Title: Party Favor
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Everyone/Everyone, Chekov/Everyone, Kirk/Nobody. Featuring Kevin Riley.
Disclaimer: None of these characters except the OCs, nor their settings, belong to me.
Afterwards, no one will be able to recall who brought the bottle of stuifmiele to the Shared Birthday Party. At least, that's the name jotted on its label in handwritten Standard beneath the sinuous untranslated alphabet printed in bold black ink. Someone says it's from Situla Secunda, someone else suggests Orion Prime though the label isn't in that language or script; Pavel meanwhile thinks the stuifmiele very pretty, a deep clear pinkish-purple that glitters as he turns the clear bottle.
Later, he will acknowledge that this wasn't the most intelligent method of deciding whether or not to open it.
For now, as Pavel peels off the waxed cloth seal, Riley rushes over, the ice clinking in his glass of maltreated vodka. "Wait, what if it's poison?"
"Nurse Zetihar has scanned it for toxins," Pavel answers loftily, prying open the metal bottle-fastener. Riley, who is the idiot he judges his crewmates to be, reaches with both hands just as Pavel pulls off the fastener, and his glass collides with Pavel's knuckles.
"Ow!" they both shout, and Pavel adds several curses as bottle and glass slip and plummet, liquids clear and purple leaping amorphously in seeming slow motion. The stuifmiele hits the floor in a fizzing explosion, vodka splashing through it, and Riley snaps, "You dropped it!"
Pavel looks up, preparing to argue, but inhaling fills his lungs with a sweet, sparkling scent that goes straight to his head. All around them, people are turning towards the smell, the air buzzing with questions. "What's that? It smells like flowers!" "Like freshly baked cookies!" "Like a Deltan!" "No, an Orion girl, have you ever--"
Riley's mouth drops open into a wide ecstatic grin, his dark hair gleams in the rec room lights, and he really is good-looking in a pointy sort of way. Pavel answers Riley's grin with one of his own and a diving tackle, and the last comment he even vaguely hears, as Riley's vodka-sharp mouth flares open under his, is Mr. Scott's "Is it time for the monthly orgy already, then?"
Pavel is drowning happily, floating under gravity, brain alight with a beautiful fog of fire and dick twitchingly hard even after two orgasms. He's also still on the smooth industrial floor, Riley's uniform shirt under his head and his trousers someplace unknown, Riley on the table above him having some sort of unspeakable threesome with Lieutenant Kyle and a dish of icecream. The entire rec room is awash in sex and stuifmiele fumes, moans and laughs and whimpers, and Pavel thinks of pushing himself up on his elbows to look around, but lies there listening a little bit longer.
Cadet Wilkins giggles a breathy arpeggio somewhere nearby. She'd been slumped warm and half-naked against Pavel's side, laughing tipsily that the Enterprise was the best training cruise she'd ever had, but while Pavel's eyes were closed someone lifted her away, her voice catching on a little sound of delight. Pavel reached up, but her fingertips brushed a contented goodbye over his, and by the time he remembered how to open his eyes he didn't see her anywhere.
It is possible that they are all drunk on one small bottle of effervescent purple liquor. Pavel is weaving strands of math into his suppositions and listening to Riley shouting cheery curses when a sweetly musky presence straddles him. He pushes his eyelids up and sees a tall golden tower of a woman, Lieutenant McKenna, standing over him. "Hey, Chekov," she asks, hands on her hips, smooth tanned skin and damp blonde curls as far as he can see, "you like pilots, right?"
Pavel nods happily, and McKenna drops onto him like a welcome avalanche, submerging him in a hard kiss.
The orgy is impressive, and Gaila knows orgies. Twosomes and threesomes and the occasional moresome writhe on or under or against every chunk of furniture in the rec room, kissing and thrusting and laughing and generally winding each other up to explosive relaxations. Mixed with the smells of sex and happiness she catches a sweet, tingling scent that she recognizes, and though she wants to stop and watch various groupings -- Christine looks as pretty all flushed like that as Gaila would've expected, but she never would've guessed Mr. Scott to be so flexible -- she follows it deeper into the room as she searches her memory for its identity.
