Sulu/Chekov Kink Meme Fill: Safekeeping
Title: Safekeeping
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~5,000
Summary: Sulu and Chekov are captured, and Sulu tries desperately to comfort Chekov after he's tortured by their captors.
Notes: For this great h/c prompt on the new kink meme: After, when they're back on board, they both pass their psych evaluations (just barely), and ___________ is all WEIRD about Chekov, always up in his personal space, and moving Chekov into his room and glaring at people who get too close. Chekov is annoyed, but understands.
The first time it happens, Sulu thinks he must be seeing things, hallucinating due to extreme hunger. He's been taken out of the cell for questioning before, and so has Chekov. He's not sure how long they've been here, but based on the emptiness of his stomach he'd guess it's been about three days. The uncertainty has made it feel like three years, but so far their captors' torture has been limited to starvation. The questioning has been almost polite. Until now.
"Jesus, fuck!" Sulu says when the guards dump Chekov onto the floor. They retreat more quickly than usual, as if they're worried about what Sulu might do to them, but he's too distracted by the sight of Chekov, beaten and bloody and shivering on the floor, to do anything but hover over him and hyperventilate while his malnourished brain tries to process what he's seeing.
"Pavel," he says, his voice breaking as he carefully places his hands on Chekov's back. Chekov's uniform has been slashed in places, blood caked on the fabric and already beginning to dry; they had him for what seemed like a longer time than usual, and Sulu hadn't thought anything of it, hadn't expected anything like this.
"Hey, can you hear me?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, to stay strong for Chekov, who is slumped lifelessly on the floor but definitely breathing, his whole body trembling. He flinches a little when Sulu touches him, looking for broken bones. Trying not to be sick, he inventories Chekov's injuries, hoping that he can do something to ease his pain. The bottoms of Chekov's feet are burned, as if he was made to walk on coals, the skin raw and peeling. Sections of his pants have been stripped away as if by a whip, angry, bleeding welts leaking out through them. Sulu starts to remove the fabric so that it won't dry against the cuts, but Chekov whimpers so pitifully that he stops, whispering an apology. Chekov's shirt shows the same patterns of abuse, as if they whipped him everywhere: legs, chest, back. A couple of his fingernails are missing. His eyelids are bruised and puffy, and Sulu isn't sure if they hurt him there or if it's just from crying. His eyes are vacant and his cheeks are colorless.
"God, why did they do this?" Sulu asks. He gives up any hope of healing Chekov's wounds and lies down beside him on the floor, gently holding his shoulder with one hand and stroking his matted hair with the other. Chekov says nothing. Sulu's eyes fill with tears, and he has to hold back a primal scream of rage. It would only scare Chekov.
He's pretty sure, based on his inspection, that Chekov doesn't have any broken bones, so he lifts him very carefully into his arms and brings him to the corner of the room, to the dirty tarp they've been sleeping on since they were captured. He figures that Chekov will feel safer in the corner of the room, trying to remember more of his Academy training about how to care for a traumatized crew mate in an emergency situation. He thinks of the way Chekov always seems to bounce into rooms rather than walking, always with an easy smile. Sulu's eyes burn at the thought, and he pushes all of that away. He's got to focus.
Sulu sits with his back to the corner of the room, maybe needing the security of it a little himself, and holds Chekov in his arms, trying not to put pressure on any of his cuts. Chekov slumps against Sulu, clutching at his shirt and hiding his face against Sulu's neck. Sulu tries to make him feel as safe as he can, cradling Chekov's head in his hand and closing his other arm around his waist. Chekov starts to sob silently, and Sulu strokes his hair.
"Hikaru," Chekov finally says, his voice raw and tiny, probably used up from screaming for mercy in vain. "Why?"
"Don't worry," Sulu whispers. He kisses Chekov's forehead, feeling crazed. He and Chekov are friends, but they've never been anywhere near this intimate. In the past two days they've slept a little closer on the tarp than they might have if they weren't afraid for their lives, but Sulu has never laid a hand on Chekov before now. Suddenly it feels natural, the only comfortable thing they have.
"They're going to find us, we're going to get out of here," Sulu whispers. "Next time the guards come, I'll fight them. Pavel, I -- I'm so sorry. I wish it had been me. Tomorrow, it will be." The guards have been switching off, interviewing Chekov one day and Sulu the next. "Tomorrow you can rest, recover, and I'll try -- I'll, I'll try something."
"Don't you think I tried?" Chekov asks in a pained little whisper.
"I know you did, shit, I'm sorry, shit, I don't know what to say." Sulu presses his eyes shut and puts his face against the top of Chekov's head, breathing in the smell of him. There's still a trace of the halls of the Enterprise and the regulation sheets on Chekov's bed, a trace of home.
Chekov sleeps, completely exhausted, and twitches with nightmares, his fist tightening around Sulu's shirt and his eyes wet on Sulu's neck. Sulu just holds him, pets him, and whispers shhhh, it's okay when he whines in his sleep. Yesterday they were joking that they would die spooning, clinging to each other in desperation at the end. Turns out it's not really that funny.
~
The next day, they come for Chekov again and Sulu tries to fight them. They stun him easily; Sulu is so weak from not eating that even standing up takes a lot of effort. He passes out to the sound of Chekov's panicked cries and he wakes up to silence, slumped on the floor, jumpy and dried out from the electricity that the stun sent through him. Chekov is still gone. Sulu gets up, his limbs shaking, and cases the room for the millionth time, looking for any hope of escape. There's still nothing.
