Sulu/Chekov FIc: Come What May
Title: Come What May
Author: hollycomb
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sulu and Chekov learn the consequences of drinking alien liquor.
Warning: Chekov!mpreg
Notes: Thank you to chlorate for beta reading and opening my heart to mpreg. ;__; Thank you to anyone who, like me, was once very dismissive of mpreg and who gives this a chance anyway.
Chekov has never woken up not knowing where he is. He's a navigator, obsessed with the location of every star in the universe, and he's always known exactly where he fits among them. So it doesn't make sense that he doesn't recognize this room, and then, when he does, that he doesn't remember how he came to be lying naked on the floor within it, someone big and heavy wrapped around him, the damp heat of what can only be a soft cock against the small of his back.
His heart pounding, Chekov looks down at himself and is briefly comforted when he recognizes Sulu's familiar hand loosely gripping his arm. He'd know those smooth, short fingernails anywhere; Sulu's hands are part of Chekov's everyday world, moving fluidly at the console beside Chekov, driving the ship. His relief is brief, however, because while he and Sulu have become good friends during the first six months of this voyage, they certainly don't make a habit of sleeping naked and entwined together. They haven't even kissed. Not that Chekov hasn't thought about it. He whimpers in confusion, his head pounding and his mouth dry, and tries to decide what he wants more, to cower against the comfort of Sulu's warm body or to get up and walk naked to the other side of the room, where he can see his shirt and underwear strewn on the floor. His pants are nowhere to be found.
When Sulu groans and stirs behind him, Chekov panics and rips himself from Sulu's grip, not wanting Sulu to think he knows what's going on here. The room they're in, a lounge for diplomats on Yrubi, is mercifully empty, save for an assortment of colorful pillows and the debris from the previous evening, half-empty bottles and flakes of the binsoi leaves the Yrubians were smoking last night scattered everywhere. Chekov hurries over to his underwear and pulls them on while Sulu moans with confusion.
"Pavel?" he says weakly, coughing Chekov's name out. Chekov puts his shirt on before turning to answer him, then ducks his eyes down when he sees Sulu spread out on his back, still too woozy to think to cover himself.
"Hikaru," Chekov says. "Are you alright?"
Sulu comes to his senses and curses in surprise at the state he's found himself in, grabbing a nearby pillow to hold over his crotch.
"What, what the --" he stutters, staring wide-eyed at Chekov, who is turning over pillows in a desperate search for his pants.
"I don't know," Chekov says, his face burning at the thought of Sulu even seeing his underwear, let alone whatever he saw last night. "I can't -- last night, do you remember?"
"All I remember is Kirk going off with that woman," Sulu says, hugging the pillow to his body, looking dazed. "And we came here with Mordecai and those guys, and they -- we were drinking that stuff."
"That brandy, yes," Chekov says, nodding. Someone seems to have stolen his pants, and the thought of returning to the Enterprise without them makes him want to weep with humiliation.
"I guess it was stronger than we realized," Sulu says, and when Chekov dares a glance at him he sees that Sulu's face is burning, too. "The last thing I remember is just -- everyone being here -- me and you were laughing."
Chekov's hands start to shake at the memory, which he'd thought would be a good one. Kirk had been off being Kirk, and Sulu and Chekov were left to entertain themselves until he reappeared in the morning. They met up with some of the diplomats they had been working with during the mission, and the diplomats brought them to this room, where Sulu and Chekov were served dinner by scantily-clad alien maidens, and where they drank sweet Yrubian brandy from clay mugs until they were both falling onto each other with laughter. Chekov remembers that part, Sulu's shoulder landing against his. He's still only seventeen, and most people on the ship treat him as if he's thirteen at best, so it meant a lot to be able to drink with Sulu, and laugh with him like they were equals. He swallows down a wave of nausea, unable to believe something that had begun so innocently seems to have ended otherwise.
"Here's your shirt," Chekov says, "And your pants, and --" He hands Sulu his boxer shorts, a flash of something that is not quite a memory streaking through him at the feeling of the fabric in his hands: the smell of Sulu's skin, and how good it had felt to lick over Sulu's hipbones as those boxers came down. Then the memory is gone just as quickly, and Chekov is glad for it, because he's sure his face is almost purple now.
He turns around while Sulu dresses, and jumps when Sulu taps him on the shoulder. He's holding up Chekov's pants, and Chekov exhales in relief at the sight of them.
"Thank you," he says as he stumbles into them. "Where did you --"
"They were over there, by where we -- slept."
Sulu stares at him, but Chekov won't hold his gaze. He feels sore and hollow and wet, too, something cold and sticky leaking into his underwear and then down his leg, and he's not naive enough not to know what it is.
"Pavel," Sulu says, so soft and apologetic that it sounds like he's going to cry. Chekov forces a shaky smile.
"Is alright," he says. "It happens."
"No, it doesn't," Sulu says, frowning. "Not to me. Not to you, either, I don't think." He flinches like he wants to reach for Chekov, then stops himself.
Chekov shrugs and heads for the open door. "Is part of exploring new planets. Making mistakes. Doesn't matter."
They walk back to the shuttle in silence, Chekov's stomach rocking with cruel waves of pain that nearly make him gag. Sulu lags behind him at a good distance, as if he doesn't trust himself to get close to Chekov without jumping on him like he apparently did last night. Or maybe it wasn't like that at all, maybe Chekov pulled Sulu onto him. He's certainly wanted to before, when they were drinking normal human vodka and not some evil alien brew. But even then Chekov would only have wanted to kiss Sulu, maybe rub against him a little, and he'd have wanted to fall asleep with his clothes on and remember everything in the morning, happy to wake up with Sulu still beside him. Now it's all ruined: Sulu must think so little of him. Chekov is thinking pretty little of himself as they prepare to beam back to the ship, Kirk's sunny mood like an added insult.
"You two look like shit!" Kirk says after he's placed the call to Scotty. "What'd you get up to last night?"
"Nothing," Sulu says tightly. "We're just tired." Kirk snorts.
"Yeah, right. Well, whatever. What happens on Yrubi stays on Yrubi, right?"
"Quit saying that about every planet we land on," Sulu mutters.
They arrive on the Enterprise and Chekov hurries away from Kirk and Sulu, headed for his room. He doesn't have to return to duty for twelve hours, and he's never been more grateful for the chance to be alone. When he's shut inside his room he rips his clothes off and heads for the attached bathroom, turning up the water as hot as he can stand it. He stands under the water and listens to the deafening pound of his heartbeat, waiting for the aches in his head and stomach to subside. His memories begin to creep back in incomplete flashes, blurry and random: the warm taste of the brandy on Sulu's lips, the dizzying scent of his neck, and words that Chekov maybe imagined, things like so beautiful and God, Pavel.
He washes himself in slow motion, careful with his body as if he doesn't know it very well. It has been through something without him, without his mind there to quantify and analyze and make decisions. It has betrayed him, really, and sabotaged his friendship with Sulu. Chekov has been afraid that this might happen since the beginning: even without the aid of strong alien liquor, he's caught himself reaching for Sulu once or twice, or maybe more like ten times, fifteen.
When he's through with his shower, he lies in bed for a long time, trying to sort out his feelings. He's still sore, and when he imagines Sulu opening him up and thrusting into him with his cock he shudders with revulsion and arousal. He wonders if he was a disappointing lover. He must have been; it was his first time. Anyway, Sulu probably doesn't remember. Chekov feels like he's been robbed, like he's lost something sacred and irreplaceable, and somehow the fact that he lost it to the person he wanted to give it to anyway only makes it worse.
He rolls onto his side and shuts his eyes, not holding out much hope for sleep. Instead, more hazy memories of Sulu's skin flood in, his hot breath, his needy touch under Chekov's shirt. What he can't recall is what it felt like to be filled up, to have someone -- Sulu -- inside him. All he knows now is the lingering sting.
When someone knocks softly on his door, he knows exactly who it is, and part of him wants to fling it open and scream at Sulu for not taking proper care of him and for harassing him in the aftermath, while another part of him wants to draw Sulu into the room and crumble into his arms, squeezing closer and closer until he knows a little of what it was like to be connected to him.
"Pavel?" Sulu calls, and Chekov can hear it in Sulu's voice, the weepy apology that will infuriate him. He doesn't respond, just lies there staring at the door, wishing he could see Sulu and glad, at the same time, that he's able to hide from him. Sulu stands outside for awhile, silent, then Chekov hears him walking away. He wants to be angry with Sulu for this, for giving up, but he can't be. Tomorrow Chekov will go to the bridge and smile at Sulu like he always has, pretending nothing has happened. There's no sense in dwelling on it. He doesn't want to hear Sulu's apologies and regret. That's not what he wants from Sulu at all.
*
The following morning, Chekov sits up straighter than usual at the console, a tight look of forced contentment on his face as he ignores Sulu's worried glances and pointed sighs. His soreness is almost gone, and he tells himself that any thought of that evening should go with it. It's meaningless in the great scheme of things. Maybe he and Sulu will look back on it someday and laugh.
"Are you okay?" Sulu asks quietly as he drops down beside Chekov in the officer's mess during lunch. Chekov looks up at Sulu with a grin, as if he can't imagine why Sulu would ask him such a question, inwardly cursing the fact that Sulu can probably see his spoon shaking as he holds it over his bowl of soup.
"Yes, I am fine, thank you," Chekov says. At least his voice is steady. "How are you?" he asks, as if Sulu is the one whose condition warrants concern. He's got bags under his eyes and he looks a little pale, his shoulders slumped with what might be shame.
"I'm not that good," Sulu says with a scoff. "Actually."
"Hikaru, don't be silly." Chekov turns back to his soup, adding more salt just to have something to do with his hands, and something to look at aside from Sulu's earnest face.
"Don't be silly? Chekov -- Pavel -- what I did to you --"
"Who's to say I didn't do something to you as well?" Chekov shrugs, still staring at his soup, the layer of salt approaching half an inch on its surface. "Is not problem. Ancient history already."
Sulu says nothing, staring glumly down at the table. Chekov ignores him and stirs his soup, afraid to take a bite because the salt will burn his tongue.
"Where is your lunch?" Chekov asks, reaching for his glass of juice instead.
"I'm not hungry," Sulu mutters. He looks up into Chekov's eyes then, catching him off guard, and Chekov feels like he's just taken a bullet to his chest. Sulu is saying a thousand things to him with his eyes, and Why won't you let me help you? is the one that is most clearly communicated. Chekov sniffs in disdain, as if Sulu has asked him this out loud.
"Maybe you should take a day of sick leave," Chekov says. Sulu says nothing for a moment, fidgeting nervously.
"Just tell me I didn't hurt you," he mumbles, barely loud enough for Chekov to hear, his gaze still cast downward. Chekov is frozen in place by the words, staring at Sulu, and when Sulu's eyes suddenly dart up to his, he has that bullet-puncture feeling again.
"No," Chekov says. "You didn't."
Sulu winces a little and then jumps up from the table like he's just heard an alarm on the bridge. He practically jogs out of the dining room, and Chekov watches him go, stunned and speechless.
*
Later that evening, Chekov is alone in his room, whereas normally he would be in Sulu's room playing chess or Karaoke Revolution XIV. He lies on his back in bed, thinking of all the nights when he and Sulu collapsed into laughter over that stupid singing game; Sulu always laughed like hearing Chekov sing American pop songs in his Russian accent was the greatest delight in the universe, and Chekov would jokingly complain that Sulu loved to see him humiliate himself, to which Sulu would respond that Chekov loved to see Sulu humiliate himself, too, or otherwise he wouldn't ask to play chess with him.
"Hikaru," Chekov says into the air above his bed, to no one, just because he misses spending his nights saying Sulu's name. He used to gasp it out like a protest when Sulu made him laugh too hard. It's a funny thing to miss so much.
His PADD beeps with a new communication, and he picks it up to give the latest message from the crew's official listserv a bored appraisal. No one else ever messages him.
To his surprise, the message is not from the Captain but from Sulu. Chekov opens it, his heart already pounding.
Pavel,
I've been doing some research on that Yrubian brandy and apparently it's pretty infamous. It's really not made for human consumption and it's a miracle that we haven't been sick for the past two days. Well, I have been, actually. I can't eat, can't sleep. Please tell me you're okay. I know I'm being annoying but I need to hear it every two minutes lately. I feel like I ruined you.
Also I took a test and I'm clean so you don't have to worry about that.
H.
Chekov rereads the message again and again, an unnamable reaction bubbling through him. Part of him hates Sulu for sending it -- now the whole shameful incident has been immortalized in official Federation communication, which will be archived for all eternity, never mind how private their PADD connections are supposed to be. He's brokenhearted at the thought of Sulu dragging around, unable to eat or sleep because of him, annoyed by the fact that Sulu needs to hear again that he's fine, and undecided about Sulu's fear that he's ruined him. Chekov doesn't like Sulu thinking that he has the ability to do so, but the fact that he's worried that he might have makes Chekov's chest ache, and he remembers the smell of Sulu's skin again, and the warmth that had spread through Chekov when he pressed his face to the heat of Sulu's neck. He sighs, not sure why he should be thinking of these things now, except that he's longing for both, for Sulu.
