Title: Whips and Chains
Author: Yami no Kaiba
Beta: spikeface
Fandom: Star Trek: TOS
Rating: R
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Length: 2,044 words

Summary: Mirror'verse Slave AU. The I.S.S. Enterprise picks up some new slaves, including a troublesome doctor.
Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or the concepts of Star Trek in any of its forms.
Warnings: Slavery, BDSM, Mirror'verse.

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

Spock suppressed a frown while standing beside Captain Kirk, giving a short nod of greeting to the Orion Captain who was shaking hands with the Terran Captain.

Slave trading. It was a disgusting practice, but the Enterprise had a pressing need for replacement staff and was not due to receive any more enlisted personnel for another 0.554 Terran years.

Of the various departments, one might think that Security needed the personnel boost, but it was the Medical department that had suffered the most from their losses. Their CMO, Dr. Piper, had had his head bitten off a month ago during a mission, and before that they had already lost two doctors and five nurses. While Dr. M’Benga was capable for the position of CMO, the Medical department had had a noted steady decline in efficiency after the deaths.

Medics were always in demand in the universe, no matter what Empire they came from. As such, the Orions were well known to have talented field-tested slaves in stock, ready for purchase.

The slaves were prodded into a lineup behind the Orion Captain by other green-skinned males. Most of the collared chain-gang were humanoid species from various Orion slave stocks – easy enough to tell from the way they didn't look up from the deck floor – but there were a few oddities as well, picked up no doubt from various raids on charted and uncharted worlds.

The Orion Captain was taking them down the line, showing off the slaves when a red-shirted Ensign jogged over and whispered into Kirk's ear. Overhearing the information, Spock checked his instinctive urge to grab for his phaser.

"...Captain Ozri," Kirk murmured, while shooing the Ensign away with a wave of his hand. "I've mentioned how much I appreciate you coming aboard the Enterprise for this transaction, yes?"

"Yes, you have." Ozri smiled bold and unaware.

There was that famous charming grin, and Kirk waved again, signaling the surrounding crew members to train their phasers on their guests. "This transaction is cancelled, I'm afraid. I've just received orders from the Empire that your ship, the Ver’dek is to be impounded for its raid on Stardate 2262.63 of the Empire planet Shreedar. Your cargo is to be appropriated, and you and your crew to be imprisoned for sentencing at Starbase 14. And please, Captain," Kirk said, cutting off the spluttered protest, "don't try to tell me your ship is the Ver’dree. I've already had my Chief Engineer match sensor readings taken from a Shreedar outpost with that of the Enterprise's readings. I do so hate hearing prisoners protesting their innocence."

Spock trained his phaser pointedly on the angry Orion Captain. "The slaves, Captain?"

Kirk gave him a glance of amusement before turning to his right, pointing to the Orion transport. "Ah yes. Mr. Sulu, take a team and secure the –"

There was the smack of flesh on flesh, the sharp gasp of air being suddenly released. Turning his head, Spock caught the delayed whine of a phaser discharge even as the scream started.

There was muffled shouting coming from the hatch of the Orion transport ship. A dart of blue, black, and red as one of the security personnel attempted to shoot at the running figure that was skidding to its knees, hands already a bloody mess as they put pressure on the partially cauterized wound the screaming Orion bore. There was barely a moment lost as the skinny male – human? It was hard to tell when they'd encountered so many human-seeming races before – shouted over his shoulder, "Chris, get me a med-kit!"

"Well now," Kirk said, in a smugly pleased voice, "seems we've got ourselves a new doctor, doesn't it?"

"So it does," Spock agreed, eyeing the black strip of leather fitted snuggly around the slave's neck.

*---*---*

Leonard McCoy was a slave.

Oh, he hadn't always been this way – he'd been a promising cadet at the Empire's Academy, once. A fully fledged doctor already, working his way through the basic training of a ‘fleet officer.

He'd been close to graduation when he'd been stationed for his residency on a little speck of a planet where the kiddies couldn't do too much damage when they screwed up. He'd been there two days, up to his waist in sorting out the idiotic fuck-ups of his younger, less experienced peers, when the Orion ships had screamed through the purple sky.

For three years he'd been a slave, and while he didn't care for the lack of freedom, the loss of the little things he'd taken for granted – like what foods to eat, when to take a break, what he got to read – he'd found the status more to his liking than the ‘fleet enlistment he'd had. As a slave, he was a doctor and nothing more.

He was not expected to deal with the paperwork at the end of the day. He didn't need to watch his back for that hidden dagger or the drops of poison that one of his more enthusiastic subordinates was likely to use against him. Also, a slave was a valuable commodity – he'd seen ship captains casually kill an enlisted man for an offense that, in the same circumstances, would merely get a slave beaten bloody.

He could easily let himself slip away into this lifestyle, if it wasn't for his pride and curiosity. When he was honest with himself, he found that while he was a doctor, he was also a scientist with a scientist's insatiable need to know more.

As a slave, he could only be a doctor. As a free man, he could be both.

There was no struggle in his decision to run away.

