Entry tags:
Fic: A Point of Vulnerability (Kirk/McCoy, NC-17)
Title: A Point of Vulnerability
Author: Green
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kirk is captured! There's sex drugs! And then it all gets complicated.
Notes: Thanks to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
athos, lim, and ladycat for beta reading and hand holding. This fic wouldn't be half of what it is if not for them.
***
Kirk adjusted the thin, shiny material that barely covered his ass and hoped his crew came to rescue him soon.
On quiet Delson, his team were spread out collecting geological samples. He'd knelt to examine a shining purple rock, and strayed for a moment out of transporter range.
The Delson equivalent of a burlap sack had hooded him. His feet had been dragged through dusty red earth. He'd flailed his arms; he'd kicked out and connected with someone's jaw. But he was outnumbered and overpowered and tossed, thump, into a cell.
"What, we can't even talk this over?" Kirk had said, and had been rewarded with a hard knock to his head. He'd woken to someone tipping a sickly-sweet liquid into his mouth. He'd swallowed a lot before he realized what was going on.
His head fuzzy, he'd been dragged into another room, into a large bath, and scrubbed and scrubbed within an inch of his life. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd known he should protest. The drug made him pliable: limbs floppy, mind loose.
Now, Kirk was sitting at someone's feet. The golden, synthetic material covering him slipped and rasped interestingly against a pillow. Someone was stroking his hair, absently, like he was a dog. The worst thing, seriously, was that he liked it. It felt good. Whatever they'd given him was strong.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was saying, "No, stop! Run away! Knock him out!" But the voice was very small, and Kirk was feeling rather languid and content.
His vision was blurry. He could make out the table, from which his keeper -- or was it his master? -- fed him honey-dipped fruits. He could barely see over the edge, but when he lifted his head higher there were other people sitting across from him. Kirk could see people-shapes, but he couldn't make out their features. It didn't matter. He was being petted and stroked and fed; surely nothing else could be as good.
No one spoke to him.
Night fell.
It only took a little bit of tugging on his collar to get Kirk to fall in line behind his keeper. The Delsonians were a tall race, easily a foot higher than Kirk. It only served to make him feel smaller and more vulnerable as he walked along on his leash.
He was taken to a large suite and given a cup of sweet juice to drink, and Kirk did as he was bid and drank it down. It reminded him of the drink he'd been given in his cell, except this was slightly spicier.
The suite was spacious. Red and gold fabric draped the furniture -- the large bed, the comfortable looking couches, the ottomans and the too-high tables. The ceiling was a garish purple and far above Kirk's head. He stumbled over the lush red carpet towards the tall person-shape.
Later, Kirk would log a report that he had been rescued by Spock and McCoy, that he had been beamed back aboard the Enterprise, and that he had been treated in sickbay. The report would not mention what he had been doing when his crewmates found him, or what he had done after.
***
He was on fire. His entire body shook with want. McCoy's hands felt cool, but made him burn even more. Spock murmured something about an aphrodisiac. Kirk barely heard him, but grabbed McCoy's wrist and brought his fingers to his mouth.
"Get out," McCoy said, but the words seemed very far away.
Hypospray to the neck. The burning dissipated but the want continued. Kirk's mouth worked but he couldn't get words out. Finally, finally, he was able to say, "Please."
There were quiet, concerned words, but Kirk didn't understand them. He reached out, craving the feeling of skin-on-skin. "Please," he said again. McCoy was hovering over him, and it wasn't hard to wrap an arm around his neck and pull him down for a kiss.
Hot, slippery mouth. A surprised grunt. More words, frantic against Kirk's lips.
Kirk whined and pulled McCoy against him harder. He smelled good. Familiar. Kirk pressed his nose into McCoy's neck and arched up off the infirmary bed. The contact made him want even more.
"Stop rutting against me, you horndog," McCoy said weakly, and Kirk understood the tone if not the words. This was his friend, Bones.
"Please," Kirk said. Was it all he could say? Then, "I need you."
McCoy sighed and kissed back, his tongue slicking against Kirk's. This was better. This was what Kirk wanted. Needed.
"Help me," Kirk said.
"You're out of your head, Jim," McCoy said.
"Please, please," Kirk begged, pressing against whatever he could find.
The hand that wrapped around Kirk's cock was rough and sure, just the way Kirk liked it. It stroked slowly, and Kirk arched up again, moaning.
"Bones..." Kirk breathed.
McCoy bit down on Kirk's bottom lip, sharp and quick. "Just shut up."
Kirk whimpered and then went quiet. It was easy to obey like this, without his ego rising up and taking over. It was the drugs, he knew, but he didn't try to fight them.
"Are you gonna shoot off like this?" McCoy asked. His voice was low like gravel, fucking sexy as hell. "Come for me, Jim."
Kirk nodded and jerked his hips, fucking into McCoy's hand. It was dry and hurt a little, but Kirk was beyond caring. He gasped and held on, his arm tight around McCoy, and with another thrust he was coming.
***
He woke up with a hangover. It was a familiar feeling, although he hadn't gotten well and truly plastered since becoming captain. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. His stomach flipped when he sat up, but he swallowed down bile and ignored it.
"Awake, Captain Amorous?" McCoy asked, overly cheerful and loud.
Kirk grunted. "What's the damage?"
"You're a little dehydrated, but that's nothing I can't cure," McCoy said. "You remember anything?"
Kirk rubbed his temples and shook his head. "Not much. I remember getting taken, and a cell, and then it all gets fuzzy."
"You were drugged to the gills," McCoy said, and something in his voice reminded Kirk of a hundred morning afters.
"Didn't embarrass myself too bad, did I?" he asked, nonchalant.
"I kicked Spock and my staff out before your reputation with the crew was completely damaged."
Bits and pieces of the previous day floated in Kirk's mind, but there was nothing he could pin down absolutely. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but nothing fell into place. He sighed. "Some kind of amnesiac in the drug. Everything's a blur."
"Convenient," McCoy mumbled, and jabbed Kirk with a hypospray. Immediately, Kirk's head felt better.
He left sickbay half an hour later. He was cleared for duty, although all he really wanted to do was sleep. He relieved Spock on the bridge and sent him to bed, ignoring the curious looks of his bridge crew.
***
Kirk thought he was going insane.
It started like this: A quick wank. His hand around his dick, stroking slow.
And ended like this: Closed eyes. McCoy's voice. Kirk shooting hard all over himself.
It wasn't the first time he had thought of McCoy while he brought himself off, but it was the first time he'd actually fantasized so hard he heard voices. Kirk cleaned himself up and padded over to the mirror, staring at himself. He looked a little pale, but otherwise perfectly sane. Still, the voice had been so clear.
Come for me, Jim, McCoy had said, and Kirk had obeyed.
Kirk wasn't exactly one for obedience. He wasn't a slave to anyone or anything. It had been two weeks since he was captured and rescued again, and whatever drug he'd been given had worn off much sooner than that. Still, he felt it under his skin. He dreamed in hazy visions, memories he couldn't capture once he woke but left him feeling something he couldn't explain.
