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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"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?"

"I never had time," Jim replies, grateful that Bones is at least making his one piece of clothing count. He shoves down his own pants. "Between alpha and sometimes beta and bits of gamma, paperwork, and running around just generally being Captainy, I fantasized more about sleeping than sleeping around. Now."

Jim raises a brow. "If you'd like to pretend to be my yeoman, I'm sure I can muster up a fantasy or two."

"Don't think I could ever manage hair like Rand," he drawls, smirking as he watches Jim strip bare. "And we can get you all the sleep in the world you want, even if you are like a goddamn limpet when you sleep. I swear, official cause of my death is gonna be you choking me."

"It's not my fault you're so comfortable to sleep on," Jim returns, spreading his arms. "Now come here. I have dirty Captain things to do to you."

"Should etch my initials into the seat of the chair so when you sit in it, you'll know who your ass belongs to," McCoy says, making a promise he has half a mind to follow through on. He's busy, then, going right into Jim's open arms with an eager bolt of desire pushing through him.

"Is it my ass in question tonight?" Jim hums, gripping Bones' bare ass with both hands as Bones eases into the embrace. "I'm not certain that it is." Nuzzling along Bones' collarbone, Jim presses wet, open mouthed kisses to the juncture of his throat, enjoying the surge of blood beneath the skin.

"No, definitely want you inside me tonight, Captain," he says, his eyes already starting to glaze over as he lets himself sink into that pleasant hum that comes with Jim's touches and kisses, enough that he closes his eyes and tips his head back to give Jim more space to work with.

Jim hums again, deeper this time, darker and a little predatory. "Thing about my Captain's chair fantasy is," he says, easing forward until he has a knee between Bones' own, "It wasn't fucking somebody in it. Bad for the back, even mine." Licking along where he's kissed, Jim tugs one of Bones' earlobes between his teeth. "It was bending somebody over it."

That's enough to get him completely hard. Between Jim's lips, his words, and his tone, he's completely lost and he lets out a helpless little whimper of a sound as he locks eyes with Jim and there's nothing about him that doesn't scream that he wants it too. "God yes, Jim," he gasps out, shifting to the edge of it. "Over the side?"

"God," Jim breathes, following to bracket him against the chair, "You're hot when you want it, you know that?" Palming Bones' dick, Jim rolls it gently against his stomach. "Over the side, sure. Or maybe the back, where we can look at the stars."

"I want you all the time, I just don't want to have a relationship based purely on sex," he grunts, making the decision before Jim even gets the chance, draping his forearms over the back of Jim's chair and cocking his hip out as he juts his ass out.

"Explains why you're hot all the time," Jim says, surveying his presented view with a pleased smile. He smooths a hand down Bones' flank and over the curve of his ass, squeezing lightly when he bends and kisses his nape. The lube is still in his other hand, but Jim doesn't uncap it just yet, kissing slowly down the length of Bones' back instead.

"It's a mixture of lust for you and sheer rage at all the incredibly idiotic things you do, like date me," he murmurs, folding his arms over the chair and leaning his chin into the folded pillow they provide. "Your mouth feels good," he praises lazily.

"Good," Jim murmurs, enjoying himself, mouthing slowly over the rich swell of his ass. It's a ridiculously nice ass, far better than regulation Starfleet pants deserve, and Jim resolves to get Bones into more worn jeans when they get back to the island.

Kneeling now, Jim smooths his hands over Bones' cheek and notes, "Could feel even better, you know."

"Hmm?" he murmurs, peering over his shoulder at where Jim's kneeling and making no moves to start screwing him over the captain's chair like he's wanted to. "How's that?"