Warm fingers snaked up his tunic, forcing past the sash tied tightly around his waist, as even warmer lips brushed across his throat. A hot, wet tongue traced along the outlines of his ear, giving the pointed tip a sneaky flick, while a forceful hand ripped off the impeding sash and ripped open the tunic.

Once again Spock would have to exit the captain's quarters with the buttons ripped off his tunic, hoping to disappear into his own stateroom unnoticed.

"What's gotten into your pet lately?" Kirk hissed in Spock's ear, holding him against he wall with his hands firm on the Vulcan's hips. He cut off any attempt at an answer by overtaking Spock's lips with his own, forcing his tongue deep inside, snagging his lips with his teeth. Kirk's fingernails scratched deep at flesh that would be covered beneath a tunic, while his lips brushed harmlessly over skin that would be remain exposed.

Spock was passive, leaning against the wall with his hands lightly brushing on Kirk's thighs, pulling on the cloth of his pants when the touch of Kirk's lips became too intense to bear without some kind of reaction. His body was slack and open, freely inviting to the captain's rough groping, but his mind was closed, turned off. Unlike most humans, this one did not require any sort of communication during such moments, and Spock was grateful for this. He had a strong captain with an even stronger will, who did not seek anyone's consent for his actions. Spock was content with this.

When he was given the chance to speak, Spock whispered back, "I have been increasing my attempt to break him, Sir. He is--" His breath caught in his throat as Kirk dragged his fingernails down his spine, causing him to lean against Kirk in an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain. "He is still adjusting..."

Kirk slammed him against the wall, the force stunning him for a few seconds. He got a glimpse of Kirk's dark eyes before the captain pressed his lips to his ear, one hand gripping his throat. "I would have killed him for refusing me like that, Spock," he snarled.

"Yes, Captain--"

"If he weren't your toy, Spock..." He turned Spock around to push him face first into the bulkhead, gripping the back of his neck in a tight, painful hold. Spock grimaced and dug his fingers into the wall and tried to hiss out an answer.

Spock accepted Kirk's fingers driving into his mouth, not so much eagerly as merely willingly. When he felt Kirk's other hand drive between his legs, he moved himself more into the position he assumed the captain wanted him, hips jutting outward slightly, legs apart. He tried not to appear too eager as he did this, however, just moving as expected.

But as repressed as his movements were, Spock was fighting to control himself, really fighting. It had been a long time since he'd been touched by Kirk more than pats on the shoulder, so he had almost forgotten what this was like, the physical desire and the necessity to please. The dark chuckles in his ear embarrassed him.

"He will not displease you again, Captain," he growled deep in his throat, rubbing his face against the wall. Kirk slowly pulled his fingers out, letting them slide wetly across Spock's face. They scratched up his neck and drove through his hair, scratching like fire across his scalp.

"He went too far, Spock," Kirk snarled, slipping a hand down Spock's pants. Spock pressed his lips together tightly and fought to keep any sound inside, his fingernails scratching the paint off the wall. He relaxed himself, giving no resistance whatsoever to Kirk's fingers, and fought to keep himself still. A small groan escaped him as he wished he could push himself back, driving those fingers deeper inside. But Kirk would make him wait; he knew exactly where to touch that would be so close, and yet so far. "No one defies me like that."

"I will punish him," Spock hissed, feeling his face heat up, his entire body electrified from Kirk's touches. He could feel each and every scratch that was left on his skin as his heart pounded. Kirk's other hand pulling at Spock's hip was the permission Spock needed to move. Biting his bottom lip now, Spock moved back as he was expected, but not a millimeter more. Despite himself, he let out a husky moan that Kirk chuckled at.

There was no way to tell how far this would go. There was never any warning with Kirk; even in all these years serving under him, Spock was still as hopeless at predicting him as anyone else on board. Submitting to him was like surrendering to chaos.

"If he gives me trouble like that again," Kirk whispered, instructing Spock to stay still with a firm hold of his hand. "I won't kill him." He yanked his fingers out. "You will." A sharp slap on the ass signaled that the games were over for the time being.

Green in the face, eyes averted, Spock turned around and adjusted his pants. The rustling of the fabric over his erection was torturous, and he knew he would not get the chance to take care of it soon. "Yes, Captain, I understand," he said. When he did look Kirk in the eyes, he forced on his most professional of expressions: cold, almost daring.

He had to brush past Kirk, who of course would not budge an inch out of the way, to retrieve his sash from the floor. Just as Spock turned his back, Kirk slammed his fist down hard between the Vulcan's shoulder blades, driving him to the floor. Spock knew to keep still as the captain pressed his boot into Spock's neck, holding his head down. Spock clawed the floor but made no move of resistance even as the pressure on his nape made him feel like choking.

