Title: Morning Has Broken (Young Men's Fancies #8)
Type: NEW
Author: Jane (jat_sapphire)
Contact: jat_sapphire@yahoo.com
Series: pre-TOS
Rating: [NC-17]
Codes: K/MitchellSummary: Kirk's adventures, senior year at Starfleet Academy. The next morning after YMF7, Almost Honest.
Archive: Yes, please. Keep headings and disclaimers and what-not.
Disclaimer: Star Trek and most of the characters here are Paramount's. I invented the specific contents of this story. I don't make money at this.
Series Notes:
This is a series of stories about Kirk's early sexual and emotional life. Both he and Mitchell are portrayed as bisexual, just in case you want to bail now. Previous installments are "That Fairness Thing," "Rain Check," "Party Like It's '99," "The Trouble With Gary," "The No-Win Scenario," "Flowers for Ruth," and "Almost Honest."
Young Men's Fancies
#8: Morning Has Broken
*****
Still May, Jim's Senior Year
***There are dreams that don't let go easily, and yet don't rest in memory. It was that kind Jim woke from, very slowly, as if pulling each small piece of consciousness away from the clinging web of the dream. He was wrapped closely in bedcovers. Light lay on his eyelids. He was alone in the bed.
Why was that strange?
He opened his eyes and the view was the same as always. He took a deep breath, letting his eyes close again, wondering what time it was but not wanting to roll over and look at the chronometer. He wished the room had a window. It was easier to get up when there was sunshine, or anyway natural light.
Light. He'd left his on, apparently. Weird.
A sound in his ears. Again. Small, nagging, repeated in little bursts, a kind of tapping, then a pause, then again. Like little footsteps on some very smooth surface. Mice dancing. No, too small for that. Ants. Ants tap-dancing. He heard a longer burst of the sounds now, rippling, and he was too curious to lie still. He lifted his head carefully and forced his eyelids open.
OK, the end of the bed was just as usual. Sort of. Bedding all twisted, and this was the spread over him. The sound was coming from -
"Oh," he said aloud, though not much sound came out. Gary was at Jim's computer terminal, doing manual entry. He had on his pants but no shirt, and his hair was wildly rumpled as if he'd gone there straight from the bed. Jim's bed. Jim began to remember.
What was Gary doing to the computer?
"Gary," said Jim, sitting up.
Gary tapped at the keypad a little more before he turned. Looked at Jim, his eyes as warm as if he hadn't broken into Jim's dorm room and slammed him against a wall and gotten him into God only knew what kind of weird shit with Finnegan and some sort of vid recording of Jim and Gary having sex.
Jim remembered saying, early on, 'When this is over, I'm going to kill you,' and it looked like it was time to do it.
Except that Gary was smiling at him. "Hullo." Smiling, and getting up, and sitting at the edge of the bed, and touching Jim as if they were ordinary lovers. "You have no idea," said Gary, "how incredible you look when you're asleep." Gary's arm around him, his hand warm on Jim's back, the other hand smoothing back his hair, loving. He hadn't known Gary could be so loving. "Yeah," Gary said. "I've never, ever seen anything like it."
"Is the recorder still on, or do you want something new?" asked Jim quietly, the pain of Gary's tenderness and falsity raging in him like fire.
Gary went rigid as stone, and didn't move at all. The hand at Jim's back, the other on Jim's neck, simply rested there as if no longer animate.
It was amazing how everything Gary did had the power to move Jim so deeply.
Jim took Gary's hand off his neck, and held it when Gary would have pulled it away, and gripped Gary's other shoulder as hard as he could. "It's time you talked to me," he said.
"No," Gary said, and then added before Jim had time to protest, "it's time I showed you." After a moment he leaned in and kissed Jim, mouth closed and lips soft, almost as Jim had kissed Ruth when he knew it was the last time. Jim pulled back in a kind of panic, but Gary was looking at him so intensely that he thought it couldn't be that - and even now he didn't want it to be that. Gary ran one finger along Jim's lower lip, watching it, then looked back up into his eyes. "Uh-huh," Gary said, and then sat up and took a deeper breath, not quite a sigh. "You've got clean civvies, right? Put some on. Nothing fancy. Can I borrow a shirt?"
