Chapter Text
I would have stayed, Jim thinks, and that heavy weight is just one of many that he carries on his shoulders, a consequence of a decision he didn’t take as a Captain but one that never leaves him.
Sometimes he’s still so surprised to be here. He stares at the stars and can’t help the rush of gratitude and humility he feels tingling under every inch of his skin.
He wonders if Pike would be proud of him now.
It’s a question he will always ask quietly, a question that will never be answered.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Bones drawls by the side of his chair, fingers curling warmly on his shoulder.
Jim smiles up at him and exhales deeply; feeling lighter, feeling like he belongs.
He’s home with his family despite everything and whether he deserves this or not he’s going to enjoy it.
“Just admiring the view, Bones, just admiring the view.”
***
During the next few weeks, the best balm for his pain is to realize—without a trace of doubt—that he’s been missed, that—perhaps—he’s even needed here.
Spock turns to look at him from his post on the Bridge for no reason whatsoever. Uhura touches his arm lightly, a smile clear in her eyes. Sulu takes every order from him with a grin on his face. Chekov is so keen about every little thing they find (‘Look, Captain, look!’). Scotty calls him to Engineering more often that’s appropriate only to pat him on the back and show him what he’s been tinkering with. Carol smiles at him and tells him about new weapon systems they don’t even have yet.
And Bones…
Bones waits. He’s patient and warm and ever-present, doesn’t push Jim to talk about all the things he’s not telling him. He waits and he stays, stays by Jim’s side without him having to ask him to.
Jim still can’t handle having him as close as they were, but he’s confident they’ll get back there in the end.
In his subtlety and empathy, Bones is the opposite of Joe.
Jim wonders what it says about him, the fact he’s able to love both.
***
Then it changes.
He can’t even think he’s dreaming because he never let himself dream of this.
***
They kiss urgently and uninterruptedly once they’re in the cozy confines of their cabin in Caracalla.
They kiss like they’ve been waiting to do it for years because they have and Jim isn’t aware of anything except their points of contact—their lips, their hands scrabbling between getting rid of layers and not letting go of each other, their tangled legs making them trip as they walk further inside—and the distant memory of another lips on his, lips less soft and gentle but tireless and loving in their own pressing, rough way.
They stumble on one of the small beds and Jim gasps as he lands on top of Bones, leaving his mouth to rest his forehead against his bare shoulder and try to quieten the deafening and accusing thudding of his heart.
There’s a loud thunder miles and miles from them. The dim lights of the room flicker and the walls quake.
Jim clings to Bones with desperate fingers, burrows into him like he wants to disappear into his chest.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the thunders and their pants filling the silence of the shack.
“Jim,” Bones calls, voice husky like Jim’s never heard it before, hands rearranging them on the mattress until they’re kneeling and face to face, his thumbs on Jim’s cheeks coaxing him to open his eyes and look at him.
The infinite understanding there subdues Jim’s heart.
“If it’s too soon, then it’s too soon. We can wait. We can go slow.”
Jim shakes his head, even as he’s back to huddle under Bones’ chin.
He knows it’s not too soon, it’s just too hard and that won’t change.
He takes a few more moments to breathe Bones in, to hear the fast pounding of his heart, to feel him pressed against him, to commit to memory all of these things he thought he was never going to get.
“We’ve done enough of that,” he says, straightening up, brushing his way back to Bones’ lips with his mouth on his neck.
He holds his gaze when Bones cups his face again, looking for something Jim hopes he can find in there.
“We’ve been going slow forever, Bones, we’ve waited long enough.”
“Are you sure?” Bones asks, kissing Jim’s jaw like he could be content just doing that all night, patience dripping of his every move doing wonders to stick a lump in Jim’s throat but release the pressure around his heart at the same time.
“I’m sure,” Jim promises, tilting his head back to also give a wordless go-ahead.
It’s the last time Bones asks.
It’s the reply Bones needed and Jim is glad he was ready to give it and give in again.
