Work Text:
"Do you take anything seriously?" McCoy snapped, slamming the textbook shut so loud that Jim jumped in spite of himself.
"Sure!" Jim Kirk took lots of things seriously. Women. The football team. His actual major. "But this is Geology 101, McCoy. Rocks for Jocks, remember? Archer's the easiest grader on campus, and I already brought in treats for his stupid dog. It's an easy A."
"It's not an easy A if you don't do any work at all," McCoy said. "And you've done exactly nothing for--" he glanced at his watch-- "twenty minutes now."
"Look," Jim replied. "It's an easy A. Most of the other groups aren't gonna do any work on this at all-- they'll slack off and let one person carry all the work-- don't look at me like that, I never said I wasn't going to do anything--"
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm going," Jim answered, "to give this project just as much attention as it deserves. And it does not," Jim grabbed McCoy's spreadsheet off the table and waggled it for emphasis, "deserve a five-week timeline with a spreadsheet. It deserves three weeks of work and maybe a model. With sand."
McCoy stared at him wordlessly. Jim Kirk, he was increasingly convinced, had been put on this earth to drive him completely insane.
And then Jim smiled. His trust me smile. The smile that had persuaded half the freshman class and much of the upperclassmen to decide that he was charming, reliable, and well worth bedding.
"Don't even try that on me," McCoy said.
"Try what?"
"Your legendary charm."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jim answered. McCoy rolled his eyes.
"Look," Jim said, leaning down and tapping the table. "Do it my way, I guarantee you we'll do half the work and still get an A."
"And if you're wrong, you're going to pay my medical school tuition?"
Jim considered. "How 'bout a blowjob?"
McCoy swallowed. "Fine," he said, snapping his book closed. "We'll meet in two weeks about this. But I'm expecting an A."
"You got it," Jim said, leaning back in his chair and pulling out his phone. "Jim Kirk is as good as his word."
McCoy shoved his things in his backpack. "You'd better be," he muttered, wishing like hell that part of him wasn't already happily anticipating a B.