Half a Dream Away | STXI | R | Part 4/?
Title: Half a Dream Away IV
Beta: rainbowstrlght ; special thanks to verizonhorizon
Series: STXI Academy AU
Rating: R [Eventual NC-17]
Length: ~2,500
Warnings: Enough fluff to stuff a mattress, with a pillow of angst. Okay, actually... less fluff this chapter, more sexy times.
Summary: For lallyloo ’s prompt of lyrics: You know I dreamed about you / For twenty-nine years / Before I saw you / You know I dreamed about you / I missed you for twenty-nine years.
A/N: This was written entirely between the time of 12am and 4:30am. Oh dear. I hope you enjoy. Next chapter - Spock POV!
A/N 2: Poetry from E.E. Cummings’ because i love you)last night
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately. Or Iowa, or San Francisco.
chapter I chapter II chapter III
“No.”
Jim purses his lips and weighs Spock’s abrupt reaction. He’s not prepared to be shot down, just yet. He’s a Kirk, after all. “Just no? You’re not at all curious?”
Spock’s hand is gripping the thin, metallic armrest. His gaze is firm and unyielding. “I have no interest in your recollection of the matter.”
A crooked smile slides into place, as Jim rolls his eyes in exasperation. “You’re an awful Vulcan, you know that? I thought you were supposed to be an endless well of curiosity.”
Something flashes in Spock’s inscrutable expression for a moment; like an engine sputtering to life, and immediately dying. “If a Vulcan should ever dream, it would be highly improper to broadcast the contents to any party.”
Jim nods at his knees with some approximation of sobriety, and shifts his seat a mite closer to Spock. When his gaze elevates to meet the Vulcan’s, Jim cocks his head. “Well, then -it’s lucky I’m not a Vulcan, right?” His eyes linger on Spock’s ears. “Although, I think the ears might look good on me.”
A delicate, bruised shade of olive seeps down the intricate shell of Spock’s ears. His voice is flat. “I have not given the subject consideration.”
Tongue in cheek, Jim leans in further and presses against that thin, personal barrier guarding the Vulcan. “What have you given consideration, Spock?” At some point, Jim’s hand has found its way onto Spock’s armrest. It lies there lightly; one step inside that fortress. Jim’s voice is low, like a lover’s voice murmuring in the night. “In your deepest, darkest dreams -what is it that you imagine when all that... Vulcanness is laid to rest?”
A muscle beneath Spock’s eye twitches, but he does not retract his steely stare. “My sleeping habits are none of your concern, Cadet.”
“Maybe. But I’d say my sleeping habits should be a concern for you, considering the - uh - focal point of my dream.”
There is a hiccup of silence, before Spock attempts to switch gears. He turns away, facing the table; where his eyes are cast low as he picks up the previously discarded PADD. “There is little time to pander to such an illogical conversation, Mr. Kirk. I was under the impression you wished to pass your course?”
“A little time is all I need, Spock.”
Jim doesn’t think. Despite all the times that his intellect has come through for him, he tends to function naturally on a baser level. And so, he doesn’t realise his hand has fit over Spock’s, until the PADD clatters to the tabletop.
Spock rips his hand away, as if burnt, and settles his fists upon his lap. His dark eyes dart from the PADD, to a spot over Jim’s shoulder, and back. “I do not -“
“You remember the beach we met on?” Jim inquires gently.
“I assume your question is rhetorical,” Spock replies in clipped tones; his attention on tabletop.
Jim’s lips quirk. “We were on that beach - in my dream, I mean. It felt as real as you or me sitting here -one of those kinds of dreams. The kind that makes you wake up and wonder what reality you’re truly living in.”
Spock finally peers up, and Jim’s heart flips languidly at the clarity and depth of that familiar gaze. “There is only one reality, Cadet.”
A laugh rumbles warmly in Jim’s chest. “Okay, well - this felt like my reality, at the time.”
Jim vacates his seat swiftly. In one nimble movement, he perches on the edge of the table - directly in front of Spock, who has reacted just as quickly by shifting his chair back a few inches. Jim grins boldly down at the glowering Vulcan, his long legs swinging idly; with sock-clad toes just tapping Spock’s calves with each lazy sway.
