Little Wild Bouquet part 5/6
This part approximately 8,200 words.
Summary, notes, disclaimer etc in part 1.
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Little Wild Bouquet
Part 5
Unlike the med tent, the mess isn’t enhanced by hologram finery - there’s just a food replicator balanced on a crate, a coffee machine resting on another, three fold up tables, as well as a mis-matched set of garden chairs picked up from dumpsters, and a holvid projector, something Monty insisted they bring in or he’d ‘take his fucking genius elsewhere’.
Leonard’s mouth falls open when he sees Monty heads together with Jim, who’s jabbing at the Tantalus screen.
Wait. What?
They’re so engrossed that, at first, they don’t notice Leonard gaping at them. Monty’s nodding, a look of wonder on his face, leaning on his elbow, eyes darting from the screen to Jim and back again as Jim apparently fine-tunes the device.
It could be a scene from kindergarten, two children playing innocently in the sandbox, testing their toy daggers on each other; only this ‘toy’ is a device small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, that can kill, obliterating all sign of the victim and, so Monty assures him, can’t be detected by probes.
“There, Scotty,” Jim says placing the Tantalus on the table. He claps his hands together then rubs them. “Done!” Taking up a half-eaten sandwich from his plate, Jim chews open-mouthed, watching Monty’s face for a reaction.
“So it is, Jim, so it is...” Monty shakes his head in wonder.
Gods, just how fucking smart is this kid anyway? And persuasive? Strike that - manipulative fits; up till now, Monty’s not so much as let anyone else closer than ten meters of the damn thing.
They both look towards Leonard simultaneously, almost as if they heard his teeth grinding.
“Bones!” Jim’s grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat - one that got the cream and has feathers stuck in its teeth, Leonard thinks, making a tremendous effort to stop himself returning the smile because dammit he’s pissed.
He fails to eliminate the irritation in his voice. “Monty, a word?” He frowns, nodding to indicate Monty come closer.
“There’s nothing you can say my old pal here can’t be party to, eh, lad?” Monty slaps Jim on the back then ruffles his hair.
Jim pushes his chair away from the table and winks at Monty, raising his hand in an expansive gesture. “Nah, go ahead, man, I’m cool - I’ve got this to keep me entertained.” He waves the Tantalus then brings it closer to his face, squinting at the screen.
“Uh-huh, no way, Jim, I’ll take that if you don’t mind.” Monty pulls the device from Jim’s fingers and slips it into his back pocket with a look that said, ‘You must think I was born yesterday.’
Jim’s smile doesn’t waver. He picks up his plate and pops a crust into his mouth while contemplating the two of them. It’s an effort for Leonard to drag his gaze away from Jim’s lips; he tries to re-direct the heat building in his belly into glowering at Monty.
“Am I in trouble, boss?”
Monty, bless his soul, actually looks concerned. “Lower your fucking voice, Montgomery.” Leonard’s eyes slide anxiously towards Jim then settle on Monty’s face.
“Montgomery is it? Looks like it’s the naughty step for yours truly.” Monty brings himself up to his full height and his hand moves to his knife.
Leonard knows that Jim will be waiting to see how he handles this. Fuck him sideways. He’ll handle things how he always does. Monty’s scary as fuck when he wants to be but he’s entirely loyal to Leonard and not interested in pissing contests. Long as he’s safe to run crazy projects and make shit, he’ll do anything for you. No one outside of their small circle, and most certainly not Pike, knows about the device.
Leonard folds his arms, fixing Monty with his patented glare, and says in a stage whisper so Jim can hear, “You let him fiddle with the Tantalus? Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Okay, maybe that didn’t qualify as a whisper.
“What if I did?” Monty says breezily, playing with the hilt of his dagger. “You lot never show any interest in the bloody thing.” He nods in Jim’s direction. “But Jim, he asked questions, had suggestions and, well, he’s come up with some brilliant ideas.” His eyes light up and he uses the dagger to draw an imaginary diagram in the air between them. “As it stands, the device has certain limitations; when you locate a target, you have to keep it in your sights to eliminate it, but Jim here thinks big; he said what if there are two targets moving in two opposite directions, or more than two?” Leonard manages not to flinch when Monty’s knife stabs the air dangerously close to his eyes, presumably to represent said targets. “Jim showed me how, with simple modifications, we can lock on both and zap them simultaneously - it’s bloody brilliant!” Monty grins, flips the dagger in his hand, catches it by the hilt and slips it into the top of his boot. “Well that’s what we’re working on - we’ve already sorted out the problem of the target being in too close proximity to an innocent bystander,” Monty leans close, “so if Jim tries to strangle Sulu again, we can kill him and our lad will be fine.”
“Oh good.” Leonard grabs Monty’s arm, spins him so their backs are to Jim, “Did it ever occur to you that a) you don’t know him from Adam? b) he nearly killed Sulu and, oh let me see, oh yeah, c) he COULD KILL US!” Leonard turns to shoot metaphorical daggers at Jim who’s sitting smiling at them like they’re two puppies fighting over a slipper. The ‘daggers’ fall harmlessly to the floor, so to speak. Leonard stabs a finger accusingly in Jim’s direction, his easy posture - all arrogance and self-admiration - getting under his skin. “And don’t tell me ‘a leader doesn’t lose his temper with his men’. Women, whatever!”
Monty blinks, “Doc, it’s fine, don’t worry.” He drops his voice. “I couldn’t see the harm in picking the youngster’s brains - he’s a smart cookie, that one.” He hooks the dagger into his boot and pats Leonard gently on the shoulder. “And I was right; no harm done. I’m off. You two look like you have a whole lot to talk about.” He pushes past Leonard and pauses to add, “If he tries anything, it’ll be my pleasure to kill him, okay?”
Leonard draws in a quick breath, “No one will be killing anyone. What are you - fucking tom cats?” He dismisses Monty’s unrepentant expression with an eye roll and storms over to Jim, looming above him, panting.
“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Jim says, narrowing his eyes. Well, if Jim’s finally accepting some responsibility for his actions... Jim cocks his head, whispering conspiratorially, “I shouldn’t have left you high and dry like that. It’s made you tense.” Jim’s eye twitches; fortunately for him, this doesn’t turn into a wink - Leonard might have had to snatch Monty’s dagger and use the goddamned thing.
“Unbelievable.”
From the moment he entered the mess, Leonard’s been able to feel the pull of Jim’s charisma, how all his doubts are popping like little bubbles around his head; his mind struggles to find a reason to give a damn that Jim’s inveigled his way into the group, that he came so close to killing Sulu because, well, he didn’t did he?
Now the arguments for Jim staying seem real and bright: First, Pike’s never fucking wrong about anyone - he has the keenest sense of a man’s ability Leonard’s ever come across. Then, try as he might, Leonard can’t erase the image of Jim stepping over the device outside the tent. He knows, can fucking feel it in his bones that Jim was saying something with that, the way he walked right back into the cage. Just what? What does he fucking want? Nyota’s intel shows that he’s spent the past few years moving from one casual job to another: no bar work or car shop for Jim Kirk. Instead it’s been hacking, one case, at least, of assassination and - this is what peaked Leonard’s interest - a handful of kidnapping cases. Nyota informed Leonard in her report that Jim has at least three aliases he’s fond of; the fact that he’s wanted to stay under the radar bodes well for Leonard too.
Leonard clenches his fists and breathes; he’s overthinking. Fuck. Fine. There is that thing he needs Jim’s help with, something that will prove his worth, his ability to work with the group, and show whether or not he can be trusted. He’ll just have to find the right moment to broach the subject.
“Kirk, it isn’t our way to sit on our asses all day - go muck out the goddamned horses or something; earn your dinner.” He looks around the tent. “And where the hell is everyone?”
Jim sits up, unperturbed by Leonard’s fuming; and is Leonard imagining the victorious sheen in those eyes? Probably not - the little shit.
“First, I think helping untangle the problems in the Tantalus kind of qualifies me for my dinner, which I ate already, by the way.” They both look down at Jim’s plate, back up, and Leonard feels himself redden when their eyes catch for a split second. Jim leans forward his eyes sweeping Leonard’s flushed features then goes on, “But, since you’re asking: Sulu’s compiling a weapons inventory - I gotta say, surprised you haven’t got one, Bones.” He raises his eyebrows, amused by what he sees as Leonard’s failings. “And Nyota’s making a list of moles in the immediate area…” Jim looks thoughtful. “I don’t think she likes me, Bones-”
Course she doesn’t - if anyone’s likely to see through Jim’s bullshit, it’s her. Yet still she’s running around fulfilling his commands. Leonard’s eyes roll so far back in his head he almost makes himself dizzy. “I can’t understand why that would be, Kirk.” He spits the words, dragging a chair far enough away to avoid any accidental brushes up against Jim’s leg; anything which might stoke the arousal he can feel bubbling deep inside him like a background hum whenever he’s anywhere near the infuriating little bastard. He turns the chair around, sits cowboy style across it, leaning his chin wearily on his hands. Taking in Jim’s expectant look, he drops his voice. “Look, Kirk, we need to talk.”
Jim’s smile fades and he nods. “You’re worried; that makes sense. The group’s unstable.” His eyes narrow as he thinks, probably mentally running through observations made while in captivity. “You want my advice-”
“-Actually I don’t,” Leonard mumbles.
“As an outsider looking in, Bones, the problem with the group, your crew, gang, whatever... is that you’ve got a clash of cultures going on.” Jim gazes at Leonard’s face, eyes intelligent, all-seeing, and he blinks as though considering how to explain his point. “It’s like this: take the difference in philosophy, in approach, between the Empire as it stands and, you know, the ‘crat way.” Jim gets to his feet and picks up his plate; all that’s left of his meal is an apple core, and he tosses it into the trash, programming the replicator while he goes on. “See, we good citizens of the Empire, we’ve all gotten used to giving orders or taking them, unquestioning,” (We?) Jim continues, “And it’s cool in some ways if you’re the one on top. And I like being on top.” Jim’s eyes gleam and Leonard closes his own for a second to reign in his temper, his desire, all those things that Jim seems to rake up in him with one look, one word.
“Go on…” he says testily.
“You want something?”
Jim’s got his back to Leonard, who blinks, struggling not to stare at his ass. “What? Yeah - coffee, no cream, sugar.”
