FIC: nc-17, The Ribbon, 1/2
Title: The Ribbon 1/2
for space_wrapped
Author: sangueuk
Rating: nc-17 - yay!
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Wordcount: approx 4,500 words complete
Summary: Christmas Eve, and McCoy can’t wait to open his present.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley.
Author’s notes: thanks to beta reader awarrington - you are my writing rock!
Intriguing snippet: “Green and red and white,” McCoy growled, licking his lips. “How festive, and there was I, thinking you weren’t one for details.”
Also posted on Archive of Our Own and The Kirk/McCoy Archive
The Ribbon
~Christmas Eve~
McCoy hypoed himself to counter the effect of the generous shot of whiskey he’d finished up a while ago.
It was time to get back to work and yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have been drinking while on duty, but since the only person who’d have him up for unprofessional conduct was the captain, and he’d been the one doing the pouring, he wasn’t going to waste any time on worrying. Plus, it was Christmas Eve and it had been a helluva couple of hours.
It was hard to believe that Wentworth’s face, peaceful in sleep had, only a few hours ago, been that of a grimacing, twisting, howling gargoyle. He’d been brought in from engineering, suffering third-degree burns, his uniform soaked by the automatic fire retardant released within seconds of the flare up. McCoy checked the readings again, even though it had only been a few minutes since he last had. Wentworth was fine; he was going to be fine.
McCoy’s shift had finished three hours ago, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the boy’s side. Fuck, it was Christmas Eve and okay, they were in space where there was no up or down, no snow, no sleigh bells and, he thought with a hitch in his chest, no family, but you had to keep these traditions going to mark out one day from the others, else you’d end up crazy.
He stepped through the sterile field and dimmed the lights. Wentworth was the only patient.
The ship was on skeleton crew, the rest either on shore leave, or in their quarters, excused from duty. He’d missed the Christmas Eve meal. Jim had popped in on the way back to bring him some pie and to check on the kid. McCoy had insisted Christine and the two other nurses on duty take an hour off to see if there was any ice-cream left in the mess. Sure, it was mostly for their benefit, but he’d wanted a few minutes alone with Jim. They’d shared a drink before he headed up to the bridge to relieve Spock for a few hours.
McCoy scooped two glasses from the bedside table, tacky on the palms of his hands. He remembered how he’d spilled his when Jim had unexpectedly said, “Screen!” And clamped his hands to McCoy’s hips, his tongue probing at his ear before the privacy curtain had even finished its descent and, thank goodness, shielding the unconscious Wentworth from the sight of his captain and CMO making out a few feet away.
McCoy huffed out a long sigh and tried to ignore the flame at his groin when he remembered Jim’s whisky-laced promise.
“Later, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re gonna think it’s Christmas come early,” hot breath condensing against McCoy’s ear.
For the first time in hours, McCoy had allowed himself to unwind an infinitesimal amount as he leaned into Jim, his hands slipping under his gold shirt to rest against warm skin. He may have moaned a little when Jim dragged at an earlobe with his teeth. Their groins found each other, slotting into place like homing birds, hard and aching. They both knew they were teasing, that this was going nowhere despite Jim walking him backwards as far as McCoy’s office door, where at least it was dark. They’d made out some, groped each other through their uniforms, letting out needy little gasps until Jim gave one final squeeze at McCoy’s ass.
“What do you have to say to that, Doctor?”
McCoy had completely lost the thread. He cleared his throat, “I-” Oh, yes, something about Christmas coming early. “Well, kid, you never know, I might jus’ decide to fuck you,” he growled, trying for his best defiant look, although he knew the combination of a long shift, an empty stomach and a generous measure of whiskey probably made him look about as mean as a garden gnome - if Jim’s bright eyed grin was anything to go by.
“I made you spill your drink,” Jim said. “That’s a waste, Bonesy-“ He took McCoy’s right hand and licked his fingers, his tongue fucking the spaces between them, eyes on his all the time, daring him to do something, although McCoy had no idea what.
“Don’t call me Bonesy, asshole,” McCoy groused, indulging in one more kiss. He took a moment to inhale from Jim’s neck, whatever that smell was that was just him, banishing the stench of burned flesh that hadn’t been able to get out of his mind up to then, with something clean, something outdoorsy, something… fuck it, he was a doctor not a- “You should go. I have work to do.”
Jim looked at him from under eyelids at half-mast, his eyes like the sea at night in the subdued lighting. He looked tired too. “You really want me to go?” He dragged a finger from McCoy’s mouth to chest, and drew a circle over his nipple through his uniform. “I could have a word with Spock.“ He rubbed his nose against McCoy’s neck. “Fuck you smell good.”
“I showered half an hour ago,” McCoy said against the top of Jim’s bent head. He’d really needed that shower. He thought back to the calm yet urgent bustle when half a dozen of them had attended to Wentworth.
With all the advances in medicine, there still was only one way to deal with severe burns, debridement, which involved the removal of the destroyed tissue, to leave a clean, raw base on which the regens could do their work. It was going to take weeks before this kid looked half-human again, bubbled skin and flesh stretching from his throat to his hip and almost destroying his right arm. They’d fix it, no problem. It just needed time.
“Screen up,” McCoy had said with a sigh. Still wrapped around each other, they turned to look at Wentworth.
“Okay,” Jim said, planting one last wet kiss on the corner of McCoy’s mouth. “See you in a few hours. I’ll comm you - and finish up, okay? Get Christine to cover, she can take care of Wentworth. I need you.” He waggled his eyebrows like a bad actor. “And I got you a present. “ He clapped McCoy on the arm and sauntered out with what could only be described as a lascivious grin plastered across his annoyingly handsome face.
++
McCoy woke up, his face stuck to a PADD.
Bridge to Sickbay, this is Captain Kirk.
McCoy jerked his head up and rested an elbow on his desk, chin on his hand. With the other he pressed the comm wearily.
“What?”
“Why are you in such a bad mood?”