His brain told him to go to the infirmary and get himself checked out, but something held him back. It's nothing, he thought. Just some weird dreams. He'd just have to be careful about what he thought.
A week later, Kirk had to admit to himself that he was avoiding sickbay for reasons that had little to do with being perfectly fine and everything to do with McCoy. He'd taken to ducking around corners when he heard McCoy's voice, and managing to get his meals when he knew McCoy was elsewhere. It wasn't very captainly behavior, he knew, but he proceeded to do it anyway.
It couldn't last, not with Kirk's luck and habit of getting injured on missions. And McCoy was his friend in addition to being his doctor.
Which was probably why, at 18:00 on a Thursday, Kirk answered his door and was greeted with the sight of McCoy holding a scrap of golden fabric that looked strangely familiar.
"What's-"
"This is what you were wearing when we found you on Delson," McCoy said, walking past Kirk and into his quarters. "I thought you might like to keep it as a souvenir of your time as an alien sex slave."
"Ha ha. I can't even remember wearing it," Kirk said, but took the garment anyway. It felt slippery in his hand.
"A blessing, I'm sure," McCoy said.
"You'd think," Kirk said in a wry voice.
"It's not? I would have thought you were grateful for the blackout. You weren't exactly ... at your best that night."
"I remember some things," Kirk admitted. I remember your voice.
McCoy was silent for a moment and then asked, "What do you remember?"
"It's in bits and pieces," Kirk said. "It's not like a real memory, more like the way you remember your dreams hours after you've had them."
"And these bits..." McCoy said, and trailed off, a question in the ellipse.
"The drug. It made me pliable."
"Yes. And?"
"...Horny."
"That you were," McCoy said quietly.
"I guess I should thank you for putting up with me," Kirk said, feeling guilty. "It's not like-"
"Not a problem. I feel like I should be apologizing for, uh, taking advantage."
Kirk laughed, uncomfortable and forced. "You didn't. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me."
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't even know what you were doing."
"But you did," Kirk said, then louder, "Thanks for stopping by."
***
They got the distress call at 0200, when most of the ship was asleep. Kirk, who had been lying awake thinking about handjobs, got to the bridge almost immediately.
"It's a Delsonian slaving ship, Captain," Uhura said. "It seems some of their cargo rebelled."
"Good," Kirk said. Curt. "Serves them right."
"So are we going to help them?" asked Sulu.
"What's their status?"
"All engines are functional, it just seems that they're outnumbered, even though a good number of the slaves are drugged."
"We should go to the ship and help them," Kirk said, almost to himself.
The viewscreen fuzzed in and out, and then a Delsonian stabbed a slave in the background.
"They're killing them, Captain!"
"Prepare an away team," Kirk said with grim determination. "Sulu, you're with me. To the transporter bay."
Once the away team was assembled, they beamed aboard the slaver into the cargo hold.
There were screams in the distance, and Kirk ran towards them. He readied his phaser. Sulu followed, his katana shining. The others were right behind them.
It was a quick fight, punctuated by the sound of phasers, the clang of steel on steel, and the smell of burning skin. There was blood, not all of it Delsonian.
Sulu led the charge once Kirk was injured. The Delsonians, unused to having to fight for their slaves, surrendered.
***
Half an hour later, Kirk was swearing in sickbay while McCoy swore right back. It's a special give and take kind of relationship, Kirk thought, looking up at McCoy.
"-You are not superhuman! You only have so much blood in you!" McCoy was yelling. "I can't patch you up if you kill yourself out there, Captain!"
"I didn't kill myself, and I've got plenty of blood left. I didn't even pass out," Kirk said, and grinned a little. A few of the slaves overheard him and a ripple of laughter went up.
McCoy ignored the laughs. "Don't give me that look."
"I'm fine, Bones," Kirk said.
"Well of course you're fine," McCoy snapped back. "Now."
"That slaver didn't know what hit him," Kirk went on. "He stabbed me when he was already going down. Quit fussing."
"I'm not fussing," McCoy said in an irritated voice. "I'm a doctor, not your damned mother."
"Thank God," Kirk said with a full grin. He thought, quite irrationally, that he wanted to kiss the frown right off McCoy's face.
"I don't even know what to do with you," McCoy said, and jabbed him in the neck with a hypospray. "For clotting," he explained, but Kirk thought he did it just because he liked jabbing things.
"Do you have to do that so hard?"
"Yes," McCoy said. Kirk could tell he was testy. "Now if you don't mind, I have other patients."
Kirk grinned and watched him go. McCoy fussed over the others, too, even though none of the slaves had more than a flesh wound. At least they ones they'd managed to save.
McCoy came back an hour later and found Kirk with a PADD; Kirk was trying to get some work done while he could.
"Put that away and get some rest," McCoy said with a sharp tone.
Kirk set it down immediately, then frowned at himself. Since when did he take orders on this ship? "Rest," McCoy said again.
Kirk sighed, lying down on the cot. He closed his eyes.
"The effects of the drug wore off in the slaves enough for them to rebel. Seems it loses its effectiveness over time," McCoy said softly as Kirk began to drift off. "I'll have to scan them for any long-term..."
And Kirk was asleep.
***
"Shit!" McCoy said, waking Kirk.
"Do I want to know what this is about?" he asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.
"Hold still," McCoy snapped, scanning Kirk's head and neck.
"If you jab me with another hypo, I'm-"
"The slaves have a foreign contaminant in their brains," McCoy said abruptly. "And I think you do, too."
"In my..." Kirk swallowed and said, "From the drugs they gave me."
"Yes, that's what I think." McCoy finished the exam and shook his head. "There's an unknown bioagent attached to your frontal lobe. I'm sorry, Jim."
"What the hell is it doing there?"
"Affecting your personality and inhibitions is my guess."
"...I don't feel any different."
"You probably wouldn't."
"But I don't feel-"
"Captain. We don't know what this is doing to you."
The use of 'Captain' cut deep. This was serious, and Kirk had a professional decision to make.
He left sickbay without another word and sought out Spock. He explained the situation, handed the ship over, and went to his quarters.
***
A few hours later, McCoy came to check on Kirk. It was a good thing, because Kirk was already going out of his mind, thinking over everything he'd done since he'd returned from Delson, wondering if he would have done anything different if the bioagent wasn't stuck to his brain.
"I took myself off active duty," Kirk said, instead of a hello, and waved McCoy inside.
McCoy came in, stood just inside the door. He drummed his fingers against his thigh. "I know," he said. "That's got to suck for you."
Kirk's laugh was hollow. "How long until you figure out how to get this out of my head?"
"I'm working on it, but I need a sample of the drug."
"The ship?"
"Too dangerous. Anyone left on that ship has it in for us for stealing their slaves."
"You're not telling me the Enterprise is going back to Delson," Kirk said. His voice was flat; his shoulders stiff.
"It's the only option we have, Jim," McCoy answered.
"No."
"It's not your decision right now," McCoy said, sympathy in his voice.
"I don't want my crew put on leashes," Kirk said.
"It's Spock's decision. He's the acting captain."
Kirk sank to his bed. "You're right."
