Kink Meme roundup
Prompt: M. Night's The Village AU (Chekov/Sulu, 1,354 words)
The floorboards creak with weariness as Pavel Chekov’s bare feet dance across them. Father is asleep for the night; Mother is asleep for as long as the gods will have her, and the Village is quiet. Pavel is awake though; he sleeps less than the others. He sleeps rarely, for he finds the night agrees with him far more than the day. The night allows the stars to glitter shamelessly, flanking the moon in all of their brave beauty and he finds camaraderie in their glow.
Hikaru has always slept soundly, and when they were children Pavel would trouble Hikaru frequently with his night restlessness, tapping the windows and waking all of Hikaru’s sisters only for the chance to tug Hikaru into the outdoors so they could have adventures, so they could watch the stars.
Hikaru has grown tall since then, taller than Pavel and he is one of the strongest young men to work the fields outside the village. He has always been quiet but now, instead of striking the townsmen and women as shy and stubborn, he is known as a contemplative, intelligent man, a true asset to the village, a future pillar of their council and their small society. It is a mystery to most why he still spends time with Pavel Chekov, the flighty boy who has always been pale and thin, the book-beggar who appears to stay indoors always, who secretly flies with the winds at night, over the hills and through the forests, though never past what is forbidden. Still, they are the best of friends, and they are seen together often.
There is a cut on Pavel’s foot, and the mending scab has faded from the bad color to a neutral brown; he is glad of this, though the cut was unlikely to attract those who are not spoken of. Pavel is hyper conscious of his toes and every sound they might make carrying him through the house. He is careful never to wake his family. His mother’s cloak wrapped around him snugly, he touches the cold window pane, fogging the glass with his breath. Hikaru is sitting outside. Pavel cannot see him from here, but he knows it, can imagine the moonlight reflecting on his dark hair. The whole village is sleeping and Hikaru sits outside, where the night air kisses his rigid face with dew.
Pavel slips outside with the quietest of steps, unseen as he has made it his talent to be, but Hikaru knows he is there. He is sitting in his rough wool pants and his sleeves rolled to the elbows, staring at the vacant night with his back to Pavel’s room. He is unstartled when Pavel sits next to him, with all the grace of a bird settling on a branch.
“The elders say it is unsafe to leave our houses, Hikaru,” Pavel tells the night, and Hikaru’s face suffers the minutest of changes. He has always been this way, sitting unblinkingly through Pavel’s speech, reactionary only beneath the surface. Pavel knows he dies for the words though, his ears twitching to pick up the sound, like his body reaches for Pavel’s when Pavel stumbles. Hikaru has reached for him always.
“And also, Hikaru,” Pavel says, whispering now, “It is quite cold.”
Hikaru looks at him, his dark eyes glinting with the stars. There’s something different about him, resigned. His face has always looked differently to Pavel in the dark, the tanned skin’s shadows more telling of the future, of Hikaru’s insides. He seems more serious. He says to Pavel, “You are not wearing any shoes.”
“You know I do not like them, Hikaru. They create a dishonesty between my feet and the Earth which I cannot tolerate,” Pavel says. He looks out, toward the woods, and back toward Hikaru’s strong posture. He says, “I knew you were here, Hikaru. I can feel it when you’re near, though I’m not sure why. ”
“I apologize for not taking the seat next to yours at dinner this evening,” Hikaru whispers very suddenly. “You stared at your food and never spoke. This was my fault. I left you alone.”
“Hikaru,” Pavel says, staring at Hikaru’s turned cheek. “You knew before you apologized that I would forgive you, of course. I saw the men you sat with. You work with them, in the field. Sometimes we do not do the things we want so that others will not know we want to do them.”
Hikaru lifts his head and his mouth is firm. “You don’t know my wants,” he says, defensively.
“Why are you sitting on my father’s porch?” Pavel asks, wrapping the cloak tighter around him as his feet dig in to the cold dirt. “There are other porches on which to sit and behave introspectively, Hikaru.”
“The village is unsafe,” Hikaru says, hunching his shoulders.
“Do you object to my behaviors?” Pavel asks. “I am quite pale. I know the village believes I am weak, but I do not wish to be strong, I think. It appears the strong men of the village are also the least sentimental, and I do not want to lose the beauty I see in life. You are strong, Hikaru, but you are different. You are perhaps the most valuable person, in my mind. How are you so different, Hikaru? How do you keep this place in my brain that reserves itself for only you? The others tell me constantly how brave you are. How are you on this porch, when all the others are sequestered in their bedrooms, fearing the world?”
