Habitual
By mrasaki
Fandom: Star Trek XI (Reboot)
Pairings: Kirk/McCoy
Rated: NC-17
Words: 1745
Completed: 08/12/09
Notes: Schmoop.
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Jim was a morning person. He rolled out of bed before dawn every morning, drank some milk, and went for a run along the wharves, reveling in the chill air and listening to the cries of the seagulls as they squabbled over garbage and clams. It was an energizing morning ritual, and one he never missed.
Bones was not a morning person. He went to bed late, studying or working and definitely not partying despite Jim's best efforts, and slept late. He also never napped so he felt the shortage of sleep hours more acutely than Jim ever did if he didn't get his full eight, and just powered on through the day fueled by caffeine and sheer cussedness. Once in a long while he would do something that could be described less as 'napping' than 'passing out'.
Bones without sleep was a grumpy, grouchy Bones, which was why Jim always made sure to sneak into Bones' room quietly, dropping his spare key on the desk and his sweatshirt on the floor and kicking off his running shoes. The bed was Starfleet issue and narrow, not designed for more than one person -- ostensibly to save space and discourage fraternization -- so he always tried, usually unsuccessfully, to keep the bed from dipping as much as possible as he settled in behind Bones' curled back. Bones was sleeping with his face mashed sideways into the pillow, curled up like he'd been kicked in the stomach. A low snore droned in the air.
Jim nudged his face into the back of Bones' neck, burying his cold nose into the short scrubby hairs there, and snaked his arm over Bones' side. Bones stirred and mumbled something, but otherwise didn't move.
He always meant to rest, wrapped around Bones' warmth, and to snooze a bit before the sun really came up and streamed through the east-facing window. Bones wasn't the only one who stayed up late; Jim, after running through a formidable persuasive repertoire that mostly involved saying Please repetitively at varying speeds and intonations, usually settled in to keep him company and do the Molecular Aerothermodynamics homework that was due at the end of every week. Keeping Bones' schedule as well as his own generally meant that a nap was, if not absolutely necessary, at least highly recommended somewhere during the afternoon.
He didn't mind too much. Jim was a champion napper; he could drop down and power-nap whenever and wherever opportunity availed. Bones called him you damned cat when he was in an affectionate mood and you goddamned cat when he wasn't, and he always rolled his eyes when Jim then smirked and oiled under his hand for petting. But if wishes were fishes he'd never go hungry again, so as he mouthed the pliant skin of Bones' neck and breathed in the comfortable musky damp of sleep-sweat, he discovered he was just as wide awake as ever.
It was the exercise, really, all the adrenaline and serotonin, and Jim was a morning person. And he secretly loved McCoy like this, pliant and breathing in long, slow breaths, slack-muscled and warm skinned.
He nuzzled against the back of Bones' neck, sparing a moment of guilt for disturbing him, then moved his hand lower.
Bones stirred. "Mm, Jim?" he muttered.
"Go back to sleep," Jim murmured back, his hand exploring the quiescent softness he found.
"'m sleepin," Bones growled at him. "Don't wake it up."
"I'm not doing anything," Jim said softly while his hand circled and stroked. "Just entertaining myself." He got a huff as his only answer.
Then, "What time is it?"
"Five-thirty-one."
"In the morning? God!" Jim's wandering hand was savagely yanked from Bones' boxers and given back to him. "I have to get up in two hours for a lecture and I just got to sleep at one!"
Jim mouthed the back of Bones' neck again placatingly, smoothing his hand up the flat plane of Bones' stomach, but Bones wasn't having it; he jerked out of his reach and scooted further away against the wall. Not very far of course; the mattress was narrow so he only moved over a few inches, but apparently Bones thought it was the principle of the thing. "Go to sleep, Jim."
Jim sighed. Here was the problem: Bones was a night owl. Jim was an early bird. Bones liked sex in the evenings after a long day, just as they were drifting off to sleep; it was, for him, a wordless hello if they'd been too busy with lectures, simulations, PT, examinations, and labs to see each other for a while, and a way of releasing the stresses of the day. Jim, on the other hand, vastly preferred sex first thing in the morning. In his opinion, it was a matter of efficiency; Jim was a firmly opportunistic sort of guy when it came to sex, but mornings involved wood anyway and such freebies were opportunities that started the day off on a high note and were not to be wasted. Bones usually muttered imprecations about 'damn inexhaustible twenty-somethings' and otherwise ignored Jim's well-reasoned and convincing arguments about the health benefits of morning sex.
