Moar commentfic
Aug. 24th, 2010 08:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
circ_bambooYeah, so I know I'm totally supposed to be working on, oh, THINGS THAT ARE DUE IN A WEEK, but instead I wrote this for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
boosette's Tie Dr. McCoy to All the Things commentfic festival.
Uh, warning for smut, light bondage, threesomes, rimming, possibly-impaired consent . . . the usual, you know. It's titled "Silver Foxes," it's definitely rated NC-17, and it stars Pike/Boyce/McCoy.
ETA: Hey, I have an almost-relevant icon for this one.
ETA2: Although I'm pretty sure this particular journal isn't going to disappear, I'm compulsively archiving commentfic now. So, uh. Yeah.
McCoy surfaced slowly from sleep; it was a luxury he hadn’t had since he was a teenager, between the medical degree and fatherhood. He felt—relaxed. Really, really relaxed. A little sore in a few places that didn’t bear thinking about, at least not yet, but otherwise remarkably relaxed.
He stretched out, pointing his toes and feeling his ankles crack, and pushed his hands over his head, feeling the headboard of a bed he didn’t recognize. What? He woke up, just a bit more; enough to realize that not only was he in a strange bed, he was lying on his back in a strange bed, with his wrists tied loosely to the headboard.
He jerked his head from side to side, and everything he saw brought back memories of what exactly he’d done last night; namely, he’d somehow ended up in bed with his former (albeit briefly) CO and the Surgeon General of Starfleet. And by “somehow” he meant “totally willingly, albeit after vast quantities of alcohol and absolutely at their suggestion.”
God. They were making his internal monologue sound like a fourteen-year-old. Or worse: Jim.
The Enterprise was on Earth for shore leave and he’d been stuck in San Francisco; Joss had taken Joanna off planet, so he had nothing better to do, but he didn’t find that out until the third day they’d been home. By then, pretty much everyone he knew had dispersed to somewhere else, and he’d gone to the Officer’s Bar on campus to drown his sorrows. There he’d run into Dr. Boyce, who bought him another shot of whiskey. Admiral Pike joined them later; apparently McCoy’d been drunk enough by that point to compliment him on his easy walk. Which—McCoy winced—in the light of day, clearly sounded like the come-on that Admiral Pike—Chris—damnit—had turned it into.
What the hell were you supposed to call someone who used to be your boss—probably was technically still your boss—whose cock had been up your ass? Probably his name, McCoy.
After that, things got a bit fuzzy. Well, he remembered when Boyce had shot him with a hangover remedy so they could talk about consent, but he wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten to Pike’s—Chris’s—apartment.
Also, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was naked and alone in bed.
He looked up at his wrists and determined that yes, he probably could get out of the soft ropes. But last night—damnit, that had been hot. Holy shit. He could feel himself stiffening at the memories.
Before he could determine whether to untie his wrists on his own or not, the door to the room opened, and Pike came in, unself-consciously nude. “Hey, Phil, he’s awake,” he called over his shoulder, as McCoy tried, unsuccessfully, to sit up or pull the sheet over him or salute or something.
Dr. Boyce—Phil—joined them a moment later, also nude, before Chris had done much more than smile at McCoy. McCoy got briefly distracted at the sight of the two of them by the door. Damn, they were both gorgeous, if you liked silver foxes. Which—he glanced briefly at his own cock, standing at attention—obviously he did. Then again, he remembered a drunken conversation with Jim a number of years ago in which they’d agreed that probably every cadet who had the capacity to be attracted to male humans had probably entertained a fantasy or two about then-Captain Pike. And Boyce, while a few years older and completely silvered to Pike’s mostly-gray, was no less mouth-watering. Christ.
“He’s thinking again, isn’t he,” Phil said to Chris conversationally, arms crossed over his chest loosely.
“Looks like it,” Chris said. “Think he’s worried about awkward morning-afters?”
“Probably,” Phil said. “Do we let him squirm?”
McCoy was already squirming, although the embarrassment was being rapidly replaced by arousal. He still didn’t say anything, though. What would he say? Thanks for last night, gotta go, can you get me out of these? Sir?
Chris quirked an eyebrow, gave a half-smile, and exchanged at least half a conversation with his former CMO without saying a word. It made McCoy wonder how long they’d known each other, and probably more importantly, how long and/or frequently they’d been lovers.
