Gift Fic: "A Man of Dark Intent," McCoy/Chekov, ADULT
Title: A Man of Dark Intent
Author: vinniebatman aka batmanvinnie
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Pairings: McCoy/Chekov (McChekov? Chekoy? McChek? McCov?)
Rating/Warnings: Adult. Big warnings for the Gay sex, blood, and a scene with intended non-con, in case you are sensitive to this issue.
Summary: On a Federation Colony, Chekov meets a man with dark intentions that will change his and McCoy's life.
Spoilers: Spoilers for ST:2009. None for the Original Series
Disclaimer: I so totally own these works. Bow Down! *Doctor's Note: Patient exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership toward Star Trek are pure fantasy. No harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.
Real Disclaimer: I make no money from this, and claim no ownership over the to any of the copyrighted material of "Star Trek." Those works belong to their creators.
Beta: _beetle_ . Yep, kinda lame.
Dedication: This is written for my darling _beetle_. I love you dear!!!!
Author's Note: The whole vampire-y lore I use is sort of a cross between Bram Stroker's Dracula (someone must have blood to be turned, and sunlight doesn't kill them, though they are weaker) and Underworld (eyes change color, no shape shifting abilities, and no weakness with regard to religious artifacts).
Author's Note 2: Thanks so much to strickens_girl , my fellow Beetle minion, for looking for someone to make our icon *claps.* And one bazillion thank yous to jameschick for making it.
* * * * * * * * * *
Despite time and distance, some things always remained the same.
Even though the bar was on the Federation colony Orthrus II, it was still loud and dark like every other bar Chekov had ever been in. He sat at the bar, alone amid groups of chattering friends, casting surreptitious glances over his shoulder to the small table where the Captain, Scotty, and McCoy sat. The Captain and Scotty kept talking and laughing, gregarious and the center of attention while McCoy sat quietly, occasionally grinning and shaking his head.
Originally, Sulu had accompanied Chekov to the bar (it had, in fact, been all Sulu's idea to go), but he'd been led away some time ago by a flirtatious woman. So Chekov sat, alone, sneaking careful but frequent glances back at McCoy. Each twitch of his lips and roll of his eyes was cataloged by Chekov's brain, the image of the doctor in jeans and brown, battered leather jacket committed to memory.
"So, which one are you watching?"
Slightly startled by the deep, smooth voice oozing confidence as it rose above the din, Chekov turned to find a handsome, dark haired man had moved into the vacant bar stool next to his.
"I, um, am not watching a-anyone," Chekov answered with a blush, and the man smirked. Chekov wondered if the man was as amused by his accent as everyone else.
"Oh, really? So you're just staring at all of them?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. But though his words were teasing, his tone was kind. He spoke again before Chekov could protest. "I'm just kidding you. I'm Alex."
Chekov looked at the hand extended to him, smooth with long finger, and shook it after a moment of hesitation. "Chekov. Pavel Chekov," he replied, blushing again.
Alex was attractive; hazel eyes, dark wavy hair, and a strong jaw line. He reminded Chekov strongly of Dr. McCoy, except this man was actually talking to him.
"So, what are you drinking, Pavel?" Alex asked. He looked into Chekov’s eyes, smiling warmly.
"Just a beer."
"Sounds like a good idea." Alex raised his hand, signaling the bartender. He pointed at Chekov's beer, then fully returned his attention to Chekov.
"So, Chekov, may I ask what brings you to Orthrus II? Or will you have to kill me if you tell me?"
Chekov laughed a little. "Nothing classified or exciting. Our ship had to deliver some medical supplies to the hospitals, and we have a few days planetside before we must leave again."
"Ah, so you're assigned to the Enterprise?" Alex nodded as if that were the only ship Chekov would be assigned too. "Impressive. May I ask how old you are, Pavel?"
Chekov flushed. He keenly recalled McCoy's reaction to the same answer just a few short months ago.
"I am… nearly eighteen."
Alex's wide, perfect grin brought an answering expression to Chekov's lips. "That's incredible; you should be proud of yourself, being assigned to Starfleet's flagship so young."
"I am. My family is very proud of me." Chekov finished his beer quickly, just to have something to do that wasn't blushing and grinning like an idiot. With perfect timing, the bartender, a Bolian, hurried over to hand Alex a beer.
"Another?" the bartender asked, grabbing Chekov's empty glass.
And even as Chekov said, “Da, thank you," a full one replaced it.
"So Pavel, how about a toast?"
"A toast? To what?" Chekov asked, but picked up his glass, careful not to slop any on the already sticky counter. Alex raised his drink and smiled. His teeth were straight and white, perfect.
"How about a toast to the youngest and handsomest Starfleet officer I've ever met."
Chekov blushed, the heat extending to the tips of his ears. "I do not... I mean, I do not believe that-"
Alex laughed, long and loud enough to turn heads even in a noisy bar. "Okay, then; how about a toast to… long life?"
Grateful, Chekov raised glass, clinking it against Alex's. “Ah, yes, that I can drink to.”
For the next hour, they had a pleasant conversation. Alex was well-traveled, and he quickly engaged Chekov in conversation on his childhood in Russia. He listened intently and shared his own experiences in Russia. He spoke freely without prodding, happy to talk with Chekov, eager to hear of Chekov's life.
Eventually, Alex stood and stretched. He was tall, though without McCoy’s broad shoulders. "Well Pavel, what say we go for a walk around the block, get some air? It's stuffy in here, and kinda loud."
Chekov hesitated, and Alex leaned on the bar, rather close. Between the beer and his resemblance to McCoy, Chekov’s heart was pounding. Every nerve ending in his body was alive and eager, a fraction of his desire for McCoy redirected to Alex.
"Hey, whichever one you're watching might get jealous if you disappear with me for a few minutes," Alex prodded gently.
Chekov looked over his shoulder at McCoy and the others. Kirk and Scotty were laughing, while McCoy sat quietly, an angry glower fixed on his drink. They probably wouldn't even notice if he left, and the area was filled with people. Part of him wanted to speak to McCoy, try to cheer him up. But there would undoubtedly be someone more attractive, someone more to the Doctor’s taste, that would come along and take the glower from his face. Chekov didn't want to be around for that.
He turned back to his beer and quickly drank the remainder.
"Okay, let's go."
* * * * * * * * * *
With each step he took away from the lights and noise of the bar, Chekov's world was spinning.
He felt loose and languid; in fact, far too loose-- weak even, considering he'd only had two beers before following Alex out of the bar. The fading sounds of people talking and laughing were muffled, as though his ears were covered with synthetic cotton. Despite the drugged sluggishness of his body and senses, Chekov's brain was still running near peak. He stumbled, only able to stay upright with the help of Alex's hand on his upper arm. Alex seemed neither surprised, nor as solicitous as he'd been in the bar, and Chekov then realized what had happened.
"When I looked over at the doctor," he said, “You put something into my drink.”
Alex smiled and held him up as Chekov teetered. "Well, those friends of yours would have noticed if I'd tried to force you out. White-knight Starfleet types, you know," Alex said matter-of-factly, that same unperturbed smile in place. "Anyway, I'm sorry, Pavel, I really am, but you're just such a pretty little thing; I couldn't resist.”
Chekov gathered his strength, trying to shove himself out of Alex's arms with numb hands. But Alex's grip didn't budge.
"No! Let me go!" he yelled out, or at least attempted to. His voice was just as weak as his body. He pushed again, but found himself unable to break that effortlessly iron grip. The pleasant smile dropped from Alex's face as hauled Chekov closer. Soon, all that was visible were those dark eyes, and they quickly lightened to an unnaturally pale green. Chekov was surrounded by the scent of beer and cologne, tinged with something he couldn’t place. Alex's lips barely brushed the corner of Chekov's mouth on their way to his ear.
"Don't bother fighting me, little one,” Alex whispered. “You won't win. I've been meaning to treat myself to something sweet and young, and you're it."
Chekov's heart pounded, sending whatever drug had been slipped into his drink racing through his body and draining him further; he didn't know what this man was, but there was something wrong, something unsafe. A primitive instinct reared its head, screaming for him to flee. But he couldn't; he could barely even stay conscious as the world began slipping and sliding around him.
Alex steered him down the street and into a quiet, deserted area. They passed warehouses and wound through a veritable maze, until Chekov was barely conscious and could no longer tell where they'd come from. When his legs gave out, Alex easily swung him up into his arms, his pace not even slowing or hesitating as he continued to wind his way through alleys.
Finally, Alex stopped at a warehouse and opened a door. He entered and crossed the dark, open space before carrying Chekov up a flight of stairs. As they reached the top, someone turned on a light downstairs.
It was still rather dark on the upper level, weak shafts of light leaking through. Chekov could only see Alex's smug grin as he was carried to a dark corner opposite the door, and laid on something a little too soft to be floor.
"Chekov?" It was McCoy's voice, angry, worried, and faintly embarrassed; welcome and alarming, all at once. "Goddamnit, where are you, kid?"
Chekov tried to call out a warning, but his voice was too weak, his muscles useless. He could only watch, his heart pounding as Alex winked at him, then moved into a shadowed corner. McCoy's hurried footsteps rang on the stairs, and soon he was visible, lined in light like a hero. He scanned the room, almost immediately focusing on Chekov and completely missing Alex, who stood perfectly still and smirking in the shadows.
"Good god, what the hell happened?" The doctor demanded, striding forward. Before he could reach Chekov, Alex burst forward with unnatural speed, tangling one hand into the doctor's hair, and wrapping the other around his chest and arms from behind.
“Two for the price of one; this must be my lucky day,” Alex said, laughing. The doctor cursed and struggled, but his actions had no effect. Alex simply winked at Chekov again, as if they were both in on the same secret, then buried his face against McCoy's throat.
The doctor screamed.
Chekov moaned fearfully, unable to do anything but watch as McCoy's yells and curses tapered off, until he finally went limp, sheet-white in Alex's arms.
Alex raised his head and grinned darkly at Chekov as he dropped McCoy to the floor. “Wow, that really took the edge off. Now, where were we, little one?”
Chekov's vision was going dark, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Alex sauntering toward him while McCoy's body struggled weakly for breath.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chekov was cold, his arms tingling and numb.
He opened his eyes, finding only darkness, and groaned. As his senses and memories returned, he remembered Alex, and being dragged away. He remembered McCoy following, and Alex doing... something to him, causing McCoy to fall to the floor, unconscious and fighting to breathe.
He remembered Alex moving toward him, still smiling. Always smiling.
He wanted to cry, to scream out for the doctor, but he knew that wouldn't help. So he instead took a deep breath and focused, trying to think past his fear. He could feel metallic bindings of some sort on his wrists, tying them above his head to what felt like a pipe. He sat on some sort of thin padding, likely the same one Alex had set him down on earlier, a blanket rasping against his skin, covering him. The fear surged as he realized that it wasn't overly cold in the building; he was just naked under the blanket. His heart began to pound. He was naked on a mattress in a dark room and McCoy lay somewhere, possibly dead, while Alex planned things Chekov didn't want to think about. Panic and fear tore at him, his breath coming faster. He had to get free, get help.
