i had to ravish your capsule, suck you dry
Title: Feel the teeth in your bones
Author: eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just here for the lulz.
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/McCoy (Star Trek XI)
Word Count: 1,395
Summary: It was just a training flight, and this was just a panic attack. Space sickness, nothing he couldn’t handle. A case of mild dizziness, heart palpitations, nausea; a slideshow of textbook definitions and medical data thrumming beneath his skin with every vibration of cold steel under his feet. That’s why he shouldn’t have listened to Kirk, whose hand fell on his thigh to rub it through the coarse fabric of his trousers, jerking his chin in the direction of the tiny bathroom in the back of the shuttle.
“Look at me.”
It’s hard to look away from the fingers slipping inside the front of his uniform trousers. The rough pads of Kirk’s fingers close around the head of his cock and McCoy swallows hard, a gulp of a breath, when his frame of reference narrows to a pinhead. He can still feel the shuttle around them, even through the walls of the latrine, just as he can feel the heat of Kirk’s body and the roughness of his hands. Jumping and shuddering, the bulk of the shuttle moves through space in the unnatural lurch that puts his balls in his stomach and his heart in his throat, filling his mouth with the familiar taste of dread.
“Look at me, Bones.” When Kirk’s hands close on his dick in a short firm tug, McCoy stops thinking about space.
“Jim-”
It was just a training flight, and this was just a panic attack. Space sickness, nothing he couldn’t handle. A case of mild dizziness, heart palpitations, nausea; a slideshow of textbook definitions and medical data thrumming beneath his skin with every vibration of cold steel under his feet. That’s why he shouldn’t have listened to Kirk, whose hand fell on his thigh to rub it through the coarse fabric of his trousers, jerking his chin in the direction of the tiny bathroom in the back of the shuttle.
He should’ve known better. Even as Kirk disappeared into the latrine, and five minutes later McCoy cursed himself, unbuckled his safety harness, and followed suit.
“C’mon.” Kirk’s voice is firm in the confines of the four-by-four latrine, made throaty by the bulge in the front of his uniform trousers and the bruising at the edges of his bottom lip. He strokes McCoy slowly, getting him to full hardness with the saliva-slickness of his right palm. “Stay with me.”
“Jim.” It’s practically a growl when McCoy says it. The thought of the dozen other cadets on the other side of the too-thin steel door makes his face red, and he sucks in a breath when his dick begins to throb. It makes his head swim sickly. “Are you insane? I’m not getting court marshaled for this shit -”
“Bones - shut the fuck up for once.” Kissing him shortens the dispute when Kirk sucks his tongue into his mouth. “You need this.”
“What I need is to go sit back down before I get caught with your hand down my pants,” McCoy insists between their lips. “I already told you - it’s space sickness. I’ll live.”
A gentle lurch of the shuttle makes their noses and shoulders bump, and for it the doctor feels suddenly trapped, thinking of solar flares or instrument failure. McCoy pushes Kirk back, trapping him between his chest and the counter-sink. His mouth and hands empty, Kirk just licks his bottom lip undeterred and takes a breath under lidded eyes. With his wide pupils and swollen mouth, the sight gives McCoy pause, making him keenly aware of the twisting in his stomach before Kirk closes a hand around his dick.
“Fuck me,” Kirk says, suddenly sounding all too much like the captain he’s gunning to be. “I wanna make you come.”
“Fuck, Jim,” McCoy hisses, balls tightening at the sharp drop in Kirk’s voice. “If we get caught-”
“Don’t think about them.” Swiping his tongue across the arc of McCoy’s lips, Kirk lets out a ragged breath and with his free hand undoes the front of his pants. “Eyes on me, Bones.”
