Star Trek Fic: The Care and Feeding of Your Starship Captain
Many many many thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rubynye for her unflagging enthusiasm and encouragement and gently-setting-right-when-I-went-astray and generally helping this story to exist somewhere outside my brain. Thanks also to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
toft for writing Normal Working Relationship, which finally shook this loose from the spot where it had been stuck in my brain since summer.
And, of course, thanks toiulia for not killing me in my sleep even though this is so, so very not her birthday fic, which, as of today, is now actually overdue instead of just never-going-to-be-finished-in-time. Sorry! I am going to get right on that!
Ahem. Anyway, story!
Kirk/McCoy. NC-17. 5,000 words.
Warning and/or enticement: BDSM
What Leonard was about to do was undeniably crude--maybe one step up from bleeding to balance the humors--but in this case the science was sound.
The Care and Feeding of Your Starship Captain
Leonard tuned in when Jim said uh-oh. It wasn't that Jim had ever announced anything actually important that way, but that he said it in the tone of voice that indicated that he wanted Leonard's attention. Leonard had learned a long time ago that it was almost always better to give in to that particular demand before Jim started escalating.
"Uh-oh," Jim said. "You have that look on your face."
Up until that exact second, all of Leonard's attention had been divided between trying to actually do some of the work he'd brought back to his quarters--his own, private quarters, with the door code-locked, not that that had prevented his esteemed captain from dropping in for an unannounced social call--and mentally cataloguing everything Jim had picked up and then put down somewhere slightly different. At the moment, Jim was holding a holo showing Leonard and Jocelyn and Joanna, the day Joanna was born. Leonard usually kept it out of his own direct line of sight, where he could see it if he wanted to but it couldn't catch him off-guard.
It was an honest question, wary tone and all, when he said, "What look is that, Jim?"
Jim gave him a shit-eating, fight-starting, brilliant grin, and said, "That look like you're pissed that I'm too big for you to put me over your knee and spank me."
Leonard blinked, and a diagnosis snapped abruptly into place. He blinked again--Jim's smile brightened further, triumphantly, and he tossed the holo from hand to hand. Leonard reconsidered his course of action for another second, but he worked in emergency medicine aboard a starship. He was used to making the right decision the first time and acting on it immediately.
"Well," he said slowly. "There's no need for that to stop me."
Jim's grin faltered, and Leonard felt a grim smile start on his own face as he stood up.
"No need to stop you from...." Jim's eyes went wide, and his hands flailed out wider. He was still holding the holo. "Hey, whoa, Bones. Joking."
"I know," Leonard said, taking one long stride toward Jim, putting himself not quite close enough to touch. "But that doesn't mean you didn't also want something from me."
"I didn't say I wanted anything!" The smile vanished completely. Jim was retreating now into irritability. Next it would be rhetoric-chopping, and, if Jim got his way, a good yelling match, maybe a fist fight. But if Leonard had been willing to fight--or fuck--Jim out of this kind of mood, they wouldn't have gotten to this point in the first place.
Jim, clever boy, had thought of a third option. But of course it was something new and slightly strange, and of course he couldn't accede to it without a fight.
"You didn't have to say you wanted it," Leonard pointed out, folding his arms and speaking calmly and seriously. "You don't have to say it now. All you have to do is walk out the door or stay right where you are."
"Bones, I'm not--"
Jim was accustomed to making decisions even faster than Leonard did, for higher stakes. He'd spoken without making a move for the door. Leonard closed the distance between them and grabbed Jim's wrist. He executed the arm lock pretty neatly--he'd taken the requisite hand-to-hand combat course, to say nothing of the advanced courses in patient restraint, where he'd been taught to immobilize people who'd had a hell of a lot more combat training than he had.
Jim wasn't resisting, anyway. Leonard pulled up on his wrist, pushing the stress on his shoulder to the point of pain, but not into danger of dislocation, as long as Jim didn't make any sudden, stupid moves.
Jim was breathing fast, and the hair was standing up at the nape of his neck. His arm was tense in Leonard's grip, his hand clenched in a fist, but he didn't fight, and he didn't argue.
"All right," Leonard said. "First you are going to put that holo down exactly where you found it."
He nudged Jim back toward the proper shelf, staying close to him so that he could keep his grip without adding any lateral strain to Jim's shoulder. Jim slapped the holo down with a sharp, petulant crack--but he put it in exactly the accustomed place, at exactly the correct angle. Jim really didn't have to say a word.
Leonard's granny had told stories about her grandfather being sent to cut the switch he would be whipped with. Leonard wasn't entirely sure what a switch was, in that context--he'd had a mental image of an old-time version of himself being beaten with a cut-off loop of wiring, and that didn't seem right. Still, the ritual of choice made sense, and Leonard did, in fact, have a few appropriate implements available.
He moved Jim toward the storage drawers set into the wall and pressed the button to slide out the top one. Neatly arranged down one side of the drawer were a few belts Leonard rarely had occasion to wear.
"Choose," he said, eyeing them as he spoke. He hoped to God Jim wasn't crazed enough to pick the metal-studded one, but he could probably find a way to work with that.
Jim said nothing, but reached with his free hand all the way to the back of the drawer, to touch the plain, worn leather belt coiled up in the corner. It suited nothing but grubby clothes; Leonard had been wearing it the day they met.
He wouldn't put it past Jim to know that.
"Fine," Leonard said, turning his whole body to turn Jim toward the bed. The leather belt wouldn't damage Jim much, so they could do this up right. Leonard had seen enough to know that the only way to get to enough where Jim was concerned was to keep going past too much and out the other side.
"Go over to the bed," Leonard said, calmly and without any possibility of being disobeyed, like he was requesting a hypospray from one of his nurses. "Take your pants down and kneel. Wait for me."
He released Jim's wrist, and Jim didn't immediately lower his hand, just stood there for a second, flexing his fingers. When he moved it was a sudden flurry. He was across the room in a blink, tugging off his gold command tunic and black undershirt together and tossing them past the foot of the bed, then ripping at the fastening of his pants.
Leonard reached for the belt, considering. He hadn't told Jim to take his shirt off, but as a gesture it was probably for the best. He didn't need to be looking at command colors while he was doing this; he didn't need to do it wearing blue, for that matter. He stripped off his own tunic, and threw it to the floor so that it thumped when it hit.
