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Note: Inspired by Terabithia's Curiosity Killed the Cat
Little Pasha In Slumberland
by Skazitelnitsky
Sulu sat alone in the officer's lounge on deck five not quite crying into his beer. Although he neither crying nor drinking beer, he seemed to be in the right mood for both.
He didn't stir when Lt. Uhura sat down opposite him. "You heard?"
She sighed. "Yeah, I heard."
The helmsman raised his eyes miserably. "So, what do you think?"
"Well, as Mr. Spock might say, I think you're up excrement creek without a means of propulsion."
Sulu put his head in his hands. "He's going to hate me forever."
"Oh, not forever," Uhura chided. "That's silly."
The helmsman looked up hopefully. "Is it?"
"Sure. He can only hate you the rest of his life... And that's not forever by a long shot."
Sulu groaned and covered his face, not at all comforted by this wisdom. "If only there was something I could say... Something I could do..."
"Well," the communications officer said slowly. "There is that thing you did the last time something like this happened..."
The helmsman moved his index fingers so he could look at her. "You aren't suggesting...?"
Uhura leaned back in her chair and shrugged. "Unless you can think of something else..."
"But I couldn't," Sulu protested.
Uhura merely waited.
"Could I?"
"Hi!"
Ensign Chekov turned and gave the intruder into his cabin a look that instantly communicated his complete lack of desire for either food or company.
"How are you doing?" Uhura said, cheerfully undaunted in her determination to supply both as she put a breakfast tray down on the desk in front of him and sat on the edge of the bunk beside him.
"My girlfriend has left me," he replied, enumerating his current disasters on his fingers for her. "The person I considered my best friend has betrayed me. I am responsible for the disruption of an important mission and I am restricted to my quarters pending a review of my actions."
"And so, what's that, Sugar?" Uhura asked brightly. "Good? Bad? Indifferent?"
"Bad," the ensign informed her coldly. "Very, very bad."
"So bad you're going to starve yourself to death?" she asked, enticingly lifting the lid off a very pleasantly fragrant soufflé.
"I don't want to eat," Chekov replied, stubbornly turning back to the twentieth draft of his resignation on the screen before him. "I don't want to talk either."
"All right." Uhura smiled amiably as she poured his intended beverage back into the carafe. "Then I guess you certainly don't want to drink."
Even before he turned, Chekov could tell that the liquid being poured was not coffee. "Vodka?" he asked, reaching for the glass almost instinctively.
"It goes so well with orange juice," the communications officer explained lightly. "And everyone likes orange juice for breakfast, don't they?"
After the navigator downed two small glasses in rapid succession, the lieutenant smiled and handed him the carafe.
"You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach," she advised him kindly.
"That's an old wives tale," he scoffed.
"Think of me as an old wife," she said, patting him solicitously on the arm as she pushed the soufflé‚ towards him.
He bowed to the inevitable with a sigh as he picked up a fork.
"Sulu's afraid you'll never speak to him again."
"I won't," the ensign assured her around bites.
"I don't see what he did that was so bad."
Chekov blinked at her disbelievingly. "He told me that he loved me and he... he kissed me -- in audience hall full of alien dignitaries, the landing party, and my girlfriend -- he kissed me."
Uhura shrugged. "He was trying to save your life."
"But he meant it," the ensign stressed. "Passionately. I could tell."
"And you haven't ever felt that way about him... or any other man?"
The fork froze en route to Chekov's mouth. "What are you saying?"
"Well, Sugar," Uhura shrugged. "Your being so sure about his feelings for you would tend to suggest that you're drawing on something you've felt -- Makes it sound like you've had some pretty strong feelings about some man... or men... in your life."
"That is ridiculous," Chekov insisted, but he could feel a burning warmth crawling up his cheeks.... Must be the vodka.
"Well..." Uhura shrugged and smiled as she rose to leave. "Just a thought."
"Ridiculous," Chekov repeated firmly to the computer screen in front of him after the doors closed behind her.
"Ensign Chekov."
The navigator stiffened to rigid attention in front of Kirk's desk in the captain's quarters. "Sir."
"Do you have any explanation of your actions on the planet?"
"No, sir."
