Summary: For a spaceship with such clean, smooth lines, the Enterprise has a surprising number of dark corners and out of the way places.
Fandom: Star Trek (2009)
Word Count: 1392
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, genderswap (always-been-a-girl!Chekov), rough sex, voyeurism, dirty talk, vague D/s
Pairing: McCoy/Chekova + Sulu
A/N: Once again, for st_xi_kink. I can't help it if people keep leaving prompts I want to fill. I have also realized that this may be physically impossible (not the sex- seeing it all from the "camera angle"), but I also realized that I just really didn't care. Also, no, that word doesn't mean what Sulu thinks it means, and I am aware of that. And why do I always end up posting so much more when I have writer's block than I do normally?
For a spaceship with such clean, smooth lines, the Enterprise has a surprising number of dark corners and out of the way places. Sulu's come to like them, these last couple of months. Living with this many people on a ship this size, he relishes any chance for privacy he can get; accordingly, he's spent plenty of time finding the best back ways and roundabout paths. If he's very lucky, he can spend upwards of a half an hour walking around without running into another living soul.
Obviously, he's jinxed himself by even thinking that, because as soon as he does, he hears it.
"No, please," a woman's voice says from around the corner, breathless and high. "Please, don't- not here."
"Don't you even try to say no to me," a man replies. "I'll have you in the middle of the bridge if I want, and you'll shut up and take it."
Sulu stops dead in his tracks, leaning forward to look into the next corridor without being seen.
Holy shit, Doctor McCoy is holding Ensign Chekova against the wall by her fucking neck.
He stays rooted to the spot, leaning back carefully so that he won't be discovered, his mind racing through worst case scenarios and rescue plans. He's got to do something- Chekova's one of his best friends, and even if she weren't, he'd still be compelled to help her out of this.
"Been running around here teasing me in this slutty little outfit," McCoy says, tugging at the hem of her skirt for emphasis. "You're just begging for it, aren't you?"
"Is regulation uniform," she protests. "I do not mean to, I promise."
"Doesn't say anywhere in the regulations you've got to flounce around showing off your panties to anybody who cares to look." He flips her skirt up, his free hand sliding down her stomach. "And certainly ain't nothing regulation about these." Sulu can only sort of half-see, but whatever he's doing makes her head fall back against the wall; he leans in, biting at the skin underneath her ear, sliding his hand down to her collarbone so that he can suck at her neck.
Just as he's getting ready to charge McCoy, it suddenly occurs to Sulu that something's wrong with this picture.
He doesn't really want to think about what it says about him, that he's considering letting this continue because she's not fighting back. Be that as it may, Sulu's a trained fighter, and Polina can hold her own against him; five foot three or not, she could definitely take McCoy if she had to. And the way she's pulling him closer and wrapping her leg around his waist doesn't look like any self-defense technique he's familiar with.
So, either McCoy's assaulting her, and he shouldn't just stand here and watch it happen, or Chekova's a whole lot kinkier than he pegged her for, and this is none of his business.
He just can't seem to convince his feet to agree.
"All wet and ready for me," McCoy says, bringing his hand back up so that he can brush his damp fingers across her lips; and if the way she eagerly catches them and sucks them into her mouth is any indication, Sulu can pretty much assume she's on board for this.
McCoy growls in appreciation. "That's right, honey," he says, taking his hand off her chest so that he can undo his pants, sliding his fingers in and out of her mouth. "Show me how much you want it." She doesn't disappoint, hollowing her cheeks and cutting her eyes up at McCoy, all full of mock innocence. "Such a damn tease," he says, pulling his fingers out of her mouth only to shove them inside her again, making her gasp. "Wanna put a sign around your neck sometimes, so that everybody knows that pretty little Polly is my perfect little whore."
"We compromise," she says sweetly, smiling at him. "I can wear a collar instead. Is more subtle, yes?"
McCoy just stares at her for a second, like he can't even believe she's real. He crashes their lips together, kissing her furiously. Without even looking, he gets them lined up and pushes inside of her, slamming her hard into the wall. She gasps into his mouth, hooking her other leg up around him, letting his brutal grip on her thighs hold her up.
Sulu takes a moment out to feel insanely guilty that he's spying on his best friend and his superior officer- her secret boyfriend? He honestly hasn't got a clue- having vaguely sadomasochistic sex in the middle of a hallway. Unfortunately, it's the same moment that Sulu realizes that Chekova's still wearing all the clothes she came with, which means she's been running around the Enterprise in crotchless underwear; and he has to grab himself hard to keep from coming in his pants.
Chekova clutches at McCoy's back, fingernails digging into the fabric of his uniform as he fucks into her hard and fast. It looks like it ought to hurt; honestly, he might be a little worried for her if she weren't so obviously into it, babbling encouragements and begging for more, going back and forth between Standard, Russian, and gibberish.
He leans forward, grinding his hips into hers even harder and whispering something that Sulu can't hear, and Chekova moans, arching her back hard and squeezing her legs tighter around his waist.
"Dirty little girl," he says, almost like it's supposed to be an endearment. "You just can't get enough, can you?" He starts moving in her again, even harder than before. "Gonna come inside of you," he tells her, working his hips a little faster, biting at her mouth like he can't stop himself from doing it. "Gonna fill you up, make you walk all the way back to your quarters just knowing that everybody you pass can tell exactly what you've been doing and who's been doing it to you."
"Please," she pants. "Oh please, doctor-" She breaks off suddenly, tipping her head back and crying out softly, a breathy little "Ah!" that sounds almost surprised. McCoy doesn't last a whole lot longer, pushing into her hard and staying there, breathing hard against her neck.
None of them- McCoy, Chekova, or Sulu, who's still trying not to ruin his pants- move for a long time. McCoy breaks it up, pulling back so that he can press his lips gently to Chekova's; Sulu is suddenly, inexplicably embarrassed, like he's intruding now more than he has been for the last fifteen minutes. Chekova smiles into it, turning it into a line of short little pleased kisses.
She winces when McCoy helps her get back onto her feet. "Are you okay?" he says, immediately concerned. "Did I hurt you? Do you need to go to the sickbay?"
"You examined me two days ago," she reminds him, fastening his pants. "Nurses will form low opinions of me."
He helps her smooth her skirt back down, getting them both into some semblance of normalcy. "Then come back to my quarters, and I'll check you out there."
She slaps him playfully in the chest. "You know you did not hurt me. You just want to look."
He shrugs, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Can you blame me?"
Chekova grins. "I will come by after dinner, and you can look all you like."
McCoy leans back from her a little, turning and- oh, shit- looking directly at him. "If he's done jerking off, you can invite Sulu to drop by, too."
"You are going to embarrass him," she chides, glancing slyly in his direction. "After he went to so much trouble to be sneaky."
"Would've worked better if he hadn't been whistling when he walked up," McCoy says, shrugging.
They can probably both hear it when he collapses back against the wall and slaps his palm against his forehead.
As he listens to them leave, Sulu tries to convince himself that this has all been some weird, stress-induced dream, that any minute now he's going to wake up in his bed, sticky and confused. Just in case it isn't, he starts planning out the route back to his quarters most suitable for a guy with a raging hard-on and a hand print on his forehead.
Luckily, he apparently knows all the finest secret paths.