Words, Rated R 1/1 (for joanne_c)
Author's/Artist's name: d8rkmessngr
Written/Drawn for: joanne_c
Pairing/Characters: Kirk/McCoy
Words: 3500+ Complete
Rating: R for sexual situations and strong language
Prompt: Will his past make his future more or less difficult to embrace?
Warnings: Potty mouth vocabulary
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Richer people do which might be for the best because the boys might come out tattered and bruised staying with me…
"Captain."
Jim blinked and focused on the blue uniform in front of him before his eyes drifted up to Spock's impassive face. Dark eyes considered him with the same intensity as if peering through the science station's viewing scanner.
"Yes, Mr. Spock," Jim returned easily as if he hadn't been staring at the back of Chekov's head, debating if the curls were offending him today or not.
A thin eyebrow rose and that's when Jim realized Spock was holding out a PADD. Oh yeah, PADD, report, time to do his captainy duties.
Before Spock could add commentary to his arched eyebrow, Jim grabbed the PADD from his extended hand. He stared at it, not quite reading it but skimming enough to know he could run the risk of letting it slide. Spock would update him of what he needed to know and since the report didn't seem to reference any new activity with the Klingons, Romulans or the occasional Starfleet elite Jim had accidentally offended/irritated/disobeyed, Jim was fine just signing it off.
Nevertheless, Jim sent a copy to his own PADD for further study. Might as well have something to pass the time. Maybe it'd even help him sleep.
"Are you well?" Jim noticed that months on the Enterprise had taught Spock to ask these sort of questions in a lowered voice because Jim tended to blow them off if said too loudly. Too bad he wanted to answer that sort of question with all the extra eyes constantly on him, waiting to see if he could hack it as a Captain, like he wanted an extra hole in the head.
"Never better," Jim replied, the easy smile almost automatic turning away to scan the now transferred report. Practice made perfect, Jim supposed darkly. He'd learned at a young age to answer teachers that way when they'd frown at the bruises and cuts. Telling them he'd fallen/bumped/tripped with a wide naughty grin was usually just met with an annoyed shake of the head, or a ruffle of his hair and an admonishment to follow the rules better, or to be careful next time.
Spock though, apparently wasn't up to speed on how people should respond to Jim's smirk and his eyebrow just rose higher. And when Jim ignored yet another tiny beep from his PADD, Spock clasped his hands behind his back. Jim recognized it as Vulcan for "I'm going to say something you're not going to like". Stuff that was hard like, why would the Romulans attack Vulcan, or what was regulation 259.2 really about, or have you slept recently?
"I've noted that Doctor McCoy has not visited the Bridge in three point two days."
How did you quantify point two days? Jim wondered as he chose to not respond as if he was already deeply immersed in reviewing Spock's report, frowning in pretense of deciphering the heavily charted and graphed document. But Spock didn't take the hint and go off on a tangent elaborating on how hours converted to decimal points. Instead, Spock went on ignoring the silent attempt at diversion deliberately clueless and equally seemingly unaware of any of the bridge no doubt straining their ears in the hopes of hearing something more interesting than all systems normal, boring space dead ahead.
"While I still do not see the efficacy of the chief medical officer's attendance on the Bridge, the deviation from his routine is…distracting." Spock made a barely audible sound of clearing his voice.
"Are you saying you miss him?" Jim grinned at Spock, unable to help himself. Wait til he told Bo-
A door slammed in his head. Jim's smile became subtly strained and he returned back to Spock's report with a murmured, "Nice of you to notice a break in the routine, but you know how it is in medical, always busy."
"Jim."
Refusing to look up, Jim applied himself to reading the top paragraph over again. He really needed to talk to Spock about using smaller words.
"Whatever disagreement you have had with the Doctor-"
"Captain," Uhura chimed in. Her lilting voice was heavy with reluctance. Yeah, no eavesdropping going on there, Jim thought. "There is a coded communication from Starfleet."
"I'll take it in my ready room," Jim announced. He levered off his seat and passed the PADD back to Spock. "Mr. Spock, you have the Bridge."
Jim could feel dark eyes following him, other pairs of eyes surreptitiously tracking him. By the time Jim stepped into his ready room, he's almost convinced himself he wasn't hiding.