“He’s got questions,” Phil said. “Damn. I knew we shouldn’t have let him get sober.”
“Do they train you in med school to be a drunk?” Chris asked McCoy, who swallowed a few times before he could answer.
“Yes, sir. But only off-duty.”
Chris laughed, surprise written all over his face. “Oh, look, Phil, we didn’t break him completely.”
“Good. Jim Kirk might have killed us.”
“Do we have to talk about Jim when I’m tied to your bed?” McCoy said. His erection was starting to wilt. Not that Jim wasn’t hot and all, but . . .
“No. No, we don’t.” Chris took three steps forward and captured his lips, apparently not caring about McCoy’s morning breath. He tasted of mint toothpaste overlaying coffee, and McCoy wondered briefly how long he’d been awake.
He felt gentle fingers checking the bindings; clearly Phil, as Chris’s hands were sliding down his torso. A finger pressed against the side of his hand, checking his circulation. Apparently Phil got the answer he wanted, because his hands disappeared and reappeared near McCoy’s hips, one tangling with Chris’s just above his cock.
Chris’s mouth slid down to his neck, finding all the sensitive spots and licking and biting them, again, just as he had the night before. If he hadn’t left marks then, McCoy thought, he certainly was now. Someone’s hand was on his cock, rubbing slowly; he thought it might be Phil’s, based on the pattern of calluses, but he wasn’t sure. He closed his eyes and let out a groan.
Chris chuckled before licking a circle around his right nipple; McCoy nearly shot off the bed, but hands on his shoulders and hips kept him in place. Phil—probably; his eyes were still closed—used one hand to push his knees apart and settle himself between them. McCoy felt broad shoulders against the backs of his thighs, but was too far gone to realize what was about to happen until he felt a warm, wet tongue licking his perineum and then down to—
What the hell? Boyce was a doctor. Didn’t he know how many—
“Relax,” Chris said. “He’s a doctor. He knows what he’s doing.”
McCoy had the strange sensation of déjà vu, and snorted. He relaxed back into the pillows and let the unfamiliar sensations wash over him as well as he could. He liked oral sex, giving and receiving, men or women, but this was—ohhhh—it was hot and dirty and fuck if it wasn’t making him hard as a rock under Chris’s hand.
If he’d had a hand free, he would have threaded his fingers through someone’s hair for an anchor, but as it was, he couldn’t move more than about six or eight inches. It was—well, a bit strange, as it had been last night. They hadn’t tied him up until round three or four, though, so he’d gotten to touch his fill before that. Normally he was a pretty hands-on kind of bedmate, but without that option, and being pinned down by strategically-placed limbs, he had really no choice but to accept the pleasure they were pressing on him—pleasure which was rapidly building to, well, a climax. “Phil, Chris, fuck, I’m close.”
“That’s the point,” Chris murmured in his ear before biting his earlobe and flicking it with his tongue. “You going to come for us? I bet I could order you to.”
“I bet you—could, too,” McCoy said, gasping and jerking against the restraints. He wasn’t like most of Starfleet, didn’t have the military thing ingrained quite so much into his being, but he responded to Chris’s natural authority as pretty much anyone did. He heard an obscene sort of slurp coming from the bottom of the bed and groaned.
Chris grinned wickedly at him as his hand sped up and added a little twist at the top of each stroke. “Do you want me to?” he asked.
“Don’t—think—you’ll need to—Ahh, fuck!” McCoy cried out as something Phil did—or something Chris did—or maybe just, holy shit, being fucked by those two sent him right over the edge, seeing white.
A few minutes later, when his brain had decided to process external stimuli again, he raised his head. “If you untie me now, I can return the favor.”
Chris grinned again and looked down at Phil, who was kneeling at the foot of the bed. “What do you say, Phil? Is that a good enough reason to untie him?”
Phil quirked an eyebrow, a half-smile on his face. “I don’t know, Chris. He looks so pretty tied to your bed.”
“That he does,” Chris agreed. “Of course, we can always just tie him back up later.”
Seriously. What had he gotten himself into?
boosette's Tie Dr. McCoy to All the Things commentfic festival.Uh, warning for smut, light bondage, threesomes, rimming, possibly-impaired consent . . . the usual, you know. It's titled "Silver Foxes," it's definitely rated NC-17, and it stars Pike/Boyce/McCoy.
