Title: May Have Been You Fandom: Star Trek XI Rating: R Pairing: Kirk/a dozen OCs, Kirk/McCoy Summary:

Jim tells Bones how he spent his birthday. Content Advisory: Academy setting. Slash, het, consensual gangbang, great dollops of nonmonogamy. Acknowledgements: <lj user="lomedet"> for encouragement and advice. Written for <lj comm="rounds_of_kink"> to <lj user="willow_reece">'s excellent prompt concerning anonymous sex. <i>Disclaimer:</i> None of these characters or their settings belong to me. Title source: "Lover I Don't Have To Love" by Bright Eyes. Now with <a href="http://pics.livejournal.com/froggie/pic/001157gt">awesomet astic art</a> by <lj user="froggie">. <lj-cut text="Cadet Jim Kirk sprawls on a grubby mattress, blindfolded, bruised, and exhilarated."> Cadet Jim Kirk sprawls on a grubby mattress, blindfolded, bruised, and exhilarated. Hes also radiantly sore and really, really sticky, his jaw and ass and hips particularly throbbing, blood-hot bites and fingermarks rising all over his skin under smudges of several different people's come. His thighs are slick, his chin is wet, his eyes held closed by a strip of soft black cloth, though now he can take it off if he wants to. Instead he lies there spreadeagled a little bit longer, tips his head back and stretches his spine, coughs up a ticklish hair, and laughs gleefully at the way he just celebrated his twenty-third birthday.

Credit chips denting the palm of his left hand, Jim pushes himself to sitting with a tired, triumphant groan. His ribs hurt, probably from that one girl's knees, maybe just from shouting. He's all the way across town from the Academy, in the roughest dive he could find, and when he told his new friends about his former career of hustling they bet him he couldn't take on a dozen assorted horny people. They stacked up the chips as tall as his thumb is thick, but honestly? He would've done it for the experience and the story. And, of course, the sake of getting laid. Jim scrubs his hand through his hair and pulls off the blindfold. The room looks the same as it did when he walked in, walls covered with neon-toned holoposters and a bare LED cluster in the ceiling, the mattress beneath him filling most of the floor. He glances down past the purple oval on his thigh -- was it #5 or #8 who bit him before they blew him? -- thinks for a moment about tonight's messy additions to the history of this mattress, and laughs again, his blood still pumping wildly. Bones would call this crazy, Jim thinks, and idiotic, and likely to earn him a half dozen new STIs even though there were condoms in abundance. And, well, he wouldn't be wrong. Crazy is why Jim did it, the same kind of crazy that made him push his bike to triple-digit speeds, that pulls him into barfights and barrel-rolling flyers. Giving in to the wild adrenaline surge is its own kind of freedom. Jim wipes his face with his hand and smudges it dry on the mattress, pushing to his feet. The muscles of his thighs ache crampishly -- he could probably use a liter or two of electrolyte drink -- and the bite on his ankle stings. Who bites <i>ankles</i>? he wonders, trying to remember who gave it to him as he pulls his

clothes out from under the mattress. None of the guys who fucked him on his back, as far as he can recall as he drops the credits into his jeans pocket and pulls on his nondescript clothes. He limps a little down the hall -- it was nine guys to three girls, which makes sense for a place like this, but the more he moves the more he aches -- and slides through the main room, winking as the bartender rolls her eyes, basking in the gazes he can feel turned his way, listening to the rising undertone of mutters beneath the music. That much sex is more relaxing than any alcohol -- his legs are fucking <i>trembling</i> with exhaustion beneath him -- so he doesn't stop for a last celebratory drink, just heads home. It's not far to the nearest taxi stand through the breezy evening, and Jim swings his arms as he walks, his joints all loose and unstrung, the soreness in his muscles a trophy. He gets himself his electrolyte drink -- it doesn't taste like sweetened piss, so he definitely needs it -- drags himself into a cab and drowses with his cheek against the cool window. Replaying bits of the evening in his mind, he idly wonders which of the patrons came down to the back room while some insane but ridiculously good-looking guy took on all comers. Had the guy with the goatee been the same one whose beard was so scratchy? The spiky texture on that almond-eyed girl's blue hair looked like something Jim remembers grabbing tonight. Every one of them or none might've watched him swagger out of the bar; blindfolded, he had no way of knowing, and the memory sends a tired little thrill through his veins. After awhile Jim snickers sleepily. Most people wouldn't find it an accomplishment to get ridden hard and put away wet by a dozen people, but that just shows their lack of imagination. Well, he

