FIC: Time Is A River 1/1
Mar. 8th, 2010 09:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
keelywolfeTime Is A River
by Keelywolfe
Rating: NC-17
Kirk/McCoy (K/S/Mc for the series)
Summary: Time is rolling on and all McCoy wants now is a little sleep. Yeah, good luck with that.
I guess this is officially a series now. Oops? I'll think of a title for it later, seems like too much work right now. ;)
And Years Went By
Wished Me Well
Any Other Day
Note: I want to thank everyone for their wonderful comments on the last chapter. I'll get to them, I promise, but I figured I better get going with this chapter while I have the time. ^_^
~~*~~
There were few things that Leonard McCoy considered the more tempting indulgences of life. A ripe peach pulled fresh from the tree, so juicy that when a fellow bit into it, juice would spill from it and lead a trail all the way down to his elbow. The sound of his daughter's laughter when he spun her around in his arms, flyin' me, she'd called it and for all her father's aviophobia, she had shown no such fear. All in all, comforts that were in short supply on a Federation Starship.
Lacking that, and the fact that he was far too good a doctor to indulge in liquor as often as he'd like, McCoy sometimes let himself overindulge in one of the more acceptable simple luxuries. Sleep.
Far as he was concerned, napping was one of the great overlooked hobbies; there was just something about spending twelve hours of sweet rest between the sheets after a grueling forty-eight hour epidemic that was a balm to his soul. Not that he got to indulge often; being a doctor, particularly on this damned ship, frequently meant he was dashing from his quarters to Sickbay with his hair sticking up in the back and his pants barely fastened. Truth be told, even on Earth it had been the same way; oddly enough, patients usually didn't wait till a convenient hour to break their arm.
Tonight, though, he sent a fond wish in the direction of whatever Gods listened to overtired doctors who'd had a couple of shit days, that there would be no emergency calls tonight, no discovering some unknown pestilence lurking onboard, no explosions or plasma burns. Just peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Only now that he was here in his freshly changed sheets that smelled only of clean, he couldn't turn off his thoughts enough to fall asleep. Behind his closed eyes all he could see was Spock's face, tight with more emotion than he'd believed possible and Jim—
Jim.
Maudlin, whiny old man, he chided himself tiredly. He'd spent the past two days getting fucked to oblivion and back and now he was here mentally bitching about it? The way his luck ran, he should be grateful he hadn't broken out in some obscure venereal disease. As one of the few people with full access to Jim Kirk's medical record, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind dosing himself with a broad-spectrum antibiotic.
It would still be worth it, his brain offered slyly, and gave him a mental repeat of Jim from the night before, from just this morning…pretty, trails of sweat sliding from his temples and those impossibly blue eyes closed for once, soft lips parted, Christ Almighty.
McCoy swore aloud and rolled over again, punching a fist into his pillow as he slumped back into his blankets. It was annoying enough to have Spock and Jim occupying his days, he really didn't need them taking up his nights, too...oh, for pity's sake, not like that!
He groaned again, slung an arm over his eyes. Might just be a long night, after all. He really was too old for this shit.
It was sheer determination that got him just to the borders of sleep only to jerk back awake at the faint sound of a door opening. That was enough to make McCoy shift up on his elbow, blinking blearily through the dimness because there were very few people who could override the lock on his door, and the two likeliest candidates were the last ones he really wanted to see. Soft footsteps came closer and McCoy caught his breath, bit the tip of his tongue against the urge to yell at them to get the hell out. Too late for that, old man, far too late.
The light in the living area flickered on, casting the person standing in his bedroom door in shadows but it didn't matter. He knew that silhouette the same way he knew the grin that so often came with it, the dark eyes and the bright arrogance.
Jim didn't turn on the light, only stepped in closer, letting the light he'd been blocking illuminate the room.
"I knew you'd be here," Jim said quietly.
"Where else would I be but tits up during the Gamma shift?" McCoy mumbled. It would be tempting, so very tempting, to roll over, to pull the blankets over his head and just ignore all this. Fall asleep and hope for a better tomorrow.
