FIC: Twelve Days (Kirk/McCoy, NC-17), 9 of 9
Title: Twelve Days (a.k.a. The Epic Holiday-Themed Porn), 9 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: ~2400 (this part); ~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: And...done! This has been a lot of fun, but it will be kind of nice to have my life back. Thank you to everyone who read and commented as the installments were being posted! It was lovely for me. Hopefully some of you actually appreciated the installment format, too. For anyone who was waiting to do the whole thing in one go, here it is - hope you enjoy! And thanks again to cordelianne and graceandfire for superb cheerleading and beta services.
Previous parts
The awkwardness catches Jim off guard.
Blindsides him.
It’s as if, out of the blue, he finds himself in the middle of their first real “Morning After” - capitalized, italicized and in scare quotes.
And it’s not just Jim, either. Bones is definitely acting off. They’re barely speaking or touching - or, hell, even making eye contact - as they move around the room, showering, drinking coffee, getting dressed.
Jim considers taking his patented J.T.K. Walk of Shame-What-Shame-Sex-is-Awesome-and-I-Just-Had-Some-So-There across the quad and back to his own room. He hasn’t been there in a while, and though he’s been tossing his stuff in with Bones’ laundry, it might be nice to wear some different clothes for a change. He’s not sure if his roommate is back from the break yet or not, but if he is, he might appreciate knowing Jim is still alive.
Or not.
Jim’s roommate has always considered Jim kind of a dick.
And, hey, Jim is kind of a dick, so he can’t really hold that against the guy.
But then Bones starts making breakfast for two, so Jim figures he should stick around. They sit down together at the table - Jim shifting slightly as he tries to get comfortable - and proceed to stare at their respective plates.
“So,” Jim says when he can’t take another second of silence, “day twelve.”
“Day twelve,” Bones repeats, nodding.
Forks clink.
“Look, Jim,” Bones says suddenly, without glancing up, “you don’t have to…. I mean, I know that yesterday was sort of…. I just….” He finally looks over at Jim. “You know, we can stop if you want to. I won’t be mad.”
“What?” The fork falls from Jim’s hand. “Bones, why would you…? I mean, this whole thing has been so…. And, yeah, okay, yesterday got a little…. And I guess I wasn’t…. But you…you were…. And I couldn’t…. But it’s just…. Shit, Bones, it’s the last day and I made it all this way, so why wouldn’t I…?” Jim stops for a second to study Bones’ face. “Unless you want to stop?” Jim looks down again. “I know I’m not the best at following orders, but-”
“Jim.” Bones waits for Jim to meet his eyes before continuing. “You have been incredible. It’s not…. I don’t want to stop, okay? I ne- I don’t want to stop.”
Jim nods once. “Good. Because that would suck.” He picks up his fork and points it at Bones’ plate. “Now eat your breakfast, Bones. You’re gonna need the energy.”
Bones shakes his head, worry melting from his face as he lifts a single eyebrow. “Now who’s giving the orders?”
Jim shrugs. “Someone’s got to.”
The eyebrow drops and Bones’ eyes go dark. “Eat your breakfast, Jim. You’re gonna need the energy.”
Jim blinks.
Shivers.
Fuck. How does he do that?
It’s barely noon and they still need some time to recover the mood, so they end up in the campus rec hall, playing pool. They’re evenly matched - both good, neither phenomenal - and this game will be the tie-break, best out of five.
They haven’t bothered to place any bets. What would be the point? Everything Jim has, everything he is, is already Bones’ to take.
Or is it to give?
At the moment, Jim’s less focused on how he’s actually playing than on how he looks doing it. He bends over the table as often and as deeply as possible.
He ignores a perfect shot from the end of the table in favor of a halfway decent one he can line up from the side, right in front of where Bones is currently standing. Jim bends over slowly and takes his time studying the angles, testing the slide of the cue between his fingers.
“Take your shot, Jim,” Bones calls, his voice obnoxiously calm, even though Jim is certain his eyes haven’t wavered from Jim’s fine form for a single second. “We don’t have all day.”
Jim wiggles his ass one more time and then takes the shot. He misses. It was a crap angle.
