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As he looked into the mirror to brush his still damp hair, Pavel Chekov frowned to find his roommate’s black eyes fixed on his back. Among his numerous annoying traits, the American had the odd habit of staring at him – sometimes for considerable periods of time.

From the blank expression on his face, Chekov wasn’t sure that DelMonde was aware that he did it.

“Noel,” he said, to rouse him. “You are staring.”

Chekov expected him to respond with his usual “Am I?” or the unnerving, “Thought you were dead there for a minute.”

Instead the American blinked a few times, then said very seriously, “You got a really nice ass, y’know.”

“Don’t start,” Chekov warned, making an effort not to resume dressing with what could be interpreted as comic haste.

“What?” DelMonde yawned and settled himself more comfortably on his bunk where he’d been studying. “I can’t compliment you now?”

“If that is your idea of a compliment,” the Russian replied, fastening his pants. “Then no, I would rather that you didn’t.”

The American shrugged and picked the notepad he’d been writing on back up. “I jus’ sayin’.”

“Don’t,” the Russian requested firmly.

Thinking that was the end of the incident, Chekov shouldered his way into his cadet’s tunic. He was combing his bangs out with his fingers when in the mirror when he noticed that his roommate’s gaze had once more locked onto him. “Noel…”

DelMonde blinked at him unapologetically. “You know I seen plenty o’ ass in my day,” the Cajun informed him.

Chekov frowned at his reflection in the mirror. “No doubt.”

“An’ I know good ass.”

The Russian rolled his eyes and resumed brushing out his hair. “I am sure you do.”

When no further comment was forthcoming, Chekov once more assumed the conversation was mercifully over. He sat down in nearby chair to put on his boots. Stretching out one leg as he tugged at the boot top to fit, he saw that his roommate’s eyes were again fixed on him with the same intense, but strangely vacant stare.

“It ‘cause you skate, ain’t it?” DelMonde said, pulling himself out of the trance this time.

“What?”

The Cajun returned his focus back to his notes. “Skaters usually have nice asses.’

“Could we not talk about this, please?” Chekov asked, picking up his other boot.

DelMonde shrugged diffidently. “Just sayin’.”

“Don’t.” Chekov repeated, standing up and crossing to his desk. “I have a test I must study for.”

“I not sweat it if I was you,” the Cajun advised.

“Why not?”

“No need.” DelMonde stretched out his long legs so that his feet were propped against the room divider. “Even if you get dropped from th’ Academy, you not need to worry.”

“I don’t?”

“You can bank wit’ that bootie on any street corner on Earth.”

Chekov sighed exasperatedly. “Noel…”

“Oh, come on,” the Cajun replied. “It not like I sayin’ I’d fuck you or anyt’ing.”

“Good,” the Russian replied, picking up a datapad.

“’Cause I wouldn’t.”

“Good,” Chekov repeated emphatically.

“Not even if you got down on your knees an’ begged me.”

The Russian frowned at him impatiently. “I am glad that we have cleared that up.”

His roommate was silent for a moment.

“You know I jus’ jokin’ wit’ you, don’t you, son?” the Cajun said after a moment.

“I would hope so…”

“’Cause if you begged me,” he continued seriously. “I’d feel obliged t’ fuck you.”

Chekov groaned. “Boizhe moi…”

“Reason B bein’ that bodacious Bolshevik bootie,” DelMonde explained unnecessarily. “An’ Reason A bein’ the thought of you gettin’ down on your stubborn, stuck-up, bull-headed, Russian knees to beg me fo’ anyt’ing is unbearably thrillin’.”

“Noel,” Chekov closed his book, turned to him, and replied. “I beg you, please stop talking.”

His roommate closed his eyes and whistled in a breath sharply as if tingling with delight.

“God, but you so damn sexy,” he grinned. “C’mere an’ give us a kiss.”

The Russian sighed in defeat and gathered his books. “I’m going to the library.”

“How long you plannin’ to be there?”

“Until they throw me out,” Chekov replied, exiting.

“Thank God,” Del said, shaking his head to clear it of the strange pull of his roommate’s weirdly empty psi-null brain. “I thought he never leave.”

The End