But it was Jim in standing in front of him. Stripped out of his gold Captain's shirt and just wearing the black undershirt with those tight pants, just the same way he almost always was when they were here in McCoy's quarters and it didn't matter if they were talking or drinking or whose damned birthday it was or had been. Spock he'd be able to ignore or insult, do just about anything to get him to piss off. This was Jim, his best friend, and he'd never been able to ignore Jim, hadn't been able to leave him standing pathetic and alone in a docking bay much less turn away from him now.
Jim, who was standing in the middle of his bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. Still too shadowed to see his face clearly but McCoy certainly recognized his 'determined' stance and groaned mentally, kissing his sweet thoughts of sleeping in goodbye.
"I know that you think I just rush into things, banners blazing and fuck all to thinking things through--" Jim began.
"Your medical records support me on that," McCoy lifted his head enough to interrupt before slumping back into the pillows.
"Be that as it may," Jim continued doggedly, goddamned determined Starfleet captains, anyway. He drifted towards the small collection of photos that graced the single shelf in the room, a few of Joanna, a couple of him and Jim at the academy. He picked one up, fuck if McCoy knew which one, studied in for a long moment before setting it back down. "I did think about this whole thing."
"Jim, do we really have to have this conversation?" Far as McCoy was concerned, he'd had quite enough of chatting around this subject.
"I have had nothing but this conversation for weeks!" Jim spun around, "You don't know how horrible this conversation is until you've had it with a Vulcan so shut up and listen because I am not leaving until you've heard your share of it."
McCoy sighed and then nodded enough that Jim could see it.
"Like I was saying, Spock and I have been discussing this for freaking ever."
Okay, that was enough. McCoy made a great sacrifice to the sleeping-in cause and finally sat up, the better to glare at his captain, his best friend, and the pain in his ass. Although not literally, that honor was still with the damned Vulcan.
"Discussing what?" McCoy demanded, "Discussing my birthday? Discussing fucking with me? Why the hell were you discussing me at all?"
Jim was unfazed by his outburst, only rolled his eyes and snagged a chair from against the wall, dragging it up to the bed so he could straddle it, and really, McCoy should not be in the frame of mind to notice exactly how well that position put Jim's better parts on display. Five years of not noticing the sex in everything damned thing Jim did had been destroyed in one night. "That's what Vulcans do, they discuss things. They talk about it and dissect it, and determine all the scenarios and all the likely outcomes and pretty much everything but actually do it."
McCoy snorted aloud. "Spock didn't seem all that shy about doing anything—"
"Bones, would you shut up for five minutes?" Jim exclaimed, exasperated. "You're just as bad! He goes on and on about equations and varying results, and you just want to bitch and moan until I give up. But I'm not going to, not this time. I know you, you know."
"Jim—"
"I know you, okay? You think I don't know you? I know everything about you, I knew how you'd react to all this." He waved a hand in the general area of the air around them. "Just like I knew how you'd react before. Do you really think I kept it all wrapped up nicely as a birthday present because I didn't want to get into your pants the other 364 days out of the year?"
"Jim," McCoy whispered again, aware of the molasses-thick panic rising in his throat. Jim ignored him, just on the edge of full-on rant mode and there wasn't much to do after that than let him go on.
"I know you, damn it. I know you don't do casual anymore than you do permanent and I would have been perfectly happy to let it be like it was because you could accept that. Only Spock—"
Jim trailed off, rubbing his hands over his face. When he finally looked at McCoy again, his eyes were as tired as McCoy felt, weariness that he felt all the way down to his bones. "I know you," Jim repeated again, softly. "I really do. So let me tell you something, this? Whatever the fuck it is, it isn't casual. And it doesn't have to be permanent. So if you would occasionally like me to suck your dick or fuck you or whatever you want when we both aren't epically drunk, let me know about it."
"Okay." A little feebly, a little stunned, because what else could he say?
Jim paused. "Okay?"
