ST fic: "I Vant to Suck Your Blood, if That's Alright." (1,224 words, PG-13, Chekov + Kirk)
Title: I Vant to Suck Your Blood, if That's Alright.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,224
A/N: Written as a birthday present for order_of_chaos who said "Have you ever thought that Chekov would make the most adorable vampire ever? He so would." She was right, of course.
I Vant to Suck Your Blood, if That's Alright.
Jim snaps into consciousness with his adrenaline already pumping. Assessment: he's lying face down on something soft (his bed), it's dark, there's a warm, light weight along his back and something wet-something pointy-nestled in the tender hollow just beneath his ear.
"Oh!" says a voice at his ear. The wet, pointy thing becomes a wet soft thing and Jim recognizes it as a set of teeth and lips. This would be fabulous, he thinks, if I had gone to bed with someone last night.
"Hi there," Jim says calmly, surreptitiously pulling his arms beneath himself. If need be, he can push himself up and shove the intruder off.
"Ah, hello," says the voice, accompanied with a puff of breath beneath his ear that makes Jim feel squirmy. A slender hand settles on his elbow and when Jim goes still again, the hand pats him approvingly. "I am sorry, Captain," says the voice. "I vas not meaning for you to vake up."
Son of a- "Mr. Chekov?" Jim blurts out, voice cracking slightly.
"Aye, it is me?" It's pitched ridiculously like a question, like Chekov is either doubting his identity or wondering why he is in his captain's bed without authorization. Jim's wondering the same thing and Chekov had better have a damn good reason because Jim is putting on his Captain Frown.
Chekov presses down on his arm when Jim starts to push himself up and the result is, as Spock would say, unexpected. The result is nothing. Jim can bench press more than this kid's weight, so how the hell can Chekov pin him down with a grip so strong it hurts?
Jim blinks into his pillow, pulse racing.
Chekov puts his lips back to Jim's skin, starting below the ear and skating down in a measured fashion, like counting footsteps on a treasure map. "Captain, please calm down," he says, lips tickling at the side of Jim's neck. "This vill be wery difficult if the blood is rushing too fast."
Keep him talking, Jim thinks. He can maintain some control of the situation and gather information in order to reassess the threat. "What will be too difficult?" he asks.
"My dinner," answers Chekov, as if he is perplexed that Jim did not know this.
"What the hell do you mean by dinner-" Jim is saying when suddenly the tickle at his throat coalesces into a bite and he rears up violently. Chekov's teeth back off immediately and Chekov squawks as he's nearly thrown off. Then he slams back into Jim and they both flatten into the mattress.
Chekov presses one hand to the back of Jim's head, babbling worriedly. "Captain, please, that vas wery dangerous. It is most important that you stay still vile I am-"
"Ensign, release me right now," Jim snarls. He doesn't like people holding down his head, Chekov's knee is digging into his kidney, and oh yeah, he's the fucking captain.
"Please, if you are still and calm this vill only take a moment," Chekov says urgently, thankfully shifting to a less painful position. He skritches his fingers through Jim's hair and well, doesn't that just make Jim feel all better. "In morning," Chekov murmurs, "you vill not even remember this." He pulls gently, implacably, at Jim's shoulder to expose his neck again.
"Hang on," Jim says as Chekov nuzzles beneath his ear. "Have you done this to me before? Without me waking up or remembering it?" The idea makes him feel a little gross, to be honest.
Chekov pulls away slightly and answers promptly, "Yes, Captain."
Jim squirms but Chekov's still holding him in that too-strong grip, fingertips pressing uncomfortably into his scalp and shoulder when he moves. "Why?" Jim asks quickly. "What exactly are you doing?"
Chekov clucks his tongue and asks, "Your mother did not tell you fairy tales? I have drunken your blood, Captain." He adds proudly, "I am a wampire!"
"Bullshit," says Jim. Honestly, what other response is there?
"That vas rude," Chekov mumbles in a hurt little voice.
"Drinking my blood without my express permission is vorse-is worse than rude," Jim says hotly. "In fact, it's considered an assault against a commanding officer and believe me, I will prosecute you on that charge without leniency if you do not stand down this second." Jim finishes the sentence on a growl that almost intimidates himself, it's so impressive.
For a moment nothing happens. Then Chekov is sliding off of him and babbling shakily, "I am sorry, Captain. It is only that I am hungry, and it vas never a problem before-"
"Assault against an unconscious or otherwise incapacitated officer is also a punishable offense," Jim snaps. "Lights!" He scrambles off the bed to snatch up a pair of pants. He's careful not to turn his back on Chekov, who is kneeling on the foot of the bed with very wide eyes. "Seriously," Jim says. "I'm the captain. It didn't occur to you that this was incredibly against regulations?"
