ST XI - Checkov/OFC: Peer Educator
First fic in a new fandom. Written for a misread prompt at the ST XI Kink Meme; I saw "Chekov's first time," but didn't see the pairing, so I wrote it as Chekov/OFC. This started as a desire to see Chekov not be the youngest in a situation, to see him in a situation where he can be his normal adorable genius self, yes, also be a 16 year-old boy. So, yeah. Un-betaed, all mistakes mine, please point them out if you see them.
Title: Peer Educator
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Chekov/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While Pavel Chekov was certainly one of the youngest students to ever be accepted into Starfleet Academy, he certainly wasn't the only cadet to arrive before his eighteenth birthday.
Disclaimer: Celia's mine and the plot is mine; all else belongs to other people.
While Pavel Chekov was certainly one of the youngest students to ever be accepted into Starfleet Academy, he certainly wasn't the only cadet to arrive before his eighteenth birthday. What with varying international (and intergalactic) school district enrollment cutoffs, homeschooling and skipped grades, there were always a small handful of sixteen and seventeen year-olds in the first-year class. Meaning that when he entered his third year at the Academy, Pavel Andreivich Chekov was finally not the youngest cadet on campus.
And he was given many opportunities to enjoy this fact. Commander Grey had taken him on as a teaching assistant for one of the first year engineering courses, and many of the younger cadets made their way into his tutoring sessions. When the finer points of the problem sets had been discussed, however, Pavel found that many of these cadets were simply looking for advice or a friendly ear. Though it had been two years since Pavel had found himself pranked, bullied and harassed within an inch of his life, things had not changed much in terms of first year life. He told them the best hiding spots and evasion techniques (the library reading room behind the checkout desk during the day and Astro Lab 3 at night; eat meals with the medical cadets and you're safe - they're usually old enough to have outgrown bullying), and generally enjoyed being respected by his peers (goodness his peers!) for once.
He especially enjoyed the respect of one Celia Cruz.
Celia was a 16 year-old command-track cadet "from Cuba by way of Miami," she told him with a smile, and Pavel was constantly torn between respect for her straightforward questions and quick grasp of concepts and awe at the fact that she was So. Fucking. Gorgeous. Okay, so perhaps other cadets wouldn't see it that way (her slight snaggletooth and big ears not exactly being the height of vogue), but Pavel was absolutely smitten. She'd stay late after his tutoring sessions talking about everything from engineering to Federation politics to modern music ("Face it, the new Warp Drive release is crap." "Is not! It has the best dance songs of the year!" "Yeah, but good dance tracks aren't always good music. If you'd listen to the first Stars Not Sol disc, you'd see what I mean."), and leave with a grin, a swish of dark hair and a twirl of a miniskirt that left Pavel unable to stand for long moments afterward. She was the biggest star in his fantasy cinema, he would stroke himself at night and think of her lilting voice saying his name, that long hair spread out over his pillow, those long legs and what they would feel like around his waist. There was no question about it, he had a huge crush (and huger hard-on) for his student, but he was determined to be professional about it. After all, Commander Grey had given him a position of authority; he was a mentor figure to these cadets. He wasn't about to screw it up just because he couldn't keep his prick in his pants. Needless to say, his left hand got quite a workout that semester.
And then the semester was over. Pavel didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, if he had to grade another problem set he was going to blow something to bits and then beam the bits to separate star systems, but on the other, he would no longer be seeing Celia on a regular basis. Just as he was contemplating this tragedy, a knock sounded on his door. He crossed the door to check the peephole (he learned his lesson about letting people in without checking when Cadet Lewis and his cronies barged in on him and duct-taped him to a flagpole first year), and was surprised - not to mention incredibly excited - to see Celia standing in the hallway.
“Celia! What are you doing here?” He winced. “Not that it is not good to see you; I am just surpri-”
“We’ve received the grades for our final problem sets yesterday, and Commander Grey is grading the final, correct?” Celia asked, cutting him off.
“Yes, but why -”
“So your duties as a teaching assistant are completed, right?”
“Yes.”
“So I could ask you out for a cup of coffee and maybe to come to my room and listen to that Stars Not Sol disc I’ve been hounding you about, and it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest or anything?”
It is quite possible that Pavel smiled wider than he had ever smiled in his life. “No, no conflict at all.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Well?” Celia demanded.
“Well, what?” Pavel was still smiling. “You have not asked me anything yet.”
She sighed, but was smiling as well. “Pavel, would you like to go out with me sometime?”
Pavel’s smile got wider still. “I would like nothing better.”
“Sometime” ended up being two nights later, after Pavel finished his final exam. Conversation flowed as freely over coffee as it had over math problems, and the band Celia was so obsessed with was just as good as she said it was. It was also great music to make out to, as Pavel discovered as Celia kissed him slowly, her fingers plucking the bass line along his spine.
