Notes: This is the Post-It Verse. This AU takes place about 20 minutes in the future in San Francisco. Also, I rated this T because there's nothing too bad except for McCoy and Kirk's language. I don't think it's strong enough to warrant an M rating, but if anyone has a problem with it, I will up the rating.
Disclaimer: Star Trek, I do not own. (Clashing of the fandoms? What?)
"Why the hell are you here?"
From the sounds of it, McCoy assumed that it wasn't the neighbor girl selling Girl Scout cookies. Damn. He was looking forward to those Thin Mints.
"Well, first we're going to the circus and then we're heading to McDonald's," came an unfamiliar woman's voice. Her sarcasm matched Jim's baffled tone in equal measure.
"The circus is in town?" Jim said hopefully, plainly ignoring her mockery.
"Stop being an idiot, Kirk."
"Why do you hurt me?" Jim mock-moped.
"Because it makes me happy," was the sickly sweet reply.
McCoy rolled his eyes in the kitchen. Great. A female Jim. Just what he needed.
"I can think of so many things you could do to me that would make you happier," he could hear Jim croon.
"Jim, I ask you to desist such comments," came a deep, stifled male's voice.
"Look, I can't help it if I have a sexy telephone operator voice," Jim deflected breezily.
McCoy could hear footsteps and set down the apple he had been about to eat. Through the mouth of the hallway, Jim emerged and was followed by two people McCoy vaguely recognized.
Spock and Uhura, he realized with a jolt when he remembered their faces from pictures Jim had sent him months before.
"She's mean," Jim pouted. His lower lip protruded childishly, slightly affecting the clarity of his words.
"And he's just a baby," she said, rolling her black-outlined eyes. She smiled at his expense before turning her amber eyes onto McCoy and extending a slim hand. "Hi, I'm Uhura."
"Lovely meeting you," he greeted grasping her hand. She had a surprisingly strong handshake. What was it that Jim called her? A head bitch in charge? Yeah, that seemed to suit her.
McCoy retracted his hand and turned over to the other man standing stiffly to the side with his hands presumably clasped behind his back.
"And you must be Spock," McCoy said, holding out his hand.
Spock looked at it for a moment and his lips pursed ever-so-slightly into a fine line.
"Yes, Doctor," he responded, his hands still behind his back.
Bastard.
Uhura placed her fingertips on Spock's forearm as Jim chuckled at his friend's socially awkward behavior.
"So why are you guys visiting?" Jim asked, turning the conversation away. "Don't get me wrong, I love that you're here," he added as Uhura narrowed her eyes at him.
"In the last electronic transmission you sent to me, you mentioned your commencement from pilot school," Spock answered before Uhura could come up with a biting comment. "Uhura and I deemed it necessary to witness such an occasion."
Huh. Somehow, McCoy doubted that.
"I convinced him it was a non-negotiable social obligation," Uhura said off-hand, confirming McCoy's suspicions. However, now was not the time to focus on that.
"There's a commencement?" he asked curiously, turning to face Jim.
"Yeah, a graduation," he explained, running an errant hand through his hand.
"I know what a commencement is, dammit," McCoy gruffed. He waited until the smirk fell from Jim's face and was replaced with a more repentant expression. "Why didn't you say anything to me about it?"
"Didn't think it was a big deal," Jim shrugged.
"When is it?"
"This Saturday at two," Uhura piped, cutting off Jim who looked like he was about to give a dumbass answer. She smiled sweetly, but expression turned sharp as steel as she turned to Jim. "I already bought a new dress for the occasion and damned if I'm not going to wear it."
And just like that, it was settled.
Spock and Uhura were staying at a nearby hotel, they plus McCoy would be at graduation Saturday at two, and Jim was just going to fucking deal with it.
McCoy stood before the microwave, adjusting his cobalt tie for the umpteenth time in the reflection. He frowned at the grease that had accumulated on the inside of microwave. Seriously, Jim needed to stop trying to make tacos while he was drunk.
"You know," cam Jim's voice from behind his bedroom door, "this is the first graduation I've ever gone to."