“We were lying in the surf,” he continues conversationally, “letting the water lap at our legs like a million cool, wet fingers. You surf - you know the feeling. When you come in from a long run - your body aching in all the right ways, and you just collapse into the sand. Every grain hugs your body, shifts and moves to fit your limbs perfectly.”
His voice drops an octave. “And the water just... kisses you, everywhere it can. Do you know what I’m talking about, Spock? It’s relaxing, isn’t it?”
Spock swallows, and replies cautiously, “Yes.”
Jim just nods. His mouth is dry, and his heart is hammering like the waves upon a cliff-face. “So we just lay there for a while in our swim trunks, just - you know, existing.”
In a gesture that would have been humorous under different circumstances, Jim caresses Spock’s knee with his foot; from heel to toe, slowly. He doesn’t miss the hitch in Spock’s breath. “And my hand brushed your knee. It wasn’t an accident - you have this weird thing about your knees - so uniquely sensitive.”
Spock’s lips part mutely, and a flash of shock paralyses the Vulcan’s expression. One of the hands clenched on his lap loosens, with his fingertips inadvertently straining for something - someone. “Jim -“
But Jim was obliterated - all that remained was a heart, and flesh, and emotion. He all but swallowed Spock with a single look. “You reacted so strongly. Came to life right beside me, like a volcano erupting against my fingertips.”
Jim’s foot drags down Spock’s knee once more, with his toes trailing down the Vulcan’s calf. “The noise you made -that little purr that I love to swallow straight from your lips.” Jim nudges Spock’s inner thigh with a toe, demanding entry. Spock’s lids grow heavy, and his legs comply.
A quiet keening disrupts the shivering silence, and Jim groans. “Yeah, just like that. God, and that was just from my palm sliding up your thigh.” Jim’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Of course, I couldn’t just leave it at that.”
Control is a thin veneer between him and Spock. And really, out of all of Jim Kirk’s talents, discipline has never been his strong suit. It takes little to snap Jim’s brittle restraint - far less than a Vulcan with molten eyes and devastating lips.
And so Jim is on his knees, kneeling between Spock’s thighs. His hands worship the familiar plains of the Vulcan’s thighs and lithe hips. The Vulcan stares down at him; disbelief and arousal barely caged, and edging on feral.
Jim’s lips are a breath away from Spock’s. “I rolled on top of you -and fuck, your body was hotter than the sand clinging to my back. Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll burn me, and then I realise I’d rather incinerate than never touch you.”
“Stop, I cannot -” Spock flounders, even as his chin inclines to search out Jim’s evading lips.
Jim jerks his head back, but his fingertips find Spock’s stiff hands; with a glide, and press, and scrape of nails. “Your muscles underneath my hands were all this lean, perfect sinew -crafted by something that invented stars, and orgasms, and all the things you want to have in excess until you die.”
Breaths are coming in pants, and Jim can’t discern whose ragged huffs belong to whom. He catches Spock’s gaze, and sees the universe. “You rose for me, Spock. Like the tide towards the moon, you lifted to my hands; you arched for me - all this wordless begging just flooding your eyes, ‘til there was only a sea of black.”
Spock’s pupils are like saucers. “What are you -“
“And I was lost.”
Jim’s words were hurtling forward now, like shooting stars; aflame and eager. “Didn’t matter that I straddled your eager hips - didn’t matter that your control had slid like sand between your trembling fingertips, as you reached for me. I was lost in you. Oblivious to everything, but for that soft spot just behind your distracting-as-hell ears - your warm, wet thigh wedged between my legs - how your collarbone tasted salty against the tip of my tongue - fuck, Spock.”
“Jim.” The Vulcan’s voice is raw, and his fingers grapple with Jim’s upper arms. Jim’s own hands have burrowed beneath Spock’s stiff uniform; where they rove hungrily, desperately. And there is only one way Jim knows how to describe everything this simple dream had evoked from him.
