FIC: Twelve Days (Kirk/McCoy, NC-17), 7 of 9
Title: Twelve Days (a.k.a. The Epic Holiday-Themed Porn), 7 of 9
Author: savoytruffle
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, bondage, Jim/OFCs, toys, Jim/OMCs, voyeurism, exhibitionism, rimming, flogging, spanking, the vague possibility that I've forgotten something that should be on this list
Word Count: ~1450 (this part); estimated 16-17K total
Disclaimer: Bones owns Jim, but I don't own either of them or the world they live in.
Summary: Bones' doesn't have to ask Jim what he wants for Christmas. It's his job to know. It's Jim's job to wait patiently until Bones gives it to him.
A/N: So you know how you decide that you can't really do holiday fluff, so you should just do a PWP instead, so then you try to figure out a holiday theme for it and you choose the twelve days of Christmas and suddenly, six days into the twelve and 7,000 words later, you realize it's going to be epic and you start to worry about your readers getting porn fatigue, so you end up emailing the mod and asking her if you can post in daily installments from your assigned day up until Christmas? Yeah, that. Also, this is the sequel to another fic that I haven't written yet. Thanks to cordelianne and graceandfire for those things they do.
Previous parts
Jim knows Bones is awake. Jim felt Bones get out of bed and heard Bones moving around the room, tidying up a little maybe, probably reading medical journals over coffee.
Jim also knows Bones has decided that he wants Jim to know he’s awake. Because Bones was settled for a while, but now he’s moving around again and being louder about it, “accidentally” kicking furniture, letting his PADD fall harder than necessary against the table.
Jim knows Bones wants Jim to wake up.
Jim just doesn’t give a fuck.
By his count, over the past nine days, he’s received sixteen blowjobs, performed twenty-one rounds of cunnilingus, told twenty-one different strangers (not including Bones’ nurses) that Bones owns his ass, and spent at least fifteen hours with those Ben Wa balls up his ass and probably longer wearing that cock ring. He’s been felt up by twenty-four random men, rimmed within an inch of his life twice without being allowed to come, and tortured with no fewer than nine ice cubes.
Jim thinks he’s earned the right to die in peace.
“Jim?” Bones calls, as he approaches the bed, finally having abandoned his more “subtle” methods.
“Fuck off and let me die in peace,” Jim mutters, yanking a pillow over the top of his head.
“I could do that,” Bones says. “Or we could go to the Egg Nest, get some breakfast and a little air, and let you stretch your legs a bit before I bring you back here, tie you to the bed again, and give you your tenth gift.”
Jim ignores the twitch of interest from his cock - which clearly does not know when enough is enough - and lifts the pillow to announce that, “I’m never letting you touch me again,” before pulling it back down over his head.
“No?”
Jim sighs from beneath the pillow. “Probably not.”
“Probably,” Bones repeats. “Mmm, so you’d be mad if I did this?” he asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to take the pillow away.
“Yes.” Jim turns his pillowless face away from Bones.
“And you’d hate it if I did this?” Bones leans down to kiss the back of Jim’s neck.
“Totally.”
“And I guess that this really pisses you off?”Bones asks between trailing kisses from the back of Jim’s neck to the side of it and then along his jawline.
“Uh huh.”
“That’s a real shame,” Bones says as he stretches out on the bed beside Jim, leaning over him.
“Yeah.”
Bones slides a hand under Jim’s chin and uses it to turn Jim’s face upward as he looks down upon it. “Because I was kind of getting used to it,” he says, before leaning in for a kiss.
Jim really can’t help kissing back - isn’t even trying - and they lie there for long minutes just making out, easy as Sunday morning.
It may be Sunday morning.
Jim really can’t remember.
“Come have a shower with me,” Bones coaxes, pulling back just an inch or so from Jim’s lips. “We’ll get some coffee and some breakfast in you - make you feel good as new.”
“Just in time for you to wreck me again,” Jim grumbles.
“Yep,” Bones says.
Jim lets himself be pulled out of bed.
Four hours later, Jim lets himself be fastened back down to the bed, facing up.
He’s been stripped and blindfolded again and without his sight, just the feeling of Bones’ hands on his bare skin is enough to start his heart pounding.
