by K.V. Wylie
McCoy was hard. He and Spock and just made love, they were done, but he was still swollen and somewhat sore with it too.
He rolled on his side towards the breeze coming in under the canvas awning, and propped up on one arm to look over the water.
They were outside, though on their property. Their house was behind them, fronted by trees and full of mosquitoes. Before them was a small inlet, a sideways branch of waterway from a large lake that began north of them and carried on unconcernedly past.
There were fewer insects by the water due to the residence of bats and birds. Last year they'd pitched an awning on a remnant of abandoned trail for the soft red clay felt cool even in blazing sunlight. Spock had suggested having dinner here tonight, which they'd done, and one thing had led to another.
Every couple of months or so, a canoe entered the inlet, someone who thought they were paddling somewhere until they came upon a dead end of reeds and greenish-rocks. For that reason, McCoy had picked a forest-green tarp. They were hidden unless a canoe came right up to the shore and he'd never seen one do so. Their only witnesses this evening were fish that popped their heads up through the seaweed with little plunks, and the occasional waterfowl.
A thousand tiny ripples ran across the top of the murky pond. Yellow leaves floating on the water swirled in the disturbance.
"It smells like rain," McCoy said, chilled where the breeze touched him. Otherwise, it was humid and sticky warm. "Are you cold?"
"No," Spock replied sleepily, and perhaps not truthfully. When he was finished, he was finished, and preferred to go to sleep.
McCoy shifted and lifted a corner of the blanket to let the air reach his distended penis. He was finished too, but he wasn't going down.
This had happened once before when he was seventeen and on a camping trip with a few of his friends. They were all young and hormonal and they had decided to camp for a week. A long week. So, if one of them went into the bushes to take a pee and took a long time with it, the others pretended not to notice.
McCoy had found a nice spot, a few fallen logs against a tree. He'd sat down and leaned back, stroked himself off, then found he couldn't get his cock back in his pants. He'd had to stroke himself off again and it took a long time because he hadn't actually felt horny anymore. Afterwards, his cock went down, but it stayed raw for the rest of the trip.
The breeze died and he moved again, trying to catch the tail end of it. His restlessness bothered Spock.
"Is something disturbing you, Leonard?"
Spock wasn't easily fooled, not even when he was nearly-asleep. He sat up and looked out toward the water. "Is someone out there?"
"It's nothing. It's just one of those things."
McCoy rolled onto his back. Spock eyed the tent in the sheet.
"You haven't finished," Spock surmised.
"I did. You were there," McCoy retorted. "All I need is some cold water."
Spock reached under the sheet. McCoy twitched. "Spock, it's, um, very sensitive."
They had brought out olive oil for the salad. Spock put some on his palm and gently took hold of McCoy's penis once more.
"It would be faster to get the cold water," McCoy said. "And your way might not work."
Spock shook his head as a small smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "My way is less painful and if it takes until morning, I do not mind. Close your eyes, Leonard, and I will touch you."
The Vulcan's touch went low, gently holding McCoy's testicles as his fingertips went underneath them. He rubbed little circles in the moist skin just in front of the doctor's pursed anus, and then one finger touched the opening. If he pushed in, he'd find his own semen.
"Spock," McCoy started, but the Vulcan kissed him.
"Close your eyes."
McCoy gave in and did so. As soothing as the touch was, he was more uncomfortable than aroused. There was a drug; it dilated the veins and freed the blood trapped in his organ. It could be put in a hypo and pressured in at the base. What was it called? He would have to look it up and write a prescription. He shouldn't let this go for more than six hours or there would be damage.
Spock's finger suddenly entered his anus and McCoy sucked in a breath. The Vulcan's lips covered his for a moment. Then Spock whispered in his ear.
"Do you remember the first time I touched you here?"
A second finger entered McCoy and he smiled. "On the ship after Jim's birthday party."
The captain hadn't wanted a celebration. "I hate birthdays," he'd said, yet he hadn't said no to the double-chocolate cake or the bottle of real Merlot. The three of them had consumed both cake and wine in Kirk's quarters. Kirk had sprawled against the headboard while Spock and McCoy sat at the foot of the bed, arms rubbing against each other, creating sparks until McCoy was so erect his plate couldn't hide it. On some pretext, he and Spock had finally left through the adjoining washroom to Spock's quarters. The door had barely shut behind them when they were on the floor in a sixty-nine, mouths on cocks and fingers in each other's holes. Afterwards, they kissed, their mouths tasting of come and chocolate.
"I'm sure he heard us. He did go into the washroom once," McCoy said, chuckling at the memory. They'd heard the captain using the shower and the idea of Kirk standing only a few feet away had set McCoy and Spock off again. They'd fucked so hard they'd both ended up with carpet burns.
Spock slowly withdrew his fingers and began cupping McCoy's balls. McCoy felt the sheet being drawn down and air on his groin.
"If I get a mosquito bite on my pecker, you are in deep shit," he warned.
"I am also exposed," Spock said, his voice amused. He was using both hands now, one to hold McCoy's ballsac while the other tugged teasingly at the wet, pubic hairs.
Neither man shaved their pubes, though they'd tried it once just to see what it was like. They'd used a razor around their cocks and a depilatory on their testicles. The hair remover had stung like icy pinpricks, yet the sensation had been an odd turn on. By the time Spock bent over McCoy's genitals with the foam and cold razor, the doctor's cock was slapping his abdomen.
