"You wanted to see me, Captain Pike?" Jim's standing at attention in the office of the Commandant of Cadets. The office is spare and neat, and smaller than he'd imagined it would be.

Pike is at his desk, reading something on the PADD in front of him. Probably Cheney's complaint about me, he thinks in annoyance. After a moment, Pike glances up, giving Jim an appraising look. "At ease, cadet."

Jim hasn't seen him in months, not since the shuttle ride from Riverside and the introductory welcome speech he gave to the assembled first-year cadets. He's just as Jim remembers, lean and stern in the charcoal-grey uniform. He doesn't smile in greeting, which only confirms Jim's suspicions that this isn't intended to be a friendly how's-it-going meeting. Pike doesn't smile much, anyway, from what he's seen.

"Cadet Kirk. Do you know why you're here?"

Always the same fucking question. Just once, Jim would like to be told outright why he's been called in for The Talk. As if he didn't know.

"I think so, sir." The summons to the meeting didn't surprise him. After the altercation with Cheney and the meeting of the disciplinary committee the week before, Jim expected some sort of follow-up talk, although not necessarily a one-on-one with the head of cadet training. "It's about the reprimand, I guess."

Pike's expression is unreadable. "I make it a policy of scheduling individual meetings with all cadets, at least once during their four years at the Academy. I like to get to know each cadet. Usually it's toward the end of their training, and it's a good opportunity to think about the direction of their career, advanced training and eventual placement. But occasionally," he said, inclining his head toward Jim with a wry smile, "I find that I have to get involved sooner."

"That's not necessary, sir." As far as Jim's concerned, Pike doesn't need to get involved, whatever the hell that means. He's not quite so angry about it anymore, even if he's still left with a sense of mild injustice. "I accept the disciplinary committee's decision," he says stiffly. "I shouldn't have spoken out in that manner in the classroom. I get that. It won't happen again."

"Well, I'm relieved to hear it," Pike says, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "But that's actually not why I called you in here."

Jim looks up at him warily. Between his mother, his stepfather, all his past teachers and a few law-enforcement officials, he's been on the receiving end of a hundred conversations just like this. He knows what's coming. Either he'll be given a dash of sympathy along the lines of I-understand-but-you-need-to-try-harder, a play for guilt with your-father/mother-would-be-so-disappointed, or some kind of warning or lecture. Looking at Pike, he's pretty sure Option Number Three is coming, so he braces himself to get chewed out.

But Pike takes him off guard. "I'd like to know how you're adjusting to the Academy."

"It's fine, sir." Pike doesn't respond, merely looks at him and waits, so he adds, "The classes aren't too hard. I'm getting good grades."

"So I've seen. I'm glad that's the case, especially with your background." Jim's not sure whether Pike is referring to the fact that his father is the hero of the Kelvin, or that he spent the last couple of years racking up petty offenses. Probably both. He nods, not knowing what to reply.

"The Academy can be a little hard to take at first," Pike says, with a wry grin. "All those rules. My plebe year, I was put on probation twice for minor infractions." At Jim's questioning eye look, he explains, "Unprepared for inspection, usurping privileges, being caught out of uniform while on liberty, that sort of thing."

Classic joining tactic, Jim thinks, not letting down his guard. He doesn't want Pike's empathy. "I don't have any problem with the rules, sir. The disciplinary committee met regarding a specific incident in one class."

"Have a seat, cadet." Jim's familiar with this tactic, too. It usually means a long conversation, of the Option Two type. He sits down with a sigh.

"I hear from your instructors that your field performances are exceptional. And that you're top of your section in hand-to-hand combat." Pike smiles. "I was actually under the impression, from our first meeting, that you needed some remedial training."

Jim feels his cheeks getting hot. "That was four to one, sir, and I was…uh…"

"You were drunk. So I noticed. Not your best moment, I suppose, although you still put two of my cadets in the infirmary that night."

"I don't back away from a fight," he says, a little defiantly.

"And I see that you still don't, from what Commander Cheney tells me."

Here it comes. "You knew that about me when you recruited me, Captain. The instinct to leap without looking, you said. Just like my father."

