Title: Chekov and the Chocolate Factory

Author: The Inamorata

Originally posted in the st_xi_kink community on LiveJournal

James Kirk had become accustomed to staying up long nights, seldom sleeping with the worry that something might happen to his ship, his darling Enterprise, while he was away. However, Doctors orders were held in higher regard than even his own, and Dr. McCoy himself had prescribed a full night of rest. He was rather resentful for this, as well as nervous for not being able to control his ship from the captain's chair. But orders were orders.

The lights darkened his quarters, though the little red light of the intercom continued to flash on and off in restless monotony, illuminating the room in a red blur. Jim rolled from one side to the other; he placed the pillow over his head, between his legs, under his stomach. But no matter what he did, he could not find himself drifting off to dreamland.

Several hours passed, and it was nearing one. His stomach suddenly growled with hunger, longing for a midnight snack of a banana and tall glass of milk. Footsteps could no longer be heard passing by in the hallway, and he knew that only Spock--who seldom slept, anyhow--and a few careful watchmen were on the Bridge. If he could get away unnoticed, just for a moment…

Without taking the time to contemplate, Kirk was out of bed and walking quickly down the hall, wearing only a pair of boxers with little daisies on them. His bare feet were silent against the linoleum of the ship's hallway, and when he arrived in the canteen, he found it quite dark and empty.

He didn't bother turning on the light, as he could recite the layout of the ship backwards. He walked slowly towards opposite end, careful to avoid any misplaced chairs, when suddenly the lights came on above him.

"Keptin?"

Jim spun around, squinting at the sudden brightness that stuck his unaccustomed pupils with a shock. A very sleepy looking Ensign Chekov stood behind him, clad in yellow Starfleet pajamas and fuzzy slippers, rubbing his eyes with one hand and grasping the arm of a soft plush rabbit in the other--of Russian manufacture, no doubt.

"Keptin, I thought the Doctor said--"

Kirk jumped, swinging one arm around Chekov's back and using the other to cover his mouth before he could continue.

"Shh, shh…" he said slowly, looking around with caution. If Bones found him here, he'd probably be restrained to the bed as his next prescription.

Still grasping Chekov, he slowly walked him backwards toward the wall and turned off the lights. In the darkness he could feel the Ensign's breath on his hand; in the silence he could hear his heart beating at a quickened pace. It was in this moment that he realized just how close he was to Chekov, the young, innocent body clasped in his arms. He was very slight, not yet having reached full maturity, his eyes wide with innocence, his pure features exemplified by gentle curls that framed his face.

He took his hand away from Chekov's mouth, and gently tucked a curl behind his ear. Jim took a step back, releasing him from his grasp.

"Keptin," Chekov whispered, "we were told to weport you to ze Doctor if you were out of your quarters."

"C'mon, Chekov…" Kirk whispered, looking around in paranoia. Knowing Bones, he and his hypos could pop out of nowhere.

"Keptin, ze orders--"

Kirk's next act was out of desperation, or perhaps, pure lust for the undeniable adorableness of Chekov--the rabbit, the fuzzy slippers, the accent. On nothing but a whim, the fleeting thought running his hand through that curly hair and kissing the tender, innocent lips became a reality. His hand grasped the back of Chekov's head, forming a perfect cup around his skull. His other arm wrapped around his slender waist, pulling him closer to his chest so that there was no longer any space between them.

He expected reluctance, a push on his chest, or perhaps a muffled cry. What he received instead was far more interesting--acceptance; the feeling of lips mutually pressed against lips, of the soft plush rabbit dropping gently to the floor as arms reciprocated the other's grasp. The young Ensign's looks may have been quite deceiving.

Surprisingly Kirk was the one to pull his lips away, slightly out of breath at the sudden adrenaline rush, however calm enough to speak.

"You wouldn't tell on me for sneaking out, Chekov," he whispered, his nose tracing a gentle line from Chekov's clavicle, up his neck and jaw until finally giving a small lick at his ear lobe. His hands, meanwhile, were working at the buttons to the front of Chekov's pajama top.

"C-course not, Keptin…"

Finally he had Chekov stripped to his boxers, both of them feeling the smooth skin of each others bodies as they exchanged mutual kisses, preparing for what was inevitably coming next. Kirk, somehow, found himself pressed against the food delivery machinery, a surprisingly dominant Chekov pressing him against the wall. Around his waist was a small ledge, little cards strewn across it. He broke the kiss momentarily and grabbed one at random, inserting it into the slot, unaware of what would appear.

The door to the little compartment began to lift, and the two paused in their pleasure out of curiosity; perhaps something they could use?

At the sight of the object, Kirk smirked. Yes, a bottle of chocolate syrup would definitely be useful for their sexual endeavors. His eyes returned to Chekov's, and he knew he had the same idea.

"Boxers," Kirk said curtly. "Off. Now."

Jim knew this would be useless as any type of lubricant; rather, the sticky, tasty sauce would just be used for playing. He squeezed a large glob into his hand, and rubbed it on Chekov's chest before it overflowed to the floor. He leaned over and licked Chekov's nipple gently with his tongue, getting brown goo on his nose and chin. Chekov took the bottle and did the same.

Both were engaged in the pattern of squeezing, rubbing, and licking on various parts of each others body, when suddenly the lights flashed on overhead once again.

Oh shit. Busted.

Kirk turned towards the door, prepared to see a rather angry and baffled Dr. McCoy. Instead, it was worse. Much worse.

"Captain, you're needed on the Bridge. A Klingon ship has appeared within our, uh, sensor range." First Officer Spock was trying very, very hard to comprehend the situation, however he was at a loss as to how this situation could have occurred. A man rubbing chocolate syrup all over another man's body was highly illogical. Although, this new development was rather… fascinating.

Kirk looked from Spock to his chocolatey chest to Chekov, who shrugged sheepishly and gave a small cough.

"Right, uh… evasive maneuvers. I'll be there in, uh, a few minutes. Just let me get cleaned up."

The next day, word of Jim and Chekov's little adventure was rampant among the crew members. Apparently, Chekov had much less humility than Jim had assumed. And it goes without saying that he tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid Bones and his inevitable disapproving hypos.