the muffn shop is re-opened for business!
by muffin i mean fic and by fic i mean porn.
no i think i will actually write something PG-13 this summer, but of course everything starts with porn.
yes. star trek porn. the original series.
no actually my muffin shop is open for mccoy
kirk/mccoy | NC-17 | probably OOC | so desperate for each other that they can't wait till the starship lands for shore leave
The pillowcase tastes like dust on McCoy's tongue.
Kirk is thrusting into him from behind at a slow and steady pace. Normally McCoy would have enjoyed a deep, languid fuck, but he is not biting on a spare pillow in the linen closet for Kirk to take his sweet time.
"Hurry up," McCoy swallows a moan and barks into the shelf of bedding. "Jim - "
Before his first word of complaint is able to be voiced, Kirk hits his prostate gland and the syllables twist into a throaty groan of pleasure. The captain then bends down and leaves a trail of kisses from McCoy's neck to his ear. "You were saying, doctor?"
"Don't," McCoy gasps. He can feel Kirk's grin against his skin and he doesn't like it. That bastard, he curses in his head, incapable of words as Kirk's right hand snake up the bottom of his shirt, the callus on the younger man's fingertips rubbing against his nipples. McCoy can feel them hardening along with his half erection.
Kirk plunges into him once more and for a second, McCoy forgets the walls here aren't soundproof and screams a string of profanities.
"Shush, Bones," Kirk cups his jaw and shoves a thumb into McCoy's mouth. "Don't want to get picked up by that Vulcan hearing now, do we?"
McCoy grates his teeth on the skin of Kirk's thumb as a gesture of compliance. He screws his eyes shut as Kirk withdraws his hand, expecting the familiar pace to continue.
But there is nothing.
"Jim?" He turns his head back in an awkward angle. Standing stock still, there is a glint of mischief in his captain's eyes.
"You always let me do all the work, Len," Kirk rolls McCoy's shirt up to his chest and massages his back. He seems to quite enjoy the touch of the doctor's skin, damp with sweat and smelling of sex. "How about let's change it up a little this time? Show me, doctor...Show me how much you really want it."
"Jim!" McCoy writhes under Kirk's touch, trying to break free of the heat between their bodies but there is nowhere to run. He reaches down for his cock but Kirk pins his hands on his back in a swift move before he can touch himself.
Kirk chuckles, bending down again to whisper in the older man's ear. "Fuck yourself on my cock, Bones. That's an order."
The sounds of those words make McCoy's dick throb, in shame and undeniable arousal. There is pre-come leaking down the head of his penis and the sensation of being pressed against the slick metal shelf is driving him mad. No, he can't be serious. He can't stop here and it's not...god shit fucking son of a whore it's not fucking fair -
McCoy's head is a buzzing mess but there is only the sound of heavy breathing in the closet. The order seems to be Kirk's ultimatum.
"Goddammit," the curse comes out in a half sob. Ever so slowly McCoy awkwardly pushes himself backwards, then forwards, then backwards, dying a little of shame on the inside every time he hears the sound of his backside slamming against Kirk's balls. Kirk is no longer motionless; his grip on McCoy's wrists has loosened, and he is grunting in pleasure, with something like the triumph of the cat that ate the canary.
However, something feels amiss. When McCoy is...well...taking the lead, while he can manage to find a feasible angle, he can't quite find the spot and control the rhythm like Kirk can.
"Jim," after several more experiments and attempts, McCoy is panting and his thighs are shaking. It's getting more difficult for his legs to support himself. "I...I need help. Please. I just..."
Kirk's hands have already found their way to McCoy's hips. He knows what McCoy wants him to do, but he asks anyway. "What, Bones? What do you need? Say it."
"I..." McCoy bites his lips in frustration. No, he won't indulge Kirk. This is getting way too ridiculous.
A moment of silence passes, and Kirk guides his hips into a shallow hump, just brushing past his prostate. The friction is controlled, calculated and perfect and McCoy caves.
Biting down on the pillow moistened by his spit, he holds back his rage.
"Help me. Guide me. Grab my hips and teach me...teach me how to fuck myself."
"As the doctor orders." Kirk says cheerily, that filthy bastard. He takes a firm grip of McCoy's hips, adjusts their position and guides McCoy along his shaft, in deep and violent thrusts, hitting that sweet spot every single time. It isn't long until McCoy loses himself in the rhythm and moves exactly as Kirk has shown him.
"Fuck, that feels good," Kirk moans as he rests his hands on McCoy's back, watching the doctor's hips grinding down on his crotch. "You're a fast learner when you apply yourself, Len."
"Do..." McCoy gives his cock a few rough strokes as he feels close to climax. "Do kindly shut your mouth, captain."
Kirk shouts his name anyway as they reach orgasm together, half a moment later.
That. Filthy. Bastard.
After they're done cleaning themselves with the spare towels and fixing their state of undress, Kirk grabs McCoy's shoulder before the doctor can leave.
"Still mad, Bones?"
"No damage done." Except my ass will still be sore two days after we land on Starbase 5.
Kirk turns him around and pulls him into a gentle kiss. "I promise we won't do it again if you don't like it."
McCoy kisses back with a vengeance, letting go only when Kirk is flushed and almost out of breath. "You didn't even ask if I like it yet."
"Well," Kirk licks his lips anxiously, "do you?"
McCoy raises his brows. He clears his throat in the authoratative manner that all doctors have over men above his rank. "The evidence is insufficient for a definitive conclusion. May I suggest further experimentation once we land?"
