bakerstreet | Smut Picture Prompt Meme

Smut Picture Prompt Meme

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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[ he takes every shudder, every break in Spock's seamless calm and serenity as a plus, as a win for himself - he's not nearly as prone to winning so much that he'd deign to cheating. he's not their illustrious captain, of course, but when that little shudder seems to drop over his skin he leans forward, nips out a mark against the column of his pale skin, making a mark that'd be easily covered by their high-necked collars. thank god for that.

but then he's away, and his hand is on his cock and god that has his hips pull up into that hand instinctively, a tongue dropping over his lips in a quick swipe before he bucks up into that well-placed hand, stroking over him somehow perfectly in every damn way. of course he is, and bones seeks to lift up just a bit, just enough to where he can slide his hands over the vulcan's hips, press his thumb into the hollows and breathe for a moment, watching the man as he seemingly experiments. and he does feel a little scrutinized for each and every action, the god damned vulcan seemingly watching for his reaction to see exactly what he'll do, and it's enough to have even him impatient.

he contents himself with rubbing circles into his hips, giving a groan in response to the affection allotted to his chest and pressing up into the man's hands at any given point, a somewhat awkward squirming in response to the seemingly calculated movements that Spock continues to make. ]

I just - think. [ and he does have a lot of opinions on this subject that he'd like to voice, all seemingly blinking out of existence with that hand on his cock again. ]

That you oughta enjoy it for what it is. Stop thinking so damn much.

[ Bones isn't incorrect; every minor tremor he's making for the man now is some form of a concession against his general resolve. The slight mark on his throat still burns, tingles as those fingers seek the hollow of his hips. Spock barely keeps himself from arching into that touch, rubs his thumb instead against the slight slit at the other's head. The anatomy, one must realize, is novel just the same to him. As a general rule, he had been more appreciative of the opposite sex, and what he had had of the male variety in the past had been admittedly quite short. A part of him would like to resort to the previous experimentation; something about the doctor just drives him to want to pretend he's had more experience in this matter than he truly has. ]

Have you ever considered thought is imperative to the pleasure I derive?

[ It's not so much a statement of fact as it is a challenge; he can't really help it when it comes to this man. He lowers his head to kiss at his way down McCoy's sternum, replacing his hand with teeth on the man's nipple, licking and nipping at the slight nub there. His hips shift in the other man's hands, beginning to dare their way out of the other's reach as he slides a little further down the human's body. If the doctor lets him go, the situation will almost assuredly be pried from his hands entirely. ]

[ you and your goddamned challenges, spock.

not that he's really complaining much, not when the vulcan touches him like that, and maybe there's something interesting about that perceptive touch, the way that spock runs his thumb over the head like he likes and strokes over him, strokes in a way that has mccoy not even questioning the fact whether or not spick's done this before. it's funny in a way, he's always upstaged by the goddamned first officer who's breadth of knowledge seems to be entirely vast - the first time his knowledge is more encompassing, he doesn't even think to gloat.

too busy inhaling as those lips press against his chest, and then spock is trying to wriggle away, and that's something that he doesn't have the patience for. strength be damned, he's had enough of this experimental teasing, and he's swapping their positions.

this time, he has spock pinned, managed to maneuver him to where he's got his front to spock's back and he's on top of them, lips pressing against his neck. ] You're takin' too damn long. Anyone ever tell you it's rude to make someone wait?

[ Challenges make things more interesting, Doctor, and are the true measure of one's abilities.

That being said, Spock jerks a little beneath the human's weight when he's initially pinned, though he stills almost immediately after. He absorbs the feel of the other's skin pressing up against his back; the pass of McCoy's lips are even somewhat soothing on his nape. Truth be told, he's a little impressed with the other's maneuvering.

The Vulcan slowly begins to gather his arms beneath him, to help him better look over his shoulder at Bones. The movement also unconsciously bows his spine in, stretches the skin taut over his scapulae. ]

I was not aware that you were waiting for anything specific. You seemed quite stimulated.

[ Is he supposed to be sorry? Because he isn't. Oh, he makes it sound like an honest mistake... with Bones to blame.

He's also trying to get a good view of the other over his shoulder. Those ears have probably never looked so pointy. ]

Stimulated, is that what you call it?

[ he's grinning as he's got this position now, as he's dropping his lips over every inch of his spine, over the ridges of bones that jut out from pale, eager skin. he's feeling confident, satisfied with this positioning, because this means he can have the upper hand (for once) for a moment. he's pulling up to stroke over spock's arched back for a moment, pulling back to sit at his thighs.

it's tempting, so he does it - grabs a handful of that muscled ass, squeezes lightly, spreads him wide. ]

S'pose I was. Still, you were going too damn slow. Wanted something more than those hands of yours, wanted you to do somethin'.

