caitri (caitri) wrote,

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Fic: Common Grounds, Part One, Kirk/McCoy, NC-17

Title: Common Grounds
Author: caitri
Rating: NC-17 (Language, Sex)
Pairings: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Uhura
Word Count: 25,795
Summary: Modern day AU. Leonard McCoy tries online dating. A story of coffee, printing, and the Internet.
Warnings: Explicit sex, language.
Disclaimer: I know this may come as a shock, but I am not, amazing as it may seem, Gene Roddenberry, J.J. Abrams, Paramount or Bad Robot. Just so you know.

Acknowledgements: This absolutely could not have been done without the help of epiphany_gun, who is the bestest beta ever. This also would not exist but for the dare of my friend Herrgrumpius, who said there was no way I could write Jim Kirk as a letterpress printer. And then who very kindly kept answering questions and finding things for me so that I could make sure that Jim could be a printer. *S*

Common Grounds

Leonard McCoy is a methodical man. Any of the nurses at the UC-SF Medical Center will tell you that. Nurse Chapel in particular will add that you can set your watch by him, if you care to look: He’s in every morning at 7:55, out most nights at 5:08, and when he’s on call he always picks up at the first ring.

He almost always comes in with a big cup of coffee because he maintains the break room brew is “the nastiest damn stuff ever created for human consumption,” but he will occassionally break down and drink it if it is late enough and he’s desperate for caffeine.

He wears the same worn old duster every day. He wears solid color dress shirts, usually white and sometimes light blue (and the nursing staff always perk up when he wears blue, because he looks gorgeous in it) but never ties. Usually he wears khakis.

He always brings a bagged lunch with him, too, and eats it in about ten minutes in the break room. It usually looks like reheated Chinese food.

Yes, Leonard McCoy is predictable. Dependable. Clockwork. Messed up as all Hell.

That last is his own evaluation, thanks much.

He transferred from Emory University Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia about eight months ago. He doesn’t talk much, and he can be impatient if he senses there’s bureaucratic runaround going on, but he’s good with patients. Especially kids. He’s really good with them. And he’s heartbroken when he loses one.

Most of the medical staff have someone they go to when they lose a patient, someone they can talk to about it. Talking always helps.

Leonard McCoy doesn’t. That’s where this story begins.


“Leonard, I’m gonna be straight with you, man.” Geoff M’Benga is looking at him with the exasperation he usually reserves for patients who don’t understand the importance of taking their medications regularly. “Whatever brought you here? Gave you that—that defeatist miasma you got going on? It needs to be dealt with, and dumped.” M’Benga peers at him closely. “Um, you were listening to me the whole time, right?”

Leonard is confused. He was eating his Mandarin chicken and lo mein and suddenly M’Benga was across the table and talking to him. “Uh, how long have you been there, Geoff?”

Geoff plants his forehead to the table. “Leonard,” he says when he looks up again. “As your colleague, I have to tell you this. It’s for your own good. Go out. Get out. I know you don’t do anything but go home and then go to work. So today? Go do something new. Please?”

Leonard stares at Geoff, who is probably the only person in the city he could term a friend. “What brought this on?” he asks after a moment.

“Leonard, have you ever seen a lost puppy?” Geoff says. Leonard stares at him until he continues. “You look like one. That just watched another puppy get run over. Look, I know you don’t like talking about whatever you left behind, but seriously, man. Either get some help, or get laid, or get something. Preferably today, if possible.”

Half an hour later, Leonard is walking down the street wondering what to do with himself. He comes to the coffeeshop he usually frequents (it has the perky name of ‘Common Grounds’) and goes in. It’s just past the lunch hour and there’s no line.

“Hi Leonard,” says the barista at the counter. He looks familiar; blonde hair, blue eyes, and a grin that kind of hurts to look at, it’s so sunny. “The usual?”

“Hi,” Leonard says. He has a usual? “Um, yeah. Yes, please.” He pulls out his wallet, pays with a card and puts a dollar in the tip jar.

The barista gives him a funny smile. “Have a seat. We have to brew another pot and I’ll have it for you in a second, I promise.”

