GOOD MORNING

LADY SHINIGAMI

DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING BUT THE PLOT. DAMN.

CHAPTER 3

McCoy was bored.

B. O. R. E. D.

Damn it.

It was the third day of his enforced time off, and he had absolutely nothing to keep himself occupied. Jim had even locked him out of the medical database, citing that reading medical journals, even if he enjoyed it, could be construed as work, which he wasn't allowed to do.

He'd even commed Chapel yesterday, just to check in, but their current milk run of a mission was actually going smoothly for a change, not leaving a lot for the actual medical crew on shift to do, let alone him in his forced, though temporary, exile.

Both Jim and Spock were busy working, too. Jim was going to be gone until Delta shift, only a couple hours away from now, and Spock would take over on the bridge until Alpha started in the morning. Currently, Spock was in one of the many science labs, overseeing some project or another that didn't interest McCoy enough to actually find out the specifics.

Maybe he'd go down to one of the rec rooms. A good workout should be enough to keep him busy, at least until Jim finished his shift. Also, he'd been neglecting lately to take the time to keep himself in shape. Then again, trying to Jim out of trouble and patching up his ass was almost as good a workout as any.

It was a hell of a lot of work keeping Jim out of trouble.

It was weird, though, trying to occupy his time. Usually, he'd be ranting and raving, cursing up a storm at not having enough hours in the day.

Now, well, he was just... bored.

He hadn't had this much free time in... hell, he couldn't really remember, that's how long it'd been.

Damn it. Rec rooms it was. An exhausting, mind-numbing workout sure sounded like one hell of a good plan. With his mind made up, McCoy changed into a plain t-shirt he still had from med school and a pair of drawstring sweats, grabbed a towel from the bathroom and his comm., before leaving Jim's Captain's quarters.

He still couldn't believe, but really wasn't at all surprised, that the idiot had red satin sheets.

He chose the rec room down by the observation deck, thankful that it was empty when he arrived. He always did like and enjoy his privacy.

He went through a few warm up exercises on auto-pilot before queuing up some music from his personal files, slowly moving with the rhythm and beat of the music until he was well immersed in a free-style routine involving pieces of yoga, Tai Chi, a variety of different martial arts like Ba Gua Zhang, Hung Gar, Northern Shaolin and Capoeira learned throughout the years as he was growing up through college, as well as some ballet and dance moves learned from his Gram as a child, mixed into one improvised routine that pushed his body to its limits without strain.

He had never shown this to anyone, not even Jim knew, although that could be a good thing, since he was sure that Jim would want to learn his style, and some of the aspects of Ba Gua Zhang, specifically, could teach Jim about outmanoeuvring his opponents, giving McCoy a small break in patching up his ass time and time.

As a doctor, McCoy was aware of what his body was capable of, what it took to achieve an affective peak performance and effectiveness, and how best to keep that peak condition. Since he had been a small child, he had always been fascinated with every aspect of the body and its potential as a type of machine, and had followed the path of becoming a doctor for two reasons; one, his father, a man he had always looked up while growing up, had been one to his dying day, and being unable to prevent his death had almost broken him.

The second reason he had become a doctor was simply because he wanted to help people, no, he felt compelled to help people, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He could be a soldier, Starfleet proved that, but even then, if he killed, it was only when absolutely necessary and always as quick and painless as possible.

Also, being as good a doctor as he was, he was essential to ensuring Jim's continued good health and survival. McCoy wasn't really sure exactly how Jim had managed to survive long enough to meet McCoy, the kid was such a walking disaster, a breathing trouble magnet on top of being a medical impossibility.

Spock's presence, while balancing Jim's recklessness, didn't help to lessen the danger to Jim's existence, either. He helped to keep his best friend, and now lover, safe, but while Spock was the immovable object, Jim was the unstoppable force; one of them had to give and it was never Jim.

Still, the Vulcan did do his damned best to keep Jim out of as much trouble as he could, especially since McCoy couldn't always be there to do it himself.

As immersed in his self-styled kata routine, and his own thoughts, as he was, McCoy did not immediately notice the time passing, nor did he notice another person entering the room, taking up a spot in the corner.

