caoilin_noir

Fic: Written on Skin (1/2)

Mon, 03 Aug 2009 01:10:32 GMT

Well, I tried to write fluff and happy, got bored, and found this prompt instead. Still working on the epilogue to worst mistake though...Enjoy

Title: Written on Skin Part 1 of 2
Author: Cai
Fandom: Nu!Trek (Star trek XI)
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Pairing: McCoy/OMC, Kirk/McCoy
Length: 2,200 words, complete
Spoilers: For the film
Warnings: Non/Dub-con
Summary: What would you do to be with the man you love?
Notes: Written for the Star trek XI Kink Meme THIS PROMPT

Written on Skin

"Another sip? Of course," Reynolds had murmured, voice gentle and touch soothing, a mockery of kindness, as he lifted the cup to McCoy’s lips again, tilted it just enough for another mouthful. Reynolds never gave him enough to quench his thirst, of course, just enough to sustain him for another passage of time, but not enough to stop McCoy fighting to the very reach of his restraints for his reward of two gulps of water, which he only got if he showed himself desperate enough.

"That’s enough for now," Reynolds said, lifting the mug away, smiling as if he were a good host. McCoy made the first sounds of a plea before he stopped himself. Reynolds’ smile deepened and McCoy cursed himself; he knew how Reynolds enjoyed hearing him make noise.

Reynolds set the cup down on the floor beside the bed McCoy was tied to, and collected a small device of metal and leather from the box there, saying, "How about you wear this for me, pretty?"

McCoy tried to keep the horror of his face, but he clearly failed. “Oh come on,” Reynolds pouted, with a mean little laugh, “I’ve let you come once, what more could you ask?”

McCoy recognised the cock ring, which Reynolds knew, as the one with the dull metal teeth that dug in deeper and deeper as his cock hardened, that could hold him erect until his penis went ‘that fascinating purple hue.’

McCoy tried to twist away as Reynolds settled the device in place, but it was easy work to pin his hips, exhausted and bound as he was. Still, the resistance would earn him punishment, those were the rules, and he tensed for it.

Instead Reynolds took his time working McCoy erect, toying with the sensitive head and working the foreskin back, slicking the slit with his own precome. McCoy was making small sounds of pleasure despite himself, forgetting that Reynolds had never let him break the rules without punishment before.

With practised movements Reynolds lifted McCoy’s dick in a firm grip pulling it straight up from his body, commanding, “Open your eyes, slut.”

After a moment McCoy managed to open his eyes and raise his head to see Reynolds holding his prick in his left hand and a thin yellow rod in his right covered in a thin sheen of lubricant.

“This is one of my favourite toys, so take a good look.” Reynolds said, flicking it between his fingers, not letting up his grip on McCoy’s penis, “A simple, fine rod of metal sheathed in a rubberised coat, so simple, but trust me the pain it causes for such minimal damage is without parallel.”

The end of the stylus breached the slit of McCoy’s penis without resistance, and Reynolds drove it down to its full depth without pause or mercy. McCoy screamed, couldn’t help himself, hoarse as his voice already was, nor could he stop his body arching up of the bed, back bowing in elegant lines of misery and pain.

Reynolds waited until McCoy’s noises and tears died away before he gagged him. Leaning over, he whispered in his ear, “Try not to cry, whore, you’ll get all snotty and suffocate before I get back, and all that work I did stretching your worthless hole will have been a waste.”

And then he turned and walked out, leaving McCoy bound and voiceless, with only his thoughts to keep him company for the next interminable time.

Tears pricked his eyes, and there was a second where he considered Reynolds’ words, really considered them, before realising the gag was cloth and it wouldn’t work anyway. The thing in his dick felt like a burning brand all the way down to his balls and the cock ring was already starting to feel like needles digging into him, plus the down familiar ache of the plug in his ass and the raw skin beneath the restraints. At least Reynolds hadn’t gagged him with a dildo this time, like he had when McCoy last spat out a mouthful of come. That had really started to feel like suffocating.

Reynolds likes to leave him like this, make him wait, and McCoy’s built himself a little mantra to pass the time.

You are more than your flesh. Man is more than flesh alone. It doesn’t matter;
Anything that is worth having must be paid for, worked for;
Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me;
I love Jim, regardless, even if he doesn’t love me. This means I can stay by his side;

Ten days down, three to go.

It used to be longer, he knows, but some of the phrases have started to escape his exhausted mind, and only the important ones have stuck. He knows how many days it’s been because Reynolds has a five o’clock shadow after the long waits, but not when he trusses him up in what he can only assume is the morning. So Reynolds shaves daily to make himself presentable for his day job at Star Fleet, and whenever he sees him freshly shaven he digs his thumb nail into his left palm, and counts the scabs on his hand the times Reynolds lets him up to use the bathroom, eat and take some hobbling exercise.

“Cuts and scrapes, I can heal,” Reynolds tells him, “but rapid weight and muscle loss will be hard to disguise after two weeks, and you have to look presentable for your hearing, after all.” Reynolds has it all planned, organised, right down to the soundproofed, windowless room and bed with inbuilt restraints. He’s done this before, and will do it again, unless someone stops him. McCoy isn’t sure that someone will be him. He’s done this to buy silence and acceptance after all.

Admiral Reynolds had come to him shortly after the (only slightly damaged, really) Enterprise had docked at the space station and the shuttles had transferred them all back to the academy. He’d gone ahead with Pike and the other injured crewmen as the CMO to oversee the handover of their care and be relieved of duty, which had meant he was alone and friendless when Reynolds had cornered him and served him with papers of an impending court martial under section 891 of the uniform code for wilful disobedience of orders, pertaining to the smuggling of one James T Kirk onboard the Enterprise. The trial was to be in two weeks, with him on administrative leave until then, and advised to keep out of the limelight.

McCoy gets it, he does, it was Kirk, Spock, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu and Chekov that marched off the shuttle to the waiting media and are now on the way to becoming household names. They’re the cadets and misfits that stepped into the breach and saved the Earth, while the rest of Star Fleet chased its own tail, and they’re untouchable right now.

But McCoy’s face wasn’t with them – he was just off doing his job after all – so he’s an unknown and he can be punished. Star Fleet’s brass are embarrassed and angry and looking for someone to take it out on, and he’s the guy. The trial would probably have been over before it had begun, but he can’t be sure of that. And Reynolds’ request had sounded so innocuous at the time; he honestly thought the private matter Reynolds wanted help with in return for a good word in the right ear would be some embarrassing medical condition. He doesn’t know how he ended up in bed with Reynolds in the first place, how it all got so out of hand from there on in; how he could have been so stupid?

McCoy hears the door click back open and realises his twisting thoughts have passed the time between when Reynolds left and whenever now is.

He knows what a sight he must present, knows because he has been forced to watch himself in a mirror before now: spread-eagled on the bed, wrists and ankles restrained and rubbed raw, ass held open by a plug in some lurid colour or another, his rim puffy and red around it, cock standing to attention, already purpling and bound, now with a shaft of metal poking out of it, mouth gagged and a scattering of bruises, cuts and bites across his neck, chest and abdomen. He finds the thought repulsive, but Reynolds seems to like it.

McCoy’s startled out of his musing when Reynolds uses his fingernail to flick the underside of his penis, and the altered weight as it bobs feels like nothing he’s ever felt before, the searing pain redoubling, stealing his breath. By the time he’s come back to himself Reynolds is on him, pulling out the plug and pushing himself in.

There’s barely any resistance there anymore, but it still feels like an intrusion as Reynolds begins to fuck him, not holding back, all worked up by his earlier handiwork. There’s come from previous goes still inside McCoy, held in place by the plug, and he can hear Reynolds...well, squelching is the only word for it. Reynolds’ noticed too, muttering about the noise a greedy hole makes, but McCoy doesn’t listen to the filth that pours out of his mouth anymore, he’d go crazy if he did.

In fact the noise is just so – well, gross – that McCoy can’t imagine anything less sexy. Reynolds’ hitting his prostate thrust after thrust with practised ease, but the pleasure that’s running through his is irrelevant, nothing he recognises as enjoyable anymore. Reynolds had certainly enjoyed working his virgin hole open, tearing him in his eagerness, and McCoy can’t imagine ever, ever wanting to do this with anyone ever again.

Which is strangely fitting, really, because the only man who he’d want to have sex with, Jim Kirk, is all about the ladies and hasn’t given McCoy a second glance in that regard. Somehow, the promise of a strictly platonic love that used to seem like a curse has become a blessing, and McCoy’s sure Reynolds never had anything like that in mind. He’s promised him that the trial will be made to go away in return for services rendered and that he’ll have a post at Kirk’s side as long as he wants it in return for his silence.

Reynolds is still working away at his prostate and now he’s got a hand on McCoy’s cock, stroking, and McCoy can’t help the involuntary twitch of his hips up into that hand, and Reynolds must sense he’s near coming, so he flicks the cock ring open and lets it happen. McCoy’s never had an orgasm like this, that he hasn’t had to beg and work for, and for a second he’s confused, and then the agony of trying to come past an obstruction takes over and he flat out screams and bucks until all that’s left are whimpers and his penis is flaccid against his thigh still impaled with the stylus and Reynolds is slamming into him in a frenzy and he feels the warm splash deep inside, but he’s too disgusted to care about just one more thing.

Reynolds pulls out roughly once he’s recovered and rolls onto his side. McCoy thinks he’s going to fall asleep, but instead he fingers McCoy’s ass, just using one finger to probe the walls. It seems he’s satisfied with what he finds, because he just withdraws the finger, and leans up to whisper in McCoy’s ear again.

His breath is hot and unwelcome, but the words are not. “All fucked open, for good now. No-one else can have you without knowing you’ve been my whore, can they now?”

He pauses, but McCoy can’t answer and isn’t going to react, so Reynolds just pulls the stylet from McCoy’s dick to get a response that way instead. He grins when he does, and while McCoy’s wondering if the liquid he can feel is blood or urine, he says, “There’ll be a medic here in a while to get you patched up, don’t try and tell him anything, he already knows. Can’t promise he won’t want to take his fee out of your body. But your trial’s been brought forward, so our time’s been cut short, such a shame. Seems Kirk’s been kicking up a fuss, so the Admiralty has caved. Still, could have gone the other way, of course, had things been different. Remember this arrangement stays between us and you get CMO Enterprise. Talk and you’ll be medicalled out within a month, regardless of what happens to me.”

And then Reynolds flicked his tongue out to lick the shell of McCoy’s ear and McCoy wrenched his head away. “You’re right, deals over. Have fun.”

Reynolds walks out, and McCoy hopes fervently never to see him again. None of that matters though, because now he knows Kirk fought for him, has unknowingly rescued him from this horror, and now he gets to be with him.

McCoy only hopes Kirk won’t be able to see the secrets Reynolds has written into his skin.

TBC

Worst Mistake Part 4

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 14:24:26 GMT

Well, here goes, final part. There is going to be an epilogue for those of you who want to indulge in happy endings and Kirk/Bones fluff, but for the main story, this can stand alone as the final part! Enjoy

Also, any suggestions were I could cross-post this would be very welcome - I'm new to the fandom and just trying to find the good places to hang out...:-)

Title: Worst Mistake: Part 4
Author: Cai
Fandom: Nu!Trek (Star trek XI)
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Kirk, Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Length: 4000 words this part, 19,000 + words total so far
Spoilers: For the film, amok time (TOS)
Warnings: Non/Dub-con, double penetration
Summary: Kirk gets caught in the middle of forces beyond his control, see the prompt (linked in part 1) for more details
Notes: Written for the Star trek XI Kink Meme

Part One (of four)

Part Two (of four)

Part Three (of four)

Part 4

The corridors are empty on the way to sickbay, as is the medical bay itself when they arrive. McCoy had only been away the few minutes it took to run to his quarters and retrieve his personal sidearm, so Kirk’s injuries aren’t too serious. A few minutes with the biobed and some haemostat for the bleeding and the imminent danger is avoided. A fuller examination will have to wait for later.

Kirk hasn’t said another word since he came out of his room, so McCoy’s had a good long while to think about what he’s just seen and to figure out some of what the hell had just happened. Kirk had clearly just kicked him out of the room because he was afraid for him, when he should have been afraid for himself as well if what he saw on his return was anything to go by. Even after what he’d just done to him.

