In Shadow and in Darkness

Lyrastar < lyrastarwatcher @ yahoo.com <

First Place TOS Short Story (four-way-tie), Third Place Kirk/McCoy-Fest

Series: TOS

Codes: K/Mc

Parts: 1/1

Rating: NC-17

Warning: Dark!

Disclaimer: The characters and all things Trek are the Property of Paramount

Contact: lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com or www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher

Beta and instigator: Acidqueen. Thanks heaps!

Summary: McCoy's POV after many years

Note: for the Kirk/McCoy fest at http://tostwins.slashcity.net/KMF.htm

I must have loved him once, I guess. After all, I was the one who started it all, so I must have been in love. Or lust. It was so long ago that I can't even remember.

Everyone loved him back then on the Enterprise. He was Everyman's golden idol. He had the power and the glory and the charm. By god, he had the charm. By god, even now he still does. I must have loved him then, I suppose. Or maybe it was only the cry of my middle-aged body in its loneliest hour of need.

Oh, I loved him as my captain, of course. I would have died for him. I would have killed for him. I would have followed him through the gates of hell. As the unparalleled leader he is, I still would, without pause or regret.

But in place of this, somehow he followed me into the darkness of my bedroom instead. I would rather have had it the other way around. Or maybe I did. Maybe that was the gates of hell. Maybe it is.

His weight bears down upon me and his body moves within me. The vidscreen plays some broadcast programming beside us in the room. My face is so tightly pressed into the pillow that I can barely breathe. Perhaps if I press a little harder, the hypoxemia will take my consciousness away. Perhaps if I lift my ass a little higher it will be over sooner and my captain and my friend will return. Perhaps if I seem as if his invasions pleasure me, he'll get off sooner and leave happier. And maybe if he stays happy for a while he won't need to return to me at night.

I try all three at once.

Jim clenches my hips and slams into me harder, but his strokes are still purposeful and even, with no hint of a crack in that famous self-control.

In 2207 a transplanetary quake demolished the pre-warp world of Franchesco VI. That was a terrible disaster, a calamity. It was very sad, but no one called it a tragedy. Not until the emergency record buoys were reviewed and the truth revealed. The quake had been caused by deep-core mining for fuel. The engineers had assessed a tiny chance of a catastrophic failure and unanimously recommended against proceeding. But the people had needed their luxuries, so it went on. Ten years later, when the first tectonic shift was felt, it was too late. In a moment of greed, Franchesco had sealed its own fate.

And now people called it a tragedy.

So it is with me, I think as I groan under his weight. His hands are hot and clammy on my skin. Oddly, their feel bothers me more even than the pressure in my guts. It's more personal, more a part of the friend I know and talk to and work with in the daylight. I squirm to break their hold, but of course it's useless against him, and the strong fingers only bite harder into my sides. The air now reeks strongly of rutting sex. I bury my nose fully into the pillow and twist to press my nostrils closed. I can only close one at a time. I give up with the knowledge that this was all my doing. I have no one to blame but myself, not even him.

Above me, Jim shifts his weight on his knees and presses on. I turn my head to the vidscreen, but it's only cartoons. I've forgotten to change the channel again.

It's funny, I remember everything externally about him that day I first propositioned him. All the details of what was said, what we did, how he looked. Actually, I remember everything about him that day with brilliant clarity. But as for me, I no longer have any recollection of what I thought or felt, or why I did what I did.

But I will always remember, it was my idea all along.

He would never hit on his crew. Not Jim. He was much too perfect for that. But if a senior officer hit on him, someone older, a confidant, a mentor almost, that would be all different, wouldn't it?

His body was like a marble statue, hard, chiseled, so consummately male it seemed unreal. I'd touched him so many times in the line of duty, but never like this. In my sickbay he had no choice where I touched him. It was my job and there was no thrill. But in the sanctuary of my cabin he could stop me at will, it would be something naughty--illicit--and that turned me on.

So I was the one who said it. "Jim, let's go back to your cabin."

He plucked my hand from his thigh and gave me a thoughtful look. "Okay, if you're sure, Bones. But let's use yours." He smiled without joy. I should have seen it then. It was all about victory and power, never about delight. "I want you to be sure you're comfortable with this."

There were no words between us after that. He sat splayed in my chair. I continued moving my hand, under his shirt, down his pants. Working past the waistband, my fingers found his heat. He sucked in his breath and spread his knees even farther apart for me.

I shied away from his dick. I wanted this to last. I kneaded his thigh with my fingers, and felt the hot flow of blood to his groin. He tried to rock against my wrist, but I twisted it away. His sweat permeated my nose and his breathing grew harsh. His movements grew rougher. I felt a sweet slickness run down my palm, but took no pity on him.

Just as now he takes no pity on me.

