Chapter Text
“You’re gonna be late.”
There’s more amusement in Christine’s tone than any actual chiding.
“I’m not gonna be late,” Leonard defends, checking the charge on just one more tricorder before sliding it back into the cabinet he’s currently arranging.
“Why are you even here?” Christine asks.
The smile on her face, the face that Leonard can’t see because he hasn’t bothered to look up, all because he’s too busy looking down at the devices in his hands, is easy to identify in her tone.
“It’s my sickbay,” Leonard replies.
Medical tricorders, check. Hyposprays, check.
“You’re going to be late,” Christine starts again, the words coming out in a sing-song rhythm this time as she snags the cartridge Leonard was counting out of his grasp, probably just in a bid to get his attention.
It’s successful.
Kind of.
“I’m not going to be late,” Leonard grumbles, narrowing his eyes at her. It turns out she is smiling, just like he had imagined, grin taking over her entire face, reaching up to those pretty eyes, nose all crinkled in absolute joy and amusement. “Besides, I’m already dressed.”
Freshly pressed blazer. Dress pants. A button-up that’s mostly buttoned if not quite all the way.
No tie.
Who needs ties?
“Which begs the question, again…” As Christine speaks Leonard reaches for the cartridge, but she’s too fast, pulling away, eyebrow rising in a defiance that could put Spock’s to shame. “Why are you here?”
It’s better not to engage, right?
So he doesn’t. He just tucks his chin and pulls another cartridge out of the drawer to put things the way he likes them.
“You’re not nervous, are you?” She asks.
That utter glee is still there in her voice, threatening to burst right out into the open.
Leonard doesn’t pay her any mind. He’s been thinking about rearranging the layout of his instruments anyways, it’s been in his plans ever since he took over this damn place. If he were to shift that one it’d make it easier to grab—
“You’ve been talking about this for months Leonard. Months. And now you’re just going to hide in sickbay…” she trails off.
He doesn’t care.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s not going to be late.
He isn’t nervous.
He just doesn't want to talk about this. What's wrong with that?
“Leonard,” Christine says again, but the smile is gone from her tone. Banished, removed, totally erased from any part of her expression as Leonard finally takes a second to look up at her once more.
“I told you,” he snips, “I’m not nervous, I’m not hiding and I’m not gonna … be …” Leonard’s rate of speech slows as he catches sight of Christine’s face, as he spots that she isn’t focused on him at all anymore.
Instead, her eyes are as wide as saucers.
Whipping around, expecting to see some sort of emergency or another, Leonard’s shocked when all the air is knocked out of his lungs.
Not by an emergency.
Not by any physical force.
Just by the sight in front of him.
“What?” Leonard asks, all too intelligently, as Christine barks out a rude laugh behind him.
Jim doesn’t say anything, though. All he does is stand there, stand there and sparkle, teeth nipping into the plush of the pout of his lower lip.
“What the fuck?” Leonard can’t seem to think much less have the ability to form any kind of words, and no matter how much Leonard tries at working his jaw in actuality he’s frozen like a statue, stock still, staring at Jim.
Jim.
The dress is too tight.
It’s too tight and too short and cut too low. It pulls in at the slutty cut of Jim’s waist, making that feature all the more pronounced, while the sharp v from the top almost reaches up as high as the slit clinging to Jim’s left thigh.
There are sequins or beads or something. Something that’s been stitched there into what looks like it’s gotta be silky or satiny or some such. Some kind of fabric that looks as smooth as it is dark and inky, practically painted against Jim’s skin.
They look like stars. Stars torn down from the heavens to adorn Jim because christ he’s worth all that and more, he’s a fucking universe standing there in sickbay, hair fancied up with some kind of product, earrings clipped against his ears sparkle-sparkling while eyeliner has been dragged across skin with professional looking care, making those eyes of Jim’s just that much bluer.
Leonard can't breathe.
He can't move.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Leonard finally manages to spit out after a few false starts.
Christine pulls in air, sharp and surprised, at the same time that Jim falters. That falter is literal and obvious because Jim’s legs, and fuck they’re long and shapely and holy hell Leonard wants to put his mouth on them, Jim’s legs tremble, balance shifting on the stiletto fucking heels that he’s currently wearing, and lord alive all Leonard wants to do is weep.
