Celandine's Chronicle (celandineb) wrote in cels_fic_haven, @ 2009-07-10 09:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | star trek fic hotm, star trek fic kirk/mccoy |
Star Trek fic: Decisions and Revisions [Kirk/McCoy, adult]
Title: Decisions and Revisions
Author: celandineb
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: adult
Length: 2285 words
Warnings: masturbation
Summary: McCoy makes a decision.
Note: Ninth in the "Heart of the Matter" series. The title is from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."
He'd begged off going out to the bars both weekend evenings, citing his long Saturday shift at the clinic each time, but at eleven o'clock on Saturday night McCoy sat in his room with a glass of bourbon in front of him.
Matthews had been in their room earlier, but – to McCoy's unexpressed relief – had as so often gone off to measure the stars. Absently McCoy wondered why they still needed measuring. Surely the relevant data on all the stars that Starfleet was remotely likely to visit had long since been recorded, if not by humans, than by Vulcans or some other allied race? Perhaps astronomers kept on for the sheer thrill of expanding knowledge for its own sake. McCoy could understand that, even if he personally preferred research which had some potential for practical application. He snorted to himself and took a swig of liquor.
It was only his second glass tonight, a fact regarding which he gave himself ironic congratulations. While tempted to get drunk enough to pass out, he had a decision to make and the oblivion he desired wouldn't help him.
"Damn it, Jim," he groused aloud. Hadn't he had to cope long enough with his wife's unfaithfulness? Could he really trust a juvenile-delinquent pretty boy, who'd slept with half the female cadets at the Academy already, not to smash his heart once again?
The image of Kirk popped into his head, grinning that shit-eating grin, and McCoy smiled wryly into his glass. Hard to deny the appeal of such brash confidence... and one thing to the good, Kirk wouldn't lie about what he did, not about anything important, McCoy was certain of that. If he slept around, he'd say so.
A week ago, almost exactly, McCoy had been naked in this very room, that very bed, with Kirk's mouth on his dick. McCoy shifted in his seat, his left hand brushing over the bulge at his groin even as he took another swallow of bourbon. He stroked himself lightly through his trousers, remembering his surprise that Kirk had chosen to suck him off, the amazing native talent Kirk had demonstrated at fellatio, the mingled shock and pleasure McCoy himself had experienced with that orgasm. Oh, it had been everything he'd fantasized about for more than two years... until afterward, when Kirk had practically bolted from the room and ignored McCoy for the next five days.
Not the worst five days of his life, he admitted that – he didn't want to think about which days those five were, but they all had to do with his family – but close, definitely in the top ten or twenty. He had assumed that Kirk had been retrospectively disgusted by what they'd done, but neither that assumption nor the fact that he hadn't expected more than a one night stand – and had in fact had two nights – had made much difference to his feelings of loss and anger when his friend had turned his back. Learning that Kirk had been as confused as himself had only made things more complicated.
What he had to decide, then, was if it would be worth it to try to build something beyond friendship with Jim Kirk. And he had to decide tonight. Well, no, he didn't really have to, unless he wanted to "take advantage" of Kirk's roommate's absence tomorrow, as Kirk had put it. But for his own sake he wanted to have things settled, one way or another. He didn't want a repetition of the past week, during which he'd slept badly and found it difficult to concentrate.
His incipient erection had softened as he mused . He lifted his hips up enough to tug down his trousers and underpants to his thighs, then stroked his bare dick and sighed. With his thumb and two forefingers he made a circle around the shaft, rubbing in long strokes and giving a little twist each time he reached the head. Unbidden an image of Kirk came to his mind again, this time Kirk with his head flung back and hips parted as McCoy brought him to orgasm. McCoy bit his lip and stroked himself harder. He'd jerked off every day this week, more than he usually did in a month. He'd thought his sex drive had permanently diminished during the last couple of years of his marriage, but apparently not.
Climax tore through him fast and unexpectedly, relieving the physical tension to some extent but doing nothing to solve his dilemma. He sighed again, stripped down, and wiped himself off, tossing the dirty uniform in the laundry. It was late, no point in staying dressed when he'd be going to sleep soon.
He pulled on a pair of well-worn blue and white striped pajamas, a gift from his daughter for his birthday the year before he'd left. Sometime this week he should send Joanna a letter; her mother might be able to keep him from talking with her very often, but McCoy could still write. Mostly he wrote by electronic mail, but once in a while he did it the old-fashioned way, on paper.
As he was brushing his teeth, the door buzzer sounded.
"It's midnight," he snapped through the intercom. "Who is it?"
"I know." Kirk sounded almost apologetic. "It's Jim. Can I come up?"
McCoy was tempted to refuse. It had been a long and difficult day and he wasn't sure he could deal with Kirk right now.
"For a few minutes, is all," he finally growled, and granted access.
Kirk was, as McCoy expected, somewhat the worse for drink. although there were no marks as if from fighting on his face, nor did he reek of sex. Surprising.
"Thanks, Bones. Can I lie down?" He gestured toward McCoy's bed.
"Take your shoes off first," said McCoy with resignation.
"Okay." Kirk pulled off his shoes and flopped down on his back, one arm flung out to the side, the other draped across his face.
"Bones." His voice was muffled.
"What is it, Jim? I was about to go to bed, you realize. It's late, late at least for normal people, of whom you are demonstrably not one."
"I hadn't seen you since yesterday," Kirk mumbled. "Hadn't heard anything from you. Missed you."
"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed McCoy. "There've been plenty of times when we haven't seen each other for nearly a week, except in passing."
"It's different now though." Kirk removed his arm from over his eyes and looked steadily at McCoy. "Isn't it?"
McCoy swallowed. "I suppose it is, yeah."