"What about high school or college?" McCoy called out, running a paper towel under the faucet to wipe down the greasy surfaces.
"Didn't go," he explained. McCoy could hear the shrug in his voice. "I just picked up my diploma and didn't go to the ceremony."
"Why not?" McCoy asked gruffly, wondering idly what his parents would have done if he had deprived them of the chance to see him graduate. Probably would have whooped his ass, he figured.
"Didn't want to," was Jim's blasé response.
McCoy grimaced at the paper towel in disgust, rolling his eyes at Jim's lack of concern for anyone else in the world other than himself.
"You sound like a five-year-old," he accused Jim. He glanced down at the paper towel. He was pretty sure the grease created the image of Fonzie's face, but didn't think it was exciting enough to post the picture on the internet. He threw it out before walking over to Jim's closed door.
"That was the old me." Jim's voice grew louder as McCoy walked closer. "The new me wants my friends to see me graduate." He paused and assumingly stopped moving around since McCoy could no longer hear any rustling around. "His friends? You know, I never really understood how that sort of grammar works. Regardless," he continued as the rustling noises resumed. "I want you guys there."
"Yeah, yeah," McCoy brushed off, leaning back against the wall behind him, propping one socked foot on the wall. "You just want to show off."
"Well, I wouldn't mind strutting my stuff."
Oh, damn. That tone of voice just dripped with implications and innuendos.
Jim walked out of the bedroom and exceeded all of McCoy's ludicrous expectations.
"Jim," McCoy spoke, unsure of where to start as he stared at his friend.
"Yes, Bones?" Jim questioned innocently with a barracuda smile.
"What the fuck are you wearing?"
Jim stood in his doorway, his hands on his hips like a deranged superhero. Adorning his lean figure was the strangest assortment of clothing that McCoy had ever seen outside of a strip club. Jim wore black leather dress pants that stretched against his muscles, straining over the crotch (not that McCoy was really paying that much attention to it). His chest was bare without a shirt, but shirt cuffs encircled his wrists and a collar with a silky red bow tie was around his neck.
And upon closer inspection, McCoy was sure that, yes, that was oil on his chest. Which was newly shaved, probably for just that occasion.
Jim met McCoy's "oh my God, are you fucking insane" expression with a cocky smile that honest-to-God oozed self-satisfaction.
"Well, I thought about streaking, but that's so overdone," he said in way of explanation, bringing his hand up from his waist to bend it at the wrist in stereotypical gay fashion.
"…You're wearing metallic underwear under those pants, aren't you?"
"I'm not wearing any underwear," Jim said, his grin positively feral now. He walked, no, sauntered away, his ass shaking in time with his steps. "When you're a pilot, underwear only gets in the way."
"Why? Just, why?" McCoy asked, more to God than to Jim. Jim, however, not fully understanding the difference between himself and the Good Lord, answered.
"I like making you blush."
He turned around to tweak McCoy's nose before gathering his trench coat. He stood by the door as McCoy shook his head, putting on his shoes.
Well, it was going to be Jim's first graduation. And probably the most interesting one McCoy would ever see.
"There he is!" Uhura practically squealed in excitement. McCoy followed the length of her arm, past the wooden bangles adorning her wrists, and found Jim among the small group of thirty or so graduates.
Somehow, Jim must have heard the cry over the rambunctious chatter that surrounded the graduates and their loved ones who gathered for the ceremony for he glanced up at the noise. McCoy watched as his blue irises rotated around the crowd until finally settling on McCoy, Spock, and Uhura. He gave a tiny wave to the three of them, his grin crooked and wide as always. Even at the slight distance, his teeth seemed unbearably white.
For a brief instance, his gaze caught McCoy's and his hand moved from the wave to the collar of his black graduation robe. Without dropping the stare, Jim pulled the collar just enough so that McCoy could see the hint of white beneath it, a reminder of the costume Jim wore.
McCoy chuckled to himself, wondering if everyone in the audience would have the misfortune (Or sick, twisted pleasure. Whichever.) of witnessing Jim in such an outfit.
