Canada Geese and Monarch Butterflies
Title: Canada Geese and Monarch Butterflies
Author: rosemarysaurus
Prompt: Quotes, Lyrics, Etc. #07 "Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired."
Rating: PG-13
Other Pairings: None
Notes/Disclaimer: This is my first ST fanfic, and my first completed fic ever. I worked really hard, so I hope someone likes it. :D Also I own none of this annnnd yeah.
“Wow, you've really let yourself go.”
It was a joke. A chorus of laughter followed the words.
Jim forced a smile. Pretended to be just as amused as everyone else. It wasn't meant to be an insult. But the truth of the statement crashed down on his shoulders with a weight that threatened to break him.
His eyes wandered through the crowd, focused on Bones. There he stood, long and lean as ever, gracefully aged. He was laughing easily, and Jim could imagine the lilting sound, laced in that Southern accent that became more prominent every year. A sick feeling nestled itself in Jim's stomach.
He excused himself, weaved his way through the crowd, and slipped through the door. Within minutes he was back in his hotel room.
There was a long mirror facing the door.
He stood there, old and paunchy, his hair gone dark and curled, wrinkles carving minute chasms into his face.
For several moments he didn't move, only stared into his own eyes, feeling nothing on the surface and everything underneath, pounding desperately like a river under ice.
Then he took two steps forward, moving away from his reflection. He moved to the dresser next to the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tightly. He could feel his heart quivering within him as he fought desperately to quell the tight despair the clawed at his ribcage. He was old and he'd lost everything he'd once had; his good looks, his fame. Now he was just another crusty old admiral. The past days, nights, months flashed through his mind. Everytime he'd fallen asleep before Bones had even gotten into the bed, the kisses that had once been simply a part of their everyday routine but were now non-existant.
It was so painfully obvious. He was old and useless and Bones was more than sick of him. He only stayed with him because he felt bad for him.
There was a photograph on the dresser, old-fashioned and one of Jim's most prized possessions.
His fingers curled around the picture frame. There he was, in his prime, at his wedding. Two men in tuxedos, with liquor in their hands, and unstoppable grins on their faces. The photographer had kept trying to get them to take 'professional' shots, but Jim, tired of his snobbery, had paid him double just to leave.
But you can't have a wedding without photographs, so Jim had picked up his own camera, and went around taking very bad pictures with gusto. Joanna had had them all printed out and made them into a collage. It hung in their front hall, back home in Iowa.
Kirk stared down at the picture of his husband with a fond smile on his lips and a dull ache in his chest.
The nostalgia scratched at the door of his mind, begging to be let in. And the memories hurt less than his slowly breaking heart, so he yielded to reminiscing.
The telltale flatline had never changed its meaning over all these years. The patient was gone.
Within a half hour of the failed surgery, Jim was at the CMO's door, bottle in one hand and frown on his face. There was no answer when he buzzed at the door, which was just too predictable. He let himself in with the captain's override.
It was just as bad as every other time. Bones was hunched over the table with a wide array of alcohols, none synthesized, spread around him. Between them were little glasses, all half empty. The lights were at 25%, Bones was half out of his uniform, in his undershirt and blck regulation pants, one boot unlaced on his foot, the other on the opposite side of the room.
The doctor did not look up even as the doors swished closed behind the captain. Jim ran a hand through his hair. No matter how many times they went through this, it never got easier. He deposited his offering onto the table and placed a gentle hand on McCoy's back, taking the seat beside him.
For a few moments, there was silence.
“I can't do this, Jim. I can't. I'm leaving. I'm leaving, I'm going to go back home, I'm going to... Hell, I don't know, I'll become a caterer. I'll go somewhere I can't hurt people anymore. Somewhere my failures won't cost lives.”
His speech was slurred and rough around the edges, and try as he might to contain them, Jim could feel his friend's tears even if they were kept at bay, lingering just beneath his eyelids.
