Present for jimpage363
Title: Running with Scissors
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Spock/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy/Spock
Warnings: A tablespoon of snark, a teaspoon of schmoop, two cups of porn, mix well. Add crack to taste.
Recipient: JiM (jimpage363) Happy Holidays~
~oOo~
Leonard is finally allowed back into his own goddamn sickbay six days later.
He attempts to fire Chapel no less than three times, M'Benga once, but finally gives up when Chapel corners him and gives him the chewing out of his life. He calls her Judas, she calls him a stubborn old goat who was highly contagious and at risk for infecting the entire crew. Grim sulking only results in another tongue-lashing, so Leonard just lets her have her head and concentrates on recovery, a new-found, healthy fear-tinged respect for his blonde nurse beating in his chest. Now that he’s certified with a clean bill of health and back behind his desk, she’s returned to her usual serene self, but there’s no way to hide the hypospray-happy fiend lurking at the back of her innocently wide eyes. That particular cat is out of the proverbial bag.
He isn’t ever going to say as much, but he’s damn proud of her.
~oOo~
He should've known something was up after Jim comms him back immediately after Leonard shoots him an intranet message, exploring the options for putting Chapel and M'Benga up for a commendation-for developing a medication counteracting the Vulcan strain of the common cold-and tells him, "Why don't you come to the, haha, 'Lovenasium' and we'll...ah, talk about it?" complete with an irritated, "Captain, that is not appropriate," heard from Spock in the background.
'Lovenasium'-Is that even a word?-the memory and promise of Spock's slick mouth and Jim's good-humored affection, all combine and result in his presence outside Jim's quarters in less than fifteen minutes. He's more than a little nervous. He doesn’t remember much from his illness beyond shifting impressions and the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps he'd said a little more in his delirium than he should’ve. Just exactly what that was is lost in hazy murk, and he half-expects Jim and Spock to let the entire thing drop into the realm of Let’s not talk about it out of awkwardness.
But when the door opens, Jim just says, "Told you it’d work, Spock," before dragging him inside, shit-eating grin nearly splitting his face in two.
Now it's 2100 hours, and Spock is blowing him in the captain's quarters. Once again Leonard's dick has absolutely no problems with this and is, in fact, making a note in its personal calendar to make this happen as often as fucking possible. Eating and sleeping schedules are now completely optional.
They haven’t even made it to the bed. Leonard’s pretty much naked, and they’re pretty much not. He’s okay with this. The reason for all this okay is kneeling in front of him, putting his talented mouth to spectacular use and dissolving all of Leonard’s thoughts and protests into white, sharp static. Jim’s pressed up behind him, his uniform cool against Leonard’s bare skin, Jim mouthing hot, searing kisses over the nape of his neck and into the hollow behind his ear, and his hands are everywhere, roving down the planes of Leonard's chest, pinching a nipple here, poking a finger into his bellybutton there, combing through the trail of coarse hairs that arrows down his lower belly towards where Spock is making slick, sucking noises, dark lashes framing the harsh angles of his cheekbones.
Leonard makes a feral, lost sound and Jim laughs huskily into his ear, "Trains up nice, doesn't he?" Leonard says something that’s meant to be Holy hell yes but comes out more as "Hhhrgaaaaaa" as Spock, not taking too kindly to Jim's assessment, lashes his tongue hard under the head of Leonard's cock. Leonard’s knees buckle, and they ride him down onto the utilitarian gray carpet. Spock lets go with a pop, replacing his mouth with his hand, and jacks it slowly, his mouth pushing against Leonard's insistently enough-greedily enough that Leonard can’t scrape enough brain cells together to whine at the loss of the rough tongue on his cock over the sensation of it invading his mouth and sliding along the line of his teeth.
He tastes himself on Spock's tongue, salt underlaid by musk, and his groan is paralleled by Jim's as Jim drags his lips all over Leonard's temple and licks at the sweat trickling down Leonard's cheek. Jim’s hands knead double handfuls of Leonard’s chest almost to the point of pain and Leonard hisses, unable to still his own on Jim's tense thighs, digging in with his nails and wrinkling the thin synthetic material of his uniform pants.
Jim is firm and hard up against his backside, his hips surging, sensual in its involuntary movements and how deceptively strong Jim is, Leonard thinks as he helplessly leans his full weight back against Jim, warring with Spock as Spock pushes further, more eagerly into his mouth, the feel of it sending a bloom of heat down his chest into his groin. Spock's scent-something spicy and dark, reminiscent of patchtouli-flickers on the edges of his awareness, somehow foreign in contrast to Jim’s soap and cologne.
Leonard manages to pry a hand off Jim's thigh to comb through the thick silk of Spock's hair. At another time he might’ve been amused by the mess he makes of it, but now the tousled cowlicks and the dangerous heat in Spock's eyes-god, had Leonard ever believed Spock could look so unguarded?-serves to make the breathless white haze of lust spiral higher into something like pain at the center of his brain, and he yanks Spock back into another tearing, savage kiss that tastes of copper.
Jim, he notes distantly and without surprise, is a talker. Words tumble out of his mouth without thought or effort: moans on the inhale, dirty, filthy words and observations and orders on the exhale, Yeah do that harder, twist your hand a little more, he likes it to Spock and You like that, huh? So fucking sexy to him, as Jim palms one rough and heavy hand down the flat of Leonard's abdomen and grips him around the base, moving out of synch with Spock's more deliberate and unhurried strokes. The other hand cups Leonard’s face and pulls him away from Spock.
