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Leonard watched the two of them as they moved against each other and couldn't help but be struck by the ease and familiarity of their touches, as if it were the hundredth time they'd had sex instead of the first. He’d done that. He’d allowed—no encouraged it to happen.
Jim. And Spock. Together. Just like they were meant to be.
He felt sick.
-----
“You want to do what?” Jim asked, and it was impossible to tell from his voice or expression just what he thought of Leonard’s idea.
He took a deep breath. It’d been hard enough saying it the first time. Fuck all that he had to do it again. “I want to have a threesome. Wi-with Spock.” It was too much to hope for that Jim hadn’t noticed the stutter, but with any luck, he’d attribute it to a case of nerves. They weren’t on anything resembling familiar ground after all.
“You want to have sex with Spock.”
It wasn’t a question, but it was, and Leonard literally had no fucking idea how the hell to explain. He knew he should’ve begun the conversation after they’d both had a couple of drinks in them, when his tongue was looser and Jim wasn't quite so observant, but what with one ridiculous crisis after another, he’d barely seen Jim in the past few weeks, and he’d needed to grab the opportunity while he could.
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”
-----
“Would you like to . . . you can stay if you want? There’s enough room.” Jim laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Assuming we all kind of squish together, but—”
“That is unnecessary, Ca—” Spock paused, then corrected himself, probably acknowledging in that computer brain of his that first names were proper etiquette in their situation. “Jim. The offer is appreciated, however, as I require less rest than humans, I had planned on—"
"Yeah, yeah, we've heard about all that Vulcan superiority before," Leonard grumbled, trying to keep it light, but not knowing if he'd succeeded. He needed Spock out of Jim's quarters, needed him gone as of ten seconds ago (two hours ago, he shouldn't have been there, they should never have brought him there). "Don't stay up forever. Even damn hobgoblins need their sleep." He would've said that, wouldn't he? Before? Before . . . everything?
"Indeed," Spock said solemnly, and it was all he could do to not look away from those eyes that always saw too damn much. "Goodnight, Doctor. Jim." Apparently that naming courtesy didn't spill over onto him. But then Jim was different, wasn't he? They both knew that.
"You okay, Bones?" The doors had closed behind Spock, but it still wasn't better. Even after he'd left, it was as if Leonard could still sense him in the room, and he just wanted some time. A little more time before Jim . . .
"Just tired," he said gruffly, glad his back was to Jim, and he headed for the bathroom, knowing Jim would follow. The room would smell like sex until all the air had circulated, but he could at least get the stench off his and Jim's skin.
-----
“Why?”
It was tempting to just snap back, “Why not?” and have done with it. It wasn’t like he could tell Jim the real reason, and all the other reasons he’d come up with were . . . were . . .
The simple fact was that he didn’t want to. Not one fucking bit. He didn’t want to share, didn’t want to have Spock of all people in their bed, didn’t want to open that damn door, because who knew if they’d ever get it closed again?
But it wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what he needed to do.
He had to know. The way old Spock looked at him every time they saw each other—slightly puzzled and almost pityingly—combined with the way he looked at Jim—peaceful and filled with a quiet but unmistakable joy—made it impossible to stop thinking about it. Jim had told him about the mind meld on Delta Vega. About all the things he’d seen that had slipped in with the rest of it. About their bond.
A bond that had no room for one Leonard McCoy.
And it didn't matter that things weren't the same, that Nero had changed everything, that the bond was something between a Spock who shouldn't be in their fucking universe at all and his Jim, not Leonard's, not the Jim who had been with him for the past four years, the last of which as more than simple friends. It wasn't that he expected guarantees. No one could give him that, and hell, he knew that better than most. Even vows made in front of God and the state of Georgia amounted to nothing in the end with a few words and hastily scrawled signatures. What he wanted though was to be able to see, to watch the two of them together with his own eyes and assure himself that there was no such thing as destiny, that just because life took a man in one direction didn't mean it couldn't take him in another given the chance.
He needed proof, because from everything he'd witnessed so far, it looked like Jim and Spock were . . .
