Wish You Were Here (i.e. the Round Robin Commentfic That Ate 'Ship Wars)
Title: Wish You Were Here (part 3)
Author: LJC
Rating: NC-17
Synopsis: Captain Pike is playing an old electric guitar to relax. Cue shenanigans
Content Warnings: GROUP SEX! BONDAGE! And Pink Floyd.
Author's Note: So here's what happened: There was this photo. And then another photo. And then near_family made this happened, and then OMG leftarrow made this happened and now....
Wish You Were Here, Part 3
She'll say this about McCoy: the man can kiss. She tastes bourbon under the wine, and his long fingers curl around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair as his tongue slides against hers like he has all the time in the world. She makes a sound halfway between a gasp and a growl, and grins against his lips when she hears the string break from across the room.
Kirk makes a little whimpering sound from where she's handcuffed him to the chair, and she swallows a laugh. It's his own fault he can't tell "Wish You Were Here" from "Cuz I Can".
She has her legs wrapped around McCoy's hips, her skirt riding up as she rocks against him. Hands slid up her thighs, and she opens her eyes to see Pike has laid the guitar carefully in its case and is beside her. She pulls her mouth from McCoy's and Pike turns her so he's leaning against the desk where she was just sitting and she's pinned between them.
Chris unbuttons her blouse while McCoy slides the closure of her skirt down, grasping her hip with greedy fingers before sliding it down her legs. She steps out of the circle of fabric and then gasps as Pike's lips side down her neck and McCoy's hand into her panties. Between them she's naked and wet in seconds, and she closes her eyes on the sight of Kirk's blue eyes wide and corded wrists straining at the cuffs as Chris' mouth closes around one pebbled nipple and McCoy kneels behind her, parting her with his fingers before lapping at her with his tongue.
She moans, head thrown back, and scrabbles at the buttons on Chris' shirt with clumsy, lust-addled fingers. He only laughs, pulling her hands away and pulling shirt and tee-shirt both over his head to land in a heap on the other side of the mixing board. His greying hair sticks up and she slides her hands through it before pulling his mouth to hers. She unclasps his belt with one hand, palming the growing bulge in his briefs.
McCoy comes up for air, and she turns to look over her shoulder at him, taking her bottom lip between her teeth before nodding.
She steps back just far enough to tug Chris' jeans open and halfway down his thighs, while McCoy shucks his own jeans nad peels his shirt off. Chris grips the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as she draws his cock out of his briefs, and strokes it, still standing but bent at the waist. She sighs against him, breath hot and wet as McCoy eases into her, knees bent and waiting.
They set up a rocking rhythm, the three of them moving like one person--with each thrust from McCoy, Number One takes Pike as deep into her throat as she can. The Admiral lifts his hips to adjust the angle, and cradles her head, smoothing her dark hair back from her face. One hand covers his on the desk, using it for leverage, while she caresses his balls with the other, her head bobbing up and down while she tries to remember to breathe through her nose.
And through it all, Kirk is trapping, watching.
It becomes a game of who can outlast whom, until Pike catches McCoy's eyes and the bastards double-team her.
McCoy grabs her arms, pinning them behind her, while Pike's cock slides from beneath her red, red lips, and he hauls her up against his chest. He sucks that one spot, where her neck meets her shoulder hard enough shell have a love bite to cover up tomorrow if she can't get ahold of a dermal regenerator. One hand slides down her sweat-slicked belly to flick her clit while McCoy quickens his rhythm, almost lifting her off her feet with his thrusts.
She bites Pike's shoulder as McCoy comes with a long drawn out groan. Chris fingers slide against her, wet and grasping, and she feel tension coiling in her belly as McCoy's hands snake around her sides to cup her breasts. Between the two of them, she comes with a hiccup of sound like a strangled sob, limbs quivering and head thrown back.
She's still shaking from her orgasm, McCoy's come dripping down her thighs when Chris picks her up, jeans still unbuckled, and half drags, half carries her to the bedroom.
