Still, where did the lighter fluid come from? (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} emiime) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} emific,@ 2009-05-20 14:24:00 |
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| Entry tags: | character: chekov, character: kirk, character: mccoy, genre: slash, kink: threesome, pairing: kirk/mccoy, pairing: kirk/mccoy/chekov, rating: nc-17 |
The Doctor, the Captain, and the Kid (Kirk/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy/Chekov, NC-17)
Title: The Doctor, the Captain, and the Kid
Characters: Kirk/McCoy, Kirk/McCoy/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4123
Warnings: Chekov's seventeen, if that sort of thing bothers you.
Summary: Jim notices Chekov's been watching Bones, and he has an idea.
Notes: Written for this prompt at the Star Trek Kink Meme.
"The kid watches you, you know."
Jim tips back in his chair and waits for Bones to answer. When Bones finally does, he does it without looking up from the medical journal he's so engrossed in.
"I know you do," he says, just above a mutter, and he scratches his head and sniffs and keeps on reading.
"Not me," Jim moans, then pauses, considering. "Well, okay. I do. But I meant the kid. Chekov."
Bones doesn't take his time answering this time. He swivels around in his chair to face Jim. "Chekov? Isn't he like…thirteen?"
"Seventeen." Jim leans forward. "And he watches you. Constantly."
Bones chuckles at this, shakes his head. "I don't believe you. There's no way that kid has any interest in anything that's unrelated to mathematics."
Jim raises a finger. "Angles." He crooks it suggestively. "I'll bet he's really good at angles."
Bones just swats at him. "Dammit, get out of here, will you? Unless you're planning to drag the kid in and make him show me some of those angles. I have reading to do, Jim."
"Wait—you'd be into that?" Jim's eyebrows shoot up. He didn't expect this at all. "You really want me to bring the kid in?"
"You'd be into it? Wait—don't answer that. Of course you would."
Jim mock-pouts. "I don't go around sleeping with my crew," he points out.
"Just your CMO."
"Right."
"And, now, underage ensigns." Bones quirks an eyebrow. He's definitely into the idea. Jim knows it. And, he can't lie, so is he. The kid's cute, which is ridiculous because Jim doesn't like his men cute. He likes his girls cute, and he likes his men—well. He likes Bones. He's slept with a handful of guys before, sure, but never had an actual relationship with any of them—and, come to think of it, they were all built like Bones, broad-shouldered and dark-haired. Some of them may even have had his biting wit, but Jim wouldn't know, because, like the girls, most of them he never saw again.
It could be fun. "I'll bet he's a virgin," Jim says. He's starting to get hard, and he spreads his legs a little, hoping Bones will notice. "I'll bet he blushes. All over. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Bones lets out a frustrated groan and runs his hand over his face. He slumps in his chair. "He watches me?"
"Like a damned hawk. You are fucking sexy, you know."
"I know when you're full of shit, Jim." Jim just sits back, grinning, waiting, and Bones finally sighs. "And you're not full of shit about this."
"You don't sound happy."
Bones raises an eyebrow. "I don't go around sleeping with your crew."
"Ah," says Jim, "Touché. What if I ordered you to do it, as captain?"
A smirk curls the corner of Bones's mouth. "Oh, no, you don't. I'm a doctor, not a babysitter." He turns back to his journal, and Jim thinks for a moment that the subject is closed, but then Bones speaks again. "If we do this, you cocky bastard, then I'm in charge."
Jim smirks and palms his cock through his pants, which seem to be growing tighter. "Whatever you say, Bones. I've sort of got more pressing problems at the moment."
Bones turns around again and moves his chair closer, his reading abandoned on his desk. He studies Jim for a long moment, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah? You need me to take care of that for you?"
"Fuck, would you?" Jim doesn't wait for a response; he has his pants and briefs around his ankles before Bones can get on his knees.
"Only if you tell me exactly what got you so hot," says Bones, and he settles between Jim's legs, licking a wide stripe up his erect cock.
"Fuck," Jim grunts, clutching the arms of his chair, "You know what. Thinking about you and the kid. I want to see that." Bones has a talented fucking mouth, and it's all Jim can do to form actual words, let alone sentences.
Bones stops licking him, and Jim whines. "No. Tell me exactly."
