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cjs_owndisclaimer. Not mine. Never have been and I'll only ever be playing in the sandbox.
title. Sacrilegious Breach
rating. NC-17
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. After two weeks of living on the cusp of reality, Jim had begun to simply give in and submit to the abuse, aware that escape was impossible.
warning. Past non-con, somewhat dub-con, abuse.
notes. Written for this prompt at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
st_xi_kink.
One They found him at a bazaar on some backwater world, his back a mess of bruises and abraded flesh while his once pristine gold uniform hung off his shoulders in rags and his bare feet dragged on hard, cobblestone ground. He was thrown onto an auction platform seconds after he appeared on the end of a bipedal lizard's leash as Spock and the rest of the away team watched, horror in their eyes.
He'd been taken in an ambush four months earlier, stolen from the Enterprise's off-ship detail by the very race that was apparently attempting to sell him while the rest of the team lay incapacitated. The guilt of that incident had eaten away at one young lieutenant who'd asked to be assigned to every search party and reconn mission as they continued on their mission under Acting Captain Spock, but always hoping to come across their wayward CO.
Now they had and that young lieutenant itched to move, to just take Kirk back even if it meant a firefight, but Spock's restraining hand on his arm kept him from leaping at the elevated platform. “We must not interfere,” he stated to the incredulous stares of the others, “I believe it may be to our benefit to allow the Captain to be auctioned to another owner. The race currently in possession of him has sold the prior beings now to one purchaser and it is unlikely that they will deviate from that – there is only a thirty-seven-point-two percent chance that we will recover him at this time. However, I do, as the saying goes, have a plan.”
Reluctantly the detail stood back, silent, as they watched their broken and beaten Captain be sold off to a brothel owner. No better then an abusive, credit-grubbing pimp, Jim's new Master took hold of his leash with a lecherous grin then yanked him, hard, off the side of the platform and toward a waiting horde of people. In total, the man – whom the whispers of the crowd named as Atrox – had bought six women and nine men, all human and all in need of basic care.
Spock's teeth clenched, the only sign he was distressed as Jim was pulled once more, tumbling to his already reddened and welted knees. One of Atrox's men only wrapped his hand in the too-long hair, forcing Kirk to his feet.
“We must return to the Enterprise now that we are aware of whom has taken the Captain,” Spock stated; his eyes never left the retreating group, very nearly giving into his own uncontrolled desire to reclaim the man he called his best friend. His voice was tight, calculated, and authoritative as he gave his orders, “Barber and Josephs, you will remain behind to maintain a link to the ship as to the Captain's wearabouts. However, do not allow yourselves to be discovered.”
The two men were gone a moment later, never being dismissed which Spock ignored. While every inch of his training balked at the deliberate defiance of procedure, he could not bring himself to care: Jim was here and they could not lose him, not when he was finally within their reach. And the thought reverberated through his skull that should they lose him, should he become one man in a sea of others on that world, they might never find him again nor even know if he was sold to another slaver. The universe could swallow him up far too easily if one of the passing pleasure ships took him, if he was purchased some other miscreant on the edge of charted space.
He made himself calm, loosening his fingers where they'd closed around the communicator and verged on snapping the plastic. Spock was once again the proper stoic Vulcan when he said, “Commander Scott, Mr. Marnier and myself are standing by for transport.”
The tinny answer was lost in the haze and glow of their molecules breaking apart, swirling in a golden arc toward the heavens for a mere second before disappearing altogether to the surprise of the townsfolk around them.
Two Jim didn't know which way was up, his bloodstream brimming with drugs that made him compliant and non-combative; he was floating on a haze of narcotics that left him still and loose, splayed out on a springy bed that squeaked with every movement of whomever paid to fuck him. At least they cut down on the pain of being penetrated so cruelly, lube never appearing in the time the clients spent with him, and the sear of bites, cuts, and whips as they fell over his skin.
He did try to fight though the protests were weak at best, usually ending with Jim either forcibly restrained by one of Atrox's cohorts or chemically with a hypo to the neck. Though, after two weeks of living on the cusp of reality, Jim had begun to simply give in and submit to the abuse, aware that escape was impossible. Unless he could get the shock-delivering collar off before he reached the edge of the property, the device locked around his throat would render him unconscious which he'd discovered while under the ownership of his first Masters.