“But us,” Jim continues, “we’re ‘on the other side’,” he air-quotes, picking up his glass of water and sipping while he waits for the coffee to appear. “We believe in everyone having a say, all that bullshit.”
And it absolutely doesn’t escape Leonard’s notice how Jim’s unconsciously affiliated himself with them, with ‘crats. “In one breath you say ‘we’ then call it ‘bullshit’ - see, that’s why you’re trouble,” Leonard grumbles.
The corner of Jim’s mouth twitches and he brings the coffee over, placing it before Leonard with a flourish. “This feels like a date,” he grins and sits down, long, pale fingers wrapped around his glass. He licks his lips, continues, ignoring Leonard’s brimstone look. “So…you don’t trust me, I get that. But you’re a ‘crat, Bones - act like one. You want me out, fine, but make it a group decision, like a ‘crat would, not like one of them - how the Empire runs things. Ask your crew, Bones, ask them what they think.”
Leonard prickles at that; he has asked for advice, at least from Pike. “You want me to consult the group before or after you’re done ingratiating yourself?” He sips his coffee, pushing away the memory of the feel of Jim’s cock in his hand such a short time ago. “You going to sleep with everyone?”
“Ha! Don’t think I’m Nyota’s type,” Jim chuckles. “Hey, do you reckon that’d work?” His eyes are bright with amusement.
“What about you, Jim, if you were - god forbid - the leader of this outfit, would you ask? I get the feeling you’re the kind makes decisions in a shoot-ask-questions-later kinda way.”
Leonard is surprised when Jim actually thinks about this.
“Sure, sometimes, but any men under me would believe they had a say in things.” Spoken like a true ‘crat only he has the history of one of the Empire’s elite - hell, the kid reminds him of Pike. It occurs to Leonard that this is exactly what would make Jim such an asset to the cause: he has a foot in both camps; can think like a ruthless Empire shark, yet has the ‘crat cause ingrained in him; Leonard knows about George Kirk, knows about Winona’s beliefs and now he can see a shadow of their way of thinking in everything Jim says. Thing is, he’s so fucking young, so arrogant...he needs reining in, but who’s gonna do that?
“Even if it wasn’t true, sheesh, you’re just a kid…what do you know about loyalty, belief? You think with your dick. Way I hear it, when you were cock-of-the-pile in court; you didn’t do a lot of askin’. Fact of the matter is, you could be the fucking poster boy for the Empire - terror is how you advanced yourself.”
Their eyes catch and Jim holds his gaze sending a shudder of heat skittering down Leonard’s groin. “No one’s a fucking kid, Bones, and you don’t know shit about me.” Jim’s voice is suddenly tight and there’s another twitch of his left eye, an involuntary tic Leonard knows he could fix; a tell like that could cost Jim his life. “And, if you recall, the only trace of ‘terror’ I’ve fucking shown you is when I was defending myself against Hik.”
So now he has a nickname for Sulu too. Awesome.
“Yeah, you’re a choir boy; I get it.”
Jim’s far from it of course, but Leonard’s beginning to understand why he’s feeling so conflicted, why he wants to trust Jim while at the same time wishing he’d just disappear. He’s always had complete faith in his instincts; since he’s been working with Pike Leonard’s learned he has an instinct for those he can trust, he can feel it in his gut. What he’s realising now is that all his misgivings come from his rational mind, the part of him which demands evidence. Thing is, Leonard’s yet to understand why Jim wants in - if it’s to run things, why pick a bunch of ‘crats? Why not find a group of real bandits? There are enough of those in the forest and they’d be easier to control in traditional ways; ways that Jim’s history proves he’s more than at ease with.
Maybe if he finds out more about Jim’s history...
“Who did you piss off, Kirk? How come you were, you know, out here?” He gestures to the outside. “The forest’s full of predators ya know? You could have gotten yourself killed.”
“I’ve been in worse places,” Jim remarks vaguely, “and you’re ‘good’ guys right?”
There’s that sneer again.
“Mixed messages, that’s the fucking trouble. Again. Saying ‘good’ guys like we’re defective or something.” Leonard drops his voice out of habit. “You know how the ‘crat thing works: it’s about the greater good - you gotta be focused, and sometimes it means individual sacrifice.” Something which is an anathema to the average citizen of the dog-eat-dog Empire. Not that Jim Kirk is average anything...
“I know all about sacrifice,” Jim snaps.
Yeah, Jim’s brother, his dad, but they’re losses, not sacrifices. What Leonard can’t imagine is Jim giving something up for the greater good, putting his own needs aside, and that’s what he’d have to prove he could do if he wants to become part of their group.
Leonard takes a deep breath, stares at his hands, the cup of coffee, okay… “What about your mom? You abandoned her didn’t you? Why would you do that Jim? How the hell is that a show of loyalty? You can’t stick with family - how can we even begin to trust you?”
Something dark passes across Jim’s face and he stands abruptly, features twisted into a half-controlled, murderous sneer. “What the fuck does my mother have to do with this?”
And he’s gone before Leonard can come up with any kind of answer.
+++
Jim stands in the clearing and wipes a fine mist of sweat off his nose. The autumn night’s humid, still, quiet as if the birds themselves are waiting to see what he’ll do next. He feels suspended, reluctant to move forward yet feeling an invisible pull towards Bones, the man, towards one person, contrary to everything he believes in.
Jim struggles mentally against the downward drag of his sentiment, the way all reason and logic has become mired in the soft side of his heart, a side Jim thought he’d buried when he turned his back on a dying brother.
He chews his lip, lets out a sigh, considers his options, thinks, thinks…
He could leave. Sure he’s tagged, but that’s nothing new, he can figure out how to disable the chip - that shit’s easy: he’s done it for others, made a few credits out of it too; and now he’s had an inside look at how the tag’s programmed.
And if he left, where would he go? Yeah, the world’s his fucking oyster, he thinks bitterly, one he’s picked clean already, one that has no appeal. One thing the Empire doesn’t teach you is what if you can have everything you want? What if it’s relatively easy - what’s to fucking cherish about that?
If he leaves, he’s lost nothing. Gained nothing, unless...
The Tantalus would make him invincible. He could make off with it, or stay and have a ready-made crew to lead. Damn, he’d be insane not to take advantage.
Bones is the thing standing in the way here. Jim could, should turn the group against him and force him out; better than having to kill him though that would be efficient, easier. It would be the logical thing to do - the way he’s trained himself to think, the way his mother insisted he be seen to operate - always.
But the loyalty of the group - how could he maintain that with Bones gone? The way they look at Bones, look up to him, fucking love him - Jim’s never seen anything like it before. He’s witnessed respect borne out of accomplishment, brains, fear, but not this. He thinks about the looks exchanged between Bones and Christine, the way Hik speaks about him, Scotty’s easy capitulation just now in the tent despite his bravura show with the dagger. They’re loyal to him, and Jim suspects, would die for him.
They’re a fucking family, he thinks bitterly - what he used to have before Sam was taken from them, before he cut all ties with his mother, something - he’s disgusted to admit - a long-hidden part of himself wants again, a craving resurrected when he saw that kid standing outside the med tent while Bones put his brother back together. Maybe, Jim allows, it’s time he recognizes that he wants this.
No. This irritating notion of belonging, he needs to crush it because it emasculates him, has him lose focus. When Pike approached him in the bar, trying to persuade him to enlist in Starfleet, Jim could have been enticed back into the system, back to family, back to weakness and attachment and co-dependence. What he’s got to remember is that one goes down you all do - better to be alone. Always. And Jim’s sure his mother was behind Pike trying to get him to enlist, more proof he needs to get out.
Then he sneers in disgust, when his compulsion to be honest with himself, to be self-aware, means he has to face another part of this complex truth, maybe even the real answer to why he wants to stay. Bones. Jim feels a shot of heat when the sense memory of those sure, rough fingers on him comes crashing back, when he relives the way Bones looked right into him, past Jim’s bullshit before soft, reluctant lips claimed him. Fuck.
“Jim.” He’s startled by his name uttered in that fucking southern drawl he had no idea he had such a kink for. Yeah, this bastard’s going to fell him and Jim needs to cut him out now, before…
He spins to face Bones. “What the hell do you want?”
Bones’ shoulders hang a little low, like he’s got a burden and a half, like he can feel the weight of the heavy silence around them, the humid air. “We need to talk.” His hand lifts a few inches towards Jim, as if he’s about to stay him. Jim glowers at it and Bones drops his hand, stuffing it safely into his pocket.
“No, we don’t, and I don’t wanna talk about my mother - she’s dead to me.” He holds himself more erect, spreading his legs, raising his chin, knowing how to appear not to give a shit - it’s kept him alive this long.
“She’s on your side, Jim, she’s - well I’ve had Nyota run some checks on you, on your background and there’s something…”
Of course Winona’s on Jim’s side, she always has been - that was never in question. He’s made the break from his mother, and he’s damned if he’s going to get close now, when even the mere mention of her gets him all riled up.
Jim frowns, shaking his head. “Listen man, I need to get the fuck out of here. This was a mistake, staying. I’ve got plans, big plans, and none of this,” he gestures, sweeping a hand across the tents, the fucking clinic, stopping to point a finger at Bones and his god-damned expressive eyes, “none of this is real.” Yeah, like his bs about ‘big plans’.
“This, what we do is real, Jim. And if you’re half the man George Kirk was, if he taught you anything-”
Jim baulks. No-one knows - no-one. How could Bones have any idea about his father’s politics, kept hidden from everyone except Winona? Who the fuck told Bones? Jim’s convinced someone big is behind all this - someone with power…Bones is acting on a wider agenda here, like he’s recruiting almost, why else would he bring George Kirk into this? First Pike, now Bones, why the fuck can’t people leave him alone?
“-How the hell could a dead man teach his son anything? Tell me!”
Bones doesn’t break eye contact, eyebrows drawn together, teeth clenched like he’s trying to hold back, considering what he should reveal. They’re dancing around each other - Bones wants something, Jim can fucking taste it.
“Jim… I’ve got a proposition for you, though I’m crazy to consider it.”
“This ‘crat bullshit?” He snarls the words out, shaking his head slowly. “Man, what makes you think I give a crap?”
