Fic: Do You Like Girls, Bones? (McCoy/OFC, Kirk/McCoy)
Title: Do You Like Girls, Bones?
Pairing: McCoy/OFC (Kirk/McCoy)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 880
Summary: Basically, affectingly needed a fic where Jim's kink is how much he loves watching McCoy with women. And I obliged. And now I'm posting it. *facepalm*
The first time it happens, Jim is pretty sure it's just a big fucking misunderstanding - emphasis on the fucking - and Bones just forgot the Friday-night bar-hopping plan, just got distracted by the tonsil hockey with his XenoMicroSomething study partner, just forgot that Jim would be here, waiting, because how could Bones not forget something like that with those legs wrapped around him and his hands on those spectacular breasts and up that tiny red skirt and pulling down some impressively skimpy black underwear and baring all the soft creamy female skin and - yeah, Jim sort of loses track of his own mental catalogue of the scene, because Bones is getting naked, too - and the sounds. Bones is growly by default, but this is something else entirely, the sexy-ass-naked growl.
Also - and this is pure (slightly panicked) speculation - Jim suspects that Bones is some kind of kinky-ass mind reader, because even Jim has barely realized that the idea of Bones and - of watching Bones and - well, let's just say he wasn't sure. Until the first time it happens. And then he knows.
He's caught up in the watching, and the vicarious but completely visceral reaction, and still suspects it's all a mistake, something he'll be embarrassed about later, until Bones looks straight at him. And winks.
Jim is in shadow, in a deep chair on the far side of the room, but there is just enough light thrown over the bed from a lamp, and the view from the chair is just so - Jim can see everything. An amazing amount of everything. Bones' broad naked shoulders draped by long slender legs, his hands holding her hips steady, and the occasional flash of his tongue across or in and out of pink, juicy flesh. She's gasping for air, twisting her fingers in Bones' hair, pulling, pushing, her hips desperate to move. But Bones just holds her steady and keeps licking and sucking until all that gasping reaches a pitch of total breathlessness.
Jim lets out a shaky breath as she shakes in Bones' hands, loses control, comes and comes. His pants are open and his right hand is moving in rhythm; he has no idea how this has happened.
"That's it, baby," Bones murmurs as all those fine tremors settle and she finds her breath.
Which is great for her, but Jim loses his completely when Bones rises, wipes a hand across his mouth, and Jesus H. Fucking Christ (or Leonard H. Fucking McCoy, God) just pushes his cock inside her, slow and steady and all the way, giving her time - but not much - to adjust to his size.
Bones has a fine ass, that is a given. But that ass in motion? Jim wonders how he isn't dead yet from watching that ass move like that, concert movement of ass and hips and back, his whole body thrown into fucking. And the girl - Jim can't for the life of him think of what her name is supposed to be - the girl throws herself into it, too, hips and legs and hands and voice.
She's getting close again and Bones is close and Jim is close and it's the most fucking amazing thing, this real life poetry of sex happening right in front of him, happening with him.
It's all faster, wetter, harder, more urgent, spiraling out of control and into mindlessness. Groans and a muted scream and then the only thing Jim can hear is his blood pounding in his ears.
Minutes, hours, he's not sure - some time later she gathers up her clothes and gets dressed, leaves Bones with a kiss and a "See you later" and waves in Jim's direction before closing the door behind her.
"You gonna come over here or not, kid." Bones is lounging on the bed, naked and smug.
"Yeah, sure." Jim wipes his hands on his jeans and shucks them on his way to the bed. "What the hell was that?" He jerks his head in the direction of the door. "She knew?" He pulls his t-shirt up over his head and looks down at Bones.
"Yes, she knew, Jim. Now just get in bed, would you?"
He slides into the sheets, mirrors Bones' elbow-on-the-pillow pose. "I don't get it. I mean, that was amazing. But - how the hell did you know? I mean, Christ, Bones, I didn't even..."
"I'm a doctor, Jim, a trained observer. Plus, you get really chatty when you're drunk. More chatty than usual, that is."
"I what?"
Bones launches into a fair imitation of drunk Jim, the loose and rambling sort of speechifying he knows he is given to. "I like girls, Bones. Do you like girls, Bones? I bet you do. I bet you're really good with 'em, too. Get 'em all gooey and bendy and fuck 'em real good so they're begging for more. I bet they love you, Bo-oones."
"I said that? When?" It sounded like him, that was for sure, and he couldn't say he'd never thought it.
"Does it matter?" Bones growls at him, complete with eyebrow.
"Excellent point, Bones. Why all the talking? You should be kissing me right now."
