i'm not lyin', i'm just stunnin'
Title: Russian Roulette is not the same without the gun
Author: eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just here for the lulz.
Characters/Pairings: Gary Mitchell/Kirk, Gary Mitchell/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy (Star Trek XI)
Word Count: 3,212
Author's notes: Immediately follows the events of Play the cards with spades to start, A hard pair we will be and Poker-Face.
Summary: Jim Kirk sometimes wonders just when it was that he started listening to Gary Mitchell.
Jim Kirk sometimes wonders just when it was that he started listening to Gary Mitchell. Sometimes aren’t most times these days, especially when most times Gary’s mouth is hot on his neck, his hands are on his back and his ass is in Gary’s lap. It’s a bad idea, but Bones isn’t around to tell him No. Stop Jim, don’t do this to yourself. The music in this bar is too loud; the lights too dim, ruby-red and catching in Gary’s lashes like bits of silver, or maybe blood. His skin feels too good like this, the pulse from the speakers thrumming through it and Gary smiling just so as he noses along the line of Jim’s Adam’s apple.
Bones isn’t around to say anything anyway. He made sure of that. Even if he were here - even if he crawled off of his high-horse long enough to stoop to this - Jim probably wouldn’t listen.
--
Spring Break comes fast, after the marathon of tests and training exercises. simulations, and the occasional message from Mom and Sam (Haven’t heard from you in a while, just wanted to see how things were going // Still haven’t heard back from you Jim, Mom wants to make sure you’re still alive // Chris says you haven’t gone AWOL, so I assume things are going well.). Jim needs sleep for his sore muscles, but that itching spot in the back of his brain (the one that doesn’t sound like Bones) tells him he needs alcohol and sex, and a winding country back-road to ride his bike on. It makes him miss home, or at least parts of home. Pictures of home, he decides and pins one of Sam and his new girlfriend on the wall next to three postcards, with the cadet bars, ship yard and the empty stretch of dusty highways, peeking out from behind the miles of corn and quiet country living.
Gary shows up to his-and-maybe-Jim’s dorm room after the day’s last deep-space combat simulation. His jacket is already unzipped and collar open, and he tosses a set of keys onto the desk where Jim is sitting. Sitting, and staring at the inbox cluttered with From Sam and From Mom, and wondering just what to tell them when they ask what he’s been doing.
Haven’t died yet. About to go on Spring Break. Frank’s not coming to Thanksgiving this year is he? That about sums it up, he decides, and hits the send button.
“Pack your bags,” Gary says.
Jim looks at the keys, then at the helmsman. “Why?”
“Because I’m heading out to the mountains for break, and you’re just going to sit here and pout about your bitch of a girlfriend,” Gary says, and soundly entirely too cheerful about it. “So get your shit together and get in the car.”
“I’m not pouting. And he isn’t my girlfriend.” Jim says, and then throws the keys back at Gary. It doesn’t surprise him that Gary catches them. “And I’m not going, so fuck off.”
“Why not? It’s not like you have plans.”
Jim did, before. The plan was to take the bike up to Yosemite with Bones, spend the week out there together with a tent and a bottle of bourbon. It wasn’t much, but Jim always told Bones they’d go one day. He’d been looking for an excuse to go back since the summer Mom took him and Sam up there as kids, and it had seemed like the thing to do. Until he and Bones stopped talking, anyway.
These are things, however, that Gary doesn’t need to know.
“No, but, whatever. I’m broke and I’m stuck here,” Jim says, because part of it is true. “I’ll just, I dunno, read or some shit during break.”
“Nope,” Gary shakes his head, props himself against the nearby wall with an elbow and a tilt of his slim hips. “I’m not going to leave you to mope all week. I’m driving out tonight, so get your stuff and get it in the car.”
Jim doesn’t balk. Gary smirks good-naturedly.
“Don’t make me drag out.”
“Try it.”
Jim wonders what Bones is doing for break. He doesn’t say anything about it, certainly not to Gary, because it seems so maudlin and clichéd to think of Bones taking off on the first shuttle out, home to Georgia, or anywhere else. It still doesn’t keep him from throwing a week’s worth of clothes into a bag and saying Yes to Gary when he really means to say No.