ETA: Hey, I have an almost-relevant icon for this one.
ETA2: Although I'm pretty sure this particular journal isn't going to disappear, I'm compulsively archiving commentfic now. So, uh. Yeah.
McCoy surfaced slowly from sleep; it was a luxury he hadn’t had since he was a teenager, between the medical degree and fatherhood. He felt—relaxed. Really, really relaxed. A little sore in a few places that didn’t bear thinking about, at least not yet, but otherwise remarkably relaxed.
He stretched out, pointing his toes and feeling his ankles crack, and pushed his hands over his head, feeling the headboard of a bed he didn’t recognize. What? He woke up, just a bit more; enough to realize that not only was he in a strange bed, he was lying on his back in a strange bed, with his wrists tied loosely to the headboard.
He jerked his head from side to side, and everything he saw brought back memories of what exactly he’d done last night; namely, he’d somehow ended up in bed with his former (albeit briefly) CO and the Surgeon General of Starfleet. And by “somehow” he meant “totally willingly, albeit after vast quantities of alcohol and absolutely at their suggestion.”
God. They were making his internal monologue sound like a fourteen-year-old. Or worse: Jim.
The Enterprise was on Earth for shore leave and he’d been stuck in San Francisco; Joss had taken Joanna off planet, so he had nothing better to do, but he didn’t find that out until the third day they’d been home. By then, pretty much everyone he knew had dispersed to somewhere else, and he’d gone to the Officer’s Bar on campus to drown his sorrows. There he’d run into Dr. Boyce, who bought him another shot of whiskey. Admiral Pike joined them later; apparently McCoy’d been drunk enough by that point to compliment him on his easy walk. Which—McCoy winced—in the light of day, clearly sounded like the come-on that Admiral Pike—Chris—damnit—had turned it into.
What the hell were you supposed to call someone who used to be your boss—probably was technically still your boss—whose cock had been up your ass? Probably his name, McCoy.
After that, things got a bit fuzzy. Well, he remembered when Boyce had shot him with a hangover remedy so they could talk about consent, but he wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten to Pike’s—Chris’s—apartment.
Also, he wasn’t entirely sure why he was naked and alone in bed.
He looked up at his wrists and determined that yes, he probably could get out of the soft ropes. But last night—damnit, that had been hot. Holy shit. He could feel himself stiffening at the memories.
Before he could determine whether to untie his wrists on his own or not, the door to the room opened, and Pike came in, unself-consciously nude. “Hey, Phil, he’s awake,” he called over his shoulder, as McCoy tried, unsuccessfully, to sit up or pull the sheet over him or salute or something.
Dr. Boyce—Phil—joined them a moment later, also nude, before Chris had done much more than smile at McCoy. McCoy got briefly distracted at the sight of the two of them by the door. Damn, they were both gorgeous, if you liked silver foxes. Which—he glanced briefly at his own cock, standing at attention—obviously he did. Then again, he remembered a drunken conversation with Jim a number of years ago in which they’d agreed that probably every cadet who had the capacity to be attracted to male humans had probably entertained a fantasy or two about then-Captain Pike. And Boyce, while a few years older and completely silvered to Pike’s mostly-gray, was no less mouth-watering. Christ.
“He’s thinking again, isn’t he,” Phil said to Chris conversationally, arms crossed over his chest loosely.
“Looks like it,” Chris said. “Think he’s worried about awkward morning-afters?”
“Probably,” Phil said. “Do we let him squirm?”
McCoy was already squirming, although the embarrassment was being rapidly replaced by arousal. He still didn’t say anything, though. What would he say? Thanks for last night, gotta go, can you get me out of these? Sir?
Chris quirked an eyebrow, gave a half-smile, and exchanged at least half a conversation with his former CMO without saying a word. It made McCoy wonder how long they’d known each other, and probably more importantly, how long and/or frequently they’d been lovers.
“He’s got questions,” Phil said. “Damn. I knew we shouldn’t have let him get sober.”
“Do they train you in med school to be a drunk?” Chris asked McCoy, who swallowed a few times before he could answer.
“Yes, sir. But only off-duty.”