“Deep breaths,” Bones reminds him, as he fastens the clips. “You can take it. I know you can.”
The words help.
So did the breakfast and the coffee and the air - and the fact that Bones knew all those things would help - but Jim likes the words most of all.
Once his wrists and ankles are fixed, he feels Bones standing up, hears him making his preparations.
After several minutes, Bones returns to the bed. Jim hears him setting thing on the nightstand.
A few seconds later, there’s a hand on Jim’s cock, firm and gentle as it settles the ring in place. “I think we might need it this time,” Bones says. “We don’t want you coming just yet. Not until much later this evening.”
“Speak for your-” Jim starts to mutter, but Bones’ finger presses against his lips, silencing him.
“Don’t talk, Jim.”
Jim hears the swish of liquid in a bottle, feels a cool, slippery substance drizzling onto his chest.
“What-?”
“Mineral oil.” The finger returns to his lips. “Now, quiet.”
Jim’s mouth curves under the finger into what he hopes is an adorably apologetic and utterly irresistible smile.
“You’re not as irresistible as you think you are,” Bones informs him, as he begins to massage the mineral oil into Jim’s skin, hands sweeping in broad strokes over Jim’s torso.
Jim figures this is a lie. He is totally irresistible.
“When you talk,” Bones continues, rubbing up and down Jim’s arms, “you’re just trying to distract yourself. But you don’t need to do that, Jim. You don’t need to be distracted to take this. All you need is to trust me. Trust me and let yourself feel. Think you can handle that?”
Jim swallows, licks his lips - he can still taste Bones’ finger there - and nods.
“Good boy.”
Bones leans away and then back again, and before Jim’s stomach is even finished with the little flip that always accompanies those words, he feels a sudden burning sting on the inside of his left forearm just below his wrist.
“Fuck. What-?”
“Shhhh,” Bones says, “just feel.”
The sharpness of the sensation is already fading, but then another sting hits just below the inside of his left elbow.
Jim’s arm twitches against its restraint and he bites his lip to keep from speaking.
“Good boy,” Bones repeats as Jim feels a third sting at the edge of his left armpit. “It’s hot wax. Try to stay still so it lands where it’s supposed to.”
Four drops fall in rapid succession across the top of Jim’s chest and he bites down harder on his lip, breath coming in harsh pants around his teeth as the ever sweetening stings burst over his flesh and then ebb.
“So good,” Bones says, as another drop falls above his right armpit, then below the inside of his right elbow and finally below his right wrist. “So perfect.”
That’s ten, and just like the days before, it’s not nearly enough.
Jim whimpers.
“Don’t worry,” Bones says. “We’re not done yet. What goes on has to come off.”
Jim hears Bones set something down on the nightstand and then a familiar clacking sound, and oh shit, how could he have forgotten that there would be ice?
“First, we use a little ice to chill the wax so it comes off nice ‘n’ easy,” Bones says, matching words to action. He runs the first cube ever so slowly up Jim’s left arm, across the top of his chest, and down his right, making tiny circles at each drop.
It sears Jim’s skin.
In his mind, Jim knows the ice must be cold, but his body is having a hard time telling the difference anymore.
“Then we peel it off,” Bones continues. “Now hold very still for me. This is a knife.”
Jim feels the flat of the blade scraping along his skin of his forearm, pulling at the wax, and it makes him want to shiver, but he knows he’s not supposed to.
That it’s dangerous.
The blade is on his chest now. Not so far from his throat.
Oh fuck.
“Deep breaths,” Bones says again. “You can do this.”
He can.
He can.
He inhales and exhales and inhales and exhales and soon the blade is moving down his other arm and Bones is praising him again.
“Good boy. So good. And finally, just a little more ice,” Bones says. “You can move as much as you want now.”
And Jim does. He arches and wriggles and squirms as Bones runs another cube over the path of the wax and then proceeds to apply the others to the rest of Jim’s body. He ends up on his stomach once again, not even sure how he got there, tingling, shaking, writhing as Bones works him over like an expert - like eight-stroke rimjobs were his fucking medical specialty.
Jim whimpers and whines, but he doesn’t beg or curse and he’s past the point of wanting to. He knows now that this isn’t about coming. It’s all about feeling, sensation.
