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Nothing good has ever come of saying "I told you so" to Leonard McCoy. Thus, Jim wisely keeps his mouth shut and does not remind the doctor of how much grousing he did ahead of this mission. He's not entirely successful at keeping the smirk off his face, though.
Bones quirks an eyebrow at him, but the effect is much less intimidating when he's wearing a robe and showing a somewhat distracting deep-v of chest hair. "What's got you so smiley?" he asks.
Despite all his prior complaining about a week's worth of on-planet treaty negotiations ("Kick me when I fall asleep with my eyes open."), Bones has rarely looked more relaxed.
"Oh, nothing," Jim says, taking another sip of his water: it tastes a bit like cucumber water at a fancy spa, but with a hint of strawberry. Is there nothing these people don't get right?
The Urkonians are incredibly gracious hosts and the planet could rival Risa for loveliness — sans all the tourist infrastructure. With just the two of them on the mission, and with this culture's emphasis on hospitality and relaxation, it's felt awfully close to an actual vacation. When they learned on the first day that their schedule included a 2-to-1 ratio of leisure activities to meeting time — leisure activities they couldn't refuse without causing sincere insult, according to the cultural briefing — Bones had given Jim a pointed look of delight, as though Jim had been the one complaining the whole shuttle ride here.
It's day five of seven and treaty negotiations are almost done. On top of everything, the Urkonians have proven to be reasonable and accommodating negotiators: Bones has been all but bouncing with glee at some of the neuroscientific advances they'll be bringing to the Federation.
Jim's known Bones was brilliant since the first time they met. He recruited him to be his ship's CMO, so obviously he thinks highly of his skills. But it's still a private little luxury to sit back and watch him talk trade with other brilliant minds: savvy and quick and dryly funny.
"Are you ready for your skin harmony session?" asks an attendant politely from the doorway to their balcony. After reading the description on the official schedule, they're both reasonably sure this is basically just a massage session, but Bones still tosses Jim a wink as he follows his own attendant into a private room near Jim's.
It is a massage, and a damn good one, with tingly, scented oils rubbed into his skin by hands giving the perfect amount of pressure, halfway between gentle and firm. By the time he's done, Jim doesn't know if he wants to fall asleep or float through the ceiling.
Wrapping his robe back around himself, Jim accepts a clear bowl filled with ruby-colored liquid from the exit attendant. He makes his way back to their suite, pleasantly buzzed on endorphins, to find Bones already there, stretched out on the balcony's lone double-wide chaise longue.
He has the same drink and he lifts it in a toast when Jim joins him. They clink lightly and Jim sips, eyes widening at the flavor — lightly effervescent and somehow both sweet and spicy, with rich umami undertones. It shouldn't be possible for all of that to coexist in one beverage, but of course this society would accomplish it.
"Damn," he says, pulling his glass away to give it a respectful look before taking a longer swallow.
Bones chuckles. "Well put." He's already halfway through his own and he nods at a pitcher on a low table nearby. "They knew we'd want seconds."
"I won't say no," Jim agrees, and they sip in silence for a while, watching the view of a pearly green sea framed by golden foliage. He closes his eyes, enjoying the breeze (very light, perfectly temperate) and the sound of the waves.
Beside him, Bones is a warm, steady presence. Urkonians love a good shared piece of furniture, it seems — negotiations have happened with both of them sharing a single chair, wide enough for two, at the conference table. Others also sat in clusters of two or three, though Jim hasn't quite worked out if there's a particular meaning to the groupings.
This chair is like that negotiation seat, but a slouchy, vacation-ready version: slightly reclining, room to stretch out their legs, perhaps a bit narrower. Well cushioned, and Jim has already fallen asleep on it twice this week.
Bones shifts, his leg nudging slightly against Jim's by necessity, thanks to the chair. He lets out a long, pleased sigh. "Well, don't let me say Starfleet never brought me anything good," he says. "Which makes it a real shame."
Jim cracks an eye and looks at him. "What's a shame?"
"The fact that I'm going AWOL to stay here forever," Bones says without looking away from the view, voice happily resigned.
Jim laughs. "Oh, please. You'd get bored in three days. You don't know how to live a life of leisure."
Bones gives him a haughty look. "Perhaps a life of leisure doesn't know how to accommodate itself to me," he suggests, with a sip of his drink. "You're wrong, though. It would take at least three weeks."
"Less if you start thinking about how your sickbay might be getting reorganized in your absence."
Bones glowers, a pleasantly familiar look on him. He's let his stubble grow out over the past few days — facial hair is very common among Urkonians — and Jim has privately thought several times that it's a good look on him.
