leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

He feels like a goddamn new man.

True, he's been on the mend for probably weeks now, but the tests that came back today report that his white blood cell count is finally back up to where it's supposed to be and that whatever the hell was wrecking its way through his system might be there, but with a few treatments a month, he's got it under control. McCoy goes for a haircut, buys himself some new clothes and a bottle of champagne, and then he's on his way home to tell Jim the good news.

(And he just thought of the place as home, now he knows he's thinking about sticking it out and staying with Jim)

And Jim. Well, he owes Jim a hell of a lot, which is why he's also got himself a small gift-wrapped box in his hand. All those shifts at the hospital and all that overtime along with his salary means he's got a lot of money in the bank. After all that Jim's been through because of him, the man deserves a nice present. Breathing out the last of his nerves, he knocks as he heads inside the house, butterflies slamming against his ribcage as he announces himself.

"Jim! Jim, I'm home," he calls. "Where are ya?"

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Bones has been looking healthier by the day. Jim might not be able to read everything that comes out of their tricorders, but he can see it - the brightness in Bones' eyes, the color in his cheeks, the bounce in his step. He hasn't forgotten what Bones in his prime is like, but watching him return to health is like discovering it all over again, and Jim's been walking the city with a tempered hope that maybe, maybe this might all be close to over.

He doesn't let himself get too happy or relieved, though, lest it all come crashing down again. He's in his room, reading when Bones returns and practically shouts the house down. "What?" he says, springing from the bed. "I'm right here, what's happening?" Jim pauses. "Did you just knock?"

He grins, a little wolfish, and leans back against the wall beside the door. He's been eating enough to gain back most of his weight, but he knows he'll have to stop soon if he doesn't want to keep putting it on. He holds up the champagne bottle, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I was thinking maybe you'd share a drink with your boyfriend," is his suggestion.

"And shut up, I'm polite, I was knocking real polite-like."

"Yeah, but you live here," says Jim, but he falls silent at the sight of the champagne bottle. "Should you be drinking?" he asks, which is a ridiculous question when he knows Bones has been sneaking in Bourbon the moment he started feeling better.

"I - " he starts. Even in the twenty-third century, champagne is still a victory drink. Jim's heart squeezes in his chest. "Are we celebrating?"

"Yeah, I know it's my house too," he promises, setting the gift-wrapped box on the table with the champagne so he can ditch his brand new leather jacket and drape it over the table, heading for Jim so he can pin him to the nearest wall for a kiss that's basically a challenge for Jim to push back.

Jim is still staring at that leather jacket when Bones grabs him up and kisses him with a heat he hasn't felt from him in ages, or maybe even ever. It's enough to make Jim's toes curl, and he groans into Bones' mouth, his hands tight on his hips, but stopping just short of pulling Bones even closer.

"Bones," he gasps out, pulling his mouth away. "What's gotten into you?"

"About every single white blood cell I didn't have before," he quips, though there's also a dirty joke on the tip of his tongue about the things that haven't gotten into him yet. He reaches for Jim's hand and gives him a light tug to get him to come join McCoy on the couch.

"C'mere, come sit down."

Jim follows, mute for once in his life as Bones pulls him along, but only until they reach the cushions. "What are you saying?" he asks, his voice carefully even. "They're coming back? Like for good, it's working? You're - "

Jim stops just short of you're going to be okay. "Bones, tell me."

He grabs at the box and settles down on the couch, making sure he's holding Jim's gaze as he reaches out to take hold of his fingers. "I'm good. I'm healthy as I can be," he vows. "Probably have to give myself monthly injections, but I'll take a manageable disease anyday," he vows.

"Now, here, I got you a present," he says. "Open it."

"But what does that mean for life expectancy?" Jim asks, falling silent when Bones drops a box into his lap. He smiles a little despite the rabbit quick beat of his heart. He has so many questions still, but it's just like Bones to get him something when it's really his own day. "A present, Bones?" Dutifully, Jim begins to unwrap it. "What is it?"

"Well, if anything, my health appears to be in better shape than ever," he admits. "Even the liver's acting like I haven't been drinking it to death for years after the divorce and the whole depressive episode on an island," he deadpans. "And I figured seeing as I'm a workaholic, you ought to reap the benefits."