“I don’t know, I’m taking a gamble.” Bones glances round the clearing, “But this isn’t the place, we can’t talk here.”
Cameras, of course, but what can it be that Bones doesn’t want his own crew to know?
When Jim stays put, Bones tries again, “Come on, Jim, my place, not here. We need to talk…”
Jim nods, and Bones turns, striding off towards his tent, quarters, whatever, ass tight and delicious in his jeans, long limbs moving easily. Jim licks his lips and follows, surprised at himself, at this attraction which is proving to be annoying and inconvenient.
They reach the tent just as Nyota and Christine walk past; Jim turns to watch them heading towards the mess amused at how Nyota visibly stiffens when she sees him, how Christine seems almost unaware of his presence, yet they both greet Bones warmly with a “hey, Doc!” and he responds with a small nod and a forced smile. Jim’s taken a step back now, both of them adopting casual poses like they’ve been talking about the goddamned wildlife.
“They look up to you,” Jim says when they’re out of earshot.
Bones shrugs. “They’re some of the finest brains in the Empire, everyone here is, but they’ve all fallen through the cracks, you know how it goes.” Bones lets out a heavy breath, hazel eyes examining JIm’s face, “and it’s not me, you idiot, it’s the cause. I’m just a simple country doctor.” He clears his throat. “Go on, get in.” He lifts the tent flap back, letting it drop behind them. Jim watches him fasten the flap so it’s effectively ‘locked’ and scans the interior, the portable heater, futon bed, the basic sonic shower.
He waits for Bones to speak again, standing on the rush floor, finding his eyes darting towards the bed, over the dark coverlet, the pillows bunched together on one side how Bones left them in the morning. The trunk Jim borrowed clothing from is still open. He wonders if this is where they put his brother’s jacket, feeling a prickle of worry that he might not find it before he leaves; how, in his existential angst, he almost forgot about it. He clears his throat, feeling suddenly awkward, side-swiped again by family attachment.
“Nice place you got here,” he says recalling his time kept in the cage.
“Yep, seems like you made yourself right at home earlier.” Bones brushes past Jim, making an expansive gesture across his place. “I can almost forget I used to live in a plantation with servants, a wife, a ba… About to start my quiet country practice, keeping my fucking head down.” He looks sideways at Jim and their eyes connect for a moment until Bones breaks the look and turns towards a holo on a pile of PADDS by the bed. “I haven’t seen her for two years, not since my divorce.” He swallows. “You’re not the only one lost family.” His eyes brim with emotion, hurt.
“Who?”
“My daughter.”
A whispered phrase that hits Jim like a mace to the chest. Bones has given him something here, an admission, a revelation that puts all the cards in Jim’s eager hands. But why? “You have a daughter? Where the fuck is she?”
He watches Bones, how his face twists, like he’s trying to stop all those enormous emotions of his bursting out, but his dam is busted by the looks of it. Family fucks you up, makes you weak.
“I don’t want to…I…”
“Jesus, Bones,” Jim hisses, stepping closer. “You want me to talk, like we need to figure things out, but you won’t be straight with me.” Jim notices how Bones’ hands are in tight fists by his hips. He’s swaying a little, literally fighting which way he’s going to go on this.
Jim lifts his fingers to his eye and rubs hard, then looks sideways at Bones. “Man,” he says with feeling, “I’ve gotten so used to not even thinking certain things, you know,” he nods in the general direction where, two days ago, they dragged him into the camp, “but here maybe it’s different.”
“Sometimes,” Bones agrees brow furrowing. He moves towards a bottle of bourbon by the bed and picking up a cup, he half fills it and hands it to Jim. “Go on.”
Jim takes it, seeing it for a gesture of good faith. The spirit feels good sliding down his throat. He senses that if he wants Bones to talk he’s going to have to give something first. He hands the cup back and watches Bones pour himself a measure which he knocks back in one.
“From your reaction out there, doesn’t take a genius to figure out you didn’t abandon your mother.”
“Technically I did, but it was as you would say - ‘for the greater good’.”
Bones snorts. “How so?”
“You know how it is, like all women, her fate’s wrapped up with the men in the family. With dad gone, survival for her was all about ensuring my advancement, my brother’s.” Jim pauses, taking the bottle from Bones and knocking back another mouthful. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and sits on the edge of the bed, keeps talking like he’s on his own; it makes it easier that way if he doesn’t look directly at Bones who follows suit, shutting the trunk and sitting on the lid. “She was doing good making one allegiance after another with Alpha males, and she had her pick, dad’s influence still there even... after.... “
“And she’s beautiful, smart,” Bones interjects.
Jim looks up, their eyes catch and he wonders at himself, how he’s finding it so easy to let this out; he hasn’t confided in anyone since Sam. He nods and holds out his hand for the bottle again; the cup’s discarded now, their lips sharing the mouth of the bottle unselfconsciously. “And the trouble with Alpha males is-”
“-they inevitably get themselves killed.”
“Glory to the Empire,” Jim toasts flatly, knocking back another swig. He hands the bottle back. “And she was left high and dry time after time. And the thing is, Bones,” a tight edge creeps into his voice, “she might have chosen better if she hadn’t got us to worry about.”
Satisfying images flash in Jim’s mind of that bastard Frank floating in the pool at the Kirk villa, and he can’t help grinning at the memory of his mother’s careful, emotionless face when she comm’d him, the fact that she sent him a photograph of ‘the accident’ evidence enough that she was behind getting rid of the abusive bastard. Only days later she’d moved on, accompanied to Jim’s graduation by one of Starfleet’s most decorated captains. There’s nothing in Bones’ expression that would reveal whether or not he knows who, though he must if he’s done his research: Christopher Pike, part of the backbone of the Empire. George would be spinning in his fucking grave if he had one, that his wife has betrayed everything he stood for and died for.
“It’s kind of ironic that the men paid for my years at court not with their money but with my mother’s dowry, because the Empire says she can’t manage it for herself.” Bones responds with a look which has Jim holding up a hand to stay him. “Yeah, yeah, I know the fucking spiel: all that will change when we overthrow the Empire, equality blah, fucking blah...”
Bones presses his lips together tightly, then asks, “Okay, no lecture from me, but you still haven’t explained why you refuse contact with her.”
“To free her Bones, don’t you see? She’s got protection; I don’t need it anymore - I’m a big fucking boy now in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“You cut off your nose to spite your face, Jim. You walked out the day of graduation.”
“I know what I fucking did.” Jim stands and moves towards the tent flap. “I’m done. So yeah, I don’t want ties, don’t need anyone: lone fucking wolf. I need to get off-planet, set up somewhere; there’s nothing for me here.”
Bones stares at Jim, scowl on full, bottle poised for another drink. “That’s not it, is it?”
“It’s enough.” He’s not telling anyone about Sam, period; and his face burns a little with contained rage that anyone should question his loyalty to family. “How about you, Bones. Why the fuck are you hiding out here, and who’s paying the god-damned bills?” Jim looks around the large interior. “There are a lot of credits tied up in this little outfit and you aren’t funding it all through unsuccessful kidnapping, right? Not if snatching me is anything to go by.”
“That was an experiment, and it’s not for the ‘crat cause - needed the money for something else.”
“Something to do with your daughter?”
Bones flashes him a look. “You’re a nosy bastard, Kirk-“
“Where is she? Come on, man, I’ve given you something, now you can come clean with me.”
“We’ve tracked her down to an orphanage - when her mother died, her asshole husband sold the kid.”
There’s no need to ask how he let that happen, because Jim knows what it’s like to have no power, no influence. And given Bones’ involvement in the ‘crats, if he puts his head above the parapet, they’ll shoot him down.
“Well, let’s get her out - you know what they do to kids in those places.” It would have happened to Sam if Winona hadn’t come back from the Kelvin disaster, if she hadn’t hooked up the moment she got back to Earth; she told Jim she was setting that up even as she fed him while the shuttle sped away from the debris of the Kelvin.
“You’re crazy,” his tone, accusing and uncertain at the same time. Bones, stands steps towards him and Jim holds his ground so they’re eye to eye. Jim fancies he can see hope there, something soft Bones couldn’t hide if he tried. So this is what Bones wanted his help with - there’s opportunity for negotiation here and he won’t let it pass.
Jim puts his hands on his hips and grins. “Crazy, huh?”
“Damn right.”
No man has a fucking right to a voice like that. All at once, the tent seems small, airless; Bones is standing too fucking close, eyes locked like gunslingers, neither of them wanting to be the first to blink.
Jim runs his tongue along his teeth, feeling suddenly hyper aware of the details of that solemn face, individual dark lashes, the mole above the grouchy bastard’s left eye, the indents on his full, slightly chapped lower lip, the freckles disappearing under the stretched collar of his tatty t-shirt.
Fuck the Tantalus, fuck fists; Leonard McCoy could, Jim thinks, maybe fell him with one smoldering look.
So Jim reacts as he always does to threats, he goes in hard because running isn’t an option.
Jim lunges, fingers clamped to resistant shoulders and backs Bones towards the unmade bed even as Bones fights him, shakes Jim off and retaliates, barging Jim two handed on the chest. His eyes are dark, face flushed and he crosses the space between them, grabbing the hem of Jim’s t-shirt to pull him in for a kiss. It’s fervent, rough and fragrant; he’s searching sloppily for Jim’s tongue, wanting to draw it inside, suck the life out of him.
Jim hisses out a breath into that gorgeous mouth, marveling at Bones and his stubbornness and apparent inner conflict: the way he moans into the kiss, twists against the length of Jim’s body, pushing his groin against Jim’s erection. Bones cups and kneads Jim’s ass hard enough to bruise while letting out grumbles and curses whenever he’s forced to pull back momentarily to snatch a breath, like he’s being dragged under by an invisible current and he’s fighting for purchase, for air. Jim’s never been so turned on in his life.
Then Bones loses a foothold again and Jim upends him effortlessly onto the bed. Arms folded, he allows himself the luxury of savoring the sight before him. The glare is all heated derision as motionless, arms spread wide, Bones waits for Jim to make his next move. He watches Jim prowl up those long legs, settling astride Bones’ thighs. When he begins to unbuckle his belt, grabbing Bones’ hands and guiding them to his fly, the response is a growled, ‘fuck you’; and finally Bones bucks under him, getting Jim into an arm lock. Jim would laugh if he wasn’t so engrossed in struggling against muscular arms wrapping around his thighs and arm, and by Bones’ mouth biting into whichever parts he can reach. He can’t decide if the assault is attack or defence: he doesn’t care.
