Title: Save the Last Dance Fandom: Star Trek XI Rating: NC-17 Pairings: Kirk/McCoy, Kirk/Everyone.

More informatively: Kirk/OFC, Kirk/Gaila, Kirk/Pike, Kirk/Chekov/Sulu, Kirk/Spock/Uhura, Kirk/OMC. Order of names implies nothing about activities. Summary: <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/703 0.html?thread=16739958#t16739958"> 5 + 1 times McCoy watched Kirk have sex, and 1 time he just heard about it.</a> (Link goes to <lj comm="st_xi_kink"> prompt.) Content Advisory: Het, slash, voyeurism, pegging, spanking, threesomes, and assorted other activities. This may be the most nonmonogamous thing I've ever written (unless "May Have Been You" is). All Thanks To: The Anon who came up with this insanely wonderful prompt, and <lj user="lomedet"> for encouraging me as I constructed this pile of pornographies. <i>Disclaimer:</i> None of these characters (except the OCs) or their settings belong to me. Title from the eponymous song. <lj-cut text="Kirk/OFC, Jim/Bones: The first time was an accident, Jim _swears_."> <b>Alpha.</b> The first time was an accident. Jim <i>swears</i>. He didn't expect Bones to be back for a few more hours, and Monique was as cheerfully drunk as he was, in his lap with her long smooth hair and her soft smooth skin

and the smooth warmth of her body, so it was simply his gentlemanly duty to carry her over to the bed and fuck her till she screamed, right? Even if the nearest bed belonged to his roommate slash best friend slash occasional nonexclusive lover slash Cadet Leonard McCoy. And yeah, a little later Jim heard some soft noise behind him but he was in the home stretch by then, with Monique howling like the proverbial banshee and raking his back with her nails, bouncing and squeezing around him, and there are times a man just can't be analytical. Sometime later still, after Monique disentangled herself and Jim hooked her bra on for her, after she got dressed and kissed Jim goodbye and showed herself out, lovely woman, Jim rolled onto his back, saw motion at the corner of his eye, and looked over to see Bones standing up from <i>his</i> bed, clutching the neck of an open whiskey bottle in one fist; Bones' mouth was pursed, his forehead creased, the look in his eyes kind of unreadable. "Holy shit, where did you <i>come</i> from?" Jim asked, propping himself on his elbows. "The closet?" "Yeah," Bones said, advancing on Jim, hefting the bottle. "Me'n my friend here," and Jim just stared up into his hot dark eyes, wondering if his best friend slash wingman slash occasional fuckbuddy was about to beat the shit out of him. Instead, when Bones lunged, he dragged Jim back

onto the wet spot and fucked him into it. The whole time he kept growling in Jim's ear, "Saw you with that girl on my bed, saw your ass flexing as you fucked her, saw her legs around her waist and her nails down her back, saw you with her..." and it was a whole new dark underbelly of hot. Jim wasn't surprised he was up for another orgasm, but the way it hit him like a bottle to the head? That was nice. Afterwards, Jim tugged and yanked at Bones's clothes until he got them peeled off and pitched over the side of the bed, and they passed the bottle back and forth and discussed this new discovery, to an extent. "So you liked watching me fuck," Jim said, and Bones drank until Jim grabbed the bottle. He took a few swigs, watching Bones's eyes tilt to watch him swallow, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and licked it for good measure, and said, "We can make that happen, you know. A lot." Bones just grunted, took the bottle back, and drank some more until Jim stole it again; then he rolled his face into Jim's shoulder, slung an arm across Jim's waist, and went to sleep. Jim lay there warm and soggy and content, whiskey sloshing inside him and Bones crammed up beside him. The hangover the next day was completely worth it. </lj-cut> <lj-cut text="Kirk/Gaila: The Orion girl, Gaila, looks like Santa&#39;s most obscene little helper."> <b>Beta.</b>

The Orion girl, Gaila, looks like Santa's most obscene little helper, with her green skin setting off the red of her hair, her lips, her fingertips, her nipples and most of all her shiny strap-on, jutting out between her thighs. It bobs as she walks across the room, around Leonard's bed where Jim lies whistling cheerfully with his head on his crossed arms and his ass in the air, and over to where Leonard sits on Jim's. She smiles at him as sweetly as a child, as inviting as a bad idea, saying, "You can participate directly if you want," her hand friendly and casual on his shoulder as if she were asking him to lunch. She smells like sex and sin and Jim, all closely related concepts in Leonard's mind anyway, and he kind of wants to lick that cherry gumdrop nipple right in front of his face. Only a little, though. And she <i>is</i> an Orion, it's damn near impossible not to want her at least a little. "No, thank you, Miss Gaila," he says, watching her smile widen to delight as she giggles at the title. "I'm just here to observe." "All right." She pats his shoulder and turns away, her ass round and full, framed by the black harness. Green like that, it's reminiscent of a strange variety of fruit which doesn't blush no matter how sweet and ripe it is. Which is a damn stupid thought, so Leonard takes another sip of rye and watches Gaila cross to his bed. Jim stops her with a hand on her soft hip, and she

laughs cheerfully as he goes down on the dildo she's wearing, his lips vivid pink up the length of the lurid red toy. Jim winks at Leonard past her ass, and Leonard smiles, because he can't not, because Jim is unselfconsciously hedonistic enough to keep up with an Orion girl. Leonard's a little surprised she hasn't adopted him as an honorary brother, and wonders if they could still fuck if she did, before dismissing the thought as perverse and taking another sip. Maybe it's Jim's blue eyes or his stretched pink mouth or Gaila's toothsome-looking ass, but the next sip burns all the way down to Leonard's dick, setting off a slow hot throb against his fly. He rubs the heel of his hand over it, once, all the way down the length, and Jim's eyes crinkle as he watches and bobs his head. Gaila pulls away, laughing and complaining, "That's so not adequate lube," which earns her a point in Leonard's book. She grabs the actual lube from the bedside table, shimmying as she climbs onto the bed, and Leonard leans back against the wall and flicks the buttons of his fly open as she takes hold of Jim's hips, green on pale. She pushes sideways, though, saying "Turn over, sweetbean, I want to see your face." "Yes, ma'am," Jim says, holding up his arms, spreading his thighs, and Leonard palms himself as he watches them kiss, Gaila's breasts soft against Jim's chest; he closes his hand slowly as she pushes in and Jim winces a little, still kissing. She breathes a soothing sound, Jim replies with a muffled chuckle,