"Don't you dare say 'sickbay' or 'Enterprise' or- or 'Spock'," he says, nudging Jim with his elbow. Jim grins and settles against him, sides pressed together. "I'm in my happy place and I want to stay here." Bones uses his hands to make a picture frame of the ocean view. "No past, no future. Just good weather, good view, good food, good company."
"Fourth on the list?" Jim teases. "Bones, I'm flattered."
Bones eyes him. "Don't flatter yourself. I meant the Urkonians."
"Mmm, yes," Jim agrees. "I'm just your grumpy old coworker you got saddled with."
"Damn straight," Bones says. "Can't believe I have my boss breathing down my neck on a work trip. Can't even let loose properly."
Jim gives him a slow glance: his robe is showing even more chest hair now (how would it feel to touch?) and it's fallen slightly open at at one thigh, showing pale skin and lean muscle. "This is you buttoned up, then?"
Bones crosses his legs at the ankle, which only serves to make his robe fall open more. His skin is touching Jim's from their calves to somewhere above Jim's knee. "Prim and proper, Captain, sir."
Jim doesn't know when he ended up turned on his side, curled toward Bones rather than the view. He's not complaining, though. Bones and his crooked smile and laughing eyes are an awfully good view as well.
"If this is prim and proper," Jim says, "I'm awfully curious about what the letting loose would entail."
Bones gives him a single eyebrow waggle. "I'm afraid that's classified. Need to know."
"Ah," Jim says, nodding. Bones has one hand resting in his own lap and Jim feels the strongest urge to reach out and run his fingers over the back of it, feel the topography of those knuckles and long fingers. He swallows, resisting. "I don't suppose there's a case to be made that I… need to know."
When he glances back up, Bones is staring at his mouth. As soon as he realizes Jim has noticed, he clears his throat and looks away. "More?" he asks and reaches for the pitcher, filling Jim's glass without waiting for an answer, then his own.
"Thanks," Jim murmurs, eyes fixed on the sip Bones is taking of his drink. "I'm glad you came," he says impulsively.
Bones rolls his eyes. "Didn't have much of a choice, did I?"
Jim grins unapologetically. "That's the point of being the captain. You get to force your friends to go on trips with you."
Bones shakes his head sadly. At some point he's also rolled to face Jim and their knees bump together, bare feet tangling. Their heads both rest against the back of the chair as they watch each other. "Drunk with power," he says. "I knew it would happen."
"Gonna report me?" Jim smiles, reaching over Bones to set his drink deliberately down on the table. When he goes to pull his hand back it- stops. Halfway. Resting lightly on the curve of hip beneath the soft robe Bones is wearing.
Bones gives him a long look, eyes wide, searching Jim's face. He licks his lips. Jim swallows.
"Yeah," Bones says, voice quieter, a little hoarse. "Get you busted back down to ensign."
"Then get your revenge for my power trips?" Jim asks, voice equally low. Their faces are so close now. He can feel each warm exhalation from Bones.
"Jim…" Bones says, eyes locked to his mouth again.
Jim is close enough now to brush his nose against the warm skin of Bones' face.
"Yeah?" he whispers and their lips brush just barely together. It's like electricity, lighting up every nerve in his body, zinging through his gut. He lets out a harsh exhale and does it again.
Bones sucks in a breath but doesn't move away. "What are we doing?" he asks and punctuates it with a flicker of a moment when his lips slot perfectly against Jim's.
"I'm gathering data," Jim murmurs.
"Data…?" Bones sounds dazed. Jim can feel his eyelashes flickering against his own cheek.
"Want to see how the real thing compares." Their bodies are pressed close but it doesn't feel close enough. "To what I've imagined."
Bones inhales sharply, body gone very still. "Jim…" he says, like a warning, like a plea.
It's enough. Jim brings a hand to his jaw, fingers spread across stubble and skin. He tilts his own head and kisses Bones for real. Presses all his affection and longing into it, trying to ensure it doesn't feel devouring.
Bones lets out a little sigh through his nose and melts against him.
Jim's heart is pounding when they pull back. The air is warm and sunset-colored. A harmless insect circles lazily, a sort of butterfly shaped like a lilypad. Bones is searching his face for something and Jim doesn't know if he finds it.
Jim swallows, finding his voice. "This all right?"
Bones huffs out a laugh. "Feel like I oughta be asking you that." Without warning he rolls to lie on top of Jim, pressing him onto his back.
"Oh," Jim breathes, unable to keep the smile off his face.
Bones quirks an eyebrow down at him. "Is this okay?"