McCoy sat next to him, close enough to touch. "Talk to me."
"As my doctor or as my friend?" Kirk asked. "Because I need a friend right now more than..." He trailed off and bowed his head.
McCoy wrapped his hand around Kirk's arm. A curl of heat radiated out from the contact. "I'll always be your friend. Talk to me," he said again.
"I feel like I can't fucking trust myself," Kirk admitted. His voice was quiet. "I can't captain my ship, I can't go on the mission to Delson, I can't do anything but sit here and wait for a cure. It's driving me crazy, Bones."
"I will cure you."
"I know you will," Kirk said. "You always ... you always give me the one thing I need."
They were sitting close, and Kirk could feel the heat from McCoy's thigh against his own. Kirk looked up and saw that McCoy's face was closer than he'd thought, looking at him with concern and something else in his eyes.
Kirk leaned in and pressed his lips against McCoy's. Cupping his face, McCoy kissed back. It was burning hot.
"Jim..." McCoy said softly, pulling away. "This isn't right."
Kirk's stomach bottomed out and he jerked away. "I thought you wanted it."
"It's the drug. You're ... pliant. You think you know what I want and you're compelled to give it to me."
"No..." It wasn't, was it?
"I know it probably feels real, but the bioagent is attached to your brain, making you-"
"That can't be right," Kirk said, almost to himself.
"I saw the scans. I'm surprised your entire personality hasn't changed, the way the thing is leeched on to your frontal lobe."
Kirk wanted to say, I want you. This isn't the drug, this is something I've always felt... But that wasn't the truth. This feeling, this wanting to be with McCoy, was recent. He couldn't be sure.
"I fucking hate this," Kirk said, his words clipped and emphatic.
McCoy sighed -- maybe a little wistfully, Kirk couldn't be sure -- and nodded. "It must be rough, not having control. For you, especially."
"Calling me a control freak?" Kirk asked, smiling a little.
It took a moment for McCoy to answer. "No. You aren't. I just meant, since you became Captain- It must be hard to have your responsibilities taken away from you all at once."
Kirk nodded. "I like the excitement of being busy all the time."
"Only you would think of all that work as excitement."
"You're pretty busy yourself lately," Kirk said. His hands itched from where he couldn't touch. Had they really just been kissing, and now they were talking about work, of all things?
"That I am," McCoy said. He sounded uncomfortable, like he was thinking the same things Kirk was. "I have to get back, actually."
Kirk wanted to say, Stay with me. Kiss me again. Let me feel you next to me. McCoy must have seen something in his eyes because he shook his head for no other reason.
"I'll cure you, and then-"
"What if it isn't the drug?" Kirk said all of a sudden.
"What?"
"What if me wanting to kiss you- wanting to-" He stopped and took a deep breath. "What if it isn't the drug?"
"It is," McCoy said, and he sounded so sure Kirk began to doubt.
"You kissed me back," he said, feeling unsure and too vulnerable. "You didn't push me away, not at first."
McCoy clears his throat. "We're not talking about this. You might think you want me, but you don't, so none of this matters." He stood up to leave, and Kirk stood up too, getting in his space.
"You kissed me back," Kirk said again. "You want me as much as I want you."
"You don't fucking want me!" McCoy said, pushing past Kirk. He looked like someone had opened an airlock and he was in danger of being sucked into space. Haunted. Hunted. "It's in your head, Jim."
"So you're just going to run away from me?" Kirk asked.
"I have a sickbay full of patients. Not everything is about you."
Kirk bit back a retort and clenched his jaw. McCoy stopped in the doorway.
"I'll cure you. You have my word on that," he said, and left.
Kirk kicked his desk chair and then stood still for a very, very long time.
***
Kirk hated thinking about things. He was more or less confined to his quarters, and thinking was all he had to do. Sure, there were a few games on his PADD, but they got old quick while he was waiting.
He kept up with the happenings on the bridge, nearly biting his fingers into nubs. What if the team was captured on Delson? What if they couldn't find the drug? What if he couldn't be cured? What if this thing with McCoy really was related to the drug? What if, what if, until he finally couldn't take it and slammed his fist against the wall.
The wall didn't give, but Kirk's hand did.
"Kirk to sickbay," he called, ashamed at his behavior. "I seem to have broken a couple of knuckles."
***
"What did that wall ever do to you?" McCoy asked, forced cheer in his voice. He held Kirk's wrist up and knitted the broken bones.
"It looked at me funny," Kirk grumbled.
"Not the first time I've heard that excuse," McCoy said, finishing up. "Next time, just walk away from the fight."
Kirk snorted and flexed his hand. "Thanks."
"What am I here for if not to patch you up on a daily basis?"
That was when Spock walked into sickbay, bearing a vial of purple liquid. "We procured the drug," he said.
Kirk sat up straight. "Anyone hurt?"
Spock raised an eyebrow and said in his mild way, "The mission went smoothly."
McCoy took the vial immediately and disappeared into his med lab. Kirk bit his lip.
"You appear anxious, Captain," Spock said. "I am confident in Doctor McCoy's abilities."
Kirk sighed and rubbed his hand. He still felt some phantom pain. "So am I."
"Then you have no logical reason to be nervous," Spock said.
"I'm feeling a little illogical," Kirk snapped. "I still have an alien drug bouncing around my head."
Spock nodded. "I know you must feel ... vulnerable. However, vulnerability does not make one less strong."
Kirk thought about how weak he felt when he was around McCoy, and nodded slowly. "Thank you."
"Unless you need anything, I should return to my place on the bridge."
"Oh, yeah. Of course, Captain," Kirk said with a forced smile. "Don't get too used to the chair."
"I will readily relinquish it when you are well," Spock said. For some reason, the stiff words made Kirk feel better.
Spock left sickbay, and Kirk stayed. He wondered if he should go back to his quarters, but the thought of staring at those four walls again made him feel sick.
Kirk laid himself down on one of the cots and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep, but a little rest might be nice.
That is, he would have rested if his mind would have let him. No go, though. His memory replayed his kiss with McCoy, over and over, the feel of McCoy's hand on his face, the taste of his mouth. Heat curled along Kirk's spine as he thought of it, and all he could think of was how he wanted more.
An hour later, McCoy appeared. "I've got it!" he said, grinning. "It was easy enough once I figured out-"
"Spare me the medical babble and just cure me already," Kirk said, smiling back.
"It might take several treatments," McCoy warned.
"How long will it be until I'm cured?" Kirk asked.
"I can't be sure. It might be gone after one treatment, it might take five or ten. Anywhere from a day to a week, Jim. I'm sorry I can't give you a better idea."
"It's fine. I can handle it," Kirk said.
"Well, here comes the first," McCoy said, and then jabbed Kirk in the neck with a hypospray.
"Thanks for the warning," Kirk said, rubbing his neck. "How long until we know?"
"Give it a couple of hours and then we'll rescan you," McCoy said.
"I feel better already," Kirk said. "Can I get another kiss now?"
"Placebo effect," McCoy said, ignoring his question.
"Bones," Kirk said, wrapping his hand around McCoy's wrist and pulling him closer. "We should talk about what we're going to do if it's not the drug."
