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silverfoxflowerTitle: On Warp Theory, Hickies, and Seduction
Author:![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=3)
silverfoxflower
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Genre: PWP, Slash, Humor
Word Count: ~1700
Pairing: Scotty/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None, really, other than sex.
Notes: Fills a double line extra (Collars and Teasing) on my![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif?v=3)
kink_bingo.
Summary: Pretty much the title :D
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn
"Where is everyone?" Chekov peeked his head into the tube.
“Left. Said it’s too cold.” Scotty sniffled, his voice ringing. “Had ta knock the climate controls so they wouldn’t destabilize as we worked. Even Keeser’s abandoned me.” Which was not terribly surprising, given that the choice was between hammering the Jefferies back into working order and shoreleave on tropical Sarona VIII. Scotty had been forced to remain behind, since it was most likely his yet-unconfirmed still which had caused the explosion in the tubes. Chekov was helping him out of intellectual curiosity and a strong sense of friendship, definitely not because Nurse Chapel had drunkenly cornered him the other night, sucking a line of sloppy hickies on his neck, and now he was scrambling to avoid her.
“Is not so bad.” Chekov said, tugging on the collar of his turtleneck. The Keptin had advised he would need something like this after the events of last night’s party. In retrospect, Chekov suspected that Kirk had been teasing him. “In Russia, much colder.”
“Well, it’s still enough to remind me of that hellhole, Delta Vega.” Scotty shuddered, “Hand me the interphasic coil spanner, lad.”
Chekov reached for the toolbox. It took a bit of time to find what he was looking for, seeing as how the contents were not arranged according to any system he recognized and the box was half-filled with sandwiches. When he finally found the spanner with a cry of triumph, Chekov turned, only to find Scotty staring at him.
“Meester Scott?” Chekov asked.
“Ah … thank you.” Scotty’s shoulders were hunched up to his ears, and he might have been blushing, but it was hard to tell with the cold. He took the spanner and attacked the bolts on the dented ceiling as if they were the root of all of his problems.
Chekov blinked and returned to carefully removing the pieces of metal that had melted onto the walls. Monotonous work. It wasn’t long before Scotty began rambling about his new equations on warp theory, which, in turn, sparked a lively debate which Chekov felt assured he would win.
“No, no, the formula doesn’t account for the deviation of movement across time and space,” Chekov was saying, when he caught Scotty’s eyes flickering to his neck.
“Only time is relevant, space is a mathematical constant.” Scotty replied, and there it was again, the sneaky look. And then Scotty’s hand reached up and rubbed at his own neck.
Chekov wasn’t stupid. He was, in fact, a boy genius with a healthy sexual curiosity and perhaps a teeny, tiny crush on Chief Engineer Scott. Struggling not to wriggle with excitement, Chekov dragged his tongue along his lower lip and feigned great interest in welding. A bit later, he casually tugged down his collar. In the following five minutes he counted seven glances from Scotty, three outright stares, and one dropped tool from distraction. The last happened when Chekov had nonchalantly declared that it was a bit hot and stripped off his turtleneck, leaving on nothing but a thin t-shirt.
“Is there something wrong, Meester Scott?” Chekov asked finally, watching the other man flush bright red. Despite the feeling of excited triumph sparking through his system, Chekov was under no illusion that his skin was the exact shame shade of nervous awkwardness. But his hypothesis was correct! Meester Scott did have a thing for his neck!
“Ach,” Scotty gestured emptily at his own collar, an embarrassed smile on his face. “Ya have a bit of fun last night?”
“Oh.” Chekov’s face dawned with recognition, and he moaned as he turned and examined himself in the shiniest part of the metal wall. “Oh no!”
“Ach, it’s no big deal, lad. Somethin’ to be proud of, even.” Scotty said. The handful of bolts made dull clicking noises as he rolled them around his palm. “Was she pretty?”
