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Note: This has undergone some recent and intense revision.


He bolted upright in his bed, hand on his heart, breathing heavily and glaring at the sky.

"God fucking damnit."

For the past week, it had been impossible for Leonard McCoy to pinpoint what exactly it was that kept waking him up. One minute, he'd be in the peaceful heaviness of an exhausted, dreamless sleep, and the next he'd find himself wide awake and staring into the dimness of his dorm, finding patterns and pictures within the texture of the ceiling. They changed every time he looked at them; soft tendrils of moonlight slipped through the half-open window and left new shadows and shapes on the empty spaces above him. Each night was a beautiful sight; everything was illuminated with a silvery, ethereal glow. The quiet stretched out around him, broken only by Jim's occasional snoring, which he would swear was a figment of Leonard's imagination. But when Jim was out seducing some lucky cadet, there was nothing to permeate the silken silence of those cool summer nights.

He probably would have enjoyed nights like those if the circumstances were different. Now, they were just goddamn frustrating.

And on the one day he felt so exhausted he was sure he could sleep the whole night through? A goddamn thunderstorm, because someone up there hated his guts and liked to make him suffer.

Lightning veined across the black sky and cracked against the ground, and a growl of thunder roared in its wake. Fat drops of rain poured from the clouds in a continuous stream. McCoy pulled back the sheets and threw his legs over the side of the bed. The carpet was cold against his sleep-warm body, and he shivered. The night had ghosted through the window and dusted a chill across every surface. He grunted as he stood and rubbed the back of his neck. Hunching over patients and paperwork all day was taking it's toll. Of course, if he could get some sleep, it probably wouldn't hurt so much.

In the past, the gruff southern doctor had never had trouble sleeping. Normally, he was so tired out from his intense work-study-and-do-nothing-else routine that he barely had enough energy to make it back to the room before he passed out.

What changed?

Everything. And nothing. He shuffled to the window and leaned against the frame, arms becoming immediately soaked in the torrential downpour, and he couldn't make out where the sound of rain ended and the sound of wind began. Another burst of light shone for a moment, and McCoy glanced back to see Jim's bed was empty. The room fell back into blackness and he sighed, resting his head against the rain streaked glass. Something about the empty bed made this temporary insomnia a hell of a lot lonelier.

It was something of a miracle, his relationship with the younger cadet. He wasn't really the type to let people in, let alone obnoxious bastards who had a knack for pissing people off. But there was something about Jim that grew on him. He seemed so sure of himself, of the future, and that was something McCoy was, in all honesty, envious of. He was a hidden mass of anxiety and he never really knew how things would turn out. Even his profession was a game of chance; he could try and help all he wanted, but in the end it was left to fate, and all the blood was on his hands. So maybe it was his confidence that drew McCoy back to him after their ride on the shuttle that very first day. Something about that sureness, that stability, opened him up to a friendship. And that friendship meant more to him than Jim would ever know. He'd never tell him how much he appreciated when Jim barged into his dorm and demanded they room together. He'd never tell him how dragging him to bars on the weekends and spending that "crucial dude time" helped him get over his divorce. The reason? The asshole didn't need anything else to inflate his ego.

Deciding it had gotten too cold, he stood up straight and shut the window. When the silence settled, the room felt heavy, stifling, suffocating. Wiping his arms on his pajama pants, he wandered back over to his bed and rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to soothe an approaching headache, wishing desperately for a drink to drown away his troubles.

And then he was tumbling to the floor.

"Fuck my life."

He supposed this was his punishment for leaving his shoes in the middle of the floor. Just another way Karma was kicking his ass for whatever horrible thing he did to deserve all of this.

McCoy found himself staring at the ceiling again. The sad part was, it was too dark to make out any shapes. So he laid there, staring into nothing, with the sounds of the storm booming just outside his bubble of silence.

