leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

When he blinks his eyes awake, the sunlight filtering in through the new blinds of the second floor window is oppressive, there's a faint bitter taste on his tongue, and he feels sluggish and like he can't much move. He looks down in time to see a golden shirt on his torso and remembers, vaguely, that he had suggested this like the idiot he was.

You be the CMO, I'll be the Captain.

Apparently Jim's been harboring some resentment against all the hypos he's delivered over the years, because the very first thing he'd done was go for the goddamn hypo. "Son of a bitch," he slurs, trying to reach out with one hand to grab Jim by the uniform, but he slips out of the bed and falls, hard, onto the floor with a heavy thump.

"I hate you," he says, turning onto his back and staring up at the white ceiling and rubbing the entrance point of the hypo at his neck. "Why the hell did I marry a reprobate like you in the first place, huh?"

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"Oh, I've got all kinds of power," says Jim, grinning up at him, "And I am totally ready to abuse it, believe you me. But at the end of the day, it's the Captain I need to listen to. The fate of the entire ship is in his hands, you know?"

Turning his head, Jim brushes a kiss to the soft skin of Bones' inner thigh. "Even mine."

Somehow they've gone from a strange and kinky version of roleplaying each other's lives to this and hell if he knows how they got there. "Guess you're lucky you have the best Captain in the whole damn fleet," he says, half boasting, half praising.

"Yeah," says Jim, soft, "The guy wearing Command gold right now is pretty great." He closes his eyes. It's been a hard month, and even if they'd entered this whole thing under the pretense of fun, it's been nice to get out of his headspace and into someone else's for a while.

"C'mon, Captain," he says, looking up at Bones again. "Let me make you feel good. CMO's orders."

"Can't exactly make me feel good if I can't take care of my crew, can I?" he murmurs, sliding his fingers through Jim's hair and exhaling deeply so that he can caress his cheek. "Besides, you're a genius. You can give me some advice while you make me feel good, about what I should do about the fact I got it bad for someone I work with and he doesn't have a damn clue. He just keeps screwing alien priestesses every time we get shore leave."

"Disrespectful of other culture's religions. Thank god he's not the Captain," Jim murmurs, eyes closed while Bones' fingers stroke over him. "Sounds to me like he doesn't know what he wants."

Eyes still closed, Jim leans in, following the heat and the unique scent of Bones to his cock. "Some kids are like that. Dumb." Opening his mouth, Jim licks a long stripe from root to tip, savoring the flavor that bursts against his tongue. "And scared. You should let him know how you feel."

"Some kids, huh," he breathes out, his cock jumping without him willing it too. He swallows the lump in his throat, but looks down where he can match Jim's gaze with his own, leaning forward to tip Jim's chin up. "Is this the appropriate time to let him now, Doctor?"

"You're the Captain," Jim rasps out, and Christ, how did he get so wrecked between one slow suck of Bones' cock and the next? Bones' eyes glitter down at him, and Jim can't breathe. "The right time is when you say it is."

"Then get the fuck up here, Kirk," he growls, gripping one of Jim's gorgeous shoulders and hauling him closer with one good tug, until Jim's stumbling into his lap and McCoy is easing back and widening his legs, thighs spread apart. "It's you. It's always been goddamn you. Watching you at the academy," he exhales. "Jesus, you made me feel like shit, how gorgeous you were."

Jim laughs, suddenly seated in Bones' lap, feeling safe and somehow fragile, for all that he squeezes his thighs' around Bones' and grins down at him. "Not the effect I'd intended," he says. "I just wanted..." But Jim trails off, fingers caught in Bones' hair. "I didn't know how to be worthy of what I wanted. The Enterprise. Pike's faith. Yours. You."

He wraps his arms around Jim's shoulders, relaxed and casual, not sure how much he's acting anymore. "Honestly, don't think you even noticed me for the first semester," he admits, which goes both ways except that he'd heard rumors about the new whizkid on campus. "And then you started dating and I saw your type and I thought 'well, that's it for me'," he says with a derisive scoff.

