It’s Jim’s fault, of course. It’s always Jim. Spock’s always careful, although now that Leonard’s already up, he can hear both of them whispering behind him.
He sniffs and buries his face deeper in the pillow. It’s still dark—the curtains are still closed. He shuts his eyes again and doesn’t want to roll around. He wants to go back to sleep. Fuck mornings.
“...ish the glass hadn’t been there,” Jim’s whispering. He fell asleep on the end, if Leonard remembers right, so he should be the farthest away, with Spock between them, next to Leonard’s back. But he can’t feel any contact, so they must have scooted over to their side. “I mean, no, obviously if it wasn’t there radiation would’ve killed everyone, but you know what I mean. If I could’ve actually held your hand... that would’ve been amazing.”
“I’m sorry, Jim,” Spock whispers back, closer to Leonard, but still quieter. Sometimes he wonders when ‘Captain’ became ‘Jim,’ but then he’d also have to wonder when ‘Leonard’ became ‘Dr. McCoy’ became ‘Bones.’ Spock’s just Spock.
This is... an awkward conversation. For Leonard to overhear, anyway. He wasn’t there. And he knows that like a punch to the gut, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Don’t be. You were still a huge comfort to me. Seriously. You have no idea what that meant to me, having you there. I was so scared...”
“It is alright,” Spock soothes. “You know I would have reached you if I could. I would have done everything. Everyone would. But you are safe now, and that is what matters.”
“Yeah,” Jim sighs. “Yeah, I know. I just... Look, I’m just saying thanks, alright? You were there for me when I needed you most, and I’ll never forget that.”
Never forget that. Leonard’s stomach feels thick all of the sudden. Fuck. He should’ve gone back to sleep quicker.
The bed dips down. Leonard’s rolled a little back, but he firmly refuses to roll over and let them see him. He doesn’t want to interrupt. He can tell that Jim’s rolled over, probably onto Spock, because there’s a wet sound in the air like a kiss. Spock breathily moans, hushed and needy and not-very-Vulcan-at-all, “Jim...”
“Shh,” Jim chuckles, like a schoolboy doing something he shouldn’t. “Don’t wake the doctor.” The doctor. Leonard knows it’s just teasing; a nickname, like ‘kid’ or ‘hobgoblin.’ But after their conversation...
More wet sounds, and more muffled moans. Spock must be giving in. Sheets and blankets are rustling. None of them sleep with clothes anymore. They’re probably just touching each other, and thinking of his boyfriends doing that is making Leonard’s—
He breathes out and firmly ignores himself. Fucking mornings. He knows they’re just excluding him because they know he hates mornings, but it still feels like he’s left out. They’re fucking without him. They’re allowed to do that.
But after everything that’s happened... Leonard isn’t stupid. He knows those two are getting closer. And he understands. They shared something both horrible and incredible.
But maybe he thought he stood a better chance than he knows he really does, and he wanted this to work.
Spock gasps—Jim’s probably slipped inside him.
Leonard shifts on his pillow and doggedly wills himself back to sleep.
“Cappuccino, Frappuccino, and...”
Jim turns around slowly, pointing at Leonard.
“Coffee, black,” Leonard barks over Jim’s shoulder. Mainly because he knows they won’t have any alcohol here—the clearly superior drink. The barista nods and disappears behind the counter, whipping up her machines—real food machines, not that phony Synthesizer stuff. If Leonard’s going to be stuck on Earth while the Enterprise is repaired, he’s at least going to enjoy some real food.
“Have you ever noticed that everything good in coffee shops ends in ‘ino’?” Jim asks, looking curiously at the back menu boards above the counter. “Klingons have something called raktajino, I think...” Leonard has half a mind to slap him, just... because.
Spock answers instead, “No, I have not.” And Leonard glances over; he and Spock share a quick, mildly exasperated look. Dealing with Jim. Really.
Everything’s ready a few minutes later, and they carry their convections to a table in the corner, next to the full windows that look out at the city. It’s a pleasant day, sunny and lukewarm. Spock lifts the lid off his drink before touching it, asking, “What is it...?”
“Frozen fruit smoothie, basically,” Jim explains. “I thought you’d like it.”
Spock says, “Fascinating.” He’s staring at the thick, pink liquid, red from strawberries but lighter from ice. “...Why would fruit be frozen?”
