Random Slightly Kinky Sort-Of Threesome
Title: Random Slightly Kinky Sort-Of Threesome
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Given what I've produced here, that's probably for the best.
Warnings: OTP infringement, extreme bottom!Kirk, likely to encourage laundry laziness
Summary: Spock is displeased with Jim. He deals with the situation . . . creatively.
Author's Note: Soooo . . . hey, I found more of my comment fic from Ship Wars! The only time I've ever written McSpirk (and the only way I can really deal with a third (non-Spock) being all up in my OTP's business). This serves absolutely no redeeming purpose and is, in fact, entirely porn. ENJOY!
"Slower."
"Spock," Kirk groaned. "Please, I need--"
"You are my mate, Jim," was the low, dangerous reply, "and I will be the one to determine your use." He regarded the pair on the bed from behind steepled hands and commanded again, "Slower, Dr. McCoy."
With a visible effort, McCoy managed to slow the motion of his hips. Sweat had broken out down the length of his spine, making his skin shine in the dim lights of their quarters. Kirk's fingers were dug into his shoulders. Bright red crescents marked where his nails had scored flesh in the desperate fight for a steady grip on sweat-slick skin.
"You are damaging the good doctor's back," Spock said mildly from his seat in a nearby chair, and Kirk whimpered.
"Need . . . c'mon, Spock, you know you both like it a little rough," he panted. "Faster, please, please faster!"
"Doctor," Spock said as though his bondmate hadn't spoken, "I think it would be beneficial if you restrained our captain in order to prevent more harm against your person."
"Hear that, Jimmy?" McCoy gritted out around an evil smile. "Sounds like he wants me to pin you."
He suited actions to words, seizing Kirk's hands and slamming them down into the mattress on either side of the blonde man's head. Kirk responded with a string of curses strong enough to have made McCoy blush if the majority of his blood hadn't been occupied elsewhere.
"Damn, Jim, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" he asked on a half-laugh, half-moan. Then there was no half about it; the older man made a sound like he was dying and his hips jerked helplessly once, twice. "Fuck, that's not fair. Keep your damned muscle control to yourself."
"This is . . . mutiny," Kirk gasped out. "And torture is . . . oh, fuck . . . against the UNF charter."
"Jim," Spock suddenly said, his voice sharp. "Desist in your attempts to cheat immediately."
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"You are using our bond to project provocative images in the hopes that it will shorten your punishment. I assure you, it will have the opposite effect."
"C'mon, baby, I said I was sorry for leaving the towel on the floor. Why won't you believe me?"
"Because you have apologized for the same transgression thirty-two times over the course of our cohabitation. I must conclude that more stringent measures are in order." His eyes glittered as he sat there, to all appearances as cool and composed as if he were sitting on the bridge.
"I mean it this time, though! C'mon, just come on over here and join us."
"God, yes," McCoy groaned. "Stop pretending you're above all this and get your ass over here."
"Slower, Dr. McCoy."
"Damn it, Jim, quit struggling!" McCoy growled, even as he obeyed. He punctuated this demand with a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, and Kirk began to thrash in earnest.
"You fucking . . . why won't you . . . please, I need more, please, I need it, I can't . . ."
"Spock, you cold-blooded bastard." McCoy was shaking, barely enough strength left in him to hold Kirk down. "I didn't leave any damn towels on the floor, for fuck's sake, I can't take much more of this."
All of the fight abruptly drained from Kirk, and he lay quiescent beneath McCoy's shallow thrusts. "Sorry," he breathed out, and leaned up to brush a kiss against McCoy's open mouth. "I'm sorry." His eyes locked with Spock's. "Please. I'm sorry."
Spock nodded in acknowledgment, then, "Proceed, Doctor."
The bed became a flurry of movement, both men straining for more, closer, faster, until everything exploded in white-hot light and they collapsed together in a sticky, sweaty heap.
"Fuck." McCoy rolled off of Kirk with the last of his strength. "I'm never having a threesome with you two again, you kinky sons of bitches."
Kirk grin managed to be wicked and sated at once as he slapped a hand against the doctor's chest. "Usual time next week, then?"
"I have prepared the necessary shift rotations," Spock said demurely.
"Ah, hell," McCoy groaned. "It's not like I have anything better to do."
