Chekov/Sulu : after that long kiss... (NC-17)

[eudaimon]

TITLE:: after that long kiss I near lost my breath
AUTHOR: eudaimon
RATING: NC17
CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS: Chekov/Sulu, with brief appearences by Uhura, Kirk and Bones.
WARNINGS: Genderswap, (slightly) dubious consent, explicit sexual content.
TYPE: Oneshot.
WORDCOUNT: 9769
SUMMARY.: On the Pleasure Planet of IO, the Queen lives for one day, and her whims must be obeyed.
A/N: This is based on a request by bsafemydeers for aliens made them do it fic in which Sulu is the one in danger and Chekov steps up. That is...sort of what happens here. The title is taken from Ulysses by James Joyce.

I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.



He sat very still, his head tilted back while the girl with perfumed skin scraped kohl against the rim of his eye and tried to shake the feeling that something was going from bad to worse. The girl with eyes that were golden from edge to edge had pointed at him and said You. That was all.

You.

He'd swallowed hard and told himself that Russians were brave people, and that wars were never won there, except by other Russians. There was a place in him where the winter never ended. There was more strength in himself than he might expect. He had tried not to stare but she was beautiful, very beautiful, with her hair in careful coils, her gold dusted skin and the white robe which did so little to hide her. At seventeen, Pavel Chekov, son of Andrei, was no stranger to women, those Starfleet girls who liked wide, innocent-seeming eyes and a gentle touch. He played at blushing, coyly fingered buttons and woke up blinking in narrow beds with perfumed sheets. Maybe in America, seventeen meant too young, but his father had been seventeen when he married his mother, and they'd been very happy together for a long time. Made many babies and loved each other very well, while his mother was still in her running years.

None of which had prepared him for the moment when the Queen looked at him. His father had lived in St Petersberg his whole life but his son had fallen in love with maps of star systems and gone much further. So, so far.

It should have been easy: green-eyed girls with flowers in their hair had greeted the away party when they first came to the Pleasure Planet of IO. Kirk had beamed and kissed knuckles and Chekov had glanced up from his tricorder and she'd already been looking at him. The ship's computer informed him that, every year, the people of the planet elected a Queen of Spring and crowned her in horns and flowers. She ruled for a single day and then, the next morning, they burned her on a pyre, but for one day, her word was law. She was very, very beautiful. She was so young.

He'd stared at her for a moment, the pinned coils of her hair, the jut of her breasts and then someone cleared his throat behind him.

In the press of the crowd, Sulu's hand was barely there at all.

"Getting a lot of useful information?" he asked, the look in his eyes the one that he got, sometimes, when he was teasing, over dinner or afterwards, with Chekov's feet in his lap. There was a spot on his sole that Sulu would press with his thumb and Chekov would roll his head back and close his eyes.

A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Lots," he said.
"Good," said Suliu, his mouth so close to Chekov's ear that he could feel warm breath, his hand resting against the side of Chekov's neck. "But don't stare too hard, Pavel. You'll go blind."

How to find the words to say that there was only one person in the world that Chekov wanted to see naked that badly and he was standing behind him and his fingers were almost feverishly warm. How to say that?

In the end, he just turned to glance at Sulu and smiled.

The green-eyed girls came closer, bringing with them garlands of flowers wired with silver. Chekov watched as one of them combed her fingers through Sulu's hair and looked down at his tricorder, trying to swallow the sore burn of jealousy in his throat. He could count the number of times that he'd let himself touch Sulu like that with one hand. He held himself back, and they ate dinner, watched movies, touched each other hesitaintly, but with increasing urgency. Chekov always wanted more.

Slim fingers touched the point of his chin and turned his face upwards. The girls were extraordinarily beautiful close to, their faces utterly symmetrical, their spring coloured eyes tilted upwards like cats'. Chekov barely had time to react before perfect lips grazed against his.

"What do you want?" she asked him, her voice lower than he'd have imagined as she straightened the flowers around his neck, smoothed them against his chest. "In this place, you can have it all."

It never even occured to him to keep the rest of the crew in sight after that. He turned his head and caught sight of Sulu once more, being led by both of his hands and then she kissed him again and he utterly lost his head. He hadn't drunk anything, hadn't eaten anything either since they'd landed and yet his head was spinning. The girl's hand was on the back of his neck, drawing him in closer. His hands were suddenly empty of instruments. She guided them to her waist and instinct took hold. Chekov's palms pressed up over her ribs.

Somewhere, he could hear the Captain laughing.

Up on the dais, the Queen of Spring was scanning the room, her hand shading her eyes. It was impossible not to stare at her golden curves. Chekov reached for his communicator and found it missing. The girl was pushing one hand under his uniform shirt. With her wholly golden eyes, it was difficult to tell where the Queen was looking, but then she turned her head and pointed straight at him.

"You," she said.

Hands took hold of him, gentle but insistant. He could have pulled away. He probably could have pulled away.

His head was still spinning.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked.

The girl smiled. It was the same one that had kissed him, he thought, but it was difficult to tell. They all looked so alike.

"For tonight, the Queen's word is law," she said. It was nothing that the computer hadn't already told him. Hands that he couldn't see were pulling at his clothes, unfasting, slowly stripping. "Here, Pavel Chekov, son of Andrei, you can have it all."

Somewhere, Chekov was sure that he could hear the Captain shouting.

And in the small room, dressed now in soft white cotton but naked from the waist up, Chekov sat very still and tilted his head back while she scraped kohl against the rims of his eyes. They watered, a little, and were dabbed with tissue. He caught sight of his reflection in a mirror and didn't recognise himself, all wide green eyes, dark outlined, and slightly swollen lips.

The girl fondly smoothed his cheek. She reminded him of the other girls, the Starfleet girls, dropping pins from their hair and reaching for him with both hands. There was no white to her eye, all green, the particular green of sunlight shinking through new leaves; an utterly natural colour, but one that didn't seem to belong in eyes.

