Work Text:
After twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes, the Away Team returned to the Enterprise. They were hot, sweaty and all supporting each other, struggling to stay conscious. McCoy had assembled a team of Medical personnel in heavy scrubs and masks to meet the crew in the Transporter room, and was glad for it. The transmission they had finally received just prior to picking them up had been… interesting.
“Kirk to Enterprise. If you can hear me, we’ve been infected. No idea what it is, but Spock supposes it came from the water. He is, as of right now, the only one unaffected. Otherwise, we’re feeling weak and dizzy and, well. Uhura is exhibiting… different symptoms. We think she was exposed first. Sulu has a sample of the water we drank. Have McCoy quarantine us immediately—we’re not exactly sure what symptoms could arise, and what effects they could have…”
And now, finally, their transporters were back on line after being knocked out passing too close to the uninhabited planet’s sixth moon. The pad whirred and the unsettling sight of molecules coming together to create six individual people brought the Away Team home again. In McCoy’s professional opinion, they looked like shit.
Uhura was passed out in Spock’s arms. Judging by the state of his hair and uniform, it hadn’t been an easy task, getting her there. Spock looked… On anyone else, McCoy wouldn’t have noticed it, but the slight incline of Spock’s eyebrows made him wonder if worried wasn’t the correct term to attribute to his face at that moment. But the moment passed, and suddenly Spock was striding off the pad as McCoy scanned the unconscious officer. Like a parade, the six Away Team members—the Captain, Sulu, Scotty, Chekov, Spock and Uhura—were led away from the Transporter room and into Medical.
“As far as I am able to ascertain,” Spock was saying in his even speech, “the infection spread through consumption of the water we found on the surface. As my body is used to the conditions of the planet, I opted to allow the others to drink from it.” McCoy was only half listening. Half of his brain was busy coming up with a preliminary list of known toxins that gave symptoms such as the ones Kirk had described in his earlier transmission. McCoy had already decided that confining the five senior officers to the empty Intensive Care Unit 2 would be best, and so led them forwards as they rushed into Medical. The two patients and single Nurse left in the bay watched as a small troupe traipsed through and away.
Inside, McCoy helped his staff hoist Scotty onto one of the beds they had set up not ten minutes earlier. He was barely conscious, his breathing labored and his face flushed. The others were in similar straights, though Chekov seemed the most in control. McCoy wondered if he had been the last to drink, or if he had just not had as much as the others.
“Doctor,” said Spock, standing in the doorway with Uhura still in his arms. She stirred, and Spock’s lips tightened.
“Put her down, Spock,” spat McCoy, pushing Sulu flat and trying to scan him without the other man thrashing too much.
“Of course,” said Spock, and moved to place her in the last empty bed, beside Kirk. She was whimpering in pain, awake now. Her hand was fisting the front of Spock’s uniform, making him slightly disheveled for the first time, as far as McCoy knew.
“Please,” she whispered. McCoy’s brow furrowed. “Please,” she repeated. “Spock, I need you. You know I do.”
“Nyota,” he said softly, “I cannot engage you in your altered state.” McCoy stared as Uhura groaned and her legs began to quiver and he realized that her free hand wasn’t free so much as busy between her legs. She was not in pain.
McCoy realized that this was not a virus he was familiar with.
“Get out,” he barked at the staff that was staring at Uhura’s uninhibited exhibition. “Now. No one else comes in.” They did as they were told. The others lay on their beds, silent. Kirk’s eyes were closed, and Scotty stared up at the ceiling like he couldn’t see a thing but Sulu and Chekov had both turned away, so they wouldn’t see any of Uhura’s exposed flesh. McCoy was a doctor. He’d already seen it all, and was coming to realize he’d have to see a lot more if this was what the infection progressed to. He was still in a state of shock, half his brain simply shut off while the other half tried to figure out what the best course of action would be in finding a cure—or maybe the effects would just wear off.