"Dirty old—ngh." Bones's mouth is around Jim's cock before Jim can even get the whole insult out. Jim's not exactly eloquent at the best of times—oh, he can talk, Bones has told him as much, and often it's smooth, but he was never gifted with the art of descriptive storytelling. Still, it's what Bones wants, and Jim figures fair is fair, since he's already getting more than he expected to get when he came to visit Bones in his office tonight.
"Wanna—mmph—wanna see you fucking him. He's such a little guy; I swear you'd break him. Wanna watch you licking him all over, sucking his cock, spreading his ass open and pushing in." Bones has one hand on Jim's balls and Jim can't feel the other, but he suspects where it is, and he keeps talking—babbling, really—so that Bones can get as much enjoyment out of this as he is.
"I wanna watch him suck your cock, too, wanna watch his lips spread around it. Fuck, Bones, the kid's got a cute mouth. Not as nice as yours, but nice, still. Fuck, keep going, don't fucking stop—" Jim is on the edge of orgasm, toes curling in his boots, and he thrusts towards Bones's mouth, lifting his ass from the chair, needing his release more than he's maybe ever needed anything before.
Bones makes greedy noises around Jim's cock, and Jim can't hold back anymore. He tries to warn Bones, tries to say he's coming, but he only manages a strangled half-word before he spills into Bones's mouth, shouting, thrusting, and he finally collapses back into the chair, his breaths coming in great shaking bursts, his thighs trembling.
And Bones is just a moment behind him, burrowing his face into Jim's thigh and groaning against his skin, jerking himself off onto the floor of his office.
"Fucker," he says a few seconds later, "Now you really owe me."
"Tried to warn you," Jim manages.
"Tried and failed." Bones lifts his head and meets Jim's eyes, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. And though he's spent, Jim finds the strength to smirk.
"Did you swallow it?"
Bones gives him a dirty look. "Fuck you. Get dressed, Captain."
They clean themselves up and Jim goes to leave, but not before he determines that Bones was actually serious about the Chekov Thing, and they make tentative plans regarding it.
"Jim," Bones says when Jim is at the door and Bones is settled back at his desk.
He turns. "Yeah?"
Bones narrows his eyes. "Yeah, I swallowed it. Now get the fuck out of here."
Jim is gallant and waits until he's in the corridor to let out his whoop of victory.
The kid is wandering down a corridor, lost in thought, muttering to himself. Jim grins at Bones and Bones lifts an eyebrow at Jim, then they descend upon him. He's just come off duty, they know, and Jim has convinced Bones that this is the perfect time.
("What do teenaged kids do when they go off duty?" he'd asked Bones earlier. "They go back to their quarters and jerk off." And so it was settled.)
"Hey, kid," says Bones, clapping Chekov on the shoulder. Chekov is obviously startled; he jumps and lets out a nervous laugh.
"Hello, Doctor. Captain." Chekov nods at them both. "I was just—"
But Bones interrupts before Chekov can explain to them exactly which equations had been confounding him so that he'd had to mutter them to himself in the corridor. "Headed to your quarters, kid? Why don't we take a little detour?" His hand is still on Chekov's thin shoulder, and he steers the kid down another corridor, towards Jim's quarters, instead.
Chekov gives him a weak smile, his brow furrowed. "Everything is okay?"
"Everything's fine," Bones said, "The Captain and I just wanted to have a little chat with you."
"I have done something wrong?" Oh, god. The kid looks like he could cry. Bones shakes his head and gives Jim a look—Jim's just following along, smirking and silent. For once.
"No, you haven't done anything wrong." They reach Jim's quarters and Bones steers Chekov inside. When the door is closed, the silence of the room surrounding them, Bones continues, his hand still on Chekov's shoulder.
"The Captain here tells me I've got an admirer." They'd agreed it would be best to get straight to the point, so Bones does.
Chekov's eyes go wide. He begins to stammer out an excuse or an explanation, but Bones cuts him off.
"It's okay, kid. If I didn't find you attractive, I never would have said anything."
Now the kid's mouth opens, but he snaps it shut again just as quickly, as if in self-preservation.