"That wasn't very--" she begins, but doesn't have a chance to finish because Chris very deliberately yanks her hips toward him so he can fasten his mouth on her aching clit and her back arches, head pressed back into the pillows as he eats McCoy's come out of her before sliding up her body, trailing wet, sloppy kisses between her breasts.
"Very nice?" he finishes, long hard cock pressing insistently against her hip and she would laugh if she wasn't still aching for him inside her. She lifts her hips, guiding the head of his cock into her and rocks back with the force of his thrust. He grips the headboard with long fingers, cracked calluses on his fingertips from the guitarstrings, and she can see his too-long hair curling at the temples and against his neck with sweat.
They hear muted voices from the studio, and the crash of what she assumes is the music stands that were leaning against the wall, and then there's just Chris' breath against her neck, his short panting exclamations as she tightens her legs around his waist.
Sure, she likes to be on top, but she doesn't mind being fucked into the mattress now and then. There's something desperate and greedy and hungry about the way he looks at her that warms her from the inside out.
"You've been so good," she whispers, licking the curve of his ear before sucking the earlobe into her mouth. "So good. Now I want you to come for me. Can you do that?"
He comes with an exhaled Godammit, arms shaking. She laughs against his neck, wrapping her arms around him.
"You always get me with that. You don't even do dirty-talk. How do you do that?"
"I'll never tell," she says as she rolls over onto her side, pulling his arm around her waist as she snuggles up against him. Her breasts are tingling from rubbing against the wiry hairs of his chest, and she feels loose and shagged out and in dire need of a long hot bath but for right now, all she wants is to feel him next to her.
There's another thump from the studio, and she can't hide her laughter.
"How long before Kirk figures out the key's on top the turntable?"
Pike kisses her shoulder, the nips at it with his teeth. "You're assuming he knows what a turntable is."
She considers this. "Point."
Then his hand slides across her hips toward the dark curls between her legs, and the last thing she's thinking about is Jim Kirk's raging hard-on.
[followed by this by re_white...]
Author: LJC
Rating: NC-17
Synopsis: Captain Pike is playing an old electric guitar to relax. Cue shenanigans
Content Warnings: GROUP SEX! BONDAGE! And Pink Floyd.
Author's Note: So here's what happened: There was this photo. And then another photo. And then near_family made this happened, and then OMG leftarrow made this happened and now....
Wish You Were Here, Part 3
She'll say this about McCoy: the man can kiss. She tastes bourbon under the wine, and his long fingers curl around the back of her neck, tangling in her hair as his tongue slides against hers like he has all the time in the world. She makes a sound halfway between a gasp and a growl, and grins against his lips when she hears the string break from across the room.
Kirk makes a little whimpering sound from where she's handcuffed him to the chair, and she swallows a laugh. It's his own fault he can't tell "Wish You Were Here" from "Cuz I Can".
She has her legs wrapped around McCoy's hips, her skirt riding up as she rocks against him. Hands slid up her thighs, and she opens her eyes to see Pike has laid the guitar carefully in its case and is beside her. She pulls her mouth from McCoy's and Pike turns her so he's leaning against the desk where she was just sitting and she's pinned between them.
Chris unbuttons her blouse while McCoy slides the closure of her skirt down, grasping her hip with greedy fingers before sliding it down her legs. She steps out of the circle of fabric and then gasps as Pike's lips side down her neck and McCoy's hand into her panties. Between them she's naked and wet in seconds, and she closes her eyes on the sight of Kirk's blue eyes wide and corded wrists straining at the cuffs as Chris' mouth closes around one pebbled nipple and McCoy kneels behind her, parting her with his fingers before lapping at her with his tongue.
She moans, head thrown back, and scrabbles at the buttons on Chris' shirt with clumsy, lust-addled fingers. He only laughs, pulling her hands away and pulling shirt and tee-shirt both over his head to land in a heap on the other side of the mixing board. His greying hair sticks up and she slides her hands through it before pulling his mouth to hers. She unclasps his belt with one hand, palming the growing bulge in his briefs.