Maneuvering between the press of McCoy’s chest and the firm obstacle of the sink behind him, Kirk turns, bent forward and planting his hands on the mirror. McCoy’s hands find his waist with a muffled groan, his cock slipping between Kirk’s thighs when their hips align, front to back. In the mirror Kirk watches him, eyes on McCoy, wet and hungry and clear in the unnatural hum of the overhead light. The sloshing in McCoy’s skull and stomach fades with a gulp of breath, tensing fingers pushing down Kirk’s trousers and briefs to bunch at the tops of standard-issue boots.
“Fucking idiot,” he curses, shaking his head at his own reflection, white-knuckled and red-faced. Despite himself McCoy still lets an idle hand trace the edges of Kirk’s hipbone, down the slope of the kid’s ass in a soft but firm slap. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this shit.”
The sting of flesh-on-flesh makes the kid jump, then grin, lopsided and wolfish. “You love it,” he says hotly, and licks the corner of his mouth. “Now hurry up and fuck me before somebody starts beating the door down.”
It doesn’t take much more to banish the thought of the shuttle or the other cadets outside the door from his mind, taking in a breath between his teeth. Impatient, McCoy opens Kirk on saliva-slick fingers, spreading his cheeks before slipping in one digit, then another. It makes Kirk moan, which makes McCoy’s dick jump as Kirk snakes a hand around his own neglected erection, now curving under the counter digging into his hip.
The prep is quick and sloppy. Kirk’s eyes are wet and heavy in their reflection, mouth open on a small ‘O’ of breath that fogs the mirror when McCoy grabs his hips and pushes, exchanging his fingers for his cock. He bites down on the moan that rattles out of him, closing his eyes as their bodies rock, quick and rough. There isn’t enough room between the four walls to move, save his hips, hands gripping Kirk’s waist, fingers raising red marks on the thin skin above his groin. The backs of his knees bump the toilet behind them, making him mindful of their position, but the tightness of Kirk’s body and the soft slap of his balls against the kid’s ass make it harder and harder to care.
“Christ, Jim,” McCoy exhales raggedly, eyes still screwed shut. His head thrums, his skin vaguely aware of the shuttle around them in a creeping sensation that pools at the base of his spine. Shaking his head, he tilts his hips and shoves the feeling away, bucking harder until the kid groans. “You couldn’t wait for it, could you?”
“You can do better than that,” Kirk grinds out, a palm flat against the mirror for purchase, the playfulness drained from his voice. “Keep your eyes on me.”
“Jim-”
“Stay with me, Bones. I wanna know you’re watching me.”
McCoy doesn’t mean to but he does what he’s told. Tightening his grip on Kirk’s waist he looks at the kid’s face in the fogged mirror, the way Kirk watches him. Against him Kirk twists, eyes hard, mouth bruised, taking his cock with every thrust and bucking back until they both grunt between their teeth, mindful of the thinness of the walls. Under the lip of the counter Kirk fists himself, stroking with the roll of the doctor’s hips and every rock back, fucking himself as hard as McCoy’s fucking him.
The sight of it goes straight to McCoy’s balls, slamming home until he comes. He can’t look at his own face in the mirror - it’s a little too much, even under the circumstances - watching Kirk’s instead. The way the kid looks when he’s getting ready to come, blissed out, rocking back on the dick still in him, still full. It sucks the air out of McCoy’s lungs, replacing it with a cold sensation when Kirk spurts into his hand under the sink, shuddering, strangely quiet in the orgasm that shivers between them in this cramped space.
It takes a moment for McCoy to collect himself, but once he does he pulls out and away, zipping up and smoothing the mess made of his uniform. It takes Kirk less time to straighten up before he turns to face McCoy, and smirks. The doctor frowns.
“What’re you grinning about?”
“That better?” There’s no tease in Kirk’s voice, no hidden sarcasm or waiting punch-line. Instead he leans forward and coaxes McCoy’s mouth open in a kiss.
Unable to think about space, solar flares or cracks in the hull’s plating, McCoy rolls his eyes.
“Yeah. It is,” he admits, but just barely. “Now get back outside and find your seat before we get hauled up on charges.”
