Disclaimer: Ingen.
Warnings! Serious Warnings! Really!: Profanity, sexual situations including masturbation, sexual violence, and other sensitive themes. As well as bucket-loads of crazy. Dark. Please use discretion.
If anyone thinks I need to up the rating, please let me know.
Also, features Detective!SpockandBones. Because I watch too many movies.
Also, kind of cliche.
Also, long. Like, really long.
AN: You know, "lovely" used to be one of my favourite words. Then I had to go and ruin it for myself. This one's... weird. Bad weird. I'm really not happy with it, but I've read it over so many times trying to figure out how to fix it that it's lost all meaning to me and is now just a jumble of words. Damn. I've decided to just post it because if I obsess over it anymore I'll go crazy. So, apologies if it's kind of lackluster. I can't even tell anymore.
Working on a follow-up piece for this focusing less on hurt and more on comfort.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Lovely
The first time Stewart sees Captain James Tiberius Kirk is a little bit like the first time he fucked a girl, or his first snowfall (when the world was soft and white and clean), or like the first drag off of a cigarette. Like for just a moment, just one instant, everything in the universe was perfect.
He's been transferred onto the Enterprise less than a week, when the captain comes swaggering into the botany labs.
Stewart's heard the rumours of course. About how the captain was a hero and a womanizer and a rebel. He's overheard a few of the female scientists giggling about his good-looks, and a couple of the male ones, too. But none of that really compares to the first time Jim walks into the room.
It's like someone tore down the hull of the Enterprise to let the sun shine through. Stewart feels his breath catch in his throat.
The captain makes his way through the lab slowly, stopping to talk to everybody he passes, going over their work and making sure he leaves them all with smiles on their faces. His first officer, the Vulcan, trails behind him with his hands clasped behind his back.
Stewart tries hard to focus on his work, carefully dissecting the spidery leaf of the Elysion Moon Lily, but he keeps sneaking glances at the captain. Eventually his scalpel slips and severs the plant, silvery-white sap leaking out and spilling slowly over the table.
Cursing under his breath, Stewart reaches for another sample, and knocks over a potted flosculus nivosus.
An unexpected hand darts out and catches the ceramic pot just before it can shatter upon the floor.
Smiling, Captain Kirk hands Stewart the plant.
"Careful," He says kindly. "These things are pretty slippery."
Stewart reaches out with shaking hands to take it from him. He sees for the first time up close how blue the captain's eyes are, staring into his with utter confidence.
"I'm Captain Jim Kirk," the man introduces himself unnecessarily. "You must be one of the new transfers, I haven't seen you around."
It takes Stewart a moment to realize he's supposed to introduce himself then, and he blushes and flounders. "I'm Stewart. Uh, Dr. Stewart Jude, that is. Nice to meet you. Uh, captain. Sir."
Kirk grins and waves a dismissive hand. His smile is lovely and earnest. Stewart counts the perfect white teeth in the flash that he sees them, studying the way the captain's pink lips pull over them.
"Don't bother with the 'sir' stuff," Kirk says cheerfully. "You can call me Jim."
"Um, alright, sir. I mean--" Stewart fumbles.
Kirk laughs, but the sound contains no malice and instead falls like music on the air. "So, Dr. Jude, what are you working on over here?"
"Elysion Moon Lilies, sir-- sorry, Jim," He adds quickly at the slip. Kirk shakes his head and waves for him to continue. "And this one here's a flosculus nivosus, from Gamma VIII."
Kirk makes a noise of interest as he looks at the curling leaves. "So, what's it do?" He asks with curiosity.
"Um, nothing, really, sir. Jim." Stewart says sheepishly. "At least, not that we've been able to figure out."
"But," He adds quickly. "It'll bloom really beautifully if we get it at just the right temperature."
Kirk nods, absorbing the information. "Alright, Dr. Jude, sounds good. I'll confess that I know absolutely shit about plants, but s'long as you guys here in the science department keeping whipping up great stuff it's all good to me. Tell me, doctor, are you enjoying the Enterprise? No problems?"
"Yes, sir. Um, I mean, no, sir. Yes, I'm enjoying it. No, there's no problems." Stewart says in a rush.
Kirk smiles at him gently. "Okay, good. You can come to me if there ever are any issues, or if you just want someone to talk to, alright, doc?"
Stewart nods, tongue twisting up on itself. Kirk clasps a hand on his shoulder and he feels his flesh warm beneath the touch.
Kirk says his goodbyes and moves on down the lab. Stewart watches him go.
His legs feel shaky beneath him, like somebody had snuck up behind him and removed his bones when he wasn't looking, and he has to grab the counter-top to keep from collapsing to the floor.
It's a big ship, so Stewart is a little surprised at how often he sees the captain after that. Kirk seems to be everywhere at once.
He checks in with the science department irregularly, mostly leaving that up to his second-in-command or only stopping by when something really interesting is going on. The times he is there, though, he seems to make a special effort to talk to Stewart.
Stewart can't talk to Jim without blushing. The captain always listens to every word he has to say, and seems genuinely interested in Stewart's opinions.
"I love plants," Stewart confesses one day, and then regrets it immediately because God, what a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to say.
Jim only nods though.
"Sure," The captain says. "I can get that. If there's one thing you botany guys have taught me is that these little buggers can be dead useful at times. I mean, plants are used in medicine and technology and everything in between." He continues, gesturing emphatically with one hand as he gets caught up in his words. Stewart watches, mesmerized.
"Hell, they've even saved my life once or twice before," Jim adds with a chuckle, stroking the fleshy leaf of the aloe caeruleus. It shivers beneath his touch.