Leonard snorts, and Jim rolls his eyes. Another look is shared, and Jim insists, “Because it’s good. Just eat it.”
“Or drink it,” Spock adds with raised eyebrows. He looks highly skeptical. Leonard sips away at his coffee while he watches Spock. It’s not mint julep, but it’ll do.
Spock’s a few tentative sips in before it’s apparent that he likes it, and Jim dons his usual smug smile. Spock’s blank expression doesn’t lend itself well to satisfaction, but Jim seems to manage. As Spock’s bow lips sip prettily at the straw Jim stuck in his lid, Jim asks, “Want to try some of mine?”
Spock nods and pulls off. He now has significantly less drink than either of them, and he leans across the table to sample Jim’s He’s barely taken any in before he pulls back. He says, “Interesting,” very diplomatically. Which means he didn’t like it. Jim chuckles, like he guessed as much. His hand is on the table, and Leonard doesn’t miss the way it subtly slides closer to Spock’s.
He also doesn’t miss the way two of Spock’s fingers land on Jim’s, stroking his hand lightly. It shouldn’t mean anything. But it’s a Vulcan gesture, and Leonard knows that.
He excuses himself to the washroom so he can be bitter in peace for a few minutes.
Being bitter is something Leonard’s particularly good at. He grumbles the entire way to the park. When they set up to stretch, he feels stupid, and even though he’s a doctor and he knows better, he doesn’t stretch like they do. He feels too old to be standing next to someone in shorts as tiny as Jim’s, which barely cup his ass—his great ass—and barely conceal his package. Spock’s at least marginally more modest, although Jim’s somehow gotten him into khakis and a thin, purple t-shirt.
Leonard is in a black shit and black pants, because he’s a dark sort of person like that and he’s moody. It’s too hot a day to be jogging. Dumb idea. He lets them know as much. They wave him off.
The first part of the jog isn’t so bad as he pretends it is. It’s bright and beautiful, and the breeze combats the sun. The trees are all full, the grass perfectly green. The jogging itself isn’t awful—he is a member of Starfleet, and he is in shape. Reasonably in shape.
He’s not up to par with his young boyfriends, apparently, who are still going several kilometers in, when Leonard’s starting to pant more than is comfortable. They’re chatting amiably with each other in front of him—the sort of cheery exchange he couldn’t get in on. Well, it seems cheery because of Jim, anyway, but Spock does throw in the odd mild-lip-quirk-that-might-be-a-smile, and he’s clearly enjoying himself. Leonard feels distinctly too grumpy for everything.
The gap between them gets further and further apart, proportional to how heavy Leonard’s breath is. Spock and Jim are several meters ahead when they finally realize what’s happened, and they double back, jogging a bit on the spot to keep up with a now-stopped Leonard. “Sorry, Bones,” Jim calls over the dogs playing on the grass behind them. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I need my goddamn lungs to breathe, you yappy idiot,” Leonard grunts, bent over double, hands on his knees.
Spock adds, “Perhaps it is time you began regular training exercises.”
Leonard gives him a look that clearly stands for ‘fuck you.’ Spock either doesn’t get it or simply has no reaction. Jim just chuckles; because of course Leonard being left out as usual since everything that happened is just some haha big funny joke.
Leonard kind of wants to say that. But then he looks at the two faces in front of him, out in the sunshine, being young and having fun, and he doesn’t actually have it in him to ruin that. He does love them both, even if he never meant to. ...And he really thought they had something.
He waves dismissively and grumbles, “Ah, you two just go on. I’ll wait here for when you get back.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim says, disgruntled.
“It is not much farther,” Spock adds.
“I don’t care.” As he says it, he’s turning and marching to a bench on the side of the path, full of pigeons. He waves them away and claims their spot, feeling tired and sun-struck and stupid. They’re both looking sadly back at him—his boyfriends, not the pigeons—and he doesn’t want their pity. “Seriously,” he repeats, “it’s fine. Go ahead.”
Spock looks at Jim: a first officer deferring to his captain for a decision. Jim nods and shrugs. “C’ya, Bones.”
Leonard grunts noncommittally.
And they’re off again, the two of them, looking particularly beautiful in the halo of the sun.