“Only problem is, I've got nowhere to go. Remember what I said? The first day we met? Jocelyn's got the whole damned planet. The whole. Fucking. Planet.”
“Yeah, well, she's probably still just hanging around the same old street corner.” Jim said lightly. And Bones laughed, laughed heartily, just like Jim had known he would. Despite the fact that it made little sense, and it was entirely juvenile, the frown had melted into a wide grin on his friend's face. This was a clear, definite sign that his friend was completely smashed. This did nothing to stop the elation that bubbled in his chest with each new peal of laugter.
When Jim put him to bed that night, he may or may not have smoothed the hair away from Bones's face, and kissed his forhead.
Bones had stared apprehensively at the thin grey curtain of drizzle outside the window. Jim had laughed and reassured him. The light rain seemed harmless enough, but Bones was a strong believer in Murphy's law. That which can go wrong, will.
Somehow the doctor somehow still managed to find himself climbing onto the back of Kirk's motorbike, in a blue and green rain slicker. He would have felt like an idiot in that outfit if he hadn't been busy thinking “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
Bones was clearly too nervous to think about anything but the potential dangers of this expedition, but Jim could feel Bones pressed up to his back, arms wrapped around him so tightly it was almost painful. He couldn't quell the small smile that snaked across his lips behind his dark visor.
To be fair, Jim made a valiant attempt to control the amount of pleasure this situation was giving him. The real problem, the thing that really scared him, was that there was nothing sexual about it. It was the thought that Bones needed Jim to feel safe. That he trusted him to protect him.
And although from the very first moment Bones had laid eyes on the bike he'd started moaning about how he should have gone with Scotty or Uhura or just stayed on the Enterprise, he had agreed to come along, and stuck around. All bullshit aside, Bones wanted to be here, with Jim, enough to set all dignity aside and bury his face in his best friend's shoulder, cowering on the backseat of a motorcycle.
The satisfaction that brought a wide smile to Jim's face worried him. There was nothing wrong with this, was there? Leonard McCoy was Kirk's first real friend, the only friend he'd ever gotten this close to. Of course thinking about their unfailing solidarity would make him happy.
And yet, the unease, although diminished, was not completely surpressed.
The road was dark and slick from the precipition, and Jim's musings on his relationship with his best friend took the backseat to concentrating on driving. They'd transported straight down to Des Moines, Iowa, and now they were heading west to the outskirts of Riverside, where a little farmhouse was lying empty, and had been since Frank had gotten fed up with waiting for a wife who was constantly billions of miles away.
The bike thrummed underneath the soggy duo as Kirk sped up, the dull grey scenery beyond the highway whipping past. Every now and then Bones would shift slightly, and every time Jim would suppress a contented sigh and wonder if that was against the 'just friends' rules. He was becoming suspicious of himself; at times he would forget himself and find himself acting like some kind of silly teenaged girl, staring at Leonard dreamily, or giggling at his jokes rather than laughing, or doing stupid things to impress him... If Jim didn't know any better, he might think he had a damned crush on his ship's CMO.
“Is it just me, or is the rain coming down harder?” The gruff voice in his ear startled Jim, proving how spaced out he was. The doctor was right - not only were the drops now heavier, falling faster, and less spread out, but there were huge clouds almost directly above them that were positively black. Lightning flashed dramatically as the two men surveyed the sky.
“Huh. Well, that's shitty.”
Len snorted, and Jim could practically hear the eyeroll that went along with it. He smirked, just like always, although with his hands on the handle bars he couldn't offer a carelessly reassuring slap on the back or pat on the arm.
There was an overpass up not far ahead that would provide excellent cover, and Jim was sure this was a freak storm that wouldn't last long. He slowed to a stop beneath the massive concrete bridge which had been left unchanged even after all the years, save for some reinforcements. Who used it and why it had been kept intact was anybody's guess. Maybe it was specifically for poor motorcyclists caught in the rain.