Uhura glanced over curiously at McCoy's amusement, but otherwise did not say a word. Instead, she placed a hand on McCoy's forearm and squeezed gently. A warmth spread out from her grip and McCoy smiled at the slightly younger woman. She wore a dress in such a vibrant hue of red that it was nearly vermillion in its vivaciousness. Beside her sat Spock in a shade of navy that seemed almost austere in comparison to her bright loveliness.
They complement each other, McCoy thought idly.
McCoy was brought forth from his musings as a tall, balding man stepped up to the podium and began the graduation. His eyes scanned the crowd, picking out of the group Scotty (ruddy-faced and beaming like a star), Sulu (relaxed and content as always), and Chekov (practically twitching with pride and nerves). He smiled to himself before his eyes fell on Jim.
From his seat, he could see the nuances in Jim's face, the subtle changes in his expression. At first he seemed haughty as ever. Judging from the glint in his eyes, McCoy knew he was waiting for the right moment to throw the robe off of him. For a moment, McCoy entertained the notion of music playing as he ripped off the robe. He wouldn't put it past him if Jim had arranged for someone to play stripper music in an elaborate prank. Hell, he wouldn't put it past Jim if everyone was wearing the same costume under their robes and was just waiting for Jim to make the first move.
But as the speaker continued, McCoy watched Jim's expression alter into something more serious, almost reverent.
His father, McCoy realized with a sudden surge of pride for his friend.
Suddenly, this graduation was more than just a small ceremony Jim had attended to appease his friends. No, it was something much more than that. This was a continuation of the life he would have had if his father had lived. It was Jim finally living up to all the expectations everyone had ever had of him. It was a connection to the father he had never known, but had always missed.
The balding man was soon joined by a woman in a teal dress suit and the two of them began calling out names.
McCoy watched Chekov walk by and found himself praying that the younger man would not trip. No one would ever let him live that one down. As Chekov received his diploma, McCoy found himself glancing back at Sulu a few rows back. The Asian man was positively glowing with admiration, happiness, and love.
I want that, McCoy found himself wishing. He was not sure where the thought had come from, but found it to be true.
Beside him, Uhura was clutching a camera in her hands and McCoy knew it was nearly time for Jim to receive his certificate.
"James Tiberius Kirk."
And sure enough, Jim walked down the path, his steps sure and confident. McCoy watched the lean lines of his legs as Uhura's camera flashed beside him. Still staring at Jim's face, McCoy noticed something.
Jim was… proud. And it wasn't the same arrogance that colored his every movement, that shadowed his every expression. It was the welcome knowledge and acceptance that he had finally done something to be proud of. He had worked hard and earned this pride, not simply walked into it or earned it aimlessly. Jim was growing up. Correction, he had grown up.
McCoy hoped for a moment that he had had some role in the evolution of the man before him.
To no one's great surprise, Jim tried to convince everyone that they should all celebrate in a club. Preferably one with black lights that revealed the neon paint speckled on their bodies and more jell-o shots than any one person should ever drink in their entire lives.
Spock quickly put an end to that, stating with absolute certainty that such behavior would be illogical.
"Fine," Jim relented, too happy to put up a fight. "But I swear, if you keep saying logical and illogical, I'm making a drinking game out of it."
And with that rule under their belts, Jim led McCoy, Uhura, Spock, Chekov, Sulu, and Scotty to a local bar. True, there were no black lights, but the atmosphere was homey and there were drinks. And really, that was the most important part.
"Are you even old enough to drink, laddie?" Scotty questioned with a wink in Sulu's direction as he poked fun at Chekov's youthful demeanor.
"Drinking was invented in Russia," Chekov retorted with an arrogant toss of his curls.
The entire group laughed and even Spock allowed a slight upwards curve of his lips. Pretty soon, they were digging into the appetizers they had ordered in place of meals and were drinking/sipping/tossing back their beverages. Their laughter, already close to the surface with the success of the day, grew louder and brighter as their friendly conversations continued.
Jim was easily the life of the party, his skin flushed with drink and his expression erratic as he told jokes and anecdotes to his friends.
