Fic: Star Trek Reboot: Communications
Aug. 30th, 2009 09:11 pm![[personal profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
garglingargoyleTitle: Communications
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: Adult. NSFW.
Disclaimer: Characters don’t belong to me. No profit. Etc.
Summary: Kirk seeks out McCoy for a repeat of their kinky encounter. McCoy thinks they ought to talk about it first. Kirk’s not too keen on that notion.
Warnings: Angst. Kink of the bondage and submission kind. Shame issues. Sex toys.
Word Count: 4548
Author’s Note: Follow-up to Contraband. This won’t make a whole lot of sense without you read that first.
It’s nearly three weeks before Jim seeks Bones out again, and by the time he does, Bones has almost convinced himself that the strange off-duty afternoon had never happened between the two of them. It’s been a busy three weeks, one crisis piled on another and Jim’s been in and out of sickbay wounded four times, so it’s not exactly surprising that they haven’t had a chance to follow up.
Bones spends the first week confused about what his friend wants. Not a relationship, it seems, with dinners together and shared shore leave and that sort of thing. Though, really, as best friends, they have that already, or do when they want it. But is it just the kink that Jim wants, just a place to go when he needs someone else to be in charge for awhile? Or does he seek something more, something which would involve a greater entanglement of feelings?
Sometime in the second week, when Jim is still treating him exactly as he had before that afternoon, when Jim still hasn’t said a word about it, Bones marks it up as an interesting one-off and files his new knowledge about the captain away in case it is ever medically important to know. But in the darkness of his quarters, on the nights when he’s not simply too exhausted to do anything but zonk out immediately and he reaches for himself, he still hears that half-scream that Jim had not quite been able to let free when Bones told him to come.
In the third week, on a day Bones thinks might be a Saturday back on Earth, Jim orders a four-day cycle of double shifts followed by a full day off for every member of the crew while they travel to their next destination. Bones thinks Jim must have been planning this for days, because the order is followed immediately by a ship-wide memo listing the crew members who are to get which day off, and Bones notices that the schedule does a remarkable job of giving friends and lovers the same day while still keeping every section of the ship well and fully manned. It also warns that members of the crew caught catching up on work on their scheduled day off will be required to entertain the crew in the main rec room. While this may not deter someone like Uhura, it forces Bones to think about how he will spend a full twenty-four hours with no work to do.
He doesn’t have to wonder long. Bones and Jim are among those scheduled for the first day off in the cycle, and not twenty minutes after the double-shift previous to it, Jim is standing in the doorway to Bones’s quarters, cradling Bones’s kitten in his arms and looking every bit like he’d just pulled a double shift.
“She sure gets far afield, doesn’t she?” Jim asks in between making cooing noises at the kitten.
Bones hmphs. “That’s your fault, you know. Encouraging Scotty to figure out how to rig the doors to recognize her.” Jim had fixed the logs at the first space station they’d come to after Bones had smuggled the kitten on board so it looked like he’d purchased it on the station and requested permission to bring it aboard. And from that point on, Jim had delighted in all things kitten—including getting Scotty to do some rewiring that Bones was sure Starfleet would not find regulation.
Jim makes a face. “It’s just a few of them, so she can wander a bit. She can’t get in to any place where she’d get into trouble.”
Bones raises an eyebrow. “Spock’s quarters?”
Jim grins and he suddenly looks less tired and years younger, which makes Bones feel a bit like a dirty old man. “A harmless little joke.”
“Uh huh.” Bones pulls a bottle of bourbon from his desk and gestures at Jim with it. When Jim nods, Bones pours it into two glasses and passes one to Jim. “You come just to return Cat, or did you have something else on your mind?”
Jim takes a swallow of the bourbon as he lets Cat jump to the floor, then looks up at Bones through his eyelashes and grins. “I was hoping maybe we could have a repeat of our session the other week. If you’re up for it, I mean.”
Bones swallows his mouthful of bourbon slowly, concentrating on the burn as it slides down his throat. Then he sets his glass down on the desk very deliberately and pushes it away from himself. “I’m not against it, Jim. But don’t you think we should have a little talk first?”
Jim scowls. “What’s there to talk about?” He looks into his glass and gives it a swirl before taking a large sip.
Bones steps forward and takes the glass from him as Jim lowers it from his mouth. “For starters, none of this stuff if we’re going to play.”
What Jim does with his lips is surely a pout, and it makes Bones want to forget talking altogether. “Come on, Bones. I was sober when I asked.”
Bones tries not to think about the implications Jim’s statement has for the way he’s played in the past as he sets Jim’s glass next to his own on the desk. He shakes his head. “You want to do this with me, you choose: booze or play. I’ll be more than willing to do either with you, but not at the same time.”
Jim puts his hands up in front of his chest in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. Safe and sane.” He takes a step toward Bones and runs a hand down the length of his arm. “Anything else?”
Something about Jim’s attitude doesn’t sit right with Bones. He can be cavalier with his safety and well-being, sure, but usually only with reason—the safety of the crew or the ship or the mission, or at least the captain’s pride. But Bones has seen Jim working out in the pool, in the gym, in the weight room—he’s an absolute stickler for safety regs and knowing the ins and outs of equipment. What makes this different from any other form of physical recreation? Bones grabs Jim’s wrist—not hard, but firm—and moves Jim’s hand away from his arm.
Jim is confused now—Bones can see it on his face, and there’s something else there, too. Vulnerability?
“If you don’t want to, Bones, just say so. I won’t take it amiss.”
Bones can hear that Jim is trying—and not quite succeeding—to keep any sign of accusation or hurt out of his voice, and Bones feels his patience starting to unravel. You don’t mess around with this shit without keeping the lines of communication open—way open—dammit. “Look, kid.” He drops Jim’s arm. “I won’t lie to you. What we did last time was a huge turn on. I fucking loved it, and I want to do it again like you would not believe, but I’m a doctor, dammit. Certain precautions have got to be taken, or it’s no deal. Decide if you can handle a little communication first, or go find another playmate. And if you do . . .” Bones closes his eyes for just a second before opening them again and holding Jim’s gaze like he had three weeks ago. “If you do, you make sure whoever it is knows to call me the second they think anything has gone even remotely wrong.”
