"Solanaceae"

[amine_eyes]

Title: "Solanaceae" 
Original Fic: "A Member of the Nightshade Family" 
Pairing: Jim Kirk / Leonard McCoy
Rating: NC-17 to be on the safe side :)
Warnings: MirrorVerse - casual killing of people, twisted values, offers and bribery.
Betas: The wonderfully awesome nenya24 , and the wonderfully amazing suddensmiles . Seriously, if not for them, I would still be in the "ARGH THIS SUCKS" phase :D.
A/N: This is a remix of "A Member of the Nightshade Family" by the wonderful savoytruffle  (Go read!!! It's awesome!!!) for the Mirrorverse Remix challenge on the issenterprise  community :). Comes out at 5,586 words, involved much heading of desk. and the eventual disconnection of the internet in order to be written.
Summary: Jim can never resist a challenge ... 

Jim’s not stupid. He knows that from the first moment his Captaincy was announced, records have been rifled, enquiries have been started, and fear has wormed its way into hundreds of hearts across the Empire as they try to work out why he has been given the flagship of the Imperial Fleet. Jim has prepared for this. he opened up countless amounts of enquiries himself (paid for by a ‘mysterious benefactor’) in order to increase the amount of hype as people try to work out why so many lines of inquiry have been opened, so many records rifled through. Several new “unleakable” sources have been paid enough money to buy them a life of comfort as long as they keep spreading the rumours that Jim wants to be spread about him. Jim sits back in his chair as he scrolls through the list of people who have opened enquiries about him. He nods to a few of the names, recognising their usefulness through their supposedly sneaky way of inquiring, frowns at the rest who have been gullible enough to swallow his lies, and pauses at a name.
 
He leans forward, letting the glasses on his face drop to the turn in his nose as he studies the name and the investigations made, and taps the desk thoughtfully. He reaches out for a piece of paper and a pen (far easier to destroy than electronic records), and writes the name down. He stares at it for a bit, then gets up, cracking his knuckles in the process. As he straightens his shirt, fluffs his hair in the mirror and checks on the progress of the bite-mark on his hip – Pike sees it as a form of ownership apparently - he thinks about why Leonard McCoy would be asking about him.
 
-x-x-x-x-
 
It takes four “oh I seem to have dropped my pencil let me bend from the hip to pick it up and show off my ass at the same time”, three “Yes Sir No Sir Three Bags Full Sir”, two well-placed hypos filled with slow-acting poison, and an evening spent torturing some sap who decided to be honourable, but Jim manages to get a folder of information. It’s slim – the McCoys are a secretive family, and the available information is mostly rumour and half-remembered memories that are affected by the sheer amount of painkillers Pike is injected with on a daily basis – but Jim sits with it in his office anyway, scanning the pages as he sips on a mug of bourbon thoughtfully. His knife lies on the desk still encrusted with blood, and there’s something grey and squishy on Jim’s boot. He glances down, and flicks it off. It lands on the floor with a little squelch. Looking back at the pages of in his hands, he pauses on the photo – a stern expression, a glimpse of something that’s only visible if Jim looks at it from the corner of his eye while sipping from the drink in his hand. He taps his fingers on the glass, and hums quietly as he ponders whether this McCoy is as dangerous as the little glimpse makes him out to be.
 
A week later, Jim sits by Pike’s bedside. The fool is still unable to move from the shoulders down, and speaks in half-phrases and mumbles due to the effect of the toxin that ravages his body. The doctors don’t think he has long left. Jim sits and watches Pike twitch as the toxin battles his nervous system and wins, and listens to every word he says – be it drooled out or gasped as Jim clutches his hand tighter. Pike opens his eyes and looks straight at Jim, and for the first time since the accident, he looks like the Captain who got Jim into Starfleet, moulded him into his successor, taught him the ways of the Fleet. His eyes are bright – almost too bright - and Jim feels a pang of something insane people would classify as love. Pike opens and closes his mouth twice before getting the ability to speak, and his hand starts to shake in Jim’s grip.
 
“McCoy – he – God – he – CMO – get – him – on – your –side – do whatever – it – takes – My – God – I -”
 
“Chris?” Jim asks softly, leaning forward to stare into his eyes, paying no attention to the orderly who lies on the floor gurgling her last breath.
 
