Fic: Kitchen Consequential (17/18)
Jan. 27th, 2010 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: Kitchen Consequential (17/18)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,814
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy, Winona, Joanna, OFC
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.
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 17: Jim knows he's done a lot of growing up; hell, even his mom can see it. Now, he's got a chance to show Bones just how much.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
"Dad! Daddy! Look, it has a fireplace!"
Joanna's all but jumping down and shrieking at Bones and the petite realtor tries valiantly to hide her wince. She turns to Bones and Jim and smiles kindly.
"It doesn't work, sadly. But it does lend an air of charm to the room, I think," she says.
"Yeah, I'll say." Bones smiles back at her, then goes over to wrangle his overexcited daughter away from the fireplace. "Jojo, don't you wanna check out the bedrooms? The one that'd be yours has a bathroom attached to it, you know."
"That's good, 'cause Uncle Jim takes forever in the mornings."
Jim turns to her and pouts. "Jo! See if I ever let you use my styling gel again."
Joanna just grins and runs down the hall to check out the bedroom that may or may not one day contain her things, her long and wavy brown hair flying behind her. The realtor gets a phone call about a second after that and excuses herself to take it, moving to the other side of the room so Jim and Bones can look around without interruption. Jim takes a few moments to eyeball the scope of the massive apartment, which takes up the entire second floor of an insanely beautiful brownstone on the Upper West Side. It's one of the biggest living spaces he's ever seen, save for Bones' parents' mansion and maybe Pike's loft. He darts a glance at the realtor, the slight frizz of her hair illuminated by the sunlight pouring in from the admittedly breathtaking bay windows behind her. Jim swallows, watching her laugh amiably as she speaks to whoever's on the other end of the line, maybe another client.
He tenses a bit when Bones' hands find his shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze. "So..." he says, his voice trailing off in an expectant tone. "What do you think, Jim?"
"It's, um...nice."
Bones steps back and looks at Jim with an amused quirk of his brow. "Nice? That's all you have to say about it?"
"Nice and...big?" Jim squints and scratches the back of his head, shrugging. He's got no fucking clue what to say about this place. It's gigantic and ritzy and so far removed from his mom's house back in Iowa, where he still resided a mere five years back, that it almost seems wrong to entertain the idea of living here. Then again, Bones has been going on about this place for the past week, having already seen it once on his own, and Jim knows that this is important to his partner. "Sorry, Bones. It really is a great place. I guess I'm just feeling overwhelmed."
Bones gives him one of those steely looks that mean he's sizing Jim up and seeing right through all his bullshit—an expression Jim is completely accustomed to after five years. He expects to get some big speech about how they're ready for this and Jim deserves it and blah blah blah, but Bones just drops a light kiss on his temple and whispers in his ear.
"Come and see the kitchen."
He lets Bones lead him in there, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, and when Jim sees it, he gasps so loudly and suddenly that it turns into a gurgle, trapped somewhere between his lungs and his throat. The appliances are all brand new and the sink gleams in stainless steel between marble countertops, a swan-necked faucet (with a detachable head) swooping elegantly into the air. There are long, knotty wooden islands, an ample amount of wall hooks for their many pots and pans and enough cabinet space to house nearly an entire supermarket's stock. More windows, too, and more glorious sunlight bathing everything in golden swaths of warmth.
It's his dream kitchen.
He realizes a few moments too late that he's standing there with his fingers curled against his chest, like an old queen clutching her pearls. Then he notices Bones laughing at him and drops his hand, taking a breath to collect himself. "Quit it," he protests, and Bones laughs again, but not cruelly.
"It's incredible, right? I knew it'd blow your socks off, kid."
"It's gorgeous." Jim steps toward the kitchen island and runs his fingertips along the wood grain, feeling it curve under his calluses. This kitchen is undeniably bigger and better than the one they have in their place up in Inwood, but the very thought of their apartment sends a pang of guilt through him. He's lived in Inwood for five years; aside from the very brief time he and his mom spent in New York when he was first born, he's only ever lived in one other house his entire life. And maybe their place doesn't have such an amazing kitchen or a separate bedroom for Joanna or a toilet that flushes half the time, but it's home. It's where he and Bones fell in love. It's everything. "It's really gorgeous," he repeats, going to look at the stove. Bones falls into step about five paces behind him.
"But you don't like it," he surmises. Jim sighs and shrugs.
"I just...I mean, yeah, it's amazing, but there's nothing wrong with our place, and...well, what if something happens and we can't afford this place anymore? Or if—"
"Jim. Hey." Bones walks over and places a hand on his shoulder again, but just for a moment, before he lifts it to lightly cup Jim's cheek. "I know you spent years scraping together enough money to pay rent and using whatever was left to eat...swallowing your pride when you needed things and I had the money. But you made it, okay? It's not like that anymore. You're working at one of the city's best restaurants, Pike pays us generously; you're a success—not only a chef, but an award-winning chef."
Bones gives him a smug look and Jim blushes at the reference to the events of the previous day: it began when Bones woke him up by jumping on the bed and then congratulated him for winning this year's Rising Star Chef Award by spraying a freshly opened bottle of champagne in his face. That part wasn't so great, but the combination of good news, morning mimosas and sex with Bones totally made it all worthwhile; the bed sheets were soaked, but they sent them out to be cleaned. Early prep at Enterprise was then punctuated by more champagne spraying, after which Jim resigned himself to smelling like a wino all day. Scotty almost put out Chekov's eye with a flying cork, but the kid managed to escape unharmed.
Jim sighs, leaning into Bones' touch and nodding. "Yeah...of course. I know that. It's just a lot to get used to. Things are so different now."
"They're a little different, but not in the ways that count. And I just think...between us getting older and Jo getting older, we'll all need more space as time goes on. It doesn't pay to sit on our good fortune when we can take advantage of the crummy market and invest in something better."
