fairhearing: (the final frontier)
[personal profile] fairhearing
Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov, McCoy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation (whew)
Kink Request: "Sulu/Chekov with McCoy as the voyeur please!"

At first McCoy thinks the whispers and rustling are just part of his dreams, which are odd and full of vague anxieties, as they always are when he's had Long Island Iced Teas before bed. But then he hears the unmistakable wet sound of a broken kiss.

"... but I need it..."

McCoy blinks groggily awake. The headboards they use in this Bajoran hotel are mirrored, highly reflective, so even in the faint glow of the room's electronic display he can clearly see Sulu's bed, even with his back turned. He squints: there are definitely two distinct bodies writhing around on the blankets over there.

He has to bite back an exasperated curse. He called dibs on bunking with Sulu for this stupid mission to avoid precisely this kind of thing -- he got enough of it in the Academy from Jim stumbling in at all hours with his catch-of-the-night on his arm. But apparently Sulu's reasonable and conservative demeanor is deceiving, or maybe he's just had too much to drink, because it certainly looks like he's trying to suck the face off of whoever he's -- oh.


McCoy shifts his gaze reflexively, feeling his face go hot.

So the rumors about Sulu and Chekov are true. He supposes it's better than Jim and his one-night stands. In fact, in a way, it's kind of... cute. Would have been nice if the two of them had been able to hold off their drunken fumblings until a time when McCoy wasn't, you know, sleeping in the damn bed next to them, but cute all the same.

He's about to cough, maybe shift meaningfully, to put them off what they're doing, when Chekov whips off his shirt and straddles Sulu's lap.

"Please, he's sleeping, Hikaru, I can't wait anymore," he's whispering, and, wow, grinding down on Sulu with a pretty impressive swivel of his hips.

Sulu arches back, his mouth open, and then -- damn, Sulu. All of a sudden Chekov's flat on his back, Sulu between his legs, holding him down with one hand and tearing Chekov's pants open with the other.

McCoy raises his eyebrows, still watching the entire thing in his reflective headboard. He wouldn't have taken Sulu to be so... forceful. And Chekov to be so... God, whimpering as he humps the air, like he'll die if Sulu doesn't touch him. It's hot and intense, something McCoy shouldn't be seeing, and soon McCoy won't be able to ignore the erection that's been building since this started.

"God, please, puzhalsta," Chekov chokes out in a whisper, clutching at Sulu's shoulders, and Sulu leans down to kiss him fiercely, his other hand busy with some kind of -- bottle --

Oh hell no. Seriously? Here? Now?

But McCoy's not sure anymore if he really wants them to stop, or why the fact that Lieutenant Sulu is about to fuck Ensign Chekov into the mattress in the bed next to him is somehow almost unbearably fucking hot. His own cock is so stiff now that it aches, and for a second he entertains the crazy idea of jacking off right here, quick and quiet, but of course he never would, and --

There's a gasp as Sulu slides Chekov down the mattress by the hips. In the same fluid movement, Sulu's grabbed Chekov's legs and hauled them over his shoulders, crushing his mouth over Chekov's to keep him quiet as he pushes in --

Oh, fuck this.

McCoy slides his hand into his boxers, the movement invisible under the blankets. He doubts Sulu or Chekov would have noticed, anyway: Chekov's head is thrown back in a silent scream, arms above his head, hands twisting the pillow, his entire pale pretty body exposed and undulating with every one of Sulu's thrusts. Sulu's got one hand planted next to Chekov's head, the other jacking fast between Chekov's legs, and he surges up and back in smooth and almost silent movements, a consummate pilot to the end.

It's the look on Sulu's face that almost brings McCoy over the edge, though. He's concentrating so hard, trying to keep so quiet, but he keeps having to close his eyes over and over as he stares down openmouthed at Chekov's face, as though knowing that he's making Chekov feel good is too much, will make him come too soon.

McCoy's own eyelids are starting to close as he feels himself get closer and closer, staring at this, when all of a sudden Sulu glances up for just an instant and their eyes meet in the silver surface of the headboard.

McCoy's hand goes still. Sulu's rhythm slows for just a moment.

