They had been working towards this point since forever. Since the day they met, if Jim was honest with himself.
The thing was that he and Bones were both passionate people. When they had first met, each of them were pretty passionate in wanting to give the world at large a big 'fuck you', complete with hand gestures.
As their friendship grew, that passion turned and focused mostly on each other.
At times it felt as if it was Bones and him against the world; especially lately. They weren't naive or idealistic the way a good number of their fellow classmates had been, before the events surrounding the Narada, just weeks prior, had robbed them of their innocence.
When Bones had snuck him on the Enterprise, refusing to leave him behind, Jim had known he was farther gone than he'd ever thought possible.
Jim hadn't been this focused or enamored with another person since his brother Sam had run away and left Jim behind as a child. It was slightly unnerving. It was also pretty awesome. It made him feel like he wasn't as alone as he'd previously thought. It was also nice to have a co-conspirator against fate and the universe at large.
So no, it wasn't surprising that that their passion towards their friendship morphed into physical passion towards each other.
Surprising, no; exciting, yes. Hell yes.
Bones was incredibly put together, Jim learned, perched atop Bones' abdomen as he trailed a hand down Bones' naked chest. Firm, unflawed, and pebbling with goose bumps in response to Jim's touch. The overwhelming appeal of his best friend made Jim exhilarated.
Bones' breath hitched, and his eyes burned into Jim's, never blinking, never moving, staring at him with such intensity that a small part of Jim wanted to hide, not that Bones would ever allow it. Perhaps they hid from the rest of the world, Jim behind his cockiness, and Bones behind his sarcasm, but they made it a point to never hide from each other. To each other they were what they were; perhaps a little lost, perhaps a little bitter about the hand life had given them, but compassionate and glad to have found each other.
It was all he could do to break the stare.
Jim bent down then, straightened his legs and placed a hand on either side of Bones' torso, and used them to steady his body as he slid further down Bones', leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, their sweat glistened, naked skin rubbing together like silk. Bones' chest shuddered beneath his lips, a small gasp escaping his throat.
The sound made Jim's heart lurch. He wanted to hear more like it. He wanted to make Bones feel better than anyone else had ever managed; wanted to imprint this moment on Bones skin and in his mind so that their coming together like this would always stand out in Bones' memory.
Bones' body practically vibrated with his building passion, and Jim was delighted that he had his companion so thoroughly at his mercy. There was power in that, but Jim wouldn't take advantage, because this was Bones, and Bones was, well, everything.
Slowly moving lower still he used his tongue to lave at Bones' bellybutton, digging into the flesh and then pulling away to gently blow on it, cooling the wet skin with his breath.
He looked up then, caught Bones' eyes once more and shot him a saucy grin. Bones tasted good, he tasted very, very good. Like a human saltlick. Jim had suspected he would.
Bones' eyes seem to say 'fuck me, fuck me now' and Jim was more than happy to comply.
Returning to his task, he pushed himself down further still, and stared for a minute at Bones' cock, pink-tipped and perfect, before slowly licking it from base to top, and then catching it in his mouth and taking in as much as he could, thrusting, caressing and lapping with his tongue.
Bones' back arched off of the bed and his hands reached down to grab handfuls of Jim's hair, locking him there. A needless response, really, because Jim didn't intend to stop. Eliciting this kind of reaction in Bones was making Jim excited: so energized, so hot, so fucking aroused. He never wanted to stop, not even when, minutes later, Bones' released his hair and moved his hands to Jim's upper arms, using a surprising amount of strength to haul Jim up the bed, and twist his body to slide Jim onto his back beneath him. He placed his hands on either side of Jim's head and used a knee to forcefully separate Jim's legs.
Jim gasped in surprise, his ever increasing pulse speeding even faster. He'd never wanted another person so much.
"I am going to fuck you so hard," Bones' rasped, eyes intense, and Jim felt dizzy with his need.
Oh God yes! That was what he wanted. That was what he'd always wanted and who he had wanted it with, just without realizing it early on.
"Do it," Jim gasped.
He closed his eyes tightly as he felt Bones move one hand to reach for a small bottle on the nightstand beside Jim's bed to fumble with it, and inhaled sharply when he felt lube covered fingers prod and stretch his asshole. He wanted Bones to jab harder.
The harder, the more piercing and aching, the more Jim would know for certain that this whole thing was real and that they were actually here; this point they had been working towards forever.