He rears up, with his lips brushing Spock’s earlobe. Jim’s voice rises above a whisper; rough, like he’s swallowed seawater. “Again, carefully through deepness to rise - these your wrists, thighs, feet, hands. Poising, to again utterly disappear; rushing gently, swiftly creeping through my dreams last night. All of your body with its spirit floated - clothed only in the tide’s acute, weaving murmur.”
Spock freezes. His lips are in line with Jim’s ear. “Cummings,” he murmurs, and the recognition sparks fireworks in Jim’s gut.
Jim turns then, his lips dragging along Spock’s silky jaw. He tastes better than in dreams - tastes like perfection.
Then Spock stiffens, and Jim is being flung back with enough force to stop a moving car. His shoulder cracks against the edge of the table, releasing a sharp ‘oof’ from his lips.
Jim is already springing to his feet, when he hears Spock snap sharply, “This is ludicrous.”
Blinking stars from his eyes, Jim boggles at the darkly fuming Vulcan; who is already turning away. Jim realises with dismay that he must lean on the table for unwanted support. “Spock, wait - for Christ’s sake!”
The quiet swish of the door shutting lacks such drama, that Jim can only stare in disbelief at the chair the Vulcan had occupied moments before.
“Shit.”
The chair impacts the door; and yeah, that sound is a lot more gratifying.
***
“You look like death warmed over, kid.”
Jim smiles wanly at Bones, and chucks his bag to the floor. “Your diagnoses get more accurate by the week, Doctor.”
“I call ‘em as I see ‘em,” Bones replies indifferently, as he unfolds himself from a small, cluttered desk. He’s already scanning Jim from head to toe, like some eerily human MRI machine. “You get that report squared away?”
“Yes, Mom,” Jim mutters, and kicks off his shoes in two opposite directions.
Bones twists his face into a scowl. “You keep callin’ me that and I’m likely to wash yer mouth out with soap.” He grips Jim by the shoulders, turns him, and shoves him onto Jim’s cot. “Sit down,” he snaps.
Jim attempts to roll his eyes, even as Bones pulls up his eyelid to inspect the bloodshot mess. “I really don’t need an exam right now, Bones.”
With a snort, Bones releases his hold on Jim’s face; only to clap his palm on Jim’s cheek with mock cheer. “It’s not up to you what you need.”
This elicits a narrow look from Jim. He never needs someone to tell him how to live - especially at this moment, when Jim is unsure of his path; more than he’s ever been. It grates on him, because he knows Bones can give him the advice he needs - if only he would bite the bullet, and ask.
“Last time I checked, it was my body, my rules,” Jim replies through his teeth.
Bones rolls his eyes; completely unfazed by Jim’s unsurprising lack of cooperation. “More often than not, leave you alone with your body for ten minutes, and you get it beaten to a bloody pulp.”
Jim crunches his eyes shut, and wearily pinches the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. Well, that was just mean. He won fights - sometimes. “Your confidence in me is staggering.”
Jim hears Bones’ voice looming over him, but his tone is laced with genuine concern. “Y’all right, kid? Crippling exhaustion and dehydration, aside.” Then Bones’ clunky, efficient footsteps cross the opposite side of the room, and Jim hears rustling.
Jim leans forward, elbows braced on his knees; his face in his outstretched hands. “I’ve been betterrraahhh - fuck, Bones!” His fingers press into the cold spot on his neck, which Bones so mercilessly pierced with fuck-knows what. His eyes aim daggers up at the doctor. “You’re actually evil incarnate aren’t you?”
Bones’ brow arches in question, and he twirls the hypo in his fingers like an expert gunslinger. “Suck it up, sissy.”
“So much hostility - so few susceptible necks.” Jim peels off his shirt and throws it at Bones’ back, as the doctor returns the hypo to his antique medical bag.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Bones is staring at Jim; his arms folded across his chest.
Jim makes a show of stripping off his socks. “I did answer.” He chucks them at Bones. “My reply was overthrown by the dictatorship of the hypo.”
Bones snorts derisively, and returns to his desk. “You fuck up your paper, or somethin’?”
“Nope - probably aced it.” Jim flops back onto the bed, and stares blandly at the ceiling.
