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Now this is a wedding reception.
The ceremony on New Vulcan had no doubt fulfilled all the necessary ritual requirements for a Vulcan bonding – with, of course, a two-hour improvised addendum because one of the participants was Terran – but damn, it had been long and obscure and McCoy only managed to stay awake by resorting to mentally running through the new bio-containment protocols that would be coming into effect with the upgrade to the Enterprise’s secondary Medbay. To add insult to injury, there had been no relief at the after-party which had been positively goddamned arid. In ways that had nothing to do with the climate.
McCoy winces a little at the uncharitable nature of his thoughts, knows he’s being a little more of a contrary bastard than usual tonight. If he was in a more altruistic mood he’d acknowledge that the somewhat somber tone of the Vulcan affair might not have been entirely the result of cultural prohibitions on having fun and rather have had something to do with the fact that the groom’s mother – in fact 99.984% of his people – were less than two years dead.
But Uhura’s parents – damn, they know how to throw a party.
The wedding reception has taken over the Goulette Hotel, which occupies the entire Farquhar Atoll, the southernmost island group of the Seychelles. The main body of the hotel is on the western edge of the North atoll, the reception rooms and massive open-walled ballroom set close enough to the shore that a faint breeze from the Indian Ocean is stirring the sheer off-white drapes that are the only barrier between the flower-littered interiors and the warm, marine-scented night.
McCoy relaxes against the deep, cream cushions of a couch that makes up one of a trio that’s hidden away in a recess off the main ballroom and lets the sounds of the party wash over him. The music is quiet and slightly distorted, muted by all the soft furnishings and warm bodies and it doesn’t mask the sound of the waves slapping gently at the underside of the wooden decks that surround the ballroom. Neither does it cover the soft whispers of the two men who are sharing the adjacent couch. Pike laughs, a low, slightly filthy chuckle that hints at some carnal suggestion of Boyce’s and McCoy rubs briskly at the back of his neck as the short hairs on his nape rise in response to the sexual charge that suddenly infuses the air around them.
Shit, he doesn’t need this right now.
It’s not that he hasn’t had pretty regular opportunities for casual sex in the last year. The Enterprise’s morale-building tour of the inner systems had necessitated frequent extended PR stops on a multitude of Federation worlds, all with inhabitants who were apparently more than willing to demonstrate their gratitude for Starfleet protection by providing very intimate forms of civilian support for the officers and crew of her flagship. McCoy’s had sex more frequently in the last year than at any time since the first year of his marriage, and with more partners than – well – ever. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting something, someone – actually either of two someones – that he can’t have.
Given all the fun he’s had in the last year, it feels a little churlish to want more but he’s honest enough to acknowledge that churlish is his natural state, and even if it wasn’t he can’t help the slightly hollow sense that there’s more to life than an endless series of thank-you fucks. McCoy is more than self-aware enough to understand that he prefers sex with people that he actually knows, likes, and admires, and for whom he’s developed feelings deeper than superficial attraction, and both of these men fit those criteria.
He spent much of his three years at the Academy manfully ignoring his attraction to the then-Chief of Cardiac Surgery. Boyce had taught three of McCoy’s classes that had been geared towards combat surgery and trauma management under battle conditions and the sheer competence of the man, together with the fact that he was a silver-fox of the finest kind, had turned him on like nothing had in years. And then he’d realized that the older-guy thing was a bit of a theme when he’d started accompanying Jim to his monthly dinners with the XO of the recruiting office, and had found that that sarcasm, wit and intelligence – along with the apparently infinite patience required to be the academic adviser of one James T. Kirk – were also pretty fucking attractive. It had pissed him off royally that once he was finally about ready to graduate and neither one of them would be off limits to him anymore life had gone to hell and by the time the dust had settled McCoy was the new CMO of the Enterprise and Pike and Boyce were living together. He slumps a little lower in the cushions and watches the two Admirals through half-lowered lids.
The reception is not a formal ‘Fleet occasion, which means no dress uniforms and they’re all in dark suits – but it’s late enough in the evening that jackets have been discarded, shirts opened at the neck and Boyce is tugging at the half-Windsor knot on his silver-gray silk tie, long fingers fumbling just a little, hinting at fatigue and slight inebriation. Pike reaches across and tugs it loose for him and Boyce leans back with a grin and stretches his arms along the back of the couch. A hand curves around the back of Pike’s neck and McCoy is at just the right angle to catch the gentle brush of fingers through the short silvering curls at his nape.
“Hmm, yeah, that’s what I need tonight, a manservant.”
Boyce is teasing, one finger disappearing into the open collar of Pike’s dress shirt and the younger of the two Admirals just grins in return and, in an undertone that he no doubt thinks is too low for McCoy to hear, whispers. “Oh, you’ll get serviced, alright, just not here and now.”
“You sure? It’s pretty secluded back here.” The humour in Boyce’s tone is underlain with a low note of seduction and the sound of it makes McCoy wince in pained frustration. It’s taking all of his self-control not to react because goddammit that’s an image he doesn’t need – Pike, all long, lean grace, on his knees sucking Boyce off – and he leans his head on the back of the couch and forces himself to think about the symptoms of Gemallian syphilis in its advanced stages. Fortifying himself with a sip of his bourbon, he’s just reached Stage V – blindness, suppurating open wounds, and bone lesions – when his reverie is interrupted by Kirk suddenly leaning over the back of the couch and mussing his hair cheerfully.
“Hey, Bones, you know, if you hang out in the cranky old guy corner, you’re never gonna get laid tonight.” It’s late enough in the evening that Captain James T. Kirk has had just enough to drink to not be apparently concerned that he’s just called the Chief of Starfleet’s Tactical Command and the Dean of the Medical School cranky old guys.
McCoy, on the other hand, almost chokes on his bourbon as he watches Pike and Boyce raise matching eyebrows, first at each other and then at the impudently grinning Kirk. Fortunately they’re both at that comfortably mellow stage of the evening themselves and Boyce confines himself to snagging one of the olives out of his dirty martini and lets Pike skewer Kirk with his gaze.
“Careful, son – this cranky old guy could decide that it’s time for the Enterprise to do six months of diplomatic escort duty.”
That makes Kirk back up, his hands held up in mock surrender. “Hey, no offense, Sirs, just trying to get Bones here to circulate.” He gestures towards the rest of the huge, open-sided, ballroom which, even at this late hour, is still crowded with the Federation’s great and good all celebrating the wedding of the only son of the President of New Vulcan.
“Lots of pretty young things out there would just love to take tall, dark and grumpy here home to bed and make him smile.”
“Oh, fuck the hell off, Jim. Just because your evening wouldn’t be complete without a quick fuck – we’re not all hyper-hormonal adolescents.” McCoy’s voice is gruff, his tone less forgiving than usual and he knows he’s being just a little unfair to Jim. It’s not his fault that the last few hours have thoroughly reminded McCoy that what he really wants is off-limits.
But the insult washes off Kirk and he grins again “See, I’m right: cranky old guy.” Jim steps out of range as McCoy lifts a hand to swat at him. “You better get out there before it’s too late.”
The implication in his statement is crystal clear and Pike rolls his eyes and gestures at the retreating figure with his glass. “Diplomatic escort duty, Jim – don’t make me.“
There’s a moment of silence as Kirk continues to back away into the throng of smartly dressed revelers and then Boyce sets his martini glass aside and looks pointedly at McCoy. “Too late? Is he implying what I think he’s implying?” There’s no real heat in Boyce’s tone, but he still manages to look effortlessly intimidating, one thick silver eyebrow arched in enquiry.
McCoy sighs, not entirely sure how he’s going to cover for this particular moment of impudence, and then gives up – fuck, if Jim wants to dig a hole for himself, it’s not McCoy’s job to take the shovel away.
