Archive of Our Own

After Pike has explained everything from which lieutenants are spies for the Emperor to which synthesizers have a tendency to malfunction, he pauses. It’s the first time Kirk has ever seen him hesitate, so he straightens up.

“There’s also Doctor McCoy,” Pike begins carefully.

“You want me to take care of him?” Pike may have made admiral with his stunts, but he’s also stuck at crotch height for life, and Kirk would understand if Pike wanted the man who did the surgery dead. Pike is handing him the fucking Enterprise, which is worth a murder or three.

Pike gives him one of his enigmatic smiles. “Not in the sense you’re thinking. What do you know about him?”

Kirk shrugs. He dragged Pike’s ass down to Sickbay after they came back from Nero’s ship, but handed him off to a bunch of nurses and left. He knows McCoy’s name from his connection from Pike, but that’s it. “Not much. Is he a problem?”

Pike takes something out of his desk drawer, and Kirk can see that it’s McCoy’s file. “No, he’s not dangerous, per se. I’d say he’s Starfleet’s most talented doctor, too.”

“But?”

“He was impressed into Starfleet’s service three years ago, and he hasn’t stopped bucking since.”

That takes Kirk back. He knows of a few people who had to be frogmarched into the service, but it’s rare. The best of the best are usually dying to put on the uniform just for ambition’s sake. Of the few people he knows none of them had put up more than a token fight when faced with imperial phasers. “And he’s still alive?”

“Yes, very much so, even though he’s tried to bail four times now. It’s gotten him handcuffed to Sickbay.” Pike is still smiling.

“Sounds like a problem to me.” He expects a certain amount of maintenance work for his senior officers, but there’s a limit.

“It is and it isn’t. The problem isn’t McCoy. He’s a crabby asshole but he takes his duties seriously and he has no political ambitions. It’s the rest of the crew that you’d have to keep an eye on.”

“Someone gunning for his job?”

“No, as far as I can tell the nurses love him, and M’Benga knows he’s best as a specialist. It’s just that…” Pike trails off, thoughtful and uncharacteristically hesitant.

“What?”

Pike looks back at Kirk and seems to consider him. “I guess you’d better just see for yourself. He’s in Sickbay.” He hands Kirk the PADD. “It’s your ship and your decision now, Kirk.” Kirk’s stomach does a little jump even as he notices that Pike’s voice is admirably even on that. “McCoy does require effort, but I think you’ll find he’s worth it.”

Kirk skims the PADD and tries not to think about it as he tours the Enterprise for the first time since being officially made her Captain. Pike is the most useful connection he has, but his thoughts on McCoy appear embarrassingly sentimental. Kirk doesn’t want to spend time finding a new CMO when he could be out in the black, and he doesn’t want to go against Pike’s suggestions if he can help it, but he can’t envision himself with a doctor who’s literally tied to Sickbay. He can’t think of any reason Pike would want to keep him other than gratitude, and that is definitely not enough to balance out the headache of a doctor who’s hampered by handcuffs and whatever problem Pike won’t talk about.

He saves Sickbay for last on his tour just in case a brilliant plan comes to him before then, but he’s still got nothing by the time the doors open. Then he gets a load of McCoy, who is leaning against a biobed and staring at a report, and everything snaps into place.

Kirk has learned from the file that McCoy is a family man who tried to live a nice quiet life before his frequent and brilliant publishing caught Starfleet’s omnipotent eye. He’s fled four times but never killed anyone, and he’s made no political move whatsoever. He’s harmless, as much as any man with unlimited access to poison and the right to administer it as he sees fit is harmless. At the very least he’s not a threat.

But oh fuck does he look like one. He would do great in prison. Even leaning against the biobed he emanates “piss me off and suffer.” It’s ridiculously hot. Kirk wants to wrap those long legs around him and fuck McCoy until he stops scowling and begs for it.

It explains why Pike was so tight-lipped: the man never really talks about sex. He must have fucked McCoy’s face twice daily and bent him over every surface in Sickbay.

“Can I help you?” McCoy asks, narrow-eyed. There’s just a hint of the South in his voice and it goes straight to Kirk’s dick.