“See?” Into the kiss, Kirk’s smile broadens. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Author: eonism
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm just here for the lulz.
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/McCoy (Star Trek XI)
Word Count: 1,395
Summary: It was just a training flight, and this was just a panic attack. Space sickness, nothing he couldn’t handle. A case of mild dizziness, heart palpitations, nausea; a slideshow of textbook definitions and medical data thrumming beneath his skin with every vibration of cold steel under his feet. That’s why he shouldn’t have listened to Kirk, whose hand fell on his thigh to rub it through the coarse fabric of his trousers, jerking his chin in the direction of the tiny bathroom in the back of the shuttle.
“Look at me.”
It’s hard to look away from the fingers slipping inside the front of his uniform trousers. The rough pads of Kirk’s fingers close around the head of his cock and McCoy swallows hard, a gulp of a breath, when his frame of reference narrows to a pinhead. He can still feel the shuttle around them, even through the walls of the latrine, just as he can feel the heat of Kirk’s body and the roughness of his hands. Jumping and shuddering, the bulk of the shuttle moves through space in the unnatural lurch that puts his balls in his stomach and his heart in his throat, filling his mouth with the familiar taste of dread.
“Look at me, Bones.” When Kirk’s hands close on his dick in a short firm tug, McCoy stops thinking about space.
“Jim-”
It was just a training flight, and this was just a panic attack. Space sickness, nothing he couldn’t handle. A case of mild dizziness, heart palpitations, nausea; a slideshow of textbook definitions and medical data thrumming beneath his skin with every vibration of cold steel under his feet. That’s why he shouldn’t have listened to Kirk, whose hand fell on his thigh to rub it through the coarse fabric of his trousers, jerking his chin in the direction of the tiny bathroom in the back of the shuttle.
He should’ve known better. Even as Kirk disappeared into the latrine, and five minutes later McCoy cursed himself, unbuckled his safety harness, and followed suit.
“C’mon.” Kirk’s voice is firm in the confines of the four-by-four latrine, made throaty by the bulge in the front of his uniform trousers and the bruising at the edges of his bottom lip. He strokes McCoy slowly, getting him to full hardness with the saliva-slickness of his right palm. “Stay with me.”
“Jim.” It’s practically a growl when McCoy says it. The thought of the dozen other cadets on the other side of the too-thin steel door makes his face red, and he sucks in a breath when his dick begins to throb. It makes his head swim sickly. “Are you insane? I’m not getting court marshaled for this shit -”
“Bones - shut the fuck up for once.” Kissing him shortens the dispute when Kirk sucks his tongue into his mouth. “You need this.”
“What I need is to go sit back down before I get caught with your hand down my pants,” McCoy insists between their lips. “I already told you - it’s space sickness. I’ll live.”
A gentle lurch of the shuttle makes their noses and shoulders bump, and for it the doctor feels suddenly trapped, thinking of solar flares or instrument failure. McCoy pushes Kirk back, trapping him between his chest and the counter-sink. His mouth and hands empty, Kirk just licks his bottom lip undeterred and takes a breath under lidded eyes. With his wide pupils and swollen mouth, the sight gives McCoy pause, making him keenly aware of the twisting in his stomach before Kirk closes a hand around his dick.
“Fuck me,” Kirk says, suddenly sounding all too much like the captain he’s gunning to be. “I wanna make you come.”
“Fuck, Jim,” McCoy hisses, balls tightening at the sharp drop in Kirk’s voice. “If we get caught-”
“Don’t think about them.” Swiping his tongue across the arc of McCoy’s lips, Kirk lets out a ragged breath and with his free hand undoes the front of his pants. “Eyes on me, Bones.”
Maneuvering between the press of McCoy’s chest and the firm obstacle of the sink behind him, Kirk turns, bent forward and planting his hands on the mirror. McCoy’s hands find his waist with a muffled groan, his cock slipping between Kirk’s thighs when their hips align, front to back. In the mirror Kirk watches him, eyes on McCoy, wet and hungry and clear in the unnatural hum of the overhead light. The sloshing in McCoy’s skull and stomach fades with a gulp of breath, tensing fingers pushing down Kirk’s trousers and briefs to bunch at the tops of standard-issue boots.
