Jim sighs and kicks at the seat in front of him, watching it ease back and forth slowly. “Bored.”
“Stop that,” Spock says mildly, glancing up at him before returning to his guard post at the base of the ferris wheel.
“Mmm.” Jim hops onto the seat and squints off speculatively into the distance; he can make out the roof of the aquarium from here, and he wonders absently what happened to the dolphins. “They’re late,” he says, trying and failing to achieve a nonchalant tone. “Why d’you think they’re late?” He tries not to think of Sulu and Bones trapped in an alley, biters clawing for them through a chain link fence, grabbing at ankles, hair, clothing.
He thinks it anyway, and he curses himself thoroughly.
Spock opens his mouth, and Jim stops him with a snort. “Never mind.” He settles for rocking back and forth on the seat, wishing he has something more substantial than the Beretta on him. Spock has a Glock, the bastard, and Jim’s been wanting to make a joke with that since the day they met. The timing never seems right, though, and Spock has the kind of face that discourages any attempt at humor.
“We shouldn’t linger,” Spock says, turning away from Jim. “If Dr. McCoy and Mr. Sulu do not return within ten minutes, I suggest that we leave.”
Jim stares at his back, his hand clenching where it rests on his knee. “You’re right,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. “Damn you for it.”
Spock doesn’t say anything, and they both wait in the desolate city.
Jim spends the time swinging lazily, head tilted back and staring up through the struts of the ferris wheel. The seats at the top sway in the wind, and he listens to the haunting sounds of their distant creaking. Spock’s a ramrod statue, standing guard even though he can barely aim a gun. His mind is his strong point, his ability to glance at a blueprint or map and draw it perfectly, his errorless calculations of their chances of survival. The latter is fairly irritating, but legitimate, and Jim’s long since given up on trying to figure out how the guy does it.
Eight minutes later, Spock starts glancing back at him again, and Jim pretends not to notice. Hurry, Sulu, he thinks grimly. Then he thinks about Bones, and what if-
“Jim!” The call sounds awkward, like someone trying to whisper and shout at the same time, and Jim looks over his shoulder to see Sulu running towards him. Bones is right behind him and they both look in one piece, but the look on Bones’ face, and Jesus, they’re alone.
Jim stands, hearing Spock come up behind him. “You all right?” he demands, as soon as the other two are within hearing distance, and he’s listening for Sulu’s answer, but watching Bones’ eyes. A lot can be told from a man’s eyes, and Bones has the most vulnerable eyes Jim has ever seen in a world this hard and mad. Doesn’t mean he’s weak, he reminds himself. There’s a difference wider than the ocean between the two.
This is for omegabones for our little fic exchange! The two prompts I chose from her list were Bones getting pulled into the future and age swap. So you know…age swap by technicality. Enjoy!
Anomalies were a reality of their world. The theory behind them varied from culture to culture, some believed they were a punishment, others a blessing, some thought they were nothing at all. But no matter the belief, the scientific explanation, or the propaganda, the reality was that Anomalies happened. Hair colors changed, people found themselves suddenly ten years younger, missing months of their lives, or 5000 miles away from where they had been standing not seconds before. There were no warnings, no common factors, just the Anomalies and their consequences.
And, until a few hours ago, Leonard McCoy viewed Anomalies as something that happened to other people.
In fact some nights Bones can’t think about anything else other than Jim’s long, thick fingers sinking into him. Yes Bones is known for his legendary hands, but god if he doesn’t worship Jim’s.
Bones reveling in how Jim’s hands move over him and possess him. Jim loving how needy he can make Bones with just a press of his fingers against the plug or his tongue.
Oh my god you’re trying to kill me around you?
only a teeny bit
set-phasers-to-bacon replied to your post:Oh but what about a blind pianoplayer!Bones who teams up with smooth Sinatra-voice Kirk?MoooooooOORE PLEASE?!?
The first time Jim heard Leonard McCoy play, he was twenty-two and suffering from last night’s hangover, two vodka shots, and a black eye. Judging at the atmosphere at the bar that night, he might be walking away with a few more grievances than he had walking in. The asshole du jour’s about to start a brawl with a bar stool when the first tinkling notes rise high over the rumbling crowd, and everyone glances over simultaneously at the piano.