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Celia was his first real girlfriend and he her first real boyfriend, but they found themselves settling into the relationship quickly and happily enough. They took their meals together when they could, occasionally venturing off campus for movies and arcades and cuisine of a higher quality than that provided by the mess or replicators. They found a few clubs that would look the other way and let them hit the dance floor, so long as they stayed away from the bar. They passed long evenings in his room (the bullying complaints of the first year and a half landed Pavel a single for the rest of his Academy career), talking and giving language lessons - she taught him to swear in Spanish, he taught her absolutely scandalous phrases in Russian - and of course, making out while listening to the music collection that had largely migrated from Celia’s room.
It was three long, frustrating months before Celia let him get more than a hand under the skirt that had fueled Pavel’s fantasies during those tutoring sessions. The frustration was partially his fault, Pavel admitted to himself. In addition to common swears, he had been teaching his girlfriend phrases with significantly more sexual overtones, phrases that made Celia’s cheeks flush and eyes darken in turn until he couldn’t help but kiss her, which led to fumbling explorations, which led to her skirt hiked around her waist and him begging until she inevitably leaned back and said, “You’ll take your handjob and be happy about it; I told you I’m not ready.” And he would nod furiously until she slipped a lotion-slick hand into his briefs and stroked him until he came with a shout. Then Pavel would sigh and nuzzle that sensitive spot where her jaw curved into her neck, stroking her thigh and whispering that it was only fair that he return the favor, that he shouldn’t be rewarded for being such a pain while his beautiful, wonderful, sexy girlfriend got nothing. Celia would whimper and spread her legs just enough for Pavel to reach up and touch her the way she’d taught him. Of course, sometimes he had to tease her, to run his fingers lightly around her opening instead of going deep like he knew she wanted, or circle her clit just that little bit too slowly, just to watch the way her neck arched and breasts rose as she squirmed.
But finally, finally, that beautiful night came when Celia broke from a kiss and said in heavily accented but grammatically perfect Russian I want you to fuck me.
Pavel’s heart stopped. “Are you sure?” he asked. As she nodded and his heart started beating again, he realized something. “I did not teach you how to say that.”
“I know. My roommate’s best friend’s a linguist; I asked her.”
Pavel raised his eyebrows. “You have been planning this?”
“Not so much planning but,” Celia shrugged, rising to her knees. “I’m a girl who knows what she wants.”
“And for this I am very grateful.” Celia straddled his waist and he watched, rapt, as she unfastened her dress and slid it down until it fell down to her knees. They’d gone this far previously, but never before had she reached behind her and flicked her wrist, slipping her bra off and letting him see those perfect, oh god so perfect breasts. Pavel reached a trembling hand out to stroke a thumb across her nipple, something he had done through her dress on several occasions but which felt so different now that he could touch delicate, flawless, crinkling brown skin. Celia shuddered, and something within Pavel snapped, for the next second she was under him, his mouth running gentle, suckling kisses all over her chest. After that, it was all a blur of gentle, reverent touches and trembling limbs as they tried to feel everything all at once. Finally, after a brief, practical exchange (“Did you…?” “Prophylactic hypospray this morning” and that shouldn’t have made Pavel harder, the knowledge that she walked into the clinic full of intent to do this, but oh how it did) he found himself poised at her entrance and looking into her eyes as he asked her one last time, “Are you - ?”
“Pavel, if you ask me that one more time, I’m leaving.”
He laughed and kissed her. “No, you are not.” And with that he entered her slowly, very slowly, half because he was afraid of hurting her and half because every inch deeper put him that much closer to the edge. When he was all the way in, he stayed still for long, painfully blissful moment, until Celia wrapped her legs around his waist (another fantasy fulfilled at long last) and squirmed.
“I know I’m new at this, but aren’t you supposed to move?”
He put a hand on her hip and held her still. “Yes, but you must stop moving for a moment, unless you want this to be the shortest sex in history.” She grinned and ran a finger over his pubic hair, right above where they were joined.
“Certainly not the shortest, Pavel; you’re -” His hips jerked at the contact and she gasped. “Drastically underestimating yourself.” Pavel smiled and kissed her and with that, they were off. It didn’t take many thrusts into Celia’s ohgodperfecthotwetyesyesyes body before Pavel was shuddering and gasping into her neck. Still joined, he licked his way to that most sensitive spot on her neck and slid a hand down between their bodies to touch her, not teasing this time, just rubbing furiously until she cried out softly and clenched around his still hard cock.
Pavel rolled off of her but remained on his side, his hand gently stroking across Celia’s stomach as she caught her breath. After a moment, she rolled to face him and he gathered her in his arms. She murmured something as she nuzzled into his chest, and Pavel tilted her chin up so he could hear her. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Not bad for a first time.”