If it seems that Bones is trying to erase invisible marks from his body, Jim does nothing except encouraging him to keep going.
The marks are in his mind, in his heart and Bones can’t erase those; but he can leave more and deeper, he can take Jim over and over until he’s convinced there’s room for no one and nothing else.
***
Jim isn’t afraid of the dark. The blankness of space would be practically unbearable sometimes, if he were.
Still, Jim has never liked sleeping in total darkness. He keeps the lights at 2% in his quarters and once he’s been awake enough, he can discern outlines and even shapes in the dark if he’s close enough.
Bones’ profile is clear as day to him. If there are details the dim lights are hiding from Jim, it makes no matter to him. He can fill in the blanks, has every inch of Bones’ body seamlessly memorized.
It’s one of those rare moments in which Bones’ weird and acute Jim-senses fail him and he doesn’t realize it’s 4 in the morning and Jim is wide awake. He keeps sleeping peacefully, his arms every now and then tightening around Jim as if to make sure he’s still there, his head stretching until there’s a patch of skin he can brush with his lips as if the vague taste of Jim were enough reassurance to stop him from rousing.
Jim traces unmarred skin with the tip of his fingers in distinctive places, the motions indulgent and deliberate. Air leaves Bones’ lungs in a slightly more forceful exhale, his body curling around Jim before his unconscious mind allows him a proper sigh.
All the scars Jim isn’t touching are a good reminder of where he is and where he’s been. He’s not exactly looking for them, or confused when he wakes up or is about to fall asleep—in that traitorous state of mind in which it’d be so easy to slip—he’s remembering, making sure to cherish what he had and what he has now.
Sometimes he still misses Joe, as much as he thinks he has no right to do so because he’s back home where he belongs and Bones welcomed him back in ways Jim never even let himself hope could be possible. He hopes the universe—rather, all universes—has a way of making things work for good people and stops Joe from being as alone as he was when Jim met him.
Jim looks at Bones, heartstrings pulling painfully inside of his chest until he reaches out and gives Bones’ closed mouth a kiss, staying close to puff the air that was trapped in him. He’s risking waking him up now, but can’t bring himself to move away. He’s having one of those moments when he panics and the only thing preventing him from screaming is Bones’ warm and solid presence against him.
Jim is not afraid of the dark, but sometimes he’s afraid of this—this thing so strong but so frail at times, between them, afraid he’s going to mess it up one day, afraid there will be no amending it. Afraid he’s going to break Bones’ heart again one day, like he did when he almost stayed away from him; afraid Bones is going to break his heart and Jim will go insane grieving for the love he wasn’t able to nurture and protect.
His breathing is still closer to panting than normal breaths when he feels Bones stirring and he curses himself quietly, trying to move away from him if only a couple of inches to pretend he wasn’t—isn’t—having more than a bout of insomnia.
He ends up even closer than before, his head firmly tucked beneath Bones’ chin. He breathes the barely-there scent of sex in, tries to use that and the salty tang of Bones’ sweat to calm him down but it doesn’t work, not really.
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here, Jim,” Bones murmurs.
He’s always so easy to wake and Jim makes a face, hating himself for being so fucking needy he’s just woken his boyfriend—Bones doesn’t like it much, that term, says it cheapens what they have, maudlin old man that he can be sometimes, but Jim thinks it’s sweet and funny to tease him about it. For him, it’s special and new—in the middle of the night because he’s irrationally scared time is running out on them.
It is irrational, right? That Jim can be so terrified when they’re doing so well together?
Jim’s gasps stop, Bones’ comforting noises and words working their magic on him.
“Sorry,” he says, earnest, wetting Bones’ collarbone with damp lips, “’s too early. Go back to sleep, Bones.”
Bones of course doesn’t listen to him. Jim hears the scowl in his voice without seeing it. “How long have you been awake, Jim?”
“Just a little while. I’m fine. Go back to sleep. Please, Bones.”
