Entry tags:

star trek

Star Trek 2009: McCoy/Chekov NC-17
Title: You Got Me Into This, Information Overload Situation Lost Control
Fandom: Star Trek 2009. It could be Star Trek TOS, but then it wouldn’t be these two GQMFs.
Disclaimer: I’m not Gene Roddenberry, JJ Abrams, or anybody else who ever had a part in Star Trek. And I’m not claiming them as my own.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Leonard McCoy/Pavel Chekov
Warnings: Chekov may still be seventeen in this story, I haven’t decided. Takes place after the movie but there are no spoilers for the movie.
Summary: The crew is on leave on Tellar Prime when Chekov throws Scotty’s scotch on a Tellarite. When he then proceeds to get punched in the face, McCoy, who had been hoping for an actual vacation, has to heal his ass. Chekov sees it as an opening to finally bring up the subject of them having sex together.


Chekov raised his hand to Scotty, nodding as he tipped his glass to clink against his. “Budem zdorovy,” he cheered, bringing his drink to his mouth.

Scotty looked at Chekov, slightly confused, mouth open. “Ah, yes,” he nodded. He mumbled indiscernibly, “to you too. Slainte mhath, my little Russian friend!” Scotty tipped his drink backsighing in pleasure when he finished drinking it down. Scotty squinted, reaching out to take Chekov’s glass from him, examining the vodka inside. “What, what it is, exactly? Only looks like water. I know you’re young but I thought you were still a man.”

Chekov took his glass back from Scotty quickly, downing the rest of it. “In Russia, only little old women drink scotch, Mister Scott.”

Scotty shrugged, lifting his glass up to his eye, frowning as he looked at the empty bottom. “From what I hear, Mister Chekov, the Russian women are a little manlier than the men.” He set his glass back down and picked up the half-empty bottle of scotch. “Can I offer you something that will put a little hair on your chest?” He tipped the bottle over Chekov’s glass to pour, but Chekov quickly pushed his glass out of the way.

“Thank you, Mister Scott,” Chekov said politely, if not annoyed, “but I am very happy with-”

“Oh, come on now!” Scotty protested, following Chekov’s glass over the table, still reading to pour. “Just a little bit for ya, won’t hurt nothing.”

“Try the vodka then,” Chekov suggested, keeping his glass out of Scotty’s reach.

Scotty sputtered, shaking his head in disgust, and pushed himself up. Chekov reached out to his glass again but before he could cover it or move it away, Scotty managed to pour the brown liquid into the shot. “Aha!” he cheered in success, sitting back down. “Now, no man could possibly deny the-”

Chekov picked up his glass and thrust it over his shoulder, throwing the liquid behind him.

Scotty’s mouth fell open and he stared past Chekov in disbelief.

Chekov smirked proudly and heavily dropped his glass on the table in front of him. As Scotty continued to stare, Chekov laughed softly. “Mister Scott, it’s just scotch.”

Scotty shook his head. Chekov frowned and glanced behind him, all expression fading from his face. The Tellarite stood behind him, the top of his head wet with scotch running down his face and snout in tiny rivulets. “Oh,” was the only thing Chekov could say, jumping in his seat when the Tellarite stomped forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” the alien demanded angrily, nostrils flaring. “We allow you onto our planet and you insult us by throwing your drinks around?”

Chekov shook his head. “I was trying to insult Mister Scott, not you.”

“Hey!” Scotty protested.

“Well,” Chekov shrugged quietly.

“Stand up and fight like a man,” the Tellarite demanded.

“If he stands up,” Scotty began, “I think he may have a sizable advantage over you, sir.” His mouth shut and his eyes widened when the Tellarite’s glare shifted to him. “Ah, perhaps you should stand up and fight the man, Chekov.”

Chekov slowly pushed his chair back, stumbling slightly over the chair leg as he stood. “I won’t fight you, but I will offer an apology.”

Kirk grinned and turned around on his stool, leaning back on his elbows on the bar. He brought his drink up and quickly shot it down. He gasped and reached out, clasping onto McCoy’s shoulder. “This is what it’s about, Bones.”

