It takes Jim three years to talk Bones into bed.
And, okay, the truth of it is that he doesn't talk Bones into bed so much as Bones falls into bed with him due to adrenaline and a certain near-death experience that includes the destruction of Vulcan and the near destruction of the Enterprise and Earth, but if Jim cared about details like that he wouldn't be the Captain of a starship. (Or maybe he would; Starfleet doesn't seem to care much about the sexual prowess or lack thereof of its Captains and the people being promoted to Captain. But, y'know. Details. Psh.)
Either way, after three years of dropping subtle hints (stripping off for showers with the door open and then catching Bones' eye and winking is subtle, right? …Right?) and pining over—or, no, definitely not pining over; let's go with desiring—his best friend, Jim finally gets to have sex with him.
It isn't exactly what he expected. He's not entirely sure what he expected, but it probably included him being the 'top' and blowing Bones' mind so much that the irascible doctor is both ruined for other people and so blissed out that he stops bitching (or, like, stops bitching as much, or for the moment, either of which would still totally count as a win in Jim's mind). And considering the fact that he's done that with…well, not so many dudes as chicks, but a pretty fair number of dudes nonetheless, they're pretty understandable—or as Spock would say: logical—expectations to have.
But, uh, what really happens leaves those expectations blown way, way out of the water. Like, from the ocean to the moon—no, to another solar system out of the water.
Because Bones? All grumpy crunchy exterior and warm chocolaty interior aside, is a stud in bed.
And in Jim's mind, there's a stud and there's a stud. He's always considered himself in the latter category, but a night with Bones definitely bumps him down to the former.
Or, rather, it thrusts him down to the former, and then just keeps on thrusting until he wonders if there is yet a third category of stud that is, like, the sexual equivalent of reaching Nirvana or some shit.
Whatever the case may be, Jim's first night in Bones' bed begins with him bottoming for the first time and ends with him coming a grand total of three times in two hours, once without Bones so much as breathing on his dick.
And, ever the scientist, Jim knows that he has to tap that ass—or, er, have his ass tapped by that—at least once more to make sure it wasn't some amazing-but-adrenaline-induced accident.
When Jim goes to Bones' rooms after his shift has ended, he's got this entire speech planned out in his head. It's a goddamned awesome speech, too, with charm out the ass and statistics about friends being the best lovers and waggling eyebrows (which aren't strictly necessary but have almost never failed him in the past), and if his crew thinks he gives great motivational speeches already (as they undoubtedly do; I mean come on, he's James Tiberius Kirk for fuck's sake), they should hear him when there's possibly-Earth-shattering-sex on the line.
Turns out, though, that he doesn't have to bother.
Because Bones answers the door with an upraised eyebrow and a scowl, and then he sees Jim standing there, and before Jim can get out anything more than "So Bones I definitely think we should fuck again in the name of science and shit" Bones has grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside.
Jim thinks for a second that he's blown his chances, because Bones is all about propriety or whatever and probably doesn't appreciate Jim bringing up sex with the door open where anyone could overhear. But before he can even start thinking of how best to apologize (it would've been fucking spectacular, though, and probably included giving Bones the best blowjob of his life) Bones has shoved him up against the door and promptly tries to extract his tonsils using only his tongue.
It's kind of a killjoy (it was an epic speech, okay?), but, hey, Jim can always tell Bones about it after and maybe convince him into a third night together.
And then Bones grabs Jim's ass—Jim never realized how goddamned huge Bones' hands were until he realized just now that one of his buttocks fits almost perfectly into one of Bones' hands—and picks him up like he weighs no more than a hypospray, and thrusts their dicks together, and the entire fucking speech just flies right out of Jim's mind. Which is a shame, but…whatever. Sex.
"I've been thinking about this all goddamned day." Bones murmurs against his mouth, and then Jim has to wrap his legs around Bones' waist because they're moving away from the wall, now. Jim wonders briefly if they'll make it to the bed, but half a second after the thought passes through his mind Bones drops him onto the couch.
