leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's one hell of a strange thing to look forward and hate a day simultaneously to this degree.

Hell, in the years that Jim wasn't on the island, he didn't know what to do, so he wound up getting drunk in Jim's stead. Now, with Jim back, the tradition returns. True, it's not gonna be the same, what with the lack of assholes to pick a fight with and the fact that this is the first year they're engaged and he's coping with the memories he knows Jim would rather not have. Something in McCoy says it has to be a good one, as a result.

It's why he's grateful he's got the Saurian brandy tucked away. There's two full bottles of the stuff left, but after tonight, there'll only be one. Bottle lazily clasped between two fingers, the night booked off, and wearing comfortable clothes, McCoy's ready to drink until his insides implode.

He sets the bottle down in front of Jim, tilting the bottle until the label shows. "Whatever you're doing, stop," he instructs. "We're starting your celebrations. Now."

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"Fuck the hour," McCoy grumbles, seeing as it never stopped him before from getting day-drunk and absolutely beyond the reckoning of composed. "I had five bottles, once upon a time, now I'm down to two. This one," he says, tapping the still-capped lid, "is for today. I even pre-loaded up a few hyposprays to cope with the hangover. Unless you want to suffer with it, in which case, I've got a couple extra pillows and blankets in bed."

"Can I have both?" Jim asks, deciding in the next moment that of course he can, it's his birthday, and his birthday sucks, and he means to be hungover by nightfall, at which time he will accept his hypos and start again.

He grabs the bottle to cradle between his hands. "I guess we're skipping the usually booze and brawl? Kind of in poor taste on the island."

"Both bottles? No," he replies. He might love Jim, he might want to do anything for him, but that'd be his last bottle of the brandy and he wants it for next year. "Seeing as you're a former Councilman and I'm current, I really don't think trawling the bars to find someone for you to beat up is wise, no."

"I meant the quick cure and the pillow time," says Jim, though now he wants both bottles, too, just to be stubborn. Leaning back in his chair, he shoves the sandwich away and grabs Bones by his shirtfront, tugging him down into his lap.

"C'mon. Uncork it."

"Okay, then, you can have the quick cure and the pillows, but then you owe me a favor," he negotiates, seeing as he doesn't ever give Jim anything without a trade -- bad things come out of that. He lets out a minor sound of protest (mostly from being winded at the pull) and winds up in Jim's lap, reaching forward for the booze. "I'm not too heavy for you?"

"Course not," Jim replies, fussing until he's got his head tucked beneath Bones' arm. A lapful of Bones will provide infinitely more comfort than pillows ever could. "I'm twenty seven, I've still got strong thighs." He bounces them to prove it.

"What favor?"

"Yeah, yeah, rub your age in my face some more," he grumbles, but he shifts until he's sure that Jim's not going to hurt himself supporting him like that. "And I don't know, some unnamed favor," he sighs. "An IOU," he says. "Could be anything."

"'Cause that's not dangerous," Jim laughs against his side, "An unnamed favor to be cashed in at any time. I demand a right of refusal. Also, some brandy."

He opens his mouth. "C'mon."

"It's completely dangerous, but you love me and you'd owe me," McCoy says, seeing as that sounds plenty fair to him. "And maybe I'll find you some nice Scotch, but the brandy is for special occasions," he says, sighing as he tips the bottle against Jim's lower lip. "Don't choke," is all he warns before he gives Jim his first taste.

Jim lets the brandy flow over his tongue and down his throat with a smirk, too practiced at swallowing other things to choke, and pulls back with a smack of lips.

"Indentured servitude over pillows," he says, "And on my birthday. You're a hard man, Leonard McCoy."

He holds the bottle back when he figures Jim's had enough to get him started, pouring a glass for himself because he's a little more civilized than that. "Hey, I'm not saying you have to do that on the birthday. It's in the future. Probably when I really need something."

Jim buries his groan against Bones' shoulder, the first of the brandy already seeping warm into his blood. "Fine, you own me, whatever," he says, adding with a grin, "That'll be true in a few month's time, anyway."