Jim hopped of the bike once it was in park, removed his helmet in one deft movement, and gave himself a little shake just as a dog would. McCoy was still clutching the sides of the seat, and Kirk wondered vaguely if they would need to be surgically detached.
“Oh, come on. It really wasn't that bad. You're such a baby.” Jim was grinning, but even the insincere teasing seemed to be enough to get his friend back in action.
Len pried his from their grip jerkily, removed his helmet and dropped it unceremoniously onto the ground, much to Jim's indignance. (“Hey! If that's scratched you're buying me a new one!”) The older man peeled himself off the vehicle, his wet jeans sticking to everything they touched - mostly his legs. Jim's eyes lingered for a moment, and then, with a series of internal reprimands, he turned away to sit on a little ledge sticking out from the underpass. He patted the spot next to him cheerfully, very obviously amused by Leonard's grumpy expression.
The storm lasted much longer than Kirk had expected, and they were running out of things to talk about. After being best friends for years, and spending almost all their time together, there wasn't much new to discuss.
McCoy was telling Jim a story about his childhood (that's how desperate they were for conversational topics) and Jim was enjoying himself maybe just a little too much with the thought of adorable young Leonard McCoy.
“So then, of course, my dear old ma walks in just as I'm scrubbin' desperately away at the kitchen table, tryin' to get rid of all this blue paint and she takes one look at me all covered from head to foot in some artificial colour and she starts... Jim, you okay?” Leonard's fond, reminiscant smiles faded a concerned frown.
Jim was staring at him dreamily again. Like a teenage girl. And he was going to make up an excuse about how he spaced out, that he was miles away, in Georgia, focusing on the story, but he didn't. He opened his mouth, closed it, and just met McCoy's gaze, trying to read the expression in his eyes that was behind the worry.
It was the most open moment Jim's ever shared with anyone in his entire life up to that point. His every instinct screamed at him to turn away and laugh it off before it was too late, but Jim was sick of ignoring this. He leaned forward. Leonard met him halfway.
It was not a perfect kiss that would have won Academy Awards; this was real life. It was tentative, curious, shy - it was human. But those lips opened, and with them dragged two irregularly beating hearts. It exposed fears and feelings and everything private, and when two souls are so equally bared all they can do is accept each other; and so they melt together in a kaleidoscopic swirl comprised of two lives, whose similarities blend and differences contrast in the most beautiful, frightening, breathtaking way. Two forks in the road converge, and then all that's left is red lips and heaving chests.
You can't really know you're missing something if you've never had it before.
These two hearts needed each other the way summer always needs to fizzle out into fall, so that Americans can see Canada geese and Monarch butterflies.
The planet was stuck in perpetual winter, and Jim couldn't help but wonder whether the White Witch had cast her spell over Frieda VI. The captain of the Enterprise and his ship's CMO were at a diplomatic sleep-over. No joke. There had been movies, scary stories, staying up late. Fortunately the Friegians didn't expect everyone to sleep together in sleeping bags on the floor. Kirk and McCoy were given rooms next to each other and left to their own devices for the night.
After reporting to the ship, Jim curled up in the warm, double-quilted bed with a contented little sigh. It was so nice.
And yet, after an hour of staring at the ceiling, the captain came to the conclusion that he couldn't sleep. He wondered if Bones was still awake. The image of Bones snuggled up in bed, sleeping, captivated Jim's mind momentarily. What would he dream about? The embarassing fantasies that plague the minds of even the most respectable human beings in the early morning played through Kirk's mind in quick succession; First Bones was dreaming of Kirk's smile, his lips, they were the most beautiful he'd ever seen. And then Bones was dreaming about Georgia, back home, and walking with Kirk through the cornfield. The dreams started to tap into a different vein, where Bones' fingers were sliding under the gold command shirt, and Jim was melting into his eyes, his arms, his mouth.
The captain jerked awake, and was glad he was alone in his room; a pink blush coloured his cheeks. They were his dreams, not the doctor's.