corrects himself, eleven people. #10 was so gentle it was kind of weird. Not that Jim's complaining, but... where did that guy come from, with his big gentle hands and his soft straight hair around Jim's fingers, his wordlessness as he petted Jim all over? He'd eased Jim onto his back almost delicately, leaning over him to stroke their dicks together, kissing him with frustrating softness. Even his cheek was smooth and soft, and he barely breathed the whole time, holding his breath as he shuddered through coming, like Jim would've recognized his voice if he'd made a single noise. Well, Jim allows himself, he probably would've recognized the voice if he'd heard it before, not that he would've done anything about it. Though it was pretty noisy right around then, between the cheering squad and the guy impatiently waiting his turn, as well as too fuggy to really get a good whiff of #10 beyond his cologne. <i>That</i> was familiar, but it's also a popular brand, so not really useful data. Eventually Jim falls asleep for real, and the cabbie hollers him awake at his door. He totters up the stairs into the lift, completely ready to take a shower and get under the covers before his roommate Xag wakes up and editorializes. The light's on, and Xag's not home. Instead, Bones is there, not even trying to look like he was doing anything besides waiting for Jim, dressed in jeans and a blue scrub top, sitting on Jim's bed with elbows on knees and one hand in his hair. Which is damp. Huh. Before Jim can really run all this through his groggy mind, Bones looks up from beneath heavy eyebrows, wearing that 'I am so exhausted with your bullshit' face that Jim claims to hate. "Hey -- aw, shit," Jim says, trying his best to look innocent. "Where's Xag?"

"Girlfriend's, he said." Bones stands up, his voice low and a little reedy, "Jim, you've gotta--" "Actually, no." Jim's had all the fun his skin can hold, his legs keep trembling and his inner thighs itch, and he's more than ready to fall face down now. "I'm going to bed. You can tell me off when it's not my birthday anymore." On the other hand, if Bones let up that easily Jim wouldn't like him so very much. "Well, that was a real productive way to spend it," he growls, looming as Jim crosses the room. "Letting a bunch of thugs you don't even--" Okay, how does Bones know how he spent the evening? "You followed me?" Shrugging off his jacket, Jim watches Bones glower like an approaching storm. It's familiarly cute, but <i>what</i> does Bones know about how he spent his evening? Jim turns and drops onto his bed, letting his grin widen to insincerity as he tugs off his boots. "Keeping tabs on me, Bones?" he asks as provokingly as he can. Watching Bones purse his plump lips is worth staying up a little longer. "I've got better things to do than try to keep your ass out of trouble, which is why--" "So you <i>didn't</i> come after me tonight?" Is that the start of a blush? Jim tilts his head a little, licking his lips and watching Bones grimace. "Nah," Bones says, glancing sideways, the downward lilt making two syllables of it. God, he <i>sucks</i> at lying, and something

blooms hot in Jim's belly, anger or glee or maybe both. The surge of it pushes Jim to his feet again. He grips Bones's arm, leaning on his shoulder like he has a thousand times, but edges in that three final centimeters to murmur against his ear, "So some little bird told you I went across town and found a train to pull?" Bones grits his teeth, and doesn't tell Jim to get off him. "It doesn't matter how I know." He must <i>really</i> be off his game tonight. Come to think of it, Jim can place that cologne, though right now Bones smells like residual soap and all-in-one shampoo. He smells good, and he's lucky Jim's so tired his eyes hurt. "What matters is that that was an insane bunch of risks to take, and you should be in clinic getting checked out. The potential for infection alone---" The drag of Jim's lips along the curve of Bones' ear effectively halts that mini-tirade. "I've heard of condoms, you know." He leans on Bones a little harder, watching his neck droop a bit more. "Too bad you weren't there to make sure we all used them. You could've come down the hall to see if I was okay." "Get off me, Jim," Bones growls, but he doesn't move, his hands shaking at his sides. Jim presses even closer, the back of Bones's hand against his hip. There's a bruise directly beneath it from somebody's thumb, and he wonders idly if Bones's would fit. "You sure about that?" Jim murmurs. "You don't want to know what happened in that back room you didn't head down to?" Bones's arm tenses further under Jim's hand, hard as a rock, and Jim jitters in anticipation, half expecting him to take a swing any