Why the hell was thinking so hard all of a sudden? Where the fuck did all the things that made sense in the world go? Couldn't one goddamn thing go right for once? He got divorced. His wife took the kid. His wife took everything. He joined Starfleet. It took all his time. It took over his social life (although it wasn't like he'd had much of one in the first place.) He'd lost countless friends, acquaintances, and any potential love interest he could have had a chance with because he was so goddamn busy all the time. So where the hell did that leave him? Laying on the floor by himself like a idiot?

He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to make sense of it all.

What did he have left?

The door slid open, and the smell of dirt and rain swamped his senses. "Bones!" Jim's blue eyes cut through the darkness. A smile lit up his face as he rushed in. "Bones, you-"

With all the grace of a falling tree, Jim tripped over McCoy, landing on top of the older man.

"What are you doing down here?"

Bones made a face. "Relaxing. Now get the hell off me, you're soaking wet."

The younger man ignored him. "Bones, it's raining!"

McCoy glared. "Really? I thought the sky was falling. Thanks for being so goddamn smart, Jim."

Jim's smile got bigger. "I try my best."

McCoy tried to shove him off, but it was a vain attempt. The awkward splay of Jim's body had him pinned. He looked into those eyes for a moment, glittering with excitement, and furrowed his brows.

"It's beautiful out. Everything is so loud! Come on, Bones. Come outside with me."

"Damnit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a meteorologist. I've got better things to do than dance around in the rain like a goddamn ballerina."

The bastard raised his brow. It was a look that made you want to punch him. It was a look that said 'I'll argue with you until I win, and I will. I always do, because you're you.'

"Really? Important things? Like laying on the floor and wallowing in misery? Sorry to interrupt."

"Just get off me and let me go back to sleep." He didn't need this right now. He was frustrated, he was tired, he was upset, and a million other things that would only get worse when dealing with an argumentative Jim.

"Nah, I think I like it here, really. If you want to hang out on the floor, we can do that. You're going to get wet either way." He shook the droplets from his hair for emphasis. Bastard.

"Then I hope you brought a magazine, 'cause I'm sure as hell not talking to you." He turned his head, which was about all he could do to ignore Jim in their current position, and glared at the window.

"Fine with me."



Jim rested his head against his best friend's chest, soaking his shirt. McCoy could feel his body shake with stifled laughter when he huffed in annoyance.

"Hey, what time is it?"

"Time for you to get the hell off me."

Jim just laughed. That bastard was always laughing.

Silence stretched out around them, and the blonde turned his head to the other side, searching for a better position. He moved his legs so they rested more comfortably against the older man's thighs. A minute later, he moved them back. McCoy was tense as a board, completely rigid with annoyance and triyng to make this as uncomfortable for Jim as possible. But the kid was stubborn, and there was no way he was backing down.

"Jesus, relax, will you? I mean, it's your party and you can cry if you want to but-"

"Just shut the hell up." Jim's body shook with suppressed laughter again. And again, he was shifting.

"Is it medically possible to pull a muscle being so tense?"


"Is that a yes?"

"Fuck you."

"At least buy me a drink first."

"I hate you."

Jim stopped talking for a while, giggling to himself. McCoy could smell the alcohol on his breath, and the peppiness was getting on his nerves. Jim shifted his weight a little, turning his head back to the other side, and McCoy wondered if the kid could ever sit still.

And he was getting increasingly more uncomfortable. "Stop squirming, will ya'?"

Blue eyes raised to greet his hazel. "What?"

"Quit moving around so much."

He quirked a brow, and McCoy could see the hint of a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. "Why?"

"Damnit, because I said so." It wasn't Jim himself. Well, maybe partly it was. It was just the squirming and the laying on top of him and the stress...

"So I should definitely not do this." He shifted his hips a little one way, a little the other. He was definitely smirking now.

"What the hell did I just say? Just don't do it, alright?" Leonard's voice was getting a little tight was he fought for control of his body. There was only so much he could take.

But he couldn't control himself for long. His face flushed like a goddamn girl as he glared at the window again.

Jim's breath hitched quietly. "Bones, do I turn you on?" Something that felt like nerves swirled in his stomach, and McCoy wanted to hit him.

