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As a child, Jim hated drawing. It wasn’t that he was bad at it, he’d insist, but just because it took too much time. And of the multitude of words people have used to describe Jim Kirk, patient wasn’t one of them. There was nothing he hated more than the mandatory art class, forced to sit in a chair and take a whole half hour out of his day to scribble lines on a sheet of paper. Usually, he’d end up refusing to do anything at all, sitting there with his thin arms crossed stubbornly over his chest and chin jutted out in defiance. If pushed, he might draw a stick figure. On the rare days he felt like cooperating, he might even produce a starship, a knight, a dog, a wizard… Those were the pictures his teacher would take and tape to her desk like she was proud, because it wasn’t like anyone would put it up on the fridge at home.
In middle school, he’d doodle in the margins of his notes, the little figures spreading through the electronic pages like a virus. They’d crowd into his math homework, or illustrate history notes on First Contact. They never meant anything. Not beyond a scolding from a teacher or two, though he was quick to point out that they never changed the fact that the work was perfect. He’d get off with little more than a small admonishment to pay attention in class and go right back to doodling. When he was twelve, his math teacher pressed a sketchbook into his hands, along with some old fashioned pencils, and told him it’d be a better place to keep them.
He didn’t take them when he left for Tarsus IV and they lay collecting dust, forgotten and only half filled, when he came back home. For two years, they stayed shoved back in a seldom used drawer, buried under a slow building pile of knick knacks and crumpled up receipts. One day, Jim managed to run out of socks. The drawer got pulled forcefully open while he searched desperately for a single sock, roughly pushing things aside with noises of frustration. He stilled when he uncovered the old sketchbook and pencils, fingers brushing over the black leather. After some thought, he’d picked them up and tossed them on the bed to examine later, going right back to the search for socks.
When he came stumbling home, a fresh bruise darkening his eye, he’d picked up the sketchbook and looked through it for hours, sprawled on his bed with the tight squeeze of nostalgia gripping his chest. He’d fallen asleep with his face pressed up against the rough paper, waking up with lead smeared across his cheek to match his bruise. On an impulse, he decided to take it to work with him, tucked securely under his arm. Between taking orders, he’d take a few moments to sketch something, just to focus on something other than the loud shouts and laughter from the diner. By the end of the day, he’d filled up two pages. None of them were any good, not after so long of disuse. They’d never see the light of day, let alone anyone else’s eyes, but it was a start.
Soon, he’d started carrying it with him wherever he went. He’d draw people he saw on the street, or odd looking customers, an old pickup truck, a stray cat. Slowly, they got better. Looking less like adolescent scribbles and more like something closer to life. For a while, he didn’t hear the end of it from his friends, especially when he brought it along to a party. They eventually got bored with ribbing him for it, a few of them going so far as to prompt him into drawing something for them. He never did, not liking parameters. His sketchbook was his, and his alone. It was his thoughts, in the forms of lines and strokes. He’d never been one to write down how he was feeling, nor tell anyone else. But there, between the old pages, his soul laid bare in a language only he could understand.
When he spilled coffee it while animatedly waving his hands, he’d decided to buy a new one after nearly a half hour of cursing and hopelessly pressing paper towels to it. It was almost full anyway. It stung that everything had been ruined, but Jim was used to having to start over. Once he’d started the pattern, it didn’t stop. Every few months, he’d buy a new one, and never show another soul the contents inside of his quickly growing collection. By the time he got to the Academy, there were over ten of them, all of them shoved into his bag while throwing most of his other possessions in the dump.
His new roommate, who he’d taken to calling Bones after that literally golden comment on the shuttle, never really commented on it. Never even tried to get a glance of what he was drawing, which Jim was slightly thankful for. His art was something private and it was refreshing to have someone that didn’t pry or ask him to draw them or some character. A few times, he caught him glancing over at where he’d be curled up sketching, brows knit slightly in curiosity, but never more than that. And when their first year drew to a close, Jim became impossibly more grateful.
