It was
a few days before Kirk woke up without a bone-deep fatigue that didn't stop him from enjoying the now-regular--though far from routine--sex he and McCoy had fallen into but hadn't allowed for much else. He ate a lot. He used the weights that McCoy had had sent there. The sofa remained tucked away in its primary shape, and neither mentioned
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Keeping him tired the fuck out was one strategy - and it had the benefit of keeping McCoy satisfied, too. He wasn't going to damn well lie to himself on that one. And Jos was going to love it - Kirk was pretty when he was desperate for it.
Not pretty enough to make McCoy trust him - the kid still figured he was playing some sort of game here. Figuring he could turn the tables. McCoy had made the shitlegged table and he wasn't giving it up any time soon. Of course, Kirk wanted to think so, he was welcome to. As long as he kept taking it when McCoy felt like giving it. Which had been pretty fucking frequently.
"Gym might be good. I missed more than a few days, taking care of your sorry ass."
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