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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He breathes in and rubs a hand over his face, slumping into Jim's touch. "I was gonna try for something more," he admits. "Hell, I don't know. Maybe I was just gonna kiss you and then you'd push me away or something. That's a long time ago now." He gives Jim a sad smile as he raises his head. "Let's just go home, huh? Can we please just go home?"

"I don't want to talk about this in the cab," replies Jim. "And I can't wait until it's over. Bones." Jim takes a breath, wetting his lips. "Is that something more what you want with me, now? Is that why you kissed me back there?"

He drags his hand into his hair, swallowing hard as he feels the world spinning a little. "It doesn't matter, Jim. You're grieving. You're looking for a rebound," he points out, with a deep breath. "I kissed you because I wanted to, I wanted you," he agrees. "Only, I know it's not gonna work, not with you feeling the do, about Spock."

Ruefully, he gives Jim a long look, gaze sliding down to his mouth. "What I want doesn't matter and I'm a big enough man to admit that."

"I'm fucked up," Jim admits. "I never expected to have a husband, and I never expected I'd lose him, either. Some days it hurts so much I stay in bed, and some days it hurts so much I go out and break something, but some days it feels bearable."

Jim sighs, releasing Bones to put his own back against the wall. "Usually always with you. Look." Jim covers his eyes with his hand, willing back the six shots he's recently sucked down. "I don't know what I'm doing, okay? But if I was gonna find a rebound, I'd have found it. That life's not even what I want anymore."

McCoy slumps back against the wall with Jim, shoulder to shoulder the way they're supposed to be. He lets out a deep breath and turns to glance at him, giving him a wary look. "What is it you do want?" he asks, frightened and quiet. Because he's scared that Jim will say something and he's scared that Jim won't say that same something. "Jim, I can't put you in a position that forces you into anything. You know that, right?"

"I know," Jim murmurs, his eyes growing hot. "I want - to remember him, but I don't want to feel sick when I think of him anymore. I want to get back to feeling alive again, instead of some muted, colorless version of myself. I want to matter to somebody."

Jim breathes out. "And I want to kiss you again, to see if the way it felt before was a fluke, and I don't want it to ruin what we are, because I can't deal with losing you."

"You've always mattered to me, Jim," McCoy breathes out, surprised that Jim could think anything otherwise and it scares him, a little, to imagine that Jim might not honestly believe that. "I want to kiss you again too, but hell, I'm scared to mess up the good thing we've got going," he says with a slow, long breath.

"Only, are we just gonna keep dancing around it?" he wonders. "If we don't do anything, are we always gonna wonder?"

"If we do," starts Jim, "What then?" God, if Pike could see him now. That kid who leaps without looking isn't gone, but Jim's not going to lose Bones to his own reckless instincts.

"If we like it, what then? I don't want you to be my rebound, Bones."

He shakes his head. "No, me neither," he agrees, lifting his heel to the wall as he glances at Jim, shrugging. "So maybe that means you gotta have a rebound first, get that outta your system," he says, wary about that idea with the way his jealousy starts to get worse, but hell, he can be a grown-up if it means that if he and Jim get it together, it's right.

If. He keeps saying if. At least he doesn't think it's a 'when'.

"So maybe that's what happens first."

Jim looks back at the club, at the lights that spill out of it everytime someone opens the door, the flushed, exuberant faces of the people leaving in pairs.

"I can't," says Jim, for the thought of going back in there without Bones is awful. "I can't get with some stranger. I'm not near enough out of my head for that."

"Even if I'm there? Even if I help you get someone?" McCoy offers, every single word sounding like poison to say. He hates it, he hates it so much, but he doesn't want things between him and Jim over before it even starts. "Look, we can go back in the club and try and get you some relief, or we can just go home."

Jim looks down at his own shaking hands, and he knows that no matter what he drinks when he gets home, he's not sleeping tonight. "Come with me in there," he says. "It's the best I've felt in seven months. Just dance with me, Bones, please."

Jim's eyes are imploring in the streetlights. "If we find someone for me, we do."

He nods, knowing that he'd do whatever Jim asks of him, given that he's wrapped around Jim's finger, whether he knows it or not. "I'll do anything you want," he promises, voice rough as he knows that he'll stay close to Jim's side the whole night. "Anything you want of me, whatsoever."

Jim takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, finding the traces of his usual smirk as he turns to lead Bones back inside. "You know better than to write me a blank check," he chides, opening the door back into the light and sound. Taking no chances this time, Jim catches Bones' shoulder and steers him right into the heart of the dance floor.

McCoy opens his mouth to protest, wanting to remind Jim that they're here to find him a date, a dance, a fuck, not for them to go right back to this, but the argument isn't a very persuasive one and not one he spends a lot of time on, anyhow. Instead, he just gives Jim a wry, fond smile and slides his hand to the small of his back again.

"What's this prove?" he asks, shouting the words.

"Nothin'!" Jim shouts back, closing his eyes as Bones' clever hand guides him back into rhythm with only a touch. For once, he's not out to prove anything, except maybe that his lungs can still hold a full breath of air, that his heart can still race with something more than grief, that there's still light in the world, even if that world is only a fishbowl.

Jim slings an arm around Bones' neck and keeps him close, laughing a little as the music picks up. "Blank check, Bones. Just dance."

He twists up his lips wryly, feeling a lot more sober for the cool air that they'd gotten outside. He shifts a little into Jim's touch, now, raising his other hand to distractedly stroke his cheek, needing the warmth and the contact and the touch.

And maybe, just maybe, to remind himself that he hasn't lost Jim.

Jim leans into the touch, stubble scraping at the callouses of Bones' palm, and his smile softens. He's allowed himself so little contact for so long, not even the fists he sometimes needs for Bones' sake, and this small reminder that he's not alone feels so good. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jim knows that before the night is through, he's going to kiss Bones again.

And if it feels like the last time, the rest of their time here is going to be a lot different.

When he closes his eyes, when he drifts, he feels like he's losing himself. The lights and the sound and the feel of Jim right there with him are overwhelming. Instead of fighting it, this time, he gives in and slouches into the touch, right into Jim's space so they're flush together. He's dry-mouthed and breathless, unable to do anything but lean in.

And finally, enjoy.

Jim laughs again as Bones lets go, soft and happy, curling his fingers through the short hairs at Bones' nape. They move together, this time as easy as breathing, and when the song changes, Jim lets instinct drive him. He turns Bones, slipping an arm around his waist as he tugs Bones back against his chest, nose dragging against Bones' shoulder as Jim bends and breathes him in, sweat and bourbon and the laundry detergent they bought together.

He resists a little, shifting and twitching given that he's not used to the one being so prone. He gives in, though, because he knows Jim's too stubborn to do anything but keep pushing. So he leans back into the touch, turns his head just enough to let his breath push at the small hairs of Jim's forehead, huffing out a soft laugh that the music swallows up.

He reaches a hand back to squeeze his hip once, just a reassurance at this point.

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