Gasper (Kirk/McCoy NC-17)
Title: Gasper
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 1,400
Warnings: Mirrorverse, dubcon, bondage, breathplay
Summary: A pinch hit for the km_anthology prompt Mirrorverse - bondage/breathplay and combining it with sansets' Alphabet Meme prompt A is for Autoerotic - He fucks around, takes what is offered to him, but it's not enough to keep him from needing to jerk off with a gag down his throat and his nose pinched shut.
Thanks so much to echoinautumn for volunteering to read this over at the last minute. ♥
This fic won a gold medal for Best Mirrorverse at the Jim and Bones Rec Olympics.
+++
The first time it happens, Kirk's nineteen years old.
He's in anaphylactic shock, his throat closing up, and as he's on his hands and knees on the ground, sucking in shallow, gasping breaths as his body tries to get more oxygen in, all he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears before seemingly making a beeline to his cock.
When Kirk blacks out, he can't tell if it's from the orgasm or the anaphylaxis.
+
He keeps it as his secret, especially after starting at the Imperial Academy; Kirk has a target on his back as it is and wouldn't be able to trust the motivations of anyone who offered. He fucks around, takes what is offered to him, but it's not enough to keep him from needing to jerk off with a gag down his throat and his nose pinched shut.
The vacuum of space has this seductive appeal to him. He's heard of captains keelhauling insubordinate crewmen and figures that there's far worse ways to go.
Kirk returns to his bunk after his flight test, his skin feeling like it's crawling from being so close to the void but not being able to do anything about it.
He's riding the fine edge right before an orgasm hits when McCoy enters, his gaze cold as he momentarily takes in the sight of Kirk masturbating with tape covering his mouth and nose before he steps right back out.
Kirk comes on his own hand and stomach, wanting McCoy to be able to hear his muffled shouts out in the hallway.
+
Two weeks go by in which McCoy doesn't bring it up. Two weeks during which Kirk finds his need increasing, but the act itself seems to be losing its potency.
He takes himself closer to passing out than he's allowed since he first started experimenting, but he usually can't come unless he hears someone walking passed his door on the off-chance that it's McCoy again.
Another week passes, and Kirk feels so fucking jumpy that he starts questioning his own rule about not bringing anyone else into his breathplay scenes. He just needs to find someone who has nothing to gain from his death and everything to gain from keeping him alive.
+
Kirk hadn't counted on McCoy doing two things Kirk's never seen from him before: patience and secrecy.
Since they met, Kirk has always known McCoy to be the type of man that reacts immediately, which is a good trait for a surgeon, but it makes him a poor tactician.
So when Kirk wakes up one evening, tied spread-eagle to his cot with his tongue heavy in his mouth, McCoy standing over him and twirling a hypospray in his fingers, he's very surprised.
"Didn't want to sit around waiting for you to wake up," McCoy drawls, walking to each corner post to check his knot work and Kirk's circulation. Kirk pulls experimentally at each bond on his ankles and wrists; there's enough give to keep him from losing circulation but not enough for him to be able to free himself. "Do you think there aren't enough ways for you to die here that you have to get off on suffocating yourself?"
Kirk glares at McCoy despite his growing erection. He's still in his uniform, but he knows McCoy's sharp eyes have noticed his flushed skin and quickening breath if not the bulge in his pants that's becoming more and more apparent. "You're the doctor, Bones; why don't you tell me?"
McCoy's grin is sharp as he lifts a box on the floor and rests it between Kirk's spread knees. He opens it, pulls out an old-fashioned, bladed scalpel, and starts cutting away Kirk's uniform. "If you lose consciousness with your airways still blocked, you're going to keep asphyxiating and die. Do you want to be found dead with your dick hard? I know how you command types are, but this isn't something you can do alone."
Kirk's uniform falls away like taxidermic skins, and McCoy returns to the foot of the cot to put the scalpel away. He pulls out a large, black mask and holds it up for Kirk to see. "This is an M50, and it's almost two hundred and fifty years old."
He does the math in his head, understanding its significance in that it's from well before the empire had reached out into space, back when it was countries fighting each other and biological warfare was still fairly new. It completely covers his face when McCoy puts it on him, a large transparent piece across his eyes with a filtered respirator over his nose and mouth. He can feel the hot air of his own breath against his face.
"The gas exchange on the filter means it has a limited wear time with a normal respiratory rate," McCoy explains, tightening the mask to Kirk's head. He runs his fingers along where the mask meets his skin, and already Jim can feel his nerves singing. "But we both know that your breathing is elevated right now, and it's only going to increase."
Kirk can't help the groans that escape him as McCoy's hands explore scars and flesh. "I've read case studies where hanging victims actually orgasm at the moment of death."
