The Fort of Fluff
Title: Fort (the Fluff Version)
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
POV: 3rd
Rating: R
Summary: for the prompt, "When Chekov gets upset he builds a fort out of blankets and pillows in his quarters and sulks for awhile. Most people know to leave him alone. Most people are not Sulu, who decides to turn that frown upside down by despoiling Chekov in his fort." over onst_xi_kink
Disclaimer: Do not own.
A/N: Completely not planned, and towards the end, the fluffiest thing I've written in years. My is it a departure from the angsty dub-con culty drugged up porn I've grown used to writing......... >> Enjoy? I might add, it's unbeta'd.
T
Chekov sat in a pile of blankets on his floor, a pillow cuddled to his chest, taking up as little space as possible. A sheet stretched over him from the bed to a chair he’d placed by the door. It doesn’t quite touch the top of his curls. He breathes deeply, thickly, fighting down the irrational panic rising in him. This happens sometimes. There’s no real reason for it. He loves being in space, really he does, especially on the Enterprise with people he likes a lot and equations he likes just as much.
It’s just that space is a huge, dangerous place. It’s enormous, and it goes in every direction, and it’s always getting bigger, all the time, and everything is getting farther away from everything else, like his mother and his house are getting farther away with each passing second, even when they’re staying still, relatively, and they’re getting farther away from the people that would help them if they got in trouble on this mission and he doesn’t know the statistics for this one, but he can think of dozens of things off the top of his head that could go wrong, like maybe the Captain could get hurt, or he could offend someone and they’ll attack the Enterprise or they’ll fail and the Federation will be angry at them and they’ll have to run away and become pirates, but they won’t even have allies most criminals do, because everyone will still think they’re with Federation, even if Federation ships attack them, and oh shit, when you’re in space, attack can come from any direction at all because they are floating and exposed on all sides and there are so many people who have a thing against the Enterprise, they really could be attacked from anywhere, at any time, and there’s really nothing he can do about it at all, except just wait for it to happen and pray to any deity that probably doesn’t exist that they’ll somehow make it through this, and there are rules about this kind of things, in statistics, that say they really should be dead already, not to mention Murphy’s law, which seems to have ignored them thus far, but it will have to catch up with them eventually, and when it does, no one will be able to do anything and they’ll probably all die horrible painful deaths, in space, where no one hears and no one cares.
There’s so much that can go wrong. Most of the time he can forget all that, because he has something to concentrate on or a task to accomplish, like the calculations he has to do to make sure they get exactly where they should get. Most days, he does those calculations two or three times, just to make sure he got it right. He enjoys them a lot, too. He plays chess with Sulu and with Spock. He can beat Sulu most days, but Spock still wins every game except one. (And that one was probably due more to a drunken captain nibbling on his fingers.) He learns everything he possibly can, from everyone he possibly can. But sometimes he just has to take a break and relax. Most of the time, he’s fine even then, just content to be on the Enterprise, which is almost its own little world.
But every once in a while there are days like this, when he sees something move in the corner of his eye or looks out a tiny window. And it all comes rushing back to him, and it’s all he can do to make his own little world as small as he can.
And today, even though he’s in his little fort, and it’s even littler than normal, and he’s growing, it’s still not small enough. There’s still just too much space, too much room for something to go wrong, and it’s all he can do hug his pillow and shiver and try to take up as little room as possible. The knock at his door startles him and he almost makes his fort collapse, along with what little control he has left.
“Chekov, are you there?” Sulu’s voice asks at his door. They were supposed to play chess, today, Chekov remembers. But he can’t. Today is one of those days, when everything is terrifying and shit, he doesn’t want Sulu to see him like this. He hopes that if he stays quiet, the other man won’t notice his breathing. He had forgotten that Sulu knows the key to his room as well as he does, and the door opens.
“Hey there,” Sulu says, and Chekov can hear the smile in his voice, like he thinks this is cute and childish. “Mind if I come in?” Again, Chekov says nothing, just tightens his arms around the pillow. Please don’t! his thoughts scream, Please don’t, I don’t want you to see me like this! Please, please!
Sulu obviously does not get the mental transmission, because his head pokes into Chekov’s little world. Chekov just stares at him, wide eyed, vaguely aware that he’s hyperventilating, if only because of the dizzying headache. Sulu’s face goes from a playful smile to a concerned look.
“Whoa, Chekov,” he murmurs, crawling closer. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Chekov can’t say anything, but in his mind, a list of exceptions runs by, listing dozens and dozens of things that might not be okay, things that could go wrong at any minute and there’s nothing at all he can do about it. Sulu sits beside him, hand rubbing gentle circles in his back.
“It’s fine, Chekov,” he says, and the look in his eyes is so open and honest that Chekov is almost inclined to believe him, except that he hasn’t gotten to the bottom of his list yet, and it’s been a while. “I’m serious, everything is going good. It’s okay.”