Jim, pants down around his thighs, glanced back over his shoulder. Leonard held his gaze and took the belt from the drawer. Jim nodded slightly, and turned his face away as he dropped heavily to his knees beside Leonard's bed. He kept his hands at his sides. He waited.
Leonard stood behind him, watching him. He was still tense; the little bit of motion Leonard had allowed him had done nothing to relieve him, and the longer Leonard waited to finish this, the higher the tension would grow.
What Leonard was about to do was undeniably crude--maybe one step up from bleeding to balance the humors--but in this case the science was sound. An unequal physical altercation, a deliberate application of pain, would release adrenaline and endorphins, a subtle mix that would be difficult to replicate in the lab without subjecting Jim to repeated tests. Pain inflicted in an overall atmosphere of trust and safety would avoid the unpleasant psychological ramifications of an uncontrolled situation, leaving Jim free to enjoy having his neurotransmitters rebalanced.
Anyway, Jim hated hyposprays and showed a certain inclination toward unequal physical altercations. He had, in fact, asked for it.
Leonard shook out the belt, holding the buckle in his palm with the first few inches of the belt wrapped around his hand. The remaining length of leather swished softly through the air, loud in the silence. Jim's shoulders jumped, and his hands balled into fists again.
Leonard walked over slowly and stood directly behind Jim. "Interlace your fingers behind your head. Lean over, put your face down on the mattress."
Jim obeyed one command at a time. He unclenched his hands with a visible effort, putting every bit as much force into splaying his fingers wide as he'd put into holding them together. He slammed them into an interlocking position behind his head, and then all but threw himself down onto the mattress, leaving his back almost perfectly flat. His hips tilted up slightly, offering his ass.
Leonard just looked for a second--having made a decision a long time ago not to be one of Jim's conquests didn't make him blind--but he forced himself back on task. He considered the angles and then moved to stand beside Jim, facing him, one knee pressed against Jim's ribs. He bent over enough to plant his free hand between Jim's shoulder blades. The bare skin was hot; Jim was already starting to sweat. Leonard tightened his grip on the belt.
"I'm going to hit you once," he said quietly. "To see how it goes. When I start again, I will keep hitting you until I think you've had enough. Do you understand?"
Jim nodded slightly, under the cover of his hands--his fingers were digging in already, his fingertips and the stretched skin all going white. He would understand what Leonard hadn't said: the pause after the first blow would be his opportunity to back out of this. If Leonard actually said it, it would become an irresistible challenge, and Jim would have no recourse at all.
Leonard licked his lips, shook out the belt, and swung.
The crack of leather against flesh nearly drowned out the only sound Jim made--a harsh, long exhalation. He moved, though, bucking up almost convulsively, muscles straining, as Jim struggled with all his might against the reflex to fight back. Leonard's hand, resting too lightly on Jim's back, was thrown off, and he stood upright and watched as Jim wrestled himself back into position.
There was no sound for a moment but their breathing--Leonard found that his own was as fast and rough as Jim's, loud in his own ears while Jim's was muffled.
Leonard stared at the red line across Jim's ass and the bright shine of sweat down Jim's back, transfixed by the ferocity with which Jim approached even this, even an attempt at submission.
Jim lifted his head just far enough to say in a low, strained voice, "Hold me down."
Leonard nodded--it didn't matter that Jim couldn't see--and shifted forward to put his left knee on Jim's back. His left hand came down on the nape of Jim's neck, just below Jim's own hands. He didn't throw anything like all of his weight onto those two points, but it ought to be enough to help Jim stay down.
He felt Jim bracing under him, and knew that it was going to be just as bad as it was going to be, and waiting wouldn't help any. Leonard raised his arm again and brought it down harder this time, and when Jim pushed up under him he pushed back, hurrying the next stroke so that it went a little wild, the end of the belt snapping against the back of Jim's thigh.
Jim did make a noise at that, muffled but distinctly high-pitched, and kept struggling under Leonard. It turned into a real thrashing for a little while, with Jim struggling under him and Leonard hitting him as hard as he could, falling into a steady rhythm almost by accident--maybe five strokes, maybe ten. There was no other measure of time but the rise and fall of his arm.
Jim never did anything halfway. When he gave up and stopped fighting, he went so still under Leonard that he thought for an instant that Jim had somehow lost consciousness. His arm kept moving without him, though, and Jim tilted his head slightly, pressing the nape of his neck into Leonard's palm.
Surrender.
Leonard looked to his right and watched the belt fall again, laying one more red line across Jim's ass. His arm rose automatically--he'd missed a spot there--and fell again. Leonard felt the force of the blow shudder through Jim's unresisting body, pushing out a half-voiced sigh, nothing like a protest. He angled the next blow a little, letting the end of the belt stray up onto Jim's hip, winning another soft wordless sound out of Jim's mouth. The one after that came down squarely, on top of a criss-cross of other marks. Jim moaned, and as his arm rose again Leonard found himself thinking, Stop. You have to stop.
He shook his arm out sideways, twisting his shoulder awkwardly but bringing a stop to the repetitive motion. He let go of the belt at the end of the arc, and it slapped and clattered to the floor. Jim twitched under him at the sound, and Leonard eased his left foot back down to the floor and then slid down to kneel beside Jim, keeping his left hand still on the nape of his neck. The reassuring touch had to be the last to go.
"We're done, Jim," he said quietly. "You did that very well."
Jim made a slight motion--nodding, maybe--under Leonard's hand. Leonard twisted, letting his body brush against Jim's back, and used both his hands to gently tug Jim's hands apart and lay them on the mattress. Jim didn't move a muscle to aid or resist the motion, and didn't make a sound except his breathing, deep and fast.
"All right," Leonard said, rubbing his hands gently over the backs of Jim's. "All right. Just sit a minute. I'll be right back."
Leonard got to his feet and walked over to the bathroom, shutting himself into that dubious privacy. He shook out his arms and worked on getting his breathing under control.
So that just happened.
His undershirt was soaked in sweat--his own, mostly, but probably some Jim's. His right hand and shoulder felt stiff, reluctant to move in normal patterns. He flexed his fingers, thinking of how the belt had fit there, and how easy he'd found the motion. There was something he probably hadn't needed to know about himself.