[ he pauses for a moment before brushing fingertips between the cleft of his ass, gently moving over spock's entrance, a tease of fingers before pulling back. ]

[ Stimulated is exactly what he calls it, and it's what he feels when the doctor's mouth slides down his spine. He's unconsciously arching his back into it, anticipating his next move.

He does not, however, anticipate the older man seizing hold of his ass. It's such a gratuitous, wanton gesture, and Spock gasps a short breath without his permission as he's suddenly spread. Instinct tamps down, tightens his entrance against those probing thumbs. No one has touched him there, been allowed to, and he is uncertain now of just how permissive he wants to be about it. It doesn't hurt, no, it's simply the intimacy of the gesture that has him beside himself.

Spock glances over his shoulder again, dark eyes daring down the other man's face and what he can see of his body. If he allows this... what does it say? About him, about what he thinks of the doctor.

Shifting his arms, he reaches back with one hand and almost delicately catches McCoy's jaw on his fingertips. There's a short study of the man's jaw before Spock seeks to draw him a little closer. ]

Perhaps if you were more vocal about your expectations, Doctor, you would not find yourself so frequently frustrated.

[ he isn't about to let Spock get the upper hand on him again, but he's certainly compliant and willing to be patient. surprisingly. when Spock seems to flinch against those probing fingers, he stops, pauses, draws back just a moment to gently run his fingertips over the curve of his skin, dialing it back a fraction.

instead he spends time smoothing his fingers over the backs of his upper thighs, curling his palms over his ass again, his jaw caught at Spock's fingertips, catching that studious gaze with his own. ]

Perhaps I should be more damn vocal then. [ it comes out whiskey-dark, more affected by the actions than he's willing to admit, southern drawl dripping like honey as he leans forward, presses his lips to Spock's the best way he can. he pulls back only to murmur against one of those pointed ears he ever-so-affectionally refers to so often, the tip of his tongue teasing over that point only a moment before dropping his voice an octave. ]

So why don't I tell you what I want, and you tell me if you think that's somethin' that could logically be arranged. [ teeth, just the barest hint against his ear, and his body is drawing closer to him, hands gently resting on Spock's hips. ] Want to have you. You're probably so goddamned tight that I'll have to spend the next thirty minutes just fingering you to help loosen you up, then after that, want to pin you down and take you for myself. What - [ a murmur, an exhale as he draws back, breathing over his neck, over the nape of his neck, brushing lips against the finest of hairs that stop in a perfectly razored line. ] - do you think about that?

[ Even if Spock's face doesn't betray him just yet, he's not unaffected by this either. The sudden depth of the other man's voice, the uncoordinated kiss that he accepts, and those capable hands waxing into his skin all build to another soft inhale, this one a little less even than the one before. It's all he can do to remain still for the tongue tracing the tip of his ear, to focus on what he's being told.

A wave of heat pours over him at the edge of the older man's description of his wishes, almost as if it were indeed some work of an intoxicant slipping down his spine. From a practical standpoint he may be recalcitrant... but to hear McCoy say it, there's a sort of enticing quality to it. ]

Hypothetically, it is possible...

[ Not quite so chilly a counsel he might have initially offered. Spock is getting accustomed to the feel of the other's touch, beginning to feel the baser passions of both sides of his heritage beginning to press against the fore. Under the warm-cool breath and lips against his nape, Spock faces forward again, dipping his head incrementally between the arms propping him up.

There is the slightest splay of his thighs. What is sexual exploration without some exploration? Especially since it seemed like the other man was claiming that he could muster some patience. ]

Whether or not either of us would enjoy it, however, seems to require more empirical data.

[ And now there is another shade of depth to his own voice, following the tail end of something like a sigh. Steadying. ]

You may proceed.

[ ~~Is he doing it right? ]~~

[ it's almost enough to have him grabbing his clothes and walking out, because who the hell, save for the vulcan of course, would talk about this like that? You may proceed? And that sassy little tone is exactly why McCoy is dropping down to press the length of his body against his thighs, and he's only going to proceed to roll his eyes, mutter: ]

You'll enjoy it.

You'll enjoy it and you'll like it. That is if you can relax yourself enough to.

