fic: Anemoi 2/3
Title: Anemoi (part 2/3)
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: dub-con/non-con. Violence. Explicit sexual situations. Mirror!Verse
Summary: The McCoy’s are old Georgia money. They breed their men sharp, and smart and vicious; their women cunning, enticing and full of sin. They stand three steps away from the throne of the Empire - bound by blood and marriage; the twisting heat of the strong south wind.
Notes: Apologies to the anonymous OP over at the Kink Meme who should have received this update yesterday - I just couldn't get my head around where I wanted this to go. Also, I promise there will K/Mc loving in the next instalment, it just didn't fit in this one.
Written for this prompt over at issenterprise kink meme 2.0
x-posted to issenterprise and kirk_mccoy
Anemoi II
Part 1
Kirk snarled and bucked, knives sliding into the thick, meaty flesh of his attacker’s abdomen. He heard a pained grunt and a thud as something heavy and unmoving hit the floor. Twisting, Kirk rolled free, pressing his back against the wall as his remaining two attackers closed in on him. If they had possessed any sense they would have run away. Four of their companions lay dead or dying in the corridor; Kirk wasted no time in adding two more bodies to the number.
The click of a phaser was all the warning Kirk received, before he felt it pressed neatly into the small of his back. Kirk suppressed a snarl and the urge to ram his elbow into the gut of his captor. He mentally started cataloguing injuries that would have impaired his hearing; no-one should ever have been able to get the drop on him.
“Come with me, Kirk.” The voice was rough, not smooth; a far cry from the pet Vulcan assassins that roamed the halls. The phaser pressed harder against his spine, and Kirk began walking. It was his left ear that was compromised. Kirk could feel it in the way his footsteps felt duller on that side - the crack of his boots muted and pliant. Whoever was standing behind him pushed; knocking Kirk to his knees as they entered the vast hall that housed the Agony Booths.
Kirk had always admired the artistry with which this hall had been arranged; a tantalising portrait of enduring pain. It was like a museum or menagerie; little sofas, piles of cushions - all delicately arranged so one could sit and watch and enjoy the torment of acquaintances and strangers. Those assembled in the hall fell silent as Kirk was pushed and shunted towards one of the booths. Kept upon his knees, Kirk gritted his teeth and placed his hands firmly in front of him. The marble of the floor was cool, slightly pitted from where so many boots had walked upon it.
The thug with the phaser hauled Kirk to his feet, throwing him into the glass case with little ceremony. Jim braced his hands against the walls, sunk into the white, static pool deep in his mind; waited for the agony to begin. Time was when he would have spilled from these booths laughing; enchanted by the knowledge that no matter how many times the punished him, they could never fucking touch him - he was the Emperor’s favourite. Now, Kirk gripped his teeth between his lips and watched as the form of Emperor Archer moved in to view. He was no one’s favourite these days, and Kirk knew without a doubt that Archer would strip him of every alliance he possessed before sending him packing into the ‘Fleet. He would be nameless, faceless, and anyone’s meat. The Booth ignited, and Kirk chewed his lip to bleeding against scream after scream. Forcing his eyes open, Kirk watched Archer’s face. Kirk would prove himself a gifted Officer; prove himself useful to the Empire. Archer would learn that underestimating Kirk was a mistake.
In disgust, McCoy shook the excess of blood from his wrist. Such a waste; crude, artless cuts born of necessity - no time for skill or intricacy. With a snort, he took in the blood pooling upon the floor and the lifeless body of the Commander who thought he could force McCoy onto his knees. Pushing himself upright with nothing more than a flex of his thighs, McCoy returned the blade-scalpel to its holster on his thigh. It was awkward to reach the sheath through the hole in his pocket with the material of his trousers so tacky and wet but McCoy managed. Crouching down, the doctor rolled the Commander onto his stomach, ignoring the red and ruined mass that had once been the man’s groin. Lifting the uniform jacket, McCoy contemplated the smooth expanse of skin. It had potential. But he hardly wanted to be carrying a dead man all the way across Campus to ‘Fleet Medical. Maybe he could just take the torso with him?
The click of booted heals across the floor drew McCoy’s attention. The area was dim, but not so shadowed that McCoy could miss the flashing gold of the man’s vest, or the silver of the knife he kept pinned at his hip.
“Captain.” McCoy acknowledged, pushing the Commander back over so Pike could see his front.
“Doctor. I could have you thrown in the Booth because of this.”
“You could have me thrown into the Booth because I breathe.” McCoy drawled. “You telling me a man’s not allowed to defend himself against a rapist?”
Pike laughed. “You’re hardly a blushing virgin on her wedding night, McCoy. You act as though you’ve virtue to defend. What would you say if I were to tell you to suck me off - right here and now.”
“I’d tell you to go to hell.” McCoy’s voice was calm, disinterested; he might have simply been discussing the weather.
Pike smiled; a predator’s quick flash of teeth. “I could make it an order. I could drag you before the entire Academy. Make them see you as nothing more than a whore. The man, who was cuckolded by a woman he should have controlled, left tied to a stage where anyone can have him.”
McCoy arched a sardonic eyebrow. “And how long do you think you’d live, after you’d done that Captain?”
“Your family doesn’t have enough influence left to convince someone to kill me. They value their lives more than they value your favour.”
McCoy snorted, settling his weight against the wall, lifting one hand in acknowledgement of Pike’s point. “Ridiculous, but let’s say that’s true. That doesn’t mean that the Emperor wouldn’t kill you.”
Pike stiffened. “Archer? Why?”
McCoy smiled and refused to answer. Let Pike sweat over that for a while. The Captain paused to contemplate the bloody mess that lay across the hallway.
“Effective. Nowhere near as elegant as some of what I’ve seen lately - that Russian kid for example - but it obviously got the job done.”
“I didn’t have time to be artistic.”
Pike smiled condescendingly. “And therein lies the difference between a journeyman and a master. I trust you’ll get this cleaned up, Doctor? Can’t have blood fouling up the hallways.”
McCoy sneered and ground his teeth. Waiting until Pike had rounded the corner, the doctor aimed a vicious kick at the cadaver’s ribs. The bone broke with a dull crunch but there was no other sound. McCoy swore a blue streak. They just weren’t fun when they were dead.
Jim dragged his body up the back staircase that led to the Cadet dormitories. The carpet burned against his forearms and his shins; the metal edge of each step cut into his skin. Naked - bleeding and bruised - Kirk resolutely kept moving. Every shift of his lower body was agony. He could feel blood and thicker things oozing across his buttocks and his thighs; his jaw was at least partially dislocated and his pelvis was most likely fractured. The corners of his vision were fuzzy and grey. Shuddering, Kirk hauled himself the last three steps and collapsed, unable to summon the energy even to pant.
The landing was bright and stark; lights at seventy-five percent regardless of the lateness of the hour. Somehow, Kirk rolled, shuffled and crawled his way to his room. The Academy had stopped giving him roommates after the first four had wound up dead and the empty spare bed was a blissful respite. Kirk dragged himself onto the sheets, legs trembling violently and stomach spasming against the pain. His arms gave out and he lay there, heedless of the mess that was beginning to stain bedding. His mind flashed to Finnegan’s laughing face; the laughing faces of his friends as they zipped their flies and left Jim shackled to the floor of the east sim room. As darkness swept across his vision, Kirk entertained himself with thoughts of what he’d do to Finnegan’s laughing face.
Pike smiled in pride and triumph as Kirk’s silver tongue wound its way across the training room floor. It was a simple exercise: negotiate with the computer for the right to lead a campaign against a star system. The computer was programmed to respond much like a specific member of the admiralty. If the Cadet leading the exercise succeeded in guessing the name of the Admiral in question, and addressed the computer as such, then they were rewarded. Should the cadet guess incorrectly, he or she received an hour in the Agony Booth, whilst their crew received the full duration - it was a nice, easy way to build resentment amongst classmates and weed out those too stupid to survive an assassination attempt. Refusing to guess was not an option. Most cadets failed. Of course, this was because the Instructors cheated and the computer was actually programmed to respond as though it were two or more of the Admiralty working together. No one had figured that out yet. Kirk had just named Nogura, Barnett and Komack - even going so far as to name them in the order in which they spoke and to reference specifics of what they had said. Pike was nearly wetting himself with glee. No one else looked half so pleased. With a snarl, Komack shut off the simulation, leaving a very self-satisfied Jim Kirk smirking up at the observation platform. Pike leant in to activate the intercom.
