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[personal profile] bibliothekara
Disclaimer: All copyrighted materials referred to in this work are the property of their respective owners. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Genre: AU-Mirror-Verse; Dark-Fic; Het, PWP
Pairing: Keith/Rachel/Cutie (Chris Hayes)-Mirror Versions
Rating: FRAO/NC-17
Warnings: Bondage, BDSM, Threesome
Note: This fic sprang from some very interesting discussions on Twitter, about  the pundits and their opposite numbers in the Star Trek Mirror Universe. (As seen in TOS and DS9.) This is meant to be set in the present-day MSNBC of that particularly dark universe, so enter at your own risk. But if you do,  there be pornz ahoy. Also, I shamelessly borrowed the  title and its associations from Joss Whedon. You'll see why.

Summary: Chris has failed in a mission; Keith allows Rachel to set the punishment, if he gets to watch. With bonus anchor!desk!kink.


Walking down the hall to the studio, late at night, Chris ruefully chuckled to himself. It had almost worked, he thought, shaking his head. If that hell-spawned Willie Geist hadn't gotten in his way, taken the wrong coffee, the plan would have worked perfectly. "Morning Joe" would have been in chaos, and the other morning shows would soon have followed. Leaving the Evening Alliance as the only serious power at the network, and Chris with the resulting benefit and increase in rank.

Now, once the little worm got out of the hospital, Chris would have Geist's predictably feeble attempt at revenge to worry about as well. STUPID. DUMB. Even the junior underlings at Fox wouldn't have made such a rookie mistake in their plans. As much as he despised them, he usually had to give some admiring credit to their ruthless efficiency. It would probably serve them well in the coming conflict.

He steeled himself, as he reached the door to the studio. The shows tonight had been good; his interviews had been fantastic. But he knew full well that would not save him; save him from a well-deserved punishment for his operational incompetence. MSNBC (Malevolent Seditious News Broadcasting Coalition) did not take failure well.

Chris smiled. At least, he thought, he had been there long enough to move up enough in the ranks, to come to more prominent attention. Rachel was ruthless, to be sure, but she was also a long-term thinker. She had recruited him permanently from his previous employers for a reason. While he didn't trust her, per se (not that he trusted anybody as far as he could throw them), he flattered himself that maybe he understood Rachel. She would punish him, certainly- he almost smiled at the thought- but oh, she would make it count for something.

Keith, on the other hand....if Keith was there when he entered the studio, all bets might be off. Keith was more unpredictable, with a more fiery temper than Rachel on the best of nights. Chris remembered one interview, staring at the scar that criss-crossed Keith's right eye, Heidelberg-style. Wondering how he'd gotten it; Keith had never told anybody. Rachel might not even know, though she knew pretty much everything else about him. And she, in turn, might be the only one Keith "trusted" in this damned place.

They...worked together well, he thought. The thought gave him pause, and excited him at the same time; Chris supposed that's why he'd ended up *here*. In the chaotic mess that was today's America, best to find a place where you knew where you stood, a place where you knew the price for failure.

He opened the door. The studio was completely dark, except for one light, over an overstuffed leather chair. Keith was sitting there (damn), but he seemed calm. Wearing only a waist-coat over his shirt and trousers, tonight's pinstriped jacket and mauve tie discarded, he peered at Chris over the top of his glasses.

"The mission didn't go well. It didn't go well at all."

"Yes, sir."

"And you know what that means, don't you, Christopher?" Keith was being quiet. Keith was never quiet. This was highly unnerving.

"Yes, sir."

"Penance, Christopher, penance. Now, since you are still useful to us, you will survive, don't worry. I had a few ideas on how that penance might be served. But I also know someone, who's better than I am on these matters. " He glanced over to the shadows, and out stepped the lady in question. Her skin was pale in the dim light, and the glint of moon shining through the window. The dark red shell she had worn under the suit jacket mid-show was still there. But she had changed into leather pants. She was holding something, and she started to smile, broadly.

Keith started to grin too, malevolently. "I defer to my sweet Rachel, as always. Go ahead, my dear."

With her free hand, Rachel...Chris couldn't believe his eyes, Rachel ruffled Keith's hair. Her tone was a perfect imitation of sickly sweet, of that Gretchen Carlson-tone she always mocked. "Oh Keith. You and me, we share our toys so well. "

She looked back at Chris, all faux-sweetness drained from her gaze, but still smiling. "Jacket off. Pants off. On the desk, now."

Chris did exactly as he was told, even though the plexiglass was cold beneath his bare legs. Now, Keith watching, Rachel slowly strolled over. The thing she was holding turned out to be leather cord, and as she bound him to the anchor desk, she also unbuttoned his shirt, one at a time.

"I've trained you so well, haven't I, Chris?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And as much as you try not to be, you're an easy man to understand. You respond to praise, to pleasure, and to punishment. Like an eager puppy, who wants so much to be useful to his mistress."

Having finished her work, Rachel retrieved another implement. Under Keith's breath, Chris could hear Keith from across the room. His voice, low and gravely.

"Play with the puppy, Rachel."

"You don't deserve praise. And you do deserve punishment. But maybe we can meet somewhere in the middle, you and I."

The implement in question turned out to be a small, efficiently constructed whip. Chris had never gone in for this before, but the thought of Rachel doing it...he couldn't lie, it turned him on. And his body couldn't lie either. She saw this, and her smile got even broader.

"Can we do that, Christopher?"

"Yes, Rachel."

"Yes what, Rachel?"

"Yes....please, Rachel."

And as each lash landed across his bare legs, Chris gasped. In pain, and pleasure and in something in between. He was so distracted, that he almost didn't notice Keith coming up behind Rachel, fitting around her, placing his hands on the whip. For a moment, their bodies fit together in unison, and he couldn't tell who was whom. Then, all at once, it stopped. Keith and Rachel had been whispering together, conspiring.

Chris could hardly catch his breath- "Why...why, stop?" But it hadn't stopped, just paused for a second. And now, as Rachel climbed on top of his prone form, for better leverage, Keith stood behind him. Held Chris's head steady, running his fingers through his hair, as Rachel continued the punishment. Rode him, but...didn't at the same time.

They drew it out, the two of them. Drew out his penance. Made it last until he was non-verbal with sexual and physical frustration, the lashes still stinging red on his legs. Then finally, Rachel let him come; let both of them come, as Chris could very much hear Keith's gasping behind him. And there was Rachel, glorious and terrible, smiling like the goddess of creation and destruction all in one form.

They brought the "best" out in each other, that much he had known; but now he knew first hand.

Keith whispered in his ear: "Will you be good now, Christopher?"


Rachel had heard too. "Oh, I think he will, Keith. He'll be very good."

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January 2012

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