Temptation - Chekov/Sulu - PG-13
Title: Temptation
Author: accioyelchin
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sulu wishes he could ignore his feelings for a certain young ensign...yeah, it's one of those five times fics, bear with me. Five times Sulu resisted the charm of Chekov and the one time he most certainly did not.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.
Warnings: Unbeta'd. FEAR ME.
I.
It started one night on shore leave, when Chekov swore on Newton’s first law that he could drink everyone on the bridge crew under the table. Eager to prove himself, the scrawny Russian more than rose to the occasion, downing enough vodka to hospitalize a man twice his size.
By the time Bones cut him off he was garbling cheerfully in a mix of Russian and English and barely holding himself together. “You mind taking care of this?” the doctor asked Sulu, his eyebrows raised.
“His room’s next to mine anyway,” Sulu shrugged. He half-dragged the boy out of the bar, unable to repress a snort as Chekov enthusiastically waved his fellow crewmembers good night.
On the short trek home Chekov was content exclaiming in Russian, flailing his hands as if to make a point, and Sulu humored him with a few nods until they reached their temporary quarters. He opened the door to Chekov’s room and the boy stood warily in the hall for a moment, blinking.
“Da. This is where I stay,” he said, yawning widely.
Sulu could not help but watch, transfixed as the boys’ lips parted. There was something about that yawn-it was so demure, so uninhibited. A small noise escaped Chekov’s throat and Sulu near froze, overcome by it. For a moment he was possessed by the idea of those lips against his, that moan echoing in his own throat-
“G-good night, Chekov,” Sulu managed. Then he high-tailed it to his quarters without looking back.
II.
Before their shore leave was over Sulu stumbled on Chekov in one of the local shops, examining what appeared to be a gleaming rose-colored gem attached to an elegant chain. Chekov’s forehead was puckered in concentration, and when the gem hit the light it reflected on his angular cheek. Sulu stopped so suddenly that the woman behind him nearly barreled into him.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, and Chekov’s head snapped up, recognizing his voice.
The smile that lit up Chekov’s face shone like a beacon. “Sulu!” exclaimed the ensign. “Do you think Lieutenant Uhura would like this?” He held up the gem for Sulu to see, and Sulu dared to take a few steps closer. “It’s her birthday next month.”
“I’m sure she’d love it,” said Sulu. Chekov drew closer to him, so close that Sulu found himself staring at the curve of his neck, wondering what it would be like to touch it.
“Feel it. It’s always warm.”
“What?” Sulu stammered.
“The necklace,” Chekov insisted, pressing it into Sulu’s palm.
“Oh. Oh, wow. That’s . . . pretty cool,” Sulu answered lamely, handing the necklace back. He cleared his throat and took a deliberate step back. “How’d you know it was Uhura’s birthday next month?” he asked in an attempt to take his mind off of the feel of Chekov’s cold, delicate hand against his.
“There’s a calendar posted in engineering. You did not know?” Chekov regarded the necklace again, then nodded approvingly at it. He carefully placed the necklace back in the box with the same pale, thin fingers that had brushed Sulu’s on their console so many times-for the love of God, why was it that he was only fixated on them now, after they’d worked together for months? What had changed?
Sulu tore his eyes away from Chekov. “So you know everyone’s birthdays?” he said.
Chekov smirked at him. “I know yours, if that is what you’re asking.”
“No-I mean, that’s not what I meant,” Sulu laughed. Chekov was still smirking when he turned away, and Sulu stared at the ensign in profile, admiring the bridge of his nose. He was still gaping when he said, “So when’s your birthday?”
“In three months,” Chekov said excitedly. “I’ll be eighteen!”
Sulu nearly choked on his own spit.
III.
For a month following their shore leave Sulu managed to suppress all of his less-than-chaste thoughts of Chekov. He purposefully averted his gaze whenever Chekov pursed his lips at the console, he managed to tune out the sound of Chekov’s fingers drumming against the side of his chair, and he even resisted brushing against Chekov when they headed for the turbolift together at the end of their shifts.
Occasionally they shared a game of chess or ate a meal together, but for the most part they remained cordial. Sulu figured it was best that way. He’d rather not entangle himself with the boy. For one thing, he was only seventeen, and encompassed all definitions of the word “jailbait.” And a far worse thing-what if Chekov didn’t even remotely feel the same way? In addition to working the same shift, their rooms were adjacent to each other and they shared a bathroom. Talk about awkward.
