Fic: "Letters Home" (Kirk/McCoy, NC17)
Title: Letters Home
Author:
florahart
Rating: NC17
Words: ~6550
Prompt: Epistolary sex
Summary: Really, we had to wait for me to leave to do this?
Notes/Warnings: No warnings. Written for KM_Anthology. This fic tried to turn into an epic a full year long, but I think I corralled it somewhat (because 1. the smut was sort of the point and 2. word limit of 10K). *facepalm*
Letters Home
The trouble was, they hadn't ever talked about this whole separation thing.
McCoy had tried before, a couple of times, just to float the general topic. Jim was too stubborn to let him, though, and damn it, careerwise, the appointment was the right choice (he knew it, and Jim had said it in so many words; that part was easy), and still, that left everything unsaid.
And now Jim was avoiding him, which meant it was pretty much going to stay unsaid.
Maybe it was that he knew McCoy had things to say--things he couldn't say in return. That idea sucked, but left to its own devices, McCoy's brain had come up with worse alternatives, such as that Jim in fact had no idea he had anything he should have said before now. That Jim was too damaged by his (admittedly fucked-up) childhood in the first place to even do relationships, or at least, not when they weren't convenient, or not when they were supposed to be ongoing and indefinite. That Jim was not just unable to say the words back, but didn't want to because he was ready for their 'best friends but never quite more despite some pretty obvious indications they should be' thing to just fade back into 'good buddies that look each other up sometimes' or 'old friends that lost touch' or hell, 'clingy doctors that got irritating'.
And they were best friends and all but more, if that was even a category; they took care of each other and provided stability (and the occasional voice of reason when one of them needed it) and all the things that a couple ought to do except for anything physical, so he didn't think the clinginess was all that likely to be the issue, or at least, the part of his brain that could handle the math for basic navigation didn't; among other things, he wasn't exactly a stranger to demanding space himself, so clingy wasn't a word he thought anyone would choose to describe him.
Still, this whole situation was leaving him feeling a little like a child groping for its mother's hand, then looking around wide-eyed when it doesn't find it.
Which was unsettling for a guy in his mid-thirties.
About three minutes after they'd docked at Starbase Five, Jim had all but ordered him to go, take it, be the superstar he definitely could be, all that jazz (direct quote; McCoy didn't think he'd ever have referred to himself as a superstar), and then he'd commenced with the avoiding. McCoy hadn't seen him for more than a few minutes at a time in days, and none of those brief glimpses had been private enough or uninterrupted enough to have a real conversation. "Got to be at a meeting with the base's maintenance guys in five, Bones. Catch me later?" or, "Chicken's lousy today--have the beef. See ya," had been about all that Jim had said, and then, in pretty much every case, he'd done what McCoy could hardly help but call fleeing.
And that was also damn unsettling--Jim wasn't much the fleeing type. So he was going, because staying for something not discussed seemed absurd and needy, and it wasn't like the opportunity was going to be offered again every year.
A chime emanating from somewhere vaguely ceilingward announced the last call before the shuttle's impending departure.
McCoy sighed and picked up his bag, loitering as best he could until there was no choice but to board by himself and hope the guy in the next seat was amenable to being thrown up on.
As soon as he thought it, he turned into the bank of little compartments that held all the necessities for a flight of some distance. If he was going to throw up (and he thought he probably was), he was going to get it over with now. He wasn't so sure Jim would appreciate the title of "only man I ever want to vomit on," but the idea of starting a whole new phase of his life in exactly the same way like that felt very wrong.
Yeah, he was definitely in trouble. He really should have found a way to have that talk.
--
He'd barely managed to find his seat and get in it--forward-facing, left side, non-window, because he and Jim had made something of a tradition of using roughly the same seats from their first trip up to Enterprise--when his padd beeped in the bag he'd stowed overhead.
He wondered if it had gotten its settings fried somewhere along the line; he'd turned off the audio signal, which he generally only left on for official reasons, and he was in transit and not exactly on-duty. With a sigh, he stood and pulled the damn thing back down, nodding absently at the instruction from the forward cabin to get back in his damn seat already, and unzipped the side, yanking out the padd and shoving the bag back into the compartment.
The flight staff didn't have to actually come make him sit down, though the young man heading toward him (very young; good God, was Chekov only the first of an entire cohort of children in the fleet?) looked as though he intended exactly that. But McCoy was seated by the time he got there, scowling at the padd, which beeped again and then displayed a brief text-only message. He glanced up and grinned briefly at the kid's muttering, since it only reminded him, like every shuttle ride, of the one from Iowa, then went back to reading the display.
Bones, just keep the padd out. More after you get going. -J
He pressed the advance button, which did nothing, and scowled some more, but if Jim had taken into his head to play with the damn thing, well, McCoy wasn't Spock, and he wasn't going to convince it to spit out whatever it was sooner than Jim had told it to. He set it on his thigh and waited, tapping his other leg with two fingers as the shuttle finished undocking and departed from the base. Earth was ten hours away by shuttle, and he had no idea when Jim intended for "after you get going" to be.
Finally, when they'd completed the turn and McCoy had had just exactly enough time to start wishing he'd had the sense to self-prescribe something ahead of time to help with how much he didn't like shuttles, the padd beeped again. He glanced down.
So, I've been avoiding you basically since the appointment came through.
"No, really?" McCoy said under his breath.
"I beg your pardon?"
McCoy glanced toward the window seat, glad for the empty seat between him and the gruff, stiff-looking man in it. "Nothing," he said. "I'm just cussing at my friend while he's not here to complain."
"This seems unlikely to produce any result," the man said.
McCoy shrugged. "I'll try to keep it down."
"Excellent." The man sat up straight and closed his eyes, apparently planning to sleep as stiffly as he did anything else. McCoy rolled his eyes and looked back down at the padd. It still said the same thing, but as it seemed more an introductory statement than another directive to wait, he tried the advance button again. The text started to scroll.
I know you've been trying to corner me to talk about things, and I've been begging off because I am an enormous chickenshit.
McCoy snorted softly, then glanced warily at his companion, who didn't move. Good.
Thing is, I knew if we started talking, we'd convince you not to go, and you totally should be going.
A blank line scrolled up, and then the text resumed.
I figured if we talked about it, see, then we'd convince you not to go, because I'm not an idiot, and I know what we need to talk about. And I'm needy as hell, which you know, and I am not going to be all needy in a manner which compromises your career because I know you wouldn't be if it were me. You're going to be amazing.
Also, this is text-only because I figure you may not want it playing aloud on a flight with whoever else is heading your way. And because that way you can't hear me having a panic attack about saying this stuff out loud in case I've gotten it totally wrong. I mean, I don't think I do, but there's the chance, right?
McCoy refrained from snarling a 'get to it,' mostly because he wasn't quite sure what to do with the notion that none of his guesses about why Jim was avoiding him had been right, and why he hadn't known it. It was ridiculous, of course; Jim was, well, smart wasn't the word, and despite that he had every right to have come away from his upbringing damaged, he was pretty emotionally bright, too. There was no reason he couldn't want to have the same conversation McCoy did, but he'd managed to convince himself pretty thoroughly anyway.
The text was still scrolling, and McCoy had to stop it and go back.
And you're sitting there telling me to get to it already. This is the part where I take a deep breath. Imagine a pause. Okay. So, we've been best friends for longer than I can even claim to have had any other single relationship of any kind in my life. Even my mother, given how much she was away, and even my grandparents, given how--well, anyway. So you're my constant, and I've known that for a long time, and I didn't want to do anything to fuck it up. Which doesn't explain why I think I should feel free to go ahead and do so now, except that since we're going to be mostly-apart for a while, I guess if I piss you off somehow, I'm hoping you'll be over it before I see you.
