Work Header

No Theme Song

Work Text:

Jim's touches are the more devastating: he has more practical experience, knows better where to press and how much pressure to apply. He is constantly moving, cutting corners even as he is agonizingly detail-oriented. Jim is a scrape of teeth and two fingers instead of three, two minutes of preparation instead of ten. Jim acts as though Spock is something he has to conquer before he is able to have it.

McCoy is gentle, reverential. Smooth hands and whispering touches which grow in confidence but never reach aggression. With McCoy, Spock feels exposed, laid bare for ridicule and it is not reasonable that he continue this. But McCoy kisses with everything he is, laughs and murmurs and commiserates about Jim, who always lifts his eyebrow and points out that he's right here, thanks.

McCoy is impatient, and when he reaches the point where he wants he slides his thigh between Spock's legs, scrapes teeth down Spock's jaw.

Jim will drag everything out, wants to watch everyone shake and shatter apart; wants to test limits both physical and psychological, wants to see what is self-imposed and what is biological.

When McCoy is not here Spock will pin Jim down, use every ounce of his strength to keep Jim pliant, bite into Jim's laughing mouth, but.

When it is the three of them Spock somehow becomes the middle. Even when Jim is driving into McCoy, Spock is there with a hand on McCoy's jaw, urging him to take them both deeper. He would not, at the start of this, predicted that he would be the mitigating influence.

Being between them, though. When they are in a particular mood and of a same mind, which happens rarely, is like being caught between a supernova and black hole; the only choice is how to go out, but destruction is guaranteed.

Neither one of them shares particularly well, and though Spock would have, at the start of this, suspected Jim to be the one they would fight over, it is not.

Spock is caught between them, warm hands and all over him, straddling McCoy's hips with Jim pressed hot and insistent against his back. Jim's hand in Spock's hair with McCoy's lips slanting hot against his own. McCoy kisses the way he fights, not bent on destruction like Jim but as though he only has to be fierce enough to convert; McCoy bludgeons into submission and Spock is always caught by the way the kiss will shift from brutally hard to soft and nearly chaste within the space of seconds. Spock rolls his hips, dragging his erection against McCoy's and feeling Jim's absence at his back as he draws away. McCoy's hands fasten on his hips to keep him in place and Jim laughs somewhere behind him. Spock is drowning, and then there is the breach of fingers inside him.

Jim has long, clever fingers, and they rock and scissor just right, taking and giving until Spock is pressing back against him, hungry for more. Jim's free hand is still tangled in Spock's hair, and McCoy's nails bite into his hips. Spock can feel all of this: everything until it feels impossible that there might be more. He is so hard he thinks he cannot take it; knows he can come from Jim's fingers alone.

He will not beg, cannot and has proven that to Jim and McCoy both, but he slides swiftly past verbal and into helpless sounds which Jim insists are better with a predatory twist of his lips. McCoy is comforting now, mouthing Spock's neck as Jim works with cruel intent to stretch Spock--preparing him with far too much care, Spock thinks for a moment, and it occurs to him to be suspicious but thinks perhaps it is McCoy's presence. It has been a long time since McCoy has joined them, and he is a doctor and Jim has been on the receiving end of many lectures and is likely avoiding one by being overly cautious.

Finally Jim's fingers slide free with one final teasing brush to Spock's prostate, sending him jolting against McCoy, surprising a laugh out of the man beneath him. It seems logical, then, to shift up slightly so that Jim can guide McCoy inside, hot and knocking the breath out of Spock as he rocks in. Spock is prepared, but not ready, and McCoy moves as though Spock belongs to him, never doubtful of his welcome. Part of Spock longs to tell McCoy that he hates this; that McCoy is missing an angle or that his pace is a half-beat off but Vulcans do not lie, and part of what is so aggravating is that McCoy's arrogance is not unfounded. And besides, Spock has neither breath nor energy for that particular fight because McCoy feels so deep within him, and Spock tenses, shifts back as Jim murmurs crooning obscenities.

Fingers come back slick, and then Jim is pressing one in alongside McCoy and Spock feels himself stretching to accomodate him, hyperaware.

"Jim," he manages, gasps, "No."

"Yes," Jim corrects, amused as though Spock has simply misspoken.

"You're not gonna win this one," McCoy pants, almost apologetic though a quick look confirms his arousal. "Lie back and think of New Vulcan."

Spock could win this one: he could simply throw them both off and walk away, but he does...not want to. Spock has never withheld from Jim anything it was in his power to give, and however misguided, it feels logical to give him this.

His breath becomes harsh, and he can feel sweat standing out on his temples and forehead, dotting his upper lip and the backs of his knees. It is too much and then some when Jim slides in, inexorable. It is too tight, painful, obscene. He will break. It cannot be endured.

"Yeah, you can," Jim is murmuring. "So perfect, so good. God, your stretched out hole filled up so--."

"Jim, shut the fuck up," McCoy manages, sounding as tormented as Spock feels, and when Spock glances down at him he sees the other man's face twisted, as though he is overwhelmed. Spock is grateful, stupidly, but he can feel the reckless smile Jim presses against Spock's back.

"He can take it," Jim insists. "Can't you? Look at you, still hard, so fucking perfect. Gonna come around us? Come with two dicks up your ass, filling you up?"

Spock feels Jim move and thinks he will rip down the center, despite the reassuring circles McCoy is rubbing into his thighs as Jim persists, murmuring filth into Spock's ear, wrapping his hand around to pump Spock's no-longer flagging erection.

"Jim," McCoy hisses, hand flexing against Spock's lower back. "You are such a fucking bastard."

Spock kisses him because he honestly can find no other alternative, feels McCoy give way underneath him, open up for him, giving where Jim will take. Jim is still there, omnipresent, watching, pushing them all too far or just far enough, Spock can barely establish which.

There is a push-pull, Jim guiding them both into a rhythm that works, and Spock is too full, can feel both of them sliding against each other deep inside him and he arches back and reaches back to catch Jim's mouth, twisting to kiss and bite, bruise and bloody Jim's lips, hears McCoy swear when Jim thrusts too hard inside, close, so close. He wraps a hand around Jim's on and shifts the rhythm; he is so close to coming if only Jim would let him get there.

He does, spilling over Jim's hand and all over McCoy's stomach, bearing down on the two of them and groaning, helpless, incapable even of drawing breath for long, terrifying moments. He is exhausted, held up by two sets of hands and McCoy's breath reaches a whimpering pant, and then he is coming with viciously snarled abuse (mostly directed at Jim), pulsing deep inside Spock and it feels like every nerve ending is on fire when McCoy snaps his hips too hard. It is uncontrollable, but Spock thinks if he were human this would wreck him for a full day.

McCoy slides out of him, and Jim bends him forward, shoves in, easy slides now that Spock is so loose and McCoy's come is slicking the way.

Jim comes silently, which is one of those curiosities that Spock will one day unravel, biting into the juncture of Spock's neck and shoulder, and Spock can feel Jim emptying deep inside.

It seems perfectly logical to slump to the side and pass out. He does not, not fully, can hear McCoy groan and slide out of bed to fetch his regenerator, gripe at Jim in a low rebuke about being too reckless with all of their safety.

He must obtain a clean bill of health--no tearing or other damage, because there is a mouth, and fingers, and Spock presses against it helplessly, every nerve in him singing and too sensitive but this--this he could endure after anything. This he loves, Jim's hands and mouth working apologies into his skin. This is why he will forgive Jim anything; these shows of contrition. He falls asleep contemplating vengeance, listening to McCoy complain about how unsanitary it all is and Jim tell him to shut the fuck up or Jim was going to make him.