--
“And by mountains, I meant Mount Hood, by the way.”
They’re already on the road for an hour when Gary mentions this, looking amused rather than sorry.
“Oregon? Are you fucking serious?” Jim wants to be angry, but when he thinks about it, he really isn’t. It’s not like he had anything better to do. “You’re such an asshole, Gary.”
Gary just laughs.
--
The first three hours on the road, they say very little to each other. It’d be faster to take the shuttle out of the city, to which they agree early on, somewhere outside of Richmond. When Jim mentions it, only vaguely curious about the helmsman’s insistence on driving, Gary just smirks (“I like road-trips, already spend too much time in shuttles, man.”), and so Jim lets his head loll against the window and closes his eyes to the gentle thrum of the car’s engine. He’s privately grateful for the chance to sleep somewhere other than the dorms, even if it is in Gary’s father’s 30-year-old car, with doors and windows that rattle at highway speeds.
It’s easier not to ask questions sometimes, at least where Gary is concerned.
--
“So what’s with the road-trip?”
Jim eventually does ask when they stop at around 3am, at some dingy roadside fueling station to sate Gary’s sudden desire for caffeine and beef jerky. Jim meanders around the convenience store to stretch the cramp that had developed from sitting with his legs crammed in place by the busted passenger seat. He amuses himself with the rack of sunglasses and tourist trap knick-knacks while Gary buys enough soda for the next leg of the trip, from a bored-looking clerk with a crooked nametag. Jim starts to think that this is the only time he’s seen Gary somewhere that wasn’t a classroom or in a bar, and watching the sweetly polite way Gary smiles at the clerk and thanks him as he pays for the junk food, Jim can’t help but find it a little out of place.
“I go every year up to the mountains, when I can make it,” Gary says blithely, sliding back into the driver’s seat with a grunt. He stashes the assorted bottles and bags in the backseat in a nest made of old cadet reds and a bomber jacket. “My dad has a cabin up there, used to go in the summers with my sisters when we were kids.”
Dropping into the passenger seat, Jim thinks of the Mitchell family photos back in Gary’s room. “You just don’t seem like the outdoorsy type, I guess,” he says, and gestures to the pile of junk food. “I don’t think I’ve even seen you go outside unless there was beer involved.”
Starting up the engine, which grinds a little at the first press of the ignition key, Gary laughs softly.
“Yeah, well, I’m not, really. I just like to get away sometimes. San Francisco gets too busy for me, and the people there…they’re just so loud and fake. All that noise in my head.” A shrug and Gary buckles his shoulder-belt with a glance in Jim’s direction. “You know?”
Jim snaps his belt shut. “Not really.”
Gary puts the car in gear and pulls back out onto the highway, and chuckles like he’s talking to himself.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t.”
--
Jim drives while Gary sleeps in the passenger seat, head pressed against the rattling windowpane. It keeps him from checking his comm., which hasn’t beeped in a week. Bones hasn’t talked to him. Jim doesn’t know why, and he’s finding he doesn’t care.
At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.
A dip in the road jostles the car in a hollow thud. Gary doesn’t wake. Jim lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
--
When they reach Oregon they stop in a little nothing town with one main road and a greasy-looking diner. Everything is green and fresh and reminds Jim of home, just a little bit, when he isn’t thinking properly. He and Gary are more hungry than exhausted when they drop into the cracked red leather booth seat, barely glancing up at the waitress to order black coffee and two plates of meat and eggs. Jim finds himself too hungry to even be put off by Gary’s weird niceness, and just prays for caffeine and fast.
“Checking your messages?”
Jim snaps his comm. shut, stashes it in his jacket pocket without looking up to address Gary’s knowing expression. It doesn’t spare him the chuckle the helmsman buries in the lip of his coffee mug.
“Cute but, no, thanks, I wasn’t,” Jim lies.
Gary shrugs. “Guess he didn’t call you back, huh?”
Jim licks his lips in a swipe of tongue. “Fuck off, Gary,” he answers, without any noticeable spite, and swallows a sip of coffee.
