The air is still in that stifling way of summer in the south. It's still warm enough to be uncomfortable, even with the sun beginning to go down. Most of the animals on the farm are settling down for the night, preparing to turn in within the hour. Time is ticking by slowly, and it's moments like these that Leonard savors the most.

He's sitting on the old wooden bench swing on his front porch on the farm in Georgia. The day had been a long one, full of stubborn cattle refusing to be herded, pigs getting loose, and two roosters starting a fight in the hen house. (That had been hell to clean up.) He's glad for the fading light, and the stillness that comes with it. He's even happier for the body pressed up against his side.

Jim had driven out to join him that day, showing up at dinner time and announcing that he was staying for a few days of their shore leave, because he missed Bones. That had made him drop the tomato he was slicing and cross the distance between them to pull Jim into a deep kiss. They'd eaten in relative silence, feet brushing against each other under the table, fingers skimming over the others' hands when passing bowls and salt or pepper shakers, until Leonard had finally stood and pulled Jim in the direction of his bedroom.

Now they were relaxing on the front porch, a nightly tradition of Leonard's.

This time, though, it feels a little bit different. He's got one arm draped over Jim's lightly dozing form, fingers resting on his hip, occasionally stroking. A thick, sweet smelling cigar is clutched in his other hand, the smoke curling lazily upwards. Leonard puffs on the cigar every few moments, inhaling slowly, then pursing his lips and blowing the smoke out in thin streams.

A glass of whiskey is perched on the small table next to him, the glass collecting condensation and rolling down to drip slowly on the dark wood of the table. It's Leonard's fourth of the night, and he's not even a quarter of the way through the glass. It's a night for taking things slow, savoring each taste of liquor and smoke, the quiet noises of the wildlife around him, the soft sighs Jim's making against his thigh. He lets each little detail wash over him, his body relaxing to the point of near immovability.

It's when the sun has set completely, the deep red, orange, and pink of the night's sunset gone, replaced by the blackness of night, that Leonard decides to move. His cigar is down to its last few puffs, and his whiskey is completely gone. He takes one last, long pull on the cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth as he stubs the cigar out, letting the flavor stick to his tongue, before exhaling it all in one thin, long stream of smoke. He gently shakes Jim, who stirs slowly, his brilliant blue eyes staring up at the stars beginning to dot the night sky blearily. Leonard lets him stare at the sky for a few long moments before gently tilting his face towards the doctor. The blonde man smiles up at him, one of his rare, genuine smiles. It's a smile Leonard's only seen inside their bedroom, and three times outside of it (the first being the day Leonard agreed to a date with Jim, and the last being the first time he'd told the other man that he loved him).

"It's late, kid," Leonard murmurs, the smile affecting him more than he'd care to admit. His body's warm, the alcohol and cigar having provided him with a nice buzz. He's feeling another kind of warmth flooding him as Jim turns those eyes and that smile on him, sitting up and stretching out.

"I love cigars," Jim says, his voice rough and gravely from sleep. Leonard grins at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. The smell is the best. Especially on you." Jim's back in his personal space, face buried in Leonard's neck, even as he wraps an arm around the doctor's waist. Leonard lazily rests a hand on Jim's hip, the other slowly rubbing his back.

Jim inhales deeply. The sound is followed by a low, appreciative moan, and then Jim's disentangling himself from Leonard, standing up and heading for the door.

Leonard chuckles as he watches the blonde saunter for the door, his pace slower than usual, hips swaying just a little more than is necessary. Shaking his head, Leonard curls his toes against the cool concrete of the porch, enjoying the feel of it beneath his feet. He casts one last glance around him, one last glance at the sky, and then he's standing himself, the only sound now that of his jeans brushing against the ground. (Leonard always did like his jeans a little longer than was considered proper.) He makes his way inside the house and back towards his bedroom, where he knows Jim's waiting for him.

Leonard's going to take his time with Jim this time around. After all, it is a night for savoring.