Quite Unexpected (Even in Space)
Title: Quite Unexpected (Even in Space)
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Bordering on crack.
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu
Summary: It's Chekov's birthday, but no one seems to remember.
Words: 899
Note: Based, somewhat inadequately, on a prompt at st_tos_kink.
They said when you went to space you never knew what to expect. Danger, fascination and sudden death could hit you at any given moment, any time you set foot on a new, formerly unexplored planet.
Pavel Chekov had known that when he joined Starfleet. In fact, it had been one of the driving factors for his decision to leave Earth. He wanted the unknown, the fascination and the thrill of danger, and also, his girlfriend had just left him and he had nothing better to do.
Still. The unknown, unexpected. Pavel craved it with the heart and soul of an explorer, wanted to be awed and surprised and just plain speechless in the face of the diversity this universe had to offer.
…except that after four years of serving on the Enterprise, where a week without alien invasion had to be marked as a specially occasion, and three years of being friends - really, really close friends - with a an enthusiastic, animal-loving botanist who found a new anatomically impossible species on every planet and also happened to be a history-geek with a purely scientific interest in antique weapons and a love for role playing, nothing really surprised Pavel anymore. There were things he had not seen before, things that raised his interest, but they were all at once been labelled with their specific brand of unknown and fascinating: rapid aging/de-aging virus: done that. Intelligent tentacle creature that wants to join the federation: pick a colour. Tool for the torture of presumed witches on a planet that looked impressively like Great-Britain in the seventeenth century? Need to ask Sulu what it’s called.
In other words, the unexpected had become expected, and therefore, thanks to the craziness of space and the randomness of Sulu’s more historical hobbies, nothing was really unexpected to Pavel Chekov anymore. (Not even the Spanish inquisition.)
So he wasn’t really surprised when in his fourth year in space he found that for the fourth time in a row, no one had remembered his birthday. And since he had expected this, he had no reason to be disappointed. (Except he was.)
Only, the first year there had been no one close enough to him to even know he had a birthday, let alone when it was. The second year he had spend a very nice day and night with a young yeoman who had just transferred to the ship, but had somehow forgotten to mention it was his birthday, so the event was completely unrelated to the occasion and didn’t count. And the third year he might have mentioned it in passing to Sulu and Scotty a week prior, but on the day in question, Chekov had been sitting in a cell on a primitive planet after Captain Kirk had been taken away to be interrogated by the very attractive and scarcely-clad queen, while Scotty did his best to disable the lock of the door and somewhere in the background, Mister Spock had been engaged in an agitated and somewhat random discussion with Doctor McCoy about the advantages and disadvantages of shore leave on planets that were not at all looking like home. So he couldn’t really blame anyone for forgetting.
But this year… this year there was no excuse. There was no drama, no invasion and no harmless plant that Sulu collected on some planet growing into a tentacle monster that has to be defeated with the sacrifice of the captain’s shirt. It was one of those weeks. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t know. Pavel had mentioned it, in passing, just yesterday. And the day before.
Five times.
But still nothing. Perhaps he should have been less subtle in his “I’m expecting messages from home tomorrow because tomorrow is my birthday and my family will send their regards because that’s what people who care do” speech.
Or perhaps no one here cared enough to pay attention.
It was a melodramatic and probably silly thought, but at the moment all evidence pointed toward this truth. Sot it was with a bad mood and an air of general depression that Pavel left his place on the bridge after his shift and wandered back to his quarters.
His empty, lonely quarters.
But when he entered, they were not empty and lonely. Sulu was inside, and for a moment Pavel wondered how he had come in, but then he remembered that he once gave his friend the code for his door in the hope that one day (or night) he might enter - uninvited and just possibly in medieval costume - to take their relationship to the next level.
Sulu didn’t wear a medieval costume, or any costume at all. Or anything at all, for that matter. He was quite naked, and stunned and, indeed, genuinely surprised as he was, Pavel took a moment to admire the lithe but well-muscled body sprawled on his bed without any sign of embarrassment.
Naked was an acceptable alternative to the scenario of his dreams.
“Happy birthday, Pavel,” Sulu greeted him, the light of the candle beside the bed dancing in his eyes. “I thought to celebrate the anniversary of your birth we should take our relationship to the next level.”
Pavel broke into a wide grin. And jumped on the bed.
And proceeded to show his pleasantly surprised lover that, contrary to public belief, birthday sex had actually been invented in Russia.