Except that he had needed to know it--or rather, Jim had needed him to know it. It wasn't exactly a favor Jim could have asked of just anyone. If Leonard was honest, he doubted there was anyone at all except himself who Jim could have trusted with this. So here they were.
Well, no. Here Leonard was, with nothing better to do than fret over what he'd just done. Jim was alone out there. Leonard shook his head and stepped back outside, casting a quick look toward the bed.
Jim had dragged himself a little further onto the mattress, shifting his balance and taking nearly all his weight off his knees. His legs were stretched out behind him, his ankles tangled in his pants and his boots still on. The red of the marks Leonard had made was already darkening into bruises in several places, and Jim's hair was dark with sweat. Leonard went to the replicator and used the touch interface to request a glass of water, and likewise silently dialed up the room temperature by five percent. Once the first rush wore off, Jim would get cold.
Leonard went and sat on the mattress beside Jim's head. He thought it was partly a voluntary movement, and not just the shift of the mattress under his weight, that made Jim's head bump against his thigh. He touched Jim's shoulder, pushing him gently up to rest on his unmarked hip and shoulder.
Jim met Leonard's gaze for just a second, but that was enough. His eyes were nearly all pupil, and he gave a slow, sleepy blink even as Leonard held the glass to his lips.
"Drink," he said quietly, and Jim's eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head and complied, leaving Leonard to study the fan of his eyelashes against his flushed cheeks, the motion of his wet lips. Water dribbled down his cheek, dripping from his jaw like more sweat. Leonard took the glass away before it was all gone, and Jim's head fell forward, and then came to rest against Leonard's thigh again as he slumped back onto his belly.
"Right," Leonard said. "You're not going anywhere."
Jim shook his head slowly, just enough to give Leonard a glimpse of the lazy curl of his mouth. The smile made something unlock in Leonard's chest, even more than the obvious evidence that this little session had been neurochemically effective. Jim was happy. Everything was all right between them, however strange.
Leonard hauled Jim around by his arms so that he was lying properly on the bed, still face down, and then got his boots and pants off him. He peeled off his own sweaty shirt and--considering Jim, naked on his bed and staring at the far wall with apparent contentment, considering the already-rising temperature in his quarters--he didn't bother to replace it.
Leonard picked up the padd he'd set aside when Jim said uh-oh, and climbed over Jim to sit tucked between him and the wall. His left hand gravitated to Jim's shoulder, and Jim pushed infinitesimally into the touch. Leonard kept it there, and proceeded to do a terrible job of reviewing reports.
He'd gone through several--reading each one three or four times before he was sure he could safely sign off on it--when he heard a familiar little snuffling sound from beside him. Jim was asleep.
Leonard rubbed his eyes with the hand not still resting on Jim's shoulder. He should really move. He'd get more work done sitting somewhere else. It was obvious Jim wasn't going to be in any condition to agree to have his bruises mended anytime before the start of alpha shift--if he did agree, which was likely wishful thinking on Leonard's part. Jim tended to regard any injury not immediately endangering his life or overall bodily integrity as a badge of honor.
In theory Leonard could sleep somewhere else--somewhere else in the room, at a minimum, if not somewhere else on the ship--but he still hadn't managed to lift his hand from Jim's shoulder. He could cite simple facts to explain his actions. It would be somewhere between rude and potentially psychologically damaging, considering all that had gone on between them tonight, if he were not here when Jim woke. Leonard had seen Jim's full medical record and had reason to believe that tonight's encounter had the potential to dredge up unpleasant incidents from earlier in Jim's life--which increased the likelihood of sleep disturbances--which meant that there was no knowing when Jim might wake, requiring him to be present, nor what state of mind Jim might be in when he did.
These were all perfectly true facts. But when Leonard finally looked down at Jim--asleep beside him, naked in his bed, bearing the marks of what Leonard had done to him in bruises but also in his peaceful sleep--none of the perfectly reasonable facts especially mattered. He was overwhelmed with an entirely personal, entirely intimate sense of tenderness. If he'd thought he was keeping his distance from Jim--his patient, his captain, his friend-and-nothing-more--by staying on the other side of the belt, he'd been out of his damn fool mind.
"The hell with it," Leonard muttered. He leaned over Jim to set the padd down safely out of the way, unfastened his pants and kicked them off. As he settled onto his back, he said, "Lights out."
Jim's arm settled over his chest in the dark, and Leonard really meant to be either fondly irritated or guiltily aroused, but instead he was asleep.
***
He woke up in the dark. His brain was fogged with sleep, but not so far gone that he didn't realize that Jim was plastered up against his side, naked, grinding his erection against Leonard's hip and murmuring, "Come on, Bones."
"What," Leonard said, although it was actually fairly obvious. He didn't get any other words out before Jim's hand settled firmly over his mouth.
"Okay, one, thank you, that was kind of fucking amazing and I had no idea," Jim said, just above a whisper. Leonard's quarters were as soundproof as any other private space on the ship, but the low voice suited the darkness.
"Two," Jim continued. "Seriously, please, I don't know why you decided tonight is the night you give me things just because you know I want them, but I want you. Tonight. Before it's the morning after and we have to talk about this or pretend it didn't happen or pretend it wasn't a big deal or whatever we're going to do."
Leonard could argue--Jim was his captain, he was Jim's doctor, and he didn't think a reciprocally inappropriate relationship somehow balanced out and became ethical anywhere but in Jim's personal sense of honor, and arguably his own--but, Christ, he was the one who'd gone to sleep nearly naked in bed with an entirely naked Jim Kirk. It didn't really matter what state of incapacitation Jim had been in; this outcome had to have been obvious on some level, and here he was. Not getting out of bed, as surely as Jim hadn't walked away.
He doubted there were many people who'd attest it, but Leonard McCoy could be graceful in defeat when he chose to be.
He tugged Jim's hand down sharply and said, "Stop talking and kiss me already."
Jim laughed a little, sounding incredulously happy, and moved--with what had to be a practiced minimum of knees and elbows impacting in places they shouldn't--to straddle Leonard. He cupped Leonard's cheeks between his hands and kissed him almost sweetly, even as he rubbed his dick against Leonard's, equally hard, with only the barrier of Leonard's underwear between them.
