Fic: Kitchen Consequential (14/18)
Jan. 24th, 2010 03:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Kitchen Consequential (14/18)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,379
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon. Includes minor character death.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 14: Everything was falling so nicely into place that Len never saw it coming. And he sure as hell couldn't do it alone.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
One morning it just...happened. Len opened his eyes halfway, adjusting to the light filtering into the room, and there was Jim lying beside him as usual, taking up most of the covers with a leg slung over Len's thighs—like he owned the bedroom and everything in it, including the bed and its owner. Len's own body was curled toward his roommate, his arm wrapped around Jim's waist and his nose buried in soft, blond-brown hair that smelled of day-old generic shampoo and gel.
Jim's lashes fluttered a few minutes after Len shifted to stare down at him and he peered up with a whisper. "Hey."
"Hey, Jimmy," he whispered back.
And then Jim tilted his face up and Len leaned in to kiss him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Bones," Jim breathed against his mouth between kisses. And while the nickname was previously grating at best, it suddenly sounded like the sexiest thing on god's green Earth. Len pulled him close and the kid wrapped around him like a barnacle, like Len was the only steady thing he knew—a sturdy dock in a vast, punishing sea. Sure, there was some lingering morning breath between them, but Len didn't care a bit. Jim tasted as good as Len imagined he would, and it was only when his tongue was properly scouring the edges of his teeth and the roof of his mouth that he realized he had been imagining it—for quite some time, actually.
See, Len knew Jim had a bit of a crush on him; Jim was a flirt and he'd been terrible at hiding it from the start. And the kid's homegrown, corn-fed good looks weren't lost on Len, not at all. But he knew Jim had a lot of growing up to do. Starfleet had turned out to be just what the doctor ordered; it gave Jim such much-needed discipline and was teaching him to harness his gifts. Len would be remiss if he said he hadn't been impressed with how Jim handled that whole Kobayashi Maru debacle, too. And then the way he'd been so good with Joanna to boot, well...the "kid" was becoming a man, wasn't he? Even if he did still slip into bed with Len every night. Not that Len minded.
Jim was already shirtless, which gave Len free range to slide his hands over his chest and back and feel all that glorious, solid muscle. He'd been attracted to a few men throughout his life but Jocelyn had been his high-school sweetheart, and until things fell apart, he didn't have much reason for looking elsewhere. Then Jim came along, who he couldn't help but look at, he burned and burned with such a blinding glow. "Fuck, Jim," Len groaned, sucking a bruising kiss into the curve of his neck. Jim gasped and pushed up at Len's white tank, scratching the places that needed to be scratched, thumbing his nipples until he shook with want. Jim moaned when he felt Len tremble, grabbing at his ass.
"Wanted this for so long, Bones..."
"I know, Jim."
Len let Jim pull him closer, until the only barriers between them were the thin material of Jim's ratty old boxer-briefs and his own worn, cotton plaid shorts. He reached to pull Jim's underwear down, kissing away the hiss that spilled from his lips when the elastic slid over his cock. Len looked down and felt his mouth water instantaneously; the kid was well-endowed, to be sure. And though he wanted nothing more than to taste, his own cock was throbbing and desperate for friction, so he got off his own shorts and let Jim's barnacle limbs do the work for him.
Jim made a desperate sort of gasping noise when their cocks found each other, and he clasped Len's nape to pull him into a kiss, setting the rhythm. It was fast, way too fast for Len to last, and he could only take it for a few seconds before he nipped at Jim's mouth and grunted, shifting their bodies so he was on top. Len forced Jim's twitching hips down and kissed his cheekbone, his throat, his shoulder, to soothe and calm him down a bit. Then, when Jim felt less like he was going to shatter like a quail egg in a blender, Len made his own rhythm, moving his hips in a careful rocking motion. Jim made a sound again, but a quieter, satisfied sound, like he'd shut his eyes and found heaven or home; wherever it was that he'd always been searching out.
The kissing continued, deep and lazy but frantic at the same time. It had been too long since Len had had sex with something other than his hand and though Jim got around when he had time and was able, he moved his hips and ran his fingers through Len's hair with an urgency that suggested he'd been waiting for eons. His cock was long and hot and seemed to lean toward Len's like a fucking daffodil in sunlight and Len just couldn't get over how fucking perfect he was. A perfectly foolish, reckless, rebellious, handsome idiot, moving like languid sex beneath him—his Jim. Len came with his mouth on Jim's jaw, the stubble scraping his chapped lips as he shot heavily over his roommate's quivering stomach. Jim whispered—"Bones, yes"—before climaxing soundlessly, spine arching off the bed like a goddamn rainbow after the storm.
They each took a while to catch their breath. Jim looked nervous for a second and Len felt a panicky twinge in his gut as well, but then he just leaned down and kissed the shell of his ear and the warm, flushed skin beneath it. Jim sighed, sounding relieved and happy, and Len knew it was going to be all right.
"Oh, goddamn it," Len muttered then, his mouth pressed to Jim's neck.
"What's wrong?"
"You know what day it is, don't you?" he asked. Jim shook his head no and Len smirked, leaning back to look at him. "It's Christmas."
Jim blinked at him and laughed. "How did I forget it was Christmas?"
"Well...no money to go home, overworked and underpaid...I guess it's easy to forget."
