"What the hell did you do?" He rounds on Jim, because really, the puppy isn't a likely candidate for trouble making and Jim can't seem to walk two feet without cordially inviting someone to beat the shit out of him.
That's Bones, Jim, and Chekov nailed in one sentence. ::bows before the master::
"What crawled up your ass and died?" Jim queries with a laugh, and Bones has to remind himself to not strangle the impetuous brat because for some reason, leaving the Enterprise captainless would be a bad thing. In theory.
ROTFLMAO!
It's the big words, really, and the carefully correct English that come tumbling out of Chekov's mouth garbled by his accent that make Bones want to suck the kid off until the only syllables he can string together are grunts. He's embarrassed to admit that when Chekov rattles off a bunch of engineering mumbo-jumbo about equations and accelerators and integrated schematics, its enough to almost make him come in his pants like an untried teen.
"The hell it's superficial," he grinds out instead of orgasming because he is not an untried teen, "you're limping. And as such, you shouldn't be standing, so park your ass right back on that table."
The surly words earn him a beatific smile and not for the first time, Bones wonders how the hell the kid is wired that hearing Bones bark like an ill tempered geezer makes him happy.
OMG!! YES!!!
That's so it--the attraction between them would initially start with the way the other talks. Chekhov's careful, thickly-accented English, and Bones's terse, slightly anachronistic, grumpy-old-man-even-though-he's-fucking-hot cant.
Is it premature that I already heart you, and wish to skip through daisy-filled fields with you?
"It was just a normal bar, Doctor," Chekov smiles softly, and Bones tells himself that he is not won over by one measly little smile, no matter how angelic it looks. "I was not even involved in the altercation."
His cock jumps both at the words and Chekov's tentative grip on his bicep. Jim is eying Bones's crotch with more interest than Bones is comfortable with Jim displaying, and abruptly climbs off the idiot, not bothering to offer him a hand to get back up off his feet.
Dude, I may have to plagiarize you. It's that good, and I'm that shamelessly smitten with your take on them. Excuse me while I go rewrite some fic--
Call it a lesson in survival. If Jim is going to piss everything that breathes off without meaning to, he can damn well learn how to climb back up when the pissed off breathing thing cleans his clock.
HAH!
"Holy Shit!" Jim's caterwauling is interrupted by a wince as he breaks open his own split lip with his revelation. And while, as a Doctor, Bones is not supposed to be amused at the pain of others, he finds this at least worthy of a smile.
Dude, worthy of more than that--oh, I heart this fic and you so much. Going into memories.
He turns to Jim, an evil little smile of his own lighting his face, knowing that Jim will appreciate what he's about to say. "Dammit Jim, I'm not a veterinarian!" The what-the-fuck face resurges. "But I do know where you sleep and can castrate you if necessary."
He walks out, arms full with his sweet and horny puppy, and the door to sickbay snicks shut on Jim's laughter.
And that "puppy"? Slays me. He reminds me of Angelus, a little. Damned if I don't like the idea of wicked, dominant Angelus!Bones. Awesome bit of extra dimension. He feels incredibly fleshed out and real. Your characterization is fucking flawless.
Damnit, I like your Bones way better than my own. I think I'll steal yours, and tie him up in my attic :D
That's Bones, Jim, and Chekov nailed in one sentence.
::bows before the master::
"What crawled up your ass and died?" Jim queries with a laugh, and Bones has to remind himself to not strangle the impetuous brat because for some reason, leaving the Enterprise captainless would be a bad thing. In theory.
ROTFLMAO!
It's the big words, really, and the carefully correct English that come tumbling out of Chekov's mouth garbled by his accent that make Bones want to suck the kid off until the only syllables he can string together are grunts. He's embarrassed to admit that when Chekov rattles off a bunch of engineering mumbo-jumbo about equations and accelerators and integrated schematics, its enough to almost make him come in his pants like an untried teen.
"The hell it's superficial," he grinds out instead of orgasming because he is not an untried teen, "you're limping. And as such, you shouldn't be standing, so park your ass right back on that table."
The surly words earn him a beatific smile and not for the first time, Bones wonders how the hell the kid is wired that hearing Bones bark like an ill tempered geezer makes him happy.
OMG!! YES!!!
That's so it--the attraction between them would initially start with the way the other talks. Chekhov's careful, thickly-accented English, and Bones's terse, slightly anachronistic, grumpy-old-man-even-though-he's-fucking-hot cant.
Is it premature that I already heart you, and wish to skip through daisy-filled fields with you?
"It was just a normal bar, Doctor," Chekov smiles softly, and Bones tells himself that he is not won over by one measly little smile, no matter how angelic it looks. "I was not even involved in the altercation."
His cock jumps both at the words and Chekov's tentative grip on his bicep. Jim is eying Bones's crotch with more interest than Bones is comfortable with Jim displaying, and abruptly climbs off the idiot, not bothering to offer him a hand to get back up off his feet.
Dude, I may have to plagiarize you. It's that good, and I'm that shamelessly smitten with your take on them. Excuse me while I go rewrite some fic--
Call it a lesson in survival. If Jim is going to piss everything that breathes off without meaning to, he can damn well learn how to climb back up when the pissed off breathing thing cleans his clock.
HAH!
"Holy Shit!" Jim's caterwauling is interrupted by a wince as he breaks open his own split lip with his revelation. And while, as a Doctor, Bones is not supposed to be amused at the pain of others, he finds this at least worthy of a smile.
Dude, worthy of more than that--oh, I heart this fic and you so much. Going into memories.
He turns to Jim, an evil little smile of his own lighting his face, knowing that Jim will appreciate what he's about to say. "Dammit Jim, I'm not a veterinarian!" The what-the-fuck face resurges. "But I do know where you sleep and can castrate you if necessary."
He walks out, arms full with his sweet and horny puppy, and the door to sickbay snicks shut on Jim's laughter.
And that "puppy"? Slays me. He reminds me of Angelus, a little. Damned if I don't like the idea of wicked, dominant Angelus!Bones. Awesome bit of extra dimension. He feels incredibly fleshed out and real. Your characterization is fucking flawless.
Damnit, I like your Bones way better than my own. I think I'll steal yours, and tie him up in my attic :D
And mad kudos on capturing Jim, too. Perfectly.
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