leftwithmybones | [For Jean]

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jean

[For Jean]

Sooner or later, it's gonna come up.

It's why McCoy's starting to feel like maybe he ought to be the one to broach the topic. Hell, he knows that he wants it to come up and he's got to stop being a coward about it sometime. He sighs heavily and shifts the picnic basket in his hands as he knocks on her door, hoping to god that Rachel isn't home.

Not that he doesn't like the kid, but the topic he wants to discuss with Jean isn't exactly kid-kosher. He smooths a hand through his hair in an effort to tame his nerves, aware he's not having much success at all.

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Yeah, well, there is it. McCoy makes a sheepish face as he clears his throat and tries to sidestep the awkward part of this. "Give it to you? I'm hoping I don't have to do that, really. I mean, we're both adults. But maybe I was hoping to have a talk about it?"

"No, no. You definitely don't," Jean answers with a quick shake of her head, abruptly holding up a hand to stifle any further thoughts on that subject. It had been embarrassing to talk about it in those terms when she was fifteen but now she's nearly twice that and it definitely isn't a place she wants to go.

Nodding slowly, she presses her lips together as she stares at him for a moment. "Talk about it in what way? Forgive me for being a little out of it, but my mind is definitely not going to the usual places with this."

"I just figured I wanted to be honest. I know we've been doing this longer by the day," he says, shifting with mild discomfort. "And I'm not sure how much you know about my past. Namely that before you came along, before any of this, I had a little trouble. With performing."

"Honesty's good. Very good." She hears her voice raising slightly. This is almost too awkward to bear, but he's got a point. They can't just dance around the point forever.

Jean's eyebrows raises slightly and she nods slowly. "Oh. Oh. Is everything okay now? I mean, we could..." She immediately kills that thought. Now that it is on the forefront of her mind she really doesn't want to wait. That seems like an awful idea. There is a flicker in the back of her head that tells her to just go for it. But she stamps that out. "I didn't know."

"Honestly? I have no idea if it's better now," he admits, which is part of the reason that he wants to talk about it with her. "Last time I tried was practically two years ago with a woman who's not even here anymore and hell, I don't want a repeat of that."

A lot's happened since then, though, and McCoy's hoping that 'a lot' means he's through with the issue.

There is something about saying it like that which doesn't exactly inspire confidence in Jean. If anything it is sort of alarming. Brows knitting together she nods slowly as she lets the whole thing sink in.

"I shouldn't think so," is what she finally manages to say. "Well. You're young. I'm young despite the behavioral evidence to the contrary. I think if we went for it we could get something to stick."

"Jean, honest to god," he exhales the words, giving her a look of relief tempered with a base kind of want down to his bones. "There is nothing but desire that I have for you. I would love nothing more than to sweep you off your feet after you're done with your furniture and take you to bed and show you real Southern hospitality," he jokes. "But I want it to be right."

She honestly can't help it. What he's saying is sweet and all, but there is also something so delightfully cornball about it that she laughs, covering her mouth to stifle it a moment too late.

"You mean, you don't want us to just go at it like we're seventeen and have nothing to lose? Because I think it might be better than when I was seventeen since I don't think my dad is going to walk in on us."

He grins sheepishly, aware that he's backsliding and starting to sound like the boy he stopped being a long time ago. "Hell, Jean, if you told me that you wouldn't mind, I'd tackle you right now and pretend I was seventeen all over again."

Jean had never been very good at being a teenager when she had been one. There is something about being so tangibly different that always alienated her from her peers. Of course she had had friends, even been marginally popular, but the boys had been boys and dates had never ended like that.

With a sly smile, she shrugs slightly feeling that the best way to do this is to not think about it. Thinking is just going to get them into trouble. "I wouldn't mind."

Well, this is a way to confront the issue without doing much thought. McCoy leans forward and wets his lower lip, tongue pressed down against it as he leans in closer and slides his palm up her cheek. He kisses her soft and slow to start because even if he really wants this, there's no cause to rush.

This is more like it. At the rate that they were going, Jean had been more than a little tempted to just do it herself. This was different, not simply because it had taken so long but because there was no guilt in it. No hidden wrongness which made the kiss all the more enjoyable. Leaning into the kiss, her eyes flutter close as she rests a hand on his shoulder.

McCoy's been feeling pent-up for a long while and he's not the kind of man who rushes into things, but all the same, his body is increasingly reacting and telling him that he's been waiting for this for a helluva long time. There's a small noise that catches in the back of his throat as he slides his hand around to her back, coaxing her to stand.

This is not adult-like behavior. No, it is adult behavior, though she feels quite a lot like a teenager again. It has been so long since she's done anything like. Being dead has a way of sucking the sex drive out of someone, for a lot very obvious reasons. A quiet groan escapes her throat as she runs her hands down his back, reaching to slide his shirt up with her hands as she gets to her feet. The idea of just doing it on her floor crosses through her mind. Rachel might walk in at any moment, but frankly Jean does not care.

He eases back, slipping the shirt off and tossing it to the side before replacing his palms flush against her cheek as gently as he can. He's got a surgeon's touch, precise and delicate and he kisses her as deeply as he dares before he runs out of breath. "May I?" he asks, his accent thicker as his fingers of his free hand hesitate at the hem of her shirt.

The loss of his shirt is something that Jean is more than happy with. It had been what she had been aiming for and Leonard's willingness to speed things up is definitely something she can get behind. It's been a long time since she's done this and while she might be a little out of practice, she isn't dead. At least not this time.

Nodding, she smiles placing her hand on top of his. "You better."

He doesn't need much more permission than that. He takes hold of her shirt and tears it away, hearing the slightest of rips and he only smirks at the notion that he's ripped some fabric to get closer to her skin, crouching just enough to pick her up in his arms.

"Don't laugh," he says evenly, "or chastise. I've been raised a certain way," he goes on, carrying her into her bedroom.

Absently Jean wonders if the shirt can be mended. It probably can and even if it can't she can get another one from the clothes box. It is just a shirt at the end of the day and if there is ever a good reason to lose one, this is it. Laughing as he lifts her, she nods with a smile on her face.

"I won't say a word. Except to say that I think it's sweet," she encourages with a nod. If only they had locks on the doors. That would be handy about now.

McCoy gets a little clumsy when he has to push the door open just a smidge wider, but eases them past the threshold with her still in his arms, laying her down gentle as he can. "I have to be a little presumptuous," he admits with a flash of a worried smile. "I didn't exactly bring any protection."

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[For Jean]

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