Stewart sinks his fingers into the damp soil of the potted Diruvian Sunrise Carnation to hide his quivering hands, ostensibly checking the roots. The nutrient-enriched loam burrows its way beneath his fingernails and clings in the ridges of his skin.
"Plus, they're really beautiful," Stewart says softly, carefully studying the wavy ridges of the carnations. "The flowers, I mean."
His eyes flick up to the captain's. "Really beautiful."
He ducks his head back down to stare at the fire-coloured flowers of the carnation, the way the petals delicately folded back on themselves and wrinkled up into lace.
Jim nods and smiles. "Yeah, they are, aren't they?" He says with a shrug.
He excuses himself and exits. Stewart watches him leave with his mouth bone-dry, swallowing harshly.
It's not just in the labs, either, that Stewart sees Jim. The captain's always walking the Enterprise's halls, or taking his lunch in the mess hall with the rest of his crew, or playing pick-up games in the rec rooms with them. He's always there, always smiling, always eager to listen or give advice or help.
The captain doesn't really have a set-schedule, but Stewart has figured out his habits, a bit. He tries to be in the same room as the captain as often as he can. He eats at around the same time Jim usually does, and he's gotten in the habit of spending time in the rec rooms on the evenings when Jim usually isn't busy with command stuff.
He doesn't really talk to the captain all that much, God no. But he's content to just hover in the peripherals and just witness Kirk's very existence. He's happy enough just watching his little bit of sunshine in the cold, dark trenches of space.
He's moving things around in his quarters one day, trying to find just the right balance of order, when he uncovers his camera. He'd bought it on a strange flash of spontaneity, entertaining the fancy that he'd be able to capture all of the lovely plants he'd discover in the far corners of the universe. The latest commercial technology makes it tiny enough to hide behind his pinky finger.
He scrolls through the camera's memory, looking at the holopics of the long, twisted stalks of the recently-discovered Dawson's Orchids, the close-knit clumps of tiny pink aliquantulus artus, the giant blue flowers with petals like octopi tentacles from Zeta Mu. They're beautiful, so beautiful, each and every one of them. Stewart collects the images like trophies because he doesn't trust his memory, and doesn't want something so lovely to be gone forever.
Stewart hesitates only a moment before glancing at the clock. It's 8:15 on a Wednesday. Barring unforeseen circumstances, the captain would probably be playing chess with Commander Spock in the starboard recreation hall.
Pocketing the camera, Stewart heads in that direction.
Stewart's door is locked and all the lights in his room are off.
Perfect smooth skin, the firm curvature of the muscles just below. Touching, oh how he wants to touch...
He can hear his own breathing in the darkness, harsh and quickening.
The smooth bent neck, soft and delicate, flexing beneath his hands. Blood-filled veins hidden just below the surface, feeling them pulse under his fingers.
Stewart's pupils are dilated, his skin sweating in sticky glistening drops.
Dark spider-webbing of lashes, blue eyes, like Tragodian Roses, wet and bright beneath them.
He scans through the latest holopics, fingers trembling.
The pink lips and warm, wet mouth. Kissing them, feeling you surrender beneath him, bruising the soft flesh with his teeth.
His dark slacks pool at his feet.
Golden hair tousled and messy, darkened with sweat, threading his fingers through it tightly.
Stewart eases his hands downwards and closes his eyes briefly at his own touch.
Rapid breath and sweat beading on your skin, bodies slick, moving faster and faster.
The holopics cast a dull blue glow across his room, his shadow wavering in the phosphorescence.
Stroking, petting, trailing fingers over skin, tracing the outline of collarbones and each rib with his tongue.
He quickens.
And goes harder, harsher, deeper; soft cries from beneath him
Stewart moans lowly.
Quiet whimpers, and the sound of flesh on flesh
He moves faster
and faster
Hands tightening
gripping, digging into yielding flesh, bruising
Lips parted and from deep in his throat there comes
Moaning, crying, screaming, begging
Eyes wide
open looking at him, looking up at him, soulful and liquid and heady
He shudders
and writhes and fights and your back arches and muscles heave
And gasping
breathing, not breathing, choking, tears falling down your face in wet salty stripes tasting each one on his tongue
Quietly
but no one can hear, oh, no one can hear, be as loud as you want, scream out
Stewart
touches you, whispers in your ear that he's loved you all along
Comes
with a harsh cry and you break
His eyes open
He looks at you, can't stop looking at you, you're perfect, oh, so perfect
And then in the darkness
and you are so, so
Everything is
Lovely.
"What's on your mind, Jim?" Bones asks, watching Jim carve canals into his food with his wandering fork.
Jim starts, fork scraping the sides of his replicated steak. "Me? Nothing," He says evenly.
Bones snorts. "Yeah. Sure. Look kid, you've been tensed-up and weird all day. What is it?"
"The doctor is right," Spock adds when Jim remains silent. "You have been not been acting in accordance with your usual character as of late."
Jim sighs, balancing his fork on the edge of his plate. "It's just... do you ever get the feeling somebody's watching you?"
Bones snorts, scraping some vegetables onto Jim's plate, "Jim, you live in an enclosed space with four hundred other people. Of course it feels like somebody's watching you."
"In addition, Jim, you do have a propensity for engaging in activities and behaviours that make you unusually noticeable." Spock points out.
"Mr. Spock," The captain asks, pretending to be affronted. "Are you saying that I'm flashy?"
"He's saying that you stick out like an ass at the derby with all the stunts you pull," Bones says, rolling his eyes. Spock inclines his head in agreement.
Jim laughs, picking his fork back up. "I suppose you're both right," He concedes.
"That said, Jim, your instincts are usually pretty dead-on. Do you really think something's up?" Bones asks.
Jim shakes his head. "Nah. I'm probably just being paranoid."
