Title: Winner Takes All (4/?)
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy; also S/Mc, K/S, K/Mc.
Warnings: slavery, dub-con
Summary: Mirror!verse, post first five-year mission. Two bitter rivals are at war over a prize possession.
Previous Part: 1 | 2 | 3
Or read at AO3
It’s because neither man is paying attention to the Vulcan that they end up imprisoned together. McCoy is too busy nervously twitching his fingers for the scalpel in his boot and Kirk alternates between trying to look in control and slowly stripping the doctor with his eyes. He’s not listening to McCoy rant, that’s for sure.
“Spock’s mine, you mother-fucker! The next time you lay hands on my property, I’ll fuck you over so bad you’ll be uglier than a poxed Risan whore!”
“You look good, Bones.”
“Quite fucking changing the subject,” McCoy growls. “This isn’t a happy family reunion.”
Kirk licks his bottom lip, knows McCoy likes to watch him to do so. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you now, Bones.”
“You’ll be dead in a week.”
“Yeah oh, Admiral. You fuck with me, you fuck with some seriously nasty people.”
“And yet you didn’t bring a single man for backup or to guard you. Foolish.”
“Don’t need some shit cadet with an itchy trigger finger. I can handle you just fine myself. ‘Sides, where’s your loyal brigade? Oh that’s right!” McCoy sneers, “You don’t have one. Must be tough times.”
Kirk pushes away from the only table in the empty warehouse locker. He does a languid prowl, circling McCoy who never takes his eyes off his enemy. Spock stands silently, back to a wall, ordered to remain there for the duration of the “discussion” between the two rivals.
“I can kill you with my bare hands, McCoy.”
“Yeah? Then what’s with the phaser you’re packing?”
Kirk strokes it lovingly. “It’s my favorite.”
“Coward,” the doctor taunts softly.
Kirk unstraps his weapon and kicks it to the side. It skitters into a shadow, lost. “Satisfied? Good. Then I suggest you remove your weapon, Doctor.”
McCoy rubs a finger over his lip as if the matter requires serious thought. “And what would that be, Jim?” He drawls the man’s first name like a sin.
Kirk slips up to him—close enough to brush chests—then slowly rests a hand on McCoy and pushes him backward. The doctor lets him, hits the edge of the table and sits down. The Admiral briefly squeezes the man’s hip with his other hand, trails it down under McCoy’s calf and settles the booted foot against his thigh. His fingers tease the skin under the pants leg as McCoy watches him through slitted eyes. Then Kirk casually pulls out the scalpel from McCoy’s boot and holds it up like a prize.
“Look familiar, Doctor?”
“Nope,” McCoy lies.
Kirk steps back and McCoy’s foot drops to the ground. McCoy doesn’t bother to observe Kirk stroking his scalpel; no, his eyes are solely locked onto Kirk’s.
“You’ve disarmed me, Jim.” His voice is low, like gravel. “What’s your plan now? Gonna cut me up?”
“Should you?” McCoy repeats. They take each other’s measure for some seconds.
“You stole from me, McCoy.”
“You mean I was one step ahead of your game.”
“What game?” Kirk asks with narrowed eyes.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Captain. Everybody’s expendable to you; we’re all just good fucks until it’s time for you to move on.” McCoy stands and slides up to Kirk, right in his face, not minding the blade in Kirk’s hand in the least. “And you don’t like to leave messes behind, do you, Jim?”
Kirk’s eyes are cold as he presses the flat of the scalpel against McCoy’s cheekbone, just below his scar. “I don’t like betrayal.”
“Do it,” McCoy tells him. “Because if you don’t take the time to clean up this mess, you’ll regret it the rest of your life. I can promise you that.”
There is a rumbling in Kirk’s chest. He leans in, lightly presses his lips against the other man’s. He does not linger.
“A goodbye kiss?” McCoy asks too softly.
“A reminder,” Kirk tells him. The scalpel is tossed to the floor with a clatter.
Leonard digs his fingers into the Admiral’s shirt, draws him back in. “I don’t need a reminder,” he replies and kisses Jim hard.
They slam onto the table in a tangle of limbs, McCoy on his back and leg hooked around Kirk to keep the man half-bent over him. Leonard’s shirt is bunched up under his armpits and Jim is rolling the hard pebble of one nipple between unforgiving teeth. McCoy makes a noise of pleasure.
“I find this display most illogical,” a voice tells them, not too far away.
“Spock,” Leonard half-gasps as Jim releases his flesh. “Told you to stay put.”
Kirk gives a soft laugh. “Has Mr. Spock quit following orders so well, Bones?” His voice is laced with amusement and lust.
Leonard digs the heel of his boot into the back of Jim’s thigh for leverage and bucks against the man. “He’s pretty damn good at everything, actually.”
Jim grunts and grinds his hips down in response. Then he goes absolutely still at the familiar sound of a phaser powering to the kill setting. (Kirk loves that hum.)
“Your speculation is inconsequential, gentlemen,” Spock tells them. McCoy and Kirk both watch as the Vulcan steps out of the shadows with a phaser in his right hand.