I pulled my hand back. He croaked something wordless into the air. I straddled his knees, held his shoulders and pressed my own balls and dick into his thigh. He jiggled against me, grinning purposefully, using his body to get mine off, but I would not have this be his game. He took control too often; here I thought this would be mine.

I should have known it wouldn't last.

But I moved up against him, pressing my dick into his side. It felt good, but not nearly as good as watching the great Captain Kirk decompose under my touch. He ripped off his shirt. His chest glowed bright with sweat. I leaned forward and lapped up every drop I could find.

As a physician I knew it was impossible for one man to lick another clean, but for that beautiful few minutes I was willing to give it my best shot.

When I got to his nipples, Jim was already wild. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He bucked against my body, ground his nipples into my teeth and arched back like a demon. So I stopped. I just stopped and watched him struggle with his needs.

I think my balls hurt. They must have by then. I was hot as a protoplaser and ready to come, but not if it meant letting Jim come along too. So I sat my ass, my full weight over Jim's crotch. I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around the chair. I pressed my dick into his stomach and kissed him hard, hard as I could with my tongue.

It was a battle of wills; we both thrust into the other with all of our might. I scraped my tongue against his teeth until I tasted blood. Even then I didn't stop. I pressed deeper, harder, farther, faster into his mouth. One didn't have to be Freud to figure out what we were doing. I couldn't care less. Captain Kirk was now under my command!

I didn't stop until I felt the swell of my gland threatening to ejaculate right into my pants. I pulled back, panting fiercely. We both glared at one another. I wanted to come all over him. I stood up and opened my pants. He unzipped his in the chair, and dared me to move next.

Erect, Jim had the most splendid cock I had ever seen. It was pink and thick, plump and shiny like a snow cone at a county fair. It jumped almost in time to the pulse of my breath, like it was just made for me. I couldn't help myself; despite my best laid plans, I went to my knees.

It was the perfect size too. It flirted with my gag reflex. Not enough to choke me, just enough to make me feel like a man. When he shot down my throat I came with such violent force that I had to make myself remember to lick up every drop.

I came all over my own clothes. Funny. This had started with me wanting to come over him. He won the first round and he'd never looked back.

He is deep in my bowels now. I can feel each little movement, like he is a part of me. But I don't want him there. I want him gone. I want it over. But he holds on tight and rocks me right along with him.

No one controls Captain Kirk. I above all should know better than that, remembering the first time he took me that way. I know I wanted it, wanted it badly. Back then I wanted everything I could have of him. Back then I was foolish enough to believe it would mean something later. Thought I was lucky, honored, if he would choose to bestow it on me. I remember all that, but I can't remember if I liked it when it happened.

It was in my quarters again. Always my quarters--never his. He could leave anytime. Or maybe he told himself pretty lies about hometurf advantage. Right. No one would ever have the advantage over him. Look up Alpha Male in your Webster's and there you'll see a picture of Jim Kirk.

I'd gotten so hot thinking about him all day. I was ready for anything when he walked in the door. In a minute we were naked. In ten, I was on my back. He bent my knees to my chest and leaned over me brimming with power and strength. He rubbed cold lube on my ass. I gasped at the shock. Then he pressed his dick against me and began to lean in.

He held my knees down with the bulk of his arms and his tip threatened hot at my most sensitive spot. I guess I must have looked scared. I should have. My heart beat hard in my chest. I felt the cold sweat pouring over my brow.

"Do you want me to stop?" Jim whispered into my ear.

Someone I didn't recognize said "no", then Jim was inside of me. I felt like my insides were being ripped all apart. I wanted to puke, but I couldn't so I just held tightly to his neck. "I love you too, Bones," he said and thrust into me until he came.

It's almost over now. I can feel he's ready to come. I know his responses better than I know my own. I meet his needs better than I meet my own. I squeeze around him and he orgasms into my ass.

The TV is still playing children's cartoons. That poor coyote just can't seem to win.

His communicator has been beeping. The Chief of Starfleet operations is needed for something again. He hears it, now that it's over. Or maybe it is over now that he's heard the beep. He wipes his hands on my sheets and his dick on my thigh and he stands up and walks to my comm console.

He's tousled and his lips are bitten and puffy, but he doesn't care who knows what he's been doing anymore than he cares who he does it with.

There is a respiratory plague spreading rapidly on Ehlllapyis III with no known remedy. I'm already forgotten.

No, worse than forgotten. He takes me for granted. He's already volunteered my services to head the medical team. He thinks he can do anything he likes with me.

I get dressed. Apparently, he's right.

You know, there are other things besides Starfleet. Spock found that out and he went to Gol. I could just resign my commission and leave tomorrow for parts unknown.

I toss on my jacket and follow Jim out the door.

~Lyra

December, 2003