So Sulu settled comfortably into this routine with Chekov, until one day the ensign approached him in the Rec Room, his shoulders hunched in defeat. Sulu could immediately tell from his posture that something was amiss. He set down his katana. “Chekov?”
The boy looked up and Sulu saw a nasty bruise starting to form a ring around his eye. “Teach me to fence?” Chekov asked before Sulu could say anything.
“You’re sure?” Sulu asked.
Chekov nodded, his brow furrowed in determination.
“Okay, then,” said Sulu thoughtlessly.
Which was how he ended up pressing against the thin fabric of Chekov’s Starfleet-regulation undershirt every other afternoon, praying to all the nonexistent fencing Gods that the boy couldn’t sense his unbearable desire to drop the katana and teach him the methods behind an entirely different variety of sword.
IV.
As the fencing lessons continued, Sulu thought he deserved some sort of medal for not acting on any of his sick, primal desires to touch Chekov in ways he could only imagine. He’d almost grown immune to his dirty thoughts. He looked forward to the lessons now, because he and Chekov actually held civil conversations about their lives before Starfleet and botany and Russia. Naturally he assumed Chekov looked forward to the lessons, too; it was why he was concerned when Chekov didn’t show up in the Rec Room late one night.
“Computer, locate Ensign Chekov, please.”
The computer indicated that Chekov was in his quarters. Figuring Chekov had inadvertently fallen asleep, Sulu headed down to his own quarters to follow suit. He was halfway through brushing his teeth when he heard the moaning from Chekov’s room.
At first he pressed his ear to the door in horror. His mind conjured up sick images of Chekov in bed with someone other than him. But who would Chekov possibly screw around with at his age? Did he even talk to anyone on the ship who wasn’t part of the bridge crew?
After a few moments of holding his breath Sulu went ahead and gently pried the door open. The faint light of the bathroom illuminated Chekov, tangled in the sheets and glistening with the faint sheen of sweat, but utterly alone. Sulu breathed a selfish sigh of relief as Chekov scowled in his sleep, muttering something in Russian, his voice strained with emotion.
Sulu figured that the boy was in the throes of some nightmare. Hesitantly he walked over to Chekov’s bed, crouching down to see if the boy would hear him and wake up.
“Chekov?”
The ensign was breathing hard, curling his fists around the sheets. “Nyet, nyet,” he pleaded.
Sulu wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he climbed up onto Chekov’s bed, wrapped the sleeping Russian in his arms, and held him there. Chekov didn’t wake, but he sank against Sulu’s body, warm with sleep. His muttering ceased for the most part then, but Sulu could see Chekov was still troubled by something.
With Chekov right there in his arms Sulu was closer than ever to having what he wanted. It occurred to him that he could just wake the ensign now and tell him what he wanted. He could be reckless and brash and stupid. It would be easy.
Instead he held the Russian in his arms until his breathing slowed down again and the nightmare passed. Then he detached himself from Chekov, leaving him with a simple kiss on the forehead.
V.
When Sulu thought he might not be able to stand it any longer, Chekov had to start singing.
It wasn’t that the ensign had a particularly stunning voice. If anything, it was just as small and unsure as he was. But when Sulu walked into the bathroom he and Chekov shared and heard the ensign singing softly in Russian through the garble of the shower, Sulu stood in awe and silence for at least five minutes.
He would probably never know what the song was about, but it was sad and low and haunting. It reminded him of the Enterprise at dock, when it was dormant and still and seemed so fragile compared to the galaxies surrounding it. The song revealed some new depth to Chekov, as if another layer had been peeled away to reveal itself to Sulu.
Unconsciously he started walking toward the shower stall, his footsteps lightly padding against the tile. He could feel the steam of the hot water as easily as he could hear Chekov’s voice. He contemplated ripping the shower curtain open just to have one glance at Chekov’s face as he sang-he imagined it as peaceful as an angel’s, his eyes closed against the spray and his skin red with the heat.
Chekov held a note out, quiet and final, and Sulu knew it was the end of the song. The spell broke, and Sulu shamefacedly retreated back to his quarters before the ensign ever knew he was there.
I.
Chekov was laughing.
“What the hell is so funny about this?” Sulu demanded. “We’re up to our knees in gooey shit on an unnamed planet and the Enterprise can’t lock on our signals and you’re . . . laughing?!”
For a moment Chekov sobered but then he bit his lip, unsuccessfully holding back another giggle. “Is not funny, I know, but you’re all . . . purple!”
Sulu considered the boy’s mucked-up uniform. “You’re one to talk.”
Just then the pit of purple gunk shifted ominously and Chekov gasped as both his legs disappeared. “Shit,” Sulu exclaimed, grabbing the ensign’s skinny arms before the slime could claim any more of him. He held Chekov with one hand and tapped his communicator. “Anytime now, Enterprise,” said Sulu, his irritation replaced with panic.
“Thanks,” Chekov managed.
“Can you move away at all? I think you’re near some . . . suction point,” Sulu winced, for lack of a better word.
Chekov frowned in concentration. “I’m stuck.”
Sulu exhaled through his teeth. “I wouldn’t worry too much, I’m sure they’ll lock on our signals soon,” he said, figuring it was his job as the older crew member to keep up morale.
“Da,” said Chekov, nodding tersely. Just then the gunk distorted around them again and Chekov cried out, sinking up to his chest despite Sulu’s firm grip around his wrists.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Sulu hoped that Chekov couldn’t detect the panic rising in his throat.
Another gulp, and Chekov’s shoulders were barely visible. “Hikaru!” the teenager yelled desperately, followed by a stream of Russian Sulu didn’t even bother trying to understand.
“Oh, God,” Sulu muttered. His calm façade dropped instantaneously as the reality of their situation smacked him in the face. Chekov was going to die and Sulu couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Chekov looked close to tears, but his grip on Sulu’s arm waned. “You have to let me go,” he said with a shudder.
“What? No-”
“There’s no use in both of us falling in!” Chekov insisted, exhibiting more authority in that sentence than he ever had in his young life. “You have to let go of me. Now.”
So Sulu let go. Then the helmsman leaned forward, falling forward into the pit Chekov was stuck in, and kissed him.
There was only a flash in which Chekov resisted, trying to push Sulu back onto safer ground. Once he accepted the futility of it, though, Sulu felt Chekov’s lips part open to his, and Sulu was dizzy with disbelief when suddenly they were in the transporter room. Lip-locked and covered in purple gook.
Chekov pulled away first, his face a furious red. Sulu looked at the floor in shame.
“Well, it’s about time,” Kirk scoffed from Scotty’s console.
Sulu hesitantly raised his head to look at Chekov, and was gratified by a smile as wide as the moon.
Author: accioyelchin
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sulu wishes he could ignore his feelings for a certain young ensign...yeah, it's one of those five times fics, bear with me. Five times Sulu resisted the charm of Chekov and the one time he most certainly did not.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek.
Warnings: Unbeta'd. FEAR ME.
I.
It started one night on shore leave, when Chekov swore on Newton’s first law that he could drink everyone on the bridge crew under the table. Eager to prove himself, the scrawny Russian more than rose to the occasion, downing enough vodka to hospitalize a man twice his size.
By the time Bones cut him off he was garbling cheerfully in a mix of Russian and English and barely holding himself together. “You mind taking care of this?” the doctor asked Sulu, his eyebrows raised.
“His room’s next to mine anyway,” Sulu shrugged. He half-dragged the boy out of the bar, unable to repress a snort as Chekov enthusiastically waved his fellow crewmembers good night.
On the short trek home Chekov was content exclaiming in Russian, flailing his hands as if to make a point, and Sulu humored him with a few nods until they reached their temporary quarters. He opened the door to Chekov’s room and the boy stood warily in the hall for a moment, blinking.
“Da. This is where I stay,” he said, yawning widely.
Sulu could not help but watch, transfixed as the boys’ lips parted. There was something about that yawn-it was so demure, so uninhibited. A small noise escaped Chekov’s throat and Sulu near froze, overcome by it. For a moment he was possessed by the idea of those lips against his, that moan echoing in his own throat-
“G-good night, Chekov,” Sulu managed. Then he high-tailed it to his quarters without looking back.
II.
Before their shore leave was over Sulu stumbled on Chekov in one of the local shops, examining what appeared to be a gleaming rose-colored gem attached to an elegant chain. Chekov’s forehead was puckered in concentration, and when the gem hit the light it reflected on his angular cheek. Sulu stopped so suddenly that the woman behind him nearly barreled into him.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, and Chekov’s head snapped up, recognizing his voice.
The smile that lit up Chekov’s face shone like a beacon. “Sulu!” exclaimed the ensign. “Do you think Lieutenant Uhura would like this?” He held up the gem for Sulu to see, and Sulu dared to take a few steps closer. “It’s her birthday next month.”
