Archive of Our Own

*~*

Jim enters his quarters after a longer than usual shift. He's tired; he had an awful meeting with his least favorite admiral; he smells of some gross Vulcan tea blend he spilled on himself three hours ago. And he had an argument with Uhura. He didn't mean to; it just came rolling out of him right after the admiralty meeting, and he feels badly about it.

But the scene before him makes his crap of a day just a little bit less...crappy. Sitting on his bed, surrounded by laundry, is his beloved.

Normally, the sight of laundry on his bed would not be cause for celebration, or the start of a nice erection thanks, but watching his boyfriend folding clothes, folding his clothes, just fills him with all sorts of warm, smooshy feelings.

“What the hell are you grinning at?” Leonard grouses as he holds up and folds a t-shirt. He does a great job, too: folds the sleeves into the back, then folds it in perfect thirds and puts it on a small stack. “Laundry service got ours and Lt. James and Ensign McLaren's clothes mixed up. McLaren just delivered ours. Honestly, how do you mix up clothes that are clearly marked 'Kirk' and 'McCoy' for the love of Christ? I think you need to have your laundry crew hauled in for testing for reading disorders.”
He matches a pair of Jim's black socks—Jim's have a gold line on the toe; McCoy's, blue—makes a ball with them and tosses it at Jim.

Jim smiles again. “I love watching you being all domestic-y and shit.” He sits on the bed and looks through the small piles of clothing. “Fills me with so much warmth and—-what the hell is this?”

Leonard stops folding a towel. “What's what?” he asks.

“This?”

Leonard scoffs. “Boxers, Jim. Mine.”

“How old are these things? There's no stretchy in the waistband any more.” Jim holds up the boxers, blue stripes faded to mere shadow. “Look. I can see through them they're so threadbare. For god's sakes, Bones, these are so ancient they belong in a museum.”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Oh, for...they still fit. Though I have to admit I only wear those really old ones when I'm desperate. We forgot to put our clothes in during the last laundry cycle.”

“Yeah. I had to replicate a couple of pairs of socks this week. I hate replicated clothing. It itches, and it doesn't give as well as the real stuff.” Jim pulls off his boots, then scratches his foot as he tugs off the sock. “Oh, shit. Look at that.” He holds up his hives-covered foot.

“What the—how the hell are you allergic to totally synthetic, completely manufactured materials?” He moves the pile of socks from his lap and goes to his desk; he returns with a hypospray, and stabs Jim in the neck.

“Ow,” Jim says automatically, rubbing the sore spot. “You like that way too much.”

“No, I like you to be symptom-free too much.” He puts the hypo on bedside table, and scoots back onto the bed. “Jesus, Jim. Only you.”

Jim rubs his arms and the back of his neck. “It's amazing how much better I always feel after getting a dose of that shit. Didn't even know I was feeling bad.”

Leonard shakes his head. “Think we probably need to order another round of allergy testing.” He tosses the towel onto the pile.

Jim groans, as he holds up another pair of Leonard's boxers, one with polka dots that might have been red once upon a time. “Your underwear is a disgrace.”

“I've had those since high school. They still fit.” He stands and snatches the well-worn boxers from Jim's hands. “Besides, they're underwear. No one sees them.”

“I see them!”

“You only see them as a barrier to my naked ass.”

Jim laughs. He picks up the once-blue striped boxers and tugs on them, ripping them thoroughly in half along the seam; he gives Leonard a wicked smile as he picks up another pair, a very light blue pair.

"Hey! Stop that! I still like to"--but Jim rips that one, too--"wear those, you asshole!" Leonard huffed, exasperated. "Now just where the hell am I gonna find boxers out here in the middle of fucking nowhere? And don't say 'replicate some' because I don't want synthetic space-age shit hugging my privates. I want to fart through good old-fashioned, Earth-grown cotton."

Jim laughs. "Oh, my god. That's priceless." He rips the blue boxers along the waistband just for good measure.

"Dammit, Jim! Stop!" He leans over piles of neatly folded clean clothes to make a grab for his beyond-help underwear. "You're a goddamn menace to my wardrobe."

