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”May I have this dance?”
When he took McCoy’s hand, the world spun out from underneath him.
Time slipped away, his surroundings became an irrelevant blur, and the man’s steadying, solid palm on his lower back, the other hand gripping his own with a confidence McCoy had never felt from another person, all gave him a sensation of weightlessness.
Perfect weightlessness.
McCoy let himself be led around the room, let his head fall back when the man dipped him, let a laugh bubble up from deep within his chest, through his throat, and out his mouth when he was twirled.
“Southern belle,” the man whispered fondly into his ear. McCoy could only nod in return.
He felt so warm. So right.
Eventually, the party had to end and the illusion shatter.
* * *
“He was gorgeous,” Jim groaned, letting his head drop onto his folded arms. “Why didn’t I ask for his name? Or his comm number? Anything?”
Gaila just giggled unsympathetically. “Jimmy, you have it bad.”
“Stupid masquerade shit.”
“Well, you said he had a southern accent, so that’s something at least, right?” She patted him on the back with the air of a woman who’d never let herself crush on anyone too hard.
“Ugh, I guess. Means I’m gonna have to talk to almost everyone on campus to find him. And what if he was faking? Maybe he didn’t even have a real southern accent.”
“Don’t forget the faculty!” Gaila said cheerfully. “Could’ve been a professor, too.”
Jim just groaned again.
* * *
Two weeks later and still no luck. Things were getting desperate.
Like, hack the system desperate.
Naturally, since James T. Kirk doesn’t get too hung up on little things like combing people’s personal information in search of the only man he’d ever fallen into an all-consuming obsession with, he hacked the system.
Firewalls were so easy. Writing an algorithm to trick the computer took less than five minutes. Finding the time and place to carry out his little scheme was slightly more effort, but negligible in the long run.
It wasn’t too hard to narrow down the options. Jim hadn’t grown up in the south himself, but he’d met plenty of people over the years and he had a good ear for certain things like accents (second only to Uhura, even if she disagreed he possessed any such skill at every possible opportunity).
Assuming the man’s accent was real, Georgia was Jim’s best guess. Out of the hundreds and hundreds of cadets currently enrolled in the Academy, a total number of twenty-eight hailed from any of the southern states. Out of those twenty-eight, only five came from the state of Georgia. Out of those five, three were male.
And out of those three, only one grabbed his attention with the picture I.D. alone. Without even needing to dig through the rest of the information there, Jim knew: Leonard Horatio McCoy was his man.
* * *
“I can’t believe I let you convince me to go to that stupid masquerade ball.”
Chapel just gave him a wry smile. “I dunno, looked like you were having a pretty good time to me.”
McCoy slammed his locker shut with extreme prejudice and glared at her. “I didn’t go there to dance, I went there to drink and judge people. What the hell was that guy’s problem, anyway? Who just walks up to someone and smooth talks them into—”
“Leonard,” Chapel interrupted, wisely. “Maybe you should just let yourself enjoy the memory and stop feeling the need to make your own life as miserable as possible, okay?”
McCoy yanked his jacket on with a huff.
* * *
It occurred to Jim he might’ve almost been stalking, but now that he’d looked Leonard up, he couldn’t help seeing the man everywhere.
At lunch, in the hallways, on the campus, during a class, he’d automatically scan the crowd for a fleeting glimpse of dark hair and a semi-permanent scowl, sending a shiver of what must’ve been want, desire, need through him.
Jim considered getting into some stupid fight so he’d get sent to the general hospital and have a chance to meet him again, but dismissed the idea for the demerit he’d receive, the uncertainty of whether McCoy would actually be his doctor or if it’d be someone else, and the fact that he wanted to look his best when the man saw him again.
That southern accent, his laugh, haunted Jim’s dreams. Leonard hadn’t been faking it. There was no way this guy put up with any sort of nonsense like that.
So Jim needed to put his best foot forward, Kirk style. If that didn’t work, he’d just throw himself at him and hope for the best.
