Slow Southern Style

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Story Notes:
August 2, 2009
The air is getting a little cooler now that the sun is going down, but it’s still too hot to really be comfortable. Jim isn’t really used to this kind of heat. Summer in Iowa and San Francisco could get hot, but this is more of a sticky kind of heat that makes his skin sweaty even when he’s just standing doing nothing. Bones doesn’t seem that affected, despite the fact that it’s been nearly eight years since he left Georgia for Starfleet. If anything, he looks sexy when he’s got his shirt off and his skin is somehow tanning already. Jim’s got a damn sunburn on his nose and shoulders, but Bones looks like some sort of bronzed God, especially when the muscles in his shoulders and arms keep stretching and flexing as he packs boxes.

“That doesn’t look like packing to me,” Bones says, arching a brow as he catches Jim staring at him.

“It’s your fault,” Jim says, smiling his most innocent smile. “You took off your shirt. You know that I get distracted whenever you’re half-naked and sweaty.”

“You blamed me earlier when my shirt was still on,” Bones reminds him. “When does something become your fault?”

“Never. I’m faultless.” He smirks when Bones rolls his eyes and snorts with laughter. “I think we should take a break. We’ve been cleaning and packing since dawn.”

For a minute, he thinks Bones might protest since he’s been reluctant to stop working since they got here three days ago. Jim knows that he’s dealing with a lot right now, with his uncle dying and leaving him this rambling old house practically in the middle of nowhere, but that’s one reason why breaks are needed. Finally, Bones nods and runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, should probably figure out something for dinner anyway.”

“Food is good. Lunch was hours ago.” He snags Bones’ arm when he walks past towards the kitchen. Leaning over, Jim kisses him slowly. “You okay?”

“The answer hasn’t changed from the other twenty times you’ve asked since we got here,” Bones grumbles, gently touching Jim’s face as he presses their foreheads together. “I’m fine, Jim. I hadn’t seen Hugh since my dad died. He blamed me, you know? Not being able to save his baby brother and then what I did.” Bones takes a deep breath, and Jim reaches out to stroke his bare back.

“That isn’t your fault,” he says, moving his hand up and down as he listens to Bones’ breathing. “You fulfilled your father’s last wish. Your uncle was probably just upset and lashed out at the most convenient target. He obviously loved you, though. He left you everything, Bones.”

“I’m the only one left.” Bones laughs dryly, his fingers brushing through Jim’s hair before he grips the back of his neck lightly. “I’m a failure as a son, as a husband, as a father. Hugh saw that before I ever did.”

“If I’d known this was going to be a pity party, I’d have worn a suit.” He tilts his head so that he can press his lips against Bones’ mouth. “Joanna loves you, Jocelyn isn’t a bitter ex anymore, and your father didn’t have to suffer anymore. Besides that, you’re the most brilliant CMO in Starfleet, the best friend anyone could have, and the most amazing boyfriend in the world. The one thing that you aren’t is a failure. Understood?”

“Understood,” Bones says, lips twisting slightly beneath Jim’s mouth. “And don’t call me your damn boyfriend. I’m a mature man, not a boyish teenager.”

“You’re definitely all man, but I’m not sure if I’d agree about the mature part,” Jim tells him thoughtfully.

“Right. The kid suffering from Peter Pan Syndrome is going to lecture me about maturity?” Bones nibbles at Jim’s bottom lip and drops his hand lower to caress the curve of Jim’s ass.

“If I didn’t know that you were being a dick and trying to tease me, I’d have to go into some long, boring defense about just how mature I am, especially the past few years, so consider yourself lucky that I’m not going to bother.” He reaches out to pinch Bones’ side. “But don’t let it happen again or you might hurt my feelings.”

“Damn it, Jim. I didn’t mean that.” Bones pulls back and stares at him. “You said I wasn’t mature first, by the way.”

Jim starts to laugh, watching Bones’ face as his lips twitch before he’s laughing, too. “Maybe boyfriends is more accurate than either of us cares to admit,” he says, shaking his head

“Yeah, well, it’s better than some of the options, I suppose.” Bones makes a face, probably remembering when Jim went through the ‘loverboy’ phase a couple of years ago. Or maybe he’s thinking about the ‘snookums’ phase. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m hungry now that I’m thinking about food.”