McCoy has a terrible feeling he walked in on episode of ongoing abuse, not just a first time, and not Kirk cheating on him as he’d initially assumed. It’s likely all this started back in sickbay nearly a year ago and has been going on since then. Some of the pieces of Kirk’s changing behaviour and the problems in their relationship start to fall into place, but Kirk’s still naked under the blanket, huddling in on himself, so McCoy fetches some scrubs from the next door room and when he returns Kirk’s just staring into the middle distance.

McCoy helps him to dress quietly then puts the blanket back around his shoulders because Kirk’s still shivering. To see him so passive is just odd, and there are words burning on McCoy’s tongue that he doesn’t know how to say, so instead just says:

“Spock’s still out cold in your room...”

“I know.” Replies Kirk suddenly, “he’s not there in my head any more. It feels – empty.”

He pauses, hearing McCoy’s unspoken question. “He bonded with me. Like a permanent mind-meld. It’s been helping me keep it together, and now it’s gone. We need to wake him up.”

And true, Kirk’s shaky and not himself, but if the goal is keeping it together, he’s doing okay right now.

“No Jim,” McCoy says, more certain than ever of his path now. “We need to go and get Spock and bring him back here and if he’s in your head, we need to keep him sedated. You’re coping. The rest was just control.”

Kirk doesn’t argue, but makes no move to help either.

“Jim, “ McCoy says, “Jim. We need to do this. We do. If you’ll let me help you?” After what I’ve done, his adds in the privacy of his head Right now, it’s as close as he can get to an apology. He doesn’t know if he should be doing this, or calling someone else to help Kirk, someone who hasn’t been as blind as cruel as he’s been in recent times. Someone who hasn’t colluded with Kirk’s rapist to hurt him further. But Kirk seems to want him to stay, if the hand that keeps drifting to his sleeve is anything to go by. He knows Kirk’s got to be pretty screwed in the head though by this point, if he wasn’t already, so not too reliable an indicator.

McCoy doesn’t want to go, he wants to stay and try and fix something, so he waits until Kirk looks at him and nods, but he can tell his heart isn’t in it. They do it anyway.

* * *

Later, when Spock’s sedated and restrained and McCoy’s run scans to his heart’s content (physiology and endocrine status grossly abnormal, but chronic, and partially compensated, evidence of severe and ongoing systemic stresses leading to early organ failure, nutritional state poor, generalised ill health) he goes looking for Kirk who seems to have wondered off at some point.

He finds him in the captain’s ready room, still dressed in medical scrubs, and wading through paperwork and the administrative backlog he said he was staying aboard to deal with.

“I didn’t think you were actually intending to do that.” quips McCoy after watching him tap away at the PADD for a while, lost for a moment in the normalcy of the situation before he remembers.

“Sure I was.” replies Kirk with his trademark smile, looking just like his regular self. The he adds, “and you can stop looking at me like that.”

McCoy thinks about pretending he doesn’t understand what is meant, but Kirk’s nobody’s fool, so instead he just says, “I just wish you...I wish I’d noticed what you were trying to say. Before I – I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, kid.”

Kirk stares at him for a while, unreadable, then comes back with “Well it’s not like I turned round and said, Hey Bones, how was your day? Oh and by the way, my first officer fucked me up the ass today. I’m good at keeping secrets, and you weren’t supposed to know.”

Kirk’s outwardly calm, and it’s classic distraction tactics, but McCoy can see the tremor round the edges. A year ago McCoy would have known the best thing to say, the right buttons to push to get Kirk to acknowledge the problem. McCoy doesn’t know what pushing this Kirk button’s would look like, but he doesn’t want to risk finding out. So instead he asks:

“I came to see you to see if you wanted some food. Hungry?”

* * *

Kirk’s still eerily settled, that’s what McCoy notices to start with over dinner, while he looks at him, really looks at him for the first time in a long while, like everything’s internalised and shut down, like one day is the same as the next, no matter what it holds. Its Spock’s legacy, McCoy realises; despite it all Kirk’s learnt emotional control from the bond, whether it’s active or not.

What it feels like is that Kirk is still ignoring McCoy, even though - even ifthis thing with Spock is over, or at least nearly over. He thinks maybe he deserves it though, so instead of calling Kirk on it, though, he tells him what he’s figured out about what’s happening to Spock. It isn’t a lot, but he’s been able to compare his original examinations of Spock to those of a year ago and some from today, and he isn’t one of the finest doctors in the fleet for nothing.

“Whatever it was that was wrong with him then is still affecting him, but not to the same degree, like his body’s managed to find some kind of balance, but the strain is taking its toll – Jim are you listening to me?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Hormones right?”

McCoy nods, though he hasn’t said anything about hormones on this occasion, that had to be from a year ago.

“You never did get around to telling me what...what he said when you had that talk about what was going on in the first place.”

“Didn’t seem important any more. And you can say his name. Spock. It’s just a name, doesn’t change anything.”

“No I suppose it didn’t, but still, can you tell me what he told you? I never thought he was the sort to – I mean, I never liked spending time with the man but you could trust him at your back, I thought. I can’t believe it’s all just coincidence.”

So Kirk explains, in much the same words as Spock originally did, about what Pon Farr is, and how the Plak Tow comes and burns up the Vulcan soul every seven years, unless they return to their home world to claim their mate and form a permanent bond. He tells McCoy about the death of T’Pring on Vulcan and the lack of any substitute, and how Spock had convinced him that it could be overcome with meditation and time, and then he tells him how stupid, howculpable he feels for believing him.

That admission over, he carries on to add what he’s figured out since, about the fledgling bond the older Spock created in his mind back on Delta Vega, unintentional but born from a lifetime’s friendship with his counterpart, so similar to the betrothal bond Spock had had with T’Pring. Tells him that Spock, in his desperation had latched onto it as a drowning man struggles for air. Tells McCoy that Spock had sealed the bond, both mental and physical – his very words – that night in sickbay, and ever since he’s been enthralled to the Vulcan.

The words come only hesitantly, Kirk’s voice guarded and the content censored, and then dry up a bare few minutes later. McCoy has the information he asked for – his mind is already formulating theories about what’s going on with Spock and why he’s acting the way he is – but his patience is nearly gone.

“Dammit, Jim,” he snaps, noting absently that Kirk doesn’t flinch at the tone of his voice, “I wasn’t asking for a mission report. Gods know I'll always be your friend, but right now, if you can’t talk to me, I can’t do this, and I'm sorry, but that’s just the truth. Why can’t you talk to me? Why couldn’t you tell me?”

He can hear the whine in his voice, knows it isn’t fair, knows he doesn’t have any right any more, but can’t do anything to stop it.

“Because I couldn’t make you live it too. You told me it was my fault, and you were right –“

“What?”

“Sure you did. Said I handled it wrong, got you drugged and held hostage, and I had it coming. And Spock gave me a choice too, report him or accept the bond, and I chose this, so what should I have said? I’m cheating on you, but don’t be mad, it’s the lesser of two evils. Would you have bought it?”

And suddenly McCoy has a glimmer of understanding about this too – it’s what the textbooks talk about – the guilt, the low self esteem, the shame, suddenly brought to life and sitting across the dinner table from him, and he feels his anger just drain away.

“And besides, ‘Spock’s cock’ rhymes, and every time I try to fit it into a sentence, I just loose the plot.”

McCoy feels his lips twitch and tries not to laugh, but he catches a look at Kirk’s face and he’s just grinning again, so he laughs out loud and hears Kirk join in. Sure, there’s an edge of hysteria bubbling below the surface, and maybe there are tears rolling down their cheeks, but the laughter’s alive and they’re alive, and sometimes you just have to be thankful for what you have.

They carry on until they’re exhausted and breathless, and then Kirk wipes a tear from his eye, and says, “Sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to say that out loud for.”

Something clicks, and McCoy realises what he should have said hours ago, too lost in hurt and righteous indignation to notice.

“No Jim, don’t say you’re sorry. Not for any of this. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. After what I just did to you –“ he chokes off, assaulted again by the remembered sensations of earlier in the day. “Stop saying you’re sorry, and let me apologise.”

But Kirk shakes his head and says “If I don’t get to apologise neither do you. “

McCoy looks mulish for a moment, like he’s going to say something else, then changes his mind.

“Jim, just one more question, okay?”

“Okay” he breathes, despite his better judgement.

“How are you handling this so well? You’re doing better than I am.”

“Spock I think. I said the bond had been helping me cope and I meant it. It wasn’t mind control, I swear. I think Spock knew he was hurting me and tried to help, even though he couldn’t stop. I’ve had a long time to get used to this after all. And if I fall apart, who’s going to look after the ship?”

There’s a lot more to be said, a lot more to be shared, before they can reach any kind of mutual understanding of what’s happened to them, but a start’s something.

* * *

Regardless there’s still the problem of what to do with, what to do for, Spock.

In the end, the answer’s ridiculously simple.

McCoy sends a short message to the older Spock on New Vulcan, explaining briefly that his younger counterpart has gone into Pon Farr, and though he has taken a mate and formed a bond, the Plak Tow has not settled and the medical imbalances of Pon Farr remain, seemingly fatal in the long if not short term. He includes no further specifics.

In return McCoy receives a formal communication from the major treatment centre on New Vulcan detailing how to have Spock admitted for further assessment and treatment of his situation, and a brief handwritten note from the other Spock telling him to make all haste, and that the more stable the hormonal imbalance, the more effective and quicker the treatment would be, that all hope was not lost, that they had seen quite a lot of this over the past year.

And though the answer’s simple, carrying it out isn’t. The letter arrives four days after McCoy first stunned Spock and the Enterprise still has six more days of shore-leave and refit/maintenance remaining. Kirk and McCoy daren’t transfer Spock to any other ship or transport, and though Star Fleet Command has cleared them to proceed directly to New Vulcan, it’s still a three day journey once they get under way.

The inauspicious total of thirteen days is clear in both their heads, and Kirk’s told McCoy about his ten day rule, and even only four days in, McCoy can see the reasons why reflected in his tricorder readings.

Even though he knows it’s coming, McCoy still looses it just a little bit, when he catches Kirk sneaking into sick bay seven days in. He’s got a speech prepared and everything, but what comes out of his mouth is “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and it’s more accusing than he intended it to sound.

Kirk’s taken aback too, but just puts his game face on, and says with a nod towards the closed sickbay doors, “He’s getting bad, I can feel it, and you know it. He didn’t get to – finish – last time, so it’s worse than it should be. You saw what Spock’s letter said, and you know why he put that, so that we wouldn’t just lock Spock up and leave him to fester.”

McCoy just shakes his head, can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, but when Kirk walks towards the doors, he doesn’t stop him.

“You know I’m right.” Kirk adds, with his hand on the keypad. “Don’t look like that, Bones, I’m the one going to the gallows, not you.” And Kirk’s grin might be patented Captain Kirk but that doesn’t mean McCoy can’t see the falseness in it.

“You’re right,” McCoy replies, “it will get worse if you don’t. But he won’t die, and you don’t have to, anyway.”

He’s put his hand over Kirk’s taking it down from the keypad, and it’s the first time they’ve actually touched since the night McCoy and Spock had sex with him. It’s nice.

“Sure I do. He’s on my crew. He was my friend. Might be again.” Kirk pauses, smirks. “Want to come with me?”

McCoy goes to drop Kirk’s hand in shock, but Kirk keeps hold, twisting their fingers together, so he has to reply. “No, Jim. I don’t want that. I don’t know why I – I never even thought about – you’ve never let me say how sorry I am for hurting you like that –“ he’s stuttering like he hasn’t done in a long time, but Kirk just raises his hand up to his mouth and kisses McCoy’s knuckles, like some old-fashioned courting gesture.

“I never came before when I was with Spock. I think that means I liked it. Maybe. Or just like you. I don’t know. Come in with me anyway?”

And McCoy could never say no to Kirk, not even when he was planning on jumping off a cliff.

Sickbay’s cool and empty, sounds of their feet too loud in the hush, as they cross to where Spock is still sleeping and restrained.

“Does he need to be awake?” McCoy asks.

Kirk just looks at him, and he goes to fetch a hypospray to wake the Vulcan up. “How about the restraints?” he asks, before he injects the stimulant.

Kirk swallows, and then shakes his head. “Best keep them on.” Then he remembers himself and adds, “Kinky, hey?”

McCoy just injects Spock and watches for him waking up. Sixty seconds later, Spock’s fully awake and all but snarling, trying to reach for Kirk. Kirk doesn’t move at once, and McCoy thinks he might be about to back out, but he’s not.

There’s a thoughtful look on Kirk’s face, and he says, without malice, “You know, I can do anything I want right about now.” Spock doesn’t respond, except to struggle harder against the restraints, erection evident below the sheets.