Pike looks at him, and stills as he speaks.
 
“He’ll try to control you, look for your weakness … Jim -”
 
Another hitch of the breath and Pike’s head lolls to the side, drool pooling in his mouth, unable to be swallowed now. It’s over and Jim knows it. He leans that extra bit further and kisses Pike on the lips, tenderly like a lover, while his hand stays tight on Pike’s.
 
“Don’t worry, Chris” Jim says softly, kissing his brow, the collection of grey lines on his temples – a badge of how long Pike has survived the Fleet – and his eyelids. He leans back and looks at Pike.
 
“I’ll be the one controlling him.”
 
Jim stands and pockets the empty hypo in his hand, leaving the room as quietly as he entered.
 
-x-x-x-x-
 
Jim stands on the bridge of the Excelsior as the crew make the final docking procedures, a slight smile on his face the only indication to the bridge crew about what he might be thinking about. In front of them is the Enterprise, and even covered in shuttles and workmen, she is still a beautiful ship. Jim lets his smile grow at the sight in front of him, and even throws in a bounce on the balls of his feet to boost the idea among the Fleet that Jim Kirk is just an excitable child who’ll die in a week. Never mind that he survived the snake pit of the Academy, they think he’s too stupid to make it out in space without any protection. Jim watches the crew as they make covert gestures to pass on messages to their paymasters on the Enterprise, and he almost wants to laugh at their ineptness. A slight shudder runs through the ship as she completes docking, and the crew breathes a small sigh of relief. Jim turns and walks off the bridge, mind still working out how McCoy is going to try and control him. Force? Pleasure? A bargain? From previous experiences with men like him, a bargain has been the thing most commonly struck, but Jim refuses to consider it a certainty.
 
Arrival at the transporter room means a big grin on his face in order to trick the crew of the Excelsior into thinking that he’s going to be gone within a week, and he dematerialises in a shower of triumphant gold.
 
As he appears in the Transporter Room of the Enterprise, a delegation of personnel snap to attention, including the ship’s XO Spock, a name spoken of with respect in the darkened corridors of the Fleet. As Jim returns the salutes, his eyes scan the impassive face of one of the Vulcans stupid – or clever – enough to stay in the Fleet, and sees the careful non-anticipatory expression on his face. Whatever scheme Spock is planning, it starts now. He steps forward, and Jim mirrors him, arms wide and open and body relaxed, showing that whatever information he has learnt about this man, it doesn’t scare James Tiberius Kirk. Jim smiles, and takes a measure of satisfaction at how Spock doesn’t flinch at the expanse of glittering teeth.
 
“Commander Spock.”
 
An incline of the head in response.
 
“Captain Kirk. We were not expecting you to arrive till tomorrow.”
 
Jim wants to laugh at the careful tone of respect, when the Vulcan clearly despises him for arriving on his ship and throwing his carefully prepared plans into disarray.
 
“That a problem, Commander? I can go away and come back later if you haven’t prepared the crew sufficiently.”
 
The pathetic red-shirts around them stiffen at the implications of reprisal for failing to be prepared, but Spock merely inclines his head.
 
“Not at all, Captain, the ship and crew are ready for your inspection.”
 
Jim grins, and this time he can see the pissed off look in Spock’s eyes for the briefest of moments.
 
“Then let’s go, Commander! Lead the way, won’t you?” With a laugh, he claps Spock on the shoulder and sends him in front in case any of the crew gets funny ideas and tries to assassinate the new Captain.
 
As they walk, Jim catalogues all the non-glances and careful ‘I’m-working-really-I-am-honest’ poses he sees around, and a part of him wants to gaze in awe as they reach the bridge and he looks out onto the inky blackness and firefly people around him and his ship, but he restrains himself. Once he’s checked his quarters, removed all cameras that aren’t his - then he can truly feel the excitement of being in charge of the flagship, but only then. He watches the bridge crew go about their business: a Lieutenant Uhura sits cool and collected over by the Communication console, the demure appearance spoiled by the knife placed in hand’s reach along with another on her hip. A Lieutenant Sulu calmly types in commands to test the piloting console, while the Ensign next to him doesn’t bother to restrain the grin that is spread across his face as he fiddles with every single button he can reach on his console. The normal outcome to this – his bleeding body lying broken on the floor – is prevented by the absent-minded licking of his lips, cleaning off some of the blood that isn’t his. Jim turns to Spock, who is standing behind his chair at parade rest and eyebrows firmly not raised, and speaks.
 