"I told you not to squirm, but did you listen? No, of course you didn't. You never listen. You just do whatever the hell you want all the time and everyone else suffers for it. It's like, I tell you not to do something and you immediately do that thing. What is wrong with you?" He knew he was rambling, but that's just what happens when you're embarrassed as hell.

"That doesn't answer my question." Jim shifted his hips a little more, and the friction was too much and not enough and he wanted it to stop just as much as he needed it to happen again.

"Damnit Jim, I'm just a man. And you're moving around like that, and it's been a long time, and I'm stressed out, okay?"

Jim's brows shot up. "Wait, how long has it been? Like, a couple days?"

McCoy shook his head, still refusing to look at him. "I don't want to talk about it." That was an even more embarrassing topic that he'd rather not get into. Any length of time without some kind of sexual release would seem insane to Jim.

"Wrong answer." Jim used more force this time, grinding his pelvis slowly against him

"Fucking... It's been a couple years, okay?"

The blonde's jaw dropped. "No way."

Bones clenched his teeth. "Yeah. So can we drop it now?"

"How do you live?!"

That was exactly the reason he didn't want to tell him. In truth, McCoy hadn't had any action since before he joined Starfleet. When his marriage began to fall apart, the sex had stopped, and he was never really one for one-nighters. It was hard, but he'd kept himself so busy that he didn't seem to care after a while. So he glared. And he glared hard. Right at that goddamn window.

There was quiet for a time, filled with discomfort on one end and incredulity on the other. Lightning flared across the sky.

"I get it now. You've been so moody lately because you're all pent up. And here I was thinking it was that time of the month."

McCoy rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. He hated the tone of voice Jim got when he was half teasing and half serious. Besides, that was only part of it. He was frustrated because he worked so damn hard, and studied too much, and didn't sleep enough, and didn't have very many friends, and was laying wet on a cold floor when he should have been in bed.

It would have been such an easier night if he just would have picked up those damn shoes.

"Thank you for the analysis Dr. Kirk. Can we wrap this up now and go to bed?" His voice dripped with annoyance.

"Well, hell, I can't let you go to bed like this. I'd feel terrible." Jim was smirking again, and Christ, how he hated that smirk sometimes.

"Oh? And what the hell are you going to do about it?" He snarled. Beneath his annoyance, he was genuinely curious. Sure, he and Jim had kissed before, on one very drunken night that neither of them remembered that well and was never brought up in conversation ever, but Jim had never gone past the boundaries of their friendship. He didn't think Jim even had it in him to take their relationship to that level. And hell, he wasn't even sure how he felt about Jim. Sometimes, he loved the kid more than he'd ever loved anyone, and sometimes, he hated every ounce of his being. Like now. His heart was pounding a thousand miles a minute, but he blamed it on anger and chose to stay pissed off.

Jim leaned close, the smell of the outdoors dripping off him like the water in his hair. "I'm going to fix it. And you're going to let me." His breath was hot against McCoy's face. To anyone else, this whole situation would have seemed incredible and arousing and hotter than hell. But with McCoy, it pissed him off. Who the hell was this kid thinking he knew how to 'fix' him? He freed his arms from Jim's weight and flipped them both over. Pinning the younger man to the ground, he met his eyes with a scowl, piercing hazel battling brilliant blue. Jim took a sharp breath and swallowed.

"You can't handle me, kid." His voice was smooth and heavy, and it dripped against Jim's skin like honey. It was almost too much. The breath came hot in his lungs. This was a battle of willpower, and he thrived on competition.

"You sure about that?" Tricky fingers danced up the older man's thigh slowly, teasingly. McCoy inhaled deeply for a moment, steeling his self-control. Slowly, he leaned forward, lips hovering just above the beautiful tanned skin of Jim's neck. A hand slid lazily up the expanse of Jim's body, each muscle tensing a little as it glided by, before it ran through damp golden hair. For a moment, he reveled in the reactions he was getting from Jim; eyes shut and mouth slightly agape, he panted softly, anticipating a touch but never quite getting it. Slowly, McCoy moved his hands back to Jim's chest. He could feel the heavy hammer of his heart, and he smirked.