"So I got you a motorcycle," McCoy says, gesturing to the box. "Those are the keys."

Jim's first inclination is to not believe him. This is Bones, after all, who complains daily about any number of ways Jim might get himself killed. But a pair of keys fall from the box into his hand, and Jim looks up at him with wide eyes.

"Really?" It's been ages since he'd taken a proper ride, before the Academy, even. "Bones, this is...this is a huge present!"

"Yeah, well, there's a helmet that goes along with it and a lecture about behaving yourself, but I figured you deserve it after all the hell I put you through, nearly dying like that," he drawls, draping his arm over Jim's shoulders as he brushes his thumb in circles at the nape of Jim's neck.

Jim's breath catches in his throat. His hand tightens around the keys, but Jim hardly notices, his eyes intent on Bones. "Is it really over?" he asks, hating the tremor in his voice but unable to hide it. "Just like that? One gift of some random tribble's blood and we're saved?"

"Nearly a month of trials with that tribble," McCoy feels compelled to remind Jim. "With a need for monthly injections from now until the rest of my life. But yeah," he agrees, his smile softening as he looks at Jim. "Jim, I know it's been a hell of a year, but I'm okay. I'm sticking around," is his reply. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Jim stares at him. Bones has always been a rotten liar, wearing his heart on his sleeve if not shouting it right down the hallway, and Jim can't see a hint of falseness in him now. "What if the tribble dies?" he asks. "You can synthesize this now? For good?"

"I'm pulling enough samples that I can freeze them for two lifetimes," he says, because the antibodies don't seem to go away and freezing doesn't seem to be a problem. Sure, he wishes that the nightmares and the strange burning after every injection goes away, but it's a small price to pay, as far as he's concerned.

He gets to his feet, plucking on Jim's shirt. "C'mere, let's go see your ride."

Jim is still staring, but he rises, half expecting this to somehow fall apart despite Bones' assurances. Some things truly are too good to seem true, but he follows Bones out of the house to transfer his stare to the very real motorcycle in the drive.

"You really got me one," he says, realizing the keys are still in his hand. "This is really happening."

"Yeah, well, I put you through hell and that money's just sitting in my account," he says, ambling along behind Jim with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The grey t-shirt he's wearing pulls against his shoulders and he leans against the porch as he watches Jim inspect the thing. "Just don't ever ask me to ride it with you," is all he asks.

"Can I take you for a ride?" Jim asks at the same time, laughing after when Bones denies him before he can even get the words out. "You sure?" he asks, idling closer. "You won't know if you got your money's worth until you feel it firsthand." Jim grins. "All that power vibrating between your knees."

McCoy shoots him a glare. "I just barely got myself over my aviophobia recently and now you want me to ride around town on that thing, where just the wrong bit of shifting my center of gravity could knock the both of us flying onto the pavement, road rash all over our skin?"

"How about you ride it, then you come home and ride me and describe it," he offers, thinking it's a pretty compromise.

"I'm a better rider than you give me credit for," says Jim, grinning, "At least regarding the first. The second you know I'm good for." He's a little hot under the collar, and Jim frames Bones' hips with his hands. "You're really up for that?"

"Yeah, you're a good rider. Me? I'll probably lean the wrong way around a corner and knock you off balance," he admits, leaning forward into Jim's warmth with a soft exhalation. "Yeah, I'm up for it. Jesus, it's been a long time since I've had the energy for it."

He leans forward to kiss Jim, cupping his cheek possessively tight. "I've put you through a lot of hell and for that, I'm sorry."

"God, don't apologize to me, Bones," says Jim, cupping Bones' calloused hand against his face. "You've been through hell, too, and feeling like hell on top of it, me, I just watched." His throat is tight again, and Jim swallows hard. "I just want you to be well, Bones. That's all I need."

"Well, then, you just have to look at me," he coaxes, giving Jim a fond smile. He doesn't want to make light or tease about this, but he also wants to put his heart at rest. "Jim, I promise, I feel a thousand times better than I did a month ago. I feel a million times better than I did two months ago." And he knows, he knows how close it had come, because his body had been ready to shut down and one bad cold would've taken him out.

"Wish I knew what the hell it was, but best I can tell, it's nothing from this planet. Something I picked up in space," he guesses.

