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They had a different kind of heat in San Francisco, similar but nowhere near the same as what McCoy knew from home. He swore it burned when all he wanted was to be safely cocooned by the sultry summer warmth, this humidity more abrasive than silken against his skin.
Bourbon, on the other hand, burned the same no matter where one laid his head at night. Drunk in gentle moderation, it also delivered him smoothly to that place where lust crawled slow but steady through his veins, dragging stress and inhibitions almost-cleanly away.
Head tipped lazily back in his desk chair, McCoy let his legs sprawl wider while the hand not curled around his empty glass pressed idly over the hard swell of his arousal beneath his red cadet’s trousers. It was too early in the evening for this, but he had started drinking early and Jim would no doubt be coming home late (probably not until morning, if he was being honest about it) so it somehow seemed to balance out.
Lazily resigned, McCoy granted himself a more deliberate touch, fingers tracing upward along his awakening cock to the waistband of his trousers. He rucked up the hem of his black regulation undershirt beneath his unzipped uniform jacket and let his hand trace briefly at the bare skin between shirt and pants while he considered. No matter the nasty vindication he might get from the thought, there was no way he wanted to conjure up any lewd fantasies involving the ex-wife, not today of all days. Not Jocelyn, nor any other woman for that matter, he decided as his fingers slipped down into his pants and touched heated flesh, alive with anticipation: tonight, he wanted Chris.
McCoy released a shaky breath as he flexed his hips upward in his chair, pushing at his clothing just enough to free his aching erection, an unsteady sigh that turned to a moan as he wrapped a firm hand around himself. Like Jim, Captain Pike had his plans for the night, was somewhere out of town at some command-level confab or another that could have easily been missed but McCoy hadn’t asked him to do so, had given no indication that he could have done with his company, tonight more than most nights. Asking would have revealed too much of his need, so his imagination would have to fill in for now.
He started out slow, stroking himself leisurely and letting his free hand wander along his inner thigh as he remembered back to the last time Pike had summoned him to his apartment (though summoned was wrong because Chris had asked as polite as he ever was but this was his fantasy to enjoy for himself even if he’d never admit to it out loud). The welcoming embrace they had enjoyed on that last visit slipped and smoldered in his mind, Pike now pinning him up against the door for a possessive kiss, and McCoy bit hard at his own lip as he imagined Pike’s teeth claiming his mouth. His hands would be everywhere, the Captain’s touch as proprietary as though McCoy’s body were his by right, a traitorous thought that made McCoy groan with longing as his left hand groped up his thigh and over his jutting hip to dive beneath the hem of his undershirt. Of its own will, his other hand fisted his cock faster, the tight grip of his fingers nearly chafing at the highly sensitized skin. He rode the discomfort for a moment longer than he normally would before releasing his hold with a sharp hiss and bringing his hand to his mouth.
The faint musk of his arousal tickled along his tongue as he licked wet layers of saliva over his palm. He wetted his hand thoroughly, taking the time to suckle at each finger in turn because he knew how much Chris relished this gesture, right from their first encounter almost a year ago. He let two fingers linger inside for a while, slid them wetly through his lips with a longing to be filled like this with something longer, thicker, before giving it up for foolishness and dropping his spit-slick hand back to his insistent erection.
His grip glided more smoothly with the thin sheen of his saliva, but it still wasn’t enough to ease the brisk, almost punishing stroke he was chasing down, even with the added wetness of his thumb passing quick over the moisture beading at the slit. Eyes clamped shut, he arched and writhed restlessly into his own hand before letting off again with a frustrated growl, senses reeling in protest as he surged to his feet and crossed the narrow room towards his bedside cabinet.
The small bottle of lube barely dented the taut bedcovers. He shrugged out of his uniform jacket and folded it neatly as he stared down at the pristine pillowcase, then hastily shucked the rest of his clothing, blushing furiously as he laid back fully naked on his narrow bed. This was different, downright decadent, not at all like his usual furtive sessions in the shower or beneath the sheets. Hell, Jim hadn’t said when he’d be back, he could walk in any second and see…
His breath caught in his throat at the very idea. Jim. His errant, unprepared mind was already providing a compelling visual, all swaggering hips and cocky grin and it was all wrong no matter what the sudden throbbing twitch of his cock had to say about it. His libido was clearly confused, given the similarities between his best friend and his lover – arrogant bastards both, bright with daring and dark with pride, blue eyes that promised nothing good at all…
McCoy fumbled for the bottle at his side. His overeager hand slipped, filling his palm with far too much of the slick gel but he shrugged it off far easier than he had the trepidation at knowing he was about to jerk off to thoughts of Jim and Chris at the same time, the one lively with brazen sexuality, the other so controlled, commanding…
His hand slipped messy and wet over his hard, needy length, his heavy breathing cut by a sharp gasp as the excess lube trickled cold over his balls, down into the crease where groin met thigh. His legs shifted and spread over the bed, his free hand anchored itself in the covers, tugging hard enough to pull the sheets free at their neatly tucked corners while his body arched away from the mattress, yearning towards the Jim in his mind who hovered above him, covered him, brought him to this pitch of desperation. Jim would be unpredictable, greedy and wild: would take everything his mouth could reach, would run a hand over his cock exactly as McCoy was doing now for himself, fast and unforgiving and restrained only by the orders whispered by their commanding officer.