"There's plenty of time for that later, loverboy," McCoy said. He didn't pull away.
Kirk tugged a little more, bringing McCoy within kissing distance. "If it's not the drug-"
"It is," McCoy said. His voice was weak.
Kirk licked his lips and watched as McCoy zeroed in on the action. "You want me," he said, feeling pretty confident.
"You're a cocky sonofabitch," McCoy said, and then he leaned forward to suck gently on Kirk's lower lip.
Kirk gave a soft moan and pulled McCoy closer. "Show me," he said.
McCoy kissed him deeply, with absolutely no finesse at all but plenty of heat. His whiskers scrubbed against Kirk's skin and Kirk moaned again, wrapping his arms around McCoy's neck.
"Jim," McCoy breathed, pulling back a little. "We can't. Not right now." Maybe not ever hung in the air between them.
"You want me," Kirk said again. "That doesn't have anything to do with the drug."
"Let's not make this more complicated than it already is. It doesn't matter what I want."
"I never knew you were so self-sacrificing," Kirk said bitterly.
"Shut up. Just-" McCoy leaned in and kissed him hard, then backed off completely. Kirk didn't even have a chance to respond. McCoy put enough space between them that Kirk couldn't just reach out and grab him again. "Go back to your quarters. Come back in two hours and we'll scan your brain again."
"Fine," Kirk said softly.
"Try not to get in any more fights with inanimate objects," McCoy said, then walked away, leaving Kirk alone and feeling bruised all over.
***
The first treatment didn't cure him. Neither did the second. Waiting was excruciating.
Kirk didn't try to touch McCoy again, and McCoy didn't even mention it; he was quieter than usual. He didn't verbally spar with Kirk, and he didn't make any jokes. He seemed tired, more tired even than Kirk. It took a day for Kirk to realize that McCoy wasn't going back to his quarters. He was treating the slaves from the Delsonian ship, too, but that didn't excuse the lack of sleep.
After McCoy blinked in confusion when Kirk asked him a question, Kirk finally snapped. He stood up and tugged McCoy out of sickbay, along the corridor to his quarters.
"What are you doing?" McCoy asked, trying to tug himself away. Kirk just pulled harder, manhandling him into his rooms.
"I'm putting you to bed."
"I just need another stimulant-"
"No, you don't. You need sleep," Kirk said. In fact, sleep sounded like a good cure for both of them.
Kirk moved McCoy to sit on the bed, then began pulling off his boots. "You don't have to kiss me, you don't even have to say a word. But you are sleeping, and I'm staying right here to make sure you do."
"Bastard," McCoy said, but didn't resist when Kirk pushed him down to lie flat on the bed.
Kirk toed off his boots and lay down beside him.
"Now what are you doing?" McCoy asked, shifting so there was more space between them. Kirk wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.
"C'mon, it's not the first time we've ever shared a bed," Kirk said, keeping the words light. "Remember that time we crashed in New Orleans with-"
"A room full of drunken Andorians. I remember," McCoy said, and pushed ineffectually at Kirk's arm. "We didn't exactly cuddle."
"Times change," Kirk said lightly. "Now close your eyes and get some rest."
"Who's the doctor here?" McCoy grumbled.
"Call me crazy, but I think you need someone to watch over you once in awhile. Just don't confuse me with your nursing staff."
McCoy muttered a little more, but then his breathing evened out. Kirk tightened his arm around him and tried to ignore the way his cock twitched. Is it the drug, he asked himself, or is it more? He fell into an uneasy sleep.
***
Three days later, McCoy looked at Kirk's scan and said, "It's gone completely."
"Completely?" Kirk asked, and silently berated himself for sounding like a parrot. "Just like that? It's gone?"
"Gone," McCoy said. "Now you can get back to being the bastard captain we all know and live to serve."
"You don't have to sound so sarcastic about it," Kirk said, and hugged him.
McCoy hugged back. Kirk breathed in the scent of him - unwashed uniform and all - and thought, Does it start now?
But McCoy was already moving away and shooing him off to the bridge. It was like nothing had happened between them.
Kirk tried and failed to say something meaningful. He really was impatient to get back in command. So he left, vowing to himself that he and McCoy were going to have it out later.
Time passed. Days flew by. The Enterprise's next mission was to see the former slaves safely to a Federation planet once they were cured (which took a little longer than it had Kirk, since they had been exposed to the Delsonian drug for longer than he had).
Once the mission was over, Kirk gave everyone a free day. He showed up in McCoy's quarters with some scotch he'd wrangled away from Scotty.
"Celebrate with me?" he asked McCoy as he poured two glasses. "It's good stuff."
McCoy smiled tightly and accepted his share. "Come to tell me you're sorry? Because I can do without the apology."
"Sorry for what?" Kirk asked mildly.
McCoy downed the scotch in one go and shook his head. "Don't play dumb. It might work with some people, but I actually know you've got a brain in there. I've seen the scans."
Kirk set his glass down without drinking. "I don't know what the drug did to me-"
"I have a pretty good idea," McCoy said ruefully, but Kirk ignored him.
"-but I know what I want."
McCoy looked him straight in the eye and asked, "What do you want, Jim?"
Kirk answered by taking him by the shoulders and kissing him. It was a little clumsy at first, but the familiarity of it caught up to them and their mouths met more smoothly, desperate and hot.
"Not the drug?" McCoy choked out, dropping his empty glass.
"Never was," Kirk said, and met his lips again, dragging him towards the bed.
Clothes, clothes were hard. Kirk's uniform was full of hidden buttons and zippers to give him that freshly starched look, so he concentrated on McCoy's uniform. He damned near ripped it to get it off. Then there was skin, wonderful skin over strong muscles, pressed tight against his own. Kirk didn't care how wantonly he was moaning, didn't care if the whole ship could hear him.
Chuckling in his ear, McCoy said, "I want to make you come for me again," and wrapped his hand around Kirk's cock. His hands were strong and skilled with long, long fingers. Kirk swore, and bucked, and frantically mouthed along McCoy's jaw. Heat like this needed kissing.
"I want," Kirk gasped against McCoy's mouth. "I just want -- to feel -- "
It made no sense, Kirk had enough brain cells left to identify his own babbling, but somehow McCoy got it. Because he leaned forward, hard, heavy weight driving Kirk into the bed and there was a cock pressing a scalding line of heat into Kirk's hip, against his belly, and then his cock.
McCoy's hands were rough with large palms and long fingers, and they moved along the skin of their cocks while they slid together, slippery with sweat and want.
"Gotta," Kirk said, fumbling a hand to the base of his cock, "Bones, I -- "
McCoy laughed and allowed Kirk to squeeze along the base of his cock, pushing himself back. "Push up against me," McCoy ordered, hand moving again and even if it was melodramatic, Kirk thought he was going to die this felt so good.
Kirk arched off the bed, pushing and fucking wildly, until everything coalesced and shook off each other and he was coming, hot and pulsing against McCoy's cock.
"You," he breathed, and McCoy thrust once more and came along with him.