Chekov just stares at him, and he can feel tears welling up in his eyes and the lump that’s been in his throat for nearly half an hour bobs.
“It’s okay, Chekov,” Sulu repeats. And then Chekov is crying, holding onto Sulu instead of his pillow, huge sobs racking his body. Sulu wraps his arms around the young ensign and continues murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. Chekov doesn’t think he’s cried this hard in years and years and years, but he just can’t stop the torrent of tears pouring out of his eyes and soaking Sulu’s regulation shirt. He can’t quiet the loud sobs or control his breathing. He hears himself speaking, broken rants about all the hundreds, no thousands, maybe even millions of things that could be happening to them right that very moment and he’s not sure if he’s talking in English or Russian or maybe both. It feels like forever before it quiets.
“It’s okay, Pasha,” Sulu says, and the name makes Pavel thinks he’s might be right, in spite of himself. “Nothing will get us, or hurt us. We won’t let them, okay?” He nods and hiccups and Sulu looks him right in the eye, even though they’re still so close that their noses are almost touching. “We all look out for each other, okay.” There’s no question in his voice, just complete honesty. “I promise, you can depend on us.”
Pavel can feel himself trembling again, but having Sulu in here means that there’s no extra space at all, not even a little bit, and it’s nice, so he leans in and lets his lips brush the other man’s, just lightly, barely, not even for a second. He looks at Sulu, his eyes wide, pleading for him to make it all okay, somehow.
Sulu smiles and brings a hand up to cup Pavel’s cheek. He leans in and kisses the younger man, gently and slowly and sweetly. Everything about it is relaxed and natural, and Pavel just melts into it, leaving his arms around the other man’s neck. When his tongue flicks out, not demanding at all, more so offering, he tastes like regulation toothpaste and herbal tea. Everything about him is just so safe.
Pavel lets one hand slide down Sulu’s back, resting just above his hip, and they edge just a tiny bit closer together, and Pavel sighs into the other man’s mouth, feeling completely contented. The ceiling lights are just barely diluted by the sheet above him, and everything is cloaked in a soft light that feels like Saturday mornings when your mom is cooking you lunch and you’re too young to know all of the horrible things out there. That light is a little bit like Sulu, Chekov decides, only maybe with Sulu it’s not your mom but your lover. Yeah. That’s it, they should be lovers.
“We should be lovers,” he says, staring straight into Sulu’s eyes as they break momentarily from their kiss.
“Okay,” Sulu replies, because it makes sense.
Chekov smiles brightly and pulls himself even closer to the other man, so he’s almost straddling him, and Sulu sinks down until he’s flat on his back so that Chekov really can straddle him without moving the sheet above him. Their bodies line up just right, and they kiss again. Sulu’s hands fit the small of Chekov’s back as if they were made to be there. Chekov runs his hands through the Lieutenant’s hair gently, smiling into their kiss.
And then Chekov starts kissing down the other man’s neck, slowly and gently, but with a growing enthusiasm. Sulu tilts his head to give his new lover better access, and strokes his back encouragingly. Chekov’s lips are warm and soft and almost feathery, and he can feel the stirrings of arousal uncurl inside him. They’re so close, he knows that Chekov can feel it, too, and he can feel Chekov’s growing interest as well. When the ensign’s tongue starts lapping gently as the base of his neck, he lets himself groan quietly and roll his hips, just a bit. Chekov’s hips roll down to meet his, and they set up a slow, easy rhythm.
Things work perfectly between them, and it’s no surprise to either man. After all, if they can work perfectly on the bridge and conversations flow perfectly between them, then there’s no reason it should be more difficult here, with things like removing clothing. There’s no reason it should be more difficult to figure out exactly what to do to get an arched back or a quiet murmur, so neither of them are surprised to find they can. Maybe in the back of their minds, they’ve always known how to access these content stirrings in the other, and it just hasn’t been the right moment. Sulu isn’t surprised to find out that Chekov has what they need in a drawer by his bedside, either.
“I think I have always wanted this,” Pavel says quietly, working two slicked fingers into the other man. Sulu’s legs are spread, ankles by Pavel’s shoulders. Neither of them have done this before, not like this, and there is a certain awe to it.
“I think I have, too,” Sulu replies, just before Pavel pushes in with a slight moan. For a minute, both of them are still, just looking at each other in amazement. Then Pavel is moving, his face buried in the crook of Sulu’s neck. It starts slowly, like everything else between them. And gradually, it begins to speed up. The spaces between Pavel’s shallow gasps become shorter. Neither man knows how long it lasts, or who comes first. They don’t really care.
When it is over, and the corner of a pillow is used to wipe them clean, Pavel lies on Sulu’s stomach, their fingers interlaces. They kiss one more time before falling into a soft, restful sleep.
ontents here.