Bones grunts and doesn’t feel happy to oblige if the way his whole body tenses is anything to go by, but he stops asking and merely keeps his hands drawing random, soft patterns on Jim’s back. He doesn’t dip lower and Jim tries not to be disappointed about it. Since they’re both awake, might as well have some fun before their shifts, he thinks, but Bones doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to make the most of their time.
He always knows what they both need better than Jim does, so Jim sighs and snuggles closer to him even though that’s nearly impossible given they’re already naked and pressed together.
Bones lulls them both back to sleep, his hand slowing down and almost stopping the last thing Jim feels before getting a few blessed hours devoid of any thought.
***
Jim rolls to his side and groans, frustration and discomfort saturating the noise. He dry heaves for all of two seconds before his stomach decides that oh, yes, he still has things in it that want to come say hello.
His head is throbbing, threatening to split itself into as many tiny pieces as it can if the pain isn’t halted soon. His eyes are trying to burst out of his skull. He retches with an odd detachment from the act itself, knowing in the back of his mind Bones would be worried sick and fuming if he saw Jim right now.
Thinking of Bones makes the searing pain retract its persistent claws somehow and Jim breathes through relief, grateful. He knows the situation aboard the Enterprise for Bones can’t be much different.
If Bones isn’t worried sick and fuming by now—after ten hours of them losing contact with the away team Jim and Spock were leading—well, it can’t be much longer until he is.
Today is their six months anniversary and Jim wanted to spend at least half the day with Bones doing all sort of clichéd, overly sweet things you’re supposed to do when you’re in love and loved just as much—or more, sometimes Jim suspects a lot more than what he actually gives back, a lot more than what he deserves—and now? Now he’s going to be lucky if he gets to collapse in Bones’ arms before the clock ticks midnight.
It’s just his luck.
When he finally stops retching, he has just enough presence of mind to stop himself from collapsing on top of the mess he’s made. A pair of strong hands make double-sure that he doesn’t and help him sit against cold rock. Jim finds a breathy, small chuckle in him and ignores the way it upsets his gut and head, the way it almost has him puking all over again.
“Thanks, Spock,” he croaks. Spock gives him a nod and sits on his haunches in front of him.
Jim is distantly aware, in the same way he was of the fact he was vomiting violently, that the slight tilt of Spock’s head and that particular glint in his eyes mean he’s worried and trying to find an escape route from where they are but having little success in it.
He sighs, calls it a feat when he doesn’t gag in the process, and offers his First Officer a smile while ignoring the hell out of the fact he’s hiccupping—really, embarrassing much?—and that his voice won’t stop shaking.
“Cheer up. I’m sure Scotty will whisk us out of here in no time. He’s done it before in far worse situations, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Captain,” Spock concedes, “However, as it’s already been 10.45 hours, I would infer he is having trouble either locating us or penetrating through the thick and rare rocks that surround us.”
Ah, that. Jim waves a hand in dismissal, closes his eyes against the thick nausea that still clots his throat.
They’ve been hiding in the outskirts of a canyon, hoping the really not friendly aliens don’t find them here. The same aliens that killed everyone except the ones they correctly guessed as the ones in charge, killed his whole away team without even raising a finger to do it. Jim sees his people dropping lifeless to the ground again behind his close eyelids and tells himself the noise he just made it’s just the aftershocks of his head being prodded against his will by said hostile aliens and breathes forcefully through his nose, remembering there’s no need for him to clutch all the Federation secrets that he has access to with metaphorical iron hands because there is no one trying to peel them from his mind now.
“Huh,” Jim squints at Spock, realizes he’s not the only one shaken by the ordeal. There are a few hairs out of place in his First Officer’s head and Jim almost smacks himself. How could he forget for even a moment what Spock did to get them to safety? He’d literally reduced the aliens to a shrieking mess. “I didn’t know you could do that, you know, with the mind meld? I mean, not like that. Are you okay?”