“Captain James T. Kirk,” he says as he walks over. He holds out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

McCoy’s wariness turns more considering as he shakes Kirk’s hand. “Doctor Leonard McCoy.” There’s a silver band around his wrist, and Kirk realizes with a rush of adrenaline that it’s the handcuff. Now he understands why he’ll have to keep an eye on the crew. The idea that this scowling, angry man is perpetually tied down makes him almost unbelievably attractive, and McCoy makes it worse by looking as fuckable as he is intimidating. Kirk bets half the ship at least is going to come sniffing after him like he’s a bitch in heat.

Unless Kirk makes sure they don’t.

Effort, Pike had called it. That sly horny bastard.

“I was wondering if we could discuss a few things in your office, Dr. McCoy.” He says it pleasantly, but McCoy looks even more suspicious. It’s a good look for him. Kirk wonders if he knows what’s coming.

McCoy follows him wordlessly, and the nurses watch him go in equal silence. Kirk smiles at them. Nothing to see here, folks, just a doctor who’s about to get the reaming of his life and the captain who’s going to give it to him.

The office is neat, almost Spartan. The only thing out of place is the door in back. “Where’s that go?”

McCoy stiffens when he sees where Kirk’s pointing. “Those are my quarters, sir.” It’s the first time he’s added any sort of honorific. Obviously a sore point.

He presses it. “That’s not regulation.”

McCoy’s jaw clenches all the way up to his gorgeous cheekbones. “I can’t leave Sickbay. Captain Pike made adjustments. Sir.”

“Can’t leave Sickbay?” Kirk has learned that nothing pisses off a genius faster than a dumb pretty boy.

“That’s what I said,” McCoy replies, with a tone that snaps, “Are you fucking deaf or what?” Kirk forces himself not to laugh.

“Why not?”

McCoy tops a “you’ve got to be kidding” expression with a seriously acrobatic eyebrow, and someone needs to tell him that it’s extremely bitable. He can’t imagine Pike did, what with his penchant for quiet, domineering sex. “Look, just get on with it, okay?”

“Get on with what?”

There’s a warning in his voice, but McCoy either ignores it or is too wrapped up in his bitterness to hear it. “I know what you’re here for. Just take it already.”

“What makes you think I want it?” One last chance for McCoy to redeem himself, just because Kirk likes to make sure.

McCoy glances down at Kirk’s tented trousers, and when he looks back up his expression is almost bored. “I’m a doctor, kid.”

He slaps McCoy before he’s even closed his pretty lips over that final “d.” It’s just hard enough to make McCoy’s face sing, the kind of slap you reserve for a child.

McCoy lashes out, as Kirk expected. He takes McCoy down easily, twisting his arm up his back as he forces McCoy to kneel with his chest near the floor and then puts weight on him to keep him there. “Having fun yet?” Kirk asks.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Kirk adjusts so he has an arm free to smack McCoy’s perky butt. “Ah, ah, ah. Any more of that and I’ll call Security in to teach you a lesson. Is that what you want?”

McCoy hesitates so long Kirk wonders if he’ll call his bluff – there’s no way in hell anyone else is getting a taste of this. It’s a good thing, in a way, that McCoy is already locked up, or Kirk would be tempted to do it himself. But he’s not going to tell McCoy that, which is why McCoy eventually spits out, “No, sir.”

“Good boy.” He lets go and stands back up, but stops McCoy from rising from his knees with a hand on his shoulder. “Now, why can’t you leave Sickbay?”

McCoy glares at him before rolling his eyes. “The electric monitors don’t allow me to leave the premises.” Kirk tightens his grip on McCoy’s shoulder until McCoy looks down at the floor and Kirk hears a “sir.”

“Because you’re here under impressment,” Kirk finishes.

McCoy nods and then remembers. “Yes, sir.”

Three years and the man is still fighting. Did Pike even try to break him? Kirk likes to think he did, and wasn’t able to. The whole of Starfleet hasn’t been able to. He crouches down by McCoy. “So if I let you go, you’ll run?”