Kirk bent down to get a better look at his prostrate subordinate and smirked. "Don't take too long."

/////

It looked so innocent. Just a small box-like device with one little switch, the only positions of which being on and off. As much as he'd love to break into it and study it more, McCoy worried he'd only get an electric shock. He was tempted to just throw the thing back in a drawer and forget about it; he was a doctor, not an engineer. Spock had to have been wrong.

But he couldn't sake off the feeling that he was right. If he'd been born into this world, he thought, maybe he would have had this idea. The spot on his chest where Spock had pressed it didn't hurt anymore, although he could quite easily recall that terrible feeling. It was like the flesh inside was being ripped apart, but numerous scans had shown that nothing had been damaged.

Of the things he had found here in Sick Bay already, the agonizer was the safest.

Then he began to wonder, he had he, his other self rather, been forced into designing this thing? Was it really as safe as he thought? He'd already seen scalpels much longer than necessary and other things hidden in a drawer or out in plain sight on a desk that were obviously torture devices. When he'd seen them before, he didn't think anything of them, the idea of Sick Bay being an interrogation room not even registering his mind.

But then what kind of man would create something that seemed like he cared for human life, and yet turn his medical station into such a horrible place? McCoy wondered if his counterpart even knew.

Someone came up to him from the side while he was bent over studying the device, and he froze. That someone slid a hand up his hip, sliding up his shirt. Rough, long fingers, and that super-sweet, strong perfume.

"Here to kill me, Christine?" he asked softly, cursing himself for not hiding that knife on his person. He wondered if he could even reach it in time if he had.

"No," she laughed, her voice low, soft, unsettling. "You're safe, for now." She leaned over the desk, taking the agonizer slowly. As McCoy's gaze dropped to her hand, he caught sight of her eyes studying him, of her painted lips set in a small smile.

When she took her hand off McCoy's back to hold the device in both hands, McCoy saw the bandages on her arm. Dark brown blood stained it in places. He watched her, not so much expecting her to attack him, but in fascination. Now that he was so close, he had the chance to better look at her, the fading bruises on her neck, the caked on makeup, the way her gaze was lost, as if she weren't really seeing what was in front of her, but thinking about who knew what.

"Why don't you let me take a look at that arm?" he asked, because he was genuinely concerned. Even if there were more torture than medical supplies in this place, there was no reason she should go around with primitive cloth dressings on that deep wound. If nothing else, it was unsanitary.

Her smile was soft and didn't match her earlier behavior. "I'd have healed it by now if I could," she said with a laugh.

"So why haven't you?"

She leaned on the desk, the agonizer bouncing in her restless fingers. "You've got a guardian angel watching over you, Spock," she cooed. She did not explain what that had to do with her arm, and McCoy didn't ask. "You're safe from any obvious murder. But don't worry, darling," she dragged her rough thumb across his cheek. "The second I figure out a natural death that won't look too suspicious, you'll be the first to know."

McCoy moved away and glared, and she moved closer. "You men don't know what you have," she hissed. "How easy and fair life is for you. It's taken me three years just to get this spot. Head nurse, a female? Unheard of." She scoffed. "Makes me wish I were Romulan. They don't care about gender, only strength. Power. Cunning." She began to twirl her fingers through McCoy's hair. The doctor had to grip the desk to stay balanced. Her touch felt good.

"But the fact that you've gotten this far should say something," he whispered back, mind racing. He had to find out how this universe worked from her without making it obvious he didn't belong. "If you just transferred--"

"I wouldn't even if I could," she snapped. "I'd go right back down to the bottom of the pecking order, you know that. I've had to fight for what little I have here; I'm not giving it up."

McCoy went silent as she continued to stroke his hair, her gaze fixated into nothing. She had tried to kill him, he shouldn't feel any pity or compassion for her. Even now he wouldn't be surprised if she tried to strangle him right there. "O, how I miss the old days, Leonard," she said wistfully, looking just past his head.

He resisted asking what she meant, and just made a noncommittal grunt, trying not to tense up as her fingers stroked from his hair down his neck. He didn't know what to make of her smile. On anyone else, it would have put him at ease, as it seemed pleasant. But then, perhaps it really was.

"Back when I was just another low ranking orderly, back when my list was long and your name was so far off in the distance, we could pretend we had all the time in the world," she cooed, wrapping both arms around his neck. He grunted quietly, but didn't try to move her off; this wasn't entirely uncomfortable.

With her arms still around his neck, her eyes still locked onto his, Christine jumped up to sit on the desk right behind her, pulling him downward slightly. His heartbeat began to race, and he gently put his hands on her hips, watching her face for any sign that this might be out of line. In his universe, he'd never consider treating his nurse in any but the most professional of ways.