Too much like Gary last night, saying he wanted to touch Jim's things and wear his clothes, sounding crazy. And with Gary's shoulder under his hand Jim realized that nothing he owned would be big enough anyway. He shook his head.
"A T-shirt?" Gary persisted. "You haven't got an old stretched-out one? We can't wear uniforms where we're going."
"You've got clothes, Gary. We're not on Mars. Go to your room and get some."
A pause. "Yeah." Gary looked down at his hand in Jim's, then up at Jim's face. "I just . . . I woke up and you were right there, right with me, you hadn't even rolled away. And I thought, this is Jim, he's . . . . " He looked down again.
Jim wanted to pull Gary's head onto his shoulder. Or he wanted to kick him right off the end of the bed. Wanted to feel Gary's mouth parting under his tongue, or Gary's lip splitting under his fist. Anger flashed in his mind like a lighthouse beacon. He took his hands away and used them to pull himself backward on the sheet, and Gary looked up warily but without surprise.
Neither spoke.
Gary got up and went back to the desk. Just brushed the edge of the keypad with his fingers. "I put your access code back the way it was," he said, not looking at Jim.
"For now," Jim added.
Gary's fingertips traced the length of the pad, slipped to the surface of the desk. "Will it make a difference if I promise not to do it again?"
Jim did think, but could only say, "I don't know. Will a promise make any difference to you?"
Gary didn't move for several seconds. "Should I just go?" he asked then.
Jim imagined it. Tried to. His life back the way it was - when? October? Going to the campus pub, to parties, cruising around, waiting to be attracted?
Never finding out what had happened last night? No, impossible, he was already involved there.
So it wasn't a real option even if Gary had offered it honestly.
"Show me how you did it," Jim said at last.
Gary grinned. "It won't be hard for the man who hacked the Kobayashi Maru," he said.
It didn't even take long. Once Jim knew, once he'd been shown, he could see how vulnerable the whole system was. "This is terrifying," he said. "We should tell somebody."
"Still trying to get me thrown out?" Gary asked, but with humor.
"No, but . . . "
Suddenly Gary's face was pressed against his, and Gary's breathy laughter was right in his ear. "Oh, Jim, you're priceless," he said, "you just never stop . . . " and kissed him, on the skin between ear and sideburn, then on the cheekbone, then beside the nose, his arms sliding around Jim's bare waist, his fingers into the tops of the briefs Jim had pulled on when he got out of bed. Jim felt tickled, electrified, turned on - and completely suspicious. He got his hands on Gary's shoulders and held him off.
This close, he could see how Gary looked at his eyes one after the other, then at his lips, then licked his own, and Jim knew he had about one second to ask, "Is this for real?" Gripped harder, shook him, repeated it. "Gary. Is it? Real?"
"Yes," said Gary clearly, still looking at Jim's mouth. "Real. The realest thing. Ever." And then as Jim had known would happen, Gary's lips brushed his, pressed closer, parted, and Jim found his head tipped back and his mouth full of Gary's tongue and his throat vibrating with a wanting sound. He was still angry, he reminded himself, but his cock had reminders for him too, and he slid off the computer chair and he and Gary were on the floor and rubbing against each other as if they had both forgotten that Gary's pants and Jim's briefs were in the way.
Dimly Jim remembered that Gary had said something about getting dressed and going somewhere, something about showing Jim, and he got as far as "Weren't we -" and the feel of Gary's sliding body and the sight of Gary's throat stretched out above him simply . . . stopped Jim from caring. Instead of finishing the sentence he moved his head up and licked the throat, kissed it, and Gary's elbows gave and they rolled over. Jim straddled Gary and rubbed against him, and with each movement they both got harder and the cloth between them more damp. It felt good to do it but even better to look down at Gary and see him lose himself in the feeling. Gary moved his arms above his head and then out to the sides until he found the leg of the desk to hold on to, and just put the other palm flat on the floor. His eyes slid shut and he moaned, and after a pause moaned again, rocking his hips, moving his fingers against the floor as if trying to dig them in.