"No, sir?" The captain crossed his arms unsmilingly.
"I... I.." the ensign stammered as his mind remained stubbornly blank. "I reacted..."
"Overreacted, I say."
"I... reacted inappropriately to Lt. Sulu's actions," Chekov conceded unwillingly.
"As I understand it, you lost your temper, screamed at Sulu, then turned around and decked an assistant to the Prime Minister for laughing at you."
"I.. wouldn't say I screamed, sir," Chekov protested weakly. "Shouted perhaps..."
"According to the reports, Sulu had been forced to take the action he did to prove that you were not engaged in a flirtation with the High Priestess's chief acolyte."
"But I wasn't."
The captain eyed him narrowly over the top of a report pad. "These notes from Ensign Manetti -- with whom I believe you have been intimately involved for the past few months -- indicate that you were."
"She's a very jealous woman," Chekov explained.
"So jealous that she's even accused you of having an illicit relationship with Sulu?" the captain asked unexpectedly.
Chekov felt an unaccountable blush rise up in his cheeks as he shifted his gaze to the floor.
"Well, at least you didn't deck her for saying so." Kirk paused. "Or did you?"
"No, sir," the ensign protested. "Of course not."
The captain rose. "You realize that I can't ignore misconduct of this nature on your part, don't you, Ensign? You know that this action merits a pretty stiff disciplinary measure from me in response, right?"
The navigator hung his head. "Yes, sir."
"Then let's get this over with. Come with me."
Chekov didn't immediately consider it peculiar that the captain led him over to his bunk. It did, however, strike the ensign as instantly strange when Kirk pulled a short padded board out of a drawer near his desk. It looked like a piece of sporting equipment of some sort. There was even Star Fleet insignia printed on the leather stretched over its flat, round-edged surface.
Kirk sat on the edge of his bunk and motioned the ensign to his lap. "All right, Chekov. Bend over."
The navigator's mouth dropped open. "Sir?"
"Now, Ensign!" the captain ordered in a tone that brooked no refusal.
Knowing that what he thought was happening could never be happening, Chekov hesitantly and awkwardly lowered himself onto Kirk's strong thighs, moving slowly to give a reasonable explanation ample time to appear on the scene.
The captain quickly tired of delaying tactics, however, and pulled the reluctant ensign firmly across his lap, positioning the navigator with a businesslike but shockingly intimate manner.
"Sir," Chekov mustered the bravery to object. "I don't think the Military Code of Justice allows for corporal punishment."
"You're very right, Ensign," Kirk said, in a bright, mocking tone. "Star Fleet doesn't allow an officer to be struck under any circumstances. On the other hand, however, I don't think anyone at Headquarters is going to be the least bit upset to hear that I blistered the bottom of a stubborn little trouble-making spoiled brat with more eyelashes than braincells."
"Oh," was all the astonished ensign could think of to reply before the captain began to apply the paddle vigorously.
Kirk had a very strong arm and set to his task enthusiastically. It wasn't long before the ensign's buttocks began to burn in a most uncomfortable manner. Chekov bit his lip and tried to endure the punishment without squirming or crying out. However, this apparently was quite contrary to his captain's wishes. The paddle did not cease to fall until the ensign was wriggling and sobbing like a small boy over his father's knee.
"There," Kirk said, finally letting him up. "I hope you've learned your lesson."
"Yes, sir," Chekov choked, pressing the backs of his hands against his stinging rump.
"Thank you, sir," the captain prompted pointedly.
Fearing a resumption of his course in humility, Chekov paused only to swipe at his nose. "Thank you, sir."
"All right, Ensign," Kirk said, putting the paddle back in its resting place. "Report to Sickbay and see what McCoy can do to fix you up. I wouldn't want you holding back tonight."
Chekov blinked at him through still-bleary eyes. "Tonight, sir?"
"Well, sure." Kirk laughed and rumpled his hair. "Pavel, I don't care how long you tease Sulu, but don't think for a second I'm going to let you start pretending you don't want me to fuck you."
Chekov gasped and sat straight up in bed.
"Are you ill, Ensign?"
