leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

He's so damn cold.

Every time that the winter rolls around, his bones ache right down to the very bottom of his stomach. He's bundled up in three damn layers and he's got a thick coat on and he's inside. He's inside and he's staring up at the mistletoe that's popped up in the middle of their new little townhouse -- which looks nice enough, even if it's not the home he built for himself.

And now, he's got a strange place to live, he's stuck under the mistletoe, and he's so damn cold -- the scarf around his neck only barely starting to warm him up.

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"And it's why you're going to write down everything you eat for a two-week period, so it's on record," he replies, mimicking Jim's tone as he arches a brow pointedly at him. "For me."

"No fair making me write it all down just to shame me in front of my peers," says Jim, halfway to a honest pout when his gaze drops, regarding the clasp of Bones' jeans with interest. "Everything I eat?"

"Every single thing you..." And then his brain catches up with him and he slaps the back of Jim's head. "Don't make me regret still wanting to give you that," he says, in the midst of an eyeroll. "Food! Food products that you put in your mouth on a...why do I bother?"

"It's got nutritional value," says Jim with a shrug, rubbing his head as they pass into the bathroom. Beginning to strip out of his clothes, he shows Bones a cheeky smile. "If I'm not honest I'll ruin your study."

"There are children in my class," he grumbles, following after Jim as he sheds his socks and shoes, getting down to nothing but his tight black boxers. "You're expected to show up to at least three of my classes. Nothing less," he warns, with a severe raise of his eyebrow.

"Yep," says Jim, running distracted hands over the smooth skin of Bones' torso. "Three. Whatever you want, babe." Tugging him towards the tub, Jim turns the hot water tap with a limber wriggle of his toes.

"I'll come to all of them."

"You don't want to be there for the STD week," McCoy warns, leaning over to test the temperature of the water (it's not that he doesn't trust Jim, it's just that sometimes he doesn't trust Jim). "There'll be pictures of what it does to your junk."

"My junk in particular?" Jim asks, a worried crease between his brows as he tugs his shirt over his head. "Because you said you erased those pictures. Those were years ago, Bones! I'm reformed."

"You damn well better be, because if I catch anything from you, it's going to be your ass on the couch," he says pointedly, reaching out to help rid Jim of the shirt. He reaches out, tousling Jim's hair lightly. "Not your junk, but someone's. Lots of someones, with lots of lectures about the dangers of too much sex, and unprotected, at that."

"There's no such thing as too much sex," says Jim, undoing his pants and pushing them over his hips. "Unprotected, maybe, if both partners aren't regularly tested. Fortunately."

He grabs Bones' hips to bring their bodies flush together. "That's not a problem for us."

"No, can't see how it would be, what with you and I both being monogamous, now," he murmurs low and fond, a grin spreading over his face as he moves just in the right way to push his hips against Jim's, trying to elicit one of those perfect noises from him. "Besides, thanks to those tapes, I know everything, now."

Jim closes his eyes, throat caught around a low hum of approval as Bones grinds their bodies lightly together. "Not firsthand," he murmurs, opening his eyes again to check the water. "But in this new suite, we can check all kinds of crazy bathroom sex off the list."

"Didn't realize there was a list," he says, but damn if he isn't surprised that there is one. He snorts mildly as he leans over to catch Jim on his way back up, sliding a hand around to the small of his back to hitch him in closer. "C'mon. Get the boxers off, see if the bruises are anything I ought to worry about."

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