"Well, shit." Jim sighed, curling close to him. "Speaking of underpaid, I couldn't really afford to get you anything, so...merry Christmas! I got you my cock."
Len bit back a laugh and nodded. "It was very special, Jimmy."
"Shut up, it was," Jim groused. "You liked it. You want more."
"Maybe I do," Len said. He turned and reached into his nightstand drawer, pulling out a small package wrapped in red and green striped paper. Jim blinked in surprise and sat up, dabbing at the stains on his stomach with the sheets before taking the package when Len handed it to him. He looked at it for a long moment with a small, disbelieving smile on his face. Len had to grin at that. "Come on, open it. If there's a puppy in there and it suffocates to death, it'll be on your head."
"As if you would ever put up with a puppy." Jim carefully tore away the wrapping paper and opened the box, going wide-eyed at the contents. He hesitated before lifting up a pristine pair of boxer-briefs—one of a dozen. "You got me underwear," he stated, looking at the label. Len nodded slowly.
"I did. You spent all your mom's mad money on that damn Thanksgiving dinner, and don't think I didn't notice. So, here. Underwear. You need 'em."
"Yeah, I really do." Jim laughed suddenly, counting the rest in the box and shaking his head. "Well, thanks, Uncle Len. Should I model them for you?" He gave Len a lascivious grin, the kind only Jim Kirk could pull off. Len just laughed quietly, shaking his head.
"No, don't you dare."
"No?" Jim repeated, putting the box aside. Len took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the kid and pull him close, sliding a hand down his side to that well-sculpted behind. Jim shivered as Len caressed the back of his thigh and he smiled. His Jim was damn beautiful and it was freeing to finally convey that he thought so.
"No. You stay just like this," he murmured.
"You got it," Jim whispered. He tangled his fingers in Len's hair as he reunited their lips and tongues.
*
It was the first Christmas Len had ever spent entirely in bed. Well, that wasn't entirely true—he did get up once to make some requisite calls to family and order take-out, though Jim was the one who lost the coin toss on who had to go collect it when the delivery boy arrived. It took all of Len's collective nagging and cajoling abilities to get Jim to agree to put on some pants before he went to answer the door.
His phone buzzed in the middle of the night. Len awoke to the lingering smell of whatever was left in their discarded beef lo mein and Kung Pao chicken containers; the Chinese hole in the wall a few blocks away was the only local place open on Christmas day. He squinted at his alarm clock and exhaled when he saw it was only around four in the morning. Any call placed that early in the day was never a good one.
He grabbed his phone and answered it, his voice edged with sleep. "Hullo?"
"Leonard, it's me." His mother. Calling before dawn, the day after Christmas, when he'd already called to (begrudgingly) wish her and his dad a happy one. Her voice wavered a little and he just knew. "Come home," she said softly. "Daddy's had a stroke."
"Yeah," he murmured. "All right. I'm coming."
A few minutes later, he was fumbling around in the dark for clothes, trying not to disturb Jim. He ended up nearly tripping over the box of underwear on his way to the bathroom, and the resulting angry curse did a good job of rousing him. Jim sat up and rubbed at his eyes, looking between Len and the alarm clock's display.
"Where're you goin'...?" he mumbled.
"Home," he said. "Georgia. My dad's in the hospital."
Jim blinked and furrowed his brow, scratching at the half-beard growing along his jaw line and kicking the covers away. "Okay," he answered. "Do I have time to shave and take a shower?"
Len hesitated and then wondered why he was even experiencing a hint of surprise; as if Jim wouldn't volunteer himself to come along. And strangely enough, Len had no interest in discouraging him. This was kind of big and he was kind of dependent on Jim now. The thought of sitting in a blank hospital room, alone with his mother and his sickly father, made his skin crawl a little. So, this was fine. His mother would pay him back for the plane ticket anyway, so he'd just spend a little of his own money on Jim's.
"Yeah, go ahead," he said. He moved so Jim could have a clear path to the bathroom, and he pretended not to notice when his hand grazed Len's hip along the way. He went and started packing bags for both of them.
The flight itself was blessedly dull. It was only the second time Jim had ever been on a plane, not counting when his mother flew him back to her family's home in Iowa from New York City, back when he was still a baby. He paid very close attention to the safety guidelines and procedures, watching the flight attendants closely as they demonstrated how to use all of the equipment. Len closed his eyes and tried to tune it all out, making a noise of frustration when Jim shook his arm.
"Bones, why aren't you paying attention? This is important shit. You need to know what to do if we have a water landing."
"Jim, we're flying from New York to Georgia. There isn't any goddamn water between the two places."
"Well, there's lakes and things," Jim huffed, looking back at the flight attendant. After that, he spent most of his time looking out the window and flipping through the in-flight magazine, as well as the issue of Gourmet that Len had bought him back in the airport.
When they touched down, they went to collect their things at baggage claim and Len looked around for a driver holding up a sign that said his name; his mother had told him she'd send a car to pick him up. Jim seemed a little boggled by the fact that there was actually someone waiting to drive them around—Len had never been entirely forthcoming with him on how much money was in his family. He figured there was no need; Jim was as genuine a person as could be and though he was after a lot of things in this world, some more tangible than others, money wasn't really one of them.
