leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

McCoy has passed righteous indignation roughly an hour ago and he's slid right into a comfortable niche where he's mad as hell and he's just not going to take it anymore. He'd been relieved and proud to get the signatures needed, but when he'd stopped to hand them in and ask how Jim's had come along, they'd told him that Jim had dropped his name out of the running.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out why, even though McCoy's got about ten on hand in order to give him an answer. He tugs at the sleeves of his long emerald green henley and paces back and forth outside of the farmhouse, trying to find some kind of sanity or sense or calm words that will help him out.

He's got nothing.

Instead, he's going to go in guns blazing. He's going to kick down the door and he's going to let himself be mad as hell. He doesn't bother knocking, using his shoulder as leverage to get the door open. "Hey!" he snaps, voice booming through the house (and probably scaring the cat while he's at it). "Jim Idiot Tiberius Kirk. Where the fuck are you?" he demands, pushing his hand heatedly through his hair one more time and managing to dislodge it from its hold.

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"I don't understand why you had to withdraw," he admits, completely honest. "You could've run and still supported me. I'm mad because I don't think I'm worth throwing the hat in," he says with a shrug, wrapping his arm comfortably around Jim's shoulders and resting his chin against the collarbone. "I need you to do me a favor though, Jim."

"It's not about what you're worth," Jim murmurs. "You make everything about that because half the important people in your life have been assholes, but you're worth everything to me, and that's not gonna change."

Sighing, Jim leans into Bones. "What favor?"

This is the hardest thing that he's had to do in a long time and it's not because he doesn't want it. He just doesn't know how to phrase it, especially when they've both agreed this ought to happen later down the line. "Say yes," is all he says, manages, clearing his throat after. "When I ask, sometime, down the line, whenever I do. Say...you know, say that word."

Jim pulls back, studying the face he knows so well, the cheeks still red from shouting, that bowed mouth pulled down in a worried frown, and Bones' eyes, warm and flecked with green, not quite meeting Jim's own.

He reaches, tipping Bones' chin up with gentle fingers, and kisses him, brief, but tender, curling his free hand so it doesn't shake. "I will."

"Good," he says roughly, still finding it more than difficult to get the words out, but he needs them to. "And I want you to know that I don't believe you're gonna leave. I don't think you're on your way out or I wouldn't even be entertaining the idea of asking," he says sharply, reaching out for Jim's free hand and sliding their fingers together, intertwining them comfortably.

Jim kisses him again and sighs, dragging his nose along Bones' cheek. "I'm not gonna leave," he repeats. "And you wouldn't be you if you didn't worry about it anyway, but I wish you wouldn't. So."

Jim pulls back. "Am I out of the doghouse yet?"

He wrinkles his nose and gives Jim an appraising look, like he's genuinely thinking about whether or not to let him out of trouble. "I don't know. I'm still pissed you're not running. I could've used you up there to settle me down, but I suppose you're doing it out of devotion and love."

"I'll still be there," says Jim, leaning their foreheads together. "You think I'm going to miss it? I'll be right in front of the stage, ready and waiting for whatever poor questioning bastard pisses you off first."

"I can take care of myself with question period," he retorts sharply, given that that's the one place he's not too worried. "You might need to haul me off when I start getting more pissed at the questions. You're good at that. You get a good circumference around my shoulders and just haul."

"I was thinking of divetackling you from the side, putting you over my shoulder," says Jim, "but I guess your way's a little more dignified. We could try both right now, though, just to be sure."

For a moment, his mouth goes dry from the suggestion and the image. Then, all he can do is let out a small sound, swallowing back a comment as he arranges his face into composure. "I could manage with the divetackling."

"I am out of the doghouse," Jim observes, sliding a hand comfortably into Bones' back pocket. He doesn't quite feel steady, a little shaken up by the conversation still, but if there's anything that will set Jim to rights again, it's surely molesting Bones.

"Right now?"

"I didn't mean divetackling right now, I thought you could be a bit more graceful," he mutters, shaking his head. "Maybe ease me down into bed, sweet-talk me by telling me all the things I ought to say in my speech. Maybe if you're a good boy, I'll even let you dress me for the speech."

"You think divetackling is more graceful than caveman carry?" Jim asks, both brows raised. "I will remember that."

Smoothing his hands over Bones' waist, now, he deliberates. "Don't wear this henley. Everyone will be consumed with lust and not listen to anything you say. On the other hand, it might win you even more votes."

"So that's what that look was," he says, the epiphany striking him hot and fast. "Jesus, and here I just thought you were having one of your little brain aneurysms," he rumbles, sliding back into Jim's touch with a content smirk. "So, wear this henley?"

"Could've been a henley induced aneurysm," Jim murmurs, a little addled for the green flecks in Bones' eyes, all the more prominent for his shirt. "Maybe save it for your acceptance speech, so I can rip it off of you after."

"You're assuming I'm gonna win," McCoy says with a heavy scowl, shooting Jim a displeased look. "What happened to not jinxing me? Huh? What happened to seeing if I even make it through speeches without puking all over some person's poor shoes."

"I'm still doing all that," Jim replies, fingers on the buttons of that henley now, undoing them one by one until he can see the jut of collarbone. "I'm not the only one who thinks you're amazing, Bones," he murmurs, dipping his head to set lips to warm skin. "You'll see."

He catches himself swaying forward into Jim's touch, catching his breath as he stares at the fingers on his shirt. It's a lot to cope with at once and his brain isn't doing the best job processing it all. "Yeah?" he murmurs. "Is everyone else going to give me this first-class treatment?"

Jim's eyes narrow. "Better not," he says, dragging his nose along Bones' collarbone, lips pressing to the hollow of his throat. "Or you really will get caveman carried off."

"Didn't know you had this much of a jealous side, Captain," McCoy murmurs with a smirk on his lips, arching a brow as he takes him in. "Don't know if I like it. You might have to convince me."

"You like it," Jim counters, straightening up. "Because you're the smartest guy I know, and - " His hands slide up Bones' sides, the cotton warm beneath his palms when he frames Bones' broad shoulders, follows the long line of his back to his ass. "My jealous side comes with perks."

His hips shift and he leans his weight into Jim, a raised brow arising as he comes closer and lets Jim touch him wherever he damn well pleases. "Yeah?" he murmurs, but his voice is rough and hoarse and there's a part of him that can't shut off the part of his mind thinking about Council. "Never had a jealous partner before."

"Never?" Jim pulls back. "I know this goes without saying, but Joce was a freaking moron." He takes another look at Bones in that henley. "Moron." Raising a brow, he adds, "You have anywhere to be right now?"

"Never thought I'd say this, but leave my ex-wife alone," he grumbles, shooting Jim a disbelieving look as he takes in a deep breath. "Thought I'd yell at you for a little while before I went back to work. I'm trying to put together a cocktail injection for infants. You want me to put that off, Captain?"