He opens up a blank document to compose a response and can't come up with anything. He's not even sure if he should address the message to Sulu or Hikaru. Frustrated, he pushes the PADD aside and flops down onto the bed, feeling seasick and miserable. So Sulu views him as a pathetic, ruined child. Chekov isn't sure why he feels so surprised. What did he expect, Sulu to go on pretending, the way Chekov has, that everything is okay? He's much too noble for that, and he certainly wasn't going to somehow react positively, realizing buried feelings for Chekov as a result of their reckless sex. Chekov winces, trying to imagine what he must have looked like while Sulu drove into him, hands tight on his sides. He probably moaned so loud. A flush of embarrassed arousal washes over him at the thought. And what sort of sounds would Sulu make? Maybe he stared down to watch Chekov's skin straining around the thickness of his cock, stretched and red and wet with whatever lubricant Sulu must have used, because Chekov isn't that sore.
He's hard, thinking about it, and his body clenches up with a little hiccup of muscle memory as he tries to imagine how it must have felt, that first hot push of Sulu's cock into his body. Chekov groans under his breath and rubs his hands over his face. He's no stranger to touching himself to thoughts of Sulu's hands, but he's never been bold enough to fantasize about something so graphic before. Meanwhile, poor Sulu is weeping in his room, mourning the loss of Chekov's innocence. Chekov smiles a little at the thought, and he picks up his PADD.
Come to my room, he writes, but he deletes the message before he can allow himself to be stupid enough to actually send it. Sulu would be doubly horrified to know that Chekov, angelic, ruined teenager, is lying in his bedroom and wanting Sulu to come and attend to his hardon in penance. He snorts, disgusted with himself and everything, and tosses his PADD onto his bedside table hard enough to make the plastic clatter angrily. He thinks of Sulu's message, his tender heart and pale-faced concern, and feels guilty. He's not even worthy of Sulu's regret, really.
*
The following morning, Chekov shows up late for his shift, dreading the thought of facing Sulu after a long night spent alternately dreaming about him and jerking off to thoughts of him. He's still exhausted when he arrives, and Kirk gives him a long look but doesn't say anything about his tardiness. Sulu is at the console, and he looks over at Chekov when Chekov takes his seat, but Chekov doesn't look back.
"Good morning, Sulu," Chekov says, keeping his eyes on his monitor.
"I guess," Sulu says. Chekov can feel Sulu's eyes on the side of his head like a phaser beam. "Are you alright?"
"Please stop asking me that, sir," Chekov says, as quietly and politely as possible.
Sulu sniffs and says nothing more; he's asked Chekov not to call him 'sir' since it makes Sulu feel like a dick. Maybe Sulu is a dick, bombarding Chekov will all of this faux-heroic concern. Chekov feels guilty for the thought as soon as he's had it, and glances over at Sulu's hands on the console, the sight making him shudder a bit, just at the small of his back.
"Thanks," Chekov says, keeping his voice low. "For your concern."
"Just forget it," Sulu says tightly, and Chekov is very glad that everyone else on the deck is distracted by some argument that Kirk and Spock are having about the proper use of replicators.
"Obviously you hate me," Sulu whispers. "And I don't blame you. But I get it now, okay, so I'll leave you alone."
"No," Chekov says, maybe a little too loudly. "I don't. Sulu."
But Sulu won't look up again, his cheeks pink as he frowns down at his monitor. Chekov scoffs, annoyed with his melodramatic attitude. As if things aren't going to be awkward enough between the two of them from now on.
They're in the middle of a five-day flight to the planet where their next mission will occur, and it's so boring that Kirk is going around the room and asking everyone what their favorite moon of Jupiter is, then forcing them to explain why. Chekov hunches down and sighs, dreading his turn to answer this question. He glances over at Sulu, who is staring off into space -- literally -- and looking so quietly broken that Chekov almost moans with sympathy. He opens up a dialogue box on his monitor and composes a message that pops up on Sulu's screen with a little ringing sound as soon as Chekov has sent it. He watches Sulu read it out of the corner of his eye:
I got your message last night
Sulu glances over at Chekov, who smiles at him shakily. Something changes in Sulu's eyes, and Chekov doesn't think he's ever seen it before, not on Sulu or anyone. He turns to his monitor and starts typing up a response to Chekov's message, and Chekov reads it when it pops up on his screen:
thanks for letting me know. i was worried.
Chekov grins and shakes his head at the monitor as he types up his response:
You worry too much Hikaru
Sulu touches his chin and takes some time to think before he starts typing again. Chekov is shaking with anticipation by the time he reads Sulu's next message:
i care about you.
It bursts through Chekov like a supernova, and he has to chew the tip of his tongue to keep from laughing out loud with something like relief. He dares a glance over at Sulu, who draws his eyes up slowly, again piecing Chekov like a bullet when they meet his.
"Chekov!" Kirk shouts, and Chekov jumps, hurriedly closing the message box on his screen as Sulu does the same on his own.
"Aye, Keptin?" Chekov says, turning, afraid Kirk is going to somehow know everything and announce the strange progress of Sulu and Chekov's relationship out loud. Kirk frowns very seriously.
"What is your favorite moon of Jupiter, Ensign?" Kirk asks.
Astronomy was Chekov's best subject in school, until he discovered physics, but he can't think of a single moon, and he's barely able to stop himself from saying Hikaru.
*
After their shift ends, Sulu and Chekov walk to dinner together, not speaking or even really looking at each other, just smiling faintly at nothing. At one point Chekov actually bursts into nervous laughter, and Sulu elbows him.
"I'm not even hungry," he says as they come to the door of the mess.
"Me either," Chekov says, and Sulu takes Chekov's arm, pulling him down the hall toward the crew's quarters as if he's a prisoner and Sulu is bringing him in. Chekov enjoys this treatment maybe more than he should, and by the time they reach Sulu's room his breath is coming fast. Sulu screws up his entry code and curses, and Chekov laughs again.
As soon as they get into the room Sulu lifts Chekov up and pins him back against the door, kissing him so hard that Chekov feels like he'll be torn in half by it, everything in him falling open, loose and happy as he wraps his arms around Sulu's shoulders. He moans when Sulu moves down to kiss his neck, his cock hardening in his pants at the strangely familiar feeling of Sulu's mouth on his skin.
"Wait," Sulu breathes, his face still pressed against Chekov's neck, his breath so hot against it. "We shouldn't do it all crazy -- again, this time."
"All crazy," Chekov says, laughing. Sulu releases him, Chekov's legs shaking when they find the ground. He pulls Sulu back onto him, and Sulu sighs against Chekov's forehead, his eyes fluttering shut.
"I barely even remember," Sulu says. "But sometimes, when you're sitting next to me at work, I'll get this flash -- like your ear, like. I remember --" He leans forward to demonstrate, licking Chekov's earlobe into his mouth and pulling it gently between his teeth. Chekov moans, his cock throbbing at the sensation.
"Yes," he says, panting for more already. "I have the same. Your skin. I'll think of it, the way you tasted."
"You tasted like a miracle," Sulu says, moaning under the words as he bends down to mouth Chekov's neck again. "Still do."
"Hikaru," Chekov breathes, grinning when he feels the press of Sulu's cock against his leg. He might have been nervous or awkward about this before, but now, since they've already done everything, he reaches down to stroke Sulu through his pants without hesitation. Sulu groans and kisses Chekov's jaw in little licks, still tasting him.
"Wait," Sulu says again, pulling himself back. "It's too -- I want to slow down." He says so even as he's licking his lips, staring at Chekov's mouth.
"Okay," Chekov says, because he does feel a little dizzy and overstimulated, slipping back into the hazy confusion of Sulu's body covering his. He leans up to kiss Sulu's neck very softly, moving down to the hollow of his throat, Sulu's pulse pounding under his lips.
"I hate that I don't remember what it was like, the first time we kissed, the first time --" Sulu trails off and looks down at Chekov, sighing.
"So this will be our first time," Chekov says, and Sulu takes Chekov's face in his hands. He stares at him like he's trying to relearn his face.
"I was afraid," Sulu says, his voice so soft and cautious that it makes Chekov's eyes burn. "That I did something. You didn't want."
"Hikaru." Chekov kisses Sulu's face, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was afraid, before, that he had lost some perfect thing that he might have had with Sulu, but this is still that perfect thing. "I'm so glad it was you. I wish I could remember, too. But we can make new memories, yeah?"
Sulu nods slowly and brings Chekov over to his bed, which Chekov has sat on plenty of times, always wanting so much to sink down on the pillows and shut his eyes, to breathe in the smell of those sheets, of Sulu. He lies down and Sulu climbs into the bed beside him, propped up on his elbow and leaning down to kiss Chekov sweetly, probably not intentionally teasing him, but Chekov is so hard for the taste of Sulu that he's whining before long, his hips twitching up involuntarily.
"What do you want?" Sulu whispers down against Chekov's cheek. "I just want to give you whatever you want."
"Touch me more," Chekov says, his voice breaking with desperation, and Sulu grins.
"Try not to sound so fucking young, okay?" he says. "I've got enough guilt issues over here."
"Don't be guilty. I want you, Hikaru, please." Chekov takes Sulu's hand and pushes it up under his shirt, and he remembers being surprised by the roughness of Sulu's palm, calloused from swords and flight sticks. He moans, arching up into the touch as Sulu reaches up higher and rubs at his nipples, then back down to his trembling stomach, moving so slowly. When Sulu's hand is spread over Chekov's stomach, Chekov feels so perfectly complete, as if Sulu is going to hold him here, in place, forever.
"You don't have to be so careful," Chekov says when Sulu's fingers slide cautiously along the line of Chekov's underwear, the elastic peeking up from under his pants.
"Yes, I do," Sulu says, and he leans down to cover Chekov's mouth with his, kissing him wet and hot and slow as his hand finally trails down between Chekov's legs. Chekov spreads himself open as widely as he can, rutting shamelessly into Sulu's grip. He's feverish with too much want: he wants to tear his shirt off, and Sulu's, too, so that he can feel Sulu's skin pressed against his, he wants his pants off so he can feel Sulu's rough palm on his cock, and wants to keep clinging to Sulu like this, kissing him, making it impossible for either of them to undress.
"This is still too fast," Sulu says, but that doesn't stop him from tearing open the front of Chekov's pants. Chekov throws his head back onto Sulu's pillow and groans in appreciation while Sulu massages his cock through his underwear. His balls begin to tighten up, and he grabs Sulu's wrist, not wanting to come already.
"Let me," Chekov says, though he's got no idea what he's doing. Sulu gives him a curious look of pure innocence, and Chekov scrambles up onto his knees to grab his face and kiss him for it. He kisses his way down Sulu's neck, pausing to suck and to bite, just once, between Sulu's neck and shoulder, making him squirm. Chekov pulls Sulu's shirt off, and Sulu is blushing beautifully when it's gone, but Chekov can't let himself get distracted and start kissing his face again. He pushes Sulu onto his back and begins kissing down his chest, licking into his shallow belly button and then over those hipbones he remembers.
"Pavel," Sulu says, in wonderment, leaning up from the mattress so he can watch as Chekov begins to kiss down over the bulge in his pants.
"You feel so big," Chekov says, rubbing Sulu with what he knows is infuriating softness. Sulu makes a choking sound, his eyes falling shut for a moment, then opening again, half-lidded now. "So hard," Chekov says, rubbing him just a bit more firmly, and Sulu groans, his head falling backward.
"Tell me, Hikaru, tell me what it felt like to be inside me," Chekov says, unzipping him slowly.
"Oh, fuck, I don't, I don't remember, God, I wish I did." Sulu is a wreck, and Chekov never thought he would see him like this, unraveled and surrendered, his chest heaving. Chekov pulls Sulu's boxers down slowly, his own face burning when he's staring wide-eyed at Sulu's naked cock. He barely got a chance to look at it on Yrubi when they woke in a panic, and it was soft then. Now it's full and flushed and standing up straight between his legs, wet at the tip, bobbing along with Sulu's harsh breathing.
"So big," Chekov says, running cautious fingertips up the length of Sulu's cock while Sulu pants and winces as if he's being tortured. "You left me sore, you know," Chekov says, tickling his fingers over Sulu's sweating balls before drawing them upward again.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry." Sulu sounds like he might cry. Chekov smiles, then feels cruel and kisses the leaking head of Sulu's cock in apology.
"No, don't be sorry," Chekov says. He licks Sulu once, tentatively, and Sulu cries like he's been burned, his hips twitching weakly. "I think I liked it," Chekov says.
"God, Pavel," Sulu moans, his eyes pinched shut now, arms thrown out onto the mattress in total surrender.
"I want this to happen again, I think," Chekov says. He licks Sulu more purposefully, tasting his pre-come. "I want to walk around the ship with a sting in my ass, thinking about how hard you fucked me."
Sulu just groans, beyond words at this point, his eyes leaking as Chekov licks him again, then circles the head of his cock slowly with his tongue.
"You shouldn't feel guilty, Hikaru," Chekov says. His heart is pounding and his cock is rock hard, aching. He never suspected how much he would love this, saying filthy things to poor Hikaru, who looks as if he can barely handle hearing them, though Chekov suspects that he's enjoying it.