"I didn't have a type," says Jim, leaning down just far enough to suck at the smooth juncture of Bones' throat. "I couldn't believe I was even there. Spent the whole first semester waiting to get kicked out, the second, waiting for you to notice I was a cornfed delinquent. You never did though."

Jim kisses Bones' cheek. "Now you are legally bound to live with the consequences."

"Your type wasn't old divorcés, I know that much," he grunts, but he's running his fingers up and down Jim's spine casually and lightly, barely doing much more than just glimpsing the skin with the pads of his fingers. "You were too damn smart for your own good. And now I'm Doctor Kirk-McCoy-Too-Egotistical-To-Live."

"Are you now?" grins Jim, back arching to chase Bones' too light fingertips. "In that case, you're wearing the wrong colors." He pushes his hands beneath the gold, feels smooth skin and muscle beneath his fingers. "Better take it off."

"I'm probably stretching the damn shoulders out, anyhow," he mutters and gives Jim a flash of a sheepish grin as he rolls his shoulders back and helps to shrug the shirt off like it isn't a big deal at all and he does this all the time. "You wanna get those clothes off, peaches? You look awful uncomfortable, all medical like that."

"Stop bragging," Jim laughs, tugging the shirt over Bones' head and grinning for the mess it makes of his hair. He pulls his own shirt off next, not bothering to make a show of it. "I don't know, I kind of liked playing doctor for a while. Especially the exam part."

And the part where he'd hypoed Bones, but Jim doesn't want to kill the mood...

"Yeah, well, remind me never to let you play field medic, you trigger-happy bastard," he growls, rubbing at the spot where Jim had stabbed him the first time around. "You know what I like best about being Captain? That I can order you to get your pants off and you'll listen."

"Hey," says Jim, inserting his face into the crook of Bones' neck, licking along where the Command collar so recently lay. "I like following your orders. Especially when it involves my pants. Also, you have only my doctorly role model to blame when it comes to the hypos."

"I don't have half your damn allergies, Captain," he moans out the last half of his sentence, when Jim's lips get on him in a place that's definitely interesting. "Shit," he growls. "Next time we roleplay, how about you can be my latest client and I'm your trick, huh?"

"You want to be my rent boy?" says Jim, mulling over the idea as he tightens his legs around Bones' waist, bringing their bodies flush together. "And I'm the wealthy banker that just wants to save you from the streets?" He whispers in Bones' ear. "I could get into that."

"Know Rogue's car?" he murmurs, breathing heavily as he bears himself down, lower against the bed. "I'd wait up against that thing in jeans too tight for man, wearing a see-through mesh shirt," he promises. "And I'd blow you in the backseat if you paid me enough, Cap."

"Fuck," Jim curses, following him down until his body is curled over Bones' on the bed. "Someone would see. And I don't think they make twink shirts in your size, Bones."

Grinding gently down, Jim adds, "Still gonna jerk off to the thought of that every shower this week."

That pulls a pleased smile from McCoy, his lips curling up warmly as he buries his fingers in Jim's hair, taking abject pleasure in the way Jim looks on top of him right now. "Someone would see, huh? Is it my imagination or are you edging away from trying to have sex with me in public, huh?"

"I'm just trying to protect your virtue," Jim murmurs, stretching out on top of Bones, their legs tangled comfortably with the ease of long habit. He shifts, enjoying the idle drag of their bodies together. "And maybe I don't like the thought of sharing so much anymore."

It's stupid, but he's almost glad to hear the possessiveness from Jim. It's not that he's insecure about this, but hell, maybe he thought that it'd be a fight to keep his interest. To reward such good words, he slips his hand between their bodies and gives Jim a long, languid, lazy stroke up and down, rubbing his thumb absently over the head of Jim's dick. "You're never gonna have to share me, Jim," he reminds him, mildly.

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