McCoy comes up for air, and she turns to look over her shoulder at him, taking her bottom lip between her teeth before nodding.
She steps back just far enough to tug Chris' jeans open and halfway down his thighs, while McCoy shucks his own jeans nad peels his shirt off. Chris grips the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as she draws his cock out of his briefs, and strokes it, still standing but bent at the waist. She sighs against him, breath hot and wet as McCoy eases into her, knees bent and waiting.
They set up a rocking rhythm, the three of them moving like one person--with each thrust from McCoy, Number One takes Pike as deep into her throat as she can. The Admiral lifts his hips to adjust the angle, and cradles her head, smoothing her dark hair back from her face. One hand covers his on the desk, using it for leverage, while she caresses his balls with the other, her head bobbing up and down while she tries to remember to breathe through her nose.
And through it all, Kirk is trapping, watching.
It becomes a game of who can outlast whom, until Pike catches McCoy's eyes and the bastards double-team her.
McCoy grabs her arms, pinning them behind her, while Pike's cock slides from beneath her red, red lips, and he hauls her up against his chest. He sucks that one spot, where her neck meets her shoulder hard enough shell have a love bite to cover up tomorrow if she can't get ahold of a dermal regenerator. One hand slides down her sweat-slicked belly to flick her clit while McCoy quickens his rhythm, almost lifting her off her feet with his thrusts.
She bites Pike's shoulder as McCoy comes with a long drawn out groan. Chris fingers slide against her, wet and grasping, and she feel tension coiling in her belly as McCoy's hands snake around her sides to cup her breasts. Between the two of them, she comes with a hiccup of sound like a strangled sob, limbs quivering and head thrown back.
She's still shaking from her orgasm, McCoy's come dripping down her thighs when Chris picks her up, jeans still unbuckled, and half drags, half carries her to the bedroom.
"That wasn't very--" she begins, but doesn't have a chance to finish because Chris very deliberately yanks her hips toward him so he can fasten his mouth on her aching clit and her back arches, head pressed back into the pillows as he eats McCoy's come out of her before sliding up her body, trailing wet, sloppy kisses between her breasts.
"Very nice?" he finishes, long hard cock pressing insistently against her hip and she would laugh if she wasn't still aching for him inside her. She lifts her hips, guiding the head of his cock into her and rocks back with the force of his thrust. He grips the headboard with long fingers, cracked calluses on his fingertips from the guitarstrings, and she can see his too-long hair curling at the temples and against his neck with sweat.
They hear muted voices from the studio, and the crash of what she assumes is the music stands that were leaning against the wall, and then there's just Chris' breath against her neck, his short panting exclamations as she tightens her legs around his waist.
Sure, she likes to be on top, but she doesn't mind being fucked into the mattress now and then. There's something desperate and greedy and hungry about the way he looks at her that warms her from the inside out.
"You've been so good," she whispers, licking the curve of his ear before sucking the earlobe into her mouth. "So good. Now I want you to come for me. Can you do that?"
He comes with an exhaled Godammit, arms shaking. She laughs against his neck, wrapping her arms around him.
"You always get me with that. You don't even do dirty-talk. How do you do that?"
"I'll never tell," she says as she rolls over onto her side, pulling his arm around her waist as she snuggles up against him. Her breasts are tingling from rubbing against the wiry hairs of his chest, and she feels loose and shagged out and in dire need of a long hot bath but for right now, all she wants is to feel him next to her.
There's another thump from the studio, and she can't hide her laughter.
"How long before Kirk figures out the key's on top the turntable?"
Pike kisses her shoulder, the nips at it with his teeth. "You're assuming he knows what a turntable is."
She considers this. "Point."
Then his hand slides across her hips toward the dark curls between her legs, and the last thing she's thinking about is Jim Kirk's raging hard-on.
[followed by this by re_white...]