*---*---*

Leonard's first attempt to run away was a disaster. He blamed it on the withdrawal he'd been shaking his way through from the dratted drugs the Orions had pumped him full of.

He wasn't thinking straight when he'd been dragged into the transporter room, a med-kit slung unceremoniously around his neck by a smirking technician. He was too far in his own world of need and want to even recognize he'd been prodded to stand in a machine he had irrationally hated since he’d first heard of it.

The ugly, nauseating feeling of at once falling and being simultaneously pricked all over had him running the moment he'd rematerialized on the planet, right into a thicket of bushes and trees.

There was surprised shouting behind him, and the realization of just how much fucking trouble he'd be in should he be caught merely pushed him to run faster.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he cursed under his breath, feeling the muscles burn in his legs far sooner than he'd expected. He'd always been a sprinter more than a runner, and the P.E. course he'd gone through for basic training hadn't cured him of that natural tendency.

There were heavy footfalls behind him, the snap of twigs and sticks, the crunch of dead leaves and of course the heavy cursing of his pursuers.

He should just give up, let them capture him – the timing of this attempt was all off, they'd only just arrived to this planet. Eventually he'd have to stop moving to sleep and then they could just lock on to his signature and beam him back aboard. There was no chance he could escape.

But his pride reared its head, and now that he'd started he couldn't just stop.

He got a few more yards, hearing the cursing die away, but there were still pounding feet behind him. No labored breath, though, and that was how he knew it was over before it had even begun. There were lanky arms around his waist, heavy weight against his back, and he was being tackled to the unforgiving ground.

He scraped his palms right good in his attempt to stop from cracking his head against a smooth stone right between his eyes. There was heated breath against his ear and surprising strength as the arms tightened around him and hauled him up to his feet, then let go to spin him around and shove him roughly up against a tree trunk.

The Vulcan's eyes were burning, his normally flawless hair mussed. "That was an ill-advised move on your part, Doctor."

Leonard couldn't help but privately agree, even as he twisted his face into a snarl. "Fuck off, you Vulcan bastard."

The spark of interest that ignited in those eyes even as a lead line was snapped into the D-link of his collar caused a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd seen that look before – never directed at him, thank God – and it never boded well, whether it was directed at a slave or a free man. "Perhaps an extra five lashes will teach you to watch your words, Doctor."

His reply was out before he'd even thought of it, "Oh please, that's the worst excuse for getting your jollies off that I've ever heard."

"If you prefer fifteen minutes in the agonizer booth, you have but to say so," was the cool reply as the First Officer turned and started to walk back to the landing party.

Feeling as if he'd just had a pail of ice water dumped over his head, Leonard kept his mouth shut on the retort that bubbled in his chest. Stubborn to the last, he waited until the sharp tug of the lead had him stumbling forward after the Vulcan.

The fifteen lashes he received when they returned to the others left his throat and back uncomfortably raw, but more determined than ever to get away.

It was only later, when they were back on the ship, that he realized the Vulcan had never protested his remark, and that he used a whip with more enthusiasm than was strictly professional.

*---*---*

Leonard thought there should be blood on his hands, after cutting into someone's femoral artery. If he'd used 20th century equipment there would be.

But no, he'd only burned the guard's muscle, laser scalpels being what they were. The sound of limping drags come from behind him, along with the high pitched whine of a hand-held phaser charging.

The transporter room was right ahead, the planet below capable of supporting life. He had the week's transporter codes scribbled under his shirt sleeve, courtesy of a drunk engineer with a loose tongue. But what gave this run a chance was that the Enterprise only had one more hour in orbit before they had to leave.

If he could keep moving for an hour, they'd have to leave him behind. A slave may be more valuable then the expendable enlisted men, but he still wasn't worth the punishment given out to ships that delayed the schedule of the Admirals.

He blindly turned a corner with the sound of a discharge behind him, feeling the flash heat of the burst miss even as the smell of scorched metal hit him. He chanced a look at the melting metal, his mind shying away from how close he'd been to having his head blown off, when he ran right into someone's chest, an arm wrapping and tightening around his waist.

Panicked, he balled a fist and was in the progress of instinctually swinging at a kidney shot when hard blinding-fast pressure registered at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Darkness yanked his conscious thoughts away.

*---*---*

Pain ripped through the muffled silk of unconsciousness, waking him with a scream from his own throat. Burning fire cut a line along his back, making him jerk instinctively to arch his back in an attempt to get away, rattling the chains that kept his arms stretched above his head.

He blinked through the pain and gritted his teeth, heart pounding in his chest and pride pricking at the involuntary sound of weakness he'd made. A quick glance around revealed a standard ship's quarters draped in red cloths. Wicked looking knives and swords were mounted on the walls.

Something hard brushed against the nape of his neck, and hot air was breathed against his ear. "I suggest you start counting, Doctor," the voice of that Vulcan bastard whispered. "Or we may not progress beyond this point in your punishment."

Knowing it wasn't an idle threat, Leonard grit his teeth and buried his pride. "One."

--Fin.