Leonard leans harder against him, turning his head to trade Spock’s mouth for Jim's. Though the angle is bad, it’s tenderer, gentler, and it doesn’t end so much as transitions, Jim rubbing along Leonard’s swollen lower lip and just nuzzling his nose against Leonard's jawline and then whispering into his ear, "You're going to remember our hands on you, you all sweaty and hot and sexy like this, next time you visit the bridge and you're gonna get so hard remembering-" Leonard pants a curse because it’s true, dammit, it's so good and he can’t remember why he hasn’t agreed to do this before-
"You are seriously impairing his future efficiency," Spock reproves, the flatness of his tone marred by the hoarseness of his voice, just as Leonard twists his hips up into those relentless hands and Jim’s relentless words, and comes hard enough to nearly black out.
He grows aware of hands pulling at his legs (Spock) and a body trying to slide out from under him (Jim) and a distinct impression that there’s an unspoken disagreement going on. He struggles to open his eyes because if Jim is doing the eyebrow, he sure as hell doesn’t want to miss it, before Jim leans over Leonard and puts an end to all Vulcan non-verbal protest with a low laugh and a kiss that turns into a growl. Leonard can feel the flex of Spock's chest as he moves his head, and Leonard is pretty sure by the sudden hiss that Spock’s just bitten Jim hard on the neck.
"I don't have my dermal regenerator with me, so do me a favor," he mumbles in the vicinity of Spock's collarbone.
They look down at him, then move away from each other. Leonard realizes that he’s nearly lying on his back now, his legs wrapped around Spock's hips. They’re snugged together in a very interesting way, and he suddenly has a pretty good idea what the disagreement was about. He gets confirmation when he flexes his hips experimentally; Spock draws in a sharp breath and raises both eyebrows at him, that sweet, smoldering expression back on his face.
"Never thought you’d ever look like that," Leonard says softly, and Spock blinks. “You know, emotional.”
“You read entirely too much into my facial expressions, Doct-Leonard,” Spock replies, instantly schooling his face back into some semblance of order, apparently not liking his lapses pointed out to him.
Jim laughs. He slides a hand down Leonard's cheek as if memorizing the texture, then rubs a sticky thumb against Leonard's bottom lip. Leonard laps at it, curling his tongue around the digit, tasting himself salty and pungent on Jim’s skin and watching Jim’s pupils blow wide. Jim swallows with a click in his dry throat. “What the hell, Bones, you've been holding out on me," he complains, his voice uneven.
“You have no idea, kid,” Leonard replies. It’s more truth than sarcasm and he turns his cheek to rub against the thick hardness still trapped in Jim's pants, the lust blunted by his orgasm flaring again at the base of his diaphragm and shortening his breath. He turns over, still tangled with Spock, who moves just enough to work Leonard's pants and underwear the rest of the way off past his boots, and Spock runs shaking, hot hands over the small of Leonard's back and dips into the curve of his waist as Leonard unzips Jim's pants enough to pull him out.
A sweet flush burns its way up Jim’s neck and across the bridge of his cheekbones as he watches Leonard with glazed eyes. "Best friends shouldn't have secrets from each other," he manages hoarsely before Leonard swirls his tongue around the head, tasting the salt sweet musk there, and there’s a hollow thump as Jim’s elbows give out and he lands flat against the rough carpet. His knees go up, bracketing Leonard’s head, and both hands find their way into Leonard's hair, tensing as Leonard works his tongue around the ridge of the head and swallows his way down to the base in tiny increments.
Spock shifts but Leonard can’t give much thought to what Spock’s doing, his world narrowed to the length pulsing hot in his mouth and bumping against the back of his throat, to the tiny, sobbing noises Jim makes and the tense upward hitches of his hips under Leonard's hands as he curls his tongue just so. But then hands pull his hips back and up and he can’t help the high noise that shocks out of him as a hot tongue slides down, down.
Shivery slick, little puffs of breath chilling wet skin, and he pulls off Jim and pants against the base of Jim's cock, nose buried into the wiry hairs there, mind protesting, Illogical! That's so- involuntary, broken noises shocking out of him with every swipe of rough tongue.
Now fingers are rubbing against him, rubbing and then dipping in, seemingly almost by accident but actually deliberately teasing. He hitches his hips mindlessly higher into that invading tongue and those invading fingers, torn between needing to squirm away at the weirdness of it but also needing more, Jim’s cock completely forgotten and his impossibly hard once again.
Jim’s hands tighten in Leonard’s hair. "Spock, right now I think you're seriously impairing his efficiency," he rasps, hard frustration edging his tone.
A huff of air against wet skin that’s probably laughter. Leonard shivers. Then his mouth opens, silent curses catching in his throat as two fingers, slick with something gently probe, then push in. It’s been a good long time since anyone or anything’s gone exploring down there, and Leonard chokes as they twist.
“Always cockblocked by pushy aliens," Jim adds with woeful sarcasm. “I’m starting to think it’s a conspiracy.” But his complaint is belied by his gentle touch as he combs through Leonard’s hair and traces the whorls of his ears. Leonard buries his face into Jim’s stomach and tries to remember how to breathe.
Then hands return to his his hips, holding him in place; a blunt push now, inch by agonizing inch, and he’s stretched, the sensation burning through him. He hisses, struggling to relax.
“Doct-Leonard, is this-”
“So help me, if you ask me if this is satisfactory, I will fucking kick you,” Leonard growls, shooting a glare over his shoulder.
