leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

When he'd agreed to this, it had seemed like a good idea. Some drinks, maybe some relaxing, and he'd end the night a little sore, a little sore-eared, but probably for the better. Now, though, he's rethinking how much of a good idea this all is. The music is loud and McCoy has the suspicion that they've stumbled into a gay bar for their second stop of the night. Not that he's upset with that, but he's a lot worse at navigating one-night-stands with men (especially when he doesn't have love spells to help him).

He's coping with alcohol -- probably not the best idea, but hell, it's working. He's managed to nab a slightly quieter section away from the crowd, adjusting his green henley as he peers out over the dancing crowd for a girl that's lurking here for Jim. He's honestly not sure he could stand watching Jim go home with another guy, especially not if he'll be a room away.

"What are you thinking?" he asks above the music. "You wanna move on?"

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Hell no he does not want to move on.

The last thing Jim wants tonight is something tender that might remind him of Spock. Why they didn't start in a place filled with men who can throw Jim around and then some, he has no idea, but now that they're here they're staying.

"Nah," he says, shrugging to carry the word when the music drowns it. "I kinda like it here." Jim grins and moves his hips a little, grinning all the wider for the appreciative glances the move draws. "Don't you wanna dance? I bet it works off as much stress as chopping wood."

McCoy gives Jim a wary look at that little hip shimmy, not as appreciative as other people seem to be, and mostly because Jim still doesn't have rhythm to save him, as far as he's concerned. "I need another few drinks before I hit that dance floor," he admits, turning to order some more shots to get him to the right place.

"I'm gonna be deaf," he mutters, giving the bartender a sympathetic look when he gets one of those 'I know what you're feeling' looks.

"Do not hang out with the bartender all night," says Jim severely. "Don't even learn his name." He takes the shots as they arrive and shove them all towards Bones. "And don't drink so much you see double, unless both the dates are for me, then see away."

McCoy makes a face, taking the alcohol. "What if I want to go home with the bartender, huh?" he complains, and is only half joking. Bartenders have great taste and have to stay sober in a mess of idiots and McCoy thinks he has it in him to pull the guy. Sighing, he takes his shot and leaves the rest standing, not sure where to even wade in.

"I didn't realize you were after a threesome tonight," he says, taking another shot because he needs it, for that work. "Shit, Jim, no beginners work for me, not at all."

"Hey I'll go where the spirit moves," says Jim, rubbing his hands together. Part of him is still unsure about tonight, but he's squashed that part as ruthlessly as he can, and Jim means to put every effort into enjoying himself.

Still, he slides a look at the bartender and frowns. The guy seems nice enough, but Bones could do way better. "What do you think?" he asks. "I haven't seen anybody for me yet."

"Hey, no picking up people who you're banning me from," McCoy protests, eyes a touch wild for the idea that he's gonna end up swarming through people here on his own while Jim goes home with the man who probably knows all the good drinks. He's opening his mouth to argue some more when someone wanders up and offers him a drink and a dance.

And sure, McCoy's not sure about the dance part, but if it comes with a drink, he's willing to give it a try. "Sure," he says, not sure what the hell he's doing, but why not? He gives Jim a shrug and lets himself get tugged into the throng of people on the floor, heart beating faster in a mix of anxiety and adrenaline.

Jim shrugs back as best he can, but it's a little gutting to watch Bones go. Maybe it's the guy who grabbed him, or maybe it's the fact that Jim's still enjoying his company, but it's not like this isn't what they're here for.

Jim pastes on a smile, turning to signal for another shot for himself while he settles on a dance partner. If there's ever been a decent way to pre-vet a man's performance in the sack, it's with dance. Taking his shot, Jim throws it back, gaze seeking out Bones on the floor.