“Eventually,” McCoy replies bluntly. He glances at Kirk sideways, and the cold promise in his eyes is too hot for words. “Sir.”

“Why not just kill yourself?” Kirk genuinely wants to know. He’s not protecting anyone, since his wife had demanded protection for their daughter in exchange for handing McCoy over. It’s the ultimate finger to the empire, and Kirk wants to know what’s stopping him.

McCoy actually looks disgusted. “I’m a doctor.”

Bingo. Kirk has McCoy now, and by his nervous shift and obvious loathing McCoy knows it too. He can make McCoy jump through any number of hoops with the right push now, because McCoy is unlucky enough to be a healer through and through.

But the handcuffs do look damn fine on him, little rings of silver just visible by the ropy veins of his wrist. Kirk enjoys mental bondage as much as the next man, but he’s not above the physical kind, and he’s read a few very interesting details about these particular cuffs. “That’s what you want, then? To be useful?”

McCoy doesn’t answer.

Kirk stands back up. “I could give you that, you know.” McCoy looks back up, silent and tense. “You could heal people from all over the universe, fuck if I care.”

Still nothing. Not a negotiator, then, but Kirk can work with that. He gestures to his crotch. “I just want a willing partner in return.”

McCoy frowns, all of his confusion playing out so loudly on his face that Kirk almost bursts out laughing. He was clearly expecting something else, something that would make him take off the handcuffs and tell the world that he’s happily serving the empire. But Kirk has other plans, and he knows how to play nice with his toys. It’s enough for both of them to know that he could break him if he wanted.

“Only in private, of course,” Kirk adds with a smile. He knows that will push McCoy over the edge.

“I’m not torturing anybody,” McCoy says firmly.

Kirk nods. He can’t imagine McCoy had been that good at it anyway. “I’ve got Spock for that. Sickbay is for healing people, as far as I’m concerned.” It never has been, in all the ships that Kirk has ever been on or heard about, but he has no problem making it that way. Kirk has enough lethal allergies that having a doctor with a pathetic need to protect human life is an advantage, even if it does require… effort.

McCoy blinks at his acquiescence, fluttering girlishly long lashes. Kirk intends to make McCoy do that a lot.

“Well?” he asks, after he’s given McCoy a moment to make the decision he’s already made.

McCoy swallows. He’s going to be doing a lot of that too. “All right, sir.” His voice is ragged.

Kirk knows there’s a world of difference between “willing” and “enthusiastic,” and he enjoys it thoroughly as he leans against the desk while McCoy undoes his fly. McCoy still looks pissed off and resentful and deeply miserable, and every bit of it makes blood rush directly to Kirk’s dick. The sight and feel of McCoy’s Cupid’s bow lips closing around the head of his cock have him dripping pre-come into McCoy’s mouth. He resists the urge to grab McCoy’s perfectly coiffed hair and have at it, hot as it would be to see him with puffy just-fucked lips and raw throat afterwards. He imagines Pike did that a lot.

Kirk pushes McCoy away just before he hits the point where his voice will crack. “Strip,” he orders.

McCoy obeys with a resigned expression, obviously expecting what his last captain must have given him, a hard ride that would leave him with nothing to do except lie back and think of Starfleet. Well, there’s a new sheriff in town.

When McCoy is wearing nothing but his handcuffs Kirk directs him over the table, helping him along with a hand on the back of his neck and another on his shoulder blade. He can feel the tension in McCoy increase as he hits the surface of the desk, and Kirk slaps him sharply on one taut buttock just to ramp it up a little. Then he smirks. “Where do you keep the lube?”

McCoy points awkwardly, wise enough not to try to stand straight. “There’s some medical grade in that drawer.”

Kirk gives him another swat, and decides from McCoy’s little jump that he’ll have to give him a proper spanking someday. “Stay here.” He fetches the lube and pets the cheek he just slapped when he comes back. “Good boy.”

McCoy glares up at him from where his face is half pressed against the desk but doesn’t say anything. Then he looks away as Kirk slicks himself up. Kirk doesn’t mind spreading a hot little ass with his fingers, but he figures McCoy should really feel the full brunt of James Tiberius Kirk. He spreads one of McCoy’s muscular cheeks with one hand and guides his cock into that tight hole with the other.