McCoy smiled to himself as he nursed his whiskey. Jim was clearly in his element. He sat beside the younger man, the happiness radiating off of him in a nearly tangible manner. Jim was like lightning, bright to look at and nearly impossible to pin down.
"Looks like everyone's ready for another round," Uhura announced suddenly, her eyes flickering around the table. Her gaze fell onto McCoy and he had a feeling she had just been watching him before. "McCoy, come help me."
McCoy looked at her curiously, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spock move his head an inch to each side and knew it would be in his best interest to not ask questions.
He followed her long dark hair, her bright dress a beacon in the dimmed light of the bar. She must have not had as much to drink as he had because her movements were more nimble. By the time his sluggish body got to the bar, Uhura had already given their order.
"Feel free to take your time with it," she advised with a flash of her brilliant smile.
Uhura settled down on the bar stool, crossing her long legs and gesturing to McCoy to sit beside her. He followed her lead, his eyes curious on hers.
"Jim's really lucky to have you," she started without any pretense. "You know how he described you to me?"
"No," McCoy admitted, slightly taken aback by her way of starting the conversation. Was the art of conversation really that dead? "What did he say?"
Uhura chuckled, her eyes sliding away from his to the countertop where her fingers rested against the finished wood.
"He said the reason he liked you so much was because you're mean and honest. Most people are nice and lying," she recited, her voice fond.
"I'm supposed to see that as a compliment?" McCoy grumped, not really seeing the affectionate meaning of the words. Even if they were true.
"If you had seen the way he looked when he said, you'd definitely take it as a compliment," she assured him. Her fingers traced the ring of the glass bowl holding the peanuts. "He's been in need of someone like you for a while."
"He's had Spock," McCoy insisted, resisting her comment for some inexplicable reason.
Uhura waved him off, tossing a few peanuts into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, eyeing McCoy with deep interest.
"Spock was the one who could talk him down," she explained after she swallowed, defining the difference in the roles the two men played in Jim's life. "Now you're the one who can talk him into anything. He never would have grown up without you."
Something indignant spurred under the shallow alcoholic haze.
"I never meant to make him grow up," he denied, raising his hands in visual display.
"I don't mean grow up in a negative sense," she quickly reiterated.
The phrasing caught McCoy off-guard. His hands lowered as his eyebrows rose.
"Negative sense?"
Uhura stared at him blankly for a moment before screwing her face up adorably and slapping a hand lightly on her forehead.
"Oh, God. I think Spock is rubbing off on me," she joked, glancing back at her boyfriend where he sat between Jim and Scotty, clearly uncomfortable with the Irishman's arm around his tense shoulder. She shared a look with McCoy, rolling her eyes before taking a deep breath and starting again. "What I mean to say is, you've made him a better person. I haven't known Jim that long, but this is the best he's ever been. I think he owes it all to you."
She allowed a moment for the glowing praise to settle. The bartender returned with a tray of drinks. Uhura smiled in thanks and when he left, she turned back to McCoy.
"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" she asked gently, taking in McCoy's unbridled smile.
"So much," he admitted in a moment of rare honesty. There was something about the combined forces of Jim's presence, alcohol, the dim atmosphere, and Uhura's persuasion that made him feel more open. "But sometimes I worry that I can't care for him like he cares for me."
Uhura scrunched up her face in contemplation before her brow unfurrowed.
"I wouldn't worry so much about that if I were you," she reassured him. "Love happens to different people at different times."
She leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder on that enigmatic note as the words reverberated in his mind. There was a weight to them, a meaning that McCoy wasn't sure if he could understand quite yet.
With a final squeeze to his shoulder, she grinned and pulled back.
"Now come on," she commanded amiably. She picked up the tray of drinks. "They're probably all waiting for their drinks."
They headed back to the table, McCoy feeling more punch-drunk than ever after that conversation.
"What took you so long?" Jim questioned with the loudness associated with drunkenness as McCoy settled back into the seat beside him.
McCoy glanced over at Uhura who was handing a glass of ale to Sulu and brushed an errant hair away from Spock's face. She avoided his gaze, but her expression grew warmer under his scrutiny.