“Yeah.” He looks towards the dance floor where Kirk is still grinning at them, all youthful enthusiasm and brash insolence – Starfleet’s golden young lion – supremely sure of his place in the universe.
“He does know we live together, right?” It’s something of a rhetorical question. Pike and Boyce have been cohabiting since the former was released from Starfleet Medical six weeks after the Enterprise had finally limped back into Sector One and it’s not exactly a well-kept secret that even prior to that they’d had an on-again-off-again, casual thing for nearly thirty years. But McCoy feels compelled to answer Boyce’s question.
“Yeah, he knows. But I’m pretty sure that Jim doesn’t think anyone over fifty has sex – least, not regular enough to affect their mood.”
Pike gives a long, low rumbling chuckle and raises his voice just enough to catch Jim as he’s turning away. “Hey, Jim.” And without giving Boyce a chance to protest he curls a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in for a lush, lingering kiss that lasts far longer than is strictly necessary to make his point.
McCoy flushes at the overt carnality of the embrace and then tries to hide a grin as he hears Jim’s slightly choked, “Fuck, guys – don’t you have a room?” – before he waves them off and disappears into the crowd.
For a moment McCoy resists turning around, aware that he’s still a little pink, aware also that it’s more arousal than embarrassment that has generated the flush of heat that he can feel all the way from his sternum to the underside of his jaw. Then a warm, broad hand descends onto his knee and he turns reluctantly to face its owner. Pike is smiling, his gaze radiating a slightly-confusing and devastatingly-enticing mix of concerned sympathy and predatory desire, and McCoy feels his breath catch in his chest. He looks away as his arousal spikes and finds himself in an agony of embarrassment over the shame of coveting something that is so clearly off-limits to him.
For just a moment the hand on his knee is still and the gesture reads as platonic comfort, a gentle squeeze that could be sympathy for McCoy’s unpromising prospects for the evening. Until it moves and the touch becomes unambiguously sexual. The flush that had begun to abate flares back to life as McCoy feels the unmistakable pressure of a thumb rubbing gentle circles on the fine silk/wool worsted that covers his knee and heart hammering, it takes him a moment or two to turn his head and look up to face Pike’s searching gaze.
“Sorry, that was inconsiderate.”
McCoy swallows around a suddenly dry throat and he has to cough a couple of times before he can respond. “Y’all are fine – I’ve seen people kiss before.” And then, equilibrium recovered, he smirks a little. “Might even have done it a time or two myself.”
Pike laughs, “Yeah, we heard you’d been having fun out there.” His hand is still resting on McCoy’s knee, thumb applying a teasing pressure, and in a moment of sudden clarity Leonard begins to understand what he’s being offered. He looks up, surprised and meets Boyce’s gaze; finds himself pinned by blue eyes sparkling with gentle affection and just a hint of challenge and comprehends that at some point when he was looking at Jim and not the Admirals they’d come to some unspoken decision about the rest of the evening.
“So, Leonard? How d’you feel about a night with the cranky old guys?”
A sudden flare of desire skewers McCoy and he takes a moment to look from one man to the other, detecting the slightest glaze in Boyce’s eyes and the lazy drowsiness in Pike’s. He takes the chance to collect himself and manages not to stutter when he’s finally able to throw out a challenge of his own.
“You’re serious? You know what you’re asking?”
Pike laughs, and there’s ever such a slight edge of bitterness in it. “Informed consent isn’t really an issue for me these days.” He lifts his glass, the effervescence of carbonation catching the light from the shielded candle flames that are providing illumination in this discreet corner. “I’ve been on mineral water since dinner – the lime is for show.” It’s unspoken but understood that anything more than a couple of glasses of wine is still contraindicated by Pike’s medications and McCoy switches his gaze to Boyce who just grins at him.
“I know what I’m doing; what about you?”
All McCoy has had is a few glasses of wine with dinner and a couple of fingers of bourbon since, and he knows that his judgment is nowhere close to impaired, but he still hesitates for the space of several heartbeats. He’s being offered something that he would never have thought possible and the anticipation of it is sending shivers of electric tension up his spine. He doesn’t quite know what they’re intending here, a one-night experiment or something more enduring, and he sure as hell isn’t going to ask.
It’s only when he thinks about the Enterprise’s next mission – their impending deployment to the increasingly-volatile intersection between Romulan, Klingon and Federation space – that he makes one of those leaps of faith that make his heart race and his palms sweat when he thinks about them in the cold light of day.
“Yes. Whatever you want, whatever you’re offering, I want it.”
Pike reaches out and strokes a finger lightly up the curve of McCoy’s jaw, his smile and the light in his eyes promising things that McCoy can only barely imagine.
“Smart boy.” His voice has dropped to that soft, deep growl that makes the hair stand up on the back of McCoy’s neck, and Pike goes on, his smile a little wider, apparently aware of the effect of his proximity, “I promise we’ll be very, very good to you.” And in that second Leonard H. McCoy is washed with a wave of desire so powerful that it leaves him breathless and tense, his cock suddenly, achingly hard.
Although, hard on the heels of the arousal is a faint sense of disquiet at the thought that he’s never been on first name terms with either of these men up to this point, and he suspects that “Admiral” and “Sir” are going to cease to be appropriate forms of address once they’re all naked.
McCoy’s pretty sure he’s not so transparent that all of that is written on his face, until Pike leans across and rubs a hand gently across the back of his head and his grin is a thing of wicked beauty as he teases. “Just for the record, it’s Chris and Phil, at least until the morning – then you can go back to Admiral if you like.”
And Boyce tips his head back onto the cushions and laughs so hard the whole couch shakes with it.
****
Half an hour later Leonard is standing in the middle of the luxuriously appointed bedroom of the suite that the Admirals are occupying for the duration of the festivities and he’s feeling surprisingly vulnerable, given that he’s the only one of them who is still wearing any clothing. There is a trail of shirts and ties and dress pants and underwear all the way from the open French doors to the spot by the bed where the three of them are temporarily halted and when he looks down all McCoy can see is the iron-threaded silver of Phil’s hair and the broad smooth expanse of his back, muscles flexing slightly under pale skin dusted with the capricious marks of age and experience.
Phil made it to his knees after a mercifully brief grumble about the condition of his joints and now he’s teasing, tracing his fingers through the soft fine hair that trails from Leonard’s navel to the thickening thatch at his groin. Stripped to his dress shirt and unfastened tie, McCoy shudders at the feel of skilled fingertips as they skate close-but-not-quite-close-enough to his cock, and then gasps an inarticulate plea as Chris presses up behind him, all lean muscle and warm, naked skin, to whisper softly. “Relax gorgeous, I’ve got you.”
Much to his surprise Leonard does exactly as he’s told, hesitating for only a second as he bites back his first instinctive go-fuck-yourself response to being ordered to do anything and then relaxing and leaning his head back onto Chris’s shoulder. A hand curves around his chin to tilt his head slightly, bringing his mouth in range for a deep luscious kiss, the flickering tease of an expert tongue, delicate for a moment and then aggressive and heated as Chris wraps an arm around McCoy’s broad chest and pulls him in tight.
His knees shake at the feel of a firm cock pressing against the curve of his ass, a hot, velvet brand against his skin, and that small part of his brain that’s still able to process information as a physician is gratified at the unmistakable proof of Chris’s physical recovery. And then he can’t think anymore as the tip of his own cock is suddenly engulfed in slick, wet heat and Phil’s tongue moves with agile genius over the slippery head, flicking across the weeping slit, teasing and tasting. His breath hitches and his knees shake as Phil moans around his length and then pulls off with a deep inhale, settling a hand onto Leonard’s hip and leaning his forehead against the soft curve of his abdomen.
“Fuck, you taste good.”