You know, I should have written this before lunchtime the day you're leaving. I could have made it much prettier. I'm no poet or anything, but I think I'm sucking.
Not like that.
But I mean, as long as I said it, that's where I'm going, more or less. I don't want to be just friends, and I'm pretty sure you also don't, so I'm suggesting, you know, you're a good-looking guy, and I think we should consider ourselves not just friends, and… fuck.
Stop laughing.
McCoy wasn't laughing, exactly, but he was grinning like an idiot, despite that his stomach was also doing an excellent impression of inverting itself and tying a knot around his lungs in the process. The image in his mind's eye, of Jim pacing and trying to say all this, biting his lip sometimes, or pressing his fingers into the back of his neck like he could massage away being freaked out, was one he's seen before, but never over him, and while that was at least as unsettling as any of the rest of this business, at least it was unsettling in a good way, additional stomach-churning notwithstanding.
I don't know whether I should go on or just wait for you to write back, so rather than risk making a bigger idiot of myself, I'm going to wait, and hope you understand. And now I'm going to go tell your padd how to play this before I convince myself I should just let you go meet other people and make lots of nice non-spacefaring friends.
McCoy snorted again. "As if anyone else would even put up with--"
He broke off as the shuttle lurched and spun, dropping the padd as he gripped the armrests and waited for all the oxygen to escape and the cold to come in. The man in the window seat startled awake and looked around for several seconds, then stood, brushing past McCoy's knees as he hurried forward to the cabin. A moment later, a voice McCoy recognized as his came over the intercom. "This is Admiral Chernigov, Fleet Commander of Starbase Four. This shuttle has lost partial power and all communications, but retains primary structural integrity and life support. We will return to Starbase Five for repairs. Estimated time: two hours. Chernigov out."
McCoy took several deep breaths, willing himself to agree that life support was still functioning, then bent forward and picked up the padd.
He checked for a signal, which no ordinary padd should locate, but Jim had tinkered with this one on several occasions, and it was, as he liked to say, a little upgraded. What he found wasn't great, but they were still pretty close, and he thought probably he could get a short message through, if only through somewhat nonstandard means. The situation was urgent enough to try, anyway.
McCoy, LH, Chief Medical…
"Shit." He backed up and restated his position. McCoy, LH, Interim Commander, Starfleet Medical, priority one, to Kirk, JT, Captain, Enterprise. Personal and urgent. Jim: Shuttle's damaged, back to you in maybe a couple hours assuming nothing worse happens. Read your letter. Have thoughts. See you soon.
He included the data that would route the message through Enterprise's comm boards rather than the base's and sent it along and then, after a moment's thought, he sighed and cleared the buffer, locking Jim's letter up and erasing the copy of his own. It was probably going to mean one or both of them would get in a little hot water for what amounted to hacking into communications networks, but then, Jim was probably right this minute seeing to that anyway by sending out a rescue party, and it was just stupid not to provide communication that he did have, since there was no way to guarantee the shuttle's damage was completely contained anyway. He stood and walked forward to the cabin. "So, I find I have a comm signal on this…"
--
"Well. This is awkward." Jim stood in the doorway of the base medical bay, where everyone rescued from the shuttle was being checked out as a matter of course. McCoy was done, but technically he was required to wait for clearance from the guy in charge, which, unfortunately, was not him. That guy was busy with the only actual serious injury, which McCoy had stabilized on the shuttle in the first place, so he had a few minutes to kill. He was sitting on the edge of the biobed, feet dangling off the side.
"Awkward how? You're not the guy they caught with a somewhat illegally-augmented comm device that an admiral had to use and convince the staff the message was legit."
Jim gave him a look. "Awkward in that you were supposed to have ten hours to think about it and then be all busy getting settled when you got there. Plus, the ensuing conversation was supposed to happen via subspace."
"Oh, that." McCoy paused a beat and thought about the solid hour of waiting they'd just done, during which he'd decided if nothing else, he'd let this whole thing ride for way too long. He needed to move it along. "So, did you mean what you said?"
"What? I hardly went and said all that just to take it back."
"I mean the part where you said, and I do quote, I think we should consider ourselves not just friends, and fuck.
"I did not either say it like that."
"I'd show you, but my padd's been confiscated. There was a little pause in there. I think we should consider ourselves not just friends, and… fuck. Like that."
"Okay, that was an expletive, not a specific suggestion because I wasn't making any specific suggestions, but it's not a bad one if you're making it."
"You avoided me for like two weeks over this, and then you weren't even going to suggest anything specific?"
"No, I was. Just, I wasn't going straight for the gold, you know? I mean, probably there should be other things first."
McCoy leaned back. He'd given himself a tiny dose of a sedative once it had been pretty clear he was needed to continue functioning as a doctor to monitor the guy during possibly a lot of waiting--nothing that would impair his capacity to treat even something pretty delicate, but enough to do something about the inevitable tension of a shuttle flight, compounded by the small problem of the shuttle in which he was riding breaking. He recognized he was still a little more relaxed than nature would have allowed for, and considered, for an instant, putting off this conversation until he was entirely himself. But no, he was moving it along, and besides, this was Jim, who had seen him drunk and pissed off and freaked out about lots of things. He mentally shrugged and asked, "Such as?"
Jim arched back to look both ways in the corridor, then came the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him. "I was sort of thinking we could start with kissing. Um, and since our schedule is currently seriously disrupted, I don't know what else we'll get to before you go."
"You're sure I'm still going."
Jim folded his arms over his chest. "Bones. You have to go. It would get held against you eventually, and you'll get to train more docs to be more like you. That's why they said they need someone that's got all that experience in space and on earth, and has the kind of--what'd they say?--active duty that those who serve with me tend to see?"
"Active, insane, one of those." McCoy shook his head. "I could still turn it down. My aviaphobia's on the record, and this incident could have left me unwilling to make a major change right now."
"On the record as existing and on the record as interfering with your career aren't the same. You're going."
"I want to even less now than I did a couple hours ago, you know."
"You're going." Jim stepped closer. "I mean, what would I do with Doctor …what's her name? Ellis? You planning to job-share?"
"You already replaced me?"
"You, no, position, yes; we're supposed to go back out in two days."
McCoy sighed. "Then I guess I'm still going. Probably in the next, like, hour, once they get me cleared; this is, after all, a fundamentally military organization. I can't believe you waited until I left to start something, though."
"There was a plan! It just wasn't one that included your shuttle going boom."
"Don't call it that," McCoy said with a shudder. "Just… don't."
"Sorry." Jim was practically against the biobed now, and he leaned closer. "So, about that kissing thing."
"Here?"
"Why not?"
"…in sickbay?" McCoy's reason sounded ridiculous to his own ears, and he was pretty sure Jim thought it was silly, too, but where he'd been certain enough before, now that the moment was upon him, well, he could see the value of avoidance. He cleared his throat.
"Last I checked, you work in sickbay. If we rule that out as a location for kissing, I think that's going to be a problem in the long run. Or at least, a frustration."
"Good point."
"So, do we need to discuss this more? Because in my experience, there's such a thing as too much discussing."
McCoy chuckled. "Why am I not surprised that James T-for-Turbulence Kirk thinks--" He was cut off when Jim leaned forward and stopped him with a kiss. A really awkward kiss, at least at first, which was surprising enough that McCoy stopped to concentrate on fixing that.
