There was something infuriating to the script that they tended to go by every month. Jim would come to Bones’ place with pizza and beer and lean on the doorway with his best ‘let me in’ pout and Bones would close the gap between them long enough to inform him that he had company. It was loose code for either ‘You gave me the worst goddamn hangover of my life this morning’ or it was code for ‘I’m actually going to get intimate with my right hand’.

On those latter occasions, Kirk did his best to swallow down eager offers to help.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Jim Kirk wanted Bones, but it wasn’t exactly common knowledge. Sometimes Jim played a game with himself as to betting on who knew and who didn’t. Uhura knew, which seemed to only double her frustration with him every time he tried to look down her uniform (or up it, it’s not like he’s any kind of choosy). Pike knew, which led to some of the most embarrassing discussions on the subject that Kirk had ever, ever had.

(One of them had gone, to Kirk’s horror, as such:

“I spoke with your mother, you know.”

“Yes sir?”

“I mentioned your little…situation.”

Which had led to Kirk calling his mother that night and swearing vehemently that Pike was smoking some kind of Captain’s crack and NO, Mom, there was no boyfriend, and NO, he wasn’t about to settle down with the hypothetical-guy, and MOM, would you please stop talking like you’ll never get grandchildren, and speaking of, you might already have one thanks to my first year antics?)

Bones knew. Kind of. He knew that Jim wanted him inasmuch as Jim kept making half-eager come-ons for sex, for dating, for blowjobs, for handjobs, and once he had even offered to be Bones poolboy for a day just so Bones could get a look at the goods and try denying him after that. Bones had this really annoying habit of sighing out five words over and over so many times that Jim had added them to the script.

“You’re not my type, kid.”

It wasn’t fair, thought Kirk. Bones wasn’t even straight. He had a thing for eyeing other guys’ asses when they went out to drink and if you got him really plastered, he’d start to discuss the perfect cocksucking methods and how bad he could make a man want it and how hard it got him. If you got him one step beyond plastered, he’d start miming out positions with his surgeon’s hands and making these little moaning noises that were criminal.

(Which, gee, thanks Bones, Jim would like to tell him. Because that didn’t make for any uncomfortable evenings when Bones passed out and Jim tried desperately not to rouse his roommate to get him to finish him off when Jim’s own hand wasn’t doing the trick).

‘Bisexual’ was the medical term for it or something, but Jim wasn’t Bones’ type.

Whatever. He was everyone else’s type. It just bugged him because he had a great ass and he was hot as all hell, and have you seen Jim Kirk’s lips? Cocksuckers envy him. He gave great oral, besides! Girls and guys both and the one time that Jim had offered to get Bones references to call, his best friend had just laughed it off.

(Which made it a pity that night when Laura Dusk called to give an enthusiastic character reference for Jim’s tongue and Bones wasn’t even home to hear it)

And then the day came that Jim could have declared VJ Day because it was Victory for Jim the day he turned up out of the blue to surprise Bones with a couple of drinks after a particularly horrible day where the Admirals got together to give them both disciplinary hearings for that little incident after the earthquake when Bones went off-grid to help people and Jim followed along.

He hesitated by the door when he heard voices and knew that maybe he was about to get physical proof of Bones getting lucky with some guy and then Jim could see The Type once and for all. It turned out to be the opposite of that, though. It was a woman in there with him and the two of them were really having at, giving Jim second thoughts about entering.

“I thought I told you to come pick up your stuff, Leonard.”

Jim paused, trying to remember the last time anyone but an unfortunate barracks officer had tried to call McCoy that. He failed.

“Look, Jocelyn, would you give me a break? I’m working around the clock here trying to prove to goddamn kids that I know what I’m doing. You really want me stuck here another year because I took off to pick up a couple boxes of knick-knacks? Thought you already threw them out.”

“Just the stuff you liked,” she sneered and Jim was drifting ever closer, not even hesitating as he opened the door, casual as you please and brushed past the wife to collapse on the bed.

“Hey Bones,” he idly said, licking his lips and propping himself up on the pillow before he turned his attention to the ex-wife to really get a good look at…okay, whoa. Whoa. Whoa and a fucking half, but Jim had the feeling he maybe had hit his head on something. Or he did, because he sat up so fast that his head came in direct contact with some of the shelving over his bunk.

“FUCK!” he swore, getting Bones to his side instantly to deal with a possible injury.

The ex-wife was standing there as large as life and glaring at Jim with heavy disapproval. He was staring back with wide-eyed, possibly-concussed wonder. She had pixie-like short hair colored a dusty blonde. She had blue-as-anything eyes, the kind that made you wonder what ocean they belonged to.

And yeah, if it wasn’t for the fact Bones wasn’t there and he didn’t hate the woman on principle alone, he might have tried to seduce her right then and there for the shape and the colour of those lips of hers.

Come to think of it, the last guy that Jim had seen Bones going ‘home’ with (because dragging him off to the bathroom to do him didn’t count) had sandy-blonde hair and a tan complexion. And he was pretty sure the magazine with the porn actress that Bones liked best was a blue-eyed girl with legs for days.

Oh holy shit, Jim realized as he sat there staring at the ex. Bones had a type, alright. Bones was completely putting him on and that was so over as soon as Kirk stopped seeing those cute little birds with Uhura’s judging hair glaring at him.