and she hums, sounding impressed, her red hair falling across their faces like a curtain. So Leonard watches the long line of her back, Jim's golden thighs rocking up around her hips, the slow rhythm as she fucks him. He listens to them moan to each other, the wet sounds of kissing and fucking, and when Jim hitches his knee up over her waist Leonard can see the artificial red dick disappearing and emerging, millimeter by millimeter, and that's what makes him hiss with pleasure. Jim hears him, and groans, and Gaila giggles triumphantly and sits up, planting her hands on Jim's shoulders and rocking in harder. "Ngh, yes," Jim gasps, pushing into it, "fuck me, baby." "Like this?" Gaila shifts her grip to Jim's waist and slams in, and Jim shouts wordlessly, bucking up into an arch of happy muscle. Leonard groans with him, stroking himself absently, watching this green girl with bouncy curls and bouncier breasts fuck Jim with a fake red dick. "Like that," Jim agrees, panting, "Bones, you like it like that?" He nods, and Jim grins brilliantly like always, grins until his mouth rounds into a moan as Gaila fucks him harder. She huffs as she does it, sweet little high-pitched puffs, and Jim grips her shoulders and makes all kinds of shameless noise, watching Leonard watch him get fucked.

She watches Leonard too, her eyes bright and open, as she reaches between their bellies and Jim jumps, his eyelashes fluttering with the effort of keeping his eyes open. "Go on," Leonard mutters, and Jim shuts his eyes in relief; glints dance in Gaila's as she leans into Jim, stroking and fucking him and nipping his throat with her sharp bright teeth until he wraps all his limbs around her and comes groaning loudly enough to echo off the walls. Leonard sits up then as Gaila slumps panting over a blissful puddle of Jim, and strokes himself more forcefully until he comes too, his eyes never leaving the two of them even when the spasms take him. "Nice," Gaila says appreciatively, then kisses Jim back into action, unfastening her harness and wriggling up his body. Leonard shucks his own jeans and pulls Jim's sheets up, because he's shy, and watches from beneath drowsy eyelids as she presses her hands to the wall and rides Jim's face, his hand pink as a petal on her mossy green ass, his body stretched out pink and golden beneath hers like a kind of reverse rose. Now why is this crazy setup driving Leonard to bad poetry, he asks himself as he closes his eyes, dozing off to the soothing noise of her happy moans. </lj-cut> <lj-cut text="Kirk/Pike: &#39;This will be the best study break ever!&#39; "> <b>Gamma.</b> Astrometrics 202 is making McCoy's head hurt -- he's

a doctor, not a pilot, why does he need to know this anyway -- and he's just about to give up studying for the night when Jim slams through the door (despite the door being modern and thus not slamming), whooping, "This will be the best study break <i>ever! </i>" "What, you noisy--" Before Leonard gets any further, Jim holds out a little electronic button between thumb and forefinger, dark pinholes along its edge. It's a mini vid recorder, no frills, no sound, just up to 8 hours of footage at a time. Leonard looks up from the gadget to Jim's huge triumphant grin. "Guess what's on here. No, don't even guess. Computer, lights thirty percent!" "Jim--" Leonard stares in bewilderment as Jim bounces around the room, plugging the recorder into their vidscreen, shucking all his clothes, holy hell, and finally flinging himself on Leonard's bed. "Come over here and watch this." Sprawled pornographically, Jim props his head up on his hand, and Leonard had better control over his erections when he was fourteen than he's had since he took up with James Troublesome Kirk. He sighs and rolls his eyes, but gives in, staggering across the room dickfirst, stripping off his cadet tee and uniform pants as he goes. Down to boxers and socks, he settles on his bed, and Jim squirms up and leans on him like a backrest as he hits the vidscreen control.

Jim's onscreen from the neck down, standing in a nice office somewhere on Academy grounds. Judging by the racks of books and the starship models, it probably belongs to an officer-instructor, likely the man in uniform blacks who walks into the frame, steps up close, and pushes Jim to his knees. "Whose dick are you about to suck?" Leonard asks for form's sake. It's not like he or anyone else can keep track. "You'll see," Jim says with eyebrow-waggling mystery. Sometimes he is such a child, and he's already so far underneath Leonard's skin he might as well be soaked into his bones. Leonard kisses him because he's infuriatingly beautiful, and Jim laughs into it and pulls back fairly quickly. "Recognize that hand? The one on the back of my neck?" Leonard tries to look at the hand, not the condomsheathed dick bobbing in the lush pink ring of Jim's mouth. It's broad, tough, a little seamed but strong and self-assured. It looks good raking through Jim's short hair. Jim looks good with his lashes draped on his reddening cheeks and his hands clamped around the backs of the other man's thighs. "Can't say that I do," Leonard finally concedes. "Are you gonna tell me, or is he just a representation of every male humanoid instructor on campus?" "At least half of them are obligately heterosexual," Jim replies, like he conducted an independent study, and Leonard makes a mental note to drag them both to

the clinic sometime in the next week. Just in case, which is a hypocritical thought when he's achingly hard from watching Jim blow some man he can't even identify. He cards his fingers through Jim's hair and Jim shivers under his hand. "If the sound were included -- well, you'll see who this is soon enough." They watch in silence for a little while, Jim squirming minutely, Leonard breathing carefully. As he watches Jim's mouth work he remembers that wet hot feel on himself, and squeezes a fistful of blanket instead of his dick, letting anticipation unfurl. Onscreen, Jim suddenly flinches back in response to a command, gets up and walks towards the recorder, his uniform pants obscenely distended. The focus dissolves and adjusts, revealing a desk a moment before Jim bends across it, laying his cheek on the smooth wood, saying something obviously snide as he reaches out of frame to grab the far edge. The man behind him smacks his ass hard as he steps into frame, and Leonard hisses when the Jim onscreen does, because that handsome stern man is Captain Christopher Pike. "Dammit, Jim!" Leonard can <i>feel</i> the blood draining from his face, while Jim just laughs. "Tell me you didn't install a bug in <i>your advisor's</i> office. You're not about to try to blackmail him, for God's sake?" "Calm <i>down</i>. Down, down down." Jim sits up to face Leonard. "Blackmail Pike? Do I look stupid? Don't answer that. Besides, that would be