moment now. " 'Cause there was this guy who showed up for the party." Jim pauses, expecting another withering remark, but Bones just breathes, shallow and rough. "I don't know when he got there, because I was kinda busy, and all I had on was a blindfold. Sexy little black thing." Bones makes a strangled noise. "So this guy -- let's call him Hands, he had the best hands, I could swear I've felt them before." Bones shudders, almost as if he's about to wrench away, but he doesn't. "Jim..." he says, voice sinking into a gravity well. "Mmm-hmm?" Jim hums sweetly as he suppresses a yawn. "Are you as curious about what Hands might've watched as I am? Because I wonder if he got there at the start when they put that blindfold on me and slapped my ass red, or when the first guy shoved me to my knees and fucked my face, or when the first girl rode me -- God, she was a <i>screamer</i>." Jim doesn't actually mean to stop there, but another bout of exhausted shivers takes him, and he has to catch his breath. Bones gives him the most pathetic shove as he hisses, "I'm not listening to another word of this," and Jim rocks back a few centimeters and lets his legs give out entirely as he rocks forward. And Bones goes right ahead and catches him. That was the most ridiculously telegraphed move ever, and Bones scowls as he wraps his arm around Jim's ribs and drags Jim's arm up on his shoulders, but he still does it. Jim could just kiss him, could just slam his mouth against those pouty lips so near his. That might be making a promise even he can't quite keep, though, at least not at the moment. He settles for laughing and gripping Bones' shoulder as Bones lugs him back towards his

bed. "Thanks, man, I guess I'm a little tired, after showing a dozen people a good time and all." "Twelve, Jim?" Bones's eyebrows fly right up, shock echoing down to his hands, but he doesn't drop Jim, lowering him gently. "You've gotta be kidding, please." "You know I take sex very seriously," Jim says with an owl-eyed straight face, and the corner of Bones's mouth twitches upwards. Score. "Ugh, I really should hose myself off before I crash." "You try my patience," Bones steps back, hands on hips, and no. Jim's so tired he's aching from his eyeballs down, but this doesn't end with Bones putting him to bed and walking smugly away. "I sure hope so!" Jim rolls onto his side and props his head up. "Maybe that's what Hands liked about me, though." Bones stops backing away, his eyebrows crinkling together. "Seeing me all naked and filthy." Bones' upper teeth peek out, denting his lower lip, and he folds his arms. "The guy before him fucked me on my back, you know. Like it was going out of style. When he was about to come he pulled out and -- no, actually, I think a couple guys before that was the one who came on my chest." Bones just looks at him, disbelievingly and raptly. "Anyway, I was lying there feeling the afterburn, when Hands knelt over me, still in his clothes." "Probably needed a biohazard suit," Bones mutters. He looks like he wants to have Jim committed, and also like he's going to pass out, his face bright red. "C'mere, old man," Jim offers, patting the bed beside his legs, and

Bones actually does, moving stiffly, back ruler-straight as he sits. "You'd think a guy would want to feel as much of this as he possibly could," he says and pouts, watching Bones's eyes track his hand sliding down his chest, "but maybe that's why he ran those hands all over me, light as a feather, poking at my skull and ribs like he was making sure I hadn't been beaten into consenting." "Well, it's a reasonable supposition when you see a naked fucked-out kid in a nasty back room," Bones mutters, looking into the distance. "Not that you would know," Jim drawls. "'Cause you're not the silent guy with the big thighs and gentle mouth who kissed me like I could break and touched me like he wanted to fix me." Bones puts his head in his hands. "The guy who leaned on one arm, keeping his weight off me while he jerked us off together." Jim lets his voice stretch, slower and softer, as he watches Bones try and fail not to listen. "I rubbed myself raw on his jeans, hooking my legs around those thighs of his trying to pull him closer, you know. Got my hands in his nice soft hair, thought about biting him to get some noise out of him, but I just couldn't do it to a guy who kissed like that, all soft and sweet. I don't think I know anyone who kisses like that." "Jim," Bones groans, his voice fucking <i>breaking</i>, and triumph smoulders in Jim's belly. "Jim, I just, I had to--" Jim pushes up to sit. "So, yeah," he says, cutting Bones off, like this was an entirely different conversation. "Okay, I'll go to clinic tomorrow." Bones slowly lifts his head and stares at Jim. "I'll get some sleep, I promise. I just absolutely need a shower first."

"Uh, yeah," Bones says, blinking and stunned, and Jim's had way too much fun. "Come on, up," He levers Jim off the bed, his hands firm and precise, but Jim's going to get them skimming his skin again soon enough. He knows it. "Sure you won't drown in there?" "I'll be fine," Jim says, swaggering though his whole body screams at him for standing up one more time. "Thanks, Bones," he says, smiling so brightly he gets a little uncertain smile in reply. He waves as the bathroom door opens, turning on the threshold to say, "Next time, you can take the blindfold off me if you want." Bones stiffens, his hands clenching into fists. "Dammit, Jim," he sighs, rather than snarls, and Jim laughs into the shower, scrubs himself while singing the filthiest versions of 'Happy Birthday' he can remember, and is completely, utterly unsurprised to only hear his room door whisk shut after he clicks the pad for the bathroom door. Next time, Jim thinks, flopping down on his soft, soft bed, listening to retreating steps down the hall, next time he's definitely going to get to see Bones's face.