FIC: they will say it's elementary - nc-17, 1/1
Title: they will say it’s elementary 1/1
Author: sangueuk
Rating: nc-17
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, AOS
Wordcount: approx 2,500 words complete
Summary: Jim and Bones grab some alone-time at a wedding. That’s the plot, yeah - PWP folks!
Warnings: those suits are getting some abuse
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits - this is just for fun.
Author’s notes: A piece of fluffy-ish PWP, inspired partly by this prompt at the buckleup_meme , although slightly modified, and this post on jim_and_bones - those boys look gorgeous in suits and needed to show their approval.
I’ve been working on a couple of plotty WIPS lately and I just needed to ‘detox’ with some pr0n!
I want to dedicate this to the adorable easilymused1956 because it was her birthday recently.
Thanks to jlh for beta-reading
Intriguing snippet: “Trust me, I’ve been thinking about nothing else since you… you bastard, parading around in that suit like a fucking peacock-“
A03 link
They will say it’s elementary
“Jim, what the hell!”
McCoy stumbles backwards, Jim’s grip hard at his lapels. The door clicks shut and darkness envelops them.
They’re in a tight, airless space, cool like a church, and he’s pushed up against a vertical surface, shelves or something digging into his back. It’s most likely a cleaning closet judging by the lack of natural light, the fake, pine-fresh tang and that ‘only-a-mop-smells-like-this’ underlying note. Dammit, when would people get just how unsanitary- there’s a thud, something hitting the floor to his right, the scrape of Jim’s shoes when he kick’s McCoy’s knees apart.
“Shut up, Bones, it’ll be like old times!” Jim’s giggling against his mouth.
“I didn’t say a fucking word!” McCoy feels for Jim’s ears and spreads his hands across the sides of his head, encouraging Jim’s lush mouth to his. The kiss is equal parts heated and amused, Jim’s chest shaking against McCoy’s as he tries not to laugh some more. “Watch it or you’ll bite my tongue,” McCoy says, settling his hands on smooth fabric at Jim’s hips, tugging him forward so that lovely, big cock presses against his, the heat pulsing through the light wool mix.
“You were thinking stuff and I just know the word ‘unsanitary’ was in there somewhere.” With a grunt, Jim pushes McCoy’s jacket down his arms so the fabric pulls tight, restricting his movement and, fuck, it’s wrong how much this turns him on.
“Idiot,” McCoy whispers with affection, “and how so, like old times?”
Jim doesn’t answer but McCoy knows he means the early days on the ship, when they tried to hide their relationship until they were totally busted by Christine that time. It was exciting, sneaking around - annoying but exciting.
The dark presses around McCoy, cranking up his other senses; he’s overwhelmed by moist breath on his neck, the fumble at his waistband, the faint crackle of static when Jim yanks his linen shirt up and away, the sudden coolness of air on exposed skin and the, god, the heat of that firm, practiced hand as Jim envelops his cock. He's aware of each finger, of the drag of short nails, of the uncomfortable nip of his zipper as it catches on a pubic hair.
McCoy can’t see fuck, but in this moment, he knows exactly where and who he is. Jim’s touch, and possessive, eager, needy tone, his saliva cooling across McCoy’s neck, make McCoy feel more grounded than he’s felt all day among all these people, some he knows, some he loves and a whole bunch he doesn’t give a shit about.
Yep those are shelves behind McCoy’s head. He can hear metallic thumps as cleaning products fall against each other at the impact of Jim’s thrusts. The bottles settle again when Jim holds McCoy’s still, loosening his tie and exposing his neck. He pants in anticipation as Jim works it loose and proceeds to wrap it around McCoy’s wrist, into a loose knot.
“Jim-“
“-umm?”
Face hot, cock hotter, belly exposed and Jim swirls a thumb over McCoy’s navel while the other works McCoy’s length. He’s fucking helpless in Jim’s grip but, you know, McCoy pride and all, he has to at least sound like he has some control here.
“What the hell?” he grumbles again, trussed hands clutching at Jim’s shirt, finding his tie, yanking it so Jim’s face is closer, so Jim can lick at the hollow of his throat, nip at his jaw. McCoy’s hips cant forwards, tongue laving at Jim’s ear, “Someone could have seen us.”
