The strong sea breeze had already dried the ragged clothing the frightened young man wore. The captain visually inspected him for signs of abuse. Aside from the marks of the bindings on his wrists, there were none. Sulu took a step forward, being careful not to startle the youth.
"I'm not your captor," he explained and the orphan's head came up. The captain smiled. "My name is Sulu, and this is my ship you're on, The Black Swan."
The young man glanced up the main mast to the skull-and-crossbones flying there. "This is a pirate ship?" he asked.
"It is, and be glad of it," Sulu returned, "else we might not have intercepted the slaver who was stealing you away from God and country." He smiled again. "Come, I've food and drink and warm clothes in my cabin." When the youth hesitated, he laughed, but it was a kindly sound. "There's naught to be afraid of, boy. I can assure you what I offer is far better than the fate old Vargik had in mind." He clasped an affectionate hand to the orphan's shoulder. "Come, I'll not harm you, on my word of honor."
"Do pirates have honor?" the young man muttered.
"Indeed we do, lad; more than rumor would give us and more than the thieves who shanghaied you." With a sure but gentle touch, Sulu guided the orphan along the deck to his cabin door.
Once inside with the wind of the open ocean at bay, he went to a large chest, pulling out a surcoat of blue velvet. It wasn't new, but it was certainly in better shape than the tatters the young man wore. Sulu stepped close to him, placing the coat carefully but snugly around the orphan's shoulders. The youth grasped the edges of the coat, shivering. "What's your name, boy?" Sulu asked as he returned to the chest, searching for some breeches to fit the lad.
"Uh... Chekov," came the reply.
"Then well met, young Chekov," Sulu welcomed heartily, and turned, holding a pair of dark leggings. "I fear I have no boots that'll fit you. I'll see what I can find among the crew. Off with those rags, now."
The youth flushed. "This is ridiculous," came muttered disapproval.
"My dear boy, what is ridiculous is that one of your rare form should have suffered such indignities."
"Rare form?" came the wary question.
"You think those rags can hide your worth?" Sulu smiled again, a soft, caring expression. "Nay, I can see you're used to finery greater than my meager store can provide. Still, I trust you'll not spurn your host's accommodations."
"Sulu..."
The captain cocked his head at the still tatter-clothed figure before him. "You must be cold, boy. Is it modesty, then?"
"Yes, yes that is it. I am modest."
Sulu chuckled. "There's not much privacy at sea, Chekov, but I'll do what I can." He placed the leggings over the back of an ornate, wooden chair, then stepped up to the youth. "I'll just see to the rest of the 'rescued' items, 'ey?" he whispered, leaning in close, and winked. "Be quick, young one." Then he strode from the cabin, making sure the door closed firmly behind him.
Chekov looked around the make-believe pirate's cabin. The room was small. Besides the trunk of clothing and the ornate chair, there was a box-like bunk built in along the back wall. A sturdy, well-crafted wooden table stood in the center of the room with a less fancy chair against it. A jug rested on the table, with a plate and goblet, along with a large candelabra. A cutlass hung on the wall. There was a smaller chest beside the bed, a lantern hanging from a chain over it. It was undoubtedly authentic; Sulu was a history buff. Still, the Russian couldn't get over the idea that it was, after all, make-believe. Sulu's performance so far told him nothing...
Oh? What of 'more honor than rumor gives credit for'? What of 'one of your rare form'? What of 'rags not hiding your worth'?
And what of a fate better than 'old Vargik' had in mind?
It was romantic in its way, Chekov had to admit that. If he'd really been a poor orphaned captive, he'd certainly be falling under his rescuer's roguish spell.
Which is what you're supposed to be doing, he reminded himself, letting yourself react as though that's precisely what you are. Nyota said to play along.
He sighed. It was so difficult...
There was a sharp tapping sound behind him and Chekov realized he had yet to change his clothes. He hurriedly stripped off the rags Uhura had given him, grabbing at the leggings. The realistic simulation of a ship suddenly lurched and he lost his balance, toppling to the hard, wooden deck. Before he could right himself, Sulu was in the small room, offering a steady hand.
