When Kirk returned to his quarters that night, he was pleasantly surprised to find McCoy passed out in bed. He was asleep on his back, arm thrown over his eyes, which pulled his shirt up from his waist. Where there used to be soft skin and cords of muscle, there were now protruding hipbones and very visible veins. Kirk sat down on the floor and pulled his boots and socks off, tossing them into the corner.
Tugging his shirt off over his head, Kirk slipped into bed, his back to McCoy, and closed his eyes, like he was actually going to be able to fall asleep. He listened to McCoy's steady breathing and had actually begun to feel drowsy when McCoy turned over and draped an arm over Kirk's middle.
"You're back late," he grumbled, sliding up flush with Kirk. Kirk sighed.
"I was busy. I had super secret cancer diagnosis's to receive. Very important."
"Boy, I have half a mind to beat the living sin out of you pretty much every second we're together."
"Yeah, I don't think that'd be a fair fight right now, Glass Jaw," Kirk said, turning over to face his partner. He moved to place a hand on McCoy's face, but was swatted away. "What, I can't even touch you now?"
"You don't stroke my face," McCoy said, screwing his mouth up. "We don't cuddle and you don't love me. This is ridiculous, Jim."
Kirk was tired of listening to it. He slid his hand under the side of McCoy's head and pulled him in close. He threaded his fingers through McCoy's hair, thinning and graying, and kissed him with such eagerness that McCoy practically died right there.
Kirk rolled onto his back, pulling Bones on top of him, twisting their legs together. It was the most desperate he had ever felt, as if he didn't demonstrate how he feeling right now, he'd lose the chance forever.
McCoy lost his shirt and for the first time, Kirk felt like he was handling with care someone he had once fucked against a wall so the window had cracked. McCoy's ribs rippled under his skin, hard and stark against his back. His spine stuck out, ridged like a mountain range and as Kirk ran his hand down the slope of his back, he counted every bone on the way.
The sob that he had tried to choke back escaped, as he curled his fingers into McCoy's hair, kissing his temple, his jaw, his shoulder, his neck. Unashamed tears spilled down his face, wetting his chest and in turn, McCoy's.
Instead of fighting him, McCoy just sighed and nestled his head into the crook of Jim's neck.
"It's okay," he shushed, kissing Kirk's neck gently and fighting to keep his eyes open. "It's really okay."
Kirk shook his head, his cries soundless as they racked his whole body. It was the realest pain, most helpless he had ever felt, like he was trying to hold sand between his hands.
McCoy rolled onto his back and pulled Kirk onto his chest. Kirk could tell by the pounding of his heart that the movement had required more strength than he had to give. This only made him sob harder.
"Bones," he choked, twisting his fingers around McCoy's forearms. "Please…"
"I don't know what you think I can do, Jim," he said gently, holding Kirk closer.
"Accept the treatment, please-"
"Chemotherapy would kill me now, Jim. My heart couldn't take it and neither could my kidneys. I'd be dead in a week."
Kirk cried harder, his stomach tightening. He was going to be sick soon, he knew it, but there was nothing he could do to calm himself down. He'd only cried this hard two other times in his life; when his grandfather died and on his twenty first birthday, when his mother wouldn't get out of bed for her grief. Now, faced with the almost sure loss of his best friend and his… he couldn't think of the proper word for what they were.
By the time he stopped crying long enough to form a complete sentence, McCoy had fallen asleep, still clutching Jim tightly. For now, that would have to be good enough.
