Title: From Last Night
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Summary: Instead of studying, I spent, well, rather, lost, hours of my life on "Texts From Last Night," and found that a lot of the texts seemed as if they were meant to come out of Kirk or McCoy's mouth. Got to love those academy days! Anyways, it's basically like a collection of their drunken escapades and the growth of their relationship!
Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership to the characters nor the texts!
[]
"The last thing I remember is unlocking the door. It's like I was literally opening the door to my blackout." His roommate mumbled into the darkness of their shared room.
He rolled his eyes and over in his bed, but the sudden movement unsettled his stomach. He couldn't believe how much alcohol they had pounded back tonight.
"This is much more drunk than I was intending for on a Wednesday." Jim groaned, turning over in his own bed, the loud creaking from the furniture the loudest noise in the room.
"Jim, shut up. You talk too much." He drawled, trying to fight back a migraine that would eventually turn into the worst hangover. Whenever he got a headache after drinking, he knew a hangover was on its way.
"I just wanted to let you know that I laminated my history notes so I can study in the shower."
"Jim, what are you talking about?" There was silence for awhile. He thought maybe he could get away with passing out, sure that Jim wasn't suffering from alcohol poisoning.
"Bones." Jim whined from the bed next to his.
"What?" He snapped.
"What time is it?" The pitch of his voice wavered and he started laughing. McCoy couldn't help but roll his eyes again, despite the flare of nausea that resulted.
"Two in the god damned morning, so shut UP Jim."
He never ended up getting to sleep that night however, because his night progressed gradually farther and farther into the shitter as he wound up helping Jim to the bathroom, where his roommate slash EX-best friend threw up for about an hour and a half and when they woke up the next morning, both of them were lying in the bathtub. He couldn't remember how he ended up in the bathtub, nor could he recall how Jim ended up latched onto him like an infant, but he knew it was morning and he had the worst migraine ever and his damn alarm was going off and his right leg was completely numb.
"Jim."
No response.
"Jim!" He shouted, shoving Jim with the hand not crushed under Jim's chest.
"What?" He moaned groggily.
"Get off me, idiot!" He yelled, the alarm slowly starting to drive him crazy. Jim started to move, but collapsed back down onto him heavily, driving the air right out of his lungs. "God, Jim. Seriously?" He moaned, working up all the energy he could to push Jim over the rim of the tub, hearing his body thud heavily against the floor.
"Ow! Bones, jeez."
He just stepped over his roommate and into the main room changing his clothes, deciding to skip a shower because he was already late. He knew he probably smelled like Jim's vomit, but there was nothing he could do about it.
He got to the lecture hall and ended up sitting in the nose-bleed seats in the back of the room, right under the brightest damn light in all the known universe. It was quiet in class until a message on his P.A.D.D. flashed annoyingly. He sighed and opened the message.
Hey Bones.
What are you doing? He sent back, only half-listening to the professor. The lecture was nothing he didn't already know. Jim's message kept him from falling asleep.
Nothing really. Just sitting in class. Bored out of my mind.
You never go to class.
I go to this one.
Why? He laughed to himself. He knew Jim was really intelligent, something Jim never really hid well. The smug bastard never went to class but aced every damn test and drove every professor absolutely insane.
So all semester this guy and girl have been talking, and today is the last class and we are doing nothing. I would have skipped but I want to see if he seals the deal or pussies out. It's like a season finale. He laughed out loud to Jim's response, and nearly laughed harder when he noticed that everyone in the room was eying him suspiciously.
Figures. God forbid you actually go to class to learn something. He sent back quickly before turning his attention to the professor with the slightest smile still on his face.
[]
"After last night I think it would be a good idea if I wrote a will... you know, just in case."
"If you hadn't tried to hit on that girl..." His voice trailed off as bile rose in his throat.
"How the Hell would I have known she must have been the only girl in the bar who would have a boyfriend?"
"That's how your luck goes with things like that." He groaned, trying to walk a straight line. "Jim, get over here." He slurred, throwing his arm over Jim's shoulder.
