Fic: (The Time We Stood) With Our Shaking Hands (Kirk/McCoy)
My contribution to this year'a 
, only two hours late. It's a sequel to the modern AU I did two years ago and I've been wanting to write it for months now. There's also a New Year's part, but mostly in my head, so we'll see how that turns out. (Still working on the Tortall fic and had just realized I needed to scrap 1500 words when this deadline came up).
It's still named after Taylor Swift, this time from "Long Live," which I fucking love okay, it's the "Friday Night Lights" vid of my heart.
Title: (The Time We Stood) With Our Shaking Hands
Christmas Eve 2010 is a very long day for both Jim and Bones, but they finally get to celebrate together.
Author: Dala
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: hard R
Words: 5424
Disclaimer: standard applies; title from Taylor Swift
Written for:
; begins where my 2010 story, City Lights on the Water, leaves off (modern-day AU)
Warnings: technically underage sex (Jim is ten days shy of 18 and Bones is 21); reference to homophobia, including slurs
(The time we stood) with our shaking hands
Jim had every intention of sleeping past noon on Christmas Eve morning. Not that he was able to fall asleep right after he fell into bed. Though it was nearly four in the morning and he was dead tired, he found himself shifting restlessly beneath the comforter. He could almost, almost feel the phantom weight of arms wrapped around him, long fingers brushing through his hair, a warm rush of breath at the hinge of his jaw. Running his tongue over chapped, sensitive lips, he let them curve into a smile and imagined he would dream of Bones.
He didn’t -- he was dreaming that he’d forgotten about an AP Physics test, and also shown up for class in red sik boxers and nothing else, when his mother shook him awake.
“Huh. No. Huh?” Jim managed, flailing gracelessly out of his tangled sheets.
Winona, long accustomed to her son’s early morning fugue state, ducked out of the way. She stood there beaming at him when he’d blinked enough to steady his vision.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Jim perked up a little at that, dragging himself upright in time to catch the jeans she tossed at him. “What?”
He couldn’t see her face as she rifled through the pile of clean (he was pretty sure) laundry on his dresser, but her voice was bright. “We’re picking your brother up at the bus station.”
Jim bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and fell back on the pillows.
It was a half-hour drive from their house to the Greyhound station -- thirty minutes in which Jim communicated mainly in grunts while Winona’s voice rose and fell over the Christmas music on the radio. He could’ve blamed the early hour for his silence if she’d actually noticed it, but her excitement and her nerves kept her attention on the road ahead. She apologized twice for the short notice, explaining that Sam wasn’t sure he’d be able to come until a few days ago and by then, she figured it might as well serve as a Christmas surprise.
“But don’t worry, I got him some presents from you just in case,” Winona said, tapping the steering wheel in time with Springsteen’s version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
Jim, who had worried about this maybe least of all, offered a noncommittal sound in response. His stomach churned as they turned into the crowded parking lot.
He spotted Sam a few seconds before his mother did, sitting on a bench by the pick-up lane. His puffy blue coat was too warm for the weather, Jim thought sourly, and it’d be soaked in ten minutes if the skies opened up like they were threatening to do. Winona let out a cry and jumped out of the car to seize him in a hug. Jim couldn’t bring himself to do the same, not even for her, not even on Christmas.
His hands clenched into fists as Sam slid into the backseat; he forced himself to relax them as he turned, because Winona might have been floating but she’d definitely react if he didn’t at least shake his brother’s hand.
“Hey, Jimmy,” Sam said. Jim glanced up long enough to make a few rapid-fire observations. He was thin but not skinny; his hair was shorter than it’d been since they were kids; his eyes - more gray than blue, especially in this weather, like their mother’s - expressed a mix of hope and trepidation that made Jim want very badly to punch something.
“Hey,” he muttered, turning back to stare out the window. “Nobody calls me that anymore.”
There was a collective pause. Then Winona turned the key in the ignition and the radio hummed back to life.
Naturally they got stuck in freeway traffic on the way back. After Jim’s fourth non-contribution to the conversation, Winona and Sam seemed to come to a mutual decision to ignore him. He paid more attention to the repetitive Christmas music than he ever had in his life, trying to pick out individual voices in a choral version of “Carol of the Bells” and visualizing the chord progressions on “Feliz Navidad.” It mostly worked; he only caught snatches of Winona’s neighborhood gossip and Sam’s report on this month’s rehab joint. But it was one long fucking hour.
Jim retreated to his room as soon as they pulled into the driveway, ignoring Winona’s half-hearted call of his name. Maybe he wasn’t about to get back to sleep any time soon, but at least he could try to purge the holiday spirit from his brain. He made it through The National’s Boxer before switching gears to a classic rock playlist Bones had made him last year (“Just hand your iPod over, kid, you could use the education”).
It wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t hear Winona knocking over “Suffragette City,” was it? But her face when his door banged open was foreboding enough to get him to tear his earbuds out.
“Lunch is ready,” she said tightly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“‘M not hungry.”
“James Tiberius Kirk.” Winona set her jaw. “I’ve put up with your sullen teenager crap all day, but you will start acting like a civilized human being if I have to drag you downstairs by the scruff of your neck.”
Jim fiddled with the earbuds, listening to Bowie’s snarl fade in and out, and didn’t look at her.
She inhaled deeply, once, and let it out. When she spoke again, there was an edge of a tremor to her voice. “Your brother’s home for Christmas. Please, just --”
“All right,” Jim snapped, tossing the iPod aside and shoving himself to his feet.
He was civil over lunch, even if he didn’t have much appetite for Winona’s famous lasagna. Perfectly civil, in fact, until Sam asked if he was seeing a particular girl these days.
“Or --” He hesitated, cocking his head curiously. “A guy, maybe?”
Jim’s fork hit the plate with a clatter. “None of your fucking business.”
“Jim!”
Winona reacted like he’d slapped her, her eyes going wide with hurt and anger. Jim told himself he didn’t care as he stomped out the front door. She didn’t know; she hadn’t been here when Sam came home last time without even the two hours’ notice he gave today. He brought a so-called counselor with him -- a tall, well-built man in a blue button-down. They had opened the front door to find Jim on the couch with his pants around his ankes and a boy kneeling in front of him. He’d never seen anybody’s face turn as red as Kevin Riley’s as he scrambled for his backpack and ran out the door. And Kevin wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the year, wouldn’t even look at him in the three classes they shared.
