Star Trek Mirror!verse Fic: I'd Take a Bullet (Part 3 of 3)
Title: I'd Take a Bullet Meant for Both of Us, Part Three
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Pike/McCoy, implied Kirk/various (including Kirk/Pike)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mirror!verse morals, consent issues (of the dub-con and coercion variety), uneven power dynamics, and various kinks, including (highlight to view, or don't if you prefer your kink non-spoilery)
humiliation, public sex, light bondage, use of toys, threat of bloodplay, BDSM, fisting, off-label use of controlled substances, sensory deprivation, rough sex, physical violence (including violence between partners), description of injuries and a few medical procedures, and very brief contemplation of suicide.
Word Count: 22,700 total. This part: ~7400
Author’s Note: Thanks to jaune_chat for the constant encouragement, beta-work, and word-smithing, and thanks my whole f-list for listening to me flail.
Summary: When backed into a corner, McCoy had to make a deal with Christopher Pike, Commandant of Cadets at the Imperial Academy. If Kirk had been there, he might have been able to tell McCoy that was a mistake. Kirk, at least, had taken some tactics courses. McCoy must stumble through the consequences of his deal and strike a dangerous balance between the suspicions of two powerful men.
Part Three
Friday night, McCoy came home to find Kirk adjusting the cuffs on his dress uniform.
“We going out?” McCoy asked mildly. He studiously ignored the uptick in his pulse at the thought of his last public outing with Kirk, and told himself that Kirk would hardly wear his dress uniform to a bar.
“I’m going out,” Kirk said.
McCoy made himself sit at his desk, as if his body wasn’t suddenly screaming danger in every last drop of his blood. He’d have to go to Pike, and it would be worse this time. McCoy sat and tried to look casual as his mind picked the situation apart, looking for an opportunity he could turn to his advantage. There must be a clue here he wasn’t grasping--the uniform. “In that get-up? You going to a disciplinary hearing?”
“Ha.” Kirk sat on the bed and began pulling on his boots. “Pike got an invitation to this black tie event in the city. Some simpering civilians congratulating themselves on their own asinine achievements. He can’t go, so I’m taking his ticket.”
“Pike.” McCoy could feel Pike’s hands on him, pinning his arms. Pike wouldn’t be content just to watch, next time.
“Should be a great evening. Lots of social climbing sentients looking for a good time. You shouldn’t wait up.”
“Pike,” he said again. McCoy had known Pike hadn’t expected him to succeed, but he hadn’t thought Pike would deliberately make McCoy’s job harder. If, as he claimed, Pike wanted to keep Kirk from taking dangerous risks, sending him off to fancy parties with important non-Fleet people might not be the best way to go about it. McCoy pulled himself up from his chair and went to stand in front of Kirk, blocking his way to the door. “You don’t think Pike might have an ulterior motive for sending you?”
“Pike always has an ulterior motive.” Kirk glanced up from tying his boots and gave McCoy a lazy smile. “Relax, Bones. I won’t be in any physical danger. If anything, he wants me to make some connections, maybe go home with someone important.”
“Jim, don’t go.”
“Don’t worry, old man.” Kirk reached up, grabbed McCoy by the front of his shirt, tugged him down onto the bed and rolled on top of him. He groped him through his pants while kissing him thoroughly. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“It’s not a good idea,” McCoy said through Kirk’s kisses. “Something’s going to happen.”
“Look at you, mother hen,” Kirk laughed. He stood up, ran a hand through his hair and tugged down his dress uniform tunic. “Nothing’s going to happen. I know how to take care of myself in a crowd.”
“Stay here tonight.” McCoy cast about desperately for something to offer. “You can cut me.”
Kirk looked at him sharply, then shook his head and laughed. “You’re hilarious. That’s something I don’t do with toys I want to keep. Besides, you hate bloodplay. Unsanitary, and all that.”
“Something else, then. Whatever you want.”
“I already get whatever I want.” Kirk flashed a self-satisfied grin and walked away. His hand was on the door. In another moment, he’d be gone again. McCoy would have to take his punishment: another night of Pike’s hands on him, Pike’s voice commanding him, Pike’s poisoned words wrapping McCoy’s feelings for Kirk around him like a noose.
“Jim, please!”
Kirk stopped. “What did you say?”
“Please.”
Kirk turned halfway around, as if he didn’t dare look at McCoy. “Are you begging?”
“Please.” McCoy realized his was on his knees on the bed. He made himself move, stand. “I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t go.”
“This isn’t funny, Bones.” Kirk’s smile slipped, and he seemed to hold onto it by sheer will.
“It’s not a joke. Please, Jim. Don’t fucking leave.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Jim--.”
“It’s not nothing.” Kirk closed the space between them in three quick strides and clamped his hands against McCoy’s temples. “What is it? What did you do?”
McCoy had never been the kind to coolly calculate the odds. In surgery, when something went wrong, he simply did what needed to be done with steady hands until the patient’s heart stopped beating, and sometimes beyond. Now, he couldn’t see what to do, couldn’t think, couldn’t act.
If their positions had been reversed, Kirk would have had contingency plans, exit strategies, or at least a plan to stall. McCoy had been in Imperial service too long to not believe in no-win scenarios, but he should at least be able to muster some defense. He had no defense against Kirk, and never had.
“What have you done?” Kirk’s blue eyes searched McCoy’s face, looking for clues. McCoy knew the evidence he was putting together, just as he’d feared: McCoy had been acting strangely, he’d been trying to manipulate Kirk, he must be planning something, he must be working for an enemy.
“Jim,” he croaked, and he saw Kirk’s face crumple in disappointment.
Kirk shoved him away. McCoy saw only a moving blur before Kirk’s fist impacted his head. That’s it, McCoy thought muzzily. Now he’ll kill me. He’d seen Kirk fight, of course, but Kirk had never hit him, not like this: the way he’d attack an enemy. Kirk hit him twice more: an uppercut to the jaw and a solid punch to the gut: moves calculated to disorient and debilitate. McCoy stumbled back and slumped to the ground.
He saw Kirk go for the med kit lying in the corner, but he couldn’t coordinate his limbs well enough to move away when Kirk came toward him with the hypospray.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, because dying of some horrible xenodisease was far, far below “beaten to death by James T. Kirk” on the list of ways he wanted to die.
“You don’t tell me what to do, Bones.” The cold edge in Kirk’s voice sliced through McCoy’s pain and right to the center of him, holding him immobile. “You don’t tell me anything.”
The hypospray hissed its contents into McCoy’s neck. The room began to whirl and tilt around him. His fingers numbed, then his hands. Some kind a paralytic, then, the kind the disciplinary committee used to keep their victims still for torture, perhaps. McCoy had a few in his bag. He hoped Kirk hadn’t used the malatocin. He’d seen that stuff cause nasty, permanent nerve damage. Then again, if Kirk was about to torture him, damaged nerves might come in handy.
McCoy’s mind seemed to be drifting in a pleasant haze somewhere beyond his body. Snatches of his surroundings floated up past him: a scrape of a chair against the floor, the press of Kirk’s boot under his hip to turn his body over, the beep of a padd being activated, a blur of movement as someone moved past him, the clatter of a metal instrument on a hard surface like tools on a surgical tray. He thought he saw two points of blue, blue light flying after him, following him into the dark.
McCoy faded back into the world with his face pressed to hard, poly-synthetic flooring. The cool surface felt soothing against McCoy’s throbbing temple. Something sticky dripped from the end of his chin. Blood. His entire head resounded with pain. He tried to move, but a foot braced against his spine, between his shoulder blades, forced him to lie still.
“You’ve probably got a concussion.” Kirk. “Shouldn’t move.”
“Y sh’d ‘o.” McCoy’s mouth grappled with the words, never quite grasping them.
Kirk’s foot slid from his back. McCoy’s emergency med kid landed with easy reach on the floor beside him. Kirk followed it, leaning down into McCoy’s line of sight. “You can give yourself something for the pain.”
McCoy watched and concentrated on breathing for several seconds, but Kirk only stayed where he was, hands on knees, bend over McCoy in apparent concern. McCoy sat up stiffly. He took his time pulling the correct compound from the kit. He sat looking down at the bottle cradled in his palm, and thought about loading a lethal dose to save himself whatever horrors Kirk had planned. But killing himself would label him a coward and a traitor to the Empire, and he couldn’t burden his daughter with that shame. He could endure a few hours until Kirk became bored and killed him. Hours, or days. Kirk could be creative in his viciousness, and he was always tenacious. Days.
Kirk put a hand on McCoy’s wrist. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said, straight-faced. McCoy saw no bluff in Kirk’s eyes, but he couldn’t tell if Kirk’s face was closed to him in ways it hadn’t been yesterday.
McCoy nodded, though moving his head was agony. Kirk released his hold.
McCoy loaded the proper dose of painkiller, and no more. He injected it into his neck, and relief rushed through his veins, closing off the worst of the agony.
Kirk sat back on his heels, just watching. McCoy wasn’t eager to take his eyes off Kirk, but after a tense staring contest that lasted the space of a few minutes, McCoy came to the conclusion that seeing an attack coming wouldn’t actually provide an advantage. He tore his eyes away from Kirk to rummage through the med kit, and came out with a battered medical scanner.
“You don’t have any life-threatening injuries,” Kirk said mildly.
“Did you get a medical license while I was out?” McCoy snapped.
Kirk rocked back on his heels, almost playfully. “No.”
“Then I’ll be the judge of that.” McCoy turned the scanner on himself, craning his neck at an awkward angle to see the readout.
“If you were dying you wouldn’t be back-talking me.”
“You’re wrong. I would. Until my very last breath.” McCoy looked up at Kirk. They both stilled, reading one another silently for a long minute. This time, Kirk broke first.
“I know, Bones.” Kirk leaned forward to gently pry the scanner out of McCoy’s hand. He grabbed that and the med kit, stood, and dumped his burden on the desk before turning back to McCoy. “Actually, you’re lucky I have a thing for inflicting long, painful deaths on traitors.”