"Ow!" Jim nearly shrieked. "God. Be careful. That guy nearly ripped my arm out of that shoulder." He whined, trying to shift McCoy's weight to a more comfortable position.
"Serves you right." He mumbled. He started coughing, then gagging, then laughing.
"What are you doing?" Jim asked, trying to keep McCoy from collapsing.
"It tastes like I coughed up blood....hello liver damage, I've been expecting you."
The two of them laughed as they slowly made their way back to their dorm.
[]
It must have been about four thirty in the morning when his comm went off. He tried to ignore it at first, but the alert just got louder and louder. He swore as he shoved himself out of bed and over to the receiver.
"What?" He nearly screamed.
"Woke up in 100% not my clothes this morning. Third time this month. Fuck. Tequila."
"Jim? Where are you?" He sighed, hoping the idiot was okay, just so that he could beat the crap out of him for waking him up at four in the morning to more than likely go find him and bring him home.
"All I remember is drinking vodka out of tupperware."
"Jim." He reprimanded. He massaged his temples in frustration. "Just stay on the line, I'll find you eventually."
"Thanks Bones." Jim slurred affectionately.
He rolled his eyes and got dressed, grabbing his keys and walking out the door. He was so glad he put a damn GPS on that idiot. He was not going to relive the terror he felt the first time Jim didn't come home one night and ended up lost.
"I'm passing your future prison." He commented to Jim as he saw the penitentiary a distance away on his left. Jim only laughed over the comm. When he finally found him, Jim was waiting for him on the doorstep of some apartment building. "You okay?"He asked. Jim nodded in response. He smacked him on the back of his head, knocking him off balance.
"What the Hell?" Jim exclaimed, nearly falling on his face before McCoy caught the back of his shirt and saved him from crushing that pretty little face of his.
"You promised you wouldn't do this again."
"I'm sorry."
"You better be."
[]
"Okay so if I'm going to keep referring to my hangover in the third person it needs a name."
"Jim." He was really not in the mood. It was a Saturday morning, and he was hoping that Jim's hangover would have kept his mouth shut so that McCoy could catch up on all the sleep he's been losing over the past week. Every time Jim opened his mouth, McCoy wanted to throw something at him, but he couldn't even work up the effort to yell at him, let alone throw anything nearby far enough to hit him.
"Bones?" Jim said into the quietness.
"What?" Although it came out more like a muffled groan as his face was buried in his pillow. Jim didn't say anything after that, and McCoy thought he had passed out finally. That is, until he heard Jim's mattress creak and his own dip a little as Jim sat down on the edge. "What are you doing?" He asked, muffled again, but he was sure Jim understood him. Jim always understood him.
"Are you feeling alright?"
"No. I'm tired. I didn't get any sleep this week, so would you leave me the Hell alone for a while?" He mumbled into the pillow, trying to drown out Jim's persistent presence.
"Alright." Jim said softly. McCoy pretended to be asleep, hoping that would deter any further annoyance, but Jim didn't move an inch. McCoy heard him sigh a little, felt Jim's hand on the small of his back, before the mattress sprung back up as Jim lifted himself up off of it and into the kitchenette of their shared room.
He tried not to think about the feeling that lingered on his skin where Jim's hand had been. He tried, but it just wouldn't go away.
[]
"I was amazed that you fell flat on your ass and still managed not to spill those drinks in your hands. You're getting good at this." McCoy drawled over the drink in his hand. He wasn't sure when they ended up back in their room, but he was silently grateful, because at this level of intoxication, Jim could have wound up lost again, or in another bar fight. And at least when it was just the two of them in their room, there were no trashed out women with too much liquor on their breaths and too little clothing on. He hated those women.
"I know." Jim slurred, his lips right next to his ear. McCoy tried to shove Jim away from him, damn the kid for not seeming to understand the idea of 'personal space.'McCoy's stomach growled loudly and he groaned.
"Microwave minutes are longer than normal minutes." He muttered glancing over to the kitchen where the microwave hummed. He thought that by now those damned things would work better. Then again, they were hysterically out of date.
