[fic] The "Hooker in a Bar" Fic, Part 4
Title: The “Hooker in a Bar” Fic, Part 4
Authors: shingo_the_pest and k_e_wilson
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bones/Jim
Warning: explicit sex, prostitution, alcohol, swearing, grumpiness, WIP
Summary: McCoy doesn't usually go to dives like this, where the music is loud and there are beautiful men and women looking for a bite of your wallet. And this Kirk fellow is far too insistent to be good for Leonard.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
They doze.
Kirk is the first to feel a need to move; opening his eyes from where he is tucked snug against McCoy's ribs to look up at the older man's chin. Reaching a gentle hand up to stroke the stubble, Jim smiles when hazel eyes open, and lazily turn down to look at him.
Their legs are tangled together; skin-to-skin and Jim slowly brings his own up, up, up to trace his toes along Bones' calf, letting his legs grip until they are a tight, possessive circle around the man's waist. He presses his face into Bones' chest, mouthing through the man’s shirt and finding a nipple; his tongue wets the cloth, lips sucking and teeth nipping in turns. Bones murmurs moans.
One wandering hand escapes the blankets to trail down and wander over Bones' ribs until finds the naked skin of a hot, sweaty abdomen. Jim pushes the shirt impatiently up, mouth descending to taste salty skin, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he peeks up at McCoy. His tongue trails down, down until he is laving across a nipple, fingers clinging.
The hand that's cradling Jim's head as they slept now fists in his hair, dragging Jim up and he follows the silent order without thought, leaning into the hungry kiss with a relish and happily opening up to the adventuring tongue that strokes his insistently. McCoy's hips thrust in slow, dragging waves against him and Jim hums his pleasure at the feeling of warmth cradled between his thighs. Slowly, with a burning anticipation building between them, Bones rolls them until Jim lies beneath him completely; one thick arm wrapped in a warm rope against the blonde’s back, cradling him even as its twin delves to push into Jim's all-too-tight pants.
Pawing gracelessly at one another, they manage to get Jim's jeans off, pushing and kicking until every inch of his legs are free. There's no underwear; just an eager cock straining for attention. Bones huffs out something that could be a laugh, even as he reaches out, jacking it twice in reward for its patience. Jim hums into McCoy’s neck in pleasure. The shirt is gone before they think about it, Jim's torso suddenly burning as cold air and hot skin come into contact with the sensitized flesh.
The man underneath Leonard is naked and happy, and for a moment the ravaging kisses turn tender and slow, almost indulgent. McCoy is grinding them together; still those slow, sharp waves over and over. It's driving Jim slowly insane and he's three seconds away from begging for more when McCoy's hands shift and press into his thighs, folding Jim's body until his knees are resting beside his ears and he feels more exposed than he's been in years. Jim wants to squirm, move and demand, but he's breathless and McCoy's leaning forward over him, releasing his thighs but catching his legs in the crooks of his arms as he braces over the golden body beneath him. It's really all Jim can do to lean up on unsteady elbows to nuzzle at Bones' face, demanding a kiss.
Their mouths meet hungrily, neither wanting the moment to end. After they kiss, Jim falls back to the bed, breathless, and one hand skitters for his discarded jeans that hang half off the bed, rummaging blindly for a moment before pulling out the tiny bottle of lube and a condom, pressing it into McCoy's hand.
Leonard's gaze jumps to the little bottle, to Jim's hopeful eyes, to the bottle again. He says nothing, just takes it, pops it open and squeezes a dollop onto his hand. Then he leans forward and does his best to kiss the strength out of Kirk, as his hand darts down to wet Kirk’s opening. Gentle fingers push into the small pucker, working it open with ease.
Kirk holds his knees, moans into the ruthless kiss and forgets he's bent in half, mind centered on the feeling of the fingers gently teasing him open; pushing in and stretching before thrusting once-twice-three times. He relaxes with the ease of practice even as his shoulders tense with anticipation. McCoy thrusts two fingers against his prostate with unerring precision, over and over again, and Jim arches his neck, keening against the pillows before relaxing and gasping for an icy gulp of air. Then the fingers attack his prostate again, and he whines, but tries desperately to keep eye contact with this man above him, shivering as the fingers move just a fraction faster, press just a tiny bit harder.