"Can't even make it to the bed?" Jim asks, even though he sure as hell doesn't care.
"We'll get there eventually." Bones says, and his voice is so full of dirty promises that it sends a shiver down Jim's spine and right to his dick, which is very interested in the way this is going to play out. "So fucking hard to get your ass out of my head; they're lucky I didn't start humping a goddamned bio-bed halfway through surgery."
Jim lets out a snuffling laugh that turns into a wanton gasp as Bones shoves his shirts up and bites his chest, hard, right around his left nipple. "Fuck, Bones, what the hell?"
Bones just hums and laves at the mark with is tongue, soothing the reddening skin and then kissing it before he moves up, pushing the over- and undershirt the rest of the way off of Jim's body with some difficulty.
"If I'd known you were this hot for it I'd have tried to get you in bed ages ago." Jim says as Bones presses open-mouthed kisses to his clavicle, neck, and jawline.
"You did try to get me in bed ages ago." Bones murmurs into his ear, nipping at the lobe. "I'm pretty sure I threatened you with a hypo that'd leave you incapable of getting it up for a week."
"Not exactly the image I want in my head right now, Bones." Jim says, then gasps as Bones' hand suddenly and without any sort of warning is in his pants and wrapping around his cock, squeezing the base teasingly. "Not cool, Bo-oh-oh—"
"I think I want to suck your brains out of your dick." Bones whispers, and almost before Jim can register the words there's the gentle purr of a zipper and Bones lips are wrapped around Jim's manhood and it's all he can do not to thrust up because holy shit Bones' mouth was definitely made for sucking cock.
"Oh God oh God oh God," chants Jim, and he already knows that he's never going to be able to look at Bones' mouth again without seeing it like this, stretched tight around him, glistening with pre-cum and spit, and then one of Bones' hands does something fabulously wicked with his balls and while his fingers brush against Jim's perineum and he sees white, a high-pitched whine tearing out of his throat as his orgasm rips through him.
When he comes back down, Bones' Adam's apple is bobbing as he swallows down the rest of Jim's cum, his tongue peeking out and running across his lips—plump and shining and fucking gorgeous in all the dirtiest ways—to gather up whatever cum might have dribbled out. Also, there's definitely a finger—no, that'd better be two fingers, oh God—in his ass. Which, y'know, is kind of something you should warn a guy about first, but before Jim can say anything about it the fingers crook a little and brush his prostate and the words catch in his throat.
Bones crawls back up his body, a third finger probing at Jim's hole tentatively before pressing in. He kisses Jim, whose nose wrinkles a bit because he doesn't really like the tang of his own jizz, then presses their foreheads together and quietly says, "I'm going to fuck you so hard tonight you aren't even gonna have the energy to look at someone else."
His voice isn't so much a whisper as it is a growl, and just the sound of it is enough to make Jim's dick twitch weakly with renewed interest even without the added stimulus of his fingers continuously brushing against Jim's prostate gland. Not to mention the actual words of Bones'…promise? Threat? (Dude, Jim wishes all of Bones' threats were like this.)
"I'd better not catch you tryin' to look, either, y'hear?" Bones asks, and great fucking Christ on a cracker, how has Jim never realized before that Bones' southern drawl is the biggest goddamned turn-on this side of the Alpha Quadrant?
"I won't." Jim hears a breathy voice say, hardly recognizing it as his own. "I wouldn't—c'mon, c'mon, keep your promise and fuck me."
Jim hears a snorting noise in his ear. He blinks for a moment, realizing belatedly that Bones is laughing, and starts to say something before Bones pulls his fingers away. The sudden empty sensation makes whatever he was going to say turn into a groan, but Bones is already hooking his elbows under Jim's knees, pushing them up until Jim is nearly folded in half. And then the blunted head of Bones' penis is pressing into him, and he throws his head back, eyes closing.