"Don't be afraid," she said, quietly. "We don't hurt people here."
All that Chekov could think of then was something that his father had told him, once, before he left home for good: violence isn't the only way to hurt. And that they killed the Queen in the morning. What was that if not violence? What was that, if not hurt?

"Okay," he said, and then he cleared his throat and tried not to sound so young. "But I need to contact my Captain. I...need to talk to my crew. Please."

She shook her head and leaned in to kiss his forehead. He closed his eyes rather than look down into the fragrant shadows between her breasts.

"Not now," she said, gently. "The Queen has plans for you. It won't take long."

He saw it as though written down on a scrolling view-screen: ENSIGN PAVEL ANDREIEVICH CHEKOV (DECEASED). DIED AGED SEVENTEEN DURING AWAY MISSION TO THE PLEASURE PLANET OF IO.

There wasn't any dignity in it at all. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"But then I must speak to the Captain."

She guided him to his feet, both of his hands in hers.

"We'll see," she said.

We'll see.

*

Nothing about this was ordinary.

Chekov stood in a circle of light, so so very aware of all of the eyes. He folded his arms across his bare chest, holding on to himself. The girl stood with her back to him. Green silk shone against ths smooth muscles of her back, the tight curve of her backside. He stared. He couldn't help it. Her black hair was combed on one side of her neck. She stood tall in her bare feet.

The Queen of Spring leaned in and kissed Chekov very sweetly on the mouth. Her lips tasted of something sour. She pushed her fingers into his hair and twisted.

"I am the Queen of Spring," she told him, her eyes wide, her smile bright. "I had a name before this, but I've forgotten what it was, so now I am just the Queen of Spring, and I must be obeyed, little man. I must have my wishes granted. I must be...loved. For tonight, I must be adored."

The girl turned to face them. Her black hair fell in a wing across dark eyes and arched brows. Her mouth trembled.

"Pavel," she said.

He frowned, wondering how she knew his name, what the game was here. The Queen was back on her throne, legs crossed, her chin leaned into her hand.

"I want you to fuck her," she said, with a gesture of her hand that made her seem almost bored by the whole thing. "Virgins are a rare thing on IO. Something to be prized and treated kindly by handsome boys."

Chekov felt his eyes widen.

"You cannot mean..."
"I exactly mean, Son of Andrei. And my will is to be obeyed." She smirked. "Obey or you will never see your ship again. Fire waits for those who do not please me. I'll take you with me to my doom."

The girl stepped in, reached out for Chekov with one hand, fingers curling around the back of his neck to draw him in close.

"Pavel, it's me," she said, quietly.

Chekov frowned, studying her face. She knew his name, but he was sure that he didn't recognise her from the Enterprise. She was so beautiful that he had to have noticed her. It was inconcievable that she could have been there all along. Her long, slender fingers pressed through the short hair at the nape of his neck. Almost hesitaintly, he lifted one hand, touching the smooth skin of her upper arm. She was trembling.

"I don't..."

She leaned in and their lips met, the softest brush of a kiss and a familiar jolt of electric sensation passed through him, from his lips all the way down to his balls. There was something familiar about the way she smelled, the way she tasted, and...

Her mouth was against his ear. She pressed a kiss to his earlobe.

"It's Hikaru," she whispered. "It's Sulu."

For a moment which must have been brief but felt like more than an hour, Chekov's mind went utterly blank. When he looked at her, really looked, he could see Hikaru in that face, in the graceful lines. One hand stayed on her arm, the other coming up to touch her lips with just the very tips of his fingers. The eyes were very definiately familiar.

"How?" he asked, eyebrows drawing together in a frown as he looked down. Neat breasts rode high in green silk. Chekov stared until Sulu took hold of him by the point of his chin and tilted his face up again.

"I don't...I don't exactly know. I...there was a drink, and I think I fell asleep and I woke up, and..."

She covered both breasts with her hands and gave Chekov a helpless look.

"Enough of this!" snapped the Queen on her throne, a scarlet flower slipping free of her crown and fluttering down in front of her face. Suddenly, everything about her seemed cold. "I am the one appointed Queen of Spring, and I will have my will be done here."

Full of fury that he must have learned from his father, Chekov drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. He felt the dark blood flush in his face.

"Queen or no, you cannot do this thing. Starfleet directives state..."

The Queen yawned hugely, reminding Chekov of a lioness. There was no feeling in her golden eyes.

"Fuck your directives, little man. They mean nothing on IO in the Spring."

This time, when she pointed, she pointed straight at Sulu.

"That one first."

Gloved hands took hold of Sulu by the shoulders, yanked her head back by the long, sleek fall of her hair. and Chekov could see the pulse trembling there as though waiting for the curved silver blade that had appeared as if from nowhere, suddenly, like magic, or something from a dream.

"No!" Chekov surged forward but there were hands on his shoulders as well, wrenching him backwards and holding on tight. He fought hard enough to bruise. It wasn't enough. "I said no."

The blade didn't break Sulu's skin, but it left a reddened scratch.
The Queen was smiling.

"Then do as you've been asked."

When they let him go, Chekov reached for Sulu with both hands. Their foreheads touched. Sulu's eyes were closed.

"I do not think we can get out of this, Hikaru," whispered Chekov, so close that their lips almost touched. "Maybe if we..."

Sulu swallowed and then, very carefully, trailed the backs of her fingers down the line of Chekov's jaw.

"So do it. Pretend it's just you and me, and then we get to go home."
"But I..."

Sulu gave the slightest shake of her head, sending her hair into her eyes. Chekov pushed it back with trembling fingers and she turned her head and kissed his palm.

"Just me, Pavel. Just you. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it." Her laugh was a hot, breathless huff against Chekov's skin. "I fucking have."

