FIC: Taste for Human
Title: Taste for Human
Rating: Adult
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Warning: rentboy!Kirk, no plot, unfulfilling sex
Beta: pfft, no
Written for this prompt. Since there wasn't a lot to go on, I just wrote it however I felt like writing it. This isn't very good (I am very certain that there is a rentboy!Kirk fics somewhere out there that are actually really hot) and it isn't very giggly sex either - it's damn hard to do giggly sex when there's shame involved. I'm just trying to fill as many prompts in part 2 of the kink meme before the comments reach 10000 - is that a bad goal to be setting?
He runs a tongue along his upper left teeth, checking for damage. Nothing but a slight tang of metal. His appointment, date, whoever, is still standing to the side casting a dark shadow across his legs. Jim glances up and winces at the sudden flash across his irises from the flood lights nearby.
'You okay there?'
He shrugs and groaning, rolling himself back onto his feet, his hands sliding along the brick wall as the world rocks slowly to stillness. 'You honestly care?' He says weakly. The weeks catch up with him, and even though nothing happened today except for an angry prick he'd spilled his drink on, a quick punch and being thrown against a wall for being "fucking trash", he feels down. He doesn't even know why. He's Jimmy and he's been called worse, far, far worse, and been in fights far, far worst. He swallows the pip in his throat and it goes down hard. He's too sober and he's not sure he likes it - but the guy wants clean.
He wipes the flat of his palm hard against his lower lip, till there's nothing there by the faintest trace of blood. He glances at him and is surprised by the fact that he's worried. The man leans forwards and pries his eyes open gently with practiced ease, 'Not a concussion, looks good, probably gonna be a slight bruise but you'll be fine...'
Jim bats the hands away, irritated. 'I'm always fine.'
'Is that your attitude?'
'You're late.' He says but then wills away his ire, because tonight isn't about him, 'You owe me. And what's with? You a doctor?'
The man doesn't answer, and rubs the back of his head tiredly. Something metallic glints in the dark. A ring. 'Yeah sorry bout being late...'
Shit, he is a doctor. It's the way he says it. Doctors are about as bad as cops and Jim hopes that his age never pops up, that this guy isn't going to turn him in for indecent behavior or whatever they decide to pin on him. Still... Jim examines the eyes that refuse to meet his, the casual jacket and jeans, the nervous tap against his thigh; the old-fashioned wedding ring. He's never done this before, probably will never do this again. Jim can do that. Jim is good at that.
'You got a place to stay?' He gestures down at himself, 'Need a clean up here.'
'Um, err... yeah...' The man looks in his direction quickly and then away. He's young, mid-twenties, younger than most. He is only a few years older than Jim, not bad looking at all, a little frayed, but Jim bets he cleans up more than nice. He isn't old, he isn't Starfleet and he isn't a visitor with a taste for humans. Jim tilts his head, looking because this is the sort of guy who gets sex for free just by walking into a bar, sitting around and having a drink or two. 'Yeah, got a room.'
Jim grins and wraps an arm around his waist like they've buddies and smoothly manuevers under the man's arm. 'Lead the way.'
The stranger's hand lightly rests over his shoulder, self-conscious. Jim doesn't let it bother him. The guy doesn't really want him but he wants someone who'll kiss. Jim'll kiss for a couple of drinks, or a hundred credits. Kissing is a human sexual delicacy. Usually he won't offer it to another human but he's feeling generous, dangerous, curious, whatever.
As soon as they're through the door, he's shrugging off his jacket and his hands are undoing the guy's pants. They kiss, hot, rough, all wet like he is hungry and can't hardly wait but it's all just method-acting. He can make himself believe that he wants this till he's so hot that anything will make him blow. As soon as he pulls back for a gasp of air, the guy's having second-thoughts just like he expects, hands braced on his shoulders.
'Wait um,' The doctor stammers, 'Wait a sec.'
He slides his wafer out of his pocket and holds it up, waiting for the shoe to fall. Last chance to run.
'Four-hundred.' He says, being generous; he'd do him for free anyway if they met in a bar, and his guts are so twisted he won't be able to take anything else. 'I'll do whatever you want, even kissing, short of anything to do with leather, handcuffs, women's panties, diapers and calling you "Daddy" - sorry, but no training.' He smiles brightly, because this part always amuses him. 'I'll suck at it and you'll want your credits back.'
With a strange look on his face, the guy reaches into his back pocket and withdraws his credit wafer. The flat rectangular wafers high-five each other with a soft gentle click-slide. His wafer beeps. Jim glances at the new balance and codes it, tucking it away because no one likes being reminded they paid.