"You're certain, captain?" Spock questions.
Jim smiles. "Yeah, guys, I'm sure. Don't worry about it."
Jim takes a deep breath of the cold San Francisco air, tasting the ocean on his tongue. The well-timed shore-leave on earth was going to give his crew time to rest and recuperate from the latest series of grueling missions they'd had.
"So, I'll be back here in three days," Bones says, rubbing his hands together in the chill.
"Yes, Bones," Jim agrees.
"You better not do anything stupid between now and then," He continues.
"Yes, Bones," Jim says.
"And wear your jacket. It's fucking cold here. With your luck you'll get pneumonia or hypothermia or delta influenza or frostbite and half your fingers will fall off, and don't think I'm going to be the one to pull you back together again. This is my vacation." Bones adds.
"Bones, I get it." Jim rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to get myself killed just because you're not there to watch me for a couple of days."
"Three days." Bones corrects. "And don't touch anything that even looks like you might be allergic to it."
"Go, Bones," Jim says. "Get on that shuttle and go see your daughter."
"And for God's sake, stay out of any of your ridiculous bar fights. Actually, just stay out of bars and fights altogether." Bones demands.
"I'll be fine. Get going already." Jim reassures. "Seriously. That's an order."
"Don't pull rank with me, kid," Bones grumbles.
"Goodbye, Bones," Jim says patiently, waving his hand. Bones gives him a different gesture. Jim laughs.
He watches the doctor push his way through the crowd, snapping and shoving, before he disappears. Then Jim turns to Spock.
"So, I have to go compare dicks with Starfleet brass for the rest of the afternoon. How about you?" Jim asks.
Spock blinks, once, but chooses to ignore Jim's colloquialisms and says, "I have agreed to meet Nyota for lunch at a restaurant near the ocean that she appears to favor."
"Ah. Well, if you're not opposed to going out twice, maybe we could get together for drinks? I know of a really good bar here. Actually, I know of lots of really good bars here." Jim invites.
"I would not be opposed to such an arrangement." Spock agrees.
"Great." Jim says, stamping his feet in the cold. "Eight o'clock work for you?"
"That would be acceptable," Spock says. "In which establishment would you prefer to convene?"
Jim gives him directions to a bar with a flexible drink menu and they part ways. He watches Spock fade into the crowd and then heads towards his Starfleet debriefing.
As he walks, Jim looks up at the familiar gray sky and smiles.
Jim sighs, rolling his neck in a futile attempt to chase the crick out of it. Some of the assholes in the upper ranks of Starfleet have a real talent for getting on his nerves.
What with his standing as the youngest captain of Starfleet, coupled with his reputation as something of a maverick, Jim is almost used to the scrutiny he and all of his decisions are placed under. Almost. Still, it gets old quickly. Now, after showering off the stench of Starfleet pomp and circumstance and changing into his civvies, he is more than ready to just enjoy the rest of his shore-leave with some good old R&R and time with his friends.
He checks his watch. He has almost three hours before he had to meet Spock.
Just as Jim is deciding how best to kill his time, a voice calls out his name.
"Jim!" He turns towards the noise and sees a man approaching him.
"Hi," The man says with a shy smile. Jim recognizes him as an Enterprise officer in the science department. Jude, his brain supplies.
"Hello," Jim says, politely. "Dr. Jude. Are you enjoying your shore-leave so far?"
"Yes, sir -- I mean, Jim -- thank you." Jude says, face flushed. "Hey, I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to get a drink or something?" Jude asks hesitantly.
Jim pauses. He has pretty firm rules regarding his relationships with his crewmembers. Not to mention, he really isn't that interested.
"Thank you, doctor, for the offer. But I'm afraid as your captain it would be inappropriate." Jim says gently.
"Oh!" Jude says, face blushing darker. "Oh, I didn't mean, I mean, well, no ... just as friends?"
Jim hesitates.
Jude looks at him with timid eyes. Jim feels a pang of sympathy for him. The doctor hasn't been working on the Enterprise for long, it's possible he hasn't really made any friends and didn't have any family on earth that he could visit. The guy was probably just lonely and looking for somebody to share it with.
It was just a friendly drink with a crewmember, what could be the harm?
"Sure," Jim says, smiling. "That'd be fine."
Jude's face breaks out into a grin.
"So," Jim begins when Jude brings back their drinks and slides into the booth across from him. He's requested something relatively non-alcoholic, since he's still planning on drinking with Spock, and picks the pale blue concoction off of the tray as Jude sets it down. "D'you have any family here, doctor?"
Jude shakes his head. "You, uh, can call me Stewart, by the way. Doctor's a little formal." He says.
Jim nods. "Fine by me." He agrees, smiling. Jim takes a long sip of his drink, enjoying the exotic taste, sweet and tart.
"Got anything exciting planned for leave?" Jim asks.
"Not really," Stewart says, studying him. "What about you?"
"Nah, I'm mostly going to trying to avoid the excitement, honestly," Jim responds, taking another swing. "Though with my luck, that's doubtful," He adds with a smile.
Stewart smiles timorously.
The conversation continues slowly, and Jim feels peculiarly light-headed. The colours of the bar are blurring. It's strange. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, and everything lurches.
There wasn't that much alcohol in his drink. Jim knows this, rationally. He tries to focus on the thought and it flutters away from him.
"Jim?" Stewart asks quietly, leaning over the table to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"I..." Jim begins, and his tongue feels heavy. "I'm..."
Stewart's hand doesn't leave his shoulder, but slides up slowly to cup his throat.
"Jim," Stewart whispers hoarsely. "God, you're breath-taking,"
"Wha--" Jim begins, and Stewart's features twist like Jim's looking at his reflection in a funhouse mirror.