This conversation really isn’t going to be about Bones.
“Miss him?”
Goddamnit.
“Do we really need to talk about him?” Jim asks, although he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. “I thought you wanted me come with you.”
“I did.” Gary takes a drink, wipes a dot of coffee from his bottom lip. “I enjoy your company, and not just because I like fucking you.” Grins. “Although it doesn’t hurt.”
“Then why are you trying to talk about Bones?”Jim doesn’t want to sound hurt, but he kind of is. It’s a little unsettling, because he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be.
“Curious, I guess,” Gary answers with a shrug. “If I were him, I wouldn’t let something stupid like that piss all over everything.”
Jim feels something hateful blossom in his stomach. “So why did you fuck him, then?”
“You’re the one who said there was nothing going on between you.” The humor leaves the line of Gary’s mouth. “Why do you care?”
“Because I do.” Jim doesn’t really have an answer, and he’s pretty sure Gary knows this, too.
Gary leans back in his seat, folds his hands behind his head. “You want the truth?” he asks. It makes Jim frown.
“Yeah, I do.”
Another shrug. “The same reason I fucked you.”
Jim leans forward. “Enlighten me.”
“I find you both interesting,” Gary answers, casually, like it really is nothing. “But more importantly I find you interesting. McCoy was just kind of a freebie, I guess. I didn’t expect him to go for it, but I have to say, I get why you go for each other now. That whole needy codependency thing you’ve got going, it’s kinda cute once you get past the cavities.”
“You think I’m interesting?” The information makes Jim’s face feel hot, his knuckles tightening reflexively, fight-or-flight. “So you’ve been fucking with us this whole time, because you think I’m interesting?”
You used us, says the voice in Jim’s head, the one that sounds more like Bones that he cares to admit.
“No, see, I’m not fucking with you,” Gary straightens in his seat, sitting up like he’s making a serious point. “I’ve been always been honest with you. I wanted to fuck you since you were fresh off the recruitment shuttle last year. That hasn’t changed.”
Jim doesn’t find Gary as flattering as he intended to be. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”
“Look, you wanna know why I’m in Starfleet? I’ve wanted to fly as far back as I can remember - it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. But you?” Gary wiggles a knowing finger at Jim. “See, no one really knows why you’re here. Your dad’s gone down in history, your mom used to be an instructor - you should be a fucking rock-star around here. But you’re still getting in fights and getting completely shit-faced every weekend, like any other asshole first-year.” A smirk, slow and full. “You should be royalty, but you’re shit just like everybody else around here. Selfish, petty, manipulative-”
“I don’t use people, Gary-”
“Oh yes you do, Jim. Maybe you don’t like to admit it in public, but you do,” Gary answers smugly, and leans back into his seat, getting comfortable. “And you know what? I can respect that, I really can. It’s your girlfriend that can’t, at least as far as I see things.”
“What about him?” Jim asks, like picking scabs, “What does any of this have to do with Bones?”
“Besides the fact that he beat me to you?” Shrugging, Gary scratches a bit of stubble on his chin. “I’ve seen you guys together. McCoy, he…he’s just so goody-goody, you know? He talks a good game, but he’s basically just looking to change you into something he can bring home to the folks someday. I don’t think he gets you, and you can do so much better for yourself than that.”
“And what, so you get me? That’s what all this is about?” Jim asks, and hates the dry hard way the words come out. “Because you’re the one sounding kind of psychotic at the moment, Gary.”
“Look.” Gary sits up again and waves Jim off passively. “All I’m saying is, if McCoy wants you, he shouldn’t be acting like such a dick about this. He should be trying to get you back, not telling you you’re shit. Because if you were mine, I can promise you it’d be a different state of affairs.”
“And what exactly would you do?” Jim ventures sourly, although he knows better. Knows better than to ask, than to play into this game (because Bones was right, this is so clearly a game), except for the part of him that still keeps coming back to Gary. The part that knows that Gary might be right. “If I were yours?”
Gary cants his head, looks Jim over appraisingly, and then clucks his tongue.