A pause. “Very well.”
He’s only dimly aware of Jim’s low chuckle at that over the wild rush of blood pounding in his ears as Spock withdraws, then snaps his hips forward, a movement as controlled and deliberate as anything else Spock does, and that observation drives him a little crazy as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, arching his back into those soul-shaking thrusts.
“Come on,” Jim whispers, and Leonard is half-pulled, half-shoved forward and then he and Jim are kissing, really kissing for the first time, Jim licking into his mouth with sweet, single-minded concentration, tongue curling with his as they move together with each relentless push of Spock’s hips. All coherency is gone in the intensity, Leonard caught between the two: Spock driving his way into him, hunched over Leonard’s back and all pretense at aloofness gone, scrubbing his face against the flat of Leonard’s shoulder; Jim in front, sucking at Leonard’s lips and tongue until they’re raw.
He retains enough presence of mind to notice that Jim is also making unashamed whines of desperation, blinking hard over wide, too pretty eyes that flutter shut as Leonard pries Jim’s hand off his cock and replaces it with his own. “God, Bones,” Jim nearly sobs, falling back again, hips thrusting up into Leonard’s hand, pleas tumbling from those swollen lips and his hands clutching at Leonard’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. “Goddamnit,” he curses as Leonard strokes him hard in time to Spock’s thrusts, then bends down and licks him hard from base to tip.
“That’s my word,” Leonard tells him, the flippant remark jerked out of him at a thrust that makes sparks explode in the darkness behind his eyes. Jim only writhes, reduced to incoherency and rounded vowels that clearly mean don’t care and please. Leonard hooks his arms over Jim’s trembling thighs and takes mercy, letting the hard length slide into his mouth and bump the back of his throat. He’s out of practice, but it hardly needs finesse-just lick and tongue and breathe and swallow, lapping at the viscous, salty fluid pooled at the tip.
Pleasure is splintering through him, Spock rocking balls-deep inside of him, harsh pants tickling across his back and with hard, relentlessly oral little nips at his shoulder like he can’t help himself. Jim squirms and curses as each thrust impales Leonard deeper onto him; his hands are back in Leonard’s hair, this time clutching hard enough to hurt but Leonard’s beyond caring, riding high on a tidal wave of endorphins, each moan pulled out of Jim and each shaky breath from Spock nearly breaking Leonard in half.
Jim comes first, the only warning in the tenseness of his thighs, the spasm of his fists in Leonard’s hair, the throb of his cock in Leonard’s mouth, curses tumbling from that sensual mouth-creative curses that Leonard’s never heard before and never thought possible. Leonard’s language is salty but with mileage placed on a few tried and true words, but Jim is a true connoisseur of obscenities. It’s not restricted to Standard, either; Leonard thinks he detects other Earth languages-Japanese, Spanish-as well as Klingon, Romulan, and even Vulcan, in the torrent of filth that slips over Jim’s tongue.
Spock speaks in his ear, like he knows what Leonard’s thinking: “The result of a misapplied education.” He sounds breathless but amused.
Jim throws an arm over his face, his half-mumbled protest, “That’s no way to talk to your captain,” lost in pleasure-blurred languor, but he twitches as Leonard nips him high up on the thigh then laves the bite with his tongue, relishing the texture of pliant skin over firm muscle. Jim’s other hand remains in Leonard’s hair, cupping the back of his head with trembling fingers.
Then Spock abruptly rearranges them, pulling and pushing Leonard like a sack of flour onto his back. He pins Leonard’s wrists above his head with one hand while hooking the other behind his knee and pushing it against his chest, nearly folding him in half. Leonard knows somewhere in his sex-hazed brain that he should protest, that he shouldn’t be so eager to spread his legs and let Spock just manhandle him into any shape he wants, but Spock is impossible to deny, implacable above him, hair hanging off his face and stuck to his forehead with sweat, watching every shift of Leonard’s expression with heated eyes as he pushes in again.
This time he brushes against something deep inside of Leonard; Leonard stutters out a curse and can’t keep himself from bucking up, opening up further to meet each thrust. That infuriating curl to his mouth is back and Leonard has to bite at it, pulling at Spock’s lip with his teeth as Spock keeps hitting that spot that makes Leonard arch. It’s sweet, so sweet, the intensity underscored by the rasp of pain as muscles protest, and there are expanding infinite vistas in the pleasure of it all.
Spock lets go of his knee once it’s evident that Leonard has absolutely no intention of going anywhere as long as Spock keeps moving just like that and simply lays his hands on Leonard’s-palm to palm, finger to finger-pressing them into the carpet above Leonard’s head, and kisses him.
His kiss is more leisurely now, deliberately mapping of the points of Leonard’s teeth and tracing his swollen lips, but it’s still messy and nasty with a drag of tongue up the plane of Leonard’s cheek, laying a wet, tickling stripe up to his ear as they surge together. Then Jim’s there as Spock pulls back. Jim’s face is still soft with orgasm as he leans in to kiss Leonard, sliding a hand down Leonard’s belly in between their bodies.
It’s too much, the sure touch of Jim’s hand and the run of his fingers down to where Spock is moving in that steady, hard rhythm, the hard rub of his thumb over the ridged head, the sticky slide of skin on skin as Jim croons filthy nothings against Leonard’s collarbone, Spock slipping his hands, those long, elegant hands over Leonard’s over-sensitive fingertips-drives Leonard over the edge, his orgasm clapping through him like thunder, leaving him shaken and gasping in the aftermath.