<i>ungrateful</i>. Look." Onscreen, Jim shudders as a hard-faced Pike spanks him forcefully and makes obviously pointed comments. His lips part around those loud moans Leonard can almost hear, as Pike peels down his uniform pants and presses over him, reaching across the desk to rummage in an unseen drawer. As he pulls out an innocuous little bottle, Pike faces the recorder directly, his face intent and a little flushed, and his eyes sparkle as he winks. "Oh," Leonard says weakly. "I didn't peg him as crazy like that. He must've caught it from excessive exposure to you." "No, it's just when he spotted the vid recorder," Jim says matter of factly. "He really took it out on me, too." Onscreen, Pike pushes in pretty roughly, and Jim winces. Leonard's sure Pike wouldn't really hurt Jim, but his heart twinges all the same. "That's the least you deserved. Holy shit, do you two fuck every week?" "Nah, not more than every month or two. He's got impressive willpower. Most advisor meetings he completely behaves himself, but last week he was kind of sick of hearing about me. 'Cadet Kirk skips lectures yet turns in flawless assignments and aces tests,' 'Cadet Kirk reprograms class displays,' 'Cadet Kirk slept with my granddaughter,' shit like that." Leonard's so hot he shivers. "<i>Jesus</i>, Jim."

Onscreen Jim's mouth is working with half-formed curses and shouts while Pike leans over him, speaking low into his ear, one hand on the back of Jim's neck, one tucked around his front. "You see that right there?" Jim waves towards the screen. "The bastard was refusing to let me come until he was sure I, and I quote, 'would show conduct becoming a future Starfleet officer from this moment forward.' With his dick up my ass!" Leonard opens his mouth to reply to that bit of craziness, and it hangs open as Pike thrusts harder and Jim jerks with those thrusts, trying to squirm under Pike's restraining hand, obviously sobbing out his orgasm. Leonard sees the shift in Pike's face, the granite lines softening as he watches Jim's eyelids flutter. In that moment, they both look a little vulnerable. Jim snorts, lifting the remote, but Leonard drags his attention from the screen and grabs Jim's wrist, muttering, "No, don't." "What -- oh, okay, look at this." Pike's gaze flickers as if he's remembering the recorder, and he drops flat over Jim, pressing teeth into Jim's ear to draw out a gasp, fucking Jim until he finally squeezes his eyes shut, his lips barely parted. As Pike shudders atop him, Jim looks up at the recorder and grins lazily. "Jesus <i>fuck</i>," Leonard curses, "goddammit, Jim, I don't even know how any of us survive you." He grabs the remote out of Jim's hand and switches off

the screen. "Hey, there's mmph--" Leonard doesn't care what else is on the recording. He crushes his mouth onto Jim's, bodily hauling him up the bed. Jim snickers through his nose as Leonard straddles him and returns the kiss, sliding a hand down Leonard's spine, hooking legs over his thighs. Jim moans demandingly as he grips Leonard's hip, arching up to brush their cocks together, and Leonard growls, almost feeling sorry for Captain Pike and everyone else Jim is fucking, including himself. Almost. </lj-cut> <lj-cut text="Kirk/Chekov/Sulu: &#39;What are we watching, a natural history vid?&#39; "> <b>Delta. </b> As Jim turns on the vid from shore leave two weeks ago, he surveys Bones naked on his bed, all long lines and relaxation, stretched out on his belly with his hands folded under his chin and a rare gentle smile on his face. Jim watches the screen's pale light flicker in Bones's half-closed eyes, charts the shadows defining the strong muscles of his shoulders, skims his eyes down the length of Bones's back, the curve of his ass, his sturdy thighs and long legs. As he sits on the bed he leans in and runs a finger down the arch of one well-formed foot. On cue, Bones lightly kicks Jim's arm. "Stop that," he

grumps, adding, "and give me the control for this thing, what are we watching, a natural history vid?" Jim looks up at the screen. The view is pastoral, a sunny patch of green grass and a smooth red-barked tree trunk, framed by leafy branches. The audio is birds chirping and a whickering intermittent breeze. It should be about five more seconds before things turn interesting, Jim estimates, saying "Don't worry," as he slides forward to drape himself over Bones's back. "The educational value in this one is all carnal." Onscreen, distant laughter approaches. Bones makes a sweet little grumpy noise and Jim grins against his shoulder; when Jim palms his ass he pushes up into the stroke, not away. Two young men in loose civvies burst into frame, and Bones says, "What's that after you, a stick topped with curls?" as Chekov tackles Jim against the tree. The breeze unfortunately blurs the audio, but Jim remembers Chekov crowing, "Caught you, Captain! I claim my prize!" before kissing him, surprisingly strong young hands pinning his shoulders, sweet young mouth hot on his own. "Augh." Bones hides his eyes. "Don't tell me you recorded yourself with this boy, has he even hit puberty--" Jim reaches over and grabs Bones's wrist, peeling his hand away. "Here comes Sulu," he announces as the

man himself dashes into view, planting his hands on Chekov's waist, shouting, "More tongue!" Jim continues, "And you know Chekov turned eighteen three months ago." Bones grunts. "He's a handsome kid. Sulu too. I just... I feel a little dirty watching this." Jim snickers, biting Bones's ear just as Sulu bites his onscreen. "That's what makes it so good. But if you're really worried..." Bones shudders wonderfully underneath him, all the way through his sturdy frame, and Jim presses harder against his flank, enjoying warm skin over muscle, Bones familiar and tactile against him, as he thumbs the fast-forward until everyone's naked in a sated heap. Onscreen Jim unwinds one arm from around Sulu to point up into the branches, giving the recorder a grin and wave. The breeze had picked up by then, drowning out the audio, but Chekov's rounded mouth and Sulu's suddenly set jaw are perfectly clear. "So Sulu says 'Permission to speak freely,' right then," Jim narrates between nibbles along the shell of Bones's ear, "and I say 'We're all friends here', and--" Sulu punches him in the jaw, rocking him into Chekov's arms. "Boom!" "Jim, when will you learn to ask first?" Bones rolls his eyes, but his gusty sigh shifts into a lower, hotter register when Jim licks his ear and squirms against him. "But their reactions are so much fun." Chekov argued