“Damn it, Jim,” McCoy complains. “You aren’t supposed to leave a weapon lying around the repressed and down-trodden.”
Kirk admits, “I was distracted.” He pats McCoy’s lower stomach and the doctor’s legs release him. Kirk straightens up, cracks his neck and stares at the hard-eyed Vulcan. “Well,” he asks mildly. “What is it that you want, Mr. Spock?”
“What I desire is an objective that you cannot provide me at this time nor without the appropriate aid.”
McCoy fixes his shirt and pants, remains seated on the table, elbows on his thighs. “Maybe Spock wants to be in the middle, Jim.” Kirk chuckles in remembrance of the past.
“Humor is unnecessary, Doctor. I will state now, for the record, that I find fraternization with Humans to be only partially satisfactory.”
McCoy sniffs. “That because you weren’t on top. It’s good from the top, right, Jim-boy?”
“We may discuss alternate arrangements at a later date.”
“Excuse me?” McCoy drawls too slowly. “What part of the definition ‘slave’ escapes you, Spock?”
“A slave is a creature subject to the will of another.” McCoy’s eyebrow goes up. Spock continues, “You will find that I am not a slave, McCoy; I am your master.”
“Spock,” Kirk tells him. “You’ll have to kill us both, you understand. As subjects of the Empire, we have a responsibility to report your treasonous behavior.”
Spock tilts his head and watches them both with calculating eyes. “Subjects to the Empire,” he repeats monotonously. “You are also a slave, Captain, are you not?”
“Semantics,” Kirk says. “Put down the phaser and I may not kill you.”
It never wavers in the Vulcan’s hand. Kirk knows that is bad news.
“I did not bring you here for the purpose of destroying you,” Spock informs them, icy cold. “I wish to determine your collective worth.”
Kirk crosses his arms and McCoy hops off the table.
“Humans are weak to their emotions and malleable to mental coercion; in this regard, you have proven the defects of your race.”
Kirk takes a step forward in building anger, and Spock raises the phaser in warning. “I will kill you, Captain, Doctor, should you disregard my offer and attempt any foolish action.”
“You haven’t made us an offer,” McCoy reminds him.
“Why?” Kirk wants to know.
Spock seems to consider his answer. “My current status is insufficient protection against suspicion.” McCoy snorts but the Vulcan ignores him, addresses Kirk. “For this reason alone, I did not commandeer the Enterprise.”
A momentary jerk overtakes Kirk’s body, McCoy feels it as close as he is to the man. For an emotionless Vulcan, Spock is emitting a strong sense of ruthless victory.
“You desired the power of Emperor, did you not?”
Kirk answers succinctly, “Yes.”
“I can restore your plans—with minor… alternations. I have re-engineered the design of your device.”
McCoy’s nostrils flare and his hand snakes up to grip the Admiral’s arm viciously. “What device?” His question is menacing.
Kirk reaches over and runs his thumb along McCoy’s bottom lip. “Just a toy, Bones. For keeping my enemies off my back.”
Leonard’s eyes are hard as his mind assimilates the odd puzzles pieces into a coherent picture. “It was destroyed,” the doctor clarifies.
“It shall be rebuilt, in more useful form,” Spock replies.
“What do you get out of this, Spock?” Leonard asks.
The Vulcan flicks a change of setting on the phaser with his thumb. “More than you can conceive, Doctor” is the soft reply. “I shall allow you both thirty-six hours in which to contemplate your fate.”
Kirk launches forward but Spock stuns him. The phaser is then leveled at the doctor’s chest.
Leonard bares his teeth. “You rat bastard.”
Leonard drops like a stone beside one fallen enemy and knows no more.
Spock returns for them after precisely thirty-five hours. The room smells thickly of sex and urine. McCoy stops in the middle of blowing the Admiral and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Caught us with our pants down, Spock,” he drawls.
Kirk looks aggravated that his orgasm is peremptorily terminated. “You’re early,” he snaps.
“It is a matter of strategy, Captain; I do not prefer… ambushing, as you Humans say. However, I find it agreeable to wait until the appointed time.” Spock settles into a stance, armed and blank-faced.
Kirk jerks McCoy’s head back around and the doctor snarls. Jim releases a fist full of hair and tells his companion, “Might as well finish what you started, Bones.”
The doctor’s mouth spreads in a grin. “Beg for me, Jim, and I might consider your request.”
Spock says nothing for the next fifty-eight point six minutes, merely watches and catalogues the two Humans’ activities with stoic reserve. When the final hour strikes, Kirk is re-dressed in his uniform and McCoy is idly propped against a table leg, smirking and bare as the day he was born. His clothes are a pile of precisely shredded fabric. Spock notes the scalpel discarded across the room. (The Humans made use of it after all.)
Spock inclines his head to the Admiral. “Shall we proceed with the discussion?”
McCoy replies for them both. “Yep. Now tell me you brought more than ration-bars. I’m hungry as blazes.”