![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katydidmischief posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
cjs_owndisclaimer. Not mine. Never have been and never will be. Woe is me.
title. Cause & Affect
rating. ADULT
pairing. Kirk/McCoy/Spock
summary. A moment passed as he took in the sight of his lovers, like yin and yang they were, inside and out.
warning. Bondage, D/s, paddling.
notes. Written for this prompt at thest_xi_kink meme. (Link to appropriate thread fixed.)
Part One
The Captain's quarters were the biggest on the ship, though by no means spacious. Jim had once remarked that looked like someone had taken three of the crew cabins, tossed up doors between them, labeled them bedroom-living space-office and declared it fit for a Captain. Not that he'd been complaining; it was just something that amused him anytime a diplomat remarked on the privilege of rank.
“In the bedroom and I don't want lip from you,” Bones ordered, seeing Jim open his mouth to argue. When the man hesitated to move, Bones added, “Now,” with as much authority as he could put in the tone.
He watched Jim drag his feet to their room and looked to Spock, who would have appeared to anyone else to be quite bored by what was occurring between them, yet the eyes – those entirely-too-expressive-to-be-Vulcan eyes – gave away how turned on he was.
The erection clearly visible in his pants didn't help belay that thought.
“You're absolutely sure about this?” Bones pressed for the second time that evening, still reeling from the man's report earlier.
Spock was an observant man, had to be given his position on the ship and the very nature of his species, so Bones didn't doubt that Jim was subconsciously giving signals as to what he needed. It was simply the way Jim was whether it was the need for release, for comfort, or for medical care: he would hold on the emotion until it exploded out of him via one of his fucking atrocious coping mechanisms.
Usually, neither of Jim's two lovers would see it coming. So good at hiding what was bothering him, they would only ever find out when Jim returned from an away mission bleeding or the gym bruised or drunk off his ass. This time, though, they'd had advanced warning in the form of Jim's foul mood, probably brought on by the fact that a mission he'd expected to go badly had, in fact, been one of their best.
“I am. His physical reaction to the stimuli I provided was the reaction you had previously mentioned being a,” he paused, remembering the word that McCoy had used, “tell.”
Bones nodded, sighing because he knew what he had to do and not sure he could. “Go in there, make sure he remembers the rules, and warn him that he has fifteen minutes to either give me his word or be ready for punishment.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, tone even. He turned neatly on his heel, paused to pull the blue uniform tunic over his head and then entered their bedroom without a look back.
It gave McCoy a moment to breathe and he felt heat wash through him, reaching for his control and wrapping himself up in the sense of dominance, power, affection. He'd need all to push Jim to break, to get the release he was asking for without actually speaking. He wanted to be punished – for what, Bones did not yet know – and he wanted comfort, a combination not unknown in their arrangement.
Sighing, he shed his own blue top and strode toward their bedroom, expecting to hear Jim yell out his word and hoping he wouldn't; Jim needed to submit tonight, needed to let go of being James T. Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise, and just be theirs. He needed to feel and not think, and release whatever it was that was agitating him.
McCoy, when it was only he and Jim in their relationship, hadn't been as strict or commanding over Jim. They'd still been cadets, so tests and studying had been the center of their lives, but Jim had still snuck into the female dorms to get laid some regularity and talked back to professors, got demerits for being late or drunk, though they'd never throw him out – until the Kobayashi Maru and Nero.
“What's the matter with you? They give you the fucking flagship and you go out and get in a goddamn brawl?”
Jim had nearly beaten his father for the title of shortest time as Captain, God rest his soul, and Bones had snapped, dragging Jim from his dorm room to McCoy's by his hair. He'd then done much as he had in Medical earlier – forced Jim to his knees, yanked his head back, and told him, “That's it, boy, I'm done. Now I get control.”
And Jim had given it to him without issue or reservation, as he was right then.
He'd undressed, revealing the expanse of pale skin Bones loved speckled with healing bruises from the mission before last, and knelt in the middle of the floor. His eyes were trained on some imaginary piece of lint on the immaculate carpet, hands folded behind his back.
Spock was beside him, clothed in his undershirt, boxers, and socks – the bare minimum Bones allowed him to maintain body temperature until they were in bed and then the only clothing permitted was McCoy's.
A moment passed as he took in the sight of his lovers, like yin and yang they were, inside and out. At least until Bones stripped them bare, laid them out on his bed, and reduced them both to lax flesh floating on lingering pleasure.
He stepped forward and ran a hand through Spock's hair, the silky strands falling through his fingers as they dragged over the crown of his head to the nape of his neck, then Jim's, noting the flakes of dried gel and knowing that Jim would need a shower before they went to sleep. He stroked his fingers through again, then abruptly grabbed the strands and snapped his wrist back.
“You have something to say, Jim?” He asked, offering him one last out. He knew it was pointless – Jim wasn't planning on accepting it, but he felt it necessary, and when Jim shook his head, he let go of the last vestiges of doubt clouding him.
“You thinking about explaining why you were avoiding us?” Bones asked. “Harassing Scotty's people? Yelling at random crewmembers for how they were walking?”
Jim didn't say a thing, mouth resolutely shut while a pair of ice blue eyes remained locked on his.
“Spock,” Bones began. He didn't take his eyes nor his hand from Jim, aware that doing so would un-ground the younger man, would take away his grip on the situation long before he was ready to surrender it; Bones always allowed him that, like he allowed Spock his garments, until the hit the mattress then it was forfeit to him. “Paddle.”
That got Kirk's attention and he jolted back, falling onto his ass as he gasped out against the shot of pain that accompanied the unexpected pull of his hair.
He hated the paddle. Fucking hated it with a passion hereto unknown, especially in Bones' hands, because of Bones' hands. And it didn't help that being put over his lover's knee in front of his first officer never failed to make his stomach roil from embarrassment; it mattered little to Jim that Spock had been in the same position in the past.
“No,” Jim told him.
One eyebrow lifted as Bones continued to stare down at him. “You don't get to choose your punishment, boy,” he informed before taking his hand from Jim's hair, sliding it down to curl around one arm and pulling him to his feet. He still refused to break eye contact with Jim, needing to see if so much as an iota of anything beyond acceptance filled them, because Jim never had a problem letting his eyes show his feelings and Bones wasn't about to do anything that Jim couldn't accept was going to happen – he may not like the punishment, but he had to accept that it was going to happen in spite of how much it irked him.
Spock, waiting silently beside Bones, lifted one hand and reached toward Jim, pausing to ask, “May I?” before running two fingers along the curve of Jim's back. “This is necessary,” he said, pushing himself up against the back he'd just been touching, cock coming to rest against Jim's ass through the cotton of his boxers and hardening that much more, “It is what you need to relieve yourself of the irritant that has made you a far less palatable person to be around this day.”
“Palatable? I'm not food, Spock,” Jim retorted, scowling.
He instantly regretted it when Bones once again buried his hand in his hair. “Apologize, boy,” he ordered and fixed him with the most authoritative glare he could muster.
Jim refused.
Bones' knew it was deliberate, knew Jim wasn't being defiant for the sake of being defiant, he was fishing for a different punishment. Something he could tolerate more than the paddle which only made McCoy more confident that he had chosen the correct reaction to Jim's action.
“Spock, let go of him,” he told the Vulcan after several tense minutes had passed, then steered Jim toward the chair in the corner of the room. Sitting down first, Bones put his feet up on the ottoman before pulling Jim down into his lap and manhandling him over his thighs, patting his ass in a parody of the paddling to come.
He looked away from Jim, hands continuing to stroke the soft skin under his fingertips, and let his gaze fall on Spock. “Hand me the paddle and then get the restraints ready,” he stated blandly, as if he were ordering dinner from the mess and not setting up to watch one lover fuck another.
The paddle was an old thing, warn and thin with the hint of splitting at the peak; Bones had found it years ago at the hospital, in the lost and found beside the PADD he'd left at the nurses' station and promptly disappeared, and kept it for a reason then unknown to him.
Gripping the handle, he let the flat of the paddle rest against Jim's back, a warning and a promise, and then lifted it.
“Wait!” Jim cried, “You have to tell me how many.”
Bones' hand, the one that had been holding Jim's neck, tightened. “I don't have to tell you anything, boy,” he replied, one arm still poised to bring the paddle down on his ass, and added, “You're just trying to brace yourself to get through punishment without breaking, and I'm going to break you, boy, because otherwise, you're a miserable shit of a person to be around.”