Finally, finally, after what seemed like centuries, Bones pulled his fingers out and used that hand to maneuver his cock into place. Once aligned, he thrust hard, without warning, and Jim groaned, mind lost to the combination of pleasure and pain.
It was how he liked it, just as he liked it. No pussyfooting. No gentle warning. Just hard and hot and driven. How had Bones known?
He wanted to be fucked fiercely. He wanted Bones, fiercely. He wanted them fierce together.
Bones gave him a moment, just one, and then he pulled out a bit and thrust again, just as hard, the mattress bouncing and squeaking below them with the strength of his plunge. Jim closed his eyes again, marveled at the bright spots of color that flickered in the blackness of his veiled vision, and let his mind escape further thought and let himself just feel.
Somehow, the world felt as if it had tilted on its axis. It was the same academy campus, the same small dorm room, the same Bones and Jim… yet not, because everything was brighter, better, the world seemed to be spinning faster.
Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure, a new set of bursting color behind his closed eyes, and caused Jim's muscles to contract harder as he felt Bones' stomach bouncing against his cock, his body sprung so tight he was bound to explode into a dozen pieces.
Jim's heart was beating so loudly, he could hear it reverberate in his ears. His skin tingled, as if caught in an electrical current, and his cock was so hard it might as well have been made of stone.
And then explode he did, powerfully, the spring finally uncoiling; the crescendo finally reached; his body relaxing and mind sinking into languid lucidity.
Euphoria, thy name was Leonard McCoy.
It didn't take Bones long to follow, and he shouted as he came, "Good God, Jim!"
Starfleet was going to try and cage him. He knew that even as he stepped aboard the shuttle to sign his life away. And although he would never admit it to the older man, Jim wondered if he was a bit of an imbecile for joining because Pike had dared him to do better than his old man.
Yet, there was more to it. He wasn't committing to this life on a whim. Pike had been right; Jim did feel like he was destined for greater things. He simply needed the means to get off this rock and prove that to the universe. If Starfleet was offering that, well, Jim would do it and do it well. Even if it meant making nice with the likes of Cupcake and his band of merry goons. He'd get his revenge for the hits they had managed to get in the night before by knocking them out of the grading curve once he got established in his classes.
He wasn't just blowing smoke to Pike. He would complete the program in three years. Whatever anyone else did, he would do it better. Anything else wasn't an option. And if doing so showed his mother, his brother and his asshole of a stepfather up, well, he wouldn't complain.
He didn't have anything to prove, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to succeed at something brilliantly and alter the world's perceptions of him. He was more Kirk than any of them. He was born in space, and if all went to plan, he would die there as well, as captain of his own starship and in a blaze of glory.
"I don't need a doctor, damnit, I am a doctor," an exasperated voice announced, loud enough to break Jim's reverie. He turned quickly, looking for the source of the voice, intrigued by the thought that apparently he wasn't the only 'difficult' one on the shuttle. Huh, maybe Starfleet didn't just grab robots like Cupcake after all.
"You need to get back to find a seat. Sir, for your own safety, sit down, or I will make you sit down," a prim voice responded, and Jim's predominant thought to that was, 'yes, please, for the love of God, get in your seat, once you sit down we can leave this hellhole'.
"I had one. In the bathroom with no windows. I suffer from aviaphobia, which, in case you don't understand big words, means 'fear of flying'," the grated voice bit back, clearly annoyed and Jim had to admire the guy's gall. At least he wasn't shy in stating his mind. The sarcasm was pretty funny, too.
Jim's brief flint of admiration lasted about ten seconds, until the surly guy in question took the seat next to Jim's and announced that he might throw-up on him. The hell? Who threw up on a shuttle anymore? Especially a doctor? If Jim had that affliction and he was a member of the medical profession, he'd give himself something to knock himself out beforehand. Where in the world did Starfleet dig this guy up?
Christ but Jim had the best of luck lately. He got beat up by brainless idiots in a bar-all brawn, no brains, he got turned down for a potentially hot encounter in the process, and now a crazy-eyed doctor with a five o'clock shadow and a penchant for hurling on strangers was seated next to him.
Still, the guy got points for not beating around the bush, Jim would give him that.
Close inspection revealed that Mr. Scruffy was actually kind of handsome, in that 'back off, buddy' kind of way, with bright, grim eyes, and lips that drew Jim's eyes to them. There was something there, certainly. Something Jim understood on a level he couldn't quite pinpoint yet. The guy was intriguing, and undoubtedly worth getting to know. He honestly hadn't expected to find a kindred spirit at the academy and had resigned himself to dealing with only the Cupcake or Uhura types, but this guy, the paranoid doctor, he was a pleasant surprise. Pursuing a conversation with him seemed like a good way to kill time, assuming there was no vomit involved, of course. He had his standards.