Which he does. And he tastes even sweeter than usual.
Pairing: McCoy/OFC (Kirk/McCoy)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 880
Summary: Basically, affectingly needed a fic where Jim's kink is how much he loves watching McCoy with women. And I obliged. And now I'm posting it. *facepalm*
The first time it happens, Jim is pretty sure it's just a big fucking misunderstanding - emphasis on the fucking - and Bones just forgot the Friday-night bar-hopping plan, just got distracted by the tonsil hockey with his XenoMicroSomething study partner, just forgot that Jim would be here, waiting, because how could Bones not forget something like that with those legs wrapped around him and his hands on those spectacular breasts and up that tiny red skirt and pulling down some impressively skimpy black underwear and baring all the soft creamy female skin and - yeah, Jim sort of loses track of his own mental catalogue of the scene, because Bones is getting naked, too - and the sounds. Bones is growly by default, but this is something else entirely, the sexy-ass-naked growl.
Also - and this is pure (slightly panicked) speculation - Jim suspects that Bones is some kind of kinky-ass mind reader, because even Jim has barely realized that the idea of Bones and - of watching Bones and - well, let's just say he wasn't sure. Until the first time it happens. And then he knows.
He's caught up in the watching, and the vicarious but completely visceral reaction, and still suspects it's all a mistake, something he'll be embarrassed about later, until Bones looks straight at him. And winks.
Jim is in shadow, in a deep chair on the far side of the room, but there is just enough light thrown over the bed from a lamp, and the view from the chair is just so - Jim can see everything. An amazing amount of everything. Bones' broad naked shoulders draped by long slender legs, his hands holding her hips steady, and the occasional flash of his tongue across or in and out of pink, juicy flesh. She's gasping for air, twisting her fingers in Bones' hair, pulling, pushing, her hips desperate to move. But Bones just holds her steady and keeps licking and sucking until all that gasping reaches a pitch of total breathlessness.
Jim lets out a shaky breath as she shakes in Bones' hands, loses control, comes and comes. His pants are open and his right hand is moving in rhythm; he has no idea how this has happened.
"That's it, baby," Bones murmurs as all those fine tremors settle and she finds her breath.
Which is great for her, but Jim loses his completely when Bones rises, wipes a hand across his mouth, and Jesus H. Fucking Christ (or Leonard H. Fucking McCoy, God) just pushes his cock inside her, slow and steady and all the way, giving her time - but not much - to adjust to his size.
Bones has a fine ass, that is a given. But that ass in motion? Jim wonders how he isn't dead yet from watching that ass move like that, concert movement of ass and hips and back, his whole body thrown into fucking. And the girl - Jim can't for the life of him think of what her name is supposed to be - the girl throws herself into it, too, hips and legs and hands and voice.
She's getting close again and Bones is close and Jim is close and it's the most fucking amazing thing, this real life poetry of sex happening right in front of him, happening with him.
It's all faster, wetter, harder, more urgent, spiraling out of control and into mindlessness. Groans and a muted scream and then the only thing Jim can hear is his blood pounding in his ears.
Minutes, hours, he's not sure - some time later she gathers up her clothes and gets dressed, leaves Bones with a kiss and a "See you later" and waves in Jim's direction before closing the door behind her.
"You gonna come over here or not, kid." Bones is lounging on the bed, naked and smug.
"Yeah, sure." Jim wipes his hands on his jeans and shucks them on his way to the bed. "What the hell was that?" He jerks his head in the direction of the door. "She knew?" He pulls his t-shirt up over his head and looks down at Bones.
"Yes, she knew, Jim. Now just get in bed, would you?"
He slides into the sheets, mirrors Bones' elbow-on-the-pillow pose. "I don't get it. I mean, that was amazing. But - how the hell did you know? I mean, Christ, Bones, I didn't even..."
"I'm a doctor, Jim, a trained observer. Plus, you get really chatty when you're drunk. More chatty than usual, that is."
"I what?"
Bones launches into a fair imitation of drunk Jim, the loose and rambling sort of speechifying he knows he is given to. "I like girls, Bones. Do you like girls, Bones? I bet you do. I bet you're really good with 'em, too. Get 'em all gooey and bendy and fuck 'em real good so they're begging for more. I bet they love you, Bo-oones."
"I said that? When?" It sounded like him, that was for sure, and he couldn't say he'd never thought it.
"Does it matter?" Bones growls at him, complete with eyebrow.
"Excellent point, Bones. Why all the talking? You should be kissing me right now."
Which he does. And he tastes even sweeter than usual.