“You’re not on the bridge, are you?” McCoy pushed his chair away from the desk, and stretched his arms to the side, flexing his chest. He couldn’t hold back a yawn.
“Go to visual, Bones.” There was something in his voice - the bastard was up to something.
“Jim-” McCoy looked over his shoulder, through the open door of his office to see if Wentworth needed anything. He was dimly aware that Chapel was moving about, so he twizzled his chair and hit the control to close his door to afford a little privacy. “Visual!” he said and the monitor flickered to life. “Jesus, Jim!”
“Do you like it, Bones?”
How could he not like the photo of his captain sitting on The Chair? Legs crossed, shoulders back, head to the side, elbows resting on the control panels - in, fucking, charge. And, minor detail, completely naked.
“Computer, lock the door and activate the privacy screen,” McCoy said unfastening his pants.
Who the fuck had taken this and when? He wanted to tear their heads off and thank them at the same time. “Jim, are you tryin’ to kill me?” he growled, cupping his hand over the bulge in his pants before fumbling them open. “You’re a bastard, you know this don’t you?”
Jim’s chuckles should have made him mad. “Sulu’s finding this very amusing, McCoy,” he said.
McCoy stilled, then couldn’t help laughing.
“Where are you?” he said.
“Here. Wanna come and join me?” Now that Jim was busted and McCoy knew he wasn’t on the bridge, he changed his tone so it became conspiratorial and sexy. The words enveloped McCoy’s cock as if it had been his dirty mouth touching him.
“Nice photo.” McCoy tried for nonchalant which was a pretty impressive feat considering he was fisting himself hard, pants pushed down to his knees.
But Jim must have heard the rustle of fabric, or picked up something in his voice. “Come and get the real thing, Bonesy.” Ah, McCoy knew the expression that went with that voice, the dirty, pouty voice, like it wasn’t Jim’s fault he made you harder than hell. McCoy wanted to snark, he really did, but he had to concentrate. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair.
“Who took the photo?” he ground out, stretching his legs out under the desk, and cupping his balls.
“Sulu?”
“Fuck off.”
“Okay - me?” He heard Jim hitch a breath, maybe he was doing just what McCoy was-” I’m good at manipulation. You always…uf… said that.” Ah, he definitely was.
“Son-of-a-”
“Come up here, baby. “The dirty, pouty…if Jim thought he could just make him-
“I’m busy, Jim.”
“I’ll bet.” There was a little moan right there. He wasn’t even hiding the fact he was jerking off.
“No… I really am…shit-” McCoy changed his rhythm, longer, harder strokes. Fuck, he was so close, maybe he should-
“I want to give you your Christmas present.”
“-”
“Bones?”
How McCoy managed to make it up to Jim’s quarters with a boner like that was beyond him, but here he was, slightly bow-legged, ready to press the chime. He wasn’t going to stay. Honestly. He needed to make it clear to the glorious bastard that he was a professional and, with there being only a skeleton crew, someone had to keep an eye on sickbay. Okay, it was only two decks down and Chapel could comm him, but he wasn’t about to leave poor Wentworth like that.
The door swished open. He stepped through, squinted in the dim light and saw Jim had safe candles burning on his small table, music playing, something old and bluegrassy - Jim’s seduction music. If the musical choice made McCoy a little sad, drop his guard, then Jim was usually on his lap and pulling his shirt over his head before the first chorus.
“Over here.” Jim was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard with the covers bunched up around his waist. “Lights ten per cent,” He said, not ‘hi’, not ‘here’s your present’, not ‘sorry for interrupting you at work’.
“You want me to break my neck?” McCoy stayed by the door, arms folded, wondering what the smell was - why didn’t Jim put his damn laundry in the chute?
“Get over here, Bones.” Jim pointed to a space near him, like McCoy was his cat or something and had special dispensation to sleep on the bed.
“Oh good, you put some clothes on,” McCoy said.
In a manner of speaking. Jim was wearing a Santa hat and a smirk. That was all.
McCoy wasn’t quite sure how he hadn’t come in his pants right then, he looked so fucking edible.
“Jim, you’re thirty,” he said, trying for a growl, when all he wanted was to kiss that smirk right off his perfect face. He bent down to remove his boots.
“True, but my dick’s eighteen.” He patted the bed again, then flexed his arms behind his head, adjusted his hat and turned the smirk up to eleven.
Sometimes McCoy wondered how Jim got away with this smirk face of his. On anyone else it would have smacked of insolence, of sarcasm, but Jim’s smirks were all about sharing. It was like he was saying, You and me, we’re on the same page; you know I’m gorgeous/a genius/right again/a badass. I know it. It seemed Jim bonded with people through agreeing how wonderful he was. Good thing McCoy was around to keep him grounded, huh?
The hat was a little small for Jim. Red velvet, with a white fake-fur trim, it had slipped back a little so his hairline peeked out. If McCoy had been a woman, he’d have said the red brought out the blue of Jim’s eyes. His cock, as hot as a solid object could be before it turned to goddamn gas, reminded McCoy that, no matter how sappy this blue-eyed demon made him feel, he most certainly was this side of male.
“Do you like your present, Bones?” Jim blinked up at McCoy, his voice laced with what for him was coy, but from any other, non-genius, mere mortal would have smacked of arrogance. McCoy almost stumbled to the bed in his haste to unwrap his ‘present’, the gift-wrap being the sheet and-
McCoy gathered up Jim’s hands in his and pulled Jim up to his knees so their chests were pressed together, blue uniform against pale, freckled skin that hadn’t seen real sun for weeks. Jim’s mouth was so close to his he could smell coffee, whiskey, some kind of spice from dinner earlier; his eyes open, pupils blown wide with want.
“Jesus, Jim, the way you look, you may have condemned me to priapism.”
“What a way to go, huh?”