Spock must catch an echo of Leonard’s pleasure through their skin-to-skin contact and it seems to undo him completely, his face going slack and his rhythm breaking apart before he finally goes very still.
Long, long moments pass. Leonard comes down from spinning high on afterglow as Spock slowly disentangles himself, the both of them hissing slightly at the raw pull of chafed skin.
“Should’ve done this a long time ago,” Jim finally observes, the vibrations of his throat tickling on Leonard’s chest. He sounds sleepily satisfied. He still hasn’t let go of Leonard’s cock.
Leonard can’t help but think Jim is mostly right, but, “This is where things get weird,” he mutters. It’s the last gasp of lingering reservations that actually flew away days ago, sometime in between his argument with Chapel and his sitting at his desk, staring at it and remembering its hard surface unyielding against his back with a hard Vulcan unyielding at his front, but it needs to be said, because-because.
“Or they won’t.” A poke that misses his chest and lands in the vicinity of his armpit. “Because we’re awesome like that.” Then Jim amends, after some apparently serious thought, “Well, some people here more so than others.” That white, beautiful grin resurfaces. Leonard doesn’t have the heart to groan or roll his eyes or even give Jim a little slap upside the head, but he does snort laughter as Spock replies, “How chivalrous of you to exclude yourself from that number, captain.” Jim’s either been having an effect, or does Spock have powers of snark Leonard just never noticed before?
Jim makes a surprised, indignant noise. "You’ve been spending way too much time with Bones,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling as he pushes his way up and off to the bathroom.
~oOo~
"Yeah, I know this is old hat to you," Leonard says gloomily, staring out at the stark landscape. "Must be nice, being back on a desert planet."
"That would be incorrect," Spock tells him. "Vulcan was a desert planet, true, but its surface was mountainous and of high elevation. Here you can see-"
"Sand. Sand dunes."
"Yes."
It’s hot. Leonard has sand in his boots. He shrugs his shoulders irritably against the trickle of sweat that itches between the blades, hyper-aware of Spock’s stolid presence in very close proximity. Spock’s remained stubbornly by Leonard’s side from the moment they beamed down, and now he’s only inches away, concentrating on scanning their surroundings.
It’s more comforting than stifling.
Though they have to maintain a professional demeanor while on-shift, Leonard can’t help but watch the agile dance of Spock’s fingers on his tricorder. They’re just fingers, but watching Spock rub his thumb over a scuff on the plasteel surface makes his mind glaze over and his mouth go dry.
Hand-sex has ruined him forever, he absolutely knows that. He can never get enough of Jim because Jim kisses and fucks with single-minded dedication that no one sane can resist, those lush lips and half-lidded eyes and that ass an engraved invitation to sin. But Leonard also can’t look at Spock without wanting to go on his knees and test the texture of Spock’s fingertips with his lips-to watch those cool eyes darken, those thin lips tremble and part.
He drags his eyes to Spock’s face, and freezes at what he sees there.
Spock’s doing it on purpose. Because he knows it makes Leonard hard. Baiting him with complete plausible deniability, because to the untrained eye he just looks as composed as ever.
Fucking Vulcans.
"You getting any readings on that anomaly we detected, Spock?" Jim breaks in, squinting his eyes against the harsh, cinnamon-scented wind. There’s so little moisture on the planet that the sky’s a coppery silver instead of blue, and rounded mountains of sand extend as far as the eye can see. The planet’s supposed to be devoid of any life, but they’d picked up a blip on the southern hemisphere and beamed down to investigate.
“Third time’s the charm, right?” he adds with maniac cheer tinged with desperation. “The universe doesn’t run on coincidence all the time, it can’t.”
“Calm down, Jim,” Leonard tells him, dragging his gaze away from Spock. “You haven’t even groped anyone yet, so there’s still one pre-condition left before your karma kicks in.”
The sound swells in their ears then, a susurrus of sliding, grinding sand. They look to the north, and Leonard can’t think of anything more creative to say than, “Crap.”
“Ohhhh-kay,” Jim says, drawing out the word in a faint voice like he’s been punched in the gut. “What’re the odds that whatever’s coming our way will be cute and fluffy and bring scantily clad dancing girls to ply us with wine and song?”
Spock, without taking his eyes off the long, towering ridge in the sand that’s inexorably coming towards them at alarming speed, pulls out his communicator. “Enterprise,” he says very calmly. “Three to beam out.”
Scotty replies, crackling and choppy, “Hang on, sir, there’s some sort of interference-”
Great. Leonard's Starfleet recruiter had promised adventure and variety-and while Leonard fully believes in honesty in all things, he fervently wishes the recruiter had exaggerated just that once. Shelter in the cliffs is at least a quarter mile behind them, across a flat expanse of very soft, treacherous-looking sand.
“Enterprise, now.” An edge creeps into that cool tone.
The curving edge of the moving ridge rises up, up, and reveals a-
Whoa.
“Fascinating,” Spock observes.
“It’s a worm! A huge! Fucking! Worm!” Jim shouts into his own comm. “Get us the fuck out of here, Scotty!”
Scotty’s response is distorted with static. “Try’n to-‘ang on-teeth?”
“Yes, it fucking has teeth! Why do you need to know?”
"--rakkis--"
If Scotty’s saying what Leonard thinks he’s saying, Leonard is going to shove his tricorder up Scotty's ass so hard-
“I think it highly advisable to run,” Spock says conversationally.
They do.