It was dark wherever he was, and he started to tug on his wrists. As his eyes became accustomed to the dimness, he studied his surroundings. He could make out a railing, covered windows, even some boxes that loomed in the dark. His stomach lurched as he made out a shape, sitting on a chair against the opposite wall. The form reached out, and a single small overhead light was flipped on. Chekov squeezed his eyes shut, the light painful. Seconds passed and he raised his eyelids, adjusting to the light.
Alex sat, relaxed and grinning. And sprawled on the floor next to him was McCoy's still, unmoving body.
"No," Chekov whispered. His stomach dropping as pain blossomed in his chest, tightening it and making it hard to breathe. He could feel his heart breaking as tears began to stream down his face. The doctor was dead, and it was his fault. Dead-dead-dead-dead-dead-dead, the word echoing though his mind.
"You were adorable, you know? Irresistible," Alex said, his voice saccharine and amused. Chekov shivered at the predatory glow in his eyes. There was no warmth, no caring, just a detached, possessive gleam in his eyes. "Do you have any idea how obvious it was he was the one you were staring at? I mean, the only one who didn't know you wanted him was him. And considering how much staring he was doing, I don't know how he missed it, but… as they say, there are none so blind. And his loss is certainly my gain.”
Chekov squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm himself. He could not save himself or the doctor (if he was even alive) by panicking and crying. "He is dead?"
"Oh, don't worry. He'll wake up in a little while, ready to do whatever I ask."
Despite the severity of the situation, Chekov snorted. He couldn't imagine McCoy following orders.
"He'll do what I say,” Alex said with utter certainty. “I'm his maker. He's mine, just like you will be."
Chekov frowned. "What? I don't understand?"
Alex stood and slowly walked closer, crouching next to Chekov so they were eye to eye. Then his eyes again faded to that eerie, almost glowing green again, but this time he opened his mouth to show off deadly looking fangs that hadn't been there earlier.
Chekov trembled so hard that the chains around his wrists rattled. He couldn’t fight the instinct urging him away from Alex, unable to fight the way he tried to pull away as goosebumps shivered up and down his arms. Alex's smile turned wry, as if he was used to this reaction.
"I'm a vampire, Pavel. And I've been such a good vampire for such a long time, but you are just too perfect a pet to pass up. So first, we're going to play," he said, whipping the blanket off Chekov and tossing it away. Then he ran a hand up Chekov's leg. Chekov tried to twist away, but Alex merely tightened his grip till it was painful. That smile didn't change one bit. "First, we're going to play, then I'm going to make you mine. And if you're an extra good boy, I might let him have you every once in awhile."
Alex straddled Chekov's legs. Chekov tried to buck him off, but was unsuccessful. The vampire merely chuckled, amusement clear on his face as Chekov panicked and struggled. He buried one hand in Chekov's curls, pulling his head back sharply.
“No!” Chekov yelled, squeezing his eyes shut as his head was wrenched to the side. He could feel the vampire breathing against his throat, and his stomach roiled at the smell of blood, McCoy's blood. All he could see on the backs of his eyelids was the doctor fighting and failing, sprawled and gasping weakly on the ground, stilling even as Chekov's vision had gone dark.
How could he be anything but dead? Not that Alex would have any reason to lie at this point, but how could McCoy be so pale, so lifeless, and still be alive?
Whatever the doctor was, Chekov was about to join him, and he preferred the idea of being dead rather than being tied to Alex.
“I'll bet you taste as good as you smell, little one,” Alex murmured, dropping a soft kiss on Chekov's throat, over his racing pulse. Chekov whimpered, but before Alex could bite, he was ripped away, letting out an inhuman roar.
Chekov opened his eyes; McCoy, bristling with rage, stood snarling over Alex, who had a jagged board embedded in his back. The doctor's eyes were the same pale, eerie green of Alex's, mouth full of sharp fangs.
“You're alive,” Chekov breathed, tears welling up in his eyes, and the doctor glanced at him, that spooky green leaching from his eyes, his snarl softening. It was a few seconds only, but that was all Alex needed. Despite his injury, he moved with inhuman speed, striking McCoy with a double-fisted blow to the chest that would’ve likely killed a normal man. McCoy flew across the room, crashing against the metal wall and denting it before sliding down.
The doctor should've been dead three times over, but he simply groaned and got to his feet, eyes locking on Alex. The vampire had removed the board, but clearly wasn't prepared for McCoy to rush him like a silent freight train. Alex dodged one cannonball of an uppercut, before taking a heavy right hook that sent him stumbling back, the doctor following immediately after, raining blow after blow. Yet Alex blocked more blows than he took, and was soon on his feet again, kicking and hitting, audibly cracking McCoy's bones.
But the Doctor didn't even slow down, didn't take note of his injuries. He just kept punching, his face twisted with rage, driving Alex back. Chekov watched, dazed, recognizing standard Starfleet defense moves being used at blurred speed. Finally, McCoy ducked one of Alex's punches and struck with all of his downward momentum at Alex's right knee. The joint popped out explosively in a silence broken only by sounds of impact and Chekov's breathing. Alex dropped to the floor with a yell. McCoy grabbed the broken board, still covered with Alex's blood, and again drove it into Alex's back, this time with enough force that the leading end came out through his chest.
Somehow, the vampire wasn't dead. He appeared greatly weakened, wheezing, his arms flailing uselessly as he tried to reach his back, then his front. After a few moments, he gave up, and simply tried to stand, raising pale, agonized eyes and a bloody, wry grin to Chekov. He tried to say something, but coughed up a mouthful of blood instead. Nauseated, Chekov looked away, but not before, with another burst of inhuman speed, McCoy tackled Alex and sent them both through the protective railing of the loft.
There was a horrible crash followed by the sounds of flesh relentlessly striking flesh, and the breaking of glass and wood, interspersed with snarls and growls. Chekov tugged frantically at his bindings, succeeding at nothing but tearing his skin. He hated being helpless, not knowing what was going on, who was winning. He needed to get free; clearly, the doctor was changed, and who knew what would happen even if he won? Chekov had to be prepared for anything.
Then, just as quickly as the sounds of fighting had started, they ended, and silence reigned. Chekov stopped pulling on his restraints and tried to calm his breathing, but couldn't hear anything as fear clenched his gut. His fears aside, he hoped McCoy had won, but… Alex had been a vampire for longer. Even with his injuries, he might have been able to persevere, might have managed to kill the doctor for good, as well as any chance Chekov had of escaping.
Not that there was much justice in that, in escaping the same fate he'd brought on the doctor with his own stupidity.
Tears welled up in his eyes as hollow, thunking footsteps sounded on the stairs. Chekov pulled futilely on his bonds, achieving nothing but further pain and a racing heart. His eyes were glued to the landing as the footsteps neared the top. The first thing he saw was messy dark hair on a bowed head, then broad shoulders clad in brown leather. Even before those familiar hazel eyes glanced up, he knew it was the doctor.
"Oh, thank god, Doctor," Chekov sighed, slumping as relief flooded through him. McCoy paused on the landing, watching Chekov and inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring. "Is… is he dead?"
McCoy said nothing as he walked over to Chekov, eyes wide and fixed on his bound form.
Chekov blushed as he remembered he was completely naked. He swallowed. "Um, Doctor?"
The doctor met his gaze, but didn't say anything as he sniffed the air again. A low growl sounded as McCoy's eyes faded to the eerie green.
"Doctor, are you okay?" Chekov pressed, doing his best not to shake and shiver under that preoccupied stare; it was familiar, filled with concern, yet terrifying in its hunger. “Please say something, Doctor. You are scaring me.”
That seemed to penetrate whatever was consuming the doctor's thoughts, and he raised an eyebrow, offering a weak smirk. "Yeah, I'm okay, considering I’ve been turned into a goddamned vampire.” He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand though his hair. When he opened his eyes again, they were the warm, familiar hazel. “I’m alright, kid.”
"I… I am so sorry," Chekov whispered, closing his eyes as guilt swept over him, driving away even his fear of McCoy in his changed state. If the Doctor decided to harm him, would he not deserve it? “If I hadn't talked to him-- hadn't turned my back on him… if I hadn't gone with him, none of this would have happened. This is all my fault, and though I know that it does not make everything go back to the way it was, I'm sorry.”
McCoy didn't say anything, and somehow Chekov summoned the courage to look up. The doctor was again staring at him unblinkingly, neither angry nor forgiving, eyes fading to green. Chekov's heart sped up again; .
"Dr. McCoy?" Chekov asked softly, putting aside his fear, his guilt, everything that wasn't concern for the doctor. Something was wrong with McCoy, perhaps something requiring medical help. If he could get them back to Enterprise, the condition could be reversed. Though what medicine would help a vampire… well, Chekov would think on that later. "You saved me tonight. If you free me, we can try to save you."
McCoy dropped to his knees onto the mattress next to Chekov, gently taking hold of his ankles and rubbing his thumbs against the soft skin there. Reverently, he slid his hands up Chekov's shins before stopping at his knees. The gaze he raised to Chekov's was still preoccupied and partly confused, but at this distance, he could see the doctor’s eyes burning with desire.
Chekov's breath caught and he was unable to look away from that mesmeric green stare, even when McCoy firmly pushed Chekov's knees apart until his legs were spread wide and lifted off the thin mattress. He shuffled closer until Chekov's thighs rested on his, all without breaking that heated gaze.
“Doctor, I--"
“Hush.” McCoy reached up and gently cupped his face, his eyes fading to that perfect, familiar hazel. "I'm not an idiot, kid; I know what all those little glances and dinner invitations really meant," he said, his voice a soft rumble. His eyes glazed over, as though distracted by what he saw. "For months I haven't been able to think of anything but your mouth, your voice, the sounds you'd make if I fucked you… Jesus, I couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop wanting you no matter how hard I tried. I told myself there're a million good reasons why I shouldn’t want you, Chekov, and every damned one of them went right out the window when I saw you talking with him, saw you leave with him. I didn’t trust him, hated him for taking what I wanted. Now, the only thing I can think of is taking what’s mine.”
Chekov's mouth dropped open and he shook his head, certain he'd heard wrong. His night had veered from lonely and awkward to terrible, and now it was veering off in an entirely unexpected direction. But that didn't stop him from getting hard. “Wh-what did you say?”
McCoy looked away for a moment, into the shadows Alex had hidden in, but Chekov could see the need and... caring in those warm, hazel eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before looking at Chekov again. “You got one chance to tell me you don't want this, kid, because once we start, there's no stopping. Ever."
This wasn’t the situation he’d dreamed of, where the doctor would declare his love and sweep Chekov off his feet and to a bed with silk sheets, the room filled with flickering candles. This was something else entirely. But whatever it was, it was happening, and Chekov would take his moment however it came.
