FIC: Venus Ascending, 1/2, (mirrorverse)
Title: Venus Ascending 1/1 (AOS)
Author: sangueuk
characters/pairing: mirror!Kirk/mirror!McCoy, Gaila, Cupcake, Eleanor McCoy
rating:nc-17
word count: approximately 12,000 words, complete.
summary: Gaila and Cupcake bring cadet Kirk a very special birthday gift in the middle of the night.
Warnings: Although this is MU!Lite, there is threat of violence, kidnapping, violence ‘off-screen’, dubious consent (sort of), euthanasia implied, and bad-language like it’s going out of fashion. And bloodied, bruised McCoy - yeah, he’s pretty like that. Oh, and MU!Kirk in white boxer briefs.
A/N This is a sequel to Planets in Alignment and the dynamics in this story will make more sense if you have read it.
A very belated birthday fic for the fabulous weepingnaiad - I’m sorry it took so long!
Huge thanks to the wonderful, patient and smart awarrington for super-speedy beta reading!
intriguing snippet Kirk cants his head and appraises McCoy. Fuck he looks good with his weight pinned between Cupcake and Gaila, hands tied behind him, broad shoulders tense, dress shirt covered in spots of blood, button holes torn, revealing tantalizing glimpses of a fine chest. Kirk hungrily searching for scars, but there’s none he can see - yet.
Awarded a silver medal in the jim_and_bones Rec Olympics 2012 for best mirrorverse!
also posted on Archive of Our Own
The gorgeous banner is courtesy of the fabulous avictoriangirl - thank you!
part 1 -Venus Ascending
Jimmy doesn’t dare move, because then it might stop, and he’s sure all he has to do is fucking breathe wrong, and the spell will break.
It’s a delicate whisper of plump flesh to his lips, soft, insistent, and Jimmy yields, he can’t help himself; Carol’s tongue is warm and fresh, so present with a hint of strawberries and mint.
He knows he should be pushing her away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to erase this taste, this nectar he could so easily become addicted to. But Jimmy can’t move and he sighs when he feels Carol shifting beside him, her legs rolling against his.
They’re in the shade of a willow tree; heavy, hanging branches breaking the perfect blue of the sky, making him almost giddy as they sway above him in the faint breeze. The grass is cool under his shins and spiky, broken twigs stick to his calves when he moves to accommodate Carol’s slender body. Her moans egg him on. Jimmy’s lips part and he angles his head to gain more ready access to her mouth, his cock straining in his shorts; he feels oddly vulnerable, and thinks dimly how, yeah, he knew it always felt like something was missing from fucking before.
“Carol,” he manages, when they break for air.
She lifts her head, eases onto her forearms. Corn blue eyes contemplate him, cold and calculating and Jimmy experiences a twitch of anxiety right before she bends and her teeth clamp hard, viciously onto his lower lip, like a bitch chastising a pup.
“What the fuck?” The metallic taste of blood coats his tongue and Jimmy spits, rubbing at his mouth, the heel of his hand sliding against blood. He scrambles to his feet, shoves her away. “Whatch’you do that for?”
Carol’s lips are pink, puffy, moist from his mouth, but sneering; she’s looking at him like he’s a piece of shit or something.
“You like kissing!” she crows, drawing out the last word because now she knows, knows what a freak he is. “Like the fucking Romulans!”
Her hectoring tone cuts through him, shredding pride, stomping on his heart, and flushing out any softness festering inside.
Good, he thinks, watching her figure retreating into the meadow, his chest heaving with the effort it takes to quell any tears - this will better prepare him for court. He’s learned a valuable lesson.
Admirals’ Block, Starfleet Academy
Kirk’s roused by the unmistakable sound of boots kicking at the door to the hall. It’s like the drop on the gallows, the way he lurches upright, his dream evaporating; his dagger’s already in his hand and don’t fuck with me attitude on eleven. Adrenaline skitters through his skin like static, makes his cock half hard, has him dancing on the balls of his feet, tongue snaking his lip as he automatically channels fear into eagerness for a fight.
“Computer, intruder -- alert security and secure building!”
Oddly, the computer seems to take its time answering. It’s long enough for Kirk to make out the three figures silhouetted in the doorway before the computer’s baritone announces:
“Security override by Cadet F’r’ha Jani. Breech to security, negative, Cadet Kirk.”
“Lights!” Kirk says, kicking away the sheets round his ankles, holding onto his dagger but allowing his shoulders to drop.
“Good morning, Cadet F’r’ha Jani, ” Kirk addresses Gaila with exaggerated mock politeness adding a half bow for good measure. He lowers his hand, the knife resting against his naked thigh, and he doesn’t smother his grin. “Is this for me?” Kirk touches his chest and circles the little group.
“Special delivery, Cadet Kirk,” she grins, hair glowing in the artificial light, chest heaving with the effort of restraining her captive. “I hope you do not mind the lack of gift wrap?”
Kirk shakes his head and smirks. “Well, if it isn’t Bones.”
Two years before - the McCoy Plantation House
“Joanna, the gods be praised, hasn’t turned out anything like the Darnells, Leo. We can count ourselves lucky for some things; but mind me, that bitch wife of yours, she’ll dispose of you soon as she gets a sniff of someone with a bit of power, and you’ll lose our baby-girl. Don’t let that happen. Promise me!” Eleanor jabs a swollen finger in McCoy’s direction.
“Gram, I…” he watches the taught sinews in Eleanor’s neck, exertion and the passion of her words giving her pale cheeks a flush he hasn’t seen in way too long.
“Hush, Leo, let me finish! I’m going to be dead soon and you’ll have plenty time enough to run your mouth when I’m gone; now there’s things I need to say to you, things I need to put to rest.” Eleanor takes a shaky breath though, McCoy thinks wearily, she’s never too tired or sick to spare him her temper. He rubs an eye, waits for her to continue.
“You’re hopeless, Leo - you put me in mind of a sentimental dog the way you mooch around. Despite all the opportunities, your good family name and the best education - you’re stuck on healing and helping.” Her nostrils flare when she makes no effort to hide her disgust and McCoy flushes, looks away. “There’s no place to put you and it worries me knowing you won’t last five minutes out there when I’m gone.” She pats her hand on the lace coverlet. “Look at me, Leo! I can’t die knowin’ you’re hiding out in a quiet country surgery for the rest of your days, wasting that brain of yours. It’s time you got back in the water, not for you, but for your baby girl, so’s she turns out right. Lord knows there’s no one in this room fit to keep the McCoy name where it belongs.”
McCoy clears his throat. “Gram she’s three years old, how can you-?”
“-are you questioning me, Leonard Horatio?”
McCoy smiles despite himself, but damn he’s going to miss her. “No, Gram, only a damned fool would question you.” He can’t quell the tremble in his voice, feels the tears clouding his vision. Damn, she’s right, again. He is a sentimental fool.
“Thank you, kindly; now, let me finish.” She indicates the glass of water by the bed, and McCoy frowns and brings it to her lips. When she’s finished, he dabs her mouth and sits back down for the rest of his lecture.
Other than a nurse sitting reading a PADD in the corner of the room, it’s just the two of them in Eleanor’s opulent bedroom transformed to an infirmary for her last days; how far from the houseful of parties and intrigue he’s visited so often.
“See, Leo, for all your sentimentality, you don’t know a thing about real feeling. Yeah, survival’s all about power, but you know what gives power direction, fuel?” McCoy shakes his head, taking her dry hand in his, glancing at the monitor’s dials shifting and settling each time she moves or her voice peaks. “Love,” she says with force, sinking back into her pillows.
Stunned at her words, McCoy glares at the nurse and adopts his most commanding voice. “Step outside, Connors; I’ll let you know when we’re ready for you to witness. For now, Mrs McCoy and I have private matters to discuss.” McCoy attempts a casual pose in his arm chair and crosses his legs, holds the nurse’s gaze until Connors nods and steps outside.
“He’ll only look at the vid feed soon as we’re done. It’s pointless sending him out, Leo; bribe him, threaten him; use your goddamn stones for once.”
It’s not that McCoy doesn’t know how to be a hard-ass, it’s just…but he nods, looks at his lap, unfurls his clenched fists. He can fix the vid feed, it’s one of the lessons of survival he’s had to learn, after all.
Gram gathers herself, and lets out a sharp breath.
“We don’t talk about love these days; they say it’s a weakness, makes you act like a damned fool, takes away your judgment - that’s what they’ll have us believe. But you take heed of my words, Leo, I know,” she punctuates her words with a raised finger. “We shroud our love in ambition and plans, and we kill and maim to get what we want, many of us for power, others who aren’t so well connected just to see in the next day - and that’s natural. And no one would question that the love we feel for our kids, for our grandchildren…it’s why we care about family in the first place.”
