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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"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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