“Am I?” McCoy was able to take stock of his surroundings now that his head had stopped pounding so viciously. He didn’t see any obvious implements of torture, but Kirk had always been creative with his tools.
“I did some research while you were lazing around.” Kirk leaned back against the desk, casual-like, and for a moment McCoy saw Pike in a similarly lazy, arrogant stance, delivering the ultimatum that had brought McCoy here. “Don’t talk, just answer yes or no.”
“Jim--.”
“Bones.” Kirk picked up something-his knife, his father’s knife that he brought out for special occasions-from the desk and ran his thumb lovingly down the flat edge. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes.” McCoy’s glance stuck to the shiny point of the knife. He'd seen Kirk make men scream with that knife without shedding enough blood to stain his shirtsleeves.
“Good. You’ve been trying to keep me occupied, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Specifically, you’ve been trying to keep me from fucking other people.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t get this idea on your own.”
McCoy hesitated fractionally, but realized that Kirk hated asking questions to which he didn’t know the answer. Silence would only make Kirk more suspicious. “No,” he said.
“Someone gave you a compelling reason to keep my dick your exclusive property.”
“Jim, I didn’t--.”
With a quick flick, the blade sat firmly in Kirk’s hand, ready to strike.
McCoy let his protest fade away, and instead said, “Yes.”
“And this someone has been doling out punishment when you fail.” Kirk tapped the blade against his lips.
“Yes.”
“This started-when? Right after that thing with Tanill’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Kirk strolled forward. “You went to someone for help.”
“Yes.”
“After I specifically told you not to.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an idiot, Bones.”
“Yes,” McCoy agreed. Idiot, idiot, idiot to put himself and Kirk in Pike’s hands. If Kirk was going to kill him, he needed to at least let him know what game Pike was playing. “You should know--.”
“You shouldn’t have made a deal with Pike. That old bastard will bleed you dry and wring out your corpse if you give him half a chance.”
Though he should have been past being impressed by Kirk’s genius, McCoy wasn’t. He raised an eyebrow.
“You looked up Pike’s address on your padd.” Kirk gestured to the device he’d absconded with after McCoy had destroyed his old one. “You need to remember to purge your data history regularly.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Anyway, your choice was obvious. You don’t know anyone else you might have gone to for help.”
“Pike’s got a vested interest in your survival.”
“Yes. Which is why he wouldn’t have let Tanill ship me off.” Kirk started flipping the knife open and closed again, and McCoy began to wonder if the movement wasn’t a threat after all, but a nervous tic. “And just so you know, he wouldn’t have let you be thrown to the wolves if I had gotten shipped off. He’d have taken you on himself before he let that happen. He’s always had a hard-on for you. You sacrificed yourself for something he would have done anyway. That’s really crappy tactics.”
“I’m a doctor, not a damn strategist!”
“I told you not to interfere.” Kirk charged forward to loom over McCoy, knife clenched tightly in his fist. “I had it under control!”
“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” McCoy demanded. “You’d grin and say everything was fine if the academy was crumbling around your ears while you were infected with Pretorian rotting disease and a horde of angry Romulans was howling for your blood. I don’t know all your plans and counter-plans, but if my life depends on you staying in one piece, I’m going to damn well take matters into my own hands when it looks like you might be killed!”
“Hm.” Kirk turned and retreated. His knife hand dropped slowly, until he placed the weapon flat on top of the desk. “That’s an excellent point, Bones.”
“What is?”
“You’re not useless.”
McCoy blinked at Kirk as his gut churned through anger, then hysteria, then anger again before settling on incredulous amusement. “Not…?” Tired laughter tumbled out of him, and he slumped back to lean against the bed. He felt profoundly grateful for the drugs that were numbing his head, but apparently they weren’t doing much for his sense of preservation. Just when Kirk might have been considering a mercifully quick death, McCoy had gone and gotten Kirk thinking about his market value as a bargaining chip. “Thanks for the endorsement.”
Kirk’s smile crept back, genuine this time. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
Kirk extended a hand. McCoy gripped his arm and, with Kirk to anchor him, managed to get to his feet. The wave of throbbing in his head had subsided, and he felt steady enough to make a run for it. He could probably make Kirk have to kill him, if the need arose.
“Get cleaned up.” Kirk pushed him gently toward the bathroom. “We’re going out.”
“Where are we going?”
“To see Pike.”
--
McCoy wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Kirk knew the security code to Pike’s house. If he had to venture a guess, he’d say that Pike knew Kirk had it, but hadn’t given it to him. As always, Kirk had a habit of taking more than was offered him.
The lights flicked on in the front room as they entered. McCoy forced himself not to think about why Kirk might have brought him here. Usually his mind sorted through Kirk’s possible actions automatically, a differential diagnosis of sin, so that he could plan a defense, or at least prepare for damage control. Tonight, though, he suspected that anything he could imagine would be kinder than the truth, and he’d rather not be disappointed.
Only a few moments after they arrived, Pike wandered in the room with a drink in his hand looking disappointingly unsurprised. “Have a seat, boys,” he said with a curt nod. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” He disappeared into the hallway. McCoy peered after him, wondering if the nonchalance boded well or ill before deciding that he was better off worrying about Kirk.
Kirk, for his part, seemed unfazed by Pike’s indifference. He strode over to the liquor cabinet, poured two drinks, and handed one to McCoy before throwing himself in an artful sprawl on the sofa with the bottle in hand.
“Jim.” McCoy stared at the drink in his hand as if he could divine Kirk’s plan from the shifting patterns of light dancing through the bourbon. “What do you want me to--.”
“Nothing.” Kirk turned his head sharply to McCoy. “You’ve done enough.”
McCoy nodded stiffly. He perched on the far end of the sofa. He thought briefly about trying to stay sober, but decided that sobriety would be no defense against the combined wills of Kirk and Pike, so he may as well spend the ordeal in an unfeeling haze. He slammed back his drink and held the empty glass out to Kirk.
Kirk’s eyebrows went up, but he reached over and poured McCoy a refill.
McCoy drank that down, too, and held his glass out again.
“You should slow down, Bones,” Kirk said, but he poured. “I have a feeling you might need to participate later.”
“Participate?” McCoy’s third drink suddenly tasted like blood as his mind raced through the injuries he’d treated on victims of Imperial torture-some inflicted by Kirk himself.
“Yeah.” Kirk took a sip of his drink and frowned at McCoy. “Just don’t embarrass me by being too drunk to do your job.”
McCoy swallowed the last of the liquor and extended his glass again.
Kirk cradled the bottle against his chest. “This is Pike’s best bourbon,” he said. “I’m not wasting it on self pity.”
“Fine.” It took McCoy two tries to stumble to his feet, but when he finally made it upright, he swayed over to Pike’s cabinet. He picked out his own damn bottle-presumably Pike’s second-best bourbon. He poured his glass three-quarters full, and carried it and the bottle over to the couch, where he flopped down next to Kirk.
“You know,” Kirk said, “My doctor always says I shouldn’t drink when I have a concussion.”
McCoy clutched his glass and the bottle hard. He couldn’t look at Kirk. “Jim, will you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“If you’re going to kill me tonight, will you do it yourself?”
“What?”
“I deserve that much, I think.” McCoy closed his eyes. In the darkness flickered a thousand images of Kirk’s dangerous smile. He opened his eyes quickly, but Kirk’s smile was nowhere in evidence. McCoy went on. “I don’t want Pike to be the last thing I see.”
Kirk stared at him so long that McCoy thought he may actually be considering the request. Instead, he said, “You really are a horrible negotiator.”
“Fine. Tell me the right way to ask.”
“There isn’t one. I’m not giving you that.” Kirk settled back against the sofa and sipped his drink. “You should know by now that I don’t believe in mercy killings.”
McCoy knew. Hell, he’d helped keep Kirk’s victims alive, even if he’d done his part to mitigate their suffering. No one was likely to mix a pain-killer into an adrenaline shot for him, though. “Jim--.”
“I see you’ve made yourselves at home.” Pike stood in the doorway. Though he was out of uniform, he still looked every inch a commander. He wore dark pants, a form-fitting black shirt, and an undone tie, as if he’d been getting ready to go out for the evening. “You could have at least told me you weren’t using that ticket. Someone else might have liked to go.”
“You didn’t want me to use the ticket in the first place,” Kirk said. “Drink?”
“That had better not be the Hirsch Reserve.”
Kirk swirled his drink around in his glass before taking a sip. He let out a contented sigh. “It is.”
“Then pour me some, put it back in the cabinet, and never touch it again. You mouth may be pretty, but it doesn’t rate alcohol that expensive.”
“Apparently my mouth’s good enough to drink you down.” Kirk’s smile was all teeth. “Sir.”
McCoy clutched his bottle and carefully looked nowhere but at his own glass. The dim light turned the rich gold bourbon dark, almost red.
“Alright, Jimmy. Give me a glass, and pour yourself another.” Pike settled himself on a chair opposite their sofa, and took his drink from Kirk. “What makes you think I didn’t want you to use that ticket?”
“You knew I’d figure it out.”
“Eventually. Honestly, I didn’t expect it to take this long. Your boy’s a better liar than you give him credit for.” Pike raised his glass in McCoy’s direction.
“I admit I may have underestimated him.” Kirk raised his glass as well, and looked at McCoy until he returned the salute and drank with them. “He can be a valuable…asset. As I’m sure you’ve experienced.”
McCoy felt vaguely queasy, somewhere in the distance where his body still existed. He set down his bottle on the table next to him and clutched his glass with both hands.
“Relax,” Pike said. “I’ve barely touched him. We’ve just had a little fun together, isn’t that right, doctor?”
McCoy knew better than to get in the way of a pissing contest between these two. Instead of answering, he downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside.
“As I recall, your idea of fun is pretty broad,” Kirk said. “And not the kind of thing you do with another man’s property.”
“If you don’t take care to secure your toys, someone will take them away from you. You’ll have to learn that lesson if you want to captain a ship someday.”
