kirking | open post ;

open post ;

you know the drill. prompts, pics, starters, tfln: do it and receive rp.

[Jesus Christ.

Kirk laughs an ugly sounding laugh, the kind of laugh where he's in on the joke but no one else is. A rather common occurrence around James T. Kirk. He knows something before everyone else does. He's slotted the pieces of the puzzle together faster. He has some new harebrained idea that has a marginal chance of working at best and yet somehow it always does.

It's not really that funny right now. He just doesn't know, can't tell, if Bones really doesn't know or not. If this is some kind of test. Like yeah, kid, you've been sticking it here but do you really want to be doing that or is it just convenience. Like Kirk ever does anything he doesn't want to. Like he isn't sometimes still a rather selfish prick. But then, he doesn't think that Bones is capable of playing mind games like that. He's too honest, straightforward and that's what Jim likes about him. It's not a game. He always knows one hundred percent of what Bones is thinking, even with just a glance.]

Bones. I think if I wanted that I would have done it by now.

[There hasn't been a ton of opportunity, he will admit to that. There's one person on the starship that Kirk has slept with while the captain and they're currently having this messy conversation. There's been shore leaves and pitstops on other starbases like Yorktown and he could have done whatever or whoever he wanted there. But he didn't. He hasn't. He hasn't really wanted to and maybe he's just getting old and lazy or maybe there's really something to be said about sleeping with someone who knows him and whom he trusts. New and shiny might get him off eventually but he knows that if he goes to Bones, he could have an orgasm in less than five minutes and still want more. He knows without being told that it would upset his best friend if he cheated on him, even if they never talked about being exclusive. Somewhere along the way, it became less about the status quo and more that Kirk simply didn't want anyone else.]

It's not just on me, partner, [special emphasis on the word like he's trying it on for size and already finds it ridiculous.

The doctor's glass gets an automatic refill, even if Jim doesn't pour any more for himself just yet. They're already well past all of his usual coping mechanisms. He's not going to pick a fight with Bones. He knows distracting him with his dick won't last forever. He wants to be clear headed and not a sloppy drunk mess.]

What do you want?

[Well wasn't that just dandy?

That's what his look said, lips panning out and eyes finding a spot on the ceiling, as if he needed a moment to silently converse with some ghost. A moment he often took, as if Bones was so chronically surrounded by people who made life impossible that he often needed a time-out to ping-pong a few conversational topics back and forth with no one at all. Often, with mumbling attached. Or sighing.

In this case, the word 'partner' triggered his needing a damn moment.]

Jim, you sound like an idiot cowboy.

[Not to be confused with a real cowboy.

Now granted, as he lifted that refreshed glass to his lips and held it there, letting the rim press its soothing weight against his mouth without sipping, just taking in that biting curl of scent, he felt something inside of him release. Something he couldn't have admitted was nervous, cringing, and just a little bit fucking possessive, even if that was all obvious to Jim without him saying so. Hell, maybe it wasn't obvious to Jim...

But he hadn't wanted him to sleep with other people. Of course not. And it's the first confirmation, out loud, that he didn't want to either.]

Well, we still gotta cover the basics, kid. That's how this works.

['This' being 'defining the parameters of a relationship'. Once you said it out loud, it became a rule of law. It went from slipping up and slipping in, to cheating. It made things different, even if they felt the same.

He finally helped himself to another sip, and went back to eyeing his partner.]

I want you. [It's easy enough to say, easy enough to mean, even if it strikes a cold note of fear deep in his heart, and makes him feel ridiculous. He's too old, he's not handsome enough, he's not cavalier enough, not exciting enough: there are a hundred, thousand reasons why this looked absurd, and was absurd (hell, it wasn't just him; he sometimes had to wonder if in turn Jim was mature enough, ready enough for the blowback, as much as he believes in Jim's fearlessness and loyalty)-- but there were a hundred, thousand much smaller, much more vital ways in which this had always worked. Between them.]

When this comes out, it's gonna be on you. That's what I'm saying here. There won't be a pair of lips not flappin' about it. And I'm not sure either of us is particularly thrilled with that idea. But either way... the responsibility's going to fall on you.

[And he was sorry for that. He was. He could bear the brunt of most things, wanted to even.

But he wasn't the damn Captain who kept saving the Universe.]

