Big Bang Fic- Autopsy of the Heart parts 1-3/24
title Autopsy of the Heart
author sangueuk
beta awarrington
artists nix_this and ashleyj28
fanmixer the_sell_out
series Star Trek reboot
characters/pairingsKirk/McCoy, Kirk/other, McCoy/other, Sulu, Spock/Uhura, Gaila, Cupcake, Frank, Jocelyn
rating nc-17 for m/m sex and shenanigans, hard drinking and cussing - yay
word-count 30,000 ish but in easily digestible chunks
warningsIt’s super thinky/philosophical (and there’s rimming somewhere). Only in slash, people, do we have warnings like this, only in slash…
disclaimer I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley. Also, all borrowing from ‘On Love’ is based on admiration and awe and I do not mean any offence.
author’s notes
1. I’ve followed de Botton’s chapter headings, (sub-heading are mine), and structure as well as his quirks of numbering the paragraphs/shifts within each chapter because it’s fun.
2. Pov is mostly K/M but there are significant cameos by Sulu and Spock.
3. I plead artistic license when it comes to McCoy’s marriage break-up, and placing Sulu at the academy at the same time as Kirk and McCoy.
summary Kirk and McCoy star in a study of romantic love set in the first year at the academy - directly inspired by philosopher Alain de Botton’s On Love - it has a classic plot - boy meet boy, boy gets boy, boy loses boy etc. It’s indie, it’s angsty, it’s thinky, it packed with ULT (unresolved love tension). If they just talked about their feelings, where would be the fun in that?
Thanks to: awarrington for her patient, calm beta work, lindmere for an early read-through and convincing me this didn’t suck, blcwriter for the loan of her amazing, original character, club-kid, Kevin, and toastedtea for advice on Georgia and all things local.
Love by-passes the rational mind. Alain de Botton
Feedback would be really appreciated because I’ve drained my soul writing this and you can fill it up again!
Awarded a bronze medal in the jim_and_bones Rec Olympics 2012 for Best Academy era fic!
link to fic
the mix here
I was lucky enough to have two artists!
link to Art 1 by nix_this
link to Art 2 by ashleyj28
NB: The Masterlist of all my fanfiction is here
Autopsy of the Heart
Part 1
Romantic Fatalism
Or
Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire
September, 2255
1.
Leonard McCoy had joined the foreign legion to forget. The last thing he expected was that he might also end his dreadful luck with relationships.
He knew relationships could only work if there was connection and, since no one had ever understood him and, (he believed) he could never understand anyone else - least of all a woman - he was screwed. Period.
2.
Dawn, Fall in Iowa and love was not on his mind.
He’d overslept, (too much bourbon the night before), and hadn’t had time to take a shower.
Now, all that he could think about was death - imminent, certain, painful death. And he wouldn’t even have the satisfaction when the inevitable happened and his eyes popped and the shuttle disintegrated into a million pieces, of saying I told you so to the annoying flight attendant who’d spoken to him like he was a kid or something.
Dammit, he hated people he didn’t know touching him - it was unsanitary, especially in such confined quarters.
3.
Strapped in like a toddler, he could feel eyes boring into him from his right. He turned in his seat, wishing he’d taken his jacket off as it had bunched up uncomfortably around his armpits.
The face was beaten up but handsome, young, strong and the young man’s lips looked dry as if he too had been drinking too much the night before in preparation for this flight.
Perhaps in an effort to break the hypnotic effect of the ice blue fixed on him, McCoy heard himself babbling and ranting about the dangers of space. He noticed at one point that he’d managed to shower spit in his new friend’s face.
They shared a drink from his hip flask, (hell the guy looked alright to him - he was bound not to have any cooties), and he talked while Jim Kirk, that was his name, listened to him ramble on about space sickness, his ex wife, his kid and how they’d made him pay extra for his luggage - damned books weighed a ton.
Then he threw up on Jim - hell of an icebreaker.
4.
When it came to Kirk’s turn to talk and maybe reciprocate with a few snippets about his background, McCoy noticed that, while letting slip a few cursory details about Iowa, (he had an elder brother and a bit of a thing for motorcycles), Jim looked dead ahead as he spoke which, while it gave McCoy’s delicate guts a bit of a break from the sonic stare, intimated that the kid might not be interested in being buddies back at him.
No matter, McCoy, while he told himself he didn’t need any new friends, had to acknowledge he’d felt an uncharacteristic desire to learn more about this kid; he hadn’t felt too interested in another human being, other than in their capacity as patients, in he couldn't remember how long.
5.
By the time they’d passed through security, McCoy was convinced he must have ingested some hitherto unnamed space-borne sex-pollen because, much to his disgust, he had to acknowledge that he might have developed a crush on his new friend.
6.
- Hey, you sleaze, I found a pair of your underpants in the bathroom. They say hi. McCoy comm’d Kirk.
-Keep them.
- No REALLY. You’re a helluva gentleman, but they miss their pa.
- Tell them I’ve moved on.
- I’ll bring them to class tomorrow.
They spent a lot of time together over the next few days: sending dumb messages to each other, helping each other move in, drinking, bitching about the other students. He’d persuaded Kirk to stay over and sleep on the couch the second night; after all, he was too drunk to make his way back across the quad in the fog safely, McCoy reasoned.
In truth, it had only taken McCoy a few hours of conversation with Kirk to realize his new friend was smart, real smart and could have found his way back if he’d put a mask and ear-plugs on him, and spun him round five times. If he’d been sober enough to be honest with himself, McCoy would have recognized he’s wanted Jim to stay because he hadn’t wanted the evening to be over. The extra half hour of company, one more shared glass of bourbon - filled his empty heart.
And over the next couple of weeks, McCoy acknowledge he’d never experienced such a connection with anyone before and certainly not this fast. They talked about something and nothing most of the time and their friendship was easy-going, like they’d known each other for years. He had no idea how this could be. After all, they were so different; first the big age gap and, second, the kid was an out and out hedonist, a fuck-anything-that-moves adrenaline-junky while he was a conservative, hard-working grouch.
In the light of this, McCoy asked himself if it was possible they’d met before because he felt like he recognized the face, the colour of those eyes, the laugh and the smirk - there had to be a reason why this all seem so familiar? As he struggled to make sense of the feeling he settled on this; it was like he’d walked through a door, into a room he’d lived in before while still understanding that simply couldn’t have been possible. It rankled with him because McCoy believed in simple cause and effect not destiny, dammit.
They sat in easy silence at the same table in the cafeteria and, while Kirk scrolled through the headlines, (the kid was a news junky), and McCoy read up some notes from a lecture on his PADD, he thought, for what seemed like the thousandth time, how this - being with Kirk - felt right and comfortable.
McCoy didn't get it. And on many levels, he probably didn’t like it and he still scrambled for ways of explaining the 'fit' to himself -
Okay, how about this? It was as if he'd had this dream about something or about someone ‘right’ and the ideal had become a reality.
A male reality.
Oh. No.
He had been trying not to think about that part.
7.
“Of all the seats in all the shuttles, in all the towns, in the entire universe, you had to end up next to mine.” He drawled into the mirror while shaving one morning.
Whichever way he thought about it, he couldn’t convince himself that meeting Kirk like that had been a simple coincidence.
It took a while to piece together enough details; Kirk’s decision, McCoy learned, had been very last minute and hinged on a conversation with Pike although he didn’t manage to find out what exactly was said. It was enough for McCoy to decide it couldn’t have been mere chance that they should be sitting next to each other in the shuttle. Pike had been a bridge to McCoy meeting Kirk. Way he saw it, there’d been a goddamn trail leading up to that moment.
