Title: Russian Techniques

Author: The Inamorata



Transporting was such an odd feeling; a sense of darkness and nothingness, as if you went to sleep and didn't wake up until you had reappeared. It left a fraction of emptiness in your memory, leaving many unnerved if it was their first time being transported. It was a sensation, however, that both Kirk and Chekov had learned to accept; a normal part of the day's routine.

The two appeared in front of the sturdy metal door of the Delta Vega outpost, the wind whipping at their faces with a biting cold. They were able to force the door open and make it into the wet, dimly lit hallway before any dangerous creatures appeared. Chekov tried to pull the door closed, but the wind was far too strong and Kirk had to help him.

"So this is Delta Vega," Chekov commented as they began down the hallway. Despite being safe from the wind, they were both shivering from the cold. It was definitely below freezing. "Reminds me of Russia."

"Everything reminds you of Russia," Kirk pointed out, somewhat absentmindedly as he peered down hallways, trying to remember where he had first met Scotty.

"Well, everything important was invented in Russia!" Chekov replied huffily. Kirk rolled his eyes and turned down the hall, entering the room where Scotty's desk had once been. It was now just an empty desk, covered in a layer of dust with a few things haphazardly lying around. Strangely, however, the desk chair was not covered in the same layer of dust the desk was. Sitting on it was a single, folded blanket. Kirk didn't take any notice, and was immediately distracted by the sight of his wallet sitting on the desk.

"Ah, there it is!" he said excitedly, opening it to be sure nothing was stolen; everything was intact. He slipped it into his pocket and pulled out his communicator.

"These books are interesting," Chekov remarked from the other side of the room, having wandered around and touching everything in sight. His nose was now buried in a dusty, leather-bound volume. "There is even one on the astrophysical properties of natural jet propulsion!"

"Okay, Scotty, ready to beam up," Kirk said into the device, motioning for Chekov to return to his side. He sighed, placed the book back on the shelf and walked briskly over. They stood completely still for a few moments, but nothing happened. Kirk opened the communicator again.

"Scotty? I said, ready to beam up."

"Aye sir, but there's something funny 'bout the transporter," Scotty responded. "I think there's an ion storm, and I just can't get her working."

"How long until it's fixed?"

"Dunno sir, we'll have to wait for the storm to pass, and that could take hours."

Kirk sighed, making a mental note that his new life goal should be to seek out the being that created ion storms and promptly punch them in the solar plexus.

"Will you be fine on the planet's surface for a while? It ain't so bad down there, to be quite honest."

"We'll be fine, Scotty," he said with a sigh. "Kirk out."

He slipped the communicator back into his pocket and turned to Chekov. "Well, we're stuck," he said, taking a seat on the desk and rubbing his hands together. "Hand me that blanket, Pavel, will you?"

Chekov perked up at the sound of Kirk calling him by his first name; usually, that was reserved for times when they were off duty, and it was never in public. Happily he picked the blanket up from the chair and dusted it off, handing it to Kirk.

"Thanks," he mumbled, draping it over his front so he looked like a purple lump with a head. A small smile played at his lips. "Are you cold? I can share."

"Yes, Captain," he replied, lifting himself onto the desk beside Kirk. "It has been a long time since I had winter in Russia."

Slowly Kirk slipped an arm around Chekov's waist, his cold hand reaching underneath the layers of clothing that covered him. It was a shocking, electric sensation for Chekov's delicately warm skin as the icy fingers traced up his side. All the while, the two pulled the blanket up to their necks, looking like a two-headed being. They kept their eyes firmly in front of them, and an outside would not even know any touching had occurred.

"'S pretty cold in here," Kirk commented, his fingers still gliding over Chekov's skin.

"In Russia we have method to keep warm," Chekov informed him.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"We take off all clothes, and we, uh… ahh, what's the word? Cuddle."


"Aye, Captain."

Kirk sat still for several moments before tossing the blanket off, watching a cloud of dust emit from the floor.

"Well, we might as well give it a shot." He unzipped his heavy jacket, revealing a plain black tunic beneath it. That, too, was removed, and immediately a roar of goose bumps appeared all across his arms, his abdomen twitching in the cold. He didn't stop, however; without untying them he pulled off his boots, they unbuttoned his pants and pulled those off as well, until he was down to his boxers, freezing his ass off.

Chekov, who was attempting to undress himself as well, was still fumbling with the zipper; apparently, even rocket scientists have trouble with trivial matters.

