Star
Title: Star
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters/Pairing: McCoy/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 720
Spoilers: none
Warnings: frottage
Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek, nope!
Notes: Written for heeroluva’s Five Acts Meme for the acts: “hurt/comfort.”
Summary: After a hard encounter with an alien race, Chekov needs to let McCoy know he’s always going to be there.
Pavel kept his eyes focused on the doctor as their molecules dissolved, were sent flying through space, and were reassembled back on the Enterprise. He imagined he could see the furious blush of near-deadly embarrassment and pain even in that brief second of nothingness between the planet’s surface and the ship. Once on board, McCoy all but jumped of the transporter pad and hustled back to his room, and Pavel had to almost run to keep up.
“Doctor!” he called, quickening his step. “Wait!”
McCoy actually speeded up, his neck tomato red, his hands actually shaking even though he had them clenched into fists.
“Len! Please!”
McCoy had reached his quarters and turned on Chekov, shame written plain on his face. “Go back to your quarters, Ensign Chekov,” he said curtly, and slid the door shut in Pavel’s face.
“Len!” Pavel bruised his fist banging on the door and ringing the chime, and finally thumbed the communicator. “Len, let me in! The Thracians don’t matter! What they said doesn’t matter!”
Silence.
“Len, the Rusal people consider is obscene to eat in public, and the Kuric-kara Alliance would not dream of acknowledging anyone who did not sing every word they wanted to communicate. Their customs are not ours, and you do not have to worry about what they think!”
Another long silence.
“Len, open the door.”
The door slid open mutely.
Pavel entered, not bothering to reset the light levels from the funeral darkness, and found Len sitting hunched over on the bed.
“Len, this is not you, to run from the Captain’s side,” Pavel said quietly, kneeling in front of him. McCoy turned away and shut his eyes, and Pavel could see the pain cutting lines into his face.
“When the ruling dignitaries call me a degenerate perverted sinner for corrupting a holy youth like yourself-,” Len cut himself off, his voice thick. He unclenched his fists and rubbed his palms on his knees. “Pavel, they wanted you as central to the ceremony! Do you know how rare it is for a junior officer to be a part of a delegation like that?”
“Len, I know…”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you. God, why did I do that when they were watching?”
“Because you did not know that they were! I know you only wanted to wish me luck,” Pavel said soothingly.
“It’s wrong, Pavel. I knew it when we started… I never should have let it get this far…”
Pavel spit out a half dozen curses in his native Russian, which sounded far more terrible than in any other tongue he’d yet to encounter.
“So they do not approve of older men with younger! So what if they do? Does the Captain care for what is proper? Do you? No, you care only for what works, for what will make someone strong and better than before.” Pavel took Len’s face in his hands and made him meet his eyes. “You make me strong.” Pavel kissed him thoroughly, small kisses growing into larger ones, seeking entrance until Len’s stubborn mouth finally melted under his assault, letting him in. “You make me better.” He leaned forward until he was straddling Len’s lap, nudging hard up against him.
“Pavel…”
“You are so stubborn, and you have taught me that stubbornness. I will not go away until you let me apologize to you. The ceremony is nothing. The Thracians are nothing. Let the Captain make things right; that is his job. It is yours to let me make things right with you.”
“Pavel, this wasn’t your fault, damn it! I don’t need a damn apology from you!”
Pavel inched closer and slid one hand down between them to stroke firmly at Len’s crotch until there was a hot, hard lump under Pavel’s hand.
“You will let me take care of you anyway,” Pavel said firmly, kissing down the line of Len’s neck to his pulse point, sucking gently. “You will let me, beloved.”
“Christ,” Len breathed softly, and eased a hand up to hold Pavel to him, young as a newborn star, wise as an ancient nebula, his pride and damnation, his very own love that not even Leonard McCoy’s legendary irascible temper could drive away. “I love you.”
