push.”
“All right,” Len said. “I can do that.”
“Thanks,” Jim said. “I love you a whole lot, Bones.”
“Me too, Jim. More every day, if that’s even possible.”
Len let his hands rest on Jim’s shoulders, relishing in being allowed to touch Jim fully again. He knew they weren’t done, that things weren’t completely fixed. But they were better.
“I gotta get off my knees, Jim. And I gotta pee somethin’ fierce.”
“’kay,” Jim said.
Jim felt a sudden sense of loss as Leonard’s body moved away from his, and immediately knew he needed to fill the void as soon as possible. He heard one of Len’s knees crack as he got out of bed, and listened to the gentle padding of his feet as he went into the bathroom. He grinned as he overheard Len’s ‘oh thank god,’ and the racehorse-worthy length of time he spent relieving himself. After the flush and the running of water in the sink, all was silent for a few seconds, and Jim got impatient.
“I sure as hell hope you’re coming back here, because I still don’t need to study,” he shouted into the dim room, in the general direction of the bathroom.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Len’s voice appeared right in his ear.
“That’s good, because I do have some other things on my mind, sugar.”
Jim rolled to his back again, wondering how the hell Len had gotten around to his side of the bed without Jim’s noticing, but quickly put any thoughts of supernatural powers out of his mind when his husband pinned him to the bed.
“Bones, you mean business,” Jim said appreciatively, pulling Len’s weight onto him.
“You up for business?”
Jim responded by flipping them over, so he looked down at Len’s hooded hazel eyes. Len reached up to touch Jim’s cheek, and Jim could smell the hand-soap from the bathroom.
“Fuck yes, Bones.”
Len immediately found himself being ravished, and he readily surrendered to Jim’s need. He was sure Jim had somehow grown another mouth, and two more pairs of hands, because they were everywhere, all at once, overwhelming him with several times Jim’s normal intensity, which was overpowering enough. He heard someone breathing hard, and couldn’t tell if it was himself or Jim. He heard someone making sounds that were half-gasp, half-moan, and Len knew he was making those sounds when Jim’s mouth covered his, and he could suddenly hear his own sounds amplified inside his head.
Jim’s mouth left his, and dragged down his chest, and kept going. Every neuron in Len’s body seemingly fired at once when Jim’s lips closed over the head of his cock. He could feel the vibrations of Jim’s hum of satisfaction, all the way to the tips of his toes at one extreme, and his scalp at the other. He clutched at handfuls of the sheets, to try to keep himself from grabbing Jim’s head and yanking it towards him, just to get more, more, more of the heat and suction and wetness and and and “Jesus Christ, Jim!” he couldn’t help shouting, as Jim’s finger, which he’d somehow managed to lube up, found its way inside, and stroked his prostate before he even knew what the hell was happening.
He knew he was lost, done for, a goner, even before Jim slid a second finger in with the first, and how the hell he’d gotten hold of the lube was still a mystery beyond reckoning. He writhed and moaned unabashedly, as Jim worked him open at the same time as he did magical things with his mouth and his other hand.
After a few minutes, Len was holding on by a thin thread, when Jim popped his mouth off Len’s cock, and pounced upwards to kiss him deeply.
“Now, now!” Len groaned into Jim’s kiss.
“Now?” Jim said, his cock poised teasingly at Leonard’s entrance.
Len was so undone he couldn’t even think of an appropriate obscenity, so instead, he grabbed Jim’s ass and pulled him in as hard as he could. “Now, you fucking nnnggguuuh!” Len panted at the intensity of the pleasure-pain of Jim’s hard and fast entrance, which he had begged for and gotten in spades.
Jim held still with precise control, quivering but otherwise not moving a muscle as Len adjusted.
“Now,” Len gasped again, still at a loss for other words, and felt his breath leave him as Jim pulled out most of the way, grabbed Len’s leg and hoisted it over his shoulder, and thrust back in again. The new angle let Jim’s cock brush over Len’s prostate in both directions, wrecking him further than he’d ever thought he could go. He locked his eyes onto Jim’s as a lifeline to the world, and an incredibly short-or was it long?-time later, he fell off the precipice Jim had brought him to, and groaned out his lover’s name as he came, with seizure-like intensity. His vision was just returning when Jim suddenly went still.
“Bones,” he groaned, as his eyes rolled back, and a pained expression washed over his face while his hips stuttered and his muscles clenched, until everything let go, and he collapsed on to Len.
Len stroked Jim’s back as they came down, with firm pressure from flat hands, since he knew Jim’s sensitive new skin would be easily overstimulated by a light touch right now. As they both ran out of energy, he rested his hands over Jim’s shoulder blades, and delighted in Jim’s acceptance of that touch.
Jim kissed Len sleepily, one more time, before he rolled off, reaching into the nightstand to find some wet wipes so they could clean up without moving. He tossed the used wipes aside, thanking modern consumer innovations, and cuddled in next to Len, who was already half asleep.
“Love you, darlin’,” Len slurred.