Despite the harsh words, Eleanor’s flint eyes are fond, brimming with tears. He glances nervously at the dials, then at the case of deadly vials he’s rested on the floor by his feet. It’s the day Eleanor’s chosen to be her last and she’s insisted it should be him, rather than a stranger. It should be easier this time, easier than with his daddy but…fuck…her voice brings him back to the moment.
“I love you Leonard, more than I loved my own son. I wanted you to have this,” her fierce eyes scan the room. “But I give it to you now. I might as well wrap a pink bow around the plantation and hand it over to the Darnells.
“You bought into the whole bullshit - you ‘realized’ it was foolish to marry for love, that’s why you went along with David’s insistence you take up with the bitch but, I’ll let you into a secret…” she shoots a sideways look at the security camera until McCoy stands and angles his body, blocks the view temporarily. He adjusts her pain meds and leans close. “I loved your granpa, Horatio; he loved me too, and maybe love is an affliction in some ways, but Leo, trust me, it’s all we got in these dog days.
“Love’s why we stick by each other, the only reason you can’t be bought, and the one reason you can trust.” She’s becoming breathless, overdoing it again. Damn, why won’t she ever listen to him?
“Gram, you gotta be careful,” Leo whispers close to her face and inhales a note of violets from her expensive cologne. She’s in velvet and silk even now, ridiculously expensive calf skin slippers by the bed, chamber music playing like they’re back in the eighteenth century. Eleanor McCoy, still dressing like a queen in her centuries old plantation house, with her slaves, the cotton harvest, playing with the pastoral myth like the great Marie Antoinette.
“What they gonna do - kill me?” Eleanor grumbles. He raises an eyebrow, can’t help smiling at the way she rolls her pale blue eyes at him. “Which brings me to James Kirk. I’ve watched his rise closely, and he’s the one I’ve chosen for you.”
Not this again.
McCoy drops into the armchair with a defeated huff.
It’s pointless to argue - after all, Eleanor won’t see in the sunset. But how can she be so certain? This notion of hers is crazy is what it is, but she won’t let it drop.
He shakes his head. “He’s like the rest of them, Gram, he’s a f-” He just manages to stop himself cussing. “He’s a psychopath. First you’re tellin’ me to cut my ties with Joss, next breath - you’re feeding me to the sharks?”
She slaps his hand, lets out an irritable sigh. “God dammit, Leo, are you even listenin’ to me?”
“‘Course I am, but what the hell’s this gotta do with… love?” He whispers the last word.
Eleanor closes her eyes like she’s trying to contain her famous temper. “His daddy,” she says with exaggerated emphasis. “I knew him; they like to say he gave up his life for the Empire, but that’s bullshit propaganda. Just because folk don’t talk about it, doesn’t change the truth; it was all for Winona, their unborn son, for James.
“Mind me, Leo, these notions run deep in a family; it’ll be in James’ blood, in the legend of his birth. What I know about Winona Kirk, the way she’ll have raised her son, you cut beneath his skin, I’d bet my right eye you’d find a keenness for love just like hers.” She tries to sit up, her eyes intent on his face. ”I’d stake my life on it.”
“And now you wanna stake mine?”
“No, Leo.” She drops her voice. “I’m looking out for you. For you, for Joanna Eleanor, for family. We smart women have to settle for bein’ puppeteers in the background till things change one day and…”
“And you think Jo-Jo’s gonna change things?” McCoy shakes his head.
“I don’t think, I know. With Kirk behind her, with you loving him, watching his back - he’ll be invincible and you might last out a few more summers. And his mamma will have taught him well. Every great man’s gotta have someone they can trust. Then Joanna’s got a chance.”
“So you’re sayin’ I should pretend to love him, gain his patronage over my baby girl and everything’ll be fine and dandy? Well that’s going to be simple as pie...” Unbelievable.
“And you can take that tone out of your voice. When have I ever been wrong about anything?” Dammit, he wasn’t going to argue, not when she’s got so little time left but… “Mind my words, Leonard McCoy, you need to get close, you need to make Kirk notice you; stare him down, show him that pretty face of yours, make him trust you.”
“Gram, a man can’t fall in love on command, it’s crazy is what it is.”
“Well, if you ask me, Kirk’s half-way there already.”
Oh, for the love of…“That was years ago, he was just a kid, and, if I recall, we didn’t exactly…bond. Assholes like that don’t like people to see their weaknesses.”
“So use your brain! Pretend like you haven’t noticed.”
McCoy thinks back to that time at the Kirk ranch nearly ten years back…
Irritated by the schmoozing and networking, he’d wandered off into the meadows to stretch his legs. A skinny blond girl had raced out from under a willow, laughing, wiping at her mouth; she’d shot McCoy a look of triumph that, even in the relative innocence of his late teens, he knew came from having uncovered some poor fuck’s weakness; it was the way Joss used to look at McCoy in later years, when he fucked her, like he was a wildebeest at a waterhole, oblivious to how she was gonna tear his throat out soon as his defenses were down.
McCoy tracked the girl’s progress to the house where, a few minutes later, he heard a delighted squeal from the gathered teenagers under the gazebo on the front lawn. He wondered idly what piece of gossip she was might be sharing.
“I’m gonna cut her heart out and make her eat it.”
McCoy’s head snapped round for the source of the cut glass voice. Though McCoy hadn’t set eyes on the kid since their arrival that morning, he knew he was looking at an aspiring delinquent. James Kirk; had to be - he had his mother’s calculating eyes, the same wiry frame and, it seemed, his father’s propensity for original forms of violence.
“That’s no way to treat a lady,” McCoy had drawled, stepping towards Kirk. He noted the kid’s cheek was blood stained, smears on his jaw and hand too; maybe he’d been in a fight or fallen down, bitten his tongue. “Let me take a look at that mouth of yours, I’m in med school… looks like it might become infected.”
The kid licked at his lip, nodded and stood absolutely still while McCoy examined his mouth, pulled the lower lip out, Kirk’s eyes remained fixed on a point on McCoy’s shoulder throughout. “I’ve got my daddy’s regen in the house, want me to get it? Shit, how’d you do this, kid? In a fight with a dog?”
And that’s when the fucker punched him clean on the jaw with surprising strength for what, a thirteen? fourteen-year old? It sent McCoy sprawling, swearing a blue streak. He glared a thousand daggers into the brat’s back, watched him saunter back to the party and vault the hip high fence rather than walk through the gate. Kirk ran a hand through messy hair, brushed at his clothing and took the side entrance to the house - avoiding the lawn and the fifty or so guests. McCoy waited a beat and strolled as casually as he could to return to Gram’s side resisting the urge to massage his injury and count his teeth, and absolutely ignoring Eleanor’s pointed, knowing (damn her) look.
Later, McCoy had seethed, glaring at the kid across flirting, scheming party guests, meeting Kirk’s lazy stare with a raised eyebrow and then doing his damndest to ignore him for the rest of their visit.
McCoy hadn’t given it a second thought for years, why would he? Until Gram had brought it up a few months ago and she mentioned how she’d noticed the way Kirk hadn’t taken his eyes off McCoy all night. It had got her thinking, she said, even back then.
“He’s the one, Leonard,” she says now, gripping his hand with pale, inflamed fingers, bringing him back to the present. “Remember, Kirk’s the best chance for you and Joanna. Promise me you’ll take that chance.”
Admirals’ Block - Starfleet Academy
Kirk cants his head and appraises McCoy. Fuck he looks good with his weight pinned between Cupcake and Gaila, hands tied behind him, broad shoulders tense, dress shirt covered in spots of blood, button holes torn, revealing tantalizing glimpses of a fine chest. Kirk hungrily searching for scars, but there’s none he can see - yet.
“Happy Birthday, Kirk,” Gaila croons, a hint of an accent in her standard.
“You really shouldn’t have-” Kirk says evenly, taking a step towards them.
“Fuck, you!” McCoy spits a spray of blood and saliva. Kirk’s grins wide - damn, the doc looks fuckable all riled up. And patently not as intimidated as he should be by his situation; you’d think McCoy had just trodden in dog shit rather than been kidnapped from wherever he was at…Kirk’s eyes slide to the chrono…03:00.
Cupcake’s got one hand on his captive’s left shoulder, the other on the doc’s bicep and twists his fingers tighter when McCoy tries to shrug him off. Still, Kirk notices, Cupcake knows to keep his mouth shut having learned quick that banter’s always strictly between him and Gaila: there’s a scar Cupcake knew better than to have fixed, where Kirk tore his mouth open the last time he made a wise-ass comment. Since then, Kirk’s sure it’s no coincidence the man sports a permanent five o’clock shadow; it’s like he can’t bear to look at himself in the mirror to shave.
“But maybe we didn’t need the dramatic entrance-” Kirk continues.
His ‘birthday gift’ snorts and there’s the faintest bubble of pink snot which, you know, just kills Kirk - it’s such a delicious picture of vulnerability. The juxtaposition of bound hands, blood painted shirt and snarly, bruised lips, on the one hand, and dark eyes wild with contained belligerence on the other. It makes Kirk’s cock ache.
