Fanfic: I Love to See You Cry (Gen, kind of McChekov pre-slash)
Title: I Love to See You Cry
Rating: M
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Gen (could be considered McChekov pre-slash)
Warnings: Human torture, blood & gore, sadism, out-of-character portayals.
Summary: In answer to this prompt on st_xi_kink_meme :
Pretty boy Pavel Chekov is not what his shipmates expect him to be. He has a secret, a dark passion that garnered him quite the reputation in the Russian underworld. Now that his secret is revealed, his shipmates may never see him the same ever again.
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No one knew the truth of Pavel Andreivich Chekov and he was happy with that. He needed that. He needed people to see the wide eyed kid who was a prodigy at mathematics, the wunderkind who worked hard to become chief navigator of the U.S.S Enterprise. He needed people to think he was naïve and gentle and wouldn’t think to hurt a fly. He needed them to think they were all safe in their beds at night and had nothing to fear from one of their own.
In truth he was the most dangerous living being on this ship. The Family in Russia had trained him to be since he was a small boy too young to understand the world. They taught him how to peel the skin from a living person’s bones and filter out their screams while he worked. They taught him how to sever fingers and toes and how long to soak broken hands and feet in ammonia to get the desired pattern of chemical burns on the victim’s skin. He was taught about pain thresholds and tolerances and how to balance the pain and pleasure of a victim so as they suffered at his hands some would even go so far as to beg for more. He was a master of pain in common humanoids and even took pleasure in seeing a victim fall to pieces.
Today, however, Pavel’s little secret was one that at least the command line would know about. He was sick of watching Kirk and Spock use their ineffectual methods. They tried talking to the human, a man who had stolen Starfleet intelligence and sold it, as well as an ambassador’s daughter, to an unknown threat, and tried threatening him. Even Spock’s mind meld -which he had to be talked into doing- hadn’t yielded any results. So instead, he told Kirk that he had an idea of what might work to convince this man to talk. He said that he needed his bag of tools and utter privacy for half an hour. He believed he could do it in fifteen minutes but half an hour was a safer estimate.
The man looked surprised when he saw the young man step inside and although Kirk had promised to leave him alone, the ship’s computer was still going to record what was done here. He didn’t care. He could always erase its existence later. He just had to make sure that the damage he did here was not as permanent as he might have made it with other men condemned to his care in Russia. “Do you know who I am?” he asked the suspect, setting the bag on the table in the room and carefully pulling off his gold command shirt to leave him dressed all in black instead, “I vas quite famous in my country seweral years ago for vhat I did zere.”
The man leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed, and spat something about the navigator being some kind of high end escort. Pavel smiled at the little joke as he opened his bag and pulled out his instruments, one by one, to lay out on the table. Some of them were simple things like old fashioned scalpels and salts but others were a little more dangerous looking like wrenches and large syringes filled with an unknown substance. A couple of bowls were placed amongst the set too and some meaner looking blades. Pavel picked up one of the meaner blades and carefully traced the sharpened edge of it, his grey eyes dispassionately watching as fear started to fill the man’s eyes.
“Are you certain you do not vant to tell me vhat it is ve vant to know? Your life vill be much easier if you just tell us.”
The man stood his ground. Pavel let a dark smile spread across his face. That was just what he wanted to hear. It had been far too long since he had last done anything useful with this skill of his. “If zat is your vish.” The cocky ones were always the most fun to break.
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“Pavel Chekov to Leonard McCoy.”
“McCoy here. What do ya need kid.”
“I need a small medical team to interrogation room one.”
Okay, that was a little odd but not uncalled for given the sensitivity of the information this guy was supposed to have. He would have thought Kirk and Spock would be more careful with the guy but it wasn’t completely out of the ballpark if they had gotten desperate. Still, why would the kid be calling for him instead of them if it was that was the case?
“Any idea what we should expect when we get there?”
“Broken fingers, ripped out finger nails, deep lacerations in cheeks, chest and abdomen and a mild case of ze bends.”
The bends? In space? McCoy’s stomach dropped at the implications that came with that kind of prognosis but he had to be sure.
“And how would you know how severe it is? The bends hasn’t been an issue for several centuries.”
There was a deep sigh and a long pause. “Experience often gives vone and advantage in judging such things, da?” In the background the doctor heard a soft sob and a pitiful whimper of pain. Immediately he felt his back straighten at the sound. “You should come quickly, doctor. Ve vouldn’t vant to lose him so soon now do ve?”