McCoy has about a second to worry – not properly, because Kirk’s not like that – before the bed sheets are thrown back and Kirk’s taken Spock into his mouth.

The angle’s got to be awkward, and Kirk’s still fully clothed, leaning over, but Spock’s thrusting up into Kirk’s mouth like he doesn’t care about any of that, and McCoy’s got a great view of Kirk just taking it all in. This time, McCoy can see the green flush all down Spock’s length, and the sight of it all has him getting hard again.

He’s got to be some kind of deviant he realises, getting off on the sight of at-best-dubiously-consensual sex between his lover and a friend, fixated on the sight of Kirk’s ass up in the air, and how in the name of all that’s holy is he standing here watching Kirk and Spock fucking again within a week wanting nothing more than to join in?

He’s just deciding to leave and get Kirk to someone who can actually look after him, just as soon as his legs work again when Kirk pulls back, leaving Spock writhing, and – yes, actually growling. Kirk looks up at him and his lips are already puffy, and shining with spit, and McCoy hasn’t seen anything this wrong and hot for, well, ever. Kirk’s eyes are fixed on McCoy as he loosens off his waistband and slips his trousers down to his hips.

“Come on,” he says “this isn’t a free show. I want you to fuck me, too. Spock won’t mind,” he adds rubbing absently at Spock’s stomach, “I don’t think nice Vulcan girls and boys do this.” and lowers his head back to Spock’s dick.

McCoy knows he shouldn’t but it’s like his actions are out of his control, and that couldn’t have been any more of a clear invitation, so he works Kirk’s trousers down the rest of the way and works a finger into Kirk. He hasn’t thought about anything to ease his way, but it seems Kirk’s got that covered too, so he just lines his cock up and pushes right in, hearing Kirk’s muffled groan appreciatively.

There’s an ugly purpling bruise on the Kirk’s back, visible where his shirt rides up, but McCoy just traps the hem with his thumb so he doesn’t have to look at it. He tries not to thrust too hard, doesn’t want to push Kirk onto Spock and choke him, and keeps his concentration best he can. It’s intoxicating to be close to Kirk again, and he works a hand around to jack him off in time with his thrusts, thankful to find Kirk’s already hard and leaking when he gets there.

Kirk’s told him – well he’d said Spock’s been known to show incredible stamina – so he tries to draw it out as much as he can, to stay with Kirk as long as he can, but eventually his hips start to stutter and after one particularly forceful movement he hears Kirk gag and then pull his head up.

“Bones,” he wheezes, “don’t stop.” So McCoy doesn’t, and slams into Kirk until there’s a white light in front of his eyes and he’s spilling into Kirk. They both collapse forward together under McCoy’s weight for a moment, Spock’s erection close but ignored and then McCoy shifts to try and get his hands back on Kirk. Kirk pushes him off and climbs on the biobed, straddles Spock and guides his cock inside of himself. It’s done with such a lack of ceremony that McCoy’s heart aches and he pulls himself together, crosses to stand behind Kirk, wraps his arms around his chest and buries his face into the crook of his neck, feeling the tears start to prick at his eyes.

Kirk’s erection is still bobbing proudly against his stomach, and this time, when McCoy reaches for him, he isn’t pushed away. He works him until Kirk stiffens and groans in his arms, come hot and sticky on his hand, and it feels like penance and forgiveness all in one. Shortly afterwards Spock growls one last time, then stills against the restraints.

Kirk’s still for a few seconds, then shakily pushes his way free of both of them, and goes to retrieve his trousers without a word. Spock’s staring at the ceiling, and McCoy doesn’t know what to do, so he just straightens the cover over him, averting his eyes. He’s surprised when Kirk comes back to the bedside instead of walking out, and takes a firm grip on Spock’s chin turning his face towards him.

Kirk looks at Spock for a long moment, like he’s searching his face for something, and in short order McCoy can see the flicker of lucidity as well.

“Spock,” Kirk says, and his voice is soft but strong, like his fingers on Spock’s face. “We’re taking you to New Vulcan. Apparently this is a complication of unresolved Pon Farr and can be treated. We’ll be there in a week.

“Do you understand me? You only have to hold on for another week.”

Spock doesn’t say anything, but nods his head, as much as Kirk’s hand lets him. “Thank you, Captain.” His voice is cracked with disuse, but the emotion comes through, “but you should not have come. I have allowed this to go on far too long and too far to the detriment of all involved.”

“We both have, Spock,” is all Kirk replies. “Do you want us to sedate you again, or would you rather be awake?”

Spock considers. “Sedation would be the logical course of action, Captain.” Kirk stays quiet, but it seems that’s all he’s going to say, so he nods at McCoy to fetch the sedative.

When he comes back, Kirk has his hand resting on Spock’s hair, and as he gives the sedative and Spock drifts back into sleep, Kirk strokes his hair and he whispers, “I’m sorry Spock; I should have looked after you better.”

McCoy feels like he’s intruding, so he steps back, but Kirk looks up and smiles at him, and it’s the smile he first fell in love with, and he knows he’s not going anywhere. None of them are, whatever the cost.

* * *

Kirk makes sure the ship leaves for New Vulcan right on time, and for once the universe seems to be on their side because they make it without any diversion, disaster or deviation.

TBC

Worst Mistake Part 3

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 01:59:20 GMT

Hi all, thanks again for the encouragement, it's much appreciated.

Here's another part, I've overshot on plot slightly, and now think there will be a part four plus an epilogue, but big chunks of those are already written, so hopefully won't be too much longer before this is all finished for you.

Enjoy! Cai.

Title: Worst Mistake: Part 3
Author: Cai
Fandom: Nu!Trek (Star trek XI)
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Kirk, Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Length: 5000 words this part, 15,000 words total so far
Spoilers: For the film, amok time (TOS)
Warnings: Non/Dub-con (this part), double penetration, violence
Summary: Kirk gets caught in the middle of forces beyond his control, see the prompt (linked in part 1) for more details
Notes: Written for the Star trek XI Kink Meme

Part One (of four)

Part Two (of four)

Part 3

Outwardly, things go back to normal on the ship.

Kirk takes back over command and he’s competent and cocky and the captain the crew know and trust, and though the ship-wide gossip runs wild as to just what happened between Kirk and Spock for a while, none of it seems to come close to the truth, and is eventually forgotten in favour of newer, shinier things.

Kirk doesn’t forget.

Most of the time he feels like himself, though there’s always an awareness of Spock in his head now, and worse, Spock’s awareness of him also registers, a subtle commentary on his day to day activities, that is only ever emotions not words. He knows he can do his duties as a Captain without a doubt, and is performing just as well as he ever was, but there’s something missing. This Kirk, he knows, wouldn’t have figured out that the lightening storm meant the Romulans were lying in wait, wouldn’t have chased Nero down with no plan, only faith in his ship and crew, wouldn’t have done a hundred other little things that had their roots in instinct and impulse and a life learning the fine line of when to jump and when to duck. He’s not sure if he likes the new Kirk, but he can live with him, and the Admiralty definitely approve of his new persona, that’s for sure.

Spock is his lover now, and his bond mate. They aren’t friends.

Before all this began they used to meet weekly for a game of chess, an informal debrief, and more importantly for the pleasure of each other’s company. They still meet weekly, and often even still play chess and talk about events on the ship that have caught their attention, but now there’s sex involved as well. Outside of that one night a week, they work together well enough, but don’t socialise.

Kirk never thought he’d see the day when sex became something to dread. Most of the time with Spock he doesn’t even get hard, and given Kirk’s obvious disinterest in proceedings Spock usually dispenses with foreplay entirely. Kirk’s learned to go to their meetings slick and ready as the only prep he gets is what he does himself, just as he’s learnt that he needs to be an active participant even if he doesn’t fake his own pleasure.

Spock lets him ride him at the start of the night, the only position he can tolerate with any degree of ease, but if he feels Kirk is too passive, he’ll flip them over and pin Kirk on his stomach, buried deep inside him and close the bond down so that the familiar terror and panic descend, and Kirk is left to buck and fight, unable to escape, unable to stop, unable to gain any relief. Those nights Spock will let Kirk struggle to exhaustion then fuck him with precise strokes, every one hitting his prostate until he’s coming all over his stomach and the sheets, and then Spock will continue to fuck him, sliding in his own cooling spunk until the anger that’s been stirred up dies away again.

After those nights Kirk bleeds and is sore for days, in his ass and his wrists. After Spock’s pinned him down for hours, arms twisted behind him, crushed into his shoulder blades by one of Spock’s hands, he swears he can feel the bones of his wrists grinding together, and always has the bruises to hide. Spock doesn’t care if he gets hard or comes, if he bleeds or cries, if he moans or screams. All he cares about is that he has complete control over Kirk, and will accept nothing less.

Near the beginning, Kirk had tried to close his eyes and pretend it was someone else, and it had helped move things along for both of them, but he’d let images of doing this with McCoy float into his mind (the betrayal making him sick to his stomach) and Spock had punished him. Painful hits to the stomach and soft tissue under the rib cage and over the hip bones and flanks that made it hard to breathe and cough and stand for days afterward, but had left next to nothing in the way of marks. He’d taken Kirk hard, face up on the floor after that and the rug burn had been just one more souvenir of the experiment gone wrong. Now Spock doesn’t let Kirk close his eyes, and pinches him sharply on the thigh and buttocks if his mind starts to wander from the task at hand. Kirk has come to accept that when they’re close like this, he has no privacy from Spock, mind or body.

He’s never been one for following rules, but this live he’s living with Spock now, has a thousand tiny little rules that he has to learn by breaking them, and suffer for breaking them. Strangely though, Spock allows him freedoms he’d never have imagined that he would.

Spock’s spent some time teaching him how to build up his mental defences against the bond so that he can shut Spock out when he wants his privacy. It’s impossible when they’re close, and impractical, but otherwise he’s learnt to handle it well. The bond is always there, the awareness of each other through space and time, which should be a beautiful thing, is really just a shackle, however the free flow of thoughts and ideas, that, he can shut down most of the time.

Stranger still, Spock hasn’t shown any sign of jealousy regarding his relationship with Dr McCoy outside of their time together. There’s no way Spock could have missed that he and McCoy are still together (just, his treacherous mind supplies) and Kirk thinks that maybe that’s why Spock showed him how to block the link, so that they could have their privacy together. He can’t quite fathom the cruelty and kindness that seem to coexist in Spock and be directed at him.

He suspects there’s still something of the original hormonal imbalance, some after effect of Pon Farr still messing things up. Whenever they have to cancel their weekly meeting for some disaster or event or other, the following week is guaranteed to be violent even if Kirk does everything right. After one occasion, when Kirk and Spock were unable to meet for nearly three weeks beforehand, stuck in diplomatic meetings and ferrying dignitaries around, Kirk was on the verge of going to sickbay and confessing all, but in the end Spock took him to a planet-side hospital to have his injuries dealt with. The doctors there accepted the story of an anonymous attacker and a refusal to report the incident without further interest or comment. Now he never lets Spock go for more than ten days regardless, out of concern for his own continued wellbeing.

After sex, Spock is different, gentler, lost and almost remorseful, but Kirk can’t handle that, needs to see Spock as his captor, his attacker, if he’s going to make any sense of this, so he gets dressed and leaves as soon as Spock has come in his ass and lets go of his hips. He’s not going to feel sympathy for him. The few times he’s heard Spock ask him to stay, it’s been so quiet he’s been able to pretend not to hear.

And that’s how the months have gone on, approaching a year now. He won’t be holding any kind of celebration of his and Spock’s first ‘anniversary’, that’s for sure. But he’s healthy and whole, for the most part, and functional. He’s in space and Captain of a star ship, and respected by his crew, a for some reason McCoy has stuck by him, so he thinks that there’s lots of people that have it a lot worse out there.

* * *

Kirk had never really thought about loving McCoy before all this started. They were together, and they were happy, and neither of them seemed to have itchy feet, so it beat the hell out of any relationship Kirk had had in the past. He could have asked McCoy, he supposes, what love was like, considering he’d probably loved his wife, but it had never really been an issue.

Kirk knows now that he loves McCoy without a doubt, more than he’d ever thought possible. He’s been ignored for most of his childhood, then idolised or avoided during his adolescence and disapproved of in his adult life, and now he’s letting himself get beaten and raped on a regular basis. McCoy’s the only one who’s ever made it easy, the only one who’s ever made him feel good about himself for who he is, rather than who he appears to be. And when his inner self is so evidently worthless, that’s some feat.