"There's only a few minutes left." Jim responded. He shot his roommate a disbelieving glance. "Dude, I have a 6th sense for when bagel bites are ready." Jim responded then, the most smug look on his face and McCoy couldn't help but laugh at the seriousness in Jim's voice.
An incalculable few minutes later, Jim suddenly stood up and walked over to the kitchen, and right when Jim disappeared from sight, the microwave went off.
"I'll be damned." He mused to himself. The smell of the pizza bites filled the room and if he wasn't so wasted, he would have tried to get up, but he couldn't stand long enough without getting dizzy. He just waited for Jim to come back.
"Here ya go." Jim muttered, mouth full of pizza. McCoy rolled his eyes, a habit that has only gotten worse in the time he's known Jim, and grabbed one of the mini pizzas off the plate, and popped the whole thing in his mouth, burning his tongue.
Jim collapsed onto the floor next to him, leaning over to rest against him as they turned the T.V. on.
This was far better than any bar.
[]
"So at this point...I'm sure you heard the story about Saturday night." Jim said, slowly. McCoy could tell he was trying to formulate the sentence that would get the most lenient response out of him, but what Jim didn't know was that he was fucked eight ways from Sunday no matter what he said.
"You bet your stupid ass, I did." He shouted. Jim flinched at the tone in his voice. "How many times do I have to get a damn call saying you nearly got yourself killed in a bar before you get the fact that it nearly gives me a aneurysm every damn time? When's it going to sink into that thick skull of yours?"
"I'm sorry..."
"No, no you're not, because if you were sorry, you wouldn't do it again. I'm your friend, and I don't want to see you get beaten within an inch of your life because you have to hit on that one damn girl!"
"Hey!" Jim shouted, an edge in his voice. "Don't patronize me. Especially when you don't know what the Hell you're talking about!"
"What?" He shouted, losing his patience.
"I didn't get into a fight over a girl." Jim's voice softened a bit, but there was still a defensiveness to it. "That guy was asking for it. I've never heard someone talk that way to a woman."
McCoy backed off a little bit, not wanting to look Jim in the eye. But Jim wasn't having it.
"Hey. Look at me."
McCoy fought the urge to look into Jim's eyes, knowing he would forgive him far too easily if he did so.
"I'm still angry with you." He said, his voice losing any anger to back up the statement. "I don't like hearing that you got beaten up, no matter the circumstances."
"I know." Jim said softly. "I'm really sorry."
[]
McCoy opened the door and he could hear Jim talking to someone on the comm, oblivious to his presence. He wasn't sure who Jim was talking to, but it was a female voice, and he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. He walked further into the room and was able to make out what they were talking about. He felt like a creep, but he couldn't help but eavesdrop.
"If you do not get any action from him tonight, I am personally walking my drunk ass over there grabbing his tongue and sticking it in your mouth. This is getting ridiculous." The girl said, annoyance clear in her voice. Jim laughed nervously at her statement.
McCoy turned on his heel and headed back to the door, unsure what to make of what he just heard.
"Hey, Bones." He heard Jim call.
"Fuck." He mumbled under his breath.
"Caught you." Jim said teasingly. "I didn't peg you as an eavesdropper." Jim laughed, walking over to where McCoy had frozen.
"I didn't mean to." He said stupidly.
"Doesn't really matter." Jim replied, waving his hand as if clearing the idea away. "I know you heard what she said. Aren't you the least bit curious?"
"Not really."
"Yeah, that was believable." Jim responded, taking a step closer. "You know, there has been a lot of tension between us." Jim said, as if the words meant nothing. "I don't know exactly how you feel, but I..." His voice drifted off and his eyes snapped to look at something over McCoy's shoulder as if something had manifested there that was far more interesting. Jim turned around suddenly and he retreated back towards the bathroom and locked himself inside.
"You drunk again?" McCoy called, whatever moment that had been ruined. He stood by the bathroom door and just tried to coax Jim to come back out. He ended up falling asleep propped up against the door frame.
[]
"Probably shouldn't have written that paper while wasted; it starts with 'once upon a time'." Jim groaned, lying on his stomach on his bed.