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Spock/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy/Spock
Warnings: A tablespoon of snark, a teaspoon of schmoop, two cups of porn, mix well. Add crack to taste.
Recipient: JiM (jimpage363) Happy Holidays~
~oOo~
Leonard is finally allowed back into his own goddamn sickbay six days later.
He attempts to fire Chapel no less than three times, M'Benga once, but finally gives up when Chapel corners him and gives him the chewing out of his life. He calls her Judas, she calls him a stubborn old goat who was highly contagious and at risk for infecting the entire crew. Grim sulking only results in another tongue-lashing, so Leonard just lets her have her head and concentrates on recovery, a new-found, healthy fear-tinged respect for his blonde nurse beating in his chest. Now that he’s certified with a clean bill of health and back behind his desk, she’s returned to her usual serene self, but there’s no way to hide the hypospray-happy fiend lurking at the back of her innocently wide eyes. That particular cat is out of the proverbial bag.
He isn’t ever going to say as much, but he’s damn proud of her.
~oOo~
He should've known something was up after Jim comms him back immediately after Leonard shoots him an intranet message, exploring the options for putting Chapel and M'Benga up for a commendation-for developing a medication counteracting the Vulcan strain of the common cold-and tells him, "Why don't you come to the, haha, 'Lovenasium' and we'll...ah, talk about it?" complete with an irritated, "Captain, that is not appropriate," heard from Spock in the background.
'Lovenasium'-Is that even a word?-the memory and promise of Spock's slick mouth and Jim's good-humored affection, all combine and result in his presence outside Jim's quarters in less than fifteen minutes. He's more than a little nervous. He doesn’t remember much from his illness beyond shifting impressions and the uncomfortable feeling that perhaps he'd said a little more in his delirium than he should’ve. Just exactly what that was is lost in hazy murk, and he half-expects Jim and Spock to let the entire thing drop into the realm of Let’s not talk about it out of awkwardness.
But when the door opens, Jim just says, "Told you it’d work, Spock," before dragging him inside, shit-eating grin nearly splitting his face in two.
Now it's 2100 hours, and Spock is blowing him in the captain's quarters. Once again Leonard's dick has absolutely no problems with this and is, in fact, making a note in its personal calendar to make this happen as often as fucking possible. Eating and sleeping schedules are now completely optional.
They haven’t even made it to the bed. Leonard’s pretty much naked, and they’re pretty much not. He’s okay with this. The reason for all this okay is kneeling in front of him, putting his talented mouth to spectacular use and dissolving all of Leonard’s thoughts and protests into white, sharp static. Jim’s pressed up behind him, his uniform cool against Leonard’s bare skin, Jim mouthing hot, searing kisses over the nape of his neck and into the hollow behind his ear, and his hands are everywhere, roving down the planes of Leonard's chest, pinching a nipple here, poking a finger into his bellybutton there, combing through the trail of coarse hairs that arrows down his lower belly towards where Spock is making slick, sucking noises, dark lashes framing the harsh angles of his cheekbones.
Leonard makes a feral, lost sound and Jim laughs huskily into his ear, "Trains up nice, doesn't he?" Leonard says something that’s meant to be Holy hell yes but comes out more as "Hhhrgaaaaaa" as Spock, not taking too kindly to Jim's assessment, lashes his tongue hard under the head of Leonard's cock. Leonard’s knees buckle, and they ride him down onto the utilitarian gray carpet. Spock lets go with a pop, replacing his mouth with his hand, and jacks it slowly, his mouth pushing against Leonard's insistently enough-greedily enough that Leonard can’t scrape enough brain cells together to whine at the loss of the rough tongue on his cock over the sensation of it invading his mouth and sliding along the line of his teeth.
He tastes himself on Spock's tongue, salt underlaid by musk, and his groan is paralleled by Jim's as Jim drags his lips all over Leonard's temple and licks at the sweat trickling down Leonard's cheek. Jim’s hands knead double handfuls of Leonard’s chest almost to the point of pain and Leonard hisses, unable to still his own on Jim's tense thighs, digging in with his nails and wrinkling the thin synthetic material of his uniform pants.
Jim is firm and hard up against his backside, his hips surging, sensual in its involuntary movements and how deceptively strong Jim is, Leonard thinks as he helplessly leans his full weight back against Jim, warring with Spock as Spock pushes further, more eagerly into his mouth, the feel of it sending a bloom of heat down his chest into his groin. Spock's scent-something spicy and dark, reminiscent of patchtouli-flickers on the edges of his awareness, somehow foreign in contrast to Jim’s soap and cologne.
Leonard manages to pry a hand off Jim's thigh to comb through the thick silk of Spock's hair. At another time he might’ve been amused by the mess he makes of it, but now the tousled cowlicks and the dangerous heat in Spock's eyes-god, had Leonard ever believed Spock could look so unguarded?-serves to make the breathless white haze of lust spiral higher into something like pain at the center of his brain, and he yanks Spock back into another tearing, savage kiss that tastes of copper.
Jim, he notes distantly and without surprise, is a talker. Words tumble out of his mouth without thought or effort: moans on the inhale, dirty, filthy words and observations and orders on the exhale, Yeah do that harder, twist your hand a little more, he likes it to Spock and You like that, huh? So fucking sexy to him, as Jim palms one rough and heavy hand down the flat of Leonard's abdomen and grips him around the base, moving out of synch with Spock's more deliberate and unhurried strokes. The other hand cups Leonard’s face and pulls him away from Spock.