“I am fine, Captain, it is you who suffered their telepathic assault. I should have realized sooner about their abilities, about their intentions and—“
“Hey, hey now,” Jim huffs, or tries to, the hiccups still turning whatever he’s doing with his mouth to something ridiculous, “None of that. You didn’t know. You’re a touch telepath, Spock. You know what that means better than I do and my head hurts, okay? So don’t make me explain it. Just trust me, there was no avoiding this mess. We just have to make it out of it.”
Jim is almost relieved when the headache gets worse again and he finds himself flat on the ground, spitting bile with red stripes—blood, that’s just awesome, Bones is going to be thrilled—because that way he can ignore the way Spock referred to how the aliens clang to his face and dug with cruel fingers in the hopes of forcing some juicy bits of information out of him.
He won’t think about it. The dissonance of forces, of mental voices and wills inside of him. The helplessness that threatened to drive him insane when he realized there was nothing he could do, nothing to stop them because he was just Human and they were so much more. The resolve with which he vowed he was going to keep them from finding what they wanted even if it killed him. The pain that rocketed through him knowing he wasn’t going to go back to Bones as he promised and oh, how much he wanted to be wrong, how much he wanted to survive and never leave Bones alone, never be apart from him again—
He bats a hand away from his face once he’s done puking. “Don’t you dare,” he snarls, running on instinct even though there’s a tiny voice in his head insisting it’s just Spock and he wants to help and could help if Jim lets him.
He’s had it with someone else inside of his head. What’s up with everyone thinking it’s such a great idea to just shove themselves in his thoughts like that, huh?
Spock’s hand drops. Jim is vaguely aware he’s resting on something warm before he loses the battle against consciousness.
***
A familiar figure clad in black is giving Jim his back.
Jim can’t lift his gaze from his shoulders, can’t get a glimpse of his hair to know whether it’s nearly black and matted from being in a helmet almost every waking hour or brown and neatly trimmed, and the subtle differences of their bodies that were nevertheless always sharp and obvious to Jim are slipping from his grasp.
He licks his lips, tastes a name on his tongue, the first that comes to it. “Bones?” he calls out, uncertain.
“Jim,” Bones turns, a relieved smile brightening the expression that Jim can finally see and relaxing his posture. He opens his arms and Jim can’t reach him soon enough, can’t hold him tight enough to stop himself from trembling, “You’re here. Easy now, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“Bones,” Jim repeats, the name soothing as it hangs in the air around them, “Bones.”
Jim doesn’t know how long they stay like this, but Bones’ arms are warm and solid around him, a comfort he can’t relinquish yet or else he risks losing himself.
Before Jim can search for his lips, Bones is kissing him, lips sweet and untiring, coaxing him to linger.
In the back of his mind, Jim knows some part of this isn’t right, that there’s something wrong with it, but with each glide of those lips on his it gets farther from him and it’s harder to remember—to remember that—
He hears roaring—it’s Spock, Spock who’s turned practically feral in his defense of him—and he jumps to his feet, tries to help but there are arms around him already, pushing him against a chest, hands closing on the sides of his face, plowing, urging, diving into his mind and he has to be quick, has to be—
“The Woriri,” he gasps, breaking the kiss, “They got to us again.”
Bones nods, face grim, and keeps his hands firmly clasping Jim’s waist, not allowing an inch to separate them. “I feared that I’d lost you. That you weren’t quick enough to come here, away from them.”
“Here?” Jim looks around, only realizing the observation deck looks somehow odd and distorted, bathed in red hues, that it isn’t the Enterprise, not really, and the space showing outside the windows is displaying constellations that he’s never seen in his life but somehow knows that belonged to the sky in Vulcan, “Bones, where are we?”
“In a haven,” another voice replies, muffled as if it’s coming from a faraway place, “A safe haven inside your mind.”
“Spock?” Jim asks, stunned. He looks around but the deck only grows larger, swallowing its own edges and he loses Spock’s next words, strains to hear more as Bones presses him closer to his chest and growls.