"I think maybe I begged you to fuck me harder, and faster, and deeper." He lingers over the last word, his lips moving on Sulu's cock as he says it, and Sulu bucks up with a desperate whine, Chekov's tongue sliding down his shaft as he does. Finally, Chekov admits to himself that part of the reason he keeps talking is that he's afraid to try to take Sulu into his mouth, and he settles for at least putting his lips around the head. Sulu groans tremendously when he does, one shaking hand pushing blindly into Chekov's hair, and he holds on while Chekov takes him in deeper, his groan giving way to a whimper.
"Pavel!" he says in a harsh whisper, and then he's coming, and Chekov is sort of choking on it, feeling like an idiot as it dribbles down his chin and then shoots hard and hot against his cheek. He looks up to watch Sulu, who is fisting the blanket on his bed with one hand and Chekov's hair with the other. He's arching up, spurting everywhere, and crying out with sharp little grunts that make Chekov want to fuck himself against the mattress and come before the tightness in his cock makes his whole body burst into pieces, but he makes himself wait, because he's already done something childish: failing to swallow Sulu's come. He licks it from his lips and wipes the rest off with the back of his hand, which he discreetly cleans on Sulu's blankets while Sulu likes there panting, still out of it.
He starts to crawl up to lie beside Sulu while he recovers but only makes it halfway there before Sulu is sitting up and slamming him back onto the mattress. Chekov laughs, bouncing against him, and Sulu growls into his mouth as he kisses him, as if he's telling Chekov to shut up, to take this seriously. He pulls back and kneels between Chekov's legs, ripping down his pants so that Chekov is completely exposed, his thighs shaking as Sulu stares down at his red prick. Sulu looks up to smirk at Chekov, who is burning with need, all of his skin as flushed and tight as his cock. He whines in protest when Sulu only strokes the insides of his thighs, though that does feel good, so good.
"You were begging me, huh?" Sulu asks, and Chekov grins up at him.
"Maybe."
"I wonder what it might have sounded like." Sulu draws one finger up the underside of Chekov's cock, slow and steady, and Chekov bites out curses in Russian, close to coming just from that, but he doesn't want to give it up until Sulu's mouth is impossibly hot around him.
"Please!" he grinds out, hating Sulu for being good at this, too, though he's glad for it, really, it's a relief.
"Please what?"
"Please suck me, please, I want your mouth, Hikaru -- ahh!"
"You want to come so bad, don't you Pavel?" Sulu's voice is getting throaty and raw, and it winds down Chekov's spine, making him tense up even more.
"Yes, please, Hikaru, so badly, I need it --"
"Does it hurt a little? Hmm?" He's still stroking Chekov's thighs like he could do this all night, his face calm and calculating now, as if he won't be satisfied until Chekov's eyes leak out in frustration.
"Does that throbbing cock hurt, Pavel? Look at you, you're so full, so fucking hard, I bet that aches, doesn't it?"
"Hikaru!" And then Chekov does cry a little, partly just to appease him.
"You know what would feel good?" Sulu asks, leaning down over him to smirk and whisper in his ear, his stomach just barely above the sobbing tip of Chekov's cock. Chekov only whimpers in response, half of him wanting to buck up against Sulu's body and come all over his stomach, but he wants his mouth, he wants it more than anything.
"You know what would make that aching cock feel so much better?" Sulu asks. He licks Chekov's ear, just softly. "My tongue would make it feel all better, make you feel so good. I bet I could swallow you up whole, and you could fuck my mouth, Pavel, but you wouldn't even get that far before you shot that big load right down my throat."
Chekov groans and cries and squeezes Sulu's shoulders with his shaking hands, not sure if he can manage one more please; he's wound so tight that he can't even remember the English word for it.
"Hikaru," he says instead, choking it out like a sob, and Sulu kisses Chekov's temple sweetly before ducking down and making good on his promise. He takes Chekov's cock into his mouth in one hot, quick swallow, and Chekov screams as he comes, more from the feeling of Sulu's lips straining around the base than anything else.
That's right, he hisses in Russian, out of his mind with the intensity of his orgasm. You swallow my come down, all of it. Sulu does, moaning around Chekov's cock between every gulp, and when Chekov has been sucked dry Sulu slides off of him slowly, Chekov's cock so overstimulated that he hisses again at the sensation, wordlessly this time. Sulu leans over him and kisses his face as the last aftershocks burn out of him, and Chekov wrenches his eyes open to stare at Sulu in complete bewilderment.
"Maybe it wasn't the liquor," Sulu says, grinning. "Maybe we're just like this."
Chekov calls him a fucker in Russian, grinning as he pulls Sulu down to thump heavily against Chekov's spent body. Sulu sighs and deflates on top of him, and the push of Sulu's strong breath against Chekov's stomach feels almost as good as Sulu's mouth did, or maybe it feels even better, in a different way. Chekov moans happily and winds his arms around Sulu's shoulders, kissing his ear with sharp little pecks.
"I want to die like this," Chekov says, accidentally in English. "With you on top of me."
"Trying to tell me that I'm crushing the air out of you?" Sulu asks, starting to move off, but Chekov whines and holds him in place, wrapping his legs around Sulu's back.
"Do you think we just started fucking while the diplomats were still sitting around smoking their pipes?" Chekov asks, and Sulu laughs, which feels so good, though he is sort of crushing the air out of Chekov, actually. He's heavy, but Chekov wants to always be flattened underneath him.
"It's possible," Sulu says. "Maybe that's how we cleared the room."
"You make me -- how did you say it? All crazy."
"You're all crazy anyway," Sulu says, leaning up so that he can look down at Chekov, and kiss the bridge of his nose. "That's why I --" He stops short of saying love you, but Chekov heard it, even if he's not sure Sulu means it yet. He grins.
"Can I sleep here?" he asks.
"Yeah, of course," Sulu says, rolling off of Chekov to kick his pants to the floor. His face is red, and Chekov wishes he wouldn't be embarrassed. Chekov doesn't expect Sulu to love him forever, but he wouldn't resent him if he did. Mostly he just wants to be naked and sleep with Sulu pressed against him in this private place, Sulu's bed, and he wants to wake up in the morning and remember everything.
When they're both undressed completely, Sulu has his room's computer adjust the temperature, turning it down lower to cool their sweat-slicked skin. Chekov rolls onto his side and holds his breath until Sulu slumps against him, pulling Chekov in snugly against his chest.
"You're so good, Hikaru," Chekov says, lifting Sulu's hand so that he can kiss every finger. "Such a good man, I think."
"You think?" Sulu says, nosing through Chekov's curls, and Chekov can feel his smile. "But you're not sure yet."
"I am relatively sure," Chekov says, and Sulu snorts with laughter, squeezing Chekov in even closer when he laughs, too, and tickling his hand down Chekov's chest.
"Jury's still out on you," Sulu says. He kisses his way down Chekov's neck to his squirming shoulder, and every inch of Chekov's skin is tingling from Sulu's attention.
"No one has made me want to be so wicked before," Chekov says, reaching back to smooth a hand over Sulu's ass, which is pleasantly damp with sweat. "No one before you."
"That's kind of a hit to my conscience," Sulu says, "But I'll take it."
Chekov has no idea what he means, but he shuts his eyes against his pillow and smiles hard enough to hurt his cheeks, not really caring. He's ready to sleep, and ready to wake up in Sulu's arms again.
*
Chekov starts spending every night in Sulu's bed, not really sure why they're sleeping in Sulu's rather than his, except that Chekov prefers Sulu's, and Sulu's room also seems nicer somehow, though it's virtually identical to Chekov's. The Enterprise arrives at the destination of their next mission, and Kirk goes planetside with Spock and two other officers. It's a ten day mission, and Sulu and Chekov are essentially on vacation while the ship is docked over the planet where Kirk and the others have disembarked. They're still expected to be on the bridge at their regular hours, but there isn't much to do, and they spend their time at work chatting quietly under their breath and trying not to look at each other in a way that broadcasts to everyone else on the bridge that they will be retiring to quarters to have sex as soon as they're free.
"You think anybody's noticed that you're sleeping here?" Sulu asks one night when he and Chekov have just arrived in his room. They've already fallen into a regular routine: Chekov collapses onto the bed and moans dramatically about how tired he feels while Sulu makes his way around the room, watering plants and checking his PADD for personal messages from home. He has a large family and they're always calling or writing. When he's through he'll fall into bed beside Chekov and kiss him for awhile, until Chekov starts complaining that he's hungry. They eat almost all of their meals from the replicator -- going to the mess takes too much time.
"Noticed? No. Who pays so much attention to us? Nobody. Can you replicate me a steak please, and strawberries, and some pretzels and milk and a couple of rolls, maybe?"
"So now I'm your sex slave and your chef?" Sulu says, grinning as he punches Chekov's order into the replicator. "What is with you and all the steak?"
"I don't know, I just want it. Thank you, Hikaru," Chekov says sweetly when Sulu brings him a tray full of food. Sulu grunts and sits down beside him.
"You're hungry," he says, and Chekov is so busy shoveling food in his mouth that he almost doesn't notice that Sulu seems to be mourning the loss of their post-work make-out. Chekov didn't even think about the fact that he'd skipped over it; he's been starving since an hour after lunch.
"I'll eat fast," Chekov says with his mouth full. Sulu snorts.
"Yeah, I know you will."
Chekov knows he looks ridiculous, stuffing handfuls of pretzels into his mouth between bites of steak, but he's felt so incredibly alive since he and Sulu started sleeping together, like a whole new person. His appetite is insatiable, his orgasms are almost painfully intense, and he even feels more attractive than he ever was before he spent his nights sleeping with Sulu curled around him. He wonders if this feeling, as if he could take on ten Romulans with his bare hands, is simply what all great happiness is like. He's certainly never known it before, except for maybe in the first few minutes after he won the Starfleet Academy marathon last year, but that quickly faded into something else: victory, accomplishment, exhaustion. He's known plenty of that. This is different.
"Kirk and the others will be back tomorrow," Sulu says. "Then we're headed to Dunedin. Maybe me and you will get to do another mission together." He grins at the thought, and Chekov smiles back, breathless from gulping his milk.
"Can you get me some more of this?" he asks, handing Sulu the glass. Sulu groans but does as Chekov asks. Chekov knows it's a little cruel and childish, ordering Sulu about, but he's never in his life known anyone to do anything he asks, and it's nice to finally be taken care of.
As Sulu is handing Chekov his refilled glass of milk, his PADD beeps with another message. Sulu picks up the device and grins down at his screen.
"My sister," he says, turning the screen so that Chekov can see. "This is her new dog, apparently."
Chekov hums in a sorry imitation of interest. He feels guilty about it, but he can't help resenting Sulu's constant communication with his family. Sulu has dropped little hints that he would like to hear more about Chekov's family, but Chekov still hasn't worked up the nerve to tell Sulu that his mother abandoned him when he was an infant and his father died after being knifed in a bar brawl when Chekov was fourteen. The story of Chekov's childhood doesn't quite measure up to Sulu's fond memories of holidays in space and learning how to fence with his father as his teacher.
"I don't think I would like to have this, a dog," Chekov says snottily. Lately he can't seem to help saying whatever comes to his mind, probably because he's still breaking in the feeling of Sulu's indulgence.
"No?" Sulu sits beside him with a sandwich and a beer from the replicator. "We had one when I was growing up, a cocker spaniel, Lucky. He was great."
"I would not like cleaning up after an animal."
"You wouldn't mind as much as you think you would, not if you loved them, you know, if they were a beloved pet."
"Well, if I never have one then I will never love one, yes? Less work for me."
"That's pretty cynical," Sulu says. "That's like saying, 'I'll never fall in love so that I'll never get hurt.' Kind of."
"Well, okay, this is why I am with you then, yes? Because you will never hurt me." Chekov half-regrets not saying This is why I love you, but Sulu must know by now anyway. It was implied. Sulu looks at him and smiles a little sadly.
"Right?" Chekov asks, elbowing him, trying to make it into a joke.
"Yeah," Sulu says, rubbing his hand down Chekov's back. "That's right."
After they eat, Chekov lies on his back and Sulu leans beside him, kissing his face and stroking him softly, down his arms and up under his shirt. Chekov ate so much that his pants are straining to contain him, so he kicks them off, and Sulu's fingers travel down over the inside of Chekov's thighs, which makes him laugh and go half-hard, though he's really too full and sleepy to do anything but lie still under Sulu's hands.
"You're so perfect," Sulu says, and Chekov wishes he could ask Sulu to stop saying this all the time, because it makes him feel very imperfect and unworthy, but he knows that's not Sulu's intention, and telling him to stop would only hurt him. Sulu is a little bit delicate, Chekov has learned. It makes Chekov nervous, because he doesn't trust himself with someone so kind and good, but he plans on getting away with it for as long as he can. He shuts his eyes for just a moment, sinking into the comfort of Sulu's soft kisses along his jaw, the warmth of his breath and the gentle pressure of his big hand spread across Chekov's stomach, his thumb stroking the baby fine hairs there just lightly. Sulu makes him feel tender and priceless, until they're fucking, when Sulu makes Chekov feel like a dirty, wanton little slut, which Chekov loves just as well, as long as he gets this treatment again afterward.