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t give a shit who you fucked around with,” he says, slow and cool, free of theatrics or sleight of hand. “Your ass would be back in my bed every night, right where you belonged, begging for my dick like the slut you are for it.”
The way the words slide down his neck, under his clothes and around the head of his dick makes Jim uneasy. He swallows thickly, but betrays nothing. “And why is that?”
“Because I would fuck you until you knew who you belonged to.” Gary smiles, if only just. “And if you forgot that, I would just fuck you until you remembered again.”
The waitress comes to their table, drops off two plates with a smile and a pot of fresh coffee in-hand. Gary thanks her profusely with the same cool smile. Jim can’t look at her, or at Gary, and just stares out the window instead.
--
They make it two miles down the road before Jim tells Gary to stop the car. Gary pulls off the main road and down a dirt path behind the cover of trees, barely able to put it in park before Jim is on him, all teeth and spit and tongue. Gary doesn’t smile or laugh this time, and Jim is grateful for it in a sick hard way in the pit of his stomach.
They climb into the backseat, pulling off clothes and biting at skin the whole way. Jim knows to go on elbows and knees on the weathered upholstery, knows the way Gary likes to fuck him, gathering up the discarded bomber jacket to rest on as Gary undresses him below the waist. There’s no semblance of affection in the way Gary settles behind him, a hand snaking under Jim’s shirt to tweak a nipple ruthlessly as the helmsman licks and bites his way down Jim’s neck and shoulder. Jim is grateful for that too, and bucks back against the dick pressed against his ass with a grunt.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, and Gary obliges.
Gary uses the old tube of lube he keeps in the glove compartment (which doesn’t shock Jim in the least) for prep; slicking himself quickly he uses the leftovers to spread Jim open, with a cursory swipe of oiled thumb across his entrance to ease the way. Jim closes his eyes and licks his lips and groans when Gary sinks in, one quick movement, no pomp or circumstance. Their bodies connect, back to chest, ass to balls, and Jim lets out a whine when slick fingers reach around him to close around his dick, already hard against the forgotten cadet uniform under his knees.
“You’re worse off than I thought,” Gary breathes against Jim’s ear, thrusting possessively, stroking Jim in counter to the snap of his hips. “Can’t get it in you fast enough, can you?”
The whole car shakes with every thrust, but the way Gary purrs when he laughs makes it shiver. At least it makes Jim shiver, but it gets lost in the see-saw of their bodies, quick, mechanical. The moan he lets out is lost in Gary’s jacket too, buried in the smell of cigarette smoke and old sweat.
“Harder,” Jim grits out, “fuck, just -right there. Jesus, just like that.”
Another laugh and Gary tangles a hand in Jim’s short hair, shifts his hips to hit there, right there, and swallows the sound Jim makes when he does.
“You love it? Love it when I fuck you?”
Jim doesn’t say Yes, but he doesn’t have to. Gary already knows.
It isn’t long before Gary comes, quick, hard, self-satisfied. He kisses Jim, angling his head back and licking his mouth roughly before dropping a softer kiss onto his bottom lip, as though signing his name and dotting the ‘i.’ The hand on Jim’s dick squeezes softly but gets him nowhere, and as Gary moves away Jim’s body is humming, hot, maybe a little angry, for release. The instinct to jerk-off or get Gary to suck him quickly fades as he watches Gary straighten himself up again in the seat next to him, cold, completely uninterested in the erection leaking against Jim’s thigh. Instead Jim presses Gary back hard, shoving him against the car door before he can think to stop himself, hauling arms and knees up until Jim is between them, kissing Gary into the window.
Into his mouth, Gary just laughs. His cock is doing all the talking, but Jim still has the presence of mind to reach for the lube and slick himself before he tugs Gary’s jeans down again, sliding inside of him. Gary tenses all over and grunts and shudders, gripping Jim’s hips like a vice as he pistons into him carelessly.
“Gonna come for me, Tiger?” Gary breathes wetly as Jim fucks him into the door, metal creaking and glass rattling with each hollow thud his head makes against it. “C’mon, that’s it - fucking do it, just come for me.”
Jim does.
