FIC: Wingman (Kirk/McCoy, NC-17)
Title: Wingman
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17
Words: 8,050
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. All gains are purely spiritual in nature.
Warnings: Expect Jim to get a lot from men and women who are not Bones and Bones to get a little from someone who is not Jim. Also, D/s themes.
Summary: In the beginning, there are bars, booze, babes and Bones. And lo, it is good. Then things start to change. And lo, it gets a whole lot better.
Author's Note: Written for km_anthology for the prompt 'one fucking the other while the other is soft.' The sequel to this fic already exists: Twelve Days (a.k.a. The Epic Holiday-Themed Porn). I owe a debt of wit to shitmydadsays, from which I stole/adapted the following: [1], [2], [3].Thanks to both cordelianne and graceandfire for moral support and beta on demand!
About ten minutes after they meet on the shuttle, Leonard McCoy does throw up on Jim.
And on the way back from cleaning up in the bathroom, Jim makes a very important decision: This man - this grumpy, unshaven aviophobe with the hip flask and the crazy eyes - this man shall be his wingman.
There are, of course, plenty of good reasons for this decision.
For one thing, Jim’s pretty sure that, under normal circumstances, the man can hold his liquor, which means that, barring future shuttle rides, he’s unlikely to throw up on Jim again.
For another thing, the fact that he’s already thrown on up Jim really just means that he won’t be able to get too pissed later on when Jim throws up on him, in a bar or an alley somewhere, which is inevitable.
Furthermore, he’s a doctor, which means that when Jim gets in a fight with some girl’s boyfriend and his hulking posse - also inevitable - there will be someone qualified on hand to patch him up.
Then there’s the fact that he’s sarcastic, sullen and kind of surly, which makes it unlikely that Jim’s intended conquests will go for him instead.
And finally, there’s the fact that he’s sarcastic, sharp and super smart, which makes it unlikely that Jim will get bored with him in less than a week, the way Jim has with pretty much every other person Jim’s ever met.
Yes, Jim decides, this man shall be my wingman, and I shall call him…Bones.
And Jim nods to himself because it fits and because no self-respecting person under the age of fifty would ever saddle himself with a wingman named Leonard.
Jim sits with his decision for a while as their conversation lapses into comfortable silence, and then, ten minutes before the shuttle lands, he turns and makes his pronouncement. “Bones,” he says, “you shall be my wingman.”
“Bones?” Bones asks, raising an eyebrow.
Jim nods and shoots him a winning smile, and when Bones doesn’t find anything further to say on the subject, Jim knows that he’s made the right choice.
He’s long since learned to take silence as permission.
In retrospect, the problem is that Jim was just too used to getting his way with people and didn’t think to ask himself why it was so easy.
In retrospect, the problem is that Jim underestimated his new acquaintance.
In retrospect, the problem is that even though Jim had Bones figured right on all the counts he’d bothered to count, the real reason Jim chose Bones was a look in Bones’ eyes that Jim had never seen before, or at least not aimed at himself - a look that said, Come on in.
In retrospect, the problem is that Jim failed to recognize just who was the spider and who was the fly.
In retrospect, there is no problem.
Not really.
In the beginning, there are bars.
And in these bars there is beer and bourbon and a bevy of beautiful women.
And there’s Bones, always Bones, the best of buddies, who buys the bourbon and sometimes the beer, and who always, always has Jim’s back - whether that back is bowed over a table where Jim lies beaten and bruised or bent over the bathroom toilet as Jim brings his beer or bourbon back into the world.
In the beginning, there are bars, booze, babes and Bones.
And lo, it is good.
And Jim knows it is good and he smiles across the table at his handiwork.
And then he smiles across the bar at the busty brunette whom he hopes to be handling, slides out of his chair and goes to work.
And lo, she’s good, too.
“Come on, what about that one? She’s gorgeous.”
Bones doesn’t even bother to follow Jim’s line of sight. “I’m fine,” he says.
And Jim sighs, because this, he has decided, is not good.
This being the fact that Bones shows no interest whatsoever in getting laid. Because in Jim’s experience, a sexually satisfied wingman is a generous and reliable wingman - a wingman who can be counted on to occasionally take one for the team. Not that Bones has been anything but totally reliable in the wingman department in the three weeks since the shuttle, but hey, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, or something like that, and you’d think the good doctor could get behind that sentiment.
“Bones, you didn’t even look at her…”
Bones glances up from his bourbon and across the bar. He nods. “Yes, Jim, she is indeed attractive.” He takes another drink. “And I’m doing fine right here.”
“I don’t get it, Bones. I mean, what? You think she’s out of your league or something? Because that’s totally the wrong attitude. You let the women figure out why they won't fuck you, you don't do it for them."
Bones rolls his eyes. “Contrary to your illusions of grandeur, kid, you’re not the only person here who can pick up a woman in a bar.”
Jim grins. “Oooh,” he teases, “Bones has secret game. C’mon, let’s see it.”
“One-night stands are your thing, Jim, and you’re welcome to them. Some of us prefer to take a longer view.”
Jim laughs. “Man, you’re so conventional. Not everything has to be all candy and flowers. You gotta learn to loosen up, Bones. Follow my lead. Be adventurous.”
Much to Jim’s disappointment, Bones doesn’t rise to the bait, just takes another drink of his bourbon and shrugs. “Whatever you say, Jim.”
By the sixth week of their acquaintance, Jim is forced to admit (if only to himself) that it may be time to at least consider the possibility that Bones does, in fact, have secret game.
The first hint comes out of the blue.
See sometimes when Jim talks, he’s not so much talking to Bones as using Bones’ proximity to him to avoid the appearance of talking to himself. Especially when he’s been drinking.
And it works for them.
Because Jim gets to sort through difficult quandaries, and Bones gets to ignore Jim - which seems to be one of his favorite pastimes. Like sudoku.
It’s win-win.
So there Jim is, wondering out loud whether he should just seal the deal with the woman he’s been exchanging glances with for the last half hour - not much of a challenge but a comfortably sure thing - or if he should make yet another attempt with the smoking hot cadet from his Warp Engineering class who just walked in but has turned him down flat the last ten times he’s tried to get a date with her and will probably do so again. He guesses he could try with her and hope that, after he strikes out, the other woman will still be interested, but some girls are weird about that kind of thing, which Jim thinks is silly because it’s not like JTK doesn’t give whatever woman he’s with his absolute attention once things get going, no matter whether she started off as his first choice for the evening or his fifth.
Love the one you’re with, that’s his motto.
You know, in the looser sense of that word.
So he’s just kind of rambling, sorting things out for himself, considering procrastinating with another beer.
Bones’ words take him completely by surprise.
“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person, Jim. That’s the definition of an asshole.” Okay, not those words, but the ones that come after that: “Go for the girl from your class. She just got out of something complicated and she’s looking for a good time. She’s only going to need to do that once, though, so if you don’t move quick, you’ll miss your chance. You don’t catch her tonight, she’ll be over the urge. The other one will be annoyed that you passed her over, but she’ll have forgotten by the next time she sees you.”
“Wait. What?” Jim blinks at him for a minute. “She never mentioned something complicated.”
“Don’t ask her to leave with you,” Bones says. “Just go talk to her about the class and wait until she asks you.”
Jim shakes his head. “Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Then how do you-?”
“Better hurry, Jim.”
“Uh…” Jim says.
“Go on.”
So Jim goes. But only because he wants to and was going to anyway. And, yeah, he ends up following Bones’ instructions, but only out of curiosity. So what if it works like a charm? As he leaves Cadet Sattar’s room a few hours later, he decides to chalk it up to coincidence.
When he goes home with the other woman from the bar later in the week - all smiles despite the glare she flashed Jim that other night - Jim revises his assessment to beginner’s luck.
In retrospect, that was the second hint.
A few more nights pass and Jim’s inner dialogue still isn’t inner, but Bones doesn’t weigh in, just sips his bourbon and pretends Jim isn’t speaking.
Business as usual.
Except it’s slowly driving Jim crazy.
When he cracks, he tells himself it’s in the name of science. Hypotheses were made to be tested.
“Okay, fine then,” Jim blurts, as if Bones has been badgering him and not just sitting there quietly, which is sort of like badgering - if you squint.
“Jim?”
“Blonde or brunette?” Jim demands.
“Brunette,” Bones says. “The blonde has daddy issues.”
“Woman at the bar or woman in the booth?”
“Well, the one in the booth will take you home with her…”
“Sweet.”
“But the one at the bar will follow you to the bathroom.”
Score.
“Woman in green or woman in black?”
“Both.”
“Like at the same time? Seriously?”
“Won’t know until you try.”
Jim does.
Turns out, Bones totally has secret game.
Of course, the scientific method also dictates that Jim spend an evening doing the exact opposite of what Bones suggests.
Bones says short hair, Jim goes long hair.
Bones says come on strong, Jim plays it cool.
Bones says, “Don’t even think about it,” Jim puts on the JTK swagger and tells the bartender to put the lady’s drink on his tab.
The lady laughs in Jim’s face and the lady’s girlfriend puts her fist through Jim’s nose.
It bleeds like a motherfucker, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t broken. He looks around for Bones to confirm his diagnosis, but their table is empty.
Jim goes home alone.
Fuck the scientific method.
The thing is, Jim is command track. And if there’s one thing a great leader always knows, it’s how to recognize and utilize his resources. So it is that, on the eighth week of their acquaintance - nay, their epic partnership - Jim vows to trust in his wingman.
It’s a restless sort of evening. Jim thinks he’d maybe rather fight than fuck, but he’s been trying to cut back, get respectable and all. Or at least keep up appearances.
He manages to sit almost still long enough to down a drink or two, brings the third with him as he takes a turn around the bar. He drops back into his chair about twenty minutes later. His leg bounces under the table. His fingers tap against one of the empties.
“Okay, now this is a tough one. Sexy and funny older sister or sexy and brainy younger sister?” Jim pauses, ponders. “Or both?” he adds. In Jim’s experience, no matter how hot the sisters, it’s almost never worth all the drama, but he needs something tonight and he feels certain Bones will not lead him astray.
“Neither,” Bones says. “Him.”
And so much for certainty.