When he opens his eyes again, the room is dark and Sulu is no longer leaning over him. Chekov gasps a little in the back of his throat, because he will always hate this sensation, waking up and not knowing what's going on. He looks to his left and sees Sulu asleep beside him, turned away from him and sleeping on top of the blankets. Chekov scoots against him and licks at his ear until he groans.
"Hikaru," Chekov whispers. "What time is it? Why are you asleep?"
"'Cause you've been asleep for like two hours," Sulu says, grumbling and annoyed. "I didn't want to wake you."
"I fell asleep? Just like that? Look at this, the time is only nine o'clock! I'm sorry, Hikaru, I don't know what's wrong with me."
"It's okay," Sulu says. "Doesn't matter."
"Poor Hikaru, I abandoned you!" Chekov says, nuzzling at his neck, his hand winding around to pet Sulu's chest as he rolls him onto his back. Sulu groans irritably but lets himself be rolled.
"You can sleep if you're tired," Sulu says, looking up at Chekov with half-lidded eyes. Chekov rakes his fingers through Sulu's hair, which Sulu likes, and when he reaches down between Sulu's legs he's glad to find that this was enough to get him hard.
"I'm not tired," Chekov says.
"Could have fooled me."
Chekov gets up on his knees to demonstrate, and it's true, suddenly he feels wide awake, and he's hard, of course, he's always hard when he's close enough to smell Sulu's skin, or the thing that isn't quite his skin, the thing that is just him. Sulu is still half asleep and grumbling a little, but his hands find Chekov's hips as Chekov bends down over him, and Sulu pushes Chekov's underwear down, rubbing his hands over his ass.
They haven't done this without talking yet, and Chekov figures it's time to try it. He keeps his mouth pressed over Sulu's so that he can't speak, but there's not much danger of that, anyway, because Sulu is hazy and tired under Chekov's enthusiastic grinding. They undress in turns: one shirt, then the other, underwear, boxers. At night, in the dark like this, Chekov feels like Sulu's body is just another part of his, and it feels as good to kiss and touch him as it does to be kissed, to be touched.
Chekov breaks the no-talking rule after Sulu groans with the effort of sitting up on the mattress and surprises Chekov by pushing him over onto all fours, slicking his fingers with their bedside supply of lube in almost the same motion. Chekov spreads apart and opens for him easily, groaning into the sheets, but he doesn't speak until Sulu is sliding in, steady and slow, all the way to the deepest, hidden parts of Chekov, tripping secret nerves inside him that he hopes no one else will ever touch.
"God, I waited so long for you," Chekov cries, in Russian, thank god. He squeezes handfuls of the sheets into his fists and Sulu leans over him to kiss the back of his neck, sliding his arms down until his hands cover Chekov's on the mattress. He eases Chekov's fingers apart to lace his own between them, and Chekov huffs out his breath, feeling humiliated in a way that makes his cock hard. Look at you, Sulu says without speaking as he bites at Chekov's ear, his chest so hot against Chekov's back. Look at how you're mine.
Sulu thrusts into him with a sleepwalking rhythm, and Chekov chews his tongue, struggling not to cry Hikaru ten thousand times, because he likes the quiet of the room, and the closeness of the two of them in the dark; it's even more intimate to do it this way, without looking at each other, flooded with nothing but touch, no sight, and no sound except for the low mhmm that Sulu is moaning against Chekov's ear.
Before Sulu can wrench a please, harder out of Chekov, he speeds up a little, then more, still so deep inside Chekov, his thrusts shallow but hard. He shifts, then shifts again, and Chekov screams when Sulu finds what he's looking for, the place inside Chekov that won't let him stay quiet. Sulu growls with satisfaction and spreads his legs wider, fucking Chekov hard against that spot, making him scream again and again until he's crying through his orgasm, pushing himself back against Sulu in pathetic, wide-open rolls of his hips. He needs more, even with his come pooling onto the sheets, and Sulu knows it, so he leans up, dragging both hands down Chekov's back, just short of digging his nails in. His hands go steady on Chekov's hips, and then he's just pounding him, Chekov sobbing and keening as he takes it, slamming back to meet Sulu's thrusts, his fingers curled into the sheets again. When Sulu comes it tears another scream out of both of them, and Chekov pants with relief as Sulu falls onto his back to breathe harshly, filling him up with come. Chekov is shaking and sweating, exhausted again.
Sulu kisses Chekov's shoulder before pulling out, like he's checking to see if he's okay. Chekov laughs and lets Sulu draw him up into his arms, into his lap, then down onto the pillows. Sulu is still breathing hard, and Chekov pushes his body back against Sulu's so that Sulu's breath feels like the only force in the universe, the only thing he needs to worry about, the only thing that matters.
"So what should we do now?" Sulu asks. He strokes Chekov's hair, his neck, the softest part of his cheek. "Since it's only nine o'clock and you're not tired?"
"I am tired now, Hikaru," Chekov says, whining the words out, and Sulu laughs. Chekov has never enjoyed this before, acting childish and ridiculous, and he thinks he finally can because he can also act like a man with Sulu, someone who can take anything Sulu gives him, someone who once saved Sulu's life. Chekov feels the same sharp bite at his heart that he always does when he thinks of that day, of how close he came to losing Sulu. He pulls Sulu's arms more tightly around him, and Sulu takes the hint, squeezing him in closer.
"So go to sleep," Sulu says in a whisper, pressing one last kiss behind Chekov's ear. Chekov sinks down into the warm dark of his exhaustion as if he'd been waiting for Sulu's permission, his body throbbing with the satisfaction of being worn out and used up, completely spent.
He sleeps well and deeply, until his dreams about exploring strange planets are interrupted by a sharp pain that he assumes will stay behind in the dream when he blinks awake. But the pain is still with him, low and angry in his stomach, and Chekov moans and shifts, trying to make it go away. When the unmistakable need to be sick starts rising through him, he kicks the blankets away and climbs over Sulu, jogging into the bathroom. He barely makes it there in time to stick his head into the toilet and retch.
After emptying the considerable contents of his stomach, Chekov flushes the toilet and kneels on the floor before it, panting and pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. He hears Sulu stirring in the bedroom and calling his name, and he turns to shut the bathroom door.
"I am fine," he calls when the door is shut, though he still feels like he could throw up for another hour. He hasn't got anything left in him, and after a couple of dry heaves he gets up and splashes water on his face, then rinses his mouth out, moaning miserably, his eyes still puffy with sleep and the light in the bathroom irritating him, even though it's only at twenty-five percent.
He's shaking when he goes back to the bed, too weak to even climb over Sulu, who scoots over into what has become Chekov's side to allow him in. Getting into bed and pushing his face against Sulu's chest makes him feel a little better, but his stomach is still rollicking under the waves of his sudden nausea.
"What's wrong?" Sulu asks, smoothing down Chekov's hair. "You're all clammy."
"I'm okay," Chekov says, the roughness of his voice betraying the fact that he's actually not. "I had to throw up."
Sulu makes a sympathetic noise and kisses Chekov's forehead.
"Your diet has been a little weird lately," he says. Chekov grunts in vague agreement and winds his arm around Sulu's waist. He falls back to sleep with relative ease, too tired to let the unsettled feeling in his stomach keep him awake, but then the alarm beside Sulu's bed is going off, much too soon. Sulu sits up with a groan while Chekov glowers against the pillow, hugging it to his face.
"C'mon, come take a shower," Sulu says, scratching his nails over Chekov's back. "You smell like barf."
"No, I don't," Chekov grumbles, though he's sure he does. "What time is it?" His stomach is still achy, feeling too hollow now.
"Time to get up. C'mon, Pavel. Unless you want to go to sick bay instead, get McCoy to have a look at you?"
"No, no," Chekov says, sitting up with a wince. He hates that Sulu has programmed his lights to come on when his alarm goes off, hates it. "I am fine, I can work."
Sulu pulls Chekov into the shower and washes him while Chekov stands under the water like a zombie. The hot water feels good beating against his skin, and Sulu's soapy hands feel even better, Chekov's cock rising to attention even before Sulu makes his way down past Chekov's stomach with the soap, but then suddenly his stomach is pitching again, and he has to lean against the wall of the shower to retch, spitting and cursing when he can't throw up, because his stomach is still empty.
"Are you okay?" Sulu asks, his hand on Chekov's back.
"My stomach," Chekov mutters miserably, and then suddenly he's so dizzy that Sulu has to catch him before he can tumble to the floor of the shower.
"Hey, hey," Sulu says, cradling him while he turns off the water. "C'mon, let's get you dressed and I'll take you to McCoy."
"No," Chekov says, fighting his way out of Sulu's grip. "I am okay, am fine, I only ate something bad yesterday, you should have your replicator checked."
Sulu raises an eyebrow and gives Chekov a look. Chekov bats the shower curtain away and climbs out, sighing shakily as he dries himself off. He hates missing work and doesn't want to give in to this illness. He hasn't been sick since he was nine years old; he believes it's a sign of weakness. Before, whenever he's thrown up, he's always felt fine immediately afterward. Once, he even went right back to drinking. That was his father's funeral, of course, his uncles cheering him on.
"Are you sure you want to go to the bridge?" Sulu asks as they're getting dressed, Chekov replicating himself a clean uniform. "You look pretty green," Sulu says as Chekov struggles to pull on his pants.
"No, I am fine," Chekov says, beginning to get annoyed. "Kirk and the others are returning today. I must set the course for Dunedin."
"Okay." Sulu sighs and walks over to comb Chekov's wet hair with his fingers. "Do you want to eat something before work?"
"No," Chekov says, shaking his head. "No, no. Eating would not be good."
"Pavel --"
"I will eat at lunchtime," Chekov says with a nod, but he's not sure he'll even have his appetite back then. Just watching Sulu eat a bowl of cereal and drink a glass of juice makes his stomach queasy all over again.
They walk down to the bridge slowly, Sulu pretending not to notice that Chekov is still feeling miserable and barely able to walk without getting sick again. Chekov is determined to shake this off, but every light and noise as they make their way through the halls feels like it's hammering against him, threatening to knock him over. When they finally arrive at the bridge he walks ahead of Sulu to the console, concentrating on every step. Kirk arrives just twenty minutes later, fresh from the shuttle, with Spock at his side. Kirk is cheerful, as he always is after returning to his ship, and Spock is stoic, heading straight for Uhura.
"Let's blow this popsicle stand," Kirk says as soon as his ass is in his chair. "Sulu, what do you think, a warp 4 to get to the Dunedin space station?"
"That would get us there in roughly forty-eight hours," Sulu says.
"Yes," Chekov echoes uselessly, feeling dizzy as he stares down at his monitor.
"Works for me!" Kirk slaps the arms of his chair. "Punch it."
Chekov shakes his head clear of its cobwebs and concentrates on his work, setting the coordinates for the space station while Sulu readies the ship for warp speed. Docking at space stations is tricky; there is drift to account for, and always plenty of spacecraft clogging up the area. Chekov plots a warp course that will put them roughly two hours from Dunedin at normal speed so that Sulu can guide them into the dock more carefully once they've arrived.
"Ready," Chekov says when he's done, glancing to his left to watch Sulu's hands working the console, pulling back the lever that will warp them.
"Warping in three, two, one," Sulu says, and then comes the first yank at the artificial gravity on the bridge, the only hint that the ship is now moving incredibly fast. It takes the body just a second or two to adjust, normally. Chekov is finding it not so easy today, his stomach hurling forward as if it wants to race the ship, and he barely has time to worry about throwing up all over the console before he's tipping backward in his chair, headed for the floor.
He wakes up to a lot of shouting and commotion. Sulu, Kirk and Uhura are all crowded around him, saying his name. Sulu is the only one saying Pavel instead of Chekov, which is probably a dead giveaway.
"What's going on? What's wrong with him?" Kirk sounds panicked.
"Honey? Can you hear me?" Uhura is talking to him like he's a child.
"I told him to go see McCoy, he was throwing up last night." Sulu is determined to give up their secret, or maybe he just isn't thinking clearly.
"Perhaps he contracted something when he accompanied you on the mission to Yrubi, Captain," Spock says, appearing suddenly. Chekov laughs miserably at the blurry sight of Spock hovering above the rest of the concerned faces.
"Is he drunk?" Kirk asks, horrified, and Chekov laughs harder.
"No," Sulu says sharply. "Everybody get out of the way, I'm going to take him to McCoy."
"I can walk," Chekov protests when Sulu tries to pick him up. He stands with Sulu's help, his knees still wobbling, and Sulu and Kirk catch his arms when his stomach pitches again. Chekov groans, his midsection pulsing with pain.
"Like hell you can walk," Sulu says, and he lifts Chekov into his arms, which is extremely humiliating. Chekov scowls but doesn't have the energy to fight as Sulu carries him to the sick bay.
"Let me down," he says when the doors of the lift have closed around them. "Hikaru! What do you think you're doing?"
"Me! How about you, you're too sick to be up here, you knew that this morning."
Chekov scoffs. "Put me down," he says, weakly now, resting his head against Sulu's shoulder.
"I will when we get to the sick bay," Sulu says, and Chekov hates him, and loves him, for carrying him all the way there.