“Jim, it is I. Please, let me in.”
“I told you not to come!” Bones shouts furiously, “You can’t come in, you green-blooded bastard! You’re no better than them, barging in here without Jim’s consent!”
Consent? Jim frowns. “Bones, it’s Spock. He’s our friend. Remember? Of course he can come in.”
He blinks, cranes his neck, squirming in Bones’ arms, and sees Spock right there with them, hands clasped behind his back. The door is visible and tangible behind him and something in Jim recoils at seeing it. He burrows deeper into Bones’ arms, an unbidden twinge of fear making him close his eyes.
“I can’t go out,” he stammers, “can’t let them see, can’t let them have me, can’t let them know what I know. They’d hurt our ship, the Federation—“
“Jim, you are aboard the Enterprise now,” Spock explains, “There is no longer a reason for you to remain here. And the being you are clinging to is not Dr. McCoy, it is a manifestation of both your survival and protective instincts, a part of your own self. The real Dr. McCoy is waiting for you, when you awake, and he has given me his permission to reach you in this manner.”
“You won’t take him from me,” Bones rumbles, his arms a vise around Jim’s back, “I’ll know when it’s safe and let him out, not you!”
“No, you will not,” Spock counters, “You have pushed yourself too far. Your mind was in pieces from the assault and the exertion. I have spent the last eight hours putting it back together to the best of my abilities but if you don’t open up again it will be for naught. You will not reconnect to your other senses, you will linger here uselessly and drag your body and the rest of your mind to death.”
Jim opens his eyes again and takes a deep breath. Bones’ arms around him slacken and Jim assesses him with a look, searching for that same odd feeling that stopped him from knowing if it was truly him or Joe when he first saw him.
The tank top he’s wearing is tight-fitting and black, just as his pants, looks exactly like the clothes Joe wears beneath his uniform and yet he’s not muscular enough. It could also be Bones’ preferred outfit for a quick but grueling workout in the gym and yet he’s larger than Bones is but he responded to that name despite the incongruences.
He’s not Bones—or Joe, or anybody. That’s what’s wrong with this.
Did Jim really mix the two of them to feel safe?
Jesus fucking Christ—what is wrong with him?
First things first though. He needs to get out of here.
He looks directly at—himself? But sees Bones’ warm hazel eyes instead, begging him to stay.
He shakes his head. “We have to listen to Spock. You have to let me go.”
‘Bones’ scowls but deflates, arms hanging listlessly on his sides once he stops holding Jim. “I know,” he says, doesn’t sound like Bones anymore. Jim gasps, recognizing him, steps back at the same time Joe does, “Go.”
A wail resounds around them, even though Jim has his mouth closed, and everything crumbles. Spock seizes his wrist and starts running, pulling him to the exit.
Jim dabs his face with a trembling hand and follows him.
***
The sounds begin to make sense slowly, like they’re traveling through molasses instead of air, and even uttering the smallest whine in the back of his throat takes some serious effort.
When he’s finally able to open his eyes, he gets an immediate reward in the form of Bones standing beside the bio-bed.
He looks relieved but also pissed, which is the standard combination for these kind of—sadly, not unusual—situations.
Bones looks at the monitors behind him before his eyes—professional and slightly guarded because of it, or is he mad at Jim as well? It’s hard to tell, hard to do everything right now—focus on him.
“Can you talk, Jim?” Bones asks. Jim’s tongue seems to be stuck in the roof of his mouth, but he’s working to use it. He wants to nod, but can’t, “Are you having problems moving?” this time he does nod, if only once. The effort is dizzying, but it’s paying off and Jim has no plans of stopping, “I see. Take it easy. Spock said this could happen, that you need to get reacquainted with every nerve in your body. Apparently you fried everything trying to expel the Woriri of your head. You almost fried yourself too.”
Bones is talking like he always does when Jim wakes up in Sickbay after cheating death yet again, but Jim is more aware than ever—because he can’t talk and banter with him, because he can’t diffuse the tension with a kiss and asking about the ship—that it is a show.