"A storm's brewin'," he said. "We'll have to batten down the hatches before she hits full force." He grinned at Chekov's nakedness. "You've got a lot to be modest about, I'll grant you that," he said, then turned his back, allowing Chekov to pull on the leggings and coat. For his part, Chekov tried not to blush furiously. After all, it was hardly the first time the helmsman had seen him sans clothing... but it is the first time a pirate captain has, he reminded himself and so allowed the reaction to proceed naturally - which meant that his face stayed red for some time after Sulu again turned to him.
"Now, Chekov," Sulu stated, planting his feet firmly on the deck, "from the sound of your English, you hail from the Baltics. We'll not be passin' there for some months to come, if ever. But you needn't worry. We'll be home to England in a month or so, weather and God permitting, and I'm sure we can find some of your countrymen to take charge of you there. Until then..." he paused, cocking his head to one side. "Well, it's clear you're not at home on a ship. Below decks might be a bit too much for you to handle. Truth be told, mine is the only cabin above deck. I'm willin' to share with you right enough." He paused again, a grin coming over his features. "But you're modest, boy, and there's only the one bunk."
Chekov felt his blush renewing. "I - I don't want to be a bother, sir," he managed.
"How much of a bother t'would be depends on your tastes, lad," Sulu returned. He was still smiling, but there was a sober, serious edge to his voice. "Would I have to be findin' me another place to sleep, young Chekov?"
"Yes!" Chekov blurted out. Sulu eyed him carefully.
"Bother enough, then," he said, but nodded and clapped his hands together. "Well and good, my fine young master - " Chekov winced at the term - "I'll just find me a hummock below." He crossed the room to the small bed on its box-like pedestal. "Just be sure to keep the railin' up durin' the storm," he advised, then reached to its foot and pulled out a large jar with a hinged cover. "Chamber pot," he said, "and spittoon if you get the retches."
"You don't have to be quite this historically accurate," Chekov found himself mumbling. Sulu ignored it.
"You'll be wantin' some to eat and drink before the gale hits us," he said, "'Tis better for the digestion that way, though those not used to the sea may not believe it." He winked. "What I have here is the best of what's in the galley," he continued, again turning to one of the chests. "Let us see if there's aught in my larder that strikes your fancy."
The 'ship' lurched again and again Chekov lost his balance, falling into Sulu's arms. The lieutenant's - captain's - body was strong and warm, his arms sure and solid around the unsteady orphan. "Naught to fear, young one," Sulu whispered. "You'll get your sea legs soon enough. And till you do, I'll not let you be harmed."
Chekov looked up into the dark, knowing, gentle eyes. "Thank you, sir," he responded. And Sulu smiled.
Chekov was finding it hard to sleep. Sulu had spent what seemed like the normal passage of time playing pirate, first giving him dried meats, old fruit, stale bread and something called "grog" - a fermented ale of some kind - for an evening meal, then showing him the 'ship,' as the sky darkened and a certainly genuine-feeling storm approached. Finally, he escorted the Russian back to the captain's cabin.
"I'll have little time to keep company with you," he'd said, "and fallin' asleep before the worst of the storm will only do you good." He smiled. "With a little luck, you might even sleep clear through it. You cannot have had much on Vargik's watch." He stood in the doorway and laid a comforting hand on Chekov's shoulder. "If you find there's aught you need in the night, just pound on the decking. Someone'll be sure to hear you below." His hand gave the shoulder a squeeze. "God's rest to you, young one."
Chekov had been left to stare at the closed door. With nothing better to do, he'd climbed into the bunk, finding it surprisingly comfortable for being little more than a straw and feather-stuffed pad over bare wood. The sheets were a coarse linen, the blanket good, tightly woven wool. The pillow was genuine down and feather, and, it, too, was surprisingly comfortable.
