A/N: This is a lot shorter than my other chapters but I wanted to get this bit out the way.

WARNING (SERIOUSLY): This part is full of suggestions of mutilation, and some sexual scenes.

Waking up was no longer a pleasure for Jim.

He came to, rather quickly, with the distinct feeling that something was wrong. He focused on the voices of his two captors that were in the room with him. Or rather, in Jim's view, his 'friends'.

"…You can't avoid them forever, Frank. This is their shuttle, they can track it anywhere." That was Reagan. There was an annoyed sigh…

"Then fuck it, we'll have to blow it up. Take little Jimmy inside the clinic and I'll set off the self-destruct."

Vaguely, Jim heard quick heavy footsteps grow closer to him, then two hands gripping onto his elbows. He still had his eyes shut, so Reagan must have thought he was asleep.

He felt his body tug as he was dragged across the metal floor, his ankles quickly starting to burn from the friction.

"There's only one office inside the clinic which is mine. I'll go straight in there," he heard Reagan say, as a very loud noise from behind him echoed—the shuttle door unclamping and opening.

"Get started on the procedure as soon as you can, I don't need any more time wasted."

Jim was dragged for about two minutes before Reagan must have become exhausted, as he was then dropped onto what felt like the grass, it's small green blades tickling the back of his arms, before being hauled in the air and over his shoulder.

For the rest of the time, Jim was able to keep his eyes open without being caught, watching the ground pass by as Reagan walked.

The grass was pretty, he thought. He hadn't been outside on real Earth for such a long time. That comfort was then swiftly taken away from him as there was a loud bang, then the green ground disappeared and turned into white floor.

Clearly the door hadn't even been locked. Were they in the middle of nowhere?

"Okay, James," he heard the man say, feeling him vibrate as he barged himself into another door, "Let's put you on the chair and see what we can do with yah."

The world suddenly spun as he was lifted from Reagan's shoulder and placed in what he guessed was a chair.

Upon opening his eyes, sure enough, it looked pretty similar to the office he was brought into on the Enterprise.

"Oh, you're awake? How long you been with me for?" Reagan asked, sitting himself down on a stool and bringing over a tray of awesome looking equipment.

"That looks cool," Jim marvelled instead, gazing over at the shiny silver instruments. He wanted to touch them badly.

"Yeah, thanks, they don't rust, I've got the top of the line stuff, you see," he boasted, picking up a scalpel and showing it Jim, who just smiled. "Now, Frank will kill me if I don't get started, so let's lie you back," Reagan put the instrument back down and reached over to the side of Jim's chair, pressing a button that gradually reclined it until he was flat on his back.

Jim however, was feeling no anxiety at all, despite what was about to happen. In fact, he was quite excited.

"Am I really gonna be a pet?" he asked with withheld enthusiasm, his baby blues bright with eagerness.

"Uh-huh. Well you'll function like one, anyway," Reagan turned away to meddle with some equipment, before there was a massive BANG. Jim jumped and tried to scramble out of the chair to see what was going on, before Reagan quickly anticipated his move and rammed a hand on his chest.

"Uh-uh, stay there," the man teased, "Frankie obviously managed to blow up the shuttle," he explained, turning back to the equipment again.

Jim, getting impatient, started swivelling his legs around. There was nothing to see but the bland white ceiling, it was so boring!

"Right!" he heard Reagan say, watching as he wheeled backwards into his line of vision, "I don't want you awake for this, Frank is such a damn psychopath…" Jim's eyes followed Reagan as he randomly wheeled around the room, disappearing and reappearing across his line of vision.

Finally, Reagan stopped catapulting around the room and approached from behind him, presenting a strange plastic contraption over his face.
"Nice and wide…" he coaxed. Jim immediately obeyed, opening his mouth and started kicking his legs again. Reagan slotted something inside his mouth to keep his jaw open.

"Excited to have your entire teeth surgically attached to a mouth guard?" he asked with a bit of jest. Jim nodded eagerly. "Yeah, I bet you are," he muttered. Jim would be excited to have his head sowed on backwards in his drugged-up state.

At that moment, Jim heard the sound of someone barging into the door as it opened, and the only thing he could do was watch Reagan look up at the intrusion.

"Hey Frankie," he heard Reagan say, "Heard you got that shuttle blown to pieces," he laughed.

