Very Late at Night, Part II
Chekov was afraid that what happened on the space station with McCoy would be a one time thing, something that would make future visits to sick bay very awkward, but the next time he followed McCoy around the ship until they were alone together, things went much like they did before, this time without alcohol to blame. The face to face thing was still not done, but this time Chekov got to sit in McCoy's lap for almost a full three minutes after sex, rubbing his nose against McCoy's cheek and telling himself that he wasn't just imitating Hikaru and Kirk in the space station restaurant, that this was real, his own love story. Then McCoy picked Chekov up, set him on his feet and disappeared out into sick bay. He returned with a damp rag and cleaned Chekov with care as usual, kissed his forehead and told him he had to get back to work.
Since then, all of their encounters have been been similar, but Chekov is pretty sure that eventually a limit will be reached, and after that line is crossed he will be treasured and cuddled, allowed to sleep all night in McCoy's arms. One night, when McCoy finally kisses him and fucks him while he's on his back, not his stomach or his hands and knees, Chekov knows this is it: he's put in the time, and now he will be loved properly, not just cleaned thoroughly. When they're through, Chekov panting after two orgasms that were almost back to back and McCoy boneless on top of him, he winds his arms around McCoy's neck and holds on tight, but not too tight. Just the right amount of tightness, he hopes, his heart pounding. McCoy groans as he pulls free, and he kisses Chekov's cheek, but then he's gone, into the bathroom.
Chekov tries not to let his hope die. Bathroom time does not preclude cuddling time afterward.
He's lying on his side when McCoy returns, still naked and gulping from a bottle of water. Just the bob of his throat is mesmerizing when Chekov is in this state, fucked out and floating. He reaches for McCoy, who passes him the bottle of water.
“Goddamn,” McCoy says, rubbing his hand over his face. “What time is it?”
“Mmm, after midnight, I think,” Chekov says. He sets the water bottle on the bedside table and reaches for McCoy again, this time getting his uniform shirt tossed to him.
“Better get some sleep,” McCoy says, tossing him his underwear next. “You've got a shift in five hours, and I've got one - shit, in four.”
“I'm sorry I kept you up so late,” Chekov says. He feels as if some delicate structure in his chest just got blown away by the wind, a little nest that he carefully wove transformed into a mess of sticks and leaves.
“Don't worry about it,” McCoy says. He kneels onto the bed and tocks Chekov's chin. “I had some say in the matter, too. You're not as good at seduction as you think.” He smirks and lies down on his back, folding his arms under his head. Chekov moans and leans onto him, unable to resist cuddling at his broad chest, sucking in the post-sex smell of his skin. McCoy rubs the back of his neck and Chekov relaxes against him, making himself comfortable.
“Alright, now,” McCoy says. He leans away, reaching down over the side of the bed and fishing around in the discarded blankets until he finds Chekov's pants, and one of his socks. He pushes them into Chekov's hands and Chekov sits up, confused. He'd been ready to sink into sleep, willing to go to his shift without a shower.
“Get a move on,” McCoy says, tossing him his remaining sock. “You'll be glad to wake up in your own bed.”
“Yes,” Chekov says, so hurt that he's actually shaking. He puts his socks on first, feeling stupid, McCoy's come leaking out of him. He wants to shower here, sleep here, recover from the bone shaking sex they just had with his head on McCoy's chest, McCoy's hands soothing him into sleep. Maybe he's been naive, confused by either romantic movies or pornography, but he thought that was a major component of sex, or at least of a relationship. He's been operating under the assumption that he's in one, with McCoy, but maybe to the doctor he's just a willing piece of ass.
“Come here,” McCoy says after Chekov has dressed in silence, his chest tight with the emotions he's holding in. Chekov wants to refuse, to claim that they're wasting valuable time that could be spent sleeping, but of course he goes to McCoy, and lets himself be kissed goodnight.
“Sorry again,” Chekov says, hoping McCoy will pull him back into his arms when he pouts. “For keeping you awake.”
“Bullshit you are,” McCoy says, laughing. “Now get a move on. I don't want to be held responsible for a fatigued crewman. Jim would have my ass.”
Chekov heads for the door then, looking back when he's reached it, but McCoy has already rolled away, the sight of his bare back making Chekov feel like his legs might give out. He would take just pressing himself up against McCoy's back if he were allowed, but McCoy is obviously through with him.