Jim’s response is to wriggle and slide away, though it’s half-hearted. Bones won’t know of course that in different circumstance he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance; that if you force Jim into a small space, he turns into a ruthless animal. But this, this is different; it’s not a fight, it’s a struggle for dominance, Jim thinks as he flattens Bones onto his back and watches him panting, pinning him as heated eyes stare defiantly at him. This is a sweat-soaked, grunt-filled to-and-fro, setting rules for what’s to come between them, establishing trust and boundaries.
The first revelation comes to Jim as he grasps Bones’ jaw in both hands, his elbow shifting to clamp his chest, till he stills, so Jim can bite and lick at his throat, his neck, his Adam’s apple, when he feels Bones press a knee under his perineum, the move gentle and threatening all at once. He understands then that that he’s never going to be truly on top. Bones will go down, but then he’ll get up and Jim is going to have to fell him over and over again.
In his own way, Bones will be the victor: how he keeps Jim in check, denying him total compliance. Making Jim need that. It’s fucking intoxicating. No one has ever refused Jim Kirk anything in the bedroom, forever bowled over by his charisma. And Bones is the antithesis of Jim - he does nothing but deny himself what he wants; look at him now, turning his head away as Jim tries to claim his lips, when a mere few minutes ago he was trying to swallow down Jim’s tongue like his life depended on it.
Somehow he’s managed to tear Bones’ t-shirt off him, well except for the scrap still hanging round his neck; it looks like a leash, and of course Jim can’t resist sharing this thought with Bones. Jim stifles the protests by angling his cock then thrusting it in between those plush lips. And yes, there he goes, sucking Jim down eagerly, moaning like this is all he wants, to be filled like this, when at the same time his hands are a stubborn force against Jim’s hips, contradicting everything else, communicating he wants Jim to stop.
Aroused beyond belief, Jim realizes then that he will never mention this dichotomy to Bones, because he never wants to lose this.
“I’m going to fuck you, Bones,” he grinds out, rocking gently forwards, his skin burning, slick with sweat. He chuckles when Bones cracks open both eyes and somehow, even with his lips stretched wide, he manages a ‘that’s what you think’ look. He releases Jim with an obscene plop and after a short struggle which Jim totally lets him win, Jim’s the one tonguing Bones.
“Suits you, Jim, sucking my dick, you look good put in your place like that.”
Jim’s hand is cupping Leonard’s balls and he twists them gently, a reminder that actually no, he’s nowhere near been put in his place, that this is all a choice: he wants to be here, just as Bones does. He kneels up, transferring his fingers to Bones’ cock so he can climb back up his body and kiss him. Damn, that mouth, strong yet yielding, lips pillow soft, sharp bites and gentle licks confusing the hell out of him. He leans into Bones. “Stay fucking still, you’re so…what’s that word you southerners love…?”
“Asshole?” Bones offers bucking into Jim’s hand.
“Ornery. Now turn round,” Jim orders, pulling away, wiping his brow. It’s close, the humidity making every movement hard work, even as it helps the slip and slide of their limbs, adding salt to their skin. “Turn around,” he says again, his voice taking on a darkness he’s missed.
Bones raises an eyebrow, considers, then turns onto his front, his hands gripping the pillows, adjusting them under his face. His long back muscled and tan, tense. Jim adjusts his position so he’s braced over warm skin and positions himself between the Bones’ ass cheeks, rutting along the cleft. It feels good, but he needs to unravel Bones a little more before he can get what he wants, what they both want.
While nipping gently across a freckled shoulder, Jim’s hand slides under that taut stomach and he finds Bones hard, leaking, brimstone hot, crushed between his hand and Bones’ body. “Stay like that,” he growls into Bones’ ear, planting a kiss on his temple, and when Bones turns searching awkwardly for a kiss, Jim pulls away sadistically and moves down, down until his head is level with that muscular ass.
He moistens the tip of his thumb and parts Bones’ cheeks, pressing experimentally against his hole. Fuck, the way he pulls away, flattening against the bed then pressing back against Jim’s touch. Jim gives his own dick a reassuring tug. He elbows Bones’ thighs apart, settling his hands on his buttocks and teases, nipping and licking just above the cleft, the fine muscles above the swell. Bones groans raggedly at the touch, the promise. When Jim’s chin rakes across soft skin, he hears a grumbled, “Fuck...”
Jim responds by kneading the flesh, dragging his tongue slowly downwards, repositioning himself so he can hump the mattress, get a little friction going in case he gets stuck in this rut of selflessness and becomes a total pussy.
“What the fuck are you grinning about?”
Jim pulls back for a second, blowing across moist skin, and looks up at Bones who’s craning to watch. “If you can still form sentences, I must be doing something wrong.”
He dives back in, his senses flooded by musk, the sound of his own heartbeat, Bones becoming slowly more incoherent, soft skin warm and pliant. Jim never keeps his tongue in place too long, doesn’t want Bones to settle, to lose himself quite yet, though he stores this away for another time, suspecting he’ll be able to make Bones come just like this. He stabs, licks and laps, can feel Bones getting close and finally replaces his tongue with his finger, tentatively, not wanting to give Bones a reason to grumble again.
“Where’s the lube, Bones?”
“Medkit,” he manages to reply, his voice rough and low, hands twisting in the sheets.
Jim slicks up fingers and cock and sits back, taking a moment to admire the rangy expanse of edible Bones.
“If you think I’m going to let that mouth anywhere near me, you’ve…mnff…” Jim grabs his head, kissing him thoroughly, tongue searching and sucking, licking at his teeth, the roof of his mouth till they’re both breathless, thrilled that the fight in Bones has resurfaced again. Finally Bones disengages their mouths, dragging the back of his hand across swollen lips, “Unsanitary,” he grumbles, eyes flashing, though Jim can tell by the quirk of spit-slick lips that he’s trying not to smile.
Jim allows Bones to take control so he’s the one astride Jim’s thighs. He lies back, puts his hands behind his head and watches in delight as Bones takes his time finding the right angle to guide Jim in.
But he can’t not-touch for long, skimming his fingers across strong, lightly haired thighs, slightly in awe at the beauty of this belligerent creature, the crazy plume of hair, crow dark now it’s sweat soaked and sticking to his forehead and temples, those wide eyes, a kaleidoscope of hazel and green flecks almost banished by blown pupils.
“What you fuckin’ looking at?” comes the surly demand even as Bones pushes down, his face contorting in reaction to the breach, eyebrows drawing together. He bites his lips, scrunches his eyes shut and breathes till the first wave of pain subsides.
“Been a while?” Jim chokes out the words, the sensation of Bones opening up around him so perfect, tight and clasping; he’s going to come in two seconds flat if he doesn’t distract himself.
“You’re not…the only one has… sex, kid.” The words stutter out, punctuated by uneven grunts and moans.
Kid? Jim guesses Bones owes him a nickname so he lets it go, putting his fight into nudging to meet Bones’ downward slide, to soothing him with soft strokes across his stomach, circling then pinching at the moment he bottoms out.
“Fuck you,” Bones hisses, holding in position, rooted and full. Jim gasps, lets go and waits for Bones’ expression to soften then begins to fuck up into him, taking his time, willing himself to last.
Bones meets each thrust, holds onto Jim’s knees temporarily guiding the pace. Jim sometimes complies, enjoying the ebb and flow of who’s piloting, sensing instinctively that this is how it’ll roll with the two of them.
And he times it perfectly; a hand on each hip. Jim flips Bones onto his back, ignoring the squawk of temper, the scowl and glare, until he manages to find the right angle. All protest swept aside, Bones gives a startled moan, a cue for Jim to pick up the pace.
It’s a whitewash when Jim comes, with Bones almost doubled over under him, their mouths bound with teeth and tongues, and Jim roaring on a tide of blood that leaves him faint-headed, slumped across Bones’ broad chest, relieved to slide in come because in the throes, he’d kind of forgotten to think about getting Bones off. Once was okay but twice would have got him stabbed in his sleep, Jim’s sure of it.
“God damn, we smell like two cats a’fightin, as my Gram used to say.”
“No fight in me now,” Jim whispers, hoping the feeling will return to his legs at some point soon.
Bones lifts his hand and it flops onto Jim’s shoulder, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t appear to have the strength.
+++
Jim chuckles in a way that makes Leonard mad, makes him want to punch some sense into the kid, if he didn’t feel like every bone in his body had turned to jelly. If he wasn’t a man against violence. Mostly. “What’s so god-damned funny?”
“Man, I’ve let myself down avoiding doctors - with that bedside manner no wonder you’ve got folk hiking through the wilds so they can find you.”
“I’m not a doctor!”
Jim sits up. “What, wadda ya mean? ‘Course you are, I’ve seen you with the…” Jim’s hand lifts limply from where it’s rested on Leonard’s chest. “Sawbones, hands on, with the equipment and stuff.”
“Well, there’s that, sure. Never got my licence, never qualified.” Still hurts, still makes his voice crack a little if he speaks of it, which is never.
Jim moves beside him and for a moment, all Leonard can hear is the sound of the forest outside, then, “Who was it? Who wouldn’t you kill?”
How does he know? How does Jim get that he just…a flash behind his eyelids of the scene, of gray eyes looking up at him from the stretcher till Pike lost consciousness. Make it look like his heart just gave out, they said. Who’d know?
And he hesitated, the only medic on duty, young, scared. Because he was afraid they’d kill him if he didn’t? Or afraid of what he was capable of? Preserve life, alleviate suffering and pain - it’s what his mother taught him when he was a kid, couched it in stories she made up, which she whispered while he played with action figures in the bath, tales set in a parallel, mythical world, of a magician who battled dark forces, who had potions which saved people. Stories he’d begun to tell his daughter before he lost her.
“Who was it?” Jim insists.
Leonard swallows, waiting for Jim to disengage and give him some room to breathe. Here goes nothing...
“Jim, I’ve got some good news and some bad news...”
+++
TBC final part, part 6 coming soon!