"I tried to stop you but you kept shouting 'two birds with one stone!'" McCoy responded from his bed. That moment that had occurred only a few days earlier had become far beyond taboo and they just went on like it never happened, even though McCoy couldn't stop thinking about it and damn Jim for knowing exactly what to say, even when he never managed to actually say anything.
"You and I should start a club for people who woke up outside on a bench with no idea how they got there."
"We shouldn't be proud of that." McCoy reminded, getting a muffled laugh in response from Jim's direction.
He laughed himself, but he still couldn't help but want to know where that conversation was going. What Jim and that girl had been talking about, how it involved him.
[]
"Okay I'm all about any plan that ends with 'We're gonna get you drunk.'" Jim shouted, clapping him on the shoulder. McCoy wasn't sure how he wound up going out with Jim and those people Jim called friends; he didn't even know these people. He ended up tagging along, abhorrently sober considering the idiocracy that passed between these people as language, for the sole purpose of making sure that Jim didn't get himself into trouble, as if these people could avoid trouble like a blind person trying to hit a bullet with a smaller bullet.
When they got back to their dorm room, Jim was beyond wasted, and it was actually funny to see Jim wasted when he was completely sober. It was definitely more funny.
He managed to get Jim onto his bed, but as he was walking away, Jim's hand gripped his wrist and pulled him down.
"Holy shit. Jim, what are you doing?" He asked when he landed on the bed. Jim wrestled him onto his back and hovered over him, his breath thick with alcohol.
"Trying to do something." Jim responded vaguely, leaning his face down. McCoy's eyes widened. Jim pressed his lips to McCoy's, not softly, yet not forcefully. It was apprehensive and light. He pushed Jim off of him, thankful that Jim was always so unbalanced when he was drunk.
"You need some rest. Let me know if you need anything." He said quickly before moving into the kitchen. He pretended like he didn't hear the frustrated groan that emanated from Jim's direction just like he pretended like he didn't like what had just happened.
[]
i know ur right I'm sorry I'm stupid and incompitent look I can't even spell incompetent right! Fuck!
He wanted to throw the P.A.D.D. across the room. He wasn't in the mood to deal with Jim's idiocy. He had had a rough day, and he had a headache and on top of that he just didn't want to think about anything else. All he wanted was to pass out on his bed. He was inwardly thankful that Jim had been out of the room and chose to just ignore the message. He groaned into the pillow when the door to their room flew open.
"Jim. Go. Away." He yelled into the pillow, acid in his voice.
"Bones. I just want to talk about yesterday." Jim said, seemingly unaware of everything else, including how angry McCoy was at the moment. As if he had a death wish, Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed. "I'm sorry about what I did yesterday. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." The words sounded rehearsed as if Jim had been reciting the words in his head all day.
"Jim. I'm not in the mood. Just stop talking."
Jim kept his mouth shut, but didn't go anywhere. McCoy sighed and rolled over onto his side, full view of Jim's back the only think he could focus on.
"What, Jim?" He was taken by surprise when he found himself pinned to the mattress again. Jim leaned in and kissed him again, but this time with far more force. His headache pushed rationality out of his mind and kissed Jim back, smiling into the kiss when he heard Jim gasp. Jim started to back away, but he placed his hand on the back of Jim's neck and held them together. He felt Jim grind against him and his grip on Jim's neck tightened as his back arched.
Faster than he thought humanly possible, they ripped their clothes off, as if every second wasted would kill them. After all the time they had gotten so close and missed, they couldn't afford to waste another moment. His hands couldn't touch enough of that beautifully tanned skin. He held onto Jim waist, his fingers digging into the skin, and nearly whimpered when Jim pulled his hands away. He felt those talented fingers trace light patterns up his arm, the touch so barely there that it was driving him insane. He lost himself in those light touches that pulled electricity right out from his very soul. He brought his hands up to Jim's neck, ran them over Jim's broad shoulders, down the skin of his back. His fingertips brushed a sensitive spot on Jim's back that caused him to arch, pressing their bodies closer together. He moaned at the contact.
