McCoy awoke alone. He knew where he was; the dizziness that accompanied the disconnected feeling of waking up would not grant him the peace of even temporary amnesia. He had even dreamed of being right there, nothing changing when he woke up.

There was a long, thin cord tied around his wrist, the other end to the bar in the shower, and it was a bit longer than his body. The knots were too tight and small and numerous to pick apart, even after nearly an hour of patient, mindless picking. He tried tugging his arm to see if he could snap the cord. It only hurt his wrist. After a few modest yanks, he tightened his jaw and jerked his arm hard, letting go of the fear of hurting himself. The cord was unaffected, but now his hand was numb and he'd broken the chafed skin on his wrist. Pulling the cord with his other hand only gave him hot, red streaks in his palm.

Soon the effort of ripping himself free become a way to pass the time, as he realized that Spock must have gone on watch by now. At least he'd been left in a bath room that he could use. He drank the water from the shower when thirst overcame him.

He wondered if he'd been left there for a specific purpose; was Spock really working right now, or could he just be waiting for the right time to show up? With no sounds, even muffled through the bulkheads, and the constant, far too bright light from the ceiling blaring down, there was no way to tell how long he'd been in there.

In what could have been twenty minutes or two hours, he finally lay his head back down on the bath mat and tried to sleep.

Eventually Spock would come for him, at least that would put an end to this crushing boredom. He knew the bruises and sore spots that had started to fade would be busted anew, with plenty more to come, but at the moment he didn't have the energy to care.

So many times in the past, when he'd found himself imprisoned, or close to death or in some other trouble, Spock had been there to help. Just having him around was a reassurance. McCoy had once felt safe around the Vulcan, but now his presence was a threat.

He'd started to drift off when he heard activity in the other room. McCoy sat up and waited, listening hard. He barely breathed so he could hear everything. The relief he thought he'd have for the waiting to be over was quickly overpowered by a sinking dread. He tried to figure out what Spock was doing just by listening, but all that rustling around and opening and closing of drawers just terrified him more.

McCoy shrank when the door opened, regarding Spock with silent apprehension. The fact that Spock's emotions, whatever they might have been, were well hidden behind a blank visage made him appear all the more hostile. He stood when Spock put his hand under his arm and pulled, and he made no move when Spock cut the cord at the wrist and took him into the bedroom.

As they walked into the main part of Spock's stateroom, McCoy felt his head swim from the heat. He vaguely felt Spock's hand on his shoulder, but for a moment he lost sense of everything, focusing only on how it felt to be able to stretch his legs for the first time in hours.

So it was a shock to be shoved into the wall hard enough to make a banging sound. McCoy had figured something like that was coming, but he still tried to fight it. A brief flash of a grin on Spock's lips, and he forced a kiss on McCoy. McCoy drove his hands against Spock's chest and arms, clawing at him, trying to push him off, while Spock forced his mouth open to accept his tongue. The doctor soon gave up struggling, as he began to feel lightheaded.

Spock did not need to encourage any artificial feelings into McCoy. Everything he felt as he passively took Spock's rough, invasive kiss was genuine. At the edge of his thoughts, he took pleasure on imagining this was the Spock he knew and loved. In a way, this was Spock. It was the same man, just with a different past. McCoy started to kiss back, just barely moving his lips over Spock's, and he moaned softly as Spock bit his lip.

As Spock pushed a hand up McCoy's shirt, McCoy wondered if his Spock's hand felt like that, so rough and calloused, but soft in some places, fingertips warm and sharp and probing expertly along the ridges of McCoy's ribs and the indent of his back.

The sensation of thick facial hair stroking his lips and cheek was new to him, but easy to get used to. Spock's goattee felt silkier than McCoy had expected, and that made him wonder again about his Spock. Did either of the Vulcan's hair feel that smooth? While he'd never had the chance to run his fingers through his Spock's hair, he took the chance now.

