chasedthestars | (no subject)

Jim wakes in twisted sheets, flat on his back but breathing hard, a look of dazed frustration crumpling his features as he blinks up at the ceiling. Chronologically speaking, he's too old to be a virgin, even if he can't recall a single instance of sex.

So when he closes his eyes to revisit the sordid events of his dreams, he can't say with any certainty whether they're memory or fantasy. But he can still feel the scrape of Bones' stubble across his thighs, phantom fingers around his cock, he can still taste Bones' tongue sweeping over his own, and Jesus, he's so hard he's aching.

Reaching for himself, Jim only makes it past his belly button when he hears Bones in the kitchen, and he freezes with a groan. He holds his breath, praying to whatever god he might believe in that Bones will go back into his own room, and when he exhales, there's silence.

Jim slides gingerly out of bed, tiptoeing to the door to check. He opens it just a crack and sees Bones bent over, boxers stretched tight over a backside Jim's been imagining all night. "Shit."

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From:

leftwithmybones

McCoy stands straight, getting away from where he's bent over trying to knock some of the pipes loose from under the kitchen sink. He gives Jim an expectant look, half-worried that something might've happened while he was asleep. "You okay?" he asks, scanning Jim quickly for signs of trauma.

From:

chasedthestars

"Sure," Jim swiftly replies, but it comes out rough and a little breathless. He clears his throat, angling his hips away from the crack in the door. Maybe he can make it to the bathroom when Bones isn't looking. "Uh. Carry on."

From:

leftwithmybones

Another few smacks and the water stops dripping, which is about as much as he can ask given that he's a doctor, damn it, not a plumber. He wipes off his hands on the nearby cloth before yanking on his nearby t-shirt, pushing lanky strands of hair from out of his face. "You want breakfast? I was about to put some oatmeal on."

From:

chasedthestars

Jim had stalled halfway across the room, mesmerized by the early morning sunlight moving over Bones' back as he worked, the skin tanned and soft looking, even where it stretched over firm cords of muscle.

It's the opposite of the cold shower he'd been aiming for, and Jim's so grateful he's stopped with the countertop between them that his knees feel weak. Or maybe that's just the lack of blood...

Jim swallows. "Do we have something cold?"

From:

leftwithmybones

"Cereal?" he murmurs, opening the small fridge he keeps for them in the house. "There's no milk, though, haven't been to the pasture to see what the animals are giving off today." He straightens, taking a long moment to look at Jim -- really look at him -- and it's all he needs to remember how much he misses his best friend. "You sleep okay?"

From:

chasedthestars

"Kind of a rough night," says Jim, and he wonders if his cheeks are as flushed as they feel. He's hot all over/i>, phantom kisses on his skin every time he looks at Bones' mouth, and Jesus christ, he is supposed to be thinking about cereal.

"Lots of dreams."

From:

leftwithmybones

McCoy's been hoping for some kind of relapse, for Jim's memories to pop back up. He's aware that it's a long shot, but he has to hold out hope otherwise he's being his normal negative self. "Anything in particular? Maybe I can fish out some memories in those dreams of yours, hiding in your subconscious?"

From:

chasedthestars

"I'm not sure if they're memories," says Jim cautiously, and the thought of upsetting Bones with them is, thankfully, enough to quell the action going on in his boxers some.

"They're kind of. Dirty. Maybe they're just fantasies?" And if he ever gets his memories back, Jim is seriously going to examine that massive hard-on he has for his best friend, even when asleep.

From:

leftwithmybones

McCoy clears his throat, feeling like awkwardness is about to come home to roost. "Look, Jim, you were sort of...loose...at the Academy. There's actually more of a chance they're real memories if they're dirty. Swear to god, sometimes I wished you'd just let me move out of the damn room, but you always tried to give me sex-migraines."

From:

chasedthestars

Sex-migraines. That's no after effect Jim can recall, but then, he can't recall anything, can he? "From us having so much sex?" he ventures, finally tired of prevaricating.

From:

leftwithmybones

"You and I didn't have sex, not in the Academy." It's a clarification sure, but maybe he needs it to feel comfortable right now with Jim not remembering who he is or what they have. We roomed together. We, you know, we're, are, codependent best friends."