McCoy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, jerking his shoulder away from Kirk. “Drinking yourself into a goddamn stupor and ending up in my sickbay tomorrow worried you’ve come down with some sexually transmitted alien infection.”

Kirk laughed once and grinned. “You always say that like it’s a bad thing.” He tilted his head back, raising his hand. “Uh, three more over here,” he said to the bartender. He looked back at McCoy. “You want anything?”

“I’m fine,” McCoy gritted, looking around the bar. He straightened up and sighed, looking at Kirk. “Do you plan on doing any captaining on this trip?”

Kirk shrugged. “I think we’re adults here, Bones. And I’m always captaining. I’m Captain. It’s a permanent thing.” He picked up one his shots, clinking it against an imaginary glass in the air.

McCoy sighed heavily, reaching back to snatch one of Kirk’s shots off the bar. “Since you’ve got more experience in bar fights, how about I play back-up on this one?”

“What are you talking about, Bones?” Kirk asked, shaking his head.

McCoy stood up and grabbed onto Kirk’s arm, jerking him off the stool. He led Kirk over to the fight he had noticed earlier, thrusting him into the middle of it.

Chekov immediately straightened up, arms by his side. “Captain,” he said, nodding once.

“So, what’s uh, what’s going on here?” Kirk asked, looking back and forth between Chekov and the Tellarite.

“I tried to apologize, Captain,” Chekov explained, “but-”

“Apologize for what?” Kirk interrupted.

“Your little boy threw his drink on me,” the Tellarite man replied to Kirk. “I demanded that he fight me.” He raised his slightly hoof-like hand up to the Russian, trying to get at his face again.

Chekov stumbled back, hitting the table.

“Alright, alright,” Kirk said, raising his hand between them. He thought for a moment, looked at the alien, then Chekov, then Scotty who was nursing the scotch bottle. “You know what?” he said, his words starting to slur and McCoy sighed when Kirk swayed on his feet. “I think that I might just puke. Chekov, handle this.”

“Captain!” Chekov protested, pushing himself up to stand again.

“What?” Kirk asked. He patted Chekov on the shoulder, leaning down to his ear. “They’re like little pigs anyway,” he murmured drunkenly, “you’ll be fine.” He grinned and straightened up, starting off towards the bathroom.

McCoy scowled as Kirk walked by him, shaking his head. The Tellarite moved closer to Chekov, bringing his fist back. He waited another moment before he sighed and reached out, grabbing onto Chekov as the Tellarite swung. He jerked him out of the way, pulling him from the table. “Goddamn it, Jim, I’m a doctor, not a baby-sitter.” Following after Kirk, he kept pulling Chekov with him until he realized it. He stopped walking, let go of his arm and clasped his hands onto his shoulders. “As the medical officer chiefly responsible for your health--”

Chekov shook his head. “Nyet, he did not hit me,” he assured him, assuming that McCoy was about to offer him medical advice.

“I’m ordering you to get your ass back to the Enterprise,” McCoy finished with a command, letting go of him and following after Kirk again.

“Oh,” Chekov said quietly, slightly disappointed, watching McCoy walk away. He looked up when Scotty appeared beside him, holding his bottle up to his mouth.

“I think the Captain handled that well,” Scotty said, looking back at Chekov. “Are you going back to the ship?”

Chekov looked at McCoy again, then shook his head. “Nyet,” he replied. Scotty and Chekov turned together back to their table. Chekov cried out as the fist hit his face. “Bozhe moy!” he muttered as the pain radiated from his nose to the rest of his head.

“Where’s your captain now?” the Tellarite demanded.

“Uh, I think he went to the toilet,” Scotty said, sticking his thumb up over his shoulder, showing the Tellarite the direction.

Chekov wavered on his feet as he bent over and clutched at his head.

Scotty moved his arm around Chekov, holding onto him. “Are we done here now?” he asked, and the Tellarite nodded once before storming off. “Christ kiddie, let me look at what he did to ya!”

