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By Karmen Ghia
This story is presented by the Society for Slash Diversity, where
"Everyone gets some!" and the Committee of Chekov-Obsessives Comparing
Historical And New Narratives in Ensign Literature (COCO CHANNEL). Generously funded
by an overactive imagination and too much unstructured time. Thank you in advance
for your understanding if not support.
Warning: If you are less than 18 years of age, hit the information superhighway to
somewhere else, see ya kid, and/or not interested in m/m sex, brown-eyed ensigns,
mechanics or frisky behavior in hot weather on low gravity planets, you will not enjoy
this story.
Disclaimer: Copyright 1999 by Karmen Ghia. This is an original work of amateur fiction
based on Star Trek. It makes transformative use of Star Trek and is intended only for
noncommercial purposes. This work makes "fair use" of Star Trek copyrighted
material; it is not intended to infringe on the intellectual property rights of Paramount,
Viacom or other owners of copyright in Star Trek or any of their assignees or licensees.
The author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work.
The Enterprise in dry-dock was not the most heart stoppingly beautiful sight in the
galaxy. Her graceful lines were rather lost in the dusty sunlight that slanted off her in
the dry-dock on Mnr 7. She looked rather tired and somewhat jaded.
Star Fleet had chosen Mnr 7, a hot, dry, low gravity, type-M planet, as the perfect dry-
dock in that sector. Its low gravity made suspending huge ships simpler and heavy
equipment easier to manipulate. The crew was also enjoying the less confining gravity and
many of them had even rigged up mylarplex wings and were flying about the landscape.
Due to the heat, the flyers were wearing as little as possible to do as much flying
as they could in their spare time.
Unfortunately, their spare time was minimal. Suspended in dry-dock the ship was being
completely turned out under Mr. Scott's direction. Everyone but Captain Kirk, who was
trying not to look too bored as he regarded the proceedings, was put to work cleaning,
adjusting, refurbishing, etc. The arid heat was the best way to dry out the light molds
that were inevitable in the closed, recycled air environments of starships so all the
ship's moveable equipment was scattered around the huge dry-dock area. This included the
shuttlecrafts Copernicus and Galileo and it was in the Galileo that Pavel Chekov was
currently enslaved.
Not exactly enslaved, Chekov enjoyed working on the shuttlecraft engine. It was complex
enough to be a challenge but not as daunting as the warp engines, which he was not allowed
near anyway. Mr. Scott had put him, Sulu, Riley, and a few others to work in that corner
of the oven of the dry-dock. In a gesture of mercy, Scott allowed them work in the flimsy
drawstring pants engineers wore in the 'clean' rooms of engineering. The pants were
lightweight, cool and left very little to the imagination. But this was not a problem
because in the 23rd century human society had evolved beyond such things as false modesty,
racism, sexism and day-glow stretch pants.
It was late in the heat of the Mnr 7 day. Chekov had watched on the shuttlecraft monitors
as, one by one, his comrades had finished their work and gone off for a glide through the
late afternoon air. He had not seen Sulu depart yet and assumed his beloved Karushka would
not leave him without even saying good-bye (and perhaps then some). The Russian had last
noticed his lover working across the way and watched him disappear behind the Copernicus.
Chekov glanced wistfully at the Sulu-free monitor screen and bent back over his task. He
was adjusting the thruster pistons in the Galileo, which required that they be removed,
oiled with a viscous gel, wiped off and replaced. It also required that Chekov bend over
and crawl halfway into the control panel of the craft. (He had actually pulled this duty
because he was small enough to fit into the craft's control panel.) Although the lighter
gravity made the job a littler easier, it was still sweaty work - flimsy drawstring pants
notwithstanding. It was also arousing work because his groin was constantly massaged
against the padded edge of the control panel.
Hearing a step behind him, Chekov assumed it was Sulu come to call. Without turning or
withdrawing from the machinery, he asked the helmsman to hand him a No. 7 Breman wrench.
A very aroused male groin pressed against the Russian's backside and the tool was
delivered via a caress from Chekov's flank, across his belly, over each nipple and down
his arm.
"Thank you," Chekov murmured, taking the tool with a trembling fingers. He heard
the shuttlecraft door close behind him and was gently pulled half way out of the control
panel. "Oh, Karushka!" he sighed as strong hands caressed him from hips to
shoulders and back again. He let his eyes fall dreamily shut as the drawstring was undone
and his flimsy excuse for pants pooled around his bare feet. The Russian was positively
purring as the right hand stroked his erection to its full potential and the left caressed
his balls.