That wasn’t the worst of it. Jim had tried to play it off, claiming they’d been working on an English project together, expecting his brother to cover for him the way he’d covered for Sam so many times. But Sam hadn’t said a word. He stared at the floor while clean-cut Rick smiled at Jim, briefly touched his hand, and said that he’d once had feelings just like Jim. His smile didn’t reach his eyes and the paper-dry touch of his fingertips made Jim’s skin crawl. It was one thing to know that Sam had gone into a religious-based program; it was another for him to sit there while this perfect stranger told Jim he could choose not to sin and live a life right by God. Jim hadn’t even argued with him, just kept waiting for Sam to say something, anything -- how are you, when’s Mom getting back, let’s change the subject, I don’t really think you’re going to hell for being queer.
When the guy had pulled a handful of pamphlets out of a messenger bag and pressed them into his hands, Jim mumbled something and fled on his bike. He was still shaking when he got to the McCoys’ house. Bones had wanted to come back and kick the asshole out, but Jim talked him out of it. Later, after Bones had gone to sleep, Jim crept down to the study to Google the place Rick’s pastor ran. It wasn’t the fun, wholesome summer camp depicted on its website, but rather a ministry designed to shame, terrify, and abuse the gay right out of you. He spent half the night reading stories from former victims and made sure to wipe it off the search history when he couldn’t take any more.
He turned down the sidewalk, not sure where he was going except away from that house. He hadn’t made it two blocks when Sam caught up, calling for him to wait.
Jim hunched his shoulders and walked faster.
Somehow Sam rediscovered the burst of speed that had made him a primary weapon on their little league soccer team. He circled around in front of Jim and held out his arms.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean --”
Hands shoved in his pockets, Jim glared at him. “What did you mean last time, huh?”
Sam swallowed hard. He was panting a little. “I got out of that place. I was...I thought they could help me. I didn’t know it was like that.”
“Oh yeah?” Jim came to an abrupt halt, spinning to face him. Sam nearly tripped over the reindeer sticking out of the Patels’ front yard. “And what about your buddy Rick?”
Sam’s face paled under the flush of his exertions. “I’m sorry about that. He --”
“He did everything but call me a disgusting faggot to my face,” Jim said flatly. As ugly as that word tasted on his lips, he got a twisted sense of satisfaction from Sam’s flinch.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated hoarsely, rubbing at the back of his neck. “God, I am so sorry, Jim. You know I don’t believe in that stuff, right?”
“I don’t really care,” Jim said with a shrug. He could feel a headache coming on.
Sam looked down at the pavement. “I don’t expect you to believe me, or -- or forgive me. But can we please just...do Christmas for Mom? Then you can go back to hating me when I leave the day after tomorrow.”
Jim’s jaw worked. That was what it always came down to, of course. He and Sam might have their collective shit but they’d always tried to keep it from Winona -- the drugs, the fighting, Frank when it’d gotten bad, all of it. He’d been trying to do that all day and he actually found himself regretting his blow-up at the table. Not because of the way Sam was looking at him now, but because Mom deserved to have a nice Christmas with both her sons.
So he followed Sam back to the house, and he apologized to his mother, and he looked Sam in the eye and apologized to him, too. He even helped them slice up a roll of sugar cookie dough that had been sitting in the fridge for two months. It must’ve worked because when he said he was going to go take a nap, Winona looked up from the icing she was mixing and smiled at him.
“You did get in pretty late, didn’t you? I’ll leave a few on the stove for you.”
Sam glanced up too, looking like he wanted to say something, but Jim waved and turned up the stairs.
He threw himself on the bed without bothering to take his jacket off and dozed until the beep of his phone woke him a couple of hours later. Blinking at the screen, he realized it was a text from Bones -- no, five texts from Bones.
Jim groaned aloud as he switched on the lamp. He’d checked it this morning before they left, assuming Bones hadn’t woken up yet and hoping it meant he was okay about last night. Then everything else had happened and he hadn’t turned it on since.
The first text was from 9:38.
Hey, just woke up. Birds chirping, ugh. How are you?
Jim breathed out. Okay, so at least he wasn’t freaking out at that time.
You’re probably still asleep. Sorry if I woke you. Wait, no I’m not, it’s almost 12, WAKE UP lazy ass, you’re wasting Christmas Eve.
At two this afternoon:
Okay, this is starting to get weird. Is it weird? Was it weird last night? It didn’t feel weird to me, it felt...good. Really good. But now you’re not answering me so maybe it wasn’t good.
Jim was just about to hit the call button when he noticed how long the next text message was.
Even if you’re avoiding me, I have to tell somebody about this. My dad just called Gran to tell her he’s sick and they had a big knock-down drag-outt fight over the phone. She’s pissed that he didn’t tell her,, and pissed he didn’t tell ME, and REAlLYpissed that he didn’t come home for christmas this year (of course last time we went they also caught into a fight but still, I can’t say I blame her for any of that). I picked up the other phone and haerd gran crying and now Dads in the study and won’t open the do or. Please call me I have to talk to you even it I fucked evertyhing up
Even though his eyes were starting to burn and his throat was tight, Jim had to force out a chuckle at the last text.
Goddamn typos
“Hello?”
“Bones, I’m so sorry I didn’t call, I just got your texts,” Jim said in one breath.
“Jim?” Bones’ voice sounded distant and there was a lot of ambient noise coming over the line. “Hang on a sec.”
His heart thudding in his chest, Jim waited twenty-six seconds until Bones came back on the phone. This time there was nothing but quiet accompanying his voice.
“Hey, sorry, we’re at China Station, it’s kinda loud in there.”
Jim’s anxiety died down a bit; he didn’t sound angry or upset or like he was going to yell at Jim for corrupting him with his tongue and then ignoring him all day. “It’s okay,” he said, propping his pillows up against the wall. “So what happened today?”
“Well, pretty much what I said.” Jim imagined him hunkered down on the restaurant steps. “Dad tried to keep it as calm and rational as possible, my gran blew up at him for acting like everything was just fine and peachy, he dug in his heels and wouldn’t admit he was wrong not to tell her. So then she couldn’t back down, either.
“Jesus, Bones, that’s -- I’m sorry.”
Bones let out a long sigh. “Thanks. I shouldn’t have expected anything else, they’re both stubborn as mules. Don’t smirk at me, I can hear it over the phone.”
“You cannot,” said Jim, who had indeed been pressing his lips together. It was a bit of a family trait, but he still ached for Bones, and for David and his mother in Georgia, and for them all having to deal with terminal cancer over Christmas. And here he was wrapped up in his own family’s problems. “I wish I’d been there for you today.”
“Don’t worry about it. I..figured you were busy.” There was a hesitant tone that was totally uncharacteristic of Bones, at least when it came to Jim.
“Yeah, unfortunately.”
“Something wrong?”
Jim picked at a loose thread on his comforter. “Sam’s here.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Bones said, “Are you okay?” Jim heard the barest hint of a growl in his low voice -- not for Jim but for anyone who threatened him, even his own brother. God, he hoped that meant they were okay.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Bones snorted. “Really?”