“No hurry,” Leonard says. “I’ve got nothing going on today.” He finds a seat by one of the tall windows and pulls out his iPhone, trying to decide what to do with himself. A movie maybe? He stares at the little applet icons, willing them to give him a hint. He realizes he hasn’t thought of life outside of work since—well, since before the divorce really. His mind pushes that thought around carefully, like he’s testing a sore tooth. It hurts, he realizes with some surprise, but it doesn’t feel like he’s going to keel over from it.

Which, you know, is an improvement over the last year and a half.

“Here you go, Leonard.” The barista is at his table now, with a mug, and also a plate holding a slice of pie and a slice of cake. He sets them down right in front of Leonard. The pie is apple, the cake is chocolate. They both look amazing.

“Uh, I just ordered the coffee,” Leonard says uncertainly.

“I know,” says the barista. “And look, I don’t want to be weird or anything,” and he sits down at the table with Leonard, and pushes the plate closer to him, “but you come in here almost every day, you always wait patiently and tip us, and you look like you need something nice or something. And today, you look like that, times eleventy billion.”

“That’s not a number,” Leonard says. And Jesus Christ, it was like the conversation with M’Benga. Was it really as bad as all that?

The barista smiles at that. “And these two sentences just now? Are probably the most I’ve ever heard from you. My name is Jim,” he adds. “Jim Kirk.”

“Leonard, Leonard McCoy,” Leonard says back, still confused.

“I know,” says Jim. “You always wear your name badge. It’s on your shirt,” he nods at the plastic badge that is indeed pinned to the pocket of Leonard’s shirt. “Anyhow, you never get anything but coffee, but I figured you could use something, and I wasn’t sure what you’d like. But everyone is either an apple pie person or a chocolate cake person. Or both. So I figured I couldn’t go wrong.” He pauses awkwardly as Leonard continues to stare at him. “Shit,” Jim says, “you’re a diabetic, aren’t you? Fuck, I’m sorry, let me see what else is in the case—“ And he’s already getting up to run back to the counter when Leonard stops him.

“No, no, I’m not diabetic, I’m just…surprised, is all,” Leonard says quickly.

Jim stops and sits back down, head cocked to the side. Leonard is assailed by a momentary vision of Scrappy Doo superimposed over the younger man. Roh? “Why’s that?” he asks.

“I just…am,” Leonard says.

Jim smiles at him, and Leonard feels something in him freeze slightly in panic. Jim’s smile falls slightly. “You need more surprises, then,” he says, and goes back to the counter.


Jim Kirk watches Leonard leave the shop and represses the urge to sigh to himself. Instead, he smiles brightly as he serves the next patron a latte and a piece of coffee cake. The woman smiles back at him, and later when he goes to collect her dishes he finds a scribbled number and a name written on a napkin.

This is not an unusual occurrence, actually. The thing is, he thinks as he disposes of the paper and takes the dishes to the back, patrons leave their numbers for him all the time. Jim knows he’s a good looking guy, and he’s good with remembering repeat patrons’ preferences in drinks and pastries, which earns him plenty of tips and appreciation. The tips are great, the returned smiles wonderful, mostly the numbers go straight to the recycle bin. Mixing work and pleasure? Not a great plan.

That said, if Leonard were to leave Jim his phone number? Jim would call him back in hours.

Leonard has been coming to Common Grounds for around six months now. Jim remembers the first time he ever saw the man, with his downcast eyes and gruff expression. Jim makes it a point to try to cheer up people who seem to need it. Leonard has probably needed it more than anyone Jim has ever known in the history of the shop. And likewise, until today, he’s barely noticed Jim.

It’s because I’m a glutton for punishment, Jim thinks. In reality, though, Jim knows that it’s because he’s curious about the older man (who must be older, but not by all that much, surely?). He wants to know why Leonard walks around like a man in a daze, or in shock. He’d give anything to know what it’d be like to see the man smile—preferably at him.

But, and he cheers up at the thought, today Leonard actually talked to him!

“How’s it going, Kirk?” Gary Mitchell, the evening shift manager, has arrived.

Jim grins at him. “Progress has been made!”

Gary stares at him, confused, then comprehension dawns. “The Eagle has landed? Fo’ shizzle?”

Jim swats him with a table-towel. “No, the Eagle has not landed. Also, never say ‘fo’ shizzle’ again. Please.”

“Don’t worry, man, I got your back.” Gary grins at him. “Got something else for you, too.”