”I may throw up on you.”
8.
He wasn’t about to work out the mathematical probability of his being in that seat and Kirk being in the next one after all, he was a doctor and not a mathematician.
He guessed their tight-assed Vulcan professor might have been able to do that for him but he doubted it would ever have come up easily in conversation.
If it had, it might have gone like this.
“And while we’re on the topic of love, Mr. Spock, what would you say are the chances of my sitting down next to Jim Kirk on that shuttle? Yep, that’s him - the ‘genius’ thug? Yes, the rude bastard reading all the way through your class and not paying attention. It must be a probability of what - one in something… huge?”
“I fail to see the logic in your question, Doctor.”
“I am trying to ascertain, Professor, whether our meeting was meant?”
“Your human concept of destiny - It’s a fascinating theory yet flawed. It would be more logical to state the facts. You sat down next to Kirk in row B seat F. Since you are both tardy by nature, it would seem logical that the two of you should have been left with the least desirable seats on the shuttle and, hence your ‘meeting’.”
“A mystic might have said that it was evidence for a greater plan. Think about it. What are the chances? “McCoy would have insisted.
In the years that followed, McCoy was to consider many times where else he might have ended up and which alternative paths his heart might have followed without that chance encounter.
9.
McCoy didn’t believe in God so he wasn’t about to assume that the Big Fella might have directly intervened in his life after that shitty divorce. He wouldn't have taken pity on him and decided it was time for fate to stop kicking Leonard McCoy in the balls. Except, he had saved a lot of lives in his time - that had to count for something if He was indeed keeping score.
While he didn’t believe in God, now, surveying that rough blond hair and those perfect fingers as Kirk leant over the pool table - McCoy might have argued for the existence of angels.
10.
Think CC wants to fuck me?
Do it. McCoy comm’d back.
The comm from Jim made him smirk. He was across the bar, had been right up in Cupcake’s space. The guy obviously hated Jim and the lack of chemistry between them had somehow ended up in a tense game of pool. Jim had sent the comms while Cupcake racked up. The heavy set cadet glowered at Jim and McCoy watched in amusement as his friend flirted and batted his eyelashes at him. Later in the game, McCoy wasn’t surprised to hear reluctant snorts of laughter from Cupcake; the Jim Effect was one powerful phenomenon none of them could fight for long.
Kind of the opposite of his own charming ways, McCoy thought draining his glass, suddenly feeling a bit rumpled.
Now that he’d gotten so friendly with Jim, he realized how fucking alone he’d been for the past year - at loggerheads with his ex, then his family over the breakup and terrified of seeing his daughter because it got her so upset at daddy leaving.
The bartender produced a clean glass for him and one for Kirk without being asked. Put them side by side. McCoy raised an eyebrow at him and slid the credits over.
The only time McCoy had found peace was working with patients and sharing an easy camaraderie with fellow professionals. In a new hospital, he knew it would take a damn long time to get to that again. But there was nothing like wiping the shit off the proverbial fan alongside medical staff, followed by a few beers to cut to the chase when it came to finding common ground.
As far as ‘civilian’ friendships went, he’d worked so many double shifts before enlisting for Starfleet he’d felt permanently discombobulated. He’d forgotten what it was like to talk to ‘real’ people and, had he felt inclined to make friends, he wasn’t sure he had the energy.
Yet - Jim was all about energy, McCoy thought, watching him pot the black then punch Cupcake on the arm. It was like this homeless dog had appeared in his life, its tail all waggy and he hadn’t the heart to take him to the pound.
Kirk saw his friend looking at him and winked at McCoy across the room.
He watched as Kirk put away the cue and drained his beer and McCoy’s heart leaped a little as Jim walked towards him. Did friendship make you feel this full or was this --?
Shit. His stomach lurched.
McCoy had sensed something, some kind of realization creeping up on him for a while now. He fought it, hated the fucking word even. But this was love.
“I’m drunk,” he informed Kirk, pushing his empty shot glass away.
“No shit, old man,” Kirk said. He downed his own, licked his lips and hooked one hand under McCoy’s armpit to encourage him off the bar stool.
McCoy leant on his friend and they made slow progress towards the door. By allowing himself to even think the L-word, he had inadvertently created an imbalance between them. Now, dammit, there was more feeling on his side than Kirk’s. Everything seemed to swirl and the music had become muffled; all he could hear was his heart pounding in his throat and all he could smell was Jim and whiskey and somehow, miraculously, they’d ended up in a cab.
Fuck, he thought just before he passed out on his bed later with a mumbling, snoring Kirk just a few inches away; love was repeating on him again. This was about as inconvenient as a skunk at a prayer meeting.
11.
It hurt to think, but his brain was going to make him do it anyway. McCoy squinted at Kirk’s back when he woke up, angry with himself, his bladder bursting and his mouth full of gravel. Why, why had this happened again? And when precisely had the bastard started sleeping on the bed and not the couch?
Kirk sighed next to him and shifted about, one bare leg tangled under the sheet the other splayed over it. He faced McCoy now, his line free face, soft and innocent, his lips parted. McCoy ignored the pressing need for the bathroom a minute longer so he could examine that face. Looking at him close-up like this damn near killed him. You’d have to be blind not to see how pretty the little bastard was. But that didn’t explain -
McCoy shifted a little closer so he could feel Kirk’s whiskey sour breathe on his face.
This was what was happening, he got it now; it was like the immune system, high levels of stress made you open to illness - in other words, if your defenses are down, you’re open to attack. He’d fallen in love, maybe, because of all the crap of the past year, because he’d had a need to be loved.
It wasn’t Kirk. It really wasn't fair to blame the little fuck for looking like that, being so damn funny, and scarily smart - the ‘fault’ was his. McCoy reluctantly edged away and headed for the bathroom. Great, he, Leonard Horatio McCoy, simply had a genetic defect - call it his basic, needy personality.
Taking a leak with a boner was never fun but it gave him time to finish off his train of thought.
So, if his ‘needy’ theory was true, it would mean that if someone else had sat in that empty seat next to his, McCoy would have fallen in love with them instead. That’s right. It wasn’t Jim being the cause of all this. It was he, Leonard Horatio McCoy, being a sad and lonely sap. Anyone happening along could have equally been the unwilling recipient of this poor country doctor’s desires. He grinned sardonically at this dumb-ass notion as he flushed and made his way back to the bed. Shit, that other person could have been Cupcake! It could have been the Asian guy sitting across from them on the shuttle who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Jim; forcing McCoy to give him his best scowl to warn him off.
12.
“Professor Spock, let me ask you something.”
“Doctor?”
He could just imagine the stiffening of his back, the complete lack of interest in the Vulcan’s face. McCoy was enjoying these imaginary conversations.
“Continuing our discussion about love…do you believe humans fall in love because they need to be in love? As opposed to loving a specific person and love being triggered off by the beloved's unique/lovable qualities?”
McCoy remembered the night before, how Jim’s t-shirt rode up his back a little when he bent to pick up the chalk. So, that could have been Cupcake’s ass he was getting all dry mouthed about, eh? That’s right, Cupcake making him hard.
Well? Professor.
The sleeping Kirk stretched beside him and McCoy felt his neck flush a little. He remembered how Kirk had leaned against him that time on the shuttle while they talked. Could that moment have felt anywhere near as special if it had been with Cupcake rather than Jim?
Kirk’s foot brushed up against his and McCoy felt a flicker of heat between his chest and his groin. He knew then with a certainty, that no one else could have this effect on him - sure in his cock but not on his almost-given-up-on-this-shit heart.