“I do not entertain the fears of the others,” Hikaru says, “I only worry about the work I must do.”
“Your work is much,” Pavel agrees. His eyes are wide and pale as they confront Hikaru in spite of the darkness that surrounds them. “The Village relies on you. I have all the concentration of a mouse, and you are so clearheaded, though sometimes you inhibit yourself, and do not make clear your desires.” Hikaru blinks and Pavel is unafraid in this moment. “Why have you not danced with me, Hikaru, when I have wanted you to for so many years? I have longed for you, Hikaru. When we are married, will you dance with me?” Pavel can see Hikaru is stunned, and allows an ounce of frustration. “Why do you not say what you think?”
Hikaru is breathing faster, staring at Pavel like he’s torn a favorite book in half. His face seems closer now, but Pavel’s vision has tunneled.
“Why can you not leave your thoughts alone?” Hikaru whispers, anxious, angry. “Why must you entreat me? Why must you say my name so infuriatingly often, when you know it makes my heart stumble on itself? If I want to speak, I will speak to you. If I want to dance, I will ask you to dance. What use is it to speak so constantly as you do? If I open my mouth, what good will come of it? Why would I confess to you, to the village, that I am sometimes confused, that I cannot think clearly when I see you, that you are comely to me in a way that makes my insides boil? Why would I question the rules of the village, why ask how the only color that is truly evil is the same that stains your cheeks so beautifully? What good would it be to tell you that the only time I feel fear as the others do is when I think of you in harm? I am on your porch for this reason, Pavel Chekov; I cannot think to have you in danger.” Hikaru’s voice is trembling and harsh, just as his thumb is, catching the tear on Pavel’s moonlit face. “And yes, Pavel, I will dance with you on our wedding night.”
The air is cold and silent as Pavel leans toward Hikaru, and Hikaru reaches for him as is instinctual, catching him with a kiss, his hand grasping Pavel’s shoulder through the cloak. The village is quiet, and Pavel and Hikaru are warm in the darkness.
Prompt: Plus-sized Girl!Kirk (Gaila/Girl!Kirk, Girl!Kirk/McCoy 1,125 words)
“Gaila, who is she?”
“Who’s who?” Gaila sat innocently swinging her legs and Jamie Kirk could imagine her cute little grin, from where she lay beneath the bed.
“The mouth-breather hiding under your bed!” Gaila’s roommate accused, and Jamie chose that moment to incredulously hop up from the floor, hair bouncing over her shoulders. Jamie and her roommate fought, and Gaila earnestly tried to follow their little spat for as long as possible, but that turned out to only be four seconds. She instead allowed herself distraction in the form of staring at Jamie’s incredible body shuffling out of the room, quickly now.
Kirk was probably the most attractive Terran female Gaila had met so far, which was a big statement, but was still solid truth. Gaila’s roommate Uhura was beautiful, all big eyes and smooth dark skin that Gaila found herself wanting to bite at the oddest intervals, but Kirk was a goddamn goddess, a perfect hourglass with full, pale thighs that she could lay between for hours.
Gaila had taken an art appreciation class as a mandatory humanities credit early on in her stay on Earth, and the moment she’d seen Kirk those old themes started popping in to her head: Rubenesque and the Rape of the Sabines and all of those paintings of Venus and Titian’s masterpieces and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Gaila watched as Kirk’s breasts bounced in her spare lace bra, her hips rotating delightfully as she backed toward the door, clothes in hand. Her hair followed her, blonde and fluffy and touchable-grabbable.
“Remember, three o’ clock!” Kirk shouted. Gaila had perfected the art of looking as if she were paying attention all along, and she nodded cheerfully as Kirk disappeared. Oh, what a woman.
*
“I outrank you, now, Bones,” Jamie Kirk spread out on Leonard McCoy’s bed, where she spent quite a bit of her time, whether reading academy texts at miles per minute, playing chess with herself leisurely, or beckoning McCoy wearing only a ridiculously alluring expression.
McCoy scoffed, dropping onto the bed with a sigh. “Didn’t much expect to be your superior for long, darlin’.” It was the truth.
