the Dalaverse

This is for florahart's prompt, which I'm not gonna tell you because it sort of spoils the plot. I mean, what plot there is besides the sexings.

Um, it's in first person. Is that weird? It seemed so weird when I first started rewriting the beginning, but I've been staring at it so long now that I've lost all perspective. I think I've only done first person once before, with Anamaria. I don't know, the story just wanted that POV and wouldn't work at all until I agreed ::shrugs::


Title: Pass or Fail
Leonard McCoy fails at packing. As usual, it's all Jim's fault.
Author: Dala
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: standard applies
Notes: written for florahart; prompt under a cut: failing a class (other than the Kobayashi Maru) because it's a bit of a plot point




Pass or Fail



If I've got one useful skill outside of any professional qualifications, it's this: I am terrific at packing. On family vacations I was always the one called upon to latch an overstuffed suitcase, to defy the laws of physics by shoving all the bags in the car while still leaving Dad enough space to see out the back windshield. Hell, it took me all of three hours to pack up my every worldly possession when Jocelyn said she wanted a divorce. If there wasn’t much of it left by the time I boarded a Starfleet shuttle in Iowa, at least I didn’t have to suffer the indignity of lugging three times my body weight around a sprawling campus on my first day.

And yet I wasn't making much headway on this latest departure. The room looked like a hurricane had torn through it and for once I couldn't blame my fellow occupant. How the hell did I wind up with so many clothes after just three semesters, anyway? I'd already folded my six sets of cadet reds - they sure as shit weren't comin' along for the ride - but that still left a closet stuffed full to bursting. I was frankly intimidated by the stacks of shirts and pants, jackets and shorts, more shoes than I'd ever owned at one time - outfits appropriate for bars foreign and domestic, nightclubs, pick-up football games on the quad, formal dances, nature hikes, lazy afternoons on the beach, camping in the mountains, picnics in Golden Gate Park, and any number of expeditions that were never my idea in the first place.

At length I decided there wasn't going to be any rhyme or reason to it and simply hauled an armload off the bar and onto my bed. This caused a seismic disturbance on the top shelf, which was why I had a pair of boxers (blue, silk, covered in tiny orange peaches - a Christmas present from last year that I'd never gotten around to returning) dangling from one ear when the door opened.

"Bones, that TA I've been after all year is totally going to -" Jim stopped short before I ever found out what the TA in question had agreed to. He gave the room a good once-over, eyes darting into the corners and the closet and the empty, pulled-out desk drawers.

I twisted the shorts in my hands. So far I'd been able to hold off thoughts about Jim's reaction - made a point of it, in fact. I could see the wheels turning in that big, loud brain of his and braced myself for the auditory storm that was surely building. Jim could debate, argue, or charm the rings off a raccoon's tail; he wasn't about to see me off without a good fight. I wasn't looking forward to it anymore than I was looking forward to saying goodbye, but I considered it my due after nearly sixteen months as the most mismatched pair you'd ever want to meet.

Only Jim didn't say anything, at least not for a good long while. He kept staring around the room, glanced once at the boxers as I lobbed them at the bed but wouldn't look up at my face. Finally, when I was at my wits' end from the creeping silence, he leaned against the door and spoke up - still without meeting my eyes, mind.

"Need a hand?"

Well, I didn't know quite what to say to that perfectly neutral tone, like he'd asked me to pass the butter or remember an umbrella in case of rain.

I kicked a pair of boots out of the way and took a step forward. He had nowhere to retreat with the door at his back, but he sure did look like he wanted to. "You're not gonna ask me why I'm leaving?"

Jim shrugged a shoulder, hands tucked into his pockets. It was a fair imitation of himself at his most casual, except I could see he had his jaw clamped tight and his fingers digging into his thighs beneath the denim.

"I figure you have your reasons." His laugh was a short, sharp sound without any humor to it, and he was still finding the carpet especially interesting. "Everyone has their reasons."

Damn it, this was exactly why I hadn't let myself think about Jim. Because I could swear that he'd get over it until I was blue in the face, and yeah, he probably would appear fine to casual observers. Jim flashed his feathers for such types and his life was full of them, pretty girls and sloe-eyed boys and all the professors who underestimated his smarts and lived to regret it. But I knew better - I was maybe the only person who knew better. Buried beneath the layers of ego and fuck-the-world attitude was a damaged boy convinced that everyone left him because he wasn't worth sticking around for.