Then his comm. beeps.
Author: eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just here for the lulz.
Characters/Pairings: Gary Mitchell/Kirk, Gary Mitchell/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy (Star Trek XI)
Word Count: 3,212
Author's notes: Immediately follows the events of Play the cards with spades to start, A hard pair we will be and Poker-Face.
Summary: Jim Kirk sometimes wonders just when it was that he started listening to Gary Mitchell.
Jim Kirk sometimes wonders just when it was that he started listening to Gary Mitchell. Sometimes aren’t most times these days, especially when most times Gary’s mouth is hot on his neck, his hands are on his back and his ass is in Gary’s lap. It’s a bad idea, but Bones isn’t around to tell him No. Stop Jim, don’t do this to yourself. The music in this bar is too loud; the lights too dim, ruby-red and catching in Gary’s lashes like bits of silver, or maybe blood. His skin feels too good like this, the pulse from the speakers thrumming through it and Gary smiling just so as he noses along the line of Jim’s Adam’s apple.
Bones isn’t around to say anything anyway. He made sure of that. Even if he were here - even if he crawled off of his high-horse long enough to stoop to this - Jim probably wouldn’t listen.
--
Spring Break comes fast, after the marathon of tests and training exercises. simulations, and the occasional message from Mom and Sam (Haven’t heard from you in a while, just wanted to see how things were going // Still haven’t heard back from you Jim, Mom wants to make sure you’re still alive // Chris says you haven’t gone AWOL, so I assume things are going well.). Jim needs sleep for his sore muscles, but that itching spot in the back of his brain (the one that doesn’t sound like Bones) tells him he needs alcohol and sex, and a winding country back-road to ride his bike on. It makes him miss home, or at least parts of home. Pictures of home, he decides and pins one of Sam and his new girlfriend on the wall next to three postcards, with the cadet bars, ship yard and the empty stretch of dusty highways, peeking out from behind the miles of corn and quiet country living.
Gary shows up to his-and-maybe-Jim’s dorm room after the day’s last deep-space combat simulation. His jacket is already unzipped and collar open, and he tosses a set of keys onto the desk where Jim is sitting. Sitting, and staring at the inbox cluttered with From Sam and From Mom, and wondering just what to tell them when they ask what he’s been doing.
Haven’t died yet. About to go on Spring Break. Frank’s not coming to Thanksgiving this year is he? That about sums it up, he decides, and hits the send button.
“Pack your bags,” Gary says.
Jim looks at the keys, then at the helmsman. “Why?”
“Because I’m heading out to the mountains for break, and you’re just going to sit here and pout about your bitch of a girlfriend,” Gary says, and soundly entirely too cheerful about it. “So get your shit together and get in the car.”
“I’m not pouting. And he isn’t my girlfriend.” Jim says, and then throws the keys back at Gary. It doesn’t surprise him that Gary catches them. “And I’m not going, so fuck off.”
“Why not? It’s not like you have plans.”
Jim did, before. The plan was to take the bike up to Yosemite with Bones, spend the week out there together with a tent and a bottle of bourbon. It wasn’t much, but Jim always told Bones they’d go one day. He’d been looking for an excuse to go back since the summer Mom took him and Sam up there as kids, and it had seemed like the thing to do. Until he and Bones stopped talking, anyway.
These are things, however, that Gary doesn’t need to know.
“No, but, whatever. I’m broke and I’m stuck here,” Jim says, because part of it is true. “I’ll just, I dunno, read or some shit during break.”
“Nope,” Gary shakes his head, props himself against the nearby wall with an elbow and a tilt of his slim hips. “I’m not going to leave you to mope all week. I’m driving out tonight, so get your stuff and get it in the car.”
Jim doesn’t balk. Gary smirks good-naturedly.
“Don’t make me drag out.”
“Try it.”
Jim wonders what Bones is doing for break. He doesn’t say anything about it, certainly not to Gary, because it seems so maudlin and clichéd to think of Bones taking off on the first shuttle out, home to Georgia, or anywhere else. It still doesn’t keep him from throwing a week’s worth of clothes into a bag and saying Yes to Gary when he really means to say No.
