Actions

Work Header

Saving Face

Work Text:

 

“I can walk, dammit.” McCoy tried to shrug Kirk’s grip off his arm, but Kirk wasn’t letting go. He continued marching McCoy across campus, grim-faced and worryingly silent. Their quick pace had McCoy wincing at every step as the rough fabric of his uniform chafed against his sore genitals. “Slow down, at least,” McCoy grumbled.

 

Kirk relented only fractionally. His fingers still clutched McCoy’s arm hard enough to leave additional bruises. Normally McCoy would have snarled more, pulled free, or delivered a biting lecture on exactly where Kirk could shove his capricious moods. But Spock's actions had upset the delicate balance of power between them, and McCoy knew he wasn't dealing with the same good-natured man he'd invited for a tryst two hours ago.

 

When they reached their dorm room, Kirk keyed in the code to unlock the door and dragged McCoy inside impatiently. Once the door hissed shut behind them, McCoy expected Kirk to slow down. Instead, he hauled McCoy through their room straight into the bathroom and shoved him into the shower stall.

 

“Jim! Watch it!” McCoy tried to climb out, but Kirk shoved him back, hard. McCoy caught himself against the wall and narrowly avoided cracking his head on the tile.

 

“Stay.” Kirk’s face had gone dangerously cold, which McCoy took as his cue to shut up. Kirk jerked at the controls; cold water cascaded down onto McCoy, soaking his uniform and leaving him sputtering. While McCoy was blinded by the water, Kirk spun him around and began stripping. McCoy let himself be manhandled and concentrated on keeping his teeth from chattering.

 

This confrontation with Spock seemed to have brought out Kirk’s possessive streak. McCoy didn’t see any alternative but to ride the wave of Kirk’s anger and try to keep the damage to a minimum.

 

Once Kirk had McCoy completely stripped, he shoved a bottle of soap at him and snapped, “Scrub.” Then he pivoted on his heel and stormed out of the bathroom.

 

McCoy waited to be sure he had gone before turning up the temperature to a more tolerable level. He reached a hand behind him to touch a finger to his anus. He gritted his teeth against the sharp bite of pain. Definitely some tearing, but he’d had worse. He could fix it, at least.

 

McCoy squeezed some soap onto a cloth and went to work wiping away every trace of that wretched hobgoblin’s touch. He took stock of the other damage: bruises forming on his wrists where he’d fought against the restraints, a sore throat from choking on Spock, red fingerprint bruises smeared onto his hips. Kirk had done as much or worse when he was in the mood for rough play. But Kirk had never invaded his mind, had never threatened to rape his memories or carve the fight right out of him with a damn psychic lobotomy. McCoy drew a deep, calming breath of humid air and tried to forget the feeling of Spock slipping into his mind.

 

“Bones.” Kirk appeared in the doorway holding up McCoy’s medical kit. “Can you do this yourself or do you want me to call another doctor?”

 

“I can do it.” McCoy slapped the controls to turn off the water. He grabbed a towel from the rack, wrapped it around himself, and held out a hand for his bag.

 

Kirk grabbed the front of the towel and used it to pull McCoy out of the shower cubicle. He steered McCoy into the main room before stripping him of the protection of the towel and shoving him to the floor. Kirk dropped the bag next to him. “Go on. Fix it.”

 

McCoy didn’t bother to mask his scowl as he rummaged through his bag for the appropriate tools. “Professor Spock is the one you should be pissed at. Not me.”

 

Kirk didn’t crack a smile. “Is he.”

 

“Well I sure didn’t kidnap and assault anyone today.”

 

“You’re lucky it was Spock,” Kirk said grimly. “He was much kinder than any of my other enemies would have been.”

 

McCoy lowered his eyes reluctantly. He couldn’t argue with Kirk’s point. Last fall he’d treated an unlucky first-year cadet. Despite McCoy’s best efforts to fix the damage inflicted by a group of rival’s of the kid’s protector, the boy had been sent home a jabbering wreck who couldn’t bear to be touched. He’d seen others, too: scarred, disfigured, or broken, with all the fight gone out of their eyes. Spock had been downright gentle in comparison.

 

“I can’t fault Spock for his tactics,” Kirk said. “You, on the other hand. You got caught.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to--.”

 

“No.” Kirk held up a hand to stop his speech. “Fix what you can. Then we’ll talk.” He pulled over the chair from his desk, sat, and waited.

 

McCoy opened his bag, pulled out the first tool he needed, then looked up to see Kirk staring at him. “You going to take notes?”