He reaches in a drawer and pulls out gleaming white, cotton boxer briefs; holding the dagger’s hilt between his teeth, he steps into them elegantly. He makes a little show of arranging his less than flaccid cock, noting Cupcake’s eyes-front stance, Gaila’s wink, and McCoy’s refusal to even notice he’s naked.
When Kirk instructs the computer to switch on side lights, it amuses him how McCoy won’t meet his eyes. He’s pretty sure this is neither fear nor deference; McCoy’s survived a year at the academy without having been annihilated, proof he’s smarter than even his clutch of degrees. Since McCoy fixed Admiral Michiyo’s shredded face, it’s won him basic protection, plus Kirk’s seen vids of McCoy in combat training - the doc’s got some moves, enough to keep the bottom feeders off his back. McCoy makes up for what he lacks in natural viciousness with supreme reflexes, elegance and strength - that and those threats every medic learns to make the first day they pick up a hypo. It’s why Kirk’s got his own regen machine and hasn’t been anywhere near a doctor since joining Starfleet, in case they take the opportunity to heap some revenge or other on him while he’s at his weakest. His visit to the infirmary a couple of months ago, of course, was primarily to check out the doc up close, see if he was indeed the same guy he’d met when he was a kid back home.
Kirk thinks back to the first week at the academy, when he sat half naked beside Pike on his nu-buck couch, mouth bitter with come and sweet with ambition, reviewing files for those the captain had ear-marked for the Enterprise. There he was, that guy from when he was a kid, the crazy from the shuttle - Leonard McCoy glowering in academy reds, hair smooth and trimmed. Looking at McCoy now, face stippled in dry blood, yeah he was right - red is definitely the color for the doc.
He leans in to examine McCoy’s face; he can practically feel pride radiating off the man’s skin. For all that he’s bound, each muscle tense, McCoy’s making little effort to get away. If it’s not surrender, maybe it’s his way of keeping control. McCoy’s ‘choosing’ to be this way. The attitude reminds Kirk of what Pike said to him once, when he fed his cock into Kirk’s mouth: It’s like you’re doing me a favor, rather than the other way around.
Kirk’s tongue wets his lips.
“While you’re here, Bones,” he says brightly, “I can give you back that flask you loaned me. Truth is, it slipped my mind until now. You must have been worried sick-” And Jesus, just look at him, bastard actually rolls his eyes. Kirk’s cock twitches.
McCoy mumbles something under his breath, something Cupcake takes umbrage to; so he finds that little bit of initiative to loosen his hold on McCoy’s arm to yank his head back by the hair. Kirk grins at the look of defiance, the dark, slanted eyes, the flared nostrils. Fuck he’s pretty.
“Show some respect, doctor,” Cupcake hisses, eyes flickering nervously to Kirk for approval. Kirk ignores him, focusing instead on the flushed skin of McCoy’s neck, wondering what it’ll feel like under his tongue and teeth.
“What do you want from me?” McCoy demands, twisting to shake the grip in his hair.
Kirk zones in on McCoy’s mouth when he speaks, lips a little dry but plump and over ripe. His hair’s mussed up, so different from the careful, combed style he’d worn in the infirmary, on the holos. It suits him. Kirk nods and Cupcake releases him.
“Or do you expect me to read your mind, like your ‘assistant’ here?” McCoy continues, voice thick with contempt.
“That’s an interesting question, Bones.” Kirk’s says it all deadpan, earning a worried look from Cupcake, who knows to his cost what that tone is often the precursor of.
McCoy, on the other hand, has an ‘Oh, that’s what you’d call it’ expression on his face; it makes Kirk itch to bend him.
He’s finally standing close enough so he can smell McCoy’s breath, dry, maybe a little funky from the adrenaline in his system. It’s like a fucking aphrodisiac for Kirk, just makes him want to get closer, and he teases himself, inhales subtly, like a shark zoning in on its prey.
“Tell me, Gaila, whose idea was this? Yours or Cupcake’s?” Cupcake flinches almost imperceptibly.
“Jim, all good ideas come from you initially, it’s just my pleasure to read your mind.” She’s smiling serenely, and Kirk notes how McCoy’s eyes flicker between them. He won’t be the first trying to make sense of this relationship, wondering how Kirk can allow a woman such familiarity as to use his first name.
Kirk extends a hand and Gaila releases her hold on McCoy, moving to Kirk’s side. Her winter coat rasps against his bare skin and he knows it’ll paint a pretty picture, paleness against dark wool. They watch McCoy’s face but, though his eyes narrow when Kirk strokes a thumb the length of Gaila’s temple, he’s still watching a point somewhere else in the room. This stubbornness warms Kirk from the inside.
“Thank you,” Kirk says and she beams, her eyes lighting up, same way they do when she’s carving up any fuck who gets in her way.
Kirk turns Gaila in a full circle, like the last move of a dance, and brings her hand to his mouth, opens it out so the palm’s facing upwards and slides his eyes towards McCoy again. He licks a stripe right up her life-line and lets go.
“Okay, ladies,” he says, tossing his dagger, “you’re dismissed. I think the good doctor’s feeling at home now, that right, McCoy?” He doesn’t answer and Kirk can see a slight twitch in his jaw. “Let’s take that as a yes.”
Cupcake glances at Gaila, releases McCoy’s arm, and nods reluctantly. Kirk watches in interest how McCoy’s jaw lifts in defiance.
The door swishes open, apparently undamaged; Gaila apparently timed the kicks with the access code so it was dramatic but not going to leave him exposed. Then the door flew open, alarm temporarily stalled by her genius mischief. Nice.
“Enjoy-” she purrs with a pretty toss of her oh-so-clever head.
Oh, he will.
Gaila winks at Kirk, slaps her hand to her chest in salute, mirrored by Cupcake and strides out, the lunkhead in pursuit.
Kirk takes a long but unobtrusive breath through his nose, managing to contain the anticipation; McCoy’s his to unwrap - who says his birthdays have to suck?
“You want a drink?”
McCoy flinches - Kirk’s taken him by surprise. Then he nods once, dark eyes trailing Kirk who moves to the bar, pours out three fingers for his guest, just one for himself.
“You gonna untie me?” McCoy’s voice betrays a slight hint of worry under pissed.
Kirk feels a shiver of want light up his groin. He waits a beat then shrugs. “I haven’t decided-”
He raises the glass and half closes his eyes to savor the aroma. The moment. He cocks his head, soaks up McCoy’s delicious glower and then downs the bourbon in one, chasing the last of its heat with a sweep of his tongue over his teeth.
“Look, Kirk-” McCoy starts. He’s dropped his voice, trying not to sound uppity but failing miserably. “Whatever you’re gonna do to me, make it quick…I’ve…well, I’m-”
Kirk realizes McCoy isn’t stammering; the gorgeous bastard’s actually measuring his words.
“Are you telling me what to do ?” Kirk can’t hide the amusement. “You sure you haven’t been off-planet for the past couple of years, Bones?”
McCoy’s lips twitch at the way his new name’s stuck and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.
“Well? Bones?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it-”
Finally McCoy looks at Kirk - a dagger throw - bull’s-eye, dark, furious eyes. Kirk blinks and feigns a ‘listening face’ to irritate the doc further, because seriously, he might be kind of addicted to that attitude already. “Kinda wish I had been off planet, seein’ as this godforsaken academy’s full of assholes.”
When Kirk backhands McCoy across the cheek, although it was way less than full force, he’s impressed that, even with hands bound, McCoy gets upright real quick, eyes flashing hatred, a fresh slide of blood escaping his nose.
Kirk watches coolly. In a futile gesture, McCoy rolls his shoulder, attempts to reach the injury and wipe away the blood. He’s breathing high in his chest, the last shirt button torn but holding tight. Wild eyes glare briefly at Kirk then he lets out a gust of breath through bared teeth making a concerted effort to rein himself in.
Kirk kicks away the glass at their feet and retrieves the other, closing the distance between them so they’re nose to nose, so he can feel McCoy’s breath on his cheek, the heat radiating off McCoy’s skin, and he can make out each individual eye-lash.
He takes a sip, then cants it towards McCoy who turns his head away, revealing a long column of tight muscle at his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he catches his breath, chest rising and falling with the pressure of anger, rebellion just desperate to explode.
“You were saying-?” Kirk angles his head so he can sniff at McCoy’s temple. “Aww, come on, Bones, it’s kinda rude to turn your nose up at my hospitality,” he adds brightly, “I don’t have guests in here every night, you know?”
“Yeah, none with features you’d recognize by mornin’.”
Kirk leans back, contemplates that handsome face, cataloguing the marks, trying to imagine the struggle before McCoy was brought here, when and how he got the split lip, or that very pretty bruise on his cheek. There’s a cut above McCoy’s eyebrow and a lovely, purpling line across his throat - Gaila’s trademark garrote.
