leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

He's not sure when the hell it happened, but somewhere along the way, McCoy got so involved in his projects and Auggie and the Council and the goddamn tribbles that he stopped caring about other things. The first thing to go was the time with Jim, which he hates. The second thing is some of his shifts, which he hates.

And the third thing? The third thing is his hair. He's let it grow and grow and whereas it used to curl around his ears and that didn't matter so much, now that it's managed to grow to his shoulders and makes him look like a goddamn hippie, he cares. He has to tie it up in a ponytail just to keep it out of his face and he feels like he's sixteen and rebelling again. He doesn't have time to cope with it, so he knots it up haphazardly as he gets ready for the day while scraping his palm over his cheek's stubble, groaning when he realizes he's one long leap away from a goddamn trip to the desert for Burning Man.

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Jim grins and doesn't stop, fucks his fingers into him a few more times just to hear him groan. "So hot like this, Bones," he murmurs, stroking ruthlessly against that sweet spot even as he lifts Bones leg over his hip to spread him wide. "Tell me you want it."

"You know what the fuck I want," McCoy snaps, barely able to string the words together to be coherent, but Jim's spreading him wide and fucking him with his fingers and his hair is falling in his eyes. It's not a pretty sight, but it's a wanton one, for sure. "I want you," he growls. "Jim, god damn it, I want you so bad."

"Gonna give it to you," Jim promises, taking himself in hand to press inside Bones at last, sinking into all that tight, slicked up heat with a groan of his own. He gives Bones only the barest moment to get used to the stretch before he's pulling back again, not wasting any time in setting a slow, deep rhythm that lets him lean down, reclaim Bones' mouth to swallow all those pretty sounds.

He breathes out shakily when Jim pushes into him. It'd been a hell of a long time before they got together that he'd done this, but sliding back into old habits is fairly easy -- and it feels so damn good. He tips his chin up, meeting Jim halfway for a long kiss and threading his fingers through Jim's hair, rubbing slow circles around the sparse grey hairs that he's too chickenshit to say anything about, since he doesn't want Jim to dye them away. "Faster," he mumbles into the kiss, reaching down to shakily wrap his hand around himself.

"Yeah," Jim breathes, obliging him with a faster snap of hips, "And no." He reaches down, dragging Bones' hand away from himself to pin against the mattress. "No touching, Bones. You're coming on my cock this time. Just my cock."

He growls with frustration. He already can barely think and Jim's not exactly helping. Still, two can play dirty and a glint in McCoy's eye is all the warning Jim gets. "Yeah? You want that, Captain?" he drawls, licking his lips as he thrusts his hips up in an effort to force Jim deeper. "You want me to come all over your cock? I can suck it off too, after, if you're good, darlin'."

Jim squeezes his eyes closed against the image that paints, but he can still hear that lazy drawl, breathless but still entirely too even. "Next time," he says, "I'll let you paint me eight ways from Sunday, but this time..."

Rearing up on his knees, Jim drags Bones' body with him, ass nearly lifted off the bed so Jim can sink deeply into him, make it rough enough that all that ridiculous, sexy hair tosses about, "This time you're coming untouched. I think you can do it."

Indignation and disbelief flickers over McCoy's face and he stares at Jim, disgruntled and unable to even think about being able to do that. He doesn't get a chance to protest, though, when Jim decides to ramp up fucking him to a new position. He uses all the strength in his core to rise up, possessively wrapping an arm around Jim's neck to haul him down for a biting, angry, desperate kiss.

Jim pulls back, licks Bones' taste from bruised, red lips, and grins down at him. "You can," he says, and for a man as invested in making Bones feel good as Jim is, it's no trouble at all to find that perfect angle, drag his cock over Bones' sweet spot again and again. "I know you can."

Every thrust, every drag, it brings him closer to the edge. He digs his blunt nails into Jim's forearm, trying to reconcile what he's feeling with anything he's ever felt before, but it's new and fuck, but it's good. He gives a constrained whimper and lets his head fall back, spreading his legs a little wider. "One more time," he pleads hoarsely. "One more," he slurs.

"That's my Bones," Jim pants, and it's not easy to keep this pace, thighs burning and sweat slicking down to sting at his eyes, but Bones looks so good when he's desperate, sounds so damn sweet that it could curl Jim's toes, and he complies, thrusts into him hard and deep how he knows Bones needs it. "C'mon, babe."

They're going to make so much of a fucking mess, but at this point, McCoy doesn't give a shit because there's a blinding white heat pushing at him and he can barely see through it, definitely can't think through it, and Jim's name is on his lips. That's all he can manage; a reverent, 'god, Jim' as his fingers slip from Jim's arm, collapsing down into the sheets of the bed and he's right there on the edge, coming with a guttural groan trapped in his throat.

"Fuck."

Bones comes hard, and Jim doesn't know where to look, gaze sweeping greedily over the come painting Bones' heaving chest, the long, slick line of his throat as he throws his head back, those sturdy fingers spasming and clutching at the sheets.

"Jesus," Jim breathes, and it's too much, Bones' cries and the tight grip of his body too goddamn much, and Jim grabs hard at Bones' hips, stills, and comes, mouth open in a silent cry.

He's limbless and fairly lifeless once they've both come. He manages to find the energy to wrap his arms around Jim and draw him closer, nudging his nose against Jim's neck and breathing in his scent. "You expect a reward or something for getting me to come without a single touch?"

Jim falls against him, boneless, cheek half-smeared against Bones' shoulder as he breathes to chase the dark spots from his vision. "S'hot, Bones," he slurs, "Y'were so hot. All the reward I need."

"Yeah, well, you promised me a haircut," McCoy mumbles against Jim's skin, kissing lazily because it's easy to do and he wants to follow up what they just did with affection. "Might even have you buzz it short."

"No," Jim groans, managing to move just enough to face him, "No buzz." He lifts his hand, dragging it through Bones' hair. "Need handhold."

He groans, sensing there's going to be an argument about the length. He wants it shorter, that's all he cares about right now. "Don't care what you do to it so long as it's presentable and it's short," he mutters. "You owe me that, I hate it this long," he complains.

"It won't be in your eyes," Jim promises, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Stop frowning. You're undoing all my hard work."

"I'm not frowning, it's hair concern," he mumbles, but he makes an effort to let the worry fade away and the bliss take over, grinning as he leans into Jim's warmth, sighing when he wants more of it. "Not too long, though, that's the whole point of the cut."

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