“Oh? What’s that?” Jim asks as he begins putting away his work gear and gets ready to go home. He pulls on his leather jacket and is double-checking his pockets for his wallet and his cell phone when Gary speaks.

“You’re getting a promotion, Jim,” Gary says. “They want to put you in the new shop. On the plus side, it’s closer to home for you.”

“No shit?”

“No shit, Kirk.”

Jim is elated. A promotion, he finally got to talk to the cute guy he’s been crushing on forever, and—

Oh no.

If he’s in a different shop, how will he see Leonard again?


Leonard spends his newly free afternoon walking around his neighborhood. To his amazement, he realizes he’s been here over half a year, and several people seem to know who he is, but he only vaguely knows who they are. This makes him feel tremendously guilty. He also explores curiously, discovering a number of interesting looking restaurants and shops. He’s been frequenting the Chinese place that’s around the corner from his apartment, but he has since discovered that he’s in easy walking distance of two Italian places, a Jewish deli, and a little French creperie.

Who knew?

He stops for a while to people-watch in a nearby park. He observes what looks like half of San Francisco pass by as they walk with their dogs. When it nears sunset, he goes back to one of the restaurants—the one he picks is called Buennissimo—and actually eats inside for once, with utensils that aren’t plastic and in a room with other human beings.

After this, Leonard finds that he has relaxed somewhat. Damn M’Benga for being right, he thinks without any real animosity.

And for the next few weeks he goes out of his way to recognize his neighbors, to be less, well—cave bear-ish, he can’t help but think. He notices Jim more, now, too; how Jim knows the name of every one who comes into the coffee shop, knows what they’re going to order before they do sometimes. Everyone who talks to Jim, even the grumpiest, staid-looking people who come in warm up a bit when they talk to Jim, after they are greeted with his easy smile and cheerful greetings.

If Leonard were a betting person, he’d bet that two thirds of the customers in this place come specifically because they like the barista. He himself just comes for the coffee. That’s it, really.

Even so, when he goes in one morning, Jim pulls out a cup and starts pouring his coffee. Rather than saying his usual greeting he says, “Leonard, I got bad news for you.”

“Oh?” Leonard is confused.

“Yeah,” says Jim, whose sunniness is still intact. “The Boss-man is transferring me to the other Common Grounds, the one in Berkley. So. You know.”

“Oh!” Leonard is dumbfounded. “I—well. Um. You’re gonna be missed around here. Just so you know.”

Jim gives him a funny smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

The two men look at each awkwardly. Leonard knows that if he were braver, more articulate, more something he could pull out just the right words for what he wants to say, but he’s not, so he can’t, and he doesn’t.

He spends the rest of the day feeling like absolute shit, too.


Two weeks after Jim has moved on, something clicks within Leonard. He’s been putting off doing this one thing because he’s always thought it’s kind of pathetic, but Jesus Christ he does know about pathetic now, doesn’t he?

So he signs up at an online dating website.

He drinks two beers while he goes through the registration process. In hindsight this probably isn’t the best plan in the world, but Leonard does it anyway. He clicks through little drop-down menus: sexual preference (M or F), religion (his mouse hovers between “Baptist” and “Atheist” before finally settling on "Other"), personal descriptors (There are dozens, literally dozens of them and he can only pick five. And he has to rank them in order of importance. Jesus Christ.). Finally it asks if he’d like to upload a photo. He selects no; Leonard knows he is unphotogenic as all hell.

He sighs in relief when he gets to the last page. The first question is: You should know that… He has a box in which to type a response. He sighs and glances at the clock. It’s 10:45. He’s been doing this for over two hours.

Fuck it.

“You should know,” he grumbles to himself as he types, “that I have a wicked stamp collection. So there. Ha.”

Create a username is the last prompt. He’s had three beers by then, so he tries GeorgiaOnMyMind.

This username is in use, the computer informs him. Please select another username.

Leonard groans. He hums the song under his breath, coming across a bit of the chorus. WholeDayThrough he types.

The computer chirps at him. Welcome, WholeDayThrough, it says. We will begin matching your profile according to the specified perimeters. This may take four to twelve hours, the webpage promises.

Leonard goes to bed and doesn’t check his email until he gets into the office the next day. He has four responses to his profile, none of them encouraging. Two of them are from individuals curious about his stamp collection. “Jesus Christ, people,” he grumbles to himself.