If he allowed himself to be seduced by the math and then believed that their meeting could be explained by probability, equations and ‘chances that…’ then the moment would no longer have significance. This wasn’t quite as seductive to McCoy.
Ever the romantic, McCoy preferred to believe that there was always going to be a chance that he and Jim might have run into each other. That meeting, McCoy decided once and for all, when Kirk opened his eyes and smiled at him, proved one thing - there was some imperative out there that he and Jim be together. There was supposed to be love between them whether it be the love between friends or the love between… shit what would that make them? Lovers?
Well they didn’t have sex - so the 'love of a married couple' probably fit best.
Jim shifted beside him, blinked and cleared his throat.
“Morning, Bones,” he mumbled, then went back to sleep.
McCoy found himself daring to hope that his feelings of loneliness had drifted away into the past.
“Morning yourself, kid.”
Part 2
Idealization
Or
Wearing Rose-Colored Spectacles
October, 2255 - March 2256
1.
Is it possible, Sulu wondered, that we fall in love because the opposite of being in love would be existing in a state of cynicism, the state of not believing in anything?
By allowing ourselves to love, just for a while, as we pretend that the beloved has no faults, does it lift us into believing that anything is possible?
He drank mineral water and ate fruit in the cafeteria during his mid-morning break.
2.
On the shuttle, Sulu had watched the bruise faced, blond delinquent talking with the scruffier older man; it was the altercation with a member of the cabin crew which had attracted his attention in the first place. He'd learned their names soon after.
In the years that followed, Sulu would allow his mind to reassess these fifteen or so minutes, when James Kirk had first made an impression on him. At the time, he’d experienced irritation at McCoy's rudeness then a thunderbolt of unexpected feeling, something close to fascination, when he saw Kirk put his lips to McCoy's flask. Now in the cafeteria, he remembered a moment on that shuttle, when McCoy had looked daggers at him and Sulu wondered how an individual with so little control over his emotions managed to be, according to his reputation, an excellent surgeon and psychiatrist.
3.
He remembers thinking Kirk had looked lonely - like a man who hadn't had an arm around him, other than to pull him into a sexual embrace, for a long time.
McCoy, on the other hand, looked like he freely chose never to be touched. Yet he shared his flask with a perfect stranger.
Not for the last time, Sulu wondered what on earth this friendship was based on.
4.
Sulu was a perfectionist. He tolerated no weakness in himself and none in others - certainly when it came to matters which required dedication and hard work.
Fast tracked straight into year two of the academy, just like Kirk, and after just six weeks, it was apparent he was one of the best pilots in his year. He believed in repetition, learning a skill, honing it until it became a part of you then finding something else you needed to improve. For him, life, work, his passions required, demanded zeal.
But Kirk had de-railed him. To his horror, Sulu realized that faults, imperfections and weaknesses could become something else when perceived through the eyes of love.
That moment, the lips around the flask, that's when it happened. This was when Sulu's disciplined mind had become a pile of dropped papers.
With love came the idealization of all of the beloved's blemishes in conduct and appearance.
In other words, in his eyes, James Kirk could do no wrong.
5.
In the months to come, Sulu would notice:
• Kirk often ate with his mouth open, especially when he chewed steak
• he burped very loudly in the bar after too much beer
• he punched people too hard on the arm when he should have been hugging them
• he left his clothes strewn all over his room floor (this detail courtesy of an overheard argument between Kirk and McCoy)
• he often turned up late and hung over for lectures and classes
• in piloting class he was exceptionally skilled but a reckless slave to adrenaline rushes which jeopardized his chances of passing
Had it been someone else, Sulu would have reacted with indifference or disapproval. But under the umbrella of love, these facets of James Kirk instead added to his glamour and reaffirmed in Sulu’s mind that he was the most amazing human being he had ever cast eyes on.
6.
Sometimes (whenever he got a chance), Sulu sat as close as he could to Kirk in the cafeteria. They’d never spoken.
A low, frosted glass partition divided up the officers from the rest of the cadets. He noticed that Kirk and the doctor sat together often. Whereas usually two men might sit opposite, Kirk and McCoy tended to re-arrange canteen furniture and set their chairs alongside each other. Which led Sulu to consider that perhaps the doctor loved Kirk too? Although he had also noted that both men would do this regardless of who sat down first.
But then, Kirk sat very close to a lot of people.
7.
Just five minutes ago, Sulu had bumped right into Kirk and his fruit salad had flown off the tray and melon and yoghurt had splattered onto Kirk’s boots.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Kirk had said, flashing a gut-wrenchingly bright smile, taking a bite out of an apple.
Sulu hadn’t been able to say a word back. He’d scrabbled on his knees and tried to wipe the food off the scuffed boots with his napkin, dimly aware that this was an entirely apt position for the two of them, Kirk on a pedestal and he on the floor hardly daring to gaze up at him. Kirk sauntered off to join his doctor friend at their usual table.
Sulu enjoyed being a romantic and, with a touch of irony and self-mockery, over the coming months he would allow this image to represent the difference between them, between Kirk’s world and his.
It seemed he’d got where he wanted to be because he used his talents and worked hard while Kirk had gotten where he was with effortless intelligence and charm. Kirk was at the top of the mountain while he, Sulu, pan-handled at its base.
8.
Sometimes, while taking an extended shower and with his cock in hand, Sulu would reward himself by running an image of Kirk sitting on a throne, not unlike the captain's chair in a Starfleet ship. Sulu was his acolyte, bathing Kirk's feet, dressing him, pulling his robe aside and resting his forehead on Kirk’s thigh before he was given silent permission to touch him. And Sulu would place his lips reverently around the tip of Kirk’s penis and worship him while the Captain’s hand rested on Sulu’s head. It didn’t suit Sulu that Kirk should be a cadet in his fantasy.
Naturally the fantasy became more perfect each time - Sulu had very high standards.
Whether this was love or obsession - he knew that only time would tell. For months he’d feel a constant craving to see Kirk and an ache when he wasn't there.
And because nothing would stand in the way of Sulu's success, he utilized this excess nervous energy in his studies, his flying and his fencing. His beloved plants, on the other hand, were too sensitive to risk being exposed to anything as negative as unrequited love, so Sulu mastered and transformed the energy into devotion in the hot house - for their sakes.
Part 3
Part 3
The Subtext of Seduction
Or
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
October - November 2255
1.
McCoy was a scientist. He knew much about how people and the galaxy were put together; he was learning the inner workings of alien bodies and he hoped that by the end of his stint at the academy, he would have cracked the vaccine for Melvaran mud fleas.
The art of seduction, on the other hand - this left him uncertain and furious.
2.
Thoughts about Kirk refused to leave him.
For example, in the medical labs, he found his mind drifting to Kirk’s cracked lips. He wondered what he might use to salve them and how he could engineer events so that he might be the one who smeared the remedy onto Jim’s beautiful mouth.
It was a miracle that he didn’t drop something lethal on the lab floor and wipe out the entire campus.
3.
Other thoughts were whimsical. He’s a great guy, we could be life-long friends or he’s just what a bitter, grouch like me needs!
Most often, Kirk-thoughts wouldn't be so verbal ; they'd be unexpected, visual assaults in his head in full-scale colour which triggered random trickles of fire in his groin - not so bad if he was alone, but potentially damned embarrassing in company.
Thoughts which haunted him included:
a) a flash of Kirk’s tongue when he took a sip from his flask on the shuttle that first day
b) his eyes, jeez his fucking eyes
c) his fuck me, fuck off swagger
d) the way Jim persisted in punching him on the arm
e) the way he’d christened him ‘Bones’
f) the way he refused to be daunted by McCoy’s gruff manner
g) the way he looked over his cards when he played poker, distracting his opponents with a look they saw as ‘revealing’ but was a you-wanna-fuck-me-dontcha decoy so he could take their credits.