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
POV: 3rd
Rating: R
Summary: for the prompt, "When Chekov gets upset he builds a fort out of blankets and pillows in his quarters and sulks for awhile. Most people know to leave him alone. Most people are not Sulu, who decides to turn that frown upside down by despoiling Chekov in his fort." over onst_xi_kink
Disclaimer: Do not own.
A/N: Completely not planned, and towards the end, the fluffiest thing I've written in years. My is it a departure from the angsty dub-con culty drugged up porn I've grown used to writing......... >> Enjoy? I might add, it's unbeta'd.
T
Chekov sat in a pile of blankets on his floor, a pillow cuddled to his chest, taking up as little space as possible. A sheet stretched over him from the bed to a chair he’d placed by the door. It doesn’t quite touch the top of his curls. He breathes deeply, thickly, fighting down the irrational panic rising in him. This happens sometimes. There’s no real reason for it. He loves being in space, really he does, especially on the Enterprise with people he likes a lot and equations he likes just as much.
It’s just that space is a huge, dangerous place. It’s enormous, and it goes in every direction, and it’s always getting bigger, all the time, and everything is getting farther away from everything else, like his mother and his house are getting farther away with each passing second, even when they’re staying still, relatively, and they’re getting farther away from the people that would help them if they got in trouble on this mission and he doesn’t know the statistics for this one, but he can think of dozens of things off the top of his head that could go wrong, like maybe the Captain could get hurt, or he could offend someone and they’ll attack the Enterprise or they’ll fail and the Federation will be angry at them and they’ll have to run away and become pirates, but they won’t even have allies most criminals do, because everyone will still think they’re with Federation, even if Federation ships attack them, and oh shit, when you’re in space, attack can come from any direction at all because they are floating and exposed on all sides and there are so many people who have a thing against the Enterprise, they really could be attacked from anywhere, at any time, and there’s really nothing he can do about it at all, except just wait for it to happen and pray to any deity that probably doesn’t exist that they’ll somehow make it through this, and there are rules about this kind of things, in statistics, that say they really should be dead already, not to mention Murphy’s law, which seems to have ignored them thus far, but it will have to catch up with them eventually, and when it does, no one will be able to do anything and they’ll probably all die horrible painful deaths, in space, where no one hears and no one cares.
There’s so much that can go wrong. Most of the time he can forget all that, because he has something to concentrate on or a task to accomplish, like the calculations he has to do to make sure they get exactly where they should get. Most days, he does those calculations two or three times, just to make sure he got it right. He enjoys them a lot, too. He plays chess with Sulu and with Spock. He can beat Sulu most days, but Spock still wins every game except one. (And that one was probably due more to a drunken captain nibbling on his fingers.) He learns everything he possibly can, from everyone he possibly can. But sometimes he just has to take a break and relax. Most of the time, he’s fine even then, just content to be on the Enterprise, which is almost its own little world.
But every once in a while there are days like this, when he sees something move in the corner of his eye or looks out a tiny window. And it all comes rushing back to him, and it’s all he can do to make his own little world as small as he can.
And today, even though he’s in his little fort, and it’s even littler than normal, and he’s growing, it’s still not small enough. There’s still just too much space, too much room for something to go wrong, and it’s all he can do hug his pillow and shiver and try to take up as little room as possible. The knock at his door startles him and he almost makes his fort collapse, along with what little control he has left.
“Chekov, are you there?” Sulu’s voice asks at his door. They were supposed to play chess, today, Chekov remembers. But he can’t. Today is one of those days, when everything is terrifying and shit, he doesn’t want Sulu to see him like this. He hopes that if he stays quiet, the other man won’t notice his breathing. He had forgotten that Sulu knows the key to his room as well as he does, and the door opens.
“Hey there,” Sulu says, and Chekov can hear the smile in his voice, like he thinks this is cute and childish. “Mind if I come in?” Again, Chekov says nothing, just tightens his arms around the pillow. Please don’t! his thoughts scream, Please don’t, I don’t want you to see me like this! Please, please!
Sulu obviously does not get the mental transmission, because his head pokes into Chekov’s little world. Chekov just stares at him, wide eyed, vaguely aware that he’s hyperventilating, if only because of the dizzying headache. Sulu’s face goes from a playful smile to a concerned look.
“Whoa, Chekov,” he murmurs, crawling closer. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Chekov can’t say anything, but in his mind, a list of exceptions runs by, listing dozens and dozens of things that might not be okay, things that could go wrong at any minute and there’s nothing at all he can do about it. Sulu sits beside him, hand rubbing gentle circles in his back.
“It’s fine, Chekov,” he says, and the look in his eyes is so open and honest that Chekov is almost inclined to believe him, except that he hasn’t gotten to the bottom of his list yet, and it’s been a while. “I’m serious, everything is going good. It’s okay.”