Jim tosses the boxers to the side, as he meets Leonard in the middle of the bed. They land in a heap of tangled limps, locked lips and scattered clothing. Jim's command shirt lands on the bed beside him. "Bones," he murmurs against Leonard's lips. "Too many clothes."

Leonard's tongue invades Jim's mouth like a Romulan battle brigade, and for several minutes there is no response except moans, and one "Ouch" when Leonard's knee bends at an unfortunate angle. The rest of the laundry ends up dumped onto the floor.

"No more clothes, Jim," Leonard whispers, and he licks Jim's earlobe.

Jim tries to roll his eyes, but they're too busy being rolled back into his head when Leonard twists his right nipple. "No, idiot, on your body."

Leonard unzips Jim's uniform trousers and tugs them down. "Yeah."

Trousers hit the floor, along with a science blue shirt and three socks. Jim's hand is working its way through the boxers still on Leonard's body. "Overrated, clothes."

"Necessary, though," Leonard says, strangled, as Jim's hand gives his cock head a spine-tingling tweak.

“How so?” Jim shudders as Leonard's fingers squeeze his testes firmly.

“I'd have to kill anyone who got a glimpse of this,” he replies, as his mouth engulfs Jim's cock entirely.

“AHH!” Jim's back arches. “Yeah, that would be a problem,” he grinds out as his orgasm approaches.

*~*

“Ok, you have to open this one next,” Jim says, handing him a silver and blue wrapped box.

“Just how many gifts did you get for me, Jim?” Leonard asks, amused.

“Enough. Go on!” Jim is so excited, he's squirming.

Christmas celebration, Jim and Bones style, usually consists of exchanged bottles of booze (Leonard, bourbon—always; Jim, whatever alien libation he's excited about at the moment), maybe an unusual bauble from some planet they'd visited. Books. Occasionally a t-shirt with a humorous graphic.

“Oh,” Leonard says as he looks in the box. “Thanks, Jim. I guess I really do need new underwear.”

“You do,” Jim replies as he takes a sip of the bourbon he gave to Leonard. “I'm tired of hearing you bitch about replicated underwear not fitting you properly, how it doesn't give around your balls, how it rides up into the crack of your ass, how it--”

“Yeah, yeah, I was there, got it,” Leonard says, waving him off. “Blue boxer-briefs, not exactly regulation.”

“But they match my eyes, don't you think?” Jim bats his lashes in Leonard's general direction.

“Fucking princess,” Leonard mutters. “'Cocksox,'” he reads, opening one of the individually packaged pairs of underwear. “'Cocksox'? Oh, for the love of—you have got to be fucking kidding me. 'Cocksox'? Where in the goddamn universe did you--?”

“Earth. Australia. Ok, so they're not made of cotton exactly, but they are made by real hands, on Earth, from good old fashioned underwear patterns made for good old fashioned human asses.” Jim is smiling.

Leonard opens another package; three pairs of black underwear tumble out. “How'd you get them here? And so fast. I've only been suffering for a few months. Hey, white ones, too, and--what the hell is wrong with these things?” He holds a pair up. “There's no fly, Jim!”

“Eh, details,” Jim says, sitting up and taking it from him.

“No, Jim. There's a reason why males have flies in their underwear and trousers.”

“Easier to uncover your dick when you're in the mood?”

Leonard beans Jim in the head with a wad of wrapping paper. “No, you walking sex hormone. Amongst other things, it's so we can piss without having to pull our pants down. Very useful in winter and other inconvenient situations.”

“Yeah, I'm sure human evolution skewed towards the invention of men's fashion. Jesus, Bones!”

“Don't knock it. Probably saved your ancestor way back in the ice age.”

“Pretty sure all my primitive relatives were on the equator walking around in nothing but a smile and dribbling on their feet.”

“Figures. Look, Jim, I appreciate your looking out for me and all, but really, I just need some boxers.”

Jim tosses the underwear he's holding back to Leonard. “Try 'em on first before you pass judgment. I wanna see them on you.”