The communiqué was from Admiral Parks; nothing more than praise and congratulations for their successful mission to Reges III. Jim snorted because the admiral hadn't been able to completely hide his surprise that Jim hadn't screwed up the negotiations. Just because Regeans were picky bastards and Jim, upon occasion, was maybe a little less than delicate in his word choice…
Jim fiddled with a protein ration stuffed in a space between his monitor and desk. Bones had plucked it bemusedly when he'd spotted a corner poking out while having lunch here one day. He'd said nothing at the time, only quietly tucked it back where he'd found it, just like the other two he'd found Jim had stashed in odd spots in his quarters, and continued on with his rant about one of the nurses who wouldn't stop rearranging his hypo cartridges.
Another beep drew his attention back to his spare PADD. He nudged the device on his desk a few spots away with a finger. But the plaintive beep came again. Jim sighed and drew it closer. He punched up the messages inbox. Eight. Huh. Jim's finger drifted over the list but he didn't select any of them.
Number nine blinked into existence on top of his list. Jim's finger twitched and brushed against the line. It highlighted and expanded before Jim could cancel it.
Jim read it and furrowed his brow. He closed it which forced the PADD's default to scroll back to the beginning.
Thought you didn't have a shift this morning. Weren't we going to stay in?
He deleted it even as his skin prickled in memory. Bones has some weird thing about brushing his fingertips down his back. Jim often woke up to the feeling of being inspected; surgeon's hands tracing confidently over muscles and then too gently down the thin, white lines of imperfection. Bones sometimes pressed his lips onto his skin, and then wove his palms around Jim's ribcage, gathering Jim to him. When asked, Bones said it was better late than never. Bones got weird that way before his morning coffee.
Jim rubbed his forehead with a hand. He'd awakened that morning with Bones' bare chest pressed against his back, still sleeping off the two decanters of Scotty's latest brew. It was an anniversary gift, Scotty hiccupped after he threw down his losing hand. Three months of living with their lady, the engineer had hooted as Gaila rolled her eyes while she helped him to his feet. The chief engineer babbled something about the Enterprise's nacelles, Jim, puppies multiplying like tribbles, and rainbows for all Jim could make heads or tails of him. Scotty's accent became incomprehensible at that point.
Bones was laughing at everything everyone said that night, his arm a comfortable weight across Jim's shoulders, the heat from his hip against his a familiar one. He sobered briefly when Scotty presented his gift. It was hard for Jim to stay serious though when Scotty swayed and accidentally pushed the two containers hard enough towards Bones that they nearly flew off the poker table.
They never should have drunk them. Certainly not finishing both. It had led to the mother of all hangovers and royally screwed everything up.
Meet you at the Mess later? Eating one green and leafy thing with dinner won't kill you. Promise.
Snorting at the message, Jim snatched the protein ration and stuffed it back in its home, between the monitor and his desk, crammed in there with its two other siblings. New since finishing both of those decanters off. Jim stared at them, hiding there in the shadows and wondered why, this time, he didn't feel the tightness in his stomach loosening.
The next message came hours later. Jim vaguely remembered hearing its arrival on his PADD while he sat in his quarters, in the dark, because it felt like it would take too much energy to call up for lights or replicate breakfast.
You can't be on the Bridge all the time.
He stared at it and almost gave in to the temptation to toss the reader aside. He owed his mother an apology. It was easier to work after all: to think only about work, to let nothing else touch you. Not grief. Not anger. Not the ending of the most important relationship in your life.
Did you lose all function in your fingers? Answer your com, damn it.
Jim grunted. According to the date stamp, Bones had waited a whole day before sending that message. Bones had tried to corner him but it was hard to corner anyone in the miles of Jefferies tubes that snaked around inside the ship. Besides, Scotty had needed help with the ion connectors modifications.
The next one was short and pointed.
We need to talk.
Jim shunted Bones' messages straight to the save folder after that. He didn't need to hear what Bones had to say. He didn't need to rehash it all.
Closing his eyes, Jim pressed the heels of his hands against them. He breathed deeply once, twice. Always the same. Rough voices, resigned voices, shouted voices, angry and scared voices, retreated to the back of his mind where he could ignore them, at least during the waking hours.
Jim sank into his seat and stared glumly at his PADD and the duty roster spreadsheet, but the little messages waiting icon balefully blinked at him still. He'd never had someone like Bones in his life before. Someone who would leave nine messages for him. Someone who would fight with him and beside him, and then say to hell with it all and get drunk with him. Someone who…He'd sometimes wondered how Bones slept through the night with him curled around Jim like a possession. He never stir whenever Jim jolted out of sleep, heart hammering, sweating, curses souring in his mouth. Bones would mumble Jim's name, a hand sleepily settling over his chest, sleepily stroking. Jim would concentrate on the up and down motion, let Bones' slow building heat nestled against his back, brushing against his ass, lining itself up along the back of his leg, hard and warm. Drifting back to sleep was easier with Bones dozing calmly and steadfast against him, a warm and solid buoy that guided him to morning.
