Of Blue Eyes and Super Powers
A comment fic for the lovely pictures on the Jim and Bones livejournal community. I just couldn't resist Chris Pine's gorgeous eyes.
He's overheard conversations in the mess and around campus. Girls – and some of the guys – waxing poetic about Jim Kirk's hypnotic baby blues. It always makes him roll his eyes, which is really something he should stop doing, because his mama always told him that if he kept doing it his eyes would get stuck and how would he like that?
But it's just so ridiculous.
He's heard Jim's eyes compared to a sunny sky, crystal clear lakes and an endless tropical sea. He's heard that they sparkle and twinkle and smolder and all other manner of equally unlikely verbs.
He spent a few entertaining minutes one evening eavesdropping on a group of female cadets as one of them described her encounter (ahem!) with Jim one weekend and how he had looked into her eyes and stolen her soul, all the while giving her the best night of her life and apparently a half dozen orgasms. Really, the kid doesn't need the ego boost and it was just too much when the other cadets had sighed and giggled and then sighed some more as they began describing Jim's eyes - again! (And don't even get him started on what they say about his eyelashes. His eyelashes, for godsakes!) He'd left with a disgusted snort, but it didn't stop them.
They are just eyes, damn it! Eye color is just another genetic trait like his blond hair or his silly chicken legs. His dad had blue eyes, so Jim does too. And they are only so blue because he's lacking in pigment. Hear that? Jim Kirk is lacking. Okay, so it only happens to be a pigment called melanin in his irises, but that's something, right? The kid's got too much going for him already.
So yes, McCoy has heard plenty about Jim's amazing eyes and all the many super powers that they seem to have. Sometimes it's not even about the color, though that usually starts off the conversation. Sometimes it's about how his eyes crinkle just so when he smiles and the laugh lines around them that are – apparently – adorable. If he'd just wear some sunglasses occasionally he wouldn't have those damn lines, but no, he'd rather squint, so he has lines around his eyes that are – again, apparently – gorgeous. On anyone else the wrinkles would make them look old, but not Jim Kirk. Damn it.
Of course, not everyone has bought into Jim's baby blues. He's heard the muttered comments from jealous boyfriends or the spurned one night stands, too. How it's not possible that they could be that blue; that he obviously wears colored films or had his eye color changed.
McCoy has to scoff at that. First of all, the damn idiot is allergic to common eye drops, so there is no way in hell he could have had his eye color changed – even if he is, you know, an idiot, and might have come up with the idea if he thought it would have gotten him laid more.
And he doesn't wear colored films. He's got the standard clear films that the Academy issues anyone who needs contacts and can't actually have their eyes fixed properly with a laser. Again – allergic! McCoy knows they're not colored because he's spent enough time looking for the damn things when Jim accidentally drops them while putting them in. He even suggested getting them tinted to make them easier to find and Jim had just looked at him and said seriously, "Where's the fun in that, Bones?"
So, Jim's eyes really are that blue, though there is nothing mystical or magical about them. They do not have super powers and he cannot look into someone's soul or read someone's mind. He can't use his eyes to make someone do something they don't want to do. They are just eyes. Plain ol' blue eyes. Nothing special. Nothing at all, damn it.
"Hey, Bones," Jim interrupts his thoughts with a heavy hand on his shoulder before he moves to take the seat across from him. "What's with the frowny face? Something got your panties in a twist?" he asks playfully as he takes a bite of his sandwich. And okay, maybe his eyes do kind of twinkle when he teases and the lines around his eyes aren't…horrible.
"Infant," McCoy mutters as he returns his attention to his own lunch, not about to admit to what he was actually going through his mind.
Jim grins even more and his eyes sparkle a bit, but it's only because of the light coming in from the windows behind McCoy. Really.
"So I was thinking about tonight," Jim tells him, not breaking eye contact even as he reaches for a fry and drags it through the ketchup on his plate. "After dinner what do you say we go into the city and check out that little bar we saw last week? The one you said didn't have any 'dang fool techno crap' blaring from it."
"No, Jim," McCoy shook his head, not quite able to look away. "I need to study."
"Come on," Jim whines slightly, and then bats his eyelashes like a fool.
"No, Jim," McCoy replies a bit harsher than he meant. But damn it, he is not some weak-kneed female who would fall the old batting of the eyelashes routine.
Jim cocks his head and frowns slightly, his eyes doing this…thing…and McCoy feels his stomach tighten in response, almost like guilt, though what does he have to feel guilty about? "Bones…" he tries again, this time his eyes wide and hopeful.
"No Jim," he resists. "I ain't got time for you and your fool notions. Some of us have to study, damn it."
And then Jim's eyes lose their intensity and their color seems to dim as Jim looks down at his plate, his face perfectly line free and his lips pursed as he nods slowly, all the playfulness gone and McCoy now feels terrible.
"Yeah, I guess, it's just…" the younger man says slowly. He pauses and then glances over at McCoy quickly before looking back at his plate, absently playing with a fry in the pool of ketchup that covers half his damn plate. "I looked them up and they have an impressive array of whiskeys and there's a tasting tonight." He looks up at McCoy, his head slightly ducked as his eyes plead…and damn it, he has never seen a puppy dog with blue eyes until he met Jim Kirk.
McCoy sighs and sits back in his chair, resigned. "A whiskey tasting?"
"Uh huh," Jim is now nodding enthusiastically, his eyes wide and earnest as he leans forward, elbows on the table. "Thirty different kinds from all around Earth and a few of the territories."
"The only good stuff comes from the south," McCoy tells him.
"You won't know until you try," Jim says impishly. "Come on, Bones, it's Friday. I'll even buy you dinner at that Chinese place you like. It's just down the street from the bar." Now his eyes are twinkling damn it and the crinkled lines are back.
"All right," McCoy gives in, just as they both knew he would eventually. "But you can't have any of my egg rolls. Order your own."
Jim just smiles at him and McCoy allows himself to bask, just for a second, in the glowing friendship and approval that he feels coming from Jim as he winks and then settles in to finish off his sandwich.
"This place is going to be awesome, Bones," Jim tells him, his blue eyes sparkling again with the idea of a night out. "You won't regret it."
McCoy rolls his eyes before he attacks his salad. "Where have I heard that before?" He's not willing to meet Jim's eyes again. He knows the kid has something else planned for the evening, he always does, but if he doesn't look at the kid, he won't have to give in – yet. As long as he avoids eye contact he's safe.
McCoy shakes his head sadly at his own delusions. He's as bad as everyone else.
Honestly, they are just blue eyes; very pretty, very blue eyes, but nothing special. Really. They don't have any special powers, except maybe to get him to do things that he knows he shouldn't. They can't read anyone's mind or look into their soul; at least he's pretty sure they can't.
Honestly, it's not the eyes, it's the man; the stupid, idiotic, brilliant, reckless boy-child of a man.
The eyes are just a tool. It's the man you have to look out for.
For those of you waiting for the next story in my Consequences 'verse, you don't have long to wait. If all goes to plan I'll be posting the first chapter of Completion this Sunday.