This was a mistake, McCoy knew, a certain grim knowledge settling into his gut. As much as Jim swore he knew him, McCoy knew him right back. He knew Jim and he knew that getting used to this would be just another mistake in the long line he'd had over the past years. He was a hell of a doctor but he couldn't pilot worth a damn, not ships and sure as hell not relationships. Lord knew every one he'd had had turned sour as left out milk in July, curdling until they could barely stand to look at him, much less speak to him.
That couldn't happen with Jim, he told himself fiercely. He really didn't think he could stand it. He'd packed up his troubles last time without even the benefit of a kit-bag and swallowed down his fears to go into space, right to the end of the line, and now he was out of places to go.
So he'd go along with it. If Jim really wanted to get his hands on McCoy's dick that badly, well, he'd oblige, he'd even let Spock come along for the ride, and when Jim finally got tired of it, he'd handle that, too. He'd have to because he wasn't losing his best friend over it.
Only, if he'd had a choice about it, he'd have happily gone along with it tomorrow, when he wasn't nursing a leftover hangover and two nights worth of sleep deprivation. But it seemed that he'd surrender his choices when he'd given Jim an open invitation into his pajamas and Jim seemed eager to take him up on the invite right now, already reaching out and sliding a tentative hand beneath the blankets. McCoy muffled a groan into his pillow as Jim's hand dipped lower, finding the hem of his shirt and toying with it.
"Jim," McCoy sighed, "God as my witness, I am exhausted. I'm numb from the waist down, I swear. I couldn't get it up right now if they were handing out blowjobs with a free lollipop."
"That's fine." The teasing hand withdrew and McCoy didn't even have a chance to be relieved when the bed shifted as Jim crawled into it, curling up behind him like the largest spoon in the drawer. Warm, so warm, his breath soft and damp on the back of McCoy's neck.
To be honest, this wasn't all that strange. He'd slept in the same bed as Jim before, both of them fully dressed and too exhausted to care about something as petty as personal space. True, Jim had never slid a hand under his shirt to pet the soft hairs on his belly first, never snugged his cock against McCoy's ass and sighed little sounds of appreciation into his ear.
He wouldn't have believed anything could have stirred him tonight, not with exhaustion threading its ties through him, but apparently his dick hadn't gotten the message. It was already perking up, thickening and swelling under Jim's gentle ministrations and when Jim gave him a little nudge, pushed him to lie on his back, McCoy went without a protest.
It was entirely too easy to lay here, to let Jim slide his pajama pants off, even as he made a mental note as to where Jim tossed them. Doctors did not sleep naked, no, they did not. Not unless they wanted to end up bare-ass in surgery, they didn't.
Christ, the kid had a pair of hands on him. Knew just how to touch, just where, and the feeling of his thumb making a slippery circle around the slick head of his cock was enough to draw a choked moan out of McCoy, arching up a little helplessly.
He felt Jim moving, the whispery sound of clothes being pulled off and he forced his eyes open, slit against the too-bright light coming in from the doorway, but he could still see. He'd seen Jim naked before, course he had, probably a dozen times. Tricorders were all good and well but a doctor had to be able to see a wound to treat it and Jim wasn't exactly shy.
A fellow who wasn't a doctor might not understand but seeing a patient was different; no matter what they looked like, they were still a patient and nothing about seeing Jim naked with pain hazing his eyes was sexy in the least.
This, now, a lapful of squirming, naked Jim who was stroking him like he couldn't seem to stop, leaning in close to brush his mouth against McCoy's and he opened to the slick touch of his tongue without hesitation. Jim had both hands on his face now, holding him still as though he was afraid McCoy would pull away. As if he could. As if he could do anything now but suck on that soft tongue, nip at the tip and feel Jim shudder against him.
Jim pulled back abruptly, shuffled backwards awkwardly, almost gracelessly and it was odd to see, Jim always so easy in his body.
"I want you," Jim said, too loud and sharp and McCoy was nodding stupidly, already reaching for Jim's hips. He wanted it, too, exchanging exhaustion for desire. Hissed as Jim reached back and held his cock steady, shifted back to take him in.
