leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's strange to have a reminder on the island of what there used to be. He's happy with his current life, happy as hell. He's got Jim, he's got a good thing going, but then there's Madelyne walking around and while he's got no intention of wooing her, it's hard to see her. It's a picture-perfect (nearly) reminder of Jean and every once in a while, it catches him off guard. Sometimes, when he calls Jim 'darling', it sticks on the tip of his tongue and he remembers doing the same with Jean.

Hell. He still remembers that the first time he and Jean had sex was right after Jim vanished the first time. Today's one of those days -- nostalgia days, as he's starting to call them -- and though he's at the Winchester to pick up Jim from after his shift, he's wound up staring at Madelyne (who's at a distance), and trying not to let himself get overwhelmed with history.

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"Well, that's bullshit, but it's adorable that you think that," he opines, shooting Jim a dubious look as he reaches out to slide his fingers slowly through Jim's hair, looking at the contrast between fingertips and blond. "Seeing as I was twenty-three when Joanna was born and the only thing I'd done to make my Daddy proud was manage not to fuck up my residency."

"Yeah, but it's not like that's easy, being a doctor. And you had him around for advice. I've never had a kid, never had a father, never really had a family at all." Jim closes his eyes, enjoying the fingers threading through his hair. "I'd just rather wait until I'm not flying quite so blind."

"Did you think the kid was just going to spawn off some spore on your arm?" McCoy wonders warily, his fingers stilling against the warmth of Jim's scalp for a moment. "Jim, kids require more than one person. Even if it's not the parents, close friends help. You would never have been alone. You aren't, now."

And McCoy is not gonna mention that when he'd watched those videos, those things about the other universe, he saw Jim's kid. That seems a little invasive. "How about if ever we get home, I'll leave you with Jo for a week. You can learn trial by fire."

Jim opens his eyes with a smile. "I'll remember you think that method works if it ever looks like we're adopting a boy, lock you in the homestead with Max until you're an expert."

He curls his fingers around Bones' neck, drifting in to kiss him again. "I know I'm not alone. I just don't want to fuck it up when the time comes."

"You'd never," McCoy drawls lazily. "Because what happens if after that locked-up-time in the Homestead, Max and I get on better than you and he ever did," he teases, tugging Jim's lower lip between his so he can suck for a moment before releasing him. "And you won't fuck it up, JT. I wouldn't let you."

"I'll remember you said that, too," Jim replies, breath hitching for the tug to his lip. Bones' knee is still between his own, and Jim lifts his leg a little higher, half-draped across Bones' hip. "Your superior daddy skills will probably be a turn-on."

He brushes slow kisses over Jim's neck, grateful for the fact that he's starting to feel better -- the memories of Jean and Jo and Jocelyn (and Jesus, what is it with him and J-names?) fading away. "Want me to tell you about how I used to feed Jo without a shirt on? Walk her around our house in Georgia with a towel on my shoulder while she sucked on a bottle in my arms?"

"Jesus," Jim exhales, eyes closed, "Why is that so hot?" Beneath the rough words and even fiercer expressions, Jim knows Bones is a caretaker deep down, built to heal and to nurture. He's always admired it, but in this context, for reasons Jim doesn't understand but isn't complaining about, it's swiftly getting him hard. "Bet that was fucking adorable."

"What can I say, I'm sexy when caring for an infant," he blithely remarks, rolling onto his back and sliding his palm to the small of Jim's back so he can palm it wide and sure, bringing him right on top of him. "Look how I take care of you."

"Screw you," Jim laughs as he rolls, coming to rest atop Bones, a position he's not at all unfond of. "I'm not an infant. I'm a Captain, and your superior officer. One of these days I'm going to get you to call me 'sir'."

He's got an idea from that. He grips Jim by the upper arms and pushes him off of his body for a second, leaning over to grab a box from under the bed, kissing Jim's forehead firmly. "Wait here," is all he says, before he heads to Jim's bedroom and closes the door behind him.

When he comes back, he's wearing his uniform, right down to the boots -- shirt a little bigger now that he doesn't work out half as much -- and he's even gotten his hair back to semi-regulation. "Captain," he says, standing at ease. "Sir, you want it like this?"

On the bed, Jim waits with both hands behind his head, not knowing what Bones is up to, but trusting that it will be something good. Still, he's not prepared when Bones walks back through that door in his science blues.