“Get up, boy,” he was told one day as he laid in tight ball on the floor, unable to drag himself onto the bed. His knees hurt like hell – Bones had diagnosed him with early-onset arthritis before his capture and what he wouldn't do in that moment for a hypo of NSAIDs – and he'd been fucked hard by the last person; he prayed fervently, as he coerced himself to his feet, that the next John would be more interested in a blowjob.
“Sir,” he murmured once he'd bowed his head before Atrox and the client. He listened closely, mind a little clouded by the exhaustion and the hunger that clawed away at his willpower, with his head cocked gently to one side.
“You are certain that this is the one you desire?” Atrox asked the man at his side, “He is no prize. Were he not a commodity – a Federation Officer – I would have seen him destroyed some time ago. He fights.”
Jim closed his eyes, swallowed, and choked back the urge to vomit. He knew he was the most difficult of the man's slaves, that his life hung on his ability to earn the guy money, but he'd not yet had confirmation that he was kept alive only because of his status and it stung with the sinking realization of his situation.
Then the prospective buyer spoke and Jim barely stopped himself from snapping his head up to see the owner of the voice himself.
“I'm sure. I like young ones, pretty boys, and all the better if he fights,” McCoy said, igniting the fire in Jim's heart. Hope spread through him, warming his skinny, chilled frame from the inside and thoughts of Enterprise flitted across the black of his closed eyelids.
“Well, if this is the one you wish to buy, then I'll be glad to be rid of him. However, first, I must demand that you partake in a session with him to be sure you understand the extent of his... attitude.”
There was a moment of pause, as though Bones was trying to decide how best to get out of spending the following hour fucking Jim, and he wanted to scream, to shake the doctor. Of all the men brought to his room-slash-cell, if putting up a token fight and submitting to the man he'd been his friend for nearly ten years would get him out of the hell he'd been dragged into, he'd do it without hesitation or fear.
“Deal.”
Three Atrox and his goons had left Bones with a hypo of the narcotic they'd been administering to Jim and he tossed it away angrily. It was nauseating enough to see the state Kirk was in – bruises, lacerations, weight loss, belly bloated from malnutrition – and he couldn't stand the thought of having to detox the man on top of all the medical treatments he'd need once Jim had been safely brought home to Enterprise.
“Jim?” he called softly to the man who'd been shoved roughly to his knees by Atrox prior to the man's exit. He ached to reach out, run fingers over the marbled-purple skin over Jim's temple, but he couldn't anticipate how Jim would respond so he curled his hand around the hem of the linen shirt Uhura had dressed him in. “Jim.”
Slowly, Kirk lifted his head, letting blue eyes lock with green-tinged hazel and Bones felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He looked curiously at Bones, clearly wanting to ask questions but unsure if he could; Jim was most certainly in there, only he'd been a prisoner for nearly five months and there was no man in the world who could resist the mental abuse foisted upon them for that long when paired with drug addiction, near-total starvation, and sexual abuse.
His voice was raw and raspy, gruff, from being used so rarely. “Please let me blow you,” he said, reaching out for Bones' belt and the ornate silver buckle as he tilted his head sideways toward the wall and the camera that was embedded in the thick concrete. He couldn't see if Bones had understood from the gesture that they were being watched, but when strong hands locked around his and pulled him up, he ceased to care.
Bones guided him to the bed, laying him out on it with his belly down as he whispered reassurances, then stepped back to shed his own clothes. “Don't fall asleep yet,” he ordered with a gentle run of his hand over Jim's back, “You'll sleep once I get you home.”
“I like the sound of that,” Jim murmured in reply. “Home's a good word.”
Bones had to look away at that, the abject longing in his tone making his gut curl in on itself in anger. How could anyone have done this Jim, reduced him to a being that wished for home the way others wished for wealth? They'd broken him and that first mission, the comment Spock had made that voyage, rose unbidden to the front of his mind.
“Oh, darlin', it's a very good word,” he finally admitted, sliding up Jim's body and settling over him. His soft dick fell between Jim's thighs and on reflex, Jim closed them. “Talk to me,” Bones breathed, forcing his mind to shut out the guilt, and let himself get lost for a moment in the expanse of flesh under him. He pressed kisses to Jim's neck, drinking in the sound of Kirk's voice after so long without and hoped to God that he didn't cause any further injuries.