4.
He hadn't saved Kirk's number on his comm and had taken to deleting messages as soon as he read them. Well, it made him feel less of an idiot and like he might have some actual control over his destiny. Now it had backfired; he hadn't heard from Kirk in days, and he was missing the hell out of him.
McCoy couldn’t just pop around to Jim’s dorm, could he?
And how precisely did they manage to not bump into each other on such a small campus? Well, it shouldn't have surprised him - both had a ridiculous work and study load and McCoy, for one, hadn’t joined Starfleet so he could spend all his time behaving like a cheerleader in High School, hoping to bump into the dreamy football captain.
Still - if only he could recall the number for Jim’s comm. Not looking at the number when it had come up on the screen in the past had been a conscious ploy, working around his fucking photographic memory; trying to be in control. Now he was regretting it.
As it was, he'd have to rely on bumping into Kirk on the ‘off-chance’, and this was getting exhausting
5.
A stroke of luck, (McCoy hadn’t counted how many days had passed, he hadn’t), and there he fucking was weaving through the tables and other cadets in the cafeteria.
McCoy watched over his PADD as the pilot guy, Sulu, cleared up his breakfast from Jim’s boots. He gulped when Kirk spotted him and headed his way.
McCoy didn’t think it could be possible to want to stab a piece of fruit for sharing more intimacy with the object of his desire than he ever could.
“Hey, Bones! Anyone sitting here?”
It was hard pretending to keep his eye on his PADD but he managed to control a shaking hand and shrug in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner but probably came over as a spasm.
“I lost my comm, man. What a jerk!” Kirk straddled the chair and edged closer to McCoy.
“Hmmm?” Was all McCoy could manage. He noticed the gleam of apple juice on pale, plump lips and watched Kirk’s teeth grinding the pieces into submission.
“Can you give me your number again?” Kirk said.
Was this a heavenly choir playing in his ears?
“Sure. I’ll punch it in for you,” McCoy said.
He took the comm, and as he entered the details, he noticed the heavenly choir had shut the fuck up when it dawned on him that he was, in fact, a sap who’d fallen for a kid who didn’t know if he was alive or dead.
“You’ve still got my number, right?”
“Yes,” McCoy lied. Gruff; his own voice sounded gruff. Fuck.
6.
Four days passed and McCoy had spent more time staring at his comm waiting for it to chirrup at him than he’d have cared to admit. It took on a life of its own as he placed it gently on the lab bench, by his bed...
...waiting, waiting.
7.
On day five, the comm. glowed to life.
“Bones!”
“Jim.”
One word, one syllable that summed up everything he wanted in life.
“Whatcha doing tonight?”
McCoy stared at his PADD nestled on his chest where he’d dozed off on the bed.
“Studying.”
“How about you and me go see a band downtown?”
McCoy’s heart leapt. “I really do have to study…”
“Okay, man, no problem. See you around.”
He wasn’t supposed to do that. He was supposed to ask again, insist. Shit.
McCoy saved the number.
8.
Okay, let's look at this rationally, McCoy suggested to himself. He's only young; maybe he doesn't know how to express his feelings yet, what he wants and needs.
Wait a minute, that's you, his internal voice growled.
Nevertheless, McCoy decided to actively look for signs of mutual attraction.
By mid-November, all he could say with assurance was that everything Kirk said or did confused him. This was ironic seeing as how the kid was the most honest, guiless person McCoy had ever met in all of his work-and-no-play life. Surely then, he’d be open about attraction? Wouldn’t he?
Much like he, Leonard Horatio McCoy, wasn’t being.
“You ever been in love, Bones?” Kirk asked him one cool night as they waited for a cab home.
“I…yes. I’ve been married.” He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.
Kirk turned to him and looked long and hard. Why? Why couldn’t the bastard communicate like a normal person? What was he trying to say with that look? Kirk knew he'd been married.
“Have you?” McCoy’s voice sounded like a squeak to him.
And still those eyes held him.
“No…maybe…” Kirk said and looked away, drawing his scarf higher up his neck to cover his mouth and nose.
Maybe? How can one word bolt through your body like that?
The next afternoon, in the cafeteria, McCoy tried not to look like he was scanning the cadets for his best friend. He really fucking worked at appearing nonchalant but, when he saw Kirk sitting with Gaila, he felt himself colour.
As he approached, Kirk pushed his chair back and spread his legs a little.
As a doctor, McCoy knew more than most about body language; he made it his business. You could learn a great deal about a patient's pain from the way they used their hands while they described it, whether their hands were open or closed, whether they jabbed fingers at the site of their discomfort.
But he couldn’t read fuck about Kirk.
Sure, Kirk always seemed to open up physically when McCoy was near him. Then again, he was never not with Kirk in order to observe how he’d be around other folk.
Shit, his head hurt.
He scraped a chair closer, set his plate down.
“You ok?” Kirk said, scanning McCoy’s face, touching his hand which sent a shot of adrenaline straight to his groin.
Why did he do that? What did it mean?
“Course I’m ok, you dumb fuck,” he growled. “Pass the salt.”
“It’s bad for you, old timer, what with your class A personality - you’re heading for a heart-attack…”
Gaila giggled at Kirk’s remark.
Shit, maybe he should stop using salt so much. If it made such a bad impression...and since when was he the one on the receiving end of health advice?
9.
They sat on Kirk’s bed drinking whiskey. The mattress sagged in the middle and McCoy’s buttocks were working overtime trying to counteract the natural incline towards his friend. He’d never fought so hard against something he wanted so much.
What he needed was a sign, then he'd stop fighting.
Was this it?
Kirk snaked his arm around McCoy’s neck and he responded by leaning in a little too eagerly. Well, it was the bed's fault, wasn’t it? And Jim was too drunk to notice.
“Shall I tell you a secret?” Kirk slurred.
“I’ll warn you now, if it involves concealed body parts or a crime, it’s my duty to report…”
“You fucking kidding me?” Kirk hiccupped, and then grinned. “Shit, you and your dead-pan thing.”
McCoy almost sighed in relief - if he wasn’t careful, the kid would dump him for someone altogether more fun.
“What’s your secret, Jim?” He looked dead ahead but he was aware his voice was whiskey warm - an invitation.
Kirk pulled his arm away, closed his eyes and leant against the headboard, his near empty glass lilting precariously on his thigh. McCoy was glad it wasn’t his own bed, despite the fortuitous sagging.
“I wouldn’t know if I was in love if I was…like…you know, in love…”
McCoy really, truly didn’t know how to react. Guys didn’t talk about this stuff. He cleared his throat. He waited for his friend to unravel this strange fucking moment. He smelled so good, of beer, whiskey chasers, tobacco from a cigarette he'd insisted on having that some girl offered him outside the club. She fucking wants me Bones, I could lose her cause you're being a tight-ass.
“How do I know if I’m in love, Bones?” Kirk opened his eyes wide and McCoy’s mind was suddenly full of valentines’ day card couplets and thoughts of limpid pools.
Overwhelmed with self-disgust and panic, and half a bottle of malt, he staggered to his feet and threw up in the sink.
When he came back Jim was asleep, sprawled on the bed. McCoy removed Jim’s boots, pulled off his socks, took the empty glass from Kirk’s hand; and when he was absolutely sure that his friend had completely passed out, he indulged in a quick, angry jerk-off at the foot of the bed, watching his beloved's chest rise and fall, dragging his eyes across Jim's taught belly which he'd managed to uncover just a little without waking him.