"Fuck me," McCoy moaned aloud, weakly. Jim was already slick inside, fucking bastard had been ready for this, course he had been, slick and hot, tight as a clenched fist around him.
"No, that wasn't me," Jim muttered, his tone dark. It was enough to make McCoy drag his eyes open again, blinking at Jim blearily. "Spock has fucked you twice now and here I am, gathering up the leftovers again."
"No--" McCoy started, cut off with a strangled yelp as Jim clenched tight around him. He had one hand resting lightly on McCoy's belly for balance, the other jerking himself off and that would have been worth watching on its own because if there was one thing Jim had always been, it was beautiful. Even from that first meeting, his face still raw and bruised, McCoy had seen it and now, writhing on him, framed in the yellowish light from the doorway, he looked like every dirty fantasy McCoy had ever had.
It was all McCoy could do to keep hanging on, eyes taking in every wanton twist, every unabashed rocking of his hips. His hands felt too large and sweat-slick on Jim's hips but he held on tight, tried to meet each backwards thrust with one of his own.
Jim was gasping now, biting his lip hard before he tipped his head back, God, pretty, so fucking pretty..."You never offered," Jim managed, his voice breaking with breathy little moans. "On my birthdays."
"Sorry," McCoy panted and damned if he didn't mean it, from the bottom of his soul. If he'd known that Jim had been waiting for this, well, there wasn't much that would have stopped him from getting it, fucking Hobgoblins aside. Birthdays, holidays, whatever, he would have filled his calendar with celebrations if he'd known this was waiting for him in the end.
Jim didn't seem as willing to let it go, muttering under his breath even as he jerked himself harder, thighs tight as he lifted up and dropped down hard, hard. "Always got me some stupid present--"
"I'm sorry!" If he'd had a little more presence of mind, McCoy would surely have been embarrassed by that little wail, and even more so by the sound he made after it, desperate and longing, high enough that his voice cracked but since he was coming at the time, he didn't care quite as much. It was hard to care about anything when his orgasm was blinding him, certainly didn't care that he was gripping Jim's hips hard enough to bruise just so's he could hold him there, hold him tight as he arched up hard one last time and spilled into the tight clench of Jim's body. Barely, he felt Jim coming, too, felt the hot, wet spill of it across his belly and all it did was make his cock jerk again, just the feeling of it like an extra helping of bliss.
The next thing he knew clearly was that Jim was sprawled on top of him, heavy and sweaty-warm, and Jim was no goddamned lightweight. Sex was all fine and good but McCoy was starting to notice a trend in his getting squashed afterward. Bruises weren't as much fun in the aftermath.
It didn't take Jim too long to roll off of him, curling up against him in the swampy dampness of the bed. It'd been some time since McCoy had fallen asleep in the messy after-sex sheets and suddenly the idea had more appeal than he would have thought. Certainly more than actually getting up to change the bed.
Jim was nuzzling lazy kisses against his throat and jaw and McCoy was nearly asleep when Jim finally spoke to him again, so softly.
"Can I stay?"
Had to be a dozen ways to answer that, and at least half of them began with the word Spock, but in the end, McCoy was just too damned tired to argue about it now, settled for the simplest answer.
"Yeah," he mumbled, felt the tension slide out of Jim as though drawn with an old-fashion syringe. Even gathering up his pajamas seemed like too much work and if he ended up bare ass in Sickbay, well, he'd paid the price for it in advance. Just now, he'd call it worth it.
Jim was already asleep, he realized, a little bemused. Snoring faintly and drooling in a spreading patch over the pillow. McCoy found he didn't really mind. Closed his eyes and let all of it wash over him, a little guilty indulgence in a luxury that was the furthest thing from simple. Jim might not be sweet, but he was still fresh as a ripe peach for the plucking and McCoy decided, as he drifted off to sleep, he might as well enjoy it while he could.
Seasons changed quickly, even in the darkness of space.