Jim’s eyes are just a little wider than normal, and he nods. For a second, Bones thinks he’s going to take him up on finding someone else, but then Jim seems to settle into his stance, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his head bowed just a little. When he speaks, his voice sounds different from usual, just a shade softer or sweeter, and it takes Bones a minute to realize why—that barest hint of defiance, that defiance that’s always there even when Jim is completely at ease with his best friend—is missing. “The rules,” he says. “‘You need to stop, you say ‘Quadrotriticale,’ and I stop. You don’t touch; I touch. You leave your hands where I put them or I stop. You come only when I tell you.’” Jim licks his lips. “What else should we talk about?”
Bones shouldn’t be surprised that Jim can recite his rules from their first encounter back at him verbatim almost a month later. The man has to process and remember countless pieces of information every day, and the fate of over four hundred men and women could rest on his recalling them accurately at any time. No, Bones isn’t surprised, but he’s starting to feel like maybe he’s in over his head, like Jim may need more out of these encounters than Bones is willing to give.
Bones takes a deep breath, afraid that they’ve already gone too far for him to be thinking about not being willing, and rests a hand on Jim’s arm. He squeezes lightly. “Where’d you go, Jim?”
Jim looks up, starts to ask what, but Bones interrupts him. “Just now, something, I don’t know, shifted, and you weren’t quite here anymore.”
Jim shrugs, and Bones sees it again—that vulnerability and the need not to talk. “I don’t like it,” Bones says, his tone perhaps a little gruffer than he’d intended. “That’s not submission and desire and want. That’s shutting off. That’s disengaging to wait out the part you don’t like until what you want comes around. That’s not what this is about, Jim.”
Jim shakes off Bones’s grip and runs a hand through his hair while he sighs. He looks his own age again and tired, but that little spark of defiance is back somehow, somewhere, in the glint of his eyes, the set of his shoulders. He moves out of the little office alcove of Bones’s quarters and flops on his back onto Bones’s bed. “What’s it about then?”
Bones comes into the bedroom, stands at the side of the bed. Jim’s inviting like this, all sprawled out on his bed. Not sexy, exactly, just appealing. “Maybe that’s one of the things we should talk about.”
Jim turns his head to look at him. “I don’t know if I can, Bones.”
Bones makes to sit on the edge of the bed, says “Scooch,” then perches next to Jim with one knee bent. Jim tucks his chin so he can see him, and Bones thinks that eye contact is good.
“Why not?”
“You just don’t leave off, do you?”
Bones shakes his head, once. “This bothers you.”
“Lots of things bother me, Bones. Fleet bureaucracy bothers me. Replicated coffee bothers me. That thing Spock does with his eyebrows bothers me.”
Bones surprises even himself a little by how fast he moves, shifting up and swinging one leg over Jim’s hips, catching his captain’s wrists in his hands and pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. Jim’s breath hitches, and he bites down on a soft moan before it can quite leave his throat. “That. Right there. I attack you, I pin you down, and you love it, but you won’t let yourself go. You’re holding back. Why?”
Jim bucks his hips, pulls against the hold on his wrists, tries to throw Bones off. It’s a struggle, but Bones manages to stay astride him by digging in with his knees and shifting his weight forward onto Jim’s wrists. Jim stills, and Bones fears for a second that Jim’s going to leave him again, going to do that creepy shutting-off thing, but that weird little spark is still there.
“Let me up, Bones.”
“Are we going to talk?”
“Just let me up.”
Bones rolls his shoulders, adjusts his grip. “I don’t think I will.”
“Please, Bones. You’re hurting my wrists.”
Bones leans back fractionally so that the tiniest bit of pressure comes off of Jim’s wrists. “You need out of this, you know what you need to say.”
Jim narrows his eyes. He looks to his wrists caught in Bones’s grip, then back to Bones. “You’re going to make me safeword out of a conversation?”
“If you need to. I think you can handle it. If I’m wrong, that’s your call.”
Jim grits his teeth, and Bones lays odds that Jim has never safeworded out of anything. He hopes that stubbornness isn’t going to bite both of them in the ass tonight. “My observation of your behavior over the past four years leads me to conclude that you attach no shame to the sex act itself.”
Jim actually snorts. “You sound like Spock.”
“Shut up. Your psych file shows an above-average acceptance of your bisexuality.”
“You’ve read my psych file?”
“Come on, kid. CMO? I’ve read everyone’s psych file.”
“Whose is bigger, mine or Spock’s?”
“No comment, you nosy bastard. You propositioned me, albeit a tad clumsily and without much determination. You definitely seemed to enjoyed our play last time, and you came back looking for more. So some part of you accepts your kinkiness. You accept my rules and follow them. And memorize them, for god’s sake. And you get off on it.” Bones rolls his hips so that he creates some friction between them. He watches the bulge growing in Jim’s uniform pants. “But there’s some catch. Something stops you from letting go completely, from submitting completely.”
Jim turns his head to one side so Bones can’t make eye contact.
“That’s it, isn’t it? Something about the submission. Not the idea of it, you handle the negotiation just fine. But when it comes down to it, the actual moment where you have to let go or not. You’re stopping yourself from going under, aren’t you?”
Jim’s swallowing hard, his face still turned away from the man on top of him.
“Jim, look at me.”
Jim turns back then, and there’s no missing the defiance in his eyes now. “I’m the fucking captain.” It’s as if he grinds each word between his teeth before letting it out.
