A/N - It has been bought to my attention that the previously uploaded chapter one was complete wank! here is, hopefully, a more legible version. "we have normality. Anything you still can't cope with is therefore your own problem."

Chapter One - in which we are introduced to Jimikin and fellatio ensues

I'm sitting in the canteen trying to eat a lunch that vaguely resembles mac 'n' cheese whilst looking over my biology notes from last period. I drop my fork into the pasta giving up on trying to eat the overcooked mush and push my fringe out of my eyes.

"Hey Bones." A body slumps into the seat next to mine. Jim Kirk. Dirty blond Jim Kirk. Ethereal blue eyed Jim kirk. Well-defined muscles and too tight shirt wearing Jim Kirk. The epitome of mankind Jim Kirk.

I can feel my heart rate increase as the pulse in my ears becomes almost defining and the rest of the ambient noise drowns out, my palms become clammy and the heady smell of his aftershave fills the air.

He moved here from America at the start of Sixth Form and I was charged with showing him around the school. Ever since, we've become best friends. He even came up with an adorable nick name for me

"Don't call me that." I protest in feigned annoyance.

Jim chortles and it fills my stomach with warm butterflies.

He grabs my unattended fork, stabs a piece of pasta and pops it into his mouth.

He chews with face of mock concentration.

"I don't know how you eat this stuff Bones!" He sticks his tongue out in disgust.

I snatch the fork from him with a grunt - my hand slightly brushing his and sending sparks through my fingers - and tell him to get his own goddamn food.

Jim laughs again standing. "Come on we better get to the gym."

"You go ahead I'll catch you up." I say.

He nods in acknowledgment and saunters away. I pack up my biology notes slipping them into my satchel along with the fork before deposing my hardly eaten food and heading towards the gym.

I was never really someone who enjoyed sports - I'm all arms and legs and no hand-eye coronation - but during Jim's first week here he asked about sports clubs. The only thing I knew about was the few Sixth Formers who would spend lunch period in the gym once or twice a week playing basketball. I'm still all arms and legs but getting to spend an hour with a sweaty Jim is much worth the effort of missing lunch period.

After lunch period I don't see Jim again till the end of the day. We meet at the school gate every day and we walk to the bus stop together.

"What took you so long?" I grumble to Jim when he finally arrives ten minutes after the final bell.

"I went back to the locker-room to look for my underwear."

I can almost feel the weight of Jim's underwater in my satchel - I snatched them while he was in the shower. The thought of him walking commandos makes my trousers feel a little tighter.

"What kind of joke is that nicking someone's briefs whilst there showering anyway?"

Jim shrugs placidly.

I walk remain taciturn the rest of the way. Jim's motor mouth runs at a hundred miles an hour telling my about every inane detail since lunch. I just listen, his vapid ramblings secretly enrapturing, whilst pulling a face of spurious disinterest.

At the bus stop we part.

"See ya tomorrow Bones."

"See ya Jim."

Jim waits for his bus and I head off on foot. I live not five minutes from the bus stop.

When I get home both my parents are still at work. My dad's a doctor and my mums a nurse and they both work late.

I go straight to my room. I know there's no one home but I still lock the door behind me. I throw my bag onto my bed.

I slip my hand into the satchel, feel around for the fabric of Jim's briefs and pull them out.

I burry my face into the crotch and breath heavily through my nose. They smell of Jim. His sweat. His distinct smell.

I dart my tongue out to lick the fabric. I imagine it's what Jim's dick would taste like.

I'm uncomfortably hard. My cock burgeoning against the fabric of my trousers. I pull down my fly and let in bob out.

I reach back into my satchel and pull out the fork Jim used to eat my mac 'n' cheese.

I walk over to my wardrobe. Ridding myself of my trousers and pants on the way.

On the inside of the wardrobe door I have a few pictures of Jim and myself. We haven't had any pictures taken of us in the few short weeks we've know each other. But using his Facebook pictures I've managed to Photoshop some. Just to recreate some of the times we've had together.

My favourite is the two of us bent over laughing most likely at one of Jim's many bad jokes.

We both look so happy in it. Jim's blue eyes wet with tears and my brown-green ones hidden behind a flop of brunette hair.

In the corner of the wardrobe sits Jim. I made him from balloons and blue modelling foam - stolen from the DT department - and papier-mâché. He's painted in white except for eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. It took me a while to match the colour perfectly. He's for the times I can't spend with the real Jim. To do with the things the real Jim doesn't even suspect I fantasise about.

The Jimikin cuts of hallway down the thighs and halfway down the forearms to fit perfectly and inconspicuously into the corner of the wardrobe.

I brush my fingers over Jim's stomach. I spent hours building and carving those perfect replica abdomen.

I take the underwear and pull them over Jim's pseudo-legs. They fit perfectly. The tip of Jim's constantly hard eight inch dick peeking out.

I bit my lips and my own cock twitches with want.

I bring the fork, held tightly in my left hand, and tentatively lick up and down its tines and remember the moment they passed Jim's full, sexy lips and into Jim's mouth.

I could almost taste the sweetness of the chocolate bar he ate at brake and the faint smoke of the cigarette he had before first period.

I take the fork from my mouth and place my lips onto Jims. I run my tough across his lower lip.

"Jim. I'm so horny," I whisper, nibbling at his ear. "Would you take care of me?" I raid my eyebrow in question.

I feel fingers close around my achingly hard cock and begin to stork slowly at first but quickly building to an almost punishing rhythm.

"Oh Jim," I cry, "let me fuck your face!"

In my reverie I feel a hot moth close around my cock and I'm cuming hot spurts hitting Jim in the face, in his eyes, dribbling over his cheeks and lips and off the end of his chin. My hands are sticky. I grab a dirty pair of underwear from the floor and wipe down my hands and his's face.

I place one last kiss to his lips before closing the wardrobe.

I pull my pants and trousers back on. I take my biology textbook and ring binder from my satchel and sit down with them both at my desk.

Set into my desk is a drawer. I pull it open. Inside there are a few forks and spoons stolen from Jim's used plate, a couple of pencils he's chewed the ends of, a glass he used to drink from and a Tupperware box full of cigarette butts, the ends all moistened by Jim's lips. All vestigial remnants of kirk since we fell in love and began our dalliance.

I fastidiously place the fork into the drawer parallel with the other utensils, I shut the drawer with obeisance, as I am wont to do, before getting started with my biology assignment - it's due in two weeks.