Star Trek fic: Like Riding a Bicycle [Kirk/McCoy, adult]
Title: Like Riding a Bicycle Author: celandineb Fandom: Star Trek XI Pairing: Kirk/McCoy Rating: adult Length: 3890 Warnings: sexual encounters Summary: After Kirk's late-night apology, he and McCoy spend Sunday together. Note: Tenth in the "Heart of the Matter" series.
"Have a great time," Kirk told his roommate.
"Thanks," said Sidhu. "It's a pan-Asian festival, actually, but there should be a lot of stalls and booths from India. Food and music and maybe dancing..." He trailed off and shook himself, grinning a little sheepishly. "I'll see you tonight sometime."
"Yeah, tonight."
As soon as Sidhu was gone, Kirk exhaled with relief. He'd been superstitiously convinced that something would happen to keep Sidhu around on campus, and he didn't want anything to interfere with his plan to spend the day with McCoy. Sure, they'd have to study part of the time – he'd more or less promised they would, and anyway he always did have studying to do, what with cramming four years' work into three – but he planned to fit in a few other activities as well.
He looked at the clock. Not yet eight. It seemed surprising that Sidhu's festival was already underway, but Kirk didn't know much about Asian traditions. Or perhaps Sidhu had other plans first? Kirk shrugged, not really interested. Two hours of studying, then, before going to meet McCoy at the cafeteria, or perhaps a bit less. He ought to shower, he supposed, although if he didn't there was the possibility of suggesting a shared shower to McCoy. Not that it seemed likely McCoy would have neglected to take one; being a doctor he was kind of picky about hygiene. No, Kirk would shower. He could always make the suggestion anyhow if he wanted.
Kirk sat down, pulled out his PADD, and began rapidly to review his notes from last week's Xenolinguistics classes. He was glad that there was no club meeting this week.
"Damn," he swore, suddenly remembering that he'd have to go to the advanced hand-to-hand combat class in mid-afternoon. He couldn't skip it. Jiang was still a little annoyed from when he'd missed last week, and McCoy would never agree to phony up a medical excuse, not unless Kirk actually injured himself. Kirk hadn't thought McCoy would write the excuse last time, and then he really had been injured, if not too seriously.
He'd have to keep an eye on the time today, that was all. Maybe McCoy would like to go with him, work out in the gym or swim laps perhaps if he didn't want to watch Kirk help with the class. McCoy had joked about joining the advanced class at one point, but Kirk was pretty sure he hadn't ever taken basic hand-to-hand instruction, so that was out.
At nine-thirty he stopped reading for Xenolinguistics and quickly showered, pulling on a clean uniform and checking to make sure his shoes were properly polished. God, he was acting as if this were a high school date and he was going to be judged by a girl's father. He and McCoy had been friends, best friends, for ages; even if they were trying to become more, McCoy was hardly going to care if Kirk's uniform was spotless and his shoes shining. Hell, McCoy always managed to look slightly rumpled, especially in his scrubs. It was a good look for him actually, made him seem more approachable, which a doctor should be to get patients to trust him. Kirk shook his head, bemused to realize how much attention he'd evidently been paying to McCoy's appearance without recognizing what he was doing.
He was a few minutes early arriving at the cafeteria, and a glance around showed him that McCoy hadn't arrived yet. He filled a plate anyway and found a table from which he could see everyone who entered.
By the time McCoy walked in, it was ten-twenty and Kirk had eaten most of his breakfast and was reduced to tearing an apple Danish into bits and popping them moodily one by one into his mouth.
"I'm sorry I'm late." McCoy set his tray down. He had dark circles under his eyes, Kirk noticed.
"Didn't you sleep well?"
McCoy shrugged. "All right. Just too long." He ate a forkful of egg.
"What do you want to do today? I have to go to the advanced hand-to-hand combat class at two, but other than that I'm pretty flexible."
"So I've heard."
It took Kirk a moment to catch McCoy's innuendo; it wasn't often that he did that kind of verbal teasing..
"More so than I used to be, actually," he said in a low voice, letting his eyes slide appreciatively over McCoy's body, his torso anyhow, what Kirk could see above the table. "Want a demonstration?"