Part of Leonard McCoy thought himself irresponsible for becoming so attached to James T. Kirk, however competent, smart, and compassionate the now-Captain was. She was too wild, too capricious, too goddamn sexy and that was dangerous for an old man with a daughter and a weary heart. He couldn’t stay away from her, though, and he wouldn’t ever want to, not that she would let him.
Leonard had grown up used to girls who teased and waited and preached a religious virtue that was nowadays obsolete in the context of interplanetary politics. Kirk wasn’t anything like what he’d grown up with. Sure, they’d been friends for years in the first hand, but once she’d made up her mind, Kirk hadn’t bothered with the slow dance or the hard to get. She’d seduced him almost instantly; McCoy still remembered the way her hair, the color of cornsilk, had swung in the light of a dirty motel outside of Bakersfield.
She was more than his best friend. His heart had nearly exploded earlier that week, when he found out she’d been on that drill, diving to her near-death to save a crewman. He was only too glad he hadn’t been aware of it at the time. He’d barely had the gumption to let her be thrown down to Delta Vega, knowing her free spirit couldn’t stand the safety of her pod for long.
“What are you spacing out for, Bonesy?” Kirk, hardly one for subtlety, had climbed astride him, looking down at him. McCoy sighed indulgently under her gaze, blue eyes that felt their way down his nervous system every time, coaxing the sympathy from his brain stem, wrapping his spine in warmth.
“That flight suit.” McCoy had only seen her in the High Altitude suit for the thirty seconds it took to check for bodily harm, but it was enough to imprint it upon his memory, a tight golden shell straining against her many curves.
Kirk laughed, and McCoy held her round, full hips, brushing his hands back to hold her more firmly against him, and feel the weight of her body pressing on his crotch.
“Did I tell you, Fleet bastards made such a big deal about finding one my size? And the one they gave me, it fit alright, but it barely contained my ass. Like, hardly.”
“You can’t expect one Starfleet-made suit to contain such audacity.”
“My ass is audacious?”
“Look, my point is, it can’t be contained.”
As with most jokes he told, Kirk laughed but didn’t give him too much credit. He liked that about her: the firm, and yes, audacious way she carried herself, even if she could be a pain in the ass.
“I thought I was going to fall out of my suit at forty thousand feet and have to make a grab at Sulu wearing just a helmet.”
McCoy laughed and his hands made a grab for her admittedly sizeable ass, detouring from where they’d been straying to her breasts, which were hanging distractingly in his line of vision. Kirk didn’t like to wear much when she didn’t have to, and McCoy didn’t put up much of a fight.
“Sulu,” McCoy coughed. “Poor guy would’ve died of shock. And then where would you be?”
Kirk rolled off of him and onto her back. “Naked with a dead man’s parachute?”
“Consoling a tiny Russian.”
“Yeah, that. They’re so gonna do it,” she mused to the ceiling, the tone of her voice indicting that this was one of those times she said “do it” and meant “fall hideously in love”. It happened more than she’d like to admit.
“Yeah,” McCoy agreed and pulled himself up, falling on to Jamie’s yielding abdomen with a sigh, breathing through her hair, nosing the soft skin of her neck. He felt her hands travel under his shirt and take what they wanted, exploring defiantly as her legs wrapped around his waist. McCoy gave a little mindless thrust, feeling incredibly warm.
“Get up, old man,” Kirk laughed, and McCoy obliged, however reluctantly. “I’m going to take a shower.” She walked half naked to the bathroom, letting her clothes fall where they would. McCoy told himself she’d pick them up later, knew she wouldn’t. He would’ve joined her, but loved too much the luxury of lying in bed and watching her go.
“And then I’ll fuck you,” McCoy assured from his place, if only to watch her head turn scandalized while the rest of her stood appealing in the bathroom door.
“And then I’ll fuck you… Captain,” she amended, and McCoy could deal with that, for her.
Prompt: Chekov accidentally gets a load of Kirk's porn stash, is mortified, silly fic commences!? (Chekov/Sulu, 808 words)
Sulu was idly checking his PADD messages when he heard the knock, and there was only one person he knew that actually knocked anymore.
“Come in, Chekov,” he called, listening to the door slide open and closed. He didn’t look up from his half finished letter home until Chekov’s unusual silence began to bug him.