“Okay, I’m...whatever,” Jim sighed, tugging at the thread until he could wrap it around his index finger. “He’s in some outpatient rehab thing right now. Mom really wanted him to come. I think she didn’t tell me until today so I wouldn’t freak out.” He watched his finger turn white between the rings of thread. “I don’t think he’s using. But still...”
“I know, kid.”
Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the wail of a siren on Bones’ end and Winona calling up to ask Jim if he wanted leftovers for dinner. When he put the cell phone back to his ear, Bones spoke so quietly he had to turn the volume up.
“I’m sorry you’re having a shitty day too, but I have to admit, I thought -- after last night --”
“Idiot,” Jim cut in. “How could you think that?”
Bones huffed out an embarrassed sort of laugh. “Yeah?”
“Bones, I’ve got this hickey right on the edge of my collar, and I keep reaching up to touch it because I can’t quite believe it’s real.”
“Oh,” said Bones, his voice going sort of husky. A shiver ran through Jim at the sound of it.
“You want to come over?” He grimaced as he remembered Sam and Winona down in the living room. “No, wait --”
Bones cleared his throat. “You can come over here, when we get back from dinner. Not all night, probably, but --”
“Yeah, okay,” Jim said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager or desperate. He’d waited years for this without ever really believing it would happen; he wasn’t about to jeopardize it by throwing himself at Bones, who’d had exactly one kiss with one other guy his freshman year (a guy Jim didn’t know and would never meet, which was how he felt okay about hating That Guy Who Kissed Bones).
Bones promised to text when he got home and Jim promised he’d actually see it this time. In the meantime he ventured downstairs to poke at some leftover chicken, trying not to let the memories of kissing Bones in the Taurus take over to the point of Jim embarrassing himself. He ducked his head into the living room to find Winona and Sam halfway through “A Christmas Story,” and the look Winona gave him was so open and hopeful that he went to sit on the floor by her feet. She ruffled his hair, laughing when he protested, and handed him the popcorn. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead at the screen.
His phone beeped right as Ralphie was being prodded down the slide by the jackass elf. Jim hopped up and went for his coat, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go to Bones’ for a little while, is that okay?”
“Sure,” Winona said, sounding a little disappointed but resigned, and he kissed her cheek before he left.
He decided to walk rather than taking his old twelve-speed; it hadn’t rained after all and it was less than a mile. When Bones opened the door, they grinned stupidly at each other for a few moments. He was dressed in green plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt, and Jim wanted so badly to grab him and kiss him that he was rocking back and forth on his toes.
“Let the boy in, Leonard,” David called from over Bones’ shoulder, bringing them both back to earth. Bones let out a breath like he’d been holding it in and stepped aside.
“Merry Christmas, Dr. McCoy,” Jim said, shrugging out of his jacket and letting Bones take it. Their hands brushed and Bones looked down, his cheeks turning a bit pink beneath his dark lashes. Oh, that just wasn’t fair.
“You too, Jim,” said David, spreading the New York Times out on the coffee table. He looked at Jim over the top of his glasses. “I understand Leonard has told you about my illness.”
David McCoy was nothing if not direct; it was something Jim sometimes admired, and sometimes resented for Bones’ sake. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry to hear it.” David simply nodded and swirled a teabag in his mug. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m feeling fine,” he replied, sipping his tea.
“That’s good,” said Jim; he meant it, but he could also see where Bones’ grandmother was coming from, if this was how her son had told her he was dying. He couldn’t imagine his own mother -- no, he definitely couldn’t.
A hand hovered over his shoulder, not quite touching. “We’re gonna watch a movie in the basement.”
David waved his paper at them. “I’ll probably turn in in an hour or so. Good night, boys.”
The McCoy house was a little more formal in decoration than Jim’s own, but the basement was downright homey. He and Bones had spent hours countless hours down here -- playing board games and video games (Bones had a working Super NES that he loftily favored over modern systems), shooting pool, doing homework at the little card table. And Jim was intimately familiar with the old blue sofa, which creaked when he sat down just as it always did.
Bones sat beside him, their knees touching, but his shoulders were stiff.
“Can we -- Dad said he was going to bed soon,” he said, casting an apologetic look at Jim. “I’m not ready to talk to him about...about us, yet.”
Jim was pretty sure he was being paranoid. Bones’ basement had a door which he’d closed, unlike Jim’s own home, and David almost never bothered them when they were down here (unlike Winona who was prone to wandering in to comment on the movie they were watching or offer Bones a snack).
But he remembered his earlier conviction to take Bones’ lead, so he forced a smile onto his face and said, “Yeah, no worries.”
He was rewarded with Bones smiling back at him, sincere and sweet, and settling back against his side, closer than he was expecting. Ten minutes into the movie (“A Christmas Story” had started over again, and Jim wasn’t paying enough attention to be picky) he chanced stretching his arm across the back of the couch. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a subtle move, but it was a classic for a reason. At least he didn’t do the yawn.
Bones rolled his eyes but let Jim pull him close, resting his head against Jim’s shoulder
“I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the seducing, seeing as how I’m the worldly college guy and all.”
“Oh, I am so up for that,” Jim said into his hair.
“I’ll bet,” Bones said with a chuckle. He tucked his hand into Jim’s, squeezing their fingers together.
Jim closed his eyes and forget everything else for a time -- Sam and his pills and programs, David’s cancer, his mother’s face at the bus station, Sarah McCoy’s voice crossing three thousand miles of phone line. It was Christmas Eve and he was curled up with Bones, and that was enough. That could get him through anything.
Before they could hear the distant sounds of David running the dishes and retiring to the second floor (and Jim was listening really, really hard for this), the house phone rang. David picked it up on the third ring. Bones sat up, leaning over to check the number. His mouth thinned out.
“It’s Gran,” he said quietly, turning his face up to the ceiling. Jim rubbed his knee and turned the volume down. They could make out David’s voice, but not his words.
“They’re not yelling?” Jim offered after a few minutes.
Bones nodded, but he was staring fixedly at the basement door. When the voice stopped, he pushed himself to his feet.
“Just going to check,” he said distractedly. Jim sat back, folded his hands in his lap, and flipped through channels until he came back. He was expecting distress, but Bones looked cautiously optimistic when he dropped down beside Jim on the couch.
“I think...things are okay,” he said, his brows drawing together. “She wants us to come see her as soon as we can, and Dad agreed. He’s looking for flights right now.”
Smiling at him, Jim quashed a selfish bit of sadness that that would be however many fewer days they’d get to spend together before Bones went back to school. Bones glanced back at the door once more, then seemed to shake something off; his eyes were clear when he turned back to Jim. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against Jim’s.
“Hi,” he whispered.