Jim follows Bones’ gaze to a man sitting at the bar. The man turns and their eyes meet and hold for a moment, but Jim breaks contact before there can be a misunderstanding. He turns back to frown at Bones. Not that the guy is bad looking, but…
“Um, Bones, you know I don’t usually…”
“But you have before.”
It’s not exactly phrased as a question, but Jim nods anyway. “Once or twice,” he confirms. “Back in Iowa.”
But, really, who hasn’t these days? And that’s not the point.
“Look, there’s nothing wrong with it or anything, it’s just not my primary preference is all. There must be at least one woman in this bar tonight who wants to fuck me.”
“Plenty of women in this bar tonight want to fuck you, Jimmy.” Bones’ voice is low and sure. “But not one of them wants it as much as he wants to get his pretty little mouth around your dick.”
Jim’s grip on his glass tightens as Bones continues.
“He doesn’t want you to buy him a drink. He doesn’t want to chat. He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. He doesn’t even care if you get him off. He can do that himself. All he really wants is to follow you into the back alley, get down on his knees, take out your cock, and swallow it whole.”
Jim glances back toward the bar. The man is looking at him again. This time Jim holds the gaze.
“He doesn’t want you to be gentle, either,” Bones is saying. “He wants you to hold him down, pull his hair, fuck his face. He wants you to come down his throat. If it makes him choke, he’ll like it.”
Jim swallows.
“You want that, too, don’t you, Jimmy?”
Jim nods, eyes still locked with the man’s.
“Then go and get it.”
Jim goes.
And comes so hard he almost blacks out.
Jim stands up and tilts his head toward the bar. “I’m getting another beer, you want anything?”
“Yeah,” Bones says. “Get me a Maker’s Mark.”
Jim finds his way to the bar, waits his turn, has a short, but very promising exchange with the buxom new bartender, and returns to the table.
“New bartender,” Jim says, setting Bones’ bourbon in front of him.
Bones glances in that direction. “Mmm,” he says.
Jim raises an eyebrow. “She told me she’s going on break in a minute.”
“Uh huh.” Bones lifts his glass to take a sip and immediately pulls a face, setting the drink back on the table, pushing it to arm’s length, and scowling at it for good measure. “What the fuck is that?”
“Maker’s Mark.”
“The hell it is.”
Jim thinks back, trying to remember the words that were passing by his ears while his eyes were down the bartender’s cleavage. “Oh, right,” Jim says, “she put a splash of something in it. Maybe Cardassian tonic water? Seven Up? I don’t know. She said you’d like it.”
"Jesus Christ,” Bones mutters. “Might as well put a lil' fucking umbrella in it."
Jim rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. Get the other bartender to get you a new one. On me. New bartender is going on break now and she promised to show me the stockroom.”
“The hell she will,” Bones says. “You cannot have sex with that woman.”
Jim laughs. “Pretty sure I can, Bones. She wasn’t exactly subtle.”
“I’m not saying she won’t fuck you, Jim. I’m saying she’s a philistine.”
“Whatever.” Jim shakes his head, still smiling, but Bones doesn’t smile back. Jim looks to the bar and finds the bartender staring at him, obviously waiting. Jim looks back at Bones and points a thumb in her direction. “Look, she’s waiting. I’ll be right back…okay?”
Jim’s not really sure where the question comes from, but he finds himself waiting for an answer.
“Do what you want, Jim,” Bones says finally. “I’m gonna head back to the dorms now. I’ve got a study session tomorrow.”
Jim frowns. “It’ll only be…”
He trails off as Bones shrugs on his jacket and starts for the door. Some part of him wants to tell Bones not to go, to promise he’ll blow off the bartender and find someone who’ll meet with Bones’ approval - but that’s silly. She’s hot and ready and waiting for him.
And it’s not like Bones is in charge of Jim’s sex life.
Upon reflection, it is sort of like Bones is in charge Jim’s sex life.
Huh, Jim thinks, as the stockroom door closes behind him.
Like there’s the whole thing where Bones has been helping Jim decide between potential pick-ups for weeks and weeks now.
The bartender turns around to face Jim, pushing up on his shirt until Jim reaches down and pulls it off over his own head.
And then there’s the part where sometimes Bones just totally ignores the options Jim presents, and tells him to go for someone else entirely.
The bartender yanks her own shirt off, then steps forward to press her breasts against Jim’s chest, arms wrapping around his neck and she pulls him down into a kiss.
And don’t forget the part where sometimes the someone Bones chooses turns out to be a guy - which Jim didn’t think he was all that into - but Jim’ll fuck him anyway. And like it.
Because Bones told him to.
And because Bones sounded so damn good when he was telling Jim to.
And that’s another whole thing. A recent thing. The thing where Bones isn’t just telling Jim who, he’s telling Jim how.
Same three letters, whole different ballgame.
The bartender bites Jim’s bottom lip and Jim realizes he kind of forgot about her there for a second, but hopes she didn’t notice. He’s ready for her now, anyway. More than ready. Hitching her legs up around his hips, he walks them both deeper into the room, until her back hits a stack of boxes. He fumbles with both their waistbands, moving to the soundtrack of every set of detailed instructions Bones has given him over the past couple of weeks replaying in his head.
“Sit down next to her in the booth and finger her under the table while she’s still talking to her friends….”
“Go out back, get him on his knees, but don’t let him touch you. Make him watch you jerk off and then come on his face….”
“Bet you anything she hates missionary. Go back to her place and make her love it….”
“That one looks like he does his best work when he can take his time. You’re gonna wanna bring him back to your place. You ever let a man fuck you?” Jim remembers shaking his head. He remembers Bones’ slow nod and, shit, had there been a hint of a smile? He should have been paying closer attention. “Then tell him he can have anything he wants, Jimmy, except for that.”
Jim rocks against the bartender, grips her hips tighter, feels her breathy moans against his ear.
He remembers that night. Remembers the things - fucking wonderful things - he let that guy do just because Bones told him to. Remembers wondering why the hell he hadn’t done them all a thousand times before.
It feels like the bartender’s getting close now, but Jim’s pretty sure he’s closer. He reaches down to help her along, feels her tightening around him.
Okay, so, upon reflection, it’s exactly like Bones is in charge of Jim’s sex life.
This, Jim acknowledges, suddenly and probably belatedly, is not at all normal.
On the other hand, it’s really fucking hot.
Jim comes so hard he thinks he sees stars.
Of course, just because Jim’s figured out what’s going on doesn’t mean Jim’s figured out what’s going on.
He’s got the what and he’s living its whereby, but he’s sorely lacking in a whence, any sort of wherefore, and above all, the whither.
Then again, what does it matter? Overthinking isn’t exactly in Jim’s nature.
Loves to leap without looking. Casts caution and consequences to the wind. Et cetera, et cetera.
It’s his calling card.
So what if Jim’s relationship with his wingman isn’t exactly conventional? The madness of the Jim Kirk method relies on the rejection of any and all rules.
Or you know, Jim just playing by his own.
Of course, if there’s one thing Jim has figured out about this particular game, it’s that it’s all about the rules. And that the maker of those rules is Bones.
But, hey, he can work with that.
In the end, Jim develops a two pronged strategy.
The first prong - for when they’re just hanging out around campus - involves compartmentalizing. Bones-his-friend and Bones-his-wingman-so-the-fuck-doesn’t-cover-it-anymore are two entirely separate entities as far as Jim’s concerned.
The second prong - starting three nights later when they’re out at the bar again for the first time since Jim’s epiphany - involves going with the flow.
Bones gets the table, Jim gets the drinks.
Jim sits down and slides Bones’ drink - Maker’s Mark and only Maker’s Mark - across the table. He takes a long pull of his own pint, sets it back down in front of himself and looks over to meet Bones’ eyes.
“Okay,” Jim says.
Bones lifts an eyebrow. “Okay?”
Jim nods. “Okay.”
Bones regards him for a moment before nodding in return. “Okay.”
They shoot the shit for a little while as they take in the scene. Jim doesn’t bother making the circuit or coming up with any options, just drinks his beer and waits for Bones to make his choice.
Bones makes his choice.
Jim makes eye contact with Bones’ choice and holds it.
The man smiles his acceptance of Jim’s offer, but Jim doesn’t stand up. He waits for Bones’ instructions.
Bones gives his instructions.
Jim carries them out.
And so it goes.
Business as usual, except that Jim’s finally gotten the memo.
And as hot as it was to follow Bones’ suggestions, it was nothing compared to following Bones’ orders.
Jim’s having the best sex of his life and starting to wonder how he ever lived without it.
Jim keys his way into Bones’ room with a smile on his face. It’s been a long week and he is so ready to blow off some steam.
“Sorry, Jim,” Bones says from his desk, not even bothering to turn around, “I can’t go out tonight. I have to study.”
Jim just blinks at Bones’ back. “But it’s Friday.”
Weeknights they play it by ear, depending on homework and Bones’ clinic schedule, but Friday and Saturday nights are standing engagements.
Bones turns to look at Jim, rolling his eyes. “Tell that to my Xenohema professor. You wouldn’t believe all the shit she expects us to know by Monday.”
“But…” On a weeknight, when wheedling is often necessary, Jim would have come prepared. Tonight he is not wheedle-ready. “But…”
“Look, just go on without me. Someone should have some actual fun this weekend.”
“Weekend?”
Bones sighs. “I’ll try to get enough done to make it Saturday night, but I can’t make any promises.”
“But how will I…?”
“You managed well enough in the past, Jim, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Besides, you could probably use a little break.”
Jim opens his mouth, protest on the tip of his tongue, but closes it again favor of not sounding completely fucking pathetic.
Here he is about to beg his best friend to go with him to a bar because he’s-what? Afraid he doesn’t remember how to have a good time and get laid?
He’s James T. Kirk, damn it.
He’d sooner forget how to breathe.
Okay, so it’s not like Jim’s actually forgotten how to breathe. More like he’s just too bored to bother with the air in this bar.
The air.
The music.
The people.
Boring, boring, boring.
He looks around and all he wants to do is yawn.
He looks across the table and pouts at the empty chair.
Even the drinks are boring, but that doesn’t stop Jim from flagging down a waitress and ordering his sixth. His eyes drop to her breasts out of habit, but his ogle is half-hearted at best. She smiles at Jim over her shoulder as she walks away, a swing in her hips. She’s really not bad and Jim’s eyes follow her for a few seconds before he turns back to the table to find out what, if anything, Bones wants him to do about it.
