rivers_bend

Title: Ensign Dependable
Fandom: Star Trek reboot
Pairing: McCoy/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~2300
Summary: Chekov gives him a small smile. "We would like to talk, but not ship's doctor to engineering ensign kind of talk."




Jim would be laughing his ass off if he could see his best friend right now. McCoy can't really blame him. He'd probably be laughing himself—at the irony of his head having been turned so quickly after all the times he's gotten on Jim's case about the same thing—but it's rude to laugh when a pretty boy has his pink lips stretched wide around your dick, and Leonard McCoy tries to only be rude when it serves a purpose. A purpose more to his advantage than halting one of the best blow jobs he's ever had.

McCoy wasn't going to do this. And not in that I'm so never doing that way that means you're going to do it the first chance you get, either. More in the the idea that it might be a possibility has never even crossed his mind way. By the time it occurs to him that he should make a policy to keep sex with the ship's ensigns in the fantasy zone rather than the actually having it zone, it is far too late.

He is walking back to his room after a long and thankfully boring shift in sick bay when Ensign Chekov appears out of nowhere and falls into step with him.

"Are you on duty, Doctor?" the boy asks very seriously.

"I can be if you need me to be," McCoy answers. He should say that Dr. Derya's on duty and she would be happy to help Chekov with whatever he needs, but for some reason it never occurs to him to put the boy off.

But, "I need you to be not on duty. Can you be not on duty?" Chekov says.

McCoy takes a minute to parse the words, to make sure it's just the accent, and Chekov isn't mangling English syntax in some way and trying to say something other than what it sounds like, but McCoy can't make it mean anything other than what he heard.

"Not on duty?" he says. "Sure, I can do that, since I'm not on duty."

"Good." Chekov gives him a small smile. "We would like to talk, but not ship's doctor to engineering ensign kind of talk."

"We would?"

"Yes. We would." Chekov puts a finger on McCoy's wrist, halting him. "This is your quarters, yes?"

McCoy is surprised to look up and see that they are, indeed, outside his quarters already. Without so much as considering whether or not it's a good idea, he releases the security lock and ushers Chekov inside. "So," McCoy says once the door has swished shut behind them, "what do we want to talk about?"

Chekov walks over to the small sofa and sits down, looking expectantly at his host until McCoy settles into the low chair across from him.

The ship's doctor notices the spots of color high on Chekov's cheeks, the sheen of sweat on his face, the slightly nervous-seeming way he licks his lips, and wonders if the boy has been exposed to something or if he's taking some kind of drugs, but Leonard McCoy reminds the ship's doctor that he's off duty, and finds himself hoping that maybe the flush is about something else.

And that's the moment that he goes from not even imagining he needed a policy to it being too late for him to make one. Because just as McCoy is thinking about possible reasons for one Pavel Chekov to be blushing and doing distracting licking things with his tongue, Chekov says, "We want to be talking about how we would like to be doing this," and then he drops to his knees between McCoy's slightly spread thighs, tugs McCoy forward with a cool hand on the back of his neck, and kisses McCoy full on the lips.

McCoy is still processing that—the Starfleet officer arguing with his dick about the appropriate way to respond—when Chekov slides his hands down to McCoy's lap and starts doing devilishly clever things, magically undoing fastenings type things, all the while continuing to suck on McCoy's tongue.

Finally managing to pull away, though lord alone knows how, McCoy chokes out, "Ensign—Pavel—Chekov—What are you—we—this—" none of which makes any sense, but for fuck's sake, the boy's fingers are in his clothes, stroking, pressing, rubbing, and really, it's impressive that McCoy's managing words at all; expecting complete sentences is a bit much.

"I see you looking," Chekov—Pavel. The kid's got your dick in his hand, you can probably call him Pavel—says. "The look, she says to me, 'Pavel, he will like it if you do what you are always thinking about doing when you see him.'" This announcement is accompanied by a shiver-inducing tug of McCoy's dick.

