Chekov/Sulu Advent Roundup
Now that it's the Epiphany, I can post these fics, which were all for the Sulu/Chekov "Twelve Days of Christmas" countdown! My assigned days were 12 (Lords a-Leaping), 7 (Swans a-Swimming) and 3 (French hens).
Typically, they're all R-rated and above. In ummmm the holiday spirit, or something.
Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: Strong R
Warnings: Sexuality
Summary: Twelve months of two boys.
January 14, 2258.
"Hikaru Sulu," said the helmsman with a smile.
"Pavel Chekov," said the navigator brightly as he shook his hand.
February 14, 2258.
"Well, Chekov," said Sulu, pressing the turbolift button with a heavy and long-suffering sigh, "it's Valentine's day and we're both alone. I think it's time to get good and drunk, don't you?"
"Yes," said Chekov, pumping his fist.
March 14, 2258.
He's my best friend, thought Chekov, his cheeks hurting from smiling as he watched Sulu crack up across the bed. He's my best friend, my best in my life.
April 14, 2258.
Sulu doesn't explain why he's really coming by, but his excuses are getting flimsier. "You left this in the mess, Pavel" -- "I wanted to ask if you knew more about the Heisenberg Principle, Pavel" -- "I just wanted to see how you were doing, Pavel."
May 14, 2258.
Chekov knows this can't continue, that soon it's going to reach a point he won't be able to laugh away as a casual touch or a friendly concern, as a cultural need to be close. But he's been willing to play a fool for many, many things in his life. None of them, none, have been Hikaru.
June 14, 2258.
Sulu doesn't remember much of the rest of the mission beyond the blinding flash of the disruptor blast, but even before anyone told him the story of what happened in sickbay afterward, he thought he could hear Pavel's voice coming from far away, pleading with him somehow, bringing him back from someplace black over and over again.
July 14, 2258.
Chekov didn't say a single word before he zipped himself into Sulu's sleeping bag, but he did say something afterward, before Sulu could.
"Please," was all he said, a whisper over the alien hum of alien insects, which was all they could hear on this planet, in the forest, in the night. "Please, God, I can't anymore" -- and then he was whispering it over Sulu's lips.
August 14, 2258.
"Yes, I am saying I want to be your boyfriend," says Chekov with a grin, still panting, and Sulu's laugh fills the empty rec room.
September 14, 2258.
This time, it was as slow as slow could be -- Sulu's fingers buried deep inside Chekov, the soft backs of Chekov's thighs flexing in a slow quiver each time Sulu sank them in as deep as he could, and Chekov whimpering each time at the feeling into his mouth, against his tongue -- and Sulu leaning back with every other breath to watch him.
October 14, 2258.
"I got us a plant," said Chekov when Sulu had opened the door, and something -- the look on his face of abject terror, his overly-careful clutching the pot that held the tiny ivy -- had Sulu biting his lips for a full thirty seconds before he pulled Chekov inside.
November 14, 2258.
"I would like for you to come home with me, to Russia, for the week of the New Year," Chekov managed to say that night at last, in the dark.
"You..." He could feel Sulu shifting over to try look at him, his thumb gone still from its soft stroking against Chekov's hipbone. "I thought you hated going back there? Ever since your dad got married again. I thought... didn't you say... you never wanted to go back again?"
"I never did," said Chekov softly. He reached up to hold Sulu's hand against his heart, as if he could say everything he needed with its rhythm against Sulu's palm. It seemed like maybe he could, because Sulu just exhaled and pulled him closer.
December 14, 2258.
"Hikaru, I'm tired, shore leave is for rest," Chekov whined, but allowed himself to be pulled off the futon and walked to the living room -- or "living room area," as it was technically classified in the context of Sulu's tiny studio apartment in San Francisco.
"It's got no decorations," he said in confusion, upon seeing the Christmas tree that took up a good three-fourths of the available floor space.
Sulu laughed.
"Yeah, because we are gonna decorate it." He handed Chekov a glass of eggnog and a handful of luminescent self-adhering colored bulbs. Then he stepped back to study Chekov for a moment. (He had already had several glasses of eggnog.)
