fic: The Pants (NC-17)
Title: The Pants
Author: witblogi
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: BJ
Word Count: ?
Summary: There are leather pants, you need a summary?
A/N: Written for the jim_and_bones flash challenge of first, the prompt i stole was Leather
The Pants
They gleam in the low light of the dressing room. He shifts minutely and they slide along with him, molding to his legs, his ass in an almost obscene way. He turns to observe the effect, heart beating fast in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, in anticipation of doing something new, something dangerous. He pushes the curtain back before he has a chance to change his mind and swipes his credit chip through the reader in payment.
Striding out into the real light of day feels like coming out into the future, into potential. Someone’s head cranes as they walk past him, an unreadable expression on their face.
Reality slams into focus, he is Leonard McCoy, twenty eight, divorced, unemployed, unwashed and wearing goddamned leather pants. He hurries back into the store to put his safe old regular trousers back on and swears off impulsive decisions and trying to reinvent himself. He will always be the same Leonard McCoy, pants or no.
He can’t return the pants however, something holding him back from punching in his mistake and regaining the few credits he had left. It was pride, lodged in his throat, unable to admit one more defeat in a mounting stack of others. So he folds them carefully, shoves them into the duffle bag with all his other shit and promptly forgets that they ever existed.
They wait, those pants, through hitched rides and one memorable trip on a shuttle, through being slammed around in lockers and finally being unpacked and fondled briefly before being shoved into the bottom of a wardrobe and shut into darkness.
It’s months before they see the light of day again, and it’s not even day, it’s night and Leonard is hesitantly unfolding them with apprehension. It’s just going out for a drink in a hazy bar with a friend, he doesn’t want to wear his reds and his other pants are excruciatingly soiled having been caught in an emergency at the hospital just after getting changed to head back to his dorm. He shudders at the mere thought of the smell that those trousers were giving off when he finally shucked them.
That’s it then, he promised Jim he’d meet him and all he had were the leather pants. It’s not like Jim could really mock him for them, he wore pants tight enough himself and that damn leather jacket that had definitely seen better days still turned up now and then...He unbuttoned the pants and slithered into them, leather still butter soft, encasing his calves, thighs, sinfully comfortable.
He checks the time and curses, throwing on a green tunic and grabbing his jacket, hustling out the door before he even has a moment to hesitate, to look in the mirror and fuss with how he looks or worry about how the pants would appear.
He keeps his head down as he crosses campus and only when he merges into the regular bustle of the night in the city does he look up unafraid to meet anyone he might know. He doesn’t have to worry however, most everyone slides right past him without a look back and he begins to feel like perhaps he had over reacted all those months ago.
The bar is packed when he gets there, and it takes him a few moments to locate Jim, slumped near the back in his own booth. He’s not hitting on anyone, amazingly enough, when the kid isn’t looking for attention, isn’t shining like a beacon he can get away with blending into the crowd well enough.
Jim hasn’t spotted him yet, so he makes his way over, seeing as he gets a little closer Jim’s already gotten him a beer. He relaxes as he walks, hands loosely curled by his sides, appreciating the comfort of the pants anew.
When Jim finally does look up after having taken a swig from his bottle his eyes drop to Leonard’s pants and his beer promptly comes back out of his mouth, dousing the table in front of him, dripping from his lips nose and chin.
“You alright kid?” Leonard grabs a wad of napkins from the adjacent booth and hands them to Jim, already wiping his face with the back of his wrist. He looks up again as Leonard slides into the booth and makes a funny noise in the back of his throat.
“Shit, Bones.” He gasps into the napkins and glares when Leonard just raises one eyebrow at him in question. “Where the fuck did you get leather pants?”
“What? I’ve always had them.” Not strictly a lie, but Jim didn’t need to know that, especially not if it made him look at Leonard with eyes that burned intensely. He’d seen that look before, it’d always been directed at petite blondes, tall red heads, curvy brunettes, women, whatever flavor Jim desired. Being on the receiving end of it was unexpectedly...intriguing. He shifted in his seat, a heat creeping up the back of his neck.
“And you just decided now was the time to whip’em out?”