“So … who’s the resident saw-bones on this ship?”
 
A blue-shirt on the science console widens her eyes at the thought of the Captain not knowing who works on his ship, but Spock doesn’t react. Smoothly he replies, and if Lieutenant Uhura didn’t smile a half-smile of anticipation, Jim will eat his tunic for breakfast.
 
“Lieutenant Commander McCoy is in charge of Enterprise’s medical bay. Unfortunately he is … unavailable at the moment, as there has been an accident in Engineering.”
 
Jim shrugs, raising his eyebrow.
 
“And? They’re only red-shirts, go and get him up here.”
 
Spock nods, and his hand goes for the communicator at his hip.
 
“No, Commander.”
 
Spock looks up and raises an eyebrow.
 
“Captain?”
 
“I said,” Jim enunciates slowly - purely for the expression of disgust that he knows Spock wants to make and can’t, “go and get him up here. Go and get him ,Commander. It isn’t that far a walk.”
 
Spock straightens, and the air around him rises slightly in temperature.
 
“Yes … sir”, and with a snapped salute that radiates contempt, Spock turns and stalks off the bridge.
 
Jim smiles and makes the blue-shirt on the science console shiver at the sight, and sits himself down in the Captain’s chair. The smile plays on his lips as he leans into the leather cushioning, and he looks at his domain for the next five years. A glance at Lieutenant Uhura who looks pissed at how Spock left the room, and Jim laughs slightly, making everyone stiffen at the sound. He signals to the Ensign on the tactical console, and he turns, excited to be addressed by his Captain.
 
“Ensign … Cherpov?”
 
“Chekov sir – Pavel Andreievich sir.”
 
Jim waves a hand, and looks at the eager look on Chekov’s face.
 
“Whatever, Chekov, are you even old enough to serve on a starship?”
 
Chekov grins and nods.
 
“Yes sir, I’m seventeen.”
 
Jim nods at the confirmation of that fact against the file he was presented on all his crewmen, and continues the conversation.
 
“Seventeen huh? Little young …”
 
Chekov nods back, and smiles, the blood still staining his lips.
 
“That is what Ensign Reid said sir … until I killed him”, and Chekov turns back to the console, still grinning, using his hand to wipe the last of the blood from his face so it looks as angelic as an angel’s, not as sinful as a devil’s.
 
Jim lets the news that he’s already lost one member of his crew and they haven’t even left space dock yet sink into his mind, and he makes a mental note to get Chekov on his side as soon as humanely possible. A youth with a penchant for killing first and asking questions later will be a useful guy to have.
 
Any further interrogation of the Bridge crew is interrupted by the turbolift swishing open, heralding the arrival of Commander Spock. He walks forward, and stops two paces away from the chair, and opens his mouth to speak, but Jim interrupts.
 
“I thought I said to bring Doctor McCoy with you Commander.”
 
“Doctor McCoy is in the middle of treating the patients from the accident in Engineering.”
 
“And? What difference does that make?”
 
“McCoy has the greatest … respect for life, Captain” Spock replies, and Jim lets his eyebrows rise in astonishment. Spock continues, and Jim watches Uhura grin smugly from the corner of his eyes.
 
“He refuses to leave until the patients are able to be left to the care of his medical team, Captain.”
 
“I can see that ,Commander … he’s not here. Tell me, Spock,” Jim asks, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. Spock’s face tightens at the annoying sound, “did McCoy send an apology for being unable to greet his new Captain?”
 
“No, Captain.”
 
“Fascinating …” Jim muses, and spins his chair once, twice, watching Spock’s face struggle against the impulse to stop the chair spinning. Abruptly he stops, and claps his hands once, making the crew who weren’t sensible enough to pay attention to the exchange jump in surprise.
 
“Guess I’ll have to go see McCoy later. Now, Spock, come with me to the Ready Room, and let’s look through these reports.”
 