Only Bones isn’t there.
Just the same empty chair. This time Jim scowls at it.
The waitress returns with his beer, setting it in front of him on the table, and Jim means to say something nice, ask her when she finishes her shift, but instead he just nods his thanks and turns back to his beer, picking it up and downing half in one swallow.
He stares at the half-empty glass.
Five minutes later, he downs the rest and leaves.
The sixth beer really kicks in on the shuttle back to campus. He gets off at the stop for Bones’ dorm without really thinking about it. The stupid keypad won’t stay still long enough for Jim to enter the code, which he’s almost positive he remembers, so he chimes instead.
The door slides open and Bones is standing on the other side.
“I don’t need a break,” Jim declares, loudly.
Bones grabs his arm and pulls him in from the hall. “Okay,” he says, returning to sit at his desk.
“Okay,” Jim repeats, nodding as he stands in the middle of the room.
He so obviously won.
He is triumphant.
Triumphant takes a sharp left turn into dizzy and slightly nauseated, and Jim lunges for the bed.
“I think I’ll just sit down for a minute.”
He lays himself out. Bones’ pillow is soft and cool.
It’s the middle of the night and Jim is not in his own bed.
Two facts Jim can sense without even opening his eyes.
Two facts that call for an exit strategy.
His brain is already at work as he cracks an eyelid to find out exactly who is lying next to him.
Bones.
Oh.
Jim’s brain shuts down. He rolls over and goes back to sleep.
When Jim wakes again, Bones is fixing breakfast. It smells awesome. As Jim rolls off the bed, he realizes he’s mostly still dressed, and that his head hurts.
“Sorry about last night,” he mutters as he crosses the room. He gropes for the steaming cup of coffee on Bones’ table…and almost spills it as some bastard jams a hypospray into his neck. “Fuck,” he yelps. “Bones!”
“Dehydration is no laughing matter,” Bones says, setting a plate down in front of him. “Now shut up and eat your food.”
Jim spends about two seconds weighing the merits of further complaining against the smell of the food in front of him.
He shuts up and eats.
“Good,” Bones says, as Jim polishes off the last bite. “Now get out. I have exactly two hours to study before my clinic shift.”
When Bones gets back from his clinic shift, Jim is waiting for him. On his bed.
As the door slides open, Jim hops up, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, Bones,” he says. “Put on a clean shirt and let’s get out here.”
Bones sighs and shakes his head at Jim, but does start stripping off his shirt. “One of these days, we’re really going to have to teach you some patience,” he says, almost to himself.
Something about the words sends a little shiver down through the base of Jim’s spine. Or maybe it’s the play of muscles across Bones’ broad, bare back and chest as he tugs on a tee shirt…. Whatever.
Jim shakes it off.
He’s horny. Has been since he got to Bones’ room and starting thinking about going out tonight. Hell, Bones is lucky Jim didn’t jerk off on his bed. Which, by the way, is totally a testament to Jim’s patience, but he’ll let the comment slide.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jim says. “Hurry up. Drink specials wait for no man.”
“Jim, I can’t go with you.” Bones gestures toward the PADD on his desk. “I need to get further with this crap.” Jim starts to object, but Bones holds up a hand. “But,” he continues, “I want you to go ahead without me and-”
Jim cuts him off with a sigh. “Fine, whatever.” So he doesn’t get laid tonight. He’ll live. “Look, I’ll just stay here and help you-”
“You’re not listening to me, Jim.” Bones takes a step forward. “I said, I want you to go-”
“And I said I don’t want a break.” Jim takes a step of his own.
“And I’m not giving you a break.” They’re less than a meter apart now and something in Bones’ tone - like honey dripped over titanium - makes Jim stop and meet his gaze. “If you want me to tell you what to do, Jim, you’re going to have to let me finish my sentence.”
Jim’s breath catches in his throat. He nods.
“Thank you,” Bones says. “You like doing what I say, don’t you, Jim?”
Jim’s not exactly sure he likes admitting it this way, but it is true. He nods again.
“Okay, then, this is what I’m telling you to do. I want you to go ahead without me,” Bones repeats. “And when you get to the bar, I want you to find someone you like, doesn’t matter who-” Jim opens his mouth to protest “-and then I want you to bring that person back here. To my room.”
Jim’s mouth freezes in its half-open position. His throat goes dry.
“Now you make sure whoever it is knows exactly what’s going to happen and is okay with it,” Bones continues. “We don’t want to scare anyone.”
Jim closes his mouth, swallows. “What exactly is going to happen?”
Bones smiles, just a little. “You’re going to let me watch.”
Bones, evil genius that he is, doesn’t so much watch the action as direct it.
Axelle, a sharp and stunning interpreter for some diplomatic delegation she’s declined to disclose, isn’t so much okay with Bones being there as completely fucking turned on by it.
And Jim, who’s really always been a bit of an exhibitionist if you think about it, doesn’t so much agree with this sentiment as experience it coursing wildly through every vein and nerve of his body.
In other words, a good time is had by all.
A good time is had by several more people in the following week.
Including, Jim assumes, Bones.
Even if it’s kind of hard to tell.
He’s got a chair set up in the corner with a full view of the bed - along with several other pieces of standard-issue furniture that he’s had Jim put to good use - and he’s always sitting in it when Jim gets there and never moves from it during their little scenes. One or two of Jim’s co-stars for the night try asking Bones if he wants to join in - and Jim kinda doesn’t think he’d mind - but Bones doesn’t answer them. Not even to decline.
He’ll only talk to Jim.
And only to give direction.
It’s hard for Jim to wrap his head around - the idea that anyone could really be so content to look and not touch.
Jim is a tactile being.
Fucking, fighting - it’s all about touch. Friendship, too. Jim touches his friend Bones all the time. But this other Bones - this mysterious sex god with the secret game who seems to live inside Jim’s id - this Bones Jim hardly touches at all.
And he doesn’t touch Jim either.
Not Jim and not any of the men or women Jim brings back to his room.
Jim can tell it turns them on, the way Bones holds himself apart from the proceedings. But he thinks maybe it frustrates them, too - the ones who get a good enough look at Bones to see what they’re missing, anyway. Hell, even if they don’t get a good look, they still have to hear him.
And Jim can see how that might be enough to drive just about anyone a little bit crazy.
Jim laughs as his back slams against Bones’ closed door and Kyle (or is it Kevin?) presses up into him, grinding their hips together. Kyle (Kyan?) goes for his mouth, but Jim ducks away.
“No, come on,” he says, still grinning. “We have to get inside.”
He wrestles Kyle (Keith, maybe?) into a position reversal, pushing him back against the door and groping with one hand while he keys in the room code with his other.
“He is going to love you,” Jim says, as the door slides open against Kyle’s (Kenan’s?) back and they all but tumble into the room together. They’ve had enough drinks to find it funny, but not so many that they fall on their asses.
Bones is in his chair, reading something off his PADD. He looks up as they balance themselves, Jim’s arm slung over Kyle’s (possibly Kenneth’s) shoulders. “Hey, Bones, this is…um, Kyle?”
“Kurt,” Kurt says.
“Right. Sorry.” Jim shrugs. “Anyway, Kurt, this is Bones.”
Bones is looking Kurt over and Jim is waiting anxiously, because sometimes Bones comes along to the bar to pick the person out and sometimes he just sends Jim with parameters, but this time it was just, “Find someone you think I’ll like,” and Jim tried hard and he really wants to have gotten it right.
Like a lot.
Like a stupid amount.
Kurt shifts his weight under the scrutiny and looks back at Bones. “Um…nice to meet you?”
Bones says nothing.
Jim looks at Kurt and waves a hand in Bones’ direction. “Oh, he doesn’t talk.”
“At all?” Kurt asks.
“Not to you,” Jim says, turning back to Bones.
Bones nods, once. “Nice job, Jim.”
Jim beams.
Bones looks back down at his PADD, taps at the screen a few times, looks up again. “Y’all can go roll around on the bed a bit, get to know each other. But lose the shoes. Shirts, too.”
Christ. Jim has no idea how Bones manages to make disinterest so fucking sexy.
Jim kicks off his boots and waits for Kurt to the do same before tugging him toward the bed. Kurt lets himself be pulled but looks back again at Bones. “So, he’s just going to watch?”
Jim strips off his shirt and then drops down onto the bed, leaning back on his elbows. “He’ll probably make a few suggestions, too.” Jim smiles. “Trust me, it’ll be hot.”
Kurt shrugs. “If you say so.” He peels off his own shirt and follows Jim down.
Bones does make a few suggestions.
It is hot.
“You sure he doesn’t want to join in?” Kurt asks - well, moans - and not for the first time.
“Sorry, man.”
“Shit. I mean, that voice.”
Jim’s groan is heartfelt. “Believe me, I know.”
“So, you and him…?”
The question catches Jim by surprise. So does the hand down the back of his open pants, one finger of which is teasing at his asshole. “Oh, um…we’re just friends.”
It sounds a little weird, even to Jim’s ears, but whatever Kurt might make of the statement is lost to posterity when Bones issues his next directive.
“Lean against the desk, Jim, and show him your cock. Let him suck you off.”
Jim doesn’t hesitate to comply, and once he gets his dick out of his pants, Kurt becomes a lot less distracted by Bones.
He gives Jim his full attention.
Jim’s still smirking smugly when he comes.
The smirk lasts right on through the handjob Jim delivers in return and up until they’re both dressed again, with Kurt on his way out. Up until Kurt pauses as he’s passing Bones’ chair and says, “I would really love to blow you.”
Right up until Bones shrugs and says, “Sure.”
Kurt sinks to his knees and Bones just reaches down and opens his fucking pants.
Jim’s jaw drops at about the same time as Kurt’s.
He feels a rush of heat, an absence of breathable air.
“Wait,” Jim finally says, as Kurt swallows Bones down. “What?”
Bones looks up at him as he threads his fingers through Kurt’s hair. “Stay or go, Jim,” he says. “But if you’re staying, sit down and be quiet.”
And somehow Jim isn’t ready to go, so he sits down on the edge of the bed and watches Bones get a blowjob.
