leftwithmybones | (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."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."