McCoy doesn't share
Title: McCoy Doesn't Share
Pairing: M!Kirk/M!McCoy
Warnings: Murders, mostly. Explicit slash and het, some torture. Rimming! Also unbetaed, because I'm too ashamed to tell anyone I wrote this.
Summary: Written for this prompt at the ISSenterprise kink meme: It's an open secret that the women and men who sleep with Captain Kirk tend to end up dead in all manner of "accidents". The Captain may have his needs, but Bones doesn't like to share. And while he may not be able to claim Jim as he would like, the people who touch Jim who aren't him- well, they can die.
The first few times it happens, suspicion doesn't cross his mind.
Rand is 'accidentally' locked into an Agony Booth for far too long one night. Her skin is blistered and her fingertips worn to the bone from clawing at the door when she's found the next morning, after Kirk wonders where his damn coffee and a blowjob is.
On shore leave, one of those purple-skinned hermaphrodites he's become inexplicably fond of goes limp, and it's only after he realizes it had died does he stop fucking. The resort physician clucks his mandibles and says only that something it ate must have been poisonous.
Oh, and that damn Betazoid on his last shore leave- he had died during fucking, too. Jim was saddened a little by that one. He loves getting fucked by a telepath.
That ensign from the botany lab- what was her name? Kathryn? Karen? He had fucked her over her desk once or three times, made her kneel in front of the captain's chair once on shift when he was bored. The bridge staff was largely uninterested, except for some of the newer Security ensigns. McCoy hadn't even looked up from his datapad, standing in his usual spot on the bridge until she had swallowed and Kirk had zipped himself back up. "Jim, if you're done being an asshole, I've got work to do in Sickbay." When Karolyn-or-something turned up spread into a fine paste all over a mysteriously depressurized airlock, Jim barely spared a moment to wonder who she had pissed off before sending a form letter to her family.
Gary Mitchell's visit to the Enterprise while they're in dry dock for a quickie and nostalgia for the Academy days turns into a flatline in Sickbay, and McCoy's cold voice stating 'anaphylactic reaction, probably to that damn strawberry lube you seem so fond of all of a sudden.' Jim hadn't even remembered buying strawberry, although he supposed he must have. It was in his nightstand, after all.
That Capellan woman, her long hair pulled free from the headdress as her eyes stared sightlessly. Jim had felt an unfamiliar sense of confusion as he stared at her kinsman until the man grunted, "She disgraced us with the aliens. Let one of them touch her. Not allowed," and left. Then Jim remembered their briefing notes, and was left with the question- who had told the tribe? He was sure they hadn't been seen, hell he'd set up a security codon on the hillside to make sure of it as he fucked her over a boulder in the bright sunshine. The noises she had made were wonderful as he had pushed her face into the rock and fucked into her slowly. But nobody except his team knew about it.
McCoy rarely fucks other people- only once or twice in the time they've known each other. It's never mattered to Jim if he does, so long as McCoy knows whose ship he's returning to. McCoy's never tried to sabotage him or change his alliance, but Jim always thought it was because he knew that as captain, Jim was the highest ranking protector he could get.
But it was only when Chapel bats his hand away with fear in her eyes that he starts to understand. "Christine, don't you know what I can do to you if you say no?" He purrs, pressing her up against the bulkhead of Sickbay. It's a late shift, and she's all alone working at a console. He came here looking for McCoy to fuck, but he's easy. She'll do. He slips his hand back up her skirt. "Although I wouldn't mind a fight."
"Captain, it's not you that I'm afraid of. Let me go," and here she presses her lips against his ears and hisses in a voice almost too soft to hear, "I'll tell you the people Admiral Barnett has planted on your ship." Jim pulls back, his smirk still in place but his cock softening.
"And how do you know those names?"
The fear on her face disappears as he stops fondling her, he notes. "I'm fairly well connected, Captain. Let's work something out. Your office at the end of my shift." Jim pauses, then straightens his uniform and walks out of Sickbay.
When Chapel's in his office, scanned for bugs and as secure as he can make it, he's had time to think about what she said. It's not you that I'm afraid of. Jim was a little hurt by that. Sure, Sulu is scary as fuck with his knives, and Uhura shouldn't be allowed anywhere near an agonizer- or knives either- but he can menace people even when only armed with a screwdriver and his own teeth.