“Love you,” Jim said.
With Len’s arm stretched up JIm’s back, and his hand resting on the back of his neck, they fell asleep.
~!~!~!~
Six years later.
Jim tore down the stairs and burst through the first-floor stairwell door, scrambling to not be any later for his lunch date with Leonard. He skidded into the cafeteria, and searched the room for his husband. He found his dark head hunched down over a table in the corner, and forced himself to slow down as he approached.
“Sorry, Bones; sorry sorry sorry I’m so fucking late,” Jim said.
Leonard arched an eyebrow at him. “Do I look concerned?”
“Uh-I guess not. Should I be offended that you’re not concerned?”
“Not unless that gets you off, for some reason. On second thought, let’s just say ‘no,’ you shouldn’t be offended. Because I know how hospital life is.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “My last session ran way over. It’s a guy who really shouldn’t be getting discharged just yet, but you know the system-they practically have to crash and burn before they get what they really need. So his wife’s a wreck, and I felt like a total ass that I couldn’t do anything other than explain the system.”
Len nodded. “I do know the system, and I know how much we both hate that aspect of it. Reactive, rather than proactive. And I also know how much you hate things that are stupid.”
“You said it, Bones.”
Len looked at the emptiness in front of Jim. “You planning on eating, as long as you’re down here?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’ll be right back.”
Len watched Jim as he proceeded through the cafeteria line, chuckling to himself as Jim looked longingly at the short-order grill, but passed it by. It had been an adjustment for the two of them to be working at the same hospital, where Jim was finishing his first year of employment, as a social worker on the physical and medical rehab unit, and Len was now an attending physician in the ED.
Jim returned with his sandwich, fruit, and iced tea. “How’s your day been?”
“Slow-it’s usually slow for the first half of the day shift. You know-the frequent fliers aren’t up yet, kids are in school and not falling out of trees, and so on. How about you?”
“Not so great. We lost a patient last night, who nobody expected to lose. Blood clot, they think-guy had multiple fractures from a car wreck, and was just starting to get up and around again. And then my last session.” Jim shook his head. “Anyhow-let’s talk about something else. Like tonight. Where are we going, anyhow?”
Len smiled. “I told you, it’s a secret. You’ll see when we get there.”
“Aw, c’mon, Bones! Gimme a hint! Just a teensy, weensy little-”
“I swear, sometimes I really, really wonder, Jim,” Len said, scowling fondly.
Jim’s phone buzzed, marching a few inches across the table. He looked at the caller ID. “Huh. From somewhere in the hospital. I better pick up.” He put the phone to his ear, and pressed his index finger against his other ear to block out the noise of the cafeteria.
“Jim Kirk,” he said.
“Jim? This is Mary Hendricks.”
“My boss,” Jim mouthed silently to Len.
“Oh, hi, boss. What’s going on?”
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch break, but I just got word that there was a serious fire, with multiple injuries, in Des Moines. They’re sending our burn unit two burn patients-both firefighters. Dr. Isaacs asked if I would lend you to him for these particular patients. I said I thought it would be a perfect idea, but that I’d check with you first. If you want to do it, I’ll free up your schedule so you can spend as much time as is needed at the burn unit.”
“Absolutely,” Jim said instantly. “I’ll absolutely do that.”
“Excellent, Jim. The burn unit usually likes to have social workers with more experience, because it’s such a tough job, but everyone here knows perfectly well that your life experiences are no match for several more years of social work experience, for these two patients.”
“I … I appreciate your confidence.”
“Sylvia Barnard can help you with anything specific you need, but we all agreed you’d be the best person to work with these guys and their families.”
“Thank you,” Jim said. “I’ll do my best.”
“We know you will. They’re being stabilized at the hospital in Des Moines, but at least one is nearly ready for transfer, so expect the first patient around four this afternoon, if that’s okay for your schedule.”
Jim glanced at Bones. “I’ll make it okay,” he said.
“Thank you. After your next appointment, your schedule is cleared for the rest of the day, so you can touch base with Sylvia. Let me know how things are going, okay?”
“I will.”
The call ended, and Len raised his brows enquiringly.
“We’re getting two firefighters from Des Moines in the burn unit. I’m assigned to them,” Jim said. “They’re coming tonight-so, sorry about our date, but I’m gonna hafta cancel.”
Len shook his head. “That’s no problem, Jim. And it’s a perfect idea. They’ve really got their heads on straight, putting you on those cases. You’ll do great. I can’t imagine a better person for the job. Those guys and their families will be lucky to have you.”
“I hope so, Bones. I sure as hell hope so.”
Jim finished his lunch hastily, and saw his next client, doing his utmost to keep his attention on the individual in front of him instead of on the clients who were not yet even at this hospital. At three o’clock, he finished his session notes for the day, shut down his computer, and went up two flights of stairs to the floor that housed the burn unit.
He stood outside the double doors, and took a minute to remind himself of what he’d see, hear, and smell when he went through the doors. He reminded himself that although he’d been an informal visitor, for a few burn patients from time to time, this would be different.