A minute (two minutes? He couldn't tell how fast time was passing) later the door opened, and Jim pulled back--and stepped back--with a muttered curse. "So, you'll let me know when your new plans firm up?" he said. "Or, I dunno, you could just swing by…"
McCoy doubted he looked any less thoroughly-kissed than Jim did, but he shrugged. "Yeah. If you wanna wait, the doc here will probably be done with me in two minutes. Right?" He cocked a brow at the young doctor, who nodded.
Ninety seconds later, McCoy was following Jim out of the medical bay and back to where Enterprise was docked at the south end of the station. He was surprised when Jim turned into a side corridor, but before he could question it, he had his back to the wall and Jim's hands everywhere--in his hair and on the side of his neck and on his shoulder and ribcage and under his tunic. He had no objection; the hands were roaming while Jim's lips and teeth played with his mouth, and his own hands were making explorations of their own.
Finally, he nuzzled his way toward Jim's ear and muttered, "Okay, so we started with kissing. And we have a limited time frame. And this is not a private space."
Jim groaned a little, but stepped back, face flushed and lips red as he tugged his shirts back into place and took a deep breath. "Then let's go."
McCoy led the way this time, walking fast and trying to ignore the fact that he was half-hard and so was Jim and after all this time wanting to do something about it, they were going to. His cabin was closer to the point of entry, and he started to turn toward it, then froze. His, but maybe already reassigned and definitely all packed up. "Uh. Your place?"
Jim blinked. "Oh. Yeah, guess so."
McCoy started to turn around, then stopped and grinned.
"What?"
"Nothing." He pressed Jim against the wall this time, trapping him with a hand to either side, and leaned in for another kiss. "To tide me over," he murmured.
"Tides are eternal," Jim observed, setting his feet apart and pulling McCoy in close against him. "So logically, we're just going to have to keep doing this."
"If we keep doing this here, eventually someone will notice."
"And be desperately jealous of me, yes. I see the problem." Jim let go. "Fine. Quarters."
McCoy chuckled and hurried to the next corridor, barely pausing for the door that slid aside for him just as readily as it ever did for Jim. He paused and glanced back at it as Jim came in past him. "Have your quarters always been open to me?"
Jim gave him a funny look. "Yeah, Bones. Well, not always, but for a long time. You know that. You patch me up and bring me home and put me to bed. Just like now."
McCoy shook his head. "Yeah, I know that. I meant, are they open to me because you want this or--"
"Oh. Yeah." Jim pulled McCoy further into the room until the door closed.
"Good." McCoy let himself be propelled to the couch and sat down, glad when Jim didn't sit next to him, but rather, straddled his lap, bending forward to kiss him slowly, hands on his jaw and chin, one sliding up into his hair. It was bizarre to think that hours earlier he'd been thinking this was exactly what Jim didn't want, and that he'd had to leave to get it, but he didn't want to consider that now. He wanted to keep kissing, mouth opening eagerly for Jim's tongue, fingers tightening around handfuls of Jim's shirts. Finally, he pushed the shirts up and ducked his chin down, pressing a kiss to the sternum. Jim whimpered and hurriedly removed the shirts, and McCoy kissed the same spot again before wrapping his arms around Jim's waist, holding him in close for McCoy to explore.
He could feel the tension in Jim's body, the same tension he was well aware of in himself, and he could feel the press of the hard ridge of Jim's cock against his chest when he pulled him in tight. He nuzzled his way down, getting a yelp followed by a pleased whine when he tugged at the tiny ring of loose skin around Jim's navel with his teeth, and then he looked up. "All right?"
"Bones, there is nothing you're likely to do here that isn't all right." McCoy tugged again, and Jim's hips pressed forward. "And that is definitely, definitely all right."
McCoy grinned and gripped Jim's ass hard with one hand, bringing the other between them and unfastening the waistband of his pants. He didn't push the pants off, just reached down inside and gripped, then slowly brought his hand up and back down, watching Jim's face all the while.
Jim shuddered. "Jesus, Bones, no fair. You can't--"
Incoming message for Doctor McCoy. The speaker to the right of the couch crackled slightly around the voice McCoy recognized as one of the local comm officers. He closed his eyes, then switched hands, continuing to stroke Jim was his left as he reached with his right to hit the button. "McCoy here."
Your transportation arrangements have been rescheduled. Please report to shuttle bay three in fifteen minutes.
McCoy licked his lips and gave a little sigh, then said, "Understood. McCoy out." He punched the button again, then gripped Jim's ass again and sped up the movement of his hand.
"Bones! You're gonna make--"
"Yeah, I know." McCoy bit gently again. "Come for me?"
Jim gasped and thrust forward. "Bones, this is totally unfair. I'm not gonna have time to return the favor."
"Not a favor." McCoy glanced down. "Least, not me doing you one." He ducked down and licked at the head of Jim's cock poking up through his fist, then wrapped his lips around and slurped once.
Jim thrust again and moved his hands restlessly against the wall and the top of the couch behind McCoy's head.
McCoy looked up. "We got about a minute here because it's a little bit of a hike, and I don't…" he paused. "I have no idea how this day changed so fast, but I've imagined making you come a hundred times and I don't want to leave here without seeing it."
"You've imagined…" Jim nodded and murmured, "then watch." McCoy kept stroking as Jim's head fell back, as the muscles of his belly and ass squeezed and pressed, and then as he gasped.
The splash of semen on his chin and down his hand wasn't a surprise, but the look on Jim's face as he dropped forward again and saw was.
"Bones. Fuck. You have my come on your chin."
McCoy licked his lips. "And believe me when I tell you, I'll be keeping the experience in mind." He wiped his hand on his own tunic and pulled Jim down for one more kiss. "I have to go," he said. "Regardless of how much I'd rather not."
Jim rolled off him, reluctantly, and McCoy pulled his tunic over his head, wiping his face with it and looking around. "Shit. My bag's with the shuttle, I guess."
"Leave that here. You aren't required to be in full uniform in transit anyway," Jim said. He was sliding down onto his knees, moving between McCoy's thighs, but McCoy shook his head.
"You have no idea how much I want you right where you are, but, damn it."
Jim groaned. "We should have done this ages ago, you know."
"And whose fault--shit." McCoy stood, adjusting himself and trying to figure out how he was going to walk halfway across the base, then trying to think of anything unsexy, then failing entirely because Jim was on his knees on the floor looking up at him, and that was making his efforts completely useless.
Finally, he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll call when I get there," he said.
As he walked alone to the shuttle bay, he wondered whether starting this now wasn't actually worse than fearing it wasn't ever going to happen.
--
His new quarters were twice the size of the ones he'd had on Enterprise, which mostly meant they felt big and empty, but McCoy decided not to dwell on that and started organizing his closet.
The officer quarters associated with the academy had been remodeled some since the last time he'd been to check on Pike, so it took a minute to realize the light on the panel on the wall was a message light. He went and examined the panel, then sat down at the terminal on the desk and activated the screen.
The message came up as soon as he verified his identity.
It wasn't surprising it was from Jim.
Once again, it was text-only.
Bones,
Text worked well for me before, and it's a lot less risky to transmit.
"Less risky?" McCoy kept reading.
I can't stop thinking about before. About your chin and lips dripping and your hand and the taste of me on your lips… Needless to say, I hope you've had an opportunity to do something about the problem you had when you left, but I know you Bones, and you haven't. You've been being all professional, and now you're there and it's been hours, and all this time I've been sitting here hard as a rock thinking about how fucking hot you were.