“Fine.” Kirk surged to his feet. He grabbed McCoy by the back of his shirt and shoved him to the floor at Pike’s feet. McCoy couldn’t catch himself with alcohol-slowed reflexes, and he landed hard on his side. “Take him,” Kirk said. “Use him however you want, and get it out of your system. I’ll watch. That’s what you want, isn’t it? My attention?”
“That’s part of it,” Pike said placidly. He didn’t even look at McCoy’s prone form. “You think too little of people. It’s a weakness. If I wanted to fuck your little doctor, I’d have done it. I want something else.”
“And I want you to quit interfering with our private lives.”
“You’ll need to give me something in return.”
Kirk’s eyes narrowed, and he resumed his seat, morphing into a calculated negotiator. “Name your terms.”
“I’ll give you a choice.” Pike settled back into his chair, as secure as the Emperor on his throne. “I’m having a little soiree next week with five Imperial admirals. You can join us, meet some of the top brass, and make sure they know your name. All you have to do is bring McCoy along to provide hospitality for us all.”
Kirk’s careful non-reaction sent McCoy’s mind spinning off in panicked circles. Kirk had never shared him: one manifestation of his enormous ego for which McCoy had always been deeply grateful. For a chance at face time with admirals, though, Kirk would probably sacrifice his right arm, never mind McCoy’s virtue.
“You said I had a choice,” Kirk pointed out. “What’s my other option?”
“Let him fuck you while I watch. Right here, right now.”
McCoy felt a strange calm spread through him. At least Pike hadn’t proposed some even worse scenario. And McCoy would have a week to steel himself for the coming ordeal.
“Fine,” Kirk said. “We’ll take option number two.”
“What?” McCoy croaked.
The triumphant smile that flashed on Pike’s face had a nasty edge to it. “Good.”
McCoy stared, frozen, while Kirk stood up and began to efficiently divest himself of his uniform. Kirk couldn’t really be accepting this offer. He’d come here to turn McCoy’s betrayal to his advantage, not to give up something else to Pike. McCoy’s bourbon-soaked brain couldn’t puzzle through Kirk’s strategy.
“Bones,” Kirk snapped. He had stripped from the waist up, and was kicking off his boots. “Get up. Clothes off.”
McCoy stumbled to his feet. His balance played tricks on him, sending the living room swirling around him. Pike caught his arm in a firm grip.
"Careful. Jim, he's not sober enough for this."
"I am," McCoy snapped at the same time as Kirk, from behind him, said, "He is."
Pike looked appraisingly at McCoy. "Fine. But you won't be going easy on him. I expect you to fuck him as hard as he's ever fucked you. Understand?"
"Sir," McCoy said, with a sudden clarity that surprised even him. "I'm training to be an Imperial officer. I know how to do my duty." He turned around to face Kirk, and was greeted with Kirk wearing only a delighted smile.
Kirk grabbed McCoy by his uniform shirt and pulled him forward, close enough that he could start dragging off his clothes. He dealt with troublesome buttons and latches too complex for McCoy's current state of intoxication. Though McCoy could feel Pike's eyes on them, he didn't turn to look. He focused all his attention on Kirk. He'd seen him naked often, but this seemed different, somehow, knowing that he would have a chance to do what he wanted with Kirk, with every inch of that beautiful body. His cock stirred at the barrage of images churning through his still-reeling brain: Kirk’s hands touching him instead of Pike’s, Kirk’s mouth on him, Kirk’s skin sliding against his, Kirk’s blue eyes open and hungry. McCoy’s arousal seemed to burn through his intoxication, making the scene before him clearer and more real with each piece of clothing Kirk pulled off him.
“Easy now,” Kirk said quietly, once all their clothes had been discarded. He dragged McCoy down to the floor with him, and they landed in something of a tangled heap. McCoy started to roll onto his back, planning to let Kirk take charge, but Pike’s voice stopped him.
"Doctor, it’s your turn to be on top. On your back, Jimmy.”
Kirk paused for a moment from his position straddling McCoy, then he nodded sharply. He settled on his back, angled to give Pike a clear view of the action. McCoy hesitated for a moment as he realized he was about to do what his instincts had been screaming at him not to: get in the middle of a battle between Kirk and Pike. If he didn’t do this, Pike would demand some other, probably horrific, compensation. If he did do this, Kirk would surely dispose of him afterwards. McCoy couldn’t hope to participate in something like this and keep the whatever-it-was between him and Kirk intact.
McCoy sat, awkwardly frozen halfway toward sitting up. He couldn’t assist Pike in punishing Kirk this way. He’d rather face the torture he thought he’d come here for; that, at least, would only scar his body.
“Bones. Come on. I know you’re not useless, so prove it.”
McCoy looked sharply at Kirk, who met his gaze with a confident, open smirk. And, with a sudden memory of his grandfather’s story about a rabbit and a briar patch, McCoy got it.
This is what Kirk had come here to do. Kirk hadn’t believed that McCoy had betrayed him. The man was a damn genius. He’d understood, and he’d made a plan to win back what was his. Now here he was, taking his own turn at human sacrifice to even out the scale. He wasn’t selling McCoy out to Pike; he was buying him back.
“Doctor,” Pike prompted.
McCoy made himself move. He knelt between Kirk’s open legs, careful not to overbalance. He dragged a hand down Kirk’s body, shoulder to thigh, more to ground himself than anything. The room still tilted precariously around him, but he’d already fallen so far he didn’t see much danger in tumbling further tonight.
He slid the back of his fingers down the length of Kirk’s shaft, then closed a hand around Kirk’s sack. Kirk just bent his knees and planted his feet on the floor to give McCoy better access. McCoy rubbed his thumb over Kirk’s balls and breathed in the smell of arousal mixed with the heady scent of power as he held Kirk still beneath him with only that touch.
McCoy rubbed his fingers lower, across the perineum to push against Kirk’s tight hole. Kirk tensed involuntarily when McCoy’s fingers found his entrance. Kirk’s face remained neutral, and he seemed to be trying not to react, but his muscles clenched, even down his thighs; he probably hadn’t done this in a while. McCoy backed off, rubbing around his hole, but Kirk didn’t react further. Instead, Kirk tucked his hands behind his head as if he were laying out in the California sunshine.
Pike let out an amused grumble of a laugh. “I said fuck him, cadet, not give him a massage.”
McCoy kept his eyes on Kirk, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Lube," McCoy said.
Pike laughed. "He doesn't need it."
McCoy turned around to face Pike, and said in a perfectly reasonable tone, "I'm the only medical professional in this room, and I'm the one doing the fucking. Lube."
Pike’s expression changed subtly: just a crease around his eyes and slight quirk in his lip, but McCoy knew he’d earned some sort of points. Pike said, "In the cabinet. To the right."
McCoy got up, swayed over to where Pike had pointed, and snatched the discreet jar off the shelf. He managed to lower himself down to the floor in a controlled half-fall. He batted at Kirk's thighs to make him spread his legs wider, and heard Pike chuckle behind him. He dipped two fingers in the jar and held them up to his nose. He was something of an expert on slick substances, and this one seemed entirely harmless. He darted out a tongue, and decided the stuff was plenty greasy, but not foul enough to have some kind of harmful hidden properties. Only then did he coat two fingers and rub them against Kirk's hole.
"Get on with it, McCoy," Pike said.
"You want me to do this, I do it my way, sir,” he snapped over his shoulder. He looked at Kirk. “Jim?"
"Fingers," Kirk said, strangely breathless.
McCoy slid his fingers into Kirk. His world had been so focused on Kirk's pleasure lately that McCoy had forgotten he liked anything else. The clench of Kirk's muscles around his fingers had McCoy's cock throbbing. Kirk's eyes were open, sharp blue focused right on McCoy's face. His lips parted slightly, gulping in air. When McCoy pushed his fingers in further and crooked them forward, Kirk's eyes drifted closed, and his whole body, shoulders to toes, tensed.
"Good," Kirk said. "Good boy. Go on, I can take more."
McCoy pulled his fingers out, re-coated them with lube, and returned to breach Kirk with three fingers. "That's it," McCoy said. He dragged his fingers in and out, twisting his wrist as he did so. The sight of his wide fingers disappearing into the tight ring of Kirk’s ass sent a swell of arousal flooding through McCoy’s blood. He pressed his fingers over Kirk's prostate, sending a full-body tremor through Kirk. “How’s that feel?”
“Gunhgh,” Kirk grunted.
Kirk knew how to give pleasure, of course, but he didn’t always bother making an effort unless he was trying to prove a point. He liked to see McCoy writhing on the knife’s edge of pain and desire, losing control despite his best efforts not to give in. McCoy, however, preferred honey to vinegar. He slid his fingers slowly in and out of Kirk, dragging each time over the spot that made Kirk’s muscles tremble with the effort of holding back his response. Kirk’s cock strained against his belly, streaking his skin with slick pre-come as McCoy worked his fingers further in.
“He’s ready,” Pike said, his voice rough and lower than usual.
“Well I’m not ready.” McCoy turned around to see Pike palming the bulge in the front of his pants. “You want to do this yourself?”
“Maybe I do,” Pike said.
McCoy’s mouth curled into a snarl, and he leaned over Kirk like an animal defending its prey.
“Bones.” Kirk reached up to grab McCoy’s chin, and pulled him down to meet his eyes. “Come on. Fuck me.”
“Yes.” McCoy pulled his fingers out of Kirk and drew one of Kirk’s legs up over his shoulder, spreading him wide. He dragged his slick hand over his cock, and guided it to Kirk’s ass. A smooth press forward, and he was sliding in. He had never seen Kirk’s face look like this: utterly unguarded, with all his pretenses stripped away.
McCoy pushed in slowly. Kirk’s body took him in inch by glorious inch until they were fused together. McCoy had to stop and let himself adjust to the feeling, or he knew he’d finish too soon and ruin Kirk’s plan. Even the steady motion of Kirk’s breathing sent sparks of dangerous pleasure coursing through him. He should have listened to Kirk and not taken those last two drinks. Maybe the last three.