Restlessness boiled in the young man's chest, and he knew exactly why. Bones had been his 'sort-of boyfriend' since that kiss, but it had been a slow, tentative relationship, changing at such a slow rate the difference was almost unnoticeable.
He slipped out of the bed, his bare feet meeting the fuzzy carpet. He was in loose sweatpants and his regulation undershirt, and was at the door by the time he realised he should have grabbed a sweater. He hesitated a moment, but decided to push forward. Hopefully Bones had the heat on.
The door to his room clicked shut behind him. The sound echoed down the hallway. He froze, feeling like a naughty teenager sneaking out after curfew. There was complete silence all down the hallway, so Kirk pushed onwards, turning the doorknob next to him gingerly.
He peeked through the crack he'd created cautiously. Bones was in bed, facing the other direction. It would be a shame to wake him, but he'd already come too far to turn back. He slid through the doorway and glided into the room, the carpet muffling his footsteps. He was two steps away from the bed and just wondering what he was going to do when he got there when Bones rolled over, hazel eyes open and staring at him.
“Problem, Jim?” He asked. His voice was rough and tired, but to clear for him to have just woken up. Jim sat on the edge of the bed.
“I just can't sleep.” Kirk avoided McCoy's eyes, stalling for time. He had no idea what he would say.
Leonard sat up, the blankets falling from his shoulder. His chest was bare, and Jim's eyes lingered on it before they rose to meet his. There was a moment of silence before McCoy was leaning forward to kiss him and Jim was trying to confess why he had come. The result was a lot of confusion, Kirk knocked half off of the bed, and a bit of awkwardness hanging in the air.
And then Kirk smiled, and Bones laughed, and Jim climbed back into the bed, this time settling right down under the covers, and kissing Bones softly before he tried to talk.
“I love you,” He whispered.
It was the first time he said it but not the last; not nearly the last.
The picture had been returned to its place, and Kirk had wandered off. First looking out the window, where his eyes settled on the artificial garden of the hotel, which was separated from the party only by a thin belt of trees.
It was too hrad to watch young couples come and go, and too often his attention strayed to the foliage of pines and maples, as if he could see through the branches.
Then he wandered to the mirror, thinking maybe he could be reassured; maybe he had been overexaggerating. It just hurt a little more.
Then he fell onto the bed, curling up and closing his eyes, ready to forget it all, ready to just die in his sleep.
Ten minutes later Jim was not dead, asleep, or feeling any better. The door opened.
Bones entered the room, making himself known as he slammed the door carelessly and shouted, “Damnit, Jim, I can't believe you ditched me at that party. I'm a retired doctor, not a shmoozer!”
When he received no response, Jim's name was called hesitantly. He wanted to answer, he really did, but he couldn't. He felt completely, genuinely broken. Like he would never be the same again.
Bones entered the bedroom, took a look at Kirk, and snorted disapprovingly. “Really, Jim? Napping? I didn't think you'd gotten that old.”
And despite the fact that he'd known it for hours now, it broke his heart to hear the contempt voice. The admiral rolled over, staring up at his husband, eyes full of hurt and resignation, and all he could manage to say was, “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”
Bones's expression quickly melted into concern, and he rushed to the bed, feeling Jim's foreheard, checking him for anything unusual. “Why, Jim? Why are you sorry?”
A grim smile spread over pink lips that, now wrinkled and no longer soft, he'd once dreamed this man would fantasize about.
“I'm sorry for being old, for being fat, for being wrinkly. I'm sorry you married me and now you're stuck with me.”
Bones looked, momentarily, entirely befuddled. Then a dark frown crossed his face and he looked like he might hit Kirk. Instead, he kissed him furiously. “I always knew you were an idiot, that all that nonsense about a high IQ was bull. Jim, what the hell. After all these years, you don't understand that I love you? You don't understand that you're all I've ever wanted? I don't care how old or fat or wrinkled you get, because I'm along with you for the ride. You're mine, to have and to hold, 'til death do us part. Moron.”