McCoy groaned and shifted in his chair. "Dirty letters, Jim? Really?"
Well, not the whole time; there have been the parts where I wasn't hard because…anyway I decided I should remind you. I've recently learned that holding off and being a chickenshit is unnecessary, so I'm throwing caution to the wind. I'm sure you think I needed such a lesson in my life, by the way.
"Oh, fuck."
Do you know what I'm doing, Bones? I'm on shore leave until the rest of the crew reports, you know, so I'm still right where you left me. I have red marks on the skin of my stomach, red teethmarks, and every time I see them I think about you biting and pulling, about your lips on my skin and then on my dick. I've jerked off over it twice since you left and I'm ready to go again.
"You're always ready to go again, Jim," McCoy muttered with a chuckle.
And before you say it, Bones, I haven't come four times in one day in years, so I am not either always ready. And I hate that I didn't get to see you, and I've decided you have to make it up to me, so I'm gonna get you off like this. I want you to do to yourself what you did to me. Probably not the sucking, since I don't think you're that flexible, although God, your mouth. You have the most perfect mouth, and you had it on my dick. You better be liking the memory of that as much as I do, because Bones. I… nnngh. There are no words. Your mouth, and then your hands. Big hand, long fingers, squeezing, tugging. I don't know if you know what you've got there, since I'm going to guess you don't think your own hands are anything special, even when they're pulling on your dick and you're right there on the edge, but Bones, fuck.
McCoy licked his lips and kept reading.
I keep thinking about your tongue, just the tiniest lick of my slit and how did you do that much damage with one second of your tongue? And then I think how those teeth grazed, just the quickest flash, and then you looked up and told me to come, and what the hell was I going to do with that? So yeah, your mouth should be reclassified, because I think I would commit acts of mayhem for those lips, those teeth.
McCoy briefly considered that Jim was fairly prone to, if not mayhem, at least chaos, but the room was getting warmer and the chair was getting smaller, and damn it, Jim was right; he had gone all professional and put it (mostly) out of his mind, and here he was reading very personal, very direct porn, being reminded of the way Jim had arched and whined, and damn it, he wasn't actually on duty and even if he had been, right now the fastest way to efficiency was going to be to take care of his hard-on. And yeah, he was going to let Jim help him.
Next time I want to watch you take your time. I want to know how far into a puddle of quivering goo you can make me. I want to know: if you can cause that kind of devastation in minutes, what you could do with hours on hand. Would you lick me, slowly, base to tip until I begged? Would you spend half an hour on my collarbone, worrying a bruise that says to all and sundry that you're staking a claim? Would you bite your way down my thigh, leaving more red teeth lines and making me so eager to come that all you have to do is tell me?
"All of the above," McCoy rasped, slouching in his seat and unfastening his pants. "All of the above and fuck, Jim, the mouth on you."
Are you touching yourself yet? God, I hope so. Do it with me. You knew right away what I'd like, didn't you? Are you doing the same thing to yourself? Firm grip, thumb teasing at the slit, fist sliding up and down faster and faster? Tell me, Bones. Open up a file and tell me what you're doing. I want to know that remembering this morning makes you as helpless as it does me.
I'm waiting.
The file ended.
McCoy grunted as drops of sweat started to gather on his forehead, the vision of Jim in his lap, arched back and groping for a handhold as he came foremost in his mind. He played the moment again in his memory, up until the point at which he'd stopped him, and then, with his pants shoved down around his ankles, he leaned back and imagined what it might have been like: Jim, pink and warm and damp on his knees, lips stretched taut around McCoy's cock.
He'd been ignoring the impulse to do this for hours, and his cock pulsed in his hand as he let himself think about it now. Jim would suck him eagerly, would take all he could and try to take more. McCoy imagined how it would be, his fingers threading through Jim's hair, Jim's nose brushing his belly, and carefully reached with his free hand to open a secure file.
Thank fuck for being in medical; secure files were the default.
"Jim, I'm too lazy to write this out as text," he began, feeling slightly ridiculous, "but I trust you'll have the sense not to play it for a crowd. Yes, I'm with you." He paused. "I didn't get to see you go to work on me, so I'm having to use my imagination, but I'm pretty good at visualizing. Do you know what I see? I see us in your quarters right where we were. I see you on your knees, only this time, I let you keep going. I let you figure out where I like the feel of teeth, where I want your hands."
He paused to breathe. "I see your tongue making wet lines that go cold and then your body against mine, and I'm anything but cold. I see you coming again, and…" He bit his lip, then went on, "and it makes me need like anything to be there to make it happen."
The wall panel chimed, and he stopped the recording and shook his head. This was the most interruption-heavy day he'd ever had, and he was a fucking doctor, with emergencies. He hit the button. "McCoy here."
"Incoming message being routed to your terminal." The computer voice was cool and sterile, but McCoy thought considering he probably sounded like he was in the middle of a marathon, it was just as well it had been the computer.
He opened the file--text only, of course--and grinned. It was just a few words. You have to be there by now, and if you're working too hard I will have to come kick your ass myself. Meanwhile, I'm going to bed now. Just, you know, so you know where I am. --J PS, um, we didn't say this part but I think it's customary: love you.
McCoy closed the file and stroked himself faster, then went back to recording. "And I think you know what goes next, which I feel ridiculous saying out loud, but, um, it's…g-good. It's. Shit. Love you, too, but next time, no interrupting. Good night." He locked the file to Jim's personal passwords and routed it, then hit send.
Then looked down at the mess in his lap. This was going to be a long year.
--
Bones,
For the record, the other night I was asleep when your message came in.
The next morning, when I listened to it, well, I won't go into detail if you won't, but holy shit, Bones.
Love, J.
--
Jim,
I wasn't being difficult; I just don't quite know how to talk about my cock with the kind of loving attention you might want. I'd rather think about yours. Which I am doing now--how about you?
Yes, that time I might have been being difficult. Just as well you like me that way. Seriously, they're probably going to decide I suck at this job in like a month because my concentration is all impeded by your cock. We really should have started this sooner.
Len
--
Bones,
I think by 'difficult,' you meant 'hard.'
I do like you that way, for the record.
I don't need elaborate details or anything else you don't want to do, but if this is our sex life for the next eleven months, three weeks (but who's counting), some loving attention seems like it would be good.
Love, J.
--
Jim,
Sorry for the delay. Little busy.
Good point.
See attached.
Len
P.S. Said attached is for you only; I will be very put out if I learn it went anywhere else.
--
Bones,
You sent… I didn't even know you knew how to edit image files like that.
Which leads me to believe they weren't edited.
We're back to the no words here, Bones. And you didn't let me play with that thing or make you make that face? Next shore leave, we are locking ourselves in a room and it is SO my turn. I am not waiting 10 months, 29 days (but who's counting).
Love, J.
P.S. It's definitely not going anywhere else. All. Mine.
--
Jim,
Possessive, much?
Good news: students are out on a field thing I have nothing to do with next week for three whole days.
Bad news: I have no idea where you'll be then, and you might be somewhere impractical.
Still, if we can make it, well. Schedule attached.
Len
--
"Bones?" The door opened for Jim because McCoy had told it to, and Jim was right on time.
McCoy grinned in the dim sitting area and rested his bare arms along the back of his couch. "In here. Join me?"
Jim stepped into the room, eyes adjusting, and smiled. "Definitely."
I originally posted this at http://florahart.dreamwidth.org/1042030.html, and you are welcome to comment there. OpenID and/or anon comments are allowed.