END
Author: Green
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Kirk is captured! There's sex drugs! And then it all gets complicated.
Notes: Thanks to
athos, lim, and ladycat for beta reading and hand holding. This fic wouldn't be half of what it is if not for them.***
Kirk adjusted the thin, shiny material that barely covered his ass and hoped his crew came to rescue him soon.
On quiet Delson, his team were spread out collecting geological samples. He'd knelt to examine a shining purple rock, and strayed for a moment out of transporter range.
The Delson equivalent of a burlap sack had hooded him. His feet had been dragged through dusty red earth. He'd flailed his arms; he'd kicked out and connected with someone's jaw. But he was outnumbered and overpowered and tossed, thump, into a cell.
"What, we can't even talk this over?" Kirk had said, and had been rewarded with a hard knock to his head. He'd woken to someone tipping a sickly-sweet liquid into his mouth. He'd swallowed a lot before he realized what was going on.
His head fuzzy, he'd been dragged into another room, into a large bath, and scrubbed and scrubbed within an inch of his life. Somewhere in the back of his mind he'd known he should protest. The drug made him pliable: limbs floppy, mind loose.
Now, Kirk was sitting at someone's feet. The golden, synthetic material covering him slipped and rasped interestingly against a pillow. Someone was stroking his hair, absently, like he was a dog. The worst thing, seriously, was that he liked it. It felt good. Whatever they'd given him was strong.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice was saying, "No, stop! Run away! Knock him out!" But the voice was very small, and Kirk was feeling rather languid and content.
His vision was blurry. He could make out the table, from which his keeper -- or was it his master? -- fed him honey-dipped fruits. He could barely see over the edge, but when he lifted his head higher there were other people sitting across from him. Kirk could see people-shapes, but he couldn't make out their features. It didn't matter. He was being petted and stroked and fed; surely nothing else could be as good.
No one spoke to him.
Night fell.
It only took a little bit of tugging on his collar to get Kirk to fall in line behind his keeper. The Delsonians were a tall race, easily a foot higher than Kirk. It only served to make him feel smaller and more vulnerable as he walked along on his leash.
He was taken to a large suite and given a cup of sweet juice to drink, and Kirk did as he was bid and drank it down. It reminded him of the drink he'd been given in his cell, except this was slightly spicier.
The suite was spacious. Red and gold fabric draped the furniture -- the large bed, the comfortable looking couches, the ottomans and the too-high tables. The ceiling was a garish purple and far above Kirk's head. He stumbled over the lush red carpet towards the tall person-shape.
Later, Kirk would log a report that he had been rescued by Spock and McCoy, that he had been beamed back aboard the Enterprise, and that he had been treated in sickbay. The report would not mention what he had been doing when his crewmates found him, or what he had done after.
***
He was on fire. His entire body shook with want. McCoy's hands felt cool, but made him burn even more. Spock murmured something about an aphrodisiac. Kirk barely heard him, but grabbed McCoy's wrist and brought his fingers to his mouth.
"Get out," McCoy said, but the words seemed very far away.
Hypospray to the neck. The burning dissipated but the want continued. Kirk's mouth worked but he couldn't get words out. Finally, finally, he was able to say, "Please."
There were quiet, concerned words, but Kirk didn't understand them. He reached out, craving the feeling of skin-on-skin. "Please," he said again. McCoy was hovering over him, and it wasn't hard to wrap an arm around his neck and pull him down for a kiss.
Hot, slippery mouth. A surprised grunt. More words, frantic against Kirk's lips.
Kirk whined and pulled McCoy against him harder. He smelled good. Familiar. Kirk pressed his nose into McCoy's neck and arched up off the infirmary bed. The contact made him want even more.
"Stop rutting against me, you horndog," McCoy said weakly, and Kirk understood the tone if not the words. This was his friend, Bones.
"Please," Kirk said. Was it all he could say? Then, "I need you."
McCoy sighed and kissed back, his tongue slicking against Kirk's. This was better. This was what Kirk wanted. Needed.
"Help me," Kirk said.
"You're out of your head, Jim," McCoy said.
"Please, please," Kirk begged, pressing against whatever he could find.
The hand that wrapped around Kirk's cock was rough and sure, just the way Kirk liked it. It stroked slowly, and Kirk arched up again, moaning.
"Bones..." Kirk breathed.
McCoy bit down on Kirk's bottom lip, sharp and quick. "Just shut up."
Kirk whimpered and then went quiet. It was easy to obey like this, without his ego rising up and taking over. It was the drugs, he knew, but he didn't try to fight them.
"Are you gonna shoot off like this?" McCoy asked. His voice was low like gravel, fucking sexy as hell. "Come for me, Jim."
Kirk nodded and jerked his hips, fucking into McCoy's hand. It was dry and hurt a little, but Kirk was beyond caring. He gasped and held on, his arm tight around McCoy, and with another thrust he was coming.
***
He woke up with a hangover. It was a familiar feeling, although he hadn't gotten well and truly plastered since becoming captain. His head pounded and his mouth was dry. His stomach flipped when he sat up, but he swallowed down bile and ignored it.
"Awake, Captain Amorous?" McCoy asked, overly cheerful and loud.
Kirk grunted. "What's the damage?"
"You're a little dehydrated, but that's nothing I can't cure," McCoy said. "You remember anything?"
Kirk rubbed his temples and shook his head. "Not much. I remember getting taken, and a cell, and then it all gets fuzzy."
"You were drugged to the gills," McCoy said, and something in his voice reminded Kirk of a hundred morning afters.
"Didn't embarrass myself too bad, did I?" he asked, nonchalant.
"I kicked Spock and my staff out before your reputation with the crew was completely damaged."
Bits and pieces of the previous day floated in Kirk's mind, but there was nothing he could pin down absolutely. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, but nothing fell into place. He sighed. "Some kind of amnesiac in the drug. Everything's a blur."
"Convenient," McCoy mumbled, and jabbed Kirk with a hypospray. Immediately, Kirk's head felt better.
He left sickbay half an hour later. He was cleared for duty, although all he really wanted to do was sleep. He relieved Spock on the bridge and sent him to bed, ignoring the curious looks of his bridge crew.
***
Kirk thought he was going insane.
It started like this: A quick wank. His hand around his dick, stroking slow.
And ended like this: Closed eyes. McCoy's voice. Kirk shooting hard all over himself.
It wasn't the first time he had thought of McCoy while he brought himself off, but it was the first time he'd actually fantasized so hard he heard voices. Kirk cleaned himself up and padded over to the mirror, staring at himself. He looked a little pale, but otherwise perfectly sane. Still, the voice had been so clear.
Come for me, Jim, McCoy had said, and Kirk had obeyed.
Kirk wasn't exactly one for obedience. He wasn't a slave to anyone or anything. It had been two weeks since he was captured and rescued again, and whatever drug he'd been given had worn off much sooner than that. Still, he felt it under his skin. He dreamed in hazy visions, memories he couldn't capture once he woke but left him feeling something he couldn't explain.
His brain told him to go to the infirmary and get himself checked out, but something held him back. It's nothing, he thought. Just some weird dreams. He'd just have to be careful about what he thought.
