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1. Because McCoy is not a nice guy either.
By the time McCoy shows up Kirk is already deep into his session. The ensign is strapped to the frame on the table, naked and covered in welts. He’s so lost in his own suffering he doesn’t seem to notice that McCoy has entered the room.
Kirk is shirtless, covered in a light sheen of sweat. He’s also frowning. “You’re late.”
McCoy fetches glasses and some of Kirk’s finest Saurian brandy. “Emergency surgery right at the end of my shift.” He pours brandy for both of them and offers Kirk his glass. “I came here as fast as I could.”
The ensign definitely notices him then, makes desperate eye contact. He’s gagged, but that pathetic moan has only one meaning. Help me, doctor.
McCoy takes a sip of his drink. “Oh, don’t mind me.” He looks back at Kirk, answers his smirk. “I like to watch.”
2. Because the sex is fantastic.
Sometimes Kirk likes to tie him up and take his time, plying all his skills to have McCoy begging for it. Sometimes he lets McCoy tie him up, and then baits him and bats his eyelashes until McCoy gives in and fucks him the way Kirk wants.
And sometimes, like right now, Kirk just storms in and bends him over the desk. If it were anyone else McCoy would have jabbed them full of hemlock by now, but it’s Kirk, so he just pants and braces himself.
“You’re fucking mine, you cocksucking little bitch slut. You fucking love it, fuck, take it.”
“You gonna talk or fuck, Kirk?” McCoy shoots back, vowels lengthening and consonants dropping as he starts to lose it.
Kirk snarls and fucks harder, fierce enough that McCoy knows he’s going to ache for days. Kirk can’t shut up, keeps up this litany of possessive swearing, and McCoy wonders distantly what pissed him off that he needs to work it out of his system.
Mostly, though, he moans and jerks himself off and doesn’t give much of a fuck about anything else.
They finish one after another. McCoy collapses onto the ground next to his desk while Kirk flops into his chair. There’s silence in his office as they catch their breath and slow their hearts.
“Well,” Kirk says when he’s only a little breathless. McCoy looks up and sees he’s grinning. “Ready for round two?”
3. Because it’s useful.
They’ve been torturing him for so long that he’s forgotten his identification number. It’s not a finessed pain he can handle, or so consuming that he could pass out. It’s haunting and constantly changing and it horrifies him, the way they’re slicing him open. McCoy can’t even think of lies to shriek out at them, can barely concentrate on what they’re asking. All his mind can grasp onto is Kirk. Kirk will kill him if he says anything. Kirk will come back to get him. Kirk’s going to rip through these fuckheads with one hand behind his back. Kirk has blue eyes. Kirk smiles all the time.
They get nothing from him.
He’s loopy with pain when Kirk finally shows up. He slaughters all but one of McCoy’s torturers, knocking the last one unconscious and tying him up. “Did you tell them anything?” Kirk asks, every inch the imperial captain.
It takes a moment to register the question. “No,” he rasps.
“Good boy.” He offers the unconscious interrogator. “Want to have some fun with this one later?”
McCoy takes in Kirk’s blood spattered shirt, battered face and triumphant smile. “Sure.”
4. Because it’s familiar.
“Dammit, Kirk, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He can get away with yelling, now that the danger’s over and they’re alone in Sickbay.
“Nah,” Kirk replies, smile easy. “I just think you’d look more distinguished with gray hair.”
He finds himself laughing a little, and jabs Kirk extra hard with the painkiller hypo to make up for it. “You’re worse than a damn kid.”
“Oh,” Kirk purrs. “You want me to call you ‘Daddy?’”
McCoy’s reaction must give him away, damn him, because Kirk lights up even as he starts to go dopey from the hypo. “Wait, you have a kid?”
McCoy thinks fast, and decides his best bet is to play it off. He rolls his eyes. “Of course. How’d you think I got to be so good at handling you?”
And it’s not even a lie, McCoy thinks ruefully as he watches Kirk’s young, handsome face start to go lax with sleep.
Kirk is laughing softly. “Definitely gonna have to start calling you ‘Daddy.’”
5. Because it feels good.
The sunset on Garner IV is magnificent, probably because there are two suns. Of course, watching paint dry sounds pretty damn magnificent right about now, when McCoy is drunk on expensive Garnerian alcohol and Kirk’s overwhelming pride.
They’re lying half naked in the grass on some hill with a sweeping view of the capitol below them, and McCoy knows Kirk is getting a major thrill from surveying his most recent conquest. McCoy would just as soon be in his room, where it’s sterile and the beds are soft, but this is all right. The grass tickles pleasantly and the weather is great and Kirk’s shoulder is warm next to his.
“I fucking rock, don’t I?” Kirk asks, still staring down at the city.
McCoy rolls his eyes. “Yeah, and so modest, too.”
Kirk laughs. They lie together, Kirk propped up on his elbows and McCoy flat on his back, until Kirk breaks the silence: “I want to celebrate.”
“You saying you’re ready for round three?” He licks his lips.
Kirk makes a dismissive gesture. “No, not that. Well, yes that,” and he stops to leer, “But I mean really celebrate.” He sits up, stares back down at the city. “Want to come to Risa with me next shore leave?”
“Can’t.” McCoy sits up, kisses the perfect stretch of neck above Kirk’s collarbone. “Already made plans.”
Kirk finally turns back to him. “Where are you going?”
“Georgia.” He hasn’t seen Joanna in years. He kisses down to Kirk’s left nipple and alternates his teeth and tongue. “Old friends. Try to bang some alien babes for me.”
He feels Kirk shrug. “Guess I’ll have to get while the getting’s good, then.” He grabs McCoy by the hair so he can pull him down to his crotch. McCoy is hardly unwilling, and runs his tongue along a particular spot on Kirk’s dick until Kirk’s laughing. He works Kirk with his hands and the night is warm and the alcohol is good and he just can’t stop grinning.
+1. Because Kirk loves him back.
McCoy is still staring at the PADD when Kirk finds him in his room. He can’t read the letters anymore, although he’s memorized the message. Deceased. Cause: blunt force trauma.
He’s pretty sure he’s not crying. He feels blank where tears should be, devoid of any sort of feeling beyond a creeping, unfamiliar chill. It can’t be true. Dispatches can be forged, officials bribed or coerced. There’s no reason for it to have happened. He had been so careful.
“You got the report,” Kirk says as he sits next to McCoy on the bed. McCoy doesn’t look up.
Joanna had been just a kid, no threat to anyone. He’d made sure of that.
Kirk’s arm comes around his hunched back, warm and familiar. It doesn’t stop the chill inside him, something tangling through his bones, unsettling and unidentifiable.
What profit could anyone have made from killing her?
His heart is thudding in his chest.
No one had even known that he had a kid.
Except Kirk.
“Hey,” Kirk says, and shoves at McCoy until he looks up. McCoy stares into Kirk’s blue, blue eyes and tells himself that it can’t be true.
He realizes suddenly that the creeping feeling is terror, the same as when he stares into the void.