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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Tease," he whispers at Jim, slinging one of his legs over the arm of the chair and inching backwards until his shoulderblades are supported by the other arm, giving Jim a curious look. "You have lube up here, Captain?"

With just enough grace to flush, Jim pushes a button beneath one of the armrests and pulls out a small tube. "I thought, you know. Just in case."

Setting it aside for the moment, he pulls Bones up. "Make out with me a while first," he says. "Check off two fantasies in one."

McCoy lightly stops Jim with a palm pressed to his shoulder and a pointed look in his direction. "In case you got lucky with me or in case you got lucky in general?" he drawls, since he can't really imagine when Jim might've snuck that up here.

"In case of any lube related emergency!" says Jim with a wide, innocent smile. "Like if Chekov got his hand stuck in his terminal again. At least, that's what he said he and Sulu were doing. Wiring problem, something about things not slotting together right?"

"You're an idiot," Bones huffs out, but he lets his hand loosen and slides his fingers into Jim's hair to pull him closer, adjusting so they can lazily make out in the captain's chair as long as they want without his back developing a painful cramp. "Lucky thing is, I still love you," he mumbles against Jim's lips.

He snorts, thinking of what Sulu or Chekov would say if they saw this.

Jim doesn't disagree, sliding onto the chair with Bones. It's a little awkward - the thing isn't meant for two bodies, and especially not two bodies doing this, but it's still pretty great.

"Wait," Jim murmurs against Bones' lips, tapping something into his console. There's an answering series of beeps, and then the view screen comes to life, awash in a dazzling simulation of distant stars. Viewed like this, it's not so sad bastard after all.

For just a second, his stomach swoops out from under him and he's left struggling for composure, but inevitably he finds it. He turns his attention back to Jim and wraps his arms snugger around his waist to keep him in and keep him close, possessive and protective. Part of him wishes they could stay like this -- grounded with only the stars in memory to guide them -- but he knows Jim would never choose that and Bones will always choose Jim. Always.

Jim settles against him, kisses turning slow and deep, the hum of a ship in flight cradling him as surely as Bones' arms. Something blooms, warm and aching in his chest, and Jim has to pull back from the kiss, take Bones' face in his hands. "Thank you," he says again. "For all of this."

"It's what you do when you love someone," is his calm and earnest response, completely honest in every way. "And I do, you know," he says, trying to skirt around the fact that he's awkward as hell when he's trying to tell Jim that he loves him. "More than...more than anyone before."

"I know," says Jim, smoothing his thumbs over Bones' cheeks. He doesn't know how he deserves it, but he believes Bones, and it means as much as the Enterprise ever could, that Bones could pledge his life to someone else and find he loves Jim even more.

"It's because I'm prettier than her," he says, and means to be cheekier, but his eyes are full of wonder.

"You're not, but good try," he replies, and he's teasing too because Jim's prettier than most without even trying. It's those damn blue eyes and his charming ego that makes McCoy want to punch him before he kisses him, but it all works together. "She never would've let me puke on her shoes and stick in my life," he admits with a light nip at Jim's lower lip.

"She doesn't know what kind of projectile fluids she's missing," says Jim with raised brows. "Well." He palms Bones erection over his boxers. "Maybe she knows some of them."

"You're such an asshole," he growls. "I should've slept with someone with a romantic bone in their body," he says, but he doesn't mean a single word of it because there's a stupid part of him that actually likes it when Jim's like this. Clearly, he's the idiot and the asshole. "She had my kid," he retorts. "Think she knows about 'em all."

"Do you think this is what most people talk about when they're about to have sex?" Jim muses, running his hands over the planes of the bare chest in front of him. "Puking and kids and fluids?"

"We're not even close to normal people," McCoy scoffs and leans in for a possessive kiss that's meant to be something beyond gentle. "What do you want to talk about? You want to talk about how good you feel inside me?"

"Uh, well, I do now," says Jim, blue eyes darkening for the kiss and the reminder of what he means to do to Bones in short order. Reaching down, he slips his hand beyond the waist of Bones' boxers to take him in a firm grip. "Is it...better than bourbon?"

McCoy screws up his face in a disbelieving look of complete 'what the hell is wrong with you' as he stares at Jim. "Don't...just don't ever talk anymore," he says, gasping the words out, but meaning them all the damn well same. He shifts his hips, rolling them forward into Jim's hand.

"What?" Jim squawks. "You love it when I talk!" He's sure of it, and he strokes Bones, determined to get him to admit it. "I'm awesome at talking, I'm a trained diplomat."

Hissing with pleasure when Jim starts to stroke, he refuses to give in to bait like that, steadfastly keeping a stubborn look on his face as he stares at Jim. "Like fucking bourbon?" he snaps, one hand clasped tight to Jim's hip to hold onto him. "What kind of idiot brain spasm told you to say that?"

"You love bourbon more than anything I've ever seen besides your daughter and sometimes me, it's a fair question, Bones," Jim insists, reaching his free hand behind to grab Bones' ass.

"What about medicine?" he demands, shifting so that Jim can get his hand up there in a more substantial way. "Research? Grits? Biscuits? My home? Thanks for making me sound like an alcoholic," he grumbles, face falling strategically enough to hopefully make Jim do something about it.

"You can't sulk with my hand on your dick," Jim replies, but he leans in, kissing the frown lines around Bones' mouth and eyes. "Okay, medicine, too, I'm just asking. If having sex with me on par with all your other favorite things? And you better like it better than biscuits."

"You're sweeter than 'em," he drawls, but his scowl softens into a smile and he leans into Jim's kiss, turning his head just enough to capture the tail end of it. "Don't worry, peaches, I love having sex with you enough to sate your giant ego. Helluva kids book," he teases hotly. "James and the Giant Ego."

"You and your peaches," Jim breathes, and though it pains him, he levers himself to stand. He can't get naked sitting down, after all. "M'wearing too many clothes," he states, tugging his shirt over his head. "And so're you, c'mon. Lose the underwear, Bones. Nakedtime on the bridge, executive order."

"Captain, yes, Captain," he replies, voice a low growl. He takes his sweet time, nudging his thumb into the hem of his boxers and inches them down just enough so that it's a slow show before he spreads his knees and cocks a brow upwards. "You fantasize about this with your yeomans?"