Smut Picture Prompt Meme

[sockitymcsock]

the  smut picture prompt meme
SIMILAR TO THE PICTURE PROMPT MEME ONLY FOR NSFW/SMUT PROMPTS INSTEAD

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY AND NSFW.

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Embed an image in your reply:   <img src=IMAGEURL>

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leonard 'bones' mccoy ➞ star trek (AOS) ➞ ota

[tricorders]

[facesso]

[tricorders]

[ sometimes - Leonard found himself wanting to forget everything. he wasn't a fan of change. not really. he didn't care for the way that he'd arrived here, left to his own devices to interpret the strange messages they'd gotten, forced to adjust very quickly before it was out in the field and things got complicated.

so that's why he's finding himself wandering around district four, supposedly some dirty, dingy place that's home to the black market, and he's not really looking for danger - not in the way that Jim Kirk would be - no. he's just looking for a way to end the night where it's not quite so lonesome; where it's not quite so not-his-bed and where he doesn't recognize the people he's been placed with.

so here he is, in some shady looking bar, and he's knocking probably the shittiest whiskey - if it's even that - down his throat, glancing around at the occupants. ]

[facesso]

[ He's pissed off and he's horny and nothing's really different from how he normally feels. The city's fucked, district 4 is Sanctum's goddamn asshole, and he has no fucking money. None. Credits have gone out the window, and the already drunk Amalric is left at the bar.

When someone walks in, it's obvious they're Immune. He doesn't know who it si and he doesn't care--he wants to fight or fuck, one of the two, and the guy's got a pretty good face for choking on his fist or his cock. ]

You gonna buy me one, too, handsome?

[tricorders]

[ he doesn't know what to think about the guy that sits himself right down next to him, and he grunts a sound of approval as he presses some credits to the barkeep, gesturing towards the guy. ] One for him too.

[ he glances back at the other guy, looking somewhat unsure, somewhat unfamiliar. seems a bit like Jim, blonde and full of fight or something, something about him looks like he doesn't wanna mess with the guy. so he doesn't bother. just glances away from him. ]

What brings you 'round here?

[ozhika]

[tricorders]

[ there were times when spock's advice was occasionally, on the very rare occasion that is, solicited. mccoy can admit that much; can admit that the vulcan has his uses and is probably the smartest person on the damn ship, and there's not really much more that you could expect from a walking, talking computer.

this, however, this is his area of expertise. not that he's one to brag - he's not jim kirk, he's not shouting his exploits to the world because a true gentleman doesn't kiss and tell. nor does he fuck and tell, honestly, and mccoy is drawing up the length of a long expanse of slightly green-tinged skin, warm human lips meeting even warmer as he brushes over spock's abdomen. there's a tenderness and a sensuality to his touch, and he's absently making notes of each time the man's stomach deflates - each time a hitch in his breath belies his intense concentration, and mccoy can't help but smile.

he's insulted spock more times than he can count, but this, this is all about compliments. silently, of course, a coarse jaw brushing against his neck as he leans up and teethes at the lobe of one of those pointed ears, as he draws his hand down to pry between the vulcan's legs and part them, curl a wandering hand down over his cock. he's still feeling remarkably self-assured by this, almost excited for the chance to prove that the legendary hands rumour isn't just that. his thumb slides against the long length of the man's erection, pressing him into the mattress.

he flicks his gaze towards spock, watching him closely as he strokes over him, going achingly slow. ]

[ozhika]

[ Rest assured, Spock doesn't engage in the ship's gossip ( though it'd be a lie to say he didn't keep his ear cocked to the wind ) and doesn't make it public business who he is or isn't sleeping with. Truth be told, after Nyota, he hadn't expected to find himself interested in engaging in another shipside relationship... And he wasn't, not really. He'd taken the doctor to bed, laid himself beneath the human's hands; both were intrigued enough by the other, it seemed, to allow themselves to be where they are now, and neither of them obligated to any more than they wished to give.

The tenderness is a pleasant surprise to Spock, who has become accustomed to scowls and surly disagreement and might have thought it highly probable he'd be arguing again, if in a wholly different way. But Spock's not fighting; he lets the doctor try to unravel him by degrees, pliant enough under each pull and slipping in breath between every kiss. Measured, all very measured, until teeth scraping against the obvious place produces an obvious response. The Vulcan's ears are as sensitive as one might suspect, and he shudders in silence beneath McCoy, lets that hand slip between his thighs.