Spock blinks, and recovers fast.
 
“Captain, are you not wishing to continue the tour of the ship?”
 
“Nope! Reports now, fun later!”
 
Without waiting for a reply, Jim jumps up, and bounds through to the Ready Room, ignoring the tightening face of Spock that says to all the world how much he hates Jim, who has only been on the ship for about an hour and has re-arranged Spock’s most likely meticulously planned timetable twice. Jim never said he was predictable.
 
-x-x-x-x-x-
 
Jim manages to wait three hours before he leaves Spock surrounded by paperwork and heads down to Medical, going through Jefferies tubes to speed his journey up. He waltzes inside with a grin wide on his face, and heads straight for the CMO’s office, nodding and acknowledging the hurried salutes given by the medical staff around. One of them, a dark man with narrowed eyes, looks significantly at the blond nurse next to him, and she nods, walking away to the surgery room. Jim looks around, notices the CMO’s office, and grins. Best place to meet trouble is in the lion’s den, and he walks confidently in, a little scanner on his hip registering any unusual changes in the atmosphere and electrical currents as he enters the office.
 
Nothing.
 
Either McCoy is too feared to have any traps laid in his office, or too naïve. Jim thinks back to the little glimpse of something he saw in the report, and wonders whether it’s the first, or the latter. He thumbs the panel next to the door, and it slides shut with a whisper. He waves the scanner quickly around the room, checking for all possible comm systems, quickly disabling the main one on the desk. Only after all this is completed, does he settle into the chair, putting his feet up on the desk, to wait.
 
And wait.
 
And wait.
 
He taps his fingers on the desk, and wonders what kind of game McCoy is playing – it obviously can’t be the bargaining one, otherwise he’d already be in the office with an offer like the one from Pike in the bar. It can’t be pleasure, as experience has shown Jim that the pleasure games always have the other participant early, waiting for Jim to subject them to his will. His mind drifts off to Gaila stretched on the bed, all curls and lithe body with a little eager smile, and he smiles at the recollection. Jim thinks for a moment, and decides that McCoy – if he’s playing a game at all – is simply being an ass.
 
He continues to wait, fiddles with various PADDs on the desk, and is reading through an interesting journal on the effects of stimulation after neural surgery, when the door opens, and McCoy walks in.
 
No one must have let him know that his Captain was waiting, as Jim watches the eyes widen and the shoulders stiffen as McCoy notices there’s someone sitting in his chair. He looks up, and smiles his best shark-like smile.
 
“Doctor. Leonard. Horatio. McCoy,” he says, letting the words roll off his tongue, “Chief … Physician.”
 
“I -” McCoy breaks off and steps forward hesitantly, and Jim wonders whether he has completely misjudged that little look of danger in the file. No matter he thinks to himself, he’ll come out with his offer, and this can get back to normal.
 
“What’re you -”
 
Jim cuts in before McCoy can finish speaking.
 

“Thanks so much for letting me use your office,” he says, smiling like an Admiral with an Agonizer. “Of course,” he says as though they’re merely discussing the weather, “it’s the least you can do when you’re making a man wait.”

 
The words cause McCoy to step forward, clenching his fists and forcibly relaxing them, stuttering out his response. “Look sir, I’m sorry, but there was -”
 
Again, Jim cuts in, and he sees McCoy visibly unbalance from the flow of conversation. The hope that Jim had that McCoy was going to be a challenge dies inside, and Jim comforts himself that at least he can annoy Spock for fun.
 
“Where are my manners?” he continues, ignoring McCoy’ words, standing up and walking to stand in front of McCoy, “I haven’t even introduced myself.”
 
Jim tries not to not feel sad that McCoy doesn’t make his offer here, as he just sighs and tries to say “I know who you are.”
 
Well, tries anyway. Like before, Jim cuts him off, steps into his personal space, and Jim watches his eyes widen slightly at the threat moving closer.
 

“Obviously, you don’t know who I am McCoy, or we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

 

He puts out his hand to shake, and McCoy gingerly takes it. Jim increases his grip as he continues to speak.

 

“The name’s Jim Kirk, but you can call me … Captain. And if you ever keep me waiting again, I will break ever single bone in your hand. Waste of a doctor or not.”

