leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

At the time, it'd seemed like a good idea. They're in some strange fantasy that's made up of moments in his head, they're home, but not home, so why shouldn't he capitalize on the fact and pack a couple bags in the night so he can whisk Jim away to Iowa and the dry-docks. If this is his head, he'll want to make Jim happy and if that's the case, then the Enterprise ought to be in there for repairs.

What he did not prepare for was the fact that even though this is in his head, his goddamn aviophobia hasn't vanished. He's currently sitting in one of the seats in the shuttle, head between his knees and breathing so hard that he thinks he'll never breathe a deep breath again. In short form: he's going to throw up and it'll be the shuttle company's fault for not letting him do it in the bathroom. Another lurch and McCoy groans heavily, sinking even further forward, like he's attempting to melt into the floor.

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"You think you're funny, but you're not," is all McCoy says as he crosses the quarters to sink into Jim's personal chair, slumping over the side. After the panic attack in the shuttle and the ensuing argument, he's got no damn energy left in him to do anything but sit there and maybe take a nap later. "You can call yourself Captain."

"Be nice or I'll get you the green protein cubes," Jim cautions, turning back to the machine to stab at it. "You do realize that my replicator doesn't taste any better than yours just because I'm Captain. They're universally disgusting."

"Right now, I'd take anything," he admits wearily, arching his brow. "Also, is that your offer to cook me something?" He tips his head back until he's staring at Jim upside down. "Because I could do with some good old-fashioned James T. cooking."

"We've have to go down to the mess," says Jim, turning with a raised brow that only arches higher when he sees Bones' slump. "I don't keep a pancake oven under my bed, Bones. And you look like you're either about to fall asleep or melt."

"It's been a long day," he says, the words sticking together as he sinks down into the chair and tries not to fall asleep. He could. He honestly could and then maybe Jim would take off or maybe he wouldn't, but at least he'd get some rest. "Panic attacks and fights don't really go hand in hand."

"Such a tender flower," Jim says, smiling as he approaches, fingers finding Bones' shoulders and kneeding hard. "C'mon," he says, and slips down to tug off Bones' shoes. "Naptime first, and good news!"

Jim grins at his bed. "Since we're in your head, my bed actually is bigger and better than yours, just as you always suspected."

He slips right back into Jim's touch, kicking off the shoes easily. "Naptime just means that you're going to fondle me while I try and sleep," he complains with a grumble, but he does manage to get to his feet, stripping off his shirt in the universal sign that he's ready to get some rest.

He looks so fucking adorable, tired and cranky with his hair all mussed, and he's traveled so far to give Jim this, Jim can't help himself. He grabs Bones by the hips and kisses him, hard at first, and then tender. "Like you'd mind," he murmurs.

He kisses Jim back out of habit and want, but he really and truly is exhausted, practically falling into Jim with the kiss. "I don't mind, but you might just have to have sex with me while I snore," McCoy murmurs, his eyes already half-shut. "Food, then sleep, and then you can do whatever you want with me."

Jim laughs, cupping Bones' ass before he releases him. "Sleep, then food, and then your ass is officially mine, Bones." Steering him towards the bed, Jim kicks off his own shoes. "Actually it's mine before that, too. Prepare to be spooned."

McCoy shifts so that his ass is well-cupped in Jim's hands. "Food," he growls, pinching the inside of his palm to wake himself up some more. "Pancakes," he drawls lazily with a smirk, his smile pressed against Jim's neck.

"You will not seriously be awake by the time it takes me to run down to the mess, make pancakes, and get back up here," says Jim, incredulous. "And you can't go with me because you're half-nude, and it would break my heart to see you put on a shirt again."

Rocking back, Jim considers. "Do I have a yeoman aboard in this fantasy world of yours?"

While Jim's talking, he's unbuckling his jeans button and he pushes them down, stepping out until he's in nothing but the black boxer-briefs he favors, crawling over the covers of Jim's bed and waving a hand absently. "If there's a yeoman on the ship during repairs, then there's one here. My imagination don't run wild," he grumbles.

"There's no yeoman," Jim groans, "Unless you mean me." Which, apparently, Bones does, his face mashed into the pillow even as Jim takes his time walking to the door.