He smiled. “No, not bad at all.” He kissed her, a brief brush of lips that evolved into something long and languid and much more sensual. “I would not object to a second.”
Nor did she.
Title: Peer Educator
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Chekov/OFC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: While Pavel Chekov was certainly one of the youngest students to ever be accepted into Starfleet Academy, he certainly wasn't the only cadet to arrive before his eighteenth birthday.
Disclaimer: Celia's mine and the plot is mine; all else belongs to other people.
While Pavel Chekov was certainly one of the youngest students to ever be accepted into Starfleet Academy, he certainly wasn't the only cadet to arrive before his eighteenth birthday. What with varying international (and intergalactic) school district enrollment cutoffs, homeschooling and skipped grades, there were always a small handful of sixteen and seventeen year-olds in the first-year class. Meaning that when he entered his third year at the Academy, Pavel Andreivich Chekov was finally not the youngest cadet on campus.
And he was given many opportunities to enjoy this fact. Commander Grey had taken him on as a teaching assistant for one of the first year engineering courses, and many of the younger cadets made their way into his tutoring sessions. When the finer points of the problem sets had been discussed, however, Pavel found that many of these cadets were simply looking for advice or a friendly ear. Though it had been two years since Pavel had found himself pranked, bullied and harassed within an inch of his life, things had not changed much in terms of first year life. He told them the best hiding spots and evasion techniques (the library reading room behind the checkout desk during the day and Astro Lab 3 at night; eat meals with the medical cadets and you're safe - they're usually old enough to have outgrown bullying), and generally enjoyed being respected by his peers (goodness his peers!) for once.
He especially enjoyed the respect of one Celia Cruz.
Celia was a 16 year-old command-track cadet "from Cuba by way of Miami," she told him with a smile, and Pavel was constantly torn between respect for her straightforward questions and quick grasp of concepts and awe at the fact that she was So. Fucking. Gorgeous. Okay, so perhaps other cadets wouldn't see it that way (her slight snaggletooth and big ears not exactly being the height of vogue), but Pavel was absolutely smitten. She'd stay late after his tutoring sessions talking about everything from engineering to Federation politics to modern music ("Face it, the new Warp Drive release is crap." "Is not! It has the best dance songs of the year!" "Yeah, but good dance tracks aren't always good music. If you'd listen to the first Stars Not Sol disc, you'd see what I mean."), and leave with a grin, a swish of dark hair and a twirl of a miniskirt that left Pavel unable to stand for long moments afterward. She was the biggest star in his fantasy cinema, he would stroke himself at night and think of her lilting voice saying his name, that long hair spread out over his pillow, those long legs and what they would feel like around his waist. There was no question about it, he had a huge crush (and huger hard-on) for his student, but he was determined to be professional about it. After all, Commander Grey had given him a position of authority; he was a mentor figure to these cadets. He wasn't about to screw it up just because he couldn't keep his prick in his pants. Needless to say, his left hand got quite a workout that semester.
And then the semester was over. Pavel didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, if he had to grade another problem set he was going to blow something to bits and then beam the bits to separate star systems, but on the other, he would no longer be seeing Celia on a regular basis. Just as he was contemplating this tragedy, a knock sounded on his door. He crossed the door to check the peephole (he learned his lesson about letting people in without checking when Cadet Lewis and his cronies barged in on him and duct-taped him to a flagpole first year), and was surprised - not to mention incredibly excited - to see Celia standing in the hallway.
“Celia! What are you doing here?” He winced. “Not that it is not good to see you; I am just surpri-”
“We’ve received the grades for our final problem sets yesterday, and Commander Grey is grading the final, correct?” Celia asked, cutting him off.
“Yes, but why -”
“So your duties as a teaching assistant are completed, right?”
“Yes.”
“So I could ask you out for a cup of coffee and maybe to come to my room and listen to that Stars Not Sol disc I’ve been hounding you about, and it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest or anything?”
It is quite possible that Pavel smiled wider than he had ever smiled in his life. “No, no conflict at all.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Well?” Celia demanded.
“Well, what?” Pavel was still smiling. “You have not asked me anything yet.”
She sighed, but was smiling as well. “Pavel, would you like to go out with me sometime?”
Pavel’s smile got wider still. “I would like nothing better.”
“Sometime” ended up being two nights later, after Pavel finished his final exam. Conversation flowed as freely over coffee as it had over math problems, and the band Celia was so obsessed with was just as good as she said it was. It was also great music to make out to, as Pavel discovered as Celia kissed him slowly, her fingers plucking the bass line along his spine.
