Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films own them.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: McCoy/Green. PWP Flashfiction. Sequel to Incurable. #8 in the overall Genre Flashfiction series...
Author's Note: Thank you to jessebee for the invaluable hand-holding edit.
Copyright March, 2005 Cassatt
It had been remarkably easy to remove the rest of their clothes, considering his shaking fingers and tight throat, Jack thought, having pulled off Ed's sweats, then his own jeans and underwear. Ed's eyes had roamed up and down his body the entire time; the only way Jack knew this was the beam of heat he felt across his skin as it happened, since his own view of acres of warm skin held his attention firmly. Ed was like chocolate, like coffee, like the mahogany of Jack's grandmother clock.
It was remarkably difficult to do more than look, he realized, stretching out alongside Ed, propped again on his elbow, their legs brushing from hip to knee, their shoulders touching. He faltered at the familiar sight of a rectangle of bright white gauze and filmy tape. Ed's insides were stitched, and sore, and Jack imagined them red from blood trying to seep through the cut and paste job with every beat of Ed's heart. Jack's hands stayed motionless.
And still... the ache of arousal permeated his every inch. Every incremental movement of skin against skin was a caress, a stroke, a breath of air on embers. Twice they'd kissed, and still... his intoxication persisted. He was drunk from the taste of Ed, from the feel of his soft lips, his goatee, his tongue thrusting into his mouth, the pulse he felt on the side of Ed's neck. The rush that filled his ears. His own blood, surging. His own heart thundering in his chest. Intoxication never felt so good.
"Jack." Ed cupped his jaw, and Jack lifted his gaze away from Ed's body, to his eyes. "You still here?"
He nodded, unexpectedly bereft of words. He, who made his living from talk, and argument, from well-reasoned thoughts expressed succinctly. Above Ed's quirking eyebrows was the remnant of his fall to the cement -- a shrinking scab whose color nearly blended with that of Ed's forehead. The wound was adjacent to a scar marking a childhood fall from a bike; more tales of Ed bleeding, of his life essence flowing out of him, almost unstoppable.
Ed had not released Jack's jaw; his thumb moved slowly, once, across his cheek. Jack met his eyes again and saw a pure, raw hunger, impossible to resist. He leaned in and brushed his lips over Ed's scar, then deliberately kissed the scab, with Ed's fingers stroking the back of his neck. With his scent filling Jack's nostrils. He kissed his way down Ed's face, tasting soft skin now, needing to drink in as much of Ed as he could, and when their mouths met, again, and opened, his senses were flooded from tongues, and lips, and hands, and legs, all touching at once. He wanted more; instinct was driving him to take more, and maybe he really did have the will of iron his ex-wife claimed for he kept himself from rolling onto Ed somehow, barely, though he was losing himself to his need at an alarming rate. Losing himself to a writhing, enthusiastically sensuous Ed.
Ed's hands were in his hair, and up and down his hip; each stroke of those fingers along his skin was intense, their effect nearly excruciating. Maybe it had been too long since someone he truly wanted, or loved, touched him. Like Ed was doing, just like this, like it mattered to him, where he was reaching, and how Jack was reacting. Jack could feel the mapping Ed was doing, and smiled between their deep, wet kisses. He understood the intimacy of that desire: to do for the other. He felt it, too.
Jack moved away from Ed's insatiable mouth with another act of willpower; he could have done nothing but kiss for the next hour and been satisfied -- he suspected he could have climaxed solely from Ed's tongue caressing his. From the reality that this was Ed Green, wanting him. He latched onto the side of Ed's neck, taking a slow moment to breathe, and inhale all that he could of the man still running fingers through his hair. Sparks were traveling down his scalp, down his spine. He moved again, down to Ed's chest, taking care not to put pressure on his stomach area, holding himself up with a hand on the bed across Ed's body. The coarse, black curls surrounding dark nipples brushed Jack's cheeks as he zeroed in, with suction and a slight nip, waiting for Ed's reaction.