"Okay," he says, "Pancakes," and exits into the hallway. He makes it to the mess, bangs around until he finds what he needs - miraculously, even dairy - and makes Bones a short stack, cooking bacon into the topmost cake in the form of a happy face. He puts the plate and a fork, syrup, and a glass of juice on a tray, and is on his way back when he simply...drifts off.

He's at the bridge before he knows it, tray of food propped against Uhura's communication station. There's nothing to see through the glass but Iowan countryside, but Jim can see them anyway, a million stars flying by, the hum of the ship at work all around him. With an expression cracked wide enough to be wounded, Jim sinks into the Captain's chair, mind filled with the missions of all those months before.

Edited 2012-10-16 02:41 (UTC)

It's about half an hour later that McCoy wakes up from his impromptu nap and realizes that no Jim means no pancakes. He groans and reaches for a black t-shirt, not bothering with shoes or pants. It's his own damn mind and whatever he conjures up in here can deal with his nudity. He stifles a yawn and heads for the most likely destination -- the bridge.

He leans heavily against one of the weapons stations. "What're you doing up here?" he asks, pushing himself away and perching himself on one of the arms of the Captain's chair.

Jim hears the lift swish open, but it's not until Bones speaks that he truly comes back to himself. "I dunno," he murmurs, frowning when he turns to see Bones' sleep mussed hair. "Sorry, I made your pancakes. They're over there."

He should talk with Jim, but he really is starved. He abandons his seat long enough for the pancakes, giving a delighted sound when he sees the bacon, and once he's shovelled about half the stack into his mouth, he crashes the chair again, not bothering with the arm this time, completely in Jim's lap. "I should be jealous," he says, mouth half full. "But I'm not. I don't have gears the way she does."

Jim oofs in surprise, reaching up to thumb a crumb from Bones' mouth. "Listen, I am all for you and me and a bottle of syrup, but with considerably less chewing involved," he says, shifting beneath Bones' weight with wide eyes. "Oh my god, am I going to have to play airplane to get you to take smaller bites?"

"Fuck you, I was starved," he says when he finally gets the swallow back. Like this, he's half-naked, disheveled, and has food on the corner of his lips. It's pretty much the biggest way to tell Jim that he loves him and is comfortable looking however the hell he wants around him. He adjusts slightly so he's straddling one of Jim's thighs comfortably, staring out the viewscreen. "What are you being maudlin about, darlin'?"

Jim wraps his arms around Bones, unable to see the viewscreen anymore, but it's hard to mind with Bones warm against him, bare back smooth against Jim's cheek when he sighs. "Just miss her, is all," he says, mouthing at Bones' skin now that he has the chance. "Miss travelling through space, miss discovering new worlds. I miss sitting in this chair and telling a bunch of baby geniuses what to do."

"If you're calling me a baby genius, then I need to take you in for another eye exam," is what McCoy has to say about that, craning his head back so he can look Jim in the eye. "Take her for a trip, then. You know, soon as I get out of the way and don't have to watch take-off."

"We have a navigation team for a reason," says Jim, but he's considering it, puzzling out how he can maneuver her up from the navigation console while monitoring atmospheric interference from the science station and other air traffic from communications. He needs four hands and eight eyes, needs a bridge crew, but maybe...

"If I fuck up and we crash into a cow pasture, do we die in real life?"

"If you wake me up before I get to go home and spend more time with my daughter, that might be grounds for me dumping your ass," he says, but he's not entirely serious. He reaches over for his cup of coffee and takes a long sip before setting to work on the rest of the pancakes. "What about a simulation?"

Jim shakes his head, moving with Bones as he attacks his food with renewed vigor. "Too sad bastard compared to the real thing. It's okay, it'd just make you sick again, anyway, and I'm not sure I could go up there without freaking out and warping us to the furthest part of the galaxy."

"Where's a baby Russian genius when you need one, huh?" he mumbles, taking the care to swallow the food and lick the syrup off his lower lip before he replies. He does smile fondly when Jim takes his stomach into account because no, he doesn't think he could survive a jump. "Tell you what. How about you get your Captain's uniform on and we go back to your quarters, sir?"