Chris laughed, surprise written all over his face. “Oh, look, Phil, we didn’t break him completely.”
“Good. Jim Kirk might have killed us.”
“Do we have to talk about Jim when I’m tied to your bed?” McCoy said. His erection was starting to wilt. Not that Jim wasn’t hot and all, but . . .
“No. No, we don’t.” Chris took three steps forward and captured his lips, apparently not caring about McCoy’s morning breath. He tasted of mint toothpaste overlaying coffee, and McCoy wondered briefly how long he’d been awake.
He felt gentle fingers checking the bindings; clearly Phil, as Chris’s hands were sliding down his torso. A finger pressed against the side of his hand, checking his circulation. Apparently Phil got the answer he wanted, because his hands disappeared and reappeared near McCoy’s hips, one tangling with Chris’s just above his cock.
Chris’s mouth slid down to his neck, finding all the sensitive spots and licking and biting them, again, just as he had the night before. If he hadn’t left marks then, McCoy thought, he certainly was now. Someone’s hand was on his cock, rubbing slowly; he thought it might be Phil’s, based on the pattern of calluses, but he wasn’t sure. He closed his eyes and let out a groan.
Chris chuckled before licking a circle around his right nipple; McCoy nearly shot off the bed, but hands on his shoulders and hips kept him in place. Phil—probably; his eyes were still closed—used one hand to push his knees apart and settle himself between them. McCoy felt broad shoulders against the backs of his thighs, but was too far gone to realize what was about to happen until he felt a warm, wet tongue licking his perineum and then down to—
What the hell? Boyce was a doctor. Didn’t he know how many—
“Relax,” Chris said. “He’s a doctor. He knows what he’s doing.”
McCoy had the strange sensation of déjà vu, and snorted. He relaxed back into the pillows and let the unfamiliar sensations wash over him as well as he could. He liked oral sex, giving and receiving, men or women, but this was—ohhhh—it was hot and dirty and fuck if it wasn’t making him hard as a rock under Chris’s hand.
If he’d had a hand free, he would have threaded his fingers through someone’s hair for an anchor, but as it was, he couldn’t move more than about six or eight inches. It was—well, a bit strange, as it had been last night. They hadn’t tied him up until round three or four, though, so he’d gotten to touch his fill before that. Normally he was a pretty hands-on kind of bedmate, but without that option, and being pinned down by strategically-placed limbs, he had really no choice but to accept the pleasure they were pressing on him—pleasure which was rapidly building to, well, a climax. “Phil, Chris, fuck, I’m close.”
“That’s the point,” Chris murmured in his ear before biting his earlobe and flicking it with his tongue. “You going to come for us? I bet I could order you to.”
“I bet you—could, too,” McCoy said, gasping and jerking against the restraints. He wasn’t like most of Starfleet, didn’t have the military thing ingrained quite so much into his being, but he responded to Chris’s natural authority as pretty much anyone did. He heard an obscene sort of slurp coming from the bottom of the bed and groaned.
Chris grinned wickedly at him as his hand sped up and added a little twist at the top of each stroke. “Do you want me to?” he asked.
“Don’t—think—you’ll need to—Ahh, fuck!” McCoy cried out as something Phil did—or something Chris did—or maybe just, holy shit, being fucked by those two sent him right over the edge, seeing white.
A few minutes later, when his brain had decided to process external stimuli again, he raised his head. “If you untie me now, I can return the favor.”
Chris grinned again and looked down at Phil, who was kneeling at the foot of the bed. “What do you say, Phil? Is that a good enough reason to untie him?”
Phil quirked an eyebrow, a half-smile on his face. “I don’t know, Chris. He looks so pretty tied to your bed.”
“That he does,” Chris agreed. “Of course, we can always just tie him back up later.”
Seriously. What had he gotten himself into?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:16 am (UTC)a) HOT
b) GOOD GOD, WOMAN, I'M YOUR BETA, NOT YOUR CHEERLEADER
...okay, I'm both. :D
no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:19 am (UTC)(also: thanks!)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:32 am (UTC)(Now I want to put someone's padd in jello.)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 03:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 03:19 am (UTC)(studying? what studying?)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-25 03:23 am (UTC)"Oh my GOD, Spock! This room is a pit!"
"I had not noticed. My companion and I were too busy, as you might say, knocking boots."