Bones’ casualness is a show he’s putting up for Jim’s sake and maybe—hopefully—his own as well.
Jim almost passed out in the middle of the Bridge just at the possibility of losing him one time. How can Bones take this over and over and not be destroyed by it, how can he do it without hating Jim?
His paralyzed mouth fills with a tart flavor. Jim can’t decide whether it’s guilt or pain or if he’s just about to throw up but it hurts and he can’t take it.
He gasps, finally able to control his tongue and most of his facial muscles, if the tautness on his face is anything to go by.
Knowing he won’t be able to say much, he picks something he hopes Bones understands. “I hate this,” he says throatily after a few tries.
I hate doing this to you.
Bones stares at him, stunned, before leaning down. He smiles slightly and kisses Jim’s temple. Jim feels the comfort through a veil at first, but it’s clearer with each peck Bones gives him.
“I know you do,” he whispers against his lips, voice a little shaky, and Jim knows he understands.
***
Jim is over 50 hours late for their anniversary, but he’s resolute to celebrate anyway.
Bones orders him to take a 4-rotation break and Jim assumes cooking a peach pie—or the closest thing to it he can manage with the weird pear-cherry fruits that actually taste like peaches they picked up in the last friendly world they visited—and spending a few extra minutes in the bathroom grooming can’t be taxing activities.
Choosing what to wear has him pouting not soon after that. He stares at his drawers like they’re personally making this difficult for him, when in reality it’s just that he doesn’t have many clothes besides his uniform and his dress uniform, none of which he deems appropriate for the occasion.
He sighs, frustrated. He’s not used to this. He’s never had a relationship or anything even remotely similar to it.
His dates always preferred him naked, it didn’t matter what Jim put on and he never felt like trying hard and having a special evening with any of them. He always assumed his prowess in bed would make up for anything else and he didn’t want them coming back anyway, so why bother?
Now, though, now it’s different. Jim huffs again, refusing to give up. He keeps rummaging through his meager wardrobe until his hand closes around something silky and cool to the touch in the back of his last dresser.
He remembers what it is in a second and whoops in triumph, taking out the silver garment that he wore to play Uhura’s boy toy on a planet were women ruled and men were basically eye candy. It’s designed to be revealing to the point it’s perhaps a little demeaning with a deep V neck that reaches below the navel, no sleeves and a material that clings to the body like a second skin without the help of the ties that Jim had to use on top of them and that turn the outfit—well, tacky and slightly pornographic when you’re well-endowed and have a big ass like Jim does, which none of the thin and boyish men on Jittania 3 did.
Bones and he were still just friends when the mission took place. Bones’ complaints and uneasiness with the dress have a different meaning now and Jim chuckles as he slips into it, leaving out the ties for the legs and keeping the one around his hips.
Really, this isn’t worse than their wetsuits and it’s something Bones can take off of him now, so he’s positive he’s going to like it.
There are no candles on the table, but Jim dims the lights and puts music, setting a long and quiet playlist mixing instrumental songs they both like. It’s mostly music from Earth, but there are Tellarite melodies too and Vulcan ballads that are the most beautiful things Jim has ever heard and can only listen without choking when he’s with Bones.
“You are the worst patient in the history of mankind, I swear to God,” Bones grouches after walking in and gaping at the room and at him, eyes appraising Jim from head to toe despite his glower, “Damn it, Jim, what part of you need to rest you didn’t get?”
Then he proceeds to kiss Jim silly, just like Jim was hoping he would, fingers already hooking in the loose fastening of the robe, a leg spreading Jim’s thighs to simultaneously make room for himself and push Jim to the separation between the sleeping area of their quarters and the rest of it, dinner forgotten on the table—not that Jim minds.
“The worst boyfriend too?” Jim asks playfully, bare arms lacing around Bones’ neck as he lets himself be led.
