In Soviet, er, um, I mean 23rd Century Russia...
Title: In Soviet, er, um, I mean 23rd Century Russia...
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: R-ish
Summary: There is a lot of things about his best friend that Sulu still doesn't know.
Notes: Thanks to soblazn_chekov 's prompt, "In Soviet Russia, sex has you!"
---
In Soviet, er, um, I mean, 23rd Century Russia
---
“Is, beautiful, yes?” Chekov asks him eagerly, a grin spread across his face.
“Is cold, is what it is,” Sulu bitterly replies. He rubs his gloved hands together seeking extra warmth, but finds none.
“It does not snow much in San Francisco,” Chekov says, with the softest inclination of a question in his words. Sulu nods, shoving his hands under his arm pits. He learned in his Survival Strategies course that it was one of the warmest parts of his body. At the moment he could really go for some of that heat transferring to his fingertips.
“Or the Philippines.” Sulu adds. He removes his hands from under the armpits of his heavy wool coat, and up to his face to breathe warmth on to them. His breath escapes, condenses, and floats upward in to the overcast sky.
“But in Japan, it does?” Chekov persists.
“I suppose so. In some places, yes. But, I only ever visited during the summer, when it’s hot and muggy.”
“You do not like snow?” He tilts his head and looks up at Sulu with the most goddamn innocent look that Sulu has ever seen.
“No,” Sulu replies, shoving his hands in to the pockets of the heavy winter coat. “Not really.”
“Dumb idea to come to Russia in the winter, if you do not like snow,” Chekov remarks, as he begins to walk down the street. His boots create new footprints across the snow-covered sidewalk. Sulu bows his head, keeps his eyes on the fresh prints, and follows.
“Yes,” he says, more to himself than anyone else,"very dumb idea.”
---
Chekov’s father is a nice man. His mother is a sweet lady. Their accents are thicker than their sons, so sometimes Sulu has to turn his head just a little bit, pop his ear, and concentrate to understand them.
His mother gushes about how handsome he is and asks about how Chekov is doing on the Enterprise, because her baby is just so modest he doesn’t tell them much.
“Did he tell you he saved my life?” Sulu offers over tea after their dinner (where Mrs. Chekova kept insisting that Sulu was far too thin and needed to eat more and Mr. Chekov kept excitedly asking about more details about The Enterprise)
“No!” she replies with a gasp, “Tell us.”
Chekov blushes and looks away, “It was no big deal, Mama.”
“Yes, it was. He transported me and the Captain while we were falling through the air. Pulled us right out of the sky and dropped us on the transporter room floor.” Sulu entertains Chekov’s parents with more tales of their son’s brave exploits, the boy blushing all the while.
---
They talk for another few hours until Mrs. Chekova decides that ‘Pasha’ and ‘Hekaru’ need their rest after the long journey. Chekov’s parents move off to their bedroom, speaking quietly in Russian as they do.
The house is rather small, though furnished and decorated lovingly. He expects to be led to a pullout couch or something, but he is brought up to Chekov’s bedroom. It’s bigger than Sulu thought it would be, though it hardly looks lived in. The room is painted something Sulu’s mother would have called ‘eggshell’, and Sulu would have called ‘white.’ The walls are lined with shelves covered in books and old toy models of army men and ships.
There is only one bed, though it is more than twice the size of the beds back at the Academy or on the Enterprise. It’s right about that moment he realizes they are intended to share, and why not? he supposes, they are friends. Best friends. Chekov asked him to come visit him during their shore leave.
They were just sleeping. That was all. That was it. It wasn't a big deal. He wasn't freaking out at all. No. Not one bit.
“Pavel?”
The boy looks up from where he is sitting cross-legged on top of the bed, “Yes, Hikaru?”
“I forgot to bring pajamas.”
Chekov frowns then, “How did you forget?”
“Uh, well. I don’t wear them often. I suppose it just slipped my mind.”
“What do you sleep in, then?” Chekov stretches his arms above his shoulders. His shirt rides up and Sulu tries not to stare at his exposed stomach.
“Boxers and a shirt. I mean, San Francisco is practically the same temperature year round, and you can program the temperature in your quarters on the ship, so-” he trails off, looking uncomfortable. “But, I think it’s too cold for that here.”
“Yes. Much too cold. You are not much taller than me. Go in the drawer. There should be ones that fit.”
Sulu does just that, and changes in to them.
