Sulu/Chekov (Holiday??) Fics
Here are two of my Sulu/Chekov fics that I did for the 12 Days of Xmas challenge:
There are many complications inherent in the fact that Ensign Chekov is not yet a legal adult. He's not allowed to be on shift for more than eight hours at a time. He has to present a form signed by his Federation-appointed guardian to the captain before leaving the ship when it's docked at space stations. He has to tolerate countless unfunny jokes about his age, most of them made by the captain, which further requires Chekov to pretend to laugh. Worst of all, he has to endure maddeningly arousing dry-humping sessions with Hikaru Sulu, who refuses to deflower him until his eighteenth birthday.
Many complications.
He never expects the aliens on the planets he visits during away missions to care much about his age in human years, and he craves these encounters, because most non-humans actually treat him as their equal, not like a little boy who needs protecting. This holds true, at least, until Extep-9, when Chekov joins an away team tasked with rescuing the local children, who have become mysteriously enchanted by a Deylsian who showed up with a magic flute that makes the children follow him around town mindlessly.
"Pavel?"
Hikaru is talking. Normally this would require Chekov's full attention, but there are more important matters at hand. This music! He never expected it to actually be good. And it's not just good, it's life-affirming, beautiful, floating on the wind like an insect that must catch.
"Pavel, what are you --"
Chekov lunges toward the sound of the music, needing to be closer to it, and to the Deylsian who is playing it. He needs to touch that creature's genius, to dance in the rays of light that seem to be pouring forth from his flute, but there is something holding him back: arms. Hikaru's arms.
"What are you doing?" Hikaru asks, stumbling forward as Chekov struggles to get free. "Pavel? Pavel! Sir -- I think he's been -- pollened or something!"
"Interesting," Spock says. "My readings do not show any contaminating factors in the air."
Chekov hates the sound of Spock's horrible, grating voice, and the strength of Hikaru's evil arms as he's pinned to the ground. He tries to crawl forward, grunting and squirming, his eyes burning at the sight of those other, luckier children who are gathered around the flute player.
"Pavel what you doing, will you stop?" Hikaru has him pinned now, and Chekov is beginning to hyperventilate, scrabbling at the ground as he tries to get free.
"He seems to be affected by the music in the same manner that the local children have been," Spock says.
"What? No, that's ridiculous!"
"Why is it ridiculous, Lieutenant? Is Ensign Chekov not still technically a child, by Earth standards?"
"Yeah, but -- this isn't Earth!"
Chekov is weeping now, straining with all of his energy to get out from underneath Hikaru, who is so much heavier than Chekov ever knew. He thought he'd felt the full weight of Hikaru during their dry-humping sessions, but he seems to have extra strength reserved for moments when he needs to physically restrain Chekov, whose muscles relax a bit at the thought. He feels hazy, confused, and suddenly can't remember why he so desperately needed to get closer to the flute player, who is skipping merrily away, the planet's children following behind him.
"Take Ensign Chekov back to the base and restrain him further if necessary," Spock says as Chekov lies limp and panting beneath Hikaru, who still hasn't released his grip on Chekov's wrists, as if he's afraid Chekov is only faking this resignation.
"I will continue after this flute playing fellow," Spock says. "I suspect his motivations are not unsavory and that he will be fairly easy to detain, but I will call for assistance if necessary."
"Yes, sir," Hikaru says. He's slightly breathless, too, and Chekov can feel the push of the muscles in Hikaru's stomach against the rise of his somewhat elevated ass.
"Pavel?" Hikaru says, squeezing Chekov's wrists as Spock walks away. "Can you hear me? Are you calm now?"
"Yes, I can hear you," Chekov says, embarrassed by what just happened and by how aroused he's becoming as Hikaru continues to hold him down. "And I heard you before, too. When Spock suggested I was a child. You said that was ridiculous, and that it only applies on Earth. I could not agree more, Hikaru!"
Hikaru groans and eases his grip on Chekov's wrists, still holding them as he stands up, pulling Chekov with him. He turns Chekov around and helps him brush the dirt and leaf bits from his uniform.
"To the contrary," Hikaru say, sounding so much like Spock that Chekov snorts a laugh. "I think what just happened is absolute proof that you're still -- too young -- for certain things."
Hikaru takes Chekov's face in his hands and holds it gently, checking his eyes for any hints of further lunacy before pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. Chekov glowers at him.
"I am feeling hateful toward you right now, Hikaru," he says.
"Then why do you have an erection, Pavel?"
"Because I am not innocent!"
"I never said you were! C'mon." Hikaru takes Chekov's shoulder and pulls him back toward the base, failing to conceal his smile. "I've been ordered to restrain you."
"Only if necessary!"
"Yeah, well." Hikaru gives Chekov a smirk that pings against his hardon. "As your superior officer, I'm deeming it necessary."
They return to their room with its three single beds, Spock's side of the room essentially untouched, as he finds that he does not require luggage on away missions. Hikaru's duffel is still zipped shut and sitting at the end of the bed, and Chekov's bed is already ransacked -- he took a nap while Hikaru and Spock met with the elder tribesman, no one below the rank of Lieutenant allowed -- his clothes spilling out of his duffel and onto the floor because of a frantic search for mints after the locals hosted a very garlicky lunch in honor of their arrival. Noticing the order of the rest of the room, he feels mocked, and pouts when Hikaru steers him toward the attached bathroom.
"What are you doing?" Chekov asks as Hikaru peels off his uniform shirt.
"You're filthy," Hikaru says. "You were rolling around in the dirt, trying to get to that guy."
"He's not a guy, Hikaru, he's a Deylsian, and I was -- under a spell!"
"Uh-huh. A spell designed to affect only children." Even as he's saying this, Hikaru is unfastening Chekov's pants, breathing a little faster as he tugs them down along with his underwear, exposing his erection.
"Hikaru," Chekov says, boggling, insanely hard. "Are you -- bathing me?"
"Yes." Hikaru calmly walks around Chekov, ignoring his indignation and remaining fully dressed. He rolls up one sleeve and turns on the bath water. Chekov shuts the bathroom door, humiliated, horrified, and hot all over.
"This is your idea of restraint?" he says as Hikaru guides him toward the tub.
"Oh, you'll be restrained eventually," Hikaru says. "Don't worry."
Feeling vaguely threatened and unable to understand why he's enjoying it so much, Chekov steps into the tub and sits down as it continues to fill. Hikaru rolls up his other sleeve and unwraps one of the complimentary soaps. Chekov tries to communicate his annoyance with his expression, but it's hard to do with Hikaru's hands rubbing across his back.
"You are intentionally humiliating me," Chekov says.
"No, I'm not," Hikaru says.
"No? Then what is this, eh? What is the purpose of this?"
"Pavel, Spock just gave us the rest of the afternoon off. You seem -- less crazy now. Just relax and let me take care of you. You really scared me before, going nuts like that."
Chekov huffs. The tub is full now, and Hikaru turns the water off. Chekov waits for Hikaru to undress and get in with him, and finds that he's glad when he doesn't. It would be crowded, and being scrubbed by Hikaru's soapy hands feels nice, even if it is embarrassing. Chekov's cock doesn't seem at all embarrassed, standing up brazenly between his legs, the tip poking out from below the water. Hikaru seems to be purposefully avoiding it, so Chekov spreads his legs and thrusts his hips upward a bit, waggling his eyebrows at Hikaru, who laughs.
"There is something you could blow that would enchant me more than that flute did," Chekov says. "The adult side of me."
"So you admit you have a side that's not exactly an adult?" Hikaru says.
"Why is this argument so important for you to win?" Chekov asks, slapping the water with his hands and sending it splashing up onto Hikaru.