Phil licks across the tip again and without looking at what he’s doing Leonard reaches down to push his fingers into Phil’s thick, silver hair. He grips firmly and sucks in a fast breath as Chris finally releases his mouth and turns his attention to tasting the skin on his neck.
“Mmm, positively fucking delicious.” Chris scrapes his teeth along a taut tendon and Leonard whines at the feel of sharp and hot and slick all at once. Even though there is no possible way that Phil knows what Chris is doing, he mimics the act, dragging his teeth very lightly up the length of Leonard’s shaft until it’s all he can do to just hang on to Chris’s arm and focus on staying upright in the face of the rippling shocks of pleasure that are spiking through him with every touch of lips and teeth and tongue.
After a sharp nip to his earlobe, Chris finally takes pity on Leonard, his breath a whisper against his ear. “What do you need?”
“A bed – what I need is a bed, before my fucking knees give way.”
It comes out sharper than he intended, but neither of them seems to care and Chris just laughs and nips his ear again. “Naked first, then bed.”
Leonard’s shirt and tie hit the floor with a whisper of fabric on wood and then it takes them only a moment or two to get comfortable. They end up with Leonard on his side, Chris snugged up tight behind him, the feel of crisp chest hair against his back making him shiver with pleasure. Even as he’s stretching into the heady sensation of skin on skin, Chris is ratcheting up the tension, his voice a low, filthy whisper against Leonard’s nape.
“How long, Len? How long since anyone fucked you?”
He’s just about to articulate an answer when Phil swipes the head of his cock with a teasing tongue and all that comes out is a slightly strangled whine that makes Chris laugh into the curve of his neck. And then Phil is demonstrating what a truly world-class blowjob should feel like and Leonard can’t stop his hips from involuntarily twitching as the heat begins to build, deep and low in his belly.
Fuck, this isn’t fair; he doesn’t want to come this fast, but they’re overloading his senses, making him dazed and incoherent with need – his entire body quivering with tension as the adrenaline rush of impending orgasm fires through his nervous system and he barely recognizes his own voice, gruff and slightly breathless as he whispers. “You are so not gonna fuckin’ make me come this fast.”
The only response is a strong hand wrapped around his balls, tugging once, just hard enough to bring him back from the edge. It’s a whole different kind of torture as his cock is swallowed down again and clever hands slide over the tensed muscles of his ass, kneading and teasing – thumbs pressing into the cleft to part the cheeks – making a space for a well-firmed cock to slide over sweat-slick skin. There’s not quite enough lubrication to make the action comfortable and Chris grunts as his cock clings just a little too tightly. With a kiss to the back of Leonard’s neck he pulls away and the sound of someone digging through a drawer signals that he’s gone in search of lube.
Leonard is grateful that lube is all they’ll need. For the last two years he’s been painstakingly careful not to have sex without taking every reasonable precaution – but fuck, he hates barrier film. He doesn’t care how thin and flexible and safe it is; it’s still some variant of polymer wrapped around his dick and he really appreciates sex so much more without it. He had been a little concerned about broaching the subject as they’d left the ballroom, but forthright communication was one of the positives of fucking adults – especially these two adults – and they had used the twenty-minute skiff ride out to this secluded suite to cover all the essential information that they needed to know before falling into bed with each other. So, no barrier film.
“So – are you going to tell me how long it’s been – or do I get to guess from how tight you are?” Chris is back, his fingers slick and agile as they trace a firm line down the cleft of Leonard’s ass. The fingers play across the flexing asshole for just a second before moving on to curve around the softly furred weight of Leonard’s sac, cradling gently as Phil abandons cock-sucking for a moment in favour of laying a series of wet, lavish tongue-swipes over the firm flesh in Chris’s hand.
“Months.” Leonard finally manages to grunt out a response. “Gotta know someone real well before I let that happen.”
Chris laughs. “Control freak.”
“Damn straight.” is McCoy’s only comeback; he’s reduced to monosyllables as Phil slicks his tongue all the way up to the head of his cock and then swallows him whole and begins to suck with renewed enthusiasm. Distracted as he is, he barely notices that Chris has pulled his fingers back a fraction, until the tip of one brushes his entrance and then presses in deep.
Things become a fraction hazy for Leonard after that. It might have been a while since he’s let anyone fuck him, but Chris is clearly practiced at this and once he finds McCoy’s prostate it’s all over bar the screaming. Pinned between two warm, firm, lightly-furred bodies, he’s breathless and shuddering even before Chris breaches him and slides home in one long twisting torque.
And then it doesn’t take very long; all three of them are focused on the singular goal of making Leonard come undone in a rush of heat and aching sensation. He comes hard, gritting his teeth as his body stutters and Phil’s fingers dig almost painfully into the curve of his hips, restraining him as he tries to shove his cock deep into the searing heat of Phil’s throat. His spine snaps taut even as his synapses short out, and he’s only peripherally aware of the heat of humid breath on the back of his neck as Chris groans through his own climax.
McCoy’s first thought when his brain is functional again is that he’s pretty sure Phil didn’t get to come and it bothers him enough to encroach just a little on his afterglow. But when he tries to move, to untangle himself from the snarl of warm, heavy limbs, Chris holds him in place while Phil crawls up the bed and pins him with a lazy, sloppy kiss, that might have managed to be sweet but for tasting like his own come.
When Phil releases him, Leonard finds himself on the receiving end of an affectionately appreciative smile. “Just relax, Len – we can take care of me later. It’s one of the really, really great things about being my age; I can make this – ” and Leonard finds one hand pulled down to wrap around the thick heft of a half-hard cock, “ – last a long damn time.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Leonard gives the warm, velvety flesh a slow squeeze, appreciating the weight and texture of it, the slow thrum of Phil’s pulse as he strokes his thumb across satin skin. And then Chris’s hand covers Leonard’s and stills the movements.
“Just rest for a while.” Chris leans his chin on Leonard’s shoulder and ghosts a kiss across his cheek. “You’re going to need it. I know that look, he’s planning a fucking marathon here, in every sense of the word.” And before either Phil or Leonard get a chance to interject Chris goes on. “Now, let me recover for a few minutes, remember I’m one of the cranky old guys.” And then he rolls onto his back and stretches to the accompaniment of a yawn that he stifles with an arm over his face.
****
Phil had turned down the lights when he had gone to find water for all of them, and the only illumination now is from the shielded candles that are strategically scattered around the room. The soft light casts a lambent glow across the fine cotton of pale cream sheets and Leonard stretches across the bed, still recovering from that first bone-melting orgasm, and watches Phil plaster himself across Chris’s torso and lay a series of long, open kisses across his chest and shoulders. It’s slightly surreal, watching them together like this. He’d never thought that voyeurism was one of his kinks, but this is utterly compelling, watching the play of light and shadow on the long, lean bodies at his side.
Leonard is close enough to feel the heat from them; to smell the mingled scents of sweat and sex, with just the barest traces of expensive cologne applied hours ago – sandalwood and cedar and the underlying warmth of amber. His own arousal, still muted, teases at the edge of his consciousness as he watches Phil slowly trace a path across the flat muscles of Chris’s abdomen with his tongue. It’ll be a while before he’s fit for anything more than observation, but Leonard doesn’t really care; he’s always loved the slightly-fuzzy warmth of post-coital relaxation and he’s content to just lie here and experience their pleasure at a slight remove.
After a moment, Chris stretches in a long undulation and then turns his head and smiles languidly, blue-gray eyes still hazy with the latent heat of his own evidently glorious orgasm, and Leonard thinks that there’s something enthralling about Chris’s obvious fulfillment in letting Phil use his body without any prospect of coming again himself. Leonard wets his lips and holds the gaze – breath hitching and heart skipping a beat or two at the unguarded affection that is suddenly very apparent. He’s not quite sure what to make of it – whether there really is something more here than one night of mutual self-indulgence – and then a hand slides across the sheet and long fingers twine into his and Chris whispers quietly. “Wouldn’t want you to feel left out.”