*
Part II
Author: hollycomb
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sulu and Chekov learn the consequences of drinking alien liquor.
Warning: Chekov!mpreg
Notes: Thank you to chlorate for beta reading and opening my heart to mpreg. ;__; Thank you to anyone who, like me, was once very dismissive of mpreg and who gives this a chance anyway.
Chekov has never woken up not knowing where he is. He's a navigator, obsessed with the location of every star in the universe, and he's always known exactly where he fits among them. So it doesn't make sense that he doesn't recognize this room, and then, when he does, that he doesn't remember how he came to be lying naked on the floor within it, someone big and heavy wrapped around him, the damp heat of what can only be a soft cock against the small of his back.
His heart pounding, Chekov looks down at himself and is briefly comforted when he recognizes Sulu's familiar hand loosely gripping his arm. He'd know those smooth, short fingernails anywhere; Sulu's hands are part of Chekov's everyday world, moving fluidly at the console beside Chekov, driving the ship. His relief is brief, however, because while he and Sulu have become good friends during the first six months of this voyage, they certainly don't make a habit of sleeping naked and entwined together. They haven't even kissed. Not that Chekov hasn't thought about it. He whimpers in confusion, his head pounding and his mouth dry, and tries to decide what he wants more, to cower against the comfort of Sulu's warm body or to get up and walk naked to the other side of the room, where he can see his shirt and underwear strewn on the floor. His pants are nowhere to be found.
When Sulu groans and stirs behind him, Chekov panics and rips himself from Sulu's grip, not wanting Sulu to think he knows what's going on here. The room they're in, a lounge for diplomats on Yrubi, is mercifully empty, save for an assortment of colorful pillows and the debris from the previous evening, half-empty bottles and flakes of the binsoi leaves the Yrubians were smoking last night scattered everywhere. Chekov hurries over to his underwear and pulls them on while Sulu moans with confusion.
"Pavel?" he says weakly, coughing Chekov's name out. Chekov puts his shirt on before turning to answer him, then ducks his eyes down when he sees Sulu spread out on his back, still too woozy to think to cover himself.
"Hikaru," Chekov says. "Are you alright?"
Sulu comes to his senses and curses in surprise at the state he's found himself in, grabbing a nearby pillow to hold over his crotch.
"What, what the --" he stutters, staring wide-eyed at Chekov, who is turning over pillows in a desperate search for his pants.
"I don't know," Chekov says, his face burning at the thought of Sulu even seeing his underwear, let alone whatever he saw last night. "I can't -- last night, do you remember?"
"All I remember is Kirk going off with that woman," Sulu says, hugging the pillow to his body, looking dazed. "And we came here with Mordecai and those guys, and they -- we were drinking that stuff."
"That brandy, yes," Chekov says, nodding. Someone seems to have stolen his pants, and the thought of returning to the Enterprise without them makes him want to weep with humiliation.
"I guess it was stronger than we realized," Sulu says, and when Chekov dares a glance at him he sees that Sulu's face is burning, too. "The last thing I remember is just -- everyone being here -- me and you were laughing."
Chekov's hands start to shake at the memory, which he'd thought would be a good one. Kirk had been off being Kirk, and Sulu and Chekov were left to entertain themselves until he reappeared in the morning. They met up with some of the diplomats they had been working with during the mission, and the diplomats brought them to this room, where Sulu and Chekov were served dinner by scantily-clad alien maidens, and where they drank sweet Yrubian brandy from clay mugs until they were both falling onto each other with laughter. Chekov remembers that part, Sulu's shoulder landing against his. He's still only seventeen, and most people on the ship treat him as if he's thirteen at best, so it meant a lot to be able to drink with Sulu, and laugh with him like they were equals. He swallows down a wave of nausea, unable to believe something that had begun so innocently seems to have ended otherwise.
"Here's your shirt," Chekov says, "And your pants, and --" He hands Sulu his boxer shorts, a flash of something that is not quite a memory streaking through him at the feeling of the fabric in his hands: the smell of Sulu's skin, and how good it had felt to lick over Sulu's hipbones as those boxers came down. Then the memory is gone just as quickly, and Chekov is glad for it, because he's sure his face is almost purple now.
He turns around while Sulu dresses, and jumps when Sulu taps him on the shoulder. He's holding up Chekov's pants, and Chekov exhales in relief at the sight of them.
"Thank you," he says as he stumbles into them. "Where did you --"
"They were over there, by where we -- slept."
Sulu stares at him, but Chekov won't hold his gaze. He feels sore and hollow and wet, too, something cold and sticky leaking into his underwear and then down his leg, and he's not naive enough not to know what it is.
"Pavel," Sulu says, so soft and apologetic that it sounds like he's going to cry. Chekov forces a shaky smile.
"Is alright," he says. "It happens."
"No, it doesn't," Sulu says, frowning. "Not to me. Not to you, either, I don't think." He flinches like he wants to reach for Chekov, then stops himself.
Chekov shrugs and heads for the open door. "Is part of exploring new planets. Making mistakes. Doesn't matter."
They walk back to the shuttle in silence, Chekov's stomach rocking with cruel waves of pain that nearly make him gag. Sulu lags behind him at a good distance, as if he doesn't trust himself to get close to Chekov without jumping on him like he apparently did last night. Or maybe it wasn't like that at all, maybe Chekov pulled Sulu onto him. He's certainly wanted to before, when they were drinking normal human vodka and not some evil alien brew. But even then Chekov would only have wanted to kiss Sulu, maybe rub against him a little, and he'd have wanted to fall asleep with his clothes on and remember everything in the morning, happy to wake up with Sulu still beside him. Now it's all ruined: Sulu must think so little of him. Chekov is thinking pretty little of himself as they prepare to beam back to the ship, Kirk's sunny mood like an added insult.
"You two look like shit!" Kirk says after he's placed the call to Scotty. "What'd you get up to last night?"
"Nothing," Sulu says tightly. "We're just tired." Kirk snorts.
"Yeah, right. Well, whatever. What happens on Yrubi stays on Yrubi, right?"
"Quit saying that about every planet we land on," Sulu mutters.
They arrive on the Enterprise and Chekov hurries away from Kirk and Sulu, headed for his room. He doesn't have to return to duty for twelve hours, and he's never been more grateful for the chance to be alone. When he's shut inside his room he rips his clothes off and heads for the attached bathroom, turning up the water as hot as he can stand it. He stands under the water and listens to the deafening pound of his heartbeat, waiting for the aches in his head and stomach to subside. His memories begin to creep back in incomplete flashes, blurry and random: the warm taste of the brandy on Sulu's lips, the dizzying scent of his neck, and words that Chekov maybe imagined, things like so beautiful and God, Pavel.
He washes himself in slow motion, careful with his body as if he doesn't know it very well. It has been through something without him, without his mind there to quantify and analyze and make decisions. It has betrayed him, really, and sabotaged his friendship with Sulu. Chekov has been afraid that this might happen since the beginning: even without the aid of strong alien liquor, he's caught himself reaching for Sulu once or twice, or maybe more like ten times, fifteen.
When he's through with his shower, he lies in bed for a long time, trying to sort out his feelings. He's still sore, and when he imagines Sulu opening him up and thrusting into him with his cock he shudders with revulsion and arousal. He wonders if he was a disappointing lover. He must have been; it was his first time. Anyway, Sulu probably doesn't remember. Chekov feels like he's been robbed, like he's lost something sacred and irreplaceable, and somehow the fact that he lost it to the person he wanted to give it to anyway only makes it worse.
He rolls onto his side and shuts his eyes, not holding out much hope for sleep. Instead, more hazy memories of Sulu's skin flood in, his hot breath, his needy touch under Chekov's shirt. What he can't recall is what it felt like to be filled up, to have someone -- Sulu -- inside him. All he knows now is the lingering sting.
When someone knocks softly on his door, he knows exactly who it is, and part of him wants to fling it open and scream at Sulu for not taking proper care of him and for harassing him in the aftermath, while another part of him wants to draw Sulu into the room and crumble into his arms, squeezing closer and closer until he knows a little of what it was like to be connected to him.
"Pavel?" Sulu calls, and Chekov can hear it in Sulu's voice, the weepy apology that will infuriate him. He doesn't respond, just lies there staring at the door, wishing he could see Sulu and glad, at the same time, that he's able to hide from him. Sulu stands outside for awhile, silent, then Chekov hears him walking away. He wants to be angry with Sulu for this, for giving up, but he can't be. Tomorrow Chekov will go to the bridge and smile at Sulu like he always has, pretending nothing has happened. There's no sense in dwelling on it. He doesn't want to hear Sulu's apologies and regret. That's not what he wants from Sulu at all.
*
The following morning, Chekov sits up straighter than usual at the console, a tight look of forced contentment on his face as he ignores Sulu's worried glances and pointed sighs. His soreness is almost gone, and he tells himself that any thought of that evening should go with it. It's meaningless in the great scheme of things. Maybe he and Sulu will look back on it someday and laugh.
"Are you okay?" Sulu asks quietly as he drops down beside Chekov in the officer's mess during lunch. Chekov looks up at Sulu with a grin, as if he can't imagine why Sulu would ask him such a question, inwardly cursing the fact that Sulu can probably see his spoon shaking as he holds it over his bowl of soup.
"Yes, I am fine, thank you," Chekov says. At least his voice is steady. "How are you?" he asks, as if Sulu is the one whose condition warrants concern. He's got bags under his eyes and he looks a little pale, his shoulders slumped with what might be shame.
"I'm not that good," Sulu says with a scoff. "Actually."
"Hikaru, don't be silly." Chekov turns back to his soup, adding more salt just to have something to do with his hands, and something to look at aside from Sulu's earnest face.
"Don't be silly? Chekov -- Pavel -- what I did to you --"
"Who's to say I didn't do something to you as well?" Chekov shrugs, still staring at his soup, the layer of salt approaching half an inch on its surface. "Is not problem. Ancient history already."
Sulu says nothing, staring glumly down at the table. Chekov ignores him and stirs his soup, afraid to take a bite because the salt will burn his tongue.
"Where is your lunch?" Chekov asks, reaching for his glass of juice instead.
"I'm not hungry," Sulu mutters. He looks up into Chekov's eyes then, catching him off guard, and Chekov feels like he's just taken a bullet to his chest. Sulu is saying a thousand things to him with his eyes, and Why won't you let me help you? is the one that is most clearly communicated. Chekov sniffs in disdain, as if Sulu has asked him this out loud.
"Maybe you should take a day of sick leave," Chekov says. Sulu says nothing for a moment, fidgeting nervously.
"Just tell me I didn't hurt you," he mumbles, barely loud enough for Chekov to hear, his gaze still cast downward. Chekov is frozen in place by the words, staring at Sulu, and when Sulu's eyes suddenly dart up to his, he has that bullet-puncture feeling again.
"No," Chekov says. "You didn't."
Sulu winces a little and then jumps up from the table like he's just heard an alarm on the bridge. He practically jogs out of the dining room, and Chekov watches him go, stunned and speechless.
*
Later that evening, Chekov is alone in his room, whereas normally he would be in Sulu's room playing chess or Karaoke Revolution XIV. He lies on his back in bed, thinking of all the nights when he and Sulu collapsed into laughter over that stupid singing game; Sulu always laughed like hearing Chekov sing American pop songs in his Russian accent was the greatest delight in the universe, and Chekov would jokingly complain that Sulu loved to see him humiliate himself, to which Sulu would respond that Chekov loved to see Sulu humiliate himself, too, or otherwise he wouldn't ask to play chess with him.
"Hikaru," Chekov says into the air above his bed, to no one, just because he misses spending his nights saying Sulu's name. He used to gasp it out like a protest when Sulu made him laugh too hard. It's a funny thing to miss so much.
His PADD beeps with a new communication, and he picks it up to give the latest message from the crew's official listserv a bored appraisal. No one else ever messages him.
To his surprise, the message is not from the Captain but from Sulu. Chekov opens it, his heart already pounding.
Pavel,
I've been doing some research on that Yrubian brandy and apparently it's pretty infamous. It's really not made for human consumption and it's a miracle that we haven't been sick for the past two days. Well, I have been, actually. I can't eat, can't sleep. Please tell me you're okay. I know I'm being annoying but I need to hear it every two minutes lately. I feel like I ruined you.
Also I took a test and I'm clean so you don't have to worry about that.
H.
Chekov rereads the message again and again, an unnamable reaction bubbling through him. Part of him hates Sulu for sending it -- now the whole shameful incident has been immortalized in official Federation communication, which will be archived for all eternity, never mind how private their PADD connections are supposed to be. He's brokenhearted at the thought of Sulu dragging around, unable to eat or sleep because of him, annoyed by the fact that Sulu needs to hear again that he's fine, and undecided about Sulu's fear that he's ruined him. Chekov doesn't like Sulu thinking that he has the ability to do so, but the fact that he's worried that he might have makes Chekov's chest ache, and he remembers the smell of Sulu's skin again, and the warmth that had spread through Chekov when he pressed his face to the heat of Sulu's neck. He sighs, not sure why he should be thinking of these things now, except that he's longing for both, for Sulu.