"Later, I think, yes." McCoy spread jam on a piece of toast and bit into it. "Hell. Toast is supposed to be crisp, not chewy," he said with disgust.
"It did seem extra-leathery today. They probably made it a few hours ago. The potatoes were pretty good though, try those," Kirk told him.
McCoy nodded. "Harder to ruin potatoes unless you really undercook or burn them. Even mediocre ones usually aren't bad."
Kirk went to get another cup of coffee while McCoy kept eating.
"So what do you want to do today?" he asked again when he returned.
"I'd kind of like to watch your combat class," allowed McCoy.
"Sure. There shouldn't be a problem with that. Like I said, class is at two, so we have a while until then. Shall we study first? I was working on Xenolinguistics this morning but I'm not quite finished."
"I should write Joanna." McCoy's voice was thoughtful.
"Your daughter?"
"Yeah. I'm not quite as regular about that as I should be," said McCoy. "Jocelyn almost always manages to keep me from talking to her in person, though, so I try to write instead. She likes 'real' letters, on paper, rather than electronic ones."
"You don't get to talk to your daughter?" Indignation on McCoy's behalf practically choked Kirk. "How come you never told me that before? That's terrible. I mean, I didn't talk to my mother very often, but that was because she was working off-planet most of the time. You're right here on Earth."
McCoy's cheek twitched. "It wasn't an easy divorce, and I agreed to some things that maybe I shouldn't have, not thinking them through, just to get it all settled quickly. Look, I don't want to talk about this, not now."
True, the cafeteria was not the best place for a serious conversation.
"Let's go back to my room," Kirk suggested. "You can write Joanna, and I'll study for a while."
Settled comfortably at his own desk, with McCoy at Sidhu's spotless one, Kirk kept looking over to watch McCoy writing. The scratch of pen on paper was more erratic than the familiar tapping on a keypad, and it distracted him. Plus, it was interesting to watch McCoy's expression as he wrote. There was a tenderness there that Kirk didn't recall ever seeing before; he quite clearly loved his daughter very much, even if he didn't talk about her often.
"What is it?" McCoy asked after a while. "Every time I glance up, you're looking at me. Did I spill ketchup on my tunic at breakfast or something?"
"Nope. Just thinking that you looked happy to be writing Joanna, that's all." Kirk pushed his chair back from the desk and stretched. "Are you done?"
"Almost." McCoy bent his head over the letter again. The metal of the pen glinted in the light as he wrote. He scanned the pages, nodded to himself, and signed it, folding the letter and putting it into the envelope he'd also brought. "I'll mail it tomorrow."
"I'm sure she'll be happy to hear from you," said Kirk. "I would be."
"You would, would you?" McCoy smiled slightly. "Well, then, I'll write you too, after we both graduate, and bore you to death with medical stories. Have to be electronic transmissions rather than paper, but I'll write."
"Maybe you won't have to. Maybe we'll be assigned to the same ship," Kirk said.
McCoy snorted. "'May bees don't fly in December,' as my grandmother used to say. I don't think you should count on that, Jim. How many human-crewed ships are there in Starfleet? Dozens, at least, and more all the time. The chances aren't good."
"I've always been lucky, though." Kirk grinned. "Want me to prove it?"
"Prove it, sure. There's no such thing as luck."
"Yes there is. You're here. That proves I'm lucky," said Kirk, half-teasing but half-serious, too. He didn't really want to think about the possibility – the likelihood – that they would, in fact, be assigned to different ships next year.
"Oh, come on. You're too bright to say that. It's a logical fallacy and you know it." McCoy's face was flushed.
"Of course I know it, but I am lucky even if that doesn't prove it." Part of Kirk believed what he was saying. Rationally he knew that McCoy was right, there was no such thing as luck, but emotionally was a different matter.
"Maybe you are, at that," said McCoy in a husky drawl. "You do always seem to get what you want, sooner or later."
"I know what I want now," Kirk said, "and I think you know too."
McCoy stood up. "I think maybe I do."