“Congratulations Kirk. Now get that pretty arse of yours up here so we can discuss your reward.”
Kirk’s jaw twitched incrementally at that, but he rose smoothly from the chair all the same. His command crew he dismissed with a wave of his hand - letting the other Cadets file out in front of him. More than one of them smirked and glanced up at where Pike was standing. Let them think Kirk’s reward was to be nothing more than an Admiral’s fuck toy. It wasn’t as though people were ignorant of his position as Pike’s pet.
Kirk strode into the observation room with cool authority, though Pike noted with satisfaction that he stationed himself out of reaching distance and with his back to the wall.
“Admiral Komack; Admiral Jesslaw; Captain Pike.”
Jesslaw picked at her nails with a boot knife; her gaze roamed disinterestedly over Kirk before returning to the task at hand. Komack merely scowled at Kirk in acknowledgement. Pike grinned and sauntered over to his protégé, clapping him on the shoulder. He was proud; he wasn’t afraid to show it.
“Cadet you successfully completed the simulation. That means you get to ask for one privilege from the Admiralty - within reason of course.”
“And the boundaries of this reason, Sir?” Kirk asked and Pike nearly laughed at the suspicion in Kirk’s voice.
“Just don’t ask for permission to kill anyone in charge all right?”
Kirk nodded and faced Komack. “In that case, Admiral, I would like to request full access to the Kobyashi Maru programme.” Jesslaw stopped picking her nails and looked up in interest. Komack blustered and turned red in the face, as indignant as if Kirk had asked him to strip naked and open wide.
“Impossible.” He spat.
Jesslaw interjected, hopping neatly off the work station she had been perched on. “Not so.” She fixed Komack with a withering stare and arched a single, silver eyebrow; the other was held in place by a purple, mottled scar that had never fully healed. “Cadet Kirk is within his rights to ask. The privilege is granted.” Komack looked murderous but there was little he could say in response. Pike waited until Jesslaw had swept from the room. He might let the old besom fuck him a few more times if she was willing to reward his good behaviour like that. Or maybe he’d offer her Kirk; she was known to like young men tied down and in pain. And Kirk would enjoy her well enough.
Kirk saluted Komack and Pike respectfully then made his retreat. Komack was still fuming, but it was an impotent sort of rage. Jesslaw had given Kirk her favour; Kirk was Pike’s pet so it was as good as saying she’d given Pike her favour. Komack could not touch either of them. Stupid, under-connected nobody; how he had ever made Admiral was anyone’s guess.
McCoy stroked his fingers idly over the laser scalpel he held, as he contemplated his patient. The man needed his appendix removed but there was nothing to say the procedure had to be painless. Running the pads of his fingers over the man’s abdomen, McCoy considered his options. He had limited time before the appendix ruptured, but a few minutes would make little difference. Turning to his nurse, McCoy smiled behind his mask.
“Laparotomy, I think - I’m old fashioned.” The nurse in question smiled appreciatively and pricked a pin into the patient’s side to ensure the local anaesthetic had taken affect. McCoy admired that he had not even had to ask - she’d spurned the use of general anaesthetic straight away. Moving so that he could look down into the man’s face, McCoy resettled the monitor positioned above the bed.
“Keep your eyes on the screen.” McCoy told him. “I want you to see what we’re doing.” The man’s eyes were wide and panicked but the vocal suppressant McCoy had injected him with prevented him from screaming. It was a pity, but Dr. Boyce had really been most insistent. Things would be different, if McCoy ever ran ‘Fleet Medical.
The surgery was quick and efficient. McCoy removed the appendix with ease and there were no signs of secondary infection. He pondered, for a moment, exploring the abdominal cavity just for the hell of it but M’Benga had offered to let him observe his latest experiment and McCoy was looking forward to the event. He had money laid down with Puri over how long it would take M’Benga to elicit an emotional response from his latest subject.
Stripping off his gloves, McCoy threw them into the re-processer. The anaesthetic had begun to wear off towards the end of the operation and the man was already beginning to twitch and jerk with pain upon the table. “You can close up, if you like.” McCoy offered, waving a hand magnanimously towards the patient. His nurse smiled, all teeth, stripping off her mask to show a small, bow mouth painted crimson.
“Thank you, doctor.” McCoy’s appreciation grew when, instead of reaching for the regenerators, the nurse drew a fine needle and silk thread from a box she had placed upon the table.
“I’m old fashioned, too.” She said, making a show of threading the needle where the patient could see.
“Well now, I can see that darlin’.” McCoy drawled, moving back around towards the table. “I hope you don’t mind if I watch?”
“Not at all.” The nurse replied, sparing McCoy a sultry glance over her shoulder. The doctor leered and positioned himself a mere breath away from her hips. M’Benga and his Vulcan guinea pig could wait.
Jim panted and writhed, chuckling as he braced a knee against Pike’s hip and pushed, rolling until he was nestled between the Captain’s thighs. Pike laughed; a full-blown, delighted sound as he reared up and pushed Jim back, tumbling them from the bed in a tangle of sheets and feet and limbs. Jim gasped as his breath was knocked from his lungs before he twisted and wrapped a hand firmly around Pike’s erection. The other man groaned and bucked, eyes rolling up into his head even as he fought to keep them on Jim’s face.
Jim smiled, teeth flashing in the gloom before he wriggled his way down Pike’s body and took the Captain’s cock between his lips. Pike’s breath stuttered and whined, his hips twitching towards Jim’s face before the younger man managed to brace a forearm across his mentor’s abdomen. It was freeing - this lust and sex filled partnership that hung on a single, liberating condition: Pike kept Jim alive until his Captaincy, Jim kept Pike alive into the Admiralty. Jim was brilliant and gifted. Pike knew his position as the favourite of the ‘Fleet would be quickly spent once Jim climbed the ranks. But the Empire needed him, so Pike stayed his hand. Besides, Jim was the type to reward belief in his abilities - a certain type of loyalty.
As if sensing Pike’s distraction, Jim flicked his tongue beneath the crown of Pike’s dick; suckling, as if the flesh was a particularly tasty treat. Pike threaded his hand into Jim’s sun-kissed hair. He did not need to push; Jim took him deeper without complaint. The boy gained a certain sense of satisfaction in knowing he could reduce Pike to orgasm. Pike could feel his climax building, a tight coil in the muscles of his thighs; a burning in his belly. Pushing Jim away, Pike rolled - slipping two fingers into Jim’s heat - still slippery and open from before they’d been distracted. Giving a few cursory tugs of his fingers, Pike lined himself up and thrust in deep. Jim keened and arched like a cat; rubbing his erection against Pike’s skin. Pike took the hint. He grabbed Jim’s cock, pulling at a counter-pace - slow and torturous even as he thrust hot and quick. Jim glared in protest, but didn’t object when Pike began to pummel his prostate. Pike could see the debate raging in Jim’s brain: lie there, take it and reach orgasm quickly - like his body was demanding; or try to push Pike off, flip them, ride Pike at his own pace and run the risk of his body cooling off and orgasm taking longer to achieve. Pike saw the decision in Jim’s eyes before he moved and decided to go with it. He began to roll before Jim started to push - letting Jim settle in the dominant position on top, but denying the younger man the control he wanted. Jim rode his way to climax viciously; fisting his own cock without mercy. He came with a curse and a muffled cry; clenching almost painfully tight around Pike. The Captain swore and raked his nails down Jim’s thigh in admonishment as his orgasm followed too soon for his liking.
Jim grinned lazy and satisfied - as sated as the Cheshire cat and just as shit-eating. Pike pushed him off with a grunt, wincing as his tender dick slipped from Jim’s heat, to slap pathetically against his own thigh. Jim flopped down beside him, wriggling until he had found a comfortable place amongst the sheets.