Bones takes one hand away from Jim’s wrists and lays it lightly on the man’s chest. It’s meant to be a comforting gesture and maybe it is, but Bones gets a rush of fear-tinged adrenaline when he feels how fast Jim’s heart is beating. He rubs a circle over the fabric of Jim’s command tunic and forces himself to take a deep breath. Jim echoes him by breathing in through his nose and slowing pushing the air out his mouth.
“So, before. Before the academy. This wasn’t a problem then? You let people take you under then?”
“Not exactly. But no one ever noticed.”
Bones is still rubbing little circles on Jim’s chest, and his heart rate is slowing a bit. “So it’s not that you’re the captain then,” he says softly.
“Guess not.”
Bones releases Jim’s other wrist—he notices that Jim hasn’t moved the hand he’d already let go of—and sits back a bit. He lets his fingers trail down Jim’s sides, then up and under command tunic and undershirt. He takes up the same slow circular rubbing on Jim’s belly that he had employed on his chest.
Jim looks down at Bones’s hands, then back up at his face. “I guess they didn’t cover that in my psych file, huh?”
“It doesn’t come up in the standard battery of questions, no. Sit up a bit.” Bones takes Jim’s hands and helps pull him up far enough so that Bones can pull Jim’s shirts over his head. He lowers him back to the bed then and kisses him deeply before sitting up again. “Should be, really. Certainly be good to know if crew members return from hostage situations, in torture cases.”
“That’s really uplifting, Bones.”
Bones is running his hands up and down Jim’s chest now, letting them ghost every few strokes over his ribs. “What’s the point of having a psych file if it’s missing such a huge piece of the picture?”
Jim shivers every time Bones touches his ribs but pretends he doesn’t. “You’re not going to fill mine in, are you?”
Bones’s hands still just above the waistband of Jim’s pants. “Not unless it’s necessary.”
Jim balls his hands into fists above his head, then lets them relax again. “Good.”
“You don’t want anyone to know.”
“I told you last time. It’s nobody’s business but my own.” Jim shifts his hips beneath Bones. Bones can see that he’s still hard, but this movement isn’t designed to get anything started. “Can I get up now?”
Bones shakes his head. “We’re not done yet.”
Jim sighs. Bones knows that since he’s no longer holding Jim’s arms down, he could easily get out from underneath Bones if he tried. But he doesn’t.
“We talked. I’m really tired. If this isn’t going to go anywhere, I’d just like to go to bed.”
“Who says it isn’t going anywhere?” Bones palms Jim’s cock through his uniform pants, and Jim hisses in a shallow breath.
“Come on, Bones. Get on with it then.”
Bones growls low, and undoes and rips Jim’s pants and underwear from him so quickly that Jim gasps and clutches at the headboard to keep from being pulled over the end of the bed. Bones pulls his own shirts off before crawling back up the bed to hover over Jim. “Alright. Same rules as last time.” He ducks in for a kiss, mostly just licking at Jim’s lips and pulling away before Jim can really kiss back. “Do I need to find restraints for your hands?”
Jim shakes his head, licks his lips. “I think I can manage.”
“Good.”
Bones moves further up the bed, tucks his knees beneath Jim’s armpits, pushes his pants down just far enough, and watches as his cock bobs above Jim’s chin. “Suck.”
A slight flush colors Jim’s cheeks, but he doesn’t hesitate to lap at the head of Bones’s cock and then lift up his head enough to suck the tip between his lips. It’s a tantalizing feeling—lovely, but not near enough—and Bones knows that the angle will be murder on Jim’s neck and impossible to keep up for long. He sees that same flutter in Jim’s fingers he saw last time; Jim wants to touch, and this time he’s keeping himself from doing so by his own power. Because Bones told him to. Bones takes a steadying breath and lets Jim carry on for a minute or so, watching as he hollows his cheeks and tries to take in more of Bones than he can really reach. Then: “Enough.” Jim pulls back, gives Bones’s cock one more lap, then lets his head fall to the pillow.
Bones stands where he is, careful not to overbalance on the mattress, and looks down at Jim. Jim is licking his lips, slowly, like he’s conscious of it, like he’s looking to catch every last remnant of a cherished taste. “You’re greedy tonight, Jimmy,” he says and the look he’s going for is disapproving.
Apparently he succeeds, as Jim lowers his eyes and his flush turns into an honest to god blush, his cheeks as red as Bones has only seen on him when he was fighting a high fever. And suddenly Bones thinks maybe he understands his friend a little better.
He steps over Jim and hops to the floor. “Roll over,” he says and he pulls the pillows from the bed as Jim rolls onto his stomach. Bones touches Jim’s cheek, feels the heat there, feels the slight hesitation before Jim leans into his touch. Then he’s carding his fingers through Jim’s hair, running his hand down the length of Jim’s spine, tickling lightly at the small of his back. He kneels on the bed behind Jim, fits his hands onto Jim’s hips, then hauls him backward so that Jim is forced to come up on his hands and knees. Jim lets out a little huff of breath at that, and it turns into a moan when Bones bites quick at the curve of one ass cheek and then smacks the same spot hard with his hand. “Stay put. Don’t move.”
Bones strips out of the rest of his clothes and moves to the dresser built into the wall. He listens to Jim’s breathing while he moves a stack of undershirts aside to find what he’s looking for. Jim’s breathing is slow and regular—almost too regular—and Bones realizes that he’s controlling it carefully, in through the nose, out through the mouth. He returns to the bed and places the lube and butt plug he’d retrieved from the dresser at the end of the bed where Jim can’t see them without twisting around. He moves to the head of the bed then and rests one hand gently on the back of Jim’s neck before putting two fingers under his chin and turning his head toward him and leaning in for a slow, gentle kiss. When he pulls away, he says, “You’re doing good, Jimmy,” and Jim closes his eyes for a second. Bones wasn’t sure how Jim would take the praise and he’s not sure where the diminutive came from, but Jim rolls his shoulders almost imperceptibly and seems to settle a bit. His breathing isn’t quite so obviously controlled anymore, and while Bones would say Jim is excited, his breath is still nice and regular—not too fast, not too shallow.