When Bones looks, he'll find Spock ready to meet his gaze, breathing through his nose, expression just as nonchalant as it always tended to be. But there's no mistaking how his pupils have dilated, how dark his eyes have gone with his arousal. His erection pulses and fills itself out firmer beneath every stroke of the older man's palm. One of Spock's arms has got him sitting up partially, the other traces just his fingertips up the doctor's side. Even if he feels inclined to let his eyes roll back in his head, Spock holds McCoy's gaze like it's easy, wets his lips just once to suck off the traces of the human's skin for analysis and memory.

For all intents and purposes, he looks like he's still waiting to be impressed. ]

[tricorders]

[ he hardly would call it a relationship, though he's not really sure he likes the idea of it just being some one night stand with the guy. it was a mutually beneficial situation, and that was that. nothing needed to be more. he didn't really like the idea of being all that intimate with the vulcan, at least not in the sentimental sense of the word. but intimacy is still what he's inclined towards, and his hands are occupied as he smirks, strokes him in a way he hopes (knows, actually) has to be pleasant. he's thankful he's paid attention, because at least that gives hime more an idea of what to do.

his own gaze is at half-mast, lips drawn back when those fingertips draw along his side, trace along the edge of his exposed skin. and sure, he knows he's good - he feels like it, anyway, feels like he's doing exactly what he needs to do with his own hands, but it still feels like static electricity touching along his skin with each brush of skin against skin. there's a certain challenge to spock; and he's relishing in shudders and slow, inhaled breathes, measured as if he has to think about it. ]

Think you can relax a little more than that, Spock? [ he offers, and there's almost a tease to his tone. ] Doesn't hurt to enjoy yourself.

[ he's intrigued by the feel of him in his hand, the slickness making his movements all the easier. he nips lightly at his neck before drawing back again. ]

[ozhika]

[ Spock continues his way up the other man's side, feathering his fingers against McCoy's ribcage. Were he a Vulcan, his heart would be there. His cock slides smoothly through the other man's fist, slipping its sheath in favor of the cool-tight pressure. Arousal rakes down his spine in slow slivers, dizzying enough that he feels fortunate to be already laying down. Maybe a ripple of it makes it between their skin; it's inevitable with a touch telepath whose control is slowly going a little slack. There's a hitch in his breath for the nip at his throat, that free hand enfolding the nearest shoulder. ]

Every time I endeavor to try, Doctor, you endeavor to speak.

[ Nevertheless, he grips the older man by the throat, just enough to pull him in for a smoldering kiss. He inhales through his nose, twitches his hips incrementally into the doctor's hand with a murmur of sound that's more felt through the connection of their lips than heard. ]

[tricorders]

[ fine, fine, and he's kissing him desperately, slamming his lips against spock's with a fierceness that is based in frustration with the way the man smarts off at him, and maybe it's because spock simply knows how to get to him, knows just how to frustrate him as much as perhaps humanly - vulcanly - possible. the words don't really come to his mind, he's practically babbling and would be if he didn't enjoy this so much, if he didn't enjoy palming over spock again and again, stroking the man's length with a less-than-clinical touch.

and he's not speaking, because fine, you asshole, if that's what you want, that's what you'll get, and he's sliding down to nip possessively at his lower lip, and drop down to kiss along his jaw.

he's swallowing hard and pressing his lips over the column of his throat, and there's a connection there that he's faintly aware of, he's no stranger to what a touch-telepathic species can do and it's something outside of his comfort zone but entirely intriguing just as well. he slides one of his hands down over spock's hip and presses his thumb against his body, sliding it back down the curve of his ass to slide fingers over the vulcan's hand. and he's had it with trying to remain quiet, god damn spock, he's hardly going to let the commander tell him what he can and can't do. not from this perspective, anyway. ]

Feels good. You feel…[ he's pressing his lips against a green tinged nub on his chest, giving him a light nip, a tease. ] - good.

[ozhika]

[ Under such a physical ferocity, passion, Spock is more inclined to just take it, in effect reaping what he's sown; a triumph and a punishment. Because like it or not, he feels more of Bones than what he conveys, despite erecting the barriers, it's admittedly difficult to concentrate on blocking it out when a part of him wants it. Out of his comfort zone, his own sort of intrigue.

Silently, he's arching his spine for the attention making its way down his jaw and his neck, licking his burning lower lip to help soothe out the pain and taste some trace of the other man. He's beginning to rock into that hand instead of just allowing its ministrations, drinking in that interesting curl of possession and swallowing whatever the more human part of him might dare to respond with. His fingers twitch and curl under the hand landing over his, offering for a moment the grace of a Vulcan kiss up the underside of those first two fingers, hooking briefly before they continue on.

