Perfect - Kirk/McCoy - NC-17
I actually surpassed my (admittedly low) target last night and wrote 700 words :D This post is my reward for a job well done~!
Title: Perfect
Author/Artist: nix_this
Pairing(s): Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Orgasms and coffee, preferably in that order, are the only things that can get his doctor anything close to approachable before noon, and Jim's happy enough to provide.
Notes/Warnings: For janice_lester, who wanted frotting for her five acts meme. Fluff, but porny fluff.
Beta: janice_lester, you complete me! <3
It's perfect like this, warm and easy, with the lights brightening in subtle increments to simulate dawn and Bones snuggled up beside him like a bestubbled, snoring furnace. Jim doesn't have to be up yet, it's a scheduled off-day for them both. He could go back to sleep, or get up and go for a run. Maybe shave his chest, or something. But it's too easy to snake his arm over Bones's chest and pull him closer yet, to plaster himself along Bones's side so that the scant millimetres of space between them disappear in a sigh. Jim likes easy. Jim likes warm. And Jim most definitely likes Bones.
Bones murmurs a protest, brows drawing together like he's gearing up to glare the approaching morning into submission. Orgasms and coffee, preferably in that order, are the only things that can get his doctor anything close to approachable before noon, and Jim's happy enough to provide. The level of complaints over CMO McCoy's (admittedly awful) bedside manner have dropped significantly since he moved into the Captain's quarters.
Jim strokes his fingers over Bones's chest, curling them in to catch the springy, coarse hairs and revel in the texture as they tease their way down to soft skin beneath. Another disgruntled murmur, completely belied by the soft arch of flesh pressing closer, moving into the touch. Bones is naturally contrary like that; Jim thinks the only reason he even uses the Southern Gentleman shtick is so that his Disgruntled Doctor routine packs a bigger wallop.
He leans in to sniff at Bones' neck, just behind his ear, catching the not-unpleasant scents of sleep sweat and shampoo and a lingering trace of antiseptic. Bones Concentrate, and probably sexier than it should be. He presses his lips to the soft patch of skin that seems so fragile next to the dark stubble peppering Bones' jaw. He scrapes his cheek against the budding beard, enjoying the contrast, and whispers, "Morning, sweetheart," when he feels Bones' breaths shifting to wakefulness beneath his palm.
Bones scowls, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed. Easy, of course, is relative. Lucky for them both, Jim also likes challenges. He's a complicated kind of guy.
"Aw, don't be like that, baby," Jim says with a grin, tracing his hand down to cover Bones's cotton-covered morning wood. "I know you're happy to see me."
"Ain't seen you yet," Bones mutters, jerking his hips up once before he catches himself. See? Contrary. "S'early."
Jim hums a vague agreement, not paying particular attention to the actual words coming out of Bones's mouth when he's thinking about how much more awesome it would be to put his mouth there instead. So, he leans over and plants one on him. And it's nice. Easy and warm. Perfect. Bones's lips are soft at the seam, just waiting for Jim's tongue to slide along it and press in, maybe coax that bottom lip between his teeth and get a little nibble. He does that too, not bothering to hold back the smile when Bones huffs a complaint at the sudden nip of teeth.
He pulls away enough to watch Bones's jaw go slack when he squeezes his handful of Bones's southern gentleman. "Tell me you love me," he says, sliding a firm hand over the bulge.
"I'd love you more if you stopped playin' around," Bones says instead, brow furrow caught somewhere between ornery and entreaty. Orneaty? Classic.
Jim laughs. "Close enough." He rolls his weight and manages not to tangle them up too badly in the sheets when he settles onto Bones. He thrusts down once, lining up so their dicks are pressing into each other though the tangle of bedclothes and (surprisingly comfortable) Starfleet-issue sleep pants. They both sigh at the familiar friction. Jim could do this forever, shifting and sliding and slipping over Bones, hands working beneath layers of bedding to stroke random patches of skin as they present themselves. It's not urgent, like after a mission when they're both too glad he's still alive to bother with undressing, dragging orgasms out of each other like promises to never scare me like that again, dammit Jim and stay, stay, please, Bones, stay. It's a different kind of clumsy - the odd tug of fabric catching at his knuckles and making him fumble is comfortable, like it doesn't have to be perfect to be perfect. It's easy. It's warm. It's him and Bones and another day.
Perfect.