"Oh, for...Jim, even my mama, who, by the way, was the last person to purchase underwear for me when I was about ten, didn't need me to try on underwear for her."

"Well, I do. I bought 'em, I wanna see 'em."

Leonard gets up, grumbling about 'needy captains' and 'silliness' and. . .

several minutes later...

"Holy shit!"

Jim grins to himself. Yep, his boyfriend has just discovered why they're called 'cocksox.'

Leonard emerges from the bedroom, his face red. "You aren't serious? I can't wear these under my uniform."

Jim licks his lips. "Oh, fuck, yes." Leonard is a vision--all warm golden skin, and dense patch of dark hair around his navel, and blue underwear.

"Jim...Just...no fucking way." Leonard is turning even redder. "I can't leave my quarters looking like this!"

"Yeah, you can." Jim rises from the floor and approaches underwear-clad--no, Cocksox-clad--Leonard. "God, I love this on you." His hand covers Leonard's Supplex-encased package. “God, this is magnificent. You are magnificent.” Jim cups Leonard's neck from behind and pulls him into a searing kiss, swallowing any more protest from Leonard. His tongue slowly, sensually fucks Leonard's mouth.

When he feels Leonard's knees quiver and knows Leonard's just about to turn into jelly, Jim breaks the kiss, kneels, and peels back the layer of fabric; Leonard's erect cock springs forth, wetly thwapping Jim on the nose. "Fuck, yes," he hisses and engulfs most of it in his hot mouth.

Leonard sways; he steadies himself by placing a shaking hand on Jim's head. "Jesus Christ," he murmurs.

"Was born this day," Jim mumbles around Leonard's cock. "Merry Christmas, Bones." He sucks particularly hard as Leonard slumps against the wall, and comes apart messily and merrily.

*~*

Walking the corridor to sickbay with Leonard the next morning is an interesting experience. First of all, Jim realizes that despite his boyfriend's rather frightening reputation for yelling and vicious way with a hypospray, his crew seems to like him. Everyone they pass nods to or salutes him, saying “Good morning, Doctor, Captain.”

Or, it could be they are simply responding to his captain-y awesomeness. Either way, it's all good.

But he watches as their eyes drift downwards, grow very wide, then express different things: surprise, wonder, disgust (Jim takes note of that one), appreciation, jealousy, and from one, absolutely no reaction at all.

"Doctor, it is agreeable to see you again," Spock says, meeting them at the entrance to sickbay. “I trust your Christmas celebration with the Captain was satisfactory.” His eyes take in Leonard's appearance. There is a pregnant pause as the three of them enter. "May I inquire--"

"No, you may not," Leonard says, scowling. "Jim, if you don't have any official duties for me, I'm gonna hide in my office and hope like hell no one needs me for the next two years."

"Aw, come on, Bones, it's not that--"

"It is, and I hate you a little bit right now." If he could've slammed the door, he would've.

"Is Dr. McCoy feeling all right, Captain?"

"Yeah, he's just not used to being so--"

"Prominently displayed?"

Jim grins. "That's one way of putting it."

"May I ask how and why? And to what purpose?" Spock cocks his head in that maddening "I really do want to know and I am going to continue asking questions until my curiosity is slaked" fashion.

"Bones hates replicated underwear," Jim says, walking out of sickbay. "And I got him some new for Christmas."

"Is Dr. McCoy incapable of purchasing his own undergarments?" Even though Jim knows he's half-Vulcan, he still finds it impossible that Spock can manage to say that with a straight face.

"Spock, it's customary for beings who are as close as Bones and I are to purchase items of an intimate nature for each other." Jim slides around a knot of engineers who are working on the Enterprise's innards in a hallway access panel. "He needed underwear, so I gave him some."

"He does not seem completely at ease with the style."

Jim nearly laughs out loud. If only he knew how smokin' hot he looks in them, though. "They're a little different from what he's used to wearing, but they're very comfortable."

"Judging from Dr. McCoy's level of displeasure this morning, it appears he would disagree with your assessment." They enter the turbolift. “Bridge,” Spock commands.

“Aww, Bones loves them. He just doesn't realize it yet.”