“Your confidence is staggering,” Bones drawls. His brassy tenor gentles. “So, what’s eatin’ ya? Spill the beans, kiddo.”
Jim rolls on the bed, and faces the wall. His arms envelope a lumpy pillow, and Jim does not speak for some time. When he does, Jim is rather impressed with the stability of his tone. “I might have scared Taila away,” he murmurs.
Bones barks a humourless laugh. “Well, that ain’t a surprise. Most times, you come on as hard as a buckin’ bronco. No one can keep up with that, unless they’re as genius and bat-shit crazy as you are.”
That was something to chew on. Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth, and imagines he can still taste Spock on the tender flesh of his mouth. “I guess.”
He obviously scared Spock away; there is no doubt about that. Remembering the look in Spock’s eyes as he escaped the room only perpetuates Jim’s fear - the fear that he is alone in all of this.
Alone, as always.
The man of his dreams exists. Only Jim might not be the man of Spock’s.
When Jim finds his voice again, it’s thick with lethargy and doubt. “I thought I was doin’ okay this time, Bones.”
Bones sighs. “Give ‘er some time, Jimmy. I know you don’t have a lick of sense when it comes to this kinda nonsense, but just imagine it this way.” The doctor pauses to make sure Jim is listening properly. “Imagine what you’d do in this situation -then slow it down by five.”
Jim can’t help but snort a breathy, pathetic little laugh.
Slow? Jim supposes that’s the least he can do. He’s gone through his life convinced that the man of his dreams is nothing but that - a figment of fancy; an apparition formed by the bright, shiny aspects of his soul that are tarnished by years of neglect.
But fantasy has become reality, to an extent. Jim has unwittingly waited on Spock for a decade - it wouldn’t hurt to at least try to reign in his impatience. For Spock - for them.
Jim is about to fall asleep, when Bones cuts through the enclosing darkness one last time.
“You gotta get back on that horse, Jim. It’s what you do.”
Yeah. Yeah, it is.
***
chapter v.
Beta: rainbowstrlght ; special thanks to verizonhorizon
Series: STXI Academy AU
Rating: R [Eventual NC-17]
Length: ~2,500
Warnings: Enough fluff to stuff a mattress, with a pillow of angst. Okay, actually... less fluff this chapter, more sexy times.
Summary: For lallyloo ’s prompt of lyrics: You know I dreamed about you / For twenty-nine years / Before I saw you / You know I dreamed about you / I missed you for twenty-nine years.
A/N: This was written entirely between the time of 12am and 4:30am. Oh dear. I hope you enjoy. Next chapter - Spock POV!
A/N 2: Poetry from E.E. Cummings’ because i love you)last night
Disclaimer: Somewhere over the slash rainbow of my mind, it happened. But not in Kansas, unfortunately. Or Iowa, or San Francisco.
chapter I chapter II chapter III
“No.”
Jim purses his lips and weighs Spock’s abrupt reaction. He’s not prepared to be shot down, just yet. He’s a Kirk, after all. “Just no? You’re not at all curious?”
Spock’s hand is gripping the thin, metallic armrest. His gaze is firm and unyielding. “I have no interest in your recollection of the matter.”
A crooked smile slides into place, as Jim rolls his eyes in exasperation. “You’re an awful Vulcan, you know that? I thought you were supposed to be an endless well of curiosity.”
Something flashes in Spock’s inscrutable expression for a moment; like an engine sputtering to life, and immediately dying. “If a Vulcan should ever dream, it would be highly improper to broadcast the contents to any party.”
Jim nods at his knees with some approximation of sobriety, and shifts his seat a mite closer to Spock. When his gaze elevates to meet the Vulcan’s, Jim cocks his head. “Well, then -it’s lucky I’m not a Vulcan, right?” His eyes linger on Spock’s ears. “Although, I think the ears might look good on me.”
A delicate, bruised shade of olive seeps down the intricate shell of Spock’s ears. His voice is flat. “I have not given the subject consideration.”
