fic fic fic fic
idk, Karl Urban in a cowboy hat is kind of awesome and I haven't done this in a while.
Jim thinks about a lot of weird things before he goes to sleep, like the ship blowing up or everyone turning into jelly blobs or Sulu performing the Electric Slide while Spock plays back-up bass or Bones in leather cowboy hats.
If Starfleet asks some of the Fed ships to go scope out a humanoid planet where their style has yet to progress farther than burlap and animal skins and Jim just so happens to override everybody else's volunteer checks and puts the Enterprise at the top of the list, well.
It's no one's business but his before-bedtime thoughts.
--
"I swear to God," Bones says, adjusting the hat and his chaps and his awesome phaser thigh holster, and Jim follows behind at a leisure stroll.
"What?"
"I'm a fucking doctor, not a fucking cattleroper" he snaps, whipping around and poking Jim in the nose. This close up, beneath the brim of his hat Bones has a spread of freckles over his nose and Jim doesn't even bother trying to keep himself from finding it cute. Jim smiles.
"No one said you were."
Bones stares at him, looks down at their clothes, then looks back at Jim.
"You just. Happened to be dressed like you are."
Note to self Jim thinks a few seconds later, tonguing his cheek to check for bleeding and holding his face, Bones has an accurate right hook.
When they get to the main village, they're barely out of place. As hot as the air is, everyone is dressed in some form of flannel or leather getup. Jim quietly thanks whoever's up there for blessing them with cool air in the ship, but also asks as nicely as he can to figure out a way to get their own person tan. His ass is lily-white and it's not doing much for his game. ...In fact.
"No," Bones says. Jim makes a face.
"I didn't even ask anything."
--
They make nice with the locals and Sulu fawns over their pistols, and as much as Jim would like to make a joke about it he sort of finds them cool, too. Bones disappears for a while inside the back room of an honest-to-God saloon with the village's chief surgeon, and the rest of the away team trades stories with the bartender and a few patrons that are friendly enough to say hello. Jim feels like he's in a Western, blinking easy and quiet in the dusty, beer-smelling bar. The ale is good and there's no immediate danger, so everybody visibly relaxes in their posture and their smiles become loose.
When Bones comes back out, Jim appreciates the view of mussed hair and an unbuttoned shirt. He continues his lazy slouch, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, and looks up at Bones expectantly.
"We've been invited to spend the night," Bones says, and it doesn't look like he minds. Jim shrugs.
"Sure, why not." They're due for a check-in in an hour, and Spock's more than capable for babysitting the ship for a day.
--
"We can't keep the chaps," Bones says four hours later, eyes heavy-lidded with beer and the giddy high of winning fucking eight rounds of poker with not even a twitch of the mouth when he laid down a royal flush five of those eight times. Jim makes a disappointed noise in the crease of Bones' thigh and grins when he hears the sound of a head hitting the wall. He's kind of drunk, the orange light of the wall lamps soothing the hazy buzz behind his eyes, and the encouraging groans Bones keeps making are wonderful.
He mouths hot and wet and tastes salt and Bones smells fucking amazing, sweaty and sunny and Jim doesn't even care that they don't get to shower because he's in love enough that he'd give Bones a tongue bath if he let him. (He wouldn't. Jim asked.)
Jim's about to ask if they can put in a request, but then Bones drags fingers through his hair and cradles Jim's skull in his huge palms and says come on, please, baby and something behind Jim's ribcage swells in all the best ways. He makes the blowjob count and last as long as he can, using a hint of teeth and thumbing sweet behind Bones' balls but they're both drunker than they thought. Bones comes with a shout and when Jim grips hard around thighs covered in butter-soft leather, his eyes roll into the back of his head and he needs to come, like, right now.
Bones sinks to the floor, licking the sweat off his upper lip and Jim almost rips his dick off he's pulling it out of his pants so fast. Hips arching in the air, there's a glorious moment when Bones cups a hand over Jim's ass and whispers yeah and Jim loses it, striping Bones' chest and laughing wide and breathless.
"...Maybe," Bones says, when they're curled up on the ugly floral comforter that smells like mothballs and clay. "Maybe we can keep them."