Immediately, Chekov opened his mouth to tell the truth. After all, it was a funny story and Scotty would probably laugh in the way that made Chekov’s stomach do flips. But something daring and hopelessly smitten made him say breathlessly. “Actually, it was he.”
“Was what now?” Scotty dropped his coil spanner again, with a loud, echoing clang down the length of the tube. With a blush and an apology, he scrambled to pick it up, only to find that Chekov had grabbed it first.
“He.” Chekov handed over the spanner with a bright smile and a furious blush. Inside, he was squirming with excitement. Of course he would be a prodigy at seduction, just like he was at everything else! “This man, he, uh, took me very hard last night.”
“Of course he did.” Scotty said, and his voice bore a strange similarity to that of a helium balloon deflating.
“Would you see if the marks are very bad?” Chekov stepped closer hesitantly. Or perhaps he should be aggressive? He took another step forwards, backing Scotty into the wall.
“Uh …” Scotty blinked several times, and the bolts joined the spanner, trickling through his fingers and pinging onto the floor. He opened and closed his mouth but no words came out. In fact, he was silent for so long that Chekov began to worry.
Then he remembered the move an actress had tried in his favorite holo. Chekov glanced down, then looked up again through his eyelashes. “I don’t,” He made his voice huskier to cover his tremor and decided the liked the sound. “I don’t want bridge crew to see. They will think I am … unprofessional.” Chekov held his breath. Meester Scott looked like he was panicking and Chekov didn’t want to be pushed away. Not when he was so close.
Scotty licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Are you? U-unprofessional?”
Yes! Chekov allowed himself a small smile. “Maybe.” Then he waited, just leaning into Scotty’s space, close enough to feel the heat of his body and see the trembling in his eyelashes. The nerves in Chekov’s body were not accustomed to standing still, they wanted to leap and run and cover Meester Scott’s face with kisses, but he reigned himself in, waiting for the other man’s decision.
“God, Chekov,” Scotty shook his head as if rescinding all responsibility, before hauling Chekov forward by the forearms. They met for a sloppy, frantic kiss, teeth clashing and trouble getting tongues in the right places.
Chekov felt Scotty’s fingers tugging his shirt upwards, and allowed it, the rush of cool air over his bare skin raising goosebumps. When Chekov’s fingers began fumbling at the fastenings to Scotty’s coat, however, the older man began to whine.
“Too cold,” he nipped at Chekov’s bottom lip in apology, moving him a couple steps away from the scattered tools and twisted metal until he found a smooth piece of wall to press the boy’s back against. The impact caused a dull, ringing, vibration to tremble through Chekov’s bones, but he smiled because Scotty had positioned him near the warp core engine, and the heat from the machinery made the metal warm to the touch. “You like it?” Scotty asked earnestly, dispelling any thought that the movement was coincidental. “It’s like the heart of the ol’ girl, you can feel ‘er-“
Chekov leaned forward and kissed Scotty before he could turn a sweet gesture into a threesome with the Enterprise. Scotty’s hands ran over his skin enthusiastically, grabbing at his shoulders and sides, shyly thumbing Chekov’s nipples as he made desperate, enthusiastic sounds. It seemed rather one-sided that Scotty was the only one allowed to touch, and all Chekov could do was grab at his coat, feel the rough outline of the man inside.
The Jefferies rang obscenely loudly with their moans, which would have made Chekov blush if there was any possibility of an audience. “Meester Scott,” Chekov rolled his hips forward, hoping the other man could take a hint because his genius brain was too scrambled to find the right words in Standard. Russian, he could do, and as Scotty clumsily unbuttoned both of their pants, Chekov encouraged him with dirty words and lines ripped straight from bad pornographic halos, all the things he would never be able to say in a language his partner understood. As it was, he still couldn’t help blushing to the roots of his curly hair.