Bones was something new. There’d been people Jim had called his best friend, and he’d never had a shortage of people to hang around, but none of them had ever lasted. His friendships had expiration dates, until he’d stopped letting himself get attached at all. There were few stable things in his life. His pride, being fucked up, his art. Never a person. So it took him by surprise, when he started thinking in whens. He’d laugh, kicking up his feet on Bones’ lap only to have them pushed off with a comment about the plethora of germs, and say, “When we’re in space, you’re never gonna get away from me.” Or maybe he’d sling an arm around the older man’s shoulder, knocking their hips together, and comment, “When we’re old- well, older, for you- we’re gonna be the most badass old dudes ever. We’ll get matching canes. Just watch.”
It unsettled him, how quickly he let himself get attached to something that wasn’t permanent. And when he started noticing a pattern in the faces he drew, it made his stomach knot up and his heart still somewhere in his throat. He couldn’t make himself stop. Couldn’t help sketching the way Leonard would sit among PADDs, food, and clothes strewn across the floor, his brows knitted together as he grumbled under his breath. Or how the sunlight would catch on the curve of his shoulder while he slept, mouth slightly parted and limbs in every which direction. It got to be a problem. Especially when Jim started to wonder what that skin would feel like under his fingertips. When he’d catch himself connecting the freckles on his back in his mind to make constellations. Transforming the veins of his arm into a grand oak tree.
His friend would catch him staring sometimes. Snort, tell him to take a picture, or snap out of it, assuming he’d started to zone out. That was another thing Jim loved about Bones- and oh, there was that word. Whenever he’d get lost in his head, thoughts roaring in his ears and memories pushing him under the waves, Leonard would bring him back with a kick to his shin or a clap to his back, snapping in front of his face. Jim would focus on reality again, lying about just thinking about what a great time he’d had with some man or woman the night before, even though they both knew that wasn’t true. Bones, god bless him, wouldn’t even call him on it. Would just scrunch up his nose and tell him he didn’t want to hear that shit.
It started during midterms the next year. Jim felt like tearing out his hair in frustration, pacing around their room like he was hoping to fall through the floor. Just for something to do that wasn’t studying, that wasn’t stressing. One hand was shoved into his hair, making the locks stick up on end. The other was clenched against his side. He didn’t notice when the door clicked open, not until he heard the thump of bags being set on the table. He paused in his pacing for a moment, looking over to see Bones setting down take out.
“Jesus, kid. You trying to pace your way to China?”
Jim huffed out a breathy laugh, though it didn’t sound anywhere near as genuine as it should’ve. Dropping his hand from his hair, he started pacing again.
“I’m going crazy, Bones. These midterms are killing me. When they do, you’re in charge of the funeral.”
“Sure. But you’re gettin’ put in a puffy pink dress and I’ll make sure everyone knows how much you love ABBA,” Leonard agreed casually. Enough of a threat to ward Jim off from dying any time soon, that was for sure. Digging out their food, he continued. “Why don’t you draw?”
Jim blinked, stopping again. “Huh?”
Bones lifted a brow. “Ya know. That thing you do when you’re upset. Put pencil to paper, make a picture.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Jim huffed before deflating a little. Shrugging. “I just didn’t know you noticed.” Which was stupid of him, really. Of course he noticed. He always ended up drawing when he was stressed. It calmed him down, almost as much as alcohol. A less fun alternative, but still.
As if to agree with that sentiment, his friend rolled his eyes. “I’m not blind.”
Jim’s cheeks heated a bit and he turned on his heel, planting face first into the bed.
“Yeah, but I draw all the time. It’s too easy. I need something to focus on.” Distract him from midterms. Direct his efforts elsewhere, so his brain didn’t hurt so much. Humans weren’t even supposed to get headaches anymore, but Jim was always the exception.
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, the only noise filling the air being Jim’s breathing and Bones chewing quietly on his food. An idea occurred to him, and Jim bit his lip. It wasn’t a great idea. The exact opposite of a great idea, actually. But it’d give him a chance… “Hey. You should let me draw on you.”