McCoy’s lower lip twitches, like he’s actually biting it on the inside, holding on to his control. Kirk’s half hard imaging how sweet it would be if and when that control crumbled. He runs a thumb down McCoy’s cheek, applies pressure experimentally, quirks his lips in satisfaction when he elicits a hiss of annoyance.
“You seem tense, Bones - sure you won’t have that drink?” He presses his forefinger to McCoy’s lip, guides him so their eyes catch. “Tell me, how’ve you gotten this far, a mouthy fucker like you? Man, you’re lucky to make it through the first week here, ‘mount of predators in these parts.” This close Kirk can make out flecks in the hazel in McCoy’s irises, a hint of bloodshot. Sure he’s examined them on countless vids, holos but shit, it’s like replicated coffee, nothing prepares you for the hit off the real deal… they’re- Kirk’s snapped back to reality by a growled response.
“Well, I guess I was just born lucky, sir.”
Kirk lets rip with a single, loud guffaw which takes him as much by surprise as it does McCoy whose head snaps back at the sound. And Kirk can’t help echoing the accent internally; yep, he’s going to have to practice that, it’ll annoy the shit our of the doc. Kirk likes that stormy expression, the way that accent loosens up along with McCoy’s inability to control his tongue. Fuck that goes right to where it counts, Kirk thinks as a ripple of lust flares in his gut.
Kirk’s eyes zone in on McCoy’s taunting, arched eyebrow. He reaches round McCoy’s rigid neck and rests his fingers gently on the nape, draws him close so his lips almost brush the bruise as he speaks. “You’re going to need this drink, Bones, to dull the pain if you don’t show some respect.”
“That so?”
McCoy doesn’t shrink from Kirk’s grip, nor does he encourage it, but glares back at him, unblinking, what? Daring him?
“Yes,” Kirk whispers into McCoy’s ear, trying out the Atlanta drawl when he adds, “That’s so,” and his lips quirk at the blush on McCoy’s neck, the tangible irritation that Kirk should be mocking him.
“Kneel down.” Kirk nods to the floor. McCoy’s nostrils flare while he thinks about it and then, to Kirk’s amazement, silently lowers himself to his knees.
Kirk walks a slow circle around him.
“You’re a good looking guy,” he says. “Best doctor out there,” Kirk pauses to contemplate the bound hands, ignoring the ‘fuck you very much’ glower, “but you’re not a climber, are you-?” He raises the glass to his lips, holding the bourbon in his mouth and returns to face McCoy who’s now staring at the far wall.
“You know nothing about me, Kirk.”
More than he thinks. Kirk bends over McCoy, brings his mouth close, parts his lips and aims a trickle of bourbon over the cut on McCoy’s eyebrow.
“Fuck…” McCoy hisses but stays still while the trail of liquid advances down the stubbled cheek. McCoy’s panting slightly with the pain and his lips close tight when it fades.
Kirk crouches close, traces the line with his thumb, breathes into McCoy’s ear. “That’s where you’ve got me wrong, man, I know a great deal about you.” He waits, and when McCoy doesn’t ask, he continues anyway, “See, I know about your shitty marriage, how your ex threw you out when you hit the bottle, how the bitch won’t let you see your kid. Now, let me see… what is that pretty, smart-like-her-daddy, little girl’s name…?”
McCoy finally seems to lose the precarious control he’s had over his temper, and rises awkwardly to his feet. “You can do whatever the fuck you like to me, probably will anyway, but you so much as breathe her name, so help me-”
Kirk cuts him off with a tug on his hair, yanking his head right back, pressing his erection into McCoy’s hip. “Interesting how you should allow yourself to lose the family silver.” Kirk chuckles, runs his hand experimentally down McCoy’s neck, dipping a finger under his collar. “No-one’s going to help you, Bones, we’re all on our fucking own in this shitty galaxy. Your ‘mamma’ never tell you that?”
He drops the glass to the floor and it rolls away as he brackets McCoy with his feet either side of him. Kirk tugs at McCoy’s collar gently, his free hand inching round to the front of McCoy’s pants where, to his delight, he notes the doc doesn’t hate being here as much as that scowl would suggest. Yep, something’s off - sure, Kirk’s not one to shy away from his obvious charms but McCoy? Seriously, he doesn’t seem the type.
McCoy shakes, twists against his hold. At last, Kirk thinks, here he is, the Leonard McCoy with fight he just knew was in there waiting to come out. Fuck he’s hot with that pout, those flashing eyes, the slight stoop to his back and big fucking hands twisting against the expertly tied silicone rope.
“You evil son of a bitch!”
Kirk tsks mildly, his free hand smoothing across the dried blood on McCoy’s cheek. “Evil? You wound me, Bones.”
McCoy stills. “I only fuckin’ wish-” he snarls.
“Seriously?” Kirk’s amused now. “Tell me what you’d do, doctor; something with one of those scalpels of yours, or something more, I dunno, ‘artistic’ with poison? Or...aren’t you capable of harm? Seems like you’re one for the psychs - I mean, what the fuck is it with you and compassion and…something ‘off’ in your genes, I’m thinking?”
“I’m one in a fucking million…” McCoy growls, “and you sound like my gram.”
Kirk wonders idly if McCoy has any idea how fucking hot that voice of his is. “Skill like yours, you could advance up the ranks in no time at all, with the right connections, the right single-mindedness, the right plan.” Kirk doesn’t add ‘the right protection’ - of course, that’s understood, now McCoy doesn’t have the great Eleanor McCoy to watch his back. To his amusement, McCoy doesn’t seem moved to comment. “So, you know what’s going to happen here, right?”
McCoy’s shoulders stiffen but his face is a mix of resignation and disinterest.
“Well?” Kirk feels some kind of shift in the energy between them and waits.
“I’m a doctor not a fucking mind-reader.”
“Well, I’ll give you a couple of clues; I’m fond of games, Bones, restless mind and all…” McCoy lets out an irritated, barely audible sigh. “So you want me to tell you?”
“I’m fair shakin’ with anticipation.”
Kirk grins, touches the underside of McCoy’s chin and guides his face so their eyes meet. Kirk tilts his head to contemplate him. “Why aren’t you afraid of me, Bones?” Because really, something is fucking off here.
McCoy’s eyes flicker left for a moment and a muscle twitches in his jaw. Finally he says, “Pointless.”
“Pointless to be afraid? Or are you being ungrateful and saying I’m poor company, that our conversation is pointless?” Kirk finds he likes the first option better. “Maybe if I tip the odds your way a little, hey?”
Kirk moves to the bed blocking the view to his bedside unit where he’s left McCoy’s flask, tucks it away and slides the drawer shut, sure McCoy won’t have spotted it. He retrieves his dagger from the bed where he tossed it, watches McCoy swallow as Kirk advances on him, raises it close so McCoy can get a good look at it, and makes as if to drag it across the tic in the doc’s cheek. To give him credit, the doc’s playing it cooler than most would in this situation.
Kirk smiles to himself, lets the moment hang between them, enjoying the wide eyes, the tense shoulders, then leans behind McCoy and slices through the knots securing the doctor’s hands in one movement. He steps back to let it sink in. “There, now if you’ve got a chance of escaping, maybe you can get a little scared, you know, because you might not actually make it.”
Kirk silently watches as McCoy blinks, seemingly unsure what to do with his new found freedom. He stays absolutely still where he stands other than to rub at his wrists, roll his shoulders and crick his neck. Finally, he tugs primly at what’s left of his shirt, glances at the doorway, then looks sidelong at him. He can practically hear the cogs turning in McCoy’s mind as he weighs up his options.
“Oh, and,” Kirk continues, “in case you were wondering, this does mean you’re free to go. It’s been long enough, so to speak - Gaila won’t think I threw away her gift. Thing is, Bones, between you and me,” Kirk indicates with a pale hand the space between them, leans close, eyes scanning McCoy’s features for a reaction to what he’s about to say, “I’m not big on birthdays…” he gestures casually towards the door. “You going?”
McCoy stays put.
“What pleasure do you get out of this?” McCoy finally says steadily, bringing his thumb to his nose where the blood’s dried. He examines the pad of his finger, frowns.
And this is the point where the credit chip drops ; McCoy isn’t fucking afraid of him. Rather than it irritating him, Kirk finds this unexpectedly exhilarating. And seriously, the doc just doesn’t seem to know when to shut up.
“It’s like crushing ants under foot,” McCoy continues. “Where’s the satisfaction, the skill, the challenge to your famed genius?” His brows meet in an interested scowl, “What’s the fuckin’ point?”