"Right, like I could ever own you? Like anyone could?" he scoffs, sipping back half his glass and speaking around the rim. "We'll be cohabitating and you'll be my partner, person, thing," he grumbles, waving a hand when he can't find the right word without sounding sappy.

"Ooh, person thing," Jim hums, watching Bones throw back half his glass. He wraps an arm around his waist to keep him close and then the other, keeps his face tucked in against Bones and thinks that anyone who will get him drunk on the worst day of his life year after year, who cares about him this much must own him, just a little.

"I wouldn't mind it," he says. "If you did."

"You know what I mean," he murmurs in quiet reply, filling up his glass again to try and keep pace with what Jim's doing. These nights don't tend to go so well unless they're consuming in equal amounts. "What, if I owned you? That seems pretty bad, to me. I don't want to own you, Jim. I just want to be in your life."

"You're looking at it wrong," Jim tells him. He reaches for the bottle the moment Bones puts it down again, chasing the warmth in his belly with another thick gulp.

"Less owning, more belonging. Isn't that the point of getting hitched?"

"I guess I thought the point of marriage was devoting yourself like you never have to one person. So, yeah, some belonging in there," he admits, sliding his thumb up Jim's neck in slow, steady strokes, taking care to brush over the pulse every now and again. "The sex doesn't hurt, either. Married sex is great."

"Well, I look forward to finding out," Jim says, leaning into the touch. "How about this - when we're hitched, my ass belongs to you. You can even name it, if you want."

"Name it yourself, I'm a doctor, not a poet," he growls at Jim, lifting the bottle up to his lips again, intent on making him forget about what this day means. "Besides, it's not about how kinky it can be. It's...the bond. It's having sex that means something because that's the only person you're sleeping with for the rest of your life."

Jim drinks, cups Bones' hand and keeps tipping when he thinks he'll stop, and swallows past the too sweet burn. "Never thought that'd be something I'd want," he gasps when he pulls away. "Just one. I bet nobody else did, either, I wish."

Jim sighs. "I wish our people were here to see it."

He's learned long ago that he's not allowed to criticize how much and how quick Jim drinks during one of these days. It's one day out of the rest, in the year. He can make exceptions. "Yeah, I wish they were here too. Maybe not the hobgoblin. Last thing I need is a statistic about successful marriages on my second wedding day."

Even that's a lie. After Spock's last stay on the island, McCoy would even go so far as to say they're pretty damn tight. "Nah, it'd be good for him to be there. All of them."

"Yeah, it would," says Jim, rubbing Bones' back to hear him admit it. "Of course, that would mean they'd be stuck here away from the Enterprise, too. Can't yank everyone out of the sky for my special day."

He tips his head back. "Think that counts as personal growth?"

"I think it might, but I'm not really sure how anyone tabulates that kind of thing, seeing as I still feel like an idiot half the time with a child's stubbornness. "Besides, from what I hear, we're still there. It's not like anyone's missing us and the ship's still flying."

"I'm missing them," Jim murmurs, gaze intent on Bones' profile above him. "If I was here alone...god, Bones, I'd be losing my mind. I hate that you were here for so long without me."

He takes the time to brush his fingers over Jim's jaw, idly brushing through the short strands of his hair. "You know what? There was really only one good long period of shit," he admits. "When you left and all the others did, then Jean did, too. I don't know how much you and Rachel talk, but I got...it was bad," he confesses gravely. "I'm not joking about it when I say that you coming back probably saved my life."

"Bones," says Jim, swallowing thickly, a lifetime of loss that doesn't belong only to him stuck in his throat, of lost fathers and absent mothers and children left behind. "If I ever go. You need to promise you'll take care of yourself this time. You be ready and right for when I come back."

He's not sure how he's the first one who lobbed the depressing facts over the fence, but they got here anyway. "I don't know if I can make that promise, Jim," he admits with a forced exhalation of air. "You go, you come back, and you don't remember this. And I don't care how I get you, I don't, but I'm just saying that's going to be rough as hell to get through."