They moved together, a little hesitantly at first, but when their mouths met Kirk felt as if he'd come home. He traced his tongue across the seam of McCoy's lips, and they yielded to his exploration. McCoy still tasted faintly of coffee, but mostly of himself, and that sent a thrill through Kirk's body.
McCoy groaned when Kirk moved on from his mouth. It sounded to Kirk like pleasure rather than protest, so he continued. He sucked briefly on McCoy's earlobe before dipping to his neck and throat, licking and biting hard enough to leave a mark and eliciting another groan.
"Fuck, yes, Jim," McCoy breathed, his hands sliding along Kirk's back and latching onto his ass.
Kirk returned the favor, pulling them more tightly together. His dick was showing a lot of interest, swelling against the tight fabric of his trousers, and he could feel the bulge of McCoy's doing likewise. He stepped his feet a little further apart so that he could grind his hips against McCoy without falling over.
It felt good, more than good, to be wrapped together like this, kissing and thrusting against each other like teenagers in the back of a car. Kirk clutched at McCoy's shirt, tugging it up.
"I got it." McCoy pulled his shirt off, and Kirk was struck as he'd been before at how well-built McCoy actually was under that concealing standard uniform.
"Nice," he murmured, reaching out to touch and then twist one nipple.
McCoy flinched almost imperceptibly, but then he growled and pulled Kirk to him, almost ripping Kirk's shirt as he hauled it off.
"You are much too good at this," McCoy grumbled, though there was a note of laughter in his voice as well, and he turned them so that he could push Kirk down beneath him on the bed. "Oh yeah, much too good." He pinched Kirk's left nipple hard, then his right, and Kirk gasped at the sensation.
"You're pretty damned fine you-yourself," he said, the last word trailing off into a groan as McCoy's mouth latched on to him, soothing away the sting of the pinches.
McCoy had settled himself with one knee to either side of Kirk's thighs, his arms bracing him as he crouched. He lapped slowly down Kirk's torso and Kirk tried to cant his hips upward in encouragement, but McCoy only chuckled.
"Not so fast."
Instead of continuing downward once he hit Kirk's waistband, McCoy pursued a leisurely path back up, mapping wet trails over Kirk's abdomen and chest with occasional excursions to his arms. Kirk writhed when McCoy nosed into his armpit, but the weight of McCoy's body kept him from escaping the tickling sensation.
"Bones!" he protested, and McCoy chuckled again. Kirk hadn't realized that he could be so devilishly determined.
He pondered, then without warning braced himself and flipped them over so that he sprawled – somewhat inelegantly – on top of McCoy, whose eyes widened in indignation.
"Gotcha." Kirk smirked at him.
"No you don't." Somehow McCoy had grabbed hold of him and rolled them over once more. "Cheeky kid, don't know what's good for you."
"What is good for me, then? Tease."
McCoy cleared his throat, suddenly looking almost nervous. "I could suck you off –"
"Yeah!" agreed Kirk with enthusiasm, his mind already racing ahead to how McCoy's lips would feel dragging along the length of his dick, tongue flickering over the head. His blood bounded in his ears, almost keeping him from hearing the rest of McCoy's sentence.
"– or, um, you could fuck me," finished McCoy doggedly, his face flushed.
Kirk caught his breath and grasped McCoy's shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. "You're sure about that?"
"Yeah," McCoy muttered. "If that's what you want."
He hadn't really thought about it, hadn't anticipated such an offer although of course he knew that was a possibility, and it wasn't as if he'd never fucked an ass before. There'd been that Des Moines girl, Alicia Whatever-It-Had-Been, who'd transferred in his last year of school in Iowa. And the cadet from Rigel V. And, well, anyhow, it wasn't an entirely new idea by any means, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to do it with McCoy. Why not, he couldn't quite say, given that McCoy had offered freely and repeated the offer when asked, even if he seemed a bit uncertain about it. Maybe it was just knowing that there'd be other times, other opportunities. Kirk brushed a fingertip along McCoy's jawline. "No, Bones. Thanks, but not today, I don't think. I'd rather have those sexy lips around my dick."