The fact that he doesn't speak a damn word outside of a soft gasp probably says well enough on its own. But there's a hand resting on the back of McCoy's head now, fingers stroking through the short hairs at his nape that says yes, says that he's finding a certain level of enjoyment in the human as his other hand rubs down his spine, slipping down the curve of his ass. ]

[tricorders]

[ whereas spock has always been thought, pure, left-brained thought and logical technicalities, mccoy has always been a whirlwind of emotions and feelings and everything outside of the realms of mathematics and scientific processes. he's truthfully enjoying this, this ability to seem to make spock feel what he's feeling, that swallow of indignance that he tries to convey and drag his fingers over his cock, again, again, and again.

and the fact that he seems to be enjoying himself, that mccoy can take comfort in the way that spock's limbs are more lenient now that his other hand is tangled with his for a brief moment makes him grin with all the satisfaction of a man getting something that he wants, and his body moves against the other man's with all the drive and desire of something still not yet won. he draws that hand down spock's chest and down underneath him, hooking a leg over the other side of him, pressing against his entrance and toying lightly over that ring of muscle, placing a dry thumb against him simply to feel him lightly clench, to test against the resistance there. ]

Always knew you'd have a tight ass. Seemed like the type.

[polyglot]

[tricorders]

[ he's pretty sure that what nyota gets and what she deserves are two entirely different things. but he's a gentleman, he's convinced himself, so he doesn't inject himself into conversations in which jim babbles about spock and uhura's relationship as though they're some tragic, romeo and juliet couple that will bounce right back together just as soon as spock figures out how to treat a woman right, and when jim says he's going to be the one to offer advice, leonard nearly chokes on his coffee.

but he had noticed that she was surprisingly away from spock more often. he's not sure what exactly that means, he's not sure if by the fact that they're apart even means she's looking for someone, so he's tried to keep that mostly to himself. except that it's hard to do that when she glances his direction every so often, and he finds himself oddly protective. when hendorff mentions her in his quarterly physical he gives him a stern talking to and a bit harder than usual hypospray full of vaccinations, and when he hears jim still trying to patch up that relationship, mccoy nearly hits him on the side of the head.

she doesn't deserve spock.

never did, in his opinion. she may've wanted him, but no one deserves to fall in love with a vulcan, a damn person who can't even respond to your love the way she deserved, and that's the final straw, that's when he's managed to come up to her quarters and knock and tell her just how much she deserves, that she's a beautiful young woman and she's gonna find someone who's going to give her the world one day, just you wait and see. and when that attempt goes forward, he finds himself suddenly in her quarters and her lips pressed against his, and she's warm and soft and beautiful and feminine and everything he hasn't barely touched since he's divorced his wife nearly four years ago.

but she's different, and he finds himself kissing her desperately, tenderly, trying to give her just as much emotion as she's used to not receiving, pouring in as much as he possibly can. and then he's pulling back and cupping her jaw, brushing over her lips. ]

I just wanna...make sure you're okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want to.

[polyglot]

[ she'd often heard before joining starfleet and upon enlistment that the problem with actual stationing on a ship was that it was like a mini-ecosystem; there was no such thing as a personal life. she'd waved that away, initially. after all, they were all adults. surely they would be able to keep their hands (and rumors) to themselves. or at least, she'd thought that before she and spock had begun having problems. she'd barely even known they were having problem before the women of the ship had begun approaching her en masse, offering condolences (they weren't broken up?), telling her she deserved better, etc. meanwhile, the men were huddling together, chatting on their own.

it was enough to make her scream.

it seemed like the only thing that would keep her sane was hiding out on the communications deck (sure to be deserted, she'd dismissed her lackeys in hope of quiet) and translating the obscure signals they received from all corners of the universe. normally, she had other people to do that for her; but the work soothed her. it gave her something to think about other than the shambles of her relationship -- what did "too vibrant" mean? why was it a bad thing? -- and the impending trip that spock was making back to vulcan. without her. the first time he'd left the ship without taking her with him.

nyota surprised even herself, however, with how often she found herself glancing at other people - namely dr. mccoy. she'd heard, through the ever busy rumor mill, that he'd given hendorff one of his famous hyposprays after her name came up and that kirk had been on the receiving end of a few shouting matches. her name had come up on the bridge more than a few times, when both she and spock had been absent. someone was championing her cause -- but why?