“We’re just looking for cleaning products. I can lie. I’ve got it all planned out.”
“The hell you have.”
“Trust me, I’ve been thinking about nothing else since you… you bastard, parading around in that suit like a fucking peacock-“
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to wear? It’s a god damned wedding.” McCoy’s tongue explores the upper reaches of Jim’s mouth, teeth tickling the tip, making his cock jump in anticipation. “No one’s ever called me that before-“
“-A bastard? They must have!”
“No, a peacock you idiot and what do you mean? I’m a doctor not a-“ The cliché’s swept away by Jim’s tongue swiping McCoy’s lips with an upward stroke of such unsubtly that it has McCoy buckling at the knees.
“I’ve never seen you in a suit - it’s hot.”
“Direct, I like that about you-“
“-I like you all scrubbed up.” Jim’s hands sweep across McCoy’s chest, his arms, his ass, never still like that fucking mind of his.
“I’m scrubbed up in my uniform-“
“-Yeah, but this…” Jim pops the buttons, pulls his shirt open and presses his clothed body against skin. Jim slips a hand down the back of McCoy’s suit pants, who can’t help but shudder when Jim slides a finger between his ass cheeks, down, down… “Want to see you,” Jim rumbles into McCoy’s chest, “love you all prim and clean, fuck. Makes me want to jerk off all over you, cover you in come-”
God, yes…
Jim reaches into McCoy’s breast pocket and fumbles with his comm till he finds the light setting, rests it on the shelf behind him. Jim steps back a little, his eyes squinty and blue and so fucking bright and there’s a flicker of tongue as he appraises McCoy. “Look at you…Jesus…”
“What?” McCoy says in a pretty impressive attempt at nonchalant, if he says so himself.
“All respectable,” another yank on his cock, “hard for me. They don’t know, not what you’re like.”
Jim’s voice is low, scalding his ear, tongue probing against his earlobe, suckling at McCoy’s neck and all he can do in response is growl and cuss.
McCoy loves the way Jim manhandles him sometimes. He loves how Jim’s all decorum in public and turns into a possessive, hungry wolf in their quarters. Sometimes, when McCoy’s on gamma shift and Jim can’t sleep without him, Jim’ll pay a visit to Sickbay. They’ll make out on the desk, Jim’s legs wrapped around McCoy’s waist, his pjs on the office floor, both cocks in his large hands. Then there’s those times when Jim’s the one who’s pressed to the bed, McCoy unable to speak with relief and fear, claiming Jim, checking he’s really there. He fucks Jim into the mattress, that dirty blond head hanging off the side of the bed and McCoy’s balls deep inside him, keeping him close.
Jim doesn’t look half bad himself. The gray suit is impeccable and McCoy loves the way it hugs his hips, the way the virgin white shirt makes Jim look older, manly when he’s still just a boy in a candy store now he’s got McCoy where he wants him.
“You gonna fuck me or what, Captain?”
“Oh, yeah, Bones, just as soon as I-“
And Jim sinks to his knees, tugging McCoy’s suit pants down, stubble tickling McCoy’s inner thigh and hot breath searing the tip of his cock. Jim shoots a fiery look up at McCoy that has him catching his breath with need, then lowers dark lashes like a veil, begins to suck.
McCoy tips his head back, barely registering the long shadows on the ceiling above him. He rests his bound hands on Jim’s head, velvet soft against his palms as Jim’s head bobs mercilessly up and down, the obscene slurps, the faint drag of teeth just like Jim knows he likes it. McCoy’s pants have fallen to his ankles and he doesn’t try to kick them off, knows Jim loves him half-dressed and askew. The heat of arousal pools in his groin till he manages a ragged breath, taps the top of Jim’s head.
“Hey, asshole, you’d better stop or you’ll have trouble explaining your new hair gel.”
Jim snorts around his cock, gives a last squeeze at McCoy’s ass cheeks and sits back on his heels. He looks up at McCoy, licking his lips, running his thumb across plush pink and folds his arms like he’s waiting for a hover-cab or something. “I love your dick, Bones. Tastes better than cake.” His voice matter of fact, familiar, so fucking real.