God, it felt strange and good to hear that. Good to be thought of like that. Strange because, at seventeen, his imagination is active and varied and pretty much filthy. His cheeks flushed darker and he nodded, his hand still against her mouth.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Sulu nodded.

"I'm just fucking glad it's you."

There was a bed, a low bed, scattered cushions and silver silk. Sulu took Chekov by both hands and led him to it, walking backwards, careful in her bare feet. Overhead, bulbs dimmed until they were standing in a pool of brightness. It made it easier to block out the rest of the world. Turning away, Sulu got up onto the bed and crawled, and Chekov couldn't help but stare at the way bright green silk pulled tight across her ass. He reminded himself that there was a lot about this that he shouldn't be enjoying. He had to keep focused, which was difficult when he was watching the slip-slide of long, strong muscles. Dimly, he remembered the first time he'd watched Sulu's vitals jump and dance. He remembered, months and months later, the first kiss and the jump of his own heart.

Sulu settled herself back on the bed, watching Chekov with wide, dark eyes. He got up on the bed, on his knees first and then on all fours, crawling until he was leaning over Sulu.

"I've never...done this before," she whispered, fingers curling around the side of his neck to pull him into a kiss. "No girls."
Chekov's mouth lingered against hers, the very tip of his tongue touching the seam of Sulu's lips. Virgins are a rare thing on IO, the Queen had said. Something to be prized.

He nodded.

"Da," he said. "Okay."

Leaning down over Sulu, he turned his head to glance over his shoulder. In the dark surrounding them he couldn't see faces but he could hear the odd sound; the clearing of a throat, the shuffle of feet. Sulu's fingers pushed into his hair and tightened enough to turn his head. He looked down into her face.

"Don't," she said, quietly. "Just look at me. All about me, Pavel."

He could do that.

Carefully, so so carefully, he bent, letting his weight down on his arms until he could press a kiss to the ridge of bone between her breasts. He felt her breath catch and stutter under his lips and he imagined, somewhere, a viewscreen with both of their vitals jumping in unison. Nothing to track them. Nothing to read them. The Enterprise could already think that they were dead.

He moved his lips against Sulu's skin and didn't think about it.

"All about you," he murmured, fingers hooking over silk and tugging it down until he could trace one nipple with the tip of his tongue, groaning softly as it trembled with Sulu's breathing against his lips. He opened his mouth, sucking gently, teasing it harder. Sulu's back arched and Chekov pushed both hands up her sides, stroking over her ribs. One hand slipped under her, sliding along elastic until he came to the catch. There'd been a summer, once, when he'd praticed that, and it hadn't been so long since the last Starfleet girl who scattered her pins in the sheets and looked up at him from her back. It slipped undone and Sulu lifted her head, giving Chekov a startled look.

"Did you seriously just do that?"

Chekov laughed, though it was more just a huff of air through his nose.

"You suddenly have tits, and this is the thing that you find most surprising?"

There was hot colour burning in both of Sulu's cheeks as Chekov peeled the bra down her arms. They'd been half naked around each other before, awkward touching, all but holding their breath in bed together, but this was different. Everything about this was different, not just the stretch of Sulu's skin when Chekov pressed a kiss to one breast. Sulu cradled his head with both hands, pushing her fingers into curly hair. Chekov shifted his weight onto one knee, looking down into Sulu's face as his hand trailed down her trembling belly, fingertips brushing against the silk, so bright a green that it seemed almost living.

"I can still see it's you," he said, softly, crease of concentration between his brows as he studied her. heel of his hand pressing against the yielding muscles of her belly. He smiled. "If I look you right in the eyes, it's still you."

This time it was Sulu who laughed, just a little, just quietly. Chekov's hand inched lower, tips of his fingers just pressed beneath elastic. Sulu's head snapped up, slim fingers curling around Chekov's wrist, holding on tight. Almost skittishly, she turned her head again, eyes scanning in the dark, trying to make out details beyond the circle of light that they lay in.

"There's so many fucking people, Pavel," she said.

Chekov shook his head and Sulu raised both eyebrows.

"No?"

"No," said Chekov, softly. "Just me, Hikaru. Just you and me. Remember?"

Slowly, the deathgrip on Chekov's wrist relaxed, Sulu's hand sliding up Chekov's arm to cup the side of his neck. Slowly, almost experimentally, she lifted her hips. Her eyes were back on Chekov's face. She didn't need to say anything to urge him on. He rolled his wrist to press his hand down inside her underwear. For a moment, he stayed still, fingers curled to rest snuggly against her cunt. One finger stretched, tracing against her, and he groaned, softly, at how wet she was. The soft breathless sound that Sulu made was probably the most distracting sound that Chekov had ever heard. Fingers were back against his wrist, curled tight, not stopping him, not even guiding where he went. It felt like Sulu was holding on for dear life.

"Okay?" he asked, lifting his head, shifting his hand so he could rub one fingertip against her in earnest, searching until he found the place that made her groan, louder this time, her hips jerking under his hand.

"Jesus Christ, Pavel."
"Just because we have to do this doesn't mean I can't make it good for you, da?"
"Remind me to thank you for that later."

Chekov leaned down to kiss her, her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose and only then her lips, deepening it slowly with the press of his tongue. Between her legs, his fingers moved in tight circles and he shifted his hand until he could slide one down to slip inside her. She was so wet it was easy and, rationally, he thought that this was the one thing that he could do to keep control here. He could make it feel good for Sulu, which might take away from the humiliation of it all for her, then. For him later.

He was trying to make it more bearable for both of them, and there was the little part of him who desperately wished that he had time to explore this, wished he had time to fuck Sulu with his fingers until she was trembling underneath him, half begging him to stop and half to never stop. He wanted to kiss down her body and bury his face between her legs until she was coming on his tongue. Mostly, he wanted to be able to keep doing whatever it was. Tits or not, it didn't matter: he looked into her eyes and Hikaru Sulu looked back at him. He knew what he wanted.

