Trek Fic: Another One Bites the Dust
Title: Another One Bites the Dust
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Length: Around 1,500.
Rating: NC-17 for sex.
Notes: I watched this again on Friday and with this fic in mind I was squirming in my seat. Written because we all know Jim's a cockslut. Looked over by the lovely credulesque . Crossposted to AO3 here.
Pike’s just left, and Jim’s feeling miserable, and more than a little pathetic. He stroppily throws the tiny ship down onto the table and decides that the most productive thing would be to storm out. “I’m sorry,” the guy behind the bar says, and Jim jerks his head in his direction; “we’re closed.” The comment makes no sense to Jim who, after all, was leaving, until he looks at the doorway and sees a pissed-off potential customer loitering there. He scowls and turns on his heel, and Jim staggers off out after him.
Jim starts fiddling with his bike, trying to get the key into the slot, and notices the guy leaning on a section of fence, kicking up the dirt. He’s drinking from a flask. He looks over at Jim at his glance, and frowns as he sees Jim fail at climbing on. “Should you be driving in that state?”
“Fuck you,” Jim drawls, and his fingers slip past the ignition and knock the gravity stabiliser, sending the bike off its invisible prop and it pins him to the ground. Jim disentangles himself, swearing profusely, and the guy’s looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “I can do it,” Jim mutters, “just give me a sec.” He still looks sceptical, and Jim scowls over at him. “It’s not like there’s any other way of getting out of here.” He frowns, and looks around him. “How are you getting back?”
“Walking,” the guy replies easily, and sips. “Not like I can afford anything else.”
“I could give you a ride.”
He snorts. “No thanks.” He starts pacing off down the road, and Jim picks up his bike and starts to follow him.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Jim asks as he draws level. He knows the look the guy shoots him; he wants to be left on his own. But Jim’s an asshole, and he keeps walking alongside him.
“I was trying to clear my head,” he mutters. “But that didn’t work out. So I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Clear your head?” Jim queries. He’d like to say he knows the feeling, but his own brain is in the state of a foggy mess of a million different fragmented thoughts that’s only really achieved by inebriation.
“I’ve sort of got a decision to make.”
“Yeah,” Jim replies softly, and his eyes flicker to the sky. “Me too.”
Jim drops to his knees beside his bike in the dirt and peels up the bottom of the guy’s shirt and bites neatly on his hipbone. “I could tell first-off you weren’t a thinker,” the guy muses, running a finger along Jim’s swollen nose. Jim knows he must be in a complete state; his whole body’s throbbing angrily all over the place with every move. He probably has shitloads of blood all over him. He wonders if that’s going to help get the guy off. There’s a definite shift in the shape of his jeans beside his face, and he leaves a cool trail with his tongue along the guy’s waistline, just above the top of his jeans. “C’mon, then, kid,” the guy murmurs. Jim bites at the button, but he’s clumsy and uncoordinated, and the guy ends up undoing it for him, and Jim just about manages to pull down the zip with his teeth. Jim breathes hot and wet onto his thigh as the guy pries a finger inside his underwear, and wriggles it further down his hips, and his cock’s there, right in front of Jim’s face. Jim squirms a little in the dirt, his mouth open and licking his lips, dry and painful, and he’s trying to prep his throat muscles, but it kind of fails when the guy gets fed up of waiting and grabs the back of his head, forcing his cock down his throat, and Jim’s body shudders with the burn of it. He feels his eyes begin to water and his throat’s burning, but the guy above him is writhing and swearing and Jim risks a glance up; he can’t see his face, not with his eyes tearing up and the gloomy light, but he sees the wide whites of his eyes, and he shivers.