Jim weaves his fingers into the hair at the back of Bones' head, runs his other hand down to the small of his back, pressing him closer.
"Very much so," he says, unable to keep his hips from twitching in an aborted roll.
Bones leans down and nips at Jim's neck.
"I wanna hear all about this imagination of yours," he says, turning Jim's head to bare more of his neck. The scrape of his stubble is a delicious contrast to the sweep of his tongue. Jim closes his eyes and lets himself feel.
Jim wakes to the enthusiastic trilling of the local flying rodents. Like their winged brethren on other worlds, their chief goal in the morning seems to be producing enough aggressively cheerful cacophony that nobody can remain asleep.
A cool breeze is tossing the translucent curtains at the window. The light is the rich lemon yellow of an early morning, an hour of possibility.
Bones is asleep with his head on Jim's naked hip.
The twist in Jim's stomach is a complicated Moebius strip of shock and delight, arousal and a surge of anxiety because oh— what have they done?
He keeps very still, wanting this moment to himself, to breathe. To linger. And… look. He knows he shouldn't let his eyes trail over his best friend's body in this vulnerable moment, Bones unaware. But Jim can't keep his gaze off that expanse of smooth back tapering to narrow hips, the familiar furred forearm ending in a hand curled loosely over Jim's thigh.
Bones is on his stomach, nearly perpendicular to Jim. He shifts in his sleep, turning his head to face Jim, lashes fluttering before he settles again. The small, contented sound he makes will live rent-free in Jim's head forever. Jim's whole body twitches.
He holds his breath, but it's too late. Bones wakes with a jolt, eyes flying open to twice as wide as they usually are. For one awful, eternal second, they stare at one another across the expanse of Jim's naked chest.
Jim gives a tentative smile, but any corresponding change in the tension between them is interrupted by the door. It opens with a friendly jingle of bells and their usual morning attendant Loraleen enters, breakfast tray full.
"Oh good!" she trills as both Bones and Jim bolt to sit upright, scrambling to cover themselves with the bedclothes. "The lexnfllk has done its job. We are so pleased to see your pleasure-taking."
"Sorry," Jim says, "what's done its job?"
Loraleen repeats the word more slowly and this time the universal translator manages to break it down: that-which-unlocks-longing-for-pleasures-of-the-flesh.
Bones, who seems frozen in shock, stiffens beside Jim.
It takes Jim an extra moment to get his own voice working. "The what."
Bustling around, their host seems unfazed by their state of undress or by finding both of her assigned alien diplomats in the same bed today. She smiles, setting small plates of breakfast on the table beside the bed. "The beverage you consumed and the oils used upon your skin. Together they bring great desire. It is one of our most sacred rituals. Is not lovemaking one of the practices of your peoples?" She pauses, tilting her head at them, vertical eyes giving an uncanny sideways blink.
Jim coughs. "Ah, it is, yeah."
Bones finally finds his voice, at least faintly. "I reviewed the provided information on every substance we might consume or encounter. Nothing pinged as an aphrodisiac. It must be a product of the two interacting."
"Correct!" Loraleen beams. "We hope you enjoyed taking pleasure in each other's bodies."
Jim feels himself go red. Bones utters a curse and drops his face into his hands.
Loraleen straightens from where she's been pouring them small glasses of juice, sideways eyes blinking rapidly. "Was your lovemaking not satisfactory? Or was it not extended enough? I can book you back in for another session this evening."
"No!" Jim and Bones say in unison. Bones hunches his shoulders even further.
"Would you prefer a third lovemaker be sent to your room to complete the experience?" she asks, hands sliding against one another horizontally. A gesture of… anxiety? Generosity? Jim can't remember. "We have many who are skilled in playing any desired part — the receptacle or the one who fills. If you will tell me your own roles, they can begin to prepare."
Jim pinches the bridge of his nose, face flaming. "No, thank you, Loraleen. But we appreciate the offer."
"Of course!" she trills again. "I will go let your skin harmonization attendants know they were successful in facilitating your copulation."
Bones whimpers into his hands.
"Is the body healer all right?" she asks Jim.
"Ah, yes," he says, unimpressed with the undertone of hysteria he can hear in his own voice. "He's fine. Just, ah. Tired."
"Ah, the exhaustion of lovemaking," she says, smiling. "Will I tell the ministers you wish additional time for rest and further copulation?"
Jim can't help sounding strangled. "No. Thank you. We'll stick to the planned schedule."
"Are you certain? Many of the ministers enjoy lexnfllk with their seatmates regularly. They will understand."
"Thank you, Loraleen," Jim says firmly, summoning up the worst diplomatic smile of his career. "I think we'll just go ahead and eat now."