-finis-
Read Next Chapter
by Keelywolfe
Rating: NC-17
Kirk/McCoy (K/S/Mc for the series)
Summary: Time is rolling on and all McCoy wants now is a little sleep. Yeah, good luck with that.
I guess this is officially a series now. Oops? I'll think of a title for it later, seems like too much work right now. ;)
And Years Went By
Wished Me Well
Any Other Day
Note: I want to thank everyone for their wonderful comments on the last chapter. I'll get to them, I promise, but I figured I better get going with this chapter while I have the time. ^_^
~~*~~
There were few things that Leonard McCoy considered the more tempting indulgences of life. A ripe peach pulled fresh from the tree, so juicy that when a fellow bit into it, juice would spill from it and lead a trail all the way down to his elbow. The sound of his daughter's laughter when he spun her around in his arms, flyin' me, she'd called it and for all her father's aviophobia, she had shown no such fear. All in all, comforts that were in short supply on a Federation Starship.
Lacking that, and the fact that he was far too good a doctor to indulge in liquor as often as he'd like, McCoy sometimes let himself overindulge in one of the more acceptable simple luxuries. Sleep.
Far as he was concerned, napping was one of the great overlooked hobbies; there was just something about spending twelve hours of sweet rest between the sheets after a grueling forty-eight hour epidemic that was a balm to his soul. Not that he got to indulge often; being a doctor, particularly on this damned ship, frequently meant he was dashing from his quarters to Sickbay with his hair sticking up in the back and his pants barely fastened. Truth be told, even on Earth it had been the same way; oddly enough, patients usually didn't wait till a convenient hour to break their arm.
Tonight, though, he sent a fond wish in the direction of whatever Gods listened to overtired doctors who'd had a couple of shit days, that there would be no emergency calls tonight, no discovering some unknown pestilence lurking onboard, no explosions or plasma burns. Just peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Only now that he was here in his freshly changed sheets that smelled only of clean, he couldn't turn off his thoughts enough to fall asleep. Behind his closed eyes all he could see was Spock's face, tight with more emotion than he'd believed possible and Jim—
Jim.
Maudlin, whiny old man, he chided himself tiredly. He'd spent the past two days getting fucked to oblivion and back and now he was here mentally bitching about it? The way his luck ran, he should be grateful he hadn't broken out in some obscure venereal disease. As one of the few people with full access to Jim Kirk's medical record, he had to admit that he wouldn't mind dosing himself with a broad-spectrum antibiotic.
It would still be worth it, his brain offered slyly, and gave him a mental repeat of Jim from the night before, from just this morning…pretty, trails of sweat sliding from his temples and those impossibly blue eyes closed for once, soft lips parted, Christ Almighty.
McCoy swore aloud and rolled over again, punching a fist into his pillow as he slumped back into his blankets. It was annoying enough to have Spock and Jim occupying his days, he really didn't need them taking up his nights, too...oh, for pity's sake, not like that!
He groaned again, slung an arm over his eyes. Might just be a long night, after all. He really was too old for this shit.
It was sheer determination that got him just to the borders of sleep only to jerk back awake at the faint sound of a door opening. That was enough to make McCoy shift up on his elbow, blinking blearily through the dimness because there were very few people who could override the lock on his door, and the two likeliest candidates were the last ones he really wanted to see. Soft footsteps came closer and McCoy caught his breath, bit the tip of his tongue against the urge to yell at them to get the hell out. Too late for that, old man, far too late.
The light in the living area flickered on, casting the person standing in his bedroom door in shadows but it didn't matter. He knew that silhouette the same way he knew the grin that so often came with it, the dark eyes and the bright arrogance.
Jim didn't turn on the light, only stepped in closer, letting the light he'd been blocking illuminate the room.
"I knew you'd be here," Jim said quietly.
"Where else would I be but tits up during the Gamma shift?" McCoy mumbled. It would be tempting, so very tempting, to roll over, to pull the blankets over his head and just ignore all this. Fall asleep and hope for a better tomorrow.