"That's it," Hikaru says. He stands and reaches down to pull Chekov out of the tub. "You're getting restrained, Ensign."
"This is not funny," Chekov says, but he doesn't fight, just lets Hikaru sling him over his shoulder, naked and dripping wet. His cock is still hard, pressed against Hikaru's chest now, making him want to wrap his legs around Hikaru's body and start humping. "What if Mr. Spock returns?" Chekov asks as Hikaru sets him down on his messy bed.
"Maybe he'll praise me for restraining you particularly well," Hikaru says. The window is open to a mild, sunny day, overgrown bushes the only thing ensuring their privacy as Hikaru pulls off his damp shirt and uses it to tie Chekov's hands to the bed.
"Look at this hypocrite!" Chekov says, triumphant, spreading his legs. "Saying he cannot do anything penetrative because of moral reasons and then tying me naked to a bed!"
"Don't call it 'anything penetrative,'" Hikaru says, shucking his pants and coming to the bed in his socks and underwear. "It's not just the age thing," he insists as he kneels up over Chekov, who has never felt so small or helpless or aroused in his life. “It's the virgin thing. I want it to be - special.”
“Hikaru,” Chekov says. He grins and writhes up toward Hikaru, sighing with satisfaction when Hikaru's body finally settles over his, warming his damp skin. “It would always be special, with you,” Chekov says, nuzzling at him. They've only been dry-humping for three months, but Chekov is already in forever-style love with Hikaru, something he can't decide if he wants to make obvious or not, mostly because he's afraid he'd be accused of being too young to accurately measure the depth of what he feels.
“I've got plans, okay?” Hikaru says.
“Plans?”
“Reservations and stuff,” Hikaru says, suddenly sheepish. He ducks his head to kiss Chekov's neck. “For that week-long shore leave. And yeah, the idea that you'll be eighteen by then doesn't hurt. The constant reminders about how young you are, everybody making jokes about how I'm robbing the cradle - they don't make me think of you as a kid, I know you're not a kid - your cock is like, God, Pavel, so hard - but it just makes me want to treat you, I don't know. With care.”
Hikaru lifts his head then, pressing his nose to Chekov's and giving him an almost apologetic look. Chekov whines and humps up against him, straining against his bonds.
“You could deflower me with care,” Chekov says. Hikaru is adorable with his plans, but Chekov still wants it now, his thighs spread as wide as he can get them without dislocating something.
“I know, and I will,” Hikaru says. “But for now, just let me play you a little song, alright?”
“A song?” Chekov says, wilting. He cannot abide any romantic nonsense right now, no matter how well intentioned it might be. His cock has been aching to go off ever since Hikaru pinned him, and that bath brought him to critical fullness.
“Yeah, get it?” Hikaru grins. “With my tongue? On your flute?”
Chekov stares up at him. Hikaru raises his eyebrow. Birds twitter out in the bushes.
“The flute in this case is my penis?” Chekov says.
“Um. Yeah. It was -”
“You have to be clear about these things in Standard. There are colloquial usages that I'm not familiar with.”
“I -”
“Hikaru, it is a joke! Suck me, yes, go!”
Hikaru gets to it like he's been given a direct order from a superior. Chekov lasts roughly half a minute, and shouts loud enough to scare the birds out of the bushes when he comes. They squawk in protest and burst into flight, complimenting Chekov's orgasm in a way that makes him shiver and moan in the aftermath, grinning up at the ceiling. Hikaru crawls up over him again, licking his lips.
“God,” Hikaru says, laughing at Chekov's dazed expression. “You look just like you did when you went chasing after that music.”
“Is that what you're afraid of?” Chekov says. “That people on the ship will see you like this Deylsian with his flute, enchanting the little boy, making him follow you around like a little idiot?”
“Yes,” Hikaru says. “Unless the flute in this case is my penis. In which case I'd just be really proud.” He kisses Chekov's nose. “I am really proud, you know,” he says. “That you picked me.”
“Do not let it inflate your ego too much,” Chekov says. “I have not even experienced your magic flute yet.”
“Uh.” Hikaru gives Chekov's leg a nudge with his cock, which is hard and leaking. “You could - taste it. If you want.”
Chekov grins, nods, and then shakes his head when Hikaru reaches up to untie his hands.
“I am to be restrained, remember!” he says. “Mr. Spock's orders.”
“Shit,” Hikaru says, staring down at him, astonished. He licks his lips. “I - I knew you'd be, um.” He tugs the knotted shirt sleeves a bit tighter around Chekov's wrists. “Adventurous.”
“I did not know this,” Chekov says. “About myself. Until you.”
“God, Pavel,” Hikaru says. He lowers his mouth over Chekov's and stops just before he gets there, making Chekov whine and arch. “Just - promise me one thing, okay?”
“What, Hikaru? Anything!”
“Please don't ever again invoke Spock's orders when we're bed together?”
Chekov can live with that.
(the end!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hikaru's favorite time of day is around 18:00, when he's been off shift for several hours and finally begins to feel as if the stresses of the day are far away. He goes to the gym directly after work and eats dinner in the mess after showering, and when he can finally sit down at his desk in his quiet stateroom and begin the tedious but relaxing business of caring for his personal collection of plant life, a feeling of accomplishment unlike any other settles over him, as if he's lived his day to its full potential.
Of course, this isn't quite true until he's made passionate love to Pavel before dropping off to sleep, but Pavel is always close by while Hikaru tends to his plants, sitting at Hikaru's data screen and playing little games, or stretched out on Hikaru's bed, reading the latest science journals on his PADD. Hikaru likes the quiet, but he also likes the fact that he's not alone, that he's sharing something with Pavel even as they sit on opposite sides of Hikaru's room.
"I need a proper hobby," Pavel says one evening while Hikaru is very carefully trimming the spines on his Viciferous Nettlebush.
"What do you mean?" Hikaru asks. "You have hobbies. Running, right? And -- science? Your physics message boards?" It's not unusual for Pavel to rise from bed after the passionate lovemaking segment of the evening to return to some argument he was having with a Vulcan on Rictus-4 about whether or not Ulick's Delayed Warp Principle applies while traveling through a black hole.
"Running is horrible in space," Pavel says. "Even in the simulators -- I can tell it is fake! My feet can tell. I miss marathons, and cross country, and stopping in the middle of a run to drink from a mountain stream."
Hikaru snorts. Pavel throws a pillow at him.
"Hey, careful!" Hikaru says. He catches the pillow before it can disturb his neat row of potted plants, his heart pounding after the close call. "You'll knock something over."
Pavel is, in general, a chaotic presence in Hikaru's otherwise well-ordered life. Pavel had a doting mother and doesn't clean anything, ever. He sometimes sleeps too late to take even a sonic shower and just doses himself with extra deodorizer. He doesn't eat regular meals, just snacks on garbage whenever he's hungry, and at nineteen years old he's not satisfied with restricting the passionate lovemaking to pre-bedtime, seeking it out during the day, sometimes even during their shift if they happen to be passing by a shadowy corridor on the way back from an off-bridge errand. Hikaru actually enjoys this last aspect of Pavel's chaos, though it has proved stressful at times, namely when they have to hide in various stages of undress as a superior officer walks by.
"No, I need a real hobby, one that I can pursue in space," Pavel says. "The way you have fencing and -- those plants."
Hikaru does not miss the disdain in Pavel's tone when he mentions the plants.
"How about basket-weaving?" Hikaru says. "Spock says it's meditative."
"Spock thinks everything is meditative! And what am I going to do with all the baskets?"
"I could use them as decorative planters."
"Hikaru, my God."
"What?"
Pavel groans and Hikaru turns to look at him. He seems sincerely agitated, which was not on Hikaru's schedule, but he puts down his ultra-fine pruning tweezers and sits beside Pavel on the bed, slinging an arm around him.