“My bed is right there.” Pike pointed out; one hand waving uselessly in the direction he meant to indicate. Jim hummed in agreement but made no effort to move. Sighing, Pike hauled himself upright, wrapping one hand around Jim’s bicep and dragging the younger man with him. Jim flopped gracelessly to the bed, leaving Pike to yank the sheets off the floor and back up onto the mattress. Jim watched him with sleepy, sex-bright eyes; one hand tucked behind his head. It put him in reach of the knife Pike let him keep there. Lying down, Pike stared calmly at the ceiling, waiting for Jim’s senses to return to him. That was another reason for these sessions: teach the kid not to succumb to the drag of sleep after sex. Practice was all that was necessary - Jim would learn easily enough to keep his wits about him until he’d cleared the room; sex was when you were most vulnerable.
“I thought you would have asked the Admiralty for immunity.” Pike commented, once he judged Jim was sensible enough to listen.
“Immunity from what?” Jim asked.
“From killing whoever it was who raped you.” Pike felt Jim still beside him, before his breathing resumed - forcibly even.
“Who told you?” Good. He didn’t deny it - wasn’t acting beaten or ashamed; clinical was a good response.
“I keep a tab on your medical records. It helps to know every time they add a new allergy to the list. I saw what injuries were listed after you took yourself to the clinic.” Jim breathed quietly beside him, and Pike - despite turning his head to look - could not divine what he was thinking. “They challenged me, you know.” Pike continued. “Everyone in the ‘Fleet knows your mine - by touching you, they were testing me. If you tell me who it was I can make an example of them.”
“It’ll mean more if the message comes from me.”
Pike sighed. “You honestly think that?”
“People need to know I have what it takes to be captain one day.”
Pike could see the logic in that but he also knew that in letting Jim have his way there were those who would see Pike as weak for not protecting what was his. The Court had ruined Jim in many ways. Being the Imperial favourite had sheltered him - left him as vicious and undisciplined as a child. He had never had to grow; to learn. Pike had seen the pain he reaped on others - it was nothing more than an angry toddler smashing all his toys.
“Fine.” He conceded. “Have it your way. But when they catch you, don’t look to me. I won’t protect you from their friends.” He felt Jim nod beside him; noted the younger man did not protest the use of ‘when’ instead of ‘if’.
It was the scream that woke McCoy; high, shrill, female; quickly stifled. Curious, McCoy opened the window and stuck his head out. There was a crowd gathering in the quod below; some sort of spectacle had been arranged but McCoy couldn’t see the detail from his window. Grumbling, McCoy dragged his uniform from off a chair. His medkit he tied around his waist; a couple of weapons went into their respective sheaths. He was glad medics were valued enough that few people wanted to kill them. He hated carrying around a small militia’s worth of weaponry.
The crowd had swelled significantly by the time McCoy made it out of the Officer’s quarters. People were whispering with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. Certain names were being repeated over and over but McCoy paid little attention. He pushed his way into the crowd and cadets moved out of his way quickly enough once they saw his face and the medical blue he wore. Emerging at the front, McCoy took a moment to admire the unbridled savagery of the scene before him. There was something raw and vibrant in the pain inflicted here. This was more than personal. This was almost animal. McCoy circled the five captive individuals. He could feel his pulse climbing; such primal anger was almost arousing. There was very little elegance to the display, it was true, but really the brutality was almost breathtaking. McCoy came round full circle, ignoring the cadets who were watching him with trepidation. A selection of instructors and command personnel had pushed their way to the fore, but McCoy was not about to willingly let anyone taint his enjoyment. The last time he’d seen anything like this had been back in the old Court: a single man - some low level security brute - had been exhibited in a similar manner just outside the main doors. But here, the spike did not just pierce the rectum, but carried on the whole way through. It would have required strength, and a hell of a lot of determination, to force a body down onto the pole so that the shaft penetrated all the way through the soft tissue and up into the throat. The binding of the hands and feet was a work of genius. If this had been done slowly - whilst the subject was still alive - the binding would have provided just enough leverage for a person to try and push off the spike - to escape the pain - but not enough for them to sustain it; the subject would have ended up pushing their own body onto the torture device.
It was strange though. The lead body was slightly different from the rest: the head was not pushed down onto the spike - but rested, just on the point. The cheeks bulged as though the mouth had been filled with something peri-mortem. Taking the chin in hand, McCoy ran a finger behind the lips. The teeth were locked with rigor mortis but a good, hard yank should undo it. McCoy spared a moment to see if any of the command staff would protest to his fondling the body before bracing both hands upon the head and pushing downwards. The jaw broke with a satisfying crack; the soft tissue of the lower pallet splitting like rotten fruit around the pole. Working his fingers into the mouth, McCoy withdrew a lump of bone and sinew. Letting the object rest in his palm, McCoy realised it was a finger. Reaching back in, McCoy withdrew four more. Leaning over the body’s shoulder, McCoy glanced down. All the fingers on the right hand were missing. He should have seen that the first time around. Rolling the collected appendages between his fingers McCoy surveyed the bodies. He would like to meet whoever had done this; teach him, or her, a more artistic way to send a message. Fingers in the mouth was a little too cliché.
Jim was prepared when they came for him. He knew from the moment he took his revenge that this would not go unpunished. Finnegan and his group had friends - Komack for one - and they would have come looking for Jim whether he had bothered to hide the evidence or not. Instead, he sauntered down from the steps of the lecture theatre when Komack and his guards stormed in. He smiled in complacent satisfaction as Komack pressed an Agoniser to his chest, the pain knocking him to his knees. He spared a wink for Uhura who was watching him with something close to respect, before Komack backhanded him across the face. The Admiral’s guards hauled Kirk to his feet, dragging him from the room. Komack snarled a warning at the room of large before marching out after them, delivering a swift kick to the back of Kirk’s needs when he reached the party. Kirk’s leg buckled, but he remained upright.
The march through the corridors of the Academy took far longer than was necessary. Komack made a point of parading Kirk past a myriad of classrooms - a warning to other cadets. The auditorium, when they reached it was empty save for a handful of instructors and a flash of blue tunic signalling the presence of the requisite medic. Jim was surprised Komack had bothered. Then he saw Pike’s face in the crowd and realised his mentor was probably the one to bring a doctor. Scanning the room, Kirk took note of ranks and names: six Admirals, including Jesslaw, four Captains excluding Pike, a Vulcan female Kirk remembered seeing leave Archer’s quarters at court, and a handful of other ‘Fleet personnel. Jim recognised Commander Rivers and Lt. Commander Brentworth. The others arranged themselves behind those two, clearly split down the middle, marking to which Great Family their allegiances belonged. For all the good it would do them these days. Rivers nodded to someone over Jim’s shoulder and Kirk turned his head to see who the woman had acknowledged. Jim’s gaze locked with McCoy’s and he saw the other man’s eyes widen in recognition before Komack forced his head back around. The Admiral waved a hypo in Kirk’s face, tapping his fingers against its sides like a piano.
“Quinuclidinyl benzilate.” Komack told him, waiting for the recognition to flare in Kirk’s eyes before he pressed the hypo carefully against neck. Jim swallowed. He had never thought of Komack as the type who could feign serenity when he was frighteningly angry. Jim had read him wrong.
Komack gestured and Kirk felt the two guards wrap hands around his biceps. The bruising press of their fingers were as painful as if his bones were being crushed in a vice. Kirk’s nerves sang in agony as he was thrown bodily into the agoniser. Quinuclidinyl benzilate: heightens nerve sensitivity across the body. Jim mentally recited the statistics - how long it would take for the drug to take full affect; reactions he could expect once the agoniser started up; how long he could withstand the pain before he went into cardiac arrest.
The audience shifted so that they all had a good view of the Booth and Jim did his best to brace himself against the pain. When it started, the only thing he could think to do was scream.
McCoy felt discontent steal into his chest when he realised what Komack had planned. It did not sit right with him that talent was being punished with torment. Pike’s face was carefully neutral but McCoy could tell the man was not happy. Kirk was his - everyone knew that; just as everyone knew Pike only chose the best. McCoy had heard of Kirk’s remarkable results; the way he breezed through academics even some instructors might struggle with; how he was quick, ruthless, vicious, and with Pike’s patronage on the fast-track to command. It was a failing on McCoy’s part that he had never married the faceless idea of Cadet Kirk to the face of the James T. he had met in his parent’s ballroom six years ago. Still, who could blame him? He had assumed the boy had died with the rest of the Imperial Family when Archer proclaimed himself as Caesar. McCoy remembered watching as the bodies burned in the capital.
