Ramble!fic wherein Bones gets his first set of scrubs and Jim is an excellent rebound (hard R/NC-17)
I went out for breakfast this morning intending to work on the Lady!Pike/Winona, but my bb laptop refused to boot-up (no worries, I am a back-up fiend and have daddysaurus on retainer) so I was forced to freewrite on some scrap paper instead. I'm so sorry, guys. :/
Fun fact: I wrote the seminal snippet of this while sitting in a bank drive-thru. The ways in which I am a productive member of society are varied and wondrous. :)
For those of you who don't know, Bones' scrubs look like this and are totally PIMP.
See, even the guy in the background is impressed.
1,325 words, hard R/NC-17 for sexual content, Jim/Bones, set during their first year at the academy
Warning: fade-to-black on the smut. Soz.
Pike has been getting onto Jim lately about not making snap decisions (even though snap decisions are a necessity for command, but whatever) so Jim takes several minutes before deciding that Bones makes surgical scrubs look hot.
"Jim, what the hell are you doing?" Bones says, having turned around to stare at Jim once he started manipulating the gooseneck lamp (the hotness could have been a trick of the light, see; Jim had to check.) It turns out that Pike was totally right about the need for multiple perspectives because Bones looks even better from the front. He's standing with one knee cocked out, which pulls the fabric of the pant-leg and reflects a swath of light from the knee to the crotch as if that particular area of drapery needs highlighting (it really doesn't, because wow, but Jim is not complaining about redundancy at this point) and his arms are folded tightly across his chest, revealing all sorts of yummy muscles and slantwise hollows and protuberances of bone that Jim's official BFF has been selfishly hiding with long sleeves all these months.
Luckily Jim is willing to forgive him, especially as Bones (not known for being a strategic thinker) backs himself right into the desk as Jim advances. Jim likes desks. They're a convenient height for just about anything. Maybe it would have been more fortuitous if Bones had backed through the bedroom doorway right next to the desk but Jim wants to lock this down fast. Distance is a liability.
"Who'd you have to blow to get the shiny ones?" Jim asks brightly, sort of hoping that Bones will say Dr. Ic'acsu because he has a bet going on whether those stripes go all the way down.
Bones, however, merely rolls his eyes (although "merely" belies the magnitude of the event) and says, "They're standard issue. See?" He leans to the side, probably intending to pick up his regbook from the edge of the desk and show it to Jim, but the more important thing here is that his top rides up a few inches. Bones has a pretty impressive all-over tan, Jim notices, and three freckles above his left hipbone.
Actually, they could be moles. They look like freckles but so does melanoma, sometimes, and the only way to be sure is to check if they're raised up. It's Jim's obligation as a concerned friend to trace them with his fingertips.
The physical exam is heartening, partly because they turn out to be harmless freckles but mostly because Bones does this amazing shimmy and stands up so fast that Jim's hand-completely accidentally-slides all the way up under his shirt.
"Oh, are you ticklish?" Jim asks. He's done a better job of sounding innocent in the past, maybe, but these are extenuating circumstances. The scrub top is draping coolly over his knuckles and wrist and Bones' ribs, overlaid with hot muscle, press into his palm at every breath.
"Dammit, Jim, you can't just go around groping people!" Bones snaps.
Jim laughs and crowds him back until Bones has squirmed onto the desk. Bones twists his knees, trying to keep Jim away, but by this point in his life Jim can spread recalcitrant legs by pure muscle memory so he's flush against Bones in half a second flat.
"Dude, you're already hard," says Jim, and adds 'extremely thin' to the growing list of why surgical scrubs are his new favorite thing. "That's awesome!"
Bones' face goes deep red and he butts his shoulder against Jim as he turns away. "It's been a while, dammit," he mutters.
"Poor baby," Jim replies, sincerely sympathetic because going off what he's gathered from Bones' drunken monologues, sex was not the limiting factor in his marriage. Sixty to zero is a terrible transition for any man to go through.
Bones, if possible, blushes more deeply. "Not everybody goes bed hopping like you do!" he says, and pushes against the arm Jim has clamped onto the lip of the desk. He's not using enough force to really get anywhere but obviously Jim hasn't closed the deal yet.
"I said it was awesome," Jim points out calmly, and elects to squirm his hand into Bones' lap instead of gifting him with a pelvic thrust. Bones seems to be primarily heterosexual and Jim doesn't want to spook him. "Every erection is an opportunity," Jim says, sort of unnecessarily because if Bones doesn't know that tenet of the James T. Kirk Life Philosophy by this point then he's probably brain-dead. "Starfleet wants us to make the most of our opportunities."
"Ha!" says Bones, a little rudely, and Jim would be totally offended but the laugh makes the hard slope of Bones' chest press into his own so it all evens out. "Why am I not surprised that you buy into that nonsense if it helps you get your rocks off?"