“Everything alright there, Jim?” Bones asks the following evening from across the table in one of their usual bars.
“Fine,” Jim mutters. Even though it’s not. Even though he’d rather not be here. Even though he spent the whole day in a bad mood and he doesn’t even know why. Because it’s Saturday night and they have plans, damn it, and the hell Jim’s going to let Bones get out of them so he can just go off and…do something else. “I’m fine.”
Bones raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question Jim further, just takes another sip of his bourbon and nods. “Sure. ’Course you are.”
They finish the drinks in front of them in silence and order another round.
“The woman at the far end of the bar is staring at you,” Bones says.
Jim turns his head until he can see her out of the corner of his eye. “She’s in my Flight and Nav seminar.”
“She’s pretty,” Bones says. “Nice curves. You ever noticed her before?”
“Yes, I guess.” Jim shrugs. “I mean, there was this one day when-You know what?” Jim says suddenly. “Who cares?”
Bones’ brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“She’s just anoth-” Jim cuts himself off and sighs. Okay, so maybe he does know why. “Look, I’ve been doing whatever you want. For, like, months.”
“Yes, Jim, I’ve noticed.”
Bones sounds so calm that Jim just wants to grab his shoulders and shake him. Or kiss him. Whatever. Both. “So?” he demands instead.
“So…?”
Shake him. Definitely shake him. “So why don’t you-?” He is not whining. Really. “I mean, don’t you want anything…more?”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Jesus, Bones.” Okay, so he may be whining. “I’m right here.”
Bones just looks across the table for a few seconds, as if to assess the truth of Jim’s words. Like he hasn’t just stated the fucking obvious.
He nods, slowly, smiling. “So you are.”
The smile just about does Jim in, but he’s still mad, damn it. “You let that guy blow you,” he grumbles.
“So?”
“So…” Jim feels it all over again, just like last night. The rush of heat, the lack of air. This time, he recognizes it for what it was, is. Jealousy. “So it should have been me.”
Bones’ gaze is steady and annoyingly unapologetic. “He asked.”
“So that’s what you’ve been waiting for?” Jim’s waving his hands around and if he’s not careful he’ll probably spill his beer, but fuck if he cares. “I was just supposed to ask you if I could blow you?”
“If that’s what you wanted.”
“I didn’t know that was what I wanted!” Their glasses rattle as Jim slaps both hands down on the table, gripping its edge as he glares at Bones.
“So you didn’t know, but I was supposed to?”
Jim ignores the dry tone and the raised eyebrow and looks straight into Bones’ eyes. “You totally did, though, didn’t you? The same way you know every other fucking thing that’s going on in my head. You could have said something, you know. I mean, hey, following your orders, here.”
Bones looks straight back at him. “Some things you have to decide for yourself, Jim.”
Jim notes that it’s not a denial.
He holds Bones’ gaze for another few seconds. “Fine, then, I’ve decided,” he says. “Let’s go.”
He pushes his chair back from the table and stands up.
Bones doesn’t. “Not so fast, Jim. Sit down.”
Jim snorts. “You call this fast?”
Bones just looks at him, waiting.
Jim sits down.
Bones stands up. “I’m going to head back to campus.” He tilts his head toward the end of the bar. “You go pick up that girl from your Flight and Nav seminar and-”
“What?” Jim jumps back up from his chair and gets a hand on Bones’ arm. “Bones. You wanted me to ask and I asked.”
Bones chuckles and pats Jim’s hand where it rests against his bicep. “You really didn’t ask, Jimmy.”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m asking. I really want you. A lot, okay? Now can we please go back to your place?”
Bones shakes his head. “We’re gonna to have to work on your begging, too.” He picks his jacket up off the back of his chair. Jim’s hand falls from his arm as he shrugs it on. “You are coming back to my place,” he says. “And you’re bringing that girl with you.”
Jim takes a breath, ready to argue, but Bones’ next words stop him short.
“I told you you had to decide what you wanted from me, Jim. Never said you’d get any say in how I choose to give it to you.”
They say sex is like pizza. Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.
Which is good.
Not that Radha, from Jim’s Flight and Nav seminar, is bad.
She’s good.
It’s just that Jim is a little distracted at the moment, which would be bad, except, well….
Jim likes sex.
And Jim likes pizza.
And, apparently, Jim really, really likes being bossed around by Bones.
Radha doesn’t seem to think it’s so bad, either.
So it’s all good.
All good and not all that short.
Like Bones has Radha go down on Jim. And then Bones has Jim go down on Radha. And then there are a few other neat tricks that Jim’s really going to have to remember, but are probably mostly to kill time, because just as soon as Jim’s able, Bones is instructing him on how to fuck Radha. Which he does.
Wondering all the while when exactly Bones nailed down his refractory period.
See? Distracted.
But Bones has the whole program under control and by the time Jim comes for his second time, Radha has come for her fourth. Jim collapses face-first onto the bed and Bones tell him to stay put. Meanwhile, Bones actually talks to Radha, inviting her to get dressed and escorting her to the door. It slides shut behind her.
And then there are two.
Taking care to exert the least amount of effort humanly possible, Jim lets his head fall slightly to the right so as to enable one eye to see something besides pillow.
He can see Bones now, turning away from the door and back towards the bed and looking…intent.
“Please tell me you’re not going to make me move,” Jim mumbles, words muffled by the way his jaw is still half buried in bed linens.
“I’m not going to make you move.”
Jim murmurs his approval and watches as Bones begins to strip off his clothes.
Somewhere around the time when Bones takes his shirt by the hem and pulls it off over his head in one long, smooth motion, Jim decides he’d better turn his head a little bit more, make sure he has full use of both eyes.
Somewhere around the time when Bones pushes his pants down past the thin, clingy cotton of his pale blue boxer-briefs, Jim decides he is a complete fucking idiot.
“Shit,” Jim moans, as Bones steps out of pants and hooks his thumbs under the pale blue waistband, “I am such a fucking idiot.”
Bones shrugs and the boxer-briefs fall to his ankles. “You figured it out eventually.”
Jim thinks he may be drooling on Bones’ pillow.
Bones crosses the room, leaving Jim’s field of vision as he walks around the back of the bed. Post-orgasmic languor or no, Jim figures a finally-naked Bones is definitely worth turning onto his back for. He starts to shift his limbs…
“Didn’t I tell you to stay put, Jim?”
Fuck, that voice.
Jim lets his limbs fall slack again. He hears what sounds like the drawer to the nightstand, but it’s on the other side of the bed than the one he’s currently facing and he’s not sure if moving his head would count as staying put, so he doesn’t. He feels a slight depression on that side of the bed, knows Bones must be sitting there even before he feels a broad hand settle itself between his shoulder blades and slowly smooth its way down his back.
It’s the simplest, most straight-forward of touches.
It sends waves of aching need through Jim’s body.
The hand reaches Jim’s ass and immediately begins a much more thorough exploration - rubbing, squeezing, cupping, pinching. Meanwhile, another hand lands on Jim’s right calf, tugging at it until Jim’s legs are well and truly spread.
The hands leave and Jim can feel the bed shifting again. He can see Bones now, out of the corner of his eye, kneeling back at the end of the bed between Jim’s legs. When the hand returns to his ass, the fingers are slick against his skin and aiming much lower.
Jim groans. “Bones, you do know that there’s no way in hell I’m getting it up again right now?”
“I know,” Bones says, as a single finger presses slowly inside, “that no one has ever been here before. Not like this.”
Jim can feel the sparking of his nerve endings.
“I know,” Bones continues, withdrawing the one finger and pressing back in with two, “that right now you are totally relaxed, perfectly pliant, and completely mine.”
Jim squirms, hips pushing into the mattress, and it’s strange to feel his flaccid cock rubbing against the sheet as the fingers withdraw again.
“And I know,” Bones concludes, sliding his thumbs up the insides of Jim’s thighs and then straight into Jim, spreading him open, “that I want to fuck you right here, just like this. Any objections?”
Jim can’t think of a single one.
It burns a little, and he feels almost uncomfortably full. His knees have been pushed up far too close to his shoulders, and Jim knows that he’s not going to get an orgasm for it all in the end, but Bones really must be an evil genius, because somehow Jim doesn’t care.
Bones is moving above him, inside him. Their sweat mingles where their skin meets.
And somehow, in this moment, that’s everything.
Afterwards, Jim drifts. Maybe he sleeps, maybe he doesn’t. Bones’ arm is warm and heavy across his back.
Jim is definitely drooling into the pillow.
His eyes flutter open and Bones’ face is right there, smiling at him.
Jim blinks and lifts a hand to wipe away the drool, rolls beneath Bones’ arm until he’s lying face up.
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm,” Bones says, non-committal but so obviously guilty as charged.
“How did you even know I’d be into it?”
He feels Bones’ shrug against his own shoulder. “It’s just…a sense. You get an inkling, you test it out. See what happens.”
“So, what? Like you’ve you done this before? Like you just go around looking for guys to…” Jim frowns. “I mean, weren’t you married? How many times have you…?”
Bones shifts his arm, running a possessive palm down Jim’s torso, trailing tickling fingers up the center of Jim’s chest. “It’s not every day someone like you comes along.”
Jim turns his head and they’re face to face. They share a lazy kiss. Their first.
Their lips fall away from each other, after a minute.
“That’s not actually an answer, you know,” Jim says.
He can feel Bones’ breath against his ear. “It’s the one you’re going to get.”
They lapse into silence and lie like that for long minutes, listening to each other breathe.
Jim hears his own staccato inhale. “So what happens now?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I thought it was whatever you want.”
He hears the huff in Bones’ exhale. “C’mon, Jim. You’re smarter than that.”
Yeah, Jim guesses he is. “Fine. So you gonna give me the rules and a safeword and shit?”
Jim can feel the gentle rumble in Bones’ chest as Bones slides his arm around Jim’s waist and uses it to pull Jim back against him so they spoon.
“I can do that,” Bones says. “You ask me again tomorrow, when your head’s nice and clear.”
Bones’ palm is flat against Jim’s stomach. Jim brings his own hand to rest on top of it.
“Deal.”
Read the (much pornier) sequel: Twelve Days (a.k.a. The Epic Holiday-Themed Porn).
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17
Words: 8,050
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my world. All gains are purely spiritual in nature.