Kirk stopped screaming, and McCoy noticed a muscle jump in Pike’s jaw. Ambling over, McCoy bent his head ever so slightly. “I can stop this. You know he’ll be worse than useless if the neurological damage is too extensive. Archer won’t sanction you killing Komack just because he legitimately punished your pet. And even if you hide it behind a wish for advancement, you’re not in a position for promotion, not yet.”
“What do you want?” McCoy smiled. At least Pike wasn’t trying to deny it. Kirk might not be his weak spot, but it was damn close. Though part of that, might have been due to the fact that McCoy had the sense to keep his voice pitched low - too low for anyone else in the room to hear.
“Let me train him. I’m not talking about combat.” He added when Pike opened his mouth to protest. “I’m talking about revenge. He has talent - let me shape it. I get him out of the booth now and he’s mine until he graduates.” McCoy hoped his voice did not give him away. Thinking about the brutality Kirk wrought against Finnegan and his congress had kept him half-hard all day. The though of having Kirk as a pupil; of having the chance to hone and shape that rage into sculptor’s elegance was enough to send adrenaline coursing through his system.
“That’s less than three months away.” Pike answered.
“Time enough.” McCoy said.
“And all you’ll do is teach him?”
McCoy smirked. He knew what Pike was asking and the hell he was going to limit himself like that.
“Fine.” Pike snapped. “But tonight he’s mine. I don’t want him thinking I’ll pass him round like meat - I lose his loyalty that way.”
“Agreed.” McCoy answered and stepped away.
Casually, he wound his way around the room, stopping to drop words in Rivers and Brentworth’s ears. Brentworth shrugged, disinterested, but Rivers raised an eyebrow before nodding her consent. She had always been a fan of Leonard’s work - even when they were children. Nodding his thanks, McCoy gave the signal to shut the machine off. The guard hesitated for a moment but someone must have made a move behind McCoy because he hastened to obey.
“What are you doing?” Komack demanded, striding toward the control panel. “Turn that thing back on -”
“He’s had enough.” McCoy interjected. “I’m ruling as a doctor. That’s the end of it.”
Komack snarled and made to turn the machine back on anyway, but Rivers moved to stand beside McCoy. A moment later, Brentworth followed. Pike had already liberated Kirk from the machine and was practically carrying him to stand beside the group assembling. Jesslaw’s lips twitched infinitesimally as she joined them. Komack’s face turned purple but he stepped aside. Pike and Jesslaw were just accessories - he no doubt would have killed them rather than be robbed of his revenge - but Komack was not stupid enough to make enemies of three Great Families - not even to avenge his five dead men.
In the end it was almost insultingly easy. Jim knocked McCoy to the floor, laid the blade of the knife against his neck and smiled when he felt the doctor stiffen.
“You really need a better security system.” He purred. McCoy jerked and scowled, obviously recognising who was speaking to him.
“What the hell do you want, kid?”
Jim smiled against McCoy’s ear, letting his lips brush delicately against the shell as he spoke. “Pike told me about your little arrangement. Clever that, winning a favour from Archer’s favourite. Might even help the McCoy family climb back into grace.”
“We never fell out of it.”
“Bullshit.” Jim told him. “The Great Families lost their power when Archer took over as Caesar.”
He felt McCoy shift under him. His drawl coming soft and honey-sweet in the half-dark of the room. “Now why would you think that?” Moonlight played across McCoy’s face, casting his eyes in shadow but leaving his mouth and chin silver-lit.
“Control the ‘Fleet, control the Empire.” Jim said. “Terror must be maintained. And the only way to do that is with the Armada.”
Jim started when McCoy began to laugh; great, deep chuckles that spilled from his lips like chocolate. Jim was forced to draw the knife away to keep from cutting him. “Is that what Pike’s been teaching you?” McCoy said at last, once he’d found his breath again. “That the strength of the Empire is tied to the strength of the ‘Fleet.”
“It’s true.” Jim spat.
“As far as it goes.” McCoy countered. “Let me up.”
Jim did so, warily - once he’d patted McCoy down with one hand and stripped him of the scalpel and the knife that he could find. McCoy sat up, not bothering to stand and looked at Jim where he was crouched upon the floor.
“Let me put it to you this way, kid. The Great Families may not have the ability to terrorise all the planets in the Empire, but they can still bring the goddamn Emperor to his knees. So Archer controls the ‘Fleet, what of it? The Great Families are what keep Earth stable. How do you think the Empire would react were the Emperor to lose his power base at home? The Vulcans, at the very least, would realise a war cannot be won if it’s fought on two fronts. They’d rebel. So would every other space-faring race within the Empire. Archer would have to choose: quell Earth and lose the Empire, or quell the Empire and lose Earth. Either way he’s lost the war. The Emperor needs us Jim. We keep the politicians and the Lesser Families happy. So Archer doesn’t throw as many credits our way; he lines our pockets with other things. We are the foundations of the Empire.”
“If that’s true, why try to win favour with Pike? Don’t pretend like his patronage won’t advance your career. Time was when the Old Families didn’t need that kind of help. Your influence is waning.”
McCoy swore, rocking up to his knees to move closer into Kirk’s space. “Haven’t you been listening? Pike needs me not the other way around. You think he would have handed you over if it were Puri asking or M’Benga? Think, kid. Pike’s building himself a circle of security. Archer on one side, McCoy’s on the other. When Archer falls, Pike’s making sure he doesn’t go down with him.”
Jim laughed, short and disbelieving. “You just don’t get it do you? Archer’s preparing to disembowel the four Great Families. Haven’t you noticed what’s happening? The Lesser Families - the ones you relied on to create your threat? They’re all but gone. The Wilsons, the Monroes, the Baxters, the Hortons? Over a third of the useful members of those families are dead. The McCoy power base is waning and you haven’t even noticed. Meanwhile, the Darnells and the Treadways - families that personally insulted you are gaining in power. The same goes is happening to the Rivers, the Brentworths and the Nolands. How can you all be so oblivious?” Jim sat back on his heels, exasperated. He had thought McCoy smart - thought the entire family a force to be reckoned with, but McCoy at least had not the faintest clue.
“You’re talking nonsense.” McCoy said stubbornly, pushing to his feet. “I’ve kept tabs on the Lesser Families you’ve mentioned - the men are fine. So are their women for that matter.”
“Jesus.” Jim muttered, mirroring McCoy’s movements. “I’m not talking about the current generation, McCoy. I’m talking about the one to come. There are no useful children left in any of the key Lesser Families. Archer’s not stupid enough to attack the Great Families directly, so he’s whittling away your future powerbase. When the time comes, Archer’s going to execute all the current members of the Lesser Families and you will be left with nothing. The four Great Families will be standing on their own with no one left to maintain their powerbase - there will be no children to continue the money, the names or the alliances. You’ll be stranded and then all Archer has to do is strip you of your power one by one. This is no short term plan, McCoy, Archer’s been planning this for eight years at least - long before he was Emperor.”
McCoy was pale. Jim worried the man might vomit but he wasn’t that weak. Leaning against the wall, McCoy shook his head.
“Why are you telling me this? Why now, why not sooner?”
“Honestly?” Jim answered. “I thought you knew. But now - now I’m telling you because I have plans for you.”
“Plans for me?” McCoy sneered; the defeat falling from him like leaves, returning him to the sadistic artist Jim had met years ago.
“You owe me.” Jim reminded him.
“I could have you killed.”
“Pike would return the favour - and you pointed it out yourself: his position with Archer is secure. He needn’t fear you.”
McCoy ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He’d been so wrapped up in his medicine; content to let his father handle the political machinations that came with the family name that he’d missed this completely. Now he was trapped - caught between Kirk and Pike and with nowhere left to turn.
“So I’m yours.” McCoy said.
“Yes.” Kirk agreed. “You’re mine.” He gestured at his feet and, with bile rising in his throat, McCoy sank slowly to his knees.
Looking up at eyes cold and merciless as winter skies, McCoy realised that James T. Kirk was no longer a spoilt and sullen child.