They let the driver lead them out of the terminal and it was then that Len remembered he hadn't yet turned on his phone since they landed. There was a message waiting for him and he listened as the driver loaded their bags into the trunk of the town car.
"Leonard." His mother again. Sobbing, in tears. "He's gone. Daddy's gone. Meet us at the house when you get here."
He closed his phone and looked at the car blankly until Jim stepped close and touched his shoulder, looked at him like he was a million miles away. And he was. "Bones, everything okay?" he asked, eyes wide and questioning. Genuine.
"We, um..." Len took a shaky breath and glanced away from Jim, opening the car door before the driver could do it for him. He ushered Jim inside and then nodded to the driver, giving him his parents' home address. "Take us there instead, all right?"
"Where's that?" Jim asked, making room for Len to sit. "What about the hospital?"
Len pulled the door shut and stared straight ahead. "No hospital. We're going home."
"Oh," Jim said, and nothing more. Len didn't have to look at him to know that the kid knew all too well what had constituted the change of plans. Jim laid a hand gently on his knee and Len let him.
*
They buried Len's father a few days later, on a partly cloudy morning. Len stood stock still in his hatefully stiff wool-blend suit, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the coffin lowered into the ground. Jim stood by his side in a suit as well; an old one of Len's that he'd worn when he was a few years younger and thinner than he was now. It was a little tight on Jim, pulling at his shoulders, but he looked good. He didn't try to hold Len's hand or embrace him or anything, and for that, Len was eternally grateful. The past few days had been strange enough, what with trying to explain to his mother and the rest of their family that Jim was a "good friend" who somehow saw fit to accompany Len down to Georgia to visit his ailing father.
And, in addition to avoiding any possible awkwardness, Len just didn't want Jim to touch him right now. He didn't want anyone to touch him. He probably would have shied away from his own daughter at that moment, watching his daddy sink down into the earth, the dirt raining down to cover him for the rest of time.
He couldn't even remember the last thing he'd said to his father, though he was sure it probably wasn't too nice. He hadn't come to the phone when Len called on Christmas.
That night, they all ate in a fancy restaurant and Len's family members traded memories and shed some tears. He barely listened to what anyone was saying, fixating on Jim instead and the way he pulled faces at almost everything he was served, as none of it seemed to be up to his standards of cooking. He poked at his ham and caught Len's eye, sticking out his tongue with a mischievous little smile, and Len couldn't help but mirror the expression, just a tiny bit.
When they got home, Len told Jim he needed some alone time and shooed him off to go watch television with his mother and aunt, who'd both taken a liking to him—unsurprising, considering how handsome Jim was. Len fetched himself a bottle of Jack Daniels from his father's ornate liquor cabinet and went up to his room to drink and drink and drink some more. Hell, it wasn't like his daddy would need it now. The more he drank, the more frustrated he got, the angrier he felt. His father—Mr. "You're a Disappointment, Why Couldn't You Have Stayed in Med School?" McCoy—was dead, fucking gone and dead. And Len would never be able to show him that he made the right decision in going to culinary school and pursuing his love of cooking. He'd never be able to prove himself, not ever, and if that didn't deserve a bottle of whiskey and some old-fashioned rage, what the hell in this world ever would?
He'd smashed a lamp and two picture frames by the time Jim came into the room. And then strong hands were grappling with him, trying to make him go still.
"Bones, don't! Your mom's right downstairs; you don't want her to hear—"
"Goddamn it, Jim, get off me!" he bellowed, pushing Jim into the side of the bed. Jim gave him a wounded puppy sort of look and Len felt dizzy, turning away from it, from the damn beautiful sight of him; all that goodness made him feel even more worthless than he already was. "Go sleep in the guest room, just...get the hell out of here, got it?"
"Bones, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you like this. Just...try to calm down, okay? I know it hurts; I know how you feel."
Len bristled at that, clenching his hands into fists and raising his voice to a veritable roar. "Jim, will you shut the hell up for once? You don't know how I feel—you never even had a father! You don't know anything about fuckin' anything, kid!"
Despite the massive amount of alcohol swimming in his bloodstream, he knew the words were wrong as soon as they left his mouth; they were shoot-to-kill. Jim crumpled against the bed, pinning him with a dead-eyed stare until he was scrambling to get up, licking his lips and shaking his head as he babbled, desperate to get away from Len and his fucked-up problems, his angry, maniacal bullshit.
"M'just—down the hall, I'll... Yeah, fine, okay, I don't—you're right, I..."
"Jim," he blurted out, the sight of his retreating back enough to make Len fall apart completely. Jim, god bless him, stopped and turned around, and when he saw that Len was falling forward, he lifted his arms to catch him, gather him close. He pressed himself to Jim's strong frame and when he felt a hand shield the back of his head, he let himself really lose it, just heave out all of the badness brewing inside him, nearly choking with the force of his sobs. "Jimmy, don't go," he begged. Jim held him tighter.
"I won't go, Bones, I won't," he whispered. "Never leave you alone. I love you, okay? That's why I'm here. I'm not gonna leave, 'cause I love you."
Len didn't know what to say to that, his head sloshing with impossibly deep rivers of grief, his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of Jim and the alcohol making everything heavy and grainy. He pressed his face to Jim's neck and curled his fingers in his shirt, the same one Len wore to his high school graduation; it belonged, like so many things, to a time and a place he would never get back. It was funny, how well it wore on the back of Jim Kirk, the perennial symbol of Len's new life.