He opens up a blank document to compose a response and can't come up with anything. He's not even sure if he should address the message to Sulu or Hikaru. Frustrated, he pushes the PADD aside and flops down onto the bed, feeling seasick and miserable. So Sulu views him as a pathetic, ruined child. Chekov isn't sure why he feels so surprised. What did he expect, Sulu to go on pretending, the way Chekov has, that everything is okay? He's much too noble for that, and he certainly wasn't going to somehow react positively, realizing buried feelings for Chekov as a result of their reckless sex. Chekov winces, trying to imagine what he must have looked like while Sulu drove into him, hands tight on his sides. He probably moaned so loud. A flush of embarrassed arousal washes over him at the thought. And what sort of sounds would Sulu make? Maybe he stared down to watch Chekov's skin straining around the thickness of his cock, stretched and red and wet with whatever lubricant Sulu must have used, because Chekov isn't that sore.
He's hard, thinking about it, and his body clenches up with a little hiccup of muscle memory as he tries to imagine how it must have felt, that first hot push of Sulu's cock into his body. Chekov groans under his breath and rubs his hands over his face. He's no stranger to touching himself to thoughts of Sulu's hands, but he's never been bold enough to fantasize about something so graphic before. Meanwhile, poor Sulu is weeping in his room, mourning the loss of Chekov's innocence. Chekov smiles a little at the thought, and he picks up his PADD.
Come to my room, he writes, but he deletes the message before he can allow himself to be stupid enough to actually send it. Sulu would be doubly horrified to know that Chekov, angelic, ruined teenager, is lying in his bedroom and wanting Sulu to come and attend to his hardon in penance. He snorts, disgusted with himself and everything, and tosses his PADD onto his bedside table hard enough to make the plastic clatter angrily. He thinks of Sulu's message, his tender heart and pale-faced concern, and feels guilty. He's not even worthy of Sulu's regret, really.
*
The following morning, Chekov shows up late for his shift, dreading the thought of facing Sulu after a long night spent alternately dreaming about him and jerking off to thoughts of him. He's still exhausted when he arrives, and Kirk gives him a long look but doesn't say anything about his tardiness. Sulu is at the console, and he looks over at Chekov when Chekov takes his seat, but Chekov doesn't look back.
"Good morning, Sulu," Chekov says, keeping his eyes on his monitor.
"I guess," Sulu says. Chekov can feel Sulu's eyes on the side of his head like a phaser beam. "Are you alright?"
"Please stop asking me that, sir," Chekov says, as quietly and politely as possible.
Sulu sniffs and says nothing more; he's asked Chekov not to call him 'sir' since it makes Sulu feel like a dick. Maybe Sulu is a dick, bombarding Chekov will all of this faux-heroic concern. Chekov feels guilty for the thought as soon as he's had it, and glances over at Sulu's hands on the console, the sight making him shudder a bit, just at the small of his back.
"Thanks," Chekov says, keeping his voice low. "For your concern."
"Just forget it," Sulu says tightly, and Chekov is very glad that everyone else on the deck is distracted by some argument that Kirk and Spock are having about the proper use of replicators.
"Obviously you hate me," Sulu whispers. "And I don't blame you. But I get it now, okay, so I'll leave you alone."
"No," Chekov says, maybe a little too loudly. "I don't. Sulu."
But Sulu won't look up again, his cheeks pink as he frowns down at his monitor. Chekov scoffs, annoyed with his melodramatic attitude. As if things aren't going to be awkward enough between the two of them from now on.
They're in the middle of a five-day flight to the planet where their next mission will occur, and it's so boring that Kirk is going around the room and asking everyone what their favorite moon of Jupiter is, then forcing them to explain why. Chekov hunches down and sighs, dreading his turn to answer this question. He glances over at Sulu, who is staring off into space -- literally -- and looking so quietly broken that Chekov almost moans with sympathy. He opens up a dialogue box on his monitor and composes a message that pops up on Sulu's screen with a little ringing sound as soon as Chekov has sent it. He watches Sulu read it out of the corner of his eye:
I got your message last night
Sulu glances over at Chekov, who smiles at him shakily. Something changes in Sulu's eyes, and Chekov doesn't think he's ever seen it before, not on Sulu or anyone. He turns to his monitor and starts typing up a response to Chekov's message, and Chekov reads it when it pops up on his screen:
thanks for letting me know. i was worried.
Chekov grins and shakes his head at the monitor as he types up his response:
You worry too much Hikaru
Sulu touches his chin and takes some time to think before he starts typing again. Chekov is shaking with anticipation by the time he reads Sulu's next message:
i care about you.
It bursts through Chekov like a supernova, and he has to chew the tip of his tongue to keep from laughing out loud with something like relief. He dares a glance over at Sulu, who draws his eyes up slowly, again piecing Chekov like a bullet when they meet his.
"Chekov!" Kirk shouts, and Chekov jumps, hurriedly closing the message box on his screen as Sulu does the same on his own.
"Aye, Keptin?" Chekov says, turning, afraid Kirk is going to somehow know everything and announce the strange progress of Sulu and Chekov's relationship out loud. Kirk frowns very seriously.
"What is your favorite moon of Jupiter, Ensign?" Kirk asks.
Astronomy was Chekov's best subject in school, until he discovered physics, but he can't think of a single moon, and he's barely able to stop himself from saying Hikaru.
*
After their shift ends, Sulu and Chekov walk to dinner together, not speaking or even really looking at each other, just smiling faintly at nothing. At one point Chekov actually bursts into nervous laughter, and Sulu elbows him.
"I'm not even hungry," he says as they come to the door of the mess.
"Me either," Chekov says, and Sulu takes Chekov's arm, pulling him down the hall toward the crew's quarters as if he's a prisoner and Sulu is bringing him in. Chekov enjoys this treatment maybe more than he should, and by the time they reach Sulu's room his breath is coming fast. Sulu screws up his entry code and curses, and Chekov laughs again.
As soon as they get into the room Sulu lifts Chekov up and pins him back against the door, kissing him so hard that Chekov feels like he'll be torn in half by it, everything in him falling open, loose and happy as he wraps his arms around Sulu's shoulders. He moans when Sulu moves down to kiss his neck, his cock hardening in his pants at the strangely familiar feeling of Sulu's mouth on his skin.
"Wait," Sulu breathes, his face still pressed against Chekov's neck, his breath so hot against it. "We shouldn't do it all crazy -- again, this time."
"All crazy," Chekov says, laughing. Sulu releases him, Chekov's legs shaking when they find the ground. He pulls Sulu back onto him, and Sulu sighs against Chekov's forehead, his eyes fluttering shut.
"I barely even remember," Sulu says. "But sometimes, when you're sitting next to me at work, I'll get this flash -- like your ear, like. I remember --" He leans forward to demonstrate, licking Chekov's earlobe into his mouth and pulling it gently between his teeth. Chekov moans, his cock throbbing at the sensation.
"Yes," he says, panting for more already. "I have the same. Your skin. I'll think of it, the way you tasted."
"You tasted like a miracle," Sulu says, moaning under the words as he bends down to mouth Chekov's neck again. "Still do."
"Hikaru," Chekov breathes, grinning when he feels the press of Sulu's cock against his leg. He might have been nervous or awkward about this before, but now, since they've already done everything, he reaches down to stroke Sulu through his pants without hesitation. Sulu groans and kisses Chekov's jaw in little licks, still tasting him.
"Wait," Sulu says again, pulling himself back. "It's too -- I want to slow down." He says so even as he's licking his lips, staring at Chekov's mouth.
"Okay," Chekov says, because he does feel a little dizzy and overstimulated, slipping back into the hazy confusion of Sulu's body covering his. He leans up to kiss Sulu's neck very softly, moving down to the hollow of his throat, Sulu's pulse pounding under his lips.
"I hate that I don't remember what it was like, the first time we kissed, the first time --" Sulu trails off and looks down at Chekov, sighing.
"So this will be our first time," Chekov says, and Sulu takes Chekov's face in his hands. He stares at him like he's trying to relearn his face.
"I was afraid," Sulu says, his voice so soft and cautious that it makes Chekov's eyes burn. "That I did something. You didn't want."
"Hikaru." Chekov kisses Sulu's face, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He was afraid, before, that he had lost some perfect thing that he might have had with Sulu, but this is still that perfect thing. "I'm so glad it was you. I wish I could remember, too. But we can make new memories, yeah?"
Sulu nods slowly and brings Chekov over to his bed, which Chekov has sat on plenty of times, always wanting so much to sink down on the pillows and shut his eyes, to breathe in the smell of those sheets, of Sulu. He lies down and Sulu climbs into the bed beside him, propped up on his elbow and leaning down to kiss Chekov sweetly, probably not intentionally teasing him, but Chekov is so hard for the taste of Sulu that he's whining before long, his hips twitching up involuntarily.
"What do you want?" Sulu whispers down against Chekov's cheek. "I just want to give you whatever you want."
"Touch me more," Chekov says, his voice breaking with desperation, and Sulu grins.
"Try not to sound so fucking young, okay?" he says. "I've got enough guilt issues over here."
"Don't be guilty. I want you, Hikaru, please." Chekov takes Sulu's hand and pushes it up under his shirt, and he remembers being surprised by the roughness of Sulu's palm, calloused from swords and flight sticks. He moans, arching up into the touch as Sulu reaches up higher and rubs at his nipples, then back down to his trembling stomach, moving so slowly. When Sulu's hand is spread over Chekov's stomach, Chekov feels so perfectly complete, as if Sulu is going to hold him here, in place, forever.
"You don't have to be so careful," Chekov says when Sulu's fingers slide cautiously along the line of Chekov's underwear, the elastic peeking up from under his pants.
"Yes, I do," Sulu says, and he leans down to cover Chekov's mouth with his, kissing him wet and hot and slow as his hand finally trails down between Chekov's legs. Chekov spreads himself open as widely as he can, rutting shamelessly into Sulu's grip. He's feverish with too much want: he wants to tear his shirt off, and Sulu's, too, so that he can feel Sulu's skin pressed against his, he wants his pants off so he can feel Sulu's rough palm on his cock, and wants to keep clinging to Sulu like this, kissing him, making it impossible for either of them to undress.
"This is still too fast," Sulu says, but that doesn't stop him from tearing open the front of Chekov's pants. Chekov throws his head back onto Sulu's pillow and groans in appreciation while Sulu massages his cock through his underwear. His balls begin to tighten up, and he grabs Sulu's wrist, not wanting to come already.
"Let me," Chekov says, though he's got no idea what he's doing. Sulu gives him a curious look of pure innocence, and Chekov scrambles up onto his knees to grab his face and kiss him for it. He kisses his way down Sulu's neck, pausing to suck and to bite, just once, between Sulu's neck and shoulder, making him squirm. Chekov pulls Sulu's shirt off, and Sulu is blushing beautifully when it's gone, but Chekov can't let himself get distracted and start kissing his face again. He pushes Sulu onto his back and begins kissing down his chest, licking into his shallow belly button and then over those hipbones he remembers.
"Pavel," Sulu says, in wonderment, leaning up from the mattress so he can watch as Chekov begins to kiss down over the bulge in his pants.
"You feel so big," Chekov says, rubbing Sulu with what he knows is infuriating softness. Sulu makes a choking sound, his eyes falling shut for a moment, then opening again, half-lidded now. "So hard," Chekov says, rubbing him just a bit more firmly, and Sulu groans, his head falling backward.
"Tell me, Hikaru, tell me what it felt like to be inside me," Chekov says, unzipping him slowly.
"Oh, fuck, I don't, I don't remember, God, I wish I did." Sulu is a wreck, and Chekov never thought he would see him like this, unraveled and surrendered, his chest heaving. Chekov pulls Sulu's boxers down slowly, his own face burning when he's staring wide-eyed at Sulu's naked cock. He barely got a chance to look at it on Yrubi when they woke in a panic, and it was soft then. Now it's full and flushed and standing up straight between his legs, wet at the tip, bobbing along with Sulu's harsh breathing.
"So big," Chekov says, running cautious fingertips up the length of Sulu's cock while Sulu pants and winces as if he's being tortured. "You left me sore, you know," Chekov says, tickling his fingers over Sulu's sweating balls before drawing them upward again.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry." Sulu sounds like he might cry. Chekov smiles, then feels cruel and kisses the leaking head of Sulu's cock in apology.
"No, don't be sorry," Chekov says. He licks Sulu once, tentatively, and Sulu cries like he's been burned, his hips twitching weakly. "I think I liked it," Chekov says.
"God, Pavel," Sulu moans, his eyes pinched shut now, arms thrown out onto the mattress in total surrender.
"I want this to happen again, I think," Chekov says. He licks Sulu more purposefully, tasting his pre-come. "I want to walk around the ship with a sting in my ass, thinking about how hard you fucked me."
Sulu just groans, beyond words at this point, his eyes leaking as Chekov licks him again, then circles the head of his cock slowly with his tongue.
"You shouldn't feel guilty, Hikaru," Chekov says. His heart is pounding and his cock is rock hard, aching. He never suspected how much he would love this, saying filthy things to poor Hikaru, who looks as if he can barely handle hearing them, though Chekov suspects that he's enjoying it.