“Hey, what’s-” Sulu was interrupted by the look on Pavel’s face. He was pale as a sheet, eyes strangely unfocused. “Jesus, Pav, what’s wrong?!”
Chekov swallowed thickly and Sulu quickly jumped up, grasping him by the shoulders.
“The Keptin asked me to repair his personal computer,” Chekov said with deliberate pacing, eyes refusing to move from Sulu’s far wall, “I… I thought folder marked ‘interspecies’ might involve interesting diplomatic documents.. but, but-Hikaru, Hikaru the videos-”
The pieces tumbled in to place. Sulu restrained the urge to laugh uproariously, instead staring at Chekov with dire seriousness. “Did you.. Did you seriously get in to Kirk’s porn stash?”
Chekov’s eyes snapped to his as he suddenly became defensive. “I didn’t know what it was! Hikaru! You have to be believing me! You must!”
“Yes of course, of course!” Sulu pled with him, feeling the giggles rise in his throat; Chekov only fucked up his grammar like this when he was distressed.
“Hikaru, it was awful! Disgusting! These people, Hikaru! The moaning! The voices! The music!”
Chekov had begun to furiously shake his head in to Sulu’s chest, grasping fistfuls of Sulu’s uniform in his anguish. Chekov’s overgrown curls fwapped his face and their scent reached his nose. He let himself have a little chuckle at the absurdity.
Chekov took his movement as encouragement or agreement or whatever allowed him to keep talking. “You could see every little detail, the sores, the overgrown hairs-”
“Pavel, that’s really gross.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Hikaru!!” Chekov stared up at him with urgency not befitting someone who’d just seen a bad porno.
“So why didn’t you just turn it off?!”
“I was traumatized, Hikaru! I think I might never have sex again!”
Sulu stopped laughing.
Chekov held on to Sulu’s torso, oblivious.
“Um, okay, let’s not worry ourselves so much, here,” Sulu said, his tone suddenly grim. “So you saw some bad porn-”
“It’s not just the one, Hikaru! They were all terrible!”
“Wait, you watched them all?!” Sulu said, incredulous.
“Well, no, there were over two thousand files..”
Sulu didn’t laugh, filing away Kirk’s impressive porn count for later. “Okay, so, see, it’s okay! There must be some good porn out there, right?”
Chekov shook his head. No, there was no way that was going to work.
“So what was the worst part?” Sulu tried, hoping to fix whatever it was that traumatized poor Pavel.
Chekov stared blankly ahead in the way that he was wont to do when thinking deeply.
“Acting. Terrible. And the skin sores. They were…” Chekov shuddered visibly.
“Okay, well..” Sulu went for the edges of his shirt, pulling it over his head. He really, really hoped this would work. Sulu tossed his uniform shirt aside and put his hands on either side of Chekov’s hips. “You like my skin, don’t you?”
Chekov’s wide eyes scanned his chest at length, his hands coming to rest over Sulu’s shoulders. “Yes…” he admitted, rubbing Sulu’s shoulders with almost-reverence, resting his forehead between Sulu’s collarbones.
Sulu kissed his forehead fondly, relief washing over him. “Well, I quite enjoy yours, too…” His hands traveled under Chekov’s gold shirt, dipping under his trousers to touch his hips, wanting to bite the flesh of his back.
Chekov smiled in to his neck and got the hint, pulling back to strip his shirt off; it was barely over his fists before he was attached to Sulu’s body again, letting Sulu nip at his jaw and ears, cradling the back of his head gently. Chekov moaned appreciatively, already pushing Sulu toward the bed.
Later, they laid breathless, sticking to each other and smiling blearily.
“See, why can’t they make porn like this? Like we have?” Chekov asked, his pale chest still rising and falling rapidly against Sulu’s.
Sulu laughed and shook his head. “It’s probably kind of boring to anyone not directly involved,” he said, thinking that porn actors rarely took their time the way he liked to with Chekov, and the vantage points, if someone were looking to record them, were probably very little, the way their whole bodies pressed against each other with need.
“I don’t know,” Chekov stared up at the ceiling for a long minute. “The Keptain had more security tapes saved to his computer than, I think, would be strictly necessary.”
“Um,” Sulu laughed, “I’m sure there aren’t any cameras in here, really,” he reassured Chekov, but flipped off the room behind Chekov’s back as he drew his lover closer.
