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So you know how I said this would be going back to the plot I set up in the first one? Yeah, I kind of lied. I meant for this to go back to being ploty, but instead Jim and Bones demanded that I write out more of their crazyass back story. SO. The plot comes back in the last section though, I promise. And the next one is going to pick right up from that last section - like the very next day.
Star Trek, R. Kirk/McCoy. Bones drives Jim nuts with an ice cube, parties are attended, sheets are tangled and Joanna finally shows up. The 'how they got from the muffin to the suite in Paris' story.
Kirk, Jim: Hey Bones, can you grab beer while you’re out?
Bones: Can’t you do that yourself?
Kirk, Jim: Well, I’m at your place and you’re beerless, and I figured since you were already out you could fix that.
---
2014
Jim’s been worming his way into McCoy’s life for years now – little things, like crappy beer that McCoy would never touch but he knows Jim loves showing up in his fridge and Jim remembering his birthday. He’s become a fixture at monthly poker nights (never mind that they started between McCoy and a couple of his buddies from the PD) and he’s even started showing up on McCoy’s contact sheets.
That’s when he’s really started noticing it. The photos. He’s got a makeshift darkroom set up in what used to be an elevator shaft at the back of his loft, nothing elaborate, just enough to develop film and print photos. He’s currently leaning his chin on his crossed arms, watching a contact sheet slowly appear out of plain white paper, grays gradually giving way to dark blacks and bright whites. He gives the tray a little shake, agitating the developer. The roll is from last week when Joanna had visited with Jocelyn for a few days. She’d been in the city for business and had actually been the one to suggest that Joanna come up with her and see him. Time was certainly helping heal whatever destroyed their relationship in the first place. At least, enough that he was getting to see Jo more and more.
He smiles as he sees the images appear – he had shot most of the week with an old medium format camera that he loves, but these are from when he and Jim had taken Jo up to Central Park and he’d just had his small Nikon. Jim jokes that it’s permanently attached to his face, teasing him for still using film. 36 images stare back up at him; all of Jim and Joanna except for one near the end of the roll that Jim had taken of him. He tosses the contact sheet into the stop bath and then the fixer and leaves it to sit, leaving the darkroom and blinking when he’s assaulted by the bright sunlight in his apartment. He’s not surprised to see Jim sitting on his couch, flipping through proofs and mock-ups, a pen clamped between his teeth. He’s got more paper spread out across the coffee table and a few have managed to end up on the floor.
Neither of them say anything, they got used to just existing in the same space a while ago, and Bones moves to the kitchen, digging through the cabinets for something to eat.
“What time do you have to go into work tonight?” Jim’s voice floats over from the couch and Bones sneaks a look at this watch – it’s almost 5:30.
“Eight.” He answers back, abandoning his search of the cabinets and just grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter instead. Jim makes some odd noise that could be a hum, and Bones knows he’s probably nodding his head. He thinks about grabbing something to drink, skips that, and goes over to sit in the armchair across form the couch, watching Jim work.
“You’re going to kill yourself one of these days.” Jim murmurs, not looking up from what he’s writing. Bones watches as Jim’s messy handwriting spirals out and up the side of the paper from a photo of a dress.
“How so?” Bones asks, leaning back in the chair and munching on the apple.
“Eating things that require your hands instead of utensils when they’re covered in lethal chemicals.”
“They’re not lethal, or I would have died ages ago. At least, not unless you drink them.”
“You could be a zombie, you never know.”
“Actually, I think I would know if I was a zombie.”
They lapse back into comfortable silence before Bones goes and retrieves the contact sheet, skipping drying it in favor of simply bringing it back over in a small tray. He looks over the photos in the light while Jim hums some random song that McCoy thinks he knows but can’t quite figure out what it is.
Most of the photos are simply snap shots, Jim with Jo on his shoulders, both of them grinning like small children (which Jo has ever right to grin like at her current age, Jim not so much) with popsicles from one of the ice cream vendors, Jo chasing Jim with a frog she had found down by the water. He smiles, running a thumb over that particular image. Evidently the great James T. Kirk was afraid of slimy amphibians.
One photo in particular stands out, halfway through the roll. It’s of Jim and Jo, their faces squished together. They’ve got matching huge grins, and Jo’s got her little arms wrapped around Jim as far as they’ll go. The background is the long dirt avenue of trees that leads to the Terrace by the lake that the paddle boats are in, although it’s out of focus, forming globes of light and dark behind the two figures. It’s just Jim and Jo, smiling the same smile (although Jo’s missing a tooth) with the same sparking eyes. Even though it’s a black and white photo it’s easy to imagine the blue of their eyes - they’ve both got the same color eyes.
Bones looks up at Jim, although his eyes are glued to his work, and Bones can’t see them. He just watches him for a moment before he gets up and goes to hang up the contact sheet to dry.
When he gets back Jim is now watching him, instead of the other way around, in a hungry, bored sort of way that Bones is intimately familiar with at this point in his life.
“I’m going to go crazy if I stare at this any longer and you don’t have to be at work for a few hours.” Jim says rather pointedly, clearing the paper off his lap.
“Pretty much.” Bones shrugs before stepping over the coffee table and landing on the couch, straddling Jim’s legs. Any further conversation is swallowed up in harsh kisses, both of them fighting the other just because it’s what they like. It’s just what they do. Fuck, hard and fast, because it seems like the thing to do, and then go back to their lives. It’s been going on for months now, no questions asked. It’s become a habit as much as Jim’s beer appearing in his fridge has. Neither of them is quite sure who started it.