Bones's eyes are still closed, but the little wrinkles at the corners (crows feet, it's sweet, really) are deeper, like maybe it's an effort not to stare up at Jim with undiluted adoration when he's getting a first-class wake-up call. Jim kisses him again, just to make it harder, squirming a little bit more than the situation calls for because it feels good, and Bones is just too damned cute when he's trying to pretend he's not gagging for it.
"Jim--" Bones says his name like he's choking on it when Jim finally has to come up for air. He's panting too, lightly still, but Jim can fix that. He grinds his hips down, puts some power into it and relishes in the small grunt he receives in return. Bones pushes back, hips bucking up and hands scrabbling for leverage where the sheets have them pinned.
"You like that, don't you, Bonesy?" Jim taunts, easing back to tease them both, keeping the pressure just a fraction of an inch from where Bones wants it. He leans in to get another whiff, gets distracted on his way by flash of collarbone that's just begging to be tasted.
Bones whines and squirms. "Dammit, Jim," he says, voice still growly and hoarse from sleep. "Stop fooling around and get me off, already."
Jim laughs. "Pretty bossy for a man who hasn't even opened his eyes." He darts a quick look up and can't help but grin when he catches the impressive pout. Chuckling, Jim sucks and kisses his way over Bones's shoulders and up to his neck, maintaining the shallow, playful circles of his hips over Bones's. "You smell good, baby," he says, "feel good." His hand finds a nipple underneath the tangle of blankets and he pinches, once, then rolls it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Bones arches into it, bringing their chests and cocks together in a happy buzz of connection Jim can feel in his gut.
The sound Bones makes is somewhere between a moan and a keen, dissonant and breathy and hot as fuck. It's Jim's new favourite sound, easily. The sheets and Jim haven't left him much in the way of leverage, but Bones is making a decent go of taking control, twisting and bucking his hips, rubbing them together at odd angles that still somehow work. Jim brings his forearms up to bracket Bones' head, watching as he tosses it side-to-side, mumbled curses mingled with endearments falling from his lips in equal measure. Fuck, he loves this. Loves him.
"That's it, Bones," Jim says, a little unevenly. He settles more of his weight down, giving Bones something harder to grind up against, and watches. Bones's brows are screwed together in concentration, his face starting to flush from the effort. He still hasn't opened his eyes. "C'mon, baby," Jim breathes the encouragement into his ear, "take it. Take what you want." He shivers when Bones does, light tremors traveling the length of his spine.
Bones bites his bottom lip, denting the full flesh with a flash of white as he strains beneath Jim. Jim groans, and leans down so their foreheads are touching, tangles his fingers into Bones' hair. "Fuck, Bones," he says, panting now too. "Your face-- Fuck." He picks up the rhythm and is rewarded with a growl and another full body arch.
Jim's dick swells, orgasm building at the base of his spine as they writhe together. So perfect. Almost.
"Bones," he says urgently, pressing their foreheads closer and tightening his grip on Bones' hair. "Bones." He staggers their rhythm, thrusting harder, faster. "Open your eyes, baby," he begs. "Want to see you when you come."
He's already shuddering by the first gleam of hazel when Bones finally, finally, complies. He looks so wrecked, so fucking amazing, that Jim has to force his own eyes to stay open long enough to make sure he never loses this picture. "Fuck," he groans, "yes. You. Look at you."
Bones bucks up again, a half-laugh, half-groan rumbling through his chest. "Lookin' at you, Jim," he says, tilting his head back against Jim's hands to stare back.
It's the laugh that does it, Jim thinks. Or would, if he was still thinking. Bones's laugh, and the amusement crinkling his eyes through the pleasure-daze have Jim coming like he's shaking apart from it, moaning like it's killing him and he's happy to die like this. Which is true enough, or could be.
He's got a face full of stubbly throat when he makes his way back to (relative) coherency. Bones has worked his hands free of the blankets and is holding him tight, a willing prisoner to the afterglow. One broad hand strokes over Jim's back where the sweat is prickling dry in the open air. He shivers and shifts closer.
"Mmm," Jim murmurs into Bones's neck. "Morning, baby."
Bones squeezes him tighter, "Whatever, kid." He tilts his head into Jim's.
Jim laughs and nuzzles into the warmth. "Coffee?" he asks on a yawn.
Bones chuckles, low and easy. "That sounds mighty fine."
He means to get up, he really does. But he's warm, and loose with it. Content. And Bones doesn't really seem to mind that's he's not so much moving away as settling in.
