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The coffee shop is relatively empty when McCoy shoulders his way inside, one hand holding his briefcase and the other keeping a firm grip on Jim’s upper arm.
It’s cool in there, air condition turned on and only two people before them in line. Jim’s been ignoring lunch again, and McCoy will be damned if he lets it slip. He doesn’t mind being in charge of their schedules if it gets the kid to eat on the regular, instead of being too caught up in the mountain of studies and less involuntary mountain of lovers he keeps.
“Are you getting coffee, Bones?” Jim asks, splaying his hands over the see-through glass showcasing all kinds of sandwiches and treats.
“I’m getting you something to eat,” McCoy snaps back, to Jim’s apparent delight.
He grins, slaps McCoy on the back. The same spot he’d clawed at last night, but McCoy’s not thinking about that.
“That wrinkle’s gonna get permanent soon. Does this mean you’ll go barhopping with me tonight?”
“Why the hell would it mean that?”
He scans the menu, considers adding something to eat for himself, too. Lunch was a while ago, and he’s got an early evening shift at the clinic.
“Bones, come on. It’ll be fun!”
He pushes Jim forwards, hand on his waist, squeezing it in warning.
“You know I’m working at the clinic.”
“Not the whole night, you’re not. We’ll meet at midnight, what do you say?”
“I say no thanks.”
He orders for them, Jim balancing his weight with an elbow on McCoy’s shoulder. It’s predictable, easy. It’s even more predictable that Jim nudges him a moment later, leans in to whisper in his ear.
“Look, Bones, a Vulcan! He looks hot.”
He does not look. Jim discovers a new hot person roughly every ten minutes. He’s used to it.
“Bones,” Jim whines, half-hugging him now, tugging at his red shirt. “I didn’t know there were Vulcans in Starfleet!”
“Vulcans have really good hearing, Jim.”
The warning goes ignored.
“We should sit with him. You think he’s up for barhopping tonight?”
McCoy rolls his eyes.
“Don’t be an idiot, Jim.”
He glances at him, sees him open his mouth before another voice interrupts them.
“Yes, Kirk, don’t be an idiot.”
It’s mocking, coming from someone behind them. McCoy hadn’t noticed the line forming behind them, a few more cadets with a free afternoon just like them apparently deciding this was the place to be.
Jim stiffens next to him, plasters on a fake smile, the kind that’s meant to exaggerate the stupidity that some of their classmates seem so eager to ascribe to him. Elbowing him in the ribs, McCoy takes a step forward.
“I don’t think I know you,” he says, crossing his arms.
They’re waiting for their food by the pick-up counter, and this guy must have ordered right behind them. He’s tall, a little on the thin side, a mocking sneer on his face.
“You wouldn’t,” the guy huffs.
“Did you want something, Peterson, or are you just here to ruin the mood?”
Jim looks like he’s spoiling for a fight. Groaning inwardly, McCoy grabs the back of his shirt. The cadet uniform really isn’t his color, but it’s not Peterson’s color, either. McCoy pulls him back, determined not to get thrown out of the shop. He likes the coffee here, dammit.
“Why don’t we all get our food and ignore each other, hmm?” he suggests, hardly confident that Jim’ll back down.
McCoy might be the one with a temper, but Jim’s easy to rile up if you know what buttons to push.
“Worried your boyfriend can’t take it?”
Peterson must be one of those guys with too little self-esteem and too much to prove, slipping past the thorough evaluations done on anyone applying. Though, of course, McCoy himself had slipped through, at most likely the lowest point ever in his life. Not to mention Jim, with a list of traumas a mile long, though he’s generally good at keeping it locked tight and breezing through their yearly psych eval.
McCoy only knows that because Jim made him his primary doctor and gave him access to all his files, something that is probably discouraged now that they’re sleeping with each other on the regular, but hell if he’s going to subject Jim to another doctor.
Thoughts distracted by this, it takes him a hot minute to realize Peterson was talking to him, and that Jim’s nostrils are flaring, fists clenched by his hips.
“Well?” Peterson says, faltering a little under McCoy’s unimpressed, barely focused stare.
“I think next time you break something you should find a doctor that isn’t me. ‘Cause I’ll find reason to keep you broken, if you catch my meaning.”
It startles the man, makes Jim relax a fraction, eyes wide as he turns towards McCoy. They’re lucky that their food and drinks arrive, because McCoy is starting to get real irritated now. He’s too old and jaded for these peacock younglings strutting around each other, trying to get on top of the pecking order.
“C’mon, Jim, let’s go sit down. Something smells a bit rancid over here.”
He drags Jim to a corner table, only realizing belatedly that it’s right next to the Vulcan Jim had ogled earlier. By the glee in Jim’s eyes, he knows he’s going to regret it.
“Bones, you’re so hot when you get like that,” Jim says, in a completely normal tone of voice as he lifts his bottle of juice and tilts his head back to swallow down half of it in one go.
“I didn’t even do anything.”
He takes a bite out of the sandwich he’d picked – turkey and Andorian vegetables. It tastes mostly like turkey and bell pepper.