Bones shoves Jim back with one hand flat against his chest, the other hand pulling and tugging on the hem of Jim’s shirt. He gets the message and strips it off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. Bones takes a minute to just stare at Jim, tracing the line of his collarbone down to his sternum, before he reaches over to where Jim’s drink is sitting on the side table and sneaks an ice cube, popping it into his mouth with a little grin. Jim looks like he’s going to say something, but instead when he opens his mouth he sucks in a fast breath when Bones licks a long, flat line up the path that his fingers had just traced.
“Jesus – “ His voice jumps and then Bones has a nipple in his mouth, assaulting it with the ice while tweaking the other one with his fingers. Jim thrusts up against Bones fingers, breathing heavily. He tries to grab Bones’ hips, but instead ends up with his wrists pined to the couch by Bones’ hands, long fingers and huge palms splayed over the hot skin.
“Cold enough?” Bones breathes against Jim’s neck, and what would normally be warm breath ghosting over his skin is instead tinged by the ice, making Jim’s skin tingle.
“Yeah, quite possibly.” Jim babbles, grinding up against Bones, trying to get friction somehow. “Also, in case you wanted to see if you could drive me completely insane with just your mouth and a goddamn ice cube let it be known that you’ve suc-“ The rest of this sentence becomes a moan when Bones latches onto Jim’s collarbone, sucking and licking, leaving an angry red mark that he soothes with the last of the ice cube. He pulls back, licking his lips where some of the melted water had escaped form his mouth, and just stares at Jim. It’s slightly unnerving, but Jim figured out a while ago that it just means Bones is trying to figure out if something (or someone) will make a good photograph.
“You look good like this.” Bones says simply after a few moments, and Jim wants to ask him how good, but he doesn’t, because he knows how he looks – flushed and impossibly turned on, hair messy from pulling a shirt over his head, and sporting what’s probably a rather magnificent hickey. When Bones leans in closer again, pressing against his chest, Jim whines, whishing Bones was also sans shirt so that he could feel the heat from his skin. “You know how you’d look even better?”
“Uh?” Jim’s really not in the mood for being coherent, let alone eloquent, right now.
“Fucking me.” Bones whispers against Jim’s ear in one long breath. Jim takes a moment to suck in a deep breath before he shoves Bones forward and to the side, and they end up on the floor, narrowly missing the coffee table and sending Jim’s work flying in various directions. Jim would care that everything’s getting out of order, but really, he’s more worried about just how fast he can get Bones’ and his clothes off, and then how fast he can get his mouth on every part of Bones that he can reach.
---
-Kirk, it’s Pike. I was wondering if you could possibly free up some time at noon – I want you sitting in on this week’s staff meeting. Call me back with a yes or no.
---
still 2014
Jim’s learned over the years that, for the most part, Bones wants nothing to do with the parties Jim frequents. However, he’ll ask him every once and a while and Bones will give in every so often and he’ll end up at some chic party where everyone has something to do with the fashion or publishing industry. It’s not all bad, and after going to a few of these things Bones has finally started to put names to faces, helped no doubt by the fact that half of these people work with Jim.
He’s currently talking (if he wants to be honest it’s more like mutual flirting) with one of the other page editors, a leggy redhead named Marie, and actually enjoying himself for once. He got off of work at noon, had time to take a long shower and kick around doing nothing for a few hours, which he pretty much never has time to do these days, and even print a few photos before Jim had showed up at his door and brushed past him with an invitation for the party, heading straight towards Bones’ closet. Bones finds it secretly amusing how much work Jim puts into outfits that aren’t even for him, and he likes watching Jim stew about matching colors and fling clothes across the room in an attempt to put together a pair of pants and a shirt that he can give his stamp of approval to. The shoes are irrelevant at this point, Jim admitted earlier on in their friendship that he was never allowed to wear anything but his boots, for reasons that Bones has only just found out (namely that Jim finds them inexplicably hot, something that Bones finds hilarious).
He’s just about to answer the question Marie’s asked him when he feels a tug at one of his belt loops, and he turns his head to see Jim standing there, invading his personal space like it’s where he’s meant to be.
“Marie, can I borrow McCoy for a second?” He asks, shooting a smile her way that he usually uses when he’s trying to get people into bed. Or get something from them. Or any time he wants anything, really.
“As long as you return him in one piece.” She grins, and then drops a kiss on Bones’ cheek before moving off into the crowd. Jim moves his hand from where it’s resting on Bones’ shoulder down to his wrist, and pulls him in the direction of the back of the loft they’re in, practically dragging him around a corner and down a long hallway, not stopping until he’s shut the door to the small bedroom they’re now in behind him. The noise of the party dies away, and he turns to face Jim, raising an eyebrow.
“What happened now?” Bones drawls, leaning against the footboard of the bed and watching Jim, fully expecting a rant about someone turning him down that will no doubt end in them making out in the back of a cab heading to one of their places. He probably could have slept with Marie without much work, but Jim’s familiar and, in all senses of the word, easy.
“Nothing happened. Well, not yet. I’m leaving tomorrow.” Jim isn’t moving, but Bones get the idea that if he were one to pace he’d be doing so now. There’s a serious edge to his voice that Bones isn’t used to hearing.
“I know. Two weeks in Milan, we’ve been over this. I know you’re not afraid of flying, that’s my job, so why the freak out?”