"You just wanna live close to Fairway and Zabar's," Jim murmurs, smiling crookedly. Bones smirks, lifting a finger in the air.
"And Café Lalo," he adds.
"Oh, my god," Jim gasps, his eyes going wide. "You've Got Mail! Bones, I love that movie."
"I know, Jimmy. Believe me, I know."
Jim leans his hip against the kitchen island and pouts faintly, about to give a smarmy reply, when Joanna comes bounding in with the realtor trailing behind her. Though the realtor looks just as kind and patient as ever, Joanna's hands are clasped before her, the most pleading of looks on her face.
"Daddy, Daddy, oh, my god. We have to live here. Please? It's, like, the most amazing house ever. It's so Gossip Girl."
"Doesn't that take place on the Upper East Side?" Jim asks, cocking his head. Bones snorts and bends to kiss the top of Joanna's head.
"I don't wanna know how you know that, Jim," he says. He looks at Joanna then, smiling faintly. "I'm glad you like it, Jojo. But me and Jim need some time to think about it, okay?" Jim watches as Bones exchanges a look with the realtor, who looks disappointed but nods anyway, placing her clipboard back into her bag.
"But Daddy," Joanna huffs, stomping her foot. "Your place is so far away. All of my friends' parents don't even know where Inwood is."
The realtor lifts a finger before joining the conversation. "Just so you know...there is another couple interested in the apartment. I honestly think you two would make a better fit, so I'm willing to string them along for a couple more days, but probably not much longer than that."
"All right, well...thanks, Helen. We'll get back to you on it real soon. We've just gotta discuss some things and talk it over."
"Yeah," Jim adds, feeling a little lame for ruining the moment and also strangely left out, though he has no idea why. "Thanks, Helen."
"No problem, guys. Let me know if you want to see it again or if you have any other questions."
They both nod and Joanna keeps huffing her displeasure that they aren't signing a lease right this minute. Bones just places a hand on her back, guiding her toward the door when Helen starts to walk them out. Jim trails behind them, watching them closely, noting Bones' body language. Bones pauses to take one last look around at his dream home, then smiles when their eyes meet, pretending he was looking at Jim all along.
The air smells sweet when they walk outside, as sweet as it ever gets in New York, and Jim looks around as he walks down the front stairs of the building, taking in the lay of the land. No Domino's in sight, but it looks like a nice neighborhood all the same; a really nice neighborhood, quaint and utterly livable.
"Hey," he says, and both Bones and Joanna turn to look at him. "Wanna go to Café Lalo? It really is right near here."
Joanna lights up. "Can I get a chocolate milkshake? And strawberry shortcake?"
"Sorry, Jo—you're getting a decaf espresso and carrot cake," Jim replies, shaking his head and shrugging, as if the situation is out of his hands.
"Eww! Gross. Uncle Jim, that is so gross."
Bones and Jim exchange a grin. Right now, everything in Joanna's twelve-year-old world is either gross or wicked or awesomesauce. Jim thinks "awesomesauce" is kind of an ingenious adjective, but it makes Bones grit his teeth in displeasure.
"Does ‘gross' actually mean delicious, the way ‘sick' means cool? Because if so, then you're right; carrot cake and espresso is so totally wicked gross."
"Why are you so weird?" Joanna asks, rolling her eyes in a way that makes her look just like her father. Jim finds it a little freaky. Bones laughs and lightly strokes her hair, reaching to hold her hand before he remembers she doesn't like doing that anymore.
"That's something I've been trying to figure out myself for years," he says.
Jim just smiles and walks, slipping his hands into his pockets.
*
Bones falls asleep on the sofa that night as they watch something mindless on TV. Jim smiles at the sight and reaches out to gently toy with his silky brown hair. It was a good day off, all things considered, even though Jim probably disappointed his two McCoys by asking for more time to think about the Upper West Side place. He looks around their apartment now and it feels so much smaller than it did this morning. He's not even sure they have enough stuff for the other place, though he's willing to bet Joanna could help remedy that. Right now, she takes Jim's old room whenever she stays with them in Inwood, but she tends to prefer staying with Jocelyn; the new apartment might very well change that.
Just then, Jim's phone buzzes in his pocket. He stands and moves away from the sofa so as not to disturb Bones, going into the kitchen. The name that comes up on the screen takes him by surprise and makes his breath catch as he answers.
"...Mom?"
"Hi, Jimmy," Winona says, laughing softly. Her voice sounds a little watery, like she's been crying. "You're surprised to hear from me; I can tell."
"Not surprised, just...I've been really busy with Bones and Jo...and the restaurant. I'm sorry I haven't called."
"No, no, you've got your life to think about. I wanted to call because, well...Chris called me earlier."
She pauses to sniffle and Jim squints, wondering if Winona and Pike are fighting again on his behalf. After all, his mom never wanted him to go back to New York—never wanted him to become a chef at all. When Jim learned of his dad's legend as a kid, he immediately took an interest in the culinary arts, asking for toy kitchen sets and begging to help Winona and his grandmother cook for big holiday meals. But Winona hadn't encouraged his obvious aptitude for it, instead trying to focus his attentions on becoming some kind of doctor "like Sam, who ended up as a pediatrician after he got all the running away out of his system) or a lawyer—lord knew Jim had the mouth for it, she always used to say. She took his refusal to go to college as a personal offense, as well as his decision to spend his days as a line cook in that tin-can diner. Running off to New York to pursue culinary school was the greatest heartbreak of all, resulting in a lack of regular phone calls and a lapse in monetary help. But eventually, she did send money, did start calling again, and spent most of their conversations sighing and whispering that she hoped Jim knew what he was doing. On his toughest days, he wasn't so sure himself.
"Mom?" Jim sits down at the kitchen table and licks his lips nervously when she doesn't say anything for a while. "Everything okay?"
