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Screams drifted in through the windows of their dorm room, but McCoy didn’t have energy to spare for contemplating the fates of those poor souls playing their role in the Academy’s traditional Yule festivities. He had all he could handle in the form of James T. Kirk, straddling his hips and scraping the dull edge of his knife across McCoy’s skin.
“Y’know, Bones,” Kirk drawled. “It’s a special night.”
Another scream echoed across the campus.
“Yeah,” McCoy rasped. “A joyous time of year.”
Kirk tapped the flat of the knife against McCoy’s bare chest. “It is. Yule always puts me in a good mood.” He rutted against McCoy, grinding their bodies together painfully, deliciously.
“Is it the feasting or the bloodletting that gets you?” McCoy grumbled.
“It’s the presents, actually. I’ve always loved getting presents.” Kirk slid the knife further down, ghosting over McCoy’s belly, dangerously close to certain essential components of his anatomy.
McCoy held his breath. He had no idea what kind of a gift Kirk had a mind to take from him, but whatever it was, McCoy would give it. He’d chosen this path, and he’d choose it again, even if Captain Pike had appeared at their bedside right now offering McCoy a way out. When he felt no further movement from Kirk’s knife, he opened his eyes.
Kirk was watching him with a crooked grin. “You’ve been very good this year, you know.”
“What?”
“You’ve been good. Mostly. I could have done without you trying to peddle your ass to Pike, but…” Kirk tapped the knife against his lips, thoughtfully. “In the end, that worked out pretty well for me. So I think you deserve a gift.” He leaned in close, and McCoy recognized the playful glint in his eye that could lead to horrific pain or intense pleasure. “Tell me, Bones. What do you want?”
“What do I…?” McCoy’s brain ground to a halt. Here he was, pinned and helpless beneath the rising star of the Imperial Academy, and he couldn’t think of a single thing his heart desired except to stay here forever. But he couldn’t say that. He wouldn’t say that. “I…”
Kirk’s grin smoothed into a less feral smile. He set the knife aside, and reached down to stroke his fingers across McCoy’s jaw. “Right.” He leaned forward, settled against McCoy’s chest, and pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. “Me too, Bones. Me too.”