Leonard parted his lips, meaning to say or do something about that, but Jim took the opening and charged it, his tongue pushing into Leonard's mouth and turning the kiss hot and wet and wildly distracting. Leonard ran a hand through Jim's hair, squeezing lightly when it came to rest on the nape of his neck. That got a funny little noise out of Jim, and his hands shifted down from Leonard's face, making a quick but promising survey of his chest on the way down to his underwear.
Leonard lifted his hips as Jim's fingers hooked under the waistband, and he let Jim push them down until he could kick them off. Jim was on him again as soon as Leonard had settled back against the mattress, his dick sliding alongside Leonard's. Leonard pushed up, straining for friction--his dick pressed against Jim's belly and then Jim rolled his hips, and it was just a teasing brush of skin.
His hand slapped down on Jim's ass, pulling him down as he shoved his hips up, before he thought about it. The sound of Jim's breath went abruptly silent; the curve of muscle under Leonard's hand went hard, tense, as Jim shoved his dick against Leonard's belly, and Leonard froze, remembering the layers of welts he'd laid down just hours ago, the bruises Jim had to be sporting now.
Jim was rocking down against him, and Jim was as hard as ever. He'd started breathing again, almost panting, and Leonard still didn't move, his hand still resting on Jim's ass. He should pull away--he should stop this--he should at least apologize.
Jim's lips brushed against Leonard's shoulder, and then he felt the hard lines of Jim's teeth against his skin. Very deliberately, Jim bit down.
Leonard let out a yowl and dug his fingers into Jim's bruised ass, and Jim laughed hoarsely and kept grinding against him. "Told you it was fucking amazing."
Leonard gave up and held on with both hands, though he shifted his grip a little higher on Jim's hips--still, he could feel the hotter stripes of bruises under his fingers.
"You will be the death of me," he gasped, punctuating his words with thrusts up against Jim's body. Jim didn't answer in words, but he slid his hand down between them and closed it around Leonard's cock, jerking him off and grinding against him. He seemed to press his ass into Leonard's hands as much as he thrust his dick against Leonard's body, and Leonard focused on the throb of his own dick, the throb of the bite on his shoulder--Jim hadn't broken the skin, but there was a pretty good chance that would leave a mark.
He should have known it would be like this; he could count on one hand the conversations he'd had with Jim that hadn't turned into some kind of verbal combat. He should have known sex would be the same. He dug his fingers in harder, and Jim's hand did something unbearably clever. Leonard's breath caught, his whole body tensing under Jim's.
He thought, fleetingly, that it was supposed to be for Jim, that he was supposed to make Jim come apart, and Jim whispered, "We're going to have to do this up right some time when you can fuck me without dying of guilt."
Leonard couldn't get the breath to curse at Jim for that particular mental image--you can fuck me--because he was busy coming harder than he had in a long time.
When he could form words again he said, "Sometime, huh?"
It wasn't his greatest comeback ever, but he managed to get his hand down to Jim's cock at the same time Jim started jerking himself off. It was a clumsy tangle of fingers, but Jim seemed to like it well enough, closing his eyes and working his hips in a slow, easy rhythm, like he was savoring a goddamn hand job.
Leonard slid his other hand up Jim's back and settled it on the nape of Jim's neck; when he squeezed a little, Jim's eyes flashed open, dark in the dimness of the room. Leonard had to swallow a couple of times--working his hand on Jim's cock, Jim's sweaty fingers alongside his, watching Jim's lips parted with no sound coming out--before he could gather the spit or the nerve to say, "Jim, come."
Jim did, like that was all he'd needed, and Leonard squeezed his own eyes shut and tugged Jim down into a kiss, shaky and breathless.
Jim kept still for a count of thirty-six before he started wiggling and fidgeting and Leonard dropped both of his hands and let him go. Jim didn't move far, just back to lie on the bed on his belly, crammed up against Leonard's side.
Almost in Leonard's ear he said, "I think we can make this work. I mean, I know we can. I can. This can work, Bones, we can--"
Leonard slung his arm over his eyes and tried to remember how to say more than two words together. "I thought we were going to wait until morning to deal with this."
"Yeah, but then we had sex, and I wouldn't have the reputation I have if I got sleepy after I come," Jim said blithely. "I do some great thinking right after orgasms. That would be one major benefit of--"
"Jim," Leonard said, although he had to admit he'd observed the phenomenon and it wasn't the worst sacrifice he could imagine making for Starfleet.
"I'm just saying, I'm sure this can work out, so don't wake up tomorrow morning and tell me you're cutting me off because you know I'll inevitably fuck this up. I won't."
"For Christ's sake, Jim," Leonard said. This was why he'd never wanted to get involved with Jim--not because he was, himself, exactly as much a monogamist as Jim wasn't, but because Jim was aware of that fact and touchingly, obnoxiously protective of it. "If you turn yourself into my tragic, self-sacrificing boyfriend over this, I will--"
Jim moved against him and laughed a little, right in his ear. "You'll what?"
Leonard rolled his eyes, but spoke with absolute sincerity. "I will be forced to deal with the situation with the utmost professionalism and adherence to Starfleet regulations. Captain."
Jim blew out an exasperated breath. "So that's it? Damned if I do and damned if I don't? Bones, come on, give me something to work with."
Leonard remembered not to laugh. He'd like to think he couldn't remember being that young, except that he remembered the early years of his marriage with such scalding clarity. "This is the next great young negotiator Starfleet wants to send into diplomatic hot spots, is it?"
Jim pulled away from him slightly, thumping his head down aggressively against the pillow. "I don't care about trade negotiations this much. And I'm usually wearing pants for that stuff, and--Bones, I won't give up if you don't let me try."
"Try this," Leonard said, rolling onto his side, facing Jim, settling his hand on Jim's back. "Do three things for me, and remember that that's how I want you to keep faith with me."
Jim turned his face toward Leonard, and Leonard could feel the weight of his gaze, his arrested focus. "I'm listening."
There was the professional negotiator, committing to nothing. Leonard smiled.
"First, fuck whoever you want with my blessing," Leonard said. "Second, tell me about it if you want but shut up if I tell you to. Third..."
Leonard's hand slid down Jim's spine, his fingers stopping as soon as they met bruised skin, and he let his voice drop to a whisper, fierce and low.
"If anybody hits you who isn't me, you'd goddamn well better be hitting them back."
Jim didn't actually answer in words, but Leonard was willing to interpret the best--and most startling--blow job of his life as a yes.