“M’gonna just…” he gestured to the pillow and let his body collapse to deal with the pain in his head.

He let Bones tend to him with those really great hands of his and a couple of brutal hyposprays and gave Bones three days to get over the Visit from the Ex before he started in on the other man.




He glanced over at the man lying in the other bed trying to fake sleep like he was some kind of expert at it and please, but Kirk was the expert at that. His entire first year had been based on pretending to fall asleep until his conquest was out like a light. Then it was a whispered ‘thank you’ (he was grateful, he was!) and then he was out of there. Second year hadn’t exactly been as busy, but he still was. Third year was a little different. Jim had like, five people on speed-dial for some tension relief, and the rest of his time was devoted to graduating and trying to get Bones to come because of him. Tonight was the night and Jim hauled ass out of his own bed and dropped himself down into Bones’.

Or maybe he should say onto Bones because he slid into a straddle of the other man and tried not to smirk victoriously when Bones started flailing instantly, foregoing the whole ‘I was sleeping’ bit.

(In retrospect, maybe Jim should have just started jerking off and made Bones listen. It would have been fitting)

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m a doctor, not your goddamn bull to ride,” Bones growled.

Jim wiggled his hips and ground them down and…


Little Bones wasn’t exactly feeling so little just then and that alone made Jim start to smile like a man with a prize, lips lifting up in a Cheshire’s cat smile while his fingers went to work ridding Bones of his shirt. He wasn’t about to take no for an answer this time and those five words were not going to make an appearance tonight if he had his way.

“Your ex looks strangely familiar,” Jim was musing while dropping Bones’ shirt to the ground and leaning down to kiss at Bones’ neck and to make the beginnings of a mark. “I mean, call me crazy…”

“You’re crazy.”

“Aw, Bones, that hurts. Let’s see. Blue eyes, dark blonde hair, tall as anything, great ass,” he said with a wicked grin, “and the prettiest lips that could do things for a man.” With that, he started to slide down Bones’ frame and yanked down his trousers and underwear while parting his lips open wide, wetting them and swirling his tongue over the head of McCoy’s cock, taking him deep just the once and sucking with enough pressure that when he pulled off, there was almost a mild ‘pop’. “I’m thinking you haven’t been honest with me, Bones.”

“Jim, get off me,” Bones warned, but he was sounding frantic.

“Say I’m not your type and I’ll tie you to the headboard and call Pike in here,” Jim warned, because yes he did have that kind of sway and yes he would do it, if only to stop the older Captain from smiling at him like he knew something about Jim and Bones and maybe it would stop him from making those cryptic comments about Bones being good for him. “Because Bones, you’re so full of shit,” Jim crowed. “I’m exactly your type and this?” He grabbed Bones’ cock and shoved his palm against it, thumb brushing his balls. “This says you want me.”

“Of course I do, idiot.”

Well, those were five new words to add to the script and not exactly what Jim had been expecting. He’d been expecting another denial, another ‘no, Jim, no thanks’. And instead, Bones was admitting to wanting him? His chin was nestled in the crook of Bones’ hip and leg and he was staring at Bones incredulously, as if the situation wasn’t entirely ridiculous what with his position sitting right next to his cock.


“You’re a one-man walking collection of venereal disease, you pinch the ass of your conquests in class, your wolf-whistle is horrible, Jim. It’s horrible. You wouldn’t know a decent date if it bit you in the ass and usually the pretty boys don’t have a clue in hell what they’re doing,” Bones was grumbling. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for goddamn years, but there’s a reason you’re not my type. You’re not my type.”

“I’m exactly your type!”

“You’re the shell of my type. I want someone who’s going to drink around with me instead of fucking off,” Bones complained, grabbing Jim by the shoulders and hauling him away from his cock. “Someone who stops trying to fling himself off of every dangerous contraption. Someone who’s willing to put on a decent suit jacket for once and not leave the night with a black eye,” he was ranting and raving now. “And if you’re not going to do that, you’re not getting the incredible sex.”

“Bones,” Jim whined. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

That seemed to shut him up but good.

Jim grinned with wicked delight as he saw McCoy move from questioning the situation to accepting it fully.

“You’ll go to dinner with me?”


“Formal? And you won’t throw rolls at the lughead sitting two tables down just because one time he looked at you funny?”

“I’ll try.”

“And you won’t cancel plans on me to go screw the shapely alien?”

Jim paused, glanced down at Bones. He was half-naked, his cock was erect, he was panting, and he was right there ready to give in and Jim Kirk could be his type so, so hard that he’d blow Bones’ mind right after he made sure to make sure it was in pre-blown status with a good blowjob.

“Bones, please,” Jim scoffed. “Give me three days. I am so your type, I’ll make your head spin.”

And he proceeded to start doing just that because even if he had seventy-two hours, Jim was never exactly any good with patience.

(And okay, so three days later he made a call home to his mother and winced and babbled an apology, but the gist of it went along the lines of ‘Yeah, Mom, how do you feel about a dog for a grandkid? I hear they’re great’ because Jim Kirk never failed to do anything right and he was still so McCoy’s type that it hurt

And also, terriers made great grandkids. Bones himself said so)

| September 4th, 2012 | Posted in Star Trek |

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