 

Kirk regarded him impassively, and that was when McCoy sensed he might be in trouble. If Kirk had moved beyond clever retorts, then it was time for McCoy to shut up and obey.

 

He arranged himself awkwardly on his knees so he could attend to his wounds. He did his best to ignore Kirk’s eyes on him as he ran the dermal regenerator over the worst bruises and abrasions. He gave special care to his ass, since he figured Kirk would be in no mood to absolve him of his usual duties.

 

As soon as McCoy had replaced the tools in his med kit, Kirk struck. He lunged forward, grabbed McCoy by the hair, and hauled him up on his knees.

 

“We had a deal, Bones. You belong to me. You’re reserved for my use. Like a parking spot.”

 

“We had a deal.” McCoy laughed bitterly. He knew he shouldn’t argue when Kirk’s mood turned dark like this, but he couldn’t fight his nature. “I play nice and you keep things between us. You don’t have the right to share me, Jim. I’m not your whore.”

 

“That’s exactly what you are.” Kirk hauled McCoy closer to shove his face into his crotch. “The more people know that, the more they’ll be afraid to touch you.”

 

“Spock knew, and it didn’t scare him.”

 

"Spock's not like the others. He won't be scared away by tales of cadets missing their hands because they dared to touch you. He's a different animal." Kirk's eyes turned dark, savage. "It's times like this that you have to hold your own. I can't be with some helpless, blushing flower, Bones. I told you to be careful.” Kirk spaced out the words with dangerous emphasis. "Haven’t I taught you self defense?”

 

“Yes.” McCoy had spent days getting thrown around in one of the Academy's private gyms until Kirk had pronounced him “still sad, but proficient enough” in quick and dirty defense. “But Spock has--.”

 

“Don’t you get it, Bones? He could have killed you. He could have killed you, and there was--.” Kirk stopped short. His mouth pressed into a thin, angry line. “If Spock wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

 

In that moment, a piece of the never-ending puzzle that was Jim Kirk fell into place for McCoy. The thing that had driven Kirk past logic into pure animal rage was not that Spock had outmaneuvered him—Kirk seemed to have a plan for dealing with that; what drove Kirk mad was realizing how vulnerable he was when McCoy was threatened. McCoy didn’t think that Kirk hadn’t begun their relationship with any particular affection for him, but this incident had revealed a chink in Kirk’s impenetrable armor. McCoy had to smooth over the sharp edges of Kirk’s dilemma if he hoped to remain under Kirk’s protection.

 

He bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

 

An outright apology seemed not to be what Kirk expected. His stern expression wavered slightly before hardening again into an impassive façade. “No you’re not,” he said evenly. “But you will be.”He released his grip on McCoy to efficiently unfasten his pants and shove them past his hips. Then he grabbed McCoy by the scalp again. “Suck me.”

 

Kirk had been hard since the lecture hall. McCoy had noticed, while Spock fucked him, how much Kirk seemed to enjoy the proceedings in spite of himself. McCoy resolved not to give Kirk the idea that watching McCoy get fucked was in any way better than fucking McCoy himself. McCoy had no intention of ending up as a bargaining chip any time Kirk needed a favor from a superior officer.

 

He opened his mouth for Kirk, despite his raw throat and sore lips. Kirk shoved all the way down and fucked his face recklessly. McCoy just kept breathing and concentrated on suppressing his gag reflex. He lifted his hands; he could usually speed this up by some combination of playing with Kirk’s balls and sneakily finding his prostate. This time Kirk slapped his hands away and growled, “Don’t you dare.”

 

McCoy dropped his hands and closed his eyes. If Kirk wanted him to take his punishment, he’d take it. He relaxed his throat and tried to rub his tongue along the underside of Kirk’s shaft as it thrust between his lips at a manic pace. Then Kirk grabbed McCoy’s ears, slammed all the way into his mouth, and let out a pained moan as he fed McCoy his come.

 

Kirk shoved McCoy away. McCoy resisted the urge to wipe his mouth. The floor beckoned, cool and inviting, but McCoy dare not lie down, no matter how tired he was. He shouldn’t let his guard down in front of Kirk, not when he was like this.

 

Without looking at him, Kirk stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door. Only when McCoy heard the shower turn on did he allow himself to slump to the ground.

 

He debated getting up and putting on some clothes, but he didn’t want to piss Kirk off further. He contented himself with drifting in a numb haze until he heard the bathroom door open again.

 

Kirk wrapped a towel around McCoy’s shoulders and helped him sit up. His gentle handling gave the game away: his rage had passed, and now, ever the good tactician, he’d begun damage control. He crouched behind McCoy. His arms draped around McCoy’s shoulders seemed like a peace offering. “Spock’s proposing an alliance.”

