(no subject)

[chasedthestars]

[follows this]

He tried whistling, but his lip is too swollen, so Jim settles for a contented hum as he ambles towards home, body beaten eight ways from Sunday and a spring in his step.

Dragging his tongue over his fat lip, Jim smacks away the last of the beers he'd had after he and Tommy did their best to spar each other into the ground. "Man does not hold back," Jim murmurs to himself, grinning until it hurts too much. "God love'em."

His sides ache from hip to armpit, but it's a good hurt. It's a hurt Jim knows what to do with, where it came from, how long it's gonna last. It's a hurt that makes sense, clarity in the shape of purple knuckles along his ribs, the cut above his eyebrow and the blooming colors beneath his eye.

"Simple!" Jim announces as he rounds the corner to home. It's only when he sees Bones seated on the porch in the moonlight that he wonders if things will stay that way.

Comments

[leftwithmybones]

It's not that he's stalking Jim in a roundabout way. It's just that he's not sure what's going on since the other day, which means that he's on his highest alert level, waiting for Jim, thinking about Jim, worrying about the damn tape. He hasn't felt like this since he first started to date Jocelyn. When he sees Jim coming up the path, he swears under his breath.

Jocelyn was so much easier to deal with than this. He forces himself to stay put, but there's a real angry set to the way he crosses his arms.

[chasedthestars]

"Uh oh," Jim singsongs, just buzzed enough to think that poking the beast is an excellent idea. He stays his course up the path, only wincing when it comes to navigating the steps.

"Angry arms. I promise, it was all entirely consensual."

[leftwithmybones]

He's on his feet as soon as Jim hits the porch, his jaw tightening and cracking. By the time Jim gets to 'consensual', McCoy's already swinging, hissing when it stings his goddamn knuckles and stinging when he realizes what the hell he just did. Instead of even reclaiming his hand, he grabs at Jim's shirt, forcibly hauling him inside and shoving him onto the couch with both palms. "Sit," he orders. "Breathe. And brace," he says, flipping open his med-kit to ease out a hypo loaded with sedatives.

[chasedthestars]

Jim's too stunned to do more than go down when Bones punches him right in the face, flails in Bones' wake still gaping like a fish, but by the time the backs of his knees hit the couch his eyes are blazing.

Bones hit him, and just like that it all comes rushing in, all the nervous energy Jim had beaten out of him surging up again. Jim wants to hit him back, he wants to shove him right up against the wall, hands already balled, because Bones hit him, right in the fleshiest part of his face, where it won't bruise as badly, where the orbitals bone around his eyes wouldn't crack, and that has to have been on purpose, that has to have -

Jim goes down like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at Bones in muted respect. "You hit like a doctor."

[leftwithmybones]

"Yeah, well, I gotta patch you up, I'm not giving myself a worse canvas," he murmurs, gnawing on his lower lip to avoid getting out the words crystal clear or anything. The thing is, he doesn't want Jim to hear half of the shit he's saying. He just wants to fix him and forget all about that stupid tape or the way Jim's got him twisted like a dozen ropes knotted together. "Sit still," he orders, voice shaking for just a second as he slides the localized anesthetic against Jim's worst bruises, digging out some of the numbing salve for his face.

He slides his thumb slowly over Jim's lower lip, pausing for just a moment before withdrawing his finger swiftly. "Might go numb, a little."

[chasedthestars]

"Just want me to shut up," Jim murmurs, holding Bones' gaze. He's patched Jim up from much worse, but it's this that makes his voice shake - punching Jim, or maybe that's not it at all. Maybe it's everything that came before it, maybe Jim's not the only one that needs to hit something when he feels fucked up. It makes Jim's head spin, and all at once, he just needs everything to slow down.

"Bones," he says, catching his injured hand before it can go any further. His knuckles are red, the skin of more than one broken. Jim passes his fingers lightly over them. "Who's gonna patch you up?"