But it was Jim in standing in front of him. Stripped out of his gold Captain's shirt and just wearing the black undershirt with those tight pants, just the same way he almost always was when they were here in McCoy's quarters and it didn't matter if they were talking or drinking or whose damned birthday it was or had been. Spock he'd be able to ignore or insult, do just about anything to get him to piss off. This was Jim, his best friend, and he'd never been able to ignore Jim, hadn't been able to leave him standing pathetic and alone in a docking bay much less turn away from him now.
Jim, who was standing in the middle of his bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. Still too shadowed to see his face clearly but McCoy certainly recognized his 'determined' stance and groaned mentally, kissing his sweet thoughts of sleeping in goodbye.
"I know that you think I just rush into things, banners blazing and fuck all to thinking things through--" Jim began.
"Your medical records support me on that," McCoy lifted his head enough to interrupt before slumping back into the pillows.
"Be that as it may," Jim continued doggedly, goddamned determined Starfleet captains, anyway. He drifted towards the small collection of photos that graced the single shelf in the room, a few of Joanna, a couple of him and Jim at the academy. He picked one up, fuck if McCoy knew which one, studied in for a long moment before setting it back down. "I did think about this whole thing."
"Jim, do we really have to have this conversation?" Far as McCoy was concerned, he'd had quite enough of chatting around this subject.
"I have had nothing but this conversation for weeks!" Jim spun around, "You don't know how horrible this conversation is until you've had it with a Vulcan so shut up and listen because I am not leaving until you've heard your share of it."
McCoy sighed and then nodded enough that Jim could see it.
"Like I was saying, Spock and I have been discussing this for freaking ever."
Okay, that was enough. McCoy made a great sacrifice to the sleeping-in cause and finally sat up, the better to glare at his captain, his best friend, and the pain in his ass. Although not literally, that honor was still with the damned Vulcan.
"Discussing what?" McCoy demanded, "Discussing my birthday? Discussing fucking with me? Why the hell were you discussing me at all?"
Jim was unfazed by his outburst, only rolled his eyes and snagged a chair from against the wall, dragging it up to the bed so he could straddle it, and really, McCoy should not be in the frame of mind to notice exactly how well that position put Jim's better parts on display. Five years of not noticing the sex in everything damned thing Jim did had been destroyed in one night. "That's what Vulcans do, they discuss things. They talk about it and dissect it, and determine all the scenarios and all the likely outcomes and pretty much everything but actually do it."
McCoy snorted aloud. "Spock didn't seem all that shy about doing anything—"
"Bones, would you shut up for five minutes?" Jim exclaimed, exasperated. "You're just as bad! He goes on and on about equations and varying results, and you just want to bitch and moan until I give up. But I'm not going to, not this time. I know you, you know."
"Jim—"
"I know you, okay? You think I don't know you? I know everything about you, I knew how you'd react to all this." He waved a hand in the general area of the air around them. "Just like I knew how you'd react before. Do you really think I kept it all wrapped up nicely as a birthday present because I didn't want to get into your pants the other 364 days out of the year?"
"Jim," McCoy whispered again, aware of the molasses-thick panic rising in his throat. Jim ignored him, just on the edge of full-on rant mode and there wasn't much to do after that than let him go on.
"I know you, damn it. I know you don't do casual anymore than you do permanent and I would have been perfectly happy to let it be like it was because you could accept that. Only Spock—"
Jim trailed off, rubbing his hands over his face. When he finally looked at McCoy again, his eyes were as tired as McCoy felt, weariness that he felt all the way down to his bones. "I know you," Jim repeated again, softly. "I really do. So let me tell you something, this? Whatever the fuck it is, it isn't casual. And it doesn't have to be permanent. So if you would occasionally like me to suck your dick or fuck you or whatever you want when we both aren't epically drunk, let me know about it."
"Okay." A little feebly, a little stunned, because what else could he say?
Jim paused. "Okay?"