This time, they bring Chekov back unconscious. Sulu tries to fight again, and is knocked aside just as easily. They don't even bother to stun him this time, but Sulu almost wishes they would. He wants to experience some sort of pain, to balance what Chekov has been through.
"Pavel," he says, crawling over to the spot on the floor where the guards dropped him. Chekov is limp and unresponsive, but still breathing. Sulu allows himself to cry for five seconds, his face pressed to Chekov's side. Chekov's skin is so unbelievably hot; it's a grotesque kind of comfort. When Sulu sits up to wipe at his face he finds Chekov's blood on his cheek.
He brings Chekov into the corner and puts Chekov's back to the wall, then lies down facing him, sitting up on an elbow as if to shield him, as if there is anything he can do. He doesn't want to examine Chekov's new injuries, but he forces himself to, lifting his shirt to wince at the reopened cuts and new bruises. Three more fingernails are gone. Sulu presses a cautious finger between Chekov's chapped, bitten lips and feels to make sure his teeth are still there.
Chekov wakes up with a gasp and Sulu quickly removes his finger. For a moment Chekov's eyes are wild with fear, and then he sees Sulu and twitches as if he wants to move closer but doesn't have the energy. Sulu presses his body against Chekov's, just softly, giving him contact but not pressure. He puts his hand over Chekov's ear and prays that they won't take it from him.
"How can they do this?" Sulu asks, his voice shaking. "To you -- again -- tomorrow I'll beg them to take me."
Chekov is silent, his breathing labored, as if he's holding back tears. Sulu's heart breaks at the thought that, even now, Chekov wants to seem like a grown up, like a man. He's only eighteen.
"Tell me there's something I can do," Sulu says. "Please."
Chekov says nothing, and winces when an escaped tear rolls across a cut on his cheek. Sulu moves closer, wanting to cover Chekov's whole body with his, to hide him. He kisses the corner of Chekov's eyebrow like a mother might, tender and reassuring, and puts his hand over the crown of Chekov's head. Give the traumatized person a sense of being enclosed in a safe space. He never thought he would have to use his training in emergency relief, even after nearly dying himself on his first real mission. He's been such a fool not to be afraid of this all the time.
*
On the third day, Sulu does beg. He's ignored, and Chekov is taken. Sulu crumbles to the floor when Chekov is gone, crying in big, useless jags, the emptiness of his stomach and the thought of Chekov being hurt again making him feel as if he's close to knowing the meaning of insanity. Chekov didn't even scream when they took him this time, he just cried.
Chekov's shirt is gone when he returns, and his neck is bruised and cut as if he was made to wear a spiked collar. He dry heaves against the floor while Sulu sits beside him, holding him, feeling as if he's one of Chekov's torturers for continuing to go unharmed.
"They can't keep doing this," Sulu says, alarmed by the hollowness in his own voice. "They can't."
Chekov collapses against the floor, his body still jerking with the aftershocks of attempting to throw up on an empty stomach. The skin on his chest and back is unrecognizable as such, red and purple and wet with blood and sweat. Sulu knows he has no hope of not hurting him when he carries him to the tarp, but Chekov doesn't shout or wince. He's completely drained, his eyes unfocused and his dry mouth hanging open. Sulu positions him as he did the day before, making his body into a kind of shelter, hovering over Chekov, knowing now that it's pointless; Chekov might never feel safe again, no matter what Sulu or anyone else does.
"Please, hang on," Sulu whispers, stroking Chekov's hair, holding his hip. "Please, Pavel. I know I've got not right to ask you for anything, but I promise I won't let you die like this if you just hang on."
Chekov is way past responding to anything, especially speech. He doesn't even clutch at Sulu anymore, just lies there and fights for breath. Sulu keeps talking anyway, his mouth close to Chekov's ear, whispering a litany of nonsense: They'll find us, it's okay, McCoy can fix all of this, I won't leave you, I'm here, you're okay, you're gonna be okay, I'll think of something, this can't go on, I won't let them hurt you anymore.
*
The next time they hear the door to their cell open they just lie there on the tarp, staring at each other, Chekov blank and Sulu broken. But it's not their captors coming for them this time: it's Kirk and a team of red shirts. Sulu rolls onto his back and stares up at Kirk's horrified face. He's not looking at Sulu, but at Chekov. Sulu closes his eyes, assuming that it's only a dream.
*
He wakes up in med bay, on the ship, an IV plugged into his arm. For a moment he allows himself to experience relief, but it passes quickly.
"Pavel?" he shouts, looking around the bay. A nurse hurries over, giving him a placating smile.
"Just relax, Lieutenant," she says. "We'll have you back on your feet in no time. How does some solid food sound?"
"I -- where -- where's Ensign Chekov?" He's pierced by the irrational fear that Kirk might have left him behind, might not have recognized him as one of his crew in the state he was in.
The nurse's face changes. "He's in surgery," she says. "Skin grafts. He was -- it's so horrible."
"Is he going to be okay?" Sulu feels six years old, asking this question.
"Physically, yes," the nurse says. "Dr. McCoy specializes in this sort of restorative work."
Sulu doesn't ask for her opinion on Chekov's mental state. He lets out a deep breath and looks around the bay, trying to feel safe, wanting to curl into a corner. He thinks of the time he and Chekov went swimming in the pool at the ship's recreation center. Chekov was an impressive diver, but Sulu had been more impressed with his skin, the color of it against the red of his tight little swimsuit, and the way he seemed both very firm and very soft. Sulu wanted to touch him that day, more than anything. He wanted to take him back to his room, wet and shivering, and bring a pretty flush to his pale, perfect skin.