Now it was all messed up.
He glowered at the blinking icon. Better to make it quick and clean and read the damn message and get on with it.
I'll be in Sickbay. Find me.
Jim reread the short messages. He could imagine Bones, sitting in his office, scowling, muttering about stupidity and infant crew members and people without common sense God gave a gnat. Funnily enough, his muttering always stopped when he would see Jim standing there. His eyes would warm even if his expression remained unchanged, frozen in benign irritation. Jim wanted to bask in that look. Bones would slip into a soft burred drawl and ask him if he was surrounded by idiots on the bridge too. The amber liquid of his accent got even thicker when they went back to their quarters.
I know. Everything you thought you couldn't let me know. I'm not everyone else. They were all idiots.
A chirp drew Jim's eyes back to his PADD using the emergency medical override. A new message appeared at the top of his list from Bones. Unbidden, Jim opened it.
I meant what I said.
Bones had cradled Jim's face as they'd stood under the shower that night. Their mouths hot, tongues dueling. The taste of the first and second bottle flavoring each kiss. A whiskeyed caramel flavor, stinging and warm against his rasping tongue as it plunged into Bones' mouth searching for the secret corners.
Jim nipped at Bones' lower lip with his teeth, tugging on it before letting it go. His calloused hands trailed down Bones' chest, fingers playing over the hard plains and solid ribs. He loved the length of lean muscle there, roving down the firm belly normally hidden under the fitted medical uniform.
The heat from the shower pounded across his shoulders as Bones' hands gripped Jim's ass, they grappled at one another. Jim had slammed Bones back against the tile wall pining him with a grin against the salt of his skin, water over his head as he bit at the pulse point at the base of his neck and then sucked on it, leaving a mark. Bones had groaned, his hard-on thrusting up against Jim's own. Jim had only sucked harder against the fluttering pulse, letting the beat of it make a rhythm for him as he thrust back. With a growl Bones had grabbed his face, yanking him up and kissing him hard, their teeth clinking. He sucked the stinging caramel flavoring from Jim's lips. Then gripping Jim's shoulders, he'd spun Jim and pinned him to the white tile wall.
Moist mouth sucking against the back of his neck and that damn soft voweled accent only increased the head spinning he was feeling. Bones bit him, at the spot where neck met shoulder. And Jim laughed, head dizzy from Bones but the caramel haze parted sharply as Bones then sucked at the bite mark short and sharp causing Jim's hips to thrust against the cold tile, the chill a startling shock against his cock, making him groan.
Bones wound his way down Jim's spine, following a strange map of his own covering major muscle anatomy groups girdling his back and hips, detouring faithfully to draw down every thin white line of scar tissue. He missed none of them. He could see them all even the big one right there beneath his shoulder blade that made Bones pause before starting again and the little one, barely a ring sized knick that had originally hurt like a son of a bitch when a hard throw up against a distantly remembered wall had slammed him over a nail.
Bones followed each white route, kissing them all equally and suddenly from out of nowhere Jim heard himself talking. He could still feel Bones freezing against him, the heat of the pulsing water a beating against them both, before slowly continuing wet tongue rasping against every line, mouth sucking away imaginary pain. And Jim, the guy who had been the king of midnight brawls and drinking man, woman and alien under the bar, kept talking, forehead pressed against the tile as Bones' kisses erased it all away.
Like a flood, the hoarse words whispered and bounced against the steamy tile walls about the man who should have been a father but wasn't, because his father would never have been like that, about destroying his father's car rather than letting it be sold, on being punished, never good enough, always inconvenient, on being sent away, only to watch his uncle, finally a third father, die right along with his brother because they were labeled inconvenient too. Which was worse, the coincidence or the irony? Jim preferred the irony. Bones had said nothing. Only turned him and gently kissed the tears trailing down his face. Then he'd grabbed him tight, until they felt as close as one person. He didn't speak; not then nor later that night as he buried himself possessively inside of Jim's body, thrusting deep, pressing all the way to the hilt again and again, fingers digging into his biceps, as if pinning him to the here and now. Bones hovered over him, his body lined up on top of him like a shield, his cock repeatedly filling Jim so completely as if to greedily take up space so nothing else could come in.