Part 3
Author: writteninhaste previously feathergirl89
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: dub-con/non-con. Violence. Explicit sexual situations. Mirror!Verse
Summary: The McCoy’s are old Georgia money. They breed their men sharp, and smart and vicious; their women cunning, enticing and full of sin. They stand three steps away from the throne of the Empire - bound by blood and marriage; the twisting heat of the strong south wind.
Notes: Apologies to the anonymous OP over at the Kink Meme who should have received this update yesterday - I just couldn't get my head around where I wanted this to go. Also, I promise there will K/Mc loving in the next instalment, it just didn't fit in this one.
Written for this prompt over at issenterprise kink meme 2.0
x-posted to issenterprise and kirk_mccoy
Anemoi II
Part 1
Kirk snarled and bucked, knives sliding into the thick, meaty flesh of his attacker’s abdomen. He heard a pained grunt and a thud as something heavy and unmoving hit the floor. Twisting, Kirk rolled free, pressing his back against the wall as his remaining two attackers closed in on him. If they had possessed any sense they would have run away. Four of their companions lay dead or dying in the corridor; Kirk wasted no time in adding two more bodies to the number.
The click of a phaser was all the warning Kirk received, before he felt it pressed neatly into the small of his back. Kirk suppressed a snarl and the urge to ram his elbow into the gut of his captor. He mentally started cataloguing injuries that would have impaired his hearing; no-one should ever have been able to get the drop on him.
“Come with me, Kirk.” The voice was rough, not smooth; a far cry from the pet Vulcan assassins that roamed the halls. The phaser pressed harder against his spine, and Kirk began walking. It was his left ear that was compromised. Kirk could feel it in the way his footsteps felt duller on that side - the crack of his boots muted and pliant. Whoever was standing behind him pushed; knocking Kirk to his knees as they entered the vast hall that housed the Agony Booths.
Kirk had always admired the artistry with which this hall had been arranged; a tantalising portrait of enduring pain. It was like a museum or menagerie; little sofas, piles of cushions - all delicately arranged so one could sit and watch and enjoy the torment of acquaintances and strangers. Those assembled in the hall fell silent as Kirk was pushed and shunted towards one of the booths. Kept upon his knees, Kirk gritted his teeth and placed his hands firmly in front of him. The marble of the floor was cool, slightly pitted from where so many boots had walked upon it.
The thug with the phaser hauled Kirk to his feet, throwing him into the glass case with little ceremony. Jim braced his hands against the walls, sunk into the white, static pool deep in his mind; waited for the agony to begin. Time was when he would have spilled from these booths laughing; enchanted by the knowledge that no matter how many times the punished him, they could never fucking touch him - he was the Emperor’s favourite. Now, Kirk gripped his teeth between his lips and watched as the form of Emperor Archer moved in to view. He was no one’s favourite these days, and Kirk knew without a doubt that Archer would strip him of every alliance he possessed before sending him packing into the ‘Fleet. He would be nameless, faceless, and anyone’s meat. The Booth ignited, and Kirk chewed his lip to bleeding against scream after scream. Forcing his eyes open, Kirk watched Archer’s face. Kirk would prove himself a gifted Officer; prove himself useful to the Empire. Archer would learn that underestimating Kirk was a mistake.
In disgust, McCoy shook the excess of blood from his wrist. Such a waste; crude, artless cuts born of necessity - no time for skill or intricacy. With a snort, he took in the blood pooling upon the floor and the lifeless body of the Commander who thought he could force McCoy onto his knees. Pushing himself upright with nothing more than a flex of his thighs, McCoy returned the blade-scalpel to its holster on his thigh. It was awkward to reach the sheath through the hole in his pocket with the material of his trousers so tacky and wet but McCoy managed. Crouching down, the doctor rolled the Commander onto his stomach, ignoring the red and ruined mass that had once been the man’s groin. Lifting the uniform jacket, McCoy contemplated the smooth expanse of skin. It had potential. But he hardly wanted to be carrying a dead man all the way across Campus to ‘Fleet Medical. Maybe he could just take the torso with him?
The click of booted heals across the floor drew McCoy’s attention. The area was dim, but not so shadowed that McCoy could miss the flashing gold of the man’s vest, or the silver of the knife he kept pinned at his hip.
“Captain.” McCoy acknowledged, pushing the Commander back over so Pike could see his front.
“Doctor. I could have you thrown in the Booth because of this.”
“You could have me thrown into the Booth because I breathe.” McCoy drawled. “You telling me a man’s not allowed to defend himself against a rapist?”
Pike laughed. “You’re hardly a blushing virgin on her wedding night, McCoy. You act as though you’ve virtue to defend. What would you say if I were to tell you to suck me off - right here and now.”
“I’d tell you to go to hell.” McCoy’s voice was calm, disinterested; he might have simply been discussing the weather.
Pike smiled; a predator’s quick flash of teeth. “I could make it an order. I could drag you before the entire Academy. Make them see you as nothing more than a whore. The man, who was cuckolded by a woman he should have controlled, left tied to a stage where anyone can have him.”
McCoy arched a sardonic eyebrow. “And how long do you think you’d live, after you’d done that Captain?”
“Your family doesn’t have enough influence left to convince someone to kill me. They value their lives more than they value your favour.”
McCoy snorted, settling his weight against the wall, lifting one hand in acknowledgement of Pike’s point. “Ridiculous, but let’s say that’s true. That doesn’t mean that the Emperor wouldn’t kill you.”
Pike stiffened. “Archer? Why?”
McCoy smiled and refused to answer. Let Pike sweat over that for a while. The Captain paused to contemplate the bloody mess that lay across the hallway.
“Effective. Nowhere near as elegant as some of what I’ve seen lately - that Russian kid for example - but it obviously got the job done.”
“I didn’t have time to be artistic.”
Pike smiled condescendingly. “And therein lies the difference between a journeyman and a master. I trust you’ll get this cleaned up, Doctor? Can’t have blood fouling up the hallways.”
McCoy sneered and ground his teeth. Waiting until Pike had rounded the corner, the doctor aimed a vicious kick at the cadaver’s ribs. The bone broke with a dull crunch but there was no other sound. McCoy swore a blue streak. They just weren’t fun when they were dead.
Jim dragged his body up the back staircase that led to the Cadet dormitories. The carpet burned against his forearms and his shins; the metal edge of each step cut into his skin. Naked - bleeding and bruised - Kirk resolutely kept moving. Every shift of his lower body was agony. He could feel blood and thicker things oozing across his buttocks and his thighs; his jaw was at least partially dislocated and his pelvis was most likely fractured. The corners of his vision were fuzzy and grey. Shuddering, Kirk hauled himself the last three steps and collapsed, unable to summon the energy even to pant.
The landing was bright and stark; lights at seventy-five percent regardless of the lateness of the hour. Somehow, Kirk rolled, shuffled and crawled his way to his room. The Academy had stopped giving him roommates after the first four had wound up dead and the empty spare bed was a blissful respite. Kirk dragged himself onto the sheets, legs trembling violently and stomach spasming against the pain. His arms gave out and he lay there, heedless of the mess that was beginning to stain bedding. His mind flashed to Finnegan’s laughing face; the laughing faces of his friends as they zipped their flies and left Jim shackled to the floor of the east sim room. As darkness swept across his vision, Kirk entertained himself with thoughts of what he’d do to Finnegan’s laughing face.
Pike smiled in pride and triumph as Kirk’s silver tongue wound its way across the training room floor. It was a simple exercise: negotiate with the computer for the right to lead a campaign against a star system. The computer was programmed to respond much like a specific member of the admiralty. If the Cadet leading the exercise succeeded in guessing the name of the Admiral in question, and addressed the computer as such, then they were rewarded. Should the cadet guess incorrectly, he or she received an hour in the Agony Booth, whilst their crew received the full duration - it was a nice, easy way to build resentment amongst classmates and weed out those too stupid to survive an assassination attempt. Refusing to guess was not an option. Most cadets failed. Of course, this was because the Instructors cheated and the computer was actually programmed to respond as though it were two or more of the Admiralty working together. No one had figured that out yet. Kirk had just named Nogura, Barnett and Komack - even going so far as to name them in the order in which they spoke and to reference specifics of what they had said. Pike was nearly wetting himself with glee. No one else looked half so pleased. With a snarl, Komack shut off the simulation, leaving a very self-satisfied Jim Kirk smirking up at the observation platform. Pike leant in to activate the intercom.