Spock turns to face the door of the turbolift. “Fascinating,” he muses.

*~*

“Scotty, do you have a lick of sense in that brilliant head of yours? Wait. Don't answer that. Of course you don't. Men with the sense God gave a goose don't just put their hands on a metal conduit to 'see if it's hot'. Jesus, Scotty! How much advanced diagnostic equipment are you packing down there, man? For the love of all things holy, use it!!”

Lt. Commander Scott just continues to give McCoy one of his patented broad smiles. “Aye, laddie. Sometimes, ye just gotta go with what works.”

“If your diagnostic tricorder doesn't work, then order a new one, dammit!”

“But then I'd never see ye, and yer such fun to talk to.”

McCoy throws up his hands, and starts to rev up for another tirade when, Scotty says, “Lordy, doc. Is that a hypospray ya got in yer pocket or are ya just getting a charge outta griping at me?”

“Excuse me?”

Scotty looks down at McCoy's crotch area, wide-eyed. “I know ye get excited by yer job, but--”

McCoy turns, hands the dermal regenerator to one of the nurses, and goes into his office without a word.

Scotty gives the nurse a smile. “He's a mite touchy today, ain't he?”

*~*

McCoy makes a note on his PADD and hands it to Lt. Uhura. “Thanks for catching that error,” he says, and then picks up sandwich he's been eating. “Didn't get to re-read my monthly report too closely yesterday. Flu epidemic's been keeping me busier than a one-armed engineer.”

Uhura nods as she takes a sip of soup. “Crew are going down everywhere. Is this a particularly nasty bug?”

He waggles his hand. “Can be. It's a two-phase infection. What patients don't seem to get through their thick skulls no matter how much I tell 'em is that you start to feel better, and then the second phase hits you like a ton of bricks three days later. The more they do during that good time, the worse they feel.”

“I'll tell Ensign Maxwell to do half-shifts then. She was sick yesterday, but felt well enough to do a shift today.”

“Great, thanks. I--”

“Dr. McCoy!” One of his nurses comes towards him. “We've got more coming in with flu symptoms.”

He stands and takes the PADD from him. As he does, Uhura gets quite an eye-full. She mutters, “Very nice, doctor,” under her breath, then ducks her head and is suddenly very interested in her soup.

“I'll be right down,” McCoy says, as he gathers up his plate and cup. “Nyota, it was nice having lunch with you, darlin'.”

“Same here, Leo.” As he leaves, she says with a quiet laugh, “Thanks for sharing.”

*~*

Christine Chapel looks at her boss curiously, just like she has all day long, trying to get up the nerve to ask.

“Now, look,” McCoy tells Lt. Jaeger, the resident meteorologist, “you gotta take it easy when getting over the Arethian flu. If you don't, it will flat knock you on your ass, and then you'll really have problems.”

“But I feel fine,” the older man protests. “I don't need to stay in bed.” Just as the words come out of his mouth, he coughs very hard. McCoy puts a hand on his back.

“Since when do you have a medical degree, Karl?” McCoy asks, rubbing wide circles of comfort. “I don't tell you how to predict the weather, so please don't tell me how to treat Arethian flu.”

“Well--”

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” He steps back, tugging on the long white medical jacket he rarely wears. “Go back to your quarters and stay there for the next forty-eight hours. Sleep, clear fluids, and an analgesic for the fever. If you get to feeling really bad, comm sickbay and someone will come look at you. All right?”

Jaeger slides off the biobed. “Fine. I could use the down time. Thanks, doc.”

“Any time.”

McCoy makes a notation on his PADD and hits 'send.' He shakes his head and goes back to his office.

Christine finally finds her chance to talk to him. She knocks on the door frame and asks, “Doctor, may I speak with you?”

“Of course.” She comes in, and closes the door behind her. “Is there anything wrong?” he asks as he works on the PADD.

“Well, yes, actually.” She pauses. “Are you feeling all right?”

He places the PADD on the desk. “As well as I can be in the middle of a flu epidemic. Why?”

She looks at him again, and straightens. “Doctor, have you been taking a sildenafil citrate drug course?”

