I can't stop, I'll never stop! I love writing this stuff too much. Just a short, sweet little story for you McChekov shippers out there.

Warnings: Likely inaccuracies 'cause I'm lazy and some gay, gay smut. Plot if you squint.

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"Ah! Ah! Please, doctor, be gentle with me!"

McCoy sighed tiredly, letting the hypospray dangle from his fingers. This was the fourth time the kid had nervously warded off his advances, yet he had been the one that had come into the sickbay asking for treatment. Typical.

"Really, Ensign? This hypo right here, this is nothing, especially for you. A simple respiratory infection, you could get over it in a couple days. Try acquiring Mizarian herpes, see how badly you want some damn medicine then!" He slammed the hypo down, causing Chekov to flinch. McCoy briefly felt a little guilty for shouting at the boy, but it was quickly washed away with his usual irritable mood. Today was just a bad day, like all the rest of them.

"I...I am sorry, doctor, I am just not used to such methods. Needles do scare me. But I must be in perfect health by tomorrow! I simply must. I will take the medicine, please," he practically begged, and McCoy absolutely refused to turn around and face kid that was almost certainly pouting and fluttering his eyelashes.

"Tomorrow? Why tomorrow?" he questioned grumpily, but picked the hypospray back up anyway.

"The mission, doctor! Or you are forgetting? To Enara Prime?"

"Oh, damnit!" McCoy slapped a hand to his hair - he had forgotten all about that damn mission to the Enarian consulate. His day just went from bad to worse.

"Language, sir," Chekov piped up innocently, but his cheeks curved with mischief. McCoy growled softly, glaring steadfastly in the direction of Chekov's right shoulder. He wielded the hypospray in front of him as a weak defense, refusing to be caught by Chekov's oddly contagious charm.

"Yeah, yeah," McCoy growled. "Ready?"

"I..uh, yes," Chekov said hesitantly, and promptly clenched his eyes shut as McCoy advanced. The doctor skillfully pressed the hypo into the boy's neck and then withdrew it, all in barely a second, but the ensign still managed to flinch spectacularly against the sharp pinch of the hypospray.

"There. All done. Was that so damn hard? Now get the hell out of my med bay," he snarled half-heartedly. By the wide grin that Chekov sported as he hopped off the table, McCoy knew he lacked his usual bite. He was just tired.

That was all.


He briefly wondered if it was a custom for all Enarian girls to look as ridiculously slutty as Earth girls. Well, hell, he didn't wonder - he all but glowered at the girls as the thought ran repeatedly through his head.

Namely for the one girl that was seducing young Ensign Chekov with her swaying purple hips. The boy was only, what, seventeen? He was far too young to be seduced. Far too innocent. He knew he was being ridiculous, if he were being honest, and he did feel a little bad about how his brain was viciously tearing down these women just for wanting to get some. Or even play around a little. They all just wanted a little fun, who was he to get up in arms about it?

But, still...seventeen. He huffed.


He groaned.

"Jim," he mumbled, tossing back another swig of his drink. He wasn't really sure what it was - a swirl of blood reds and yellows, the colors magically repelling each other much like oil and water, that tasted a bit like tangy pumpkin. It was supposed to be made from some Enarian fruit, but McCoy didn't bother to learn, much less remember the names. It was good, though. Perhaps if he added a shot of bourbon it would taste even better.

"You sound excited. What's up?" Again, McCoy groaned. If he could trust anyone to drag out his deepest problems and beat them to death with a dish towel before he even knew they were problems, it would be James T. Kirk.

"Absolutely nothing, I'm fucking peachy. When do we get out of here?" He didn't even bother to hide his distaste of the Enarians at this point. Maybe there was something in his drink. Or, maybe he was just a codgy old fuck that needed to chill. They weren't doing anything he hadn't seen before.

"Relax, Bones," Kirk flashed him his thousand-watt grin, leaning casually against the sofa-like contraption McCoy was perched upon. It was damn comfortable, he would give it that much. "We've got another night here, then we can go back to the Enterprise and be on our way. Can you handle another night?"

McCoy made a noncommital sound, his gaze again fixed on the young ensign. The Enarian girl now had him ensnared in all four of her abnormally long arms, encasing Chekov like a spider before she devoured him. Chekov, to his credit, looked duly uncomfortable. McCoy did not notice Kirk following his gaze, nor the wide, knowing smirk that graced the Captain's features.

"Anyway, Bones, I got work to do. Things to see, people to do, that sort of thing," Kirk trilled merrily before skipping off to do god-knows-what. Just this once, Bones was glad to see him go. He would rather be a lonely, bitter old man in peace tonight. He didn't see Kirk smoothly intercept the Enarian girl and whisper something into Chekov's ear that caused him to grin with delight. The Enarian's skin glowed a deep purple in anger at having lost her fun for the night, but she was quickly soothed by Kirk's much more willing body.