"I... I.. " Chekov blinked at the walls of his cabin, unable to orient himself for a few moments. "I.. I must have been dreaming."
Mr. Spock stepped out of the shadows. "Do you often have disturbing dreams, Mr. Chekov?"
"Yes, sir." Chekov ran his fingers though his hair and forced himself to take a deep breath. He was grateful for the Science Officer's steadying... though unexpected and unexplained presence.
"What are these dreams about?"
"About... About..." The ensign paused. He knew he was blushing furiously. He forced himself to calm down and approach the matter in an appropriately rational manner. "In them, I often find myself in provocative situations... with other men."
Spock didn't even blink. "When did the dreams start?"
"Right after..." The navigator stopped suddenly. "Are you sure this is significant, sir?"
"The dreams began after Ensign Manetti accused you of being romantically involved Lt. Sulu," the Vulcan deduced with astounding accuracy.
"Yes, sir." the ensign admitted.
The Science Officer folded his hands behind his back and considered. "Are the dreams generally unpleasant in nature?"
"Not... not without exception, sir." Chekov found he couldn't quite make eye contact. "When Sulu kissed me, I was furious. But, frequently, in the dreams..." the ensign trailed off, blushing again.
"Hmmm." Spock nodded thoughtfully. "Have you spoken to Lt. Sulu about this matter?"
"No." Chekov shook his head adamantly. "I did not want to encourage him... or make him think..."
"Think what?"
Chekov's eyes dropped again. "That I wanted him to kiss me."
The Science Officer sat down on the edge of the ensign's bunk near where Chekov was sitting. "Some analysts would conclude that your dreams would indicate that such an outcome is indeed your true desire."
Chekov looked up at him pleadingly. "And what would you say, sir?"
"Ensign, I would say that you are suffering from that most Human of ailments -- mixed emotions."
The navigator knew from the Science Officer's overly serious tone that he was coming as close as a Vulcan could to joking with him. Chekov couldn't help but smile in response. "Yes, sir."
"Human society has traditionally been quite homophobic," Spock continued. "Cultural pressures could be inhibiting you or putting you under undue stress about feelings you may be experiencing."
Chekov was becoming very aware of the Science Officer's nearness. "Is Vulcan culture more accepting?" he asked, hoping to put the conversation on a more impersonal plane.
"Bisexuality is considered quite normal for Vulcans." Spock lifted his hand to the ensign's cheek. "Two men may touch publicly without arousing comment or notice."
"Yes." Chekov felt his blood suddenly pound in his face. "The same is true in Russia."
"Men may even kiss without shame." Again the Vulcan followed his comment with a demonstration.
Chekov froze as the Science Officer's lips brushed against his forehead. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain the proper amount of scientific detachment. "Yes, we have this custom in Russia as well."
"Older and more experienced males often take younger men into their care." Spock put his hands the navigator's shoulders and gently guided the ensign down to a prone position.
Chekov's throat was so tight he could barely squeak. "Sir?"
"Instructing them," Spock continued, pausing only to force the ensign's lips open with a demanding kiss. "And mentoring them through vulnerable points in their development."
Chekov closed his eyes. "V-vulnerable points?" he repeated breathlessly.
The Vulcan nodded solemnly. "In their sexual development, Ensign," he specified as his long fingers slid uncompromisingly beneath the navigator's waistband.
"Yes, sir." The ensign obligingly arched his body up for further tutelage. He didn't object when the science officer pulled his pants out of the way, nor when the Vulcan used his lips to simultaneously soothe and further enflame his burning erection.
He did consider protesting when Spock rolled him over. During the interval when the Vulcan was removing the ensign's boots and pants, Chekov had time to think about objecting. However, having gone so far, it took time to consider how to phrase his demurral properly.
While he was debating how to broach the topic, the Vulcan's tongue began to trace slow circles down his buttocks. The ensign was in the midst of evaluating the strange pleasantness of the sensation when his superior's tongue moved to probe his anus.
Chekov gasped and grasped the corners of the bed. He held on tight, spreading his legs wider, feeling strong, masculine hands roaming his hips and thighs while a very insistent tongue moved back and forth from anus to balls and back again. The navigator hadn't realized that people did such things, but had to admit he could now clearly understand why someone might wish to have such things done to them.