March 11, 2010
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Bordering on crack.
Pairing: Chekov/Sulu
Summary: It's Chekov's birthday, but no one seems to remember.
Words: 899
Note: Based, somewhat inadequately, on a prompt at st_tos_kink.
They said when you went to space you never knew what to expect. Danger, fascination and sudden death could hit you at any given moment, any time you set foot on a new, formerly unexplored planet.
Pavel Chekov had known that when he joined Starfleet. In fact, it had been one of the driving factors for his decision to leave Earth. He wanted the unknown, the fascination and the thrill of danger, and also, his girlfriend had just left him and he had nothing better to do.
Still. The unknown, unexpected. Pavel craved it with the heart and soul of an explorer, wanted to be awed and surprised and just plain speechless in the face of the diversity this universe had to offer.
…except that after four years of serving on the Enterprise, where a week without alien invasion had to be marked as a specially occasion, and three years of being friends - really, really close friends - with a an enthusiastic, animal-loving botanist who found a new anatomically impossible species on every planet and also happened to be a history-geek with a purely scientific interest in antique weapons and a love for role playing, nothing really surprised Pavel anymore. There were things he had not seen before, things that raised his interest, but they were all at once been labelled with their specific brand of unknown and fascinating: rapid aging/de-aging virus: done that. Intelligent tentacle creature that wants to join the federation: pick a colour. Tool for the torture of presumed witches on a planet that looked impressively like Great-Britain in the seventeenth century? Need to ask Sulu what it’s called.
In other words, the unexpected had become expected, and therefore, thanks to the craziness of space and the randomness of Sulu’s more historical hobbies, nothing was really unexpected to Pavel Chekov anymore. (Not even the Spanish inquisition.)
So he wasn’t really surprised when in his fourth year in space he found that for the fourth time in a row, no one had remembered his birthday. And since he had expected this, he had no reason to be disappointed. (Except he was.)
Only, the first year there had been no one close enough to him to even know he had a birthday, let alone when it was. The second year he had spend a very nice day and night with a young yeoman who had just transferred to the ship, but had somehow forgotten to mention it was his birthday, so the event was completely unrelated to the occasion and didn’t count. And the third year he might have mentioned it in passing to Sulu and Scotty a week prior, but on the day in question, Chekov had been sitting in a cell on a primitive planet after Captain Kirk had been taken away to be interrogated by the very attractive and scarcely-clad queen, while Scotty did his best to disable the lock of the door and somewhere in the background, Mister Spock had been engaged in an agitated and somewhat random discussion with Doctor McCoy about the advantages and disadvantages of shore leave on planets that were not at all looking like home. So he couldn’t really blame anyone for forgetting.
But this year… this year there was no excuse. There was no drama, no invasion and no harmless plant that Sulu collected on some planet growing into a tentacle monster that has to be defeated with the sacrifice of the captain’s shirt. It was one of those weeks. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t know. Pavel had mentioned it, in passing, just yesterday. And the day before.
Five times.
But still nothing. Perhaps he should have been less subtle in his “I’m expecting messages from home tomorrow because tomorrow is my birthday and my family will send their regards because that’s what people who care do” speech.
Or perhaps no one here cared enough to pay attention.
It was a melodramatic and probably silly thought, but at the moment all evidence pointed toward this truth. Sot it was with a bad mood and an air of general depression that Pavel left his place on the bridge after his shift and wandered back to his quarters.
His empty, lonely quarters.
But when he entered, they were not empty and lonely. Sulu was inside, and for a moment Pavel wondered how he had come in, but then he remembered that he once gave his friend the code for his door in the hope that one day (or night) he might enter - uninvited and just possibly in medieval costume - to take their relationship to the next level.
Sulu didn’t wear a medieval costume, or any costume at all. Or anything at all, for that matter. He was quite naked, and stunned and, indeed, genuinely surprised as he was, Pavel took a moment to admire the lithe but well-muscled body sprawled on his bed without any sign of embarrassment.
Naked was an acceptable alternative to the scenario of his dreams.
“Happy birthday, Pavel,” Sulu greeted him, the light of the candle beside the bed dancing in his eyes. “I thought to celebrate the anniversary of your birth we should take our relationship to the next level.”
Pavel broke into a wide grin. And jumped on the bed.
And proceeded to show his pleasantly surprised lover that, contrary to public belief, birthday sex had actually been invented in Russia.
March 11, 2010