[leftwithmybones]

He draws his hand back, a flush rising in his cheeks because he doesn't wanna impress this responsibility on Jim. "It's fine, I'll run a regen over 'em later," he mumbles, trying to make less of a deal over the injuries on his hand. He tries not to think about the light touch of Jim's fingers or how it makes his stomach practically drop out from under him. "Hold still," he says, "and get naked."

[chasedthestars]

Maybe it's the fact that his lip is going numb, but Jim manages to gape even wider than when Bones hit him. "You only manage to get me in scrubs when I'm unconscious or you sic Chapel on me," he says, "What makes you think I'm getting naked?"

Still, he reaches for the hem of his shirt, suppressing a groan at the stretch of his aching ribs to pull it over his head. "I'll give you boxers only."

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy shifts, shaking out his aching hand and putting it out of mind in order to help Jim. He shifts to stand behind him, tugging at the hem of Jim's shirt and sliding his knuckles over hot skin as he pulls the shirt up and off. He knows he's goddamn leaping over the line that's appropriate, but he's too far in his own head to give a damn.

He moves onto the pants, nudging the button loose with a pop of his thumb, getting the nail securely in before nudging down the zip and stepping back. "Who the hell did this to you?"

[chasedthestars]

Jim sighs in relief as the shirt comes free, head lolling forward, and he sees Bones' hands before he feels them, phantom heat against his sides as Bones' arms encircle his waist, fingers nimbly defeating the button of his jeans and then the zipper. There's the faintest pressure against the skin beneath, and they've done this a hundred times, maybe more, Bones looking after him, taking care of him, never being anything but clinical, and now...

Now Jim has the strangest urge to roll his head back, rest the crown of it against Bones' shoulder, one hand around the one at his waist to keep it exactly where it is. It's dizzying, it's - confusing, and Jim blinks, trying to ignore the prickle of heat over his skin.

"Tommy. He's a fighter at home, he was - we were just sparring. Blowin' off steam," Jim slurs around his lip.

[leftwithmybones]

For a second, he sways forward and catches that faint drift of heat from Jim. It's the way his back is bare, now, and McCoy's hands are so close and he's still buzzing with a dozen kinds of frantic energy that he doesn't know what to do with. He focuses on one shining thread through the madness: fixing Jim. "You look a lot more than some steam," he says critically, grabbing the salve and rounding Jim's side, swearing under his breath as he gets down to his knees and uncaps the tube, sliding it over the bruises on his thighs. "Is this your substitute for dinosaurs?"

[chasedthestars]

Jim hisses for the contact, every press of fingertips an ache and a sting before the balm seeps in to soothe it. It's almost like it was before, pain every time one of Tommy's fists connected, relief for the simplicity of it all, but now it's Bones touching him, on his knees, intense and focused and sliding a hand over his thigh and Jim's not breathing.

Gasping, he steadies himself with a hand flung back against the couch, noting almost offhand that, "Your ears are red."

[leftwithmybones]

Of course they're fucking red. McCoy's slid in between Jim's bare legs with his hands slicked up in salve, thinking about all the blowjobs that Jim talked about on the tape and how McCoy is precious inches away from finding out if he can compare. He's an idiot, plain and simple. "Shut up," he says, too embarrassed to actually look up.

He finishes with the bruises on Jim's thighs, taking in the ones on his torso and debating the best way to get at them. "...this because of earlier?" he finally asks the question he's been avoiding.

[chasedthestars]

Jim watches Bones look up at him from the floor, feels those eyes that never miss a goddamn thing about the human body sweeping over his own, and Jesus, Jim really needs him to stand the fuck up.

"Maybe," he says, honest, at least, in his confusion. "Didn't start that way. But I saw him punching that bag, and I couldn't shake it. What this place did to you on Valentine's, what it did to me on Valentine's. It's so messed up, Bones."

[leftwithmybones]

"I'm not arguing that," he assures, still letting his gaze sweep over Jim's body. He eventually settles for tapping Jim's knee twice, urging him to get up, thinking he'll numb the last of the bruises and see if anything needs stitches. "Look, I'm not saying to lie down and take it, but there's a sort of peace to accepting the idea that it could happen. I live with it knowing that everyone's in the same boat."