The comm deactivated and Leonard was quickly to gather the supplies he needed and a couple of extra hands. He ordered one set of nurses to prepare a pure oxygenated room for the patient. The others he directed to come with him as he ran down the hall, treating this as an emergency worthy of a medical version of a red alert. He supposed in a way it was. He barked for the other personnel to clear the hallway and let him and the other two on his staff through. Some look startled but most didn’t question it. Good. They learned well.
By the time he got to the interrogation room, Kirk was frowning at the door to the room and the security guards looked uncomfortable. Spock looked as dispassionate as always but even he had trace elements of his displeasure showing on his face. Leonard was barely able to register these looks before he was let into the room and he faced the kind of damage he had only seen in emergency rooms while he did his residency in Mississippi.
Blood was splattered all over the room dripped from the man’s shattered hands and torn fingernails onto the carpets the chair sat on. His face was carved also, the corners of his mouth cut and the cheeks shredded so that it looked like his smile extended to his cheekbones. Carved into his bare chest, deep enough to scar, were words that the doctor couldn’t quite decipher and at this point, really didn’t care about. The man was moaning and crying, clearly in pain but too weak to do anything. The doctor cursed under his breath. At least his restraints had been removed.
“Get me a gurney, stat!” he barked at this staff, and activated the medical tricorder, waving the wand over the man to make sure that if he did have the bends it wasn’t immediately life threatening. He found a few pockets of air in the man’s blood but none of them were near his heart or lungs for now. It meant they had time but not much.
“Is it not ting of beauty, doctor?” a soft voice said in his ear as a slender body pressed against his back, “ze vay a man vill bleed, his cries of anguish as he begs and pleads and squeals like sow he is.”
Leonard shuddered at the notes of dark pleasure he heard in the kid’s voice. Sweet, innocent faced Chekov a sadist? He really hadn’t expected that. Yet here was the evidence in front of his eyes and at his back with that lower, rougher voice whispering things in his ear that disturbed him. No sane human being should derive such excitement out of another’s suffering. But, much to Leonard’s horror, some of that dark, sadistic pleasure he heard in Chekov’s voice stirred something of a desire in him too. He didn’t let himself analyze that too much though. He had a suffering patient to contend with.
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Pavel blinked in surprise when he felt the doctor shudder against him. He thought, for a moment it was out of disgust the more he spoke, the more he realized the heat he felt coming from the body beneath him was not the heat of anger but something else. It made him smile even as the security personnel pulled him away from the doctor and escorted him out of the interrogation room. He knew what he looked like, to them and to the captain and commander waiting outside. He simply didn’t care.
His black clothes were soaked in places with the suspect’s blood and his cheeks and hair still had splatters of the man’s blood staining them. His hands were dripping red and his shiny metal tools in there were covered in the same stuff too. He was certain that if the doctor looked for it, he’d find salt in the man’s open wounds. That had been what had gotten the buffoon singing like a bird. It had been a long time since Pavel had heard such a sweet sound caused by his blades, his hands and his skill.
Before he could be escorted to the brig, though, the captain had the security personnel stop. The young navigator stood as still as he could. He was no threat to these people. Just those they wanted information from. He needed them to understand that, despite the uncertainty, wariness and small trace of fear he saw in Jim Kirk’s eyes. “You said you vanted information from him. He vill sing for you now keptin.”
“You just broke several major codes of conduct and violated several major Federation regulations on humane treatment of humanoids.”
Pavel shrugged. “It is for good cause.”
The captain didn‘t seem to think so. “Don’t you feel the slightest bit unnerved by what you did in there?! You just tortured a man half to death!”
“And got you information about vhere ze information and ze ambassador’s daughter are so you can prevent another major var vhich could cost ze Federation millions of lives.” When there was no immediate response Pavel looked to Spock, knowing the logical being was more likely to agree with him. “Time vas of ze essence, da? So I make him talk. His vounds are not permanent. He should recover completely. Ze only question is vhether or not ze scars vill heal enough to be invisible or not.”
One of the guards, perhaps disgusted by his callous disregard for the well being of another human being shoved him harshly toward the brig and he didn’t protest. He had other things to content himself with. Like the doctor’s reaction to his words. He certainly hadn’t expected that. He thought he was the only one on the ship who would have those kinds of proclivities. It made sense in a way. The doctor was like him in that he too knew the limits of human tolerance. Perhaps, if he wasn’t court-martialed for his actions despite being given indirect permission to do so, he could see what other things the two of them had in common.