"I—" McCoy musters.

"What I am thinking of is sucking you." A gentle squeeze to McCoy's dick, a caress just under the head, and, "Here," the kid clarifies, in case his meaning somehow wasn't clear.

That shocks McCoy back to his senses long enough to realize that yes, this is a seventeen-year-old kid, one of Jim's bridge staff, down on his knees proposing to suck his cock. Nothing in that is okay according to regs, he's quite certain, and even if the captain flaunts regulations on a daily basis, that doesn't mean the rest of them should. But what he says is, "Damnit kid, you can't just say that to a man. We should talk about this first!"

Great. "talk about it." Because that's going to solve all your problems with this situation.

"Do you not like blow jobs, sir?"

Jesus. Sir should not have that effect on his dick, McCoy is quite certain. "What kind of qu—" he starts, but he can see that it's a simple and sincere question as far as Chekov is concerned, so he changes tacks. "That's hardly the point, ensign."

"On the bridge I am ensign. In here you should call me Pavel." Chekov—Pavel—nods like that's all settled and uses his shoulders to nudge McCoy's knees wider apart so he can more easily lean down to lick at the tip of McCoy's cock. "We are done talking now, I think." With that he sucks McCoy deep into his mouth and that's when McCoy decides that if Jim could see him now he'd be laughing his ass off.

Shortly after that, McCoy decides he couldn't care less. Because the kid is goddamn amazing at this. Clearly he studied more than engineering at the academy. And he aced all his classes.

McCoy gives up completely, letting his fingers slip into the kid's hair, tugging him closer, fucking into his mouth, prompting Pavel to moan and bob his head faster. Oh, god, he's going to come already, after less than ninety seconds, like the time in their second year that Jim slipped him some of that syntha-stim the chem students were experimenting with and then gave him a hand job in the hall outside his quarters. Only this time there are no drugs to blame.

Trying to stem the tide, McCoy thinks about his ex-wife, but that just makes him grip Pavel's hair tighter in irritation, which somehow makes him buck his hips so his cock is forced farther into Pavel's throat, where it's tighter, hotter, and shit, now he's really gonna—

But Pavel stops, pulls off, sits back so he can look McCoy right in the eye when he says, "And now I am thinking you would like to put me on my hands and knees and fuck me."

Which— "What?" McCoy says, sure that he didn't hear what he thinks he just heard, except his dick is obviously pretty convinced, because it practically puts the boy's eye out the way it's jumping forward, pulling McCoy's hips with it in an effort to get with the proposed program, his own totally rational misgivings be damned.

"See?" Pavel says, possibly sounding a little smug, though it's hard to tell, what with the buzzing in McCoy's ears. "Is a good idea," Pavel continues. "Do you like bed or floor?"

Leonard McCoy's libido lets him know in no uncertain terms that it wants bed and floor, but McCoy isn't seventeen anymore, and he chooses, "Bed." What he meant to say was, "No, I'm not going to fuck you. For a start you're seventeen, and you're crew and I'm chief medical officer, and—" McCoy looks up, and well. No point thinking about what he was going to say, because Pavel is naked and climbing on the bed and McCoy's dick is jutting through his fly, and even if McCoy possessed the logical mind of a Vulcan right now he's pretty sure he would stand and strip his clothes off just the same.

Pavel is on his knees in the middle of the bed, back to McCoy, but looking over his shoulder, all pink lips and flushed cheeks and lowered eyelashes. "I like it hard, sir," he says, and that is it.

Screw logic, screw regulations, no one could possibly be expected to resist that.

McCoy crosses the remaining space to the bed in two long strides, gets one knee up on the mattress, and, grabbing Pavel by the curls again, jerks him off balance and into a kiss.

The kid has good reflexes and catches on quickly, shifting enough to straddle McCoy's thigh and going warm and pliant under McCoy's hands. His soft, open mouth tastes of heat and sex; their chests are pressed together so McCoy doesn't know which one of them moans into the kiss.