He writhes, pulling at the bindings uselessly. He's becoming hypoxic, he knows, as all his senses seem heightened, his heart hammering in his chest as McCoy caresses the skin inside of his thighs, intentionally touching everywhere except Kirk's cock. His toes curl and his back arches, trying to get McCoy's hands where he wants them, but McCoy just chuckles darkly and backs away.
"If only you could see yourself, Jim, your eyes all wide and desperate under the mask. Do you really think you're going to get a posting on a ship when a planet with a lowering oxygen saturation will turn you into a quivering mess?"
Kirk's seeing alternating spots of light and dark dance across his vision. He tries to roll onto his side, to at least get some friction, but McCoy is stopping him with a hand pressed firmly to his abdomen. Kirk lets out a choked sob when McCoy finally takes him in hand, barely stroking his cock twice before Kirk's orgasm rushes out of him hard and fast.
McCoy quickly undoes the mask, pulling it away from Kirk's face, and Kirk swears he can taste the oxygen as his desperate body gets what it needs. McCoy sits and waits, watching, until Kirk's breathing returns to normal before he undoes one of the knots at Kirk's left wrist and leaves.
+
Kirk corners McCoy in the mess hall, which has McCoy dumping his meal on the floor to hit Kirk in the back of the head with his tray. It blurs his vision, makes him see double, but he still kicks McCoy's legs out from under him, managing to pin him to the ground with his forearm pressed against McCoy's throat. The mess has gone silent around them, and Kirk can feel everyone watching even though he knows that if he looks, they'll all pretend they weren't.
"I suppose you're going to kill me," McCoy says, sneering and spitting like a rabid dog.
He could and he has every right to. McCoy had drugged him, tied him up, and Kirk doesn't like thinking of the potential repercussions should that information get out. He doesn't need people thinking he's weak, that he's asking for it.
But he also knows that it's something he needs, and that McCoy isn't one to try for power plays. They're on completely different tracks and have managed to put up with each other for this long without feeling the need to kill the other.
Kirk isn't willing to admit it out loud, but McCoy is probably the only one that Kirk would allow to help him.
"Not as long as you aren't trying to kill me," Kirk replies. He's holding McCoy's wrists together over his head, and from the way they're pressed against each other, Kirk can feel that McCoy's growing hard against his thigh. He smirks, realizing there might have been more to the bondage than McCoy not wanting to risk Kirk attacking him if he wasn't participatory to what McCoy had planned.
Kirk tightens his grip, grinding down against McCoy as he leans down to bite his ear. "I believe we can work something out."
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 1,400
Warnings: Mirrorverse, dubcon, bondage, breathplay
Summary: A pinch hit for the km_anthology prompt Mirrorverse - bondage/breathplay and combining it with sansets' Alphabet Meme prompt A is for Autoerotic - He fucks around, takes what is offered to him, but it's not enough to keep him from needing to jerk off with a gag down his throat and his nose pinched shut.
Thanks so much to echoinautumn for volunteering to read this over at the last minute. ♥
This fic won a gold medal for Best Mirrorverse at the Jim and Bones Rec Olympics.
+++
The first time it happens, Kirk's nineteen years old.
He's in anaphylactic shock, his throat closing up, and as he's on his hands and knees on the ground, sucking in shallow, gasping breaths as his body tries to get more oxygen in, all he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears before seemingly making a beeline to his cock.
When Kirk blacks out, he can't tell if it's from the orgasm or the anaphylaxis.
+
He keeps it as his secret, especially after starting at the Imperial Academy; Kirk has a target on his back as it is and wouldn't be able to trust the motivations of anyone who offered. He fucks around, takes what is offered to him, but it's not enough to keep him from needing to jerk off with a gag down his throat and his nose pinched shut.
The vacuum of space has this seductive appeal to him. He's heard of captains keelhauling insubordinate crewmen and figures that there's far worse ways to go.
Kirk returns to his bunk after his flight test, his skin feeling like it's crawling from being so close to the void but not being able to do anything about it.
He's riding the fine edge right before an orgasm hits when McCoy enters, his gaze cold as he momentarily takes in the sight of Kirk masturbating with tape covering his mouth and nose before he steps right back out.
Kirk comes on his own hand and stomach, wanting McCoy to be able to hear his muffled shouts out in the hallway.
+
Two weeks go by in which McCoy doesn't bring it up. Two weeks during which Kirk finds his need increasing, but the act itself seems to be losing its potency.
He takes himself closer to passing out than he's allowed since he first started experimenting, but he usually can't come unless he hears someone walking passed his door on the off-chance that it's McCoy again.
Another week passes, and Kirk feels so fucking jumpy that he starts questioning his own rule about not bringing anyone else into his breathplay scenes. He just needs to find someone who has nothing to gain from his death and everything to gain from keeping him alive.
+
Kirk hadn't counted on McCoy doing two things Kirk's never seen from him before: patience and secrecy.
