"Computer, location of Captain James Kirk." Leonard McCoy released the comm button and waited, scrubbing at his forehead with the heel of one hand. His paperwork was finally done, and he was so damned ready to get off the ship.

"Captain Kirk is on the bridge," the computer's smooth voice replied.

"Still?" McCoy muttered to himself, already heading out of sickbay. The ship had been in dry dock for nearly 10 hours; most of the crew had shuttled off as soon as possible, anxious to start their two weeks of shore leave before heading out into space again. After ten months of being away from Earth, McCoy had been salivating at the idea of his feet on actual soil, breathing in non-recycled air, eating real damn food. He'd been so busy he hadn't even had time to make concrete plans, but he could figure it all out over a nice stiff drink.

Kirk must have had some work of his own to finish up before shuttling down and heading to the nearest bar. If he was close to done, maybe they could head out together for that drink. Lord knew they both needed it after the last few weeks.

The turbolift doors slid open and McCoy stepped out into what appeared to be an empty bridge. The normally noisy instruments were off and the lights were dimmed, a stark contrast to the brightness and activity he was used to. His gaze drifted to the viewscreen's gleaming blue vision of Earth below, and he smiled. Not long now. Kirk must have headed to the shuttle bay in the last minute or so; he could probably still catch him. He pulled his communicator from his pocket and flipped it open.

"Jim, Bones here. Where are you?"

There was an instant echo of his voice, followed by a gasp from the center of the bridge, and the sounds of a mad scramble. He stepped forward just in time to see Jim Kirk slumped in the captain's chair, frantically trying to fasten up the front of his pants. McCoy gaped as the realization hit him: the man was actually jerking off. On the bridge. He shook his head, stunned.

"You literally get off on being captain, don't you?"

Kirk had the grace to look embarrassed, but still flashed his trademark cocky grin. "Didn't hear you come in."

"I never pegged you for an exhibitionist. Putting on a show for the security cameras?"

Kirk shifted his weight in the chair, and kept one hand over his crotch. It didn't quite cover up his still-erect penis, not that McCoy was really looking. Much. "Starfleet regulation 4547A gives the captain the authority to turn off the security cameras in any area of the ship."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Yes, in the event activities in that area are classifiable as top secret , according to guidelines established in said regulation. Considering that half of Starfleet has seen your dick up close and personal, somehow I doubt this qualifies."

"Half of Starfleet? Bones, you're exaggerating."

"Am I?"

Something flickered across Kirk's face, something that made McCoy's guts twist a bit. "Well, I guess you're in that half now."

"No. Not yet, anyway." He rolled his eyes at the hint of a smirk that appeared on his friend's face. "By which I mean, you're due for your physical soon."

"Sure, Bones." Kirk's hand moved away from his groin a little -- a subtle movement, but one that drew McCoy's gaze instantly. Kirk's cock was still hard, and it jutted up from his body. He was fully clothed except for that. McCoy dragged his focus back to Kirk's face to see that smirk grow even bigger.

"You do this often?" He gestured vaguely at the chair.

"Do what?" At McCoy's look, Kirk laughed. "Since when are you so interested in me masturbating?"

"Oh, for -- fucking hell." McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and forced himself to look away.

"If you want to stay and watch…"

Peripherally he saw the motion in Kirk's lap, saw his knees fall apart. He closed his eyes for a moment, but his curiosity got the better of him. He let his gaze drift back and watched as Kirk stroked himself, slowly. He felt his cheeks warm, and he was somewhere between turned-on and uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to walk away.

Jim Kirk had been flirting with him for years now. A brush of fingers here, a look there, an occasional innuendo-laden comment pitched so low only McCoy could hear it -- always teasing, always with supreme confidence that he would not respond. McCoy had never been sure if Kirk was serious about it, or if he just liked to tease. He'd thought it would stop once they were on active duty, and it did slow down -- but when they were alone in sickbay, or in a quiet corner of the officers' mess, or in a turbolift, those little looks and remarks were back in full force. And Kirk always left it at that, never enough to really mean anything, but just enough to distract McCoy, to intrigue him, to give him masturbation fantasies that competed with anything in his private porn collection.