And as soon as he’d gotten his attention, he’d give the guy a better nickname. No way was he calling him Leonard all the time.
* * *
”Hey, handsome. How are you?”
McCoy resisted the urge to sigh. He’d escaped to the outdoors, a nice, empty, well-lit balcony, to avoid this exact situation. Apparently, the man in the golden mask and the snazzy suit had other ideas.
“I saw you chatting up some woman back there,” McCoy said flatly.
“Oh, yeah?” His tone was flirty, playful.
“So what the hell are ya doin’ out here? Shouldn’t ya be with her?”
“Came to find you, gorgeous. You look lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” McCoy snapped. “And you wouldn’t even be able to tell if I was with these damn masks, anyway.”
“Agree to disagree. You’re practically holding a flashing neon sign begging me to come bother you.”
“I am not. Go away.”
“Come on. Just one drink.”
“I’m not gonna refuse if ya bring me a refill. But I don’t wanna hang out.” He’d had several glasses already and could tell his accent was starting to get more obvious. Which was irritating.
But if the man agreed to get him another, he could make his grand escape back to his dorm before he returned and no one would be any the wiser. Except Christine, anyway.
“Alright, I’ll get you one. Let’s head inside.”
Damn. The guy wanted them to go together.
But that drink really did sound good.
“Fine.”
The band was in full swing, a sea of cadets and (it was rumored) the professors, in fancy suits and glittering dresses, masks catching the light as they danced and twirled. Loud conversation and laughter filled the edges of the huge room where others sat at tables or milled around.
The man in the golden mask led him expertly through the crowd to the bar with an unobtrusive hand on his upper back. McCoy shrugged it off when they got there and ordered himself a double.
“Ah, a whiskey guy, too, huh? You know the way to a man’s heart.”
McCoy glared at him where he leaned against the counter, though he doubted the man could see it under the mask.
“You dance much?”
“No, I don’t dance at all. Don’t ask me to.”
“Is whiskey your favorite?”
“Not necessarily.”
“What do you mean?”
“I like a lot of different liquors. Why the hell are you askin’ me so many damn questions?”
“I’m curious about you.”
“Well, stop bein’ curious. It’s irritating.”
The man snorted. The bartender brought them their drinks.
“Let’s go sit.”
“Why?”
“Who’s asking the questions now, huh?” He teased. “Come on, let’s just talk.”
McCoy groaned exasperatedly, the sound swallowed up in the noise of the crowd around him, and followed the man like a damned magnet anyway.
* * *
“Who the fuck is James Kirk and where the hell is he?”
“Sir, please calm down,” the assistant instructor said, not even looking at him as she typed away on a PADD.
“Oh, yeah? Well, he was supposed to be my partner for this damn exercise and he’s yet to show up.”
“He’s already been contacted. Please sit down.”
“You sit down,” McCoy muttered and remained standing, letting his gaze wander while he waited, watching people mill around, relaxed, laughing, joking with each other as if they weren’t about to climb into death traps.
He just wanted to get the damn simulation over with. He was already feeling mildly nauseous at the sight of the shuttles.
“Sorry!” Someone called from the other side of the room, jogging towards McCoy and coming to a stop in front of him. “Sorry. I’m late.”
“No shit.”
“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” the fucker said, grinning.
Was that voice familiar? McCoy narrowed his eyes and took a closer look at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed nuisance before him.
“You’re Kirk?”
“And you’re Leonard McCoy,” Kirk practically purred.
McCoy cut to the chase. “Look, I have exactly zero interest in what we’re about to do, so if we could just get through it as fast as possible, that’d be swell.”
Kirk’s grin widened. Some distant part of McCoy vaguely noticed he was actually kind of attractive.
“Understood. And I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot here.” Kirk stuck out a hand. “You can call me Jim.”
McCoy raised a brow, then reluctantly took it. “Fine.”
“And what can I call you?”