Summary, notes, disclaimer etc in part 1.
back to part 1
back to part 2
back to part 3
back to part 4
Little Wild Bouquet
Part 5
Unlike the med tent, the mess isn’t enhanced by hologram finery - there’s just a food replicator balanced on a crate, a coffee machine resting on another, three fold up tables, as well as a mis-matched set of garden chairs picked up from dumpsters, and a holvid projector, something Monty insisted they bring in or he’d ‘take his fucking genius elsewhere’.
Leonard’s mouth falls open when he sees Monty heads together with Jim, who’s jabbing at the Tantalus screen.
Wait. What?
They’re so engrossed that, at first, they don’t notice Leonard gaping at them. Monty’s nodding, a look of wonder on his face, leaning on his elbow, eyes darting from the screen to Jim and back again as Jim apparently fine-tunes the device.
It could be a scene from kindergarten, two children playing innocently in the sandbox, testing their toy daggers on each other; only this ‘toy’ is a device small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, that can kill, obliterating all sign of the victim and, so Monty assures him, can’t be detected by probes.
“There, Scotty,” Jim says placing the Tantalus on the table. He claps his hands together then rubs them. “Done!” Taking up a half-eaten sandwich from his plate, Jim chews open-mouthed, watching Monty’s face for a reaction.
“So it is, Jim, so it is...” Monty shakes his head in wonder.
Gods, just how fucking smart is this kid anyway? And persuasive? Strike that - manipulative fits; up till now, Monty’s not so much as let anyone else closer than ten meters of the damn thing.
They both look towards Leonard simultaneously, almost as if they heard his teeth grinding.
“Bones!” Jim’s grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat - one that got the cream and has feathers stuck in its teeth, Leonard thinks, making a tremendous effort to stop himself returning the smile because dammit he’s pissed.
He fails to eliminate the irritation in his voice. “Monty, a word?” He frowns, nodding to indicate Monty come closer.
“There’s nothing you can say my old pal here can’t be party to, eh, lad?” Monty slaps Jim on the back then ruffles his hair.
Jim pushes his chair away from the table and winks at Monty, raising his hand in an expansive gesture. “Nah, go ahead, man, I’m cool - I’ve got this to keep me entertained.” He waves the Tantalus then brings it closer to his face, squinting at the screen.
“Uh-huh, no way, Jim, I’ll take that if you don’t mind.” Monty pulls the device from Jim’s fingers and slips it into his back pocket with a look that said, ‘You must think I was born yesterday.’
Jim’s smile doesn’t waver. He picks up his plate and pops a crust into his mouth while contemplating the two of them. It’s an effort for Leonard to drag his gaze away from Jim’s lips; he tries to re-direct the heat building in his belly into glowering at Monty.
“Am I in trouble, boss?”
Monty, bless his soul, actually looks concerned. “Lower your fucking voice, Montgomery.” Leonard’s eyes slide anxiously towards Jim then settle on Monty’s face.
“Montgomery is it? Looks like it’s the naughty step for yours truly.” Monty brings himself up to his full height and his hand moves to his knife.
Leonard knows that Jim will be waiting to see how he handles this. Fuck him sideways. He’ll handle things how he always does. Monty’s scary as fuck when he wants to be but he’s entirely loyal to Leonard and not interested in pissing contests. Long as he’s safe to run crazy projects and make shit, he’ll do anything for you. No one outside of their small circle, and most certainly not Pike, knows about the device.
Leonard folds his arms, fixing Monty with his patented glare, and says in a stage whisper so Jim can hear, “You let him fiddle with the Tantalus? Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Okay, maybe that didn’t qualify as a whisper.
“What if I did?” Monty says breezily, playing with the hilt of his dagger. “You lot never show any interest in the bloody thing.” He nods in Jim’s direction. “But Jim, he asked questions, had suggestions and, well, he’s come up with some brilliant ideas.” His eyes light up and he uses the dagger to draw an imaginary diagram in the air between them. “As it stands, the device has certain limitations; when you locate a target, you have to keep it in your sights to eliminate it, but Jim here thinks big; he said what if there are two targets moving in two opposite directions, or more than two?” Leonard manages not to flinch when Monty’s knife stabs the air dangerously close to his eyes, presumably to represent said targets. “Jim showed me how, with simple modifications, we can lock on both and zap them simultaneously - it’s bloody brilliant!” Monty grins, flips the dagger in his hand, catches it by the hilt and slips it into the top of his boot. “Well that’s what we’re working on - we’ve already sorted out the problem of the target being in too close proximity to an innocent bystander,” Monty leans close, “so if Jim tries to strangle Sulu again, we can kill him and our lad will be fine.”
“Oh good.” Leonard grabs Monty’s arm, spins him so their backs are to Jim, “Did it ever occur to you that a) you don’t know him from Adam? b) he nearly killed Sulu and, oh let me see, oh yeah, c) he COULD KILL US!” Leonard turns to shoot metaphorical daggers at Jim who’s sitting smiling at them like they’re two puppies fighting over a slipper. The ‘daggers’ fall harmlessly to the floor, so to speak. Leonard stabs a finger accusingly in Jim’s direction, his easy posture - all arrogance and self-admiration - getting under his skin. “And don’t tell me ‘a leader doesn’t lose his temper with his men’. Women, whatever!”
Monty blinks, “Doc, it’s fine, don’t worry.” He drops his voice. “I couldn’t see the harm in picking the youngster’s brains - he’s a smart cookie, that one.” He hooks the dagger into his boot and pats Leonard gently on the shoulder. “And I was right; no harm done. I’m off. You two look like you have a whole lot to talk about.” He pushes past Leonard and pauses to add, “If he tries anything, it’ll be my pleasure to kill him, okay?”
Leonard draws in a quick breath, “No one will be killing anyone. What are you - fucking tom cats?” He dismisses Monty’s unrepentant expression with an eye roll and storms over to Jim, looming above him, panting.
“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Jim says, narrowing his eyes. Well, if Jim’s finally accepting some responsibility for his actions... Jim cocks his head, whispering conspiratorially, “I shouldn’t have left you high and dry like that. It’s made you tense.” Jim’s eye twitches; fortunately for him, this doesn’t turn into a wink - Leonard might have had to snatch Monty’s dagger and use the goddamned thing.
“Unbelievable.”
From the moment he entered the mess, Leonard’s been able to feel the pull of Jim’s charisma, how all his doubts are popping like little bubbles around his head; his mind struggles to find a reason to give a damn that Jim’s inveigled his way into the group, that he came so close to killing Sulu because, well, he didn’t did he?
Now the arguments for Jim staying seem real and bright: First, Pike’s never fucking wrong about anyone - he has the keenest sense of a man’s ability Leonard’s ever come across. Then, try as he might, Leonard can’t erase the image of Jim stepping over the device outside the tent. He knows, can fucking feel it in his bones that Jim was saying something with that, the way he walked right back into the cage. Just what? What does he fucking want? Nyota’s intel shows that he’s spent the past few years moving from one casual job to another: no bar work or car shop for Jim Kirk. Instead it’s been hacking, one case, at least, of assassination and - this is what peaked Leonard’s interest - a handful of kidnapping cases. Nyota informed Leonard in her report that Jim has at least three aliases he’s fond of; the fact that he’s wanted to stay under the radar bodes well for Leonard too.
Leonard clenches his fists and breathes; he’s overthinking. Fuck. Fine. There is that thing he needs Jim’s help with, something that will prove his worth, his ability to work with the group, and show whether or not he can be trusted. He’ll just have to find the right moment to broach the subject.
“Kirk, it isn’t our way to sit on our asses all day - go muck out the goddamned horses or something; earn your dinner.” He looks around the tent. “And where the hell is everyone?”
Jim sits up, unperturbed by Leonard’s fuming; and is Leonard imagining the victorious sheen in those eyes? Probably not - the little shit.
“First, I think helping untangle the problems in the Tantalus kind of qualifies me for my dinner, which I ate already, by the way.” They both look down at Jim’s plate, back up, and Leonard feels himself redden when their eyes catch for a split second. Jim leans forward his eyes sweeping Leonard’s flushed features then goes on, “But, since you’re asking: Sulu’s compiling a weapons inventory - I gotta say, surprised you haven’t got one, Bones.” He raises his eyebrows, amused by what he sees as Leonard’s failings. “And Nyota’s making a list of moles in the immediate area…” Jim looks thoughtful. “I don’t think she likes me, Bones-”
Course she doesn’t - if anyone’s likely to see through Jim’s bullshit, it’s her. Yet still she’s running around fulfilling his commands. Leonard’s eyes roll so far back in his head he almost makes himself dizzy. “I can’t understand why that would be, Kirk.” He spits the words, dragging a chair far enough away to avoid any accidental brushes up against Jim’s leg; anything which might stoke the arousal he can feel bubbling deep inside him like a background hum whenever he’s anywhere near the infuriating little bastard. He turns the chair around, sits cowboy style across it, leaning his chin wearily on his hands. Taking in Jim’s expectant look, he drops his voice. “Look, Kirk, we need to talk.”
Jim’s smile fades and he nods. “You’re worried; that makes sense. The group’s unstable.” His eyes narrow as he thinks, probably mentally running through observations made while in captivity. “You want my advice-”
“-Actually I don’t,” Leonard mumbles.
“As an outsider looking in, Bones, the problem with the group, your crew, gang, whatever... is that you’ve got a clash of cultures going on.” Jim gazes at Leonard’s face, eyes intelligent, all-seeing, and he blinks as though considering how to explain his point. “It’s like this: take the difference in philosophy, in approach, between the Empire as it stands and, you know, the ‘crat way.” Jim gets to his feet and picks up his plate; all that’s left of his meal is an apple core, and he tosses it into the trash, programming the replicator while he goes on. “See, we good citizens of the Empire, we’ve all gotten used to giving orders or taking them, unquestioning,” (We?) Jim continues, “And it’s cool in some ways if you’re the one on top. And I like being on top.” Jim’s eyes gleam and Leonard closes his own for a second to reign in his temper, his desire, all those things that Jim seems to rake up in him with one look, one word.
“Go on…” he says testily.
“You want something?”
Jim’s got his back to Leonard, who blinks, struggling not to stare at his ass. “What? Yeah - coffee, no cream, sugar.”
