YOU
Title: YOU
Author: scriblerusday
Rating: T
Fandom: AOS
Genre: fluff, romance, pwp
Warnings: fade-to-black sex and a little bit of groping.
Summary: Jim forgot to seek treatment for a scratch. Bones is mildly displeased. Fluff ensues.
A/n: Inspired by the Urban pic for Jim_and_Bones's Sunday, August 7th, 2011 entry.
"YOU."
"What?" Jim said, attempting to push his shoes and socks off with his toes while pulling off his shirt. He stopped and peered at Bones, his shirt pulling tight across his face by his elbows, the hem resting just below his eyes. "What did I do now?" he asked through the fabric, eying Bones's accusatory finger warily.
"Those bruises and that cut. When were you gonna tell me about those, huh?" Bones demanded, his jeans around his calves.
Jim rolled his eyes. "Sparring, Bones. Minor, minor injures. And it's a scratch, nothing that won't heal on its own," he said, pulling his shirt off all the way.
"It could get infected! Do you know what kinda shit floats around here? Nothing that'll get you when you're whole, but just waiting for a nice fleshy cut to settle in, and BAM, you're a fountain of puss and your insides are rotting out!"
"Space is disease and death, wrapped in darkness and silence," Jim chorused with him and rolled his eyes. Running his fingers through his ruffled hair, he sighed. "Aren't you the one who thinks a little pain is good for the soul?"
"Not when it's gonna kill you!" he said, building up steam for a truly magnificent rant. "Cuts leave an opening for microbes to get into your system..."
Jim rolled his eyes again, finished toeing off his footwear and walked over to the drawer where they kept a spare dermal generator, turning his back on Bones mid-rant.
Bones didn't even notice.
Generator in hand, he made his way back to the other man and pressed in into his hand. "Fix me," he said during a convenient pause. "Also, either take off your jeans or pull them up. I have trouble taking a man seriously when he's got his jeans halfway down and wearing grandpa underwear. Even," he added, cupping Bones, "if they tent impressively."
Grabbing Bones's dick (or kissing him) was the best way to shut him up, and he sputtered and trailed off when Jim applied gentle pressure. He tried not to look smug. "So, should I lay down, or...?"
Bones pulled up his pants with one hand. "They're not grandpa underwear," he grumbled. "They're functional, and more importantly, they were clean this morning. Is that the only cut?" he asked, shimmying his hips to settle his pants enough not to fall down again.
"Yeah," Jim said, reaching for Bones's zipper and pulling it up a little. While it would be amusing if his pants fell down again halfway through, Bones would get even more annoyed and that just wasn't any fun when it lowered the probability of sex. He allowed Bones to walk him back toward the bed and push him down, encouraging his arms above his head to increase the generator's access.
Perching beside him, Bones examined the wound (it really was a scratch, shallow and already scabbed over; Jim didn't even recall it bleeding) then set the generator up, and it buzzed gently as it worked. "I only get this worked up because I care, you know," he said quietly, leaning his weight on one arm above Jim's head.
He got that worked up when anyone at all decided they didn't need medical assistance, but Jim wasn't going to remind him of that right now. Instead, he smiled affectionately and stroked the inside of his wrist with a finger. "I know."
Bones looked like he struggling to say three little words he had only ever uttered once, when they had been captured by belligerent aliens a year ago and Jim was close to death. Jim smiled again and reached up to cup Bones's jaw. "I know that, too," he said with a chuckle. "And ditto."
Ding! Bones let his lips curve up in a smile of his own as he pulled off the generator and stroked the now-smoothly healed skin on Jim's ribs before putting the machine on the nightstand. Bones kissed him and moved to straddle Jim. "Now," he murmured warmly, leaning close to Jim's ear, "where were we?"
"I believe," Jim replied impishly, tucking his fingers into the band of Bones's boxers, "you had your jeans halfway down your legs and your grandpa underwear all the way up."
"Not grandpa underwear," Bones grumbled again, climbing off Jim and removing the offending garments. He reached for Jim's waistband, too, undoing the button and fly before tugging them off altogether.
Jim wiggled enough to help before twisting to hunt for the lube in the nightstand drawer, allowing the neat freak that was Bones to gather up their clothing and dump it all in the laundry chute. He found it before Bones came back, shifting to spread his legs invitingly and leaning back on his elbows.
Bones arched an eyebrow and smirked before closing in.