"I never was good enough," he said tearfully. "Never...made him proud. And now..."
"It's okay, Bones," Jim whispered, rubbing his back soothingly. "You've got Joanna to be proud of you. And your mom and me...and probably even Jocelyn. You've got you. You were never doing it for him; you were doing it for you."
"Ah, hell, Jim," he murmured, sniffling. "I'm sorry. I'm so...I didn't mean—"
"I know you didn't." Jim smiled tightly, the hurt in his eyes betraying him. But he could pretend and so could Len, and that was all right. "Let's get you into bed, okay? You're gonna be hurting in the morning, I know it."
"You won't go?" Len asked, as Jim carefully undressed him and poured him into bed.
"Cross my heart."
And bless him again, a thousand times—when Len opened his eyes the next morning, Jim was right there, spooned up behind him and shoulders hunched, like a protective guard dog doing his job even in his sleep.
*
It didn't feel like much of a New Year's Eve, but they were home in New York and Len supposed that was something. He made a roast, needing something to do with his hands besides pouring himself a drink, and they stuffed themselves with the meat and Jim's truly excellent side dishes until they were full and drowsy on the couch, watching some kind of countdown special with annoying hosts and terrible music. Len idly wondered what their friends from Starfleet were getting up to—Uhura, Gaila, Riley and the rest—but whatever mischief they had planned, be it dancing or bar-hopping or any remotely fun activity young people did, Len knew he'd rather be on this sofa with Jim, practically falling asleep an hour before midnight.
"That roast was killer," Jim commented, yawning as he watched the inane show. He looked as tired as Len felt, probably still exhausted from the flight back home earlier in the day.
"Couldn't beat those potatoes," Len answered. He wrapped an arm around Jim's shoulders and marveled at how easily he sank into the embrace. Len almost expected Jim to be a little distant after the terrible things he'd said to him down in Georgia. He deserved that much. "Jim," he said quietly, "I really am sorry for—"
"Bones, stop apologizing." Jim lolled his head back to peer up at him. "You were drunk and upset...I can't blame you for any of that. I mean...it's your dad."
"It's weird," Len murmured. "We were never all that close and yet...I goddamn well miss him, now he's gone. Miss him telling me how disappointed he is in me for quitting med school and all that. I mean, good god, that's just sick."
Jim laughed at that, sliding a hand over Len's thigh. "Can't help the things we miss about people, I suppose. But I'm fucking glad you quit med school. Why save lives when you could be preparing exquisite gourmet meals and putting out my grease fires?"
"Thanks, kid. Good to know that all my hard work has culminated in being your resident fireman when you screw the pooch."
"I'd rather screw you," Jim replied sweetly, batting his eyelashes. Len laughed and motioned to the television.
"At midnight, okay? I'm staying chaste until then, like a proper gentleman."
"You're such an old man sometimes," Jim said, pouting. He burrowed against Len's side and he just smirked, letting out a deep breath and resting his eyes.
When he lifted his eyelids next, there was an infomercial playing on TV and Jim was still curled against him, now fast asleep. According to the clock, it was a quarter after five. Len grunted and rubbed at his forehead, laughing at himself. He nudged Jim awake as gently as he could.
"Whassat?" Jim mumbled, looking around with a start.
"Come on, Jim. Bed. We fell asleep before midnight."
"We missed it?" Jim blinked tiredly, looking crestfallen. "Oh, god, now we're both old men. Thanks a lot."
"You're welcome. Now, let's go be old men in a proper bed. My neck's killing me."
They went to Len's bedroom together, Jim's tiny twin-sized bed seemingly a faded memory by then. He pulled the door shut behind them and was pleasantly surprised when Jim pulled him into a deep kiss, molding himself to Len's body. He returned the kiss eagerly, keeping it slow but tender, and when Jim finally pulled back, his tongue tracing some kind of secrets inside and against Len's mouth, he sighed and ran his hands over Jim's hips, whispering into the dark of the room.
"Love you, Jim."
Jim smiled and stripped off all of his clothes, standing naked and thoroughly inviting before Len. He reached forward and traced the cut lines of Jim's hipbones, mouthed against his clavicle. It didn't take Len long to remove his own clothes after Jim sauntered over to the bed, lying across the mattress and letting his legs fall open. The sheets were still rumpled from their quick exit a week before, and they framed Jim's body perfectly, all its dimples and soft curves and hard angles. Len licked his lips at the sight and went to the nightstand, retrieving lube and one of the two condoms left inside the drawer.
"Guess you'll have to buy more," Jim said, grinning. "Now you have a reason."
"Halle-fucking-lujah," he drawled.
He wasn't quite prepared for Jim's tight, delicious heat, all that pleasurable sensation sweeping over him. Len ran his hands over Jim's biceps and down his sides, watching those blue eyes flicker and burn bright even in the shadows of the unlit room. He spread Jim's thighs further and teased him, fucked him slow and deep, just like he deserved it, until everything spilling from Jim's lips was love you Bones love you and it didn't matter who was proud and who wasn't and who was even paying attention, because the world started and ended with Jim and the way he brimmed over with all that right powerful love, pulling Len down to the body against which he belonged.