Spock put Uhura down on the bed as her hips bucked to meet the timing of her own thrusts. Her hand was still clutching his shirt as she came. He pulled himself free. She flicked her eyes up at him, her mouth open and wet. His face tightened. It was a mask to hide his reaction to what was obviously a proposition. Her other hand reached for the fastenings to his pants, but he stepped back. She whined. McCoy hoped he’d never have to hear that coming from her again—pained, needy, and inherently sexual. She turned to face Spock, biting her lip, begging without words, but her legs were obviously too weak to carry her. Already she had her thighs spread again, her hand traveling keenly to its destination.
“Doctor,” said Spock, his voice betraying the barest whisper of discomfort, “I cannot stand here when she is like this. I had to physically subdue in order to prevent what you have just witnessed, and it is not something I would like to repeat.” McCoy frowned, and pondered. Spock hadn’t drunk any water, and despite being in close contact with the others for a long while, he had not exhibited any of the symptoms Kirk had described. Spock was at least as healthy as McCoy was, at the moment.
“Yeah, alright,” said McCoy. “Get out. But don’t leave Medical. I may need you later.” Spock inclined his head a few degrees, and then with a last look at his lover, he left.
“Damn,” thought McCoy. “If this isn’t the plot of a quarter of all space-porn…” Shaking his head, he walked over to Uhura’s bedside, as far as he could be and still get a reading on her with his tricorder.
“Doctor,” whispered Uhura. “Doctor, please. I need…oh god, I need…” McCoy ignored her. She had an increased heart rate and her adrenaline was high, but other than that she seemed normal. Except that she wasn’t. McCoy pulled up more detailed readings and was going through them layer by layer, trying to figure out what system of the body this virus was feeding on. He spared a quick glance at his other three patients and was satisfied to see that they were breathing normally, but otherwise still. He turned back to find an empty bed. Uhura had regained control of her legs. Sort of.
She was on her knees instead, and before McCoy could even drop the tricorder, she had his pants undone and was pushing him against the bed. Half his brain was screaming “RUN!!!” while the other half was wondering where she got her deft fingers, if it was naturally hers or she was just high on whatever had tainted that water. And then he felt her mouth. The tricorder fell, and his knees buckled as he was suddenly swallowed halfway to the base, wet heat humming along his length like nothing he’d felt in years.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands hovering somewhere around his shoulders. He wasn’t sure what to do. Never before had he realized how vulnerable you could be when your cock was in someone else’s mouth, millimeters away from teeth. He wondered how to get her off him, and he wondered how to make her suck harder.
As if she’d heard that thought, her eyes flicked up to look at him as she increased suction, pulling back and then diving forward. The head of McCoy’s dick neared the back of her throat and she hummed.
“Fuck, Uhura, stop!” His brain was struggling to maintain control of his body, but the part of him that really missed sex was beating the other part of his brain over the head with a stick. Uhura’s well-manicured fingers splayed on his thigh and it tensed under her touch. She pulled back, her mouth popping off the end of his cock with a sound like a cork. McCoy tried to stumble backward, but she held him fast and licked a long line from his sac right up to the head. She had a talented tongue. Her head dropped forward again and McCoy’s rational brain lost the battle.
Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as he thrust unprofessionally into Uhura’s open and waiting mouth, the image absolutely pornographic. He forced his eyes open, and watched as she sucked him dry like it was him she was thirsty for.
Thirsty.
Shit.
His rubber legs gave beneath him. McCoy slumped against the empty bed, panting, remembering, realizing. Whatever they had taken had been in the water. Transmitted chiefly through oral means, as far as he knew. Uhura had just…serviced him. Orally. He was probably infected. His eyes closed briefly, and then he looked down. He was still hard. That was probably an issue. And further down, Uhura was staring up at him, her hand between her thighs yet again and… Well, that was different. Her fingers were no longer working the usual territory, but instead had moved lower, pressing against her own tight anus. His cock twitched.
“Doctor…” she moaned. Her eyes fluttered closed as she slid two fingers inside herself, “I need you. Now.” He didn’t move. His pants were bunched around his thighs and his hard cock bobbed above his fly and his shirt was pushed up to his belly button and he really didn’t look like her Doctor. Shame flashed through him, and he started to stuff himself back into his pants. He’d molested her. Let her go through with something she wasn’t even in her right mind enough to give consent to. And as he turned, putting his professional mask back in place, she bent over the bed and spread her legs and his brain took a vacation.