“All my other pants were unavailable.” Leonard shrugs casually, slouching in his seat, and letting his knee jostle Jim’s under the table. He smiles around the lip of his beer when Jim startles.
“Bones,” It was a warning, Jim’s eyes getting darker by the moment, fingers white in their grip of the table top.
“Jim?”
“This changes things.” Leonard watches Jim’s chest as he breathes, too fast for sitting down, the noise from around them fades into a mute roar in his ears, “In about ten seconds, I am going to be under the table and in those leather pants, so if you object you’d better say so now.” Jim’s hands close over the caps of his knees and Leonard swallows hard. The swing in their friendship has come suddenly, just as fast as it had blossomed initially. Jim was a zero to sixty kind of guy, and Leonard? He was ready for some speed.
He nods once, unable to express very much more than that, but it doesn’t matter Jim is true to his word and slithers beneath their table top and between his thighs almost immediately. Hands slightly cool make him jump as they slide over his hips up under his tunic gaining warmth at an alarming rate, while Jim’s face nuzzles into the newly and ever so interested bulge at his crotch.
Leonard doesn’t know what to do with his hands and tries to find some natural position for them as Jim’s hot breath fans across the zipper and his hips are suddenly gripped and he’s pulled into a further slouch, leather sliding across the vinyl booth with a squeak.
The button and zip are undone at some point but Leonard is too busy trying to look inconspicuous to notice - that is until Jim is mouthing the tip of his dick through the thin cotton of his underwear, saliva soaking through almost immediately. He stifles a groan as the tip of Jim’s tongue, pointy and evil tries to work its way into the dip at the tip despite the suddenly rough sodden cloth blocking its way.
He squirms and Jim gets the hint, pulling the elastic waist down to free his aching cock, reaching his hand the rest of the way to cup his balls. His other hand comes up, giving Leonard’s dick a quick tug, already wet from Jim’s earlier attentions. He trails his tongue up the underside flattening it as he reaches the head to give a broad swipe. Leonard’s hands are now the ones clenched on the table while Jim rolls his balls and gives a huffed chuckle across wet sensitive skin.
Then he’s choking back a moan as Jim’s mouth opens and he’s enveloped completely in wet heat. It feels so good, he’d almost forgotten the swirling tension in his abdomen, thickness in his own throat, heat in his face. He barely had the wherewithal not to throw his head back as Jim began to suck, his free hand soothing along Leonard’s tense thighs. He licks his lips and chances a look down, but it’s the exact wrong thing to do, seeing Jim looking back at him, framed by his leather clad thighs, lips parted obscenely by his cock, eyes impossibly blue.
His hips buck uncontrollably, but Jim just swallows around it, and sucks harder ever harder as his head begins to bob in Leonard’s lap. Leonard doesn’t know how it’s possible no one has noticed them yet, he scrabbles to get his hands under the table pretenses be damned to cup the back of Jim’s neck and grip his shoulder hard.
The hand on his balls hasn’t let up, shifting and rolling in delicious patterns, but now questing fingers roam in behind, exploring the sensitive skin hidden there. Leonard bites on a curse, but he knows it’s no use, his control is unravelling embarrassingly quickly, and he tightens his fingers in the soft hairs at the base of Jim’s neck in warning.
Jim merely hums in some kind of torturous agreement and slides his lips back to the head, tonguing the sensitive ridge, and thrusting two fingertips up in a hard massage of his perineum. It only takes two more small bobs of Jim’s head and Leonard is coming, thighs bunching upward, ass clenching in ridiculous leather pants while he spurts helplessly into Jim’s still hungrily sucking mouth.
When he opens his eyes again he’s melted bonelessly half way down the booth, panting and sticky. Jim is carefully tucking him away into uncomfortable underwear and hot leather. When they both finally rise up properly, Jim is sitting on Leonard’s side of the booth and grinning smugly, despite his equally flushed and debauched look.
“So.” Leonard tries, reaching out with one shaking hand to his beer. Jim grabs the other and pulls it beneath the table to feel the hard bulge in his own pants.
“So what do you say we get out of here and see what else those pants can do?”
Leonard takes a grateful gulp of his drink and squeezes his agreement, maybe he should have given the leather a chance earlier.