He expected Kirk to say something more, to push him about making a decision, but Kirk only lay there watching him as McCoy tidied up his desk.
Though he'd brushed his teeth, he paused when he picked up the glass he'd drunk bourbon from earlier and abruptly decided that one more might not be a bad idea.
"Want one?" he asked Kirk, a trifle huskily, and Kirk nodded, still sprawled out with that disconcerting stare.
When McCoy handed him a glass, though, Kirk sat up and leaned against the head of the bed to drink it.
"So why did you come by, really?" McCoy said at last, after they'd each drunk perhaps half of what he'd poured. "Don't give me that tripe about missing me. It hasn't been thirty-six hours since you saw me last, and it's not as if you don't have plenty to do to keep you busy, and plenty of other people to hang out with. In fact I'd bet you were out with the crowd at a bar earlier, am I right?"
"Yeah." Kirk looked into his glass. "I, uh. I came on impulse, I guess. I was gonna ask you, you know, if you'd thought about things enough to decide if you wanted... if you wanted me. But when I got here and you let me in I knew I shouldn't ask, after all. You had your clinic work today, you haven't had a lot of time to think. So I'm not asking. I should just leave."
Kirk swung his legs off the bed, swallowed the last of his whiskey in two gulps, and reached for the shoes he'd discarded.
"Wait." McCoy took a deep breath. "That's the most direct way of not-asking a question I think I've ever heard, other than from a patient who didn't actually want an answer anyhow, but it's pretty obvious that you really want one, however much you're trying not to push me about it."
With his left shoe on, Kirk paused, the right shoe dangling from his fingers as he listened.
"I'm not easy to get along with. You know I'm a grumpy bastard. When I see someone doing something stupid, I call the person on it and I'm not tactful about that. I did badly enough as a husband that first my wife had affairs, and then she divorced me. At work I'll get focused on a problem and that's all I think about until it's solved."
"You're not saying anything I don't know," Kirk said. "I've seen a lot of that for myself."
"Sure, but it was one thing when we were just friends, for me to blow you off because I was busy and distracted. If we want to make this a relationship," the word felt strange on his tongue but there was no other he could think of, "then it's going to feel different to you, if you're expecting an evening of hanging out and having sex, and I'm totally uninterested in anything but how to engineer a new vaccine or some such. You're used to having sex pretty much any time you want, don't deny it."
"I won't," said Kirk solemnly, before quirking a grin, although his voice was still serious as he continued, "Look, we each have our faults, right? Our problems of whatever kind? That doesn't mean we can't each try to get past them, and maybe more important, try to forgive them. Accept them, like you said the other night. In what you said just now, you were trying to persuade me that you'd be bad for me. I don't think you would. Maybe it's hard for you to see or believe, but I'm less impulsive when you're around, and I know that's a good thing for me, if I ever want to make captain someday. Captain Pike told me that Starfleet needs more people who leap before looking, but there are still rules and regulations, and I'm not gonna get promoted if I don't conform to basic expectations, no matter how brilliant I am."
Typical Kirk ego, that last bit, but McCoy hadn't missed either the compliment to himself or the pragmatism in Kirk's statements.
What it all came down to, though, was his own weakness where Kirk was concerned. If Kirk offered more than friendship, after McCoy had wished hopelessly and secretly for exactly that for so long, there was simply no way he could refuse, however much he might wish on some level to protect himself. He had no real choice but to leap, this time, and hope that he'd land safely.
Kirk was waiting, still holding that damned shoe.
"All right, Jim." McCoy wet his lips. "We'll try it your way."
The biggest grin he'd ever seen split Kirk's face as the words sank in. Not the mischievous smile McCoy was used to, the one that said, "You cannot possibly resist me," but a smile of pure delight.
"Excellent." Kirk bounced off the bed, heading for McCoy, doubtless with something physical in mind.
"Hold on, there," McCoy held out a hand to stop him. "Matthews might come back at any time – he didn't say when – and I have to tell you that I'm beat. There was a major accident in the city today, a tour bus crash, and we lost five patients to head trauma before we could get them stabilized."
"Oh," said Kirk softly, calming down a bit. "Okay, yeah, I can see where you wouldn't be up for anything much after a day like that. And I came here and bugged you to answer me, too. I wouldn't have if I'd known. I'm sorry."
"I know." McCoy could practically see the sincerity rolling off Kirk in waves. "Don't worry about it."
"Want to have breakfast together tomorrow?" Kirk asked. "Remember, Sidhu will be gone most of the day... we could study, but make the studying fun."
"Yeah, I could go for that. Late breakfast? Maybe around ten? Seriously, I'm wiped out and could really use a good night's sleep if I can manage it."
"Ten o'clock's fine. Meet you in the cafeteria? They serve brunch till noon on Sundays and then we don't have to waste time going off-campus."
The brunch at the cafeteria was mediocre at its finest, in McCoy's opinion, but he was used to it. "Fine."
Kirk put on his shoe at last and straightened his uniform. Then he leaned down and brushed his lips against McCoy's, a gesture oddly like a promise.
"See you tomorrow."
And then Kirk was gone, leaving McCoy to hope that he'd made the right decision... except that there really had been no decision to make, had there? He could stand up to – or slap down – Kirk on some matters, but not this one. If Kirk wanted him, McCoy would be there. He couldn't imagine anything else.
He drank the last swallow of his bourbon and rinsed out the glass, then brushed his teeth a second time.
In the dark, with the sheet pulled to his chin, McCoy curled up, sighed, and at last drifted off to sleep. Even Matthews's arrival some time in the middle of the night didn't disturb him.
#8: Fools Rush In | #10: Like Riding a Bicycle