Still, sleep eluded him. The pitch and roll of the ship increased and the sound of the wind grew increasingly wild. He could hear shouts from the deck, orders and acknowledgements as Sulu actually went through the motions of captaining a pirate's frigate through a storm. Chekov couldn't quite understand it. All right, the stage for this fantasy had been set; how was this supposed to show him, as Uhura had intimated, that the helmsman was in love with him?
He heard the sound of crashing waves and actually saw the water beating against the small window in the cabin's door. It suddenly flew open, and a completely drenched Sulu staggered in, dropping a pair of boots to the deck.
"I hate to ask it, Chekov," he shouted over the howl of the storm, "but I need all the hands I can get. I need you to help hold the rudder. Can you do that for me, boy?"
Chekov immediately climbed out of the bed. "Certainly, sir," he responded almost automatically.
"Good lad!" Sulu beamed with approval. "These may not be a proper fit, but they'll at least protect your tender toes from splinters and debris." Chekov swayed as he bent to pull the boots over his still-rag-wrapped feet. Again, Sulu grasped Chekov's arm to steady the orphan and when Chekov had stomped his feet solidly into the encompassing leather, they stepped from the cabin into an absolutely real maelstrom of water and wind. Chekov was soaked through to the skin in seconds, and it was so dark he was barely able to see the ship. The swaying, hanging lanterns did little good against the murky atmosphere.
Sulu seemed as sure-footed as always as he led the orphan aft and up to the poop deck. The wind here was actually wailing, and Chekov couldn't stop the shudder. There were two other men at the rudder, and the orphan stopped short when he saw they were lashed to it. The captain apparently noted his sudden apprehension.
"We've had men wash overboard," he said softly, directly in Chekov's ear. "This is for your protection, nothin' more. It'll keep you on your feet against the wind." He paused. "If you want to refuse, boy, I'll not hold it against you."
Chekov swallowed. He was supposed to be a poor orphan - but Pavel Chekov as a poor orphan. And he wouldn't be true to his own nature if he were to claim the safety of privilege - any more than Sulu would be true to his if he didn't try to protect me, he realized with a sudden start. The helmsman had set up a situation in which they could both show who they truly were without the emotional interference of the past month.
Pavel almost smiled. You're a very clever man, Hikaru. He straightened his shoulders. "I owe you my life, Captain," he said bravely, as he expected a young man of worth, though impoverished, would do. "I'll do what I can to be of assistance."
Sulu smiled, all the considerable sunshine he was capable of. "There's my stalwart!" he exclaimed. Holding carefully to the deck railing, he grabbed a stout rope and carefully encircled the Russian's waist twice, fastening it adroitly to the base of the wooden wheel. "The men'll show you how to hold fast," he said. "Just follow their orders and all will be well." He placed a hand on Pavel's shoulder, gripping hard for a moment. "Thank you, young one."
Then Sulu was moving back across the deck, and Chekov brushed hair and rain from his face, grit his teeth, and placed his hands on the great frigate's wheel.
Hours later the wind calmed, and soon after, the rain stopped. Pavel let go of the wheel with a bone-rattling sigh. His shoulders ached and he was wetter than he had ever been in his life. Faint moonlight was coming through the rippled clouds left by the storm mass and he watched as dozens of figures scurried about, repairing and reordering the deck below him. The two men he had worked with through the storm congratulated each other, and Sulu came bounding up the deck stairs.
"And how's my passing crewman?" he asked with a weary grin.
"Passin' and more, Cap'n sir," one of the men said.
"Aye," the other responded. "Hale and hearty he was through it all, young though he be." A rough hand was clamped to his shoulder, causing Pavel to wince. "A right good lad. Thankee."
"Vy radusny," Pavel replied, blushing.
Sulu smiled at him and carefully released the ropes around him. Pavel suddenly found that his knees were buckling. The captain's arms immediately came around his torso. "You've got your sea-legs now, too much, I'll wager," he said jokingly. "Come, boy, I'll get you back to your bunk."