Bones was also a light sleeper, so Jim generally found it worth his while to continue anyway because Bones could sometimes be cajoled into giving Jim what he wanted, but Bones wasn't having it this morning. After a particularly menacing growl and "I swear I'm revoking your key privileges," Jim sighed and gamely lay back, turning away onto his side and blinking into the dim gray gloom.
He was drifting off when he grew aware that Bones had tensed in that subtle shift between sleep and trying-to-sleep, stirring restlessly out of his boneless sprawl and his breath coming shorter. Then suddenly Bones turned and was up against Jim's back with a "Dammit, Jim" and was blanketing him with his own body, his hard cock against Jim's hip, his sleep-warmed face pushing against Jim's temple. He bit Jim's ear, hard. "You always do this at the ass-crack of dawn," he grumbled irritably, his drawl all the more syrupy because he was still half-asleep. "You gonna make it worth my while?"
His breath was sour but his tongue was hot and wet against Jim's own and Jim moaned a yes into his mouth, craning his head backwards at an awkward angle but he didn't care, reaching for Bones' head for leverage and feeling the dry scratch of stubble against his palm. Then Bones pressed slow kisses along the column of Jim's neck, the juxtaposition of tickling stubble and soft lips making Jim gasp and squirm, before Bones shifted back and tugged Jim over to cover him. Jim skimmed his hands up under the old Ole Miss t-shirt that Bones always wore to bed that was more holes than fabric, and then down, feeling the rough hair of Bones' belly arrowing into his pajama bottoms. Bones cocked a lazy eyebrow, eyes half-lidded, and he didn't have to push meaningfully down on Jim's head for Jim to know what he wanted.
Slow, slow slide down, faded flannel pulled down just enough to release him and Jim rubbed his cheek along Bones' erect cock, scenting it, before he rolled his tongue against the head and flicked along the veined underside. He ran his thumbs in slow circles over the joins of Bones' hips and thighs, over the weirdly smooth patches of skin that transitioned into the roughness of leg hair, and Bones sucked in a shuddering breath as Jim unhurriedly swallowed him down. It was languid, and searing, and Bones sighed deep in his throat as his fingers gently trailed along Jim's cheekbones and followed the leisurely movements of Jim's head and the hollowing of Jim's cheeks, and Jim could feel the sleepy tension rise sharply until Bones made a high sound and Jim swallowed, the fluid thick and musky on the back of his tongue.
"Mm," Bones murmured after a moment, cracking open one eye. "You can wipe that smirk off your face."
Jim laid his cheek against Bones' firm thigh and laughed up at him. "Don't I deserve a happy ending too?"
"Hell no." But Bones tugged at him, and Jim came up smiling. They lay together, Bones breathing quietly into Jim's hair. Jim thought he'd gone back to sleep when Bones stirred again and pushed and guided him until Jim was laying on his back against Bones' chest, and Bones tucked a knee under Jim's leg and reached down.
Jim spread his legs wider, draping one over Bones and arched as Bones' long and skillful fingers slowly worked him. He tangled his fingers into Bones' thick hair as Bones mouthed behind his ear, muttering, "You bastard, you're lucky I love you," and Jim could feel the sweat prickling his skin, the chafe of it, and it was so damn good, the morning chill of the room offset by the heat of his skin and the frustrating friction of Bones' hand, Bones' breath and sleepy tenor tickling his ear, the 'I love you' something Bones would never say in so many words when fully awake.
And it was perfect, the swell of pleasure overcoming his awareness as he tilted his head back into Bones' whispers and hot mouth, pressing his hips up into Bones' hand as he came, slick and shuddering with Bones' name on his lips. Bones would never know, but the pliancy of these moments, the boneless pleasure untempered by the stresses of a long day and Bones' languid drawl in his ear and the comfort of his warm solidity against Jim's body, was why Jim found himself wending his way to the Medical dorms again and again just as the sun peeked its way across the bay, and greeted later grumblings of "You're killing me slowly, kid," with a smile and a cup of coffee.
Bones sighed into his neck, hand slowing as he drifted back into sleep. Jim shifted just enough to clean himself up with tissues from the nightstand then slipped an arm under Bones' head, drawing only a mumbled token protest against his shoulder. He closed his eyes.