Slowly Stewart's hand skims down Jim's chest to rest on the table. Then Stewart gets up, crossing to Jim's side of the booth.
"I think you've had a bit too much," Stewart says kindly, crouching to sling Jim's arm over his shoulder.
"I haven't..." Jim tries but can't get the words to obey him.
"Come on," Stewart commands, straightening up and taking Jim with him. Jim's head lolls back on his shoulder, and Stewart shudders as Jim's breath falls on his skin.
"Don't..." Jim gets out weakly.
"Shh," Stewart says. "Don't worry. Everything's going to be okay," He promises.
Jim stumbles as they walk and the room spins and smudges around him. Stewart is holding him tightly, body warm and close. He tries to pull away but his muscles rebel and his eyes fog up.
Things get darker and dimmer and then there is nothing.
Jim's drugged body is heavy, and Stewart struggles a bit under the weight. He manages to get Jim into a taxi and all the way up the motel room he'd rented earlier, however.
Gently, he lays Jim's sleeping form on the bed, pausing for just a moment and stepping back to admire him. His heart aches at the sight.
Stewart sits on the bed next to Jim, trailing a few fingers lightly down the length of his jaw. Jim's chest rises and falls steadily with every breath, body lax and peaceful. He looks younger when he is asleep, still painfully beautiful. Stewart brushes his fingers back through Jim's hair tenderly.
He crawls onto the bed, swinging his leg over Jim's form so he is straddling him. The captain doesn't stir. His fingers outline the curves of Jim's lips before sliding off to the side, making room for his mouth to descend. Delicately, he presses his lips against Jim's, kissing the soft unresponsive skin.
A low moan escapes from Stewart's mouth and dissolves against Jim's.
Stewart pulls back, eyes closed. His hand glides down Jim's neck, fingers curling under the neckline of his captain's t-shirt.
Pulling Jim's body up to lean against his, he carefully manipulates him out of the shirt. Stewart's breathing shudders to a halt at the sight of the perfectly sculpted muscles and tanned skin. The t-shirt falls to the ground unnoticed and slowly Stewart begins his tactile exploration of every inch of Jim's exposed skin.
After a while, he skims over the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath Jim's jeans and his fingers follow it down, brushing against the denim. Stewart scoots down Jim's legs to give himself room and then slowly, ever so slowly, unbuttons the jeans. Fingers trembling, he slides the zipper down. He pulls Jim's pants down, breath quickening at every new inch of skin that comes into view, until the denims catch on Jim's shoes.
Scrambling off of Jim, Stewart moves to the foot of the bed and unties each shoe, pulling them off and letting them drop to the floor with quiet thumps. He rolls off Jim's socks and then tugs his jeans all the way off.
Stewart stares at the view of perfection in front of him and for a moment forgets to breathe.
Jim is stripped of everything except his underwear, the last barrier. Stewart's hands skim over the last scrap of clothing, desperation in his touch, and then halt.
He draws back, breathing harshly. He wants, he wants so very much to take what he craves right now. But Jim is still sleeping soundly, and Stewart wants to see those blue eyes open beneath him, wants to feel him move, wants to hear whatever lovely noises he will make.
For that he will wait.
Stewart makes sure to secure Jim to the bed, in case he was confused when he woke up and panicked and hurt himself.
They were always confused when they woke up.
Then he steps back from the bed and grabs a chair, turning it to face the sleeping angel in his room. He sinks into the chair with a heavy exhale, settling back to watch.
Eventually, after an eternity or two has passed, he is rewarded with the sight of Jim struggling to wake.
Jim wakes slowly.
His eyelids are glued together and by some strange alchemy his muscles have turned to lead. His mouth is dry and bitter.
There is a high, dull roar in his ears.
God, what did I drink last night?
The coherency feels alien in his mind.
Slowly, Jim peels his eyes open.
The unfamiliar bedroom shivers around him like a dog shaking off water, and he blinks a few times until his vision steadies.
Things are muggy. Jim can't get his mind to steady. He closes his eyes again and they stay down.
The mattress shifts as someone settles on it, and Jim is aware of a presence just above him. He can feel the warmth of their body heat and the brush of their skin. He can't seem to make his own body obey him.
Unfamiliar fingers graze down his sides, feather-light, and then slide beneath the elastic of his underwear. The hands hook beneath the fabric and pull it down, fingernails scraping lightly across his thighs. His legs are lifted slightly to release the material and then Jim is completely naked.
Another sudden shift of the mattress and the presence is gone.
Sweat breaks out on his bare skin, cooling in the air.
Jim forces his eyes open.
He's lying on a bed, stripped of everything except its bottom sheet. Jim tries to heave himself into sitting and is stopped by sudden pressure on his wrists. He looks to the sides. He's handcuffed to the headboard. Jim gives an experimental tug and the handcuffs rattle but don't give an inch. The flesh on his wrists sinks into valleys beneath the metal from his pulling.
Jim almost wishes he hadn't opened his eyes.
Craning his neck, head heavy, he looks around the room. Someone is standing in the shadows at the foot of the bed, watching him.
"Dr. Jude," Jim says hoarsely, the words like glass and gravel in his throat. "What are you doing?"
Jude says nothing but takes a step closer to the bed. He's clutching a piece of dark blue cloth in his hands, which Jim recognizes as the boxer briefs he put on that morning. His fingers are lightly working the material. Jim can hear him breathing from here.
Goose pimples break out over his skin.
Jim's Oh-Shit meter is extremely accurate, and right now it's reading off the charts.
Shit, he thinks. Oh, shit.
"Oh, god, Jim," Jude breathes out, pupils engorged. "I know you probably hear this all the time, but you're beautiful."