"Had a nice chat with Uhura," he answered simply as he wrapped his long fingers around a frosted glass of whiskey.
"Oh, okay," Jim responded with a shrug. Then without further ado, he turned his attentions back to Scotty and Chekov who seemed to be having a heated debate about whether or not scotch had been invented in Russia.
McCoy spent the rest of the night in contemplative silence, answering only when his friends addressed him. He thought about Uhura's words and wondered if he would ever truly understand them.
Jim sat beside him, warm against his leg and beaming with pride.
Yeah, McCoy knew. He'd understand in time.
Two days (and one group hangover) later, Spock and Uhura were packed up and ready to go. McCoy and Jim had gathered at the hotel where the two had been staying. Jim sat on the still un-made bed, picking at loose threads on the comforter.
"Do you guys really need to go now?" he asked, careful to keep the childish undertone at a minimum. He glanced up at Spock and Uhura with black-fringed blue eyes and McCoy realized just how much Jim would miss having his friends around.
"Unfortunately, yes," Spock replied, clasping the latch on his briefcase. "I would much prefer to spend time with you, Jim, but I am needed back in China. Likewise, Miss Uhura's services are also required."
Beside him, Uhura nodded as she carefully lowered her dress back on top of her packed suitcases.
"You and McCoy should visit us in China some day," she suggested, her smile bright as she looked over her shoulder at the two men. "Maybe over the summer? Or in the fall? It's beautiful there at that time of year."
"Yeah, that might be nice," Jim responded thoughtfully, glancing over at McCoy as though waiting for a reaction. McCoy nodded in agreement. It was definitely food for thought.
"Jim," Uhura started, straightening up from her suitcases as she slipped a few bag straps over her shoulder. "Can you help me get the luggage downstairs to the lobby? The cab should be waiting to take us to the airport."
"Sure thing, Uhura," Jim agreed, bounding off the bed to take the larger suitcases.
McCoy found it odd that she would ask Jim and leave McCoy there with Spock who was taking his good ol' time packing up that final suitcase. But then the gracious smile she had bestowed on Jim turned to golden command as she turned it to Spock.
No wonder this woman worked with an ambassador. McCoy realized. She should be in charge of all political relations. The woman could end wars with those liquid dagger eyes of hers matched with that sweet smile.
Spock continued to fold articles of clothing, each one methodically placed into the suitcase as Jim and Uhura exited. A few moments of silence carried on in the room even after Uhura had shut the door behind her.
McCoy continued to watch Spock's slim shoulders move upwards and downwards with the disciplined movement of his arms before he turned around to face McCoy.
Without any sort of preamble, he spoke cordially with little to no inflection in his well-trained voice.
"I would like to extend my gratitude toward you for taking care of Jim while I was otherwise preoccupied."
McCoy blinked at the formality of the statement.
"Um, you're welcome," he said, hazarding a guess at what exactly Spock meant by this. It hadn't taken him too long to realize that Spock-speak wasn't the same as everybody-else-speak. "Uh, I guess I should thank you for taking care of Jim before I came along."
"You should," Spock agreed, nodding his head once. He continued to stand still, his hands behind his back as though waiting for a thank you.
"Dammit, that was the thank you," McCoy gruffed, rolling his eyes. Spock was Jim's friend. Of course he would be difficult.
"In that case, Doctor, I would suggest that you phrase your sentences with more certainty and clarity," the stoic man advised with a slight touch of reprimand in his tone.
McCoy found himself literally biting his tongue to hold back. Uhura returned at that instant, a giggle behind her teeth as she took in McCoy's expression.
"Well, I assumed as much," she said, looking between the two men. She turned her attention towards Spock. "We should be on our way."
Spock nodded once and then hefted his suitcase and briefcase and carried them out the door. McCoy followed and soon the three of them took the elevator down to the lobby where Jim was waiting for them.
Spock placed the luggage in the taxi parked outside the hotel as Uhura gave McCoy a quick farewell hug. She patted his face congenially with a soft look in her almond eyes before turning to Jim.