Tongue in cheek, Jim leans in further and presses against that thin, personal barrier guarding the Vulcan. “What have you given consideration, Spock?” At some point, Jim’s hand has found its way onto Spock’s armrest. It lies there lightly; one step inside that fortress. Jim’s voice is low, like a lover’s voice murmuring in the night. “In your deepest, darkest dreams -what is it that you imagine when all that... Vulcanness is laid to rest?”
A muscle beneath Spock’s eye twitches, but he does not retract his steely stare. “My sleeping habits are none of your concern, Cadet.”
“Maybe. But I’d say my sleeping habits should be a concern for you, considering the - uh - focal point of my dream.”
There is a hiccup of silence, before Spock attempts to switch gears. He turns away, facing the table; where his eyes are cast low as he picks up the previously discarded PADD. “There is little time to pander to such an illogical conversation, Mr. Kirk. I was under the impression you wished to pass your course?”
“A little time is all I need, Spock.”
Jim doesn’t think. Despite all the times that his intellect has come through for him, he tends to function naturally on a baser level. And so, he doesn’t realise his hand has fit over Spock’s, until the PADD clatters to the tabletop.
Spock rips his hand away, as if burnt, and settles his fists upon his lap. His dark eyes dart from the PADD, to a spot over Jim’s shoulder, and back. “I do not -“
“You remember the beach we met on?” Jim inquires gently.
“I assume your question is rhetorical,” Spock replies in clipped tones; his attention on tabletop.
Jim’s lips quirk. “We were on that beach - in my dream, I mean. It felt as real as you or me sitting here -one of those kinds of dreams. The kind that makes you wake up and wonder what reality you’re truly living in.”
Spock finally peers up, and Jim’s heart flips languidly at the clarity and depth of that familiar gaze. “There is only one reality, Cadet.”
A laugh rumbles warmly in Jim’s chest. “Okay, well - this felt like my reality, at the time.”
Jim vacates his seat swiftly. In one nimble movement, he perches on the edge of the table - directly in front of Spock, who has reacted just as quickly by shifting his chair back a few inches. Jim grins boldly down at the glowering Vulcan, his long legs swinging idly; with sock-clad toes just tapping Spock’s calves with each lazy sway.
“We were lying in the surf,” he continues conversationally, “letting the water lap at our legs like a million cool, wet fingers. You surf - you know the feeling. When you come in from a long run - your body aching in all the right ways, and you just collapse into the sand. Every grain hugs your body, shifts and moves to fit your limbs perfectly.”
His voice drops an octave. “And the water just... kisses you, everywhere it can. Do you know what I’m talking about, Spock? It’s relaxing, isn’t it?”
Spock swallows, and replies cautiously, “Yes.”
Jim just nods. His mouth is dry, and his heart is hammering like the waves upon a cliff-face. “So we just lay there for a while in our swim trunks, just - you know, existing.”
In a gesture that would have been humorous under different circumstances, Jim caresses Spock’s knee with his foot; from heel to toe, slowly. He doesn’t miss the hitch in Spock’s breath. “And my hand brushed your knee. It wasn’t an accident - you have this weird thing about your knees - so uniquely sensitive.”
Spock’s lips part mutely, and a flash of shock paralyses the Vulcan’s expression. One of the hands clenched on his lap loosens, with his fingertips inadvertently straining for something - someone. “Jim -“
But Jim was obliterated - all that remained was a heart, and flesh, and emotion. He all but swallowed Spock with a single look. “You reacted so strongly. Came to life right beside me, like a volcano erupting against my fingertips.”
Jim’s foot drags down Spock’s knee once more, with his toes trailing down the Vulcan’s calf. “The noise you made -that little purr that I love to swallow straight from your lips.” Jim nudges Spock’s inner thigh with a toe, demanding entry. Spock’s lids grow heavy, and his legs comply.
A quiet keening disrupts the shivering silence, and Jim groans. “Yeah, just like that. God, and that was just from my palm sliding up your thigh.” Jim’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Of course, I couldn’t just leave it at that.”
Control is a thin veneer between him and Spock. And really, out of all of Jim Kirk’s talents, discipline has never been his strong suit. It takes little to snap Jim’s brittle restraint - far less than a Vulcan with molten eyes and devastating lips.