--
“And by mountains, I meant Mount Hood, by the way.”
They’re already on the road for an hour when Gary mentions this, looking amused rather than sorry.
“Oregon? Are you fucking serious?” Jim wants to be angry, but when he thinks about it, he really isn’t. It’s not like he had anything better to do. “You’re such an asshole, Gary.”
Gary just laughs.
--
The first three hours on the road, they say very little to each other. It’d be faster to take the shuttle out of the city, to which they agree early on, somewhere outside of Richmond. When Jim mentions it, only vaguely curious about the helmsman’s insistence on driving, Gary just smirks (“I like road-trips, already spend too much time in shuttles, man.”), and so Jim lets his head loll against the window and closes his eyes to the gentle thrum of the car’s engine. He’s privately grateful for the chance to sleep somewhere other than the dorms, even if it is in Gary’s father’s 30-year-old car, with doors and windows that rattle at highway speeds.
It’s easier not to ask questions sometimes, at least where Gary is concerned.
--
“So what’s with the road-trip?”
Jim eventually does ask when they stop at around 3am, at some dingy roadside fueling station to sate Gary’s sudden desire for caffeine and beef jerky. Jim meanders around the convenience store to stretch the cramp that had developed from sitting with his legs crammed in place by the busted passenger seat. He amuses himself with the rack of sunglasses and tourist trap knick-knacks while Gary buys enough soda for the next leg of the trip, from a bored-looking clerk with a crooked nametag. Jim starts to think that this is the only time he’s seen Gary somewhere that wasn’t a classroom or in a bar, and watching the sweetly polite way Gary smiles at the clerk and thanks him as he pays for the junk food, Jim can’t help but find it a little out of place.
“I go every year up to the mountains, when I can make it,” Gary says blithely, sliding back into the driver’s seat with a grunt. He stashes the assorted bottles and bags in the backseat in a nest made of old cadet reds and a bomber jacket. “My dad has a cabin up there, used to go in the summers with my sisters when we were kids.”
Dropping into the passenger seat, Jim thinks of the Mitchell family photos back in Gary’s room. “You just don’t seem like the outdoorsy type, I guess,” he says, and gestures to the pile of junk food. “I don’t think I’ve even seen you go outside unless there was beer involved.”
Starting up the engine, which grinds a little at the first press of the ignition key, Gary laughs softly.
“Yeah, well, I’m not, really. I just like to get away sometimes. San Francisco gets too busy for me, and the people there…they’re just so loud and fake. All that noise in my head.” A shrug and Gary buckles his shoulder-belt with a glance in Jim’s direction. “You know?”
Jim snaps his belt shut. “Not really.”
Gary puts the car in gear and pulls back out onto the highway, and chuckles like he’s talking to himself.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t.”
--
Jim drives while Gary sleeps in the passenger seat, head pressed against the rattling windowpane. It keeps him from checking his comm., which hasn’t beeped in a week. Bones hasn’t talked to him. Jim doesn’t know why, and he’s finding he doesn’t care.
At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.
A dip in the road jostles the car in a hollow thud. Gary doesn’t wake. Jim lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
--
When they reach Oregon they stop in a little nothing town with one main road and a greasy-looking diner. Everything is green and fresh and reminds Jim of home, just a little bit, when he isn’t thinking properly. He and Gary are more hungry than exhausted when they drop into the cracked red leather booth seat, barely glancing up at the waitress to order black coffee and two plates of meat and eggs. Jim finds himself too hungry to even be put off by Gary’s weird niceness, and just prays for caffeine and fast.
“Checking your messages?”
Jim snaps his comm. shut, stashes it in his jacket pocket without looking up to address Gary’s knowing expression. It doesn’t spare him the chuckle the helmsman buries in the lip of his coffee mug.
“Cute but, no, thanks, I wasn’t,” Jim lies.
Gary shrugs. “Guess he didn’t call you back, huh?”
Jim licks his lips in a swipe of tongue. “Fuck off, Gary,” he answers, without any noticeable spite, and swallows a sip of coffee.
This conversation really isn’t going to be about Bones.