"Trust me." Jim shivered, and McCoy loved it. James Tiberius Kirk, Starfleet's best and brightest, had been reduced to a puddle of goo beneath his fingers.

Suddenly, Jim seemed to regain some sort of awareness, and his hands grasped McCoy's erection. It took every single ounce of his willpower not to break under the pressure and give in to the teasing.

"I'm always up for a challenge." But Jim's voice was shaky, and McCoy was filled with surprise. It never happened this way. He saw how Jim was with women. He was always the dominant one, cool and collected and smooth as hell. And now he was here, practially writhing beneath his best friend. It almost felt like the universe was out of whack.

And then, any control he had left just snapped. A low growl rumbled from his throat, and he rose from the ground, pulling Jim up by the shirt. His lips crashed down on Jim's with an electric intensity. Like it was nothing, McCoy shoved Jim down on the bed and practically pounced on him, lips meeting again with an almost feral need.

McCoy's perfect hands slipped beneath the soggy fabric of Jim's shirt, gliding across smooth skin. Their savage kiss broke for a moment as Jim's shirt was thrown aside, and his eyes hungrily devoured the sight. There was a giant difference between seeing Jim shirtless for medical exams and seeing Jim shirtless for recreational purposes, and it was perfect, just like everything else that was James T. Kirk. His head dipped down to taste the taunting skin, and then he was claiming his territory, sucking bruises into his flesh. Jim squirmed, running his hands through McCoy's messy hair before pulling him back up for another mind-blowing kiss. His tongue found it's way into his best friend's mouth, and they battled for dominance while McCoy worked on the buckle of Jim's belt. Jim pushed him back, panting heavily.

"Not fair." He pulled the doctor's shirt up over his head and immediately attacked the older man with kisses, successfully crawling on top of him and pinning him down. But his dominance was short lived, as McCoy flipped him back on his back and resumed his work on the belt.

"Damnit Jim, this would be a lot easier if you weren't soaking wet." He was anxious. He needed this, and damnit, he needed it now.

"Sorry. If I would have known I'd be having incredible sex with you later, I'd just have come nude and saved you the trouble. Probably would have freaked some people out on the way back here though." McCoy rolled his eyes and finally got the buckle loose, ripping the belt off and making short work of the rest of the damn contraptions keeping him from getting into Jim's pants. He dipped his head down for a fiery kiss as he threw the pants across the room.

"Yeah, well, next time don't be gone in the first place." Jim grasped his hands for moment, and McCoy was confused until he leaned forward and kissed him gently. It was slow and sweet and perfect, and Jim didn't have to say anything. He knew an apology when he was getting one.

And just like that, it was gone, and Jim used McCoy's lapse in focus to take control of the situation again. He pushed him backwards and held his hands tight against the mattress. His lips were everywhere, teasing and biting and sucking until his mouth was at the waistband of McCoy's pants. The doctor shivered in anticipation as Jim released his arms and slipped his fingers beneath the hem. And slowly, tauntingly, he pulled them down, revealing bare skin beneath.

Jim grinned. "Great day to go commando, Bones." Need was coiling painfully in McCoy's stomach. And then he was gasping gripping fistfuls of sheets as Jim took him in his mouth. He took his time, running his tongue along the underside of McCoy's cock torturously until suddenly, he quickened the pace, sucking and humming and smoothing his fingers across whatever skin he couldn't adore with his nouth.

McCoy knew he was close. He could feel it churning in his gut, heavy and burning and wonderful. Jim must have known too, because he took that warm wetness away and grinned down at him.