He wraps his arms around the man's neck and kisses him, seeking, tasting, hands combing through thick dark hair. Clues whisper along the back of his neck as he brushes against the prickly unshaven cheek, smelling Tennessee whisky. Someone at home likes that, he thinks vaguely before he's back in the game, focused on his task. Is it slow or fast? Hard or soft? Gentle or harsh? Fucking or grinding? Jim swallows a hot mouthful of moist whisky breath and presses his lips together, tasting. From everything, the whisky tang, the stubble, the uncertain hands at his hips, the guy is into slow and hard, fast and gentle, and mostly into women, and he's here for the kissing, but he doesn't want to be here at all - no, no, no - Jim tilts his head up and to the side as hot lips slide roughly down his throat - no, more like he doesn't belong here.
Spinning him around like it's a dance, Jim shoves hard. The guy hits the bed and he doesn't give him a chance to look before he's pulling the jeans down just far enough for him to do his job. He mouths the flaccid cock and felts it harden almost immediately, along with a loud moaned curse and a little knee-jerking and hip rolling, the type of reaction that tells him that he hasn't had a decent fuck in a while. One day, maybe when he's done this for a year or two, Jim thinks he'll be able to narrow down the exactly number of weeks that a trick hasn't done the deed just by how hard and how needy they are. He takes it all into his mouth with one long wet suck, to give him an prelude, and then pulls back quickly, letting the tip slide over his bottom lip on the way out. His tongue flicks out.
He doesn't like anything in particular. He wants soft words, a firm grip and a decent lay. He wants something simple. If that's what he wants, then that's what he'll get. Jim leans back and sits on the strong thighs, reaches for the bottom his shirt. The guy's hand meets him there, and they pull it over his head together. He falls sideways and stretches back along the bed, awaiting his undressing with watchful eyes. The guy pull the tight jeans off slowly, watching his unveiling in the low bedside lighting - he watches long enough that Jim gets the nerves. The other man strips himself down to nothing, economical, deliberate and crawls onto the bed. He takes a shaky breath at that first touch, skin against skin, and suddenly Jim isn't sure he should be here. Jim feel his flesh pimple from the strange worship that the man gives the skin over his shoulder and then his collar, not kissing, no, he's just... feeling - hands, nose, fingers. He breathes heavily, warm and moist against Jim's neck, and pulls back to look him in the face.
Jim doesn't wait for a kiss or a command, he's already wriggling down and running his tongue down a flat stomach, hands reaching for a hard cock that twitches at the lightest stroke. He gets a good grip and sucks like he means it - watch me, he urges, staring right up. I like you, he says with his mouth, I think you're hot, he says with the rasp of his tongue. Jim pulls away wetly and presses his lips against the underside of the throbbing cock he's got between his hands and sucks softly, little make-believe love bites that an old girlfriend teaches by example. Don't be embarassed... he licks from tip to bottom, and then again, massaging the erection with his hands, nuzzling it with his nose, stroking it with his lips, his tongue, his fingertips, because this is what is missing, what this stranger is looking for: I like it when you feel good, feel good and let me feel good with you...
From the moan, the insistent tug at his hair, and the suddenly twist of slender hips, the doctor believes him. Good. Inhibitions always leave a nasty aftertaste. With a wet open mouthed kiss on a thigh, he crawls back up. The man is breathing heavily and has his eyes closed like he doesn't want to watch. Slowly Jim leans forwards and licks wetly up one cheek. The guy grabs his shoulder and looks at him, surprised. Jim grins in triumph - another clue. Rolling over ontop, he pressed his nose into the little dark nook just under the ear and rolled his hips. Uncertain fingers tickle over his balls and caress him like it's an indepth examination. Ohh, he moans and presses his mouth into the crook of the stranger's neck. An arm slides over his back, fingers spread and clutching at his skin hard enough to hurt.
Jim shifts, rolling back and leans off the bed, fishes around in his jeans for condom, lube. Behind him, the other man reaches out and touches him, fingertips trailing down the curve of his spine. In a minute, he wants to say. The prickly warm kiss between his cool shoulder blades makes him shiver. Jim rolls back and reclaims his position astride. He pops the condom packet into his mouth and feels it dissolve into something sugary and tart, sliding easily down his throat. He bends down and rolls it on without fuss, working his lips, tongue and hands. The man watches till he pulls away with the wet plastic pop, then makes a desperate rumble in the back of his throat and bucks lightly.