"What do you need a hobby for?" Hikaru asks. "You've got your research, your participation in all the major scientific networks. You never seem -- bored." Hikaru has been terrified, actually, that Pavel is very bored indeed, and that it's all his fault.
"I need something that will help me relax," Pavel says. He digs his PADD from his pocket. "Fighting with quacks who call themselves scientists is the opposite of relaxing, and the same goes for running. All of my hobbies just agitate me."
"Who are you messaging?" Hikaru asks as Pavel's thumbs fly over his PADD's keyboard.
"The Keptin," Pavel says. "He will have good suggestions."
Wounded, Hikaru returns to his plants. He's offered to teach Pavel the fine art of deep space horticulture, but Pavel just laughed, then looked guilty when he realized Hikaru wasn't kidding.
"Jim will just suggest amateur pornography," Hikaru says, sitting down at his desk. He no longer feels relaxed, and doesn't trust himself to continue with the delicate process of shaping his thus-far perfectly formed Nettlebush.
"No, he -- oh," Pavel says. "Yes, that is precisely what he suggested."
"Ask Uhura to suggest something," Hikaru says. Apparently his own suggestions aren't good enough. In general, sometimes, Pavel makes him feel like he's not good enough, though Hikaru knows it's not intentional. It's just that Pavel is so damn good himself, messiness and all.
"I already asked Uhura, at lunch," Pavel says. "She suggested French, then Spanish, then Vulcan, then Mandarin Chinese --"
"I get the picture. How about Scotty?"
"He suggested 'home brewing.' I would rather consume alcohol than nurture it for months until it is consumable."
"McCoy?" If Pavel asked even McCoy for hobby suggestions before he brought it up with Hikaru, he'll be deeply offended.
"I am afraid of McCoy," Pavel says. "You know this."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Pavel. Maybe you could take up an instrument?"
"Hikaru, that's it!" Pavel actually bounds off the bed with triumph. "That's perfect! Complex, challenging, but also relaxing! The one thing my life has been missing!"
Hikaru smiles, glad that he came up with something that has pleased Pavel, though a little hurt by the idea that he felt his life was missing something, when Hikaru's has felt so complete since Pavel came along.
The passionate lovemaking that night is especially good, but Pavel is distracted afterward, scrolling through instrument options on his PADD while Hikaru cuddles him.
"I'm going to write songs for you," Pavel says, turning to nudge Hikaru's cheek with his nose, his eyes still on an article about contra-alto clarinets.
"Really? With lyrics and everything?"
"No, Hikaru, that is poetry. I have not written a poem since I was five years old."
"Pavel," Hikaru says, squeezing him closer, beaming. "That's adorable -- what did you write about when you were five?"
"I do not wish to discuss it," Pavel says, muttering, his features going dark.
"Ah -- okay?"
"Suffice it to say that I am no poet," Pavel says. "But this, I will be good at. Music is like science -- precise! Difficult! But also inventive."
Hikaru falls asleep while Pavel is still researching potential instruments and dreams that he comes back to his room after his shift to find Pavel playing a giant organ that has been installed into the wall, his back to Hikaru and his fingers flying over the keys. In the dream, Pavel is so absorbed in his new hobby, his sudden completeness, that he doesn't even notice Hikaru is there.
*
The staterooms on the Enterprise are completely sound-proofed, something that Hikaru appreciates greatly when he's trying to sleep, and when he's making passionate love to Pavel hard enough to make him scream Hikaru's name. The sound-proofing has never before been a cause of alarm, giving Hikaru enough of a shock to nearly send him into cardiac arrest, but this exactly what happens when he comes off shift the day after their conversation about hobbies.
Pavel is in his room, but that's not apparent until Hikaru has calmed enough to realize that the sound that assaulted him as soon as his door slid open isn't that of his possessions being smashed to pieces. There is something that looks for a fraction of a section like a giant crab sitting in the center of Hikaru's room, Pavel riding on its back. It's not actually a crab but a monstrous drum set, red and gold and very loud as Pavel pounds at it.
"Look, Hikaru!" Pavel says, panting, the cymbals still sizzling when he finally goes still. "The Keptin gave me large item replication clearance!"
It figures that Kirk would be behind this somehow.
"Um -- cool!" Hikaru says, trying not to show his horror. "And they're -- in my room. Not yours."
"Well, mine is much too small, of course, just an ensign's room," Pavel says, waving a drumstick through the air. "Yours has plenty of space -- is okay, right? If I keep them here?"
"Ah -- of course!" Hikaru has no idea why he said that. Or he does, but he doesn't want to think about it. He's always happily given Pavel everything he wants: back rubs after the treadmill, nights out drinking with their friends on shore leave even though Hikaru can't hold his liquor and almost always ends up singing, and free reign in Hikaru's room, because, while he cringes at the disorder, it's worth it if it means he gets to keep Pavel close. Hikaru worries now that this is why he's always been so willing to do anything: he has to keep Pavel close, and doesn't want to risk pushing him away, even if it means living with a giant, noisy crab-like thing in the middle of his room.
“Listen to this song I learned!” Pavel says, glowing at the chance to show him, and Hikaru grins, his smile straining a bit as Pavel actually begins to play. It just sounds like a lot of angry pounding to Hikaru, but he's never been especially musical.
Pavel's practice goes on for another hour, and Hikaru tries to go about his routine as usual, but his hands are shaking, the sound of the drums grating on him and making him jumpy, and he doesn't trust these delicate specimens that are too precious for the public botany lab to his unsteady hands. He turns to watch Pavel play the drums, trying to enjoy it, but by the end of Pavel's practice his jaw is so tight that his teeth are sore.
That night, Pavel is exhausted during the passionate lovemaking, as if after a run. Hikaru can't deny that he enjoys it, taking the lead while Pavel pants and whines beneath him, but he can still hear the chaotic bang and crash of the drum set ringing in his ears. He drives into Pavel maybe a little harder than he should, as if to the lingering rhythm of those drums, until Pavel whimpers and winces. Hikaru is gentle with him after that, and cuddles him especially close in the aftermath.
“I'm still shaking,” Pavel whispers against Hikaru's lips when they're under the blankets together. Hikaru grins, assuming that he's referring to the lingering effects of Hikaru's, well, passion. “Playing music like that - it is exhilarating.”
Hikaru tries not to wilt too obviously. He kisses Pavel's forehead, rubs his back.
“I'm glad you're happy,” he says, and it's true.
The days that follow are difficult, but Hikaru tries to tell himself to get over it, not to cling so desperately to his routine, his attempt at keeping order in his life despite allowing Pavel into it. The drums take up so much space, and Pavel's discarded clothes, songbooks, and junk food wrappers seem to occupy every inch of Hikaru's room that the drums do not. But even beyond the physical presence of the drums, there's the noise of them, which makes Hikaru feel like his head is being continually bashed against a wall. Even after it stops it still jars him, to the point where he doesn't have the stomach for passionate lovemaking, just for route fucking, Pavel limp beneath him, neither of them straining for kisses as their bodies slam together.
On the fourth day of the Giant Crab, as Hikaru has come to think of the drums, he arrives in his room and doesn't bother to greet Pavel, who is pounding away at them, clearly in need of full concentration. Hikaru sits at his desk, trying to recapture a thought process. He's so tired, and the drums are so loud. Even when they stop, the silence feels huge inside the room.
“Hikaru,” Pavel says. “Your little purple flower - the blossoms are falling off. Shouldn't you - haven't you noticed?”
“Oh - yeah,” Hikaru says, blinking heavily, rubbing at his eyes. He's leaning onto his desk, ready to put his head down and nap through his free time. He didn't even go to the gym after his shift, just sat in the meditation garden, dozing until Spock chastised him for mistaking meditation for napping.