"I'm fine, I promise. It's just...Chris told me about the award." Winona takes another deep breath and then Jim can swear he hears her smiling on the other end. "I'm so proud of you, Jim."
"You...you are?" he asks in a whisper. He feels his own eyes well and automatically reaches up to wipe at them.
"Of course I am, Jimmy. You're so...god, you're so talented and smart, and...I just can't believe that with all the grief I gave you, all those years, that you turned out to be such an amazing person. All the times I—"
"Mom," he says, cutting her off. He curls his fingers against the tabletop, feeling the grain as he did in the kitchen of the other apartment. "It's okay. You were scared. I understand that now."
"I was," she agrees, sniffing again. She's probably dabbing tissues against her face. "I really was, Jim, you have no idea. That city was...I lost almost everything to that city. I was afraid that if you went back there, I'd lose you, too. But you've made such a wonderful life for yourself—you have your restaurant and Leonard and his daughter, and...god, I can't believe my former terror of a child is a settled-down family man."
"You'll make me feel old," Jim says, wiping at his face again and smiling.
"But that's just it, Jimmy—you're not old, you're still only twenty-seven. You've accomplished so much and you still have your entire life ahead of you. And now this award, well... It's just fantastic, Jim. Dad would be so proud of you. You know that, right?"
Jim certainly hopes so. He gazes toward the open window and finds the moon, half- covered in clouds but otherwise full and crisp. As a child, he used to squint hard to see if he could make out his dad's face up there—his mom always assured him that George was watching over them, as sure as the moon and the stars in the sky.
"Bones wants to move to this fancy-schmancy place down on the Upper West Side," he finally says, bowing his head. "Think we should do it?"
"Wherever the people you love most are, that's where home is, Jim," she answers, soft and assured. "That's why I moved us back to Iowa when you were a baby; I knew we'd have loved ones near us. So as long as Leonard's there with you, that's all that counts, I should think."
Jim sighs, glancing back out at Bones passed out on the sofa in the living room, his head tipped back on the cushion as he snores. "I knew you'd be on his side," he mutters affectionately. Winona laughs.
"You can't win 'em all, Jimmy."
*
Bones walks into Jim's little office with a grumble, having been assigned to do some extra post-shift prep work, even after the rest of the staff's been sent home for the night. Jim pretends not to notice him, making notes for Spock and working on proposed specials for the next week. It's extremely difficult not to crack a grin when Bones comes sauntering up to his desk with his hands on his hips, wearing a rather surly expression.
"Have you dreamt up anything else annoying for me to do while you've been down here? Something else that only I'm qualified to do and not a single other person in that entire goddamn kitchen?"
Okay, so his plan might have involved a little exaggeration. Jim doesn't look up at him or reply, just pushes a document forward on the table. He can feel Bones' eye roll without even seeing it. It makes him think of Joanna, petulant and on the verge of adolescence.
"Let me guess: a list of chores. Getting formal on me now, I see."
"You're so fucking grumpy after a shift. Just..." And he nudges the paper forward again, with more emphasis this time. Bones exhales heavily and picks it up, and only then does Jim dare to lift his gaze. He smiles as Bones' expression shifts from frustration to complete and utter surprise.
"Jim, what...?"
It's the lease for the new apartment. Signed with today's date by one James T. Kirk, co-tenant. Jim lifts his hand and holds out a pen to Bones.
"Go ahead," he says. "Just needs your John Hancock and it's ours."
Bones puts the lease down and furrows his brow. "But when did you—"
"I called Helen back earlier today and she faxed it over. Whatever, doesn't matter. She'll come by tomorrow to pick it up and get things started. I mean, she said we only had a few days to think about it, remember? So time's of the essence. Here," he says, shaking the pen at him. "Take it already."
"Jim," Bones drawls flatly. "You know this is a legal document, right? Not like that time you wrote Scotty an I.O.U. on a cocktail napkin and said you'd get it notarized."
"Yes, Bones, I understand." He purses his lips and thrusts the pen forward, so it nearly pokes Bones right in the sternum. "Now fucking sign it before I decide to get back at you for insulting my intelligence and throw it down the garbage disposal instead."
Bones can't help but smirk at that. He takes the pen from Jim and bends forward to sign on the other provided line, dating it neatly and letting out a long, deep breath, as if he's been holding it in since they left the place yesterday. Jim stares up at him as Bones stares down at the document, his warm hazel eyes squinting as they skim over the fine print.
"What made you change your mind?" he asks quietly. Jim licks his lips.
"My mind wasn't really made up one way or the other. I just did a lot of thinking and figured...hey, we'll be closer to the restaurant, it's in a nicer neighborhood...plus, Jo loves the place, so she'll probably want to stay over more often, which will be great for your relationship..." Jim shrugs both shoulders. For a second, he thinks about telling Bones about his chat with his mom, but then decides against it; he wants to keep that memory all to himself. He's still processing the entire thing. "Aside from nostalgia, there's no reason to stay in our place anymore. We've kind of outgrown it."
"It has been getting a little crowded, what with your ego taking up all the extra space."
"Hey, I'm trying to be an adult, here! It may never happen again!"
"Tell me about it. It's a whole new side of you that I have absolutely no idea what to do with." Bones takes his chef's jacket off and throws it on the chair, leaning forward to fold his muscular arms on the surface of Jim's desk. And as nice as that view is, Jim wishes he could see around to the other end of Bones and get a good look of that fantastic ass of his as it juts into the air, firm enough to balance a fruit bowl. Bones grins slowly to him, likely reading his thoughts. "In fact, Responsible Adult Jim is actually kind of sexy."
"Sexy?" Jim repeats, his brow lifting sky-high. He grins back wolfishly. "I mean, I think so. It's nice of you to notice, of course."
"Mmhmm." Bones reaches up, running his thumb over Jim's bottom lip, making him go a bit slack-jawed. "All that responsibility just radiating off you, like crazy waves of pheromones. Catnip."