The next eight hours elongate into twelve when not one but two emergency surgeries are necessitated. Leonard not only misses lunch, but he misses Joanna’s call at lunchtime because he’s up to his elbows in a patient’s chest.

Hey, Daddy! Mama brought cupcakes to school and Clay got me a toy pony and now we’re gonna go to Granma’s! I love you!

When Leonard leaves a little after eight that night, it is already past eleven in Georgia. If he calls her back now Joc will be pissed off and he still won’t get to wish his daughter a Happy Birthday.

Grumbling to himself, he picks up a carton of sesame noodles and goes to his apartment, closing the door with a satisfyingly loud slam. He’s eating out of the container with chopsticks, slumped against the kitchenette counter, when he sees his computer. Swallowing a bite of noodle, he approaches the machine warily and then boots it up.

He’s gotten five more messages from the dating website, the first four of which aren’t interesting, but the last one is from a guy called ATallShip whose message reads Dude, I don’t even know what your handle means, but now I’m curious. PM me, if you want.. Bemused, Leonard clicks on the guy’s profile.

G: M
A: 25
Location: Pinole, CA
You should know that: I’m looking for a star to steer by. And admit it, you want to know what “12 Centaur” means.
Picture: [No Photo Available]

Below that highlighted text reads that ATallShip is online now.

“What the hell,” Leonard says to himself. Grabbing a noodle and stuffing it whole (and ungracefully) in his mouth, he logs in.

WholeDayThrough: Hi.
ATallShip : Hi!
ATallShip : How are you doing tonight?
WholeDayThrough : Don’t get me started.
ATallShip : …?

Leonard sighs to himself. Way to go, he thinks sourly.

WholeDayThrough : Sorry. That was rude. Today was not a good day. It just… Yeah. It sucked. Sorry.

He decides to time how long before this guy shuts him down. And wonders why he thought it would be a good idea to try talking to someone that young. Because, says a little voice somewhere, thirty-two isn’t half as ancient as you think, and you know that.

The messenger software makes a little ping! noise as he gets a new message.

ATallShip : Do you need to talk about it?
ATallShip : ‘Cause I can listen.
ATallShip : I’m an excellent listener.
ATallShip : Well known fact! :D

The barrage of short messages makes Leonard snort in surprise. Shaking his head slightly, he ponders what to write back. Well, might as well go for the truth.

WholeDayThrough : Well, first things first then. I’m a doctor. And today was one of those days where it’s not good to be a doctor. If you, uh, get what I mean there.
ATallShip : Oh.
ATallShip : Yeah, I think I can guess. I’m sorry to hear that.
WholeDayThrough : I also have a daughter. I got a divorce last year and moved across the country. Anyhow, today was her fifth birthday, and I missed her phone call because I was in surgery.
WholeDayThrough : And honestly, I feel like shit tonight.
WholeDayThrough : Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be trying to talk to human beings right now.

Leonard rereads the chat. He sounds like a maudlin, self-pitying bastard. He closes the box of noodles, still half-full. He’s not hungry anymore.

ATallShip : Would it help if I pretended to be a Cylon?
ATallShip : Cos I can totally do that!
ATallShip : So say we all!
WholeDayThrough : That’s what the Colonials say.
WholeDayThrough : Cylons say “By Your Command.”

Leonard stares at the screen. “I am the hugest dork in the world.”

WholeDayThrough : I am the hugest dork in the world.
ATallShip : Dude, you watch BSG.
ATallShip : Just so you know, I may well be getting a little crush on you right now.
WholeDayThrough : …
ATallShip : Okay, that might have been me coming on a little strong. When I like people, I really like people.
ATallShip : FWIW, contrary to all popular belief, I totally don’t really like all people all the time.
ATallShip : Just so you know.

Leonard laughs as he types back.

WholeDayThrough : You are remarkably self-assured. Did you know that?
ATallShip : I tell myself that every day. :D
ATallShip : So why don’t you have a picture in your profile?
WholeDayThrough : I couldn’t find one I liked. There’s my work ID and my driver’s license, and neither scan pretty well. So.
WholeDayThrough : Why don’t you have a photo? :P
ATallShip : Easy.
ATallShip : I’m gorgeous.
ATallShip : And I want people to love me for my mind and not my body!
ATallShip : *sniff*
ATallShip cries on WholeDayThrough’s shoulder.
WholeDayThrough pats ATallShip on the back.
WholeDayThrough : There, there.
ATallShip : So what do you look like?