"Or Darrow's idea of a fun medical adventure," says Jim. The crazy town has put them through everything else, why couldn't it be blamed for this, too? He draws a deep breath and squeezes Bones' hips.

"You sure you won't go for a ride with me?" he asks. "Maybe sit on it and let me kiss you for a while?"

He gives an exhalation of a laugh, giving Jim a grin as he looks at the bike and then to Jim. "Sure, why not perch on it and let you kiss me," he agrees, shaking his head at the idea even though there's definitely parts of him that like it. "And then you can take it for a spin around the house, get your heart pumping."

"It's already pumping," says Jim with a grin, pulling on Bones' hand to press it over his heart. Between the good news and the dirty way Bones has been talking, he's in no danger of remaining calm. "C'mon." He grabs Bones by the hem of his jeans and tugs him towards the bike. "Can you straddle it?"

"Well, I mean, I've straddled better things," he says with a glance down to Jim's lap. He smirks as he moves towards the bike, his t-shirt straining his shoulders as he adjusts and straddles it so that he's facing Jim, his own heart beating away like crazy.

"You joining me or what?"

Jim grins and nudges Bones' shoulder. "Scoot up a bit. I think I'm flexible enough to crawl in, but maybe you forgot after all these months as a monk." It's a tease, and Jim softens it by taking Bones' face in his hands and kissing him deeply.

"Right, because I was being a monk will..." he's shut up when Jim leans in and kisses him, shifting up on the bike to be exactly where Jim wants him to be, grabbing his cheek as hard as he can as he rocks forward to try and make up for lost time, all in this one kiss.

It's a hefty goal, but hell, why not reach for the stars?

Jim groans, swinging himself into a straddle facing Bones on the seat so he can get even closer to him. He started sweet, but now that they've begun, Jim's kisses are hungry and eager, ready to make up for all the kisses Bones has been too sick to share for so long.

"Fuck," he growls into the kiss, grasping at Jim's shirt so he can get a good hold on it and use it as leverage in order to get closer, damn determined to feel everything that he can. "This is a goddamn turn-on for you," he mutters, but it's in the middle of a filthy, deep kiss that has more teeth and tongue than McCoy's used to.

"My hot, healthy boyfriend sitting on the back of my motorcycle and letting me feel him up?" asks Jim against Bones' mouth, his hands down the back of Bones' jeans. "That's been a fantasy since I was fourteen, Bones."

"Oh, well, far be it for me to ruin your fantasy," he drawls, his eyebrow cocking upwards before he leans in for another kiss, rocking back against those hands in his jeans. Breathless, he tears himself away when he needs to get some oxygen in.

"We're not getting naked out here," he warns.

"No?" asks Jim, fastening his mouth to Bones' throat when he pulls away to breathe. He pushes his hands deeper past the hem of Bones' jeans, helping himself to two handfuls of his ass. "I mean, I am the landowner. Technically anything I'm cool with short of murder flies."

"Yeah? Well, as your boyfriend, I object," is his grumpy response despite the fact that Jim's working hard to make him melt with his mouth doing such pretty things as that. He breathes in sharply and leans forward into Jim's touch, grinding back against his palms. "No secret cameras out here? No pesky neighbors?"

"Not for miles, and you know I have proximity alarms set just to be a shit," Jim informs him, pulling Bones closer by the seat of his pants. "You feel well enough to get off twice?" he asks against Bones' ear. "I could suck you off before I ride you. Take the edge off."

His breath is already a little ragged and he's not the one who usually folds on a dare like that, but it's been so damn long and every part of him is pent up and wanting something to feel. "How about we both jerk each other off," he suggests with a smirk, "and first one to get hard gets to fuck the other."

As if it isn't going to be Jim, but it's got a challenge to it.

Jim sits back. "I've been hard since you sat on the motorcycle, Bones," he says, licking his lips. "We're gonna get this thing real dirty right out of the gate, which I'm not exactly complaining about, but I hope you got some paint wax to go with the keys."

"Well, I need to leave you some things to buy for it," is his reply, straddling as he leans back and takes advantage of the fact that Jim apparently likes the way he looks on one of these things. He'd kick a foot up, but he's sort of worried that he might fall on his ass.

And that just ain't sexy in the least.

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