Christ, I'd never wanted to be just one more person who left him.

I reached for him and he jerked away. He met my eyes for just a second, but with such a blaze of hurt and anger that it was like he'd struck me. Fuck me if I didn't find myself wishing he would.

Worst I'd ever felt in my life was when Joanna threw her arms around me the day I left, sobbed into my neck and promised she'd do so good in school and be so sweet at home if only I wouldn't go, please, please, Daddy. While this wasn't quite as bad, I was kind of bowled over by how much I didn't want to walk out that door. To not see Jim every day, not know if he was happy or lonesome or smug or sick or laid up with yet another allergic reaction...turns out I hadn't thought about it because, well, I couldn't bear to.

Oh, I thought, my chest going tight with a rush of understanding and adrenalin. So that's how it is, then.

"Jim..."

"Don't, Bones." There was a dangerous edge to his voice now and I thought he really might hit me. Putting myself up against him so he wouldn't have room to swing back meant I could feel his body tense up for fight or flight. This time he wasn't gonna get the chance.

I took his face in my hands, and I kissed him.

Jim stood stock still for a good five seconds. Then he became a wild thing in my arms - launching himself off the door to knock me back, fisting his hands in my shirt, biting at my mouth, soothing the sting away with the flat of his tongue. He pushed and I pulled until we landed on my bed, scattering piles of clothing and books and datachips to the floor.

I suppose I ought to have been ashamed of myself, acting like a horny teenager instead of showing some goddamned restraint in the face of this tectonic shift in our relationship. Being attracted to Jim was nothing new - hardly anyone who met him could censure me for that - but when he was actually on top of me, grinding as best he could while tugging at his zipper? I was hard so fast it made my head spin.

So neither of us took much time for elaborate plans, though getting good and naked seemed a fair start. I didn't realize Jim was wearing one of my Ole Miss t-shirts until I was yanking it over his head, mussing his short hair so it stuck up all over. Come to think of it, clothes probably should've fallen victim before we hit the bed; I said a silent prayer for my seventh uniform as Jim tore a seam in his hurry to get my pants off. In response I might maybe have hooked my toes into the waistband of his jeans and shoved them down, but I ain't about swear to that in a court of law. The way Jim gasped and rocked his hips was worth a muscle twinge here or there.

I had precious little time to appreciate all that tanned skin pressed up against me before Jim was sliding downwards, kissing and stroking wherever he could reach. Though I wouldn't have been averse to taking a little more time, clearly he had a goal in mind. And it had been awhile for me, as Jim well knew. Truth be told it's a wonder I didn't lose it as soon as he pressed a sloppy kiss to my cock. Jerking off can only do so much no matter how vivid your imagination - being under somebody else's touch after going so long without was nothing short of sensory overload.

And it wasn't just any somebody, that was the thing. Here was my best friend, this bright fractured boy who I might possibly have gone and fallen for even though I damn well knew better, drawing me into his mouth and sucking for all he was worth. And there was no underestimating him on that front; for once the campus scuttlebutt had gotten it right. So yeah, I moaned and shuddered and bucked up into the heat and pressure exactly like a man who hadn't been laid in near two years.

But in the end it wasn't any fancy trick he'd picked up from I didn't even want to know where. There was this moment when he craned his neck to look up at me, cheeks flushed and hollowed, full lips stretched around my cock. His eyes were more vivid than I'd ever seen them, so blue they didn't seem quite real even as they cut right through all my bullshit.

I came so hard it was like the first good thing I ever felt, or maybe the last.

The next thing I was aware of was somebody turning out the lights. I congratulated my foresight before I realized everything was dark because I'd covered my face.

"Jesus fucking Christ, kid," I mumbled into my arm, wriggling my toes just to make sure I could still feel them.

Jim shifted next to me; I could feel him lift his head from the pillow.

"Good?"

If anybody had told me that Jim Kirk requested confirmation of his sexual prowess from all his partners, I'd've believed 'em. But when I raised my arm, ready to roll my eyes and come up with a sarcastic response on the fly, I saw that he wasn't smirking. It had been an honest question, not Jim high-fiving himself over another satisfied customer.