“God, Chekov,” Scotty groaned as he clasped both of their cocks together. He jacked them messy and rough and awkward, like their kiss, making Chekov whine as he felt every one of Scotty’s callouses rubbing against his sensitive cockhead. But it was good, so good, so different from the way he shyly groped himself at night. Chekov let his head fall back against the wall for a second to catch his breath, but then he had to look down, see the head of his cock pressed against Scotty’s and both of them disappearing into Scotty’s clenched fist.
Chekov slung his legs around Scotty’s waist, trusting the wall and the muscle he knew was under that coat to keep him steady as he began to rock and grind, leaning forward to taste Scotty’s mouth as much as he could, until they were breathing the same air. Then, he was coming hard and coming fast, wailing as Scotty’s hand gave a final twist that broke Chekov apart from the inside out.
“Oh God,” Scotty panted his own orgasm into Chekov’s shoulder. Chekov blinked, looking down to see his abs and Scotty’s jacket splattered with semen. His entire body felt limp, like it was about to slide right off the wall, but his mind made a valiant effort to gather together the pleasure-wasted pieces of itself that had been blown apart by orgasm.
“Was good?” Chekov questioned sleepily, as soon as he remembered the polite question to ask one’s sex partners post-coitus.
“Yeah, yeah.” Scotty dragged him down gently and they sprawled next to each other on the ground. The tube still rang with their cries. “Was … wow. Yeah.” He stared at the ceiling and wiped his hand on his sleeve.
Chekov laughed shyly, and Scotty smiled as he brushed a quick kiss to Chekov’s cheek, running lingering fingers along his nape. “I have … something to confess, Meester Scott.”
“Mmmm?” Scotty unbuttoned his jacket, perhaps to drape it over Chekov's bare chest, but, naturally, Chekov the better idea of climbing onto Scotty's lap and burrowing into his chest.
“What I said before, about the marks, and … ah, being taken hard?” Chekov looked up nervously, his fingers tapping over Scotty's heartbeat. “Is not true.”
“Ach,” Scotty’s smile was forgiving as he leaned down to kiss at the side of Chekov’s neck. “Would you like it to be?”
Author:
silverfoxflower Fandom: Star Trek XI
Genre: PWP, Slash, Humor
Word Count: ~1700
Pairing: Scotty/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None, really, other than sex.
Notes: Fills a double line extra (Collars and Teasing) on my
kink_bingo.Summary: Pretty much the title :D
Disclaimer: No ownership was claimed in the making of this porn
"Where is everyone?" Chekov peeked his head into the tube.
“Left. Said it’s too cold.” Scotty sniffled, his voice ringing. “Had ta knock the climate controls so they wouldn’t destabilize as we worked. Even Keeser’s abandoned me.” Which was not terribly surprising, given that the choice was between hammering the Jefferies back into working order and shoreleave on tropical Sarona VIII. Scotty had been forced to remain behind, since it was most likely his yet-unconfirmed still which had caused the explosion in the tubes. Chekov was helping him out of intellectual curiosity and a strong sense of friendship, definitely not because Nurse Chapel had drunkenly cornered him the other night, sucking a line of sloppy hickies on his neck, and now he was scrambling to avoid her.
“Is not so bad.” Chekov said, tugging on the collar of his turtleneck. The Keptin had advised he would need something like this after the events of last night’s party. In retrospect, Chekov suspected that Kirk had been teasing him. “In Russia, much colder.”
“Well, it’s still enough to remind me of that hellhole, Delta Vega.” Scotty shuddered, “Hand me the interphasic coil spanner, lad.”
Chekov reached for the toolbox. It took a bit of time to find what he was looking for, seeing as how the contents were not arranged according to any system he recognized and the box was half-filled with sandwiches. When he finally found the spanner with a cry of triumph, Chekov turned, only to find Scotty staring at him.
“Meester Scott?” Chekov asked.
“Ah … thank you.” Scotty’s shoulders were hunched up to his ears, and he might have been blushing, but it was hard to tell with the cold. He took the spanner and attacked the bolts on the dented ceiling as if they were the root of all of his problems.