Now it's ruined, and it doesn't matter how good McCoy is, there will be scars. Sulu wants to cry, but he can't seem to get started. He wishes they would let him sit at Chekov's bedside and hold his hand while they put him back together.
*
Sulu is released from med bay the following afternoon, but Chekov isn't even allowed to have visitors for two more days. Sulu is waiting in the hallway when McCoy finally gives him the okay, and he hurries inside, hoping that seeing Chekov will still the constant panic that's still rushing through him, as if he's waiting to wake up in that cell again, watching Chekov disappear little by little.
Chekov is lying on his back in the hospital bed when Sulu enters the post-op room where he's being held. He's afraid that Chekov will just stare at the wall, hollowed out forever, but when he sees Sulu he sits up and cries out, reaching for him. Sulu laughs with relief and hurries to Chekov's side, pulling him into his arms.
"Hikaru," Chekov says, his voice still just a shaky whisper. He's holding on to Sulu tightly, trembling. "You're okay."
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Fuck, I don't know why they, why it was only you -"
Chekov goes stiff, and Sulu stops talking, just rubs Chekov's back and presses his face against Chekov's cheek before pulling back to have a look at him, surveying him for scars. He can't see any on his face or arms, but he knows that Chekov will have them on his back, his chest, maybe his legs. Chekov's hands are in big medical mittens; his fingernails must still be regrowing.
"See, I am all in one piece," Chekov says. His eyes are wet. Sulu reaches up to brush his thumb over the little scrape on Chekov's cheek.
"Thank God they didn't do anything to your face," he says, and then he feels like an idiot. Chekov smiles.
"Or to yours," he says.
"I would rather have been cut in half than see what they did --" Sulu stops himself, shaking his head. "Let's not talk about it," he says.
"Mmm." Chekov nods in agreement and leans against Sulu's shoulder, resting his head there. Sulu holds him and then rocks him, pushing his face into Chekov's curls. One of the nurses must have washed them; he smells so clean.
"I told you we'd be okay," Sulu says. "I told you."
He feels stupid saying so. Of course Chekov is not okay after what happened to him. Sulu is just glad that he still wants to be held.
*
They're both given a week of administrative leave which is chock full of quality time with the staff therapists. Their efforts are two-fold: they're trying to help Sulu and Chekov through their experience, but they're also trying to determine if one or both of them is no longer fit to serve. Sulu does his best to conceal what he's actually going through while in the presence of the therapists, and he assumes that Chekov is doing the same.
Sulu doesn't even consider leaving Chekov's side, except during the therapy sessions, which they're forced to endure alone. Sulu sits on the floor outside of the room while Chekov has his sessions, and hops up to walk with him to his room when they're through. They take their meals in silence and read in Sulu's bed afterward, their shoulders pressed together. Sulu washes Chekov's wounds before bed, and they sleep wrapped around each other. When one of them wakes with a nightmare, the other calms him down, then they lie together breathing hard for awhile, staring at each other in the dark. Sometimes Sulu kisses Chekov's face. He can't fall asleep without Chekov lying underneath him, telling Sulu that it's okay, that it doesn't hurt. Sulu knows that it must, that his wounds are still tender, but Chekov holds him in place anyway, disappearing beneath him.
One day, Sulu finishes brushing his teeth in the en suite bathroom and heads for the bed, pulls up the blankets and finds Chekov lying on his side, facing the wall, which is their standard routine, except that Chekov seems to be completely naked. He doesn't say anything or acknowledge Sulu, just lies there, his shoulders curling in as if he's ashamed of himself. Sulu doesn't want him to be embarrassed, so he takes off all of his clothes, too. He climbs into bed and wraps himself around Chekov as usual, holding back a gasp; Chekov's skin is so hot. Sulu's heart pounds as he presses the landscape of Chekov's scars against his chest. He can feel Chekov holding his breath.
"Oh, God," Chekov says, letting out his breath as Sulu's arms close around him. "Thank you."
They never talk about it. They talk about work and physics and shows they used to watch on Earth. Chekov laughs sometimes. More often he jumps and flinches and reaches for Sulu's arm.
*
Being back on the bridge is surreal, and Sulu doesn't like the distance between he and Chekov's chairs, so most days he scoots over early on, making up some excuse, some question, and then leaves his chair there for the remainder of the day, until he has to do something at his console. Kirk doesn't object, but sometimes he comes to stand between them, or beside Chekov, and Sulu feels antsy and upset, wanting to tell Kirk to back off, that he's too close, that he's making Chekov nervous. Chekov actually seems much better after resuming his work, cheerful with the distraction, but Sulu's constant panic doesn't go away when they're in the company of the others, and he finds himself wanting to drag Chekov away to a safe corner and pin him there. Sometimes he does, taking Chekov by the wrist, shaking all the way back to his room. Chekov lets himself be pulled around, and looks at Sulu with sympathy for a few weeks, then with tired annoyance.
"No one here is going to take me from you," Chekov says one night after Sulu has dragged him away from Scotty's invitation to play chess. The look of pity on Chekov's face makes Sulu scoff with irritation, and he starts to walk into the bathroom to have a shower, but then he can't, so he brings Chekov with him. Chekov stands under the water and lets Sulu hold on to him, sighing.
"You don't know that they're not," Sulu says. He wishes he could remember what it's like to have a normal heartbeat, to not always be sweating and nervous and pointing his phaser at shadows. Chekov turns the water off and leads Sulu out of the shower. He makes a little show of drying Sulu off and pushing him into bed, then gets something from the replicator. Sulu lies there and watches him, his hands twitching under the blankets, needing Chekov closer.