Soft, saliva-slick lips dragged across his, and McCoy just took it, eyes closed, enjoying the anticipation, not quite giving in; it wasn’t his way and he knew Jim loved it when there was a frisson of reluctance. Warm breath, strong fingers against his jaw as he pulled Jim to him, slid his hands across smooth skin and defined muscle down to Jim’s ass.
“Where’d you get the hat?”
“Gaila. D’ya like it?” Jim took a moment to run his eyes from McCoy’s eyes to mouth, leaned in again, kissed him on the jaw, swayed back against his hard grip. He looked so beautiful McCoy wanted to flip Jim on his back, lever his ass off the bed, have those legs wrapped round his neck, have Jim shoved against the headboard so he couldn’t escape, show him he wasn’t the one who got to say when and how.
“’S’okay,” he drawled, nudging his cock forward. “You could have wrapped it.”
“I did, Bonesy.”
McCoy was just about to complain again, say something like he was a doctor and not a gir- when Jim untangled McCoy’s arms from behind him, giving him the space to stand up on the bed so the sheet fell away to reveal McCoy’s real present. The hat had simply been the outer case of a Russian doll hiding the real treasure inside.
“Fuck, Jim.”
A bolt of heat coiled through McCoy’s groin and thighs, and his heart flipped with gratitude as he wolfed down the vision of Jim’s beautiful, hard cock at eye level garnished with a green ribbon. He gnawed at his lower lip, his hands fumbling for his shirt.
“Green and red and white,” McCoy growled, licking his lips. “How festive, and there was I, thinking you weren’t one for details.”
Jim tilted his hips forward so his cock danced obscenely. “Wanna unwrap me some more?”
“Maybe.”
Jim laughed. “Come here, you grouch, I like unwrapping things, too.” He stepped elegantly off the bed and finished removing McCoy’s undershirt which had tangled over one shoulder in his hurry to undress. He nuzzled his face into McCoy’s armpit and breathed deep.
“Bones, need you to-”
“Slow down, you idiot.” McCoy threw his head back when Jim dug his nails into his ribs and dragged them a little roughly down to his hips, his short hair tickling him as Jim moved.
“No, you’ve kept me hanging on too long and I want my present.” Jim’s voice was muffled against McCoy’s chest, his breath hot, moist, and McCoy dug his fingers into his shoulders while skilled hands unfastened his zipper and worked his pants down his thighs. “Oh, Bones,” Jim chuckled, “you shouldn’t have!” And before McCoy could rearrange his brain cells and think of something coherent to say, that wicked mouth engulfed his cock, teeth raking while simultaneously scouring short nails down McCoy’s balls, releasing a gasp of surprise. He clung to Jim’s hair, nudged his head down and forward and then it was all soft, wet lips, gentle kneading, and he felt his legs buckle, the sound of Jim’s moans below him, and his own ragged gasps filling his head, making him want to-
“Jim, stop, shit stop or I’ll come.”
Cool air hit him when Jim let go, stood up, took McCoy’s hand and turned it so he could plant a kiss on the palm. Struggling to keep his eyes open, fighting to breathe, McCoy made one supreme effort, circling and squeezing the base of his cock with his free hand. The music cut in again; for a while there, it had been just McCoy and his heart beat, his lungs, his cock, Jim’s heated gaze, the pressure at the base of his spine; he couldn’t hear anything.
“’kay,” McCoy ground out. “Get on the bed. I’m done waitin’.”
Obediently, Jim stretched out. He looked calm, faintly ridiculous in his Santa hat and decorated cock, but also unbelievably beautiful, McCoy thought. His throat thickened as he finally felt like he’d regained some control over the urge to pound into his ass without lube, without any preparation, to show him just how fucking annoying he was. His eyes scanned the long, lightly muscled limbs, the defined, yet slender chest, the trail of hair from pectorals to cock. What was it - nearly seven years? And he still couldn’t get enough of him.
He stretched out beside Jim on the bed and cupped the crown of Jim’s head with both hands while blue eyes fixed on his face, watching him.
“I thought you were done waiting,” Jim whispered.
And McCoy didn’t know why, after all this time, it still gave him so much pleasure to touch Jim’s face, to smooth those eyelids, trace his dark eyebrows with a thumb. Jim never resisted McCoy’s explorations. Even naked, there was still so much to discover about him. Jim rested his hands on McCoy’s arms, moaning while McCoy’s tongue explored the hard muscles of his neck, his nose brushing against the fine hairs of his chest, the contour of muscles shifting under glowing skin. His thumb skated over Jim’s belly button, and he keened under him, fingers gripping McCoy tighter, urging him on as his thumb was replaced by his tongue and his hands found purchase in the slope of skinny hips.
McCoy knew that the pleasure for Jim in these moments came from watching McCoy’s control unravel. For now, he was able to indulge his perverse pleasure in ignoring Jim’s cock. He seemed programmed to always leave the best to last. Their love-making was often a fight between McCoy’s patience and control and Jim’s fuck me now, his ‘I want to savor this moment’, one more lick, one more bite, one more thrust and Jim’s make me come, come on, Bones, fuck me.
“So knowing what you’re getting for Christmas hasn’t…fuck… spoiled the surprise?” Jim managed to ask, liquid eyes, ebony with arousal as McCoy’s lubed fingers scissored inside him.
“Jim-” McCoy gulped, pulling his fingers out. “I really need that skinny ass sometime soon…you’re killing me…oh-” and sweet mercy, Jim was sinking over him, enveloping him, that ludicrous ribbon dancing with each slow shift of Jim’s hips as he worked his tight heat down.
McCoy waited, held back, he really did but, when he felt Jim’s balls finally settle against his groin, when he was as far inside him as he could be, it still wasn’t enough and his resolve slipped out of his hands like a muddy football.
“Jesus, God you turn me on,” McCoy complained, bucking up hard and fast, trying to crawl inside him. Jim held onto the headboard, his other hand on his cock, keeping time with McCoy’s assault under him.