"It's a good quality in an officer. But there's a difference between courage under pressure, and impulsive gut-level reactions that have no place in a classroom." Pike's words are stern, although his eyes are kind. "There's a time and place to respond, Jim. That's something you need to learn."

It irks him that Pike uses his first name, drawing him into an intimacy that he doesn't want and can't reciprocate. "I understand that, sir. I shouldn't have spoken out like a hot-headed jerk. But in my opinion, there are times when an immediate response is necessary."

"I take it you're referring to Cadet Sarfus' presentation."

Jim wishes that he could stay as calm as Pike, but that's easier said than done. "Yes! It's a command seminar, isn't it? We're supposed to hone our critical thinking skills. I objected to the nature of Cadet Sarfus' analysis. I admit that my language wasn't appropriate…"

"I reviewed the presentation, you know." Jim looks at him in surprise. "I think I told you that I did my dissertation on the Kelvin. I was curious to see it. I'd like to know what got you so outraged."

The fact that it was a piece of drivel, he wants to say. The fact that Sarfus is an ass-licking chickenshit coward.

He knows better than to say that, though, so he tries to frame a more respectful response. "The assignment was to analyze a command dilemma, sir. I don't object to the fact that Sarfus decided to research the destruction of the Kelvin, although in my opinion, Commander Cheney should have pointed out that it was a poor choice. All the material's classified and the few witnesses available for interviews weren't anywhere near the Bridge during the actual incident. But if a cadet wants to work within those limitations, it's up to him. What I do object to," he says, taking a deep breath, "is that the presentation was pure speculation with a few decision-making models thrown in for good measure!"

Pike's eyes narrow, and he leans forward slightly in his chair. "So you didn't like the fact that the presentation had some hypothetical elements? There are always unanswerable questions. And people make mistakes. Especially those in command. It's almost inevitable, in the heat of battle."

"I don't think the cadet should be praised for original thinking when no one has the information to contradict what he's saying. I don't think maybe and it could be and what if are indicators of intellectual rigor. Sarfus' whole point was to make my father look bad!"

"That's for your instructor to decide."

"Well, I don't accept that!"

Pike's face is stone. "You're a cadet and he's your instructor. Whether you approve of his methods or his grading system is irrelevant."

Fuck. Watch it. Jim takes a deep breath and makes an effort to lower his tone. "I know that, sir. I just think Commander Cheney should have allowed a more open discussion on this topic."

"A more open discussion…" Pike parrots thoughtfully. "Well, if that's what you want, I'm giving you the opportunity, here and now, to say your piece, Jim." He sits back in his chair. "Go ahead. I'm listening. Convince me that you were right. Show me that you know how to argue intelligently."

It's both an opportunity and a challenge. Jim knows what Pike is asking, and more than anything, he wants to prove himself to him. He wants Pike to hear him when he's sober and articulate. He can be persuasive, and not just when he's picking up some fun for the night.

And, damn it, he's right here. The presentation was a farce, Sarfus is a dickhead and if Cheney thinks it was so brilliant, he shouldn't be teaching the seminar.

My father was a hero, he wants to tell Pike. He saved 800 lives. You said so yourself.

But his throat is squeezing around the words. The doubts that have been growing insidiously since he heard the presentation in class are drowning out every defense of his father's actions.

Emotionally compromised.

Hesitant.

Wasted precious seconds.

"Jim?" Pike prompts, and he realizes that he's been staring ahead blankly.

"I don't know, sir," he says slowly. "I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know what happened up there. Nobody does." His shoulders slump and he lowers his head. "I never knew him…" he says quietly. "I don't know anything about the kind of commander he was. Maybe he made mistakes, or maybe he did everything right, but I'll never know."

Pike purses his lips together in sympathy. "That's one of the hardest things to accept, son. Sometimes a good officer dies in the line of duty, and there's no trace, no explanation, no record of what happened."

"I know."

"Do you?" Pike's voice is pained. "I've had men and women die under my command, more than once, and I've been left with nothing but a mystery, a void, and empty speculation."