there was no time to ponder that; it was the day spock was leaving, the day that the communications deck was closed for repairs and the day that she didn't have a shift until much later. she'd finally escaped to her quarters and was settling in for a long nap (perhaps aided by some brandy that she'd snuck aboard) when the door bell had rung and she'd opened it and all of a sudden.

kissing. she was being kissed. kissed like she'd dreamed about in those stupid dreams you clung to in the quiet moments just after waking, where you could still feel the hint of a dream clinging to your consciousness and you thought you could just slip back into it. nyota couldn't hesitate; her hands came up to grip mccoy's uniform, tugging him forward, into her quarters so that the door could slide shut (no more fuel for the rumor mill, please), fingers tangling in the fabric as her tongue twined around his, body softening against. god, it was like everything she hadn't known she missed, everything she hadn't been aware she'd needed for those long months.

and then it was over and she was left blinking, somewhat dazed, eyes hazy with muted desire. ]

You're just going to stop? [ she said, finally, nudging his hand with her lips, brushing them against his fingers. rough, but not unpleasantly so. in fact, it was .. perfect. ] You can't. Don't. Not now. Not after..

[ she can't say it and she refuses to beg, instead nipping at one finger and glancing back at him, eyes somewhat pleading. ]

[tricorders]

[ he looks guilty for a minute; because christ, he doesn't just kiss girls all that often. doesn't come up in polite conversation much, and it certainly shouldn't come up with uhura while they're both in her room with the door closed and Spock off to new Vulcan somewhere, god knows where and god knows why. he feels horrible because he doesn't just do that, no matter how much he thinks the guy's an unfeeling robot, he has no idea. but he's looking down at her and he's pretty sure he's breaking all rules here, because he's still holding her gently, he's dropping a hand down to the middle of her back and just pulling her close for a minute.

she deserves better than spock, but that doesn't mean it's him, 'cause jesus he's got jocelyn's voice in his ear telling him again that he's worked too much lately, that he never has time for her, and he never even noticed she was unhappy. and maybe that's why she ran into the arms of another man, and maybe that's what nyota is doing now, because she's certainly clinging to him, she's gently brushing her lips against his hand, and he gently strokes over her jaw with a soft, anything-but-clinical touch.

he feels horrible for it, but he's moving forward, kissing her anyway. because dammit, it's not really fair, not fair for her to beg him to stop, because he doesn't really want to. he doesn't want to say no, and he wants to give her what he needs, and if that means letting her tug him forward into her room and if that means slowly dropping his fingers down to her waist, that's what they both need.

she deserves this, she deserves the feeling of being cared for and adored and appreciated and needed.

he can't imagine spock is very tender, and he can't imagine he does this - he can't imagine that he murmurs that she's beautiful against her lips, that he crumbles with her against the mattress like a tidal wave crashing down, his fingers seeking to slide through hers and clench their hands together. ]

I don't want to stop. [ he murmurs, and that slow southern drawl is touched with honey and sex and something all together separate, sensuality and acknowledgement that she hasn't gotten what she needs.

but he's still a gentleman, (at least he'd like to fancy himself one) and so he stops himself as he looks down at her. ]

You better let me know if I go too far. You say the word and I'll stop straight off. [ his brows lift and he pauses, stroking his fingers through her hair. ]

Don't wanna do anything you don't want me to.

[polyglot]

[ the guilt she sees in his eyes chills her to the very core and for a moment she rethinks her begging, rethinks all of this. then, the part of her that had been sleeping for so long returned to life shouting, didn't she deserve this? to be held, to be loved by someone who looked at her gently and cared about what she wanted and that she was hurting? and didn't she deserve just one night where no one was staring at her like she was a wounded animal, and someone actually cared?

at the very least, she wasn't doing anything wrong. maybe she hadn't been able to admit they were over because saying it aloud made it true, but spock would never come back to her. not when she knew what his trip to vulcan was for, and what he was going to do.

once she's pulled close, her arms curl around his neck and she sighs, melting into his arms and abandoning the sense of hurt and betrayal that had followed her around lately, abandoning the sense of being anything other than nyota, with anyone other than leonard. as soon as her back hits the mattress, she's arcing against him, hands applying pressure to his to show that she was still with him.

god, it was everything until he pulled away and her eyes searched his for some sort of approval, fingers curling in his hair, her palm brushing over his cheek as she gently explored his features. ]

Yes. Yes. [ she insists, twining a leg around his hip insistently and rolling against him, tilting back her chin with some of her old fire. ] Don't stop, or I swear to god I'll shoot you.