Previous: Chapter 13 || Next: Chapter 15
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,379
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon. Includes minor character death.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 14: Everything was falling so nicely into place that Len never saw it coming. And he sure as hell couldn't do it alone.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
One morning it just...happened. Len opened his eyes halfway, adjusting to the light filtering into the room, and there was Jim lying beside him as usual, taking up most of the covers with a leg slung over Len's thighs—like he owned the bedroom and everything in it, including the bed and its owner. Len's own body was curled toward his roommate, his arm wrapped around Jim's waist and his nose buried in soft, blond-brown hair that smelled of day-old generic shampoo and gel.
Jim's lashes fluttered a few minutes after Len shifted to stare down at him and he peered up with a whisper. "Hey."
"Hey, Jimmy," he whispered back.
And then Jim tilted his face up and Len leaned in to kiss him like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Bones," Jim breathed against his mouth between kisses. And while the nickname was previously grating at best, it suddenly sounded like the sexiest thing on god's green Earth. Len pulled him close and the kid wrapped around him like a barnacle, like Len was the only steady thing he knew—a sturdy dock in a vast, punishing sea. Sure, there was some lingering morning breath between them, but Len didn't care a bit. Jim tasted as good as Len imagined he would, and it was only when his tongue was properly scouring the edges of his teeth and the roof of his mouth that he realized he had been imagining it—for quite some time, actually.
See, Len knew Jim had a bit of a crush on him; Jim was a flirt and he'd been terrible at hiding it from the start. And the kid's homegrown, corn-fed good looks weren't lost on Len, not at all. But he knew Jim had a lot of growing up to do. Starfleet had turned out to be just what the doctor ordered; it gave Jim such much-needed discipline and was teaching him to harness his gifts. Len would be remiss if he said he hadn't been impressed with how Jim handled that whole Kobayashi Maru debacle, too. And then the way he'd been so good with Joanna to boot, well...the "kid" was becoming a man, wasn't he? Even if he did still slip into bed with Len every night. Not that Len minded.
Jim was already shirtless, which gave Len free range to slide his hands over his chest and back and feel all that glorious, solid muscle. He'd been attracted to a few men throughout his life but Jocelyn had been his high-school sweetheart, and until things fell apart, he didn't have much reason for looking elsewhere. Then Jim came along, who he couldn't help but look at, he burned and burned with such a blinding glow. "Fuck, Jim," Len groaned, sucking a bruising kiss into the curve of his neck. Jim gasped and pushed up at Len's white tank, scratching the places that needed to be scratched, thumbing his nipples until he shook with want. Jim moaned when he felt Len tremble, grabbing at his ass.
"Wanted this for so long, Bones..."
"I know, Jim."
Len let Jim pull him closer, until the only barriers between them were the thin material of Jim's ratty old boxer-briefs and his own worn, cotton plaid shorts. He reached to pull Jim's underwear down, kissing away the hiss that spilled from his lips when the elastic slid over his cock. Len looked down and felt his mouth water instantaneously; the kid was well-endowed, to be sure. And though he wanted nothing more than to taste, his own cock was throbbing and desperate for friction, so he got off his own shorts and let Jim's barnacle limbs do the work for him.
Jim made a desperate sort of gasping noise when their cocks found each other, and he clasped Len's nape to pull him into a kiss, setting the rhythm. It was fast, way too fast for Len to last, and he could only take it for a few seconds before he nipped at Jim's mouth and grunted, shifting their bodies so he was on top. Len forced Jim's twitching hips down and kissed his cheekbone, his throat, his shoulder, to soothe and calm him down a bit. Then, when Jim felt less like he was going to shatter like a quail egg in a blender, Len made his own rhythm, moving his hips in a careful rocking motion. Jim made a sound again, but a quieter, satisfied sound, like he'd shut his eyes and found heaven or home; wherever it was that he'd always been searching out.
The kissing continued, deep and lazy but frantic at the same time. It had been too long since Len had had sex with something other than his hand and though Jim got around when he had time and was able, he moved his hips and ran his fingers through Len's hair with an urgency that suggested he'd been waiting for eons. His cock was long and hot and seemed to lean toward Len's like a fucking daffodil in sunlight and Len just couldn't get over how fucking perfect he was. A perfectly foolish, reckless, rebellious, handsome idiot, moving like languid sex beneath him—his Jim. Len came with his mouth on Jim's jaw, the stubble scraping his chapped lips as he shot heavily over his roommate's quivering stomach. Jim whispered—"Bones, yes"—before climaxing soundlessly, spine arching off the bed like a goddamn rainbow after the storm.
They each took a while to catch their breath. Jim looked nervous for a second and Len felt a panicky twinge in his gut as well, but then he just leaned down and kissed the shell of his ear and the warm, flushed skin beneath it. Jim sighed, sounding relieved and happy, and Len knew it was going to be all right.
"Oh, goddamn it," Len muttered then, his mouth pressed to Jim's neck.
"What's wrong?"
"You know what day it is, don't you?" he asked. Jim shook his head no and Len smirked, leaning back to look at him. "It's Christmas."
Jim blinked at him and laughed. "How did I forget it was Christmas?"
"Well...no money to go home, overworked and underpaid...I guess it's easy to forget."
