The Facts About Jimmy (part 3)
Title: The Facts About Jimmy
Universe/Series: AU (modern-day [well, early-mid 90s] in my head, but it's not really important.)
Rating: R
Relationship status: yeah, that's complicated
Word count: 598
Genre: h/c, angst
Trope: ummm.... no idea.
Warnings: language, in spades. sex.
Pairing: k/s, k/m, and vague suggestions of k/u
Beta: thanks to medea_fic and emmessann for being unfailingly amazing
Summary: bones is always there whenever jim needs him to be. whether it's good for either of them is really anybody's guess.
A/N: based off of this song, which i have loved since i was a kid growing up in the corn. lyrics here, if you want an idea of where this may end up going.
A/N2: to anyone reading this who follows WGBF, i swear i will post chs 11 and 12 real soon. :)
first bit here
second bit here
This is how it is. This is how it has been. This is how it will be.
He looks like hell, sitting there with his lip all split and oozing, his hair stiffened into spikes with sweat and booze and blood. Makes me think of the day I first met him, cocky as fuck, with snot still staining his collar.
What does it say that it’s bailing my fuck-up of a best friend out of jail that gets me all nostalgic?
“Boneth.”
“Get up off your lazy ass, Jimmy. We’re gonna go for a drive.”
On second thought, hell oughta look a sight better than Jim, here. Isn’t the devil supposed to be a handsome, well, devil? Suave and enticing and luring all good maidens to their unknowing doom? Then again, maybe that is an apt description for Jim, cause I’ll be damned if the bruise rising on his cheekbone doesn’t make him look just that much more appealing.
Bastard.
It’s like the beginning all over again, starting with Spock’s flexing fingers wrapped right around Jim’s lily-white throat and squeezing. Like when they came back from saving the day, and I could count the impress of each knuckle on Jim’s raw cheekbone, could enumerate the fractaled edges of phaser burn on Spock’s shoulder.
I knew then, and I know it now; this is how it is. This is how it has been. This is how it will be.
Here’s the thing; you live in each others’ pockets as long as we all have, you either learn that you love each other or you get the fuck out. There’s no other way it can be. It’s not like any of us gave informed consent to any of this goddamned three-ring circus, but we put our x on the dotted line all the same when we boarded that silver ship for the second time.
It didn’t need to be this way. It’s just… there’s no other way for it to be. When all the possibilities are reduced to a singular point of light, or the gravitational pull of nuclear charisma, need and want become irrelevant. The only applicable verbs are forms of to be; Is. Was. Are. Will be.
I’ll bail him out; Jim knows it as well as I do. Knows it as well as either of us know that freckle right behind Nyota’s ear, or that Scotty speaks Gaelige in his sleep. That Sulu fucking hates roses more than anything, and that that’s exactly why Chekov buys him red ones every Valentine’s. As well as we know what Spock looks like broken, then given hope.
He’ll come with me, and we’ll fuck, just like we always do. The press of hands, the loss of clothes, the urgent rush of blood and friction and fluid. The exhausted heat of release, the salt-sharp scent of sweat rising in the dark.
This is how it is. This is how it has been. This is how it will be.
Jim will leave at dawn, his eyes shadowed with the rising sun. I’ll sleep till noon, get up, make coffee, and fall asleep in my armchair while the fan does absolutely goddamn nothing to cool the air in the room.
At some point, Spock will come back, and he and Jim will turn their radiation inward for a time, splitting the atoms of their personalities in a secure chamber devoid of foreign contaminants, combining and recombining in blinding fission, radio waves rolling away like thunder.
I pass the deputy my credit chit.
This is how it is. This is how it has been. This is how it will be.