"Captain Kirk and I thought we might help you out," he says, nodding at Jim, and the kid turns to look at his Captain, still wide eyed, and—yes, Bones can see it now—he's blushing. It's faint, but it's there, the hint of pink blooming in his cheeks. Beautiful.
"You and the Doctor, Captain? You are—?" The kid's putting the puzzle pieces together in his head. Bones waits. "You are—boyfriends?"
Well. Bones hadn't expected that, and from the look on his face, neither had Jim. They lock eyes, as if in a standoff, until finally Jim nods and speaks for the first time since they accosted Chekov in the hallway.
"Yeah," he says, still keeping eye contact with Bones, "We're boyfriends."
"Then I should not," Chekov announces, and they both turn to look at him.
"Oh, kid," says Bones, "You definitely should." He pulls the kid to him and takes his face in his hands and kisses him. At first, Chekov doesn't respond. He's frozen, Bones thinks, with shock. But finally he does, parting his lips and letting Bones kiss him deeply. Chekov whines and kisses him back, hard, because the kid's probably never been kissed before, at least not like this, and Bones puts a hand in the kid's hair and kisses him back even harder.
Chekov breaks away, panting. "But the Captain—" he breathes. Bones looks up. Jim is moving around the room, dimming lights, but he moves to Chekov's side then.
"Right here," Jim says, and he takes Chekov by the chin and turns his head so they're looking right at each other. "What do you say we get a little more comfortable, Ensign Chekov?" Bones has to smile at Jim's use of formal language in such a familiar setting.
The kid gulps and nods, and he trembles in Bones's arms. "If you would like, then, yes, I would also like," he says, barely above a whisper.
They move as a group to the bed, and Bones reluctantly lets Chekov go so they can undress him. Chekov is still shaking, biting his lip, looking for all the world like he just wants to break away and run from the Captain's quarters to the safety of his own, but something inside him won't let him do that. He lets Bones and Jim strip him down to his underwear, exposing his pink and pale skin, the scattering of freckles on his chest.
"Now—now you," Chekov says, and he adds, almost as an afterthought, "Please?"
"You got it, kid," says Bones, and he strips without ceremony. Jim does, too, and when they're both naked, they move towards Chekov, who looks like he might faint. Jim strokes himself, a lecherous grin on his face, but Bones pauses.
"Come here," he says, and he takes the trembling ensign in his arms. He hopes Chekov's not scared of him—sure, he can come off a bit rough, but he's a doctor, dammit, and he does care about the human condition.
Only problem with trying to be caring right now is that he's hard, his prick pressed against Chekov's stomach and leaking precome. He grimaces at Jim over Chekov's shoulder, and Jim moves in, pressing against the kid from behind and putting his arms around both of them, so that Chekov is sandwiched between the two of them, small and warm and god, so delicious.
The kid starts shaking even more violently then. "I cannot—" he begins, then whimpers and tries again. "I am not—I am—"
Jim mouths virgin and Bones nods. He expected as much, but never thought the kid would be so scared.
"Don't worry, kid," Bones murmurs in his ear, "We're going to take care of you, the Captain and me." Jim starts mouthing along the kid's neck, then, and Chekov groans, tucking his head under Bones's chin. Bones just pulls him closer, one arm around his shoulders, one hand fisted in his curls, and lets Jim go to work on him. Bones decides that's one way to keep Jim from saying something stupid—keep his mouth working over the kid's skin.
Chekov makes the most gorgeous noises, even as he trembles in Bones's arms. He lifts his face, his eyes closed, his mouth searching, and Bones takes the opportunity to kiss him again, again, again. He ruts against Chekov's stomach; he can't help himself. He leaves a trail of slippery precome on the kid's skin, and Jim makes disgustingly erotic noises as he kneels behind the kid, and Bones steps back, overwhelmed.
"Let's try this on the bed," he says, "and let's finish getting you undressed, kid."
"P-Pavel," Chekov manages, the name a choked whisper, and Bones smiles.
"Let's get you undressed, then, Pavel, and get you onto the bed, where we can really take care of you." It doesn't feel right, calling the ensign by his first name, but it doesn't feel entirely wrong, either.