McCoy watches Kirk fall apart slowly under his hand, eyes welded to the body underneath him even as he speeds up his movements. Jim watches McCoy with a silence he hadn't possessed back at the bar. There's a moment and then Jim's body is seizing slightly and his hands are flying up to fist in McCoy's pillow gasping because jesusfuck that feels nice and he's about three seconds away from coming when Leonard pulls his hand away, leaving him writhing and wanting.
But he doesn't have to wait for long; Bones' hands are back on his thighs, condom on, and his erection is pushing in, a slow burn of pure pleasure. He thrusts in with slow, steady movements, pulling back just enough to go forward again. McCoy pauses, reveling in the moment where he's fully seated in Jim's open body, and those cornflower blue eyes clench shut, a long ragged gasp escaping the younger man. McCoy pulls back again, only to slide home again in one smooth movement, leaning down to catch Jim's moan in a kiss. He keeps the pace, forward-back-forward-back, presses his face close to Jim's as he watches the other man. This close, he can hear every pant Jim makes, can feel against his cheek the direct response to each thrust.
He can hear the soft, "uh-- oh.... uuuh" of pleasure and he swells with happiness, listening for infinite minutes more until the slow pace is just too much. The need to break the litany becomes urgent, so he reels back, hands braced in the pillow beside Jim's head as his hips jerk back once more slowly before suddenly jack-hammering back into the body below him. Jim jerks, "uh-AH!" The hiccup in the moans, and is followed by a low, ragged moan that can't hold out against the fast hard motions of McCoy's hips.
Jim's hands tangle in the sheets, desperately pulling as he feels his body heave toward release at a devastating pace. It's only a handful more thrusts before he's crying out, arching up as he comes all over both of their stomachs. It's not-quite-perfect timing, because just a few thrusts later, Leonard's motions become jerkier and with a low rumble of a roar he's following Jim over the edge and Jim's body is flooded with warmth.
McCoy lets his body slump over Kirk's, resting his sweaty forehead against the other man's neck, panting breath cascading over Jim's jaw for a few moments before he nuzzles; kisses Jim’s skin. Kirk moans underneath him, legs relaxing to fall back to the bed. Slowly, he brings one hand up to thread into McCoy's hair, drawing the man's eyes back up to his own. For a moment they both simply pant in the aftermath. Content smiles mirror their faces.
-----------
Kirk wakes up first the next morning. He's tired but he's also curious, feels the mission of action waiting in the wings. So he pulls himself gently out of the bed, dragging some pants on and quietly escaping to the small living area.
The apartment is well kept, but the pictures that litter the tables and walls are intriguing; there's one of an elderly couple- probably parents- but there are about a dozen of a little girl. In the pictures, she has bright, pale blond baby hair, blue-green eyes, and a smile that screams out it's giggles. She’s shown as a tiny, swathed baby, a toddler running happy, a young girl on a child's soccer team- her bright green jersey stained with mud, her skin littered with wet soil and her hair half a mess, but her smile is full of happy adrenaline.
There's no woman in any of the images; no mother to be seen, so Jim starts digging, looking into drawers. He's cautiously quiet, pausing now and then to listen to silence. But it's 6AM on a Saturday, and nobody else would be awake this early. McCoy stays asleep.
Jim finds something beneath a stack of magazines that, on closer inspection turn out to be three-year-old medical journals (and isn't that just curious?). There's a photo album, worn at the edges, and Jim opens it to have a look. On the first pages, a young Leonard McCoy peers out at him-- there's no frown lines, no sign of stress. Drinking buddies surround him, and there's the most hilarious picture ever of Bones chugging a pitcher of beer as a drunken crowd screams praise in the background.
And throughout the pictures, one young woman takes front stage. She's slender and pale, has an elegant and cold beauty about her- she doesn't smile much, but the enchanting grace makes up for a bit of that.