Chekov blinked and returned to carefully removing the pieces of metal that had melted onto the walls. Monotonous work. It wasn’t long before Scotty began rambling about his new equations on warp theory, which, in turn, sparked a lively debate which Chekov felt assured he would win.
“No, no, the formula doesn’t account for the deviation of movement across time and space,” Chekov was saying, when he caught Scotty’s eyes flickering to his neck.
“Only time is relevant, space is a mathematical constant.” Scotty replied, and there it was again, the sneaky look. And then Scotty’s hand reached up and rubbed at his own neck.
Chekov wasn’t stupid. He was, in fact, a boy genius with a healthy sexual curiosity and perhaps a teeny, tiny crush on Chief Engineer Scott. Struggling not to wriggle with excitement, Chekov dragged his tongue along his lower lip and feigned great interest in welding. A bit later, he casually tugged down his collar. In the following five minutes he counted seven glances from Scotty, three outright stares, and one dropped tool from distraction. The last happened when Chekov had nonchalantly declared that it was a bit hot and stripped off his turtleneck, leaving on nothing but a thin t-shirt.
“Is there something wrong, Meester Scott?” Chekov asked finally, watching the other man flush bright red. Despite the feeling of excited triumph sparking through his system, Chekov was under no illusion that his skin was the exact shame shade of nervous awkwardness. But his hypothesis was correct! Meester Scott did have a thing for his neck!
“Ach,” Scotty gestured emptily at his own collar, an embarrassed smile on his face. “Ya have a bit of fun last night?”
“Oh.” Chekov’s face dawned with recognition, and he moaned as he turned and examined himself in the shiniest part of the metal wall. “Oh no!”
“Ach, it’s no big deal, lad. Somethin’ to be proud of, even.” Scotty said. The handful of bolts made dull clicking noises as he rolled them around his palm. “Was she pretty?”
Immediately, Chekov opened his mouth to tell the truth. After all, it was a funny story and Scotty would probably laugh in the way that made Chekov’s stomach do flips. But something daring and hopelessly smitten made him say breathlessly. “Actually, it was he.”
“Was what now?” Scotty dropped his coil spanner again, with a loud, echoing clang down the length of the tube. With a blush and an apology, he scrambled to pick it up, only to find that Chekov had grabbed it first.
“He.” Chekov handed over the spanner with a bright smile and a furious blush. Inside, he was squirming with excitement. Of course he would be a prodigy at seduction, just like he was at everything else! “This man, he, uh, took me very hard last night.”
“Of course he did.” Scotty said, and his voice bore a strange similarity to that of a helium balloon deflating.
“Would you see if the marks are very bad?” Chekov stepped closer hesitantly. Or perhaps he should be aggressive? He took another step forwards, backing Scotty into the wall.
“Uh …” Scotty blinked several times, and the bolts joined the spanner, trickling through his fingers and pinging onto the floor. He opened and closed his mouth but no words came out. In fact, he was silent for so long that Chekov began to worry.
Then he remembered the move an actress had tried in his favorite holo. Chekov glanced down, then looked up again through his eyelashes. “I don’t,” He made his voice huskier to cover his tremor and decided the liked the sound. “I don’t want bridge crew to see. They will think I am … unprofessional.” Chekov held his breath. Meester Scott looked like he was panicking and Chekov didn’t want to be pushed away. Not when he was so close.
Scotty licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “Are you? U-unprofessional?”
Yes! Chekov allowed himself a small smile. “Maybe.” Then he waited, just leaning into Scotty’s space, close enough to feel the heat of his body and see the trembling in his eyelashes. The nerves in Chekov’s body were not accustomed to standing still, they wanted to leap and run and cover Meester Scott’s face with kisses, but he reigned himself in, waiting for the other man’s decision.
“God, Chekov,” Scotty shook his head as if rescinding all responsibility, before hauling Chekov forward by the forearms. They met for a sloppy, frantic kiss, teeth clashing and trouble getting tongues in the right places.