He pressed another finger inside her, feeling the slight stretch. Sulu's mouth opened in a silent moan against his mouth.

"Okay?" he asked again.
"Don't stop," she whispered.

A spotlight came up suddenly, picking out the Queen on her green and gold throne. Startled, Sulu lifted her head and stared. Chekov whispered comforting nonsense, Russian nonsense, and bent his head to kiss the neat jut of her collarbone, kept his fingers moving.

"This grows tiresome, little man," said the Queen, sitting with one knee thrown over the arm of her throne. Her golden eyes seemed to flash and stare.

"Now," she said. "Begin."

Chekov felt the tremble go all the way through Sulu's body.

'Is okay," he said, slowly dragging his fingers free, sucking each one clean before he reached for Sulu's hips, snagging his fingers in flimsy silk and starting to roll panties down Sulu's long, smooth thighs. He tried not to stare as he stripped her naked. He tried very hard.

Sulu kicked the underwear off and Chekov moved over her, spreading her thighs around his hips. He reached for her, curling his fingers against the side of her neck.

"Come here to me," he said.

He was half up on his knees, trying to fumble his pants open when Sulu's cool fingers slid over his.

"Pavel, let me."

He straightened up onto his knees, looking down at the quick, deft way that Sulu unbuttoned him. No women, but he new exactly how to undress a man.

"I fucking want you," mumbled Chekov, forgetting, for a moment, to be kind. He said it without thinking but Sulu laughed and curled her fingers around Chekov's cock, jerking him smoothly. Chekov's head rolled back on his neck and he moaned softly. Sulu leaned forward and up and sucked a kiss over his Adam's apple.

"Ready if you are,'" she said.

Chekov nodded, scrambling to get into position between Sulu's spread legs. He reached down, wrapping his fingers around himself and shifting his hips until he was resting flush against her cunt.

Sulu reached up, cupping his cheeks with both hands, making sure that he was looking her straight in the eyes.

"Do it," she said. "For me."

Chekov caught himself holding his breath as he started to move, pressing forward one inch at a time. Sulu was utterly still for a moment and then she let out all of the breath that she'd been holding in.

"Jesus, Pavel,I just wasn't...I wasn't expecting...you feel so fucking big."

He grinned, his cheeks flushed with pleasure. He couldn't help it; he was seventeen.

He paused, all the way in, trying to keep focused. He panted a breath out against the dip of Sulu's throat. He gave her time to adjust. She shifted her hips experimentally, swallowed hard. He watched the flutter in her throat.

"Okay?"

Eyes closed, frowning just a little, she nodded.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, forcing her eyes open. She stroked her hand back over his sweaty curls, the other slipping down to press over the shifting muscles between his shoulder-blades. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Okay?" echoed Chekov, trying to stay still but even the slightest shift of her hips made him ache, moan softly, his face buried against her.

"Okay." Sulu's mouth worked for a second like he was trying to find the words for something. "Come on, Pavel. Come on."

Slowly, carefully, Chekov started to move, started to actually fuck her. Sulu groaned but he could feel her starting to move against him, starting to move back. Chekov bent his head, kissing her hard and off-centre, hot and wet. He fell into a rhythm, slow and deep, groping along Sulu's leg, hitching it higher on his hip so that he could push deeper on the next thrust. It was almost painfully good. He felt almost ashamed of how good it felt. He'd feel worse later.

He opened his mouth and Sulu shook her head.

"If you say "okay" again, I'm going to fucking beat you with something when we get home."

Her hand slid down the tight curve of his back, all the way down and she traced her fingers against the cleft of his ass.. His hips jerked beyond his control. He groped for her other hand, pushing it up over her head, threading their fingers together, holding on.

"Put your other hand down," he said. For a moment, Sulu just stared at him, eyes wide and dark and uncomprehending.

"It will feel good, I promise."

He watched it dawn in Sulu's face and then her free hand was squirming down between them. Chekov felt her knuckles brush against his belly, the sparse trail of hair there. He craned his neck, watching Sulu's fingers. He had to close his eyes; it was only going to be a matter of seconds, otherwise, and he was going to do better for Sulu than that. He dragged in a deep breath through his nose and rocked his hips, pushing deeper into her. Sulu's hand tightened on his ass, pulling him harder against her. She made a sound that seemed almost pained.

"Did I hurt you?" whispered Sulu, hot, urgent, trying to control the almost frantic snap of his own hips

Sulu's fingers tightened in his hair, twisting enough to pull.

"Yes," she mumbled. "No. Don't stop."

Chekov wasn't sure that he could have, or he could have, but he really didn't want to. He was so wrapped up in her, in this. Just me, Hikaru. Just you and me. Remember?

He squirmed his hand down, his fingers sliding against Sulu's which were slick and trembling. He pressed, guided, until all four fingers were pressed snug against her clit, rubbing in tight circles. He pressed his face into the sweat-damp curve of Sulu's neck. Beneath him, that smooth slender body arched and Sulu whimpered.

"Fuck, Pavel. I'm glad that it's you."

She said that already, which didn't make it bad to hear. It was all that Chekov could stand, that time, and he started to fall, started to come, biting into the skin under his lips to keep back a loud shout because he wasn't about to give the Queen that much satisfaction. He squirmed, dipping his head to suck and bite at the breast against his mouth, teasing at her nipple using only the very edges of his teeth.

come on come on come on come on come on

He was almost triumphant when Sulu started to come underneath him, groaning and trembling, arching her back, clutching at him with her free hand. He lifted his head, kissing her as gently as he could manage, a brush of lips and tongue.

"We did it," he whispered to her, softly. "We're going to be safe now, lyubImiy moy. They will let us go home."

He felt a sharp pinch in the crease between thigh and backside and, almost immediately, his head started to nod against her. Dimly, he thought that he could hear applause, and then...