He repeats the name of the compound under his breath, and his eyes narrow. “No, I have not, Nurse Chapel. I never have and I never will.”

Emboldened, she asks, “Well then, why are you suffering from priapism?”

“Pria--” He stands, and as he does, his prominently displayed package, thanks to the awesomely sexy underwear, grazes the edge of the desk, just enough to make him wince. Chapel catches the movement, and winces along with him. “Nurse Chapel, I am not suffering from priapism, and I will thank you to keep your nosy nose out of my business. Now, get out!”

Christine turns and puts her hand on the doorknob and stops.

“Wait. Christine--”

She smiles as she turns. It's their way: he yells, she makes to leave, he calls her back, and apologizes.

Leonard is sitting again, his head in his hands. “Is it that noticeable?” he mumbles.

She sits on his desk. “Seeing as you never wear the medical coat, I was wondering. But there's all kinds of rumors floating around the ship. Ever since Christmas, you've been rather...well, the way I heard it is 'sporting a perpetual woody.' People, particularly the guys, are wondering what your secret is.”

“Dammit, Jim,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “He...I...crap.”

“Come on, Leo. We don't keep things from each other. Drop 'em and let me see.”

Leonard stands and unbuttons the jacket. She sucks in a breath. “Whoa, ni—er, um...so what kind of--”
He unzips the trousers and lowers them to mid thigh. “Wow! “ she exclaims as she slides off the desk and comes around to inspect. “Those are some mighty sexy undies, Leo. Let me guess: Christmas present from the Captain?”

He nods, pulling up his trousers. “And he got rid of all my boxers, said they were old and a disgrace for an officer to wear under his uniform.”

“Knowing you, you've had them since Ole Miss.”

“High school, actually.”

She laughs loudly. “Lucky bastard. You can still fit in clothes from high school?”

He at least has the good grace to flush. “What can I say. I don't gain weight. Between replicated food and chasing after all these young turks, I keep it off.”

She laughs again, and puts her hand on his arm. “Leo, I'm sorry I intruded on your privacy, but really, I had to ask out of concern for your well being.”

“I know,” he grumbles, waving her off. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Can't wear replicated underwear?”

“God, no.”

“Yeah, me either. It crawls right up the crack of--”

“Yeah, it does.”

She opens the door. “You know, I might be able to find some cotton boxers for you.”

Leonard gives her the look of a man who has been handed the keys to the Kingdom. “Bless you.”

*~*

The next day, Jim watches Leonard get ready for his shift. He showers, dries off, and walks around naked in their bedroom; he pulls on a pair of wrinkled white cotton boxers.

"Had enough of my Christmas present?" Jim asks, pushing his glasses up on his head. He pulled the Delta shift, but he's only now finishing up the last of the reports. It's been lovely to slide into bed next to his warm partner with a PADD and watch him sleep for the last hour in between editing and signing reports.

“No, but thanks for returning my boxers.” Leonard zips up his uniform trousers, and sighs.

“Couldn't have your head nurse stealing size 32 boxers from the laundry,” Jim says.

Leonard smiles. “My head nurse would never steal.”

“Well, no, but she was asking around for donations.”

“She was not!” Leonard pulled his shirt over his head, and checked his division badge.

“Was too. Hit up Scotty and Cupcake. And sent a text comm around to all the men about your size.”

“Cupcake?! He's got at least six more inches than me!”

“Don't think so. Besides, you are, hands down, now known as the most well-endowed man on this ship. And I am officially the luckiest guy in Starfleet.”

The penny drops in Leonard's brain. He tosses the towel at Jim's head. “You know what I mean, jackass.”

Jim shrugs the towel onto the floor. “I'm sure I don't.” He turns his attention back to the PADD, and makes a notation.

Leonard hip-checks Jim's knee, and makes him scoot over on the bed as he sits. He enfolds Jim's knees in his arms. “Jim,” he says, sighing, but looking at him with love, “I really appreciate your thoughtfulness, and really, the underwear is comfortable and makes me feel...sexy and all that, but I can't walk around the ship looking like I have a hard-on. It disturbs the crew to meet my dick before me”--Jim laughs--”and upsets Christine. Do you know she asked if I was taking Viagra?”