"What's that?" Sulu asks when Chekov returns with a little bottle of lotion. Chekov stands beside the bed, naked, his hair dripping onto his shoulders. His scars are subtle and his bruises have dulled to greenish-yellow, but Sulu can still see the open wounds when he looks at him.
"This," Chekov says, "Is for you." He tosses the bottle onto the bed, and it lands on top of the blankets, over Sulu's stomach. He picks it up and reads the label, though he's pretty sure what it is now. Lube.
"Uh," Sulu says. Chekov frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.
"You think I don't see how you get hard for me?" he asks. His cheeks turn red, but he's still looking at Sulu sternly, still trying to be a grown-up.
"Well. But aren't you, um." Sulu blinks a few thousand times. "A virgin?"
"Da." Chekov wilts a little, looking at the floor. "So?"
"Won't it hurt you, then?" The thought makes Sulu's stomach pinch up painfully, as if it's bracing itself for impact.
Chekov groans and crawls onto the bed. He takes the lube and sets it on the bedside table, then squirms beneath the blankets, stretching his naked body out on top of Sulu's, pressing him down the mattress the way Sulu has done to him every night since he left med bay. He puts the tip of his nose against Sulu's and stares down at him. Sulu tries to match Chekov's breathing, his hands on Chekov's sides, which still feel smooth enough to make him think of snow.
"Would you carry me around between your ribs if you could?" Chekov asks, his voice soft and his breath hot against Sulu's open mouth.
"God, yes," Sulu says. "You can live where my heart used to be."
Chekov makes a wounded noise and kisses him, pressing his hands over Sulu's ears as if to close the world out, until all that Sulu knows is Chekov's tongue and lips and the little noises he makes when Sulu kisses him back: small, whimpery things that make Sulu think of that holding cell. He pulls back and holds Chekov's gaze, searching his eyes for pain, and it's there, but it's different.
"I want you inside me, too," Chekov says, his hands curling around Sulu's ears. "Even if it hurts."
Sulu makes Chekov reassure him that it doesn't, every step of the way. When Sulu's fingers are stretching him open, when Sulu's cock is pushing in slow, when Chekov is spread so wide around Sulu that Sulu feels like he'll fall into him wholly, as if into a snow drift: he always gets the same answer. It's good, Hikaru, you feel so good.
When they're through they lie together, breathing hard, Sulu cradling Chekov's head and holding his waist, Chekov clutching at Sulu's back, his other hand pressed between Sulu's cheek and the pillow. They stare at each other so solemnly that finally Chekov laughs, and Sulu does, too.
"Well, who cares," Chekov says. "It already feels like a dream."
"Like a nightmare."
"Not entirely. The human body can't remember pain. It can remember trauma, of course, fear, but not physical pain. Anyway, you held me." Chekov's eyes fill up, and Sulu pulls him closer, pressing their chests together, both of them trembling like children.
"You don't know how long, and how badly, I wanted you to hold me like that," Chekov says, the tears slipping out. He doesn't wince now, the scrape on his cheek healed shut.
"Oh, God, Pavel - I wanted to, that day we went swimming together -"
"But now you have to let me go, Hikaru. Sometimes you have to let me walk without your hand on my arm."
Sulu scoffs and grins, embarrassed. He's not sure he can promise that, so he just kisses Chekov's forehead.
"I'm not small enough to live between your ribs," Chekov says. "And I'm glad, because if I was that small I couldn't have you inside me."
"Now I know why they took you instead of me," Sulu says. "You're stronger. They saw it."
"No, Hikaru, that is not what they saw. They saw a superior officer who was in love with an ensign. They thought you knew more Federation secrets, and they thought they could break you by hurting me."
"It's that obvious that I'm in love with you?"
Chekov smiles and tips his chin up, reveling in the glow of Sulu's adoration. He seems to have healed himself with pure determination, and Sulu knows he'll have to do the same, that he'll have to let Chekov turn corners ahead of him and trust that he won't disappear around them.
"I have suspected it for some time," Chekov says, sounding so scientific-minded that Sulu laughs.
"Since when?"
"Since the day when we went swimming, when you looked as if you wanted to pin me down somewhere and ravish me. But when we left the gym you just stumbled off looking ashamed of yourself, and I thought: maybe he loves me, too."
"You're so much smarter than me," Sulu says. He buries his face in Chekov's wet curls, kissing them until he tastes the soapy scent of his shampoo.
"Not so much," Chekov says, and Sulu snorts with laughter. "More intuitive, maybe."
"Borderline psychic."
"Ha! You think it takes a mind reader to see when you are lusting after someone, Hikaru?"
"Jesus, what did I do, hump the side of the pool while I stared at you?"
"Essentially."
Sulu laughs and tickles Chekov's sides in revenge, then takes his hands and kisses every one of his perfect fingernails, some of them the originals, some regrown. He'll never forget which ones were once missing. Chekov stares up at him, his smile fading as he reads the question on Sulu's face.
"It hurt so much I forgot my name," Chekov says quietly. "But when I remembered it, I thought: all I have to do is survive this, and then Hikaru will close himself over me like new skin. And, so. I survived."
"Thank you," Sulu says, as if Chekov lived through hell as a favor to him. Chekov touches Sulu's bottom lip with two fingers, pressing against it gently, a kind of kiss.
"You're welcome," he says sweetly, smiling, and Sulu collapses onto him, covering him up again.