By the time Bones' thumb reaches the other corner of Jim's mouth, he's hard and straining in his trousers. It doesn't take much. "Please say we can fuck right here," he murmurs, tongue darting out to lick the roughened pad of Bones' digit. He lets out a low growl at that, which doesn't do much to alleviate the situation in Jim's pants.
"Anywhere you want, darlin'. The place is deserted except for us."
Jim thinks for a moment before he strikes gold. "Oh, my god. Spock's desk."
"Jim, no."
"Oh, come on, Bones! Please?"
"What if he's got a video camera set up in there or something? I don't want that hobgoblin to see my...my business. Not to mention your business!"
"Why would he have a camera? He doesn't care anyway; he's straight." Jim pouts and chews his lip, trying to think quickly. Bones reaches out and pulls his lip away from his teeth. "Pfft, hey. What about the kitchen?"
"Unsanitary," Bones says, folding his arms over his chest. "Storage rooms are one thing, but we prepare food in the kitchen. And it's not our kitchen, so..."
"Oh, fine, let's just do it right here," Jim grouses, reaching down to open up his pants. He hears Bones laughing and when he looks up again, he's already rounded the desk and shucked off his shirt, working on his fly. "Hi," Jim whispers, the sight of Bones undressing still enough to make his mouth go completely dry, after all these years.
"Hey, Jimmy." Bones kicks off his trousers and smiles, leaning against the desk. "How do you want this to go?"
"In the chair," he says, gesturing. "With you up..."
Bones just nods and drops to his knees, spreading Jim's thighs apart with his large hands. In a mere few moments, he's got one of those hands curled around the base of Jim's cock, his tongue laving and teasing the head, flicking over the slit, and Jim's voice is reduced to a series of little gasps as Bones pushes every button at exactly the right moment. He tilts his head back and groans loudly when Bones takes him in properly and starts to suck, Jim's fingers sliding into his hair, as soft as it was the night before. Bones is good at this, so damn good, and Jim finds himself absently stroking his hollowed cheeks as their muscles work to bring him closer and closer. He knows he's leaking already, so fucking turned on by the idea that Bones is going down on him in his office, that it has to stop soon, or there won't be any actual fucking.
"Nuh—no, o-okay, that's enough, s'good," he murmurs. Bones leans back, licking his lips in a manner that should be illegal, and turns to rummage through Jim's desk drawers for the lube he knows is hiding in one of them. Okay, so they've done stuff in here before. But something about it still gets Jim going, every time. "Fuck, god, jesus," he moans as Bones works his slick fingers and palm over his shaft, getting him good and ready.
"And Allah and Buddha and maybe even a rabbi somewhere," Bones adds, smirking.
"Shit, yes. They're all invited." Jim keeps babbling, and he's saying something about the rabbi bringing bagels and lox when Bones says, "Shut up, Jim," and straddles his lap to sit on his cock and then talking just seems...secondary. Secondary to fucking, that is.
Because, christ, Bones. He's so fucking gorgeous, clean-shaven and slightly sweaty, muscles flexing all over as he works himself up and down on Jim's length. It's the look on his face, like he wants it so bad, needs Jim's cock like he needs oxygen or water or genuine Vermont maple syrup. Jim loves to just watch Bones' face during all kinds of sex, no matter if he's on top or bottoming or plastered to his office chair, rolling his hips as smoothly and quickly as he can to keep up with his partner. He angles his thrusts and Bones lets out a heavy groan, so loud that Jim is glad everyone's gone home because they'd sure as hell have something to talk about tomorrow if they heard. Bones clenches around Jim's length in return and it sets something primal off in him, his hips twitching in protest at the fact that they're practically pinned down.
"Wait, f-fuck," Jim stutters. He wraps his arms around Bones and just lifts them both off the chair, depositing him on his back on the desktop. Bones utters a small sound of shock, but Jim doesn't give him much time to reorient himself, grinning as he angles himself into the perfect position to pound into Bones' prostate over and over again, stroking mercilessly at his hard and aching cock. Then Bones is writhing and gasping brokenly in pleasure, arching up to meet Jim's thrusts without reserve, skin slick and hot and eyes foggy with lust, body splayed and completely debauched.
"Fuck, Jim, love you," he spits out, huffing for air as he grabs at Jim's shoulders, scratches wildly down his back. "Love you..."
"Love you, Bones," Jim gasps, panting. And they're usually not this romantic, but fuck it; they're moving and starting the next phase of their life together, and all Jim wants to do is tell Bones how he feels, tell him all the time so he never forgets it.
He bends down to kiss him, their mouths smearing together messily, and when Jim loses himself and bucks, he breaks away with a gasp that Bones mirrors. Jim sucks a bruise into his shoulder, causing Bones to whine and nearly thrash beneath him; then he simply slides his thumb back and forth over the slit of his cock and that's it—Bones is a goner, moaning Jim's name as he spills heavily over his stomach, loud enough for the heavens to hear. Then it's just a matter of time for Jim; he shuts his eyes and thrusts erratically, the enraptured look on Bones' face painted over the insides of the eyelids. When Bones flexes around his cock and pulls him in even deeper, Jim completely loses it, coming so hard that it feels like his bones might crack apart.
Because of his Bones.
And it's true what his mom said; as long as Leonard H. McCoy is here, whether he's beneath Jim or beside him or on top of him like a big, warm blanket—as long as they're side by side, Jim can go anywhere and do anything. He can survive Starfleet Academy, speak up when others wrong him, manage a team of culinary geniuses, and win any number of awards. They're all just perks, as far as he's concerned.
Bones catches his breath and smiles up at him, like he knows something secret that Jim doesn't. He wonders if Bones sees the kid fighting with the Metrocard machine, the clumsy and annoying accidental tourist, or if he sees someone else—someone stronger and better, who's no longer afraid of change. All Jim sees when he lays his eyes on Bones is the same thing he's always seen; now he just has something to call it.