A week later, Kirk had to admit to himself that he was avoiding sickbay for reasons that had little to do with being perfectly fine and everything to do with McCoy. He'd taken to ducking around corners when he heard McCoy's voice, and managing to get his meals when he knew McCoy was elsewhere. It wasn't very captainly behavior, he knew, but he proceeded to do it anyway.
It couldn't last, not with Kirk's luck and habit of getting injured on missions. And McCoy was his friend in addition to being his doctor.
Which was probably why, at 18:00 on a Thursday, Kirk answered his door and was greeted with the sight of McCoy holding a scrap of golden fabric that looked strangely familiar.
"What's-"
"This is what you were wearing when we found you on Delson," McCoy said, walking past Kirk and into his quarters. "I thought you might like to keep it as a souvenir of your time as an alien sex slave."
"Ha ha. I can't even remember wearing it," Kirk said, but took the garment anyway. It felt slippery in his hand.
"A blessing, I'm sure," McCoy said.
"You'd think," Kirk said in a wry voice.
"It's not? I would have thought you were grateful for the blackout. You weren't exactly ... at your best that night."
"I remember some things," Kirk admitted. I remember your voice.
McCoy was silent for a moment and then asked, "What do you remember?"
"It's in bits and pieces," Kirk said. "It's not like a real memory, more like the way you remember your dreams hours after you've had them."
"And these bits..." McCoy said, and trailed off, a question in the ellipse.
"The drug. It made me pliable."
"Yes. And?"
"...Horny."
"That you were," McCoy said quietly.
"I guess I should thank you for putting up with me," Kirk said, feeling guilty. "It's not like-"
"Not a problem. I feel like I should be apologizing for, uh, taking advantage."
Kirk laughed, uncomfortable and forced. "You didn't. If anyone should be apologizing, it's me."
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't even know what you were doing."
"But you did," Kirk said, then louder, "Thanks for stopping by."
***
They got the distress call at 0200, when most of the ship was asleep. Kirk, who had been lying awake thinking about handjobs, got to the bridge almost immediately.
"It's a Delsonian slaving ship, Captain," Uhura said. "It seems some of their cargo rebelled."
"Good," Kirk said. Curt. "Serves them right."
"So are we going to help them?" asked Sulu.
"What's their status?"
"All engines are functional, it just seems that they're outnumbered, even though a good number of the slaves are drugged."
"We should go to the ship and help them," Kirk said, almost to himself.
The viewscreen fuzzed in and out, and then a Delsonian stabbed a slave in the background.
"They're killing them, Captain!"
"Prepare an away team," Kirk said with grim determination. "Sulu, you're with me. To the transporter bay."
Once the away team was assembled, they beamed aboard the slaver into the cargo hold.
There were screams in the distance, and Kirk ran towards them. He readied his phaser. Sulu followed, his katana shining. The others were right behind them.
It was a quick fight, punctuated by the sound of phasers, the clang of steel on steel, and the smell of burning skin. There was blood, not all of it Delsonian.
Sulu led the charge once Kirk was injured. The Delsonians, unused to having to fight for their slaves, surrendered.
***
Half an hour later, Kirk was swearing in sickbay while McCoy swore right back. It's a special give and take kind of relationship, Kirk thought, looking up at McCoy.
"-You are not superhuman! You only have so much blood in you!" McCoy was yelling. "I can't patch you up if you kill yourself out there, Captain!"
"I didn't kill myself, and I've got plenty of blood left. I didn't even pass out," Kirk said, and grinned a little. A few of the slaves overheard him and a ripple of laughter went up.
McCoy ignored the laughs. "Don't give me that look."
"I'm fine, Bones," Kirk said.
"Well of course you're fine," McCoy snapped back. "Now."
"That slaver didn't know what hit him," Kirk went on. "He stabbed me when he was already going down. Quit fussing."
"I'm not fussing," McCoy said in an irritated voice. "I'm a doctor, not your damned mother."
"Thank God," Kirk said with a full grin. He thought, quite irrationally, that he wanted to kiss the frown right off McCoy's face.
"I don't even know what to do with you," McCoy said, and jabbed him in the neck with a hypospray. "For clotting," he explained, but Kirk thought he did it just because he liked jabbing things.
"Do you have to do that so hard?"
"Yes," McCoy said. Kirk could tell he was testy. "Now if you don't mind, I have other patients."
Kirk grinned and watched him go. McCoy fussed over the others, too, even though none of the slaves had more than a flesh wound. At least they ones they'd managed to save.
McCoy came back an hour later and found Kirk with a PADD; Kirk was trying to get some work done while he could.
"Put that away and get some rest," McCoy said with a sharp tone.
Kirk set it down immediately, then frowned at himself. Since when did he take orders on this ship? "Rest," McCoy said again.
Kirk sighed, lying down on the cot. He closed his eyes.
"The effects of the drug wore off in the slaves enough for them to rebel. Seems it loses its effectiveness over time," McCoy said softly as Kirk began to drift off. "I'll have to scan them for any long-term..."
And Kirk was asleep.
***
"Shit!" McCoy said, waking Kirk.
"Do I want to know what this is about?" he asked, wiping sleep from his eyes.
"Hold still," McCoy snapped, scanning Kirk's head and neck.
"If you jab me with another hypo, I'm-"
"The slaves have a foreign contaminant in their brains," McCoy said abruptly. "And I think you do, too."
"In my..." Kirk swallowed and said, "From the drugs they gave me."
"Yes, that's what I think." McCoy finished the exam and shook his head. "There's an unknown bioagent attached to your frontal lobe. I'm sorry, Jim."
"What the hell is it doing there?"
"Affecting your personality and inhibitions is my guess."
"...I don't feel any different."
"You probably wouldn't."
"But I don't feel-"
"Captain. We don't know what this is doing to you."
The use of 'Captain' cut deep. This was serious, and Kirk had a professional decision to make.
He left sickbay without another word and sought out Spock. He explained the situation, handed the ship over, and went to his quarters.
***
A few hours later, McCoy came to check on Kirk. It was a good thing, because Kirk was already going out of his mind, thinking over everything he'd done since he'd returned from Delson, wondering if he would have done anything different if the bioagent wasn't stuck to his brain.
"I took myself off active duty," Kirk said, instead of a hello, and waved McCoy inside.
McCoy came in, stood just inside the door. He drummed his fingers against his thigh. "I know," he said. "That's got to suck for you."
Kirk's laugh was hollow. "How long until you figure out how to get this out of my head?"
"I'm working on it, but I need a sample of the drug."
"The ship?"
"Too dangerous. Anyone left on that ship has it in for us for stealing their slaves."
"You're not telling me the Enterprise is going back to Delson," Kirk said. His voice was flat; his shoulders stiff.
"It's the only option we have, Jim," McCoy answered.
"No."
"It's not your decision right now," McCoy said, sympathy in his voice.
"I don't want my crew put on leashes," Kirk said.
"It's Spock's decision. He's the acting captain."
Kirk sank to his bed. "You're right."