Bones picks up the butt plug and runs it along Jim’s back for a moment before covering the tip with lube. He carefully works his fingers into Jim, scissoring them once, twice, then pulling out and replacing them with the plug. When the plug is fully seated in Jim, Bones walks round to the side of the bed again and wraps his arm around Jim’s waist. “Get up.” Bones helps Jim off the bed, and when he’s sure Jim has gained his feet, he backs him quickly into the wall. Jim lets out a huff when his shoulders hit the wall, and Bones positions his hands against the wall on either side of Jim’s head. He leans in as if to kiss, but holds himself just close enough to Jim’s lips that he can almost convince himself they’re touching. “You love this, Jim Kirk,” he says, letting his breath whisper over Jim’s lips, and his voice is rough, like he’s coming off a day and a night of drinking. “You love being shoved into the wall, with something up your ass, holding you open. You love being told not to move, to wait, open and quivering, to wait till you’re told it’s time to get fucked.” He reaches down and wiggles the plug, and the moan that comes out of Jim Kirk is wanton and lustful—and strangled.
Bones spins Jim around and presses against him—Jim’s chest flush with the wall, Bones’s chest flush with Jim’s back. “Stroke yourself, Jim. Take yourself in your hand and pleasure yourself.” He watches while Jim wraps his fingers around his cock and begins to stroke, slowly at first, then a little more quickly, and with a little twist at the head. “Good boy. You tell me when you’re close.” Jim nods, once, and Bones reaches for the plug again. He pulls it out slowly—almost all the way—then pushes it back in and gives it another little wiggle. He does this again and again, varying the speed with which he does so, all the while keeping up a constant murmur in Jim’s ear: “You look amazing, Jim, all flushed and hot and sexed-out in my arms. I love to see you this way, wanting so bad, but waiting, submitting. So beautiful, Jim, so hot. You make me so hard.” He presses his erection against Jim’s ass, then sinks his teeth into the muscle of Jim’s shoulder and he almost loses Jim’s “Close, Bones” in his own moan.
“Stop,” he says, and Jim’s hand stills. Bones reseats the plug and begins a slow, gentle, constant wiggle with it. “In a minute I’m going to tell you to start stroking again, and when I do, you may come when and only when you tell me how beautiful and glorious you are.”
“Bones?” It’s half a question, half a plea.
“There’s nothing shameful in this. There’s nothing shameful in you. I want to hear you say it.” He keeps maneuvering the plug with one hand and brings the other up to caress Jim’s neck, his shoulder. “Now stroke.”
Bones lets out a tiny breath when Jim starts his stroking motion again, but his inhalation hitches when Jim reaches back to put his other hand on Bones’s hip, says, “I can’t, Bones. So close. I can’t.” And it’s a plea again; Jim may have broken the no touching rule, but it’s clear that he’s loathe to come without permission. Bones drops his hand from Jim’s neck and entwines their fingers. “Yes, you can. Come on, Jimmy. Say it. ‘I’m not ashamed.’” He increases the pace with the plug. “Say it. Come on. ‘I’m not ashamed.’ ‘I’m not ashamed.’ ‘I’m not ashamed.’”
Bones can almost hear Jim chanting along with him in his head, can feel his struggle to say the words aloud, and then he is saying them aloud, and it’s practically a roar and Jim’s coming all over his hand and the wall and he’s shaking and he and Bones are collapsing into a heap on the floor.
---
They’re lying on the floor of Bones’s quarters still, Bones spooned up behind Jim with one arm snugged around his waist and his slowly fading erection bumping into the small of Jim’s back. Jim is taking deep breaths and wiping at his eyes—he’s not been crying, not really, but there’s wetness there all the same—while Bones has returned to rubbing his little circles on Jim’s skin. Cat watches the scene imperiously from the bed.
“Bones?”
“Hmm?” Bones is relieved to hear no pleading in Jim’s voice now, and no brokenness.
“I had no idea that I was letting myself in for something so intense when I kissed you last week.”
Bones hmphs. “Maybe that’ll teach you not to be such an impulsive hothead.”
“Doubt it.”
Bones kisses lightly at Jim’s shoulder. “Me too.”
Jim is quiet for a moment, then he wiggles against Bones’s erection. “I could take care of that for you.”
Bones shakes his head, knows Jim can’t see it. “Don’t worry about it, kid. We’ll have plenty of time for that.”
“Yeah?”
Bones sighs, bites back a sarcastic comment. “Yes. If you want to.”
“You know me. Never say no to the sexings.”
It’s the first really jocular thing Jim has said, and Bones suspects it’s masking something important Jim still needs to get out. So he waits.
“I still didn’t let myself go under.”
Bones finds one of Jim’s hands with his own, entwines their fingers again. “You will, Jim. We’ll keep working on it, and you will.”
Jim squeezes his hand. “I think you’re right.” He shifts, folds his other arm under his head, and Bones imagines he can feel some last tightly held tension unravel in his friend.
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk
Rating: Adult. NSFW.
Disclaimer: Characters don’t belong to me. No profit. Etc.
Summary: Kirk seeks out McCoy for a repeat of their kinky encounter. McCoy thinks they ought to talk about it first. Kirk’s not too keen on that notion.
Warnings: Angst. Kink of the bondage and submission kind. Shame issues. Sex toys.
Word Count: 4548
Author’s Note: Follow-up to Contraband. This won’t make a whole lot of sense without you read that first.
It’s nearly three weeks before Jim seeks Bones out again, and by the time he does, Bones has almost convinced himself that the strange off-duty afternoon had never happened between the two of them. It’s been a busy three weeks, one crisis piled on another and Jim’s been in and out of sickbay wounded four times, so it’s not exactly surprising that they haven’t had a chance to follow up.