When he next came to himself, he was balls deep in her, his thumb pressed into the dark bud of her asshole as she bucked like her life depended upon it. Her uniform was gone and so were his shirts, his pants bunched again somewhere between buttocks and knees. He was thrusting against her hard, and his fingers were going to leave bruises the way he was grabbing her hip, but the sounds she was making and the slickness of her was overriding his entire medical background.
In the next bed, Scotty was stirring. No, moaning. McCoy looked at him and could see the bulge in his pants already. He was coming over to Uhura’s level. He was going be on them any moment. McCoy slipped his hand around to Uhura’s front, finding the slippery nub between her folds and rubbing as he angled his hips, moving faster and less rhythmically until—
Her scream woke Scotty properly. For a second, it looked like he was just himself, awake and alert. But as McCoy gave a shudder and came too, Scotty simply watched, his eyes taking on a slightly predatory look. Uhura had passed out now; only McCoy’s support was keeping her from sliding to the floor. He hoisted her up onto the bed and pulled the sterile medical blanket over her prone form.
He turned around to find himself face to face with a completely naked Scotty.
“Fuck!” swore McCoy, stepping backwards against the bed Uhura was sleeping in, “How the hell did you get naked so fast?” McCoy was stuffing himself back into his pants and glaring at Scotty, who was moving slowly towards him. “Stay back. I know what you’re about to do and you can’t, she’s completely unconscious…” But Scotty was ignoring McCoy’s words, moving forward until McCoy had to raise his hands over his head so as not to touch the slightly sweaty skin of the other officer. Scotty did not extend him the same courtesy. He slid his hands up under the front of McCoy’s shirt and up, until it was bunched around his elbows and he couldn’t see a damn thing. And there were lips on his neck and shoulders and Scotty’s hands were unfastening his pants and McCoy was panicking a little but his cock was still hard, and then Scotty was touching it and it was maybe harder yet, and dammit he was a doctor, not a sex slave, but everyone seemed to be treating him like one.
“Scottyyy,” groaned McCoy, his face hot with his own breath trapped in his tangled shirts. “Scotty, you don’t know what you’re doing…”
“Aye, I do,” said Scotty as he shimmied McCoy’s trousers down his legs and into a pile on the floor. “I know my way around a man.” He licked at McCoy’s chest, and pulled down the other man’s briefs. McCoy’s brain was buzzing, trying to think of a way to stop Scotty from sucking his cock but he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea and Scotty didn’t seem like he was planning on stopping anytime—
All the air went out of McCoy’s lungs as Scotty pushed him to the ground. His head bounced against the floor and he was seeing stars. It took a few seconds for him to realize that Scotty was kneeling over him, licking down his belly towards his traitorous cock. He managed to shimmy his binding shirts up enough that he could look through the gap down the length of his own body to the other man who was intent on mouthing his cock. He watched as Scotty literally slobbered on him, a sight that should have been appalling but the way his mouth was round and his tongue was slick put all normal reactions to shame. Scotty pulled off McCoy’s slick dick and smirked up at him, crawling forwards, his cock brushing gently against McCoy’s. Then he raised himself up on his legs and gripped McCoy in his hand and slowly lowered himself.
McCoy swore again and pushed himself free of his tangled clothing, trying to push himself upright in the same motion. Before he could do a thing, Scotty was on him, completely. The stars behind his eyes were returning, but not from pain. The other man raised himself up a little, and then back down, taking McCoy a little further than before. McCoy groaned. Scotty raised himself up again and, grinning down at McCoy, hovered there. McCoy couldn’t wait for Scotty to stop his teasing—he thrust his hips up and the motion drew a moan out of Scotty, and then they were moving together, Scotty whimpering and moaning like a porn star while McCoy’s brain tried to work out a medical reasoning for letting a patient impale himself on his cock. He couldn’t find one.