From:

chasedthestars

Jim opens his mouth, but there's another moment before anything comes out of it. He has no idea what Jim, the real Jim who remembers everything wants, and he doesn't want to screw anything up for him, but at the same time, something about this feels wrong. He has all these feelings, for Bones, about Bones, with Bones. Is he just too scared to say so in the waking world?

"Well," he says eventually. "I think I might want more."

From:

leftwithmybones

Now comes the time for him to decide what he wants to do. He knows there's no way to prevaricate, no way to avoid this, not anymore. "Jim, sit down," he orders calmly, gesturing to the breakfast table. "You and I ought to talk, I guess."

From:

chasedthestars

Still shielding his boxers, Jim shuffles towards the table, almost there when he becomes aware that his thoughts have drifted. Suddenly he's not in this cabin, but a dusty farmhouse, his body small and thin and angry, so angry he can feel it bubbling in his own gut, and towering over him, a man that's just as angry, spittle in Jim's face and then a crack across his cheekbone sharp enough to send him sideways.

Jim grips the chair, breathing the name as it appears. "Frank."

From:

leftwithmybones

Shit.

Fuck all the crap about their weird relationship and how they haven't even really had an actual date and how they already live together. There's a few things that hit McCoy's panic meter and Frank is one of them. He knows about the man, knows about what he did to Jim from files in Jim's history and he's a genius enough to put things together and figure out that it's not good.

He's never hated anyone so much that he's never met and Jocelyn's on that damn list. "Jim," McCoy says, fraught with worry as he bolts to his feet to try and stabilize him. "Jim, easy. What is it? What do you remember?"

From:

chasedthestars

Jim touches fingers to his bottom lip, ginger like he expects it to be split, but it's still full and whole. "My stepdad," he says slowly, looking up at Bones, that familiar face enough to chase away the angry red one beating at his memory. "Isn't he? He's a dick."

From:

leftwithmybones

"Such a dick," McCoy agrees swiftly, given that he wants to pummel the shit out of Frank and he's only ever had stories. Hell, if it weren't for McCoy's hatred of shuttles, he'd have grabbed the first one out of San Francisco and beat Frank up rough as he could. "You okay? Did you remember that?"

From:

chasedthestars

Jim nods, pressing tentatively into his own mind. He doesn't want to remember Frank, but if he remembers him, there must be more. Eyes closed, Jim concentrates, breath catching as he sees her. Jesus, she's pretty, tumbling blond hair and blue eyes, a mouth Jim can't seem to make smile no matter how many flashes of her he sorts through. In all of them, she's walking away.

"My mom," he murmurs. "Why would she leave me with him?"

From:

leftwithmybones

"Because it's complicated, Jim," he says in a hush. He's not an expert in this, he doesn't want to act like an expert. All that he wants is to make sure that Jim's okay and that the memories start coming back, not stopping anywhere in particular. "I don't know all of it. I do know that people make mistakes, sometimes."

From:

chasedthestars

"It's not that complicated," Jim mutters. His head hurts, his heart, too, emotions bouncing between his current confusion and the suddenly influx of remembered rage. "She's my mom."

Sighing, he sits down at the table. "Maybe it gets better," he says, head cocked and listening to screams from long ago. "He says he's sending me off world. Some colony on Tarsus. Anywhere will be better than that fucking farm house."

From:

leftwithmybones

Out of instinct, he reaches out and grabs hold of Jim's wrist as tight as he fucking can. Tarsus, now that he knows about. Hell, the history books would've told him if not for Jim's file and it's probably evident that something's wrong from the panic in his eyes. "Jim, how about we go and get that milk, huh? You want cereal, right?" Anything to get them away from these memories.

From:

chasedthestars

Jim nods, more to acknowledge that he'd mentioned it earlier than any continuing desire to eat cereal. He wants...he doesn't know what he wants. Things to make sense again. Frank to be a distant memory, rather than something beating at the forefront of his mind.

"Pancakes," he says, watching Bones' knuckles go white around his wrist. If it hurts, Jim doesn't seem to mind, more worried about what the rest of his memories will reveal. "And bacon. Can we go to that little restaurant again? The Winchester?"

From:

leftwithmybones

"Yeah, we can go anywhere you want," McCoy promises, not adding 'so long as you stop remembering Frank and Winona and Tarsus and George and all of your goddamn life'. He doesn't say that, but he thinks it so hard that if Jim's picked up the ability to sense his thoughts, it'd come across clear as anything.