Author: rosemarysaurus
Prompt: Quotes, Lyrics, Etc. #07 "Love is the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired."
Rating: PG-13
Other Pairings: None
Notes/Disclaimer: This is my first ST fanfic, and my first completed fic ever. I worked really hard, so I hope someone likes it. :D Also I own none of this annnnd yeah.
“Wow, you've really let yourself go.”
It was a joke. A chorus of laughter followed the words.
Jim forced a smile. Pretended to be just as amused as everyone else. It wasn't meant to be an insult. But the truth of the statement crashed down on his shoulders with a weight that threatened to break him.
His eyes wandered through the crowd, focused on Bones. There he stood, long and lean as ever, gracefully aged. He was laughing easily, and Jim could imagine the lilting sound, laced in that Southern accent that became more prominent every year. A sick feeling nestled itself in Jim's stomach.
He excused himself, weaved his way through the crowd, and slipped through the door. Within minutes he was back in his hotel room.
There was a long mirror facing the door.
He stood there, old and paunchy, his hair gone dark and curled, wrinkles carving minute chasms into his face.
For several moments he didn't move, only stared into his own eyes, feeling nothing on the surface and everything underneath, pounding desperately like a river under ice.
Then he took two steps forward, moving away from his reflection. He moved to the dresser next to the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes tightly. He could feel his heart quivering within him as he fought desperately to quell the tight despair the clawed at his ribcage. He was old and he'd lost everything he'd once had; his good looks, his fame. Now he was just another crusty old admiral. The past days, nights, months flashed through his mind. Everytime he'd fallen asleep before Bones had even gotten into the bed, the kisses that had once been simply a part of their everyday routine but were now non-existant.
It was so painfully obvious. He was old and useless and Bones was more than sick of him. He only stayed with him because he felt bad for him.
There was a photograph on the dresser, old-fashioned and one of Jim's most prized possessions.
His fingers curled around the picture frame. There he was, in his prime, at his wedding. Two men in tuxedos, with liquor in their hands, and unstoppable grins on their faces. The photographer had kept trying to get them to take 'professional' shots, but Jim, tired of his snobbery, had paid him double just to leave.
But you can't have a wedding without photographs, so Jim had picked up his own camera, and went around taking very bad pictures with gusto. Joanna had had them all printed out and made them into a collage. It hung in their front hall, back home in Iowa.
Kirk stared down at the picture of his husband with a fond smile on his lips and a dull ache in his chest.
The nostalgia scratched at the door of his mind, begging to be let in. And the memories hurt less than his slowly breaking heart, so he yielded to reminiscing.
The telltale flatline had never changed its meaning over all these years. The patient was gone.
Within a half hour of the failed surgery, Jim was at the CMO's door, bottle in one hand and frown on his face. There was no answer when he buzzed at the door, which was just too predictable. He let himself in with the captain's override.
It was just as bad as every other time. Bones was hunched over the table with a wide array of alcohols, none synthesized, spread around him. Between them were little glasses, all half empty. The lights were at 25%, Bones was half out of his uniform, in his undershirt and blck regulation pants, one boot unlaced on his foot, the other on the opposite side of the room.
The doctor did not look up even as the doors swished closed behind the captain. Jim ran a hand through his hair. No matter how many times they went through this, it never got easier. He deposited his offering onto the table and placed a gentle hand on McCoy's back, taking the seat beside him.
For a few moments, there was silence.
“I can't do this, Jim. I can't. I'm leaving. I'm leaving, I'm going to go back home, I'm going to... Hell, I don't know, I'll become a caterer. I'll go somewhere I can't hurt people anymore. Somewhere my failures won't cost lives.”
His speech was slurred and rough around the edges, and try as he might to contain them, Jim could feel his friend's tears even if they were kept at bay, lingering just beneath his eyelids.
“Only problem is, I've got nowhere to go. Remember what I said? The first day we met? Jocelyn's got the whole damned planet. The whole. Fucking. Planet.”