Warnings: Expect Jim to get a lot from men and women who are not Bones and Bones to get a little from someone who is not Jim. Also, D/s themes.
Summary: In the beginning, there are bars, booze, babes and Bones. And lo, it is good. Then things start to change. And lo, it gets a whole lot better.
Author's Note: Written for km_anthology for the prompt 'one fucking the other while the other is soft.' The sequel to this fic already exists: Twelve Days (a.k.a. The Epic Holiday-Themed Porn). I owe a debt of wit to shitmydadsays, from which I stole/adapted the following: [1], [2], [3].Thanks to both cordelianne and graceandfire for moral support and beta on demand!
About ten minutes after they meet on the shuttle, Leonard McCoy does throw up on Jim.
And on the way back from cleaning up in the bathroom, Jim makes a very important decision: This man - this grumpy, unshaven aviophobe with the hip flask and the crazy eyes - this man shall be his wingman.
There are, of course, plenty of good reasons for this decision.
For one thing, Jim’s pretty sure that, under normal circumstances, the man can hold his liquor, which means that, barring future shuttle rides, he’s unlikely to throw up on Jim again.
For another thing, the fact that he’s already thrown on up Jim really just means that he won’t be able to get too pissed later on when Jim throws up on him, in a bar or an alley somewhere, which is inevitable.
Furthermore, he’s a doctor, which means that when Jim gets in a fight with some girl’s boyfriend and his hulking posse - also inevitable - there will be someone qualified on hand to patch him up.
Then there’s the fact that he’s sarcastic, sullen and kind of surly, which makes it unlikely that Jim’s intended conquests will go for him instead.
And finally, there’s the fact that he’s sarcastic, sharp and super smart, which makes it unlikely that Jim will get bored with him in less than a week, the way Jim has with pretty much every other person Jim’s ever met.
Yes, Jim decides, this man shall be my wingman, and I shall call him…Bones.
And Jim nods to himself because it fits and because no self-respecting person under the age of fifty would ever saddle himself with a wingman named Leonard.
Jim sits with his decision for a while as their conversation lapses into comfortable silence, and then, ten minutes before the shuttle lands, he turns and makes his pronouncement. “Bones,” he says, “you shall be my wingman.”
“Bones?” Bones asks, raising an eyebrow.
Jim nods and shoots him a winning smile, and when Bones doesn’t find anything further to say on the subject, Jim knows that he’s made the right choice.
He’s long since learned to take silence as permission.
In retrospect, the problem is that Jim was just too used to getting his way with people and didn’t think to ask himself why it was so easy.
In retrospect, the problem is that Jim underestimated his new acquaintance.
In retrospect, the problem is that even though Jim had Bones figured right on all the counts he’d bothered to count, the real reason Jim chose Bones was a look in Bones’ eyes that Jim had never seen before, or at least not aimed at himself - a look that said, Come on in.
In retrospect, the problem is that Jim failed to recognize just who was the spider and who was the fly.
In retrospect, there is no problem.
Not really.
In the beginning, there are bars.
And in these bars there is beer and bourbon and a bevy of beautiful women.
And there’s Bones, always Bones, the best of buddies, who buys the bourbon and sometimes the beer, and who always, always has Jim’s back - whether that back is bowed over a table where Jim lies beaten and bruised or bent over the bathroom toilet as Jim brings his beer or bourbon back into the world.
In the beginning, there are bars, booze, babes and Bones.
And lo, it is good.
And Jim knows it is good and he smiles across the table at his handiwork.
And then he smiles across the bar at the busty brunette whom he hopes to be handling, slides out of his chair and goes to work.
And lo, she’s good, too.
“Come on, what about that one? She’s gorgeous.”
Bones doesn’t even bother to follow Jim’s line of sight. “I’m fine,” he says.
And Jim sighs, because this, he has decided, is not good.
This being the fact that Bones shows no interest whatsoever in getting laid. Because in Jim’s experience, a sexually satisfied wingman is a generous and reliable wingman - a wingman who can be counted on to occasionally take one for the team. Not that Bones has been anything but totally reliable in the wingman department in the three weeks since the shuttle, but hey, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, or something like that, and you’d think the good doctor could get behind that sentiment.
“Bones, you didn’t even look at her…”
Bones glances up from his bourbon and across the bar. He nods. “Yes, Jim, she is indeed attractive.” He takes another drink. “And I’m doing fine right here.”
“I don’t get it, Bones. I mean, what? You think she’s out of your league or something? Because that’s totally the wrong attitude. You let the women figure out why they won't fuck you, you don't do it for them."
Bones rolls his eyes. “Contrary to your illusions of grandeur, kid, you’re not the only person here who can pick up a woman in a bar.”
Jim grins. “Oooh,” he teases, “Bones has secret game. C’mon, let’s see it.”
“One-night stands are your thing, Jim, and you’re welcome to them. Some of us prefer to take a longer view.”
Jim laughs. “Man, you’re so conventional. Not everything has to be all candy and flowers. You gotta learn to loosen up, Bones. Follow my lead. Be adventurous.”
Much to Jim’s disappointment, Bones doesn’t rise to the bait, just takes another drink of his bourbon and shrugs. “Whatever you say, Jim.”
By the sixth week of their acquaintance, Jim is forced to admit (if only to himself) that it may be time to at least consider the possibility that Bones does, in fact, have secret game.
The first hint comes out of the blue.
See sometimes when Jim talks, he’s not so much talking to Bones as using Bones’ proximity to him to avoid the appearance of talking to himself. Especially when he’s been drinking.
And it works for them.
Because Jim gets to sort through difficult quandaries, and Bones gets to ignore Jim - which seems to be one of his favorite pastimes. Like sudoku.
It’s win-win.
So there Jim is, wondering out loud whether he should just seal the deal with the woman he’s been exchanging glances with for the last half hour - not much of a challenge but a comfortably sure thing - or if he should make yet another attempt with the smoking hot cadet from his Warp Engineering class who just walked in but has turned him down flat the last ten times he’s tried to get a date with her and will probably do so again. He guesses he could try with her and hope that, after he strikes out, the other woman will still be interested, but some girls are weird about that kind of thing, which Jim thinks is silly because it’s not like JTK doesn’t give whatever woman he’s with his absolute attention once things get going, no matter whether she started off as his first choice for the evening or his fifth.
Love the one you’re with, that’s his motto.
You know, in the looser sense of that word.
So he’s just kind of rambling, sorting things out for himself, considering procrastinating with another beer.
Bones’ words take him completely by surprise.
“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person, Jim. That’s the definition of an asshole.” Okay, not those words, but the ones that come after that: “Go for the girl from your class. She just got out of something complicated and she’s looking for a good time. She’s only going to need to do that once, though, so if you don’t move quick, you’ll miss your chance. You don’t catch her tonight, she’ll be over the urge. The other one will be annoyed that you passed her over, but she’ll have forgotten by the next time she sees you.”
“Wait. What?” Jim blinks at him for a minute. “She never mentioned something complicated.”
“Don’t ask her to leave with you,” Bones says. “Just go talk to her about the class and wait until she asks you.”
Jim shakes his head. “Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Then how do you-?”
“Better hurry, Jim.”
“Uh…” Jim says.
“Go on.”
So Jim goes. But only because he wants to and was going to anyway. And, yeah, he ends up following Bones’ instructions, but only out of curiosity. So what if it works like a charm? As he leaves Cadet Sattar’s room a few hours later, he decides to chalk it up to coincidence.
When he goes home with the other woman from the bar later in the week - all smiles despite the glare she flashed Jim that other night - Jim revises his assessment to beginner’s luck.
In retrospect, that was the second hint.
A few more nights pass and Jim’s inner dialogue still isn’t inner, but Bones doesn’t weigh in, just sips his bourbon and pretends Jim isn’t speaking.
Business as usual.
Except it’s slowly driving Jim crazy.
When he cracks, he tells himself it’s in the name of science. Hypotheses were made to be tested.
“Okay, fine then,” Jim blurts, as if Bones has been badgering him and not just sitting there quietly, which is sort of like badgering - if you squint.
“Jim?”
“Blonde or brunette?” Jim demands.
“Brunette,” Bones says. “The blonde has daddy issues.”
“Woman at the bar or woman in the booth?”
“Well, the one in the booth will take you home with her…”
“Sweet.”
“But the one at the bar will follow you to the bathroom.”
Score.
“Woman in green or woman in black?”
“Both.”
“Like at the same time? Seriously?”
“Won’t know until you try.”
Jim does.
Turns out, Bones totally has secret game.
Of course, the scientific method also dictates that Jim spend an evening doing the exact opposite of what Bones suggests.
Bones says short hair, Jim goes long hair.
Bones says come on strong, Jim plays it cool.
Bones says, “Don’t even think about it,” Jim puts on the JTK swagger and tells the bartender to put the lady’s drink on his tab.
The lady laughs in Jim’s face and the lady’s girlfriend puts her fist through Jim’s nose.
It bleeds like a motherfucker, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t broken. He looks around for Bones to confirm his diagnosis, but their table is empty.
Jim goes home alone.
Fuck the scientific method.
The thing is, Jim is command track. And if there’s one thing a great leader always knows, it’s how to recognize and utilize his resources. So it is that, on the eighth week of their acquaintance - nay, their epic partnership - Jim vows to trust in his wingman.
It’s a restless sort of evening. Jim thinks he’d maybe rather fight than fuck, but he’s been trying to cut back, get respectable and all. Or at least keep up appearances.
He manages to sit almost still long enough to down a drink or two, brings the third with him as he takes a turn around the bar. He drops back into his chair about twenty minutes later. His leg bounces under the table. His fingers tap against one of the empties.
“Okay, now this is a tough one. Sexy and funny older sister or sexy and brainy younger sister?” Jim pauses, ponders. “Or both?” he adds. In Jim’s experience, no matter how hot the sisters, it’s almost never worth all the drama, but he needs something tonight and he feels certain Bones will not lead him astray.
“Neither,” Bones says. “Him.”
And so much for certainty.
Jim follows Bones’ gaze to a man sitting at the bar. The man turns and their eyes meet and hold for a moment, but Jim breaks contact before there can be a misunderstanding. He turns back to frown at Bones. Not that the guy is bad looking, but…
“Um, Bones, you know I don’t usually…”
“But you have before.”