“Can't you - do something?” Pavel asks. “The purple one is my favorite.”
“I'll try,” Hikaru says. The Purple Dawnflower is very sensitive, and he probably hasn't been mixing it's dust-based fertilizer properly; it requires a whistle-like puff of breath and a very precise application to the veins of the inner leaves.
That night, Hikaru falls asleep face-down while Pavel is brushing his teeth. Pavel nuzzles at Hikaru's neck when he comes to bed, and Hikaru considers passionate lovemaking, or even sluggish fucking, and ultimately decides that neither is possible. He feels like he's had drumsticks pounding against his back all day, or against his ears, his nerves still pricked by that harsh, echoing sound. Still, if it makes Pavel happy, Hikaru will live inside a snare drum.
The next day at work feels long, even though Hikaru got more sleep than he usually does. Pavel keeps sneaking looks at him while they're sitting together at the conn, and Hikaru keeps giving him shaky smiles. They have lunch together as usual, Hikaru poking at his protein-based, carbohydrate-complimented meal while Pavel tears into a pack of Cheetos and thumbs open a can of dangerously caffeinated soda.
“Your spiky plant looks a little gnarled,” Pavel says. “This morning - I noticed.”
“The Nettlebush?” Hikaru says. It's true that the spike have gotten out of control, much more quickly than he anticipated, as if they've been influenced by the chaotic molecules that Pavel's drumming seems to throw into the air. “Ah - maybe I should transfer it to the lab.”
“The lab?” Pavel is arranging his Cheetos into a flower-type pattern. His fingernails look more aggressively bitten-down than usual. “I thought you said you didn't trust the other botanists in the lab to look after your special plants?”
“I - well.” Hikaru blinks heavily, yawns. “If I can't commit to caring for it properly, I can't horde it for myself.”
“But - what - ”
“I've got to get a cup of coffee,” Hikaru says. “Do you want anything, while I'm up?”
Pavel stares at him for a long time, as if this is a difficult question to answer. His eyebrows are sloped, and Hikaru wants to ask what he's done wrong.
“No, nothing,” Pavel says. “Thank you.”
Pavel leaves their shift first, and Hikaru has another hour on the bridge. He thinks about going to the gym afterward, but he's too tired, though the idea of going back to his room and listening to Pavel's two hour drum solo isn't exactly tempting. He wanders the ship for awhile and ends up in the library, an antiquated but comforting concept. He finds an empty study carrel and sleeps with his head on the desk until a librarian who looks old enough to be a holdover from the original concept wakes him and tells him to read something or get out.
Hikaru's feet drag on the way back to his room. He remembers when finally finishing the day's chores was the highlight of his day, the way he would almost jog back to his room after dinner to find Pavel waiting for him, smiling from the bed and ready to tell him all about the argument over quantum diversity that he'd gotten into - and won, at least in his opinion - with some Vulcan who was twice his age. Hikaru braces himself instead for the sound of the drums, the unrelenting SLAM SLAM CRASH that must somehow translate into music that he's too close-minded to hear. He'll have to move his Nettlebush to the lab soon, before its spikes start tangling together.
He opens the door with his shoulders slightly raised, his jaw already tight. He doesn't hear the drums immediately, and perks up a bit, thinking he might have finally learned how to block them out, but when he looks up he finds that they're not there at all. Pavel is without his Giant Crab, sitting on Hikaru's bed and smiling at him sheepishly, his hands tucked into his lap.
“What - where are your drums?” Hikaru asks as the door slides shut behind him.
“I moved them to my room,” Pavel says. He gets off the bed and walks toward Hikaru slowly, almost nervously, his hands clasped behind his back now.
“I thought there was no room?” Hikaru asks. His heart is already pounding - the room has been neatened, Pavel's clothes no longer strewn across the floor, no snack wrappers littering the bedside table. He's moved the drums and straightened up out of politeness, out of pity, because he's decided he's leaving Hikaru, probably for a guitar player, or some other sort of man who would better compliment his needs.
“I got permission to move the bed out of my room,” Pavel says, one hand settling lightly on Hikaru's hip, the other still tucked behind his back. “Without the bed, the drum set fits perfectly. And I don't really need a bed - right? Because, I - because I'm always, ah. Going to sleep in yours - right?”
Hikaru can't believe how terrified Pavel looks, how he could possibly not know the answer to that question.
“Baby,” he says. He's never used this term outside of the deepest depths of passionate lovemaking, but it feels right now, and Pavel's eyes soften until Hikaru is afraid he'll cry. He never wants Pavel to cry because of him, because of anything, so he takes Pavel's face in his hands and cups his cheeks until he's just smiling up at Hikaru again.
“I'm sorry I took over your life,” Pavel says.
“Don't be,” Hikaru says, shaking his head. “It needed taking over, and you're the best thing in it.”
“Yes, but - ah, it's not fair. I don't want to change you, not even a little.” Pavel stands up on his tip toes and presses his nose to Hikaru's. “You're so perfect,” he says, and for a moment Hikaru is sure that he's the one who's said it, to Pavel.
“No -” he starts to say, because he's incomplete, always was before Pavel.
“Here,” Pavel says before Hikaru can get it out. He pushes a folded piece of red construction paper into Hikaru's hand. “I wrote this,” he says, staring Hikaru down as if daring him to question this statement. “For you. A poem.”
“A - wha - ”
“Just read it!” Pavel says, his cheeks blazing. “Though I promise you, it will be bad. I - you asked me what I wrote about when I was five years old, well, I wrote a love poem for my friend Sasha - foolishly! I was spoiled by my mother, she did not warn me that such things would be mocked!”
Pavel clams up then, and steps back. Hikaru stares at him for a moment, still stunned that the drums are gone, unable to begin to process the fact that he's holding a rough piece of construction paper that contains a poem Pavel wrote for him. When Pavel begins to again look like he'll cry, Hikaru forces himself to look down, to open the paper.
This is not a haiku
or a love song, Hikaru
I am not really smart enough to write those
but this took me two hours
I threw away eighteen drafts
and nothing is good enough
which is what made me so desperate to play music
or do anything
that would make me interesting enough
for you
I want to be your favorite plant
that you rush home to check
to see if I have blossomed yet
for you.
Hikaru reads it twice, his hands shaking. He looks up when he notices that Pavel is backing away from him slowly.
“I know it is bad!” Pavel blurts, sounding almost angry. “I never said I was an artist! I don't even want to learn the drums, really, I just like beating on them, freestyle! It is - what is - the word - cathartic?”
“Baby,” Hikaru says, because it feels like the only word he knows, coming out breathless and broken as he walks to Pavel, who crumples, his shoulders dropping. Hikaru picks him up off the ground, wholly, the red construction paper poem pressed between Pavel's shoulder blades as Hikaru holds him.
“You will always sleep in my bed,” Hikaru says, his eyes locked on Pavel's, unblinking, deeper than a kiss, a fuck, deeper even than passionate lovemaking. “Always. And you're already - God, you're my favorite - my - you're just my favorite, okay? Of everything.”
Pavel smiles slowly, and Hikaru can see that he believes him. Hikaru wants to blubber on further, to ask Pavel how he could possibly have thought that he isn't interesting, that he's anything but the flowering miracle that Hikaru is breathless to see at the end of every day, but Hikaru is no poet, so he just kisses Pavel, lowering him down onto the bed.
“I actually loved how sweaty you got,” Hikaru says as he pulls Pavel's shirt off. “After you'd beat the shit out of those drums.”
“You can make me sweaty in other ways,” Pavel says. He grins, pulls Hikaru down to him, and it's true, and messy, chaotic, somewhere between passionate lovemaking and wild fucking, perfectly disorganized.