This entry is crossposted at http://dsudis.livejournal.com/545643.html.
rubynye for her unflagging enthusiasm and encouragement and gently-setting-right-when-I-went-astray and generally helping this story to exist somewhere outside my brain. Thanks also to toft for writing Normal Working Relationship, which finally shook this loose from the spot where it had been stuck in my brain since summer. And, of course, thanks to
iulia for not killing me in my sleep even though this is so, so very not her birthday fic, which, as of today, is now actually overdue instead of just never-going-to-be-finished-in-time. Sorry! I am going to get right on that!Ahem. Anyway, story!
Kirk/McCoy. NC-17. 5,000 words.
Warning and/or enticement: BDSM
What Leonard was about to do was undeniably crude--maybe one step up from bleeding to balance the humors--but in this case the science was sound.
The Care and Feeding of Your Starship Captain
Leonard tuned in when Jim said uh-oh. It wasn't that Jim had ever announced anything actually important that way, but that he said it in the tone of voice that indicated that he wanted Leonard's attention. Leonard had learned a long time ago that it was almost always better to give in to that particular demand before Jim started escalating.
"Uh-oh," Jim said. "You have that look on your face."
Up until that exact second, all of Leonard's attention had been divided between trying to actually do some of the work he'd brought back to his quarters--his own, private quarters, with the door code-locked, not that that had prevented his esteemed captain from dropping in for an unannounced social call--and mentally cataloguing everything Jim had picked up and then put down somewhere slightly different. At the moment, Jim was holding a holo showing Leonard and Jocelyn and Joanna, the day Joanna was born. Leonard usually kept it out of his own direct line of sight, where he could see it if he wanted to but it couldn't catch him off-guard.
It was an honest question, wary tone and all, when he said, "What look is that, Jim?"
Jim gave him a shit-eating, fight-starting, brilliant grin, and said, "That look like you're pissed that I'm too big for you to put me over your knee and spank me."
Leonard blinked, and a diagnosis snapped abruptly into place. He blinked again--Jim's smile brightened further, triumphantly, and he tossed the holo from hand to hand. Leonard reconsidered his course of action for another second, but he worked in emergency medicine aboard a starship. He was used to making the right decision the first time and acting on it immediately.
"Well," he said slowly. "There's no need for that to stop me."
Jim's grin faltered, and Leonard felt a grim smile start on his own face as he stood up.
"No need to stop you from...." Jim's eyes went wide, and his hands flailed out wider. He was still holding the holo. "Hey, whoa, Bones. Joking."
"I know," Leonard said, taking one long stride toward Jim, putting himself not quite close enough to touch. "But that doesn't mean you didn't also want something from me."
"I didn't say I wanted anything!" The smile vanished completely. Jim was retreating now into irritability. Next it would be rhetoric-chopping, and, if Jim got his way, a good yelling match, maybe a fist fight. But if Leonard had been willing to fight--or fuck--Jim out of this kind of mood, they wouldn't have gotten to this point in the first place.
Jim, clever boy, had thought of a third option. But of course it was something new and slightly strange, and of course he couldn't accede to it without a fight.
"You didn't have to say you wanted it," Leonard pointed out, folding his arms and speaking calmly and seriously. "You don't have to say it now. All you have to do is walk out the door or stay right where you are."
"Bones, I'm not--"
Jim was accustomed to making decisions even faster than Leonard did, for higher stakes. He'd spoken without making a move for the door. Leonard closed the distance between them and grabbed Jim's wrist. He executed the arm lock pretty neatly--he'd taken the requisite hand-to-hand combat course, to say nothing of the advanced courses in patient restraint, where he'd been taught to immobilize people who'd had a hell of a lot more combat training than he had.
Jim wasn't resisting, anyway. Leonard pulled up on his wrist, pushing the stress on his shoulder to the point of pain, but not into danger of dislocation, as long as Jim didn't make any sudden, stupid moves.
Jim was breathing fast, and the hair was standing up at the nape of his neck. His arm was tense in Leonard's grip, his hand clenched in a fist, but he didn't fight, and he didn't argue.
"All right," Leonard said. "First you are going to put that holo down exactly where you found it."
He nudged Jim back toward the proper shelf, staying close to him so that he could keep his grip without adding any lateral strain to Jim's shoulder. Jim slapped the holo down with a sharp, petulant crack--but he put it in exactly the accustomed place, at exactly the correct angle. Jim really didn't have to say a word.
Leonard's granny had told stories about her grandfather being sent to cut the switch he would be whipped with. Leonard wasn't entirely sure what a switch was, in that context--he'd had a mental image of an old-time version of himself being beaten with a cut-off loop of wiring, and that didn't seem right. Still, the ritual of choice made sense, and Leonard did, in fact, have a few appropriate implements available.
He moved Jim toward the storage drawers set into the wall and pressed the button to slide out the top one. Neatly arranged down one side of the drawer were a few belts Leonard rarely had occasion to wear.
"Choose," he said, eyeing them as he spoke. He hoped to God Jim wasn't crazed enough to pick the metal-studded one, but he could probably find a way to work with that.
Jim said nothing, but reached with his free hand all the way to the back of the drawer, to touch the plain, worn leather belt coiled up in the corner. It suited nothing but grubby clothes; Leonard had been wearing it the day they met.
He wouldn't put it past Jim to know that.
"Fine," Leonard said, turning his whole body to turn Jim toward the bed. The leather belt wouldn't damage Jim much, so they could do this up right. Leonard had seen enough to know that the only way to get to enough where Jim was concerned was to keep going past too much and out the other side.
"Go over to the bed," Leonard said, calmly and without any possibility of being disobeyed, like he was requesting a hypospray from one of his nurses. "Take your pants down and kneel. Wait for me."
He released Jim's wrist, and Jim didn't immediately lower his hand, just stood there for a second, flexing his fingers. When he moved it was a sudden flurry. He was across the room in a blink, tugging off his gold command tunic and black undershirt together and tossing them past the foot of the bed, then ripping at the fastening of his pants.
Leonard reached for the belt, considering. He hadn't told Jim to take his shirt off, but as a gesture it was probably for the best. He didn't need to be looking at command colors while he was doing this; he didn't need to do it wearing blue, for that matter. He stripped off his own tunic, and threw it to the floor so that it thumped when it hit.