"Shi-it," Ed whispered as his hips rocked. His fingers gripped the back of Jack's head.
Jack's erection throbbed. Good, he catalogued. He repeated the stimulation on the opposite side, rewarded with a less coherent expletive from the depths of Ed's chest and writhing hips under his arm. Better. He looked down, and arousal curled hotter in his stomach. Ed was oozing from a rock-hard cock, his abdomen glistening with a sheen of sweat, his long legs tensing and flexing as one tried to cover Jack's, but could no longer reach it. Ed was like this -- because of him. Jack almost squeezed himself to keep from going over the edge. He lifted his head, breathing as solidly as possible with lungs tight from heat and a heart beat hammering his rib cage. He shifted, aligning their bodies again, but before he could get settled, Ed made a noise, rolling to face him.
"Ed," Jack said quickly before Ed could kiss him, as dark brown eyes locked with his, "you okay like that?"
Ed smiled. "I'm fine. No pain." He descended on Jack's mouth, taking it in a penetrating kiss, making Jack's head swim, pressing it into the pillow. One strong tongue swirl, and Ed pulled back. "Not fine," he said in a husky voice, his chest heaving, "gonna come in about a minute and really want to do it with you...."
"Jesus," Jack breathed, feeling suddenly thirty seconds away himself.
He grabbed the back of Ed's head and brought their mouths together, the kisses immediately hungry, and incendiary. His entire body lit up from whatever skin caressed skin: legs entwining, and hands moving. But... Jack slipped his fingers between them and took Ed in hand, a burning hot, satin-covered steel shaft, and Ed grunted down Jack's throat, thrust into Jack's hand, and Jack nearly lost it. Control became a slippery and elusive thing; he was way too close way too fast, and in their kisses he could taste a change, in Ed, meaning only one thing. He stopped that image before it could push him over the top-- But Ed slid his hand into the mix, wrapping it around Jack's own burning hardness, and in that moment every drop of Jack's blood rushed to make contact with Ed's fingers. His entire being was centered in the cup of Ed's hand, and he thrust uncontrollably, and Ed thrust just as hard. It was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. Not a simple mutual masturbation exercise in a bathroom stall, or a dark alley, or The Ramble in Central Park. This was Ed, letting him in so deeply, so intensely, so thoroughly, giving over to Jack so completely that he could almost forget all that had happened to this man. How nearly Jack had missed the chance... for this. Ed moaned, and panted; Jack shoved his tongue into his mouth to keep the contact, their hands sped up, but Ed pulled his lips off Jack's.
"Let go," Ed whispered, "for me. Do it, Jack...."
Jack let out some sound he didn't recognize as a climax raced up his body, convulsing out of him so hard he almost lost the feel of Ed against his palm. Amid Jack's waves of release, Ed thrust sharply with a guttural word, maybe Jack's name, and spurted ropey streams to mix with his own. His body was throbbing harder, heart pounding, as Ed rolled onto his back, taking him along. His lips found the side of Ed's neck and stayed as he collapsed, dimly aware of hot, wet skin and long arms wrapping around his shoulders. Beautiful, Ed....
Ed didn't think he had the strength to open his eyes, so he conserved what little energy he had left to hold Jack. Not on top of him, but close enough. They could clean up in a minute. Jack's hair, damp with sweat, brushed his cheek, and the scents of sex, and them, filled his senses, and he knew deep in his stitched-up gut that he could smell this for the rest of his life and not grow tired of it. He could do this for the rest of his life, and relish every second. In his imagining, he had wondered how the Jack McCoy he thought he saw would translate to Jack-in-bed. He hadn't come anywhere near the reality of this passionate, hot, caring, incredible man with whom he had just made love. He hadn't known how overwhelming it would be to feel Jack holding back, and to realize why, much less be the one to pull the man over the edge. He did that. He smiled to himself. Jack stirred against his neck.
Ed said into his ear, "Your nights will be spent right here."
He felt the smile brush his skin. "Damn right," Jack mumbled.
Ed chuckled, and held him tighter.
End.