They both look at McCoy’s erection, almost flush against his belly, wet with spit and pre-come, catch each other’s eyes, Jim’s heated gaze filling McCoy’s heart to bursting.
“You don’t say…” McCoy manages.
Jim’s still fully dressed. His tie’s wonky, his eyebrows a little bit mussed up and his eyes are bright and predatory. He stands elegantly, kicks off his shoes into the shadows, thunking when they hit something.
“We’ll never find those-“ McCoy says.
Jim grins, lopsided and cheeky and he guides McCoy towards him by the elbows.
McCoy’s jacket’s still bunched up around his arms, his hands still bound and his pants are round his ankles. He should feel like an idiot but instead he feels gorgeous, sexy, the way Jim’s running his eyes up and down the length of his body.
“You’re looking a little overdressed, kid,” McCoy says, his voice ragged, warm, love-sick.
Jim pulls McCoy’s pants and boxers up, hooks the waistband, and kisses the tip of his nose. Jim turns his back on McCoy while he searches the shelves.
“Awesome!” Jim says having found what look like dust sheets to spread out on the floor. McCoy watches, licking his lips. Jim stands back, facing McCoy and loosens his pants.
“Why am I not surprised you aren’t wearing any boxers?” McCoy growls unable to tear his eyes away from Jim’s thick cock, the way it bobs when he moves. Jim gives himself a leisurely stroke and swirls his thumb across the head, leans over to McCoy and pushes his thumb gently into his mouth so McCoy can taste salt.
“It’s a special day - I thought you’d like it.” Jim winks, steps back again, rolls his pants up and places them one end of the dust sheet. “Now, shut up bitching and get your beautiful ass over here. “
Jim guides McCoy to the floor and kisses him hard before pushing him onto his back. McCoy can’t help but go passive as Jim undoes his pants again and drags them down to his feet. He guides McCoy’s knees apart and holds up a sachet of lube.
“You really do think of everything, don’t you?”
“That’s why you love me, right?” Jim tears the packet open with his teeth.
“No, I love you because you’re an animal in the sack,” McCoy manages to grunt. He moans when he feels Jim’s ass settle on his belly. Jim leans in for a kiss and then guides McCoy’s hands, positioning them so he can make a tunnel for his cock.
“You’re going to ruin Pike’s tie.”
“That’s the…fuck… plan, yeah.”
McCoy shifts under him and moans, waits while Jim’s lubed hands are on McCoy’s dick, twisting round, sliding up and down with deft, practiced movements - fuck Jim really knows how to play him. Jim leans behind and slicks up his ass, balances, places slippery hands on McCoy’s knees to steady himself and lowers slowly, half an inch at a time.
McCoy amuses himself by watching Jim’s face; it’s a mix of ridiculous and sublime. Jim’s shirt sleeves still fastened by cufflinks, the sweat making the fabric stick to his chest, top button undone, tie twisted to the side, cheeks flushed pink and eyes closed. Jim frowns and gasps his way down until McCoy fills him completely. His eyes fly open when McCoy pushes up into him.
“At last,” Jim gasps simply.
“Just what the doctor ordered, eh, Jimmy?”
They both laugh and then Jim’s face grows serious and they lock eyes as he folds forward, braces either side of McCoy’s head and raises and lowers himself gently until he can adjust.
“Ah, so… fucking…good,” he manages to say, glancing down at his cock where McCoy’s hands provide a tunnel for him so he’s fucking himself, forwards, fucking himself back onto McCoy’s cock. The slap and thump of it, Jim’s gasps and ungs, how tight that ass is around him, have McCoy wondering if he’s not the luckiest fucking man alive.
Every nerve ending is almost at overload and the heat in McCoy’s balls is reaching unbearable and he chokes out a litany of grunt words, gasp declarations that mean more than the words they’d spoken in front of everyone a few hours before. This is them, this is what he likes best and wants most, the two of them joined like this, alone, pushing against and through each boundary of flesh and bone until neither of them is sure who’s feeling what, where one sensation begins and the other ends, oversensitive skin slipping in sweat and pre-come, tongues wrestling to get deeper, hands pulling and tugging and feeling and owning, consuming each other until…
“Bones, I’m… gonna… come-“
McCoy’s favourite words ever.