“Oh, Bones, so…close, hard, for fuck’s sake - hard-”
Pale skin against tan, sweat glistening on Jim’s flushed neck, McCoy placed his hand over Jim’s as he jerked his cock faster, so the two of them fucked, both of them moaned and keened, and somehow, miraculously like the perfect match they were, they came hard, stilling, Jim’s mouth an awe-struck ‘o’. McCoy reached for the ribbon and in one deft movement undid it, then pulled Jim towards him, not quite sure whose orgasm he was surfing until he came back down to earth at the sound of Jim’s chuckles and the soft bump of the hat landing on his face.
The vibration from Jim’s laughter transmitted to his groin. He picked up the hat by the tip and swiped it weakly against Jim’s face.
“Was that blasphemous?” McCoy said, trying not to grin, his chest still heaving.
Jim eased himself free with a grimace. “Ow,” he said, falling onto McCoy, half over the length of his body, half on the mattress. “Maybe on some planet somewhere…maybe we just made some harvest fail or something.” He groaned, “ And I think I threw my back out.”
McCoy stroked Jim’s shoulders with heavy hands. “Holy shit-” He looked at Jim. “We’re going to have to hose down the bed.”
Jim’s hand came up to his face and pushed McCoy’s bangs away from his eyes. “That’s better, now I can see your crow’s feet.”
“Idiot.” He ran his thumb over Jim’s swollen lips; he hadn’t mentioned the smattering of gray hairs he’d spotted over the past few months.
“The idiot you love,” Jim said, sounding half asleep already.
McCoy pulled him closer and buried his mouth in Jim’s hair. “Maybe-”
Jim pinched his arm. “I’m fucking irresistible and you know it.”
He tilted Jim’s face towards his lips. “Yes,” he said.
They kissed languorously, tongues exploring, still wanting. It was a miracle, McCoy realised. He closed his eyes, desperate to black out after all the brain and groin melting, but Jim seemed to have gotten a second wind.
“Yes what? ‘Yes, I’m irresistible’, or ‘Yes you love me’?”
Bones cracked open an eye. “Is it Christmas yet?”
Jim craned towards the chrono, squinting to bring it into focus.
“Yes! Five minutes ago!”
“Yes, then.”
“To which one?”
“To both.” McCoy tried for his best gruff voice but Jim wasn’t buying it. His mouth was covering McCoy’s again, his breath sharing space with his, lapping at McCoy’s bruised upper lip like it was mother’s milk - and there, for some reason, Wentworth popped into McCoy’s head. Wentworth and his fucked up skin and destroyed nerve endings, and McCoy couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be him, to not be able to feel something like this, what he had with Jim, the flutter of that tongue against chin and lips, the caress of strong fingers at his jaw; what would it be like not to be able to feel the warmth?
“Jim, I need to go back…that poor bastard-”
“Yeah,” Jim sat up at once. “Let’s go - we can shower later.”
++
~Very, very, early, Christmas Morning~
They’d pulled chairs up close, just reading lights and nightlights in sickbay, choral music on so quiet you almost couldn’t hear, the only other sounds, the occasional bleep from the biobed and the hum of the regens positioned around Wentworth.
Chapel had gone, McCoy still bristling from the chaste kiss she’d insisted on giving him before she left, Jim still smirking from the victorious look she’d shot him.
“Here,” he said, handing Jim a whiskey, “and don’t spill it; this is the good stuff.”
McCoy hooked one denim-clad leg over the arm of the chair, a bare foot gleaming in what little light there was.
“I got you something else,” Jim said a while later.
“Jim, it’ll be a fucking week before I can get it up-” But Jim had thrust a PADD into his hands and McCoy recognised the ribbon tied loosely around it. “What’s this?”
Jim looked at him, looked to Wentworth.
“Fire it up, you’ll see. It’s a surprise.” He sipped his drink, watching McCoy for a reaction.
It was a video and McCoy bought his hand to his mouth, glanced at Jim, shook his head, when he heard, when he saw Joanna.
“Daddy, oh Da-ddy!
You’re the loveliest daddy-” she sang.
Her dark hair standing up all over the place, he knew when this was; he’d just wrestled her good-naturedly to the couch and knuckled her hair before he’d gone out to drive Gram to town, her giggles ringing in his ears. He’d left her with Jim, who now watched him intently as McCoy watched the screen, listened to the rest of the song,
“The loveliest daddy in all of the worrrrld!”
McCoy made out the clumsy twangggg as someone played guitar behind her and he managed to take his eyes off her image for a second and look behind to the figure of Jim in white t and shorts, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, a little indented v between his eyebrows as he concentrated, then a clumsy pause, he looked up and joined in with Joanna.
“You’re grouchy and frownie,
Smell like chocolate brownies-“ twanggg-
“She made up the words,”Jim said, looking at his feet.
“Oh daddy oh daddy oh daaaad!” her beautiful giggles rang out as she jumped up and down in front of a delighted looking Jim, who’d put the guitar down and was clapping as she danced and bounced in front of the screen.
“Happy Christmas!” they chorused. Jo-Jo waved and the video ended there.
McCoy’s chest ached. He took a deep breath and before he could compose himself, Jim was standing by him. His knuckles swept across McCoy’s moist cheek, as he bent to kiss the top of his head.
“You’re welcome,” Jim said quietly into his hair. They held each other for a moment until a sound came from the bed and they pulled apart.
“Wentworth?” McCoy said, his voice thick with feeling. He cleared his throat. “How you doin’?”
“Nice hat, sir-” Wentworth croaked.
McCoy felt his neck flush as Jim’s boot nudged his ankle.
“Yeah, well…Happy Christmas, Ensign,” he drawled, looking at Jim and holding his glass aloft, taking Jim’s hand and squeezing. “Here’s to family!”
“Family,” Jim agreed, squeezing right back and settling down for the night in his chair next to McCoy’s.
FIN
on to PART 2
I adore feedback almost as much as these boys adore each other!