Sulu's sure strength was more than welcome as they picked their way through the detritus on the main deck. The pirate's voice murmured encouragement, things like 'there you go, lad,' and 'just a little further, boy,' and Chekov found its familiar tone soothing. Once back inside the confines of the cabin, Sulu led him straight to a chair, sitting him down on it. The captain knelt, pulling off the boots and unwrapping the soaked rags from Pavel's feet. Sulu carefully turned the appendages over in his hands, inspecting them.
"Might be a blister or two," he said at last, then grinned up at the orphan. "They're soft and pretty, though. Not seen too much laborin' I'll warrant." He rose without giving Chekov time to respond. "I've got no more dry clothing, Chekov, but a quilt or two'll do you right while these hang." He opened the large chest again and pulled out a blanket, handing it to the Russian. Then he smiled and deliberately turned his back.
Pavel couldn't have been more grateful for the warmth as he stripped off the heavy, soaked jacket and wool leggings, wrapping the quilt firmly around his shoulders. The exertion was exhausting and his muscles protested. He went to sit on the bed as Sulu gathered up the clothing and disappeared out the cabin door, returning a few moments later. The pirate immediately crossed to an inset cabinet, a pulled out a very familiar-looking bottle and two equally familiar small cups.
"I got this in the Japans," Sulu said. "It's a rice-wine. Not much in the way of taste, but it'll warm your bones right enough." He held up one of the sake cups. "They serve it in these teensy things, if you can believe that." He laughed, and filled both cups, handing one to Pavel. "Drink it, boy, it'll do you good." And he quickly downed the liquid in one gulp.
Hiding a smile, Chekov also swallowed the mouthful of sake in his cup. It spread a surprising amount of warmth through him. Sulu was eyeing him.
"Another?" the captain asked.
"Yes, please," Pavel said before he realized it.
"Such nice manners," Sulu returned softly. Chekov flushed and lowered his eyes. "You're not used to drink, are you, lad?"
"No, sir." The words seemed to come from nowhere, and Pavel wondered at them.
"Just one more, then, to chase the chill away," Sulu said with a firm nod of his head. He refilled Chekov's sake cup and his own, drained his, then stood, putting the bottle away. He took Pavel's cup when it was empty and set both cups on the table
"Aren't you going to get out of your wet clothing?" Chekov asked, again not certain of where the words were coming from.
Sulu grinned. "I told you boy, I've got nothin' dry. And I'm well used to sleepin' in the damps."
Chekov frowned. "That is not healthy."
"Well and aren't you the kind one!" Sulu exclaimed. "My thanks to you, but I'll be fine." Sulu stepped over to the bunk, pulling up a chair close to it. "But you won't be come morning, I'll wager," he said, "not with the trials the storm put those fine muscles through." He reached out. "Come now, turn around, young one, and let me work out the kinks."
Shivering, Chekov turned his back to the pirate. Strong hands found his tense deltoids and supraspinati and subscapulari, easing the strain and stiffness.
"Do you mind, lad?" was whispered in his ear as the blanket was gently moved off his shoulders. "I can get better purchase on bare flesh."
Pavel grunted an assent. The warmth of Sulu's hands was as soothing as the deep voice, and he sighed, relaxing into the strong massage.
"Aye, fine indeed," Sulu murmured. "Your skin is smooth, young one. Not a mark nor a scar to be seen. High-born, I knew it. No wonder those villains sought to have you." Suddenly the welcome movement of Sulu's fingers stopped. "They didn't, did they, boy?"
"Didn't what?" Pavel asked, moving his shoulders under Sulu's hands in a silent request to continue.
"Have you," Sulu repeated. Chekov turned his head and smiled.
"No, sir, you - arrived - in time."
Once again, Sulu's smile was every summer day Chekov had ever seen. "We'll thank the good Lord for that, won't we, then?"
"Indeed," Pavel returned. Sulu's hands tightened in an obvious embrace before resuming the massage. After nearly ten very pleasant, warming, relaxing minutes, Sulu stopped.
"That should do it, lad," he said. Chekov turned in the bunk, leaving the quilt loosely wrapped around his waist. "With the gale's passage, it'll be a bit chill tonight. Better bundle up."
