"Hey," Jim protests amiably, grinning at the thought of waking up mid air.

Man has a point there. Post alcohol or just post a really long fucking day, they've fallen asleep in a heap many times. He's woken up with Bones' pointy elbow in his chest, or his face in Bones' armpit. Whatever works, really.

Now, though? He's hurriedly shoving off his pants, because the breeze through the window still won't make it too cold for him to sleep in boxers, and otherwise he's submitting gladly to Bones tugging him around. Sleeping wrapped around the other man, and vice versa, will be fucking perfect to convince his hindbrain that yeah, he's got him back.

(Not for long.)

Jim has an arm across Bones' hip, and his familiar weight and scent is incredibly relaxing. The morning's gonna suck, but that can wait until the morning.