He was getting tired of it.

And of course, this was the furthest Kirk had ever gone -- well, except for that one time when they went to Vegas, but they were both drunk as hell and neither ever acknowledged it had happened afterwards. How far was Kirk going to take it this time? How far did McCoy want him to go?

He moved before he'd quite thought things through, crossing to stand in front of Kirk. Kirk's eyes widened, and the sight of him looking even remotely surprised was more rewarding than McCoy would have expected. He toyed with leaving it at that, but… what if he called Kirk's bluff? What would happen? It wasn't as if McCoy had never thought about doing something like this. And for the moment, Jim Kirk wasn't technically his captain.

He dropped to his knees and slid his hands down Kirk's thighs, pushing them further apart so he could kneel between. That stiff cock bobbed in front of him, and his mouth watered a little at the thought of what he was about to do. What he'd wanted to do for a while now.

The look on Kirk's face was priceless. "Bones, what're you--"

"After fucking your way through half of Starfleet, you can't figure it out?"

Kirk's face flushed in a way McCoy had never seen before, and his fingernails dug into the armrests of the chair. "I… but… this is--"

"I'm about to suck your dick, Jim. Can you keep your damn mouth shut, for once?" He grasped the loose waistband of Kirk's pants and tugged his hips forward, then wrapped the fingers of one hand around the shaft of his dick. It was hot and hard, and felt good in his hand. Kirk groaned and let his head fall back.

So much for bluffing. McCoy leaned forward before he lost his nerve, and took the head in his mouth. He wasn't sure what to expect. He'd been in a monogamous relationship with his right hand for so long that he'd forgotten what it was like to have sex with another person, let alone a man. He'd done this before, of course, but it was a long time ago -- and he was pretty sure he'd never done it sober.

He swirled his tongue and sucked, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. It was better than he remembered -- the feeling of that velvety-soft skin under his tongue, the heat and the hardness and the sense of raw power that came from making someone else moan that way. He stroked the shaft and twisted his hand a little, and pulled off.

"You're a damn tease, you know that? Do you know how crazy you make me, how long I've wanted to-" He sucked the head in again before he could say any more. No need to make a complete fool of himself.

Kirk said nothing, but he was watching now, his eyes fixed on the sight of his cock disappearing into McCoy's mouth. McCoy wriggled his tongue along the underside and watched as Kirk's mouth fell open slightly. The tip of his tongue was visible, moving against his teeth in time with McCoy's strokes. Beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead. His breath was beginning to grow ragged, and he slid down further in the chair, widening his thighs as much as he could.

McCoy's pants were getting tight, and he slid his free hand between his thighs to try to adjust his own half-hard dick. The fly came undone at his touch, and it was so easy to pull his cock out and fist it. He worked his lips down Kirk's shaft as far as he could without gagging, and used his tongue as he sucked his way back up, squeezing his own dick at the same time. He just needed a little something. He brought his left hand to his mouth and licked his palm, then started stroking himself in earnest.

"Shit, Bones, fuck," he heard, and looked up to see Kirk's eyes smoldering. "Always fantasized about this, about you… and the chair… oh god." He hooked one thigh over McCoy's shoulder and dug the heel into his back, pulling him in closer.

McCoy worked the head with his lips and tongue, faster now, and stroked both their shafts in the same rhythm. Kirk's cock was leaking fluid now, and it made him slick and salty, and it was better than he had ever imagined. He sucked hard, tongued the slit, and let his teeth graze along the taut foreskin, just a bit.

"Oh, yeah," Kirk was saying, panting now. "Fuck, Bones… no idea you were this good… keep doing that… Oh…" His head fell back again, and his thighs tensed.