Time and experience had honed his ability to talk dirty, but the kisses and the gentle touches... Jim knew his friend was not interested in the curses and explicit fantasies he could utter into their bubble of intimacy and instead he told Bones how glad he'd been to hear him, how much he'd missed his ship and his crew and how grateful to fate he was that they had found him.
“I missed you most,” he murmured as McCoy neared his orgasm, hands wrapped around Jim's not to control or dominate but to pet, to hold.
“I missed you too, Jim,” he ground out with one last push of his hips into Jim's pre-cum smeared thighs and spurted against the sheets. It was another minute before he was able to promise, “I'm going to take care of you, darlin',” and pull Jim up onto his hands and knees. Off the bed, Bones was able to wrap his hand around Jim's dick, prepared to bring him off as he deserved, but the younger man wasn't even half-hard.
Four Of all the things in the universe McCoy had hoped never to deal with detoxing Jim ranked high on the list. Unfortunately, there was no magical hypo he could give, no treatment he could devise that would remove the pain as his body rid itself of the last vestiges of the narcotics. All he could offer was water, basic meds, and comfort, Spock standing sentinel in Medical Bay to help aid Bones should Jim become violent.
“Please, Bones,” Jim pleaded around hour twelve, curled in a sweaty ball on the biobed with the blankets he'd previously shivered under tossed onto the floor. “Please, a little. Like half a dose, just to take the edge off.”
Bones sighed, his heart a heavy weight in his chest. “No, Jim. We've got to get this shit out of your system – adding to the levels in your bloodsteam will only prolong this, not make it easier.” He dragged a damp cloth over Jim's forehead, the dark sleeves of his uniform undershirt already rolled up to his elbows, and remarked, “You're doing exceptionally well, Jim. Last kid I had for detox was Ensign Toves.”
“I remember,” he shivered, the cold flash taking over quickly and Bones dragged the blankets back up from the floor and wrapping Jim in them. His rubbed vigorously over the blonde's thin arms, trying to warm him with friction and wool.
They were silent for a moment, then Jim moaned, “God, this hurts,” before leaning forward, clutching his stomach.
Bones barely got the basin under his face as Jim began to heave, vomiting bile and water, and said another prayer in the hopes that some deity would give them respite soon. “Easy, Jim,” he muttered, reaching for a hypo of anti-emetics and administering it. The medication hit his system in seconds, calming his stomach and allowing his body to calm.
“Thanks,” he declared from under a curtain of dirty blond hair, sitting back and sliding down until he was prone on the bed once more. Comfortable on his side, his knees curled into his chest, Jim shrugged off the blanket yet again; he'd always hated being sweaty and Bones wished like hell he could do something about it, but supportive care was all he had to offer.
He wiped Jim's head again, cleaning away the newly formed beads of sweat, and ran the cloth over his arms, his hands. His thoughts began to wander, sliding over how much it would taste a lie to say Bones had never wanted to bed Jim. That he'd never considered what it would be like to sleep with Jim, kiss him, but he hadn't permitted himself to let it go further – McCoy didn't do one night stands and Jim was a young guy uninterested in long-term relationships.
Now he'd gotten to touch Jim and to feel that body under his own, and he hated himself for it. Jim was sick, not just due to the withdrawal, and injured; he'd even gotten hard, Bones lamented silently, had been to think of his favorite Jim-related fantasy, tainted forever more with the memory of what he'd done.
“Bones?” Jim called a minute later, jarring Bones from his mind and refocusing his attention on Kirk.
“Jim,” he answered.
“Thanks for getting me out of there.”
He snorted, “Yeah, Jim, I did a bang up job there,” and reached for the hem of the blanket, pulling it up.
“Seriously. You were gentle, like I always thought you'd be.” Jim shifted under the blanket and yanked it tight, the edge hitting his throat and he shivered out, “Thank you. I don't know how much longer I could have lasted, realistically.”