Jim stares. Clearing his throat, he says gently, "Dr. Jude -- Stewart -- Where am I?"
Stewart moves even closer, his head bowed, but slowly he looks up and stares at Jim beseechingly.
"I've loved you for so long. It feels like forever." He confesses in a rush, cheeks pink. "Ever since I first saw you. You were so nice to me."
Jim swallows hard.
"A lot of times," Stewart continues. "People aren't very nice to me. They can be... cruel." His fingers tighten on Jim's underwear, knuckles white. "That's why I like flowers. Because they're beautiful and helpful and they never hurt you."
"But you, Jim" Stewart says, eyes raking over Jim's naked form. Jim can feel his skin crawl. Oh, God. "You're lovelier than any flower."
"I watched you, you know. On the ship. I was wherever you were. I followed you around and I witnessed what I had always known... you are perfect, Jim. You're so pretty and kind and brave. How could I not fall in love with you?" Stewart asks. Jim's throat is dry.
Stewart was watching him. Following him. On his own ship. In his home. The one place in the entire universe Jim always feels he is safe.
Turns out he isn't.
"Stewart," Jim says, licking his dry lips. "You need to let me out of these handcuffs. Right now," He says firmly but softly. "You've kidnapped a starship captain. That's a serious offense. But I can help you out if you... if you just let me go."
Stewart stiffens. "I haven't committed any offense. I love you, Jim."
"Stewart," Jim says. "Look, I think there's been some confusion. I'm sorry, but since I'm your captain I'm afraid I can't... I can't have a relationship with you. It wouldn't be appropriate. I would be," Jim chokes. "taking advantage of you."
"Just... just let me out of these cuffs and maybe we can discuss this, Stewart," Jim says, when Stewart stays silent, just watching him. "Just let me out, please."
"I think," Stewart answers slowly. "If I let you out you'll run. They always run. You're confused, Jim."
Jim shakes his head frantically. "I'm not confused. I just think that it'd be better if I wasn't tied down right now. I won't run," Jim promises, thinking, goddammit, yes I will run, you crazy freak, I will run so fast.... "You don't run away from the people you love, right? And you don't chain them up, either."
Stewart smiles when Jim says "love." For an instant, Jim thinks he's going to let him go, but then he shakes his head.
"Oh, Jim," Stewart says softly. "Let's just have this night together. Just this night, and then in the morning we can both go far, far away from here. We can both be free."
Jim can think of a lot of things he'd rather do than spend the night with Stewart. Sticking his head in a wood-chipper and eating hot coals are both higher on the list.
"I can't leave," Jim points out. "I have duties to my ship, you know. I'm captain. Your captain. Your superior."
Stewart waves his hand dismissively. "You can leave your ship for me."
The thought of leaving the Enterprise is sharp and acidic.
"No." He grinds out. "No, I can't, Stewart."
Stewart pauses, and his eyes narrow. Then he walks over to the head of the bed and sits down on the edge softly. One hand snakes out and rests lightly on Jim's bare chest. Jim flinches beneath the touch.
"We'll worry about that in the morning," Stewart says decisively. "Things will be different in the morning."
His hand slides downward.
"Don't touch me," Jim snaps. Stewart's hand stills.
"As your captain I order to let me go!" Jim yells, sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Stewart's fingernails sink into the skin of Jim's stomach.
"No," Stewart says softly. "No, Jim, I can't let you go."
His hand resumes its downward course and Jim flips.
"Get your hands off of me, you sick fuck!" He cries out, bucking upwards. "Let me go!"
Stewart lurches up and backhands Jim across the mouth, snapping his head around and driving the side of his face into the mattress. Jim blinks in shock.
"You love me, Jim," Stewart says angrily. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Because you're a crazy freak who's kidnapped me!" Jim cries.
Stewart shakes his head violently, standing up. "I'm not crazy. I love you."
"Well, I don't love you, you bastard!" Jim gasps. "And you need to untie me and let me the fuck go!"
Stewart stills at Jim's words. "I can't let you go Jim. God, you're too beautiful to let go."
Stewart kneels on the bed and then swings one leg over Jim's torso, straddling him. His clothes scrape against Jim's naked skin. Both of his hands slide up to either side of Jim's face and his fingers knit into his hair.
Jim's eyes widen. "Please," He tries softly, switching directions. Stewart's weight is heavy on him. "Please let me go."
Stewart laughs softly. "Oh, Jim. No. I can't ever let you go."
And then Jim throws his head back and screams.
"Help me! Somebody help me!" He cries out. "Help! Some crazy fucker's kidnapped me and I--"
Stewart slams an open palm over Jim's mouth, silencing him. His fingers cover Jim's mouth and nose and stay there and after a while Jim can't breathe, oh god, he can't breathe...
Jim's eyes dart around frantically, fingers scrabbling in the air and body heaving. Stewart eases his hand up only to curl it into a fist and punch Jim in the jaw.
"Be quiet!" He hisses. "Shut up!"
Jim falls back, head dizzy, gasping. The handcuffs rattle quietly.
Stewart yanks the discarded top sheet off of the floor, tearing strips off of it. He crumples one into a ball and shoves it into Jim's mouth.
Jim gags as the wad of fabric hits the back of his throat, choking. Stewart grabs another length of cloth and wraps it around Jim's head tightly. The fabric pulls in the corner of his mouth, chapped lips splitting.
Jim squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on just breathing through his nose, trying to calm his panic. The impromptu gag feels like it's slithering down the back of his throat, strangling him.
"You have to be quiet," Stewart repeats, desperately.
Reaching one quivering hand out, Stewart strokes the side of Jim's face. Jim follows the motion with wide terrified eyes and tries to pull away, but there's no where to go.