The moment of quiet intimacy is abruptly shattered as Phil laughs, low and filthy, and sits up fast, sliding his knees under Chris’s thighs to cant his hips to a more promising angle. “I don’t think you need to worry about him feeling left out, Chris. By the time I’m done with you he’s going to be ready to go again. Aren’t you, Len?” He flashes a wicked, wicked grin at Leonard, eyes wide, the narrow ring of iris a startling vivid blue against the black of blown pupils. “You think you’ll be ready to take over when I’m done?”
The thought of it sends a wave of lust rolling through Leonard and he can’t contain his sharp intake of breath as his gut clenches and his cock gives the barest flicker of interest.
As distracted as he must be Phil doesn’t miss any of it. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? The thought of having Chris, after I’m done with him – you like the idea of fucking him when he’s slick and wet and open and the only lube you need is my come?” He’s rocking slowly, easily, back and forth – his cock hard and leaking, slick with lube and flushed an angry red as it slides smoothly against the crisp curls at Chris’s groin.
Anyone less well versed in human behavior than Leonard might think that Phil is unaffected by what he’s doing, or by the picture of debauchery that he’s just described. But Leonard is pretty damned good at reading people and he can see the slight tremor in Phil’s hands as he strokes gently up Chris’s chest, can hear the shake in his voice as he leans down to rest his forehead against his partner’s and whispers. “You’re okay with that, aren’t you, love?”
He gets a firm, open kiss in response, tongue playing across his lips for a second before sinking deep to tease. When Chris pulls back he looks across the sheets at Leonard and tightens his grip on his fingers, giving him that languid, lush grin again. “I might even manage to come again, if you can last long enough.”
Still too fucked-out to move, Leonard just reciprocates the grip on Chris’s fingers and grins back. “I can do that – hell, twice in under an hour, I’m not gonna have any choice but to take my time.” And he summons up the energy to roll close enough for a slow, lazy kiss – sweet and searching until the moment when Chris moans, breath hitching in quiet gasps, and Leonard realizes that Phil has breached him and sunk himself deep in one smooth slide. He curls a hand around Chris’s nape and holds him in place, unexpectedly hungry for more, reading Chris’s shuddering moans and using the rhythm of them to match Phil’s slow deep thrusts – fucking Chris’s mouth with his tongue – hot, slick, wet, and profoundly wanton until they finally have to break for air.
Needing to be closer, he slides against the two shifting bodies, feeling the rhythm of a slow and exquisitely-deep fucking vibrating through his body, his cock twitching and starting to fill as Phil groans, low and rough.
“Jesus, Chris, you have no fucking idea how good you feel like this – so fucking hot and tight.” His voice breaks just a fraction on the last words and the sound of it, the knowledge that Doctor, Admiral Philip Boyce – all cool competence and unshakeable control – is about to lose himself in the consummate ecstasy of orgasm, sends a sharp stab of lust spiking up Leonard’s spine. He has a sudden need to watch that moment and he pulls away slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, hand stroking gently across Chris’s chest as Phil buries himself deep and pauses, breath coming hard and fast.
Taking a moment to stretch, his body a long expanse of fair skin and sinewy strength, Phil grins at Leonard and then tips his head back and groans as Chris bucks slightly under him and Leonard’s gut twists at the sight of Phil starting to come apart. In defiance of the carefully-adjusted climate control in the suite, sweat is beading at his hairline and tracking down his throat into the fine silver curls that cover his chest and there is a faint tremor in those wiry muscles as Phil holds himself back for one long moment, his attention now totally focused on Chris who is lifting his hips in a shallow, rolling wave, his grin laid-back and lazily fond.
“Come on, Phil – you can come any time you like.”
And Leonard holds his breath as Phil tenses, and in a display of stunning control just jerks his hips once, twice, and a third time before he lets out a deep, shuddering groan and spasms his release into Chris in one long pulse, arching back for a second before easing down until his weight is resting on the broad body beneath him and he’s wrapped in a tight, tender embrace. Chris is whispering something so softly that Leonard can’t catch it, and he’s just fine with that – the shared physical affection is more than enough for him tonight. He doesn’t need to intrude on the emotional intimacy that has bound these two together for so long.
Despite Phil’s apparent comatose state, he recovers quickly and rolls to the side, grinning at McCoy even as he strokes a gentle hand across Chris’s stomach, ghosting it down across the very, very slowly thickening cock.
“You up for this?” He’s good at challenges, is Boyce, and McCoy’s become used to his somewhat unique motivating techniques over the past few years – not that this is a scenario that he would ever have envisioned when he was still a cadet – and he reacts without taking too long to think about what he’s doing. The sheet is still warm where Phil had so recently been settled between Chris’s spread thighs and Leonard fits himself into the space and, catching Chris’s gaze to make sure that this really is okay – getting that slow, lazy, focused smile in response – he presses his cock up against Chris’s still flexing entrance and slides deep in a single stroke.
The shock of it sparks up his spine like lightning, despite the fact that Chris has just been fucked open by a cock that appears to have very similar dimensions to Leonard’s own, he is still excruciatingly tight. But that isn’t what has Leonard bucking into him in aching, involuntary little shudders; rather it’s the organic-silky slickness of Phil’s come easing his way. The thought that he’s sliding deep into Chris only a few minutes after Phil had finished with him – that all three of them are sharing something unspeakably intimate – that’s what has Leonard so close to the precipice of his own orgasm that he has to bite down hard on his lower lip to stop himself from just powering into Chris until he pushes himself over the edge. Which would be manifestly unfair to Chris given that his cock has perked up nicely; twitching and firming in the lightly furred concave of his pelvis. In an attempt to ease back Leonard leans down, resting his forehead on Chris’s chest until his pulse begins to settle a little – turning his head to rest his cheek on the warm skin and crisp, silky fur and then smiling lazily at Phil who is sprawled at their sides, chest still rising and falling a little too rapidly in the aftermath of what had to have been a shattering orgasm.
“Easy, just take it easy, you’re fine.” Phil isn’t really in any condition to do more than stroke his fingers into Leonard’s hair, brushing it back from his forehead. “Feels good, doesn’t he? So incredibly fucking good.”
Leonard is a little surprised at how vocal Phil is during sex, given what a taciturn fucker he is at work, but the sound of his voice, warm and rough, just adds another layer of intimacy to what they are doing. He rests for a moment longer, the thrum of Chris’s heartbeat under his cheek, even and regular, lulling him into a languid haze of sensation – heat and musk and the slickhotwet clasp of tight flesh flexing around his aching cock. It's a more determined, and patently deliberate, flex that finally gets his attention, Phil laughing quietly as Chris wraps a hand around Leonard’s nape and tugs him closer to whisper “Can you just fuck me please, you lazy bastard.” His voice a low, deep growl that is almost as much of a turn-on for Len as the feel of the muscles rippling around his cock.
An experimental twist of his hips gets him another soft, growled whisper. “Oh, fuck yes, right there.” And he pushes up, bracing himself on one hand as the other seeks out the thrumming heat of Chris’s cock, stripping it with an urgent proficiency. Chris’s last climax had been moaned into the curve of Leonard’s shoulder and this time he needs to watch – to see that moment when control and consciousness give way to the mind-warping bliss of orgasm. Needs to make it happen before he loses his own reason, before the tight heat of Chris’s body strips him to nothing but involuntary response and raw sensation.
Chris works with him, grinning as he curls his fingers into the thick fall of dark hair that hangs over Leonard’s forehead and holds his gaze intently. His eyes are focused and intense, pupils blown with lust in the semi-darkness and he’s breathing hard and fast as Leonard matches the rhythm of his hips with that of his hand on Chris’s cock. A glance to the side reveals Phil, equally intent as he watches them, his voice softer and gentler than his words as he whispers. “That’s right Len, fuck him like you mean it.”