Author: ladyblahblah
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Given what I've produced here, that's probably for the best.
Warnings: OTP infringement, extreme bottom!Kirk, likely to encourage laundry laziness
Summary: Spock is displeased with Jim. He deals with the situation . . . creatively.
Author's Note: Soooo . . . hey, I found more of my comment fic from Ship Wars! The only time I've ever written McSpirk (and the only way I can really deal with a third (non-Spock) being all up in my OTP's business). This serves absolutely no redeeming purpose and is, in fact, entirely porn. ENJOY!
"Slower."
"Spock," Kirk groaned. "Please, I need--"
"You are my mate, Jim," was the low, dangerous reply, "and I will be the one to determine your use." He regarded the pair on the bed from behind steepled hands and commanded again, "Slower, Dr. McCoy."
With a visible effort, McCoy managed to slow the motion of his hips. Sweat had broken out down the length of his spine, making his skin shine in the dim lights of their quarters. Kirk's fingers were dug into his shoulders. Bright red crescents marked where his nails had scored flesh in the desperate fight for a steady grip on sweat-slick skin.
"You are damaging the good doctor's back," Spock said mildly from his seat in a nearby chair, and Kirk whimpered.
"Need . . . c'mon, Spock, you know you both like it a little rough," he panted. "Faster, please, please faster!"
"Doctor," Spock said as though his bondmate hadn't spoken, "I think it would be beneficial if you restrained our captain in order to prevent more harm against your person."
"Hear that, Jimmy?" McCoy gritted out around an evil smile. "Sounds like he wants me to pin you."
He suited actions to words, seizing Kirk's hands and slamming them down into the mattress on either side of the blonde man's head. Kirk responded with a string of curses strong enough to have made McCoy blush if the majority of his blood hadn't been occupied elsewhere.
"Damn, Jim, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" he asked on a half-laugh, half-moan. Then there was no half about it; the older man made a sound like he was dying and his hips jerked helplessly once, twice. "Fuck, that's not fair. Keep your damned muscle control to yourself."
"This is . . . mutiny," Kirk gasped out. "And torture is . . . oh, fuck . . . against the UNF charter."
"Jim," Spock suddenly said, his voice sharp. "Desist in your attempts to cheat immediately."
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"You are using our bond to project provocative images in the hopes that it will shorten your punishment. I assure you, it will have the opposite effect."
"C'mon, baby, I said I was sorry for leaving the towel on the floor. Why won't you believe me?"
"Because you have apologized for the same transgression thirty-two times over the course of our cohabitation. I must conclude that more stringent measures are in order." His eyes glittered as he sat there, to all appearances as cool and composed as if he were sitting on the bridge.
"I mean it this time, though! C'mon, just come on over here and join us."
"God, yes," McCoy groaned. "Stop pretending you're above all this and get your ass over here."
"Slower, Dr. McCoy."
"Damn it, Jim, quit struggling!" McCoy growled, even as he obeyed. He punctuated this demand with a particularly sharp thrust of his hips, and Kirk began to thrash in earnest.
"You fucking . . . why won't you . . . please, I need more, please, I need it, I can't . . ."
"Spock, you cold-blooded bastard." McCoy was shaking, barely enough strength left in him to hold Kirk down. "I didn't leave any damn towels on the floor, for fuck's sake, I can't take much more of this."
All of the fight abruptly drained from Kirk, and he lay quiescent beneath McCoy's shallow thrusts. "Sorry," he breathed out, and leaned up to brush a kiss against McCoy's open mouth. "I'm sorry." His eyes locked with Spock's. "Please. I'm sorry."
Spock nodded in acknowledgment, then, "Proceed, Doctor."
The bed became a flurry of movement, both men straining for more, closer, faster, until everything exploded in white-hot light and they collapsed together in a sticky, sweaty heap.
"Fuck." McCoy rolled off of Kirk with the last of his strength. "I'm never having a threesome with you two again, you kinky sons of bitches."
Kirk grin managed to be wicked and sated at once as he slapped a hand against the doctor's chest. "Usual time next week, then?"
"I have prepared the necessary shift rotations," Spock said demurely.
"Ah, hell," McCoy groaned. "It's not like I have anything better to do."