"Sir..." he began, then let the words rush out of his mouth. "I can't take your bed and your only dry blankets. I - I'm not so modest that I'd be that ungrateful."
Sulu cocked his head to one side. "It'd be worse below," he warned.
Chekov flushed. "I meant... sir, I'd be willing... to share."
Still, Sulu hesitated. "I'd have to strip off these wet things or it'd do neither of us any good," he said.
Pavel's eyes lowered. "I know."
"The bunk is small, boy. We would have to stay - close."
"Yes, I am aware of that."
Sulu crouched down beside the bed. "Are you sure, young one?"
Pavel looked into the dark, caring eyes. He had to take a deep breath before he whispered, "Yes. I'm sure."
The captain left his wet clothing over the back of the large, ornate chair. He slipped into the bunk beside the orphan, sighing at the touch of the young man's now-warm skin. His own was still cold from the damp.
"Bozhe moi!" Chekov exclaimed and the quilt was quickly wrapped around them both.
"Much obliged, young one," Sulu whispered, then asked, "that's the tongue of the Baltics, is it?"
"Russian, yes," the boy replied.
"And you said...?"
"My God."
"And before, at the rudder, when my man thanked you?"
There was a pause, the lad clearly trying to remember. "Oh. I simply said you're welcome."
"T'is strange sounding to these ears. You speak the King's English well for a foreigner, meanin' no offense."
"None taken." After a moment, the orphan's voice murmured uneasily, "Captain... why did you - rescue me?"
Sulu grinned. "I could say t'was for the gold they carried in the ship's hull, and not be far wrong," he answered, then added, more softly, "for you were found in the hold, weren't you?" He chuckled. "I could say I hoped for some reward for returnin' such an obvious noble-born to his no doubt grievin' family, and still not be called a liar." He paused, his voice again lowering. "For I have no doubt someone must be mournin' such a grievous loss." Another pause, the tone softer, gentler yet. "But nay, young one, t'was happenstance. I didn't know till I saw you what true treasure they carried. But after seein' you..." He gazed into the Russian's eyes. "I could no more have left you with them than I could've given myself over to them." He smiled again, a sweet, caring, gentle expression. "And that's the God's truth of it."
"But... but you said you offered..." Chekov's voice stammered and Sulu knew he had completely dropped out of the fantasy.
"I said I could have no more left you than given myself," he repeated. "If giving myself would have freed you, I could have done no less." Watching Pavel's brown eyes soften was almost too much to bear, and Sulu abruptly returned to the fantasy. "And if such had been the case," he continued, his tone conspiratorial, "believe me, boy, old Vargik would've had more on his hands than he'd bartered for."
Chekov snorted. "I don't doubt that," he replied.
Sulu put his arms around the younger man, laughing. "Changed your views on pirates, have you, lad?"
"Not changed, exactly," Chekov replied, "but I think I understand them better."
Sulu made no answer to that, but he hugged the Russian, then turned onto his back so that Chekov's head was resting on his shoulder. "T'is my turn to query you, young Chekov," he said. "Wherefore did modesty leave you, and how?"
"Wherefore..." the orphan began uncertainly.
"Why," Sulu clarified.
There was silence for a few moments, then the young man took a deep breath. "It seemed - discourteous - in the face of your generosity, sir," he answered.
"And that was all?" Sulu asked.
Another long pause. "No," came the quiet admission. "I - I didn't wish to - to be alone, sir."
"The storm was a fearful one," Sulu murmured.
"No, it was not the storm," Chekov returned. He leaned up, looking into the captain's face. "You - cared for me."
"I did and do," Sulu said simply.
"You compare me to treasure and gold, you've said I was one of worth and rare form," Chekov replied. "You said I had much to be modest about and am noble-born." The voice became quieter. "You called me your stalwart."
"And never were truer words spoken," Sulu avowed.
"Your stalwart," Chekov emphasized.
"Will you be?" came the soft question.
"Do you want me to be, after..."
"Gods, Pasha, yes!"