And then something else, something that sounded very like "I love you" the way that it was meant to be spoken, ya tebya lyublyu, forever, the way his father used to tell it to his mother, back in her fast running days.

*

The headache lasted for a week. No matter what McCoy tried to do about it, it was there. At the helm, Sulu sat with his skull cradled in his hands, fingers pressed against throbbing temples and looked at the seat where Pavel Chekov should've been sitting, where Lieutenant Walter McGurk was sitting, and he didn't even know what was going on there. He hadn't seen Chekov except in passing since they came back from IO. Since waking up in the sick bay, everybody had been handling him with kid gloves, like something terrible had happened, and maybe it had. All Sulu knew was that he had a bite mark on shoulder, a bruise like a bug sting on his ribs and a fucking headache...He knew that, every time he fell asleep, he dreamed and then woke up hard and wanting, and Chekov had been gone when he woke up and he hadn't been anywhere to be seen since.

And if Kirk apologised for taking them to IO once more, Sulu was not going to be responsible for his fucking actions.

On his wrist, his watch was chiming; an alarm set to signify the end of another interminable shift -- there wasn't much within a week's travel of IO; the pleasure planet kept its borders tightly sealed. He stood up abruptly, gathered coffee cup and his PADD. All he wanted to do was go and lie in his bed, examine his bruises, which had turned unpleasant shades of yellow and green.

Not one of them was Chekov's fault.

He was halfway to the door before Kirk stepped into his path.

"Got a moment, Lieutenant?"

No, he wanted to say. No, I fucking don't, and haven't you done enough, and I still don't want to fucking talk about it.

He settled for a curt shake of his head. He'd had enough of feeling out of control of his own life. On the bridge of the Enterprise, Sulu squared his shoulders and he stayed in control, and he did not flinch when the Captain touched him.

"Actually..."

Kirk clapped him on the shoulder and Sulu winced because there were bruises there, not quite healed.

"Won't take a minute, Sulu. Promise."

He was sick of being taken places. He was sick of being led by the hand, and the way people looked at him, and the way people talked. He'd woken up in sick bay in soft white scrubs, his uniform folded on the chair beside the bed and Kirk sitting there, watching him. He remembered flinching at first, flinching because the last thing he expected was Kirk. Somehow, he'd been expecting Chekov, Pavel Chekov, curled close enough to share breath. He'd choked on the dryness in his throat and reached for a glass of water. Wanna tell me what happened? Kirk had asked him. Even then, Sulu had known that he didn't.

He still didn't.

Kirk took him by the elbow. guiding him down the corridor towards his office. Sulu looked down into his cold coffee. No new messages on his PADD. He didn't know what he was waiting for. Something. Anything. Some days, it felt like he could have imagined the whole thing, but he remembered it so clearly, every brush, every breath. Every inch.

He felt himself flushing.

"Is this really necessary?" he asked, for the third time since coming back, Kirk's hand in the small of his back to usher him inside.

McCoy looked up from the papers in front of him. His face creased into a familiar frown.

"Sorry, Sulu," he said, gruff, reaching for his glass. "Kid wouldn't be told."
"Thats Captain Kid," said Kirk, sitting down on the edge of his chair, hands clasped between his knees. He glanced up at Sulu, eyebrows raised. "We just think it'd be good for you to talk about what happened to you down on IO, Hikaru. Maybe then..."

Sulu put up one hand.

"You know what? I said no the last time because I meant no, and I still mean it, and if you think..."

Kirk's face hardened.

"Sit your ass down in the chair, Lieutenant."

He was many, many things, but he knew how to take a direct order. He sat down abruptly, leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. A muscle in his jaw tightened. McCoy stared at him and he stared back. This was the third time they'd ended up in Kirk's office like this, staring contest like this, and Sulu didn't intend to give an inch. He'd relived the humiliation (relative to everything else, of course) of what had happened. He didn't need to talk about it. He didn't need anybody else to know about it. It was bad enough that Chekov knew, bad enough that he'd been there and that now he had to fall asleep to the memory of Chekov's mouth, Chekov's hands, the weight of Chekov pressing inside of him.

He closed his eyes and pressed finely trembling fingertips between his eyebrows.

"Do we really have to go through this again? There's nothing to talk about here. Nothing."
"Might be better if you did talk about it, kid," said McCoy, settling back in his hair. "Promise shared, problem halved. Some shit like that."

He couldn't take it. He could not take them looking at him like that. He shook his head.

"No," he said. He wrenched himself out of the chair and turned on his heel. Behind him, he could hear Kirk shouting, but there was no way in the Universe that he was talking about this. He didn't want to talk about this. It had been a solitary sort of thing, just the two of them, wrapped in skin, and he was going to leave it like that. If Chekov decided to never speak to him again, then he'd have to live with that. And he still wasn't going to talk about it.

Behind him, he thought he could hear McCoy laughing. Which was better than being looked at like something broken. He wasn't broken. Neither of them were broken.
It was just a thing that had happened.

His quarters were dim and quiet, the door closing with a soft whoosh under his hand, locking with a musical sound. Inside, the light was lush and green, filtered through the leaves of plants. He shrugged out of his uniform shirt and moved among them, bare shoulders, air cool against the back of his neck as he watered each one, touched leaves gently. It felt almost as good as being with another human being. It was easier. Dimly, he caught himself wondering what Chekov was doing at a time like this. He'd heard that he'd been working third shift, through the late hours of the artificially marshaled and created night, which meant that he was probably just waking up, getting going, sitting in bed with his knees drawn up, hot sweet tea in a glass, reading packages from home. Sulu imagined his hair tousled from fidgeting while he slept. He wondered what it said about him, that he wanted to be there, wanted to be the one who handed Chekov his goddamn tea.

The door chimed. Sulu didn't move, cradling a leaf with one hand, feeding water to the soil with a can in the other.

"Who is it?" he said, and didn't shout, knowing that the computer would catch his voice and amplify it.
"It's Uhura."

