Title: Winner Takes All (1/?)
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: eventual Kirk/Spock/McCoy; also S/Mc, K/S, K/Mc.
Disclaimer: Seriously just monkeying around in this ‘verse for pleasure; no monetary circumstances involved.
Warnings: slavery, dub-con
Summary: Mirror!verse, post first five-year mission. Two bitter rivals are at war over a prize possession.
Or read at AO3
This is based on the background story I concocted in The Return of Vulcan: Vulcan and its culture is at the mercy of the Empire; Vulcans are little more than the chattel of war. Dark themes ensue, be warned!
“I don’t think you understand, sir.”
“Oh, I believe I do. You want to take away the only precious thing I have left in this world.”
“You—” The man swallows hard. “—made an agreement, sir.”
“You signed the—”
“I signed it because I had to! I signed it to keep Kirk off my back and away from my family.”
“The Admiral won’t to press charges.”
“The Admiral can go drown himself in the River Styx for all I care.”
“Fine. You, and that bastard of a man, can have what you want. But know this: if I catch so much as a rumor of trouble concerning what’s mine, I’ll be back. With a vengeance. You can count on that.”
Leonard McCoy—aged, hardened beyond his years—walks away from this pawn of his adversary. So… Kirk wants to play games with McCoy. Let them begin. Leonard has developed a talent for this sort of backhanded dealing; he’ll screw Kirk so quickly and smoothly that the Admiral will be slitting his wrists just to save a last ounce of dignity. He’ll tear the foundations of the man’s world apart, grind them into dust and ashes to be scattered on a grave over which no one will weep. The Great Kirk, he thinks with disgust. A man, like any other, with weakness; a human to be toppled from his throne and speared upon the hungry blades of his false sycophants.
No, Leonard McCoy shall not be so easily defeated this time. Bitterness has roughened his callous heart and let a hatred steep long into a bitter brew.
Kirk wants the Vulcan back? Spock is McCoy’s gift from the Empire for a long and fruitful service; McCoy could claim his prize, any prize, and he did so. That Spock belonged to Kirk was the best part. The then-Captain played Leonard like a pro, conned him (how Leonard hates himself for being the blind fool, but he’s changed) into bed and into a false security. He planned to betray Leonard in the end.
Leonard betrayed him first.
“I think this McCoy of yours will fight you, James.”
Kirk has his shark’s smile in place. “I am betting on it.”
The golden-haired woman rolls off his bed and makes no attempt to cover herself. Kirk enjoys watching his possessions bare and branded almost as much as he enjoys fucking them. “I don’t understand why you want that—that alien tr—” Kirk is on her in an instant, a vice-like grip around her neck and jerks the woman around. She gives a little cry for show because she’s used to this sort of rough handling.
“Mind what you say, my dear,” he purrs and bites down on her shoulder.
“But he’s Vulcan. Surely he’s not…”
“… a wildcat in bed, like yourself?” Kirk finishes. “No, Spock isn’t. He’s controlled, oh so very controlled with his responses.”
She pouts and slides a hand down his chest. “What fun is that?”
Kirk’s eyes are heavy-lidded as she teases him, though he’s already half-aroused. “Who said I fucked him for fun?”
The woman laughs and drops to her knees. She asks, “Then why bother?”
“Because I was his captain; I was entitled.”
“Captain…” Her laugh changes to something more throaty and seductive. “…Wish I’d known you when you were Captain.”
He digs his fingers into her hair and pulls back her head, exposing the white skin of her throat. “No, you don’t.” His thumb brushes against the pulsing arterial vein, pressing on it. “Captains are more… involved in subduing the enemy. Today I can order an execution and leave the sticky details to lesser men. I can be… soft,” he says with an almost sneer.
She palms him. “Nothing soft here, Admiral.” She makes an appreciative noise and he releases her to her task.
Kirk throws his head back, crooning to himself, “I almost miss it.”
“I’m being reinstated into the Fleet,” Leonard informs Spock as he strips off his clothes. The trip to and from San Francisco was nothing short of a nightmare; at least Georgia is in the throes of a hot summer, warm enough for his old bones. (Spock’s too, in some respect.)
The Vulcan moves silently as a cat, like always, and picks up the items McCoy casually discards. When the silence stretches on for too long, Leonard demands, “Well, speak up! I know you’ve got an opinion on the matter in that dismal Vulcan brain of yours.”
“My opinion is irrelevant to your orders, Doctor.”
“Leonard. It’s fucking Leonard, you half-wit.”
“And I remind you that the use of your first name is inappropriate, given my status.”
Leonard sneers. Spock knows damn well how he feels about the Vulcan’s status. How many times have they had this conversation? Just because he owns Spock, in the eyes of the Empire, doesn’t mean that Leonard wants a sniveling servant. Far from it.
McCoy is not a particularly nice man; not in this world. He enjoys a good fuck just like any red-blooded human, which Spock is able to provide when Leonard is in the mood. And he doesn’t necessarily care to squabble over the term consensual sex—hell, in his profession, a man learns to treat a wound as only a wound, no matter where it’s located or how it occurred. (Caring is weakness; weakness is sure death.)
If Spock is particularly frigid, Leonard won’t order him to bend over the nearest table. That gets them both nowhere, fast. He bides his time, allows Spock to decide when sexual conquest is suitable because Spock maintains no illusions about his predicament. The Vulcan understands well enough the type of Hell he could be in right now, instead of with Leonard in Georgia. The end of the five-year mission for the ISS Enterprise was a damn travesty for those without societal status in the Empire; Spock could have become a pet or a fuck-toy for any number of “masters” in the Fleet—passed around from Admiral’s bed to Admiral’s bed as a nightly entertainment.
Vulcans have no rights in the Empire.
Leonard, as a human, has every right.
So Spock knows that Leonard’s choice to claim him was a minor miracle because there could be worser fates.
There are days when Leonard warns the Vulcan not to make him regret his choice. He calls it “saving your skinny Vulcan ass so be grateful!” However, this is not true in the least. Leonard does not regret his prize at all; in fact, the memory of Kirk’s rage (and inability to do anything about it) keeps Leonard warm at night. He has Spock, a toy that the Captain thought was solely his (and would continue to be his). Leonard is satisfied, then, in the knowledge of Kirk’s loss. (Let him suffer.) If Spock is aware of the real reason for his “rescue,” that he is but merely a pawn in a spiteful game of chess between Kirk and McCoy, he keeps his silence.
Leonard stretches out on his bed, naked and tucks an arm behind his head. He watches Spock blink stoically from the corner of his room. “Come over here,” he orders.
“You are still my property, Mr. Spock. Kirk cannot change that. Yet. Rest assured that he will try.”
“I have to return to Starfleet Medical in one month. I can leave you here in Georgia.”
Spock says nothing of McCoy’s offer.
“Where will you be most vulnerable, Spock? With or without me?”
“Without you” is the flat reply.
“Correct. Kirk would love for me to turn my back on you, take my eye off of you for just one second. So you’re coming to San Francisco too.”
“As you say, Doctor.”
Leonard reaches out and grasps the Vulcan’s wrist. Spock does not resist the forward pull. Leonard asks him, his lips a hair’s breadth away from a pointed ear, “Who do you belong to?”
“I am your property.”
“I am the property of Leonard McCoy,” Spock corrects.
McCoy releases him. “Remember those words, darlin’. I want you to know exactly what to tell James T. Kirk when he sees you again.”
“I shall remember,” the Vulcan promises.