This was his new life. His new normal. His new way to fight fire.
Jim pushed the doors open, and went in.
THE END.
13 14a 14b 15 16a 16b 17a 17b 18a 18b 19 20 21a 21b 21c 22a
Mid October: morning.
Len had a day off, and it was the university’s fall break, so he and Jim had a rare full day to spend together. Jim quietly got up just before seven to let Maisy out into the yard, then went to the bathroom himself and tiptoed back to the bedroom, to find Len wide awake and waiting for him, naked, in their bed.
“Jim,” Len said, smiling at him with a glint Jim knew and appreciated. “I hope you’re planning on getting back in here.” Len patted the sheets next to him.
“You do, huh?” Jim said, half of his mouth quirking upwards. “Why? You got something planned?”
“Thought we could strip each other down and fuck each other into next week. Unless you’re too busy. Studying, and such,” Len said, licking his lower lip in a way that made Jim’s toes curl.
“Lemme check my calendar,” Jim said. He stripped his boxers off, and turned around and picked his phone up off the low dresser, leaning forwards, and swaying his hips back and forth. He was pretty sure he could feel Len eye-fucking him, so he teased a little more before he turned back around.
“As it turns out, I’m clear till six, when I’ve got a dinner date with my husband,” Jim said. “The only thing I have to study today is anatomy. Oh, and sexual response of the human male.”
“As it turns out, I’m also free,” Len said. “Now. You gonna get over here, or am I gonna have to come get you?”
“I’ll make it easy on you, old man,” Jim said, climbing back onto the bed. He backed himself against the wall at the head of the bed, and unzipped his pressure garment to peel it off. “Might not get my twenty-three hours today,” he said, tossing the jacket-like object aside. He sat cross-legged, with his back against the wall.
“That’d be a terrible, terrible shame,” Len said, maneuvering himself so he was in front of Jim. “But I’m a doctor, so I can write you an excuse note,” he said, tracing with his index finger along the line the lower border of the garment left along Jim’s abdomen.
Len burrowed his face into Jim’s chest, inhaling the concentrated scent of Jim-ness that the pressure garment kept in all night. The faint rubbery scent that the garment left behind when it was new was long gone, and just Jim was left. Hands at Jim’s hips, he tugged gently, to try to get Jim away from the wall.
“C’mon, last I checked, that wall didn’t need to be held up. C’mon down here with me,” Len said. The bedclothes swished gently as he moved them aside.
Jim inched away from the wall, facing Len, and, when there was room, he lay on his back, pulling Len down on top of him. Len inhaled again, dragging his nose and slightly open lips lightly across Jim’s chest, raising goosebumps on both of their bodies with the light contact. He flicked one nipple with his tongue, and pulled back and blew on it gently, to watch it form a peak, and then found it again with his tongue. He treated its neighbor the same way, and enjoyed Jim’s quiet sighs of pleasure as he worked his lips up to his clavicle, over to his suprasternal notch, up past his prominent thyroid cartilage, and then along the angle of his jaw to the shell of his ear.
In the last couple of months, they’d found that Len could finally rest his whole weight on Jim without causing discomfort, so he did so, and they both vocalized their pleasure at the full frontal contact.
As Len was hoping he would, Jim turned his neck and lifted his chin to expose more to Len’s attentions. With Jim’s neck turned and extended, Len could see the line that marked the beginning of the full-thickness skin graft that covered the worst burns. He traced that line with lips and tongue, and felt Jim stiffen and go still.
“Bones … don’t. Please.” Jim turned his head back again.
Len pushed up on his hands and knees, and closed his eyes, sighing. He’d heeded Jim’s nonverbal cues, for the last several months, and avoided paying any sensual attention to any of his scarred areas, but he couldn’t let them fall into that habit. He couldn’t.
“Jim … I miss you, damn it,” he said softly. “I miss the half of you that I’m not allowed to look at, not allowed to touch, not allowed to love.”
“Yeah, well, half of me-or, more specifically, thirty percent of me-isn’t very lovable anymore,” Jim said, turning away. “I don’t want you to see the scars. I don’t want you to remember what happened. I don’t want to remember what happened. So why can’t you just be satisfied with my front half, and forget about the rest? That’s where most of the good stuff is anyhow.”
Len’s eyes opened wide, and his jaw dropped. “‘The good stuff?’ Jesus, Jim! Is that how you believe I think of you? How you think I love you? Just for the gonads? I’d’ve hoped you thought better of me.”
“Bones, no! That’s not what I mean, and you know it. That’s not how we love each other-not just that way.”
“Fine, Jim-then please understand this: I love all of you. All of you. And we’re not gonna forget what happened-neither one of us. I sure as hell wish it never happened-God, I do, Jim, more than anything-but it did.” Len paused, and collected his thoughts, because he wanted to get this right. “When I see your scars, do you know what I think?”
Jim shook his head.