Pike's words send a cold shiver down his spine. Jim contemplates, for the first time, a different ending to the Kelvin disaster. What might it have felt like to be told that his father died in the black, and no one knew how or why? For all the pain of growing up in the shadow of a hero, at least he'd had the comfort of knowing what happened, and that his father had died in order to save the lives of his mother, his crew, and himself.

"But that's not the case here." Jim looks up at him, startled. "The material's patchy in places, and some of the recorders were dysfunctional, but Starfleet was able to get a very good idea of what happened during the Kelvin crisis. Most of the crew survived, including the command staff. We have a pretty accurate picture of the entire incident…including the last twelve minutes."

Jim swallows and clears his throat. "And what were the conclusions, sir?" His tone comes out reasonably even, although his heart is hammering.

Pike shakes his head. "I can't tell you that, cadet. The material, as you know, is classified. But I don't think I'd be amiss in telling you that in my opinion, your father's actions were admirable. Heroic, even."

Not those platitudes again, he thinks with a sudden stab of fury. Hero of the Federation. Upholding Starfleet's highest ideals. Noble sacrifice.

"Captain Pike," he says carefully, "with all due respect, that's not enough for me anymore."

"It'll have to be." Pike's tone is matter-of-fact. "For now, at least. You'll need an alpha security clearance to gain access to the files."

"That could take ten years, sir! Or it could never happen."

"Then it's not a bad goal for you to work toward, Jim. Focus on your studies and don't spend so much time worrying about things you can't change."

Jim blows out a breath in frustration. "Isn't there something you can tell me, sir? I really need to know…"

Pike doesn't answer. He's tapping on his PADD, swiping it rapidly with his finger, accessing different files. The discussion is clearly over.

Pike stands suddenly, turning the PADD around the placing it in front of Jim. Jim jumps quickly to his feet, but Pike motions him back down. "I've made a small change in your course load next semester, Jim. You'll be taking an additional seminar which I think you'll benefit from."

"Debate, Negotiation, and Conflict Resolution," Jim reads off the PADD. What the hell. "Sir, that's a course in the diplomacy corps!"

"Right," Pike tells him calmly. "And you sure as hell need it. It's an excellent foundation for a future commander. I've recommended it over the years for several command-track cadets. Learn to make your point effectively without calling your opponent names."

Oh, for crying out loud. "Captain Pike, that's not necessary, I told you it won't happen again…"

"Read the course description, Jim." Pike leans over and touches the PADD's screen, keying one of the documents. "Here. I've got a meeting for the next two hours, but you can stay here for as long as you need to review the material."

"Thank you, sir, but I don't think—"

"Read it, cadet." Pike is already out the door.

Jim sighs. Just what he needs, an extra course on top of the extra ones he's already taking. He saw a debate once, in an old documentary. What an antiquated, anachronistic, useless form of—

His eyes sweep over the screen and he does a double take. His body is quicker on the uptake than his mind, apparently; he feels a sweat break out over his skin and his heart starts to pound.

Blinking hard, he looks again at the document Pike left for him on the PADD. "An Unstoppable Chain of Events: An Assessment of the Command Decisions Leading to the Destruction of the U.S.S. Kelvin." The word CLASSIFIED is blazoned in red across the lower half of the page.

It's Pike's dissertation, he realizes, shocked.

He's got two hours, Pike said. Taking a shaky breath, Jim taps the screen and begins to read.

Jim shows up at Bones' room that night. He comes there because despite all that's changed between them recently, Bones is still his best friend. Because he's bursting to share this with someone and there's only one person that he trusts enough to share it with.

"Don't hold your breath waiting for your alpha security clearance, kid," Bones tells him afterwards, as they pick through the remains of their pizza. "Keeping secrets is obviously not your strong suit."

"Fuck off," Jim tells him cheerfully, tipping back his beer bottle. He hasn't told Bones the details, of course. Just that Pike let him look at some restricted material and that now he knows, really knows, what happened to his father. Okay, he may have quoted from it once or twice—especially the part about George Kirk "using his intuitive expertise to select the one and only correct action in the heat of combat"—but he thinks, under the circumstances, that it's a forgivable slip.