The floorboards creak with weariness as Pavel Chekov’s bare feet dance across them. Father is asleep for the night; Mother is asleep for as long as the gods will have her, and the Village is quiet. Pavel is awake though; he sleeps less than the others. He sleeps rarely, for he finds the night agrees with him far more than the day. The night allows the stars to glitter shamelessly, flanking the moon in all of their brave beauty and he finds camaraderie in their glow.
Hikaru has always slept soundly, and when they were children Pavel would trouble Hikaru frequently with his night restlessness, tapping the windows and waking all of Hikaru’s sisters only for the chance to tug Hikaru into the outdoors so they could have adventures, so they could watch the stars.
Hikaru has grown tall since then, taller than Pavel and he is one of the strongest young men to work the fields outside the village. He has always been quiet but now, instead of striking the townsmen and women as shy and stubborn, he is known as a contemplative, intelligent man, a true asset to the village, a future pillar of their council and their small society. It is a mystery to most why he still spends time with Pavel Chekov, the flighty boy who has always been pale and thin, the book-beggar who appears to stay indoors always, who secretly flies with the winds at night, over the hills and through the forests, though never past what is forbidden. Still, they are the best of friends, and they are seen together often.
There is a cut on Pavel’s foot, and the mending scab has faded from the bad color to a neutral brown; he is glad of this, though the cut was unlikely to attract those who are not spoken of. Pavel is hyper conscious of his toes and every sound they might make carrying him through the house. He is careful never to wake his family. His mother’s cloak wrapped around him snugly, he touches the cold window pane, fogging the glass with his breath. Hikaru is sitting outside. Pavel cannot see him from here, but he knows it, can imagine the moonlight reflecting on his dark hair. The whole village is sleeping and Hikaru sits outside, where the night air kisses his rigid face with dew.
Pavel slips outside with the quietest of steps, unseen as he has made it his talent to be, but Hikaru knows he is there. He is sitting in his rough wool pants and his sleeves rolled to the elbows, staring at the vacant night with his back to Pavel’s room. He is unstartled when Pavel sits next to him, with all the grace of a bird settling on a branch.
“The elders say it is unsafe to leave our houses, Hikaru,” Pavel tells the night, and Hikaru’s face suffers the minutest of changes. He has always been this way, sitting unblinkingly through Pavel’s speech, reactionary only beneath the surface. Pavel knows he dies for the words though, his ears twitching to pick up the sound, like his body reaches for Pavel’s when Pavel stumbles. Hikaru has reached for him always.
“And also, Hikaru,” Pavel says, whispering now, “It is quite cold.”
Hikaru looks at him, his dark eyes glinting with the stars. There’s something different about him, resigned. His face has always looked differently to Pavel in the dark, the tanned skin’s shadows more telling of the future, of Hikaru’s insides. He seems more serious. He says to Pavel, “You are not wearing any shoes.”
“You know I do not like them, Hikaru. They create a dishonesty between my feet and the Earth which I cannot tolerate,” Pavel says. He looks out, toward the woods, and back toward Hikaru’s strong posture. He says, “I knew you were here, Hikaru. I can feel it when you’re near, though I’m not sure why. ”
“I apologize for not taking the seat next to yours at dinner this evening,” Hikaru whispers very suddenly. “You stared at your food and never spoke. This was my fault. I left you alone.”
“Hikaru,” Pavel says, staring at Hikaru’s turned cheek. “You knew before you apologized that I would forgive you, of course. I saw the men you sat with. You work with them, in the field. Sometimes we do not do the things we want so that others will not know we want to do them.”
Hikaru lifts his head and his mouth is firm. “You don’t know my wants,” he says, defensively.
“Why are you sitting on my father’s porch?” Pavel asks, wrapping the cloak tighter around him as his feet dig in to the cold dirt. “There are other porches on which to sit and behave introspectively, Hikaru.”
“The village is unsafe,” Hikaru says, hunching his shoulders.
“Do you object to my behaviors?” Pavel asks. “I am quite pale. I know the village believes I am weak, but I do not wish to be strong, I think. It appears the strong men of the village are also the least sentimental, and I do not want to lose the beauty I see in life. You are strong, Hikaru, but you are different. You are perhaps the most valuable person, in my mind. How are you so different, Hikaru? How do you keep this place in my brain that reserves itself for only you? The others tell me constantly how brave you are. How are you on this porch, when all the others are sequestered in their bedrooms, fearing the world?”