A few moments later, which McCoy had spent busily staring into his drink, a body plopped down on the seat next to him again. He glanced up, prepared to ward off Kirk or whoever else had decided to come bother him, but the words died on his lips at the sight of a flushed Chekov.

"Doctor! This planet, it is...very provocative. I have never been to such a place! I fear our Captain is embracing it too heartily. He may not wish to leave."

He snorted, a sardonic smile crossing his lips. Chekov was a sharp one. McCoy glanced at him, remembering the sway of purple hips and Chekov's uncertain hands.

"You don't seem to mind, ensign," McCoy said grumpily, probably with more jealousy coloring his tone than he intended. Wait, no. He was not jealous.

"Oh no, I do not. It is very refreshing to meet such a...er, free people! They are quite fascinating, don't you think? There are still so many taboos and restricting customs on Earth, and many others that we have met can be even more stifling. These people, they really know what they want...and they are not too shy to try and take it." He said it innocently, a little too innocently, but McCoy was in too much of a strop to notice the boy's innocent teasing.

"You did seem to be getting acquainted with a few of the ladies here. They your type of girl, ensign?" He refused to look at Chekov for fear of doing something stupid.

After a short pause, he finally said, "No, doctor. They are very beautiful, certainly, but they do not have the right type of, how do you say...equipment."

McCoy's head snapped around to stare at Chekov, with his flushed cheeks and wide blue eyes. His shiny lips curved into a mischievous smile, and McCoy continued to stare as if the boy had two heads.

"I...I, you're...ensign?"

"I am gay, Doctor. Did you not know? I thought it would be in my files."

McCoy flushed and turned away, twirling his drink as a dismal attempt at a distraction. "No. No, I did not know."

"Hm. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

McCoy thought, and he thought hard, but the words came out of his mouth before he had even processed them completely. "No, it doesn't."

There was a small moment of silence between them, in which the doctor stared out at the dancing Enarians mingled with the Starfleet crew, and Chekov stared at him, until finally the boy wet his lips nervously and supplied, "I like men. Older men. I always have."

McCoy felt ice, then heat, a dizzying swirl of emotions he wouldn't dream of naming in that moment, race down his spine and bloom into his stomach. But, no, the kid was not implying a damn thing and McCoy was just a dirty old man with dirty old dreams. He liked older men. That didn't mean that Chekov liked him.

These thoughts quickly fizzled away when a well-placed, gentle hand placed itself on his thigh. The thin, long fingers curled around his thigh firmly, and McCoy slowly turned to look Chekov in the eye. It was a mistake, he knew it, but damn if he was going to listen to reason at that moment.

"Doctor, I must confess something." Chekov swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. McCoy traced it with his eyes before his gaze fell on the thin, wet lips. They curved into a gentle smile, and he was lost. "I am very, very attracted to you." The very, pronounced "wery" by Chekov's Russian tongue, made McCoy unbelievably hot. "I would like to show you, doctor, how much I am attracted to you, if you would permit me. Tonight, even. I do not want to wait much longer."

"Tonight, huh?" His voice was huskier than he would have liked, but the shiver that visibly ran down Chekov's spine made him reconsider. He spoke the words before he could regret them. "Fourth door right, ensign. Don't make me wait much longer either."

Chekov smiled so brightly McCoy almost wanted to close his eyes, but he would be damned if he missed a single minute of the boy's beauty now that he had it in his hands. "Of course, doctor!"

He got up, preparing to flounce away to god knows where, when he leaned down and whispered into McCoy's ear, "And please, doctor, call me Pavel."

He was absolutely fucked.


It had taken about one second for Chekov to enter his quarters before he set upon McCoy, ravenous and ready.

They had not even exchanged a single word when his wet mouth found McCoy's, already sucking the life out of him. Tongues tangled mercilessly, fighting and breathing for each other, slick and hot, and already McCoy's hands were helping Chekov out of his uniform.

"Please, yes, please," he begged, oh god he begged. His mouth was far too sweet, and McCoy felt like a dirty old man for absolutely loving it.

A heavy hand curled around Chekov's cock, already hard and aching, and the boy positively whined, arching into McCoy. "Doctor," he breathed, moaned, begged, and McCoy grit his teeth against the wave of lust.

He leaned down to whisper in the boy's ear, "I want you to get on that bed right there and prepare yourself for me...Pavel."

Chekov whimpered, visibly shivering at McCoy's whispered command, but complied, sliding onto the bed and falling onto his back. He spread his legs lewdly, baring everything to the Doctor, who watched impassively.

"You do not know how long I have wished for this, doctor," Chekov whispered. He slid two, three fingers into his mouth, sucking and wetting, and McCoy squirmed. His pants were far too tight.

Those wet, slick fingers skimmed down a skinny body, skin stretched tight and pale over the gangly skeleton. McCoy could see the blueish hue of his veins from where he was standing. Those veins disappeared under contractions as one finger slipped inside of him, tight but welcomed.

One finger and the boy was already moaning.