It’s not the destination anymore. It’s the journey.
On to Part Eight...
Author: savoytruffle
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, bondage, Jim/OFCs, toys, Jim/OMCs, voyeurism, exhibitionism, rimming, flogging, spanking, the vague possibility that I've forgotten something that should be on this list
Word Count: ~1450 (this part); estimated 16-17K total
Disclaimer: Bones owns Jim, but I don't own either of them or the world they live in.
Summary: Bones' doesn't have to ask Jim what he wants for Christmas. It's his job to know. It's Jim's job to wait patiently until Bones gives it to him.
A/N: So you know how you decide that you can't really do holiday fluff, so you should just do a PWP instead, so then you try to figure out a holiday theme for it and you choose the twelve days of Christmas and suddenly, six days into the twelve and 7,000 words later, you realize it's going to be epic and you start to worry about your readers getting porn fatigue, so you end up emailing the mod and asking her if you can post in daily installments from your assigned day up until Christmas? Yeah, that. Also, this is the sequel to another fic that I haven't written yet. Thanks to cordelianne and graceandfire for those things they do.
Previous parts
Jim knows Bones is awake. Jim felt Bones get out of bed and heard Bones moving around the room, tidying up a little maybe, probably reading medical journals over coffee.
Jim also knows Bones has decided that he wants Jim to know he’s awake. Because Bones was settled for a while, but now he’s moving around again and being louder about it, “accidentally” kicking furniture, letting his PADD fall harder than necessary against the table.
Jim knows Bones wants Jim to wake up.
Jim just doesn’t give a fuck.
By his count, over the past nine days, he’s received sixteen blowjobs, performed twenty-one rounds of cunnilingus, told twenty-one different strangers (not including Bones’ nurses) that Bones owns his ass, and spent at least fifteen hours with those Ben Wa balls up his ass and probably longer wearing that cock ring. He’s been felt up by twenty-four random men, rimmed within an inch of his life twice without being allowed to come, and tortured with no fewer than nine ice cubes.
Jim thinks he’s earned the right to die in peace.
“Jim?” Bones calls, as he approaches the bed, finally having abandoned his more “subtle” methods.
“Fuck off and let me die in peace,” Jim mutters, yanking a pillow over the top of his head.
“I could do that,” Bones says. “Or we could go to the Egg Nest, get some breakfast and a little air, and let you stretch your legs a bit before I bring you back here, tie you to the bed again, and give you your tenth gift.”
Jim ignores the twitch of interest from his cock - which clearly does not know when enough is enough - and lifts the pillow to announce that, “I’m never letting you touch me again,” before pulling it back down over his head.
“No?”
Jim sighs from beneath the pillow. “Probably not.”
“Probably,” Bones repeats. “Mmm, so you’d be mad if I did this?” he asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to take the pillow away.
“Yes.” Jim turns his pillowless face away from Bones.
“And you’d hate it if I did this?” Bones leans down to kiss the back of Jim’s neck.
“Totally.”
“And I guess that this really pisses you off?”Bones asks between trailing kisses from the back of Jim’s neck to the side of it and then along his jawline.
“Uh huh.”
“That’s a real shame,” Bones says as he stretches out on the bed beside Jim, leaning over him.
“Yeah.”
Bones slides a hand under Jim’s chin and uses it to turn Jim’s face upward as he looks down upon it. “Because I was kind of getting used to it,” he says, before leaning in for a kiss.
Jim really can’t help kissing back - isn’t even trying - and they lie there for long minutes just making out, easy as Sunday morning.
It may be Sunday morning.
Jim really can’t remember.
“Come have a shower with me,” Bones coaxes, pulling back just an inch or so from Jim’s lips. “We’ll get some coffee and some breakfast in you - make you feel good as new.”
“Just in time for you to wreck me again,” Jim grumbles.
“Yep,” Bones says.
Jim lets himself be pulled out of bed.
Four hours later, Jim lets himself be fastened back down to the bed, facing up.
He’s been stripped and blindfolded again and without his sight, just the feeling of Bones’ hands on his bare skin is enough to start his heart pounding.
“Deep breaths,” Bones reminds him, as he fastens the clips. “You can take it. I know you can.”