"Do I, uh," he begins, mouth dry and back suddenly ramrod straight, and it's difficult to hear over the sudden rush of blood in his ears. "Seriously?"

Months on the bridge, he'd stood right beside that damn Captain's chair and watched as Jim charted their courses through the stars. The undershirt is sweltering and the collar of the blue shirt is starting to itch, but he keeps standing at attention, chin lifted high in the air while he tries his damnedest not to smile. "Sir, I'd like to remind you that as your Chief Medical Officer, I still wield the power to overrule you, as far as power struggles go. As well, you've yet to file the form informing Starfleet as to our physical relationship. Sir."

"Yeah, well," says Jim, scooting to the edge of the bed until his legs dangle, long body reclined back on his arms. "You know me and paperwork. We don't get along nearly as well as I do with CMOs. And as I recall, you only have the power to overrule me in case of medical emergency. Do you think you'll be working me into a state of cardiac arrest, Doc?"

He finally tears his gaze away from the wall where he's picked a mark to focus on, letting slightly disinterested brown eyes skim over Jim's face. "No, sir," he promises, brow rising in a fluid arc upwards. "I don't think your heart could take a prolonged state of cardiac arrest. I think you might start growing compromised by an overwhelming amount of adrenaline coursing through your veins, potentially a case of priapism, if I do my job correctly."

He takes a step forward, resting the boots just in Jim's eyesight. "Are you about to cause a medical emergency, Kirk?"

"Wouldn't be the worst way to go. So." Heart still hammering, Jim grins up at him, eyes sweeping over Bones' from regulation stance to his neatly parted hair. "Dr. McCoy. How far does this little show of obedience to your superior officer go?"

He takes a long look at Jim, unable to help the fondness that practically floods through him. "Starfleet gave me a lot of lessons imparting the importance of following orders. Would you like to see how well I ignore them, sir?" he asks, the wicked smirk finally showing up.

Jim laughs outloud, and he can't help but get up and trace that smirk with his fingertips. "I honestly can't decide," he says, leaning into Bones' space. "As hot as it might be to see you following orders, a naughty Bones is one I could also get behind." Now it's his grin that's wicked. "So to speak."

He can't help faltering a little at that because it's such a goddamn perfect Jim moment and he loves the man in front of him above and beyond what he ever thought possible. "If you tear my uniform off of me, you're sewing it back together," he informs him, more of a whisper than anything else.

"I couldn't damage this," says Jim, fingers creeping beneath the blue uniform and the undershirt beneath to slide along the smooth, warm skin of Bones' belly. "In fact I'm tempted to ask you to leave it on, but I'm not sure I trust myself not to rip it."

On the off-chance that Jim ever does find them the way home, the last thing he wants is to end up with a ripped and torn uniform thanks to sex. God knows the comments Sulu and Uhura would make, the bastards. He only flinches slightly when Jim's fingers touch on his stomach (he's kept in decent enough shape, but he's still a little ticklish there). "Make you a deal. Find me a backup and you can do whatever you want to this one."

"Did you seriously just put my sexual fantasies at the mercy of the clothesbox?" Jim exhales, burying his smile against the long curve of Bones' throat. "God, just let me - " he says and takes a breath, carding his fingers through Bones' neatly combed hair until it's mussed again. "Just let me kiss you in it for a while, huh?"

"Sometimes, you're so easy," McCoy admits, grabbing hold of Jim by the hips and holding on tight as he tugs him in the direction of the bed, not having to walk far before he's able to incline his body down, tipping him and straddling Jim's waist before he finds a position he's more comfortable in, both arms wrapped gently around Jim's shoulders to curl him in. "Where on the ship did you want to do this?" he asks softly. "Observation deck? Ready room?"

Jim closes his eyes with a quiet groan. "Yeah, there," he says, skimming hands over Bones' blue shoulders. "In your office, too, you always look so damn intense in there. I had some ideas about the captain's chair, too."

He leans in, words forgotten while he takes the time to kiss Jim slow and thorough, an exploration of warm skin and perfect lips beneath him. "I look damn intense in my office because I kept getting put in chase of damn intense situations where there were new alien diseases under my microscope or new injuries from some insane mission," he gripes, waving his hand in the air like a prop.