AN: This is just my take on the trope Jim With Glasses. While there's a bit of h/c in this and a good dose of pining, it's still mostly just obsessing over how pretty Jim Kirk is in glasses. Also, this is a McKirk story, as in Jim and Bones together romantically. Don't like, don't read. With that said, enjoy!
Leonard McCoy doesn't believe in denial, at least not from himself. So he is absolutely clear on the fact that he's in love with his best friend. He has been probably from the beginning, though it's hard to pinpoint exactly when interest and attraction solidified into love. Len doesn't feel bad or guilty about his desires. It's not something he deliberately chose, and if anything it makes him more patient with the sometimes crazy blond, who can never really escape the abuse and neglect and torture of his formative years. And, Len further argues to himself, if anything Jim needs more people (any people) who truly loves him. Len doesn't demand anything in return, he doesn't even make his feelings known to Jim; that would only scare him away. Jim is more skittish about relationships and commitment than even Len was after the divorce. So Len contents himself with simply being there, with being the person Jim trusts to talk about the shit-show that made up his life from he was born to he joined the academy, with being the one who gets dragged everywhere like a necessary accessory to all Jim's harebrained schemes, with being the one to take care of Jim when he's hurt, physically or emotionally. It's much like a relationship anyway, even if Len can't tell Jim that he loves him, can't touch and hold Jim like he aches to, can't kiss and sleep with him like he desperately desires to. But it's enough all the same. Most of the time it doesn't even really registers to Len, he's so used to it by now. There are exceptions though, because Jim can't make anything that easy.
The first time Len turned to find Jim wearing glasses, he almost chokes. They are in Len's room, both of them quietly doing their readings for class. It becomes something of a habit to retreat there over the cause of the first semester, since Len doesn't share with a roommate (yet, then Jim somehow gets reassigned there) and even from the beginning Len senses Jim's dislike of open spaces. It's not so pronounced so as to be a phobia, but it's there as a wariness and hyper-alertness that isn't very conductive to studying. Later on the wariness gets an explanation, but in the beginning he just takes it in stride as another Kirk quirk and suggest they study at his place rather than at the library. So that's where they are, alone in Len's room, each pouring over their PADDs when Len turns to look at Jim and finds him wearing those thrice-cursed glasses. Let it be known that Jim Kirk is always a beautiful man with his jawline and cheek-bones and kissable lips and blue-like-the-Georgian-summer-sky eyes. The glasses just makes it more somehow. Like the way a well-tailored suit can make a man look sharper, the glasses seems to emphasize every smooth angle and plane of Jim's face, and Len really, really wants to touch and lick and kiss, because holy crap, Jim looks the most alluring mix of completely innocent and devilishly tempting. The glasses aren't even anything special, a basic squarish design of solid black frames, but they take Len's breath away and makes him choke on air. Jim looks up, those blue, blue eyes framed by the black glasses wide with worry and, shit, is Jim trying to give him a heart attack? Even if he isn't, Len just might have one anyway.
"Are you okay, Bones?" Jim asks, like he hasn't got a clue how downright delectable he looks right now and how much Len is fighting to restrain himself from jumping his unsuspecting best friend.
"Just something caught in my throat." Len gets out, coughing for effect and maybe to snap himself out of it. He is not going to kiss Jim. He is not. He clears his throat again and schools his expression into a familiar scowl.
"Since when did you get glasses?" He asks. He figures he can ask, the glasses are kind of glaringly there, as is the fact that he's never seen them before. Jim shrugs, like he expected the question, so Len figures he hasn't made himself too obvious.
"Always had them. Well, I didn't always have these glasses. I once had a pair of kid's glasses with orange stripes that looked a bit like phaser fire." There's a peculiarly bitter edge to Jim's tone as he describes his old glasses, but then Len figures he might have just not liked them. A lot of kids doesn't like getting glasses. Jim continues before Len can delve too deeply into it.
"Anyway, I used to wear glasses full time, before I switched to contacts. You know how bad my eye-sight is." He says, and Len does, he makes the prescriptions for Jim's contacts after all.
"Something wrong with the contacts?" He asks, because if it's a matter of the prescription being outdated, he is more than willing to make the necessary changes so he won't have to suffer through Jim looking so damn appealing. But, alas, Jim shakes his head.
"Not really. I mean, the contacts works fine, just sometimes my eyes get a bit irritated. And you know I'm allergic to Oclenio, so there's really nothing for it other than wearing the glasses." Jim says, and Len internally curses Jim's decidedly unnatural tendency to be allergic to any and all medicaments, the soothing eye-drops used by most wearing contacts apparently included. Of course, Len knows this already, he just never really thought about it seeing as Jim had never complained and never worn glasses before.
"So how come I've never seen you wearing glasses before?" He asks. Jim shrugs self-consciously.
