Star Trek Fic(let); At the End of the Day, Kirk/McCoy, R
Title: At the End of the Day
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: light R
Length: ~240
Warnings: language, sexual situations
Disclaimer: Star Trek is sadly not mine.
Summary: Jim is impatient and Leonard can't really bring himself to mind. Much.
A/N: Inspired by a photo from the jim_and_bones semi-weekly man-on-man post from October 25th.
At the End of the Day
″Off. Off, off, off.″ Jim chanted as he scrambled furiously to slip his hands under Leonard's shirt, grazing his fingers teasingly just under the waistband before sliding up his chest, lifting the shirt with them.
″Whoa there, Jim. What's your hurry? We've got all-″
″Now,″ Jim insisted, biting his lip and tugging the fabric of the shirt over Leonard's shoulders, catching the bunched fabric on Leonard's ears and tugging it free without regard for the fact that, yeah, ears might be bendy but fuckin' ow!
″Dammit, Jim, that-″ Leonard didn't get the opportunity to finish that sentence, though, because as soon as the shirt was out of the way Jim was on him like a man deprived for years rather than the fourteen or so hours since the early-morning wake-up he'd been treated to that had nearly made them late for class.
Jim's lips claimed his and Leonard could feel wandering, impatient hands traveling over his back, squeezing his biceps, and skirting down his spine to tease at the waist of the jeans he'd been so eager to change into after classes and would apparently not be wearing for very much longer. Not that he minded, really.
When Leonard finally abandoned his grumbling facade and reached for the button of his jeans he could feel Jim's smile against his lips and felt the huff of laughter on his skin.
He didn't much care.
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: light R
Length: ~240
Warnings: language, sexual situations
Disclaimer: Star Trek is sadly not mine.
Summary: Jim is impatient and Leonard can't really bring himself to mind. Much.
A/N: Inspired by a photo from the jim_and_bones semi-weekly man-on-man post from October 25th.
At the End of the Day
″Off. Off, off, off.″ Jim chanted as he scrambled furiously to slip his hands under Leonard's shirt, grazing his fingers teasingly just under the waistband before sliding up his chest, lifting the shirt with them.
″Whoa there, Jim. What's your hurry? We've got all-″
″Now,″ Jim insisted, biting his lip and tugging the fabric of the shirt over Leonard's shoulders, catching the bunched fabric on Leonard's ears and tugging it free without regard for the fact that, yeah, ears might be bendy but fuckin' ow!
″Dammit, Jim, that-″ Leonard didn't get the opportunity to finish that sentence, though, because as soon as the shirt was out of the way Jim was on him like a man deprived for years rather than the fourteen or so hours since the early-morning wake-up he'd been treated to that had nearly made them late for class.
Jim's lips claimed his and Leonard could feel wandering, impatient hands traveling over his back, squeezing his biceps, and skirting down his spine to tease at the waist of the jeans he'd been so eager to change into after classes and would apparently not be wearing for very much longer. Not that he minded, really.
When Leonard finally abandoned his grumbling facade and reached for the button of his jeans he could feel Jim's smile against his lips and felt the huff of laughter on his skin.
He didn't much care.