Bones is walking around the table to the far side, where a cube of chalk sits next to the corner pocket. Jim straightens and watches as Bones wraps his fingers lovingly around the cue, just stroking it for a long moment, light grip sliding up and down its shaft. Bones brushes his thumb over the tip before applying the chalk, then blows softly across it to chase away the excess.
Jim forgets to breathe.
Bones lines up his shot and sinks it handily. He makes the next one, too, but misses the one that follows.
Jim still doesn’t think he’s getting enough oxygen to his brain. All the more reason to bend over, he figures. Put his head more level with his heart. He’s sure Doctor McCoy would suggest it himself, if the bastard weren’t so busy giving his cue another hand job.
Bones is still on the opposite side of the table, but Jim wiggles his ass anyway as he prepares his shot. Slowly.
It’s a public space.
It’s not like Bones is his only audience.
He must have actually focused in on the ball there for a second because Jim doesn’t realize Bones has come around behind him until he hears the low voice next to his ear.
“Yes, Jim, everyone here knows that you’ve got a sweet little ass. What they don’t know is that, as soon as this game is over, I’m going to drag you back to my room, bend you over my knee and spank it - while you whimper and hump my thigh like a bitch in heat.”
Jim congratulates himself for not collapsing onto the table as his legs try to turn to jelly.
“Oh,” Bones adds, as Jim tries to keep his arms from shaking, “and this time? You’re going to count them.”
Jim sucks in a small gasp of air and marshals all his remaining strength and coordination to take a couple steps to the left, changing his angle on the cue ball and lining up a new shot.
With one short, sure stroke, he sinks the eight ball, letting the cue clatter to the table.
“You win.”
Bones was right. Once he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, with Jim laid out naked over his still very clothed lap, it doesn’t take more than the first few warm-up slaps before Jim is whining in the back of his throat and grinding himself into Bones’ thigh, needy and desperate.
“Easy there, sugar,” Bones drawls, pausing to pet and smooth. “We’ve got a long way to go yet.”
The tenderness in his hands and voice render the force of the next blow all the more startling, and Jim cries out, something between a grunt and a groan.
“What was that?” Bones asks.
“Four,” Jim moans.
“Good boy.”
The hand cracks twice more against his flesh and Jim’s hips buck reflexively, rubbing his naked cock against Bones’ jeans.
“Five,” Jim gasps. “Six.”
When he counts, “Ten,” Jim hears the choked sob in his own voice, and that’s when he notices the moisture welling in his eyes.
Why now? he wonders, blinking it away. When he made it all the way through yesterday, when he only has a few more hours to go.
It must be the hands, he decides. Not as sharp or as hot or as cold, but so much more real.
“Eleven,” he whispers, swallowing first to quell the tremor in his throat. “Twelve.”
Bones is back to petting him and Jim blinks furiously, tensing everywhere despite the soothing touch, muscles clenching in a literal effort to hold him together.
“Do you want the blindfold?” Bones asks.
Jim swallows again and nods. He’s not fooling Bones for a second - of course, he isn’t - but he’ll take the illusion.
“Go stand against the wall.”
Jim assumes the position as Bones walks across the room and returns with the crop and blindfold in hand.
This time, Bones doesn’t need to start slow. Jim is already warmed up. The crop falls fast and sharp, and with that single band of black cloth snug over his eyes, catching his tears, Jim finally lets go.
Gives himself over.
Completely.
Shudders wrack his body.
He barely registers the move to the bed. As drops of stinging heat trail up the back of one leg and down the other, he begins to float.
He hears Bones warning him to be still, to be careful, as if from a great distance, the other side of a roaring waterfall. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it or not, but he knows it doesn’t matter.
Bones will take care of it.
Of him.
At some point, maybe around the time he becomes aware of Bones’ tongue, it occurs to Jim that he might be having an orgasm. Only it doesn’t feel like any orgasm he’s ever had before, rolling through him in waves - less a climax than a new state of being.
If it is an orgasm, he’s not sure he’s allowed to be having it, though he’s not sure how he could have stopped it, since he never really saw it coming, and he must be attempting to articulate something to this effect because someone is mumbling and someone else is murmuring, reassuring, like it’s all going to be okay.
Jim’s good with okay.
Jim’s just good.