“Leonard, I guess.”
Jim made a skeptical face. “We’ll come up with something better.”
“Excuse me?”
Jim let go of his hand (why did it feel so damn familiar, too?) and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s do this thing.”
As expected, they failed miserably, mostly due to McCoy.
* * *
“How about Bones?”
“Kid, I don’t need a damn nickname,” he said irritably, marching to his dorm while Kirk somehow kept perfect pace with him. It was incredibly aggravating.
“I think it fits. You were listing them in the shuttle.”
“Yeah, as a distraction. Even in a sim, you suck at flying.”
“I’m amazing at flying. You just have aviophobia, Bones.”
“Why are you following me?”
“I wanna be friends.”
“I don’t have friends, kid. I’m a grumpy, divorced, middle aged doctor who’s only enrolled in Starfleet ‘cause I have nothing better to do.”
“Bullshit. Have a drink with me tonight.”
McCoy looked at him in surprise. “What? Why?”
“Well, you like drinking, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” McCoy said slowly. “What’s the catch? What do you want?”
Kirk shrugged. “Exactly what I said. I wanna be friends.”
McCoy didn’t believe him for a second.
But he liked the sound of a drink.
* * *
In another life, they’d met on a shuttle in Iowa instead of some Starfleet masquerade ball in San Fran. Jim would’ve just come off a night of drinking and fighting, while Bones would’ve just come off a night of… well, drinking. They would’ve introduced themselves, McCoy would’ve ranted about the dangers of shuttles, and Jim would’ve fallen for him right then and there.
That last part was the only one that still applied to their reality.
And Jim was trying so hard to keep a respectful distance, knowing what he knew after meeting him again for the second time, spotting him across the room, running to him like he was in some rom-com and Bones was his saving grace.
He was just as gorgeous without the mask (even if the figurative mask stayed on most of the time), his accent still captivating, those little moments of letting his guard down the most beautiful thing Jim had ever seen.
In short, Jim was head over heels.
And Bones had no idea he’d met him before, much less the crucial fact of Jim’s feelings towards him.
There were times Jim thought it was all about to come to a head, that he’d finally have to confess, that Bones would either punch him or kiss him when he found out. They’d be at a bar, sitting next to each other in a class, lounging on the couch in Bones’ quarters, and it’d all be so close to slipping out in a hurried whisper.
But he would stop himself or something would interrupt or Bones would suddenly look away, and the moment was broken.
And all Jim could think about was getting to dance with him again, listen to his laugh, see his smile, feel his willingness to be led (as ridiculous as it seemed that the McCoy he was getting to know would ever be willingly led anywhere).
But Jim had said he wanted to be friends with him and friends they were. Maybe he should’ve been more forward from the start. Or maybe that would’ve scared Bones off.
He couldn’t imagine anything worse than scaring Bones off.
* * *
The man tilted his head thoughtfully across the table from McCoy, glass in hand, lounging back in his chair.
“You sure about that dance?”
“For the last time, I don’t wanna.”
“I bet you’re good.”
“I’m not. Drop it.”
“Take a chance?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause I don’t wanna embarrass myself, for fuck’s sake!”
The man grinned. “One spin around the room, nothing fancy or complicated. It’ll be fun.”
McCoy glared in response and finished his drink.
“Please? I’ll take good care of you, promise. You’ll like it. Or you won’t hate it, at least.”
“Oh god. Fine. Let’s just get this over with. Don’t step on my toes.”
The man stood, buttoned his jacket, and held out his hand with a flourish. “May I have this dance?”
* * *
“Y’know, I haven’t seen a shiner this bad in a while.”
Jim winced when McCoy ran the disinfectant across the shallow cuts on the bridge of his nose, the other hand firm on his nape to keep him from squirming away. That part of it felt nice, even if the wounds stung.
“Yeah, well. You know me. I never half-ass anything.”