"I wish wellness upon you!" she says, the local equivalent of bon appetit. Before today, it had seemed so charming. Part of an innocent, wholesome new culture.
The door shuts behind her with a jingle and the silence thuds like a heartbeat. Jim is awfully close to bursting into hysterical laughter, which he knows Bones would join him in were circumstances… different. Now he's not so sure if he should.
He's spared the choice when Bones pushes himself out of bed, stealing the blanket to wrap around his waist. "I gotta shower," he mutters, without looking back at Jim.
The next day and a half are excruciating. They still have to sit cheek-by-jowl, but gone are the short notes they've been writing each other, the murmured asides. Bones is stiff, competent, and professional. Jim follows his lead but there's a steady ache behind his solar plexus.
They're seated at opposite ends of an enormous table at that night's banquet. Too far away to make conversation, but Jim spends half the night tearing his gaze away from Bones. Somehow, it keeps wandering back. He catches Bones' eyes on him too a few times, dress uniform pristine, face inscrutable.
"Bones," Jim begins when they enter their suite, after a silent trudge back.
"Not now Jim," Bones says. He doesn't look at him but his voice is pleading. "I'm so tired."
"…all right," Jim says. "Sleep well."
The door clicks shut behind Bones. Jim stands there watching it for a long time.
At last — at last — they've signed the treaty, said their final farewell, and Jim gives the command to energize. The world shimmers away, then resolves around them in the shape of the transporter room.
Bones is off like a shot. Jim half expects to see tread marks where he'd been. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he says to the transporter operator as he hoists his bag onto his shoulder, hoping he doesn't sound as weary as he feels.
The good thing is, if he had to commit this kind of unforgivable misstep with one of his own people, at least it's someone he can address it with. Someone who probably won't even file a complaint without a lot of coaxing.
The bad thing is, he hasn't just crossed every ethical and professional line, he may have destroyed his oldest friendship as well. Exhausted, Jim stares at the ceiling above his bed, finding himself wishing for the sound of that chittering morning chorus.
At the weekly meeting of department heads, Bones ignores Jim and keeps his mouth uncharacteristically shut rather than arguing with anyone. It's atypical and Jim can see Spock watching the doctor with curiosity.
He's still debating whether to ask Bones to stay back, as everyone is filing out, but Bones beats him to the punch, pulling Spock aside. He has a PADD he hands to Spock, gesturing at its contents as he explains something in a low voice.
"Very well," says Spock. "I will let you know once my review is complete."
"Much appreciated," Bones says and is gone before Jim can blink. Spock raises an eyebrow at Jim and pivots on his heel to depart as well.
It's two more days before Jim catches Bones alone in his office, late enough in ship's night for few others to be around.
"We need to talk," he says, shutting the door behind himself.
Bones gives a resigned sigh and leans back in his chair. Jim starts to sit but thinks better of it; pacing has always served him well. He takes a deep breath.
"First, I need to apologize," he says.
Bones' eyebrows shoot up. "Apologize," he says flatly.
"For taking advantage of you," Jim says.
Bones snorts out a humorless laugh. "You… taking advantage of me. There's a good one."
Jim frowns, not understanding, but knowing sarcasm when he hears it. He leaves it for the moment and pushes on.
"I've drafted this for you," he says, reaching out to hand Bones a PADD.
Bones raises an eyebrow and begins to read. Jim is a starship captain. He will not fidget.
The glower on Bones' face has become slowly more pronounced as his eyes flick across the PADD. "The hell is this?" he demands.
"You can write your own instead, of course," Jim says quickly. "But I thought it might be easier if you just needed to sign and submit."
Bones tosses the PADD on the desk and turns the full force of his glare on Jim. "A complaint against you for sexual misconduct? You actually think I'd submit that garbage to Starfleet?"
"It is true," Jim says quietly. "I'm your superior officer, you were susceptible to coercion and not in a state to consent. I'm the one who-"
"Oh, that's such bull," Bones interrupts. He reaches for a different PADD and holds it out. "Read this."
Jim scans the words. It's a report on the chemical cocktail used in the ritual with the unpronounceable name, the massage oil and beverage. He skims quickly, looking for the takeaways, then pauses, goes back, and rereads.
He looks up at Bones in shock. "It didn't work."
"It didn't work," Bones agrees. "Doesn't, not on humans. Just acts as a mild intoxicant."
Jim sits heavily in one of the chairs. "My god," he says, letting the information sink in.
"Yep," Bones agrees. "We basically did the equivalent of having a couple of beers and getting handsy with the nearest warm body. Might as well be back in college."