“Miss him?”
Goddamnit.
“Do we really need to talk about him?” Jim asks, although he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. “I thought you wanted me come with you.”
“I did.” Gary takes a drink, wipes a dot of coffee from his bottom lip. “I enjoy your company, and not just because I like fucking you.” Grins. “Although it doesn’t hurt.”
“Then why are you trying to talk about Bones?”Jim doesn’t want to sound hurt, but he kind of is. It’s a little unsettling, because he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be.
“Curious, I guess,” Gary answers with a shrug. “If I were him, I wouldn’t let something stupid like that piss all over everything.”
Jim feels something hateful blossom in his stomach. “So why did you fuck him, then?”
“You’re the one who said there was nothing going on between you.” The humor leaves the line of Gary’s mouth. “Why do you care?”
“Because I do.” Jim doesn’t really have an answer, and he’s pretty sure Gary knows this, too.
Gary leans back in his seat, folds his hands behind his head. “You want the truth?” he asks. It makes Jim frown.
“Yeah, I do.”
Another shrug. “The same reason I fucked you.”
Jim leans forward. “Enlighten me.”
“I find you both interesting,” Gary answers, casually, like it really is nothing. “But more importantly I find you interesting. McCoy was just kind of a freebie, I guess. I didn’t expect him to go for it, but I have to say, I get why you go for each other now. That whole needy codependency thing you’ve got going, it’s kinda cute once you get past the cavities.”
“You think I’m interesting?” The information makes Jim’s face feel hot, his knuckles tightening reflexively, fight-or-flight. “So you’ve been fucking with us this whole time, because you think I’m interesting?”
You used us, says the voice in Jim’s head, the one that sounds more like Bones that he cares to admit.
“No, see, I’m not fucking with you,” Gary straightens in his seat, sitting up like he’s making a serious point. “I’ve been always been honest with you. I wanted to fuck you since you were fresh off the recruitment shuttle last year. That hasn’t changed.”
Jim doesn’t find Gary as flattering as he intended to be. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”
“Look, you wanna know why I’m in Starfleet? I’ve wanted to fly as far back as I can remember - it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. But you?” Gary wiggles a knowing finger at Jim. “See, no one really knows why you’re here. Your dad’s gone down in history, your mom used to be an instructor - you should be a fucking rock-star around here. But you’re still getting in fights and getting completely shit-faced every weekend, like any other asshole first-year.” A smirk, slow and full. “You should be royalty, but you’re shit just like everybody else around here. Selfish, petty, manipulative-”
“I don’t use people, Gary-”
“Oh yes you do, Jim. Maybe you don’t like to admit it in public, but you do,” Gary answers smugly, and leans back into his seat, getting comfortable. “And you know what? I can respect that, I really can. It’s your girlfriend that can’t, at least as far as I see things.”
“What about him?” Jim asks, like picking scabs, “What does any of this have to do with Bones?”
“Besides the fact that he beat me to you?” Shrugging, Gary scratches a bit of stubble on his chin. “I’ve seen you guys together. McCoy, he…he’s just so goody-goody, you know? He talks a good game, but he’s basically just looking to change you into something he can bring home to the folks someday. I don’t think he gets you, and you can do so much better for yourself than that.”
“And what, so you get me? That’s what all this is about?” Jim asks, and hates the dry hard way the words come out. “Because you’re the one sounding kind of psychotic at the moment, Gary.”
“Look.” Gary sits up again and waves Jim off passively. “All I’m saying is, if McCoy wants you, he shouldn’t be acting like such a dick about this. He should be trying to get you back, not telling you you’re shit. Because if you were mine, I can promise you it’d be a different state of affairs.”
“And what exactly would you do?” Jim ventures sourly, although he knows better. Knows better than to ask, than to play into this game (because Bones was right, this is so clearly a game), except for the part of him that still keeps coming back to Gary. The part that knows that Gary might be right. “If I were yours?”
Gary cants his head, looks Jim over appraisingly, and then clucks his tongue.