"Well, shit." Jim sighed, curling close to him. "Speaking of underpaid, I couldn't really afford to get you anything, so...merry Christmas! I got you my cock."
Len bit back a laugh and nodded. "It was very special, Jimmy."
"Shut up, it was," Jim groused. "You liked it. You want more."
"Maybe I do," Len said. He turned and reached into his nightstand drawer, pulling out a small package wrapped in red and green striped paper. Jim blinked in surprise and sat up, dabbing at the stains on his stomach with the sheets before taking the package when Len handed it to him. He looked at it for a long moment with a small, disbelieving smile on his face. Len had to grin at that. "Come on, open it. If there's a puppy in there and it suffocates to death, it'll be on your head."
"As if you would ever put up with a puppy." Jim carefully tore away the wrapping paper and opened the box, going wide-eyed at the contents. He hesitated before lifting up a pristine pair of boxer-briefs—one of a dozen. "You got me underwear," he stated, looking at the label. Len nodded slowly.
"I did. You spent all your mom's mad money on that damn Thanksgiving dinner, and don't think I didn't notice. So, here. Underwear. You need 'em."
"Yeah, I really do." Jim laughed suddenly, counting the rest in the box and shaking his head. "Well, thanks, Uncle Len. Should I model them for you?" He gave Len a lascivious grin, the kind only Jim Kirk could pull off. Len just laughed quietly, shaking his head.
"No, don't you dare."
"No?" Jim repeated, putting the box aside. Len took the opportunity to wrap his arms around the kid and pull him close, sliding a hand down his side to that well-sculpted behind. Jim shivered as Len caressed the back of his thigh and he smiled. His Jim was damn beautiful and it was freeing to finally convey that he thought so.
"No. You stay just like this," he murmured.
"You got it," Jim whispered. He tangled his fingers in Len's hair as he reunited their lips and tongues.
*
It was the first Christmas Len had ever spent entirely in bed. Well, that wasn't entirely true—he did get up once to make some requisite calls to family and order take-out, though Jim was the one who lost the coin toss on who had to go collect it when the delivery boy arrived. It took all of Len's collective nagging and cajoling abilities to get Jim to agree to put on some pants before he went to answer the door.
His phone buzzed in the middle of the night. Len awoke to the lingering smell of whatever was left in their discarded beef lo mein and Kung Pao chicken containers; the Chinese hole in the wall a few blocks away was the only local place open on Christmas day. He squinted at his alarm clock and exhaled when he saw it was only around four in the morning. Any call placed that early in the day was never a good one.
He grabbed his phone and answered it, his voice edged with sleep. "Hullo?"
"Leonard, it's me." His mother. Calling before dawn, the day after Christmas, when he'd already called to (begrudgingly) wish her and his dad a happy one. Her voice wavered a little and he just knew. "Come home," she said softly. "Daddy's had a stroke."
"Yeah," he murmured. "All right. I'm coming."
A few minutes later, he was fumbling around in the dark for clothes, trying not to disturb Jim. He ended up nearly tripping over the box of underwear on his way to the bathroom, and the resulting angry curse did a good job of rousing him. Jim sat up and rubbed at his eyes, looking between Len and the alarm clock's display.
"Where're you goin'...?" he mumbled.
"Home," he said. "Georgia. My dad's in the hospital."
Jim blinked and furrowed his brow, scratching at the half-beard growing along his jaw line and kicking the covers away. "Okay," he answered. "Do I have time to shave and take a shower?"
Len hesitated and then wondered why he was even experiencing a hint of surprise; as if Jim wouldn't volunteer himself to come along. And strangely enough, Len had no interest in discouraging him. This was kind of big and he was kind of dependent on Jim now. The thought of sitting in a blank hospital room, alone with his mother and his sickly father, made his skin crawl a little. So, this was fine. His mother would pay him back for the plane ticket anyway, so he'd just spend a little of his own money on Jim's.
"Yeah, go ahead," he said. He moved so Jim could have a clear path to the bathroom, and he pretended not to notice when his hand grazed Len's hip along the way. He went and started packing bags for both of them.
The flight itself was blessedly dull. It was only the second time Jim had ever been on a plane, not counting when his mother flew him back to her family's home in Iowa from New York City, back when he was still a baby. He paid very close attention to the safety guidelines and procedures, watching the flight attendants closely as they demonstrated how to use all of the equipment. Len closed his eyes and tried to tune it all out, making a noise of frustration when Jim shook his arm.
"Bones, why aren't you paying attention? This is important shit. You need to know what to do if we have a water landing."
"Jim, we're flying from New York to Georgia. There isn't any goddamn water between the two places."
"Well, there's lakes and things," Jim huffed, looking back at the flight attendant. After that, he spent most of his time looking out the window and flipping through the in-flight magazine, as well as the issue of Gourmet that Len had bought him back in the airport.
When they touched down, they went to collect their things at baggage claim and Len looked around for a driver holding up a sign that said his name; his mother had told him she'd send a car to pick him up. Jim seemed a little boggled by the fact that there was actually someone waiting to drive them around—Len had never been entirely forthcoming with him on how much money was in his family. He figured there was no need; Jim was as genuine a person as could be and though he was after a lot of things in this world, some more tangible than others, money wasn't really one of them.