Sulu let his head drop. There were people on the ship that he could ignore and people that he couldn't. He could keep avoiding Kirk's misguided attempts at counseling, and he could keep trying to catch Chekov's eyes when they met in the hall, but he could only avoid Uhura for so long before she found him.

He opened the door.

She stood there at her ease, hair curling lose around her shoulders, stripes in autumn colours clinging to her curves.

"You're going to let me in," she said.
He did. Of course he did.

There was only one chair in his quarters, his uniform shirt draped over the back of it so Uhura sat on the bed. Sulu turned his back to pull on a clean t-shirt, ruffling both hands through his hair before he turned back to her. She had her legs primly folded, her chin leaned into her hand as she studied him.

"Tell me you've got something to drink?" she said.

Sulu thought about it for a moment.

"Scotty gave me some Scotch on my last birthday. It's...around here somewhere."
"That'll do."

He had to rinse out a glass but, in the end, he had two, set them down on the bed between them. He poured carefully. Uhura reached out for one but ended up touching his hand instead, curling her fingers around his, brushing the pad of her thumb along the length of his. He felt his cheeks flush but he didn't lift his head to look her in the face.

"He won't talk about it either," she said.
"You saw him?"
"Once or twice. He's been hiding out during shifts where he barely knows anybody."
"I've barely seen him since we got back. He's...I'm pretty sure he's avoiding me."
"I'm pretty sure he's avoiding all of us, Hikaru."

Sulu didn't know what to do with that. He drained his glass, stifled the cough that tried to happen in the back of his throat against a curled fist. Uhuru reached out, combing her fingers through his hair and it was a moment before he let his head lilt towards her.

"You don't have to be ashamed of anything they made you do to him," she said, gently, still stroking her fingers through his hair. "I was there when you came back. McCoy examined him. He's...okay, Hikaru. And the rest? He'll come around."

It was too much to bear. He made a sound, and he wasn't sure if it was a laugh or not.

"I didn't do anything to him, Uhura. They didn't make me do anything."
"I..."
"It was me. He did it to me."

She was quiet for a moment and then, when she tugged at him it was easy to slip against her, his head coming to rest against her shoulder. The whole thing was easier if he didn't have to look her in the face.

"I wasn't me...They...did...I don't know how they did it."
"How they did..?" She trailed off, her breath catching. He felt it against his cheek.
"What?"
"I...just remembered what they do to people for kicks on IO. How bad was it?"

A muscle in his jaw tightened and he rubbed at it with his fingers.

"Green silk panties bad."

Above him, she let out her breath in a puff.

"And he..?"
"Yup."
"Wow."

They sat there in silence, Uhura swirling the scotch in her glass, Sulu kicking his heel back against the bed. He fingers moved slowly through his hair. He pressed his cheek against her chest and listened to her swallow.

"You want to know the worst thing?" he said, finally.

She nodded.

"Tell me," she said.
"...The absolute worst thing about it is that I...can't stop thinking about it. All of it. I...wasn't even me, which means it doesn't matter now, but I can't stop thinking about his...Jesus. About his hands on me. He kissed me. It...Felt like he fucking cared."
"Have you told him any of this?"
"Maybe I would, if I could fucking find him."

Liar. What was he supposed to say? He was supposed to walk up to Chekov, just walk straight up to him and say I can't fall asleep without thinking about you kissing me touching me fucking me...Just tell him I think about you inside me and it's always me. real me. Like I am.

Fuck. Fuck that.

He shook his head.

Gently, Uhura disengaged herself from him and stood up. She raised the glass and tipped her head back, knocked back the whole drink and then handed him the glass.

"You should," she said. "Have you even considered that he might be as screwed up by all of this as you are?"
"It wasn't...everyone keeps treating us like something fucking awful happened, and..."
"It sounds pretty shitty to me, Hikaru."
"It would have been worse if it wasn't him."

It would have been so, so much worse.

After Uhura left, he tried to sleep but he couldn't, his mind racing a mile a minute, replaying everything over in his mind. He'd barely felt in control of his own body on IO, his balance had been wrong, his weight, the width of his hands. Chekov had kissed him and unfamiliar warmth had exploded between his thighs. He'd realised that he didn't care who was watching. Maybe that was what he ought to be most ashamed of.

He got up and padded barefoot into the corridor. Third watch and the ship was quiet. He thought about walking to the bridge, finding Chekov there, slumped in his chair, staring out at endless stars. He thought about standing beside him, reaching out to touch his hair. I remember what you said.

He went to the gym instead.

The sword in his hand thrummed comfortingly as it unfolded. He was so used to it it was like a part of him. It balanced exactly right, which made him feel right, a million miles away from IO when nothing about him had balanced as it should. In bare feet, he moved quiet, moved easy, moved with grace. He ran through feints and parries, practiced footwork. Without a partner, it was more like dancing than anything. The sound the blade made in the air was satisfying. For a while, he practiced with the dummy set up in the corner of the gym. It wasn't the same. It was more or less enough.

He flexed his shoulders and stretched his neck, left then right. Ever since waking up back on the Enterprise, he'd had this tension in his shoulders. He swung the sword experimentally a few times, each time feeling the pull between his shoulder-blades. With his free hand he reached back and rubbed tight muscles.

"Are you hurt?"

He froze. Of all the people he was expecting to walk in on him, find him in the middle of the night, somehow he wasn't expecting Chekov to be standing there, already out of his uniform after the end of his shift. The sleeves on his sweater were too long. His sweats hung loosely from his hips. For a moment, all that Sulu could do was stare.

"No. Not hurt. Just...tense."

Chekov's mouth formed a soundless 'oh'. He looked so casual standing there, sweater hanging down over his hands that Sulu was honestly surprised by the flare of irritation. He looked down at the sword in his hand.