for the hotness of being recorded, the little technophile, and Jim forgets exactly what he said but judging by the video evidence his smile was more convincing. Sulu folds his arms, shaking his head, but after a few more moments of Jim beaming at him he relents, reaching over to cup Chekov's smiling cheek, touching Jim's face where he punched him. The Jim onscreen tilts his face as Jim narrates, "I asked him to kiss it better, of course," and Sulu laughs and bites his jaw, licking up into Jim's mouth as Chekov leans in to kiss both their cheeks. "But I'm getting ahead of the main event." Jim flicks back to the bit where all three of them slide down to the grass. "How anyone --" Bones stops mid-bitch and moans, very low in the back of his throat, his eyes fixed on the screen, where Jim moans much more loudly, head tipped back to provide better access as Chekov and Sulu bite both sides of his neck. Chekov kept talking about Jim's mouth the whole time, and right now he must admit he can see why, but Chekov's got a mouth on him too, pink and tender and full of astonishingly filthy commentary. "Want you to suck me, Captain," Chekov says boldly, stroking Jim's lips with his narrow fingers and grinning as Jim goggles at him. "Your mouth is so hot, I can feel it on my cock already. Want to watch Hikaru have you, he wants you since he first saw you, he told me." Sulu blushes, which is adorable on his serious face, and Jim reminiscently grins along with himself onscreen. As Jim kisses Sulu under Chekov's delighted

gaze. Bones mutters, "It really is a nature documentary. 'The Mating Habits of Puppies'," but he shifts like he's lying on a stiffy. Jim lets go of his wrist to slide a hand beneath and check, and yep, firming up nicely. Bones breathes another low noise, this one rumblier and deeper, and Jim curves his hand in a little squeeze hello. "Puppies? You wound me; we're all bipedal." Bones tips over onto his side, giving Jim some room to work with. "Well, I'm a doctor, not a zoologist," he says, but it comes out understandably distracted, because Chekov has stood up again in order to rip off all his clothes while Jim and Sulu neck and undress each other in rather more leisurely fashion. "He is <i>not</i> bad looking, for a stringbean." "Wouldn't kick him out of bed?" Jim asks against Bones's shoulderblade as he strokes. "Crowded bed, though," says Bones, breathing faster as they watch Chekov and Sulu lean across to kiss each other, tangling their fingers around Jim's dick. "The fun kind of crowded." It feels like time for something a little more serious, so Jim lets go to reach for the lube, and Bones's deniably tiny needy noise makes Jim smirk against his nape. "I know I look good being petted, but want to see something a little more active?"

"Petted? Thought you weren't a puppy." Bones squirms back against Jim, and Jim could tease him for the demand in every inch of his body. But they don't actually have all night, even if they're trying to act like it, so he just slicks his hand and brings it back, enjoying Bones's little happy sigh. "I was defending my crewmen's honor." Jim clicks fastforward, then shoves at Bones's hip. "Up on your knees for me?" "That's got all sorts of disturbing implications I'm not even gonna touch." Bones looks back at Jim as he shifts, his mouth pursed and his eyes shining. "Give me that remote and use both hands already." "Nuh-uh." Jim hits play; three moans harmonize onscreen, Bones shudders, and Jim grins wider and tosses the remote behind himself. "You just watch -ah, yes, this is the bit where they had me at both ends." Onscreen, Jim's moans are muffled by Chekov's dick in his mouth as Chekov whimpers, "Captain, Captain, oh, your mouth, your hot mouth, Captain..." Yeah, watching himself be double-teamed is nearly as much fun as the fucking was in the first place. Not least because of Bones's reactions, his deep aroused growl and his dick twitching in Jim's stroking hand. Jim's twitches too, getting impatient, but he's capable of keeping it from overriding his plans despite what Bones thinks.

"<i>Pavel</i>," Sulu moans, which is slightly unfair when it's Jim he's fucking, but they look so good kissing over him that Jim forgives him for it. "God<i>damn</i>," Bones grumbles breathlessly, and Jim juggles the lube one-handed, squeezing out a palmful and closing the bottle with his fingertips. "Jim, how do you always manage to look like that while you're being fucked?" "How do I look?" As Jim starts working in two fingers he kisses between Bones' shoulderblades, the strong muscles either side of his spine, feeling the damp warmth blooming over his skin, listening to his to harsh moans. For a little while Jim thinks he made Bones forget all about the question, which is its own kind of victory. But, after a muttered, "Holy fucking damn," because onscreen Chekov is glowing red like a sunrise and shivering as he comes, Bones says, low and rough like his moaning, "Like you're in charge." Jim laughs as quietly as he can, twists his fingers to win a gasp, and answers, "My natural air of command?" Even this turned on, Bones can still snort derisively. "All right, all right, would you fuck me already?" "Oooh, is that begging?" Jim bites down lightly, feeling Bones tense, listening to him hiss. "And... no. Not yet."

Jim's dick throbs indignantly, but the surprised noise Bones makes is so worth it. "You need to see what Sulu and I do to Chekov next. Meanwhile, I'm gonna finger you until your brain melts." "Really, Jim?" It shouldn't be possible to sound that skeptical while that breathless. "You can hold out that long?" "Until your brain dribbles out your ears." Jim kisses Bones's back between words. "You're sexy when you're aphasic." Bones snorts again, sounding impressed this time, and untucks one hand to smack Jim's hip and hang on. "Brat." Onscreen, Jim is bracing himself on Chekov's thighs, groaning as Sulu bites his shoulder. Here and now, he says cheerfully, "<i>Captain</i> Brat," and laughs as Bones groans, kissing his spine as another doubled stroke makes him shudder liquidly, that much closer to melting for Jim. </lj-cut> <lj-cut text="Kirk/Spock/Uhura: &#39;As my middle name is Tiberius and I&#39;m a starship captain.&#39;"> <b>Epsilon.</b> "Let me get this straight," McCoy drawls into the comm link as he toes off his boots. "You finally convince Uhura to take leave of her senses and sleep

with you, and you pull this stunt while I'm off-ship. Please tell me you've locked yourself behind a Vulcanproof door for the duration of my conference." Jim's sunny laughter echoes down the line. "I can't avoid my First Officer for two whole days. Besides, he walked in on us." "He walked <i>in</i>? Bless your suicidal little heart, Jim. You calling from the Great Beyond?" Leonard flops backwards onto his hard little bed in this bleak little cubicle of a guest room. Despite the Spartan accommodations the xenobiology conference is informative, and two years on the <i>Enterprise</i> have earned him stories dramatic enough to impress even other starship CMOs, but it's been three days with two to go and, God help him, he misses Jim. Jim apparently misses him so much he decided to combine two of his favorite sports, having sex and risking death. "Bones, you should've seen his eyes, dark pools of seething heat." "Very poetic." Despite his comments, or all good sense, Leonard strips naked as he talks, setting the packet of tissues beside the bed, because Jim's foolishness does tend to have that effect on him. Jim snorts. "Actually, they looked exactly like when he choked me on the Bridge, during the <i>Narada</i> incident."