After a moment, Kirk pressed his hips up impatiently. “Now, like the man said. Hard. Don’t hold back.”
“I won’t,” McCoy said. “Not with you.” Let Pike think McCoy intended revenge; Kirk would know better.
McCoy drew his hips back slowly, and then he slammed back into Kirk, drawing a startled gasp out of him. He heard an appreciative grunt from Pike. McCoy pulled out slowly, until just the fat head of his dick was being squeezed by Kirk’s tight muscles, and thrust in again. Kirk’s head went back, leaving the long, vulnerable line of his throat open. McCoy resisted the urge to kiss or bite, and concentrated instead on giving Kirk the kind of merciless pounding he himself had enjoyed so often.
“Harder,” Pike demanded. His voice was definitely tight now, as if holding back his own noises of pleasure. “Make him scream.”
McCoy pushed Kirk’s legs up and back for leverage and leaned into his thrusts, hammering roughly into Kirk. The new angle drove a hard, high sound out of Kirk. His hand immediately came up to grip McCoy’s arm where it was braced against the floor. His fingers dug into McCoy’s bicep. Kirk’s other hand jerked his own cock desperately, and his mouth hung open in beautifully honest pleasure.
“Jim,” McCoy panted.
“Yeah.” Kirk nodded sharply. “Come for me.”
McCoy slammed forward again, burying himself fully inside Kirk. He felt dangerous, like a warp core about to breach, and warmer than the fires of a nonexistent hell. Kirk’s body clenching around him sent him screaming out his release. His arms gave out, and he fell onto his elbows, pressed close to Kirk.
“Your hand,” Kirk said, an urgent moan.
McCoy closed his grip over Kirk’s where his cock jutted between their sweat-soaked bodies. He knew just the way Kirk liked it, maybe knew Kirk’s body better than he did. Their tangled fingers sped over the length of his shaft, with McCoy pressing his thumb hard against the underside of the head and Kirk twisting his hand around the base. Together they pushed Kirk over the edge. His hot come spurted over their hands, covering the lot until McCoy could barely tell where his body ended and Kirk’s began.
McCoy slumped again, this time against Kirk’s side, panting. He could feel Kirk’s lungs work as he got his breathing under control. Then Kirk’s deep, slow laugh shook them both. “Not what you were expecting, Captain?”
McCoy craned his neck back to see Pike regarding them through narrowed eyes. He was surprised how unselfconscious he felt being naked, filthy with semen and sweat on the floor of Pike’s living room. Kirk’s bravado seemed to create a shield that covered both of them.
“Not exactly what I was expecting, no,” Pike said.
“You were hoping Bones would show me my place? I know my place, Captain. And he does, too.” Kirk sat up, narrowing his eyes at Pike. “Ah. Ah, I see.”
“Do you?” Pike asked with a raised eyebrow and a partial lifting of his upper lip to bare his teeth. “What exactly do you see, cadet?”
“You Machiavellian bastard.” Kirk sounded almost impressed. “You have a funny way of sending a message.”
“I got bored of waiting,” Pike said, lazily dragging his fist up and down the front of his pants. “The Enterprise flies in less than a year. It’s time you put away childish things.”
“Like fucking around?”
“Like ignoring your best ally,” Pike said. “Loyalty is precious in the Empire. If you can’t recognize it, you’ll never be able to use it.”
McCoy looked between Kirk and Pike, not certain he was following the logic. The floaty feeling of a significant alcoholic buzz combined with his post-orgasmic haze probably wasn’t helping his powers of reasoning, but he felt fairly certain he didn’t know what in the hell Pike was talking about. However, he did recognize Kirk’s predatory glance when he saw it. He’d had it directed at him often enough.
“Well, Captain,” Kirk said, and he sounded almost sincere. “We might owe you a thank-you. Bones.”
Kirk jerked his chin toward Pike, and McCoy nodded in return. They both turned toward the chair where Pike sat, and began to crawl toward him in tandem.
Pike sucked in a breath, but he didn’t protest when Kirk brushed his face against the bulge in Pike’s pants.
“Sir?” Kirk asked.
McCoy didn’t think anyone could resist Kirk’s eyes and the promise of his mouth, and Pike bore out that assumption. He tugged at the front of his pants and lifted his hips to push them and his underwear out of the way.
Kirk immediately darted in to lick and suck at Pike’s erection. McCoy had seen Kirk in action before, but never from this close, and never with quite this amount of calculated delight. He looked as if getting Pike to allow this had been a tremendous feat. When Pike caught a low groan between his teeth and reached his hand down to pet the back of Kirk’s head, McCoy began to understand why Kirk wanted to drive his victory home this way.
Kirk, with his mouth full of Pike’s cock, glanced back at McCoy. He took his cue quickly, crawling forward to slide his fingers between Pike’s legs and rub the base of his erection teasingly. After a moment, Kirk relinquished his hold and nudged Pike’s cock in McCoy’s direction.
McCoy sucked the crown into his mouth. Kirk’s insistent licks along the shaft grazed against McCoy’s lips, almost a deliberate caress. Pike’s hand came down to grip McCoy’s shoulder hard. McCoy could see Pike’s muscles clench underneath his clothing as he struggled to hold in the noises that would betray how this treatment affected him.
McCoy’s eyes drifted to Kirk, who grazed his teeth carefully against the underside of Pike’s cock and gave McCoy a deliberate wink. They’d cooperated before, of course, but this seemed different, both of them working against a common enemy in this battle to undo Pike. Strange how easy it seemed to work alongside Kirk after all this time at his mercy. If he and Kirk united against the whole of the Empire, McCoy could almost believe they would win out.
McCoy tongued hard at Pike’s slit. A strangled hiss escaped past Pike’s teeth. Kirk’s eyes lit as he saw victory draw near. Kirk shouldered McCoy out of the way, opened his mouth, and took Pike’s cock all the way to the root. McCoy slid his fingers into the fray, sliding over Pike’s balls and down to press against his hole.
A shout poured out of Pike like blood from a wound. Pike’s hands clamped down on each of their shoulders, holding them in place while he emptied himself down Kirk’s throat. Kirk swallowed smoothly, then pulled off with a last playful lick.
Kirk turned, grabbed McCoy by the back of the neck, and pulled him into a sharp kiss that was full of teeth and tongue. He continued claiming McCoy’s mouth until Pike had righted his clothes and stood up.
“Kirk,” Pike said. No longer “Jimmy,” McCoy noticed.
Kirk dragged himself away from McCoy’s mouth to look up at Pike innocently. “We done here?”
“I’m done.” He snatched his bottle of Hirsch Reserve off the table and headed for the darkened hallway.
Kirk abandoned McCoy to jump to his feet and square off against Pike. “Captain, a word before we go?”
Pike glanced over at McCoy, then back to Kirk. “Granted,” he said.
Kirk held out a hand to help McCoy to his feet, then pushed him gently in the direction of his clothes. “Bones, wait outside.”
McCoy’s gaze darted to Pike, whose grey eyes gave nothing away. “Jim--.”
“Wait outside. Now.”
--
McCoy found himself hastily dressed and out in the damp air before Pike and Kirk exchanged another word. Now that his temporary sex-and-fear-fueled adrenaline high had worn off, he felt woozy again, head swimming with booze. He stood in the street in front of Pike’s townhouse, staring up at the sky. On a rare clear night like this, the stars seemed spread out like an invitation. Perhaps McCoy’s terror had all been spent during the evening’s events, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to dread a future up there among all that light.
“Bones.” Kirk’s fingers folded around his left arm and pulled his attention back down to Earth. “You okay?”
“Just dandy.” McCoy jerked his chin toward Pike’s darkened house. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing.” Kirk steered them to the sidewalk in the direction of campus, never letting go of McCoy’s arm. “It’s fine.”
“You know something I don’t about why the hell he seemed so smug.”
“It’s fine. Pike and I understand each other.” Kirk looked over at McCoy, reading his skepticism easily. “Relax, Bones.”
“You didn’t make some horrible deal with him?”
“No.” Kirk rolled his eyes. “Because I have actually been trained in tactics, so I wouldn’t make an impossible promise I knew I could never keep.”
“Oh, is that what they teach you in those classes?”
Kirk stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and his unrelenting grip ensured that McCoy stopped, too. “I need a promise from you that you won’t do stupid things like that,” Kirk said.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” McCoy grumbled.
Kirk tightened his grip on McCoy’s arm and swung him against a tree McCoy hadn’t even noticed. Kirk pressed up against him, hard and lean. “I’m not letting you go. No one else can have you. Not Pike, not a whole Fleet’s worth of Admirals. No one touches what’s mine.”
“You don’t own me,” McCoy snapped. Perhaps that was the bourbon still talking, but he wasn’t about to go back to being slammed against the nearest surface at a whim, or made to heel like a dog, not after what he’d been through in the past weeks.
“I own you as much as you own me,” Kirk snapped back.
That penetrated the alcohol fog. McCoy turned that answer around in his mind, and found it one he could live with. “Fine.” He wrapped his hands around Kirk’s wrist and tugged his grip loose.
Kirk released his hold and dropped his hand, but McCoy kept his grip on Kirk’s wrist. They walked like that for a few blocks.
“I’m still not your toy,” McCoy said when they’d reached a dark stretch of sidewalk where the overhanging trees hid the cold light of the stars.
Kirk’s eyes cut through the empty space between them, brilliant blue despite the dark. “That doesn’t mean I can’t play with you sometimes.”
“You can try, I suppose.” McCoy attempted to sound firm, but he’d expended so much effort recently in putting up a tough front that his heart wasn’t in it.
“I never get tired of trying.”
“Me neither.”
“I know,” Kirk said softly. “Until your very last breath.”
“Until then,” McCoy said.
Kirk slid his wrist out of McCoy’s grip so that he could twine their fingers together, and they walked on.