"I don't really like to wear them in public." He says. And if Jim had been a vain man, that might have made sense. But Jim is about the least vain man in the world, even by his own admission, not to mention the fact that the glasses obviously aren't detrimental to his looks – quite the opposite – so it really doesn't make much sense. But Len also gets the feeling that this is all he's going to get on the topic for now, so he lets it rest. There isn't really much else he can say, seeing as he can hardly tell Jim to not use the vision-aids he needs, no matter what it does to Len's self-control. All he can hope is that Jim doesn't need them too often in the future.
And if hopes were made of gold, Len would be a rich man, but as it is he's struggling to pay alimony on top of his bills, so obviously Len is not so lucky so as to largely avoid a glasses-wearing Jim. In fact, Jim seems to be wearing them more and more frequently as time progresses. Len is half wondering if Jim's eyes are rapidly deteriorating, but then that doesn't match up with the vision and eye tests he himself forces on Jim. Jim, for some reason unbeknownst to Len, has simply decided to wear his glasses more often than not when they're alone together, and no matter how many times he sees it, he can never quite curb the impulse to close the distance between them and see if he can bring a flush to Jim's face to go with the glasses. But what is he supposed to do, watching Jim lie leisurely spread across Len's bed, wearing those glasses, tapping a stylus against those lush, kissable lips as he reads? Len is only a man. And if it hadn't been for the fact that Len assumes that if Jim was actually interested then he'd show it in a less circumspect way, he might have even thought Jim was doing it on purpose. But then Len catches himself and gives himself a mental slap for being so foolish, and forces himself to not let on just how affected he gets whenever Jim is wearing his glasses.
So time progresses, and Len learns to live with this form of torture, helped by how their friendship grows deeper and more profound in other ways. And that is when Jim tells him a story. It's not a story about glasses per se, but perhaps it's understandable that Len fixates on the glasses the same way the glasses have become a fixation in his daily life. The story in general is well known – because the famine and genocide on Earth colony Tarsus IV is infamous for its devastation – but Jim's part in it is not and Len feels a helpless rage against the injustice of his friend going through the terrors of that planet. It explains a lot about Jim, about his wariness for open spaces and poor eating habits, but it also explains about his glasses. He got glasses several years before going to that wretched place, but it wasn't until he was there, fleeing a madman's genocide, that the glasses became a liability with their eye-catching orange stripes and then when they got dirtied and broken, and he had to learn to make do without them, because it simply wasn't safe relying on them. It's all said in an aside, the part about the glasses, but it sticks with Len. He didn't know before, and now he does, and he can't ignore that. Jim wears glasses when he's with Len because he feels safe with him.
It doesn't exactly make Len feel ashamed for his reaction to the glasses – no sob story can take away from the fact that Jim looks drop-dead gorgeous wearing them – but it certainly takes the wind out of the sails of the dislike he's build up as a sort of self-defense. How can he be in any way angry or upset with Jim for trusting him? For showing that trust so visibly? If anything, it adds to the attraction of Jim in glasses, since it adds a kind of tender fondness to the already breathtaking force of his desire. Which really isn't helpful at all. So he tries to hide his discomfort as best he can – because being so painfully attracted to someone you can't have is definitely a discomfort – and continues this awkward balancing act of not allowing Jim closer than he can handle before he snaps and does something stupid while on the other hand not making Jim feel he's being pushed away. He gets fairly good at it, he thinks, but of course Jim notices. Jim is a genius and observant so of course he notices. Len knows that he does, but he argues that as long as Jim doesn't know the reason behind his odd behavior, it doesn't matter.
It's another afternoon of the two of them quietly studying in what is now their room. Except Jim isn't reading. In stead he is steadily and unabashedly looking at Len from under those black frames, and Len in turn is doing his level best to ignore him. Of course it doesn't work. It's just not possible to ignore Jim Kirk for any length of time. So finally, reluctantly and ignoring the by now familiar sensation of want, he looks up and meets Jim's eyes.
"Do I have something on my face?" He asks sarcastically. Jim frowns lightly in response.
"No. But I do, and I wonder why you hate it so much." He says, and Len blinks, taken aback.
"'Scuse me?" He asks, not sure if he understood Jim right. Jim looks vaguely uncomfortable, but he doesn't back down.
"My glasses. You've always disliked them, I just wondered why." He says, hurt curling just under Jim's apparent nonchalance. Len is aware that he is gaping, but what the hell is he supposed to say to that? The strain in Jim's voice cuts him to his core, because he never wanted to hurt Jim, not in a million years, but he can't really admit to the real reason he's always on edge when Jim's wearing glasses, can he?
"I don't hate them." He says weakly. Jim's mouth tightens a bit, a sign Len knows means that he's erecting his shields, and that hurts Len. Jim should never feel like he needs to hide from him.