And that is apparently all it takes to send Chris over the edge, arching against McCoy’s weight, every muscle taut with strain as he comes in a spasm that seems almost painful in its intensity, his cock stuttering in Leonard’s slippery grasp as it discharges a meager few spatters of come. For just a second Leonard is acutely aware of every sensation, the slick heat of semen on his fingers; the thick, scent-taste of male arousal; the damp heat of his own sweat and the harsh sounds of all three of them breathing fast and ragged and then his world is nothing but white noise and the tight, aching constriction as his blood pressure spikes and he comes in a series of shuddering pulses.
Barely aware that Chris has gone lax and boneless beneath him Leonard slides down, no longer in complete control of his motor functions, and comes to rest on Chris’s chest, only the too-rapid thunder of his heart and the gentle trace of Phil’s fingers in his hair, anchoring him in the moment.
After a space of only a few seconds Chris shifts slightly and Leonard realizes that he’s a dead weight on top of the man beneath him. He rolls to the side, letting Phil ease him down onto the mattress, settling comfortably in between the two warm, sweat-slick bodies. There are a few more seconds of silence while Chris apparently catches his breath and then he laughs, low and dark.
“Remind me not to do that again any time soon. I am way too fucking old to come twice in an hour.”
****
McCoy wakes to the quiet murmur of water lapping against the underside of the lanai and only after a moment does he pick up the soft whisper of respiration close by. The massive bed only has one other occupant: Chris, fast asleep, breathing easily and sprawled across the rumpled cream sheets, long body illuminated by the light of a high, full moon that spills through the open French doors to the lanai. His arms are wrapped around a pillow, his face turned to Leonard and he looks utterly relaxed, if not really any younger than when he’s awake. The lines are too deeply entrenched across his brow and around his eyes to smooth out in sleep and, along with the silver that has crept into his sideburns and temples, they tell an eloquent tale of pain and experience that hadn’t been there almost five years ago when they’d first met – when Chris had hunted Leonard down in that beat-up trauma center in a rural hospital deep in the heart of the mountain South.
Supremely confident that no one could dig him out of the self-imposed exile that had followed his father’s death and almost simultaneous divorce, McCoy had been sorely pissed when Pike had shown up and laid siege to him for three days. He’s embarrassed to think of it now, of just how much of an asshole he’d been to the perpetually-calm, unfailingly-polite, captain who had patiently waited out the sarcasm and anger and the almost-getting-decked by the pissed-off, miserable, self-hating surgeon. But in the end, for all he hadn’t been sure that Starfleet was the answer to his very particular set of problems, his reluctant choice to enlist has turned into one of the best decisions of his life – and he grins a wry, ironic smile, and shifts closer to card his fingers gently through the thick tousled curls. He has this man to thank for the life he has now, his sheer passionate persistence overcoming Leonard’s jaded cynicism during those three hot July days in Mountain Home, Arkansas.
He trails his fingers down the indented curve of Chris’s spine, lingering over the barely visible reminders of the three surgeries that had restored his mobility in the wake of the devastation that hellish slug had wreaked on his spinal cord. Leonard had been responsible for the first and most critical of those surgeries and it occurs to him, for perhaps the first time, that maybe now they’re even – if not a life for a life, then perhaps a resurrection for a resurrection.
As light as his touch is it makes Chris stir and stretch and, reluctant to wake him, Leonard pulls back his hand with a last gentle brush of his fingers across a sleep-warmed flank and rolls to the side of the bed. There’s a pair of cotton sleep pants draped across a chair and he appropriates them, not quite brazen enough to go naked in search of Phil.
He finds his fellow physician sitting on the steps leading down from the edge of the lanai, elbows leaning on the deck behind him and from where he’s standing Leonard can see that he’s cradling a glass of something dark and translucent in one hand.
“Hey, you got more of that?”
“This is the most expensive fucking hotel in the Indian Ocean, Len – there’s enough comped booze in the wet bar to keep the Enterprise supplied for a month.” Phil gestures with his head to the teak wet bar up against the back wall of the lanai “Help yourself.”
Leonard goes in search of liquor and a glass and when he finds a bottle of George T. Stagg, decides to forgo the glass – it’s probably the only time in his life he’ll have the luxury of drinking Kentucky’s most expensive bourbon so he’s going to savour it right from the bottle.
It’s only as he’s walking back across the deck that he realizes that Phil is naked, sitting on one of the broad steps that lead down from the cabin into the sand-bottomed lagoon, submerged from the waist down, his legs pale in the watered moonlight – cock lying soft and lazy on his thigh. He hesitates for a second and Phil just raises an eyebrow and rolls his eyes before gesturing to the space on the step next to him.
“Come on and sit; you can’t be shy after that glorious communal fuck-fest.”
Leonard hesitates for a second longer, not willing to either strip or get the pants wet, and then perches himself a few steps higher than Phil and dips his feet into the warm Indian Ocean. Unaccountably tongue-tied, he occupies himself with his bourbon for a moment, embarrassed to find that – yeah, actually he is a little shy right now. Fucking is one thing, talking about it afterwards is a whole other level of intimacy that he hasn’t really had to deal with recently. He watches Phil for long minutes, resisting the urge to touch, to break the deadlock with his hands or his mouth. It becomes clear though, that Phil is content to let the silence draw out indefinitely and Leonard finally succumbs to the need to say something, anything, to release the tension.
“Don’t get nights like this back in San Francisco.”
Phil laughs quietly. “What? We’re going to talk about the weather? Come on, Len, you can do better than that.”
“Well, goddammit, it’s not like post-threesome conversation is something I’m used to.”
And that isn’t really what Leonard wanted to say, or at least how he wanted it to come out – but there are all kinds of things he knows they should be talking about and, as clumsy as it is, his brusque overture will at least get them started.
“And you think I am?” Phil tips his head back and gives Leonard a long, contemplative look “You think we do this kind of thing casually? Or regularly? Or at all?”
“You’ve never…”
“What? Taken a third to bed? No, we fucking haven’t – you are most definitely a first.”
That stymies McCoy for a moment. He’s not sure why – beyond his own perpetual self-confidence issues – that he thought that he was just another in a long line of casual entertainments to liven up their sex life. And he winces internally as he realizes that he’s being just a little ageist there – not quite as bad as Jim, but the idea that their sex life needs external stimulus could be thought a fraction uncharitable.
“So why?”
“Why? We wanted to; we’ve talked about it; you looked like you were interested – how many reasons do you need?” Phil grins and leans back against the edge of the steps, long body stretched out and Leonard watches the slow lazy twitch of his cock against his thigh as the warm water ebbs and flows with the incremental creep of the tide.
“You’ve talked about it? In general, or about me in particular?” He fiddles with the slender, long-necked bourbon bottle, watching Boyce warily.
“Oh, you in particular. What? I’ve been working with you for four years, Len – you think I haven’t noticed in all that time just how eminently fuckable you are?”
“Okay, so you know me, but what about him?” Leonard tilts his head back towards the bedroom and Phil just laughs out loud.
“He recruited you, remember? I sure as hell do. A couple of weeks later I came back from heading up a combat trauma training course on Mars and the first thing he did was invite himself over for dinner, tell me all about this gorgeous, brooding, brilliant medic that he’d recruited for me and then demand payment for services rendered. So I made him tell me all about you, in excruciating detail, while I fucked him through the mattress.”
Phil takes another sip from his glass, and stretches up to gift Leonard with a brief kiss that would be almost chaste but for the barest silky-slick tease of his tongue. He leaves behind hints of single malt whisky – something rich with peat and iodine – and the taste of the sea, and Leonard finds himself leaning down in search of more as Phil settles back on his lower step and leans back against Leonard’s thigh. But Phil isn’t finished speaking yet.
