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syredronningThe logical conclusion to the MU Book series – The Reader (adult, dark)
***
All he ever did was watch. Okay, he thought about getting his hands on McCoy once, but when he saw the burns, he knew better than to fuck with his Vulcan exec. They were a good team and he liked to keep it that way. So what the hell if Spock kept his living canvas exclusively? He could live with it.
He still watched them whenever he could. Then he'd sit in front of the Tantalus device, maybe with a glass of Romulan ale in his hand, and enjoy the scene that unfolded on the screen. How Bones would stretch out on the bed, no longer forced; how Spock would sit down next to him, the cauter in his hands. Sometimes he didn't even use it, only caressed over the existing burnings with the cool metal. There was little difference between Bones' whimpering in arousal or in pain, though Kirk still liked the moments of pain better. There was something so very arousing about seeing McCoy break little by little the more the pattern grew, falling prey to the lure of surrender.
Sometimes, in the past, he had wished that he'd been the one to break him. He'd waited too long - used McCoy as his wingman all through the academy, but never as a toy, knowing that it would take hard work to tame his defiance. In the end Spock had been faster, and after a while he'd come to realize that he'd been lucky. Because wanting meant caring and caring meant having a weakness. The proof of this was in every sign Spock gingerly burned into Bones' skin, like a steady stream of desire. Bones was Spock's greatest weakness, and one day Kirk would use him against the Vulcan.
It didn't stop him from watching them, even learning the meaning of the calligraphy over time, so well that he could join Spock's whispered recitations. He knew every spiral, every dot by heart, and sometimes, in the dead of a sickbay night when Bones passed out over his desk in an exhausted sleep, he'd get up and walk to him. He'd shift the shirt up to catch a glimpse at the signs that meandered from the side down into the pants, thinking that one day, this man would be entirely his.
Though not yet; not tonight, he thought, as he waited at the connecting door between quarters. When Pike let him in, McCoy was already gone. The admiral was slumped in his chair, his features distorted into the threatening half-smile his facial muscles permanently delivered, as if his nastiest side had manifested itself under the radiation.
"Did you like what you saw?" Kirk asked.
"I hated it," Pike said.
Kirk laughed, kneeling down in front of Pike. It was a farce of surrender, and they both knew it. He was the crown prince and new hero, the future of the empire. Pike was the left-over past, his death only a question of time because he wasn't really worth killing anymore. It was so much more fun to see his fried body falling apart. What the slug hadn't managed, the assassination attempt had accomplished – throwing the illustrious admiral out of the game.
Though maybe not completely, as Pike suddenly launched forward, clamping his good right hand around Kirk's throat and squeezing.
"I wanted to hurt him," Pike rasped. "I wanted to see him begging under the whip."
Kirk didn't answer, didn't fight, only pulled his lips into an answering, knowing grin.
"Wanted to destroy this… insult to my eyes."
Kirk knew exactly what he meant; the unexpected beauty that rose from that enforced union, two torn puzzle pieces that still had found their match in this brutal world.
Almost like the two of them.
He reached out for Pike, placing his hands on the man's legs, one working, one damaged. Bore the hand on his throat for a little longer, until Pike's need for dominance was satisfied, then heaved a deep breath when released. Pike slipped his fingers under his uniform shirt, pulling it upwards and over Kirk's head. Then his fingers rubbed over the faint scars on Kirk's back.
"The only marks you ever received from me - Cadet Kirk."
Kirk remembered well. He had administered a punishment to another cadet, but Pike had found his performance to be lacking and decided to encourage him with another twenty lashes on his own back. "I only needed that lesson once," he stated coolly. He didn't need to add that if Pike ever tried that again, he'd find himself under his own whip.
Pike laughed quietly. "Of course. We're one of a kind, you and I."
Ten minutes later, they were on the bed with his dick up Pike's ass. Ten hours later, they met the other two in the transporter bay to see Pike off the ship, enjoying the sight of an aggravated Spock and a humiliated McCoy. Ten days later, he received the message that Pike had died from organ failure. It sounded almost like natural death but that was rather unlikely.
That night he switched on the Tantalus device, watching Spock and McCoy, drinking Romulan ale and smiling over the thought that he'd never told Pike about this device. This was his private show until the day he decided to get rid of Spock and inherit Bones. In his lap, Pike's plaited single tail lay curled, in patient sleep until it could curl around Vulcan signs, adding new words written in blood.
***
Final part: The Collector
***
All he ever did was watch. Okay, he thought about getting his hands on McCoy once, but when he saw the burns, he knew better than to fuck with his Vulcan exec. They were a good team and he liked to keep it that way. So what the hell if Spock kept his living canvas exclusively? He could live with it.