"Yes, Jim, I was there." At least the little rooms are all single-occupancy. Leonard stretches out, his heel hanging off the bed. "A sane man would have taken a reminder of that little tussle as a sign to get out of there. Or maybe to not have gotten in there in the first place." "But that would mean making a liar out of you," Jim purrs. "When you gave me your professional opinion that I'm a, what was it? Crazy bastard motherfucker?" Leonard just groans. "Besides, look at Uhura, all sleek and gorgeous. She's exactly like that naked, too, wild like a hurricane under all that cool." "Well, good for you. But how exactly are you still alive?" Not that Spock would actually kill his Captain, even after one of the oldest provocations in sentient societies. Apparently. "I'm just too pretty to die," is Jim's answer, insufferable as always. "I'd have a lot less work to do if that were true." Leonard walks his fingers up and down his sternum, idly imagining that they're Jim's or roaming Jim's chest. Jim laughs sheepishly. "Yeah," he says, soft and grateful and true, then continues with his usual ebullience, "so there we were, frozen mid-bounce, staring at the looming half-Vulcan as he stared at us. With both eyebrows raised, so we knew we were in

trouble. He walked around us slowly, like he had to see us from every angle to decide what to do, and Uhura followed him with her eyes the whole time. You should've seen her neck turn. I really wanted to nibble it, but it wasn't quite the moment." "To say the least, and, wait, he walked around you? Did he get up on the bed? Or -- Good God, don't tell me you laid that fine, sophisticated woman on the <i>floor</i>." "It was the nearest flat surface!" Leonard can just <i>see</i> Jim's careless shrug, and covers his face with his hand. "And it provided good leverage with her on top of me. Anyway, having completed his inspection, do you know what Spock did?" "Given the story so far, I'd predict that he beat the shit out of the idiot who somehow seduced his normally sensible girlfriend, but as you're conscious and verbal, I guess it was something less logical." Jim hushes his voice for dramatic effect. "He <i>took off his clothes</i>." Leonard gapes for a moment. "You have got to be kidding me." "No, really. He stripped down -- fine figure of a sentient, let me tell you -- and I almost asked if he just didn't want to get blood on his uniform, but Nyota put two fingers across my mouth. She and Spock gave

each other one of those telepathic looks, you know how they are. I almost started moving again just to remind her I was there." "How you remember to breathe's beyond me, Jim," Leonard carps, as if his hand's not on his belly and sliding lower, as if he's not picturing Jim underneath Uhura and both of them looking up into Spock's dark unblinking eyes. "Considering you've obviously got no brain." "Whatever, Bones. You touching yourself yet? You should be." Leonard grunts noncommittally, and Jim snickers. "Spock got down behind Uhura, and when he kissed her shoulder she shut her eyes, and they just looked... they looked flawless together." Jim's voice softens slightly. "She kept her eyes shut as he pushed in, and I think mine rolled up into my head, because holy fuck was that hot. The way he felt through just a thin wall of flesh, his smooth hot skin -- I knew Vulcans have a higher body temperature than we do, but it's one thing to read in a textbook and another thing to feel in the nutsack pressed up against your own." Jim pauses there, but Leonard really has nothing to say. In fact, his throat's so tight he doesn't think he can speak, and his dick points at him accusingly, just starting to moisten at the tip. He wraps his hand around it as if covering staring eyes, while Jim breathes down the line in his ear. Eventually Jim asks, "Bones, you stroking out down there?"

"I just may," Leonard chokes out. "I just... God<i>damn</i>, Jim. Do you know what a picture that is, the three of you like that?" His dick throbs as if in agreement. "If you were anyone else I wouldn't even believe you." "You're really not going to believe what happened next," Jim says, and Leonard starts moving his hand in earnest. "Spock took his first stroke, out and in -- I could <i>feel</i> him, the whole time, just incredible. And Nyota made this high lilting noise -- I've never heard her sound like that, she hadn't even before when it was just us. It was a noise of <i>abandon</i>, Bones. I just had to see if I could get a noise like that out of her. So I thrust, and Spock looked over her shoulder right into my eyes, and it was like looking at ultraviolet light, too hot to see any colors. Then he leaned forward and kissed me." "He <i>kissed</i> you." Jim's right, Leonard doesn't believe it. But he's stroking himself with long fast pulls, listening to every preposterous word. "As my middle name is Tiberius and I'm a starship captain. It wasn't any more gentle than a punch, either. My bottom lip's split open. But Uhura made that noise again, and I guess we both made her do it. And after that... it gets kind of hard to describe." "What the hell happened after that?" Leonard's voice actually cracks a little.

