wook77 | Fic: His Hands, Your Mouth (Fandom: Star Trek, McCoy/Kirk, NC-17)

Title: His Hands, Your Mouth
Author:

wook77
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~2300
Warnings: Spoilers for Star Trek XI
Summary: Bullshit medals, alcohol, a massage, and Jim Kirk all combine to interrupt Leonard McCoy's life.
A/N: Written for the prompt of McCoy/Kirk. McCoy is having trouble destressing post-movie so Kirk decides to "doctor" his friend. Begins with Kirk massaging McCoy and ends with an infinitely irritated McCoy having his way with Kirk. The kinks? Rough McCoy, dirty talk. at the

st_xi_kink meme. ~~Unbeta'd. (I swear, I have betas!)~~ ETA: I lied. Looked over by

anathema91.

The powers-that-be are talking about giving him a medal, a Legion of Honor or an Order of Merlin or some other bullshit made-up award to recognize his ability to watch his superior officer die in the bowels of a ship while other victims scream out their terror. It's complete crap is what it is. He doesn't deserve a medal for stepping in. He's a doctor, dammit, that's what he swore to do. The Hippocratic Oath has to mean something or else he's no doctor at all. And if he was just doing what he'd sworn to do, then he doesn't need some damned medal to honor him for it.

The letter from the Starfleet Surgeons sits, unopened. He's not going to ever look at it. It's either them kicking him out for sneaking Jim on the Enterprise or they're promising him some medal, too. Either way, he doesn't give two shits about the contents. They'll have to approach him directly. He orders the computer to delete the message, just like the previous four versions of it, and then grabs a snifter and the bottle of Kentucky bourbon. Not that synthetic shit, either, the real stuff that costs more than his monthly alimony payments (which is a metric shittonne as far as he's concerned).

The door buzzes, alerting him to the fact that someone's trying to get into his room but he ignores that just as easily as he'd ignored the letter. It buzzes again and he ignores it again as he sits down in his tiny, cramped study area and puts his feet up on his desk while reclining the chair far enough back that it rests against the side of his bed. When the door buzzes a third time, he sarcastically raises his glass, salutes its continued shut existence and drinks again.

When the door slides open, he grimaces. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."

"Girl Scout cookies!" Jim says from behind him.

"Not interested," he says and then tosses the rest of the glass back, letting the alcohol warm him up like nothing else since they'd launched into space god knows how long ago (it seems like years).

"Avon lady?" Jim says and he sounds much closer.

"What part of a locked door do you not understand?" He refuses to turn around and look at Jim. If he does, Jim will stay. Right now, he wants to be alone so he continues to stare out the window.

"Locked doors just up the challenge." Jim is right behind him, proven when Jim's hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "You all right?"

"That's a dumb question," he mutters, more resigned than pissed off. Jim's hand squeezes and releases, kneading the knotted flesh of his shoulder. He can't help the moan that spills from his lips or the way that his neck arches, offering more for Jim's hands to work on.

"You're too tense, Bones," Jim says as his other hand comes up to work on the other shoulder. Bones lets his head flop forward, blindly setting the glass down on the table. "Come on, get on the bed and I'll do your whole back."

"Where'd you learn to give a massage?"

"You remember that one Orion girl?" Bones snorts. "Ok, ok, the one with the tits out to here?" There's a pause as Jim's hands disappear and then come back to knead at his shoulders. "Well, anyway, there was this Orion girl that gave a great massage and showed me how to do it."

"You end up hurting me and I will personally see to it that you end up with so many viruses that you are no longer able to get it up," he mutters before standing and flopping on the bed, barely avoiding Jim where he sits on the bottom edge of the bed.

"Shirt off. And not cool to threaten my manhood."

"You're right. I'll leave that to Uhura." Bones pushes himself up and then pulls off the shirt before flopping back down.

"Not cool. Not cool at all." Jim slaps the small of his back to reinforce his words. "You got any oil or anything?"