“I’m sure she’d love it,” said Sulu. Chekov drew closer to him, so close that Sulu found himself staring at the curve of his neck, wondering what it would be like to touch it.
“Feel it. It’s always warm.”
“What?” Sulu stammered.
“The necklace,” Chekov insisted, pressing it into Sulu’s palm.
“Oh. Oh, wow. That’s . . . pretty cool,” Sulu answered lamely, handing the necklace back. He cleared his throat and took a deliberate step back. “How’d you know it was Uhura’s birthday next month?” he asked in an attempt to take his mind off of the feel of Chekov’s cold, delicate hand against his.
“There’s a calendar posted in engineering. You did not know?” Chekov regarded the necklace again, then nodded approvingly at it. He carefully placed the necklace back in the box with the same pale, thin fingers that had brushed Sulu’s on their console so many times-for the love of God, why was it that he was only fixated on them now, after they’d worked together for months? What had changed?
Sulu tore his eyes away from Chekov. “So you know everyone’s birthdays?” he said.
Chekov smirked at him. “I know yours, if that is what you’re asking.”
“No-I mean, that’s not what I meant,” Sulu laughed. Chekov was still smirking when he turned away, and Sulu stared at the ensign in profile, admiring the bridge of his nose. He was still gaping when he said, “So when’s your birthday?”
“In three months,” Chekov said excitedly. “I’ll be eighteen!”
Sulu nearly choked on his own spit.
III.
For a month following their shore leave Sulu managed to suppress all of his less-than-chaste thoughts of Chekov. He purposefully averted his gaze whenever Chekov pursed his lips at the console, he managed to tune out the sound of Chekov’s fingers drumming against the side of his chair, and he even resisted brushing against Chekov when they headed for the turbolift together at the end of their shifts.
Occasionally they shared a game of chess or ate a meal together, but for the most part they remained cordial. Sulu figured it was best that way. He’d rather not entangle himself with the boy. For one thing, he was only seventeen, and encompassed all definitions of the word “jailbait.” And a far worse thing-what if Chekov didn’t even remotely feel the same way? In addition to working the same shift, their rooms were adjacent to each other and they shared a bathroom. Talk about awkward.
So Sulu settled comfortably into this routine with Chekov, until one day the ensign approached him in the Rec Room, his shoulders hunched in defeat. Sulu could immediately tell from his posture that something was amiss. He set down his katana. “Chekov?”
The boy looked up and Sulu saw a nasty bruise starting to form a ring around his eye. “Teach me to fence?” Chekov asked before Sulu could say anything.
“You’re sure?” Sulu asked.
Chekov nodded, his brow furrowed in determination.
“Okay, then,” said Sulu thoughtlessly.
Which was how he ended up pressing against the thin fabric of Chekov’s Starfleet-regulation undershirt every other afternoon, praying to all the nonexistent fencing Gods that the boy couldn’t sense his unbearable desire to drop the katana and teach him the methods behind an entirely different variety of sword.
IV.
As the fencing lessons continued, Sulu thought he deserved some sort of medal for not acting on any of his sick, primal desires to touch Chekov in ways he could only imagine. He’d almost grown immune to his dirty thoughts. He looked forward to the lessons now, because he and Chekov actually held civil conversations about their lives before Starfleet and botany and Russia. Naturally he assumed Chekov looked forward to the lessons, too; it was why he was concerned when Chekov didn’t show up in the Rec Room late one night.
“Computer, locate Ensign Chekov, please.”
The computer indicated that Chekov was in his quarters. Figuring Chekov had inadvertently fallen asleep, Sulu headed down to his own quarters to follow suit. He was halfway through brushing his teeth when he heard the moaning from Chekov’s room.
At first he pressed his ear to the door in horror. His mind conjured up sick images of Chekov in bed with someone other than him. But who would Chekov possibly screw around with at his age? Did he even talk to anyone on the ship who wasn’t part of the bridge crew?
After a few moments of holding his breath Sulu went ahead and gently pried the door open. The faint light of the bathroom illuminated Chekov, tangled in the sheets and glistening with the faint sheen of sweat, but utterly alone. Sulu breathed a selfish sigh of relief as Chekov scowled in his sleep, muttering something in Russian, his voice strained with emotion.
Sulu figured that the boy was in the throes of some nightmare. Hesitantly he walked over to Chekov’s bed, crouching down to see if the boy would hear him and wake up.
“Chekov?”
The ensign was breathing hard, curling his fists around the sheets. “Nyet, nyet,” he pleaded.