Jesus - this was so fucking wrong.
parts 4-7 this way
author sangueuk
beta awarrington
artists nix_this and ashleyj28
fanmixer the_sell_out
series Star Trek reboot
characters/pairingsKirk/McCoy, Kirk/other, McCoy/other, Sulu, Spock/Uhura, Gaila, Cupcake, Frank, Jocelyn
rating nc-17 for m/m sex and shenanigans, hard drinking and cussing - yay
word-count 30,000 ish but in easily digestible chunks
warningsIt’s super thinky/philosophical (and there’s rimming somewhere). Only in slash, people, do we have warnings like this, only in slash…
disclaimer I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley. Also, all borrowing from ‘On Love’ is based on admiration and awe and I do not mean any offence.
author’s notes
1. I’ve followed de Botton’s chapter headings, (sub-heading are mine), and structure as well as his quirks of numbering the paragraphs/shifts within each chapter because it’s fun.
2. Pov is mostly K/M but there are significant cameos by Sulu and Spock.
3. I plead artistic license when it comes to McCoy’s marriage break-up, and placing Sulu at the academy at the same time as Kirk and McCoy.
summary Kirk and McCoy star in a study of romantic love set in the first year at the academy - directly inspired by philosopher Alain de Botton’s On Love - it has a classic plot - boy meet boy, boy gets boy, boy loses boy etc. It’s indie, it’s angsty, it’s thinky, it packed with ULT (unresolved love tension). If they just talked about their feelings, where would be the fun in that?
Thanks to: awarrington for her patient, calm beta work, lindmere for an early read-through and convincing me this didn’t suck, blcwriter for the loan of her amazing, original character, club-kid, Kevin, and toastedtea for advice on Georgia and all things local.
Love by-passes the rational mind. Alain de Botton
Feedback would be really appreciated because I’ve drained my soul writing this and you can fill it up again!
Awarded a bronze medal in the jim_and_bones Rec Olympics 2012 for Best Academy era fic!
link to fic
the mix here
I was lucky enough to have two artists!
link to Art 1 by nix_this
link to Art 2 by ashleyj28
NB: The Masterlist of all my fanfiction is here
Autopsy of the Heart
Part 1
Romantic Fatalism
Or
Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire
September, 2255
1.
Leonard McCoy had joined the foreign legion to forget. The last thing he expected was that he might also end his dreadful luck with relationships.
He knew relationships could only work if there was connection and, since no one had ever understood him and, (he believed) he could never understand anyone else - least of all a woman - he was screwed. Period.
2.
Dawn, Fall in Iowa and love was not on his mind.
He’d overslept, (too much bourbon the night before), and hadn’t had time to take a shower.
Now, all that he could think about was death - imminent, certain, painful death. And he wouldn’t even have the satisfaction when the inevitable happened and his eyes popped and the shuttle disintegrated into a million pieces, of saying I told you so to the annoying flight attendant who’d spoken to him like he was a kid or something.
Dammit, he hated people he didn’t know touching him - it was unsanitary, especially in such confined quarters.
3.
Strapped in like a toddler, he could feel eyes boring into him from his right. He turned in his seat, wishing he’d taken his jacket off as it had bunched up uncomfortably around his armpits.
The face was beaten up but handsome, young, strong and the young man’s lips looked dry as if he too had been drinking too much the night before in preparation for this flight.
Perhaps in an effort to break the hypnotic effect of the ice blue fixed on him, McCoy heard himself babbling and ranting about the dangers of space. He noticed at one point that he’d managed to shower spit in his new friend’s face.
They shared a drink from his hip flask, (hell the guy looked alright to him - he was bound not to have any cooties), and he talked while Jim Kirk, that was his name, listened to him ramble on about space sickness, his ex wife, his kid and how they’d made him pay extra for his luggage - damned books weighed a ton.
Then he threw up on Jim - hell of an icebreaker.
4.
When it came to Kirk’s turn to talk and maybe reciprocate with a few snippets about his background, McCoy noticed that, while letting slip a few cursory details about Iowa, (he had an elder brother and a bit of a thing for motorcycles), Jim looked dead ahead as he spoke which, while it gave McCoy’s delicate guts a bit of a break from the sonic stare, intimated that the kid might not be interested in being buddies back at him.
No matter, McCoy, while he told himself he didn’t need any new friends, had to acknowledge he’d felt an uncharacteristic desire to learn more about this kid; he hadn’t felt too interested in another human being, other than in their capacity as patients, in he couldn't remember how long.
5.
By the time they’d passed through security, McCoy was convinced he must have ingested some hitherto unnamed space-borne sex-pollen because, much to his disgust, he had to acknowledge that he might have developed a crush on his new friend.
6.
- Hey, you sleaze, I found a pair of your underpants in the bathroom. They say hi. McCoy comm’d Kirk.
-Keep them.
- No REALLY. You’re a helluva gentleman, but they miss their pa.
- Tell them I’ve moved on.
- I’ll bring them to class tomorrow.
They spent a lot of time together over the next few days: sending dumb messages to each other, helping each other move in, drinking, bitching about the other students. He’d persuaded Kirk to stay over and sleep on the couch the second night; after all, he was too drunk to make his way back across the quad in the fog safely, McCoy reasoned.
In truth, it had only taken McCoy a few hours of conversation with Kirk to realize his new friend was smart, real smart and could have found his way back if he’d put a mask and ear-plugs on him, and spun him round five times. If he’d been sober enough to be honest with himself, McCoy would have recognized he’s wanted Jim to stay because he hadn’t wanted the evening to be over. The extra half hour of company, one more shared glass of bourbon - filled his empty heart.
And over the next couple of weeks, McCoy acknowledge he’d never experienced such a connection with anyone before and certainly not this fast. They talked about something and nothing most of the time and their friendship was easy-going, like they’d known each other for years. He had no idea how this could be. After all, they were so different; first the big age gap and, second, the kid was an out and out hedonist, a fuck-anything-that-moves adrenaline-junky while he was a conservative, hard-working grouch.
In the light of this, McCoy asked himself if it was possible they’d met before because he felt like he recognized the face, the colour of those eyes, the laugh and the smirk - there had to be a reason why this all seem so familiar? As he struggled to make sense of the feeling he settled on this; it was like he’d walked through a door, into a room he’d lived in before while still understanding that simply couldn’t have been possible. It rankled with him because McCoy believed in simple cause and effect not destiny, dammit.
They sat in easy silence at the same table in the cafeteria and, while Kirk scrolled through the headlines, (the kid was a news junky), and McCoy read up some notes from a lecture on his PADD, he thought, for what seemed like the thousandth time, how this - being with Kirk - felt right and comfortable.
McCoy didn't get it. And on many levels, he probably didn’t like it and he still scrambled for ways of explaining the 'fit' to himself -
Okay, how about this? It was as if he'd had this dream about something or about someone ‘right’ and the ideal had become a reality.
A male reality.
Oh. No.
He had been trying not to think about that part.
7.
“Of all the seats in all the shuttles, in all the towns, in the entire universe, you had to end up next to mine.” He drawled into the mirror while shaving one morning.
Whichever way he thought about it, he couldn’t convince himself that meeting Kirk like that had been a simple coincidence.
It took a while to piece together enough details; Kirk’s decision, McCoy learned, had been very last minute and hinged on a conversation with Pike although he didn’t manage to find out what exactly was said. It was enough for McCoy to decide it couldn’t have been mere chance that they should be sitting next to each other in the shuttle. Pike had been a bridge to McCoy meeting Kirk. Way he saw it, there’d been a goddamn trail leading up to that moment.
”I may throw up on you.”
8.