He hasn’t done anything about it, because living on a star ship in close quarters is de facto like moving in together, and he can spend all the time he likes with his chief medical officer with no questions asked.

When McCoy arrived at the academy, he was a good decade older than the rest of his class, outwardly disagreeable and unshaven, and a rumoured alcoholic, but Kirk never saw him drunk during training, though he often saw him drinking on his off hours.

After a few months Kirk managed to infuriate his roommate into requesting a transfer and then offered the space to McCoy. He didn’t have any real designs in doing it – his original roommate was an uptight prick who was way too excited to be in Starfleet, and needling him was fun – except that he’s heard what McCoy’s roommate says about him for cheap laughs. Kirk knows enough about messed up family dynamics to know that some things should just be kept private.

They get on just fine, which he suspects is a first for them both when it comes to roommates. McCoy has some stories to tell about the dorms in med school, that’s for sure, and he’d been living in the room over the garage for three years before he moved out of his mother’s home. Kirk’s not exactly neat, but then he’s not actually accumulated enough stuff to be messy, and hotel services come as standard, so his laundry gets done.

Kirk doesn’t bring girls back to his room, or guys for that matter, because he likes to be able to leave if things get overly serious without too much drama, so McCoy has plenty of time to himself as well, and seems to use it studying, academy syllabus and technical medical journals that are beyond Kirk’s grasp. Kirk doesn’t study, but he does attend everything he’s scheduled, so he gets by just fine, even if he isn’t winning any awards. It’s comfortable, and Kirk finds he’s looking forward to getting in and having someone there to meet him, which is new as well, but like Kirk said, McCoy just makes everything easy.

Kirk’s always been good at picking up signals, at noticing how people notice him, but still it takes months to realise that McCoy has a thing for him, and a few more after that to realise that McCoy is totally unaware of that fact. For all his smarts about other people, McCoy can be remarkably dense when he chooses to. The knowledge makes Kirk feel warm inside, rather than excited and horny, like he does when a pretty girl looks him up and down at a bar, but it also leaves Kirk with the choice about whether to make his move or not, and time to make his decision.

In the end, he chooses not, at least not yet; he has a defining moment of realising that relationships are about more than just sex, and once he’s done feeling incredibly mature, he decides to wait it out. Besides, he knows if he gets it wrong, like he always seems to, then he’ll have lost something important. So he chases after Gaila and Uhura and a hundred others, and McCoy seems genuinely amused by him, so he lets it sit. He’s got a home, and a supply of regular sex, and he figures it’s more than most people have, and more than he deserves, so for once in his life, he’s not going to rock the boat.

It’s not until after the extensive ‘we saved the world’ parties have calmed down and Kirk and McCoy manage to catch a quiet moment and a private drink together, and McCoy says, “Y’know, twice back there, I was really worried I’d lost you.”

Kirk thinks about answering, thinks about lost time and missed opportunities, thinks about having to explain, and kisses McCoy instead; he’s good at reading signals, and reading McCoy, and knows that it’ll be welcome.

It is, and after that they sort of fall into a relationship that neither of them actually talk about. Once, when there’s an outbreak of some space-clap on the ship, McCoy asks Kirk if they should both get checked, and Kirk tells him there’s been no-one else since they started this thing between them. McCoy’s smile at that is worth everything.

The sex doesn’t exactly bring them closer – they already knew each other far too well to ever be commander and subordinate, and are already too loyal to each other to worry about favouritism – but it is a lot of fun. Even though, Kirk’s still the one to pick up the signals in the relationship, and it’s usually him that has to figure out if McCoy wants an evening ends up in bed together or going their separate ways. It works for them, and best of all it’s easy like nothing ever can be.

This thing with Spock is bleeding through more and more though, making things hard where they shouldn’t be, throwing invisible stumbling blocks into their road. It’s nothing Kirk can pin down, because if he could figure it out, he’d like to believe he’d fix it. At least part of it is keeping secrets from McCoy – having to think before he talks or lies – and the ever present guilt about what he’s doing and how he’s letting it happen.

They still have sex now and then, but Kirk has to hide the bruises and there’s whole weeks when he can’t sit comfortably, let alone let McCoy touch him. He’s become a master of subterfuge and misdirection, but the layers of clothes he sometimes keeps on symbolise the barrier that’s growing between them. He hasn’t bottomed for McCoy since, well, before he started bottoming for Spock, and when he has marks to hide he turns McCoy on his stomach and makes love to him from behind. He knows it infuriates McCoy that he can’t touch and kiss Kirk in that position, but he ignores it, just as he ignores the passing urges to hold McCoy down and hurt him the way Spock does. When images like that are rolling round in his head he tries to leave as soon as he decently can, even though he’s never failed to spend a whole night with McCoy after making love, right from the start.

McCoy knows there’s something, and asks Kirk from time to time what the problem is, and if it’s about Kirk wanting to end things. He usually asks right after Kirk has sucked him off, down on his knees feeling like he’s servicing him, but unable to offer anything more personal. McCoy says he’s distant, cold, sad, and Kirk knows he’s right – can’t remember the last time he laughed, but can recount all to clearly the nights the shaking and tears have overwhelmed him in the small hours of the morning alone in bed. The hurt in his voice cuts into Kirk’s heart, and sometimes he’s so close to just breaking down and confessing all, but never dares; he knows if he does McCoy will see him for the pathetic wretch he is and leave him alone. After all McCoy’s already told him he thinks Kirk brought this on himself by mishandling the situation in the first place.

When the urge to tell all takes him he can still hear McCoy telling him ‘Spock was out of it, and he needed help and you did buggar-all to help him. Just got me held to ransom and drugged. Deserved that kick up the ass he gave you if you ask me –‘ and he can hear Spock telling him who he belongs to, who he exists to serve, and he bites down on his tongue.

McCoy’s taken to walking out when Kirk refuses to talk to him, saying he needs to clear his head, but he always comes back, and sits with Kirk, not really saying anything, but not angry either. In these times of stillness, with the bond all closed down, Kirk can lean on McCoy and pull the pieces of himself back together before he has to go out and face another day. Trouble is, the length of time McCoy’s away is getting steadily longer, and Kirk knows it won’t be long before his patience is entirely through, and he’ll walk and not come back.

Kirk’s still waiting for the final death knell to ring on their relationship when they dock at Starbase 11 for routine restocking and maintenance, and to give crew some long-deserved shore leave on the surface. He elects to stay on board ship, even when McCoy asks him to go down to the surface with him, and it leads to yet another argument. They never used to row – not properly, not with feeling – and lately it’s all they seem to do. They both say terrible things, but McCoy gets the last word and walks away before Kirk can even begin to formulate a reply. All he really wants to say is stay and take care of me but he doesn’t have the right anymore. Loves McCoy too much to stop him walking away.

* * *

Spock returns to the ship after only a day’s shore leave – Kirk doesn’t contemplate what he felt the need to do down there – and comes to Kirk’s rooms to inform him he has returned (as if he didn’t already know).

It’s not their night of the week, but Spock doesn’t seem inclined to leave, and Kirk’s ears have been ringing with everything that was said last night between him and McCoy, so something to distract him will be welcome, even if it is screaming. He lets Spock tumble him into bed, despite the fact that they’ve never had sex in his quarters before, and he’s always counted them as his safe haven from Spock.

He’s dispensed with their clothes and managed to get some lube in his ass before suddenly Spock’s on his back in Kirk’s bed, naked, and Kirk’s mounted on his dick, hands planted on either side of Spock’s head, arms braced, grinding his hips down to meet Spock’s thrusts. Tonight Kirk’s cock is soft and resting against his balls, and he’s managing to keep quiet. They’ve been at this a while, so the sweat from his forehead is dripping down onto Spock and soft grunts are the only noise in the room, when there’s a chime at the door and McCoy walks in without waiting, the doors set to open for him at any time, no matter the level of lock placed on them.

Fucking typical, Kirk has time to think, the one time we do it in my rooms, McCoy comes back from shore leave early and walks in on us, before the yelling starts.

McCoy’s standing at the door, his mouth open and skin livid.

“Jesus Christ Jim. What the hell is this?” he yells. “This, this – is what’s been going on! This is what you haven’t been telling me! And you’ve let me think...For how long?”

Kirk knows McCoy well enough to know that the yelling is a good sign, if there was no chance, he’d already be out the door. He opens his mouth to say something, hopefully the right thing, when Spock says, flat and emotionless,

“Correct doctor. The captain has been engaged in simultaneous sexual relationships with both of us for approximately eleven months.”

And hell, if he doesn’t even sound out of breath. Kirk sees something break in McCoy’s eyes, and Spock’s fingers are still digging into Kirk’s hips, not letting him free, so he sits up and twists and pleads,

“Stay, Bones, please, please, don’t walk out,” and there must be something in his voice or his face because McCoy does stop at the door and turn back.

“Why do you always ask me that? Why do you want me to stay, Jim?” he asks, low and dangerous. “Why are you asking me to stay when you’ve still got someone else’s cock up your ass?”

McCoy’s face twists into an ugly expression and he snarls “I knew you were a whore when we started this thing, but I never thought you’d do this to me, or so...so blatantly.”

He’s crossed the room by this point and grabs the back of Kirk’s head by his hair pulling it round and into a bruising kiss. “Is this what you want me to stay for, Jim?” he asks when he breaks the kiss then smothers the reply with another one, biting at Kirk’s lower lip, ignoring the whimper.

Then he steps back and drops his handful of Kirk’s hair and looks at him and says “What the hell is it you want, Jim?” breathing hard.

Kirk hasn’t got a reply, but that doesn’t matter anyway, because Spock is shifting his hands and pulling Kirk forward so their chests meet and with his other hand spreading his ass cheeks wider so where the two of them join is clearly visible, and then he curls his middle finger in, pushing it right in alongside his dick.

McCoy stares, transfixed, pupils dilated a noticeable bulge in his trouser fronts. “I believe, doctor, that I am willing to share. However I have had full knowledge of the situation for the last eleven months so have had time to reach this conclusion, where you have not. And I believe the Captain was asking you to join us.”

That’ll make McCoy angry, the smugness in the tone, Kirk knows, and he can hear the suppressed tremor in McCoy’s voice when he asks “Jim?” But he also knows not to deny Spock anything that he wants in bed, and he’s afraid, for himself, for McCoy if Spock looses himself to the feral madness that still lurks under the surface.

In the end, he just says “Please, Bones,” and even he couldn’t tell you what he was begging for right then. McCoy strokes a hand over his side, down his ribs, like he’s done so many times before in bed, but this time it’s possessive, and Kirk shivers at the touch.

Spock’s up to two extra fingers in alongside his dick as he feels the bed dip and the sound of a zipper being drawn down, of lube being opened. Soon enough Spock’s fingers slide out and he feels McCoy’s rounder fingers slip in, two then three, and it hurts but he’s biting down on his tongue, afraid to make a sound, Spock’s warning hand still on the back of his neck. The bond is telling him just what will happen if he cries out.

Suddenly the fingers are gone and he suppresses a gasp of relief as they’re replaced with the blunt head of McCoy’s dick, breaching him, sliding in alongside Spock’s. It’s too much, far too much, and he’s sweating and moaning in pain, but McCoy’s just pressing forward, determined to give him what he’s ‘asked for’, in all senses of the word. He can feel McCoy tense and angry behind him, and almost as soon as he’s got his cock all the way in, he pulls back and begins to snap his hips into him, unheeding of the hitching sobs it’s pulling from Kirk, stifled into the side of Spock’s neck.

Then Spock begins to push up into him at a much more leisurely pace and the two of them soon settle into a terrible rhythm, McCoy’s sharp thrusts lifting Kirk up and off Spock’s dick and then their hands pulling his hips down to force McCoy the last little way in and to meet Spock’s upwards stroke before they all drop back to the mattress and start again, over and over, faster and harder.

It’s more like a fight than sex, both McCoy and Spock pulling at Kirk’s body, trying to set the pace and get the angles right for themselves, and Kirk feels like nothing more than he is, a convenient hole for this battle to take place. All three of them are covered in sweat and gasping in the enclosed room, the noises echoing obscenely off the walls. He’s no stranger to pain over the last year or so, but this hurts more than anything since that first time with Spock, and he can only hope for it to be over soon.

Yet despite it all, he’s getting hard. He hasn’t felt a lick of pleasure in his body since the whole thing started, and their cocks feel like sandpaper in his ass, but it seems simply the fact that McCoy’s there, that he’s giving his lover, his love, what he wants, is enough. He knows he deserves this, has betrayed McCoy over and over again, because he’s weak and wanton and worthless, and if McCoy want to take it, well that’s no more than his due.