Kirk actually considers this question for a moment. “I told you, Bones, I get bored. Crushing ants, well unless they’ve got mineral deposits to give up, it’s fucking boring. I want to be able to count to ten at least. Well? This is me counting to ten, by the way…ten…nine…”
on to part 2
Author: sangueuk
characters/pairing: mirror!Kirk/mirror!McCoy, Gaila, Cupcake, Eleanor McCoy
rating:nc-17
word count: approximately 12,000 words, complete.
summary: Gaila and Cupcake bring cadet Kirk a very special birthday gift in the middle of the night.
Warnings: Although this is MU!Lite, there is threat of violence, kidnapping, violence ‘off-screen’, dubious consent (sort of), euthanasia implied, and bad-language like it’s going out of fashion. And bloodied, bruised McCoy - yeah, he’s pretty like that. Oh, and MU!Kirk in white boxer briefs.
A/N This is a sequel to Planets in Alignment and the dynamics in this story will make more sense if you have read it.
A very belated birthday fic for the fabulous weepingnaiad - I’m sorry it took so long!
Huge thanks to the wonderful, patient and smart awarrington for super-speedy beta reading!
intriguing snippet Kirk cants his head and appraises McCoy. Fuck he looks good with his weight pinned between Cupcake and Gaila, hands tied behind him, broad shoulders tense, dress shirt covered in spots of blood, button holes torn, revealing tantalizing glimpses of a fine chest. Kirk hungrily searching for scars, but there’s none he can see - yet.
Awarded a silver medal in the jim_and_bones Rec Olympics 2012 for best mirrorverse!
also posted on Archive of Our Own
The gorgeous banner is courtesy of the fabulous avictoriangirl - thank you!
part 1 -Venus Ascending
Jimmy doesn’t dare move, because then it might stop, and he’s sure all he has to do is fucking breathe wrong, and the spell will break.
It’s a delicate whisper of plump flesh to his lips, soft, insistent, and Jimmy yields, he can’t help himself; Carol’s tongue is warm and fresh, so present with a hint of strawberries and mint.
He knows he should be pushing her away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to erase this taste, this nectar he could so easily become addicted to. But Jimmy can’t move and he sighs when he feels Carol shifting beside him, her legs rolling against his.
They’re in the shade of a willow tree; heavy, hanging branches breaking the perfect blue of the sky, making him almost giddy as they sway above him in the faint breeze. The grass is cool under his shins and spiky, broken twigs stick to his calves when he moves to accommodate Carol’s slender body. Her moans egg him on. Jimmy’s lips part and he angles his head to gain more ready access to her mouth, his cock straining in his shorts; he feels oddly vulnerable, and thinks dimly how, yeah, he knew it always felt like something was missing from fucking before.
“Carol,” he manages, when they break for air.
She lifts her head, eases onto her forearms. Corn blue eyes contemplate him, cold and calculating and Jimmy experiences a twitch of anxiety right before she bends and her teeth clamp hard, viciously onto his lower lip, like a bitch chastising a pup.
“What the fuck?” The metallic taste of blood coats his tongue and Jimmy spits, rubbing at his mouth, the heel of his hand sliding against blood. He scrambles to his feet, shoves her away. “Whatch’you do that for?”
Carol’s lips are pink, puffy, moist from his mouth, but sneering; she’s looking at him like he’s a piece of shit or something.
“You like kissing!” she crows, drawing out the last word because now she knows, knows what a freak he is. “Like the fucking Romulans!”
Her hectoring tone cuts through him, shredding pride, stomping on his heart, and flushing out any softness festering inside.
Good, he thinks, watching her figure retreating into the meadow, his chest heaving with the effort it takes to quell any tears - this will better prepare him for court. He’s learned a valuable lesson.
Admirals’ Block, Starfleet Academy
Kirk’s roused by the unmistakable sound of boots kicking at the door to the hall. It’s like the drop on the gallows, the way he lurches upright, his dream evaporating; his dagger’s already in his hand and don’t fuck with me attitude on eleven. Adrenaline skitters through his skin like static, makes his cock half hard, has him dancing on the balls of his feet, tongue snaking his lip as he automatically channels fear into eagerness for a fight.
“Computer, intruder -- alert security and secure building!”
Oddly, the computer seems to take its time answering. It’s long enough for Kirk to make out the three figures silhouetted in the doorway before the computer’s baritone announces:
“Security override by Cadet F’r’ha Jani. Breech to security, negative, Cadet Kirk.”
“Lights!” Kirk says, kicking away the sheets round his ankles, holding onto his dagger but allowing his shoulders to drop.
“Good morning, Cadet F’r’ha Jani, ” Kirk addresses Gaila with exaggerated mock politeness adding a half bow for good measure. He lowers his hand, the knife resting against his naked thigh, and he doesn’t smother his grin. “Is this for me?” Kirk touches his chest and circles the little group.
“Special delivery, Cadet Kirk,” she grins, hair glowing in the artificial light, chest heaving with the effort of restraining her captive. “I hope you do not mind the lack of gift wrap?”
Kirk shakes his head and smirks. “Well, if it isn’t Bones.”
Two years before - the McCoy Plantation House
“Joanna, the gods be praised, hasn’t turned out anything like the Darnells, Leo. We can count ourselves lucky for some things; but mind me, that bitch wife of yours, she’ll dispose of you soon as she gets a sniff of someone with a bit of power, and you’ll lose our baby-girl. Don’t let that happen. Promise me!” Eleanor jabs a swollen finger in McCoy’s direction.
“Gram, I…” he watches the taught sinews in Eleanor’s neck, exertion and the passion of her words giving her pale cheeks a flush he hasn’t seen in way too long.
“Hush, Leo, let me finish! I’m going to be dead soon and you’ll have plenty time enough to run your mouth when I’m gone; now there’s things I need to say to you, things I need to put to rest.” Eleanor takes a shaky breath though, McCoy thinks wearily, she’s never too tired or sick to spare him her temper. He rubs an eye, waits for her to continue.
“You’re hopeless, Leo - you put me in mind of a sentimental dog the way you mooch around. Despite all the opportunities, your good family name and the best education - you’re stuck on healing and helping.” Her nostrils flare when she makes no effort to hide her disgust and McCoy flushes, looks away. “There’s no place to put you and it worries me knowing you won’t last five minutes out there when I’m gone.” She pats her hand on the lace coverlet. “Look at me, Leo! I can’t die knowin’ you’re hiding out in a quiet country surgery for the rest of your days, wasting that brain of yours. It’s time you got back in the water, not for you, but for your baby girl, so’s she turns out right. Lord knows there’s no one in this room fit to keep the McCoy name where it belongs.”
McCoy clears his throat. “Gram she’s three years old, how can you-?”
“-are you questioning me, Leonard Horatio?”
McCoy smiles despite himself, but damn he’s going to miss her. “No, Gram, only a damned fool would question you.” He can’t quell the tremble in his voice, feels the tears clouding his vision. Damn, she’s right, again. He is a sentimental fool.
“Thank you, kindly; now, let me finish.” She indicates the glass of water by the bed, and McCoy frowns and brings it to her lips. When she’s finished, he dabs her mouth and sits back down for the rest of his lecture.
Other than a nurse sitting reading a PADD in the corner of the room, it’s just the two of them in Eleanor’s opulent bedroom transformed to an infirmary for her last days; how far from the houseful of parties and intrigue he’s visited so often.
“See, Leo, for all your sentimentality, you don’t know a thing about real feeling. Yeah, survival’s all about power, but you know what gives power direction, fuel?” McCoy shakes his head, taking her dry hand in his, glancing at the monitor’s dials shifting and settling each time she moves or her voice peaks. “Love,” she says with force, sinking back into her pillows.
Stunned at her words, McCoy glares at the nurse and adopts his most commanding voice. “Step outside, Connors; I’ll let you know when we’re ready for you to witness. For now, Mrs McCoy and I have private matters to discuss.” McCoy attempts a casual pose in his arm chair and crosses his legs, holds the nurse’s gaze until Connors nods and steps outside.
“He’ll only look at the vid feed soon as we’re done. It’s pointless sending him out, Leo; bribe him, threaten him; use your goddamn stones for once.”
It’s not that McCoy doesn’t know how to be a hard-ass, it’s just…but he nods, looks at his lap, unfurls his clenched fists. He can fix the vid feed, it’s one of the lessons of survival he’s had to learn, after all.
Gram gathers herself, and lets out a sharp breath.
“We don’t talk about love these days; they say it’s a weakness, makes you act like a damned fool, takes away your judgment - that’s what they’ll have us believe. But you take heed of my words, Leo, I know,” she punctuates her words with a raised finger. “We shroud our love in ambition and plans, and we kill and maim to get what we want, many of us for power, others who aren’t so well connected just to see in the next day - and that’s natural. And no one would question that the love we feel for our kids, for our grandchildren…it’s why we care about family in the first place.”