He could hear Bones pause in his chewing. “What?”
“Ya know. Put a pen to skin, make a picture,” he answered mockingly in an over exaggerated southern drawl. He’d never admit to just how much he actually liked Bones’s accent. His tone turned a little more serious, feeling a little less confident about the whole thing. Jim had a lot of bad ideas, but they didn’t usually enjoy prolonged contact with the person he was ass over tea kettle for. “You don’t have to, but I figure it’ll be more challenging. Take longer, too.”
The silence stretched out longer than Jim was comfortable with, until Leonard let out a little puff of air that might’ve been a huff. “Fine. But I swear to god if you use permanent marker on me, I’ll string you up by your ears.” A pause. “Let me finish eating, would you?”
Jim’s lips tugged up into a grin, hidden in the pillow before he pushed himself up. He didn’t know what he was going to draw yet, but he knew it wasn’t going to be anything small. Hopefully it’d take a while. Maybe he was rightfully claiming his crown as the king of procrastination with this, but he needed a break from studying. He picked himself up from his bed, padding over to his desk and opening up the drawer. Few people kept pencils or pens, practically useless when you had a PADD. But Jim’s drawer was filled with them, a myriad of styles and purposes. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when, but somewhere along the way, drawing had become less of a hobby and more of a passion.
After digging around a bit, enjoying the feeling of them slipping between his fingers and pricking his skin, he emerged with a couple of pens, just in case he ran out of ink. He’d draw on himself sometimes, if he was bored enough. Nothing major, but enough to know it took a lot more ink than on paper. Shoving the drawer closed again, he flopped back on the bed, letting himself bounce a moment.
“Hurry up,” he whined. “And take off your shirt, when you’re done.” And no, that wasn’t completely an excuse to see him shirtless. Okay, maybe a little. But mostly, he just needed a canvas to work off of. There’s not much you can do with arms and a head. Thankfully, Bones seems to understand and doesn’t question him on it, even if he does jokingly grumble that Jim’s just trying to get him naked.
Finally, Bones finishes up a few minutes later, tossing the container away before shaking his head and stripping out of his shirt, tossing it somewhere into the abyss that became their room during midterms.
“Where do you want me?” And okay, wow, that was getting put in Jim’s mental folder of jack off material for the next eternity. He couldn’t help the small grin, and he could pinpoint the moment Leonard realized what he’s said because his eyes narrowed. “Don’t even start.”
Jim just grinned wider. “Get on your back for me, sweetheart.” And he was sure he was just projecting the small intake of breath at that. Either way, Bones did. It really said something about their friendship that there wasn’t any hesitation as he lay down on Jim’s bed, arms behind his head, looking expectant. Maybe trying to seem wary, but all together failing.
“Do I even wanna know what you’re gonna do?”
“Nope. And you’re not allowed to either. Close your eyes.” And there were the narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“James Tiberius Kirk, if you draw a dick on me…”
“Nah, don’t worry. You’re already a dick.” Although he couldn’t say the idea hadn’t crossed his mind. It would’ve been hilarious. But unfortunately, Jim wasn’t that bad of a person.
“Fuck you.”
“If you want,” Jim replied easily. It was easy to joke about the truth. With one last withering glare, Leonard’s eyes slipped shut. His muscles were still tense, though. Jim took a minute to gather himself, trying not to let his gaze linger too long. Letting out a breath slowly, he climbed on top of him, settling on his legs. He wasn’t going to risk anywhere near the hips. That was a little problematic, not to mention, this gave him more room to maneuver to draw. Bones startled a bit under him, but this was really the only way to do it unless he wanted to be drawing sideways. And with what he wanted to draw, that wouldn’t work. Bones was going to murder him for this.