It seems the familiarity has reached McCoy too, because his body is relaxing behind Kirk, his hands not controlling Kirk’s hips so ruthlessly, absently running up and down Kirk’s ribs, soothing and gentling him as the pain continues to tear into him. Kirk feels him lean forward to lick at the sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades, and he places an absent kiss there as well, so he can’t help but murmur “Bones” at that.

There are the first stirrings of pleasure starting in his groin, and as Spock fades away into the background Kirk closes his eyes and pretends they’re alone. He can feel the warnings coming over the bond from Spock, that this is not what he wanted, but he’s already in trouble and right now Kirk’s prepared to be selfish, and take the consequences later. Spock’s not strong enough to flip the two of them right now he knows.

McCoy’s hips begin to stutter and fall out of rhythm as he nears his orgasm and Kirk rubs his hips against Spock’s, pulling at his own cock, trying to catch up and falls over into his climax seconds after McCoy does and they both collapse forward together onto Spock. The Vulcan is still hard inside of him, but he’s always enjoyed being inside Kirk for long periods, moving or still, and right now Kirk doesn’t give a shit about him.

In fairly short order he realises that he needs to give a shit about himself and McCoy both, and McCoy is pulling out and getting himself up. He doesn’t seem to want to lie down, which is good, and is busy tucking himself in, straightening his uniform, when Kirk summons up his Captain’s voice and says, “Doctor. You need to leave now. Captain’s orders.”

It might have seemed ridiculous, spunk leaking out of his ass, still in the middle of sex, but for the fact that Kirk never never gives his friend direct orders unless they absolutely have to happen that way, to the letter.

McCoy’s no idiot, and it finally seems to be dawning on him that something truly screwed up is going on here, and he beats it for the door without any further ado, and once it’s closed, Kirk has time to say “Computer lock door to all, authorisation code Kirk_Omega_ Theta_Three,” before Spock has thrown him off the bed and onto the floor.

At these times Spock never speaks, there’s no angry monologue, and Kirk’s left to guess what it is he’s done wrong, though this time, there doesn’t seem to be much doubt. He closes his eyes and wishes he could have had time to say sorry to McCoy, but he hopes he’ll understand that anyway, and that they’ll clean his body up before they take it out the room. The he tries to get to his feet and fight Spock, because he’s James T Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise and he doesn’t believe in no-win situations, but he never really had a chance against Vulcan strength and rage in the first place.

When McCoy barges back through the door, phaser on stun, Kirk’s down on the floor spitting blood and Spock’s just about to drive his knuckle into the unprotected flesh over his kidney. Spock goes down like a stone and Kirk collapses forward onto the floor. It’s only the second time McCoy’s fired his phaser in anger, and this is getting to be a habit he thinks.

He restrains Spock, knowing he might only be out for a minute, and then dumps him in the bathroom and closes the door. Kirk is stirring weakly, trying to turn himself over when McCoy reaches him, so he helps him turn over and just cradles his head in his lap.

Kirk’s nose is broken and he’s lost a few teeth, so it takes him a few tries before McCoy understands that he’s saying he’s sorry. Kirk’s eyes are still red-rimmed, tear tracks still visible under the blood and up close his body is a mess of healing bruises of varying vintages, all designed to be hidden under the uniform he wears.

McCoy counts to ten, all the time he’s going to let himself have to panic then sets about trying to get Kirk up and wrapped in a blanket for the trip to sickbay. Kirk’s struggling against him though, and he realises with a sick feeling that Kirk had been asking for help when he’d said please, not sex, and now one of the two men that just raped him is holding him close, but when McCoy tries to pull away, Kirk only clings harder, and he’s still saying he’s sorry.

“Come on, Jim, we need to get you to sickbay, kid, go with me on this.”

“I know, I’m sorry, sorry, Bones, I’m sorry.” Is all Kirk will say though, and McCoy realises he’s going into shock, so he wraps his arms tighter around Kirk and whispers “It’s okay Jim, I forgive you, I forgive you,” feeling like a hypocrite the whole time, until Kirk seems more pliant in him arms, then concentrates on getting the blanket back around him.

Part 4 >>>

Worst Mistake Part 2

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 00:30:30 GMT

Right, here's the next part, and thank you to all those who've left comments and words of encouragement, it's much appreciated to know that people are reading!

Title: Worst Mistake: Part 2
Author: Cai
Fandom: Nu!Trek (Star trek XI)
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Kirk, Spock/Kirk, McCoy
Length: 6000+ words this part, 10,000 words total so far
Spoilers: For the film, amok time (TOS)
Warnings: Dub-con (this part), reference to previous non-con, violence
Summary: Kirk gets caught in the middle of forces beyond his control, see the prompt (linked in part 1) for more details
Notes: Written for the Star trek XI Kink Meme

<<< Link to Part 1

PART 2

Spock doesn’t help McCoy first.

Abject honesty, as far as logic is concerned is morally praise-worthy but not morally obligatory. He does not intend to lie, but by ensuring the circumstances never arise where a given question is asked, he can avoid the need to lie in the altogether. He can feel his strength returning to him as his hormones settle and he wrestles down his emotions beneath the calm of logic.

There’s still enough bleeding around the edges though, so that he can feel the guilt pulling at him, and the desire to deny, to hide and to help his friend; but surging over it all is the need to protect his bond mate. To keep him close. Logic dictates that a violent sexual assault will not be overlooked where a heated, impulsive fight may receive a more understanding approach. He has attacked Kirk once and has been forgiven – the incident of the Enterprise’s maiden voyage is practically folklore by now – and he has been allowed to stay at his side. This incident is no different. Must be no different.

Even drained as he is, Kirk is practically no weight at all to lift onto a nearby biobed, and a few minutes with the dermal regenerator and the inbuilt sonic shower and there’s barely a trace of the intimate injuries Kirk has suffered at his hands. The bruises and broken bones he leaves alone, and the muscle torn by teeth; all the markers of a savage fight he lets stand, covered only with a standard medical gown.

He’s about to wake McCoy and unlock the doors, let reality in, when he’s overcome with disgust, at himself, at his actions, and dizzy and not a little sick he sinks to the floor in the corner, lost in his thoughts. Once the link with Kirk had been permanently formed, he had delved inside the Captain’s mind, snarling and tortured as it had been. He’d heard him screaming deep down in his mind, felt the pain he’d inflicted and he’d relished it, it had driven him on, driven him harder, driven him wild.

Kirk must be floating nearer the surface of consciousness he realises, he’s dreaming, and the images flooding him mind are streaming straight along the unprotected mental links, jumbled and hazed with pain. It’s like a whirlwind set loose in Spock’s mind as, unbidden, he overlays the memories of need and relief and pleasure with Kirk’s agony and confusion and fear. They’re not arousing in the least any more, those images, and the hitching noises that Kirk had been making for a while suddenly take on a terrible overtone, and he can’t make it stop, can’t shut it down, can’t get away.

Spock’s aware that he’s working his fingers, a nervous habit from his youth, weaving them in and out of one another, rubbing, chaffing. He’s done this, all of this, and worse, he’s tried to hide it, and distantly he recognises the spiral of these thoughts from previous encounters where he has become emotionally compromised, and just like that, the thoughts are gone, sunk in the chill mountain lake of logic he keeps to order his thoughts.

Without more hesitation he sinks into meditation to order and process the events, to regain control, to rebuild his mental defences, and all thoughts of McCoy and the outside harsh realities are gone.

* * *

It’s McCoy that wakes up next, the neural paralytic wearing off, leaving him lurching back into consciousness in fits and starts, moaning as his newly restarted senses overwhelm him and his renervated limbs jerk.

What the hell he thinks, closely followed by who the hell is letting me wake up like this? bloody witch doctors, the lot of them as he rides out the sensations. It’s only after his nose comes back on line and he smells the blood and sweat, rank in the air, that he starts to remember and look around. At first his vision is a little blurry and then he can’t seem to get his legs under him but he makes it across to the mess that he assumes is Jim Kirk eventually.

There’s too much when he pulls back the blanket – too much blood, too many wounds, too grey, too still – to take in all at once so instead he just rests his head down on Kirk’s chest, taking comfort from the reassuringly regular beating of his heart, the steady up and down movement of his chest. Checking for signs of life as it would be reported in medical speak, he thinks to himself and barely suppresses a laugh, choked as it is.

But now the part of his brain that’s trained to go on even under stress is kicking in and reminding him of some of his most basic training. Before attempting to assess and resuscitate the patient, check the area for dangers to you. And there’s certainly still a danger that could be locked in with them, for all the he seems to have disappeared. There was a phaser on the table beside him when he woke, he recalls, and he heads back towards it, leg and arms steadier now than before. He tries to override the door lock, but whatever Spock has done to it is beyond his capabilities to reverse so he forces himself to go looking for him.

This has never really been his job; for all that he’s been on away missions there was always someone else there to take the lead. As he likes to say, he’s a doctor first and foremost and everything else second. Nevertheless he forces himself to check around the office and attached medical bay, but when he finds him Spock isn’t even all that hidden, just sitting in a corner, meditating, still, calm, composed, for all the world as if nothing is wrong.

“Spock.” He says (shouts, screams) phaser levelled and ready. And damned if the green-blooded hob goblin doesn’t just peer up at him with that bland emotionless face that always smacked of smugness and superiority to McCoy.

Neither of them speak, and as Spock looks up McCoy can see a streak of blood smudged down the side of his face, and he knows beyond a doubt that it’s Spock who’s done this to them . He’s never fired his phaser in anger before, at a living target, but he does now without a moment’s hesitation. As he watches Spock slump back to the floor, he checks the phaser. Only set to stun he thinks to himself, then sets about getting Spock onto a biobed and into restraints. Need to get back to Jim is all he can think.

When he does, Kirk is showing no more signs of waking than before, and there’s a quiet edge of panic beginning to set in as McCoy activates the sensors on the biobed and sets about scanning Kirk with a medical tricorder. Distantly McCoy knows he should have help for this assessment, but he’s dreading what he might find. Kirk is naked but for a hospital gown, his clothes in a pile across the room and Spock was out of his mind and ranting about mating, so McCoy hopes to god he only beat the captain unconscious in his feral rage, but he needs to know.

But his worst fears aren’t realised when his scans show him no rectal injuries going deep inside. Other things are bleeping at him instead – blood loss, renal trauma, peritonitis, pulmonary contusions, sterna fractures, head injury – but it appears Kirk’s virtue (hah! he thinks) remains intact. He’d doing things out of order he knows, wasting time that the captain may not be able to afford, but he can’t help it. He checks again, visually this time, for any signs he’s missed on scans, because he can’t, won’t, let the captain loose the respect of his crew to the hotbed of gossip that this would become. Bad enough the ship’s first officer went crazy, kidnapped the doctor and assaulted the captain without any more stories to be told.

Once he’s sure, he starts in on trauma triage proper, giving oxygen and fluids and pinpointing injuries, and it’s only when he turns to where his nurse should be to ask for something that he remembers he’s not alone, and he should be calling for help. Spock hadn’t blocked the communications just taken away their communicators, so the inbuilt modules in the biobeds still work.

The security crews are already outside trying to figure their way in, since 0900 when the newly arrived alpha shift hadn’t been able to find their way in to sickbay, but when McCoy tells them that it’s Spock who has locked the doors that must mean something to someone, because a bare five minutes later the doors are opening and people are crowding in, and suddenly, hours and hours too late, they have all the help they need.

His team come to him and the new doctor on duty catches site of Commander Spock immediately and hurries to start taking care of him. At small team gather at his side, and more nurses peel off to join McCoy. He leaves them to figure out the chain of events, of hormones gone wild, of madness and return, and finally of a stun from his phaser. They’re clever people and they’ll catch on. If they don’t, who cares? Not McCoy, that’s for sure.

Kirk needs to be in surgery sooner rather than later, and McCoy’s still the best qualified to do it so he drives everything down deep, deep and cold, down where nitrogen freezes and molecules slow to a crawl and life is calm and simple and controlled. Surgery is like an art, and when he’s calm and focussed, nothing is out of his control. When he’s done, and he knows that Kirk is going to make it, he walks away, to be alone, to think, to sleep.