Jim reached up to touch his cheek, said “Bones,” and kissed him.
They had kissed for a long time last night, long enough and deep enough to make Jim’s head swim. While it hadn’t been chaste in the least, they’d kept a certain distance on the car’s bench seat. Jim had wanted more and was pretty sure Bones did too, but he’d held back and Jim hadn’t wanted to push. The pressure and heat of Bones’ mouth on his had been enough to drive him crazy, but it was a controlled kind of burn.
Now Bones was planting a knee between his legs, pressing him back against the couch. Jim slid his arms up Bones’ back to tangle a hand in his hair, pulling his head gently back to suck at the curve of his neck. Bones lost his balance, landing awkwardly in Jim’s lap.
“Payback,” Jim said, swiping his tongue over the mark.
“Bastard,” Bones gasped, holding Jim’s head between his hands to alternately glare and nip at his lips. Jim grinned without remorse. Wanting to feel warm skin even more than he wanted to feel Bones’ hands on him, he dragged a fingertip along his belly, just above the waistband of his pants. Bones shuddered and yanked his shirt up and off. He stared down at Jim, wild-eyed, hair mussed, mouth red.
Jim curled both hands over his ribs and just let him breathe, for a moment, while Bones bent down to touch his lips to the hollow of Jim’s throat -- gentle, almost reverent.
It wasn’t like anything he had ever done, this frantic press forward then pause to take measure. And he liked that, the idea that he and Bones were building something new with such care. He didn’t want to break this -- he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
So he waited; waited until Bones met his eyes and stretched out on the sofa and pulled Jim down beside him. Jim trailed kisses across his chest, closing his lips over a nipple. Bones groaned and hitched his knee over Jim’s thigh, nudging his erection into Jim’s hip. Jim moved against him, blinking in concern when Bones wrinkled his nose. Yeah, this was new territory for Bones, but what else would --
“Sorry,” Bones said when he noticed Jim’s dumbfounded expression. “It’s, um, your jeans...”
Jim brought his hand to his face and laughed into his knuckles. “Yeah, lemme just --” He unzipped the fly and wriggled them down his legs, glad he’d gone for an old worn-out pair and nothing too tight. Bones rolled back to the edge of the couch while Jim kicked the damn things off -- this would probably go faster if he could tear himself away from full body contact, but whatever -- then pushed up against him.
“Oh,” he said faintly as they twined their legs into a more or less complementary position. He said it again, louder, when Jim rocked his hips.
“Wanna touch you,” Jim murmured after kissing him slow and wet. “Okay?”
Bones let out a quiet moan and nodded. He watched Jim’s every movement with half-lidded, fascinated eyes -- pushing pants and boxers down, licking his palm, and finally stroking Bones’ cock. It felt good in his hand, like he’d imagined but amazingly, impossibly better, firm and smooth and hard. His own cock throbbed and he shifted, rubbing it against Bones’ thigh.
With his head thrown back and his mouth fallen open, Bones didn’t seem to notice anything but Jim’s hand on him. Jim tightened his grip, flexing his fingers along the shaft and sliding his thumb over the head. Bones was leaking already and he knew it wasn’t going to take long.
“Jim,” Bones burst out, almost a sob. His hand slid around Jim’s shoulder and his eyes flew open, searching Jim’s face. For a moment he looked lost.
Jim kissed him to bring him back, and stroked him faster.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, unaware he was saying it until Bones shuddered against him and came. Somewhere in the middle of it, with Bones’ arms locked around him, Jim came too.
He dropped his head onto Bones’ chest when it was over, listening to his heart pound and then slow, and loving him so much it was like a weight on his lungs.
After a while Bones lifted a shaky hand, touching Jim’s lips.
“Hey,” he said, looking at him with a soft smile. “We kind of made a mess.”
Jim stretched and glanced down at the streaks of come on his belly. “Best kind of mess.”
“Yeah,” said Bones, still smiling, and it occurred to Jim that orgasms made him very agreeable
He sat up against the back of the sofa, wincing as his left foot was struck by pins and needles. “I can wash up, if you...”
Bones’ abs twitched enticingly as he pulled himself upright. He regarded the wet spot on Jim’s briefs with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll get you a clean pair.”
Armed with a washcloth and pale blue boxers (which he would totally not steal and keep in his drawer to be brought out for fond reminiscences), Jim stared at himself in the powder room mirror for a good minute. He didn’t seem any different, although his hair was looking pretty damn just-fucked and only haflheartedly responded to his attempts to tame it with water. Same blue eyes, same dark blond hair, same nose and brow and chin. He touched the bruise on his neck and snorted at a matching one on the other side. Who knew Bones had a possessive streak?
Bones was sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees when Jim came out. He looked up, tracing Jim’s bare feet to the borrowed boxers peeking out of his jeans to his face, and just like that the faint furrow between his eyes disappeared. It was a little humbling, being able to do that.
He wanted to walk Jim home, Jim argued that he wasn’t some helpless idiot skipping through the dark fairy tale forest, and they compromised on halfway. It was late enough that most houses had turned out their lights, though the scattered Christmas displays burned bright and cheerful. They paused on the street corner that was exactly halfway between their houses.
“It’s...” Bones glanced down at his watch “Twelve-oh-four. Guess that makes it officially Christmas.” There was a warmth in his hazel eyes and it calmed the insistent voice in the back of Jim’s head that the panic hadn’t hit yet, that neither of them was ready for this, that he could still lose everything.
Jim let the voice go still. He hooked his thumbs into Bones’ belt-loops, pulled him in for a kiss, and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Bones.”
He walked the rest of the way home in a kind of neon-lit, pseudo-drunken daze. Sam was sitting on the curb, smoking a cigarette.
“Sorry,” he said, stubbing it out and flicking the butt into the street. “Can’t quite give up the last vice.”
Jim looked inside himself for the anger he’d built up into a kind of armor over the years. To his surprise he found it much too heavy to bear, at least on Christmas morning.
“I won’t tell Mom.”
Sam seemed taken aback, but he was quick to smile at Jim. “Thanks, man.”
Maybe this time he really had found the right place, the right routine, the right people. Maybe Jim could still be a part of that.
He scuffed his sneaker on the concrete. “Hey, you want to go to the Pier tomorrow? Nothing’ll be open, but it’ll be deserted so we can race down it like we used to.”
“Yeah, that would be -- yeah.” Sam studied Jim like he hadn’t seen him in years. Maybe the mirror had lied and he did look different (aside from the hickeys, which were lurking under the hood of his jacket).
They walked up the driveway side by side, Sam turning aside at the door to let Jim go in.