He was moaning softly when a slickened finger slid into his anus. The ensign pushed against the finger, squirming impatiently. Two fingers now. It was a rather tight fit, but not really painful. Deep inside him a powerful sensation began to build, build, build, until....
"Sir!" he gasped urgently.
"Chekov, wake up."
The ensign opened his eyes and was somewhat disappointed to find himself in Sickbay with Christine Chapel standing over him.
"How long have you been having these attacks?" she asked, pen poised over a chart, ready to make a notation.
"Attacks?" The ensign considered. "Yes, I have been having problems. I keep falling asleep and I can't seem to wake up... I'm having the strangest dreams."
"For how long?" she repeated patiently.
"It started several weeks ago, I think. Tangalene -- Ensign Manetti -- and I were having a disagreement. And she said... She accused me..." Chekov broke off miserably. "I don't know how I feel about Sulu. I have never really considered the matter deeply."
Nurse Chapel gave him a brief pitying look before she caught herself. "You just rest now," She said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "The doctor will be in to examine you in a minute."
As she left, Chekov took the opportunity to more closely scrutinize his surroundings. Sickbay was unusually dark. The only light was focused like a spotlight over the examining table upon which he was lying... an examination table which for some reason was covered with satin sheets.... while he himself was covered with nothing.
"Oh, no." Chekov hastily wrapped a sheet around himself and hopped off the table. "No, no, no. Not with Dr. McCoy..."
He tiptoed out into the corridor, looking both ways for passersby. Thankfully, there were none. Keeping a careful watch, the ensign made his way towards the turbo lift as swiftly as was possible when one was draped in a rather large and slippery bedsheet.
'This would be rather hard to explain,' Chekov thought.
There was at that moment the sound of someone clearing his throat behind him.
"Ah, Mr. Scott..." Chekov turned and did his best to look as though sneaking down the ship's corridors dressed in a sheet was a very normal and casual activity.
It didn't work.
"I can explain..." he began, but was hindered from continuing the sentence by the fact that he couldn't possibly rationalize what he was doing or why.
The engineer took him by the arm. "Come with me, lad."
The ensign resisted. "Where?"
"I think you'd better be headed to your quarters, hadn't you?" Scott suggested firmly. "You're not exactly dressed for the Bridge."
"Oh, yes, of course," Chekov agreed warily. When the lift came, he followed the engineer on, but maintained a careful distance between them.
In a refreshing change of pace, Scott didn't show any interest in getting any closer. In fact, from the intent way he was watching the lift doors, one might deduce that he was eager for this part of their journey to be over as quickly and uneventfully as possible.
Chekov began to feel ashamed of himself for suspecting the engineer.
"I wish I could sufficiently account for my behavior," he said apologetically, as the engineer took a very impersonal and policeman-like grip on the ensign's upper arm and ushered him out of the lift. "I know my appearance is quite inappropriate..."
Scott did not make eye contact but gave a short grunt of agreement as he guided the ensign swiftly towards his cabin.
"I've been having strange dreams...." Chekov tried to explain.
"Aye." Scott rolled his eyes dubiously as he keyed in the entry code to the ensign's quarters.
Captain Kirk was waiting for him there. "Well, Mister, you're really in a lot of trouble now," he said, hands on his hips.
Chekov tried to back out, but Scott held him by the shoulders and propelled him forward.
"Sir, I..." he stammered.
"Captain," Mr. Spock stepped forward. "You are unnecessarily alarming the young man."
"Spock, please." Kirk frowned as he took Chekov by the arm and steered him towards the bunk. "You're always accusing me of being unfair to him."
"Some experts have noted that you are frequently abrupt, dismissive, and consistently jump to negative conclusions in your dealings with Mr. Chekov." Although the Vulcan's words and tone were supportive, when the ensign tried extricate himself from the captain's grip, Spock took him by the other arm.
"Experts?" Kirk scoffed, as they forced the navigator to lay face down on the bunk. "What experts?"
"Persons with advanced degrees," Spock rebutted vaguely, holding Chekov's wrists together while Kirk used one of the ensign's undershirts to tie them to a metal bracket that the navigator couldn't recall having been at the head of his bed before.