Jim's lips pressed against his neck as his hand slid between his thighs. Those long, thin fingers pressed against him, but there was pause.
"Jim." He moaned, growing impatient. This had been thwarted so many damn times. He didn't want anything to stop Jim now. He would go insane.
"I don't want to hurt you."
"Fuck, Jim. Tear me open. Just don't stop."
"God, Bones." Jim moaned in his ear. He slipped a finger in, slowly, to the first knuckle, the second, before pulling it out and slowly pushing back in. He added a second finger, but halted when McCoy sucked in a breath hard. "You okay?" Jim asked, slowly removing his fingers.
McCoy thrust his hips downward, back onto Jim's fingers. Jim moaned in his ear, his warm breath washing over the shell, driving him out of his mind.
"I take it you're okay?" Jim whispered seductively. Jim reached over to the bedside table grabbing a bottle, pouring some into his hands, warming it between his palms. Growing impatient again, McCoy rolled his hips up against Jim's. "Bones. Wait." He gasped, barely able to control himself.
"Damn it, Jim." He moaned in response, his usual gruffness gone. There was an agonizing tension building up inside of him and it only built further when Jim paused again. It was so close and damn him if something happened now, he'd never forgive him for it. Damn that bastard. When Jim slid in, slowly, too slowly, he felt a knot tie in his stomach and he lifted his hips off the sheets, feeling Jim's hands slide down his skin to grip his hips, those fingers seeming to reach the very bone and he couldn't help but groan. He didn't have enough sense to make Jim move faster, just swimming in his own disjointed thoughts as Jim rolled his hips slowly. "I'm not going to break, damn it." He choked out. Jim just chuckled in his ear, a light breathy noise. "Jim." It was a pleading sound, but he just needed this. He needed something that took his mind off of everything. Off his ex-wife, off his divorce, the day he just had, all the days like it he's still left to have. Just everything.
Every thought vanished when Jim thrust into him harder, deeper, just missing that spot. McCoy couldn't regain any form of thought as Jim rocked his hips faster, beautiful and just as desperate as he felt. The knot in his stomach tightened and he arched his back, the slight shift allowing Jim to go deeper. His prostate was struck and he couldn't see anything. Jim shifted his hips and moved faster, deeper, hitting that spot every time. One of Jim's hands left their grip on his hip to move across his skin, those long talented fingers wrapping around McCoy's erection, working him to the same pace as his hips. He felt Jim's lips on his neck, and he had a feeling he would find a mark there later and he would have to yell about that, because, dammit, he's a doctor not a canvas.
"Jim, God." His voice cracked as his body convulsed, his fingernails digging into the skin on Jim's shoulders as he came. He felt Jim's hand splayed on his stomach tenderly, slowly working out the knot. He could still feel Jim moving inside him, and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. Damn that kid for being so good.
He heard a strangled moan in his ear before he felt Jim come inside him, a brilliant warmth that filled him. Jim rested his head on his shoulder, panting, the breath dancing over McCoy's chest, cooling him as the sweat evaporated.
McCoy rolled his eyes as Jim moved. Kid couldn't keep still for a minute; McCoy thought that might just be what would drive Jim crazy. He didn't argue, however, when Jim's lips pressed against his own.
"Bones?"
"You really do talk too much, Jim."
Jim only laughed and rested his head on McCoy's shoulder, silent for once.
[]
"Why are there post-it notes all around the apartment labeled where you guys had sex and in what position?"
"Damn it, Jim." McCoy cursed, sending the you-better-get-the-Hell-out-of-here-before-I-kill-you look Jim's way.
"What? We were so wasted. The last thing I remember is you screaming 'lets hunt humans!'"
McCoy just rolled his eyes and started ripping the post-it notes off the walls, taking the time to read them, secretly, of course. His face flushed pink and he started shoving them in his pockets. Last time he gets drunk. Ever.
[]
"I deep throated a ruler to see what my limit was..."
"Sometimes I wonder how you don't kill yourself." McCoy sighed, checking the back of Jim's throat to make sure the idiot didn't get a splinter or something.