(Next story: We'll Take a Cup of Kindness Yet)
(Previous story: City Lights on the Water)
, only two hours late. It's a sequel to the modern AU I did two years ago and I've been wanting to write it for months now. There's also a New Year's part, but mostly in my head, so we'll see how that turns out. (Still working on the Tortall fic and had just realized I needed to scrap 1500 words when this deadline came up).
It's still named after Taylor Swift, this time from "Long Live," which I fucking love okay, it's the "Friday Night Lights" vid of my heart.
Title: (The Time We Stood) With Our Shaking Hands
Christmas Eve 2010 is a very long day for both Jim and Bones, but they finally get to celebrate together.
Author: Dala
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: hard R
Words: 5424
Disclaimer: standard applies; title from Taylor Swift
Written for:
; begins where my 2010 story, City Lights on the Water, leaves off (modern-day AU)
Warnings: technically underage sex (Jim is ten days shy of 18 and Bones is 21); reference to homophobia, including slurs
(The time we stood) with our shaking hands
Jim had every intention of sleeping past noon on Christmas Eve morning. Not that he was able to fall asleep right after he fell into bed. Though it was nearly four in the morning and he was dead tired, he found himself shifting restlessly beneath the comforter. He could almost, almost feel the phantom weight of arms wrapped around him, long fingers brushing through his hair, a warm rush of breath at the hinge of his jaw. Running his tongue over chapped, sensitive lips, he let them curve into a smile and imagined he would dream of Bones.
He didn’t -- he was dreaming that he’d forgotten about an AP Physics test, and also shown up for class in red sik boxers and nothing else, when his mother shook him awake.
“Huh. No. Huh?” Jim managed, flailing gracelessly out of his tangled sheets.
Winona, long accustomed to her son’s early morning fugue state, ducked out of the way. She stood there beaming at him when he’d blinked enough to steady his vision.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Jim perked up a little at that, dragging himself upright in time to catch the jeans she tossed at him. “What?”
He couldn’t see her face as she rifled through the pile of clean (he was pretty sure) laundry on his dresser, but her voice was bright. “We’re picking your brother up at the bus station.”
Jim bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and fell back on the pillows.
It was a half-hour drive from their house to the Greyhound station -- thirty minutes in which Jim communicated mainly in grunts while Winona’s voice rose and fell over the Christmas music on the radio. He could’ve blamed the early hour for his silence if she’d actually noticed it, but her excitement and her nerves kept her attention on the road ahead. She apologized twice for the short notice, explaining that Sam wasn’t sure he’d be able to come until a few days ago and by then, she figured it might as well serve as a Christmas surprise.
“But don’t worry, I got him some presents from you just in case,” Winona said, tapping the steering wheel in time with Springsteen’s version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
Jim, who had worried about this maybe least of all, offered a noncommittal sound in response. His stomach churned as they turned into the crowded parking lot.
He spotted Sam a few seconds before his mother did, sitting on a bench by the pick-up lane. His puffy blue coat was too warm for the weather, Jim thought sourly, and it’d be soaked in ten minutes if the skies opened up like they were threatening to do. Winona let out a cry and jumped out of the car to seize him in a hug. Jim couldn’t bring himself to do the same, not even for her, not even on Christmas.
His hands clenched into fists as Sam slid into the backseat; he forced himself to relax them as he turned, because Winona might have been floating but she’d definitely react if he didn’t at least shake his brother’s hand.
“Hey, Jimmy,” Sam said. Jim glanced up long enough to make a few rapid-fire observations. He was thin but not skinny; his hair was shorter than it’d been since they were kids; his eyes - more gray than blue, especially in this weather, like their mother’s - expressed a mix of hope and trepidation that made Jim want very badly to punch something.
“Hey,” he muttered, turning back to stare out the window. “Nobody calls me that anymore.”
There was a collective pause. Then Winona turned the key in the ignition and the radio hummed back to life.
Naturally they got stuck in freeway traffic on the way back. After Jim’s fourth non-contribution to the conversation, Winona and Sam seemed to come to a mutual decision to ignore him. He paid more attention to the repetitive Christmas music than he ever had in his life, trying to pick out individual voices in a choral version of “Carol of the Bells” and visualizing the chord progressions on “Feliz Navidad.” It mostly worked; he only caught snatches of Winona’s neighborhood gossip and Sam’s report on this month’s rehab joint. But it was one long fucking hour.
Jim retreated to his room as soon as they pulled into the driveway, ignoring Winona’s half-hearted call of his name. Maybe he wasn’t about to get back to sleep any time soon, but at least he could try to purge the holiday spirit from his brain. He made it through The National’s Boxer before switching gears to a classic rock playlist Bones had made him last year (“Just hand your iPod over, kid, you could use the education”).
It wasn’t his fault if he couldn’t hear Winona knocking over “Suffragette City,” was it? But her face when his door banged open was foreboding enough to get him to tear his earbuds out.
“Lunch is ready,” she said tightly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“‘M not hungry.”
“James Tiberius Kirk.” Winona set her jaw. “I’ve put up with your sullen teenager crap all day, but you will start acting like a civilized human being if I have to drag you downstairs by the scruff of your neck.”
Jim fiddled with the earbuds, listening to Bowie’s snarl fade in and out, and didn’t look at her.
She inhaled deeply, once, and let it out. When she spoke again, there was an edge of a tremor to her voice. “Your brother’s home for Christmas. Please, just --”
“All right,” Jim snapped, tossing the iPod aside and shoving himself to his feet.
He was civil over lunch, even if he didn’t have much appetite for Winona’s famous lasagna. Perfectly civil, in fact, until Sam asked if he was seeing a particular girl these days.
“Or --” He hesitated, cocking his head curiously. “A guy, maybe?”
Jim’s fork hit the plate with a clatter. “None of your fucking business.”
“Jim!”
Winona reacted like he’d slapped her, her eyes going wide with hurt and anger. Jim told himself he didn’t care as he stomped out the front door. She didn’t know; she hadn’t been here when Sam came home last time without even the two hours’ notice he gave today. He brought a so-called counselor with him -- a tall, well-built man in a blue button-down. They had opened the front door to find Jim on the couch with his pants around his ankes and a boy kneeling in front of him. He’d never seen anybody’s face turn as red as Kevin Riley’s as he scrambled for his backpack and ran out the door. And Kevin wouldn’t speak to him for the rest of the year, wouldn’t even look at him in the three classes they shared.
That wasn’t the worst of it. Jim had tried to play it off, claiming they’d been working on an English project together, expecting his brother to cover for him the way he’d covered for Sam so many times. But Sam hadn’t said a word. He stared at the floor while clean-cut Rick smiled at Jim, briefly touched his hand, and said that he’d once had feelings just like Jim. His smile didn’t reach his eyes and the paper-dry touch of his fingertips made Jim’s skin crawl. It was one thing to know that Sam had gone into a religious-based program; it was another for him to sit there while this perfect stranger told Jim he could choose not to sin and live a life right by God. Jim hadn’t even argued with him, just kept waiting for Sam to say something, anything -- how are you, when’s Mom getting back, let’s change the subject, I don’t really think you’re going to hell for being queer.