Home.
Previous: Chapter 16 || Next: Chapter 18
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,814
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy, Winona, Joanna, OFC
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.
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 17: Jim knows he's done a lot of growing up; hell, even his mom can see it. Now, he's got a chance to show Bones just how much.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
"Dad! Daddy! Look, it has a fireplace!"
Joanna's all but jumping down and shrieking at Bones and the petite realtor tries valiantly to hide her wince. She turns to Bones and Jim and smiles kindly.
"It doesn't work, sadly. But it does lend an air of charm to the room, I think," she says.
"Yeah, I'll say." Bones smiles back at her, then goes over to wrangle his overexcited daughter away from the fireplace. "Jojo, don't you wanna check out the bedrooms? The one that'd be yours has a bathroom attached to it, you know."
"That's good, 'cause Uncle Jim takes forever in the mornings."
Jim turns to her and pouts. "Jo! See if I ever let you use my styling gel again."
Joanna just grins and runs down the hall to check out the bedroom that may or may not one day contain her things, her long and wavy brown hair flying behind her. The realtor gets a phone call about a second after that and excuses herself to take it, moving to the other side of the room so Jim and Bones can look around without interruption. Jim takes a few moments to eyeball the scope of the massive apartment, which takes up the entire second floor of an insanely beautiful brownstone on the Upper West Side. It's one of the biggest living spaces he's ever seen, save for Bones' parents' mansion and maybe Pike's loft. He darts a glance at the realtor, the slight frizz of her hair illuminated by the sunlight pouring in from the admittedly breathtaking bay windows behind her. Jim swallows, watching her laugh amiably as she speaks to whoever's on the other end of the line, maybe another client.
He tenses a bit when Bones' hands find his shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze. "So..." he says, his voice trailing off in an expectant tone. "What do you think, Jim?"
"It's, um...nice."
Bones steps back and looks at Jim with an amused quirk of his brow. "Nice? That's all you have to say about it?"
"Nice and...big?" Jim squints and scratches the back of his head, shrugging. He's got no fucking clue what to say about this place. It's gigantic and ritzy and so far removed from his mom's house back in Iowa, where he still resided a mere five years back, that it almost seems wrong to entertain the idea of living here. Then again, Bones has been going on about this place for the past week, having already seen it once on his own, and Jim knows that this is important to his partner. "Sorry, Bones. It really is a great place. I guess I'm just feeling overwhelmed."
Bones gives him one of those steely looks that mean he's sizing Jim up and seeing right through all his bullshit—an expression Jim is completely accustomed to after five years. He expects to get some big speech about how they're ready for this and Jim deserves it and blah blah blah, but Bones just drops a light kiss on his temple and whispers in his ear.
"Come and see the kitchen."
He lets Bones lead him in there, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, and when Jim sees it, he gasps so loudly and suddenly that it turns into a gurgle, trapped somewhere between his lungs and his throat. The appliances are all brand new and the sink gleams in stainless steel between marble countertops, a swan-necked faucet (with a detachable head) swooping elegantly into the air. There are long, knotty wooden islands, an ample amount of wall hooks for their many pots and pans and enough cabinet space to house nearly an entire supermarket's stock. More windows, too, and more glorious sunlight bathing everything in golden swaths of warmth.
It's his dream kitchen.
He realizes a few moments too late that he's standing there with his fingers curled against his chest, like an old queen clutching her pearls. Then he notices Bones laughing at him and drops his hand, taking a breath to collect himself. "Quit it," he protests, and Bones laughs again, but not cruelly.
"It's incredible, right? I knew it'd blow your socks off, kid."
"It's gorgeous." Jim steps toward the kitchen island and runs his fingertips along the wood grain, feeling it curve under his calluses. This kitchen is undeniably bigger and better than the one they have in their place up in Inwood, but the very thought of their apartment sends a pang of guilt through him. He's lived in Inwood for five years; aside from the very brief time he and his mom spent in New York when he was first born, he's only ever lived in one other house his entire life. And maybe their place doesn't have such an amazing kitchen or a separate bedroom for Joanna or a toilet that flushes half the time, but it's home. It's where he and Bones fell in love. It's everything. "It's really gorgeous," he repeats, going to look at the stove. Bones falls into step about five paces behind him.
"But you don't like it," he surmises. Jim sighs and shrugs.
"I just...I mean, yeah, it's amazing, but there's nothing wrong with our place, and...well, what if something happens and we can't afford this place anymore? Or if—"
"Jim. Hey." Bones walks over and places a hand on his shoulder again, but just for a moment, before he lifts it to lightly cup Jim's cheek. "I know you spent years scraping together enough money to pay rent and using whatever was left to eat...swallowing your pride when you needed things and I had the money. But you made it, okay? It's not like that anymore. You're working at one of the city's best restaurants, Pike pays us generously; you're a success—not only a chef, but an award-winning chef."
Bones gives him a smug look and Jim blushes at the reference to the events of the previous day: it began when Bones woke him up by jumping on the bed and then congratulated him for winning this year's Rising Star Chef Award by spraying a freshly opened bottle of champagne in his face. That part wasn't so great, but the combination of good news, morning mimosas and sex with Bones totally made it all worthwhile; the bed sheets were soaked, but they sent them out to be cleaned. Early prep at Enterprise was then punctuated by more champagne spraying, after which Jim resigned himself to smelling like a wino all day. Scotty almost put out Chekov's eye with a flying cork, but the kid managed to escape unharmed.
Jim sighs, leaning into Bones' touch and nodding. "Yeah...of course. I know that. It's just a lot to get used to. Things are so different now."
"They're a little different, but not in the ways that count. And I just think...between us getting older and Jo getting older, we'll all need more space as time goes on. It doesn't pay to sit on our good fortune when we can take advantage of the crummy market and invest in something better."