//the end//
There are many complications inherent in the fact that Ensign Chekov is not yet a legal adult. He's not allowed to be on shift for more than eight hours at a time. He has to present a form signed by his Federation-appointed guardian to the captain before leaving the ship when it's docked at space stations. He has to tolerate countless unfunny jokes about his age, most of them made by the captain, which further requires Chekov to pretend to laugh. Worst of all, he has to endure maddeningly arousing dry-humping sessions with Hikaru Sulu, who refuses to deflower him until his eighteenth birthday.
Many complications.
He never expects the aliens on the planets he visits during away missions to care much about his age in human years, and he craves these encounters, because most non-humans actually treat him as their equal, not like a little boy who needs protecting. This holds true, at least, until Extep-9, when Chekov joins an away team tasked with rescuing the local children, who have become mysteriously enchanted by a Deylsian who showed up with a magic flute that makes the children follow him around town mindlessly.
"Pavel?"
Hikaru is talking. Normally this would require Chekov's full attention, but there are more important matters at hand. This music! He never expected it to actually be good. And it's not just good, it's life-affirming, beautiful, floating on the wind like an insect that must catch.
"Pavel, what are you --"
Chekov lunges toward the sound of the music, needing to be closer to it, and to the Deylsian who is playing it. He needs to touch that creature's genius, to dance in the rays of light that seem to be pouring forth from his flute, but there is something holding him back: arms. Hikaru's arms.
"What are you doing?" Hikaru asks, stumbling forward as Chekov struggles to get free. "Pavel? Pavel! Sir -- I think he's been -- pollened or something!"
"Interesting," Spock says. "My readings do not show any contaminating factors in the air."
Chekov hates the sound of Spock's horrible, grating voice, and the strength of Hikaru's evil arms as he's pinned to the ground. He tries to crawl forward, grunting and squirming, his eyes burning at the sight of those other, luckier children who are gathered around the flute player.
"Pavel what you doing, will you stop?" Hikaru has him pinned now, and Chekov is beginning to hyperventilate, scrabbling at the ground as he tries to get free.
"He seems to be affected by the music in the same manner that the local children have been," Spock says.
"What? No, that's ridiculous!"
"Why is it ridiculous, Lieutenant? Is Ensign Chekov not still technically a child, by Earth standards?"
"Yeah, but -- this isn't Earth!"
Chekov is weeping now, straining with all of his energy to get out from underneath Hikaru, who is so much heavier than Chekov ever knew. He thought he'd felt the full weight of Hikaru during their dry-humping sessions, but he seems to have extra strength reserved for moments when he needs to physically restrain Chekov, whose muscles relax a bit at the thought. He feels hazy, confused, and suddenly can't remember why he so desperately needed to get closer to the flute player, who is skipping merrily away, the planet's children following behind him.
"Take Ensign Chekov back to the base and restrain him further if necessary," Spock says as Chekov lies limp and panting beneath Hikaru, who still hasn't released his grip on Chekov's wrists, as if he's afraid Chekov is only faking this resignation.
"I will continue after this flute playing fellow," Spock says. "I suspect his motivations are not unsavory and that he will be fairly easy to detain, but I will call for assistance if necessary."
"Yes, sir," Hikaru says. He's slightly breathless, too, and Chekov can feel the push of the muscles in Hikaru's stomach against the rise of his somewhat elevated ass.
"Pavel?" Hikaru says, squeezing Chekov's wrists as Spock walks away. "Can you hear me? Are you calm now?"
"Yes, I can hear you," Chekov says, embarrassed by what just happened and by how aroused he's becoming as Hikaru continues to hold him down. "And I heard you before, too. When Spock suggested I was a child. You said that was ridiculous, and that it only applies on Earth. I could not agree more, Hikaru!"
Hikaru groans and eases his grip on Chekov's wrists, still holding them as he stands up, pulling Chekov with him. He turns Chekov around and helps him brush the dirt and leaf bits from his uniform.
"To the contrary," Hikaru say, sounding so much like Spock that Chekov snorts a laugh. "I think what just happened is absolute proof that you're still -- too young -- for certain things."
Hikaru takes Chekov's face in his hands and holds it gently, checking his eyes for any hints of further lunacy before pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. Chekov glowers at him.
"I am feeling hateful toward you right now, Hikaru," he says.
"Then why do you have an erection, Pavel?"
"Because I am not innocent!"
"I never said you were! C'mon." Hikaru takes Chekov's shoulder and pulls him back toward the base, failing to conceal his smile. "I've been ordered to restrain you."
"Only if necessary!"
"Yeah, well." Hikaru gives Chekov a smirk that pings against his hardon. "As your superior officer, I'm deeming it necessary."
They return to their room with its three single beds, Spock's side of the room essentially untouched, as he finds that he does not require luggage on away missions. Hikaru's duffel is still zipped shut and sitting at the end of the bed, and Chekov's bed is already ransacked -- he took a nap while Hikaru and Spock met with the elder tribesman, no one below the rank of Lieutenant allowed -- his clothes spilling out of his duffel and onto the floor because of a frantic search for mints after the locals hosted a very garlicky lunch in honor of their arrival. Noticing the order of the rest of the room, he feels mocked, and pouts when Hikaru steers him toward the attached bathroom.
"What are you doing?" Chekov asks as Hikaru peels off his uniform shirt.
"You're filthy," Hikaru says. "You were rolling around in the dirt, trying to get to that guy."
"He's not a guy, Hikaru, he's a Deylsian, and I was -- under a spell!"
"Uh-huh. A spell designed to affect only children." Even as he's saying this, Hikaru is unfastening Chekov's pants, breathing a little faster as he tugs them down along with his underwear, exposing his erection.
"Hikaru," Chekov says, boggling, insanely hard. "Are you -- bathing me?"
"Yes." Hikaru calmly walks around Chekov, ignoring his indignation and remaining fully dressed. He rolls up one sleeve and turns on the bath water. Chekov shuts the bathroom door, humiliated, horrified, and hot all over.
"This is your idea of restraint?" he says as Hikaru guides him toward the tub.
"Oh, you'll be restrained eventually," Hikaru says. "Don't worry."
Feeling vaguely threatened and unable to understand why he's enjoying it so much, Chekov steps into the tub and sits down as it continues to fill. Hikaru rolls up his other sleeve and unwraps one of the complimentary soaps. Chekov tries to communicate his annoyance with his expression, but it's hard to do with Hikaru's hands rubbing across his back.
"You are intentionally humiliating me," Chekov says.
"No, I'm not," Hikaru says.
"No? Then what is this, eh? What is the purpose of this?"
"Pavel, Spock just gave us the rest of the afternoon off. You seem -- less crazy now. Just relax and let me take care of you. You really scared me before, going nuts like that."
Chekov huffs. The tub is full now, and Hikaru turns the water off. Chekov waits for Hikaru to undress and get in with him, and finds that he's glad when he doesn't. It would be crowded, and being scrubbed by Hikaru's soapy hands feels nice, even if it is embarrassing. Chekov's cock doesn't seem at all embarrassed, standing up brazenly between his legs, the tip poking out from below the water. Hikaru seems to be purposefully avoiding it, so Chekov spreads his legs and thrusts his hips upward a bit, waggling his eyebrows at Hikaru, who laughs.
"There is something you could blow that would enchant me more than that flute did," Chekov says. "The adult side of me."
"So you admit you have a side that's not exactly an adult?" Hikaru says.
"Why is this argument so important for you to win?" Chekov asks, slapping the water with his hands and sending it splashing up onto Hikaru.
"That's it," Hikaru says. He stands and reaches down to pull Chekov out of the tub. "You're getting restrained, Ensign."
