Big Bang Fic: Autopsy of the Heart - parts 19-21/24
parts 1-3
parts 4-7
parts 8-13
parts 14-18
Part 19
Beyond Good and Evil
Or
You Always Hurt the One You Love
July 2256 (sometime before Spring Break)
1.
McCoy received an old fashioned letter from Jocelyn the first week at the academy.
He read it and re-read it.
She changed her mind about one thing - she decided she was the villain of the piece.
I wasn’t good enough for you, Leo. You only have to look at all the things I’ve done to you.
2.
He wonders what the letter he would have sent would say.
Funny how when people spoke or wrote about love it was all about good and evil.
I was wrong.
I’m not good enough.
You deserve someone better than me.
It’s my fault, his letter might have said, I abandoned you when you needed me, after the baby was born.
3.
I’m sorry I can’t love you any more.
Was falling out of love a sin?
If it was a sin, then he committed it when he gave up on their relationship. He hadn't fought for her because he hadn't loved her anymore. He was just too lazy to admit this to himself. He tried to keep her loving him so he could hang on to Joanna. That had been wrong.
No matter - being in love with Jim Kirk was punishment enough.
4.
McCoy still keeps that letter. He keeps it casually, just thrown in a drawer and, while he never reads it these days, he keeps it to remind himself that things changed.
And now, while he rifles through the drawer looking for some lube, he sees it - the envelope has a coffee ring on it. Oh yes, good and fucking evil, right and wrong. It is all so clear, isn’t it?
He isn’t quite sure why he has lube. Maybe Jim put it there, more likely left it lying around one time he tipped his bag out.
Shit, who is he kidding? McCoy remembers every damn thing - always; he knows exactly how the lube got there. His ridiculously capacious and bullet proof memory, he's come to realize, is a blessing for medicine and the good of those in his care, but a fucking burden when it comes to the rest of his life.
For a man who said pretty much one brash thing after another, and walked into one pothole lined with horse shit after another, a touch of amnesia wouldn't go amiss.
So, he casts his mind back to the time Kirk tipped his backpack over McCoy's bed, looking for something or other.
McCoy tried not to look but he was, at the time, in a permanent state of mind where every little detail about Kirk had become impossibly fascinating.
So, under the pretence of finding the whole show rather amusing, wearing his sarcastic face, hoping it would mask his interest, he took in the detail like his life depended on it and he’d be tested later by a sadistic God, intent on proving what a jerk he was.
He saw: candies, gum, cigarette papers, a lighter, condoms, PADDS, a beaten up novel he’d never read called Junky, his music device, more condoms, tissues, an epi-hypo , reading glasses, a sock, a comm. And lube, two tubes, both pretty beat up.
Well, Jim wasn't going to miss one, was he? And he hoped at the time, when he was still actively behaving like a major asshole (as opposed to now when he merely thought like one), that maybe, someday, it would prove to be a stroke of luck that he just happened to have some of Jim's lube now that they were about to have drunken sex together.
Agony sits in his gut like an anvil dropped from his heart.
McCoy shoves the drawer shut and goes to open the door remembering to rearrange his features into what passes for his 'casual' face.
“Well, how-dee!”
“Come on in, James Edward Hansford. The fucking Third.” McCoy grins, stepping back from the door. “Welcome to San Francisco!”
5.
“Sometimes a guy jus’ needed some lovin’.”
Interlude
In the Mirror
(March 2256, Spring Break), July 2256
1. ~Georgia~
"I'm kinda tired, Jim, think I'll turn in."
What he was tired of, of course, was the strain of wanting Jim so bad, and not having the guts to do anything about it.
Jim wasn't buying it, McCoy could tell. He looked twitchier than usual. Maybe it was two whole days without casual sex, he thought bitterly. And Kirk was a good people-reader - even if he didn't have a clue what specifically was up with him, it would have been impossible for him not to notice that McCoy was out of sorts.
A book. Sleep. Tomorrow they’d go fishing and it would defuse some of this shit. It had been a mistake to meet James. Jim hadn’t liked the guy and it had just been, well, awkward. He’d think about tomorrow - for now, he just needed to fucking sleep.
Well, he needed to get into his pjs but he couldn't do it here. The half-boner needed to be kept under wraps. He went through the drawer, taking a deliberately long time so Jim would just fuck off and stop looking at him like that.
After the couple of hours with his old friend, James, and a few games of pool, Kirk’s presence was beginning to piss McCoy off. McCoy had played at flirting, trying to ignore Jim’s ass as he cued, not drool at how he teased pulled-pork out of his bun when he ate at the bar, tried not to reach over and wipe the smear of coleslaw off his chin as he ate. Why couldn't he just stop glowing like that? And now, he could feel him from six feet away.
"You unpacked yet?" McCoy said over his shoulder.
"Kinda..."
Good, he could hear rustling behind him. He stood up, turned and his eyes almost dropped to the dark wood floor and bounced between them.
He was naked - gloriously, unselfconsciously naked - stretched out on the pine bed like a lion. And he was very slightly hard.
Shit. Had he allowed his eyes to stray?
"You looking for your pjs, Bones?"
Jim blinked real slow, like the big fucking alpha male cat he was. He moved his arms and folded them behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankles.
McCoy starred sullenly at the movement of the various muscles in Jim’s neck. If he was an artist, he'd trap the bastard in his fucking garret and not let him go until he'd reproduced each perfect curve and dip and bump. And he'd make sure it took a lifetime to get right.
"Yeah," he croaked.
"Hopefully you forgot to pack them."
Hopefully? "Jim. Are you high?"
"Maybe a little, Bones."
McCoy stepped in the space between the two beds and looked down at the banquet spread out before him.
"Shit, what did you take?"
"I didn't take anything; I'm just high on your Georgian Spring. I like it here."
Liked it enough to get hard?
Kirk pushed himself up on his elbows and his cock nodded at McCoy. God he was shameless. What the hell was he up to?
"Jim?"
"Yes?"
There was the fucking cat in him again - that was some kind of growl.
"Shouldn't you unpack?"
"Yep. I'll do that now." Jim’s voice light, from the mouth of someone who sported erections in public on a daily basis or something. And he slid off the bed, but not how you'd expect, away from McCoy and to the other side of the bed, so he'd have room to maneuver, so that his naked body wouldn't be inappropriately close. No, the bastard slid towards McCoy; right there into his personal space with his hard-on and his pupils all blown and fuck-me.
"Jesus, Jim," he managed to say.
"Scuse me, Bonesy."
McCoy didn't move. He could feel the heat from him, Jim’s breath on his face with the scent of beer and pretzels, could see the rise and fall of his chest. McCoy still had enough matter working in his brain to appreciate, thank fuck, that he couldn't see his own slack-jawed expression reflected back at him in those infernal blue eyes.
Neither of them moved.
"Bones?"
"Yes, Jim?"
"Am I giving out mixed messages here or something?"
McCoy didn't answer. He was too busy grabbing his friend's shoulders and pulling the length of Jim's body against his, while his lips ate him alive, took his very breath - in case this was a fucking dream and he'd wake up in a minute and he'd be left with nothing but a glass slipper. More appropriately, a biker boot, he thought, smiling through the kiss and drawing Jim's tongue into his mouth, feeling a little dizzy and unsure how this had just happened.
2. ~San Francisco~
No sooner is James through the door and he's pushing McCoy up against the wall, his mouth homing in on his. This is all moving unexpectedly fast. McCoy turns his head away - doesn't want to kiss .
"Whoa, cowboy!" he says. "Let me get my breath here!"
"Leo, I've been thinkin' 'bout nothin' else all fucking week," James grins, pulling away and squeezing McCoy's ass before he completely breaks contact. "But I guess I could use a beer."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all, but a couple of months of instant messages with James has got McCoy so damn horny that his old friends' timely business trip to San Francisco has him convinced it's exactly what he needs to get Jim out of his system.
McCoy hears the thud of James boots behind him and the noise of his belt buckle as he unfastens it. His cock responds, thank goodness, because something inside him worried he wouldn't be able to - he's turned into such a pathetic romantic of late.
James is sprawled out on the small couch, barefoot, jeans riding low, shirt undone and that nice blond hair sleeked back - he'll have to do something about messing that up McCoy thinks, handing him his beer.
3.
He didn’t know how long they spent kissing but he didn’t ever want it to end. McCoy was still mostly dressed, although Jim managed to loosen his belt and pull his t-shirt up under his arms. He kicked off his shoes at least, but there wasn’t going to be any more undressing for the while because, at that moment, Jim's hands were gripping McCoy's face and his own were round the back of Jim's neck and in his hair, pulling so fucking hard at him, that he was half wondering if Jim would work out what he was feeling from the desperation and hunger he couldn’t keep out of his voice.