A deep, aching groan escaped McCoy’s lips at the thought. Jim would listen to Pike, would obey his every filthy word to the letter because Jim admired the man even if he tried to pretend otherwise (and shit, if Jim ever found out what his favourite instructor got up to with his favourite drinking buddy, oh shit it didn’t bear thinking about) and they would no doubt come up with some truly filthy ideas between the two of them. But the Captain would be in charge, oh yes, he would hold McCoy’s wrists down on the bed while telling Jim exactly how hard he needed to suck and bruise and bite to make him beg for release.
This wasn’t enough, these images and his hand tugging his pleasure to the trembling point, not close enough to break. McCoy flexed his hips restlessly upward into his fist, raised and bent his left knee and shoved his other hand down between his legs, sliding his shaking fingers through the excess lube before straining further down. A hoarse shout escaped his parched throat as he breached himself with two fingers, too much too quickly but not quite enough to mimic the stretch of Pike’s cock filling him; he drew a shuddering breath, worked his fingers most of the way out of his hole and cried out as he shoved in again with three. It still wasn’t right, but nothing short of the real thing ever would be so he made do with what he had, thrusting as deep as he could reach at this angle, the ache growing sweet and sure inside him.
The fingers inside him were Chris, of course, but the ever-faster stroke of his hand over his cock was Jim, the two of them conspiring to drive him insane with lust. Maybe Jim would wrap those gorgeously plush lips around his cock while Pike fucked him into that willing mouth. Maybe, if McCoy begged properly to the Captain’s liking, he’d be permitted to take Jim in the same way that Pike took him – working him open with fingers and tongue before sinking inside, the pace and depth of his penetration controlled by Pike’s hands gripping his hips, Pike’s cock driving him forward from the inside. Maybe – McCoy whimpered sharply, head tossing helplessly sideways on the pillow – maybe Pike would demand that Jim sit back and watch how it was done like a good pupil, watch while Pike fucked him hard and came inside him before passing him over for Jim’s use, narrowed blue eyes feral with approval while Jim took his body, still so loose and wet and–
Orgasm ripped through him like a machete, snapping through his arching spine and making his cock pulse violently in his hand, shooting thick and hot over his arm and stomach. He twisted sideways into the rumpled bedding, trying to muffle his harsh groan in the pillow but fuck, he couldn’t breathe and his heart was pounding too fast and his fingers were cramping where they were buried in his ass so he forced himself to uncoil, relax his shaking limbs and scrub his damn fool hands somewhat clean in the sheets.
Sticky but somewhat sated, McCoy rolled onto his side, dragging a blanket around him as he moved – synthetic cotton covering skin, almost like being held. His breath passed in hot gusts over the creased pillowcase as he willed his heart to slow towards sedate indifference, one breath at a time, one…
‘Hey Bones!’
And his slowing heart kicked back into triple-time. ‘Fuck,’ he snarled, cringing into his pillow and clutching the blanket tighter around his naked body. ‘God damn it, Jim, what the hell?’
‘What?’ There was no way a man like Jim Kirk should sound so damn guileless, and McCoy cracked a wary eye open to meet his roommate’s easy half-smile. ‘Haven’t missed the party, have I?’
The flush of his recent orgasm deepened with mortification. ‘Fuck off, you smarmy brat,’ he groaned, closing his eyes again. His conscious mind was scrambling into retreat mode, doing its damnedest to ignore Jim and failing completely when the mattress bounced with the added weight of Jim dropping heavily next to him on the bed. From this close, there was no way the clever, perverse little monster would miss the stray bottle of lube, the heavy scent of sex musking the sheets. Fuck fuck fuck.
‘Shut up, you grumpy asshole.’ A playful thwack caught his cowering shoulder above the sheltering blanket. ‘Fine, I’ll let you grab a shower first, but then you’re buying the first round.’
McCoy furrowed his eyebrows, finally deigning to squint back up at Jim, who was still staring down at him with his usual easy cheer, as though catching his roommate fully naked and fresh from a wank just before dinnertime was perfectly reasonable. Hell, in Jim Kirk’s world it was probably the norm. ‘What’re you talking about?’
‘We’re going out,’ Jim announced blithely, giving his shoulder another bracing slap before jumping to his feet. ‘Bite to eat and all the shots you can take, old man.’
‘But…’ Increasingly more confused than embarrassed, McCoy shoved himself into a half-seated position, keeping the blanket clenched protectively over his lower body. ‘Weren’t you going out tonight with…’ He frowned, unable to put a name to yet another pretty face.
‘Nope.’ The reply was terse, almost defensive. ‘No big deal. And couldn’t let you sulk the night away thinking about how your divorce was finalized a year ago today, now could I?’
McCoy’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t told a single damn soul about that. ‘How the hell did you know today was…’
‘Hacked into your personal file.’
‘You bastard.’
Jim shrugged in agreement. ‘Whatever. So you gonna get dressed or is this one of those pants-optional sorts of nights-out? ‘Cause we could totally do that,’ he added with a waggling eyebrow.
‘Don’t be stupid, kid.’ Rolling his eyes in resignation, McCoy climbed out of bed, letting the blanket drop with what he hoped was complete disinterest. ‘Fine. Let’s get wasted. Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll throw up on you again.’
‘Maybe I’ll puke on you first.’ Jim’s bright-eyed grin bordered on infectious, though McCoy limited himself to a wry, long-suffering smirk as he fished a change of clothes out of his dresser on his way to the bathroom. ‘I hacked into the legal records of your settlement while I was at it, by the way.’ Jim whistled and shook his head. ‘You weren’t kidding, that bitch took everything, didn’t she?’
McCoy glanced back at Jim, suddenly thoughtful. ‘Not everything,’ he countered quietly, his gut clenching with gratitude and guilt as he slipped into the bathroom. Somehow he doubted the shower would wash that all away.