After Chapel tells him everything she can say she knows- although he can tell she's holding a few names back as further security, and he can respect that but he'll get it out of her later, with that screwdriver if necessary- he leans back in his chair. "And who are you really afraid of, Christine?" Her brow furrows. "Don't play dumb. You said I'm not the one you're afraid of." He leans over his desk and shows her his teeth, if she had forgotten about them.
"You know that most people turn up dead after you fuck them." Now it's his turn to frown, only he doesn't because that's not what badasses do. But his face doesn't move, waiting for more information, which is another kind of tell.
"Thought that was how the game was played."
"Dr. McCoy doesn't play games." She cocks her head inquisitively, noting his further lack of reaction. "I thought you knew." Something that Jim doesn't recognize, that might have been pity, crosses her face. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not have my boss kill me off before I have a chance to qualify for his position." With that, she stands and leaves his office.
He palms the lock on the doctor's quarters, knowing he's off shift, probably asleep, and not caring. He's fucked him plenty of times before when he's sleepy warm, loves surprising him with his tongue and fucking him until he's wide awake and swearing. McCoy hardly needs sleep anyway. He seems to run on coffee, stimulant hyposprays, and cussing at Jim.
Jim's been fucking him ever since he was first assigned as first officer on the Enterprise, even before he killed Pike and cemented his place as captain. McCoy had been claimed by another bridge officer, Rogen something or other, who barely lasted a week once Jim stepped onto the Enterprise. The memory of Rogen scrabbling in that Agony Booth still brought a frisson of pleasure to Jim's abdomen, as well as remembering how McCoy had taken almost a month to subdue properly. But that first fuck in one of the supply closets in Sickbay, with McCoy tied to the wire shelves and his mouth biting Jim's shoulder as he rode him hard- Jim shoved the memory away as he stepped through the door.
"Kirk?" McCoy sounds irritated. He's sitting at his desk with some datapads, frowning. Jim gives him his best "I'm going to give you the best orgasms of your life" look, and McCoy rolls his eyes. "Didn't fucking Christine in your office keep you happy for at least a few more hours? Why do I have to put up with your libido?"
Jim reaches into McCoy's liquor cabinet and pours out some of his bourbon. "Didn't fuck her. She had information for me about Barnett's spies." Watching McCoy's eyes, he notices a slight relaxing around his eyelids and thinks, Christine was right. And then, How long has this been happening, and I hadn't noticed? He moves some of the datapads out of the way and sits on his desk, swinging one of his legs so that they are on either side of McCoy's knees.
And he remembers Rand, and that he hadn't qualified for a yeoman until after Pike was removed. He had always known McCoy was scary as fuck in his own right. The man had no need to kill to advance, although there were several used-to-be-surgeons with crippled hands who had done stupid mistakes during their residencies while he was their attending. But this? This was a whole new level of possession, of staking a claim and ruthlessly murdering anyone who might get in his way.
Jim feels more than a little turned on by it.
McCoy's gaze sharpens as he looks at Jim on his desk. By the way his cock was straining at the fabric of his uniform pants, Jim isn't even going to have to work for it. Except for putting up with McCoy's belligerence, but that's a given. "C'mon, McCoy, you can sleep while you're dead. Fuck me now."
Tossing away the datapad in his hands, McCoy stands and shoves a leg in between Jim's thighs. Jim sighs and fists his hands in McCoy's shirt, pulling it up as he leans forward to rub against his thigh. "Such a slut, aren't you? Good thing you aren't out in the hallway lookin' like this." One of his hands presses a bruise into Jim's shoulder while the other one searches his desk drawer for the always-handy lubricant. The bourbon falls of the desk with a dull smash.
Jim's head lolls back as he gasps, "Might have to beat people off of me- mm, yeah, harder- damn it, McCoy! I liked that shirt."
"Get your pants off, or I'll rip them too." Is all he gets in return. McCoy allows him to stand and shrug his pants down around his knees, but pushes him back on the desk as soon as they are that far. Suddenly there are big shiny scissors in McCoy's hands and his pants are cut through the crotch, one pantleg pooling around each ankle.
"You said-"
"Didn't say I wouldn't cut them." McCoy drawls, opening his pants and slicking himself up, spreading Jim open with rough fingers. Jim bites his lower lip, thinking about complaining. But he knows he has extra stashed away in some drawer in his quarters- too many bloodstains or rips have happened to him here.