Jim, pants down around his thighs, glanced back over his shoulder. Leonard held his gaze and took the belt from the drawer. Jim nodded slightly, and turned his face away as he dropped heavily to his knees beside Leonard's bed. He kept his hands at his sides. He waited.
Leonard stood behind him, watching him. He was still tense; the little bit of motion Leonard had allowed him had done nothing to relieve him, and the longer Leonard waited to finish this, the higher the tension would grow.
What Leonard was about to do was undeniably crude--maybe one step up from bleeding to balance the humors--but in this case the science was sound. An unequal physical altercation, a deliberate application of pain, would release adrenaline and endorphins, a subtle mix that would be difficult to replicate in the lab without subjecting Jim to repeated tests. Pain inflicted in an overall atmosphere of trust and safety would avoid the unpleasant psychological ramifications of an uncontrolled situation, leaving Jim free to enjoy having his neurotransmitters rebalanced.
Anyway, Jim hated hyposprays and showed a certain inclination toward unequal physical altercations. He had, in fact, asked for it.
Leonard shook out the belt, holding the buckle in his palm with the first few inches of the belt wrapped around his hand. The remaining length of leather swished softly through the air, loud in the silence. Jim's shoulders jumped, and his hands balled into fists again.
Leonard walked over slowly and stood directly behind Jim. "Interlace your fingers behind your head. Lean over, put your face down on the mattress."
Jim obeyed one command at a time. He unclenched his hands with a visible effort, putting every bit as much force into splaying his fingers wide as he'd put into holding them together. He slammed them into an interlocking position behind his head, and then all but threw himself down onto the mattress, leaving his back almost perfectly flat. His hips tilted up slightly, offering his ass.
Leonard just looked for a second--having made a decision a long time ago not to be one of Jim's conquests didn't make him blind--but he forced himself back on task. He considered the angles and then moved to stand beside Jim, facing him, one knee pressed against Jim's ribs. He bent over enough to plant his free hand between Jim's shoulder blades. The bare skin was hot; Jim was already starting to sweat. Leonard tightened his grip on the belt.
"I'm going to hit you once," he said quietly. "To see how it goes. When I start again, I will keep hitting you until I think you've had enough. Do you understand?"
Jim nodded slightly, under the cover of his hands--his fingers were digging in already, his fingertips and the stretched skin all going white. He would understand what Leonard hadn't said: the pause after the first blow would be his opportunity to back out of this. If Leonard actually said it, it would become an irresistible challenge, and Jim would have no recourse at all.
Leonard licked his lips, shook out the belt, and swung.
The crack of leather against flesh nearly drowned out the only sound Jim made--a harsh, long exhalation. He moved, though, bucking up almost convulsively, muscles straining, as Jim struggled with all his might against the reflex to fight back. Leonard's hand, resting too lightly on Jim's back, was thrown off, and he stood upright and watched as Jim wrestled himself back into position.
There was no sound for a moment but their breathing--Leonard found that his own was as fast and rough as Jim's, loud in his own ears while Jim's was muffled.
Leonard stared at the red line across Jim's ass and the bright shine of sweat down Jim's back, transfixed by the ferocity with which Jim approached even this, even an attempt at submission.
Jim lifted his head just far enough to say in a low, strained voice, "Hold me down."
Leonard nodded--it didn't matter that Jim couldn't see--and shifted forward to put his left knee on Jim's back. His left hand came down on the nape of Jim's neck, just below Jim's own hands. He didn't throw anything like all of his weight onto those two points, but it ought to be enough to help Jim stay down.
He felt Jim bracing under him, and knew that it was going to be just as bad as it was going to be, and waiting wouldn't help any. Leonard raised his arm again and brought it down harder this time, and when Jim pushed up under him he pushed back, hurrying the next stroke so that it went a little wild, the end of the belt snapping against the back of Jim's thigh.
Jim did make a noise at that, muffled but distinctly high-pitched, and kept struggling under Leonard. It turned into a real thrashing for a little while, with Jim struggling under him and Leonard hitting him as hard as he could, falling into a steady rhythm almost by accident--maybe five strokes, maybe ten. There was no other measure of time but the rise and fall of his arm.
Jim never did anything halfway. When he gave up and stopped fighting, he went so still under Leonard that he thought for an instant that Jim had somehow lost consciousness. His arm kept moving without him, though, and Jim tilted his head slightly, pressing the nape of his neck into Leonard's palm.
Surrender.
Leonard looked to his right and watched the belt fall again, laying one more red line across Jim's ass. His arm rose automatically--he'd missed a spot there--and fell again. Leonard felt the force of the blow shudder through Jim's unresisting body, pushing out a half-voiced sigh, nothing like a protest. He angled the next blow a little, letting the end of the belt stray up onto Jim's hip, winning another soft wordless sound out of Jim's mouth. The one after that came down squarely, on top of a criss-cross of other marks. Jim moaned, and as his arm rose again Leonard found himself thinking, Stop. You have to stop.
He shook his arm out sideways, twisting his shoulder awkwardly but bringing a stop to the repetitive motion. He let go of the belt at the end of the arc, and it slapped and clattered to the floor. Jim twitched under him at the sound, and Leonard eased his left foot back down to the floor and then slid down to kneel beside Jim, keeping his left hand still on the nape of his neck. The reassuring touch had to be the last to go.
"We're done, Jim," he said quietly. "You did that very well."
Jim made a slight motion--nodding, maybe--under Leonard's hand. Leonard twisted, letting his body brush against Jim's back, and used both his hands to gently tug Jim's hands apart and lay them on the mattress. Jim didn't move a muscle to aid or resist the motion, and didn't make a sound except his breathing, deep and fast.
"All right," Leonard said, rubbing his hands gently over the backs of Jim's. "All right. Just sit a minute. I'll be right back."
Leonard got to his feet and walked over to the bathroom, shutting himself into that dubious privacy. He shook out his arms and worked on getting his breathing under control.
So that just happened.
His undershirt was soaked in sweat--his own, mostly, but probably some Jim's. His right hand and shoulder felt stiff, reluctant to move in normal patterns. He flexed his fingers, thinking of how the belt had fit there, and how easy he'd found the motion. There was something he probably hadn't needed to know about himself.
Except that he had needed to know it--or rather, Jim had needed him to know it. It wasn't exactly a favor Jim could have asked of just anyone. If Leonard was honest, he doubted there was anyone at all except himself who Jim could have trusted with this. So here they were.