* * *

All in all, it doesn’t take Kirk all that long to recover physically, and he does most of it alone. He’s known for being a terrible patient, so other people keep their visits short and he doesn’t encourage them to stay. He’s never really minded waking up alone after some ridiculously terrible injury or other, but this time it hurts that McCoy isn’t there. Kirk doesn’t know what he knows, what he wants him to know, but he does want him there to sit and hold his hand and tell him it will all work out okay, somehow. Wants it in a way he hasn’t since he realised his mother was never going to do that for him all those years ago, wants it in a way he didn’t even realise he could anymore.

But of course, he’s Kirk and he doesn’t talk about feelings or anything that matters all that much, so every time McCoy sticks his head in to check on him, he grouses about wanting to get back to his quarters, back on his feet, until McCoy gives in and offers to let him finish convalescing in his rooms, after which time he’s even more cut off from the people around him. He understands, he does, they’ve never been careless of their relationship in public, but it feels like a slap in the face anyway.

After a few days he gets around to wondering if they’re still fighting, like they were before, but that makes him think about Spock, and he feels sick if he does that too long, so he tries not to. All in all the time alone lets him build himself back up, for all that he can see the cracks clearly in the mirror, lets him rebuilt his mental defences despite the niggle in the back of his mind that never seems to go away.

He’s familiar with post-traumatic stress, recognises it for what it is, thanks whatever gods have had it in for him from the minute of his birth that he has the gift of rationalising and compartmentalising to deal with the stresses of this life he’s chosen. Some can do it, some can’t, and thus far he’s counted himself among the lucky ones. The flashbacks aren’t so much full on hallucinations as they are dreams and nightmares that diminish with the passage of days, and Kirk’s learnt to find the silver lining where he can even if he has to wash and shower with his eyes closed, rather than look at his curiously unblemished body.

All in all, it’s a shock when McCoy arrives unannounced, presses the door alarm, then just walks on in without so much as a by-your-leave.

“For God’s sake, Jim,” he announces, “are we ever going to bloody well talk about this?”

Kirk stares. Panics. Then stares a bit more. What does McCoy mean by ‘this’?

“You’ve been ignoring me for the best part of four days and now you want to talk?” is pretty much all he can manage.

“Ignoring you? Dear lord, where between the grunts and monosyllabic replies was I supposed to gather that you weren’t still holding out for a sodding apology? You weren’t exactly giving your normal come hither vibe, y’know.” He draws a breath, noticing the colour draining from the edges of Kirk’s face, but they’ve never been ones to coddle each other, so he carries on, “and as for any apology, you can just keep hoping, ‘cause I was damned right. Spock was out of it, and he needed help and you did buggar-all to help him. Just got me held to ransom and drugged. Deserved that kick up the ass he gave you if you ask me –“

Even Kirk can hear the edge of hysteria to his laugh as it burst out of him, so there’s no way McCoy can miss it and it stops him mid-rant. Kirk’s doubled over, pale and shaking, laughing and wheezing like he can’t stop (panic attack, McCoy’s mind supplies, probably can’t stop) and everything else McCoy had prepared to say flies out of his mind.

He gathers Kirk up in his arms, sitting awkwardly on the floor with him, rocking, soothing and just holding. He’s whispering some nonsense even he doesn’t follow into the hair above Kirk’s right ear, and it must be making some sense because little by little Kirk stills and sags and curls into McCoy, tightening his own grip around the doctor. It’s only when McCoy notices that his shirt is getting wet does he look down to see that Kirk is crying. There are silent tears coursing down Kirk’s face, a thousand yard stare on his face, and he’s terribly still, as still as he was on the biobed, so McCoy just holds him tighter.

“Jim, Jim, Kid, Jim...” he murmurs in a soothing litany. Kirk’s got his head pressed just over McCoy’s heart and he holds him there, steadies him, until he hears Kirk say “Bones...”

It’s a broken little sound, nothing like McCoy’s ever heard from Kirk before. “Jesus Jim, what did he do to you?” is all he can think to say.

Kirk doesn’t answer.

* * *

McCoy can’t pinpoint the moment when Kirk falls asleep that night, not even sure if it’s before or after he did that night, but he knows they both woke up on the floor, cold and not a little stiff, only a few hours later to the sound of Kirk’s dreams.

He’s not crying out exactly, just grinding his teeth and mumbling incoherent sounds, moaning (and not in the good way), and tossing in McCoy’s arms. Kirk’s still half asleep as McCoy guides him to bed and pushes him under the covers, curiously pliant. McCoy can’t remember the last time he did this for someone, sure that his wife never let him and it seems an age since Joanna was young enough to need this.

He doesn’t mind, though, just knows instinctively that it’s what Kirk needs right now and goes with it, settling into the bed beside him, one arm thrown loosely over his waist. Kirk doesn’t quite snuggle (not that he would ever do anything so unmanly) but he doesn’t shift away either and by the time they both wake up in the morning, warm and comfortable, it’s Kirk that’s got his arms wrapped around McCoy, their normal sleeping position.

The dark shadows under Kirk’s eyes seem a bit less in the morning and he seems less hesitant of McCoy, and there’s something there for certain. Kirk wants to talk, McCoy realises, and talking is just what he needs to be doing right now, so he settles for a nice bland opener, given neither of them have had coffee yet.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks softly.

Kirk doesn’t stiffen, doesn’t pull away, but he tenses ever so slightly and his heart rate jumps. Adrenaline surge, McCoy analyses, fight or flight response kicking in, but all he does is reply “about what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve got on your mind to talk about. Spock or whatever.”

Do you really think I deserved it? is what Kirk wants to say, but instead he asks, “No-one ever, I mean...no-one actually told me what the damage was. Clearly I had a front seat view, but some of the later bits are a bit hazy –“

He lets his words trail off, proud of how that had come out. He’d been rehearsing it in his mind to find out what’s known. It’s awkward, McCoy is the closest thing the ship has to a counsellor, and he tends to start talks with a good glass of whiskey when it comes to Kirk, so there’s no-one else he can really ask.

“Really?” McCoy replies, and tuts, “didn’t think, sorry, Jim. There was a minor head injury, six broken ribs on the right and three on the left, plus a sternal fracture and pulmonary contusions. You had a bruised kidney and peritonitis, which is why you needed emergency surgery. Lost a bit of blood, but nothing more than we could handle, some superficial cuts and scratches, plus somehow a broken foot. Sorry, someone – I – should have really told you that at the time. Does that fit with what you remember?”

Kirk twists to look at McCoy, who looks earnest and interested, like he doesn’t have an agenda. This is what the reprieve from the dawn chorus looks like, he realises. Somehow, the full extent of his injuries haven’t been realised, or McCoy doesn’t know them. McCoy isn’t looking at him like a victim, doesn’t even look all that sympathetic, just open and kind, like his usual self.

“Don’t remember the foot, must have been out of it by that point,” he says, and smiles, and it feels like it comes from inside him, bringing warmth with it. “Yeah, that fits. Thanks.”

McCoy lets him collapse back into quiet. “Was there anything else?” he asks after a little time has passed and Kirk doesn’t seem to be saying anything more.

Kirk draws a breath. Hesitates. “I need to talk to Spock. Don’t really know what to say. Not looking forward to it.”

McCoy strokes his hair. “You’ll figure it out. He’s your friend, and he’s a good man, and he wasn’t responsible for his action. You’ve both been through this before. Plus he’s in the brig, that’ll help!”

“What?”

“He remanded himself there just as soon as he was released from sickbay, which was about six hours after I shot him with a phaser.”

Kirk splutters. There’s no more dignified word for it. “Then who the hell is in charge of my ship? And –hold on – did you say shot him?”

“Yup. Only on stun, didn’t want to take the chance of him kicking off again while I was looking after you.” McCoy can’t keep his grin down, like he’s sharing a brilliant practical joke, though it had been far from a joke when he’d done it.

And Kirk grins back, and that’s everything, right there.

“I came by to talk to you about going back on active duty, Jim, but after what happened last night, do you want a few more days to get a handle on things? Do you feel okay?”

Kirk thinks about it. He’s no fool, knows he can’t command the star ship emotionally compromised, that he’s only leading his crew to death and destruction in pursuit of his ego if that happens. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to feel like. He doesn’t feel dirty, he isn’t scrubbing his skin ten times a day and he’s mostly sleeping through the night. He isn’t having flashbacks and the feel of McCoy around him, holding him, is comforting not constricting. His thoughts aren’t quite going in a straight line yet, but he’s coherent. He’s worried that he’s worrying about doing the survivor of sexual abuse thing wrong, but he doesn’t want to hurt himself and he still feels like James T Kirk, the original version, not the carbon copy. Every time his emotions threaten to overwhelm him they always die down before he can lose control. There’s still a niggle in the back of his mind that he can’t place, and all in all he can’t know for sure.

There’s something he can do to figure it out he realises, and that’s confront Spock.

“If I’m coming back,” he says, sitting up, putting on his Captain face, “it’s with my first officer. If I can’t serve with him at my side then I’m not ready.”

McCoy nods. “Want a coffee first? Irish coffee?” he asks with a straight face, which lasts up until Kirk cracks up, and then they’re both giggling like a pair of giddy schoolgirls.

* * *

Kirk sticks with coffee, no breakfast, and he can feel the grounds roiling in his stomach as he approaches the brig. Knowing something needs to be done never did make it any easier to do he’s learnt. Takes a deep breath and walks in anyway, and relieves the ensign on guard duty.

Spock stands as he sees him enter, at attention and respectful, looking directly at Kirk.

He inclines his head and says “Captain.”

It’s so familiar, so right, that Kirk almost, almost forgets what happened for the briefest of seconds. He uses the time to drop the forcefields surrounding the cell Spock has placed himself in. He’s calm and he doesn’t understand where it’s coming from, but it’s coming from within him, and calm and controlled is what he was after.

“We need to talk and we’re not going to do it here.” Kirk states, as his eyes flick quickly towards the surveillance devices on the wall.

Spock opens his mouth, presumably to protest, but Kirk cuts him off. “I’m not taking this matter any further,” he says, “and I certainly am not looking to relieve you of your commission. What you choose regarding your future aboard this ship will be up to you, but it will have to wait until after our conversation.”

It’s just like fighting, he realises, like every viewscreen-to-viewscreen confrontation he’s ever had, staring down the barrel of loaded photon torpedo, and he’s good at this. He’s good at command, at keeping calm and going with his gut. Right now his gut is telling him this Spock is the same as his friend, not the monster that attacked him, but it’s strange that his mind agrees with his gut. That almost never happens.

He steps back and gestures Spock out, allowing him to walk out first. “I assume your previous ...condition...has reverted to normal?” Kirk asks, realising he should have checked in the first place.

“Indeed,” replies Spock. “It seems our altercation provided a resolution.”

And there it is, Kirk realises. Spock’s calling it an altercation, and McCoy’s unaware of any injuries to challenge that, and none of the crew are looking at Kirk with pity, so it seems, somehow, his secret is safe.

Spock leads the way towards his quarters, hesitating at the door as if to ask if this is where Kirk intended to go, and Kirk gestures him in with a nod. He hasn’t planned where to go, but behind one closed door is as good as another.

For all that he said they were coming here to talk, once the door is closed, he can’t think of a single word to say and his mouth is dry and his palm sweaty. This was a mistake he realises and begins to back up towards the door.

“You must be calm.” Says Spock dispassionately, studying his behaviour.

Kirk’s not calm, and he knows it, he’s a million miles from calm, he’s panicking and his breaths are coming loud and noisy and he’s sweating all over and his fingers are tingling. He’s panicking and he can’t get a handle on it at all, and this is a disaster, and then-

- as suddenly as it begun, it’s gone and the niggle in the back of his head explodes out in waves and washes away everything leaving blank serenity behind.

“What the hell?” is all he can think to say. It’s Spock’s doing, he can tell, but has no idea how.

“Our minds are now fully joined, Captain. And you must be calm. We are bond mates now, we will be as one. I do not know how to explain it further.”

“Did you –“ Kirk says, and his voice sounds distant, though his mind is clear, “did you make me come down to the brig and spring you? Are you controlling my thoughts?”

“No Captain. The bond does not serve in such a function, though if we wish it we can be aware of each other’s thoughts. All I have shared with you is control of your emotion when I perceived it threatened to overwhelm you, as it did a few moments ago.”

It’s another piece to the puzzle of his odd reaction to all this, Kirk realises. Spock’s helping him cope, in his own analytical and Vulcan way, that’s what he’s felt in the back of his mind but been unable to classify up to know. It’s a relief to know.

“None of the crew seem to be aware of the full events in sickbay.” Kirk says, though they both hear the question.