"Jim." McCoy broke for air, pulled his face away from Kirk's for a whole second to take a look at the flushed cheeks, those insolent lips, parted and panting.
Kirk opened his eyes and looked at McCoy with such wantonness that he wondered why the air between them didn’t actually crackle.
"Why have you stopped kissing me?" Kirk pulled McCoy a little closer so their breaths intermingled but their mouths weren't quite touching. He could feel Kirk's erection pressed against his belly, the tops of his feet rubbing up and down his calves.
"I must be out of my fucking mind," he growled, and lowered his lips right back where they should have been, searching for Jim's tongue and sucking it hard into his mouth, overwhelmed by the contrast in heat and softness centered around their lips, and the rasping of their chins over two day stubble.
He pulled away again to remind himself who exactly he was kissing here.
"So fuckin' pretty -" he moaned, sweeping his tongue the width of Jim's lips, pushing them apart again so he could explore his teeth, savor the taste of him, the trace of toothpaste, the beer from earlier and something he couldn't quite place but which he decided must just be the taste (at last) of Jim, his beloved. McCoy’s moaned again as the rhythm changed and Jim had flipped them over and it was his tongue that was being pulled so hard into Kirk's mouth that he was gasping for breath.
3.
"I don't kiss, sorry," McCoy says, as he helps James pull his jeans down.
"That's cool with me." James takes a long pull on his beer and McCoy removes his guest's underpants.
Now he's seen three cocks up close and personal, so to speak. This one is definitely the largest, which should have him champing at the bit. With typical politeness McCoy mutters, "Umm..." and then has his lips around the end and his fingers at the base trying to remember what it was, exactly, that Jim did to his cock in Georgia, that had him bucking semen into his mouth on half a dozen occasions over those few days.
"Yes, just like that - " comes the vote of confidence from above him.
4.
"Now what are you doing?"
McCoy had managed to get some of his clothes off and he'd wriggled down the bed so his head was in line with Kirk's belly.
"Enjoyin' the view. Quit rushing me."
It was fucking beautiful. Well of course it would be. Longer and slimmer than his own, a pale blue vein snaking from the base and to about two thirds of the way up. The head looked vulnerable, damp - waiting for him. He looked up at Jim who was watching him with an unreadable expression. They locked eyes and McCoy gently ran his nail base to tip and down again. Jim bit his lip and his eyes glinted, so McCoy did it again, nice and slow.
"You do that again -” Jim said, clearing his throat, "just so you know, I'm gonna last about two seconds."
McCoy didn't answer - after all, it would have been rude to speak with his mouth full.
5.
McCoy palms himself as he sucks James. Maybe it tastes different to Jim's - he's not sure, but what he does recognize is this; Jim's cock in his mouth felt like a fucking gift, like worship like -- he feels his breath hitch as he thinks back -- like the reason.
James strokes his hair and says, "Leo, let's take this to the bed."
Sure. Why the fuck not?
6.
"Promise you won't laugh, Bones?"
"Uh-huh."
McCoy had two lubed fingers poised. Kirk was a picture, another one in the series The Most Beautiful Sights Ever Seen in the private collection of Leonard H McCoy -- on his back, legs bent and knees up near his chest, ready. Ready for him.
"I've not done this before."
Now that was a tone of voice he'd never had the pleasure of - demure?
"Ah --"
"Or should I say, had it done to me --"
He slid his finger in slowly, watching Jim's face all the time, his heart aching with joy. He'd really have to fucking watch what came out of his mouth from now on - this was getting very intense. How the hell had someone like Jim, who'd had every sexual partner every which way, managed to keep something back for him?
Shit. If he'd believed in destiny...
"Two okay?" he whispered.
"Oh!"
7.
"Leo," James says, "I always top."
"I was hoping you'd say that," McCoy lies. "Lube's in the drawer."
He rolls onto his belly so he can hang onto the bed better. He's thought about this many times over the past few months. He can't believe he hadn't let Jim do this to him but he'd just not been ready - it was that one last step towards giving Jim everything and he'd been too scared - not of the physical, just of what it meant and how vulnerable that would make him.
It's okay so far, James is in a bit of a hurry but that's the kind of guy he is - all business. When he works two fingers in it burns but if McCoy pulls the pillow to his face he might be able to get that fading smell of Jim from that t-shirt he keeps there at all times. That'll be like morphine, he knows it.
"Shit!" he can't help saying.
James stops. He's breached him now and is about half in although the way that massive cock feels inside him it's like someone's inserted a watermelon.
"Want me to stop?"
"No, it's been a while, is all - " and he manages to stop himself before he can launch into a long boring explanation about how full his schedule is, what with the rotations at the hospital, teaching classes, taking classes, that paper he's writing, and mooning over Jim, why - he rarely has time to pop out for a drink these days, let alone... but he really needs to focus now and fuck that hurts...
8.
"Want me to stop?"
He was about half way in and Jim was sweating. He wasn’t sure if Jim was loving or hating it. Sure there was a lot of gasping, but sweet Jesus, from there, where he was kneeling, with those legs up over his shoulders, he was pretty damn sure that he’d just discovered the meaning of life.
"If you stop, I'll break your neck," Jim groaned.
McCoy edged forward an infinitesimal amount. He almost blurted out how he'd dreamt of this moment or something equally sappy, but decided against it, just in case the treacle would result in his losing his erection. But he had. He really had. Jim here, now, spread out under him like an offering - it just made everything in his fucking life up until this point better.
"Jim." This was his name. His healing.
"Bones, gonna come soon -"
He forced his eyes open. There, all in. Sweet heavens - just fucking look at him. Jim had one hand on his own head, stroking between his eyes while the other glided up and down his cock.
"K - can I?"
"Stop being so gentle, Bones. I get the feeling hard is gonna be.. .oh...there...good...just there."
He didn't need asking twice. McCoy pulled back almost the whole way and then drove back in watching in utter awe as Jim came immediately, open mouthed and very noisily, shooting all over his belly.
One more stroke and he thought his heart would combust. McCoy clenched his jaw to stop himself saying anything he'd regret later.
"Jim!" He wasn't sure if he'd said it out loud, as his brain had obviously melted completely, such was the force of his orgasm - but, while it was corny, it was nothing compared to what he'd wanted to say.
8.
"So good." James drawls, pulling all the way out and then slamming in again.
McCoy has managed to edge the t-shirt out from under the pillow and now has his mouth up against the cloth, even though James has pulled him up to all fours so he can get a better hold on his hips.
It doesn't hurt like it did, although James hasn't bothered to hunt out his prostate; he's at least reached round once or twice to pull at McCoy's cock. He thinks back to Georgia, to Jim's first time and he wonders if it hurt this much.
"Jim." he doesn't think he's said it out loud but good ol' James is working up a head of steam and probably can't hear him. He fists himself, so he can make this be over, and just as he's walking the edge of his orgasm, he can hear James spout poetry behind him.
"Oh I like fucking that sweet ass of yours, Leo!"
The door swishes. He forgot to lock it.
No.
And McCoy's coming with the worst timing in his fucking life saying his name, "Jim. Jim!" even as Kirk turns on his heel and the door closes behind him.
No.
9.
"Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are, Bones?"
Jim was lying on top of McCoy, semen acting like an adhesive between them. He stroked one finger along the line of McCoy's eyebrows, the bridge of his nose and McCoy was practically purring.
"Only the last girl who let me fuck her!"
"Really?" Kirk frowned. “See that just goes towards backing up my theory - "
"What theory?"
"Long story, Bones --"
And McCoy fucking loved him so hard at that moment he had to do something to shut himself up.
"Remind me again why you get to skip a year, dumbass?"
And he pulled Kirk in for a hard kiss before he could respond.
10.
"You've never called me Jim before."
James struggles into his boots, takes one last swig out of the coffee cup and sets it down.
"Haven't I?" McCoy remembers how he focuses on calm when he makes an incision in surgery and applies this to how he controls his voice now.
He pulls on his jeans but doesn’t bother to put his t-shirt on. Needs to shower badly.
"Just strange, is all. Anyway, pal, I have to get going - big meeting tomorrow." He claps McCoy on the back.
"Sure, I know." McCoy walks him to the door. "Thanks for that. It was - great!"
Fucking liar, liar.
"Leo, I know you don't kiss but - "and before McCoy can dodge or protest, James Hansford the Third leans down and kisses him full on the mouth." That was real sweet, thank you."
Before the hire car is even out of earshot, McCoy's in the shower, toothbrush working his mouth and the scalding water on full power washing away the come and the tears, but not making one bit of difference to the pain inside.