Chekov's heart leapt as Sulu pulled him into a joyous, passionate kiss. The helmsman's skin was no longer cool and the warmth and confines of the bunk were immediately arousing. Pavel returned the kiss with eager delight, unable to stop the fervent movement of his body against Sulu's. He felt the urgent response, steel-hard flesh against flesh pressing into his abdomen. He reached up, ready to tangle his fingers in Sulu's hair when hands were suddenly at his hips, pushing him away.
"Nay, young one," Sulu's voice gasped, "not like this, not out of gratitude."
"Enough of fantasy, Sulu," Chekov growled, reaching again for another kiss. But the helmsman was adamant.
"I want you right enough," the deep voice rasped. "And I can tell you'd not begrudge it, but..." He took a deep breath. "You've got the right of it, lad. I care - and I'll not take advantage of you."
"Sulu...!" Chekov protested.
"Nay I said, and nay I mean. To take your trust this way, then betray it? That's the honor others would expect of one such as I, but I'll not give them satisfaction."
"What about giving me satisfaction?" the ensign demanded.
"I'll leave you to your own hand, if 'tis what you be needin'," Sulu returned softly.
Chekov nearly screamed with the frustration.
Play along, Uhura's voice reminded in his head.
This is ridiculous! he told it. He called me Pasha!
A momentary lapse, his brain, still sounding suspiciously like Nyota, replied smoothly. He's back in the fantasy, there must be more he wants to explore.
Dlya vlyublyennosti boga...
Chekov took a deep breath. "Captain, I'm not... virginal," he tried.
The Asian's eyebrows rose. "No?"
"No."
Sulu studied him. "You told me Vargik hadn't..." he began.
"He did not," Chekov broke in hastily. "There was... someone else."
The lieutenant's eyes didn't waver. "With your consent, lad?" he asked dubiously.
Chekov flushed. "Yes."
"T'wasn't a forced consent, was it, boy? I've heard tales of noble houses..."
"No, I was not forced," the Russian answered from between gritted teeth. He knew what the helmsman wanted, why wasn't Sulu letting him give it? "Please, sir," he tried again, "I want..."
And this is what he wishes to hear, Pavel realized with sudden clarity. "Can't you see why your refusing to admit it makes him so angry?" Uhura had said. And now he certainly could see it. Wasn't he just as angry that Sulu refused to drop the fantasy?
He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He ordered his thoughts and his feelings. When he opened his eyes again he was aware of Sulu's wary, anxious gaze.
"Sir," he said softly, "It was my choice, and that of the man who partnered me. It was a thing we shared, a thing we both wanted and both agreed to. I am not what could be called experienced, but I am not ignorant - not of the desires of others, not - " he had to pause again. "Not of my own. I know what I am doing. I know what I want. Please, sir, give me this thing that I desire."
"This thing," Sulu said, his eyes lit from within, "is making love."
Chekov smiled. "Yes," he said, "but I must confess... I like it rough."
Sulu sat up, grasping the navigator's shoulders. "What did you say, boy?" he asked, knowing he wasn't keeping the delighted smile from his face or his eyes. Chekov dropped his gaze.
"My - partner, sir," he returned. "He taught me - to enjoy his control." The brown eyes flashed up mischievously. "Sir."
"Did he now?" Sulu questioned. "And have you been shown obedience?
Chekov only nodded, very humbly.
"Come here, then, young one," Sulu said in a commanding murmur, "and we'll see how obedient you are."
"Yes, sir," the ensign replied and moved forward on his knees. Sulu pulled the blanket away.
"Not too cold for you, is it lad?"
"No, sir."
The lieutenant's hands reached out, exploring Pavel's body. Fingers traced over arms and shoulders, chest and thighs, throat and stomach and finally over the throbbing, straining erection. "Mmmm," came soft pleasure. "Rare form indeed. You've a grand figure."
"As do you, sir," Pavel returned with a deliberate blush. Sulu grinned, then stretched out on the small bunk.
"Come learn it," he said.
Pavel carefully placed his hands behind his back and bent his head. He saw the flare of pleased surprise in Sulu's eyes before he focused all his attention on his intended destination; the helmsman's steel-hard cock.
