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McCoy pushes Jim away after the first impulsive kiss, his eyes wild and his hair mussed and his lips swollen, and Jim feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t yank McCoy right back and kiss the hell out of him some more.
"Shit," McCoy says, and that doesn’t really bode well in Jim’s books. He watches as McCoy raises a hand to his face, presses his palm against his mouth. "Fuck, Jim, what the hell."
"You kissed back," Jim pointed out, still feeling a bit shaky around the knees. "I assumed it was okay."
"You assumed-" McCoy cuts himself off with a shake of his head and runs his hand through his hair, looking down at the floor with a small sigh. Somewhere in his chest, Jim’s heart stutters and stops uncertainly.
"Bones?"
"I need a sec," McCoy says, still not looking at Jim, and before Jim can recover, he’s barging out of the room, the door swinging shut behind his heels.
Jim stares at the door, mouth open, and tries to remember how to breathe.
He tries to forget about it, put it out of his mind, but the hard facts are that one, he kissed Bones and it was possibly the best kiss of his life. Two, Bones kissed back. Three, Bones may never kiss him ever again.
He tries especially hard to not think about four, which is that he may not even have Bones as a friend anymore.
It’s been a long time coming, this……thing between them. A whopping two years, which is a lifetime compared to Jim’s previous trysts, but McCoy’s always been a work in progress. And that kiss…..that was the final touch, the end of a masterpiece and the beginning of a new one. Or so Jim thought until McCoy all but ran screaming from him.
It’s not a position he often finds himself in, but he finds himself worrying when it’s been twelve hours and McCoy hasn’t returned, hasn’t commed once, hasn’t sent a carrier pigeon out or made smoke signals. Even when he’s pissed, Bones always lets Jim know about it, so this must be something else.
And if he’s not pissed, he’s probably moved right on past into brooding resentment, and Jim knows fully well just how much of a brooder McCoy can be.
He takes a shower to distract himself from the horrible mess his thoughts have become, but when he steps out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and water dripping from his hair, the room’s still empty and he can see sheets of rain lashing against the window.
"Shit," he says, when the first flash of lightning floods the darkening room. He’s on the verge of grabbing his jacket and charging out into the storm, towel and hair be damned, when the door slams open, and he finds himself blinking at a drenched silhouette in the doorway.
"Bones."
"Jim," McCoy says, his voice scratchy and hoarse. He’s pale and soaked, dark hair plastered to his forehead and a puddle forming around his shoes.
Jim takes a step towards him instinctively, then halts uncertainly. “Are you…..you okay?”
"Jim," McCoy says again, and Jim looks at him a little more closely. There’s an odd light in his eyes, bright and wild, and Jim adjusts the knot on his towel nervously. McCoy’s gaze flickers down to the movement and Jim freezes.
"Bones, man, you don’t look good," he begins. "You should’ve called or- or something, I would’ve come get you-"
"I’m sorry."
Jim’s mouth opens, closes, opens again. “What?”
McCoy’s on him in two long strides, one hand grabbing Jim’s wrist and the other wrapping around the back of his neck. Jim’s eyes widen ridiculously when McCoy kisses him, hard and desperate. His mouth opens instinctively and McCoy’s tongue promptly takes the place of whatever words he might have said, stealing the breath right out of him.
He’s hot and cold at the same time, raindrops chilling his still damp skin. He can taste it on McCoy’s lips, his tongue, and he feels like the storm outside followed him in the door.
"Off," Jim thinks he says, somewhere between the snatching kisses, tugging at McCoy’s jacket. McCoy grunts in acknowledgement, shrugging the garment off with a rough jerk. The sound of wet cloth slapping the floor seems to jolt him back into reality, and Jim makes a noise of protest when McCoy pushes him back.
"Not again-" He’s cut off by McCoy’s shirt flying into his face, and by the time he wrestles the clinging fabric off his head, McCoy’s stepping out of his pants and advancing with a predatory gleam in his eyes.
Jim suddenly has the revelation when McCoy shoves him hard in the chest and sends him stumbling back onto the bed. He’s still bouncing when the other man hops up and sits himself firmly on Jim’s stomach, cold knees locking around his ribs.