“No quite. I believe that Dr McCoy told security that I was suffering from a hormonal imbalance and had kidnapped him for reasons unascertained. He stated that you had interrupted me and that he had been rendered unconscious during the ensuing struggle. He further stated that he could only assume the hormonal surge had burnt out with the violence of the fight, the injuries from which included broken ribs –“

“I know, he told me that. Why didn’t he find the rest?”

“No-one asked me directly for my version of the tale. Additionally, I used the dermal regenerator and sonic shower to remove such evidence as I felt you would want to keep private. Of course, the choice to disclose these events remains entirely at your discretion. I would willingly submit myself to whatever justice you feel necessary. I will not deny any allegations you make which are the truth.”

Spock’s not as in control as his voice would have him believe, he can feel it leaking through the bond, but that distant stillness is still settled on his thoughts. It’s liberating really, being able to think without emotion, though he misses going with his gut. It’s where all his great decisions have come from, he knows.

“No Spock. No. I never intended to do that. I just wanted to – to make sure that we could continue to serve as captain and first officer, as before.”

“A wise precaution, Captain.”

It’s strange to know that Spock is feeling things Kirk realises. He’s spent years inferring emotion from the merest twitch of a lip of flick of an eyebrow, but he’s got a backstage pass right now. Spock still wants him, desires him, he comes to understand from the bond, has done for some considerable time. Loves him maybe, though it’s twisted with jealousy and loneliness and a desire to possess.

He’s distracted by looking inward so he doesn’t pay attention as Spock gets right up in his face, but focuses back on him when Spock starts to kiss him. For a long moment he doesn’t respond, not in the least, and then it seems like the most natural thing in the world to kiss back, tongues battling and hands grabbing.

Little by little he recalls that he wants to be with someone else, and McCoy’s face and smile, the warmth and comfort of last night, the fear from the night in sickbay start to break through the dulling effect of the bond, and hands that have been grabbing start to push away.

Spock overpowers him effortlessly, but without any particular violence, holding him restrained against the strong muscles of his body, as he bucks and kicks. His struggles aren’t gaining him any ground or gaining him any reprieve and he can feel the hard length of Spock’s erection grinding against his stomach. In fact, Spock’s got one hand around Kirk’s hips, holding him close, ensuring that his fighting only serves to arouse the Vulcan further.

I’m losing my mind Kirk thinks as everything starts to spiral out of control, and he’s forgetting where and who he is again to the noise of the sea, before, just like that, it’s gone. It’s artificial calm, but it’s a welcome hand to a drowning man.

“I can help you, Captain, I can be at your side, Jim, like you wanted, and we can all carry on. But you can’t do it alone,” Spock whispers in his ear, “not so easily, or so well. I can help you, as much as little or you need, or I can shut the bond down entirely. “

Kirk’s still now, so Spock loosens his hold enough to let him look up. “You can’t cope with me so close, I know, not without help, and you can’t get rid of me without dragging everything through a Court Marshall, where I would of course relate the entire sequence events with full honesty.” Kirk’s trembling at the thought, so Spock begins to rub soothing circles on his back. “You can have the bond, you can have my help, Captain, as often or as little as you need, but if you want that, you have to have it all.”

Spock can tell from Kirk’s face that he doesn’t get it, so he pushes his hips forward, trapping Kirk’s hips with his arm again, and then Kirk gets it, knows the price he’s being asked to pay. A choice between the devil and the deep blue sea. He doesn’t pull away, so Spock goes back to kissing him.

He’s not as enthusiastic in response this time, but he’s not passive either, and he helps Spock get both of their clothes off and guides them back towards the bed. In other circumstances it might be nice, Kirk thinks as Spock lavishes attention on his body, kissing and licking and nibbling down his neck and chest, pleasuring his nipples before finally – finally – arriving at his groin, but Kirk can’t quite loose the urge to scream. He can keep it down easy enough, part of the gift of the bond, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.

Spock’s started using his fingers to stretch him, twisting and scissoring, digits slicked with something cool and vaguely scented and Kirk feels the nausea start to built, trapped down below Spock once again. They’re controlling it, but Kirk can see the strain of that control showing on Spock’s face as well now. He’s not fighting, damned if he’ll fight and loose, again, but it’s a close thing.

Then Spock flips them both over, as easy as anything, and suddenly Kirk’s sitting astride Spock’s stomach, looking down on him. The vice-like grip on his chest eases in this new position, and he’s steadier after a few deep breaths. Spock allows him three, then pulls him down for another kiss that steals all his air. There’s a dick nudging at his ass, and Spock has his hands on his hips and is pushing him back towards it, so he takes the hint and rises up on his knees to position Spock at his entrance.

He’s always liked to do it this way, to tease himself down onto someone’s dick, slowly spearing himself, squeezing his ass, watching the man beneath him try not to lose control and buck up into him, but he can’t quite seem to make himself start to move, so he’s frozen kneeling up. Spock has no such worries and uses his hands on Kirk’s hips to drive him down, all the way in a single stroke. It doesn’t hurt as such, but the half erection Kirk’s managed to achieve to this point disappears, and Spock’s got to be able to see it.

He evidently doesn’t care, or is too wrapped up to notice, grinding up into Kirk’s body, grunting with the effort, and Kirk knows he’s going to have to get with the programme or this is going to take all night. He realises he’s gotten himself a reputation with all the philandering he did at the academy and beyond, before McCoy had finally got fed up of waiting and asked him to settle down with him, and it’s not an undeserved reputation as a sex god (a term he very much prefers to man whore) so he gets just how to speed this along.

He’s rolling his hips and clenching his ass around Spock and alternately biting and tonguing at his left nipple when Spock clamps a bruising hand around the back of his neck, bites down into the skin of his shoulder with a moan and ruts deep into him, pushing warmer than body temperature come into him, then collapsing back, apparently spent.

Kirk pulls free unbidden and heads into the bathroom to clean himself up. This time he washes with his eyes open, and because he can see the marks that should be there, it doesn’t seem so jarring as before. When he goes back out, Spock is settling himself in bed, so Kirk gets dresses, apparently dismissed.

“I’m going to take alpha shift tomorrow, Commander, you can relieve me for the beta shift.” He says, because after all, that’s what this was all about. The dullness of the bond is rolling back and now the worst has already happened (again) he feels numb and resigned, but awake enough to be himself.

“Aye Captain,” Spock replies with no trace of irony, turns over and begins to snore.

Kirk lets himself out, and heads back to his quarters. He hopes to whatever gods can hear him McCoy has found somewhere else to be tonight, but at the same time he can’t imagine anything worse than being alone tonight.

When he reaches them, his quarters are empty, and he can’t bring himself to call McCoy, the lover who’s only ever been kind and loving to him to come and comfort a man who’s just betrayed him.

On to Part 3 >>>

Worst Mistake Part 1

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 18:24:47 GMT

So I decided to write a resonse to THIS PROMPT but it got a little long for a comment fic!

You should probably read the prompt before embarking on this fic, but for anyone that doesn't here it is:

Title: Worst Mistake (Madness of Plak Tow)
Author: Cai
Fandom: Nu!Trek (Star trek 11)
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Kirk, Spock/Kirk, McCoy
Length: 4000+ words this part
Spoilers: For the film, amok time (TOS)
Warnings: Non-con (this part)
Summary: Kirk gets caught in the middle of forces beyond his control, see the prompt for more details
Notes: Written for the Star trek XI Kink Meme

"Okay, so just - and I cannot believe I am going to say this in bed- but just tell me what you're thinking. You haven't been here with me all night, Bones."

It takes McCoy a moment or two to answer, but when he does so it's with his usual wry sarcasm. "Y'know, actually, I was thinking about Spock."

Kirk could take offence, but the comment's softened by Bones rolling over to rub his hand up and down his side, half a caress, half a soothing gesture. Kirk may love the Vulcan like a brother after this many years, but McCoy knows he doesn't care to think that his lover has his mind on another man when they're in bed together. But now it’s out there now, so he continues anyway. “He’s not eating, and his behaviour’s way off, for a Vulcan...”

“You think there’s something wrong with him? Something going on that we should know about?”
McCoy just sighs. “I’ve asked and he’s told me that it’s none of my concern. That it’s a private, Vulcan matter, and that arrangements had been made that will not now come to pass. And that’s all that he would say.”

“I’ll talk to him,” murmurs Kirk, pulling McCoy towards him, “tomorrow. That soon enough for you?” he adds in his mischievous way, before starting to kiss a line down Bones neck and chest and convincing Bones that tomorrow will be just soon enough, thank you very much.

In hindsight, it’s not the worst mistake he’s ever made, but it’s certainly up there.

* * *

Cheerful from what turned out to be a good night after all, once Kirk had taken up the challenge of driving Spock from his mind, McCoy gets to enjoy a good breakfast and all of seven point six minutes of quiet in sickbay on the alpha shift before all hell breaks loose. See, the trouble with being in the sickbay is that he doesn’t have the command screen viewer of what’s going on outside, and sometimes the red alert only goes on seconds before the blasts start sounding and the first casualties come piling in. Sometimes he makes it to the bridge, but most of the time he just gets his triage and trauma teams ready and stands to wait for the first casualties to roll, limp of collapse through his door.

At ten point three minutes according to the official chronometer the first patient arrives and then all thoughts of Spock stay out of McCoy’s for a good long while, lost to algorithms and treatment guidelines and tests and follow-ups and surgery. When it’s finally all done and whatever hostile negotiations were going on on the Bridge seem to have stopped and engineering has managed to stop the damaged ship from completely falling apart and everyone in sickbay is dead or stable, there’s just a slow after burn of adrenaline that leaves McCoy feeling sick and shaky and tired all the way down to his bones (no pun intended, he adds in his own mind, because someone always should).

He limps away to his quarters the first time someone suggests he go and get some sleep and crashes on his bed without a though for Kirk, or Spock, or the half drunk cup of tea at the side of his bed.

* * *

Kirk is similarly busy fighting for their lives in the alpha shift – who and quite why still details, whatever, he learnt long ago that all that matters is being alive to figure them out later, or better yet, order someone else to figure them out – and dealing with the fallout long into the delta shift.
He doesn’t forget that he needs to talk with Spock, feels it all the more because he just knows that his first officer is not there at his side the way he should be, the way he usually is.

Bones is right he thinks he’s just a bit off. But it’s still nothing he can quite put his finger on, and he knows the conversation is going to take more time than he has to spare. So he tells Spock to buck himself the hell up and hopes that that’ll hold things for now.

And it does – mostly- so when he’s done, he takes himself away to rest and orders Spock to do the same, leaving the Com with Sulu. He’d sent him to sleep earlier in the gamma shift, knowing he shouldn’t leave the Bridge with Spock there in command. In the private of the turbo lift he tells Spock to go to his quarters and stay there, until he feels ready to report to sickbay for a check-up.

McCoy finds him at lunchtime the following day.

“I had a visit from Mr Spock this morning. Your orders apparently.” Is what he says as he sits down.

Kirk nods. “That’s right, Bones. You were right, he not himself, so I sent him for a check-up. Captain’s orders. Glad to here he came.”

“You won’t be so glad to hear what I have to say, Jim. Long and short, he’s dying, like his body’s winding up to some kind of explosion and if he can’t find a way to stop it, it’ll kill him.” Kirk’s staring at him, but he ploughs on anyway, “And something else, he damn well know what’s causing it, but green-blooded hob-goblin that he is, he won’t say a word to me. So we’re no further forward that we were.”

McCoy pauses to take a drink, maybe to clear his head, but the words run off his tongue anyway, harsher than he intended:

“God knows, I know you don’t like talking about feelings or anything that matters, but just for once you’re going to have to do what I ask you to. Talk to him, or let him die. Your choice, Captain.”
Where it comes from, he doesn’t know, some stirred up emotion from old fights and newly settling pain from the ones he couldn’t save yesterday, but the words are out before he can stop them, and once said, he can only hope they get the message across. He has never been good at coping with his patients killing themselves with stubbornness, never liked being ignored. Kirk’s looking at him with those eyes, so he gets up. Walks away.

It’s the worst mistake he’s ever made.

* * *

Kirk has his conversation with Spock, for all the use that was.

Spock explains – under strictures of confidentiality – about Pon Farr and the loss of logic and control that goes with it. The overwhelming need to return to the place of his birth and claim the mate who was chosen for him and bonded with him in childhood. Except Vulcan is gone, no more red sands waiting for him, and T’Pring his chosen bride, is among those who died at Nero’s hand.