"Hikaru!" gasps Chekov, grabbing at him, and Sulu lets out a low, gutteral groan. He heaves Chekov up into his lap -- Chekov cries out -- and then Sulu's slamming up into him crazily, shoving Chekov down onto his cock on every stroke.

But his eyes are still locked on McCoy's; he's staring at him as Chekov screams out a muffled orgasm onto Sulu's shoulder, Sulu fucking him all the way through it, and Sulu's panting and beginning to groan softly as he gets close but he's still staring at McCoy with that expression that's some kind of mixture of pride and defiance and -- tenderness --

They come at the same time, Sulu's deep low moan disguising McCoy's own ragged breaths.

McCoy watches as Chekov and Sulu lie back down against the pillows, keeping their arms wrapped around each other, kissing softly.

All three of them fall asleep afterward without another word.

The next morning, Sulu stops McCoy after breakfast, wincing slightly and stuttering out a request for a hangover hypospray. His face is beet red.

"Thanks, Doc," he says afterward, rubbing his neck and clearly trying to broach something. "Um, you know, last night I drank way -- way, way, way, too much, and... um..."

"Join the club, Sulu," McCoy says briskly, putting away his medical kit. "I had the craziest dreams last night. See you at the conference."

Even though McCoy pretends to be checking his PADD on his way out, he doesn't miss Sulu's look of relieved gratitude.

Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov, Kirk
Rating: R for suggestiveness and PENIS TALK
Kink Request: "Chekov is blissfully unaware of what "normal-sized" is and thinks that Sulu's penis is HUGE!  Unfortunately we all know that he likes to boast.  Bonus points for Kirk being determined to find out exactly how large Sulu is."

Kirk wouldn't have cared in the first place, really, if Chekov didn't seem determined to actually cause death by curiosity.

The morning after Chekov's eighteenth birthday, when the whole bridge was pretending not to d'awww at each other over Chekov and Sulu's blissful, clearly post-coital hand-in-hand entrance to the bridge, Kirk had the best view in the house of Chekov's wincing and grimacing as he took his seat at the conn. Kirk didn't miss the fondly accusing glance Chekov gave Sulu, either, or Sulu's blush in response.



A few days later, Kirk was looking for Rec Room Three's copy of "Trivial Pursuit" in one of the storage Jeffries tubes when he maybe-sort-of-accidentally overheard Chekov's excited chattering in the room below.

"Is not like this was ever the most important thing to me, Gaila, you know, because my own is frankly quite large, but then when I saw Hikaru's, I was just shocked!"

He heard Gaila laugh. "In a good way?"

"Oh, da. A good way. A very, very, very good way, bozhe moi."

Still, Kirk thought, listening to this, he might not be referring to Sulu's penis necessarily.

"It is the most enormous penis on the ship, and it is my boyfriend's," Chekov concluded happily.


Well, now things were personal.


Luckily they had a run-in with some mentally unbalanced colonists only the next day and Sulu took a phaser hit to the back. On stun, of course, only on stun, but Sulu was unconscious in sickbay long enough for Kirk to order Bones to the transporter room for an emergency that wouldn't exist by the time he showed up, and for Kirk himself to sneak a surreptitious peek at what Sulu was packing underneath the biobed's blanket.

When he got Sulu's fly open, he stared for a full minute.

"What the hell," he said out loud.


By the end of the week, Chekov's incessant boasting had made the rumors of Sulu's supposed incredible endowment into common (incorrect! incorrect!) knowledge, and Kirk decided he had to speak up in the name of truth and justice. Using some embarrassingly thorough calculations, he managed to corner Chekov in the locker room just as he was coming back from a run.

"Ensign," said Kirk, stepping into the showers with a nod.

"Hello, keptin!" Chekov smiled brightly at him from under the spray. A cursory glance told Kirk what he suspected -- that Chekov's own "quite large" equipment had been even more criminally overestimated. Poor boy was in for the surprise of his life.

"How was the course?" Kirk tried to stay nonchalant as he whipped the towel off his waist and prepared himself for the shock and awe.

Chekov didn't even give him a second look.

"Same as always, sir. A little boring, but is why I have my music, yes?"