And the paddle came down with a smack.
Over and over, McCoy was unrelenting as Jim's ass bloomed pink then red and he let several strokes fall on toned thighs because otherwise Jim was going to have bruises and that wasn't his aim, at least not tonight. Jim, however, continued to keep his face a mask of stoicism, and that spurred Bones on until he saw the first crack of his lover's emotional state – the twitch of his lips.
A few more strokes and Jim had broken, tears slipping down his cheeks though he didn't sob or make any noise. It was the usual outcome to being paddled, Jim letting go of the stress while trying to hide his face from Spock who never watched, more out of concern for the feelings it caused in him to see his Captain, friend, and lover in pain.
“Talk to me, Jim,” Bones implored when he started to calm and the hitches in his breathing grew less noticeable. “What happened on the planet that's got you so damn riled?”
Kirk exhaled, closing his eyes and turning his face away from Bones, and spoke. “There was a market. People all over – families, friends, us – and stalls and stalls of junk,” he said, settling a hand onto McCoy's knee and feeling fingers run down his flank. “I'd stopped to look at a necklace for mom. Birthday's coming,” he continued, “And this street urchin kid walked up and asked if I had food or money. The shop keeper kicked him, Bones, to try to chase him away. He told a little kid that he was vermin and hit him.”
Ah, Bones thought, That's it. Jim's wild ways had resulted in a childhood filled with pain; thrown out by his stepfather after driving an antique car into a quarry, Jim had spent six months sleeping on the ground and begging from strangers before his mother returned home at the request of a neighbor who'd realized what had happened. He still wondered why it had taken anyone in Jim's small hometown that long to figure it out, but McCoy couldn't change the past.
“I went after him, gave him some credits,” Jim added and pressed a kiss to Bones' pant-clad leg. “I should have done something more.”
McCoy pulled him up, catching Kirk's gaze, telling him, “You can't save them all, Jim, but you probably gave that kid the best moment of his life, meeting the Captain of the Enterprise,” then ordered, “On the bed, boy.”
title. Cause & Affect
rating. ADULT
pairing. Kirk/McCoy/Spock
summary. A moment passed as he took in the sight of his lovers, like yin and yang they were, inside and out.
warning. Bondage, D/s, paddling.
notes. Written for this prompt at the
st_xi_kink meme. (Link to appropriate thread fixed.)Part One
Cause & Affect
Part Two
The Captain's quarters were the biggest on the ship, though by no means spacious. Jim had once remarked that looked like someone had taken three of the crew cabins, tossed up doors between them, labeled them bedroom-living space-office and declared it fit for a Captain. Not that he'd been complaining; it was just something that amused him anytime a diplomat remarked on the privilege of rank.
“In the bedroom and I don't want lip from you,” Bones ordered, seeing Jim open his mouth to argue. When the man hesitated to move, Bones added, “Now,” with as much authority as he could put in the tone.
He watched Jim drag his feet to their room and looked to Spock, who would have appeared to anyone else to be quite bored by what was occurring between them, yet the eyes – those entirely-too-expressive-to-be-Vulcan eyes – gave away how turned on he was.
The erection clearly visible in his pants didn't help belay that thought.
“You're absolutely sure about this?” Bones pressed for the second time that evening, still reeling from the man's report earlier.
Spock was an observant man, had to be given his position on the ship and the very nature of his species, so Bones didn't doubt that Jim was subconsciously giving signals as to what he needed. It was simply the way Jim was whether it was the need for release, for comfort, or for medical care: he would hold on the emotion until it exploded out of him via one of his fucking atrocious coping mechanisms.
Usually, neither of Jim's two lovers would see it coming. So good at hiding what was bothering him, they would only ever find out when Jim returned from an away mission bleeding or the gym bruised or drunk off his ass. This time, though, they'd had advanced warning in the form of Jim's foul mood, probably brought on by the fact that a mission he'd expected to go badly had, in fact, been one of their best.
“I am. His physical reaction to the stimuli I provided was the reaction you had previously mentioned being a,” he paused, remembering the word that McCoy had used, “tell.”