+
seriously, what is with me and my undying fascination and desire for southern men?
especially southern men with a martyr complex. i just want me or some other fictional character to fuck his brains out.
no i think i will actually write something PG-13 this summer, but of course everything starts with porn.
yes. star trek porn. the original series.
no actually my muffin shop is open for mccoy
kirk/mccoy | NC-17 | probably OOC | so desperate for each other that they can't wait till the starship lands for shore leave
The pillowcase tastes like dust on McCoy's tongue.
Kirk is thrusting into him from behind at a slow and steady pace. Normally McCoy would have enjoyed a deep, languid fuck, but he is not biting on a spare pillow in the linen closet for Kirk to take his sweet time.
"Hurry up," McCoy swallows a moan and barks into the shelf of bedding. "Jim - "
Before his first word of complaint is able to be voiced, Kirk hits his prostate gland and the syllables twist into a throaty groan of pleasure. The captain then bends down and leaves a trail of kisses from McCoy's neck to his ear. "You were saying, doctor?"
"Don't," McCoy gasps. He can feel Kirk's grin against his skin and he doesn't like it. That bastard, he curses in his head, incapable of words as Kirk's right hand snake up the bottom of his shirt, the callus on the younger man's fingertips rubbing against his nipples. McCoy can feel them hardening along with his half erection.
Kirk plunges into him once more and for a second, McCoy forgets the walls here aren't soundproof and screams a string of profanities.
"Shush, Bones," Kirk cups his jaw and shoves a thumb into McCoy's mouth. "Don't want to get picked up by that Vulcan hearing now, do we?"
McCoy grates his teeth on the skin of Kirk's thumb as a gesture of compliance. He screws his eyes shut as Kirk withdraws his hand, expecting the familiar pace to continue.
But there is nothing.
"Jim?" He turns his head back in an awkward angle. Standing stock still, there is a glint of mischief in his captain's eyes.
"You always let me do all the work, Len," Kirk rolls McCoy's shirt up to his chest and massages his back. He seems to quite enjoy the touch of the doctor's skin, damp with sweat and smelling of sex. "How about let's change it up a little this time? Show me, doctor...Show me how much you really want it."
"Jim!" McCoy writhes under Kirk's touch, trying to break free of the heat between their bodies but there is nowhere to run. He reaches down for his cock but Kirk pins his hands on his back in a swift move before he can touch himself.
Kirk chuckles, bending down again to whisper in the older man's ear. "Fuck yourself on my cock, Bones. That's an order."
The sounds of those words make McCoy's dick throb, in shame and undeniable arousal. There is pre-come leaking down the head of his penis and the sensation of being pressed against the slick metal shelf is driving him mad. No, he can't be serious. He can't stop here and it's not...god shit fucking son of a whore it's not fucking fair -
McCoy's head is a buzzing mess but there is only the sound of heavy breathing in the closet. The order seems to be Kirk's ultimatum.
"Goddammit," the curse comes out in a half sob. Ever so slowly McCoy awkwardly pushes himself backwards, then forwards, then backwards, dying a little of shame on the inside every time he hears the sound of his backside slamming against Kirk's balls. Kirk is no longer motionless; his grip on McCoy's wrists has loosened, and he is grunting in pleasure, with something like the triumph of the cat that ate the canary.
However, something feels amiss. When McCoy is...well...taking the lead, while he can manage to find a feasible angle, he can't quite find the spot and control the rhythm like Kirk can.
"Jim," after several more experiments and attempts, McCoy is panting and his thighs are shaking. It's getting more difficult for his legs to support himself. "I...I need help. Please. I just..."
Kirk's hands have already found their way to McCoy's hips. He knows what McCoy wants him to do, but he asks anyway. "What, Bones? What do you need? Say it."
"I..." McCoy bites his lips in frustration. No, he won't indulge Kirk. This is getting way too ridiculous.
A moment of silence passes, and Kirk guides his hips into a shallow hump, just brushing past his prostate. The friction is controlled, calculated and perfect and McCoy caves.
Biting down on the pillow moistened by his spit, he holds back his rage.
"Help me. Guide me. Grab my hips and teach me...teach me how to fuck myself."
"As the doctor orders." Kirk says cheerily, that filthy bastard. He takes a firm grip of McCoy's hips, adjusts their position and guides McCoy along his shaft, in deep and violent thrusts, hitting that sweet spot every single time. It isn't long until McCoy loses himself in the rhythm and moves exactly as Kirk has shown him.
"Fuck, that feels good," Kirk moans as he rests his hands on McCoy's back, watching the doctor's hips grinding down on his crotch. "You're a fast learner when you apply yourself, Len."
"Do..." McCoy gives his cock a few rough strokes as he feels close to climax. "Do kindly shut your mouth, captain."
Kirk shouts his name anyway as they reach orgasm together, half a moment later.
That. Filthy. Bastard.
After they're done cleaning themselves with the spare towels and fixing their state of undress, Kirk grabs McCoy's shoulder before the doctor can leave.
"Still mad, Bones?"
"No damage done." Except my ass will still be sore two days after we land on Starbase 5.
Kirk turns him around and pulls him into a gentle kiss. "I promise we won't do it again if you don't like it."
McCoy kisses back with a vengeance, letting go only when Kirk is flushed and almost out of breath. "You didn't even ask if I like it yet."
"Well," Kirk licks his lips anxiously, "do you?"
McCoy raises his brows. He clears his throat in the authoratative manner that all doctors have over men above his rank. "The evidence is insufficient for a definitive conclusion. May I suggest further experimentation once we land?"
+
seriously, what is with me and my undying fascination and desire for southern men?
especially southern men with a martyr complex. i just want me or some other fictional character to fuck his brains out.