After showering, Chekov attempts to sleep, but it's no use. He hasn't really gotten a good night's sleep since they left on this mission, the pressure of all that empty space around the ship too much to allow his mind to settle. It will dart from anxiety to anxiety, only allowing him to sink into half-lucid nightmares before he wakes again, rolling over and trying to get comfortable on his standard-issue sheets.
Two hours before his shift, he gives up on sleep and dresses in a fresh uniform. He should go for a run, but he's much too tired, so he just wanders the ship until he comes across the rec garden. When he peers in through the observation window and sees Hikaru inside, collecting blossoms from a vine with delicate purple flowers, he pushes inside. Hikaru turns with what Chekov fears might be annoyance, his work disturbed, but he beams when he sees Chekov entering.
“Couldn't sleep again?” Hikaru asks.
“No,” Chekov says. He looks around. “The keptin is not here?”
“We're not joined at the hip,” Hikaru says. He seems irritated by the question, but gives Chekov a grin. “Where's Doctor Love?”
“Hikaru!” Chekov flushes and sits down in the moss that coats the floor in this area of the garden. “Do not call him that.”
“Sorry,” Hikaru says. He sits down beside Chekov and holds up one of the flower petals. Chekov opens his palm, and laughs as he feels it tickle against his skin, tiny feelers examining this new surface.
“Does it hurt them when they're plucked?” Chekov asks. Hikaru smiles slowly, and shakes his head.
“Nah,” he says. “No pain receptors. If you want to feel something really cool, you should put it on your tongue.”
“Hikaru!” Chekov says, flushing harder, and Hikaru laughs. Chekov grins and shoves him. “Let's see you do this first,” Chekov says, holding up the petal. “So I will know you're not trying to poison me.”
Hikaru says nothing, just sticks his tongue out. Only then does Chekov notice how close they're sitting; he can smell Hikaru's soap. His hand is shaking when he gently places the flower petal on Hikaru's tongue, and his breath catches as he watches it dissolve there. Hikaru is blushing harder than Chekov when their eyes meet.
“Anyway,” Hikaru says, moving away, making Chekov feel rejected for the second time that evening. “That's - yeah. It feels cool. On your tongue. If you want to try it.” He swallows heavily, avoiding Chekov's eyes.
“I should go,” Chekov says, and he frowns, because he feels as if he meant to say I should stay. It's too late for retractions, so he stands on wobbling legs, thinking of his lonely twin bed, the rough cotton of the sheets. Hikaru looks up at him and gives him a smile that seems forced.
“Sleep well,” he says.
The words are so simple, even perfunctory. They shouldn't follow Chekov all the way back to his room, but they do, and he clings to them, his arms wrapped around his pillow and Hikaru's voice still warm in his ears.
*
Sulu is on the bridge when he decides to break up with Kirk. The past week has been fine, but it's just that. Fine. The kissing is still magnificent, the sex is the best he's ever had, and they can have a good laugh together, but Sulu doesn't feel like he's in an actual relationship. He feels like he's sharing a room with a guy whose dick he happens to enjoy sucking. They're like college roommates, and Sulu has started picking up Kirk's bad habits, leaving drinking glasses sitting around and falling asleep on the sofa without brushing his teeth. If Kirk would just fall asleep with him, and not get up after two minutes, slap Sulu's ass and announce that he's heading for the bed, Sulu wouldn't have such a problem with this. Also, Kirk seems bored. He yawns a lot when they're sitting together in Kirk's room, falling asleep in front of some sports broadcast.
It's Kirk's comment to Chekov on the bridge that cements Sulu's plans to break things off. He'd been waffling: good sex is hard to walk away from, he doesn't want to ruin his friendship with Kirk, and he's pretty sure that Kirk has never been broken up with before and won't know how to handle it. But what he says to Chekov seals it.
"Look alive, Checkers," Kirk says, snapping his fingers near Chekov's ear when he fails to acknowledge an order, distracted by something on his data screen. Chekov sits up with a jolt, and Kirk laughs.