Part 20
Psycho-Fatalism
Or
Why Does This Shit Always Happen to Me?
July 2256
1.
Kirk wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, but enough time for the image of McCoy to brand itself on his mind.
He’d had two choices: punch James out, or walk.
Choice one was out. Despite his visceral response, Kirk was smart enough to realize he had no right. This wasn’t about exclusivity, this was about…shit…he’d have to think…
Kirk’s mind was chaos - a feeling he wasn’t used to. He knew certainty. He knew where he was, who he was - even in moments of deepest pain.
This was more proof, (if he needed it), that love fucked with your brain cells. Thank goodness, Kirk thought, it wasn’t his heart driving his assignments and course work. He’d end up scrubbing toilets at the academy, not captaining a starship.
He decided to walk, but he’d have to do it with dignity. He didn’t want McCoy to think he was running. Since he had no intention of ever talking about this with McCoy, there couldn’t be any confusion.
The situation had been reversed many times. Kirk had been less than discreet, yet Bones had never once complained, He’d huffed, sure, but not complained. Walk out quietly, without a reaction - that’s what anyone would do if they caught someone fucking. Wouldn’t they? That’s what Bones had always done, so he’d understand.
But things had changed, Kirk thought, as the doors swished behind him and he strode away to the cafeteria his face flushed, hands clammy. Needed to sit and think and he needed to be in public so he was forced into maintaining this composure. Kirk knew that if you worked at it hard enough, the way you looked on the outside, it soon sank in and became real. He’d just have to do the time.
For now, he’d allow the negativity, the self-pity out once, and once only.
Just while he drank some coffee.
2.
Kirk’s coffee was half drunk and a Twinkie sat unopened on the side. Arms folded, ankles crossed, he stared at the table top. A few months ago he’d gone from fragmented, directionless, and powerless to having a mission, a destiny, all through the power of another person’s vision of him. That vision had become his.
Kirk was a man in control of his destiny, and fate had fuck-all to do with anything.
3.
Until it came to matters of love, where it seemed destiny did have a hand. A hand that liked to throw shit at him.
Destiny had fucked with his mom and now it was his turn.
Was this the one area where he just had to learn to take it?
The cafeteria began to fill up. Kirk didn’t look up. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he found the sensation of other people milling about, of normalcy, comforting. Not alone but left the fuck alone.
He needed to think.
This might explain his tomcat ways. Kirk knew he was smart, he easily worked out what made people tick. He needed to apply the same talent to himself. Maybe he’d worked out a long time ago that if he’d allowed himself to fall in love, it would stand in his way and make him weak.
This business with Bones, he’d let his guard down.
He’d received enough broken ribs and split lips in his time to get that yes, they hurt harder than hell at the time, but wounds fixed themselves, with or without help. When you lay there at first, clutching your chest, rolling about, pain seemed to make time stand still, and moving forward, just getting past the moment of agony required the effort of a blind man wading through treacle. That’s how it felt. But he always got through and it stopped hurting. This was hard to remember at the time - in the throes. But he was remembering now.
Another part of Kirk’s mind warred with reason and logic and threw up a snapshot of Bones asleep next to him in Georgia. Arm thrown across his face, snoring slightly, dark lips parted, face soft and unshaven from days when all they did was fuck, eat and take a quick shower or nap to break it up, and the smell, the low haze of sex over them - shit. Jim’s guts lurched for a moment and he worried he’d throw up, eyes darting towards the restroom just in case.
He knew enough that one day that memory would be just that - a memory that he’d have to think about to bring back, and then he might even forget to do that.
4.
Maybe it wasn’t the nature of love.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe love didn’t destroy other people.
Maybe it was him. James Tiberius Kirk didn’t deserve love. Not from McCoy. Not from anyone.
He stared into the black dregs in his cup.
5.
It’s okay, he told himself. This is a one time deal. Once he got up from this table, he’d be back to bouncing boy. Enjoy this shit while you can.
His coffee was finished but he wasn’t done raking the coals. At least his stomach had settled down.
“Cadet Kirk!”
He looked up, startled. It was someone he recognized from pilot class.
“Sulu?”
“Yes, hi! Anyone sitting here, Kirk?”
“It’s Jim.” He sat up a little, pulled his legs back from under the table, fixed a smile and looked the pilot straight in the eye, “Go ahead.”
“Thanks! You want a coffee?”
Well, he hadn’t done thinking so - yes.
“Cool.”
6.
Kirk watched the young man who he’d noticed a few times; he’d nodded at him, but never spoken. Then he remembered - they’d had a collision at just this table in the first couple of weeks.
7.
Did God, Fate whatever, deal an even hand, to give him this mind, this strength, this destiny and opportunity to work for Starfleet, and then even the whole lot out by taking away everything from him when it came to filling his heart?
8.
Caffeine in his veins, a couple of hours under his belt, Kirk felt he walked taller through the quad on the way back than he had on the way there.
And like a prize for all his mental efforts, coming towards him was the striking figure of Pike’s secretary, the Frisian, Kevin. He’d have stood six foot five in his spangly socks but wearing his trademark platform shoes, he towered over everyone he sashayed past - you could never accuse Kevin of being shy.
“Kevin.” He nodded,
“Cadet Kirk,” Kevin said, walking on.
They both happened to be looking over their shoulders at the same time.
Kevin stopped. “Are you cruising me, cadet?” Kevin purred, transferring the pads he carried from one hand to the other.
Kirk was delighted with himself. It hadn’t been so long since the punch to the guts, since he’d seen Bones with James yet, here he was, managing to smirk without faking it.
“Well?” Kevin had closed the space between them. He bent down to whisper into Kirk’s ear. “I was on my way to see you.”
“Really?” It was hard not to feel a little intimidated by this. I mean the guy was tall.
“Well, maybe not today but I was definitely on my way to seeing you at some point.” The Frisian’s pearlescent skin glowed in the bright sunshine. He raised long fingers and splayed them elegantly across Kirk’s chest. “You busy?”
“Well, I have a class in,” Kirk looked at his watch, “ten minutes ago,” he laughed.
Kevin seemed in no hurry to step back. He lowered his eyes but not in modesty, rather to sweep Kirk’s body from top to toe and back again.
“There’s an office near to here. It’s useful for keeping things…you know, away from prying eyes.” He waggled blue eyebrows, “I have the code.”
“Of course you do.” Kirk followed the direction of Kevin’s glance. The quad was quieter now most classes were in the offing.
And with an unspoken agreement they both headed to a building offset from the square.
Kevin had a massive reputation around the campus not just for his striking appearance, but for his clubbing and his sexual exploits in the city. There were unsubstantiated rumors he fucked Pike on a regular basis but, despite (or because of) that, many had major crushes on him, but Kevin never went near cadets. This attention was an honor, and it made Kirk as hard as a fucking rock.
Jim chuckled in surprise when Kevin grasped his hips and lifted him high above his head as easily as if he’d been a rag doll. He then lowered Kirk to sit astride his shoulders, thighs pressed against Kevin’s jaw and his legs falling down the broadest shoulders Kirk had ever seen. Hands splayed on the ceiling above for balance, not quite daring to look down, Kirk’s erection pressed at Kevin’s chin through the cloth of his uniform. The Frisian’s slid pale hands along Kirk’s thighs, and kneaded his balls with surprising gentleness for such a big man.
“What have we here?” he purred, pushing Kirk back against the wall, his head almost at the ceiling.
“Let’s take a look,” Kirk managed to say, unzipping himself and somehow untangling his cock, resting its tip at Kevin’s mouth. He hadn’t thought about McCoy for minutes now, he realized. Yes, this was more like it. Just two guys, getting on down, no fucking bullshit, no promises. Just as soon as he was sucked off, he could go to class and get on with his life.
One hand gripped Kevin’s long blue locks. “I thought you…shit… only slept with Captains…” Kirk said, the familiar tightening at the base of his spine, the flush of abandon, the taste of fucking freedom rolling through him.
Kevin let go so he could answer in a groin burning baritone, “Maybe, but I make exceptions. You’re going to be a captain. And you’re hot - I’m definitely not slumming it here. Now gimme back that famous cock of yours.” And holy shit, this guy knew what he was doing, flattening his tongue, taking Kirk deep, twisting his balls gently, stroking the skin between his legs…
Kirk half-closed his eyes. It was like he was on a bucking bronco, because he could fall off any second and break his neck. The slight risk made him euphoric. He’d been pressed against many a surface in his time but never a ceiling. He gazed down at Kevin’s hollowed cheeks, his shoulder length blue hair, which today he wore in a samurai knot - what a beautiful fucking man, he thought, hissing when Kevin squeezed his buttocks with hands the size of spades. It felt good to feel small for a change, not in charge.