Bones gestures towards the miniscule bedside table. "In there, somewhere."

"Holy shit, Bones, you got enough lube?" Jim says as he takes in the contents of the solitary drawer. "I never would've taken you for the sort that liked to have orgies."

"A man and his hand," he mutters into the pillow. "You going to continue to discuss my sexual prowess or lack thereof or are you going to give me this damned massage you promised?"

"I'm getting there, Bones. You'd think the idea of a massage would relax a man and not make him tense up more."

He closes his eyes as Jim fiddles with the bottle and then his hands are on Bones's back. It's almost like Jim has four or five hands with the way that they're gliding everywhere, touching every inch of his back, kneading and rubbing, pressing into knots and soothing the bits of pain. He'd thought it would be hard to relax with someone touching him. Plus, he'd never thought that Jim's hands could be as gentle as they are, as methodical and soothing.

"You're purring," Jim says just above his ear.

"Am not," he mutters into the pillow. So he probably is purring and he's certainly drooling but he doesn't appreciate Jim pointing it out.

"Take your pants off," Jim says, lips brushing the outside rim of his ear.

"What?"

"I can't finish unless you take off your pants. They're in the way."

"You hitting on me, Kirk?" Bones says as he shifts, sliding his hands down his body to undo the fastenings on his pants.

"Course I am," Jim says. "Now off with them."

"Don't want to move, you take 'em off." He lifts his hips slightly and grins when Jim's hands cup his hips and then tug his pants down. The chill of the room hits his bare ass and he snarls. "I didn't say take off my underwear."

"These are a crime against humanity. When was the last time you bought new underwear? Before your divorce?"

"You're an asshole."

"I'm the asshole giving you a massage so you should shut up now." Jim smacks his ass, a resounding crack echoing in the room.

Roaring in outrage, Bones twists and lunges, capturing Jim and pinning him to the bed. He reaches down and grabs Jim's hands with one of his, trapping them over his head while his other hand grabs Jim's neck and pulls him up before pushing him back down hard. Yesterday, he'd bemoaned the fact that the bed was hard. Today, he wants the bed harder so he can pound the everlasting shit out of one James T. Kirk. When he pulls Jim up once more, Jim meets him, lips touching his and he freezes.

Jim.

Lips.

Touching.

He moans into Jim's mouth and kisses him back, forgetting about his outrage for a moment because Jim tastes divine, like chocolate and scotch and bourbon and Jim. His hand releases Jim's throat to touch his face, slide his hand back along Jim's cheek to spear into the short hair and grip the back of his neck to pull him up closer, bring his chest up so they touch, cloth to flesh.

His lungs feel like they're about to explode so he pulls back, forehead touching forehead, and pants against Jim's face. Reality slaps him. He's naked and lying on top of his best friend after kissing. He's also hard and grinding down into Jim. Jim's hard and thrusting up into him. They're actually doing this.

"You're a bastard," he mutters darkly. "Can't you go more than five minutes without rubbing up against the nearest warm body?"

He expects the insult to piss Jim off. It's what he wants. Instead, Jim's hand (when did they get free? Bones is clearly losing his mind) grabs his bare ass and pulls him closer while the speed of his thrusts increase.

"I'm not your fucktoy, Jim, stop being such a whore and fuck around with someone else," the last word comes out on a moan as Jim's hand clenches his ass, painfully tight and erotic.

"Oh yeah? What else, tell me more about what an asshole I am," Jim pants out and slaps his ass again.

"Stop slapping my ass. I'm not a kinky bastard like you. I like sex. With women. Not a dirty," he pauses to moan as Jim's other hand teases at his hole, "fucking," the finger pushes in and he finds himself thrusting back into it, "whore," the finger fucks him, in and out and he loses his breath, "like you," he ends, still breathless and getting fucked between Jim's finger and his body. "You fuck anything that moves, don't you, you fucking cunt?"