Despite the harsh words, Eleanor’s flint eyes are fond, brimming with tears. He glances nervously at the dials, then at the case of deadly vials he’s rested on the floor by his feet. It’s the day Eleanor’s chosen to be her last and she’s insisted it should be him, rather than a stranger. It should be easier this time, easier than with his daddy but…fuck…her voice brings him back to the moment.
“I love you Leonard, more than I loved my own son. I wanted you to have this,” her fierce eyes scan the room. “But I give it to you now. I might as well wrap a pink bow around the plantation and hand it over to the Darnells.
“You bought into the whole bullshit - you ‘realized’ it was foolish to marry for love, that’s why you went along with David’s insistence you take up with the bitch but, I’ll let you into a secret…” she shoots a sideways look at the security camera until McCoy stands and angles his body, blocks the view temporarily. He adjusts her pain meds and leans close. “I loved your granpa, Horatio; he loved me too, and maybe love is an affliction in some ways, but Leo, trust me, it’s all we got in these dog days.
“Love’s why we stick by each other, the only reason you can’t be bought, and the one reason you can trust.” She’s becoming breathless, overdoing it again. Damn, why won’t she ever listen to him?
“Gram, you gotta be careful,” Leo whispers close to her face and inhales a note of violets from her expensive cologne. She’s in velvet and silk even now, ridiculously expensive calf skin slippers by the bed, chamber music playing like they’re back in the eighteenth century. Eleanor McCoy, still dressing like a queen in her centuries old plantation house, with her slaves, the cotton harvest, playing with the pastoral myth like the great Marie Antoinette.
“What they gonna do - kill me?” Eleanor grumbles. He raises an eyebrow, can’t help smiling at the way she rolls her pale blue eyes at him. “Which brings me to James Kirk. I’ve watched his rise closely, and he’s the one I’ve chosen for you.”
Not this again.
McCoy drops into the armchair with a defeated huff.
It’s pointless to argue - after all, Eleanor won’t see in the sunset. But how can she be so certain? This notion of hers is crazy is what it is, but she won’t let it drop.
He shakes his head. “He’s like the rest of them, Gram, he’s a f-” He just manages to stop himself cussing. “He’s a psychopath. First you’re tellin’ me to cut my ties with Joss, next breath - you’re feeding me to the sharks?”
She slaps his hand, lets out an irritable sigh. “God dammit, Leo, are you even listenin’ to me?”
“‘Course I am, but what the hell’s this gotta do with… love?” He whispers the last word.
Eleanor closes her eyes like she’s trying to contain her famous temper. “His daddy,” she says with exaggerated emphasis. “I knew him; they like to say he gave up his life for the Empire, but that’s bullshit propaganda. Just because folk don’t talk about it, doesn’t change the truth; it was all for Winona, their unborn son, for James.
“Mind me, Leo, these notions run deep in a family; it’ll be in James’ blood, in the legend of his birth. What I know about Winona Kirk, the way she’ll have raised her son, you cut beneath his skin, I’d bet my right eye you’d find a keenness for love just like hers.” She tries to sit up, her eyes intent on his face. ”I’d stake my life on it.”
“And now you wanna stake mine?”
“No, Leo.” She drops her voice. “I’m looking out for you. For you, for Joanna Eleanor, for family. We smart women have to settle for bein’ puppeteers in the background till things change one day and…”
“And you think Jo-Jo’s gonna change things?” McCoy shakes his head.
“I don’t think, I know. With Kirk behind her, with you loving him, watching his back - he’ll be invincible and you might last out a few more summers. And his mamma will have taught him well. Every great man’s gotta have someone they can trust. Then Joanna’s got a chance.”
“So you’re sayin’ I should pretend to love him, gain his patronage over my baby girl and everything’ll be fine and dandy? Well that’s going to be simple as pie...” Unbelievable.
“And you can take that tone out of your voice. When have I ever been wrong about anything?” Dammit, he wasn’t going to argue, not when she’s got so little time left but… “Mind my words, Leonard McCoy, you need to get close, you need to make Kirk notice you; stare him down, show him that pretty face of yours, make him trust you.”
“Gram, a man can’t fall in love on command, it’s crazy is what it is.”
“Well, if you ask me, Kirk’s half-way there already.”
Oh, for the love of…“That was years ago, he was just a kid, and, if I recall, we didn’t exactly…bond. Assholes like that don’t like people to see their weaknesses.”
“So use your brain! Pretend like you haven’t noticed.”
McCoy thinks back to that time at the Kirk ranch nearly ten years back…
Irritated by the schmoozing and networking, he’d wandered off into the meadows to stretch his legs. A skinny blond girl had raced out from under a willow, laughing, wiping at her mouth; she’d shot McCoy a look of triumph that, even in the relative innocence of his late teens, he knew came from having uncovered some poor fuck’s weakness; it was the way Joss used to look at McCoy in later years, when he fucked her, like he was a wildebeest at a waterhole, oblivious to how she was gonna tear his throat out soon as his defenses were down.
McCoy tracked the girl’s progress to the house where, a few minutes later, he heard a delighted squeal from the gathered teenagers under the gazebo on the front lawn. He wondered idly what piece of gossip she was might be sharing.
“I’m gonna cut her heart out and make her eat it.”
McCoy’s head snapped round for the source of the cut glass voice. Though McCoy hadn’t set eyes on the kid since their arrival that morning, he knew he was looking at an aspiring delinquent. James Kirk; had to be - he had his mother’s calculating eyes, the same wiry frame and, it seemed, his father’s propensity for original forms of violence.
“That’s no way to treat a lady,” McCoy had drawled, stepping towards Kirk. He noted the kid’s cheek was blood stained, smears on his jaw and hand too; maybe he’d been in a fight or fallen down, bitten his tongue. “Let me take a look at that mouth of yours, I’m in med school… looks like it might become infected.”
The kid licked at his lip, nodded and stood absolutely still while McCoy examined his mouth, pulled the lower lip out, Kirk’s eyes remained fixed on a point on McCoy’s shoulder throughout. “I’ve got my daddy’s regen in the house, want me to get it? Shit, how’d you do this, kid? In a fight with a dog?”
And that’s when the fucker punched him clean on the jaw with surprising strength for what, a thirteen? fourteen-year old? It sent McCoy sprawling, swearing a blue streak. He glared a thousand daggers into the brat’s back, watched him saunter back to the party and vault the hip high fence rather than walk through the gate. Kirk ran a hand through messy hair, brushed at his clothing and took the side entrance to the house - avoiding the lawn and the fifty or so guests. McCoy waited a beat and strolled as casually as he could to return to Gram’s side resisting the urge to massage his injury and count his teeth, and absolutely ignoring Eleanor’s pointed, knowing (damn her) look.
Later, McCoy had seethed, glaring at the kid across flirting, scheming party guests, meeting Kirk’s lazy stare with a raised eyebrow and then doing his damndest to ignore him for the rest of their visit.
McCoy hadn’t given it a second thought for years, why would he? Until Gram had brought it up a few months ago and she mentioned how she’d noticed the way Kirk hadn’t taken his eyes off McCoy all night. It had got her thinking, she said, even back then.
“He’s the one, Leonard,” she says now, gripping his hand with pale, inflamed fingers, bringing him back to the present. “Remember, Kirk’s the best chance for you and Joanna. Promise me you’ll take that chance.”
Admirals’ Block - Starfleet Academy
Kirk cants his head and appraises McCoy. Fuck he looks good with his weight pinned between Cupcake and Gaila, hands tied behind him, broad shoulders tense, dress shirt covered in spots of blood, button holes torn, revealing tantalizing glimpses of a fine chest. Kirk hungrily searching for scars, but there’s none he can see - yet.
“Happy Birthday, Kirk,” Gaila croons, a hint of an accent in her standard.
“You really shouldn’t have-” Kirk says evenly, taking a step towards them.
“Fuck, you!” McCoy spits a spray of blood and saliva. Kirk’s grins wide - damn, the doc looks fuckable all riled up. And patently not as intimidated as he should be by his situation; you’d think McCoy had just trodden in dog shit rather than been kidnapped from wherever he was at…Kirk’s eyes slide to the chrono…03:00.
Cupcake’s got one hand on his captive’s left shoulder, the other on the doc’s bicep and twists his fingers tighter when McCoy tries to shrug him off. Still, Kirk notices, Cupcake knows to keep his mouth shut having learned quick that banter’s always strictly between him and Gaila: there’s a scar Cupcake knew better than to have fixed, where Kirk tore his mouth open the last time he made a wise-ass comment. Since then, Kirk’s sure it’s no coincidence the man sports a permanent five o’clock shadow; it’s like he can’t bear to look at himself in the mirror to shave.
“But maybe we didn’t need the dramatic entrance-” Kirk continues.
His ‘birthday gift’ snorts and there’s the faintest bubble of pink snot which, you know, just kills Kirk - it’s such a delicious picture of vulnerability. The juxtaposition of bound hands, blood painted shirt and snarly, bruised lips, on the one hand, and dark eyes wild with contained belligerence on the other. It makes Kirk’s cock ache.