Spock let out a hiss as McCoy stroked his hair, but didn't stop him. McCoy only dared feel it for a few seconds before dropping his hands back down to Spock's shoulders, but it was exhilarating. Softer than he could have imagined, slick without being greasy, and McCoy's fingers smelled sweet when he pulled his hand back. He decided that his Spock's hair would be this nice as well; it had to be.

McCoy felt his wrists pinned to the wall as an afterthought, while Spock nudged his head to the side with his cheek. While holding McCoy's arms still with both hands, Spock dragged his lips along McCoy's throat. McCoy shivered and turned his face even further away, pushing his arms outward uselessly against Spock's firm hands. The brushing of cold, wet teeth gave brief warning before sinking in. McCoy groaned at first, the bite merely uncomfortable, but the Vulcan pushed his teeth in further, closing off the jugular. He felt his pulse pound through Spock's teeth and his own body lose itself in sudden weakness.

//Stop struggling//

McCoy whimpered loudly, body tensing even further. Spock's telepathic message rang loudly in his mind, far clearer than any verbal message, as if he had access to the very essence of Spock's voice. A part of him wanted to relax, to obey, but McCoy fought that urge, suspecting it was coming from Spock. Panic rose up in him as the pain from Spock's bite increased. Soon Spock was holding him up by the wrists, and he was losing feeling in his body.

//You will pass out if you do not relax//

"Then let go!" McCoy hissed, trying to shrug himself away. Spock only bit down harder and then gathered McCoy's wrists with one hand. Spock dropped his free hand to the human's hair, where it scratched over the scalp and tugged his head back. Finally Spock let go, and pressed his brow against the other's.

"You are imaging me as the other," Spock said in a low, barely audible voice as he brushed his fingertips down McCoy's head, across his throat.

McCoy reddened. It was true, but he had forgotten that this Spock could pick up on that. He hadn't realized how strongly he was forcing the memory of his Spock until this one called him on it. But he had a vague feeling that he was forcing the memory of his friend to replace reality a little too much, as if he were afraid to accept who was touching him.

//I will allow this today// Spock told him in that wordless way, holding his chin. //To help you transition. But very soon you will not need such fantasies//

McCoy's skin crawled as he felt Spock scratching along his torso and up his chest. He felt tears streak down his face as he was overcome with feelings of hatred for Spock, part of it directed against the Spock he left behind, although he didn't know why. He could feel his negative, strong feelings mirrored in Spock's mind, but he could tell they were not bothering the Vulcan.

When Spock slid his hand between McCoy's legs, the doctor moaned and felt his body sag, and his first mental image was of his Spock. It was hard to tell, with how strong that image was, whether or not he had decided for himself to visualize the other one. But it soon didn't matter as the one that had him pinned to the wall was rubbing him, pressing hard with the heel of his hands, pressing his body so close it was hard to breathe.

"Stop," McCoy breathed. He was panting and his heart was pounding from the pure, desperate lust, but he was afraid of where this would most likely go. Even in his most liberated fantasies about his Spock back home, McCoy had never let his imaginings go much farther than mild groping or kissing. He'd simply never thought that Spock would be interested in something so pointlessly primal; and sometimes McCoy wondered if perhaps he wasn't either.

But McCoy knew now that Spock would rape him if something weren't done to stop him. In fact he heard Spock chuckle in his ear when the thought of it entered his mind, and he was "rewarded" with an extra strong spasm of pleasure from Spock's hand. Just as Spock was able to force McCoy's mind to focus on pain that was already there, he was now bringing the pleasure to the forefront.

He had a feeling it was pointless, but McCoy pressed on. A part of him wanted to melt in Spock's grip and give into what he'd never dared to imagine, with his eyes squeezed shut and his mind fixating on the image of the Spock of the other world. But he fought those feelings. "Stop! Spock...please stop!"