 

“He has a funny way of showing it.” McCoy drew the towel closer around his shoulders. “He couldn’t have just written a memo?”

 

“You’re not much of a strategist, Bones.”

 

“I’m a doctor, not a politician.” McCoy pulled out of Kirk’s embrace, staggered to his feet, and went to the dresser to dig out a new uniform. “So what’s his game?”

 

“You let me worry about that.” Kirk sidled up behind him and plucked the uniform from McCoy’s hands. “I want you to worry about keeping your ass out of the hands of my enemies.”

 

“You think today was my idea of a good time?” McCoy muttered.

 

“No. But I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson, either.”

 

“Jim--.”

 

Kirk grabbed him by the waist—firmly but not brutally—and pushed him over the bed. When McCoy landed with his bare ass presented for the taking, he developed some idea of where this was going.

 

“I’m going to have a little chat with Spock,” Kirk said from across the room. McCoy recognized the sound of a drawer opening. “You won’t have to worry about him again. But I don’t want anyone else to have illusions about your availability.”

 

McCoy tried to stand and received a playful swat to his ass for the trouble.

 

“Stay down.” Kirk said it with a light tone, but McCoy knew a warning when he heard one. He gave up his struggle. If Kirk needed to perform some ritual of his own devising to re-assert his control, McCoy had better cooperate.

 

Cool, slick fingers prodded at McCoy’s entrance. He flinched: though the dermal regenerator had mended his skin, his injuries needed time to heal completely. Kirk’s fingers scissored inside him. His muscles were already loose from the reaming Spock had given him earlier. Besides, Kirk didn’t usually show this degree of care with his prep. McCoy’s mind raced through a half dozen paranoid scenarios for what Kirk might be planning.

 

McCoy tensed when he felt the hard press of a synthetic sex toy against his ass.

 

“Relax, Bones.” Kirk planed a steadying hand on the small of McCoy’s back.

 

The toy pressed in farther. The tip felt blunt, but McCoy couldn’t tell the shape of the thing yet. He winced as a wider part of the toy began to test his limits.

 

“This is a new one,” Kirk said. “It’s bigger than the ones I usually use on you, but I know you can take this. You want to show me how sorry you are, don’t you?”

 

McCoy decided silence was the safest response. He tried to relax, knowing it would make taking the toy easier. Giving Jim what he wanted would only make this easier.

 

Kirk noticed his compliance with a pleased, “Good boy, Bones.” McCoy had to make a concerted effort not to bristle at being treated like a pet. Then conscious thought eroded like ice in August as Kirk forced the flare of the butt-plug past the resistance of McCoy’s muscles. A burst of pain faded quickly to a dull throb as McCoy clenched around the narrow end of the plug and the base settled against his ass.

 

“There.” Kirk sounded inordinately pleased. “I knew you could take it.” He patted McCoy’s ass affectionately, hopped up, and began to get dressed.

 

McCoy stayed where we was on the bed, breathing deeply and allowing his body to adjust to the stretch of the toy inside him. The plug’s curved angle hit just the wrong place. With every movement the toy slid against his prostate and sent an unwelcome jolt of pleasure dancing along his nerves. “Jim.” McCoy forced the word out through clenched teeth.

 

“Get dressed.” Kirk tossed a clean uniform in his direction. “Don’t you have an infirmary shift tonight?”

 

“Yes,” McCoy said wearily. Kirk knew he did. He’d hacked McCoy’s schedule back when he first decided to worm his way into McCoy’s life, and he’d made it his business ever since.

 

“I’m not going to work wearing a damn butt plug.” McCoy reached behind himself to remove the toy.

 

Kirk clamped a hand onto McCoy’s wrist, twisted his arm up behind his back, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “You will, and you’ll like it. If you so much as touch that toy or touch your cock before the end of your shift, I’ll have to figure out a new punishment for you. You don’t want that. Are you going to be good?”

 

McCoy gritted his teeth against a sharp reply. Instead he nodded once.

 

Kirk released him. “Good. “I’ll see you back here after your shift then. Don’t be late.”
--

 

McCoy slunk into his room two hours after dawn. Back at the hospital, he’d showered off the gore from a night spent patching up the victims of the security track’s latest round of hazing. He’d been sure Kirk and his intolerable smirk would be here waiting for him at the end of his shift to demand a full report on his punishment. On the walk back here, in between attempts to walk in any way other than bow-legged, McCoy had tried to compose an explanation that would placate Kirk without sacrificing too much of his own pride. Kirk loved to hear McCoy talk, especially when he knew McCoy would rather not. McCoy had never been good at hiding anything Kirk wanted to find out, but that didn’t mean he had to offer up his humiliation on a platter: how the butt-plug had kept teasing him to hardness all shift, and how he didn’t dare retreat to the bathroom to jerk off because Kirk had spies everywhere.