Photos of nights out on the town morph into images of elegant evening wear that slowly merge from group functions until it's just pictures of what are obviously dates. The pale woman is constant, ever beside McCoy in the images with her cold elegance even while Jim traces the growth of devotion on McCoy's face in each successive picture.
One of the most interesting ones, however, doesn't have the ice-queen in it; Leonard is standing in full graduation regalia, with damn near a dozen of those silly honors decorations. The young man in the image looks blooming with pride and assured ease with the world. His smile is warm and content. What the hell happened to you?
Jaded, Jim skims on ahead, watching as years and years fly by with every page- a wedding, pregnant wife, happy parenthood, and occasionally Leonard in- Jim stops flipping, staring down at the page. McCoy in scrubs? Maybe the man was a nurse?
Jim thinks; tries to remember if there's a doctor's office or hospital near Spock's bar. There isn’t. Something, he thinks, is not adding up.
Everything after that is littered with more of the little girl, and Jim shuts the book without lingering on it, slipping it back beneath the journals before rising. He listens cautiously for a moment, catching the distant sounds of Saturday morning cartoons from one of the neighbors, but nothing else. With a grateful sigh, he slinks into the kitchenette, searching for food.
Three minutes later, he's turned up cereal- the healthy stuff, with all the fiber and none of the sugar. And fruit- a couple peaches and apples, yum he thinks sarcastically. The urge to turn on the stove and make eggs and bacon jumps to his mind, but no. He doesn't want Bones to wake up yet, and he doesn't need the other man thinking he's fawning over him. Though breakfast might win him some points in the Yes-Kirk-is-awesome-must-see-him-again category. Again, he tells himself to lay off the cheesiness.
Turning away from the cupboard, he catches sight of the table; and the mail lying on top of it. "Already open- sweet!" is his thought as he picks the pile up. There's a credit card offer- already ripped in half. It's sequel is a utility bill followed by a-- child support bill. Not surprising, but a damn money-eater. And-- Jim's eyebrow makes a bid for freedom up his forehead as the next paper meets his eyes. A student loan? And geez-us, the thing is fucking huge! Shouldn't this kind of thing be done with? Or did people really spend twenty years paying them off? He didn’t see why young Bones had been so proud in those graduation robes.
But he reads on, and-- JESUS CHRIST. The cost... Jim shakes himself. Six hundred dollars a month!? Just for the student loan? He freezes for a minute, slowly adding up what he's seen before staring at the wall across the small apartment with horrified disappointment painted across his face. But... He flips the papers again and aha! Just underneath a flier for a discount car wash, he finds the paycheck...
Damn. It wasn't a nurse's paycheck- what the hell- it's from the same factory that Scotty works at. And it's nowhere near what Scotty makes. Staring at the pay stub in a mix of fascinated horror and confusion, it silently clicks- no wonder he says he can't afford this.
Bones needs a better job- or, at the very least, a job that has an actual paycheck, not this pathetic donation sum. Between child support, ridiculous student loans, and some unknown amount for this closet sized apartment... Goddamn this was disappointing. And depressing.
"What the hell are you doing?" A grumpy voice complains from the hall. Jim's stomach decides to take up residence between his toes. He drops the mail back to the table, and reaching for the fridge and Leonard only sees him reaching for the orange juice. "Trying to eat all my money, too? God damn gold digging..." McCoy's voice trails off into a sleepy mumble. Jim almost laughs out loud, realizing Bones probably isn't even fully awake yet- probably in desperate need of coffee.
"Want some breakfast?" He offers to distract. McCoy eyes him suspiciously, absently raising a hand to scratch at his chest. Jim takes the silence as consent, reaching back into the fridge to tug out the eggs and bacon. Leonard shrugs, feigning indifference, but Jim catches the slight shift in his shoulders that marks happiness.
Breakfast is a mostly silent affair, but it's comfortable. When they finish, McCoy leans over to pull out a plain white envelope from a kitchen drawer. Jim feels a cold tightening in his gut as Bones passes it to him. "Two hundred and fifty; its' all there, check for yourself," his tone is grudging.