Spock stopped rubbing and squeezed hard for a moment, then let go, grinning at McCoy's labored breathing. He then started to pull of McCoy's shirt, easily slapping his hands away when he tried to struggle. McCoy cursed at him, his cries growing louder and more desperate as the Vulcan forcibly undressed him. With that complete, Spock gripped McCoy's throat and shoved him on the bed, crawling up on it after him.

McCoy had felt desire for Kirk when the captain did this very same thing to him, and he'd even felt a certain a thrill from it. Whatever he'd felt for Kirk was nothing compared to what he felt now.

But as the doctor's lust grew, so did his panic, and his desire for this to stop. His body was tired and aching, and yet he fought Spock viciously, even managing to slice his fingernails across Spock's face. Where he may have held back with Kirk, out of fear of repercussion or perhaps even kindness, McCoy did not hold back this time. When Spock dipped his head close to McCoy's, the doctor tried to bite him, and even thrashed to get closer to do just that. Spock backhanded him when he did manage to bite his arm, but still McCoy would not stop. He threw his knee up, intending to hit Spock in the crotch, but Spock moved and shoved McCoy's leg back down on the bed so roughly it hurt.

McCoy was hysterical. He screamed even through Spock's hand, and twisted and thrashed even with the much stronger man's knees on the bed between his legs, holding them open. Spock grabbed one of McCoy's hands and held it down on the bed, while McCoy clawed at the hand on his mouth with the other. Spock was pushing his head into the mattress, and since McCoy had been sobbing, he couldn't breathe, as his nose was clogged with snot and the flesh of Spock's hand was pressed hard on his teeth.

Very quickly McCoy felt his stamina drop, and was struggling now out of pure spite. He couldn't stop crying even though doing so would only make it harder to breathe, and the spasm-like shaking of his chest was hurting. Closing his eyes, he tried to speak, but it came out as muffled moans.

//Properly, slave// Spock let go of McCoy's mouth and gripped his hair, while the human sputtered and spit and sucked in air like a drowning man. Now the heel of his hand anchored on McCoy's temple. //You will not use vulgar words when we are intimate//

"Help!" McCoy howled over and over, along with nonsensical shouts. Spock didn't even bother trying to stop him, as there'd be no one to care outside that room.

Spock leaned down very close, his fingers digging into the skin of McCoy's face. "We've been living in limbo for too long, Leonard," he said. He dragged his other hand up McCoy's chest, tracing his thumb along the collarbone. "You were meant to be mine, you've always wanted it. You have no right to fight it."

Spock's voice made McCoy shudder violently, and he turned his face, trying to hide in the blankets. It was exactly the same voice he was used to, the same he'd bantered and confided with, the same that had given him reassurance and security for so long. The same part of his brain that used to alight at that sound was firing now, and he could not stop it. McCoy no longer visualized his Spock as he heard this one speak and as he smelled his familiar scent. Soon he could only imagine Spock as the way he was in this universe; the idea of the "other one" began to lose all meaning.

It was as if the memory of the Spock from his world had been erased, and he could not tell if this Spock had taken the memory from him, or if he had just forgotten.

McCoy screamed and threw his hands out in a blind, mindless violence. It knocked Spock's hand off his head for a few seconds, and in that time, the image of his Spock came flooding back. He was so stunned that he made no effort to defend himself as his attacker reclaimed him.

//Afraid of a few mind games?// Spock's mind mocked.

McCoy railed off a torrent of half-hearted curses. He found he could bring up the image of his friend now, but was far too distracted to do it for more than a second, as he felt a finger enter him. He closed up immediately, body tensing, and writhed. Spock took it out and reached by the edge of the bed. Still refusing to look at Spock, McCoy did not see what he was doing, but soon he felt Spock slip his fingers back inside him, lubed up this time.