"Yeah, there's a raging fire out there, looks like it's gonna last a while," then Frank peered above Jim, staring right at him, "Can't wait to watch it with my pet here…" Frank cooed, a smirk forming on his face.

Jim although struggling with the gag holding his mouth open, managed to raise the corners of his lips.

"You excited, Jimmy?" Frank stuck his finger inside his pet's mouth, stroking the plastic tenderly.

"Uh-huh!" Jim started kicking his legs in excitement again.

"Right, well I better him off to sleep so I can get started," Reagan said, appearing with another contraption that fitted nicely over Jim's nose.

Jim felt completely vulnerable, but just couldn't hold back the excitement. Soon enough, the high-pitched sound of gas started, and he began to smell it in the contraption over his nose. It smelt like roses.

He managed a grin, he loved that smell.

Reagan smiled over him, "You smell that, Jim?" he asked, turning his attention to Jim's arms and began hoisting them onto the armrests and strapping them down. A few seconds later, and he felt his legs being moved too.

"I snell ah!" Jim exclaimed, then breathed out a heavy breath as he suddenly had an overwhelming tired feeling. "Nnnn…."

With his limbs now restrained, obviously to keep him safe, Reagan appeared over the top of him, his lips moving as he spoke to Frank but his brain couldn't register what he was saying. It was just sound.

As his excitement started to ebb and the exhaustion took its place, he briefly felt the trousers on his legs being torn and yanked off. Then, some pressure on his knee caps, fingers poking and prodding at them.

He saw Frank walk behind him, and then the sound of the door closing, then Reagan started becoming very blurry. It concerned him. He was beginning to like Reagan, he didn't want him to go away.

To make matters worse, Reagan pulled up a big white mask over his face, so Jim couldn't see him anymore! Black spots began dancing over his vision, more and more appearing every second. He saw Reagan lean in very close to his face, with a silver machine in hand, then the last thing he heard was the sound of a drill starting up before finally he succumbed to his exhaustion and closed his eyes.

….

Frank swore. It had been four hours since he left the room and Reagan still wasn't done with Jim yet.

Four hours.

Four HOURS. Completely unacceptable. He'd been sitting in the waiting room like a moron doing nothing but swiping around on his PADD and smiling to himself about reports from Starfleet throwing alerts around in the news.

Captain Kirk kidnapped from flagship.

Starfleet works together to find missing Captain.

Concern as finding missing Captain becomes unlikely.

He threw his PADD aside for the third time and stood up.
Damn it, he wanted his pet and he wanted him NOW.

So, he marched to the office door and barged in.

Jim was still laying on his back, completely pale now—there was a certain three-beep alarm sounding every five seconds and Reagan was covered in blood. Jim's knees had a lot of stitches on them, which means that thankfully at least his ligaments had gone, and his mouth was still pried open but had strange looking half-transparent slots over his teeth. There was still a small mask fitted over Jim's nose, no doubt keeping him asleep.

The thing that was most concerning however was the fact that Jim's head was twisted to the side, and there was blood pooling all over Reagan's hands, looking quite frantic.

"Frank!" Reagan shouted, noticing his presence and panicking.

"What the hell is taking so long? What's wrong with his head?" Frank argued, beginning to think he'd given him brain damage of something.

"His head? I haven't got enough blood, he's bleeding out and I can't move to get a new pack!"

Frank swore under his breath and looked around the room for anything that would signify packets of spare blood.

"In the fridge, like right next to you—get type O-Negative blood, five packs, now!"

Frank hated being ordered around, but if the life of his pet was on the line, then he'd have to assist.
He quickly fished out every single blood packet that had the letter "O" on it and threw them for Reagan to catch.

Reagan quickly started hooking up the new bags of blood, for some reason squeezing the bags.
What the hell was he doing, giving them comfort?

But after a couple more seconds, the rapid beeping alarm stopped, and Reagan let out a huge sigh of relief.

Frank scowled, but glanced back over to Jim's form.
Honestly, even in his standards, Jim looked like hell.

"When the hell are you done? By the time you're finished we'll be caught!"

Reagan sighed, "The ligaments in his knees have been cut, there's a soft shield around his teeth, I'm finishing off the implant in his head. I need another three hours."

"Three hours!" Frank spat, "Do you know how long I've—" his sentence was cut off by an extremely obnoxiously loud drill and a taunting smile from Reagan. He scowled, flipping him off and leaving the room.