For such a rough beginning, things had fallen into place between them pretty quickly. Fuck, who was he kidding? It was like they'd found missing pieces of themselves. Fights were ridiculous, the two of them running at the mouth hundreds of kilometers a minute, never finishing a sentence because the other one had already figured out where the first was going and had started up some counterargument. Spectators—and that's what the rest of them felt like, spectators, not participants—had a hard time keeping up with any of it, and when someone did get up the nerve to interrupt, by the expressions on their faces, it was like Jim and Spock had forgotten anyone else was in the room.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. If it had been, well, Jim had always liked the sound of his voice way too much, liked winning arguments—liked winning, period—even more than that, and Leonard would’ve just rolled his eyes and hauled him back to his room when he got bored.
But there was the way they always turned to each other first whenever something came up, the way they both seemed to know exactly where the other one was on the Bridge, no matter how much they moved around. It’d even spilled over to when they weren’t on duty, becoming something of a running joke with the crew. There was no reason to have the computer to locate the captain or first officer; just ask either of them, and he’d know where the missing person was.
And then there was the way they acted on away missions, moving in tandem like they’d fucking planned it, risking their lives to protect each other, doing the most crazy-assed shit Leonard had ever seen to save the other one that he could rail about all he wanted, but it didn’t matter because it had worked.
They complemented each other. Filled in gaps. Pushed when one needed pushing and called for restraint when that was required instead. And it wasn’t like he was imagining things. Anyone could see it. Everyone did see it. How many times had he overheard crew members say how lucky they were to be on a ship with Jim and Spock? That they made an amazing team. That they just fit.
How was he supposed to compete with something like that? It wasn’t just any one thing, it was all of it together, and he—
He wasn’t an easy person to live with. Fuck, he had his own shortcomings, kept all sorts of odd hours, let his bad moods carry over after he got shift, tended to order Jim around like he was his patient more than his lover, and never hesitated to tell Jim when he was being a jackass. Which was, in Leonard’s defense, a lot of the time.
But for all of that, for all of the stupid shit he did and said without ever meaning to, hell, for all the stupid shit he did and said on purpose, he still . . .
He just needed to know that he wasn't in love with someone who would never, ever love him back.
That was all. He wouldn’t even—he couldn’t even hold it against either of them. He knew the real James T. Kirk, and once a person had earned his loyalty, it took a hell of a lot to lose it. Jim would never set out to hurt him.
It was probably the only reason he’d never made a move on Spock before.
And Spock, fuck, it would’ve been a lot easier on Leonard if he could’ve hated Spock, could’ve blamed him somehow for doing something to Jim or insinuating himself where he wasn’t wanted. But Spock wasn’t the type to force his way into anything, and that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Figuring out if Jim wanted him or not.
But he couldn't exactly explain any of that to Jim, not without sounding crazy or jealous.
And then he didn’t have to.
"This is really what you want?" Jim asked finally, and Leonard realized he’d been quiet too long, that Jim thought he wasn’t going to answer at all. He wondered what he was thinking, wondered what he’d seen across Leonard’s face as he’d been trying to think of what to say. And he hated that damn blank face because he couldn’t tell if Jim was excited or upset or indifferent by the prospect of fucking Spock.
"Yeah," he said defiantly, feeling like he was coming apart at the seams.
"Okay, Bones,” Jim said quietly, turning away. “Okay.”
-----
Leonard had been nervous that when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to do it, that he’d take one look at Spock and order him out of the room or be unable to perform. Surprisingly—disturbingly—it wasn’t a problem.
He was the one to initiate the first kiss with Spock, the one to pull him between the two of them. Later, he would realize that he hadn’t wanted Jim to experience anything he hadn’t conquered first, didn’t want him to be able to touch Spock without remembering Leonard’s hands had been on his skin before his ever got there. At the time though, it was all about taking what was on offer, about making Spock squirm and grunt underneath him while Jim pressed against his back. And if Spock never seemed to look directly at him, looked past him to someone else, then it made thrusting harder all the more important.