"You’re not mad," Jim says, testing the waters.
"Wow, you think?" McCoy gripes, then pushes him back with a hand on his sternum when he tries to sit up.
"Not fair," Jim protests, bucking up stubbornly beneath him. "You were the one who had the Big Gay Freakout, why do I-"
"For God’s sake," McCoy gripes, then scoots his way down Jim’s body until his ass is grinding down against- oh.
"Oh, yeah, Bones, yeahhhh," Jim groans, his words dying on a strained exhale when McCoy rocks down again. He’s been half hard since McCoy walked in on him, but now it’s a sure thing, hot and throbbing between his legs where McCoy’s pushing his hips again and again. He tries to reach down, get a handful of that ass, but McCoy grabs his wrists and flattens his arms down beside his head, holding him still. His face is flushed across the nose when he stares down at Jim, and Jim feels his heart splatter helplessly against his chest.
"Let me," McCoy says, his voice low and whispered and rumbling, and Jim swallows with difficulty.
"Yeah, okay," he manages to get out, bobbing his head so fast that his vision blurs slightly. "Okay, I can get behind that."
McCoy snorts, but he leans down and kisses Jim again. “It wasn’t a freakout,” he says against Jim’s mouth, his breath hot and heavy.
"Yeah?" Jim’s voice cracks a little when McCoy fits his chest against Jim’s and rolls his hips pointedly. "You looked pretty freaked to m- shit, Bones, do that again-"
"Just needed to think," McCoy continues, perfectly coherent for a guy slowly driving Jim to insanity. "You’re not exactly a one-time deal, you know. You’ve got a shit ton of issues-"
"Well, thanks-"
"Shut up, kid. I ain’t exactly light in the baggage area, either." McCoy thunks their foreheads together, but his mouth is twitching and Jim’s heart swells three times its size.
"So we’re good," he says, wanting to be sure. "You’re good with this."
McCoy’s thumb traces across the underside of his wrists, his eyes softening. “Yeah, Jim. I’m more than good.”
"Okay." Suddenly Jim’s completely out of words, and it’s such a rare phenomenon that he momentarily stumps himself. "Okay," he repeats, just to have something to say. Judging by the amusement in McCoy’s face, the other man knows all too well what’s happening.
"So this is how it’s going to go," McCoy begins.
Jim frowns, automatically rising to the imagined challenge. “Why do you get to decide?”
“Because, Jim,” McCoy grinds down again, pressing against the bulge in the front of Jim’s towel, which Jim’s beginning to resent with every ounce of his being, “I’m the one on top.”
"That’s-" Jim answers faintly. "That’s a good point."
"Mmm." McCoy sounds all too pleased with himself, which Jim amends by craning his head up and kissing the smirk right off his face. Raindrops still linger on McCoy’s skin, and Jim kisses them off meticulously, mouthing at a faint scatter of freckles that come and go with the spring sun.
McCoy thrusts down as he finds Jim’s mouth again with lips and tongue, grinding their erections together through layers of towel and briefs. It’s a maddening friction, a too-slow pace, and Jim gives a low growl of frustration, trying to rock up as McCoy shifts down.
"Can I- let me just…." Jim gropes around and plucks at the waistband of McCoy’s briefs. "Bones," he whines, until McCoy grunts impatiently and lifts his hips enough for Jim to shove the offending garment down. He immediately grabs for McCoy’s ass, giving a small sigh at the slide of warm skin beneath his palms.
"You got anything?" McCoy whispers against the side of his neck, and somehow Jim understands. He reluctantly removes one hand and gropes around for the nightstand, cursing when he knocks off everything on its surface before managing to yank the drawer open. His shoulder’s burning by the time he tosses the bottle awkwardly onto the bed, and he falls back onto the mattress with a relieved sigh.
Jim hears the pop of the lid and McCoy’s muffled curse when the lube explodes a little bit, and he stifles a grin when the bottle smacks the side of his head when McCoy lobs it away clumsily.
"Gimme your hand."
"Wha-?"
"Just- dammit, Jim." McCoy grabs his hand and Jim feels a cold wetness smear over his fingers, dripping down into his palm. "C’mon, stay with me."
