leftwithmybones | (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?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.