~END
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Pike/McCoy, implied Kirk/various (including Kirk/Pike)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: mirror!verse morals, consent issues (of the dub-con and coercion variety), uneven power dynamics, and various kinks, including (highlight to view, or don't if you prefer your kink non-spoilery)
humiliation, public sex, light bondage, use of toys, threat of bloodplay, BDSM, fisting, off-label use of controlled substances, sensory deprivation, rough sex, physical violence (including violence between partners), description of injuries and a few medical procedures, and very brief contemplation of suicide.
Word Count: 22,700 total. This part: ~7400
Author’s Note: Thanks to jaune_chat for the constant encouragement, beta-work, and word-smithing, and thanks my whole f-list for listening to me flail.
Summary: When backed into a corner, McCoy had to make a deal with Christopher Pike, Commandant of Cadets at the Imperial Academy. If Kirk had been there, he might have been able to tell McCoy that was a mistake. Kirk, at least, had taken some tactics courses. McCoy must stumble through the consequences of his deal and strike a dangerous balance between the suspicions of two powerful men.
Part Three
Friday night, McCoy came home to find Kirk adjusting the cuffs on his dress uniform.
“We going out?” McCoy asked mildly. He studiously ignored the uptick in his pulse at the thought of his last public outing with Kirk, and told himself that Kirk would hardly wear his dress uniform to a bar.
“I’m going out,” Kirk said.
McCoy made himself sit at his desk, as if his body wasn’t suddenly screaming danger in every last drop of his blood. He’d have to go to Pike, and it would be worse this time. McCoy sat and tried to look casual as his mind picked the situation apart, looking for an opportunity he could turn to his advantage. There must be a clue here he wasn’t grasping--the uniform. “In that get-up? You going to a disciplinary hearing?”
“Ha.” Kirk sat on the bed and began pulling on his boots. “Pike got an invitation to this black tie event in the city. Some simpering civilians congratulating themselves on their own asinine achievements. He can’t go, so I’m taking his ticket.”
“Pike.” McCoy could feel Pike’s hands on him, pinning his arms. Pike wouldn’t be content just to watch, next time.
“Should be a great evening. Lots of social climbing sentients looking for a good time. You shouldn’t wait up.”
“Pike,” he said again. McCoy had known Pike hadn’t expected him to succeed, but he hadn’t thought Pike would deliberately make McCoy’s job harder. If, as he claimed, Pike wanted to keep Kirk from taking dangerous risks, sending him off to fancy parties with important non-Fleet people might not be the best way to go about it. McCoy pulled himself up from his chair and went to stand in front of Kirk, blocking his way to the door. “You don’t think Pike might have an ulterior motive for sending you?”
“Pike always has an ulterior motive.” Kirk glanced up from tying his boots and gave McCoy a lazy smile. “Relax, Bones. I won’t be in any physical danger. If anything, he wants me to make some connections, maybe go home with someone important.”
“Jim, don’t go.”
“Don’t worry, old man.” Kirk reached up, grabbed McCoy by the front of his shirt, tugged him down onto the bed and rolled on top of him. He groped him through his pants while kissing him thoroughly. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
“It’s not a good idea,” McCoy said through Kirk’s kisses. “Something’s going to happen.”
“Look at you, mother hen,” Kirk laughed. He stood up, ran a hand through his hair and tugged down his dress uniform tunic. “Nothing’s going to happen. I know how to take care of myself in a crowd.”
“Stay here tonight.” McCoy cast about desperately for something to offer. “You can cut me.”
Kirk looked at him sharply, then shook his head and laughed. “You’re hilarious. That’s something I don’t do with toys I want to keep. Besides, you hate bloodplay. Unsanitary, and all that.”
“Something else, then. Whatever you want.”
“I already get whatever I want.” Kirk flashed a self-satisfied grin and walked away. His hand was on the door. In another moment, he’d be gone again. McCoy would have to take his punishment: another night of Pike’s hands on him, Pike’s voice commanding him, Pike’s poisoned words wrapping McCoy’s feelings for Kirk around him like a noose.
“Jim, please!”
Kirk stopped. “What did you say?”
“Please.”
Kirk turned halfway around, as if he didn’t dare look at McCoy. “Are you begging?”
“Please.” McCoy realized his was on his knees on the bed. He made himself move, stand. “I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t go.”
“This isn’t funny, Bones.” Kirk’s smile slipped, and he seemed to hold onto it by sheer will.
“It’s not a joke. Please, Jim. Don’t fucking leave.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Jim--.”
“It’s not nothing.” Kirk closed the space between them in three quick strides and clamped his hands against McCoy’s temples. “What is it? What did you do?”
McCoy had never been the kind to coolly calculate the odds. In surgery, when something went wrong, he simply did what needed to be done with steady hands until the patient’s heart stopped beating, and sometimes beyond. Now, he couldn’t see what to do, couldn’t think, couldn’t act.
If their positions had been reversed, Kirk would have had contingency plans, exit strategies, or at least a plan to stall. McCoy had been in Imperial service too long to not believe in no-win scenarios, but he should at least be able to muster some defense. He had no defense against Kirk, and never had.
“What have you done?” Kirk’s blue eyes searched McCoy’s face, looking for clues. McCoy knew the evidence he was putting together, just as he’d feared: McCoy had been acting strangely, he’d been trying to manipulate Kirk, he must be planning something, he must be working for an enemy.
“Jim,” he croaked, and he saw Kirk’s face crumple in disappointment.
Kirk shoved him away. McCoy saw only a moving blur before Kirk’s fist impacted his head. That’s it, McCoy thought muzzily. Now he’ll kill me. He’d seen Kirk fight, of course, but Kirk had never hit him, not like this: the way he’d attack an enemy. Kirk hit him twice more: an uppercut to the jaw and a solid punch to the gut: moves calculated to disorient and debilitate. McCoy stumbled back and slumped to the ground.
He saw Kirk go for the med kit lying in the corner, but he couldn’t coordinate his limbs well enough to move away when Kirk came toward him with the hypospray.
“Don’t,” he pleaded, because dying of some horrible xenodisease was far, far below “beaten to death by James T. Kirk” on the list of ways he wanted to die.
“You don’t tell me what to do, Bones.” The cold edge in Kirk’s voice sliced through McCoy’s pain and right to the center of him, holding him immobile. “You don’t tell me anything.”
The hypospray hissed its contents into McCoy’s neck. The room began to whirl and tilt around him. His fingers numbed, then his hands. Some kind a paralytic, then, the kind the disciplinary committee used to keep their victims still for torture, perhaps. McCoy had a few in his bag. He hoped Kirk hadn’t used the malatocin. He’d seen that stuff cause nasty, permanent nerve damage. Then again, if Kirk was about to torture him, damaged nerves might come in handy.
McCoy’s mind seemed to be drifting in a pleasant haze somewhere beyond his body. Snatches of his surroundings floated up past him: a scrape of a chair against the floor, the press of Kirk’s boot under his hip to turn his body over, the beep of a padd being activated, a blur of movement as someone moved past him, the clatter of a metal instrument on a hard surface like tools on a surgical tray. He thought he saw two points of blue, blue light flying after him, following him into the dark.
McCoy faded back into the world with his face pressed to hard, poly-synthetic flooring. The cool surface felt soothing against McCoy’s throbbing temple. Something sticky dripped from the end of his chin. Blood. His entire head resounded with pain. He tried to move, but a foot braced against his spine, between his shoulder blades, forced him to lie still.
“You’ve probably got a concussion.” Kirk. “Shouldn’t move.”
“Y sh’d ‘o.” McCoy’s mouth grappled with the words, never quite grasping them.
Kirk’s foot slid from his back. McCoy’s emergency med kid landed with easy reach on the floor beside him. Kirk followed it, leaning down into McCoy’s line of sight. “You can give yourself something for the pain.”
McCoy watched and concentrated on breathing for several seconds, but Kirk only stayed where he was, hands on knees, bend over McCoy in apparent concern. McCoy sat up stiffly. He took his time pulling the correct compound from the kit. He sat looking down at the bottle cradled in his palm, and thought about loading a lethal dose to save himself whatever horrors Kirk had planned. But killing himself would label him a coward and a traitor to the Empire, and he couldn’t burden his daughter with that shame. He could endure a few hours until Kirk became bored and killed him. Hours, or days. Kirk could be creative in his viciousness, and he was always tenacious. Days.
Kirk put a hand on McCoy’s wrist. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said, straight-faced. McCoy saw no bluff in Kirk’s eyes, but he couldn’t tell if Kirk’s face was closed to him in ways it hadn’t been yesterday.
McCoy nodded, though moving his head was agony. Kirk released his hold.
McCoy loaded the proper dose of painkiller, and no more. He injected it into his neck, and relief rushed through his veins, closing off the worst of the agony.
Kirk sat back on his heels, just watching. McCoy wasn’t eager to take his eyes off Kirk, but after a tense staring contest that lasted the space of a few minutes, McCoy came to the conclusion that seeing an attack coming wouldn’t actually provide an advantage. He tore his eyes away from Kirk to rummage through the med kit, and came out with a battered medical scanner.
“You don’t have any life-threatening injuries,” Kirk said mildly.
“Did you get a medical license while I was out?” McCoy snapped.
Kirk rocked back on his heels, almost playfully. “No.”
“Then I’ll be the judge of that.” McCoy turned the scanner on himself, craning his neck at an awkward angle to see the readout.
“If you were dying you wouldn’t be back-talking me.”
“You’re wrong. I would. Until my very last breath.” McCoy looked up at Kirk. They both stilled, reading one another silently for a long minute. This time, Kirk broke first.
“I know, Bones.” Kirk leaned forward to gently pry the scanner out of McCoy’s hand. He grabbed that and the med kit, stood, and dumped his burden on the desk before turning back to McCoy. “Actually, you’re lucky I have a thing for inflicting long, painful deaths on traitors.”