Jim lets out a shaky laugh. "No assault."
"No assault, no sexual misconduct," Bones echoes. "Which, I might add, could just as easily have been filed in reverse, as per the medical ethics board, given the power dynamics. I'm your physician, I'm quite a bit older than you—"
"Oh, please," Jim says with a laugh. Relief is washing through him and he feels weak-limbed. "What, I'm the naive ingenue and you're the dirty old man?" Bones isn't smiling, but he does raise his eyebrows in a somewhat intriguing way.
Jim sits back in his chair, slumping further. He scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm not sorry to hear this. I thought…" he trails off, the sentence too big to finish.
"Yeah," Bones says quietly. "Me too."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Jim asks.
"Just got it back from Spock," Bones says. "I had him look over the data too, to validate my conclusions."
Jim tenses. "Does he-"
"Doesn't know anything," Bones cuts in. "Thinks I'm just analyzing something we heard about. He does know something's up with us, though. Asked me about it. Damn Vulcan nosiness."
"What'd you tell him?" Jim says.
Bones shrugs. "That we'd spent so much time in each other's pockets last week we were just ready to socialize with other people for a bit."
Jim nods and they sit in silence for a minute or two. Eventually he raises his eyes. Bones is watching him. A tiny jolt of something unnameable goes through him.
"A mild intoxicant, eh?" Jim says.
Bones looks sour but nods. "Honestly, it's just embarrassing. Never tell Scotty."
"But I tell him about all my paramours," Jim says. "In detail."
Bones flushes an enjoyable shade of pink, looking away and crossing his arms. "None of that, now," he mutters.
"You were wrong about one thing," Jim says.
Bones looks up, frowning. "What's that?"
"It… wasn't… about the nearest warm body," Jim says, voice softer, heart in his throat. "It was only because it was you."
Bones swallows. Looks at his monitor. Looks back.
"It's okay if I really was just the nearest warm body for you," Jim says with a shrug, aiming to keep his voice light. "No harm, no foul. Just… thought you should know."
Bones clears his throat, looking down. "Did you mean what you said, then?" he asks. "About… imagining it? Beforehand?"
"Yes," Jim says immediately. He can tell he's a little red-faced himself. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. But… yes. Just a little back shelf daydream. About something that would never happen." He makes himself smile.
Bones is still looking down, arms still crossed. "How long?" he asks.
Jim shrugs again. At this point, he might as well go for broke. "Hard to say. Sometime around meeting this pretty doctor with a horrible bedside manner."
Bones looks up at him, eyes wide in surprise. "Aw, hell, Jim."
Jim's smile is genuine now, if a little sad. "Doesn't have to mean anything," he says. "We can forget this whole conversation."
Slowly Bones nods, eyes unfocused like his mind is somewhere else, and Jim feels his hopes packing themselves away. It was a long shot anyway. And he's still got his best friend, which is a win any day.
"Besides," he can't help adding, with a bit of a leer. "I'll always have the memories."
Bones kicks him under the desk and Jim laughs for the first time in days. It feels good.
Bones is smirking but it slowly fades and he looks pensive again. On a hunch, Jim waits. It pays off.
"You said it was… what? A daydream that you thought would never happen?"
"…yes," says Jim.
"For me," Bones says, measured like he's weighing each word. "I found I was thinking 'about damn time we got here. Always knew we would.'"
It's Jim's turn to be shocked into silence. Bones meets his eyes, chin thrust up a little in defiance. Ever stubborn. Ever led by his heart.
"Bones…" he breathes.
Bones breaks their gaze. "Like you said, doesn't need to change anything. Probably for the best that it doesn't just now." He gives his own one-shouldered shrug. "Thought you might want to know, is all."
"Yes," Jim says. "I did. I do." Bones is still staring at the corner of his desk like it contains the secrets of the universe. "Thank you," Jim says more softly. Bones looks back at him and Jim tries to express a multitude of feelings through his eyes alone.
"Nothing to thank me for," Bones says gruffly.
Jim takes a deep breath. "So," he says. "Friends?"
Some of the tension in Bones' shoulders seems to drain away. "Friends," he says.
Jim hesitates, but if he doesn't ask now he'll drive himself crazy with wondering. He knows neither of them will want to reopen this conversational can of worms.
"Friends… and sometimes — or someday — maybe more?"
Still leaning back in his chair, arms folded, Bones gives him a long look. Again, Jim reminds himself not to fidget.
Finally Bones quirks his lips. "Ask me again on shore leave," he says.
Jim feels the grin spread over his face. It's enough. It's more than enough. His cup runneth over.