His wide blue eyes locked with McCoy's but his throat was so tight he could only nod his wordless consent, his heart pounding and his body flushed.
With a low growl, McCoy pulled Chekov against him, bodies and mouths crashing together. At the soft and rough feel of leather and denim rubbing against his bare flesh, Chekov gasped and the doctor's tongue plunged into his mouth, teasing his palate before twining with his tongue. Chekov moaned and arched his back, trying to get closer, and McCoy broke the kiss. Smiling ferally, he wrapped his arm about Chekov's waist, pushing him against the pipe at this back, till he was sitting astride McCoy's lap.
Chekov shivered, the cold of the metal biting against his skin, but he could also feel the doctor's erection pressing against his ass.
They looked into each other's eyes for a long time, as McCoy ran his hands up and down Chekov's ribcage. "Jesus, you're perfect. All porcelain skin and messy curls; fucking perfect,” he murmured. “I've wanted this for so long, but I can't for the life of me remember why I kept away. You're so damned beautiful…."
Beautiful? Chekov couldn’t imagine he was ever that. He was skinny and awkward with unruly hair. But with lust thrumming through him, scorching his veins and making him hard, he wasn't about to argue.
McCoy's large hands wandered, caressing Chekov's back before moving to his front, tracing his bellybutton and ribs before sliding back around to grab his ass. He lifted Chekov easily, until he could brush his lips across his bare chest. He peppered the soft skin with playful bites before dragging his tongue over one nipple, sucking until it was pebbled and Chekov was groaning and yanking at his bonds. McCoy pulled away with one last lick before blowing across the wet skin.
Chekov panted and wriggled in the doctor's grip, seeking friction for his cock. But McCoy ignored his desperation and turned his attention to the other nipple. He treated it much the same, teasing and sucking it till it hardened, then McCoy nipped sharply at it. Chekov whimpered and started begging.
"Chort!" he cried, bucking his hips. "Please, please, I need more!"
McCoy lowered Chekov back into his lap and kissed him again, hands covering Chekov's ass, gripping tightly at the firm cheeks. The kiss was hard and fierce, McCoy's tongue fucking Chekov's mouth, sliding against his tongue, possessing him. Bound to the pipe as he was and completely at McCoy's mercy, he could only rock against him, searching for friction. Before too long, he had to tear his lips away, gasping for air.
McCoy pressed his face to Chekov's throat, panting and kissing. Licking. "Goddamn, you feel so good, riding me," he rasped, biting Chekov's earlobe, then soothing it with his tongue. Chekov began to writhe, his hips rolling against McCoy's. He was hard and leaking, the cool denim of McCoy's jeans whispering roughly against his slick, hot flesh and driving him mad.
Moans and soft, helpless pleas escaped Chekov's throat, and when McCoy raised his head to look, Chekov could only imagine how he looked to the doctor. Especially now, while he was shivering and sweating, his hair wild and lips swollen from kissing. Certainly not a feast for anyone's eyes.
But McCoy dropped his head and dragged his tongue up Chekov's throat, licking at the drops of sweat. He took a small patch of skin between his front teeth and bit lightly, before releasing and sucking on it. Chekov turned his head, breathing against Leonard's forehead, taking in his scent of sweat, blood, cologne, and a strangely comforting hint of antiseptic. McCoy bit his way up to Chekov's lips before taking them in another kiss. His fingers spread out across Chekov's ass, one long finger burrowing between his cheeks, seeking out his entrance and pressing lightly on it.
Chekov gasped into the kiss, trying to push himself back onto the doctor's finger, muscles clenching and begging for more in anticipation.
“Fuck!” McCoy broke the kiss and scrambled to his feet, digging in his pockets to pull out an unlabeled tube before dropping it onto the mattress. He yanked off his jacket and shirt, before shucking his boots and jeans. H is boxers he simply ripped off and tossed away before kneeling in front of Chekov again.
His cock was hard, dark and filled with blood, arching proudly and his eyes were almost completely colorless. But unlike the Alex's eyes, even though they were the same shade, McCoy's eyes were warm. Chekov got to his knees and began to pull on his restraints with all his might.
"Please, I want to touch you," he begged, still yanking futilely on his chains as he turned pleading eyes to McCoy.
Frowning, McCoy reached out, wrapping a hand around each of Chekov's wrists, the metal cuffs firmly held in his grip. He tugged once, sharply, and with a quick, quiet snap, the metal gave, leaving Chekov with a metal bracelet on each wrist.
He immediately wrapped his arms around McCoy's neck and pressed their mouths together. Moans and whimpers fell from his lips, finally able to comfortably press their bodies together and wrap his legs around McCoy's hips. McCoy used one hand to grip his ass and with the other, he pushed them away from the wall and laid them out on the mattress, their bodies pressed fully together. Chekov groaned and thrust his hips as McCoy let go of him and sat up to grab the tube he'd dropped.
"What is that?" he asked, though his eyes were fixed on McCoy's torso, staring at the broad, muscled chest and leaking cock. Chekov was so eager to have him, enough so that he felt fairly shameless about his own naked and aroused state.
"Antibacterial ointment; I carry it on me anytime Jim and I go to a bar." McCoy rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Never know when he’ll have a busted head.” Chekov sat up and leaned close, pressing chaste kisses against McCoy's chest. His nose was tickled by the dusting of crisp, dark hair, and he smiled. One of McCoy's hands tangled in his hair and gently tugged his head back. Chekov looked up at his questioning gaze.
"What?"
McCoy's eyebrow arched. "Are you nuzzling me?"
"Well. Yes. But is not fair!" Chekov pouted, blushing. "You got to touch, and I did not get to touch and I have vanted this for as long as I have known you!"
McCoy pulled him close, chuckling. "You're sexy even when you pout, darlin'. And I promise, you'll have all the chances you want to touch me any way you want, okay?"
Chekov bit his lip, but nodded once, willing to take the doctor at his word. E ven changed as he was, McCoy was himself, a fact that relieved Chekov to no end. Then they were kissing again, gently and unhurried until their bodies were pressed together, McCoy's cock against his own. Chekov whined, soft and breathy, and hid his face against McCoy's throat, nipping at his skin. He slid one hand down McCoy's chest, smiling as a low rumble started under his hand, before settling it around McCoy's cock. It was thick and heavy in his grip as he pumped it slowly. McCoy's rumble became a muffled growl, the sound making Chekov harder while sending pleased shivers up and down his spine. He swiped his thumb over the head, smearing the liquid gathered there. McCoy grabbed his wrist and tugged it away.
"Darlin',” he breathed in Chekov's hair, his thumb lightly stroking Chekov's irritated wrist. “Your hand ain't the part of you I plan on comin' in. Now lay down."
Chekov shuddered at the low command and obeyed, reclining on the mattress. He let McCoy look his fill until those pale eyes met his own again, brimming with hunger and sparkling with intent. Smiling sweetly, Chekov raised his hand and flicked his tongue against his thumb, letting out a quietly yearning moan when he tasted McCoy there, salty and bitter.
Looking up through his eyelashes, he pressed his thumb fully into his mouth, sucking on it. Somehow, in all his fantasies, this sweet teasing hadn't present. But Chekov enjoyed the power he held over the doctor.
"Damnit, now you're just teasin'," McCoy grumbled, glaring at him, and Chekov smiled around his thumb, sucking it harder.
Shaking his head, McCoy flicked the top of the tube open and squeezed some of the ointment onto his fingers, spreading it around. With his other hand, he pressed one of Chekov's knees to his chest, opening his body to McCoy's gaze. Chekov knew his skin was already flushed from arousal, but it somehow managed to redden further. He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life, but he’d also never felt so desired.
Then McCoy brushed his fingers against Chekov's hole, spreading the ointment before firmly pressing in. Chekov's jaw dropped and he gasped as the finger carefully slid in and out. It felt… odd, that thick finger filling him, touching him as no one else ever had. He opened his eyes to find McCoy staring, his nostrils flaring. Chekov shivered as another bolt of arousal shot through him at the pure lust in those green eyes. McCoy pulled his finger out and added more of the slick gel. He pressed two fingers in, stretching and testing, in and out. It burned at first, was uncomfortable bordering on unpleasant until the tips of the doctor’s fingers pressed against his prostate. Chekov gasped and arched up off the mattress. He'd masturbated, often, to thoughts of this moment, had even pushed his fingers inside himself in place of the doctor, glancing off that place inside. But the knowledge that this was McCoy, combined with his firm touches, was enough to make Chekov come. He would've come but for McCoy's other hand clamped around the base of his cock.
“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he asked, smirking a little. He held onto Chekov's cock while stretching him a bit more slowly and carefully, avoiding Chekov's prostate. Not that he needed to touch it again, because suddenly, two fingers felt good to Chekov. After a relatively short time, it felt like not enough. And when the third finger was added, Chekov let out a thready groan. It burned a lot, and the stretch felt impossible, but felt strangely good, a combination of pain and pleasure. McCoy's eyes narrowed with worry, fingers stilling within Chekov.
"You know I can stop if you need me to," he ground out between gritted teeth.
"Ai, no!" Chekov started to sit up, but he couldn't without dislodging the doctor. He tried to calm himself, settling back on the mattress. “It hurts a little bit, but I want it. I want you. Please?"
"I can smell it, kid, smell your pain," McCoy said, shaking his head as confusion and concern warred with the desire on his face. He let go of Chekov's cock and started to pull out of him. “I'm hurting you.”
“No!” Chekov arched his back and clenched his muscles around the doctor's fingers. McCoy's eyes slipped shut and he groaned. "Please, Leonard, I want this, so much," Chekov begged. "And the hurting is not so much anymore."
McCoy opened his eyes and curled his fingers, pressing against that bundle of nerves, sending Chekov's brain to a place made of white light, colored fireworks and pure pleasure.
"Yes," Chekov hissed as he bucked his hips. "More. I want more."
"Okay. Pull your legs back," McCoy husked.
Not needing to be told twice, Chekov hooked his elbows behind his knees and pulled them to his chest. The look of pure want in McCoy's eyes as he stared at the place where three of his fingers were still pumping in and out of Chekov's ass, outweighed any embarrassment Chekov might have felt at being so exposed.
He rocked against the doctor's hand, eager for more than the fingers he'd grown accustomed to. "Please," he whispered and a tiny furrow appeared between McCoy's eyebrows. Chekov bit his lip and tried to sound as certain as he felt. "Leonard, I want you to fuck me," he said, pitching his voice low as he looked up through his eyelashes.
"Goddamn.” McCoy pulled his fingers out of Chekov and grabbed the tube of ointment. He hastily began slicking up his cock, gritting his teeth with the effort of not coming. "Do you know how fucking good you look, riding my fingers? Like you were made just for me," he murmured. Before Chekov could respond, McCoy was lifting Chekov's hips with one hand, and guiding his cock into that slick channel with the other. Chekov inhaled sharply.