This was a mistake, McCoy knew, a certain grim knowledge settling into his gut. As much as Jim swore he knew him, McCoy knew him right back. He knew Jim and he knew that getting used to this would be just another mistake in the long line he'd had over the past years. He was a hell of a doctor but he couldn't pilot worth a damn, not ships and sure as hell not relationships. Lord knew every one he'd had had turned sour as left out milk in July, curdling until they could barely stand to look at him, much less speak to him.
That couldn't happen with Jim, he told himself fiercely. He really didn't think he could stand it. He'd packed up his troubles last time without even the benefit of a kit-bag and swallowed down his fears to go into space, right to the end of the line, and now he was out of places to go.
So he'd go along with it. If Jim really wanted to get his hands on McCoy's dick that badly, well, he'd oblige, he'd even let Spock come along for the ride, and when Jim finally got tired of it, he'd handle that, too. He'd have to because he wasn't losing his best friend over it.
Only, if he'd had a choice about it, he'd have happily gone along with it tomorrow, when he wasn't nursing a leftover hangover and two nights worth of sleep deprivation. But it seemed that he'd surrender his choices when he'd given Jim an open invitation into his pajamas and Jim seemed eager to take him up on the invite right now, already reaching out and sliding a tentative hand beneath the blankets. McCoy muffled a groan into his pillow as Jim's hand dipped lower, finding the hem of his shirt and toying with it.
"Jim," McCoy sighed, "God as my witness, I am exhausted. I'm numb from the waist down, I swear. I couldn't get it up right now if they were handing out blowjobs with a free lollipop."
"That's fine." The teasing hand withdrew and McCoy didn't even have a chance to be relieved when the bed shifted as Jim crawled into it, curling up behind him like the largest spoon in the drawer. Warm, so warm, his breath soft and damp on the back of McCoy's neck.
To be honest, this wasn't all that strange. He'd slept in the same bed as Jim before, both of them fully dressed and too exhausted to care about something as petty as personal space. True, Jim had never slid a hand under his shirt to pet the soft hairs on his belly first, never snugged his cock against McCoy's ass and sighed little sounds of appreciation into his ear.
He wouldn't have believed anything could have stirred him tonight, not with exhaustion threading its ties through him, but apparently his dick hadn't gotten the message. It was already perking up, thickening and swelling under Jim's gentle ministrations and when Jim gave him a little nudge, pushed him to lie on his back, McCoy went without a protest.
It was entirely too easy to lay here, to let Jim slide his pajama pants off, even as he made a mental note as to where Jim tossed them. Doctors did not sleep naked, no, they did not. Not unless they wanted to end up bare-ass in surgery, they didn't.
Christ, the kid had a pair of hands on him. Knew just how to touch, just where, and the feeling of his thumb making a slippery circle around the slick head of his cock was enough to draw a choked moan out of McCoy, arching up a little helplessly.
He felt Jim moving, the whispery sound of clothes being pulled off and he forced his eyes open, slit against the too-bright light coming in from the doorway, but he could still see. He'd seen Jim naked before, course he had, probably a dozen times. Tricorders were all good and well but a doctor had to be able to see a wound to treat it and Jim wasn't exactly shy.
A fellow who wasn't a doctor might not understand but seeing a patient was different; no matter what they looked like, they were still a patient and nothing about seeing Jim naked with pain hazing his eyes was sexy in the least.
This, now, a lapful of squirming, naked Jim who was stroking him like he couldn't seem to stop, leaning in close to brush his mouth against McCoy's and he opened to the slick touch of his tongue without hesitation. Jim had both hands on his face now, holding him still as though he was afraid McCoy would pull away. As if he could. As if he could do anything now but suck on that soft tongue, nip at the tip and feel Jim shudder against him.
Jim pulled back abruptly, shuffled backwards awkwardly, almost gracelessly and it was odd to see, Jim always so easy in his body.
"I want you," Jim said, too loud and sharp and McCoy was nodding stupidly, already reaching for Jim's hips. He wanted it, too, exchanging exhaustion for desire. Hissed as Jim reached back and held his cock steady, shifted back to take him in.