//
the end.
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~5,000
Summary: Sulu and Chekov are captured, and Sulu tries desperately to comfort Chekov after he's tortured by their captors.
Notes: For this great h/c prompt on the new kink meme: After, when they're back on board, they both pass their psych evaluations (just barely), and ___________ is all WEIRD about Chekov, always up in his personal space, and moving Chekov into his room and glaring at people who get too close. Chekov is annoyed, but understands.
The first time it happens, Sulu thinks he must be seeing things, hallucinating due to extreme hunger. He's been taken out of the cell for questioning before, and so has Chekov. He's not sure how long they've been here, but based on the emptiness of his stomach he'd guess it's been about three days. The uncertainty has made it feel like three years, but so far their captors' torture has been limited to starvation. The questioning has been almost polite. Until now.
"Jesus, fuck!" Sulu says when the guards dump Chekov onto the floor. They retreat more quickly than usual, as if they're worried about what Sulu might do to them, but he's too distracted by the sight of Chekov, beaten and bloody and shivering on the floor, to do anything but hover over him and hyperventilate while his malnourished brain tries to process what he's seeing.
"Pavel," he says, his voice breaking as he carefully places his hands on Chekov's back. Chekov's uniform has been slashed in places, blood caked on the fabric and already beginning to dry; they had him for what seemed like a longer time than usual, and Sulu hadn't thought anything of it, hadn't expected anything like this.
"Hey, can you hear me?" he asks, trying to keep his voice steady, to stay strong for Chekov, who is slumped lifelessly on the floor but definitely breathing, his whole body trembling. He flinches a little when Sulu touches him, looking for broken bones. Trying not to be sick, he inventories Chekov's injuries, hoping that he can do something to ease his pain. The bottoms of Chekov's feet are burned, as if he was made to walk on coals, the skin raw and peeling. Sections of his pants have been stripped away as if by a whip, angry, bleeding welts leaking out through them. Sulu starts to remove the fabric so that it won't dry against the cuts, but Chekov whimpers so pitifully that he stops, whispering an apology. Chekov's shirt shows the same patterns of abuse, as if they whipped him everywhere: legs, chest, back. A couple of his fingernails are missing. His eyelids are bruised and puffy, and Sulu isn't sure if they hurt him there or if it's just from crying. His eyes are vacant and his cheeks are colorless.
"God, why did they do this?" Sulu asks. He gives up any hope of healing Chekov's wounds and lies down beside him on the floor, gently holding his shoulder with one hand and stroking his matted hair with the other. Chekov says nothing. Sulu's eyes fill with tears, and he has to hold back a primal scream of rage. It would only scare Chekov.
He's pretty sure, based on his inspection, that Chekov doesn't have any broken bones, so he lifts him very carefully into his arms and brings him to the corner of the room, to the dirty tarp they've been sleeping on since they were captured. He figures that Chekov will feel safer in the corner of the room, trying to remember more of his Academy training about how to care for a traumatized crew mate in an emergency situation. He thinks of the way Chekov always seems to bounce into rooms rather than walking, always with an easy smile. Sulu's eyes burn at the thought, and he pushes all of that away. He's got to focus.
Sulu sits with his back to the corner of the room, maybe needing the security of it a little himself, and holds Chekov in his arms, trying not to put pressure on any of his cuts. Chekov slumps against Sulu, clutching at his shirt and hiding his face against Sulu's neck. Sulu tries to make him feel as safe as he can, cradling Chekov's head in his hand and closing his other arm around his waist. Chekov starts to sob silently, and Sulu strokes his hair.
"Hikaru," Chekov finally says, his voice raw and tiny, probably used up from screaming for mercy in vain. "Why?"
"Don't worry," Sulu whispers. He kisses Chekov's forehead, feeling crazed. He and Chekov are friends, but they've never been anywhere near this intimate. In the past two days they've slept a little closer on the tarp than they might have if they weren't afraid for their lives, but Sulu has never laid a hand on Chekov before now. Suddenly it feels natural, the only comfortable thing they have.
"They're going to find us, we're going to get out of here," Sulu whispers. "Next time the guards come, I'll fight them. Pavel, I -- I'm so sorry. I wish it had been me. Tomorrow, it will be." The guards have been switching off, interviewing Chekov one day and Sulu the next. "Tomorrow you can rest, recover, and I'll try -- I'll, I'll try something."
"Don't you think I tried?" Chekov asks in a pained little whisper.
"I know you did, shit, I'm sorry, shit, I don't know what to say." Sulu presses his eyes shut and puts his face against the top of Chekov's head, breathing in the smell of him. There's still a trace of the halls of the Enterprise and the regulation sheets on Chekov's bed, a trace of home.
Chekov sleeps, completely exhausted, and twitches with nightmares, his fist tightening around Sulu's shirt and his eyes wet on Sulu's neck. Sulu just holds him, pets him, and whispers shhhh, it's okay when he whines in his sleep. Yesterday they were joking that they would die spooning, clinging to each other in desperation at the end. Turns out it's not really that funny.
~
The next day, they come for Chekov again and Sulu tries to fight them. They stun him easily; Sulu is so weak from not eating that even standing up takes a lot of effort. He passes out to the sound of Chekov's panicked cries and he wakes up to silence, slumped on the floor, jumpy and dried out from the electricity that the stun sent through him. Chekov is still gone. Sulu gets up, his limbs shaking, and cases the room for the millionth time, looking for any hope of escape. There's still nothing.