"You just wanna live close to Fairway and Zabar's," Jim murmurs, smiling crookedly. Bones smirks, lifting a finger in the air.
"And Café Lalo," he adds.
"Oh, my god," Jim gasps, his eyes going wide. "You've Got Mail! Bones, I love that movie."
"I know, Jimmy. Believe me, I know."
Jim leans his hip against the kitchen island and pouts faintly, about to give a smarmy reply, when Joanna comes bounding in with the realtor trailing behind her. Though the realtor looks just as kind and patient as ever, Joanna's hands are clasped before her, the most pleading of looks on her face.
"Daddy, Daddy, oh, my god. We have to live here. Please? It's, like, the most amazing house ever. It's so Gossip Girl."
"Doesn't that take place on the Upper East Side?" Jim asks, cocking his head. Bones snorts and bends to kiss the top of Joanna's head.
"I don't wanna know how you know that, Jim," he says. He looks at Joanna then, smiling faintly. "I'm glad you like it, Jojo. But me and Jim need some time to think about it, okay?" Jim watches as Bones exchanges a look with the realtor, who looks disappointed but nods anyway, placing her clipboard back into her bag.
"But Daddy," Joanna huffs, stomping her foot. "Your place is so far away. All of my friends' parents don't even know where Inwood is."
The realtor lifts a finger before joining the conversation. "Just so you know...there is another couple interested in the apartment. I honestly think you two would make a better fit, so I'm willing to string them along for a couple more days, but probably not much longer than that."
"All right, well...thanks, Helen. We'll get back to you on it real soon. We've just gotta discuss some things and talk it over."
"Yeah," Jim adds, feeling a little lame for ruining the moment and also strangely left out, though he has no idea why. "Thanks, Helen."
"No problem, guys. Let me know if you want to see it again or if you have any other questions."
They both nod and Joanna keeps huffing her displeasure that they aren't signing a lease right this minute. Bones just places a hand on her back, guiding her toward the door when Helen starts to walk them out. Jim trails behind them, watching them closely, noting Bones' body language. Bones pauses to take one last look around at his dream home, then smiles when their eyes meet, pretending he was looking at Jim all along.
The air smells sweet when they walk outside, as sweet as it ever gets in New York, and Jim looks around as he walks down the front stairs of the building, taking in the lay of the land. No Domino's in sight, but it looks like a nice neighborhood all the same; a really nice neighborhood, quaint and utterly livable.
"Hey," he says, and both Bones and Joanna turn to look at him. "Wanna go to Café Lalo? It really is right near here."
Joanna lights up. "Can I get a chocolate milkshake? And strawberry shortcake?"
"Sorry, Jo—you're getting a decaf espresso and carrot cake," Jim replies, shaking his head and shrugging, as if the situation is out of his hands.
"Eww! Gross. Uncle Jim, that is so gross."
Bones and Jim exchange a grin. Right now, everything in Joanna's twelve-year-old world is either gross or wicked or awesomesauce. Jim thinks "awesomesauce" is kind of an ingenious adjective, but it makes Bones grit his teeth in displeasure.
"Does ‘gross' actually mean delicious, the way ‘sick' means cool? Because if so, then you're right; carrot cake and espresso is so totally wicked gross."
"Why are you so weird?" Joanna asks, rolling her eyes in a way that makes her look just like her father. Jim finds it a little freaky. Bones laughs and lightly strokes her hair, reaching to hold her hand before he remembers she doesn't like doing that anymore.
"That's something I've been trying to figure out myself for years," he says.
Jim just smiles and walks, slipping his hands into his pockets.
*
Bones falls asleep on the sofa that night as they watch something mindless on TV. Jim smiles at the sight and reaches out to gently toy with his silky brown hair. It was a good day off, all things considered, even though Jim probably disappointed his two McCoys by asking for more time to think about the Upper West Side place. He looks around their apartment now and it feels so much smaller than it did this morning. He's not even sure they have enough stuff for the other place, though he's willing to bet Joanna could help remedy that. Right now, she takes Jim's old room whenever she stays with them in Inwood, but she tends to prefer staying with Jocelyn; the new apartment might very well change that.
Just then, Jim's phone buzzes in his pocket. He stands and moves away from the sofa so as not to disturb Bones, going into the kitchen. The name that comes up on the screen takes him by surprise and makes his breath catch as he answers.
"...Mom?"
"Hi, Jimmy," Winona says, laughing softly. Her voice sounds a little watery, like she's been crying. "You're surprised to hear from me; I can tell."
"Not surprised, just...I've been really busy with Bones and Jo...and the restaurant. I'm sorry I haven't called."
"No, no, you've got your life to think about. I wanted to call because, well...Chris called me earlier."
She pauses to sniffle and Jim squints, wondering if Winona and Pike are fighting again on his behalf. After all, his mom never wanted him to go back to New York—never wanted him to become a chef at all. When Jim learned of his dad's legend as a kid, he immediately took an interest in the culinary arts, asking for toy kitchen sets and begging to help Winona and his grandmother cook for big holiday meals. But Winona hadn't encouraged his obvious aptitude for it, instead trying to focus his attentions on becoming some kind of doctor "like Sam, who ended up as a pediatrician after he got all the running away out of his system) or a lawyer—lord knew Jim had the mouth for it, she always used to say. She took his refusal to go to college as a personal offense, as well as his decision to spend his days as a line cook in that tin-can diner. Running off to New York to pursue culinary school was the greatest heartbreak of all, resulting in a lack of regular phone calls and a lapse in monetary help. But eventually, she did send money, did start calling again, and spent most of their conversations sighing and whispering that she hoped Jim knew what he was doing. On his toughest days, he wasn't so sure himself.
"Mom?" Jim sits down at the kitchen table and licks his lips nervously when she doesn't say anything for a while. "Everything okay?"
"I'm fine, I promise. It's just...Chris told me about the award." Winona takes another deep breath and then Jim can swear he hears her smiling on the other end. "I'm so proud of you, Jim."