It was impossible to think they could explore every position and permutation in one night, and so Leonard made sure to arrange Jim over Spock at the very end, didn’t want Spock on top of either of them, although it shouldn’t matter who fucked and who got fucked, but it did. To him, it did. He had to ignore the part of him that kept yelling that it was a mistake, that he couldn’t let them do it, that even if Jim didn’t love him, at least he had him, and that should be enough.
But when had Leonard Horatio McCoy ever been satisfied with ‘should be’s’ when he could push for more? When he was so certain that he was right . . . even if the truth itself was something he wasn’t ready to accept?
It was a conscious decision to have them face each other, to sit back and watch instead of participate, because it would be there, in their eyes, in the way they looked at each other while just centimeters apart, when it was impossible to hide any sort of real connection.
And it was.
-----
He didn’t try to avoid Jim after that. He didn’t need to, what with the virulent and dangerous thread of flu that went round the ship, the mission down to Altair VII where they lost three good crewmen, the distress call from S’chr’zan . . . There were days when he hadn’t seen Jim even in passing.
Maybe he shouldn’t have left the next morning before Jim woke up. But he hadn’t been able to sleep, couldn’t get the image of the two of them together out of his head, and it was either leave and keep some bare minimum of self-respect, or shake Jim until he was conscious enough for Leonard to yell at him and demand to know why.
So yeah, he didn’t avoid him on purpose, but he didn’t seek him out either, always heading back to his own room to try to sleep and wait for another day.
And Jim . . . well, Jim obviously had his own reasons for staying away.
-----
“If you have something you want to say to me, then you should fucking say it.”
Leonard put a hand to his chest, his heart still feeling like it was trying to leap out of his ribcage. “Damn it, Jim,” he growled, tossing his case to the side as the door closed behind him. “What are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack? Computer, lights, eighty percent!”
The sudden brightness made him blink, squint for a second before locating Jim on the couch across the room, the stony expression on his face making the dark shadows under his eyes that much more pronounced.
“You look like shit,” he said bluntly. “How much sleep have you been getting? You’re no good to anyone if you’re exhau—”
“What about you?” Jim asked harshly, and Leonard didn’t know what exactly he meant, but he watched as Jim’s hands twitched, his fingers wrapping around each other so tightly that Leonard could tell it had to hurt, even from where he was standing. “Am I any good to you?”
“What are you talking about?” But he glanced away, because fuck, he was tired, and he didn’t want to talk about it, not then, not later, didn’t want to discuss it ever if keeping quiet meant it wouldn’t happen.
“Look at me.”
“It’s late,” he said, pretending he hadn’t heard. He pulled his shirt over his head in order to justify not meeting Jim’s gaze, shoulders tensing because even with the black undershirt on, he felt too exposed. “You’re welcome to stay the night if you want—” Would he stay? Be willing to pretend for a little longer that everything was alright between them? “—but I have to—”
“Why the fuck can’t you even look at me anymore?”
His eyes jerked up to Jim’s at the anger in his words, at the way his voice cracked like it was underneath some heavy strain.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, and he was yelling without even meaning to, because Jim didn’t have the right to demand anything from him anymore, least of all answers that would leave him so fucking bare he wouldn’t have even his pride left in the aftermath.
“I want to know what’s going on!” Jim shouted right back, right in his face. It was the closest they’d been in days. “You’ve been fucking avoiding me—”
“Avoiding—in case you haven’t noticed, Captain,” he said, jabbing his finger into Jim’s chest, “there’s been a hell of a lot going on in the ship, and I haven’t had the time—”
“You used to make the time—”
"I did what I could! Fucking hell, Jim, what do you want from me? Some kind of apology? For doing my job? For not dropping by in the middle of the night when any sane person would be asleep? Is that it? Because I just don’t get it! Fucking tell me what you want—”
"What I want? What I want is to know what the hell is going on with you!" Jim roared, shoving Leonard in the chest so he stumbled backwards. He cursed, just barely managing to keep his balance, his hands curling into fists as he stood upright. He wanted nothing more just then than to give Jim a better reason for the fury on his face—
"Are you fucking Spock?"