“Yeah, well, she's probably still just hanging around the same old street corner.” Jim said lightly. And Bones laughed, laughed heartily, just like Jim had known he would. Despite the fact that it made little sense, and it was entirely juvenile, the frown had melted into a wide grin on his friend's face. This was a clear, definite sign that his friend was completely smashed. This did nothing to stop the elation that bubbled in his chest with each new peal of laugter.
When Jim put him to bed that night, he may or may not have smoothed the hair away from Bones's face, and kissed his forhead.
Bones had stared apprehensively at the thin grey curtain of drizzle outside the window. Jim had laughed and reassured him. The light rain seemed harmless enough, but Bones was a strong believer in Murphy's law. That which can go wrong, will.
Somehow the doctor somehow still managed to find himself climbing onto the back of Kirk's motorbike, in a blue and green rain slicker. He would have felt like an idiot in that outfit if he hadn't been busy thinking “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
Bones was clearly too nervous to think about anything but the potential dangers of this expedition, but Jim could feel Bones pressed up to his back, arms wrapped around him so tightly it was almost painful. He couldn't quell the small smile that snaked across his lips behind his dark visor.
To be fair, Jim made a valiant attempt to control the amount of pleasure this situation was giving him. The real problem, the thing that really scared him, was that there was nothing sexual about it. It was the thought that Bones needed Jim to feel safe. That he trusted him to protect him.
And although from the very first moment Bones had laid eyes on the bike he'd started moaning about how he should have gone with Scotty or Uhura or just stayed on the Enterprise, he had agreed to come along, and stuck around. All bullshit aside, Bones wanted to be here, with Jim, enough to set all dignity aside and bury his face in his best friend's shoulder, cowering on the backseat of a motorcycle.
The satisfaction that brought a wide smile to Jim's face worried him. There was nothing wrong with this, was there? Leonard McCoy was Kirk's first real friend, the only friend he'd ever gotten this close to. Of course thinking about their unfailing solidarity would make him happy.
And yet, the unease, although diminished, was not completely surpressed.
The road was dark and slick from the precipition, and Jim's musings on his relationship with his best friend took the backseat to concentrating on driving. They'd transported straight down to Des Moines, Iowa, and now they were heading west to the outskirts of Riverside, where a little farmhouse was lying empty, and had been since Frank had gotten fed up with waiting for a wife who was constantly billions of miles away.
The bike thrummed underneath the soggy duo as Kirk sped up, the dull grey scenery beyond the highway whipping past. Every now and then Bones would shift slightly, and every time Jim would suppress a contented sigh and wonder if that was against the 'just friends' rules. He was becoming suspicious of himself; at times he would forget himself and find himself acting like some kind of silly teenaged girl, staring at Leonard dreamily, or giggling at his jokes rather than laughing, or doing stupid things to impress him... If Jim didn't know any better, he might think he had a damned crush on his ship's CMO.
“Is it just me, or is the rain coming down harder?” The gruff voice in his ear startled Jim, proving how spaced out he was. The doctor was right - not only were the drops now heavier, falling faster, and less spread out, but there were huge clouds almost directly above them that were positively black. Lightning flashed dramatically as the two men surveyed the sky.
“Huh. Well, that's shitty.”
Len snorted, and Jim could practically hear the eyeroll that went along with it. He smirked, just like always, although with his hands on the handle bars he couldn't offer a carelessly reassuring slap on the back or pat on the arm.
There was an overpass up not far ahead that would provide excellent cover, and Jim was sure this was a freak storm that wouldn't last long. He slowed to a stop beneath the massive concrete bridge which had been left unchanged even after all the years, save for some reinforcements. Who used it and why it had been kept intact was anybody's guess. Maybe it was specifically for poor motorcyclists caught in the rain.