 

He holds the grip for a few more seconds, and releases. Now will be the time that McCoy will make his offer. He’ll go for pleasure or a bargain or force, Jim will counter, all will be well, and Jim can get back to running the flagship.
.
“Captain,” and the tone is exactly halfway between pissed off and placating, “I didn’t mean to be insubordinate …”
 
“Oh well, as long as you had ‘goodness’ in your heart …” Jim even makes the air quotation marks with his hands as he waits for McCoy to make his offer.
 
Instead, McCoy throws him for a loop.
 
“Damnit! A man was about to die!”
 
Jim narrows his eyes and looks at McCoy.
 
“You ever hear of Charles Darwin? Some people ... deserve to die.”
 
“Not in my sickbay!”
 
Jim makes his face go blank as he processes what has just been said. McCoy steps back as though to retract his statement, but he doesn’t. Silence fills the room, and Jim – for the first time in his life since his mother had sat him down and told him to kill his stepfather – is shocked. In a moment, he decides on his course of action. If McCoy wants to defy him, he can see what the consequences are.
 
He walks out, barely gesturing to McCoy to follow but he does, he follows and watches as Jim heads over to the man who’s supposed to be dead, and stands by the bio-bed. There, trapped but not knowing it, the blond woman from before is setting up various monitoring systems, and in any other situation, Jim would take pleasure in what he’s about to do. Not this time though – it’s happening because he was defied, not because he wants to.
 
 He stands right behind her, lets her feel his cock between the swells of her ass and as if they’ve rehearsed it, she shoots up, a startled cry dying on her lips as Jim wraps his right arm round her midriff, bringing her close as he steps forward so that she’s completely trapped.
 
The rest of sickbay freeze, and Jim bends down to stage-whisper in her ear, watching out the corner of his eye to see what McCoy will do now.
 
“Chapel … isn’t it?”
 
“… Yes … sir …” she replies, and Jim can feel her body try to stay as still as possible.
 
Jim takes his left hand and trails it down her arm, wondering slightly whether McCoy will come to the rescue of his nurse, whether he’ll come and save the man on the bio-bed, whether … he’s all talk.
 
“Could you be a good girl and turn off his life support for me please? These machines can be so confusing.”
 
Even as McCoy’s hands ball up, even as the rest of sickbay stands and watches, Chapel does so. No one moves as Jim uses his left hand to pinch the man’s nostrils shut. No one moves as Jim reasserts his authority on his ship.
 
As the man dies, Jim releases Chapel, hearing the soft sigh of relief echo around the medical staff and patients as he walks to the door, as he turns to McCoy who stands there in shock.
 
“It’s not your sickbay.”
 
And with that, he leaves.
 
-x-x-x-x-
 
The next three days pass without a further meeting with McCoy. Presumably he hides in his office or quarters when not on duty, and so doesn’t come into contact with the rest of the ship. This means, however, that McCoy hasn’t come to seek him out to either apologise or lay his offer on the table. Jim sits in his office bouncing a tennis-ball off the walls absent-mindedly, and wonders if for the first time, his judgement has been completely off.
 
“Fuck it,” he says, and throws the tennis ball into an open drawer. He’s going to head down to Sickbay and see what the hell is going through McCoy’s head.
 
The journey to Sickbay is without incident -the crew learnt fairly quickly not to do anything after they tried to assassinate him and Ensign Chekov had dispatched them all with dizzying speed. Now, they all stay a respectful distance away – even Ensign Wurta, the seven foot tall cephalopod type creature from Tennyson Five who can break a man’s skull with his beak. Jim waves at Wurta as they pass in the corridors, and he wiggles a respectful tentacle as he squelches away rather hurriedly.
 
Inside sickbay, no one tells Jim to get off the biobed he sits on, though Chapel clearly slows as she walks past on her way to the other patients. He sits and waits for McCoy to come out, because when he does, he’ll come to Jim. He has to.
 
It’s only as he’s gone through his second mental rendition of “Five hundred bottles on the wall” that McCoy surfaces from his office, and the look of surprise on his face is almost comical. Jim grins again, and the look on McCoy’s face quickly morphs into a scowl as he stalks over.
 