"What?" said Chekov.
"Nothing. Just." Sulu stepped closer to play with the hem of Chekov's sweater. A dopey grin was on his face. "Twelve days till Christmas, and I already have the best present in the galaxy."
"Hikaru!" Chekov scrunched up his nose, as he always did in these reactions of secret delight, and shoved Sulu a little, playfully (he thought).
Unfortunately, and uncharacteristically, he hadn't accurately gauged Sulu's distance to the tree, and the next half-hour was spent in apologies and heavy lifting of a Douglas pine and careful brushing of countless green needles from Sulu's hair. Luckily, judging from Sulu's continued dopey grin between stolen kisses, he didn't mind too much. //
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble, Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex, voyeurism, fowl play
Summary: New life and new civilizations can sometimes be quite shocking.
At first glance, the dignitaries from the Federation appeared to belong in a wildlife refuge somewhere -- all seven evolved from mammals, they were overgrown bipeds with little mushy button noses instead of beaks, and skinny naked arms in place of wings. But they were gracious and intelligent, and though comically awkward when they attempted to wade through the Pool of Reception to meet the Prime Minister (the Vulcan hybrid seemed to have never swum in his life), once they were given special chambers of arid earth floors and cloth bedding, they, similar to Cygnus III's own earthbound mammals, were far more graceful in movement, even beautiful.
The Cygnets hadn't planned on their Federation guests all needing terrestrial habitats, though, so only six chambers were ready by that evening. The Prime Minister was highly distressed at this, flapping his wings in a panic at his cabinet, but then the youngest two goldbreasted Terrans graciously volunteered to share a room together. The tension was broken, the meeting ended with happy honks (and friendly teeth-bearing from the Terrans), and everyone prepared for sleep.
"I feel good about this, R'Lankkk," said the Prime Minister to his wife as the two of them glided into their sleeping pool.
"And I as well. Membership seems within reach, don't you think?"
"Indeed," said the Prime Minister, smoothing a feather on her neck fondly. "But let's see if our guests are comfortable. Computer, please bring up video of Guest Chamber One through Guest Chamber Six, sequential, thirty seconds each."
The surface of the water shimmered, and the two Cygnets watched with interest as the surveillance video shifted from one room to the other in turn. The entire flock of Federation members looked to be ready for rest. The yellow-plumed leader was already fast asleep, bare-chested and lying on his stomach, honking charmingly with each breath. The Vulcan hybrid was sitting on the floor with his legs knotted together, his eyes closed in some kind of meditation, and the medical officer was grumbling as he fluffed up his cloth bedding. The Terran who had surprised them all by honking a passable greeting speech that afternoon was reading something on her PADD, chewing on one of her front paws, and the engineer, leaning up on one elbow, was watching some media on his own PADD that was making him roar intermittently in what seemed to be the Terran version of laughter.
The two goldbreasts, however...
"Computer, cease shufflethrough," said the Prime Minister with a frown. "Continuous video feed of Guest Chamber Six."
"What are they doing?" said his wife, staring down at the image in the pool.
The younger of the two was nestled in the older's lap, his arms wrapped around the older one's neck, his legs parted around his hips. It was hard to tell which body part belonged to who, the two of them were so close and tangled up, and they had shed their cloth coverings, too, so that their bare glossy skin seemed to glow in the soft light. The dark one kept moving his mouth all over his companion's body, especially on his face, and the younger one kept making strange, throaty sounds in reply that were impossible to interpret.
"He's not... eating him?" said the Prime Minister's wife with a nervous little laugh. There had been lurid stories about the bizarre rituals of aliens for centuries.
"No, no." The Prime Minister peered closer. The younger one was moving, he could see -- rising up from the dark one's lap by straightening his spine, then dropping back down slowly, making more noises each time he did so. When the dark one started making throaty sounds, too, tightening his grip, the younger one quickened his pace.
"Do you know, R'Lankkk -- I think they're dancing."
"Dancing!" The Cygnets all knew about dancing, that haunting and beautiful bipedal act, but it was extremely rare to see in the wild -- all the mammals on their own planet shied away whenever a Cygnet approached the shore.