“I do not entertain the fears of the others,” Hikaru says, “I only worry about the work I must do.”
“Your work is much,” Pavel agrees. His eyes are wide and pale as they confront Hikaru in spite of the darkness that surrounds them. “The Village relies on you. I have all the concentration of a mouse, and you are so clearheaded, though sometimes you inhibit yourself, and do not make clear your desires.” Hikaru blinks and Pavel is unafraid in this moment. “Why have you not danced with me, Hikaru, when I have wanted you to for so many years? I have longed for you, Hikaru. When we are married, will you dance with me?” Pavel can see Hikaru is stunned, and allows an ounce of frustration. “Why do you not say what you think?”
Hikaru is breathing faster, staring at Pavel like he’s torn a favorite book in half. His face seems closer now, but Pavel’s vision has tunneled.
“Why can you not leave your thoughts alone?” Hikaru whispers, anxious, angry. “Why must you entreat me? Why must you say my name so infuriatingly often, when you know it makes my heart stumble on itself? If I want to speak, I will speak to you. If I want to dance, I will ask you to dance. What use is it to speak so constantly as you do? If I open my mouth, what good will come of it? Why would I confess to you, to the village, that I am sometimes confused, that I cannot think clearly when I see you, that you are comely to me in a way that makes my insides boil? Why would I question the rules of the village, why ask how the only color that is truly evil is the same that stains your cheeks so beautifully? What good would it be to tell you that the only time I feel fear as the others do is when I think of you in harm? I am on your porch for this reason, Pavel Chekov; I cannot think to have you in danger.” Hikaru’s voice is trembling and harsh, just as his thumb is, catching the tear on Pavel’s moonlit face. “And yes, Pavel, I will dance with you on our wedding night.”
The air is cold and silent as Pavel leans toward Hikaru, and Hikaru reaches for him as is instinctual, catching him with a kiss, his hand grasping Pavel’s shoulder through the cloak. The village is quiet, and Pavel and Hikaru are warm in the darkness.
Prompt: Plus-sized Girl!Kirk (Gaila/Girl!Kirk, Girl!Kirk/McCoy 1,125 words)
“Gaila, who is she?”
“Who’s who?” Gaila sat innocently swinging her legs and Jamie Kirk could imagine her cute little grin, from where she lay beneath the bed.
“The mouth-breather hiding under your bed!” Gaila’s roommate accused, and Jamie chose that moment to incredulously hop up from the floor, hair bouncing over her shoulders. Jamie and her roommate fought, and Gaila earnestly tried to follow their little spat for as long as possible, but that turned out to only be four seconds. She instead allowed herself distraction in the form of staring at Jamie’s incredible body shuffling out of the room, quickly now.
Kirk was probably the most attractive Terran female Gaila had met so far, which was a big statement, but was still solid truth. Gaila’s roommate Uhura was beautiful, all big eyes and smooth dark skin that Gaila found herself wanting to bite at the oddest intervals, but Kirk was a goddamn goddess, a perfect hourglass with full, pale thighs that she could lay between for hours.
Gaila had taken an art appreciation class as a mandatory humanities credit early on in her stay on Earth, and the moment she’d seen Kirk those old themes started popping in to her head: Rubenesque and the Rape of the Sabines and all of those paintings of Venus and Titian’s masterpieces and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Gaila watched as Kirk’s breasts bounced in her spare lace bra, her hips rotating delightfully as she backed toward the door, clothes in hand. Her hair followed her, blonde and fluffy and touchable-grabbable.
“Remember, three o’ clock!” Kirk shouted. Gaila had perfected the art of looking as if she were paying attention all along, and she nodded cheerfully as Kirk disappeared. Oh, what a woman.
*
“I outrank you, now, Bones,” Jamie Kirk spread out on Leonard McCoy’s bed, where she spent quite a bit of her time, whether reading academy texts at miles per minute, playing chess with herself leisurely, or beckoning McCoy wearing only a ridiculously alluring expression.
McCoy scoffed, dropping onto the bed with a sigh. “Didn’t much expect to be your superior for long, darlin’.” It was the truth.