Jim swept her up in a tight hug and McCoy was reminded of the same fondness Jim had shown Joanna. Uhura tossed her head back in delighted laughter when Jim finally let her go. She took a hold of his face, gently pinching his cheeks between her black-painted nails.
"Good bye, my little graduate," she said, bringing his forehead down to her lips.
"Feel free to pinch my cheeks any time you want," Jim winked before turning his head to kiss her sweetly on the cheek.
Spock, meanwhile, had returned to the small group. McCoy extended a hand out in way of good-bye, but the taller man once more refused the contact.
"Bye, Spock," Jim exclaimed, scooping his friend into a hug despite the sudden stiffness that took hold of Spock's body.
"Farewell, Jim," Spock answered once Jim released him. A small smile made its way to his lips as he regarded his friend. "It was an agreeable visit."
"Would have been better if you had gotten drunk," Jim admitted with a shiteating grin McCoy knew so well. "But hey, maybe next time, right?"
"No," Spock deadpanned, the smile long gone from his face. Jim just laughed and slung an arm around Spock's shoulders as they walked out to the taxi.
There was an ease to their friendship visible to the naked eye. McCoy wondered if he and Jim shared that same sort of tangible closeness that others could spot a mile away.
Everyone shared their final good-byes and once Spock and Uhura drove off in the taxi, Jim and McCoy stood there watching the car until it was lost in the traffic.
"So," McCoy said, breaking the silence. "China in the fall?"
"You'd consider it?" Jim asked, his voice a mix of surprise and hopefulness.
A bittersweet surge of déjà vu struck McCoy as he was suddenly reminded of how Jim had distracted him when he had seen Joanna off at the airport. Now it was his turn to repay the favor.
"I think it would be a lot of fun to see them again," he agreed.
Jim could only smile in response.
Most people came to conclusions over long periods of time spent thinking. They would mull over ideas, examine the different sides of a situation. They would recall their feelings and reactions to past actions and events. All in all, the process was long and precise.
McCoy, however, was cut from a different mold. Halfway through shampooing his hair, he realized:
"Shit. I'm in a relationship with Jim."
That night, his hair was destined to be poorly shampooed as he stood in his shower in a stupor, nothing moving except for the stream of water steadily pouring over his still form.
And yet, despite the haze that McCoy was sure he would perpetually live in, he found a way to turn off the water and wrap a navy towel around his waist. The air around him was steamy, the mirror so fogged up that he couldn't see the soap still inhabited in his water-darkened hair. McCoy walked out the door, through his room, and into the living room where Jim sat at the computer, presumably checking his e-mail.
"Hey Bones," he said casually without looking up from his computer. When McCoy didn't answer, he glanced up with a curious smile that soon morphed into a more shocked expression. "Um, Bones? You okay there, buddy?"
McCoy was only dimly away of his towel'd status and his disheveled, soapy hair.
"I like you!" he announced without a second further. Even in his own ears, it sounded a bit accusing, as though Jim had somehow hoodwinked him into it.
Jim blinked a few times, his expression hopeful. But the hope quickly faded from his face as indifference covered it. McCoy felt a twist of guilt knowing that he had caused Jim to be this doubtful.
"Oh wow," Jim snarked with a roll of his eyes. "If only you had told me earlier. Then we could have spent the past year or so spending time together and going to weddings and moving in together." He pursed his lips for a second and tapped a finger to his chin. "Oh wait." Jim paused for a moment and let the thoughtful look melt away into an amused expression. "Fuck you, Bones. I already know we're friends."
"No, I mean I like you," McCoy stressed. One hand gripped the towel and the other motioned frantically between himself and Jim as though that movement alone would be enough to explain.
There were only a handful of times when McCoy could remember Jim being completely still and completely silent. This was one of them. Jim blinked several times, his tongue running over his lips as though he were trying to find the words to say. The only sound between them was the constant drip of water hitting the hallway tile.
"Oh," Jim breathed, allowing the beginnings of a smile to cut across his handsome features. "Well, that's a horse of a different color…"
The silent spell was broken and words were tumbling out McCoy's mouth practically faster than he could speak them.