Bones nodded, sighing because he knew what he had to do and not sure he could. “Go in there, make sure he remembers the rules, and warn him that he has fifteen minutes to either give me his word or be ready for punishment.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, tone even. He turned neatly on his heel, paused to pull the blue uniform tunic over his head and then entered their bedroom without a look back.
It gave McCoy a moment to breathe and he felt heat wash through him, reaching for his control and wrapping himself up in the sense of dominance, power, affection. He'd need all to push Jim to break, to get the release he was asking for without actually speaking. He wanted to be punished – for what, Bones did not yet know – and he wanted comfort, a combination not unknown in their arrangement.
Sighing, he shed his own blue top and strode toward their bedroom, expecting to hear Jim yell out his word and hoping he wouldn't; Jim needed to submit tonight, needed to let go of being James T. Kirk, Captain of the Enterprise, and just be theirs. He needed to feel and not think, and release whatever it was that was agitating him.
McCoy, when it was only he and Jim in their relationship, hadn't been as strict or commanding over Jim. They'd still been cadets, so tests and studying had been the center of their lives, but Jim had still snuck into the female dorms to get laid some regularity and talked back to professors, got demerits for being late or drunk, though they'd never throw him out – until the Kobayashi Maru and Nero.
“What's the matter with you? They give you the fucking flagship and you go out and get in a goddamn brawl?”
Jim had nearly beaten his father for the title of shortest time as Captain, God rest his soul, and Bones had snapped, dragging Jim from his dorm room to McCoy's by his hair. He'd then done much as he had in Medical earlier – forced Jim to his knees, yanked his head back, and told him, “That's it, boy, I'm done. Now I get control.”
And Jim had given it to him without issue or reservation, as he was right then.
He'd undressed, revealing the expanse of pale skin Bones loved speckled with healing bruises from the mission before last, and knelt in the middle of the floor. His eyes were trained on some imaginary piece of lint on the immaculate carpet, hands folded behind his back.
Spock was beside him, clothed in his undershirt, boxers, and socks – the bare minimum Bones allowed him to maintain body temperature until they were in bed and then the only clothing permitted was McCoy's.
A moment passed as he took in the sight of his lovers, like yin and yang they were, inside and out. At least until Bones stripped them bare, laid them out on his bed, and reduced them both to lax flesh floating on lingering pleasure.
He stepped forward and ran a hand through Spock's hair, the silky strands falling through his fingers as they dragged over the crown of his head to the nape of his neck, then Jim's, noting the flakes of dried gel and knowing that Jim would need a shower before they went to sleep. He stroked his fingers through again, then abruptly grabbed the strands and snapped his wrist back.
“You have something to say, Jim?” He asked, offering him one last out. He knew it was pointless – Jim wasn't planning on accepting it, but he felt it necessary, and when Jim shook his head, he let go of the last vestiges of doubt clouding him.
“You thinking about explaining why you were avoiding us?” Bones asked. “Harassing Scotty's people? Yelling at random crewmembers for how they were walking?”
Jim didn't say a thing, mouth resolutely shut while a pair of ice blue eyes remained locked on his.
“Spock,” Bones began. He didn't take his eyes nor his hand from Jim, aware that doing so would un-ground the younger man, would take away his grip on the situation long before he was ready to surrender it; Bones always allowed him that, like he allowed Spock his garments, until the hit the mattress then it was forfeit to him. “Paddle.”
That got Kirk's attention and he jolted back, falling onto his ass as he gasped out against the shot of pain that accompanied the unexpected pull of his hair.
He hated the paddle. Fucking hated it with a passion hereto unknown, especially in Bones' hands, because of Bones' hands. And it didn't help that being put over his lover's knee in front of his first officer never failed to make his stomach roil from embarrassment; it mattered little to Jim that Spock had been in the same position in the past.
“No,” Jim told him.
One eyebrow lifted as Bones continued to stare down at him. “You don't get to choose your punishment, boy,” he informed before taking his hand from Jim's hair, sliding it down to curl around one arm and pulling him to his feet. He still refused to break eye contact with Jim, needing to see if so much as an iota of anything beyond acceptance filled them, because Jim never had a problem letting his eyes show his feelings and Bones wasn't about to do anything that Jim couldn't accept was going to happen – he may not like the punishment, but he had to accept that it was going to happen in spite of how much it irked him.