As the music ended and he drew up to a close of his improvised routine, McCoy was startled by the sound of slow, deliberate applause, and he almost fell over. Whirling about to face the intruder, he froze, eyes going wide as he felt the blood rushing to his face in what he was sure was an interesting shade of furious red.

Well, fuck.

James T. Kirk stood propped against the wall in a casual slump, arms crossed lazily across his chest in a relaxed fashion, and that shit-eating grin plastered across his face. This was nothing new. McCoy was used to this and his fingers twitched with the urge to smack the crap out of that grin.

But what had McCoy frozen in place was the unexpectedly soft gleam in the kid's electric blue eyes. He could almost describe it as awe, but that was ridiculous. Jim Kirk could do anything, there was no reason for any awe in regards to his best friend and doctor, especially with Spock around, the green-blooded and sexy bastard being practically perfect and all that.

Also, Jim used to teach some pretty advanced hand-to-hand combat classes back in the Academy, so there was certainly no reason for there to be awe in regards to McCoy's self-stylized amateur routines.

That'd just be ridiculous.

McCoy blinked, and Jim's grin grew just a little bit as he pushed away from the wall, moving closer to McCoy before dropping into a slightly aggressive stance.

Mental alarms started going off in McCoy's head.

"What are you doing, kid?"

"Come on, Bones, I had no idea you could move like that." His blue eyes glittered brightly. "I can already tell it's more defensive in style, and designed to keep the body in top shape, but I'm kind of interested in seeing you do that in a more practical way."

"And why the hell would I go up against you? You've taught your own combat class."

"Don't worry; you know I won't hurt you."

"Oh, joy."

"Come on, I'll let you put your music on, too."

McCoy thought about it. Now that the opportunity was basically staring him in the face, he was actually kind of curious as to how long he'd last against Jim. He knew he could never take Jim in an actual fight, but maybe he could avoid Jim long enough to even try and land a hit. He had trained himself to move with music, to move with rhythm, so maybe he could use that against Jim, since the kid wouldn't know how the music played out, but then again, the kid was pretty damned adaptable, so he'd have to be quick.

It was tempting.

And he knew then that he'd be defending himself against Jim, so he may as well pick a good song to move with. He grinned, knowing exactly what he'd choose.

At the computer console, he pulled up his personal music files and queued up a playlist of instrumental music from the late 20th century, full of emotional upheavals, with drums and strings, powerful.

"Hope you're ready for this," he said, giving himself a thirty second delay to get himself in position. The music started on time, Jim started moving, barely startled by the abrupt beginning, and McCoy quickly lost himself in the rhythm, his speed picking up as he evaded, managing to use Jim's momentum against him to disorient him, spinning around the contours of Jim's lean body before sending a light jab at Jim's back that was only narrowly blocked.

Jim adapted fast, and openings quickly vanished, grinning as they continued to dance, learning as they went about McCoy's style, but even still, Jim hasn't been able to land a hit on McCoy yet.

Key word there being 'yet'.

"I'm surprised, Bones, you've been holding out on me."

"As ridiculous as it may sound, with a good mental soundtrack, you can do just about anything." Duck down under the jab at his ribs, follow the momentum into another spin around Jim's body, side-stepping the swipe at his legs. "This kind of routine keeps me in shape."

"And flexible! I'd wondered about that." His grin turned into a familiar lecherous leer, prompting McCoy's standard eye roll.

Jim leapt at the chance to unbalance McCoy, taking the opening and tackling McCoy to the ground, pinning him down easily and effortlessly.

The sudden tackle stole McCoy's breath as he blinked up at the ceiling, hands pinned slightly over his head while Jim straddled his waist, and he refrained from another eye roll at the feeling Jim's arousal hardening against him.

"You bloody horndog," He growled, flexing against Jim's grip.

"What can I say? You... inspire me." Lips mouthed at his throat, and McCoy tilted his head back, allowing the access, arching his hips ever so slightly just to hear Jim's repressed groan, feeling his captain's grip on his wrists tighten.

"As fun as I'm sure it would be, I'm not having sex on the rec room floor." His accent was showing through, thicker than normal, and he could feel Jim's grin against his pulse point at hearing his protest.

Not that any protest would stop Jim Kirk, of course.

That'd just be silly.