And McCoy manages to untangle his wrists from the tie and he’s got one hand behind Jim’s neck, the other pumping Jim’s cock, twice, three times and with a long moaning plea, Jim’s coming in a long shudder, head pushing against McCoy’s grip at the back of his head, cock thrusting into his hand, hot come pulsing over McCoy’s chest like confetti and, dammit, that shirt’s ruined and like he gives a fuck, now he’s right behind Jim, gasping for breath, hanging on for dear life through the storm of his orgasm.
Jim collapses on him and their sweaty faces stick together. Soft, gentle, salty kisses until Jim eases off and flops to McCoy’s side and pushes an arm under him to pull McCoy close.
“Best honeymoon ever,” Jim sighs, forehead in the crook of his new husband’s neck.
McCoy chuckles, rubs his wrists and wrestles an aching arm out of his jacket. He takes Jim’s left hand and kisses the ring there. “Yeah, well, if they ever throw you out of Starfleet, which it’s only a matter of time before you piss someone off, you could always make a new career as a wedding planner.” Jim doesn’t reply. “Hey,” McCoy pokes him in the chest, “you fallin’ asleep?”
“Uh-huh.” Jim’s legs flop apart and he scratches his belly, “you made me do all the work again, lazy bastard.”
“You need the exercise - don’t want you running to fat do we?” He slithers his hands under Jim’s sweat-soaked shirt and strokes the flat, defined planes of his belly, kisses his eyelids and Jim shifts beside him. “Fuck. Three hours of marriage and I’m worn out already,” McCoy mutters.
“Yeah, you save your strength, old man,” Jim grins, “We should clean up somehow, head back, they’ll be worrying…”
“Later,” McCoy growls, flipping Jim onto his back, settling between his legs, “I’m feeling the last flush of youth here-“
Yeah, best honeymoon ever.
THE END
A/N did you spot something borrowed, something blue etc as well as a bunch of other tenuous wedding references?
-The title from the lyrics of ‘Love and Marriage’, sung by Ol’ Blue Eyes.
- feedback is love!
- The masterlist of all my fanfiction is here
Author: sangueuk
Rating: nc-17
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, AOS
Wordcount: approx 2,500 words complete
Summary: Jim and Bones grab some alone-time at a wedding. That’s the plot, yeah - PWP folks!
Warnings: those suits are getting some abuse
Disclaimer: I mean no offence and court no profits - this is just for fun.
Author’s notes: A piece of fluffy-ish PWP, inspired partly by this prompt at the buckleup_meme , although slightly modified, and this post on jim_and_bones - those boys look gorgeous in suits and needed to show their approval.
I’ve been working on a couple of plotty WIPS lately and I just needed to ‘detox’ with some pr0n!
I want to dedicate this to the adorable easilymused1956 because it was her birthday recently.
Thanks to jlh for beta-reading
Intriguing snippet: “Trust me, I’ve been thinking about nothing else since you… you bastard, parading around in that suit like a fucking peacock-“
A03 link
They will say it’s elementary
“Jim, what the hell!”
McCoy stumbles backwards, Jim’s grip hard at his lapels. The door clicks shut and darkness envelops them.
They’re in a tight, airless space, cool like a church, and he’s pushed up against a vertical surface, shelves or something digging into his back. It’s most likely a cleaning closet judging by the lack of natural light, the fake, pine-fresh tang and that ‘only-a-mop-smells-like-this’ underlying note. Dammit, when would people get just how unsanitary- there’s a thud, something hitting the floor to his right, the scrape of Jim’s shoes when he kick’s McCoy’s knees apart.
“Shut up, Bones, it’ll be like old times!” Jim’s giggling against his mouth.
“I didn’t say a fucking word!” McCoy feels for Jim’s ears and spreads his hands across the sides of his head, encouraging Jim’s lush mouth to his. The kiss is equal parts heated and amused, Jim’s chest shaking against McCoy’s as he tries not to laugh some more. “Watch it or you’ll bite my tongue,” McCoy says, settling his hands on smooth fabric at Jim’s hips, tugging him forward so that lovely, big cock presses against his, the heat pulsing through the light wool mix.