Author:
florahart
Rating: NC17
Words: ~6550
Prompt: Epistolary sex
Summary: Really, we had to wait for me to leave to do this?
Notes/Warnings: No warnings. Written for KM_Anthology. This fic tried to turn into an epic a full year long, but I think I corralled it somewhat (because 1. the smut was sort of the point and 2. word limit of 10K). *facepalm*
Letters Home
The trouble was, they hadn't ever talked about this whole separation thing.
McCoy had tried before, a couple of times, just to float the general topic. Jim was too stubborn to let him, though, and damn it, careerwise, the appointment was the right choice (he knew it, and Jim had said it in so many words; that part was easy), and still, that left everything unsaid.
And now Jim was avoiding him, which meant it was pretty much going to stay unsaid.
Maybe it was that he knew McCoy had things to say--things he couldn't say in return. That idea sucked, but left to its own devices, McCoy's brain had come up with worse alternatives, such as that Jim in fact had no idea he had anything he should have said before now. That Jim was too damaged by his (admittedly fucked-up) childhood in the first place to even do relationships, or at least, not when they weren't convenient, or not when they were supposed to be ongoing and indefinite. That Jim was not just unable to say the words back, but didn't want to because he was ready for their 'best friends but never quite more despite some pretty obvious indications they should be' thing to just fade back into 'good buddies that look each other up sometimes' or 'old friends that lost touch' or hell, 'clingy doctors that got irritating'.
And they were best friends and all but more, if that was even a category; they took care of each other and provided stability (and the occasional voice of reason when one of them needed it) and all the things that a couple ought to do except for anything physical, so he didn't think the clinginess was all that likely to be the issue, or at least, the part of his brain that could handle the math for basic navigation didn't; among other things, he wasn't exactly a stranger to demanding space himself, so clingy wasn't a word he thought anyone would choose to describe him.
Still, this whole situation was leaving him feeling a little like a child groping for its mother's hand, then looking around wide-eyed when it doesn't find it.
Which was unsettling for a guy in his mid-thirties.
About three minutes after they'd docked at Starbase Five, Jim had all but ordered him to go, take it, be the superstar he definitely could be, all that jazz (direct quote; McCoy didn't think he'd ever have referred to himself as a superstar), and then he'd commenced with the avoiding. McCoy hadn't seen him for more than a few minutes at a time in days, and none of those brief glimpses had been private enough or uninterrupted enough to have a real conversation. "Got to be at a meeting with the base's maintenance guys in five, Bones. Catch me later?" or, "Chicken's lousy today--have the beef. See ya," had been about all that Jim had said, and then, in pretty much every case, he'd done what McCoy could hardly help but call fleeing.
And that was also damn unsettling--Jim wasn't much the fleeing type. So he was going, because staying for something not discussed seemed absurd and needy, and it wasn't like the opportunity was going to be offered again every year.
A chime emanating from somewhere vaguely ceilingward announced the last call before the shuttle's impending departure.
McCoy sighed and picked up his bag, loitering as best he could until there was no choice but to board by himself and hope the guy in the next seat was amenable to being thrown up on.
As soon as he thought it, he turned into the bank of little compartments that held all the necessities for a flight of some distance. If he was going to throw up (and he thought he probably was), he was going to get it over with now. He wasn't so sure Jim would appreciate the title of "only man I ever want to vomit on," but the idea of starting a whole new phase of his life in exactly the same way like that felt very wrong.
Yeah, he was definitely in trouble. He really should have found a way to have that talk.
--
He'd barely managed to find his seat and get in it--forward-facing, left side, non-window, because he and Jim had made something of a tradition of using roughly the same seats from their first trip up to Enterprise--when his padd beeped in the bag he'd stowed overhead.
He wondered if it had gotten its settings fried somewhere along the line; he'd turned off the audio signal, which he generally only left on for official reasons, and he was in transit and not exactly on-duty. With a sigh, he stood and pulled the damn thing back down, nodding absently at the instruction from the forward cabin to get back in his damn seat already, and unzipped the side, yanking out the padd and shoving the bag back into the compartment.
The flight staff didn't have to actually come make him sit down, though the young man heading toward him (very young; good God, was Chekov only the first of an entire cohort of children in the fleet?) looked as though he intended exactly that. But McCoy was seated by the time he got there, scowling at the padd, which beeped again and then displayed a brief text-only message. He glanced up and grinned briefly at the kid's muttering, since it only reminded him, like every shuttle ride, of the one from Iowa, then went back to reading the display.
Bones, just keep the padd out. More after you get going. -J
He pressed the advance button, which did nothing, and scowled some more, but if Jim had taken into his head to play with the damn thing, well, McCoy wasn't Spock, and he wasn't going to convince it to spit out whatever it was sooner than Jim had told it to. He set it on his thigh and waited, tapping his other leg with two fingers as the shuttle finished undocking and departed from the base. Earth was ten hours away by shuttle, and he had no idea when Jim intended for "after you get going" to be.
Finally, when they'd completed the turn and McCoy had had just exactly enough time to start wishing he'd had the sense to self-prescribe something ahead of time to help with how much he didn't like shuttles, the padd beeped again. He glanced down.
So, I've been avoiding you basically since the appointment came through.
"No, really?" McCoy said under his breath.
"I beg your pardon?"
McCoy glanced toward the window seat, glad for the empty seat between him and the gruff, stiff-looking man in it. "Nothing," he said. "I'm just cussing at my friend while he's not here to complain."
"This seems unlikely to produce any result," the man said.
McCoy shrugged. "I'll try to keep it down."
"Excellent." The man sat up straight and closed his eyes, apparently planning to sleep as stiffly as he did anything else. McCoy rolled his eyes and looked back down at the padd. It still said the same thing, but as it seemed more an introductory statement than another directive to wait, he tried the advance button again. The text started to scroll.
I know you've been trying to corner me to talk about things, and I've been begging off because I am an enormous chickenshit.
McCoy snorted softly, then glanced warily at his companion, who didn't move. Good.
Thing is, I knew if we started talking, we'd convince you not to go, and you totally should be going.
A blank line scrolled up, and then the text resumed.
I figured if we talked about it, see, then we'd convince you not to go, because I'm not an idiot, and I know what we need to talk about. And I'm needy as hell, which you know, and I am not going to be all needy in a manner which compromises your career because I know you wouldn't be if it were me. You're going to be amazing.
Also, this is text-only because I figure you may not want it playing aloud on a flight with whoever else is heading your way. And because that way you can't hear me having a panic attack about saying this stuff out loud in case I've gotten it totally wrong. I mean, I don't think I do, but there's the chance, right?
McCoy refrained from snarling a 'get to it,' mostly because he wasn't quite sure what to do with the notion that none of his guesses about why Jim was avoiding him had been right, and why he hadn't known it. It was ridiculous, of course; Jim was, well, smart wasn't the word, and despite that he had every right to have come away from his upbringing damaged, he was pretty emotionally bright, too. There was no reason he couldn't want to have the same conversation McCoy did, but he'd managed to convince himself pretty thoroughly anyway.
The text was still scrolling, and McCoy had to stop it and go back.
And you're sitting there telling me to get to it already. This is the part where I take a deep breath. Imagine a pause. Okay. So, we've been best friends for longer than I can even claim to have had any other single relationship of any kind in my life. Even my mother, given how much she was away, and even my grandparents, given how--well, anyway. So you're my constant, and I've known that for a long time, and I didn't want to do anything to fuck it up. Which doesn't explain why I think I should feel free to go ahead and do so now, except that since we're going to be mostly-apart for a while, I guess if I piss you off somehow, I'm hoping you'll be over it before I see you.