There's a mellow, contented glow radiating out from the center of his being. Part of it is the alcohol, but it's also the sudden release of a weight from his shoulders. For the first time, he can think about Paul Sarfus without wanting to punch him. Sarfus can walk around as smugly as he wants, with Cheney's praise still ringing in his ears, but Jim knows he got it wrong. And knowledge, Jim realizes, is power.

Let Sarfus keep his little speculative misconceptions, and let Cheney think that he's taught Jim to respect his authority. It doesn't matter. His father's heroism is intact. And that matters more to him than he'd known.

I dare you to do better. Jim still remembers those words, and he's pretty sure that Pike hasn't forgotten them, either. Jim doesn't know whether he'll be able to outdo his father, but he can try. For the first time, he's starting to feel that enlisting in Starfleet might not have been an impulsive blunder, but the right thing for him to do.

Maybe he'll even say that to his mother someday, too.

He feels more accepting of himself than he ever has before…even now, knowing what he knows about the darker reaches of his psyche. Bones has provided a safe place to explore that pain, to release some of his demons.

Bones is watching him, a pensive look on his face. He's leaning his chair back against the wall, rocking it slightly back and forth. He picks up his beer bottle and sips it in the dim light, licking his lips to catch a stray drop, never once breaking eye contact with Jim.

It occurs to him suddenly that this simple act is one of the hottest things he's ever seen.

Maybe there's something else I need to ask for, he thinks.

"Something on your mind?" Bones seems relaxed, a small smile on his lips.

Actions speak louder than words, he decides. Jim puts his beer down and stands up. Taking a step forward, he places his hands on Bones' shoulders, pushing his chair solidly onto the floor with a thump, and kisses him.

Bones' warm hand cups around his neck, fingers brushing gently across his skin, undemanding and surprised. The light touch is more arousing than he expects. Immediately his cock feels heavier, and he can feel the adrenaline beginning to flow. He kisses Bones again, using his lips and tongue to explore, tasting beer and pizza and something more.

Bones recovers quickly, breaking off the kiss and looking at him questioningly. "Are you sure, kid? Thought you said this isn't your thing."

Jim shrugs. "This part's fine. I said no fucking."

Bones leans forward and whispers in his ear, "We'll see about that." His hot breath makes Jim shiver, or maybe it's the implication: that even in this situation, Bones is setting the rules.

"Bed," Jim says succinctly, pulling him that way. He doesn't want to think about where this might be heading. For now, he'd like to stretch out and explore. He stands up, using the opportunity to pull off his shirts, and lays down on the bed. This has the advantage of giving him a front-row view of Bones as he does the same, and then they're lying side by side.

Jim has always liked kissing. It's comfortable and warm, not too messy or acrobatic, and it gives him a good indication of the coming attractions. Jim quickly realizes that if Bones' kissing style is anything to go by, things are going to progress pretty fast. His tongue is insistent and knows what it's doing. Bones quickly arranges himself so that he's on top of Jim, shoving his thigh between Jim's legs. He bites at Jim's lips and presses down on his shoulders, and damn, Jim's cock is getting the message loud and clear.

Jim explores a little lower. His hands slide over the smooth muscles on Bones' back and reach underneath, running lightly over his flat abdomen. It's a little disconcerting to find himself the smaller partner. They're about the same height, but he's no match for Bones in the breadth of his shoulders or overall mass. His hands slither down lower, following the curve of Bones' back and beginning to glide over his ass which, Jim has to admit, is pretty darn hot. Jim's erection is fast becoming a demanding part of his awareness, and he feels the tension growing between his thighs.

Without warning, Bones reaches down, catching Jim's wrists in his hands and pinning them down on the mattress on either side of his waist. Jim's a little annoyed, because his explorations were beginning to get to the interesting part. Bones lets him struggle a bit—he's not resisting in earnest, just enough to see that a simple tug isn't going to budge them—and smiles down at him.

I know what you want, his eyes are telling Jim.

Fuck you, Jim smiles back.