“I’m not freaking out, why would you say that?”
“Because I’ve known you for long enough to tell when you’re radiating so much tension it looks like you’re about to snap.”
“How long are you planning on staying with the police department?”
The rapid change of topic throws Bones for a second, and he takes a minute to try to reason out an answer to a question he’s never really thought about.
“Until I’m done, I guess. People don’t just leave, they retire or they’re killed in the line of duty. That’s kind of the way life works.” He shrugs. It’s not really an answer, but he doesn’t really have one either. There’s no warning before Jim’s suddenly back in his personal space, hands resting on Bones’ hips. Bones is suddenly struck with a desire to reach out and try to smooth some of Jim’s tension away, hands on that warm skin. He settle for resting a hand at the base of Jim’s neck, rubbing little circle into his jaw with his thumb. Jim leans into it, taking a deep breath before he plunges onward.
“I want you to think about other options.” His voice is quieter than it was, but it’s still way more serious than Bones has heard him be in a long time.
“Like?”
“Like being a photographer. Like, for real, getting paid for what you love.”
“Why the sudden interest in my career?”
Jim looks up from where he’s been studying Bones’ shoes very intently and stares him down, shoving his hands into Bones’ back pockets. He’s expecting Jim to pull their bodies together, but instead he leaves the few inches between them.
“This does not leave the room.” Jim says simply.
“Sure. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Something is very right, actually. Pike’s retiring and they want me to take his job. Nothing official yet.”
Bones opens his mouth to say something, but nothing manages to make it out because his brain stalls somewhere between James T. Kirk and editor in chief. He tries again, licking his lips without thinking.
“They want you to be editor in chief of the biggest book in the business.” He states, moving his other hand up to mirror the other one, and then ends up cupping Jim’s face in a gesture that he’d find oddly intimate if he weren’t so hung up on the conversation. “You. Editor in chief. At 26.”
“Something like that. Crazy huh?” And for the first time since Jim dragged him down the hallway he smiles. Not his ‘come hither’ smile, but this little private one that makes him look like a little kid, like he’s really pleased with a good mark that he can bring home to Mom and have her hang it on the fridge. He tips his head forward so that he can press their foreheads together, dragging in a deep breath. “I’d like you to come on board as my head photographer.”
“Jim, I-“
“Don’t do anything now. No decisions yet. You’ve got two weeks while I’m in Milan for Fashion Week.”
Bones closes his eyes and sighs, trying to make sense of everything that’s suddenly running through his head on overdrive. In the chaos there’s one thought though, and it’s simple and basic and he decides to act on it, pushing his fingers into Jim’s hair and tugging him forward, kissing him. Jim makes a tiny noise at the back of his throat that could possibly be a whimper, finally pressing their bodies together. It’s not like usual, it’s not like how they always interact on this level. There’s none of their usual hunger and want, just simplicity. It’s not a resignation, it’s an affirmation, and Bones chooses not to think about what that means, instead just concentrating on how Jim feels pressed against him, lined up perfectly with the contours of his body.
---
Jojo: Dad Dad Dad! It’s me, Joooooo! I’m just textin you to tell you that I got straight A’s this quarter at school! And i’ve got to go now, but yeah, u should call me so we can talk about how awesome I am. Bye!
---
2016
“Was that an alarm or a call?” Jim asks drowsily after Bones has reached over him to beat the ringing phone into submission. He’s now currently draped across Jim’s chest, because moving is really not high on his list of priorities at the moment. “And is that my phone?”
“No, it’s mine.” Bones yawns, burrowing against Jim’s sternum. “And I think it was actually a text. We probably need to get up anyway.”
“I don’t want to get up.” Jim slings an arm across Bones’ back, rubbing small circles into his spine.
“Finally, we agree on something. Of course, I actually don’t have to be at work until 10.”
“You fiend, how did you swing that one? I thought the meeting this morning was for everyone.”
“Everyone here meaning editors. Which, handily, I am not one.”
“Not fair.” Jim whines, flopping sideways and taking Bones with him so that they’re hopelessly tangled in each other and the sheets. “We are at your place, right?”
“Yep, so you can take the subway.”
“Are you kicking me out of bed?”
“I could be.” Bones grins and kisses Jim, trying to free his one arm from where the sheets and Jim’s side have it held hostage.
“You don’t seem very dedicated to the ‘kicking me out’ part of this equation.” Jim murmurs between kisses, and Bones just hums in agreement. They’ve been slowly sinking into a routine – if they happen to be in the same place at night chances are they’ll be in the same place come morning. Which is usually a bed. Although it’s been a couch a few times and it was even the floor of Bones’ kitchen once. It’s just another quirk they’ve picked up along the way.
Jim has just flipped their positions so that he’s holding Bones down when someone’s phone decides to ring. They both look around, trying to figure out where the ringing is coming from.
“Who’s ringtone is the Batman theme song?” Bones asks curiously.
“Spock.” Jim clambers out of bed and finds his jeans tossed over the back of a nearby armchair before fishing his phone out of one of the back pockets. The conversation is short and Jim’s end of it seems to be a lot of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘that is so awesome’ before culminating in an enthusiastic ‘I love when meetings get canceled’.