When he slides a hand down Pavel's back, Pavel arches into it like a cat and shifts his ass, rubbing his dick on McCoy's hip, and doing a damn good job of luring McCoy's fingers lower. When McCoy palms over one firm, pert cheek, dips his fingers between, he finds Pavel already slick and relaxed, and his mind short-circuits with the image of the boy in his tiny quarters, planning this, prepping himself, working himself open with lube-slick fingers, maybe fantasizing that it was Dr. McCoy doing it—

"God. Kid. You're—Oh, fuck—" McCoy is babbling, not even sure what he's saying, fingers slipping in the crack of Pavel's ass, dipping into his hole, sliding down to bump the soft weight of his balls—

"I am ready, sir. For you."

McCoy is so beyond ready that he can't even think. He doesn't waste time turning Pavel over, just hooks an arm under one of Pavel's knees, surging forward, tipping Pavel onto his back. When McCoy pushes into that welcoming heat, Pavel moans loudly and drops his head back.

It's been a long time since McCoy did this, too long, and he would like to make sure to do it again sooner, but there are no guarantees in life, and in the mean time, he plans to enjoy this while he's got it.

He gets Pavel's already-raised leg up onto his shoulder, and the kid helps further by hooking his other leg around McCoy's waist. The shift forces McCoy deeper and he just stays there for a moment, feeling the tight clutch of Pavel's ass around his cock, looking at the boy's flushed face, open mouth, shiny red lips, slightly fluttering eyelids. The kid looks wanton, begging with everything but his words, and it's fucking gorgeous.

He waits longer, and it's agony, but he wants that pretty mouth to beg too. Impatient after what seems like minutes, though McCoy knows it's only seconds, he grinds his hips, making Pavel's eyes fly open and his hands jerk up to grip McCoy's arms. Finally, "Please," Pavel says, "Sir, please," and McCoy pulls back and drives forward hard.

It's like a dam has broken and Pavel starts babbling, a heady mix of Russian and English, and though McCoy only understands one word in five, those are words like "harder", "yes", "fuck", and McCoy's apparent new favorite, "Sir," making him figure that the rest don't matter.

They slam together, Pavel using his grip on McCoy's deltoids and waist to rise up to meet McCoy's thrusts, his chest and face flushing, his hair growing darker with sweat. The words, the sounds he's making between them—grunts and desperate keening noises—are making McCoy insane; they're as good as the heat and friction, the pounding rhythm.

By the time McCoy feels his orgasm too close to turn back, his hips and knees are aching. As his rhythm stutters and slows, Pavel reaches down and starts jerking his own dick, hard, fast pulls that have him clenching and shaking with his own orgasm as McCoy finishes emptying inside him.

It takes everything McCoy has to pull out, release Pavel's leg and flop down beside him—to not just drop where he is and crush the boy to death. He manages to say something that means to be "Wow," though he's not really sure it comes out as a word at all. Through one cracked-open eyelid, McCoy sees Pavel get up on one elbow and that's all the warning he gets before his nipple is pinched between sharp teeth. The nip is soothed with a tongue and then a gentle suction before Pavel lays a palm flat on McCoy's sternum and then props his chin on the back of his hand. He's just far enough away that McCoy can focus on his face if he concentrates.

"I was right that we wanted this, yes?" Pavel asks, face open and sincere.

"I—" What do you say to that? "Yes," seems like the only right answer, so McCoy says it.

"Good. Yes." Pavel darts forward and kisses McCoy quickly, a peck on the lips, and then jumps out of bed far too nimbly for someone who just got fucked that hard. It makes McCoy feel even more exhausted.

"I can use your shower, sir?" Pavel adds when he's half-way across the room.

Again, "Yes," seems like the only right answer.

~fin~
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A/N thank you to my two cheerleaders, you know who you are. ♥