This time, they bring Chekov back unconscious. Sulu tries to fight again, and is knocked aside just as easily. They don't even bother to stun him this time, but Sulu almost wishes they would. He wants to experience some sort of pain, to balance what Chekov has been through.
"Pavel," he says, crawling over to the spot on the floor where the guards dropped him. Chekov is limp and unresponsive, but still breathing. Sulu allows himself to cry for five seconds, his face pressed to Chekov's side. Chekov's skin is so unbelievably hot; it's a grotesque kind of comfort. When Sulu sits up to wipe at his face he finds Chekov's blood on his cheek.
He brings Chekov into the corner and puts Chekov's back to the wall, then lies down facing him, sitting up on an elbow as if to shield him, as if there is anything he can do. He doesn't want to examine Chekov's new injuries, but he forces himself to, lifting his shirt to wince at the reopened cuts and new bruises. Three more fingernails are gone. Sulu presses a cautious finger between Chekov's chapped, bitten lips and feels to make sure his teeth are still there.
Chekov wakes up with a gasp and Sulu quickly removes his finger. For a moment Chekov's eyes are wild with fear, and then he sees Sulu and twitches as if he wants to move closer but doesn't have the energy. Sulu presses his body against Chekov's, just softly, giving him contact but not pressure. He puts his hand over Chekov's ear and prays that they won't take it from him.
"How can they do this?" Sulu asks, his voice shaking. "To you -- again -- tomorrow I'll beg them to take me."
Chekov is silent, his breathing labored, as if he's holding back tears. Sulu's heart breaks at the thought that, even now, Chekov wants to seem like a grown up, like a man. He's only eighteen.
"Tell me there's something I can do," Sulu says. "Please."
Chekov says nothing, and winces when an escaped tear rolls across a cut on his cheek. Sulu moves closer, wanting to cover Chekov's whole body with his, to hide him. He kisses the corner of Chekov's eyebrow like a mother might, tender and reassuring, and puts his hand over the crown of Chekov's head. Give the traumatized person a sense of being enclosed in a safe space. He never thought he would have to use his training in emergency relief, even after nearly dying himself on his first real mission. He's been such a fool not to be afraid of this all the time.
*
On the third day, Sulu does beg. He's ignored, and Chekov is taken. Sulu crumbles to the floor when Chekov is gone, crying in big, useless jags, the emptiness of his stomach and the thought of Chekov being hurt again making him feel as if he's close to knowing the meaning of insanity. Chekov didn't even scream when they took him this time, he just cried.
Chekov's shirt is gone when he returns, and his neck is bruised and cut as if he was made to wear a spiked collar. He dry heaves against the floor while Sulu sits beside him, holding him, feeling as if he's one of Chekov's torturers for continuing to go unharmed.
"They can't keep doing this," Sulu says, alarmed by the hollowness in his own voice. "They can't."
Chekov collapses against the floor, his body still jerking with the aftershocks of attempting to throw up on an empty stomach. The skin on his chest and back is unrecognizable as such, red and purple and wet with blood and sweat. Sulu knows he has no hope of not hurting him when he carries him to the tarp, but Chekov doesn't shout or wince. He's completely drained, his eyes unfocused and his dry mouth hanging open. Sulu positions him as he did the day before, making his body into a kind of shelter, hovering over Chekov, knowing now that it's pointless; Chekov might never feel safe again, no matter what Sulu or anyone else does.
"Please, hang on," Sulu whispers, stroking Chekov's hair, holding his hip. "Please, Pavel. I know I've got not right to ask you for anything, but I promise I won't let you die like this if you just hang on."
Chekov is way past responding to anything, especially speech. He doesn't even clutch at Sulu anymore, just lies there and fights for breath. Sulu keeps talking anyway, his mouth close to Chekov's ear, whispering a litany of nonsense: They'll find us, it's okay, McCoy can fix all of this, I won't leave you, I'm here, you're okay, you're gonna be okay, I'll think of something, this can't go on, I won't let them hurt you anymore.
*
The next time they hear the door to their cell open they just lie there on the tarp, staring at each other, Chekov blank and Sulu broken. But it's not their captors coming for them this time: it's Kirk and a team of red shirts. Sulu rolls onto his back and stares up at Kirk's horrified face. He's not looking at Sulu, but at Chekov. Sulu closes his eyes, assuming that it's only a dream.
*
He wakes up in med bay, on the ship, an IV plugged into his arm. For a moment he allows himself to experience relief, but it passes quickly.
"Pavel?" he shouts, looking around the bay. A nurse hurries over, giving him a placating smile.
"Just relax, Lieutenant," she says. "We'll have you back on your feet in no time. How does some solid food sound?"
"I -- where -- where's Ensign Chekov?" He's pierced by the irrational fear that Kirk might have left him behind, might not have recognized him as one of his crew in the state he was in.
The nurse's face changes. "He's in surgery," she says. "Skin grafts. He was -- it's so horrible."
"Is he going to be okay?" Sulu feels six years old, asking this question.
"Physically, yes," the nurse says. "Dr. McCoy specializes in this sort of restorative work."
Sulu doesn't ask for her opinion on Chekov's mental state. He lets out a deep breath and looks around the bay, trying to feel safe, wanting to curl into a corner. He thinks of the time he and Chekov went swimming in the pool at the ship's recreation center. Chekov was an impressive diver, but Sulu had been more impressed with his skin, the color of it against the red of his tight little swimsuit, and the way he seemed both very firm and very soft. Sulu wanted to touch him that day, more than anything. He wanted to take him back to his room, wet and shivering, and bring a pretty flush to his pale, perfect skin.