Leonard ponders a moment.

WholeDayThrough : I almost bought that for a second.

He types for time, trying to think about how to describe himself.

WholeDayThrough : I’m about 6’1.” Brown hair, hazel eyes. Pretty good shape. Your turn.
ATallShip : I’m about the same height.
ATallShip : Blonde hair, blue eyes.
ATallShip : I’m obnoxiously cheerful. Also hyper.
WholeDayThrough : Reasonably honest, too. I can tell.

Their chat goes on like this for a while. ATallShip is funny, Leonard will give him that. At least they seem to share a similar sense of humor.

WholeDayThrough : So what do you do for a living?

The reply is so long in coming that Leonard starts to wonder if the guy’s unemployed or, worse, a porn star. But then the computer finally makes a little chirp.

ATallShip : So I have a day job but I’m really into letterpress printing. I have a press and a couple of type cases in my garage, and I handset and print everything. One of my friends is a papermaker and I mostly do chap-books and broadsides. If you ever want to take a look, my imprint is Enterprise Press.
ATallShip is typing…
ATallShip : I worked with Chris Pike of Federation Press for a couple years. He’s one of the big contemporary printers, but he mostly does artists’ books now. He taught me everything I know. And I have some friends who do other things like carve woodcut engravings, and I make prints of their work as well.
ATallShip is typing…
ATallShip : That “12 Centaur” bit in my profile? That’s the font of type I use.
ATallShip : Sorry, I go on a bit. I know.
WholeDayThrough : No, it’s cool. You enjoy what you do, that’s a good thing.
ATallShip : Do you like being a doctor?
ATallShip : Even when it’s hard and stuff?

Leonard thinks for a moment.

WholeDayThrough : Yeah, yeah I do.
WholeDayThrough : I like feeling like I make a difference, y’know? Like I’m helping people. There are a lot of days that suck like you wouldn’t *!@#ing believe, but most of the time it’s worth it.
WholeDayThrough : …Did I just get censored?
ATallShip : I believe you *!@#ing did.
ATallShip : *!@#
WholeDayThrough : *!@#
WholeDayThrough : Well at least it’s consistent.
ATallShip : It is at that.
ATallShip : Well that and we’re slap-happy.
WholeDayThrough : Oh?
ATallShip : Yeah. I’ve gotta get up in five hours. Crap!

Leonard looks at the clock. It’s past two am.

WholeDayThrough : Me too. Ugh. How did that happen?
ATallShip : Eh, so it goes.
ATallShip : So, same time tomorrow then?

He reads it twice more just to make sure he read it right the first time.

ATallShip : Hello?
WholeDayThrough : Yeah. Sorry. I spaced out for a second. Yeah.
ATallShip : Awesome!
ATallShip : See you tomorrow!
ATallShip : Er, tonight.
ATallShip : Well, later, anyhow!
ATallShip has logged off

It’s only after Leonard has brushed his teeth and gotten into bed that he realizes that he almost-sort of has a date now. A date in cyberspace, but…still. It’s something. For the first time in a long while, things don’t feel completely crappy. Feeling almost contented, he promptly falls asleep.


The next afternoon Leonard calls Joanna. “I’m sorry I missed your birthday, baby girl,” he tells her over the phone.

“It’s okay, Daddy,” Jo says. “Your present came today! So it’s really like I got two birthdays instead of one!”

Leonard shuts his eyes tight at that. Tears threaten and he swallows them back. God, he loves his daughter. “Yeah, Jo? Well you can’t have too many birthdays, okay? ‘Cause you know you have to be my little girl forever.”

Jo laughs. “You’re silly, Daddy. Can you tell Mama to let me wear my new stuff to school tomorrow?”

Leonard had sent her a pink blouse embroidered with cherry blossoms and a purse designed to look like a Chinese take-out box, both purchased in Chinatown. He imagines Jo in them, beaming her gap-toothed grin. “Yeah, kiddo, I’ll see what I can do,” he says.

He can hear Joc in the background. Jo sighs. “Mama says she wants to talk to you now. I love you, Daddy.”

“I know, baby girl. I love you, too.”