````````
Celia was his first real girlfriend and he her first real boyfriend, but they found themselves settling into the relationship quickly and happily enough. They took their meals together when they could, occasionally venturing off campus for movies and arcades and cuisine of a higher quality than that provided by the mess or replicators. They found a few clubs that would look the other way and let them hit the dance floor, so long as they stayed away from the bar. They passed long evenings in his room (the bullying complaints of the first year and a half landed Pavel a single for the rest of his Academy career), talking and giving language lessons - she taught him to swear in Spanish, he taught her absolutely scandalous phrases in Russian - and of course, making out while listening to the music collection that had largely migrated from Celia’s room.
It was three long, frustrating months before Celia let him get more than a hand under the skirt that had fueled Pavel’s fantasies during those tutoring sessions. The frustration was partially his fault, Pavel admitted to himself. In addition to common swears, he had been teaching his girlfriend phrases with significantly more sexual overtones, phrases that made Celia’s cheeks flush and eyes darken in turn until he couldn’t help but kiss her, which led to fumbling explorations, which led to her skirt hiked around her waist and him begging until she inevitably leaned back and said, “You’ll take your handjob and be happy about it; I told you I’m not ready.” And he would nod furiously until she slipped a lotion-slick hand into his briefs and stroked him until he came with a shout. Then Pavel would sigh and nuzzle that sensitive spot where her jaw curved into her neck, stroking her thigh and whispering that it was only fair that he return the favor, that he shouldn’t be rewarded for being such a pain while his beautiful, wonderful, sexy girlfriend got nothing. Celia would whimper and spread her legs just enough for Pavel to reach up and touch her the way she’d taught him. Of course, sometimes he had to tease her, to run his fingers lightly around her opening instead of going deep like he knew she wanted, or circle her clit just that little bit too slowly, just to watch the way her neck arched and breasts rose as she squirmed.
But finally, finally, that beautiful night came when Celia broke from a kiss and said in heavily accented but grammatically perfect Russian I want you to fuck me.
Pavel’s heart stopped. “Are you sure?” he asked. As she nodded and his heart started beating again, he realized something. “I did not teach you how to say that.”
“I know. My roommate’s best friend’s a linguist; I asked her.”
Pavel raised his eyebrows. “You have been planning this?”
“Not so much planning but,” Celia shrugged, rising to her knees. “I’m a girl who knows what she wants.”
“And for this I am very grateful.” Celia straddled his waist and he watched, rapt, as she unfastened her dress and slid it down until it fell down to her knees. They’d gone this far previously, but never before had she reached behind her and flicked her wrist, slipping her bra off and letting him see those perfect, oh god so perfect breasts. Pavel reached a trembling hand out to stroke a thumb across her nipple, something he had done through her dress on several occasions but which felt so different now that he could touch delicate, flawless, crinkling brown skin. Celia shuddered, and something within Pavel snapped, for the next second she was under him, his mouth running gentle, suckling kisses all over her chest. After that, it was all a blur of gentle, reverent touches and trembling limbs as they tried to feel everything all at once. Finally, after a brief, practical exchange (“Did you…?” “Prophylactic hypospray this morning” and that shouldn’t have made Pavel harder, the knowledge that she walked into the clinic full of intent to do this, but oh how it did) he found himself poised at her entrance and looking into her eyes as he asked her one last time, “Are you - ?”
“Pavel, if you ask me that one more time, I’m leaving.”
He laughed and kissed her. “No, you are not.” And with that he entered her slowly, very slowly, half because he was afraid of hurting her and half because every inch deeper put him that much closer to the edge. When he was all the way in, he stayed still for long, painfully blissful moment, until Celia wrapped her legs around his waist (another fantasy fulfilled at long last) and squirmed.
“I know I’m new at this, but aren’t you supposed to move?”
He put a hand on her hip and held her still. “Yes, but you must stop moving for a moment, unless you want this to be the shortest sex in history.” She grinned and ran a finger over his pubic hair, right above where they were joined.
“Certainly not the shortest, Pavel; you’re -” His hips jerked at the contact and she gasped. “Drastically underestimating yourself.” Pavel smiled and kissed her and with that, they were off. It didn’t take many thrusts into Celia’s ohgodperfecthotwetyesyesyes body before Pavel was shuddering and gasping into her neck. Still joined, he licked his way to that most sensitive spot on her neck and slid a hand down between their bodies to touch her, not teasing this time, just rubbing furiously until she cried out softly and clenched around his still hard cock.
Pavel rolled off of her but remained on his side, his hand gently stroking across Celia’s stomach as she caught her breath. After a moment, she rolled to face him and he gathered her in his arms. She murmured something as she nuzzled into his chest, and Pavel tilted her chin up so he could hear her. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Not bad for a first time.”
He smiled. “No, not bad at all.” He kissed her, a brief brush of lips that evolved into something long and languid and much more sensual. “I would not object to a second.”
Nor did she.