Bones simply patted his shoulder, still reeling with guilt, and admitted, “I'm not ready to forgive myself, Jim, so you thank me in a couple of months, all right? Once you're cleaned up and had some therapy, you can decide if I should have it.”
“K,” Jim nodded.
Five “I still want to thank you,” Jim remarked one night, sitting comfortably on the couch while the video on the screen played on.
It'd been six months and though Bones had been weary around Jim for several weeks, their relationship had gone back to normal after he'd declared Jim fit for duty. They'd resumed having a few meals a week together and spending time together; sometimes they talked, sometimes they each read over PADDs while enjoying the other's presence at their side. Sometimes Spock joined them and a game of chess devolved into trading playful barbs.
Bones glanced at him, saying, “I think I'm ready to say you're welcome,” and rubbed one ankle with his other foot as he turned his head back to the screen. “You're welcome.”
Beside him, Jim smiled and settled against the couch back, content.
title. Sacrilegious Breach
rating. NC-17
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. After two weeks of living on the cusp of reality, Jim had begun to simply give in and submit to the abuse, aware that escape was impossible.
warning. Past non-con, somewhat dub-con, abuse.
notes. Written for this prompt at
st_xi_kink.He'd been taken in an ambush four months earlier, stolen from the Enterprise's off-ship detail by the very race that was apparently attempting to sell him while the rest of the team lay incapacitated. The guilt of that incident had eaten away at one young lieutenant who'd asked to be assigned to every search party and reconn mission as they continued on their mission under Acting Captain Spock, but always hoping to come across their wayward CO.
Now they had and that young lieutenant itched to move, to just take Kirk back even if it meant a firefight, but Spock's restraining hand on his arm kept him from leaping at the elevated platform. “We must not interfere,” he stated to the incredulous stares of the others, “I believe it may be to our benefit to allow the Captain to be auctioned to another owner. The race currently in possession of him has sold the prior beings now to one purchaser and it is unlikely that they will deviate from that – there is only a thirty-seven-point-two percent chance that we will recover him at this time. However, I do, as the saying goes, have a plan.”
Reluctantly the detail stood back, silent, as they watched their broken and beaten Captain be sold off to a brothel owner. No better then an abusive, credit-grubbing pimp, Jim's new Master took hold of his leash with a lecherous grin then yanked him, hard, off the side of the platform and toward a waiting horde of people. In total, the man – whom the whispers of the crowd named as Atrox – had bought six women and nine men, all human and all in need of basic care.
Spock's teeth clenched, the only sign he was distressed as Jim was pulled once more, tumbling to his already reddened and welted knees. One of Atrox's men only wrapped his hand in the too-long hair, forcing Kirk to his feet.
“We must return to the Enterprise now that we are aware of whom has taken the Captain,” Spock stated; his eyes never left the retreating group, very nearly giving into his own uncontrolled desire to reclaim the man he called his best friend. His voice was tight, calculated, and authoritative as he gave his orders, “Barber and Josephs, you will remain behind to maintain a link to the ship as to the Captain's wearabouts. However, do not allow yourselves to be discovered.”
The two men were gone a moment later, never being dismissed which Spock ignored. While every inch of his training balked at the deliberate defiance of procedure, he could not bring himself to care: Jim was here and they could not lose him, not when he was finally within their reach. And the thought reverberated through his skull that should they lose him, should he become one man in a sea of others on that world, they might never find him again nor even know if he was sold to another slaver. The universe could swallow him up far too easily if one of the passing pleasure ships took him, if he was purchased some other miscreant on the edge of charted space.
He made himself calm, loosening his fingers where they'd closed around the communicator and verged on snapping the plastic. Spock was once again the proper stoic Vulcan when he said, “Commander Scott, Mr. Marnier and myself are standing by for transport.”
The tinny answer was lost in the haze and glow of their molecules breaking apart, swirling in a golden arc toward the heavens for a mere second before disappearing altogether to the surprise of the townsfolk around them.
He did try to fight though the protests were weak at best, usually ending with Jim either forcibly restrained by one of Atrox's cohorts or chemically with a hypo to the neck. Though, after two weeks of living on the cusp of reality, Jim had begun to simply give in and submit to the abuse, aware that escape was impossible. Unless he could get the shock-delivering collar off before he reached the edge of the property, the device locked around his throat would render him unconscious which he'd discovered while under the ownership of his first Masters.