 

But the room stood dark and empty. McCoy dropped his med kit and stood contemplating how angry Kirk would be if he removed the butt plug before crawling into bed.

 

Kirk took the decision out of his hands by bursting through the door. “Bones!” His hair stuck up haphazardly, his clothes were rumbled, and a cut on his lip provided contrast to the purple bruise rising on his cheek. He grinned manically, clearly riding the adrenaline high of a fight or a fuck. He stumbled into the room and slung an arm around McCoy. “Glad you’re back.”

 

McCoy peered worriedly at Kirk’s face. “They break anything?” He snatched up his med kit, then paused to consider what usually happened when Kirk ended a fight. He straightened up and jerked his chin at the window, the outside world. “Anyone dead back there?”

 

“No.” Kirk’s grin didn’t waver. “Just had a little chat with Professor Spock.”

 

“Jim--!”

 

“Don’t worry, Bones,” Kirk chuckled as he closed and locked the door behind him. “Just had a lively talk.”

 

McCoy caught Kirk by the wrist and drew him over to the chair by the desk. He flicked on the lamp, the better to see Kirk’s injuries. “I hope you gave that pointy-eared hobgoblin a piece of your mind.”

 

“Was I supposed to be defending your virtue?”

 

“No,” McCoy snapped. He had no illusions about his worth to Kirk. He knew he had to look out for himself, and he’d never expected anyone else to do so for him.

 

As if he could read McCoy’s mind, Kirk cocked his head curiously. “You should thank Spock, actually. He pointed out something I hadn’t noticed.”

 

“That you’re a sadistic bastard?” McCoy dug in his bag for the right tool.

 

“No. I had noticed that. Spock pointed out something about you.”

 

“Is that so?” McCoy tried not to let his tenseness show. He hadn’t much of a tactical mind, but it didn’t take a genius to see how turning Kirk against McCoy could serve Spock’s advantage. “Jim--.”

 

“He said,” Kirk continued as if he hadn’t heard. “That you’re more loyal than you have any reason to be.”

 

“Oh.” McCoy remembered that he was holding a dermal regenerator for a reason. “Hold still,” he grumbled. He began to trace the instrument against the worst of the bruises on Kirk’s face. Kirk’s grin kept the same brilliant edge, and his gaze didn’t waver.

 

“You could be a powerful man,” Kirk said. “Your skills are useful to the Empire, you know how to keep your mouth shut, and you have access to poisons that can stop a man’s heart in four seconds.”

 

“I’m not interested in power.” He pressed a finger next to the darkest bruise on Kirk’s cheek, checking for broken bones. “This hurt?”

 

“No. So you’re content to be my toy.”

 

“I’m no man’s toy.” McCoy turned away stiffly.

 

“Is that so?” Kirk moved snake-quick to shove the heel of his hand against the base of the buff plug through McCoy’s pants. McCoy’s cock leapt as the toy slammed against his prostate.

 

With effort, McCoy was able to hold back a desperate grunt and cling to the cold comfort of glaring at Kirk.

 

Kirk backed off with a grin. He moved to sit on the foot of the bed and held out a beckoning finger. “C’mere.”

 

McCoy hesitated only a moment before he took that first jerky step—the hardest.

 

“That’s it.” Kirk’s hands came up to rest on McCoy’s hips as soon as he was in reach. He rubbed his cheek against the front of McCoy’s pants. “You can’t help yourself when it comes to me.”

 

McCoy had been half-hard for hours; the rush of arousal that pulsed through him at Kirk’s touch was half-painful. McCoy took note of the uncharacteristically pensive expression Kirk wore, and found he couldn’t stand being judged this way. “One of these days, Jim, you might push me too far.”

 

Kirk’s face slid into a smirk. “Oh, I don’t think so. Not if I show you how much I appreciate your loyalty.” He thumbed open the button on McCoy’s uniform pants. Without breaking eye contact he tugged down the zipper and trailed his fingers along the bulging front of McCoy’s briefs.

 

“You didn’t come today, did you? Didn’t even touch yourself.”

 

“No,” McCoy growled. Kirk had known he wouldn’t. Kirk didn’t even test his loyalty anymore, McCoy realized with a pang of shame mingled with pride.