“If you were mine, I wouldn’t give a shit who you fucked around with,” he says, slow and cool, free of theatrics or sleight of hand. “Your ass would be back in my bed every night, right where you belonged, begging for my dick like the slut you are for it.”
The way the words slide down his neck, under his clothes and around the head of his dick makes Jim uneasy. He swallows thickly, but betrays nothing. “And why is that?”
“Because I would fuck you until you knew who you belonged to.” Gary smiles, if only just. “And if you forgot that, I would just fuck you until you remembered again.”
The waitress comes to their table, drops off two plates with a smile and a pot of fresh coffee in-hand. Gary thanks her profusely with the same cool smile. Jim can’t look at her, or at Gary, and just stares out the window instead.
--
They make it two miles down the road before Jim tells Gary to stop the car. Gary pulls off the main road and down a dirt path behind the cover of trees, barely able to put it in park before Jim is on him, all teeth and spit and tongue. Gary doesn’t smile or laugh this time, and Jim is grateful for it in a sick hard way in the pit of his stomach.
They climb into the backseat, pulling off clothes and biting at skin the whole way. Jim knows to go on elbows and knees on the weathered upholstery, knows the way Gary likes to fuck him, gathering up the discarded bomber jacket to rest on as Gary undresses him below the waist. There’s no semblance of affection in the way Gary settles behind him, a hand snaking under Jim’s shirt to tweak a nipple ruthlessly as the helmsman licks and bites his way down Jim’s neck and shoulder. Jim is grateful for that too, and bucks back against the dick pressed against his ass with a grunt.
“Fuck me,” he breathes, and Gary obliges.
Gary uses the old tube of lube he keeps in the glove compartment (which doesn’t shock Jim in the least) for prep; slicking himself quickly he uses the leftovers to spread Jim open, with a cursory swipe of oiled thumb across his entrance to ease the way. Jim closes his eyes and licks his lips and groans when Gary sinks in, one quick movement, no pomp or circumstance. Their bodies connect, back to chest, ass to balls, and Jim lets out a whine when slick fingers reach around him to close around his dick, already hard against the forgotten cadet uniform under his knees.
“You’re worse off than I thought,” Gary breathes against Jim’s ear, thrusting possessively, stroking Jim in counter to the snap of his hips. “Can’t get it in you fast enough, can you?”
The whole car shakes with every thrust, but the way Gary purrs when he laughs makes it shiver. At least it makes Jim shiver, but it gets lost in the see-saw of their bodies, quick, mechanical. The moan he lets out is lost in Gary’s jacket too, buried in the smell of cigarette smoke and old sweat.
“Harder,” Jim grits out, “fuck, just -right there. Jesus, just like that.”
Another laugh and Gary tangles a hand in Jim’s short hair, shifts his hips to hit there, right there, and swallows the sound Jim makes when he does.
“You love it? Love it when I fuck you?”
Jim doesn’t say Yes, but he doesn’t have to. Gary already knows.
It isn’t long before Gary comes, quick, hard, self-satisfied. He kisses Jim, angling his head back and licking his mouth roughly before dropping a softer kiss onto his bottom lip, as though signing his name and dotting the ‘i.’ The hand on Jim’s dick squeezes softly but gets him nowhere, and as Gary moves away Jim’s body is humming, hot, maybe a little angry, for release. The instinct to jerk-off or get Gary to suck him quickly fades as he watches Gary straighten himself up again in the seat next to him, cold, completely uninterested in the erection leaking against Jim’s thigh. Instead Jim presses Gary back hard, shoving him against the car door before he can think to stop himself, hauling arms and knees up until Jim is between them, kissing Gary into the window.
Into his mouth, Gary just laughs. His cock is doing all the talking, but Jim still has the presence of mind to reach for the lube and slick himself before he tugs Gary’s jeans down again, sliding inside of him. Gary tenses all over and grunts and shudders, gripping Jim’s hips like a vice as he pistons into him carelessly.
“Gonna come for me, Tiger?” Gary breathes wetly as Jim fucks him into the door, metal creaking and glass rattling with each hollow thud his head makes against it. “C’mon, that’s it - fucking do it, just come for me.”
Jim does.
Then his comm. beeps.