When the guy had pulled a handful of pamphlets out of a messenger bag and pressed them into his hands, Jim mumbled something and fled on his bike. He was still shaking when he got to the McCoys’ house. Bones had wanted to come back and kick the asshole out, but Jim talked him out of it. Later, after Bones had gone to sleep, Jim crept down to the study to Google the place Rick’s pastor ran. It wasn’t the fun, wholesome summer camp depicted on its website, but rather a ministry designed to shame, terrify, and abuse the gay right out of you. He spent half the night reading stories from former victims and made sure to wipe it off the search history when he couldn’t take any more.
He turned down the sidewalk, not sure where he was going except away from that house. He hadn’t made it two blocks when Sam caught up, calling for him to wait.
Jim hunched his shoulders and walked faster.
Somehow Sam rediscovered the burst of speed that had made him a primary weapon on their little league soccer team. He circled around in front of Jim and held out his arms.
“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean --”
Hands shoved in his pockets, Jim glared at him. “What did you mean last time, huh?”
Sam swallowed hard. He was panting a little. “I got out of that place. I was...I thought they could help me. I didn’t know it was like that.”
“Oh yeah?” Jim came to an abrupt halt, spinning to face him. Sam nearly tripped over the reindeer sticking out of the Patels’ front yard. “And what about your buddy Rick?”
Sam’s face paled under the flush of his exertions. “I’m sorry about that. He --”
“He did everything but call me a disgusting faggot to my face,” Jim said flatly. As ugly as that word tasted on his lips, he got a twisted sense of satisfaction from Sam’s flinch.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated hoarsely, rubbing at the back of his neck. “God, I am so sorry, Jim. You know I don’t believe in that stuff, right?”
“I don’t really care,” Jim said with a shrug. He could feel a headache coming on.
Sam looked down at the pavement. “I don’t expect you to believe me, or -- or forgive me. But can we please just...do Christmas for Mom? Then you can go back to hating me when I leave the day after tomorrow.”
Jim’s jaw worked. That was what it always came down to, of course. He and Sam might have their collective shit but they’d always tried to keep it from Winona -- the drugs, the fighting, Frank when it’d gotten bad, all of it. He’d been trying to do that all day and he actually found himself regretting his blow-up at the table. Not because of the way Sam was looking at him now, but because Mom deserved to have a nice Christmas with both her sons.
So he followed Sam back to the house, and he apologized to his mother, and he looked Sam in the eye and apologized to him, too. He even helped them slice up a roll of sugar cookie dough that had been sitting in the fridge for two months. It must’ve worked because when he said he was going to go take a nap, Winona looked up from the icing she was mixing and smiled at him.
“You did get in pretty late, didn’t you? I’ll leave a few on the stove for you.”
Sam glanced up too, looking like he wanted to say something, but Jim waved and turned up the stairs.
He threw himself on the bed without bothering to take his jacket off and dozed until the beep of his phone woke him a couple of hours later. Blinking at the screen, he realized it was a text from Bones -- no, five texts from Bones.
Jim groaned aloud as he switched on the lamp. He’d checked it this morning before they left, assuming Bones hadn’t woken up yet and hoping it meant he was okay about last night. Then everything else had happened and he hadn’t turned it on since.
The first text was from 9:38.
Hey, just woke up. Birds chirping, ugh. How are you?
Jim breathed out. Okay, so at least he wasn’t freaking out at that time.
You’re probably still asleep. Sorry if I woke you. Wait, no I’m not, it’s almost 12, WAKE UP lazy ass, you’re wasting Christmas Eve.
At two this afternoon:
Okay, this is starting to get weird. Is it weird? Was it weird last night? It didn’t feel weird to me, it felt...good. Really good. But now you’re not answering me so maybe it wasn’t good.
Jim was just about to hit the call button when he noticed how long the next text message was.
Even if you’re avoiding me, I have to tell somebody about this. My dad just called Gran to tell her he’s sick and they had a big knock-down drag-outt fight over the phone. She’s pissed that he didn’t tell her,, and pissed he didn’t tell ME, and REAlLYpissed that he didn’t come home for christmas this year (of course last time we went they also caught into a fight but still, I can’t say I blame her for any of that). I picked up the other phone and haerd gran crying and now Dads in the study and won’t open the do or. Please call me I have to talk to you even it I fucked evertyhing up
Even though his eyes were starting to burn and his throat was tight, Jim had to force out a chuckle at the last text.
Goddamn typos
“Hello?”
“Bones, I’m so sorry I didn’t call, I just got your texts,” Jim said in one breath.
“Jim?” Bones’ voice sounded distant and there was a lot of ambient noise coming over the line. “Hang on a sec.”
His heart thudding in his chest, Jim waited twenty-six seconds until Bones came back on the phone. This time there was nothing but quiet accompanying his voice.
“Hey, sorry, we’re at China Station, it’s kinda loud in there.”
Jim’s anxiety died down a bit; he didn’t sound angry or upset or like he was going to yell at Jim for corrupting him with his tongue and then ignoring him all day. “It’s okay,” he said, propping his pillows up against the wall. “So what happened today?”
“Well, pretty much what I said.” Jim imagined him hunkered down on the restaurant steps. “Dad tried to keep it as calm and rational as possible, my gran blew up at him for acting like everything was just fine and peachy, he dug in his heels and wouldn’t admit he was wrong not to tell her. So then she couldn’t back down, either.
“Jesus, Bones, that’s -- I’m sorry.”
Bones let out a long sigh. “Thanks. I shouldn’t have expected anything else, they’re both stubborn as mules. Don’t smirk at me, I can hear it over the phone.”
“You cannot,” said Jim, who had indeed been pressing his lips together. It was a bit of a family trait, but he still ached for Bones, and for David and his mother in Georgia, and for them all having to deal with terminal cancer over Christmas. And here he was wrapped up in his own family’s problems. “I wish I’d been there for you today.”
“Don’t worry about it. I..figured you were busy.” There was a hesitant tone that was totally uncharacteristic of Bones, at least when it came to Jim.
“Yeah, unfortunately.”
“Something wrong?”
Jim picked at a loose thread on his comforter. “Sam’s here.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Bones said, “Are you okay?” Jim heard the barest hint of a growl in his low voice -- not for Jim but for anyone who threatened him, even his own brother. God, he hoped that meant they were okay.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
Bones snorted. “Really?”