"I think these things are pretty safe," Jim told the guy, making friendly.
"Don't pander to me, kid," the good Doctor grumbled, and Jim had to fight back a wince at the term 'kid'. Really, the guy couldn't be more than a few years older than him, but he supposed that 'kid' was better than any number of monikers Mr. Sarcastic could have used. It wasn't as if Jim hadn't been called worse. "One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. A solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait till you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles, see if you're so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleeding. Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence."
Jim blinked. Well, that was certainly cheerful. This guy obviously forgot the caffeine this morning, and he needed a drink, and a good lay; possibly both.
"I hate to break it to you, but Starfleet operates in space," Jim announced cautiously, wondering if that statement was going to open another round of potential communicable diseases they could catch there.
"Yeah. Well, I got nowhere else to go, the ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce. All I got left is my bones," the older man announced bitterly, reaching into his pocket and removing a flask.
Ah, definitely needed a good lay then.
When the doctor turned and offered the flask to him, Jim smiled. He liked this guy. He'd call him Bones.
The panic was not instantaneous, but rather crept up slowly, bit by bit, like a stalking panther.
His first thought when he woke to the feeling of his best friend's arm slung over his chest and his leg draped over both of Jim's was that Bones was heavier than he looked, the weight of his limbs cutting off the circulation to Jim's legs, and they should probably both cut down on the take-out.
His second thought was that his throat was a bit scratchy, and he'd kill for a glass of water.
And then, as memories of the activities just hours before flickered across his memory, his third thought was that he'd been fucked into the mattress by the one person he cared about most, and who cared about him.
There was a bit of smug pride in that. Bones was notoriously picky in his sexual partners. Early on, Jim had tried repeatedly to pick up women (and occasionally men) in pairs at bars, one for him, one for the good doctor, determined to assist Bones in recovering from the sting of his divorce.
Bones would always snort, shake his head and mutter about x-chromosomes equating to nothing but trouble, wax poetic on comparing women to black widow spiders by their rather sadistic tendency to devour men, and how he was not quite ready to go there again. Only usually there would be more swearing, and a scowl or two to accompany that particular proclamation.
Eventually Jim had given up trying, but he took his friend to bars and Jim would go to the back in a hidden corner somewhere and receive a hand-job from whoever looked particular good that night, then he'd leave with Bones, an arm flung across Bone's shoulders as Bones arm went across Jim's back. They'd support each other on the way home, then clambered to their dorm room to sleep two or three hours before rushing off to their next class.
To the best of Jim's knowledge, Jim had been the only one Bones had slept with since coming to the Academy.
The weight and implications of that thought made it suddenly difficult to breathe.
Jim loved Bones, of course he did. He had for ages. Bones didn't judge him, knew all Jim's faults, hell, he usually recited them daily, yet often looked at him with exasperated fondness anyway. Jim may not have been shown love a lot himself as a child, but that didn't mean he wasn't familiar with the concept. He knew what it was, and that he was capable of it. He had loved Sam before he left, and had loved his mother before he realized that she would rather run away on missions then tuck her kids in at night.
Therein lay the problem. It wasn't that Jim didn't know that love existed or that he didn't know how to do it, like some poor abused child cliché, it was just that fate seemed rather determined that anyone who did love Jim had a particularly hard time of it. Now that Bones had succumbed to their passion and would feel locked to him, because Bones didn't do casual sex, Jim would be stuck waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It was really only a matter of time before he did something to annoy Bones, or, more likely, thoroughly piss him off so much that he'd demand an assignment furthest away from wherever Starfleet decided to put Jim. Then Jim would be alone again, and Bones would be back in bars muttering about how y-chromosomes pretty much suck, too.
He couldn't lose Bones like that. And he didn't know what to do or how to salvage their predicament now they had crossed the point of no return. He suddenly felt hopeless, and he didn't believe in no-win scenarios, but he couldn't see how this was anything but one.
He knew how this was going to end, it was inevitable. The best he could do was leave first.
So he did.
Jim didn't remember shoving his shoes on or the journey to the front door, he was just moving on autopilot, but suddenly he was there, reaching up to press the release button on the panel, when a hand reached up, grabbed his shoulder and forced him to spin around.
Bones eyes bore into him, and his anger was so palpable that Jim had to repress a shudder. He had his pride.