Catching him in a moment of shyness was unusual, though not unheard of. For my twenty-ninth birthday he'd called up my ex and talked her into letting Joanna sit for a old-fashioned portrait. One of his many short-term girlfriends was an art major at UCSF; she agreed to do it while she was in Savannah visiting her folks one weekend. I could hardly say a word when I unwrapped that little painting. Joanna was on the vidsceen, pleased as punch that she‘d helped keep the secret, and Jim - Jim actually blushed. Never thought I’d see the day.

Now here he was again, watching me with that same hesitation on his face. This time I thought I might manage a better response than stammering an awkward thank-you. Meantime I could almost hear my mama calling me her prize idiot. How could I not have known right then?

Sweat trickled down my back as I turned onto my side. “Yeah, Jim, it was good.” My voice was rough; I did make quite a racket and I doubt any of it made a lick of sense. So I said, “Real good,” more softly, and kissed him even softer.

Jim still looked a little wary, but his lips curved under mine. He was doing that closed-mouth thing where you’ve just blown a guy and aren’t sure if he wants to taste himself in your mouth, a polite notion that I was careful to disabuse him of straightaway. We spent a good few minutes just kissing, lazy and sweet - seemed as if my orgasm had taken the edge off for both of us. I seized the opportunity to rub my hands across his chest, down his flat belly, scratching lightly at his thighs (it always amused me how he could put in so many hours at the gym yet never build up those skinny chicken legs).

He was pretty quiet even as he moved restlessly under my attention. Maybe that’s why I talked more than my natural inclination, asking how he liked this, if that felt good. He’d answer me with a frantic nod or a hungry little whimper I felt more than heard when I sucked at the arch of his throat. I don’t know, I’d always assumed Jim would keep up a running commentary in bed; to find that not to be the case was a bit unsettling.

But he’d been grinding his erection into my hip for long enough. The wordless cry he let out when I curled my fingers around his cock was by far the loudest noise I’d yet earned. I let my head fall onto his shoulder so I could watch myself touch him, fascinated. In the space of about twenty minutes my sex god best friend had gone from off-limits to helpless in my hands, all hard flesh and soft warm skin. I could hardly be blamed for feeling a little self-satisfied about the way he was moaning for me.

Last time I had sex with a man had been sophomore year of college, but it’s not like we’re complicated. I swiped my thumb over the head, spreading precome to ease the way as I stroked him. Jim squirmed and rocked into my grip, head thrown back on the pillow. God, he was beautiful like this. Even if I hadn’t already come, I thought I could watch him forever.

“C’mon, that‘s it,” I whispered, wanting to see that bright blue corona swallowed up by black pupils. I reached up to draw his head down and frowned. His jaw was tense and when I brushed my fingertips over his mouth they came away bloody. Not from any damage I’d done, I realized - he’d been biting his lips hard enough to break the skin.

What the hell was he so afraid of saying?

Jim closed his eyes, tucked his face into my neck. And suddenly I got it, and there was that tart voice again, exactly what she’d say to my father and me whenever we got into a fight and didn‘t speak for weeks at a time. You, Leonard Horatio McCoy, can be one dumb sonovabitch when you feel like it.

“Jim.” I tasted iron - ought to go for the dermal regen in my bag, really, but somehow I thought that might break the mood. My hold on him had gone slack so I squeezed firmly, drawing from a whine from his battered lips. “Jim, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“But you - ” Jim burst out before he caught himself. I honestly thought he was gonna clap his hand over his mouth like a kid who’d said a bad word in class, but instead he grasped my arm so hard it was sure to leave a mark.

Now that I had his attention back, I reached down with my free hand to rub at the thin skin behind his balls. He was close - I could feel it in the throbbing against my palm, hear it in his labored breathing, see it in his wide eyes. It looked a little like panic.

I had spent a year and a half patching up Jim Kirk, from the time he’d swollen up like a puffer fish after ingesting the faintest trace of mango to the bar fight where three very large men and a very irritated woman had wiped the floor with his drunk ass. I could rattle off his chart from memory, knew every freckle and scar on his body. And I had never wanted to fix his hurts as bad as I did at that moment.

“I’ll stay,” I murmured. Jim dug his blunt nails into my arm, breath catching in his throat. I kissed his ear, his jaw, his brow, his bruised open mouth. “I’m staying. All right?”