Rating: M
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Gen (could be considered McChekov pre-slash)
Warnings: Human torture, blood & gore, sadism, out-of-character portayals.
Summary: In answer to this prompt on st_xi_kink_meme :
Pretty boy Pavel Chekov is not what his shipmates expect him to be. He has a secret, a dark passion that garnered him quite the reputation in the Russian underworld. Now that his secret is revealed, his shipmates may never see him the same ever again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No one knew the truth of Pavel Andreivich Chekov and he was happy with that. He needed that. He needed people to see the wide eyed kid who was a prodigy at mathematics, the wunderkind who worked hard to become chief navigator of the U.S.S Enterprise. He needed people to think he was naïve and gentle and wouldn’t think to hurt a fly. He needed them to think they were all safe in their beds at night and had nothing to fear from one of their own.
In truth he was the most dangerous living being on this ship. The Family in Russia had trained him to be since he was a small boy too young to understand the world. They taught him how to peel the skin from a living person’s bones and filter out their screams while he worked. They taught him how to sever fingers and toes and how long to soak broken hands and feet in ammonia to get the desired pattern of chemical burns on the victim’s skin. He was taught about pain thresholds and tolerances and how to balance the pain and pleasure of a victim so as they suffered at his hands some would even go so far as to beg for more. He was a master of pain in common humanoids and even took pleasure in seeing a victim fall to pieces.
Today, however, Pavel’s little secret was one that at least the command line would know about. He was sick of watching Kirk and Spock use their ineffectual methods. They tried talking to the human, a man who had stolen Starfleet intelligence and sold it, as well as an ambassador’s daughter, to an unknown threat, and tried threatening him. Even Spock’s mind meld -which he had to be talked into doing- hadn’t yielded any results. So instead, he told Kirk that he had an idea of what might work to convince this man to talk. He said that he needed his bag of tools and utter privacy for half an hour. He believed he could do it in fifteen minutes but half an hour was a safer estimate.
The man looked surprised when he saw the young man step inside and although Kirk had promised to leave him alone, the ship’s computer was still going to record what was done here. He didn’t care. He could always erase its existence later. He just had to make sure that the damage he did here was not as permanent as he might have made it with other men condemned to his care in Russia. “Do you know who I am?” he asked the suspect, setting the bag on the table in the room and carefully pulling off his gold command shirt to leave him dressed all in black instead, “I vas quite famous in my country seweral years ago for vhat I did zere.”
The man leaned back in his chair, utterly relaxed, and spat something about the navigator being some kind of high end escort. Pavel smiled at the little joke as he opened his bag and pulled out his instruments, one by one, to lay out on the table. Some of them were simple things like old fashioned scalpels and salts but others were a little more dangerous looking like wrenches and large syringes filled with an unknown substance. A couple of bowls were placed amongst the set too and some meaner looking blades. Pavel picked up one of the meaner blades and carefully traced the sharpened edge of it, his grey eyes dispassionately watching as fear started to fill the man’s eyes.
“Are you certain you do not vant to tell me vhat it is ve vant to know? Your life vill be much easier if you just tell us.”
The man stood his ground. Pavel let a dark smile spread across his face. That was just what he wanted to hear. It had been far too long since he had last done anything useful with this skill of his. “If zat is your vish.” The cocky ones were always the most fun to break.
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“Pavel Chekov to Leonard McCoy.”
“McCoy here. What do ya need kid.”
“I need a small medical team to interrogation room one.”
Okay, that was a little odd but not uncalled for given the sensitivity of the information this guy was supposed to have. He would have thought Kirk and Spock would be more careful with the guy but it wasn’t completely out of the ballpark if they had gotten desperate. Still, why would the kid be calling for him instead of them if it was that was the case?
“Any idea what we should expect when we get there?”
“Broken fingers, ripped out finger nails, deep lacerations in cheeks, chest and abdomen and a mild case of ze bends.”
The bends? In space? McCoy’s stomach dropped at the implications that came with that kind of prognosis but he had to be sure.
“And how would you know how severe it is? The bends hasn’t been an issue for several centuries.”
There was a deep sigh and a long pause. “Experience often gives vone and advantage in judging such things, da?” In the background the doctor heard a soft sob and a pitiful whimper of pain. Immediately he felt his back straighten at the sound. “You should come quickly, doctor. Ve vouldn’t vant to lose him so soon now do ve?”