Pulling out his PADD, he pulled up a picture for reference before placing it by his friend’s head. Glancing at it, he decided to start at his collarbones after uncapping the first pen. Carefully, he braced one hand against his chest while the other settled right below his collarbone, pen in hand. Leonard’s skin was warm under his fingertips; alive.This was a seriously bad idea. But it wasn’t like Jim could turn back now. So he started to draw. Lightly at first, just in case he messed it up. But once he had the confidence, he went darker. It wasn’t long before he started to lose himself as he always did when he drew. There was nothing in his head but the stroke of the pen and Bones breathing beneath him. It was oddly silent, but he didn’t care, too focused on the task at hand.
Once he was done with his collarbones, he moved to his arms. There was a bit of an awkward moment when he had to ask Bones to let him grab his hand, but it passed quickly enough. Time seemed to pass at a snail’s pace, yet in a contradiction moved entirely too fast. When he reached the end of his torso, he frowned, glancing at his PADD for the time. Barely an hour had passed. That wasn’t enough. He wasn’t even close to being done, or totally relaxed. So it was with a sacrifice to his dignity that he mumbled, “You should let me draw on your legs too. Complete the look.”
There was definitely a pause to consider this time, the hesitation that was lacking earlier apparent. “If you wanted to get in my pants that badly, you coulda just asked,” he eventually answered, teasing tone evident. “You’re buying me coffee for the next week for this.” Complaining or not, he still nudged Jim until he slid off his legs. He forgot how to breathe when calloused fingers reached down to fumble with his zipper before tugging off his pants, which joined the shirt in the abyss. Jim swallowed. Awful idea.
“Scoot forward,” he muttered, mouth gone a bit dry at the sight of his best friend sprawled over his sheets in nothing but his underwear. Jesus. This might actually have been the best idea of his life, come to think of it. Once Bones had complied, Jim slipped to the floor. After sparing a moment to wish this were a different situation, he picked up the pen again and began to draw, starting just under the black briefs. Trying not to think about just how close to something else he was.
A few minutes later, he had to switch out pens for how detailed he was getting, but beyond that, there were no interruptions. Just the sound of their breathing and the scratch of the pen against Bones’s skin. They were in their own little world, midterms being the last thing on Jim’s mind. This was nice. And he thought his friend might feel the same. He wondered if it was relaxing. If he could maybe bribe Leonard into doing the same to him sometime.With a bit of disappointment, Jim stopped once he reached his toes. With a small sigh, he scooted away.
“There, all finished.”
It took a moment too long for Bones to open his eyes and sit up, looking like he might’ve fallen asleep for a little while. He blinked a bit. “What time is it anyway?”
“Uh, let me check…” Jim reached for the PADD again, which had shut off a little while ago. “21:00.” So he’d spent a little over two hours drawing on his best friend. And he’d managed not to get a boner the whole time. He felt a little proud of himself, but also a little in awe. It hadn’t felt like that long, even if it had felt like an eternity. He stood up, stretching the stiffness out of his joints before wandering over to the kitchen for his much awaited food.
As Bones headed for the bathroom, presumably to look in the mirror, Jim hid a grin behind his hand.
“...You drew a goddamn skeleton?!”
He wasn’t disappointed.
Despite the fact that Bones refused to talk to him for a whole day, and got all touchy for a few days after that, it became a bit of a habit. Whenever Jim got stressed or anxious, he’d grab some part of his friend, and draw. While he still used his sketchbooks, they started to fill more slowly. On any given day, one could push up the sleeves of Leonard’s cadet uniform to find black ink curling up his arms. It seemed a little therapeutic to him to, although Jim wasn’t really into psychology. A couple of times, he even asked him to draw on him. Or at least, shoved his arm to him wordlessly. Whatever. That was a Bones way of asking.
They ranged from little doodles that made no sense, to intricate designs. For a few weeks, he’d drawn a realistic eyeball on his hand every day until Bones had eventually taken charge and told him to draw something else, for god’s sake. When he had to study for his linguistics classes, he’d write all over Leonard’s arms, different languages crawling up towards his shoulders. There never seemed to be a limit to what he could do with it. And yes, he did draw a dick once. To his defense, he was drunk, and it was his birthday.