"This is not funny," Chekov says, but he doesn't fight, just lets Hikaru sling him over his shoulder, naked and dripping wet. His cock is still hard, pressed against Hikaru's chest now, making him want to wrap his legs around Hikaru's body and start humping. "What if Mr. Spock returns?" Chekov asks as Hikaru sets him down on his messy bed.
"Maybe he'll praise me for restraining you particularly well," Hikaru says. The window is open to a mild, sunny day, overgrown bushes the only thing ensuring their privacy as Hikaru pulls off his damp shirt and uses it to tie Chekov's hands to the bed.
"Look at this hypocrite!" Chekov says, triumphant, spreading his legs. "Saying he cannot do anything penetrative because of moral reasons and then tying me naked to a bed!"
"Don't call it 'anything penetrative,'" Hikaru says, shucking his pants and coming to the bed in his socks and underwear. "It's not just the age thing," he insists as he kneels up over Chekov, who has never felt so small or helpless or aroused in his life. “It's the virgin thing. I want it to be - special.”
“Hikaru,” Chekov says. He grins and writhes up toward Hikaru, sighing with satisfaction when Hikaru's body finally settles over his, warming his damp skin. “It would always be special, with you,” Chekov says, nuzzling at him. They've only been dry-humping for three months, but Chekov is already in forever-style love with Hikaru, something he can't decide if he wants to make obvious or not, mostly because he's afraid he'd be accused of being too young to accurately measure the depth of what he feels.
“I've got plans, okay?” Hikaru says.
“Plans?”
“Reservations and stuff,” Hikaru says, suddenly sheepish. He ducks his head to kiss Chekov's neck. “For that week-long shore leave. And yeah, the idea that you'll be eighteen by then doesn't hurt. The constant reminders about how young you are, everybody making jokes about how I'm robbing the cradle - they don't make me think of you as a kid, I know you're not a kid - your cock is like, God, Pavel, so hard - but it just makes me want to treat you, I don't know. With care.”
Hikaru lifts his head then, pressing his nose to Chekov's and giving him an almost apologetic look. Chekov whines and humps up against him, straining against his bonds.
“You could deflower me with care,” Chekov says. Hikaru is adorable with his plans, but Chekov still wants it now, his thighs spread as wide as he can get them without dislocating something.
“I know, and I will,” Hikaru says. “But for now, just let me play you a little song, alright?”
“A song?” Chekov says, wilting. He cannot abide any romantic nonsense right now, no matter how well intentioned it might be. His cock has been aching to go off ever since Hikaru pinned him, and that bath brought him to critical fullness.
“Yeah, get it?” Hikaru grins. “With my tongue? On your flute?”
Chekov stares up at him. Hikaru raises his eyebrow. Birds twitter out in the bushes.
“The flute in this case is my penis?” Chekov says.
“Um. Yeah. It was -”
“You have to be clear about these things in Standard. There are colloquial usages that I'm not familiar with.”
“I -”
“Hikaru, it is a joke! Suck me, yes, go!”
Hikaru gets to it like he's been given a direct order from a superior. Chekov lasts roughly half a minute, and shouts loud enough to scare the birds out of the bushes when he comes. They squawk in protest and burst into flight, complimenting Chekov's orgasm in a way that makes him shiver and moan in the aftermath, grinning up at the ceiling. Hikaru crawls up over him again, licking his lips.
“God,” Hikaru says, laughing at Chekov's dazed expression. “You look just like you did when you went chasing after that music.”
“Is that what you're afraid of?” Chekov says. “That people on the ship will see you like this Deylsian with his flute, enchanting the little boy, making him follow you around like a little idiot?”
“Yes,” Hikaru says. “Unless the flute in this case is my penis. In which case I'd just be really proud.” He kisses Chekov's nose. “I am really proud, you know,” he says. “That you picked me.”
“Do not let it inflate your ego too much,” Chekov says. “I have not even experienced your magic flute yet.”
“Uh.” Hikaru gives Chekov's leg a nudge with his cock, which is hard and leaking. “You could - taste it. If you want.”
Chekov grins, nods, and then shakes his head when Hikaru reaches up to untie his hands.
“I am to be restrained, remember!” he says. “Mr. Spock's orders.”
“Shit,” Hikaru says, staring down at him, astonished. He licks his lips. “I - I knew you'd be, um.” He tugs the knotted shirt sleeves a bit tighter around Chekov's wrists. “Adventurous.”
“I did not know this,” Chekov says. “About myself. Until you.”
“God, Pavel,” Hikaru says. He lowers his mouth over Chekov's and stops just before he gets there, making Chekov whine and arch. “Just - promise me one thing, okay?”
“What, Hikaru? Anything!”
“Please don't ever again invoke Spock's orders when we're bed together?”
Chekov can live with that.
(the end!)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hikaru's favorite time of day is around 18:00, when he's been off shift for several hours and finally begins to feel as if the stresses of the day are far away. He goes to the gym directly after work and eats dinner in the mess after showering, and when he can finally sit down at his desk in his quiet stateroom and begin the tedious but relaxing business of caring for his personal collection of plant life, a feeling of accomplishment unlike any other settles over him, as if he's lived his day to its full potential.
Of course, this isn't quite true until he's made passionate love to Pavel before dropping off to sleep, but Pavel is always close by while Hikaru tends to his plants, sitting at Hikaru's data screen and playing little games, or stretched out on Hikaru's bed, reading the latest science journals on his PADD. Hikaru likes the quiet, but he also likes the fact that he's not alone, that he's sharing something with Pavel even as they sit on opposite sides of Hikaru's room.
"I need a proper hobby," Pavel says one evening while Hikaru is very carefully trimming the spines on his Viciferous Nettlebush.
"What do you mean?" Hikaru asks. "You have hobbies. Running, right? And -- science? Your physics message boards?" It's not unusual for Pavel to rise from bed after the passionate lovemaking segment of the evening to return to some argument he was having with a Vulcan on Rictus-4 about whether or not Ulick's Delayed Warp Principle applies while traveling through a black hole.
"Running is horrible in space," Pavel says. "Even in the simulators -- I can tell it is fake! My feet can tell. I miss marathons, and cross country, and stopping in the middle of a run to drink from a mountain stream."
Hikaru snorts. Pavel throws a pillow at him.
"Hey, careful!" Hikaru says. He catches the pillow before it can disturb his neat row of potted plants, his heart pounding after the close call. "You'll knock something over."
Pavel is, in general, a chaotic presence in Hikaru's otherwise well-ordered life. Pavel had a doting mother and doesn't clean anything, ever. He sometimes sleeps too late to take even a sonic shower and just doses himself with extra deodorizer. He doesn't eat regular meals, just snacks on garbage whenever he's hungry, and at nineteen years old he's not satisfied with restricting the passionate lovemaking to pre-bedtime, seeking it out during the day, sometimes even during their shift if they happen to be passing by a shadowy corridor on the way back from an off-bridge errand. Hikaru actually enjoys this last aspect of Pavel's chaos, though it has proved stressful at times, namely when they have to hide in various stages of undress as a superior officer walks by.
"No, I need a real hobby, one that I can pursue in space," Pavel says. "The way you have fencing and -- those plants."
Hikaru does not miss the disdain in Pavel's tone when he mentions the plants.
"How about basket-weaving?" Hikaru says. "Spock says it's meditative."
"Spock thinks everything is meditative! And what am I going to do with all the baskets?"
"I could use them as decorative planters."
"Hikaru, my God."
"What?"
Pavel groans and Hikaru turns to look at him. He seems sincerely agitated, which was not on Hikaru's schedule, but he puts down his ultra-fine pruning tweezers and sits beside Pavel on the bed, slinging an arm around him.