McCoy sat next to him, close enough to touch. "Talk to me."
"As my doctor or as my friend?" Kirk asked. "Because I need a friend right now more than..." He trailed off and bowed his head.
McCoy wrapped his hand around Kirk's arm. A curl of heat radiated out from the contact. "I'll always be your friend. Talk to me," he said again.
"I feel like I can't fucking trust myself," Kirk admitted. His voice was quiet. "I can't captain my ship, I can't go on the mission to Delson, I can't do anything but sit here and wait for a cure. It's driving me crazy, Bones."
"I will cure you."
"I know you will," Kirk said. "You always ... you always give me the one thing I need."
They were sitting close, and Kirk could feel the heat from McCoy's thigh against his own. Kirk looked up and saw that McCoy's face was closer than he'd thought, looking at him with concern and something else in his eyes.
Kirk leaned in and pressed his lips against McCoy's. Cupping his face, McCoy kissed back. It was burning hot.
"Jim..." McCoy said softly, pulling away. "This isn't right."
Kirk's stomach bottomed out and he jerked away. "I thought you wanted it."
"It's the drug. You're ... pliant. You think you know what I want and you're compelled to give it to me."
"No..." It wasn't, was it?
"I know it probably feels real, but the bioagent is attached to your brain, making you-"
"That can't be right," Kirk said, almost to himself.
"I saw the scans. I'm surprised your entire personality hasn't changed, the way the thing is leeched on to your frontal lobe."
Kirk wanted to say, I want you. This isn't the drug, this is something I've always felt... But that wasn't the truth. This feeling, this wanting to be with McCoy, was recent. He couldn't be sure.
"I fucking hate this," Kirk said, his words clipped and emphatic.
McCoy sighed -- maybe a little wistfully, Kirk couldn't be sure -- and nodded. "It must be rough, not having control. For you, especially."
"Calling me a control freak?" Kirk asked, smiling a little.
It took a moment for McCoy to answer. "No. You aren't. I just meant, since you became Captain- It must be hard to have your responsibilities taken away from you all at once."
Kirk nodded. "I like the excitement of being busy all the time."
"Only you would think of all that work as excitement."
"You're pretty busy yourself lately," Kirk said. His hands itched from where he couldn't touch. Had they really just been kissing, and now they were talking about work, of all things?
"That I am," McCoy said. He sounded uncomfortable, like he was thinking the same things Kirk was. "I have to get back, actually."
Kirk wanted to say, Stay with me. Kiss me again. Let me feel you next to me. McCoy must have seen something in his eyes because he shook his head for no other reason.
"I'll cure you, and then-"
"What if it isn't the drug?" Kirk said all of a sudden.
"What?"
"What if me wanting to kiss you- wanting to-" He stopped and took a deep breath. "What if it isn't the drug?"
"It is," McCoy said, and he sounded so sure Kirk began to doubt.
"You kissed me back," he said, feeling unsure and too vulnerable. "You didn't push me away, not at first."
McCoy clears his throat. "We're not talking about this. You might think you want me, but you don't, so none of this matters." He stood up to leave, and Kirk stood up too, getting in his space.
"You kissed me back," Kirk said again. "You want me as much as I want you."
"You don't fucking want me!" McCoy said, pushing past Kirk. He looked like someone had opened an airlock and he was in danger of being sucked into space. Haunted. Hunted. "It's in your head, Jim."
"So you're just going to run away from me?" Kirk asked.
"I have a sickbay full of patients. Not everything is about you."
Kirk bit back a retort and clenched his jaw. McCoy stopped in the doorway.
"I'll cure you. You have my word on that," he said, and left.
Kirk kicked his desk chair and then stood still for a very, very long time.
***
Kirk hated thinking about things. He was more or less confined to his quarters, and thinking was all he had to do. Sure, there were a few games on his PADD, but they got old quick while he was waiting.
He kept up with the happenings on the bridge, nearly biting his fingers into nubs. What if the team was captured on Delson? What if they couldn't find the drug? What if he couldn't be cured? What if this thing with McCoy really was related to the drug? What if, what if, until he finally couldn't take it and slammed his fist against the wall.
The wall didn't give, but Kirk's hand did.
"Kirk to sickbay," he called, ashamed at his behavior. "I seem to have broken a couple of knuckles."
***
"What did that wall ever do to you?" McCoy asked, forced cheer in his voice. He held Kirk's wrist up and knitted the broken bones.
"It looked at me funny," Kirk grumbled.
"Not the first time I've heard that excuse," McCoy said, finishing up. "Next time, just walk away from the fight."
Kirk snorted and flexed his hand. "Thanks."
"What am I here for if not to patch you up on a daily basis?"
That was when Spock walked into sickbay, bearing a vial of purple liquid. "We procured the drug," he said.
Kirk sat up straight. "Anyone hurt?"
Spock raised an eyebrow and said in his mild way, "The mission went smoothly."
McCoy took the vial immediately and disappeared into his med lab. Kirk bit his lip.
"You appear anxious, Captain," Spock said. "I am confident in Doctor McCoy's abilities."
Kirk sighed and rubbed his hand. He still felt some phantom pain. "So am I."
"Then you have no logical reason to be nervous," Spock said.
"I'm feeling a little illogical," Kirk snapped. "I still have an alien drug bouncing around my head."
Spock nodded. "I know you must feel ... vulnerable. However, vulnerability does not make one less strong."
Kirk thought about how weak he felt when he was around McCoy, and nodded slowly. "Thank you."
"Unless you need anything, I should return to my place on the bridge."
"Oh, yeah. Of course, Captain," Kirk said with a forced smile. "Don't get too used to the chair."
"I will readily relinquish it when you are well," Spock said. For some reason, the stiff words made Kirk feel better.
Spock left sickbay, and Kirk stayed. He wondered if he should go back to his quarters, but the thought of staring at those four walls again made him feel sick.
Kirk laid himself down on one of the cots and closed his eyes. He wouldn't sleep, but a little rest might be nice.
That is, he would have rested if his mind would have let him. No go, though. His memory replayed his kiss with McCoy, over and over, the feel of McCoy's hand on his face, the taste of his mouth. Heat curled along Kirk's spine as he thought of it, and all he could think of was how he wanted more.
An hour later, McCoy appeared. "I've got it!" he said, grinning. "It was easy enough once I figured out-"
"Spare me the medical babble and just cure me already," Kirk said, smiling back.
"It might take several treatments," McCoy warned.
"How long will it be until I'm cured?" Kirk asked.
"I can't be sure. It might be gone after one treatment, it might take five or ten. Anywhere from a day to a week, Jim. I'm sorry I can't give you a better idea."
"It's fine. I can handle it," Kirk said.
"Well, here comes the first," McCoy said, and then jabbed Kirk in the neck with a hypospray.
"Thanks for the warning," Kirk said, rubbing his neck. "How long until we know?"
"Give it a couple of hours and then we'll rescan you," McCoy said.
"I feel better already," Kirk said. "Can I get another kiss now?"
"Placebo effect," McCoy said, ignoring his question.