Jim follows him into the kitchen, thinking about boyfriends and options as Bones looks in the refrigerator. He leans against the counter and fiddles with an old radio while he watches Bones. When he manages to get a station tuned in, he listens to the song, deciding that it must be really old because he doesn’t recognize it. It doesn’t really matter, since it’s got a good beat. “Wanna dance?”

Bones looks up and frowns at him. “Jim, I’m trying to make dinner. Aren’t you too tired to dance?”

“I’m never too tired to dance with you.” He smiles and pushes himself off the counter.

“I don’t even know what kind of music you’d call that,” Bones mutters. “There’s too much static on that old radio to hear it well.”

“We can hear enough of it,” Jim says, holding out his hand.

“We aren’t even wearing shoes.” Bones continues to frown, but it’s the ‘I need to appear reluctant and grumpy so you don’t think I’m too easy’ frown, so Jim knows that Bones is going to agree soon.

“We aren’t wearing shirts, either,” he points out helpfully, wiggling his fingers slightly. “There’s no rule that says you can’t dance barefoot in a kitchen wearing only a pair of blue jeans.”

“It’s too hot to dance. Hugh never did get the damn air conditioning to work again. It went out when I was twelve, and I can remember him bitching to my dad about how spoiled the world was with the reliance on electronics and shit and how he could handle not having it.” Bones ducks his head as he obviously thinks about his late uncle. “In some ways, he was almost a grandfather to me, since he was so much older than my dad. It hurt, after my dad, when he shut me out.”

“He loved you, Bones.” Jim can say that confidently. He’s read the letter that Bones’ uncle left him, the one that Bones seems to think doesn’t forgive him for helping end his father’s life and having a failed marriage, yet talked about so many things that it’s impossible not to see how much love his uncle felt for him, and how much he regretted being a stubborn old bastard who couldn’t say it except in a letter that wouldn’t be seen until he died. Jim knows that Bones can be a stubborn ass, but he’s glad that he can force him into talking when it’s important. The idea of some fight never being resolved until death is horrible in ways he can’t even describe, which is why he can understand how Bones is feeling right now.

“You really want to dance?” Bones raises his head, his hair getting into his eyes. Jim reaches out his other hand to brush the fringe back, touching his forehead as they look at each other. The air around the open refrigerator is cooler, and Jim feels goosebumps on his arm from the change in temperature.

“I do,” Jim says, moving his knuckles over Bones’ unshaven jaw. Bones twists his head slightly and presses a kiss against Jim’s ring finger. It’s bare, for now, but there’ll be a simple silver band on it after their five year mission ends. They both wanted to wait, to have a ceremony between their tours when they’re at leisure and not on active duty. Just Jim and Bones taking the next step in their relationship, not the Captain and the CMO with the complications that’d happen if they did it while on active assignment. Only five more months, and he can call Bones husband.

“You’ve got that ridiculous sentimental expression on your face,” Bones says. He smiles slightly. “Fine, we’ll dance.”

“My expression isn’t ridiculous.” He rolls his eyes. “Besides, you don’t hear me pointing out every single time that you get romantic, Mr. Loves to Kiss My Ring Finger.”

Bones shifts slightly and his smile turns sheepish. “Shuddup, Jim, and dance with me.”

“Don’t get too bossy or I’ll start to think that you want to become captain.” Jim takes Bones’ hand and bumps his hip against the door to the refrigerator to shut it. There’s a different song playing now, still unrecognizable, and he moves closer to Bones.

“Hugh would probably be cussing us both for being silly fools,” Bones murmurs as bare skin presses together and their bodies move into a familiar position.

“I’d be ignoring him because there’s nothing silly or foolish about this, about us,” Jim says. The song ends before they really begin to move, but another song begins. It’s slower and almost sultry, which suits the hot summer night and spark he always feels whenever he’s touching Bones.

“Song’s about you.” Bones touches his lips. “Little boy’s smile.”