Leonard leans harder against him, turning his head to trade Spock’s mouth for Jim's. Though the angle is bad, it’s tenderer, gentler, and it doesn’t end so much as transitions, Jim rubbing along Leonard’s swollen lower lip and just nuzzling his nose against Leonard's jawline and then whispering into his ear, "You're going to remember our hands on you, you all sweaty and hot and sexy like this, next time you visit the bridge and you're gonna get so hard remembering-" Leonard pants a curse because it’s true, dammit, it's so good and he can’t remember why he hasn’t agreed to do this before-
"You are seriously impairing his future efficiency," Spock reproves, the flatness of his tone marred by the hoarseness of his voice, just as Leonard twists his hips up into those relentless hands and Jim’s relentless words, and comes hard enough to nearly black out.
He grows aware of hands pulling at his legs (Spock) and a body trying to slide out from under him (Jim) and a distinct impression that there’s an unspoken disagreement going on. He struggles to open his eyes because if Jim is doing the eyebrow, he sure as hell doesn’t want to miss it, before Jim leans over Leonard and puts an end to all Vulcan non-verbal protest with a low laugh and a kiss that turns into a growl. Leonard can feel the flex of Spock's chest as he moves his head, and Leonard is pretty sure by the sudden hiss that Spock’s just bitten Jim hard on the neck.
"I don't have my dermal regenerator with me, so do me a favor," he mumbles in the vicinity of Spock's collarbone.
They look down at him, then move away from each other. Leonard realizes that he’s nearly lying on his back now, his legs wrapped around Spock's hips. They’re snugged together in a very interesting way, and he suddenly has a pretty good idea what the disagreement was about. He gets confirmation when he flexes his hips experimentally; Spock draws in a sharp breath and raises both eyebrows at him, that sweet, smoldering expression back on his face.
"Never thought you’d ever look like that," Leonard says softly, and Spock blinks. “You know, emotional.”
“You read entirely too much into my facial expressions, Doct-Leonard,” Spock replies, instantly schooling his face back into some semblance of order, apparently not liking his lapses pointed out to him.
Jim laughs. He slides a hand down Leonard's cheek as if memorizing the texture, then rubs a sticky thumb against Leonard's bottom lip. Leonard laps at it, curling his tongue around the digit, tasting himself salty and pungent on Jim’s skin and watching Jim’s pupils blow wide. Jim swallows with a click in his dry throat. “What the hell, Bones, you've been holding out on me," he complains, his voice uneven.
“You have no idea, kid,” Leonard replies. It’s more truth than sarcasm and he turns his cheek to rub against the thick hardness still trapped in Jim's pants, the lust blunted by his orgasm flaring again at the base of his diaphragm and shortening his breath. He turns over, still tangled with Spock, who moves just enough to work Leonard's pants and underwear the rest of the way off past his boots, and Spock runs shaking, hot hands over the small of Leonard's back and dips into the curve of his waist as Leonard unzips Jim's pants enough to pull him out.
A sweet flush burns its way up Jim’s neck and across the bridge of his cheekbones as he watches Leonard with glazed eyes. "Best friends shouldn't have secrets from each other," he manages hoarsely before Leonard swirls his tongue around the head, tasting the salt sweet musk there, and there’s a hollow thump as Jim’s elbows give out and he lands flat against the rough carpet. His knees go up, bracketing Leonard’s head, and both hands find their way into Leonard's hair, tensing as Leonard works his tongue around the ridge of the head and swallows his way down to the base in tiny increments.
Spock shifts but Leonard can’t give much thought to what Spock’s doing, his world narrowed to the length pulsing hot in his mouth and bumping against the back of his throat, to the tiny, sobbing noises Jim makes and the tense upward hitches of his hips under Leonard's hands as he curls his tongue just so. But then hands pull his hips back and up and he can’t help the high noise that shocks out of him as a hot tongue slides down, down.
Shivery slick, little puffs of breath chilling wet skin, and he pulls off Jim and pants against the base of Jim's cock, nose buried into the wiry hairs there, mind protesting, Illogical! That's so- involuntary, broken noises shocking out of him with every swipe of rough tongue.
Now fingers are rubbing against him, rubbing and then dipping in, seemingly almost by accident but actually deliberately teasing. He hitches his hips mindlessly higher into that invading tongue and those invading fingers, torn between needing to squirm away at the weirdness of it but also needing more, Jim’s cock completely forgotten and his impossibly hard once again.
Jim’s hands tighten in Leonard’s hair. "Spock, right now I think you're seriously impairing his efficiency," he rasps, hard frustration edging his tone.
A huff of air against wet skin that’s probably laughter. Leonard shivers. Then his mouth opens, silent curses catching in his throat as two fingers, slick with something gently probe, then push in. It’s been a good long time since anyone or anything’s gone exploring down there, and Leonard chokes as they twist.
“Always cockblocked by pushy aliens," Jim adds with woeful sarcasm. “I’m starting to think it’s a conspiracy.” But his complaint is belied by his gentle touch as he combs through Leonard’s hair and traces the whorls of his ears. Leonard buries his face into Jim’s stomach and tries to remember how to breathe.
Then hands return to his his hips, holding him in place; a blunt push now, inch by agonizing inch, and he’s stretched, the sensation burning through him. He hisses, struggling to relax.
“Doct-Leonard, is this-”
“So help me, if you ask me if this is satisfactory, I will fucking kick you,” Leonard growls, shooting a glare over his shoulder.
A pause. “Very well.”