"Bones," Kirk said, wrapping his hand around McCoy's wrist and pulling him closer. "We should talk about what we're going to do if it's not the drug."
"There's plenty of time for that later, loverboy," McCoy said. He didn't pull away.
Kirk tugged a little more, bringing McCoy within kissing distance. "If it's not the drug-"
"It is," McCoy said. His voice was weak.
Kirk licked his lips and watched as McCoy zeroed in on the action. "You want me," he said, feeling pretty confident.
"You're a cocky sonofabitch," McCoy said, and then he leaned forward to suck gently on Kirk's lower lip.
Kirk gave a soft moan and pulled McCoy closer. "Show me," he said.
McCoy kissed him deeply, with absolutely no finesse at all but plenty of heat. His whiskers scrubbed against Kirk's skin and Kirk moaned again, wrapping his arms around McCoy's neck.
"Jim," McCoy breathed, pulling back a little. "We can't. Not right now." Maybe not ever hung in the air between them.
"You want me," Kirk said again. "That doesn't have anything to do with the drug."
"Let's not make this more complicated than it already is. It doesn't matter what I want."
"I never knew you were so self-sacrificing," Kirk said bitterly.
"Shut up. Just-" McCoy leaned in and kissed him hard, then backed off completely. Kirk didn't even have a chance to respond. McCoy put enough space between them that Kirk couldn't just reach out and grab him again. "Go back to your quarters. Come back in two hours and we'll scan your brain again."
"Fine," Kirk said softly.
"Try not to get in any more fights with inanimate objects," McCoy said, then walked away, leaving Kirk alone and feeling bruised all over.
***
The first treatment didn't cure him. Neither did the second. Waiting was excruciating.
Kirk didn't try to touch McCoy again, and McCoy didn't even mention it; he was quieter than usual. He didn't verbally spar with Kirk, and he didn't make any jokes. He seemed tired, more tired even than Kirk. It took a day for Kirk to realize that McCoy wasn't going back to his quarters. He was treating the slaves from the Delsonian ship, too, but that didn't excuse the lack of sleep.
After McCoy blinked in confusion when Kirk asked him a question, Kirk finally snapped. He stood up and tugged McCoy out of sickbay, along the corridor to his quarters.
"What are you doing?" McCoy asked, trying to tug himself away. Kirk just pulled harder, manhandling him into his rooms.
"I'm putting you to bed."
"I just need another stimulant-"
"No, you don't. You need sleep," Kirk said. In fact, sleep sounded like a good cure for both of them.
Kirk moved McCoy to sit on the bed, then began pulling off his boots. "You don't have to kiss me, you don't even have to say a word. But you are sleeping, and I'm staying right here to make sure you do."
"Bastard," McCoy said, but didn't resist when Kirk pushed him down to lie flat on the bed.
Kirk toed off his boots and lay down beside him.
"Now what are you doing?" McCoy asked, shifting so there was more space between them. Kirk wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.
"C'mon, it's not the first time we've ever shared a bed," Kirk said, keeping the words light. "Remember that time we crashed in New Orleans with-"
"A room full of drunken Andorians. I remember," McCoy said, and pushed ineffectually at Kirk's arm. "We didn't exactly cuddle."
"Times change," Kirk said lightly. "Now close your eyes and get some rest."
"Who's the doctor here?" McCoy grumbled.
"Call me crazy, but I think you need someone to watch over you once in awhile. Just don't confuse me with your nursing staff."
McCoy muttered a little more, but then his breathing evened out. Kirk tightened his arm around him and tried to ignore the way his cock twitched. Is it the drug, he asked himself, or is it more? He fell into an uneasy sleep.
***
Three days later, McCoy looked at Kirk's scan and said, "It's gone completely."
"Completely?" Kirk asked, and silently berated himself for sounding like a parrot. "Just like that? It's gone?"
"Gone," McCoy said. "Now you can get back to being the bastard captain we all know and live to serve."
"You don't have to sound so sarcastic about it," Kirk said, and hugged him.
McCoy hugged back. Kirk breathed in the scent of him - unwashed uniform and all - and thought, Does it start now?
But McCoy was already moving away and shooing him off to the bridge. It was like nothing had happened between them.
Kirk tried and failed to say something meaningful. He really was impatient to get back in command. So he left, vowing to himself that he and McCoy were going to have it out later.
Time passed. Days flew by. The Enterprise's next mission was to see the former slaves safely to a Federation planet once they were cured (which took a little longer than it had Kirk, since they had been exposed to the Delsonian drug for longer than he had).
Once the mission was over, Kirk gave everyone a free day. He showed up in McCoy's quarters with some scotch he'd wrangled away from Scotty.
"Celebrate with me?" he asked McCoy as he poured two glasses. "It's good stuff."
McCoy smiled tightly and accepted his share. "Come to tell me you're sorry? Because I can do without the apology."
"Sorry for what?" Kirk asked mildly.
McCoy downed the scotch in one go and shook his head. "Don't play dumb. It might work with some people, but I actually know you've got a brain in there. I've seen the scans."
Kirk set his glass down without drinking. "I don't know what the drug did to me-"
"I have a pretty good idea," McCoy said ruefully, but Kirk ignored him.
"-but I know what I want."
McCoy looked him straight in the eye and asked, "What do you want, Jim?"
Kirk answered by taking him by the shoulders and kissing him. It was a little clumsy at first, but the familiarity of it caught up to them and their mouths met more smoothly, desperate and hot.
"Not the drug?" McCoy choked out, dropping his empty glass.
"Never was," Kirk said, and met his lips again, dragging him towards the bed.
Clothes, clothes were hard. Kirk's uniform was full of hidden buttons and zippers to give him that freshly starched look, so he concentrated on McCoy's uniform. He damned near ripped it to get it off. Then there was skin, wonderful skin over strong muscles, pressed tight against his own. Kirk didn't care how wantonly he was moaning, didn't care if the whole ship could hear him.
Chuckling in his ear, McCoy said, "I want to make you come for me again," and wrapped his hand around Kirk's cock. His hands were strong and skilled with long, long fingers. Kirk swore, and bucked, and frantically mouthed along McCoy's jaw. Heat like this needed kissing.
"I want," Kirk gasped against McCoy's mouth. "I just want -- to feel -- "
It made no sense, Kirk had enough brain cells left to identify his own babbling, but somehow McCoy got it. Because he leaned forward, hard, heavy weight driving Kirk into the bed and there was a cock pressing a scalding line of heat into Kirk's hip, against his belly, and then his cock.
McCoy's hands were rough with large palms and long fingers, and they moved along the skin of their cocks while they slid together, slippery with sweat and want.
"Gotta," Kirk said, fumbling a hand to the base of his cock, "Bones, I -- "
McCoy laughed and allowed Kirk to squeeze along the base of his cock, pushing himself back. "Push up against me," McCoy ordered, hand moving again and even if it was melodramatic, Kirk thought he was going to die this felt so good.
Kirk arched off the bed, pushing and fucking wildly, until everything coalesced and shook off each other and he was coming, hot and pulsing against McCoy's cock.
"You," he breathed, and McCoy thrust once more and came along with him.
END