Chekov felt Scotty’s fingers tugging his shirt upwards, and allowed it, the rush of cool air over his bare skin raising goosebumps. When Chekov’s fingers began fumbling at the fastenings to Scotty’s coat, however, the older man began to whine.
“Too cold,” he nipped at Chekov’s bottom lip in apology, moving him a couple steps away from the scattered tools and twisted metal until he found a smooth piece of wall to press the boy’s back against. The impact caused a dull, ringing, vibration to tremble through Chekov’s bones, but he smiled because Scotty had positioned him near the warp core engine, and the heat from the machinery made the metal warm to the touch. “You like it?” Scotty asked earnestly, dispelling any thought that the movement was coincidental. “It’s like the heart of the ol’ girl, you can feel ‘er-“
Chekov leaned forward and kissed Scotty before he could turn a sweet gesture into a threesome with the Enterprise. Scotty’s hands ran over his skin enthusiastically, grabbing at his shoulders and sides, shyly thumbing Chekov’s nipples as he made desperate, enthusiastic sounds. It seemed rather one-sided that Scotty was the only one allowed to touch, and all Chekov could do was grab at his coat, feel the rough outline of the man inside.
The Jefferies rang obscenely loudly with their moans, which would have made Chekov blush if there was any possibility of an audience. “Meester Scott,” Chekov rolled his hips forward, hoping the other man could take a hint because his genius brain was too scrambled to find the right words in Standard. Russian, he could do, and as Scotty clumsily unbuttoned both of their pants, Chekov encouraged him with dirty words and lines ripped straight from bad pornographic halos, all the things he would never be able to say in a language his partner understood. As it was, he still couldn’t help blushing to the roots of his curly hair.
“God, Chekov,” Scotty groaned as he clasped both of their cocks together. He jacked them messy and rough and awkward, like their kiss, making Chekov whine as he felt every one of Scotty’s callouses rubbing against his sensitive cockhead. But it was good, so good, so different from the way he shyly groped himself at night. Chekov let his head fall back against the wall for a second to catch his breath, but then he had to look down, see the head of his cock pressed against Scotty’s and both of them disappearing into Scotty’s clenched fist.
Chekov slung his legs around Scotty’s waist, trusting the wall and the muscle he knew was under that coat to keep him steady as he began to rock and grind, leaning forward to taste Scotty’s mouth as much as he could, until they were breathing the same air. Then, he was coming hard and coming fast, wailing as Scotty’s hand gave a final twist that broke Chekov apart from the inside out.
“Oh God,” Scotty panted his own orgasm into Chekov’s shoulder. Chekov blinked, looking down to see his abs and Scotty’s jacket splattered with semen. His entire body felt limp, like it was about to slide right off the wall, but his mind made a valiant effort to gather together the pleasure-wasted pieces of itself that had been blown apart by orgasm.
“Was good?” Chekov questioned sleepily, as soon as he remembered the polite question to ask one’s sex partners post-coitus.
“Yeah, yeah.” Scotty dragged him down gently and they sprawled next to each other on the ground. The tube still rang with their cries. “Was … wow. Yeah.” He stared at the ceiling and wiped his hand on his sleeve.
Chekov laughed shyly, and Scotty smiled as he brushed a quick kiss to Chekov’s cheek, running lingering fingers along his nape. “I have … something to confess, Meester Scott.”
“Mmmm?” Scotty unbuttoned his jacket, perhaps to drape it over Chekov's bare chest, but, naturally, Chekov the better idea of climbing onto Scotty's lap and burrowing into his chest.
“What I said before, about the marks, and … ah, being taken hard?” Chekov looked up nervously, his fingers tapping over Scotty's heartbeat. “Is not true.”
“Ach,” Scotty’s smile was forgiving as he leaned down to kiss at the side of Chekov’s neck. “Would you like it to be?”
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