He’s only dimly aware of Jim’s low chuckle at that over the wild rush of blood pounding in his ears as Spock withdraws, then snaps his hips forward, a movement as controlled and deliberate as anything else Spock does, and that observation drives him a little crazy as he pushes himself up onto his elbows, arching his back into those soul-shaking thrusts.
“Come on,” Jim whispers, and Leonard is half-pulled, half-shoved forward and then he and Jim are kissing, really kissing for the first time, Jim licking into his mouth with sweet, single-minded concentration, tongue curling with his as they move together with each relentless push of Spock’s hips. All coherency is gone in the intensity, Leonard caught between the two: Spock driving his way into him, hunched over Leonard’s back and all pretense at aloofness gone, scrubbing his face against the flat of Leonard’s shoulder; Jim in front, sucking at Leonard’s lips and tongue until they’re raw.
He retains enough presence of mind to notice that Jim is also making unashamed whines of desperation, blinking hard over wide, too pretty eyes that flutter shut as Leonard pries Jim’s hand off his cock and replaces it with his own. “God, Bones,” Jim nearly sobs, falling back again, hips thrusting up into Leonard’s hand, pleas tumbling from those swollen lips and his hands clutching at Leonard’s shoulders hard enough to bruise. “Goddamnit,” he curses as Leonard strokes him hard in time to Spock’s thrusts, then bends down and licks him hard from base to tip.
“That’s my word,” Leonard tells him, the flippant remark jerked out of him at a thrust that makes sparks explode in the darkness behind his eyes. Jim only writhes, reduced to incoherency and rounded vowels that clearly mean don’t care and please. Leonard hooks his arms over Jim’s trembling thighs and takes mercy, letting the hard length slide into his mouth and bump the back of his throat. He’s out of practice, but it hardly needs finesse-just lick and tongue and breathe and swallow, lapping at the viscous, salty fluid pooled at the tip.
Pleasure is splintering through him, Spock rocking balls-deep inside of him, harsh pants tickling across his back and with hard, relentlessly oral little nips at his shoulder like he can’t help himself. Jim squirms and curses as each thrust impales Leonard deeper onto him; his hands are back in Leonard’s hair, this time clutching hard enough to hurt but Leonard’s beyond caring, riding high on a tidal wave of endorphins, each moan pulled out of Jim and each shaky breath from Spock nearly breaking Leonard in half.
Jim comes first, the only warning in the tenseness of his thighs, the spasm of his fists in Leonard’s hair, the throb of his cock in Leonard’s mouth, curses tumbling from that sensual mouth-creative curses that Leonard’s never heard before and never thought possible. Leonard’s language is salty but with mileage placed on a few tried and true words, but Jim is a true connoisseur of obscenities. It’s not restricted to Standard, either; Leonard thinks he detects other Earth languages-Japanese, Spanish-as well as Klingon, Romulan, and even Vulcan, in the torrent of filth that slips over Jim’s tongue.
Spock speaks in his ear, like he knows what Leonard’s thinking: “The result of a misapplied education.” He sounds breathless but amused.
Jim throws an arm over his face, his half-mumbled protest, “That’s no way to talk to your captain,” lost in pleasure-blurred languor, but he twitches as Leonard nips him high up on the thigh then laves the bite with his tongue, relishing the texture of pliant skin over firm muscle. Jim’s other hand remains in Leonard’s hair, cupping the back of his head with trembling fingers.
Then Spock abruptly rearranges them, pulling and pushing Leonard like a sack of flour onto his back. He pins Leonard’s wrists above his head with one hand while hooking the other behind his knee and pushing it against his chest, nearly folding him in half. Leonard knows somewhere in his sex-hazed brain that he should protest, that he shouldn’t be so eager to spread his legs and let Spock just manhandle him into any shape he wants, but Spock is impossible to deny, implacable above him, hair hanging off his face and stuck to his forehead with sweat, watching every shift of Leonard’s expression with heated eyes as he pushes in again.
This time he brushes against something deep inside of Leonard; Leonard stutters out a curse and can’t keep himself from bucking up, opening up further to meet each thrust. That infuriating curl to his mouth is back and Leonard has to bite at it, pulling at Spock’s lip with his teeth as Spock keeps hitting that spot that makes Leonard arch. It’s sweet, so sweet, the intensity underscored by the rasp of pain as muscles protest, and there are expanding infinite vistas in the pleasure of it all.
Spock lets go of his knee once it’s evident that Leonard has absolutely no intention of going anywhere as long as Spock keeps moving just like that and simply lays his hands on Leonard’s-palm to palm, finger to finger-pressing them into the carpet above Leonard’s head, and kisses him.
His kiss is more leisurely now, deliberately mapping of the points of Leonard’s teeth and tracing his swollen lips, but it’s still messy and nasty with a drag of tongue up the plane of Leonard’s cheek, laying a wet, tickling stripe up to his ear as they surge together. Then Jim’s there as Spock pulls back. Jim’s face is still soft with orgasm as he leans in to kiss Leonard, sliding a hand down Leonard’s belly in between their bodies.
It’s too much, the sure touch of Jim’s hand and the run of his fingers down to where Spock is moving in that steady, hard rhythm, the hard rub of his thumb over the ridged head, the sticky slide of skin on skin as Jim croons filthy nothings against Leonard’s collarbone, Spock slipping his hands, those long, elegant hands over Leonard’s over-sensitive fingertips-drives Leonard over the edge, his orgasm clapping through him like thunder, leaving him shaken and gasping in the aftermath.
