![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Kink Bingo Fic: Star Trek Reboot, K/S
Title: Let Me Help You to Forget
Author: erda
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1400
Warning: See prompt, obviously at least dub-con.
Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo
Prompt: mind control/amnesia.
The alarm went off at two am, and McCoy, having gone to bed fully clothed, was able to roll out of bed still half snoring, slip on his flip flops and grab the preprogrammed medical tricorder in less than a minute. He followed the device's high pitched blips out into the corridor and around past Kirk's door, catching up to the young captain only a couple of turns later. Kirk looked conscious, albeit a tad sleepy, but he didn't respond to McCoy's greeting, and when McCoy reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve, he turned sideways and slipped away, continuing down the corridor at an unhurried but purposeful pace.
McCoy let him go. There was no reason to make a scene, and he wasn't sure trying to force Kirk out of his somnambulance would be a good idea. Kirk finally stopped on his own, outside the alien first officer's door, slumping against it groggily, and almost falling when the door suddenly snapped open. Late as it was, Spock was in uniform and apparently wide awake, nor did he seem surprised to find Kirk swaying in his doorway.
McCoy took a moment to ponder what a surprised Spock might look like, before giving it up as one more unsolved mystery of the universe, a conclusion that proved premature when the Vulcan looked past Kirk and saw him. Spock's eyes went wide and he stepped back into the darkness of his room as if to hide, then shuffled his feet in unSpocklike confusion before pulling his imperturbable mask back on with an obvious effort of will. “Doctor?” He raised one eyebrow as if McCoy was the one who owed explanations. “Did you have something you required from me?” he added when McCoy made no response.
McCoy folded his arms, pressing his lips together and trying to project how unimpressed he was. “The Captain has been complaining to me about some trouble he's been having with sleepwalking,” he explained. He held up the medical tricorder. “You don't seem surprised to see him?”
“Indeed,” Spock answered. His tone was cool, but he didn't seem to be aware that both his hands were clenched into fists and trembling, the Vulcan equivalent of a full blown attack of rage. McCoy felt a moment of unease. Tales were told in Starfleet about the inhuman strength of Vulcans, and there were perhaps apocryphal accounts of their occasional unpredictable descent into rage, reminding him of Spock's attack on Kirk just a few short weeks ago. Whatever was happening, the Vulcan clearly knew something about it, and didn't want to share the information.
Spock's arm came around Kirk and he guided the strangely malleable captain into his room. “I would suggest you not interfere in things which do not concern you, Doctor.” The door slid shut silently, and McCoy was left staring at it in amazement.
McCoy looked around the thankfully empty corridor as he tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened. Deciding it didn't matter, he pounded on Spock's door a few times, but there was no response. Spock's brazen disregard of his medical authority left him sputtering in shock. Spock must realize he could just fetch a security guard and have the door mechanism overridden. Except, he had no idea what was going on, or how it might impact on Kirk, who had requested he keep the whole sleepwalking problem quiet as it wasn't likely to inspire confidence in the crew. They were far from any star base at the moment, out on their own in uncharted space, and Kirk was understandably concerned about his ability to project the right kind of image to a brand new crew, many of whom were just as young and green as he was.
But what the hell was the Vulcan up to? The sleepwalking problem had been going on for several weeks, according to Kirk, and he had shrugged off McCoy's outrage that he had waited so long to seek help, but at least it seemed nothing life threatening had happened so far. Kirk would probably not be a great deal worse off if he allowed whatever was happening to go on one more night, but he was bound and determined to intervene before it went another day. It was unlikely anyone would come down this corridor before morning, so McCoy decided to sit himself down and wait for Kirk to come out. The minutes passed slowly, and McCoy entertained himself trying to figure out what might be going on, getting more confused and concerned as the minutes turned into hours. He waited long enough that he nodded off, only waking when Spock's door finally opened, and Spock led out a half smiling Kirk. McCoy's stiff muscles had him groaning as he pulled himself back to his feet. Kirk was leaning into Spock, who gently pushed him off and directed him down the corridor toward Kirk's quarters, staring over Kirk's head at McCoy challengingly.
McCoy followed them silently. Kirk appeared more alert and unharmed, but he kept leaning into Spock, touching his arms, his hands, once even sliding a thumb across his face, and even more surprising than a cuddly Kirk was the way Spock allowed it, shooting looks at Kirk that were downright indulgent.
Spock palmed open Kirk's door -apparently the lock was set to admit him- and pulled Kirk into the room. When McCoy tried to follow, Kirk seemed to notice him for the first time. “Bones, go back to bed. I'm okay.”