You know, I should have written this before lunchtime the day you're leaving. I could have made it much prettier. I'm no poet or anything, but I think I'm sucking.
Not like that.
But I mean, as long as I said it, that's where I'm going, more or less. I don't want to be just friends, and I'm pretty sure you also don't, so I'm suggesting, you know, you're a good-looking guy, and I think we should consider ourselves not just friends, and… fuck.
Stop laughing.
McCoy wasn't laughing, exactly, but he was grinning like an idiot, despite that his stomach was also doing an excellent impression of inverting itself and tying a knot around his lungs in the process. The image in his mind's eye, of Jim pacing and trying to say all this, biting his lip sometimes, or pressing his fingers into the back of his neck like he could massage away being freaked out, was one he's seen before, but never over him, and while that was at least as unsettling as any of the rest of this business, at least it was unsettling in a good way, additional stomach-churning notwithstanding.
I don't know whether I should go on or just wait for you to write back, so rather than risk making a bigger idiot of myself, I'm going to wait, and hope you understand. And now I'm going to go tell your padd how to play this before I convince myself I should just let you go meet other people and make lots of nice non-spacefaring friends.
McCoy snorted again. "As if anyone else would even put up with--"
He broke off as the shuttle lurched and spun, dropping the padd as he gripped the armrests and waited for all the oxygen to escape and the cold to come in. The man in the window seat startled awake and looked around for several seconds, then stood, brushing past McCoy's knees as he hurried forward to the cabin. A moment later, a voice McCoy recognized as his came over the intercom. "This is Admiral Chernigov, Fleet Commander of Starbase Four. This shuttle has lost partial power and all communications, but retains primary structural integrity and life support. We will return to Starbase Five for repairs. Estimated time: two hours. Chernigov out."
McCoy took several deep breaths, willing himself to agree that life support was still functioning, then bent forward and picked up the padd.
He checked for a signal, which no ordinary padd should locate, but Jim had tinkered with this one on several occasions, and it was, as he liked to say, a little upgraded. What he found wasn't great, but they were still pretty close, and he thought probably he could get a short message through, if only through somewhat nonstandard means. The situation was urgent enough to try, anyway.
McCoy, LH, Chief Medical…
"Shit." He backed up and restated his position. McCoy, LH, Interim Commander, Starfleet Medical, priority one, to Kirk, JT, Captain, Enterprise. Personal and urgent. Jim: Shuttle's damaged, back to you in maybe a couple hours assuming nothing worse happens. Read your letter. Have thoughts. See you soon.
He included the data that would route the message through Enterprise's comm boards rather than the base's and sent it along and then, after a moment's thought, he sighed and cleared the buffer, locking Jim's letter up and erasing the copy of his own. It was probably going to mean one or both of them would get in a little hot water for what amounted to hacking into communications networks, but then, Jim was probably right this minute seeing to that anyway by sending out a rescue party, and it was just stupid not to provide communication that he did have, since there was no way to guarantee the shuttle's damage was completely contained anyway. He stood and walked forward to the cabin. "So, I find I have a comm signal on this…"
--
"Well. This is awkward." Jim stood in the doorway of the base medical bay, where everyone rescued from the shuttle was being checked out as a matter of course. McCoy was done, but technically he was required to wait for clearance from the guy in charge, which, unfortunately, was not him. That guy was busy with the only actual serious injury, which McCoy had stabilized on the shuttle in the first place, so he had a few minutes to kill. He was sitting on the edge of the biobed, feet dangling off the side.
"Awkward how? You're not the guy they caught with a somewhat illegally-augmented comm device that an admiral had to use and convince the staff the message was legit."
Jim gave him a look. "Awkward in that you were supposed to have ten hours to think about it and then be all busy getting settled when you got there. Plus, the ensuing conversation was supposed to happen via subspace."
"Oh, that." McCoy paused a beat and thought about the solid hour of waiting they'd just done, during which he'd decided if nothing else, he'd let this whole thing ride for way too long. He needed to move it along. "So, did you mean what you said?"
"What? I hardly went and said all that just to take it back."
"I mean the part where you said, and I do quote, I think we should consider ourselves not just friends, and fuck.
"I did not either say it like that."
"I'd show you, but my padd's been confiscated. There was a little pause in there. I think we should consider ourselves not just friends, and… fuck. Like that."
"Okay, that was an expletive, not a specific suggestion because I wasn't making any specific suggestions, but it's not a bad one if you're making it."
"You avoided me for like two weeks over this, and then you weren't even going to suggest anything specific?"
"No, I was. Just, I wasn't going straight for the gold, you know? I mean, probably there should be other things first."
McCoy leaned back. He'd given himself a tiny dose of a sedative once it had been pretty clear he was needed to continue functioning as a doctor to monitor the guy during possibly a lot of waiting--nothing that would impair his capacity to treat even something pretty delicate, but enough to do something about the inevitable tension of a shuttle flight, compounded by the small problem of the shuttle in which he was riding breaking. He recognized he was still a little more relaxed than nature would have allowed for, and considered, for an instant, putting off this conversation until he was entirely himself. But no, he was moving it along, and besides, this was Jim, who had seen him drunk and pissed off and freaked out about lots of things. He mentally shrugged and asked, "Such as?"
Jim arched back to look both ways in the corridor, then came the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him. "I was sort of thinking we could start with kissing. Um, and since our schedule is currently seriously disrupted, I don't know what else we'll get to before you go."
"You're sure I'm still going."
Jim folded his arms over his chest. "Bones. You have to go. It would get held against you eventually, and you'll get to train more docs to be more like you. That's why they said they need someone that's got all that experience in space and on earth, and has the kind of--what'd they say?--active duty that those who serve with me tend to see?"
"Active, insane, one of those." McCoy shook his head. "I could still turn it down. My aviaphobia's on the record, and this incident could have left me unwilling to make a major change right now."
"On the record as existing and on the record as interfering with your career aren't the same. You're going."
"I want to even less now than I did a couple hours ago, you know."
"You're going." Jim stepped closer. "I mean, what would I do with Doctor …what's her name? Ellis? You planning to job-share?"
"You already replaced me?"
"You, no, position, yes; we're supposed to go back out in two days."
McCoy sighed. "Then I guess I'm still going. Probably in the next, like, hour, once they get me cleared; this is, after all, a fundamentally military organization. I can't believe you waited until I left to start something, though."
"There was a plan! It just wasn't one that included your shuttle going boom."
"Don't call it that," McCoy said with a shudder. "Just… don't."
"Sorry." Jim was practically against the biobed now, and he leaned closer. "So, about that kissing thing."
"Here?"
"Why not?"
"…in sickbay?" McCoy's reason sounded ridiculous to his own ears, and he was pretty sure Jim thought it was silly, too, but where he'd been certain enough before, now that the moment was upon him, well, he could see the value of avoidance. He cleared his throat.
"Last I checked, you work in sickbay. If we rule that out as a location for kissing, I think that's going to be a problem in the long run. Or at least, a frustration."
"Good point."
"So, do we need to discuss this more? Because in my experience, there's such a thing as too much discussing."
McCoy chuckled. "Why am I not surprised that James T-for-Turbulence Kirk thinks--" He was cut off when Jim leaned forward and stopped him with a kiss. A really awkward kiss, at least at first, which was surprising enough that McCoy stopped to concentrate on fixing that.