When McCoy presses into him, all he can think of is that trail of bodies behind him. He moans, throws his head back, and wonders how many Bones has killed for him. Wonders when he found time to poison that Betazoid- was it during one of their breaks from fucking? When Jim had been asleep? Or had McCoy known he would go for the Betazoid in that bar, poisoned him then before Jim had even successfully intimidated him into bed?
A bite on his neck and a hard jab to his prostate brings him back to the present. "Why, Captain, am I not doing this right?" Another bite, this time to the muscle of his shoulder and rougher. Jim can feel his skin break, can feel the blood start to trickle, McCoy's cock pounding into him. He moans, a desperate sound. "Am I not worth paying attention to?"
Jim manages to get an ankle hooked over McCoy's shoulder to allow better access, the other digging into McCoy's back. He leans back across the desk, pushing aside a few more datapads. "Harder, McCoy." He fists his own cock in time to the snap of McCoy's hips.
McCoy grunts, clearly focused on his own orgasm now that he knows Jim is paying attention. Sweat beads in his hair and over his skin as he flushes red, pupils blown wide. Jim watches his face for the right moment, then darts forward and bites his shoulder so hard he tastes blood and he knows he'll have a matching bruise. McCoy shudders and stills, wet warmth filling Jim in bursts.
He pulls out, and Jim can feel the lubricant and semen slip along his thighs and over the table. McCoy kneels gracefully and licks Jim's asshole, then pushes inside, thrusting. Jim gasps and pulls on his cock until he can feel his orgasm cresting, when McCoy slaps his hand away. Disappointment makes him gasp at McCoy, who then replaces it with his hot wet mouth. "Oh fuck-" is all he can get out before that tongue along the bottom of his cock wrests his orgasm out of him.
Panting hard, watching McCoy diligently lick semen off his cock and asshole, Jim almost thinks about telling McCoy what he's figured out about the pattern of deaths. And then realizes it doesn't matter. What does he care if some random fucks die? Well, they can go ahead and die. Everything he needs to come back to is right here.
And if it means he doesn't ever have to worry about awkwardly running into someone again- because they won't last a day or two after his Chief Physician gets wind of it- isn't that just a saving?
Pairing: M!Kirk/M!McCoy
Warnings: Murders, mostly. Explicit slash and het, some torture. Rimming! Also unbetaed, because I'm too ashamed to tell anyone I wrote this.
Summary: Written for this prompt at the ISSenterprise kink meme: It's an open secret that the women and men who sleep with Captain Kirk tend to end up dead in all manner of "accidents". The Captain may have his needs, but Bones doesn't like to share. And while he may not be able to claim Jim as he would like, the people who touch Jim who aren't him- well, they can die.
The first few times it happens, suspicion doesn't cross his mind.
Rand is 'accidentally' locked into an Agony Booth for far too long one night. Her skin is blistered and her fingertips worn to the bone from clawing at the door when she's found the next morning, after Kirk wonders where his damn coffee and a blowjob is.
On shore leave, one of those purple-skinned hermaphrodites he's become inexplicably fond of goes limp, and it's only after he realizes it had died does he stop fucking. The resort physician clucks his mandibles and says only that something it ate must have been poisonous.
Oh, and that damn Betazoid on his last shore leave- he had died during fucking, too. Jim was saddened a little by that one. He loves getting fucked by a telepath.
That ensign from the botany lab- what was her name? Kathryn? Karen? He had fucked her over her desk once or three times, made her kneel in front of the captain's chair once on shift when he was bored. The bridge staff was largely uninterested, except for some of the newer Security ensigns. McCoy hadn't even looked up from his datapad, standing in his usual spot on the bridge until she had swallowed and Kirk had zipped himself back up. "Jim, if you're done being an asshole, I've got work to do in Sickbay." When Karolyn-or-something turned up spread into a fine paste all over a mysteriously depressurized airlock, Jim barely spared a moment to wonder who she had pissed off before sending a form letter to her family.
Gary Mitchell's visit to the Enterprise while they're in dry dock for a quickie and nostalgia for the Academy days turns into a flatline in Sickbay, and McCoy's cold voice stating 'anaphylactic reaction, probably to that damn strawberry lube you seem so fond of all of a sudden.' Jim hadn't even remembered buying strawberry, although he supposed he must have. It was in his nightstand, after all.