He reaches in a drawer and pulls out gleaming white, cotton boxer briefs; holding the dagger’s hilt between his teeth, he steps into them elegantly. He makes a little show of arranging his less than flaccid cock, noting Cupcake’s eyes-front stance, Gaila’s wink, and McCoy’s refusal to even notice he’s naked.
When Kirk instructs the computer to switch on side lights, it amuses him how McCoy won’t meet his eyes. He’s pretty sure this is neither fear nor deference; McCoy’s survived a year at the academy without having been annihilated, proof he’s smarter than even his clutch of degrees. Since McCoy fixed Admiral Michiyo’s shredded face, it’s won him basic protection, plus Kirk’s seen vids of McCoy in combat training - the doc’s got some moves, enough to keep the bottom feeders off his back. McCoy makes up for what he lacks in natural viciousness with supreme reflexes, elegance and strength - that and those threats every medic learns to make the first day they pick up a hypo. It’s why Kirk’s got his own regen machine and hasn’t been anywhere near a doctor since joining Starfleet, in case they take the opportunity to heap some revenge or other on him while he’s at his weakest. His visit to the infirmary a couple of months ago, of course, was primarily to check out the doc up close, see if he was indeed the same guy he’d met when he was a kid back home.
Kirk thinks back to the first week at the academy, when he sat half naked beside Pike on his nu-buck couch, mouth bitter with come and sweet with ambition, reviewing files for those the captain had ear-marked for the Enterprise. There he was, that guy from when he was a kid, the crazy from the shuttle - Leonard McCoy glowering in academy reds, hair smooth and trimmed. Looking at McCoy now, face stippled in dry blood, yeah he was right - red is definitely the color for the doc.
He leans in to examine McCoy’s face; he can practically feel pride radiating off the man’s skin. For all that he’s bound, each muscle tense, McCoy’s making little effort to get away. If it’s not surrender, maybe it’s his way of keeping control. McCoy’s ‘choosing’ to be this way. The attitude reminds Kirk of what Pike said to him once, when he fed his cock into Kirk’s mouth: It’s like you’re doing me a favor, rather than the other way around.
Kirk’s tongue wets his lips.
“While you’re here, Bones,” he says brightly, “I can give you back that flask you loaned me. Truth is, it slipped my mind until now. You must have been worried sick-” And Jesus, just look at him, bastard actually rolls his eyes. Kirk’s cock twitches.
McCoy mumbles something under his breath, something Cupcake takes umbrage to; so he finds that little bit of initiative to loosen his hold on McCoy’s arm to yank his head back by the hair. Kirk grins at the look of defiance, the dark, slanted eyes, the flared nostrils. Fuck he’s pretty.
“Show some respect, doctor,” Cupcake hisses, eyes flickering nervously to Kirk for approval. Kirk ignores him, focusing instead on the flushed skin of McCoy’s neck, wondering what it’ll feel like under his tongue and teeth.
“What do you want from me?” McCoy demands, twisting to shake the grip in his hair.
Kirk zones in on McCoy’s mouth when he speaks, lips a little dry but plump and over ripe. His hair’s mussed up, so different from the careful, combed style he’d worn in the infirmary, on the holos. It suits him. Kirk nods and Cupcake releases him.
“Or do you expect me to read your mind, like your ‘assistant’ here?” McCoy continues, voice thick with contempt.
“That’s an interesting question, Bones.” Kirk’s says it all deadpan, earning a worried look from Cupcake, who knows to his cost what that tone is often the precursor of.
McCoy, on the other hand, has an ‘Oh, that’s what you’d call it’ expression on his face; it makes Kirk itch to bend him.
He’s finally standing close enough so he can smell McCoy’s breath, dry, maybe a little funky from the adrenaline in his system. It’s like a fucking aphrodisiac for Kirk, just makes him want to get closer, and he teases himself, inhales subtly, like a shark zoning in on its prey.
“Tell me, Gaila, whose idea was this? Yours or Cupcake’s?” Cupcake flinches almost imperceptibly.
“Jim, all good ideas come from you initially, it’s just my pleasure to read your mind.” She’s smiling serenely, and Kirk notes how McCoy’s eyes flicker between them. He won’t be the first trying to make sense of this relationship, wondering how Kirk can allow a woman such familiarity as to use his first name.
Kirk extends a hand and Gaila releases her hold on McCoy, moving to Kirk’s side. Her winter coat rasps against his bare skin and he knows it’ll paint a pretty picture, paleness against dark wool. They watch McCoy’s face but, though his eyes narrow when Kirk strokes a thumb the length of Gaila’s temple, he’s still watching a point somewhere else in the room. This stubbornness warms Kirk from the inside.
“Thank you,” Kirk says and she beams, her eyes lighting up, same way they do when she’s carving up any fuck who gets in her way.
Kirk turns Gaila in a full circle, like the last move of a dance, and brings her hand to his mouth, opens it out so the palm’s facing upwards and slides his eyes towards McCoy again. He licks a stripe right up her life-line and lets go.
“Okay, ladies,” he says, tossing his dagger, “you’re dismissed. I think the good doctor’s feeling at home now, that right, McCoy?” He doesn’t answer and Kirk can see a slight twitch in his jaw. “Let’s take that as a yes.”
Cupcake glances at Gaila, releases McCoy’s arm, and nods reluctantly. Kirk watches in interest how McCoy’s jaw lifts in defiance.
The door swishes open, apparently undamaged; Gaila apparently timed the kicks with the access code so it was dramatic but not going to leave him exposed. Then the door flew open, alarm temporarily stalled by her genius mischief. Nice.
“Enjoy-” she purrs with a pretty toss of her oh-so-clever head.
Oh, he will.
Gaila winks at Kirk, slaps her hand to her chest in salute, mirrored by Cupcake and strides out, the lunkhead in pursuit.
Kirk takes a long but unobtrusive breath through his nose, managing to contain the anticipation; McCoy’s his to unwrap - who says his birthdays have to suck?
“You want a drink?”
McCoy flinches - Kirk’s taken him by surprise. Then he nods once, dark eyes trailing Kirk who moves to the bar, pours out three fingers for his guest, just one for himself.
“You gonna untie me?” McCoy’s voice betrays a slight hint of worry under pissed.
Kirk feels a shiver of want light up his groin. He waits a beat then shrugs. “I haven’t decided-”
He raises the glass and half closes his eyes to savor the aroma. The moment. He cocks his head, soaks up McCoy’s delicious glower and then downs the bourbon in one, chasing the last of its heat with a sweep of his tongue over his teeth.
“Look, Kirk-” McCoy starts. He’s dropped his voice, trying not to sound uppity but failing miserably. “Whatever you’re gonna do to me, make it quick…I’ve…well, I’m-”
Kirk realizes McCoy isn’t stammering; the gorgeous bastard’s actually measuring his words.
“Are you telling me what to do ?” Kirk can’t hide the amusement. “You sure you haven’t been off-planet for the past couple of years, Bones?”
McCoy’s lips twitch at the way his new name’s stuck and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.
“Well? Bones?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it-”
Finally McCoy looks at Kirk - a dagger throw - bull’s-eye, dark, furious eyes. Kirk blinks and feigns a ‘listening face’ to irritate the doc further, because seriously, he might be kind of addicted to that attitude already. “Kinda wish I had been off planet, seein’ as this godforsaken academy’s full of assholes.”
When Kirk backhands McCoy across the cheek, although it was way less than full force, he’s impressed that, even with hands bound, McCoy gets upright real quick, eyes flashing hatred, a fresh slide of blood escaping his nose.
Kirk watches coolly. In a futile gesture, McCoy rolls his shoulder, attempts to reach the injury and wipe away the blood. He’s breathing high in his chest, the last shirt button torn but holding tight. Wild eyes glare briefly at Kirk then he lets out a gust of breath through bared teeth making a concerted effort to rein himself in.
Kirk kicks away the glass at their feet and retrieves the other, closing the distance between them so they’re nose to nose, so he can feel McCoy’s breath on his cheek, the heat radiating off McCoy’s skin, and he can make out each individual eye-lash.
He takes a sip, then cants it towards McCoy who turns his head away, revealing a long column of tight muscle at his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs as he catches his breath, chest rising and falling with the pressure of anger, rebellion just desperate to explode.
“You were saying-?” Kirk angles his head so he can sniff at McCoy’s temple. “Aww, come on, Bones, it’s kinda rude to turn your nose up at my hospitality,” he adds brightly, “I don’t have guests in here every night, you know?”
“Yeah, none with features you’d recognize by mornin’.”
Kirk leans back, contemplates that handsome face, cataloguing the marks, trying to imagine the struggle before McCoy was brought here, when and how he got the split lip, or that very pretty bruise on his cheek. There’s a cut above McCoy’s eyebrow and a lovely, purpling line across his throat - Gaila’s trademark garrote.
