bones would be like ‘get me a bourbon’
jim would be like bONES PLS IT’S BREAKFAST
and bones would be like ‘and a toast’
#jim: you seem more cantankerous than normal are you sober? #bones: jim it’s eight am #jim: so it’s not that
#bones: why are you squeezing me with your body? #jim: it’s a hug bones. i’m hugging you.
(via tholianwebs)
#Bones acts as if everything in the galaxy is Jim’s fault #the kid is seventeen Jim why the fuck is the kid 17 what did you do
(via tholianwebs)
title: Not So Quiet Virtue
author: radiophile
rating: PG
wordcount: 1,941 words
summary: It’s not exactly false modesty, but it’s definitely no less misguided in Bones’ case.
based on TOS episode(s): Friday’s Child (2.11)
pairing(s): Kirk/McCoy
warnings: none
spoilers: none
author’s notes: (See end of work.)
All I’ve got left is my Bones.
(via damnromulans)
gyzym gave me the fluff prompt: jim + bones + winter + CLOTHES SHARING because that gives me feelings.
To which I was like “YES.” I’ve written about my crippling predilection for clothes sharing before and if I’m being completely honest I’ve been waiting for another excuse to go into it more soooo
Because this thing, right, this twisting thing between them, it happened in the spring. Bones happens to like spring, and especially now that he’s in San Francisco he fucking clings to it, because all winter means is colder fogs and more rain on the Bay. And of course Starfleet has a pitiful excuse of a winter uniform (There are thermals in your reds, Dr. McCoy the requisitions officer had tried to tell him, and besides, it’s only November, and he had to walk out of there before he got himself a demerit) so there’s really jack all he can do about it.
Jim, of course, laughs his ass off the day he spots Bones covered in wool in the corner of their dorm, knitting needles clicking and clacking, scowling his way through what he thinks is meant to be a scarf. “Dude, it’s not even snowing.” and when Bones looks up and Jim is in nothing more than a black undershirt and his reds pants, even though he’s been out doing drills all afternoon, he doesn’t even know where to begin with the tirade he should be giving him so he just throws his knitting at Jim and bellows something about being needed at Medical “where they have a decent fucking temperature control center.”
It’s about a week after that that he finds a ridiculously oversized coat, lined with fur and emblazoned with a shiny ‘Fleet symbol on the front pocket, laid out on his bed. There’s no note with it but he doesn’t need one, Jim bounding in a few minutes later, throwing down his gear with a “Bones, we are going out.”
And so they do. They grab dinner and they fight over the cheque, and when Bones inevitably wins that battle Jim springs for some weird alien streetfood on the boardwalk that tingles in his mouth and goes between sweet and sour in the best way.
It’s only after that that he finally asks “So, whose was it?” with his hands stuffed in wool-lined pockets. Jim (who’s still only in a damn leather jacket, damn Iowan cornpone bastard) doesn’t look at him, just keeps walking steadily beside him, when he says “Dad’s. And then mine. Had mom send it to me - it’s Starfleet issue, I swear, even if it’s a bit out of date but hey, you know, work that vintage style, Bones-” but Bones has already pulled to a stop, because he can hear that hint in Jim’s voice that means he’s saying way more than he thinks he’s meant to. So he asks “What did you tell her?” and Jim just shrugs, eyes darting everywhere but Bones’ face whilst he says “Said I knew this Georgian hick who couldn’t deal when it’s just brisk, seriously man, you would not last two minutes back home - Jesus, you look so stupid.” and Bones concedes that he probably does, with the parka hood up and the coat zipped all the way to his chin, but still Jim steps forward, into Bones’ space, so that the mist from their breath mingles and he can feel the phantom warmth of Jim’s lips against his own.
“Your dad’s, huh? Shoulda guessed. Any coat of yours would’ve never fit around my shoulders.”
“Fuck you, and It’s still mine. You’re just borrowing it.”
“Your generosity is overwhelming.”
“Yeah, but don’t worry. I know exactly how you can repay me,” and Jim does kiss him, then, takes his lips in a chaste press that shouldn’t ricochet down his throat the way it does, but it does because it’s Jim and it’s them and he’s long past the point of trying to apply reason to this thing between them because fuck it, he’s happy.
Jim presses another kiss against his jaw when they part, breathes hot against his skin, “You warm now, Bones?”
He just pulls his hand from his pocket, threads his fingers through Jim’s, tugs him down the path back to the Academy, and Jim laughs and bumps his shoulder and doesn’t let him go until they’re back in their room and he’s peeling the coat away from Bones, trailing his fingers across skin, and Bones spends the next while figuring out all the ways he can finally make Jim shiver.
Yeah, he thinks, much later on, coat hanging haphazard over a chair whilst Jim sleeps soundly beside him. I’m warm now, kid.