“Good morning, Leonard!” says Jim, and the cheery tone only makes McCoy’s scowl deepen and Jim’s grin widen.
 
“You don’t … mind, if I call you Leonard, do you?”
 
“Yes.”
 
Jim chuckles and watches in delight as McCoy grits his teeth. Least he can do after making Jim feel off-balance about a member of his crew.
 
“Oh well, sucks to be you then.”
 
McCoy clenches his fist before he replies.
 
“Did you have a medical concern you wished me to address, Captain?”

 

The little Jim in Jim’s head gives applause for the sheer derision in the rank.
 
“Well … there is something that has been bothering me …”
 
He trails off, and McCoy finally follows the script and becomes subordinate to Jim.
 
“Yes?”
 
Jim continues, swinging his legs all the while.
 
“See, I’m sitting here, listening to your flagrant disrespect, thinking back on your laughably inefficient approach to triage, and I’m wondering to myself – how does this guy end up here, on my ship?” He emphasises the ‘my’ in order to remind McCoy of where they all stand, and he’s pleased to see McCoy try to resist to hit him.
 
“I’m a good doctor” he eventually manages to push out past gritted teeth, and Jim carries on swinging his legs as he muses upon what McCoy is going to say next, if he is ever going to make his offer.
 
“Hmmm … maybe” – he sees the look of contempt on McCoy’s face and starts leaning towards the show of force idea as an offer, “but you’re a crap Chief Physician.”
 
McCoy lets out a deep breath, and his shoulders seem to drop as he looks round the room.
 
“Captain, can we discuss this in my office?”
 
Finally, Jim thinks to himself, he’s laid his offer on the table.
 
“So that’s how”, and he hops off the bed, looking round the room at the nurses and other doctors who are carefully ‘not’ listening to the conversation, “I should have realised when I saw those …” he drags his eye back up McCoy’s body, and is gratified to see a flush appear on his face, “lips of yours. Lead the way Doctor.”
 
McCoy all but stomps into the office, and Jim watches in appreciation at how rigid that back gets when McCoy becomes pissed off.
 
The door hisses shut and McCoy turns to Jim, who leans against the wall.
 
“Alright, you can suck me off and we’ll see what that does for your performance evaluation, but you’re going to have to be quick about it. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes.”
 
McCoy’s eyebrow twitches and he steps forward.
 
“I’m not going to suck you off.”
 
Jim rolls his eyes and wonders whether everyone on the ship is like McCoy – constantly laying an offer and trying to refine it at the last second. As his mind drifts to the curvy ensign assigned to be his PA, he hopes not.
 
“Look”, he sighs, “I appreciate that you want to give me the whole experience – and it must be fucking spectacular if it got you this far – but, clock is ticking, all that nonsense, so just get on -”
 
“You know, just because you can make me sew it back on, doesn’t mean it’s not going to hurt like hell when I bite it off!”
 
Jim stops, and looks at McCoy, whose chest is heaving, who’s drawing himself to his full height, and wonders how the fuck he’s managed to read it wrong.
 
“Excuse me?”
 
Instead of backing down, apologising, or even running away crying at the dangerous tone in Jim’s voice, McCoy continues.
 
“You heard me. I didn’t trade my god-damn body for my rank, you asshole. I earned it. I’m here because I am a damn good doctor. A fucking brilliant one if you must know. I’ve been trained to save lives and I happen to like doing it, and hell, I’d be fucking overjoyed if someone actually let me once in a while! Is that so god-damn hard to understand?”
 
He pants for breath, and Jim lets the info run through his mind as he quickly throws out the option of killing McCoy, and works out who and what McCoy is.
 
He is a good doctor – Pike would have lived if it weren’t for Jim – he’s not trying to make an offer of force, pleasure, a bargain … in the world of the Fleet, this … is unusual. Especially the whole ‘saving lives for the sheer fact of saving lives’, not the normal ‘save a life, get a favour’ thing. Jim places a wager with himself that McCoy has highly likely not even taken a bribe to let someone die on his operating table, judging by his speech and behaviour since Jim has arrived. The sheer fact that he hasn’t made any offers at all to anyone, and being a doctor who actually wants to heal, he could be a useful person to have on Jim’s side.
 
