Fic: Between The Lines (1/1)
Title: Between The Lines
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 1,019
Summary: The two of them; they fall between the lines. For team_jones at st_respect’s Ship Wars, for Challenge Prompt #2: “Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone.” Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Song belongs to Bill Withers.
Author’s Notes: Pointless, plotless, musically-themed sex. Oh snap.
Between The Lines
The door slides open for him, and his hands are already on the jacket of his uniform, ready to strip. His fingers pause, though, suddenly, at the low hum coming from his room. Their room.
He steps softly, tiptoes around the crests of music that rise and crash through the otherwise stagnant afternoon air, until his eyes settle upon the figure of his roommate - his lover - sprawled shirtless across the single bed they don’t sleep in (so often forgotten next to the one in which they do), the body of a guitar cradled against his side, close and tight, like it could keep him warm.
“Ain't no sunshine when she's gone,” are the first words that make themselves known outside the lazy give and take of the strains, and Leonard feels time stand still as Jim’s normally warm voice slips low, gravely in his throat. His fingers move along the frets, caressing and sliding sensuously in time with the chords, his nails scraping against the strings as he strums, eyes closed like he’s lost somewhere, some place the soft strands of song carried him off to all on their own.
He sits, legs spread - open, inviting - and Leonard can see the way his muscles move with firm, yet subtle grace as he sways in time with the rhythm, rocking back and forth with the ebb and flow of the meter, the melody.
“And this house just ain't no home,” he exhales, a soft and breathy rasp as a piece of his hair falls against his lashes, frames his profile in gold; “anytime she goes away.”
His voice falls heavy in Leonard’s gut, hot and tantalizing, salacious to the point of surrender. The squint of his eyes as he strains on the higher notes draws out the laugh-lines at the corners, and Leonard feels drawn, magnetic, to Jim’s side, dropping to his knees between those lean legs and staring up from the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him, to break the spell just yet.
“I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,” Jim’s tongue snaps staccato against the roof of his mouth as he trills the same words, up and down, and Leonard’s close enough now to hear the wet smack of his saliva with every other syllable, to see the sheen across his full bottom lip. He takes a moment, just one last look at the spectacle of him - the way Jim’s bare shoulders loom broad above the instrument, the way his chest moves slow, steady under it’s shadow - before Leonard gives in to temptation.
He presses his chin into the gap between Jim’s legs, brushing against the base of him through his jeans and grinning against his navel as he feels Jim tense, feels the stir that grows between them as Jim’s voice cracks on the words, as his eyes snap open, fire and a question burning in his gaze.
“Keep playing,” Leonard breathes in answer, nuzzling at the tantalizing strip of skin just above the belt Leonard tugs from its loops and flings away as he inches the denim from Jim’s hips, slow and patient with every swell of sound. Jim fumbles for a moment, only plays instead of sings, breathless as Leonard slips his boxers down with a deft hand, wrapping his palm around the base of Jim’s cock as soon as it’s free. Leonard meets Jim’s eyes with a promise darker, deeper than his pulse where it pounds in his thigh, throbs against Leonard’s hand. The way Jim’s hands clench around the neck of the guitar sends the notes whining through the air, sliding up an octave as his fingers twitch, but he keeps strumming, and neither notices so much that it’s off-beat, off-key, just so long as it’s there.
Leonard takes Jim between his lips without pretense, dragging just the edges, just the tips of his teeth against the shaft, letting the friction build to the very brink of what he knows Jim can stand. He lets his tongue slide down along Jim’s ridge, teasing him mercilessly until his whimpers make the music, less so than the notes.
He sucks him through a refrain that doesn’t match any song but the one they’ve learned to play off one another, the chords lilting and frantic, needy and formless, waves upon waves of sensation that don’t need any chords, but sometimes indulge them, a pounding beat that matches the way their hearts race, the way their chests heave, crescendoing high until they reach fever pitch, until they lose their place and spill over the score.
His tongue flicks against Jim’s tip, and the music stops, the last chord ringing off-key with the pitch of Jim’s soft, throaty moan, more gorgeous than any tune, any careful pluck of strings. Leonard savors the taste of him as it floods his mouth in waves, shoots down his throat hot as he swallows, fingers pressing firm as he steadies Jim at the hips, lets his thumbs tease closer at his straining, spilling cock until Jim’s spent, until it’s over, just the echoes singing on, trembling in the strings beneath Jim’s palms.
Leonard buries his head against Jim’s stomach, breathing in the heady tendrils of scent, of flavor that linger in the air as Jim’s runs languid, tender fingers through his hair - a mantra without words.
“You made me snap my E string, asshole,” Jim murmurs, still hazy, still dazed, and Leonard can’t help the smile that dances, quirks at the corners of his mouth as he presses a reverent sort of kiss to the line of Jim’s hip, letting his lips hover there, savoring the salt and sweet of him where it sticks.
Jim falls back against the bed, and Leonard slides a little bit bonelessly, a little bit soft upon the sheets to curl around him, splayed where the sunshine seeps in long streaks through the blinds, like blank staves waiting for the notes to fill them.