A minute (two minutes? He couldn't tell how fast time was passing) later the door opened, and Jim pulled back--and stepped back--with a muttered curse. "So, you'll let me know when your new plans firm up?" he said. "Or, I dunno, you could just swing by…"
McCoy doubted he looked any less thoroughly-kissed than Jim did, but he shrugged. "Yeah. If you wanna wait, the doc here will probably be done with me in two minutes. Right?" He cocked a brow at the young doctor, who nodded.
Ninety seconds later, McCoy was following Jim out of the medical bay and back to where Enterprise was docked at the south end of the station. He was surprised when Jim turned into a side corridor, but before he could question it, he had his back to the wall and Jim's hands everywhere--in his hair and on the side of his neck and on his shoulder and ribcage and under his tunic. He had no objection; the hands were roaming while Jim's lips and teeth played with his mouth, and his own hands were making explorations of their own.
Finally, he nuzzled his way toward Jim's ear and muttered, "Okay, so we started with kissing. And we have a limited time frame. And this is not a private space."
Jim groaned a little, but stepped back, face flushed and lips red as he tugged his shirts back into place and took a deep breath. "Then let's go."
McCoy led the way this time, walking fast and trying to ignore the fact that he was half-hard and so was Jim and after all this time wanting to do something about it, they were going to. His cabin was closer to the point of entry, and he started to turn toward it, then froze. His, but maybe already reassigned and definitely all packed up. "Uh. Your place?"
Jim blinked. "Oh. Yeah, guess so."
McCoy started to turn around, then stopped and grinned.
"What?"
"Nothing." He pressed Jim against the wall this time, trapping him with a hand to either side, and leaned in for another kiss. "To tide me over," he murmured.
"Tides are eternal," Jim observed, setting his feet apart and pulling McCoy in close against him. "So logically, we're just going to have to keep doing this."
"If we keep doing this here, eventually someone will notice."
"And be desperately jealous of me, yes. I see the problem." Jim let go. "Fine. Quarters."
McCoy chuckled and hurried to the next corridor, barely pausing for the door that slid aside for him just as readily as it ever did for Jim. He paused and glanced back at it as Jim came in past him. "Have your quarters always been open to me?"
Jim gave him a funny look. "Yeah, Bones. Well, not always, but for a long time. You know that. You patch me up and bring me home and put me to bed. Just like now."
McCoy shook his head. "Yeah, I know that. I meant, are they open to me because you want this or--"
"Oh. Yeah." Jim pulled McCoy further into the room until the door closed.
"Good." McCoy let himself be propelled to the couch and sat down, glad when Jim didn't sit next to him, but rather, straddled his lap, bending forward to kiss him slowly, hands on his jaw and chin, one sliding up into his hair. It was bizarre to think that hours earlier he'd been thinking this was exactly what Jim didn't want, and that he'd had to leave to get it, but he didn't want to consider that now. He wanted to keep kissing, mouth opening eagerly for Jim's tongue, fingers tightening around handfuls of Jim's shirts. Finally, he pushed the shirts up and ducked his chin down, pressing a kiss to the sternum. Jim whimpered and hurriedly removed the shirts, and McCoy kissed the same spot again before wrapping his arms around Jim's waist, holding him in close for McCoy to explore.
He could feel the tension in Jim's body, the same tension he was well aware of in himself, and he could feel the press of the hard ridge of Jim's cock against his chest when he pulled him in tight. He nuzzled his way down, getting a yelp followed by a pleased whine when he tugged at the tiny ring of loose skin around Jim's navel with his teeth, and then he looked up. "All right?"
"Bones, there is nothing you're likely to do here that isn't all right." McCoy tugged again, and Jim's hips pressed forward. "And that is definitely, definitely all right."
McCoy grinned and gripped Jim's ass hard with one hand, bringing the other between them and unfastening the waistband of his pants. He didn't push the pants off, just reached down inside and gripped, then slowly brought his hand up and back down, watching Jim's face all the while.
Jim shuddered. "Jesus, Bones, no fair. You can't--"
Incoming message for Doctor McCoy. The speaker to the right of the couch crackled slightly around the voice McCoy recognized as one of the local comm officers. He closed his eyes, then switched hands, continuing to stroke Jim was his left as he reached with his right to hit the button. "McCoy here."
Your transportation arrangements have been rescheduled. Please report to shuttle bay three in fifteen minutes.
McCoy licked his lips and gave a little sigh, then said, "Understood. McCoy out." He punched the button again, then gripped Jim's ass again and sped up the movement of his hand.
"Bones! You're gonna make--"
"Yeah, I know." McCoy bit gently again. "Come for me?"
Jim gasped and thrust forward. "Bones, this is totally unfair. I'm not gonna have time to return the favor."
"Not a favor." McCoy glanced down. "Least, not me doing you one." He ducked down and licked at the head of Jim's cock poking up through his fist, then wrapped his lips around and slurped once.
Jim thrust again and moved his hands restlessly against the wall and the top of the couch behind McCoy's head.
McCoy looked up. "We got about a minute here because it's a little bit of a hike, and I don't…" he paused. "I have no idea how this day changed so fast, but I've imagined making you come a hundred times and I don't want to leave here without seeing it."
"You've imagined…" Jim nodded and murmured, "then watch." McCoy kept stroking as Jim's head fell back, as the muscles of his belly and ass squeezed and pressed, and then as he gasped.
The splash of semen on his chin and down his hand wasn't a surprise, but the look on Jim's face as he dropped forward again and saw was.
"Bones. Fuck. You have my come on your chin."
McCoy licked his lips. "And believe me when I tell you, I'll be keeping the experience in mind." He wiped his hand on his own tunic and pulled Jim down for one more kiss. "I have to go," he said. "Regardless of how much I'd rather not."
Jim rolled off him, reluctantly, and McCoy pulled his tunic over his head, wiping his face with it and looking around. "Shit. My bag's with the shuttle, I guess."
"Leave that here. You aren't required to be in full uniform in transit anyway," Jim said. He was sliding down onto his knees, moving between McCoy's thighs, but McCoy shook his head.
"You have no idea how much I want you right where you are, but, damn it."
Jim groaned. "We should have done this ages ago, you know."
"And whose fault--shit." McCoy stood, adjusting himself and trying to figure out how he was going to walk halfway across the base, then trying to think of anything unsexy, then failing entirely because Jim was on his knees on the floor looking up at him, and that was making his efforts completely useless.
Finally, he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll call when I get there," he said.
As he walked alone to the shuttle bay, he wondered whether starting this now wasn't actually worse than fearing it wasn't ever going to happen.
--
His new quarters were twice the size of the ones he'd had on Enterprise, which mostly meant they felt big and empty, but McCoy decided not to dwell on that and started organizing his closet.
The officer quarters associated with the academy had been remodeled some since the last time he'd been to check on Pike, so it took a minute to realize the light on the panel on the wall was a message light. He went and examined the panel, then sat down at the terminal on the desk and activated the screen.
The message came up as soon as he verified his identity.
It wasn't surprising it was from Jim.
Once again, it was text-only.
Bones,
Text worked well for me before, and it's a lot less risky to transmit.
"Less risky?" McCoy kept reading.
I can't stop thinking about before. About your chin and lips dripping and your hand and the taste of me on your lips… Needless to say, I hope you've had an opportunity to do something about the problem you had when you left, but I know you Bones, and you haven't. You've been being all professional, and now you're there and it's been hours, and all this time I've been sitting here hard as a rock thinking about how fucking hot you were.
