Interred
By RC
Summary: Jim took a deep breath. "What are your thoughts on being buried alive?" Len narrowed his eyes. "I'm not going to stick you six feet under just for kicks."
Disclaimer: I don't own them…
Pairings: Dom!McCoy/Sub!Kirk
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: taphephilia (kink for being buried alive), mentions of past child abuse, cannibalism, genocide, and a BDSM relationship, angst, and some hurt/comfort
A/N: I really don't know where the hell this came from, but, it came nevertheless. Also, it's my first attempt at a Star Trek fic, so I'm sorry for any mistakes. And please, if you hate this or find it disgusting, no flames. My ego likes to be happy.
O~o~o~O
Jim was distracted.
Sure, he was often like an ADHD child who had one too many pixie-sticks, but as his doctor, best friend, and Dominant, Len could tell that now was different.
"Something on your mind, Jimmy?" he asked, watching as Jim twirled replicated spaghetti around his fork, his face impassive.
"James."
Jim blinked and looked up at sound of his full name. "Sorry."
Len shook his head. "Don't be. Just tell me what's wrong."
The blonde shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable, which must have been difficult seeing as his ass was still bruised from their earlier punishment session. Jim had failed the Kobayashi Maru the day before and needed badly to be taken out of his head. Usually, a flogging and a bout of rough sex was enough to help him, but he still appeared to be restless.
Jim took a beep breath, setting his fork of uneaten spaghetti down. "What are you thoughts on being buried alive?"
Len pushed aside his plate, focusing all his attention on his young Submissive. "Premature burial hasn't happened since the early twentieth century, Jimmy. It's not something you need to worry about."
"I'm not worried about it," Jim said quietly. "I've just been thinking about it a lot, and… it excites me."
"Excites you?" Len was surprised, as he often was around Jim Kirk. Having been the boy's Dominant for nearly three years, he knew most of his kinks. He knew Jim had serious father issues, and enjoyed mentally acting like he was Len's child, happy to sit on the older man's lap, play with his red cadet uniform, and call him daddy. He knew Jim also had a slight medical kink, and Len more than happy to assert his medical dominance. He loved Jim, loved protecting and possessing him, making him feel the wonderful blend of pleasure and pain, but being buried alive? That was a little much, even for adrenaline junkie James T. Kirk.
"Jim, that sort of thing is dangerous."
Jim sat up straighter, his unnatural blue eyes bright with excitement. "Think about it, Bones!"
Len narrowed his eyes. "I am thinking about it, kid, and it's not safe. I'm not going to stick you six feet under just for kicks."
"I'm not talking about sticking me in a hole and leaving me there, Bones," Jim said. "I mean like…a scene."
A scene? It wasn't like it hadn't been done before, but Jim had always had a preoccupation with death, putting his life on the line to save others, with no regard for his own safety. Having grown up without his biological father, an absent mother, an abusive stepfather, and surviving the genocide on Tarsus IV, Jim needed someone to care for him, and over the years, Len had become someone Jim could trust. Len didn't want to betray that trust by putting his foot down on something Jim clearly wanted, but at the same time, Jim didn't know his limits. If this burial scene wasn't carried out safely, Jim could get himself killed.
Len wouldn't let that happen.
"I'll think about it," Len said honestly, watching the relief flash across Jim's face. "I really will, Jimmy. Just…eat your pasta, dammit!"
Jim smirked and raised the fork to his mouth.
O~o~o~O
Jim wearily punched in the code to the room he and Bones shared, wiping sweat out of his eyes, wincing as the sore muscles in his arms protested. Advanced hand-to-hand combat seemed like a good idea, but after three hours of one of the most intense workouts Jim had ever experienced, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and cuddle with Bones, falling asleep as his lover told stories about life in Georgia.
Bones, clearly, had other things planned.
Jim hadn't even entered the last number when Bones opened the door, a scowl plastered on his face. "Get the hell in here," he growled.
Jim blinked, confused. Usually when Bones got mad it was because Jim had done something stupid that almost cost him his life or because he was talking to his ex-wife. But as far as he could recall, he hadn't done anything stupid, and Jocelyn hadn't made contact in months.
"I said get the hell in here!" Bones grabbed Jim by the lapel on his coat, pulling him into the room, the door slamming shut. "We need to talk about you fucking up the Kobayashi sim."
Jim froze. "I thought you said it wasn't a big deal."