The words help.
So did the breakfast and the coffee and the air - and the fact that Bones knew all those things would help - but Jim likes the words most of all.
Once his wrists and ankles are fixed, he feels Bones standing up, hears him making his preparations.
After several minutes, Bones returns to the bed. Jim hears him setting thing on the nightstand.
A few seconds later, there’s a hand on Jim’s cock, firm and gentle as it settles the ring in place. “I think we might need it this time,” Bones says. “We don’t want you coming just yet. Not until much later this evening.”
“Speak for your-” Jim starts to mutter, but Bones’ finger presses against his lips, silencing him.
“Don’t talk, Jim.”
Jim hears the swish of liquid in a bottle, feels a cool, slippery substance drizzling onto his chest.
“What-?”
“Mineral oil.” The finger returns to his lips. “Now, quiet.”
Jim’s mouth curves under the finger into what he hopes is an adorably apologetic and utterly irresistible smile.
“You’re not as irresistible as you think you are,” Bones informs him, as he begins to massage the mineral oil into Jim’s skin, hands sweeping in broad strokes over Jim’s torso.
Jim figures this is a lie. He is totally irresistible.
“When you talk,” Bones continues, rubbing up and down Jim’s arms, “you’re just trying to distract yourself. But you don’t need to do that, Jim. You don’t need to be distracted to take this. All you need is to trust me. Trust me and let yourself feel. Think you can handle that?”
Jim swallows, licks his lips - he can still taste Bones’ finger there - and nods.
“Good boy.”
Bones leans away and then back again, and before Jim’s stomach is even finished with the little flip that always accompanies those words, he feels a sudden burning sting on the inside of his left forearm just below his wrist.
“Fuck. What-?”
“Shhhh,” Bones says, “just feel.”
The sharpness of the sensation is already fading, but then another sting hits just below the inside of his left elbow.
Jim’s arm twitches against its restraint and he bites his lip to keep from speaking.
“Good boy,” Bones repeats as Jim feels a third sting at the edge of his left armpit. “It’s hot wax. Try to stay still so it lands where it’s supposed to.”
Four drops fall in rapid succession across the top of Jim’s chest and he bites down harder on his lip, breath coming in harsh pants around his teeth as the ever sweetening stings burst over his flesh and then ebb.
“So good,” Bones says, as another drop falls above his right armpit, then below the inside of his right elbow and finally below his right wrist. “So perfect.”
That’s ten, and just like the days before, it’s not nearly enough.
Jim whimpers.
“Don’t worry,” Bones says. “We’re not done yet. What goes on has to come off.”
Jim hears Bones set something down on the nightstand and then a familiar clacking sound, and oh shit, how could he have forgotten that there would be ice?
“First, we use a little ice to chill the wax so it comes off nice ‘n’ easy,” Bones says, matching words to action. He runs the first cube ever so slowly up Jim’s left arm, across the top of his chest, and down his right, making tiny circles at each drop.
It sears Jim’s skin.
In his mind, Jim knows the ice must be cold, but his body is having a hard time telling the difference anymore.
“Then we peel it off,” Bones continues. “Now hold very still for me. This is a knife.”
Jim feels the flat of the blade scraping along his skin of his forearm, pulling at the wax, and it makes him want to shiver, but he knows he’s not supposed to.
That it’s dangerous.
The blade is on his chest now. Not so far from his throat.
Oh fuck.
“Deep breaths,” Bones says again. “You can do this.”
He can.
He can.
He inhales and exhales and inhales and exhales and soon the blade is moving down his other arm and Bones is praising him again.
“Good boy. So good. And finally, just a little more ice,” Bones says. “You can move as much as you want now.”
And Jim does. He arches and wriggles and squirms as Bones runs another cube over the path of the wax and then proceeds to apply the others to the rest of Jim’s body. He ends up on his stomach once again, not even sure how he got there, tingling, shaking, writhing as Bones works him over like an expert - like eight-stroke rimjobs were his fucking medical specialty.
Jim whimpers and whines, but he doesn’t beg or curse and he’s past the point of wanting to. He knows now that this isn’t about coming. It’s all about feeling, sensation.
It’s not the destination anymore. It’s the journey.
On to Part Eight...