leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

When he wakes up, he hears two things that make him distinctly terrified for both his life and his sanity. See, thing is, on the island, he wakes up with Jim clinging to him like a lamprey and that's about normal, that's fine. He gets used to the cat in his face yelping for food. What he's not used to is his Mama's voice shouting from downstairs that breakfast is on and if he doesn't move his ass, then Jo's gonna eat all of it.

So, you know, what in hell has he been drinking? He starts awake, hair a righteous and holy mess and he stares around him -- no grogginess left, not today. There's a dozen recognizable things around him and his eyes flit between them -- his Vitruvian man poster, the skeletal poster, his favorite sports teams and the merchandise, and the assorted antiques that litter the room. He breathes out and flops back on the bed, but it's not mattress he hits.

It's Jim.

"Fuck, ow," he hisses, then stares at the door in the event his mother (or Jo, how is Jo here, it must be break, the one time he ever got her and his grandparents left no mystery as to where she'd be spending it). He bolts for the door, clad in nothing but his tight black boxer-briefs and locks it firmly, reaching over to flick Jim in the leg. "Get up," he orders. "Now."

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"It's early yet," says Jim, pulling off with a pop and stroking him slowly. "I know you've got lube in that bedside table. Lotion or something else as adorable. Before we leave here," Jim adds, pressing a kiss to the head of Bones' cock, "You're gonna tell me how you used to lay in your bed and touch yourself."

"I was a goddamn doctor by twenty-one," he growls at Jim, shooting him a disbelieving look as he slaps his hand around, looking for the hook on the drawer. "Of course I have lube," he says sharply, opening the drawer and leaving the rest of the task to Jim. He's too busy sinking into the bed like he yearns to belong there.

Jim pulls a tube triumphantly from the drawer, his grin disappearing with a frown and smack to the side of Bones' ass. "Hey, this is still a team effort, plum." Seizing Bones' hand, Jim squeezes a sizable dollop of lube onto it and guides it towards his ass. "Hurry, I hear we don't have much time."

"Asshole," he gripes, but he doesn't need a second prodding reminder before he slips his slicked up fingers into Jim's ass, taking his slow time to prepare him so he doesn't do anything like act like his ass is sore in front of his mother. He might die of humiliation from that, even if this is all in his brain.

Three fingers after the two, then he takes the time to prepare himself, as well. "You feel ready, peaches?" he snarks.

"Peaches," Jim grins, but it's dazed, his eyes unfocused for long moments after Bones pulls his fingers from him. Jim won't admit it, but fingering someone open is almost his favorite part, testing all the tight heat and imagining it swallowing up his dick. He likes it when Bones fingers him open almost as much, if only because Jim loves a good tease.

"I think I actually like that one," he says, head falling back with a sigh when he grabs Bones dick and sinks slowly down on it.

"You would," McCoy scoffs, given Jim's predilection for liking ridiculous things that aren't good for him. He's opening his mouth for further teasing when Jim sinks all that tight heat around his dick and shit, but he's never prepared for it, no matter how often they've done this. "Fuck," he growls out, louder than he ought to be. "Fuck me, you feel so good."

"Maybe later," Jim groans, teeth catching in his bottom lip when he has Bones fully inside of him, thighs trembling as they lever him back up. "You have a barn, right? We're totally fucking in the barn."

"I got a better idea," he gasps out, but doesn't tell Jim. It's a flash of a moment, but suddenly McCoy's never had a better idea in his whole life. Honestly, he needs to see it through, but he needs to keep it a surprise. He breathes in sharply, reaching up to thread his fingers through Jim's hair, the other hand sliding to his dick to pump it hard, giving him a little extra to make up for the teasing.

Jim chokes, caught between the slide of Bones inside of him and the slick hand around his dick. He rocks his hips faster, then gives up and braces both hands on the bed, fucking himself down onto Bones in time with the relentless tugs on his cock. "You gonna tell me what it is?" he gasps.