“But us,” Jim continues, “we’re ‘on the other side’,” he air-quotes, picking up his glass of water and sipping while he waits for the coffee to appear. “We believe in everyone having a say, all that bullshit.”
And it absolutely doesn’t escape Leonard’s notice how Jim’s unconsciously affiliated himself with them, with ‘crats. “In one breath you say ‘we’ then call it ‘bullshit’ - see, that’s why you’re trouble,” Leonard grumbles.
The corner of Jim’s mouth twitches and he brings the coffee over, placing it before Leonard with a flourish. “This feels like a date,” he grins and sits down, long, pale fingers wrapped around his glass. He licks his lips, continues, ignoring Leonard’s brimstone look. “So…you don’t trust me, I get that. But you’re a ‘crat, Bones - act like one. You want me out, fine, but make it a group decision, like a ‘crat would, not like one of them - how the Empire runs things. Ask your crew, Bones, ask them what they think.”
Leonard prickles at that; he has asked for advice, at least from Pike. “You want me to consult the group before or after you’re done ingratiating yourself?” He sips his coffee, pushing away the memory of the feel of Jim’s cock in his hand such a short time ago. “You going to sleep with everyone?”
“Ha! Don’t think I’m Nyota’s type,” Jim chuckles. “Hey, do you reckon that’d work?” His eyes are bright with amusement.
“What about you, Jim, if you were - god forbid - the leader of this outfit, would you ask? I get the feeling you’re the kind makes decisions in a shoot-ask-questions-later kinda way.”
Leonard is surprised when Jim actually thinks about this.
“Sure, sometimes, but any men under me would believe they had a say in things.” Spoken like a true ‘crat only he has the history of one of the Empire’s elite - hell, the kid reminds him of Pike. It occurs to Leonard that this is exactly what would make Jim such an asset to the cause: he has a foot in both camps; can think like a ruthless Empire shark, yet has the ‘crat cause ingrained in him; Leonard knows about George Kirk, knows about Winona’s beliefs and now he can see a shadow of their way of thinking in everything Jim says. Thing is, he’s so fucking young, so arrogant...he needs reining in, but who’s gonna do that?
“Even if it wasn’t true, sheesh, you’re just a kid…what do you know about loyalty, belief? You think with your dick. Way I hear it, when you were cock-of-the-pile in court; you didn’t do a lot of askin’. Fact of the matter is, you could be the fucking poster boy for the Empire - terror is how you advanced yourself.”
Their eyes catch and Jim holds his gaze sending a shudder of heat skittering down Leonard’s groin. “No one’s a fucking kid, Bones, and you don’t know shit about me.” Jim’s voice is suddenly tight and there’s another twitch of his left eye, an involuntary tic Leonard knows he could fix; a tell like that could cost Jim his life. “And, if you recall, the only trace of ‘terror’ I’ve fucking shown you is when I was defending myself against Hik.”
So now he has a nickname for Sulu too. Awesome.
“Yeah, you’re a choir boy; I get it.”
Jim’s far from it of course, but Leonard’s beginning to understand why he’s feeling so conflicted, why he wants to trust Jim while at the same time wishing he’d just disappear. He’s always had complete faith in his instincts; since he’s been working with Pike Leonard’s learned he has an instinct for those he can trust, he can feel it in his gut. What he’s realising now is that all his misgivings come from his rational mind, the part of him which demands evidence. Thing is, Leonard’s yet to understand why Jim wants in - if it’s to run things, why pick a bunch of ‘crats? Why not find a group of real bandits? There are enough of those in the forest and they’d be easier to control in traditional ways; ways that Jim’s history proves he’s more than at ease with.
Maybe if he finds out more about Jim’s history...
“Who did you piss off, Kirk? How come you were, you know, out here?” He gestures to the outside. “The forest’s full of predators ya know? You could have gotten yourself killed.”
“I’ve been in worse places,” Jim remarks vaguely, “and you’re ‘good’ guys right?”
There’s that sneer again.
“Mixed messages, that’s the fucking trouble. Again. Saying ‘good’ guys like we’re defective or something.” Leonard drops his voice out of habit. “You know how the ‘crat thing works: it’s about the greater good - you gotta be focused, and sometimes it means individual sacrifice.” Something which is an anathema to the average citizen of the dog-eat-dog Empire. Not that Jim Kirk is average anything...
“I know all about sacrifice,” Jim snaps.
Yeah, Jim’s brother, his dad, but they’re losses, not sacrifices. What Leonard can’t imagine is Jim giving something up for the greater good, putting his own needs aside, and that’s what he’d have to prove he could do if he wants to become part of their group.
Leonard takes a deep breath, stares at his hands, the cup of coffee, okay… “What about your mom? You abandoned her didn’t you? Why would you do that Jim? How the hell is that a show of loyalty? You can’t stick with family - how can we even begin to trust you?”
Something dark passes across Jim’s face and he stands abruptly, features twisted into a half-controlled, murderous sneer. “What the fuck does my mother have to do with this?”
And he’s gone before Leonard can come up with any kind of answer.
+++
Jim stands in the clearing and wipes a fine mist of sweat off his nose. The autumn night’s humid, still, quiet as if the birds themselves are waiting to see what he’ll do next. He feels suspended, reluctant to move forward yet feeling an invisible pull towards Bones, the man, towards one person, contrary to everything he believes in.
Jim struggles mentally against the downward drag of his sentiment, the way all reason and logic has become mired in the soft side of his heart, a side Jim thought he’d buried when he turned his back on a dying brother.
He chews his lip, lets out a sigh, considers his options, thinks, thinks…
He could leave. Sure he’s tagged, but that’s nothing new, he can figure out how to disable the chip - that shit’s easy: he’s done it for others, made a few credits out of it too; and now he’s had an inside look at how the tag’s programmed.
And if he left, where would he go? Yeah, the world’s his fucking oyster, he thinks bitterly, one he’s picked clean already, one that has no appeal. One thing the Empire doesn’t teach you is what if you can have everything you want? What if it’s relatively easy - what’s to fucking cherish about that?
If he leaves, he’s lost nothing. Gained nothing, unless...
The Tantalus would make him invincible. He could make off with it, or stay and have a ready-made crew to lead. Damn, he’d be insane not to take advantage.
Bones is the thing standing in the way here. Jim could, should turn the group against him and force him out; better than having to kill him though that would be efficient, easier. It would be the logical thing to do - the way he’s trained himself to think, the way his mother insisted he be seen to operate - always.
But the loyalty of the group - how could he maintain that with Bones gone? The way they look at Bones, look up to him, fucking love him - Jim’s never seen anything like it before. He’s witnessed respect borne out of accomplishment, brains, fear, but not this. He thinks about the looks exchanged between Bones and Christine, the way Hik speaks about him, Scotty’s easy capitulation just now in the tent despite his bravura show with the dagger. They’re loyal to him, and Jim suspects, would die for him.
They’re a fucking family, he thinks bitterly - what he used to have before Sam was taken from them, before he cut all ties with his mother, something - he’s disgusted to admit - a long-hidden part of himself wants again, a craving resurrected when he saw that kid standing outside the med tent while Bones put his brother back together. Maybe, Jim allows, it’s time he recognizes that he wants this.
No. This irritating notion of belonging, he needs to crush it because it emasculates him, has him lose focus. When Pike approached him in the bar, trying to persuade him to enlist in Starfleet, Jim could have been enticed back into the system, back to family, back to weakness and attachment and co-dependence. What he’s got to remember is that one goes down you all do - better to be alone. Always. And Jim’s sure his mother was behind Pike trying to get him to enlist, more proof he needs to get out.
Then he sneers in disgust, when his compulsion to be honest with himself, to be self-aware, means he has to face another part of this complex truth, maybe even the real answer to why he wants to stay. Bones. Jim feels a shot of heat when the sense memory of those sure, rough fingers on him comes crashing back, when he relives the way Bones looked right into him, past Jim’s bullshit before soft, reluctant lips claimed him. Fuck.
“Jim.” He’s startled by his name uttered in that fucking southern drawl he had no idea he had such a kink for. Yeah, this bastard’s going to fell him and Jim needs to cut him out now, before…
He spins to face Bones. “What the hell do you want?”
Bones’ shoulders hang a little low, like he’s got a burden and a half, like he can feel the weight of the heavy silence around them, the humid air. “We need to talk.” His hand lifts a few inches towards Jim, as if he’s about to stay him. Jim glowers at it and Bones drops his hand, stuffing it safely into his pocket.
“No, we don’t, and I don’t wanna talk about my mother - she’s dead to me.” He holds himself more erect, spreading his legs, raising his chin, knowing how to appear not to give a shit - it’s kept him alive this long.
“She’s on your side, Jim, she’s - well I’ve had Nyota run some checks on you, on your background and there’s something…”
Of course Winona’s on Jim’s side, she always has been - that was never in question. He’s made the break from his mother, and he’s damned if he’s going to get close now, when even the mere mention of her gets him all riled up.
Jim frowns, shaking his head. “Listen man, I need to get the fuck out of here. This was a mistake, staying. I’ve got plans, big plans, and none of this,” he gestures, sweeping a hand across the tents, the fucking clinic, stopping to point a finger at Bones and his god-damned expressive eyes, “none of this is real.” Yeah, like his bs about ‘big plans’.
“This, what we do is real, Jim. And if you’re half the man George Kirk was, if he taught you anything-”
Jim baulks. No-one knows - no-one. How could Bones have any idea about his father’s politics, kept hidden from everyone except Winona? Who the fuck told Bones? Jim’s convinced someone big is behind all this - someone with power…Bones is acting on a wider agenda here, like he’s recruiting almost, why else would he bring George Kirk into this? First Pike, now Bones, why the fuck can’t people leave him alone?
“-How the hell could a dead man teach his son anything? Tell me!”
Bones doesn’t break eye contact, eyebrows drawn together, teeth clenched like he’s trying to hold back, considering what he should reveal. They’re dancing around each other - Bones wants something, Jim can fucking taste it.
“Jim… I’ve got a proposition for you, though I’m crazy to consider it.”
“This ‘crat bullshit?” He snarls the words out, shaking his head slowly. “Man, what makes you think I give a crap?”