His own masturbatory fumblings were nothing compared to the sweet, perfect ache of the doctor slowly, carefully filling him. The sweetness was tinged with pain, but brightened by the knowledge that this moment was real, and that sent joy and pleasure through him. His legs sprawled weakly as McCoy slowly inched his way in, alternately swearing and whispering encouragement. After long, drawn out moments, their bodies were flush together, the burn in Chekov's ass slowly fading. McCoy moved one hand slowly, brushing his fingertips across Chekov's hip while wrapping his other hand around Chekov's dick.
Chekov panted, trying to catch his breath as his muscles fluttered around McCoy's cock. After a few deep breaths, he regained some measure of control. He bore down and squeezed as tight as he could on McCoy's cock and watched, a bolt of pure lust zinging through him, as McCoy's grip on hip and cock intensified. He cried out, fighting hard not to come yet, while McCoy's jaw clenched and his biceps bulged as he began to tremble.
"Please, Chekov--" McCoy panted, eyes shut tight.
"Pavel. You are fucking me, so you must call me Pavel," he ordered between shuddering breaths.
"Goddamnit, Pavel," McCoy begged, desperation tempering the gruff words.
Looking up into McCoy's face, meeting that pleading green gaze that no longer seemed alien, Chekov felt more desirable and in control that he could ever recall feeling. McCoy was something different, strange and powerful. But buried inside Chekov's body, he waited with baited breath, restraining himself for Chekov.
A warm glow spread through him and he smiled, even though he knew it had to look silly. A hitch in the doctor's hips caused his cock to rub against Chekov's prostate, leaving them both gasping.
"Yes, please move, Leonard," Chekov whimpered, and McCoy groaned, pulling out partway, then pushing back in. He paused, then did it again, as though waiting for Chekov to change his mind. Chekov wiggled, trying to get closer, before lifting his legs and wrapping them around McCoy's hips. The angle changed, and if Chekov's hair had been straight, he was certain that sheer pleasure would have curled it. He arched his back and keened, watching McCoy watch him.
Something shifted, something imperceptible, and McCoy suddenly seemed nothing like a man and everything like an animal, pure lust and restrained power. Pulling out almost all of the way, McCoy slammed back in, growling. His thrusts came faster and faster, his eyes never wavering from Chekov's face. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the empty space, mixing with McCoy's growls and Chekov's cries.
"You're mine," McCoy ground out, tremors running through body, his nostrils flared, desperation of a different kind visible in his eyes. "Say it."
"Da, yours. I am yours," Pavel agreed breathlessly. “Only yours--"
McCoy snarled and sank his fangs into Chekov's throat. A sharp pain shot through him, followed by a slow warm pleasure as McCoy began to drink. It a strange sensation, almost like being touched inside his veins, a soft but pleasurable counterpoint to the frantic touches to his body. The fear that lurked in the corners of his mind quickly slipped away; Chekov was too lost in rising tide of his orgasm to worry. McCoy drank deep, and as he did, an odd thought drifted through Chekov's brain. He wondered what Leonard could taste. Could he taste the love and lust Chekov had harbored for months? But his thoughts soon evaporated under the pleasure inside that grew stronger with each snap of the doctor's hips. Chekov's mouth dropped open, his gasping turning into high-pitched panting. Each time McCoy snapped his hips forward, Chekov's prostate was struck. It was so much, too much, causing tremors to run through his body. It was too good, and as Chekov drew closer and closer to his orgasm, his muscles started clenching. Without moving his lips, McCoy groaned and came, shooting deep in Chekov, a growl vibrating against Chekov's throat. McCoy's hand twisted around Chekov's cock, thumbnail scraping over the head. McCoy continued to thrust as his cock softened, his movements erratic.
"C'mon, baby, come for me," he growled. He dropped his hand from Chekov's dick, sliding his fingers down past his balls to press, hard, on the strip of skin just behind. Chekov arched his back and came with a wavering wail, shaking as he struggled to breathe.
McCoy leaned down and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to Chekov's jaw, then his lips, cushioning Chekov's whimpers. His lips grounded Chekov, giving him a place to return to. Sated and weak, his mouth opened under McCoy's, welcoming the kiss, his tongue lazily flicking against McCoy's lips. McCoy opened his mouth, and blood began to trickle into Chekov's mouth. Lazy with pleasure and filled with love, Chekov accepted the blood with no more than a confused whimper, assuming it to be his own blood. As his tongue massaged Leonard’s, the blood continued to flow. Then Chekov felt it, a tear that kept shrinking. Soon, the blood stopped, and McCoy pulled away with a last lick to Chekov's lips. Carefully, he pulled his softening cock from Chekov's body and rolled him onto his side. McCoy disappeared and the bright overhead light shut off. Less than a second later, McCoy returned and pulled the blanket out from underneath Chekov, curling up beside him and pulling his lax form into his arms before covering them with the blanket.
Chekov fell asleep to the feeling of McCoy's thumb soothingly brushing against his hip.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chekov awoke to the sound of a high-pitched beeping and he opened his eyes.
Everything felt... different, sharper somehow, and he wasn't sore or tired. The beeping stopped. He rolled onto his back to find McCoy propped on his elbow and staring at him, uncertainty lining his face. Chekov had watched him enough, understood his sense of honor, and knew that McCoy was afraid, worried that Chekov would regret all that had transpired the night before. In truth, Chekov wouldn't have minded a more comfortable setting, and could have done without the drugging and kidnapping. But it had led him here, with McCoy, somehow knowing that they had eternity together. He smiled tentatively and McCoy responded with a smile bigger than any Chekov had before seen on the other man's face.
"How ya feelin'?" McCoy rumbled.
His voice was low, rough like it had been the night before when he'd been buried in Chekov's body. At the memory, heat surged through his body. "I feel wery good," Chekov said, feeling the blush spread to his ears.
McCoy's smile widened. "Well, whaddya know? Vampires can blush."
Chekov's flush deepened. "You are being mean, teasing me," he pouted
McCoy’s eyes and smile softened. "Aw, I'm sorry, sugar. Want me to make it up to you?"
"Yes," Chekov replied primly.
McCoy lowered his head and pressed his lips to Chekov’s collarbone, then breathed deeply. He made a noise, a strange cross between a desperate groan and growl, the vibrations against Chekov's skin raising goosebumps. "Jesus, you have any idea how good you smell with my come on you?"
Chekov felt as though he should be embarrassed, but all he felt was desire and joy. So instead, he laughed. "You are a very strange man." But he could smell it, too, the scent of them combined and it smelled right, like he belonged.
"Mmm... yeah, but it's too late to back out now," McCoy mumbled, a shadow of bitter coloring his scent.
"I don't want to back out," Chekov said firmly. He sighed happily and wrapped his arms around McCoy, pulling him into his arms.
McCoy continued to breathe in Chekov's scent, softly brushing his nose and lips against Chekov's throat. He didn't speak again for quite some time, just holding Chekov against him.
"Hungry?" McCoy finally asked, tilting his head to the side and baring his neck.
Chekov stared at his neck, broad and tan, veins pulsing beneath the skin, and felt a new hunger filling him. He didn't know what to do, but his instincts did. Chekov struck, his fangs sinking into McCoy's throat. As warm, rich blood spilled into his mouth, he felt himself getting hard. The blood tasted like he'd expected, and yet through the blood, he could sense love and McCoy, the flavor laced desire, love and want, fueling his own lust. McCoy groaned and began thrusting against him, his cock hard as well. After a few mouthfuls Chekov withdrew, and the wounds immediately began to close. He caught the last drops of blood on his tongue and savored them, panting and feeling as though he'd run a marathon. His heart was pounding as he looked at McCoy.
Their mouths crashed together, their tongues tangling. Chekov's fingers scrambled for purchase, clutching at McCoy's shoulders. He wrapped his legs around McCoy's hips, aligning their cocks.
"Wanna be inside you again, Pavel.”
"Yes," Chekov hissed. But instead of relaxing into the mattress, Chekov dropped his legs and pushed with all of his now considerable strength, forcing McCoy onto his back.
"What are you doing?" McCoy asked, his eyebrow arched.
Chekov scrambled on top of McCoy, straddling his hips. "Want this. I have thought of this many times," he whispered. Reaching behind himself, Chekov steadied McCoy's cock. Still loose and slick from earlier, his eyes slipped shut as he lowered himself onto McCoy's cock. He keened high in his throat as he was filled, McCoy's cock rubbing against his prostate.
"Ai, so good." Chekov shivered, forcing his eyes open.
McCoy's eyes had once again faded to green. Chekov lifted himself slowly, gasping before dropping back down. He could feel the vibrations inside himself as the doctor growled. McCoy gripped Chekov's hips tightly, not moving him, but just encouraging. He moved faster, riding McCoy with a speed and force that took his breath. Chekov could hear his own growl mixing with McCoy's as a large, calloused hand began stroking his cock in earnest. The taste of McCoy's blood lingered on Chekov's tongue, and with a cry, he came, clenching around Leonard's cock. He curled forward over McCoy, unable to keep moving.
"I am sorry," he said, realizing McCoy was still thick and hard inside of him. Somehow, he made himself look up at McCoy, who raised a come-covered hand to his mouth. He carefully cleaned his hand of Chekov's release, groaning, his eyes locked on Chekov's gaze.
At the sight of McCoy naked desire, an answering lust rose in Chekov. McCoy pulled out gently lowered Chekov to the mattress, then knelt between his spread legs. He then lifted Chekov's hips until his ass was once against flush against McCoy's hips. He pushed in slowly, grinding hard and long, then sped up, the tip of his cock glancing across Chekov's prostate repeatedly with every thrust. Chekov reached up, pressing his hands to wall and began pushing himself back in counterpoint. He could smell McCoy's lust and sweat, cologne and antiseptic-- that musk that was unique to Leonard McCoy.
A low growl rumbled out of Chekov's throat as he felt himself harden again. Each thrust sent him rushing to an impossible second orgasm, and he began to cry out as his body was overwhelmed with sensation. Tears leaked from his eyes as he screamed, release tearing through his body. His muscles locked, clenching around McCoy’s cock. Through slitted eyes, he watched as McCoy came with a roar, his back arched and eyes squeezed shut. After seconds that seemed to last for an eternity, McCoy slumped forward, blanketing Chekov.
Chekov shivered, feeling as though he were floating, warmth suffusing his heart at the sight of his lover. He wrapped his arms and legs around McCoy to ground himself, and turned his head, pressing his lips against McCoy's temple, silently mouthing the word "mine" over and over again.
McCoy chuckled, his voice like rough silk. "Yeah, kid, I'm yours. And you're mine."
Chekov lay quietly, content to feel McCoy’s heart beating against his as lassitude dragged him toward sleep. The beeping began again. McCoy swore while Chekov reached over to snatch the communicator off the floor. He didn't open it, just stared.
"What do we do now?" Chekov asked hesitantly.
McCoy looked up at him and smiled. "Whatever you want."