Jim laughs even louder as Leonard tackles him.

*~*

The resort on Risa the Shore Leave committee has selected is perfect, Jim thinks. Of course it's perfect. Nyota Uhura, the committee's chair, has impeccable taste. It's located far from the center of the more salacious parts of the main city, up in the rolling hills of northern province. The rooms have the latest in bedding technology, guaranteeing that all who sleep on one of their beds will receive an optimal sonmolent experience. Or, a sexual one, as Jim and Leonard have discovered. Three times over the past two days, and the bed simply knows how to cradle their bodies, together and apart--though they're never truly apart the entire time.

The Federation New Year is upon them, and the resort staff have gone all out for the crew of the Enterprise. The buffet is a fabulous assortment of earthly delights, as well as Risiian and Vulcan delicacies; the tables, tastefully decorated; the dance band, sublime. The evening is a balmy temperature, and a constant light breeze adds to the pleasantness. The Risiian atmosphere filters the light of the white sun-star into shades of delicate blue; the effect is pleasing, especially for those wearing clothing in blues and whites.

"Well done, Lieutenant,” Jim murmurs into Nyota's ear as they dance to a Terran classic from the 1940s. "The music is even appropriate."

Nyota sighs and rests her head on Jim's shoulder. "Thought you're more of the rock and roll type, Captain."

"Ordinarily, I am. But tonight I'm in the mood for romance."

She quirks a knowing eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

He gives her his best “I'm so awesome” grin. "Hmm. As are several other members of my crew." He holds her tightly. "Speaking of which, where is Spock?"

Jim misses the mischievous smile. “He took a late afternoon nap.  He’ll be along soon." She relaxes as he continues to move her about the dance floor.  Even after all the years he’s been with Bones, he enjoys dancing with a beautiful, graceful woman.  Not that he’d ever tell Bones, but he sort of dances like a donkey.

"Oh, really? I have never known Spock to take a nap, and I've known him, what, four years now?" he says, kissing her temple.  "You wearing him out in that nice bed?"

"Captain Kirk!" she exclaims in mock outrage. “I’d sooner shoot myself, or rather, shoot you, than reveal any details of my love life."  He watches as her eyes slide past his and to something over his shoulder.  "And on that note, I think I'll go find Spock."  She kisses his cheek, and turns.

Jim is taken aback at her abrupt retreat. "Wait...why?" As she walks away, he calls, "I'm sorry,” but she just waves and smiles at him.

"I think I'm the reason she took off," he hears in his ear, just as strong arms come to wrap around his body.

Jim relaxes into Leonard's embrace immediately. "Where've you been?" He turns fully and loops his arm around his shoulders.

“You've got four more crew members down with Arethian flu,” Leonard says, running his hands up and down Jim's torso. “Had to change clothes.”

“They all right?”

“Ah, yeah. If they rest, and do as I tell them. Two of them tried to drink the native booze and upchucked all over the suit I had originally been wearing.”

"Hmm...I like this white silk shirt so much better," Jim says appreciatively, smoothing his hands over Leonard's chest and arms. "And...oh wow, you're wearing those tight trousers I love so much." Jim's cock twitches. "They make your ass look even more fabulous." Jim palms one of Leonard's fabulous butt cheeks and gives it a squeeze.

"Hey, hey. Watch it."

Jim's cock is definitely interested in Leonard's fabulous ass and low-cut trousers and--oh, yes! He feels a definite bump right where it should be. It makes him love his boyfriend even more. "Thought you got rid of the Cocksox undies," he says, giving Leonard a small, soft kiss.

"No, I didn't. I keep telling you, I like them in principle." Leonard sways them to the music, a nice romantic song with a little bit of rhythm to it. "I just can't wear 'em while I'm on duty." Jim doesn't notice, but Leonard has danced them away from the dance floor and to an open balcony. "Other than the fact it makes my junk arrive before I do.”

“You have awesome junk,” Jim says in a low, sexy voice, and presses his own impressive junk into Leonard's while giving him a very hot, hard kiss.