“Okay, I’m...whatever,” Jim sighed, tugging at the thread until he could wrap it around his index finger. “He’s in some outpatient rehab thing right now. Mom really wanted him to come. I think she didn’t tell me until today so I wouldn’t freak out.” He watched his finger turn white between the rings of thread. “I don’t think he’s using. But still...”
“I know, kid.”
Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the wail of a siren on Bones’ end and Winona calling up to ask Jim if he wanted leftovers for dinner. When he put the cell phone back to his ear, Bones spoke so quietly he had to turn the volume up.
“I’m sorry you’re having a shitty day too, but I have to admit, I thought -- after last night --”
“Idiot,” Jim cut in. “How could you think that?”
Bones huffed out an embarrassed sort of laugh. “Yeah?”
“Bones, I’ve got this hickey right on the edge of my collar, and I keep reaching up to touch it because I can’t quite believe it’s real.”
“Oh,” said Bones, his voice going sort of husky. A shiver ran through Jim at the sound of it.
“You want to come over?” He grimaced as he remembered Sam and Winona down in the living room. “No, wait --”
Bones cleared his throat. “You can come over here, when we get back from dinner. Not all night, probably, but --”
“Yeah, okay,” Jim said, hoping he didn’t sound too eager or desperate. He’d waited years for this without ever really believing it would happen; he wasn’t about to jeopardize it by throwing himself at Bones, who’d had exactly one kiss with one other guy his freshman year (a guy Jim didn’t know and would never meet, which was how he felt okay about hating That Guy Who Kissed Bones).
Bones promised to text when he got home and Jim promised he’d actually see it this time. In the meantime he ventured downstairs to poke at some leftover chicken, trying not to let the memories of kissing Bones in the Taurus take over to the point of Jim embarrassing himself. He ducked his head into the living room to find Winona and Sam halfway through “A Christmas Story,” and the look Winona gave him was so open and hopeful that he went to sit on the floor by her feet. She ruffled his hair, laughing when he protested, and handed him the popcorn. He could feel Sam’s eyes on him, but he stared straight ahead at the screen.
His phone beeped right as Ralphie was being prodded down the slide by the jackass elf. Jim hopped up and went for his coat, calling over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go to Bones’ for a little while, is that okay?”
“Sure,” Winona said, sounding a little disappointed but resigned, and he kissed her cheek before he left.
He decided to walk rather than taking his old twelve-speed; it hadn’t rained after all and it was less than a mile. When Bones opened the door, they grinned stupidly at each other for a few moments. He was dressed in green plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt, and Jim wanted so badly to grab him and kiss him that he was rocking back and forth on his toes.
“Let the boy in, Leonard,” David called from over Bones’ shoulder, bringing them both back to earth. Bones let out a breath like he’d been holding it in and stepped aside.
“Merry Christmas, Dr. McCoy,” Jim said, shrugging out of his jacket and letting Bones take it. Their hands brushed and Bones looked down, his cheeks turning a bit pink beneath his dark lashes. Oh, that just wasn’t fair.
“You too, Jim,” said David, spreading the New York Times out on the coffee table. He looked at Jim over the top of his glasses. “I understand Leonard has told you about my illness.”
David McCoy was nothing if not direct; it was something Jim sometimes admired, and sometimes resented for Bones’ sake. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry to hear it.” David simply nodded and swirled a teabag in his mug. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m feeling fine,” he replied, sipping his tea.
“That’s good,” said Jim; he meant it, but he could also see where Bones’ grandmother was coming from, if this was how her son had told her he was dying. He couldn’t imagine his own mother -- no, he definitely couldn’t.
A hand hovered over his shoulder, not quite touching. “We’re gonna watch a movie in the basement.”
David waved his paper at them. “I’ll probably turn in in an hour or so. Good night, boys.”
The McCoy house was a little more formal in decoration than Jim’s own, but the basement was downright homey. He and Bones had spent hours countless hours down here -- playing board games and video games (Bones had a working Super NES that he loftily favored over modern systems), shooting pool, doing homework at the little card table. And Jim was intimately familiar with the old blue sofa, which creaked when he sat down just as it always did.
Bones sat beside him, their knees touching, but his shoulders were stiff.
“Can we -- Dad said he was going to bed soon,” he said, casting an apologetic look at Jim. “I’m not ready to talk to him about...about us, yet.”
Jim was pretty sure he was being paranoid. Bones’ basement had a door which he’d closed, unlike Jim’s own home, and David almost never bothered them when they were down here (unlike Winona who was prone to wandering in to comment on the movie they were watching or offer Bones a snack).
But he remembered his earlier conviction to take Bones’ lead, so he forced a smile onto his face and said, “Yeah, no worries.”
He was rewarded with Bones smiling back at him, sincere and sweet, and settling back against his side, closer than he was expecting. Ten minutes into the movie (“A Christmas Story” had started over again, and Jim wasn’t paying enough attention to be picky) he chanced stretching his arm across the back of the couch. Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a subtle move, but it was a classic for a reason. At least he didn’t do the yawn.
Bones rolled his eyes but let Jim pull him close, resting his head against Jim’s shoulder
“I thought I was supposed to be the one doing the seducing, seeing as how I’m the worldly college guy and all.”
“Oh, I am so up for that,” Jim said into his hair.
“I’ll bet,” Bones said with a chuckle. He tucked his hand into Jim’s, squeezing their fingers together.
Jim closed his eyes and forget everything else for a time -- Sam and his pills and programs, David’s cancer, his mother’s face at the bus station, Sarah McCoy’s voice crossing three thousand miles of phone line. It was Christmas Eve and he was curled up with Bones, and that was enough. That could get him through anything.
Before they could hear the distant sounds of David running the dishes and retiring to the second floor (and Jim was listening really, really hard for this), the house phone rang. David picked it up on the third ring. Bones sat up, leaning over to check the number. His mouth thinned out.
“It’s Gran,” he said quietly, turning his face up to the ceiling. Jim rubbed his knee and turned the volume down. They could make out David’s voice, but not his words.
“They’re not yelling?” Jim offered after a few minutes.
Bones nodded, but he was staring fixedly at the basement door. When the voice stopped, he pushed himself to his feet.
“Just going to check,” he said distractedly. Jim sat back, folded his hands in his lap, and flipped through channels until he came back. He was expecting distress, but Bones looked cautiously optimistic when he dropped down beside Jim on the couch.
“I think...things are okay,” he said, his brows drawing together. “She wants us to come see her as soon as we can, and Dad agreed. He’s looking for flights right now.”
Smiling at him, Jim quashed a selfish bit of sadness that that would be however many fewer days they’d get to spend together before Bones went back to school. Bones glanced back at the door once more, then seemed to shake something off; his eyes were clear when he turned back to Jim. He leaned forward, brushing his nose against Jim’s.
