tourdefierce | FIC: Gun Porn, Kirk/Bones (NC-17)

Title: Gun Porn
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Bones/Kirk
Word Count: 1890
Summary: People, it's gun porn. What more do you want from me?
Warnings: OBJECT INSERCION OBVIOUSLY.
Notes: Base on the pictures at

jim_and_bones daily picture which was both Karl Urban and Chris Pine holding guns and looking scrumptious.

blcwriter somehow convinced me to write porn when I wanted someone else to. She's evil like that. Careful.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

There was supposed to be gunshots and handcuffs with a fast forward to you getting a metal of honor for catching the most chased criminal in centuries.

Instead, you're half naked in a warehouse with about a dozen splinters from various crate boxes imbedded in your skin, licking sweat off Jim Kirk—modern day Robin Hood with a kink for danger. He's writhing beneath you, hands cuffed above his head, as you suck blotchy spots of color on his ribs, which are bruised and possibly broken because he hisses with pleasure when you press too hard.

So you press too hard and watch him arch, pretty and debauched underneath your care and remember once more, why you are a better doctor than a copper. Always been better with shiny objects than getting metals of honor, anyway.

“Come on, Bones,” Jim hisses through clenched teeth and a split lip that was on its way to healing before Leonard had tongued it open and sucked the copper taste out of Jim's mouth. “Come on and fuck me.”

You shake your head, grinning into Jim's hip and scrapping your teeth along the jut of his hip bones until he slams his iron clad hands on the ground in frustration.

“Don't tease me,” he warns with flashing blue eyes and a stiff jaw.

“Don't worry, darlin',” you say with more condescension that is necessary. “You'll get what's due.”

Jim laughs, it's wheezy from the ribs but delightful in ways that reminds you that he's a criminal, not a lover. But you wrestle his worn jeans down to around his ankles to trap his squirming feet and raise an eyebrow at the distinct lack of underwear the boy is wearing. He stops flailing, twisting his spine in a fashion that is obviously made to make the crowd go wild, to grin a sharp and feral grin for you.

“Gets in the way,” he says.

You shake your head because you know exactly how Jim Kirk stayed above the law for too many years. You've read the file.

“Don't think you can suck and fuck your way through this one,” you say with a shake of your head. “I'm gonna turn you in after I've had my fill. You can come see me when you get out of the joint.”

A frown breaks out on his forehead and you stare right back into those icy blue eyes and dare them to question you. Stillness breaks out between the two of you and you are all too aware of the sticky heat crawling down your back or the flutter of Jim's pulse as you grip his hips. He could fight you if he wanted to but he knows that your sheer bulk would win. You're not as beat to hell as he is—the road you traveled her by was less rocky. Plus, you're a doctor. You know exactly how to make them bleed.

“And if I do?”

The cocky smile is back, as is the roll of his hips, so you turn you attention away from his face and back to his dick which is hard against his belly and just centimeters from your lips. You can smell the heat there, the fire and desire and your mouth waters to have just a little taste. But you resist, pulling back to unholster your gun and slip the clip out.

You ignore the way his body tenses when you grip the gun. He still doesn't trust you. But he will. He will when this is over. You pull the trigger once as it's aimed across the warehouse, just to make sure the barrel is empty and when there are no gunshots, you check the chamber and turn back towards Jim.

“Hmm?” You say with a smile as you root through the backpack near you, keeping an eye on Jim's twisting hips. They keep moving, arching and thrusting, as if there was a phantom hand or mouth helping Jim towards release. Instead, you tighten your grip on his hip and watch him hiss out a breath.

“What if I come see you once I'm out?”

Finally, you find the vial of gun cleaning oil in the bottom of the backpack. It's funny, but when you're packing for a high speed criminal chase, you don't pack lube or condoms. Obviously, it's an item that you're going to have to start packing if you're going to keep chasing Jim Kirk. You'll have to add condoms too. But that's all for a different time.

“Well,” you say as you twist the cap off the vial and pour the slick oil over your fingers. “I imagine things will go a little differently.”

You wink and Jim's eyes widen comically as you duck down between his legs, pushing his knees apart with the width of your shoulders, as you slide a finger into his clenching hole and suck a hickey onto the base of his dick.