Author: witblogi
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: BJ
Word Count: ?
Summary: There are leather pants, you need a summary?
A/N: Written for the jim_and_bones flash challenge of first, the prompt i stole was Leather
The Pants
They gleam in the low light of the dressing room. He shifts minutely and they slide along with him, molding to his legs, his ass in an almost obscene way. He turns to observe the effect, heart beating fast in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, in anticipation of doing something new, something dangerous. He pushes the curtain back before he has a chance to change his mind and swipes his credit chip through the reader in payment.
Striding out into the real light of day feels like coming out into the future, into potential. Someone’s head cranes as they walk past him, an unreadable expression on their face.
Reality slams into focus, he is Leonard McCoy, twenty eight, divorced, unemployed, unwashed and wearing goddamned leather pants. He hurries back into the store to put his safe old regular trousers back on and swears off impulsive decisions and trying to reinvent himself. He will always be the same Leonard McCoy, pants or no.
He can’t return the pants however, something holding him back from punching in his mistake and regaining the few credits he had left. It was pride, lodged in his throat, unable to admit one more defeat in a mounting stack of others. So he folds them carefully, shoves them into the duffle bag with all his other shit and promptly forgets that they ever existed.
They wait, those pants, through hitched rides and one memorable trip on a shuttle, through being slammed around in lockers and finally being unpacked and fondled briefly before being shoved into the bottom of a wardrobe and shut into darkness.
It’s months before they see the light of day again, and it’s not even day, it’s night and Leonard is hesitantly unfolding them with apprehension. It’s just going out for a drink in a hazy bar with a friend, he doesn’t want to wear his reds and his other pants are excruciatingly soiled having been caught in an emergency at the hospital just after getting changed to head back to his dorm. He shudders at the mere thought of the smell that those trousers were giving off when he finally shucked them.
That’s it then, he promised Jim he’d meet him and all he had were the leather pants. It’s not like Jim could really mock him for them, he wore pants tight enough himself and that damn leather jacket that had definitely seen better days still turned up now and then...He unbuttoned the pants and slithered into them, leather still butter soft, encasing his calves, thighs, sinfully comfortable.
He checks the time and curses, throwing on a green tunic and grabbing his jacket, hustling out the door before he even has a moment to hesitate, to look in the mirror and fuss with how he looks or worry about how the pants would appear.
He keeps his head down as he crosses campus and only when he merges into the regular bustle of the night in the city does he look up unafraid to meet anyone he might know. He doesn’t have to worry however, most everyone slides right past him without a look back and he begins to feel like perhaps he had over reacted all those months ago.
The bar is packed when he gets there, and it takes him a few moments to locate Jim, slumped near the back in his own booth. He’s not hitting on anyone, amazingly enough, when the kid isn’t looking for attention, isn’t shining like a beacon he can get away with blending into the crowd well enough.
Jim hasn’t spotted him yet, so he makes his way over, seeing as he gets a little closer Jim’s already gotten him a beer. He relaxes as he walks, hands loosely curled by his sides, appreciating the comfort of the pants anew.
When Jim finally does look up after having taken a swig from his bottle his eyes drop to Leonard’s pants and his beer promptly comes back out of his mouth, dousing the table in front of him, dripping from his lips nose and chin.
“You alright kid?” Leonard grabs a wad of napkins from the adjacent booth and hands them to Jim, already wiping his face with the back of his wrist. He looks up again as Leonard slides into the booth and makes a funny noise in the back of his throat.
“Shit, Bones.” He gasps into the napkins and glares when Leonard just raises one eyebrow at him in question. “Where the fuck did you get leather pants?”
“What? I’ve always had them.” Not strictly a lie, but Jim didn’t need to know that, especially not if it made him look at Leonard with eyes that burned intensely. He’d seen that look before, it’d always been directed at petite blondes, tall red heads, curvy brunettes, women, whatever flavor Jim desired. Being on the receiving end of it was unexpectedly...intriguing. He shifted in his seat, a heat creeping up the back of his neck.
“And you just decided now was the time to whip’em out?”