“Jesus, Jim,” Leonard growls again. He quickly pulls him away from the door, and out of sight of the party. “You have no shame.” But he dives into Jim's mouth again, and hugs him closer.

Jim wriggles his hips, loving the feel of their erections bumping together. His arousal grows as he feels Leonard grope his ass; it's not a vicious grope, but gentle and loving. It's one of the many things he loves about his Bones, the way he touches him with such--

“Hey, get a room!”

Leonard reluctantly ends the kiss and turns to glare the voice which came from Sulu. “Why don't you--” he growls.

“Now, now,” Jim says, placing a hand on Leonard's chest. “Let's not get ugly.”

“Sorry,” Suly says with a smile. “Couldn't resist. Would you like to join us, Chekov and me and some others, for a drink?”

“I did promise you I would,” Jim replies. “Come on, Bones. Let's party a little while and then we'll take Sulu's advice.”

Jim notices Leonard quickly mellows out, giving Sulu a friendly slap on the back as they walk towards a small group of nicely dressed crewmen. “Ah! Captain, Doctor,” Scotty says. “Glad you could join us!”

“Lieutenant Jaeger, I don't see an alcoholic drink in your hand, do I?” Leonard asks as he takes a tumbler of bourbon from Scotty.

“No, sir, you do not,” Karl Jaeger says. “It's something akin to cranberry juice. Once we see Standard midnight, I'm heading right back to my bed.”

“Good man.” Leonard salutes him. “Glad you're taking my advice.”

They stand in a small circle, chatting. “You know, Doc, those underwear the Captain bought for ye are pretty comfortable,” Scotty says.

Leonard nearly chokes on his bourbon. “What?”

“Those skivvies, Cocksox are they called?” Scotty says, jutting his hips forward. “Makes me quite popular with the ladies, if you know what I mean.”

“Jim! What did you—did you give them my underwear?!?”

Jim waves his hands in front of Leonard. “Oh, hell, no! I got the Cocksox people to upload their specs into the Starfleet mainframe, and these intrepid few have replicated some to try them out. What do you think, gentlemen?”

“I find them fascinating,” Spock says, looking down at his most prominently bulging package. The other men surreptitiously salute him. “While I share Dr. McCoy's discomfort at this part of my anatomy being so--”

“Out there?” Jim prompts helpfully.

“Prominent,” Spock continues with a quirked eyebrow. “I must admit my chosen bond mate is quite taken with the effect.”

“Jumped yer bones, did she?” Scotty asked.

Spock looks taken aback, Vulcan style, which is to say both eyebrows rise to his hairline. “As an officer, I am disinclined to discuss any intimate encounters I may or may not have had.”

“How many times?” Jim asks.

“Four,” Spock says, taking another sip of the hot chocolate. “But I will deny it if anyone mentions it outside this context.”

All the men murmur assurances of total silence on the matter, while secretly thinking, Lucky bastard.

“'Tis interesting, from an engineering perspective,” Scotty says, finishing off one whiskey, and pouring another. “It's not that it makes yer...parts bigger, but just bundles them. And they're at a very different angle.” He looks down. “Thought you had yerself quite a stud there, Captain, but really the doc is just--”

“If you finish that sentence, I'm going to have to hurt you,” Jim says, pulling Leonard closer to him.

“Ah, wasn't going to insult the good doctor at all,” Scotty says hastily. “I was...well...” He looks a little sheepish. “I'm violating the guy code here.”

“Yes, you are,” Leonard says. “Stop while you can, Scotty, or I'll cut off your booze.”

“Thank ye. Anyone else havin' a problem with this replicated underwear riding up into--”

“I think it's nearly midnight,” Jaeger cuts in loudly. “Shall we join everyone else on the dance floor?”

The circle quickly breaks up. As the men disperse, Jim notices all of them quickly find a companion. “I think the Cocksox has made its devotees popular,” he murmurs to Leonard.

“It like a little advertising sign: 'Right here, look right here,'” Leonard whispers, pointing.

“Well, if they're half as lucky as I am, then we've done a good thing.” Jim throws his arm around Leonard's shoulders.

