*whispers* fake relationship mckirk with bed sharing <3 <3 <3
The room is as understated as Leonard supposes a honeymoon suite can get, only a few suggestively romantic paintings on the walls, a low bed dominating most of the floorspace. It’s an absurdly large piece of furniture, plump and soft and screaming marital consummation, and Leonard pointedly walks around to the opposite side, setting his bag down in the farthest corner he can get away from Jim.
“You’re mad,” Jim surmises, doing his best impression of a wounded puppy from across the massive span of mattress between them. “Is it the bed? A bit too much, isn’t it?”
“No,” Leonard says stiffly. He glares at the innocent floral pattern on the carpet. “It isn’t the bed.” It’s the goddamn fact that they’re always the honeymooning couple and he’s tired of tearing himself to pieces every goddamn night he has to fall asleep with Jim inches from him.
“Come on, honey.” Jim sets his own bag down and plants his hands on his hips. He looks ridiculous and Leonard wants nothing more than to tell him so, if it wouldn’t mean compromising his sulk. “What’s wrong?” Something compromising the mission?, he means. Our cover?
Leonard forces himself to play along. “Just tired from the flight,” he says. All clear, just you being an idiot.
They sweep the room for bugs under the guise of exploring the decor, then prepare for bed with familiar efficiency. Orbiting, Leonard thinks absently, as he brushes his teeth with Jim singing enthusiastically in the shower behind him.
Jim takes the left side of the bed, Leonard takes the right. It’s the way it’s always been since their first mission together, after they argued for hours over who deserved more floorspace on their side. Leonard, they finally decided, had the longer legs, and nothing’s changed since.
“What’re you pissed about?” Jim finally asks, in an exaggerated stage whisper.
Leonard grunts, rolling away pointedly and dragging half the sheets with him.
“Don’t be like that.” A pause. “Can’t work tomorrow with you like this.”
Leonard’s tempted to keep it up anyway, but fuck it, he can’t let his professionalism take that kind of blow.
“It feels too real sometimes, doesn’t it?” he mumbles unthinkingly. Behind him, Jim abruptly falls still, and Leonard curses silently.
He waits a couple heartbeats, then clears his throat. “Forget it. Jetlag.” It’s a baldfaced lie; they’ve both flown halfway around the world and taken down entire cartels in the same night, but it’s all he’s got left to cling to in his moment of utter humiliation. They’ll be split up after this, he’s certain. FBI’s never been particularly lighthanded about their fraternization rules. Shouldn’t have said anything, the hell were you thinking, like it’s gonna solve a damn thing—
A hand brushes against his hip, and Leonard flinches, caught off guard.
“Hey.” Jim’s voice is low, a quiet rumble in the dark. “Hey, c’mere.”
“What’re you playin’ at,” Leonard mutters. Jim’s hand moves higher on his ribs. Leonard can feel its weight when he inhales, his face suddenly overwarm.
“C’mere, Bones.” When Leonard doesn’t budge, Jim shifts over and curls around him instead, pressing against his back in one long line of muscle and bare skin.
Leonard stops breathing altogether.
“Our marriage is going downhill very fast, sweetheart,” Jim murmurs. His face is close enough that his lips tickle the back of Leonard’s neck, his breath warm and damp and minty. Leonard wants to plant an elbow in Jim’s stomach, wants to laugh it off and go on dying on the inside every time they have to pretend to be something they could never be. He wants to roll over and kiss him until they’re both beyond words and excuses. “Just let me spoon you, damn it.”
“For the mission?” Leonard shifts when Jim’s arm wraps around his middle, pulling him impossibly closer. He’s going to burn away like this, he thinks desperately. Burn up like a fucking shooting star in Jim’s atmosphere.
Jim sighs, and his hand spreads over the center of Leonard’s chest, locking him in place. “What if I said yes?”
Leonard’s heart stutters and plummets all forty-six floors to the ground. “I’d tell you to stop fooling around,” he says harshly, not bothering to keep quiet anymore. It’s always been a game between them; he won’t let it be one this time. “And then I’d break your fucking nose.”
Jim’s hand flexes, and Leonard finds himself abruptly rolled onto his back, Jim’s weight pinning him down from above. He stares up at Jim’s shadowy outline, at where a sliver of moonlight from a gap in the curtains catches his eyes, tinting them pale and bright. “Get off,” he manages, when the shock fades. He’s tense from head to toe, vibrating with the need to move, to fight. “Jim.”
“What if I said no?” Jim leans closer, until all Leonard can see is his face, the curve of his cheek against the blackness of the room. “It’s not for the mission at all.”
“I’d break your nose anyway,” Leonard snaps, past riled now. He grips Jim’s wrist, squeezing warningly. “Get off.”
“Why?” Jim sounds genuinely curious, which pisses Leonard off beyond reason.
“Because—” He breaks off with a frustrated grunt, turning his head to the side and glowering at nothing. “Fuck.”
Jim leans down and kisses him, his lips soft and unexpected against Leonard’s cheek.
Leonard wrenches an arm free and takes a swing. Jim catches his fist effortlessly, pins it back down to the bed, and he’s staring down at Leonard again, mouth open in wonder, in desperation.
“It’s real,” he says, low and urgent. “Always been real, Bones. I swear. God, I swear this is real.”
Leonard’s panting, his chest heaving hysterically. His legs are tangled in the sheets, tangled with Jim’s, their bodies so close it hurts, and he hears himself make a small, helpless sound.
Jim lowers his head, and he kisses Leonard again, carefully on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t break my nose,” he whispers, and Leonard breaks.
“You—” he gasps, angry and incredulous and so fucking happy he could die all at once. “You—”
“Yeah,” Jim agrees, and he moans into Leonard’s bruising kiss.
“Idiot,” Leonard says breathlessly, when his hands are buried in Jim’s hair, the sheets long kicked off the bed.
“I know.” Jim’s laughing now, like the idiot he is, like the best thing that’s ever happened to Leonard. “Hey.”
“What?” Leonard’s busy, mapping his way down Jim’s throat like he’s wanted to do since he watched the kid snap a hitman’s neck between his thighs in Singapore.
Jim pulls his face back up, bites him gently on the earlobe, and tells him, “We’ve got the suite for a week.”
“Best damn news I’ve ever heard.”