Bones laughs. He lowers his mouth and sucks on his right nipple, using his teeth and tongue to draw a low moan from Jim's throat. A sudden bite sends a spark of pain jolting through him, making him jump and strain against Bones' hands. Bones releases his left hand and cups his hand around Jim's groin, stroking his erection through his pants, until Jim bucks against him. "You like that," Bones tells him, not a question, grabs his wrist again, and moves to the other nipple.

After a few moments they're both rutting and straining against each other, both sweating and breathing quicker.

Bones sits up. "Take these off," he says huskily, pulling at Jim's waistband.

"Yours, too," Jim counters.

Sex with a guy, or at least with Bones, seems to involve a lot of power issues. Jim's fairly sure that they started on equal footing, so to speak, but from the moment they got horizontal the control's been shifting pretty much in Bones' favor. That's fine, Jim's open-minded, but fair is fair, at least where undressing is concerned. Nobody's blindfolded or gagged now—not yet, at least, he thinks a little nervously—and there's no way he's going to wind up naked again while Bones gets to keep his pants on.

But Bones doesn't seem to mind. He stands and strips off his clothes with an easy, fluid grace, and no wonder: he's gorgeous, all lean muscle and hard lines. His cock is fully erect, long and beautifully formed. Jim can't take his eyes off it.

Jim mirrors his motions, shucking the rest of his clothes, feeling slightly self-conscious. It's silly, because Bones has already seen everything, but that was in different circumstances and besides, he was blindfolded at the time. He lies quickly back down on the bed, unsure what to do next. He's beginning to worry that things are going pretty fast. He wasn't sure what he had in mind when he leaned over to kiss Bones in the chair, and while he's not averse to the direction this seems to be headed, he feels that there are details still to be worked out.

"Tell me what you want, Jim," Bones says, standing at the side of the bed and looking down, and Jim shivers, because those words and that voice are viscerally associated with a different set of activities. He doesn't want to think about that, but now he can't help it, and his breath catches in his throat.

"It's okay," Bones says quietly. "Tell me."

"I don't know what I want." It's true. He's never gone this far with another man, and while he has a pretty good idea of the mechanics, he doesn't have a good sense of what he likes or doesn't like, beyond sucking and stroking.

"Well, I know what I want." Bones' eyes are gleaming as he looks Jim over. "I want to fuck you."

"Bones," he says warningly. "I told you…"

"Trust me," Bones says, and again, a little shiver of memory runs up Jim's spine. "It'll be good. You'll see."

"I trust you. I do. It's just…" He wipes the back of his hand against his sweaty forehead. "Shit."

He knows that this limit, no fucking, is an artificial barrier. It's something he's said to himself for years, without ever examining it. Someone like him, who's impulsive and reckless, needs limits, even if they're self-imposed. But it's more than just a convenient excuse not to get involved. Fucking is all about trust. Allowing himself to be penetrated would mean opening himself up, making himself vulnerable in more ways than one, and he's not sure he can do that.

Yet while his objections to it are real and salient—let's face it, the act involves parts of his anatomy that are usually occupied with other bodily functions that he'd rather not dwell on—he's attracted to the idea. He's curious, but it's more than that. He's drawn to the idea of giving in, of letting go. He can't help wondering how it would feel to have another man inside him, to allow him access to his most private recesses, and to let that sensation drive him over the brink.

So yes, he wants it. But no, he can't bring himself to ask for it.

"I'm not sure," he amends.

"Come on, Jim. You started this. Tell me." There's no judgment in his tone, just acceptance. It makes it so much easier to take the next step.

Still, it's so hard.

He reaches down to the left side of the bed frame until his hand connects with the anchored wrist strap. "Do it, Bones," he whispers, pulling on the strap, feeling the solid resistance of the metal anchor. "I want you to."

Bones nods, a half-smile on his lips. "All right, if that's what you want. Lie back," he says. Jim can't tell if he's amused or gratified, and he hates feeling so uncertain. He lies back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling, feeling completely exposed.

Bones climbs onto the bed, kneeling between Jim's legs, and quickly attaches the wrist restraints. The tight bands are familiar and comforting on his skin. Jim pulls against them, feeling the satisfying tug of the straps and how securely they hold him.