It’s not exactly phrased as a question, but Jim nods anyway. “Once or twice,” he confirms. “Back in Iowa.”
But, really, who hasn’t these days? And that’s not the point.
“Look, there’s nothing wrong with it or anything, it’s just not my primary preference is all. There must be at least one woman in this bar tonight who wants to fuck me.”
“Plenty of women in this bar tonight want to fuck you, Jimmy.” Bones’ voice is low and sure. “But not one of them wants it as much as he wants to get his pretty little mouth around your dick.”
Jim’s grip on his glass tightens as Bones continues.
“He doesn’t want you to buy him a drink. He doesn’t want to chat. He doesn’t want to be your boyfriend. He doesn’t even care if you get him off. He can do that himself. All he really wants is to follow you into the back alley, get down on his knees, take out your cock, and swallow it whole.”
Jim glances back toward the bar. The man is looking at him again. This time Jim holds the gaze.
“He doesn’t want you to be gentle, either,” Bones is saying. “He wants you to hold him down, pull his hair, fuck his face. He wants you to come down his throat. If it makes him choke, he’ll like it.”
Jim swallows.
“You want that, too, don’t you, Jimmy?”
Jim nods, eyes still locked with the man’s.
“Then go and get it.”
Jim goes.
And comes so hard he almost blacks out.
Jim stands up and tilts his head toward the bar. “I’m getting another beer, you want anything?”
“Yeah,” Bones says. “Get me a Maker’s Mark.”
Jim finds his way to the bar, waits his turn, has a short, but very promising exchange with the buxom new bartender, and returns to the table.
“New bartender,” Jim says, setting Bones’ bourbon in front of him.
Bones glances in that direction. “Mmm,” he says.
Jim raises an eyebrow. “She told me she’s going on break in a minute.”
“Uh huh.” Bones lifts his glass to take a sip and immediately pulls a face, setting the drink back on the table, pushing it to arm’s length, and scowling at it for good measure. “What the fuck is that?”
“Maker’s Mark.”
“The hell it is.”
Jim thinks back, trying to remember the words that were passing by his ears while his eyes were down the bartender’s cleavage. “Oh, right,” Jim says, “she put a splash of something in it. Maybe Cardassian tonic water? Seven Up? I don’t know. She said you’d like it.”
"Jesus Christ,” Bones mutters. “Might as well put a lil' fucking umbrella in it."
Jim rolls his eyes. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. Get the other bartender to get you a new one. On me. New bartender is going on break now and she promised to show me the stockroom.”
“The hell she will,” Bones says. “You cannot have sex with that woman.”
Jim laughs. “Pretty sure I can, Bones. She wasn’t exactly subtle.”
“I’m not saying she won’t fuck you, Jim. I’m saying she’s a philistine.”
“Whatever.” Jim shakes his head, still smiling, but Bones doesn’t smile back. Jim looks to the bar and finds the bartender staring at him, obviously waiting. Jim looks back at Bones and points a thumb in her direction. “Look, she’s waiting. I’ll be right back…okay?”
Jim’s not really sure where the question comes from, but he finds himself waiting for an answer.
“Do what you want, Jim,” Bones says finally. “I’m gonna head back to the dorms now. I’ve got a study session tomorrow.”
Jim frowns. “It’ll only be…”
He trails off as Bones shrugs on his jacket and starts for the door. Some part of him wants to tell Bones not to go, to promise he’ll blow off the bartender and find someone who’ll meet with Bones’ approval - but that’s silly. She’s hot and ready and waiting for him.
And it’s not like Bones is in charge of Jim’s sex life.
Upon reflection, it is sort of like Bones is in charge Jim’s sex life.
Huh, Jim thinks, as the stockroom door closes behind him.
Like there’s the whole thing where Bones has been helping Jim decide between potential pick-ups for weeks and weeks now.
The bartender turns around to face Jim, pushing up on his shirt until Jim reaches down and pulls it off over his own head.
And then there’s the part where sometimes Bones just totally ignores the options Jim presents, and tells him to go for someone else entirely.
The bartender yanks her own shirt off, then steps forward to press her breasts against Jim’s chest, arms wrapping around his neck and she pulls him down into a kiss.
And don’t forget the part where sometimes the someone Bones chooses turns out to be a guy - which Jim didn’t think he was all that into - but Jim’ll fuck him anyway. And like it.
Because Bones told him to.
And because Bones sounded so damn good when he was telling Jim to.
And that’s another whole thing. A recent thing. The thing where Bones isn’t just telling Jim who, he’s telling Jim how.
Same three letters, whole different ballgame.
The bartender bites Jim’s bottom lip and Jim realizes he kind of forgot about her there for a second, but hopes she didn’t notice. He’s ready for her now, anyway. More than ready. Hitching her legs up around his hips, he walks them both deeper into the room, until her back hits a stack of boxes. He fumbles with both their waistbands, moving to the soundtrack of every set of detailed instructions Bones has given him over the past couple of weeks replaying in his head.
“Sit down next to her in the booth and finger her under the table while she’s still talking to her friends….”
“Go out back, get him on his knees, but don’t let him touch you. Make him watch you jerk off and then come on his face….”
“Bet you anything she hates missionary. Go back to her place and make her love it….”
“That one looks like he does his best work when he can take his time. You’re gonna wanna bring him back to your place. You ever let a man fuck you?” Jim remembers shaking his head. He remembers Bones’ slow nod and, shit, had there been a hint of a smile? He should have been paying closer attention. “Then tell him he can have anything he wants, Jimmy, except for that.”
Jim rocks against the bartender, grips her hips tighter, feels her breathy moans against his ear.
He remembers that night. Remembers the things - fucking wonderful things - he let that guy do just because Bones told him to. Remembers wondering why the hell he hadn’t done them all a thousand times before.
It feels like the bartender’s getting close now, but Jim’s pretty sure he’s closer. He reaches down to help her along, feels her tightening around him.
Okay, so, upon reflection, it’s exactly like Bones is in charge of Jim’s sex life.
This, Jim acknowledges, suddenly and probably belatedly, is not at all normal.
On the other hand, it’s really fucking hot.
Jim comes so hard he thinks he sees stars.
Of course, just because Jim’s figured out what’s going on doesn’t mean Jim’s figured out what’s going on.
He’s got the what and he’s living its whereby, but he’s sorely lacking in a whence, any sort of wherefore, and above all, the whither.
Then again, what does it matter? Overthinking isn’t exactly in Jim’s nature.
Loves to leap without looking. Casts caution and consequences to the wind. Et cetera, et cetera.
It’s his calling card.
So what if Jim’s relationship with his wingman isn’t exactly conventional? The madness of the Jim Kirk method relies on the rejection of any and all rules.
Or you know, Jim just playing by his own.
Of course, if there’s one thing Jim has figured out about this particular game, it’s that it’s all about the rules. And that the maker of those rules is Bones.
But, hey, he can work with that.
In the end, Jim develops a two pronged strategy.
The first prong - for when they’re just hanging out around campus - involves compartmentalizing. Bones-his-friend and Bones-his-wingman-so-the-fuck-doesn’t-cover-it-anymore are two entirely separate entities as far as Jim’s concerned.
The second prong - starting three nights later when they’re out at the bar again for the first time since Jim’s epiphany - involves going with the flow.
Bones gets the table, Jim gets the drinks.
Jim sits down and slides Bones’ drink - Maker’s Mark and only Maker’s Mark - across the table. He takes a long pull of his own pint, sets it back down in front of himself and looks over to meet Bones’ eyes.
“Okay,” Jim says.
Bones lifts an eyebrow. “Okay?”
Jim nods. “Okay.”
Bones regards him for a moment before nodding in return. “Okay.”
They shoot the shit for a little while as they take in the scene. Jim doesn’t bother making the circuit or coming up with any options, just drinks his beer and waits for Bones to make his choice.
Bones makes his choice.
Jim makes eye contact with Bones’ choice and holds it.
The man smiles his acceptance of Jim’s offer, but Jim doesn’t stand up. He waits for Bones’ instructions.
Bones gives his instructions.
Jim carries them out.
And so it goes.
Business as usual, except that Jim’s finally gotten the memo.
And as hot as it was to follow Bones’ suggestions, it was nothing compared to following Bones’ orders.
Jim’s having the best sex of his life and starting to wonder how he ever lived without it.
Jim keys his way into Bones’ room with a smile on his face. It’s been a long week and he is so ready to blow off some steam.
“Sorry, Jim,” Bones says from his desk, not even bothering to turn around, “I can’t go out tonight. I have to study.”
Jim just blinks at Bones’ back. “But it’s Friday.”
Weeknights they play it by ear, depending on homework and Bones’ clinic schedule, but Friday and Saturday nights are standing engagements.
Bones turns to look at Jim, rolling his eyes. “Tell that to my Xenohema professor. You wouldn’t believe all the shit she expects us to know by Monday.”
“But…” On a weeknight, when wheedling is often necessary, Jim would have come prepared. Tonight he is not wheedle-ready. “But…”
“Look, just go on without me. Someone should have some actual fun this weekend.”
“Weekend?”
Bones sighs. “I’ll try to get enough done to make it Saturday night, but I can’t make any promises.”
“But how will I…?”
“You managed well enough in the past, Jim, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Besides, you could probably use a little break.”
Jim opens his mouth, protest on the tip of his tongue, but closes it again favor of not sounding completely fucking pathetic.
Here he is about to beg his best friend to go with him to a bar because he’s-what? Afraid he doesn’t remember how to have a good time and get laid?
He’s James T. Kirk, damn it.
He’d sooner forget how to breathe.
Okay, so it’s not like Jim’s actually forgotten how to breathe. More like he’s just too bored to bother with the air in this bar.
The air.
The music.
The people.
Boring, boring, boring.
He looks around and all he wants to do is yawn.
He looks across the table and pouts at the empty chair.
Even the drinks are boring, but that doesn’t stop Jim from flagging down a waitress and ordering his sixth. His eyes drop to her breasts out of habit, but his ogle is half-hearted at best. She smiles at Jim over her shoulder as she walks away, a swing in her hips. She’s really not bad and Jim’s eyes follow her for a few seconds before he turns back to the table to find out what, if anything, Bones wants him to do about it.