“Holy shit,” Jim gasps out and you have to put more pressure on his hip to keep him from rubbing his dick in your face. You work your finger in and out while you take to licking and sucking on the base of his dick, letting himself thrust back onto your finger and up onto your mouth with little hitches of his hips. It's not enough to get Jim off but it's enough for you to watch the unraveling. You don't waste time, a second finger goes in with a curse and a hiss from Jim but none of which seem protesting. Watching Jim fuck himself on your fingers, pushing back with as much leverage as his handcuffed hands give him, is enough to make you want to say fuck it all and burry yourself into his ass—fuck him into the warehouse floor until he screams. But you're an intelligent human being and the statistics hold out that Jim Kirk hasn't been careful fucking his way through socialites to get to their money. And anyone who is anyone knows that money is the dirtiest of pleasures.

“Like that?” You say when you pull away from his cock to slide three fingers into his ass and immediately stretch them, pulling them apart to watch the way Jim gasps into breath, obviously riding the pain as much as the pleasure. Thrill seekers are always the same and the fact that you want to give Jim whatever he wants is borderline alarming.

“You know I do, Bones,” he says as he moans out your name when your fingers find his prostate. “Fuck, that's good.”

You poke and prod at his prostate until he's snarling at you. You lean over, dragging your fingers inside of him and pressingpressingpressing until he arches up and you are sharing breath. He's so hot beneath you and you stare into his lust blown eyes, wild with pleasure and practically begging you to fuck him until he comes messily between the two of you. You rest your forehead against his, your fingers slipping out of him. You find your trousers with one hand, unzipping and pushing away cloth to get at your cock and use the other hand to locate the gun cleaner and your gun.

“Up,” you say when you lean back and his legs go up and over your head so that his jean twisted ankles are pressing into the small of your back. Looking at him, sweat dripping off his body and keening for your cock is more than a beautiful sight. You understand, explicitly, why all those people gave away their money to a pretty thing like Jim. You pour more cleaner over his hole, enjoying the way it twitches and gapes open, just begging you to fill him up.

You lean over him, one hand between your legs to dump the rest of the oil on the barrel of your gun and one hand to lean on by Jim's head, forcing him to look you in the eye.

“Ready?” You says with a bite to his upper lip. He looks desperate and needy for completion but he gasps and says, “Fuck yes. Give it to me.”

You thrust your hips along with the barrel of the gun, the gun slides into Jim while your cock slides against Jim's. The surprise is evident on his face, eyes wide and mouth gaping open.

“What the fuck!”

“You didn't think I was going to fuck you bare,” you say when you bite his mouth, watching his eyes close and open, fighting the intrusion of the cold gun barrel inside of him. “I don't know where you've been, Jimmy.”

“Oh God,” he murmurs and it's lust filled and panicking and all the sounds you want to hear out of him. “Oh my fucking god, yes.”

It's all you need to start thrusting the gun in and out of Jim, twisting the shaft with every twist of your hips as you grind your own cock against Jim's. It's slick and messy and the two of you are just grinding together, gasping and kissing with open mouths and needy groans. You keep the pace high, shoving the gun barrel hard and high into Jim until he is screaming, throwing his cuffed hands over your head and shoving back onto the gun as much as he is thrusting up into the cradle of your hips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he wrenches out of his mouth, head back and wanton. You're quieter but just as consumed, moaning against him until your hand slips and the gun goes in on a different angle and slams into his prostate with enough force that he comes, your name buckling out of his mouth as his head thrusts forward and finds your shoulder, clamping his teeth down and biting you so hard you come too. You rock against him, riding out your orgasm until you are both spent and sticky from the come between the two of you and the gun cleaner which is slick and fucking everywhere.

You lean back, unwrapping yourself from Jim but keeping the gun where it's meant to be, squeezed between Jim's boneless legs. You lean back and tuck yourself in, watching the lazy play of satisfaction on Jim's face. He doesn't move. He doesn't have to.

You pick up your backpack and walk away, leaving him with your gun fucked inside of him and come smeared all over his belly. He'll get out of the handcuffs, he always does and when he's ready for more, he'll come looking for you.

In the mean time, you have a job to quit and a nickname to maintain back in a quiet hospital somewhere.

You leave the warehouse with Jim Kirk's delighted laughter following you outside into the sunlight.