Inell's Fanfiction Archive

Kirk/McCoy – Bourbon

“What’s your problem, Jim?”

“Nothing.” Jim glares over his shoulder before he stalks into their bedroom.

“Right. That’s why you’re stomping around and behaving like an infant,” Bones says as he follows him.

“Infants don’t stomp.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’re arguing about that?”

“If you’re going to insult me, at least make it legitimate,” Jim growls, taking off his boot and throwing it on the floor. Hard.

“Fine. You’re acting like a damn kid having a tantrum. Is that better?” Bones manages to duck before Jim’s other boot can hit him. When he straightens, his eyes are narrow and his face is flushed. “What the hell?”

“You were letting her touch your ass,” Jim snarls. “She was pawing you, and you didn’t even try to get away!”

“What?” Bones has the gall to gawk at him like he’s crazy when he isn’t the one who was letting that woman maul him on the dance floor.

Jim reaches out and throws the first he can find, listening to glass shattering as bourbon soaks into the wall behind Bones. “I know when you’re uncomfortable, Bones. You weren’t. You liked her touching you,” he says, curling his fingers into his palms.

“You just broke my last bottle of bourbon, you dumb fuck.” Bones is on him before Jim can tell him what he can do with his bourbon. The floor is hard beneath his back, and they roll around, kicking the table and shoving the dresser with their legs. “You said ‘be nice to the ambassador, Bones’ before we went into the damn reception. You’re the one who told me to start playing well with others.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault you enjoyed getting groped by her four hands?” Jim pushes up and rolls them again, pinning Bones down. He kisses him hard, biting at his lips. “I said be friendly, not let her practically fuck you there for everyone to watch.”

“We danced, Jim. Once.” Bones glares and flips them. Jim can smell the scent of bourbon thick in the air, can feel glass pressing into the back of his hands when Bones holds them over his head. “You jealous asshole.” Bones kisses him and grinds down into him even as Jim arches up.

“Wasn’t jealous,” he mutters, rolling them away from the glass and ripping Bones’ shirt from the bottom. He touches his bare skin, bruising and marking him with fingers and lips and teeth as they rock together.

“Were, too,” Bones challenges, pulling his hair and clashing their mouths together. It doesn’t take either of them that long, not after fighting and this odd foreplay of theirs that they need sometimes. After they’ve come in their pants and are gasping for breath, Jim nuzzles Bones’ neck and sighs.

“Sorry about the bourbon,” he murmurs, burrowing closer. “Maybe I was a little jealous.”

“Shouldn’t be. I only want you. Sorry about the glass,” Bones says, stroking a thumb over Jim’s hand. “You owe me another bottle.”

“It’s okay.” Jim kisses him and smiles. “And, yeah, I know. Hell, I’ll get you two.”