"Ever since I first wore them, you've put me through more vision tests and experimental contacts than anyone should ever suffer through. You can barely stand to even look at me when I'm wearing them. I'm just curios as to know why. Is it because I remind you of someone? Or is it just…" Jim's voice trails off, tight and most definitely hurt and Len has no clue what to say, how to fix this. He had no idea that Jim has taken his discomfort as a criticism of him, but then he should have known, since Jim is entirely too raw and sensitive from a lifetime of being worthless and why can't you be George? and insufficient. And Len, entirely without meaning to, has added to that, and that is inexcusable. But what can he say now? The truth would certainly disparage that idea, but then the truth would mean admitting to everything, and that will scare Jim off and he can't lose Jim. Yet he can't think of any convincing lie – because while he can hide from Jim, he can't lie worth shit – and even tagging on to Jim's suggestion of Jim reminding him of someone else would need to be backed by a who and why and when, and he doesn't have those answers, not to mention how he can't really make himself cheapen whatever this is in that way. The silence drags out as Len struggles to find anything to say, a way out of his dilemma, and finally Jim huffs. Len can literally see the shields close down behind his friend's eyes, distancing himself from Len the way he distances himself from the rest of the world, and it's like a slap to his face.
"It doesn't matter, I suppose." Jim says, breaking the silence. Then he takes off his glasses, placing them carelessly on his bed as he gets up, running a hand through his hair and moving away from the conversation in an entirely physical sense. Every tense line of Jim's body, outlined by the light from the window he has walked over to in an effort to avoid Len as much as possible without leaving the dorm, speaks of hurt and betrayal, and Len realizes that it doesn't matter what he fears, because Jim doesn't deserve to be left thinking whatever is going through his head right now. Len's heart pounds as he gets up too and picks up the glasses from Jim's bed. He can't believe he's going to do this, if not for the fact that not doing it would be unbelievably selfish. Slowly, and knowing that he's about to have his heart broken, he walks over to Jim, stopping just behind him.
"Jim." He says in a low voice, low since he's afraid it'll tremble too badly otherwise. Jim turns, somewhat surprised at the proximity no doubt. Slowly, hesitantly because what is he doing? he reach up to place the glasses back on Jim, his pulse beating violently through his body and his breathing coming much too fast as he gently, tenderly, just this once, lets a thumb run along Jim's cheekbone.
"I really don't hate your glasses." He manages to say, his mouth impossibly dry and his voice almost pained. Jim's eyes are wide in incom prehension and then even wider when it finally clicks what Len is trying to get across, why he's always been strained when it comes to Jim and those damned glasses.
"Oh." Jim says in a hushed voice, astoundingly eloquent in the face of this revelation, staring at Len who can't really do anything other than stand there and await judgement.
"Really?" Jim then asks, like it's a completely unfathomable mystery that Len could feel that way about him. Len sighs, feeling deeply uncomfortable.
"Yes. Jim, I- I know you don't do relationships and commitment. So I just- I tried not to let on, because I couldn't- I can't-" Words are decidedly failing him. He never expected to have to say this and doesn't know how to.
"But you want that? With me?" Jim asks, a strange expression flickering over his face. Len doesn't know what to make of it, but he does know that there's no point in trying to deny anything anymore, and so he might as well go all the way.
"Yes. I love you." He says. And then Jim begins to laugh. Len can't help the hurt that causes. It's not that he expected differently, it just hurts.
"I didn't mean to tell you. But I sure am glad this amuses you." He says, his hurt making the words sharper than he intended – or maybe he really did want them to be cutting. Jim certainly stops laughing and reaches out, grasping his elbow urgently, and in spite of how much he generally wants for Jim to be touching him, right now he doesn't.
"No, Bones. It's not that, not at all." Jim starts, but Len cuts him off, not prepared to drag this out any further.
"Forget about it Jim, please. I just didn't want you to think this whole glasses-debacle was because I had something against you. I don't expect anything from you, so you don't have to excuse anything or act differently…" Len says, but then gets cut off in turn.
"Bones, shut up. I'm starting to think you're the one who needs glasses, you blind idiot." Jim is looking at him strangely fondly, his grip on Len's elbow tightening, a physical clue for Len to not say anything.
"I love you too, Bones." He says, and whatever had been about to come out of Len's mouth is promptly forgotten as it is his turn to stare at Jim like nothing makes sense.
"… What?" He finally says, and Jim laughs again, soft-like and with a blush forming on his cheeks.
"I love you too. And I do want a relationship. And commitment. With you. If you want to." He says, endearingly shy in a way few people would have expected of Jim Kirk. Len is still too caught in incredulity to really understand what is going on, but he can feel a smile tug on his lips, and there's only one thing he can say to that.
"I do. Gods, I do." He says. Len isn't sure who moves first, but next thing they're kissing, the glasses slightly in the way of their frantic coming together but it's perfect and when they pull apart to breath, the flush on Jim's cheeks and kiss-swollen lips looks just as good with the glasses as Len had imagined.