McCoy groaned and shifted in his chair. "Dirty letters, Jim? Really?"
Well, not the whole time; there have been the parts where I wasn't hard because…anyway I decided I should remind you. I've recently learned that holding off and being a chickenshit is unnecessary, so I'm throwing caution to the wind. I'm sure you think I needed such a lesson in my life, by the way.
"Oh, fuck."
Do you know what I'm doing, Bones? I'm on shore leave until the rest of the crew reports, you know, so I'm still right where you left me. I have red marks on the skin of my stomach, red teethmarks, and every time I see them I think about you biting and pulling, about your lips on my skin and then on my dick. I've jerked off over it twice since you left and I'm ready to go again.
"You're always ready to go again, Jim," McCoy muttered with a chuckle.
And before you say it, Bones, I haven't come four times in one day in years, so I am not either always ready. And I hate that I didn't get to see you, and I've decided you have to make it up to me, so I'm gonna get you off like this. I want you to do to yourself what you did to me. Probably not the sucking, since I don't think you're that flexible, although God, your mouth. You have the most perfect mouth, and you had it on my dick. You better be liking the memory of that as much as I do, because Bones. I… nnngh. There are no words. Your mouth, and then your hands. Big hand, long fingers, squeezing, tugging. I don't know if you know what you've got there, since I'm going to guess you don't think your own hands are anything special, even when they're pulling on your dick and you're right there on the edge, but Bones, fuck.
McCoy licked his lips and kept reading.
I keep thinking about your tongue, just the tiniest lick of my slit and how did you do that much damage with one second of your tongue? And then I think how those teeth grazed, just the quickest flash, and then you looked up and told me to come, and what the hell was I going to do with that? So yeah, your mouth should be reclassified, because I think I would commit acts of mayhem for those lips, those teeth.
McCoy briefly considered that Jim was fairly prone to, if not mayhem, at least chaos, but the room was getting warmer and the chair was getting smaller, and damn it, Jim was right; he had gone all professional and put it (mostly) out of his mind, and here he was reading very personal, very direct porn, being reminded of the way Jim had arched and whined, and damn it, he wasn't actually on duty and even if he had been, right now the fastest way to efficiency was going to be to take care of his hard-on. And yeah, he was going to let Jim help him.
Next time I want to watch you take your time. I want to know how far into a puddle of quivering goo you can make me. I want to know: if you can cause that kind of devastation in minutes, what you could do with hours on hand. Would you lick me, slowly, base to tip until I begged? Would you spend half an hour on my collarbone, worrying a bruise that says to all and sundry that you're staking a claim? Would you bite your way down my thigh, leaving more red teeth lines and making me so eager to come that all you have to do is tell me?
"All of the above," McCoy rasped, slouching in his seat and unfastening his pants. "All of the above and fuck, Jim, the mouth on you."
Are you touching yourself yet? God, I hope so. Do it with me. You knew right away what I'd like, didn't you? Are you doing the same thing to yourself? Firm grip, thumb teasing at the slit, fist sliding up and down faster and faster? Tell me, Bones. Open up a file and tell me what you're doing. I want to know that remembering this morning makes you as helpless as it does me.
I'm waiting.
The file ended.
McCoy grunted as drops of sweat started to gather on his forehead, the vision of Jim in his lap, arched back and groping for a handhold as he came foremost in his mind. He played the moment again in his memory, up until the point at which he'd stopped him, and then, with his pants shoved down around his ankles, he leaned back and imagined what it might have been like: Jim, pink and warm and damp on his knees, lips stretched taut around McCoy's cock.
He'd been ignoring the impulse to do this for hours, and his cock pulsed in his hand as he let himself think about it now. Jim would suck him eagerly, would take all he could and try to take more. McCoy imagined how it would be, his fingers threading through Jim's hair, Jim's nose brushing his belly, and carefully reached with his free hand to open a secure file.
Thank fuck for being in medical; secure files were the default.
"Jim, I'm too lazy to write this out as text," he began, feeling slightly ridiculous, "but I trust you'll have the sense not to play it for a crowd. Yes, I'm with you." He paused. "I didn't get to see you go to work on me, so I'm having to use my imagination, but I'm pretty good at visualizing. Do you know what I see? I see us in your quarters right where we were. I see you on your knees, only this time, I let you keep going. I let you figure out where I like the feel of teeth, where I want your hands."
He paused to breathe. "I see your tongue making wet lines that go cold and then your body against mine, and I'm anything but cold. I see you coming again, and…" He bit his lip, then went on, "and it makes me need like anything to be there to make it happen."
The wall panel chimed, and he stopped the recording and shook his head. This was the most interruption-heavy day he'd ever had, and he was a fucking doctor, with emergencies. He hit the button. "McCoy here."
"Incoming message being routed to your terminal." The computer voice was cool and sterile, but McCoy thought considering he probably sounded like he was in the middle of a marathon, it was just as well it had been the computer.
He opened the file--text only, of course--and grinned. It was just a few words. You have to be there by now, and if you're working too hard I will have to come kick your ass myself. Meanwhile, I'm going to bed now. Just, you know, so you know where I am. --J PS, um, we didn't say this part but I think it's customary: love you.
McCoy closed the file and stroked himself faster, then went back to recording. "And I think you know what goes next, which I feel ridiculous saying out loud, but, um, it's…g-good. It's. Shit. Love you, too, but next time, no interrupting. Good night." He locked the file to Jim's personal passwords and routed it, then hit send.
Then looked down at the mess in his lap. This was going to be a long year.
--
Bones,
For the record, the other night I was asleep when your message came in.
The next morning, when I listened to it, well, I won't go into detail if you won't, but holy shit, Bones.
Love, J.
--
Jim,
I wasn't being difficult; I just don't quite know how to talk about my cock with the kind of loving attention you might want. I'd rather think about yours. Which I am doing now--how about you?
Yes, that time I might have been being difficult. Just as well you like me that way. Seriously, they're probably going to decide I suck at this job in like a month because my concentration is all impeded by your cock. We really should have started this sooner.
Len
--
Bones,
I think by 'difficult,' you meant 'hard.'
I do like you that way, for the record.
I don't need elaborate details or anything else you don't want to do, but if this is our sex life for the next eleven months, three weeks (but who's counting), some loving attention seems like it would be good.
Love, J.
--
Jim,
Sorry for the delay. Little busy.
Good point.
See attached.
Len
P.S. Said attached is for you only; I will be very put out if I learn it went anywhere else.
--
Bones,
You sent… I didn't even know you knew how to edit image files like that.
Which leads me to believe they weren't edited.
We're back to the no words here, Bones. And you didn't let me play with that thing or make you make that face? Next shore leave, we are locking ourselves in a room and it is SO my turn. I am not waiting 10 months, 29 days (but who's counting).
Love, J.
P.S. It's definitely not going anywhere else. All. Mine.
--
Jim,
Possessive, much?
Good news: students are out on a field thing I have nothing to do with next week for three whole days.
Bad news: I have no idea where you'll be then, and you might be somewhere impractical.
Still, if we can make it, well. Schedule attached.
Len
--
"Bones?" The door opened for Jim because McCoy had told it to, and Jim was right on time.
McCoy grinned in the dim sitting area and rested his bare arms along the back of his couch. "In here. Join me?"
Jim stepped into the room, eyes adjusting, and smiled. "Definitely."
I originally posted this at http://florahart.dreamwidth.org/1042030.html, and you are welcome to comment there. OpenID and/or anon comments are allowed.