Jim thinks about a lot of weird things before he goes to sleep, like the ship blowing up or everyone turning into jelly blobs or Sulu performing the Electric Slide while Spock plays back-up bass or Bones in leather cowboy hats.
If Starfleet asks some of the Fed ships to go scope out a humanoid planet where their style has yet to progress farther than burlap and animal skins and Jim just so happens to override everybody else's volunteer checks and puts the Enterprise at the top of the list, well.
It's no one's business but his before-bedtime thoughts.
--
"I swear to God," Bones says, adjusting the hat and his chaps and his awesome phaser thigh holster, and Jim follows behind at a leisure stroll.
"What?"
"I'm a fucking doctor, not a fucking cattleroper" he snaps, whipping around and poking Jim in the nose. This close up, beneath the brim of his hat Bones has a spread of freckles over his nose and Jim doesn't even bother trying to keep himself from finding it cute. Jim smiles.
"No one said you were."
Bones stares at him, looks down at their clothes, then looks back at Jim.
"You just. Happened to be dressed like you are."
Note to self Jim thinks a few seconds later, tonguing his cheek to check for bleeding and holding his face, Bones has an accurate right hook.
When they get to the main village, they're barely out of place. As hot as the air is, everyone is dressed in some form of flannel or leather getup. Jim quietly thanks whoever's up there for blessing them with cool air in the ship, but also asks as nicely as he can to figure out a way to get their own person tan. His ass is lily-white and it's not doing much for his game. ...In fact.
"No," Bones says. Jim makes a face.
"I didn't even ask anything."
--
They make nice with the locals and Sulu fawns over their pistols, and as much as Jim would like to make a joke about it he sort of finds them cool, too. Bones disappears for a while inside the back room of an honest-to-God saloon with the village's chief surgeon, and the rest of the away team trades stories with the bartender and a few patrons that are friendly enough to say hello. Jim feels like he's in a Western, blinking easy and quiet in the dusty, beer-smelling bar. The ale is good and there's no immediate danger, so everybody visibly relaxes in their posture and their smiles become loose.
When Bones comes back out, Jim appreciates the view of mussed hair and an unbuttoned shirt. He continues his lazy slouch, legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, and looks up at Bones expectantly.
"We've been invited to spend the night," Bones says, and it doesn't look like he minds. Jim shrugs.
"Sure, why not." They're due for a check-in in an hour, and Spock's more than capable for babysitting the ship for a day.
--
"We can't keep the chaps," Bones says four hours later, eyes heavy-lidded with beer and the giddy high of winning fucking eight rounds of poker with not even a twitch of the mouth when he laid down a royal flush five of those eight times. Jim makes a disappointed noise in the crease of Bones' thigh and grins when he hears the sound of a head hitting the wall. He's kind of drunk, the orange light of the wall lamps soothing the hazy buzz behind his eyes, and the encouraging groans Bones keeps making are wonderful.
He mouths hot and wet and tastes salt and Bones smells fucking amazing, sweaty and sunny and Jim doesn't even care that they don't get to shower because he's in love enough that he'd give Bones a tongue bath if he let him. (He wouldn't. Jim asked.)
Jim's about to ask if they can put in a request, but then Bones drags fingers through his hair and cradles Jim's skull in his huge palms and says come on, please, baby and something behind Jim's ribcage swells in all the best ways. He makes the blowjob count and last as long as he can, using a hint of teeth and thumbing sweet behind Bones' balls but they're both drunker than they thought. Bones comes with a shout and when Jim grips hard around thighs covered in butter-soft leather, his eyes roll into the back of his head and he needs to come, like, right now.
Bones sinks to the floor, licking the sweat off his upper lip and Jim almost rips his dick off he's pulling it out of his pants so fast. Hips arching in the air, there's a glorious moment when Bones cups a hand over Jim's ass and whispers yeah and Jim loses it, striping Bones' chest and laughing wide and breathless.
"...Maybe," Bones says, when they're curled up on the ugly floral comforter that smells like mothballs and clay. "Maybe we can keep them."