He should’ve known better. Two doves in the palm of his rough hands. He really thought it could work.
But he thought that about his marriage, too.
And now he’s sitting on a park bench, alone.
He gets the comm when the sun’s already setting. They’re late as hell. He’s cleaned the whole apartment and gotten some work done on a medical paper that needs to be submitted in a week. Then it turns out they’re eating at Jim’s tonight, and nobody bothered to tell him. Go figure. He pulls on a coat and marches over anyway, because he’s in love like that. When he gets there, Spock’s already sitting at the table.
Jim serves them spaghetti from the Synthesizer. He says he can’t tell the difference. Spock can, but doesn’t find it relevant. Leonard can tell, and he cares. But it’s an argument he isn’t going to win, so he drops it.
He rolls the pasta around his fork and stabs it into his mouth, watching Spock neatly slice the noodles into quarters with the side of his fork. It takes him much longer to eat. Jim says, “I’ve got chopsticks in the drawer if you want.”
Leonard says, “Don’t encourage him.”
Spock says, “I am quite alright, thank you.” And they keep eating. Jim’s table is small. His apartment is messy. His kitchen has dishes everywhere and clothes strewn across the floor, and when Leonard cranes back to look around Spock’s head, he can see a 3D chessboard on the coffee table in the living room. They’re going to play that after, of course. Leonard frowns to himself; it’s a dead boring game.
He shovels a few more bites into his mouth and asks, “Do you have any bourbon?”
“No,” Jim chuckles. Which makes sense. Because even though Jim’s a party animal, they do the drinking at Leonard’s house. When Jim’s here with Spock alone, playing chess, Spock probably doesn’t drink. Jim doesn’t need to drink alone.
Spock pulls in a chair from the kitchen so he can sit across from Jim, and the two of them are thoroughly engrossed in their game. Leonard can’t tell who’s winning, and he doesn’t give a damn. He’s sitting on the other end of the couch Jim’s perched on, up against the wall. Boring as fuck and all about them and their stupid connection. They’re always doing this on the Enterprise. And then they’re on the bridge, the two of them, side by side, while he’s several decks down with his hands sporting blood...
“Maybe I’ll just pull a Scotty aaand... do this,” Jim says with a too-big-grin, moving his knight to a place it can’t go. Spock’s lips twitch, clearly fighting a smile, and he drops his head to cover it, feigning more exasperation. Jim bursts into laughter. Leonard’s half asleep and leaning on his arm, but he throws his leg onto the couch so he can nudge Jim’s hip. Jim just says between his gaudy giggles, “Sorry, Bones, ‘s just something that happened in my quarters a month ago.”
An inside joke. Of course they have inside jokes. They spend all day together on that stupid ship and then they saved each other’s lives—never mind that Leonard helped, always does—and they’re happy and full of life.
There’s a crack in the foundation that isn’t going to go away. Maybe because he’s tired and full and not quite thinking clearly, Leonard grumbles bluntly, “We should break up.”
The laughter stops in a heartbeat. There are four eyes on him, two clear as day and two dark as stone. For a minute, they just stare at him, frowning and waiting.
He doesn’t say anything. Spock inclines his head slightly to the side, asking, “Have we done something to displease you?”
“You want to break up?” Jim repeats dryly, looking somewhere between flabbergasted and devastated.
Leonard sighs, because he’s been insensitive again, and that’s probably part of the reason he can’t make anything work. He’s not good at communicating when it matters and he needs people to listen. So he coughs and continues less dramatically, “Look, it’s fine if you two don’t want me anymore. I get it. I understand—you went through a traumatic experience together and it made you closer. Just... let me go out with some dignity, alright?”
Jim blinks stupidly. Spock doesn’t blink at all, which is even odder.
After a very tense and upsetting minute, Jim repeats numbly, “You think we don’t want you anymore?”
“Perhaps you should take a moment to reevaluate your position,” Spock jumps in. “You are being highly illogical.”
“Don’t tell me I’m being goddamn illogical,” Leonard snaps, because when Spock gets like that it always makes him want to snap, and it was great for angry sex but not so much for an actual problem. “Look, I’m not mad. It’s fine. You’re young; you can change your mind. It was foolish to think this could work...”