They let the driver lead them out of the terminal and it was then that Len remembered he hadn't yet turned on his phone since they landed. There was a message waiting for him and he listened as the driver loaded their bags into the trunk of the town car.
"Leonard." His mother again. Sobbing, in tears. "He's gone. Daddy's gone. Meet us at the house when you get here."
He closed his phone and looked at the car blankly until Jim stepped close and touched his shoulder, looked at him like he was a million miles away. And he was. "Bones, everything okay?" he asked, eyes wide and questioning. Genuine.
"We, um..." Len took a shaky breath and glanced away from Jim, opening the car door before the driver could do it for him. He ushered Jim inside and then nodded to the driver, giving him his parents' home address. "Take us there instead, all right?"
"Where's that?" Jim asked, making room for Len to sit. "What about the hospital?"
Len pulled the door shut and stared straight ahead. "No hospital. We're going home."
"Oh," Jim said, and nothing more. Len didn't have to look at him to know that the kid knew all too well what had constituted the change of plans. Jim laid a hand gently on his knee and Len let him.
*
They buried Len's father a few days later, on a partly cloudy morning. Len stood stock still in his hatefully stiff wool-blend suit, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the coffin lowered into the ground. Jim stood by his side in a suit as well; an old one of Len's that he'd worn when he was a few years younger and thinner than he was now. It was a little tight on Jim, pulling at his shoulders, but he looked good. He didn't try to hold Len's hand or embrace him or anything, and for that, Len was eternally grateful. The past few days had been strange enough, what with trying to explain to his mother and the rest of their family that Jim was a "good friend" who somehow saw fit to accompany Len down to Georgia to visit his ailing father.
And, in addition to avoiding any possible awkwardness, Len just didn't want Jim to touch him right now. He didn't want anyone to touch him. He probably would have shied away from his own daughter at that moment, watching his daddy sink down into the earth, the dirt raining down to cover him for the rest of time.
He couldn't even remember the last thing he'd said to his father, though he was sure it probably wasn't too nice. He hadn't come to the phone when Len called on Christmas.
That night, they all ate in a fancy restaurant and Len's family members traded memories and shed some tears. He barely listened to what anyone was saying, fixating on Jim instead and the way he pulled faces at almost everything he was served, as none of it seemed to be up to his standards of cooking. He poked at his ham and caught Len's eye, sticking out his tongue with a mischievous little smile, and Len couldn't help but mirror the expression, just a tiny bit.
When they got home, Len told Jim he needed some alone time and shooed him off to go watch television with his mother and aunt, who'd both taken a liking to him—unsurprising, considering how handsome Jim was. Len fetched himself a bottle of Jack Daniels from his father's ornate liquor cabinet and went up to his room to drink and drink and drink some more. Hell, it wasn't like his daddy would need it now. The more he drank, the more frustrated he got, the angrier he felt. His father—Mr. "You're a Disappointment, Why Couldn't You Have Stayed in Med School?" McCoy—was dead, fucking gone and dead. And Len would never be able to show him that he made the right decision in going to culinary school and pursuing his love of cooking. He'd never be able to prove himself, not ever, and if that didn't deserve a bottle of whiskey and some old-fashioned rage, what the hell in this world ever would?
He'd smashed a lamp and two picture frames by the time Jim came into the room. And then strong hands were grappling with him, trying to make him go still.
"Bones, don't! Your mom's right downstairs; you don't want her to hear—"
"Goddamn it, Jim, get off me!" he bellowed, pushing Jim into the side of the bed. Jim gave him a wounded puppy sort of look and Len felt dizzy, turning away from it, from the damn beautiful sight of him; all that goodness made him feel even more worthless than he already was. "Go sleep in the guest room, just...get the hell out of here, got it?"
"Bones, I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you like this. Just...try to calm down, okay? I know it hurts; I know how you feel."
Len bristled at that, clenching his hands into fists and raising his voice to a veritable roar. "Jim, will you shut the hell up for once? You don't know how I feel—you never even had a father! You don't know anything about fuckin' anything, kid!"
Despite the massive amount of alcohol swimming in his bloodstream, he knew the words were wrong as soon as they left his mouth; they were shoot-to-kill. Jim crumpled against the bed, pinning him with a dead-eyed stare until he was scrambling to get up, licking his lips and shaking his head as he babbled, desperate to get away from Len and his fucked-up problems, his angry, maniacal bullshit.
"M'just—down the hall, I'll... Yeah, fine, okay, I don't—you're right, I..."
"Jim," he blurted out, the sight of his retreating back enough to make Len fall apart completely. Jim, god bless him, stopped and turned around, and when he saw that Len was falling forward, he lifted his arms to catch him, gather him close. He pressed himself to Jim's strong frame and when he felt a hand shield the back of his head, he let himself really lose it, just heave out all of the badness brewing inside him, nearly choking with the force of his sobs. "Jimmy, don't go," he begged. Jim held him tighter.
"I won't go, Bones, I won't," he whispered. "Never leave you alone. I love you, okay? That's why I'm here. I'm not gonna leave, 'cause I love you."
Len didn't know what to say to that, his head sloshing with impossibly deep rivers of grief, his senses overwhelmed by the heady scent of Jim and the alcohol making everything heavy and grainy. He pressed his face to Jim's neck and curled his fingers in his shirt, the same one Len wore to his high school graduation; it belonged, like so many things, to a time and a place he would never get back. It was funny, how well it wore on the back of Jim Kirk, the perennial symbol of Len's new life.