It looks like Jim’s about to, too. Those big blue eyes, there’s shadow around them, Leonard notices, dark and dusky, along with a delicate kind of chain that’s fastened around Jim’s neck. No. His eyes. Leonard is looking at Jim’s eyes and not trying to figure out if Jim is wearing perfume and whether or not Leonard wants Jim to be wearing perfume and… is Jim wearing lipstick?
Jim’s eyes are wide. Stunned. Leonard’s probably are too, but Christine hasn’t even tried to start breathing again and Jim, Jim who seconds ago looked smug with a touch of shyness now just looks nervous and uncertain and good god almighty this had not been Leonard’s plan when he’d thought this all up.
The sleeves are long, silky too, well at least they're soft to the touch even if Leonard has no idea what they're made of. They're smooth, but stretchy because they’re fitting to Jim like some kind of second skin except for the ends where they flair, spilling entire solar systems that end up draped over Leonard’s hand, his fingers gentle but determined as he grabs onto Jim’s wrist and pulls.
Jim’s steps are perfect, graceful, long strides that are well-balanced and easy, meaning that this isn’t the first time he’s dressed like this
Not even the second.
Jim pouts, looking like he’s heading somewhere further down, looking like he could be driving right towards being fully upset and hurt, but that’s not what Leonard wants.
It isn't what he means. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.
All of which is hopefully self-explanatory as he pulls Jim into his office.
Demanding. Steady. Unrelenting.
Which hopefully makes sense as Leonard barks at the computer to turn on the privacy protocol, glass going opaque before Leonard has so much as managed to finish speaking the command.
It should all make some sort of sense, at least it should make some kind of sense for Leonard, this was all his damn plan to begin with. But now that he’s got Jim there and now that Jim’s like this…
Leonard doesn’t know what to do.
His jaw hangs loose for a second, lips parted. He’s gaping, staring at Jim, just staring at him standing there looking like all of that.
Looking like that.
“You can’t—“ Leonard shakes his head before he swallows, big. “I mean look at you,” his hand moves out to take Jim in one gesture, all of Jim from the tip of his hair down to the point of his toes.
There’s something in Jim that looks like it’s about to snap, like he’s going to shatter. He’d been as bold as brass only moments ago, he’d been himself, but under Leonard’s scrutiny, he’s pulling in.
Withdrawing.
“I can’t,” Leonard tries again, feeling the catch in his throat as he reaches out and grabs for Jim, as he takes the hand of a man who suddenly seems insecure.
And Jim Kirk is never insecure.
At least he never shows it.
“Good god,” Leonard practically growls, taking hold of Jim’s hand and pulling it up, encouraging him lightly to turn in a small circle. “Let me see all of you.”
Does Leonard sound like he’s begging? Does he care? He’d beg. He’d walk over coals for this.
That pout, that worry, it starts to fade. Slow. Slower than Leonard wants it to, but as Jim makes tight little steps, as he turns in an all too sinful fashion, the sway of his hips is enough to pull a whimper out of Leonard’s throat, and suddenly some of Jim’s bravado is back.
It’s well-earned.
“If you aren’t the prettiest damn thing I have ever seen,” Leonard says, finally, stepping in closer, close enough that he can smell the soft scent of peaches and vanilla that lingers on Jim’s skin.
“You had me worried.” Jim’s still nipping onto that lower lip. It’s puffy, swollen. He’s been chewing on it, nervous. Leonard didn’t mean to do that.
“I just,” Leonard wants to run his hands everywhere on Jim, wants to push that skirt up, wants to bend him over the office desk and fuck him, hard. “This is new?”
A flush colors Jim’s cheeks. It’s pretty and deep and runs all the way down his neck.
“No.” There’s a shrug. “Just not since the academy. And before.”
Leonard frowns, brows drawing in. “The academy? I don’t think so. Nu-uh. In case you forgot, we were roommates, all three years. Not once did I see—“ Leonard gestures, feeling his chest clench as his gaze follows the path of his hand.
Jim dressed like this, then?
He dressed like this for other people?
“I guess you weren’t looking,” Jim says in reply.
That’s a lie. Or an impossibility. They may not have finally fucked until well after Jim had made captain but —.
“I always looked,” Leonard says without tremor or hesitation.