* * * * * * * * * *
Author: vinniebatman aka batmanvinnie
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Pairings: McCoy/Chekov (McChekov? Chekoy? McChek? McCov?)
Rating/Warnings: Adult. Big warnings for the Gay sex, blood, and a scene with intended non-con, in case you are sensitive to this issue.
Summary: On a Federation Colony, Chekov meets a man with dark intentions that will change his and McCoy's life.
Spoilers: Spoilers for ST:2009. None for the Original Series
Disclaimer: I so totally own these works. Bow Down! *Doctor's Note: Patient exhibits delusions of grandeur and any claims of ownership toward Star Trek are pure fantasy. No harm is meant. Seriously, it's better than her throwing rocks at people.
Real Disclaimer: I make no money from this, and claim no ownership over the to any of the copyrighted material of "Star Trek." Those works belong to their creators.
Beta: _beetle_ . Yep, kinda lame.
Dedication: This is written for my darling _beetle_. I love you dear!!!!
Author's Note: The whole vampire-y lore I use is sort of a cross between Bram Stroker's Dracula (someone must have blood to be turned, and sunlight doesn't kill them, though they are weaker) and Underworld (eyes change color, no shape shifting abilities, and no weakness with regard to religious artifacts).
Author's Note 2: Thanks so much to strickens_girl , my fellow Beetle minion, for looking for someone to make our icon *claps.* And one bazillion thank yous to jameschick for making it.
* * * * * * * * * *
Despite time and distance, some things always remained the same.
Even though the bar was on the Federation colony Orthrus II, it was still loud and dark like every other bar Chekov had ever been in. He sat at the bar, alone amid groups of chattering friends, casting surreptitious glances over his shoulder to the small table where the Captain, Scotty, and McCoy sat. The Captain and Scotty kept talking and laughing, gregarious and the center of attention while McCoy sat quietly, occasionally grinning and shaking his head.
Originally, Sulu had accompanied Chekov to the bar (it had, in fact, been all Sulu's idea to go), but he'd been led away some time ago by a flirtatious woman. So Chekov sat, alone, sneaking careful but frequent glances back at McCoy. Each twitch of his lips and roll of his eyes was cataloged by Chekov's brain, the image of the doctor in jeans and brown, battered leather jacket committed to memory.
"So, which one are you watching?"
Slightly startled by the deep, smooth voice oozing confidence as it rose above the din, Chekov turned to find a handsome, dark haired man had moved into the vacant bar stool next to his.
"I, um, am not watching a-anyone," Chekov answered with a blush, and the man smirked. Chekov wondered if the man was as amused by his accent as everyone else.
"Oh, really? So you're just staring at all of them?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. But though his words were teasing, his tone was kind. He spoke again before Chekov could protest. "I'm just kidding you. I'm Alex."
Chekov looked at the hand extended to him, smooth with long finger, and shook it after a moment of hesitation. "Chekov. Pavel Chekov," he replied, blushing again.
Alex was attractive; hazel eyes, dark wavy hair, and a strong jaw line. He reminded Chekov strongly of Dr. McCoy, except this man was actually talking to him.
"So, what are you drinking, Pavel?" Alex asked. He looked into Chekov’s eyes, smiling warmly.
"Just a beer."
"Sounds like a good idea." Alex raised his hand, signaling the bartender. He pointed at Chekov's beer, then fully returned his attention to Chekov.
"So, Chekov, may I ask what brings you to Orthrus II? Or will you have to kill me if you tell me?"
Chekov laughed a little. "Nothing classified or exciting. Our ship had to deliver some medical supplies to the hospitals, and we have a few days planetside before we must leave again."
"Ah, so you're assigned to the Enterprise?" Alex nodded as if that were the only ship Chekov would be assigned too. "Impressive. May I ask how old you are, Pavel?"
Chekov flushed. He keenly recalled McCoy's reaction to the same answer just a few short months ago.
"I am… nearly eighteen."
Alex's wide, perfect grin brought an answering expression to Chekov's lips. "That's incredible; you should be proud of yourself, being assigned to Starfleet's flagship so young."
"I am. My family is very proud of me." Chekov finished his beer quickly, just to have something to do that wasn't blushing and grinning like an idiot. With perfect timing, the bartender, a Bolian, hurried over to hand Alex a beer.
"Another?" the bartender asked, grabbing Chekov's empty glass.
And even as Chekov said, “Da, thank you," a full one replaced it.
"So Pavel, how about a toast?"
"A toast? To what?" Chekov asked, but picked up his glass, careful not to slop any on the already sticky counter. Alex raised his drink and smiled. His teeth were straight and white, perfect.
"How about a toast to the youngest and handsomest Starfleet officer I've ever met."
Chekov blushed, the heat extending to the tips of his ears. "I do not... I mean, I do not believe that-"
Alex laughed, long and loud enough to turn heads even in a noisy bar. "Okay, then; how about a toast to… long life?"
Grateful, Chekov raised glass, clinking it against Alex's. “Ah, yes, that I can drink to.”
For the next hour, they had a pleasant conversation. Alex was well-traveled, and he quickly engaged Chekov in conversation on his childhood in Russia. He listened intently and shared his own experiences in Russia. He spoke freely without prodding, happy to talk with Chekov, eager to hear of Chekov's life.
Eventually, Alex stood and stretched. He was tall, though without McCoy’s broad shoulders. "Well Pavel, what say we go for a walk around the block, get some air? It's stuffy in here, and kinda loud."
Chekov hesitated, and Alex leaned on the bar, rather close. Between the beer and his resemblance to McCoy, Chekov’s heart was pounding. Every nerve ending in his body was alive and eager, a fraction of his desire for McCoy redirected to Alex.
"Hey, whichever one you're watching might get jealous if you disappear with me for a few minutes," Alex prodded gently.
Chekov looked over his shoulder at McCoy and the others. Kirk and Scotty were laughing, while McCoy sat quietly, an angry glower fixed on his drink. They probably wouldn't even notice if he left, and the area was filled with people. Part of him wanted to speak to McCoy, try to cheer him up. But there would undoubtedly be someone more attractive, someone more to the Doctor’s taste, that would come along and take the glower from his face. Chekov didn't want to be around for that.
He turned back to his beer and quickly drank the remainder.
"Okay, let's go."
* * * * * * * * * *
With each step he took away from the lights and noise of the bar, Chekov's world was spinning.
He felt loose and languid; in fact, far too loose-- weak even, considering he'd only had two beers before following Alex out of the bar. The fading sounds of people talking and laughing were muffled, as though his ears were covered with synthetic cotton. Despite the drugged sluggishness of his body and senses, Chekov's brain was still running near peak. He stumbled, only able to stay upright with the help of Alex's hand on his upper arm. Alex seemed neither surprised, nor as solicitous as he'd been in the bar, and Chekov then realized what had happened.
"When I looked over at the doctor," he said, “You put something into my drink.”
Alex smiled and held him up as Chekov teetered. "Well, those friends of yours would have noticed if I'd tried to force you out. White-knight Starfleet types, you know," Alex said matter-of-factly, that same unperturbed smile in place. "Anyway, I'm sorry, Pavel, I really am, but you're just such a pretty little thing; I couldn't resist.”
Chekov gathered his strength, trying to shove himself out of Alex's arms with numb hands. But Alex's grip didn't budge.
"No! Let me go!" he yelled out, or at least attempted to. His voice was just as weak as his body. He pushed again, but found himself unable to break that effortlessly iron grip. The pleasant smile dropped from Alex's face as hauled Chekov closer. Soon, all that was visible were those dark eyes, and they quickly lightened to an unnaturally pale green. Chekov was surrounded by the scent of beer and cologne, tinged with something he couldn’t place. Alex's lips barely brushed the corner of Chekov's mouth on their way to his ear.
"Don't bother fighting me, little one,” Alex whispered. “You won't win. I've been meaning to treat myself to something sweet and young, and you're it."
Chekov's heart pounded, sending whatever drug had been slipped into his drink racing through his body and draining him further; he didn't know what this man was, but there was something wrong, something unsafe. A primitive instinct reared its head, screaming for him to flee. But he couldn't; he could barely even stay conscious as the world began slipping and sliding around him.
Alex steered him down the street and into a quiet, deserted area. They passed warehouses and wound through a veritable maze, until Chekov was barely conscious and could no longer tell where they'd come from. When his legs gave out, Alex easily swung him up into his arms, his pace not even slowing or hesitating as he continued to wind his way through alleys.
Finally, Alex stopped at a warehouse and opened a door. He entered and crossed the dark, open space before carrying Chekov up a flight of stairs. As they reached the top, someone turned on a light downstairs.
It was still rather dark on the upper level, weak shafts of light leaking through. Chekov could only see Alex's smug grin as he was carried to a dark corner opposite the door, and laid on something a little too soft to be floor.
"Chekov?" It was McCoy's voice, angry, worried, and faintly embarrassed; welcome and alarming, all at once. "Goddamnit, where are you, kid?"
Chekov tried to call out a warning, but his voice was too weak, his muscles useless. He could only watch, his heart pounding as Alex winked at him, then moved into a shadowed corner. McCoy's hurried footsteps rang on the stairs, and soon he was visible, lined in light like a hero. He scanned the room, almost immediately focusing on Chekov and completely missing Alex, who stood perfectly still and smirking in the shadows.
"Good god, what the hell happened?" The doctor demanded, striding forward. Before he could reach Chekov, Alex burst forward with unnatural speed, tangling one hand into the doctor's hair, and wrapping the other around his chest and arms from behind.
“Two for the price of one; this must be my lucky day,” Alex said, laughing. The doctor cursed and struggled, but his actions had no effect. Alex simply winked at Chekov again, as if they were both in on the same secret, then buried his face against McCoy's throat.
The doctor screamed.
Chekov moaned fearfully, unable to do anything but watch as McCoy's yells and curses tapered off, until he finally went limp, sheet-white in Alex's arms.
Alex raised his head and grinned darkly at Chekov as he dropped McCoy to the floor. “Wow, that really took the edge off. Now, where were we, little one?”
Chekov's vision was going dark, and the last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Alex sauntering toward him while McCoy's body struggled weakly for breath.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chekov was cold, his arms tingling and numb.
He opened his eyes, finding only darkness, and groaned. As his senses and memories returned, he remembered Alex, and being dragged away. He remembered McCoy following, and Alex doing... something to him, causing McCoy to fall to the floor, unconscious and fighting to breathe.
He remembered Alex moving toward him, still smiling. Always smiling.
He wanted to cry, to scream out for the doctor, but he knew that wouldn't help. So he instead took a deep breath and focused, trying to think past his fear. He could feel metallic bindings of some sort on his wrists, tying them above his head to what felt like a pipe. He sat on some sort of thin padding, likely the same one Alex had set him down on earlier, a blanket rasping against his skin, covering him. The fear surged as he realized that it wasn't overly cold in the building; he was just naked under the blanket. His heart began to pound. He was naked on a mattress in a dark room and McCoy lay somewhere, possibly dead, while Alex planned things Chekov didn't want to think about. Panic and fear tore at him, his breath coming faster. He had to get free, get help.