After the first time Jim failed the Kobayashi Maru, things changed. It undeniably got to him. He knew, he knew that everyone failed it. But that didn’t stop the feeling of inadequacy from curling in his chest. He was supposed to better than everyone else. It was a fact that had been pushed on him since he was young. And it was something he’d strived for, to prove himself. He’d never failed a test in his life, not until this.
He’d stayed out drinking all night, stumbling back to their dorm in the dark, swaying on his feet. With his impaired judgement, it seemed like a good idea to take out a pen and approach his friend’s bed. He was trying to be quiet as he climbed on top of him, a lot closer to being dangerous than the last time they’d been this close for this little ritual of theirs. As soon as he settled on his hips, Leonard’s eyes were blinking open in confusion.
“The hell?” It came out scratchy with sleep, his hand reaching up to rub at his eyes. Jim shook his head, reaching up to clumsily put a finger to his lips. God, his lips. Those were distracting.
“Too loud. I just need to…” He trailed off, brows knitting together, bending down to start drawing on his chest. It didn’t come out at all the way he wanted it to, his hands shaking slightly.
Bones pushed at his shoulder. “Jim, c’mon. Go to sleep.” He sounded a mix of concerned and annoyed. That seemed to be his default around him.
“No.” He sounded like a petulant child. Whiney. He lifted his head to pout down at Bones. “Please?” He turned on the puppy dog eyes full force, knowing they could get to his best friend no matter how much he might deny it. As soon as he saw Bones’s gaze soften, he took it as permission, and so bent down to continue his work.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” Bones grunted, as Jim lost himself in the movement of his hand, the black lines appearing on his skin. At some point, they both fell asleep, Jim’s head pillowed against his chest and Leonard’s fingers somehow curled lightly in his hair.
When Jim woke up, it was to the sun shining far too brightly for his hungover mind and something warm under him. He took a moment to get his bearings before he opened his eyes, squinting. In the night, they’d moved so he was now curled securely around his friend’s side, leg tossed over his hips and arm around his waist. Jim’s heart stuttered in his chest, his head dipping a bit to bury against the back of his shoulder. He was asleep, so what harm could it do? He could nuzzle if he wanted to. Could even trace his fingers over his skin lightly. Close his eyes, too. Alright, maybe he was still slightly drunk. Still, not nearly as bad as he had been.
But maybe, maybe just enough that kissing at the hollow of his best friend’s shoulder seemed like a good idea. He trailed his lips up until they found his jaw, hoping he didn’t wake up. Not actually caring if he did. He felt affectionate. And after so long of being in love with him, he felt like he was going to burst if he didn’t get some of it out of his system. Seeing as he’d been deciding for almost two years, it didn’t take even a moment’s pause for him to press his lips against Bones’s, butterfly light.
Jim was slightly surprised when he felt him kissing back, a hand coming up to rest at the back of his neck before he was being pushed slightly back. He opened his eyes, looking down at Bones in shock. Bones, who looked a little too alert to have just woken up. Jim flushed red at the realization that he’d probably been awake the entire time.
And he hadn’t stopped him. With that second realization, Jim’s mouth parted a bit. His stomach fluttering.
“Oh, did I finally get you to shut up? I’ll have to keep that in mind.” There was an almost smug twist to his lips and Jim swallowed. Before he could answer, there was another kiss pressed against his mouth. “Took you long enough.” He dropped his hand, elbowing Jim until he fell beside him again. “Now go back to sleep. Or at least let me get the rest of mine. We’ll talk about this later.”
There wasn’t much else Jim could do but stay still for a few moments before swallowing passed the lump in his throat and pressing close again, head tucking under Leonard’s chin. “Okay.” It was quiet, a little strained.
“What’d you draw on me anyway?” Bones mumbled after a moment, clearly breaking his own rules.
Jim could only smile. “A heart.” At least, that’s what he tried to draw. It wasn’t his best work.
“You sap.”
“I know.”
The first time Jim tells him he loves him, it’s with ink against his hip.