He looked okay, more alert and focused, apparently awake and back to normal. But before McCoy could fashion a response, Kirk turned back to Spock, sliding both hands over the Vulcan's shoulders and behind his neck, pulling him into an achingly tender kiss. Kirk's body molded itself to Spock's with the ease that comes from practice, and the kiss went on and on as McCoy stood and watched, shocked into silence.
When they finally broke apart, Kirk seemed surprised to see McCoy still there. “I'm going to need some sort of explanation,” McCoy said firmly. Spock shot Kirk a look, and Kirk gave a small nod, leaned into Spock and bent his head. Spock's hand went to Kirk's face and he leaned close, speaking softly. “Forget,” he whispered, his lips brushing the side of Kirk's jaw, hard lines of his face sliding off and replaced with a softness he would have sworn the Vulcan was incapable of. “Forget,” he repeated, his hand slipping down off Kirk's face and tracing a last caress down his arm before turning back to McCoy.
“I think I've been more than patient, Spock,” McCoy said, trying not to show how unnerved he was by what he'd just witnessed.
“Indeed,” Spock answered. “You shall have your explanation, Doctor.” He watched Kirk, who was humming softly as he undressed and slipped into bed. “But not here. The Captain should rest.”
McCoy, astonished at Spock's unapologetic tone, rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he said, less than sincerely. “By all means let's leave the Captain to get his rest. Perhaps you could offer up your explanation in the medical bay.”
Spock nodded, McCoy's tone apparently going over his head, and followed McCoy silently back to the infirmary. McCoy motioned him into his office and closed the door quietly. When he turned around, he was alarmed at how close the Vulcan was standing, and he had a moment to think, god, how stupid am I before Spock's hand connected with the side of his face and the fight went out of him at the seductive sound of Spock's voice, commanding him, compelling him “forget.”
He'd been intending to monitor Kirk's sleepwalking problem, but instead it almost seemed as if he'd developed a problem of his own. He couldn't remember getting out of bed and walking to the infirmary, but the life signs detector showed Kirk safely in his quarters, the readings indicating he was sound asleep. It was a bit strange, but McCoy didn't feel like thinking about it. He was tired and eager to go back to bed. They'd all been overworked lately, adjusting to the stress of being so far away from earth, so it was not that surprising that he was having a bit of trouble sleeping. He was sure it was nothing serious.
Author: erda
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~1400
Warning: See prompt, obviously at least dub-con.
Written for
kink_bingoPrompt: mind control/amnesia.
The alarm went off at two am, and McCoy, having gone to bed fully clothed, was able to roll out of bed still half snoring, slip on his flip flops and grab the preprogrammed medical tricorder in less than a minute. He followed the device's high pitched blips out into the corridor and around past Kirk's door, catching up to the young captain only a couple of turns later. Kirk looked conscious, albeit a tad sleepy, but he didn't respond to McCoy's greeting, and when McCoy reached out and grabbed him by the sleeve, he turned sideways and slipped away, continuing down the corridor at an unhurried but purposeful pace.
McCoy let him go. There was no reason to make a scene, and he wasn't sure trying to force Kirk out of his somnambulance would be a good idea. Kirk finally stopped on his own, outside the alien first officer's door, slumping against it groggily, and almost falling when the door suddenly snapped open. Late as it was, Spock was in uniform and apparently wide awake, nor did he seem surprised to find Kirk swaying in his doorway.
McCoy took a moment to ponder what a surprised Spock might look like, before giving it up as one more unsolved mystery of the universe, a conclusion that proved premature when the Vulcan looked past Kirk and saw him. Spock's eyes went wide and he stepped back into the darkness of his room as if to hide, then shuffled his feet in unSpocklike confusion before pulling his imperturbable mask back on with an obvious effort of will. “Doctor?” He raised one eyebrow as if McCoy was the one who owed explanations. “Did you have something you required from me?” he added when McCoy made no response.
McCoy folded his arms, pressing his lips together and trying to project how unimpressed he was. “The Captain has been complaining to me about some trouble he's been having with sleepwalking,” he explained. He held up the medical tricorder. “You don't seem surprised to see him?”
“Indeed,” Spock answered. His tone was cool, but he didn't seem to be aware that both his hands were clenched into fists and trembling, the Vulcan equivalent of a full blown attack of rage. McCoy felt a moment of unease. Tales were told in Starfleet about the inhuman strength of Vulcans, and there were perhaps apocryphal accounts of their occasional unpredictable descent into rage, reminding him of Spock's attack on Kirk just a few short weeks ago. Whatever was happening, the Vulcan clearly knew something about it, and didn't want to share the information.