His eyes flicked up to Scotty, who was trembling now as McCoy’s thrusts drew small moans from him and McCoy could see him fisting his purple cock. Kirk stirred, groaning softly. The room was full of the wet sounds of skin on skin, McCoy and Scotty, thrusting to meet again and again.
At last Scotty came, splashing over McCoy’s stomach and his own hand. But release didn’t relive his hard-on, and Scotty didn’t stop moving. McCoy wasn’t ready yet, wasn’t much closer than he had been when he had first been enveloped by Scotty’s tight heat. He was frustrated, and wanted to flip Scotty over so he could control his thrusts more fully, but his arms were weak as rubber and Scotty had way more energy than he did.
“Well, well, well,” said a voice from down past McCoy’s feet. Over Scotty’s shoulder he could see Kirk walking forward, staring lustily at the scene before him. McCoy knew that look — he’d seen it turned on many a lady but had never seen it in his direction. He felt like a deer — he wanted to run. But Scotty was still on him and while it wasn’t quite enough, it was good. He stayed put, but watched warily as Kirk sunk to his knees between his legs. Even as his thrusts into Scotty continued, the other man groaning and rocking his hips as good as any slave-girl, McCoy watched his best friend take two of his own fingers into his mouth. McCoy swore.
“Jim,” he said hoarsely, “Jim, please. Don’t. I can’t… I couldn’t… Not you.” His throat tightened, thinking of how their relationship would change after this moment. Kirk would avoid him, pull back into professionalism, and then it would all fall apart, and McCoy… He wasn’t sure if he could survive out here in the black without his best friend to keep him grounded. Kirk was grinning, and McCoy felt the press of fingers, not on his ass but against his cock.
“Fuck,” he breathed as Scotty stopped, panting. Kirk was slipping a second finger into the man’s ass, stretching him further than McCoy already had.
“You’re not—!” gasped McCoy. “Jim, you don’t know what you’re doing! You’ll rip him in half.”
“H’ won’t,” slurred Scotty, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Don’t worry, Bones,” said Kirk as he licked at Scotty’s bare shoulder. “I’m the Captain.” He bit into Scotty’s shoulder, causing the other man to moan and writhe just a little. “I know what’s best.”
“As Chief Medical Officer, I can’t allow—Oh fuck!” Kirk had slid up beside him and was already pressing, pressing, and Scotty was babbling meaninglessly, his accent so thick McCoy had no idea what he was saying.
The world went silent for a moment, and all McCoy could see was blurred from the sweat in his eyes but somewhere someone was shifting and all the nerves in his lower half lit up in pleasure and he wondered how he could ever forget this all encompassing tightness, this pressed-up against Jim-ness, this extremely pornographic unadulterated fucking that could eject them all from service… He wondered if any of them would be able to work together after this. But even that thought fled his head as Kirk moved again. They worked up to a rhythm almost too slowly. It was definitely too slow when McCoy heard Sulu stirring somewhere and the whole situation was spiraling downhill and for some reason that was even hotter and--! He blacked out.
It wasn’t long before he came to. Scotty had passed out as well, but Kirk had pushed him onto the floor beside McCoy and now was giving Sulu what seemed like a very thorough blowjob. McCoy was finally spent, and struggled to his feet. He considered fleeing the room for a shower, he considered putting his clothes back on over his sticky flesh, he considered trying to get head from someone so he could get back in the fray and scratched that one out right away. He opted instead to put his clothes back on, minus the underwear that were torn clean in half and… well. He tossed them in the bio-waste compartment and pulled his shirt on.
Sedating Kirk and Sulu was the only thing he could think of. They were making sounds that McCoy really didn’t want to hear even though he’d been part of the whole thing only minutes ago.