“Nah. Slow southern style is all you.” Jim rests his hand on Bones’ hip, moving a couple of fingers between his jeans and bare skin so he can stroke his hipbone. “You always bring me to my knees, too.”

Bones traces his spine lightly, fingers gliding along damp skin as they move together. The linoleum beneath their bare feet is warm and sticky, which makes it difficult to do much more than dance in a slow circle. Jim doesn’t mind, because this isn’t about dancing so much as it’s about touching and being together like this. “Your nose is red.”

“I’ll get freckles when the sunburn fades, on my shoulders, too.” He wrinkles his nose, which doesn’t really hurt even with the burn. “Wouldn’t velvet be uncomfortable in the south? It gets so damn hot here that I can’t imagine wanting anything to do with heavy fabric like that.”

“I don’t think the song means actual fabric,” Bones says, not sounding exactly certain. “It’s an old song, though, so maybe it does?” He kisses the tip of Jim’s nose. “You’ll look cute with freckles.”

“I always look cute,” Jim reminds him. “You just want to flatter me so you can count my freckles when they start appearing.”

“I don’t have to flatter you for that.” Bones sounds smug, which is sexier than it should be considering the fact he’s insinuating that Jim has no resolve when it comes to him. While that’s true, Jim figures it’s not something he should find sexy.

Jim grips Bones’ shoulder as the song drifts into a musical section that kind of reminds him of sex. “I don’t think you should sell this house,” he says. Bones blinks at him, and he realizes that he just sort of blurted that out awkwardly. “I mean, we need somewhere to call home during leave, don’t we? Why not here?”

“You hate this house,” Bones points out as they continue dancing slowly. “It’s antiquated, lacks all the modern conveniences you like, is miles from the nearest town, which is small as fuck, and I don’t even remember what else you’ve bitched about since we got here.”

“We can fix the air and paint it and work on anything else wrong.” Jim looks at Bones and smiles. “I like the kitchen, especially for dancing, and the porch swing, and the vision of a cute little mini-Bones running around here as a kid. This is part of your past, a part that you can keep, and I think it could be part of our future, if you want.”

“I wasn’t a cute kid,” Bones mutters as the song ends and another begins. They continue dancing, just shuffling their feet and touching and looking at each other, not paying much attention to the music now. “You really want that? Marriage and a house and shit?”

“We’ve been over this. I’m the one who proposed to you, remember? I want marriage and a house and all that shit.” Jim kisses him lightly. “Joanna can visit us here during our breaks, and it can be a vacation home in a couple of decades when we’ve had enough of space.”

Bones snorts. “I know you, Jim. You’ll never be tired of space.”

“Not anytime soon,” he agrees, moving his hand from Bones’ shoulder to the back of his neck. But he knows that eventually he’ll want something else because he’s not going to die young and waste all those years that he could have with Bones, not that Bones seems to understand that yet. He will one day, and it’s not like Jim’s planning that before he’s fifty, so he’ll let it drop for now. “So, what do you say? Do we keep this place and fix it up after we get married?”

“I say that you’re crazy,” Bones says. He leans down and kisses Jim thoroughly, leaving him panting and half-hard just from a kiss. When he pulls back, he seems more relaxed than he has been since they were notified about his uncle’s death. “Hugh probably would have loved you for it, too, since he was more than a little crazy himself. Yeah, we can keep it. It’d be nice to have a place of our own, even if we rarely use it.”

“I am crazy. Crazy for you,” Jim says, trying to sound serious but snickering midway through. It earns him an eyeroll and a laugh, though, so it’s worth sounding corny occasionally. He kisses Bones before he pulls back and swats his ass. “Stop ravishing me like a horny teenager so we can make dinner. Dancing has made me hungry.”

“Right. Because I’m the one wanting to dance and grope instead of cooking.” Bones arches a brow and purses his lips in that adorable way Jim loves.

“I might have been groping but you’re the one kissing and being irresistible so it’s your fault, of course.” He scratches his lower belly and smiles mischievously. “By the way, after dinner, I want you to demonstrate that slow Southern style for me.”

End