Sulu wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he climbed up onto Chekov’s bed, wrapped the sleeping Russian in his arms, and held him there. Chekov didn’t wake, but he sank against Sulu’s body, warm with sleep. His muttering ceased for the most part then, but Sulu could see Chekov was still troubled by something.
With Chekov right there in his arms Sulu was closer than ever to having what he wanted. It occurred to him that he could just wake the ensign now and tell him what he wanted. He could be reckless and brash and stupid. It would be easy.
Instead he held the Russian in his arms until his breathing slowed down again and the nightmare passed. Then he detached himself from Chekov, leaving him with a simple kiss on the forehead.
V.
When Sulu thought he might not be able to stand it any longer, Chekov had to start singing.
It wasn’t that the ensign had a particularly stunning voice. If anything, it was just as small and unsure as he was. But when Sulu walked into the bathroom he and Chekov shared and heard the ensign singing softly in Russian through the garble of the shower, Sulu stood in awe and silence for at least five minutes.
He would probably never know what the song was about, but it was sad and low and haunting. It reminded him of the Enterprise at dock, when it was dormant and still and seemed so fragile compared to the galaxies surrounding it. The song revealed some new depth to Chekov, as if another layer had been peeled away to reveal itself to Sulu.
Unconsciously he started walking toward the shower stall, his footsteps lightly padding against the tile. He could feel the steam of the hot water as easily as he could hear Chekov’s voice. He contemplated ripping the shower curtain open just to have one glance at Chekov’s face as he sang-he imagined it as peaceful as an angel’s, his eyes closed against the spray and his skin red with the heat.
Chekov held a note out, quiet and final, and Sulu knew it was the end of the song. The spell broke, and Sulu shamefacedly retreated back to his quarters before the ensign ever knew he was there.
I.
Chekov was laughing.
“What the hell is so funny about this?” Sulu demanded. “We’re up to our knees in gooey shit on an unnamed planet and the Enterprise can’t lock on our signals and you’re . . . laughing?!”
For a moment Chekov sobered but then he bit his lip, unsuccessfully holding back another giggle. “Is not funny, I know, but you’re all . . . purple!”
Sulu considered the boy’s mucked-up uniform. “You’re one to talk.”
Just then the pit of purple gunk shifted ominously and Chekov gasped as both his legs disappeared. “Shit,” Sulu exclaimed, grabbing the ensign’s skinny arms before the slime could claim any more of him. He held Chekov with one hand and tapped his communicator. “Anytime now, Enterprise,” said Sulu, his irritation replaced with panic.
“Thanks,” Chekov managed.
“Can you move away at all? I think you’re near some . . . suction point,” Sulu winced, for lack of a better word.
Chekov frowned in concentration. “I’m stuck.”
Sulu exhaled through his teeth. “I wouldn’t worry too much, I’m sure they’ll lock on our signals soon,” he said, figuring it was his job as the older crew member to keep up morale.
“Da,” said Chekov, nodding tersely. Just then the gunk distorted around them again and Chekov cried out, sinking up to his chest despite Sulu’s firm grip around his wrists.
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” Sulu hoped that Chekov couldn’t detect the panic rising in his throat.
Another gulp, and Chekov’s shoulders were barely visible. “Hikaru!” the teenager yelled desperately, followed by a stream of Russian Sulu didn’t even bother trying to understand.
“Oh, God,” Sulu muttered. His calm façade dropped instantaneously as the reality of their situation smacked him in the face. Chekov was going to die and Sulu couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
Chekov looked close to tears, but his grip on Sulu’s arm waned. “You have to let me go,” he said with a shudder.
“What? No-”
“There’s no use in both of us falling in!” Chekov insisted, exhibiting more authority in that sentence than he ever had in his young life. “You have to let go of me. Now.”
So Sulu let go. Then the helmsman leaned forward, falling forward into the pit Chekov was stuck in, and kissed him.
There was only a flash in which Chekov resisted, trying to push Sulu back onto safer ground. Once he accepted the futility of it, though, Sulu felt Chekov’s lips part open to his, and Sulu was dizzy with disbelief when suddenly they were in the transporter room. Lip-locked and covered in purple gook.
Chekov pulled away first, his face a furious red. Sulu looked at the floor in shame.
“Well, it’s about time,” Kirk scoffed from Scotty’s console.
Sulu hesitantly raised his head to look at Chekov, and was gratified by a smile as wide as the moon.