"I never was good enough," he said tearfully. "Never...made him proud. And now..."
"It's okay, Bones," Jim whispered, rubbing his back soothingly. "You've got Joanna to be proud of you. And your mom and me...and probably even Jocelyn. You've got you. You were never doing it for him; you were doing it for you."
"Ah, hell, Jim," he murmured, sniffling. "I'm sorry. I'm so...I didn't mean—"
"I know you didn't." Jim smiled tightly, the hurt in his eyes betraying him. But he could pretend and so could Len, and that was all right. "Let's get you into bed, okay? You're gonna be hurting in the morning, I know it."
"You won't go?" Len asked, as Jim carefully undressed him and poured him into bed.
"Cross my heart."
And bless him again, a thousand times—when Len opened his eyes the next morning, Jim was right there, spooned up behind him and shoulders hunched, like a protective guard dog doing his job even in his sleep.
*
It didn't feel like much of a New Year's Eve, but they were home in New York and Len supposed that was something. He made a roast, needing something to do with his hands besides pouring himself a drink, and they stuffed themselves with the meat and Jim's truly excellent side dishes until they were full and drowsy on the couch, watching some kind of countdown special with annoying hosts and terrible music. Len idly wondered what their friends from Starfleet were getting up to—Uhura, Gaila, Riley and the rest—but whatever mischief they had planned, be it dancing or bar-hopping or any remotely fun activity young people did, Len knew he'd rather be on this sofa with Jim, practically falling asleep an hour before midnight.
"That roast was killer," Jim commented, yawning as he watched the inane show. He looked as tired as Len felt, probably still exhausted from the flight back home earlier in the day.
"Couldn't beat those potatoes," Len answered. He wrapped an arm around Jim's shoulders and marveled at how easily he sank into the embrace. Len almost expected Jim to be a little distant after the terrible things he'd said to him down in Georgia. He deserved that much. "Jim," he said quietly, "I really am sorry for—"
"Bones, stop apologizing." Jim lolled his head back to peer up at him. "You were drunk and upset...I can't blame you for any of that. I mean...it's your dad."
"It's weird," Len murmured. "We were never all that close and yet...I goddamn well miss him, now he's gone. Miss him telling me how disappointed he is in me for quitting med school and all that. I mean, good god, that's just sick."
Jim laughed at that, sliding a hand over Len's thigh. "Can't help the things we miss about people, I suppose. But I'm fucking glad you quit med school. Why save lives when you could be preparing exquisite gourmet meals and putting out my grease fires?"
"Thanks, kid. Good to know that all my hard work has culminated in being your resident fireman when you screw the pooch."
"I'd rather screw you," Jim replied sweetly, batting his eyelashes. Len laughed and motioned to the television.
"At midnight, okay? I'm staying chaste until then, like a proper gentleman."
"You're such an old man sometimes," Jim said, pouting. He burrowed against Len's side and he just smirked, letting out a deep breath and resting his eyes.
When he lifted his eyelids next, there was an infomercial playing on TV and Jim was still curled against him, now fast asleep. According to the clock, it was a quarter after five. Len grunted and rubbed at his forehead, laughing at himself. He nudged Jim awake as gently as he could.
"Whassat?" Jim mumbled, looking around with a start.
"Come on, Jim. Bed. We fell asleep before midnight."
"We missed it?" Jim blinked tiredly, looking crestfallen. "Oh, god, now we're both old men. Thanks a lot."
"You're welcome. Now, let's go be old men in a proper bed. My neck's killing me."
They went to Len's bedroom together, Jim's tiny twin-sized bed seemingly a faded memory by then. He pulled the door shut behind them and was pleasantly surprised when Jim pulled him into a deep kiss, molding himself to Len's body. He returned the kiss eagerly, keeping it slow but tender, and when Jim finally pulled back, his tongue tracing some kind of secrets inside and against Len's mouth, he sighed and ran his hands over Jim's hips, whispering into the dark of the room.
"Love you, Jim."
Jim smiled and stripped off all of his clothes, standing naked and thoroughly inviting before Len. He reached forward and traced the cut lines of Jim's hipbones, mouthed against his clavicle. It didn't take Len long to remove his own clothes after Jim sauntered over to the bed, lying across the mattress and letting his legs fall open. The sheets were still rumpled from their quick exit a week before, and they framed Jim's body perfectly, all its dimples and soft curves and hard angles. Len licked his lips at the sight and went to the nightstand, retrieving lube and one of the two condoms left inside the drawer.
"Guess you'll have to buy more," Jim said, grinning. "Now you have a reason."
"Halle-fucking-lujah," he drawled.
He wasn't quite prepared for Jim's tight, delicious heat, all that pleasurable sensation sweeping over him. Len ran his hands over Jim's biceps and down his sides, watching those blue eyes flicker and burn bright even in the shadows of the unlit room. He spread Jim's thighs further and teased him, fucked him slow and deep, just like he deserved it, until everything spilling from Jim's lips was love you Bones love you and it didn't matter who was proud and who wasn't and who was even paying attention, because the world started and ended with Jim and the way he brimmed over with all that right powerful love, pulling Len down to the body against which he belonged.
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