"Then you make me remember." Jim twists, catching Bones by his hips and squeezing until he has his eyes. "And in the meantime, you keep it together." And maybe it's because it's Bones, or maybe it's the day, but Jim's eyes are hot when he squeezes again. "I can't stand the thought you here here, lonely, drinking like that again."

"It's kind of my method of coping, kid," he replies, but it's tempered with fondness as he leans in to press a lingering kiss to Jim's temple, one hand resting securely around the small of his back. "Which, speaking of, is supposed to be the theme of today and we're both entirely too sober."

"Then give me the bottle," Jim exhales. He still feels too warm, old grief and the threat of new loss making him anxious, nerves too raw and jumpy despite the weight of Bones pressing down on him.

"Fuck, I hate this day."

"Trust me, I know," he growls, handing over the bottle and trying to get both feet on the ground so he can stand like an adult man instead of sitting in Jim's lap like he's no more than sixteen. "That's not gonna be enough. We should head to one of the bars for a second bottle of something since I'm pretty sure we'll go blind if we mix Saurian brandy and the swill from the still."

"You gonna keep me in line?" Jim asks, mouth pulled up in a small smile that manages not to look half miserable. "Unlike home, I'll actually feel bad if I end up decking somebody here."

"Plan is, we go in and get the bottle using up as much volunteer time as we got," McCoy says, like he's been planning this day for months (and he sort of has been). "And then we bring that and the brandy somewhere isolated so you don't assault anyone and I don't throw up on their shoes."

"Drunken romp in the jungle," says Jim, smile growing. "That sounds safe." He holds out his hands, expecting Bones to haul him up. "Set phasers to stun?"

"Huh, guess that's right. This is the first year we're doing this tradition while you and I are sleeping together, huh," he drawls, shrugging seeing as it only just occurred to him and it's not like it matters. "If we're doing any drunken romping, though, we're coming back to the nice, warm, cozy bed."

He reaches out for Jim's hand, hauling him up to his feet with ease.

"Or a nice, comfy sleeping bag," says Jim, who, true to form, has already decided that all options at once are what he wants. He fits his hands back to Bones' hips. "You find me another birthday bottle, I guarantee I'll keep you warm no matter where we are, Bones."

"One track mind," he growls, but he doesn't exactly mind so much when Jim's holding him the way he is. He gives Jim a bemused look and swats his hand away, capturing the bottle in his hand. "Come on, one quick pit-stop and then we're back to drinking the day away. If we're good, we can black out for a large chunk of it."

"Maybe I'll remember this one." Sliding a hand around the back of Bones' neck, Jim brings their foreheads together. "Circumstances being what they are, there's a whole new world of distractions open to us now. Maybe I'll want to remember them."

"Well, whatever you do with me, just remember that I want to be able to walk after all this is done," he jokes wryly, leaning in to press a kiss to Jim's lips. "Got that? Walking isn't optional."

"As I recall," says Jim, "From...my next to last birthday, in fact, you fit quite neatly over my shoulder. Just don't get any drool on my ass this time. Well." Jim raises both brows. "Unless we're naked. Then you can put that mouth wherever you want it."

"Maybe I've gained weight, huh? I'm getting close to marriage, I'm allowed to let myself go now," he points out with a smirk, trying to figure out which bar to get the booze from. "And shut up about the naked part," he grumbles. "One track minded asshole."

Jim doesn't even try to look ashamed, still smirking when he slips into their closet for a sleeping bag. "Just in case," he says airily upon his return. "If I pass out, I want somewhere warm to sleep, and my preferred bed - " he says, poking Bones' side, "Will complain about my sharp elbows."

"Yeah, you have sharp elbows," he replies, agreeing without even a moment of hesitation. "Don't blame me that you don't have enough fat over a couple parts of your body." He still smirks right back at Jim, fond as ever. "You know, we could always grab a bed at the Compound temporarily?"

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