“Congratulations Kirk. Now get that pretty arse of yours up here so we can discuss your reward.”
Kirk’s jaw twitched incrementally at that, but he rose smoothly from the chair all the same. His command crew he dismissed with a wave of his hand - letting the other Cadets file out in front of him. More than one of them smirked and glanced up at where Pike was standing. Let them think Kirk’s reward was to be nothing more than an Admiral’s fuck toy. It wasn’t as though people were ignorant of his position as Pike’s pet.
Kirk strode into the observation room with cool authority, though Pike noted with satisfaction that he stationed himself out of reaching distance and with his back to the wall.
“Admiral Komack; Admiral Jesslaw; Captain Pike.”
Jesslaw picked at her nails with a boot knife; her gaze roamed disinterestedly over Kirk before returning to the task at hand. Komack merely scowled at Kirk in acknowledgement. Pike grinned and sauntered over to his protégé, clapping him on the shoulder. He was proud; he wasn’t afraid to show it.
“Cadet you successfully completed the simulation. That means you get to ask for one privilege from the Admiralty - within reason of course.”
“And the boundaries of this reason, Sir?” Kirk asked and Pike nearly laughed at the suspicion in Kirk’s voice.
“Just don’t ask for permission to kill anyone in charge all right?”
Kirk nodded and faced Komack. “In that case, Admiral, I would like to request full access to the Kobyashi Maru programme.” Jesslaw stopped picking her nails and looked up in interest. Komack blustered and turned red in the face, as indignant as if Kirk had asked him to strip naked and open wide.
“Impossible.” He spat.
Jesslaw interjected, hopping neatly off the work station she had been perched on. “Not so.” She fixed Komack with a withering stare and arched a single, silver eyebrow; the other was held in place by a purple, mottled scar that had never fully healed. “Cadet Kirk is within his rights to ask. The privilege is granted.” Komack looked murderous but there was little he could say in response. Pike waited until Jesslaw had swept from the room. He might let the old besom fuck him a few more times if she was willing to reward his good behaviour like that. Or maybe he’d offer her Kirk; she was known to like young men tied down and in pain. And Kirk would enjoy her well enough.
Kirk saluted Komack and Pike respectfully then made his retreat. Komack was still fuming, but it was an impotent sort of rage. Jesslaw had given Kirk her favour; Kirk was Pike’s pet so it was as good as saying she’d given Pike her favour. Komack could not touch either of them. Stupid, under-connected nobody; how he had ever made Admiral was anyone’s guess.
McCoy stroked his fingers idly over the laser scalpel he held, as he contemplated his patient. The man needed his appendix removed but there was nothing to say the procedure had to be painless. Running the pads of his fingers over the man’s abdomen, McCoy considered his options. He had limited time before the appendix ruptured, but a few minutes would make little difference. Turning to his nurse, McCoy smiled behind his mask.
“Laparotomy, I think - I’m old fashioned.” The nurse in question smiled appreciatively and pricked a pin into the patient’s side to ensure the local anaesthetic had taken affect. McCoy admired that he had not even had to ask - she’d spurned the use of general anaesthetic straight away. Moving so that he could look down into the man’s face, McCoy resettled the monitor positioned above the bed.
“Keep your eyes on the screen.” McCoy told him. “I want you to see what we’re doing.” The man’s eyes were wide and panicked but the vocal suppressant McCoy had injected him with prevented him from screaming. It was a pity, but Dr. Boyce had really been most insistent. Things would be different, if McCoy ever ran ‘Fleet Medical.
The surgery was quick and efficient. McCoy removed the appendix with ease and there were no signs of secondary infection. He pondered, for a moment, exploring the abdominal cavity just for the hell of it but M’Benga had offered to let him observe his latest experiment and McCoy was looking forward to the event. He had money laid down with Puri over how long it would take M’Benga to elicit an emotional response from his latest subject.
Stripping off his gloves, McCoy threw them into the re-processer. The anaesthetic had begun to wear off towards the end of the operation and the man was already beginning to twitch and jerk with pain upon the table. “You can close up, if you like.” McCoy offered, waving a hand magnanimously towards the patient. His nurse smiled, all teeth, stripping off her mask to show a small, bow mouth painted crimson.
“Thank you, doctor.” McCoy’s appreciation grew when, instead of reaching for the regenerators, the nurse drew a fine needle and silk thread from a box she had placed upon the table.
“I’m old fashioned, too.” She said, making a show of threading the needle where the patient could see.
“Well now, I can see that darlin’.” McCoy drawled, moving back around towards the table. “I hope you don’t mind if I watch?”
“Not at all.” The nurse replied, sparing McCoy a sultry glance over her shoulder. The doctor leered and positioned himself a mere breath away from her hips. M’Benga and his Vulcan guinea pig could wait.
Jim panted and writhed, chuckling as he braced a knee against Pike’s hip and pushed, rolling until he was nestled between the Captain’s thighs. Pike laughed; a full-blown, delighted sound as he reared up and pushed Jim back, tumbling them from the bed in a tangle of sheets and feet and limbs. Jim gasped as his breath was knocked from his lungs before he twisted and wrapped a hand firmly around Pike’s erection. The other man groaned and bucked, eyes rolling up into his head even as he fought to keep them on Jim’s face.
Jim smiled, teeth flashing in the gloom before he wriggled his way down Pike’s body and took the Captain’s cock between his lips. Pike’s breath stuttered and whined, his hips twitching towards Jim’s face before the younger man managed to brace a forearm across his mentor’s abdomen. It was freeing - this lust and sex filled partnership that hung on a single, liberating condition: Pike kept Jim alive until his Captaincy, Jim kept Pike alive into the Admiralty. Jim was brilliant and gifted. Pike knew his position as the favourite of the ‘Fleet would be quickly spent once Jim climbed the ranks. But the Empire needed him, so Pike stayed his hand. Besides, Jim was the type to reward belief in his abilities - a certain type of loyalty.
As if sensing Pike’s distraction, Jim flicked his tongue beneath the crown of Pike’s dick; suckling, as if the flesh was a particularly tasty treat. Pike threaded his hand into Jim’s sun-kissed hair. He did not need to push; Jim took him deeper without complaint. The boy gained a certain sense of satisfaction in knowing he could reduce Pike to orgasm. Pike could feel his climax building, a tight coil in the muscles of his thighs; a burning in his belly. Pushing Jim away, Pike rolled - slipping two fingers into Jim’s heat - still slippery and open from before they’d been distracted. Giving a few cursory tugs of his fingers, Pike lined himself up and thrust in deep. Jim keened and arched like a cat; rubbing his erection against Pike’s skin. Pike took the hint. He grabbed Jim’s cock, pulling at a counter-pace - slow and torturous even as he thrust hot and quick. Jim glared in protest, but didn’t object when Pike began to pummel his prostate. Pike could see the debate raging in Jim’s brain: lie there, take it and reach orgasm quickly - like his body was demanding; or try to push Pike off, flip them, ride Pike at his own pace and run the risk of his body cooling off and orgasm taking longer to achieve. Pike saw the decision in Jim’s eyes before he moved and decided to go with it. He began to roll before Jim started to push - letting Jim settle in the dominant position on top, but denying the younger man the control he wanted. Jim rode his way to climax viciously; fisting his own cock without mercy. He came with a curse and a muffled cry; clenching almost painfully tight around Pike. The Captain swore and raked his nails down Jim’s thigh in admonishment as his orgasm followed too soon for his liking.
Jim grinned lazy and satisfied - as sated as the Cheshire cat and just as shit-eating. Pike pushed him off with a grunt, wincing as his tender dick slipped from Jim’s heat, to slap pathetically against his own thigh. Jim flopped down beside him, wriggling until he had found a comfortable place amongst the sheets.