“Am I?” McCoy was able to take stock of his surroundings now that his head had stopped pounding so viciously. He didn’t see any obvious implements of torture, but Kirk had always been creative with his tools.
“I did some research while you were lazing around.” Kirk leaned back against the desk, casual-like, and for a moment McCoy saw Pike in a similarly lazy, arrogant stance, delivering the ultimatum that had brought McCoy here. “Don’t talk, just answer yes or no.”
“Jim--.”
“Bones.” Kirk picked up something-his knife, his father’s knife that he brought out for special occasions-from the desk and ran his thumb lovingly down the flat edge. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes.” McCoy’s glance stuck to the shiny point of the knife. He'd seen Kirk make men scream with that knife without shedding enough blood to stain his shirtsleeves.
“Good. You’ve been trying to keep me occupied, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Specifically, you’ve been trying to keep me from fucking other people.”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t get this idea on your own.”
McCoy hesitated fractionally, but realized that Kirk hated asking questions to which he didn’t know the answer. Silence would only make Kirk more suspicious. “No,” he said.
“Someone gave you a compelling reason to keep my dick your exclusive property.”
“Jim, I didn’t--.”
With a quick flick, the blade sat firmly in Kirk’s hand, ready to strike.
McCoy let his protest fade away, and instead said, “Yes.”
“And this someone has been doling out punishment when you fail.” Kirk tapped the blade against his lips.
“Yes.”
“This started-when? Right after that thing with Tanill’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
Kirk strolled forward. “You went to someone for help.”
“Yes.”
“After I specifically told you not to.”
“Yes.”
“You’re an idiot, Bones.”
“Yes,” McCoy agreed. Idiot, idiot, idiot to put himself and Kirk in Pike’s hands. If Kirk was going to kill him, he needed to at least let him know what game Pike was playing. “You should know--.”
“You shouldn’t have made a deal with Pike. That old bastard will bleed you dry and wring out your corpse if you give him half a chance.”
Though he should have been past being impressed by Kirk’s genius, McCoy wasn’t. He raised an eyebrow.
“You looked up Pike’s address on your padd.” Kirk gestured to the device he’d absconded with after McCoy had destroyed his old one. “You need to remember to purge your data history regularly.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Anyway, your choice was obvious. You don’t know anyone else you might have gone to for help.”
“Pike’s got a vested interest in your survival.”
“Yes. Which is why he wouldn’t have let Tanill ship me off.” Kirk started flipping the knife open and closed again, and McCoy began to wonder if the movement wasn’t a threat after all, but a nervous tic. “And just so you know, he wouldn’t have let you be thrown to the wolves if I had gotten shipped off. He’d have taken you on himself before he let that happen. He’s always had a hard-on for you. You sacrificed yourself for something he would have done anyway. That’s really crappy tactics.”
“I’m a doctor, not a damn strategist!”
“I told you not to interfere.” Kirk charged forward to loom over McCoy, knife clenched tightly in his fist. “I had it under control!”
“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” McCoy demanded. “You’d grin and say everything was fine if the academy was crumbling around your ears while you were infected with Pretorian rotting disease and a horde of angry Romulans was howling for your blood. I don’t know all your plans and counter-plans, but if my life depends on you staying in one piece, I’m going to damn well take matters into my own hands when it looks like you might be killed!”
“Hm.” Kirk turned and retreated. His knife hand dropped slowly, until he placed the weapon flat on top of the desk. “That’s an excellent point, Bones.”
“What is?”
“You’re not useless.”
McCoy blinked at Kirk as his gut churned through anger, then hysteria, then anger again before settling on incredulous amusement. “Not…?” Tired laughter tumbled out of him, and he slumped back to lean against the bed. He felt profoundly grateful for the drugs that were numbing his head, but apparently they weren’t doing much for his sense of preservation. Just when Kirk might have been considering a mercifully quick death, McCoy had gone and gotten Kirk thinking about his market value as a bargaining chip. “Thanks for the endorsement.”
Kirk’s smile crept back, genuine this time. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
Kirk extended a hand. McCoy gripped his arm and, with Kirk to anchor him, managed to get to his feet. The wave of throbbing in his head had subsided, and he felt steady enough to make a run for it. He could probably make Kirk have to kill him, if the need arose.
“Get cleaned up.” Kirk pushed him gently toward the bathroom. “We’re going out.”
“Where are we going?”
“To see Pike.”
--
McCoy wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that Kirk knew the security code to Pike’s house. If he had to venture a guess, he’d say that Pike knew Kirk had it, but hadn’t given it to him. As always, Kirk had a habit of taking more than was offered him.
The lights flicked on in the front room as they entered. McCoy forced himself not to think about why Kirk might have brought him here. Usually his mind sorted through Kirk’s possible actions automatically, a differential diagnosis of sin, so that he could plan a defense, or at least prepare for damage control. Tonight, though, he suspected that anything he could imagine would be kinder than the truth, and he’d rather not be disappointed.
Only a few moments after they arrived, Pike wandered in the room with a drink in his hand looking disappointingly unsurprised. “Have a seat, boys,” he said with a curt nod. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” He disappeared into the hallway. McCoy peered after him, wondering if the nonchalance boded well or ill before deciding that he was better off worrying about Kirk.
Kirk, for his part, seemed unfazed by Pike’s indifference. He strode over to the liquor cabinet, poured two drinks, and handed one to McCoy before throwing himself in an artful sprawl on the sofa with the bottle in hand.
“Jim.” McCoy stared at the drink in his hand as if he could divine Kirk’s plan from the shifting patterns of light dancing through the bourbon. “What do you want me to--.”
“Nothing.” Kirk turned his head sharply to McCoy. “You’ve done enough.”
McCoy nodded stiffly. He perched on the far end of the sofa. He thought briefly about trying to stay sober, but decided that sobriety would be no defense against the combined wills of Kirk and Pike, so he may as well spend the ordeal in an unfeeling haze. He slammed back his drink and held the empty glass out to Kirk.
Kirk’s eyebrows went up, but he reached over and poured McCoy a refill.
McCoy drank that down, too, and held his glass out again.
“You should slow down, Bones,” Kirk said, but he poured. “I have a feeling you might need to participate later.”
“Participate?” McCoy’s third drink suddenly tasted like blood as his mind raced through the injuries he’d treated on victims of Imperial torture-some inflicted by Kirk himself.
“Yeah.” Kirk took a sip of his drink and frowned at McCoy. “Just don’t embarrass me by being too drunk to do your job.”
McCoy swallowed the last of the liquor and extended his glass again.
Kirk cradled the bottle against his chest. “This is Pike’s best bourbon,” he said. “I’m not wasting it on self pity.”
“Fine.” It took McCoy two tries to stumble to his feet, but when he finally made it upright, he swayed over to Pike’s cabinet. He picked out his own damn bottle-presumably Pike’s second-best bourbon. He poured his glass three-quarters full, and carried it and the bottle over to the couch, where he flopped down next to Kirk.
“You know,” Kirk said, “My doctor always says I shouldn’t drink when I have a concussion.”
McCoy clutched his glass and the bottle hard. He couldn’t look at Kirk. “Jim, will you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“If you’re going to kill me tonight, will you do it yourself?”
“What?”
“I deserve that much, I think.” McCoy closed his eyes. In the darkness flickered a thousand images of Kirk’s dangerous smile. He opened his eyes quickly, but Kirk’s smile was nowhere in evidence. McCoy went on. “I don’t want Pike to be the last thing I see.”
Kirk stared at him so long that McCoy thought he may actually be considering the request. Instead, he said, “You really are a horrible negotiator.”
“Fine. Tell me the right way to ask.”
“There isn’t one. I’m not giving you that.” Kirk settled back against the sofa and sipped his drink. “You should know by now that I don’t believe in mercy killings.”
McCoy knew. Hell, he’d helped keep Kirk’s victims alive, even if he’d done his part to mitigate their suffering. No one was likely to mix a pain-killer into an adrenaline shot for him, though. “Jim--.”
“I see you’ve made yourselves at home.” Pike stood in the doorway. Though he was out of uniform, he still looked every inch a commander. He wore dark pants, a form-fitting black shirt, and an undone tie, as if he’d been getting ready to go out for the evening. “You could have at least told me you weren’t using that ticket. Someone else might have liked to go.”
“You didn’t want me to use the ticket in the first place,” Kirk said. “Drink?”
“That had better not be the Hirsch Reserve.”
Kirk swirled his drink around in his glass before taking a sip. He let out a contented sigh. “It is.”
“Then pour me some, put it back in the cabinet, and never touch it again. You mouth may be pretty, but it doesn’t rate alcohol that expensive.”
“Apparently my mouth’s good enough to drink you down.” Kirk’s smile was all teeth. “Sir.”
McCoy clutched his bottle and carefully looked nowhere but at his own glass. The dim light turned the rich gold bourbon dark, almost red.
“Alright, Jimmy. Give me a glass, and pour yourself another.” Pike settled himself on a chair opposite their sofa, and took his drink from Kirk. “What makes you think I didn’t want you to use that ticket?”
“You knew I’d figure it out.”
“Eventually. Honestly, I didn’t expect it to take this long. Your boy’s a better liar than you give him credit for.” Pike raised his glass in McCoy’s direction.
“I admit I may have underestimated him.” Kirk raised his glass as well, and looked at McCoy until he returned the salute and drank with them. “He can be a valuable…asset. As I’m sure you’ve experienced.”
McCoy felt vaguely queasy, somewhere in the distance where his body still existed. He set down his bottle on the table next to him and clutched his glass with both hands.
“Relax,” Pike said. “I’ve barely touched him. We’ve just had a little fun together, isn’t that right, doctor?”
McCoy knew better than to get in the way of a pissing contest between these two. Instead of answering, he downed the rest of his drink and set the glass aside.
“As I recall, your idea of fun is pretty broad,” Kirk said. “And not the kind of thing you do with another man’s property.”
“If you don’t take care to secure your toys, someone will take them away from you. You’ll have to learn that lesson if you want to captain a ship someday.”
