Title: Rule Number Three
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 626
Warnings: unbetaed, does masturbation need a warning?
Summary: Comment porn for jim_and_bones - Jim! We have rules about this. Rules that I can't believe you've forgotten.

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He really can't believe Jim right now.

They have rules about this sort of thing, dammit. Rules that are supposed to keep situations like this from happening. Leonard's just gotten off a marathon shift at the hospital, and he really doesn't appreciate getting back to his room to find Jim sprawled out on Leonard's bed, completely naked except for his uniform pants and underwear bunched around his ankles, and jerking off like he'll die if he doesn't come right now.

Jim hasn't seemed to notice Leonard's arrival, or at least if he has, it hasn't effected his actions at all. His head is thrown back, Adam's apple more prominent with the way his neck is arched, eyes squeezed shut and mouth slack with a groan as he swipes his thumb across the tip of his cock.

"Jim!" Leonard barks, putting his bag down on Jim's bed since he can't exactly put it on his own. He crosses his arms in front of his chest, raising an eyebrow at the way Jim's hand slows as he props himself up on his elbows to look at Leonard, but he doesn't stop. "We have rules about this. Rules that I can't believe you've forgotten."

"Maybe you could remind me," Jim responds, breathing heavily, and he bites his bottom lip after twisting his fist a certain way along the length of his dick.

Leonard really can't help the eye roll. "Rule number one," he begins, "not in my bed."

"It was closer," Jim replies, tone suggesting that the whole meter between their beds would have been like crossing a Vulcan desert.

"Rule number two: No cleaning up with my clothes, bedding, or towels." Leonard glares pointedly at the white towel he sees poking out from underneath the pillow.

"Your laundry's softer." Jim's just holding himself now, eyes slightly unfocused as he looks at Leonard. "Scratchy towels on raw skin sucks, man."

Leonard does have to agree with that, but no way in hell is he letting Jim know. It's not Leonard's fault Jim doesn't add fabric softener to his laundry. Or go for the higher thread count. Leonard takes his pleasure where he can get it, and if it means softer sheets and fluffier towels, he's willing to pay the price.

He steps away from his bed, going into the bathroom to shuck his dirty clothes and toss them in the hamper. "Rule number three," he calls from the bathroom before heading back out in his underwear.

"Rule number three," Jim parrots, looking at Leonard like he's expecting something.

Leonard sits on the bed, grabbing Jim by the chin to pull him into a kiss. Jim kicks his pants the rest of the way off before climbing into Leonard's lap, his cock hot and heavy against Leonard's stomach. He licks and bites his way into Leonard's mouth, shimmying his hips until Leonard is panting and groaning with arousal.

"Rule number three is to wait for me, you impatient bastard."

Jim hums in agreement, reaching into Leonard's underwear to draw out his cock. He wraps his feet around Leonard's calves, spreading his legs wider to slide down on his knees between them, pulling Leonard's boxers down with him as he licks a hot trail up Leonard's dick. "Sorry, Bones, I just couldn't help myself. Here I was, all alone and thinking about you. How your hands and mouth feel on me, how your accent gets all thick and rumbly when you're turned on..."

Anything further Jim might have been planning on saying is lost to the little choking noises he makes as he swallows Leonard's cock down, lips pink and glistening.

Leonard's completely forgotten all of his earlier aggravation. Besides, Jim wouldn't be himself if he didn't play with the rules.



Title: The Hint of the Century
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Chris/Karl
Word Count: 512
Warnings: RPS, unbetaed
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. None of it is real.
Summary: Comment porn for jim_and_bones and for abigail89's Alphabet Meme prompt S is for Soul - And now everyone can see it because they're both wearing gray suits.

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In hindsight, Chris should've been more suspicious when Zach had said, "Get the gray, it'll bring out your eyes, Princess." There'd been a beat, then, "You're going to shave, right? You've long passed crossed the line dividing ruggedly stubbled and mountain man."

He didn't shave. He's not going to listen to Zach about everything, now, is he?

Then Karl shows up, also in a gray suit, and Chris knows that there's only so many colors a suit can be before crossing into pimp Halloween costume or eighties prom date, but he suddenly feels like everyone knows, can somehow tell through the coincidence that's probably Zach's fault that they're fucking and, okay, Chris is probably a little bit in love with Karl.

And now everyone can see it because they're both wearing gray suits, even if they aren't exactly the same shade as gray, and it doesn't even matter that it's happened before with the cast. There'd been the stop in Japan back when they'd released the first film when Karl and Eric had looked like they were wearing the same suit. Then that party where Karl and Zach had both been wearing gray. And how many times have Karl and John showed up at promotional events, looking like they'd called each other ahead of time?

Simon and Zoe are on the carpet between them. Simon's wearing his glasses with frames as thick as Chris's but that he doesn't actually need, the bastard, and Zoe is doing that cross-the-legs-and-look-over-the-shoulder pose while Keith stands respectfully out of frame.

But Karl... Karl looks incredible, and it makes Chris scratch at his beard, feeling like an idiot, while becoming aware at how constricting his tie and shirt collar are, how much more comfortable Karl looks with the top of his shirt open, his neck unconfined with the teasing glimpse of his chest.

And now he's been caught staring because he looks at Karl's face to see him staring at Chris, focused like he's staring into Chris's soul, and one enterprising photographer seems to notice and get an idea from this because suddenly he and Karl and being herded together and then Zach is there, looking smug about the whole thing, while the media gets their rocks off on taking trio shots.

Eventually they all get herded into the theater, and the premier anxiety hits with more critics hoping for success yet expecting failure for the sequel, like the first film had been sheer luck. Chris wants a fucking cigarette, is what he wants, and he's contemplating ducking out, knowing where the nearest convenience store is, but then there's a familiar hand around his arm, guiding him into the theater.

"Don't even think of bailing on me," Karl says in his ear, at image that graces the cover of all the celebrity gossip rags for the next two weeks.

"Never," Chris replies, his hands not feeling as sweaty nor his fingers as twitchy as they had moments before. He's not sure how he means it, but it's true either way.