[ there. that sounded more like her, and the fire in her eyes was familiar. it may have been burning low for a while, but it couldn't now, not when he was on top of her. ]

[captaincocksure]

[tricorders]

[ he's never said much of anything, but jim kirk's got more scars than anyone he's ever seen.

maybe it's because of his upbringing. mccoy doesn't pry, it's not his place to do so, but generally when you've got criss-crossed wounds up and down your back, up over your legs, down your arms, that's something that most parents will take to see a doctor for. and with a dermal regenerator, these days, scars are practically non-existant. not that it's a bad thing - they bring character to jim, even the pockmarked skin on his face that no one sees unless they look in close, telltale signs of acne untreated as a young teenager marking out this skin as a character trait and a sign that makes mccoy think he'll never see anyone like him.

he loves him more for his scars, spends hours in a day tracing over them when he tires jim out enough to make him sleep, and it's a little too intimate for being awake, he thinks. he draws his finger over a deep one over his side, tracing it down his hip, wondering just what caused the angry mark. glass, perhaps. looks to be that thickness, maybe the skid of a body against a rock when the boy threw it off a cliff. he murmurs against jim's ear, murmurs that they're beautiful, like star systems to be mapped out with his fingers.

he knows jim's still asleep, and so he hesitates before taking the length of him in his hand, soft and for once, once in his goddamn life not aroused. he's cute like this, cute to fondle gently as he spends time kissing each and every scar. ]

[captaincocksure]

[Jim never remembers these tender, loving moments. Sometimes he grasps at half-remembered fragments like a dream that's slipped through his fingers. There are faint echoes of a voice in his ear and of star systems mapped with touch. He's beautiful, he thinks on waking sometimes, but he can't remember why.

He sleeps through all these intimate touches, through being so fiercely cared for and appraised. But no matter how tired, how deeply asleep he may have been, a hand around his cock is one touch too direct to sleep through. It shifts those worshipful kisses into arousing presses of mouth to skin, draws him slowly up toward consciousness.

It's no sudden, dramatic waking. He stirs, still weighted by slumber, half murmuring, half groaning. His hips shift, pressing forward on instinct, craving more contact.]

[tricorders]

[ he tries, gently, he does, and he doesn't necessarily mean to wake him up. he's really just watching him, watching him breathe, watching the man's chest rise and fall gently as he strokes over him. he realizes he's more awake when his cock twitches in his grasp, when he starts shifting, murmuring, and mccoy gently tapers his movements back. instead of a direct touch to his cock, he gently starts running his fingers over his thighs, over his stomach.

he honestly wants to touch everything over his body, wants to touch everywhere and anywhere he can reach and he sighs, pressing his lips against the back of his neck and gently running his fingertips over his hips, dropping it down to touch at his cock again once those hips start sliding, rolling into his hand. ]

There you go, Jim. Just relax. Let go for me, darlin'.

[captaincocksure]

[Jim murmurs something entirely unintelligible, possibly not even words or attempts at them so much as just sound. His long-lashed eyes blink open a few times, heavy-lidded.

But he's pliant like this, much more willing to give in than to fight. Bones says to relax--he does so, shifting just the slightest bit so more of his weight rests against the doctor's body. It's easy to give in to this, to those touches, the warmth of Bones' body against his back. He shivers at that new press of lips, but otherwise he settles, eyes falling closed again, his breaths heavier and more audible in response to being caressed.]

[tricorders]

[ good, good. and for the first time he's got a completely pliant Jim underneath his fingers, and since he does relax against him, he pulls underneath him entirely, cradling the whole of his body against his own, jim's back to his chest. he strokes over him gently, slowly, much slower than he would normally - he's gonna milk this for all it's worth, gonna show jim just how good things can be when you take your damn time. ]

There you go, you're doin' great.

[ he murmurs against his ear, and continues to stroke him, long, slow, deliberate strokes, his other hand drawing designs and circles in his skin ]

[captaincocksure]

[Jim shudders, half at the feel of Bones' hands on his body, the way they seem to both soothe and arouse in one fell swoop. But also half in resisting the urge to fight, to press. That's always been his way, hurry hurry, now, do things now, no hesitation.

Being made to wait, to relax and let go, is so against his usual nature. But he trusts Bones, and he certainly can't knock it until he's tried it. And he has to admit, the idea of just relaxing for once, leaving himself in someone else's hands--literally--is a promising one.

He comes more awake by degrees, consciousness slowly finding its way to the forefront. But he makes an effort to stay relaxed, to let go. To let Bones do as he will with those hands and his mouth.]