"I love you, Jim. You'll see." Stewart repeats, and then he bends down, kissing the curve where Jim's shoulder meets his throat. "I've loved you all along."
Spock sits motionless at the bar, resisting the urge to check the time again. He knows, logically, that very little time can have passed between now and when he last looked at the clock.
He stares at the mostly-untouched glass of water in front of him. The first time Jim had invited him for drinks, Spock had been reluctant. But Jim has taught him that "going for drinks" is, in fact, less about the drinks and more about spending time in the company of friends.
Of course, it helps if said friends are actually there with him. Jim, on the other hand, is nearly an hour late.
Once again, Spock tries to contact Jim's communicator. Once again, no one answers.
Spock resists the impulse to sigh.
"Looks like you've been stood up, buddy," The bartenders says sympathetically, collecting glasses from the bar top. "How 'bout one on the house?" He offers.
Spock shakes his head.
"No, thank you." He declines, dropping a few credits on the bar and rising from his seat.
The bartender shrugs. "Suit yourself."
Spock exits the bar into the cold San Francisco night, reflexively pulling his coat tighter. He catches the bus back to the Academy, where the Enterprise crew is currently boarding for their shore-leave.
Spock enters his quarters, flicking on the lights. He shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up neatly. Crossing to the replicator, he makes himself a cup of tea and then grabs a PADD, resigning himself to accomplishing some paperwork.
Spock sets his communicator down carefully on the coffee table, and then spends the next several hours alternating between refusing to look at it while irrationally hoping for Jim to call and attempting to contact the captain himself, only to receive no response.
Emotions, such as anger and frustration and hurt and rejection, attempt to well up within him, but Spock buries them back down before they can fully form.
It is anomalous for the captain to both miss their pre-determined meeting and then decline to contact Spock with a response. Another emotion, worry, begins to spread its fledgling wings, and Spock lets this one rise to the surface.
Finally, his tea cold, Spock snatches the communicator off the table with more force than is technically necessary.
He hesitates just a moment, before making his decision and contacting the person most likely to give him the answers he needs.
"What do you want?" McCoy's voice is gruff.
"Dr. McCoy," Spock greets. "Has Captain Kirk contacted you about any unexpected changes in his plans?"
McCoy pauses.
"No. Why?" He asks suspiciously.
"The captain and I had a prior engagement," Spock explains. "We were expected to meet approximately four hours ago. However, the captain never arrived. He also has not responded to his communicator."
McCoy swears loudly, and then says hesitantly, "Something could have come up..."
"True," Spock acknowledges.
"I mean, it's Jim." The doctor continues. "Something always comes up..."
"Yes," Spock agrees patiently.
"It's entirely possible he got distracted by something shiny." McCoy says.
"It is possible." Spock grants.
"Jim's a big boy. He's only a few hours late, you said? I mean, come on. It's not like we all need to panic just because a grown man skips his date with his alien pal, is it?" McCoy rationalizes. Spock waits.
"Dammit, something's wrong, isn't it? I mean, it's Jim." McCoy bursts out in exasperation.
"There is a possibility that something is amiss," Spock says.
"Of course there is." McCoy growls.
"Okay, look," The doctor sighs. "Try and call the rest of the bridge crew and see if anybody's seen him. Hopefully we'll find out he's knee-deep in strippers and booze and we'll get to be thoroughly laughed at and mocked. I'll meet you at his quarters, okay?"
"I would have expected your shuttle to have arrived in Georgia, already, doctor," Spock says, surprised.
"Yeah, well, turns out some morons called in a bomb threat and no shuttles are entering or leaving until it's all sorted out. Lucky me." McCoy snorts derisively. "I'll see you in half an hour."
"Agreed, doctor." Spock says. The communicator shuts off with a hiss.
Half an hour later, Spock and Bones shut the door to Jim's residence, having thus far been unsuccessful in their search.
"Well, he's clearly not here," Bones grumbles. "But no surprise really. When are things ever easy with Jim?"
Spock chooses not to answer that question.
"It's like he's disappeared off the fucking planet. Nobody's seen him since his meeting with the Starfleet high muckety-mucks. I would've expected him to be getting into some high-profile trouble by now." Bones says.
"It does seem out of character for Jim not to be socializing with his crew," Spock muses.
"Guess we're just going to have to start combing the city," McCoy states, rubbing his temples. "Call everybody again and see if they've stumbled upon him. Make sure they know to contact you or me if they come across anything."
Spock obliges.
After a brief round of communication, the two still have no new information. The rest of the bridge crew, however, are each becoming more unsettled as they hear Spock and McCoy's worry.
"Starfleet's not going to do anything until he's been missing at least a day," Bones points out. "And besides, we don't really want to pull out the big guns until we know for sure something's wrong, lest we get all our asses in trouble."
"I believe your next suggestion was to "comb the city," doctor?" Spock says.
"Yeah, c'mon. I know most of Jim's usual haunts from his academy days. We'll start there." Bones strides off, muttering something unsavoury under his breath, and Spock follows.
Jim is fighting and thrashing but Stewart's body is draped across him, pressed against his naked skin, and the angles are all wrong and Jim can't get any leverage. His joints feel like their pulling out of their sockets as he pulls against the handcuffs.
Stewart's skimming down Jim's throat with his wet open mouth, fingers digging into Jim's hips.
Muffled cries work their way out around Jim's gag, the only remnants of his shouted curses and screams. His throat is hoarse.
Stewart slides downward, his tongue tracing down the length of Jim's sternum. He reaches one hand up and scratches down Jim's chest, fingernails nicking the skin above his rapidly-beating heart. He brushes a thumb over Jim's nipple, moaning as the sensitive skin tautens in response.