Bones take this time to just stare at Jim, something he’s always done a lot of. The fact is that Jim’s just one of those people who are ridiculously photogenic, no matter what they’re doing, and half the time they’re together all Bones wants to do is take photos of him. Although right now, considering he’s got a rather awesome view of the expanse of Jim’s bare back (and other bare things that are slightly lower) he’s got other ideas.
“What’s my ringtone?” He asks as Jim makes his way back to the bed, clearly playing up the fact that he knows Bones has been watching him. Jim takes the time to crawl over to Bones before answering, kissing up from his shoulder to his jaw.
“Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” Jim whispers. Bones takes a few moments to process this before he’s grabbed a pillow and hit Jim squarely with it, laughing the whole time. Jim looks rather startled, but he recovers in record time and before long any ideas of early morning sex have dissolved into a truly spectacular pillow fight.
They’re lying on the floor sometime later, still naked (although Jim’s managed to get one sheet caught around him, and it’s now forming some sort of haphazard half-toga) when Bones’ phone rings again.
“Wow, we’re popular this morning.” Jim says, still slightly out of breath. Bones gets up with a groan, padding over to his phone. The screen says it’s Christine, and he lets it go through to voicemail. If it was an absolute emergency she would have texted him. He scrolls though his messages, seeing that the one from earlier was from Joanna. He’s still unclear on why an eight-year-old needs a phone, but Jocelyn claims that it’s the only way she can keep track of her at this point.
“So now that we’ve decided to start the day with a pillow fight and the meeting is canceled, can we have slow, sweaty early morning sex of the incredibly hot and mind blowing variety? Because I like sex like that.” Jim says as Bones makes his way back over, dropping back down on the ground next to him.
“I suppose that can be arranged.” Bones shrugs. Jim’s already started tracing out patterns on Bones’ skin with his long fingers, across his ribs and up his sides, swirling over the crest of his shoulder. It makes Bones’ skin tingle in their wake and he leans into it, letting his eyes slide close. The concrete at his back is cold but Jim’s radiating heat against him. Jim eventually ends up with a leg hooked over Bones’ hips, and one of Bones’ hands finds its way into Jim’s short hair.
“We sort of suck at fucking this morning.” Jim murmurs into Bones’ skin, where he’s slowly working a mark into Bones’ shoulder.
“Yeah.” Bones agrees simply, snuggling a big tighter against Jim. The toga-sheet Jim was sporting earlier is now wrapped around their legs, pooled against the grey of the floor. “We should get up. Work and all that.”
Jim makes some noncommittal noise, breathing slowly, and just pulls the sheet a bit tighter.
“Eventually.” Jim says softly, and Bones just has to agree, because he’s kind of really ok with life the way it is, tangled in his sheets on the floor with Jim draped halfway over him, listening to his heartbeat.
---
- been thinking about this for a while, it doesn’t make sense to stay down here, not with my job, not with how often I’m in the city for business anyway. And if and when I do move up there, I want to see about changing our original custody agreement. There’s no reason we can’t have joint custody, and I know Joanna loves spending time with you and Jim, so -
---
2022
Jim’s house is alive again. Joanna runs ahead of them, carrying an armful of linens and nothing else, taking the steps two at a time and babbling on about some hot barista boy she saw at the Starbucks on the corner.
Jim bumps Bones’ hip with his own as he smiles at him, offering another box from the back of Bones’ old Jeep. He didn’t bother labeling any of the boxes, most of them are either clothes or photo supplies, and he can sort it all out later.
Joanna dashes past them, back out the door, as they reach the top of the steps, slipping into the house. She’s still talking, and Bones doesn’t need a ‘How to Communicate With Your Teenager’ self help book to know she’s ecstatic. Not that he’s ever had an issue talking to Joanna.
Empty bedrooms are being used again – Joanna’s going to get one, eventually, after Jocelyn finally moves back to New York, and the disused office on the top floor of the townhouse is being hijacked by Bones for use as a lighting studio. It all fits.
He deposits a box on the kitchen island and turns to face Jim, grinning at him. Jim closes the distance between them, resting his hands on Bones’ hips, darting in to give him a kiss before Joanna appears in the doorway again, now talking about school and cute Manhattan boys and new shoes. She’s been running her mouth non stop since this morning, and Bones has to wonder if Jim’s been too much of an influence in her life if she can talk this fast for this long.
“It’s like a real family.” Joanna quips giddily, getting a soda out of the fridge and propping her chin up on her hands, elbows on the counter. “So when’s the wedding?”
“We’re not getting married.” Bones rolls his eyes.
“Sorry Jo.” Jim shrugs with a smile.
“Jim!” She whines. “But I want to be your maid of honor!”
“Hey now, who says I was going to be the one wearing the dress?”
“You’ve got the hips for it, darling.” Bones counters, and then ducks out of Jim’s reach to get more boxes out of the car. Outside he takes a moment to take in a deep breath, staring skyward. The house is indeed alive again – it was always too big for just Jim. He rubs at the back of his neck with a small smile, pulling a partially open box towards him. It’s full of old binders, he remembers packing it, and on the very top he spots a contact sheet. He knows what it is instantly – just from a few images he can see matching grins and matching eyes and popsicles and a certain frog, and he closes the top fully, hefting the box to bring in.
Jim and Joanna have started some music up, and there’s techno pop bubbling through the hallways. He winds up the stairs, listening to the beat that’s reverberating around the house. Even when he’s slipping the box into his new studio he can still hear the music. He can also hear laughter though; Jim’s barking laugh overlaying Joanna’s high pitched one. They change the song and now it’s some epic rock ballad, and Bones just has to shake his head and smile. The house is alive again.