Spock, waiting silently beside Bones, lifted one hand and reached toward Jim, pausing to ask, “May I?” before running two fingers along the curve of Jim's back. “This is necessary,” he said, pushing himself up against the back he'd just been touching, cock coming to rest against Jim's ass through the cotton of his boxers and hardening that much more, “It is what you need to relieve yourself of the irritant that has made you a far less palatable person to be around this day.”
“Palatable? I'm not food, Spock,” Jim retorted, scowling.
He instantly regretted it when Bones once again buried his hand in his hair. “Apologize, boy,” he ordered and fixed him with the most authoritative glare he could muster.
Jim refused.
Bones' knew it was deliberate, knew Jim wasn't being defiant for the sake of being defiant, he was fishing for a different punishment. Something he could tolerate more than the paddle which only made McCoy more confident that he had chosen the correct reaction to Jim's action.
“Spock, let go of him,” he told the Vulcan after several tense minutes had passed, then steered Jim toward the chair in the corner of the room. Sitting down first, Bones put his feet up on the ottoman before pulling Jim down into his lap and manhandling him over his thighs, patting his ass in a parody of the paddling to come.
He looked away from Jim, hands continuing to stroke the soft skin under his fingertips, and let his gaze fall on Spock. “Hand me the paddle and then get the restraints ready,” he stated blandly, as if he were ordering dinner from the mess and not setting up to watch one lover fuck another.
The paddle was an old thing, warn and thin with the hint of splitting at the peak; Bones had found it years ago at the hospital, in the lost and found beside the PADD he'd left at the nurses' station and promptly disappeared, and kept it for a reason then unknown to him.
Gripping the handle, he let the flat of the paddle rest against Jim's back, a warning and a promise, and then lifted it.
“Wait!” Jim cried, “You have to tell me how many.”
Bones' hand, the one that had been holding Jim's neck, tightened. “I don't have to tell you anything, boy,” he replied, one arm still poised to bring the paddle down on his ass, and added, “You're just trying to brace yourself to get through punishment without breaking, and I'm going to break you, boy, because otherwise, you're a miserable shit of a person to be around.”
And the paddle came down with a smack.
Over and over, McCoy was unrelenting as Jim's ass bloomed pink then red and he let several strokes fall on toned thighs because otherwise Jim was going to have bruises and that wasn't his aim, at least not tonight. Jim, however, continued to keep his face a mask of stoicism, and that spurred Bones on until he saw the first crack of his lover's emotional state – the twitch of his lips.
A few more strokes and Jim had broken, tears slipping down his cheeks though he didn't sob or make any noise. It was the usual outcome to being paddled, Jim letting go of the stress while trying to hide his face from Spock who never watched, more out of concern for the feelings it caused in him to see his Captain, friend, and lover in pain.
“Talk to me, Jim,” Bones implored when he started to calm and the hitches in his breathing grew less noticeable. “What happened on the planet that's got you so damn riled?”
Kirk exhaled, closing his eyes and turning his face away from Bones, and spoke. “There was a market. People all over – families, friends, us – and stalls and stalls of junk,” he said, settling a hand onto McCoy's knee and feeling fingers run down his flank. “I'd stopped to look at a necklace for mom. Birthday's coming,” he continued, “And this street urchin kid walked up and asked if I had food or money. The shop keeper kicked him, Bones, to try to chase him away. He told a little kid that he was vermin and hit him.”
Ah, Bones thought, That's it. Jim's wild ways had resulted in a childhood filled with pain; thrown out by his stepfather after driving an antique car into a quarry, Jim had spent six months sleeping on the ground and begging from strangers before his mother returned home at the request of a neighbor who'd realized what had happened. He still wondered why it had taken anyone in Jim's small hometown that long to figure it out, but McCoy couldn't change the past.
“I went after him, gave him some credits,” Jim added and pressed a kiss to Bones' pant-clad leg. “I should have done something more.”
McCoy pulled him up, catching Kirk's gaze, telling him, “You can't save them all, Jim, but you probably gave that kid the best moment of his life, meeting the Captain of the Enterprise,” then ordered, “On the bed, boy.”
no subject
Date: 2009-06-10 02:15 pm (UTC)Can't wait for the next part.
And I'd have more to say if this hadn't made me late for work :(