“Hmm…I’ll have to tell Pike I’ve had a go. Make him jealous - I’ve seen the way you two look at each other,” Kevin whispered, releasing the tip of Kirk’s cock long enough to speak. “The beautiful James T Kirk - and his beautiful dick.“ Two more long tugs and Jim bucked long and hard into Kevin’s face, coming with a grunt.
Swallowing every drop and in no hurry to release him, Kevin looked up at him, gave a lop-sided grin. “Hmm…that’d fetch a good price on the black market.” And before Kirk could respond, he’d slid Kirk down the wall and encouraged him onto his knees on the floor. “Your turn, cadet.”
Kirk dragged his nails under Kevin’s soft, very expensive-looking shirt and couldn’t help gasping at the marble abs. This was going to be like blowing Michelangelo’s David, the only difference being that Kevin’s preternaturally white cock was entirely in proportion to his body. Jim managed to smirk, even with his mouth stretched to capacity, when he heard the appreciative moans above. Kevin raked ivory fingers through short hair until Jim had finished his eager sucking and swallowed every last drop, releasing the glorious cock and allowing Kevin to sag against the wall.
After, Kirk slouched against the wall and watched Kevin’s emerald eyes soaking up all the light in the room as he tucked himself back into his tight suit pants, biting his lip and smiling broadly at him.
Kirk helped him straighten out his jacket at the back then reached round, took Kevin’s hand and kissed the palm lightly.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice husky, “I really fucking needed that - it’s been a shit morning.” He planted another kiss on his chin, which was about as high as he could reach without Kevin helping. “You’re a real gentleman.”
Kevin hesitated. Was that a blush Kirk could detect?
“Hey, no worries, just make sure you make eyes at me next time you visit Pike, okay?”
“Try and stop me.”
9.
Smoothing out his uniform, Kirk waited a few minutes for Kevin to disappear from sight before walking in the opposite direction. There was Sulu again, who glanced at the Frisian, then Kirk.
“Hey I’m really looking forward to those private lessons!” Kirk called.
“Me too, Jim.”
Sulu’s face, as ever, was impassive.
That’s how he was going to lead his life, Kirk thought, heading for the lecture theatre; like someone in command - it came to his new friend Hikaru simply enough. He needed to take a leaf out of Sulu’s book and show his heart who was boss. He wasn’t going to be love’s bitch anymore than Sulu was.
10.
Kirk hadn’t seen McCoy for hours now. He was going to damn well get used to it and like it. Loving someone and expecting them to love you back because of that - well that was sheer arrogance.
Arrogance didn’t make for a good captain.
Part 21
Suicide
Or
Making a Clean Break
July 2256
1
It came as no surprise to Kirk that he’d received no communication from McCoy whatsoever. They’d been friends for almost a year and they knew each other well enough that they’d recognize they wouldn’t be talking about what had just occurred. What he'd seen.
Three hours had passed but it felt like an entire season - his heart had moved from summer to winter in the few seconds it took for the image of Leonard McCoy being fucked by someone else to brand itself into his flesh.
This bullshit about only liking women - it had been Bones’ way of closing all doors to him.
It didn’t stop Kirk checking his comm every five minutes. No messages.
He felt calmer now, Kevin being as responsible for that as his own mental efforts.
Kirk slept like a baby but when he shaved the following day, he fancied his eyes looked hollow. Why would that be, he thought irritably, when he’d re-connected with his life purpose? If anything, that ought to have put a spring in his step. Everything was clearer and cleaner now. He was meant to be Captain, so why did he feel like he’d been stranded on a desert island?
And again he reminded himself that this negativity wouldn’t last.
“Asshole,” he said frowning at himself in the mirror.
Then Jim understood - what went on in his head, who he fucked and what he chose to focus on wasn’t enough.
There needed to be a symbolic act to show how things had to change between him and McCoy.
He’d allowed things to get messy when they’d gone to Georgia. He should have been more enthusiastic about the fishing and less enthusiastic about the fucking.
Merely saying that word in his head caused his stomach to turn again. Kirk wasn’t sure if it was revulsion at being such a pussy, or lust.
Sure he was able to change his thinking and his goals, but not these feelings.
Being in love was seriously annoying.
2.
It would be like a suicide, Kirk realized. Cutting out his own heart, ending it all.
But it had to be done.
His comm. bleeped.
-Just thought about you when I jerked off in the shower. Niiice. It was Kevin.
-Stalker. He comm’d back.
-Slut! Came the reply.
-And me not even a captain yet! YOU’RE the slut.
-XXXX!
Kirk couldn’t help but smile.
Then his face resettled into something else.
He scooped up his back pack and headed for McCoy’s room. He knew his friend’s schedule as well as his own and he knew he had at least an hour to sort everything out. He’d have to be meticulous. It needed to be clean. Efficient.
Cut off the branch to save the tree.
3.
McCoy’s room stared back all innocent.
There was the bed where he’d never fucked McCoy, but that had provided the stage for a scene which had both freaked him out but also, mercifully, snapped his brain back on course. It might have been a bed in a monastery with its neatly tucked corners and lack of incriminating evidence.
Kirk scanned the room and began to collect items that he’d scattered about it in the past nine months. A pair of sneakers under the bed, yep, taking those.
He’d step back a while, he decided. Once a few weeks had passed, maybe he could face guying around with Bones again. Maybe.
And the image of Bones, of that expression on his face, the way his eyelids were soft and dark, his head thrown back, teeth clenched and chin raised as Jim sucked him, that expression, the visual that accompanied every jerk-off since March, that would have to go.
A surge of anger. What really fucking hurt was that McCoy had looked like that for him, and looked like that while being given a seeing to by Asshole The Third.
Kirk hated that Bones would let James fuck him when he hadn’t trusted Jim enough in Georgia. He’d said he hadn’t been ready and needed to take everything one step at a time. Sure Bones had known James a lot longer, but surely they hadn’t had the same close friendship. First the bastard stole his name, now he’d stolen Jim’s … right? Place? Love? What the fuck was this, anyway? Kirk rubbed between his eyes. Hope. He’d stolen hope.
It hadn’t mattered at the time, in Georgia. It was part of this new-found, exciting, shared tenderness, that McCoy felt he could be so honest with Jim. They’d had all the time in the world, hadn’t they?
Kirk spread pills on the bedspread from the bathroom cabinet - so many remedies Bones had tried for his hay fever, his food allergies, and dust allergies. So much poison.
What a fool - Kirk had been under the illusion that it would happen when McCoy trusted him enough, and that would just be a matter of time.
Time was something Kirk couldn’t get his head around - not when it came to Bones and his moods swings.
They’d got back to campus and McCoy had turned in on himself like a sea anemone with the tide out. In the transporter, he was Mr I’ve Had So Much Sex I Can’t sit Down. And those fucking boots! Kirk adjusted the front of his jeans then swept the pills into the garbage chute. What the fuck had happened?
“Computer, medical waste.”
4.
“Computer!”
“Yes, Jim?” the soft female voice said.
“I need to change the code on the door…”
“That will require Dr McCoy’s voice activation, Cadet Kirk,” came back the even reply.
Hey, if there was one thing Jim Kirk could do was talk a woman round.
“You see, computer, Dr McCoy and I have had a…disagreement, between me and you…”
Silence.
“So, sweetheart, what I need you to do is change the number without telling me what it is. Then comm it to Dr McCoy. You could say that there had been an attempted break in - although you might want to watch you don’t scare the old boy into having a heart attack!” He smiled to himself when he imagined how grouchy Bones would receive this news. Then he frowned when he remembered that moments like this, the feeling of warmth of knowing McCoy would end with what he was about to do.
“Dr McCoy does not have a heart condition. It appears from his replicator records that he eats a healthy diet although too many units of al…”
“Yes, okay. Just change the fucking number.”
“Number changed, Cadet Kirk. New code sent to Dr McCoy and Campus Security. Have a nice day.”
He wondered whether it would have served some kind of dramatic purpose to leave a note:
I couldn't live without you. That's why I've done this.
What would have been the point? What made this truly awful and bleak was that in actuality, Kirk could live without him. It was just going to be shit. He scooped some socks and condoms he found in a drawer into his backpack.
As the door whooshed behind him, it was small comfort that he’d be able to hack into security with little effort should he ever need the number. He didn’t look back to check. There was nothing Kirk needed that he’d left there.