"What?" Leonard shook his head, wondering if he'd heard right. "What did you say?"
"Are you fucking Spock?"
He stared, anger forgotten as Jim took a half-step toward him, eyes dark and almost wild. "Is that why you haven't been around? Why you’re never in your quarters anymore?"
He couldn't stop blinking, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of some response, but it was as if his brain just could not process the absurdity of the question. It was only when Jim began to turn away, his mouth curving into a bitter sneer, that he snapped out of his daze. "Why the hell would I be fucking Spock? You’re the one who—”
“I’m the one? I’m the one who what? Invited Spock in here in the first place? Could barely wait until the doors closed to get his hands on him? Snuck out of the room after he left, hiding who the fuck knows where ever since? I don’t fucking think so!”
“That’s not—that’s not what happened!” he shouted, reaching out to grab Jim—freezing when Jim knocked his hand away.
He didn’t understand how in hell everything had gotten so twisted around. He'd been so sure—sure—that he'd known what was transpiring right in front of him, what to expect next, but Jim accusing him of . . . when it was supposed to be Jim and Spock who . . .
“Why would I—” He swallowed, coughed, tried again. “I’m not—I wouldn’t, Jim. I wouldn't," he said, not even able to get his mouth around the rest of it, needing Jim to understand—
"Then what the fuck is going on, Bones?" Jim demanded, throwing his arms up in frustration, and Leonard had to close his eyes for one long second, because Jim believed him. Whatever else was wrong between them—and there was so much, how had it gotten to be so much?—Jim still trusted him. "Because I don't fucking know, not a single damn thing anymore! One day, we're fine, or at least, I thought so anyway. You and me, and I counted on that, I—"
"Jim." But words had never been his strong suit, not when he was to blame. And he was beginning to think he was, that he’d somehow fucked up beyond repair.
But Jim wasn't in the mood to wait for him to think of something to say. “And then you start acting differently, and I thought about saying something, but it wasn't all the time, just some of it, and fuck, I should've just asked what the hell was wrong, but I thought it would be okay, that it couldn't be that bad, because you were coming over more frequently, and you seemed happy when we were together, but—"
"I was happy," he interrupted, because he needed to make that point clear, that spending time with Jim had always been worth it.
"And maybe I was just fooling myself, I don't know." Jim had started pacing, talking more to himself almost than to Leonard, and he wondered how long Jim had been worrying, felt guilty because he'd never even noticed, too caught up in his obsession.
"But then this thing with Spock . . . and you wouldn't even tell me why, just that you wanted it—"
"Why didn't—why didn't you just say 'no' then? Why would you—"
"How the hell was I supposed to say no?"
Leonard found himself flinching from the intensity in Jim's voice.
"You've never asked for something like that before! Never even implied you'd be interested, and then out of the fucking blue—combined with the way you'd been acting—what the hell was I supposed to think? Maybe if you got if out of your system, maybe . . . I couldn't figure out why it had to be Spock specifically. You'd never seemed to even like him that much, but the way you acted afterward—"
"Why it had to be Spock? Fucking hell, Jim, how can you not get it? Spock is—"
They both jumped when the comm in Leonard's room chimed.
It was pointless to glare, but he did it anyway. “McCoy here,” he growled, looking at Jim as he said it.
“Dr. McCoy, I’m sorry to bother you, but Captain Kirk’s presence is required on the Bridge.”
“Acknowledged, Lieutenant Uhura. I’m on my way.”
Jim ran his hand through his hair before tugging his uniform into place, assuming the mantle of captain once again. “This isn’t over, Bones,” he said, right before the doors closed behind him.
-----
Leonard glowered at the doors of the turbolift. He knew Jim was going to come back, but he couldn’t sit around any longer, waiting for the axe to fall. He did that enough when he was on the job, but he’d be damned if he had to do it in his personal life as well.
If only he didn’t feel like a complete idiot for going to the Bridge without even the excuse of being on-duty to hide behind.
