Quiet Comforts
Title: Quiet Comforts
Author: lieutenant_nona
Pairing: Scotty/Chekov
Rating: PG
Word count: 274
Prompt: Chekov gets homesick. Scotty comforts him. :3
Notes: Un-beta'd, and I try to write in character's accents if they have them.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The door to their shared room opened with a soft swish. Scotty entered the room with a violent shiver; the environmental controls set to a far lower temperature then standard. He braved the cold and came to their bed, smiling lovingly at his little Russian.
Chekov was wearing the black wool turtleneck sweater his sister had made him last shore leave, thick, comfortable sweets that he’d had for years now, the socks that his mother had knitted him, and the afghan that had been passed down to him from his grandmother on his father’s side. All the while flipping through and old photo album his whole family had come together to make for him.
He took a pull from the half empty bottle of vodka before he met his lovers stare, and sniffed miserably. He set the bottle on his bedside table before reaching forward to beckon the Scotsman to hold him. “I am missing Russia, Monty. I miss ze veather, ze people, ze food, ze drinks, my culture, and my family.”
He buried his face in Scotty’s neck and just breathed trying to pull himself out of his mood. Scotty laid his cheek on top of his curls ad rubbed his back soothingly. “Pasha, love, tell me ‘bout Russia. ‘Bout yer fam’ly, an' tell me some o' yer stories. Yer always talkin' 'bout yer sisters an' cousins.”
Chekov pulled back to meet the engineers warm gaze, before breaking into a watery smile and kissing his cheek.
They re-arranged themselves, Scotty laying against the headboard, with Chekov leaning against his broad chest, showing him all of his photos of his beloved homeland and family.
Author: lieutenant_nona
Pairing: Scotty/Chekov
Rating: PG
Word count: 274
Prompt: Chekov gets homesick. Scotty comforts him. :3
Notes: Un-beta'd, and I try to write in character's accents if they have them.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
The door to their shared room opened with a soft swish. Scotty entered the room with a violent shiver; the environmental controls set to a far lower temperature then standard. He braved the cold and came to their bed, smiling lovingly at his little Russian.
Chekov was wearing the black wool turtleneck sweater his sister had made him last shore leave, thick, comfortable sweets that he’d had for years now, the socks that his mother had knitted him, and the afghan that had been passed down to him from his grandmother on his father’s side. All the while flipping through and old photo album his whole family had come together to make for him.
He took a pull from the half empty bottle of vodka before he met his lovers stare, and sniffed miserably. He set the bottle on his bedside table before reaching forward to beckon the Scotsman to hold him. “I am missing Russia, Monty. I miss ze veather, ze people, ze food, ze drinks, my culture, and my family.”
He buried his face in Scotty’s neck and just breathed trying to pull himself out of his mood. Scotty laid his cheek on top of his curls ad rubbed his back soothingly. “Pasha, love, tell me ‘bout Russia. ‘Bout yer fam’ly, an' tell me some o' yer stories. Yer always talkin' 'bout yer sisters an' cousins.”
Chekov pulled back to meet the engineers warm gaze, before breaking into a watery smile and kissing his cheek.
They re-arranged themselves, Scotty laying against the headboard, with Chekov leaning against his broad chest, showing him all of his photos of his beloved homeland and family.