There’s resistance. McCoy probably hasn’t bent over for anyone since Pike, and Pike’s been wheelchair bound for months now. McCoy scrabbles against the table as Kirk slowly pushes in, relishing every resisting clench as he pushes past it. There’s a whine from McCoy as Kirk finally gets in, and it rises dramatically as Kirk shoves himself in to the hilt.

He takes a moment to convince himself not to come from this alone. Just the sight of McCoy stretched around his cock is hot enough, but the feel of it, the way McCoy’s tremors shudder through him and the sight of him panting wide-eyed as he grips the table is almost too much.

After a moment McCoy pushes himself up onto his elbows so he can hang his head between them. It shoves his ass back onto Kirk’s dick and exposes the arching line of his spine, and Kirk decides its high time McCoy got seriously fucked. He pushes McCoy back down, grabs onto his hips and sets about giving McCoy a solid dicking.

McCoy just takes it at first, scrunching his eyes closed and making his cute little nose wrinkle, so Kirk changes his angle until he hits the spot that makes McCoy jump, his face going blank with shock. He’s sure Pike – traditional, restrained Pike – never took the time to do this. Pike could never have fucked McCoy like this. Only Kirk can do this.

“Fuck,” McCoy grounds out, stretching the word out into several panted syllables as Kirk hits that spot over and over.

“Like it, don’t you?” Kirk asks. He can make a man come from this alone, which McCoy is going to learn soon enough.

McCoy is gripping the table with white knuckles, and Kirk knows it’s because he wants to touch himself but won’t allow himself to. He’s starting to scowl again, angsting over what he should or shouldn’t be doing when he really needs to be focusing on how Kirk’s dick is rocking his world.

It’s the perfect excuse to test out the cuffs.

He pulls out and shoves McCoy to the floor. McCoy catches himself on hands and knees and whips around, glaring out from under messy bangs. “What the fuck –”

“Shut up and turn around,” Kirk orders. He orders again with his hands when McCoy just snarls, pushing McCoy down by the neck so that he’s kneeling like he was before. This time, however, he pulls McCoy’s hands back and activates the override on the cuffs that pulls them together with magnetic force. McCoy is left on his knees, face to the floor, hands cuffed behind him, his ass red and raw and ready for the taking.

Kirk shoves in again, adjusting McCoy’s legs and hips as necessary until he’s comfortably slamming into McCoy’s prostate. McCoy has nothing to do now but give it up, and he does so appealingly, twisting his hands uselessly and mumbling curses as he cants his hips up. “That’s right,” Kirk approves. “Just take it. Fucking get used to my cock, ‘cause you’re gonna be feeling it all the goddamn time from now on. This is gonna go on ‘til you come, McCoy, so just give it up.”

McCoy comes with an anguished, desperate moan and a clench, and Kirk fucks him like a goddamn master through it before he lets himself go. Now it’s about slamming into McCoy as hard and fast as possible, working himself up to orgasm while he gives McCoy something to think about for the next few days. When he comes he grips hard enough to leave bruises on McCoy’s hips and slams in hard enough to smack McCoy’s face into the floor.

Three weeks later Pike contacts him. They chat about Kirk’s current mission and Pike’s new position and the weather in San Francisco. Kirk is pretty sure that all through it his grin screams, “I fuck your whore and he likes it.”

“So,” says Pike eventually, in a casual tone that means this was what he wanted to talk about all along. “What did you decide about Doctor McCoy?”

Kirk thinks about the way McCoy moans with Kirk’s dick up his ass, how he swallows Kirk’s loads with all his usual grace, the careful way he looks at Kirk when Kirk doesn’t touch him or humiliate him in public. “I figure I’ll keep him.” He shrugs. “He takes a bit of work, but he’s worth it.”

“Good,” Pike says blandly.

And it is.

See graceandfire's awesome sequel, "Missing the Sun," which can be found towards the middle of the thread here. Read the prequel here.