“No, you most certainly do not,” McCoy agreed softly and distractedly, setting down the cloth and reaching for the regen, his other gloved hand still holding the back of Jim’s neck.
Jim couldn’t help leaning into it, just a little, almost forgetting the pain as he watched Bones work, hazel eyes intense and focused.
“You’re lucky we’re friends. Would’a gotten in trouble if you’d gone to the hospital for this.”
“I know.”
Bones’ hand stilled for a moment with the regen and he blinked, as if realizing something that surprised him. Jim just waited, heart pounding.
“Hey, Jim?”
“Yeah, Bones?” He tried to keep his tone light, unaffected, but he was frozen in place under the man’s gaze.
“I’m lucky, too.”
“…Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The certainty in Bones’ voice made Jim want to throw himself into the man’s arms and kiss him like his life depended on it.
He just barely managed a dumbfounded nod and a small smile instead.
* * *
A few months into knowing Jim, McCoy was starting to admit to himself he might like the guy. Even when he got irritated with him, he was just as equally worried for Jim’s safety. He didn’t like the idea of not having him in his life. Going a day without seeing or talking to him felt wrong.
Just barely coming to terms with the fact of his own feelings, McCoy wasn’t even willing yet to think about what Jim’s might be, especially considering he might not feel the same.
He’d wanted to be friends, after all.
And still, relentlessly, something felt familiar about Jim, drawing him in, like McCoy was orbiting a star and couldn’t help it. And James T. Kirk was most definitely a star, burning bright and hot, a little volatile, impossible to ignore.
“Bones? Bones. Hey, you there?”
McCoy shook himself out of his reverie. Right, they’d been talking over their comms.
“Um, yeah. Sorry. What was that?”
“Our three month friend-iversary is coming up! We should get out, do something. Like, besides getting drunk.”
McCoy huffed a laugh despite himself. “And what’s wrong with getting drunk?”
“We do that all the time already. I want to mark the occasion with something special.”
“You have anything in mind?”
“Well, if you’re not opposed…”
McCoy braced himself for what was sure to be an insane suggestion.
“Let’s go to the moon.”
Yep, crazy.
“The moon,” McCoy repeated flatly.
“They have the coolest hotel of all time. We could go dancing. We could eat at the fanciest restaurant ever. We could stargaze in space.”
True, the science-station-turned-resort was one of the hottest destinations around for all of the things Jim had just mentioned and many, many more.
Couples-centered things, mostly.
“Jim, when the hell are we going to have time for a quick moon trip?”
“Spring break is coming up.”
“I was going to use that to catch up on research for my thesis.”
McCoy almost heard Jim’s eye roll over the comm, but he most definitely heard the exasperated groan.
“Bones, come on! When you’re old and gray, you’re not gonna remember the hours you spent at a desk. You’re gonna remember the awesome time you had with your best friend on the moon!”
Jim was right, of course, irritatingly.
McCoy sighed, long and loud.
“Fine. Spring break. One week, so I still have time to work.”
Jim whooped, then cut the call. McCoy snapped his comm shut, tossed it onto the couch, and face planted into the bed.
* * *
“God, it’s gorgeous here,” Jim breathed, reverence written all over his face. He was beautiful this way.
McCoy cleared his throat and tried to quit staring. “Yeah, it really is.”
“Aw, Bones,” Jim said softly. “Are you actually enjoying yourself in space?”
“Well, this bubble thing we’re in seems like just as much of a death trap as everything else, but if we’re gonna die, we might as well go together,” he grumbled, trying to come off sarcastic.
Unfortunately, it seemed to have the exact opposite effect on Jim, whose expression positively melted into warm, almost-unbelieving affection when he looked at McCoy.
Chest constricting with some unnamed emotion, McCoy returned his attention to the vastness around them, populated with billions of distant stars and planets brilliantly contrasted against the black. Their pod spun slowly, anchored to a platform far below, zero gravity allowing them to float weightless inside it.
Weightlessness.
Perfect weightlessness.