"I'd take sex in the shower room." Jim thrust down, grinding the erections together, creating frustratingly blissful friction, and McCoy's eyes fell shut as he moaned, enjoying the feel of Jim's body against his, strong thighs tightening around his waist, sending blood rushing to his groin and making him even harder before he's gone from his place above McCoy, leaving him stunned for a minute. Where the hell did Jim go?

That question was answered as Jim hauled him to his feet, pushing him towards the shower rooms while giving the computer a command to seal the rec room off for about an hour before twisting McCoy's arms behind his back, forcibly marching him into the empty showers.

"Do you have any fucking idea how fuckin' sexy you are?" Jim's voice was low, shoving him face first into the tiled wall, grinding up against him, his arousal rock hard against McCoy's ass.

"How 'bout you shut the fuck up and show me?" McCoy growled deep, accent thick as molasses, and he could feel Jim shiver almost violently at the sound.

"Fuck, Bones, yeah I can do that." Jim removed one hand from his wrists to grab the hem of his shirt, roughly pulling it over his head and twisting it around his wrists, tying them together and leaving McCoy trapped to Jim's mercies.

Jim's completely aware of the power he holds over McCoy in this position, breath hot and heavy over his ear as he starts talking trash in a voice that should just be banned. Jim has always been a talker, and he uses this to his advantage, slowly bringing McCoy to the edge and back again with his words, filthy as all hell, and hands that were everywhere, nails digging into his skin, scoring red lines down his back, his ribs as he presses his weight deliciously against McCoy's ass.

Jim quickly strips them of their remaining clothing, throwing the discarded articles in a random direction away from them before turning on the water of the shower head they were under, the first blast of cold water contrasting sharply with their heated flesh. The water heats up, steaming the tiles and Bones groans as Jim uses the water as lube, assaulting his ass first with one finger, then two, long before he's actually ready for the invasion.

But today, the sex will be very rough, almost brutal, and they're both turned on immensely because of it.

Sex this rough usually isn't McCoy's kink, but there's just something about Jim that makes him want it, makes him need it, makes him crave it like a cracked out addict needing his next fix.

For some reason, McCoy didn't really mind.

McCoy found himself manhandled to his knees facing Jim's groin, his dick standing tall. Jim was decently large, thick and firm and McCoy took him into his mouth without hesitation, sucking hard and running his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of Jim's cock.

Jim's eyes fell shut in heady appreciation, fingers clutching tightly in McCoy's hair as he bit back a sharp cry. He doesn't hold back, allowing his hips to thrust forward as McCoy makes this sound, this filthy, encouraging sound that just drives Jim insane, grabbing McCoy's head with both hands as he starts to face fuck his best friend.

McCoy took the abuse like a champ, moving his head in tandem to Jim's thrusts and opening up his throat to take in Jim more smoothly, breathing through his nose when he could.

He chocked occasionally on Jim's girth, tears starting to form as Jim tugged more insistently on his head, but he was rock hard, almost painfully so, and he could do nothing about it with his hands tied behind his back with his own shirt! He growled as he sucked Jim's cock to the root, the head down his throat and mentally smirked as the younger man fucking his face shuddered violently, knees quaking and his grip on his hair painfully tight.

"God, fuck! Bones, that's enough!" Jim pulled away, cock dripping with McCoy's saliva, trailing from the head to swollen lips. The sight alone was almost enough for Jim, and he had to restrain himself, using every scrap of willpower and his stubborn determination to prevent himself from coming right there.

He hauled McCoy to his feet, shoved him towards the line of sinks and bent him over one of the sinks facing the mirror, kicking McCoy's legs apart as he did so.

"Always knew you had a fuckin' glorious mouth, Bones, knew you were a great cocksucker," Jim spoke quietly, lust heavy in tone and decibel, staring at McCoy in the mirror. "But if you wanted me to fuck you hard that badly, all you had to do was ask."

McCoy wanted to seriously slap that smug, cocky grin from Jim's face; although the kid had earned it with how ridiculously aroused he was in his current position. He caught Jim's electric blue gaze in the mirror, eyes blown with desire and lust and need, and he snarled, bucking his hips back and arching his spine in a clear demand for Jim to just get on with it and fuck him senseless already!