Jim's spine curves as his back arches upwards, chest heaving. His wrists are bleeding by now, he can feel the tacky warmth dripping in itchy streaks down his arms.
Stewart's tongue glides over Jim's stomach and then further down, tracing the edge of Jim's ilium through his skin.
Jim freezes.
Stewart's hands slide over his thighs, resting in the shallow dip where his legs blend into his groin.
Jim wills Stewart not go any further, wishes on the name of every star he can think of for Stewart to turn to stone or for his fingers to fall off or for him to choke on his tongue and die right here and now.
Stewart looks up and smiles at Jim, eyes wide and tender and insane.
His fingers move.
Jim screams through the gag and the sound dies away into nothing.
The third bar they go to, they strike gold.
"Oh, yeah, the captain?" Ensign Richards says, listing slightly to the right, more than a little drunk. "Yeah, he was in here a few hours ago, with what's-his-name, that one guy."
"Jude." Dr. Ferria pipes up. "I work with him in the botany labs. Bit of a weirdo, that one."
"Kirk and this Jude, they were in here? Drinking? When was this?" Bones snaps, eyes bright with the new information.
"Uh... I dunno," Richards says, shrugging. "Lessee.. they were in here before we were, and we got here, at, uh... around 5:30? Maybe? They both left though, ages ago."
"Did they leave together?" Spock asks.
Richards shrugs again. "Dunno. I didn't see, uh, sir. Not really surprised though, if they did, I mean. Jude's got like this major thing for the captain, you know?"
"Major," Ferria agrees with a decisive nod.
McCoy runs a hand through his hair, leaving it ruffled. "Anything else you two little fountains of knowledge can tell us?"
"Uh, not really..." Richards says. Ferria shakes her head.
"Thank you," Spock says firmly, and he and Bones exit the bar back into the bright city night.
"So this Jude guy," Bones asks as they walk. "Know anything about him?"
"I believe they are referring to a Dr. Stewart Jude, head of the botany labs in the science department," Spock says. "We have met a few times, though he has not been stationed aboard the Enterprise for very long. A few months, perhaps."
Bones nods. "Right, okay. Well, it looks like he's all we've got to work with for now, so let's track him down."
"Doctor," Spock says, hesitating. "Do you believe the captain and Dr. Jude are engaging in a... relationship? It would be a logical conclusion, based on the evidence."
Bones snorts, raising an eyebrow to look at Spock. "Jim has a pretty strict policy when it comes to sleeping with his subordinates. Not to. It goes against the Great Kirk Moral Code, you know."
Spock nods, processing. "Indeed."
"Yeah, indeed, you pointed-eared hobgoblin. Now c'mon. We've still got to haul his ass out of whatever mess he's managed to get into," McCoy says, heading off towards the Academy.
Obtaining the location of Dr. Jude's quarters is easy enough, but it's obvious the man isn't there when they arrive. Still, they let themselves in, examining the apartment.
"Dammit," Bones whispers under his breath as he studies the empty room. He slams the side of a clenched fist into the sofa.
Spock ignores the outburst and strides across the room to the computer.
After telling it the proper sequence of access codes he orders, "Computer. Pull up recent financial records for Dr. Stewart Jude of the Starship Enterprise."
Bones raises an eyebrow at him from across the room.
"Can you do that?" He asks curiously. "Is that even legal?"
"Starfleet protocol permits certain measures to be taken when it comes to protecting the welfare of its captains." Spock answers primly. He scans the list of purchases that show up, raising an eyebrow at one of the latest ones.
"It appears that Dr. Jude has rented a motel room in the San Francisco area," Spock says, voice heavy with interest.
"Really?" Bones asks, crossing the room to peer over Spock's shoulder. He makes a curious noise in his throat. "You think he's staying there?"
"I believe it would be sensible to investigate the location." Spock answers.
"Well, alrighty then," Bones says. "Let's go, kemosabe."
They go.
Jim's eyes are closed.
His fingernails have carved bloody falcate wounds into his palms and his hands are squeezed so tightly into fists he doesn't think he can unclench them. His chest shudders with each quick, harsh breath.
Stewart climbs upward and straddles Jim's torso, resting a gentle hand on his face.
"Jim," He calls softly, and then Stewart's fingers dig into his jaw until his eyes snap open. He smiles gently at him. "That's better. You have such pretty eyes."
Jim glares.
Stewart laughs deep in his throat. He settles back, his weight shifting on Jim's stomach and fuck, Jim was nauseas already.
Stewart is done touching him, it seems. The man draws back off of Jim.
Jim seizes his chance.
He kicks out. His foot snaps up, catching under Stewart's jaw hard enough to whip his head upwards. The botanist stumbles back with a cry, hand going to his chin.
"Fuck!" Stewart rages. He turns on Jim, eyes bright with fury. "You little fuck!"
Stewart lunges for a lamp resting on a table by the bed, grabbing it by the base and yanking it hard enough to pull the cord out of its socket, the room abruptly dimming.
Stewart hefts the lamp up and then slams it into Jim's foot.
Jim's back arches and he screams silently, muscles spasming. The edge of the lamp digs into his foot, and he feels the tiny bones buried in it snap as they're crushed beneath the driving force. Quick, hot agony throbs through his foot in rhythm with his pulse.
Stewart falls on Jim like a savage animal, punching him in the face. Jim feels his skin slowly bruise, blood spilling out of his nose to soak into the fabric of his gag.
Stewart hits him over and over. Jim struggles at first but slowly his muscles collapse and he falls, still and helpless, beneath the assault.
Finally, Stewart falls back, panting.
He slides off of the bed, staring at his bloody hands.
"Fuck, Jim," He breathes out despairingly. "God, Jim."
Jim lies motionless on his back, eyes open and staring, the metallic taste of his own blood filling his mouth.