Sometime later, still floating amongst the waves, he hears sound and movement from somewhere nearby that some part of him thinks he should be concerned with in some way, but he’s already losing the thread and he lets it go. He thinks the blindfold is gone, but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes.
Sometime after that, he breaks into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. He doesn’t understand it and tries to apologize for being so fucking weird, but Bones just shushes him again - the apologies, not the giggles - and brings him a glass of water afterwards, with a bendy straw.
The bendy straw makes Jim giggle again, but when he finally closes his lips around it, he finishes the whole glass.
He drifts in and out of consciousness.
He wakes up to the smell of take-out.
Jim’s still feeling kind of high as they make their way to the club. A block from the entrance, he informs an unsuspecting passerby that he belongs to Bones and he’s not ashamed. Bones flashes the man an apologetic smile, like Jim’s supposed to be drunk, or maybe crazy, and drags Jim away. “What?” Jim says. “Just figured I could do number seven first, y’know?” Bones rolls his eyes and keeps dragging.
Once inside, Bones stays with Jim on the dance floor. He lets guys join them and touch Jim and stuff, and he still wants Jim to tell them that he’s owned and everything, but it’s almost like he doesn’t trust Jim to be out there alone.
Which is totally ridiculous.
But doesn’t stop Jim from having a good time. He loves dancing with Bones and the guys they meet are cool.
Jim spends three minutes with one just trying to describe Bones’ waffles, but he kind of gets stuck on the syrup.
He offers to trade cock rings with another, until he finds out the other guy’s is just rubber, which is kinda lame.
He ends up asking the last guy if he wants to come with them to the bathroom to watch Bones shove Ben Wa balls up Jim’s ass, which the guy seems totally into, by the way, but Bones vetoes the plan.
“Maybe next time, Jim. We’re in a fuzzy enough place with your consent right now as it is. Now say goodnight.”
Jim says goodnight.
Bones does take Jim into the bathroom to lube him up and slide the balls up inside him, but he makes them do it in a stall. Jim’s on the verge of calling Bones a spoilsport, but then Bones drops to his knees and blows Jim, and Jim loses the will to complain.
Jim also loses about half of his still functioning brain cells, but he’s too blissed out to care.
He tells Ísla that he met the perfect guy for her in his Diff EQ class last semester and that he’s going to set them up for the Spring Formal.
He tells Celia that when he gets his own starship - which is definitely going to be in six years, not eight - Bones is going to be his CMO and she has to be his head nurse.
He tells Annabelle he thinks he’ll miss her most of all.
Bones props him up against the shower wall and blows him again and, yeah, okay, Jim’s pretty much done for the night.
Possibly the week.
Ten days at the outside.
Bones lays Jim out on the bed and kisses him, slow and sweet. “You did good,” he says.
Jim smiles, gazes blearily into Bones’ face. “Mmm, Bones, I lo-”
Bones cuts him off with another kiss.
“Not tonight, Jim,” he says as he pulls back. “You’ve been through too much. You can tell me tomorrow if you want to.”
“M’kay.” Jim’s just about to drift off when he finally realizes something he was trying to realize earlier. “Wait a minute,” he says. Well, slurs. “All this time…all these things….you never…you didn’t let me…” He waves a mostly limp arm in the general direction of Bones’ dick.
Bones chuckles. “You’re just now noticing that? Believe me, Jim, I’ve been taking care of it.”
“No, no, no,” Jim says, shaking his head. “You have to fuck me.”
“Jim…”
“Now, Bones. Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.”
“There’s no way you’re going to…”
“So? I know you like it that way, you dirty bastard. You love fucking me when I’m soft, just a…” Jim runs out of dirty talk mid-sentence. Whatever. “C’mon, before I fall asleep.”
Jim’s still stretched and slick inside. Bones pushes Jim’s knees up toward his ears and sinks into him.
Yeah, Bones totally loves this.
Jim’s pretty keen on it, too. Even if he’s kind of having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
“Stay with me, Jim,” Bones grunts between thrusts. “Just a few minutes longer.”
And because James T. Kirk is a natural born hero, he does not pass out until after Bones comes.
Well, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t, anyway.
Maybe.
You know what they say: It’s the thought that counts.
Fin.