[People have been talking about James Kirk since he was born. This wouldn't be anything new. He was the baby born into tragedy. He knows there's holos out of there of him as a neonate, in his mother's arms, of the moment they came home to Earth. He remembers teachers treating him differently when they read his name off for roll call. He can still hear the whispers of people who lived in Riverside, who whispered things like so sad and wasted potential and if his father could see this. That only made him want to hit them harder and destroy everything he touched because what the fuck did they really know about him. He remembers sitting in a lecture hall with hundreds of cadets and learning about the goddamn Kelvin like he wasn't fucking there. Like he didn't already know everything about it because one of the first things he did after arriving inSan Fransisco was read Pike's dissertation. Like he hadn't heard about it his entire life.

He remembers how every pair of eyes in that hall eventually found their way to him over the course of those two hours.

He's not making it easier on himself, he gets that. Jim Kirk is taking the challenge he's been given and proving that he's more than just his father's son. His dad was captain of a starship for twelve minutes and saved eight hundred lives. He's been a captain for three years, and saved literally millions of lives. Going bigger and brighter, it means that people are paying even more attention to him. It means people give a shit who he's with when it's really none of their business who he wants to fuck and who he wants to spend time with.

Kirk is silent, turning possibilities over in his head of how all the pieces could fall. He doesn't have it totally figured out, not yet. It will bother him until he does. He isn't going to sleep very much tonight and he knows that already and not because of anything they might get up to. He's going to obsess over this until he finds a way to manipulate it to exactly what he wants and that's just his nature. It's what makes him good at his job and sometimes a really annoying friend.

Then he puts his drink down and shrugs. They've weathered some nasty storms together. Bones literally snatched him back from death. He can handle a few pissy admirals and the occasional ensign crossing the professional line. By the time he's done, he'll have them all thinking it was their idea that he and Bones be together. Because he's an obnoxious little shit like that.]

Everyone whose opinion I care about probably already knows. Fuck the rest of them. This is our lives and our stuff. What are they gonna do? Demote me now? I'd like to see them try.

[Space piracy is always a valid option anyway.]

[Bones wasn't one for complicated metaphor where he could avoid them, but damn if Jim Kirk wasn't like a star. Not the tinseltown kind, not the word-of-mouth mega-sensation that was wrapped up in more rumors than an Orion Girl, and not in the sense that Jim was the star of every vocal dissertation on How To Save A Planet By Following Literally No Rules. He was all those things too, but no. Jim Kirk was like an actual goddamn star. Astronomical in some ways, a thousand moving parts that maybe shouldn't fit all holding itself together by its own gravity and tossing warmth and light out at anything it could. Always moving inside itself, always the center of the action. Suspended in the cosmos, and now, reaching across time-- people would learn about Jim Kirk, the way they'd learned about his father, the way they studied light from a hundred-thousand years ago.

The problem with a star was, you leave it alone for long enough? And it just burns up all its fuel. Implodes, all at once, just like that. Goes supernova, bang. And that wasn't good, for the star or anyone orbiting it. With Jim, you could usually tell it was coming-- it tended to be punctuated by flurries of motion, fake, one-note laughs or shrugs, and cursing.

Whatever was happening here, Bones felt like it might spiral. And he damn well didn't want that.

Facts later. Feelings now, Bones decided, setting that drink more firmly down and stepping up to Jim, pulling up to his full height and holding his eye bbfore his hands would blindly find his belt-- or the waistband of his pants, if he wasn't wearing one-- and in one strong motion, would tug him in. Close. Hip to hip, pelvis to pelvis.

He wasn't going to let this devolve into simple sex, not just yet. But that reminder that Jim didn't need to carry all his own gravity? That he could give, he hoped, by leaning in to give him a solid kiss to his mouth, one finger threading its way through a belt loop.

He'd linger there a moment, tasting the alcohol on him, before pulling back just enough to level a raised brow at him and a concerned scowl. Not scolding-- just worried.]

Hell, they can demote you. Like it or not, that's how the military works. Easier still, they can promote you to some cushy job, or transfer one of us. Look, call this whatever the hell you want to call it-- it's no skin offa my nose. But I ain't going to pretend to be cavalier when the stakes are whether or not we lose one another. I don't like being on a bucket of bolts sitting on top of a truckload of photon torpedos, but knowing you're on the same bottle rocket to hell makes me feel a whole lot better about it.

So let's take a deep breath and decide what to do.