"I'd send you to Dr. McCoy, but that might only worsen the problem," Kirk says, low enough that only Sulu and Chekov hear, but Chekov's cheeks still go brightly, painfully red. Sulu fumes in his seat. Chekov looks miserably exhausted, and Kirk is being cruel. He doesn't know about Chekov's problems sleeping. Of course, he only remains ignorant about this because Sulu hasn't told him. It's not that he doesn't want Kirk to know that he's been wandering around at night. He just doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that Kirk doesn't even notice when Sulu slips out of bed and then leaves the room entirely.
At dinner, Sulu debates whether or not to tell Chekov about his plan to end it with Kirk. Chekov is stirring his stew, deep in thought.
"That was an asshole move, what Kirk said to you earlier," Sulu says. Chekov looks up and blinks a few times, as if he's trying to figure out when Sulu got here. His cheek goes faintly pink as he realizes what Sulu is talking about.
"Is nothing," Chekov says. He looks back down at his stew. "I should take a sleeping pill if I'm having such problems. Dr. McCoy says this."
"You still call him Dr. McCoy?"
"You still call the keptin Kirk," Chekov says, a little sharply. Sulu looks down at his own half-eaten dinner. He opens his mouth to tell Chekov that the fact that his boyfriend is still Kirk is part of the reason he's going to break up with him tonight, but when he looks up, Chekov is standing, hoisting his tray.
"You're finished?" Sulu asks.
"Yes," Chekov says. He seems angry, avoiding Sulu's eyes. "I will see you tomorrow on the bridge."
"Or tonight," Sulu says, getting angry himself. "When you can't sleep." It's perfectly rational to call someone by their last name as opposed to their first, but the fact that Chekov includes McCoy's title when referring to him is legitimately odd.
"Tonight I will take the sleeping pill," Chekov says. He meets Sulu's eyes then, coldly. "This sleep situation is affecting my performance on the bridge."
"Well," Sulu says, staring back. Are they actually having a fight? He feels seasick, disoriented. "Good luck with that."
He's in a terrible mood by the time he gets to Kirk's room, mad at Chekov for denying him what is often the best part of his day. He's enjoyed being able to slip out of bed and roam the halls, his heart beating fast as he wonders if he'll come across Chekov. The ability to look forward to this offsets some of his disappointment when he tries to nuzzle at Kirk in the afterglow and gets met with a sharp kiss between his eyes and then a groaned-out excuse about why Kirk has to get out of bed: food, water, a shower, the toilet, his PADD, sit ups. Kirk read somewhere that they're most effective immediately following sex.
"Why'd you have to say that to Chekov on the bridge?" Sulu asks when he walks into Kirk's quarters. "That thing about McCoy?"
"Huh?" Kirk is in his boxers, as he usually is when Sulu comes off shift. Saves valuable undressing time, and Kirk is always in a hurry, always needed in at least three different parts of the ship while he takes time out of his day to fuck Sulu.
"That thing you said about -- when he wasn't paying attention." Sulu is flustered, exhausted. He wants to lie down on the couch, put his head in Kirk's lap and be comforted, but Kirk is already glancing at the ornate grandfather clock in his front room.
"I didn't mean to embarrass him," Kirk says. "It's just. It's very strange to me. Disturbing, even. Him and Bones."
"No kidding," Hikaru says.
"So it's not just me!" Kirk says, so loudly that Hikaru rears back.
"No, it's not just you," Hikaru says. "It's fucking -- absurd, is what it is."
"Ah, God, I agree completely!" Kirk says. He puts a hand over his face and shakes his head. Hikaru knows that Kirk and McCoy are friends, but he never imagined Kirk caring much about who his friends dated.
"It's like what is Bones trying to prove?" Kirk says.
"Bones?" Hikaru scoffs. "What is Pavel trying to prove? Is this about being a grown-up? He was so hurt when McCoy made that remark about him on the bridge during the Nero thing."
"Damn, Hikaru," Kirk says, looking at the clock again. "You've got a hell of a memory for comments people make on the bridge." He looks back at Sulu. "When it comes to Checkers, anyway."
"Jim --"
"So are we fucking?" Kirk asks, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer shorts. "Or making an omelette?"
"What?"
"That's a saying, isn't it?" Kirk says. He pulls the elastic on his boxers out and lets it snap back against his hips. "We're not fucking, are we?"