“You were thinking stuff and I just know the word ‘unsanitary’ was in there somewhere.” With a grunt, Jim pushes McCoy’s jacket down his arms so the fabric pulls tight, restricting his movement and, fuck, it’s wrong how much this turns him on.
“Idiot,” McCoy whispers with affection, “and how so, like old times?”
Jim doesn’t answer but McCoy knows he means the early days on the ship, when they tried to hide their relationship until they were totally busted by Christine that time. It was exciting, sneaking around - annoying but exciting.
The dark presses around McCoy, cranking up his other senses; he’s overwhelmed by moist breath on his neck, the fumble at his waistband, the faint crackle of static when Jim yanks his linen shirt up and away, the sudden coolness of air on exposed skin and the, god, the heat of that firm, practiced hand as Jim envelops his cock. He's aware of each finger, of the drag of short nails, of the uncomfortable nip of his zipper as it catches on a pubic hair.
McCoy can’t see fuck, but in this moment, he knows exactly where and who he is. Jim’s touch, and possessive, eager, needy tone, his saliva cooling across McCoy’s neck, make McCoy feel more grounded than he’s felt all day among all these people, some he knows, some he loves and a whole bunch he doesn’t give a shit about.
Yep those are shelves behind McCoy’s head. He can hear metallic thumps as cleaning products fall against each other at the impact of Jim’s thrusts. The bottles settle again when Jim holds McCoy’s still, loosening his tie and exposing his neck. He pants in anticipation as Jim works it loose and proceeds to wrap it around McCoy’s wrist, into a loose knot.
“Jim-“
“-umm?”
Face hot, cock hotter, belly exposed and Jim swirls a thumb over McCoy’s navel while the other works McCoy’s length. He’s fucking helpless in Jim’s grip but, you know, McCoy pride and all, he has to at least sound like he has some control here.
“What the hell?” he grumbles again, trussed hands clutching at Jim’s shirt, finding his tie, yanking it so Jim’s face is closer, so Jim can lick at the hollow of his throat, nip at his jaw. McCoy’s hips cant forwards, tongue laving at Jim’s ear, “Someone could have seen us.”
“We’re just looking for cleaning products. I can lie. I’ve got it all planned out.”
“The hell you have.”
“Trust me, I’ve been thinking about nothing else since you… you bastard, parading around in that suit like a fucking peacock-“
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to wear? It’s a god damned wedding.” McCoy’s tongue explores the upper reaches of Jim’s mouth, teeth tickling the tip, making his cock jump in anticipation. “No one’s ever called me that before-“
“-A bastard? They must have!”
“No, a peacock you idiot and what do you mean? I’m a doctor not a-“ The cliché’s swept away by Jim’s tongue swiping McCoy’s lips with an upward stroke of such unsubtly that it has McCoy buckling at the knees.
“I’ve never seen you in a suit - it’s hot.”
“Direct, I like that about you-“
“-I like you all scrubbed up.” Jim’s hands sweep across McCoy’s chest, his arms, his ass, never still like that fucking mind of his.
“I’m scrubbed up in my uniform-“
“-Yeah, but this…” Jim pops the buttons, pulls his shirt open and presses his clothed body against skin. Jim slips a hand down the back of McCoy’s suit pants, who can’t help but shudder when Jim slides a finger between his ass cheeks, down, down… “Want to see you,” Jim rumbles into McCoy’s chest, “love you all prim and clean, fuck. Makes me want to jerk off all over you, cover you in come-”
God, yes…
Jim reaches into McCoy’s breast pocket and fumbles with his comm till he finds the light setting, rests it on the shelf behind him. Jim steps back a little, his eyes squinty and blue and so fucking bright and there’s a flicker of tongue as he appraises McCoy. “Look at you…Jesus…”
“What?” McCoy says in a pretty impressive attempt at nonchalant, if he says so himself.
“All respectable,” another yank on his cock, “hard for me. They don’t know, not what you’re like.”
Jim’s voice is low, scalding his ear, tongue probing against his earlobe, suckling at McCoy’s neck and all he can do in response is growl and cuss.