(So that was Christmas, and New Year's and Jim's birthday... Anyone up for a Valentine's Day threesome?)
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: ~2400 (this part); ~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: And...done! This has been a lot of fun, but it will be kind of nice to have my life back. Thank you to everyone who read and commented as the installments were being posted! It was lovely for me. Hopefully some of you actually appreciated the installment format, too. For anyone who was waiting to do the whole thing in one go, here it is - hope you enjoy! And thanks again to cordelianne and graceandfire for superb cheerleading and beta services.
Previous parts
The awkwardness catches Jim off guard.
Blindsides him.
It’s as if, out of the blue, he finds himself in the middle of their first real “Morning After” - capitalized, italicized and in scare quotes.
And it’s not just Jim, either. Bones is definitely acting off. They’re barely speaking or touching - or, hell, even making eye contact - as they move around the room, showering, drinking coffee, getting dressed.
Jim considers taking his patented J.T.K. Walk of Shame-What-Shame-Sex-is-Awesome-and-I-Just-Had-Some-So-There across the quad and back to his own room. He hasn’t been there in a while, and though he’s been tossing his stuff in with Bones’ laundry, it might be nice to wear some different clothes for a change. He’s not sure if his roommate is back from the break yet or not, but if he is, he might appreciate knowing Jim is still alive.
Or not.
Jim’s roommate has always considered Jim kind of a dick.
And, hey, Jim is kind of a dick, so he can’t really hold that against the guy.
But then Bones starts making breakfast for two, so Jim figures he should stick around. They sit down together at the table - Jim shifting slightly as he tries to get comfortable - and proceed to stare at their respective plates.
“So,” Jim says when he can’t take another second of silence, “day twelve.”
“Day twelve,” Bones repeats, nodding.
Forks clink.
“Look, Jim,” Bones says suddenly, without glancing up, “you don’t have to…. I mean, I know that yesterday was sort of…. I just….” He finally looks over at Jim. “You know, we can stop if you want to. I won’t be mad.”
“What?” The fork falls from Jim’s hand. “Bones, why would you…? I mean, this whole thing has been so…. And, yeah, okay, yesterday got a little…. And I guess I wasn’t…. But you…you were…. And I couldn’t…. But it’s just…. Shit, Bones, it’s the last day and I made it all this way, so why wouldn’t I…?” Jim stops for a second to study Bones’ face. “Unless you want to stop?” Jim looks down again. “I know I’m not the best at following orders, but-”
“Jim.” Bones waits for Jim to meet his eyes before continuing. “You have been incredible. It’s not…. I don’t want to stop, okay? I ne- I don’t want to stop.”
Jim nods once. “Good. Because that would suck.” He picks up his fork and points it at Bones’ plate. “Now eat your breakfast, Bones. You’re gonna need the energy.”
Bones shakes his head, worry melting from his face as he lifts a single eyebrow. “Now who’s giving the orders?”
Jim shrugs. “Someone’s got to.”
The eyebrow drops and Bones’ eyes go dark. “Eat your breakfast, Jim. You’re gonna need the energy.”
Jim blinks.
Shivers.
Fuck. How does he do that?
It’s barely noon and they still need some time to recover the mood, so they end up in the campus rec hall, playing pool. They’re evenly matched - both good, neither phenomenal - and this game will be the tie-break, best out of five.
They haven’t bothered to place any bets. What would be the point? Everything Jim has, everything he is, is already Bones’ to take.
Or is it to give?
At the moment, Jim’s less focused on how he’s actually playing than on how he looks doing it. He bends over the table as often and as deeply as possible.
He ignores a perfect shot from the end of the table in favor of a halfway decent one he can line up from the side, right in front of where Bones is currently standing. Jim bends over slowly and takes his time studying the angles, testing the slide of the cue between his fingers.
“Take your shot, Jim,” Bones calls, his voice obnoxiously calm, even though Jim is certain his eyes haven’t wavered from Jim’s fine form for a single second. “We don’t have all day.”
Jim wiggles his ass one more time and then takes the shot. He misses. It was a crap angle.
Bones is walking around the table to the far side, where a cube of chalk sits next to the corner pocket. Jim straightens and watches as Bones wraps his fingers lovingly around the cue, just stroking it for a long moment, light grip sliding up and down its shaft. Bones brushes his thumb over the tip before applying the chalk, then blows softly across it to chase away the excess.