"You're always running away from me," Hikaru says. It comes out sounding just as pathetic as the question he's been trying to avoid asking for three weeks: Why won't you let me hold you?
"Not running," Kirk says. "Not that fast, anyway." He walks to Hikaru, looking a little defeated, like a kid who's been caught stealing. He puts his hands on Hikaru's hips and pulls him close, until he's half an inch away from kissing him. His breath smells like mouthwash, which breaks Hikaru's heart. Kirk used mouthwash in preparation for their afternoon sex.
"Can we still go to bed together sometimes?" Kirk asks, because apparently Hikaru doesn't actually need to say that it's over. It just is. Hikaru swallows heavily, fighting the urge to kiss Kirk one last time. That would just restart the whole cycle, and in fifteen minutes he'd be flopped onto Kirk's bed, listening to him huff through a set of sit-ups.
"I don't think so," Hikaru says. He takes a step backward, which is hard. "It's too habit-forming."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Kirk says as his hands slide from Hikaru's hips, Hikaru still walking backward.
"How the hell else would you take it?" Hikaru asks with a laugh. Kirk is smiling vaguely, defensively, looking down at Hikaru's knees.
"I don't know," Kirk says. "I guess I wanted to be more than something you were addicted to."
"Fuck, Jim," Hikaru says. He's back to Kirk in two steps, pulling into a tight hug. "You are more than that," he says, rubbing Kirk's back. "You're my friend. I liked it when we were friends."
"You liked getting pounded, too," Kirk says, the smug grin back in his voice. Hikaru snorts and gives him a squeeze.
"Fine," he says. "You'll always be able to remind me."
"Damn straight I will."
Hikaru kind of wants to stay, for the company more than anything, wants to drop into their usual routine on the sofa, maybe have a few beers. It's too awkward, so he goes. He wanders, knowing he won't find Chekov, and ends up back in his own room, alone, not sure what to do with the hours that he can't seem to fill with sleep.
*
Chekov only hears about Sulu and Kirk's breakup because he's been taking his meals with Gaila since getting angry at Sulu for that remark about McCoy. He's been in a bad mood for two days, finding it harder than ever to sleep, and when Gaila passes along the news he only feels angrier with Sulu than he did before.
"He was not very smart to get involved with the keptin," Chekov says, tearing his garlic bread into little pieces and dropping them on his tray. "He should have known he would get his heart broken." Sulu has seemed sad for the past two days, quiet and listless on the bridge. It makes Chekov sick to think that this is the reason, that someone like Sulu could pine over someone like Kirk, a known playboy, so cavalier! He pushes his tray away, his already diminished appetite gone now.
"I heard Sulu was the one who did the breaking up," Gaila says. She's doing a bad job of hiding her smile, obviously amused by Chekov's agitation.
"I'm sure the keptin is just saying that to help Hikaru save face," Chekov says. "To save him from the humiliation that he brought on himself."
"Are you okay?" Gaila asks, the amusement draining from her face. "You seem kind of -"
"I'm fine," Chekov says. He stands with his tray, tired of her prying, her gossip, tired of everything, just tired. He's taken to letting McCoy wring orgasm after orgasm out of him every night just so he can pass out afterward. He always wakes up alone, even if he's in McCoy's bed. Going to McCoy is starting to feel like a medical procedure, not so different from taking a sleeping pill. The effect is imperfect; he never wakes feeling rested.
And Hikaru just had to taunt him for referring to McCoy as doctor. Chekov can't stop thinking about this, fuming, wanting maybe to punch Hikaru, but then Hikaru will give Chekov a helpless look from across the conn, and Chekov will allow himself to again wonder what it would be like to curl up in Hikaru's lap and tell him everything. Hikaru would be angry with McCoy if he knew that McCoy took Chekov's virginity without any real tenderness, even if Chekov told Hikaru the part about how he lied to McCoy about not being a virgin. Hikaru would still be mad. He would say McCoy should have known!
These thoughts have been assaulting Chekov on a regular basis since he stormed out on his lunch with Hikaru, but now that he knows Hikaru's pathetic demeanor on the bridge can be attributed to the end of his relationship with Kirk, he shoves this line of thinking away. In his mind, he bundles all of his thoughts about Hikaru up in a giant net, thousands of potential Hikaru scenarios squirming within it, and throws it over a cliff. This method of thinking was recommended to him by a therapist he was forced to see at eleven years old, when he was having anxiety issues. It usually works.