The Masterlist of all my fanfiction is here
for space_wrapped
Author: sangueuk
Rating: nc-17 - yay!
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Wordcount: approx 4,500 words complete
Summary: Christmas Eve, and McCoy can’t wait to open his present.
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits, these boys belong to others more talented and deserving, I merely borrow them, play a while then return them all cleaned up and smiley.
Author’s notes: thanks to beta reader awarrington - you are my writing rock!
Intriguing snippet: “Green and red and white,” McCoy growled, licking his lips. “How festive, and there was I, thinking you weren’t one for details.”
Also posted on Archive of Our Own and The Kirk/McCoy Archive
The Ribbon
~Christmas Eve~
McCoy hypoed himself to counter the effect of the generous shot of whiskey he’d finished up a while ago.
It was time to get back to work and yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have been drinking while on duty, but since the only person who’d have him up for unprofessional conduct was the captain, and he’d been the one doing the pouring, he wasn’t going to waste any time on worrying. Plus, it was Christmas Eve and it had been a helluva couple of hours.
It was hard to believe that Wentworth’s face, peaceful in sleep had, only a few hours ago, been that of a grimacing, twisting, howling gargoyle. He’d been brought in from engineering, suffering third-degree burns, his uniform soaked by the automatic fire retardant released within seconds of the flare up. McCoy checked the readings again, even though it had only been a few minutes since he last had. Wentworth was fine; he was going to be fine.
McCoy’s shift had finished three hours ago, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the boy’s side. Fuck, it was Christmas Eve and okay, they were in space where there was no up or down, no snow, no sleigh bells and, he thought with a hitch in his chest, no family, but you had to keep these traditions going to mark out one day from the others, else you’d end up crazy.
He stepped through the sterile field and dimmed the lights. Wentworth was the only patient.
The ship was on skeleton crew, the rest either on shore leave, or in their quarters, excused from duty. He’d missed the Christmas Eve meal. Jim had popped in on the way back to bring him some pie and to check on the kid. McCoy had insisted Christine and the two other nurses on duty take an hour off to see if there was any ice-cream left in the mess. Sure, it was mostly for their benefit, but he’d wanted a few minutes alone with Jim. They’d shared a drink before he headed up to the bridge to relieve Spock for a few hours.
McCoy scooped two glasses from the bedside table, tacky on the palms of his hands. He remembered how he’d spilled his when Jim had unexpectedly said, “Screen!” And clamped his hands to McCoy’s hips, his tongue probing at his ear before the privacy curtain had even finished its descent and, thank goodness, shielding the unconscious Wentworth from the sight of his captain and CMO making out a few feet away.
McCoy huffed out a long sigh and tried to ignore the flame at his groin when he remembered Jim’s whisky-laced promise.
“Later, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’re gonna think it’s Christmas come early,” hot breath condensing against McCoy’s ear.
For the first time in hours, McCoy had allowed himself to unwind an infinitesimal amount as he leaned into Jim, his hands slipping under his gold shirt to rest against warm skin. He may have moaned a little when Jim dragged at an earlobe with his teeth. Their groins found each other, slotting into place like homing birds, hard and aching. They both knew they were teasing, that this was going nowhere despite Jim walking him backwards as far as McCoy’s office door, where at least it was dark. They’d made out some, groped each other through their uniforms, letting out needy little gasps until Jim gave one final squeeze at McCoy’s ass.
“What do you have to say to that, Doctor?”
McCoy had completely lost the thread. He cleared his throat, “I-” Oh, yes, something about Christmas coming early. “Well, kid, you never know, I might jus’ decide to fuck you,” he growled, trying for his best defiant look, although he knew the combination of a long shift, an empty stomach and a generous measure of whiskey probably made him look about as mean as a garden gnome - if Jim’s bright eyed grin was anything to go by.
“I made you spill your drink,” Jim said. “That’s a waste, Bonesy-“ He took McCoy’s right hand and licked his fingers, his tongue fucking the spaces between them, eyes on his all the time, daring him to do something, although McCoy had no idea what.
“Don’t call me Bonesy, asshole,” McCoy groused, indulging in one more kiss. He took a moment to inhale from Jim’s neck, whatever that smell was that was just him, banishing the stench of burned flesh that hadn’t been able to get out of his mind up to then, with something clean, something outdoorsy, something… fuck it, he was a doctor not a- “You should go. I have work to do.”
Jim looked at him from under eyelids at half-mast, his eyes like the sea at night in the subdued lighting. He looked tired too. “You really want me to go?” He dragged a finger from McCoy’s mouth to chest, and drew a circle over his nipple through his uniform. “I could have a word with Spock.“ He rubbed his nose against McCoy’s neck. “Fuck you smell good.”
“I showered half an hour ago,” McCoy said against the top of Jim’s bent head. He’d really needed that shower. He thought back to the calm yet urgent bustle when half a dozen of them had attended to Wentworth.
With all the advances in medicine, there still was only one way to deal with severe burns, debridement, which involved the removal of the destroyed tissue, to leave a clean, raw base on which the regens could do their work. It was going to take weeks before this kid looked half-human again, bubbled skin and flesh stretching from his throat to his hip and almost destroying his right arm. They’d fix it, no problem. It just needed time.
“Screen up,” McCoy had said with a sigh. Still wrapped around each other, they turned to look at Wentworth.
“Okay,” Jim said, planting one last wet kiss on the corner of McCoy’s mouth. “See you in a few hours. I’ll comm you - and finish up, okay? Get Christine to cover, she can take care of Wentworth. I need you.” He waggled his eyebrows like a bad actor. “And I got you a present. “ He clapped McCoy on the arm and sauntered out with what could only be described as a lascivious grin plastered across his annoyingly handsome face.
++
McCoy woke up, his face stuck to a PADD.
Bridge to Sickbay, this is Captain Kirk.
McCoy jerked his head up and rested an elbow on his desk, chin on his hand. With the other he pressed the comm wearily.