“And we like you – you’re warm and compassionate and funny and you don’t take shit from anyone – which is always a plus in my book.” He pauses for a second as if he’s contemplating whether to add anything further and then goes on. “And you are a fucking certifiable medical genius.” Even in the half-dark of the lanai Leonard can see the unguarded pain in Phil’s eyes as he looks up. “You are, Len, you are a fucking genius – no one else could have kept Chris alive that day – and kept him walking. You know that as well as I do.”
There’s a brief flash of ice in his blood as Leonard thinks perhaps this has all been about gratitude – a thank-you fuck from both of them – but Phil is more than perceptive enough to catch the sudden flicker of fear and tension in his eyes and his body and, heedless of the sleep pants, and the bottle of George Stagg, he tugs Leonard down onto the lower step beside him.
“Don’t you dare think that – not of us, or of yourself.” His voice is low and stern and before Len can protest he’s tugged into a fierce kiss, bruising and possessive – laced through with need and hunger and a deep-seated care.
One kiss turns into two, and then three, until Leonard feels the tension leach from his body. He relaxes into Phil’s touch, more than convinced that whatever this is it has everything to do with genuine desire not gratitude or recompense and when they finally separate Leonard tilts his head in the direction of the bedroom and asks, “So, how is he?”
He watches as anxiety and uncertainty ripple through Phil, evident in the set of his body as much as in the expressions that fleet across his face, as he takes just a little too long to respond.
“Fine, he’s fine.” A pause before he goes on with a shrug. “Most of the time.”
“He had a couple of seizures early on, right?”
“Those are under control. He has occasional neuritis issues, but they pass.”
“And the rest.” Leonard knows that Phil is familiar with his psych background and assumes that the Admiral is smart enough to know what he’s getting at. He’s surprised when Phil actually smiles.
“Better than you might think. Oh, he has nightmares still – and there’s more than enough guilt floating around his subconscious to keep a small convent in novenas.”
Leonard raises an eyebrow and surprises himself with the literary reference. “Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, who twice a day their withered hands hold up toward heaven, to pardon blood.”
And is just as surprised when Phil returns the reference.
“More will I do; though all that I can do is nothing worth, since that my penitence comes after all, imploring pardon.”
There’s a moment of silence as they both think about all the implications of remorse, and atonement and the weight of the survivors’ guilt that is borne by all those who lived through that awful day and then Phil breaks the tension with a quiet laugh.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the recipient of a good Jesuit education.”
“Nah, just a Shakespeare-obsessed granddaddy.” Leonard tilts his chin, suggesting that Phil continue his train of thought.
“Yeah, so there’s the guilt – but other than that, he’s pretty much come to terms with losing the Enterprise. It took him a while to stop being angry about the promotion and accept that at least part of it might have been a genuine need for his tactical acumen in Command.”
They both know however, that the real reason Chris was promoted so seamlessly to Admiral was rooted in Command’s decision to replace him as captain of the Enterprise. Under relentless pressure from the Federation upper administration - which was in turn bending under the weight of a terrified population and rabid popular press - Command had reluctantly agreed to turn the flagship over to the young hero of the hour but in doing so they’d had to deprive Chris of that coveted center seat. Under normal circumstances his injuries wouldn't have been nearly severe enough to keep him from command of a ship that would spend the better part of two years in the repair dock and on a shakedown cruise of the inner systems. Starfleet’s policies on retention of rank and command in the face of duty-derived injuries were very clear. Removing Chris permanently from command of the Enterprise had violated both the spirit and the letter of those policies. So, to avoid any unpleasantness, they’d promoted him. But Leonard can tell, just from the ice in Phil’s tone, that, in Phil’s opinion at least, it had all still been pretty fucking unpleasant.
“And how is your young captain?” Phil takes another parsimonious sip of his whisky and changes the subject, his expression guarded, and Leonard understands that he needs to follow Phil’s lead on this and not pursue the discussion about Chris.
“Good. He’d probably be better if he heard what you just said about Chris and the Enterprise.”
“He’s still worried about that?”
“Yeah. He’d never admit it, but I know he thinks about it—thinks that somehow he took the Enterprise from Chris—thinks that somewhere deep down, no matter how nice Chris is to him, that Chris hasn’t forgiven him.” Leonard rubs a hand across the emerging stubble on his face and watches as Phil shrugs and shakes his head.
“There wasn’t ever anything to forgive. Chris was furious at Command; but he wasn’t ever angry at Jim.”
“Yeah, well, Jim’s young and he’s not always as emotionally intelligent as he might like to think he is. If nothing else, I’m pretty sure he thinks if their situations were reversed he’d be angry at everyone.”
“Who’d be angry at everyone?”
They both turn to find Chris leaning against the frame of the open French door. Like Phil, he hasn’t bothered to dress and Leonard wonders if it’s age or some inherent quirk of Chris’s nature that imparts the kind of bone-deep self-confidence that allows Chris to stand there, so utterly unselfconsciously naked on the open lanai.
“Jim. Len here was explaining that his captain’s still not sure that you’ve gotten over losing your baby.”
Chris shrugs and moves towards the edge of the deck. “I wouldn’t say I’ve gotten over losing her, but that doesn't mean I blame Jim.” He tilts his head, looking down at Leonard with a smile. “I’m having lunch with him in the City when we get back, I’ll spell it out for him – okay?”
McCoy nods and smiles his own response. “Thanks.” And he slides over to make a space as Phil pats the boards between them.
“How long have you been awake?”
Chris takes the hint, settling himself on the top step and leaning comfortably on Leonards’ shoulder. “Just a few minutes.”
Leonard watches amused, as Chris indicates with a beckoning finger that Phil should hand over his scotch and gets a raised eyebrow in response. “Haven’t you already hit your alcohol limit for twenty-four hours?”
“Indulge me.”
“When do I not?” There’s a slightly weary martyrdom in Boyce’s tone, but he smiles wryly as he hands over the glass, only a finger left in it, and warns. “Just a taste.” Chris is surprisingly obedient, tilting the glass just enough to wet his lips and then handing it back to Phil and then he grins wickedly at Leonard who is in the process of taking a generous swig of the bourbon. “Now, I need a bourbon chaser.”
“Chris.” It’s clear from his exasperated tone that Boyce is trying to walk a line between annoyance and amused tolerance and for an agonizingly long moment Leonard waits for Chris’s reaction. He can’t imagine Pike takes well to being managed like this, he knows he sure as hell wouldn’t, but to his surprise Chris just grins, all irony and wicked charm, and reaches to curl his hand around Leonard’s nape, pulling him close.
“Just a taste.” He flashes a teasing smile at Phil and leans in to kiss Leonard, slow and deep, searching out the sweet heat of the bourbon.
“Hmmm, you two look good doing that.” Phil is grinning at them as they come up for air and Leonard grins in return as Chris slides a hand up the inside curve of Phil’s thigh, stroking lightly over the thick cock, buoyed by the warm ocean and twitching slightly as one finger traces along the curved length.
“Is that your way of saying you’re up for another round?”
“I could be persuaded.” Phil leans back and lets his hips rise off the submerged step, molding his cock against Chris’s cupped hand.
Leonard watches as Chris squeezes Phil’s soft cock gently, his own giving a sympathetic twitch at the expert way that Chris handles Phil’s length, not even attempting to hide his interest. One side of Phil’s mouth quirks up in a half smile and he inclines his head at McCoy and asks, “How about you?”
“Are you kidding?” And before he can stop himself, relaxed and unguarded from sex and sleep and just a little too much bourbon, Leonard finds his mouth running ahead of his brain as he goes on. “Don’t know when I’ll get a chance like this again, sure as hell don’t intend to waste it.”