When he gets to sick bay, he's ready to be fucked over McCoy's desk, pounded until he can forget about this for awhile. He walks into McCoy's office and slams the door shut behind him. McCoy looks up from the charts he was examining and glowers in complaint, but it fades quickly when he sees Chekov standing there, already taking his shirt off.
"I'm in a hurry today," Chekov says to McCoy, coldly, because sometimes he says that to Chekov.
"Hold on," McCoy says as Chekov starts on his pants. McCoy groans and leans back in his chair, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his face. "Kid, wait. We need to talk."
"Talk?" Chekov's mouth hangs open, his hands still on his half-undone belt.
"Yeah. Sit down. And put your shirt back on, for Christ's sake."
Defiantly, Chekov leaves his shirt off. He sits down in one of the chairs across from McCoy's desk and folds his arms over his bare chest, glowering petulantly. In the beginning it was nice, letting McCoy lead him around as if he was walking Chekov through a visit to sick bay - undress, up on the bed, spread your legs, good boy - but he's tired of following orders.
"I can't do this anymore," McCoy says.
"This?" Is McCoy actually refusing to speak to him from now on? Is it too face-to-face for him?
"The sex," McCoy says. He clears his throat and looks at the door, seems embarrassed. "With you. It's been fun, God knows, but - complications have arisen."
"Complications?"
"Yeah," McCoy says. "So - for the love of God, could you please just put your shirt on?"
"No!" Chekov says, standing. "What sort of complications? Don't talk to me like I'm a child who wouldn't understand!"
"I -" McCoy returns his scowl. "Fine. Last night, Jim came to see me. Upset, drunk. Things happened."
"You slept with the keptin?" Chekov starts to hyperventilate, looking around for something he can throw, something that would break spectacularly against the wall.
"Hey, now!" McCoy says, still frowning. "I never - we were never exclusive. We never even - oh, Jesus, I was afraid this would happen. I like you, Pavel, but we're not - this wasn't some kind of - romance."
The air in the room becomes a vice around Chekov's body, so tight that he can't speak. Apology creeps into McCoy's features, and Chekov is too humiliated to be in his presence any longer. He leaves, his shirt still clenched in his fist, and only puts it back on when he walks past Nurse Chapel, who giggles.
He's going to cry. No, he isn't! He's going to - what? Throw something! Yes, that was the plan. Something blurs his vision, and he tells himself that it's rage, not tears. He's walking fast through the halls, directionless, all of his compasses spinning wildly, and he's very close to beating back the sob that's growing like a thunderhead in his chest when he slams into Hikaru as he's turning the corner near the rec garden.
"Whoa!" Hikaru says, holding Chekov out by the shoulders. When he sees Chekov's face his eyes soften with sympathy that makes Chekov's lips shake. With rage. Definitely with rage.
"What's wrong?" Hikaru asks. Chekov tries to scoff, but it comes out like a sniffle.
"You idiot," he says, jerking out of Hikaru's grip. "Why did you have to break up with the keptin? You've ruined everything." He can't believe how furious he is with Hikaru, and how badly he wants to fall against him and be caught. Held.
"What?" Hikaru's eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"
"They slept together," Chekov says, hissing this loud enough to get the attention of several passing security officers. "Kirk and McCoy." He curses in Russian when he hears himself calling McCoy by his last name, but what else is he supposed to do? Call him Leonard? Bones? None of it ever sounded right.
"Alright," Hikaru says, taking Chekov by the arm. "Come to my room. We'll talk."
Chekov is going to refuse, but he can't seem to work up the energy, and it's actually a relief to get away from the prying eyes of the others in the hall and be alone with Hikaru in his room. Chekov feels like everyone is laughing at him. He accepts a tissue when Hikaru offers one.
"McCoy is an idiot," Hikaru says. Chekov blows his nose, shaking his head. "I never should have encouraged you to pursue this. That day in the pool."
"I was surprised by that," Chekov says. He wipes his eyes dry and stares at Hikaru's chest, at the exact spot where he would rest his head if he could. "I thought you would tell me he's too old for me."
"He is too old," Hikaru says. "I should have - God, I'm so stupid."