One of the hands momentarily removed itself in order to free a very hard cock that rubbed
voluptuously against the ensign's fine ass. Chekov tried to twist round to participate a
little more actively but a gentle hand between his shoulder blades and a playfully stern
"shhhh" dissuaded him. He relaxed back down to enjoy Sulu's skillful touch. If
the helmsman wanted to be mysterious, even changing the character of his caresses
slightly, Chekov was willing to indulge his lover's whim.
Chekov jumped slightly when a finger, then two, well oiled with the thruster piston gel,
probed him. He felt Sulu pull back slightly and center his cock and ever so gently press
the head in.
"Karushka...?" Chekov hoped the door was securely locked as he wondered,
fleetingly, if this was the most prudent place to make love.
"Shhh."
Surrendering to the act he adored with Sulu, Chekov obligingly arched his hips and thrust
back. He was rewarded with a grunt of pleasure and slick fingers pumping his cock.
"Oh, Karushka..." he moaned as Sulu started to fuck him like he owned him. Out
of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Sulu's gold shirt's sleeve. Chekov was
impressed that Sulu's cock seemed bigger than usual to him in this mysterious encounter.
'... Must be the (pant) different gravity and (moan) surroundings that make this so
... oh .... strange and ... wonderful ... ummmmmmm,' he thought. "Oh! Kar..."
"Shhh." The fingers lengthened their strokes in time with the thrusting hips. In
the lighter gravity, Chekov was lifted off his feet for a better, deeper angle of
penetration. (And Chekov was loving every second of it.)
Chekov had been drawn far enough out of the control panel so he had the craft's monitors
in this peripheral vision. He was annoyed to be distracted by some movement on one of
them. However, the monitor then had his full attention as he watched Sulu walk out from
behind the Copernicus. He watched his beloved Karushka cross the dock, glance at the
closed door on the Galileo and disappear into the deepening twilight. Swirling in the
throes of pleasure, the Russian made time to do some very fast thinking. He focused on the
hand braced against the panel for leverage, which he now recognized as not Sulu's, and
noticed, not one, but two bands of gold braid encircling the cuff. 'Boshe moi,' he thought
ruefully. 'Why do these things always happen to me?' And then decided to make the most of
it.
"Oh, Karushka," Chekov panted. "When you take me like this it makes me want
to pour Logerian honey all over your hard body and lick it off - slowly and
carefully." The Russian proceeded to elaborate in great detail on all the things the
lovemaking in progress inspired him to want, body and soul, to do with and to his lover.
This purring, growling, impassioned recital had an inspirational effect on the man making
love to him. His lover lengthened his strokes on Chekov's cock and brought the Russian to
a shuddering, heart stopping climax. Two more thrusts and Chekov felt hot breath and a
strangled, passionate moan at his nape. Strong arms held him fast as he felt his lover's
cock jerking deep inside him.
After a moment of rest, Chekov's 'visitor' gently withdrew his cock and settled Chekov
back into the control panel. He pulled the flimsy drawstring pants back up around the
navigator's hips and gave Chekov's flank a grateful pat before slipping away as quietly as
he'd arrived.
Chekov composed himself for another moment, retied his pants and finished reinstalling the
piston thrusters. He had to stop every so often to shudder as remembered pleasure rushed
through him. His work finished, he retired to his cabin, bathed thoroughly and joined Sulu
for dinner. The helmsman asked him where he'd been all afternoon.
"Oh, working," was all the answer Karushka got that evening.
Annoyed by this vagueness, Karushka decided he preferred a moonlight flight to Chekov's
company just then.
Chekov, feeling a little fatigued from his afternoon activities, entered the turbolift
intending to go home and get some sleep.
"Good evening, Ensign."
"Good evening, sir," Chekov looked up innocently at his captain.
"Did you finish everything you wanted to do in the Galileo this afternoon?" Kirk
asked with equal innocence.
"No, sir." Chekov kept his face respectfully bland. "I was planning to stop
by on my way to bed and do a few more things I thought of this afternoon."
Kirk studied his navigator for a moment before barking 'lift halt!' and redirecting it to
the floor of the moonlit dry dock where they proceeded to do a few more things in the
Galileo.
