Title: Wear the Sun
Author: Tearsofamiko
Character(s): Jim Kirk / Leonard McCoy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I like them very much but they are not the hell my whales. (Horribly misquoted, but it makes me laugh.)
Summary: Summer of Love challenge ficlet for jim_and_bones, using this prompt from the buckleup_meme: "Bones working hard." (Comes before In the Heat of the Night)
.:::.
The sound of a lawn mower engine startles Jim out of his book, has him glancing over at where Joanna's surfing the 'net before wandering over to the window to investigate. He's not heard a real, old-fashioned mower since leaving Iowa and he smiles at the thought that Bones would own, let alone use one. Ruffling Joanna's hair as he walks past the computer console, he pushes through the screen door and out onto the porch, squinting against the glare of the sun.
It's hot outside, but nothing Jim hasn't felt before, back in Iowa or during his training at the Academy. It's just a different kind of heat, humid and heavy, tangible against his skin instead of the dryer heat of the Midwest. He leans against the porch rail and tilts his face up to the sun, soaking up the light and warmth, before peering around the yard, looking for Bones.
They'd arrived early this morning, a pale pink sunrise just tinting the horizon, too eager to start their time off to wait until a more reasonable hour. Jocelyn had brought Joanna over around lunchtime and the ecstatic happiness on both Bones' and Jo's part had been more than worth the few hours of sleep they'd garnered, though the afternoon sunlight is almost too much for Jim's eyes right now. He'd figured they'd spend the day lazing around the house, getting comfortable back on the ground and as temporary guardians of a child. Instead, Bones has apparently decided he'd rather do yard work.
Needless to say, Jim is confused.
And remarkably turned on.
It's not that Bones is doing anything particular. From the tools set out near the shed, he's just planning on mowing the – admittedly tall – grass, hanging a woven-rope hammock, and cleaning off a pair of lawn chairs and the picnic table. But something about seeing the man hard at work under the Georgia sun, not the ship's florescent lights, with sweat starting to sheen his skin, muscles flexing as he pushes the mower – Jim's mouth is desert-dry and the heat flooding his face has nothing to do with the projected heat indexes.
Bones is as methodical with his yard as he is with anything he does, walking the mower in perfectly straight lines through the grass. He goes slowly, takes his time to make sure it's done right, ducking his head occasionally to wipe his forehead with his shirt sleeve. Every inch of the yard is taken care of, from around the lumpy tree roots gnarling one corner of the yard to the shallow ditch separating the house's immediate property from a section of fallow field.
By the time Bones is done with the yard and cleaning the mower for storage, Jim is completely enthralled and only vaguely aware of the outside world, lost in fantasies and memories. He daydreams about wandering down the steps and over to where Bones is rinsing the mower, taking the hose and running the cold water over broad shoulders. Peeling off Bones' t-shirt and tracing every line of muscle with his tongue, tasting golden, sun-kissed skin. Feeling the hot sun on his face as the weight of Bones' body pins him to the sun-baked ground, the sweet warmth of Bones' mouth covering his, tracing pathways down his chest, swallowing him whole as the blue sky stretches endlessly overhead.
He blinks out of the thought, swallowing hard, sees Bones tug his t-shirt over his head and toss it over on the picnic table, sees Bones pick up the hose again and let the cool water wash over his dusty feet, over his forearms and hands, sees him duck his head and soak his hair, shaking the excess water away like a dog. Jim has to look away, can't keep staring, he doesn't have enough self-control for this, not when Bones looks like that, not when Joanna's in the house and Bones is busy anyway, he has to look away, he can't, it's too—
Bones looks up through his wet bangs, straight at Jim, hazel eyes hot and knowing even from across the yard, smile sly as he licks a stray drop of water off the corner of his mouth. And damn if Jim doesn't almost come right there, sunlight hot in his eyes and the memory of Bones' taste on the back of his tongue.
Bones tips back his head and laughs, like he knows exactly what Jim's thinking.