But somewhere between Jim's cry of release and the feel of Bones marking him with his own cum inside him, three words drifted into Jim's ear, almost lost in the kisses Bones brushed against his mouth. A mere breath of sound. But there all the same.
Jim had stayed awake almost all night, Bones' arms looped around his middle, Jim's eyes staring wide into the dark trying hard not to panic.
He tried to convince himself Bones was drunk when he told him because they both definitely were. People said stuff all the time when they were drunk. Stuff they never meant. They didn't have to be real words. Real only meant they could be taken back.
Another chime. Jim nearly threw the PADD away from him.
I'm not taking it back.
Jim rested the PADD against his forehead. Another alert came in, trying to tell Jim something he'd been trying to ignore since last night.
This was just like the Kobayashi Maru with each answer meaning pretty much the same thing, crew dead, ship lost, honor ripped to shreds, and you were generally screwed.
Fucking Frank and his fucking mind games.
Bones is nothing like him.
Slowly, Jim eased out of his chair. He left his Ready room, not noticing the puzzled looks from a few and the barely hidden relief in the remaining having sensed something was off, just not knowing what or why when he announced he was going to Sickbay.
As Jim walked the corridor leading to Sickbay, Jim found it easier to put one foot in front of the other. This was Bones. Despite the helpless sudden zero grav terror, he wanted to fix this, as bad as he'd pretty much had wanted anything and considering he'd all but hijacked the Enterprise's captain's chair to get her, that was saying something.
He strode into sick bay, the vise in his chest iron strong, but ignoring it. It eased a fraction when Jim stood by Bones' office door and spotted the doctor inside.
Bones was running an agitated hand through his hair when he sighted Jim. He froze but his eyes tracked Jim as he entered the office, approaching his desk uncharacteristically tentative.
The ice that knotted his insides chilled into a harder lump when Jim still couldn't see past the other man's unreadable expression. He lifted up his PADD and got an eyebrow twitch.
"I ah…" Jim set down the PADD on the desk. "Got your message. Messages, actually."
Bones said nothing, still watching him.
"This is like eating green things at dinner, isn't it?" Jim tried for a smile but it faded. He rubbed his hands down his thighs. "Persistent, aren't you?"
"Only when I think it's worth it," Bones quietly replied.
The corner of his mouth turned up, but Jim couldn't bring himself to laugh. "Who told you that?"
"Well apparently, no one told you."
Jim scoffed. He sat down on the edge of Bones' desk, chin up, daring Bones to comment. All he got was another eyebrow.
Jim studied the room, the scanning equipment, the emergency exit.
Bones' hand slipped over a knee and squeezed. Expression gone soft and gentle. "I can wait."
Jim snorted. It's not that he didn't care. He'd die for Bones. But words just messed things up. They broke things. He didn't want him and Bones to be broken. He felt sick just thinking about it.
Shrugging, Bones stood and maneuvered to stand between his knees. Hands on either side of Jim, he leaned in close enough their foreheads touched.
"Hey, this isn't a bad thing. Trust me." Bones breathed. "I'd wish you wouldn't think of it as like eating your vegetables. But it won't kill you. Promise."
Jim tried to find a word that wouldn't make Bones feel bad. "It was just so… weird," Jim murmured as he brushed his mouth at the corner of his.
"Give it a few more times," Bones said as he leaned closer into his space, "You'll get used to it. Hell, you'll probably get sick and tired of it."
Jim chuckled. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as Bones grazed lips down his jaw.
"I don't think that's possible," Jim admitted.
Bones' eyes gleamed as he curled a hand to the back of Jim's neck. He massaged the cords he could feel as he smiled.
"Well, start getting used to hearing it," he drawled. Bones took a steadying breath as he met Jim's gaze unflinching.
"I love you."
Bones' expression was open, naked, and maybe there was a little something in there that said he was a little freaked out too. Something inside Jim thawed a little.
"Like broccoli?" He murmured.
And because Bones was Bones, he growled and kissed Jim because he understood what Jim meant. "Yes, like broccoli, you idiot."
As Jim smiled back, it occurred to him that he'd already conquered one no-win scenario. Who knew, maybe it was possible he could conquer another to get the ending he wanted.
The End
Author's Note: Many thanks to dear sierraindigo who tentatively wanted to get into fandom but had been happy to stay in the shadows. Of course, that wouldn't do. This is mommy pushing you out of the nest, my dear. I'm also grateful to nutrekexchange for the opportunity and for joanne_c for the wonderful prompt that got me writing.