“Get up, boy,” he was told one day as he laid in tight ball on the floor, unable to drag himself onto the bed. His knees hurt like hell – Bones had diagnosed him with early-onset arthritis before his capture and what he wouldn't do in that moment for a hypo of NSAIDs – and he'd been fucked hard by the last person; he prayed fervently, as he coerced himself to his feet, that the next John would be more interested in a blowjob.
“Sir,” he murmured once he'd bowed his head before Atrox and the client. He listened closely, mind a little clouded by the exhaustion and the hunger that clawed away at his willpower, with his head cocked gently to one side.
“You are certain that this is the one you desire?” Atrox asked the man at his side, “He is no prize. Were he not a commodity – a Federation Officer – I would have seen him destroyed some time ago. He fights.”
Jim closed his eyes, swallowed, and choked back the urge to vomit. He knew he was the most difficult of the man's slaves, that his life hung on his ability to earn the guy money, but he'd not yet had confirmation that he was kept alive only because of his status and it stung with the sinking realization of his situation.
Then the prospective buyer spoke and Jim barely stopped himself from snapping his head up to see the owner of the voice himself.
“I'm sure. I like young ones, pretty boys, and all the better if he fights,” McCoy said, igniting the fire in Jim's heart. Hope spread through him, warming his skinny, chilled frame from the inside and thoughts of Enterprise flitted across the black of his closed eyelids.
“Well, if this is the one you wish to buy, then I'll be glad to be rid of him. However, first, I must demand that you partake in a session with him to be sure you understand the extent of his... attitude.”
There was a moment of pause, as though Bones was trying to decide how best to get out of spending the following hour fucking Jim, and he wanted to scream, to shake the doctor. Of all the men brought to his room-slash-cell, if putting up a token fight and submitting to the man he'd been his friend for nearly ten years would get him out of the hell he'd been dragged into, he'd do it without hesitation or fear.
“Deal.”
“Jim?” he called softly to the man who'd been shoved roughly to his knees by Atrox prior to the man's exit. He ached to reach out, run fingers over the marbled-purple skin over Jim's temple, but he couldn't anticipate how Jim would respond so he curled his hand around the hem of the linen shirt Uhura had dressed him in. “Jim.”
Slowly, Kirk lifted his head, letting blue eyes lock with green-tinged hazel and Bones felt his heart squeeze in his chest. He looked curiously at Bones, clearly wanting to ask questions but unsure if he could; Jim was most certainly in there, only he'd been a prisoner for nearly five months and there was no man in the world who could resist the mental abuse foisted upon them for that long when paired with drug addiction, near-total starvation, and sexual abuse.
His voice was raw and raspy, gruff, from being used so rarely. “Please let me blow you,” he said, reaching out for Bones' belt and the ornate silver buckle as he tilted his head sideways toward the wall and the camera that was embedded in the thick concrete. He couldn't see if Bones had understood from the gesture that they were being watched, but when strong hands locked around his and pulled him up, he ceased to care.
Bones guided him to the bed, laying him out on it with his belly down as he whispered reassurances, then stepped back to shed his own clothes. “Don't fall asleep yet,” he ordered with a gentle run of his hand over Jim's back, “You'll sleep once I get you home.”
“I like the sound of that,” Jim murmured in reply. “Home's a good word.”
Bones had to look away at that, the abject longing in his tone making his gut curl in on itself in anger. How could anyone have done this Jim, reduced him to a being that wished for home the way others wished for wealth? They'd broken him and that first mission, the comment Spock had made that voyage, rose unbidden to the front of his mind.
“Oh, darlin', it's a very good word,” he finally admitted, sliding up Jim's body and settling over him. His soft dick fell between Jim's thighs and on reflex, Jim closed them. “Talk to me,” Bones breathed, forcing his mind to shut out the guilt, and let himself get lost for a moment in the expanse of flesh under him. He pressed kisses to Jim's neck, drinking in the sound of Kirk's voice after so long without and hoped to God that he didn't cause any further injuries.