"God fucking damnit Jim," McCoy breathed. He reached up and yanked Jim's golder hair to expose his neck and bit down on the sensitive flesh. Jim cried out, and McCoy used the moment to grab his cock and get some revenge. Jim melted against him and thrust into his hand, needing something more. Bones growled and stopped, pushing him hard back down onto the mattress. That's what you get. Jim whimpered at the loss of friction, but didn't have much time to complain because McCoy was hoisting his legs up to rest on his shoulders. He rummaged through the night stand aggressively and found the small tube of lube that he knew would be there. As he slathered it across his skin, he locked eyes with Jim.

"Still so sure you can handle me?" And even breathless and sweaty and desperate, the need to piss him off, just a little bit more, forced Jim to roll his eyes. McCoy snarled, and within the next instant, he was buried deep. Jim howled in pleasure-pain. Tears brimmed at the corner of his eyes as he tried to adjust.

"I fucking hate you," he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and biting down on his lip.

McCoy grinned. "Sorry darlin'. Thought you were up for a challenge." He pulled out a little bit, and Jim gasped, moaning in a bitter ecstasy. The pain was good and he could tell that Jim hated that.

"I appreciate your condolences Bones, but I think you're too gentle sometimes." Breathless sarcasm poured from his bleeding lip.

McCoy pulled out more, and slammed back in, and God, he loved this. It took everything in him not to groan and thrust and give in; Jim was so tight, and watching him writhe against the mattress was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But he couldn't give Jim the satisfaction of knowing that.

He set the pace slow, taking his time, savoring it as long as possible, before he couldn't take it anymore. And then his pace quickened, a steady rhythm that left them both groaning and panting and gasping for more. With each thrust, he buried himself deeper inside, but never quite enough. It was the ultimate show of dominance, and he was completely satisfied with Jim's obvious annoyance. His need for release was number two to his need to show Jim just who it was that had control. Anything to get one up on him.

"Damnit Bones, please." Jim's breathing was ragged. Sweat made his skin shine and his eyes were half-lidded and pleading.

Finally, grinning, McCoy complied. He lifted Jim up, who wrapped those gorgeous legs around his waist, and rammed into him at a perfect angle, hitting that sweet spot just right. Jim gasped out desperately, and a flash of lightning blinded him. A groan exploded from McCoy's chest, rumbling like thunder as he threw the pace out the window and thrust wildly into him. The pressure was building; he was surprised he'd lasted this long.

"Beautiful. Jim, you're beautiful," he whispered like a mantra. Lightning bloomed across the clouds and thunder rolled through the room, and for a moment, he wasn't sure what was real and what was the product of his imagination. Jim's breath was labored as he clung to his best friend, nails raking down his back nearly deep enough to draw blood. McCoy slammed into his body harder, lost in a sea of things he hadn't felt before. Nothing had ever been this good. And finally, after three years of neglect, he gasped and released, coming inside Jim. It didn't take long for the younger cadet to join him in the clouds. McCoy's knees shook as he pulled out, and they collapsed to the bed in a heap of sweaty, tangled limbs.

McCoy exhaled. "Damn." All he could do at that point was breathe. He was so worn out he hardly had the energy to put sound behind his words.

"I'm almost one hundred percent positive I'm bleeding from the ass right now. That's a first."

The doctor draped an arm lazily across Jim's waist and kissed him softly on the forehead. "It's good for you. Maybe it'll teach you something."

"Like, what, you're a sadist in disguise? I have to hand it to you Bones, the doctor thing was pretty clever."

McCoy rolled his eyes, "Maybe you'll think before you act like a nosy little bastard."

A tired grin formed on Jim's face. "The only thing I'm going to be thinking about before I do anything with you again is whether or not you're wearing underwear."

A slight blush rose up on his cheeks. Jim was the only one who could ever make him blush, and it was the most annoyingly pleasant thing in the world.

"I hate you, Jim." He shut his eyes, chest rising and falling with a steadying rhythm as he began fading out of consciousness.

"I hate you too, Bones. Always will." They were surrounded with an easy silence; the storm had been reduced to a gentle pattering on the roof. And for the first time all week, Leonard McCoy slept the whole night through.