Title: Mutual Benefits
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Beta(s): vail_kagami & leesquared
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Rating: R
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Length: 1,005 words

Summary: Mirror!verse AU. Pre-Mission. Dr. McCoy picks up a new job after the divorce and meets a most refreshing subject.
Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or the concepts of Star Trek in any of its forms.
Warnings: Dehumanization, scalpel play.

Note: A few word and grammatical changes have been made since the story was submitted to the Round 1 Prompt 3 challenge at team_spones. However, the story has not been changed.

*---*---*---*---*

He's humming to himself, organizing a tray of surgical implements, when the subject starts coming around. Leonard doesn't stop or pause what he's doing, instead letting it get a feel for its position.

And that position is a pretty sight. Strapped to the upright table by standard restraints, the expanse of long legs and toned abdomen contrasted against stark black hairs sprouting across the chest and groin. There's more smooth skin along the arms and shoulders, leading up to a sharply featured face with its equally black goatee and militarily haircut.

This subject would be a memorable specimen.

Sure, there are recent green bruises all along that skin, and a split in the corner of the lower lip that's already crusted over, but in Leonard's mind that just adds to the beauty and complexity of the task ahead.

Leonard knows that the subject had given better than it had gotten when Admiral Levitiz's men had acquired it. He had set a number of broken limbs earlier that day.

Normal men would take in the atmosphere and start pleading. The younger, more defiant ones would make what they believed to be humorous insults, but which just revealed their hysteria. Their ensuing thrashing always made Leonard's work messy. He prefers the older, broken ones that stare anywhere but at him and whimper as he slices them open.

Leonard can feel the subject's gaze on him, tracking his movements as he picks up a clamp and sanitizes it. The lack of extraneous questions or pathetic noises shows a calm acceptance of the situation that Leonard rarely encounters.

It's always better – easier – when the subject accepts what's about to happen.

The prospect makes him smile broadly, causing him to wince. He'd pulled at the fresh stitches across the bridge of his nose and left cheek. He tones the expression down until he's smiling as softly as a lover.

The subject – a Romulan, like the rest – raises an eyebrow as Leonard picks up a scalpel and flicks a switch on the computer. He makes a mental note of the genetic marker match an earlier ran blood sample produced.

"Computer, open file ar-en-dee-two-six-niner, user Doctor Leonard H. McCoy, password Joanna," he states, walking forward, detailing clinical data aloud as he goes.

He's reaching out with his free hand to recline the table, saying something inane – "... subject is a Romulan male, 198 centimeters tall ..." – when there's an awful ripping noise and before he can react his wrists are caught in a tight, firm hold.

A quick forceful twist, the sharp throb of soft tissue bruising, and where before Leonard had a scalpel there's nothing but empty air. The next second there’s sharp metal pressing against the skin of his neck, already digging into the epithelial layer.

Most doctors would panic and slit their own throats, but this isn’t the first, nor hopefully the last, time Leonard has felt cold surgical steel against his throat.

There's an eager, Pavlovian twitch in his pants, under his ankle-length lab coat. He's grinning before he can stop himself, pulling at the stitches again.

The subject notices with a flick of its eyes downwards and back up, and then raises its eyebrows. "Fascinating. You believe I will not kill you. Why?"

He flicks his own eyes down, and the scalpel lets up just enough to speak. "I'm more valuable to you alive. You don't know where you are nor the security codes needed to leave."

"True. But I am Vulcan, and it would be easy to take that knowledge from you."

"You can't be Vulcan," Leonard states, letting his eyes trail to the subject's right ear. "The curve radius of your ear's pinnae is smaller than a Vulcan male's."

The subject scowls, and the scalpel is back at Leonard's throat, this time nicking him deliberately so that a trickle of blood tickles down his neck. "I am half Human, which accounts for the physical abnormality."

Fuck. A mongrel pedigree would account for that deviation. A flick of his eyes down again, and the subject – the Vulcan – pulls back just that vital bit. "Well than, if you're goanna kill me, try the carotid artery –"

Wait – Vulcan?

Suddenly a lot of what he's been doing for Levitiz makes a lot more sense, assuming Levitiz knew the subject was a Vulcan. "Hey," he murmurs, lost in the epiphany, "How good are you with computers?"

The Vulcan blinks at the tangent, but readily answers. "I will be taking the test for A-7 computer expert classification next week."

Perfect. "What would you say to a mutually beneficial arrangement?"

There is another arched brow, a considering look. The grasp around his captured wrist tugs at his hand until it is covering the Vulcan's flaccid cock, then moves to cup Leonard's half-hard erection. Leonard gives an involuntary gasp as the Vulcan replies with a squeeze. "Continue."

*---*---*

A prick of cold metal against his tongue, and he's coming hot and heavy in the Vulcan's hand.

Fuck, yeah.

The scalpel's cold, flat edge drags slowly along his cheek as he's pushed down to his knees. He grips the base firmly and leans in, swallowing the Vulcan's still full and leaking cock in return, tonguing the slit along the way.

Long fingers twine in his hair, harshly pushing him closer until his nose is bumping skin and hair.

He could get used to this.

*---*---*

Afterwards, the Vulcan hacks the computer, purging the experimental data, and Leonard rolls the Vulcan out of the compound in a body bag.

A day later, the news vids announce the compound's unfortunate and lethal fire, and how Levitiz is found walking aimlessly a few streets away, unresponsive to outside stimuli.

Leonard is drafted that same day. New subjects and experiments gradually cause the memories of the half-breed to fade.

It's not until years later, pinned to the wall of a turbolift with surgical steel against his neck, that the memories surface again.

"My name is Spock," the Vulcan says, nipping sharply at Leonard's lower lip. "And you are mine."

--Fin.