Time and experience had honed his ability to talk dirty, but the kisses and the gentle touches... Jim knew his friend was not interested in the curses and explicit fantasies he could utter into their bubble of intimacy and instead he told Bones how glad he'd been to hear him, how much he'd missed his ship and his crew and how grateful to fate he was that they had found him.
“I missed you most,” he murmured as McCoy neared his orgasm, hands wrapped around Jim's not to control or dominate but to pet, to hold.
“I missed you too, Jim,” he ground out with one last push of his hips into Jim's pre-cum smeared thighs and spurted against the sheets. It was another minute before he was able to promise, “I'm going to take care of you, darlin',” and pull Jim up onto his hands and knees. Off the bed, Bones was able to wrap his hand around Jim's dick, prepared to bring him off as he deserved, but the younger man wasn't even half-hard.
“Please, Bones,” Jim pleaded around hour twelve, curled in a sweaty ball on the biobed with the blankets he'd previously shivered under tossed onto the floor. “Please, a little. Like half a dose, just to take the edge off.”
Bones sighed, his heart a heavy weight in his chest. “No, Jim. We've got to get this shit out of your system – adding to the levels in your bloodsteam will only prolong this, not make it easier.” He dragged a damp cloth over Jim's forehead, the dark sleeves of his uniform undershirt already rolled up to his elbows, and remarked, “You're doing exceptionally well, Jim. Last kid I had for detox was Ensign Toves.”
“I remember,” he shivered, the cold flash taking over quickly and Bones dragged the blankets back up from the floor and wrapping Jim in them. His rubbed vigorously over the blonde's thin arms, trying to warm him with friction and wool.
They were silent for a moment, then Jim moaned, “God, this hurts,” before leaning forward, clutching his stomach.
Bones barely got the basin under his face as Jim began to heave, vomiting bile and water, and said another prayer in the hopes that some deity would give them respite soon. “Easy, Jim,” he muttered, reaching for a hypo of anti-emetics and administering it. The medication hit his system in seconds, calming his stomach and allowing his body to calm.
“Thanks,” he declared from under a curtain of dirty blond hair, sitting back and sliding down until he was prone on the bed once more. Comfortable on his side, his knees curled into his chest, Jim shrugged off the blanket yet again; he'd always hated being sweaty and Bones wished like hell he could do something about it, but supportive care was all he had to offer.
He wiped Jim's head again, cleaning away the newly formed beads of sweat, and ran the cloth over his arms, his hands. His thoughts began to wander, sliding over how much it would taste a lie to say Bones had never wanted to bed Jim. That he'd never considered what it would be like to sleep with Jim, kiss him, but he hadn't permitted himself to let it go further – McCoy didn't do one night stands and Jim was a young guy uninterested in long-term relationships.
Now he'd gotten to touch Jim and to feel that body under his own, and he hated himself for it. Jim was sick, not just due to the withdrawal, and injured; he'd even gotten hard, Bones lamented silently, had been to think of his favorite Jim-related fantasy, tainted forever more with the memory of what he'd done.
“Bones?” Jim called a minute later, jarring Bones from his mind and refocusing his attention on Kirk.
“Jim,” he answered.
“Thanks for getting me out of there.”
He snorted, “Yeah, Jim, I did a bang up job there,” and reached for the hem of the blanket, pulling it up.
“Seriously. You were gentle, like I always thought you'd be.” Jim shifted under the blanket and yanked it tight, the edge hitting his throat and he shivered out, “Thank you. I don't know how much longer I could have lasted, realistically.”
Bones simply patted his shoulder, still reeling with guilt, and admitted, “I'm not ready to forgive myself, Jim, so you thank me in a couple of months, all right? Once you're cleaned up and had some therapy, you can decide if I should have it.”
“K,” Jim nodded.
It'd been six months and though Bones had been weary around Jim for several weeks, their relationship had gone back to normal after he'd declared Jim fit for duty. They'd resumed having a few meals a week together and spending time together; sometimes they talked, sometimes they each read over PADDs while enjoying the other's presence at their side. Sometimes Spock joined them and a game of chess devolved into trading playful barbs.
Bones glanced at him, saying, “I think I'm ready to say you're welcome,” and rubbed one ankle with his other foot as he turned his head back to the screen. “You're welcome.”
Beside him, Jim smiled and settled against the couch back, content.