"What do you need a hobby for?" Hikaru asks. "You've got your research, your participation in all the major scientific networks. You never seem -- bored." Hikaru has been terrified, actually, that Pavel is very bored indeed, and that it's all his fault.
"I need something that will help me relax," Pavel says. He digs his PADD from his pocket. "Fighting with quacks who call themselves scientists is the opposite of relaxing, and the same goes for running. All of my hobbies just agitate me."
"Who are you messaging?" Hikaru asks as Pavel's thumbs fly over his PADD's keyboard.
"The Keptin," Pavel says. "He will have good suggestions."
Wounded, Hikaru returns to his plants. He's offered to teach Pavel the fine art of deep space horticulture, but Pavel just laughed, then looked guilty when he realized Hikaru wasn't kidding.
"Jim will just suggest amateur pornography," Hikaru says, sitting down at his desk. He no longer feels relaxed, and doesn't trust himself to continue with the delicate process of shaping his thus-far perfectly formed Nettlebush.
"No, he -- oh," Pavel says. "Yes, that is precisely what he suggested."
"Ask Uhura to suggest something," Hikaru says. Apparently his own suggestions aren't good enough. In general, sometimes, Pavel makes him feel like he's not good enough, though Hikaru knows it's not intentional. It's just that Pavel is so damn good himself, messiness and all.
"I already asked Uhura, at lunch," Pavel says. "She suggested French, then Spanish, then Vulcan, then Mandarin Chinese --"
"I get the picture. How about Scotty?"
"He suggested 'home brewing.' I would rather consume alcohol than nurture it for months until it is consumable."
"McCoy?" If Pavel asked even McCoy for hobby suggestions before he brought it up with Hikaru, he'll be deeply offended.
"I am afraid of McCoy," Pavel says. "You know this."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, Pavel. Maybe you could take up an instrument?"
"Hikaru, that's it!" Pavel actually bounds off the bed with triumph. "That's perfect! Complex, challenging, but also relaxing! The one thing my life has been missing!"
Hikaru smiles, glad that he came up with something that has pleased Pavel, though a little hurt by the idea that he felt his life was missing something, when Hikaru's has felt so complete since Pavel came along.
The passionate lovemaking that night is especially good, but Pavel is distracted afterward, scrolling through instrument options on his PADD while Hikaru cuddles him.
"I'm going to write songs for you," Pavel says, turning to nudge Hikaru's cheek with his nose, his eyes still on an article about contra-alto clarinets.
"Really? With lyrics and everything?"
"No, Hikaru, that is poetry. I have not written a poem since I was five years old."
"Pavel," Hikaru says, squeezing him closer, beaming. "That's adorable -- what did you write about when you were five?"
"I do not wish to discuss it," Pavel says, muttering, his features going dark.
"Ah -- okay?"
"Suffice it to say that I am no poet," Pavel says. "But this, I will be good at. Music is like science -- precise! Difficult! But also inventive."
Hikaru falls asleep while Pavel is still researching potential instruments and dreams that he comes back to his room after his shift to find Pavel playing a giant organ that has been installed into the wall, his back to Hikaru and his fingers flying over the keys. In the dream, Pavel is so absorbed in his new hobby, his sudden completeness, that he doesn't even notice Hikaru is there.
*
The staterooms on the Enterprise are completely sound-proofed, something that Hikaru appreciates greatly when he's trying to sleep, and when he's making passionate love to Pavel hard enough to make him scream Hikaru's name. The sound-proofing has never before been a cause of alarm, giving Hikaru enough of a shock to nearly send him into cardiac arrest, but this exactly what happens when he comes off shift the day after their conversation about hobbies.
Pavel is in his room, but that's not apparent until Hikaru has calmed enough to realize that the sound that assaulted him as soon as his door slid open isn't that of his possessions being smashed to pieces. There is something that looks for a fraction of a section like a giant crab sitting in the center of Hikaru's room, Pavel riding on its back. It's not actually a crab but a monstrous drum set, red and gold and very loud as Pavel pounds at it.
"Look, Hikaru!" Pavel says, panting, the cymbals still sizzling when he finally goes still. "The Keptin gave me large item replication clearance!"
It figures that Kirk would be behind this somehow.
"Um -- cool!" Hikaru says, trying not to show his horror. "And they're -- in my room. Not yours."
"Well, mine is much too small, of course, just an ensign's room," Pavel says, waving a drumstick through the air. "Yours has plenty of space -- is okay, right? If I keep them here?"
"Ah -- of course!" Hikaru has no idea why he said that. Or he does, but he doesn't want to think about it. He's always happily given Pavel everything he wants: back rubs after the treadmill, nights out drinking with their friends on shore leave even though Hikaru can't hold his liquor and almost always ends up singing, and free reign in Hikaru's room, because, while he cringes at the disorder, it's worth it if it means he gets to keep Pavel close. Hikaru worries now that this is why he's always been so willing to do anything: he has to keep Pavel close, and doesn't want to risk pushing him away, even if it means living with a giant, noisy crab-like thing in the middle of his room.
“Listen to this song I learned!” Pavel says, glowing at the chance to show him, and Hikaru grins, his smile straining a bit as Pavel actually begins to play. It just sounds like a lot of angry pounding to Hikaru, but he's never been especially musical.
Pavel's practice goes on for another hour, and Hikaru tries to go about his routine as usual, but his hands are shaking, the sound of the drums grating on him and making him jumpy, and he doesn't trust these delicate specimens that are too precious for the public botany lab to his unsteady hands. He turns to watch Pavel play the drums, trying to enjoy it, but by the end of Pavel's practice his jaw is so tight that his teeth are sore.
That night, Pavel is exhausted during the passionate lovemaking, as if after a run. Hikaru can't deny that he enjoys it, taking the lead while Pavel pants and whines beneath him, but he can still hear the chaotic bang and crash of the drum set ringing in his ears. He drives into Pavel maybe a little harder than he should, as if to the lingering rhythm of those drums, until Pavel whimpers and winces. Hikaru is gentle with him after that, and cuddles him especially close in the aftermath.
“I'm still shaking,” Pavel whispers against Hikaru's lips when they're under the blankets together. Hikaru grins, assuming that he's referring to the lingering effects of Hikaru's, well, passion. “Playing music like that - it is exhilarating.”
Hikaru tries not to wilt too obviously. He kisses Pavel's forehead, rubs his back.
“I'm glad you're happy,” he says, and it's true.
The days that follow are difficult, but Hikaru tries to tell himself to get over it, not to cling so desperately to his routine, his attempt at keeping order in his life despite allowing Pavel into it. The drums take up so much space, and Pavel's discarded clothes, songbooks, and junk food wrappers seem to occupy every inch of Hikaru's room that the drums do not. But even beyond the physical presence of the drums, there's the noise of them, which makes Hikaru feel like his head is being continually bashed against a wall. Even after it stops it still jars him, to the point where he doesn't have the stomach for passionate lovemaking, just for route fucking, Pavel limp beneath him, neither of them straining for kisses as their bodies slam together.
On the fourth day of the Giant Crab, as Hikaru has come to think of the drums, he arrives in his room and doesn't bother to greet Pavel, who is pounding away at them, clearly in need of full concentration. Hikaru sits at his desk, trying to recapture a thought process. He's so tired, and the drums are so loud. Even when they stop, the silence feels huge inside the room.
“Hikaru,” Pavel says. “Your little purple flower - the blossoms are falling off. Shouldn't you - haven't you noticed?”
“Oh - yeah,” Hikaru says, blinking heavily, rubbing at his eyes. He's leaning onto his desk, ready to put his head down and nap through his free time. He didn't even go to the gym after his shift, just sat in the meditation garden, dozing until Spock chastised him for mistaking meditation for napping.