Jim counts the money, and comes up with the full $250. Sighing quietly, he realizes that last night he made less than five hundred, total. Not the goal he'd wanted to reach, but he was doing well enough right now that he could afford some down time to be generous with. Reaching into the envelope, he plucks out five twenties and hands them back. McCoy's got that wary look back on his face, all confused indignation.
"What the hell's this?"
Jim sighs, smiling as he explains, "I'll take $150 and call it even."
McCoy's face drops for a moment, blank, and then he's bristled, simply oozing 'affronted'. "WHAT?" he snaps, "You kept haggling with me the other night over how expensive you are, and suddenly you decide you don't need the money?! What the hell?!"
Jim sighs, a hand rubbing his eyes in irritation. "Maybe you complained so much, I decided to work with you a little more!"
McCoy growls and it's a low dangerous sound- a sound that should not echo in Jim's pants like that- "I don't need your goddamn charity!" He roars.
For a minute, Jim seriously considers banging his head on the wall. "Fine." He finally snaps, scooping up the bills from the table where they'd fallen, "I'll just keep the damn money."
As Jim rises from his seat, McCoy's eyes follow him with the caution one normally reserves for poisonous snakes and clowns. Trying to ignore how prickly the other man is being, Jim begins gathering his things from the bedroom, giving himself a minute as he pulls on his shirt. His mind wanders to last night; how Bones had been just as prickly, then, but that the other man hadn't wanted him to leave. The soreness in his ass- a wonderful, radiating ache that he savors- makes the memory of being pinned on his back, McCoy moving above him, the man's warm arms wrapped around him, and the eye contact all come into sharp focus; PROOF of just how much McCoy hadn't minded him staying.
Jim doesn't like the kind, emotional tricks. They make the sex so easy, but for that he always feels like a complete douchebag for walking out later. But... He forces himself not to look back over his shoulder at the man still seated at the tiny table.
If he's completely honest with himself, he knows he wants nothing more than to see that man again and again.
Goddamn it, he thinks, Bones is gonna kill me. And damned if he wouldn't enjoy the ride.
Mind made up, Jim swings out of the bedroom; fully clothed, cell phone and wallet in hand. McCoy's still eyeing him up like an evil clown who's out to douse his good dreams with freakish nightmares of circus tents- really need to stop the analogies, Jim thinks to himself- but Jim just breezes past him, into the kitchenette again. It takes only a moment of rifling around in Bones' cupboards to produce a decent-sized mason jar, and he turns with a triumphant motion to settle the container on the table, right next to Bones' hand.
Ignoring the confusion tinting Bones' eyes, Jim reaches into his wallet and pulls out the same five twenties he'd offered earlier; doesn't hesitate before dropping them into the jar. Bones draws a breath, tenses like he's about to roar indignation back at Jim, but the hooker interrupts him. "This,” Jim says, tracing a finger around the lip of the glass, "is for next time. I'm asking for $200, so when you get that much in the jar, you give me a call." He rips off a piece of the torn credit card application, scrawls his number down on it and then drops it into the jar to land atop the twenties.
"What type of tom foolery--" McCoy catches himself, bites back a snarl, "What the hell makes you think I'll call you again?" He grouches, instead.
Jim smiles, leans over to kiss the corner of Bones' lips, barely there, "You're half way there, already, Bones. I think you can set aside another hundred in a couple weeks." He simpers, before landing his lips teasingly across McCoy's for only an instant. The man doesn't turn away, and after a few seconds of indecision, his scowl softens and he sighs in defeat. Jim's smile grows huge for a moment before he makes for the door.
Just before he leaves, he glances back at his trick, smiles; "You know how to find me." Then he’s gone.
Jim is half way back to the subway station before he turns his phone on again, absently watching as the screen lights up with one missed message. He doesn't have to think twice about the phone number- knows it by heart- what makes him pause is the time. Two AM on a Saturday is pretty out there for anyone to contact him.
The message is from Spock; short, and to the point, it hits him like a rolling punch to the gut- "Janice Rand has been hurt."