Chekov lifted his head, blood from his nose flowing freely onto his hands. Scotty flinched, hiding the look of disgust on his face by looking around for the doctor.

“You just let me go find somebody to take care of that, eh?” Scotty asked, stepping back. “Looks fine, hardly a mark.” He jogged after McCoy, who was back to sitting at the bar. “Ah, doctor? A moment, please?”

“Goddamnit,” McCoy muttered, slamming down his shot glass before turning around in his seat. “What is it now?” he demanded.

“Ah,” Scotty was breathing heavily, “Chekov…the fist got him right in the nose. He’s bleeding all over the place.” McCoy stared at Scotty, apparently waiting for him to continue. “I’m sorry, are you not on duty?”

“I was hoping I’d have a night off,” McCoy explained, climbing off the stool, “but I guess I can just never be that lucky.” As he moved through the small crowd of people he could see Chekov sitting at the table, hand squeezing his nose. “Leave it to Jim to let you try and fight,” he muttered, sitting down beside Chekov, taking his hand away from his face. He squeezed Chekov’s nose.

“Ow!” Chekov cried, flinching back.

“It’s not broke,” McCoy assured him, “and since you don’t appear to be bleeding to death, I can safely assess that you’re going to be fine.” He looked down at his hand, now smudged with Chekov’s blood and frowned. “Wash up and pinch it until the bleeding stops.” He stood back up, letting Chekov put his hand back to his face.

“That is it?” Chekov asked in surprise, looking up.

He turned his head to Scotty. “You couldn’t have fixed it yourself?” McCoy asked quietly. He looked back to Chekov. “You start picking bone fragments out of your nostril or the bleeding won’t quit, you find me. Until then, it’s not an emergency. I've been cleaning up after bar fights my whole career and this ain’t nothing.”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov nodded obediently, sighing as he shifted in his seat, his arm getting tired.

*          *          *          *

Chekov looked around the bar that appeared to have it hit its peak hour with patrons. He quickly looked away when he saw the Tellarite still glaring angrily at him, and he decided to stand up. He walked away from his table and kept an eye out for anybody left from the Enterprise crew. He headed towards the bar, halting and looking around awkwardly when he saw McCoy still there, drinking. He didn’t plan on bothering the doctor, but he assumed any attempt at conversation would be a bother after how annoyed he was after his nosebleed. He turned his direction to the other end of the bar, sitting down on one of the stools.

McCoy saw Chekov move out of the corner of his eye, hunched slightly over the bar. He sighed and turned in his chair, looking past the two other customers at the bar to look at Chekov. “Kid!” he called out after a moment’s debate.

Chekov lifted his head, looking at McCoy. He straightened up quickly and stepped off his stool. “Aye, Doctor.”

McCoy sighed heavily and waved Chekov over, glancing at the empty stool beside him.

Chekov hurried over to the doctor and sat down, smiling brightly up at him. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“How’s the nose?” McCoy asked, turning back to face the bar, picking up his glass.

“Very good, sir,” Chekov nodded, “thank you.”

“Great,” McCoy muttered, taking a drink.

“Did the captain leave?” Chekov asked, turning on his stool to look around.

“I wouldn’t be giving away his seat if he didn’t,” McCoy remarked.

“Ah,” Chekov said quietly, nodding. “Do you want me to buy you a drink?” he asked suddenly, looking over at McCoy, spinning on his stool, going back to facing the bar from facing the crowd.

McCoy scoffed, picking up his shot. “I don’t need you to buy a drink for me,” he snapped, bringing it up to his mouth, the strong alcohol a relief.

Without hesitation, Chekov continued, “will you buy a drink for me?” he asked hopefully.

McCoy took the glass away from his mouth, looking down at for a moment before setting it down on the bar and gesturing to the bartender. When another shot appeared, Chekov eagerly reached out to take it from him, licking his lips before drinking. “I thought I was too goddamn old for anything else to surprise me,” he muttered, watching Chekov’s neck as he threw the shot back.