Then he hears the sound of a zipper being drawn, and raises his head back up with an effort.
Stewart is fumbling with his own jeans, looking anywhere but at Jim.
Jim's bruised face twists up and his eyes close, something like despair snaking through his veins.
Slowly, Stewart approaches the bed, sliding his jeans down his hips.
Jim's eyes burn hotly as tears work their way out from between his eyelids and slide, one by one, down his face.
Bones suppresses a yawn with difficulty, blinking his tired eyes. Dammit, it had been a long night.
"This is our destination, Dr. McCoy," Spock says from beside him, and Bones looks out through the grimy bus window to see the neon vacancy sign of the motel.
"So it is," He says. "Shall we?"
The bus pulls away with a low roar and Spock and Bones enter the lobby, making their way to a bored looking receptionist.
Bones flashes his Starfleet identification quickly and then asks for Jude's room number. The receptionist covers a yawn with a splay of brightly-painted fingernails and gives them the information and a room key without arguing.
Bones hums along with the elevator music under his breath while Spock stands stiffly beside him, hands grasped behind his back. Finally, there is a dull chime as the doors open on the correct floor.
"Lead on, commander," Bones gestures sarcastically. Spock ignores him but leads the way, the elevator doors closing with a tired clink behind them.
Spock doesn't bother knocking but slides the key card into the door. Bones rolls his eyes. Damn impatient Vulcans. The little light turns green and Spock opens the door.
Whatever Bones had been expecting to find in the dimly-lit room, it wasn't this.
Jim is chained, naked and bloody, to the bed.
There is a man leaning over him, jeans unbuttoned and low on his hips.
Bones takes it all in in a glance, and then his view is blocked by a charging Vulcan.
Spock darts forward in a blaze of grace and anger, yanking the unfamiliar man back by the shoulder and pulling him into the far wall.
Bones blinks, once, and then his brain catches up with the rest of him and he moves to Jim.
Jim's eyes are closed tightly and when Bones moves close enough he can see that he's shaking violently. There is red streaking his forearms and coating the bottom half of his face, one foot is black and purple. A gag is tied tightly over his mouth. But what really gets to Bones, what really makes something black and cold settle in his stomach and make itself at home, are the thin silvery stains lining Jim's face, the faint tear tracks, glossy in the dim light.
"Jim," Bones whispers, because he can't seem to find his voice.
McCoy's medical training snaps into place at some point. Carefully, he unties the band of fabric from around Jim's head, and pulls out the blood-soaked crumple of cloth he finds in Jim's mouth.
"Jim, hey, kid, it's me," Bones says. "It's alright. It's okay. I'm here."
"Open your eyes, kid," Bones orders softly.
Slowly, Jim obeys. Bones sees the horror in his eyes slowly give way to recognition and naked hope, and he swallows harshly.
"Easy, Jim," Bones whispers. He turns to Jim's ragged wrists, examining the handcuffs with his face twisting into a scowl. He's going to need a key for those. Which reminds him...
Reluctantly, Bones turns from Jim. He blinks at what he sees.
Spock's skin is bleached white, fine tremors running down the length of his arms. His hands are clenched around the man's -- Jude's, he supposes -- throat. Jude's face is slowly purpling. He's about a foot off of the floor, back pressed against the wall and feet kicking wildly, hands scrabbling at the hands tight around his throat.
"Spock!" Bones calls. "Spock, stop it!"
For an instant Bones entertains the idea of just letting Spock kill the fucker, but rationale sours his fantasy and he scrambles towards the Vulcan, resting a hand lightly on his arm.
"Spock, let him go." Bones demands. "This won't help."
Spock's eyes are dark and he shows no signs of complying.
"Spock," Bones growls. "Listen up you green-blooded bastard, I have a seriously fucked-up best friend lying over there and I have absolutely zero time to deal with your drama-queen strangle-happy bullshit. So will you let go of the sonofabitch and help me? Help Jim?"
That, at least, snaps the first officer out of it, and he pries his fingers off of Jude's throat. The man slides down the wall, gasping.
"Get the key for the handcuffs from him," Bones says, and then turns his back on them both to get back to his best friend.
Jim is breathing slowly through his open mouth, body trembling.
"Easy, kid, I'm here," Bones says. His gaze sweeps over Jim's nakedness quickly and then he reaches down and pulls a coverlet off of the floor, draping it over him.
He sits down gently on the mattress next to him and strokes a hand through his hair. Jim flinches.
"Hey, Bones," Jim says quietly.
"Hey, Jim," Bones answers, still carding a hand through Jim's blonde hair. After a while, Jim closes his eyes and leans into the touch.
"Shouldn't you be in Georgia?" Jim asks, voice low and hoarse.
"Yeah, well, turns out there was something I needed to do here," Bones says softly.
"Dr. Jude has considerately given me the key," Spock says, suddenly appearing by the headboard. Bones glances over to the unconscious form crumpled on the floor.
Quickly, Spock unlocks the cuffs, and Jim's hands drop bonelessly to the mattress.
"Are you alright, Jim?" Spock asks. A strangled laugh claws its way out of Jim's throat, sounding harsh in the quiet.
Fuck it, Bones thinks, and then he gathers Jim up in his arms and pulls him close. Jim stiffens and then melts into him, burying his face into McCoy's side with a rough whimper.
Bones closes his eyes and rests his chin on Jim's sweat-soaked hair, holding him close and feeling his rapid heart keeping pace with his own. He is aware, distantly, of Spock shifting closer to Jim's other side and resting a hand on his shoulder.
"You will be," Bones mutters into Jim's hair. "You will be."
And the three of them hope to God he's not lying.
If you have the time, please let me know what you think.
