Various Tongues
Title: Various Tongues
Pairing: Scotty/Chekov, Scotty/Chekov/Sulu
Summary: Sulu is very much turned on by foreign accents. Threesome ensues. ~2,200 words.
Rating: NC-17
Other: First Star Trek fic! I need a beta.
Six months in to their five year mission, Sulu should have just been captivated by the tremendous opportunity that had fallen in to his lap. This instantaneous reward for all of his hard work through the years, piloting the Enterprise, should have overwhelmed him in a way that his job would be the center of his thoughts for months at least. He should have been spending all of his free time thinking about it, planning for the future, practicing his timing, his techniques. Should have.
As it was, Lieutenant H. Sulu couldn’t help but return to his quarters at the end of each long day and tug the hell out of his cock.
It was simultaneously terrifying and stunning to sit behind the controls of Earth’s number one starship every day. However, there was the (distracting, all too distracting) matter of the boy sitting next to him-and Sulu had to remind himself, of course, that Chekov was a boy, really-and the soft, emphatic, heavily accented voice that crept its way under Sulu’s skin and in to his trousers every single day. Sulu almost felt it, like a teasing touch ghosting from under his balls to the head of his prick, a touch that made his heart spurt newly hot blood through his chest with each misplaced v and over-pronounced k.
Sulu had always felt a bit bland as far as his speaking talents went. American boy, American accent, no other languages in his arsenal but Standard, no exoticism but for his name, which he couldn’t even say in the distinctly Japanese way his grandparents did. He’d lived in a suburb full of the same American-bred boys and girls for most of his life. Coming to Starfleet was like a goddamn auditory awakening. He hadn’t even realized before how ridiculously turned on he was by anything vaguely foreign sounding, and it wasn’t even the normal thing like teenagers swoon over, the French and the Italian and the romantics. His first ongoing fling was with a visiting Austrian; Hikaru didn’t even have to know his name before begging to swallow up those hard rs and sweeping sch noises, wanting to draw every ja, ja possible from his throat.
Chekov’s accent was fading, of course, it would never be as potent as it was that first day. That first manic day Sulu had no idea how he would remember all of his training, how he would not fuck this up with that kid spouting off like that next to him, yelling with that voice in that accent, so abrasive and so Russian and so fuckable. In a way it was worse, now. Chekov knew his speech was acclimating, so he just talked more and more often, shaping those invasive sounds with those pink lips from that pale, oh-so-innocent face.
That first day beat the living hell out of all of them, and it wasn’t difficult to focus on the task at hand once the shit hit the fan. But Sulu was just getting used to the background noise in his head, the voice telling him to take the lithe little body of the boy just to his right and fuck him absolutely insane, when Kirk returned. And Kirk’s guest said that first "em.." and Sulu thought What the fuck you can’t be serious but Scotty kept talking and indeed, the wonders of modern technology had produced for Sulu another heavily accented object of fantasy, one whose hands Sulu wanted roughly grabbing his hips and plowing in to him, groaning with his ochs and his ayes and his idioms. Oh god, the idioms.
The voices both from his side and passing electronically through the bridge were a near constant pressure on his arousal. Unexpected remarks came as a sudden spark in his groin and extended conversations like a slow burn under his collar and all through his body. Sulu had never met anyone whose simple greetings made him want like this, until the two of them showed up, all cocksure and unafraid of what their infuriatingly strong accents might do to people like Hikaru.
It was torture, and Sulu loved every minute of it. Every morning he’d wind his merry old way through the halls of Earth’s greatest ship, sit all day doing the job he was meant to, and until recently, skitter back uncomfortably to his room and fist his cock until he came, taunting himself with fantasies of Chekov’s rosy matching lips, nipples, cock, Scotty’s weathered hands and hairy arms and legs grasping on to Sulu’s body. He would lay there thinking about the sounds he’d like to hear and replay them over and over, exploding over his fingers in heavy pulses.
Recently, just to add to Sulu’s luck, they’d become friends: hanging out, chatting vibrantly, the whole works. Well, Scotty and Chekov had become friends, very close, bridging their age gap with fondness for the sciences. Sulu could have kept up, if only he actually cared what they were saying. He chose to just observe, most of the time. Well, to listen. He could only guess why Chekov and Scotty put up with his tagging along in their daily activities, with what little input he had, and he imagined they must think him exceedingly quiet, but he couldn’t interrupt them. You had to interrupt those two when they really got in to it, or you didn’t say anything.