“Bones,” Jim says, almost patronizing. “One of these days we’re gonna talk about the way you sound when you’re annoyed. Is it weird that I find it sexy? I feel like we should explore that.”
“I feel like you should shut up.”
Jim nudges his foot under the table, winks at him cheekily. To their right, the Vulcan glances up at them, just once, a quick enough thing that McCoy dismisses it as annoyance with how loud they are.
He’s got a research paper to write tomorrow, and more lectures, and the day after is a full practical. In between he’ll have to check up on Jim, and Jim will probably catch him in the shower or half-asleep on the couch for what he loves to refer to as roommate quality time.
It’s not so bad, he thinks. Better than he imagined, much better than he braced himself for.
“So…”
Jim trails off, jerking his chin towards the Vulcan.
“Absolutely not.”
“Doesn’t hurt to try.”
The innocence in Jim’s eyes doesn’t fool him in the slightest. When Jim gets it into his head to pursue someone, he never stops to wonder if there’s a risk of embarrassing himself, or even if there are unspoken social rules against leaning across the short space between tables in a coffee shop to ask if someone’s single.
“Hi,” Jim says to the Vulcan now, McCoy burying his face in his hands and wondering if it’s too late to pretend they don’t know each other. “I’m Jim, that’s Bones. What track are you on?”
Glancing between his fingers, McCoy feels his shoulders pull up to his ears in a full-body wince at the dark look the Vulcan sends Jim.
“I am not a cadet,” is the chilled answer, and McCoy does a quick once-over that confirms he’s in civilian clothing – at least in what must pass as civilian clothing for a Vulcan.
“Cool,” Jim says, leaning even closer. “You free tonight?”
Closing his eyes but resisting the urge to groan out loud, Bones grabs Jim’s shoulder and pulls him away from the poor Vulcan.
“Ignore him,” he says. “He’s an idiot, an idiot who’s supposed to eat his lunch, not bother people who are just trying to have a meal in peace.”
The last part is hissed through his teeth at Jim, whose smile is unrepentant. The worst part is probably that it’s an attractive smile, at least if you overlook the words that come out of his mouth.
“What is the purpose of your inquiry?” the Vulcan asks, completely flooring McCoy whose expectations were ranging between frosty silence and requesting the staff to remove them from the premises.
“Oh, you know.” Jim’s grin turns salacious, and he throws McCoy a look that clearly states he thought of this as some kind of bet, and one that he definitely believes himself winning. “I thought we could get to know each other. Intimately. In bed.”
The Vulcan blinks at them, deep brown eyes searching Jim’s face. Swiping a hand over his mouth, McCoy considers fleeing the scene. That is, until the Vulcan glances at him, with a look that would be considering on anyone else but clearly wouldn’t be on a Vulcan because everything he knows about Vulcans point to zero emotions and definitely zero sexual encounters with random Humans.
Then again, he doesn’t know much about Vulcans. They’re tight-lipped, secretive, and–
Jim’s new friend starts gathering his things, very efficiently, Jim’s face falling until he moves to their table and McCoy is going to have to deal with an unbearably smug Jim for weeks.
“Fascinating,” the Vulcan says, settling between them. “I have heard of the Human habit of soliciting strangers for intercourse but had yet to experience it for myself. My name is Spock.”
“Right.” Jim manages to wrestle his shit-eating grin into something manageable, leaning on his forearms over the table while tapping McCoy three times on his shin with a boot, signaling that he is very much going for a threesome here and he will probably cry and whine if McCoy says no. “So, Spock. You got anywhere pressing to be in the next few hours?”
“If you are asking if I am amenable to sexual intercourse with you and your partner, the answer is yes.”
This time when McCoy buries his face in his hands, he doesn’t strangle the groan forming in his throat. He does resent Jim for kicking his leg, hard.
“That’s the spirit, Bones. Also, Spock, are you saying yes because you saw Bones earlier and you think he’s sexy as hell? Because that would be extremely understandable and I’ll happily share him.”
“Jim, please.”
“While I do not believe the term hell accurately describes physical attraction, you are quite correct that I find him aesthetically pleasing.”
“Damn, Bones.” Jim whistles, leans back with his arms behind his head. “I think you need to cancel your shift at the clinic.”
“I can’t just cancel my shift, Jim.”
He swears the world tilts upside down when Jim’s pleading expression is joined by a Vulcan with big eyes whose face somehow remains entirely unexpressive, and yet. And yet, something stirs in McCoy’s chest, something strange and fuzzy, something almost new.
“Just to be clear,” he says. “You want me, a doctor, to cancel my shift at the hospital, where patients are actually dependent on me showing up, and have a threesome instead.”
Jim nods.
“Because you both thought I looked hot when I told that guy earlier to fuck off.”
Jim nods again, of course he does. At least Spock has the decency to keep his head still. He rubs at his face, feeling at his wit’s end. To be honest he’s not actually needed at the clinic today. He doesn’t have any appointments, was only going to get a head start on next week’s consultations and check if anyone needs a helping hand. Maybe Jim’s right and he’s a workaholic, but it’s not like he can help it.
He takes a sip of coffee, wishing it was something much stronger.
“Fine,” he says, hardly believing himself.
Jim’s answering smile is mostly worth it.