They shaved each other carefully with little strokes of the sharp blade. Afterwards, while rubbing lotion around the base of their dicks, they both abruptly ejaculated. Then they laughed at the absurdity of it. It was the first time McCoy saw Spock laugh.
Their genitals were hypersensitive after that. McCoy's trousers rubbed him in new and exciting ways and even the feel of a sonic shower could give him an instant erection. They made love two and three times a day, lubing up and rubbing their cocks together while panting in each other's mouths. McCoy would call Spock from the bridge with some phantom computer problem and they'd jack each other off in McCoy's office or in a lab, and once in a Jeffries Tube. By the end of the day their undergarments were stiff with come.
When the hair began growing back, it was a different story. McCoy nearly itched himself raw. Spock, on the bridge, had no privacy whatsoever for any discreet scratches. They'd never shaved again.
McCoy's mind abruptly returned to the present when he felt Spock's tongue lap over the head of his dick, teasing the small slit with feathery caresses.
"Ooh!" McCoy pressed his lips together.
"Unpleasant?" Spock asked, concerned.
"Not at all," McCoy managed. He felt a spike of pleasure under the soreness.
Spock began stroking up the shaft with slow, long motions. The tip of his tongue ran down to the little, tender crux under the ridge of McCoy's dickhead. His fingers and tongue would meet, pull away, and then meet again. McCoy writhed, trying not to lose the fluttery contact.
He'd been circumcised two years ago. Not his choice. His foreskin had always been thick and cumbersome and it had hurt to pull it down far enough to clean properly. There had been a plus side however. The covering muted the friction. He could fuck for hours, literally hours, before coming. His partners loved it even if his back didn't. He'd put up with the inconvenience until a flu bug caused an infection that caused the need for a catheter, which then led to another infection at the opening to his urethra. After listening to McCoy's grunts of pain every time he urinated, Spock put his foot down and ordered the circumcision the urologist had been recommending.
McCoy had felt the difference right away, even before the bandage came off. It felt like there was less of him, and he hadn't wanted to show it to Spock. Again, the Vulcan wasn't taking no for an answer. A day after the urologist gave McCoy the ok to resume all normal activities, McCoy had come home to find the overhead lights off and their bedroom lit with candles. Spock undressed them in the comforting dimness. Then they'd played a game McCoy liked. Spock would kiss McCoy in two places the doctor chose, and then Spock could choose his own place. Lips, neck, chest, elbow, thighs, and finally Spock chose the tip of McCoy's penis. Murmuring words of encouragement, Spock then rolled onto his back and spread his legs. McCoy entered him.
And came ten seconds later.
He lasted a little longer the next time, but he'd never gotten back to literally hours. Everything rubbed too well against the exposed head. Spock had never asked for hours anyway; he was satisfied with what time the doctor could manage. McCoy for his part was now experiencing achingly sweet orgasms more intense than he'd ever felt before. When he ejaculated, semen shot out rather than dribbled. For the first time in his life, he could hit the headboard.
Without the foreskin, McCoy discovered a beautifully gratifying spot just under the head of his penis. He touched it every time he went to the washroom, a slightly naughty delight reminiscent of his teenage years.
Spock suddenly engulfed McCoy's dick in his mouth, sucking it all the way in until his nose pressed into the pubic curls. Like a typhoon, McCoy thought as the blood in his turgid organ rushed furiously upwards. He thought the tip of his prick would explode.
The Vulcan was still holding his balls in one hand. As he moved his lips up and down the shaft, he began gently separating and pinching each testis until they were taut like piano strings.
I'll break, McCoy thought, his hands digging into the clay beneath him. I'll snap. But his penis liked the taunting. He looked down, catching sight of it between sucks, bright red and prickling under the constriction.
He heard a noise in the water. A canoe? McCoy didn't care and Spock hadn't reacted so he didn't care either. McCoy arched up and groaned.
Spock, damn him, lifted off and gave McCoy an evil sideways look. "Are you in pain, Leonard? A stomach ache perhaps? Did you eat too many tomatoes? I warned you."
McCoy grimaced. "Wait until. . . the next time . . . I do you."
Spock stuck out his tongue and just barely touched McCoy's cock. "I'm thirsty. I believe I will go up to the house to get a drink. Would you like one too?"
"What I want--" McCoy started, then cried out when Spock grasped the base of his erection and squeezed.
It knifed. It ached. The pressure was like the dead centre of a hurricane. McCoy's ears filled until he could hear nothing except the oncoming roar. His balls filled with steel bearings rolling and smacking against his urethra and coiling it tight. Spock let go at the same time his mouth descended. McCoy bucked up.
Come burned his shaft, then burst out. McCoy cried with each agonizing ecstatic volley, seed pulsing and flying out into Spock's mouth, then into the air when the Vulcan couldn't take any more.
Immediately afterwards McCoy scrambled up and aimed towards the lake. He had to pee. Even doing that felt orgasmic. As his bladder let go for what seemed like an endlessly long time, his hard on subsided. When he was finally done and able to look at Spock again, he found the latter smiling like a satyr.
"You needn't look so smug," McCoy said happily.
"It is warranted," Spock said.
"You're an awful tease."
"Not all of the time, Leonard. Sometimes I am an excellent tease." Spock ran his fingers over McCoy's lips. "Do you wish to sleep out here tonight?"
"No, I'm tired of finding bugs in my ass."
An eyebrow quirked.
They gathered up their dishes and began the climb back to their house. Neither of them saw a small ruffle in the water off-shore as a shadow emerged from beneath tree branches overhanging the water. A solitary, awed canoeist silently paddled away.
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