Soft, tiny little moans that went straight to McCoy's dick. Chekov had always gone straight to McCoy's dick. He was a dirty, sick old man. You aren't even that old, Bones, Jim would tell him, but he was. He had always been old. And Chekov? He was the very picture of youth, sweet youth and innocence, but not now, not now when he was on McCoy's standard-issue bed in the middle of the Enarian consulate on Enara Prime.

Now, he was pure sin and seduction, with two fingers wiggling inside of his ass, his moans increased to a dry pleading for McCoy's cock.

It was all he needed.

His clothing had disappeared at some point, he was't sure where nor did he care, really, because his body was already draped over Chekov's, heavy with need. Chekov's pale, skinny hands came up, trembling, to cup his stubbled cheeks, and he planted a kiss, one sweet, chaste kiss, on the doctor's lips.

"Doctor," he whispered. "I was not going to tell you this. But suddenly I am here, in your bed, and you are going to fuck me. It is only fair that you know this." He stopped, paused, mouth open and full of words he wanted to say, was going to say, and finally, "I love you."

McCoy's blinked rapidly, and it suddenly felt like his heart was about to beat itself out of his chest. No, no, what was he doing? He couldn't do this.

"Kid, I..."


"I can't. I can't do this. I'm almost twice your age, this isn't fair to you. You can't love me. You don't...you don't even know me. We don't even talk. How could you possibly love me?" He shook his head, over and over. This wasn't right.

A hand, skinny but sharp, collided with his shoulder and the fingers dug into his flesh. It didn't hurt, at all, but Chekov's angry eyes did. "And who are you to tell me who I can or cannot love? If I want to love a thirty year old man, I will. If I want to love you, I will! I have watched you, for so long...you care so much, but want no one to think you do. You are so soft inside, so sad, and so beautiful. I love what I see. I want to know more."

"Thirty-two," he mumbled, but quieted under Chekov's fierce eyes. McCoy was still on top of him, holding him down, but he didn't move. He was just selfish enough to stay where he was. He couldn't process it. How could such a sweet thing love an old bear like him? "It's just...are you sure, about this? Are you sure about me?"

The boy's eyes widened, blue and clear. "Yes," he breathed. "Yes, doctor, more than anything. I am more sure than anything, ever."

McCoy wanted to say something, wanted to try and refute the boy once again, or maybe encourage him, he wasn't sure yet, but Chekov only smiled softly. "Fuck me, doctor, please? We can talk about this later."

Any objections after that were out the window. Yes, they could talk later, or maybe he would be his usual ignorant self and ignore the boy until somebody stepped in or Chekov gave up, but for now he was going to fuck that begging boy underneath him. He was too far gone.

Chekov was tight, so tight, and McCoy had to ask if the boy had ever done this before.

"No, never. You are my first," he breathed, his face clenched with the uncomfortable, burning stretch.

"Oh, why did I ask that when I'm inside you," McCoy groaned, but he made no move to pull away, or move at all, because Chekov was whimpering and trying not to cry. He would not make the boy cry, not tonight. Not after everything. The thought of Chekov crying made his stomach clench a little and he did his best to remain impossibly still, making soothing noises into Chekov's ear.

He was Chekov's first, he was a dirty old man and he was Chekov's first, but he wasn't going to stop now, not when Chekov moved against him, cried out, begged for more. He wasn't going to stop and he was probably going to hell for it. At least, he had found out from a datapad earlier, that Chekov was eighteen.

"Doctor, please," Chekov breathed, far too gone to do anything but plead and beg for his cock, and McCoy gave it to him, again and again and again.

They fucked, sweet and gentle and almost loving, before Chekov suddenly pushed McCoy onto his back and rode him, god he rode him. All pretense of sweetness was gone as Chekov had morphed into a lustful beast made of hips and desperate cries. He never screamed, though, and for that he was grateful. His ex-wife was a screamer. He was just all moans and cries and whimpers, whispered pleas of "doctor" on his lips. He never called McCoy by his name.

"Doctor," he spoke suddenly, spoke around the trails of sweat and the moans, "I am close. I am very, very close...please."

McCoy grabbed Chekov's hips in calloused hands and thrust up, hard, harder, until Chekov's voice broke and he came, thick stripes all over McCoy's chest without having touched himself, and McCoy groaned and came inside of Chekov.

Chekov had already slumped over his chest, completely ignoring the fact that he had settled into his own semen. "I still love you," he whispered against McCoy's chin, placing a soft kiss there, and McCoy felt something then.

The doctor smoothed his hand into Chekov's curls, suddenly wanting nothing more than to lay in that bed on Enara Prime with Chekov on his chest forever. He could forget being a doctor, he could forget Jim and Spock and Uhura, but he could never forget Chekov, and in that moment he knew exactly what that feeling was.

"I might love you, too," he whispered against Chekov's hair, and he didn't even have to see it to know that Chekov smiled, just for him.