A soft kiss on the top of his head is the last thing he registers before he drifts off again.
Perfect.
end
Title: Perfect
Author/Artist: nix_this
Pairing(s): Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1700
Summary: Orgasms and coffee, preferably in that order, are the only things that can get his doctor anything close to approachable before noon, and Jim's happy enough to provide.
Notes/Warnings: For janice_lester, who wanted frotting for her five acts meme. Fluff, but porny fluff.
Beta: janice_lester, you complete me! <3
It's perfect like this, warm and easy, with the lights brightening in subtle increments to simulate dawn and Bones snuggled up beside him like a bestubbled, snoring furnace. Jim doesn't have to be up yet, it's a scheduled off-day for them both. He could go back to sleep, or get up and go for a run. Maybe shave his chest, or something. But it's too easy to snake his arm over Bones's chest and pull him closer yet, to plaster himself along Bones's side so that the scant millimetres of space between them disappear in a sigh. Jim likes easy. Jim likes warm. And Jim most definitely likes Bones.
Bones murmurs a protest, brows drawing together like he's gearing up to glare the approaching morning into submission. Orgasms and coffee, preferably in that order, are the only things that can get his doctor anything close to approachable before noon, and Jim's happy enough to provide. The level of complaints over CMO McCoy's (admittedly awful) bedside manner have dropped significantly since he moved into the Captain's quarters.
Jim strokes his fingers over Bones's chest, curling them in to catch the springy, coarse hairs and revel in the texture as they tease their way down to soft skin beneath. Another disgruntled murmur, completely belied by the soft arch of flesh pressing closer, moving into the touch. Bones is naturally contrary like that; Jim thinks the only reason he even uses the Southern Gentleman shtick is so that his Disgruntled Doctor routine packs a bigger wallop.
He leans in to sniff at Bones' neck, just behind his ear, catching the not-unpleasant scents of sleep sweat and shampoo and a lingering trace of antiseptic. Bones Concentrate, and probably sexier than it should be. He presses his lips to the soft patch of skin that seems so fragile next to the dark stubble peppering Bones' jaw. He scrapes his cheek against the budding beard, enjoying the contrast, and whispers, "Morning, sweetheart," when he feels Bones' breaths shifting to wakefulness beneath his palm.
Bones scowls, keeping his eyes stubbornly closed. Easy, of course, is relative. Lucky for them both, Jim also likes challenges. He's a complicated kind of guy.
"Aw, don't be like that, baby," Jim says with a grin, tracing his hand down to cover Bones's cotton-covered morning wood. "I know you're happy to see me."
"Ain't seen you yet," Bones mutters, jerking his hips up once before he catches himself. See? Contrary. "S'early."
Jim hums a vague agreement, not paying particular attention to the actual words coming out of Bones's mouth when he's thinking about how much more awesome it would be to put his mouth there instead. So, he leans over and plants one on him. And it's nice. Easy and warm. Perfect. Bones's lips are soft at the seam, just waiting for Jim's tongue to slide along it and press in, maybe coax that bottom lip between his teeth and get a little nibble. He does that too, not bothering to hold back the smile when Bones huffs a complaint at the sudden nip of teeth.
He pulls away enough to watch Bones's jaw go slack when he squeezes his handful of Bones's southern gentleman. "Tell me you love me," he says, sliding a firm hand over the bulge.
"I'd love you more if you stopped playin' around," Bones says instead, brow furrow caught somewhere between ornery and entreaty. Orneaty? Classic.
Jim laughs. "Close enough." He rolls his weight and manages not to tangle them up too badly in the sheets when he settles onto Bones. He thrusts down once, lining up so their dicks are pressing into each other though the tangle of bedclothes and (surprisingly comfortable) Starfleet-issue sleep pants. They both sigh at the familiar friction. Jim could do this forever, shifting and sliding and slipping over Bones, hands working beneath layers of bedding to stroke random patches of skin as they present themselves. It's not urgent, like after a mission when they're both too glad he's still alive to bother with undressing, dragging orgasms out of each other like promises to never scare me like that again, dammit Jim and stay, stay, please, Bones, stay. It's a different kind of clumsy - the odd tug of fabric catching at his knuckles and making him fumble is comfortable, like it doesn't have to be perfect to be perfect. It's easy. It's warm. It's him and Bones and another day.
Perfect.