He was so out of control that Jim got a little of his own brain back, and he knelt and held Gary's hips down when he pushed up, nipped him above the waist while he was undoing the pants and pulling them down. Gary wasn't wearing underwear. Jim's cock strained anew against his briefs as he slid the waistband over Gary's hips, breathed in the scent still heavy from last night, and saw Gary's cock hard and his foreskin rolled back. Gary writhed under his hands and Jim loved it, loved every movement and every sound he made.
"Suck me again, Jim," Gary said. And of course Jim could do that without needing to move them to the bed or find the lube, without even having to take his own briefs off.
If he wanted to just do what Gary told him.
But of course it wasn't like sucking him was any sort of hardship.
While Jim was thinking, or doing what passed for thinking at the moment, he was stroking the hard length of Gary's cock, now grasping and squeezing, now just tracing the veins with his fingers or playing with the foreskin, feeling its softness, pulling it up and smoothing it back, and Gary was thrusting up into his hands and still begging, "Your mouth, Jim, suck me, Jim . . . " a sound that was undeniably sweet. Gary wanted it; Jim wanted it; what was Jim waiting for?
He rubbed the wrinkles around the foreskin's band as he lapped at the satin-slick head, then wrapped his lips around it and moved the skin over the shaft up and down as he sucked. Jim developed a rhythm, strong pulls as Gary thrust up, tonguing the head in between, and then Gary's speed increased and Jim couldn't keep up.
So he stopped. Pulled his mouth off, lifted his head, looked at Gary, who tried to follow Jim's mouth but had to drop back, groaning, "Ohhh," and then, "Don't stop." And then, "*Please.*"
Music.
"Cool down," Jim said, voice low and anything but cool. "I'm going to take your pants off." Gary reached for him and Jim retreated, beyond his fingers' touch unless Gary sat up.
He didn't sit up. Jim pulled the pants completely down and off, not fast but not too excruciatingly slowly, without letting his hands touch Gary's skin. He pushed the mound of cloth out of the way and skinned out of his briefs as well, and then sat at Gary's feet looking at him.
Gary put his forearm over his eyes. "What?" he asked.
"Don't hide," said Jim, and Gary slowly put the arm down. Jim's gaze swept from his half-lidded eyes down the damp skin of his chest and stomach to his cock, which was shrinking back into its covering skin.
"I wish I'd seen you sleeping," said Jim, and picked up Gary's ankles and moved them apart so he could kneel in between them. He was completely aware of Gary's body, the sandpaper-rough skin on the outside ankles and the smoother skin on the inside ones, under his thumbs - his fingertips slid back to the tough Achilles tendons before he set the feet down, not touching his own legs. Gary took a quick, deep breath but lay still. He was almost flaccid now. Jim ran his fingers along the warm calf muscles, in the curling hair, and saw Gary's cock move, a little. So he kept doing it, for a while, slowly.
"I like that you're not cut," he said. "You know, a girl I went down on had these amazing lips, I mean on her cunt. They were kind of like your skin. They closed around her, they even twisted a little at the end, like I bet you do when you're really not up at all."
"You may never know," said Gary. He moved his arm again, bent it under his head, and settled as if to show he was willing to watch Jim for a long time.
Jim tried not to smile but his mouth stretched a little anyway. He slid his fingers up to the backs of Gary's knees and circled in that smooth, tender skin. Jim couldn't see the little jolts through Gary's body but his knees raised a tiny bit each time. And his cock was longer, more of the head showing.
"The first guy I blew," Jim went on, feeling a strange need to establish that he had a past too, "grabbed my ears and shoved so hard down my throat that I really thought I'd vomit. It wasn't good."
"Bet not."