Since they met, Kirk has always known McCoy to be the type of man that reacts immediately, which is a good trait for a surgeon, but it makes him a poor tactician.
So when Kirk wakes up one evening, tied spread-eagle to his cot with his tongue heavy in his mouth, McCoy standing over him and twirling a hypospray in his fingers, he's very surprised.
"Didn't want to sit around waiting for you to wake up," McCoy drawls, walking to each corner post to check his knot work and Kirk's circulation. Kirk pulls experimentally at each bond on his ankles and wrists; there's enough give to keep him from losing circulation but not enough for him to be able to free himself. "Do you think there aren't enough ways for you to die here that you have to get off on suffocating yourself?"
Kirk glares at McCoy despite his growing erection. He's still in his uniform, but he knows McCoy's sharp eyes have noticed his flushed skin and quickening breath if not the bulge in his pants that's becoming more and more apparent. "You're the doctor, Bones; why don't you tell me?"
McCoy's grin is sharp as he lifts a box on the floor and rests it between Kirk's spread knees. He opens it, pulls out an old-fashioned, bladed scalpel, and starts cutting away Kirk's uniform. "If you lose consciousness with your airways still blocked, you're going to keep asphyxiating and die. Do you want to be found dead with your dick hard? I know how you command types are, but this isn't something you can do alone."
Kirk's uniform falls away like taxidermic skins, and McCoy returns to the foot of the cot to put the scalpel away. He pulls out a large, black mask and holds it up for Kirk to see. "This is an M50, and it's almost two hundred and fifty years old."
He does the math in his head, understanding its significance in that it's from well before the empire had reached out into space, back when it was countries fighting each other and biological warfare was still fairly new. It completely covers his face when McCoy puts it on him, a large transparent piece across his eyes with a filtered respirator over his nose and mouth. He can feel the hot air of his own breath against his face.
"The gas exchange on the filter means it has a limited wear time with a normal respiratory rate," McCoy explains, tightening the mask to Kirk's head. He runs his fingers along where the mask meets his skin, and already Jim can feel his nerves singing. "But we both know that your breathing is elevated right now, and it's only going to increase."
Kirk can't help the groans that escape him as McCoy's hands explore scars and flesh. "I've read case studies where hanging victims actually orgasm at the moment of death."
He writhes, pulling at the bindings uselessly. He's becoming hypoxic, he knows, as all his senses seem heightened, his heart hammering in his chest as McCoy caresses the skin inside of his thighs, intentionally touching everywhere except Kirk's cock. His toes curl and his back arches, trying to get McCoy's hands where he wants them, but McCoy just chuckles darkly and backs away.
"If only you could see yourself, Jim, your eyes all wide and desperate under the mask. Do you really think you're going to get a posting on a ship when a planet with a lowering oxygen saturation will turn you into a quivering mess?"
Kirk's seeing alternating spots of light and dark dance across his vision. He tries to roll onto his side, to at least get some friction, but McCoy is stopping him with a hand pressed firmly to his abdomen. Kirk lets out a choked sob when McCoy finally takes him in hand, barely stroking his cock twice before Kirk's orgasm rushes out of him hard and fast.
McCoy quickly undoes the mask, pulling it away from Kirk's face, and Kirk swears he can taste the oxygen as his desperate body gets what it needs. McCoy sits and waits, watching, until Kirk's breathing returns to normal before he undoes one of the knots at Kirk's left wrist and leaves.
+
Kirk corners McCoy in the mess hall, which has McCoy dumping his meal on the floor to hit Kirk in the back of the head with his tray. It blurs his vision, makes him see double, but he still kicks McCoy's legs out from under him, managing to pin him to the ground with his forearm pressed against McCoy's throat. The mess has gone silent around them, and Kirk can feel everyone watching even though he knows that if he looks, they'll all pretend they weren't.
"I suppose you're going to kill me," McCoy says, sneering and spitting like a rabid dog.
He could and he has every right to. McCoy had drugged him, tied him up, and Kirk doesn't like thinking of the potential repercussions should that information get out. He doesn't need people thinking he's weak, that he's asking for it.
But he also knows that it's something he needs, and that McCoy isn't one to try for power plays. They're on completely different tracks and have managed to put up with each other for this long without feeling the need to kill the other.
Kirk isn't willing to admit it out loud, but McCoy is probably the only one that Kirk would allow to help him.
"Not as long as you aren't trying to kill me," Kirk replies. He's holding McCoy's wrists together over his head, and from the way they're pressed against each other, Kirk can feel that McCoy's growing hard against his thigh. He smirks, realizing there might have been more to the bondage than McCoy not wanting to risk Kirk attacking him if he wasn't participatory to what McCoy had planned.
Kirk tightens his grip, grinding down against McCoy as he leans down to bite his ear. "I believe we can work something out."