“All I think, when I see them, is how god-damned lucky I am to have you with me still. How precious life is, and-” he had to swallow hard, past the aching lump in his throat, to continue- “how all I want to do, for the rest of my life, is hold you, and love you. All of you.”
Jim covered his face with his hands. “But Bones … it’s so … ugly. I’m so ugly.”
“Stop it, Jim! You’re not ugly. Every bit of you is gorgeous. Hell, I’ve probably spent more time looking at your scars than you have, since I don’t need two mirrors to see ‘em. I bet you think I try not to look, don’t you? When we’re in the shower, or when I’m rubbing the lotion in, when you won’t even let me have the lights on. But I look, Jim. I look as hard as I can. I know your scars, just like I know the rest of you. Like, I bet you didn’t know there’s this one spot, just over your left shoulder blade, that’s a heart shape. It’s fading, now, but I bet it’ll always be there. Did you ever notice that spot?”
Jim shook his head. “Why would you even look? It’s so … awful.”
“Because it’s you, Jim. I love everything about you. Everything. And damn it, I’m gonna prove to you I don’t find anything about you ugly at all. Prove to you that you’re not ugly.”
“How?” Jim asked. “How can you prove the opposite of what I believe? The opposite of what I know? How can you prove the opposite of the truth?”
Len closed his eyes again, in pain for himself, but mostly for Jim.
“Roll over, on your belly. Please?” he asked.
“Bones …” Jim whispered, whimpered. “I can’t.”
“I’m begging you, sweetheart,” Len said. “Can you hear how my voice sounds? I’m desperate for you. I want to make you feel good, show you how much I love you-all of you. Please, darlin’. Please let me. Please let me try. If turns out to be too much, right now, just tell me when to stop, but we’ll at least have gotten somewhere we haven’t been yet. So please, I’m begging you. Let me prove to you how gorgeous and perfect you are.”
Jim was silent for a long, long minute. Len could hear his breathing-in, out; in, out; over and over. He was reminded, for a moment, of the regular and too-even sound of the ventilator, on Jim’s first day in the burn unit. He quickly put that thought from his mind, and concentrated on the sound of Jim’s normal, natural breathing. Len tasted acid, and his insides quaked at the thought of Jim refusing him this request-this plea.
“Close the shades,” Jim said, almost so quietly that Len couldn’t hear him, “and leave the lights out. And I’ll try. I’ll try, Bones. That’s all I can promise.”
“That’s all I need, sweetheart.” Len closed all the shades, and returned to the bed. It was dim in the room, but Len knew his eyes would adjust to the light level. And it wasn’t about his eyes, anyhow. It was about Jim. And Jim could have it as dark as he wanted, and this would still work. Could still work.
Len took a calming breath as he heard Jim’s body sliding across the cool cotton sheets. He carefully climbed onto the foot of the bed, letting Jim get used to this position that now felt so unnatural for him. He breathed out, slowly, as he finally saw the entirety of Jim’s posterior surface, laid out for him, only him.
“Oh, Jim,” he murmured. “My love, my husband, my life.”
He placed his hands gently on the backs of Jim’s calves. They were narrower than they’d been last spring, before, but still strong and elegant. He traced the shallow valley demarcating the division of the two heads of the gastrocnemius muscle, feeling the flat, hard surface with his palm. Jim’s body was taut like a piano string, waiting for the hammer to fall and send it into jangling vibration.
“Your legs are so strong,” Len said, gently running his palms over the backs of Jim’s calves, the hollows behind his knees. “I remember that time in the PT gym, just before you got out, when you were on the leg-press machine. Remember that? That poor girl who was working with you completely lost it when you pressed the whole stack of weights like it wasn’t even there. And she made you quit, because you ‘shouldn’t be able to do that.’” Len chuckled at the memory of the expression on the young woman’s face.
“You remember that? It was the day before you got out. Three days after we got married.” He traced the cool metal of his ring over the back of Jim’s knee, and felt him shiver.
“I remember,” Jim said.
Len’s hands moved up past Jim’s knees, to the backs of his thighs. Jim’s arms were at his sides, his hands locked against his thighs like a soldier standing straight, stiff as rigor mortis. Len covered Jim’s wire-tense hands with his own, and heard the gentle tap of their rings contacting each other. He straddled Jim’s lower legs, careful not to put any weight on his extended knees, and grasped Jim’s hands gently but firmly.
“Try to let go, darlin’,” Len said. “Let me move your arms a little.”
“Okay,” Jim said. He could do it-he knew he could handle Len touching and moving his arms. His arms, at least till they reached the shoulder joint, were fine.
Len felt Jim’s whole body relax, ever so slightly, and he slid Jim’s hands up towards his shoulders, so he was lying in a more natural, more relaxed position.
“That’s good, Jim. That’s good. How are you feelin’?”
“I feel … exposed,” Jim said.