End Chapter
Authors: shingo_the_pest and k_e_wilson
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bones/Jim
Warning: explicit sex, prostitution, alcohol, swearing, grumpiness, WIP
Summary: McCoy doesn't usually go to dives like this, where the music is loud and there are beautiful men and women looking for a bite of your wallet. And this Kirk fellow is far too insistent to be good for Leonard.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
They doze.
Kirk is the first to feel a need to move; opening his eyes from where he is tucked snug against McCoy's ribs to look up at the older man's chin. Reaching a gentle hand up to stroke the stubble, Jim smiles when hazel eyes open, and lazily turn down to look at him.
Their legs are tangled together; skin-to-skin and Jim slowly brings his own up, up, up to trace his toes along Bones' calf, letting his legs grip until they are a tight, possessive circle around the man's waist. He presses his face into Bones' chest, mouthing through the man’s shirt and finding a nipple; his tongue wets the cloth, lips sucking and teeth nipping in turns. Bones murmurs moans.
One wandering hand escapes the blankets to trail down and wander over Bones' ribs until finds the naked skin of a hot, sweaty abdomen. Jim pushes the shirt impatiently up, mouth descending to taste salty skin, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he peeks up at McCoy. His tongue trails down, down until he is laving across a nipple, fingers clinging.
The hand that's cradling Jim's head as they slept now fists in his hair, dragging Jim up and he follows the silent order without thought, leaning into the hungry kiss with a relish and happily opening up to the adventuring tongue that strokes his insistently. McCoy's hips thrust in slow, dragging waves against him and Jim hums his pleasure at the feeling of warmth cradled between his thighs. Slowly, with a burning anticipation building between them, Bones rolls them until Jim lies beneath him completely; one thick arm wrapped in a warm rope against the blonde’s back, cradling him even as its twin delves to push into Jim's all-too-tight pants.
Pawing gracelessly at one another, they manage to get Jim's jeans off, pushing and kicking until every inch of his legs are free. There's no underwear; just an eager cock straining for attention. Bones huffs out something that could be a laugh, even as he reaches out, jacking it twice in reward for its patience. Jim hums into McCoy’s neck in pleasure. The shirt is gone before they think about it, Jim's torso suddenly burning as cold air and hot skin come into contact with the sensitized flesh.
The man underneath Leonard is naked and happy, and for a moment the ravaging kisses turn tender and slow, almost indulgent. McCoy is grinding them together; still those slow, sharp waves over and over. It's driving Jim slowly insane and he's three seconds away from begging for more when McCoy's hands shift and press into his thighs, folding Jim's body until his knees are resting beside his ears and he feels more exposed than he's been in years. Jim wants to squirm, move and demand, but he's breathless and McCoy's leaning forward over him, releasing his thighs but catching his legs in the crooks of his arms as he braces over the golden body beneath him. It's really all Jim can do to lean up on unsteady elbows to nuzzle at Bones' face, demanding a kiss.
Their mouths meet hungrily, neither wanting the moment to end. After they kiss, Jim falls back to the bed, breathless, and one hand skitters for his discarded jeans that hang half off the bed, rummaging blindly for a moment before pulling out the tiny bottle of lube and a condom, pressing it into McCoy's hand.
Leonard's gaze jumps to the little bottle, to Jim's hopeful eyes, to the bottle again. He says nothing, just takes it, pops it open and squeezes a dollop onto his hand. Then he leans forward and does his best to kiss the strength out of Kirk, as his hand darts down to wet Kirk’s opening. Gentle fingers push into the small pucker, working it open with ease.
Kirk holds his knees, moans into the ruthless kiss and forgets he's bent in half, mind centered on the feeling of the fingers gently teasing him open; pushing in and stretching before thrusting once-twice-three times. He relaxes with the ease of practice even as his shoulders tense with anticipation. McCoy thrusts two fingers against his prostate with unerring precision, over and over again, and Jim arches his neck, keening against the pillows before relaxing and gasping for an icy gulp of air. Then the fingers attack his prostate again, and he whines, but tries desperately to keep eye contact with this man above him, shivering as the fingers move just a fraction faster, press just a tiny bit harder.