McCoy’s lower lip twitches, like he’s actually biting it on the inside, holding on to his control. Kirk’s half hard imaging how sweet it would be if and when that control crumbled. He runs a thumb down McCoy’s cheek, applies pressure experimentally, quirks his lips in satisfaction when he elicits a hiss of annoyance.
“You seem tense, Bones - sure you won’t have that drink?” He presses his forefinger to McCoy’s lip, guides him so their eyes catch. “Tell me, how’ve you gotten this far, a mouthy fucker like you? Man, you’re lucky to make it through the first week here, ‘mount of predators in these parts.” This close Kirk can make out flecks in the hazel in McCoy’s irises, a hint of bloodshot. Sure he’s examined them on countless vids, holos but shit, it’s like replicated coffee, nothing prepares you for the hit off the real deal… they’re- Kirk’s snapped back to reality by a growled response.
“Well, I guess I was just born lucky, sir.”
Kirk lets rip with a single, loud guffaw which takes him as much by surprise as it does McCoy whose head snaps back at the sound. And Kirk can’t help echoing the accent internally; yep, he’s going to have to practice that, it’ll annoy the shit our of the doc. Kirk likes that stormy expression, the way that accent loosens up along with McCoy’s inability to control his tongue. Fuck that goes right to where it counts, Kirk thinks as a ripple of lust flares in his gut.
Kirk’s eyes zone in on McCoy’s taunting, arched eyebrow. He reaches round McCoy’s rigid neck and rests his fingers gently on the nape, draws him close so his lips almost brush the bruise as he speaks. “You’re going to need this drink, Bones, to dull the pain if you don’t show some respect.”
“That so?”
McCoy doesn’t shrink from Kirk’s grip, nor does he encourage it, but glares back at him, unblinking, what? Daring him?
“Yes,” Kirk whispers into McCoy’s ear, trying out the Atlanta drawl when he adds, “That’s so,” and his lips quirk at the blush on McCoy’s neck, the tangible irritation that Kirk should be mocking him.
“Kneel down.” Kirk nods to the floor. McCoy’s nostrils flare while he thinks about it and then, to Kirk’s amazement, silently lowers himself to his knees.
Kirk walks a slow circle around him.
“You’re a good looking guy,” he says. “Best doctor out there,” Kirk pauses to contemplate the bound hands, ignoring the ‘fuck you very much’ glower, “but you’re not a climber, are you-?” He raises the glass to his lips, holding the bourbon in his mouth and returns to face McCoy who’s now staring at the far wall.
“You know nothing about me, Kirk.”
More than he thinks. Kirk bends over McCoy, brings his mouth close, parts his lips and aims a trickle of bourbon over the cut on McCoy’s eyebrow.
“Fuck…” McCoy hisses but stays still while the trail of liquid advances down the stubbled cheek. McCoy’s panting slightly with the pain and his lips close tight when it fades.
Kirk crouches close, traces the line with his thumb, breathes into McCoy’s ear. “That’s where you’ve got me wrong, man, I know a great deal about you.” He waits, and when McCoy doesn’t ask, he continues anyway, “See, I know about your shitty marriage, how your ex threw you out when you hit the bottle, how the bitch won’t let you see your kid. Now, let me see… what is that pretty, smart-like-her-daddy, little girl’s name…?”
McCoy finally seems to lose the precarious control he’s had over his temper, and rises awkwardly to his feet. “You can do whatever the fuck you like to me, probably will anyway, but you so much as breathe her name, so help me-”
Kirk cuts him off with a tug on his hair, yanking his head right back, pressing his erection into McCoy’s hip. “Interesting how you should allow yourself to lose the family silver.” Kirk chuckles, runs his hand experimentally down McCoy’s neck, dipping a finger under his collar. “No-one’s going to help you, Bones, we’re all on our fucking own in this shitty galaxy. Your ‘mamma’ never tell you that?”
He drops the glass to the floor and it rolls away as he brackets McCoy with his feet either side of him. Kirk tugs at McCoy’s collar gently, his free hand inching round to the front of McCoy’s pants where, to his delight, he notes the doc doesn’t hate being here as much as that scowl would suggest. Yep, something’s off - sure, Kirk’s not one to shy away from his obvious charms but McCoy? Seriously, he doesn’t seem the type.
McCoy shakes, twists against his hold. At last, Kirk thinks, here he is, the Leonard McCoy with fight he just knew was in there waiting to come out. Fuck he’s hot with that pout, those flashing eyes, the slight stoop to his back and big fucking hands twisting against the expertly tied silicone rope.
“You evil son of a bitch!”
Kirk tsks mildly, his free hand smoothing across the dried blood on McCoy’s cheek. “Evil? You wound me, Bones.”
McCoy stills. “I only fuckin’ wish-” he snarls.
“Seriously?” Kirk’s amused now. “Tell me what you’d do, doctor; something with one of those scalpels of yours, or something more, I dunno, ‘artistic’ with poison? Or...aren’t you capable of harm? Seems like you’re one for the psychs - I mean, what the fuck is it with you and compassion and…something ‘off’ in your genes, I’m thinking?”
“I’m one in a fucking million…” McCoy growls, “and you sound like my gram.”
Kirk wonders idly if McCoy has any idea how fucking hot that voice of his is. “Skill like yours, you could advance up the ranks in no time at all, with the right connections, the right single-mindedness, the right plan.” Kirk doesn’t add ‘the right protection’ - of course, that’s understood, now McCoy doesn’t have the great Eleanor McCoy to watch his back. To his amusement, McCoy doesn’t seem moved to comment. “So, you know what’s going to happen here, right?”
McCoy’s shoulders stiffen but his face is a mix of resignation and disinterest.
“Well?” Kirk feels some kind of shift in the energy between them and waits.
“I’m a doctor not a fucking mind-reader.”
“Well, I’ll give you a couple of clues; I’m fond of games, Bones, restless mind and all…” McCoy lets out an irritated, barely audible sigh. “So you want me to tell you?”
“I’m fair shakin’ with anticipation.”
Kirk grins, touches the underside of McCoy’s chin and guides his face so their eyes meet. Kirk tilts his head to contemplate him. “Why aren’t you afraid of me, Bones?” Because really, something is fucking off here.
McCoy’s eyes flicker left for a moment and a muscle twitches in his jaw. Finally he says, “Pointless.”
“Pointless to be afraid? Or are you being ungrateful and saying I’m poor company, that our conversation is pointless?” Kirk finds he likes the first option better. “Maybe if I tip the odds your way a little, hey?”
Kirk moves to the bed blocking the view to his bedside unit where he’s left McCoy’s flask, tucks it away and slides the drawer shut, sure McCoy won’t have spotted it. He retrieves his dagger from the bed where he tossed it, watches McCoy swallow as Kirk advances on him, raises it close so McCoy can get a good look at it, and makes as if to drag it across the tic in the doc’s cheek. To give him credit, the doc’s playing it cooler than most would in this situation.
Kirk smiles to himself, lets the moment hang between them, enjoying the wide eyes, the tense shoulders, then leans behind McCoy and slices through the knots securing the doctor’s hands in one movement. He steps back to let it sink in. “There, now if you’ve got a chance of escaping, maybe you can get a little scared, you know, because you might not actually make it.”
Kirk silently watches as McCoy blinks, seemingly unsure what to do with his new found freedom. He stays absolutely still where he stands other than to rub at his wrists, roll his shoulders and crick his neck. Finally, he tugs primly at what’s left of his shirt, glances at the doorway, then looks sidelong at him. He can practically hear the cogs turning in McCoy’s mind as he weighs up his options.
“Oh, and,” Kirk continues, “in case you were wondering, this does mean you’re free to go. It’s been long enough, so to speak - Gaila won’t think I threw away her gift. Thing is, Bones, between you and me,” Kirk indicates with a pale hand the space between them, leans close, eyes scanning McCoy’s features for a reaction to what he’s about to say, “I’m not big on birthdays…” he gestures casually towards the door. “You going?”
McCoy stays put.
“What pleasure do you get out of this?” McCoy finally says steadily, bringing his thumb to his nose where the blood’s dried. He examines the pad of his finger, frowns.
And this is the point where the credit chip drops ; McCoy isn’t fucking afraid of him. Rather than it irritating him, Kirk finds this unexpectedly exhilarating. And seriously, the doc just doesn’t seem to know when to shut up.
“It’s like crushing ants under foot,” McCoy continues. “Where’s the satisfaction, the skill, the challenge to your famed genius?” His brows meet in an interested scowl, “What’s the fuckin’ point?”
Kirk actually considers this question for a moment. “I told you, Bones, I get bored. Crushing ants, well unless they’ve got mineral deposits to give up, it’s fucking boring. I want to be able to count to ten at least. Well? This is me counting to ten, by the way…ten…nine…”
on to part 2