Bones's eyes are still closed, but the little wrinkles at the corners (crows feet, it's sweet, really) are deeper, like maybe it's an effort not to stare up at Jim with undiluted adoration when he's getting a first-class wake-up call. Jim kisses him again, just to make it harder, squirming a little bit more than the situation calls for because it feels good, and Bones is just too damned cute when he's trying to pretend he's not gagging for it.
"Jim--" Bones says his name like he's choking on it when Jim finally has to come up for air. He's panting too, lightly still, but Jim can fix that. He grinds his hips down, puts some power into it and relishes in the small grunt he receives in return. Bones pushes back, hips bucking up and hands scrabbling for leverage where the sheets have them pinned.
"You like that, don't you, Bonesy?" Jim taunts, easing back to tease them both, keeping the pressure just a fraction of an inch from where Bones wants it. He leans in to get another whiff, gets distracted on his way by flash of collarbone that's just begging to be tasted.
Bones whines and squirms. "Dammit, Jim," he says, voice still growly and hoarse from sleep. "Stop fooling around and get me off, already."
Jim laughs. "Pretty bossy for a man who hasn't even opened his eyes." He darts a quick look up and can't help but grin when he catches the impressive pout. Chuckling, Jim sucks and kisses his way over Bones's shoulders and up to his neck, maintaining the shallow, playful circles of his hips over Bones's. "You smell good, baby," he says, "feel good." His hand finds a nipple underneath the tangle of blankets and he pinches, once, then rolls it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Bones arches into it, bringing their chests and cocks together in a happy buzz of connection Jim can feel in his gut.
The sound Bones makes is somewhere between a moan and a keen, dissonant and breathy and hot as fuck. It's Jim's new favourite sound, easily. The sheets and Jim haven't left him much in the way of leverage, but Bones is making a decent go of taking control, twisting and bucking his hips, rubbing them together at odd angles that still somehow work. Jim brings his forearms up to bracket Bones' head, watching as he tosses it side-to-side, mumbled curses mingled with endearments falling from his lips in equal measure. Fuck, he loves this. Loves him.
"That's it, Bones," Jim says, a little unevenly. He settles more of his weight down, giving Bones something harder to grind up against, and watches. Bones's brows are screwed together in concentration, his face starting to flush from the effort. He still hasn't opened his eyes. "C'mon, baby," Jim breathes the encouragement into his ear, "take it. Take what you want." He shivers when Bones does, light tremors traveling the length of his spine.
Bones bites his bottom lip, denting the full flesh with a flash of white as he strains beneath Jim. Jim groans, and leans down so their foreheads are touching, tangles his fingers into Bones' hair. "Fuck, Bones," he says, panting now too. "Your face-- Fuck." He picks up the rhythm and is rewarded with a growl and another full body arch.
Jim's dick swells, orgasm building at the base of his spine as they writhe together. So perfect. Almost.
"Bones," he says urgently, pressing their foreheads closer and tightening his grip on Bones' hair. "Bones." He staggers their rhythm, thrusting harder, faster. "Open your eyes, baby," he begs. "Want to see you when you come."
He's already shuddering by the first gleam of hazel when Bones finally, finally, complies. He looks so wrecked, so fucking amazing, that Jim has to force his own eyes to stay open long enough to make sure he never loses this picture. "Fuck," he groans, "yes. You. Look at you."
Bones bucks up again, a half-laugh, half-groan rumbling through his chest. "Lookin' at you, Jim," he says, tilting his head back against Jim's hands to stare back.
It's the laugh that does it, Jim thinks. Or would, if he was still thinking. Bones's laugh, and the amusement crinkling his eyes through the pleasure-daze have Jim coming like he's shaking apart from it, moaning like it's killing him and he's happy to die like this. Which is true enough, or could be.
He's got a face full of stubbly throat when he makes his way back to (relative) coherency. Bones has worked his hands free of the blankets and is holding him tight, a willing prisoner to the afterglow. One broad hand strokes over Jim's back where the sweat is prickling dry in the open air. He shivers and shifts closer.
"Mmm," Jim murmurs into Bones's neck. "Morning, baby."
Bones squeezes him tighter, "Whatever, kid." He tilts his head into Jim's.
Jim laughs and nuzzles into the warmth. "Coffee?" he asks on a yawn.
Bones chuckles, low and easy. "That sounds mighty fine."
He means to get up, he really does. But he's warm, and loose with it. Content. And Bones doesn't really seem to mind that's he's not so much moving away as settling in.
A soft kiss on the top of his head is the last thing he registers before he drifts off again.
Perfect.
end