McCoy watches Kirk fall apart slowly under his hand, eyes welded to the body underneath him even as he speeds up his movements. Jim watches McCoy with a silence he hadn't possessed back at the bar. There's a moment and then Jim's body is seizing slightly and his hands are flying up to fist in McCoy's pillow gasping because jesusfuck that feels nice and he's about three seconds away from coming when Leonard pulls his hand away, leaving him writhing and wanting.
But he doesn't have to wait for long; Bones' hands are back on his thighs, condom on, and his erection is pushing in, a slow burn of pure pleasure. He thrusts in with slow, steady movements, pulling back just enough to go forward again. McCoy pauses, reveling in the moment where he's fully seated in Jim's open body, and those cornflower blue eyes clench shut, a long ragged gasp escaping the younger man. McCoy pulls back again, only to slide home again in one smooth movement, leaning down to catch Jim's moan in a kiss. He keeps the pace, forward-back-forward-back, presses his face close to Jim's as he watches the other man. This close, he can hear every pant Jim makes, can feel against his cheek the direct response to each thrust.
He can hear the soft, "uh-- oh.... uuuh" of pleasure and he swells with happiness, listening for infinite minutes more until the slow pace is just too much. The need to break the litany becomes urgent, so he reels back, hands braced in the pillow beside Jim's head as his hips jerk back once more slowly before suddenly jack-hammering back into the body below him. Jim jerks, "uh-AH!" The hiccup in the moans, and is followed by a low, ragged moan that can't hold out against the fast hard motions of McCoy's hips.
Jim's hands tangle in the sheets, desperately pulling as he feels his body heave toward release at a devastating pace. It's only a handful more thrusts before he's crying out, arching up as he comes all over both of their stomachs. It's not-quite-perfect timing, because just a few thrusts later, Leonard's motions become jerkier and with a low rumble of a roar he's following Jim over the edge and Jim's body is flooded with warmth.
McCoy lets his body slump over Kirk's, resting his sweaty forehead against the other man's neck, panting breath cascading over Jim's jaw for a few moments before he nuzzles; kisses Jim’s skin. Kirk moans underneath him, legs relaxing to fall back to the bed. Slowly, he brings one hand up to thread into McCoy's hair, drawing the man's eyes back up to his own. For a moment they both simply pant in the aftermath. Content smiles mirror their faces.
-----------
Kirk wakes up first the next morning. He's tired but he's also curious, feels the mission of action waiting in the wings. So he pulls himself gently out of the bed, dragging some pants on and quietly escaping to the small living area.
The apartment is well kept, but the pictures that litter the tables and walls are intriguing; there's one of an elderly couple- probably parents- but there are about a dozen of a little girl. In the pictures, she has bright, pale blond baby hair, blue-green eyes, and a smile that screams out it's giggles. She’s shown as a tiny, swathed baby, a toddler running happy, a young girl on a child's soccer team- her bright green jersey stained with mud, her skin littered with wet soil and her hair half a mess, but her smile is full of happy adrenaline.
There's no woman in any of the images; no mother to be seen, so Jim starts digging, looking into drawers. He's cautiously quiet, pausing now and then to listen to silence. But it's 6AM on a Saturday, and nobody else would be awake this early. McCoy stays asleep.
Jim finds something beneath a stack of magazines that, on closer inspection turn out to be three-year-old medical journals (and isn't that just curious?). There's a photo album, worn at the edges, and Jim opens it to have a look. On the first pages, a young Leonard McCoy peers out at him-- there's no frown lines, no sign of stress. Drinking buddies surround him, and there's the most hilarious picture ever of Bones chugging a pitcher of beer as a drunken crowd screams praise in the background.
And throughout the pictures, one young woman takes front stage. She's slender and pale, has an elegant and cold beauty about her- she doesn't smile much, but the enchanting grace makes up for a bit of that.