But Jim’s words kept tumbling around, incredibly loud in the empty space that was his head apparently. Jim had been so confused, and for him to suspect Leonard wanted Spock . . .
Had he been imagining everything?
Except, he couldn’t have. It had been so obvious.
But maybe . . . maybe it hadn’t been obvious to Jim. And Leonard didn’t know if it would make a difference to Jim if he realized how Spock felt.
But damn it, how could Jim have not known? He was good with people, could figure out what they wanted, even when they were trying to hide it from him, so it was impossible to think he’d missed how Spock acted around him when it was so different from how he acted around anyone else.
Fuck, he was just going around in circles. Again. It was why he'd left his room in the first place, and while it might have made more sense to go to Sickbay in order to lose himself in his work, he hadn’t wanted Jim to think he was avoiding him.
It had made sense at the time.
The doors opened. And Leonard saw—
Jim smiling at Spock, fond and exasperated and amused. Spock standing close by, like he didn’t normally require a good meter of personal space around him.
No, he hadn’t imagined a thing.
-----
He made it through the Bridge fiasco, didn’t remember what the hell he’d said as an excuse for dropping in and hoped he hadn’t made too much of an ass of himself, although it was a major theme of his life.
Maybe Jim really didn’t know. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe Leonard was blowing everything out of proportion, and it really was all innocent. Once bitten, twice shy and all that, and weren’t Jocelyn and Clay happy together? The thing was that he couldn’t do it. The reasons didn’t matter. He couldn’t. Not even for Jim.
-----
He waited in Jim’s room, because Jim had already as much as promised him he’d be back to finish their argument, and if they were going to finish it, he wanted to damn well finish it as soon as he could.
Jim didn’t even have the grace to act surprised when he walked in, sighed when he saw Leonard and came to sit next to him on the couch, settling down on the cushions like he felt twenty years older than he actually was.
“It’s me and Spock, isn’t it?” he asked quietly, both of them staring off into the distance. “You think I want Spock.”
“Don’t you?” He was grateful for the evenness of his tone, for the way it could’ve been any other question than the one it was.
“When I look at Spock, I see a lot of might-have-beens.” Jim’s voice was thoughtful. Sad. “The other me and the other Spock were something special, Bones. It wasn’t perfect, but it was . . . it was right for them.”
“Jim,” he said harshly, because the last thing he wanted to hear was Jim wax poetic on his and Spock’s relationship. “I don’t need—”
“But that was them, Bones. Not me.” He could feel the force of Jim’s gaze as it turned on him, but he continued to stare stubbornly forward. “Not me. If I’d known telling you about that fucking bond would make you worry, then I would never have done it!”
“It’s not just the bond.” He forced himself to meet Jim’s eyes, only to look away a second later. “You two just . . . you fit together. The whole crew thinks—”
“I don’t care what they—”
“Can you really sit there and tell me you’ve never noticed how he acts around you?” He could meet Jim’s gaze then with anger to support him. “That’s you’ve never noticed how you act around him? You two carry on like you’ve known each other for fifty years instead of one! It’s not natural—”
“You’re right, it’s not! Fuck, Bones! The only reason—the only reason,” he said, grabbing Leonard by the arms and giving him a shake, “is because of the mind meld. That’s it! I melded with old Spock and saw it, and then this Spock had to meld with me that one time on Gamma VIII, and he saw it, too! Do you want to know what I feel when I look at Spock? Pity! Because he and I will never have that kind of relationship. And not because it’s outside the realm of possibility—Spock hasn’t come out and said it, but I know he’d be willing to try—but because I would have to give you up to do it, and I already told you, Bones, you and me! You and me!”
Jim yanked him forward, crushing their lips against each other, less of a kiss than a demand, but while it might have been smarter to pull back, Leonard responded, just like he always had, his hands rising up to hold Jim’s head in place as he angled his lips into a better position.
“Bones,” Jim murmured, kept repeating his name over and over again as his hands pulled at his clothes, shoving them to the side as he struggled to reach skin, and how could he have forgotten what it was like to be the center of Jim’s attention?