McCoy's eyes widened, and Kirk thought he saw a hint of relief there as McCoy nipped at his finger.
"Right, then," he said hoarsely, and supported himself with one hand so that he could kiss Kirk while the other fumbled at his trousers. Kirk helped, the two of them wrestling the fabric halfway down Kirk's thighs.
Then McCoy slid inch by inch along Kirk's torso, scraping him delightfully with teeth and stubbled cheek – Kirk's mind was distracted for a moment, thinking about how fast McCoy's beard grew, and wondering if he'd actually shaved that morning or not – until his breath was hot on Kirk's belly, and at last, fuck, his tongue was wet and slick as he slurped his way down Kirk's dick.
Kirk groaned and scrabbled at the bedclothes as McCoy swallowed him down. McCoy's technique might be a little rusty, but he was there, indisputably, totally concentrated on what he was doing to Kirk as he knelt with his ass in the air. One hand felt over Kirk's balls and then behind, rubbing with gentle pressure. Kirk let his legs spread apart a little further, and McCoy's hand went away for a moment, then came back, fingers wet – McCoy must have licked them, thought Kirk hazily – one fingertip stroking until Kirk relaxed enough for McCoy to slip it inside.
"Fuck – Bones," Kirk choked out.
McCoy glanced up at him, cheeks hollowed as he sucked a little harder and wiggled that insinuating finger. His eyes were dilated, half-lidded as he concentrated on giving Kirk pleasure, and this time Kirk didn't feel so odd about letting him do it.
He grunted obscenely and thrust into McCoy's mouth, unable to stop himself, already feeling the crest of orgasm rushing up through him. "Coming," he gasped, but he was unsurprised when McCoy stayed on him, tongue moving to coax out every last drop and then licking him clean, nuzzling against him as if to mark himself indelibly with Kirk's scent.
"Fuck," Kirk swore again. "Where'd you learn to suck cock like that, anyhow?"
"Ole Miss – the University of Mississippi," McCoy answered, his accent stronger than usual. "A one-night stand my sophomore year... one of the best nights of my life. Marmaduke Cecil Montgomery, his name was, but he went by Duke. Bio major, transferred out the next year."
Kirk felt a momentary and wholly irrational flash of hatred for the unknown Duke, before reminding himself that he was getting the benefit of it now.
"So it was all right?" McCoy was asking. "It's been a mighty long time since then."
"I guess it's like riding a bicycle, you don't forget," said Kirk. He reached for McCoy, hauled him up and close and kissed him, bitter now with Kirk's own come on his tongue, but still tasting of himself underneath, and that was something Kirk couldn't get enough of.
McCoy made a noise in his throat, kissing back hard and rocking against Kirk's thigh. Somehow he had managed to get his trousers off without Kirk noticing, which was all to the good at the moment.
"Relax. I'll handle it," Kirk broke off the kiss to say. He reached for McCoy's dick, smooth and warm and pulsing against his palm, and watched McCoy's face as he started to stroke.
"Wait – here," said McCoy, taking Kirk's hand and licking it wet. "Too much friction."
"There's lotion," Kirk offered.
McCoy hesitated, then nodded. Kirk untangled himself and padded to the bathroom to get the bottle, settling back onto the bed with a palmful of lotion, smoothing it over McCoy's dick.
"Yeah, oh yeah," said McCoy in a low voice, touching Kirk with trembling fingers as Kirk jerked him off.
He took it slowly; no need to rush, there was still time before he had to go to the gym, and it was good to watch McCoy get sweaty and flushed, to hear his ragged breathing as Kirk coaxed him along the road to passion. McCoy went rigid when he came, his head tipped back but his eyes open and fixed on Kirk as his come wetted Kirk's fingers and splashed both their skins.
Kirk kissed McCoy's temple, salty-damp with sweat, and McCoy sighed and rested his head on Kirk's shoulder, taking long liquid-sounding breaths.
"Thanks," he said in a muffled voice, and Kirk laughed.
"I think I'd have to thank you as much or more, if it comes to that."
"Yeah, well." McCoy put one hand on Kirk's stomach, caressing just below the navel. "I guess it's mutual then. When is it you have to leave? Had we better clean up?"