Photos of nights out on the town morph into images of elegant evening wear that slowly merge from group functions until it's just pictures of what are obviously dates. The pale woman is constant, ever beside McCoy in the images with her cold elegance even while Jim traces the growth of devotion on McCoy's face in each successive picture.
One of the most interesting ones, however, doesn't have the ice-queen in it; Leonard is standing in full graduation regalia, with damn near a dozen of those silly honors decorations. The young man in the image looks blooming with pride and assured ease with the world. His smile is warm and content. What the hell happened to you?
Jaded, Jim skims on ahead, watching as years and years fly by with every page- a wedding, pregnant wife, happy parenthood, and occasionally Leonard in- Jim stops flipping, staring down at the page. McCoy in scrubs? Maybe the man was a nurse?
Jim thinks; tries to remember if there's a doctor's office or hospital near Spock's bar. There isn’t. Something, he thinks, is not adding up.
Everything after that is littered with more of the little girl, and Jim shuts the book without lingering on it, slipping it back beneath the journals before rising. He listens cautiously for a moment, catching the distant sounds of Saturday morning cartoons from one of the neighbors, but nothing else. With a grateful sigh, he slinks into the kitchenette, searching for food.
Three minutes later, he's turned up cereal- the healthy stuff, with all the fiber and none of the sugar. And fruit- a couple peaches and apples, yum he thinks sarcastically. The urge to turn on the stove and make eggs and bacon jumps to his mind, but no. He doesn't want Bones to wake up yet, and he doesn't need the other man thinking he's fawning over him. Though breakfast might win him some points in the Yes-Kirk-is-awesome-must-see-him-again category. Again, he tells himself to lay off the cheesiness.
Turning away from the cupboard, he catches sight of the table; and the mail lying on top of it. "Already open- sweet!" is his thought as he picks the pile up. There's a credit card offer- already ripped in half. It's sequel is a utility bill followed by a-- child support bill. Not surprising, but a damn money-eater. And-- Jim's eyebrow makes a bid for freedom up his forehead as the next paper meets his eyes. A student loan? And geez-us, the thing is fucking huge! Shouldn't this kind of thing be done with? Or did people really spend twenty years paying them off? He didn’t see why young Bones had been so proud in those graduation robes.
But he reads on, and-- JESUS CHRIST. The cost... Jim shakes himself. Six hundred dollars a month!? Just for the student loan? He freezes for a minute, slowly adding up what he's seen before staring at the wall across the small apartment with horrified disappointment painted across his face. But... He flips the papers again and aha! Just underneath a flier for a discount car wash, he finds the paycheck...
Damn. It wasn't a nurse's paycheck- what the hell- it's from the same factory that Scotty works at. And it's nowhere near what Scotty makes. Staring at the pay stub in a mix of fascinated horror and confusion, it silently clicks- no wonder he says he can't afford this.
Bones needs a better job- or, at the very least, a job that has an actual paycheck, not this pathetic donation sum. Between child support, ridiculous student loans, and some unknown amount for this closet sized apartment... Goddamn this was disappointing. And depressing.
"What the hell are you doing?" A grumpy voice complains from the hall. Jim's stomach decides to take up residence between his toes. He drops the mail back to the table, and reaching for the fridge and Leonard only sees him reaching for the orange juice. "Trying to eat all my money, too? God damn gold digging..." McCoy's voice trails off into a sleepy mumble. Jim almost laughs out loud, realizing Bones probably isn't even fully awake yet- probably in desperate need of coffee.
"Want some breakfast?" He offers to distract. McCoy eyes him suspiciously, absently raising a hand to scratch at his chest. Jim takes the silence as consent, reaching back into the fridge to tug out the eggs and bacon. Leonard shrugs, feigning indifference, but Jim catches the slight shift in his shoulders that marks happiness.
Breakfast is a mostly silent affair, but it's comfortable. When they finish, McCoy leans over to pull out a plain white envelope from a kitchen drawer. Jim feels a cold tightening in his gut as Bones passes it to him. "Two hundred and fifty; its' all there, check for yourself," his tone is grudging.