Bones nips at his neck a tad too hard, making him yelp, and Jim can feel his smirk on his skin. “And the worst Captain,” the doctor declares, tongue soothing as it laps at what has to be the biggest hickey Jim’s gotten since they’re together. He takes it as Bones really likes the Jittanian dress, “The most childish, insufferable, stubborn—“
“You just have the worst taste ever then, Bones,” Jim quips.
He peeps at Bones through his lashes, licks kiss-swollen lips.
Maybe he’s a lousy boyfriend, a not-so-good Captain as well, but damn if he’s not lucky despite of it. He’s got Bones and the best crew in the ‘Fleet to prove that.
“I wasn’t done,” Bones grumbles.
He takes Jim’s bottom lip between his own and sucks it to his mouth, making Jim gasp, and spends the next several minutes kissing him like stopping it’s not a viable option, hands roaming through Jim’s body, getting wrinkles all over the soft fabric as he clutches and gropes and pulls Jim so close to him he can feel the heat through his shirt and undershirt against his bare chest.
When he lands on their bed, bouncing slightly on his back, he lets go of Bones’ neck and sprawls on the mattress for him to stare, watching how his effort enlarges Bones’ pupils until the hazel-green in his eyes is but a memory, a tiny line of mostly jade around them.
He loves driving Bones this wild, this crazy with the need to be with him. It’s a good look on him—debauched and intense, single-minded and riveted—and feeling wanted by him is better than a drug for Jim.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs huskily, his best come-hither look firmly in place, “I’ll make the wait worth your while, Bones. Promise.”
Bones just stares, panting. “Jim.”
His name stumbles out of Bones’ lips, rushed and awed, and Jim makes a mental note to wear this thing more often as Bones kisses him again, lips overlapping hotly with his own, hands resuming their exploration, this time sneaking under Jim’s dress through the front and fingers spreading on the small of his back and then lower.
Jim moans and arches, head dropping on the bed, and he encourages Bones to keep going grinding his thigh against the protruding bulge between his legs. His arms drive Bones lower, gluing him to his chest, and his fingers are nimble in finding the hem of his uniform and tugging it up, scratching and rubbing Bones’ strong back as they go.
But they are halted in their progress, Bones’ hands taking them in his as he straddles Jim’s hips and kisses his knuckles gently, over and over, until Jim starts squirming beneath him and blushes for something other than arousal.
“As I was saying,” Bones speaks, voice hoarse but clear, “You’re the most childish, insufferable, stubborn—“
Jim groans, chagrined. “Yeah, I know I’m a pain, okay? I know! I do what I—“
“—giving, noble, brilliant, bravest man I’ve ever known,” Bones kisses the back of his palms this time and Jim ignores how loud his breath hitches with that gesture, how his eyes prickle as Bones looks adoringly at him, “You make it worth my while every single day, Jim,” Bones kisses the inner side of wrists, takes his damn sweet time to trace a path from there to his chin and then to his mouth, where he breathes, “Happy anniversary.”
And if Jim doesn’t stop trembling after that, Bones doesn’t mention it. He simply keeps taking him apart with gentle but claiming touches and slow advances, making him wonder if he’s still inside his own head making all of this up just to have something to hold on to.
By the time Bones is finally, finally pounding into him, Jim has no idea what he’s mumbling in between pants and loud moans, but whatever it is, Bones likes it so much his pace falters, hips speeding up as Jim’s legs grip him closer, guide him deeper.
Later on, when they’re both sated and clean, munching pieces of their dinner in bed with arms and legs still tangled in each other, Jim thinks he might have said I love you until his throat quit on him, until he summed it up with one last low, wrecked Bones as he came hot and deep inside Jim.
He’s not sure until they get ready to sleep and Bones curls up around him, whispering the same words on his nape in lieu of good night.
“I know,” he says, and he sounds so happy Jim can’t find it in him to feel embarrassed, “I love you too, Jim. I love you.”
Whatever he did to deserve this, Jim doesn’t know.