His conversation with Jocelyn is at least civil. They talk a few minutes, and she promises to send Leonard photos of Jo in all her birthday finery. So that’s something at least.

When he puts the phone down, he scrubs his face with his hands, and goes back on his rounds. M’Benga takes a look at him and looks like he wants to come over, but thinks better of it at the last second. Chapel doesn’t blink, just hands him the clipboard he needs, and the rest of the afternoon somehow passes.

When he gets home that night he’s not hungry. He boots up his laptop, and is almost immediately messaged by ATallShip.

ATallShip : Hey Bones!
WholeDayThrough : ????
ATallShip : Dem bones dem bones gonna walk all over… Y’know?
WholeDayThrough : I’m lost.
ATallShip : You know, the old song everyone sang when they were kids? “Foot bone connected to the leg bone…”
ATallShip : In short, I’ve decided to call you Bones.
ATallShip : ‘Cause you’re a Doctor. And all.
WholeDayThrough : …
WholeDayThrough : You are a weird, weird man.

Leonard is smiling despite himself as he types.

ATallShip : Awesome!
ATallShip : I do the weird stuff.
ATallShip : But only on the second date.
WholeDayThrough : ….
ATallShip : Dude. You HAVE seen Dr. Horrible, right?
WholeDayThrough : Can’t say that I have, no.
ATallShip : OMG.

A link appears and Leonard clicks on it curiously. He vaguely recognizes some of the actors, and watches what appears to be a sort of webcam post morph into song and dance.

ATallShip : Are you watching?
WholeDayThrough : Yeah. What is this, a movie?
ATallShip : It’s better than a movie, it’s an internet musical!

Leonard keeps watching, interspersed with commentary from ATallShip. Despite himself, he is moved by the odd program, which ends too soon and more sadly than he thought it would.

WholeDayThrough : Please tell me you’re not going to make any jokes about your hammer?
ATallShip : … Me?
ATallShip : I would never do such a thing!
ATallShip : Although just so you know--
WholeDayThrough : I don’t wanna know. Thanks.
ATallShip : Aww. *pout*
ATallShip cries on WholeDayThrough’s shoulder.
WholeDayThrough : You are such a dork.
ATallShip : I know. You love it. Admit it.
WholeDayThrough : I’ll do no such thing.
ATallShip : Uh huh. Why do you keep talking to me then? :p
WholeDayThrough : Simple.
WholeDayThrough : You’re clearly a sex maniac and if I don’t divert your attention you’ll go out and do God knows what and get a dozen STDs.
WholeDayThrough : I have to protect you from yourself. Clearly.
ATallShip : Awww. I feel loved.
WholeDayThrough : Don’t get too smug. I’m doing this for the state of California as much as I am for you.
ATallShip : God, you’re noble, Bones. *sniff* *looks at you looking all heroic and stuff*
WholeDayThrough : Stop calling me that.
ATallShip : Well you could always tell me your real name. :P

Leonard pauses, then exhales softly. He shouldn’t be this nervous he thinks.

WholeDayThrough : It’s Leonard.
ATallShip : That’s a nice name. I knew a Leonard once. I wish I’d known him more in fact.
WholeDayThrough : What’s your name then?
ATallShip : James, but I go by JT a lot as well.

They stay up late chatting again. The rest of the week follows a similar pattern. Leonard works his shift, goes home, and has dinner with ATallShip and the computer. They both stay up too late talking about minutia and whatever happens to be on their minds at the time.

They continue their evening chat dates, and then Thursday night things get…interesting.

ATallShip : So I was thinking about you at work today.
WholeDayThrough : How’s that?
ATallShip : Ever heard the Morning Benders?
ATallShip : “Patient Patient” was playing on the radio.
ATallShip : It made me think of you. ;)
WholeDayThrough : Huh. Don’t know them.
ATallShip : :O
ATallShip : Srsly?
WholeDayThrough : Sorry, I like older stuff. Jazz, big band, that sort of thing.
ATallShip : This must be remedied. STAT.
WholeDayThrough : Medical personnel do not say that nearly as much as the TV would have you believe. I’m just saying.
ATallShip : Sure, sure.
ATallShip : Okay I’m going to make the perfect mix for you.
ATallShip : I’d like to give it to you in person, too.

Leonard stares at that, suddenly nervous. They’ve been talking for hours every day. Still.