“An honest answer,” Len said. His hands were resting on the lightly-furred backs of Jim’s thighs-a comfortable place for both him and Jim at the moment. He slid his palms upwards, fingers cupping the twin swells of Jim’s buttocks, thumbs stroking the creases between his cheeks and thighs.
“Now, how can you possibly say all the good stuff is on the front?” Len asked, teasing with his light touch. He let the drawl creep farther into his voice than usual, because he knew Jim liked it. “This is for certain my second-favorite part of your anatomy,” Len said, hands gently caressing and kneading, thumbs marking the boundary creases they found. “Round, and firm, and succulent, with just the right amount of give. I could say more, if you want,” Len said, easing his knees farther up the bed, to extend his reach, letting his voice distract Jim from his feeling of exposure.
“Say more, Bones. I love to hear you talk.”
“It’s not time for dirty talk, though, darlin’. We’ll do that later, if you want.”
“I want, Bones. You know I always want,” Jim said, his voice no longer quite so harsh and strained.
“I do too, sweetheart. But now it’s time to talk about other things. Like how perfectly my hands fit here,” he said, shifting upwards slightly, so his fingers turned outwards to Jim’s hips, and his thumbs dipped into the dimples of his sacral bone. “Like your ass was molded on my hands, for a perfect fit.”
“Or maybe your hands were molded on my ass,” Jim said. Len could hear that most of the tension was gone from Jim’s voice, and the lump in own his throat grew again.
“Maybe,” he said huskily. “But it sure does feel good, putting my hands on you.”
“Yeah. It does,” Jim said.
Len slid his outward-turned hands up further, to Jim’s narrow waist. He traced the remnants of the wrinkly lines left by a night’s sleep on top of the gathered elastic of his boxers, and then moved upwards to trace the faint line left behind by the bottom of the pressure garment. Jim didn’t protest that Len’s hands were moving upwards, so he kept going.
He’d been allowed to touch, occasionally, in the last couple months, with fingertips and open hands, so he knew what kind of movement and pressure Jim could tolerate on his new, fragile skin.
He decided to take a risk-but that was the name of the game. He said what was on his mind.
“Here’s where the bottom edge of the burns were. You don’t have any scarring here; it’s smooth, and pink, and soft, like baby Jamie’s skin.” Len gently caressed Jim’s smooth lower back, over his kidneys, and the bottom of his rib cage. He didn’t mention how, at the first dressing change, even this relatively mildly burned area was raw and weeping, with most of the epidermal layer dead and gone, debrided away in the first surgery. It was astounding to Len how it was so perfect, now.
“Perfect,” he said, echoing his own thoughts.
He slid his hands up further, into the areas that were definitely scarred, but hadn’t needed grafts. There were patches of perfect, fragile, pink skin, with islands of redder or whiter scar tissue, tiny areas of deeper burning, where grafts hadn’t been needed because they would heal from the outside in. He felt Jim tense slightly, as his hands entered this more sensitive territory.
Len decided not to say anything, and let his actions speak. He leaned down and kissed the lowest of the scarred areas, ever so lightly, and skirted his lips across to another island of redness. He pulled back for a moment, and put his palms over the unburnt oval area in the center of Jim’s back where his carbon-fiber SCBA tank had shielded him from the worst of the heat.
“Your air tank saved you, in so many ways,” Len said, stroking the one unscathed patch on Jim’s upper back.
He slowly slid his hands outward, over Jim’s shoulder blades. The skin was whorled with scars, random patterns of furrows and raised areas, that no scientist yet understood the exact reasons for.
“Bones,” Jim said, and Len could feel the tension rising again, in Jim’s body, and in the air they both breathed. Jim’s hands made fists in the sheets, where they rested on the bed, just above his shoulders.
“These scars, Jim. They’re here. It’s true. But to me, they’re not ugly. When I see them, when I feel them, all I think about is how close I came to losing you, and how grateful I am that I didn’t. I think about how amazing your body is, how these areas healed themselves, with just the aid and protection of some creams and bandages. You healed these parts, yourself, and that’s beautiful to me, Jim. It’s strength, and perfection, and beauty.”
Jim listened to Len’s voice, and to his words, and slowly, slowly, the truth of them started to sink in. Slowly, slowly, Len’s gentle hands, sliding across the scars, massaged the truth into Jim’s body, into his skin, into his soul.
Jim jumped as an unexpected sensation hit him out of the blue. He couldn’t identify it-couldn’t say whether it was hot, or cold, or … anything. It was electric. It happened again, and this time, on the undamaged skin where his air tank had protected him, where the nerves were undamaged, he could tell it was wet. At the same time as he processed that sensory information, he heard Len’s choked-back sob.
“You’re so perfect, Jim. So strong and beautiful, and I nearly lost you,” Len said. “God, Jim. I wouldn’t have made it.”
“Bones, shhh. It’s all right. We’re here, together, right? We’re okay,” Jim said. “I’m okay.”
Len swallowed hard, tasting the metallic taste of suppressed tears, and briefly removed one hand from Jim’s body to swipe his forearm across his face. “I feel exposed, now, too.”