McCoy loves the way Jim manhandles him sometimes. He loves how Jim’s all decorum in public and turns into a possessive, hungry wolf in their quarters. Sometimes, when McCoy’s on gamma shift and Jim can’t sleep without him, Jim’ll pay a visit to Sickbay. They’ll make out on the desk, Jim’s legs wrapped around McCoy’s waist, his pjs on the office floor, both cocks in his large hands. Then there’s those times when Jim’s the one who’s pressed to the bed, McCoy unable to speak with relief and fear, claiming Jim, checking he’s really there. He fucks Jim into the mattress, that dirty blond head hanging off the side of the bed and McCoy’s balls deep inside him, keeping him close.
Jim doesn’t look half bad himself. The gray suit is impeccable and McCoy loves the way it hugs his hips, the way the virgin white shirt makes Jim look older, manly when he’s still just a boy in a candy store now he’s got McCoy where he wants him.
“You gonna fuck me or what, Captain?”
“Oh, yeah, Bones, just as soon as I-“
And Jim sinks to his knees, tugging McCoy’s suit pants down, stubble tickling McCoy’s inner thigh and hot breath searing the tip of his cock. Jim shoots a fiery look up at McCoy that has him catching his breath with need, then lowers dark lashes like a veil, begins to suck.
McCoy tips his head back, barely registering the long shadows on the ceiling above him. He rests his bound hands on Jim’s head, velvet soft against his palms as Jim’s head bobs mercilessly up and down, the obscene slurps, the faint drag of teeth just like Jim knows he likes it. McCoy’s pants have fallen to his ankles and he doesn’t try to kick them off, knows Jim loves him half-dressed and askew. The heat of arousal pools in his groin till he manages a ragged breath, taps the top of Jim’s head.
“Hey, asshole, you’d better stop or you’ll have trouble explaining your new hair gel.”
Jim snorts around his cock, gives a last squeeze at McCoy’s ass cheeks and sits back on his heels. He looks up at McCoy, licking his lips, running his thumb across plush pink and folds his arms like he’s waiting for a hover-cab or something. “I love your dick, Bones. Tastes better than cake.” His voice matter of fact, familiar, so fucking real.
They both look at McCoy’s erection, almost flush against his belly, wet with spit and pre-come, catch each other’s eyes, Jim’s heated gaze filling McCoy’s heart to bursting.
“You don’t say…” McCoy manages.
Jim’s still fully dressed. His tie’s wonky, his eyebrows a little bit mussed up and his eyes are bright and predatory. He stands elegantly, kicks off his shoes into the shadows, thunking when they hit something.
“We’ll never find those-“ McCoy says.
Jim grins, lopsided and cheeky and he guides McCoy towards him by the elbows.
McCoy’s jacket’s still bunched up around his arms, his hands still bound and his pants are round his ankles. He should feel like an idiot but instead he feels gorgeous, sexy, the way Jim’s running his eyes up and down the length of his body.
“You’re looking a little overdressed, kid,” McCoy says, his voice ragged, warm, love-sick.
Jim pulls McCoy’s pants and boxers up, hooks the waistband, and kisses the tip of his nose. Jim turns his back on McCoy while he searches the shelves.
“Awesome!” Jim says having found what look like dust sheets to spread out on the floor. McCoy watches, licking his lips. Jim stands back, facing McCoy and loosens his pants.
“Why am I not surprised you aren’t wearing any boxers?” McCoy growls unable to tear his eyes away from Jim’s thick cock, the way it bobs when he moves. Jim gives himself a leisurely stroke and swirls his thumb across the head, leans over to McCoy and pushes his thumb gently into his mouth so McCoy can taste salt.
“It’s a special day - I thought you’d like it.” Jim winks, steps back again, rolls his pants up and places them one end of the dust sheet. “Now, shut up bitching and get your beautiful ass over here. “
Jim guides McCoy to the floor and kisses him hard before pushing him onto his back. McCoy can’t help but go passive as Jim undoes his pants again and drags them down to his feet. He guides McCoy’s knees apart and holds up a sachet of lube.
“You really do think of everything, don’t you?”
“That’s why you love me, right?” Jim tears the packet open with his teeth.
“No, I love you because you’re an animal in the sack,” McCoy manages to grunt. He moans when he feels Jim’s ass settle on his belly. Jim leans in for a kiss and then guides McCoy’s hands, positioning them so he can make a tunnel for his cock.