Written/Drawn for: joanne_c
Pairing/Characters: Kirk/McCoy
Words: 3500+ Complete
Rating: R for sexual situations and strong language
Prompt: Will his past make his future more or less difficult to embrace?
Warnings: Potty mouth vocabulary
Disclaimer: Don't own them. Richer people do which might be for the best because the boys might come out tattered and bruised staying with me…
"Captain."
Jim blinked and focused on the blue uniform in front of him before his eyes drifted up to Spock's impassive face. Dark eyes considered him with the same intensity as if peering through the science station's viewing scanner.
"Yes, Mr. Spock," Jim returned easily as if he hadn't been staring at the back of Chekov's head, debating if the curls were offending him today or not.
A thin eyebrow rose and that's when Jim realized Spock was holding out a PADD. Oh yeah, PADD, report, time to do his captainy duties.
Before Spock could add commentary to his arched eyebrow, Jim grabbed the PADD from his extended hand. He stared at it, not quite reading it but skimming enough to know he could run the risk of letting it slide. Spock would update him of what he needed to know and since the report didn't seem to reference any new activity with the Klingons, Romulans or the occasional Starfleet elite Jim had accidentally offended/irritated/disobeyed, Jim was fine just signing it off.
Nevertheless, Jim sent a copy to his own PADD for further study. Might as well have something to pass the time. Maybe it'd even help him sleep.
"Are you well?" Jim noticed that months on the Enterprise had taught Spock to ask these sort of questions in a lowered voice because Jim tended to blow them off if said too loudly. Too bad he wanted to answer that sort of question with all the extra eyes constantly on him, waiting to see if he could hack it as a Captain, like he wanted an extra hole in the head.
"Never better," Jim replied, the easy smile almost automatic turning away to scan the now transferred report. Practice made perfect, Jim supposed darkly. He'd learned at a young age to answer teachers that way when they'd frown at the bruises and cuts. Telling them he'd fallen/bumped/tripped with a wide naughty grin was usually just met with an annoyed shake of the head, or a ruffle of his hair and an admonishment to follow the rules better, or to be careful next time.
Spock though, apparently wasn't up to speed on how people should respond to Jim's smirk and his eyebrow just rose higher. And when Jim ignored yet another tiny beep from his PADD, Spock clasped his hands behind his back. Jim recognized it as Vulcan for "I'm going to say something you're not going to like". Stuff that was hard like, why would the Romulans attack Vulcan, or what was regulation 259.2 really about, or have you slept recently?
"I've noted that Doctor McCoy has not visited the Bridge in three point two days."
How did you quantify point two days? Jim wondered as he chose to not respond as if he was already deeply immersed in reviewing Spock's report, frowning in pretense of deciphering the heavily charted and graphed document. But Spock didn't take the hint and go off on a tangent elaborating on how hours converted to decimal points. Instead, Spock went on ignoring the silent attempt at diversion deliberately clueless and equally seemingly unaware of any of the bridge no doubt straining their ears in the hopes of hearing something more interesting than all systems normal, boring space dead ahead.
"While I still do not see the efficacy of the chief medical officer's attendance on the Bridge, the deviation from his routine is…distracting." Spock made a barely audible sound of clearing his voice.
"Are you saying you miss him?" Jim grinned at Spock, unable to help himself. Wait til he told Bo-
A door slammed in his head. Jim's smile became subtly strained and he returned back to Spock's report with a murmured, "Nice of you to notice a break in the routine, but you know how it is in medical, always busy."
"Jim."
Refusing to look up, Jim applied himself to reading the top paragraph over again. He really needed to talk to Spock about using smaller words.
"Whatever disagreement you have had with the Doctor-"
"Captain," Uhura chimed in. Her lilting voice was heavy with reluctance. Yeah, no eavesdropping going on there, Jim thought. "There is a coded communication from Starfleet."
"I'll take it in my ready room," Jim announced. He levered off his seat and passed the PADD back to Spock. "Mr. Spock, you have the Bridge."
Jim could feel dark eyes following him, other pairs of eyes surreptitiously tracking him. By the time Jim stepped into his ready room, he's almost convinced himself he wasn't hiding.