"I think maybe I begged you to fuck me harder, and faster, and deeper." He lingers over the last word, his lips moving on Sulu's cock as he says it, and Sulu bucks up with a desperate whine, Chekov's tongue sliding down his shaft as he does. Finally, Chekov admits to himself that part of the reason he keeps talking is that he's afraid to try to take Sulu into his mouth, and he settles for at least putting his lips around the head. Sulu groans tremendously when he does, one shaking hand pushing blindly into Chekov's hair, and he holds on while Chekov takes him in deeper, his groan giving way to a whimper.
"Pavel!" he says in a harsh whisper, and then he's coming, and Chekov is sort of choking on it, feeling like an idiot as it dribbles down his chin and then shoots hard and hot against his cheek. He looks up to watch Sulu, who is fisting the blanket on his bed with one hand and Chekov's hair with the other. He's arching up, spurting everywhere, and crying out with sharp little grunts that make Chekov want to fuck himself against the mattress and come before the tightness in his cock makes his whole body burst into pieces, but he makes himself wait, because he's already done something childish: failing to swallow Sulu's come. He licks it from his lips and wipes the rest off with the back of his hand, which he discreetly cleans on Sulu's blankets while Sulu likes there panting, still out of it.
He starts to crawl up to lie beside Sulu while he recovers but only makes it halfway there before Sulu is sitting up and slamming him back onto the mattress. Chekov laughs, bouncing against him, and Sulu growls into his mouth as he kisses him, as if he's telling Chekov to shut up, to take this seriously. He pulls back and kneels between Chekov's legs, ripping down his pants so that Chekov is completely exposed, his thighs shaking as Sulu stares down at his red prick. Sulu looks up to smirk at Chekov, who is burning with need, all of his skin as flushed and tight as his cock. He whines in protest when Sulu only strokes the insides of his thighs, though that does feel good, so good.
"You were begging me, huh?" Sulu asks, and Chekov grins up at him.
"Maybe."
"I wonder what it might have sounded like." Sulu draws one finger up the underside of Chekov's cock, slow and steady, and Chekov bites out curses in Russian, close to coming just from that, but he doesn't want to give it up until Sulu's mouth is impossibly hot around him.
"Please!" he grinds out, hating Sulu for being good at this, too, though he's glad for it, really, it's a relief.
"Please what?"
"Please suck me, please, I want your mouth, Hikaru -- ahh!"
"You want to come so bad, don't you Pavel?" Sulu's voice is getting throaty and raw, and it winds down Chekov's spine, making him tense up even more.
"Yes, please, Hikaru, so badly, I need it --"
"Does it hurt a little? Hmm?" He's still stroking Chekov's thighs like he could do this all night, his face calm and calculating now, as if he won't be satisfied until Chekov's eyes leak out in frustration.
"Does that throbbing cock hurt, Pavel? Look at you, you're so full, so fucking hard, I bet that aches, doesn't it?"
"Hikaru!" And then Chekov does cry a little, partly just to appease him.
"You know what would feel good?" Sulu asks, leaning down over him to smirk and whisper in his ear, his stomach just barely above the sobbing tip of Chekov's cock. Chekov only whimpers in response, half of him wanting to buck up against Sulu's body and come all over his stomach, but he wants his mouth, he wants it more than anything.
"You know what would make that aching cock feel so much better?" Sulu asks. He licks Chekov's ear, just softly. "My tongue would make it feel all better, make you feel so good. I bet I could swallow you up whole, and you could fuck my mouth, Pavel, but you wouldn't even get that far before you shot that big load right down my throat."
Chekov groans and cries and squeezes Sulu's shoulders with his shaking hands, not sure if he can manage one more please; he's wound so tight that he can't even remember the English word for it.
"Hikaru," he says instead, choking it out like a sob, and Sulu kisses Chekov's temple sweetly before ducking down and making good on his promise. He takes Chekov's cock into his mouth in one hot, quick swallow, and Chekov screams as he comes, more from the feeling of Sulu's lips straining around the base than anything else.
That's right, he hisses in Russian, out of his mind with the intensity of his orgasm. You swallow my come down, all of it. Sulu does, moaning around Chekov's cock between every gulp, and when Chekov has been sucked dry Sulu slides off of him slowly, Chekov's cock so overstimulated that he hisses again at the sensation, wordlessly this time. Sulu leans over him and kisses his face as the last aftershocks burn out of him, and Chekov wrenches his eyes open to stare at Sulu in complete bewilderment.
"Maybe it wasn't the liquor," Sulu says, grinning. "Maybe we're just like this."
Chekov calls him a fucker in Russian, grinning as he pulls Sulu down to thump heavily against Chekov's spent body. Sulu sighs and deflates on top of him, and the push of Sulu's strong breath against Chekov's stomach feels almost as good as Sulu's mouth did, or maybe it feels even better, in a different way. Chekov moans happily and winds his arms around Sulu's shoulders, kissing his ear with sharp little pecks.
"I want to die like this," Chekov says, accidentally in English. "With you on top of me."
"Trying to tell me that I'm crushing the air out of you?" Sulu asks, starting to move off, but Chekov whines and holds him in place, wrapping his legs around Sulu's back.
"Do you think we just started fucking while the diplomats were still sitting around smoking their pipes?" Chekov asks, and Sulu laughs, which feels so good, though he is sort of crushing the air out of Chekov, actually. He's heavy, but Chekov wants to always be flattened underneath him.
"It's possible," Sulu says. "Maybe that's how we cleared the room."
"You make me -- how did you say it? All crazy."
"You're all crazy anyway," Sulu says, leaning up so that he can look down at Chekov, and kiss the bridge of his nose. "That's why I --" He stops short of saying love you, but Chekov heard it, even if he's not sure Sulu means it yet. He grins.
"Can I sleep here?" he asks.
"Yeah, of course," Sulu says, rolling off of Chekov to kick his pants to the floor. His face is red, and Chekov wishes he wouldn't be embarrassed. Chekov doesn't expect Sulu to love him forever, but he wouldn't resent him if he did. Mostly he just wants to be naked and sleep with Sulu pressed against him in this private place, Sulu's bed, and he wants to wake up in the morning and remember everything.
When they're both undressed completely, Sulu has his room's computer adjust the temperature, turning it down lower to cool their sweat-slicked skin. Chekov rolls onto his side and holds his breath until Sulu slumps against him, pulling Chekov in snugly against his chest.
"You're so good, Hikaru," Chekov says, lifting Sulu's hand so that he can kiss every finger. "Such a good man, I think."
"You think?" Sulu says, nosing through Chekov's curls, and Chekov can feel his smile. "But you're not sure yet."
"I am relatively sure," Chekov says, and Sulu snorts with laughter, squeezing Chekov in even closer when he laughs, too, and tickling his hand down Chekov's chest.
"Jury's still out on you," Sulu says. He kisses his way down Chekov's neck to his squirming shoulder, and every inch of Chekov's skin is tingling from Sulu's attention.
"No one has made me want to be so wicked before," Chekov says, reaching back to smooth a hand over Sulu's ass, which is pleasantly damp with sweat. "No one before you."
"That's kind of a hit to my conscience," Sulu says, "But I'll take it."
Chekov has no idea what he means, but he shuts his eyes against his pillow and smiles hard enough to hurt his cheeks, not really caring. He's ready to sleep, and ready to wake up in Sulu's arms again.
*
Chekov starts spending every night in Sulu's bed, not really sure why they're sleeping in Sulu's rather than his, except that Chekov prefers Sulu's, and Sulu's room also seems nicer somehow, though it's virtually identical to Chekov's. The Enterprise arrives at the destination of their next mission, and Kirk goes planetside with Spock and two other officers. It's a ten day mission, and Sulu and Chekov are essentially on vacation while the ship is docked over the planet where Kirk and the others have disembarked. They're still expected to be on the bridge at their regular hours, but there isn't much to do, and they spend their time at work chatting quietly under their breath and trying not to look at each other in a way that broadcasts to everyone else on the bridge that they will be retiring to quarters to have sex as soon as they're free.
"You think anybody's noticed that you're sleeping here?" Sulu asks one night when he and Chekov have just arrived in his room. They've already fallen into a regular routine: Chekov collapses onto the bed and moans dramatically about how tired he feels while Sulu makes his way around the room, watering plants and checking his PADD for personal messages from home. He has a large family and they're always calling or writing. When he's through he'll fall into bed beside Chekov and kiss him for awhile, until Chekov starts complaining that he's hungry. They eat almost all of their meals from the replicator -- going to the mess takes too much time.
"Noticed? No. Who pays so much attention to us? Nobody. Can you replicate me a steak please, and strawberries, and some pretzels and milk and a couple of rolls, maybe?"
"So now I'm your sex slave and your chef?" Sulu says, grinning as he punches Chekov's order into the replicator. "What is with you and all the steak?"
"I don't know, I just want it. Thank you, Hikaru," Chekov says sweetly when Sulu brings him a tray full of food. Sulu grunts and sits down beside him.
"You're hungry," he says, and Chekov is so busy shoveling food in his mouth that he almost doesn't notice that Sulu seems to be mourning the loss of their post-work make-out. Chekov didn't even think about the fact that he'd skipped over it; he's been starving since an hour after lunch.
"I'll eat fast," Chekov says with his mouth full. Sulu snorts.
"Yeah, I know you will."
Chekov knows he looks ridiculous, stuffing handfuls of pretzels into his mouth between bites of steak, but he's felt so incredibly alive since he and Sulu started sleeping together, like a whole new person. His appetite is insatiable, his orgasms are almost painfully intense, and he even feels more attractive than he ever was before he spent his nights sleeping with Sulu curled around him. He wonders if this feeling, as if he could take on ten Romulans with his bare hands, is simply what all great happiness is like. He's certainly never known it before, except for maybe in the first few minutes after he won the Starfleet Academy marathon last year, but that quickly faded into something else: victory, accomplishment, exhaustion. He's known plenty of that. This is different.
"Kirk and the others will be back tomorrow," Sulu says. "Then we're headed to Dunedin. Maybe me and you will get to do another mission together." He grins at the thought, and Chekov smiles back, breathless from gulping his milk.
"Can you get me some more of this?" he asks, handing Sulu the glass. Sulu groans but does as Chekov asks. Chekov knows it's a little cruel and childish, ordering Sulu about, but he's never in his life known anyone to do anything he asks, and it's nice to finally be taken care of.
As Sulu is handing Chekov his refilled glass of milk, his PADD beeps with another message. Sulu picks up the device and grins down at his screen.
"My sister," he says, turning the screen so that Chekov can see. "This is her new dog, apparently."
Chekov hums in a sorry imitation of interest. He feels guilty about it, but he can't help resenting Sulu's constant communication with his family. Sulu has dropped little hints that he would like to hear more about Chekov's family, but Chekov still hasn't worked up the nerve to tell Sulu that his mother abandoned him when he was an infant and his father died after being knifed in a bar brawl when Chekov was fourteen. The story of Chekov's childhood doesn't quite measure up to Sulu's fond memories of holidays in space and learning how to fence with his father as his teacher.
"I don't think I would like to have this, a dog," Chekov says snottily. Lately he can't seem to help saying whatever comes to his mind, probably because he's still breaking in the feeling of Sulu's indulgence.
"No?" Sulu sits beside him with a sandwich and a beer from the replicator. "We had one when I was growing up, a cocker spaniel, Lucky. He was great."
"I would not like cleaning up after an animal."
"You wouldn't mind as much as you think you would, not if you loved them, you know, if they were a beloved pet."
"Well, if I never have one then I will never love one, yes? Less work for me."
"That's pretty cynical," Sulu says. "That's like saying, 'I'll never fall in love so that I'll never get hurt.' Kind of."
"Well, okay, this is why I am with you then, yes? Because you will never hurt me." Chekov half-regrets not saying This is why I love you, but Sulu must know by now anyway. It was implied. Sulu looks at him and smiles a little sadly.
"Right?" Chekov asks, elbowing him, trying to make it into a joke.
"Yeah," Sulu says, rubbing his hand down Chekov's back. "That's right."
After they eat, Chekov lies on his back and Sulu leans beside him, kissing his face and stroking him softly, down his arms and up under his shirt. Chekov ate so much that his pants are straining to contain him, so he kicks them off, and Sulu's fingers travel down over the inside of Chekov's thighs, which makes him laugh and go half-hard, though he's really too full and sleepy to do anything but lie still under Sulu's hands.
"You're so perfect," Sulu says, and Chekov wishes he could ask Sulu to stop saying this all the time, because it makes him feel very imperfect and unworthy, but he knows that's not Sulu's intention, and telling him to stop would only hurt him. Sulu is a little bit delicate, Chekov has learned. It makes Chekov nervous, because he doesn't trust himself with someone so kind and good, but he plans on getting away with it for as long as he can. He shuts his eyes for just a moment, sinking into the comfort of Sulu's soft kisses along his jaw, the warmth of his breath and the gentle pressure of his big hand spread across Chekov's stomach, his thumb stroking the baby fine hairs there just lightly. Sulu makes him feel tender and priceless, until they're fucking, when Sulu makes Chekov feel like a dirty, wanton little slut, which Chekov loves just as well, as long as he gets this treatment again afterward.