“You’re going to ruin Pike’s tie.”
“That’s the…fuck… plan, yeah.”
McCoy shifts under him and moans, waits while Jim’s lubed hands are on McCoy’s dick, twisting round, sliding up and down with deft, practiced movements - fuck Jim really knows how to play him. Jim leans behind and slicks up his ass, balances, places slippery hands on McCoy’s knees to steady himself and lowers slowly, half an inch at a time.
McCoy amuses himself by watching Jim’s face; it’s a mix of ridiculous and sublime. Jim’s shirt sleeves still fastened by cufflinks, the sweat making the fabric stick to his chest, top button undone, tie twisted to the side, cheeks flushed pink and eyes closed. Jim frowns and gasps his way down until McCoy fills him completely. His eyes fly open when McCoy pushes up into him.
“At last,” Jim gasps simply.
“Just what the doctor ordered, eh, Jimmy?”
They both laugh and then Jim’s face grows serious and they lock eyes as he folds forward, braces either side of McCoy’s head and raises and lowers himself gently until he can adjust.
“Ah, so… fucking…good,” he manages to say, glancing down at his cock where McCoy’s hands provide a tunnel for him so he’s fucking himself, forwards, fucking himself back onto McCoy’s cock. The slap and thump of it, Jim’s gasps and ungs, how tight that ass is around him, have McCoy wondering if he’s not the luckiest fucking man alive.
Every nerve ending is almost at overload and the heat in McCoy’s balls is reaching unbearable and he chokes out a litany of grunt words, gasp declarations that mean more than the words they’d spoken in front of everyone a few hours before. This is them, this is what he likes best and wants most, the two of them joined like this, alone, pushing against and through each boundary of flesh and bone until neither of them is sure who’s feeling what, where one sensation begins and the other ends, oversensitive skin slipping in sweat and pre-come, tongues wrestling to get deeper, hands pulling and tugging and feeling and owning, consuming each other until…
“Bones, I’m… gonna… come-“
McCoy’s favourite words ever.
And McCoy manages to untangle his wrists from the tie and he’s got one hand behind Jim’s neck, the other pumping Jim’s cock, twice, three times and with a long moaning plea, Jim’s coming in a long shudder, head pushing against McCoy’s grip at the back of his head, cock thrusting into his hand, hot come pulsing over McCoy’s chest like confetti and, dammit, that shirt’s ruined and like he gives a fuck, now he’s right behind Jim, gasping for breath, hanging on for dear life through the storm of his orgasm.
Jim collapses on him and their sweaty faces stick together. Soft, gentle, salty kisses until Jim eases off and flops to McCoy’s side and pushes an arm under him to pull McCoy close.
“Best honeymoon ever,” Jim sighs, forehead in the crook of his new husband’s neck.
McCoy chuckles, rubs his wrists and wrestles an aching arm out of his jacket. He takes Jim’s left hand and kisses the ring there. “Yeah, well, if they ever throw you out of Starfleet, which it’s only a matter of time before you piss someone off, you could always make a new career as a wedding planner.” Jim doesn’t reply. “Hey,” McCoy pokes him in the chest, “you fallin’ asleep?”
“Uh-huh.” Jim’s legs flop apart and he scratches his belly, “you made me do all the work again, lazy bastard.”
“You need the exercise - don’t want you running to fat do we?” He slithers his hands under Jim’s sweat-soaked shirt and strokes the flat, defined planes of his belly, kisses his eyelids and Jim shifts beside him. “Fuck. Three hours of marriage and I’m worn out already,” McCoy mutters.
“Yeah, you save your strength, old man,” Jim grins, “We should clean up somehow, head back, they’ll be worrying…”
“Later,” McCoy growls, flipping Jim onto his back, settling between his legs, “I’m feeling the last flush of youth here-“
Yeah, best honeymoon ever.
THE END
A/N did you spot something borrowed, something blue etc as well as a bunch of other tenuous wedding references?
-The title from the lyrics of ‘Love and Marriage’, sung by Ol’ Blue Eyes.
- feedback is love!
- The masterlist of all my fanfiction is here