[This isn't exactly the direction Blake was expecting, and whatever he had in his hands has gone by the wayside in an effort to keep himself upright and in the game. He's got one hand moving along, in tandem with Kirk, and his free hand grips firmly, digging in with blunt fingertips as the bite leaves a trace of ache even after the fact.
He's panting and there's really no sense in saying much more because all he wants to do is follow this though, crescendo, peak, repeat, repeat, repeat.
But he's got to have a little more finesse than that, doesn't he? I mean, this is Jim Kirk, not just some guy, and that demands more than the minimal effort. It requires more than a sloppy handjob settled for because they just can't wait.
Without so much as a word, he pushes, pulls, tugs, until he can eventually force a separation between them, shoving against Jim in order to try to maneuver him appropriately. God, does it suck to have to stop, but honestly, there's still some safe sex to consider here, right? In whatever nebulous existence, despite the time or the planet, it's always a consideration, at least for Blake.
...so maybe he's a little more staunch than he ought to be, but that's part of his charm.]
Don't move. [It might be an order, might be a plea. Either way, it's Blake's way of ensuring he has time to roll on a space condom and maybe to assert himself a little bit.
As soon as he has the hand to spare, it's groping at Kirk, sliding a palm along his shaft, groping at his balls, just making sure he knows slowing down doesn't mean Blake's any less interested in sealing this deal.]
Okay, now you can move... [Preferably somewhere John can easily get to him.]
Kirk to Bones
[ they … don't. do they? huh.
he's known it for quite a while, honestly, but it never seems to weigh on him as much as when he's looking the other man right in the face and sees just how tired he is, realizes that they have to keep in close proximity to one another to have the area affect of their taking care of each other be anything but futile.
jim waves a hand, and as bones slips past him he ends up slipping over to the kitchen because oops, his eggs are burning. ( steve isn't around to cook breakfast, for whatever reason, maybe an early shift at the training grounds – so it's up to him to feed his best friend, and feed him he shall.
he even has real bacon. ]
Gotta lead by example, don't you? [ he's back to grinning a bit, stirring his eggs and turning his back for a short moment to get more juice. ]
Bones to Kirk
"A year and some, now. Been us'n it a little more in the past coupla months." Shoes off at the door, coat hanging on the hook as he considers what he wants to be called. In the end it's his room, his reputation's already shot and what the hell harm is it going to do? "Leonard. Or Len. Not Leo or Lenny though, please."
Leo belonged to his father, now dead. Lenny to his ex-wife and he'd hated it the entire time she'd used it on him. Len or his full name will have to work. Most of the boys called him Len, it made them comfortable and kept him happy. Some twisted Leonard into something sweet and exotic and aching- like a foreign language he'd never discovered before. Part of him wonders what it'll sound like coming from Jim's lips. The rest of him is busy trailing after Jim and just. Staring at him in his bed for a long while.
All that skin, golden and lean, that goddamn ring in his beautiful pink mouth and he is. So very tempted to do more than his usual tonight. Wants to touch, wants to taste, wants to take. His hands are trembling for the ache of it and his usual script, his usual procedure is utterly lost to him for the moment.
"I. Um. Jesus usually I'm better at this, I swear. This is not my best night." Like it matters what Jim thinks about him. Like it meant something to him that he make this good for Jim rather than just for himself. He squares his shoulders at that and takes his first few steps forward, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling them back. Massage oil- he'll start there. Calloused fingers pluck up a vial from the nightstand as he sits on the edge of the bed, smile tentative but present. "I want you to just. Lay back and enjoy yourself. Let me do all the work tonight."
Bones to Kirk
You've come back to me without a scratch or a bruise for the past five or six away missions. Brought everyone home safe and kept everything good and boring. That's how, Darlin.
[It's easy to lean down against Jim's lips, to kiss him slow and sweet and easy. To let this tenderness just rumble on through once he's done mapping out every inch of Jim in oil and a straight razor. Silky smooth and so very sweet and so easy to touch. Len loses long moments just tasting Jim, hands mapping out his newly shaven and moisturized skin. Unblemished and unmarked by anything recent. Just lets his hands relearn every divot and curve of his torso, the long stretch of his arms and legs, the flat expanse of his abdomen. Every last bit of him mapped out with steady and warm hands to smooth in the last of the oil. ]
[One last kiss to Jim's lips, his jaw, his forehead.]
That'd be lovely, darlin.
Bones to Kirk
"Not too different from earth. Damn near an exact replica, in fact. But there's no color." He sidles right past the angel, brushing by him just enough to feel a little more of those feathers, feel a slight crackle of that grace before he finds his own post to lean against. His grin is sweet, his manner mild, the curl of his tail brushing along the angel's ankle- but his words? cool and honest and almost pained.
"No sunlight. No wind- none that's fresh. Everything is hot and dry and full of the smell of blood and the screams of the damned. You haven't heard scream'n until you've spent a few hours in hell. The worst part? Is when you get used to it. When you don't gag at the rot or wince at the howling. When you forget what the sun looks like or what it ever meant to smile. Why the hell else would we try so goddamn hard to get out?" A bit of honesty- hell. A slew of honesty. More than he would've liked to say but he's wound up more than a little from the trip. From a hollow ache in his ribs that lookin at this divine creature that never knew that kind of suffering just standing here.
It's so easy to resent angels. Too easy.
"In hell there's nothing beautiful. At least up here I've got the sunrise, songbird."
Bones to Kirk
"Make contact, offer supplies, spread a li'l goodwill to strengthen alliances?" Poking at thought processes just as he pokes at skin that should have scars. This Jim's missing a few and it's damned disconcerting. Maybe he should give them over. The laser scalpel in his hand is slim and light, glinting under the dim glow above their heads.
[He allowed himself to be steered reluctantly, still thoroughly unimpressed with Rudy One's crassness.]
She's not a freak. She's probably very nice... romantic. Not whatever perverted shit you're thinking. Not that it's anything to do with you.
[And then there's the more negative aspect of his visit. He slumps, all signs of irritation at Rudy One disappearing.] To be honest I don't think she even likes me that much. I mean, she's nice, but she doesn't want anything to do with the whole superhero jumper thing. I'll get her there in the end, that's destiny. But what if to her... I'm jut this bloke she stopped from dying in the street, and I never mean anything else?
[It was a depressing thought. One he'd managed to avoid until Rudy One had stopped him thinking about her in general, and brought it around to her going out with him.]