When Bones and Jim lay Chekov—Pavel—dammit, he's not going to be able to think of the kid as that—onto Jim's bed, they exchange a glance. Chekov's still shaking, dammit, but Jim doesn't seem to notice. He peels off the kid's briefs, exposing his erect cock, nestled in a patch of auburn curls, and Chekov whimpers.
"Please, Captain, Doctor," he stutters, looking between them, and Jim nods.
"I've got you, kid." He takes Chekov's prick in his mouth and Chekov makes a noise that is somewhere between a whine and a shout.
"No!" he protests. "Captain, please, I will—" and then he breaks into Russian and Bones can't understand a damned word of it, though he has an idea of what the kid's saying.
"Jim, enough," he commands, his hand on Jim's shoulder, and Jim lifts his face, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips wet and red. Chekov lets out a shuddering breath as Bones stretches out beside him.
"Was so close," he stammers, "Did not want to go, not yet." Bones places a hand on Chekov's chest and feels his breathing return to somewhere near normal.
"I know," he says, "We want to make this last, too. Don't we, Captain?"
"You bet your sweet ass we do, Doctor," Jim replies, and then he's stretched out, too, on Chekov's other side, and they caress him, staying away from his cock, just teasing him with flicks and pinches to his nipples and thighs, kisses and licks to his neck and throat, and the constant, undeniable presence of their pricks pressing against his sides.
"Che—Pavel. Lemme ask you something. Do you want to fuck, or do you want to get fucked?" Jim's voice is so smooth and his question so dirty that even Bones shivers this time.
Chekov rolls over to face Jim, and Bones takes the opportunity to move in closer, pressing his prick against Chekov's ass. He wants the kid, dammit, wants to be inside him, but Jim's got the right idea. Let Chekov decide. Bones kind of can't believe Jim's being this patient, but he's done enough talking for the night. He'll let Jim have his turn.
"I want—" Chekov writhes as Bones presses closer to him and bites his neck lightly. He hopes there's a bruise there in the morning. Not that he wants to hear the crew's conjecture on exactly how that bruise got there, but because he thinks Chekov would bruise so prettily, angry purple marks on pale skin. He bites him again, a little harder, and Chekov whines.
"I want, I want," Chekov repeats, no closer to a decision.
"You want to fuck one of us?" Jim asks, and Chekov pauses, then shakes his head. Bones can hear the grin in Jim's voice. "Then you want one of us to fuck you." It's not a question. Chekov stutters out an answer that sounds like a yes, and Bones laughs and bites him again.
"Doctor," Chekov says, "You, Doctor." It takes Bones a moment to figure out what the kid means, because he's busy sucking on his neck, but when he does, he grins.
"Good choice," he says, giving Jim a smug smile, "Let's get you ready."
Chekov is pliant, and he goes easily from lying down to hands and knees, which Bones thinks will be the least demanding position for his first time. He still can't believe Chekov actually wants this, but he's not about to question this gift. He strokes Chekov's thighs and licks a stripe up one of them, causing the kid to cry out.
"You're so responsive," he murmurs against Chekov's skin. "I fucking love it."
Jim's there, then, with a familiar black bottle, and together they lubricate and stretch Chekov's hole until he is literally begging them for it, in mixed English and Russian. "Please, Doctor, please," he finally says, and Bones withdraws his fingers.
"Right here," he says, and as he starts to enter Chekov, Jim's hand is there, suddenly, guiding him, and they lock eyes.
"Where will you be?" Bones asks him in an undertone.
"I'll be there." Jim's voice is just as low, and he gestures with his chin to the head of the bed. "Watching. Helping the kid if he needs it." He lunges forward, then, kissing Bones hard on the mouth, and Bones kisses him back, desperate, his cock pulsing. And, just as quickly as he was there, Jim is gone, and Bones eases himself in as Chekov tenses.
"Relax," he murmurs, and he hears Jim saying the same thing. He looks up, and Jim's where he said he would be, doing what he said he would be doing. Jim puts a hand in Chekov's hair and kisses him and tells him again to relax, and Bones feels his tension lessen, and he eases himself in a little more. The last damned thing he wants to do is to take this slowly, but he has to, for the kid's sake. And he suspects Jim feels the same way. Where has this unexpected tenderness come from? They're not like this with each other, never really have been. Their first time together was rough and hurried and overflowing with need, and since then—
"Please, Doctor—" Chekov interrupts Bones's reverie, and Bones nods and presses forward, sheathing himself in Chekov's ass.