“My bed is right there.” Pike pointed out; one hand waving uselessly in the direction he meant to indicate. Jim hummed in agreement but made no effort to move. Sighing, Pike hauled himself upright, wrapping one hand around Jim’s bicep and dragging the younger man with him. Jim flopped gracelessly to the bed, leaving Pike to yank the sheets off the floor and back up onto the mattress. Jim watched him with sleepy, sex-bright eyes; one hand tucked behind his head. It put him in reach of the knife Pike let him keep there. Lying down, Pike stared calmly at the ceiling, waiting for Jim’s senses to return to him. That was another reason for these sessions: teach the kid not to succumb to the drag of sleep after sex. Practice was all that was necessary - Jim would learn easily enough to keep his wits about him until he’d cleared the room; sex was when you were most vulnerable.
“I thought you would have asked the Admiralty for immunity.” Pike commented, once he judged Jim was sensible enough to listen.
“Immunity from what?” Jim asked.
“From killing whoever it was who raped you.” Pike felt Jim still beside him, before his breathing resumed - forcibly even.
“Who told you?” Good. He didn’t deny it - wasn’t acting beaten or ashamed; clinical was a good response.
“I keep a tab on your medical records. It helps to know every time they add a new allergy to the list. I saw what injuries were listed after you took yourself to the clinic.” Jim breathed quietly beside him, and Pike - despite turning his head to look - could not divine what he was thinking. “They challenged me, you know.” Pike continued. “Everyone in the ‘Fleet knows your mine - by touching you, they were testing me. If you tell me who it was I can make an example of them.”
“It’ll mean more if the message comes from me.”
Pike sighed. “You honestly think that?”
“People need to know I have what it takes to be captain one day.”
Pike could see the logic in that but he also knew that in letting Jim have his way there were those who would see Pike as weak for not protecting what was his. The Court had ruined Jim in many ways. Being the Imperial favourite had sheltered him - left him as vicious and undisciplined as a child. He had never had to grow; to learn. Pike had seen the pain he reaped on others - it was nothing more than an angry toddler smashing all his toys.
“Fine.” He conceded. “Have it your way. But when they catch you, don’t look to me. I won’t protect you from their friends.” He felt Jim nod beside him; noted the younger man did not protest the use of ‘when’ instead of ‘if’.
It was the scream that woke McCoy; high, shrill, female; quickly stifled. Curious, McCoy opened the window and stuck his head out. There was a crowd gathering in the quod below; some sort of spectacle had been arranged but McCoy couldn’t see the detail from his window. Grumbling, McCoy dragged his uniform from off a chair. His medkit he tied around his waist; a couple of weapons went into their respective sheaths. He was glad medics were valued enough that few people wanted to kill them. He hated carrying around a small militia’s worth of weaponry.
The crowd had swelled significantly by the time McCoy made it out of the Officer’s quarters. People were whispering with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. Certain names were being repeated over and over but McCoy paid little attention. He pushed his way into the crowd and cadets moved out of his way quickly enough once they saw his face and the medical blue he wore. Emerging at the front, McCoy took a moment to admire the unbridled savagery of the scene before him. There was something raw and vibrant in the pain inflicted here. This was more than personal. This was almost animal. McCoy circled the five captive individuals. He could feel his pulse climbing; such primal anger was almost arousing. There was very little elegance to the display, it was true, but really the brutality was almost breathtaking. McCoy came round full circle, ignoring the cadets who were watching him with trepidation. A selection of instructors and command personnel had pushed their way to the fore, but McCoy was not about to willingly let anyone taint his enjoyment. The last time he’d seen anything like this had been back in the old Court: a single man - some low level security brute - had been exhibited in a similar manner just outside the main doors. But here, the spike did not just pierce the rectum, but carried on the whole way through. It would have required strength, and a hell of a lot of determination, to force a body down onto the pole so that the shaft penetrated all the way through the soft tissue and up into the throat. The binding of the hands and feet was a work of genius. If this had been done slowly - whilst the subject was still alive - the binding would have provided just enough leverage for a person to try and push off the spike - to escape the pain - but not enough for them to sustain it; the subject would have ended up pushing their own body onto the torture device.
It was strange though. The lead body was slightly different from the rest: the head was not pushed down onto the spike - but rested, just on the point. The cheeks bulged as though the mouth had been filled with something peri-mortem. Taking the chin in hand, McCoy ran a finger behind the lips. The teeth were locked with rigor mortis but a good, hard yank should undo it. McCoy spared a moment to see if any of the command staff would protest to his fondling the body before bracing both hands upon the head and pushing downwards. The jaw broke with a satisfying crack; the soft tissue of the lower pallet splitting like rotten fruit around the pole. Working his fingers into the mouth, McCoy withdrew a lump of bone and sinew. Letting the object rest in his palm, McCoy realised it was a finger. Reaching back in, McCoy withdrew four more. Leaning over the body’s shoulder, McCoy glanced down. All the fingers on the right hand were missing. He should have seen that the first time around. Rolling the collected appendages between his fingers McCoy surveyed the bodies. He would like to meet whoever had done this; teach him, or her, a more artistic way to send a message. Fingers in the mouth was a little too cliché.
Jim was prepared when they came for him. He knew from the moment he took his revenge that this would not go unpunished. Finnegan and his group had friends - Komack for one - and they would have come looking for Jim whether he had bothered to hide the evidence or not. Instead, he sauntered down from the steps of the lecture theatre when Komack and his guards stormed in. He smiled in complacent satisfaction as Komack pressed an Agoniser to his chest, the pain knocking him to his knees. He spared a wink for Uhura who was watching him with something close to respect, before Komack backhanded him across the face. The Admiral’s guards hauled Kirk to his feet, dragging him from the room. Komack snarled a warning at the room of large before marching out after them, delivering a swift kick to the back of Kirk’s needs when he reached the party. Kirk’s leg buckled, but he remained upright.
The march through the corridors of the Academy took far longer than was necessary. Komack made a point of parading Kirk past a myriad of classrooms - a warning to other cadets. The auditorium, when they reached it was empty save for a handful of instructors and a flash of blue tunic signalling the presence of the requisite medic. Jim was surprised Komack had bothered. Then he saw Pike’s face in the crowd and realised his mentor was probably the one to bring a doctor. Scanning the room, Kirk took note of ranks and names: six Admirals, including Jesslaw, four Captains excluding Pike, a Vulcan female Kirk remembered seeing leave Archer’s quarters at court, and a handful of other ‘Fleet personnel. Jim recognised Commander Rivers and Lt. Commander Brentworth. The others arranged themselves behind those two, clearly split down the middle, marking to which Great Family their allegiances belonged. For all the good it would do them these days. Rivers nodded to someone over Jim’s shoulder and Kirk turned his head to see who the woman had acknowledged. Jim’s gaze locked with McCoy’s and he saw the other man’s eyes widen in recognition before Komack forced his head back around. The Admiral waved a hypo in Kirk’s face, tapping his fingers against its sides like a piano.
“Quinuclidinyl benzilate.” Komack told him, waiting for the recognition to flare in Kirk’s eyes before he pressed the hypo carefully against neck. Jim swallowed. He had never thought of Komack as the type who could feign serenity when he was frighteningly angry. Jim had read him wrong.
Komack gestured and Kirk felt the two guards wrap hands around his biceps. The bruising press of their fingers were as painful as if his bones were being crushed in a vice. Kirk’s nerves sang in agony as he was thrown bodily into the agoniser. Quinuclidinyl benzilate: heightens nerve sensitivity across the body. Jim mentally recited the statistics - how long it would take for the drug to take full affect; reactions he could expect once the agoniser started up; how long he could withstand the pain before he went into cardiac arrest.
The audience shifted so that they all had a good view of the Booth and Jim did his best to brace himself against the pain. When it started, the only thing he could think to do was scream.
McCoy felt discontent steal into his chest when he realised what Komack had planned. It did not sit right with him that talent was being punished with torment. Pike’s face was carefully neutral but McCoy could tell the man was not happy. Kirk was his - everyone knew that; just as everyone knew Pike only chose the best. McCoy had heard of Kirk’s remarkable results; the way he breezed through academics even some instructors might struggle with; how he was quick, ruthless, vicious, and with Pike’s patronage on the fast-track to command. It was a failing on McCoy’s part that he had never married the faceless idea of Cadet Kirk to the face of the James T. he had met in his parent’s ballroom six years ago. Still, who could blame him? He had assumed the boy had died with the rest of the Imperial Family when Archer proclaimed himself as Caesar. McCoy remembered watching as the bodies burned in the capital.