“Hi,” he whispered.
Jim reached up to touch his cheek, said “Bones,” and kissed him.
They had kissed for a long time last night, long enough and deep enough to make Jim’s head swim. While it hadn’t been chaste in the least, they’d kept a certain distance on the car’s bench seat. Jim had wanted more and was pretty sure Bones did too, but he’d held back and Jim hadn’t wanted to push. The pressure and heat of Bones’ mouth on his had been enough to drive him crazy, but it was a controlled kind of burn.
Now Bones was planting a knee between his legs, pressing him back against the couch. Jim slid his arms up Bones’ back to tangle a hand in his hair, pulling his head gently back to suck at the curve of his neck. Bones lost his balance, landing awkwardly in Jim’s lap.
“Payback,” Jim said, swiping his tongue over the mark.
“Bastard,” Bones gasped, holding Jim’s head between his hands to alternately glare and nip at his lips. Jim grinned without remorse. Wanting to feel warm skin even more than he wanted to feel Bones’ hands on him, he dragged a fingertip along his belly, just above the waistband of his pants. Bones shuddered and yanked his shirt up and off. He stared down at Jim, wild-eyed, hair mussed, mouth red.
Jim curled both hands over his ribs and just let him breathe, for a moment, while Bones bent down to touch his lips to the hollow of Jim’s throat -- gentle, almost reverent.
It wasn’t like anything he had ever done, this frantic press forward then pause to take measure. And he liked that, the idea that he and Bones were building something new with such care. He didn’t want to break this -- he wouldn’t be able to bear it.
So he waited; waited until Bones met his eyes and stretched out on the sofa and pulled Jim down beside him. Jim trailed kisses across his chest, closing his lips over a nipple. Bones groaned and hitched his knee over Jim’s thigh, nudging his erection into Jim’s hip. Jim moved against him, blinking in concern when Bones wrinkled his nose. Yeah, this was new territory for Bones, but what else would --
“Sorry,” Bones said when he noticed Jim’s dumbfounded expression. “It’s, um, your jeans...”
Jim brought his hand to his face and laughed into his knuckles. “Yeah, lemme just --” He unzipped the fly and wriggled them down his legs, glad he’d gone for an old worn-out pair and nothing too tight. Bones rolled back to the edge of the couch while Jim kicked the damn things off -- this would probably go faster if he could tear himself away from full body contact, but whatever -- then pushed up against him.
“Oh,” he said faintly as they twined their legs into a more or less complementary position. He said it again, louder, when Jim rocked his hips.
“Wanna touch you,” Jim murmured after kissing him slow and wet. “Okay?”
Bones let out a quiet moan and nodded. He watched Jim’s every movement with half-lidded, fascinated eyes -- pushing pants and boxers down, licking his palm, and finally stroking Bones’ cock. It felt good in his hand, like he’d imagined but amazingly, impossibly better, firm and smooth and hard. His own cock throbbed and he shifted, rubbing it against Bones’ thigh.
With his head thrown back and his mouth fallen open, Bones didn’t seem to notice anything but Jim’s hand on him. Jim tightened his grip, flexing his fingers along the shaft and sliding his thumb over the head. Bones was leaking already and he knew it wasn’t going to take long.
“Jim,” Bones burst out, almost a sob. His hand slid around Jim’s shoulder and his eyes flew open, searching Jim’s face. For a moment he looked lost.
Jim kissed him to bring him back, and stroked him faster.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, unaware he was saying it until Bones shuddered against him and came. Somewhere in the middle of it, with Bones’ arms locked around him, Jim came too.
He dropped his head onto Bones’ chest when it was over, listening to his heart pound and then slow, and loving him so much it was like a weight on his lungs.
After a while Bones lifted a shaky hand, touching Jim’s lips.
“Hey,” he said, looking at him with a soft smile. “We kind of made a mess.”
Jim stretched and glanced down at the streaks of come on his belly. “Best kind of mess.”
“Yeah,” said Bones, still smiling, and it occurred to Jim that orgasms made him very agreeable
He sat up against the back of the sofa, wincing as his left foot was struck by pins and needles. “I can wash up, if you...”
Bones’ abs twitched enticingly as he pulled himself upright. He regarded the wet spot on Jim’s briefs with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll get you a clean pair.”
Armed with a washcloth and pale blue boxers (which he would totally not steal and keep in his drawer to be brought out for fond reminiscences), Jim stared at himself in the powder room mirror for a good minute. He didn’t seem any different, although his hair was looking pretty damn just-fucked and only haflheartedly responded to his attempts to tame it with water. Same blue eyes, same dark blond hair, same nose and brow and chin. He touched the bruise on his neck and snorted at a matching one on the other side. Who knew Bones had a possessive streak?
Bones was sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees when Jim came out. He looked up, tracing Jim’s bare feet to the borrowed boxers peeking out of his jeans to his face, and just like that the faint furrow between his eyes disappeared. It was a little humbling, being able to do that.
He wanted to walk Jim home, Jim argued that he wasn’t some helpless idiot skipping through the dark fairy tale forest, and they compromised on halfway. It was late enough that most houses had turned out their lights, though the scattered Christmas displays burned bright and cheerful. They paused on the street corner that was exactly halfway between their houses.
“It’s...” Bones glanced down at his watch “Twelve-oh-four. Guess that makes it officially Christmas.” There was a warmth in his hazel eyes and it calmed the insistent voice in the back of Jim’s head that the panic hadn’t hit yet, that neither of them was ready for this, that he could still lose everything.
Jim let the voice go still. He hooked his thumbs into Bones’ belt-loops, pulled him in for a kiss, and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Bones.”
He walked the rest of the way home in a kind of neon-lit, pseudo-drunken daze. Sam was sitting on the curb, smoking a cigarette.
“Sorry,” he said, stubbing it out and flicking the butt into the street. “Can’t quite give up the last vice.”
Jim looked inside himself for the anger he’d built up into a kind of armor over the years. To his surprise he found it much too heavy to bear, at least on Christmas morning.
“I won’t tell Mom.”
Sam seemed taken aback, but he was quick to smile at Jim. “Thanks, man.”
Maybe this time he really had found the right place, the right routine, the right people. Maybe Jim could still be a part of that.
He scuffed his sneaker on the concrete. “Hey, you want to go to the Pier tomorrow? Nothing’ll be open, but it’ll be deserted so we can race down it like we used to.”
“Yeah, that would be -- yeah.” Sam studied Jim like he hadn’t seen him in years. Maybe the mirror had lied and he did look different (aside from the hickeys, which were lurking under the hood of his jacket).
They walked up the driveway side by side, Sam turning aside at the door to let Jim go in.
(Next story: We'll Take a Cup of Kindness Yet)
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