“What?”
“Why are you in such a bad mood?”
“You’re not on the bridge, are you?” McCoy pushed his chair away from the desk, and stretched his arms to the side, flexing his chest. He couldn’t hold back a yawn.
“Go to visual, Bones.” There was something in his voice - the bastard was up to something.
“Jim-” McCoy looked over his shoulder, through the open door of his office to see if Wentworth needed anything. He was dimly aware that Chapel was moving about, so he twizzled his chair and hit the control to close his door to afford a little privacy. “Visual!” he said and the monitor flickered to life. “Jesus, Jim!”
“Do you like it, Bones?”
How could he not like the photo of his captain sitting on The Chair? Legs crossed, shoulders back, head to the side, elbows resting on the control panels - in, fucking, charge. And, minor detail, completely naked.
“Computer, lock the door and activate the privacy screen,” McCoy said unfastening his pants.
Who the fuck had taken this and when? He wanted to tear their heads off and thank them at the same time. “Jim, are you tryin’ to kill me?” he growled, cupping his hand over the bulge in his pants before fumbling them open. “You’re a bastard, you know this don’t you?”
Jim’s chuckles should have made him mad. “Sulu’s finding this very amusing, McCoy,” he said.
McCoy stilled, then couldn’t help laughing.
“Where are you?” he said.
“Here. Wanna come and join me?” Now that Jim was busted and McCoy knew he wasn’t on the bridge, he changed his tone so it became conspiratorial and sexy. The words enveloped McCoy’s cock as if it had been his dirty mouth touching him.
“Nice photo.” McCoy tried for nonchalant which was a pretty impressive feat considering he was fisting himself hard, pants pushed down to his knees.
But Jim must have heard the rustle of fabric, or picked up something in his voice. “Come and get the real thing, Bonesy.” Ah, McCoy knew the expression that went with that voice, the dirty, pouty voice, like it wasn’t Jim’s fault he made you harder than hell. McCoy wanted to snark, he really did, but he had to concentrate. He closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair.
“Who took the photo?” he ground out, stretching his legs out under the desk, and cupping his balls.
“Sulu?”
“Fuck off.”
“Okay - me?” He heard Jim hitch a breath, maybe he was doing just what McCoy was-” I’m good at manipulation. You always…uf… said that.” Ah, he definitely was.
“Son-of-a-”
“Come up here, baby. “The dirty, pouty…if Jim thought he could just make him-
“I’m busy, Jim.”
“I’ll bet.” There was a little moan right there. He wasn’t even hiding the fact he was jerking off.
“No… I really am…shit-” McCoy changed his rhythm, longer, harder strokes. Fuck, he was so close, maybe he should-
“I want to give you your Christmas present.”
“-”
“Bones?”
How McCoy managed to make it up to Jim’s quarters with a boner like that was beyond him, but here he was, slightly bow-legged, ready to press the chime. He wasn’t going to stay. Honestly. He needed to make it clear to the glorious bastard that he was a professional and, with there being only a skeleton crew, someone had to keep an eye on sickbay. Okay, it was only two decks down and Chapel could comm him, but he wasn’t about to leave poor Wentworth like that.
The door swished open. He stepped through, squinted in the dim light and saw Jim had safe candles burning on his small table, music playing, something old and bluegrassy - Jim’s seduction music. If the musical choice made McCoy a little sad, drop his guard, then Jim was usually on his lap and pulling his shirt over his head before the first chorus.
“Over here.” Jim was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard with the covers bunched up around his waist. “Lights ten per cent,” He said, not ‘hi’, not ‘here’s your present’, not ‘sorry for interrupting you at work’.
“You want me to break my neck?” McCoy stayed by the door, arms folded, wondering what the smell was - why didn’t Jim put his damn laundry in the chute?
“Get over here, Bones.” Jim pointed to a space near him, like McCoy was his cat or something and had special dispensation to sleep on the bed.
“Oh good, you put some clothes on,” McCoy said.
In a manner of speaking. Jim was wearing a Santa hat and a smirk. That was all.
McCoy wasn’t quite sure how he hadn’t come in his pants right then, he looked so fucking edible.
“Jim, you’re thirty,” he said, trying for a growl, when all he wanted was to kiss that smirk right off his perfect face. He bent down to remove his boots.
“True, but my dick’s eighteen.” He patted the bed again, then flexed his arms behind his head, adjusted his hat and turned the smirk up to eleven.
Sometimes McCoy wondered how Jim got away with this smirk face of his. On anyone else it would have smacked of insolence, of sarcasm, but Jim’s smirks were all about sharing. It was like he was saying, You and me, we’re on the same page; you know I’m gorgeous/a genius/right again/a badass. I know it. It seemed Jim bonded with people through agreeing how wonderful he was. Good thing McCoy was around to keep him grounded, huh?
The hat was a little small for Jim. Red velvet, with a white fake-fur trim, it had slipped back a little so his hairline peeked out. If McCoy had been a woman, he’d have said the red brought out the blue of Jim’s eyes. His cock, as hot as a solid object could be before it turned to goddamn gas, reminded McCoy that, no matter how sappy this blue-eyed demon made him feel, he most certainly was this side of male.
“Do you like your present, Bones?” Jim blinked up at McCoy, his voice laced with what for him was coy, but from any other, non-genius, mere mortal would have smacked of arrogance. McCoy almost stumbled to the bed in his haste to unwrap his ‘present’, the gift-wrap being the sheet and-
McCoy gathered up Jim’s hands in his and pulled Jim up to his knees so their chests were pressed together, blue uniform against pale, freckled skin that hadn’t seen real sun for weeks. Jim’s mouth was so close to his he could smell coffee, whiskey, some kind of spice from dinner earlier; his eyes open, pupils blown wide with want.
“Jesus, Jim, the way you look, you may have condemned me to priapism.”
“What a way to go, huh?”