[Because 'fuck the rest' didn't tend to work in the military-- which, "science adventurers" or not, was a whole lot like what Star Fleet really was. And despite Jim's track record of making 'fuck it' work for him, that wasn't a gamble Bones was willing to take if Jim was about to get bold about announcing this.]

[The answer was simple really-- they'd just have to abscond with the new Enterprise once it's finished and become space pirates. Get far enough into the nebula that Yorktown couldn't track them very easily anymore, give the crew a choice, leave the ones that didn't want to leave the Federation on a few shuttles with an emergency beacon and sail off into the stars. That would be that. Then they wouldn't have to worry about gossips or admirals anymore. Well, they might have to worry about the latter in the sense that there'd be a reward out for their capture but that was easily solved in that they would have to never get caught.

Easy. Simple. Borderline ridiculous. Not actually feasible since there is zero to negative chance of convincing Spock to become a space pirate and there'd be no fun in any of it if he couldn't put an eyepatch on the Vulcan. There's also the fact that the Enterprise would be too conspicuous for space pirates and so they'd be forced to sell or trade her and he doesn't want to abandon his best girl either. Scotty would make a good pirate though. And bless his little heart, Chekov would do whatever Kirk told him to.

This is what Jim Kirk thinks about. Is McCoy really sure he wants to be strapped to the same bottle rocket to hell with him. That's a really charming metaphor for their relationship too, Bones, honestly. He's got the warm fuzzies being compared to a firework.

When Bones had stopped into his space, Kirk moved with him, letting him step in close, tipping his head back just a fraction to make it easier to kiss him, winding an arm around the doctor's middle to keep them that close together. If he was a star, then McCoy had to be a planet orbiting him. Maybe they didn't shine in the same way, and usually the sun was loud and obnoxious but the planet had its own gravity, its own way of influencing the star it circled without many noticing.

There is one option. One that is by far the most definitive and maybe even the easiest solution, but it feels dirtybadwrong to think it, much less even say it because he's pretty certain that it isn't something Bones wants and he has no idea if it's what he wants either. Because in all of his plans and daydreams and ideas about what his life would be, who he'd turn into, how he'll die someday, it was never a factor. He didn't think he'd find anyone he wanted to keep forever that could also stand to be around him that long.]

There's one way to force them to keep us together, [muttered between them while Jim looks firmly at the floor. He doesn't like it, because even if they are ready and they do want it, right now it's going to be about be a bunch of admirals trying to take his toy away because he's a misbehaving toddler.]

They don't separate families.

[It's a good thing that Jim didn't always think aloud-- Bones' eyes would probably get stuck permanently in the backs of their sockets if he had to suffer through the light-novella style storytelling of their Gay Space Pirates arc as it unfolded in the verdant imagination of Jim Kirk, dodging the law and making a colony for themselves on some backwater planet, where somehow the later chapters wouldn't end in the entire former bridge-crew stark-raving-mad and trying to choke one another to death.

For all his "logic" and calm demeanor, he had a feeling Spock would be the first one in line to lose his cool. He'd seen their resident Vulcan do it before. And that man had a grip.

He was comfortable in that dual gravity just like that though, in encroaching on Jim's space, feeling the vague outline of his weight and gait, smelling the shampoo off his hair. It's a sort of stance he's grown to like, one hand still at his hip in an almost possessive grip, except the fingers were too soft around the curve of his hip-- protective, then. No one could, or ever should, possess something as free as all that energy. But you couldn't stop the natural human curiosity to put a firefly in a jar from time to time, to look at it up close, before you let it go again.

And then it came. The suggestion.

If Bones had been idly rocking to the dual pull of their two bodies, he stopped now. A fret in his brow from wondering what the hell Jim was about to serve up to 'force' Starfleet to keep them together grew dead on his face.

They could get married.

That's what Jim was saying. Without saying it. Because what he was actually saying was this is a fool-made, but fool-proof plan. A marriage based on current needs, not anything as 'icky' as romance.

The problem here was two-fold. First: Bones was a romantic, for all his griping. Second: Bones was dead afraid of marriage. He'd seen what it could do to people. He'd seen what it'd done to him. He'd seen a happy enough relationship with strong enough foundations torn down to cores he didn't know they'd had. He'd spent years putting the drywall back up, and Jim Kirk, well-- he always found a crawl space back in, didn't he? He'd chipped away, found a vent, and landed solidly in the living room of the little hearth in his heart Bones had rebuilt, where the fire was always burning for humanity, for his patients, for life, for love-- but so rarely afforded it to himself, so rarely extended to other long-term guests.