Spock must catch an echo of Leonard’s pleasure through their skin-to-skin contact and it seems to undo him completely, his face going slack and his rhythm breaking apart before he finally goes very still.
Long, long moments pass. Leonard comes down from spinning high on afterglow as Spock slowly disentangles himself, the both of them hissing slightly at the raw pull of chafed skin.
“Should’ve done this a long time ago,” Jim finally observes, the vibrations of his throat tickling on Leonard’s chest. He sounds sleepily satisfied. He still hasn’t let go of Leonard’s cock.
Leonard can’t help but think Jim is mostly right, but, “This is where things get weird,” he mutters. It’s the last gasp of lingering reservations that actually flew away days ago, sometime in between his argument with Chapel and his sitting at his desk, staring at it and remembering its hard surface unyielding against his back with a hard Vulcan unyielding at his front, but it needs to be said, because-because.
“Or they won’t.” A poke that misses his chest and lands in the vicinity of his armpit. “Because we’re awesome like that.” Then Jim amends, after some apparently serious thought, “Well, some people here more so than others.” That white, beautiful grin resurfaces. Leonard doesn’t have the heart to groan or roll his eyes or even give Jim a little slap upside the head, but he does snort laughter as Spock replies, “How chivalrous of you to exclude yourself from that number, captain.” Jim’s either been having an effect, or does Spock have powers of snark Leonard just never noticed before?
Jim makes a surprised, indignant noise. "You’ve been spending way too much time with Bones,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling as he pushes his way up and off to the bathroom.
~oOo~
"Yeah, I know this is old hat to you," Leonard says gloomily, staring out at the stark landscape. "Must be nice, being back on a desert planet."
"That would be incorrect," Spock tells him. "Vulcan was a desert planet, true, but its surface was mountainous and of high elevation. Here you can see-"
"Sand. Sand dunes."
"Yes."
It’s hot. Leonard has sand in his boots. He shrugs his shoulders irritably against the trickle of sweat that itches between the blades, hyper-aware of Spock’s stolid presence in very close proximity. Spock’s remained stubbornly by Leonard’s side from the moment they beamed down, and now he’s only inches away, concentrating on scanning their surroundings.
It’s more comforting than stifling.
Though they have to maintain a professional demeanor while on-shift, Leonard can’t help but watch the agile dance of Spock’s fingers on his tricorder. They’re just fingers, but watching Spock rub his thumb over a scuff on the plasteel surface makes his mind glaze over and his mouth go dry.
Hand-sex has ruined him forever, he absolutely knows that. He can never get enough of Jim because Jim kisses and fucks with single-minded dedication that no one sane can resist, those lush lips and half-lidded eyes and that ass an engraved invitation to sin. But Leonard also can’t look at Spock without wanting to go on his knees and test the texture of Spock’s fingertips with his lips-to watch those cool eyes darken, those thin lips tremble and part.
He drags his eyes to Spock’s face, and freezes at what he sees there.
Spock’s doing it on purpose. Because he knows it makes Leonard hard. Baiting him with complete plausible deniability, because to the untrained eye he just looks as composed as ever.
Fucking Vulcans.
"You getting any readings on that anomaly we detected, Spock?" Jim breaks in, squinting his eyes against the harsh, cinnamon-scented wind. There’s so little moisture on the planet that the sky’s a coppery silver instead of blue, and rounded mountains of sand extend as far as the eye can see. The planet’s supposed to be devoid of any life, but they’d picked up a blip on the southern hemisphere and beamed down to investigate.
“Third time’s the charm, right?” he adds with maniac cheer tinged with desperation. “The universe doesn’t run on coincidence all the time, it can’t.”
“Calm down, Jim,” Leonard tells him, dragging his gaze away from Spock. “You haven’t even groped anyone yet, so there’s still one pre-condition left before your karma kicks in.”
The sound swells in their ears then, a susurrus of sliding, grinding sand. They look to the north, and Leonard can’t think of anything more creative to say than, “Crap.”
“Ohhhh-kay,” Jim says, drawing out the word in a faint voice like he’s been punched in the gut. “What’re the odds that whatever’s coming our way will be cute and fluffy and bring scantily clad dancing girls to ply us with wine and song?”
Spock, without taking his eyes off the long, towering ridge in the sand that’s inexorably coming towards them at alarming speed, pulls out his communicator. “Enterprise,” he says very calmly. “Three to beam out.”
Scotty replies, crackling and choppy, “Hang on, sir, there’s some sort of interference-”
Great. Leonard's Starfleet recruiter had promised adventure and variety-and while Leonard fully believes in honesty in all things, he fervently wishes the recruiter had exaggerated just that once. Shelter in the cliffs is at least a quarter mile behind them, across a flat expanse of very soft, treacherous-looking sand.
“Enterprise, now.” An edge creeps into that cool tone.
The curving edge of the moving ridge rises up, up, and reveals a-
Whoa.
“Fascinating,” Spock observes.
“It’s a worm! A huge! Fucking! Worm!” Jim shouts into his own comm. “Get us the fuck out of here, Scotty!”
Scotty’s response is distorted with static. “Try’n to-‘ang on-teeth?”
“Yes, it fucking has teeth! Why do you need to know?”
"--rakkis--"
If Scotty’s saying what Leonard thinks he’s saying, Leonard is going to shove his tricorder up Scotty's ass so hard-
“I think it highly advisable to run,” Spock says conversationally.
They do.