Part of Leonard McCoy thought himself irresponsible for becoming so attached to James T. Kirk, however competent, smart, and compassionate the now-Captain was. She was too wild, too capricious, too goddamn sexy and that was dangerous for an old man with a daughter and a weary heart. He couldn’t stay away from her, though, and he wouldn’t ever want to, not that she would let him.
Leonard had grown up used to girls who teased and waited and preached a religious virtue that was nowadays obsolete in the context of interplanetary politics. Kirk wasn’t anything like what he’d grown up with. Sure, they’d been friends for years in the first hand, but once she’d made up her mind, Kirk hadn’t bothered with the slow dance or the hard to get. She’d seduced him almost instantly; McCoy still remembered the way her hair, the color of cornsilk, had swung in the light of a dirty motel outside of Bakersfield.
She was more than his best friend. His heart had nearly exploded earlier that week, when he found out she’d been on that drill, diving to her near-death to save a crewman. He was only too glad he hadn’t been aware of it at the time. He’d barely had the gumption to let her be thrown down to Delta Vega, knowing her free spirit couldn’t stand the safety of her pod for long.
“What are you spacing out for, Bonesy?” Kirk, hardly one for subtlety, had climbed astride him, looking down at him. McCoy sighed indulgently under her gaze, blue eyes that felt their way down his nervous system every time, coaxing the sympathy from his brain stem, wrapping his spine in warmth.
“That flight suit.” McCoy had only seen her in the High Altitude suit for the thirty seconds it took to check for bodily harm, but it was enough to imprint it upon his memory, a tight golden shell straining against her many curves.
Kirk laughed, and McCoy held her round, full hips, brushing his hands back to hold her more firmly against him, and feel the weight of her body pressing on his crotch.
“Did I tell you, Fleet bastards made such a big deal about finding one my size? And the one they gave me, it fit alright, but it barely contained my ass. Like, hardly.”
“You can’t expect one Starfleet-made suit to contain such audacity.”
“My ass is audacious?”
“Look, my point is, it can’t be contained.”
As with most jokes he told, Kirk laughed but didn’t give him too much credit. He liked that about her: the firm, and yes, audacious way she carried herself, even if she could be a pain in the ass.
“I thought I was going to fall out of my suit at forty thousand feet and have to make a grab at Sulu wearing just a helmet.”
McCoy laughed and his hands made a grab for her admittedly sizeable ass, detouring from where they’d been straying to her breasts, which were hanging distractingly in his line of vision. Kirk didn’t like to wear much when she didn’t have to, and McCoy didn’t put up much of a fight.
“Sulu,” McCoy coughed. “Poor guy would’ve died of shock. And then where would you be?”
Kirk rolled off of him and onto her back. “Naked with a dead man’s parachute?”
“Consoling a tiny Russian.”
“Yeah, that. They’re so gonna do it,” she mused to the ceiling, the tone of her voice indicting that this was one of those times she said “do it” and meant “fall hideously in love”. It happened more than she’d like to admit.
“Yeah,” McCoy agreed and pulled himself up, falling on to Jamie’s yielding abdomen with a sigh, breathing through her hair, nosing the soft skin of her neck. He felt her hands travel under his shirt and take what they wanted, exploring defiantly as her legs wrapped around his waist. McCoy gave a little mindless thrust, feeling incredibly warm.
“Get up, old man,” Kirk laughed, and McCoy obliged, however reluctantly. “I’m going to take a shower.” She walked half naked to the bathroom, letting her clothes fall where they would. McCoy told himself she’d pick them up later, knew she wouldn’t. He would’ve joined her, but loved too much the luxury of lying in bed and watching her go.
“And then I’ll fuck you,” McCoy assured from his place, if only to watch her head turn scandalized while the rest of her stood appealing in the bathroom door.
“And then I’ll fuck you… Captain,” she amended, and McCoy could deal with that, for her.
Prompt: Chekov accidentally gets a load of Kirk's porn stash, is mortified, silly fic commences!? (Chekov/Sulu, 808 words)
Sulu was idly checking his PADD messages when he heard the knock, and there was only one person he knew that actually knocked anymore.
“Come in, Chekov,” he called, listening to the door slide open and closed. He didn’t look up from his half finished letter home until Chekov’s unusual silence began to bug him.
“Hey, what’s-” Sulu was interrupted by the look on Pavel’s face. He was pale as a sheet, eyes strangely unfocused. “Jesus, Pav, what’s wrong?!”
Chekov swallowed thickly and Sulu quickly jumped up, grasping him by the shoulders.
“The Keptin asked me to repair his personal computer,” Chekov said with deliberate pacing, eyes refusing to move from Sulu’s far wall, “I… I thought folder marked ‘interspecies’ might involve interesting diplomatic documents.. but, but-Hikaru, Hikaru the videos-”
The pieces tumbled in to place. Sulu restrained the urge to laugh uproariously, instead staring at Chekov with dire seriousness. “Did you.. Did you seriously get in to Kirk’s porn stash?”
Chekov’s eyes snapped to his as he suddenly became defensive. “I didn’t know what it was! Hikaru! You have to be believing me! You must!”
“Yes of course, of course!” Sulu pled with him, feeling the giggles rise in his throat; Chekov only fucked up his grammar like this when he was distressed.
“Hikaru, it was awful! Disgusting! These people, Hikaru! The moaning! The voices! The music!”
Chekov had begun to furiously shake his head in to Sulu’s chest, grasping fistfuls of Sulu’s uniform in his anguish. Chekov’s overgrown curls fwapped his face and their scent reached his nose. He let himself have a little chuckle at the absurdity.
Chekov took his movement as encouragement or agreement or whatever allowed him to keep talking. “You could see every little detail, the sores, the overgrown hairs-”
“Pavel, that’s really gross.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Hikaru!!” Chekov stared up at him with urgency not befitting someone who’d just seen a bad porno.
“So why didn’t you just turn it off?!”
“I was traumatized, Hikaru! I think I might never have sex again!”
Sulu stopped laughing.
Chekov held on to Sulu’s torso, oblivious.
“Um, okay, let’s not worry ourselves so much, here,” Sulu said, his tone suddenly grim. “So you saw some bad porn-”
“It’s not just the one, Hikaru! They were all terrible!”
“Wait, you watched them all?!” Sulu said, incredulous.
“Well, no, there were over two thousand files..”
Sulu didn’t laugh, filing away Kirk’s impressive porn count for later. “Okay, so, see, it’s okay! There must be some good porn out there, right?”
Chekov shook his head. No, there was no way that was going to work.
“So what was the worst part?” Sulu tried, hoping to fix whatever it was that traumatized poor Pavel.
Chekov stared blankly ahead in the way that he was wont to do when thinking deeply.
“Acting. Terrible. And the skin sores. They were…” Chekov shuddered visibly.
“Okay, well..” Sulu went for the edges of his shirt, pulling it over his head. He really, really hoped this would work. Sulu tossed his uniform shirt aside and put his hands on either side of Chekov’s hips. “You like my skin, don’t you?”
Chekov’s wide eyes scanned his chest at length, his hands coming to rest over Sulu’s shoulders. “Yes…” he admitted, rubbing Sulu’s shoulders with almost-reverence, resting his forehead between Sulu’s collarbones.
Sulu kissed his forehead fondly, relief washing over him. “Well, I quite enjoy yours, too…” His hands traveled under Chekov’s gold shirt, dipping under his trousers to touch his hips, wanting to bite the flesh of his back.
Chekov smiled in to his neck and got the hint, pulling back to strip his shirt off; it was barely over his fists before he was attached to Sulu’s body again, letting Sulu nip at his jaw and ears, cradling the back of his head gently. Chekov moaned appreciatively, already pushing Sulu toward the bed.
Later, they laid breathless, sticking to each other and smiling blearily.
“See, why can’t they make porn like this? Like we have?” Chekov asked, his pale chest still rising and falling rapidly against Sulu’s.
Sulu laughed and shook his head. “It’s probably kind of boring to anyone not directly involved,” he said, thinking that porn actors rarely took their time the way he liked to with Chekov, and the vantage points, if someone were looking to record them, were probably very little, the way their whole bodies pressed against each other with need.
“I don’t know,” Chekov stared up at the ceiling for a long minute. “The Keptain had more security tapes saved to his computer than, I think, would be strictly necessary.”
“Um,” Sulu laughed, “I’m sure there aren’t any cameras in here, really,” he reassured Chekov, but flipped off the room behind Chekov’s back as he drew his lover closer.