//You will be mine//

"No!" he yelled repeatedly, although with considerably less strength as Spock stretched him from within. There was a sudden, intense flash of pleasure and pain combined, and of course Spock encouraged McCoy to focus on it. When McCoy screamed out again, Spock pressed that spot hard enough to cause genuine, blinding pain.

//No words//

"I fucking can't!" he screamed, knowing that Spock wanted him to speak telepathically.

//Relax// He pulled his fingers out and unzipped himself.

"Please, don't," McCoy whimpered. He was panting, pale in the face, and dehydrated from sweating. "Spock, please..."

His spoken words earned him a slap. His ears rang and he felt Spock clamp both hands on his face. //PROPERLY//

He bit his lip to prevent another word to escape, but still could not bring himself to send a mental message. It seemed too difficult, the very thought made him want to pass out from exhaustion. And the stress of having to do it only made it harder to even begin to concentrate. He felt Spock begin to enter him and just about fell apart.

Now he wished Spock would wipe his memory of his friend again, because now both Spocks were drifting together in his mind. The small details of the color of Spock's eyes, of the length of his fingers, seemed far more than just familiar to McCoy. The Spock of this world forced inside him, pushing past McCoy's tightening muscles, ignoring his frantic cries and meager attempts at stopping him with clawing hands. Very soon McCoy was able to remember something dark and hidden away deep in his mind; he had once fantasized about this very thing with his Spock, and he was only now remembering it.

Spock held his wrists down and thrust in faster, harder, leaning over him. His breathing was heavy and dark in McCoy's ear, and briefly he let his lips hover over McCoy's. Remembering the embarrassment of the first time Spock had teased him with an almost-kiss, McCoy did not try to reach for it, although it was very difficult to stop himself.

//You want to kiss me//

McCoy almost yelled out, but remembered the slap. Spock fucked him harder, holding one hand in the crook of McCoy's knee, and the other against the side of his face. As Spock kept his face close, but just out of reach, his eyes closing, McCoy gripped the Vulcan's shirt.

//Answer me//

McCoy went on to make a variety of very loud, breathless sounds, but would not form words he could be punished for. Neither could he concentrate enough to send a mental message. As Spock pushed him, McCoy started to wonder what his answer mattered.

//Tell me, slave//

//Yes!//

McCoy was shocked, but there it was. An extra rough thrust and Spock's incessant demanding stressed McCoy to the point of panic, and all he could really focus on was the pain of the sex. All other feelings and sounds diminished with that, so he didn't even think of what it would take to communicate mentally. It was actually very easy, as long as he didn't think about it.

//Beg me//

//Please// McCoy thought, but only to satisfy Spock. He burned in shame from the very idea of begging for anything.

//Liar//

Spock brushed his lips against McCoy's cheek and breathed on his neck. He slowed his pace, and it was soon far more pleasurable than McCoy had ever experienced, with anyone. He sought Spock's lips, but the Vulcan pulled back at the last second every time, just out of reach. McCoy tried to maintain his pride, but that didn't last five seconds. He suddenly needed to feel the warmth of Spock's lips on his own. This need was burning stronger than his body's need for orgasm.

//Beg me//

Sobbing, McCoy gave in, whispering the words as he thought them. //Please, please let me kiss you, please...Spock...please// He even begged aloud, but Spock did not punish him for it.

Spock lowered, just barely touching McCoy's lips and growled, "Stay still." By now Spock had stopped all movement as well, holding himself inside the human, and only when McCoy got as close to stillness as he could did Spock overtake McCoy's lips in his own.

This time McCoy kissed back, hungrily, moaning as he did. He hated himself for it. He knew that he'd given in and had humiliated himself, and he could feel Spock absorb these thoughts. He didn't stop kissing Spock, but he was soon overcome with a deep depression, feeling so small and weak.

Spock resumed fucking McCoy as they kissed, and then pulled his face away as he thrusted faster. McCoy felt the other's climax building as if it were a shadow of his own feelings, and he clutched the sheets. He screamed out when Spock came, feeling a pale and corrupted version of it in himself.