Jim hopped of the bike once it was in park, removed his helmet in one deft movement, and gave himself a little shake just as a dog would. McCoy was still clutching the sides of the seat, and Kirk wondered vaguely if they would need to be surgically detached.
“Oh, come on. It really wasn't that bad. You're such a baby.” Jim was grinning, but even the insincere teasing seemed to be enough to get his friend back in action.
Len pried his from their grip jerkily, removed his helmet and dropped it unceremoniously onto the ground, much to Jim's indignance. (“Hey! If that's scratched you're buying me a new one!”) The older man peeled himself off the vehicle, his wet jeans sticking to everything they touched - mostly his legs. Jim's eyes lingered for a moment, and then, with a series of internal reprimands, he turned away to sit on a little ledge sticking out from the underpass. He patted the spot next to him cheerfully, very obviously amused by Leonard's grumpy expression.
The storm lasted much longer than Kirk had expected, and they were running out of things to talk about. After being best friends for years, and spending almost all their time together, there wasn't much new to discuss.
McCoy was telling Jim a story about his childhood (that's how desperate they were for conversational topics) and Jim was enjoying himself maybe just a little too much with the thought of adorable young Leonard McCoy.
“So then, of course, my dear old ma walks in just as I'm scrubbin' desperately away at the kitchen table, tryin' to get rid of all this blue paint and she takes one look at me all covered from head to foot in some artificial colour and she starts... Jim, you okay?” Leonard's fond, reminiscant smiles faded a concerned frown.
Jim was staring at him dreamily again. Like a teenage girl. And he was going to make up an excuse about how he spaced out, that he was miles away, in Georgia, focusing on the story, but he didn't. He opened his mouth, closed it, and just met McCoy's gaze, trying to read the expression in his eyes that was behind the worry.
It was the most open moment Jim's ever shared with anyone in his entire life up to that point. His every instinct screamed at him to turn away and laugh it off before it was too late, but Jim was sick of ignoring this. He leaned forward. Leonard met him halfway.
It was not a perfect kiss that would have won Academy Awards; this was real life. It was tentative, curious, shy - it was human. But those lips opened, and with them dragged two irregularly beating hearts. It exposed fears and feelings and everything private, and when two souls are so equally bared all they can do is accept each other; and so they melt together in a kaleidoscopic swirl comprised of two lives, whose similarities blend and differences contrast in the most beautiful, frightening, breathtaking way. Two forks in the road converge, and then all that's left is red lips and heaving chests.
You can't really know you're missing something if you've never had it before.
These two hearts needed each other the way summer always needs to fizzle out into fall, so that Americans can see Canada geese and Monarch butterflies.
The planet was stuck in perpetual winter, and Jim couldn't help but wonder whether the White Witch had cast her spell over Frieda VI. The captain of the Enterprise and his ship's CMO were at a diplomatic sleep-over. No joke. There had been movies, scary stories, staying up late. Fortunately the Friegians didn't expect everyone to sleep together in sleeping bags on the floor. Kirk and McCoy were given rooms next to each other and left to their own devices for the night.
After reporting to the ship, Jim curled up in the warm, double-quilted bed with a contented little sigh. It was so nice.
And yet, after an hour of staring at the ceiling, the captain came to the conclusion that he couldn't sleep. He wondered if Bones was still awake. The image of Bones snuggled up in bed, sleeping, captivated Jim's mind momentarily. What would he dream about? The embarassing fantasies that plague the minds of even the most respectable human beings in the early morning played through Kirk's mind in quick succession; First Bones was dreaming of Kirk's smile, his lips, they were the most beautiful he'd ever seen. And then Bones was dreaming about Georgia, back home, and walking with Kirk through the cornfield. The dreams started to tap into a different vein, where Bones' fingers were sliding under the gold command shirt, and Jim was melting into his eyes, his arms, his mouth.
The captain jerked awake, and was glad he was alone in his room; a pink blush coloured his cheeks. They were his dreams, not the doctor's.