Well, no. Here Leonard was, with nothing better to do than fret over what he'd just done. Jim was alone out there. Leonard shook his head and stepped back outside, casting a quick look toward the bed.
Jim had dragged himself a little further onto the mattress, shifting his balance and taking nearly all his weight off his knees. His legs were stretched out behind him, his ankles tangled in his pants and his boots still on. The red of the marks Leonard had made was already darkening into bruises in several places, and Jim's hair was dark with sweat. Leonard went to the replicator and used the touch interface to request a glass of water, and likewise silently dialed up the room temperature by five percent. Once the first rush wore off, Jim would get cold.
Leonard went and sat on the mattress beside Jim's head. He thought it was partly a voluntary movement, and not just the shift of the mattress under his weight, that made Jim's head bump against his thigh. He touched Jim's shoulder, pushing him gently up to rest on his unmarked hip and shoulder.
Jim met Leonard's gaze for just a second, but that was enough. His eyes were nearly all pupil, and he gave a slow, sleepy blink even as Leonard held the glass to his lips.
"Drink," he said quietly, and Jim's eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head and complied, leaving Leonard to study the fan of his eyelashes against his flushed cheeks, the motion of his wet lips. Water dribbled down his cheek, dripping from his jaw like more sweat. Leonard took the glass away before it was all gone, and Jim's head fell forward, and then came to rest against Leonard's thigh again as he slumped back onto his belly.
"Right," Leonard said. "You're not going anywhere."
Jim shook his head slowly, just enough to give Leonard a glimpse of the lazy curl of his mouth. The smile made something unlock in Leonard's chest, even more than the obvious evidence that this little session had been neurochemically effective. Jim was happy. Everything was all right between them, however strange.
Leonard hauled Jim around by his arms so that he was lying properly on the bed, still face down, and then got his boots and pants off him. He peeled off his own sweaty shirt and--considering Jim, naked on his bed and staring at the far wall with apparent contentment, considering the already-rising temperature in his quarters--he didn't bother to replace it.
Leonard picked up the padd he'd set aside when Jim said uh-oh, and climbed over Jim to sit tucked between him and the wall. His left hand gravitated to Jim's shoulder, and Jim pushed infinitesimally into the touch. Leonard kept it there, and proceeded to do a terrible job of reviewing reports.
He'd gone through several--reading each one three or four times before he was sure he could safely sign off on it--when he heard a familiar little snuffling sound from beside him. Jim was asleep.
Leonard rubbed his eyes with the hand not still resting on Jim's shoulder. He should really move. He'd get more work done sitting somewhere else. It was obvious Jim wasn't going to be in any condition to agree to have his bruises mended anytime before the start of alpha shift--if he did agree, which was likely wishful thinking on Leonard's part. Jim tended to regard any injury not immediately endangering his life or overall bodily integrity as a badge of honor.
In theory Leonard could sleep somewhere else--somewhere else in the room, at a minimum, if not somewhere else on the ship--but he still hadn't managed to lift his hand from Jim's shoulder. He could cite simple facts to explain his actions. It would be somewhere between rude and potentially psychologically damaging, considering all that had gone on between them tonight, if he were not here when Jim woke. Leonard had seen Jim's full medical record and had reason to believe that tonight's encounter had the potential to dredge up unpleasant incidents from earlier in Jim's life--which increased the likelihood of sleep disturbances--which meant that there was no knowing when Jim might wake, requiring him to be present, nor what state of mind Jim might be in when he did.
These were all perfectly true facts. But when Leonard finally looked down at Jim--asleep beside him, naked in his bed, bearing the marks of what Leonard had done to him in bruises but also in his peaceful sleep--none of the perfectly reasonable facts especially mattered. He was overwhelmed with an entirely personal, entirely intimate sense of tenderness. If he'd thought he was keeping his distance from Jim--his patient, his captain, his friend-and-nothing-more--by staying on the other side of the belt, he'd been out of his damn fool mind.
"The hell with it," Leonard muttered. He leaned over Jim to set the padd down safely out of the way, unfastened his pants and kicked them off. As he settled onto his back, he said, "Lights out."
Jim's arm settled over his chest in the dark, and Leonard really meant to be either fondly irritated or guiltily aroused, but instead he was asleep.
***
He woke up in the dark. His brain was fogged with sleep, but not so far gone that he didn't realize that Jim was plastered up against his side, naked, grinding his erection against Leonard's hip and murmuring, "Come on, Bones."
"What," Leonard said, although it was actually fairly obvious. He didn't get any other words out before Jim's hand settled firmly over his mouth.
"Okay, one, thank you, that was kind of fucking amazing and I had no idea," Jim said, just above a whisper. Leonard's quarters were as soundproof as any other private space on the ship, but the low voice suited the darkness.
"Two," Jim continued. "Seriously, please, I don't know why you decided tonight is the night you give me things just because you know I want them, but I want you. Tonight. Before it's the morning after and we have to talk about this or pretend it didn't happen or pretend it wasn't a big deal or whatever we're going to do."
Leonard could argue--Jim was his captain, he was Jim's doctor, and he didn't think a reciprocally inappropriate relationship somehow balanced out and became ethical anywhere but in Jim's personal sense of honor, and arguably his own--but, Christ, he was the one who'd gone to sleep nearly naked in bed with an entirely naked Jim Kirk. It didn't really matter what state of incapacitation Jim had been in; this outcome had to have been obvious on some level, and here he was. Not getting out of bed, as surely as Jim hadn't walked away.
He doubted there were many people who'd attest it, but Leonard McCoy could be graceful in defeat when he chose to be.
He tugged Jim's hand down sharply and said, "Stop talking and kiss me already."
Jim laughed a little, sounding incredulously happy, and moved--with what had to be a practiced minimum of knees and elbows impacting in places they shouldn't--to straddle Leonard. He cupped Leonard's cheeks between his hands and kissed him almost sweetly, even as he rubbed his dick against Leonard's, equally hard, with only the barrier of Leonard's underwear between them.
Leonard parted his lips, meaning to say or do something about that, but Jim took the opening and charged it, his tongue pushing into Leonard's mouth and turning the kiss hot and wet and wildly distracting. Leonard ran a hand through Jim's hair, squeezing lightly when it came to rest on the nape of his neck. That got a funny little noise out of Jim, and his hands shifted down from Leonard's face, making a quick but promising survey of his chest on the way down to his underwear.