ATallShip : Hello?
ATallShip : Sorry, it is too soon? It’s just that I’d really like to meet you is all. You seem really cool.
ATallShip : But we can take it slow if you like. No pressure or anything. It’s okay.
WholeDayThrough : Let me think about it?
ATallShip : Sure, no problem!
ATallShip : So I’m going to make the perfect mix for you. You just wait. *looks smug*
WholeDayThrough : You? Smug? Never!
ATallShip : Nope, I’m as modest as I am hot.
ATallShip : Which is to say, very.
WholeDayThrough : Uh huh. Whatever happened to wanting to be wanted for your mind instead of your body?
ATallShip : Over it!
ATallShip : Clearly, the big guns need to be brought out where you are concerned.
ATallShip : And I TOTALLY have a big--
WholeDayThrough : Okay then!
WholeDayThrough : God, you’re such a perv!
ATallShip : You like it! ;)

The sad part, Leonard thinks, is how accurate that is. He has gotten peculiarly fond of the juvenile, sex-obsessed, and just plain funny ATallShip.

ATallShip : So...I’m kind of in a mood now.
WholeDayThrough : What kind of mood is that?
ATallShip : Well. Have you ever cybered?

Leonard feels himself unaccountably flush warm.

WholeDayThrough : Can’t say that I have, honestly.
ATallShip : Wanna?

Leonard stares at the screen. He thinks he should probably find this whole idea gross and appalling and a myriad of other inappropriate things. On the other hand, he is stirring in interest.

ATallShip : I’ve creeped you out, haven’t I?
ATallShip : Forget I said anything.
ATallShip : So I don’t think Caprica is as good as BSG. What do you think?

Leonard exhales softly, and starts typing. “I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he grumbles to himself.

WholeDayThrough : I’m interested.
ATallShip : Really? You don’t think Philomon is totally ripping off Topher from Dollhouse? ‘Cause that really bugs me.
WholeDayThrough : That’s not what I meant.
ATallShip : OH.
ATallShip : You mean…?
WholeDayThrough : Yeah. So how does this work?
ATallShip : Well, first, imagine we’re out on a date. We’re outside of town, looking out at the stars. I’ve brought some blankets, and we’re wrapped up in them, and we’re cuddling close.
ATallShip : And I look deep into your eyes, into your soul.
WholeDayThrough : That’s awfully purple prose you got there.
ATallShip : Hush you.
ATallShip : I’m setting up the moment.
WholeDayThrough : The moment? Right.
ATallShip : You have no appreciation for romance!

Leonard chuckles at that.

WholeDayThrough : Sorry, keep going. Eyes, soul, stars. Got it.
ATallShip : Anyhow, I start kissing you gently.
WholeDayThrough : And I kiss you back, huh?
ATallShip : Ideally. *waggles eyebrows suggestively*
WholeDayThrough : So I’m kissing you back, and then I roll over on top of you.
ATallShip : I enjoy that. A lot. I keep kissing you but start grinding myself against you.
WholeDayThrough : I brush my hand over your jeans, and feel you. What do you feel like?
ATallShip : I feel hard and getting harder.
ATallShip : I’m also commando, by the way.
WholeDayThrough : Wow. I have not heard that in years. Do people still say that?
ATallShip : Well I say that.
WholeDayThrough : Yeah, but do people who are not you still say that?
WholeDayThrough : Sorry, keep going. Eyes, soul, stars. Got it.
ATallShip : OMG you are a dork. Mood!
WholeDayThrough : :-P Anyhow, I’m cupping you and feeling your hard-on. I brush my fingers lightly over it, then carefully, slowly unzip your jeans and take you out.
ATallShip : Thank God! I moan softly and lift my thighs up to your touch. I pull your shirt off and admire you.
WholeDayThrough : I pull your cock out, my fingers firmly around it. I stroke you gently, enjoying the sounds you’re making.
ATallShip : Bones!
WholeDayThrough : I feel you hard in my hand, running my thumb over your slit.
ATallShip : Oh God. I’m so hard right now.

Leonard is too. He unzips his jeans, pulling his cock out. He allows himself a stroke, then goes back to typing.