Part III: Cityfoundations | Part V: Citypulse
Star Trek, R. Kirk/McCoy. Bones drives Jim nuts with an ice cube, parties are attended, sheets are tangled and Joanna finally shows up. The 'how they got from the muffin to the suite in Paris' story.
Kirk, Jim: Hey Bones, can you grab beer while you’re out?
Bones: Can’t you do that yourself?
Kirk, Jim: Well, I’m at your place and you’re beerless, and I figured since you were already out you could fix that.
---
2014
Jim’s been worming his way into McCoy’s life for years now – little things, like crappy beer that McCoy would never touch but he knows Jim loves showing up in his fridge and Jim remembering his birthday. He’s become a fixture at monthly poker nights (never mind that they started between McCoy and a couple of his buddies from the PD) and he’s even started showing up on McCoy’s contact sheets.
That’s when he’s really started noticing it. The photos. He’s got a makeshift darkroom set up in what used to be an elevator shaft at the back of his loft, nothing elaborate, just enough to develop film and print photos. He’s currently leaning his chin on his crossed arms, watching a contact sheet slowly appear out of plain white paper, grays gradually giving way to dark blacks and bright whites. He gives the tray a little shake, agitating the developer. The roll is from last week when Joanna had visited with Jocelyn for a few days. She’d been in the city for business and had actually been the one to suggest that Joanna come up with her and see him. Time was certainly helping heal whatever destroyed their relationship in the first place. At least, enough that he was getting to see Jo more and more.
He smiles as he sees the images appear – he had shot most of the week with an old medium format camera that he loves, but these are from when he and Jim had taken Jo up to Central Park and he’d just had his small Nikon. Jim jokes that it’s permanently attached to his face, teasing him for still using film. 36 images stare back up at him; all of Jim and Joanna except for one near the end of the roll that Jim had taken of him. He tosses the contact sheet into the stop bath and then the fixer and leaves it to sit, leaving the darkroom and blinking when he’s assaulted by the bright sunlight in his apartment. He’s not surprised to see Jim sitting on his couch, flipping through proofs and mock-ups, a pen clamped between his teeth. He’s got more paper spread out across the coffee table and a few have managed to end up on the floor.
Neither of them say anything, they got used to just existing in the same space a while ago, and Bones moves to the kitchen, digging through the cabinets for something to eat.
“What time do you have to go into work tonight?” Jim’s voice floats over from the couch and Bones sneaks a look at this watch – it’s almost 5:30.
“Eight.” He answers back, abandoning his search of the cabinets and just grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter instead. Jim makes some odd noise that could be a hum, and Bones knows he’s probably nodding his head. He thinks about grabbing something to drink, skips that, and goes over to sit in the armchair across form the couch, watching Jim work.
“You’re going to kill yourself one of these days.” Jim murmurs, not looking up from what he’s writing. Bones watches as Jim’s messy handwriting spirals out and up the side of the paper from a photo of a dress.
“How so?” Bones asks, leaning back in the chair and munching on the apple.
“Eating things that require your hands instead of utensils when they’re covered in lethal chemicals.”
“They’re not lethal, or I would have died ages ago. At least, not unless you drink them.”
“You could be a zombie, you never know.”
“Actually, I think I would know if I was a zombie.”
They lapse back into comfortable silence before Bones goes and retrieves the contact sheet, skipping drying it in favor of simply bringing it back over in a small tray. He looks over the photos in the light while Jim hums some random song that McCoy thinks he knows but can’t quite figure out what it is.
Most of the photos are simply snap shots, Jim with Jo on his shoulders, both of them grinning like small children (which Jo has ever right to grin like at her current age, Jim not so much) with popsicles from one of the ice cream vendors, Jo chasing Jim with a frog she had found down by the water. He smiles, running a thumb over that particular image. Evidently the great James T. Kirk was afraid of slimy amphibians.
One photo in particular stands out, halfway through the roll. It’s of Jim and Jo, their faces squished together. They’ve got matching huge grins, and Jo’s got her little arms wrapped around Jim as far as they’ll go. The background is the long dirt avenue of trees that leads to the Terrace by the lake that the paddle boats are in, although it’s out of focus, forming globes of light and dark behind the two figures. It’s just Jim and Jo, smiling the same smile (although Jo’s missing a tooth) with the same sparking eyes. Even though it’s a black and white photo it’s easy to imagine the blue of their eyes - they’ve both got the same color eyes.
Bones looks up at Jim, although his eyes are glued to his work, and Bones can’t see them. He just watches him for a moment before he gets up and goes to hang up the contact sheet to dry.
When he gets back Jim is now watching him, instead of the other way around, in a hungry, bored sort of way that Bones is intimately familiar with at this point in his life.
“I’m going to go crazy if I stare at this any longer and you don’t have to be at work for a few hours.” Jim says rather pointedly, clearing the paper off his lap.
“Pretty much.” Bones shrugs before stepping over the coffee table and landing on the couch, straddling Jim’s legs. Any further conversation is swallowed up in harsh kisses, both of them fighting the other just because it’s what they like. It’s just what they do. Fuck, hard and fast, because it seems like the thing to do, and then go back to their lives. It’s been going on for months now, no questions asked. It’s become a habit as much as Jim’s beer appearing in his fridge has. Neither of them is quite sure who started it.