Rolling off and wriggling to lie on his stomach, Jim slaps the lube on the stomach of the other man and rests his cheek on his folded arms. The man turns and gazes at him, breathing hard. He smiles and just lies there, waiting. As expected, the guy rolls onto an elbow and leans closer, hand resting with certainty on one ass cheek. Jim closes his eyes and moans under his breath as long fingers probe him methodically, with intent, with authority. It's almost kinky, a doctor with fingers up his ass but oh, he's got to start to dating medics because this - he tilts his butt upwards and hisses between his teeth - feels way too good.
The fucking is slow, fast and gentle just like he expects. They grind together, all slippery and sweaty, and fill the small functional hotel room with secretive moans and muffled cries. On his hands and knees, then on his side and then face to face. By the third time they're fucking, it's all a bit sore and stiff, like they're doing it because they know this is meant to feel good even if it doesn't anymore. The kisses are deep, needy, like this is all new and they haven't been doing this for almost two hours. Hmm, he hums and feels teeth nip his lower lip. Kissing is a human delicacy, human habit, some other species do it but not like us, not like us.
'That's it,' He whispers, and gives a breathy little moan, hand sliding down to grip the strong ass muscles doing all flexing and pushing. 'You feel good,' Jim whispers because its true, because this is what is missing. 'You make me so fucking-'
The guy swallows the rest of his words. Jim squeezes his eyes close and tilts his chin up, kissing back. Okay, no talking, that clue is easy. Jim runs his hand along a shoulder, down a side - the man kisses a shoulder. Oh, he blinks up at the ceiling, yes I know who you are, I know you. He drags his toes against the curve of a thigh - the man breathes hard against his chin and kisses him, lips bruising. He makes a grab for the shoulders, clutches flesh that slips out of his grip. They speed up. Jim moans but the man hardly makes a sound when he comes, hips jerking.
Jim stretches back out on the bed, and wonders if he's going to get off him now. 'Hey,' He says, shaking a shoulder.
He leans up on his elbows and disintangles their bodies, sliding back across sweaty sheets so they're lying side by side. The young doctor rolls over and onto his own back with a deep breath, eyes unfocused. Prompting his chin on his hand, Jim smiles. 'That okay for you?'
The only thing he gets is a nod.
'Do you do touching?' The guy asks.
Jim laughs, even if it's not funny. 'Um, no, touching is part of the diapers.'
'What?'
Right. Never been and never will coming back. Jim sat up and ran his hand through his hair, 'Touching is what people do when they're into RP and dressing up in diapers and getting punished for "dirtying" themselves and stuff - like I said, I don't do diapers and I'm not calling you "Daddy" so no, sorry, I'm not going to let you baby powder me and stroke my ass.'
Without waiting for an answer, Jim slides off the bed and drags his pants up, shaking them out. There's a data pad on the floor, forgotten in the corner, still flashing insistently. He glances at it. Starfleet logo and the words "Admission". He pulls one leg up and then the other. 'You joining Starfleet?'
'I'm... thinking about it.'
Jim stares at the wall in front of him and wonders why he even bothers, 'You got kids?'
He doesn't know why the guy tells him. 'One.'
His hands pause, fly still undone. Jim glances down; shit, shouldn't have said all of that stuff about baby powder. 'How old?'
'One.' There's a grunt and a quick plastic click as the condom removes itself, shriveling into a neat little ball; he can almost see it in his mind. One years old? Even worse. He finishes doing up his pants.
Jim bends over and drags his shirt closer, 'One huh? Kid won't remember you when they dispatch you, you know.' Pulling the shirt over his head, he walks barefoot to the door before toeing on his shoes and picking up his jacket. 'Well, good luck with Starfleet, I gotta run.'
'Hey, how old are you?'
Jim glances back. The man is staring at him. Shrugging his jacket on, Jim taps the door controls. The door unlocks and opens with a gentle click. Jim glances back, and wonders what he's supposed to say. 'Old enough for Starfleet.' He says.
Jim doesn't stick around to hear the response. Descending the stairs quickly, he heads back towards the closed bar, where his bike is. Is it too late to leave San Francisco tonight? Get a shuttle and just fuck off back home - mom's ship is detained in at the Arachnid Nebula till further notice so... his side pocket vibrates. He takes out his comm. Sam wants to know where he is, does he know it's 2 AM, is he still in SF, mom will have his hide if Jim doesn't get back here right now and-
He turns and looks back at the small functional hotel, for travellers waiting for their next shuttle connection or stranded till the network starts up again. He wonders if it's too late to go back, take off his clothes and crawl into bed with him. The bike starts with a roar.