"Is not your responsibility to protect me from bad decisions," Chekov says, waving his hand through the air. Actually, he's still mad at Hikaru for not being outraged when he heard of Chekov's longing for McCoy. Chekov had kind of been hoping that he would blow up, tell him no way, that McCoy was not good enough. But he was hoping that because he wanted Hikaru to love him, and Hikaru didn't, doesn't.
"You must be sad about Kirk," Chekov says. He's swaying on his feet, waiting for Hikaru to ask him to sit.
"Not really," Hikaru says. "A little, I guess, but if he's sleeping with McCoy then I guess he's okay."
"You really were the one who broke it off?" Chekov asks, gaping. Hikaru laughs.
"It's that hard to believe?" He steps closer, and heat begins to unspool between Chekov's ribs.
"Why?" Chekov asks. "Why did you end it?"
Hikaru shakes his head. "It's complicated," he says. Chekov rolls his eyes at that word.
"Tell me," Chekov says. Hikaru groans.
"It will sound stupid," he says, stepping forward. Chekov looks at Hikaru's chest again. He's not sure he'll be able to stop himself if Hikaru gets any closer. He can so vividly imagine that gold shirt pressed to his cheek, the smell of Hikaru's skin through his clothes. The soft drum of his heartbeat.
"Tell me," Chekov says again, making his eyes hard. He wants to be angry. It was easier than this, wanting to faint into Hikaru's arms.
"I wanted to be in love," Hikaru says. He tries to laugh at himself, but it comes out wrong, an awkward and sad little noise. "And I wasn't in love with him."
"Why not?"
"Because," Hikaru says, and he closes the space between them, his hands ghosting over Chekov's shoulders, up along his neck, and finally cupping his face, so warm. He's shaking. "Because," he says again, lowering his mouth over Chekov's.
Chekov needs this so much that he wants to beg Hikaru for it even as he gets it. He opens his lips for Hikaru's timid tongue, licking into Hikaru's mouth just as cautiously. Their chests press together, and Chekov lets out his breath, his hand skimming up Hikaru's shirt until he can feel the pound of Hikaru's heart under his palm.
"God," Hikaru says, pulling back. Chekov is in full-swoon, would not be standing upright without Hikaru's weight to support him. "Please tell me this isn't just some kind of McCoy rebound."
"No," Chekov says. He closes his eyes and sinks fully into Hikaru's arms, resting his head on Hikaru's shoulder. "I did not come here for revenge sex. I came here for this."
"This?" Hikaru rubs his fingers through Chekov's curls, his other hand steady at the small of Chekov's back.
"This," Chekov says, hugging his arms around Hikaru's back. "For this."
Hikaru catches on then, and carries Chekov to the bed. Chekov laughs at himself, but he's too tired to really mean it. Hikaru lays him down on the perfectly tucked-in sheets, and Chekov is afraid he'll go to the end of the bed to remove his boots, or cross the room get an extra blanket, but he doesn't go anywhere. He slides down beside Chekov and pulls him against his chest, holding him there, kissing his curls. Chekov hooks his arm around Hikaru's back, pushes his knee up between Hikaru's thighs, and squirms in as closely as he can.
"I hated the thought of him holding you," Hikaru whispers, maybe when he thinks Chekov is asleep.
"He didn't," Chekov says. "Not like this."
"So many times," Hikaru says, groaning. "In the pool - I just wanted to grab you."
"You should," Chekov says. "Every time now, you should."
They sleep like that, on top of the blankets, with their boots on. Chekov doesn't move, his face pressed to Hikaru's chest the whole time. They grow warm inside their clothes, then sweaty, and still they don't let go.
In the middle of the night they wake slowly, stomachs rumbling. The lights have dimmed; Hikaru must have them on a timer. This makes Chekov smile as they nuzzle each other sleepily.
"You're so warm," Chekov says, speaking into Hikaru's mouth as they begin to lick at each other dazedly, just hinting at real kisses. "My clothes are stuck to me."
"Sorry," Hikaru says. He kisses Chekov's eyelids, his nose. "Want me to take them off?"
"Yes," Chekov says, and it feels like the first time he's ever said this word, in Standard or Russian or any language. He's never meant it this much before.