Soft, saliva-slick lips dragged across his, and McCoy just took it, eyes closed, enjoying the anticipation, not quite giving in; it wasn’t his way and he knew Jim loved it when there was a frisson of reluctance. Warm breath, strong fingers against his jaw as he pulled Jim to him, slid his hands across smooth skin and defined muscle down to Jim’s ass.
“Where’d you get the hat?”
“Gaila. D’ya like it?” Jim took a moment to run his eyes from McCoy’s eyes to mouth, leaned in again, kissed him on the jaw, swayed back against his hard grip. He looked so beautiful McCoy wanted to flip Jim on his back, lever his ass off the bed, have those legs wrapped round his neck, have Jim shoved against the headboard so he couldn’t escape, show him he wasn’t the one who got to say when and how.
“’S’okay,” he drawled, nudging his cock forward. “You could have wrapped it.”
“I did, Bonesy.”
McCoy was just about to complain again, say something like he was a doctor and not a gir- when Jim untangled McCoy’s arms from behind him, giving him the space to stand up on the bed so the sheet fell away to reveal McCoy’s real present. The hat had simply been the outer case of a Russian doll hiding the real treasure inside.
“Fuck, Jim.”
A bolt of heat coiled through McCoy’s groin and thighs, and his heart flipped with gratitude as he wolfed down the vision of Jim’s beautiful, hard cock at eye level garnished with a green ribbon. He gnawed at his lower lip, his hands fumbling for his shirt.
“Green and red and white,” McCoy growled, licking his lips. “How festive, and there was I, thinking you weren’t one for details.”
Jim tilted his hips forward so his cock danced obscenely. “Wanna unwrap me some more?”
“Maybe.”
Jim laughed. “Come here, you grouch, I like unwrapping things, too.” He stepped elegantly off the bed and finished removing McCoy’s undershirt which had tangled over one shoulder in his hurry to undress. He nuzzled his face into McCoy’s armpit and breathed deep.
“Bones, need you to-”
“Slow down, you idiot.” McCoy threw his head back when Jim dug his nails into his ribs and dragged them a little roughly down to his hips, his short hair tickling him as Jim moved.
“No, you’ve kept me hanging on too long and I want my present.” Jim’s voice was muffled against McCoy’s chest, his breath hot, moist, and McCoy dug his fingers into his shoulders while skilled hands unfastened his zipper and worked his pants down his thighs. “Oh, Bones,” Jim chuckled, “you shouldn’t have!” And before McCoy could rearrange his brain cells and think of something coherent to say, that wicked mouth engulfed his cock, teeth raking while simultaneously scouring short nails down McCoy’s balls, releasing a gasp of surprise. He clung to Jim’s hair, nudged his head down and forward and then it was all soft, wet lips, gentle kneading, and he felt his legs buckle, the sound of Jim’s moans below him, and his own ragged gasps filling his head, making him want to-
“Jim, stop, shit stop or I’ll come.”
Cool air hit him when Jim let go, stood up, took McCoy’s hand and turned it so he could plant a kiss on the palm. Struggling to keep his eyes open, fighting to breathe, McCoy made one supreme effort, circling and squeezing the base of his cock with his free hand. The music cut in again; for a while there, it had been just McCoy and his heart beat, his lungs, his cock, Jim’s heated gaze, the pressure at the base of his spine; he couldn’t hear anything.
“’kay,” McCoy ground out. “Get on the bed. I’m done waitin’.”
Obediently, Jim stretched out. He looked calm, faintly ridiculous in his Santa hat and decorated cock, but also unbelievably beautiful, McCoy thought. His throat thickened as he finally felt like he’d regained some control over the urge to pound into his ass without lube, without any preparation, to show him just how fucking annoying he was. His eyes scanned the long, lightly muscled limbs, the defined, yet slender chest, the trail of hair from pectorals to cock. What was it - nearly seven years? And he still couldn’t get enough of him.
He stretched out beside Jim on the bed and cupped the crown of Jim’s head with both hands while blue eyes fixed on his face, watching him.
“I thought you were done waiting,” Jim whispered.
And McCoy didn’t know why, after all this time, it still gave him so much pleasure to touch Jim’s face, to smooth those eyelids, trace his dark eyebrows with a thumb. Jim never resisted McCoy’s explorations. Even naked, there was still so much to discover about him. Jim rested his hands on McCoy’s arms, moaning while McCoy’s tongue explored the hard muscles of his neck, his nose brushing against the fine hairs of his chest, the contour of muscles shifting under glowing skin. His thumb skated over Jim’s belly button, and he keened under him, fingers gripping McCoy tighter, urging him on as his thumb was replaced by his tongue and his hands found purchase in the slope of skinny hips.
McCoy knew that the pleasure for Jim in these moments came from watching McCoy’s control unravel. For now, he was able to indulge his perverse pleasure in ignoring Jim’s cock. He seemed programmed to always leave the best to last. Their love-making was often a fight between McCoy’s patience and control and Jim’s fuck me now, his ‘I want to savor this moment’, one more lick, one more bite, one more thrust and Jim’s make me come, come on, Bones, fuck me.
“So knowing what you’re getting for Christmas hasn’t…fuck… spoiled the surprise?” Jim managed to ask, liquid eyes, ebony with arousal as McCoy’s lubed fingers scissored inside him.
“Jim-” McCoy gulped, pulling his fingers out. “I really need that skinny ass sometime soon…you’re killing me…oh-” and sweet mercy, Jim was sinking over him, enveloping him, that ludicrous ribbon dancing with each slow shift of Jim’s hips as he worked his tight heat down.
McCoy waited, held back, he really did but, when he felt Jim’s balls finally settle against his groin, when he was as far inside him as he could be, it still wasn’t enough and his resolve slipped out of his hands like a muddy football.
“Jesus, God you turn me on,” McCoy complained, bucking up hard and fast, trying to crawl inside him. Jim held onto the headboard, his other hand on his cock, keeping time with McCoy’s assault under him.