He glances over to the clock on his desk. "I'll tell you in about eight hours, okay?" he murmurs, seeing as that ought to give him enough time to book them tickets onto the next flight out to the Iowa drydocks. And hell, but right now, he really can't think because looking at Jim riding him like that, hands fully off him, it's the sexiest thing McCoy's seen this decade.

So sexy, in fact, that he devolves into a heavy round of swearing at the sight.

"Eight," Jim gasps, but he can't remember what they're talking about, the drag of Bones inside of him too sweet. From this angle, Bones' dick catches on that sweet spot on every stroke, and Jim is dizzy with it, panting with pleasure. "You," he says and tries to remember, there's something he was supposed to do, to say, "Fuck, Bones, I love your dick, Jesus."

"You and me both." Except what? What are they talking about? Shit, did he just praise his own dick? He needs to not do that, it makes him sound like an egotistical narcissist or maybe a serial killer, but none of it is good. "Fuck, Jim," he whines out, faltering from the way he's touching Jim for a moment to just give one good hard thrust, deep as he can get.

And fuck, but it makes him practically white out.

Bones drives into him deep enough that it's worth the sudden loss of his grip, and Jim grabs his Bones' hands, curls them around his own hips so Bones has the leverage to pull him down. "Plum," he remembers all at once and grins. "C'mon, plum, make me see stars."

"You asshole," McCoy accuses, but he's laughing breathlessly. He shoves at Jim's shoulder without much fire behind it, grabbing hold of Jim's hips to help bring him down until there's no space between them. "Lucky I love you," he murmurs, closing his eyes as he tips his head back, hitting the pillow and staring ceilingwards like he did so many nights when he was a teen.

"All my fantasies," he gasps breathlessly. "Never featured anyone half as gorgeous as you."

"Not surprised," Jim gasps, and means to say something even assier, but coherent thought is moving further beyond him with every stroke of Bones' dick inside him. "Fuck," Jim whines, bends until his cock is trapped between their bodies, mouth wide and panting when he presses it to Bones' shoulder. "Please, baby, please."

"Asshole," he reiterates, wishing he'd never post-coitally agreed to let Jim have that nickname to call him, but right now he can't even bear to mind given that Jim's so goddamn tight and hot and perfect in every damn way and it's true. McCoy doesn't deserve someone like this in his bed, not after he screwed everything up with Joce.

Instead of focusing on that, though, he lets himself lose rhythm, hips thrusting up whenever they damn well want, trying to seek out the climax to all of this.

"Gonna give me," Jim groans, "A new kink," mouth opening wide to fasten around the meat of Bones' shoulder with a strangled shout, his hand caught between them to stroke himself once, twice, and then he's coming, painting Bones' stomach in his childhood bed.

"Thought you already had a rainbow alphabet collection of them all," McCoy murmurs, but every third word is the only ones that are audible, given the fact that he's busy coming so hard that he sees fucking stars thinking of Jim and Jim coming and Jim coming in this bed and all over his body and holy shit, but he doesn't think he'll ever move again.

Eventually, he groans, just enough to slide them to their sides, but he doesn't dare budge out of Jim, filling him even as his hard-on subsides. "That was...something else, Jimmy."

Jim hums, brushing his nose alongside Bones' without shifting away even an inch, body boneless and content. "Jimmy, huh?" he breathes, drifting the moment he closes his eyes. "Must've done good."

"Yeah," McCoy agrees, flexing his arms and shifting so he can wrap them tightly around Jim's back, refusing to give up even a single inch between them -- not when he has Jim so warm and so close. "Yeah. You done good," he praises fondly, his mind awash with thoughts of Iowa. "Gonna get some sleep, now, Jim, because we've got a big, big night ahead of us. Promise."

"Bigger than this?" Jim asks, stretching until he can feel Bones' sure, calloused hands along the breadth of his bask, can think, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he's the one to keep Bones, no matter how great the fantasy, "I don't know, babe," he says and steals a kiss. "Be hard pressed to beat this."

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