"Is that better, kid?" he drawls, although Jim's erection is answer enough.

Jim strains against the restraints for a few seconds, but the straps don't budge. He relaxes, just a little. "Yeah, that's good," he says. "Maybe now you could—"

Then he feels his cock enveloped in wet heat, and the rest of his sentence flies out of his head.

Holy fuck. He stares down at Bones as his tongue glides along the underside of his cock, making him shudder. Bones sucks gently on the tip and mouths it, then back to the shaft, letting his tongue slip along it from base to tip. Jim watches him in a heavy-lidded daze. It's indescribably hot, the way Bones' eyes are closed as he focuses fully on Jim, tonguing him in long, dexterous strokes and swallowing him deep, over and over.

Jim can feel himself starting to move back and forth in a reflexive rhythm, but Bones places his hands on his hips and shoves him down firmly into the mattress, holding him steady as he licks and sucks. It frustrates him, because the sucking isn't enough; he needs a rougher friction, and he wants to control his own movements. But his hands are pinned firmly to the mattress. He settles for making appreciative noises and spreading his legs wider. He can feel it already, a gathering wave of pleasure that's driving him forward. His breath is coming faster and faster, and he's beginning to make little gasps of anticipation.

Bones can sense it too, apparently, and he squeezes hard at the base of Jim's cock, reducing the blood supply and stopping his rising orgasm. Jim lets out a whine of discontent, but Bones laughs. "Not yet, Jim."

"Come on, Bones," he pleads, "I need this, what the hell are you doing? Finish what you started …"

"I want you to slow down."

"I don't want to slow down, you god damn cocktease! What's the matter with you?" He pulls uselessly at the wrist restraints. He's not completely immobilized—his legs and shoulders are still free-but he's not free to move, either.

"We can always do it your way and be done in fifteen seconds," Bones says, rolling his eyes. "I'm just going to help you try something new, okay? It'll be worth the wait, I promise." He pats the side of the bed, almost level with Jim's ass. "So bend your knees and put your feet up here."

Reluctantly, Jim draws up his ankles, separating his feet and placing them solidly on the bed. He's no idiot, so he knows what Bones is leading up to. "Uh, Bones, I'm not sure if I—"

"Relax," Bones tells him, reaching one hand down to the side of the bed frame. Jim pulls his legs up instinctively, worried that his ankles are going to be restrained as well, but Bones only keys open the drawer built into the bed frame, and retrieves a small tube.

"Don't tense up," he says, squeezing some sort of gel onto his fingers, while Jim gives him a wary look. "Nobody's going to force you into anything that you don't want, okay? This isn't a scene and you don't need a safeword. You can tell me to stop and I will."

Bones' left hand is still wrapped around the base of his cock, and he makes a sudden firm stroke upward with his right, captivating Jim's attention. His lubed fingers slide smoothly along the shaft, making him dizzy with pleasure. "Bones, holy shit that's better, just like that," he babbles, closing his eyes.

Bones makes a few more delicious strokes. He seems to know just how hard Jim likes it and what kind of pressure he needs. His fingers are so skillful—Jim supposes it's from having one of his own to practice on—that they rivet his attention on what's going on in front, distracting him from what's coming up from behind. Which is obviously the point.

Even so, it's a shock when he feels a lubricated finger poking into his crack. It circles his hole gently, caressing without pressure. After a minute, he relaxes a little. It feels good, he admits a little sourly, and obviously there are a lot of nerve endings there that are excited about the stimulation, but Jim's still not enthusiastic about the whole maneuver.

"You're too tense. Relax," Bones tells him again. "Come on, Jim, loosen up. This is the easy part." His voice is soothing, and little by little, Jim lets himself be coaxed out of his irritation, until he relaxes his pelvic muscles and lets his legs fall a little wider apart.

When the finger breaches him in a slow, deliberate movement, he clenches around it, his hands jerking involuntarily against the bonds, but Bones holds his hip firmly until he adjusts to that sensation. Slowly, Bones opens and stretches him, using one and then two blunt fingers, while he grunts and whines at the intrusion.