Bones shoves Jim back with one hand flat against his chest, the other hand pulling and tugging on the hem of Jim’s shirt. He gets the message and strips it off, tossing it somewhere on the floor. Bones takes a minute to just stare at Jim, tracing the line of his collarbone down to his sternum, before he reaches over to where Jim’s drink is sitting on the side table and sneaks an ice cube, popping it into his mouth with a little grin. Jim looks like he’s going to say something, but instead when he opens his mouth he sucks in a fast breath when Bones licks a long, flat line up the path that his fingers had just traced.
“Jesus – “ His voice jumps and then Bones has a nipple in his mouth, assaulting it with the ice while tweaking the other one with his fingers. Jim thrusts up against Bones fingers, breathing heavily. He tries to grab Bones’ hips, but instead ends up with his wrists pined to the couch by Bones’ hands, long fingers and huge palms splayed over the hot skin.
“Cold enough?” Bones breathes against Jim’s neck, and what would normally be warm breath ghosting over his skin is instead tinged by the ice, making Jim’s skin tingle.
“Yeah, quite possibly.” Jim babbles, grinding up against Bones, trying to get friction somehow. “Also, in case you wanted to see if you could drive me completely insane with just your mouth and a goddamn ice cube let it be known that you’ve suc-“ The rest of this sentence becomes a moan when Bones latches onto Jim’s collarbone, sucking and licking, leaving an angry red mark that he soothes with the last of the ice cube. He pulls back, licking his lips where some of the melted water had escaped form his mouth, and just stares at Jim. It’s slightly unnerving, but Jim figured out a while ago that it just means Bones is trying to figure out if something (or someone) will make a good photograph.
“You look good like this.” Bones says simply after a few moments, and Jim wants to ask him how good, but he doesn’t, because he knows how he looks – flushed and impossibly turned on, hair messy from pulling a shirt over his head, and sporting what’s probably a rather magnificent hickey. When Bones leans in closer again, pressing against his chest, Jim whines, whishing Bones was also sans shirt so that he could feel the heat from his skin. “You know how you’d look even better?”
“Uh?” Jim’s really not in the mood for being coherent, let alone eloquent, right now.
“Fucking me.” Bones whispers against Jim’s ear in one long breath. Jim takes a moment to suck in a deep breath before he shoves Bones forward and to the side, and they end up on the floor, narrowly missing the coffee table and sending Jim’s work flying in various directions. Jim would care that everything’s getting out of order, but really, he’s more worried about just how fast he can get Bones’ and his clothes off, and then how fast he can get his mouth on every part of Bones that he can reach.
---
-Kirk, it’s Pike. I was wondering if you could possibly free up some time at noon – I want you sitting in on this week’s staff meeting. Call me back with a yes or no.
---
still 2014
Jim’s learned over the years that, for the most part, Bones wants nothing to do with the parties Jim frequents. However, he’ll ask him every once and a while and Bones will give in every so often and he’ll end up at some chic party where everyone has something to do with the fashion or publishing industry. It’s not all bad, and after going to a few of these things Bones has finally started to put names to faces, helped no doubt by the fact that half of these people work with Jim.
He’s currently talking (if he wants to be honest it’s more like mutual flirting) with one of the other page editors, a leggy redhead named Marie, and actually enjoying himself for once. He got off of work at noon, had time to take a long shower and kick around doing nothing for a few hours, which he pretty much never has time to do these days, and even print a few photos before Jim had showed up at his door and brushed past him with an invitation for the party, heading straight towards Bones’ closet. Bones finds it secretly amusing how much work Jim puts into outfits that aren’t even for him, and he likes watching Jim stew about matching colors and fling clothes across the room in an attempt to put together a pair of pants and a shirt that he can give his stamp of approval to. The shoes are irrelevant at this point, Jim admitted earlier on in their friendship that he was never allowed to wear anything but his boots, for reasons that Bones has only just found out (namely that Jim finds them inexplicably hot, something that Bones finds hilarious).
He’s just about to answer the question Marie’s asked him when he feels a tug at one of his belt loops, and he turns his head to see Jim standing there, invading his personal space like it’s where he’s meant to be.
“Marie, can I borrow McCoy for a second?” He asks, shooting a smile her way that he usually uses when he’s trying to get people into bed. Or get something from them. Or any time he wants anything, really.
“As long as you return him in one piece.” She grins, and then drops a kiss on Bones’ cheek before moving off into the crowd. Jim moves his hand from where it’s resting on Bones’ shoulder down to his wrist, and pulls him in the direction of the back of the loft they’re in, practically dragging him around a corner and down a long hallway, not stopping until he’s shut the door to the small bedroom they’re now in behind him. The noise of the party dies away, and he turns to face Jim, raising an eyebrow.
“What happened now?” Bones drawls, leaning against the footboard of the bed and watching Jim, fully expecting a rant about someone turning him down that will no doubt end in them making out in the back of a cab heading to one of their places. He probably could have slept with Marie without much work, but Jim’s familiar and, in all senses of the word, easy.
“Nothing happened. Well, not yet. I’m leaving tomorrow.” Jim isn’t moving, but Bones get the idea that if he were one to pace he’d be doing so now. There’s a serious edge to his voice that Bones isn’t used to hearing.
“I know. Two weeks in Milan, we’ve been over this. I know you’re not afraid of flying, that’s my job, so why the freak out?”
“I’m not freaking out, why would you say that?”