“Fine.” Kirk surged to his feet. He grabbed McCoy by the back of his shirt and shoved him to the floor at Pike’s feet. McCoy couldn’t catch himself with alcohol-slowed reflexes, and he landed hard on his side. “Take him,” Kirk said. “Use him however you want, and get it out of your system. I’ll watch. That’s what you want, isn’t it? My attention?”
“That’s part of it,” Pike said placidly. He didn’t even look at McCoy’s prone form. “You think too little of people. It’s a weakness. If I wanted to fuck your little doctor, I’d have done it. I want something else.”
“And I want you to quit interfering with our private lives.”
“You’ll need to give me something in return.”
Kirk’s eyes narrowed, and he resumed his seat, morphing into a calculated negotiator. “Name your terms.”
“I’ll give you a choice.” Pike settled back into his chair, as secure as the Emperor on his throne. “I’m having a little soiree next week with five Imperial admirals. You can join us, meet some of the top brass, and make sure they know your name. All you have to do is bring McCoy along to provide hospitality for us all.”
Kirk’s careful non-reaction sent McCoy’s mind spinning off in panicked circles. Kirk had never shared him: one manifestation of his enormous ego for which McCoy had always been deeply grateful. For a chance at face time with admirals, though, Kirk would probably sacrifice his right arm, never mind McCoy’s virtue.
“You said I had a choice,” Kirk pointed out. “What’s my other option?”
“Let him fuck you while I watch. Right here, right now.”
McCoy felt a strange calm spread through him. At least Pike hadn’t proposed some even worse scenario. And McCoy would have a week to steel himself for the coming ordeal.
“Fine,” Kirk said. “We’ll take option number two.”
“What?” McCoy croaked.
The triumphant smile that flashed on Pike’s face had a nasty edge to it. “Good.”
McCoy stared, frozen, while Kirk stood up and began to efficiently divest himself of his uniform. Kirk couldn’t really be accepting this offer. He’d come here to turn McCoy’s betrayal to his advantage, not to give up something else to Pike. McCoy’s bourbon-soaked brain couldn’t puzzle through Kirk’s strategy.
“Bones,” Kirk snapped. He had stripped from the waist up, and was kicking off his boots. “Get up. Clothes off.”
McCoy stumbled to his feet. His balance played tricks on him, sending the living room swirling around him. Pike caught his arm in a firm grip.
"Careful. Jim, he's not sober enough for this."
"I am," McCoy snapped at the same time as Kirk, from behind him, said, "He is."
Pike looked appraisingly at McCoy. "Fine. But you won't be going easy on him. I expect you to fuck him as hard as he's ever fucked you. Understand?"
"Sir," McCoy said, with a sudden clarity that surprised even him. "I'm training to be an Imperial officer. I know how to do my duty." He turned around to face Kirk, and was greeted with Kirk wearing only a delighted smile.
Kirk grabbed McCoy by his uniform shirt and pulled him forward, close enough that he could start dragging off his clothes. He dealt with troublesome buttons and latches too complex for McCoy's current state of intoxication. Though McCoy could feel Pike's eyes on them, he didn't turn to look. He focused all his attention on Kirk. He'd seen him naked often, but this seemed different, somehow, knowing that he would have a chance to do what he wanted with Kirk, with every inch of that beautiful body. His cock stirred at the barrage of images churning through his still-reeling brain: Kirk’s hands touching him instead of Pike’s, Kirk’s mouth on him, Kirk’s skin sliding against his, Kirk’s blue eyes open and hungry. McCoy’s arousal seemed to burn through his intoxication, making the scene before him clearer and more real with each piece of clothing Kirk pulled off him.
“Easy now,” Kirk said quietly, once all their clothes had been discarded. He dragged McCoy down to the floor with him, and they landed in something of a tangled heap. McCoy started to roll onto his back, planning to let Kirk take charge, but Pike’s voice stopped him.
"Doctor, it’s your turn to be on top. On your back, Jimmy.”
Kirk paused for a moment from his position straddling McCoy, then he nodded sharply. He settled on his back, angled to give Pike a clear view of the action. McCoy hesitated for a moment as he realized he was about to do what his instincts had been screaming at him not to: get in the middle of a battle between Kirk and Pike. If he didn’t do this, Pike would demand some other, probably horrific, compensation. If he did do this, Kirk would surely dispose of him afterwards. McCoy couldn’t hope to participate in something like this and keep the whatever-it-was between him and Kirk intact.
McCoy sat, awkwardly frozen halfway toward sitting up. He couldn’t assist Pike in punishing Kirk this way. He’d rather face the torture he thought he’d come here for; that, at least, would only scar his body.
“Bones. Come on. I know you’re not useless, so prove it.”
McCoy looked sharply at Kirk, who met his gaze with a confident, open smirk. And, with a sudden memory of his grandfather’s story about a rabbit and a briar patch, McCoy got it.
This is what Kirk had come here to do. Kirk hadn’t believed that McCoy had betrayed him. The man was a damn genius. He’d understood, and he’d made a plan to win back what was his. Now here he was, taking his own turn at human sacrifice to even out the scale. He wasn’t selling McCoy out to Pike; he was buying him back.
“Doctor,” Pike prompted.
McCoy made himself move. He knelt between Kirk’s open legs, careful not to overbalance. He dragged a hand down Kirk’s body, shoulder to thigh, more to ground himself than anything. The room still tilted precariously around him, but he’d already fallen so far he didn’t see much danger in tumbling further tonight.
He slid the back of his fingers down the length of Kirk’s shaft, then closed a hand around Kirk’s sack. Kirk just bent his knees and planted his feet on the floor to give McCoy better access. McCoy rubbed his thumb over Kirk’s balls and breathed in the smell of arousal mixed with the heady scent of power as he held Kirk still beneath him with only that touch.
McCoy rubbed his fingers lower, across the perineum to push against Kirk’s tight hole. Kirk tensed involuntarily when McCoy’s fingers found his entrance. Kirk’s face remained neutral, and he seemed to be trying not to react, but his muscles clenched, even down his thighs; he probably hadn’t done this in a while. McCoy backed off, rubbing around his hole, but Kirk didn’t react further. Instead, Kirk tucked his hands behind his head as if he were laying out in the California sunshine.
Pike let out an amused grumble of a laugh. “I said fuck him, cadet, not give him a massage.”
McCoy kept his eyes on Kirk, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Lube," McCoy said.
Pike laughed. "He doesn't need it."
McCoy turned around to face Pike, and said in a perfectly reasonable tone, "I'm the only medical professional in this room, and I'm the one doing the fucking. Lube."
Pike’s expression changed subtly: just a crease around his eyes and slight quirk in his lip, but McCoy knew he’d earned some sort of points. Pike said, "In the cabinet. To the right."
McCoy got up, swayed over to where Pike had pointed, and snatched the discreet jar off the shelf. He managed to lower himself down to the floor in a controlled half-fall. He batted at Kirk's thighs to make him spread his legs wider, and heard Pike chuckle behind him. He dipped two fingers in the jar and held them up to his nose. He was something of an expert on slick substances, and this one seemed entirely harmless. He darted out a tongue, and decided the stuff was plenty greasy, but not foul enough to have some kind of harmful hidden properties. Only then did he coat two fingers and rub them against Kirk's hole.
"Get on with it, McCoy," Pike said.
"You want me to do this, I do it my way, sir,” he snapped over his shoulder. He looked at Kirk. “Jim?"
"Fingers," Kirk said, strangely breathless.
McCoy slid his fingers into Kirk. His world had been so focused on Kirk's pleasure lately that McCoy had forgotten he liked anything else. The clench of Kirk's muscles around his fingers had McCoy's cock throbbing. Kirk's eyes were open, sharp blue focused right on McCoy's face. His lips parted slightly, gulping in air. When McCoy pushed his fingers in further and crooked them forward, Kirk's eyes drifted closed, and his whole body, shoulders to toes, tensed.
"Good," Kirk said. "Good boy. Go on, I can take more."
McCoy pulled his fingers out, re-coated them with lube, and returned to breach Kirk with three fingers. "That's it," McCoy said. He dragged his fingers in and out, twisting his wrist as he did so. The sight of his wide fingers disappearing into the tight ring of Kirk’s ass sent a swell of arousal flooding through McCoy’s blood. He pressed his fingers over Kirk's prostate, sending a full-body tremor through Kirk. “How’s that feel?”
“Gunhgh,” Kirk grunted.
Kirk knew how to give pleasure, of course, but he didn’t always bother making an effort unless he was trying to prove a point. He liked to see McCoy writhing on the knife’s edge of pain and desire, losing control despite his best efforts not to give in. McCoy, however, preferred honey to vinegar. He slid his fingers slowly in and out of Kirk, dragging each time over the spot that made Kirk’s muscles tremble with the effort of holding back his response. Kirk’s cock strained against his belly, streaking his skin with slick pre-come as McCoy worked his fingers further in.
“He’s ready,” Pike said, his voice rough and lower than usual.
“Well I’m not ready.” McCoy turned around to see Pike palming the bulge in the front of his pants. “You want to do this yourself?”
“Maybe I do,” Pike said.
McCoy’s mouth curled into a snarl, and he leaned over Kirk like an animal defending its prey.
“Bones.” Kirk reached up to grab McCoy’s chin, and pulled him down to meet his eyes. “Come on. Fuck me.”
“Yes.” McCoy pulled his fingers out of Kirk and drew one of Kirk’s legs up over his shoulder, spreading him wide. He dragged his slick hand over his cock, and guided it to Kirk’s ass. A smooth press forward, and he was sliding in. He had never seen Kirk’s face look like this: utterly unguarded, with all his pretenses stripped away.
McCoy pushed in slowly. Kirk’s body took him in inch by glorious inch until they were fused together. McCoy had to stop and let himself adjust to the feeling, or he knew he’d finish too soon and ruin Kirk’s plan. Even the steady motion of Kirk’s breathing sent sparks of dangerous pleasure coursing through him. He should have listened to Kirk and not taken those last two drinks. Maybe the last three.