"I thought of it last night."
Gary's voice was gentle. "I'm better than that. When I face-fuck."
"I've taken it deep since, but it never does much for me."
"We'll see, sometime."
Jim pressed his fingers up between tendons to the muscles on the backs of Gary's thighs, as if that were an answer. And perhaps it was. And perhaps Gary's legs closing on him made another kind of promise. One or both aroused Jim, but he clamped down on it. He wasn't ready.
"Jim," Gary said, and then paused, and then asked, "Do you want me to beg again?"
"No, lie still." Not yet, he meant. He had moved up between Gary's legs, and they were snug around him now. "I waited so long to touch you. You made me wait so long." His palms moved flat on Gary's furry thighs, back and forth, over and over, and it was almost like stroking himself.
Gary let his head fall back to the floor, and his arms lay limp above it. His eyes were shut. He opened his mouth, said nothing, licked his lips. "For this," he said at last.
"Yes," Jim said. Absolutely for this, this abandonment, the way Jim's hands were the only thing that moved Gary, the way his lips hung slack and his cock stood up, the way Jim's hands could cup the bones of Gary's hips and circle there, and now, the way turning fingertips slightly toward the groin made Gary's head jerk suddenly and a new, lower groan come from his mouth. Jim bent over Gary's erection and it strained upward as if it knew he was so near. He breathed on it and Gary's stomach contracted - he was evidently trying that much not to groan again.
Jim was holding onto himself so hard that his breath was making a slight wheezing sound. He lowered his head, pulling outward on Gary's thighs, letting his hair brush Gary's cock but otherwise not touching it. Lower, and he put out his tongue and licked the nubbly skin of Gary's balls, and Gary shook with every stroke. It was like licking dried ice-cream, the way it dissolved so fast the shape of it changed with a touch, because Gary's balls were tightening, changing, hotter, every time Jim's tongue found them again. Jim slid his hands under Gary's ass and felt the muscles rigid as they could go, hard as the floor beneath them, and when he raised his head Gary made a sound that brought the hair up on the back of Jim's neck.
Neither of them could wait longer. Gary couldn't beg now, but Jim didn't need the words now anyway. He took one last look at the surrender in Gary's face and then closed his eyes and gulped over his cock, opening his throat and stretching his lips to the hair at the base, grabbing Gary's ass and rubbing himself helplessly on the carpet as Gary immediately came, jetting so far into Jim that he couldn't taste any of it, could scarcely feel more than the pulse of it and the power of having made this happen. And for now that was enough, and his own cock twitched and spasmed under him.
When it was over, Jim let Gary's cock slip out of his mouth, pushed himself up between Gary's legs, and looked down at the semen blobs and smears on the carpet and at his cock, chafed redder than in arousal by the tight-woven fiber. It did hurt, had stung at the time, but then he'd been too far gone to care.
It looked like Gary still was. Or maybe it was a kind of shame that kept him lying with his eyes shut while Jim sat up. After a few more seconds with no response from Gary, Jim got to his hands and knees and crawled up Gary's side, bent over his head, picked it up with both hands and turned it face upward. Gary opened his eyes but his expression was unreadable.
"Gary?" Jim asked. "Are you OK?"
"Do you remember," said Gary slowly, "me telling you to let me go? In Iowa?" His head was a dead weight in Jim's hands, and his arms and legs were still sprawled where orgasm had left them.
"I remember. I didn't know what you meant."
Gary blinked. "It's too late now," he said. "To let go. It was already too late then. If you let go now, Jim, I'll fall. I'll fall - " he gasped, and struggled up to clutch at Jim wildly, and Jim held on as Gary tried to press every part of his body into Jim, holding so tightly that Jim could hardly breathe, or perhaps that was only the surge of feeling taking him like a wave. Gary's face was pushing so hard against Jim's neck and collar bone that Jim could barely understand him when he said, "Don't let go."
"No," said Jim, holding him.
"Don't."