Chekov just stares at him, and he can feel tears welling up in his eyes and the lump that’s been in his throat for nearly half an hour bobs.
“It’s okay, Chekov,” Sulu repeats. And then Chekov is crying, holding onto Sulu instead of his pillow, huge sobs racking his body. Sulu wraps his arms around the young ensign and continues murmuring sweet nothings into his ear. Chekov doesn’t think he’s cried this hard in years and years and years, but he just can’t stop the torrent of tears pouring out of his eyes and soaking Sulu’s regulation shirt. He can’t quiet the loud sobs or control his breathing. He hears himself speaking, broken rants about all the hundreds, no thousands, maybe even millions of things that could be happening to them right that very moment and he’s not sure if he’s talking in English or Russian or maybe both. It feels like forever before it quiets.
“It’s okay, Pasha,” Sulu says, and the name makes Pavel thinks he’s might be right, in spite of himself. “Nothing will get us, or hurt us. We won’t let them, okay?” He nods and hiccups and Sulu looks him right in the eye, even though they’re still so close that their noses are almost touching. “We all look out for each other, okay.” There’s no question in his voice, just complete honesty. “I promise, you can depend on us.”
Pavel can feel himself trembling again, but having Sulu in here means that there’s no extra space at all, not even a little bit, and it’s nice, so he leans in and lets his lips brush the other man’s, just lightly, barely, not even for a second. He looks at Sulu, his eyes wide, pleading for him to make it all okay, somehow.
Sulu smiles and brings a hand up to cup Pavel’s cheek. He leans in and kisses the younger man, gently and slowly and sweetly. Everything about it is relaxed and natural, and Pavel just melts into it, leaving his arms around the other man’s neck. When his tongue flicks out, not demanding at all, more so offering, he tastes like regulation toothpaste and herbal tea. Everything about him is just so safe.
Pavel lets one hand slide down Sulu’s back, resting just above his hip, and they edge just a tiny bit closer together, and Pavel sighs into the other man’s mouth, feeling completely contented. The ceiling lights are just barely diluted by the sheet above him, and everything is cloaked in a soft light that feels like Saturday mornings when your mom is cooking you lunch and you’re too young to know all of the horrible things out there. That light is a little bit like Sulu, Chekov decides, only maybe with Sulu it’s not your mom but your lover. Yeah. That’s it, they should be lovers.
“We should be lovers,” he says, staring straight into Sulu’s eyes as they break momentarily from their kiss.
“Okay,” Sulu replies, because it makes sense.
Chekov smiles brightly and pulls himself even closer to the other man, so he’s almost straddling him, and Sulu sinks down until he’s flat on his back so that Chekov really can straddle him without moving the sheet above him. Their bodies line up just right, and they kiss again. Sulu’s hands fit the small of Chekov’s back as if they were made to be there. Chekov runs his hands through the Lieutenant’s hair gently, smiling into their kiss.
And then Chekov starts kissing down the other man’s neck, slowly and gently, but with a growing enthusiasm. Sulu tilts his head to give his new lover better access, and strokes his back encouragingly. Chekov’s lips are warm and soft and almost feathery, and he can feel the stirrings of arousal uncurl inside him. They’re so close, he knows that Chekov can feel it, too, and he can feel Chekov’s growing interest as well. When the ensign’s tongue starts lapping gently as the base of his neck, he lets himself groan quietly and roll his hips, just a bit. Chekov’s hips roll down to meet his, and they set up a slow, easy rhythm.
Things work perfectly between them, and it’s no surprise to either man. After all, if they can work perfectly on the bridge and conversations flow perfectly between them, then there’s no reason it should be more difficult here, with things like removing clothing. There’s no reason it should be more difficult to figure out exactly what to do to get an arched back or a quiet murmur, so neither of them are surprised to find they can. Maybe in the back of their minds, they’ve always known how to access these content stirrings in the other, and it just hasn’t been the right moment. Sulu isn’t surprised to find out that Chekov has what they need in a drawer by his bedside, either.
“I think I have always wanted this,” Pavel says quietly, working two slicked fingers into the other man. Sulu’s legs are spread, ankles by Pavel’s shoulders. Neither of them have done this before, not like this, and there is a certain awe to it.
“I think I have, too,” Sulu replies, just before Pavel pushes in with a slight moan. For a minute, both of them are still, just looking at each other in amazement. Then Pavel is moving, his face buried in the crook of Sulu’s neck. It starts slowly, like everything else between them. And gradually, it begins to speed up. The spaces between Pavel’s shallow gasps become shorter. Neither man knows how long it lasts, or who comes first. They don’t really care.
When it is over, and the corner of a pillow is used to wipe them clean, Pavel lies on Sulu’s stomach, their fingers interlaces. They kiss one more time before falling into a soft, restful sleep.
ontents here.