Midnight approaches. The crew of the Enterprise, those not relegated to their beds by the flu, are standing on the dance floor, counting down the seconds to a new year. When it comes, amid whoops and cheers, there are kisses and toasts all around.

Jim makes his way around the floor, speaking with as many of his crew as he can: some hug him, others kiss him—some of the more drunk ones practically make-out with him, and others simply shake his hand. It takes a while, but he's satisfied he's visited everyone there. Still, there is one person he simply needs to see to welcome in the new year.

“Jim.”

He turns to find Leonard coming back onto the dance floor. “Where were you?”

“Got a comm from one of my patients. Fever got a little high, so I gave her a hypo to help bring it down.”

Jim notices that Leonard is looking a little frazzled around the edges. “Hey, let's get out of here,” he says, pulling Leonard into a one-arm hug.  “I’ve had enough of loud music and a crowded room.”

They walk towards their room. Jim stops with Leonard to check on patients along the way, even assisting with Ensign Maxwell whose second half bout with the flu has brought on some uncomfortable stomach problems. Jim gets her settled and tucked in.

“You sure you don't want to go back to the ship?” he asks. “I'm sure Dr. M'Benga would be happy to take care of you in sickbay on the ship.”

“No, sir,” she says sighing into her pillow. “This bed is so much more comfortable than mine. Sorry, sir, don't mean to complain....”

She sighs again as she drifts off to sleep. “I agree,” he says softly, brushing his hand through her hair.

It's another hour before Jim and Leonard can get back to their room after coordinating a care schedule for their planet-side patients with their two on-duty nurses.

As soon as they’re in the room, Leonard turns to him and says, “Drop your trousers.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”  Jim unbuckles his belt and makes stripper eyes at Leonard, who rolls his.

“Didn’t mean it like that.”

Jim pouts.  “But you should have.”

“Wanna check you for hives.”  At Jim’s puzzled look, he says, “Replicated underwear?”

“Oh, right.  Except”--he drops his pants with something of a flourish.  “Ta-DA!”

He watches as Leonard sucks in his breath--Yes! I am awesome!--then lets it out in a whistle.  “Fuck, Jim.  Those are--fuuuuck.  You ordered them at the same time you did mine, didn’t you?”

“Yep.  This is the other part of your Christmas present, Bones!”  The totally uncaptain-ly hot pink, very brief thong makes Leonard's eyes grow wider. “And, guess what? I fit in the 'extra-large pouch.'”

“Fuck, Jim,” he says again. He pulls his shirt off as Jim grins widely at him. “God, I gotta have you. Right now.”

Jim scrambles onto the bed, shedding his shirt, shoes and socks; the hot pink thong is a stark contrast to the dark color of the sheets. Leonard growls as he slides up the bed towards him, his mouth hanging open.

“Goddamn, I didn't think you could ever look sexier, but I think you've outdone yourself,” he drawls. He leans over and tugs on the edge of the thong with his teeth, growling as he does. He tugs even harder.

“Bones, I don't think these come off like my regular briefs,” Jim warns, sitting up, reaching for Leonard's head. “Bones—-OW!”

Leonard lets go, sitting back and holding his jaw. “Dammit, those are tight!”

Jim smirks. “Well, even the extra-large pouch fits a little snuggly.”

“Aren't you something then?” Leonard says, flattening his hand on Jim's chest and shoving him down into the bed. “Guess I'll just have to take these off the old fashioned way.” He kneels over him and pulls the hot pink thong off with two hands. Jim's extra large cock springs forth. “Fuck me,” Leonard breathes. “I'll never get tired of your cock, Jim.”

“That's a good thing, Bones,” Jim says, trying to encourage him to take it in his mouth. Leonard, though, is busy nuzzling other parts of Jim's body. “Boooooones!”

Suddenly, Leonard raises his head and takes Jim in hand. “So, how popular have you become since wearing this ridiculous underwear?” he asks, scowling.

“Only with you, Bones. Only with you,” Jim says fervently. “Now would you please...Nnngghhhh!”

*~*