It's an odd feeling: tight and full, but not painful. Jim's trying not to think about where exactly Bones is putting his fingers so confidently. He's a doctor, so Jim supposes that he's used to putting his hands in all kinds of intimate places. But this is all new for Jim, and he's not at all sure that the end result is going to be worth his while.

Then Bones curls his fingers inside him in a particular angle, and he feels a series of tingly jolts of pleasure moving down his spine like live electricity. "Shit, Bones! What the—" Bones touches it again, sending a burst of sensation straight to his cock.

"It's your prostate, you ignorant hick," Bones tells him, and Jim decides that being on the receiving end of a doctor's touch has definite advantages after all. "You like that, huh?"

"Yes!" Bones massages it again and again, and Jim realizes for the first time that his nervous system is made of molten lava. After a minute his cock is quivering with need, hot and hard, and he's sweating.

"Tell me, Jim."

"Touch me," he gasps. "Please." It's torture, being at the mercy of this strange internal caress, but being unable to move his hands. His cock is aching for attention. He needs friction, something to rub against. If he could only get his fingers around himself, he'd go off in a matter of seconds. Bones knows it, too, the fucker.

"I want you, Jim." Bones' voice is rough and husky with his own need, looking up at him from between his bent knees, and it's so hot it's making him squirm.

"Then do it. Fuck me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes! Fuck me. I want it. I need you to. Do it, Bones."

"All right, then." Bones removes his fingers, and. Jim can hear him slicking himself up. Then he lines himself up and pushes in, just the tip.

Jim winces a little at the burn and the fullness, trying not to tense. After a few seconds, Bones pulls out again, then thrusts in further, back and forth in a gentle rocking motion. Jim twists and pants at the stretch, tightening in automatic resistance as Bones sinks into him, wanting to pull away yet at the same time craving the searing pain, needing the friction. His cock has deflated somewhat already as he chokes on a moan, trying to adjust to the discomfort. Bones keeps moving forward in slow, steady thrusts, filling him, delving deeper until he's fully seated inside Jim.

And then Bones finds his rhythm, and Jim is being driven into the mattress with a steady thwack of skin on skin. Knees pushed back, rocking with every thrust, Jim pulls against the restraints in frustration.

He's beginning to feel a little bit like a passenger on this ride, because Bones is doing most of the work but also, from the looks of him, getting the main share of the fun. Jim is taking it, but damn it, he's not really enjoying it. He can't understand why anyone would want to get so worked up about it, at least from this side of things.

Then Bones changes his angle slightly, and the next thrust hits that spot inside him that lights him up. He makes a little whiny sound in the back of his throat which Bones must take as approval, because after that, Bones aims for it unerringly. His cock is rapidly regaining interest, and when Bones puts a lubed hand around his cock, Jim moans out loud and starts grinding his hips up to meet Bones' thrusts. They're both grunting and straining, sweating and sliding against each other, in a desperate rhythm.

It's a feeling of being torn apart from the inside, as Jim shudders with the want and teeters on the brink. Bones rocks into him, over and over, surging forward and retreating. Jim is helpless to direct him, unable even to wrap his arms around him, and he knows that he asked for this, that he allowed the control to be taken away from him. He craves it, this heady feeling of being swept up in sensation and made to accept it, to give in and ride it to its conclusion.

It's the secret that only Bones can know, that this is what he wants, this safety. Only Bones can watch him as he comes apart.

His orgasm tears through him without warning, shuddering through him in long spurts, leaving him sticky and sated. Bones comes a minute later with a groan, hips stuttering.

"So…." Jim says a little later. They're still tangled in the sheets together, warm and sweaty. "I'm willing to reconsider the 'no fucking' rule."

Bones barks out a laugh. "You're way too predictable, Jim."

"Not predictable." He searches for a more appropriate word. "Persuadable."

"Thank God for small favors." Bones' voice is gruff, but his hand squeezes the back of Jim's neck in a gentle caress.

It feels good. Surgeons' hands, Jim decides, are the best. "And I was wondering…what else have you got hidden in your closet?"

"Oh, I've got a few more things." Bones smiles inscrutably. "But I think I'll leave you in suspense for now."

[End.]

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