Only Bones isn’t there.
Just the same empty chair. This time Jim scowls at it.
The waitress returns with his beer, setting it in front of him on the table, and Jim means to say something nice, ask her when she finishes her shift, but instead he just nods his thanks and turns back to his beer, picking it up and downing half in one swallow.
He stares at the half-empty glass.
Five minutes later, he downs the rest and leaves.
The sixth beer really kicks in on the shuttle back to campus. He gets off at the stop for Bones’ dorm without really thinking about it. The stupid keypad won’t stay still long enough for Jim to enter the code, which he’s almost positive he remembers, so he chimes instead.
The door slides open and Bones is standing on the other side.
“I don’t need a break,” Jim declares, loudly.
Bones grabs his arm and pulls him in from the hall. “Okay,” he says, returning to sit at his desk.
“Okay,” Jim repeats, nodding as he stands in the middle of the room.
He so obviously won.
He is triumphant.
Triumphant takes a sharp left turn into dizzy and slightly nauseated, and Jim lunges for the bed.
“I think I’ll just sit down for a minute.”
He lays himself out. Bones’ pillow is soft and cool.
It’s the middle of the night and Jim is not in his own bed.
Two facts Jim can sense without even opening his eyes.
Two facts that call for an exit strategy.
His brain is already at work as he cracks an eyelid to find out exactly who is lying next to him.
Bones.
Oh.
Jim’s brain shuts down. He rolls over and goes back to sleep.
When Jim wakes again, Bones is fixing breakfast. It smells awesome. As Jim rolls off the bed, he realizes he’s mostly still dressed, and that his head hurts.
“Sorry about last night,” he mutters as he crosses the room. He gropes for the steaming cup of coffee on Bones’ table…and almost spills it as some bastard jams a hypospray into his neck. “Fuck,” he yelps. “Bones!”
“Dehydration is no laughing matter,” Bones says, setting a plate down in front of him. “Now shut up and eat your food.”
Jim spends about two seconds weighing the merits of further complaining against the smell of the food in front of him.
He shuts up and eats.
“Good,” Bones says, as Jim polishes off the last bite. “Now get out. I have exactly two hours to study before my clinic shift.”
When Bones gets back from his clinic shift, Jim is waiting for him. On his bed.
As the door slides open, Jim hops up, clapping his hands together. “C’mon, Bones,” he says. “Put on a clean shirt and let’s get out here.”
Bones sighs and shakes his head at Jim, but does start stripping off his shirt. “One of these days, we’re really going to have to teach you some patience,” he says, almost to himself.
Something about the words sends a little shiver down through the base of Jim’s spine. Or maybe it’s the play of muscles across Bones’ broad, bare back and chest as he tugs on a tee shirt…. Whatever.
Jim shakes it off.
He’s horny. Has been since he got to Bones’ room and starting thinking about going out tonight. Hell, Bones is lucky Jim didn’t jerk off on his bed. Which, by the way, is totally a testament to Jim’s patience, but he’ll let the comment slide.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jim says. “Hurry up. Drink specials wait for no man.”
“Jim, I can’t go with you.” Bones gestures toward the PADD on his desk. “I need to get further with this crap.” Jim starts to object, but Bones holds up a hand. “But,” he continues, “I want you to go ahead without me and-”
Jim cuts him off with a sigh. “Fine, whatever.” So he doesn’t get laid tonight. He’ll live. “Look, I’ll just stay here and help you-”
“You’re not listening to me, Jim.” Bones takes a step forward. “I said, I want you to go-”
“And I said I don’t want a break.” Jim takes a step of his own.
“And I’m not giving you a break.” They’re less than a meter apart now and something in Bones’ tone - like honey dripped over titanium - makes Jim stop and meet his gaze. “If you want me to tell you what to do, Jim, you’re going to have to let me finish my sentence.”
Jim’s breath catches in his throat. He nods.
“Thank you,” Bones says. “You like doing what I say, don’t you, Jim?”
Jim’s not exactly sure he likes admitting it this way, but it is true. He nods again.
“Okay, then, this is what I’m telling you to do. I want you to go ahead without me,” Bones repeats. “And when you get to the bar, I want you to find someone you like, doesn’t matter who-” Jim opens his mouth to protest “-and then I want you to bring that person back here. To my room.”
Jim’s mouth freezes in its half-open position. His throat goes dry.
“Now you make sure whoever it is knows exactly what’s going to happen and is okay with it,” Bones continues. “We don’t want to scare anyone.”
Jim closes his mouth, swallows. “What exactly is going to happen?”
Bones smiles, just a little. “You’re going to let me watch.”
Bones, evil genius that he is, doesn’t so much watch the action as direct it.
Axelle, a sharp and stunning interpreter for some diplomatic delegation she’s declined to disclose, isn’t so much okay with Bones being there as completely fucking turned on by it.
And Jim, who’s really always been a bit of an exhibitionist if you think about it, doesn’t so much agree with this sentiment as experience it coursing wildly through every vein and nerve of his body.
In other words, a good time is had by all.
A good time is had by several more people in the following week.
Including, Jim assumes, Bones.
Even if it’s kind of hard to tell.
He’s got a chair set up in the corner with a full view of the bed - along with several other pieces of standard-issue furniture that he’s had Jim put to good use - and he’s always sitting in it when Jim gets there and never moves from it during their little scenes. One or two of Jim’s co-stars for the night try asking Bones if he wants to join in - and Jim kinda doesn’t think he’d mind - but Bones doesn’t answer them. Not even to decline.
He’ll only talk to Jim.
And only to give direction.
It’s hard for Jim to wrap his head around - the idea that anyone could really be so content to look and not touch.
Jim is a tactile being.
Fucking, fighting - it’s all about touch. Friendship, too. Jim touches his friend Bones all the time. But this other Bones - this mysterious sex god with the secret game who seems to live inside Jim’s id - this Bones Jim hardly touches at all.
And he doesn’t touch Jim either.
Not Jim and not any of the men or women Jim brings back to his room.
Jim can tell it turns them on, the way Bones holds himself apart from the proceedings. But he thinks maybe it frustrates them, too - the ones who get a good enough look at Bones to see what they’re missing, anyway. Hell, even if they don’t get a good look, they still have to hear him.
And Jim can see how that might be enough to drive just about anyone a little bit crazy.
Jim laughs as his back slams against Bones’ closed door and Kyle (or is it Kevin?) presses up into him, grinding their hips together. Kyle (Kyan?) goes for his mouth, but Jim ducks away.
“No, come on,” he says, still grinning. “We have to get inside.”
He wrestles Kyle (Keith, maybe?) into a position reversal, pushing him back against the door and groping with one hand while he keys in the room code with his other.
“He is going to love you,” Jim says, as the door slides open against Kyle’s (Kenan’s?) back and they all but tumble into the room together. They’ve had enough drinks to find it funny, but not so many that they fall on their asses.
Bones is in his chair, reading something off his PADD. He looks up as they balance themselves, Jim’s arm slung over Kyle’s (possibly Kenneth’s) shoulders. “Hey, Bones, this is…um, Kyle?”
“Kurt,” Kurt says.
“Right. Sorry.” Jim shrugs. “Anyway, Kurt, this is Bones.”
Bones is looking Kurt over and Jim is waiting anxiously, because sometimes Bones comes along to the bar to pick the person out and sometimes he just sends Jim with parameters, but this time it was just, “Find someone you think I’ll like,” and Jim tried hard and he really wants to have gotten it right.
Like a lot.
Like a stupid amount.
Kurt shifts his weight under the scrutiny and looks back at Bones. “Um…nice to meet you?”
Bones says nothing.
Jim looks at Kurt and waves a hand in Bones’ direction. “Oh, he doesn’t talk.”
“At all?” Kurt asks.
“Not to you,” Jim says, turning back to Bones.
Bones nods, once. “Nice job, Jim.”
Jim beams.
Bones looks back down at his PADD, taps at the screen a few times, looks up again. “Y’all can go roll around on the bed a bit, get to know each other. But lose the shoes. Shirts, too.”
Christ. Jim has no idea how Bones manages to make disinterest so fucking sexy.
Jim kicks off his boots and waits for Kurt to the do same before tugging him toward the bed. Kurt lets himself be pulled but looks back again at Bones. “So, he’s just going to watch?”
Jim strips off his shirt and then drops down onto the bed, leaning back on his elbows. “He’ll probably make a few suggestions, too.” Jim smiles. “Trust me, it’ll be hot.”
Kurt shrugs. “If you say so.” He peels off his own shirt and follows Jim down.
Bones does make a few suggestions.
It is hot.
“You sure he doesn’t want to join in?” Kurt asks - well, moans - and not for the first time.
“Sorry, man.”
“Shit. I mean, that voice.”
Jim’s groan is heartfelt. “Believe me, I know.”
“So, you and him…?”
The question catches Jim by surprise. So does the hand down the back of his open pants, one finger of which is teasing at his asshole. “Oh, um…we’re just friends.”
It sounds a little weird, even to Jim’s ears, but whatever Kurt might make of the statement is lost to posterity when Bones issues his next directive.
“Lean against the desk, Jim, and show him your cock. Let him suck you off.”
Jim doesn’t hesitate to comply, and once he gets his dick out of his pants, Kurt becomes a lot less distracted by Bones.
He gives Jim his full attention.
Jim’s still smirking smugly when he comes.
The smirk lasts right on through the handjob Jim delivers in return and up until they’re both dressed again, with Kurt on his way out. Up until Kurt pauses as he’s passing Bones’ chair and says, “I would really love to blow you.”
Right up until Bones shrugs and says, “Sure.”
Kurt sinks to his knees and Bones just reaches down and opens his fucking pants.
Jim’s jaw drops at about the same time as Kurt’s.
He feels a rush of heat, an absence of breathable air.
“Wait,” Jim finally says, as Kurt swallows Bones down. “What?”
Bones looks up at him as he threads his fingers through Kurt’s hair. “Stay or go, Jim,” he says. “But if you’re staying, sit down and be quiet.”
And somehow Jim isn’t ready to go, so he sits down on the edge of the bed and watches Bones get a blowjob.