Chekov tugs at the hem of his uniform jersey. "I vould have chosen a yeoman, but-"
"-coercion of a subordinate or otherwise abusing rank is also against regs," Jim points out, getting frustrated with his zipper. For fuck's sake, even his clothing is taking liberties tonight.
"I thought I might absorb some of your courage," mumbles Chekov, staring at his own nervously twisting fingers, and hell if Jim's going to touch that admission with a ten foot pole. "And coincidentally," Chekov adds brightly, looking up, "you are same blood type as me so it is not so upsetting to my stomach!"
"You-" Jim blinks. He cocks his head to the side and tries again. "You're actually telling me that you are a vampire," he says slowly. "And… you require the blood of others for sustenance?"
"It is a vell-established condition, Captain," Chekov answers, sounding slightly defensive. "I cannot help it."
Kirk slaps the comm unit on his desk. "Bones, wake up," he says.
The comm crackles in reply: "Hunh?"
"Captain to Dr. McCoy," Jim says in an official tone. "Get your ass down to sick bay. There's a situation."
Bones sounds a little more alert the second time around. "On my way," he slurs, and Jim hears a thump that is probably him falling out of bed.
Jim sits down to slide on his boots, letting the tense silence draw out. That was Pike's favorite technique whenever Jim got called in on the carpet, and damn if it wasn't effective to the point of (if it was happening to Jim) cruelty.
Sure enough, Chekov is watching his every move, teeth (pointy teeth, Jim notices now) worrying at his lower lip. "Am I in wery much trouble, sir?" Chekov asks contritely.
"That depends in part on your cooperation over the next few hours while Dr. McCoy investigates your-" bullshit story, Jim almost says, before he realizes that if this is a real medical condition, then it probably classifies as a disability which means that Jim has to be PC about it. "-claim," he finishes lamely.
"Oh, yes sir!" Chekov cries happily, finally clambering down from the bed and standing at attention. "I vill be most cooperative!"
"Glad to hear it," Jim mutters, wondering if he can apply to get hazard pay for this. "Now march, mister."
________________
Chaos also wanted "Bones is a werewolf." I'm working on it!
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,224
A/N: Written as a birthday present for order_of_chaos who said "Have you ever thought that Chekov would make the most adorable vampire ever? He so would." She was right, of course.
I Vant to Suck Your Blood, if That's Alright.
Jim snaps into consciousness with his adrenaline already pumping. Assessment: he's lying face down on something soft (his bed), it's dark, there's a warm, light weight along his back and something wet-something pointy-nestled in the tender hollow just beneath his ear.
"Oh!" says a voice at his ear. The wet, pointy thing becomes a wet soft thing and Jim recognizes it as a set of teeth and lips. This would be fabulous, he thinks, if I had gone to bed with someone last night.
"Hi there," Jim says calmly, surreptitiously pulling his arms beneath himself. If need be, he can push himself up and shove the intruder off.
"Ah, hello," says the voice, accompanied with a puff of breath beneath his ear that makes Jim feel squirmy. A slender hand settles on his elbow and when Jim goes still again, the hand pats him approvingly. "I am sorry, Captain," says the voice. "I vas not meaning for you to vake up."
Son of a- "Mr. Chekov?" Jim blurts out, voice cracking slightly.
"Aye, it is me?" It's pitched ridiculously like a question, like Chekov is either doubting his identity or wondering why he is in his captain's bed without authorization. Jim's wondering the same thing and Chekov had better have a damn good reason because Jim is putting on his Captain Frown.
Chekov presses down on his arm when Jim starts to push himself up and the result is, as Spock would say, unexpected. The result is nothing. Jim can bench press more than this kid's weight, so how the hell can Chekov pin him down with a grip so strong it hurts?
Jim blinks into his pillow, pulse racing.
Chekov puts his lips back to Jim's skin, starting below the ear and skating down in a measured fashion, like counting footsteps on a treasure map. "Captain, please calm down," he says, lips tickling at the side of Jim's neck. "This vill be wery difficult if the blood is rushing too fast."
Keep him talking, Jim thinks. He can maintain some control of the situation and gather information in order to reassess the threat. "What will be too difficult?" he asks.
"My dinner," answers Chekov, as if he is perplexed that Jim did not know this.