The communiqué was from Admiral Parks; nothing more than praise and congratulations for their successful mission to Reges III. Jim snorted because the admiral hadn't been able to completely hide his surprise that Jim hadn't screwed up the negotiations. Just because Regeans were picky bastards and Jim, upon occasion, was maybe a little less than delicate in his word choice…
Jim fiddled with a protein ration stuffed in a space between his monitor and desk. Bones had plucked it bemusedly when he'd spotted a corner poking out while having lunch here one day. He'd said nothing at the time, only quietly tucked it back where he'd found it, just like the other two he'd found Jim had stashed in odd spots in his quarters, and continued on with his rant about one of the nurses who wouldn't stop rearranging his hypo cartridges.
Another beep drew his attention back to his spare PADD. He nudged the device on his desk a few spots away with a finger. But the plaintive beep came again. Jim sighed and drew it closer. He punched up the messages inbox. Eight. Huh. Jim's finger drifted over the list but he didn't select any of them.
Number nine blinked into existence on top of his list. Jim's finger twitched and brushed against the line. It highlighted and expanded before Jim could cancel it.
Jim read it and furrowed his brow. He closed it which forced the PADD's default to scroll back to the beginning.
Thought you didn't have a shift this morning. Weren't we going to stay in?
He deleted it even as his skin prickled in memory. Bones has some weird thing about brushing his fingertips down his back. Jim often woke up to the feeling of being inspected; surgeon's hands tracing confidently over muscles and then too gently down the thin, white lines of imperfection. Bones sometimes pressed his lips onto his skin, and then wove his palms around Jim's ribcage, gathering Jim to him. When asked, Bones said it was better late than never. Bones got weird that way before his morning coffee.
Jim rubbed his forehead with a hand. He'd awakened that morning with Bones' bare chest pressed against his back, still sleeping off the two decanters of Scotty's latest brew. It was an anniversary gift, Scotty hiccupped after he threw down his losing hand. Three months of living with their lady, the engineer had hooted as Gaila rolled her eyes while she helped him to his feet. The chief engineer babbled something about the Enterprise's nacelles, Jim, puppies multiplying like tribbles, and rainbows for all Jim could make heads or tails of him. Scotty's accent became incomprehensible at that point.
Bones was laughing at everything everyone said that night, his arm a comfortable weight across Jim's shoulders, the heat from his hip against his a familiar one. He sobered briefly when Scotty presented his gift. It was hard for Jim to stay serious though when Scotty swayed and accidentally pushed the two containers hard enough towards Bones that they nearly flew off the poker table.
They never should have drunk them. Certainly not finishing both. It had led to the mother of all hangovers and royally screwed everything up.
Meet you at the Mess later? Eating one green and leafy thing with dinner won't kill you. Promise.
Snorting at the message, Jim snatched the protein ration and stuffed it back in its home, between the monitor and his desk, crammed in there with its two other siblings. New since finishing both of those decanters off. Jim stared at them, hiding there in the shadows and wondered why, this time, he didn't feel the tightness in his stomach loosening.
The next message came hours later. Jim vaguely remembered hearing its arrival on his PADD while he sat in his quarters, in the dark, because it felt like it would take too much energy to call up for lights or replicate breakfast.
You can't be on the Bridge all the time.
He stared at it and almost gave in to the temptation to toss the reader aside. He owed his mother an apology. It was easier to work after all: to think only about work, to let nothing else touch you. Not grief. Not anger. Not the ending of the most important relationship in your life.
Did you lose all function in your fingers? Answer your com, damn it.
Jim grunted. According to the date stamp, Bones had waited a whole day before sending that message. Bones had tried to corner him but it was hard to corner anyone in the miles of Jefferies tubes that snaked around inside the ship. Besides, Scotty had needed help with the ion connectors modifications.
The next one was short and pointed.
We need to talk.
Jim shunted Bones' messages straight to the save folder after that. He didn't need to hear what Bones had to say. He didn't need to rehash it all.
Closing his eyes, Jim pressed the heels of his hands against them. He breathed deeply once, twice. Always the same. Rough voices, resigned voices, shouted voices, angry and scared voices, retreated to the back of his mind where he could ignore them, at least during the waking hours.
Jim sank into his seat and stared glumly at his PADD and the duty roster spreadsheet, but the little messages waiting icon balefully blinked at him still. He'd never had someone like Bones in his life before. Someone who would leave nine messages for him. Someone who would fight with him and beside him, and then say to hell with it all and get drunk with him. Someone who…He'd sometimes wondered how Bones slept through the night with him curled around Jim like a possession. He never stir whenever Jim jolted out of sleep, heart hammering, sweating, curses souring in his mouth. Bones would mumble Jim's name, a hand sleepily settling over his chest, sleepily stroking. Jim would concentrate on the up and down motion, let Bones' slow building heat nestled against his back, brushing against his ass, lining itself up along the back of his leg, hard and warm. Drifting back to sleep was easier with Bones dozing calmly and steadfast against him, a warm and solid buoy that guided him to morning.