And besides, his Nurse Chapel had always had a thing for Spock, not him.

Whatever her true feelings, there was something in her eyes that hooked him, and her touch tempted him to melt. "Things were so much simpler back then," she sighed, tracing a finger across his lips. "I think you loved me then." She smiled.

McCoy felt his face redden, and he tried to look away, but she maintained her soft grip on his face. "You think so, huh?" he pretended to tease.

This made her laugh and pull him even closer, leaning over to put her face close to his. He could smell her foundation now. "You loved me so much you helped me with some of my targets, even though that'd only make you that much closer to being next," she whispered with a grin.

McCoy could barely suppress a shiver. "You think I did that for you?" he scoffed, all cavalier now as he tried to piece these clues together. "And besides, now you're too scared to finally do it," he said, gasping when she drove fingernails across his scalp. He squeezed her hips as she brushed her lips on his throat, tongue tickling. "And you—you still have M'Benga in the way," he whispered.

At this she laughed, a deep, low sound that spiked McCoy's heart rate. But he would not dare to question her about this; if she had killed M'Benga, saying anything about it now would only draw attention to himself.

"I miss the old days, Leonard," she said, and kissed him. Her kiss was soft, slow, delicate. Feminine in every way, opposite from the ones forced on him already in this universe. It was easy to lose himself in it, to close his eyes and kiss right back. He remained like that, with his eyes closed and his mouth open, waiting, as she pulled away, for a moment. By now she had her legs open with his body between them. "We were quite the pair, weren't we?" she laughed, her fingers sliding beneath his jaw. She pursed her lips and made a face of mock despair. "If only we could go back to that."

When he made a move to get away, she pressed her legs together harder, and he gave that up. "You know things are too different now," he said, trying to act like he didn't care. Just the right amount of disdain, yet not too much. "Hell, I'm different."

"I've noticed," she said, her voice suddenly cold, and McCoy's heart sped up even faster. He couldn't imagine what would happen if anyone found out he didn't belong there, but he suspected it wouldn't be good. A woman like this would most likely take that as a weakness to take advantage of. She held his jaw and stared into his eyes hard. "You've changed. That fire in your eye is gone." For a moment her eyes seemed to hold back such sadness, McCoy was tempted to say something that would appease her. He stroked her hip instead. "I guess Spock claiming you was harder than you thought it'd be?" she suggested, and let go of his face and slipped off the desk before he could answer.

Idly she pawed through objects in the drawer, not really picking up or looking at anything. "I gotta say I'm disappointed you finally broke down and let it happen," she said.

"Why, because you're worried that would take me away from you?" McCoy sneered.

She gave him a sparkling, toothy grin. "O, you'll always be mine, Leonard. I don't care who puts what kind of garish thing on you." She sighed and lazily stroked her hair. "Just promise me you don't let anyone pressure you into retiring."

He took a guess at what that meant. "Why not?" he asked, leaning on the desk. "Wouldn't that be convenient for you, taking me out of the picture?"

"And have you end up like Janice?" she asked in a halted voice. For the first time since she'd sneaked up on him, her face was honest. She gazed at him with such a bleak expression, McCoy squirmed. "I'd rather you die now than let the captain destroy what little's left of you!"

"I belong to Spock, not the captain," he said, frowning.

She shrugged. "Does it matter? That just means you have two assholes to answer to, and Spock wouldn't even let you give up your work, because you're too good at what you do." She sauntered closer, her lips stretching in a grin, and she grabbed him by the shirt. "No one can get answers like you." With a chuckle, she pressed herself against him. "Or sew the poor bastard up when you're done like you can."

McCoy put his hands on her waist as she devoured his lips yet again. She took a breath long enough to hiss, "Almost as good as me," before going at it again. McCoy gave back nearly as much as he got. His cuff rubbed up her body, banging into her elbow a few times as he ran his hands across her body. Her scent was pungent and sweet, her lips fierce and sharp on his. He had her lipstick on his teeth by now, her heavy breathing down his throat.

Suddenly Christine stopped and shoved McCoy away. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand, she turned to glare at Spock, who stood at the doorway, glaring right back at them both. She backed up when Spock came for her, the fear of him reducing her to a shaking wreck raising her bandaged arm as if in a pitiful defense.

"Spock!" McCoy shouted, running to put himself between them. He realized with chagrin that he had used that name for the bearded Vulcan, but it had been out of urgency, nothing else. "She didn't--it was my--"

"Quiet," Spock snapped, grabbing McCoy by the crook of the arm. Without another glance at Christine, he took McCoy from Sick Bay, and didn't speak a word to him or slow down his pace until they reached his quarters.