There’s a sudden frisson of tension as Leonard flushes in now mute embarrassment at the slightly wistful neediness in his tone. But his discomfort fades rapidly as Chris shifts his focus away from Phil, tilting his head and sliding a warm, gentle hand over Leonard’s back, the touch clearly intended to reassure.
“Well.” Chris turns briefly back to Phil with a grin and gets a headshake and a laugh in return before he looks at Leonard again and offers. “How about we do this again after dinner on Friday? You’ve got what, six weeks until the Enterprise ships out again. I think we can arrange to have you suitably fucked-out and happy by the time you go back out in the black.”
Relief and desire and more than a hint of disbelief wash through Leonard and, contrary nature to the fore, as ever, he can’t stop himself from raising a skeptical eyebrow. “This isn’t just tonight?”
Phil shrugs. “This is whatever you want it to be, Len. We’re not going to hold you to anything. But if you want more than this, well – we’ve just got you into bed, we’re in no hurry to kick you out.” He’s grinning, teasing, trying to keep the mood light, but Chris leans in, more serious, his voice a low, sincere whisper as he adds. “It’s up to you where this goes – but you will always be welcome in our bed.”
Not trusting himself to say anything intelligent, or necessarily even coherent, McCoy just closes the distance and lets a long, sweet, comfortable kiss speak for him. One hand curves along Chris’s jawline, the rasp of very early morning stubble sending little shocks of electric desire shivering through his body, and he’s centered and calm when he finally pulls back for air. His gaze shifts from Chris to Phil and back again, and he can feel his mouth curving in a slightly goofy smile that he can’t entirely contain.
“Best offer I’ve had in for-fucking-ever.”
“So that’s a yes, then?”
“That’s an oh-hell-yes.” He relaxes and leans into Chris, who seems happy to bear Leonard’s weight against his flank and there is a long comfortable silence that is finally broken by a speculative “What are you planning?” from Boyce.
Since he hasn’t been paying attention Leonard is momentarily confused and he looks up to find the two admirals regarding each other intently.
Chris smiles, just the barest curl of his mouth, and he manages to look about as disingenuous as Jim when Leonard has caught him doing something ridiculously risky in the null-g gym. “You want to indulge me some more?”
“I don’t know? What have you got in mind?” Phil’s tone is hovering between suspicion and curiosity and there’s a brief pause as Chris takes a breath before he admits, with uncharacteristic hesitation. “I want…both of you.”
Chris is looking at Phil, the slightest uncertainty in his expression, as if he’s asking for permission for something, and McCoy has a sneaking suspicion that he knows what’s going on here – but he isn’t sure and he’ll be damned if he’s going to make any assumptions without some clarification.
“What does “both of you” mean?”
Phil laughs, a deep, rich, extraordinarily filthy sound before he leans over and pins Leonard with his gaze, his eyes bright with humour and fiercely contained arousal.
“Well, he’s not talking about fucking and fellating at the same time.” He pauses and switches his focus to Chris who is very still, his eyes fixed on Boyce, watching for his reaction. “Are you, Christopher?” The name comes out as a soft, low growl of sound and Leonard feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle as once again the sexual tension flares between the three of them.
****
He’s the youngest, and probably the strongest of the three, as Phil has no hesitation in pointing out, so Leonard ends up on the bottom – sprawled comfortably upright against all the pillows stacked up against the headboard with Chris straddling him – back to chest, his head resting comfortably on Leonard’s shoulder.
“Oh, yeah, do that again – feels so damn good.” Chris’s voice is a rough whisper, and Leonard can hear the tension in it – the slightest hints that he’s just a little nervous about what they are engaged in and he wraps his fingers a little tighter and strokes up the taut curve of Chris’s cock. Then Phil’s leaning in, hands framing Chris’s face as he catches his mouth in a long, deep kiss and the warm heat of gradually mounting desire flushes up through Leonard’s frame, sweeter and less sharp than the aching need in his groin. A gentle hand curves around his neck, fingers teasing on the smooth skin of his nape and then Phil’s mouth is against his ear, voice a soft whisper.
“Now, Len, you first. When you’re in – when you’re fucking him, when you’ve opened him for me and you can’t believe anything could be tighter and hotter and more perfect – let me know, and I’ll join you.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.” The words are sharp but the crack in Chris’s voice betrays just how deeply this is affecting him – that, and the way his cock is thrumming in Leonard’s fist, the wet heat of pre-come coating his fingers as he keeps stroking a steady, even rhythm.
Phil laughs, quiet and filthy. ”Shut up, Chris; your only job here is to make really encouraging noises while we fuck you senseless.”
“Pushy bastard.” But there’s no heat in it, and Leonard finds it just a little fascinating that Christopher Pike, this same man that intimidated the life out of him when he was a cadet, capitulates so easily under Phil’s unswervingly-gentle authority; shifting to lean his head back and stretch lazily – widening his stance a fraction to let Leonard’s cock slide easily in the cleft of his ass.
Nudging up against Chris’s balls Leonard shifts until the head of his prick is pressed up against the snug indent of Chris’s entrance, wondering for a moment at the resilience of the human body – at the resistance that he feels, despite the fact that it’s only been a few hours since Chris was systematically fucked open by both of them. It’s only when he slides home, cock suddenly wrapped in the tight furnace of Chris’s body that he feels the residual slickness from that earlier loving – the slippery heat of lube and come easing his way.
The sensation is so shockingly overwhelming that he suddenly can’t articulate anything and he just whimpers and finds the smooth curve of Chris’s shoulder, biting down hard to stop himself from making any more embarrassing noises. When he’s recovered a little of his equilibrium he gives his hips an experimental lift, and hears the unmistakable hitch in Chris’s breathing, feels the sudden tightening of his grip on Leonard’s thigh that lets him know that he’s found his target. He does it again and Chris whines, turning his head to the side so that he can use his mouth on Leonard’s jawline – which feels fucking fantastic, almost as good as having his cock buried deep in a hot, willing body. He’s focusing on that feeling, sliding into that slick, pliant heat when the unexpected touch of a wandering finger slides up the inside of his thigh and teases across his balls.
“You ready for this?” Phil’s voice is rough with barely contained need, his patience stretched thin as he rubs firmly at the slick base of Leonard’s cock.
To be honest, he’s not sure that either of them is ready for it. Leonard knows that he’s blessed with a little more than average girth, and Chris is stretched pretty fucking tight around him. He can’t quite wrap his head around what it’s going to feel like when Phil eases himself in to join him and he has absolutely no fucking idea how the two of them are going to manage to coordinate their movements so that all three of them get off at approximately the same time. But he’s almost unbearably aroused by the thought of trying it, and as Phil slides a generous measure of lube around the base of Leonard’s cock and uses it to ease two fingers past the excruciatingly tight ring of muscle he wraps his arms around Chris and leans back on the pillows, easing both of them to a more accommodating angle for Phil to slide up close and begin to slowly work Chris open.
The moment Phil presses in, the low growl that has been passing for conversation from Chris ratchets up to a pained whine, and Leonard bites his lip in frustration as Phil stops, the head of his cock just barely buried.
“Shh…shhh…you’re okay. Just breathe, Chris, breathe and relax and this will be so good.” Phil is whispering softly, pressed close to Chris – hand flat on his chest, stroking gently, and Leonard can feel the tension in Chris, feel the shivering strain in his muscles as Phil goes on. “You can do this, you know you can. If you can take my fist you can take this, just relax.”
Biting hard on his lower lip to contain a needy whimper Leonard goes very still, resting his face in the curve of Chris’s neck once more as he tries to fight down the almost irresistible urge to let the orgasm take him. He’s not sure whether it’s the thought of Pike submitting to Boyce in such an overwhelmingly intimate way, or if it’s his own deeply buried, barely acknowledged need to trust someone that completely, that has him hovering on the precipice of a climax that he’s pretty sure will leave him wrung-out, and comatose, an incoherent wreck sprawled out on the mattress. After a few more seconds to try to collect himself, he opens his eyes and finds himself pinned by Boyce’s searing gaze.
