Fic: The Melody You Play
Written for NSFW semi-weekly man-on-man entry at jim_and_bones. Still, this is fairly T-rated, for all the smutty goodness of the pictures used as prompt :D
One of the first things Jim noticed about Leonard when he saw him being manhandled to the seat next to him, were his hands. Not that the rest of hi wasn't gorgeous in its own gruff way, too - but the hands, so vivid in their movement, caught his eye the most.
Maybe he should say that his eye almost caught his hand - agitated Bones could, can and will be public menace, with all the hand waving he always did.
During the years at Academy he noticed that no matter how filthy Bones got, his hands were always washed, nails precisely trimmed and clean.
Jim always thought that with hands like these Bones would be amazing musician, violinist or pianist; his fingers always sure and graceful in their movement. It would be easy to imagine Bones as a pianist from early 20th century, in a smoky bar, filling the air with quiet tones of jazz.
For some time Jim wondered what it would feel like to have these fingers on his skin; those strong, caloused fingers. All of Bones was perfect - but his fingers, those were the cherry on top. It took him very long time to dare to voice that question. And it also took quite a lot of alcohol - after all, there is nothing like liquid courage - and also liquid excuse for any idiotic behaviour.
It was also the first night of Bones playing whole symphonies to him, using his body as an instument to play, easily getting the piece to final crescendo, the melody ending in stepping on the sustain pedal, leaving the last notes reverberate until it faded away.
Bones knew how to play, what dynamics to use and when and how. It was worth to stay sober - if only to enjoy the music more.
One of the first things Jim noticed about Leonard when he saw him being manhandled to the seat next to him, were his hands. Not that the rest of hi wasn't gorgeous in its own gruff way, too - but the hands, so vivid in their movement, caught his eye the most.
Maybe he should say that his eye almost caught his hand - agitated Bones could, can and will be public menace, with all the hand waving he always did.
During the years at Academy he noticed that no matter how filthy Bones got, his hands were always washed, nails precisely trimmed and clean.
Jim always thought that with hands like these Bones would be amazing musician, violinist or pianist; his fingers always sure and graceful in their movement. It would be easy to imagine Bones as a pianist from early 20th century, in a smoky bar, filling the air with quiet tones of jazz.
For some time Jim wondered what it would feel like to have these fingers on his skin; those strong, caloused fingers. All of Bones was perfect - but his fingers, those were the cherry on top. It took him very long time to dare to voice that question. And it also took quite a lot of alcohol - after all, there is nothing like liquid courage - and also liquid excuse for any idiotic behaviour.
It was also the first night of Bones playing whole symphonies to him, using his body as an instument to play, easily getting the piece to final crescendo, the melody ending in stepping on the sustain pedal, leaving the last notes reverberate until it faded away.
Bones knew how to play, what dynamics to use and when and how. It was worth to stay sober - if only to enjoy the music more.