Jim slips a hand down inside his own jeans, using the other to grab hold of one of the guy’s legs for balance as he sucks with a little too much abandon; his mouth’s overly wet, spit running down his chin in a messy stream and he’s being sloppy and not particularly talented but it seems to work, reducing him from swearing to garbling, dragged out moans. Jim doesn’t give a fuck about his shirt - it’s ruined to shit anyway - but he can’t help but wince when the guy’s a little too enthusiastic as he comes and slams forward, forcing Jim to swallow, but worst of all catching Jim’s swollen nose. Jim’s eyes explode over with white stars - and not in a good way - and it’s a moment before he’s recovered through the pain enough to open his eyes and breathe normally, though it’s still rasping and nasal. He’s been pushed or pushed himself away from the guy standing over him, fallen back on his hands and the grit’s biting into his palms. The guy leans down to gesture at his face for a moment and Jim knows he must look a total state, he feels sticky and messy and awful, but his fingers brush across his nose, and it’s not sympathetic, it’s inquisitive, like he’s trying to assess what’s wrong.
Then he looks down and sees Jim’s not come, and helps pull him to his feet, and Jim presses his face into the guy’s neck as his hand wraps around his cock. He moans, and it’s whorishly pretty as he bucks his hips up into the guy’s hand, hot and tight around him. He hadn’t been needy and desperate before, but it only takes a few pulls and twists before Jim’s rasping painfully into his collarbone, his hips totally out of his control, mouthing desperately at the open stretch of neck and all but begging for it, but the guy’s holding out, being a cold bastard and trapping his cock in a hot ring of finger and thumb when he’s close. He slides his second hand down Jim’s clothed spine and presses two fingers inside exactly when he pulls up his cock suddenly, hot and hard with his fist and Jim comes, whining, hips jolting in arrhythmic shunts.
“Get off me,” the guy says finally, but his voice’s soft. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” He leans back on his bike to catch his breath, and watches as the guy shrugs his jacket back up his shoulders and does up his jeans.
“Yeah,” Jim says softly. “Me too.” Maybe Pike was right, and it is better for him to be a captain, rather than a genius sucking strangers off on dirty sideroads. The guy takes one more sip from the flask, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jim mirrors the action, and his hand comes away sticky, messy and unpleasant. He suppresses the urge to wince, and the guy claps him on the shoulder in farewell as he starts to walk along the road. “Sure I can’t give you a lift somewhere?” Jim calls, and the guy stops to turn around and shakes his head.
“I doubt you’re going where I am,” he replies, “but thanks for the offer.”
Jim nods courteously to nobody, and climbs back on his bike. The dawn’s only just prickling the sky, and Jim can make it long before 8am. He’s disregarded and forgotten the stranger already - there’s a million more like him loitering in the back of his brain. Four years? He dwells on the words along the journey. I can do it in three.
Bones is unusually horny this evening. Jim’s so not complaining about it, but when he’s shoved to his knees and Bones is undoing his trousers Jim finds his breath’s hitching, and not just because they’ve never done this before. “Woah,” he breathes, and shakes his head. “Déjà vu.”
Bones looks down at him like he’s actually lost his mind, and he’s right, Jim probably has. But Jim has a very good head for faces - he’s good at remembering the people he’s fucked, something which has generally come in handy in ‘morning-after’ scenarios, and even though he’s not exactly sucking Bones’ face right now there’s something hot prickling under his skin, something he can’t quite put his finger on. “What’s wrong with you now?” Bones grumbles, lacing his fingers in the hair at the nape of Jim’s neck.
“I don’t know,” Jim mutters, and shifts uncomfortably on his knees. “I just can’t shake this… feeling. Like it’s familiar or something.”
Bones stares. “Jim, we’ve known each other for nearly three years and you’ve been sleeping with me for two of them. I’d say if this wasn’t familiar by now I’d be worried.”
“Yeah,” Jim murmurs, and kisses the nub of Bones’ hips. “You’re probably right.” Bones so often was, after all, and Jim’s not in the mood for arguing tonight anyway. When he instinctively seems to know exactly what gets Bones off in this position he puts it down to his infinite charisma, and is actually quite pleased with himself and smiles around Bones’ cock when he comes.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Length: Around 1,500.