Crossing to the cupboard on the wall, he opened it and rifled, looking for a strong sedative when he heart Chekov whimper. He froze, his arm blocking his view of Chekov. Slowly, he lowered his arm and peeked at the young Ensign. He was still passed out, but his lips twitched and he groaned a little louder now. The sound trailed off into whispers too low for McCoy to catch anything but the hiss. He thought for a moment that the boy was in pain — a painful erection was nothing to sneeze at — but then he moaned like he was really enjoying something and… A quick glance downward told McCoy he was at least dreaming nice dreams. But if he woke up he’d be humping McCoy’s leg like an untrained puppy. He grabbed a sedative and loaded up a hypospray. He rounded on Chekov, ready to keep him in his sleepy state…
“Doctor,” moaned Chekov, “please…” McCoy started. The kid was awake? Awake, but so out of it that he didn’t even realize… McCoy was standing not two feet away, afraid to move for fear he’d see him and try to get him to do whatever he was imagining. The kid was fantasizing about him, not trying to fuck him senseless in person but just thinking about him, using his imagination to try and get himself off… And damned if it didn’t stir something in McCoy right there. Unlike the others, he was reacting to Chekov himself, just being a teenager, even if that was greatly augmented by the effects of this unknown infection. “Leonard,” whispered Chekov again. The younger man’s flushed face tossed on the pillow, the front curls of his hair plastered to his forehead. His hand was buried in the front of his pants. Unlike the others, Chekov wasn’t trying to thrust his uncontrollable desire on someone (anyone) else. He was trying to solve it himself.
“I need you,” the boy moaned. McCoy inched closer, hardly daring to breathe. He’d never thought of the kid specifically. He fit on the list somewhere in the back of his mind of attractive people he’d never fuck, but he’d never actively thought about it. He was a kid, really, almost young enough for McCoy to be his father. But with this obvious revelation, McCoy’s hormones were battling his own sense of logic to see how he could make it okay for him to engage the young cadet in whatever the hell he was fantasizing about.
His brain took a break when Chekov pushed his pants down, just a little. McCoy could see the movement of his hand now, could see his pelvic bone creating a small cavern that McCoy wanted to lick into and drive the kid crazy. He could see the fairly light hair dusting his stomach and lower…. But the effects of the toxin had almost completely worn off now, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull the boy out of his self-pleasure. He just watched silently. It didn’t take long for the kid to come. He thrust his hips shallowly into his hand and panted McCoy’s name almost too softly for him to hear.
But McCoy knew now what the kid was thinking about at night. And after he’d made sure they were all okay, he was going to figure out a way to make those fantasies come true. He moved quickly away from the boy as his head fell back against the pillow and he slipped towards sleep. He’d find a way to flush the toxin, and then they’d all have a conversation about how no one else could find out about the events that transpired in Sick Bay.
-----
They didn’t remember a thing. McCoy hadn’t even had time to cure them, really, before the effects simply wore off, and they all woke up in standard issue medical pajamas.
Only McCoy, who’d only experienced a topical application of the toxin, remembered any of the events that transpired. The rest of them didn’t even remember their trek from the Transporter Room to medical. Uhura didn’t remember leaving the foreign planet. This made McCoy feel less comfortable than he thought it did. He felt like a sex offender — the ones he’d violated had forgotten the events and he alone held the sordid memory of fucking their brains out. He couldn’t even look at Scotty, who’d been facing him for a long time, naked and impaling himself... And McCoy couldn’t look at Chekov either. The boy was always flushed. He always looked a little bit like he did in the bed in medical, debauching himself for McCoy’s enjoyment. And that’s the one that got him the most. He remembered watching the kid pull himself off, but now he wasn’t sure if the kid even meant to be thinking about him. Was it just a side effect of McCoy having sex in the same room? Was it a fever dream? Had he imagined the boy calling his name? He wasn’t sure.
But sometimes, in the middle of the night, McCoy would lie awake with a raging hard-on, cycling through the images in his head to try to settle on someone he hadn’t debauched while they were under the influence of heavy drugs or an infection or whatever the hell it’d been. And his mind would settle on Chekov, and the full red lips and the slim pale hips and the square jaw. All it took was a fleeting thought—is he jerking off right now, thinking about me?—and McCoy’d lose it in an instant. He’d really have to figure out how to make that fantasy a reality.