Ages back, McCoy picked up on dancing real easily. He had a lot of family parties to start at, then Jocelyn had taken him out to enough dance clubs for him to learn. The trick is letting all the stress go, but he's got a halfway there solution for that, finishing his drink as he idly wraps his arm around the guy's waist and moves slowly, eyes downcast as he manages to pick up the rhythm, not so much grinding as he just works his hips with the beat, sliding in with the crowd.

Jim finds him settled not far beneath the pulsing lights, his gaze dropping naturally to the sway of his hips. The sight is strangely hypnotic, and Jim drifts in it for a time, not quite noticing his own quickened breath until a voice in his ear makes him jump.

"Your boyfriend's pretty good," the bartender says.

Jim raises a brow. "He's my best friend!" he shouts back. "He's helping me find a date!"

"Looks like he's finding himself one," the bartender replies, sliding another shot across the bar as if Jim needs it. He doesn't. He doesn't, but he takes it anyway, looking back to the dance floor to see what Bones' partner is doing.

McCoy has to lean in to hear anything, but the guy who invited him to dance (sandy hair, green eyes) is leaning in to tell him his name. McCoy offers his own in turn, but it's, "Leonard," that comes out, and the guy laughs slightly, makes a comment about it being an old man's name.

McCoy smiles tightly and nods, but takes it as a sign to shift, moving on to someone else beside him. Someone with blond hair, blue eyes, and maybe not so lean. Someone that doesn't seem to mind when he cuts in and doesn't even care when McCoy wants to dance with his front to the guy's back so he can just, for a minute, pretend.

He's moving.

Jim doesn't really know when or how - maybe someone bumped into him, maybe someone spoke, he doesn't know. He just knows the moving bodies are parting for him, that the lights are getting brighter, the music louder, and Bones' hips are in his hands.

He should have asked first, but Jim's body didn't see fit to ask him either, and he looks down, letting the rhythm of Bones' movements guide his own into motion. The guy over Bones' shoulder is either really jazzed about the threeway or pissed, Jim doesn't really have it in him to translate his flashing eyes right now. He just knows he's moving, and something that's been locked up in his chest for months is beginning to unravel.

Jim can breathe. Sucking a full breath of air into his lungs, Jim tilts his head, finally seeking out Bones' eyes with wonder in his own.

He frowns, not sure what the hell's happening. At first, he just feels a set of hands on his hips and he closes his eyes, moves back into the touch. That's sort of what this is about, right? His lips fall forward momentarily, but when he tips his head back and opens his eyes, the room goes dizzy for a second because he recognizes who he finds behind him.

He should have recognized the touch, but he's been an idiot, hasn't he? The guy in front of them leaves and then they're alone, and for a moment, McCoy just stops moving. He can't move. He's just still.

"Jim?" he gets out, raspy, and barely above the music.

Bones' hips are their only point of contact, and while Jim lets go, he doesn't step back, staring back at Bones with color high in his cheeks. For once in his life, he's got nothing smart to say, finally pushing a, "Sorry," out of his mouth. "I didn't mean to make you stop. I just - "

Someone wraps a hand around Jim's chest from behind, trying to draw him into a dance, but Jim resists. "I just wanted to dance with you."

"Hey," McCoy breathes out, turning around so they're face to face. He's not sure what to say, so instead he nods his head and steps closer to possessively grab Jim's shoulder to haul him close, keeping him in tight so it's clear that no one else gets Jim for this dance. "You even know how to dance?" he finally jokes, trying to lighten up the tension.

Jim sucks in a sharp breath as Bones pulls him in, stepping in close like he belongs in Bones' space. After this long together, maybe he does.

"What do you think I do at these clubs?" Jim asks, laughing faintly for Bones' completely expected lack of faith in him. Granted, he never dances for long before finding something more interesting to do with a partner, but Jim's decent enough. Moving his hips again, Jim searches for the rhythm they'd fallen into so briefly before. Maybe he's an idiot, but he wants this. "C'mon."