The Prime Minister's wife drew closer. "Oh, how lovely!" she murmured.
The older Terran was moving now, too, rocking his lower half up and down, swiveling his hips as he bounced the younger one on his lap. They were talking to each other in little swishy sounds that the translator couldn't pick up, speaking into each other's hair, though soon the younger one's voice grew high and squeaking and the older one's turned growly. The sounds were rhythmic -- clearly part of the dance.
"We'll have to ask them about it tomorrow," said the Prime Minister's wife. "Perhaps they can --"
Her voice trailed off.
The dark Terran had shoved the young one onto his back in a sudden, violent movement, making him cry out. The two of them were still connected, however, between their legs, where they could see, through the older one's sharp short snapping thrusts, something pink and slick and...
The Prime Minister and his wife watched, frozen in mortification, as the younger Terran stiffened and let out a wail. The older one groaned and pumped a few last desperate thrusts into his companion's body before shuddering and collapsing wholly on top of him. The two of them lay like that, panting, their limbs intertwined, the younger one petting the older one's dark hair.
"Computer end video," the Prime Minister finally blurted, and the water shimmered again into blackness.
The Prime Minister and his wife remained in silence for a time, the gentle lapping of the pool's water the only sound to be heard.
"I don't think we should ask them about it tomorrow," said the Prime Minister's wife presently. //
Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex, toxic levels of h/c indulgence
Summary: Chekov brings Sulu home.
Hikaru would learn much later, when they were back in space, that Pavel's aunt and uncle had actually planned on serving their traditional triple ballotine for Christmas Eve dinner -- turkey stuffed with goose stuffed with Cornish hen, imported from Normandy, de-boned and braised and roasted to a turn. Somehow, Pavel had used what little influence he had with his aunt and uncle to persuade them to consider Hikaru's vegetarianism, and how such a dish would traumatize him; and somehow it must have worked, because while they didn't go completely meatless -- as though they would sacrifice their generations-old feast, just for the picky anxieties of the boyfriend of a minor relative who himself was more nuisance than treasure -- the main dish was a more benign seared flounder, with an oversized salad next to it as a grudging allowance for the picky boyfriend.
But Hikaru didn't know about the change. He ate his salad and drank his wine and grinned as brightly as he could at Pavel's family from across their massive, crystal-set dining room table, forcing himself to keep smiling even as he noticed how Pavel's aunt and uncle treated Pavel like a servant, or an exchange student, virtually ignoring him throughout the whole meal. They asked him no questions about his three years in space, or about Hikaru, instead fawning over their own children -- Pavel's cousins, all much younger than he was -- with cooing approval and constant attention.
A few months ago Pavel had finally told him, with a self-conscious reluctance, how he'd been treated after his parents died and he'd gone to live with his aunt and uncle -- how they'd been cool to him, virtually indifferent, until his oldest cousin Danilo was born and they'd begun pretending he didn't exist. Yet some part of Hikaru hadn't really believed it until just now. How could anyone treat Pavel as less than a miracle -- look at him and be able to look away?
When dinner was over and the dishes all cleared, Pavel still hadn't told his family the news; but suddenly Hikaru didn't care. He took Pavel's hand and led him in silence through the gorgeously-decorated halls, up the garlanded winding staircase to their room -- the room where Pavel had grown up, not small or drafty but separate from the rest, bare and cavernous and somehow cold, even with the manor's sophisticated state-of-the-art heating system.
"I'm sorry," Pavel said softly, as Hikaru slid under the covers next to him.
Hikaru gave him a surprised look. "For what?"
"I didn't -- the whole reason we came here -- I should have spoken up." He shook his head and cursed under his breath. "I always get like this when I come back to this place, like I'm a child again. I hate it. And I know that even if I can get them to listen, they will just look at me that way they always do --"
"Shh," said Hikaru. He pulled Pavel close, fiercely, and held him tight as he felt the first hot tears against his neck. "You don't have to tell them anything."