[ he finds himself suddenly running in his head the vulcan anatomies that he's observed, attempting to recall if there's something similar to a prostate in the vulcan physiology, and dammit, this is why he usually sticks to human kind. when those thighs spread, he palms over his ass, he drops down, gives him a bite on the swell of skin, when the muscled, lean body swells out over his hips. he sucks out a mark, sucking out colour into the skin, pressing his thumbs against the muscles and prying him apart again, almost delicately. ]

Save judgment till the end, Mr. Spock. [ not even a derogatory nickname. look, he's been sweet on you.

in his own way. ]

[ Indeed he does, though it's never been something Spock's really taken into careful consideration before. Until it's needed, most of the male Vulcan's anatomy remains internal; more an adaptation for the desert than the obstinate dignity they like to purport. Still, lifting and working his thighs and ass has his cock slipping free of its sheath, glossing a slick trail toward his belly and against the sheets when he's allowed to fall back against them.

He remains perfectly still as that mouth slips down, only the heavy quality of his exhales giving any indication that he's affected by the thumbs stretching him wider and wider. The suck of the doctor's mouth raises something jade and lovely, darkening with every passing moment and tender abuse of the skin. Spock is focusing now, or trying to, monitoring his breathing and letting the slow, sharp burn of the pull and press radiate up his spine and telling his mind that there is no pain. He keeps himself propped up, head hanging between his shoulders, chin tucked against his chest, but from the waist down, he's relaxing for the older man. He has nothing to say. ]

[ blessed silence.

it wasn't that he didn't enjoy their little - "chats", as they were, but spock felt a whole lot more attractive when he was still, when he was spread open for mccoy's ministrations and he's gently drawing down to curl a hand around his cock - slick, ready and at attention, slicking his hands with the vulcan's own fluids before drawing them back up towards his hole, pressing a fingertip lightly at his entrance. much of spock's anatomy - in fact all of it, from what mccoy can map out - remains to be largely vulcan, and for that, there's a learning curve.

so he's thankful for the silence, because it allows him to focus on the noises that spock's making, as well as the way his body is responding. there's a hitched breath here, and the man backs off gently. when that breath smooths out, when the way that spock's spine slowly draws back down, less feline-like and more open to his hands, he's allowing himself to push in just a bit further. just one finger, just one, slowly slipping past resistance and trying to encourage his partner to relax. ]

See. Not so bad, is it? [ half of that's a boast, the other half a worrisome query, wanting to communicate whether or not he might be hurting the man without being aware. ]

[ It's good that the other man is enjoying the silence, because it's what he'll be dealt for another good moment. There's a shudder just as gentle as the hand winding around his cock, hips that tilt along with how he's pulled. Waves of pleasure coax over him with each small pull, gritting his jaw in almost pure silence as he feels his own fluids being used to prep him. And he allows it. Spock lowers himself by increments onto the mattress, coiling his arms beneath him. There's a barely perceptible hitch in the inhalations through his nose as the first finger breaches him.

He forces his next breath out, slow, as he feels himself accommodate the slight penetration. No, it's not bad. With the lubrication, it's almost easy to slip in all the way to the last knuckle without having to worry about Spock clenching up. When he does, it isn't long. It's strange, but it doesn't hurt. If not for the bare hint that the other may be looking for verification to proceed, he might not have done anything.

So there's a soft, mild grunt, almost an absent acknowledgement at first. Spock allows his thighs to fall a little farther open still, rests his chin atop one of his arms. ]

You will not hurt me.

[ Simple, almost murmured. What exactly he means by it, challenge or confidence, is unknown. It may not even be a message for Bones himself. ]

[ that absent acknowledgement, that grunt, then finally affirmation that he can go further. he's gentle, almost achingly slow despite Spock's murmur that he wouldn't hurt him. he's still going to treat Spock just as he would treat any number of partners, never mind that it's strange to consider him in that bracket. he's pulling out, only to slick over Spock's member again, coating his hands and palming him gently. only when he feels like there's enough to make the way easier does he drop his hand back again, tracing over his perineum where his testicles would be were he more human in anatomy, and presses two fingers to his entrance once more.

he takes it as reassurance to keep going further, to press in slowly, to feel the man's muscles clench around him. and he makes an effort to gently pry him open with those two fingers, trusting the man to make a sound, to say something if he felt any discomfort. even so, he's incessantly clinical, gentle enough to know whether or not he's pushing too hard too fast. ]

S'what I'm aiming for. [ it's dark and grumbled, almost distracted as McCoy is focused on his task, gently ghosting over the backs of Spock's thighs as he spreads him open efficiently. he's pulling back again, tugging at his length once more, slicking up his fingers before pressing the tips of three fingers in, as slowly as perhaps possible, allowing Spock to put up any resistance necessary. he wants him to relax on his own terms, wants to feel those muscles give way, to know that he's not going to seize up uncomfortably at any given point. ]

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