He wasn’t about to work out the mathematical probability of his being in that seat and Kirk being in the next one after all, he was a doctor and not a mathematician.
He guessed their tight-assed Vulcan professor might have been able to do that for him but he doubted it would ever have come up easily in conversation.
If it had, it might have gone like this.
“And while we’re on the topic of love, Mr. Spock, what would you say are the chances of my sitting down next to Jim Kirk on that shuttle? Yep, that’s him - the ‘genius’ thug? Yes, the rude bastard reading all the way through your class and not paying attention. It must be a probability of what - one in something… huge?”
“I fail to see the logic in your question, Doctor.”
“I am trying to ascertain, Professor, whether our meeting was meant?”
“Your human concept of destiny - It’s a fascinating theory yet flawed. It would be more logical to state the facts. You sat down next to Kirk in row B seat F. Since you are both tardy by nature, it would seem logical that the two of you should have been left with the least desirable seats on the shuttle and, hence your ‘meeting’.”
“A mystic might have said that it was evidence for a greater plan. Think about it. What are the chances? “McCoy would have insisted.
In the years that followed, McCoy was to consider many times where else he might have ended up and which alternative paths his heart might have followed without that chance encounter.
9.
McCoy didn’t believe in God so he wasn’t about to assume that the Big Fella might have directly intervened in his life after that shitty divorce. He wouldn't have taken pity on him and decided it was time for fate to stop kicking Leonard McCoy in the balls. Except, he had saved a lot of lives in his time - that had to count for something if He was indeed keeping score.
While he didn’t believe in God, now, surveying that rough blond hair and those perfect fingers as Kirk leant over the pool table - McCoy might have argued for the existence of angels.
10.
Think CC wants to fuck me?
Do it. McCoy comm’d back.
The comm from Jim made him smirk. He was across the bar, had been right up in Cupcake’s space. The guy obviously hated Jim and the lack of chemistry between them had somehow ended up in a tense game of pool. Jim had sent the comms while Cupcake racked up. The heavy set cadet glowered at Jim and McCoy watched in amusement as his friend flirted and batted his eyelashes at him. Later in the game, McCoy wasn’t surprised to hear reluctant snorts of laughter from Cupcake; the Jim Effect was one powerful phenomenon none of them could fight for long.
Kind of the opposite of his own charming ways, McCoy thought draining his glass, suddenly feeling a bit rumpled.
Now that he’d gotten so friendly with Jim, he realized how fucking alone he’d been for the past year - at loggerheads with his ex, then his family over the breakup and terrified of seeing his daughter because it got her so upset at daddy leaving.
The bartender produced a clean glass for him and one for Kirk without being asked. Put them side by side. McCoy raised an eyebrow at him and slid the credits over.
The only time McCoy had found peace was working with patients and sharing an easy camaraderie with fellow professionals. In a new hospital, he knew it would take a damn long time to get to that again. But there was nothing like wiping the shit off the proverbial fan alongside medical staff, followed by a few beers to cut to the chase when it came to finding common ground.
As far as ‘civilian’ friendships went, he’d worked so many double shifts before enlisting for Starfleet he’d felt permanently discombobulated. He’d forgotten what it was like to talk to ‘real’ people and, had he felt inclined to make friends, he wasn’t sure he had the energy.
Yet - Jim was all about energy, McCoy thought, watching him pot the black then punch Cupcake on the arm. It was like this homeless dog had appeared in his life, its tail all waggy and he hadn’t the heart to take him to the pound.
Kirk saw his friend looking at him and winked at McCoy across the room.
He watched as Kirk put away the cue and drained his beer and McCoy’s heart leaped a little as Jim walked towards him. Did friendship make you feel this full or was this --?
Shit. His stomach lurched.
McCoy had sensed something, some kind of realization creeping up on him for a while now. He fought it, hated the fucking word even. But this was love.
“I’m drunk,” he informed Kirk, pushing his empty shot glass away.
“No shit, old man,” Kirk said. He downed his own, licked his lips and hooked one hand under McCoy’s armpit to encourage him off the bar stool.
McCoy leant on his friend and they made slow progress towards the door. By allowing himself to even think the L-word, he had inadvertently created an imbalance between them. Now, dammit, there was more feeling on his side than Kirk’s. Everything seemed to swirl and the music had become muffled; all he could hear was his heart pounding in his throat and all he could smell was Jim and whiskey and somehow, miraculously, they’d ended up in a cab.
Fuck, he thought just before he passed out on his bed later with a mumbling, snoring Kirk just a few inches away; love was repeating on him again. This was about as inconvenient as a skunk at a prayer meeting.
11.
It hurt to think, but his brain was going to make him do it anyway. McCoy squinted at Kirk’s back when he woke up, angry with himself, his bladder bursting and his mouth full of gravel. Why, why had this happened again? And when precisely had the bastard started sleeping on the bed and not the couch?
Kirk sighed next to him and shifted about, one bare leg tangled under the sheet the other splayed over it. He faced McCoy now, his line free face, soft and innocent, his lips parted. McCoy ignored the pressing need for the bathroom a minute longer so he could examine that face. Looking at him close-up like this damn near killed him. You’d have to be blind not to see how pretty the little bastard was. But that didn’t explain -
McCoy shifted a little closer so he could feel Kirk’s whiskey sour breathe on his face.
This was what was happening, he got it now; it was like the immune system, high levels of stress made you open to illness - in other words, if your defenses are down, you’re open to attack. He’d fallen in love, maybe, because of all the crap of the past year, because he’d had a need to be loved.
It wasn’t Kirk. It really wasn't fair to blame the little fuck for looking like that, being so damn funny, and scarily smart - the ‘fault’ was his. McCoy reluctantly edged away and headed for the bathroom. Great, he, Leonard Horatio McCoy, simply had a genetic defect - call it his basic, needy personality.
Taking a leak with a boner was never fun but it gave him time to finish off his train of thought.
So, if his ‘needy’ theory was true, it would mean that if someone else had sat in that empty seat next to his, McCoy would have fallen in love with them instead. That’s right. It wasn’t Jim being the cause of all this. It was he, Leonard Horatio McCoy, being a sad and lonely sap. Anyone happening along could have equally been the unwilling recipient of this poor country doctor’s desires. He grinned sardonically at this dumb-ass notion as he flushed and made his way back to the bed. Shit, that other person could have been Cupcake! It could have been the Asian guy sitting across from them on the shuttle who couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Jim; forcing McCoy to give him his best scowl to warn him off.
12.
“Professor Spock, let me ask you something.”
“Doctor?”
He could just imagine the stiffening of his back, the complete lack of interest in the Vulcan’s face. McCoy was enjoying these imaginary conversations.
“Continuing our discussion about love…do you believe humans fall in love because they need to be in love? As opposed to loving a specific person and love being triggered off by the beloved's unique/lovable qualities?”
McCoy remembered the night before, how Jim’s t-shirt rode up his back a little when he bent to pick up the chalk. So, that could have been Cupcake’s ass he was getting all dry mouthed about, eh? That’s right, Cupcake making him hard.
Well? Professor.
The sleeping Kirk stretched beside him and McCoy felt his neck flush a little. He remembered how Kirk had leaned against him that time on the shuttle while they talked. Could that moment have felt anywhere near as special if it had been with Cupcake rather than Jim?
Kirk’s foot brushed up against his and McCoy felt a flicker of heat between his chest and his groin. He knew then with a certainty, that no one else could have this effect on him - sure in his cock but not on his almost-given-up-on-this-shit heart.
If he allowed himself to be seduced by the math and then believed that their meeting could be explained by probability, equations and ‘chances that…’ then the moment would no longer have significance. This wasn’t quite as seductive to McCoy.