And so Jim is on his knees, kneeling between Spock’s thighs. His hands worship the familiar plains of the Vulcan’s thighs and lithe hips. The Vulcan stares down at him; disbelief and arousal barely caged, and edging on feral.
Jim’s lips are a breath away from Spock’s. “I rolled on top of you -and fuck, your body was hotter than the sand clinging to my back. Sometimes I’m afraid you’ll burn me, and then I realise I’d rather incinerate than never touch you.”
“Stop, I cannot -” Spock flounders, even as his chin inclines to search out Jim’s evading lips.
Jim jerks his head back, but his fingertips find Spock’s stiff hands; with a glide, and press, and scrape of nails. “Your muscles underneath my hands were all this lean, perfect sinew -crafted by something that invented stars, and orgasms, and all the things you want to have in excess until you die.”
Breaths are coming in pants, and Jim can’t discern whose ragged huffs belong to whom. He catches Spock’s gaze, and sees the universe. “You rose for me, Spock. Like the tide towards the moon, you lifted to my hands; you arched for me - all this wordless begging just flooding your eyes, ‘til there was only a sea of black.”
Spock’s pupils are like saucers. “What are you -“
“And I was lost.”
Jim’s words were hurtling forward now, like shooting stars; aflame and eager. “Didn’t matter that I straddled your eager hips - didn’t matter that your control had slid like sand between your trembling fingertips, as you reached for me. I was lost in you. Oblivious to everything, but for that soft spot just behind your distracting-as-hell ears - your warm, wet thigh wedged between my legs - how your collarbone tasted salty against the tip of my tongue - fuck, Spock.”
“Jim.” The Vulcan’s voice is raw, and his fingers grapple with Jim’s upper arms. Jim’s own hands have burrowed beneath Spock’s stiff uniform; where they rove hungrily, desperately. And there is only one way Jim knows how to describe everything this simple dream had evoked from him.
He rears up, with his lips brushing Spock’s earlobe. Jim’s voice rises above a whisper; rough, like he’s swallowed seawater. “Again, carefully through deepness to rise - these your wrists, thighs, feet, hands. Poising, to again utterly disappear; rushing gently, swiftly creeping through my dreams last night. All of your body with its spirit floated - clothed only in the tide’s acute, weaving murmur.”
Spock freezes. His lips are in line with Jim’s ear. “Cummings,” he murmurs, and the recognition sparks fireworks in Jim’s gut.
Jim turns then, his lips dragging along Spock’s silky jaw. He tastes better than in dreams - tastes like perfection.
Then Spock stiffens, and Jim is being flung back with enough force to stop a moving car. His shoulder cracks against the edge of the table, releasing a sharp ‘oof’ from his lips.
Jim is already springing to his feet, when he hears Spock snap sharply, “This is ludicrous.”
Blinking stars from his eyes, Jim boggles at the darkly fuming Vulcan; who is already turning away. Jim realises with dismay that he must lean on the table for unwanted support. “Spock, wait - for Christ’s sake!”
The quiet swish of the door shutting lacks such drama, that Jim can only stare in disbelief at the chair the Vulcan had occupied moments before.
“Shit.”
The chair impacts the door; and yeah, that sound is a lot more gratifying.
***
“You look like death warmed over, kid.”
Jim smiles wanly at Bones, and chucks his bag to the floor. “Your diagnoses get more accurate by the week, Doctor.”
“I call ‘em as I see ‘em,” Bones replies indifferently, as he unfolds himself from a small, cluttered desk. He’s already scanning Jim from head to toe, like some eerily human MRI machine. “You get that report squared away?”
“Yes, Mom,” Jim mutters, and kicks off his shoes in two opposite directions.
Bones twists his face into a scowl. “You keep callin’ me that and I’m likely to wash yer mouth out with soap.” He grips Jim by the shoulders, turns him, and shoves him onto Jim’s cot. “Sit down,” he snaps.
