FIC: Star Trek 2009: McCoy/Kirk - Lines to Cross (R) 1/1
Title: Lines to Cross
Author: andhopeto (Kris)
Pairings: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: a hard R, for sex and subject matter
Warnings: Self-harm
Summary: It starts with a single half-drunken night in bed, and spirals outward from there. It couldn't be contained.
Notes: Written for the st_xi_kink meme here.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.
The first time Bones and Jim had sex, the both of them had enough whiskey in them for it not to be awkward. The lights were off, and Bones had Jim on his hands and knees.
Bones was gone in the morning, but Jim wasn't that drunk, and he has full recollection of what occurred the night before. He just wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed to be waking up alone.
The second time they had sex, Jim had just narrowly escaped a messy and unnecessary death on the planet the Enterprise was currently orbiting. Once Bones cleared him through Medical, he dragged Jim off to his office, and bent him over Bones' desk.
Bones didn't even bother to pull his own pants down. He dragged them open enough to take himself out, and proceeded to fuck Kirk stupid while anyone could walk in, anyone could hear the two of them.
"Don't you do this to me, you bastard," Bones grunted against his neck afterward, still unzipped and Jim's pants down around his knees.
"Do what?" Jim asked nonchalantly, as though nothing had just occurred between the two of them. He laughed awkwardly as he pulled up his pants and attempted to make himself look presentable. "Don't tease you with my fantastic ass? Sorry, Bones," he proclaimed, painfully aware of what Bones was trying to get at and unable to discuss it, "but everyone has to deal with that problem- not just you."
And then he was gone, before Bones could berate him any further for stupidly risking his neck when they could have achieved the same goal with much less personal risk.
Jim didn't feel like explaining the rush it gave him to meet death head-on. It had been the same way since he was just a kid.
There had been no way Jim was going to let Frank sell his father's car. No way in hell. And if he maybe went down with it? Well, no one would have really missed him anyway. The way it felt, the car crashing down into the canyon below, hanging on to the ledge by his fingernails and pure determination to see the look on Frank's face when he found out was all that kept him from going off over the side along with it.
It was then he realized that the best way to deal with things, the way that Frank breathed down his neck, the way his mother could barely stand to look at him on the rare days she was earthside, the way it hurt when Sam left home one day and never came back.... Well, if Jim started performing more dangerous stunts after that day, got into more fights, no one ever really knew why.
Having the Enterprise was a gift in more ways than one. Not least of all was the fact that holding command over the ship and its crew, he could jump headfirst into daring rescue missions without anyone batting an eyelash. Sure, some people said that he should be more careful, should take more care as the captain, but as long as the job got done, as long as there were more crew alive than lost, no one ever complained about his methods too much.
And certainly no one ever looked too hard at those methods.
The third time Jim and Bones ended up having sex, the lights were off again, and whiskey had been consumed. But this time, Jim Kirk was stone-cold sober, and Bones was looking pale and lonely and, well, drunk.
Jim had gotten down on his knees and gently took Bones' half-hard dick from his pants, gently toying with it with his fingers, lips, and tongue until the tip was dotted with liquid and Bones was thisclose to grabbing Jim's head and forcing his mouth down over him.
Jim eagerly sucked him down, happy to do this for his friend. The taste of Bones on his tongue was far more arousing than anyone else had ever been. Jim like sucking dick. He was good at it, and it was hot. But having Bones in his mouth was almost enough to get him off, alone. He barely had to touch himself before he came apart, coming in his hand.
After Bones flooded Jim's mouth with his release, Jim stood and swallowed before kissing him. His closest friend was hurting. He was so intent on getting Bones into bed and covering him with a blanket that he didn't even notice the dampness on Bones' pants that shouldn't have been there. Were he to have touched it, placed his palms against it, Bones would have hissed in pain, and Jim would have drawn his hand away with red on it.
But he didn't. And he didn't know. He did, however, rummage through one of Bones' cabinets until he pulled out the appropriate hypo for a hangover, and left it beside Bones' bed before departing.