"Um, we fucked until she came three times, and I came, and finally Spock did? Then he picked her up and carried her to bed, went back and grabbed my arm and lugged me over too? I spent the night there with her snuggled between us, and they've still both been cool as perfect cucumbers all day? I know," Jim adds as Leonard huffs, "I've kind of rushed the ending, my storytelling's subpar. I just... it got so intense it's hard to put into words." Jim sighs, so softly Leonard knows he means it. "It was... amazing. And hot. Very, extremely hot." "God almighty, Jim," Leonard groans, the images of Jim wide-eyed and bruised-lipped and of the three of them snuggled asleep added to the pornographic sequence in his head. "You <i>are</i> jerking off. Good." Jim absolutely purrs. "Thinking about me and Spock making a Uhura sandwich? About Spock assaulting my mouth with his lips the way he wanted to with his fists? About the way Nyota's pretty eyes fluttered shut and she thrashed between us? Gonna come for me, Bones, thinking about all that?" Fuck everything sideways, usually he lasts a lot longer than this, but when Jim asks like that he does. He comes with a loud drawn-out groan, while Jim laughs cheerfully in his ear, sounding momentarily close enough to touch. Then the line crackles, and Jim sighs. "I'd rather not,"

he says softly, "but I'd probably better end the call. You need sleep, and I really should get back out there." "Out where?" Leonard muzzily looks over at his chrono, set up beside the tissues. "It's 2217 ship's time. You'd better get some sleep, too." "Yes, Doctor," Jim says primly, and Leonard snorts. "I'll go to bed in an hour or two, tops. 'Night, Bones." "Goodnight, Jim," Leonard says, reaching for the tissues, and clicks the link off. </lj-cut> <lj-cut text="Kirk/OMC: &#39;Remember the guy I met at the conference?&#39; "> <b>Zeta. </b> "You need to rest." "You need to fuck." "Despite what you may think," McCoy growls as he swats at Jim's hands and half-drags him to his bed, "horniness is not a fatal condition. I can perfectly well go back to my quarters and contemplate my insane Captain and local sex god --" Jim snickers as he falls into the pillows, "and then go to sleep. Which you should." Jim sinks into the pillows, half his face hidden. "Don't go," he says, deliberately and irresistibly honest. He

holds out a hand, and Leonard folds one arm, but the other reaches out to grab Jim's. "If you're just going to jerk off anyway, stay here, let me watch you. Remember the guy I met at the conference? I've got a new vid for you." His eyebrow waggles energetically above a bright blue eye, cheek tilting up with his smile. Leonard lets himself sit on Jim's bed. "What poor unsuspecting creature fell to your wanton charms this time?" "Ooh, wanton, I like that, ow." Jim pushes up and slumps against Leonard's side. "Ow, my joints." "Which is why you should be resting," Leonard explains patiently, even though he leans in to support Jim's warm slack weight. "Idiopathic flulike symptoms -- " "<i>Idiopathic</i>," Jim drawls, helpfully reminding Leonard that he's half high on the medicine he's already been given and shouldn't have even one dose more until he's slept for awhile. "Medical-speak for 'we don't know what the fuck caused this.' " "Well, Jim, I don't." The admission and the worry churn in Leonard's belly; all the scans showed no infection, no parasites, no imbalances, no reason at all for Jim to feel fluish. He ruffles his fingers through Jim's hair mostly for his own comfort. "Though if you still hurt after that hypo of anti-inflammatory I'm half tempted

to take you back down to Sickbay and try a laparoscopic probe--" "Ow, hell, <i>no</i>." Jim lurches upright. Reluctantly relieved, Leonard thinks the suggestion's scared him off, until Jim pulls the remote from beneath his pillow and drapes himself bonelessly on Leonard again. "No, we're staying right here. C'mon, look at this." He skims through his file library, entering the passwords for the folder marked 'Home Videos'. "Vani was such a sweetheart about being recorded, about everything. Almost too agreeable; I think I've developed a fetish for being bitched at." Leonard doesn't dignify that with more than a snort. "Your boy Vani wasn't hurt in the blast, I hope?" "No, thank goodness. He wasn't involved with the responsible faction, either. Just in case his job was to distract me or something like that, I gave Spock and Station Security his name and image. The Moropan snot of a security head made snide noises about poor Vani's race, but cleared him. I personally saw him onto his transport to the next system. He kissed me goodbye," Jim finishes, dreamy as a child. Something pings in the back of Leonard's mind, a connection forming, but he simply replies, "It's good to see you don't think only with your dick," as Jim selects a file titled "V.B.B.G." and labeled with the stardate three days past, the night before the bombing at the diplomatic conference on Deep Space

Four. Fortunately, the blast caused only a handful of injuries, none fatal; for once <i>Enterprise</i>'s Sickbay has no overnight patients. "Well, not <i>only</i>." Jim hits 'play'; the screen shows him standing in a lush little station-side guest bedroom, cupping the bald head of a shortish, sky blue-skinned civilian who all but swoons as Jim kisses him. "Blue," Leonard comments, watching the young man wrap plump arms around Jim's waist, his moaning voice unexpectedly deep and resonant. "Fucking your way around the rainbow?" Jim laughs and thumps his arm. "So tell me about your blue boy here." Something about his physiology prickles Leonard warningly. "Vani Broht," Jim says cheerfully as he watches himself stick his tongue down the boy's throat. Jim's hands slide over Broht's temples and down his cheeks, revealing a bifurcating ridge down the middle of his head, all the way into his collar. "He's a--" Leonard startles, recognizing young Broht's species, and answers, "A Bolian." No wonder the Moropan distrusted him, with the bad blood between their worlds. "I'm surprised he even made it onto a Moropan-run station. What's he do when he's not making out with starship captains?" There's something Leonard read about Bolians recently, tugging at the back of his mind.

"He's a musician." Jim's voice pitches towards stern. The boy must've set off his protective instincts. "Specializes in string instruments. His troupe played the evening receptions each night, maybe you saw him at the conference opening?" Leonard shakes his head. "He's working his way across space, he told me, meeting people from other races and seeing the wonders of the galaxy." "Very romantic," Leonard answers. Then he realizes what he's been trying to remember. "Hey, get off me a moment?" "But we're just about to get naked." Ignoring Jim's remote-flourishing protest, Leonard sits at Jim's console and taps into his messages, rummaging his files; the <i>Space Medicine Abstracts</i> digest from four months ago has the article summary he remembers. When Leonard looks up, Jim's lying flat on his back rather than lounging in a pose. It's an actual concession to how unwell he must feel, despite his typical lack of self-concern as he pouts like he thinks it's cute. "I know what's wrong with you," Leonard snaps, ignoring the eager baritone moans from the vidscreen. "It's your Bolian friend there." Jim frowns for real. "What do you mean?" he asks, not at all playfully.