It was dark wherever he was, and he started to tug on his wrists. As his eyes became accustomed to the dimness, he studied his surroundings. He could make out a railing, covered windows, even some boxes that loomed in the dark. His stomach lurched as he made out a shape, sitting on a chair against the opposite wall. The form reached out, and a single small overhead light was flipped on. Chekov squeezed his eyes shut, the light painful. Seconds passed and he raised his eyelids, adjusting to the light.
Alex sat, relaxed and grinning. And sprawled on the floor next to him was McCoy's still, unmoving body.
"No," Chekov whispered. His stomach dropping as pain blossomed in his chest, tightening it and making it hard to breathe. He could feel his heart breaking as tears began to stream down his face. The doctor was dead, and it was his fault. Dead-dead-dead-dead-dead-dead, the word echoing though his mind.
"You were adorable, you know? Irresistible," Alex said, his voice saccharine and amused. Chekov shivered at the predatory glow in his eyes. There was no warmth, no caring, just a detached, possessive gleam in his eyes. "Do you have any idea how obvious it was he was the one you were staring at? I mean, the only one who didn't know you wanted him was him. And considering how much staring he was doing, I don't know how he missed it, but… as they say, there are none so blind. And his loss is certainly my gain.”
Chekov squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm himself. He could not save himself or the doctor (if he was even alive) by panicking and crying. "He is dead?"
"Oh, don't worry. He'll wake up in a little while, ready to do whatever I ask."
Despite the severity of the situation, Chekov snorted. He couldn't imagine McCoy following orders.
"He'll do what I say,” Alex said with utter certainty. “I'm his maker. He's mine, just like you will be."
Chekov frowned. "What? I don't understand?"
Alex stood and slowly walked closer, crouching next to Chekov so they were eye to eye. Then his eyes again faded to that eerie, almost glowing green again, but this time he opened his mouth to show off deadly looking fangs that hadn't been there earlier.
Chekov trembled so hard that the chains around his wrists rattled. He couldn’t fight the instinct urging him away from Alex, unable to fight the way he tried to pull away as goosebumps shivered up and down his arms. Alex's smile turned wry, as if he was used to this reaction.
"I'm a vampire, Pavel. And I've been such a good vampire for such a long time, but you are just too perfect a pet to pass up. So first, we're going to play," he said, whipping the blanket off Chekov and tossing it away. Then he ran a hand up Chekov's leg. Chekov tried to twist away, but Alex merely tightened his grip till it was painful. That smile didn't change one bit. "First, we're going to play, then I'm going to make you mine. And if you're an extra good boy, I might let him have you every once in awhile."
Alex straddled Chekov's legs. Chekov tried to buck him off, but was unsuccessful. The vampire merely chuckled, amusement clear on his face as Chekov panicked and struggled. He buried one hand in Chekov's curls, pulling his head back sharply.
“No!” Chekov yelled, squeezing his eyes shut as his head was wrenched to the side. He could feel the vampire breathing against his throat, and his stomach roiled at the smell of blood, McCoy's blood. All he could see on the backs of his eyelids was the doctor fighting and failing, sprawled and gasping weakly on the ground, stilling even as Chekov's vision had gone dark.
How could he be anything but dead? Not that Alex would have any reason to lie at this point, but how could McCoy be so pale, so lifeless, and still be alive?
Whatever the doctor was, Chekov was about to join him, and he preferred the idea of being dead rather than being tied to Alex.
“I'll bet you taste as good as you smell, little one,” Alex murmured, dropping a soft kiss on Chekov's throat, over his racing pulse. Chekov whimpered, but before Alex could bite, he was ripped away, letting out an inhuman roar.
Chekov opened his eyes; McCoy, bristling with rage, stood snarling over Alex, who had a jagged board embedded in his back. The doctor's eyes were the same pale, eerie green of Alex's, mouth full of sharp fangs.
“You're alive,” Chekov breathed, tears welling up in his eyes, and the doctor glanced at him, that spooky green leaching from his eyes, his snarl softening. It was a few seconds only, but that was all Alex needed. Despite his injury, he moved with inhuman speed, striking McCoy with a double-fisted blow to the chest that would’ve likely killed a normal man. McCoy flew across the room, crashing against the metal wall and denting it before sliding down.
The doctor should've been dead three times over, but he simply groaned and got to his feet, eyes locking on Alex. The vampire had removed the board, but clearly wasn't prepared for McCoy to rush him like a silent freight train. Alex dodged one cannonball of an uppercut, before taking a heavy right hook that sent him stumbling back, the doctor following immediately after, raining blow after blow. Yet Alex blocked more blows than he took, and was soon on his feet again, kicking and hitting, audibly cracking McCoy's bones.
But the Doctor didn't even slow down, didn't take note of his injuries. He just kept punching, his face twisted with rage, driving Alex back. Chekov watched, dazed, recognizing standard Starfleet defense moves being used at blurred speed. Finally, McCoy ducked one of Alex's punches and struck with all of his downward momentum at Alex's right knee. The joint popped out explosively in a silence broken only by sounds of impact and Chekov's breathing. Alex dropped to the floor with a yell. McCoy grabbed the broken board, still covered with Alex's blood, and again drove it into Alex's back, this time with enough force that the leading end came out through his chest.
Somehow, the vampire wasn't dead. He appeared greatly weakened, wheezing, his arms flailing uselessly as he tried to reach his back, then his front. After a few moments, he gave up, and simply tried to stand, raising pale, agonized eyes and a bloody, wry grin to Chekov. He tried to say something, but coughed up a mouthful of blood instead. Nauseated, Chekov looked away, but not before, with another burst of inhuman speed, McCoy tackled Alex and sent them both through the protective railing of the loft.
There was a horrible crash followed by the sounds of flesh relentlessly striking flesh, and the breaking of glass and wood, interspersed with snarls and growls. Chekov tugged frantically at his bindings, succeeding at nothing but tearing his skin. He hated being helpless, not knowing what was going on, who was winning. He needed to get free; clearly, the doctor was changed, and who knew what would happen even if he won? Chekov had to be prepared for anything.
Then, just as quickly as the sounds of fighting had started, they ended, and silence reigned. Chekov stopped pulling on his restraints and tried to calm his breathing, but couldn't hear anything as fear clenched his gut. His fears aside, he hoped McCoy had won, but… Alex had been a vampire for longer. Even with his injuries, he might have been able to persevere, might have managed to kill the doctor for good, as well as any chance Chekov had of escaping.
Not that there was much justice in that, in escaping the same fate he'd brought on the doctor with his own stupidity.
Tears welled up in his eyes as hollow, thunking footsteps sounded on the stairs. Chekov pulled futilely on his bonds, achieving nothing but further pain and a racing heart. His eyes were glued to the landing as the footsteps neared the top. The first thing he saw was messy dark hair on a bowed head, then broad shoulders clad in brown leather. Even before those familiar hazel eyes glanced up, he knew it was the doctor.
"Oh, thank god, Doctor," Chekov sighed, slumping as relief flooded through him. McCoy paused on the landing, watching Chekov and inhaling deeply, his nostrils flaring. "Is… is he dead?"
McCoy said nothing as he walked over to Chekov, eyes wide and fixed on his bound form.
Chekov blushed as he remembered he was completely naked. He swallowed. "Um, Doctor?"
The doctor met his gaze, but didn't say anything as he sniffed the air again. A low growl sounded as McCoy's eyes faded to the eerie green.
"Doctor, are you okay?" Chekov pressed, doing his best not to shake and shiver under that preoccupied stare; it was familiar, filled with concern, yet terrifying in its hunger. “Please say something, Doctor. You are scaring me.”
That seemed to penetrate whatever was consuming the doctor's thoughts, and he raised an eyebrow, offering a weak smirk. "Yeah, I'm okay, considering I’ve been turned into a goddamned vampire.” He squeezed his eyes shut and ran a hand though his hair. When he opened his eyes again, they were the warm, familiar hazel. “I’m alright, kid.”
"I… I am so sorry," Chekov whispered, closing his eyes as guilt swept over him, driving away even his fear of McCoy in his changed state. If the Doctor decided to harm him, would he not deserve it? “If I hadn't talked to him-- hadn't turned my back on him… if I hadn't gone with him, none of this would have happened. This is all my fault, and though I know that it does not make everything go back to the way it was, I'm sorry.”
McCoy didn't say anything, and somehow Chekov summoned the courage to look up. The doctor was again staring at him unblinkingly, neither angry nor forgiving, eyes fading to green. Chekov's heart sped up again; .
"Dr. McCoy?" Chekov asked softly, putting aside his fear, his guilt, everything that wasn't concern for the doctor. Something was wrong with McCoy, perhaps something requiring medical help. If he could get them back to Enterprise, the condition could be reversed. Though what medicine would help a vampire… well, Chekov would think on that later. "You saved me tonight. If you free me, we can try to save you."
McCoy dropped to his knees onto the mattress next to Chekov, gently taking hold of his ankles and rubbing his thumbs against the soft skin there. Reverently, he slid his hands up Chekov's shins before stopping at his knees. The gaze he raised to Chekov's was still preoccupied and partly confused, but at this distance, he could see the doctor’s eyes burning with desire.
Chekov's breath caught and he was unable to look away from that mesmeric green stare, even when McCoy firmly pushed Chekov's knees apart until his legs were spread wide and lifted off the thin mattress. He shuffled closer until Chekov's thighs rested on his, all without breaking that heated gaze.
“Doctor, I--"
“Hush.” McCoy reached up and gently cupped his face, his eyes fading to that perfect, familiar hazel. "I'm not an idiot, kid; I know what all those little glances and dinner invitations really meant," he said, his voice a soft rumble. His eyes glazed over, as though distracted by what he saw. "For months I haven't been able to think of anything but your mouth, your voice, the sounds you'd make if I fucked you… Jesus, I couldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't stop wanting you no matter how hard I tried. I told myself there're a million good reasons why I shouldn’t want you, Chekov, and every damned one of them went right out the window when I saw you talking with him, saw you leave with him. I didn’t trust him, hated him for taking what I wanted. Now, the only thing I can think of is taking what’s mine.”
Chekov's mouth dropped open and he shook his head, certain he'd heard wrong. His night had veered from lonely and awkward to terrible, and now it was veering off in an entirely unexpected direction. But that didn't stop him from getting hard. “Wh-what did you say?”
McCoy looked away for a moment, into the shadows Alex had hidden in, but Chekov could see the need and... caring in those warm, hazel eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before looking at Chekov again. “You got one chance to tell me you don't want this, kid, because once we start, there's no stopping. Ever."
This wasn’t the situation he’d dreamed of, where the doctor would declare his love and sweep Chekov off his feet and to a bed with silk sheets, the room filled with flickering candles. This was something else entirely. But whatever it was, it was happening, and Chekov would take his moment however it came.