It appeared that one of the laws of the universe, one they hadn’t covered in astrophysics, was that just because you love someone, it didn’t follow they’d necessarily love you back. Kirk swore he would never make that mistake again.
parts 22-24
parts 4-7
parts 8-13
parts 14-18
Part 19
Beyond Good and Evil
Or
You Always Hurt the One You Love
July 2256 (sometime before Spring Break)
1.
McCoy received an old fashioned letter from Jocelyn the first week at the academy.
He read it and re-read it.
She changed her mind about one thing - she decided she was the villain of the piece.
I wasn’t good enough for you, Leo. You only have to look at all the things I’ve done to you.
2.
He wonders what the letter he would have sent would say.
Funny how when people spoke or wrote about love it was all about good and evil.
I was wrong.
I’m not good enough.
You deserve someone better than me.
It’s my fault, his letter might have said, I abandoned you when you needed me, after the baby was born.
3.
I’m sorry I can’t love you any more.
Was falling out of love a sin?
If it was a sin, then he committed it when he gave up on their relationship. He hadn't fought for her because he hadn't loved her anymore. He was just too lazy to admit this to himself. He tried to keep her loving him so he could hang on to Joanna. That had been wrong.
No matter - being in love with Jim Kirk was punishment enough.
4.
McCoy still keeps that letter. He keeps it casually, just thrown in a drawer and, while he never reads it these days, he keeps it to remind himself that things changed.
And now, while he rifles through the drawer looking for some lube, he sees it - the envelope has a coffee ring on it. Oh yes, good and fucking evil, right and wrong. It is all so clear, isn’t it?
He isn’t quite sure why he has lube. Maybe Jim put it there, more likely left it lying around one time he tipped his bag out.
Shit, who is he kidding? McCoy remembers every damn thing - always; he knows exactly how the lube got there. His ridiculously capacious and bullet proof memory, he's come to realize, is a blessing for medicine and the good of those in his care, but a fucking burden when it comes to the rest of his life.
For a man who said pretty much one brash thing after another, and walked into one pothole lined with horse shit after another, a touch of amnesia wouldn't go amiss.
So, he casts his mind back to the time Kirk tipped his backpack over McCoy's bed, looking for something or other.
McCoy tried not to look but he was, at the time, in a permanent state of mind where every little detail about Kirk had become impossibly fascinating.
So, under the pretence of finding the whole show rather amusing, wearing his sarcastic face, hoping it would mask his interest, he took in the detail like his life depended on it and he’d be tested later by a sadistic God, intent on proving what a jerk he was.
He saw: candies, gum, cigarette papers, a lighter, condoms, PADDS, a beaten up novel he’d never read called Junky, his music device, more condoms, tissues, an epi-hypo , reading glasses, a sock, a comm. And lube, two tubes, both pretty beat up.
Well, Jim wasn't going to miss one, was he? And he hoped at the time, when he was still actively behaving like a major asshole (as opposed to now when he merely thought like one), that maybe, someday, it would prove to be a stroke of luck that he just happened to have some of Jim's lube now that they were about to have drunken sex together.
Agony sits in his gut like an anvil dropped from his heart.
McCoy shoves the drawer shut and goes to open the door remembering to rearrange his features into what passes for his 'casual' face.
“Well, how-dee!”
“Come on in, James Edward Hansford. The fucking Third.” McCoy grins, stepping back from the door. “Welcome to San Francisco!”
5.
“Sometimes a guy jus’ needed some lovin’.”
Interlude
In the Mirror
(March 2256, Spring Break), July 2256
1. ~Georgia~
"I'm kinda tired, Jim, think I'll turn in."
What he was tired of, of course, was the strain of wanting Jim so bad, and not having the guts to do anything about it.
Jim wasn't buying it, McCoy could tell. He looked twitchier than usual. Maybe it was two whole days without casual sex, he thought bitterly. And Kirk was a good people-reader - even if he didn't have a clue what specifically was up with him, it would have been impossible for him not to notice that McCoy was out of sorts.
A book. Sleep. Tomorrow they’d go fishing and it would defuse some of this shit. It had been a mistake to meet James. Jim hadn’t liked the guy and it had just been, well, awkward. He’d think about tomorrow - for now, he just needed to fucking sleep.
Well, he needed to get into his pjs but he couldn't do it here. The half-boner needed to be kept under wraps. He went through the drawer, taking a deliberately long time so Jim would just fuck off and stop looking at him like that.
After the couple of hours with his old friend, James, and a few games of pool, Kirk’s presence was beginning to piss McCoy off. McCoy had played at flirting, trying to ignore Jim’s ass as he cued, not drool at how he teased pulled-pork out of his bun when he ate at the bar, tried not to reach over and wipe the smear of coleslaw off his chin as he ate. Why couldn't he just stop glowing like that? And now, he could feel him from six feet away.
"You unpacked yet?" McCoy said over his shoulder.
"Kinda..."
Good, he could hear rustling behind him. He stood up, turned and his eyes almost dropped to the dark wood floor and bounced between them.
He was naked - gloriously, unselfconsciously naked - stretched out on the pine bed like a lion. And he was very slightly hard.
Shit. Had he allowed his eyes to stray?
"You looking for your pjs, Bones?"
Jim blinked real slow, like the big fucking alpha male cat he was. He moved his arms and folded them behind his head and crossed his legs at the ankles.
McCoy starred sullenly at the movement of the various muscles in Jim’s neck. If he was an artist, he'd trap the bastard in his fucking garret and not let him go until he'd reproduced each perfect curve and dip and bump. And he'd make sure it took a lifetime to get right.
"Yeah," he croaked.
"Hopefully you forgot to pack them."
Hopefully? "Jim. Are you high?"
"Maybe a little, Bones."
McCoy stepped in the space between the two beds and looked down at the banquet spread out before him.
"Shit, what did you take?"
"I didn't take anything; I'm just high on your Georgian Spring. I like it here."
Liked it enough to get hard?
Kirk pushed himself up on his elbows and his cock nodded at McCoy. God he was shameless. What the hell was he up to?
"Jim?"
"Yes?"
There was the fucking cat in him again - that was some kind of growl.
"Shouldn't you unpack?"
"Yep. I'll do that now." Jim’s voice light, from the mouth of someone who sported erections in public on a daily basis or something. And he slid off the bed, but not how you'd expect, away from McCoy and to the other side of the bed, so he'd have room to maneuver, so that his naked body wouldn't be inappropriately close. No, the bastard slid towards McCoy; right there into his personal space with his hard-on and his pupils all blown and fuck-me.
"Jesus, Jim," he managed to say.
"Scuse me, Bonesy."
McCoy didn't move. He could feel the heat from him, Jim’s breath on his face with the scent of beer and pretzels, could see the rise and fall of his chest. McCoy still had enough matter working in his brain to appreciate, thank fuck, that he couldn't see his own slack-jawed expression reflected back at him in those infernal blue eyes.
Neither of them moved.
"Bones?"
"Yes, Jim?"
"Am I giving out mixed messages here or something?"
McCoy didn't answer. He was too busy grabbing his friend's shoulders and pulling the length of Jim's body against his, while his lips ate him alive, took his very breath - in case this was a fucking dream and he'd wake up in a minute and he'd be left with nothing but a glass slipper. More appropriately, a biker boot, he thought, smiling through the kiss and drawing Jim's tongue into his mouth, feeling a little dizzy and unsure how this had just happened.
2. ~San Francisco~
No sooner is James through the door and he's pushing McCoy up against the wall, his mouth homing in on his. This is all moving unexpectedly fast. McCoy turns his head away - doesn't want to kiss .
"Whoa, cowboy!" he says. "Let me get my breath here!"
"Leo, I've been thinkin' 'bout nothin' else all fucking week," James grins, pulling away and squeezing McCoy's ass before he completely breaks contact. "But I guess I could use a beer."
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all, but a couple of months of instant messages with James has got McCoy so damn horny that his old friends' timely business trip to San Francisco has him convinced it's exactly what he needs to get Jim out of his system.
McCoy hears the thud of James boots behind him and the noise of his belt buckle as he unfastens it. His cock responds, thank goodness, because something inside him worried he wouldn't be able to - he's turned into such a pathetic romantic of late.
James is sprawled out on the small couch, barefoot, jeans riding low, shirt undone and that nice blond hair sleeked back - he'll have to do something about messing that up McCoy thinks, handing him his beer.
3.
He didn’t know how long they spent kissing but he didn’t ever want it to end. McCoy was still mostly dressed, although Jim managed to loosen his belt and pull his t-shirt up under his arms. He kicked off his shoes at least, but there wasn’t going to be any more undressing for the while because, at that moment, Jim's hands were gripping McCoy's face and his own were round the back of Jim's neck and in his hair, pulling so fucking hard at him, that he was half wondering if Jim would work out what he was feeling from the desperation and hunger he couldn’t keep out of his voice.