Nowadays, instead of rushing off after his shift, he waited until after their joint dinner, their chess games, their sitting around shooting the shit, before he left for his room, tired or wide awake, blitzed or sober, always hard as a rock. He always left Scotty and Chekov alone, not bothering to make conversation with just the one, leaving with the fresh impressions of the two of them on his mind, blathering on in those lovely voices.
Yes, they spent a lot of time together, Scotty and Chekov. Hikaru imagined they would be together right now, hanging out and cheerily talking physics or engineering or jive about each other’s moms for all Hikaru cared, just things that he barely absorbed but for the tantalizing, seductive way they were said.
Sulu winds his leisurely way down the hall, looking forward to tonight’s entertainment, counting silver plated numbers before finally rapping his knuckles on Scotty’s door.
There’s some talking on the other side; Sulu can barely make it out. Figuring the two of them simply haven’t heard his entreaty, Sulu opens the unlocked door and is stunned where he stands.
Scotty sits fully clothed in his desk chair, looking unruffled but for the shine of sweat on his forehead and the naked ensign balanced on his cock. Chekov-Pavel-has his hands braced on the armrests and is riding him with Scotty’s hands at his waist, biting his lip, head tipped back, eyebrow furrowed in heat and feeling. His cock stands proud and red against his belly; his tensed feet never touching the ground.
And they are talking.
"That’s right lad-don’t you like that? Do you need it?"
"Yes, yes, da, I need it so badly, Scotty!" Chekov’s Russian comes flowing in to his speech without pause.
Sulu tells himself viciously to close the door but cannot decide which side of the door to be on.
"Fuck, Pavel, Pasha, open your eyes-"
And that’s when he’s caught. Chekov, his friend, opens his eyes and stares right in to Sulu, clear green with the nakedness that only having a dick inside of you can really achieve, vulnerable and free and wanting, the wanting that doesn’t disappear when they made eye contact, and Hikaru is so fucking hard just looking at them.
“Come in,” the boy chokes, “Come in, Hikaru, please-”
“Close the door,” Scotty echoes, and once Sulu has complied, “Aye, that’s good. Now come and suck this poor lad’s cock.”
Sulu thinks the demand couldn’t have been more reasonable and quickly stumbles to his knees in front of them, thinking he would do anything the two of them said as long as they kept talking.
Scotty groans watching Sulu scramble for them, and Sulu can’t help but to grab desperately at Pavel’s pale thighs, which are bouncing with his efforts to fuck himself to orgasm, and Sulu has all the intention of swallowing his whole cock when Scotty suddenly says, “Hold on,” and then the two of them, these foreign but oh-so-familiar men that Hikaru had lusted after for months, are standing on their knees on the floor, the chair cast aside like so much garbage, Hikaru met with Scotty’s and with Chekov’s gasping faces.
Scotty keeps thrusting, holding Pavel’s hips and telling him in that voice, take that cock, take it, and Pavel kept screaming yes, yes, yes, tipping forward but never falling over. Sulu sat quickly to place his hands over Scotty’s on Chekov’s hips, sucking Chekov’s hard cock down his throat.
Chekov’s scream filled the room and jolted Hikaru’s cock to full attention, but he couldn’t pay it any mind, not now, when every bob of his head wrung filthy encouragement from Pavel’s lips. Pavel’s hands grasp in his hair and around his neck, pushing his head forward, fucking Hikaru’s mouth.
“Swallow it down, yes, let me fuck your face, always so silent, Hikaru, let me shut you up,” and all Hikaru hears is the strain on swallow, the difficulty in the w.
Sulu feels Scotty watching him from over Chekov’s shoulders, watching Chekov’s cock disappear down Sulu’s throat with every thrust he takes at Chekov’s eager ass. Soon his thrusts became harder and less rhythmic, dissolving Chekov in to moans and incoherence, his cock harder and pulsing as Sulu rubs his tongue under the head. When Scotty comes Sulu can almost differentiate his accent within the messy groan that issues from his whole body. Chekov supports his weight despite being near the edge himself, holding Scotty’s arms around his abdomen as if he couldn’t ever let go.
Pavel pulses in Sulu’s mouth with a series of high pitched keens and whimpers, Sulu swallowing down his come gratefully with every hot pulse, letting the excess dribble through his lips and down his chin. He pulls away and coughs, resting his head on Chekov’s smooth stomach.
It’s a wonder the two men in front of him continue to support themselves, their faces slack and their bodies flexible and limp against each other. Sulu relishes in the feel of Chekov’s soft skin, thinking he couldn’t be luckier, running his hands up his sides and his and Scotty’s arms.