Jim counts the money, and comes up with the full $250. Sighing quietly, he realizes that last night he made less than five hundred, total. Not the goal he'd wanted to reach, but he was doing well enough right now that he could afford some down time to be generous with. Reaching into the envelope, he plucks out five twenties and hands them back. McCoy's got that wary look back on his face, all confused indignation.
"What the hell's this?"
Jim sighs, smiling as he explains, "I'll take $150 and call it even."
McCoy's face drops for a moment, blank, and then he's bristled, simply oozing 'affronted'. "WHAT?" he snaps, "You kept haggling with me the other night over how expensive you are, and suddenly you decide you don't need the money?! What the hell?!"
Jim sighs, a hand rubbing his eyes in irritation. "Maybe you complained so much, I decided to work with you a little more!"
McCoy growls and it's a low dangerous sound- a sound that should not echo in Jim's pants like that- "I don't need your goddamn charity!" He roars.
For a minute, Jim seriously considers banging his head on the wall. "Fine." He finally snaps, scooping up the bills from the table where they'd fallen, "I'll just keep the damn money."
As Jim rises from his seat, McCoy's eyes follow him with the caution one normally reserves for poisonous snakes and clowns. Trying to ignore how prickly the other man is being, Jim begins gathering his things from the bedroom, giving himself a minute as he pulls on his shirt. His mind wanders to last night; how Bones had been just as prickly, then, but that the other man hadn't wanted him to leave. The soreness in his ass- a wonderful, radiating ache that he savors- makes the memory of being pinned on his back, McCoy moving above him, the man's warm arms wrapped around him, and the eye contact all come into sharp focus; PROOF of just how much McCoy hadn't minded him staying.
Jim doesn't like the kind, emotional tricks. They make the sex so easy, but for that he always feels like a complete douchebag for walking out later. But... He forces himself not to look back over his shoulder at the man still seated at the tiny table.
If he's completely honest with himself, he knows he wants nothing more than to see that man again and again.
Goddamn it, he thinks, Bones is gonna kill me. And damned if he wouldn't enjoy the ride.
Mind made up, Jim swings out of the bedroom; fully clothed, cell phone and wallet in hand. McCoy's still eyeing him up like an evil clown who's out to douse his good dreams with freakish nightmares of circus tents- really need to stop the analogies, Jim thinks to himself- but Jim just breezes past him, into the kitchenette again. It takes only a moment of rifling around in Bones' cupboards to produce a decent-sized mason jar, and he turns with a triumphant motion to settle the container on the table, right next to Bones' hand.
Ignoring the confusion tinting Bones' eyes, Jim reaches into his wallet and pulls out the same five twenties he'd offered earlier; doesn't hesitate before dropping them into the jar. Bones draws a breath, tenses like he's about to roar indignation back at Jim, but the hooker interrupts him. "This,” Jim says, tracing a finger around the lip of the glass, "is for next time. I'm asking for $200, so when you get that much in the jar, you give me a call." He rips off a piece of the torn credit card application, scrawls his number down on it and then drops it into the jar to land atop the twenties.
"What type of tom foolery--" McCoy catches himself, bites back a snarl, "What the hell makes you think I'll call you again?" He grouches, instead.
Jim smiles, leans over to kiss the corner of Bones' lips, barely there, "You're half way there, already, Bones. I think you can set aside another hundred in a couple weeks." He simpers, before landing his lips teasingly across McCoy's for only an instant. The man doesn't turn away, and after a few seconds of indecision, his scowl softens and he sighs in defeat. Jim's smile grows huge for a moment before he makes for the door.
Just before he leaves, he glances back at his trick, smiles; "You know how to find me." Then he’s gone.
Jim is half way back to the subway station before he turns his phone on again, absently watching as the screen lights up with one missed message. He doesn't have to think twice about the phone number- knows it by heart- what makes him pause is the time. Two AM on a Saturday is pretty out there for anyone to contact him.
The message is from Spock; short, and to the point, it hits him like a rolling punch to the gut- "Janice Rand has been hurt."
End Chapter