Spock's arm came around Kirk and he guided the strangely malleable captain into his room. “I would suggest you not interfere in things which do not concern you, Doctor.” The door slid shut silently, and McCoy was left staring at it in amazement.
McCoy looked around the thankfully empty corridor as he tried to comprehend what the hell had just happened. Deciding it didn't matter, he pounded on Spock's door a few times, but there was no response. Spock's brazen disregard of his medical authority left him sputtering in shock. Spock must realize he could just fetch a security guard and have the door mechanism overridden. Except, he had no idea what was going on, or how it might impact on Kirk, who had requested he keep the whole sleepwalking problem quiet as it wasn't likely to inspire confidence in the crew. They were far from any star base at the moment, out on their own in uncharted space, and Kirk was understandably concerned about his ability to project the right kind of image to a brand new crew, many of whom were just as young and green as he was.
But what the hell was the Vulcan up to? The sleepwalking problem had been going on for several weeks, according to Kirk, and he had shrugged off McCoy's outrage that he had waited so long to seek help, but at least it seemed nothing life threatening had happened so far. Kirk would probably not be a great deal worse off if he allowed whatever was happening to go on one more night, but he was bound and determined to intervene before it went another day. It was unlikely anyone would come down this corridor before morning, so McCoy decided to sit himself down and wait for Kirk to come out. The minutes passed slowly, and McCoy entertained himself trying to figure out what might be going on, getting more confused and concerned as the minutes turned into hours. He waited long enough that he nodded off, only waking when Spock's door finally opened, and Spock led out a half smiling Kirk. McCoy's stiff muscles had him groaning as he pulled himself back to his feet. Kirk was leaning into Spock, who gently pushed him off and directed him down the corridor toward Kirk's quarters, staring over Kirk's head at McCoy challengingly.
McCoy followed them silently. Kirk appeared more alert and unharmed, but he kept leaning into Spock, touching his arms, his hands, once even sliding a thumb across his face, and even more surprising than a cuddly Kirk was the way Spock allowed it, shooting looks at Kirk that were downright indulgent.
Spock palmed open Kirk's door -apparently the lock was set to admit him- and pulled Kirk into the room. When McCoy tried to follow, Kirk seemed to notice him for the first time. “Bones, go back to bed. I'm okay.”
He looked okay, more alert and focused, apparently awake and back to normal. But before McCoy could fashion a response, Kirk turned back to Spock, sliding both hands over the Vulcan's shoulders and behind his neck, pulling him into an achingly tender kiss. Kirk's body molded itself to Spock's with the ease that comes from practice, and the kiss went on and on as McCoy stood and watched, shocked into silence.
When they finally broke apart, Kirk seemed surprised to see McCoy still there. “I'm going to need some sort of explanation,” McCoy said firmly. Spock shot Kirk a look, and Kirk gave a small nod, leaned into Spock and bent his head. Spock's hand went to Kirk's face and he leaned close, speaking softly. “Forget,” he whispered, his lips brushing the side of Kirk's jaw, hard lines of his face sliding off and replaced with a softness he would have sworn the Vulcan was incapable of. “Forget,” he repeated, his hand slipping down off Kirk's face and tracing a last caress down his arm before turning back to McCoy.
“I think I've been more than patient, Spock,” McCoy said, trying not to show how unnerved he was by what he'd just witnessed.
“Indeed,” Spock answered. “You shall have your explanation, Doctor.” He watched Kirk, who was humming softly as he undressed and slipped into bed. “But not here. The Captain should rest.”
McCoy, astonished at Spock's unapologetic tone, rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course,” he said, less than sincerely. “By all means let's leave the Captain to get his rest. Perhaps you could offer up your explanation in the medical bay.”
Spock nodded, McCoy's tone apparently going over his head, and followed McCoy silently back to the infirmary. McCoy motioned him into his office and closed the door quietly. When he turned around, he was alarmed at how close the Vulcan was standing, and he had a moment to think, god, how stupid am I before Spock's hand connected with the side of his face and the fight went out of him at the seductive sound of Spock's voice, commanding him, compelling him “forget.”
He'd been intending to monitor Kirk's sleepwalking problem, but instead it almost seemed as if he'd developed a problem of his own. He couldn't remember getting out of bed and walking to the infirmary, but the life signs detector showed Kirk safely in his quarters, the readings indicating he was sound asleep. It was a bit strange, but McCoy didn't feel like thinking about it. He was tired and eager to go back to bed. They'd all been overworked lately, adjusting to the stress of being so far away from earth, so it was not that surprising that he was having a bit of trouble sleeping. He was sure it was nothing serious.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject