Chekov/Girl!Chekov porn
I think I only wrote this because I miss having sex with women
Title: Electric Feel
Pairing: Chekov/Girl!Chekov vague Chekov/Girl!Sulu and Girl!Chekov/Sulu
Summary: This (pretty basic) prompt on the kink meme:) Chekov & Girl!Chekov both have crushes on Hikaru in various incarnations, and test drive sex with each other; 3.5K
Rating: NC-17
Other: All porn, basically:) Serious het though (be waaarned /spooky voice)
She fidgets and shifts her feet as if she doesn’t really know how to stand and is trying to disguise the fact. It’s something Chekov recognizes in himself, and it sort of freaks him out, before it’s sort of comfortable, nice.
“Do your quarters look like this?” he asks this smaller, softer version of himself. “Where you come from?”
“Yes,” she answers, “Except my bed-”
“Is by that wall?” he interrupts, and she nods, “I moved it a few days ago. Before you showed up,” And she shakes her head, smiling.
The way Pavlina Chekova tells it, she and the Montgomery Scott that she knew were practicing transporter tests onship, equations and theories they’d been working out for months, when suddenly she found herself in the middle of the engine room. These sorts of mishaps were wont to happen during experimentation, so she leisurely found her way back to Mr. Scott’s office only to find him asleep on a desk over paperwork, his face creased like he’d been that way for hours, and his hair color strangely darker. She’d brushed it off as chance and went back to her quarters only to run in to Hikaru Sulu, only Pavlina had no idea who this Ms. Sulu was and went about introducing herself, and the whole kerfuffle took hours to sort out, seriously. This had been days ago, and they’d since found out how to get Pavlina back to her ship and her universe, a process they’d try the very next day.
“This is so very weird, Pavel,” she says.
“Yes, Pavlina,” he sits on his bed. They’re speaking English, because Russian would be touching something really too strange for either of them to grasp, recognizing their sameness on a level that’s frightening.
“My friends on the Enterprise call me Lina, sometimes,” she plops on the bed rather awkwardly, looking down at her hands, and Pavel again recognizes the actions, but feels unable to absorb them; it’s like Pavlina is a hologram walking around his room, a program that enables you to see what it would be like if you were the opposite gender. But Pavlina’s here, of course, has been for days; she eats and breathes and sleeps and knows how to do his job as well as he does, maybe a little bit better. She’s a bit shyer than he is but the words come flying out of her mouth just as they do his when there’s pertinent information to share.
“You didn’t tell me that,” he says, feeling strangely indulgent and flirtatious toward this timid girl he knows all too well, because she’s him, essentially. “Do you prefer Lina?”
She shakes her head violently. “No, no. I like Pasha.”
“A man’s name?” he laughs, “I don’t even like Pasha.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know it’s supposed to be for a boy,” she says, “But it sounds feminine, when Sulu says it.”
Ohh. “You didn’t tell me there was a Sulu on your ship.”
She smiles in a wide way that he can tell she’s restraining, from the way she blushes, and Chekov wonders if he has this sort of allure at all in this universe, or if it was lost as soon as his father passed on the Y chromosome. “Mr. Sulu, yes. Hikaru Sulu, our pilot.”
“Sulu’s a man where you come from?!”
Pavlina rolls her eyes and shoves Chekov a bit, too soft; the pads of her fingers linger on Chekov’s shoulder. “I’m a man where you come from?” she laughs. “He’s not at all feminine though, as a man, unlike myself.”
“I’m feminine?” Chekov balks.
“You’re sort of short.”
“I’m of average height!”
“Okay, okay, fine,” Pavlina says, “Hikaru is only a bit taller than you are, anyway.”
“Hikaru is taller than me?”
“You must stop with all of this incredulity, Pavel, it drives me insane.” She appears to have a better grasp on Standard than he does, but the way she says een-cre-do-la-tee betrays her Russian roots, her accent heavy as his own, and he switches to his native language, because what the hell.
“I deny that I am in any way feminine.”
She laughs and it forces a well of trembling desire to settle in his stomach. His weakness for women these days does little to extend outside of his lust and all of his deeper feelings for Ms. Sulu, but this thing, it’s not about another woman, it’s about himself, and there he is, beautiful soft features and so much he could understand about the opposite gender, just sitting there.
“You are; you are quite feminine,” she insists, “but it’s good, really. I guess I must be arrogant, I think I’ve translated very well into male features.”
He wants to say the same, to compliment her in the reverse, but it would be trite to repeat it and he’s seventeen and a boy, so what comes out is, “I didn’t think my boobs would be so big.”
She tilts her head back and laughs for real, though, crossing her arms over her chest almost self consciously, or because she’s used to cradling them, maybe? Chekov doesn’t know anything about boobs, just that he likes them and apparently female-him has a lot of them.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she shakes her head, “I have to compress them, so they don’t get in the way!”
“What?!” Chekov balks, “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s not!” she turns toward him on the bed, one leg hanging off and one leg bent in front of her. The position allows him a half-look up her skirt, and he expects the black stretch underwear standard to Starfleet uniforms, but she’s wearing white cotton panties instead and he’s instantly hard. He tries to look at her face and the rest of her at the same time but it’s not really working, and once he gets around to her face again her smile is gone; she’s staring contemplatively at him as if he’s something both terribly confusing and mildly pitiful.
“Pavel?” she asks, and her voice is an unintentional whisper, something he does sometimes when he’s been thinking for a while and forgets how to talk.
“Pasha,” he says, trying not to swallow too audibly.
“You’re me, yes? And I’m you? Essentially?”
“It seems so.”
“Have you ever kissed anyone?” she asks, and frowns, “Because I haven’t.”
He wants to lie and preserve his dignity, but there’s not use in hiding from himself, of all people. “No,” he says gently, and turns toward Pavlina as she has him.
“But you want to,” she finishes for him, “You want to kiss someone first, before.. So you don’t mess things up when.. if.. with...”
“Hikaru.”
“Yes,” she breathes, and God, this is fucked up, the way they’re pining over the same person and they’re going to use each other to figure out the dynamic first. Pavel is leaning toward her before he knows what to do about it, and she’s making a little noise, sharp from the back of her throat, and he smells her fresh skin, noses her soft cheek, before he kisses her and it’s dry and strange and stunning. She breathes against his lips and it’s wetter this time, both of them parting their mouths as if they’re of the same brain-what about this, I’ve heard this is what people do? Her tongue brushes his top lip and he almost comes it’s so good. His spine is tingling and he pulls her by the jaw toward him, her encouraging noises egging him on as they kiss hard and manic, melting in to each others’ mouths like candy.
Her hands, small and bony, flutter to his shoulders and squeeze, and he’s grabbing for her waist blindly, dragging her into his lap as she toes her boots off and they land on the floor with two soft thunks.
His hands fist through her hair and it occurs to him that he’s being a little too fast, too rough, though she seems to be on board. He breaks their kiss with a wet suction sound that comes from both of them and pants against her neck, petting her hair, hair that grew from the same DNA with the same traits as his.
“Are the curls okay on a girl?” she asks, and the question seems ridiculous until he remembers that she knows how he stares after the sheet of dark, straight hair Hikaru throws around.
“It’s good,” he says, tugging a curl gently, because it’s true: her hair is springy and soft, and “He’ll like it, too.”
She moans and pulls her head around to lick at the shell of his ear and he can’t help it; he thrusts upward into the killer heat of her body and it’s heaven, the warmth spreads through him like fire and he grabs her waist tighter as she scrambles, hands flying over his shoulder blades in response to the contact.
“Oh,” the word seems to fall out of her mouth and she bears down on him, breathing hot in his ear.
“I have to.. I have to try something,” she says, and it’s cool, whatever she wants, but where’s she going?
“Hey-” Pavel starts to protest losing her weight as she stands, but then she’s leaning over him, pulling at his trousers and twisting to pull off his boots, and he decides to help her, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aimlessly.
He’s reclined in only his underwear and she’s sitting with her hands on his chest, stroking and looking like she’s observing the practical applications of a theorem she’s been working on for years, and he supposes that’s true actually, for the both of them, what they’re doing. Her hands are pale and unadorned, but her toenails are painted a cherry red and the detail seems intimate, seeing what’s under her uniform, even if it’s just her feet.
“Shit,” he breathes.
She’s kneeling between his spread legs now, and he holds her thighs and brushes his hands past the hem of her dress and up to cup her rounded ass, her hips, fingers flirting with the edges of her underwear.
“Now you?” he breathes, nervous, but she nods, and he’s lifting the gold of her uniform and taking in every inch of flushed, pretty skin. Finally it goes over her head, and she wasn’t lying before; she’s contained in this ridiculous spandex contraption that really must go-she seems to agree, seems embarrassed by it, stretching it over her breasts, which bounce back in to place, then over her arms and past her elbows and it’s gone and she’s beautiful, kneeling there. He touches her shoulders first, not wanting to seem forward, but his hands slide down over her sides and up again and when his hands cup her she closes her eyes and twitches; she’s sensitive but he can’t help placing his head between her pendulous breasts and breathing in the sweet smell of her, his hands sliding to the soft, pale skin of her back and holding her whole torso to him, like the beat of her heart will save him. The curve of her spine feels delicate, but strong. Her hands close around his ears and he dares a little lick to her breastbone; she sighs and it sounds like it’s coming from another universe altogether.
“Here,” she says, “I want to try something,” she mentions again, this something, but he gets the point when suddenly her face is inches away from his crotch; he can feel her hot breath through the cotton of his boxers. She looks at him suddenly, her eyes wide. “I don’t really know how to do this,” she says, quickly in Russian and running together, “I just.. I wanna try it,” she says, and he nods, dumbstruck as she pulls the elastic of his boxers over his dick, harder than it’s ever been and she’s strangely gentle in pulling his underwear down, like it’d kill him if the waistband suddenly snapped against him.
She touches him, and he has to close his eyes, slamming back to the pillows-she squeezes him and strokes just a few times before he feels the first touch of her tongue and his eyes snap open. He’s breathing hard.
Her lips are pursed around the head of his cock like it’s a popsicle or something that needs a kiss, her lips wet and red from their makeout and her eyes open, studying. He moans loudly now, watching her, unafraid. One hand is wrapped tentatively around him, stroking unevenly and it almost kills him when she uses the other hand to tuck her curly hair behind her ear.
She seems to get comfortable with the idea of his cock in her mouth and sucks him in a little deeper, licking around the head and bobbing her head until the suction noises she makes are almost louder than anything he’s saying and it’s not two minutes in that he comes, hard, into her mouth, convulsing upward and trying not to pull out all of her hair. He feels her swallow everything deftly and when she comes up for air he doesn’t notice. He’s spent and blown and laying on the pillow until she’s suddenly lying next to him and he dives in to her chest.
She’s breathing evenly. “That wasn’t so hard,” she says, happily.
“What?” Pavel asks, “Sucking my dick?” he grabs the flesh of her hip affectionately, in thanks.
“Swallowing,” she laughs, and he sighs out because he knows that staring at her bellybutton like he is will make him hard again instantly. He almost shouts when she reaches down and grabs his only semi-soft cock, brushing some bead of after-come liquid from the head and bringing her thumb to her mouth to lick it off.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, “He’ll marry you; I know it, he will,” and she laughs, digging her fingers in his hair and the laugh turns in to a shudder, her hips are tightening like she’s contracting something in there and she thrusts against his thigh. Obviously she must be turned on, still. The idea clears his head immediately and he kisses her breast bone again, with an open mouth, leaving a trail of hot breath down her navel as he turns her on to her back, wants to see her.
There’s something feminine and beautiful in the way her ankles come together as he pulls off her underwear, but there’s not much time to focus on it; she’s pulling his hand towards her and he only needs so much direction.
“Oh, God,” he can’t help but moan with how wet she is, how warm when his fingers delve in to her, feeling all of her, trying to observe what spots make her twitch, what in all of the folds keeps the secret of her reeling pleasure from him. She’s lying on the bed with her fists in the sheets, her breath pushing the soft pad of her stomach out and in, her legs spread carelessly around him. His hands go lower and find where she opens, and he moans when his fingers sink deep into Pavlina, a velvety cling that he can’t help but imagine holding tight around his cock.
He spreads her carefully, dying with how hot it makes him to look at her, pink and wet and shining, tensing with want, and he feels another wave of heat thinking how he’ll get to give it to her.
He brings his face close to her and breathes through the dampness and she’s moaning already, anticipating, whimpering. His tongue flicks up and down the various parts and edges the tunnel he’s longing to fill, but he remembers something his obnoxious cousin once told him, Don’t just pretend your tongue is your dick. Girls like a little something extra, Fyodor had said, like it meant something when Pavel was thirteen. Nevertheless, he tries to follow instruction, kissing and sucking where he feels appropriate, which is pretty much everywhere, and she’s shaking on the bed, covering her face with her hands which Pavel would take as a bad thing if her legs weren’t practically vibrating next to his head.
“Oh,” she groans, loud, “Make me come,” begging.
He slides his fingers in to her while he’s working around her clit, teasing the top of her walls, feeling around and brushing, thrusting, getting more rhythmic and suddenly she’s screaming loud and her legs close around his head, thighs against his ears, and he rolls with it, riding out her orgasm with her as she bucks in to him harder. She sounds almost in pain but her hands are tight in his hair and he’s so fucking happy he listened to stupid goddamn Fyodor.
“Fuck! Fuck!” she pants, falling, breathing hard, letting go. “Fuck, fuck, what the fuck,” she repeats and Pavel allows himself a moment to feel smug, but his breath is tight in his chest-he just made a woman come, and he’s achingly hard and he wants to fuck her while she’s tight and wet like this, pulsing with the aftershocks of what he’s done to her.
“Pavel,” she moans, and he climbs up her body to look in to her face.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks, needs to get permission. “Please?” he almost sobs in to her neck and she grabs his face to look at him, breathes heavily for a moment, her eyes wide and her mouth open and gaping.
“Tell me you want to,” she says, and it’s deep; this is her, blown out with satisfaction.
He nods his head deliriously. “I wanna fuck you,” he says, agrees. “I need to. Please,” he moans, and she smiles and nods, falling back to the pillow.
She stretches her legs and spreads them out as if to offer invitation, and Pavel’s suddenly overcome with the weight of what’s going to happen, not that the evening wasn’t already a milestone in hundreds of respects. He breathes heavily and realizes it’s only been about fifteen minutes since they kissed.
“Oh, fuck,” he’s braced over her now, on his hands and knees, looking at where his pulsing, hard cock and her open cunt are about to meet; her hands stroke his forearms as if to encourage him and he looks at her face, in to her eyes the exact color as his own. He grabs his cock and lines them up, and he slides in to her all at once, way too fast, way too hard and they both scream with the shock of it, the heat that washes over their bodies and the inexplicable pleasure of what they’re doing.
“Fuck, fuck,” Pavlina curses a lot, and Pavel thinks he’s hurt her, almost apologizes before her legs shoot up and cradle him, holding him deep inside of her until he’s trembling and sweating.
“Move,” she begs, and he does, can’t help it, rocks himself into her with force that he couldn’t control if he wanted to-the feeling is too good, the compulsion too strong.
“God, Pasha,” he sobs, yelling the name she prefers, his own. He tries to slow himself but every time, she pushes him harder, her thumbnails digging into the soft skin under his arms and her high pitched noises cutting the tense cord inside of him that coils all of his restraint together.
He tries to keep cognizant of the outside world, tries to keep himself in context so he won’t lose his entire control too early. This effort holds up until Pavlina comes again, writhing under him and bathed in sweat, mouth opened wide and gasping for breath, and Pavel collapses on to her and loses himself entirely then, fucking deep in to her, hard and unrelenting, how she coaxes him, how she wants it, what she needs from him. He holds her hips reverently and explodes inside of her, trembling and feeling her tremble in return, falling in to her and trusting her to accept his weight.
He wraps his arms around her sweaty body, laying his face on her shoulder and their skin sticks together. He can hear the sound of his pumping arteries and the push of his breath and listens as they slowly calm. She’s cradling the nape of his neck, petting his hair. He pulls up to kiss her, to thank her.
They lie there for a bit, and neither of them know whether they should clean up afterward or if it’s normal.
“Should I take her to the shower?” he wonders aloud, and Pavlina shrugs, murmuring in to his jaw.
“Unless she says something, you should probably just ignore it,” she says, “You don’t want to make her feel unclean or anything. And it’s not that bad to just lay here, right?” Pavlina’s a genius.
“I’m proud to have met you,” he says later, as they’re putting on clothes and shaking hands, ready to leave.
“Me too, Pavel,” she says, and stands tall, smiling proudly, “Ga ga, ooh la la.”
“What?”
“Rah rah, roma ma.”
Pavel slaps his alarm with an irritated smack, groaning in to the dark. He pulls himself to his elbows and rolls his eyes at the cold, sticky sheets, because seriously, how pathetic. And what the hell, Hikaru as a girl?
“Christ, Pasha,” he chastises himself, stripping his sheets. “Who else on the Enterprise has sex dreams about masturbation?”
Title: Electric Feel
Pairing: Chekov/Girl!Chekov vague Chekov/Girl!Sulu and Girl!Chekov/Sulu
Summary: This (pretty basic) prompt on the kink meme:) Chekov & Girl!Chekov both have crushes on Hikaru in various incarnations, and test drive sex with each other; 3.5K
Rating: NC-17
Other: All porn, basically:) Serious het though (be waaarned /spooky voice)
She fidgets and shifts her feet as if she doesn’t really know how to stand and is trying to disguise the fact. It’s something Chekov recognizes in himself, and it sort of freaks him out, before it’s sort of comfortable, nice.
“Do your quarters look like this?” he asks this smaller, softer version of himself. “Where you come from?”
“Yes,” she answers, “Except my bed-”
“Is by that wall?” he interrupts, and she nods, “I moved it a few days ago. Before you showed up,” And she shakes her head, smiling.
The way Pavlina Chekova tells it, she and the Montgomery Scott that she knew were practicing transporter tests onship, equations and theories they’d been working out for months, when suddenly she found herself in the middle of the engine room. These sorts of mishaps were wont to happen during experimentation, so she leisurely found her way back to Mr. Scott’s office only to find him asleep on a desk over paperwork, his face creased like he’d been that way for hours, and his hair color strangely darker. She’d brushed it off as chance and went back to her quarters only to run in to Hikaru Sulu, only Pavlina had no idea who this Ms. Sulu was and went about introducing herself, and the whole kerfuffle took hours to sort out, seriously. This had been days ago, and they’d since found out how to get Pavlina back to her ship and her universe, a process they’d try the very next day.
“This is so very weird, Pavel,” she says.
“Yes, Pavlina,” he sits on his bed. They’re speaking English, because Russian would be touching something really too strange for either of them to grasp, recognizing their sameness on a level that’s frightening.
“My friends on the Enterprise call me Lina, sometimes,” she plops on the bed rather awkwardly, looking down at her hands, and Pavel again recognizes the actions, but feels unable to absorb them; it’s like Pavlina is a hologram walking around his room, a program that enables you to see what it would be like if you were the opposite gender. But Pavlina’s here, of course, has been for days; she eats and breathes and sleeps and knows how to do his job as well as he does, maybe a little bit better. She’s a bit shyer than he is but the words come flying out of her mouth just as they do his when there’s pertinent information to share.
“You didn’t tell me that,” he says, feeling strangely indulgent and flirtatious toward this timid girl he knows all too well, because she’s him, essentially. “Do you prefer Lina?”
She shakes her head violently. “No, no. I like Pasha.”
“A man’s name?” he laughs, “I don’t even like Pasha.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know it’s supposed to be for a boy,” she says, “But it sounds feminine, when Sulu says it.”
Ohh. “You didn’t tell me there was a Sulu on your ship.”
She smiles in a wide way that he can tell she’s restraining, from the way she blushes, and Chekov wonders if he has this sort of allure at all in this universe, or if it was lost as soon as his father passed on the Y chromosome. “Mr. Sulu, yes. Hikaru Sulu, our pilot.”
“Sulu’s a man where you come from?!”
Pavlina rolls her eyes and shoves Chekov a bit, too soft; the pads of her fingers linger on Chekov’s shoulder. “I’m a man where you come from?” she laughs. “He’s not at all feminine though, as a man, unlike myself.”
“I’m feminine?” Chekov balks.
“You’re sort of short.”
“I’m of average height!”
“Okay, okay, fine,” Pavlina says, “Hikaru is only a bit taller than you are, anyway.”
“Hikaru is taller than me?”
“You must stop with all of this incredulity, Pavel, it drives me insane.” She appears to have a better grasp on Standard than he does, but the way she says een-cre-do-la-tee betrays her Russian roots, her accent heavy as his own, and he switches to his native language, because what the hell.
“I deny that I am in any way feminine.”
She laughs and it forces a well of trembling desire to settle in his stomach. His weakness for women these days does little to extend outside of his lust and all of his deeper feelings for Ms. Sulu, but this thing, it’s not about another woman, it’s about himself, and there he is, beautiful soft features and so much he could understand about the opposite gender, just sitting there.
“You are; you are quite feminine,” she insists, “but it’s good, really. I guess I must be arrogant, I think I’ve translated very well into male features.”
He wants to say the same, to compliment her in the reverse, but it would be trite to repeat it and he’s seventeen and a boy, so what comes out is, “I didn’t think my boobs would be so big.”
She tilts her head back and laughs for real, though, crossing her arms over her chest almost self consciously, or because she’s used to cradling them, maybe? Chekov doesn’t know anything about boobs, just that he likes them and apparently female-him has a lot of them.
“You don’t know the half of it,” she shakes her head, “I have to compress them, so they don’t get in the way!”
“What?!” Chekov balks, “This is ridiculous.”
“It’s not!” she turns toward him on the bed, one leg hanging off and one leg bent in front of her. The position allows him a half-look up her skirt, and he expects the black stretch underwear standard to Starfleet uniforms, but she’s wearing white cotton panties instead and he’s instantly hard. He tries to look at her face and the rest of her at the same time but it’s not really working, and once he gets around to her face again her smile is gone; she’s staring contemplatively at him as if he’s something both terribly confusing and mildly pitiful.
“Pavel?” she asks, and her voice is an unintentional whisper, something he does sometimes when he’s been thinking for a while and forgets how to talk.
“Pasha,” he says, trying not to swallow too audibly.
“You’re me, yes? And I’m you? Essentially?”
“It seems so.”
“Have you ever kissed anyone?” she asks, and frowns, “Because I haven’t.”
He wants to lie and preserve his dignity, but there’s not use in hiding from himself, of all people. “No,” he says gently, and turns toward Pavlina as she has him.
“But you want to,” she finishes for him, “You want to kiss someone first, before.. So you don’t mess things up when.. if.. with...”
“Hikaru.”
“Yes,” she breathes, and God, this is fucked up, the way they’re pining over the same person and they’re going to use each other to figure out the dynamic first. Pavel is leaning toward her before he knows what to do about it, and she’s making a little noise, sharp from the back of her throat, and he smells her fresh skin, noses her soft cheek, before he kisses her and it’s dry and strange and stunning. She breathes against his lips and it’s wetter this time, both of them parting their mouths as if they’re of the same brain-what about this, I’ve heard this is what people do? Her tongue brushes his top lip and he almost comes it’s so good. His spine is tingling and he pulls her by the jaw toward him, her encouraging noises egging him on as they kiss hard and manic, melting in to each others’ mouths like candy.
Her hands, small and bony, flutter to his shoulders and squeeze, and he’s grabbing for her waist blindly, dragging her into his lap as she toes her boots off and they land on the floor with two soft thunks.
His hands fist through her hair and it occurs to him that he’s being a little too fast, too rough, though she seems to be on board. He breaks their kiss with a wet suction sound that comes from both of them and pants against her neck, petting her hair, hair that grew from the same DNA with the same traits as his.
“Are the curls okay on a girl?” she asks, and the question seems ridiculous until he remembers that she knows how he stares after the sheet of dark, straight hair Hikaru throws around.
“It’s good,” he says, tugging a curl gently, because it’s true: her hair is springy and soft, and “He’ll like it, too.”
She moans and pulls her head around to lick at the shell of his ear and he can’t help it; he thrusts upward into the killer heat of her body and it’s heaven, the warmth spreads through him like fire and he grabs her waist tighter as she scrambles, hands flying over his shoulder blades in response to the contact.
“Oh,” the word seems to fall out of her mouth and she bears down on him, breathing hot in his ear.
“I have to.. I have to try something,” she says, and it’s cool, whatever she wants, but where’s she going?
“Hey-” Pavel starts to protest losing her weight as she stands, but then she’s leaning over him, pulling at his trousers and twisting to pull off his boots, and he decides to help her, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aimlessly.
He’s reclined in only his underwear and she’s sitting with her hands on his chest, stroking and looking like she’s observing the practical applications of a theorem she’s been working on for years, and he supposes that’s true actually, for the both of them, what they’re doing. Her hands are pale and unadorned, but her toenails are painted a cherry red and the detail seems intimate, seeing what’s under her uniform, even if it’s just her feet.
“Shit,” he breathes.
She’s kneeling between his spread legs now, and he holds her thighs and brushes his hands past the hem of her dress and up to cup her rounded ass, her hips, fingers flirting with the edges of her underwear.
“Now you?” he breathes, nervous, but she nods, and he’s lifting the gold of her uniform and taking in every inch of flushed, pretty skin. Finally it goes over her head, and she wasn’t lying before; she’s contained in this ridiculous spandex contraption that really must go-she seems to agree, seems embarrassed by it, stretching it over her breasts, which bounce back in to place, then over her arms and past her elbows and it’s gone and she’s beautiful, kneeling there. He touches her shoulders first, not wanting to seem forward, but his hands slide down over her sides and up again and when his hands cup her she closes her eyes and twitches; she’s sensitive but he can’t help placing his head between her pendulous breasts and breathing in the sweet smell of her, his hands sliding to the soft, pale skin of her back and holding her whole torso to him, like the beat of her heart will save him. The curve of her spine feels delicate, but strong. Her hands close around his ears and he dares a little lick to her breastbone; she sighs and it sounds like it’s coming from another universe altogether.
“Here,” she says, “I want to try something,” she mentions again, this something, but he gets the point when suddenly her face is inches away from his crotch; he can feel her hot breath through the cotton of his boxers. She looks at him suddenly, her eyes wide. “I don’t really know how to do this,” she says, quickly in Russian and running together, “I just.. I wanna try it,” she says, and he nods, dumbstruck as she pulls the elastic of his boxers over his dick, harder than it’s ever been and she’s strangely gentle in pulling his underwear down, like it’d kill him if the waistband suddenly snapped against him.
She touches him, and he has to close his eyes, slamming back to the pillows-she squeezes him and strokes just a few times before he feels the first touch of her tongue and his eyes snap open. He’s breathing hard.
Her lips are pursed around the head of his cock like it’s a popsicle or something that needs a kiss, her lips wet and red from their makeout and her eyes open, studying. He moans loudly now, watching her, unafraid. One hand is wrapped tentatively around him, stroking unevenly and it almost kills him when she uses the other hand to tuck her curly hair behind her ear.
She seems to get comfortable with the idea of his cock in her mouth and sucks him in a little deeper, licking around the head and bobbing her head until the suction noises she makes are almost louder than anything he’s saying and it’s not two minutes in that he comes, hard, into her mouth, convulsing upward and trying not to pull out all of her hair. He feels her swallow everything deftly and when she comes up for air he doesn’t notice. He’s spent and blown and laying on the pillow until she’s suddenly lying next to him and he dives in to her chest.
She’s breathing evenly. “That wasn’t so hard,” she says, happily.
“What?” Pavel asks, “Sucking my dick?” he grabs the flesh of her hip affectionately, in thanks.
“Swallowing,” she laughs, and he sighs out because he knows that staring at her bellybutton like he is will make him hard again instantly. He almost shouts when she reaches down and grabs his only semi-soft cock, brushing some bead of after-come liquid from the head and bringing her thumb to her mouth to lick it off.
“Oh my god,” he breathes, “He’ll marry you; I know it, he will,” and she laughs, digging her fingers in his hair and the laugh turns in to a shudder, her hips are tightening like she’s contracting something in there and she thrusts against his thigh. Obviously she must be turned on, still. The idea clears his head immediately and he kisses her breast bone again, with an open mouth, leaving a trail of hot breath down her navel as he turns her on to her back, wants to see her.
There’s something feminine and beautiful in the way her ankles come together as he pulls off her underwear, but there’s not much time to focus on it; she’s pulling his hand towards her and he only needs so much direction.
“Oh, God,” he can’t help but moan with how wet she is, how warm when his fingers delve in to her, feeling all of her, trying to observe what spots make her twitch, what in all of the folds keeps the secret of her reeling pleasure from him. She’s lying on the bed with her fists in the sheets, her breath pushing the soft pad of her stomach out and in, her legs spread carelessly around him. His hands go lower and find where she opens, and he moans when his fingers sink deep into Pavlina, a velvety cling that he can’t help but imagine holding tight around his cock.
He spreads her carefully, dying with how hot it makes him to look at her, pink and wet and shining, tensing with want, and he feels another wave of heat thinking how he’ll get to give it to her.
He brings his face close to her and breathes through the dampness and she’s moaning already, anticipating, whimpering. His tongue flicks up and down the various parts and edges the tunnel he’s longing to fill, but he remembers something his obnoxious cousin once told him, Don’t just pretend your tongue is your dick. Girls like a little something extra, Fyodor had said, like it meant something when Pavel was thirteen. Nevertheless, he tries to follow instruction, kissing and sucking where he feels appropriate, which is pretty much everywhere, and she’s shaking on the bed, covering her face with her hands which Pavel would take as a bad thing if her legs weren’t practically vibrating next to his head.