But it still was not a proper orgasm for him. As Spock finished inside him and pulled out, McCoy was still painfully hard. He jumped, gasping with ragged breath when Spock took hold of him, squeezing. He leaned down and bared his teeth as he snarled, "You will not know pleasure unless I give it to you, slave. Only when it pleases me."

McCoy turned his head and groaned loudly, sick at the fear that he would be expected to beg for that too. Even sicker at the knowledge that he fully intended to do so if Spock suggested it.

Spock's face darkened with what appeared to be disgust and something else, while McCoy shivered beneath him. He was still hard and aching for release, but mentally he felt almost nothing. His lust for Spock still raged inside him, but he didn't care. He'd never felt more pathetic.

Still kneeling over McCoy, Spock stretched, letting out a soft, relaxed sigh. He then got off the bed and pulled McCoy off by the arm. McCoy followed as if half asleep, too drained to even give in to crying. Only when Spock undressed did McCoy feel a part of himself awaken, but he still felt dead inside. Spock pushed him to his knees and dropped a towel on him before stepping into the shower.

As the Vulcan relaxed beneath the steaming spray, McCoy suddenly had a strange, disconnected feeling, like he was not actually there. That Spock was actually alone in his own bathroom; McCoy felt that he were a ghost or perhaps nothing more than the humid air billowing from the shower, watching Spock run his hands along his body in silence.

But the spell was broken when Spock turned off the water and stepped back out, getting rivulets of water on McCoy, who offered the towel. Spock took it as if from a towel rack and dried himself, without any self-consciousness. It was as if Spock did not see the human knelt at his feet, or if he did, he didn't care.

When he finished drying himself, Spock snapped his fingers. McCoy looked up dumbly for a moment, then got up slowly. He only got up out of fear, and he despised himself for it. "Wash yourself," he snapped, and left the bathroom. A heavy feeling of worthlessness hung over him, and his body screamed with pain, but McCoy had watched Spock walk out, eagerly taking in every detail of the Vulcan's body long, slender body, the skin glowing greenish from the heat of the shower.

////

Cleaned and dressed now, McCoy sat on the edge of the bed, staring off into space. He cringed slightly when Spock passed close to him, but otherwise waited while the Vulcan went about his business. McCoy watched him grab uniform items and a few data discs as if he weren't there. He noticed very pale green streaks along Spock's cheek.

"I shall explain a few things to you," Spock said mildly, as if in casual conversation. "Not long before I found you, I had legally claimed your other self as a slave."

McCoy looked up at him with dead eyes.

"As you are essentially him, your official status is now, legally, slave. You are still, however the Chief Medical Officer of this ship, and you will retain your rank. Your pay and property are forfeit to me, however." Spock paused a moment to inspect a pin. McCoy watched him frown over it and roughly rub his shirt over it.

"How the fuck can I be anything if I don't have any rights?" McCoy growled weakly.

"It's very common for officers to take other officers in such a way," Spock explained in that easy going tone. "Very basically, Leonard, all this means is that you are under my protection, as you are my property. No one will dare touch you."

"Except the captain."

Spock looked at him a second. "Well, of course. He is the captain."

McCoy didn't want to hear any more of this. Spock continued explaining, though, as he put his uniform items in order on his bureau, and McCoy tuned most of it out. It was barbaric and shocking, and yet he couldn't help but admit the system did make sense. This was one way for the weaker crew members to seek protection.

At that thought, McCoy turned his brain off completely. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, otherwise he'd burst into tears. He started to attack himself, telling himself he was too weak to fight this, that in way he deserved it. Even though he knew that was nonsense, he was still merciless with those thoughts. How else could he feel about it now?

"Do you understand?" Spock asked, suddenly interrupting his thoughts.

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "I don't care what you think I am," he hissed. "I'll never stop fighting you."

A corner of Spock's lips lifted. "I know."