"Bones. Bones, Bones, Bones." Jim sighs. "I'm pretty sure it's your rocks that are the priority here." As a matter of fact his hand is snuggled between Bones' legs right now, knuckles kneading in counterpoint to the shallow thrusts that Bones probably has little control over.
Bones snorts. He'd probably crack some smart comment but he's a little short of breath at the moment. It's terrible.
Jim shrugs. "It's ok if you don't believe me," he says. "I'll prove it to you." He folds himself up, walking his hands down Bones' body as if to keep him from falling off the desk. Once Jim is situated, he rubs his cheek meaningfully against Bones' thigh, just in case kneeling in front of him wasn't a good enough clue.
Bones' eyes suddenly go dark. "Oh, hell, Jim, I'm not sure-"
"Hey, hey," Jim says soothingly. "This is a friend thing, ok?"
Bones, obeying Jim's careful nudges, scoots over so Jim can fit into the footwell instead of bumping his knees against the drawers, but he still looks ready to bolt.
Jim squeezes his ankle and says, "I'm great for rebounds. In fact, you could rebound a data chip off my abs." Jim considers adding that he won't get mad if Bones accidentally calls him Josa but that might be a little too on the button, so he decides to finish with a saucy wink instead.
It's sort of miraculous how the light roils across those shiny scrubs when Bones laughs. Bones finishes the chuckle with a sigh, cusses again, then says, "I can't believe I'm doing this." He leans over to pull out the top drawer and rummage through it. Predictably, his top rides up and Jim is very disappointed to see that his right hip doesn't have matching freckles, but at least Bones doesn't complain when Jim tugs the waistband down. His cock is delicious-looking, leaning a little to the left but thick enough and flaring into dusky curls at the base. Jim is just about to shamelessly faceplant when Bones sits up and wraps his broad hand around the side of Jim's face.
"Open up," he says, and holds out the can of biotic barrier spray he pulled from the drawer.
Jim glances at the colored stripe on the label. "Aw, man, you don't have the flavored kind?" he complains, but opens his mouth anyway.
Bones doses him like a pro, coating lips and tongue, then the palate and uvula. He even manages not to get any up Jim's nose, which earns him an automatic gold star in Jim's book (not that Jim keeps a scorebook of his sex partners, or anything; that'd be geeky.)
Jim edges forward while he waits for the tingle to fade and hooks his arms over Bones' thighs. Bones responds by squeezing his hand on the back of Jim's neck. It's startling how nice that feels.
Then Bones says, "I just requisitioned these scrubs this morning, Jim, so make sure you swallow."
"Oh please," says Jim.
Does Bones think he's new at this or something?
Fun fact: I wrote the seminal snippet of this while sitting in a bank drive-thru. The ways in which I am a productive member of society are varied and wondrous. :)
For those of you who don't know, Bones' scrubs look like this and are totally PIMP.
See, even the guy in the background is impressed.
1,325 words, hard R/NC-17 for sexual content, Jim/Bones, set during their first year at the academy
Warning: fade-to-black on the smut. Soz.
Pike has been getting onto Jim lately about not making snap decisions (even though snap decisions are a necessity for command, but whatever) so Jim takes several minutes before deciding that Bones makes surgical scrubs look hot.
"Jim, what the hell are you doing?" Bones says, having turned around to stare at Jim once he started manipulating the gooseneck lamp (the hotness could have been a trick of the light, see; Jim had to check.) It turns out that Pike was totally right about the need for multiple perspectives because Bones looks even better from the front. He's standing with one knee cocked out, which pulls the fabric of the pant-leg and reflects a swath of light from the knee to the crotch as if that particular area of drapery needs highlighting (it really doesn't, because wow, but Jim is not complaining about redundancy at this point) and his arms are folded tightly across his chest, revealing all sorts of yummy muscles and slantwise hollows and protuberances of bone that Jim's official BFF has been selfishly hiding with long sleeves all these months.
Luckily Jim is willing to forgive him, especially as Bones (not known for being a strategic thinker) backs himself right into the desk as Jim advances. Jim likes desks. They're a convenient height for just about anything. Maybe it would have been more fortuitous if Bones had backed through the bedroom doorway right next to the desk but Jim wants to lock this down fast. Distance is a liability.
"Who'd you have to blow to get the shiny ones?" Jim asks brightly, sort of hoping that Bones will say Dr. Ic'acsu because he has a bet going on whether those stripes go all the way down.
Bones, however, merely rolls his eyes (although "merely" belies the magnitude of the event) and says, "They're standard issue. See?" He leans to the side, probably intending to pick up his regbook from the edge of the desk and show it to Jim, but the more important thing here is that his top rides up a few inches. Bones has a pretty impressive all-over tan, Jim notices, and three freckles above his left hipbone.