"You...you are?" he asks in a whisper. He feels his own eyes well and automatically reaches up to wipe at them.
"Of course I am, Jimmy. You're so...god, you're so talented and smart, and...I just can't believe that with all the grief I gave you, all those years, that you turned out to be such an amazing person. All the times I—"
"Mom," he says, cutting her off. He curls his fingers against the tabletop, feeling the grain as he did in the kitchen of the other apartment. "It's okay. You were scared. I understand that now."
"I was," she agrees, sniffing again. She's probably dabbing tissues against her face. "I really was, Jim, you have no idea. That city was...I lost almost everything to that city. I was afraid that if you went back there, I'd lose you, too. But you've made such a wonderful life for yourself—you have your restaurant and Leonard and his daughter, and...god, I can't believe my former terror of a child is a settled-down family man."
"You'll make me feel old," Jim says, wiping at his face again and smiling.
"But that's just it, Jimmy—you're not old, you're still only twenty-seven. You've accomplished so much and you still have your entire life ahead of you. And now this award, well... It's just fantastic, Jim. Dad would be so proud of you. You know that, right?"
Jim certainly hopes so. He gazes toward the open window and finds the moon, half- covered in clouds but otherwise full and crisp. As a child, he used to squint hard to see if he could make out his dad's face up there—his mom always assured him that George was watching over them, as sure as the moon and the stars in the sky.
"Bones wants to move to this fancy-schmancy place down on the Upper West Side," he finally says, bowing his head. "Think we should do it?"
"Wherever the people you love most are, that's where home is, Jim," she answers, soft and assured. "That's why I moved us back to Iowa when you were a baby; I knew we'd have loved ones near us. So as long as Leonard's there with you, that's all that counts, I should think."
Jim sighs, glancing back out at Bones passed out on the sofa in the living room, his head tipped back on the cushion as he snores. "I knew you'd be on his side," he mutters affectionately. Winona laughs.
"You can't win 'em all, Jimmy."
*
Bones walks into Jim's little office with a grumble, having been assigned to do some extra post-shift prep work, even after the rest of the staff's been sent home for the night. Jim pretends not to notice him, making notes for Spock and working on proposed specials for the next week. It's extremely difficult not to crack a grin when Bones comes sauntering up to his desk with his hands on his hips, wearing a rather surly expression.
"Have you dreamt up anything else annoying for me to do while you've been down here? Something else that only I'm qualified to do and not a single other person in that entire goddamn kitchen?"
Okay, so his plan might have involved a little exaggeration. Jim doesn't look up at him or reply, just pushes a document forward on the table. He can feel Bones' eye roll without even seeing it. It makes him think of Joanna, petulant and on the verge of adolescence.
"Let me guess: a list of chores. Getting formal on me now, I see."
"You're so fucking grumpy after a shift. Just..." And he nudges the paper forward again, with more emphasis this time. Bones exhales heavily and picks it up, and only then does Jim dare to lift his gaze. He smiles as Bones' expression shifts from frustration to complete and utter surprise.
"Jim, what...?"
It's the lease for the new apartment. Signed with today's date by one James T. Kirk, co-tenant. Jim lifts his hand and holds out a pen to Bones.
"Go ahead," he says. "Just needs your John Hancock and it's ours."
Bones puts the lease down and furrows his brow. "But when did you—"
"I called Helen back earlier today and she faxed it over. Whatever, doesn't matter. She'll come by tomorrow to pick it up and get things started. I mean, she said we only had a few days to think about it, remember? So time's of the essence. Here," he says, shaking the pen at him. "Take it already."
"Jim," Bones drawls flatly. "You know this is a legal document, right? Not like that time you wrote Scotty an I.O.U. on a cocktail napkin and said you'd get it notarized."
"Yes, Bones, I understand." He purses his lips and thrusts the pen forward, so it nearly pokes Bones right in the sternum. "Now fucking sign it before I decide to get back at you for insulting my intelligence and throw it down the garbage disposal instead."
Bones can't help but smirk at that. He takes the pen from Jim and bends forward to sign on the other provided line, dating it neatly and letting out a long, deep breath, as if he's been holding it in since they left the place yesterday. Jim stares up at him as Bones stares down at the document, his warm hazel eyes squinting as they skim over the fine print.
"What made you change your mind?" he asks quietly. Jim licks his lips.
"My mind wasn't really made up one way or the other. I just did a lot of thinking and figured...hey, we'll be closer to the restaurant, it's in a nicer neighborhood...plus, Jo loves the place, so she'll probably want to stay over more often, which will be great for your relationship..." Jim shrugs both shoulders. For a second, he thinks about telling Bones about his chat with his mom, but then decides against it; he wants to keep that memory all to himself. He's still processing the entire thing. "Aside from nostalgia, there's no reason to stay in our place anymore. We've kind of outgrown it."
"It has been getting a little crowded, what with your ego taking up all the extra space."
"Hey, I'm trying to be an adult, here! It may never happen again!"
"Tell me about it. It's a whole new side of you that I have absolutely no idea what to do with." Bones takes his chef's jacket off and throws it on the chair, leaning forward to fold his muscular arms on the surface of Jim's desk. And as nice as that view is, Jim wishes he could see around to the other end of Bones and get a good look of that fantastic ass of his as it juts into the air, firm enough to balance a fruit bowl. Bones grins slowly to him, likely reading his thoughts. "In fact, Responsible Adult Jim is actually kind of sexy."
"Sexy?" Jim repeats, his brow lifting sky-high. He grins back wolfishly. "I mean, I think so. It's nice of you to notice, of course."
"Mmhmm." Bones reaches up, running his thumb over Jim's bottom lip, making him go a bit slack-jawed. "All that responsibility just radiating off you, like crazy waves of pheromones. Catnip."