“Oh,” she groans, loud, “Make me come,” begging.
He slides his fingers in to her while he’s working around her clit, teasing the top of her walls, feeling around and brushing, thrusting, getting more rhythmic and suddenly she’s screaming loud and her legs close around his head, thighs against his ears, and he rolls with it, riding out her orgasm with her as she bucks in to him harder. She sounds almost in pain but her hands are tight in his hair and he’s so fucking happy he listened to stupid goddamn Fyodor.
“Fuck! Fuck!” she pants, falling, breathing hard, letting go. “Fuck, fuck, what the fuck,” she repeats and Pavel allows himself a moment to feel smug, but his breath is tight in his chest-he just made a woman come, and he’s achingly hard and he wants to fuck her while she’s tight and wet like this, pulsing with the aftershocks of what he’s done to her.
“Pavel,” she moans, and he climbs up her body to look in to her face.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks, needs to get permission. “Please?” he almost sobs in to her neck and she grabs his face to look at him, breathes heavily for a moment, her eyes wide and her mouth open and gaping.
“Tell me you want to,” she says, and it’s deep; this is her, blown out with satisfaction.
He nods his head deliriously. “I wanna fuck you,” he says, agrees. “I need to. Please,” he moans, and she smiles and nods, falling back to the pillow.
She stretches her legs and spreads them out as if to offer invitation, and Pavel’s suddenly overcome with the weight of what’s going to happen, not that the evening wasn’t already a milestone in hundreds of respects. He breathes heavily and realizes it’s only been about fifteen minutes since they kissed.
“Oh, fuck,” he’s braced over her now, on his hands and knees, looking at where his pulsing, hard cock and her open cunt are about to meet; her hands stroke his forearms as if to encourage him and he looks at her face, in to her eyes the exact color as his own. He grabs his cock and lines them up, and he slides in to her all at once, way too fast, way too hard and they both scream with the shock of it, the heat that washes over their bodies and the inexplicable pleasure of what they’re doing.
“Fuck, fuck,” Pavlina curses a lot, and Pavel thinks he’s hurt her, almost apologizes before her legs shoot up and cradle him, holding him deep inside of her until he’s trembling and sweating.
“Move,” she begs, and he does, can’t help it, rocks himself into her with force that he couldn’t control if he wanted to-the feeling is too good, the compulsion too strong.
“God, Pasha,” he sobs, yelling the name she prefers, his own. He tries to slow himself but every time, she pushes him harder, her thumbnails digging into the soft skin under his arms and her high pitched noises cutting the tense cord inside of him that coils all of his restraint together.
He tries to keep cognizant of the outside world, tries to keep himself in context so he won’t lose his entire control too early. This effort holds up until Pavlina comes again, writhing under him and bathed in sweat, mouth opened wide and gasping for breath, and Pavel collapses on to her and loses himself entirely then, fucking deep in to her, hard and unrelenting, how she coaxes him, how she wants it, what she needs from him. He holds her hips reverently and explodes inside of her, trembling and feeling her tremble in return, falling in to her and trusting her to accept his weight.
He wraps his arms around her sweaty body, laying his face on her shoulder and their skin sticks together. He can hear the sound of his pumping arteries and the push of his breath and listens as they slowly calm. She’s cradling the nape of his neck, petting his hair. He pulls up to kiss her, to thank her.
They lie there for a bit, and neither of them know whether they should clean up afterward or if it’s normal.
“Should I take her to the shower?” he wonders aloud, and Pavlina shrugs, murmuring in to his jaw.
“Unless she says something, you should probably just ignore it,” she says, “You don’t want to make her feel unclean or anything. And it’s not that bad to just lay here, right?” Pavlina’s a genius.
“I’m proud to have met you,” he says later, as they’re putting on clothes and shaking hands, ready to leave.
“Me too, Pavel,” she says, and stands tall, smiling proudly, “Ga ga, ooh la la.”
“What?”
“Rah rah, roma ma.”
Pavel slaps his alarm with an irritated smack, groaning in to the dark. He pulls himself to his elbows and rolls his eyes at the cold, sticky sheets, because seriously, how pathetic. And what the hell, Hikaru as a girl?
“Christ, Pasha,” he chastises himself, stripping his sheets. “Who else on the Enterprise has sex dreams about masturbation?”