"Fuck me," McCoy moaned aloud, weakly. Jim was already slick inside, fucking bastard had been ready for this, course he had been, slick and hot, tight as a clenched fist around him.
"No, that wasn't me," Jim muttered, his tone dark. It was enough to make McCoy drag his eyes open again, blinking at Jim blearily. "Spock has fucked you twice now and here I am, gathering up the leftovers again."
"No--" McCoy started, cut off with a strangled yelp as Jim clenched tight around him. He had one hand resting lightly on McCoy's belly for balance, the other jerking himself off and that would have been worth watching on its own because if there was one thing Jim had always been, it was beautiful. Even from that first meeting, his face still raw and bruised, McCoy had seen it and now, writhing on him, framed in the yellowish light from the doorway, he looked like every dirty fantasy McCoy had ever had.
It was all McCoy could do to keep hanging on, eyes taking in every wanton twist, every unabashed rocking of his hips. His hands felt too large and sweat-slick on Jim's hips but he held on tight, tried to meet each backwards thrust with one of his own.
Jim was gasping now, biting his lip hard before he tipped his head back, God, pretty, so fucking pretty..."You never offered," Jim managed, his voice breaking with breathy little moans. "On my birthdays."
"Sorry," McCoy panted and damned if he didn't mean it, from the bottom of his soul. If he'd known that Jim had been waiting for this, well, there wasn't much that would have stopped him from getting it, fucking Hobgoblins aside. Birthdays, holidays, whatever, he would have filled his calendar with celebrations if he'd known this was waiting for him in the end.
Jim didn't seem as willing to let it go, muttering under his breath even as he jerked himself harder, thighs tight as he lifted up and dropped down hard, hard. "Always got me some stupid present--"
"I'm sorry!" If he'd had a little more presence of mind, McCoy would surely have been embarrassed by that little wail, and even more so by the sound he made after it, desperate and longing, high enough that his voice cracked but since he was coming at the time, he didn't care quite as much. It was hard to care about anything when his orgasm was blinding him, certainly didn't care that he was gripping Jim's hips hard enough to bruise just so's he could hold him there, hold him tight as he arched up hard one last time and spilled into the tight clench of Jim's body. Barely, he felt Jim coming, too, felt the hot, wet spill of it across his belly and all it did was make his cock jerk again, just the feeling of it like an extra helping of bliss.
The next thing he knew clearly was that Jim was sprawled on top of him, heavy and sweaty-warm, and Jim was no goddamned lightweight. Sex was all fine and good but McCoy was starting to notice a trend in his getting squashed afterward. Bruises weren't as much fun in the aftermath.
It didn't take Jim too long to roll off of him, curling up against him in the swampy dampness of the bed. It'd been some time since McCoy had fallen asleep in the messy after-sex sheets and suddenly the idea had more appeal than he would have thought. Certainly more than actually getting up to change the bed.
Jim was nuzzling lazy kisses against his throat and jaw and McCoy was nearly asleep when Jim finally spoke to him again, so softly.
"Can I stay?"
Had to be a dozen ways to answer that, and at least half of them began with the word Spock, but in the end, McCoy was just too damned tired to argue about it now, settled for the simplest answer.
"Yeah," he mumbled, felt the tension slide out of Jim as though drawn with an old-fashion syringe. Even gathering up his pajamas seemed like too much work and if he ended up bare ass in Sickbay, well, he'd paid the price for it in advance. Just now, he'd call it worth it.
Jim was already asleep, he realized, a little bemused. Snoring faintly and drooling in a spreading patch over the pillow. McCoy found he didn't really mind. Closed his eyes and let all of it wash over him, a little guilty indulgence in a luxury that was the furthest thing from simple. Jim might not be sweet, but he was still fresh as a ripe peach for the plucking and McCoy decided, as he drifted off to sleep, he might as well enjoy it while he could.
Seasons changed quickly, even in the darkness of space.
-finis-
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