 

“You deserve a reward for good behavior.” Kirk hooked his fingers into McCoy’s waistband and dragged his briefs, along with his pants, down to his thighs. McCoy’s cock jutted out into the cool air of the room. McCoy watched in fascination as Kirk flicked his tongue out to graze his cockhead.

 

Kirk’s eyes lifted to McCoy’s face and stayed there as he opened his mouth and took in McCoy’s cock. After a day on the knife’s edge of arousal, the wet heat of Kirk’s mouth was almost too much. McCoy clenched his hands at his sides to prevent himself from grabbing Kirk by the hair and taking more. Kirk may have been in an unusually generous mood, but McCoy knew his indulgence had limits. Kirk’s hand slid behind McCoy, first to knead the clenched muscle of his ass, then to tap against the base of the plug still lodged inside him.

 

McCoy grunted, and his hips rolled involuntarily at the movement of the toy inside him.

 

Kirk pulled sloppily off his dick to say, “Like that, Bones?”

 

“Keep sucking,” McCoy snapped. For a moment, he feared retaliation, surprised at his own boldness. But no, Kirk’s eyes merely shone with challenge.

 

Kirk dove forward, taking McCoy all the way to the hilt to swallow around him. His hand kept busy at McCoy’s ass, now twisting the plug inside him.

 

McCoy braced a hand on Kirk’s shoulder, as close as he dared to holding Kirk’s neck and making him choke on his cock. Kirk was doing well enough on his own; he slid the tight seal of his mouth up and down the length of McCoy’s shaft. He pried his fingers under the edge of the butt plug until he had enough grip to start working it in and out of McCoy’s ass in delicious counterpoint to his mouth.

 

McCoy was still sore, yes, but he’d had all day to relax and get used to the butt plug, and all he felt now as Kirk worked it inside him was a jolt of pleasure each time the toy slid past sensitive nerves. That feeling, coupled with the glorious suction of Kirk’s wicked mouth, had his trembling with the effort of holding back his release.

 

“Jim,” he rasped.

 

Kirk looked up at him, wide-eyed in triumph even with a mouth stuffed full of McCoy’s cock.

 

“Please,” McCoy gasped. “I’m close.”

 

Kirk spent an agonizing moment dragging his mouth off McCoy’s dick torturously slowly. “Alright Bones. Come.” He immediately swallowed McCoy down to the hilt and shoved the toy in to the limit.

 

McCoy couldn’t stifle the cry that tore out of him as he came down Kirk’s throat. His knees buckled, and he might have fallen if Kirk hadn’t caught him around the waist. His strong arm guided McCoy’s more-or-less controlled tumble onto his back. Kirk was on him immediately. He shoved up McCoy’s red uniform shirt, wrestled his pants open, draped himself over McCoy, and rutted against his naked belly for only a few seconds before he, too, reached his release.

 

McCoy lay stretched out on the floor with Kirk on top of him. A hundred-some pounds of bonelessly relaxed cadet draped over him should have felt confining. Instead, McCoy couldn’t help feeling a kind of bewildered satisfaction at Kirk’s intimacy. Whatever had happened to Kirk today had apparently made him more appreciative of his toys, and McCoy could only be grateful for that development.

 

As they lay together, McCoy took note of Kirk’s heartbeat slowing from its manic pace to a more sedate tempo. He realized they’d never exactly lain together like this after a fuck. If he had the nerve to put his arms around Kirk and hold him, he could almost imagine they were equals: lovers.

 

Instead, McCoy said, “Jim, take this thing out of me.”

 

Kirk sat up, straddling McCoy. He seemed to consider a moment, then shook his head. “I think you deserve to wear that for a few days. Just to make sure no one else bothers you when I’m not around. Besides, I like having you open and ready for my use whenever I want you.”

 

McCoy nodded reluctantly. He couldn’t bring himself to say that Kirk didn’t need a toy to keep McCoy ready for him. That he belonged to Kirk, body and soul, and that loyalty was like a disease his physician’s skills couldn’t master.

 

Kirk stood and offered a hand to help McCoy to his feet. He stripped off his uniform easily and stumbled toward the bed, obviously expecting McCoy to follow.

 

Exhaustion from the past day’s events was more than enough to quell any objection; McCoy obediently turned off the lights and climbed into bed. He tensed when Kirk threw a possessive arm around his waist, but relaxed when nothing else happened. Just as McCoy had drifted to the edge of unconsciousness, Kirk spoke.

 

“Bones.”

 

“What?”

 

“Sweet dreams.”