“Can't you - do something?” Pavel asks. “The purple one is my favorite.”
“I'll try,” Hikaru says. The Purple Dawnflower is very sensitive, and he probably hasn't been mixing it's dust-based fertilizer properly; it requires a whistle-like puff of breath and a very precise application to the veins of the inner leaves.
That night, Hikaru falls asleep face-down while Pavel is brushing his teeth. Pavel nuzzles at Hikaru's neck when he comes to bed, and Hikaru considers passionate lovemaking, or even sluggish fucking, and ultimately decides that neither is possible. He feels like he's had drumsticks pounding against his back all day, or against his ears, his nerves still pricked by that harsh, echoing sound. Still, if it makes Pavel happy, Hikaru will live inside a snare drum.
The next day at work feels long, even though Hikaru got more sleep than he usually does. Pavel keeps sneaking looks at him while they're sitting together at the conn, and Hikaru keeps giving him shaky smiles. They have lunch together as usual, Hikaru poking at his protein-based, carbohydrate-complimented meal while Pavel tears into a pack of Cheetos and thumbs open a can of dangerously caffeinated soda.
“Your spiky plant looks a little gnarled,” Pavel says. “This morning - I noticed.”
“The Nettlebush?” Hikaru says. It's true that the spike have gotten out of control, much more quickly than he anticipated, as if they've been influenced by the chaotic molecules that Pavel's drumming seems to throw into the air. “Ah - maybe I should transfer it to the lab.”
“The lab?” Pavel is arranging his Cheetos into a flower-type pattern. His fingernails look more aggressively bitten-down than usual. “I thought you said you didn't trust the other botanists in the lab to look after your special plants?”
“I - well.” Hikaru blinks heavily, yawns. “If I can't commit to caring for it properly, I can't horde it for myself.”
“But - what - ”
“I've got to get a cup of coffee,” Hikaru says. “Do you want anything, while I'm up?”
Pavel stares at him for a long time, as if this is a difficult question to answer. His eyebrows are sloped, and Hikaru wants to ask what he's done wrong.
“No, nothing,” Pavel says. “Thank you.”
Pavel leaves their shift first, and Hikaru has another hour on the bridge. He thinks about going to the gym afterward, but he's too tired, though the idea of going back to his room and listening to Pavel's two hour drum solo isn't exactly tempting. He wanders the ship for awhile and ends up in the library, an antiquated but comforting concept. He finds an empty study carrel and sleeps with his head on the desk until a librarian who looks old enough to be a holdover from the original concept wakes him and tells him to read something or get out.
Hikaru's feet drag on the way back to his room. He remembers when finally finishing the day's chores was the highlight of his day, the way he would almost jog back to his room after dinner to find Pavel waiting for him, smiling from the bed and ready to tell him all about the argument over quantum diversity that he'd gotten into - and won, at least in his opinion - with some Vulcan who was twice his age. Hikaru braces himself instead for the sound of the drums, the unrelenting SLAM SLAM CRASH that must somehow translate into music that he's too close-minded to hear. He'll have to move his Nettlebush to the lab soon, before its spikes start tangling together.
He opens the door with his shoulders slightly raised, his jaw already tight. He doesn't hear the drums immediately, and perks up a bit, thinking he might have finally learned how to block them out, but when he looks up he finds that they're not there at all. Pavel is without his Giant Crab, sitting on Hikaru's bed and smiling at him sheepishly, his hands tucked into his lap.
“What - where are your drums?” Hikaru asks as the door slides shut behind him.
“I moved them to my room,” Pavel says. He gets off the bed and walks toward Hikaru slowly, almost nervously, his hands clasped behind his back now.
“I thought there was no room?” Hikaru asks. His heart is already pounding - the room has been neatened, Pavel's clothes no longer strewn across the floor, no snack wrappers littering the bedside table. He's moved the drums and straightened up out of politeness, out of pity, because he's decided he's leaving Hikaru, probably for a guitar player, or some other sort of man who would better compliment his needs.
“I got permission to move the bed out of my room,” Pavel says, one hand settling lightly on Hikaru's hip, the other still tucked behind his back. “Without the bed, the drum set fits perfectly. And I don't really need a bed - right? Because, I - because I'm always, ah. Going to sleep in yours - right?”
Hikaru can't believe how terrified Pavel looks, how he could possibly not know the answer to that question.
“Baby,” he says. He's never used this term outside of the deepest depths of passionate lovemaking, but it feels right now, and Pavel's eyes soften until Hikaru is afraid he'll cry. He never wants Pavel to cry because of him, because of anything, so he takes Pavel's face in his hands and cups his cheeks until he's just smiling up at Hikaru again.
“I'm sorry I took over your life,” Pavel says.
“Don't be,” Hikaru says, shaking his head. “It needed taking over, and you're the best thing in it.”
“Yes, but - ah, it's not fair. I don't want to change you, not even a little.” Pavel stands up on his tip toes and presses his nose to Hikaru's. “You're so perfect,” he says, and for a moment Hikaru is sure that he's the one who's said it, to Pavel.
“No -” he starts to say, because he's incomplete, always was before Pavel.
“Here,” Pavel says before Hikaru can get it out. He pushes a folded piece of red construction paper into Hikaru's hand. “I wrote this,” he says, staring Hikaru down as if daring him to question this statement. “For you. A poem.”
“A - wha - ”
“Just read it!” Pavel says, his cheeks blazing. “Though I promise you, it will be bad. I - you asked me what I wrote about when I was five years old, well, I wrote a love poem for my friend Sasha - foolishly! I was spoiled by my mother, she did not warn me that such things would be mocked!”
Pavel clams up then, and steps back. Hikaru stares at him for a moment, still stunned that the drums are gone, unable to begin to process the fact that he's holding a rough piece of construction paper that contains a poem Pavel wrote for him. When Pavel begins to again look like he'll cry, Hikaru forces himself to look down, to open the paper.
This is not a haiku
or a love song, Hikaru
I am not really smart enough to write those
but this took me two hours
I threw away eighteen drafts
and nothing is good enough
which is what made me so desperate to play music
or do anything
that would make me interesting enough
for you
I want to be your favorite plant
that you rush home to check
to see if I have blossomed yet
for you.
Hikaru reads it twice, his hands shaking. He looks up when he notices that Pavel is backing away from him slowly.
“I know it is bad!” Pavel blurts, sounding almost angry. “I never said I was an artist! I don't even want to learn the drums, really, I just like beating on them, freestyle! It is - what is - the word - cathartic?”
“Baby,” Hikaru says, because it feels like the only word he knows, coming out breathless and broken as he walks to Pavel, who crumples, his shoulders dropping. Hikaru picks him up off the ground, wholly, the red construction paper poem pressed between Pavel's shoulder blades as Hikaru holds him.
“You will always sleep in my bed,” Hikaru says, his eyes locked on Pavel's, unblinking, deeper than a kiss, a fuck, deeper even than passionate lovemaking. “Always. And you're already - God, you're my favorite - my - you're just my favorite, okay? Of everything.”
Pavel smiles slowly, and Hikaru can see that he believes him. Hikaru wants to blubber on further, to ask Pavel how he could possibly have thought that he isn't interesting, that he's anything but the flowering miracle that Hikaru is breathless to see at the end of every day, but Hikaru is no poet, so he just kisses Pavel, lowering him down onto the bed.
“I actually loved how sweaty you got,” Hikaru says as he pulls Pavel's shirt off. “After you'd beat the shit out of those drums.”
“You can make me sweaty in other ways,” Pavel says. He grins, pulls Hikaru down to him, and it's true, and messy, chaotic, somewhere between passionate lovemaking and wild fucking, perfectly disorganized.
//the end//