Restlessness boiled in the young man's chest, and he knew exactly why. Bones had been his 'sort-of boyfriend' since that kiss, but it had been a slow, tentative relationship, changing at such a slow rate the difference was almost unnoticeable.
He slipped out of the bed, his bare feet meeting the fuzzy carpet. He was in loose sweatpants and his regulation undershirt, and was at the door by the time he realised he should have grabbed a sweater. He hesitated a moment, but decided to push forward. Hopefully Bones had the heat on.
The door to his room clicked shut behind him. The sound echoed down the hallway. He froze, feeling like a naughty teenager sneaking out after curfew. There was complete silence all down the hallway, so Kirk pushed onwards, turning the doorknob next to him gingerly.
He peeked through the crack he'd created cautiously. Bones was in bed, facing the other direction. It would be a shame to wake him, but he'd already come too far to turn back. He slid through the doorway and glided into the room, the carpet muffling his footsteps. He was two steps away from the bed and just wondering what he was going to do when he got there when Bones rolled over, hazel eyes open and staring at him.
“Problem, Jim?” He asked. His voice was rough and tired, but to clear for him to have just woken up. Jim sat on the edge of the bed.
“I just can't sleep.” Kirk avoided McCoy's eyes, stalling for time. He had no idea what he would say.
Leonard sat up, the blankets falling from his shoulder. His chest was bare, and Jim's eyes lingered on it before they rose to meet his. There was a moment of silence before McCoy was leaning forward to kiss him and Jim was trying to confess why he had come. The result was a lot of confusion, Kirk knocked half off of the bed, and a bit of awkwardness hanging in the air.
And then Kirk smiled, and Bones laughed, and Jim climbed back into the bed, this time settling right down under the covers, and kissing Bones softly before he tried to talk.
“I love you,” He whispered.
It was the first time he said it but not the last; not nearly the last.
The picture had been returned to its place, and Kirk had wandered off. First looking out the window, where his eyes settled on the artificial garden of the hotel, which was separated from the party only by a thin belt of trees.
It was too hrad to watch young couples come and go, and too often his attention strayed to the foliage of pines and maples, as if he could see through the branches.
Then he wandered to the mirror, thinking maybe he could be reassured; maybe he had been overexaggerating. It just hurt a little more.
Then he fell onto the bed, curling up and closing his eyes, ready to forget it all, ready to just die in his sleep.
Ten minutes later Jim was not dead, asleep, or feeling any better. The door opened.
Bones entered the room, making himself known as he slammed the door carelessly and shouted, “Damnit, Jim, I can't believe you ditched me at that party. I'm a retired doctor, not a shmoozer!”
When he received no response, Jim's name was called hesitantly. He wanted to answer, he really did, but he couldn't. He felt completely, genuinely broken. Like he would never be the same again.
Bones entered the bedroom, took a look at Kirk, and snorted disapprovingly. “Really, Jim? Napping? I didn't think you'd gotten that old.”
And despite the fact that he'd known it for hours now, it broke his heart to hear the contempt voice. The admiral rolled over, staring up at his husband, eyes full of hurt and resignation, and all he could manage to say was, “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”
Bones's expression quickly melted into concern, and he rushed to the bed, feeling Jim's foreheard, checking him for anything unusual. “Why, Jim? Why are you sorry?”
A grim smile spread over pink lips that, now wrinkled and no longer soft, he'd once dreamed this man would fantasize about.
“I'm sorry for being old, for being fat, for being wrinkly. I'm sorry you married me and now you're stuck with me.”
Bones looked, momentarily, entirely befuddled. Then a dark frown crossed his face and he looked like he might hit Kirk. Instead, he kissed him furiously. “I always knew you were an idiot, that all that nonsense about a high IQ was bull. Jim, what the hell. After all these years, you don't understand that I love you? You don't understand that you're all I've ever wanted? I don't care how old or fat or wrinkled you get, because I'm along with you for the ride. You're mine, to have and to hold, 'til death do us part. Moron.”