His mind suddenly cast back to that one night, months ago, dancing with the man in the golden mask. A sharp, unexpected wave of longing swept through him. He’d hardly let himself think of the memory, not wanting to waste time on what-ifs and wondering who the man had been.
“Bones? You alright?” Jim kicked off the wall of glass to meet him where he floated closer to the middle of the pod, hands landing on McCoy’s shoulders as he looked him in the eyes seriously.
His eyes were so blue.
“Uh, yeah, Jim. Fine.”
Jim frowned. “I don’t think so.”
McCoy forced an eye roll, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. “Never take no for an answer, do ya?”
“Wanna hug?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on, hugging in zero gravity’s gotta be fun. Besides, you need one.”
“I don’t, but fine.”
Jim beamed and wrapped his arms around McCoy, tucking his head onto McCoy’s shoulder. After a moment, he returned the hug.
“Wanna go dancing later?” Jim whispered, still not letting go.
“Okay,” McCoy whispered back, feeling himself relaxing into Jim’s touch, eyes falling closed, Jim’s hands warm on his back—
And then he was struck with a realization so fast, it almost felt as though he’d been hit by one of those old-timey bullet trains going hundreds of miles an hour.
”Holy shit.”
Jim looked up, confused. “Bones?”
McCoy pulled back from him, running both hands through his hair in some ineffective attempt to ground himself while floating in zero gravity.
“Holy shit.”
“Bones, you’re freaking me out.”
“You’re him.”
Jim blinked. “Sorry?”
“The man I danced with…” McCoy trailed off with a shake of his head, stunned.
Sudden understanding dawned on Jim’s face, quickly followed with a cringe and obvious guilt. “Yeah. That was me.”
McCoy glared at him accusingly. “How long have you known? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
Jim sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, which looked absolutely ridiculous as he began slowly flipping over in the zero gravity with his hair standing on end. “Uhhh… I may have… hacked the system to find you a few days after the party?”
McCoy’s mouth fell open. “You what?”
“I’m sorry, Bones, really. I know I should’ve said something, I just…”
“You just what?”
Jim was now completely upside down, looking up at McCoy beseechingly as McCoy crossed his arms where he floated. “I didn’t want your opinion of me to be tainted by that night. I just wanted us to get to know each other before I said anything.”
“So you were planning on saying something?”
Jim covered his face with his hands and sighed. “I wanted to ask you out.”
“You already asked me out, Jim. You brought me to a resort on the fucking moon. We’re star gazing in a fucking bubble. We’re on a fucking date!” McCoy threw his arms up in frustration, which was a little difficult considering how slowed their movement was in the pod.
“Look, I was really afraid I was going to blow it with you, Bones. I like you so much. Like, so much.”
“Tell them to bring us back down,” McCoy demanded.
Jim’s blue eyes met his again, pure panic flooding his gaze. “What? Why? Are you leaving?”
“No, you idiot. I wanna dance with you again and fucking kiss you on solid ground.”
In the next second, Jim had flipped over again and launched himself back into McCoy’s embrace, holding him fiercely.
“Thank you, Bones. Thankyouthankyouthankyou—”
“You should’ve just said something, Jimmy,” McCoy interrupted, tone more gentle, brushing his fingers through Jim’s hair soothingly. “I wouldn’t have pushed you away.”
In response, Jim seized his face in both hands and crushed their mouths together.
* * *
“So, you remember the last time we danced?” Jim asked with a grin, twirling McCoy to the music, then pulling him back in close, hands on his hips.
McCoy let himself be led and returned a wry smile. “Yeah, you talked me up, tricked me into sayin’ yes, and called me a southern belle.”
“I did not trick you. And you are a southern belle.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Jim shifted a hand to McCoy’s back and one to his nape, then dipped him low, leaning in close, eyes sparkling. “My southern belle.”
McCoy laughed, arms wrapped securely around Jim’s neck, and met him in a soft kiss. “That I am, Jim. All yours.”