"Where the fuck were you?" he said, quietly, amazed at how hoarse his voice was. "Where the fuck have you been? I..." You were supposed to be here. It was supposed to be us. Not me on my own, not when I don't even know how to begin to deal with this, and...

"I was...I didn't..." Chekov's cheeks flushed and he looked down at his hands. "What was I supposed to say?"

He didn't even realise that he was going to it until the sword clattered against the floor near Chekov's feet. He stared at it for a moment, hot colour burning in his face.

"Something, Pavel. You were supposed to say something. How was I...what was I supposed to..." He jaw tightened and he stalked over, bending to pick up his sword, pressing the button on the hilt that made it retract. The whole thing had been designed to react like a part of himself. "If you liked it better that way you should at least have the balls to fucking say. I thought...We were having a good time."

He drew himself up and tried to hold onto a shred of dignity in this situation.

"I'm sorry they fucked everything up."

For a moment nothing happened. Chekov stared at him with saucer-wide eyes and Sulu fought to keep his hands from shaking.

He lost.

When Chekov leaned in and kissed him, it was nothing like anything that happened on IO. He'd been running...he had to have been, because Sulu could smell the faint scent of sweat on his skin. He pressed his entire body close, kissing hard, fast, pressing into Sulu's mouth. He didn't break it for a long moment, smudging their noses together.

"Where've you been?" murmured Sulu, turning his face to catch Chekov's mouth again. "Where the fuck did you go?"
"I was...I wanted to give you space."

He surged forward, enough solid strength in long limbs to push Sulu back against the wall, his back slamming into the panels, no space between them and, for the second time, Sulu found that he didn't care who saw them, pressed against the wall with one of Chekov’s hands on either side of his head.

"I didn't want space," he mumbled, shoving his hand under the collar of Chekov's sweater, down between his shoulder-blades.
"I didn't know. I thought..."

Sulu shook his head, pushed forward against Chekov with both hands and his hips, taking a step away from the wall.

"Come on," he said, and held out his hand.
Chekov took it, curled their fingers together for a moment before he let go. They didn't need to walk down the corridor hand in hand. Chekov walked slightly ahead of Sulu, head bent. Sulu studied the nape of his neck, the gentle movement of his bones. He remembered tracing his hand all over him. He remembered wanting to do more.

There was something so utterly and completely beautiful about him.

When they got to his door, Chekov keyed in the code. It opened smoothly and Chekov stepped out of the way to let Sulu go in ahead of him. The room was an exercise in controlled chaos: clean uniform shirts over the back of the chair, drawings and equations taped and tacked to the walls. Pencils and pens lay scattered across the desk with PADDs and textbooks marked with strips of coloured card. In one corner of the desk sat a battered stuffed rhino with only three legs. Sulu picked it up and turned it over in his hands. There was something written in Cyrillic lettering on the label. Sulu imagined that it said PASHA.

"This is cute," he said.
"Mine for a very long time," said Chekov, perching with his ass against the wall and his arms folded across his chest. He grinned. "His name is Tolstoy and I love him."
"I bet," said Sulu, and set the thing down again. Without thinking about it, he patted it on the head.

"Where the hell have you been?" he said.

He watched colour spill into Chekov's face. Watching him on the con, watching him do his job, sometimes it was easy to forget just how young he was. He blushed like a man his age might and let his head fall forward.

"Mr Scott let me spend time down in engineering," he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. "He let me fix things that were not really...important. To the ship. I needed...something to do with my hands."
"You could've come talked to me." You could have touched me. I needed fixing too.

Chekov shrugged unhappily.

"What would I say? Everyone acts like this terrible thing happened, and I think that it must have been more terrible for you than it was for me, and then I get guilty for thinking that maybe it was not all terrible, and what should I say to you? I'm sorry that it happened, Hikaru? I'm sorry that we..."
"Fucked?"
"Da. Sorry that we fucked."

Sulu stared down at the soft toy for a moment, reached out and picked up one of Chekov's painted tea-glasses. There was a scattering of leaves stuck in the bottom. He turned it between his fingers. He looked at it rather than looking at Chekov.

"Are you?"

Chekov's legs were long enough that he crossed the room in two steps. Gently, he reached out to take the glass from Sulu, setting it on the desk before he cupped his face with both hands. His face was clean and flushed but when Sulu blinked he saw it brushed with glitter, his green eyes smeared with kohl.

"Jesus Christ, Hikaru," said Chekov, close enough that Sulu felt the words against his lips as much as heard them. "Don't you know that it was always you?"

"I wouldn't blame you if you liked that better," said Sulu, fingers curling to cup the back of Chekov's neck. "I mean..."
"Shut up," said Chekov, solemnly, leaning in to kiss Sulu hard on the mouth. One thigh pressed up between Sulu's knees. There was no mistaking a kiss like that. There was a language contained in a kiss like that. Every inch of Chekov's body screamed yes, I will and Yes. Sulu gave into it, letting Chekov push him back to sit on the desk, shoving his free hand up under Chekov's sweater, feeling the skinny, familiar lines of him.

He closed his eyes and heard the faint sound of applause rushing back.
He opened them again and focused on nothing but Chekov's face.

"I want you to fuck me," he heard himself say. Chekov was breathing hard as he tugged his sweater over his head. Underneath it, the lines and hollows of his chest were damp with sweat. Sulu bent his head and trailed his tongue over Chekov's nipple, both hands on his hips to steady him when he jumped as though electrified.

"Da," he said breathlessly. "Okay."

They peeled each other out of their clothes, taking their time; it had all been done for them on IO. Chekov undid every button on Sulu's shirt and then pushed it back from his shoulders before he bent his head and kissed newly bared skin. Sulu worked both hands under the waistband of Chekov's sweatpants, finding no underwear and sliding lower to cup his ass, pulling their hips tight together. This time, he knew exactly what he was doing. This time, everything balanced the way it should. Chekov's fingers pushed into his hair, holding on tight and Sulu moaned against his mouth. This time, there was nobody to fucking hear.