McCoy wasn't ready for it to be over, but then it was, with a grunt and a rush of fluid, and more incoherent swearing, and then there were hands on his head, pushing him off of sensitized flesh. He was so close himself, so close, just needed a little more pressure, a little less friction. He spit Kirk's semen into his right hand and jerked himself off hard, fisting Kirk's shirt with his left hand and pressing his face into his thigh. Kirk's mouth was by his ear now, whispering incredibly obscene things that travelled from McCoy's ears straight to his balls.

Kirk was watching, he realized. Watching him jerk himself off. Oh god.

He came hard, biting into the clothed flesh under his mouth to keep himself from saying anything stupid. As orgasms went, it was a pretty fucking good one, even though he'd given it to himself. He kept stroking, wringing the last arcs of pleasure from his body, and then stilled.

There were lips grazing his cheek, his forehead, hands carding through his hair. He lifted his head and looked over Kirk's shoulder, not quite ready to meet his eyes.

Instead, his gaze fell on a very discomfited Vulcan standing by the turbolift door -- who'd apparently been watching for a while. Spock's eyes met his, and McCoy could swear the man flushed green. Spock's mouth opened, then closed again, and he swallowed. It was as close to a display of arousal as McCoy suspected the man would ever show.

He raised an eyebrow. Spock nodded in response, and then all but fled the bridge.

"What?" Kirk said, turning to look over his shoulder. Spock was gone, though.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about how… ironic this is."

"Ironic?"

"Maybe not ironic. I don't know." Awkward. He sat back on his heels. "Sorry about the biting. I don't usually…" Or did he? It had been so long, he wasn't sure.

Kirk rubbed at the spot McCoy had bitten him and grinned. "I kind of liked it, actually. I hope it leaves a bruise."

McCoy felt a twinge in his belly and looked up again. "Really?"

Kirk's eyes met his, and there was a spark there, something McCoy had never seen before. McCoy pushed himself up to kneeling and slid one hand behind Kirk's neck, then pulled him into a kiss. It was the opposite of what they'd just done -- slow and soft and warm, almost sweet. Kirk's lips were softer than he'd expected, and his tongue thicker, and McCoy felt a stab of regret that he might not get to do this again. He pulled away and smiled, and released his grip on Kirk's neck.

They stood and refastened their pants. McCoy rubbed his semen into the floor beneath the chair with the toe of his boot, wondering if the cleaning crews ever bothered to go under there.

"So… what are your plans for the next two weeks?"

McCoy shrugged. "I don't know. Hadn't made any past hitting the first bar and getting as drunk as possible."

"Want some company?"

"For the drinks, or for…?" He let the question hang there between them for a moment, already sorry he'd asked.

"For whatever, Bones. Two weeks of… whatever… sounds pretty good right now." He smiled.

They headed to the shuttle bay together, the banter between them as light as it had been in the Academy days. McCoy felt as if something had been lifted off his shoulders, something he hadn't even known was weighing him down.

They boarded the waiting shuttle, which was empty except for one other person.

"Spock," Kirk said, sitting next to his first officer and slapping him on the shoulder. Spock's eyes widened at the touch, but he regained his composure quickly.

"Captain," he replied, not quite meeting Kirk's gaze. He nodded in McCoy's general direction. "Doctor."

"We're going to get a drink, Spock. You should come with us."

"Yeah, Spock," McCoy added, sitting on the other side of him, leaning a little more into Spock's personal space than was strictly necessary. "I'd like you to come."

A green tinge appeared on the tips of Spock's ears, the only acknowledgement of the double-entendre. McCoy winked at Kirk, who didn't miss a beat.

"Yeah. We need to have a good three-way conversation about the last mission, actually."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "The earlier debriefing was insufficient to meet your needs?"

Kirk grinned and strapped himself in. "No, it was perfectly sufficient. But I have a feeling I'll have a lot more to say about it in, say, another half hour."

Spock glanced at Kirk and then back at McCoy, and then shifted in his seat slightly. "Fascinating."

***