"Jim." McCoy broke for air, pulled his face away from Kirk's for a whole second to take a look at the flushed cheeks, those insolent lips, parted and panting.
Kirk opened his eyes and looked at McCoy with such wantonness that he wondered why the air between them didn’t actually crackle.
"Why have you stopped kissing me?" Kirk pulled McCoy a little closer so their breaths intermingled but their mouths weren't quite touching. He could feel Kirk's erection pressed against his belly, the tops of his feet rubbing up and down his calves.
"I must be out of my fucking mind," he growled, and lowered his lips right back where they should have been, searching for Jim's tongue and sucking it hard into his mouth, overwhelmed by the contrast in heat and softness centered around their lips, and the rasping of their chins over two day stubble.
He pulled away again to remind himself who exactly he was kissing here.
"So fuckin' pretty -" he moaned, sweeping his tongue the width of Jim's lips, pushing them apart again so he could explore his teeth, savor the taste of him, the trace of toothpaste, the beer from earlier and something he couldn't quite place but which he decided must just be the taste (at last) of Jim, his beloved. McCoy’s moaned again as the rhythm changed and Jim had flipped them over and it was his tongue that was being pulled so hard into Kirk's mouth that he was gasping for breath.
3.
"I don't kiss, sorry," McCoy says, as he helps James pull his jeans down.
"That's cool with me." James takes a long pull on his beer and McCoy removes his guest's underpants.
Now he's seen three cocks up close and personal, so to speak. This one is definitely the largest, which should have him champing at the bit. With typical politeness McCoy mutters, "Umm..." and then has his lips around the end and his fingers at the base trying to remember what it was, exactly, that Jim did to his cock in Georgia, that had him bucking semen into his mouth on half a dozen occasions over those few days.
"Yes, just like that - " comes the vote of confidence from above him.
4.
"Now what are you doing?"
McCoy had managed to get some of his clothes off and he'd wriggled down the bed so his head was in line with Kirk's belly.
"Enjoyin' the view. Quit rushing me."
It was fucking beautiful. Well of course it would be. Longer and slimmer than his own, a pale blue vein snaking from the base and to about two thirds of the way up. The head looked vulnerable, damp - waiting for him. He looked up at Jim who was watching him with an unreadable expression. They locked eyes and McCoy gently ran his nail base to tip and down again. Jim bit his lip and his eyes glinted, so McCoy did it again, nice and slow.
"You do that again -” Jim said, clearing his throat, "just so you know, I'm gonna last about two seconds."
McCoy didn't answer - after all, it would have been rude to speak with his mouth full.
5.
McCoy palms himself as he sucks James. Maybe it tastes different to Jim's - he's not sure, but what he does recognize is this; Jim's cock in his mouth felt like a fucking gift, like worship like -- he feels his breath hitch as he thinks back -- like the reason.
James strokes his hair and says, "Leo, let's take this to the bed."
Sure. Why the fuck not?
6.
"Promise you won't laugh, Bones?"
"Uh-huh."
McCoy had two lubed fingers poised. Kirk was a picture, another one in the series The Most Beautiful Sights Ever Seen in the private collection of Leonard H McCoy -- on his back, legs bent and knees up near his chest, ready. Ready for him.
"I've not done this before."
Now that was a tone of voice he'd never had the pleasure of - demure?
"Ah --"
"Or should I say, had it done to me --"
He slid his finger in slowly, watching Jim's face all the time, his heart aching with joy. He'd really have to fucking watch what came out of his mouth from now on - this was getting very intense. How the hell had someone like Jim, who'd had every sexual partner every which way, managed to keep something back for him?
Shit. If he'd believed in destiny...
"Two okay?" he whispered.
"Oh!"
7.
"Leo," James says, "I always top."
"I was hoping you'd say that," McCoy lies. "Lube's in the drawer."
He rolls onto his belly so he can hang onto the bed better. He's thought about this many times over the past few months. He can't believe he hadn't let Jim do this to him but he'd just not been ready - it was that one last step towards giving Jim everything and he'd been too scared - not of the physical, just of what it meant and how vulnerable that would make him.
It's okay so far, James is in a bit of a hurry but that's the kind of guy he is - all business. When he works two fingers in it burns but if McCoy pulls the pillow to his face he might be able to get that fading smell of Jim from that t-shirt he keeps there at all times. That'll be like morphine, he knows it.
"Shit!" he can't help saying.
James stops. He's breached him now and is about half in although the way that massive cock feels inside him it's like someone's inserted a watermelon.
"Want me to stop?"
"No, it's been a while, is all - " and he manages to stop himself before he can launch into a long boring explanation about how full his schedule is, what with the rotations at the hospital, teaching classes, taking classes, that paper he's writing, and mooning over Jim, why - he rarely has time to pop out for a drink these days, let alone... but he really needs to focus now and fuck that hurts...
8.
"Want me to stop?"
He was about half way in and Jim was sweating. He wasn’t sure if Jim was loving or hating it. Sure there was a lot of gasping, but sweet Jesus, from there, where he was kneeling, with those legs up over his shoulders, he was pretty damn sure that he’d just discovered the meaning of life.
"If you stop, I'll break your neck," Jim groaned.
McCoy edged forward an infinitesimal amount. He almost blurted out how he'd dreamt of this moment or something equally sappy, but decided against it, just in case the treacle would result in his losing his erection. But he had. He really had. Jim here, now, spread out under him like an offering - it just made everything in his fucking life up until this point better.
"Jim." This was his name. His healing.
"Bones, gonna come soon -"
He forced his eyes open. There, all in. Sweet heavens - just fucking look at him. Jim had one hand on his own head, stroking between his eyes while the other glided up and down his cock.
"K - can I?"
"Stop being so gentle, Bones. I get the feeling hard is gonna be.. .oh...there...good...just there."
He didn't need asking twice. McCoy pulled back almost the whole way and then drove back in watching in utter awe as Jim came immediately, open mouthed and very noisily, shooting all over his belly.
One more stroke and he thought his heart would combust. McCoy clenched his jaw to stop himself saying anything he'd regret later.
"Jim!" He wasn't sure if he'd said it out loud, as his brain had obviously melted completely, such was the force of his orgasm - but, while it was corny, it was nothing compared to what he'd wanted to say.
8.
"So good." James drawls, pulling all the way out and then slamming in again.
McCoy has managed to edge the t-shirt out from under the pillow and now has his mouth up against the cloth, even though James has pulled him up to all fours so he can get a better hold on his hips.
It doesn't hurt like it did, although James hasn't bothered to hunt out his prostate; he's at least reached round once or twice to pull at McCoy's cock. He thinks back to Georgia, to Jim's first time and he wonders if it hurt this much.
"Jim." he doesn't think he's said it out loud but good ol' James is working up a head of steam and probably can't hear him. He fists himself, so he can make this be over, and just as he's walking the edge of his orgasm, he can hear James spout poetry behind him.
"Oh I like fucking that sweet ass of yours, Leo!"
The door swishes. He forgot to lock it.
No.
And McCoy's coming with the worst timing in his fucking life saying his name, "Jim. Jim!" even as Kirk turns on his heel and the door closes behind him.
No.
9.
"Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are, Bones?"
Jim was lying on top of McCoy, semen acting like an adhesive between them. He stroked one finger along the line of McCoy's eyebrows, the bridge of his nose and McCoy was practically purring.
"Only the last girl who let me fuck her!"
"Really?" Kirk frowned. “See that just goes towards backing up my theory - "
"What theory?"
"Long story, Bones --"
And McCoy fucking loved him so hard at that moment he had to do something to shut himself up.
"Remind me again why you get to skip a year, dumbass?"
And he pulled Kirk in for a hard kiss before he could respond.
10.
"You've never called me Jim before."
James struggles into his boots, takes one last swig out of the coffee cup and sets it down.
"Haven't I?" McCoy remembers how he focuses on calm when he makes an incision in surgery and applies this to how he controls his voice now.
He pulls on his jeans but doesn’t bother to put his t-shirt on. Needs to shower badly.
"Just strange, is all. Anyway, pal, I have to get going - big meeting tomorrow." He claps McCoy on the back.
"Sure, I know." McCoy walks him to the door. "Thanks for that. It was - great!"
Fucking liar, liar.
"Leo, I know you don't kiss but - "and before McCoy can dodge or protest, James Hansford the Third leans down and kisses him full on the mouth." That was real sweet, thank you."
Before the hire car is even out of earshot, McCoy's in the shower, toothbrush working his mouth and the scalding water on full power washing away the come and the tears, but not making one bit of difference to the pain inside.