“I think I shall take you to Moscow tomorrow,” Chekov mumbles idly, scrolling through a datapadd, “It is a few hours away. We will stay the night.”
---
With Chekov’s warm breath against the back of his neck; Sulu can’t sleep. His hand slides down under the waistband of his borrowed pajama bottoms. His thumb strokes down from his bellybutton to rest back against his forefinger, before he pulls his hand away, disgusted with himself. He rolls on to his side and faces the wall decorated with cut-out pictures of star ships.
He is a child, Sulu has to remind himself as he shuts his eyes tight, he is a goddamn child.
Eighteen means nothing. Looking at the boy's pale almost marble-like skin he knows he is still innocent.
Pavel sleeps with his mouth open, and his curls mussed, like one of Botticelli’s angels.
He does not want to corrupt him.
---
The next day, after a three and a half hour journey, they stand in front of Saint Basil’s cathedral. Fresh snow dusts the edges of some of the domes, and thick white flakes continue to pour down from the gray sky.
“It looks like candy,” Sulu says before he realizes exactly what he’s saying it. Chekov begins to laugh.
“One of the most important places in Russia, and you think it looks like candy.”
“If it helps,” Sulu begins slowly and uncertain, “I really like candy.”
Chekov rolls his eyes, still smirking.
---
“You should wear a hat,” Chekov tells him during their trek through the city, when Sulu complains about it being cold again, “I have extra. Rabbit fur; I promise it is warm.”
“I don’t like hats,” Sulu responds, shaking his head.
“That is okay.” Chekov touches Sulu’s cheek with his hand, it’s ungloved despite the cold, “You look good with snow in your hair.”
It takes Sulu a little longer than it should to pull away from Chekov’s hand.
---
That evening, when they walk up the stairs of a rather old looking building, Chekov is positively gleeful.
“This is where I lived when I went to University,” he explains, cheeks red and smile broad, “Before, the Academy. Tomorrow I will show you and campus.”
“When did you enroll in the Academy?” Sulu asks, slowing his pace when Chekov exits the stairwell and walks toward a door.
“Transferred semester after I turn sixteen,” he says, “I live in this room for two years. I talked to the landlady, no one is renting right now. She will let us stay the night.”
This room looks like Chekov’s, though it is clear no one has been in it for a while. It is painted a pale blue, and there are shelves covered in mechanical parts, gold trophies that need dusting, and ancient textbooks. There is a formula traced in black written over the bed.
“I never really moved out,” Chekov says, “she was a friend of my Mamma’s, made sure I ate enough, and that I went out for fresh air sometimes. I left most things here.”
Sulu nods, crosses his arms over his chest and looks around the room.
“I had sex here,” Chekov announces.
“What?”
“Sex,” Chekov continues with a nod of his head to indicate the small bed, “I had sex here. “
“I,” he trails off and blinks, “What?”
“My first time. “
“How old were you?” Sulu finds himself asking, before his brain can catch up to the situation.
“Fifteen. Almost sixteen. Why? How old were you the first time?”
“Older than that,” he mutters bitterly to himself.
“How old?” Chekov persists.
“Nineteen.” He doesn’t bother to add the ‘and a half’ he is thinking.
“Really?” Chekov laughs then as he unbuttons his jacket and drops it on the bed. “Why did you wait so long?”
"I didn't wait long," Sulu replies defensively, "I was just busy in high school. Some of us actually needed to study to pass tests."
Chekov laughs again, “Sex is very important. You find time for it, no matter the situation,” he stretches his arms over his head again, to reveal more of his white skin when his shirt lifts; Sulu looks away quickly.
“Who was it with?” Sulu finds himself asking as he stares up at the formula written on the wall in Chekov’s familiar script.
“Irina Gailliulin.” Chekov answers, walking up toward his old desk that is still covered in datapadds and loose pieces of paper. “She had a sharp nose and green eyes,” he adds, taking a seat and riffling through his old papers that, from Sulu’s angle, simply look like scratch paper, “I liked the way she laughed,” he adds.
“How did she laugh?”
“Boldly,” Chekov says, a small smile on his lips, “Like she did not care what the others thought of her. I like that. So, it is very odd that I find myself attracted to you.”
Sulu wasn’t sure how the hell he was supposed to respond to that.
“Hey...” he mumbles, quite affronted, and quite confused.
“I am not saying that you are not brave.” Chekov replies, turning slightly in his chair to lean an elbow on his desk and rest his head against his hand. “You are, very much so. But, you are not, how you say,” Chekov pauses then, “verbal?