Bones had lost a patient that day, and Jim was going to have to finish up some forms forwarded from Medical before the night was through. He wanted to stay, but perhaps it was for the best that he didn't.
Sex was one thing, but he wasn't sure how Bones would react to having Jim in his bed come morning.
It was the fourth time that they had sex that Jim noticed something was off. The lights were off, and so were their pants.
Jim's hand brushed Bones' upper thigh, and he paused a moment before touching it again, more purposefully. Bones froze slightly as Jim's fingers traced over what felt like fresh scars.
"Lights," Jim commanded in a strangled tone, sitting up abruptly as the computer brought up the lighting in the room.
Bones was looking up, and nowhere near Jim, with a grimace on his face.
Jim was busy staring at Bones's legs. His thighs were covered with patches of straight lines of scars. Some were old, quite old, white and pale pink and slightly translucent from age. Some were bright pink, still in the throes of healing, but no longer scabbed over.
And then, there, where he would have seen last week if he had removed Bones pants before putting him to bed, were a few patches of straight lines, scabbed over and obviously somewhat new.
"Bones," Jim said, voice thick.
"Shut up," Bones commanded, gently pushing Jim off of him and getting off the bed.
"Bones?" Great, Jim thought, he sounded like a malfunctioning voice recording.
"Dammit Jim," Bones said wearily, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his his hand.
Jim didn't bother asking why, or acting as though he couldn't comprehend why someone would do this to himself.
He understood all too well.
"Come back to bed, Bones," Jim said after a moment, reaching a hand out to him. Bones looked at him in wonderment, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
But he came back, kneeling on the edge of the bed, stopped only as Jim dragged his head in for a kiss.
Jim knew they would have to talk about this later, talk about all of it later. But he couldn't love Bones any less for this, he knew. He knew at that moment that that was exactly what this was. It was love, and not just what you felt for your friend.
Maybe it was terrible of him, but no matter how much he had suspected it for a while, it was this, seeing Bones as fucked up as he was, to really make him admit it to himself.
Author: andhopeto (Kris)
Pairings: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: a hard R, for sex and subject matter
Warnings: Self-harm
Summary: It starts with a single half-drunken night in bed, and spirals outward from there. It couldn't be contained.
Notes: Written for the st_xi_kink meme here.
Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of these characters. I simply dabble in this toybox.
The first time Bones and Jim had sex, the both of them had enough whiskey in them for it not to be awkward. The lights were off, and Bones had Jim on his hands and knees.
Bones was gone in the morning, but Jim wasn't that drunk, and he has full recollection of what occurred the night before. He just wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed to be waking up alone.
The second time they had sex, Jim had just narrowly escaped a messy and unnecessary death on the planet the Enterprise was currently orbiting. Once Bones cleared him through Medical, he dragged Jim off to his office, and bent him over Bones' desk.
Bones didn't even bother to pull his own pants down. He dragged them open enough to take himself out, and proceeded to fuck Kirk stupid while anyone could walk in, anyone could hear the two of them.
"Don't you do this to me, you bastard," Bones grunted against his neck afterward, still unzipped and Jim's pants down around his knees.
"Do what?" Jim asked nonchalantly, as though nothing had just occurred between the two of them. He laughed awkwardly as he pulled up his pants and attempted to make himself look presentable. "Don't tease you with my fantastic ass? Sorry, Bones," he proclaimed, painfully aware of what Bones was trying to get at and unable to discuss it, "but everyone has to deal with that problem- not just you."
And then he was gone, before Bones could berate him any further for stupidly risking his neck when they could have achieved the same goal with much less personal risk.
Jim didn't feel like explaining the rush it gave him to meet death head-on. It had been the same way since he was just a kid.
There had been no way Jim was going to let Frank sell his father's car. No way in hell. And if he maybe went down with it? Well, no one would have really missed him anyway. The way it felt, the car crashing down into the canyon below, hanging on to the ledge by his fingernails and pure determination to see the look on Frank's face when he found out was all that kept him from going off over the side along with it.