Rating: NC-17 for sex.
Notes: I watched this again on Friday and with this fic in mind I was squirming in my seat. Written because we all know Jim's a cockslut. Looked over by the lovely credulesque . Crossposted to AO3 here.
Pike’s just left, and Jim’s feeling miserable, and more than a little pathetic. He stroppily throws the tiny ship down onto the table and decides that the most productive thing would be to storm out. “I’m sorry,” the guy behind the bar says, and Jim jerks his head in his direction; “we’re closed.” The comment makes no sense to Jim who, after all, was leaving, until he looks at the doorway and sees a pissed-off potential customer loitering there. He scowls and turns on his heel, and Jim staggers off out after him.
Jim starts fiddling with his bike, trying to get the key into the slot, and notices the guy leaning on a section of fence, kicking up the dirt. He’s drinking from a flask. He looks over at Jim at his glance, and frowns as he sees Jim fail at climbing on. “Should you be driving in that state?”
“Fuck you,” Jim drawls, and his fingers slip past the ignition and knock the gravity stabiliser, sending the bike off its invisible prop and it pins him to the ground. Jim disentangles himself, swearing profusely, and the guy’s looking at him with one eyebrow raised. “I can do it,” Jim mutters, “just give me a sec.” He still looks sceptical, and Jim scowls over at him. “It’s not like there’s any other way of getting out of here.” He frowns, and looks around him. “How are you getting back?”
“Walking,” the guy replies easily, and sips. “Not like I can afford anything else.”
“I could give you a ride.”
He snorts. “No thanks.” He starts pacing off down the road, and Jim picks up his bike and starts to follow him.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Jim asks as he draws level. He knows the look the guy shoots him; he wants to be left on his own. But Jim’s an asshole, and he keeps walking alongside him.
“I was trying to clear my head,” he mutters. “But that didn’t work out. So I’m going to go for a walk.”
“Clear your head?” Jim queries. He’d like to say he knows the feeling, but his own brain is in the state of a foggy mess of a million different fragmented thoughts that’s only really achieved by inebriation.
“I’ve sort of got a decision to make.”
“Yeah,” Jim replies softly, and his eyes flicker to the sky. “Me too.”
Jim drops to his knees beside his bike in the dirt and peels up the bottom of the guy’s shirt and bites neatly on his hipbone. “I could tell first-off you weren’t a thinker,” the guy muses, running a finger along Jim’s swollen nose. Jim knows he must be in a complete state; his whole body’s throbbing angrily all over the place with every move. He probably has shitloads of blood all over him. He wonders if that’s going to help get the guy off. There’s a definite shift in the shape of his jeans beside his face, and he leaves a cool trail with his tongue along the guy’s waistline, just above the top of his jeans. “C’mon, then, kid,” the guy murmurs. Jim bites at the button, but he’s clumsy and uncoordinated, and the guy ends up undoing it for him, and Jim just about manages to pull down the zip with his teeth. Jim breathes hot and wet onto his thigh as the guy pries a finger inside his underwear, and wriggles it further down his hips, and his cock’s there, right in front of Jim’s face. Jim squirms a little in the dirt, his mouth open and licking his lips, dry and painful, and he’s trying to prep his throat muscles, but it kind of fails when the guy gets fed up of waiting and grabs the back of his head, forcing his cock down his throat, and Jim’s body shudders with the burn of it. He feels his eyes begin to water and his throat’s burning, but the guy above him is writhing and swearing and Jim risks a glance up; he can’t see his face, not with his eyes tearing up and the gloomy light, but he sees the wide whites of his eyes, and he shivers.