Bones fucking bites him again, this time on his clavicle, which seriously hurts, by the way. "Look at me. Don't take your eyes away, Jim; I want you to know exactly who it is that's screwing you into the mattress so you don't go getting any funny ideas."
"We're on the couch." Jim murmurs, and tries to smile when Bones harrumphs into the dip where his neck meets his collarbone. Then he does that thing again with Jim's balls, and Jim's eyelids flutter for a moment, fighting between his natural inclination to keep them shut and that feral demand to keep them open. Another bite—on his Adam's apple—throws them wide open, and a shuddering sigh escapes his lips. He yelps a little as Bones bottoms out, hardly giving him a chance to recover before their bodies part and slam together again.
Bones bends over in a feat of flexibility that Jim wouldn't have believed him capable of so that he can press their lips together. And even though he's been talking like a freaky possessive lover for the past few minutes, the kiss is almost maddeningly gentle, like he's trying to use it to communicate the words he can't quite bring himself to say. Jim kisses back the same way, and that seems to be answer enough for Bones, who thrusts again and sighs and comes long and hard, grasping at Jim's hands like they're the only things keeping him grounded.
"Shit, I'm hard again." Jim says as Bones huffs into his shoulder.
Bones grunts and releases him, pulling out lazily before he rolls Jim over onto his side and pushes back in. Jim sputters a little when he realizes that Bones hasn't quite gone soft, yet, holy shit, and he's apparently made a mental map of Jim's body, inside and out, because he's got just the right angle now to brush up against Jim's prostate with every thrust.
"You're gonna feel this ache for weeks, Jim." Bones whispers into his ear. He's got a hand on Jim's hip, grip tight enough to leave little crescent marks that'll probably bruise (is it weird that Jim kind of wants it to bruise? It's totally weird, right?), and he grunts approvingly when Jim reaches up and grasps at it.
Jim isn't sure why he's so bent on keeping their fingers tangled together (not like the rest of them isn't tangled enough already, for fuck's sake), but Bones had grabbed his hands earlier like they were an anchor and now he feels like Bones' hands are his anchor and, Christ, he is so glad that Bones is too busy fucking him to psychoanalyze right now because there's no telling what this shit says about the two of them together.
Then Bones buries his face in the juncture of Jims' neck and shoulder, shakes his hand free, and reaches down to pull at Jim's cock until Jim can't do anything but sob out pleas for release, which finally comes when Bones breathes, "You're mine," soft into his ear and bites down hard on his neck. And he can feel Bones pumping his own release into his body as he drifts back into himself.
Panting, finding Bones' hand again, Jim wonders aloud, "Why the frick didn't we do this sooner?"
Bones hums thoughtfully as he pulls out, rolling over until he tumbles off of the couch with a light thump. "'M gonna take a shower."
"Water or sonic? Because if it's water I am all over that." Jim says with a yawn and a stretch. "Damn, Bones, my ass is, like, numb. Carry me?"
He doesn't have to look at Bones to know he's got one of those looks—the unimpressed and slightly mortified kind, like he can't quite believe Jim is old enough to function on his own, which is totally not cool considering what they just got finished doing—on his face.
"You carried me before." Jim grumbles, jutting his bottom lip out.
"Don't be such a goddamned infant, Jim, or I'm gonna start thinking I just had sex with Chekov." Bones says. "Which is wrong on so many different levels I can't even begin—"
"You cannot be this snarky after sex." Jim says. "At least help me up, you jerk. I am seriously losing feeling in my gluteus maximus."
Bones rolls his eyes. "Just wait until after I finish. Christ." He says, then turns and walks off.
And Jim frowns, because that is so not kosher. Hadn't they had a good time? It was fantastic sex, right? Even if Jim was new to the whole bottoming thing, he was sure it had been good. But that wasn't Bones' usual grump talking, just then. That was his 'I don't want you here right now' grump; the kind he got right after a call from Jocelyn and/or her smarmy lawyer.