Then Bones opened his mouth.
Breaking into the school's computer system to hack the program which assigned dorm rooms had been easy. Too easy. In fact, Jim wondered just how protected Starfleet really was if it required such little effort on Jim's part to access their files. But hey, their lax approach to security was his gain.
With a grin, he assigned Leonard McCoy as his dormmate and then allowed himself a moment to revel in his success.
There was no way he would allow Starfleet to pair him a Cupcake prototype, not if he could help it. He wouldn't be able to stand being locked in enclosed quarters with an idiot. The only way he'd make it through the next three years with any kind of sanity intact was to ensure that he was assigned to the only person he had met thus far who he could stomach. Otherwise things would probably get broken.
If Bones was surprised by his 'assigned' roommate, he didn't show it. Instead, when Jim had shown up at the door, smile wide and a friendly greeting posed on the end of his tongue, Bones had simply opened the door wider, raised an eyebrow, visibly fought against a grin, the edges of his mouth moving in a slight quirk, and then turned to hide the amusement shining through his eyes.
Jim knew then he had made the right choice, and his heart felt lightened.
"This side of the room is mine," his new friend drawled, pointing.
Jim simply nodded. He'd had his victory; he'd let Bones have his.
Later, after a turbulent first day of classes, he made one stop on his way home.
When Bones arrived that night Jim called out, "Hello dear, I made dinner," and watched as Bones took in the six pack of beer and carton of take-out noodles waiting for them on the table.
"Kid, you and I are going to get along just fine," the doctor announced.
"Goddamnit, Jim! I'm not letting you walk away from this, not this time. Grow up. Stop dicking around. Let's just put it all out on the table, shall we?" Bones' nostrils flared, and his eyes were crazy, almost reminiscent of the day they first met, yet really all Jim could concentrate on was the rapid beating of his heart, the way the air almost cackled with energy around them, and the way Bones' angry words jabbed like arrows against his skin.
"Your fucking scars are showing," Bones continued, relentless, "the ones you hide with that goddamned cocky attitude. Isn't it time you shed the whole quintessential 'nobody loved me as a child so I'm going to make it damn hard for anyone to love me as an adult' routine and accept that there is no one else responsible for your fucking happiness or your fucking choices, other than you?"
"Running away from this, from the two of us, to jump into the next meaningless fuck certainly isn't going to make your mother all of the sudden decide to be maternal, or your brother get over the chip on his shoulder. Your world is not going to be a better place because you assume that everybody is going to burn you just like they did so that gives you the right to treat everyone like shit. You're not hurting anyone here but yourself by being a dick, asshole! And me! Most especially me! You make it so damn hard to love you - I wonder if I'm a fucking masochist for trying."
Even spitfire angry, and Bones was more angry than Jim had ever seen him, Bones had the wherewithal to utilize his tongue like a weapon, each barb measured and focused for maximum impact; each the equivalent of a full bodied assault that shook Jim unrepentantly. Yet neither the pain of hearing it, or the anguish that squeezed Jim's heart like a clamp took away the stark honesty behind the accusations. Jim might have been running away from Bones like a frightened idiot, but he was a self-aware idiot.
It was a form of cognitive dissonance, the act of doing something bad for you and knowing it was wrong, but doing it anyway. Jim had never applied to term to himself before, until now. Bones had a way of driving home epiphanies like a goddamned jackhammer. Sure, Jim knew that he had issues. Could name them off, pinpoint their point of origin and define them, things like survival guilt and parental neglect. He also knew a lot of his behavior was self-destructive. He couldn't help it. A part of him wondered if he craved the abyss - the dark place he descended to whenever he accessed that part of his personality. There were no expectations there. It was do or die; all primal instinct and raw energy.
Was he running from his past, or Bones? He supposed he was doing a little bit of both. Walking out…because Bones was getting too close, close enough that losing him would hurt. So what was he trying to accomplish? Making them both hurt, anyway? Dragging Bones down into the abyss with him? As if Bones had needed any additional help getting there. They were both broken; both running from their pasts. Two caged beasts with a penchant for ramming their heads against walls in an attempt to break out and forge their own path.
Yet Bones was also his friend. His only friend. The guy who possessed that wonderfully sardonic kind of humor that made Jim laugh, and a keen insight into how the world worked, beyond all of that rose colored bullshit most people deluded themselves into believing. He was also the hottest fuck that Jim had ever had. The only person that made Jim want to lose control.