Bones spends the first week confused about what his friend wants. Not a relationship, it seems, with dinners together and shared shore leave and that sort of thing. Though, really, as best friends, they have that already, or do when they want it. But is it just the kink that Jim wants, just a place to go when he needs someone else to be in charge for awhile? Or does he seek something more, something which would involve a greater entanglement of feelings?
Sometime in the second week, when Jim is still treating him exactly as he had before that afternoon, when Jim still hasn’t said a word about it, Bones marks it up as an interesting one-off and files his new knowledge about the captain away in case it is ever medically important to know. But in the darkness of his quarters, on the nights when he’s not simply too exhausted to do anything but zonk out immediately and he reaches for himself, he still hears that half-scream that Jim had not quite been able to let free when Bones told him to come.
In the third week, on a day Bones thinks might be a Saturday back on Earth, Jim orders a four-day cycle of double shifts followed by a full day off for every member of the crew while they travel to their next destination. Bones thinks Jim must have been planning this for days, because the order is followed immediately by a ship-wide memo listing the crew members who are to get which day off, and Bones notices that the schedule does a remarkable job of giving friends and lovers the same day while still keeping every section of the ship well and fully manned. It also warns that members of the crew caught catching up on work on their scheduled day off will be required to entertain the crew in the main rec room. While this may not deter someone like Uhura, it forces Bones to think about how he will spend a full twenty-four hours with no work to do.
He doesn’t have to wonder long. Bones and Jim are among those scheduled for the first day off in the cycle, and not twenty minutes after the double-shift previous to it, Jim is standing in the doorway to Bones’s quarters, cradling Bones’s kitten in his arms and looking every bit like he’d just pulled a double shift.
“She sure gets far afield, doesn’t she?” Jim asks in between making cooing noises at the kitten.
Bones hmphs. “That’s your fault, you know. Encouraging Scotty to figure out how to rig the doors to recognize her.” Jim had fixed the logs at the first space station they’d come to after Bones had smuggled the kitten on board so it looked like he’d purchased it on the station and requested permission to bring it aboard. And from that point on, Jim had delighted in all things kitten—including getting Scotty to do some rewiring that Bones was sure Starfleet would not find regulation.
Jim makes a face. “It’s just a few of them, so she can wander a bit. She can’t get in to any place where she’d get into trouble.”
Bones raises an eyebrow. “Spock’s quarters?”
Jim grins and he suddenly looks less tired and years younger, which makes Bones feel a bit like a dirty old man. “A harmless little joke.”
“Uh huh.” Bones pulls a bottle of bourbon from his desk and gestures at Jim with it. When Jim nods, Bones pours it into two glasses and passes one to Jim. “You come just to return Cat, or did you have something else on your mind?”
Jim takes a swallow of the bourbon as he lets Cat jump to the floor, then looks up at Bones through his eyelashes and grins. “I was hoping maybe we could have a repeat of our session the other week. If you’re up for it, I mean.”
Bones swallows his mouthful of bourbon slowly, concentrating on the burn as it slides down his throat. Then he sets his glass down on the desk very deliberately and pushes it away from himself. “I’m not against it, Jim. But don’t you think we should have a little talk first?”
Jim scowls. “What’s there to talk about?” He looks into his glass and gives it a swirl before taking a large sip.
Bones steps forward and takes the glass from him as Jim lowers it from his mouth. “For starters, none of this stuff if we’re going to play.”
What Jim does with his lips is surely a pout, and it makes Bones want to forget talking altogether. “Come on, Bones. I was sober when I asked.”
Bones tries not to think about the implications Jim’s statement has for the way he’s played in the past as he sets Jim’s glass next to his own on the desk. He shakes his head. “You want to do this with me, you choose: booze or play. I’ll be more than willing to do either with you, but not at the same time.”
Jim puts his hands up in front of his chest in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. Safe and sane.” He takes a step toward Bones and runs a hand down the length of his arm. “Anything else?”
Something about Jim’s attitude doesn’t sit right with Bones. He can be cavalier with his safety and well-being, sure, but usually only with reason—the safety of the crew or the ship or the mission, or at least the captain’s pride. But Bones has seen Jim working out in the pool, in the gym, in the weight room—he’s an absolute stickler for safety regs and knowing the ins and outs of equipment. What makes this different from any other form of physical recreation? Bones grabs Jim’s wrist—not hard, but firm—and moves Jim’s hand away from his arm.
Jim is confused now—Bones can see it on his face, and there’s something else there, too. Vulnerability?
“If you don’t want to, Bones, just say so. I won’t take it amiss.”
Bones can hear that Jim is trying—and not quite succeeding—to keep any sign of accusation or hurt out of his voice, and Bones feels his patience starting to unravel. You don’t mess around with this shit without keeping the lines of communication open—way open—dammit. “Look, kid.” He drops Jim’s arm. “I won’t lie to you. What we did last time was a huge turn on. I fucking loved it, and I want to do it again like you would not believe, but I’m a doctor, dammit. Certain precautions have got to be taken, or it’s no deal. Decide if you can handle a little communication first, or go find another playmate. And if you do . . .” Bones closes his eyes for just a second before opening them again and holding Jim’s gaze like he had three weeks ago. “If you do, you make sure whoever it is knows to call me the second they think anything has gone even remotely wrong.”
Jim’s eyes are just a little wider than normal, and he nods. For a second, Bones thinks he’s going to take him up on finding someone else, but then Jim seems to settle into his stance, his arms hanging loose at his sides, his head bowed just a little. When he speaks, his voice sounds different from usual, just a shade softer or sweeter, and it takes Bones a minute to realize why—that barest hint of defiance, that defiance that’s always there even when Jim is completely at ease with his best friend—is missing. “The rules,” he says. “‘You need to stop, you say ‘Quadrotriticale,’ and I stop. You don’t touch; I touch. You leave your hands where I put them or I stop. You come only when I tell you.’” Jim licks his lips. “What else should we talk about?”