Married. Hell.

Releasing him, almost like a god damn zombie, he'd turn back to the table, back to his drink, which he'd pluck up and finish in one. Not a word. Not an expression. Not a sound.

A surefire sign he was stressed to hell, when someone had managed to strike him silent.

Marriage ruined things. It could ruin this. It could ruin them, and when space wasn't an option, there was nowhere left to run.]

Bones.

[He'd fucked that up pretty well, in the tried and true Jim Kirk method where he opened his mouth and let words come out. He shouldn't have mentioned it at all. Should have struck the idea off and tossed it into the same category as ending it between them, and space piracy. The things that were never going to happen. They weren't ending it and they weren't getting married. Simple as that. He'd find another way and one that didn't involve time travel to stuff the cat back into the bag.

Though really, that might end up be the easiest option the way this was going.]

I said it was an option, not the only way.

[Where Jim didn't like it either, it was more like an inconvenience and less like the end of the world like Bones was making it seem. Which is kind of difficult to not take even a little bit personally. This is why they've never talked about it because when you talk about something, then things get said that maybe weren't meant to come out the way they do or maybe it's exactly what's meant to be said and it isn't something he wants to hear. He didn't want to marry him because it felt like they had to either. And he is clearly right in thinking that Bones doesn't want to get married again at all.

Still. It wouldn't be the worst thing to happen. It actually falls somewhere in the middle, because things like that reassignments, and break ups, and dying are worse outcomes than getting married. Bones has said no so vehemently without actually saying anything, that Kirk thinks maybe he has to reorder some of that.

you died again Jim Kirk and this time it's permanent but at least you weren't married at the time.

Jesus, he's being a fucking girl about this.

Jim knows better than to poke a bear when it's angry but he's never really been good at learning his lessons. He lets Bones finish his drink before he follows. Doesn't quite crowd into his personal space but grabs his bicep instead. Like he's giving him another moment to accept the fact that he's going to have to turn around and face him.]

You said you wanted to talk, so this is us talking about it. I'll find another way, if that's what you really want, just don't shut down on me, ok?

[He went deep into his own psyche on that one. A little too deep to realize that his reaction might have hurt Jim. After all... he'd offered up the concept of marriage the same way he used to see his father serve up barbecued meat: quick-fired, a little bit bloody, and resting on a no-nonsense paper plate that might or might not make it through the half-hour. It wasn't as if there was anything heartfelt in the offer, and that allowed Bones to forget just how it was that Jim did things. Act first, think later, feel along the way.

It was like being sucker punched, for Bones.

So yeah. He did need that moment. And as it turned out, he needed that hand on his arm, to reel him back in, and to take measure of time where it had stopped in its tracks for him. He'd have to say something. At this point, anything.

Moving the glass around in his fingers for a half-turn, he'd set it down again, give the wall in front of them a bleak look. Jim was saying some damn thing, and he swears he might have listened, if he could get the rush between his ears to stop. Either way, he did eventually turn partial back to his "partner", expression still grim, drawn, just a little bit wild-- the way cornered animals get, when they have a wound they're not so sure they can limp away with in tact.]

--Sorry.

[That seems like it should come first. Because he'd taken too damn long, as if Jim had suggested a double-suicide to keep them together and started the sentence with "I'll shoot first."]

I just. Hell-- you don't want to marry me. [And maybe that was part of it. That look in his eye. That kind of erratic light, not so sure as he was a few moments ago. Marriage was a double-edged sword, to Bones. On one edge, the seemingly inevitable notion that things end, bad and messy. And on the other? The idea that they weren't supposed to. That it meant forever.

Jim Kirk and Forever? He could see it with some things. Jim Kirk being the hero, Forever. Jim Kirk caring about other people and making things right, Forever. Jim Kirk beating himself up, Forever. Jim Kirk and the stars-- Forever.

But Jim Kirk, husband of a divorced male doctor older than himself? Forever?

Bones let his mouth fall a little open and shook his head, a hand coming up to rub his chin.]

And for the record, it wasn't a helluva proposal.