They kept the lights out, but the deep drifts of snow outside, shining in the moonlight, made the room bright enough to see. And Hikaru wanted to see -- to see the white expanse of Pavel's soft skin laid out for him to taste, the smooth backs of Pavel's thighs drawn all the way back as Hikaru eased his way inch by slow inch into that tiny, shadowed dip, and then finally up to Pavel's face, into his wet eyes, to see each shift and wince and soft, shuddering breath as his body flexed in hot pulses around him, adjusting to him, welcoming him.
"Hikaru," Pavel whispered to him when he was ready; and Hikaru let out a soft, helpless moan before sinking down to cover Pavel completely.
Only his hips moved, drawing back and easing in to Pavel's body in steady thrusts. The rest of his body he kept sealed against Pavel's -- chest to chest, fingers entwined on the pillow, Pavel's legs locked tight around his back and Hikaru only pausing in their hot wet kisses long enough to breathe. When Pavel started to whimper into his mouth, Hikaru drew back just enough to slide a hand down between them and wrap it around Pavel's cock, to start rolling his hips hard and fast like Pavel needed.
"You don't have to tell anyone, baby, I'll tell the universe," he said, panting as he watched Pavel whine and thrash and fall apart beneath him.
"I'm going to marry you," he whispered, and Pavel cried out, tensing all around him, legs squeezing Hikaru's hips and hands scrabbling at his back as he spurted in a hot rush between them. Hikaru cradled him again afterward, even when he himself came, holding Pavel close and groaning into his hair as his hips worked themselves hard, as he emptied every drop into Pavel's body.
It took him some time to get back to himself. When he did, Pavel was still holding him, warm hands on his back, and Hikaru was still inside him, softening now, leaking a little when he pulled out. Snow was falling lightly outside the window. Just a flurry, but still the first snowfall Hikaru had ever seen.
When Hikaru glanced back down, Pavel was watching him. He was smiling; his eyes were shining with moisture.
"Even here," he whispered. "Even in this place, you make me so warm, Hikaru."
Hikaru couldn't say anything. He could only draw the covers over them both, pull Chekov against his chest and kiss his curls in the light from the falling snow. As if that warmth could compare to what Pavel deserved, or to what Pavel had given him -- light in the darkness of black space, greens in the place of game, a Christmas gift of their lives together. //
Typically, they're all R-rated and above. In ummmm the holiday spirit, or something.
Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: Strong R
Warnings: Sexuality
Summary: Twelve months of two boys.
January 14, 2258.
"Hikaru Sulu," said the helmsman with a smile.
"Pavel Chekov," said the navigator brightly as he shook his hand.
February 14, 2258.
"Well, Chekov," said Sulu, pressing the turbolift button with a heavy and long-suffering sigh, "it's Valentine's day and we're both alone. I think it's time to get good and drunk, don't you?"
"Yes," said Chekov, pumping his fist.
March 14, 2258.
He's my best friend, thought Chekov, his cheeks hurting from smiling as he watched Sulu crack up across the bed. He's my best friend, my best in my life.
April 14, 2258.
Sulu doesn't explain why he's really coming by, but his excuses are getting flimsier. "You left this in the mess, Pavel" -- "I wanted to ask if you knew more about the Heisenberg Principle, Pavel" -- "I just wanted to see how you were doing, Pavel."
May 14, 2258.
Chekov knows this can't continue, that soon it's going to reach a point he won't be able to laugh away as a casual touch or a friendly concern, as a cultural need to be close. But he's been willing to play a fool for many, many things in his life. None of them, none, have been Hikaru.
June 14, 2258.
Sulu doesn't remember much of the rest of the mission beyond the blinding flash of the disruptor blast, but even before anyone told him the story of what happened in sickbay afterward, he thought he could hear Pavel's voice coming from far away, pleading with him somehow, bringing him back from someplace black over and over again.
July 14, 2258.
Chekov didn't say a single word before he zipped himself into Sulu's sleeping bag, but he did say something afterward, before Sulu could.
"Please," was all he said, a whisper over the alien hum of alien insects, which was all they could hear on this planet, in the forest, in the night. "Please, God, I can't anymore" -- and then he was whispering it over Sulu's lips.
August 14, 2258.