"In a few minutes," said Kirk drowsily. Strange, he didn't usually feel sleepy after sex. He tightened his hold on McCoy and let himself doze, the scent of him soothing.
"Jim."
Kirk grunted as McCoy's elbow nudged him. "Wha' is it?"
"Your class is at two, right? It's a quarter of right now."
"Crap." Kirk was sticky with dried semen and sweat, but there was no time for a shower. He ducked into the bathroom and used a dampened washcloth to wipe off the worst, then rinsed it out and tossed it to McCoy to do the same as he hastily found and pulled on his gym clothes and shoved his discarded uniform into his bag. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he waited for McCoy to finish putting on his shoes.
"Ready?"
They jogged over to the gym. Kirk spoke briefly with Jiang to make sure it was all right for McCoy to watch, then waved at him to sit by the side of the room.
The class did a few minutes of warmup stretches, after which Jiang demonstrated a new kick, as usual taking Kirk as his partner to show how the move could be used to disarm an opponent. Afterward Kirk helped a number of students master the kick, flirting almost automatically with the women. He had never asked out a combat student – he might only be an assistant, not the official instructor, but he knew perfectly well all the rules against inappropriate fraternization – but the flirting was second nature to him. After a while, though, he noticed McCoy watching with a scowl and toned it down. It didn't bother him to do so, really, since he wasn't serious about any of the women anyhow.
At the end of the class, he grabbed his bag and headed toward McCoy.
"I usually shower and change here," he said, "but we can leave right now and I'll shower back in my room, if you don't want to hang around. How did you like watching the class?"
"It was interesting," said McCoy. "I'm used to fixing you up after brawls, and I've seen plenty of those, but what you all were doing here was different from the kind of fights I've seen. More like dancing than anything else."
He poked Kirk in the chest with his forefinger. "You, my friend, need to learn to actually use these moves you practice, in a real fight. You might do better that way."
"Ow." Kirk rubbed the spot on his sternum. "That's the point of the class, actually – make all this so automatic that I don't think, I just use whatever's necessary. The thinking – over-thinking – is what makes me lose."
"You're telling me." McCoy rolled his eyes.
By now they had reached Kirk's dormitory.
"Did you want to come back up?" Kirk asked, holding open the building door.
"I did leave some things in your room," said McCoy.
As they walked up the stairs – it was hardly worth it to wait for the ancient elevator when his room was only on the third floor – Kirk suspected that McCoy was watching his ass, so he shook it. McCoy smacked him lightly.
"Oh, you like kinky games?" Kirk teased, glancing backward, and McCoy scowled.
"In your dreams."
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact."
He didn't say any more until he had let them into his room.
"Sidhu said he wouldn't be back till evening, and it's only about four," he ventured while he watched McCoy collect his belongings, including the letter to his daughter.
"I know, but so far today hasn't exactly been good for me for studying, and I need to get some solid work done," McCoy said.
"Just stay for half an hour?" Kirk put a plaintive note into his voice. "Half an hour, doing whatever you want to do. Studying, even."
"Oh, Jim," said McCoy in exasperation."All right. Half an hour."
McCoy set his bag down and made as if to open it, pull out his PADD again and study, but then to Kirk's surprise he tugged the zipper shut once more. "Forget it."
He came over to Kirk and put his arms around him, sweaty though Kirk was, still in his gym clothes.
"I hated to interrupt your little nap, earlier," he said into Kirk's ear. "How about trying that again?"
Kirk didn't think he felt sleepy now, after the stimulation of the combat class, but he wasn't unwilling to kick off his shoes and let himself be drawn down onto the bed with McCoy. He could feel the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of McCoy's heart, the slower rhythm of his lungs in counterpoint, as they lay close together.
"Computer. Set alarm chime for thirty minutes from now," he roused himself to say, and heard the rumble of McCoy's chuckle.
"Good idea."
"All of my ideas are good," said Kirk smugly, if not altogether truthfully.
"Mm. Sure they are." McCoy's hand stroked along Kirk's back. "Sure they are, kid."