Pain.

Oh god.

Excruciating pain.

The second he began to return to consciousness—all he could feel was pain.

He wanted to cry. And that he did. He sobbed, having no idea where he was or why he woke up with pain, but all he knew was that everything in his body hurt and it was too much.

"James?"

So, there was someone in the room with him. He felt a sharp pain in his arm, then a burning feeling that ran through his wrist, up his arm and around his body.

"I've given you something to help. The pain will go down overtime, I promise."

At the very kind sounding voice, Jim opened his eyes—immediately squeezing them shut again at the blinding overhead lights burning into his skull. There was a quiet sigh, then the warm feeling against his face stopped.

He tried again, opening his eyes. The large overhead light was turned off, and he realised he was still laying on the chair that he fell asleep on. Huh.

"I'm gonna run a few tests before I get Frankie in here, 'cos he's a little pissed off and he'll drag you out the second he gets called in here."

Jim blinked slowly. His mouth felt funny, like a strange tasting glass was pressing against his tongue.

"Wha-ha—" he stopped at how weird it felt to talk. He ran his tongue along his teeth—it felt so weird.

"You'll get used to it, just give it time," Reagan encouraged, taking a penlight out his pocket, "Follow this light,"

Jim obeyed, although his head felt like it was being used as a drum—except with sledgehammers instead of drumsticks.

"Good, now wiggle your toes…Good, squeeze my hand?...Good. Frankie better be happy with this."

Jim flinched when Reagan yanked the overhead light to the side, and then turned to the door, "Frankie, he's ready for you!"

Slowly, the excitement began to return to Jim. He really wanted to see Frankie, it had been so long.
Just then, he heard the tell-tale sound of the door opening, then someone shouting "Finally!"

Frank appeared over his vision this time, beaming and looking happier than he had ever seen him, "He's beautiful, Reagan. I want to test him out, untie him from the chair."

Jim completely forgot his limbs were strapped down. Even so, it was a relief when they were freed.

"C'mon Jimmy, start walking for your Frankie," at that moment, Jim was gripped with mighty strong sweaty hands and thrown off the table. His body automatically attempting to stand before falling, Jim collapsed onto his stomach with a loud cry, his hearing suddenly overwhelmed with a high-pitched whine as the pain flooded his system.

Jim's nervous system couldn't decide whether to screech or gasp at the agony radiating through his knees.

Frank's laughing was the first thing he heard after recovering, then his jaw was grabbed and yanked upwards, "Come on Jimmy, on your hands and knees," Frank snarled, "Walk to me."

Jim lifted his head up, noticing Frank was at least seven steps away.

Groaning, he struggled to his knees, his screaming practically bouncing off the walls as his body forced him onto all fours.

There was no way in hell he could stand—it felt impossible.

So, with great strain, he reached both hands out in front of him, then dragged his knees across the floor, trying in great distress to reach Frank.

Frank needed him. Jim needed to get him. He would do anything—the pain was nothing. So he struggled, until eventually he was crawling across the floor.

He finally reached Frank, and the room erupted with Frank's laughter, and Jim smiled as he realised he made Frank happy.

"Good boy, Jimmy…Good boy. I have something for you," Frank smirked, digging into his pockets and then bringing out a yellow collar that said 'Jimmy' on it. "Here you go, nice and tight you don't lose it…" the collar was tightened around his neck.

"Reagan made me a special gift while you were out, didn't you Reagan?"

At that, Reagan remained silent.

"Ah, fuck him. Anyway, you wanna know what it is?"

Jim nodded eagerly, he loved it when Frank was happy. Frank reached into pocket, checking his hands and then taking out a metal square with a big red button on it.

"Well, I can't really confuse it with other remotes, can I?" Frank pressed the button.

Jim let out an unearthly screech, his eyes rolling back into his head and his body going limp, collapsing to the floor, his limbs seizing and kicking uncontrollably.

"Frank! Stop! That's only for damn emergencies!"

"Haha! Fuck off Reagan, this boy is mine now!"

"Frank! You could damage his brain, turn it off!"

"Damn it, you ruin all the fun."

As the fire in his brain slowly sizzled out, his limbs stopped seizing and sank to the floor, drool pooling out of his mouth.