When they come to, however, Sulu quickly finds himself on his knees, hauled up from behind with Scotty’s rough hands under his arms, hot breath in his ears, and Chekov is unbuttoning, unzipping his pants, dragging them down his thighs and grabbing his hard, oversensitive cock so suddenly that Sulu chokes and sputters.
“Did you like that?” comes a hot whisper from over his shoulder, the Scottish lilt doing the same magic it does every day, making him groan and tense, his body overstimulated and sensitive to the touch. “Did you like my Pavel’s cock jammed down your throat? God, kid, you never do talk, do you?”
“Always silent. Just watching. What are you thinking about, Hikaru? What’s going through that quiet head of yours?” Chekov taunts from the other side of Sulu’s head, his body flush against Sulu’s chest and Scotty pressed tight to his back, masculine hands grabbing for his ass greedily.
Sulu hadn’t realized he’d built up the reputation as a strong, silent type. But if this is what it got him, well, he wasn’t complaining. He chokes then, unable to voice a thing, except for when Chekov’s head dives downward, toward Hikaru’s aching cock.
“No!” Hikaru stops him, grabbing under his jaw. “Please, please keep talking,” he begs.
“Yes, sir,” Chekov laughs, suddenly tugging at him forcefully.
Scotty’s hands are suddenly slippery and probing at him, the sensations at his back and front loading Hikaru with heat that rolls through him in waves. Scotty is barking delicious nonsense in his ear, Chekov laughing and asking him questions in a language Hikaru vows to never learn, if only to preserve the novelty of it.
Scotty strokes something inside of him and all of Sulu’s nerves dance at once, just a few more desperate pulls before he sobs out his orgasm, collapsing on to Chekov only to be pushed back on to Scotty, pressed between the two of them, sticking to Chekov’s naked belly, still trapped in the uniform trousers around his knees.
Chekov and Scotty are smiling lazily, staring at each other like they’d find another universe behind the other’s eyes. Sulu thinks he should have recognized this thing between them earlier, and probably would have if he weren’t so intent on listening to them without really listening. Of course, Sulu is happy then to be pressed between the two lovers, and then to be dressed by them and sent on his way, Scottish brogues and Russian idioms dancing lightly together in his head.
Pairing: Scotty/Chekov, Scotty/Chekov/Sulu
Summary: Sulu is very much turned on by foreign accents. Threesome ensues. ~2,200 words.
Rating: NC-17
Other: First Star Trek fic! I need a beta.
Six months in to their five year mission, Sulu should have just been captivated by the tremendous opportunity that had fallen in to his lap. This instantaneous reward for all of his hard work through the years, piloting the Enterprise, should have overwhelmed him in a way that his job would be the center of his thoughts for months at least. He should have been spending all of his free time thinking about it, planning for the future, practicing his timing, his techniques. Should have.
As it was, Lieutenant H. Sulu couldn’t help but return to his quarters at the end of each long day and tug the hell out of his cock.
It was simultaneously terrifying and stunning to sit behind the controls of Earth’s number one starship every day. However, there was the (distracting, all too distracting) matter of the boy sitting next to him-and Sulu had to remind himself, of course, that Chekov was a boy, really-and the soft, emphatic, heavily accented voice that crept its way under Sulu’s skin and in to his trousers every single day. Sulu almost felt it, like a teasing touch ghosting from under his balls to the head of his prick, a touch that made his heart spurt newly hot blood through his chest with each misplaced v and over-pronounced k.
Sulu had always felt a bit bland as far as his speaking talents went. American boy, American accent, no other languages in his arsenal but Standard, no exoticism but for his name, which he couldn’t even say in the distinctly Japanese way his grandparents did. He’d lived in a suburb full of the same American-bred boys and girls for most of his life. Coming to Starfleet was like a goddamn auditory awakening. He hadn’t even realized before how ridiculously turned on he was by anything vaguely foreign sounding, and it wasn’t even the normal thing like teenagers swoon over, the French and the Italian and the romantics. His first ongoing fling was with a visiting Austrian; Hikaru didn’t even have to know his name before begging to swallow up those hard rs and sweeping sch noises, wanting to draw every ja, ja possible from his throat.
Chekov’s accent was fading, of course, it would never be as potent as it was that first day. That first manic day Sulu had no idea how he would remember all of his training, how he would not fuck this up with that kid spouting off like that next to him, yelling with that voice in that accent, so abrasive and so Russian and so fuckable. In a way it was worse, now. Chekov knew his speech was acclimating, so he just talked more and more often, shaping those invasive sounds with those pink lips from that pale, oh-so-innocent face.