Kirk stared. Chekov was whistling cheerfully as he lathered up.

"Chekov!" said Kirk. He actually stamped his foot, which would have embarrassed him if he was still in the realm of sanity.

Chekov gave him a look of surprise.


Kirk opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I... you..."

Chekov was beginning to look concerned for Kirk's mental health.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Fine. Kamikaze mode. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and gestured downward. "What are your thoughts on this, Ensign?"

"Thoughts on... the floor?"

Kirk smacked his forehead.

"Oh, wait, do you mean -- your genitals?"

"Yes," said Kirk through gritted teeth, his hand covering his eyes. "I mean my genitals."

"Um," said Chekov. "Er. Well, they look... healthy?"

"Ensign Chekov I do not know if you realize but my penis is visibly larger than Lieutenant Sulu's," Kirk boomed at him.

Chekov looked taken aback for only a second before his face fixed itself into an odd expression.

"Oh," he said. "Well." He took another, equally unimpressed, glance. "If you're going by physical size, yes."

Kirk gawped at him.

"How else," he said slowly, "would you measure a penis."

Chekov leaned toward him, closed his hand into a triumphant fist, and said something in zesty Russian.

"Yeah, sorry, didn't catch that," said Kirk.

"Spirit," said Chekov passionately. "Strength."

"Ah," said Kirk. "I see."

He laughed a little, at himself and the situation. Okay. At least the universe had returned to normal.

"So then," he said jokingly. "How does mine measure up there?"

Chekov, wrapping his towel around his waist, paused, taking another glance. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Is okay, keptin," he said finally, giving Kirk a pat on the back. "Not the most important thing, da?"

He walked off, whistling. Kirk stared after him.

Finally he laughed, shaking his head as he punched on the hot water. Spirit. Right.

He paused for a second and glanced down. Then he grabbed the soap angrily and tried to ignore his blush.

Characters/Pairing: Sulu/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Explicit sex, rimming
Summary: For the bonus round at [livejournal.com profile] st_respect; the prompt was "Welcome back; never leave again."

They both decide to have Chekov "try it" for a while: to serve on the Reliant just until its first station leave, which will be in six months. It's the smartest decision, the healthy decision; the two of them have only been together for a few months anyway, and both of them are aware of how fast they've both fallen, how damaging it could end up being for both their lives if they allow what's essentially a love affair to dictate all their choices.

Sulu knows this, but he has to keep repeating it to himself the night after the Reliant disembarks. He's alone in his apartment in San Francisco, already a bottle of wine in, and completely wrecked, beyond anything he could have imagined. It's shocking. He can't stop crying, and the actual, physical pain he feels at the idea of six months without Pavel is remarkable, almost impressive in its intensity.

He doesn't even hear the knock at the door, or the key in the lock, and later, when he remembers, he'll be glad. For the rest of his life, he'll never forget what it was like to look up to see Pavel Chekov, his eyes wet and his hair wind-blown, standing in the middle of Sulu's living room like an apparition.

"I couldn't do it," he chokes out when Sulu crosses the room in one unconscious stride and takes him by the arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know we said --"

Sulu doesn't say a single thing or make the slightest noise, just grabs Chekov's hair in both hands and slams their mouths together, kissing him hard enough to bruise.

It's his body working, not his mind. His mind is still trying to process what he's seen -- Chekov in his living room, Starfleet duffel bag at his feet -- but his body reacts just as if he's been underwater, desperate for the surface. His arms grab for Chekov the way his lungs would strain for a breath.

"Hikaru," Chekov gasps when they fall back onto the couch, but Sulu still can't speak, can't even undress them completely -- Chekov's pants are around his ankles, his own fly just barely undone. He can't do anything but put himself inside Chekov: first his tongue, in wet swirls that make Chekov scream, then his fingers, slick from Chekov's own mouth, and then finally his cock, the hot slow sink that makes them both sob out loud.

"Never leave again," is the first thing Sulu says, when he's panting hard against Chekov's neck, both of them slamming frantic against each other. "Please."

"Never, never," Chekov cries, shaking his head and digging his nails into Sulu's back in ten sharp and gorgeous reminders that he's home. "Never again."
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