And suddenly, Jim’s mind is a whole lot damn clearer now. “Yeah,” he breathes, jittery in his eagerness. “Yeah, yeah, I got you. Come here.”
“‘Come here’, my ass,” McCoy mumbles, and Jim opens his mouth instantly because it’s just too good to resist. “Shut up," McCoy adds, before he can say a word. But he scoots up and angles his hips up, mashing his face into the pillow beside Jim’s head. The shiver that passes through him when Jim’s hand presses between his legs shakes the both of them, and Jim tightens his free arm around McCoy’s waist to hold him in place.
“Fuck,” McCoy gasps, when Jim finally presses in a fingertip. His entire body shakes again, and Jim runs a soothing hand down his back, pulling out and rubbing gently around the twitching ring of muscle. He can feel excess lube trailing down his wrist, the light tickle becoming an almost overbearing itch.
"You good?" Jim asks, patting between McCoy’s shoulder blades. He feels a nod against the side of his face and reaches down with both hands this time, using one to hold McCoy open while he slowly pushes his finger back in.
"Ah, shit, shit, don’t stop," McCoy rambles, shoving backwards when Jim tries to hesitate.
"God, Bones, you’re so tight," Jim murmurs, unable to resist nudging in another finger alongside the first. It feels like McCoy’s pulling him in, clenching and tugging and holyshitdammit he’s going to come without even doing anything if Bones keeps making those noises.
It’s not long before McCoy’s rolling his hips back against Jim’s fingers, sweat dripping from his chin and landing on Jim’s chest when he pushes himself up on shaky arms and looks down. Jim knows he probably looks a mess, all slack jawed and flushed from trying not to roll the two of them over and fuck McCoy into oblivion, but Bones isn’t looking much different himself, his eyes wide and glassy and the tip of his tongue tracing his lower lip as he takes Jim in.
"Bones," Jim blurts out, sliding his fingers in to the knuckles and watching in awe as McCoy stiffens above him. "Bones, please, I need- I’m gonna-"
"Use your words," McCoy grunts disapprovingly, tightening down, and Jim sees white.
"I’m going to- fuck- I’m going to die. That c-clear enough for you?” Jim splutters, flushing with mounting indignation. Not his most coherent complaint, but then again, he’s never had Bones spread out for him like this before.
"All right, you infant, hold on." McCoy rises up on his knees unexpectedly, Jim’s fingers slipping out of him, but Jim swallows his complaints quickly when he feels fumbling fingers grip the base of his cock and stroke up.
"Don’t move," McCoy orders, lining himself up, and Jim utters a faint squeak in response.
They both shudder at the first breach, Jim’s hands automatically flying up to grip McCoy’s hips. McCoy pauses long enough to swat him away irritably, bracing himself against Jim’s stomach as he slides down a couple more inches with a drawn out exhale, his chest heaving.
"Oh. My God," Jim says breathlessly. "You. Are. Amazing. You are- you’re-"
"You talk too damn much," McCoy groans. His head falls back as he straightens and eases himself down, reaching around blindly with one hand to support himself on Jim’s thigh. "Why am I not surprised?"
"Sorry." Jim doesn’t even bother trying to sound apologetic, eyes fixed on the arch of McCoy’s throat as he swallows. He can’t help giving his hips a tentative roll upwards, and McCoy doubles over almost instantly, hands curling around Jim’s biceps warningly.
“Jim.”
"Sorry," Jim gasps again. He feels like he’s going to fly apart, barely held together at the seams by sheer will and the unspoken threat of emasculation if he tries to move again. "Just tell me when."
"Urhghgm," McCoy says. His head is heavy on Jim’s shoulder, fingers shaking where they grip Jim’s arms with bruising strength. He seems to clench down without being conscious of it, and Jim gives a pained groan.
"Any time now, Bones," he tries to say lightly, concentrating on the color of the ceiling, the flicker of the muted television in the corner. Anything but the weight and heat of McCoy’s body and the tiny grunts coming from the back of his throat with every exhale.
"Let me," Jim finally realizes McCoy’s saying, over and over against against his shoulder. "Let me, Jim. Let me do it."
