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title. Dura Lex Sed Lex
rating. R for Content
Pairing. None, but hints of Kirk/Spock
summary. It is the worst part of his job, this, having to use pain on the good people under his command to keep them in line.
warnings. Corporal punishment, explicit and discussed.
notes. Written for this prompt atst_xi_kink.
Punishments aboard Starfleet ships are startlingly simple - an infraction, once reported, were dealt with swiftly, the consequences meted out by the Captain and carried out by an officer of their choosing. In the case of the Enterprise, this means Jim Kirk gets to decide which implement may be used as well as how many strokes or if something different is needed while Spock ensures it is done. For instance, Scotty had once been forced to kneel for twenty minutes on a pile of uncooked rice after an explosion caused several underlings to suffer second degree burns across their knees.
But punishments like that are sporadic at best - Jim mostly sticks to something more predictable, as he had grown up in less than stable conditions and knows that if the recourse of a decision is able to be easily guessed, a person is less likely to break a rule or ignore procedure. So typically Spock's hand is filled with a paddle or a strap (or, for truly horrific mistakes, a cane), delivering a set number of strokes in the privacy of a room specifically set aside for just this.
"Tonight," Jim tells Spock, catching the Vulcan's arm on his way to the Bridge as Kirk leaves in search of lunch and paperwork. "Twenty-two hundred hours."
"Captain?"
"You got people killed on the last mission," he murmurs, knowing Spock's not going to fight him over this - it is quite normal for Kirk to leave rank at the door of the punishment room after a failed mission, taking his punishments without complaint or reluctance, while for Spock, it is rare.
He nods in acquiescence, telling Jim, "I will submit to punishment with honor," before he's dismissed with the nod of his superior's head and they part.
He arrives at the room to find Jim not inside, but leaning against the bulkhead with a whip in his hand and a sad smile on his lips and Spock knows tonight will not be an easily taken punishment; it won't be easily administrated by Jim either, yet his place in the Chain of Command means it can not be delegated out – Kirk has to be the one to wield the device.
“Where am I to proceed, Captain?” He asks, already preparing himself mentally to be watched by the crew of the Enterprise for this particular instance of discipline.
“Starboard Observation deck, B-level,” Jim tells him as they walk, side by side to the lift. “I want you to understand that I did not choose this lightly and I did not decide on the whip because I am in any way upset with you or feeling that you need retribution.”
“I did not think either of those things to be a factor, Jim,” Spock responds. “You have chosen an appropriate corrective action considering the events and outcome of our last mission. I know that should you ever be emotionally compromised when it comes to the determination of castigation on this ship, you would immediately notify command so they could enlighten both yourself and I with how to proceed.”
The lift stops and opens, revealing the empty corridor between themselves and the Observation deck and Spock steps out first, pausing as Jim touches his shoulder. He looks grim; it is the worst part of his job, this, having to use pain on the good people under his command to keep them in line. Even when circumstances were beyond their control. Damn Starfleet regulations...
“Bones is already in Medical with analgesics – don't be fucking stoic because twenty strokes with this is going to hurt like a bitch,” Jim says.
Spock nods. “Yes, Captain.”
“Good,” Jim murmurs, letting go of his XO before ordering him inside. He needs a minute to gather himself, fingers gripping the handle of the whip tightly, as his mind runs over what's happening even now: Scotty's already helping Spock to remove his uniform tunic and gray undershirt, then he'll settle Spock against the central pillar and bind him to it. A towel will be tucked into the back of Spock's pants, to catch blood and sweat, and he'll be offered one last swallow of water before the Engineer will take his seat.
Breathing hard, Kirk closes his eyes and nods. “Twenty lashes – five for each life,” he murmurs, knowing Command is going to have a shitfit over how low the number is; its only for show, for the record, anyway, and more than one member of the crew had come to him in the hours after the colossal fuck up that was the whole damnedable mission, telling him that Spock shouldn't be punished for what had happened.
He damns the regs again and slips inside.
Jim's surprised when he enters the expansive room – for a Constitution-class Starship, they carried a crew complement of nearly four-hundred and fifty, most of which could cram on the deck and had in the past for previous administrations of public punishment. This time, however, there's maybe three dozen sets of eyes on Spock's half-naked body.
The entire senior staff but for Bones is there, all standing at attention out of respect for the man while a few peers of the fallen crewmates are there to witness what they do not fully support. It is the nature of their career, of their commitment to Starfleet, that some of them would not come home and they don't feel malice for their First Officer, only regret that things are not different.
“Twenty lashes, Spock,” Jim tells him, voice ringing against the walls unfettered by the meager number of those standing to watch.
The first five are taken well; Spock doesn't flinch and he doesn't bleed, but he starts to bruise by the sixth and then his skin splits open under the ten. Green drips down the small of his back to gather on the towel, soaking through as each successive strike of the whip adds to the rivulets; he does not cry out nor begs as one poor Ensign had when faced with this punishment, but when he's untied, Jim sees him blink rapidly at the tears Spock no doubt finds illogical.