Bones laughed. "Not a big deal, my ass! You're James Tiberius Kirk, for fuck's sake! You've survived everything from a step-daddy who touched you wrong to the biggest massacre of the twenty-third century, and you couldn't even beat a fucking computer sim!"
"Bones…"
"Don't you 'Bones' me, James Kirk. I was attracted to you because you were fucking brilliant, but now that I've had time to think about what happened the other day, hell, I'm not sure if you're worth it anymore."
Jim didn't know whether he wanted to cry or scream. "Bones, please, just don't okay? Just–the hell? Let go, you're hurting me!"
Bones had grabbed Jim's sore arm, pulling him close, so that Jim could see the anger in his eyes. "You're a fucking failure, Kirk."
Jim cried out as Bones jabbed him painfully in the neck with what he assumed with a hypo. "Bones…?" he mumbled, the world dimming around him.
Bones' eyes were now gentle, his arms supporting Jim as he lost balance, blinking rapidly, and fighting the effects of the drug.
"I'm sorry, darlin'," Bones whispered in Jim's ear, as everything went dark.
O~o~o~O
The first thing Jim was aware of was the ticking of a clock.
The second thing Jim was aware of was that he wasn't sure whether he opened his eyes or not it was so dark.
Third, he realized he couldn't move his arms, at all.
And, when trying to wiggle himself into a sitting position, his head collided with something wooden, forcing him again on his back.
"Shit, fuck," Jim muttered.
O~o~o~O
Len heard the dull thump.
"He's awake," Mathis, the Dungeon Master, announced.
"I know." Len questioned whether or not tying Jim's erotic interring was a good idea. He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing as he heard Jim curse.
"He'll be alright," Mathis reassured his gently. "He's got a safeword. He's got two hours. Let's see how he does."
Len surveyed the dungeon room he and Mathis had converted to cater Jim's burial fetish. The room has once had a pool, so a section was blocked off so Jim's pine coffin would fit, 600 pounds worth of packing peanuts six feet above the coffin. Both Len and the dungeon master were seated above the pool near the ladder, listening intently for a safeword if Jim chose to use it. To increase the excitement, Mathis, a Dom of the BDSM community for over twenty years, and programmed his PADD to tick like an old grandfather clock while it counted down the two hours Len had given Jim to free himself.
Jim wanted to experience being buried alive, to give up complete control to the point where Len wouldn't be able to save him. Len understood his Sub's need to work through the feelings of doubt and failure in his head, but wished for what felt like the millionth time that an expensive psychiatrist could have helped him through his issues.
He can safeword out any time he wants, Len reminded himself. He wanted this. Give him a chance, the kid always finds a way to surprise you.
Len must have looked worried, for Mathis turned to his, his face serious. "Leonard, we're both experienced enough to know when to pull him out if we need to. And we've got that room right down the hall with all your medical equipment. Your Sub will be fine."
"I hope to God he is."
O~o~o~O
Jim's eyes didn't adjust to the dark, even after several minutes. Lifting up his head carefully, he tried to judge how much space he had. Not a lot, but it was enough. Three days ago, Jim thought being buried alive was the greatest idea ever. Now, not so much. The panic was beginning to set in, and Jim struggled not to hyperventilate.
He tugged his arms, frustrated when they wouldn't budge, but the jingle of the straps let him know he was wearing a straight jacket. Straight jackets were elemental when one was conscious when they were being put on, but the limited room of the coffin and the tight straps limited his options.
Making his decision, Jim arched and turned, his left shoulder colliding with the coffin top. Hissing, Jim repeated the move, biting back a scream as a loud pop and a sharp pain told him his shoulder was dislocated. Panting, he forced himself to move lower in the coffin, give his arms more room.
"Motherfucker!" Jim tried to maneuver his arm through the now slackened sleeve, gritting his teeth and trying not to use up too much oxygen against the pain. Ignoring the pins-and-needles feeling in his left hand, Jim fumbled with the internal straps, wriggling around, flinching every time his dislocated shoulder was jostled. His efforts weren't in vain, eventually he felt the coarse fabric give, one arm completely free. Jim twisted himself into almost a sit-up position, using his teeth to bite part of the fabric while he wiggled his arm out, letting out a harsh laugh as both of his limbs came free. Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to release it slowly, Jim raised his arms over his head, yelling as his injured arm protested, but several deep breaths and painful writhing later, Jim had successfully freed his arms from the jacket.