“I don’t know, I’m taking a gamble.” Bones glances round the clearing, “But this isn’t the place, we can’t talk here.”
Cameras, of course, but what can it be that Bones doesn’t want his own crew to know?
When Jim stays put, Bones tries again, “Come on, Jim, my place, not here. We need to talk…”
Jim nods, and Bones turns, striding off towards his tent, quarters, whatever, ass tight and delicious in his jeans, long limbs moving easily. Jim licks his lips and follows, surprised at himself, at this attraction which is proving to be annoying and inconvenient.
They reach the tent just as Nyota and Christine walk past; Jim turns to watch them heading towards the mess amused at how Nyota visibly stiffens when she sees him, how Christine seems almost unaware of his presence, yet they both greet Bones warmly with a “hey, Doc!” and he responds with a small nod and a forced smile. Jim’s taken a step back now, both of them adopting casual poses like they’ve been talking about the goddamned wildlife.
“They look up to you,” Jim says when they’re out of earshot.
Bones shrugs. “They’re some of the finest brains in the Empire, everyone here is, but they’ve all fallen through the cracks, you know how it goes.” Bones lets out a heavy breath, hazel eyes examining JIm’s face, “and it’s not me, you idiot, it’s the cause. I’m just a simple country doctor.” He clears his throat. “Go on, get in.” He lifts the tent flap back, letting it drop behind them. Jim watches him fasten the flap so it’s effectively ‘locked’ and scans the interior, the portable heater, futon bed, the basic sonic shower.
He waits for Bones to speak again, standing on the rush floor, finding his eyes darting towards the bed, over the dark coverlet, the pillows bunched together on one side how Bones left them in the morning. The trunk Jim borrowed clothing from is still open. He wonders if this is where they put his brother’s jacket, feeling a prickle of worry that he might not find it before he leaves; how, in his existential angst, he almost forgot about it. He clears his throat, feeling suddenly awkward, side-swiped again by family attachment.
“Nice place you got here,” he says recalling his time kept in the cage.
“Yep, seems like you made yourself right at home earlier.” Bones brushes past Jim, making an expansive gesture across his place. “I can almost forget I used to live in a plantation with servants, a wife, a ba… About to start my quiet country practice, keeping my fucking head down.” He looks sideways at Jim and their eyes connect for a moment until Bones breaks the look and turns towards a holo on a pile of PADDS by the bed. “I haven’t seen her for two years, not since my divorce.” He swallows. “You’re not the only one lost family.” His eyes brim with emotion, hurt.
“Who?”
“My daughter.”
A whispered phrase that hits Jim like a mace to the chest. Bones has given him something here, an admission, a revelation that puts all the cards in Jim’s eager hands. But why? “You have a daughter? Where the fuck is she?”
He watches Bones, how his face twists, like he’s trying to stop all those enormous emotions of his bursting out, but his dam is busted by the looks of it. Family fucks you up, makes you weak.
“I don’t want to…I…”
“Jesus, Bones,” Jim hisses, stepping closer. “You want me to talk, like we need to figure things out, but you won’t be straight with me.” Jim notices how Bones’ hands are in tight fists by his hips. He’s swaying a little, literally fighting which way he’s going to go on this.
Jim lifts his fingers to his eye and rubs hard, then looks sideways at Bones. “Man,” he says with feeling, “I’ve gotten so used to not even thinking certain things, you know,” he nods in the general direction where, two days ago, they dragged him into the camp, “but here maybe it’s different.”
“Sometimes,” Bones agrees brow furrowing. He moves towards a bottle of bourbon by the bed and picking up a cup, he half fills it and hands it to Jim. “Go on.”
Jim takes it, seeing it for a gesture of good faith. The spirit feels good sliding down his throat. He senses that if he wants Bones to talk he’s going to have to give something first. He hands the cup back and watches Bones pour himself a measure which he knocks back in one.
“From your reaction out there, doesn’t take a genius to figure out you didn’t abandon your mother.”
“Technically I did, but it was as you would say - ‘for the greater good’.”
Bones snorts. “How so?”
“You know how it is, like all women, her fate’s wrapped up with the men in the family. With dad gone, survival for her was all about ensuring my advancement, my brother’s.” Jim pauses, taking the bottle from Bones and knocking back another mouthful. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and sits on the edge of the bed, keeps talking like he’s on his own; it makes it easier that way if he doesn’t look directly at Bones who follows suit, shutting the trunk and sitting on the lid. “She was doing good making one allegiance after another with Alpha males, and she had her pick, dad’s influence still there even... after.... “
“And she’s beautiful, smart,” Bones interjects.
Jim looks up, their eyes catch and he wonders at himself, how he’s finding it so easy to let this out; he hasn’t confided in anyone since Sam. He nods and holds out his hand for the bottle again; the cup’s discarded now, their lips sharing the mouth of the bottle unselfconsciously. “And the trouble with Alpha males is-”
“-they inevitably get themselves killed.”
“Glory to the Empire,” Jim toasts flatly, knocking back another swig. He hands the bottle back. “And she was left high and dry time after time. And the thing is, Bones,” a tight edge creeps into his voice, “she might have chosen better if she hadn’t got us to worry about.”
Satisfying images flash in Jim’s mind of that bastard Frank floating in the pool at the Kirk villa, and he can’t help grinning at the memory of his mother’s careful, emotionless face when she comm’d him, the fact that she sent him a photograph of ‘the accident’ evidence enough that she was behind getting rid of the abusive bastard. Only days later she’d moved on, accompanied to Jim’s graduation by one of Starfleet’s most decorated captains. There’s nothing in Bones’ expression that would reveal whether or not he knows who, though he must if he’s done his research: Christopher Pike, part of the backbone of the Empire. George would be spinning in his fucking grave if he had one, that his wife has betrayed everything he stood for and died for.
“It’s kind of ironic that the men paid for my years at court not with their money but with my mother’s dowry, because the Empire says she can’t manage it for herself.” Bones responds with a look which has Jim holding up a hand to stay him. “Yeah, yeah, I know the fucking spiel: all that will change when we overthrow the Empire, equality blah, fucking blah...”
Bones presses his lips together tightly, then asks, “Okay, no lecture from me, but you still haven’t explained why you refuse contact with her.”
“To free her Bones, don’t you see? She’s got protection; I don’t need it anymore - I’m a big fucking boy now in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“You cut off your nose to spite your face, Jim. You walked out the day of graduation.”
“I know what I fucking did.” Jim stands and moves towards the tent flap. “I’m done. So yeah, I don’t want ties, don’t need anyone: lone fucking wolf. I need to get off-planet, set up somewhere; there’s nothing for me here.”
Bones stares at Jim, scowl on full, bottle poised for another drink. “That’s not it, is it?”
“It’s enough.” He’s not telling anyone about Sam, period; and his face burns a little with contained rage that anyone should question his loyalty to family. “How about you, Bones. Why the fuck are you hiding out here, and who’s paying the god-damned bills?” Jim looks around the large interior. “There are a lot of credits tied up in this little outfit and you aren’t funding it all through unsuccessful kidnapping, right? Not if snatching me is anything to go by.”
“That was an experiment, and it’s not for the ‘crat cause - needed the money for something else.”
“Something to do with your daughter?”
Bones flashes him a look. “You’re a nosy bastard, Kirk-“
“Where is she? Come on, man, I’ve given you something, now you can come clean with me.”
“We’ve tracked her down to an orphanage - when her mother died, her asshole husband sold the kid.”
There’s no need to ask how he let that happen, because Jim knows what it’s like to have no power, no influence. And given Bones’ involvement in the ‘crats, if he puts his head above the parapet, they’ll shoot him down.
“Well, let’s get her out - you know what they do to kids in those places.” It would have happened to Sam if Winona hadn’t come back from the Kelvin disaster, if she hadn’t hooked up the moment she got back to Earth; she told Jim she was setting that up even as she fed him while the shuttle sped away from the debris of the Kelvin.
“You’re crazy,” his tone, accusing and uncertain at the same time. Bones, stands steps towards him and Jim holds his ground so they’re eye to eye. Jim fancies he can see hope there, something soft Bones couldn’t hide if he tried. So this is what Bones wanted his help with - there’s opportunity for negotiation here and he won’t let it pass.
Jim puts his hands on his hips and grins. “Crazy, huh?”
“Damn right.”
No man has a fucking right to a voice like that. All at once, the tent seems small, airless; Bones is standing too fucking close, eyes locked like gunslingers, neither of them wanting to be the first to blink.
Jim runs his tongue along his teeth, feeling suddenly hyper aware of the details of that solemn face, individual dark lashes, the mole above the grouchy bastard’s left eye, the indents on his full, slightly chapped lower lip, the freckles disappearing under the stretched collar of his tatty t-shirt.
Fuck the Tantalus, fuck fists; Leonard McCoy could, Jim thinks, maybe fell him with one smoldering look.
So Jim reacts as he always does to threats, he goes in hard because running isn’t an option.
Jim lunges, fingers clamped to resistant shoulders and backs Bones towards the unmade bed even as Bones fights him, shakes Jim off and retaliates, barging Jim two handed on the chest. His eyes are dark, face flushed and he crosses the space between them, grabbing the hem of Jim’s t-shirt to pull him in for a kiss. It’s fervent, rough and fragrant; he’s searching sloppily for Jim’s tongue, wanting to draw it inside, suck the life out of him.
Jim hisses out a breath into that gorgeous mouth, marveling at Bones and his stubbornness and apparent inner conflict: the way he moans into the kiss, twists against the length of Jim’s body, pushing his groin against Jim’s erection. Bones cups and kneads Jim’s ass hard enough to bruise while letting out grumbles and curses whenever he’s forced to pull back momentarily to snatch a breath, like he’s being dragged under by an invisible current and he’s fighting for purchase, for air. Jim’s never been so turned on in his life.
Then Bones loses a foothold again and Jim upends him effortlessly onto the bed. Arms folded, he allows himself the luxury of savoring the sight before him. The glare is all heated derision as motionless, arms spread wide, Bones waits for Jim to make his next move. He watches Jim prowl up those long legs, settling astride Bones’ thighs. When he begins to unbuckle his belt, grabbing Bones’ hands and guiding them to his fly, the response is a growled, ‘fuck you’; and finally Bones bucks under him, getting Jim into an arm lock. Jim would laugh if he wasn’t so engrossed in struggling against muscular arms wrapping around his thighs and arm, and by Bones’ mouth biting into whichever parts he can reach. He can’t decide if the assault is attack or defence: he doesn’t care.