Carefully he kissed the rigid flesh, light kisses, all up and down from the head to the base and back. He wet his lips, opening his mouth slightly, again making the journey down the shaft and back up. A third time, and he used the tip of his tongue, lapping teasingly at the firm column. When he reached the head, he quickly licked it, enjoying the moisture that coated his taste buds. He heard Sulu's soft moan and smiled to himself, then engulfed the flared tip of the organ in his mouth, quickly bobbing his head up and down on the pulsing flesh.
"Ah, boy, not so fast," Sulu breathed, and the Russian felt hands on his head, stopping his movements. "'Tis true, you're no innocent. But I wanted obedience, not bare skill." Chekov slowly backed off of Sulu's cock. "Lie on me, boy," Sulu said.
The ensign obeyed, matching his body to the lieutenant's.
"Kiss me."
Memory made him shiver, and Pavel gave a thorough, ravishing, entreating kiss.
"Writhe on me," Sulu whispered. "Show me how badly you want it."
Hunger shooting through him, the Russian moved, adding soft moans of helpless need. He felt Sulu's arms coming around him, and he was flipped onto his back, the lieutenant above him. Sulu kissed him, his lips and tongue doing wanton things to Chekov's thought processes.
"Now, lad," Sulu said when he at last allowed the navigator breath. The dark eyes stared down into Pavel's, carefully enunciating. "Don't move."
He took his time with his young partner's body. First, every inch was touched, stroked, with fingers, then with lips and tongue, and at last with a thin strip of leather retrieved from the large chest in the cabin. Each time Chekov writhed or his fingers twitched, or he shifted even a little, Sulu punished the breach with a sharp slap, or pinch, or - at the last - the snap of the strap. By the time he was finished, the ensign's body was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, the brown eyes tightly closed, teeth sunk softly into his lower lip.
"You give it your all, boy, I'll grant you that," Sulu murmured. "Turn over."
With a moan, Chekov obeyed.
"Up with your knees, now," Sulu ordered, "and remember; don't move."
The shudder that went through the ensign's body was visible and Sulu smiled. He gave the Russian's backside the same slow, careful, loving attention from shoulder to heel, being far more liberal with the use of the strap on the upturned buttocks, shuddering himself at the way Pavel's skin warmed to it.
"Very good, lad," he said at last. He was kneeling behind the navigator, and he leaned over him, pressing against the trembling body. "Now, you said you like it rough. How rough have you had it, and how rough do you want it?"
"You know," Pavel rasped.
"And how would I?" Sulu returned. He heard the groan and chuckled. Yes, I'm going to make you say it, he thought lasciviously.
"I... I have been bound, sir," Pavel said and Sulu realized the fantasy was actually making it easier for him."...and strapped - much harder, sir. I have been - forced to swallow... my partner's - fluids, sir. And..." the voice became almost inaudible "...taken, sir."
Sulu pressed his erection against the cleft of Chekov's rear end. "Like this?"
Chekov swallowed. "Yes, sir, and... on my back with my legs raised, sir."
"And which did you like best, boy?" Sulu asked. "Which is the rougher?" He grinned. "Or is that the same question?"
Pavel blushed furiously. "On my back," he admitted.
"To which question, young one?"
Another flush. "Both."
Sulu laughed. "That's my stalwart," he said and gave a hard, open-handed smack to the Russian's buttocks. "On your back, then, boy, and be quick about it."
Chekov couldn't turn over fast enough. His whole body was tingling, the pretense of being a grateful captive making it almost easy to give into the desires and demands of his arousal. He had been torn between absolute obedience and the thrill Sulu's correction brought him, until at the last, he couldn't help but give in to the temptation just to feel the sting of the leather against his flesh. He raised his legs before Sulu told him to, and was surprised - pleasantly - when the strap came to his thighs.
"Did I tell you to lift your limbs, boy?" Sulu snapped at him.
"No, sir," Pavel managed, and lowered them again to the bunk.