Ever the romantic, McCoy preferred to believe that there was always going to be a chance that he and Jim might have run into each other. That meeting, McCoy decided once and for all, when Kirk opened his eyes and smiled at him, proved one thing - there was some imperative out there that he and Jim be together. There was supposed to be love between them whether it be the love between friends or the love between… shit what would that make them? Lovers?
Well they didn’t have sex - so the 'love of a married couple' probably fit best.
Jim shifted beside him, blinked and cleared his throat.
“Morning, Bones,” he mumbled, then went back to sleep.
McCoy found himself daring to hope that his feelings of loneliness had drifted away into the past.
“Morning yourself, kid.”
Part 2
Idealization
Or
Wearing Rose-Colored Spectacles
October, 2255 - March 2256
1.
Is it possible, Sulu wondered, that we fall in love because the opposite of being in love would be existing in a state of cynicism, the state of not believing in anything?
By allowing ourselves to love, just for a while, as we pretend that the beloved has no faults, does it lift us into believing that anything is possible?
He drank mineral water and ate fruit in the cafeteria during his mid-morning break.
2.
On the shuttle, Sulu had watched the bruise faced, blond delinquent talking with the scruffier older man; it was the altercation with a member of the cabin crew which had attracted his attention in the first place. He'd learned their names soon after.
In the years that followed, Sulu would allow his mind to reassess these fifteen or so minutes, when James Kirk had first made an impression on him. At the time, he’d experienced irritation at McCoy's rudeness then a thunderbolt of unexpected feeling, something close to fascination, when he saw Kirk put his lips to McCoy's flask. Now in the cafeteria, he remembered a moment on that shuttle, when McCoy had looked daggers at him and Sulu wondered how an individual with so little control over his emotions managed to be, according to his reputation, an excellent surgeon and psychiatrist.
3.
He remembers thinking Kirk had looked lonely - like a man who hadn't had an arm around him, other than to pull him into a sexual embrace, for a long time.
McCoy, on the other hand, looked like he freely chose never to be touched. Yet he shared his flask with a perfect stranger.
Not for the last time, Sulu wondered what on earth this friendship was based on.
4.
Sulu was a perfectionist. He tolerated no weakness in himself and none in others - certainly when it came to matters which required dedication and hard work.
Fast tracked straight into year two of the academy, just like Kirk, and after just six weeks, it was apparent he was one of the best pilots in his year. He believed in repetition, learning a skill, honing it until it became a part of you then finding something else you needed to improve. For him, life, work, his passions required, demanded zeal.
But Kirk had de-railed him. To his horror, Sulu realized that faults, imperfections and weaknesses could become something else when perceived through the eyes of love.
That moment, the lips around the flask, that's when it happened. This was when Sulu's disciplined mind had become a pile of dropped papers.
With love came the idealization of all of the beloved's blemishes in conduct and appearance.
In other words, in his eyes, James Kirk could do no wrong.
5.
In the months to come, Sulu would notice:
• Kirk often ate with his mouth open, especially when he chewed steak
• he burped very loudly in the bar after too much beer
• he punched people too hard on the arm when he should have been hugging them
• he left his clothes strewn all over his room floor (this detail courtesy of an overheard argument between Kirk and McCoy)
• he often turned up late and hung over for lectures and classes
• in piloting class he was exceptionally skilled but a reckless slave to adrenaline rushes which jeopardized his chances of passing
Had it been someone else, Sulu would have reacted with indifference or disapproval. But under the umbrella of love, these facets of James Kirk instead added to his glamour and reaffirmed in Sulu’s mind that he was the most amazing human being he had ever cast eyes on.
6.
Sometimes (whenever he got a chance), Sulu sat as close as he could to Kirk in the cafeteria. They’d never spoken.
A low, frosted glass partition divided up the officers from the rest of the cadets. He noticed that Kirk and the doctor sat together often. Whereas usually two men might sit opposite, Kirk and McCoy tended to re-arrange canteen furniture and set their chairs alongside each other. Which led Sulu to consider that perhaps the doctor loved Kirk too? Although he had also noted that both men would do this regardless of who sat down first.
But then, Kirk sat very close to a lot of people.
7.
Just five minutes ago, Sulu had bumped right into Kirk and his fruit salad had flown off the tray and melon and yoghurt had splattered onto Kirk’s boots.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Kirk had said, flashing a gut-wrenchingly bright smile, taking a bite out of an apple.
Sulu hadn’t been able to say a word back. He’d scrabbled on his knees and tried to wipe the food off the scuffed boots with his napkin, dimly aware that this was an entirely apt position for the two of them, Kirk on a pedestal and he on the floor hardly daring to gaze up at him. Kirk sauntered off to join his doctor friend at their usual table.
Sulu enjoyed being a romantic and, with a touch of irony and self-mockery, over the coming months he would allow this image to represent the difference between them, between Kirk’s world and his.
It seemed he’d got where he wanted to be because he used his talents and worked hard while Kirk had gotten where he was with effortless intelligence and charm. Kirk was at the top of the mountain while he, Sulu, pan-handled at its base.
8.
Sometimes, while taking an extended shower and with his cock in hand, Sulu would reward himself by running an image of Kirk sitting on a throne, not unlike the captain's chair in a Starfleet ship. Sulu was his acolyte, bathing Kirk's feet, dressing him, pulling his robe aside and resting his forehead on Kirk’s thigh before he was given silent permission to touch him. And Sulu would place his lips reverently around the tip of Kirk’s penis and worship him while the Captain’s hand rested on Sulu’s head. It didn’t suit Sulu that Kirk should be a cadet in his fantasy.
Naturally the fantasy became more perfect each time - Sulu had very high standards.
Whether this was love or obsession - he knew that only time would tell. For months he’d feel a constant craving to see Kirk and an ache when he wasn't there.
And because nothing would stand in the way of Sulu's success, he utilized this excess nervous energy in his studies, his flying and his fencing. His beloved plants, on the other hand, were too sensitive to risk being exposed to anything as negative as unrequited love, so Sulu mastered and transformed the energy into devotion in the hot house - for their sakes.
Part 3
Part 3
The Subtext of Seduction
Or
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
October - November 2255
1.
McCoy was a scientist. He knew much about how people and the galaxy were put together; he was learning the inner workings of alien bodies and he hoped that by the end of his stint at the academy, he would have cracked the vaccine for Melvaran mud fleas.
The art of seduction, on the other hand - this left him uncertain and furious.
2.
Thoughts about Kirk refused to leave him.
For example, in the medical labs, he found his mind drifting to Kirk’s cracked lips. He wondered what he might use to salve them and how he could engineer events so that he might be the one who smeared the remedy onto Jim’s beautiful mouth.
It was a miracle that he didn’t drop something lethal on the lab floor and wipe out the entire campus.
3.
Other thoughts were whimsical. He’s a great guy, we could be life-long friends or he’s just what a bitter, grouch like me needs!
Most often, Kirk-thoughts wouldn't be so verbal ; they'd be unexpected, visual assaults in his head in full-scale colour which triggered random trickles of fire in his groin - not so bad if he was alone, but potentially damned embarrassing in company.
Thoughts which haunted him included:
a) a flash of Kirk’s tongue when he took a sip from his flask on the shuttle that first day
b) his eyes, jeez his fucking eyes
c) his fuck me, fuck off swagger
d) the way Jim persisted in punching him on the arm
e) the way he’d christened him ‘Bones’
f) the way he refused to be daunted by McCoy’s gruff manner
g) the way he looked over his cards when he played poker, distracting his opponents with a look they saw as ‘revealing’ but was a you-wanna-fuck-me-dontcha decoy so he could take their credits.