"I do, Christ I do if they're like you. More, Bones, more." Jim lunges up and bites the juncture of neck and shoulder, teeth sinking in and sure to draw blood with the depth.

"You're such a slut. You'd fuck anyone and anything that has a hole for you to stick your dick into," he mutters darkly as he arches his neck, exposing more of it for Jim's mouth to explore.

"That mean I get to fuck you?"

"Hell no."

"Then fuck me," Jim says, stilling as the words hang in the air between them.

"You…" he starts to say and then stops. Are they really doing this? They are, aren't they? They're rutting against one another like animals in heat when all he'd wanted was some bourbon and a quiet afternoon by himself.

"Fuck me," Jim says, slapping his ass one more time than then pushing him off, stripping down, flipping around and presenting his ass.

"You're like a bitch in heat, aren't you? You want me to fuck you, you little cocktease?" Bones slaps Jim's ass, leaving a welt. It's not enough considering how many times Jim has already slapped him but it's a start. Grabbing the bottle of lube, he wonders, for just a minute, where they're going with this.

"It's not rocket science, Bones, slip a couple of fingers in there, loosen me up and then shove your cock in. You turning into Spock back there? Over-thinking things and turning all cold and logical?"

Bones loses his temper at the insult. "I'm no pointy-eared, green-blooded bastard, you hear me?" He squeezes lube onto his fingers and then spears Jim with two fingers, not even bothering to loosen him with just one. There's no gentleness, just rough fingers stretching and scissoring. Jim's moaning, thrusting backwards and panting.

"You are a little bitch, aren't you," he asks as he removes his fingers and thrusts in, not pausing to give Jim time to adapt. He pulls back and slams back in, harder than before. His one hand holds against Jim's lower back, keeping him steady as his other hand runs along Jim's spine to grab his neck and push his face into the pillow. "This is your fault, you realize that, you fucking cocktease? Touching like that, fucking demanding that I fuck you."

"God, it is all my fault," Jim moans, words muffled by both the pillow and the slap of flesh against flesh. Jim's hands reach up and start palming his own cock, matching the hard and fast rhythm. Crying out, Jim comes first, ass clenching as he spills over his own hand and Bones moans at the contractions. He's definitely never fucked like this, hard and fast and angry. His ex-wife would've pissed herself in fear if she'd been confronted with this, would've moved to another state and divorced him even faster.

Maybe it's better this way, with Jim surrounding his cock and the scent of his release in the air, mingling with the acrid scent of sweat. He lets Jim's neck go, using both hands to grab Jim's hips and pull him back and push him away in time with his thrusts, making it harder, faster, more. "Going to fucking come in you. You want that or you want me to come on your back so anyone walking in can see you dripping with my come?"

"God, either way, just come on me, in me, fucking come," Jim pushes up onto his hands and knees once more, adding to the frantic rhythm. "Come on, Bones, fucking come already or are you too old to come?"

The insult sends him over the edge and his orgasm sweeps over him, his hips locking in place as he pours his release into Jim's ass, muscles clenched from toes to neck. Jim rocks slightly and the movement is too much, his cock is too sensitive right now so he pulls out with a pop and then collapses on the bed, face on Jim's calf.

"That was hot," Jim says, maneuvering both of them so that he's on top of Bones. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"This part of your massage? You get this from that Orion girl?"

"Hell no, this is the James Tiberius Kirk special edition," Jim says. He smacks Bones on the stomach.

"Stop hitting me," Bones demands before smacking Jim on the ass.

"If I knew it'd get me fucked, I would've done it earlier. I can see it now, you my CMO, walking along and me smacking you on the ass as you walk past, you fucking me against a wall. It's going to be great," Jim says.

Bones doesn't want to contemplate where this is leading so he fakes a snore, pretending to sleep. He'll worry about all of this – his bullshit medals, his bullshit awards and this clusterfuck with Jim – tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. Perhaps with more alcohol to clear his mind.

As always, I'd love to hear what you thought.