"Suspicious." Jim decides out loud, and groans as he sits up, pain already radiating through his ass. He scans the room for a moment, then finds a very likely-looking drawer, and…good old Bones, always has a regenerator somewhere nearby, even though Jim is pretty sure this wasn't a planned tryst. At least, not for Bones. So he runs the regenerator over the worst pains, healing them enough to be bearable but not completely because…well, just because, okay?
He gets up and stretches, putting the regenerator away before his gaze wanders over to the bathroom. His frown returns, and he tiptoes over to the bathroom door, pressing his ear against it. The shower has already started, so it should be safe to…
A sound stills his hand before it reaches the panel, and he cocks his head to the side for a moment. Then the sound comes again, and his eyes widen because there is no mistaking that particular pitch of a moan. It's not pain—Bones shouldn't be feeling any pain at all, the lucky bastard. No, it's…it's definitely pleasure.
As quietly as possible, he hacks into the door panel, unlocking it and switching the door to manual. He opens it, stepping in as steam immediately swallows him up. He closes the door behind himself and just…just stares.
The shower's one of those glass ones that are slightly distorted so you can see the person's figure but can't make out any details. (Not that Jim needs details. He'd seen Bones naked even before the sex thing; they were roommates for two years.) Even so, there's no mistaking that posture: one hand pressed against the tiled wall, the other nowhere to be seen, the movement of the hips…Bones is jerking off in the shower.
Jim's never met anyone over the age of twenty with a refractory period that good. And, okay, it's kind of a little bit bizarre, but Jim's seen a lot of crazy shit.
Besides, as far as freaky sexual secrets go, this one is kind of awesome.
Also now all Jim can think about is Bones in the shower, pulling at himself because…actually, Jim can't think of a reason why when he's obviously more than ready and willing to have sex with Bones. Maybe it was a past thing—maybe one of those things Jocelyn fucked up with Bones.
Either way, Bones is naked and wet and masturbating and Jim can hear him panting out his name like it's the dirtiest mantra ever, and all Jim wants to do is open the shower door and watch. To see the water streaming down Bones' back in thin rivulets that follow the curves of his muscles; see his hand wrapped tight around his own dick; see his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes closed, his hair sticking to his face.
So he does. Bones jumps and then presses himself against the shower wall, eyes wide, hands half-heartedly covering his crotch and chest, tongue darting out and dragging across his lips in an almost planned way, like he knows Jim's eyes will follow the movement and give him time to think of something to say. (If that's what he was planning, it would have worked except for the tiny little fact that Jim honestly doesn't want or need any sort of explanation, and the other, slightly more important fact that there really isn't anything to say about this.)
Jim steps into the shower and closes the door, eyes never leaving Bones'. Bones' eyes have always been Jim's favorite thing about him (except for maybe his eyebrows, but Jim kind of considers them one and the same)—they remind him of the end of summer, when the leaves on the trees are mostly dead but vibrant shades of brown and yellow and red, with hopeful little specks of green scattered throughout. (If he was less focused on Bones and sex right now, he'd write that shit down because it is poetry gold. But, uh, hello? Bones and sex—two things that most definitely trump poetry any day of the week.)
And then, still carefully holding Bones' gaze, he sinks to his knees. The shower stall isn't really big enough for it, so he ends up so close that Bones' dick (slightly wilted but still hard) bounces against his cheek.
"Need some help with this?" Jim asks, because it's the only thing he can think to say even if it does sound like something out of some lame porn holo.
Luckily Bones doesn't seem to care, because he groans and tilts his head back (the water sprays against his throat and makes it look extremely bitable, but Jim's kind of at the wrong end for that). Jim bumps his nose against Bones' cock, then opens his mouth and sucks it in, hands running up Bones' legs before settling on his hips.