When he opens his eyes again, the room is dark and Sulu is no longer leaning over him. Chekov gasps a little in the back of his throat, because he will always hate this sensation, waking up and not knowing what's going on. He looks to his left and sees Sulu asleep beside him, turned away from him and sleeping on top of the blankets. Chekov scoots against him and licks at his ear until he groans.
"Hikaru," Chekov whispers. "What time is it? Why are you asleep?"
"'Cause you've been asleep for like two hours," Sulu says, grumbling and annoyed. "I didn't want to wake you."
"I fell asleep? Just like that? Look at this, the time is only nine o'clock! I'm sorry, Hikaru, I don't know what's wrong with me."
"It's okay," Sulu says. "Doesn't matter."
"Poor Hikaru, I abandoned you!" Chekov says, nuzzling at his neck, his hand winding around to pet Sulu's chest as he rolls him onto his back. Sulu groans irritably but lets himself be rolled.
"You can sleep if you're tired," Sulu says, looking up at Chekov with half-lidded eyes. Chekov rakes his fingers through Sulu's hair, which Sulu likes, and when he reaches down between Sulu's legs he's glad to find that this was enough to get him hard.
"I'm not tired," Chekov says.
"Could have fooled me."
Chekov gets up on his knees to demonstrate, and it's true, suddenly he feels wide awake, and he's hard, of course, he's always hard when he's close enough to smell Sulu's skin, or the thing that isn't quite his skin, the thing that is just him. Sulu is still half asleep and grumbling a little, but his hands find Chekov's hips as Chekov bends down over him, and Sulu pushes Chekov's underwear down, rubbing his hands over his ass.
They haven't done this without talking yet, and Chekov figures it's time to try it. He keeps his mouth pressed over Sulu's so that he can't speak, but there's not much danger of that, anyway, because Sulu is hazy and tired under Chekov's enthusiastic grinding. They undress in turns: one shirt, then the other, underwear, boxers. At night, in the dark like this, Chekov feels like Sulu's body is just another part of his, and it feels as good to kiss and touch him as it does to be kissed, to be touched.
Chekov breaks the no-talking rule after Sulu groans with the effort of sitting up on the mattress and surprises Chekov by pushing him over onto all fours, slicking his fingers with their bedside supply of lube in almost the same motion. Chekov spreads apart and opens for him easily, groaning into the sheets, but he doesn't speak until Sulu is sliding in, steady and slow, all the way to the deepest, hidden parts of Chekov, tripping secret nerves inside him that he hopes no one else will ever touch.
"God, I waited so long for you," Chekov cries, in Russian, thank god. He squeezes handfuls of the sheets into his fists and Sulu leans over him to kiss the back of his neck, sliding his arms down until his hands cover Chekov's on the mattress. He eases Chekov's fingers apart to lace his own between them, and Chekov huffs out his breath, feeling humiliated in a way that makes his cock hard. Look at you, Sulu says without speaking as he bites at Chekov's ear, his chest so hot against Chekov's back. Look at how you're mine.
Sulu thrusts into him with a sleepwalking rhythm, and Chekov chews his tongue, struggling not to cry Hikaru ten thousand times, because he likes the quiet of the room, and the closeness of the two of them in the dark; it's even more intimate to do it this way, without looking at each other, flooded with nothing but touch, no sight, and no sound except for the low mhmm that Sulu is moaning against Chekov's ear.
Before Sulu can wrench a please, harder out of Chekov, he speeds up a little, then more, still so deep inside Chekov, his thrusts shallow but hard. He shifts, then shifts again, and Chekov screams when Sulu finds what he's looking for, the place inside Chekov that won't let him stay quiet. Sulu growls with satisfaction and spreads his legs wider, fucking Chekov hard against that spot, making him scream again and again until he's crying through his orgasm, pushing himself back against Sulu in pathetic, wide-open rolls of his hips. He needs more, even with his come pooling onto the sheets, and Sulu knows it, so he leans up, dragging both hands down Chekov's back, just short of digging his nails in. His hands go steady on Chekov's hips, and then he's just pounding him, Chekov sobbing and keening as he takes it, slamming back to meet Sulu's thrusts, his fingers curled into the sheets again. When Sulu comes it tears another scream out of both of them, and Chekov pants with relief as Sulu falls onto his back to breathe harshly, filling him up with come. Chekov is shaking and sweating, exhausted again.
Sulu kisses Chekov's shoulder before pulling out, like he's checking to see if he's okay. Chekov laughs and lets Sulu draw him up into his arms, into his lap, then down onto the pillows. Sulu is still breathing hard, and Chekov pushes his body back against Sulu's so that Sulu's breath feels like the only force in the universe, the only thing he needs to worry about, the only thing that matters.
"So what should we do now?" Sulu asks. He strokes Chekov's hair, his neck, the softest part of his cheek. "Since it's only nine o'clock and you're not tired?"
"I am tired now, Hikaru," Chekov says, whining the words out, and Sulu laughs. Chekov has never enjoyed this before, acting childish and ridiculous, and he thinks he finally can because he can also act like a man with Sulu, someone who can take anything Sulu gives him, someone who once saved Sulu's life. Chekov feels the same sharp bite at his heart that he always does when he thinks of that day, of how close he came to losing Sulu. He pulls Sulu's arms more tightly around him, and Sulu takes the hint, squeezing him in closer.
"So go to sleep," Sulu says in a whisper, pressing one last kiss behind Chekov's ear. Chekov sinks down into the warm dark of his exhaustion as if he'd been waiting for Sulu's permission, his body throbbing with the satisfaction of being worn out and used up, completely spent.
He sleeps well and deeply, until his dreams about exploring strange planets are interrupted by a sharp pain that he assumes will stay behind in the dream when he blinks awake. But the pain is still with him, low and angry in his stomach, and Chekov moans and shifts, trying to make it go away. When the unmistakable need to be sick starts rising through him, he kicks the blankets away and climbs over Sulu, jogging into the bathroom. He barely makes it there in time to stick his head into the toilet and retch.
After emptying the considerable contents of his stomach, Chekov flushes the toilet and kneels on the floor before it, panting and pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. He hears Sulu stirring in the bedroom and calling his name, and he turns to shut the bathroom door.
"I am fine," he calls when the door is shut, though he still feels like he could throw up for another hour. He hasn't got anything left in him, and after a couple of dry heaves he gets up and splashes water on his face, then rinses his mouth out, moaning miserably, his eyes still puffy with sleep and the light in the bathroom irritating him, even though it's only at twenty-five percent.
He's shaking when he goes back to the bed, too weak to even climb over Sulu, who scoots over into what has become Chekov's side to allow him in. Getting into bed and pushing his face against Sulu's chest makes him feel a little better, but his stomach is still rollicking under the waves of his sudden nausea.
"What's wrong?" Sulu asks, smoothing down Chekov's hair. "You're all clammy."
"I'm okay," Chekov says, the roughness of his voice betraying the fact that he's actually not. "I had to throw up."
Sulu makes a sympathetic noise and kisses Chekov's forehead.
"Your diet has been a little weird lately," he says. Chekov grunts in vague agreement and winds his arm around Sulu's waist. He falls back to sleep with relative ease, too tired to let the unsettled feeling in his stomach keep him awake, but then the alarm beside Sulu's bed is going off, much too soon. Sulu sits up with a groan while Chekov glowers against the pillow, hugging it to his face.
"C'mon, come take a shower," Sulu says, scratching his nails over Chekov's back. "You smell like barf."
"No, I don't," Chekov grumbles, though he's sure he does. "What time is it?" His stomach is still achy, feeling too hollow now.
"Time to get up. C'mon, Pavel. Unless you want to go to sick bay instead, get McCoy to have a look at you?"
"No, no," Chekov says, sitting up with a wince. He hates that Sulu has programmed his lights to come on when his alarm goes off, hates it. "I am fine, I can work."
Sulu pulls Chekov into the shower and washes him while Chekov stands under the water like a zombie. The hot water feels good beating against his skin, and Sulu's soapy hands feel even better, Chekov's cock rising to attention even before Sulu makes his way down past Chekov's stomach with the soap, but then suddenly his stomach is pitching again, and he has to lean against the wall of the shower to retch, spitting and cursing when he can't throw up, because his stomach is still empty.
"Are you okay?" Sulu asks, his hand on Chekov's back.
"My stomach," Chekov mutters miserably, and then suddenly he's so dizzy that Sulu has to catch him before he can tumble to the floor of the shower.
"Hey, hey," Sulu says, cradling him while he turns off the water. "C'mon, let's get you dressed and I'll take you to McCoy."
"No," Chekov says, fighting his way out of Sulu's grip. "I am okay, am fine, I only ate something bad yesterday, you should have your replicator checked."
Sulu raises an eyebrow and gives Chekov a look. Chekov bats the shower curtain away and climbs out, sighing shakily as he dries himself off. He hates missing work and doesn't want to give in to this illness. He hasn't been sick since he was nine years old; he believes it's a sign of weakness. Before, whenever he's thrown up, he's always felt fine immediately afterward. Once, he even went right back to drinking. That was his father's funeral, of course, his uncles cheering him on.
"Are you sure you want to go to the bridge?" Sulu asks as they're getting dressed, Chekov replicating himself a clean uniform. "You look pretty green," Sulu says as Chekov struggles to pull on his pants.
"No, I am fine," Chekov says, beginning to get annoyed. "Kirk and the others are returning today. I must set the course for Dunedin."
"Okay." Sulu sighs and walks over to comb Chekov's wet hair with his fingers. "Do you want to eat something before work?"
"No," Chekov says, shaking his head. "No, no. Eating would not be good."
"Pavel --"
"I will eat at lunchtime," Chekov says with a nod, but he's not sure he'll even have his appetite back then. Just watching Sulu eat a bowl of cereal and drink a glass of juice makes his stomach queasy all over again.
They walk down to the bridge slowly, Sulu pretending not to notice that Chekov is still feeling miserable and barely able to walk without getting sick again. Chekov is determined to shake this off, but every light and noise as they make their way through the halls feels like it's hammering against him, threatening to knock him over. When they finally arrive at the bridge he walks ahead of Sulu to the console, concentrating on every step. Kirk arrives just twenty minutes later, fresh from the shuttle, with Spock at his side. Kirk is cheerful, as he always is after returning to his ship, and Spock is stoic, heading straight for Uhura.
"Let's blow this popsicle stand," Kirk says as soon as his ass is in his chair. "Sulu, what do you think, a warp 4 to get to the Dunedin space station?"
"That would get us there in roughly forty-eight hours," Sulu says.
"Yes," Chekov echoes uselessly, feeling dizzy as he stares down at his monitor.
"Works for me!" Kirk slaps the arms of his chair. "Punch it."
Chekov shakes his head clear of its cobwebs and concentrates on his work, setting the coordinates for the space station while Sulu readies the ship for warp speed. Docking at space stations is tricky; there is drift to account for, and always plenty of spacecraft clogging up the area. Chekov plots a warp course that will put them roughly two hours from Dunedin at normal speed so that Sulu can guide them into the dock more carefully once they've arrived.
"Ready," Chekov says when he's done, glancing to his left to watch Sulu's hands working the console, pulling back the lever that will warp them.
"Warping in three, two, one," Sulu says, and then comes the first yank at the artificial gravity on the bridge, the only hint that the ship is now moving incredibly fast. It takes the body just a second or two to adjust, normally. Chekov is finding it not so easy today, his stomach hurling forward as if it wants to race the ship, and he barely has time to worry about throwing up all over the console before he's tipping backward in his chair, headed for the floor.
He wakes up to a lot of shouting and commotion. Sulu, Kirk and Uhura are all crowded around him, saying his name. Sulu is the only one saying Pavel instead of Chekov, which is probably a dead giveaway.
"What's going on? What's wrong with him?" Kirk sounds panicked.
"Honey? Can you hear me?" Uhura is talking to him like he's a child.
"I told him to go see McCoy, he was throwing up last night." Sulu is determined to give up their secret, or maybe he just isn't thinking clearly.
"Perhaps he contracted something when he accompanied you on the mission to Yrubi, Captain," Spock says, appearing suddenly. Chekov laughs miserably at the blurry sight of Spock hovering above the rest of the concerned faces.
"Is he drunk?" Kirk asks, horrified, and Chekov laughs harder.
"No," Sulu says sharply. "Everybody get out of the way, I'm going to take him to McCoy."
"I can walk," Chekov protests when Sulu tries to pick him up. He stands with Sulu's help, his knees still wobbling, and Sulu and Kirk catch his arms when his stomach pitches again. Chekov groans, his midsection pulsing with pain.
"Like hell you can walk," Sulu says, and he lifts Chekov into his arms, which is extremely humiliating. Chekov scowls but doesn't have the energy to fight as Sulu carries him to the sick bay.
"Let me down," he says when the doors of the lift have closed around them. "Hikaru! What do you think you're doing?"
"Me! How about you, you're too sick to be up here, you knew that this morning."
Chekov scoffs. "Put me down," he says, weakly now, resting his head against Sulu's shoulder.
"I will when we get to the sick bay," Sulu says, and Chekov hates him, and loves him, for carrying him all the way there.
*
Part II