Kirk stopped screaming, and McCoy noticed a muscle jump in Pike’s jaw. Ambling over, McCoy bent his head ever so slightly. “I can stop this. You know he’ll be worse than useless if the neurological damage is too extensive. Archer won’t sanction you killing Komack just because he legitimately punished your pet. And even if you hide it behind a wish for advancement, you’re not in a position for promotion, not yet.”
“What do you want?” McCoy smiled. At least Pike wasn’t trying to deny it. Kirk might not be his weak spot, but it was damn close. Though part of that, might have been due to the fact that McCoy had the sense to keep his voice pitched low - too low for anyone else in the room to hear.
“Let me train him. I’m not talking about combat.” He added when Pike opened his mouth to protest. “I’m talking about revenge. He has talent - let me shape it. I get him out of the booth now and he’s mine until he graduates.” McCoy hoped his voice did not give him away. Thinking about the brutality Kirk wrought against Finnegan and his congress had kept him half-hard all day. The though of having Kirk as a pupil; of having the chance to hone and shape that rage into sculptor’s elegance was enough to send adrenaline coursing through his system.
“That’s less than three months away.” Pike answered.
“Time enough.” McCoy said.
“And all you’ll do is teach him?”
McCoy smirked. He knew what Pike was asking and the hell he was going to limit himself like that.
“Fine.” Pike snapped. “But tonight he’s mine. I don’t want him thinking I’ll pass him round like meat - I lose his loyalty that way.”
“Agreed.” McCoy answered and stepped away.
Casually, he wound his way around the room, stopping to drop words in Rivers and Brentworth’s ears. Brentworth shrugged, disinterested, but Rivers raised an eyebrow before nodding her consent. She had always been a fan of Leonard’s work - even when they were children. Nodding his thanks, McCoy gave the signal to shut the machine off. The guard hesitated for a moment but someone must have made a move behind McCoy because he hastened to obey.
“What are you doing?” Komack demanded, striding toward the control panel. “Turn that thing back on -”
“He’s had enough.” McCoy interjected. “I’m ruling as a doctor. That’s the end of it.”
Komack snarled and made to turn the machine back on anyway, but Rivers moved to stand beside McCoy. A moment later, Brentworth followed. Pike had already liberated Kirk from the machine and was practically carrying him to stand beside the group assembling. Jesslaw’s lips twitched infinitesimally as she joined them. Komack’s face turned purple but he stepped aside. Pike and Jesslaw were just accessories - he no doubt would have killed them rather than be robbed of his revenge - but Komack was not stupid enough to make enemies of three Great Families - not even to avenge his five dead men.
In the end it was almost insultingly easy. Jim knocked McCoy to the floor, laid the blade of the knife against his neck and smiled when he felt the doctor stiffen.
“You really need a better security system.” He purred. McCoy jerked and scowled, obviously recognising who was speaking to him.
“What the hell do you want, kid?”
Jim smiled against McCoy’s ear, letting his lips brush delicately against the shell as he spoke. “Pike told me about your little arrangement. Clever that, winning a favour from Archer’s favourite. Might even help the McCoy family climb back into grace.”
“We never fell out of it.”
“Bullshit.” Jim told him. “The Great Families lost their power when Archer took over as Caesar.”
He felt McCoy shift under him. His drawl coming soft and honey-sweet in the half-dark of the room. “Now why would you think that?” Moonlight played across McCoy’s face, casting his eyes in shadow but leaving his mouth and chin silver-lit.
“Control the ‘Fleet, control the Empire.” Jim said. “Terror must be maintained. And the only way to do that is with the Armada.”
Jim started when McCoy began to laugh; great, deep chuckles that spilled from his lips like chocolate. Jim was forced to draw the knife away to keep from cutting him. “Is that what Pike’s been teaching you?” McCoy said at last, once he’d found his breath again. “That the strength of the Empire is tied to the strength of the ‘Fleet.”
“It’s true.” Jim spat.
“As far as it goes.” McCoy countered. “Let me up.”
Jim did so, warily - once he’d patted McCoy down with one hand and stripped him of the scalpel and the knife that he could find. McCoy sat up, not bothering to stand and looked at Jim where he was crouched upon the floor.
“Let me put it to you this way, kid. The Great Families may not have the ability to terrorise all the planets in the Empire, but they can still bring the goddamn Emperor to his knees. So Archer controls the ‘Fleet, what of it? The Great Families are what keep Earth stable. How do you think the Empire would react were the Emperor to lose his power base at home? The Vulcans, at the very least, would realise a war cannot be won if it’s fought on two fronts. They’d rebel. So would every other space-faring race within the Empire. Archer would have to choose: quell Earth and lose the Empire, or quell the Empire and lose Earth. Either way he’s lost the war. The Emperor needs us Jim. We keep the politicians and the Lesser Families happy. So Archer doesn’t throw as many credits our way; he lines our pockets with other things. We are the foundations of the Empire.”
“If that’s true, why try to win favour with Pike? Don’t pretend like his patronage won’t advance your career. Time was when the Old Families didn’t need that kind of help. Your influence is waning.”
McCoy swore, rocking up to his knees to move closer into Kirk’s space. “Haven’t you been listening? Pike needs me not the other way around. You think he would have handed you over if it were Puri asking or M’Benga? Think, kid. Pike’s building himself a circle of security. Archer on one side, McCoy’s on the other. When Archer falls, Pike’s making sure he doesn’t go down with him.”
Jim laughed, short and disbelieving. “You just don’t get it do you? Archer’s preparing to disembowel the four Great Families. Haven’t you noticed what’s happening? The Lesser Families - the ones you relied on to create your threat? They’re all but gone. The Wilsons, the Monroes, the Baxters, the Hortons? Over a third of the useful members of those families are dead. The McCoy power base is waning and you haven’t even noticed. Meanwhile, the Darnells and the Treadways - families that personally insulted you are gaining in power. The same goes is happening to the Rivers, the Brentworths and the Nolands. How can you all be so oblivious?” Jim sat back on his heels, exasperated. He had thought McCoy smart - thought the entire family a force to be reckoned with, but McCoy at least had not the faintest clue.
“You’re talking nonsense.” McCoy said stubbornly, pushing to his feet. “I’ve kept tabs on the Lesser Families you’ve mentioned - the men are fine. So are their women for that matter.”
“Jesus.” Jim muttered, mirroring McCoy’s movements. “I’m not talking about the current generation, McCoy. I’m talking about the one to come. There are no useful children left in any of the key Lesser Families. Archer’s not stupid enough to attack the Great Families directly, so he’s whittling away your future powerbase. When the time comes, Archer’s going to execute all the current members of the Lesser Families and you will be left with nothing. The four Great Families will be standing on their own with no one left to maintain their powerbase - there will be no children to continue the money, the names or the alliances. You’ll be stranded and then all Archer has to do is strip you of your power one by one. This is no short term plan, McCoy, Archer’s been planning this for eight years at least - long before he was Emperor.”
McCoy was pale. Jim worried the man might vomit but he wasn’t that weak. Leaning against the wall, McCoy shook his head.
“Why are you telling me this? Why now, why not sooner?”
“Honestly?” Jim answered. “I thought you knew. But now - now I’m telling you because I have plans for you.”
“Plans for me?” McCoy sneered; the defeat falling from him like leaves, returning him to the sadistic artist Jim had met years ago.
“You owe me.” Jim reminded him.
“I could have you killed.”
“Pike would return the favour - and you pointed it out yourself: his position with Archer is secure. He needn’t fear you.”
McCoy ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He’d been so wrapped up in his medicine; content to let his father handle the political machinations that came with the family name that he’d missed this completely. Now he was trapped - caught between Kirk and Pike and with nowhere left to turn.
“So I’m yours.” McCoy said.
“Yes.” Kirk agreed. “You’re mine.” He gestured at his feet and, with bile rising in his throat, McCoy sank slowly to his knees.
Looking up at eyes cold and merciless as winter skies, McCoy realised that James T. Kirk was no longer a spoilt and sullen child.
Part 3