Bones' hand, meanwhile, flitter about for a moment; then his fingers tangle in Jim's hair and tug hard and, fuck, Jim's never felt this good being on the giving end of a blowjob. Water is sluicing across their bodies, and Bones' dick is just big enough to cause a bit of an ache in Jim's jaw, but small enough that Jim can do this swirly thing with his tongue that makes Bones' breath hitch and tug on his hair again (thank you, Gaila). That makes him moan, which makes Bones moan, and Jim does it again so that this time he can look up and watch Bones echo the sound. Bones is still looking at him with those eyes, though his eyelids are drooping and his pupils are blown, and if Jim hadn't already come twice in the past hour he's pretty sure he'd be coming just from that sight.
When Bones comes again, he pulls away so that some of it jets onto Jim's face. And as the water washes it away, Jim thinks that if things pan out and they get to keep the Enterprise for their very own, he's going to have to figure out a way to get them both more water shower allotments.
He's pretty sure Bones will agree with and help him before it's all said and done.
The next day, on his way to the mess for his lunch break, Bones pulls him into a supply closet and fucks him against the door. Then he smashes their lips together, zips his pants, and goes on his merry way.
And then he finds Jim again later and, wow, there are a lot of supply closets on the Enterprise. (Incidentally, how is it that so much of everything nowadays is mechanized, but there's still a need on starships for supply closets?)
He comes to realize over the next week that it takes them to get back to Earth that Bones might just know the location of every single one of them.
And, well, for a while Jim figures he's just making up for lost time. After all, as far as Jim can tell Bones hasn't been having much (if any) sex since they met (presumably since the divorce was finalized or possibly sometime before that, if Bones and the ex-wife weren't into I-never-want-to-see-you-again-but-let's-fuck-out-our-anger-first sex).
But then they've been back on Earth for a month, still waiting for the Enterprise to get refurbished and made shiny and new again, and Bones is still fucking him at any and every opportunity.
Not that Jim is complaining. Like, at all. Bones is head-to-head with Gaila on his list of 'best sex partners in the history of ever,' and might get a leg up just because as insatiable as Bones is—as many times as that man can come and get it up again in a crazily short time span—he always manages to get Jim off almost as much. Or, if Jim's too tired or spent to come again, he makes it almost as pleasurable as if Jim had had another orgasm. Jim hadn't even thought it was possible to feel that good without coming.
Although Jim can't quite find it in himself to be surprised by that aspect of their trysts. After all, Bones has always taken care of him, ever since that day on the shuttle when Jim had decided they were going to be the best of best friends (I mean, how could he not be best friends with a guy who shared booze with him within moments of their meeting?).
Actually, in light of everything he's coming to know and understand about Bones, the only thing that does surprise him is that Bones went without sex while they were at the Academy. It hadn't taken Jim all that long to realize that Bones loves sex, and not much longer than that to realize that Bones just about can't go without sex for more than a day (and after waiting a mere day? Can he take a moment to impress upon anyone who will listen just how goddamned awesome his—er, Bones is in bed?). So he kind of wants to know just how Bones had done without for (possibly over) three years?
Maybe during the middle of sex isn't the most auspicious time for Jim to ask, but…well, it's round three and this has been bothering him for a while and his head is still fuzzy from round two. At least, that's the excuse he'd give Bones if asked.
Bones doesn't ask, though. Instead he just does that thing with his eyebrows (which Jim decides he shouldn't be allowed to do while they're having sex because otherwise he's gonna start getting boners every time Bones does it. And Bones does it a lot), then grins wickedly (which Jim decides he shouldn't be allowed to do unless they're having sex because otherwise some bitch is gonna try to steal him away. And that's just not gonna happen on Jim's watch).
"Oh, darlin'," is all Bones says, then lets his eyes drift lazily over to the bottom drawer of his bedside table before returning to Jim's face and letting his grin widen.
It takes Jim three years to talk Bones into bed.
He never does manage to talk him out of it.
(Truthfully, he never tries.)