Now it's ruined, and it doesn't matter how good McCoy is, there will be scars. Sulu wants to cry, but he can't seem to get started. He wishes they would let him sit at Chekov's bedside and hold his hand while they put him back together.
*
Sulu is released from med bay the following afternoon, but Chekov isn't even allowed to have visitors for two more days. Sulu is waiting in the hallway when McCoy finally gives him the okay, and he hurries inside, hoping that seeing Chekov will still the constant panic that's still rushing through him, as if he's waiting to wake up in that cell again, watching Chekov disappear little by little.
Chekov is lying on his back in the hospital bed when Sulu enters the post-op room where he's being held. He's afraid that Chekov will just stare at the wall, hollowed out forever, but when he sees Sulu he sits up and cries out, reaching for him. Sulu laughs with relief and hurries to Chekov's side, pulling him into his arms.
"Hikaru," Chekov says, his voice still just a shaky whisper. He's holding on to Sulu tightly, trembling. "You're okay."
"Me? Yeah, I'm fine. Fuck, I don't know why they, why it was only you -"
Chekov goes stiff, and Sulu stops talking, just rubs Chekov's back and presses his face against Chekov's cheek before pulling back to have a look at him, surveying him for scars. He can't see any on his face or arms, but he knows that Chekov will have them on his back, his chest, maybe his legs. Chekov's hands are in big medical mittens; his fingernails must still be regrowing.
"See, I am all in one piece," Chekov says. His eyes are wet. Sulu reaches up to brush his thumb over the little scrape on Chekov's cheek.
"Thank God they didn't do anything to your face," he says, and then he feels like an idiot. Chekov smiles.
"Or to yours," he says.
"I would rather have been cut in half than see what they did --" Sulu stops himself, shaking his head. "Let's not talk about it," he says.
"Mmm." Chekov nods in agreement and leans against Sulu's shoulder, resting his head there. Sulu holds him and then rocks him, pushing his face into Chekov's curls. One of the nurses must have washed them; he smells so clean.
"I told you we'd be okay," Sulu says. "I told you."
He feels stupid saying so. Of course Chekov is not okay after what happened to him. Sulu is just glad that he still wants to be held.
*
They're both given a week of administrative leave which is chock full of quality time with the staff therapists. Their efforts are two-fold: they're trying to help Sulu and Chekov through their experience, but they're also trying to determine if one or both of them is no longer fit to serve. Sulu does his best to conceal what he's actually going through while in the presence of the therapists, and he assumes that Chekov is doing the same.
Sulu doesn't even consider leaving Chekov's side, except during the therapy sessions, which they're forced to endure alone. Sulu sits on the floor outside of the room while Chekov has his sessions, and hops up to walk with him to his room when they're through. They take their meals in silence and read in Sulu's bed afterward, their shoulders pressed together. Sulu washes Chekov's wounds before bed, and they sleep wrapped around each other. When one of them wakes with a nightmare, the other calms him down, then they lie together breathing hard for awhile, staring at each other in the dark. Sometimes Sulu kisses Chekov's face. He can't fall asleep without Chekov lying underneath him, telling Sulu that it's okay, that it doesn't hurt. Sulu knows that it must, that his wounds are still tender, but Chekov holds him in place anyway, disappearing beneath him.
One day, Sulu finishes brushing his teeth in the en suite bathroom and heads for the bed, pulls up the blankets and finds Chekov lying on his side, facing the wall, which is their standard routine, except that Chekov seems to be completely naked. He doesn't say anything or acknowledge Sulu, just lies there, his shoulders curling in as if he's ashamed of himself. Sulu doesn't want him to be embarrassed, so he takes off all of his clothes, too. He climbs into bed and wraps himself around Chekov as usual, holding back a gasp; Chekov's skin is so hot. Sulu's heart pounds as he presses the landscape of Chekov's scars against his chest. He can feel Chekov holding his breath.
"Oh, God," Chekov says, letting out his breath as Sulu's arms close around him. "Thank you."
They never talk about it. They talk about work and physics and shows they used to watch on Earth. Chekov laughs sometimes. More often he jumps and flinches and reaches for Sulu's arm.
*
Being back on the bridge is surreal, and Sulu doesn't like the distance between he and Chekov's chairs, so most days he scoots over early on, making up some excuse, some question, and then leaves his chair there for the remainder of the day, until he has to do something at his console. Kirk doesn't object, but sometimes he comes to stand between them, or beside Chekov, and Sulu feels antsy and upset, wanting to tell Kirk to back off, that he's too close, that he's making Chekov nervous. Chekov actually seems much better after resuming his work, cheerful with the distraction, but Sulu's constant panic doesn't go away when they're in the company of the others, and he finds himself wanting to drag Chekov away to a safe corner and pin him there. Sometimes he does, taking Chekov by the wrist, shaking all the way back to his room. Chekov lets himself be pulled around, and looks at Sulu with sympathy for a few weeks, then with tired annoyance.
"No one here is going to take me from you," Chekov says one night after Sulu has dragged him away from Scotty's invitation to play chess. The look of pity on Chekov's face makes Sulu scoff with irritation, and he starts to walk into the bathroom to have a shower, but then he can't, so he brings Chekov with him. Chekov stands under the water and lets Sulu hold on to him, sighing.
"You don't know that they're not," Sulu says. He wishes he could remember what it's like to have a normal heartbeat, to not always be sweating and nervous and pointing his phaser at shadows. Chekov turns the water off and leads Sulu out of the shower. He makes a little show of drying Sulu off and pushing him into bed, then gets something from the replicator. Sulu lies there and watches him, his hands twitching under the blankets, needing Chekov closer.