The comm deactivated and Leonard was quickly to gather the supplies he needed and a couple of extra hands. He ordered one set of nurses to prepare a pure oxygenated room for the patient. The others he directed to come with him as he ran down the hall, treating this as an emergency worthy of a medical version of a red alert. He supposed in a way it was. He barked for the other personnel to clear the hallway and let him and the other two on his staff through. Some look startled but most didn’t question it. Good. They learned well.
By the time he got to the interrogation room, Kirk was frowning at the door to the room and the security guards looked uncomfortable. Spock looked as dispassionate as always but even he had trace elements of his displeasure showing on his face. Leonard was barely able to register these looks before he was let into the room and he faced the kind of damage he had only seen in emergency rooms while he did his residency in Mississippi.
Blood was splattered all over the room dripped from the man’s shattered hands and torn fingernails onto the carpets the chair sat on. His face was carved also, the corners of his mouth cut and the cheeks shredded so that it looked like his smile extended to his cheekbones. Carved into his bare chest, deep enough to scar, were words that the doctor couldn’t quite decipher and at this point, really didn’t care about. The man was moaning and crying, clearly in pain but too weak to do anything. The doctor cursed under his breath. At least his restraints had been removed.
“Get me a gurney, stat!” he barked at this staff, and activated the medical tricorder, waving the wand over the man to make sure that if he did have the bends it wasn’t immediately life threatening. He found a few pockets of air in the man’s blood but none of them were near his heart or lungs for now. It meant they had time but not much.
“Is it not ting of beauty, doctor?” a soft voice said in his ear as a slender body pressed against his back, “ze vay a man vill bleed, his cries of anguish as he begs and pleads and squeals like sow he is.”
Leonard shuddered at the notes of dark pleasure he heard in the kid’s voice. Sweet, innocent faced Chekov a sadist? He really hadn’t expected that. Yet here was the evidence in front of his eyes and at his back with that lower, rougher voice whispering things in his ear that disturbed him. No sane human being should derive such excitement out of another’s suffering. But, much to Leonard’s horror, some of that dark, sadistic pleasure he heard in Chekov’s voice stirred something of a desire in him too. He didn’t let himself analyze that too much though. He had a suffering patient to contend with.
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Pavel blinked in surprise when he felt the doctor shudder against him. He thought, for a moment it was out of disgust the more he spoke, the more he realized the heat he felt coming from the body beneath him was not the heat of anger but something else. It made him smile even as the security personnel pulled him away from the doctor and escorted him out of the interrogation room. He knew what he looked like, to them and to the captain and commander waiting outside. He simply didn’t care.
His black clothes were soaked in places with the suspect’s blood and his cheeks and hair still had splatters of the man’s blood staining them. His hands were dripping red and his shiny metal tools in there were covered in the same stuff too. He was certain that if the doctor looked for it, he’d find salt in the man’s open wounds. That had been what had gotten the buffoon singing like a bird. It had been a long time since Pavel had heard such a sweet sound caused by his blades, his hands and his skill.
Before he could be escorted to the brig, though, the captain had the security personnel stop. The young navigator stood as still as he could. He was no threat to these people. Just those they wanted information from. He needed them to understand that, despite the uncertainty, wariness and small trace of fear he saw in Jim Kirk’s eyes. “You said you vanted information from him. He vill sing for you now keptin.”
“You just broke several major codes of conduct and violated several major Federation regulations on humane treatment of humanoids.”
Pavel shrugged. “It is for good cause.”
The captain didn‘t seem to think so. “Don’t you feel the slightest bit unnerved by what you did in there?! You just tortured a man half to death!”
“And got you information about vhere ze information and ze ambassador’s daughter are so you can prevent another major var vhich could cost ze Federation millions of lives.” When there was no immediate response Pavel looked to Spock, knowing the logical being was more likely to agree with him. “Time vas of ze essence, da? So I make him talk. His vounds are not permanent. He should recover completely. Ze only question is vhether or not ze scars vill heal enough to be invisible or not.”
One of the guards, perhaps disgusted by his callous disregard for the well being of another human being shoved him harshly toward the brig and he didn’t protest. He had other things to content himself with. Like the doctor’s reaction to his words. He certainly hadn’t expected that. He thought he was the only one on the ship who would have those kinds of proclivities. It made sense in a way. The doctor was like him in that he too knew the limits of human tolerance. Perhaps, if he wasn’t court-martialed for his actions despite being given indirect permission to do so, he could see what other things the two of them had in common.