"Damn it, Frankie, this is only for when he misbehaves. If you do it too much you'll give him brain damage."

Frank, however, was beside himself, "I don't—I don't—" he couldn't stop for a breath, "Oh god, Reagan look at him!"

Jim cracked his eyes open, aware of the saliva running out of the corner of his lips. He hurt so much. He wanted Frankie.

"Fuh-fuh-fuhrann—rann…"

Frank burst into laughter again, "Oh god Reagan, this is perfect!" he slid onto his knees in front of him, taking Jim's face in his hands and force him to look at him, "What is it, baby? What do you want, huh?"

"Fuh…frank…ih-huuurts…"

From behind Frank's smirking, he could see Reagan, looking absolutely traumatised. He didn't understand why, he was only Frank's pet.

"Don't worry Jimmy, I know how to make you feel better," Frank stroked Jim's cheeks, then landed a light kiss on his forehead, "Get him back on the chair, and lower the top bit! I want him to suck me off."

Reagan jolted out of his idleness, then stood beside Jim, bending down and hauling his limp body up by the armpits and dragging him over to the chair.

As he was dumped on the chair, he vaguely felt the top half of himself being lowered down.
Frank sat down on the stool behind him with a clonk, and the only thing Jim could see was Frank's crotch.

"Let's see just how well these mouth guards of yours work," Frank snarled, unzipping his trousers and reaching into his pants. Jim really wanted to help Frank, he really did, but his vision was fading in and out so much that he wasn't sure he'd be able to give his best.

He was forced out of his thoughts however, as Frank's dick was suddenly shoved into his mouth, startling him slightly as his hands clawed on the armrests.

"Damn, did you give him that implant or what? He's still a little shaky."

Jim, not wanting to receive another shock, started sucking instantly. He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to though, as he really did feel like he was going to pass out.

"You gotta give it a while for the chemicals in the implant to affect his brain, he'll wake up tomorrow as your loving pet."

"C'mon Jimmy, you can suck harder than this," Frank hissed, Jim saw him bring out the remote from his pocket and he nearly gagged. He whined in protest, quickly sucking as hard as his body would possibly allow him, regardless of feeling like he was beginning to float.

"Oh—oh god! Yeah! That's right Jimmy! Oh god! Reagan this—oh god—this is your best—best—invention yet!—oh god—oh god that's so good—" Frank's cock was now throbbing in his throat, and Jim was finding it hard to breathe.

In the corner of his eye, Jim could see Reagan glancing at him worriedly. So, in a desperate effort, he continued sucking while staring at Reagan with as much begging in his eyes as he could muster.

Jim swore he could see Reagan mouthing "I'm sorry" to him, but for what? It wasn't his fault he was so tired.

"More! Jimmy! More! MORE!" Just then, Frank grabbed either side of Jim's face and wrenched him closer to his crotch, "MORE!"

Jim whimpered, kicking his legs as he felt the oxygen starvation take place.

"Oh yeah! You're feeling it too, baby?"

Seconds later, he felt Frank's release spray the back of his throat, and Frank started screaming the room down. Jim choked, at the same time trying to continue sucking, not able to move his head with Frank's muscles tensed and having it in a death grip.

Finally, his head was released, and Frank sighed, his cock sliding out of his mouth, leaving it hanging out of his pants as he tried to regain himself. Reagan instantly shot up from the seat, darting over to Jim and grabbing something that he couldn't see.

Jim choked and coughed, gasping for breath, his eyes watering, while his lungs didn't feel like they were getting enough air.

The display of Frank's crotch was replaced by Reagan's legs, the top of the bed raising to match the rest of his body. Reagan's face was hovering of Jim's, and he grabbed his head, pressing a mask over his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" Frank demanded, standing up and tucking his cock away.

"He can't breathe, Frankie, he's not ready yet," Reagan explained, Jim sighing as the oxygen filled up his lungs.

"I need him ready tomorrow, I've got a show with him!"

"I'm sure he'll be ready, but right now he's just come out of a major surgery and he can't be sucking your fucking dick!"

"I made him have this surgery so that he could suck my dick, and I'll make him…."

The rest of the argument was lost as Jim closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep.

...

A/N: Hahahaha...yeah, you hate me. Reagan is starting to feel a little guilty, don't you think? Will he help Kirk get out of this rut or is he just gonna let him suffer?

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