Jim approaches him once he's laid the whip on a nearby table, sliding the gray undershirt over Spock's head and reminding him, “Medical Bay's waiting.”
title. Dura Lex Sed Lex
rating. R for Content
Pairing. None, but hints of Kirk/Spock
summary. It is the worst part of his job, this, having to use pain on the good people under his command to keep them in line.
warnings. Corporal punishment, explicit and discussed.
notes. Written for this prompt at
st_xi_kink.alpha
Punishments aboard Starfleet ships are startlingly simple - an infraction, once reported, were dealt with swiftly, the consequences meted out by the Captain and carried out by an officer of their choosing. In the case of the Enterprise, this means Jim Kirk gets to decide which implement may be used as well as how many strokes or if something different is needed while Spock ensures it is done. For instance, Scotty had once been forced to kneel for twenty minutes on a pile of uncooked rice after an explosion caused several underlings to suffer second degree burns across their knees.
But punishments like that are sporadic at best - Jim mostly sticks to something more predictable, as he had grown up in less than stable conditions and knows that if the recourse of a decision is able to be easily guessed, a person is less likely to break a rule or ignore procedure. So typically Spock's hand is filled with a paddle or a strap (or, for truly horrific mistakes, a cane), delivering a set number of strokes in the privacy of a room specifically set aside for just this.
"Tonight," Jim tells Spock, catching the Vulcan's arm on his way to the Bridge as Kirk leaves in search of lunch and paperwork. "Twenty-two hundred hours."
"Captain?"
"You got people killed on the last mission," he murmurs, knowing Spock's not going to fight him over this - it is quite normal for Kirk to leave rank at the door of the punishment room after a failed mission, taking his punishments without complaint or reluctance, while for Spock, it is rare.
He nods in acquiescence, telling Jim, "I will submit to punishment with honor," before he's dismissed with the nod of his superior's head and they part.
beta
He arrives at the room to find Jim not inside, but leaning against the bulkhead with a whip in his hand and a sad smile on his lips and Spock knows tonight will not be an easily taken punishment; it won't be easily administrated by Jim either, yet his place in the Chain of Command means it can not be delegated out – Kirk has to be the one to wield the device.
“Where am I to proceed, Captain?” He asks, already preparing himself mentally to be watched by the crew of the Enterprise for this particular instance of discipline.
“Starboard Observation deck, B-level,” Jim tells him as they walk, side by side to the lift. “I want you to understand that I did not choose this lightly and I did not decide on the whip because I am in any way upset with you or feeling that you need retribution.”
“I did not think either of those things to be a factor, Jim,” Spock responds. “You have chosen an appropriate corrective action considering the events and outcome of our last mission. I know that should you ever be emotionally compromised when it comes to the determination of castigation on this ship, you would immediately notify command so they could enlighten both yourself and I with how to proceed.”
The lift stops and opens, revealing the empty corridor between themselves and the Observation deck and Spock steps out first, pausing as Jim touches his shoulder. He looks grim; it is the worst part of his job, this, having to use pain on the good people under his command to keep them in line. Even when circumstances were beyond their control. Damn Starfleet regulations...
“Bones is already in Medical with analgesics – don't be fucking stoic because twenty strokes with this is going to hurt like a bitch,” Jim says.
Spock nods. “Yes, Captain.”
“Good,” Jim murmurs, letting go of his XO before ordering him inside. He needs a minute to gather himself, fingers gripping the handle of the whip tightly, as his mind runs over what's happening even now: Scotty's already helping Spock to remove his uniform tunic and gray undershirt, then he'll settle Spock against the central pillar and bind him to it. A towel will be tucked into the back of Spock's pants, to catch blood and sweat, and he'll be offered one last swallow of water before the Engineer will take his seat.
Breathing hard, Kirk closes his eyes and nods. “Twenty lashes – five for each life,” he murmurs, knowing Command is going to have a shitfit over how low the number is; its only for show, for the record, anyway, and more than one member of the crew had come to him in the hours after the colossal fuck up that was the whole damnedable mission, telling him that Spock shouldn't be punished for what had happened.
He damns the regs again and slips inside.
gamma
Jim's surprised when he enters the expansive room – for a Constitution-class Starship, they carried a crew complement of nearly four-hundred and fifty, most of which could cram on the deck and had in the past for previous administrations of public punishment. This time, however, there's maybe three dozen sets of eyes on Spock's half-naked body.
The entire senior staff but for Bones is there, all standing at attention out of respect for the man while a few peers of the fallen crewmates are there to witness what they do not fully support. It is the nature of their career, of their commitment to Starfleet, that some of them would not come home and they don't feel malice for their First Officer, only regret that things are not different.
“Twenty lashes, Spock,” Jim tells him, voice ringing against the walls unfettered by the meager number of those standing to watch.
The first five are taken well; Spock doesn't flinch and he doesn't bleed, but he starts to bruise by the sixth and then his skin splits open under the ten. Green drips down the small of his back to gather on the towel, soaking through as each successive strike of the whip adds to the rivulets; he does not cry out nor begs as one poor Ensign had when faced with this punishment, but when he's untied, Jim sees him blink rapidly at the tears Spock no doubt finds illogical.
Jim approaches him once he's laid the whip on a nearby table, sliding the gray undershirt over Spock's head and reminding him, “Medical Bay's waiting.”