Jim grasped the back of Gary's head, put his cheek down into the hair too, and said, "No, I won't. I won't let go." Without really meaning to, he found himself rocking back and forth, not much, but enough to soothe both of them. It took a long time, though, before Gary's arms began to loosen, his muscles softened, and he gradually relaxed in Jim's arms. And then, although Jim stopped rocking, they still rested together.
Separating was like waking up, like recovering from orgasm, like returning to a daily life profoundly though invisibly changed. Jim wasn't sure which of them began to move, and it was a slow process, with pauses between each lowered arm, each shifted leg. They couldn't look at each other's faces. When both were kneeling on the carpet with a foot or so between them, Gary rubbed his face with both hands as if to dry it, though Jim knew he had not wept.
If Jim had held on to anyone that way, he'd have felt like the world's fool when he got over it, and so when Gary let his hands fall on his thighs and sat looking at the carpet, Jim wanted to make that distress go away too. He bent forward, lowering his head, and kissed the back of Gary's nearer hand, and then rocked back, got to his feet, and touched the back of Gary's head lightly as he said, "I'm hungry. Are you?"
"Yeah," Gary said without looking up.
"Well, do you want to shower? And I could look and see if I've got anything that'll go over these shoulders of yours." He just brushed one with the tips of his fingers as he spoke.
"You go first," said Gary, and his voice was sullen. "It's your bathroom."
Jim crouched down again, now behind Gary, put his lips to the nape of Gary's neck, murmured, "You're not fooling me, Mitchell," and then kissed him. Gary's whole body seemed to resonate with the slight movement of Jim's lips, and Jim touched his forehead to the same place, just for a moment, and then stood again, euphoria rushing through him like laughter. "OK," he said, "I'll go first if you want. There are some stupid games in my computer memory if you don't have anywhere new to hack into. Or I've got a chess program too, though I'm not taking that long a shower."
"OK," Gary said. Jim left him to whatever private recovery he needed.
He washed himself vigorously but impatiently. He was happy, his earlier anger only a memory, and he was certain they'd figure out something to do about Finnegan. He wanted to get out in the sunshine with Gary. He wanted to see Gary smile. There were a million things he wanted, and they could only start after he got out of this shower. He turned the water colder, reminding himself that he couldn't just leap on Gary the minute he got out there. Actually, the coolness felt good where he'd rasped his skin on the carpet.
When he turned to step out of the shower cubicle he found Gary seated on the head, waiting for him. Last night that would have felt ominous. Now Jim assumed that Gary felt the same as he did, would rather be in the same room instead of separated even by a wall.
Jim stood still, smiling, dripping, and let Gary look him over. When Gary's expression didn't change and he didn't move, Jim's smile slipped a little, but he refixed it and asked, "Hand me the towel?"
Gary passed it to him without comment. Jim put it over his head and dried his hair. At least then he didn't have to think about what was on his face, or what was on Gary's, for that matter. He turned toward where he knew the towel rack was - a habit, he always seemed to face the towel rack - and dried his chest and his arms, and as he bent forward to dry his legs he felt Gary's tongue on the small of his back, where the shower water still clung. Jim stopped dead. Gary licked twice, and smiled against his skin. Then he took the towel from Jim's loosened hands and as Jim stood up, began to dry from shoulders to waist.
Jim began to suspect that Gary meant him to be off-balance permanently. Surely that should be worrying. Yet as he stood under the terrycloth, pushed this way and that by Gary's hands, he didn't worry about it. And when Gary passed the towel to him again and stepped behind him into the shower and closed the panel between them, all without a word, Jim wasn't surprised.
Jim hadn't done it on purpose, but he suspected it was a useful attitude to cultivate. While he was with Gary. He touched the closed shower-panel with the tips of his fingers and saw Gary's vague pale shape turn toward him, the pattern of the splashing water altering, washing the panel from new angles. But neither spoke. Then Jim hung up his wet towel and got Gary a dry one, and left the bathroom.
**end of "Almost Honest"**
Continued in "How the Other Half Lives"