His wide blue eyes locked with McCoy's but his throat was so tight he could only nod his wordless consent, his heart pounding and his body flushed.
With a low growl, McCoy pulled Chekov against him, bodies and mouths crashing together. At the soft and rough feel of leather and denim rubbing against his bare flesh, Chekov gasped and the doctor's tongue plunged into his mouth, teasing his palate before twining with his tongue. Chekov moaned and arched his back, trying to get closer, and McCoy broke the kiss. Smiling ferally, he wrapped his arm about Chekov's waist, pushing him against the pipe at this back, till he was sitting astride McCoy's lap.
Chekov shivered, the cold of the metal biting against his skin, but he could also feel the doctor's erection pressing against his ass.
They looked into each other's eyes for a long time, as McCoy ran his hands up and down Chekov's ribcage. "Jesus, you're perfect. All porcelain skin and messy curls; fucking perfect,” he murmured. “I've wanted this for so long, but I can't for the life of me remember why I kept away. You're so damned beautiful…."
Beautiful? Chekov couldn’t imagine he was ever that. He was skinny and awkward with unruly hair. But with lust thrumming through him, scorching his veins and making him hard, he wasn't about to argue.
McCoy's large hands wandered, caressing Chekov's back before moving to his front, tracing his bellybutton and ribs before sliding back around to grab his ass. He lifted Chekov easily, until he could brush his lips across his bare chest. He peppered the soft skin with playful bites before dragging his tongue over one nipple, sucking until it was pebbled and Chekov was groaning and yanking at his bonds. McCoy pulled away with one last lick before blowing across the wet skin.
Chekov panted and wriggled in the doctor's grip, seeking friction for his cock. But McCoy ignored his desperation and turned his attention to the other nipple. He treated it much the same, teasing and sucking it till it hardened, then McCoy nipped sharply at it. Chekov whimpered and started begging.
"Chort!" he cried, bucking his hips. "Please, please, I need more!"
McCoy lowered Chekov back into his lap and kissed him again, hands covering Chekov's ass, gripping tightly at the firm cheeks. The kiss was hard and fierce, McCoy's tongue fucking Chekov's mouth, sliding against his tongue, possessing him. Bound to the pipe as he was and completely at McCoy's mercy, he could only rock against him, searching for friction. Before too long, he had to tear his lips away, gasping for air.
McCoy pressed his face to Chekov's throat, panting and kissing. Licking. "Goddamn, you feel so good, riding me," he rasped, biting Chekov's earlobe, then soothing it with his tongue. Chekov began to writhe, his hips rolling against McCoy's. He was hard and leaking, the cool denim of McCoy's jeans whispering roughly against his slick, hot flesh and driving him mad.
Moans and soft, helpless pleas escaped Chekov's throat, and when McCoy raised his head to look, Chekov could only imagine how he looked to the doctor. Especially now, while he was shivering and sweating, his hair wild and lips swollen from kissing. Certainly not a feast for anyone's eyes.
But McCoy dropped his head and dragged his tongue up Chekov's throat, licking at the drops of sweat. He took a small patch of skin between his front teeth and bit lightly, before releasing and sucking on it. Chekov turned his head, breathing against Leonard's forehead, taking in his scent of sweat, blood, cologne, and a strangely comforting hint of antiseptic. McCoy bit his way up to Chekov's lips before taking them in another kiss. His fingers spread out across Chekov's ass, one long finger burrowing between his cheeks, seeking out his entrance and pressing lightly on it.
Chekov gasped into the kiss, trying to push himself back onto the doctor's finger, muscles clenching and begging for more in anticipation.
“Fuck!” McCoy broke the kiss and scrambled to his feet, digging in his pockets to pull out an unlabeled tube before dropping it onto the mattress. He yanked off his jacket and shirt, before shucking his boots and jeans. H is boxers he simply ripped off and tossed away before kneeling in front of Chekov again.
His cock was hard, dark and filled with blood, arching proudly and his eyes were almost completely colorless. But unlike the Alex's eyes, even though they were the same shade, McCoy's eyes were warm. Chekov got to his knees and began to pull on his restraints with all his might.
"Please, I want to touch you," he begged, still yanking futilely on his chains as he turned pleading eyes to McCoy.
Frowning, McCoy reached out, wrapping a hand around each of Chekov's wrists, the metal cuffs firmly held in his grip. He tugged once, sharply, and with a quick, quiet snap, the metal gave, leaving Chekov with a metal bracelet on each wrist.
He immediately wrapped his arms around McCoy's neck and pressed their mouths together. Moans and whimpers fell from his lips, finally able to comfortably press their bodies together and wrap his legs around McCoy's hips. McCoy used one hand to grip his ass and with the other, he pushed them away from the wall and laid them out on the mattress, their bodies pressed fully together. Chekov groaned and thrust his hips as McCoy let go of him and sat up to grab the tube he'd dropped.
"What is that?" he asked, though his eyes were fixed on McCoy's torso, staring at the broad, muscled chest and leaking cock. Chekov was so eager to have him, enough so that he felt fairly shameless about his own naked and aroused state.
"Antibacterial ointment; I carry it on me anytime Jim and I go to a bar." McCoy rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Never know when he’ll have a busted head.” Chekov sat up and leaned close, pressing chaste kisses against McCoy's chest. His nose was tickled by the dusting of crisp, dark hair, and he smiled. One of McCoy's hands tangled in his hair and gently tugged his head back. Chekov looked up at his questioning gaze.
"What?"
McCoy's eyebrow arched. "Are you nuzzling me?"
"Well. Yes. But is not fair!" Chekov pouted, blushing. "You got to touch, and I did not get to touch and I have vanted this for as long as I have known you!"
McCoy pulled him close, chuckling. "You're sexy even when you pout, darlin'. And I promise, you'll have all the chances you want to touch me any way you want, okay?"
Chekov bit his lip, but nodded once, willing to take the doctor at his word. E ven changed as he was, McCoy was himself, a fact that relieved Chekov to no end. Then they were kissing again, gently and unhurried until their bodies were pressed together, McCoy's cock against his own. Chekov whined, soft and breathy, and hid his face against McCoy's throat, nipping at his skin. He slid one hand down McCoy's chest, smiling as a low rumble started under his hand, before settling it around McCoy's cock. It was thick and heavy in his grip as he pumped it slowly. McCoy's rumble became a muffled growl, the sound making Chekov harder while sending pleased shivers up and down his spine. He swiped his thumb over the head, smearing the liquid gathered there. McCoy grabbed his wrist and tugged it away.
"Darlin',” he breathed in Chekov's hair, his thumb lightly stroking Chekov's irritated wrist. “Your hand ain't the part of you I plan on comin' in. Now lay down."
Chekov shuddered at the low command and obeyed, reclining on the mattress. He let McCoy look his fill until those pale eyes met his own again, brimming with hunger and sparkling with intent. Smiling sweetly, Chekov raised his hand and flicked his tongue against his thumb, letting out a quietly yearning moan when he tasted McCoy there, salty and bitter.
Looking up through his eyelashes, he pressed his thumb fully into his mouth, sucking on it. Somehow, in all his fantasies, this sweet teasing hadn't present. But Chekov enjoyed the power he held over the doctor.
"Damnit, now you're just teasin'," McCoy grumbled, glaring at him, and Chekov smiled around his thumb, sucking it harder.
Shaking his head, McCoy flicked the top of the tube open and squeezed some of the ointment onto his fingers, spreading it around. With his other hand, he pressed one of Chekov's knees to his chest, opening his body to McCoy's gaze. Chekov knew his skin was already flushed from arousal, but it somehow managed to redden further. He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life, but he’d also never felt so desired.
Then McCoy brushed his fingers against Chekov's hole, spreading the ointment before firmly pressing in. Chekov's jaw dropped and he gasped as the finger carefully slid in and out. It felt… odd, that thick finger filling him, touching him as no one else ever had. He opened his eyes to find McCoy staring, his nostrils flaring. Chekov shivered as another bolt of arousal shot through him at the pure lust in those green eyes. McCoy pulled his finger out and added more of the slick gel. He pressed two fingers in, stretching and testing, in and out. It burned at first, was uncomfortable bordering on unpleasant until the tips of the doctor’s fingers pressed against his prostate. Chekov gasped and arched up off the mattress. He'd masturbated, often, to thoughts of this moment, had even pushed his fingers inside himself in place of the doctor, glancing off that place inside. But the knowledge that this was McCoy, combined with his firm touches, was enough to make Chekov come. He would've come but for McCoy's other hand clamped around the base of his cock.
“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he asked, smirking a little. He held onto Chekov's cock while stretching him a bit more slowly and carefully, avoiding Chekov's prostate. Not that he needed to touch it again, because suddenly, two fingers felt good to Chekov. After a relatively short time, it felt like not enough. And when the third finger was added, Chekov let out a thready groan. It burned a lot, and the stretch felt impossible, but felt strangely good, a combination of pain and pleasure. McCoy's eyes narrowed with worry, fingers stilling within Chekov.
"You know I can stop if you need me to," he ground out between gritted teeth.
"Ai, no!" Chekov started to sit up, but he couldn't without dislodging the doctor. He tried to calm himself, settling back on the mattress. “It hurts a little bit, but I want it. I want you. Please?"
"I can smell it, kid, smell your pain," McCoy said, shaking his head as confusion and concern warred with the desire on his face. He let go of Chekov's cock and started to pull out of him. “I'm hurting you.”
“No!” Chekov arched his back and clenched his muscles around the doctor's fingers. McCoy's eyes slipped shut and he groaned. "Please, Leonard, I want this, so much," Chekov begged. "And the hurting is not so much anymore."
McCoy opened his eyes and curled his fingers, pressing against that bundle of nerves, sending Chekov's brain to a place made of white light, colored fireworks and pure pleasure.
"Yes," Chekov hissed as he bucked his hips. "More. I want more."
"Okay. Pull your legs back," McCoy husked.
Not needing to be told twice, Chekov hooked his elbows behind his knees and pulled them to his chest. The look of pure want in McCoy's eyes as he stared at the place where three of his fingers were still pumping in and out of Chekov's ass, outweighed any embarrassment Chekov might have felt at being so exposed.
He rocked against the doctor's hand, eager for more than the fingers he'd grown accustomed to. "Please," he whispered and a tiny furrow appeared between McCoy's eyebrows. Chekov bit his lip and tried to sound as certain as he felt. "Leonard, I want you to fuck me," he said, pitching his voice low as he looked up through his eyelashes.
"Goddamn.” McCoy pulled his fingers out of Chekov and grabbed the tube of ointment. He hastily began slicking up his cock, gritting his teeth with the effort of not coming. "Do you know how fucking good you look, riding my fingers? Like you were made just for me," he murmured. Before Chekov could respond, McCoy was lifting Chekov's hips with one hand, and guiding his cock into that slick channel with the other. Chekov inhaled sharply.