Chekov gasped as he took the glass away, eyes opening. He coughed once , clearing his throat. “I prefer vodka,” he said, wincing as he swallowed hard, the taste McCoy’s alcohol still lingering in his throat.

“You got a point here, kid, or are you just planning on making me angry and drunk?”

“I think you would have a good time in my room,” Chekov suggested.

“What?” McCoy asked loudly, jerking his head towards Chekov.

“On the ship,” Chekov explained. McCoy continued to stare at Chekov, who shrugged. “Your room?” he corrected.

“How hard did that alien hit you, Ensign?” McCoy asked. He reached out to grab onto Chekov’s chin, making him face him to look into his eyes. “I don’t think you got a concussion.”

Chekov smiled and shook his head, looking down at McCoy’s hand. “I feel fine,” he replied. “I understand, Doctor, I never brought it up before because I did not know--”

“You’ve thought about this before?” McCoy interrupted in surprise.

“Da,” Chekov nodded eagerly, “and since you are here alone and I am now here alone and you invited me to sit with you and--”

“And you’re too young,” McCoy snapped. “Or I’m too old,” he finished quietly.

“I do not think so,” Chekov assured him, but he climbed off the stool anyway. “Thank you for the drink, Doctor. Dasvidania.” He walked away from the bar, moving through and around the small groups of people towards the exit.

McCoy sighed and quickly raised his hand for another shot. “Thanks,” he said, throwing it back and standing up. He walked out of the bar, straightening up when he saw Chekov standing feet away, his communicator up by his mouth. He cleared his throat and walked over, standing by Chekov. “We’re ready, Enterprise,” he said.

Chekov looked up in surprise. “Beam us up,” he finished.

*          *          *          *

The sound of Chekov’s door opening made McCoy open his eyes and pull back from their kiss long enough to usher the two of them into the room. The door closed behind them and the kiss began again, McCoy gripping the sides of Chekov’s head tightly, fingers dug into his curls and tilting his head back.

Chekov smiled against McCoy’s lips, licking his way into his mouth. He pulled back, laughing softly. “You taste like the alcohol,” he admitted, kissing him again.

“Expect it regularly,” McCoy said, giving Chekov’s room one quick look before pulling off his shirt, dropping it then moving to grasp onto Chekov’s.

Chekov took over, pulling off his own shirt, giving McCoy the time to get his pants down off his hips. Chekov dropped his shirt as he dropped down to the floor, shifting on his knees in front of McCoy.

McCoy swallowed hard, taking a sharp breath when Chekov’s fingertips curled around the top of his briefs and started tugging them down along with his slacks. “You don’t need to do that, kid,” he assured him quietly, halfheartedly.

“You do not want it?” Chekov looked up in surprise.

“Not what I said,” McCoy replied, giving the room another look to try and distract himself from the fact that the kid on his knees was, in fact, practically a kid, but the mementos from home and family scattered on the desk and shelves weren’t helping. He groaned as Chekov’s mouth moved over the head of his dick, sucking gently. He let out a heavy breath and his fingers went back to his hair, tightening when Chekov sucked a little harder.

Chekov moved his mouth down, licking lightly and sucking. He moaned as he himself became more aroused, his own dick pressed tightly against the fabric of his briefs and pants. He opened his eyes, batting them when he saw McCoy watching him. He smiled as he pulled back, a line of spit connecting them. “Will you call me Pavel?”

“Holy hell I’ll call you whatever you want,” McCoy assured him hurriedly. He cleared his throat and looked away, finding time to be slightly embarrassed after that as Chekov licked his lips and moved down the full length again. McCoy swallowed hard and gently tugged on the hair at the nape of Chekov’s neck.

Chekov pulled off, breathing heavily, chest heaving as he looked up at McCoy with darkened eyes and swollen lips. “Yes?” he asked, moving back in surprise when McCoy slowly got down on his knees in front of him, pulling him in for a kiss. Chekov laid his hands on McCoy’s chest, moving them up through the dark hair and over the lean muscles to rest on the curve of his shoulders.