That first day beat the living hell out of all of them, and it wasn’t difficult to focus on the task at hand once the shit hit the fan. But Sulu was just getting used to the background noise in his head, the voice telling him to take the lithe little body of the boy just to his right and fuck him absolutely insane, when Kirk returned. And Kirk’s guest said that first "em.." and Sulu thought What the fuck you can’t be serious but Scotty kept talking and indeed, the wonders of modern technology had produced for Sulu another heavily accented object of fantasy, one whose hands Sulu wanted roughly grabbing his hips and plowing in to him, groaning with his ochs and his ayes and his idioms. Oh god, the idioms.
The voices both from his side and passing electronically through the bridge were a near constant pressure on his arousal. Unexpected remarks came as a sudden spark in his groin and extended conversations like a slow burn under his collar and all through his body. Sulu had never met anyone whose simple greetings made him want like this, until the two of them showed up, all cocksure and unafraid of what their infuriatingly strong accents might do to people like Hikaru.
It was torture, and Sulu loved every minute of it. Every morning he’d wind his merry old way through the halls of Earth’s greatest ship, sit all day doing the job he was meant to, and until recently, skitter back uncomfortably to his room and fist his cock until he came, taunting himself with fantasies of Chekov’s rosy matching lips, nipples, cock, Scotty’s weathered hands and hairy arms and legs grasping on to Sulu’s body. He would lay there thinking about the sounds he’d like to hear and replay them over and over, exploding over his fingers in heavy pulses.
Recently, just to add to Sulu’s luck, they’d become friends: hanging out, chatting vibrantly, the whole works. Well, Scotty and Chekov had become friends, very close, bridging their age gap with fondness for the sciences. Sulu could have kept up, if only he actually cared what they were saying. He chose to just observe, most of the time. Well, to listen. He could only guess why Chekov and Scotty put up with his tagging along in their daily activities, with what little input he had, and he imagined they must think him exceedingly quiet, but he couldn’t interrupt them. You had to interrupt those two when they really got in to it, or you didn’t say anything.
Nowadays, instead of rushing off after his shift, he waited until after their joint dinner, their chess games, their sitting around shooting the shit, before he left for his room, tired or wide awake, blitzed or sober, always hard as a rock. He always left Scotty and Chekov alone, not bothering to make conversation with just the one, leaving with the fresh impressions of the two of them on his mind, blathering on in those lovely voices.
Yes, they spent a lot of time together, Scotty and Chekov. Hikaru imagined they would be together right now, hanging out and cheerily talking physics or engineering or jive about each other’s moms for all Hikaru cared, just things that he barely absorbed but for the tantalizing, seductive way they were said.
Sulu winds his leisurely way down the hall, looking forward to tonight’s entertainment, counting silver plated numbers before finally rapping his knuckles on Scotty’s door.
There’s some talking on the other side; Sulu can barely make it out. Figuring the two of them simply haven’t heard his entreaty, Sulu opens the unlocked door and is stunned where he stands.
Scotty sits fully clothed in his desk chair, looking unruffled but for the shine of sweat on his forehead and the naked ensign balanced on his cock. Chekov-Pavel-has his hands braced on the armrests and is riding him with Scotty’s hands at his waist, biting his lip, head tipped back, eyebrow furrowed in heat and feeling. His cock stands proud and red against his belly; his tensed feet never touching the ground.
And they are talking.
"That’s right lad-don’t you like that? Do you need it?"
"Yes, yes, da, I need it so badly, Scotty!" Chekov’s Russian comes flowing in to his speech without pause.
Sulu tells himself viciously to close the door but cannot decide which side of the door to be on.
"Fuck, Pavel, Pasha, open your eyes-"
And that’s when he’s caught. Chekov, his friend, opens his eyes and stares right in to Sulu, clear green with the nakedness that only having a dick inside of you can really achieve, vulnerable and free and wanting, the wanting that doesn’t disappear when they made eye contact, and Hikaru is so fucking hard just looking at them.
“Come in,” the boy chokes, “Come in, Hikaru, please-”
“Close the door,” Scotty echoes, and once Sulu has complied, “Aye, that’s good. Now come and suck this poor lad’s cock.”
Sulu thinks the demand couldn’t have been more reasonable and quickly stumbles to his knees in front of them, thinking he would do anything the two of them said as long as they kept talking.