His own masturbatory fumblings were nothing compared to the sweet, perfect ache of the doctor slowly, carefully filling him. The sweetness was tinged with pain, but brightened by the knowledge that this moment was real, and that sent joy and pleasure through him. His legs sprawled weakly as McCoy slowly inched his way in, alternately swearing and whispering encouragement. After long, drawn out moments, their bodies were flush together, the burn in Chekov's ass slowly fading. McCoy moved one hand slowly, brushing his fingertips across Chekov's hip while wrapping his other hand around Chekov's dick.
Chekov panted, trying to catch his breath as his muscles fluttered around McCoy's cock. After a few deep breaths, he regained some measure of control. He bore down and squeezed as tight as he could on McCoy's cock and watched, a bolt of pure lust zinging through him, as McCoy's grip on hip and cock intensified. He cried out, fighting hard not to come yet, while McCoy's jaw clenched and his biceps bulged as he began to tremble.
"Please, Chekov--" McCoy panted, eyes shut tight.
"Pavel. You are fucking me, so you must call me Pavel," he ordered between shuddering breaths.
"Goddamnit, Pavel," McCoy begged, desperation tempering the gruff words.
Looking up into McCoy's face, meeting that pleading green gaze that no longer seemed alien, Chekov felt more desirable and in control that he could ever recall feeling. McCoy was something different, strange and powerful. But buried inside Chekov's body, he waited with baited breath, restraining himself for Chekov.
A warm glow spread through him and he smiled, even though he knew it had to look silly. A hitch in the doctor's hips caused his cock to rub against Chekov's prostate, leaving them both gasping.
"Yes, please move, Leonard," Chekov whimpered, and McCoy groaned, pulling out partway, then pushing back in. He paused, then did it again, as though waiting for Chekov to change his mind. Chekov wiggled, trying to get closer, before lifting his legs and wrapping them around McCoy's hips. The angle changed, and if Chekov's hair had been straight, he was certain that sheer pleasure would have curled it. He arched his back and keened, watching McCoy watch him.
Something shifted, something imperceptible, and McCoy suddenly seemed nothing like a man and everything like an animal, pure lust and restrained power. Pulling out almost all of the way, McCoy slammed back in, growling. His thrusts came faster and faster, his eyes never wavering from Chekov's face. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the empty space, mixing with McCoy's growls and Chekov's cries.
"You're mine," McCoy ground out, tremors running through body, his nostrils flared, desperation of a different kind visible in his eyes. "Say it."
"Da, yours. I am yours," Pavel agreed breathlessly. “Only yours--"
McCoy snarled and sank his fangs into Chekov's throat. A sharp pain shot through him, followed by a slow warm pleasure as McCoy began to drink. It a strange sensation, almost like being touched inside his veins, a soft but pleasurable counterpoint to the frantic touches to his body. The fear that lurked in the corners of his mind quickly slipped away; Chekov was too lost in rising tide of his orgasm to worry. McCoy drank deep, and as he did, an odd thought drifted through Chekov's brain. He wondered what Leonard could taste. Could he taste the love and lust Chekov had harbored for months? But his thoughts soon evaporated under the pleasure inside that grew stronger with each snap of the doctor's hips. Chekov's mouth dropped open, his gasping turning into high-pitched panting. Each time McCoy snapped his hips forward, Chekov's prostate was struck. It was so much, too much, causing tremors to run through his body. It was too good, and as Chekov drew closer and closer to his orgasm, his muscles started clenching. Without moving his lips, McCoy groaned and came, shooting deep in Chekov, a growl vibrating against Chekov's throat. McCoy's hand twisted around Chekov's cock, thumbnail scraping over the head. McCoy continued to thrust as his cock softened, his movements erratic.
"C'mon, baby, come for me," he growled. He dropped his hand from Chekov's dick, sliding his fingers down past his balls to press, hard, on the strip of skin just behind. Chekov arched his back and came with a wavering wail, shaking as he struggled to breathe.
McCoy leaned down and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to Chekov's jaw, then his lips, cushioning Chekov's whimpers. His lips grounded Chekov, giving him a place to return to. Sated and weak, his mouth opened under McCoy's, welcoming the kiss, his tongue lazily flicking against McCoy's lips. McCoy opened his mouth, and blood began to trickle into Chekov's mouth. Lazy with pleasure and filled with love, Chekov accepted the blood with no more than a confused whimper, assuming it to be his own blood. As his tongue massaged Leonard’s, the blood continued to flow. Then Chekov felt it, a tear that kept shrinking. Soon, the blood stopped, and McCoy pulled away with a last lick to Chekov's lips. Carefully, he pulled his softening cock from Chekov's body and rolled him onto his side. McCoy disappeared and the bright overhead light shut off. Less than a second later, McCoy returned and pulled the blanket out from underneath Chekov, curling up beside him and pulling his lax form into his arms before covering them with the blanket.
Chekov fell asleep to the feeling of McCoy's thumb soothingly brushing against his hip.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chekov awoke to the sound of a high-pitched beeping and he opened his eyes.
Everything felt... different, sharper somehow, and he wasn't sore or tired. The beeping stopped. He rolled onto his back to find McCoy propped on his elbow and staring at him, uncertainty lining his face. Chekov had watched him enough, understood his sense of honor, and knew that McCoy was afraid, worried that Chekov would regret all that had transpired the night before. In truth, Chekov wouldn't have minded a more comfortable setting, and could have done without the drugging and kidnapping. But it had led him here, with McCoy, somehow knowing that they had eternity together. He smiled tentatively and McCoy responded with a smile bigger than any Chekov had before seen on the other man's face.
"How ya feelin'?" McCoy rumbled.
His voice was low, rough like it had been the night before when he'd been buried in Chekov's body. At the memory, heat surged through his body. "I feel wery good," Chekov said, feeling the blush spread to his ears.
McCoy's smile widened. "Well, whaddya know? Vampires can blush."
Chekov's flush deepened. "You are being mean, teasing me," he pouted
McCoy’s eyes and smile softened. "Aw, I'm sorry, sugar. Want me to make it up to you?"
"Yes," Chekov replied primly.
McCoy lowered his head and pressed his lips to Chekov’s collarbone, then breathed deeply. He made a noise, a strange cross between a desperate groan and growl, the vibrations against Chekov's skin raising goosebumps. "Jesus, you have any idea how good you smell with my come on you?"
Chekov felt as though he should be embarrassed, but all he felt was desire and joy. So instead, he laughed. "You are a very strange man." But he could smell it, too, the scent of them combined and it smelled right, like he belonged.
"Mmm... yeah, but it's too late to back out now," McCoy mumbled, a shadow of bitter coloring his scent.
"I don't want to back out," Chekov said firmly. He sighed happily and wrapped his arms around McCoy, pulling him into his arms.
McCoy continued to breathe in Chekov's scent, softly brushing his nose and lips against Chekov's throat. He didn't speak again for quite some time, just holding Chekov against him.
"Hungry?" McCoy finally asked, tilting his head to the side and baring his neck.
Chekov stared at his neck, broad and tan, veins pulsing beneath the skin, and felt a new hunger filling him. He didn't know what to do, but his instincts did. Chekov struck, his fangs sinking into McCoy's throat. As warm, rich blood spilled into his mouth, he felt himself getting hard. The blood tasted like he'd expected, and yet through the blood, he could sense love and McCoy, the flavor laced desire, love and want, fueling his own lust. McCoy groaned and began thrusting against him, his cock hard as well. After a few mouthfuls Chekov withdrew, and the wounds immediately began to close. He caught the last drops of blood on his tongue and savored them, panting and feeling as though he'd run a marathon. His heart was pounding as he looked at McCoy.
Their mouths crashed together, their tongues tangling. Chekov's fingers scrambled for purchase, clutching at McCoy's shoulders. He wrapped his legs around McCoy's hips, aligning their cocks.
"Wanna be inside you again, Pavel.”
"Yes," Chekov hissed. But instead of relaxing into the mattress, Chekov dropped his legs and pushed with all of his now considerable strength, forcing McCoy onto his back.
"What are you doing?" McCoy asked, his eyebrow arched.
Chekov scrambled on top of McCoy, straddling his hips. "Want this. I have thought of this many times," he whispered. Reaching behind himself, Chekov steadied McCoy's cock. Still loose and slick from earlier, his eyes slipped shut as he lowered himself onto McCoy's cock. He keened high in his throat as he was filled, McCoy's cock rubbing against his prostate.
"Ai, so good." Chekov shivered, forcing his eyes open.
McCoy's eyes had once again faded to green. Chekov lifted himself slowly, gasping before dropping back down. He could feel the vibrations inside himself as the doctor growled. McCoy gripped Chekov's hips tightly, not moving him, but just encouraging. He moved faster, riding McCoy with a speed and force that took his breath. Chekov could hear his own growl mixing with McCoy's as a large, calloused hand began stroking his cock in earnest. The taste of McCoy's blood lingered on Chekov's tongue, and with a cry, he came, clenching around Leonard's cock. He curled forward over McCoy, unable to keep moving.
"I am sorry," he said, realizing McCoy was still thick and hard inside of him. Somehow, he made himself look up at McCoy, who raised a come-covered hand to his mouth. He carefully cleaned his hand of Chekov's release, groaning, his eyes locked on Chekov's gaze.
At the sight of McCoy naked desire, an answering lust rose in Chekov. McCoy pulled out gently lowered Chekov to the mattress, then knelt between his spread legs. He then lifted Chekov's hips until his ass was once against flush against McCoy's hips. He pushed in slowly, grinding hard and long, then sped up, the tip of his cock glancing across Chekov's prostate repeatedly with every thrust. Chekov reached up, pressing his hands to wall and began pushing himself back in counterpoint. He could smell McCoy's lust and sweat, cologne and antiseptic-- that musk that was unique to Leonard McCoy.
A low growl rumbled out of Chekov's throat as he felt himself harden again. Each thrust sent him rushing to an impossible second orgasm, and he began to cry out as his body was overwhelmed with sensation. Tears leaked from his eyes as he screamed, release tearing through his body. His muscles locked, clenching around McCoy’s cock. Through slitted eyes, he watched as McCoy came with a roar, his back arched and eyes squeezed shut. After seconds that seemed to last for an eternity, McCoy slumped forward, blanketing Chekov.
Chekov shivered, feeling as though he were floating, warmth suffusing his heart at the sight of his lover. He wrapped his arms and legs around McCoy to ground himself, and turned his head, pressing his lips against McCoy's temple, silently mouthing the word "mine" over and over again.
McCoy chuckled, his voice like rough silk. "Yeah, kid, I'm yours. And you're mine."
Chekov lay quietly, content to feel McCoy’s heart beating against his as lassitude dragged him toward sleep. The beeping began again. McCoy swore while Chekov reached over to snatch the communicator off the floor. He didn't open it, just stared.
"What do we do now?" Chekov asked hesitantly.
McCoy looked up at him and smiled. "Whatever you want."
* * * * * * * * * *