McCoy broke the kiss and reached down, undoing Chekov’s pants. Chekov’s breath quickened and his mouth fell to McCoy’s neck when his hand found his cock in his briefs, starting to jerk him slowly. McCoy groaned and tilted his head to the side, giving Chekov more room as he continued to move his hand. “God k-- Pavel,” he groaned, releasing Chekov and moving his hands back to grip tightly at his ass. Chekov lifted himself off the backs of his ankles, straightening up and McCoy went to work at tugging his pants off his hips. Chekov struggled slightly to push himself up, his pants falling down. McCoy looked up at him as he pulled them down the rest of the way, his lips and teeth going to Chekov’s thighs as Chekov stepped out of the fabric.

Chekov closed his eyes and cupped McCoy’s head, breathing quickly as his mouth moved closer to his full, heavy dick, now free of his briefs. “Please, Doctor,” he breathed, starting to waver on his feet.

“Get on the bed,” McCoy commanded, jerking his head over in the direction of Chekov’s mattress.

Chekov nodded jerkily, stumbling back a step or two, “yes, sir,” he said, looking behind him to make sure he knew where he was headed. He dropped to the mattress, pushing himself up towards the pillows.

McCoy pushed himself up and kicked off his pants, starting to look frantically around the room. “You got anything?” he demanded.

“Anything?” Chekov repeated, eyes widening.

“Anything, anything,” McCoy nodded, waving his hands around. “Lubricant, prophylactics.”

Chekov nodded, waving McCoy over to the bed before reaching over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and bringing out a tube of lube. He looked down in embarrassment when he realized that the doctor knew exactly what he had been using it for previously, and he handed it to McCoy.

“Nothing else?” McCoy asked, expecting a condom.

Chekov shrugged, slamming the drawer shut. “I am out.”

It took McCoy a moment to repeat, “out? How often do you use them?” he asked.

Chekov sighed and laid back on the bed, spreading his legs and placing his feet flat on the bed. “I think we shall begin, now, da?”

McCoy rubbed at his face with one hand as he opened the lube with the other. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” he muttered to himself. He sighed and shook his head, bringing his legs up onto the mattress, getting on his knees between Chekov’s legs, dropping the tube and smearing the slick on his fingers. He moved over him and leaned down as he pushed his fingers inside. Chekov gasped and arched up, pushing their lips together.

“Ah,” Chekov panted, head falling back against the pillow. “Doctor?” he whimpered, head going to the side, reaching up to cup the back of McCoy’s head.

“What?” McCoy asked, moving his mouth over Chekov’s chest, dragging his tongue around the pale skin to follow it up with gentle nips from his teeth.

“Is this necessary?” Chekov asked, groaning and whining, toes curling and hips lifting off the bed as McCoy continually pressed upon his prostate.

McCoy roughly pulled Chekov’s nipple into his mouth, it already hard on his chest, pushing his tongue around it as he slipped his fingers out from Chekov. He lifted his head and straightened up, pulling Chekov’s legs askew over and around his hips. He moved forward and jerked himself with what left of the lube on his hand, positioning himself against Chekov. He quickly thrust his hips in, pausing for a moment before rocking back and forth on the mattress, his dick quickly sliding in and almost all the way out, over and over again. One of McCoy’s hands held tightly onto Chekov’s thigh, while the other moved to his cock, jerking him with the time of his thrusts.

Chekov’s fingers curled until his nails were digging into his palms, unable to keep himself from moving and moaning as it was pleasure overload, but McCoy still didn’t seem to be getting him there quickly enough. “Doctor,” he began, trying to uncurl his fingers, trying to reach out to him.

“If I,” McCoy began, grunting with his thrusts, “gotta call you Pavel…” his head fell forward for a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts.

Chekov stared at McCoy questioningly, waiting for him to continue.

McCoy quickly lifted his head, flipping his hair off his forehead. “Leonard!” he finished, rolling his eyes when Chekov nodded eagerly. “Get it?”