Bones was direct and sarcastic and so fucking brilliant that Jim wanted to wrap his arms around him, squeeze as tightly as his strength could muster, and hang on for dear life. He was the only real thing in a world of politically correct gobbledygook and stringent structure; he was a lone, vivid figure in an Impressionist-like world.
He was Jim's.
Jim wondered just when it was he had fallen so much in love that it burned.
Bones was beautiful when he laughed.
Not that Jim would ever announce that fact out loud. He would be too traumatized by the tongue lashing Bones would unleash as a result, along with the two days of silent treatment and pointed glares that would follow.
But when Bones laughed, his eyes lost their world-weary look, and the corners of them gathered in crinkles, and when he was done, that attractive mouth would curl into a crooked grin.
So Jim made it a mission to try and elicit that laugh as much as possible, and he wasn't above using alcohol and random improv imitations of uptight Starfleet instructors to do it.
It was hard to remember what it was like to go to a bar without Bones in tow, his attention divided between finding a form of release and slyly creating another dink in Bones' dour armor. Often the later was the more fun of the two, especially when Bones would scowl at Jim afterwards and roll his eyes, as if he were annoyed at Jim for daring to conjure a chuckle. Though Jim knew the truth; Bones really did love to laugh, he just didn't think there was much of a reason to do it most of the time.
The sad thing was; he was probably right. There weren't a lot of reasons to laugh, for either of them, but Jim liked the fact that he was one of those precious few reasons.
"So, you up for another round or should we get out of here?" Jim asked, eyeing his friend's empty glass. He didn't feel like picking someone up for a quickie that night, hadn't for awhile, actually.
"Let's have another. Why not? Not like either of us have anything else to do, 'sides study," Bones decided, his speech slightly slurred.
Jim grinned. He loved it when Bones got tipsy first. Life was so much more fun that way.
"Hey doc, doesn't excessive alcohol pickle the liver?" Jim asked, intending to enjoy this for all it was worth.
"I never said I wasn't a fucking hypocrite," Bones announced with a smirk.
This time it was Jim who laughed.
"You probably are a masochist. I don't have a great track record of people loving me," Jim announced, squelching the urge to collapse in a bout of humorless chuckles for lack of any other way to react. This was the last conversation he wanted and the last person he wanted to hurt. He'd prefer not to hurt, himself, either, but he'd been doing that most of his life.
"And you think I do?" Bones snorted, exasperated. "My ex-wife cheated on me! Then she robbed me blind, though she managed it legally. You think you're the only poor bastard with a past?"
Jim looked away, a lump forming in his throat, his mind swirling in scattered chaos, rapidly moving through random thoughts. 'What do I do? How do I proceed from here? Do Bones and I have a chance? Jocelyn McCoy is an idiot of the highest order.'
"No, I know I'm not the only one with a past," Jim sighed, refusing to meet Bones eyes. His heart hurt, and his eyes stung. He wondered if confrontations between lovers was a medical affliction that could be treated with a hypospray; he also wondered if Bones would still be willing to treat him after everything.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing," Jim continued, so lost, but meaning his apology. He fucking loved Bones, he did. His head was just messed up.
"I'm not going to ask why you were about to leave, Jim, I already know. I know you better than anybody," Bones replied with a sigh, although his voice was softer, gentler. "There is no sense wasting breath on a rhetorical question. And I'm not going to promise that anything between us will ever be easy, 'cause that would be a fucking miracle that not even you can pull off, but I will say this… I'm not going to abandon you. I'm too damn stubborn to let you go without kicking and screaming about it. I have more perseverance than the fools who hurt you," Bones paused for a moment, and Jim could practically feel Bones' warring thoughts as he fought with himself on what more to say. "I want you, Jim. For god's sake, I love you, kid."
Jim felt all the air leave his lungs in a great gush, and felt his heart give a sudden, strong jolt, and knew then that he wasn't the only one who burned in love.
He did meet Bones' eyes then and saw the determination and ferocity that blazed there, and somehow knew instinctively, just like he knew how to make Bones smile, or knew how to calm him after a shitty day and get him to unwind, that Bones would be with him to the end, whatever that end may be.
"I want you even more than that," Jim responded, flashing a grin because he truly felt like smiling just then. He also felt like shouting 'Yes! Bones loves me…he's mine!' to the universe at large.
Instead he gasped as a strong pair of arms wrapped around him and squeezed so tightly that Jim lost his balance and fell forward onto Bones.
"It's not a competition, infant," Bones retorted, and then kissed Jim, hard.