O~o~o~O
Straight jackets are usually so easy, Jim lamented, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain in his arm. He knew that he should be trying to conserve air, but that was easier said than done. He wasn't beginning to panic, no, Jim Kirk was above panic, but between the pain and the emotional turmoil that internally tormenting him, breathing was becoming hard.
"I'm not sure if you're worth it anymore," Bones had snarled. No, Bones couldn't really mean that. He promised Jim that he'd never leave, that he'd always take care of him. Did failing the Kobayashi Maru really make Jim so worthless?
He closed his eyes, his mind wandering from the coffin to the arid wasteland that was Tarsus IV. The once beautiful planet, tainted with the blood of the innocent, the unworthy, 4,000 people who Kodos had slaughtered so that 4,000 others could live.
"Jim!" Sam shouted from within the forest. "Jimmy, get back here!"
"No!" The determined twelve year old ran forward, tripping over rocks and lose soil, his weak and famished body struggling with the effort. "We can't leave Kevin!"
Sam sprinted, abandoning his hiding place. "Jimmy, you're going to get yourself killed!"
Jimmy stumbled, falling face first into the dirt, coughing, as his other brother caught up to him, pulling his arm and dragging him backwards. "Do you have a death wish? Come on!"
"They're gonna kill him, Sam!" Jimmy struggled, kicking out against Sam's hold. "He's only seven!"
Sam shoved Jimmy into forest, urging him to run, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that they weren't being followed. Kodos' army, the bastards, had discovered the hiding place of the Kirk brothers and young Kevin Riley, the only child of the small Tarsus village who had listened when Jimmy had announced that Kodos was going to kill them all. Jimmy was determined to pass through several more villages, collecting as many orphaned children as he could, saving them from slaughter. Jimmy and Sam had run, but Kevin, his body smaller and despite the scarce food Jimmy had give him, wasn't strong enough to keep him. The soldiers had captured him, and his fate was worse than death.
Jimmy didn't want him to die.
"Jimmy! Come on!" Sam pushed him hard, forcing him deeper into the trees. "They're going to kill him, there's nothing you can do. He'd want you to save yourself."
Jimmy stopped running, angrily facing his brother, not used to seeing the bones protruding from his face. "They're gonna eat him, Sam!"
"Desperate times call for desperate measures, James," Sam snapped, pushing him again. "They're just as hungry as we are. There's nothing you can do, Jimmy, so just move, please, before you get us both killed."
"I don't believe that!" Jimmy turned, running back toward the field. "We can't let those monsters hurt him, Sam! Please, let me try to help!"
Sam's eyes flashed angrily, his hand colliding with Jimmy's face. Jimmy gasped in pain, shocked. Never before had his brother hit him. That was always Frank, in one of his drunken rages, or Winona, when Jimmy was reminding her too much of her dead husband.
"Sam, we need to try and help."
"No." Sam grabbing his brother's arm, sharp nails digging into the skin, pulling him back into the woods. "He was going to die anyway, Jimmy. We're going, now."
Jimmy sucked in a breath, his thoughts haunted by the image of his friend, the little boy who felt like a younger brother, screaming as the soldiers grabbed him, a sharp knife digging into the boy's thigh, smiling as the muscle was revealed, the muscle that the soldiers would soon consume to starve off their own hunger.
The memory left Jim shaking. He never forgot Kevin, the face haunted his nightmares and always racked him with guilt. Unconsciously, Jim knew he wouldn't have been able to save Kevin, but Sam preventing him from having a change angered him. He didn't like failing, letting people down. If Jim had found more food for Kevin, hadn't run so fast, stayed farther from the open field, maybe Kevin would still be alive.
He shuddered, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Jim lifted his legs up, pushing up against the lid of the coffin. It flexed, but not much. Sucking in another large gulp of air, he tried again, his abused shoulder smarting as it was pushed into the unforgiving wood. But this time, the wood gave, cracking loudly, a rush of what felt like packing peanuts suffocating him, the physical sensation bringing him back to…
…That dilapidated farmhouse, with the peeling pain, broken shutters, and rotten steps. Six year old Jimmy sat inside on a threadbare carpet, his tiny hands wrapped around a starship toy, his imagination taking him inside the bridge, where he was donned in the regal command gold, staring out across the vast expanse of stars, making his father smile down at him from Heaven, his mother's eyes would finally have tears of pride and not shame, and…
CRACK! Jimmy dropped the toy, kicking it away, running from the room, knowing what that sound meant…
A beer bottle soared passed his head, colliding into the wall behind him. Jimmy whimpered, eyes widening in fear as the massive frame of his drunken stepfather stepped into the kitchen.