That Capellan woman, her long hair pulled free from the headdress as her eyes stared sightlessly. Jim had felt an unfamiliar sense of confusion as he stared at her kinsman until the man grunted, "She disgraced us with the aliens. Let one of them touch her. Not allowed," and left. Then Jim remembered their briefing notes, and was left with the question- who had told the tribe? He was sure they hadn't been seen, hell he'd set up a security codon on the hillside to make sure of it as he fucked her over a boulder in the bright sunshine. The noises she had made were wonderful as he had pushed her face into the rock and fucked into her slowly. But nobody except his team knew about it.
McCoy rarely fucks other people- only once or twice in the time they've known each other. It's never mattered to Jim if he does, so long as McCoy knows whose ship he's returning to. McCoy's never tried to sabotage him or change his alliance, but Jim always thought it was because he knew that as captain, Jim was the highest ranking protector he could get.
But it was only when Chapel bats his hand away with fear in her eyes that he starts to understand. "Christine, don't you know what I can do to you if you say no?" He purrs, pressing her up against the bulkhead of Sickbay. It's a late shift, and she's all alone working at a console. He came here looking for McCoy to fuck, but he's easy. She'll do. He slips his hand back up her skirt. "Although I wouldn't mind a fight."
"Captain, it's not you that I'm afraid of. Let me go," and here she presses her lips against his ears and hisses in a voice almost too soft to hear, "I'll tell you the people Admiral Barnett has planted on your ship." Jim pulls back, his smirk still in place but his cock softening.
"And how do you know those names?"
The fear on her face disappears as he stops fondling her, he notes. "I'm fairly well connected, Captain. Let's work something out. Your office at the end of my shift." Jim pauses, then straightens his uniform and walks out of Sickbay.
When Chapel's in his office, scanned for bugs and as secure as he can make it, he's had time to think about what she said. It's not you that I'm afraid of. Jim was a little hurt by that. Sure, Sulu is scary as fuck with his knives, and Uhura shouldn't be allowed anywhere near an agonizer- or knives either- but he can menace people even when only armed with a screwdriver and his own teeth.
After Chapel tells him everything she can say she knows- although he can tell she's holding a few names back as further security, and he can respect that but he'll get it out of her later, with that screwdriver if necessary- he leans back in his chair. "And who are you really afraid of, Christine?" Her brow furrows. "Don't play dumb. You said I'm not the one you're afraid of." He leans over his desk and shows her his teeth, if she had forgotten about them.
"You know that most people turn up dead after you fuck them." Now it's his turn to frown, only he doesn't because that's not what badasses do. But his face doesn't move, waiting for more information, which is another kind of tell.
"Thought that was how the game was played."
"Dr. McCoy doesn't play games." She cocks her head inquisitively, noting his further lack of reaction. "I thought you knew." Something that Jim doesn't recognize, that might have been pity, crosses her face. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not have my boss kill me off before I have a chance to qualify for his position." With that, she stands and leaves his office.
He palms the lock on the doctor's quarters, knowing he's off shift, probably asleep, and not caring. He's fucked him plenty of times before when he's sleepy warm, loves surprising him with his tongue and fucking him until he's wide awake and swearing. McCoy hardly needs sleep anyway. He seems to run on coffee, stimulant hyposprays, and cussing at Jim.
Jim's been fucking him ever since he was first assigned as first officer on the Enterprise, even before he killed Pike and cemented his place as captain. McCoy had been claimed by another bridge officer, Rogen something or other, who barely lasted a week once Jim stepped onto the Enterprise. The memory of Rogen scrabbling in that Agony Booth still brought a frisson of pleasure to Jim's abdomen, as well as remembering how McCoy had taken almost a month to subdue properly. But that first fuck in one of the supply closets in Sickbay, with McCoy tied to the wire shelves and his mouth biting Jim's shoulder as he rode him hard- Jim shoved the memory away as he stepped through the door.
"Kirk?" McCoy sounds irritated. He's sitting at his desk with some datapads, frowning. Jim gives him his best "I'm going to give you the best orgasms of your life" look, and McCoy rolls his eyes. "Didn't fucking Christine in your office keep you happy for at least a few more hours? Why do I have to put up with your libido?"