“Then you do not feel the same way as—”
Leonard cuts in to growl, “Of course I still love you, you green blooded hobgoblin! That’s not what I’m saying. It’s because I love you that I have to let you go if that’s what you want.”
“I didn’t say we wanted to break up,” Jim says, now looking a little annoyed. Then he looks over at Spock, and they do that stupid eye-sex shit they do where orders are going from captain to commander through sheer willpower.
Feeling validated and horrible all at once, Leonard crosses his arms and sinks back into the couch. He watches them watch each other, until they seem to come to an understanding.
Then they’re both on their feet, walking over to him. He stares stubbornly back up.
They both sit down on either side of him, too close, almost in his lap—there’s barely any room between the armrest and his legs. Spock gets that side, Jim gets his left. For one horrible second, Leonard thinks he’s going to get some shitty, flowery speech. He’s not really the type to talk feelings out like that, and he climbs off the couch.
They both grab an arm and throw him back down with way too much force, and the next thing Leonard knows, he’s got a lapful of men: two gorgeous specimens pinning him into the back of the couch, leaning over him and breathing on him. All their skin is too warm, and they burn him everywhere they touch. Their kisses rain down on his face, both of his cheeks and his cheekbones and his jaw, running along the shells of his ears and rubbing against the stubble on his chin. Leonard’s got half a mind to throw them off again, but they’ve each got a leg in his lap.
Rubbing his thighs. Touching his crotch. They start to grind subtly, and Spock latches onto his neck while Jim grabs his chin and brings their mouths together. Leonard’s a sucker for that mouth.
His lips are open. Jim’s tongue slips inside. One thing that can always be said about James T. Kirk: he knows how to fuck.
And Spock’s no amateur. He nips and licks his way up to Leonard’s lips, and Jim pulls back to let Spock inside, turning Leonard’s face gently. Leonard fights his tongue for a moment, before pulling out to grumble, “What is this, an ambush? I said it’s okay—”
“You’re full of shit, Bones,” Jim says bluntly, looking at him with that oddly serious look he rarely ever gets off the bridge. “We do want you. We do love you, a lot.”
“You are correct that the warp core incident brought us closer,” Spock adds next to Leonard’s cheek. “However, it is you who brought our Jim back, and for that I am eternally grateful.” Our.
“And really,” Jim starts, his hand running suspiciously down Leonard’s chest, “You get ganged up on the least.”
Leonard jerks his head away from Spock’s hot mouth to retort indignantly, “I do not!”
“Are you and Jim not constantly with words over my Vulcan heritage?” Spock asks, raising an eyebrow. His hand joins Jim’s halfway down Leonard’s stomach, so that they both land on his crotch, ten fingers massaging his cock through his pants. “I believe I have been the victim of several furtive looks when it comes to my tastes or my manner of speaking.”
Leonard opens his mouth to say something, but Jim grabs his chin and pulls him around. “And aren’t the two of you always calling me immature, teaming up in your genius ideals to make me look like an idiot?”
It’s true. Leonard knows it is. But he...
“We want you,” Spock purrs next to his ear, and when a Vulcan purrs, it’s irresistible. A shiver runs down his spine, but that could also be from the two skilled hands gently kneading his growing bulge.
“We love you,” Jim adds. He kisses Leonard’s cheek again, then Leonard’s jaw, then Leonard’s throat. “We love each other, we love you, that’s not going to change, and I’d never want it to.”
Then he’s slipping off the couch, pecking Leonard’s shoulder through the fabric, his chest over his heart, his torso and down to the place where shirt meets pants. Jim reaches for the zipper while Spock slinks down beside him, and both look up at Leonard with eyes so full of want that he doesn’t know what to do. He feels like an old fool. An asshole who couldn’t see what he had.
“In case we have been unclear, we are not allowing you to break up with us on our behalf,” Spock orders. Leonard has a sharp intake of breath, head lolling back, while those practiced fingers reach into his pants and pull out his cock. Jim makes a wanton moaning sound in the back of his throat, and he holds it up by the base while he and Spock lean into it, like something right out of a porno.
Better than any damn porno Leonard’s seen. His cock looks so big up against their faces; but then, it is big. He’s often smug about being the most well endowed of the group, and as though Jim’s read his mind, Jim groans, “How could we let you leave and take your huge, perfect cock away from us?”