Bones shouldn’t be surprised that Jim can recite his rules from their first encounter back at him verbatim almost a month later. The man has to process and remember countless pieces of information every day, and the fate of over four hundred men and women could rest on his recalling them accurately at any time. No, Bones isn’t surprised, but he’s starting to feel like maybe he’s in over his head, like Jim may need more out of these encounters than Bones is willing to give.
Bones takes a deep breath, afraid that they’ve already gone too far for him to be thinking about not being willing, and rests a hand on Jim’s arm. He squeezes lightly. “Where’d you go, Jim?”
Jim looks up, starts to ask what, but Bones interrupts him. “Just now, something, I don’t know, shifted, and you weren’t quite here anymore.”
Jim shrugs, and Bones sees it again—that vulnerability and the need not to talk. “I don’t like it,” Bones says, his tone perhaps a little gruffer than he’d intended. “That’s not submission and desire and want. That’s shutting off. That’s disengaging to wait out the part you don’t like until what you want comes around. That’s not what this is about, Jim.”
Jim shakes off Bones’s grip and runs a hand through his hair while he sighs. He looks his own age again and tired, but that little spark of defiance is back somehow, somewhere, in the glint of his eyes, the set of his shoulders. He moves out of the little office alcove of Bones’s quarters and flops on his back onto Bones’s bed. “What’s it about then?”
Bones comes into the bedroom, stands at the side of the bed. Jim’s inviting like this, all sprawled out on his bed. Not sexy, exactly, just appealing. “Maybe that’s one of the things we should talk about.”
Jim turns his head to look at him. “I don’t know if I can, Bones.”
Bones makes to sit on the edge of the bed, says “Scooch,” then perches next to Jim with one knee bent. Jim tucks his chin so he can see him, and Bones thinks that eye contact is good.
“Why not?”
“You just don’t leave off, do you?”
Bones shakes his head, once. “This bothers you.”
“Lots of things bother me, Bones. Fleet bureaucracy bothers me. Replicated coffee bothers me. That thing Spock does with his eyebrows bothers me.”
Bones surprises even himself a little by how fast he moves, shifting up and swinging one leg over Jim’s hips, catching his captain’s wrists in his hands and pinning them to the mattress on either side of his head. Jim’s breath hitches, and he bites down on a soft moan before it can quite leave his throat. “That. Right there. I attack you, I pin you down, and you love it, but you won’t let yourself go. You’re holding back. Why?”
Jim bucks his hips, pulls against the hold on his wrists, tries to throw Bones off. It’s a struggle, but Bones manages to stay astride him by digging in with his knees and shifting his weight forward onto Jim’s wrists. Jim stills, and Bones fears for a second that Jim’s going to leave him again, going to do that creepy shutting-off thing, but that weird little spark is still there.
“Let me up, Bones.”
“Are we going to talk?”
“Just let me up.”
Bones rolls his shoulders, adjusts his grip. “I don’t think I will.”
“Please, Bones. You’re hurting my wrists.”
Bones leans back fractionally so that the tiniest bit of pressure comes off of Jim’s wrists. “You need out of this, you know what you need to say.”
Jim narrows his eyes. He looks to his wrists caught in Bones’s grip, then back to Bones. “You’re going to make me safeword out of a conversation?”
“If you need to. I think you can handle it. If I’m wrong, that’s your call.”
Jim grits his teeth, and Bones lays odds that Jim has never safeworded out of anything. He hopes that stubbornness isn’t going to bite both of them in the ass tonight. “My observation of your behavior over the past four years leads me to conclude that you attach no shame to the sex act itself.”
Jim actually snorts. “You sound like Spock.”
“Shut up. Your psych file shows an above-average acceptance of your bisexuality.”
“You’ve read my psych file?”
“Come on, kid. CMO? I’ve read everyone’s psych file.”
“Whose is bigger, mine or Spock’s?”
“No comment, you nosy bastard. You propositioned me, albeit a tad clumsily and without much determination. You definitely seemed to enjoyed our play last time, and you came back looking for more. So some part of you accepts your kinkiness. You accept my rules and follow them. And memorize them, for god’s sake. And you get off on it.” Bones rolls his hips so that he creates some friction between them. He watches the bulge growing in Jim’s uniform pants. “But there’s some catch. Something stops you from letting go completely, from submitting completely.”
Jim turns his head to one side so Bones can’t make eye contact.
“That’s it, isn’t it? Something about the submission. Not the idea of it, you handle the negotiation just fine. But when it comes down to it, the actual moment where you have to let go or not. You’re stopping yourself from going under, aren’t you?”
Jim’s swallowing hard, his face still turned away from the man on top of him.
“Jim, look at me.”
Jim turns back then, and there’s no missing the defiance in his eyes now. “I’m the fucking captain.” It’s as if he grinds each word between his teeth before letting it out.
Bones takes one hand away from Jim’s wrists and lays it lightly on the man’s chest. It’s meant to be a comforting gesture and maybe it is, but Bones gets a rush of fear-tinged adrenaline when he feels how fast Jim’s heart is beating. He rubs a circle over the fabric of Jim’s command tunic and forces himself to take a deep breath. Jim echoes him by breathing in through his nose and slowing pushing the air out his mouth.
“So, before. Before the academy. This wasn’t a problem then? You let people take you under then?”
“Not exactly. But no one ever noticed.”
Bones is still rubbing little circles on Jim’s chest, and his heart rate is slowing a bit. “So it’s not that you’re the captain then,” he says softly.
“Guess not.”
Bones releases Jim’s other wrist—he notices that Jim hasn’t moved the hand he’d already let go of—and sits back a bit. He lets his fingers trail down Jim’s sides, then up and under command tunic and undershirt. He takes up the same slow circular rubbing on Jim’s belly that he had employed on his chest.
Jim looks down at Bones’s hands, then back up at his face. “I guess they didn’t cover that in my psych file, huh?”