“Because I’ve known you for long enough to tell when you’re radiating so much tension it looks like you’re about to snap.”
“How long are you planning on staying with the police department?”
The rapid change of topic throws Bones for a second, and he takes a minute to try to reason out an answer to a question he’s never really thought about.
“Until I’m done, I guess. People don’t just leave, they retire or they’re killed in the line of duty. That’s kind of the way life works.” He shrugs. It’s not really an answer, but he doesn’t really have one either. There’s no warning before Jim’s suddenly back in his personal space, hands resting on Bones’ hips. Bones is suddenly struck with a desire to reach out and try to smooth some of Jim’s tension away, hands on that warm skin. He settle for resting a hand at the base of Jim’s neck, rubbing little circle into his jaw with his thumb. Jim leans into it, taking a deep breath before he plunges onward.
“I want you to think about other options.” His voice is quieter than it was, but it’s still way more serious than Bones has heard him be in a long time.
“Like?”
“Like being a photographer. Like, for real, getting paid for what you love.”
“Why the sudden interest in my career?”
Jim looks up from where he’s been studying Bones’ shoes very intently and stares him down, shoving his hands into Bones’ back pockets. He’s expecting Jim to pull their bodies together, but instead he leaves the few inches between them.
“This does not leave the room.” Jim says simply.
“Sure. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Something is very right, actually. Pike’s retiring and they want me to take his job. Nothing official yet.”
Bones opens his mouth to say something, but nothing manages to make it out because his brain stalls somewhere between James T. Kirk and editor in chief. He tries again, licking his lips without thinking.
“They want you to be editor in chief of the biggest book in the business.” He states, moving his other hand up to mirror the other one, and then ends up cupping Jim’s face in a gesture that he’d find oddly intimate if he weren’t so hung up on the conversation. “You. Editor in chief. At 26.”
“Something like that. Crazy huh?” And for the first time since Jim dragged him down the hallway he smiles. Not his ‘come hither’ smile, but this little private one that makes him look like a little kid, like he’s really pleased with a good mark that he can bring home to Mom and have her hang it on the fridge. He tips his head forward so that he can press their foreheads together, dragging in a deep breath. “I’d like you to come on board as my head photographer.”
“Jim, I-“
“Don’t do anything now. No decisions yet. You’ve got two weeks while I’m in Milan for Fashion Week.”
Bones closes his eyes and sighs, trying to make sense of everything that’s suddenly running through his head on overdrive. In the chaos there’s one thought though, and it’s simple and basic and he decides to act on it, pushing his fingers into Jim’s hair and tugging him forward, kissing him. Jim makes a tiny noise at the back of his throat that could possibly be a whimper, finally pressing their bodies together. It’s not like usual, it’s not like how they always interact on this level. There’s none of their usual hunger and want, just simplicity. It’s not a resignation, it’s an affirmation, and Bones chooses not to think about what that means, instead just concentrating on how Jim feels pressed against him, lined up perfectly with the contours of his body.
---
Jojo: Dad Dad Dad! It’s me, Joooooo! I’m just textin you to tell you that I got straight A’s this quarter at school! And i’ve got to go now, but yeah, u should call me so we can talk about how awesome I am. Bye!
---
2016
“Was that an alarm or a call?” Jim asks drowsily after Bones has reached over him to beat the ringing phone into submission. He’s now currently draped across Jim’s chest, because moving is really not high on his list of priorities at the moment. “And is that my phone?”
“No, it’s mine.” Bones yawns, burrowing against Jim’s sternum. “And I think it was actually a text. We probably need to get up anyway.”
“I don’t want to get up.” Jim slings an arm across Bones’ back, rubbing small circles into his spine.
“Finally, we agree on something. Of course, I actually don’t have to be at work until 10.”
“You fiend, how did you swing that one? I thought the meeting this morning was for everyone.”
“Everyone here meaning editors. Which, handily, I am not one.”
“Not fair.” Jim whines, flopping sideways and taking Bones with him so that they’re hopelessly tangled in each other and the sheets. “We are at your place, right?”
“Yep, so you can take the subway.”
“Are you kicking me out of bed?”
“I could be.” Bones grins and kisses Jim, trying to free his one arm from where the sheets and Jim’s side have it held hostage.
“You don’t seem very dedicated to the ‘kicking me out’ part of this equation.” Jim murmurs between kisses, and Bones just hums in agreement. They’ve been slowly sinking into a routine – if they happen to be in the same place at night chances are they’ll be in the same place come morning. Which is usually a bed. Although it’s been a couch a few times and it was even the floor of Bones’ kitchen once. It’s just another quirk they’ve picked up along the way.
Jim has just flipped their positions so that he’s holding Bones down when someone’s phone decides to ring. They both look around, trying to figure out where the ringing is coming from.
“Who’s ringtone is the Batman theme song?” Bones asks curiously.
“Spock.” Jim clambers out of bed and finds his jeans tossed over the back of a nearby armchair before fishing his phone out of one of the back pockets. The conversation is short and Jim’s end of it seems to be a lot of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘that is so awesome’ before culminating in an enthusiastic ‘I love when meetings get canceled’.
Bones take this time to just stare at Jim, something he’s always done a lot of. The fact is that Jim’s just one of those people who are ridiculously photogenic, no matter what they’re doing, and half the time they’re together all Bones wants to do is take photos of him. Although right now, considering he’s got a rather awesome view of the expanse of Jim’s bare back (and other bare things that are slightly lower) he’s got other ideas.