It’s an old, battered baby grand, pushed over to a corner to make room for the pool table and largely forgotten by everyone, probably including the bar owner. But now, the tarp’s pushed back, the lid raised about six inches, and sitting with his back to Jim on the piano bench is a man.
Jim can’t see much from here, just the back of a dusty jacket and a dark head bent over the keyboard. He can see the cane, though, a long white stick with a red band leaning against the side of the piano, and he realizes with a start that the man’s blind.
But, God, can he play.
Jim doesn’t recognize the tune; it’s a tentative, melancholy piece that jerks at his heartstrings, brings to mind broken windows and empty houses and white sheets, and the man’s fingers never trip. But it’s not completely sad, and it’s a subtle distinction that Jim tries to grasp-
Unfortunately, asshole du jour breaks out of his brief reverie and breaks the bar stool over Jim’s head, and in the melee that follows, he loses sight of the piano player.
“It was amazing,” he assures his roommate the next morning, wincing as he holds a bag of ice over his left eye. “I almost cried.”
“You sure it wasn’t from the shiner?” Nyota asks wryly, topping off his coffee mug. “You’ve got a gig in a week, Jim. Don’t you think you should be at least trying to protect your face?”
“They don’t come for my face,” he mumbles dismissively.
“You need your face to sing, don’t you? Gimme that.” She takes the ice and punches it into a better shape before slapping it mercilessly back into place. “Rest up.”
“He was blind,” Jim says, thinking out loud, and Nyota pauses halfway to the sink with the breakfast dishes.
“Yeah. Saw the cane.” Jim makes a vague shape in the air with his hand. “It was incredible, Ny. Like nothing I’ve ever heard.”
“Blind, huh,” she murmurs, and he hears the clatter of the dishes as she sets them down and starts running the faucet. “Think I’ve heard of someone like that. I’ll ask around for you at the bar tonight.”
“I love you,” Jim says gratefully, and Nyota gives an unattractive snort.
“You love the music,” she says, and he gives a wry smile. It’s true enough, at any rate.
One Night Stand!AU Part 3
just a whole bunch of porn
Leonard didn’t intend to sleep with Jim again.
He realizes this only when it’s two orgasms too late, lying awake in what he finally notices is the same damn hotel room from last night, Jim wrapped around him like an overheated, quietly snoring blanket with his head tucked beneath Leonard’s chin.
Oh hell, he thinks, panicking slightly now, and he tries to remember where exactly everything went so wrong.
He recalls walking together with Jim down to the bar, and it’s a quiet place like he promised, a dark jazz lounge beneath a flickering neon planet and a sign proclaiming it to be Vulcan.
"Ever been here?" Jim asks, holding the door open for him. It’s a subtle touch that gives Leonard some pause, and he tries to decide as he likes it even as he shakes his head and passes through the door.
"I know the owner," Jim continues blithely, stepping up beside Leonard and taking his arm as casually as a plus one at an evening gala. His hand rests on the inside of Leonard’s elbow, holding on just tightly enough to make himself known, and Leonard feels his resistance start to crumble at the corners. "He’s a bit of an ass, really, but it’s cute."
When Leonard meets said bar owner, he finds it difficult to find what aspect of the stoic man Jim considers cute, but to each their own, he thinks dubiously.
Everything about this is perfect. Imagine Bones being all sniffles and weakened grump but trying to brave through it when Jim’s around because the kid has enough to worry about and he’s not even that sick really it’s just a cold dammit.
But then whenever Jim heads out for his shift Bones just curls up in their bed with one of Jim’s sweatshirts on and another one pulled over the pillow and he’s just got his face mashed into it and that’s how Jim finds him when he gets home and it warms Jim’s heart and makes him a little giddy so he strips down into just his boxers and replaces the sweatshirt covered pillow with his own body and Bones just sighs contentedly not even stirring for sleep.
Couldn’t sleep so I re did a thing.
these dorks i swear to god
"By golly, Jim! I’m starting to think i can cure a rainy day!"
Damn right you can you pretty medical wizard
"Doctor, I find your staring to be most illogical.”