I get the impression if I'd lit candles, you would have set me on fire. [Kirk answers, all deadpan and eyebrows because it's easier to do that than dig much further into it. Does he really want to know why Bones reacted so poorly to the idea? Was it really because of the ex or was it because of Jim? Was he going to like the answer he found if he kept pushing at it? Was he really ever going to let it go if he didn't push? Or would it just bother him in the back of his mind like a cancer, eating away at his sanity.

Did it matter because he didn't want to get married either?

It wasn't because of Bones that he doesn't want to. If anything, this thing, being with Bones is the first time he's even considered it. If he had to marry someone, then he'd pick Bones because he's the one person he can't imagine his life without anymore. Well, Spock was a close second but in a completely different way that has absolutely nothing to do with sex and more like they're just a damn good team. What it really boiled down to was that Kirk didn't think he fit into whatever box marriage fell into it. He didn't think in the way most people think. Call him a supernova or a spoiled little brat or a goddamn enigma, it didn't really matter. People who got married weren't born to the sound of their fathers dying. Or survive a genocide before they were fifteen. Or captain starships at twenty five. Or die at twenty six. Or have a mid life crisis at thirty.

When it came down to it, the thought that he might disappoint Bones-- that was worse than anything else.]

You done having a heart attack or do you need another drink?

[Bones heaves a sigh at that that he feels all the way down to... well, to his damn bones. Shoulders hunching, taking just one more moment to himself, he'd angle his body a little away from Jim; force of habit, when he wasn't altogether comfortable with what was brewing in his gut that he was bound to say out loud anyway; and looking up at him from halfway over a shoulder, he'd posit:]

Well, guess I can't say 'it wouldn't have killed you to be more romantic about it', if you're here thinking I'd set you on fire. Know who'd have to deal with that kind of clean-up? Me. Know who'd bitch the whole time about the smell of dermaline gel? You.

[Okay, so that was partially getting it off of his chest, and partial avoidance right there. A vintage blend, for Leonard.

But it just wouldn't seem to unstick from his damn tongue. He'd said to Jim, 'hell, you don't want to marry me'; and there hadn't been a note of argument. A phantom of it. And why should that upset him? It wasn't as if he'd responded to the proposition with abject enthusiasm. He'd treated it as if Jim had asked him how he'd like to die, or if he wanted to play Russian Roulette, just the two of them. So maybe he didn't deserve to be indignant.

But when it came down to it, he also wasn't the one who had decided to ask. Jim didn't do anything half-assed that he really cared about-- rule breaking, hair-brained schemes to save the universe, arguing with superior officers. Hell, he'd seen the man give more heart to a bar fight. And he knew how Bones felt about a suggestion like that. What it had done to him before. They both knew each other's pasts too well, old, favoured books they read over and over in the lines of each other's foundations and decisions and reactions.

It hurt, was what it came down to. It felt like he'd asked because he had to, and that Jim thought it was as damn stupid an idea as it sounded, and for some hypocritical, nonsensical, blasted god-damn reason, that hurt, and it hurt bad, and that sting wasn't ebbing just yet.

It'd take a few hours, and few more drinks. To be able to pretend it had, anyway.]

...I'm done having a heart attack. [He settled on, with a roll of eyes, before going for the bottle himself.] AND I need another drink, but I'll nurse this one, and I know how to pour.

Are you ready to go back to discussing our 'options', or was that the only thing in your arsenal?

Well, dermaline does smell disgusting, so.

[He would know. It isn't a good time if Jim Kirk hasn't been beaten, burned, stabbed, shot or any combination of the above. Regen units work for quite a bit of things, but that's only when you use them and his body is a map of scars from things he didn't have the chance to fix or didn't think important enough to bother with. He's seen enough doctors, usually from his own reckless stunts to spot the good ones from the bad, and maybe that's why he latched on to Bones in the first place. Because the man was a damn brilliant doctor, and while he still complained the entire time, he still patched Jim up at two am because he broke his nose again in a bar fight or cracked a rib during hand to hand practice.

That part isn't going in the proposal either. I need a good doctor because I'm good at breaking myself. And being a doctor really isn't the meat and potatoes of the reasons why Jim has latched on to him like a spider monkey. It's like a nice salad on the side. Something he needs but doesn't always want. The downside to be a reckless adrenaline junkie dating a doctor is that it's hard to lie to his partner when something's wrong.