“I know,” Pavel whispered, his hand driving Len to see stars bursting behind his eyes.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters/Pairing: McCoy/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 720
Spoilers: none
Warnings: frottage
Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek, nope!
Notes: Written for heeroluva’s Five Acts Meme for the acts: “hurt/comfort.”
Summary: After a hard encounter with an alien race, Chekov needs to let McCoy know he’s always going to be there.
Pavel kept his eyes focused on the doctor as their molecules dissolved, were sent flying through space, and were reassembled back on the Enterprise. He imagined he could see the furious blush of near-deadly embarrassment and pain even in that brief second of nothingness between the planet’s surface and the ship. Once on board, McCoy all but jumped of the transporter pad and hustled back to his room, and Pavel had to almost run to keep up.
“Doctor!” he called, quickening his step. “Wait!”
McCoy actually speeded up, his neck tomato red, his hands actually shaking even though he had them clenched into fists.
“Len! Please!”
McCoy had reached his quarters and turned on Chekov, shame written plain on his face. “Go back to your quarters, Ensign Chekov,” he said curtly, and slid the door shut in Pavel’s face.
“Len!” Pavel bruised his fist banging on the door and ringing the chime, and finally thumbed the communicator. “Len, let me in! The Thracians don’t matter! What they said doesn’t matter!”
Silence.
“Len, the Rusal people consider is obscene to eat in public, and the Kuric-kara Alliance would not dream of acknowledging anyone who did not sing every word they wanted to communicate. Their customs are not ours, and you do not have to worry about what they think!”
Another long silence.
“Len, open the door.”
The door slid open mutely.
Pavel entered, not bothering to reset the light levels from the funeral darkness, and found Len sitting hunched over on the bed.
“Len, this is not you, to run from the Captain’s side,” Pavel said quietly, kneeling in front of him. McCoy turned away and shut his eyes, and Pavel could see the pain cutting lines into his face.
“When the ruling dignitaries call me a degenerate perverted sinner for corrupting a holy youth like yourself-,” Len cut himself off, his voice thick. He unclenched his fists and rubbed his palms on his knees. “Pavel, they wanted you as central to the ceremony! Do you know how rare it is for a junior officer to be a part of a delegation like that?”
“Len, I know…”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you. God, why did I do that when they were watching?”
“Because you did not know that they were! I know you only wanted to wish me luck,” Pavel said soothingly.
“It’s wrong, Pavel. I knew it when we started… I never should have let it get this far…”
Pavel spit out a half dozen curses in his native Russian, which sounded far more terrible than in any other tongue he’d yet to encounter.
“So they do not approve of older men with younger! So what if they do? Does the Captain care for what is proper? Do you? No, you care only for what works, for what will make someone strong and better than before.” Pavel took Len’s face in his hands and made him meet his eyes. “You make me strong.” Pavel kissed him thoroughly, small kisses growing into larger ones, seeking entrance until Len’s stubborn mouth finally melted under his assault, letting him in. “You make me better.” He leaned forward until he was straddling Len’s lap, nudging hard up against him.
“Pavel…”
“You are so stubborn, and you have taught me that stubbornness. I will not go away until you let me apologize to you. The ceremony is nothing. The Thracians are nothing. Let the Captain make things right; that is his job. It is yours to let me make things right with you.”
“Pavel, this wasn’t your fault, damn it! I don’t need a damn apology from you!”
Pavel inched closer and slid one hand down between them to stroke firmly at Len’s crotch until there was a hot, hard lump under Pavel’s hand.
“You will let me take care of you anyway,” Pavel said firmly, kissing down the line of Len’s neck to his pulse point, sucking gently. “You will let me, beloved.”
“Christ,” Len breathed softly, and eased a hand up to hold Pavel to him, young as a newborn star, wise as an ancient nebula, his pride and damnation, his very own love that not even Leonard McCoy’s legendary irascible temper could drive away. “I love you.”
“I know,” Pavel whispered, his hand driving Len to see stars bursting behind his eyes.