Actually, they could be moles. They look like freckles but so does melanoma, sometimes, and the only way to be sure is to check if they're raised up. It's Jim's obligation as a concerned friend to trace them with his fingertips.
The physical exam is heartening, partly because they turn out to be harmless freckles but mostly because Bones does this amazing shimmy and stands up so fast that Jim's hand-completely accidentally-slides all the way up under his shirt.
"Oh, are you ticklish?" Jim asks. He's done a better job of sounding innocent in the past, maybe, but these are extenuating circumstances. The scrub top is draping coolly over his knuckles and wrist and Bones' ribs, overlaid with hot muscle, press into his palm at every breath.
"Dammit, Jim, you can't just go around groping people!" Bones snaps.
Jim laughs and crowds him back until Bones has squirmed onto the desk. Bones twists his knees, trying to keep Jim away, but by this point in his life Jim can spread recalcitrant legs by pure muscle memory so he's flush against Bones in half a second flat.
"Dude, you're already hard," says Jim, and adds 'extremely thin' to the growing list of why surgical scrubs are his new favorite thing. "That's awesome!"
Bones' face goes deep red and he butts his shoulder against Jim as he turns away. "It's been a while, dammit," he mutters.
"Poor baby," Jim replies, sincerely sympathetic because going off what he's gathered from Bones' drunken monologues, sex was not the limiting factor in his marriage. Sixty to zero is a terrible transition for any man to go through.
Bones, if possible, blushes more deeply. "Not everybody goes bed hopping like you do!" he says, and pushes against the arm Jim has clamped onto the lip of the desk. He's not using enough force to really get anywhere but obviously Jim hasn't closed the deal yet.
"I said it was awesome," Jim points out calmly, and elects to squirm his hand into Bones' lap instead of gifting him with a pelvic thrust. Bones seems to be primarily heterosexual and Jim doesn't want to spook him. "Every erection is an opportunity," Jim says, sort of unnecessarily because if Bones doesn't know that tenet of the James T. Kirk Life Philosophy by this point then he's probably brain-dead. "Starfleet wants us to make the most of our opportunities."
"Ha!" says Bones, a little rudely, and Jim would be totally offended but the laugh makes the hard slope of Bones' chest press into his own so it all evens out. "Why am I not surprised that you buy into that nonsense if it helps you get your rocks off?"
"Bones. Bones, Bones, Bones." Jim sighs. "I'm pretty sure it's your rocks that are the priority here." As a matter of fact his hand is snuggled between Bones' legs right now, knuckles kneading in counterpoint to the shallow thrusts that Bones probably has little control over.
Bones snorts. He'd probably crack some smart comment but he's a little short of breath at the moment. It's terrible.
Jim shrugs. "It's ok if you don't believe me," he says. "I'll prove it to you." He folds himself up, walking his hands down Bones' body as if to keep him from falling off the desk. Once Jim is situated, he rubs his cheek meaningfully against Bones' thigh, just in case kneeling in front of him wasn't a good enough clue.
Bones' eyes suddenly go dark. "Oh, hell, Jim, I'm not sure-"
"Hey, hey," Jim says soothingly. "This is a friend thing, ok?"
Bones, obeying Jim's careful nudges, scoots over so Jim can fit into the footwell instead of bumping his knees against the drawers, but he still looks ready to bolt.
Jim squeezes his ankle and says, "I'm great for rebounds. In fact, you could rebound a data chip off my abs." Jim considers adding that he won't get mad if Bones accidentally calls him Josa but that might be a little too on the button, so he decides to finish with a saucy wink instead.
It's sort of miraculous how the light roils across those shiny scrubs when Bones laughs. Bones finishes the chuckle with a sigh, cusses again, then says, "I can't believe I'm doing this." He leans over to pull out the top drawer and rummage through it. Predictably, his top rides up and Jim is very disappointed to see that his right hip doesn't have matching freckles, but at least Bones doesn't complain when Jim tugs the waistband down. His cock is delicious-looking, leaning a little to the left but thick enough and flaring into dusky curls at the base. Jim is just about to shamelessly faceplant when Bones sits up and wraps his broad hand around the side of Jim's face.
"Open up," he says, and holds out the can of biotic barrier spray he pulled from the drawer.
Jim glances at the colored stripe on the label. "Aw, man, you don't have the flavored kind?" he complains, but opens his mouth anyway.
Bones doses him like a pro, coating lips and tongue, then the palate and uvula. He even manages not to get any up Jim's nose, which earns him an automatic gold star in Jim's book (not that Jim keeps a scorebook of his sex partners, or anything; that'd be geeky.)
Jim edges forward while he waits for the tingle to fade and hooks his arms over Bones' thighs. Bones responds by squeezing his hand on the back of Jim's neck. It's startling how nice that feels.
Then Bones says, "I just requisitioned these scrubs this morning, Jim, so make sure you swallow."
"Oh please," says Jim.
Does Bones think he's new at this or something?