He's very aware of the fact that this conversation has spiraled out of his control. All because his mom made a comment and it was like kickstarting the engine while forgetting to fix the brakes. It's definitely her fault this happened. So see if he gets her anything for her birthday. Or gives her a son-in-law clearly. Say goodbye to the dream of grandchildren from him. But that's what Sam was for, the wholesome family and continuing the Kirk name and Jim was good at making explosions so people would always pay attention to them.]

I wouldn't really call that a discussion. And I don't see you giving any ideas except for maybe 'don't piss off the admirals, Jim' because that's something I'm good at.

[Or maybe he's more like a dog with a bone and just drop it, Jim drop it. But he can't. Because he doesn't just let things go, and he doesn't know how to talk about something without starting a fight.]

How do you feel about space piracy? You'd still be stuck with me for life except because of felony criminal charges instead of a ring and a panic attack. We could even put an eyepatch on the Vulcan.

[And then Jim says it. The thing that could make his eyes roll so far back into time, they could probably shift the course of history again, all by themselves.

Space Piracy.]

I'll tell you another thing you're no-good at-- this discussion your insisted on.

[That's right, he was giving Jim ownership of it. Full custody, as it were. He'd walked in here, ready at most for a very good time exploring the map of Jim's body, old faithful scars and trigger points along a web of nerves he liked to play instrumentally, a little too fond of the myriad of noises Jim could make in the rare moments where words failed him. At worst, he'd expected a stiff drink, a hot shower, and a good lie-in.

What he got? An emotional ambush, where it seemed they were both being held hostage, a gag shoved so far down their emotional gullets that neither one could scream or spit out anything useful.

Space. Fuckin'. Piracy.]

You propose, and as if that didn't feel ridiculous enough, you go ahead and ask if I'd like to commit treason and be forced to live with half-blind Spock for the rest of my days! I didn't get a damn medical degree and bring your moronic ass back from the dead so I could betray an inter-galactic army all because you read too many damn children's stories and want to wear a feather in your cap! [He could feel his temper rising. Admittedly, it was a common enough feeling.

Helped to smother down all the other ones, which he threatened to feel a little more acutely. Things like hurt or care. Those always came in too clear, too much to him. They were easier to tamp down under the guise of annoyance than to face, more often than not, even if they tended to steer the wheel anyway, unacknowledged.]

My no-ideas have been better than your ideas, so far! Hell, Jim-- if the options are marry you or treason, you'd better go pick out a white dress. Or else kiss my ass goodbye, because if this is all you've got, like hell I'm not getting a transfer.

Spock wouldn't really be blinded. I just think it'd be funny to make him wear one.

[That's really not the point, James Tiberius Kirk and you know it, but something about always having to have the last word on a topic. But honestly, he wouldn't ruin his first officer's good eyes just because he wanted to do something rather funny. That's just cruel to think he would. Spock wouldn't let him put an eyepatch on him ever if they're being honest.

Or they could talk about something that's way bigger, way more serious and entirely his own fault. Though he's willing to lay a fair amount of the blame at Winona's feet for bringing it up at all. She knows him. She had to know it would set him off down a dark and messy path.

An angry Bones is one he can deal with, because usually (and almost always Jim Kirk's fault) Bones ranges from annoyed to livid and it's like a language that Kirk has gone out of his way to master. There's sixteen different meanings of the eyebrow wagging. At least seven different meanings of damnit Jim. It's the silence that trips him up.]

I also think you'd be wearing the white dress because I outrank you but ok.

[Again. Not the point. Kirk also tended to be on bottom more often then not which would, if they were sticking to antiquated ideas of sex and gender roles, put him in the dress.]

Bones, I love you. I want you to bitch at me for the rest of my life. It doesn't make any difference to me if we fill out a piece of paper and exchange rings or if we continue on the way we have been. I can't do this without you. I don't want to do any of it without you. So you better fucking believe I'd commit treason to keep you. Marrying you seems a little less dramatic.

[Crimeny, if the universe depended on Jim Kirk not cracking a joke in a tense situation, no one would be calling Star Fleet Boy Friday over here a hero...

Bones' hand is already half-raised at that retort, unsure if he wants to gesture widely in a fan of fingers to an invisible audience as if to ask you see what I have to deal with?, or if he wants to put that hand up to cover his chin, his nose bridge, his forehead, or his entire damn face. The hand gets caught in limbo instead and just stays... up. As if he could catch the next quip clean out of the air. Because of course there'd be a next quip.