When Sulu doesn’t respond Chekov shakes his head slightly.
“No, that is not right? I am trying to say you are not like the Captain, and that is okay. You are quieter about what you do. I can tell you take pride, but you are not, you are not what I would say is loud, and boisterous. You are reserved, more--" he pauses then, "Introverted?" he asks, "I believe that is the word. I find it refreshing.”
Sulu frowns slightly.
“Is that wrong, too?” Chekov asks, lifting his head up and setting his arm flat on the desk. “My English is not always good, let me show you.”
He stands up then, walking over to Sulu; Chekov grabs his wrist and pulls him toward the window.
“Look,” he says softly. Sulu always imagines Chekov to be so much smaller than him, but with the boy pressed against him right now, he realizes that it’s only an inch or two difference in their height.
“This is my city.”
It is beautiful, coated in snow and starlight.
“I brought you here. This city, it is part of me.”
He presses Sulu’s back against the windowpane. Sulu knows more than ten ways to shove Chekov off of him, but he does none of them, instead he tilts his head down slightly and kisses him.
Chekov slides his hand on to Sulu’s chest, and undoes the buttons on his thick coat. He pulls it down and lets it fall on the ground. Sulu is wearing a sweatshirt under that, Chekov unzips it, then slides a hand under the long-sleeved shirt he is wearing underneath.
“You have too much clothing,” Chekov mumbles against his lip, and then kisses his neck.
“It’s fucking cold,” Sulu protests.
“You complain too much,” Chekov reprimands, sliding a hand down Sulu’s thigh, before dropping to his knees.
“Pavel, are you sure?” Sulu asks, sliding a hand against Chekov’s neck. Chekov laughs before he starts to unbutton Sulu’s pants.
---
“Fuck,” Sulu gasps, sweat cooling against the nape of his neck, head rested back against the frost-coated window. “You planned this whole thing, didn’t you?”
Chekov’s cocky laugh as he stands up and licks his bottom lip is answer enough.
“God, you’re evil.” Sulu finds himself being pulled to the small bed, and shoved down on top of it. Chekov straddles his hips and starts to pull off Sulu’s sweatshirt, and then his shirt; he slides a pale hand over the now exposed skin.
“An evil genius,” Chekov corrects as he bites down on Sulu’s shoulder, “do not forget.” A hand slides down and begins to work off Sulu’s pants. He lifts his hips slightly to help with the process.
Chekov’s hands slide down his sides, hands shaking only a tiny bit.
“You a little nervous?” Sulu asks, leaning up to kiss him.
“No,” Chekov replies, a faltering grin across his lips.
They both know it’s a lie. And they both know that Sulu’s awkwardly returned smile means exactly the same thing.
They kiss again and Sulu places his hands on Chekov’s hips. He repositions himself on the tiny bed, spreading his legs slightly.
His grip tightens.
---
He wakes up in the cold room, shirtless, with something tickling across his back.
“What the hell are you doing?” Sulu mumbles in to his pillow.
“No squirming,” Chekov demands “Do not move.”
“What are you doing?” He can feel a tingle moving across his shoulder blades..
“I ran out of room.”
Sulu tries to get up and glance over his back, but Chekov pushes the dark-haired man’s head back down in to the pillow.
“Are you writing an equation on my back?” He isn’t exactly sure if he is annoyed, intrigued, or just damn confused. Honestly, he’s probably all three.
“Yes,” Chekov replies, pausing only for a second to readjust his position, where he is sitting across Sulu’s upper thighs, before he continues writing.
Sulu groans.
“Got it!” Chekov calls out after some time.
“Why didn’t you just go do that on a padd?” Sulu grumbles.
“I am a visual and kinetic learner. I can not do it all in my head.”
“But did it have to be all over my back?”
“It was your back, or Mrs. Kuzentsova's walls.”
“Fine,” Sulu replies, “But record that quickly. I want to take a shower; it’s your job to wash it off.”
---
And, back on the Enterprise, three months later, he looks over his shoulder to see a mess of red, blue, and black reflected at him. Numbers, and symbols, and letters jumbled across his shoulder blades, ribs, and spine. Like a stained glass window of the old cathedrals back on Earth. He shakes his head, pulls on his uniform, and makes his way to the bridge where he knows Pavel will be waiting patiently for Hikaru’s shift to start.