He didn’t know whether to believe him or not, didn’t know if he should or even if he could, but as he kissed him, he realized he’d been a fool for thinking he could give Jim up if that was what Jim had wanted. Not possible. It was impossible to let him go.
Don't leave me, he thought as Jim rose up enough for Leonard to get his pants down his thighs. He was immediately ashamed of himself for it, but it was as if thinking it once had destroyed whatever dam that had kept the rest of the words back. Stay with me. I love you. Don't go.
They didn't make it to the bed. They didn't even get fully naked, because there just wasn't enough time, not when he was so absorbed with touching Jim everywhere he could reach, leaving marks with his fingers and mouth because he needed to see them there. Jim was just as aggressive, sucking deep hickies all over Leonard's neck and torso, and he let him, moaned his encouragement even though he'd normally thump Jim for anything above the collar line. It had been weeks since that night with Spock, more than enough time for any physical remnants to fade, but the ghost of it was still there between them, and as each bruise and blemish appeared, it helped exorcise the memory a little more.
He was the one to push Jim back into the cushions, needing more contact than their current positions gave them.
“Jim, I want . . .” He trailed off, not knowing how to express the tangle of desires within him, barely able to recognize his own voice, hoarse and almost pleading.
“Come here,” Jim commanded, wound his fingers in Leonard’s hair and tugged his head down, even as he wrapped his legs around Leonard’s until he was lying with his weight fully on top of him. “I’ve got you, Bones.”
He shuddered at the words, couldn’t stop kissing Jim as he thrust roughly against him, like he was in a race to the finish. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Jim had asked him to slow down or take it easy or even reached out for the lube they kept in the table next to the couch for occasions like these in order to make the slide of skin against skin a little smoother. But Jim never did, dug his fingers into Leonard’s hips to urge him faster, whispered, “C’mon, c’mon,” against his mouth and gasped, eyes wide and faintly surprised when he came, body twisting underneath him like he was trying to escape although his hands never let Leonard go.
-----
"I'm sorry," Leonard said afterward, inadequate because it didn’t matter how sorry a person was that he messed everything up all to hell; it didn’t erase the destruction.
But Jim just sighed, rubbed his cheek against Leonard’s hair and said softly, “You don't need to apologize, Bones. If anything, it's my fault for not noticing how much it bothered you. I should've said something before. I just . . . I thought you knew."
Knew what? he wondered, but he was too tired to figure it out, and too wary after their fight to ask.
-----
"Where are you going?" Jim asked, his voice muffled in his pillow, and Leonard stopped trying to move away, wondering at the guilty feeling that bubbled up out of nowhere at being discovered even though he hadn’t been doing anything wrong.
"Go back to sleep, Jim. It’s still early. I've got to check on—"
"Stay with me." Jim moved closer until his face was pressed against Leonard's hip and he could sling an arm over Leonard’s legs. "Don't go."
He stared at Jim, caught off guard by his choice of words, the same ones he'd used the night before. Jim didn't have to mean anything by it, especially not what Leonard had meant when he'd thought them, but . . . but then again, he could. And maybe Leonard needed to start having some faith instead of assuming the worst. The thing was that Leonard didn't expect Jim to ever say "I love you," wasn't sure he ever wanted to hear it actually, because they were just words, and he didn't put much stock in them, no matter how pretty they sounded. Actions always spoke louder and let him see what someone really believed in. And Jim's actions over the past twenty four hours had been . . .
"You know, some of us actually have to work for a living," he grumbled, settling back under the sheets, although that required he yank them from underneath Jim first. "We can't all pass off our duties on other people and call it 'delegating' or—"
"You keep me on the straight and narrow," Jim said solemnly, burrowing closer until he was almost on top of Leonard, his hair barely peeking out over the blankets. "What would I do without you?"
"Hmph. Fall into a life of sloth, depravity and ruin, I imagine," he replied acerbically, but his hand stroked down Jim's back, and he pulled him even closer.