“We’re safe,” Jim said. “We’re safe, naked and exposed as we are, Bones, because it’s us. Right?”
“Yeah,” Len said. They both understood that something had shifted, something had changed in the balance of what was happening. Something good.
“Say more, Bones,” Jim said.
Len moved his hands even further up, into the areas on each side of Jim’s upper back, where Dr. Isaacs had used thin layers of skin, harvested from Jim’s upper thigh, to graft over the deepest burns, after the ones on his neck. The donor skin was run through a machine to perforate it, to allow it to stretch to several times its usual surface area, so skin taken from one rectangular patch on Jim’s upper thigh covered two wide swaths across his upper back. They later learned that those two areas were where the seams had popped on his turnout gear, leaving him exposed to the intense heat in the room.
“Here’s where the grafts are,” Len said.
“Looks like lizard skin,” Jim said. “Those’re the worst parts of all.”
“Not to me,” Len said. “To me, it looks like the pattern of shadows you see when light comes through a window screen on a spring day. Or, maybe like the patterns of the powdery feathers of a moth’s wings. Delicate, ethereal, beautiful, but also functional. And it’s such an amazing thing that your body could do-using skin from your leg to cover those terrible wounds, and help heal them. Your body, helping itself. It’s perfect, Jim.”
Jim felt Len’s fingers sliding delicately over the grafted areas. The sensation was confusing, because the nerves were damaged in unpredictable patterns, and his brain couldn’t quite work out where Len’s fingers and palms really were. It wasn’t unpleasant, though-just different.
He was perfectly able, however, to process that Len had shifted further up his body again, and was now straddling his rear. He could feel Len’s flaccid penis nestled up against him, which another time, given the fact that they were naked and in bed, might have bothered him, but he understood that their experience right now was sensual, not sexual-a difference that Jim hadn’t fathomed until he’d spent several months with Len.
All his senses were heightened. He could hear his own pulse, and feel every square inch of the front of his body pressed into the bed. He imagined he could even hear Len’s fingers traveling across his skin, but decided his brain was playing tricks on him, turning sensation into sound. He could smell his own scent, mingled with his husband’s, and tasted the memory of ten thousand kisses pressed to his lips. His brain was playing tricks on him, for sure, because he was convinced he could see Len’s intense expression, his perpetually-flared nostrils that always made him look turned on, the parallel wrinkles between his brows from a lifetime of disapproving scowls, his lush lips that Jim suddenly yearned to suckle at, bite delicately. Later.
“Bones,” Jim said softly.
“Too much?” Len asked.
“No, it’s … no. It’s a lot. But it’s not too much.”
“That’s good, darlin’.”
Len took a deep breath as he slid just one hand up to the area on Jim’s neck and lower scalp, where the wound had required a full-thickness graft taken from his abdomen, where only a nearly-invisible straight line remained. He knew Jim could only feel the edges of the graft, since nerves hadn’t yet grown into the middle sections, and knew that Jim despised the bald spot over his occipital protuberance, which would eventually be cosmetically revised to give him a more normal hairline.
He let his hand rest on the back of Jim’s neck, without moving it at all.
“It’s all right, Bones,” Jim said, sliding his right hand around to cover Len’s hand on the back of his neck.
“I’ve always loved your neck,” Len said, and Jim knew it was true-Len always went straight for his neck when they got physical, almost vampire-like in his attention to the area.
“And I’ve always loved your belly,” he continued. He slid his hand away, and Jim let his hand fall back to the cool sheet. “Now I can kiss them both at the same time,” Len said, as he folded himself over Jim’s body to gently nuzzle the periphery of the grafted area.
Jim unexpectedly laughed, breaking the solemnity of the mood. “Bones, that’s so gross!”
“It’s not gross,” Len said, his breath and lips tickling Jim’s hairline as he traced the grafted area. “It’s amazing. Astounding.”
Jim relaxed again, and stayed relaxed as Len retraced every square inch of his back with his fingers. He felt himself melting into the bed, wondering when he’d end up in a puddle on the floor under the bed, as Len gradually replaced his fingers with his lips, kissing the uneven topography of his healing back.
“How are you feeling now, Jim?” Len asked, after an unidentifiable length of time had passed. It could’ve been two minutes, or half an hour, or two hours-Jim had no idea.
“Good,” Jim said. “You’re making me feel good, Bones.”
“Can I turn the lights up, darlin’?”
Jim tensed again, and Len felt it.
“It’s okay, Jim. Whatever you like.”
“Not yet, Bones. Maybe soon. But I’m not quite ready for that yet,” he said quietly.
“That’s all right. At your own pace, sugar.”
“But keep pushing me, a little more each day, Bones,” Jim said, after another moment. “I need it. Just a little-like this morning. You know how hard you can push.”
“All right,” Len said. “I can do that.”
“Thanks,” Jim said. “I love you a whole lot, Bones.”
“Me too, Jim. More every day, if that’s even possible.”