His voice was ragged with a desperation that wasn't all about impending climax. “Okay, okay,” he said wildly, clutching at me. “Fuck, Bones, I…Bones!” With that he pulsed and twitched in my hand, spilling hot over my knuckles. I stroked him through it, gentling my touch until it was too much and I turned his softening cock loose. There wasn't too much mess, but reaching for a tissue and cleaning up gave us both a moment to get ahold of ourselves.

We lay still for awhile, drifting in that easy place between sex and sleep. Having missed this part as much as anything else, I was pleasantly surprised that Jim had succumbed to it rather than jump out of bed right after as was his custom. But fair's fair - I had decided not to run, so he wouldn't either.

"So why were you planning to skip town, anyway?" Listening to Jim's casual question, you'd never guess he had freaked right the hell out about the prospect.

"I flunked my Basic Flight practical today." It seemed like such a silly thing after the fact - silly and inevitable, which was why I hadn't bothered to tell Jim I was taking the damn thing that morning. I had thought I would be fine, all mentally prepared and whatnot, but I had gotten into that pilot's seat, run through the pre-flight sequence like clockwork, and promptly vomited in my instructor's lap. Should've just gotten the damn class over with last year; clearly I'd had way too much time to work myself up over it.

Jim didn't laugh. He traced my collarbone with his fingertips, looking thoughtful, and pointed out, "You need that certification if you want to make senior officer aboard a starship."

His starship was the implication, I knew. I didn't bother pointing out that this whole thing with him as captain and me as CMO, probably of the goddamned Enterprise if he wanted to go whole hog with the fantasy, was never what I'd intended when I enlisted. It was different now - different for me, anyway. Jim had made that plan our first month here.

I brushed my thumb over his swollen lips, a ghost of a touch that made him draw in a sharp breath. "Yeah, I know," I said heavily. When I was stumbling away from the bay afterwards, still shaky and lightheaded, the thought of having fucked my life up yet again...it got to me, bad.

Jim propped himself up on an elbow, a familiar stubborn light beginning to shine in his eyes. "Okay, but it's not the end of the world. You'll get that counseling you should've taken before you even signed up for the fucking class." I wrinkled my nose - I hate being a patient as much as anyone else with a medical degree, especially when it comes to psychiatry. But I knew he was right. Starfleet would've insisted from the beginning if I had been more forthcoming about my phobia.

"They run Flight every semester," Jim was saying, "you can retake it over the summer. Pike might even be able to get the mark taken off your record." Off my skeptical look, he insisted, "I know he's not your advisor, but he recruited you - he's got a vested interest in keeping you around." I thought any interest Pike might develop in me would have more to do with Jim's interference than my own talents, but didn't mention it. "And I'll work with you, too."

He started describing his plans in the air with one hand. I always did like to watch him when he got animated over some scheme or problem. "We can start with the short-range, ground-based craft. The Academy's got a small fleet, it's just that nobody but the pilot-track cadets ever expresses interest. Then we'll work our way up to two-man shuttles, and eventually Constitution-class."

I snorted. "Because it's just that easy to waltz up to a hangar and take out any old vessel that catches your eye."

Jim grinned; he staked his life on making things just that easy. "Don't worry, I've got an in with the faculty."

"Meaning you slept with one or more of 'em."

He blinked big, innocent blue eyes at me. "I can't help it if I'm a natural-born networker, Bones."

"Uh-huh." I shoved his shoulder and he rolled away, snickering, before tucking himself back against my side. We arranged our arms and legs into a tangle less likely to cramp us up. I felt kind of ridiculous turning in as if it were nighttime and not mid-afternoon, but figured I'd nap now and wake to the rumbling of Jim's stomach in a few hours, reliable as clockwork.

I was more than halfway gone when Jim's breath stirred right in my ear. "Jeez, I can't believe you were gonna split over one little failing grade. Drama queen."

"Narcissistic brat," I murmured without opening my eyes. He laughed and bumped his nose against my cheek.

I fell asleep thinking I could get used to this, if he'd let me. Even post-coital and wrapped up in him, I couldn't delude myself with the notion that it would be easy. No, I was pretty sure that loving Jim would turn out to be one of the hardest things I ever set out to do. There were some tough conversations looming in our immediate future as well as further down the line - but not tonight. We'd gotten through this small crisis, and it was enough for now. It was enough.