“You’re doing great, Len. Just perfect.”
Boyce is also very still. Chris is still shivering between them, his quiet sounds of pain fading into softer, throatier moans of need and pleasure as he relaxes ever so slightly and Leonard gasps a tight breath as he feels the slow press of Phil’s cock as it slides deeper into Chris. His own cock throbs hard as Phil’s thick length is pressed unbelievably close, the sudden constriction in the already tight passage bordering on pain but the slick heat and the truly extraordinary sensation of Phil’s pulse throbbing alongside his own chases any discomfort from his consciousness.
“Oh fuck, please, move, both of you.” Chris’s erection has flagged a fraction in the wake of what McCoy can only assume to be genuine discomfort at being stretched so thoroughly. But the sound of his voice, deep and sure and oddly commanding given that he’s the one currently impaled on not just one but two substantial erections prompts Leonard into wrapping a slick hand around the still thrumming length and setting up a rapid, confident rhythm.
“You ready to do this?” Phil strokes one hand up Leonard’s flank, getting his attention, holding his gaze for a moment until he gets a firm nod in response and then Leonard watches as Phil curves his other hand around Chris’ nape and pulls him into a deeply carnal kiss. Slowly, very slowly, they move together. Hips shifting incrementally at first and then more decisively, confidence flaring as the body between them arches and shudders with each slow slide of thick, almost painfully sensitive flesh.
For the first few minutes Leonard is acutely aware of the slow passage of time, acutely aware too that he is having to concentrate much more than he usually does at this stage of the game. Normally, by the time he’s balls-deep in someone his higher cognitive functions have deserted him and he’s working on pure instinct. But this takes care and caution and a measure of coordination, at least until Chris finally relaxes fully, leaning back onto Leonard in a boneless sprawl and whispering roughly. “Now, goddammit, make me feel it.”
They find a rhythm, and for far longer than Leonard would have thought possible they move in concert – breathing together, shuddering, sweating, and groaning as one until in an exquisite moment of heart-stopping intensity he feels Chris’s body arc up and away from where it’s been resting on his chest. McCoy has only a heartbeat to be aware that Chris is coming in a spray of wet heat before he’s overtaken by the rush of his own orgasm – heat flaring from the pit of his stomach to his extremities in a searing wave, synapses overloaded, chest tight as he feels the unmistakable pulse of Phil’s cock alongside his own and he knows that they are spending themselves together, their come mixing as it coats Chris’s tightly clinging flesh.
He has no idea how much has time has passed before he’s aware of anything beyond white noise and the thundering of his own pulse, but when Leonard finally pushes himself up off the mattress he’s a little concerned to find Chris face down, unmoving, only the slow rise and fall of his back to indicate that he’s still alive.
Brain slightly fuzzy from the aftereffects of that stunning orgasm he looks across at Phil, reclining on a couple of pillows, and asks, in a vaguely stunned tone of voice, “Did we break him?” and Phil laughs tiredly.
“Nah, Chris is pretty resilient. Not that we’ve ever tried that before.” He reaches out and strokes Chris’s back lightly. “Hey, sweet prince, you still alive or do we need to find a resuscitator?”
There’s silence for a moment longer and then a soft groan before Chris finally responds with, “Fuck off and let me go to sleep.” For all the harshness of his words, his tone is lazy and content and Phil strokes a hand gently across his back.
“Not sleep, not quite yet – we’re going to have a quick shower, and then we’ll get you cleaned up and make sure you’re okay – and then you can sleep.”
The only response is a soft grunt and Chris pulls a pillow down over his head. Phil laughs and Leonard watches as he dumps a towel onto the wet spot they’ve already created in the middle of the bed, and then leans over and places a light kiss in the small of Chris’s back.
The bathroom is everything you’d expect in a hotel this expensive, with a shower that is more than large enough for dual occupancy. For a few minutes they’re both silent, leaning into the steaming spray, Boyce engaging in a fast, efficient scrub while Leonard watches him, taking time, finally to appreciate the lean lines of a body that is fit and functional but very clearly exhibits every minute of Phil’s 64 years. His scrutiny doesn’t go unnoticed and Boyce pauses, one eyebrow raised, his narrow mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Chris is the pretty one.”
“You’re damn fine from where I’m standing.”
Phil just shakes his head and lays a gentle tap on McCoy’s flank indicating that he should sit on the teak bench that’s built into the back of the shower stall. Leonard can’t help himself, wondering if Phil’s hinting at a blowjob, and he directs a quizzical look to Phil’s groin, earning himself a light slap across the back of the head.
“Just sit there. Jesus, Leonard, you don’t seriously think I could get up again tonight, do you.” Phil is pouring a measure of shampoo into his palm as he’s speaking and McCoy laughs a little sheepishly. “Not telling you what I was thinking.”
“Well, if you seriously believe anyone who’s past sixty can manage more than twice in one night without serious performance enhancers, I might have to think about taking back that medical degree of yours.”
Strong, agile fingers work across McCoy’s scalp and he sighs happily and leans into Boyce’s flank, forehead resting on the soft curve of his abdomen. The only sound is the wet spatter of water hitting tile and it’s extraordinarily relaxing to just rest in the humid heat and let Phil take care of him. It’s been longer than Leonard cares to remember since someone looked after him like this. He’s the caretaker, by nature and by profession and he rarely lets anyone get close enough to get under the armour that he’s developed over the past few years. But he trusts Boyce, and Pike for that matter, unreservedly, and if this is really going to turn into more than a couple of weeks of entertaining stress-relief, then letting his guard down is going to be a critical step in demonstrating that trust.
“Feels good.”
“That’s the idea.” Phil’s fingers trace a line on the back of Leonard’s neck, a double curve just in the angle between his shoulder and nape. “You want me to take care of that, depending on what you wear, it’s going to be pretty visible tomorrow.”
The bruise throbs just a little and it takes Leonard a moment to remember that he probably got it from Chris during that first round, pinned between them, fucked and sucked at the same time, the hint of pain from Chris’s possessive suckling bite just what he needed to send him over the edge. Before he has time to think about it too closely he demurs.
“Nah, all I’m doing is meeting Jim for a late lunch.”
“You don’t mind him knowing what went down tonight?” They both know that Jim is more than smart enough to figure it out. To put the simultaneous disappearance of his best friend and the two admirals together with the size and location of the mark on McCoy’s neck and come up with exactly what happened.
“Not if you guys are okay with him knowing.” Leonard has tilted his head back under the spray from the shower head now, letting the generous torrent of water wash out the soap and when he finally pulls his head out of the water and looks up at Boyce he gets a speculative look in return.
“We’re fine with it. So…” Phil is leaning over to turn off both the showerheads, “…a late lunch? How late?”
Stepping out onto thick, soft bathmats they both cast a glance at the air-driers and then ignore them in favour of the gloriously luxurious and ridiculously super-sized towels that are stacked on the linen rack.
“Late as I like, I was going to comm him with a time when I woke up. Why? You got plans for me?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Sleep now – after we make sure Chris is squared away – then a late breakfast in bed, and then...” He advances on Leonard, who is grinning even as he’s scrubbing the towel through his hair, and he leans in close so his voice is a soft, tempting whisper, “…I seem to have remained singularly unfucked tonight – I’m going to expect you to rectify that sometime very soon.”
And despite the fact that there is no possible way on Earth, or any other of the multitude of planets he’s visited over the past eighteen months, that Leonard would have believed he had any capacity for arousal left tonight, his cock gives a hopeful, happy little twitch and Phil laughs and gives him a gentle shove in the direction of the bedroom.
“Looks like a yes to me.”
Fin