"Okay, buddy, just- ah-" Jim sucks in a startled breath when McCoy suddenly tightens his grip on his arms, pinning him still as he lifts up on Jim’s cock and slams down again. "Fuck, Bones-“
"I’m trying to, you demanding twat,” McCoy says, his voice shaking in an almost laugh, and Jim finds himself grinning deliriously as McCoy begins to set up a slow rhythm, holding Jim down while he grinds his hips down and presses open kisses to the side of Jim’s neck.
It’s messy and uncoordinated, McCoy’s fingers sliding on Jim’s sweaty skin as he fucks them both into incoherence, chests sliding together and hips clashing with a scattering of groans and choked curses. Their kisses have devolved into harsh breathing and the occasional meeting of tongues, Jim’s lips bitten and stinging where McCoy’s teeth have raked across them, and he’s long forgotten the taste of anything other than Bones.
One of McCoy’s hands finally slips off and fists at the sheets, leaving Jim’s left hand free to wriggle between their bodies and find McCoy’s cock. McCoy flinches bodily at the first contact, and the way he clenches down on Jim’s erection has them both groaning and panting for a few seconds.
"Bones," Jim chants, rough and ragged beneath the curve of McCoy’s jaw. "Bones, Bones, Bones, c’mon-" He squeezes his fist and strokes clumsily with the rhythm of McCoy’s increasingly uneven rocking, trying to tilt his hips up to meet the downward thrusts. "Bones, holy shit, you’re so good. So amazing. Fucking yourself like that on my cock-"
McCoy gives a breathy moan that Jim’s never heard out of him before, high and quivering.
"Yeah, you like that?" Jim sounds a bit shaky himself, but he clears his throat and pulls himself together, tries to form proper words into orderly sentences. "So good, Bones, you know that? You’re the best, so hot, so tight. So greedy for it, you’d do anything to come right now, wouldn’t you?" He twists his wrist on the upstroke, tightening his grip at the head, and McCoy cries out, his other hand loosening.
Jim wraps his newly freed arm around McCoy’s neck, digs his fingers in damp hair and tugs McCoy’s mouth to his. “Come on, Bones,” he slurs, dizzy and tight and coming, oh God- “Now, do it now, fuck, I’m gonna-“
McCoy suddenly surges to life above him, pushes his tongue in Jim’s mouth and damn well kisses him with all he’s got, biting down on his lip, swallowing Jim’s groans as he thrusts up once, twice, and it’s over. That’s it, that’s all she wrote, and Jim’s heard the expression before but now it’s all he can hold in his shattered and dazed mind.
Somewhere distantly above him, he hears McCoy exhale with a groan that’s almost a sob, and he has the presence of mind to continue what he started, rocking up tentatively into the clenching heat, and it’s almost too much but this is for Bones, so he keeps going and squeezes and keeps stroking and whispers nonsense until McCoy comes across his stomach with a shaky sigh.
Jim hums in satisfaction when McCoy slumps over him, reveling in the hot and sticky weight that shouldn’t feel good, but does. It’s the best feeling in the world, as far as he’s concerned.
"That was," he begins, and he doesn’t know what to say. McCoy gives a muffled snort, rolling off onto his side to collapse beside Jim. Jim rolls over impetuously and tangles their legs together, pressing McCoy’s hand to the drying mess on his torso.
"Gross," McCoy murmurs, but he ducks his head as he trails his fingers up Jim’s chest, and Jim glimpses his reddening ears. It’s adorable, it’s endearing, and it probably shouldn’t be affecting him much right after a round of smoking hot sex, but damn if he wasn’t going to be ready for a repeat performance in a few minutes.
"Sorry I left," McCoy finally says, his breath tickling across Jim’s skin. Jim nudges closer, props his chin up on the top of McCoy’s head.
"I think I’ve forgiven you."
McCoy’s quiet for a few moments, and Jim listens to the sound of the rain, watches the flicker of lightning against the walls. “All right, then,” McCoy says, and that’s all the warning Jim gets before he’s being bumped and pulled into another kiss. This one is soft, careful, fierce in a way that carries no force, and Jim thinks that maybe, just this once, he’s managed to find something worth sticking around for.