Jim forgets to breathe.
Bones lines up his shot and sinks it handily. He makes the next one, too, but misses the one that follows.
Jim still doesn’t think he’s getting enough oxygen to his brain. All the more reason to bend over, he figures. Put his head more level with his heart. He’s sure Doctor McCoy would suggest it himself, if the bastard weren’t so busy giving his cue another hand job.
Bones is still on the opposite side of the table, but Jim wiggles his ass anyway as he prepares his shot. Slowly.
It’s a public space.
It’s not like Bones is his only audience.
He must have actually focused in on the ball there for a second because Jim doesn’t realize Bones has come around behind him until he hears the low voice next to his ear.
“Yes, Jim, everyone here knows that you’ve got a sweet little ass. What they don’t know is that, as soon as this game is over, I’m going to drag you back to my room, bend you over my knee and spank it - while you whimper and hump my thigh like a bitch in heat.”
Jim congratulates himself for not collapsing onto the table as his legs try to turn to jelly.
“Oh,” Bones adds, as Jim tries to keep his arms from shaking, “and this time? You’re going to count them.”
Jim sucks in a small gasp of air and marshals all his remaining strength and coordination to take a couple steps to the left, changing his angle on the cue ball and lining up a new shot.
With one short, sure stroke, he sinks the eight ball, letting the cue clatter to the table.
“You win.”
Bones was right. Once he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, with Jim laid out naked over his still very clothed lap, it doesn’t take more than the first few warm-up slaps before Jim is whining in the back of his throat and grinding himself into Bones’ thigh, needy and desperate.
“Easy there, sugar,” Bones drawls, pausing to pet and smooth. “We’ve got a long way to go yet.”
The tenderness in his hands and voice render the force of the next blow all the more startling, and Jim cries out, something between a grunt and a groan.
“What was that?” Bones asks.
“Four,” Jim moans.
“Good boy.”
The hand cracks twice more against his flesh and Jim’s hips buck reflexively, rubbing his naked cock against Bones’ jeans.
“Five,” Jim gasps. “Six.”
When he counts, “Ten,” Jim hears the choked sob in his own voice, and that’s when he notices the moisture welling in his eyes.
Why now? he wonders, blinking it away. When he made it all the way through yesterday, when he only has a few more hours to go.
It must be the hands, he decides. Not as sharp or as hot or as cold, but so much more real.
“Eleven,” he whispers, swallowing first to quell the tremor in his throat. “Twelve.”
Bones is back to petting him and Jim blinks furiously, tensing everywhere despite the soothing touch, muscles clenching in a literal effort to hold him together.
“Do you want the blindfold?” Bones asks.
Jim swallows again and nods. He’s not fooling Bones for a second - of course, he isn’t - but he’ll take the illusion.
“Go stand against the wall.”
Jim assumes the position as Bones walks across the room and returns with the crop and blindfold in hand.
This time, Bones doesn’t need to start slow. Jim is already warmed up. The crop falls fast and sharp, and with that single band of black cloth snug over his eyes, catching his tears, Jim finally lets go.
Gives himself over.
Completely.
Shudders wrack his body.
He barely registers the move to the bed. As drops of stinging heat trail up the back of one leg and down the other, he begins to float.
He hears Bones warning him to be still, to be careful, as if from a great distance, the other side of a roaring waterfall. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it or not, but he knows it doesn’t matter.
Bones will take care of it.
Of him.
At some point, maybe around the time he becomes aware of Bones’ tongue, it occurs to Jim that he might be having an orgasm. Only it doesn’t feel like any orgasm he’s ever had before, rolling through him in waves - less a climax than a new state of being.
If it is an orgasm, he’s not sure he’s allowed to be having it, though he’s not sure how he could have stopped it, since he never really saw it coming, and he must be attempting to articulate something to this effect because someone is mumbling and someone else is murmuring, reassuring, like it’s all going to be okay.
Jim’s good with okay.
Jim’s just good.
Sometime later, still floating amongst the waves, he hears sound and movement from somewhere nearby that some part of him thinks he should be concerned with in some way, but he’s already losing the thread and he lets it go. He thinks the blindfold is gone, but he can’t be bothered to open his eyes.