“Everything alright there, Jim?” Bones asks the following evening from across the table in one of their usual bars.
“Fine,” Jim mutters. Even though it’s not. Even though he’d rather not be here. Even though he spent the whole day in a bad mood and he doesn’t even know why. Because it’s Saturday night and they have plans, damn it, and the hell Jim’s going to let Bones get out of them so he can just go off and…do something else. “I’m fine.”
Bones raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t question Jim further, just takes another sip of his bourbon and nods. “Sure. ’Course you are.”
They finish the drinks in front of them in silence and order another round.
“The woman at the far end of the bar is staring at you,” Bones says.
Jim turns his head until he can see her out of the corner of his eye. “She’s in my Flight and Nav seminar.”
“She’s pretty,” Bones says. “Nice curves. You ever noticed her before?”
“Yes, I guess.” Jim shrugs. “I mean, there was this one day when-You know what?” Jim says suddenly. “Who cares?”
Bones’ brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“She’s just anoth-” Jim cuts himself off and sighs. Okay, so maybe he does know why. “Look, I’ve been doing whatever you want. For, like, months.”
“Yes, Jim, I’ve noticed.”
Bones sounds so calm that Jim just wants to grab his shoulders and shake him. Or kiss him. Whatever. Both. “So?” he demands instead.
“So…?”
Shake him. Definitely shake him. “So why don’t you-?” He is not whining. Really. “I mean, don’t you want anything…more?”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Jesus, Bones.” Okay, so he may be whining. “I’m right here.”
Bones just looks across the table for a few seconds, as if to assess the truth of Jim’s words. Like he hasn’t just stated the fucking obvious.
He nods, slowly, smiling. “So you are.”
The smile just about does Jim in, but he’s still mad, damn it. “You let that guy blow you,” he grumbles.
“So?”
“So…” Jim feels it all over again, just like last night. The rush of heat, the lack of air. This time, he recognizes it for what it was, is. Jealousy. “So it should have been me.”
Bones’ gaze is steady and annoyingly unapologetic. “He asked.”
“So that’s what you’ve been waiting for?” Jim’s waving his hands around and if he’s not careful he’ll probably spill his beer, but fuck if he cares. “I was just supposed to ask you if I could blow you?”
“If that’s what you wanted.”
“I didn’t know that was what I wanted!” Their glasses rattle as Jim slaps both hands down on the table, gripping its edge as he glares at Bones.
“So you didn’t know, but I was supposed to?”
Jim ignores the dry tone and the raised eyebrow and looks straight into Bones’ eyes. “You totally did, though, didn’t you? The same way you know every other fucking thing that’s going on in my head. You could have said something, you know. I mean, hey, following your orders, here.”
Bones looks straight back at him. “Some things you have to decide for yourself, Jim.”
Jim notes that it’s not a denial.
He holds Bones’ gaze for another few seconds. “Fine, then, I’ve decided,” he says. “Let’s go.”
He pushes his chair back from the table and stands up.
Bones doesn’t. “Not so fast, Jim. Sit down.”
Jim snorts. “You call this fast?”
Bones just looks at him, waiting.
Jim sits down.
Bones stands up. “I’m going to head back to campus.” He tilts his head toward the end of the bar. “You go pick up that girl from your Flight and Nav seminar and-”
“What?” Jim jumps back up from his chair and gets a hand on Bones’ arm. “Bones. You wanted me to ask and I asked.”
Bones chuckles and pats Jim’s hand where it rests against his bicep. “You really didn’t ask, Jimmy.”
Jim rolls his eyes. “Fine, I’m asking. I really want you. A lot, okay? Now can we please go back to your place?”
Bones shakes his head. “We’re gonna to have to work on your begging, too.” He picks his jacket up off the back of his chair. Jim’s hand falls from his arm as he shrugs it on. “You are coming back to my place,” he says. “And you’re bringing that girl with you.”
Jim takes a breath, ready to argue, but Bones’ next words stop him short.
“I told you you had to decide what you wanted from me, Jim. Never said you’d get any say in how I choose to give it to you.”
They say sex is like pizza. Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.
Which is good.
Not that Radha, from Jim’s Flight and Nav seminar, is bad.
She’s good.
It’s just that Jim is a little distracted at the moment, which would be bad, except, well….
Jim likes sex.
And Jim likes pizza.
And, apparently, Jim really, really likes being bossed around by Bones.
Radha doesn’t seem to think it’s so bad, either.
So it’s all good.
All good and not all that short.
Like Bones has Radha go down on Jim. And then Bones has Jim go down on Radha. And then there are a few other neat tricks that Jim’s really going to have to remember, but are probably mostly to kill time, because just as soon as Jim’s able, Bones is instructing him on how to fuck Radha. Which he does.
Wondering all the while when exactly Bones nailed down his refractory period.
See? Distracted.
But Bones has the whole program under control and by the time Jim comes for his second time, Radha has come for her fourth. Jim collapses face-first onto the bed and Bones tell him to stay put. Meanwhile, Bones actually talks to Radha, inviting her to get dressed and escorting her to the door. It slides shut behind her.
And then there are two.
Taking care to exert the least amount of effort humanly possible, Jim lets his head fall slightly to the right so as to enable one eye to see something besides pillow.
He can see Bones now, turning away from the door and back towards the bed and looking…intent.
“Please tell me you’re not going to make me move,” Jim mumbles, words muffled by the way his jaw is still half buried in bed linens.
“I’m not going to make you move.”
Jim murmurs his approval and watches as Bones begins to strip off his clothes.
Somewhere around the time when Bones takes his shirt by the hem and pulls it off over his head in one long, smooth motion, Jim decides he’d better turn his head a little bit more, make sure he has full use of both eyes.
Somewhere around the time when Bones pushes his pants down past the thin, clingy cotton of his pale blue boxer-briefs, Jim decides he is a complete fucking idiot.
“Shit,” Jim moans, as Bones steps out of pants and hooks his thumbs under the pale blue waistband, “I am such a fucking idiot.”
Bones shrugs and the boxer-briefs fall to his ankles. “You figured it out eventually.”
Jim thinks he may be drooling on Bones’ pillow.
Bones crosses the room, leaving Jim’s field of vision as he walks around the back of the bed. Post-orgasmic languor or no, Jim figures a finally-naked Bones is definitely worth turning onto his back for. He starts to shift his limbs…
“Didn’t I tell you to stay put, Jim?”
Fuck, that voice.
Jim lets his limbs fall slack again. He hears what sounds like the drawer to the nightstand, but it’s on the other side of the bed than the one he’s currently facing and he’s not sure if moving his head would count as staying put, so he doesn’t. He feels a slight depression on that side of the bed, knows Bones must be sitting there even before he feels a broad hand settle itself between his shoulder blades and slowly smooth its way down his back.
It’s the simplest, most straight-forward of touches.
It sends waves of aching need through Jim’s body.
The hand reaches Jim’s ass and immediately begins a much more thorough exploration - rubbing, squeezing, cupping, pinching. Meanwhile, another hand lands on Jim’s right calf, tugging at it until Jim’s legs are well and truly spread.
The hands leave and Jim can feel the bed shifting again. He can see Bones now, out of the corner of his eye, kneeling back at the end of the bed between Jim’s legs. When the hand returns to his ass, the fingers are slick against his skin and aiming much lower.
Jim groans. “Bones, you do know that there’s no way in hell I’m getting it up again right now?”
“I know,” Bones says, as a single finger presses slowly inside, “that no one has ever been here before. Not like this.”
Jim can feel the sparking of his nerve endings.
“I know,” Bones continues, withdrawing the one finger and pressing back in with two, “that right now you are totally relaxed, perfectly pliant, and completely mine.”
Jim squirms, hips pushing into the mattress, and it’s strange to feel his flaccid cock rubbing against the sheet as the fingers withdraw again.
“And I know,” Bones concludes, sliding his thumbs up the insides of Jim’s thighs and then straight into Jim, spreading him open, “that I want to fuck you right here, just like this. Any objections?”
Jim can’t think of a single one.
It burns a little, and he feels almost uncomfortably full. His knees have been pushed up far too close to his shoulders, and Jim knows that he’s not going to get an orgasm for it all in the end, but Bones really must be an evil genius, because somehow Jim doesn’t care.
Bones is moving above him, inside him. Their sweat mingles where their skin meets.
And somehow, in this moment, that’s everything.
Afterwards, Jim drifts. Maybe he sleeps, maybe he doesn’t. Bones’ arm is warm and heavy across his back.
Jim is definitely drooling into the pillow.
His eyes flutter open and Bones’ face is right there, smiling at him.
Jim blinks and lifts a hand to wipe away the drool, rolls beneath Bones’ arm until he’s lying face up.
“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm,” Bones says, non-committal but so obviously guilty as charged.
“How did you even know I’d be into it?”
He feels Bones’ shrug against his own shoulder. “It’s just…a sense. You get an inkling, you test it out. See what happens.”
“So, what? Like you’ve you done this before? Like you just go around looking for guys to…” Jim frowns. “I mean, weren’t you married? How many times have you…?”
Bones shifts his arm, running a possessive palm down Jim’s torso, trailing tickling fingers up the center of Jim’s chest. “It’s not every day someone like you comes along.”
Jim turns his head and they’re face to face. They share a lazy kiss. Their first.
Their lips fall away from each other, after a minute.
“That’s not actually an answer, you know,” Jim says.
He can feel Bones’ breath against his ear. “It’s the one you’re going to get.”
They lapse into silence and lie like that for long minutes, listening to each other breathe.
Jim hears his own staccato inhale. “So what happens now?”
“Whatever you want.”
“I thought it was whatever you want.”
He hears the huff in Bones’ exhale. “C’mon, Jim. You’re smarter than that.”
Yeah, Jim guesses he is. “Fine. So you gonna give me the rules and a safeword and shit?”
Jim can feel the gentle rumble in Bones’ chest as Bones slides his arm around Jim’s waist and uses it to pull Jim back against him so they spoon.
“I can do that,” Bones says. “You ask me again tomorrow, when your head’s nice and clear.”
Bones’ palm is flat against Jim’s stomach. Jim brings his own hand to rest on top of it.
“Deal.”
Read the (much pornier) sequel: Twelve Days (a.k.a. The Epic Holiday-Themed Porn).