Jim laughed, hot in his ear as he maintained eye contain with McCoy by use of the mirror, slipping his fingers inside him again, teasing him, wringing a rumbling growl from McCoy's chest before replacing them with something bigger, slamming balls deep into McCoy on the first thrust, waiting only a moment before pulling out almost entirely and slamming into him again.

Jim set a brutal pace, hard and fast, fingers digging into his hips hard enough that McCoy knew there'd be bruises sooner rather than later, and the contrast of the cool sink he was bent over and Jim's heat burning through him had McCoy panting in seconds, fogging up the mirror as his limbs protested the abuse. His feet could barely find purchase on the tile floor, and he struggled to free his arms, if only to reach between his legs for his neglected erection, but no, Jim knew what he was doing and he was trapped.

Jim refused to touch him, resolved to undo him from shear force alone, by brutally fucking him until he couldn't remember his own name, lifting his hips slightly to change the angle, and slamming into his prostate with every thrust, deeper and faster and harder, until McCoy was screaming in a combination of pain and blissful pleasure, begging for that final push over the edge Jim kept him on, begging for release.

Release was granted in the form of a hand snaking across his hip, nails dragging across his sensitive skin and squeezing his dick in alternating strokes to the brutalizing of his ass and he trembled as the shattering orgasm rocked his body, his sight going white at the edges, and he could only press his face against the fogged mirror in an attempt of riding out the powerful spasms that Jim so gleeful wrung from him.

McCoy clamped his muscles tight around Jim, tremors felt through his dick as Jim followed him into orgasm, spurting into the tight crevasse surrounding him, shouting out a heavy stream of obscenities before biting down on the back of McCoy's neck, just below the collar line.

After the tremors finally come to a stuttering halt, and McCoy tried to round up some semblance of a functioning brain, Jim moved away from him, pulling out and stumbling only slightly, a dopey grin plastered across his face.

"Holy fuck, I'm not sure I should be standing right now," the grin gets wider, and McCoy can only roll his eyes. "You all right there, Bones?"

"Kinda. Would be better if I could, y' know, move my arms an' all. Or feel my legs, for that matter." He still hasn't moved from his resting place against the sink, and the mirror slurs his words a bit. There's no way in hell he is moving, because according to his brain, he doesn't even have legs, and his spine burns like he's been stepped on.

Jim chuckled at his words, but he does release McCoy's arms, slowly bringing them to his sides, running his hands over the protesting limbs in a soothing manner. "Fair enough, I suppose, I was pretty rough with you. Come on, I'll get you cleaned up and we can go back to my quarters and just sleep until Spock gets off shift."

McCoy allowed himself to be manhandled to the shower that was still running, water warmed by now, and he smirked as Jim stumbled on shaky legs under his dead weight. "Sounds like a plan. Yeah, I really don't think I'm walkin' out of here."

Jim just smiled as he started washing them off under the spray, surprisingly gentle in contrast to the sex they'd just shared. He kept one arm around McCoy's waist to support him up until they were clean, leaning him against the tile wall as he dried them both off and somehow managed to put their discarded clothes back on, although McCoy ended up with Jim's black undershirt, all without releasing McCoy from his grasp.

McCoy always thought it was ridiculously adorable to watch Jim's affectionate side shine through.

Maybe he was just a sucker for the attention.

Yeah, he really was just a sucker for the attention.

They passed by very few people in the halls, and he almost groaned at the rumours he knew would start flying in regards to his current lack of coordination and the smug, sated look on Jim's face, but he really couldn't bring himself to care.

Jim got them to his quarters in no time, despite their stumbling gait as McCoy tried and failed to get his legs working again. He managed to at least stand on his own, although aided by the wall, as Jim keyed in the code and dragged his sorry but satisfied ass into the darkened room.

"You doing okay, Bones?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, darlin', just wanna sleep for a few hours." He grinned at hearing Jim's accompanying laughter, low in the dim lighting of the room as Jim laid them down on his bed, pulling back the sheets to snuggle into them, curling up behind McCoy with his arms wrapped loosely around his waist.

"We have time to do that, Bones. Sleep however long you want," Jim's arms tightened fractionally. "I'll be here when you wake up."

McCoy smiled as he slipped off into a warm, comfortable oblivion, knowing that Jim was as good as his word, and would be there when he woke.

The last thought he had before he drifted off was a sense of accomplishment, since, well, at least he wasn't bored anymore.