“It doesn’t come up in the standard battery of questions, no. Sit up a bit.” Bones takes Jim’s hands and helps pull him up far enough so that Bones can pull Jim’s shirts over his head. He lowers him back to the bed then and kisses him deeply before sitting up again. “Should be, really. Certainly be good to know if crew members return from hostage situations, in torture cases.”
“That’s really uplifting, Bones.”
Bones is running his hands up and down Jim’s chest now, letting them ghost every few strokes over his ribs. “What’s the point of having a psych file if it’s missing such a huge piece of the picture?”
Jim shivers every time Bones touches his ribs but pretends he doesn’t. “You’re not going to fill mine in, are you?”
Bones’s hands still just above the waistband of Jim’s pants. “Not unless it’s necessary.”
Jim balls his hands into fists above his head, then lets them relax again. “Good.”
“You don’t want anyone to know.”
“I told you last time. It’s nobody’s business but my own.” Jim shifts his hips beneath Bones. Bones can see that he’s still hard, but this movement isn’t designed to get anything started. “Can I get up now?”
Bones shakes his head. “We’re not done yet.”
Jim sighs. Bones knows that since he’s no longer holding Jim’s arms down, he could easily get out from underneath Bones if he tried. But he doesn’t.
“We talked. I’m really tired. If this isn’t going to go anywhere, I’d just like to go to bed.”
“Who says it isn’t going anywhere?” Bones palms Jim’s cock through his uniform pants, and Jim hisses in a shallow breath.
“Come on, Bones. Get on with it then.”
Bones growls low, and undoes and rips Jim’s pants and underwear from him so quickly that Jim gasps and clutches at the headboard to keep from being pulled over the end of the bed. Bones pulls his own shirts off before crawling back up the bed to hover over Jim. “Alright. Same rules as last time.” He ducks in for a kiss, mostly just licking at Jim’s lips and pulling away before Jim can really kiss back. “Do I need to find restraints for your hands?”
Jim shakes his head, licks his lips. “I think I can manage.”
“Good.”
Bones moves further up the bed, tucks his knees beneath Jim’s armpits, pushes his pants down just far enough, and watches as his cock bobs above Jim’s chin. “Suck.”
A slight flush colors Jim’s cheeks, but he doesn’t hesitate to lap at the head of Bones’s cock and then lift up his head enough to suck the tip between his lips. It’s a tantalizing feeling—lovely, but not near enough—and Bones knows that the angle will be murder on Jim’s neck and impossible to keep up for long. He sees that same flutter in Jim’s fingers he saw last time; Jim wants to touch, and this time he’s keeping himself from doing so by his own power. Because Bones told him to. Bones takes a steadying breath and lets Jim carry on for a minute or so, watching as he hollows his cheeks and tries to take in more of Bones than he can really reach. Then: “Enough.” Jim pulls back, gives Bones’s cock one more lap, then lets his head fall to the pillow.
Bones stands where he is, careful not to overbalance on the mattress, and looks down at Jim. Jim is licking his lips, slowly, like he’s conscious of it, like he’s looking to catch every last remnant of a cherished taste. “You’re greedy tonight, Jimmy,” he says and the look he’s going for is disapproving.
Apparently he succeeds, as Jim lowers his eyes and his flush turns into an honest to god blush, his cheeks as red as Bones has only seen on him when he was fighting a high fever. And suddenly Bones thinks maybe he understands his friend a little better.
He steps over Jim and hops to the floor. “Roll over,” he says and he pulls the pillows from the bed as Jim rolls onto his stomach. Bones touches Jim’s cheek, feels the heat there, feels the slight hesitation before Jim leans into his touch. Then he’s carding his fingers through Jim’s hair, running his hand down the length of Jim’s spine, tickling lightly at the small of his back. He kneels on the bed behind Jim, fits his hands onto Jim’s hips, then hauls him backward so that Jim is forced to come up on his hands and knees. Jim lets out a little huff of breath at that, and it turns into a moan when Bones bites quick at the curve of one ass cheek and then smacks the same spot hard with his hand. “Stay put. Don’t move.”
Bones strips out of the rest of his clothes and moves to the dresser built into the wall. He listens to Jim’s breathing while he moves a stack of undershirts aside to find what he’s looking for. Jim’s breathing is slow and regular—almost too regular—and Bones realizes that he’s controlling it carefully, in through the nose, out through the mouth. He returns to the bed and places the lube and butt plug he’d retrieved from the dresser at the end of the bed where Jim can’t see them without twisting around. He moves to the head of the bed then and rests one hand gently on the back of Jim’s neck before putting two fingers under his chin and turning his head toward him and leaning in for a slow, gentle kiss. When he pulls away, he says, “You’re doing good, Jimmy,” and Jim closes his eyes for a second. Bones wasn’t sure how Jim would take the praise and he’s not sure where the diminutive came from, but Jim rolls his shoulders almost imperceptibly and seems to settle a bit. His breathing isn’t quite so obviously controlled anymore, and while Bones would say Jim is excited, his breath is still nice and regular—not too fast, not too shallow.
Bones picks up the butt plug and runs it along Jim’s back for a moment before covering the tip with lube. He carefully works his fingers into Jim, scissoring them once, twice, then pulling out and replacing them with the plug. When the plug is fully seated in Jim, Bones walks round to the side of the bed again and wraps his arm around Jim’s waist. “Get up.” Bones helps Jim off the bed, and when he’s sure Jim has gained his feet, he backs him quickly into the wall. Jim lets out a huff when his shoulders hit the wall, and Bones positions his hands against the wall on either side of Jim’s head. He leans in as if to kiss, but holds himself just close enough to Jim’s lips that he can almost convince himself they’re touching. “You love this, Jim Kirk,” he says, letting his breath whisper over Jim’s lips, and his voice is rough, like he’s coming off a day and a night of drinking. “You love being shoved into the wall, with something up your ass, holding you open. You love being told not to move, to wait, open and quivering, to wait till you’re told it’s time to get fucked.” He reaches down and wiggles the plug, and the moan that comes out of Jim Kirk is wanton and lustful—and strangled.
