Work Header

Hurt Me So Good

Work Text:

There’s only two good things about Iowa. Fast women and cheap beer, and not necessarily in that order. Otherwise? It fucking sucks. Nothing but dozens of stupid as all hell farmers and shipyard workers.

Kirk hated growing-up here. He’s meant for so much more than this hole in the wall, podunk town. Would have left the minute he turned eighteen but for one thing. The Riverside Shipyard, recruitment center and building grounds for the Empire’s finest ships. And what they were building now? Fucking gorgeous.

The ISS Enterprise is still a few years away from being finished but Jim knows he won’t rest until that ship is his.

Three years and only one mission later, it is. The Empire loves him, Earth fucking adores him, his crew worships the ground he walks on. Well, maybe not so much Spock, but Kirk finally got the choke-happy Vulcan to submit to his command after ordering security to disincline him 'harshly'. Kirk grins just thinking about it, all the dermal regeneration and cosmetic surgery in the universe can't completely erase the scars.

Yeah, everything is going pretty fantastic for Captain James T. Kirk.

Every night there's a new pair of spectacular tits or a sweet ass waiting for him. A different body to play with, a different mouth filling his ears with delicious screams, a different soul to bend to his will. And if they refuse to bend? All the more better in Kirk’s eyes. Just a reason to play harder, to play until they break. Use up, toss out, and on to the next. That’s the pattern Kirk likes to stick with.

Until him.

~ ~ ~ ~

Kirk stretches languidly on his huge bed, eyes blinking open slowly. His bed partner is still sleeping soundly beside him, so Kirk slips out of bed and makes his way to the bathroom without bothering to put on any clothes. It’s slow going, Kirk’s body aches everywhere.

He washes his face, notices his reflection in the mirror as he’s drying his face. It isn’t the bruise on his right cheek that captures his attention. It’s the others. The past few weeks of Kirk’s life are painted across his body.

The nearly fated bruise around his shoulder where the Vilurians dislocated it and then proceeded to systematically break every bone in his body. Once Kirk was free and back aboard his ship, he made sure their planet was obliterated. Only then had he let Medical set his bones, just like brand new now. But he wouldn’t let them near the bruise. He hasn’t let any of the medical staff heal his bruises for the past month. Not since him.

Kirk doesn’t understand it. The things he lets his lover do to him - no, screw it, the things he begs his lover to do to him.

The rope burns on his wrists, the bit marks along the base of his neck, the finger shaped bruises around his thighs. The motherfucking soreness in his ass.

And Kirk has absolutely no clue why he so readily submits to him. Outside the bedroom, Kirk’s in charge, every single officer on the Enterprise is his possession.

But here, inside the Captain’s quarters? He belongs to Dr. Leonard H. McCoy.