Part 20
Psycho-Fatalism
Or
Why Does This Shit Always Happen to Me?
July 2256
1.
Kirk wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, but enough time for the image of McCoy to brand itself on his mind.
He’d had two choices: punch James out, or walk.
Choice one was out. Despite his visceral response, Kirk was smart enough to realize he had no right. This wasn’t about exclusivity, this was about…shit…he’d have to think…
Kirk’s mind was chaos - a feeling he wasn’t used to. He knew certainty. He knew where he was, who he was - even in moments of deepest pain.
This was more proof, (if he needed it), that love fucked with your brain cells. Thank goodness, Kirk thought, it wasn’t his heart driving his assignments and course work. He’d end up scrubbing toilets at the academy, not captaining a starship.
He decided to walk, but he’d have to do it with dignity. He didn’t want McCoy to think he was running. Since he had no intention of ever talking about this with McCoy, there couldn’t be any confusion.
The situation had been reversed many times. Kirk had been less than discreet, yet Bones had never once complained, He’d huffed, sure, but not complained. Walk out quietly, without a reaction - that’s what anyone would do if they caught someone fucking. Wouldn’t they? That’s what Bones had always done, so he’d understand.
But things had changed, Kirk thought, as the doors swished behind him and he strode away to the cafeteria his face flushed, hands clammy. Needed to sit and think and he needed to be in public so he was forced into maintaining this composure. Kirk knew that if you worked at it hard enough, the way you looked on the outside, it soon sank in and became real. He’d just have to do the time.
For now, he’d allow the negativity, the self-pity out once, and once only.
Just while he drank some coffee.
2.
Kirk’s coffee was half drunk and a Twinkie sat unopened on the side. Arms folded, ankles crossed, he stared at the table top. A few months ago he’d gone from fragmented, directionless, and powerless to having a mission, a destiny, all through the power of another person’s vision of him. That vision had become his.
Kirk was a man in control of his destiny, and fate had fuck-all to do with anything.
3.
Until it came to matters of love, where it seemed destiny did have a hand. A hand that liked to throw shit at him.
Destiny had fucked with his mom and now it was his turn.
Was this the one area where he just had to learn to take it?
The cafeteria began to fill up. Kirk didn’t look up. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he found the sensation of other people milling about, of normalcy, comforting. Not alone but left the fuck alone.
He needed to think.
This might explain his tomcat ways. Kirk knew he was smart, he easily worked out what made people tick. He needed to apply the same talent to himself. Maybe he’d worked out a long time ago that if he’d allowed himself to fall in love, it would stand in his way and make him weak.
This business with Bones, he’d let his guard down.
He’d received enough broken ribs and split lips in his time to get that yes, they hurt harder than hell at the time, but wounds fixed themselves, with or without help. When you lay there at first, clutching your chest, rolling about, pain seemed to make time stand still, and moving forward, just getting past the moment of agony required the effort of a blind man wading through treacle. That’s how it felt. But he always got through and it stopped hurting. This was hard to remember at the time - in the throes. But he was remembering now.
Another part of Kirk’s mind warred with reason and logic and threw up a snapshot of Bones asleep next to him in Georgia. Arm thrown across his face, snoring slightly, dark lips parted, face soft and unshaven from days when all they did was fuck, eat and take a quick shower or nap to break it up, and the smell, the low haze of sex over them - shit. Jim’s guts lurched for a moment and he worried he’d throw up, eyes darting towards the restroom just in case.
He knew enough that one day that memory would be just that - a memory that he’d have to think about to bring back, and then he might even forget to do that.
4.
Maybe it wasn’t the nature of love.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe love didn’t destroy other people.
Maybe it was him. James Tiberius Kirk didn’t deserve love. Not from McCoy. Not from anyone.
He stared into the black dregs in his cup.
5.
It’s okay, he told himself. This is a one time deal. Once he got up from this table, he’d be back to bouncing boy. Enjoy this shit while you can.
His coffee was finished but he wasn’t done raking the coals. At least his stomach had settled down.
“Cadet Kirk!”
He looked up, startled. It was someone he recognized from pilot class.
“Sulu?”
“Yes, hi! Anyone sitting here, Kirk?”
“It’s Jim.” He sat up a little, pulled his legs back from under the table, fixed a smile and looked the pilot straight in the eye, “Go ahead.”
“Thanks! You want a coffee?”
Well, he hadn’t done thinking so - yes.
“Cool.”
6.
Kirk watched the young man who he’d noticed a few times; he’d nodded at him, but never spoken. Then he remembered - they’d had a collision at just this table in the first couple of weeks.
7.
Did God, Fate whatever, deal an even hand, to give him this mind, this strength, this destiny and opportunity to work for Starfleet, and then even the whole lot out by taking away everything from him when it came to filling his heart?
8.
Caffeine in his veins, a couple of hours under his belt, Kirk felt he walked taller through the quad on the way back than he had on the way there.
And like a prize for all his mental efforts, coming towards him was the striking figure of Pike’s secretary, the Frisian, Kevin. He’d have stood six foot five in his spangly socks but wearing his trademark platform shoes, he towered over everyone he sashayed past - you could never accuse Kevin of being shy.
“Kevin.” He nodded,
“Cadet Kirk,” Kevin said, walking on.
They both happened to be looking over their shoulders at the same time.
Kevin stopped. “Are you cruising me, cadet?” Kevin purred, transferring the pads he carried from one hand to the other.
Kirk was delighted with himself. It hadn’t been so long since the punch to the guts, since he’d seen Bones with James yet, here he was, managing to smirk without faking it.
“Well?” Kevin had closed the space between them. He bent down to whisper into Kirk’s ear. “I was on my way to see you.”
“Really?” It was hard not to feel a little intimidated by this. I mean the guy was tall.
“Well, maybe not today but I was definitely on my way to seeing you at some point.” The Frisian’s pearlescent skin glowed in the bright sunshine. He raised long fingers and splayed them elegantly across Kirk’s chest. “You busy?”
“Well, I have a class in,” Kirk looked at his watch, “ten minutes ago,” he laughed.
Kevin seemed in no hurry to step back. He lowered his eyes but not in modesty, rather to sweep Kirk’s body from top to toe and back again.
“There’s an office near to here. It’s useful for keeping things…you know, away from prying eyes.” He waggled blue eyebrows, “I have the code.”
“Of course you do.” Kirk followed the direction of Kevin’s glance. The quad was quieter now most classes were in the offing.
And with an unspoken agreement they both headed to a building offset from the square.
Kevin had a massive reputation around the campus not just for his striking appearance, but for his clubbing and his sexual exploits in the city. There were unsubstantiated rumors he fucked Pike on a regular basis but, despite (or because of) that, many had major crushes on him, but Kevin never went near cadets. This attention was an honor, and it made Kirk as hard as a fucking rock.
Jim chuckled in surprise when Kevin grasped his hips and lifted him high above his head as easily as if he’d been a rag doll. He then lowered Kirk to sit astride his shoulders, thighs pressed against Kevin’s jaw and his legs falling down the broadest shoulders Kirk had ever seen. Hands splayed on the ceiling above for balance, not quite daring to look down, Kirk’s erection pressed at Kevin’s chin through the cloth of his uniform. The Frisian’s slid pale hands along Kirk’s thighs, and kneaded his balls with surprising gentleness for such a big man.
“What have we here?” he purred, pushing Kirk back against the wall, his head almost at the ceiling.
“Let’s take a look,” Kirk managed to say, unzipping himself and somehow untangling his cock, resting its tip at Kevin’s mouth. He hadn’t thought about McCoy for minutes now, he realized. Yes, this was more like it. Just two guys, getting on down, no fucking bullshit, no promises. Just as soon as he was sucked off, he could go to class and get on with his life.
One hand gripped Kevin’s long blue locks. “I thought you…shit… only slept with Captains…” Kirk said, the familiar tightening at the base of his spine, the flush of abandon, the taste of fucking freedom rolling through him.
Kevin let go so he could answer in a groin burning baritone, “Maybe, but I make exceptions. You’re going to be a captain. And you’re hot - I’m definitely not slumming it here. Now gimme back that famous cock of yours.” And holy shit, this guy knew what he was doing, flattening his tongue, taking Kirk deep, twisting his balls gently, stroking the skin between his legs…
Kirk half-closed his eyes. It was like he was on a bucking bronco, because he could fall off any second and break his neck. The slight risk made him euphoric. He’d been pressed against many a surface in his time but never a ceiling. He gazed down at Kevin’s hollowed cheeks, his shoulder length blue hair, which today he wore in a samurai knot - what a beautiful fucking man, he thought, hissing when Kevin squeezed his buttocks with hands the size of spades. It felt good to feel small for a change, not in charge.