As Spock put it he has no-one to go to and no-where to go, just an urge to follow a bond that is useless as cut string. The blood fever, he explains, pull the bonded pair towards each-other so that the meet at the proper place and the proper time, and the insanity that goes with it means that no obstacles will stand in their way.

And then he says that given his lack of choices there is only one remaining option, to try and sit it out, overcoming it with meditation and time and stillness. It has worked before he says, sincerely enough that Kirk believes him, but only enough to leave him alone. He makes sure the door is locked and security posted on guard at all times.

It’s one of those moments, as he leaves, when everything just comes clear, and he knows it’s the last time he’ll see his friend as he is now, all assurances aside, so he hugs him, just a manly squeeze and pat on the back, but it’s enough.

In hindsight, it’s not the worst mistake he’s ever made, but it’s certainly up there.

* * *

The call from McCoy comes through in the grey hours of the morning, just before 0400 standard time, when everyone is at their slowest and sleepiest he recalls. The favourite hour for earth’s former security services to attack he recalls.

It’s two days – nearly three – he mentally corrects since his altercation with McCoy at lunch and his conversation with Spock that afternoon. He hasn’t told McCoy what the details of what he found out, partly because Spock asked him to keep his confidence, but mostly out of pique. He’s sent the doctor a written report to say that Mr Spock believes he is being afflicted by a hormonal imbalance, the traditional treatment for which is return to his home planet, but in the absence of that, can be overcome by meditation. He says he has placed Mr Spock on medical leave until such time as he feels fit to resume his duties. He ignores McCoy otherwise.

0400 he thinks, hell of a time for an apology, is his first though. The second is there better be alcohol involved.

The communiqué is short, just a brief request for the captain to attend sickbay on an urgent matter, and Kirk’s half asleep, so he misses the stress points in McCoy’s voice.

It’s the worst mistake he’s ever made.

***

He doesn’t miss the phaser pointed at McCoy’s head when he makes it to sick bay ten minutes later.
Spock looks strung out, thin, shaky and eyes red-rimmed, but his hand is worryingly steady where it holds the phaser and his positioning is good – neither Kirk nor McCoy could mount a successful attack before he could fire on one or both, and he’s out of sight from the door and a casual visitor.
Clearly some part of his brain is still working logically.

Kirk stops mid saunter.

“What the hell is this, Spock?” he asks, probably far too sharply, but McCoy look terrified, like he hasn’t seen in a long time. “What the hell is going on?”

“As I told you captain,” replies Spock, his diction still alarmingly precise, “the purpose of Pon Farr is to ensure that all appointed parties meet at the appropriate time and place.”

Kirk and McCoy share a look, and then Kirk replies, “and you said that was Vulcan with a dead woman.”

“It appears.” Begins Spock, then falters, looking around him for a moment as if remembering where he is, before the madness descends, “it appears that alternatives are acceptable. Much of Pon Farr is tradition. All I require is a bond mate.”

“Well that’s no-one here –“McCoy begins, but then follows Spock’s gaze. He’s looking directly at Kirk.

“Our minds have been joined – in this reality as well as others –“ Spock says looking at Kirk and they can both see how much the effort of rationality is causing him, “and events have brought you to the allotted place at the allotted time, after all.”

“No Spock, you’ve brought me here. Nothing else. This isn’t the way, what happened to meditation?”

Spock is shaking his head and muttering now, hand still steady of the phaser, and as he moves to a control panel all the doors lock themselves with a few taps of his fingers.

“Computer. Override sickbay door lock, authorisation Kirk_Omega_ theta_three.” Calls out Kirk, but the doors remain locked. In his moment of inattention, Spock has picked up a hypo spray and is close behind McCoy again.

“I am sorry, Captain. But this is the way it must be,” and Spock injects McCoy in the back of the neck.

For a moment, nothing happens, but then McCoy’s eyes blink a few times and the colour drains from his face and he slumps sideways in the chair Spock has had him sat in all the time.

Kirk doesn’t even think, caution be damned, and runs forward to catch him and settles him back in the chair. In the brief moment he has Kirk can’t tell if he’s breathing, but a moment is all he has because then Spock’s got a hand around his throat and is throwing him across the room.

His head and back makes a solid thud as he hits the wall and slides to the floor and it certainly knocks all the wind out of him, but damned if he’s going to stay down, and he’s on his knees, dizzy and breathless and determined, by the time Spock reaches him. He’s disguarded his phaser, just left it lying on the table next to McCoy’s chair, and Kirk’s suddenly sure that McCoy – his Bones – is dead. Nothing else could explain the carelessness of that.

It’s rage, tinged with grief, that drives him to his feet in a futile attack on Spock, technique forgotten, just striking and clawing at him, trying to inflict pain, trying to kill, but Spock meets him like-for-like and in bare moments he’s overpowered held face-down in a vice-like grip. He can’t breathe and his friend is choking him and for a moment all he can think is oh Bones, oh Spock and then his vision is going grey and he’s struggling as hard as he can, at least he thinks he is, but it can’t be all that hard anymore. Little by little the grip on him loosens but there’s nothing he can do about it, his heart thudding in his chest and his arms curiously unwilling to move. His tongue feels swollen in his mouth, his head full of cotton wool.

None of which means he doesn’t notice Spock behind him, a ripping noise then his hands being bound with something – fabric, his shirt? – and when had he lost that, because he can feel his bare chest pressing down on the sickbay floor. When Spock starts to pull away his trousers, he finds he has the strength left to struggle after all, because he’s James Kirk and he doesn’t believe in no-win situations, but Spock just seizes a handful of his hair and slams his face down into the solid floor, and then punches him once, precisely in the left kidney. Somewhere, between the spots dancing in his vision and the nausea crawling up his throat he loses his trousers and underwear, and is left naked, bound and hurting on the sickbay floor.

He doesn’t beg, because he’s Captain Kirk, and he doesn’t beg, but he still manages to rasp out “Spock, no, stop,” but he can’t really hear himself and Spock’s fingers don’t even falter pushing themselves methodically into him, stretching, burning like the blood fever that has a hold of Spock.
It’s not like he hasn’t done this before, but all those times feel a million miles away as teeth bite into his neck and fingernails scratch bloody trails over his chest, his nipples, Spock’s weight holding him down and for all the world it feels like being savaged by a wild animal. He’s bloody and bruised and hurting and there’s shock running cold through his veins and for a moment he forgets himself.
Forgets he’s James T Kirk, forgets he Captain Kirk, forgets he’s George Kirk’s son and he struggles in a blind panic and screams for Spock, his Spock, his best friend to come back to him. Through it all Spock just keeps his grip with his teeth and his fingers so that Kirk can feel his bruising fingers digging into his chest like claws and something wet and sticky running from the bite on his neck and he’s forcing himself back onto those invading finders, pushing deeper and wider onto the –three? Is it three of four? – Spock has in him now, but he can’t help himself. He struggles and screams until his strength is spent and he’s sagging in Spock’s arm like a parody of an embrace.

He feels a cold fatalism descend over him. He can’t beat Spock, he knows that, and when (if) this ends, the less damage done the better. Sometimes that’s all you get. Spock is pushing his legs further apart behind him and pulling him backwards. He doesn’t get much warning, just the sound of Spock spitting, and then there’s a cock pushing into him, blunt and hard and wrong. He doesn’t mean to be comparing him to Bones, but his mind is escaping him and his vision has cleared enough that he can see McCoy – his Bones – slumped in the chair across the room, too still and too pale.

He tries to stay in the here and now as he’s fucked, a punishing pace, little more than animal rutting, but the cock in him is tearing him up, in more way than one, scouring him from the inside and he can feel tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. I won’t cry he tells himself, but one of his legs is crushed beneath Spock and his hands are numb and his chest and neck are bleeding freely into the wall and his head and side are still radiating waves of pain, his ass is burning like fire and Spock is pushing down on his back with all his strength making it so hard to draw a breath again. When he opens his eyes, vision blurry now all he can see is Bones, but alive and moving this time, laughing, beckoning him into bed, away from the pain. Kirk knows it’s a hallucination – isn’t real, can’t ever be real again – but it’s inviting and not here so he floats away in his mind, Spock still driving into him with that frenzied, forceful pace.

When he comes back to himself the pain is still there and he’s still bruised and bleeding and hurting, and his hands are still numb, but his eyes are dry, and he can breathe. There’s still a weight on his back, more spread out this time, pinning him down but not purposefully squeezing the air from him. Spock, he thinks, collapsed on my back, not moving. Kirk moves experimentally and finds that Spock is still inside him, cock still hard and fully sheathed inside him. At the thought his ass spasms, trying to push out the intrusion, but he gains nothing for the efforts by a groan from Spock and a wave of pain so intense that he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from vomiting. He’s cold, and there’s no telling how long he’s been on the floor, so he makes a more caution bid to roll Spock of him and get away.

Spock’s waking he can tell as he manages to shift him enough to get them on their sides, but without his hands to use, he only has his knee’s and feet to pull himself away with. He finally gets himself free of the Vulcan’s cock, but waking or not, he has to stop and gasp out the waves of pain that overwhelm him after that, the burning as bad, no worse, than when it went in. He feels like his insides have been pulled out with it, and there’s something wet trickling down his leg that he hopes isn’t blood. He doesn’t look; instead he crawls across to Bones, to unsteady to make his legs work and too unbalanced to go very fast without his hands to help. His body, his ass, hurt with every shuffle, but he’s not so consumed that he doesn’t notice when Spock rises, half clothed, cock erect and – dear lord, yes – streaked with blood. His blood. He’s only half way to reaching Bones, the phaser, but there’s still the madness in Spock’s eyes, and he was right to try, he knows that.

Seconds later, Spock has backhanded him across the face and he sprawls on his back, turning his face to the side to spit blood. Spock’s on him almost immediately this time, preliminaries forgotten, and he’s forcing his legs apart and driving into his already abused body. Kirk can’t help but feel every inch and he’s not screaming this time, but the tortured hitching gasps he can hear can only be coming from his mouth. It’s worse this time, because he can see Spock, the face of the man he’s trusted with his life as he rapes him, and he can’t seem to fall into that same fantasy as before, can’t find any way away from the here and now as the pain builds. In this position Spock is able to place one hand on the psi points of Kirk’s face, and then comes a second intrusion as Spock forces his way into Kirk’s mind. His thoughts are a jumble, a seething mess, and he has no idea where Spock goes or what he sees, only that Spock is there with him inside his mind, inside his body where he was never invited, and he rages against him, pushes at him with his mind and his bound body as much as he is able. Spock continues unchanging, his cock splitting him open and his fingers bruising on his face.

Spock comes in him after what feels like an eternity of frenzied rutting and sags over him again, but his cock is still hard, Kirk can feel that. Spock doesn’t let him go, doesn’t sleep, just gathers his breath and then starts again, never leaving Kirk’s body, trapping all his come inside of him. He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, how long it had been going on for while he was away but over time he can feel Spock’s pace is settling, his thrusting become more precise and measured, more like Kirk had imagined he’d fuck, if he ever put much thought into it. He’s feeling weak and shocky, can’t even hear himself making noise anymore, but the regularity lulls him until all he can hear is the sea. The pain is like waves and they’re crashing over him, but he’s so far gone he can barely hear them. His world is shrinking into the agony in his ass, burning out everything else, even himself, but the pain and the steady movement of that cock.

When it stops it’s so unexpected, he doesn’t notice. So wrapped up the sea and the waves and the pain, Kirk doesn’t notice that his body is empty for the first time in – is it hours, days, weeks? Only when a voice from above, far off, says “Captain – I –“ and then chokes into silence does he even bother to open his eyes.

Spock is above him, and it looks like the madness is gone, but Kirk can’t see all that well right now, can’t bring himself to care. As long as he’s in the waves he can handle the pain.

“Bones.” He says. “Help Bones.” At least he thinks he does. He’s not all that sure if he’s even really here anymore. So he sleeps, while he can.

On to Part 2 >>>

Note to self: Stop acting like a fangirl

Tue, 08 May 2007 22:43:42 GMT

But still! I'm going to be in NYC for the HP 7 midnight releases.

That is way much cooler than getting it on my doorstep via amazon or walking down into my town the next day (or even at 1.30 am as I did for book 6)

Way

Way

WAY

Ahem. Serious face.

Greetings...to the masses?

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 19:27:57 GMT

Hello - so I have arrived on livejournal. I'm sure it was the day you've all be waiting for. I'm off to friend some people and join some communities, but in the meanwhile animotus has kindly let me snag this icon from her treasuretrove of a livejournal page. There's some classy framing of famous faces over there, I tell you...