Frank had his hand wrapped tight around Jimmy's throat, the boy gagging, unable to fight off the stronger man.
"Mom…" Jimmy choked.
"Mommy won't save you, you useless piece of shit!" Frank's eyes gleamed, drinking in Jimmy's soft noises of pain. He dropped the boy to the ground, smiling at he gasped for air, kicking the small body as he walked away…
Jim heard someone crying, someone crying out. He didn't realize it was him, until his head smashed into the broken coffin lid. "Get me out of here!" he screamed, hands pushing desperately upward, bloodied from beating them against the wood. "Just let me die! Please, God, just let me die…"
O~o~o~O
"Jesus!" Len didn't hesitate. He was out of his seat; Mathis close behind him, climbing down the ladder frantically, shoving aside the coffin lib, revealing a hardly conscious Jim.
"God, Jim." Len pushed aside his panic, gathering his incoherent Sub in his arms, mindful of the dislocated shoulder.
"Bones?" Jim's voice was barely audible.
"Yeah?" With Mathis' help, Len maneuvered Jim out of the pool, ordering for the other man to signal the anti-grav lift he had prepared earlier.
Jim's head lolled to the side, his eyes glazed and unfocused. "Jus' leave me," he mumbled. "Jus' let me die."
"Don't say such things, darlin'," Len said sharply, lifting the boy onto the anti-grav lift, checking the pulse of his injured arm, noting that his skin was cool and clammy. Shit. Len peeled back Jim's drooping eyelids, checking his pupils. "Honey, stay with me, okay? Don't fall asleep." He directed the anti-grav lift toward the room he and Mathis had prepared earlier, helping Jim onto the bio-bed while Mathis set up the breathing mask.
"I deserve to die," Jim slurred while Len gently administered a painkiller directly into the torn shoulder. "I failed that sim, Bones. All those people, dead because of me."
Len fitted the mask over his Sub's nose and mouth, hoping maybe it would keep him quiet. But the damn fool kept talking. "They were all counting on me, and I let them down. Jus' like Kevin."
Len handed the dermal regenerator over to Mathis, who got to work mending the torn skin on Jim's hands. "You listen to me, James," Len ordered. "You do not deserve to die just because you failed the Kobayashi Maru. Jim, Jim, stay with me a moment longer, darlin', I need to fix your shoulder."
Mathis returned the regenerator to the med kit. "I'll keep him steady."
Len nodded. "Darlin', Mathis, you know Mathis, the Dungeon Master at Fetish? He's gonna keep you still while I pop you're shoulder back in, okay?"
Jim nodded and Mathis tightened his grip on the boy's torso. Len arranged his Sub's arm in a resting position, glancing at Mathis and Jim's unfocused blue eyes. Slowly, he bent Jim's arm, coaxing the shoulder back into the joint. Jim flinched, and Len was worried that he hadn't shown more of a reaction. Mathis released his hold, smiling softly at Len before leaving the room, closing the door in his wake.
Len sighed, rotating Jim's arm around more, reaching for the still clammy wrist, feeling for himself the pulse that signed that Jim was alive, wasn't really dead six feet under. Len brushed his fingers across Jim's pallid face, adjusting the oxygen mask as he went.
"You with me, Jimmy?" Len asked, resting a hand on the blonde's cool forehead.
Jim blinked sluggishly. "…Yeah."
"Ssh, darlin', take your time."
Jim closed his eyes, breathing in the oxygen through the mask. Len took the opportunity to consult the vital signs above the bed. Jim's blood pressure was way too low, pulse rapid and weak, and his breathing still shallow.
"You're doing so much better, darlin', just keep breathing for me, alright? I'm setting you up with an old-fashioned IV, just a light sedative and epinephrine. Keep your eyes closed, darlin', and relax. It's okay. I'll make this okay."
Jim's breathing deepened, the sedative kicking in as his mentally and physically exhausted body dropped into unconsciousness. The doctor pressed a kiss to Jim's forehead, before sliding into the chair beside the bed, his head cradled in his hands. Jesus Christ, he and Jim had a lot to talk about.
TBC