He still watched them whenever he could. Then he'd sit in front of the Tantalus device, maybe with a glass of Romulan ale in his hand, and enjoy the scene that unfolded on the screen. How Bones would stretch out on the bed, no longer forced; how Spock would sit down next to him, the cauter in his hands. Sometimes he didn't even use it, only caressed over the existing burnings with the cool metal. There was little difference between Bones' whimpering in arousal or in pain, though Kirk still liked the moments of pain better. There was something so very arousing about seeing McCoy break little by little the more the pattern grew, falling prey to the lure of surrender.
Sometimes, in the past, he had wished that he'd been the one to break him. He'd waited too long - used McCoy as his wingman all through the academy, but never as a toy, knowing that it would take hard work to tame his defiance. In the end Spock had been faster, and after a while he'd come to realize that he'd been lucky. Because wanting meant caring and caring meant having a weakness. The proof of this was in every sign Spock gingerly burned into Bones' skin, like a steady stream of desire. Bones was Spock's greatest weakness, and one day Kirk would use him against the Vulcan.
It didn't stop him from watching them, even learning the meaning of the calligraphy over time, so well that he could join Spock's whispered recitations. He knew every spiral, every dot by heart, and sometimes, in the dead of a sickbay night when Bones passed out over his desk in an exhausted sleep, he'd get up and walk to him. He'd shift the shirt up to catch a glimpse at the signs that meandered from the side down into the pants, thinking that one day, this man would be entirely his.
Though not yet; not tonight, he thought, as he waited at the connecting door between quarters. When Pike let him in, McCoy was already gone. The admiral was slumped in his chair, his features distorted into the threatening half-smile his facial muscles permanently delivered, as if his nastiest side had manifested itself under the radiation.
"Did you like what you saw?" Kirk asked.
"I hated it," Pike said.
Kirk laughed, kneeling down in front of Pike. It was a farce of surrender, and they both knew it. He was the crown prince and new hero, the future of the empire. Pike was the left-over past, his death only a question of time because he wasn't really worth killing anymore. It was so much more fun to see his fried body falling apart. What the slug hadn't managed, the assassination attempt had accomplished – throwing the illustrious admiral out of the game.
Though maybe not completely, as Pike suddenly launched forward, clamping his good right hand around Kirk's throat and squeezing.
"I wanted to hurt him," Pike rasped. "I wanted to see him begging under the whip."
Kirk didn't answer, didn't fight, only pulled his lips into an answering, knowing grin.
"Wanted to destroy this… insult to my eyes."
Kirk knew exactly what he meant; the unexpected beauty that rose from that enforced union, two torn puzzle pieces that still had found their match in this brutal world.
Almost like the two of them.
He reached out for Pike, placing his hands on the man's legs, one working, one damaged. Bore the hand on his throat for a little longer, until Pike's need for dominance was satisfied, then heaved a deep breath when released. Pike slipped his fingers under his uniform shirt, pulling it upwards and over Kirk's head. Then his fingers rubbed over the faint scars on Kirk's back.
"The only marks you ever received from me - Cadet Kirk."
Kirk remembered well. He had administered a punishment to another cadet, but Pike had found his performance to be lacking and decided to encourage him with another twenty lashes on his own back. "I only needed that lesson once," he stated coolly. He didn't need to add that if Pike ever tried that again, he'd find himself under his own whip.
Pike laughed quietly. "Of course. We're one of a kind, you and I."
Ten minutes later, they were on the bed with his dick up Pike's ass. Ten hours later, they met the other two in the transporter bay to see Pike off the ship, enjoying the sight of an aggravated Spock and a humiliated McCoy. Ten days later, he received the message that Pike had died from organ failure. It sounded almost like natural death but that was rather unlikely.
That night he switched on the Tantalus device, watching Spock and McCoy, drinking Romulan ale and smiling over the thought that he'd never told Pike about this device. This was his private show until the day he decided to get rid of Spock and inherit Bones. In his lap, Pike's plaited single tail lay curled, in patient sleep until it could curl around Vulcan signs, adding new words written in blood.
***
Final part: The Collector
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:47 am (UTC)You've take my little prompt and created this exquisite universe around it. Thank you so much
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:51 am (UTC)And your Pike here was scary. Still a sexy bastard, but damn... scary. Love it. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 06:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:46 pm (UTC)Thanks for the feedback!
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 06:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-02 01:56 pm (UTC)And Pike/Kirk is never wrong. In fact, ANY Pike is never wrong. Sigh :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-05 11:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-10-06 06:11 pm (UTC)