"What?" Jim asked defensively when McCoy stopped inspecting his mouth.
"You're an idiot, Jim."
"You tell me that all the time." Jim said off-handedly. "Try something new."
"How about 'moron?'"
"No, how about "I was so worried, I don't want you to choke because then-"
"Oh, shut up Jim." McCoy interrupted, slightly annoyed at the smile on Jim's face. Jim suddenly grabbed his arms and used them as leverage to stand up, taking him by surprise, and pressed their lips together.
"Admit it," Jim whispered against his lips. "You worry about me." McCoy kissed Jim quickly before responding.
"I'm worried you might end up hurting yourself, then I'll have to clean it up." Jim pouted, but it was hard to take him seriously.
"Want to test out my newly found knowledge?" Jim asked sheepishly.
He knew there was a reason he loved this kid's idiocy sometimes.
[]
"You tried to call the hospital and left a voicemail asking if you could be put on the liver transplant list as a 'precaution.'"
"Well I'm thinking that's a definite possibility."
"Bones." Jim drawled.
"What?"
"I'm gonna hafta cut you off." Jim slurred, and McCoy found it hard to take the threat seriously.
"Jim, shut up."
"Ya know, you say that a lot."
"And I mean it every time."
"Oh, please." Jim muttered, rolling over and onto McCoy. "I know you don't mean it." He said into McCoy's neck. "You know what you don't say enough?"
"What is that?" He asked, vaguely interested in hearing the answer.
"That you love me." Jim said innocently, laughing against his pulse, which was now racing.
"Why would I say that?" He asked, falling back on his defense of sarcasm.
"Oh, ouch, Bones." Jim said, pushing himself up and back onto his calves, knees on either side of his hips. Jim may have been drunk, but he seemed serious enough, and McCoy sort of regret saying what he did. He sat up to look Jim in the eye, but then he couldn't think of what he wanted to say. "Something on your mind?" Jim asked, staring him down.
"I hate those eyes of yours." McCoy said with a sigh. "I can never hold a thought when you stare at me like that." He leaned in and pressed his lips to Jim's softly, before backing away only fractions of an inch. "They always make me feel guilty."
"Guilty?"
"Because I never actually say anything nice to you. I always call you an idiot, but you're my best friend, and I would hope that you could tell that even though I never say it, I do love you."
"I know." Jim whispered back. "Just sometimes, I want to hear it."
"I know."
"I love you." Jim said, his lips brushing McCoy's.
"Yeah, I love you too." He kissed Jim again. "Idiot."
Jim smiled into the kiss. He wouldn't want McCoy any other way.
[]
"I just saw a man salute the Budweiser truck on the highway. I want to follow him and shake his hand."
"Why do you always tell me this shit, Jim?"
"Because I know you'd appreciate it." McCoy rolled his eyes, but he did laugh. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"I just saw a Guiness commercial where the Guiness was on the verge of spilling the whole time. I was on the edge of my seat scared shitless." Jim paused. "I'm an alcoholic."
"I won't disagree with you." McCoy replied, laughing. "Wait, where are you?"
"I'm at my friend's place."
McCoy sighed, thankful that he wasn't in another bar.
"Isn't it rude to be on the phone when you're at someone's house?"
"Sorry, mom."
McCoy fought the urge to roll his eyes again.
[]
"Busy?" Jim asked, throwing his arms over McCoy's shoulders as he stood behind him.
"I guess not. What do you want?" He asked, dropping the stylus onto the desk.
"I don't know. I mean, you've been busy all week. I was getting lonely." Jim said, and McCoy could see the pout on Jim's face without even having to turn around. "So?"
"Jim." He sighed, getting out of his chair and turning to face him.
"What? Just spend some time with me." Jim sounded like a child.
"You know, you're like a dog; always needing constant attention."
"Woof. Come on." Jim said, pulling McCoy over to the bed.
He collapsed back onto the bed and Jim crawled up alongside him, falling over to fit right in his perfect little place and he turned the T.V. on and kissed his neck. McCoy secretly loved this, and he pulled Jim closer.
[]