Author: scriblerusday
Rating: T
Fandom: AOS
Genre: fluff, romance, pwp
Warnings: fade-to-black sex and a little bit of groping.
Summary: Jim forgot to seek treatment for a scratch. Bones is mildly displeased. Fluff ensues.
A/n: Inspired by the Urban pic for Jim_and_Bones's Sunday, August 7th, 2011 entry.
"YOU."
"What?" Jim said, attempting to push his shoes and socks off with his toes while pulling off his shirt. He stopped and peered at Bones, his shirt pulling tight across his face by his elbows, the hem resting just below his eyes. "What did I do now?" he asked through the fabric, eying Bones's accusatory finger warily.
"Those bruises and that cut. When were you gonna tell me about those, huh?" Bones demanded, his jeans around his calves.
Jim rolled his eyes. "Sparring, Bones. Minor, minor injures. And it's a scratch, nothing that won't heal on its own," he said, pulling his shirt off all the way.
"It could get infected! Do you know what kinda shit floats around here? Nothing that'll get you when you're whole, but just waiting for a nice fleshy cut to settle in, and BAM, you're a fountain of puss and your insides are rotting out!"
"Space is disease and death, wrapped in darkness and silence," Jim chorused with him and rolled his eyes. Running his fingers through his ruffled hair, he sighed. "Aren't you the one who thinks a little pain is good for the soul?"
"Not when it's gonna kill you!" he said, building up steam for a truly magnificent rant. "Cuts leave an opening for microbes to get into your system..."
Jim rolled his eyes again, finished toeing off his footwear and walked over to the drawer where they kept a spare dermal generator, turning his back on Bones mid-rant.
Bones didn't even notice.
Generator in hand, he made his way back to the other man and pressed in into his hand. "Fix me," he said during a convenient pause. "Also, either take off your jeans or pull them up. I have trouble taking a man seriously when he's got his jeans halfway down and wearing grandpa underwear. Even," he added, cupping Bones, "if they tent impressively."
Grabbing Bones's dick (or kissing him) was the best way to shut him up, and he sputtered and trailed off when Jim applied gentle pressure. He tried not to look smug. "So, should I lay down, or...?"
Bones pulled up his pants with one hand. "They're not grandpa underwear," he grumbled. "They're functional, and more importantly, they were clean this morning. Is that the only cut?" he asked, shimmying his hips to settle his pants enough not to fall down again.
"Yeah," Jim said, reaching for Bones's zipper and pulling it up a little. While it would be amusing if his pants fell down again halfway through, Bones would get even more annoyed and that just wasn't any fun when it lowered the probability of sex. He allowed Bones to walk him back toward the bed and push him down, encouraging his arms above his head to increase the generator's access.
Perching beside him, Bones examined the wound (it really was a scratch, shallow and already scabbed over; Jim didn't even recall it bleeding) then set the generator up, and it buzzed gently as it worked. "I only get this worked up because I care, you know," he said quietly, leaning his weight on one arm above Jim's head.
He got that worked up when anyone at all decided they didn't need medical assistance, but Jim wasn't going to remind him of that right now. Instead, he smiled affectionately and stroked the inside of his wrist with a finger. "I know."
Bones looked like he struggling to say three little words he had only ever uttered once, when they had been captured by belligerent aliens a year ago and Jim was close to death. Jim smiled again and reached up to cup Bones's jaw. "I know that, too," he said with a chuckle. "And ditto."
Ding! Bones let his lips curve up in a smile of his own as he pulled off the generator and stroked the now-smoothly healed skin on Jim's ribs before putting the machine on the nightstand. Bones kissed him and moved to straddle Jim. "Now," he murmured warmly, leaning close to Jim's ear, "where were we?"
"I believe," Jim replied impishly, tucking his fingers into the band of Bones's boxers, "you had your jeans halfway down your legs and your grandpa underwear all the way up."
"Not grandpa underwear," Bones grumbled again, climbing off Jim and removing the offending garments. He reached for Jim's waistband, too, undoing the button and fly before tugging them off altogether.
Jim wiggled enough to help before twisting to hunt for the lube in the nightstand drawer, allowing the neat freak that was Bones to gather up their clothing and dump it all in the laundry chute. He found it before Bones came back, shifting to spread his legs invitingly and leaning back on his elbows.
Bones arched an eyebrow and smirked before closing in.