Now it was all messed up.
He glowered at the blinking icon. Better to make it quick and clean and read the damn message and get on with it.
I'll be in Sickbay. Find me.
Jim reread the short messages. He could imagine Bones, sitting in his office, scowling, muttering about stupidity and infant crew members and people without common sense God gave a gnat. Funnily enough, his muttering always stopped when he would see Jim standing there. His eyes would warm even if his expression remained unchanged, frozen in benign irritation. Jim wanted to bask in that look. Bones would slip into a soft burred drawl and ask him if he was surrounded by idiots on the bridge too. The amber liquid of his accent got even thicker when they went back to their quarters.
I know. Everything you thought you couldn't let me know. I'm not everyone else. They were all idiots.
A chirp drew Jim's eyes back to his PADD using the emergency medical override. A new message appeared at the top of his list from Bones. Unbidden, Jim opened it.
I meant what I said.
Bones had cradled Jim's face as they'd stood under the shower that night. Their mouths hot, tongues dueling. The taste of the first and second bottle flavoring each kiss. A whiskeyed caramel flavor, stinging and warm against his rasping tongue as it plunged into Bones' mouth searching for the secret corners.
Jim nipped at Bones' lower lip with his teeth, tugging on it before letting it go. His calloused hands trailed down Bones' chest, fingers playing over the hard plains and solid ribs. He loved the length of lean muscle there, roving down the firm belly normally hidden under the fitted medical uniform.
The heat from the shower pounded across his shoulders as Bones' hands gripped Jim's ass, they grappled at one another. Jim had slammed Bones back against the tile wall pining him with a grin against the salt of his skin, water over his head as he bit at the pulse point at the base of his neck and then sucked on it, leaving a mark. Bones had groaned, his hard-on thrusting up against Jim's own. Jim had only sucked harder against the fluttering pulse, letting the beat of it make a rhythm for him as he thrust back. With a growl Bones had grabbed his face, yanking him up and kissing him hard, their teeth clinking. He sucked the stinging caramel flavoring from Jim's lips. Then gripping Jim's shoulders, he'd spun Jim and pinned him to the white tile wall.
Moist mouth sucking against the back of his neck and that damn soft voweled accent only increased the head spinning he was feeling. Bones bit him, at the spot where neck met shoulder. And Jim laughed, head dizzy from Bones but the caramel haze parted sharply as Bones then sucked at the bite mark short and sharp causing Jim's hips to thrust against the cold tile, the chill a startling shock against his cock, making him groan.
Bones wound his way down Jim's spine, following a strange map of his own covering major muscle anatomy groups girdling his back and hips, detouring faithfully to draw down every thin white line of scar tissue. He missed none of them. He could see them all even the big one right there beneath his shoulder blade that made Bones pause before starting again and the little one, barely a ring sized knick that had originally hurt like a son of a bitch when a hard throw up against a distantly remembered wall had slammed him over a nail.
Bones followed each white route, kissing them all equally and suddenly from out of nowhere Jim heard himself talking. He could still feel Bones freezing against him, the heat of the pulsing water a beating against them both, before slowly continuing wet tongue rasping against every line, mouth sucking away imaginary pain. And Jim, the guy who had been the king of midnight brawls and drinking man, woman and alien under the bar, kept talking, forehead pressed against the tile as Bones' kisses erased it all away.
Like a flood, the hoarse words whispered and bounced against the steamy tile walls about the man who should have been a father but wasn't, because his father would never have been like that, about destroying his father's car rather than letting it be sold, on being punished, never good enough, always inconvenient, on being sent away, only to watch his uncle, finally a third father, die right along with his brother because they were labeled inconvenient too. Which was worse, the coincidence or the irony? Jim preferred the irony. Bones had said nothing. Only turned him and gently kissed the tears trailing down his face. Then he'd grabbed him tight, until they felt as close as one person. He didn't speak; not then nor later that night as he buried himself possessively inside of Jim's body, thrusting deep, pressing all the way to the hilt again and again, fingers digging into his biceps, as if pinning him to the here and now. Bones hovered over him, his body lined up on top of him like a shield, his cock repeatedly filling Jim so completely as if to greedily take up space so nothing else could come in.