“Fucking idiot,” he curses, shaking his head at his own reflection, white-knuckled and red-faced. Despite himself McCoy still lets an idle hand trace the edges of Kirk’s hipbone, down the slope of the kid’s ass in a soft but firm slap. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this shit.”
The sting of flesh-on-flesh makes the kid jump, then grin, lopsided and wolfish. “You love it,” he says hotly, and licks the corner of his mouth. “Now hurry up and fuck me before somebody starts beating the door down.”
It doesn’t take much more to banish the thought of the shuttle or the other cadets outside the door from his mind, taking in a breath between his teeth. Impatient, McCoy opens Kirk on saliva-slick fingers, spreading his cheeks before slipping in one digit, then another. It makes Kirk moan, which makes McCoy’s dick jump as Kirk snakes a hand around his own neglected erection, now curving under the counter digging into his hip.
The prep is quick and sloppy. Kirk’s eyes are wet and heavy in their reflection, mouth open on a small ‘O’ of breath that fogs the mirror when McCoy grabs his hips and pushes, exchanging his fingers for his cock. He bites down on the moan that rattles out of him, closing his eyes as their bodies rock, quick and rough. There isn’t enough room between the four walls to move, save his hips, hands gripping Kirk’s waist, fingers raising red marks on the thin skin above his groin. The backs of his knees bump the toilet behind them, making him mindful of their position, but the tightness of Kirk’s body and the soft slap of his balls against the kid’s ass make it harder and harder to care.
“Christ, Jim,” McCoy exhales raggedly, eyes still screwed shut. His head thrums, his skin vaguely aware of the shuttle around them in a creeping sensation that pools at the base of his spine. Shaking his head, he tilts his hips and shoves the feeling away, bucking harder until the kid groans. “You couldn’t wait for it, could you?”
“You can do better than that,” Kirk grinds out, a palm flat against the mirror for purchase, the playfulness drained from his voice. “Keep your eyes on me.”
“Jim-”
“Stay with me, Bones. I wanna know you’re watching me.”
McCoy doesn’t mean to but he does what he’s told. Tightening his grip on Kirk’s waist he looks at the kid’s face in the fogged mirror, the way Kirk watches him. Against him Kirk twists, eyes hard, mouth bruised, taking his cock with every thrust and bucking back until they both grunt between their teeth, mindful of the thinness of the walls. Under the lip of the counter Kirk fists himself, stroking with the roll of the doctor’s hips and every rock back, fucking himself as hard as McCoy’s fucking him.
The sight of it goes straight to McCoy’s balls, slamming home until he comes. He can’t look at his own face in the mirror - it’s a little too much, even under the circumstances - watching Kirk’s instead. The way the kid looks when he’s getting ready to come, blissed out, rocking back on the dick still in him, still full. It sucks the air out of McCoy’s lungs, replacing it with a cold sensation when Kirk spurts into his hand under the sink, shuddering, strangely quiet in the orgasm that shivers between them in this cramped space.
It takes a moment for McCoy to collect himself, but once he does he pulls out and away, zipping up and smoothing the mess made of his uniform. It takes Kirk less time to straighten up before he turns to face McCoy, and smirks. The doctor frowns.
“What’re you grinning about?”
“That better?” There’s no tease in Kirk’s voice, no hidden sarcasm or waiting punch-line. Instead he leans forward and coaxes McCoy’s mouth open in a kiss.
Unable to think about space, solar flares or cracks in the hull’s plating, McCoy rolls his eyes.
“Yeah. It is,” he admits, but just barely. “Now get back outside and find your seat before we get hauled up on charges.”
“See?” Into the kiss, Kirk’s smile broadens. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”