"What the hell do you mean by dinner-" Jim is saying when suddenly the tickle at his throat coalesces into a bite and he rears up violently. Chekov's teeth back off immediately and Chekov squawks as he's nearly thrown off. Then he slams back into Jim and they both flatten into the mattress.
Chekov presses one hand to the back of Jim's head, babbling worriedly. "Captain, please, that vas wery dangerous. It is most important that you stay still vile I am-"
"Ensign, release me right now," Jim snarls. He doesn't like people holding down his head, Chekov's knee is digging into his kidney, and oh yeah, he's the fucking captain.
"Please, if you are still and calm this vill only take a moment," Chekov says urgently, thankfully shifting to a less painful position. He skritches his fingers through Jim's hair and well, doesn't that just make Jim feel all better. "In morning," Chekov murmurs, "you vill not even remember this." He pulls gently, implacably, at Jim's shoulder to expose his neck again.
"Hang on," Jim says as Chekov nuzzles beneath his ear. "Have you done this to me before? Without me waking up or remembering it?" The idea makes him feel a little gross, to be honest.
Chekov pulls away slightly and answers promptly, "Yes, Captain."
Jim squirms but Chekov's still holding him in that too-strong grip, fingertips pressing uncomfortably into his scalp and shoulder when he moves. "Why?" Jim asks quickly. "What exactly are you doing?"
Chekov clucks his tongue and asks, "Your mother did not tell you fairy tales? I have drunken your blood, Captain." He adds proudly, "I am a wampire!"
"Bullshit," says Jim. Honestly, what other response is there?
"That vas rude," Chekov mumbles in a hurt little voice.
"Drinking my blood without my express permission is vorse-is worse than rude," Jim says hotly. "In fact, it's considered an assault against a commanding officer and believe me, I will prosecute you on that charge without leniency if you do not stand down this second." Jim finishes the sentence on a growl that almost intimidates himself, it's so impressive.
For a moment nothing happens. Then Chekov is sliding off of him and babbling shakily, "I am sorry, Captain. It is only that I am hungry, and it vas never a problem before-"
"Assault against an unconscious or otherwise incapacitated officer is also a punishable offense," Jim snaps. "Lights!" He scrambles off the bed to snatch up a pair of pants. He's careful not to turn his back on Chekov, who is kneeling on the foot of the bed with very wide eyes. "Seriously," Jim says. "I'm the captain. It didn't occur to you that this was incredibly against regulations?"
Chekov tugs at the hem of his uniform jersey. "I vould have chosen a yeoman, but-"
"-coercion of a subordinate or otherwise abusing rank is also against regs," Jim points out, getting frustrated with his zipper. For fuck's sake, even his clothing is taking liberties tonight.
"I thought I might absorb some of your courage," mumbles Chekov, staring at his own nervously twisting fingers, and hell if Jim's going to touch that admission with a ten foot pole. "And coincidentally," Chekov adds brightly, looking up, "you are same blood type as me so it is not so upsetting to my stomach!"
"You-" Jim blinks. He cocks his head to the side and tries again. "You're actually telling me that you are a vampire," he says slowly. "And… you require the blood of others for sustenance?"
"It is a vell-established condition, Captain," Chekov answers, sounding slightly defensive. "I cannot help it."
Kirk slaps the comm unit on his desk. "Bones, wake up," he says.
The comm crackles in reply: "Hunh?"
"Captain to Dr. McCoy," Jim says in an official tone. "Get your ass down to sick bay. There's a situation."
Bones sounds a little more alert the second time around. "On my way," he slurs, and Jim hears a thump that is probably him falling out of bed.
Jim sits down to slide on his boots, letting the tense silence draw out. That was Pike's favorite technique whenever Jim got called in on the carpet, and damn if it wasn't effective to the point of (if it was happening to Jim) cruelty.
Sure enough, Chekov is watching his every move, teeth (pointy teeth, Jim notices now) worrying at his lower lip. "Am I in wery much trouble, sir?" Chekov asks contritely.
"That depends in part on your cooperation over the next few hours while Dr. McCoy investigates your-" bullshit story, Jim almost says, before he realizes that if this is a real medical condition, then it probably classifies as a disability which means that Jim has to be PC about it. "-claim," he finishes lamely.
"Oh, yes sir!" Chekov cries happily, finally clambering down from the bed and standing at attention. "I vill be most cooperative!"
"Glad to hear it," Jim mutters, wondering if he can apply to get hazard pay for this. "Now march, mister."
________________
Chaos also wanted "Bones is a werewolf." I'm working on it!