"I've never..." said Chekov, haltingly, as Sulu pushed him back a step towards the bed. "With a man, I mean...You are...the first."
"Eye for an eye," said Sulu, sinking down onto his knees and dragging Chekov's pants with him, stripping him naked. Chekov's head rolled back, his breath hissing between pursed lips when elastic scraped against sensitised skin. He curled his fingers around Chekov's cock and, just because he could, just because nobody was going to tell him to stop wasting this time, he leaned forward and licked all the way up from Chekov's balls. There was no way that this was going to be about anybody but him and Chekov, this time. He had no way to categorise the noise that Chekov made, but he understand the way Chekov's fingers tightened in his hair, the way his hips lifted. He allowed himself the luxury of sliding his mouth down over Chekov's cock, taking as much as he comfortably could before pulling back and looking up into Chekov's flushed face.

:"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it," he said, leaning in to kiss the jut of Pavel's hipbone, sucking up a mark on pale skin. Chekov groaned something in unintelligible Russian and got down on his hands and knees on the carpet, rocking in to kiss Sulu hard enough to knock him back onto his ass.

"I fucking have," he growled, leaning over Sulu on all fours, something suddenly possessive and feral come into his face, and Sulu remembered that Russia was a cold country where things prowled through the snow, and were hunted. Chekov kissed him again, grinding his hips forward against Sulu's. The friction made Sulu breathless. This close, he could feel Chekov's heartbeat as well as his own between his legs.

"Show me," he said.

Back to yes, again. And yes.

With a cushion to lift his hips, Sulu ended up on his back on the floor, knees lolling wide and obscene, three of Chekov's slick fingers buried inside him, his own hand curled over Chekov's. He nodded, pulse fluttering in his throat as he swallowed, as he tipped his head back as far as it would go and moaned softly.

"That's it," he whimpered, hips hitching down. "Right there."

Chekov rolled his wrist, fucking Sulu smoothly for a few seconds, and he saw a star-chart in the dark behind his eyelids and he knew every single fucking name. He groaned, his fingers ghosting over his own cock but never finding purchase. He didn't want to be the one to do that here.

"I'm ready," he said and then Chekov's fingers were gone and he missed them, lying there on his back, open and exposed and waiting and wanting and Chekov scrambled, looking every inch his age for a moment as he moved between Sulu's legs with his cock in his hand.

"I'll go slow," he promised, leaning down.

Sulu shook his head, reaching up to grasp at his shoulder.

"Don't you fucking dare," he said.

Chekov took him at his word, pushing in with a long stroke until he was buried deep, balls deep. He hung his head to catch his breath. Sulu held on for dear life. Chekov's hand slid along Sulu's thigh, hitching it higher on his hip, changing the angle slightly.

"Okay?" he asked, corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk and, this time, Sulu actually did bring one hand down against his ass sharply, hard enough to leave a mark for later, digging his heel into the back of his thigh and loving, loving the way that Chekov throbbed inside him.

"Don't be a brat," he said.
"I don't know what this word means," said Chekov solemnly, staring to move in long, firm strokes,

"Just look at me," he said, fingers twisting in Chekov's hair to turn his face. "I want you to look at me."

Chekov's eyes were wide as he stared down at Sulu, his weight supported on his trembling arms.

"I'm looking at you," he said. "I was always looking at you."

Sulu had never in his life been so glad that everything was not completely and utterly fucked up and that everything hadn't been taken from them and that they could still do this. Chekov was good at this, which, somehow, wasn't surprising. Sulu had seen the way that female ensigns giggled and flushed when he walked by, and it would have been foolish of him to imagine that there had never been Russian girls and summer days, learning to tell stories in the dark. Chekov knew star-charts by heart; it made sense that he could find his way back to Sulu. Chekov's eyes were green, but not the green of the eyes of the girls on IO. Chekov's eyes were the green of church spires clad in copper, or the patina on statues, of something precious to be held in cupped hands. On the Enterprise, it didn't matter if it was spring or winter. Chekov curled his fingers around his cock, jerking in time with the thrusts and Sulu felt so owned and so completed and he wasn't ashamed of any of it.

"You didn't say anything to the Captain," he said, breathlessly. Eyes closed, now, Chekov shook his head.

"It was not my thing to tell," he mumbled, and then he buried his face in the crook of Sulu's neck and bit down on his skin as he came. That was all it took, that sudden sharp stab of pain, Chekov’s slim and clever fingers curled around his cock, one more bruise to go with the ones that he'd picked up on IO, but this one given loyally, in love. He lay there in the afterglow of it, with Chekov already slipping out of him and squirming down to lick and suck at the come on his belly, murmuring ya tebya lyublyu against his skin.

"What does that mean?" he murmured, arching lazy as a cat. Chekov's chin made a sharp point and he rested it against Sulu's belly.

"It means 'I love you', like my father used to tell it to my mother," he said. “The way they say it in Russia.” His smile turned a little wicked. “The way that it was meant to be said.”

Sulu's eyebrows raised.

"You do?"

Chekov nodded, and there was that smile again, which reminded Sulu that even in Russian there were days when the sun was smiling and the hunters stayed at home. Days when a thing could dare to think that, maybe, it might live a long and peaceful life.

"Since a long time before IO," he said. "This is just the first time I am saying it in English, for you to hear." He pointed to a scrap of paper pinned above the mirror, Я тебя люблю in neat lettering. Chekov leaned down, kissing the bruise that he'd made with his teeth before he straightened up onto his knees, holding out both hands to Sulu.

"Stay," he said, gently. "But in the bed. We’ll sleep until we have no other choice."

Sulu let himself be pulled to his feet, bearing new bruises where the ones from IO had already begun to fade and all he could think, as Chekov led him towards the unmade bed was yes, oh, yes, so many, many times yes yes yes.