It was then he realized that the best way to deal with things, the way that Frank breathed down his neck, the way his mother could barely stand to look at him on the rare days she was earthside, the way it hurt when Sam left home one day and never came back.... Well, if Jim started performing more dangerous stunts after that day, got into more fights, no one ever really knew why.
Having the Enterprise was a gift in more ways than one. Not least of all was the fact that holding command over the ship and its crew, he could jump headfirst into daring rescue missions without anyone batting an eyelash. Sure, some people said that he should be more careful, should take more care as the captain, but as long as the job got done, as long as there were more crew alive than lost, no one ever complained about his methods too much.
And certainly no one ever looked too hard at those methods.
The third time Jim and Bones ended up having sex, the lights were off again, and whiskey had been consumed. But this time, Jim Kirk was stone-cold sober, and Bones was looking pale and lonely and, well, drunk.
Jim had gotten down on his knees and gently took Bones' half-hard dick from his pants, gently toying with it with his fingers, lips, and tongue until the tip was dotted with liquid and Bones was thisclose to grabbing Jim's head and forcing his mouth down over him.
Jim eagerly sucked him down, happy to do this for his friend. The taste of Bones on his tongue was far more arousing than anyone else had ever been. Jim like sucking dick. He was good at it, and it was hot. But having Bones in his mouth was almost enough to get him off, alone. He barely had to touch himself before he came apart, coming in his hand.
After Bones flooded Jim's mouth with his release, Jim stood and swallowed before kissing him. His closest friend was hurting. He was so intent on getting Bones into bed and covering him with a blanket that he didn't even notice the dampness on Bones' pants that shouldn't have been there. Were he to have touched it, placed his palms against it, Bones would have hissed in pain, and Jim would have drawn his hand away with red on it.
But he didn't. And he didn't know. He did, however, rummage through one of Bones' cabinets until he pulled out the appropriate hypo for a hangover, and left it beside Bones' bed before departing.
Bones had lost a patient that day, and Jim was going to have to finish up some forms forwarded from Medical before the night was through. He wanted to stay, but perhaps it was for the best that he didn't.
Sex was one thing, but he wasn't sure how Bones would react to having Jim in his bed come morning.
It was the fourth time that they had sex that Jim noticed something was off. The lights were off, and so were their pants.
Jim's hand brushed Bones' upper thigh, and he paused a moment before touching it again, more purposefully. Bones froze slightly as Jim's fingers traced over what felt like fresh scars.
"Lights," Jim commanded in a strangled tone, sitting up abruptly as the computer brought up the lighting in the room.
Bones was looking up, and nowhere near Jim, with a grimace on his face.
Jim was busy staring at Bones's legs. His thighs were covered with patches of straight lines of scars. Some were old, quite old, white and pale pink and slightly translucent from age. Some were bright pink, still in the throes of healing, but no longer scabbed over.
And then, there, where he would have seen last week if he had removed Bones pants before putting him to bed, were a few patches of straight lines, scabbed over and obviously somewhat new.
"Bones," Jim said, voice thick.
"Shut up," Bones commanded, gently pushing Jim off of him and getting off the bed.
"Bones?" Great, Jim thought, he sounded like a malfunctioning voice recording.
"Dammit Jim," Bones said wearily, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his his hand.
Jim didn't bother asking why, or acting as though he couldn't comprehend why someone would do this to himself.
He understood all too well.
"Come back to bed, Bones," Jim said after a moment, reaching a hand out to him. Bones looked at him in wonderment, as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
But he came back, kneeling on the edge of the bed, stopped only as Jim dragged his head in for a kiss.
Jim knew they would have to talk about this later, talk about all of it later. But he couldn't love Bones any less for this, he knew. He knew at that moment that that was exactly what this was. It was love, and not just what you felt for your friend.
Maybe it was terrible of him, but no matter how much he had suspected it for a while, it was this, seeing Bones as fucked up as he was, to really make him admit it to himself.