Jim attempts to roll his eyes, even as Bones pulls up his eyelid to inspect the bloodshot mess. “I really don’t need an exam right now, Bones.”
With a snort, Bones releases his hold on Jim’s face; only to clap his palm on Jim’s cheek with mock cheer. “It’s not up to you what you need.”
This elicits a narrow look from Jim. He never needs someone to tell him how to live - especially at this moment, when Jim is unsure of his path; more than he’s ever been. It grates on him, because he knows Bones can give him the advice he needs - if only he would bite the bullet, and ask.
“Last time I checked, it was my body, my rules,” Jim replies through his teeth.
Bones rolls his eyes; completely unfazed by Jim’s unsurprising lack of cooperation. “More often than not, leave you alone with your body for ten minutes, and you get it beaten to a bloody pulp.”
Jim crunches his eyes shut, and wearily pinches the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. Well, that was just mean. He won fights - sometimes. “Your confidence in me is staggering.”
Jim hears Bones’ voice looming over him, but his tone is laced with genuine concern. “Y’all right, kid? Crippling exhaustion and dehydration, aside.” Then Bones’ clunky, efficient footsteps cross the opposite side of the room, and Jim hears rustling.
Jim leans forward, elbows braced on his knees; his face in his outstretched hands. “I’ve been betterrraahhh - fuck, Bones!” His fingers press into the cold spot on his neck, which Bones so mercilessly pierced with fuck-knows what. His eyes aim daggers up at the doctor. “You’re actually evil incarnate aren’t you?”
Bones’ brow arches in question, and he twirls the hypo in his fingers like an expert gunslinger. “Suck it up, sissy.”
“So much hostility - so few susceptible necks.” Jim peels off his shirt and throws it at Bones’ back, as the doctor returns the hypo to his antique medical bag.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Bones is staring at Jim; his arms folded across his chest.
Jim makes a show of stripping off his socks. “I did answer.” He chucks them at Bones. “My reply was overthrown by the dictatorship of the hypo.”
Bones snorts derisively, and returns to his desk. “You fuck up your paper, or somethin’?”
“Nope - probably aced it.” Jim flops back onto the bed, and stares blandly at the ceiling.
“Your confidence is staggering,” Bones drawls. His brassy tenor gentles. “So, what’s eatin’ ya? Spill the beans, kiddo.”
Jim rolls on the bed, and faces the wall. His arms envelope a lumpy pillow, and Jim does not speak for some time. When he does, Jim is rather impressed with the stability of his tone. “I might have scared Taila away,” he murmurs.
Bones barks a humourless laugh. “Well, that ain’t a surprise. Most times, you come on as hard as a buckin’ bronco. No one can keep up with that, unless they’re as genius and bat-shit crazy as you are.”
That was something to chew on. Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth, and imagines he can still taste Spock on the tender flesh of his mouth. “I guess.”
He obviously scared Spock away; there is no doubt about that. Remembering the look in Spock’s eyes as he escaped the room only perpetuates Jim’s fear - the fear that he is alone in all of this.
Alone, as always.
The man of his dreams exists. Only Jim might not be the man of Spock’s.
When Jim finds his voice again, it’s thick with lethargy and doubt. “I thought I was doin’ okay this time, Bones.”
Bones sighs. “Give ‘er some time, Jimmy. I know you don’t have a lick of sense when it comes to this kinda nonsense, but just imagine it this way.” The doctor pauses to make sure Jim is listening properly. “Imagine what you’d do in this situation -then slow it down by five.”
Jim can’t help but snort a breathy, pathetic little laugh.
Slow? Jim supposes that’s the least he can do. He’s gone through his life convinced that the man of his dreams is nothing but that - a figment of fancy; an apparition formed by the bright, shiny aspects of his soul that are tarnished by years of neglect.
But fantasy has become reality, to an extent. Jim has unwittingly waited on Spock for a decade - it wouldn’t hurt to at least try to reign in his impatience. For Spock - for them.
Jim is about to fall asleep, when Bones cuts through the enclosing darkness one last time.
“You gotta get back on that horse, Jim. It’s what you do.”
Yeah. Yeah, it is.
***
chapter v.