"From where? TSU?" Kirk asked sarcastically as he struggled with the knot the ensign had tied to secure the sheet around him. "Or worse yet, LSU?"
"Ach!" Scott exclaimed disgustedly, pushing the captain away from the navigator.
"And just what do you think you're doing, Mr. Scott?" Kirk demanded.
"Enough of this jabbering," Scott said, taking the sheet into his capable hands and ripping it neatly in half. "Shut your gob and let's all get to rogering him now!"
"Chekov?"
The ensign gasped and recoiled when he opened his eyes and found himself in Sulu's arms.
"It's okay," the helmsman said, carefully withdrawing. "When I came in, it looked like you'd fallen asleep at your terminal. I was just trying to get you into b-- ... I mean, where you could sleep more comfortably."
"Thank you," Chekov said stiffly as he sat up on the bunk and looked about him for the tale-tell signs of a hallucination. Strangely, there were none.
"I wanted to apologize," Sulu said, maintaining a cautious distance. "Although I guess you probably don't want to hear that..."
The ensign rubbed his eyes wearily. "Perhaps the captain was right. Perhaps I did overreact."
"You've talked to the captain?"
"Uh..." Chekov blinked as the blurred lines between dream and reality began to separate in his mind. "No, actually I haven't. Not yet. I have been having such strange dreams..."
"Really?"
The ensign's cheeks reddened as his memory of those dreams sharpened in his memory. "At any rate," he said, clearing his throat and forcing himself to move on to other matters, "I may have overreacted. After all, you were trying to extricate me from a difficult situation."
"Well, I just came to say that I'll never do anything like that to you again."
"Oh." Chekov could hear the quiet but discernible tone of disappointment in his own voice. He looked up to see if Sulu had caught it as well.
"That is," the helmsman said slowly, "unless you want me to."
"Well... I..."
Impulsively Sulu leaned forward and kissed the navigator.
Chekov blinked in surprise, then closed his eyes and considered. This, he decided, was not a dream. The sensation was different -- more solid, more real. It was... Well, it was actually a rather nice sensation.
Sulu put his hands lightly on the navigator's shoulders, seemingly ready to let him go at the slightest sign of resistance. Chekov remained very still, accepting the kiss like a shy adolescent, not really participating actively but certainly not fighting it. The helmsman slowly deepened the kiss, gently parting his friend's lips and slipping his tongue into the ensign's warm mouth. As the helmsman slowly retreated, the navigator allowed his tongue follow, almost as if by reflex... Almost.
After a few more seconds Sulu reluctantly drew back. "Well, I'd better let you get some rest."
Chekov glanced at the chronometer on his desk. "Actually, I've been asleep for most of the past six hours."
"Yeah, well..." The helmsman smiled as he backed awkwardly towards the cabin door. "Well, I'll just let you wake up, then."
Chekov frowned at this as if he were searching his memory banks for references to some strange American morning-time custom to explain the lieutenant's haste.
Sulu let go a deep breath as the doors closed between them.
"So, did it work?" Uhura was waiting for him outside the cabin with a smug smile.
"This isn't right." Sulu rested his forehead against the cabin doors. "This is sneaky, low-down, and manipulative and.... I feel entirely out of character."
"Jane Seaton wouldn't say so."
"Who?"
"Look, sugar," Uhura said, patting his back reassuringly. "Chekov was upset and confused. He needed to calm down, to relax. So what if we helped him do that by lacing his breakfast with morphorazine?"
"I don't know if six hours of erotic morphorazine dreams can really be considered relaxing and calming," the helmsman pointed out.
"He slept," Uhura rebutted firmly. "Any dreams he had are the product of his own subconscious."
"Yeah, but for me to have a pretty good idea of the sort of things that were probably going to be running through his subconscious and time it so I'd be there when he woke up... I can't take advantage of him that way."
Uhura waited.
"Can I?"
In answer the communications officer pressed the release button on Chekov's door and gently pushed her friend through the portal.
"At last," she sighed, dusting off her hands with a satisfied smile as she headed towards the turbo lift. "Sweet dreams, boys."