4.
He hadn't saved Kirk's number on his comm and had taken to deleting messages as soon as he read them. Well, it made him feel less of an idiot and like he might have some actual control over his destiny. Now it had backfired; he hadn't heard from Kirk in days, and he was missing the hell out of him.
McCoy couldn’t just pop around to Jim’s dorm, could he?
And how precisely did they manage to not bump into each other on such a small campus? Well, it shouldn't have surprised him - both had a ridiculous work and study load and McCoy, for one, hadn’t joined Starfleet so he could spend all his time behaving like a cheerleader in High School, hoping to bump into the dreamy football captain.
Still - if only he could recall the number for Jim’s comm. Not looking at the number when it had come up on the screen in the past had been a conscious ploy, working around his fucking photographic memory; trying to be in control. Now he was regretting it.
As it was, he'd have to rely on bumping into Kirk on the ‘off-chance’, and this was getting exhausting
5.
A stroke of luck, (McCoy hadn’t counted how many days had passed, he hadn’t), and there he fucking was weaving through the tables and other cadets in the cafeteria.
McCoy watched over his PADD as the pilot guy, Sulu, cleared up his breakfast from Jim’s boots. He gulped when Kirk spotted him and headed his way.
McCoy didn’t think it could be possible to want to stab a piece of fruit for sharing more intimacy with the object of his desire than he ever could.
“Hey, Bones! Anyone sitting here?”
It was hard pretending to keep his eye on his PADD but he managed to control a shaking hand and shrug in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner but probably came over as a spasm.
“I lost my comm, man. What a jerk!” Kirk straddled the chair and edged closer to McCoy.
“Hmmm?” Was all McCoy could manage. He noticed the gleam of apple juice on pale, plump lips and watched Kirk’s teeth grinding the pieces into submission.
“Can you give me your number again?” Kirk said.
Was this a heavenly choir playing in his ears?
“Sure. I’ll punch it in for you,” McCoy said.
He took the comm, and as he entered the details, he noticed the heavenly choir had shut the fuck up when it dawned on him that he was, in fact, a sap who’d fallen for a kid who didn’t know if he was alive or dead.
“You’ve still got my number, right?”
“Yes,” McCoy lied. Gruff; his own voice sounded gruff. Fuck.
6.
Four days passed and McCoy had spent more time staring at his comm waiting for it to chirrup at him than he’d have cared to admit. It took on a life of its own as he placed it gently on the lab bench, by his bed...
...waiting, waiting.
7.
On day five, the comm. glowed to life.
“Bones!”
“Jim.”
One word, one syllable that summed up everything he wanted in life.
“Whatcha doing tonight?”
McCoy stared at his PADD nestled on his chest where he’d dozed off on the bed.
“Studying.”
“How about you and me go see a band downtown?”
McCoy’s heart leapt. “I really do have to study…”
“Okay, man, no problem. See you around.”
He wasn’t supposed to do that. He was supposed to ask again, insist. Shit.
McCoy saved the number.
8.
Okay, let's look at this rationally, McCoy suggested to himself. He's only young; maybe he doesn't know how to express his feelings yet, what he wants and needs.
Wait a minute, that's you, his internal voice growled.
Nevertheless, McCoy decided to actively look for signs of mutual attraction.
By mid-November, all he could say with assurance was that everything Kirk said or did confused him. This was ironic seeing as how the kid was the most honest, guiless person McCoy had ever met in all of his work-and-no-play life. Surely then, he’d be open about attraction? Wouldn’t he?
Much like he, Leonard Horatio McCoy, wasn’t being.
“You ever been in love, Bones?” Kirk asked him one cool night as they waited for a cab home.
“I…yes. I’ve been married.” He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets.
Kirk turned to him and looked long and hard. Why? Why couldn’t the bastard communicate like a normal person? What was he trying to say with that look? Kirk knew he'd been married.
“Have you?” McCoy’s voice sounded like a squeak to him.
And still those eyes held him.
“No…maybe…” Kirk said and looked away, drawing his scarf higher up his neck to cover his mouth and nose.
Maybe? How can one word bolt through your body like that?
The next afternoon, in the cafeteria, McCoy tried not to look like he was scanning the cadets for his best friend. He really fucking worked at appearing nonchalant but, when he saw Kirk sitting with Gaila, he felt himself colour.
As he approached, Kirk pushed his chair back and spread his legs a little.
As a doctor, McCoy knew more than most about body language; he made it his business. You could learn a great deal about a patient's pain from the way they used their hands while they described it, whether their hands were open or closed, whether they jabbed fingers at the site of their discomfort.
But he couldn’t read fuck about Kirk.
Sure, Kirk always seemed to open up physically when McCoy was near him. Then again, he was never not with Kirk in order to observe how he’d be around other folk.
Shit, his head hurt.
He scraped a chair closer, set his plate down.
“You ok?” Kirk said, scanning McCoy’s face, touching his hand which sent a shot of adrenaline straight to his groin.
Why did he do that? What did it mean?
“Course I’m ok, you dumb fuck,” he growled. “Pass the salt.”
“It’s bad for you, old timer, what with your class A personality - you’re heading for a heart-attack…”
Gaila giggled at Kirk’s remark.
Shit, maybe he should stop using salt so much. If it made such a bad impression...and since when was he the one on the receiving end of health advice?
9.
They sat on Kirk’s bed drinking whiskey. The mattress sagged in the middle and McCoy’s buttocks were working overtime trying to counteract the natural incline towards his friend. He’d never fought so hard against something he wanted so much.
What he needed was a sign, then he'd stop fighting.
Was this it?
Kirk snaked his arm around McCoy’s neck and he responded by leaning in a little too eagerly. Well, it was the bed's fault, wasn’t it? And Jim was too drunk to notice.
“Shall I tell you a secret?” Kirk slurred.
“I’ll warn you now, if it involves concealed body parts or a crime, it’s my duty to report…”
“You fucking kidding me?” Kirk hiccupped, and then grinned. “Shit, you and your dead-pan thing.”
McCoy almost sighed in relief - if he wasn’t careful, the kid would dump him for someone altogether more fun.
“What’s your secret, Jim?” He looked dead ahead but he was aware his voice was whiskey warm - an invitation.
Kirk pulled his arm away, closed his eyes and leant against the headboard, his near empty glass lilting precariously on his thigh. McCoy was glad it wasn’t his own bed, despite the fortuitous sagging.
“I wouldn’t know if I was in love if I was…like…you know, in love…”
McCoy really, truly didn’t know how to react. Guys didn’t talk about this stuff. He cleared his throat. He waited for his friend to unravel this strange fucking moment. He smelled so good, of beer, whiskey chasers, tobacco from a cigarette he'd insisted on having that some girl offered him outside the club. She fucking wants me Bones, I could lose her cause you're being a tight-ass.
“How do I know if I’m in love, Bones?” Kirk opened his eyes wide and McCoy’s mind was suddenly full of valentines’ day card couplets and thoughts of limpid pools.
Overwhelmed with self-disgust and panic, and half a bottle of malt, he staggered to his feet and threw up in the sink.
When he came back Jim was asleep, sprawled on the bed. McCoy removed Jim’s boots, pulled off his socks, took the empty glass from Kirk’s hand; and when he was absolutely sure that his friend had completely passed out, he indulged in a quick, angry jerk-off at the foot of the bed, watching his beloved's chest rise and fall, dragging his eyes across Jim's taught belly which he'd managed to uncover just a little without waking him.
Jesus - this was so fucking wrong.
parts 4-7 this way