"You're right," he started, referencing to what Jim had just said. "We spent so much time together ever since we met. And the wedding? You're the reason I managed to be with my daughter again. I never would have had the gumption to face Jocelyn otherwise. You helped me move on with my life." He smiled gratefully for a second as his mind raced for other examples of why Jim meant so much to him. "Nancy, remember Nancy? I couldn't be with her because of you."
"Really?" Jim asked, eyes widening. "I didn't know that."
"Well," McCoy admitted sheepishly. "I didn't realize it until I started using the shampoo."
"Where the hell do you buy your shampoo?" Jim smirked, seemingly amused by the comment.
"Shut up and let me tell you how I feel, dammit!" McCoy snapped, wanting to explain everything now that he finally understood it. He finally understood the flutters and the strange twisting in his stomach, and all the weird sensations he had been ignoring since that first day he met Jim.
Jim stood from his seat and took a few steps closer to McCoy until they were only a few steps apart.
"How do you feel?" Jim asked softly, the hopefulness creeping back into his voice.
McCoy stopped for a moment, his hands tentatively reaching out for a moment to touch Jim's shoulders. His fingertips dug gently into the pliant flesh, pulling Jim closer to him.
"This is the happiest I've ever been," he admitted shakily and honestly.
"Wow," Jim said with eyebrows raised. "Seriously?"
"Just shut up and kiss me," McCoy gruffed, moving towards Jim until their lips were a breadth apart from each other. McCoy could feel Jim's hot breath brush over his cheeks.
"Demanding," Jim chuckled. "I like that."
As he spoke, he brought his mouth to McCoy's, Jim's lips brushing over his as he spoke. Then Jim pressed harder against him, McCoy pressing back with equal force. Their mouths opened smoothly, their tongues slick against each others. McCoy could feel something hot course through his veins as though the arteries under his skin were bursting alive. Jim's hands gripped McCoy's still-wet shoulders as McCoy laid a hand on the back of Jim's head, deepening their kiss.
Several minutes or hours or days passed when Jim finally pulled away. They leaned their foreheads against each other, panting heavily. Jim placed kisses all over McCoy's face, raining down on his skin with affection. McCoy swiftly turned his head to return the favor when Jim pulled away.
"What's wrong?" McCoy asked quickly, wondering what he had done wrong this time.
Jim smiled through swollen lips, his expression setting McCoy at ease. The doctor could feel the tension leave his body just as quickly as it arrived.
"I want to be a lot of different things to you, Bones," Jim promised, his hand fisted in McCoy's hair as he kept their faces close. "But I refuse to be the man who took advantage of you while you are wearing nothing but a towel." He let go of McCoy's hair and backed away with a smirk.
For the first time since he had gotten out of the shower, McCoy was very aware of his wet and practically naked body. His hands quickly gripped the towel at his waist as he laughed low in his throat.
"Although," Jim continued, his eyes darkened by their kiss. "I'll be the first to admit it, you wear it well."
McCoy allowed the compliment to warm him as he smiled at Jim's typical behavior. He watched as Jim walked over to the kitchen sink to wash off the shampoo residue that had gotten on his hands.
"So, tomorrow?" McCoy asked. He wasn't really sure what he was hoping would happen the next day, but he felt a certain comfort in asking Jim all the same.
"Bones," Jim turned and smiled, "we have tomorrow and the rest of our lives."
Ladies and gentlemen (actually, are there any guys reading this?), may I present to you the new title for this verse: Post-It Verse. After much deliberation of what to call it, icesamzerop on LiveJournal finally suggested it to me. So, thank you!
Also, I want to give a huge thank you to cookiechris80 on LiveJournal who came up with Uhura's line "Love happens to different people at different times."
As I mentioned in the previous chapter, this story is almost at an end. This is the last "official" chapter and then there is a final epilogue. Once again, I'm hoping to post the chapter before I go back to college on Tuesday. If anyone has any requests as to moments or scenes or questions they want answered in the next chapter, let me know! I'll try to include them if I can.
Thank you to everyone who has been enjoying this story so far. :D