Leonard lifted his hips as Jim's fingers hooked under the waistband, and he let Jim push them down until he could kick them off. Jim was on him again as soon as Leonard had settled back against the mattress, his dick sliding alongside Leonard's. Leonard pushed up, straining for friction--his dick pressed against Jim's belly and then Jim rolled his hips, and it was just a teasing brush of skin.
His hand slapped down on Jim's ass, pulling him down as he shoved his hips up, before he thought about it. The sound of Jim's breath went abruptly silent; the curve of muscle under Leonard's hand went hard, tense, as Jim shoved his dick against Leonard's belly, and Leonard froze, remembering the layers of welts he'd laid down just hours ago, the bruises Jim had to be sporting now.
Jim was rocking down against him, and Jim was as hard as ever. He'd started breathing again, almost panting, and Leonard still didn't move, his hand still resting on Jim's ass. He should pull away--he should stop this--he should at least apologize.
Jim's lips brushed against Leonard's shoulder, and then he felt the hard lines of Jim's teeth against his skin. Very deliberately, Jim bit down.
Leonard let out a yowl and dug his fingers into Jim's bruised ass, and Jim laughed hoarsely and kept grinding against him. "Told you it was fucking amazing."
Leonard gave up and held on with both hands, though he shifted his grip a little higher on Jim's hips--still, he could feel the hotter stripes of bruises under his fingers.
"You will be the death of me," he gasped, punctuating his words with thrusts up against Jim's body. Jim didn't answer in words, but he slid his hand down between them and closed it around Leonard's cock, jerking him off and grinding against him. He seemed to press his ass into Leonard's hands as much as he thrust his dick against Leonard's body, and Leonard focused on the throb of his own dick, the throb of the bite on his shoulder--Jim hadn't broken the skin, but there was a pretty good chance that would leave a mark.
He should have known it would be like this; he could count on one hand the conversations he'd had with Jim that hadn't turned into some kind of verbal combat. He should have known sex would be the same. He dug his fingers in harder, and Jim's hand did something unbearably clever. Leonard's breath caught, his whole body tensing under Jim's.
He thought, fleetingly, that it was supposed to be for Jim, that he was supposed to make Jim come apart, and Jim whispered, "We're going to have to do this up right some time when you can fuck me without dying of guilt."
Leonard couldn't get the breath to curse at Jim for that particular mental image--you can fuck me--because he was busy coming harder than he had in a long time.
When he could form words again he said, "Sometime, huh?"
It wasn't his greatest comeback ever, but he managed to get his hand down to Jim's cock at the same time Jim started jerking himself off. It was a clumsy tangle of fingers, but Jim seemed to like it well enough, closing his eyes and working his hips in a slow, easy rhythm, like he was savoring a goddamn hand job.
Leonard slid his other hand up Jim's back and settled it on the nape of Jim's neck; when he squeezed a little, Jim's eyes flashed open, dark in the dimness of the room. Leonard had to swallow a couple of times--working his hand on Jim's cock, Jim's sweaty fingers alongside his, watching Jim's lips parted with no sound coming out--before he could gather the spit or the nerve to say, "Jim, come."
Jim did, like that was all he'd needed, and Leonard squeezed his own eyes shut and tugged Jim down into a kiss, shaky and breathless.
Jim kept still for a count of thirty-six before he started wiggling and fidgeting and Leonard dropped both of his hands and let him go. Jim didn't move far, just back to lie on the bed on his belly, crammed up against Leonard's side.
Almost in Leonard's ear he said, "I think we can make this work. I mean, I know we can. I can. This can work, Bones, we can--"
Leonard slung his arm over his eyes and tried to remember how to say more than two words together. "I thought we were going to wait until morning to deal with this."
"Yeah, but then we had sex, and I wouldn't have the reputation I have if I got sleepy after I come," Jim said blithely. "I do some great thinking right after orgasms. That would be one major benefit of--"
"Jim," Leonard said, although he had to admit he'd observed the phenomenon and it wasn't the worst sacrifice he could imagine making for Starfleet.
"I'm just saying, I'm sure this can work out, so don't wake up tomorrow morning and tell me you're cutting me off because you know I'll inevitably fuck this up. I won't."
"For Christ's sake, Jim," Leonard said. This was why he'd never wanted to get involved with Jim--not because he was, himself, exactly as much a monogamist as Jim wasn't, but because Jim was aware of that fact and touchingly, obnoxiously protective of it. "If you turn yourself into my tragic, self-sacrificing boyfriend over this, I will--"
Jim moved against him and laughed a little, right in his ear. "You'll what?"
Leonard rolled his eyes, but spoke with absolute sincerity. "I will be forced to deal with the situation with the utmost professionalism and adherence to Starfleet regulations. Captain."
Jim blew out an exasperated breath. "So that's it? Damned if I do and damned if I don't? Bones, come on, give me something to work with."
Leonard remembered not to laugh. He'd like to think he couldn't remember being that young, except that he remembered the early years of his marriage with such scalding clarity. "This is the next great young negotiator Starfleet wants to send into diplomatic hot spots, is it?"
Jim pulled away from him slightly, thumping his head down aggressively against the pillow. "I don't care about trade negotiations this much. And I'm usually wearing pants for that stuff, and--Bones, I won't give up if you don't let me try."
"Try this," Leonard said, rolling onto his side, facing Jim, settling his hand on Jim's back. "Do three things for me, and remember that that's how I want you to keep faith with me."
Jim turned his face toward Leonard, and Leonard could feel the weight of his gaze, his arrested focus. "I'm listening."
There was the professional negotiator, committing to nothing. Leonard smiled.
"First, fuck whoever you want with my blessing," Leonard said. "Second, tell me about it if you want but shut up if I tell you to. Third..."
Leonard's hand slid down Jim's spine, his fingers stopping as soon as they met bruised skin, and he let his voice drop to a whisper, fierce and low.
"If anybody hits you who isn't me, you'd goddamn well better be hitting them back."
Jim didn't actually answer in words, but Leonard was willing to interpret the best--and most startling--blow job of his life as a yes.
This entry is crossposted at http://dsudis.livejournal.com/545643.html.