Jim’s response is to wriggle and slide away, though it’s half-hearted. Bones won’t know of course that in different circumstance he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance; that if you force Jim into a small space, he turns into a ruthless animal. But this, this is different; it’s not a fight, it’s a struggle for dominance, Jim thinks as he flattens Bones onto his back and watches him panting, pinning him as heated eyes stare defiantly at him. This is a sweat-soaked, grunt-filled to-and-fro, setting rules for what’s to come between them, establishing trust and boundaries.
The first revelation comes to Jim as he grasps Bones’ jaw in both hands, his elbow shifting to clamp his chest, till he stills, so Jim can bite and lick at his throat, his neck, his Adam’s apple, when he feels Bones press a knee under his perineum, the move gentle and threatening all at once. He understands then that that he’s never going to be truly on top. Bones will go down, but then he’ll get up and Jim is going to have to fell him over and over again.
In his own way, Bones will be the victor: how he keeps Jim in check, denying him total compliance. Making Jim need that. It’s fucking intoxicating. No one has ever refused Jim Kirk anything in the bedroom, forever bowled over by his charisma. And Bones is the antithesis of Jim - he does nothing but deny himself what he wants; look at him now, turning his head away as Jim tries to claim his lips, when a mere few minutes ago he was trying to swallow down Jim’s tongue like his life depended on it.
Somehow he’s managed to tear Bones’ t-shirt off him, well except for the scrap still hanging round his neck; it looks like a leash, and of course Jim can’t resist sharing this thought with Bones. Jim stifles the protests by angling his cock then thrusting it in between those plush lips. And yes, there he goes, sucking Jim down eagerly, moaning like this is all he wants, to be filled like this, when at the same time his hands are a stubborn force against Jim’s hips, contradicting everything else, communicating he wants Jim to stop.
Aroused beyond belief, Jim realizes then that he will never mention this dichotomy to Bones, because he never wants to lose this.
“I’m going to fuck you, Bones,” he grinds out, rocking gently forwards, his skin burning, slick with sweat. He chuckles when Bones cracks open both eyes and somehow, even with his lips stretched wide, he manages a ‘that’s what you think’ look. He releases Jim with an obscene plop and after a short struggle which Jim totally lets him win, Jim’s the one tonguing Bones.
“Suits you, Jim, sucking my dick, you look good put in your place like that.”
Jim’s hand is cupping Leonard’s balls and he twists them gently, a reminder that actually no, he’s nowhere near been put in his place, that this is all a choice: he wants to be here, just as Bones does. He kneels up, transferring his fingers to Bones’ cock so he can climb back up his body and kiss him. Damn, that mouth, strong yet yielding, lips pillow soft, sharp bites and gentle licks confusing the hell out of him. He leans into Bones. “Stay fucking still, you’re so…what’s that word you southerners love…?”
“Asshole?” Bones offers bucking into Jim’s hand.
“Ornery. Now turn round,” Jim orders, pulling away, wiping his brow. It’s close, the humidity making every movement hard work, even as it helps the slip and slide of their limbs, adding salt to their skin. “Turn around,” he says again, his voice taking on a darkness he’s missed.
Bones raises an eyebrow, considers, then turns onto his front, his hands gripping the pillows, adjusting them under his face. His long back muscled and tan, tense. Jim adjusts his position so he’s braced over warm skin and positions himself between the Bones’ ass cheeks, rutting along the cleft. It feels good, but he needs to unravel Bones a little more before he can get what he wants, what they both want.
While nipping gently across a freckled shoulder, Jim’s hand slides under that taut stomach and he finds Bones hard, leaking, brimstone hot, crushed between his hand and Bones’ body. “Stay like that,” he growls into Bones’ ear, planting a kiss on his temple, and when Bones turns searching awkwardly for a kiss, Jim pulls away sadistically and moves down, down until his head is level with that muscular ass.
He moistens the tip of his thumb and parts Bones’ cheeks, pressing experimentally against his hole. Fuck, the way he pulls away, flattening against the bed then pressing back against Jim’s touch. Jim gives his own dick a reassuring tug. He elbows Bones’ thighs apart, settling his hands on his buttocks and teases, nipping and licking just above the cleft, the fine muscles above the swell. Bones groans raggedly at the touch, the promise. When Jim’s chin rakes across soft skin, he hears a grumbled, “Fuck...”
Jim responds by kneading the flesh, dragging his tongue slowly downwards, repositioning himself so he can hump the mattress, get a little friction going in case he gets stuck in this rut of selflessness and becomes a total pussy.
“What the fuck are you grinning about?”
Jim pulls back for a second, blowing across moist skin, and looks up at Bones who’s craning to watch. “If you can still form sentences, I must be doing something wrong.”
He dives back in, his senses flooded by musk, the sound of his own heartbeat, Bones becoming slowly more incoherent, soft skin warm and pliant. Jim never keeps his tongue in place too long, doesn’t want Bones to settle, to lose himself quite yet, though he stores this away for another time, suspecting he’ll be able to make Bones come just like this. He stabs, licks and laps, can feel Bones getting close and finally replaces his tongue with his finger, tentatively, not wanting to give Bones a reason to grumble again.
“Where’s the lube, Bones?”
“Medkit,” he manages to reply, his voice rough and low, hands twisting in the sheets.
Jim slicks up fingers and cock and sits back, taking a moment to admire the rangy expanse of edible Bones.
“If you think I’m going to let that mouth anywhere near me, you’ve…mnff…” Jim grabs his head, kissing him thoroughly, tongue searching and sucking, licking at his teeth, the roof of his mouth till they’re both breathless, thrilled that the fight in Bones has resurfaced again. Finally Bones disengages their mouths, dragging the back of his hand across swollen lips, “Unsanitary,” he grumbles, eyes flashing, though Jim can tell by the quirk of spit-slick lips that he’s trying not to smile.
Jim allows Bones to take control so he’s the one astride Jim’s thighs. He lies back, puts his hands behind his head and watches in delight as Bones takes his time finding the right angle to guide Jim in.
But he can’t not-touch for long, skimming his fingers across strong, lightly haired thighs, slightly in awe at the beauty of this belligerent creature, the crazy plume of hair, crow dark now it’s sweat soaked and sticking to his forehead and temples, those wide eyes, a kaleidoscope of hazel and green flecks almost banished by blown pupils.
“What you fuckin’ looking at?” comes the surly demand even as Bones pushes down, his face contorting in reaction to the breach, eyebrows drawing together. He bites his lips, scrunches his eyes shut and breathes till the first wave of pain subsides.
“Been a while?” Jim chokes out the words, the sensation of Bones opening up around him so perfect, tight and clasping; he’s going to come in two seconds flat if he doesn’t distract himself.
“You’re not…the only one has… sex, kid.” The words stutter out, punctuated by uneven grunts and moans.
Kid? Jim guesses Bones owes him a nickname so he lets it go, putting his fight into nudging to meet Bones’ downward slide, to soothing him with soft strokes across his stomach, circling then pinching at the moment he bottoms out.
“Fuck you,” Bones hisses, holding in position, rooted and full. Jim gasps, lets go and waits for Bones’ expression to soften then begins to fuck up into him, taking his time, willing himself to last.
Bones meets each thrust, holds onto Jim’s knees temporarily guiding the pace. Jim sometimes complies, enjoying the ebb and flow of who’s piloting, sensing instinctively that this is how it’ll roll with the two of them.
And he times it perfectly; a hand on each hip. Jim flips Bones onto his back, ignoring the squawk of temper, the scowl and glare, until he manages to find the right angle. All protest swept aside, Bones gives a startled moan, a cue for Jim to pick up the pace.
It’s a whitewash when Jim comes, with Bones almost doubled over under him, their mouths bound with teeth and tongues, and Jim roaring on a tide of blood that leaves him faint-headed, slumped across Bones’ broad chest, relieved to slide in come because in the throes, he’d kind of forgotten to think about getting Bones off. Once was okay but twice would have got him stabbed in his sleep, Jim’s sure of it.
“God damn, we smell like two cats a’fightin, as my Gram used to say.”
“No fight in me now,” Jim whispers, hoping the feeling will return to his legs at some point soon.
Bones lifts his hand and it flops onto Jim’s shoulder, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t appear to have the strength.
+++
Jim chuckles in a way that makes Leonard mad, makes him want to punch some sense into the kid, if he didn’t feel like every bone in his body had turned to jelly. If he wasn’t a man against violence. Mostly. “What’s so god-damned funny?”
“Man, I’ve let myself down avoiding doctors - with that bedside manner no wonder you’ve got folk hiking through the wilds so they can find you.”
“I’m not a doctor!”
Jim sits up. “What, wadda ya mean? ‘Course you are, I’ve seen you with the…” Jim’s hand lifts limply from where it’s rested on Leonard’s chest. “Sawbones, hands on, with the equipment and stuff.”
“Well, there’s that, sure. Never got my licence, never qualified.” Still hurts, still makes his voice crack a little if he speaks of it, which is never.
Jim moves beside him and for a moment, all Leonard can hear is the sound of the forest outside, then, “Who was it? Who wouldn’t you kill?”
How does he know? How does Jim get that he just…a flash behind his eyelids of the scene, of gray eyes looking up at him from the stretcher till Pike lost consciousness. Make it look like his heart just gave out, they said. Who’d know?
And he hesitated, the only medic on duty, young, scared. Because he was afraid they’d kill him if he didn’t? Or afraid of what he was capable of? Preserve life, alleviate suffering and pain - it’s what his mother taught him when he was a kid, couched it in stories she made up, which she whispered while he played with action figures in the bath, tales set in a parallel, mythical world, of a magician who battled dark forces, who had potions which saved people. Stories he’d begun to tell his daughter before he lost her.
“Who was it?” Jim insists.
Leonard swallows, waiting for Jim to disengage and give him some room to breathe. Here goes nothing...
“Jim, I’ve got some good news and some bad news...”
+++
TBC final part, part 6 coming soon!