Jim shrugs.
 
“Well, it is kinda weird, but okay.”
 
McCoy’s mouth falls open, and all he says in reply is “Okay?”
 
Jim steps forward, loosening his shoulders.
 
“Yeah, why not? Go ahead. Heal people. Save lives. I mean, I can see how that’d be useful. And it’s not like I can just kill them myself later.”
 
He knows McCoy’s mind goes to the guy on their first talk, and McCoy’s mouth falls open in shock – perhaps that Jim hasn’t killed him, that Jim is letting him do his job. Who knows? Jim thinks.
 
“Um … thanks?”
 
Jim holds his hands out in a placating gesture.
 
“Right, so I’ve got to get to my meeting …”
 
It’s like McCoy has become a broken holograph, constantly repeating what Jim says.
 
“Right …”
 
Jim starts to walk out, and then turns, giving his command.
 
“Oh, by the way … I’m gonna need you to report to my quarters tonight at 1900.”
 
McCoy’s jaw drops as he processes what Jim has said.
 
“Excuse me??”
 
Jim looks at him.
 
“You hear me, and I know you know what I mean.”
 
After all, Jim reasons to himself, not only do I get myself a new sexual partner; I can start to work out McCoy.
 
“But – we – just” McCoy shakes his head as though he has a choice in this matter, “Forget it – there’s no way I’m gonna -”
 
Jim frowns, and he’s gratified to see a little spark of fear in all that defiance the Academy hadn’t beaten out of McCoy.
 
“Seriously,” he looks at the chronometer on the wall and back at McCoy, “do I look like I have time to threaten you?”
 
The defiance and fear mix together, but defiance wins and McCoy straightens up, loses the sense of panic and starts fighting back. “Kirk, I -”
 
Jim waves him off, and sighs, biting his lip in thought at how to get McCoy to agree enough that Jim can get to the meeting and continue annoying Spock.
 
“Fine, so throwing you in the Agony Booth is going to have an effect on the whole ‘healing thing’ that’s being tried …” he throws in the air quotation marks for good measure, “What about Chapel then? You seem pretty fond of her. I could give her, what? An hour? She was an accomplice to the whole Keller thing …”
 
He lets his voice trail off, and McCoy staggers forward, dropping the determination and staying with desperation.
 
“Kirk, please. She hasn’t done anything. She’s the best nurse I’ve got.”
 
Jim rolls his eyes and debates leaving McCoy and his weird non-offering, wanting-to-heal self behind in the Agony Booth while he goes fucks that ensign, but leaves it. He’s never been able to resist a puzzle.
 
“Cut the drama. It’s not transwarp theory McCoy, the answer’s simple. My quarters. 1900.”
 
He steps forward, lets his hand drift to the knife at his side, and McCoy pauses, looking at it. His shoulders slump in defeat, and Jim barely hears the whispered “okay.”
 
Finally. He broke.
 
Jim claps him on the back and grins, noting the look of self-disgust on McCoy’s face as he walks out and whistles all the way to the meeting, causing everyone to move out the way. He sat himself down, and grinned; noting the non-scowl on Spock’s face as he got the meeting underway, mind drifting to the rendezvous with McCoy later.
 
-x-x-x-x-
 
Jim looks down at the sleeping body next to him, handcuffs clinking as McCoy shifts in his sleep, face crunching up into a scowl that Jim was certain he wore all the time. He lets his gaze wander down the smooth back below him, leer appreciatively at the redness appearing around his ass-hole combined with the sticky substances of semen and lube (Jim had refused to let him clean before he passed out), looks at the scratches barely noticeable on the back of his thighs.
 
Jim hadn’t realised how much of a kinky bastard McCoy was till he yowled and arched like a cat in heat when Jim did that.
 
He twiddles the hypo in his hand as he watches McCoy sleep, and wonders what McCoy was thinking of doing with it.
 
He places it on the table, and settles down on the other side of the bed, watching the body in front of him settle into deep sleep, and smiles.
 
After all, if McCoy does try anything, he won’t be around to regret it – Jim’s not a stranger to killing his sexual partners.
 
-x-x-x-x- THE END –x-x-x-x-x-