“All my other pants were unavailable.” Leonard shrugs casually, slouching in his seat, and letting his knee jostle Jim’s under the table. He smiles around the lip of his beer when Jim startles.
“Bones,” It was a warning, Jim’s eyes getting darker by the moment, fingers white in their grip of the table top.
“Jim?”
“This changes things.” Leonard watches Jim’s chest as he breathes, too fast for sitting down, the noise from around them fades into a mute roar in his ears, “In about ten seconds, I am going to be under the table and in those leather pants, so if you object you’d better say so now.” Jim’s hands close over the caps of his knees and Leonard swallows hard. The swing in their friendship has come suddenly, just as fast as it had blossomed initially. Jim was a zero to sixty kind of guy, and Leonard? He was ready for some speed.
He nods once, unable to express very much more than that, but it doesn’t matter Jim is true to his word and slithers beneath their table top and between his thighs almost immediately. Hands slightly cool make him jump as they slide over his hips up under his tunic gaining warmth at an alarming rate, while Jim’s face nuzzles into the newly and ever so interested bulge at his crotch.
Leonard doesn’t know what to do with his hands and tries to find some natural position for them as Jim’s hot breath fans across the zipper and his hips are suddenly gripped and he’s pulled into a further slouch, leather sliding across the vinyl booth with a squeak.
The button and zip are undone at some point but Leonard is too busy trying to look inconspicuous to notice - that is until Jim is mouthing the tip of his dick through the thin cotton of his underwear, saliva soaking through almost immediately. He stifles a groan as the tip of Jim’s tongue, pointy and evil tries to work its way into the dip at the tip despite the suddenly rough sodden cloth blocking its way.
He squirms and Jim gets the hint, pulling the elastic waist down to free his aching cock, reaching his hand the rest of the way to cup his balls. His other hand comes up, giving Leonard’s dick a quick tug, already wet from Jim’s earlier attentions. He trails his tongue up the underside flattening it as he reaches the head to give a broad swipe. Leonard’s hands are now the ones clenched on the table while Jim rolls his balls and gives a huffed chuckle across wet sensitive skin.
Then he’s choking back a moan as Jim’s mouth opens and he’s enveloped completely in wet heat. It feels so good, he’d almost forgotten the swirling tension in his abdomen, thickness in his own throat, heat in his face. He barely had the wherewithal not to throw his head back as Jim began to suck, his free hand soothing along Leonard’s tense thighs. He licks his lips and chances a look down, but it’s the exact wrong thing to do, seeing Jim looking back at him, framed by his leather clad thighs, lips parted obscenely by his cock, eyes impossibly blue.
His hips buck uncontrollably, but Jim just swallows around it, and sucks harder ever harder as his head begins to bob in Leonard’s lap. Leonard doesn’t know how it’s possible no one has noticed them yet, he scrabbles to get his hands under the table pretenses be damned to cup the back of Jim’s neck and grip his shoulder hard.
The hand on his balls hasn’t let up, shifting and rolling in delicious patterns, but now questing fingers roam in behind, exploring the sensitive skin hidden there. Leonard bites on a curse, but he knows it’s no use, his control is unravelling embarrassingly quickly, and he tightens his fingers in the soft hairs at the base of Jim’s neck in warning.
Jim merely hums in some kind of torturous agreement and slides his lips back to the head, tonguing the sensitive ridge, and thrusting two fingertips up in a hard massage of his perineum. It only takes two more small bobs of Jim’s head and Leonard is coming, thighs bunching upward, ass clenching in ridiculous leather pants while he spurts helplessly into Jim’s still hungrily sucking mouth.
When he opens his eyes again he’s melted bonelessly half way down the booth, panting and sticky. Jim is carefully tucking him away into uncomfortable underwear and hot leather. When they both finally rise up properly, Jim is sitting on Leonard’s side of the booth and grinning smugly, despite his equally flushed and debauched look.
“So.” Leonard tries, reaching out with one shaking hand to his beer. Jim grabs the other and pulls it beneath the table to feel the hard bulge in his own pants.
“So what do you say we get out of here and see what else those pants can do?”
Leonard takes a grateful gulp of his drink and squeezes his agreement, maybe he should have given the leather a chance earlier.