He and Jim, though; they write their own lyrics, their own chords. They fall between the lines.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 1,019
Summary: The two of them; they fall between the lines. For team_jones at st_respect’s Ship Wars, for Challenge Prompt #2: “Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone.” Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. Song belongs to Bill Withers.
Author’s Notes: Pointless, plotless, musically-themed sex. Oh snap.
Between The Lines
The door slides open for him, and his hands are already on the jacket of his uniform, ready to strip. His fingers pause, though, suddenly, at the low hum coming from his room. Their room.
He steps softly, tiptoes around the crests of music that rise and crash through the otherwise stagnant afternoon air, until his eyes settle upon the figure of his roommate - his lover - sprawled shirtless across the single bed they don’t sleep in (so often forgotten next to the one in which they do), the body of a guitar cradled against his side, close and tight, like it could keep him warm.
“Ain't no sunshine when she's gone,” are the first words that make themselves known outside the lazy give and take of the strains, and Leonard feels time stand still as Jim’s normally warm voice slips low, gravely in his throat. His fingers move along the frets, caressing and sliding sensuously in time with the chords, his nails scraping against the strings as he strums, eyes closed like he’s lost somewhere, some place the soft strands of song carried him off to all on their own.
He sits, legs spread - open, inviting - and Leonard can see the way his muscles move with firm, yet subtle grace as he sways in time with the rhythm, rocking back and forth with the ebb and flow of the meter, the melody.
“And this house just ain't no home,” he exhales, a soft and breathy rasp as a piece of his hair falls against his lashes, frames his profile in gold; “anytime she goes away.”
His voice falls heavy in Leonard’s gut, hot and tantalizing, salacious to the point of surrender. The squint of his eyes as he strains on the higher notes draws out the laugh-lines at the corners, and Leonard feels drawn, magnetic, to Jim’s side, dropping to his knees between those lean legs and staring up from the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb him, to break the spell just yet.
“I know, I know, I know, I know, I know,” Jim’s tongue snaps staccato against the roof of his mouth as he trills the same words, up and down, and Leonard’s close enough now to hear the wet smack of his saliva with every other syllable, to see the sheen across his full bottom lip. He takes a moment, just one last look at the spectacle of him - the way Jim’s bare shoulders loom broad above the instrument, the way his chest moves slow, steady under it’s shadow - before Leonard gives in to temptation.
He presses his chin into the gap between Jim’s legs, brushing against the base of him through his jeans and grinning against his navel as he feels Jim tense, feels the stir that grows between them as Jim’s voice cracks on the words, as his eyes snap open, fire and a question burning in his gaze.
“Keep playing,” Leonard breathes in answer, nuzzling at the tantalizing strip of skin just above the belt Leonard tugs from its loops and flings away as he inches the denim from Jim’s hips, slow and patient with every swell of sound. Jim fumbles for a moment, only plays instead of sings, breathless as Leonard slips his boxers down with a deft hand, wrapping his palm around the base of Jim’s cock as soon as it’s free. Leonard meets Jim’s eyes with a promise darker, deeper than his pulse where it pounds in his thigh, throbs against Leonard’s hand. The way Jim’s hands clench around the neck of the guitar sends the notes whining through the air, sliding up an octave as his fingers twitch, but he keeps strumming, and neither notices so much that it’s off-beat, off-key, just so long as it’s there.
Leonard takes Jim between his lips without pretense, dragging just the edges, just the tips of his teeth against the shaft, letting the friction build to the very brink of what he knows Jim can stand. He lets his tongue slide down along Jim’s ridge, teasing him mercilessly until his whimpers make the music, less so than the notes.
He sucks him through a refrain that doesn’t match any song but the one they’ve learned to play off one another, the chords lilting and frantic, needy and formless, waves upon waves of sensation that don’t need any chords, but sometimes indulge them, a pounding beat that matches the way their hearts race, the way their chests heave, crescendoing high until they reach fever pitch, until they lose their place and spill over the score.
His tongue flicks against Jim’s tip, and the music stops, the last chord ringing off-key with the pitch of Jim’s soft, throaty moan, more gorgeous than any tune, any careful pluck of strings. Leonard savors the taste of him as it floods his mouth in waves, shoots down his throat hot as he swallows, fingers pressing firm as he steadies Jim at the hips, lets his thumbs tease closer at his straining, spilling cock until Jim’s spent, until it’s over, just the echoes singing on, trembling in the strings beneath Jim’s palms.
Leonard buries his head against Jim’s stomach, breathing in the heady tendrils of scent, of flavor that linger in the air as Jim’s runs languid, tender fingers through his hair - a mantra without words.
“You made me snap my E string, asshole,” Jim murmurs, still hazy, still dazed, and Leonard can’t help the smile that dances, quirks at the corners of his mouth as he presses a reverent sort of kiss to the line of Jim’s hip, letting his lips hover there, savoring the salt and sweet of him where it sticks.
Jim falls back against the bed, and Leonard slides a little bit bonelessly, a little bit soft upon the sheets to curl around him, splayed where the sunshine seeps in long streaks through the blinds, like blank staves waiting for the notes to fill them.
He and Jim, though; they write their own lyrics, their own chords. They fall between the lines.