Scotty groans watching Sulu scramble for them, and Sulu can’t help but to grab desperately at Pavel’s pale thighs, which are bouncing with his efforts to fuck himself to orgasm, and Sulu has all the intention of swallowing his whole cock when Scotty suddenly says, “Hold on,” and then the two of them, these foreign but oh-so-familiar men that Hikaru had lusted after for months, are standing on their knees on the floor, the chair cast aside like so much garbage, Hikaru met with Scotty’s and with Chekov’s gasping faces.
Scotty keeps thrusting, holding Pavel’s hips and telling him in that voice, take that cock, take it, and Pavel kept screaming yes, yes, yes, tipping forward but never falling over. Sulu sat quickly to place his hands over Scotty’s on Chekov’s hips, sucking Chekov’s hard cock down his throat.
Chekov’s scream filled the room and jolted Hikaru’s cock to full attention, but he couldn’t pay it any mind, not now, when every bob of his head wrung filthy encouragement from Pavel’s lips. Pavel’s hands grasp in his hair and around his neck, pushing his head forward, fucking Hikaru’s mouth.
“Swallow it down, yes, let me fuck your face, always so silent, Hikaru, let me shut you up,” and all Hikaru hears is the strain on swallow, the difficulty in the w.
Sulu feels Scotty watching him from over Chekov’s shoulders, watching Chekov’s cock disappear down Sulu’s throat with every thrust he takes at Chekov’s eager ass. Soon his thrusts became harder and less rhythmic, dissolving Chekov in to moans and incoherence, his cock harder and pulsing as Sulu rubs his tongue under the head. When Scotty comes Sulu can almost differentiate his accent within the messy groan that issues from his whole body. Chekov supports his weight despite being near the edge himself, holding Scotty’s arms around his abdomen as if he couldn’t ever let go.
Pavel pulses in Sulu’s mouth with a series of high pitched keens and whimpers, Sulu swallowing down his come gratefully with every hot pulse, letting the excess dribble through his lips and down his chin. He pulls away and coughs, resting his head on Chekov’s smooth stomach.
It’s a wonder the two men in front of him continue to support themselves, their faces slack and their bodies flexible and limp against each other. Sulu relishes in the feel of Chekov’s soft skin, thinking he couldn’t be luckier, running his hands up his sides and his and Scotty’s arms.
When they come to, however, Sulu quickly finds himself on his knees, hauled up from behind with Scotty’s rough hands under his arms, hot breath in his ears, and Chekov is unbuttoning, unzipping his pants, dragging them down his thighs and grabbing his hard, oversensitive cock so suddenly that Sulu chokes and sputters.
“Did you like that?” comes a hot whisper from over his shoulder, the Scottish lilt doing the same magic it does every day, making him groan and tense, his body overstimulated and sensitive to the touch. “Did you like my Pavel’s cock jammed down your throat? God, kid, you never do talk, do you?”
“Always silent. Just watching. What are you thinking about, Hikaru? What’s going through that quiet head of yours?” Chekov taunts from the other side of Sulu’s head, his body flush against Sulu’s chest and Scotty pressed tight to his back, masculine hands grabbing for his ass greedily.
Sulu hadn’t realized he’d built up the reputation as a strong, silent type. But if this is what it got him, well, he wasn’t complaining. He chokes then, unable to voice a thing, except for when Chekov’s head dives downward, toward Hikaru’s aching cock.
“No!” Hikaru stops him, grabbing under his jaw. “Please, please keep talking,” he begs.
“Yes, sir,” Chekov laughs, suddenly tugging at him forcefully.
Scotty’s hands are suddenly slippery and probing at him, the sensations at his back and front loading Hikaru with heat that rolls through him in waves. Scotty is barking delicious nonsense in his ear, Chekov laughing and asking him questions in a language Hikaru vows to never learn, if only to preserve the novelty of it.
Scotty strokes something inside of him and all of Sulu’s nerves dance at once, just a few more desperate pulls before he sobs out his orgasm, collapsing on to Chekov only to be pushed back on to Scotty, pressed between the two of them, sticking to Chekov’s naked belly, still trapped in the uniform trousers around his knees.
Chekov and Scotty are smiling lazily, staring at each other like they’d find another universe behind the other’s eyes. Sulu thinks he should have recognized this thing between them earlier, and probably would have if he weren’t so intent on listening to them without really listening. Of course, Sulu is happy then to be pressed between the two lovers, and then to be dressed by them and sent on his way, Scottish brogues and Russian idioms dancing lightly together in his head.