"Yes, I am saying I want to be your boyfriend," says Chekov with a grin, still panting, and Sulu's laugh fills the empty rec room.
September 14, 2258.
This time, it was as slow as slow could be -- Sulu's fingers buried deep inside Chekov, the soft backs of Chekov's thighs flexing in a slow quiver each time Sulu sank them in as deep as he could, and Chekov whimpering each time at the feeling into his mouth, against his tongue -- and Sulu leaning back with every other breath to watch him.
October 14, 2258.
"I got us a plant," said Chekov when Sulu had opened the door, and something -- the look on his face of abject terror, his overly-careful clutching the pot that held the tiny ivy -- had Sulu biting his lips for a full thirty seconds before he pulled Chekov inside.
November 14, 2258.
"I would like for you to come home with me, to Russia, for the week of the New Year," Chekov managed to say that night at last, in the dark.
"You..." He could feel Sulu shifting over to try look at him, his thumb gone still from its soft stroking against Chekov's hipbone. "I thought you hated going back there? Ever since your dad got married again. I thought... didn't you say... you never wanted to go back again?"
"I never did," said Chekov softly. He reached up to hold Sulu's hand against his heart, as if he could say everything he needed with its rhythm against Sulu's palm. It seemed like maybe he could, because Sulu just exhaled and pulled him closer.
December 14, 2258.
"Hikaru, I'm tired, shore leave is for rest," Chekov whined, but allowed himself to be pulled off the futon and walked to the living room -- or "living room area," as it was technically classified in the context of Sulu's tiny studio apartment in San Francisco.
"It's got no decorations," he said in confusion, upon seeing the Christmas tree that took up a good three-fourths of the available floor space.
Sulu laughed.
"Yeah, because we are gonna decorate it." He handed Chekov a glass of eggnog and a handful of luminescent self-adhering colored bulbs. Then he stepped back to study Chekov for a moment. (He had already had several glasses of eggnog.)
"What?" said Chekov.
"Nothing. Just." Sulu stepped closer to play with the hem of Chekov's sweater. A dopey grin was on his face. "Twelve days till Christmas, and I already have the best present in the galaxy."
"Hikaru!" Chekov scrunched up his nose, as he always did in these reactions of secret delight, and shoved Sulu a little, playfully (he thought).
Unfortunately, and uncharacteristically, he hadn't accurately gauged Sulu's distance to the tree, and the next half-hour was spent in apologies and heavy lifting of a Douglas pine and careful brushing of countless green needles from Sulu's hair. Luckily, judging from Sulu's continued dopey grin between stolen kisses, he didn't mind too much. //
Characters/Pairing: Ensemble, Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex, voyeurism, fowl play
Summary: New life and new civilizations can sometimes be quite shocking.
At first glance, the dignitaries from the Federation appeared to belong in a wildlife refuge somewhere -- all seven evolved from mammals, they were overgrown bipeds with little mushy button noses instead of beaks, and skinny naked arms in place of wings. But they were gracious and intelligent, and though comically awkward when they attempted to wade through the Pool of Reception to meet the Prime Minister (the Vulcan hybrid seemed to have never swum in his life), once they were given special chambers of arid earth floors and cloth bedding, they, similar to Cygnus III's own earthbound mammals, were far more graceful in movement, even beautiful.
The Cygnets hadn't planned on their Federation guests all needing terrestrial habitats, though, so only six chambers were ready by that evening. The Prime Minister was highly distressed at this, flapping his wings in a panic at his cabinet, but then the youngest two goldbreasted Terrans graciously volunteered to share a room together. The tension was broken, the meeting ended with happy honks (and friendly teeth-bearing from the Terrans), and everyone prepared for sleep.
"I feel good about this, R'Lankkk," said the Prime Minister to his wife as the two of them glided into their sleeping pool.
"And I as well. Membership seems within reach, don't you think?"
"Indeed," said the Prime Minister, smoothing a feather on her neck fondly. "But let's see if our guests are comfortable. Computer, please bring up video of Guest Chamber One through Guest Chamber Six, sequential, thirty seconds each."