“What’s my ringtone?” He asks as Jim makes his way back to the bed, clearly playing up the fact that he knows Bones has been watching him. Jim takes the time to crawl over to Bones before answering, kissing up from his shoulder to his jaw.
“Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” Jim whispers. Bones takes a few moments to process this before he’s grabbed a pillow and hit Jim squarely with it, laughing the whole time. Jim looks rather startled, but he recovers in record time and before long any ideas of early morning sex have dissolved into a truly spectacular pillow fight.
They’re lying on the floor sometime later, still naked (although Jim’s managed to get one sheet caught around him, and it’s now forming some sort of haphazard half-toga) when Bones’ phone rings again.
“Wow, we’re popular this morning.” Jim says, still slightly out of breath. Bones gets up with a groan, padding over to his phone. The screen says it’s Christine, and he lets it go through to voicemail. If it was an absolute emergency she would have texted him. He scrolls though his messages, seeing that the one from earlier was from Joanna. He’s still unclear on why an eight-year-old needs a phone, but Jocelyn claims that it’s the only way she can keep track of her at this point.
“So now that we’ve decided to start the day with a pillow fight and the meeting is canceled, can we have slow, sweaty early morning sex of the incredibly hot and mind blowing variety? Because I like sex like that.” Jim says as Bones makes his way back over, dropping back down on the ground next to him.
“I suppose that can be arranged.” Bones shrugs. Jim’s already started tracing out patterns on Bones’ skin with his long fingers, across his ribs and up his sides, swirling over the crest of his shoulder. It makes Bones’ skin tingle in their wake and he leans into it, letting his eyes slide close. The concrete at his back is cold but Jim’s radiating heat against him. Jim eventually ends up with a leg hooked over Bones’ hips, and one of Bones’ hands finds its way into Jim’s short hair.
“We sort of suck at fucking this morning.” Jim murmurs into Bones’ skin, where he’s slowly working a mark into Bones’ shoulder.
“Yeah.” Bones agrees simply, snuggling a big tighter against Jim. The toga-sheet Jim was sporting earlier is now wrapped around their legs, pooled against the grey of the floor. “We should get up. Work and all that.”
Jim makes some noncommittal noise, breathing slowly, and just pulls the sheet a bit tighter.
“Eventually.” Jim says softly, and Bones just has to agree, because he’s kind of really ok with life the way it is, tangled in his sheets on the floor with Jim draped halfway over him, listening to his heartbeat.
---
- been thinking about this for a while, it doesn’t make sense to stay down here, not with my job, not with how often I’m in the city for business anyway. And if and when I do move up there, I want to see about changing our original custody agreement. There’s no reason we can’t have joint custody, and I know Joanna loves spending time with you and Jim, so -
---
2022
Jim’s house is alive again. Joanna runs ahead of them, carrying an armful of linens and nothing else, taking the steps two at a time and babbling on about some hot barista boy she saw at the Starbucks on the corner.
Jim bumps Bones’ hip with his own as he smiles at him, offering another box from the back of Bones’ old Jeep. He didn’t bother labeling any of the boxes, most of them are either clothes or photo supplies, and he can sort it all out later.
Joanna dashes past them, back out the door, as they reach the top of the steps, slipping into the house. She’s still talking, and Bones doesn’t need a ‘How to Communicate With Your Teenager’ self help book to know she’s ecstatic. Not that he’s ever had an issue talking to Joanna.
Empty bedrooms are being used again – Joanna’s going to get one, eventually, after Jocelyn finally moves back to New York, and the disused office on the top floor of the townhouse is being hijacked by Bones for use as a lighting studio. It all fits.
He deposits a box on the kitchen island and turns to face Jim, grinning at him. Jim closes the distance between them, resting his hands on Bones’ hips, darting in to give him a kiss before Joanna appears in the doorway again, now talking about school and cute Manhattan boys and new shoes. She’s been running her mouth non stop since this morning, and Bones has to wonder if Jim’s been too much of an influence in her life if she can talk this fast for this long.
“It’s like a real family.” Joanna quips giddily, getting a soda out of the fridge and propping her chin up on her hands, elbows on the counter. “So when’s the wedding?”
“We’re not getting married.” Bones rolls his eyes.
“Sorry Jo.” Jim shrugs with a smile.
“Jim!” She whines. “But I want to be your maid of honor!”
“Hey now, who says I was going to be the one wearing the dress?”
“You’ve got the hips for it, darling.” Bones counters, and then ducks out of Jim’s reach to get more boxes out of the car. Outside he takes a moment to take in a deep breath, staring skyward. The house is indeed alive again – it was always too big for just Jim. He rubs at the back of his neck with a small smile, pulling a partially open box towards him. It’s full of old binders, he remembers packing it, and on the very top he spots a contact sheet. He knows what it is instantly – just from a few images he can see matching grins and matching eyes and popsicles and a certain frog, and he closes the top fully, hefting the box to bring in.
Jim and Joanna have started some music up, and there’s techno pop bubbling through the hallways. He winds up the stairs, listening to the beat that’s reverberating around the house. Even when he’s slipping the box into his new studio he can still hear the music. He can also hear laughter though; Jim’s barking laugh overlaying Joanna’s high pitched one. They change the song and now it’s some epic rock ballad, and Bones just has to shake his head and smile. The house is alive again.
Part III: Cityfoundations | Part V: Citypulse
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