Everything feels new with Hikaru, even taking his clothes off. Hikaru does most of the work, peeling Chekov's uniform off slowly, kissing his sweaty skin everywhere as he exposes more and more of it. Finally Chekov is just in his boots and underwear, laughing while Hikaru kisses his knees and strokes his thighs.
"I don't know if I'm going to be able to stop looking at you long enough to actually have sex with you," Hikaru says, which makes Chekov laugh again, the flush on his cheeks spreading down the back of his neck. He would catch Hikaru staring sometimes in the pool, and it always made him feel good, like he was worth seeing. This is like that times a thousand. Hikaru's pupils are fat as he stares down at Chekov, rubbing his legs as if he's mesmerized by them, his cock hard inside his tented boxer briefs.
"Let me see you," Chekov says, sitting up to unlace his boots. He nods down to Hikaru's boxers when Hikaru just stares at him as if he doesn't know what he means.
"I might not be as big as McCoy," Hikaru says, his fingers just playing around the waistband of his boxers. Chekov scoffs.
"He was not very big at all," he says. A lie, but easier than explaining to Hikaru that sometimes McCoy was too big, certain positions out of the question because Chekov would yelp in pain. McCoy's cock also had an odd sort of upward curve that Chekov never found aesthetically appealing, but, again, this is not worth explaining to Hikaru at the moment. Hikaru sighs as he pushes his boxers down, and Chekov's mouth gets wet at the sight of his cock. It's thick and straight, and so hard for him. He crawls forward, one boot still on, and shows Hikaru his wholehearted approval by lapping the precome from the leaking head. Hikaru groans and falls back onto his ass, spreading his legs.
"Fuck, yeah, baby," he says, his hand pushing into Chekov's hair. He doesn't shove Chekov's head down, doesn't even guide him with little tugs, just rubs his scalp with his fingertips while Chekov sucks him, his lips straining around Hikaru's width. Chekov wants to hear that baby again, and experiments with ways to draw it out of Hikaru. Running the tip of his tongue over his balls works every time.
Hikaru gets many dirtier words out of Chekov when he pushes him onto his back and runs his tongue down over his cock, balls, and even further, hoisting his spread-apart thighs up so he can lick into Chekov's body, driving him crazy with the need to be fucked. Chekov still has one boot on, half-unlaced and resting on Hikaru's back as Hikaru licks a screaming orgasm from him.
"Jesus," Hikaru says, panting as he crawls up to cover Chekov's body with his. "I've never rimmed anybody to, ah, completion before."
"Am not complete," Chekov says, shaking his head. He wraps his legs around Hikaru's back and rubs his wet hole against Hikaru's cock, watching his eyes change. "Fuck me," he says, and Hikaru nods, bolting for the lube like he's got a time limit.
They do it face to face, arms around each other, and when Hikaru comes quickly Chekov doesn't have to be sad that it's over so soon. The best part, the part Chekov has been longing for since his first real crush on a boy, has just begun. Hikaru stays in him, kissing his neck, sighing in his ear, holding him tight. They roll onto their sides, legs tangled together, and Hikaru keeps one arm wrapped around Chekov's shoulders while he grabs the blanket to pull it up over them.
"I want to stay here forever," Chekov whispers when they've got their heads together on the pillow and the blanket pulled up to their chins.
"Okay," Hikaru says, and they fall asleep like that, sweaty and clinging. Chekov wakes up twice, both times afraid that Hikaru will be ready to bolt, that he didn't really mean it when he agreed to forever, but he curls closer when Chekov shifts in his arms. Chekov tests Hikaru's limits, nuzzling at him until he blinks awake, wondering if he'll be annoyed. Hikaru just smiles and smoothes down Chekov's hair, tugging him closer.
"You're still here," he says, as if he can't believe it.
"Of course I am," Chekov says. He smiles, touching Hikaru's jaw, then his parted lips. "Where else would I be?"
Hikaru seems to accept this question as hypothetical. He kisses Chekov's forehead, cups his hand around the back of his neck, and falls asleep again. Chekov fights to stay awake, but finally can't. He sleeps, and dreams of McCoy and Kirk's wedding. At the reception, people remind him that he once had a fling with McCoy, and Chekov laughs, because how could that be true? He has always belonged to Hikaru.
//the end//
Song: Punch Drunk Melody
back to the beginning