Jim reaches into McCoy's liquor cabinet and pours out some of his bourbon. "Didn't fuck her. She had information for me about Barnett's spies." Watching McCoy's eyes, he notices a slight relaxing around his eyelids and thinks, Christine was right. And then, How long has this been happening, and I hadn't noticed? He moves some of the datapads out of the way and sits on his desk, swinging one of his legs so that they are on either side of McCoy's knees.
And he remembers Rand, and that he hadn't qualified for a yeoman until after Pike was removed. He had always known McCoy was scary as fuck in his own right. The man had no need to kill to advance, although there were several used-to-be-surgeons with crippled hands who had done stupid mistakes during their residencies while he was their attending. But this? This was a whole new level of possession, of staking a claim and ruthlessly murdering anyone who might get in his way.
Jim feels more than a little turned on by it.
McCoy's gaze sharpens as he looks at Jim on his desk. By the way his cock was straining at the fabric of his uniform pants, Jim isn't even going to have to work for it. Except for putting up with McCoy's belligerence, but that's a given. "C'mon, McCoy, you can sleep while you're dead. Fuck me now."
Tossing away the datapad in his hands, McCoy stands and shoves a leg in between Jim's thighs. Jim sighs and fists his hands in McCoy's shirt, pulling it up as he leans forward to rub against his thigh. "Such a slut, aren't you? Good thing you aren't out in the hallway lookin' like this." One of his hands presses a bruise into Jim's shoulder while the other one searches his desk drawer for the always-handy lubricant. The bourbon falls of the desk with a dull smash.
Jim's head lolls back as he gasps, "Might have to beat people off of me- mm, yeah, harder- damn it, McCoy! I liked that shirt."
"Get your pants off, or I'll rip them too." Is all he gets in return. McCoy allows him to stand and shrug his pants down around his knees, but pushes him back on the desk as soon as they are that far. Suddenly there are big shiny scissors in McCoy's hands and his pants are cut through the crotch, one pantleg pooling around each ankle.
"You said-"
"Didn't say I wouldn't cut them." McCoy drawls, opening his pants and slicking himself up, spreading Jim open with rough fingers. Jim bites his lower lip, thinking about complaining. But he knows he has extra stashed away in some drawer in his quarters- too many bloodstains or rips have happened to him here.
When McCoy presses into him, all he can think of is that trail of bodies behind him. He moans, throws his head back, and wonders how many Bones has killed for him. Wonders when he found time to poison that Betazoid- was it during one of their breaks from fucking? When Jim had been asleep? Or had McCoy known he would go for the Betazoid in that bar, poisoned him then before Jim had even successfully intimidated him into bed?
A bite on his neck and a hard jab to his prostate brings him back to the present. "Why, Captain, am I not doing this right?" Another bite, this time to the muscle of his shoulder and rougher. Jim can feel his skin break, can feel the blood start to trickle, McCoy's cock pounding into him. He moans, a desperate sound. "Am I not worth paying attention to?"
Jim manages to get an ankle hooked over McCoy's shoulder to allow better access, the other digging into McCoy's back. He leans back across the desk, pushing aside a few more datapads. "Harder, McCoy." He fists his own cock in time to the snap of McCoy's hips.
McCoy grunts, clearly focused on his own orgasm now that he knows Jim is paying attention. Sweat beads in his hair and over his skin as he flushes red, pupils blown wide. Jim watches his face for the right moment, then darts forward and bites his shoulder so hard he tastes blood and he knows he'll have a matching bruise. McCoy shudders and stills, wet warmth filling Jim in bursts.
He pulls out, and Jim can feel the lubricant and semen slip along his thighs and over the table. McCoy kneels gracefully and licks Jim's asshole, then pushes inside, thrusting. Jim gasps and pulls on his cock until he can feel his orgasm cresting, when McCoy slaps his hand away. Disappointment makes him gasp at McCoy, who then replaces it with his hot wet mouth. "Oh fuck-" is all he can get out before that tongue along the bottom of his cock wrests his orgasm out of him.
Panting hard, watching McCoy diligently lick semen off his cock and asshole, Jim almost thinks about telling McCoy what he's figured out about the pattern of deaths. And then realizes it doesn't matter. What does he care if some random fucks die? Well, they can go ahead and die. Everything he needs to come back to is right here.
And if it means he doesn't ever have to worry about awkwardly running into someone again- because they won't last a day or two after his Chief Physician gets wind of it- isn't that just a saving?