Jim slips a hand down inside his own jeans, using the other to grab hold of one of the guy’s legs for balance as he sucks with a little too much abandon; his mouth’s overly wet, spit running down his chin in a messy stream and he’s being sloppy and not particularly talented but it seems to work, reducing him from swearing to garbling, dragged out moans. Jim doesn’t give a fuck about his shirt - it’s ruined to shit anyway - but he can’t help but wince when the guy’s a little too enthusiastic as he comes and slams forward, forcing Jim to swallow, but worst of all catching Jim’s swollen nose. Jim’s eyes explode over with white stars - and not in a good way - and it’s a moment before he’s recovered through the pain enough to open his eyes and breathe normally, though it’s still rasping and nasal. He’s been pushed or pushed himself away from the guy standing over him, fallen back on his hands and the grit’s biting into his palms. The guy leans down to gesture at his face for a moment and Jim knows he must look a total state, he feels sticky and messy and awful, but his fingers brush across his nose, and it’s not sympathetic, it’s inquisitive, like he’s trying to assess what’s wrong.
Then he looks down and sees Jim’s not come, and helps pull him to his feet, and Jim presses his face into the guy’s neck as his hand wraps around his cock. He moans, and it’s whorishly pretty as he bucks his hips up into the guy’s hand, hot and tight around him. He hadn’t been needy and desperate before, but it only takes a few pulls and twists before Jim’s rasping painfully into his collarbone, his hips totally out of his control, mouthing desperately at the open stretch of neck and all but begging for it, but the guy’s holding out, being a cold bastard and trapping his cock in a hot ring of finger and thumb when he’s close. He slides his second hand down Jim’s clothed spine and presses two fingers inside exactly when he pulls up his cock suddenly, hot and hard with his fist and Jim comes, whining, hips jolting in arrhythmic shunts.
“Get off me,” the guy says finally, but his voice’s soft. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” He leans back on his bike to catch his breath, and watches as the guy shrugs his jacket back up his shoulders and does up his jeans.
“Yeah,” Jim says softly. “Me too.” Maybe Pike was right, and it is better for him to be a captain, rather than a genius sucking strangers off on dirty sideroads. The guy takes one more sip from the flask, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jim mirrors the action, and his hand comes away sticky, messy and unpleasant. He suppresses the urge to wince, and the guy claps him on the shoulder in farewell as he starts to walk along the road. “Sure I can’t give you a lift somewhere?” Jim calls, and the guy stops to turn around and shakes his head.
“I doubt you’re going where I am,” he replies, “but thanks for the offer.”
Jim nods courteously to nobody, and climbs back on his bike. The dawn’s only just prickling the sky, and Jim can make it long before 8am. He’s disregarded and forgotten the stranger already - there’s a million more like him loitering in the back of his brain. Four years? He dwells on the words along the journey. I can do it in three.
Bones is unusually horny this evening. Jim’s so not complaining about it, but when he’s shoved to his knees and Bones is undoing his trousers Jim finds his breath’s hitching, and not just because they’ve never done this before. “Woah,” he breathes, and shakes his head. “Déjà vu.”
Bones looks down at him like he’s actually lost his mind, and he’s right, Jim probably has. But Jim has a very good head for faces - he’s good at remembering the people he’s fucked, something which has generally come in handy in ‘morning-after’ scenarios, and even though he’s not exactly sucking Bones’ face right now there’s something hot prickling under his skin, something he can’t quite put his finger on. “What’s wrong with you now?” Bones grumbles, lacing his fingers in the hair at the nape of Jim’s neck.
“I don’t know,” Jim mutters, and shifts uncomfortably on his knees. “I just can’t shake this… feeling. Like it’s familiar or something.”
Bones stares. “Jim, we’ve known each other for nearly three years and you’ve been sleeping with me for two of them. I’d say if this wasn’t familiar by now I’d be worried.”
“Yeah,” Jim murmurs, and kisses the nub of Bones’ hips. “You’re probably right.” Bones so often was, after all, and Jim’s not in the mood for arguing tonight anyway. When he instinctively seems to know exactly what gets Bones off in this position he puts it down to his infinite charisma, and is actually quite pleased with himself and smiles around Bones’ cock when he comes.