The surface of the water shimmered, and the two Cygnets watched with interest as the surveillance video shifted from one room to the other in turn. The entire flock of Federation members looked to be ready for rest. The yellow-plumed leader was already fast asleep, bare-chested and lying on his stomach, honking charmingly with each breath. The Vulcan hybrid was sitting on the floor with his legs knotted together, his eyes closed in some kind of meditation, and the medical officer was grumbling as he fluffed up his cloth bedding. The Terran who had surprised them all by honking a passable greeting speech that afternoon was reading something on her PADD, chewing on one of her front paws, and the engineer, leaning up on one elbow, was watching some media on his own PADD that was making him roar intermittently in what seemed to be the Terran version of laughter.
The two goldbreasts, however...
"Computer, cease shufflethrough," said the Prime Minister with a frown. "Continuous video feed of Guest Chamber Six."
"What are they doing?" said his wife, staring down at the image in the pool.
The younger of the two was nestled in the older's lap, his arms wrapped around the older one's neck, his legs parted around his hips. It was hard to tell which body part belonged to who, the two of them were so close and tangled up, and they had shed their cloth coverings, too, so that their bare glossy skin seemed to glow in the soft light. The dark one kept moving his mouth all over his companion's body, especially on his face, and the younger one kept making strange, throaty sounds in reply that were impossible to interpret.
"He's not... eating him?" said the Prime Minister's wife with a nervous little laugh. There had been lurid stories about the bizarre rituals of aliens for centuries.
"No, no." The Prime Minister peered closer. The younger one was moving, he could see -- rising up from the dark one's lap by straightening his spine, then dropping back down slowly, making more noises each time he did so. When the dark one started making throaty sounds, too, tightening his grip, the younger one quickened his pace.
"Do you know, R'Lankkk -- I think they're dancing."
"Dancing!" The Cygnets all knew about dancing, that haunting and beautiful bipedal act, but it was extremely rare to see in the wild -- all the mammals on their own planet shied away whenever a Cygnet approached the shore.
The Prime Minister's wife drew closer. "Oh, how lovely!" she murmured.
The older Terran was moving now, too, rocking his lower half up and down, swiveling his hips as he bounced the younger one on his lap. They were talking to each other in little swishy sounds that the translator couldn't pick up, speaking into each other's hair, though soon the younger one's voice grew high and squeaking and the older one's turned growly. The sounds were rhythmic -- clearly part of the dance.
"We'll have to ask them about it tomorrow," said the Prime Minister's wife. "Perhaps they can --"
Her voice trailed off.
The dark Terran had shoved the young one onto his back in a sudden, violent movement, making him cry out. The two of them were still connected, however, between their legs, where they could see, through the older one's sharp short snapping thrusts, something pink and slick and...
The Prime Minister and his wife watched, frozen in mortification, as the younger Terran stiffened and let out a wail. The older one groaned and pumped a few last desperate thrusts into his companion's body before shuddering and collapsing wholly on top of him. The two of them lay like that, panting, their limbs intertwined, the younger one petting the older one's dark hair.
"Computer end video," the Prime Minister finally blurted, and the water shimmered again into blackness.
The Prime Minister and his wife remained in silence for a time, the gentle lapping of the pool's water the only sound to be heard.
"I don't think we should ask them about it tomorrow," said the Prime Minister's wife presently. //
Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex, toxic levels of h/c indulgence
Summary: Chekov brings Sulu home.
Hikaru would learn much later, when they were back in space, that Pavel's aunt and uncle had actually planned on serving their traditional triple ballotine for Christmas Eve dinner -- turkey stuffed with goose stuffed with Cornish hen, imported from Normandy, de-boned and braised and roasted to a turn. Somehow, Pavel had used what little influence he had with his aunt and uncle to persuade them to consider Hikaru's vegetarianism, and how such a dish would traumatize him; and somehow it must have worked, because while they didn't go completely meatless -- as though they would sacrifice their generations-old feast, just for the picky anxieties of the boyfriend of a minor relative who himself was more nuisance than treasure -- the main dish was a more benign seared flounder, with an oversized salad next to it as a grudging allowance for the picky boyfriend.