(It's always a tell, when he's anxious. How goddamn stressed his body gets, each muscle moving suddenly and without his direction, then holding still and stiff as a board. Tense. There's tenseness all over-- his jaw, his shoulders...)

And then there's the dress comment and it's all Bones can do not to storm out of the damn room. Or pour a third, fourth, and fifth drink and resume his inevitable descent into alcoholism.]

Nothing with you seems less dramatic.

[He managed through his teeth, a good portion of the romance in Jim's statement having been shafted by the first three sentences out of his mouth. Bones is trying, against his better judgement, not to explode. Not to get too defensive, too angry, while Jim is obviously trying his best not to downplay, not to focus on asides that make all this less vulnerable. Less real.

Both of them, for the record, are doing a shit job.

But they're trying.]

I'm not getting transferred and letting you run this damn ship into the ground, yourself inside it, with some sparkly-eyed new recruit with a perfect GPA and no experience as your CMO.

[It's the closest he can get to romance in return, with his fuse so burned out. Nearly to the quick, where the dynamite sat in wait.]

I am not getting a transfer and I am not committing treason and I am not letting you be a damn fool all alone in space with only Commander Hobgoblin looking over your shoulder, with the one eye you're leaving him.

So you'd better get a preacher and a sheet of paper for me to sign. 'Cause I guess that means we're getting married.

[And given half a second more to think about it, to let the adrenaline wear down, he might change his mind and bolt instead. He was going with the inertia, for now. When there was no better plan, you take the one that's as good as it gets.

He thought more of their relationship than that, and that could bug him later. For now, this.]

[It is more than that. Jim is just shitty at saying it. Or maybe just a shitty person to be in a relationship with. He's selfish and self aware enough to know it. He's basically already married to a starship and he even thought about leaving that behind too. He'll pick the crew over himself any day and he knows that drives McCoy crazy. There's never been a situation (yet) where he's had to pick between Bones and everyone else and he doesn't know what he'd do honestly. Would he let hundreds of people die if it meant that Bones was safe? It's easier to throw himself in front of danger and live up to the Kirk legacy his dad gave him the minute he was born. He loves his crew, but he thinks he might actually love Bones more.

Shitty partner that he is, Kirk blinks several times in surprise when McCoy actually agrees to his suggestion. Proposal. It was a proposal. He asked someone to marry him and they said yes. He's not drunk, drugged, dying, under attack or forced. Because really, if you think about it, they're as good as married right now anyway. They spend most nights together, except for the ones where one of them (usually Jim) pisses the other off and they retreat to lick their wounds. Jim doesn't want anyone else, despite how much he shamelessly flirts with anything that moves. He knows for a goddamn fact that Bones isn't going anywhere. He meant it when he said he couldn't and didn't want to do this without his best friend-cum-lover.

It will just be official, with rings and a certificate and an iron clad promise they are in it for good and Starfleet won't separate them. It's win-win-win-win-lose the next time Bones has a panic attack about it. Or the next time Jim almost dies.

He starts to smile after a breath, like a goddamn girl and he crowds into McCoy's space, because he knows Bones is stressed and anxious. Can read his body language like a goddamn book and he catches that hand lingering in the air to keep him from retreating, lacing their fingers together like an anchor. There'll be no hiding it or playing dumb when someone asks if they're together after it's official. It won't be a rumor or an open secret. He could slide his hands in Bones' pockets and lay a big, messy, wet kiss on him in front of everyone whenever he wanted and it would piss Bones off so much and it would be so hilarious.

That's reason enough to do it.

And all the romantic, loving, committed partners stuff too.]

Commander Hobgoblin could do it. Technically. As XO. Just a thought.

[Kirk doesn't really want to keep talking about his first officer though, especially not as he hooks his free arm around McCoy's shoulders. He's good and stuck now. Tough luck.]

Another drink, dinner or blowjob?

[The Kirk special, if you will. They've talked about their feelings and they've figured out where to go from here so he moves on from talking about it to more fun things.]

Edited 2018-10-02 06:51 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

open post ;

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now im the slow one

all of your tags are beautiful, i'd wait all month.

i'd wait like six for yours too tbh

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I took you up on that waiting a year thing, I am so sorry.

don't threaten me with a good time

that's the only threat I make

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/7 years later...

i will wait forever i told you!!