"I bet it would fit you."
Gaila nods at the bra she hadn't bothered to put back on when she'd gotten out of the shower after physical conditioning. It's a hot, muggy day out, the bra is damp with sweat, and she doesn't care for the tacky feel of it against her skin. Jim seems to notice for the first time that his fingers are playing absently over the embroidery on the cups; he blinks, drops it, picks up a pen to fiddle with instead.
"Sorry, I'm not trying to get my hands on your boobs."
She believes it--Jim's a good study partner, and when they do end up in bed together it's not until after they've gotten through the material they need to work on. She can tell that's not what's on his mind today, anyway. When Jim does want to put his hands on her boobs, he's not shy about flirting and touching her actual body. This is about the bra. His attention's been wandering back to it repeatedly since they settled in her room after classes.
"That's good," she teases, "'cause my boobs are over here. Do you want to try it on? I bet it would fit."
"Oh, I don't--"
Jim hesitates. His eyes flick to Gaila's chest, his cheeks turn a little bit pink, and Gaila grins. After a moment, Jim matches her expression.
"I don't know about that. I couldn't possibly fill it out like you do."
"No," she agrees, laughing, "not with those little titties. But we can stuff the cups! It's the band size that matters, really. I bet it would fit you."
Jim looks down at his chest, then looks at Gaila again, and she can see the considering light in his eyes. He chews on his lip--stops, puts the lid of his pen in his mouth to chew on that instead--and slowly his eyes drift back to the bra.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" Gaila prompts, and Jim nods.
Another few moments, while Gaila waits and watches quietly, and finally he drops his pen and shoves aside the textbook he's been increasingly distracted from.
"Can I try the blue one, actually?" he asks, all confidence now, as if he's flipped a switch. "The one with the lace? I think it'll bring out my eyes."
Gaila shuts her own textbook and goes to get the blue bra with the lace from her dresser.
That's new, Leonard thinks when he opens the door of his dorm to reveal it's his best friend who's been pounding on it enthusiastically, a bottle of liquor in hand.
Well. That part isn't new. Neither is the way Jim preens under the weight of Leonard's assessing gaze. Even the outfit is one Leonard's seen a hundred times if he's seen it once. Jim might tease him for his comfortable, rugged style of dress out of uniform, but at least Leonard had packed a bag with a few changes of clothes before he got on the Starfleet shuttle.
No, the plain white tee and black leather jacket aren't new--but the shape of Jim's body underneath them sure is.
Leonard arches an eyebrow as he steps aside to let Jim in.
"You lose a bet, or what?"
Jim waggles his own eyebrows in reply, which doesn't actually answer Leonard's question, but he's been friends with Jim long enough by now--he knows better than to expect an explanation. He goes to get a couple of tumblers from the cabinet instead, lets Jim pour them both a glass, and doesn't say another word about it except to reply "It's not bad," when Jim asks if he likes it.
"Alright," Jim says, smug, and gives him a pointed look the next time he catches Leonard's eyes lingering on his chest and the way the already fitted shirt stretches over the decidedly fuller curves there.
Leonard continues not to say anything about it the next time he sees Jim wearing a padded bra, and the time after that, until a few months later when his friend mentions, offhanded, that he's going shopping with Gaila to finally get a few bras of his own so he can stop borrowing hers. He purses his lips then, watches Jim thoughtfully until he leaves.
When Jim comes back from his shopping trip and insists on putting on a miniature fashion show in Leonard's dorm, parading around in each of his new bras for Leonard's approval, he sighs and breaks his silence.
"You know if you're experiencin' dysphoria, I can get you a hormone prescription, or a referral to a surgeon. All you have to do is ask."
Jim pauses. "Bones... you're a surgeon."
"I'm a trauma surgeon, Jim. Better to go to a specialist if you want nice breast construction with minimal scarring."
"... huh." For a moment, Jim looks like he's really considering it. Then he grins and shakes his hips, twirls around, adjusts the padding in the lacy pink bra he's wearing.
"Thanks, Bones. I think I'm good, though. I'm not trans, just..." He shrugs. "Well, not that trans. I can be a little trans now and then, as a treat."
Leonard snorts, but after a beat spent studying Jim's face he nods.
"Alright. Well... you ever change your mind, just let me know. I'll help with anythin' you need."
"Thanks, Bones," Jim says again, and bends down to plant a kiss on Leonard's cheek. "You're a good friend, you know that?" He even looks particularly earnest about it, at least until he seems to decide that's enough of that and slides on a cheeky grin instead. "Now tell me I'm pretty!"
Leonard rolls his eyes, but obeys. "Yeah, Jim, you're pretty."