But Hikaru didn't know about the change. He ate his salad and drank his wine and grinned as brightly as he could at Pavel's family from across their massive, crystal-set dining room table, forcing himself to keep smiling even as he noticed how Pavel's aunt and uncle treated Pavel like a servant, or an exchange student, virtually ignoring him throughout the whole meal. They asked him no questions about his three years in space, or about Hikaru, instead fawning over their own children -- Pavel's cousins, all much younger than he was -- with cooing approval and constant attention.
A few months ago Pavel had finally told him, with a self-conscious reluctance, how he'd been treated after his parents died and he'd gone to live with his aunt and uncle -- how they'd been cool to him, virtually indifferent, until his oldest cousin Danilo was born and they'd begun pretending he didn't exist. Yet some part of Hikaru hadn't really believed it until just now. How could anyone treat Pavel as less than a miracle -- look at him and be able to look away?
When dinner was over and the dishes all cleared, Pavel still hadn't told his family the news; but suddenly Hikaru didn't care. He took Pavel's hand and led him in silence through the gorgeously-decorated halls, up the garlanded winding staircase to their room -- the room where Pavel had grown up, not small or drafty but separate from the rest, bare and cavernous and somehow cold, even with the manor's sophisticated state-of-the-art heating system.
"I'm sorry," Pavel said softly, as Hikaru slid under the covers next to him.
Hikaru gave him a surprised look. "For what?"
"I didn't -- the whole reason we came here -- I should have spoken up." He shook his head and cursed under his breath. "I always get like this when I come back to this place, like I'm a child again. I hate it. And I know that even if I can get them to listen, they will just look at me that way they always do --"
"Shh," said Hikaru. He pulled Pavel close, fiercely, and held him tight as he felt the first hot tears against his neck. "You don't have to tell them anything."
They kept the lights out, but the deep drifts of snow outside, shining in the moonlight, made the room bright enough to see. And Hikaru wanted to see -- to see the white expanse of Pavel's soft skin laid out for him to taste, the smooth backs of Pavel's thighs drawn all the way back as Hikaru eased his way inch by slow inch into that tiny, shadowed dip, and then finally up to Pavel's face, into his wet eyes, to see each shift and wince and soft, shuddering breath as his body flexed in hot pulses around him, adjusting to him, welcoming him.
"Hikaru," Pavel whispered to him when he was ready; and Hikaru let out a soft, helpless moan before sinking down to cover Pavel completely.
Only his hips moved, drawing back and easing in to Pavel's body in steady thrusts. The rest of his body he kept sealed against Pavel's -- chest to chest, fingers entwined on the pillow, Pavel's legs locked tight around his back and Hikaru only pausing in their hot wet kisses long enough to breathe. When Pavel started to whimper into his mouth, Hikaru drew back just enough to slide a hand down between them and wrap it around Pavel's cock, to start rolling his hips hard and fast like Pavel needed.
"You don't have to tell anyone, baby, I'll tell the universe," he said, panting as he watched Pavel whine and thrash and fall apart beneath him.
"I'm going to marry you," he whispered, and Pavel cried out, tensing all around him, legs squeezing Hikaru's hips and hands scrabbling at his back as he spurted in a hot rush between them. Hikaru cradled him again afterward, even when he himself came, holding Pavel close and groaning into his hair as his hips worked themselves hard, as he emptied every drop into Pavel's body.
It took him some time to get back to himself. When he did, Pavel was still holding him, warm hands on his back, and Hikaru was still inside him, softening now, leaking a little when he pulled out. Snow was falling lightly outside the window. Just a flurry, but still the first snowfall Hikaru had ever seen.
When Hikaru glanced back down, Pavel was watching him. He was smiling; his eyes were shining with moisture.
"Even here," he whispered. "Even in this place, you make me so warm, Hikaru."
Hikaru couldn't say anything. He could only draw the covers over them both, pull Chekov against his chest and kiss his curls in the light from the falling snow. As if that warmth could compare to what Pavel deserved, or to what Pavel had given him -- light in the darkness of black space, greens in the place of game, a Christmas gift of their lives together. //