WholeDayThrough : I kneel down between your legs and take your cock in my mouth. Just the head at first. I flick my tongue over the slit and then the head, before taking the whole of you into my mouth.
ATallShip : You feel so good, baby.
ATallShip : I’m running my hands through your hair, murmuring your name. Thinking I might die any second.
WholeDayThrough : No chance of that. If you did I’d just resuscitate you, and then !@#$ you again.
WholeDayThrough : Stupid computer.
ATallShip : Is it wrong how incredibly turned on I am by that?
WholeDayThrough : By the computer? Yes, incredibly wrong. You don’t even know.
ATallShip : LOL. I didn’t mean that. But remind me to tell you about my friend Scotty some time.
WholeDayThrough : I don’t think I want to know.
ATallShip : It’s not that bad. No, I’m turned on by the whole me dying of sex, then you bringing me back and doing it again.
ATallShip : It’s not the death thing, it’s the your determination thing that gets me, I mean.
WholeDayThrough : I like taking care of my partner.
WholeDayThrough : Now where was I?
WholeDayThrough : Oh right.
WholeDayThrough : So my mouth is on your cock, and I go down on you, slowly. Playing with you, really. Just when you’re about to come, I back off and play with you some more. I do this over and over until you’re begging me.
ATallShip : Can I come?
ATallShip : Please?
WholeDayThrough : You can come when I say you can.

Leonard exhales. His cock is so hard it hurts, and he strokes the shaft up and down gently. He closes his eyes for a second, and is surprised when he thinks of Jim’s face. He hasn’t seen the cheerful barista in weeks, but the image of him between Leonard’s thighs is suddenly vivid in his imagination.

ATallShip : I didn’t know you were into this sort of thing.
ATallShip : Hell, I didn’t know I was into this kind of thing.

Neither did I, Leonard thinks.

WholeDayThrough : Do you want to come?
ATallShip : Only desperately! Please?
WholeDayThrough : IRL?
ATallShip : Uh huh.
WholeDayThrough : Okay. You can come. Come hard, and let me know what you taste like.

Leonard waits patiently. A minute passes, then two.

ATallShip : Jesus !@#$ing Christ, Bones. That was hot.
ATallShip : Also, I am full of salty goodness.
ATallShip : And wondering why the instant messenger lets us talk about cocks and coming but not about !@#$ing.

Leonard laughs at that. It’s funny because it’s true.

ATallShip : Let me take care of you now, baby.
ATallShip : Sit back and enjoy yourself.

This sounds damn good to Leonard. He gently strokes his cock as he reads the messages that appear on the screen.

ATallShip : I rip your clothes off, admiring you. I want to lick you all over.
ATallShip : And I do.
ATallShip : Except the one place you really want my mouth. I wait until you’re moaning, begging, and that’s when I touch you there.
ATallShip : I take you by the root, and take the whole of your cock into my mouth.
ATallShip : I’m naked and on my knees in front of you, and look up at you so you have a great view of your cock deep in my mouth, down in my throat.
ATallShip : I dig my nails into your ass to keep a grip on you as you start to move, too.

That’s the thing that pushes Leonard over the edge. He’s breathing heavy and messy, and—God.

ATallShip : And when you come I swallow it all.
WholeDayThrough : You have truly impressive timing.
ATallShip : :D
ATallShip : I told you I’d take care of you, baby.
WholeDayThrough : I can’t believe we actually just did that.
ATallShip : I can.
ATallShip : So. Now that we know each other textually, what do you think about meeting irl on Saturday?
ATallShip : Just half an hour. I’ll buy you coffee, or whatever. And after half an hour if you never want to see me again or anything, you can do that.
ATallShip : What do you think?

Leonard sighs. It’s so damn tempting.

WholeDayThrough : Let me think about it. I’ll let you know tomorrow?
ATallShip : Fair enough. I’ll have your mix then. Who knows, maybe my music taste will scare you off.
ATallShip : …I really hope not though. ‘Cause if I had to choose between you and my music, right now? It’d be tough.
WholeDayThrough : Uh huh. I’d hate to do that to you.
ATallShip : Me too. But if you’re even half as cute as you sound…it would totally be worth it.
ATallShip : So, same time tomorrow?
WholeDayThrough : Sounds good to me. ‘Night.
ATallShip : Sweet dreams, Bones.
ATallShip has logged off.

Continued in Part Two
Tags: fanfiction, star trek, stories
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