Len let his hands rest on Jim’s shoulders, relishing in being allowed to touch Jim fully again. He knew they weren’t done, that things weren’t completely fixed. But they were better.
“I gotta get off my knees, Jim. And I gotta pee somethin’ fierce.”
“’kay,” Jim said.
Jim felt a sudden sense of loss as Leonard’s body moved away from his, and immediately knew he needed to fill the void as soon as possible. He heard one of Len’s knees crack as he got out of bed, and listened to the gentle padding of his feet as he went into the bathroom. He grinned as he overheard Len’s ‘oh thank god,’ and the racehorse-worthy length of time he spent relieving himself. After the flush and the running of water in the sink, all was silent for a few seconds, and Jim got impatient.
“I sure as hell hope you’re coming back here, because I still don’t need to study,” he shouted into the dim room, in the general direction of the bathroom.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Len’s voice appeared right in his ear.
“That’s good, because I do have some other things on my mind, sugar.”
Jim rolled to his back again, wondering how the hell Len had gotten around to his side of the bed without Jim’s noticing, but quickly put any thoughts of supernatural powers out of his mind when his husband pinned him to the bed.
“Bones, you mean business,” Jim said appreciatively, pulling Len’s weight onto him.
“You up for business?”
Jim responded by flipping them over, so he looked down at Len’s hooded hazel eyes. Len reached up to touch Jim’s cheek, and Jim could smell the hand-soap from the bathroom.
“Fuck yes, Bones.”
Len immediately found himself being ravished, and he readily surrendered to Jim’s need. He was sure Jim had somehow grown another mouth, and two more pairs of hands, because they were everywhere, all at once, overwhelming him with several times Jim’s normal intensity, which was overpowering enough. He heard someone breathing hard, and couldn’t tell if it was himself or Jim. He heard someone making sounds that were half-gasp, half-moan, and Len knew he was making those sounds when Jim’s mouth covered his, and he could suddenly hear his own sounds amplified inside his head.
Jim’s mouth left his, and dragged down his chest, and kept going. Every neuron in Len’s body seemingly fired at once when Jim’s lips closed over the head of his cock. He could feel the vibrations of Jim’s hum of satisfaction, all the way to the tips of his toes at one extreme, and his scalp at the other. He clutched at handfuls of the sheets, to try to keep himself from grabbing Jim’s head and yanking it towards him, just to get more, more, more of the heat and suction and wetness and and and “Jesus Christ, Jim!” he couldn’t help shouting, as Jim’s finger, which he’d somehow managed to lube up, found its way inside, and stroked his prostate before he even knew what the hell was happening.
He knew he was lost, done for, a goner, even before Jim slid a second finger in with the first, and how the hell he’d gotten hold of the lube was still a mystery beyond reckoning. He writhed and moaned unabashedly, as Jim worked him open at the same time as he did magical things with his mouth and his other hand.
After a few minutes, Len was holding on by a thin thread, when Jim popped his mouth off Len’s cock, and pounced upwards to kiss him deeply.
“Now, now!” Len groaned into Jim’s kiss.
“Now?” Jim said, his cock poised teasingly at Leonard’s entrance.
Len was so undone he couldn’t even think of an appropriate obscenity, so instead, he grabbed Jim’s ass and pulled him in as hard as he could. “Now, you fucking nnnggguuuh!” Len panted at the intensity of the pleasure-pain of Jim’s hard and fast entrance, which he had begged for and gotten in spades.
Jim held still with precise control, quivering but otherwise not moving a muscle as Len adjusted.
“Now,” Len gasped again, still at a loss for other words, and felt his breath leave him as Jim pulled out most of the way, grabbed Len’s leg and hoisted it over his shoulder, and thrust back in again. The new angle let Jim’s cock brush over Len’s prostate in both directions, wrecking him further than he’d ever thought he could go. He locked his eyes onto Jim’s as a lifeline to the world, and an incredibly short-or was it long?-time later, he fell off the precipice Jim had brought him to, and groaned out his lover’s name as he came, with seizure-like intensity. His vision was just returning when Jim suddenly went still.
“Bones,” he groaned, as his eyes rolled back, and a pained expression washed over his face while his hips stuttered and his muscles clenched, until everything let go, and he collapsed on to Len.
Len stroked Jim’s back as they came down, with firm pressure from flat hands, since he knew Jim’s sensitive new skin would be easily overstimulated by a light touch right now. As they both ran out of energy, he rested his hands over Jim’s shoulder blades, and delighted in Jim’s acceptance of that touch.
Jim kissed Len sleepily, one more time, before he rolled off, reaching into the nightstand to find some wet wipes so they could clean up without moving. He tossed the used wipes aside, thanking modern consumer innovations, and cuddled in next to Len, who was already half asleep.
“Love you, darlin’,” Len slurred.
“Love you,” Jim said.
With Len’s arm stretched up JIm’s back, and his hand resting on the back of his neck, they fell asleep.
~!~!~!~
Six years later.