“Da,” Chekov smiled, trying to push himself up on his elbows, pulling McCoy down onto him. “Leonard,” he whispered, moving his lips to his, licking his mouth open.

McCoy shifted his legs, his hips rocking into Chekov with ease, their lips moving together and Chekov’s hands began their wandering over McCoy’s body. He murmured his name despite himself, moving his mouth down his jaw then up his neck, breathing heavily in his ear, tongue licking the shell.

Chekov chuckled softly, tilting his head away from McCoy. He gasped when McCoy bit down on his shoulder and thumbed the head of his dick, his fingernails taking their turn in McCoy’s skin as his muscles tightened and he came, shooting into long, thin stripes on both their stomachs. Fragmented sentences of Russian began slipping out of his mouth as he continued to jerk in the aftershocks against McCoy, whimpering quietly.

McCoy only grunted loudly as Chekov tightened and jerked around him, the guttural noise coming to an end with a crack in his throat as he came inside him, continuing to thrust his way through the rest until both of them were simply breathing heavily, muscles tired and relaxed. Their eyes met for a moment before McCoy cleared his throat and looked down, carefully pulling out of the ensign. He sat up, Chekov’s position on the mattress not leaving a lot of room for him to do anything else, and cleared his throat again. “I should really--”

“I make room,” Chekov offered happily, closing his legs and stretching them out before moving closer to the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, thanks,” McCoy said, scratching his shoulder as he laid down next to him, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed, shifting to get comfortable. He couldn’t help but look over to Chekov, who was watching the ceiling with a smile on his face, hands folded comfortably on his stomach. “And you’re just okay with this?” he asked.

“With what?” Chekov asked, turning his head towards him.

“With what we just did,” McCoy explained. “With what we’re doing now.”

Chekov nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “And you?”

“You’re too damn young and I’m too damn old,” McCoy began quickly. “We’re crew members, it’s your job to make sure we get where the hell we’re going and I’m supposed to make sure everybody is healthy enough do it.”

“I don’t understand why that concerns this,” Chekov said.

“Goddamnit, neither do I,” McCoy admitted, shaking his head and letting his eyes close. “What I’m trying to say is…” He trailed off, trying to think about what he was actually trying to say and finally he just sighed, opening his eyes again. “What I’m trying to say is either you’re gonna have to go find some goddamn rubbers or we do this in my room next time.”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov nodded. “Although I do not--”

“Because I’m chief medical officer and I say so,” McCoy interrupted. “Get it?”

“Yes, sir,” Chekov said again. “Do you need to go back to medical bay now?”

“Why the hell would I?” McCoy asked. “I’ve only got two patients tonight, and while your nose looks fine, I’m inclined to let Jim suffer a little longer from whatever issues he’ll be having in the morning. And I guess since we’re remaining in orbit for a few more hours, you’re free too.”

“Yes,” Chekov nodded. “Does that mean we should get ready to go to your room for the next time?”

McCoy looked at Chekov in surprise, who was looking at him back. “Ah, what the hell,” he said, waving his hand. “We’re already here and I know both our medical histories.” When Chekov eagerly pushed himself up to climb onto McCoy, McCoy had to push his hand against his chest. “This is a part of the I’m too damn old bit, kid.”

“Pavel,” Chekov corrected.

“Pavel,” McCoy repeated. “Sit your ass down and entertain yourself for a few minutes while I get ready for the next time.”

Chekov smiled and waited a moment, but didn’t lay back down. Instead, he pushed himself up further and moved his legs over McCoy’s hips, settling onto his lap.

“Pavel,” McCoy protested. “I just said--”

Chekov continued to smile and pressed a finger to McCoy’s mouth. He leaned down and gave him a kiss, moving his hands over his chest as he moved his mouth to McCoy’s ear. “I think this will help you get ready.” He pulled back and kissed him again. “You’re not so old, Leonard,” he assured him.

McCoy gripped the back of his neck and pulled Chekov back down into the kiss, forcing his mouth open with his tongue. Chekov's tongue moved alongside his until Chekov pulled back and licked his lips.

“I will entertain you while we wait.”