Leonard reads to him. " 'Terrans are advised to avoid sexual intercourse with Bolians; adverse effects have been reported in nine known cases across a five-year timespan, all in the Terran partner or partners only. Symptoms include nausea, joint pain, electrolyte imbalances and a pruritic rash, resolving in two to--' " "Anyone die?" Jim asks, tapping the remote against his bottom lip. "No," Leonard says, "but, Jim, this must be why you threw up and your joints are achy. You and Broht just aren't biochemically compatible." Jim shrugs. "But I'm going to get better, right?" "Symptoms resolve in two to four days, yes. But--" Jim shrugs, and Leonard snorts. "You're not sorry." "He was really sweet," Jim replies. "His personality, I mean -- he tasted kind of resinous and tart." Leonard rolls his eyes, not looking at Jim's smirk. "And I'm not even itchy. I've gotten worse before from sexual partners. Come back here." "Tell me something I don't know, I've treated you for too much of it." Leonard logs out of his email and faces forward as he walks back to the bed, even though part of him really wants to see why Jim's encouraging groans are dripping from the vidscreen. He scowls at Jim and at himself, mentally ordering particular rebellious inches to be quiet. "How'm I

gonna keep you in one piece, Jim?" Jim's smile is radiant and sweet. "You seem to manage it. Now sit down already, you're missing a great blowjob. His tongue has this covering like sharkskin, fine and raspy. It felt incredible." Leonard glances over, because he <i>has</i> to, and Jim looks pretty damn happy with Broht's blue mouth around his dick, rubbing his fingers along that ridge; Broht looks happy too, stroking Jim's thighs, humming melodiously. It takes more effort than it should to turn away from Jim's familiar gorgeousness during sex, to see the man lying invitingly before him as a patient. "You're going straight back to Sickbay." "Bones," Jim says gently, "is there anything else you'd do to treat me now that you know why I'm sick? I've had enough hypos for one day." "You're a captain, not a doctor," Leonard snarls in defeat, throwing up his hands as Jim laughs at him. "Fine, move over." Jim settles his head on Leonard's thigh. "Don't hold a grudge, I'm sure Vani didn't know. You want to watch something else?" "Nah, it's not like I can jerk off with your head in my lap. And you are <i>not</i> sucking my dick tonight." "Well you're no fun," Jim slurs, his hand relaxing on

Leonard's knee. After he falls asleep in less than five more minutes, Leonard tugs the remote from under his arm and pauses the vid. Onscreen Broht's under Jim on the bed, clinging to him, face hidden in his neck; Jim's smiling against the top of his Bolian boy's head, eyes closed, patchy pink and pale gold all over. Another couple of minutes and he'd be fully flushed. The motion of sex brings out the definition of his muscles like nothing else, except maybe mortal danger, but there isn't much time to ogle him then. Right now Leonard has all the time in the world to look at two Jims, the radiantly virile one in the vid and the one curled asleep beside him, whose eyelids are translucent purple, who looks in this moment too feverish and young to be in charge of himself let alone a Federation starship. The throb in Leonard's dick is slow and heavy like his heartbeat, and he could do something about that if he wanted. Or, he can turn off the recording and say, "Computer, lights," wiggle around and lie down, pull Jim against his chest and drag a blanket over them. Maybe they'll watch this tomorrow when Jim's feeling better, if any one of a thousand things don't happen between now and then. </lj-cut> <lj-cut text="Kirk/McCoy, Kirk/Life: At least, it _is_ a complicated groan."> <b>Omega. </b> Laid out on his bed, dressed in uniform pants, Jim

breathes, tries to move, and only manages to groan. At least, it <i>is</i> a complicated groan. There's the pleasure of lying in his own bed, on his soft synthetic sheets, not on a narrow biobed with rails. There's triumph, because once again he isn't dead. And there's a hell of a lot of pain from the stab wound in his right side, bruised muscles singing backup. For some reason this one aches more than usual as it heals, throbbing hard enough to steal Jim's breath. Slowly, he drags air into his lungs, relaxing against his familiar sheets, gathering his energy against the pain. He smiles as he pushes himself up, because smiling usually helps, and in case Bones gets back earlier than estimated and catches him. Jim is halfway up when Bones stomps in, satchel swinging in his hand. He purses his lips as he looks at Jim, eyebrows pulling together, and Jim brightens his grin and meets that worried brown stare with his own. "<i>You</i>," Bones mutters, and unceremoniously pulls a seemingly randomly chosen hypospray out of his bag. "You even know what's in there?" Jim manages not to croak the words. He actually hurts enough that he doesn't really mind the stab of the hypo jammed into his neck. "Wish it were good sense and self-preservation," Bones snaps. This close, Jim can see the half-repaired

bruising around his eye where that crazy Nausicaan punched him. As he watches Bones watch the medication take effect, Jim thinks about kissing those bruises; the narcotic spreads through his bloodstream, blanketing over the pain, and Jim gives up a sigh of relief, lets his smile soften as Bones leans over him. "Didn't I tell you to lie down?" Bones takes hold of his shoulders and eases him flat again. "But I feel great," Jim protests insincerely, "right as rain," because being pissed off will never not look hot on Bones. His hands are worrisomely gentle on Jim's body and face, checking him over as if anything could've happened in five minutes; then something dark flares in his brown eyes as his hold tightens abruptly on Jim's head. He dives in too fast for Jim to properly part his lips, kisses him bruisingly but quickly, and leans their foreheads together. Here it comes. Jim is already swimmingly drugged, easy and floating, but he manages to grab Bones's wrists on the first try. He lets his eyes slide closed as he feels the minute tremors going through Bones, his breath brushing sweet-smoky over Jim's face. "You died," Bones says simply, his voice hushed. "You died in my fucking arms, Jim." "So this is heaven?" Jim squeezes Bones's wrists a little, rubbing his thumbs underneath the shirt cuffs. "Lying in bed with you bitching at me for eternity? I like it."