“Hmm…I’ll have to tell Pike I’ve had a go. Make him jealous - I’ve seen the way you two look at each other,” Kevin whispered, releasing the tip of Kirk’s cock long enough to speak. “The beautiful James T Kirk - and his beautiful dick.“ Two more long tugs and Jim bucked long and hard into Kevin’s face, coming with a grunt.
Swallowing every drop and in no hurry to release him, Kevin looked up at him, gave a lop-sided grin. “Hmm…that’d fetch a good price on the black market.” And before Kirk could respond, he’d slid Kirk down the wall and encouraged him onto his knees on the floor. “Your turn, cadet.”
Kirk dragged his nails under Kevin’s soft, very expensive-looking shirt and couldn’t help gasping at the marble abs. This was going to be like blowing Michelangelo’s David, the only difference being that Kevin’s preternaturally white cock was entirely in proportion to his body. Jim managed to smirk, even with his mouth stretched to capacity, when he heard the appreciative moans above. Kevin raked ivory fingers through short hair until Jim had finished his eager sucking and swallowed every last drop, releasing the glorious cock and allowing Kevin to sag against the wall.
After, Kirk slouched against the wall and watched Kevin’s emerald eyes soaking up all the light in the room as he tucked himself back into his tight suit pants, biting his lip and smiling broadly at him.
Kirk helped him straighten out his jacket at the back then reached round, took Kevin’s hand and kissed the palm lightly.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice husky, “I really fucking needed that - it’s been a shit morning.” He planted another kiss on his chin, which was about as high as he could reach without Kevin helping. “You’re a real gentleman.”
Kevin hesitated. Was that a blush Kirk could detect?
“Hey, no worries, just make sure you make eyes at me next time you visit Pike, okay?”
“Try and stop me.”
9.
Smoothing out his uniform, Kirk waited a few minutes for Kevin to disappear from sight before walking in the opposite direction. There was Sulu again, who glanced at the Frisian, then Kirk.
“Hey I’m really looking forward to those private lessons!” Kirk called.
“Me too, Jim.”
Sulu’s face, as ever, was impassive.
That’s how he was going to lead his life, Kirk thought, heading for the lecture theatre; like someone in command - it came to his new friend Hikaru simply enough. He needed to take a leaf out of Sulu’s book and show his heart who was boss. He wasn’t going to be love’s bitch anymore than Sulu was.
10.
Kirk hadn’t seen McCoy for hours now. He was going to damn well get used to it and like it. Loving someone and expecting them to love you back because of that - well that was sheer arrogance.
Arrogance didn’t make for a good captain.
Part 21
Suicide
Or
Making a Clean Break
July 2256
1
It came as no surprise to Kirk that he’d received no communication from McCoy whatsoever. They’d been friends for almost a year and they knew each other well enough that they’d recognize they wouldn’t be talking about what had just occurred. What he'd seen.
Three hours had passed but it felt like an entire season - his heart had moved from summer to winter in the few seconds it took for the image of Leonard McCoy being fucked by someone else to brand itself into his flesh.
This bullshit about only liking women - it had been Bones’ way of closing all doors to him.
It didn’t stop Kirk checking his comm every five minutes. No messages.
He felt calmer now, Kevin being as responsible for that as his own mental efforts.
Kirk slept like a baby but when he shaved the following day, he fancied his eyes looked hollow. Why would that be, he thought irritably, when he’d re-connected with his life purpose? If anything, that ought to have put a spring in his step. Everything was clearer and cleaner now. He was meant to be Captain, so why did he feel like he’d been stranded on a desert island?
And again he reminded himself that this negativity wouldn’t last.
“Asshole,” he said frowning at himself in the mirror.
Then Jim understood - what went on in his head, who he fucked and what he chose to focus on wasn’t enough.
There needed to be a symbolic act to show how things had to change between him and McCoy.
He’d allowed things to get messy when they’d gone to Georgia. He should have been more enthusiastic about the fishing and less enthusiastic about the fucking.
Merely saying that word in his head caused his stomach to turn again. Kirk wasn’t sure if it was revulsion at being such a pussy, or lust.
Sure he was able to change his thinking and his goals, but not these feelings.
Being in love was seriously annoying.
2.
It would be like a suicide, Kirk realized. Cutting out his own heart, ending it all.
But it had to be done.
His comm. bleeped.
-Just thought about you when I jerked off in the shower. Niiice. It was Kevin.
-Stalker. He comm’d back.
-Slut! Came the reply.
-And me not even a captain yet! YOU’RE the slut.
-XXXX!
Kirk couldn’t help but smile.
Then his face resettled into something else.
He scooped up his back pack and headed for McCoy’s room. He knew his friend’s schedule as well as his own and he knew he had at least an hour to sort everything out. He’d have to be meticulous. It needed to be clean. Efficient.
Cut off the branch to save the tree.
3.
McCoy’s room stared back all innocent.
There was the bed where he’d never fucked McCoy, but that had provided the stage for a scene which had both freaked him out but also, mercifully, snapped his brain back on course. It might have been a bed in a monastery with its neatly tucked corners and lack of incriminating evidence.
Kirk scanned the room and began to collect items that he’d scattered about it in the past nine months. A pair of sneakers under the bed, yep, taking those.
He’d step back a while, he decided. Once a few weeks had passed, maybe he could face guying around with Bones again. Maybe.
And the image of Bones, of that expression on his face, the way his eyelids were soft and dark, his head thrown back, teeth clenched and chin raised as Jim sucked him, that expression, the visual that accompanied every jerk-off since March, that would have to go.
A surge of anger. What really fucking hurt was that McCoy had looked like that for him, and looked like that while being given a seeing to by Asshole The Third.
Kirk hated that Bones would let James fuck him when he hadn’t trusted Jim enough in Georgia. He’d said he hadn’t been ready and needed to take everything one step at a time. Sure Bones had known James a lot longer, but surely they hadn’t had the same close friendship. First the bastard stole his name, now he’d stolen Jim’s … right? Place? Love? What the fuck was this, anyway? Kirk rubbed between his eyes. Hope. He’d stolen hope.
It hadn’t mattered at the time, in Georgia. It was part of this new-found, exciting, shared tenderness, that McCoy felt he could be so honest with Jim. They’d had all the time in the world, hadn’t they?
Kirk spread pills on the bedspread from the bathroom cabinet - so many remedies Bones had tried for his hay fever, his food allergies, and dust allergies. So much poison.
What a fool - Kirk had been under the illusion that it would happen when McCoy trusted him enough, and that would just be a matter of time.
Time was something Kirk couldn’t get his head around - not when it came to Bones and his moods swings.
They’d got back to campus and McCoy had turned in on himself like a sea anemone with the tide out. In the transporter, he was Mr I’ve Had So Much Sex I Can’t sit Down. And those fucking boots! Kirk adjusted the front of his jeans then swept the pills into the garbage chute. What the fuck had happened?
“Computer, medical waste.”
4.
“Computer!”
“Yes, Jim?” the soft female voice said.
“I need to change the code on the door…”
“That will require Dr McCoy’s voice activation, Cadet Kirk,” came back the even reply.
Hey, if there was one thing Jim Kirk could do was talk a woman round.
“You see, computer, Dr McCoy and I have had a…disagreement, between me and you…”
Silence.
“So, sweetheart, what I need you to do is change the number without telling me what it is. Then comm it to Dr McCoy. You could say that there had been an attempted break in - although you might want to watch you don’t scare the old boy into having a heart attack!” He smiled to himself when he imagined how grouchy Bones would receive this news. Then he frowned when he remembered that moments like this, the feeling of warmth of knowing McCoy would end with what he was about to do.
“Dr McCoy does not have a heart condition. It appears from his replicator records that he eats a healthy diet although too many units of al…”
“Yes, okay. Just change the fucking number.”
“Number changed, Cadet Kirk. New code sent to Dr McCoy and Campus Security. Have a nice day.”
He wondered whether it would have served some kind of dramatic purpose to leave a note:
I couldn't live without you. That's why I've done this.
What would have been the point? What made this truly awful and bleak was that in actuality, Kirk could live without him. It was just going to be shit. He scooped some socks and condoms he found in a drawer into his backpack.
As the door whooshed behind him, it was small comfort that he’d be able to hack into security with little effort should he ever need the number. He didn’t look back to check. There was nothing Kirk needed that he’d left there.
It appeared that one of the laws of the universe, one they hadn’t covered in astrophysics, was that just because you love someone, it didn’t follow they’d necessarily love you back. Kirk swore he would never make that mistake again.
parts 22-24