"You may be eager for it," Sulu murmured. "but don't forget your place."
"No, sir," the Russian repeated. Then he bit his lip again as the leather repeatedly struck his belly and chest and legs. He endured in silence as long as he could, then cried out as the strap hit his nipple at just the right angle to really hurt.
Sulu was suddenly kissing him, savage, fierce, the fingers so skilled at the helm turning the burn and sting of the strap into lines of fiery need and desperation. Pavel's cock nearly exploded under the kiss, but he dug his own fingers into the flesh of his hip, using the sensation to stop the climax. Then Sulu was kneeling between his thighs, pushing his legs up to his shoulders. He felt the slickness of some kind of lubrication as the helmsman's fingers pressed into his anus and a part of his brain realized that it was the oil which had both soothed and enflamed the marks of the leather. That part started to wonder at the composition of the lubricant and the aroused portion furiously told it to shut up. Then Sulu's cock was inside him and every fraction of his being was engulfed in searing, mindless hedonism.
Sulu pushed into Pavel's willing body as harshly as the ensign's fevered need demanded. He himself was soaring on the incredible knowledge that he'd been given a second chance. Whether the navigator would again revert to uneasy, guilty denial of the pleasure he so obviously craved wasn't something the helmsman wanted to think about. He could get around it. He knew he was capable of nearly endless variation of fantasy - and as long as Pavel would let him, he'd keep coming up with fantasies until even Russian obstinacy had to give in. In the carefully constructed fantasy he had come to the realization that it was far more important that he have Chekov, whether or not Chekov was ready to be honest. Honesty could come later. All that was truly important was that they were together. As long as they were, there would be time to work out the kinks that every relationship had. He would give to Pavel the master the ensign needed. Pavel would give to him the end of his restless, lonely tomcatting. He had searched all his adolescent and adult life for a nameless something, a search that had driven him to one lover after another after another. But Pavel would change that, because now, of course, he knew its name.
Chekov's throat was raw from the hoarse cries and screams of pleasure Sulu had wrung from him. The climax was better than any he had ever experienced, Sulu's body dropping on top of his seconds after they had both reached orgasm. The navigator's legs fell back to the bunk and Sulu began devouring his mouth with kisses. Pavel started to chuckle, and Sulu gave him one final, thorough kiss, then moved off the Russian, pulling the younger man to his side.
"You liked that?" the lieutenant asked cheerfully.
"Bog, da," Pavel sighed.
"Well, I know what 'da' means," Sulu chuckled.
"I think," Chekov said slowly, "that I understand the game a little better now."
"Which game?"
"What Nyota calls double-think." He gave Sulu's chest a kiss and the helmsman shivered. "We were pretending that I was a young orphan, and as long as I continued to pretend, things were - not so complicated."
"Mm-hmm," Sulu agreed.
"So... in order to - do the things I - have difficulty with, I need only - pretend, yes?"
"That you're someone or some place where those things aren't so difficult," was the careful response, "not that you don't want them."
"I think," Pavel replied equally carefully, "that I can do this."
"Even when we're not on a pirate ship?" Sulu grinned.
Chekov sat up, his face set and serious, but his brown eyes were twinkling. "Let us find out."
"Pasha, I have to tell you something," Sulu's sleepy voice murmured several hours later.
"Hmm?" Pavel made a questioning sound, wondering what the helmsman could possibly say that his body hadn't said a few dozen times over.
"I - I might not be able to say it often because - well, because that's not going to be the nature of the game. I mean, for me to say it, not for me to feel it," he went on hurriedly.
"Yes?" the Russian said.
"I just want to make sure you remember it when we are in the game."
"Will you say it outside of the game, Hikaru?"
Sulu smiled. "As often as you like."
"Then there is no need for concern, yes?"
"Still... I have to tell you now."
It was Pavel's turn to smile.
"Pavel, sweet Pasha, my treasure, my rare, noble-born, my stalwart," came the whispered caress, and Sulu's deep, dulcet voice was a warm suffusion of desire and passion in Pavel's ear and in his heart. "I love you."