Work Text:
It wasn't often that Bones got sick but when he did, he got extra grouchy. He only had himself to blame; he should've known better than to step foot outside when it turned chilly and rainy.
He was bundled up on the couch, head buried in a pile of cushions, body wrapped in several blankets. He'd got some kind of fever and an irritating itch in his ears and throat and more often than not he was coughing so hard he was fairly sure pieces of his lungs were coming up with hell only knows what else.
Jim was nowhere to be seen and Bones ought not to be surprised. He'd probably run off not wanting to be subject to the poisonous tones that came out of his mouth, or just run off and left him to cough up his respiratory system and die.
Bones opted for the latter; Jim Kirk didn't have much in the way of a bedside manner.
So when Jim burst through the door an hour later and drenched from head to toe with several grocery bags threatening to cut the circulation from his fingers, Bones was surprised.
The bags fell to the floor with a thunk as Jim dropped them by his feet and flexed his fingers to get the blood flowing again whilst Bones peered at him from under his cave of blankets.
He was completely sodden with his dark blonde hair plastered to his head. Peeling off his jacket and throwing it to some corner of the room Jim pulled at his shirt, tugging the wet fabric from his skin before he looked to Bones on the sofa.
He didn't see much; he was wearing the glasses that Bones said made him look like a science geek and the lenses were speckled with rain and starting to steam up because of the change in temperature.
Bones shuffled, grunted a greeting and re-buried himself back in the blankets as he heard Jim gather the bags and wander into the kitchen to unpack.
Bones counted Jim sneeze seven times and hoped to god he'd not sneezed all over the work surfaces.
It wasn't long before Jim crouched in front of him, placing a hot cup of coffee at his side with his glasses now wiped clean before he felt his forehead. Bones flinched away from his touch with a scowl and pulled the covers over his head; Jim's hands were freezing and most likely covered in the germs he'd sneezed out moments ago.
With a sniffle and a laugh, Jim stood and Bones noticed he wavered on his feet a little as he peered out from the covers. Thinking Jim had left him in peace, he pulled the covers totally from his head and settled to grab some sleep, but he was sorely mistaken when Jim pulled off his shoes and pulled the covers back as he tossed his glasses on the coffee table.
"Jim, I'm sick," Bones growled, attempting to cling onto the covers as Jim flopped beside him, still in his damp clothes.
"Me too," Jim answered him with a stuffy voice before he sniffled and pulled the still warm covers over them both.
Bones could feel the cold radiating from him; he could feel Jim's wet socks beside his warm, bare feet and his cold hands close to his chest.
Jim smelt like autumn; like the fresh rainfall on the newly fallen leaves, like petrichor, and before Bones could protest and say there wasn't enough room for the both of them on the sofa, Jim had already fallen asleep.
As uncomfortable as he was beside Jim in his damp clothes, Bones put an arm around him all the same with a grumble and rested his head on top of his before he too tried to get some sleep.