She finds it at the same time as she finds Pavel Chekov sitting up against the back of an armchair, lazily stroking himself as he watches Lieutenants McKenna and Kyle kissing and hickeying a completely disheveled Riley up against an overturned table. There's a bottle on the floor that looks strangely familiar, a small deep-pink puddle inside it, and Gaila makes herself stop looking at McKenna's long sleek back and Kyle's long fingers on Riley's skin, picks up the bottle and recognizes it even before she reads the label. Stuifmiele, pollen-wine, a Ruddy-Orion specialty. The bottle's wet beneath, and she sniffs her hand -- ethanol. When they mixed the pollen-wine with ethanol it must have effervesced and filled the whole room with vapors. She's seen a scant liter intoxicate a whole deck of a station, after all.
That explains it, Gaila thinks, feeling her mind starting to haze and melt as the fumes curl into her brain. The last drops fizz as the warmth of her hand heats the bottle, and Chekov draws a deeper breath, looks up, and gives her a wide dreamy smile. "Gaila, Gaila," he says, waving his free hand towards her, "I am so drunk the ceiling is tilting." She can tell by the mismatch of his lips with the words that he's not speaking Standard.
Soon enough she'll probably lapse into Orion Prime anyway. Blessing her translator, Gaila crouches to stroke fingers across Chekov's damp forehead. "Everyone seems to be," she tells him, and when he turns his face under her hand the sensation's so amplified she shivers, his lips on the heel of her thumb streaming tingles down her skin. "Chekov, sweetie, the room is filled with pollen-wine fumes." He nods, flicking his pinker tongue out of his pink mouth, wet fire across her palm sparking wet heat between her legs. Good old pollen-wine, she thinks, easing negotiations and deflorations throughout Orion space and further. "Are you all right?"
Behind her, Riley absolutely shrieks, McKenna growls like a female hunting-cat, Kyle murmurs something indistinct and pleased. Before her, Chekov looks up with clear, blown, shining eyes, his hand curving around her waist as he nods. "I am never better."
Her head is smoky with fumes, her blood igniting, her sinews melting so she rocks forward onto her knees, almost into his lap. But she does ask, because she must, "Do I have your full consent?"
He nods beneath her hand again, his teeth white and gleaming in his grin. "The rest of me as well, if you should want it."
It's pollen-wine, it's Chekov's boyish sweetness, it's the monthly orgy. Gaila wants it, and she slumps sideways across his lap, his thighs firm and slippery-warm under hers as she squirms into place and kisses him.
Hikaru steps into the rec room, gasps, "Holy motherfucking shit," and nearly backs out again. A sex party can be a great icebreaker, but that wasn't tonight's scheduled event, and this one appears rather disorganized and crazy. To say nothing of the smell in the air, besides sweat and spunk, something floral and almost sticky-sweet. Is everyone drugged? Where's Pavel, who's supposed to meet him here?
He really should turn around, go find a medical officer and maybe some rebreathers, but the moment Hikaru thinks of Pavel he surges forward into the room, stepping around and occasionally over writhing or dozing heaps of his fellow crewmembers until a stunning sight stops him: McKenna and Gaila sixty-nining, gold and green and pink and red all in one incredible moaning tangle. Hikaru presses his mouth tightly so it won't drop open, feels his heartbeat thudding at his pulsepoints and in his dick, and realizes he's ridiculously, painfully hard.
That's when he sees Pavel. just beyond the girls. The high-arched sole of his foot, to be precise, waving over the broad shoulder of some crewman who's fucking him, along with two other people. That is Christine Chapel riding him, leaning on and frantically kissing the man fucking him, her hands sunk into dark straight hair; there's another guy behind her, leaning on her shoulders and pumping into Pavel's mouth, not that Hikaru can even see his face behind Chris's flying blonde hair. Beneath them all, all he can see of Pavel are clutching hands and shaking feet, but what he can hear-- he knows the sounds of Pavel's pleasure, and Pavel's moans are muffled but they aren't pained. At all.
Hikaru's mouth falls open. This is ridiculous, and ridiculously hot, and he shouldn't think it's hot, he should be shoving the pile of people off of -- out of -- his boyfriend, not standing there staring and watching. Someone gropes up Hikaru's leg, and he pries their -- her -- fingers off his thigh without looking down, even when she sucks his thumb between soft hot lips and his vision goes red-edged with lust. All he can do is watch Pavel as Chris and her friend shudder and scream into their kissing and collapse sideways, and when they squirm and roll away Christine buries her face in the man's neck, revealing the blissed-out face of -- Doctor McCoy?
Hikaru can feel his brain melting.
The other crewman -- some engineer, Hikaru can't call up his name -- has fallen over without Chris to lean on, and he and Pavel tip onto their sides as he cards thick fingers through Pavel's curls. Hikaru staggers over stifflegged, and Pavel looks up at him from eyes so blown-black Hikaru can barely see their rims of gray-glass-green, with a beaming wet smile and a rough-throated shout of "Hikaru! You're here!"