[chasedthestars]

Jim is quiet, mulling that over until he stands. The balm has worked its magic, and his legs are numb, but the pummeled muscles in his sides still ache, skin swollen angry and tight, and Jim groans. He's no stranger to pain, but he'd rather Bones got that goop on the rest of him sooner rather than later.

"Can't do that," he murmurs. "I can't accept that we're all just sitting ducks for whatever comes next. I took an oath to explore strange new worlds, not be their damn pawn."

[leftwithmybones]

He's too busy keeping his gaze bowed on the salve, coating his fingers with a fresh burst of the stuff before he eases onto his knees on the couch behind, getting a good view of where the worst of the damage is. Hissing, he lets his fingers trail over the bruises, tracing the shapes with a look of pain on his face. "You got hit good, huh, Jim."

Sighing, he keeps working, a sickly amusing thought striking him. "So, what, you'd be pissy if suddenly you woke up and half the island had switched sexes? Don't tell me that wouldn't make you curious."

[chasedthestars]

"Curious, sure," Jim grunts, lip curling in a puffy, lop-sided smile. "But what would make that really great is an opt-in clause. This whole, fucking with our bodies thing, fucking with our minds, that's what I have a problem with, Bones."

He looks down, watches Bones map the path of Tommy's knuckles over his torso. "He knew what he was doing," he says. "Remind me to work on your right hook."

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy thinks that Jim wouldn't come home for the whole day, locked in some lucky idiot's bedroom while exploration was pushed outwards to the strangest boundaries. "My right hook is fucking fine," he swears, gripping at Jim's waist tightly, just to send one quick shot of pain through his system. "I just didn't need to hear you say that damn word."

[chasedthestars]

Gasping, Jim clutches instinctively at Bones' shoulders as the pain spiderwebs out from where the other man has grabbed him, only breathing out when the throbbing sinks beneath the balm.

"Was supposed to reassure you," he mutters. "Why's that got you all mean?"

[leftwithmybones]

Shit.

This is a bad position to be in. From where he's kneeling, McCoy lifts his chin fluidly and suddenly he's staring up at Jim from mid-torso level, his hands on Jim's waist and sticky, wet, warm. "Consensual," he echoes, lowly. "After that goddamn tape and watching you talk about your tour of sex, you come back and you...you just...you implied that there's been more and just, jesus, look at the state of you."

[chasedthestars]

"So you thought you'd punch me in the face?" Jim asks. His hands ball again, but this time it's in Bones' shirt, hauling him to sit on the couch properly.

"We were sparring, Bones. The only thing we banged together were our fists, I promise, and anyway." Jim's expression is earnest, brows drawn together in distress. "I wouldn't let some guy rough me up and then have sex with him, not after a day like today."

[leftwithmybones]

"You made me see red," is all he admits, haplessly. He stares up at Jim for a moment, like he can't even take a second without looking at him and trying to process what the hell he feels and this goddamn day that they've had, this stupid, goddamn day. "Shit, Jim," he drawls, words heavy with an accent stronger than most days because he's still so upset. "Consensual," he spits out, like it's a traitor of a word.

[chasedthestars]

"I'm sorry," says Jim, and even if he really had meant to reassure with the word, he hates to see Bones upset. For all his temper, it's rare to see the other man truly rattled.

Sitting down, Jim reaches, giving Bones' knee a squeeze. "Everybody's okay. Everybody's in their right minds and nobody's being fucked with. Why don't you let me do some doctoring on your hand before it gets infected and you can't be a surgeon anymore, huh?"

[leftwithmybones]

The squeeze only makes him tense up further. He lets out a soft breath and stares down at his hand, which isn't half as bad as he'd expected it to be. "Y'don't have to do that," he says, wiggling his hand and then lifting the other. "Learned how to be ambidextrous, can just patch it up when I give you a sleeping pill and you drift right off."