"I dunno, flashed those baby blues at someone until they fell into your bed?" he suggests, given that he's pretty sure that's all he'd ever seen when he'd gone with Jim to the clubs. He's breathing pretty shallow for a guy who thinks he's got everything together, a little nervous at how close they are.

And the room is still spinning, he's still drunk, and he's thinking about doing idiotic things, like putting his mouth on Jim's. "All right, all right, fine," he allows, draping his arm around Jim's neck while he moves the other hand to his waist.

The confidence in Bones' touch startles Jim, though it shouldn't. Bones has a surgeon's hands, surety and precision in the pressure of each of his fingertips, and Jim sways into him as a new song begins.

He can't look up without looking right into Bones' eyes, or at his mouth, and Jim stares at Bones' hips, letting the hand on his own guide him into motion. "You're good at this," he exhales.

"I'm pretty drunk," he confesses, given that he's pretty malleable when he's got some liquor in his system to help him along. "Everything's a lot more fluid when you're drunk," he says, staring at Jim's eyes in the light of the club and amazed at how much bluer they can get.

"You and the bartender were looking cozy," he says, into his ear. "No luck there?"

Jim shivers for Bones' rough breath in his ear, scented with the many liquors they've sucked down tonight. "Never wanted him!" he shouts back, settling into a groove with Bones that makes him wash hot all over. He looks up to see Bones' eyes blown wide and dark, and objectively he's always known that Bones is pretty handsome, but the club lights are doing something crazy to him tonight.

And so had the ax and tanktop. And so had the refrigerator bulb. Jim swallows. "He said my boyfriend had good moves, then bought me a shot!"

"Who's your boyfriend?" McCoy asks, confused about that as the jealousy flares, thinking that Jim must've been eyeing up someone real specific if the bartender had been calling him out like that. He drifts back, just slightly, and breathes in deep to calm his heart.

Between Bones' hand on his hip and arm around his neck, Jim is sliding easily into the rhythm that pumps from the club's speakers, his eyes filled with the dizzy swirls of the pulsing lights. The bass feels as if it pumps right into the heart of him, mirrored by the swing of Bones' hips, and Jim is all but mesmerized. "You!" he laughs. "He thought I was with you."

Him.

Him?

He doesn't know why that surprises him so much, but it does. He'd never even think of himself as being able to exist in the same sphere as Jim romantically like that, let alone that other people would comment on that. He stops moving for just a second, trying to process that, and swallows back the lump in his throat. "Why'd you come dance?" he asks.

Jim makes a disappointed sound that's lost to the music as Bones stills, shifting more gently in rhythm as he shrugs. "I didn't really mean to," he says through a lull in the pounding bass. "Got caught in your orbit." Slowing to a halt, Jim feels his heartrate spike despite the alcohol. "I was watching you and I didn't feel like shit for once, and I wanted more of it."

He feels like he's getting a lot more courageous by the second right now. Jim's admitted to wanting to be out here dancing with him and they've been drinking and dancing and the whole atmosphere is ridiculous right now. He feels like he can't be blamed, especially when instead of dancing more, he leans in and presses his lips to Jim's, just the once, just a shade more than chaste.

And then, on the heels of that, reality comes crashing back in and he chastises himself for being so stupid, wiping his lips with his palm and heading out of the crowd, back towards the bartender.

It's over so quick, Jim could almost think he imagined it. Except Bones pushes away so quickly that Jim reels with it, mouth still tingling as Jim finds himself suddenly alone. More hands paw at him, hips crashing in against his own, and all at once Jim can't handle it for another second. He pushes his way from the crowd, not even certain where he's going until he finds himself in a place that's always been safe.

At his side, Bones is staring at the bar. Jim breathes in deep, knowing that his eyes are wild when he says, "Bones?"

Any minute now, the adrenaline is going to hit, and Jim's brain is going to start dumping a hundred and one ways this could go wrong into his head at once, but right now he just wants to know that Bones is okay.