Spock opens his lips first, swiping his tongue slow and hard up the shaft. Leonard shivers with pleasure and lifts a hand to his mouth—he doesn’t want to give in and moan like a schoolgirl. Like Jim will. Like Spock might even, lashes fluttering and cheeks turning green. Jim’s tongue comes faster than Spock, a little smaller and lighter, lapping at it hungrily. Jim trails butterfly kisses up one side while Spock lathers up the other, and every once in a while they meet up to kiss. Leonard’s hard as a rock from the sight alone. When they do kiss around his cock, there isn’t any jealousy in his chest. Just want and need. When they take too long to get back to him, he bucks up into them, and their lips fall from each other, returning to their respective sides of Leonard’s cock, where they belong.
Then they’re shifting slightly, trying to make it work, and Leonard doesn’t know how they do it. But Jim manages to tilt his head enough to pop onto Leonard’s dick, and the wet, tight heat that instantly surrounds him makes Leonard squirm with lust. It feels wonderful. Jim greedily sucks down more and more, impaling himself as much as he can, tongue busy the whole time. Spock tilts too, trying to get under Jim. His tongue finds Leonard’s balls, and he licks them thoroughly all over while Jim bobs up and down. Leonard’s so hard he can barely stand it.
He breaks, and he thinks this is why he has two hands—so he can make fists in both sets of pretty hair. Soft, blond locks and lustrous, black strands. He helps guide them both: Jim up and down and Spock in little circles. Jim sucks cock like he was born for it. Spock kisses slow and methodical, like he’s worshipping Leonard’s body. Halfway through, they pull back to kiss again, and Leonard growls dangerously.
They switch places. Spock’s not as sex-crazy, and his suction isn’t as enthusiastic, but he can fit more in, sliding Leonard right down his tight throat. That makes Leonard’s head threaten to explode. Jim nips at Leonard’s balls, tonguing them and sucking them into his mouth one at a time. The pair of them are a nightmare. They’re so hot. They look so beautiful on their knees in front of him, and looking down at them, Leonard knows without any proof or doubt, that they’re his.
He tugs them both gently off, and they go back to licking and kissing the sides together, until Leonard comes right on their perfect faces. Both of his boyfriends sit there and take it. He gets a vindictive sort of pleasure out of painting them up; it strings over Spock’s nose and splatters in Jim’s hair, slipping down his forehead. Both get some near their mouths, and Spock gets some in it. Leonard grabs his own cock and fists out every last drop, shaking it between the two of them.
Then he’s slumping back in the couch, warm and satiated, and Spock asks through his mouthful of cum, “May we clean each other off, or are you going to believe we are shutting you out?”
Leonard snorts, “Wise ass,” and kicks Spock lightly with his shoes. A small smirk is his reward. Jim doesn’t seem to care. He leans over and grabs Spock’s face, kissing messily and sharing Leonard’s seed. Somehow, it’s a lot more fun to watch them when his release is between them. It’s easy to watch now that he feels better. He feels like a fool. He knows they love him. Of course they do. And what would he do if he ever lost them?
Spock tries to finger-comb out Jim’s hair, and the two of them lick each others’ faces all over, until they’re wet from spit instead of seed. Then they share a lingering kiss, and Leonard finally tucks his limp cock back into his pants.
Jim climbs stiffly to his knees and asks, “Can we finish our game now, or are you going to be a baby and need more attention?” He smiles while he says it, adoration in his eyes.
Leonard lifts a leg up to lightly kick Jim’s bum. He nods towards the chessboard. “Finish your stupid game.”
“A very logical choice,” Spock informs him, “as the sooner our game is finished, the sooner we may migrate to the bedroom to... further resolve this.” Which is probably the clean Vulcan way of saying ‘have a ridiculously dirty threesome.’
But Leonard still doesn’t like to be told he’s being logical, so he scowls at Spock.
His two boyfriends get back to their seats and resume their game, and Leonard turns in the couch, stretching out to lie down, head in Jim’s lap. Jim jokes, “Haha, he loves me more.” And Leonard reaches up to slap him lightly, earning a chuckle. Spock’s content features don’t seem to mind. He moves his castle to another level.
They love him. He loves them.
He lets himself dose off, content that that won’t change.