"Dammit," Bones sighs, struggling to hang onto his anger, and if Jim can dredge up another dumb joke or two he can probably knock it loose. But Bones slides a hand down Jim's jaw and throat, and in his kinda-high state he's so distracted by warm stroking fingers he doesn't realize where Bones is headed until it's too late, doesn't catch his hand until it settles over the stab wound, light as a last breath on the tingling new skin. "You don't hear me, do you?" The other hand tightens further on Jim's nape. "Loud and clear, Bones." Jim tries to tip his mouth up for punctuation, but Bones shakes his head and holds Jim still, their foreheads still touching. "You <i>bled out</i> in my arms," Bones repeats, voice a little hoarser. "I knelt in a puddle of your blood and watched you die." "Well, I'm not dead now, and I've got you to thank for that, right? So I guess--" Bones shuts him up with another hard kiss, and Jim abandons the parry in favor of kissing back, of opening under his pressing lips and tasting the last tinge of bourbon on his tongue. When Bones pulls back this time Jim asks, "How much did you drink?" "Don't start, you can't even take care of yourself." Despite his words, Bones slides down beside Jim, toeing off his boots but otherwise fully dressed. "I had <i>one</i> goddamn glass. I'm off duty as of that last hypo, for the next thirty-six hours. You're off duty

until I say otherwise." Three days, tops, Jim privately bets himself. "So noted," he says easily, and "I can too take care of this ship and everyone on it, including myself," so he's not too easy. "I was with you till the last two words." Bones finally relaxes his grip on Jim's head. "Those? Pure foolishness." He settles that hand over Jim's heart. "As was jumping in front of an angry Nausicaan." Okay, Jim's floating on a narcotic haze and trying to be nice, but that kind of pisses him off. "I remember now!" he says brightly. "The Nausicaan trying to stab <i>you</i>, right?" "That doesn't mean you needed to throw yourself in the way of his knife." Bones's voice strains around the yell he's holding back. "You could've phasered him." "I did. We need to analyze their armor, it's improving." Jim grounds himself with the smooth softness of Bones's hair, the tense muscle that runs down to his jaw. "You could've hit him." Bones shifts, easing Jim's head up onto his shoulder. As Jim opens his mouth to protest he adds, "Not with your fists, idiot. With, I don't know, a stick or a pole or a <i>tractor beam</i>."

"Hey, he went down," Jim mutters. He's pretty sure he remembers that, thwacking just the right thin spot on that hard Nausicaan head to make the yelling tower of warrior crumple, just before Jim got dizzy and his legs folded beneath him, dumping him back against Bones. That's the last thing he remembers before waking up in Sickbay, the familiar fall into the gravity well of black unconsciousness, Bones's frantic shouts chasing him almost all the way. "So did you," Bones mutters back. He takes a deep shaky breath, and his hand on Jim's side twitches downward before pulling back into a fist. "Dammit, Jim, I..." His voice sinks like it did when Jim fell away from it, but stops at one soft register. "You died, Jim. I've had this nightmare for six years and it finally came true. You died in my damn arms." "So I heard," Jim says, and adds while Bones is still sputtering, "fuck me already, all right? I'm not dead, and I think you need to see so for yourself." That shocks a harsh, disbelieving little laugh out of Bones. "Jim Kirk, solving everything with sex," he mutters, but Jim can hear him considering it, even when he says, "and no, not with that stab wound, I'm not gonna." Jim gears himself up to persuade with, "Aww, co--" but Bones kisses the words right out of his mouth, not backing off this time. Bones kisses Jim harshly until his lips throb, almost too fast and hard to keep up, and

sucks Jim's lower lip between his before pulling away only as far as Jim's chin. "Uh, ah," Jim pants under fierce kisses along his throat and gentle hands on his hips, as Bones shifts down the bed, still completely dressed. "Okay?" Bones growls something unintelligible that buzzes ticklishly against Jim's stab wound, and Jim coughs a laugh and grips the sheets to keep from squirming, because Bones is dragging his pants down with a twofisted grip. Trailing his mouth below Jim's navel, he growls again, and this time Jim recognizes his name. "Yeah," Jim gasps, dropping his head back, because it would take a hell of a lot more than one cut to keep him from hardening under the promise of Bones's mouth. Begging's probably not a bad tactic at the moment, so he adds, "Yeah, come on, please..." "Shut up," stings a lot less when it's breathed over a man's happy trail, and Jim just grins and reaches down to bury his hand in Bones's hair again, lets himself moan dramatically at the first touch of lips and sinks into hot familiar pleasure. Bones always starts like he's conducting an anatomy exam with his mouth, which sometimes feels like a tease and right now feels like the final piece of Jim's true happiness. Jim drowsily presses his knuckles against his mouth as he moans under the wet intimate flex of lips and tongue, feeling the buzz of his own voice vibrate into his blood to meet the rising tide of arousal. He floats up as Bones sucks harder, pulling Jim just that little bit

out of himself, and he doesn't think about time or mortality or staying power but all the ways Bones takes care of him and how alive he always feels under him, all sorts of wonderfully mushy drugged thoughts as his body fills with warmth and he drifts closer and closer to coming. Which is, of course, when Bones pulls off, and the air is <i>cold</i> on Jim's abandoned dick. "Wha--?" Jim tosses his head up, but stops mid-word at the hot desperation in Bones's eyes . He shakes his head once, saying "I need to see you," like Jim's not right there in front of him, but he shifts up to kiss Jim, blanketing his left side with the heavy warmth of his body. Jim grips Bones's shoulder, chasing after his taste in Bones's mouth, and forgives the halted blow job even before Bones takes him in a strong sure grip. Bones kisses him with bruising desperation and strokes him as perfectly as he blew him, and Jim just gives under it, open to everything. He doesn't have to do anything except breathe and moan and shudder for Bones, just lets the ripple of warm fingers and the crush of warmer lips wash through him. Bones pulls back a little, just the length of their noses, and mutters, "C'mon, c'mon already," his gaze as heavy and welcome as his anchoring weight, and Jim comes under that warm press, on the crest of a massive sensory wave that launches him beyond gravity. What pulls Jim back is that he can feel Bones shaking

hard against him, breath coming in harsh sobs. "Hey," Jim slurs against Bones's mouth, "hey." Bones kisses Jim beside his mouth and shoves his face against Jim's shoulder, and Jim feels more than hears Bones murmuring "Jim," and then the muffled, "I can't, I can't." "You can," Jim replies, threading his fingers into Bones's hair, because he does. He always does. "You do." "Yeah." After a couple more moments, Bones snuffles down to something a little calmer, wipes his hand on Jim's sheets and tucks himself a little more carefully around Jim. "Yeah. Go to sleep, you need it," he mutters gruffly into Jim's neck. Jim smiles and tips his head to plant a kiss on Bones's ear, which is the extent of the disobedience he can manage when orgasm and analgesics are combining forces to drag him into dreamland. "Love you too, Bones," he drawls, his mouth too clumsy with kisses and drowsiness to say more. "Love you too."</lj-cut>