By the time Bones' thumb reaches the other corner of Jim's mouth, he's hard and straining in his trousers. It doesn't take much. "Please say we can fuck right here," he murmurs, tongue darting out to lick the roughened pad of Bones' digit. He lets out a low growl at that, which doesn't do much to alleviate the situation in Jim's pants.
"Anywhere you want, darlin'. The place is deserted except for us."
Jim thinks for a moment before he strikes gold. "Oh, my god. Spock's desk."
"Jim, no."
"Oh, come on, Bones! Please?"
"What if he's got a video camera set up in there or something? I don't want that hobgoblin to see my...my business. Not to mention your business!"
"Why would he have a camera? He doesn't care anyway; he's straight." Jim pouts and chews his lip, trying to think quickly. Bones reaches out and pulls his lip away from his teeth. "Pfft, hey. What about the kitchen?"
"Unsanitary," Bones says, folding his arms over his chest. "Storage rooms are one thing, but we prepare food in the kitchen. And it's not our kitchen, so..."
"Oh, fine, let's just do it right here," Jim grouses, reaching down to open up his pants. He hears Bones laughing and when he looks up again, he's already rounded the desk and shucked off his shirt, working on his fly. "Hi," Jim whispers, the sight of Bones undressing still enough to make his mouth go completely dry, after all these years.
"Hey, Jimmy." Bones kicks off his trousers and smiles, leaning against the desk. "How do you want this to go?"
"In the chair," he says, gesturing. "With you up..."
Bones just nods and drops to his knees, spreading Jim's thighs apart with his large hands. In a mere few moments, he's got one of those hands curled around the base of Jim's cock, his tongue laving and teasing the head, flicking over the slit, and Jim's voice is reduced to a series of little gasps as Bones pushes every button at exactly the right moment. He tilts his head back and groans loudly when Bones takes him in properly and starts to suck, Jim's fingers sliding into his hair, as soft as it was the night before. Bones is good at this, so damn good, and Jim finds himself absently stroking his hollowed cheeks as their muscles work to bring him closer and closer. He knows he's leaking already, so fucking turned on by the idea that Bones is going down on him in his office, that it has to stop soon, or there won't be any actual fucking.
"Nuh—no, o-okay, that's enough, s'good," he murmurs. Bones leans back, licking his lips in a manner that should be illegal, and turns to rummage through Jim's desk drawers for the lube he knows is hiding in one of them. Okay, so they've done stuff in here before. But something about it still gets Jim going, every time. "Fuck, god, jesus," he moans as Bones works his slick fingers and palm over his shaft, getting him good and ready.
"And Allah and Buddha and maybe even a rabbi somewhere," Bones adds, smirking.
"Shit, yes. They're all invited." Jim keeps babbling, and he's saying something about the rabbi bringing bagels and lox when Bones says, "Shut up, Jim," and straddles his lap to sit on his cock and then talking just seems...secondary. Secondary to fucking, that is.
Because, christ, Bones. He's so fucking gorgeous, clean-shaven and slightly sweaty, muscles flexing all over as he works himself up and down on Jim's length. It's the look on his face, like he wants it so bad, needs Jim's cock like he needs oxygen or water or genuine Vermont maple syrup. Jim loves to just watch Bones' face during all kinds of sex, no matter if he's on top or bottoming or plastered to his office chair, rolling his hips as smoothly and quickly as he can to keep up with his partner. He angles his thrusts and Bones lets out a heavy groan, so loud that Jim is glad everyone's gone home because they'd sure as hell have something to talk about tomorrow if they heard. Bones clenches around Jim's length in return and it sets something primal off in him, his hips twitching in protest at the fact that they're practically pinned down.
"Wait, f-fuck," Jim stutters. He wraps his arms around Bones and just lifts them both off the chair, depositing him on his back on the desktop. Bones utters a small sound of shock, but Jim doesn't give him much time to reorient himself, grinning as he angles himself into the perfect position to pound into Bones' prostate over and over again, stroking mercilessly at his hard and aching cock. Then Bones is writhing and gasping brokenly in pleasure, arching up to meet Jim's thrusts without reserve, skin slick and hot and eyes foggy with lust, body splayed and completely debauched.
"Fuck, Jim, love you," he spits out, huffing for air as he grabs at Jim's shoulders, scratches wildly down his back. "Love you..."
"Love you, Bones," Jim gasps, panting. And they're usually not this romantic, but fuck it; they're moving and starting the next phase of their life together, and all Jim wants to do is tell Bones how he feels, tell him all the time so he never forgets it.
He bends down to kiss him, their mouths smearing together messily, and when Jim loses himself and bucks, he breaks away with a gasp that Bones mirrors. Jim sucks a bruise into his shoulder, causing Bones to whine and nearly thrash beneath him; then he simply slides his thumb back and forth over the slit of his cock and that's it—Bones is a goner, moaning Jim's name as he spills heavily over his stomach, loud enough for the heavens to hear. Then it's just a matter of time for Jim; he shuts his eyes and thrusts erratically, the enraptured look on Bones' face painted over the insides of the eyelids. When Bones flexes around his cock and pulls him in even deeper, Jim completely loses it, coming so hard that it feels like his bones might crack apart.
Because of his Bones.
And it's true what his mom said; as long as Leonard H. McCoy is here, whether he's beneath Jim or beside him or on top of him like a big, warm blanket—as long as they're side by side, Jim can go anywhere and do anything. He can survive Starfleet Academy, speak up when others wrong him, manage a team of culinary geniuses, and win any number of awards. They're all just perks, as far as he's concerned.
Bones catches his breath and smiles up at him, like he knows something secret that Jim doesn't. He wonders if Bones sees the kid fighting with the Metrocard machine, the clumsy and annoying accidental tourist, or if he sees someone else—someone stronger and better, who's no longer afraid of change. All Jim sees when he lays his eyes on Bones is the same thing he's always seen; now he just has something to call it.
Home.
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