After a moment, Kirk pressed his hips up impatiently. “Now, like the man said. Hard. Don’t hold back.”
“I won’t,” McCoy said. “Not with you.” Let Pike think McCoy intended revenge; Kirk would know better.
McCoy drew his hips back slowly, and then he slammed back into Kirk, drawing a startled gasp out of him. He heard an appreciative grunt from Pike. McCoy pulled out slowly, until just the fat head of his dick was being squeezed by Kirk’s tight muscles, and thrust in again. Kirk’s head went back, leaving the long, vulnerable line of his throat open. McCoy resisted the urge to kiss or bite, and concentrated instead on giving Kirk the kind of merciless pounding he himself had enjoyed so often.
“Harder,” Pike demanded. His voice was definitely tight now, as if holding back his own noises of pleasure. “Make him scream.”
McCoy pushed Kirk’s legs up and back for leverage and leaned into his thrusts, hammering roughly into Kirk. The new angle drove a hard, high sound out of Kirk. His hand immediately came up to grip McCoy’s arm where it was braced against the floor. His fingers dug into McCoy’s bicep. Kirk’s other hand jerked his own cock desperately, and his mouth hung open in beautifully honest pleasure.
“Jim,” McCoy panted.
“Yeah.” Kirk nodded sharply. “Come for me.”
McCoy slammed forward again, burying himself fully inside Kirk. He felt dangerous, like a warp core about to breach, and warmer than the fires of a nonexistent hell. Kirk’s body clenching around him sent him screaming out his release. His arms gave out, and he fell onto his elbows, pressed close to Kirk.
“Your hand,” Kirk said, an urgent moan.
McCoy closed his grip over Kirk’s where his cock jutted between their sweat-soaked bodies. He knew just the way Kirk liked it, maybe knew Kirk’s body better than he did. Their tangled fingers sped over the length of his shaft, with McCoy pressing his thumb hard against the underside of the head and Kirk twisting his hand around the base. Together they pushed Kirk over the edge. His hot come spurted over their hands, covering the lot until McCoy could barely tell where his body ended and Kirk’s began.
McCoy slumped again, this time against Kirk’s side, panting. He could feel Kirk’s lungs work as he got his breathing under control. Then Kirk’s deep, slow laugh shook them both. “Not what you were expecting, Captain?”
McCoy craned his neck back to see Pike regarding them through narrowed eyes. He was surprised how unselfconscious he felt being naked, filthy with semen and sweat on the floor of Pike’s living room. Kirk’s bravado seemed to create a shield that covered both of them.
“Not exactly what I was expecting, no,” Pike said.
“You were hoping Bones would show me my place? I know my place, Captain. And he does, too.” Kirk sat up, narrowing his eyes at Pike. “Ah. Ah, I see.”
“Do you?” Pike asked with a raised eyebrow and a partial lifting of his upper lip to bare his teeth. “What exactly do you see, cadet?”
“You Machiavellian bastard.” Kirk sounded almost impressed. “You have a funny way of sending a message.”
“I got bored of waiting,” Pike said, lazily dragging his fist up and down the front of his pants. “The Enterprise flies in less than a year. It’s time you put away childish things.”
“Like fucking around?”
“Like ignoring your best ally,” Pike said. “Loyalty is precious in the Empire. If you can’t recognize it, you’ll never be able to use it.”
McCoy looked between Kirk and Pike, not certain he was following the logic. The floaty feeling of a significant alcoholic buzz combined with his post-orgasmic haze probably wasn’t helping his powers of reasoning, but he felt fairly certain he didn’t know what in the hell Pike was talking about. However, he did recognize Kirk’s predatory glance when he saw it. He’d had it directed at him often enough.
“Well, Captain,” Kirk said, and he sounded almost sincere. “We might owe you a thank-you. Bones.”
Kirk jerked his chin toward Pike, and McCoy nodded in return. They both turned toward the chair where Pike sat, and began to crawl toward him in tandem.
Pike sucked in a breath, but he didn’t protest when Kirk brushed his face against the bulge in Pike’s pants.
“Sir?” Kirk asked.
McCoy didn’t think anyone could resist Kirk’s eyes and the promise of his mouth, and Pike bore out that assumption. He tugged at the front of his pants and lifted his hips to push them and his underwear out of the way.
Kirk immediately darted in to lick and suck at Pike’s erection. McCoy had seen Kirk in action before, but never from this close, and never with quite this amount of calculated delight. He looked as if getting Pike to allow this had been a tremendous feat. When Pike caught a low groan between his teeth and reached his hand down to pet the back of Kirk’s head, McCoy began to understand why Kirk wanted to drive his victory home this way.
Kirk, with his mouth full of Pike’s cock, glanced back at McCoy. He took his cue quickly, crawling forward to slide his fingers between Pike’s legs and rub the base of his erection teasingly. After a moment, Kirk relinquished his hold and nudged Pike’s cock in McCoy’s direction.
McCoy sucked the crown into his mouth. Kirk’s insistent licks along the shaft grazed against McCoy’s lips, almost a deliberate caress. Pike’s hand came down to grip McCoy’s shoulder hard. McCoy could see Pike’s muscles clench underneath his clothing as he struggled to hold in the noises that would betray how this treatment affected him.
McCoy’s eyes drifted to Kirk, who grazed his teeth carefully against the underside of Pike’s cock and gave McCoy a deliberate wink. They’d cooperated before, of course, but this seemed different, both of them working against a common enemy in this battle to undo Pike. Strange how easy it seemed to work alongside Kirk after all this time at his mercy. If he and Kirk united against the whole of the Empire, McCoy could almost believe they would win out.
McCoy tongued hard at Pike’s slit. A strangled hiss escaped past Pike’s teeth. Kirk’s eyes lit as he saw victory draw near. Kirk shouldered McCoy out of the way, opened his mouth, and took Pike’s cock all the way to the root. McCoy slid his fingers into the fray, sliding over Pike’s balls and down to press against his hole.
A shout poured out of Pike like blood from a wound. Pike’s hands clamped down on each of their shoulders, holding them in place while he emptied himself down Kirk’s throat. Kirk swallowed smoothly, then pulled off with a last playful lick.
Kirk turned, grabbed McCoy by the back of the neck, and pulled him into a sharp kiss that was full of teeth and tongue. He continued claiming McCoy’s mouth until Pike had righted his clothes and stood up.
“Kirk,” Pike said. No longer “Jimmy,” McCoy noticed.
Kirk dragged himself away from McCoy’s mouth to look up at Pike innocently. “We done here?”
“I’m done.” He snatched his bottle of Hirsch Reserve off the table and headed for the darkened hallway.
Kirk abandoned McCoy to jump to his feet and square off against Pike. “Captain, a word before we go?”
Pike glanced over at McCoy, then back to Kirk. “Granted,” he said.
Kirk held out a hand to help McCoy to his feet, then pushed him gently in the direction of his clothes. “Bones, wait outside.”
McCoy’s gaze darted to Pike, whose grey eyes gave nothing away. “Jim--.”
“Wait outside. Now.”
--
McCoy found himself hastily dressed and out in the damp air before Pike and Kirk exchanged another word. Now that his temporary sex-and-fear-fueled adrenaline high had worn off, he felt woozy again, head swimming with booze. He stood in the street in front of Pike’s townhouse, staring up at the sky. On a rare clear night like this, the stars seemed spread out like an invitation. Perhaps McCoy’s terror had all been spent during the evening’s events, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to dread a future up there among all that light.
“Bones.” Kirk’s fingers folded around his left arm and pulled his attention back down to Earth. “You okay?”
“Just dandy.” McCoy jerked his chin toward Pike’s darkened house. “What was that all about?”
“Nothing.” Kirk steered them to the sidewalk in the direction of campus, never letting go of McCoy’s arm. “It’s fine.”
“You know something I don’t about why the hell he seemed so smug.”
“It’s fine. Pike and I understand each other.” Kirk looked over at McCoy, reading his skepticism easily. “Relax, Bones.”
“You didn’t make some horrible deal with him?”
“No.” Kirk rolled his eyes. “Because I have actually been trained in tactics, so I wouldn’t make an impossible promise I knew I could never keep.”
“Oh, is that what they teach you in those classes?”
Kirk stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and his unrelenting grip ensured that McCoy stopped, too. “I need a promise from you that you won’t do stupid things like that,” Kirk said.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” McCoy grumbled.
Kirk tightened his grip on McCoy’s arm and swung him against a tree McCoy hadn’t even noticed. Kirk pressed up against him, hard and lean. “I’m not letting you go. No one else can have you. Not Pike, not a whole Fleet’s worth of Admirals. No one touches what’s mine.”
“You don’t own me,” McCoy snapped. Perhaps that was the bourbon still talking, but he wasn’t about to go back to being slammed against the nearest surface at a whim, or made to heel like a dog, not after what he’d been through in the past weeks.
“I own you as much as you own me,” Kirk snapped back.
That penetrated the alcohol fog. McCoy turned that answer around in his mind, and found it one he could live with. “Fine.” He wrapped his hands around Kirk’s wrist and tugged his grip loose.
Kirk released his hold and dropped his hand, but McCoy kept his grip on Kirk’s wrist. They walked like that for a few blocks.
“I’m still not your toy,” McCoy said when they’d reached a dark stretch of sidewalk where the overhanging trees hid the cold light of the stars.
Kirk’s eyes cut through the empty space between them, brilliant blue despite the dark. “That doesn’t mean I can’t play with you sometimes.”
“You can try, I suppose.” McCoy attempted to sound firm, but he’d expended so much effort recently in putting up a tough front that his heart wasn’t in it.
“I never get tired of trying.”
“Me neither.”
“I know,” Kirk said softly. “Until your very last breath.”
“Until then,” McCoy said.
Kirk slid his wrist out of McCoy’s grip so that he could twine their fingers together, and they walked on.
~END