Sometime after that, he breaks into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. He doesn’t understand it and tries to apologize for being so fucking weird, but Bones just shushes him again - the apologies, not the giggles - and brings him a glass of water afterwards, with a bendy straw.
The bendy straw makes Jim giggle again, but when he finally closes his lips around it, he finishes the whole glass.
He drifts in and out of consciousness.
He wakes up to the smell of take-out.
Jim’s still feeling kind of high as they make their way to the club. A block from the entrance, he informs an unsuspecting passerby that he belongs to Bones and he’s not ashamed. Bones flashes the man an apologetic smile, like Jim’s supposed to be drunk, or maybe crazy, and drags Jim away. “What?” Jim says. “Just figured I could do number seven first, y’know?” Bones rolls his eyes and keeps dragging.
Once inside, Bones stays with Jim on the dance floor. He lets guys join them and touch Jim and stuff, and he still wants Jim to tell them that he’s owned and everything, but it’s almost like he doesn’t trust Jim to be out there alone.
Which is totally ridiculous.
But doesn’t stop Jim from having a good time. He loves dancing with Bones and the guys they meet are cool.
Jim spends three minutes with one just trying to describe Bones’ waffles, but he kind of gets stuck on the syrup.
He offers to trade cock rings with another, until he finds out the other guy’s is just rubber, which is kinda lame.
He ends up asking the last guy if he wants to come with them to the bathroom to watch Bones shove Ben Wa balls up Jim’s ass, which the guy seems totally into, by the way, but Bones vetoes the plan.
“Maybe next time, Jim. We’re in a fuzzy enough place with your consent right now as it is. Now say goodnight.”
Jim says goodnight.
Bones does take Jim into the bathroom to lube him up and slide the balls up inside him, but he makes them do it in a stall. Jim’s on the verge of calling Bones a spoilsport, but then Bones drops to his knees and blows Jim, and Jim loses the will to complain.
Jim also loses about half of his still functioning brain cells, but he’s too blissed out to care.
He tells Ísla that he met the perfect guy for her in his Diff EQ class last semester and that he’s going to set them up for the Spring Formal.
He tells Celia that when he gets his own starship - which is definitely going to be in six years, not eight - Bones is going to be his CMO and she has to be his head nurse.
He tells Annabelle he thinks he’ll miss her most of all.
Bones props him up against the shower wall and blows him again and, yeah, okay, Jim’s pretty much done for the night.
Possibly the week.
Ten days at the outside.
Bones lays Jim out on the bed and kisses him, slow and sweet. “You did good,” he says.
Jim smiles, gazes blearily into Bones’ face. “Mmm, Bones, I lo-”
Bones cuts him off with another kiss.
“Not tonight, Jim,” he says as he pulls back. “You’ve been through too much. You can tell me tomorrow if you want to.”
“M’kay.” Jim’s just about to drift off when he finally realizes something he was trying to realize earlier. “Wait a minute,” he says. Well, slurs. “All this time…all these things….you never…you didn’t let me…” He waves a mostly limp arm in the general direction of Bones’ dick.
Bones chuckles. “You’re just now noticing that? Believe me, Jim, I’ve been taking care of it.”
“No, no, no,” Jim says, shaking his head. “You have to fuck me.”
“Jim…”
“Now, Bones. Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.”
“There’s no way you’re going to…”
“So? I know you like it that way, you dirty bastard. You love fucking me when I’m soft, just a…” Jim runs out of dirty talk mid-sentence. Whatever. “C’mon, before I fall asleep.”
Jim’s still stretched and slick inside. Bones pushes Jim’s knees up toward his ears and sinks into him.
Yeah, Bones totally loves this.
Jim’s pretty keen on it, too. Even if he’s kind of having a hard time keeping his eyes open.
“Stay with me, Jim,” Bones grunts between thrusts. “Just a few minutes longer.”
And because James T. Kirk is a natural born hero, he does not pass out until after Bones comes.
Well, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t, anyway.
Maybe.
You know what they say: It’s the thought that counts.
Fin.
(So that was Christmas, and New Year's and Jim's birthday... Anyone up for a Valentine's Day threesome?)