“Oh, Bones, so…close, hard, for fuck’s sake - hard-”
Pale skin against tan, sweat glistening on Jim’s flushed neck, McCoy placed his hand over Jim’s as he jerked his cock faster, so the two of them fucked, both of them moaned and keened, and somehow, miraculously like the perfect match they were, they came hard, stilling, Jim’s mouth an awe-struck ‘o’. McCoy reached for the ribbon and in one deft movement undid it, then pulled Jim towards him, not quite sure whose orgasm he was surfing until he came back down to earth at the sound of Jim’s chuckles and the soft bump of the hat landing on his face.
The vibration from Jim’s laughter transmitted to his groin. He picked up the hat by the tip and swiped it weakly against Jim’s face.
“Was that blasphemous?” McCoy said, trying not to grin, his chest still heaving.
Jim eased himself free with a grimace. “Ow,” he said, falling onto McCoy, half over the length of his body, half on the mattress. “Maybe on some planet somewhere…maybe we just made some harvest fail or something.” He groaned, “ And I think I threw my back out.”
McCoy stroked Jim’s shoulders with heavy hands. “Holy shit-” He looked at Jim. “We’re going to have to hose down the bed.”
Jim’s hand came up to his face and pushed McCoy’s bangs away from his eyes. “That’s better, now I can see your crow’s feet.”
“Idiot.” He ran his thumb over Jim’s swollen lips; he hadn’t mentioned the smattering of gray hairs he’d spotted over the past few months.
“The idiot you love,” Jim said, sounding half asleep already.
McCoy pulled him closer and buried his mouth in Jim’s hair. “Maybe-”
Jim pinched his arm. “I’m fucking irresistible and you know it.”
He tilted Jim’s face towards his lips. “Yes,” he said.
They kissed languorously, tongues exploring, still wanting. It was a miracle, McCoy realised. He closed his eyes, desperate to black out after all the brain and groin melting, but Jim seemed to have gotten a second wind.
“Yes what? ‘Yes, I’m irresistible’, or ‘Yes you love me’?”
Bones cracked open an eye. “Is it Christmas yet?”
Jim craned towards the chrono, squinting to bring it into focus.
“Yes! Five minutes ago!”
“Yes, then.”
“To which one?”
“To both.” McCoy tried for his best gruff voice but Jim wasn’t buying it. His mouth was covering McCoy’s again, his breath sharing space with his, lapping at McCoy’s bruised upper lip like it was mother’s milk - and there, for some reason, Wentworth popped into McCoy’s head. Wentworth and his fucked up skin and destroyed nerve endings, and McCoy couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be him, to not be able to feel something like this, what he had with Jim, the flutter of that tongue against chin and lips, the caress of strong fingers at his jaw; what would it be like not to be able to feel the warmth?
“Jim, I need to go back…that poor bastard-”
“Yeah,” Jim sat up at once. “Let’s go - we can shower later.”
++
~Very, very, early, Christmas Morning~
They’d pulled chairs up close, just reading lights and nightlights in sickbay, choral music on so quiet you almost couldn’t hear, the only other sounds, the occasional bleep from the biobed and the hum of the regens positioned around Wentworth.
Chapel had gone, McCoy still bristling from the chaste kiss she’d insisted on giving him before she left, Jim still smirking from the victorious look she’d shot him.
“Here,” he said, handing Jim a whiskey, “and don’t spill it; this is the good stuff.”
McCoy hooked one denim-clad leg over the arm of the chair, a bare foot gleaming in what little light there was.
“I got you something else,” Jim said a while later.
“Jim, it’ll be a fucking week before I can get it up-” But Jim had thrust a PADD into his hands and McCoy recognised the ribbon tied loosely around it. “What’s this?”
Jim looked at him, looked to Wentworth.
“Fire it up, you’ll see. It’s a surprise.” He sipped his drink, watching McCoy for a reaction.
It was a video and McCoy bought his hand to his mouth, glanced at Jim, shook his head, when he heard, when he saw Joanna.
“Daddy, oh Da-ddy!
You’re the loveliest daddy-” she sang.
Her dark hair standing up all over the place, he knew when this was; he’d just wrestled her good-naturedly to the couch and knuckled her hair before he’d gone out to drive Gram to town, her giggles ringing in his ears. He’d left her with Jim, who now watched him intently as McCoy watched the screen, listened to the rest of the song,
“The loveliest daddy in all of the worrrrld!”
McCoy made out the clumsy twangggg as someone played guitar behind her and he managed to take his eyes off her image for a second and look behind to the figure of Jim in white t and shorts, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, a little indented v between his eyebrows as he concentrated, then a clumsy pause, he looked up and joined in with Joanna.
“You’re grouchy and frownie,
Smell like chocolate brownies-“ twanggg-
“She made up the words,”Jim said, looking at his feet.
“Oh daddy oh daddy oh daaaad!” her beautiful giggles rang out as she jumped up and down in front of a delighted looking Jim, who’d put the guitar down and was clapping as she danced and bounced in front of the screen.
“Happy Christmas!” they chorused. Jo-Jo waved and the video ended there.
McCoy’s chest ached. He took a deep breath and before he could compose himself, Jim was standing by him. His knuckles swept across McCoy’s moist cheek, as he bent to kiss the top of his head.
“You’re welcome,” Jim said quietly into his hair. They held each other for a moment until a sound came from the bed and they pulled apart.
“Wentworth?” McCoy said, his voice thick with feeling. He cleared his throat. “How you doin’?”
“Nice hat, sir-” Wentworth croaked.
McCoy felt his neck flush as Jim’s boot nudged his ankle.
“Yeah, well…Happy Christmas, Ensign,” he drawled, looking at Jim and holding his glass aloft, taking Jim’s hand and squeezing. “Here’s to family!”
“Family,” Jim agreed, squeezing right back and settling down for the night in his chair next to McCoy’s.
FIN
on to PART 2
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