Always. He started looking on that damnable shuttle and has never been able to look away.
“And now?” Jim’s eyes are sparkling almost as much as the rest of him, caught somewhere between the brightness of doubt and certainty.
“Now we can’t go out with you looking like this.”
Jim deflates. That shine in his eyes gets deeper, but it’s from hurt, a wound, one put there by Leonard.
“Jim,” Leonard sighs, exasperated, rolling his eyes as he closes the distance between them, as he takes the hand in his and presses it, palm down, against the swell of his cock. “I can’t take you to dinner being hard all night long.”
Jim, being Jim, squeezes.
And smiles. It’s a vicious smile. Cruel and superior.
Gorgeous.
Jim strokes.
For the first time, Leonard notices Jim’s nails are painted, filed into neat points. Nothing that’s too sharp or wild. It’s classy, elegant.
But still sure to leave a mark.
Leonard wants it. Scratches left on his back. On his ribcage. Dragging down the length of his neck.
Vivid reminders that Jim’s his.
Or he’s Jim’s. Whichever.
“Please darlin’,” Leonard murmurs, eyes fluttering at the touch, “let me take you back to your quarters and peel you out of that little thing.”
Jim snorts as he shifts his grip and strokes harder. He’s been giving Leonard handjobs for almost a year now so it doesn’t take long before Leonard’s panting, hips ratcheting with each move of Jim’s wrist.
“Bones, you’ve been bitching about us going on a date forever.”
Leonard doesn’t want to think, he doesn’t want to talk, he can hardly maintain proper brain function as Jim steps closer.
“Darlin’,” Leonard whines, rocking his hips.
“I got all dressed up,” Jim practically purrs, suddenly close, so close, smelling like some kind of snack, bringing light and goodness into Leonard’s life and working his cock like an expert.
And really, for all the hours he’s spent with it, if anyone’s an expert with Leonard’s cock, it’s Jim.
“It’s your choice.” Leonard can feel Jim’s breath against his skin, warm against his lips. “We can go back to my quarters, or you can take me out and show me off.”
That sobers Leonard.
Showing Jim off has never been important.
Alright, yeah, part of him is insanely prideful that his bed is the one that Jim Kirk warms.
(And yes, in reality, there’s very little bed warming as they tend to end up fucking in strange storage closets and barely managing to fall into the same bed together exhausted. And when they do manage it’s Jim’s instead of Leonard’s because Jim’s captain and, well, y’know)
But all Leonard has ever wanted is Jim.
Not because he’s Jim or because other people know.
But because he’s him. Because Leonard l….
Yeah.
So Leonard steps back.
Just enough to back out of Jim’s grip. Just enough to get Jim’s hand off his cock.
But not far enough back to not be able to touch Jim.
To touch his face. Soft, light, disbelieving.
To slide one hand over that slender waist, to palm at the small of Jim’s back and pull him closer.
Jim’s taller, like this. The heels give him a half a foot on Leonard easy and it’s strange and wonderful and puts Leonard face to face with the curve of Jim’s throat.
He tastes sweet, too. Like some kind of honeysuckle, the flavor of him lingering on Leonard’s tongue with each reverent kiss that Leonard presses against his skin.
There’s a quickness to Jim’s breathing, one that gets faster with each drag of Leonard’s mouth. Against the sharp line of Jim’s jaw. Over the smoothness of his cheek. At the shell of Jim’s ear.
“You look beautiful,” Leonard whispers, catching that blue-eyed gaze as he presses up onto his toes, pushing up against Jim’s parted lips.
They’ve kissed a thousand times if they’ve kissed a hundred. Hurried and slow. Passionate and lazy. But never like this. Never in a way that makes Leonard hurt, that makes him ache, grateful and desperate and deeply, darkly, dangerously in … well.
“Dammit,” Leonard swears, backing away, breathing hard, looking up at those eyes with pupils blown wide, all full of blackness and stars, just like Jim’s dress.
Confusion furrows Jim’s brow.
Maybe a little bit of concern, too.
Leonard shakes his head, dragging his thumb across his lip.
A thumb that comes back red, stained by the remnants of Jim’s lipstick.
“I’m not gonna make it to dessert,” Leonard sighs, reaching for Jim’s hand and tugging lightly. “Gonna end up coming in my fucking pants.”