Bones spins Jim around and presses against him—Jim’s chest flush with the wall, Bones’s chest flush with Jim’s back. “Stroke yourself, Jim. Take yourself in your hand and pleasure yourself.” He watches while Jim wraps his fingers around his cock and begins to stroke, slowly at first, then a little more quickly, and with a little twist at the head. “Good boy. You tell me when you’re close.” Jim nods, once, and Bones reaches for the plug again. He pulls it out slowly—almost all the way—then pushes it back in and gives it another little wiggle. He does this again and again, varying the speed with which he does so, all the while keeping up a constant murmur in Jim’s ear: “You look amazing, Jim, all flushed and hot and sexed-out in my arms. I love to see you this way, wanting so bad, but waiting, submitting. So beautiful, Jim, so hot. You make me so hard.” He presses his erection against Jim’s ass, then sinks his teeth into the muscle of Jim’s shoulder and he almost loses Jim’s “Close, Bones” in his own moan.
“Stop,” he says, and Jim’s hand stills. Bones reseats the plug and begins a slow, gentle, constant wiggle with it. “In a minute I’m going to tell you to start stroking again, and when I do, you may come when and only when you tell me how beautiful and glorious you are.”
“Bones?” It’s half a question, half a plea.
“There’s nothing shameful in this. There’s nothing shameful in you. I want to hear you say it.” He keeps maneuvering the plug with one hand and brings the other up to caress Jim’s neck, his shoulder. “Now stroke.”
Bones lets out a tiny breath when Jim starts his stroking motion again, but his inhalation hitches when Jim reaches back to put his other hand on Bones’s hip, says, “I can’t, Bones. So close. I can’t.” And it’s a plea again; Jim may have broken the no touching rule, but it’s clear that he’s loathe to come without permission. Bones drops his hand from Jim’s neck and entwines their fingers. “Yes, you can. Come on, Jimmy. Say it. ‘I’m not ashamed.’” He increases the pace with the plug. “Say it. Come on. ‘I’m not ashamed.’ ‘I’m not ashamed.’ ‘I’m not ashamed.’”
Bones can almost hear Jim chanting along with him in his head, can feel his struggle to say the words aloud, and then he is saying them aloud, and it’s practically a roar and Jim’s coming all over his hand and the wall and he’s shaking and he and Bones are collapsing into a heap on the floor.
---
They’re lying on the floor of Bones’s quarters still, Bones spooned up behind Jim with one arm snugged around his waist and his slowly fading erection bumping into the small of Jim’s back. Jim is taking deep breaths and wiping at his eyes—he’s not been crying, not really, but there’s wetness there all the same—while Bones has returned to rubbing his little circles on Jim’s skin. Cat watches the scene imperiously from the bed.
“Bones?”
“Hmm?” Bones is relieved to hear no pleading in Jim’s voice now, and no brokenness.
“I had no idea that I was letting myself in for something so intense when I kissed you last week.”
Bones hmphs. “Maybe that’ll teach you not to be such an impulsive hothead.”
“Doubt it.”
Bones kisses lightly at Jim’s shoulder. “Me too.”
Jim is quiet for a moment, then he wiggles against Bones’s erection. “I could take care of that for you.”
Bones shakes his head, knows Jim can’t see it. “Don’t worry about it, kid. We’ll have plenty of time for that.”
“Yeah?”
Bones sighs, bites back a sarcastic comment. “Yes. If you want to.”
“You know me. Never say no to the sexings.”
It’s the first really jocular thing Jim has said, and Bones suspects it’s masking something important Jim still needs to get out. So he waits.
“I still didn’t let myself go under.”
Bones finds one of Jim’s hands with his own, entwines their fingers again. “You will, Jim. We’ll keep working on it, and you will.”
Jim squeezes his hand. “I think you’re right.” He shifts, folds his other arm under his head, and Bones imagines he can feel some last tightly held tension unravel in his friend.
![[identity profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Not just the incredible hot, but the dynamic here was handled so nicely. Bones makes me squishy and so very happy, and the unexpectedness of the diminutive "Jimmy" worked oddly well. I love the potential in the relationship, and how their friendship factors in, as well.
...and Cat can be nothing but imperious, as is a cat. (So many points for all the brilliant little details about the ship and crew--pranking Spock with the cat, and Scotty programming doors for Cat, and and and.)
Just. Win. I do hope there will be more, when there's time.
I think Bones still has some lingering, niggling doubts about his tendency to take risks while topping, so there may be more . . . sometime.
<3
I love everything about this, from the command you have of their voices, to the appearances of the cat, to the necessary conversation and the way they're learning each other in this after knowing each other so well. Jim's multitude of moods, his brilliance and flippancy and shine, all of it. What a gorgeous pair of stories this is.
“Say it. Come on. ‘I’m not ashamed.’ ‘I’m not ashamed.’ ‘I’m not ashamed.’”
I adore some true-to-life psychological things inside these kinky stories, and I love your take here very much.
“Look, kid.” He drops Jim’s arm. “I won’t lie to you. What we did last time was a huge turn on. I fucking loved it, and I want to do it again like you would not believe, but I’m a doctor, dammit. Certain precautions have got to be taken, or it’s no deal. Decide if you can handle a little communication first, or go find another playmate. And if you do . . .” Bones closes his eyes for just a second before opening them again and holding Jim’s gaze like he had three weeks ago. “If you do, you make sure whoever it is knows to call me the second they think anything has gone even remotely wrong.”
Bones. ♥♥♥
Thanks for reading!
“If you need to. I think you can handle it. If I’m wrong, that’s your call.”
Jim grits his teeth, and Bones lays odds that Jim has never safeworded out of anything.
Delving into the shame aspects of this for Jim was really interesting. Thank you for writing. I'd love to read more in this series.
Thanks so much for reading and commenting!