But somewhere between Jim's cry of release and the feel of Bones marking him with his own cum inside him, three words drifted into Jim's ear, almost lost in the kisses Bones brushed against his mouth. A mere breath of sound. But there all the same.
Jim had stayed awake almost all night, Bones' arms looped around his middle, Jim's eyes staring wide into the dark trying hard not to panic.
He tried to convince himself Bones was drunk when he told him because they both definitely were. People said stuff all the time when they were drunk. Stuff they never meant. They didn't have to be real words. Real only meant they could be taken back.
Another chime. Jim nearly threw the PADD away from him.
I'm not taking it back.
Jim rested the PADD against his forehead. Another alert came in, trying to tell Jim something he'd been trying to ignore since last night.
This was just like the Kobayashi Maru with each answer meaning pretty much the same thing, crew dead, ship lost, honor ripped to shreds, and you were generally screwed.
Fucking Frank and his fucking mind games.
Bones is nothing like him.
Slowly, Jim eased out of his chair. He left his Ready room, not noticing the puzzled looks from a few and the barely hidden relief in the remaining having sensed something was off, just not knowing what or why when he announced he was going to Sickbay.
As Jim walked the corridor leading to Sickbay, Jim found it easier to put one foot in front of the other. This was Bones. Despite the helpless sudden zero grav terror, he wanted to fix this, as bad as he'd pretty much had wanted anything and considering he'd all but hijacked the Enterprise's captain's chair to get her, that was saying something.
He strode into sick bay, the vise in his chest iron strong, but ignoring it. It eased a fraction when Jim stood by Bones' office door and spotted the doctor inside.
Bones was running an agitated hand through his hair when he sighted Jim. He froze but his eyes tracked Jim as he entered the office, approaching his desk uncharacteristically tentative.
The ice that knotted his insides chilled into a harder lump when Jim still couldn't see past the other man's unreadable expression. He lifted up his PADD and got an eyebrow twitch.
"I ah…" Jim set down the PADD on the desk. "Got your message. Messages, actually."
Bones said nothing, still watching him.
"This is like eating green things at dinner, isn't it?" Jim tried for a smile but it faded. He rubbed his hands down his thighs. "Persistent, aren't you?"
"Only when I think it's worth it," Bones quietly replied.
The corner of his mouth turned up, but Jim couldn't bring himself to laugh. "Who told you that?"
"Well apparently, no one told you."
Jim scoffed. He sat down on the edge of Bones' desk, chin up, daring Bones to comment. All he got was another eyebrow.
Jim studied the room, the scanning equipment, the emergency exit.
Bones' hand slipped over a knee and squeezed. Expression gone soft and gentle. "I can wait."
Jim snorted. It's not that he didn't care. He'd die for Bones. But words just messed things up. They broke things. He didn't want him and Bones to be broken. He felt sick just thinking about it.
Shrugging, Bones stood and maneuvered to stand between his knees. Hands on either side of Jim, he leaned in close enough their foreheads touched.
"Hey, this isn't a bad thing. Trust me." Bones breathed. "I'd wish you wouldn't think of it as like eating your vegetables. But it won't kill you. Promise."
Jim tried to find a word that wouldn't make Bones feel bad. "It was just so… weird," Jim murmured as he brushed his mouth at the corner of his.
"Give it a few more times," Bones said as he leaned closer into his space, "You'll get used to it. Hell, you'll probably get sick and tired of it."
Jim chuckled. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as Bones grazed lips down his jaw.
"I don't think that's possible," Jim admitted.
Bones' eyes gleamed as he curled a hand to the back of Jim's neck. He massaged the cords he could feel as he smiled.
"Well, start getting used to hearing it," he drawled. Bones took a steadying breath as he met Jim's gaze unflinching.
"I love you."
Bones' expression was open, naked, and maybe there was a little something in there that said he was a little freaked out too. Something inside Jim thawed a little.
"Like broccoli?" He murmured.
And because Bones was Bones, he growled and kissed Jim because he understood what Jim meant. "Yes, like broccoli, you idiot."
As Jim smiled back, it occurred to him that he'd already conquered one no-win scenario. Who knew, maybe it was possible he could conquer another to get the ending he wanted.
The End
Author's Note: Many thanks to dear sierraindigo who tentatively wanted to get into fandom but had been happy to stay in the shadows. Of course, that wouldn't do. This is mommy pushing you out of the nest, my dear. I'm also grateful to nutrekexchange for the opportunity and for joanne_c for the wonderful prompt that got me writing.