Jim tore down the stairs and burst through the first-floor stairwell door, scrambling to not be any later for his lunch date with Leonard. He skidded into the cafeteria, and searched the room for his husband. He found his dark head hunched down over a table in the corner, and forced himself to slow down as he approached.
“Sorry, Bones; sorry sorry sorry I’m so fucking late,” Jim said.
Leonard arched an eyebrow at him. “Do I look concerned?”
“Uh-I guess not. Should I be offended that you’re not concerned?”
“Not unless that gets you off, for some reason. On second thought, let’s just say ‘no,’ you shouldn’t be offended. Because I know how hospital life is.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “My last session ran way over. It’s a guy who really shouldn’t be getting discharged just yet, but you know the system-they practically have to crash and burn before they get what they really need. So his wife’s a wreck, and I felt like a total ass that I couldn’t do anything other than explain the system.”
Len nodded. “I do know the system, and I know how much we both hate that aspect of it. Reactive, rather than proactive. And I also know how much you hate things that are stupid.”
“You said it, Bones.”
Len looked at the emptiness in front of Jim. “You planning on eating, as long as you’re down here?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’ll be right back.”
Len watched Jim as he proceeded through the cafeteria line, chuckling to himself as Jim looked longingly at the short-order grill, but passed it by. It had been an adjustment for the two of them to be working at the same hospital, where Jim was finishing his first year of employment, as a social worker on the physical and medical rehab unit, and Len was now an attending physician in the ED.
Jim returned with his sandwich, fruit, and iced tea. “How’s your day been?”
“Slow-it’s usually slow for the first half of the day shift. You know-the frequent fliers aren’t up yet, kids are in school and not falling out of trees, and so on. How about you?”
“Not so great. We lost a patient last night, who nobody expected to lose. Blood clot, they think-guy had multiple fractures from a car wreck, and was just starting to get up and around again. And then my last session.” Jim shook his head. “Anyhow-let’s talk about something else. Like tonight. Where are we going, anyhow?”
Len smiled. “I told you, it’s a secret. You’ll see when we get there.”
“Aw, c’mon, Bones! Gimme a hint! Just a teensy, weensy little-”
“I swear, sometimes I really, really wonder, Jim,” Len said, scowling fondly.
Jim’s phone buzzed, marching a few inches across the table. He looked at the caller ID. “Huh. From somewhere in the hospital. I better pick up.” He put the phone to his ear, and pressed his index finger against his other ear to block out the noise of the cafeteria.
“Jim Kirk,” he said.
“Jim? This is Mary Hendricks.”
“My boss,” Jim mouthed silently to Len.
“Oh, hi, boss. What’s going on?”
“Sorry to interrupt your lunch break, but I just got word that there was a serious fire, with multiple injuries, in Des Moines. They’re sending our burn unit two burn patients-both firefighters. Dr. Isaacs asked if I would lend you to him for these particular patients. I said I thought it would be a perfect idea, but that I’d check with you first. If you want to do it, I’ll free up your schedule so you can spend as much time as is needed at the burn unit.”
“Absolutely,” Jim said instantly. “I’ll absolutely do that.”
“Excellent, Jim. The burn unit usually likes to have social workers with more experience, because it’s such a tough job, but everyone here knows perfectly well that your life experiences are no match for several more years of social work experience, for these two patients.”
“I … I appreciate your confidence.”
“Sylvia Barnard can help you with anything specific you need, but we all agreed you’d be the best person to work with these guys and their families.”
“Thank you,” Jim said. “I’ll do my best.”
“We know you will. They’re being stabilized at the hospital in Des Moines, but at least one is nearly ready for transfer, so expect the first patient around four this afternoon, if that’s okay for your schedule.”
Jim glanced at Bones. “I’ll make it okay,” he said.
“Thank you. After your next appointment, your schedule is cleared for the rest of the day, so you can touch base with Sylvia. Let me know how things are going, okay?”
“I will.”
The call ended, and Len raised his brows enquiringly.
“We’re getting two firefighters from Des Moines in the burn unit. I’m assigned to them,” Jim said. “They’re coming tonight-so, sorry about our date, but I’m gonna hafta cancel.”
Len shook his head. “That’s no problem, Jim. And it’s a perfect idea. They’ve really got their heads on straight, putting you on those cases. You’ll do great. I can’t imagine a better person for the job. Those guys and their families will be lucky to have you.”
“I hope so, Bones. I sure as hell hope so.”
Jim finished his lunch hastily, and saw his next client, doing his utmost to keep his attention on the individual in front of him instead of on the clients who were not yet even at this hospital. At three o’clock, he finished his session notes for the day, shut down his computer, and went up two flights of stairs to the floor that housed the burn unit.
He stood outside the double doors, and took a minute to remind himself of what he’d see, hear, and smell when he went through the doors. He reminded himself that although he’d been an informal visitor, for a few burn patients from time to time, this would be different.
This was his new life. His new normal. His new way to fight fire.
Jim pushed the doors open, and went in.
THE END.