"Let me do it…" Kirk pushed the small, soft hands away and pulled the zipper down smoothly. Even after, however, he didn't give Chekov control over undressing himself. Kirk pulled the jacket off his arms and tossed it to the side, then slid his cold hands under the Ensign's shirt. The boy gasped as the shock sensation had returned, but Kirk took his time feeling his way up Chekov's chest. Eventually he pulled up at the fabric, and the shirt was lying discarded with the other clothes.

Chekov pulled his boots off in a similar manner that Kirk had, then put his hands to the button of his pants. Kirk pushed them away again, kneeling down to unfasten them more easily. Chekov remembered a very similar position of few nights previous and blushed, suddenly becoming aroused at the memory. It was impossible to stop himself from suddenly getting a hard-on at that moment.

Kirk paused; it was impossible to ignore. Slowly he smiled and continued, pulling the Ensign's pants to his ankles. His standard issue boxers were yellow with the Starfleet logo on the leg. A sliver of skin color could be seen through the slit on the front, the bulge growing larger.

Kirk maneuvered the fabric around Chekov's erection so it was exposed. The feeling of icy fingertips on his most sensitive area was a different sensation entirely; he felt like he was going to come right then and there. The contrast between the frozen touch of Kirk's hand and the warmth of his mouth was like juxtaposing black and white, the two extremes giving him sensational pleasure. Within moments he was shaking with the climax, and didn't bother keeping himself silent because he knew they were alone. He felt the warmth drop away and the cold overwhelm him once again.

He looked down at Kirk, who had a satisfied look on his face. Kirk stood, and Chekov stepped out of the pants that had been left around his ankles. It was then he realized just how cold he was, as his body started convulsing and shaking him violently. He could tell Kirk felt the same way, and they grabbed hold of each other, laying on the pile of clothes for padding and tossing the blanket over themselves.

Chekov's small body fit nicely in front of Kirk's as they both lay on their sides. They were still very cold, but the heat of each others bodies made them substantially warmer. Kirk nuzzled his face in Chekov's shoulder, kissing at his neck, the warmth of his breath tickling at his skin. They cuddled without keeping track of time, drifting in and out of consciousness in each other's arms.

A muffled beeping sound came from somewhere beneath Kirk's legs. He blinked drowsily and groped for his jacket, finding the communicator in its pocket.

"Kirk here," he said sleepily.

"Ready to beam up, Captain," Scotty said.

"Right," Kirk said while yawning absentmindedly. "Beam us up…"

"Captain, we're--!" Chekov was cut off by the distinctive sensation of nothingness by the transporter. Kirk had forgotten that they were both reduced to nothing but boxers. When they reappeared upon the Enterprise, however, he definitely remembered.

There was silence. Complete and other silence among the group that came to meet them in the transporter room. At least, there was silence until there was laughter. Uhura began to laugh so hard that she had to remove herself from the room completely.

"Captain, removing so many articles of clothing in such a climate as Delta Vega's is… illogical." Spock cocked one eyebrow. "Fascinating."

"I-It's a Russian technique!" Kirk stammered, quickly trying to explain as he grabbed his clothes. "To keep warm, right, Chekov?"

"Yes," the Ensign replied, nodding slowly. But his mouth was contorted into a mischievous smile; it was clear that their partial nudity was not as innocent as Kirk made it sound. "Russian technique."

After they were both dressed, and thoroughly embarrassed, Kirk followed while Spock back to the Bridge while Chekov discussed transporter capabilities with Scotty.

"So, Spock, any significant damage from the ion storm?"

"Ion storm? There was nothing of the sort, Captain," he said confusedly as they stepped into the turbolift. "I had been wondering what had delayed your return, but it was definitely not an ion storm. It would have been picked up by my scanners."

"So you're telling me…" Kirk began, turning slowly to look Spock in the eyes, his own eyes narrowed. "…that there was no ion storm?"

"None to speak of."

"And the transporter was in perfect working condition?"

"Completely operable."

"And that stranding Chekov and I down on that frozen wasteland…" The turbolift doors opened, revealing the Bridge. "…was all an elaborate plot?"

"It would appear so, yes."

Kirk walked silently to his chair and sat, his face completely blank. Spock returned to his post and resumed his duties, but Kirk didn't move a muscle. After several minutes, he finally pushed a button on the arm of his chair.

"Mr. Scott."

"Scotty here, Captain."

"That wasn't funny." And with a click, the telecom shut off.