fairhearing: (the final frontier)
[personal profile] fairhearing
... that everyone has seen before, but I just lost several fills to the ether at another meme because the mod deleted the whole thing ;_; So I'm feeling paranoid and protective. ARCHIVING THYME.

Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov with mentioned Uhura and a certain little lady
Rating: PG
Warning: ch'snarf
Written for: The first Drabble-Drawble Fest at [livejournal.com profile] chekov_sulu: the prompt was this.



One of the best things about Sulu was how excited he got over little things. The problem with Sulu, though, was how excited he got over little things.

Chekov usually managed to coax himself into being interested, and even when he couldn't he always tried to be patient, to smile and nod and ask questions at all the right intervals, but this particular instance it was one of their rare days off and Chekov had been right in the middle of rewiring his tricorder to detect ionic interference off-ship when Sulu got back from lunch, looking exhilarated and launching into an immediate, epic monologue about the new dish he'd tried at Uhura's suggestion, the unexpected spiciness thereof, how he'd tried water and that had made made things worse, how the two of them had scrambled to get the synthesizers to produce a reasonable facsimile of goat's milk, etc etc etc.

Chekov gave Sulu a tight smile at every dramatic revelation ("so of course it ends up giving us... STOAT'S milk!"), keeping one eye on the nanochip cluster he was painstakingly transferring into a new nodule via magnetic tweezers, almost all the way finished at this point -- but as usual, Sulu didn't seem to notice.

"... so of course Dr. McCoy has an instant tongue-resetter hypospray thing, like right on hand."

"Mmm."

"And he smacks it into my neck like he's mad, which I guess I wouldn't blame him for because Uhura's like crying with laughter at this point, she can't even speak."

"Ha."

"So I'm about to go back and order like, baked potatoes and never try any kind of cuisine that requires non-cow-milk ever again when the doctor's like, 'if you're done ranting, the captain wanted me to know you got a level-1 transmission from the Stanton,' and I'm like 'what' but then I remembered I was waiting to hear from --"

"Hikaru!" said Chekov with a huff, barely stopping himself from slamming his tricorder down on the table. "Please!"

Sulu froze mid-sentence, mouth open.

"Oh. You're... doing the thing?" he said after a second.

"Yes, and if you wouldn't mind, I really need to concentrate, so please."

"Oh," said Sulu. "Sorry."

Chekov shook his head, muttered "it's okay" without much sincerity and went back to his work, forcing himself not to look at Sulu again, whose undoubted expression of sheepish apology would make Chekov want to kiss him and he would just have to give up any hope of finishing this before dinner.

After a second, though, Chekov felt a tiny, hesitant tap on his shoulder, and he let out an impatient breath.

"Yes?" he said through gritted teeth as he turned around.

Sulu was holding up his PADD. It was open to a picture of a laughing toddler, her black hair in crooked pigtails.

"I got custody," said Sulu softly, a grin growing on his face.

Chekov let out a little noise, and when he jumped to throw his arms around Sulu's neck, he didn't even hear his tricorder crash to the floor.

Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Girl!Chekov (omgggg i wrote it)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit (such explicit) sex in public! Also possibly age-squicky? Sulu is nineteen and girl-Chekov turned sixteen a couple of weeks ago or whatever. IT'S LEGAL IN MOST PLACES OKAY.
Written for: The First Annual Sulu-Off still going on at [livejournal.com profile] old_blueeyes's journal! For the prompt: "Academy!era, Sulu/girl!Chekov, doing it in public. In a bar, against a wall, anywhere that anyone could see them if they were paying attention."



She usually thinks she can never get her legs far enough apart when Sulu is between them, but this time, she thinks deliriously, it's pretty close. She's pinned against the wall of the lower hangar bay, her legs spread wide and held tight in the crooks of Sulu's elbows, her arms around his neck and face buried in his shoulder as he fucks her fast and deep, panting into her ear.

When Sulu got back from his first super-orbital flight to find her waiting for him, wearing that white summer dress he loves and, as she whispered into his ear, "nothing underneath," some combination of relief and adrenaline and ecstatic happiness had him dragging her by the arm to the lower hangar, where he unceremoniously picked her wholly up with one strong arm, his other hand already tearing open the front of his pants. She was already so wet that it was dripping down her legs, and she came, crying out into his mouth, when he thumbed her roughly between her thighs. But he wasn't done yet.

Now, the sound of the pilots above laughing and chatting as they congratulate each other drifts down the stairs as he slams into her, and she's breathless enough that she almost forgets to gasp each time a voice approaches the stairwell. Any of them could come down here, at any second, and what would they see? -- the clean-cut pilot Hikaru Sulu disheveled and wild with lust, the muscles in his back flexing and straining as he fucks the innocent little Russian exchange student with all his strength. And her, a full foot shorter than him and a doe-eyed sixteen, despoiled and moaning like a little slut, her legs wrapped tight around his waist and her curls tumbling free from their topknot as she takes it and takes it.

The thought is all it takes for her to come. She cries out, shivering up helplessly in his grip and then biting into the firm flesh of his shoulder as she clenches and clenches around him, feeling so small and filled and completely pinned. He moans and snaps his hips, almost crushing the breath out of her as he thrusts in one more time, panting harshly -- filling her with his come, she thinks deliriously, her body squeezing his cock in tighter flutters at the thought.

She buries her face in his hair when it's over. The leather-and-sweat smell of him -- her pilot -- coaxes aftershock after aftershock through her, even after he's lowered her gently from the wall and into his arms, even when he's stroking his broad hands softly down her nape and shoulders and back.

"Pasha," he whispers after a minute. He draws back to look at her and laughs a little. "I... God, I'm sorry, I just..."

She gives him a look of disbelief before leaning forward to nip his nose reprimandingly.

"I am going to pretend I didn't hear that, Hikaru," she says, still panting, and he grins.
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December 2010

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