"Let's get you out of here," Hikaru answers, dropping to his knees, an absolute tactical mistake because Pavel rolls up against him, smelling like fifteen different kinds of sex and his own mouthwateringness under them all, running the tips of his fingers unerringly over the crown of Hikaru's turgid dick as if two layers of clothes up and vanished. Hikaru hisses through his teeth as Pavel traces those fingers down the length of him, as Pavel grins at him and licks puffed red lips. "I -- Pavel --"
"Come here," Pavel murmurs, other hand radiant with warmth on Hikaru's cheek. "Kiss me, I have longed for you all night."
"But this is -- " Hikaru leans in dizzily, but he tries to protest. Three feet away Chris and the CMO seem to have crashed in each other's arms, and Pavel's engineer friend is snoring on his side. Somewhere across the room a girl is hoarsely screaming out an orgasm or twelve. "We should--"
"You should kiss me," Pavel says, and his flesh and bones are unhurt under Hikaru's hand, so warm he feels like he ought to glow. Hikaru inhales the honey-sweetness and the sex-drenched scent of Pavel's skin, and sinks down to lick between Pavel's swollen lips.
Jim wakes up to a very crowded Sickbay. He glances around to see every biobed's out of storage, all the visitors' chairs filled with more passed-out crewmembers curled up in medical smocks and jammies, and at first fear knifes through him. Was the Enterprise attacked while he was out of commission? Is his crew all right?
Then Jim sees that no one's wounded or tubed or strapped up. Everyone's in sleeping positions, not laid out unconscious; they all just look... bruised and exhausted. Also, many of the beds are doubly occupied. Craning his head to look up to the right, Jim spots Gaila and Scotty curled up together, McKenna and Giotto's long limbs overflowing another bed, Chekov and Sulu tangled in an adorable knot. On his other side there's Kyle with Riley in his arms, and Chapel by herself. At least until Bones paces by, checking each bedful of patients in turn, and he doesn't take Chapel's pulse any differently but the look he gives her as he does it, the shift in the line of his brows and the softening of his eyes... Jim knows that look.
Bones works his way nearer, and Jim also sees the slumped line of his shoulders, the droop of his neck -- he's exhausted, with no Jim to order him off duty and no Chapel to kick his ass out of Sickbay. And at the corner of his stubbly jaw, is that a purple hickey?
"Bones," Jim asks as soon as he's near enough, "What the hell did I sleep through?" The last thing he remembers is waking up just long enough to send an announcement that the Shared Birthday Party was still on, and ordering Bones to go enjoy himself, before he dropped off again under Bones's frowny fond watch.
"Tell you later, Jim," Bones says without looking up from Chekov's pulse. The kid's neck is long on Sulu's shoulder, and covered with bites in different sizes, several of which really don't match Sulu's mouth at all.
"Now's later," Jim counters, grinning a little when his inanity makes Bones's forehead crinkle. "Seriously, tell me, or I'm getting up and waking the nearest patient. I think I can reach Riley from here."
"Oh, no you don't, and keep your voice down." Bones crosses to stand over him, leaning on the bed's edge with both hands. He really must be worn out. "Some damn idiot brought a bottle of sex pollen juice to the Shared Birthday Party and some other fool spilled it all over. The fumes got everyone high, and, well... one thing led to another. Rec room's still being decontaminated. This morning, forty percent of Alpha shift failed to show, so Commander Spock had to send teams to retrieve us."
Jim opens his mouth to complain that apparently his crew had an orgy without him, then catches that final detail, and the way Bones's face is turning a solid red that almost but doesn't quite swamp the purple bite on his jaw. "...'Us', Bones?" He looks over at Chapel, and wonders if any of her hickeys match Bones's teeth; then Bones grits those teeth, gaze sliding away, and Jim knows, and can't help an appreciative whistle. All he says, though, is, "You're getting some rest soon, right? You look beat to hell."
"M'Benga and T'nesh relieve me in 45." Bones flicks his eyes across his bay full of sleeping patients. "I should finish my final round of checks, first, so if that will be all?"
Jim waves languidly, trying to make it look like affectation rather than convalescence. "Sure, sure. I hope you all had fun." Having an orgy, without him. A captain could take that kind of thing personally.
Bones drops his hand to Jim's shoulder and squeezes. "Don't worry, kid," he murmurs gruffly. "An orgy's just not the same without you."