It's been eating him up inside for too damned long now, distracting him when he should be focusing on his studies. He manages to brush it away when he's in surgery, but just barely; the thought buzzes around his consciousness like a mosquito.
He wants Jim.
He can't help himself. He wants his best friend, and he's maybe sick for wanting him, but he's blown a million chances in his life. His two constants are Jim and Starfleet. Even Joanna is growing, changing into someone unrecognizable; the last time he talked to her he swears he could hear her rolling her eyes like her mother used to do, like she was going to say Oh, Len at any moment and heave a sigh like he was the most ridiculous man in the world who tested her patience with every fiber of his being, every breath he breathed, every step he walked.
So maybe it makes sense that he wants Jim, after all. Starfleet he's got, surgery he's got; he's been a doctor for years already, after all, and Jim's the one uncertain want-need in his life right now.
Fuck.
He can eliminate Jocelyn from his thoughts almost completely, but Jim is always there, nagging, not like Jocelyn nags, but a Jim-nag which is different and annoying and arousing, and fucking naked (not fucking naked, but, fuck, he's naked, and it's not like Bones hasn't seen it a million times before and knows exactly what to picture by now without even having to try) half the time, lately, and damn but that's distracting.
It all comes to a head over a bottle of bourbon (of course, how could Bones have taken the chance any other way, coward that he is?) and a game of rummy (stupid juvenile game, but Jim likes it, so it's okay).
Jim grins up at him. "Winner gets a blowjob from the loser," he says, and Bones just stares. "Jesus, I was kidding," Jim says, but the smile's half-gone from his face and Bones shakes himself. Not now. Not now.
"Yeah, sure," he laughs, but he plays mean, and he wins, and he raises an eyebrow at Jim, silently challenging him.
Jim stands, wiping his palms on his pants, and, fuck, he's nervous, Bones realizes, and he can't react to Jim kneeling in front of him until Jim's already got his pants open, his fingers searching.
"Fuck—Jim—" Bones stammers, jerking away. "I don't—you don't have to."
"Maybe I want to," says Jim, and he grins wickedly, and that's about all Bones can handle. He closes his eyes and puts his hand over Jim's, which is staying dangerously close to the evidence of Bones's arousal—and, shit, he is aroused, isn't he?
"You know I always win rummy," Jim continues, and Bones tries hard to concentrate on what Jim's saying through the fog of alcohol surrounding them both. Yeah, Jim does always win. Mostly always. Or always-mostly, fuck, whatever, and it doesn't matter because Jim's hand is moving again and this can't be happening.
"I was the one who was supposed to take the chance," Bones slurs, and he opens his eyes to find Jim staring up at him.
"What?"
From somewhere beyond alcohol and arousal, he finds conviction. "I was—let's not. Jim. Please."
"Shit," says Jim, and he slumps in a heap at Bones's feet. "Shit," he says again, and it's so defeatist Bones can't take it.
"Come on," he says, standing, and he hauls Jim to his feet, and before thinking or anything stupid like that can get in the way, he grabs a fistful of Jim's ratty old t-shirt and jerks him forward and kisses him hard, and Jim says ah and kisses back, and Bones can feel himself falling, falling, and this wasn't how it was supposed to happen but okay, okay, okay.
It's too much.
That thought breaks through, and Bones staggers backwards.
"It's all wrong," he says aloud, and he looks at his bed and Jim grabs him and kisses him again, and they somehow make it on to the bed and get naked and shit shit shit this is all wrong. Love was supposed to come first.
And, shit, not love, he's more fucked up than the thought. Not love. Just Bones and Jim.
They're both too fucked up, though, and sex and love and naked and Jim and want all swirl dangerously downwards until Bones loses consciousness and the last thing he registers before sleep is Jim, hard, and Jim, tangled, and Jim, snoring, and. Jim. And in the morning, Jim. And truth. And okay.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Semi-surprise commentporn!
Date: 2009-07-11 07:14 am (UTC)He wants Jim.
He can't help himself. He wants his best friend, and he's maybe sick for wanting him, but he's blown a million chances in his life. His two constants are Jim and Starfleet. Even Joanna is growing, changing into someone unrecognizable; the last time he talked to her he swears he could hear her rolling her eyes like her mother used to do, like she was going to say Oh, Len at any moment and heave a sigh like he was the most ridiculous man in the world who tested her patience with every fiber of his being, every breath he breathed, every step he walked.
So maybe it makes sense that he wants Jim, after all. Starfleet he's got, surgery he's got; he's been a doctor for years already, after all, and Jim's the one uncertain want-need in his life right now.
Fuck.
He can eliminate Jocelyn from his thoughts almost completely, but Jim is always there, nagging, not like Jocelyn nags, but a Jim-nag which is different and annoying and arousing, and fucking naked (not fucking naked, but, fuck, he's naked, and it's not like Bones hasn't seen it a million times before and knows exactly what to picture by now without even having to try) half the time, lately, and damn but that's distracting.
It all comes to a head over a bottle of bourbon (of course, how could Bones have taken the chance any other way, coward that he is?) and a game of rummy (stupid juvenile game, but Jim likes it, so it's okay).
Jim grins up at him. "Winner gets a blowjob from the loser," he says, and Bones just stares. "Jesus, I was kidding," Jim says, but the smile's half-gone from his face and Bones shakes himself. Not now. Not now.
"Yeah, sure," he laughs, but he plays mean, and he wins, and he raises an eyebrow at Jim, silently challenging him.
Jim stands, wiping his palms on his pants, and, fuck, he's nervous, Bones realizes, and he can't react to Jim kneeling in front of him until Jim's already got his pants open, his fingers searching.
"Fuck—Jim—" Bones stammers, jerking away. "I don't—you don't have to."
"Maybe I want to," says Jim, and he grins wickedly, and that's about all Bones can handle. He closes his eyes and puts his hand over Jim's, which is staying dangerously close to the evidence of Bones's arousal—and, shit, he is aroused, isn't he?
"You know I always win rummy," Jim continues, and Bones tries hard to concentrate on what Jim's saying through the fog of alcohol surrounding them both. Yeah, Jim does always win. Mostly always. Or always-mostly, fuck, whatever, and it doesn't matter because Jim's hand is moving again and this can't be happening.
"I was the one who was supposed to take the chance," Bones slurs, and he opens his eyes to find Jim staring up at him.
"What?"
From somewhere beyond alcohol and arousal, he finds conviction. "I was—let's not. Jim. Please."
"Shit," says Jim, and he slumps in a heap at Bones's feet. "Shit," he says again, and it's so defeatist Bones can't take it.
"Come on," he says, standing, and he hauls Jim to his feet, and before thinking or anything stupid like that can get in the way, he grabs a fistful of Jim's ratty old t-shirt and jerks him forward and kisses him hard, and Jim says ah and kisses back, and Bones can feel himself falling, falling, and this wasn't how it was supposed to happen but okay, okay, okay.
It's too much.
That thought breaks through, and Bones staggers backwards.
"It's all wrong," he says aloud, and he looks at his bed and Jim grabs him and kisses him again, and they somehow make it on to the bed and get naked and shit shit shit this is all wrong. Love was supposed to come first.
And, shit, not love, he's more fucked up than the thought. Not love. Just Bones and Jim.
They're both too fucked up, though, and sex and love and naked and Jim and want all swirl dangerously downwards until Bones loses consciousness and the last thing he registers before sleep is Jim, hard, and Jim, tangled, and Jim, snoring, and. Jim. And in the morning, Jim. And truth. And okay.