"That good, kid? Pavel? Fuck, you're tight."
"Is good, Doctor, so good." Bones can hear the tension in Chekov's voice. He knows the kid is hurting, knows he's speaking through clenched teeth, but he also knows there is pleasure under the pain. He slides out, then in again, slowly, testing.
"Kid—Pavel—I won't lie. I want to fuck you so badly right now. You okay with that?"
"Doctor, yes. Do it, please."
And he does.
"Touch yourself," he groans as he starts to fuck the kid, really fuck him. He grips Chekov's hips, hoping he'll leave bruises there as well on that pale, blue-veined skin.
He looks up; Jim is at the head of the bed, his legs spread, jerking his cock as Chekov watches. "Oh, that's good, kid," Jim purrs, "Like it when you watch me." Bones knows that Jim is, and has always been, an exhibitionist, so it's no surprise that he's getting off having the kid's face a foot from his cock while he jerks off. "Should have you suck it," Jim adds, and Chekov lets out a little moan and says something in Russian, but Jim doesn't move, and Bones is glad of that. The stream of words coming out of the kid's mouth is just too hot to shut him up by putting a cock in there.
And between Chekov's babbling and Jim's exhibitionism and the tight heat of the kid's asshole, Bones is getting close to coming. He's tense, overwhelmed, and he grits his teeth and tries to hold on for just another minute.
"Still touching yourself, kid?" Chekov makes a noise that sounds vaguely affirmative. "Good. Listen. I'm gonna come inside you—" and then he is, before he can instruct Chekov further, before he even realizes it. "Fuck," he groans, and he fills Chekov's ass with his spunk, slamming into him, then collapses over the kid's sweaty back.
"Come on," he hears Jim say, "Come for us, Pavel."
Bones moves to slide out, but Chekov clenches around him, and when he comes, it's with a high-pitched cry, and then the kid is shaking again, whimpering and whispering, and Bones can't tell what language he's speaking now. He slips out of the kid and puts his arms around him and presses him to the mattress as Jim starts to come, grunting and swearing.
Jim joins their embrace to calm the overwhelmed Chekov, and Bones meets his eyes. There's a moment where they just stare at each other, silent, then Jim leans over the kid and kisses Bones, and it's more tender than his kisses usually are, even after sex, and Bones loses himself in it.
Nobody speaks for a long time. Bones grasps a fistful of Chekov's curls and Jim smoothes a hand down his side. Chekov stops trembling after a while and mumbles something, sleepy and incoherent.
"What's that?" Bones asks.
"Thank you," Chekov repeats, "Thank you, Doctor, thank you, Captain."
Bones doesn't know how to respond. You're welcome, kid seems insufficient. But Jim steps in.
"Our pleasure," he says, and he lowers his face to Chekov's neck, and Bones can't tell if he's kissing it or sucking on it, all he knows is that Chekov starts to shake again and makes a small noise of protest. Jim picks his head back up, seeming to understand that it's all too much.
Jim grins at Bones over the kid's limp body, and Bones can't help but grin back. He's not sure where this all will lead, if anywhere, but he's spent and he can't give a damn at the moment. Jim leans over and kisses him again, and Bones sighs into the kiss, content.
They are interrupted by a light snore from Chekov, and they both laugh.
"So," Bones says in an undertone so as not to wake the sleeping Chekov, "We're 'boyfriends', are we?"
"Shut up," says Jim, and he swats at Bones. "He asked. What was I supposed to say?"
Bones shrugs, acting casual. "The truth, I guess."
There's a long silence before Jim responds. "That was the truth." To the average observer, he would appear cocky and confident, but Bones knows that when Jim Kirk's left eye twitches like that, he's nervous.
Bones lets Jim's words hang in the air between them for a long time before he finally takes a breath and says "I know."
And that's all they need to say. They give each other one last look and settle onto either side of their sleeping ensign. Bones's eyelids are growing heavy, his breath evening out. He knows that when they all wake there will be messes to clean up and bruises to examine and awkward moments to sort out, but at the moment, he just doesn't give a damn.