"What's that?" Sulu asks when Chekov returns with a little bottle of lotion. Chekov stands beside the bed, naked, his hair dripping onto his shoulders. His scars are subtle and his bruises have dulled to greenish-yellow, but Sulu can still see the open wounds when he looks at him.
"This," Chekov says, "Is for you." He tosses the bottle onto the bed, and it lands on top of the blankets, over Sulu's stomach. He picks it up and reads the label, though he's pretty sure what it is now. Lube.
"Uh," Sulu says. Chekov frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.
"You think I don't see how you get hard for me?" he asks. His cheeks turn red, but he's still looking at Sulu sternly, still trying to be a grown-up.
"Well. But aren't you, um." Sulu blinks a few thousand times. "A virgin?"
"Da." Chekov wilts a little, looking at the floor. "So?"
"Won't it hurt you, then?" The thought makes Sulu's stomach pinch up painfully, as if it's bracing itself for impact.
Chekov groans and crawls onto the bed. He takes the lube and sets it on the bedside table, then squirms beneath the blankets, stretching his naked body out on top of Sulu's, pressing him down the mattress the way Sulu has done to him every night since he left med bay. He puts the tip of his nose against Sulu's and stares down at him. Sulu tries to match Chekov's breathing, his hands on Chekov's sides, which still feel smooth enough to make him think of snow.
"Would you carry me around between your ribs if you could?" Chekov asks, his voice soft and his breath hot against Sulu's open mouth.
"God, yes," Sulu says. "You can live where my heart used to be."
Chekov makes a wounded noise and kisses him, pressing his hands over Sulu's ears as if to close the world out, until all that Sulu knows is Chekov's tongue and lips and the little noises he makes when Sulu kisses him back: small, whimpery things that make Sulu think of that holding cell. He pulls back and holds Chekov's gaze, searching his eyes for pain, and it's there, but it's different.
"I want you inside me, too," Chekov says, his hands curling around Sulu's ears. "Even if it hurts."
Sulu makes Chekov reassure him that it doesn't, every step of the way. When Sulu's fingers are stretching him open, when Sulu's cock is pushing in slow, when Chekov is spread so wide around Sulu that Sulu feels like he'll fall into him wholly, as if into a snow drift: he always gets the same answer. It's good, Hikaru, you feel so good.
When they're through they lie together, breathing hard, Sulu cradling Chekov's head and holding his waist, Chekov clutching at Sulu's back, his other hand pressed between Sulu's cheek and the pillow. They stare at each other so solemnly that finally Chekov laughs, and Sulu does, too.
"Well, who cares," Chekov says. "It already feels like a dream."
"Like a nightmare."
"Not entirely. The human body can't remember pain. It can remember trauma, of course, fear, but not physical pain. Anyway, you held me." Chekov's eyes fill up, and Sulu pulls him closer, pressing their chests together, both of them trembling like children.
"You don't know how long, and how badly, I wanted you to hold me like that," Chekov says, the tears slipping out. He doesn't wince now, the scrape on his cheek healed shut.
"Oh, God, Pavel - I wanted to, that day we went swimming together -"
"But now you have to let me go, Hikaru. Sometimes you have to let me walk without your hand on my arm."
Sulu scoffs and grins, embarrassed. He's not sure he can promise that, so he just kisses Chekov's forehead.
"I'm not small enough to live between your ribs," Chekov says. "And I'm glad, because if I was that small I couldn't have you inside me."
"Now I know why they took you instead of me," Sulu says. "You're stronger. They saw it."
"No, Hikaru, that is not what they saw. They saw a superior officer who was in love with an ensign. They thought you knew more Federation secrets, and they thought they could break you by hurting me."
"It's that obvious that I'm in love with you?"
Chekov smiles and tips his chin up, reveling in the glow of Sulu's adoration. He seems to have healed himself with pure determination, and Sulu knows he'll have to do the same, that he'll have to let Chekov turn corners ahead of him and trust that he won't disappear around them.
"I have suspected it for some time," Chekov says, sounding so scientific-minded that Sulu laughs.
"Since when?"
"Since the day when we went swimming, when you looked as if you wanted to pin me down somewhere and ravish me. But when we left the gym you just stumbled off looking ashamed of yourself, and I thought: maybe he loves me, too."
"You're so much smarter than me," Sulu says. He buries his face in Chekov's wet curls, kissing them until he tastes the soapy scent of his shampoo.
"Not so much," Chekov says, and Sulu snorts with laughter. "More intuitive, maybe."
"Borderline psychic."
"Ha! You think it takes a mind reader to see when you are lusting after someone, Hikaru?"
"Jesus, what did I do, hump the side of the pool while I stared at you?"
"Essentially."
Sulu laughs and tickles Chekov's sides in revenge, then takes his hands and kisses every one of his perfect fingernails, some of them the originals, some regrown. He'll never forget which ones were once missing. Chekov stares up at him, his smile fading as he reads the question on Sulu's face.
"It hurt so much I forgot my name," Chekov says quietly. "But when I remembered it, I thought: all I have to do is survive this, and then Hikaru will close himself over me like new skin. And, so. I survived."
"Thank you," Sulu says, as if Chekov lived through hell as a favor to him. Chekov touches Sulu's bottom lip with two fingers, pressing against it gently, a kind of kiss.
"You're welcome," he says sweetly, smiling, and Sulu collapses onto him, covering him up again.
//
the end.