It’s a boring day in sickbay, trailing a boring day on the bridge. They’ve seen nothing but stars and blackness for a good three days, and aside from Lieutenant Darwin suffering a mild and very curable fever, nothing of interest happened. This leaves plenty of time for experiments, but it seems every nurse on board is thinking the same thing, and sickbay is somehow simultaneously full of bustling doctors and devoid of anything interesting. Bored out of his skull, Leonard closes his file and stoppers his beakers early.
He’s only a minute out the doors when he bumps right into an eager ensign, apparently looking just for him.
“Doctor! I am so glad to catch you, I, ah...” He pauses to glance nervously down the hallway, checking from side to side like a child crossing the street. “I hawe been having some... difficulties... with the instrument you gave me.”
“Chekov, I was just leaving,” Leonard grumbles, even though he knows perfectly well he’ll do whatever it is Chekov needs. Especially if it involves the ‘instrument’ Leonard gave him. It’s just the natural Bones instinct to be a dick about it.
Chekov’s face falls anyway. Apparently he hasn’t caught on yet to just how incurable Leonard’s mood is. “I am sorry, Sir. I just got off duty myself, but I didn’t mean to hassle you.”
Leonard shakes his head. He turns down the corridor towards his quarters, scooping Chekov up in his arm by the waist. He’s only a few steps in before he realizes Chekov probably won’t have the ‘instrument’ on him, and he takes a turn towards the turbolift. “It’s in your quarters, is it?”
“Yes, Sir.” Chekov smiles brightly at a Bolarian ensign in the turbolift, who gets off one stop earlier than them. “Should we be going there, Sir?” He takes a tentative step towards the open doors on the next floor. Leonard nods and sweeps them out.
Leonard says, “Lead the way, Ensign.” Because he doesn’t want to let on that he’s already looked up Chekov’s quarters, hoping for something like this. Chekov happily leads them down the hall to a set of white doors, which open automatically for him. As soon as they’re inside, Leonard hastily turns and locks them, while Chekov’s still walking into the middle of his living room.
“It is... ah, it is in my bedroom, Sir, but I zhink I should also explain my problem...?”
Leonard hurries to catch up, stepping past the half-wall, white, like the rest of the room, to find the large bed. It’s against the left wall, with the stars stretched out directly in front of them, three sectioned-off, slanted windows. Chekov walks over to his bed and sits down, eyeing Leonard in a thinly-veiled mixture of nerves and hunger. Leonard knows he should probably sit next to Chekov.
Instead, he walks right up to the edge of the bed, still standing with crossed arms, so their knees are almost touching. It forces Chekov to crane his elegant neck up, curls tumbling over his forehead. He gulps and says, with big, innocent eyes, “I know you said a healzhy boy should be able to take all of it, but I was only able to take up to six...”
It takes a good deal of practice and effort for Leonard to keep his face straight. Chekov’s cheeks flush. Leonard asks neutrally, “Do you have them in you now?”
“No, no, Sir!” Chekov’s cheeks stain much darker. “I... I know you said I should be testing myself to make sure I am healzhy, but I would not do it on duty...” Then he looks unsure and asks, “Am I... am I meant to have zhem in all zhe time?”
Absolute not, but Leonard would like to say yes, very, very badly. He just frowns. “Are you unable to get them in further because you can’t get anything deeper, or are the balls on the end too large for your entrance to take?”
Chekov’s beet red. “I don’t... I don’t know, Sir.” And he hangs his head faux-shamefully. When Leonard doesn’t say anything, he looks back up, lip trembling slightly, and he asks, “Does zhis mean zhere is somezhing wrong wizh my... wizh my bum...?”
Leonard takes a deep breath. He feels like they’ve been playing a chess match, in which neither of them wants to admit defeat and openly say this is all pretense. It’s driving him half-crazy, but Leonard doesn’t want to be the one to break the spell, especially seeing as how he’d have no way to restart it—he couldn’t possibly justify seducing an eighteen year old.
Really, this is just as bad, if not worse. He’s essentially using his job title for evil. But Chekov asked for it, so it’s easier to pretend the devil doesn’t have his name stamped all over Leonard’s back.
He finally settles on, “I won’t know for certain unless I take a look. Is that alright?”
Chewing his bottom lip, Chekov barely stifles a smile and nods. “How do you want me, doctor?”
On the bed, legs in the air. Against the wall, hands tied. In the shower, sonic or water, on all floors on the floor, any way it can happen. Leonard coughs and settles on, “Get me the t... the instrument.” He almost said toy. Because it is a toy, and there’s absolutely nothing medical about it.
Chekov either doesn’t notice or is choosing not to say anything. He climbs across the bed to his nightstand, pulling open the top drawer and fishing out the anal beads Leonard gave him. They’re a clear blue to match Leonard’s uniform, attached stiffly, like a dildo carved into spheres. They start off very small, getting bigger and bigger, until the largest is just a little too big to fit in Chekov’s mouth. Chekov crawls back to the end of the bed, holding it out to Leonard. Leonard takes it, noting that it seems dry and clean.
“You used lube like I instructed, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.” Chekov nods. “And I fingered myself first and everyzhing.”
Leonard tries not to picture that. It’s hard. A pretty young thing like Chekov, stretched out beneath the stars, completely naked and writhing, impaled on his own fingers. What a delicious sight. Leonard should’ve made some excuse about requiring medical supervision and set up a camera. Perhaps he still will.
For now he barks, “Strip. Completely.”
Chekov blinks in surprise. But then he hurries to obey. He lifts his shirt off his head, messing up his hair, taking the black undershirt with it, revealing all pale, smooth skin. He folds it and puts it next to him, looking down, then shimmying out of his pants and boxers. He covers his crotch with one hand and uses the other to tug off his socks. Next, he seems to think better of it, and he moves the clothing stack to the floor. He looks coquettishly up at Leonard through his lashes, working his lower lip in his teeth.
He practically whispers, “Am I satisfactory, Doctor?”
Leonard says, throat dry, “Get back on the bed. Lie on your back and hold your legs open.”
Chekov does so instantly, scrambling back and rolling over, shifting so his head lands in the pillows. Leonard climbs onto the bed while Chekov spreads his legs, curiously holding onto his thighs, so his feet are in the air. Leonard reaches him and pushes them further down, pressing Chekov’s knees into his shoulders, and Chekov submissively holds them there. This puts his ass beautifully on display, small, pink cock resting against his stomach and tight, round balls lying beneath it. His cheeks are forced apart, showing off his gorgeous hole, tiny and puckered. It doesn’t look like it’s been taking beads all week, but Leonard is sure Chekov wouldn’t lie to him, and he chalks it up to the wonders of youth. Leonard shifts himself right up so that Chekov’s feet brush his shoulders, and he takes a few minutes just to appreciate the sight.
Damnit. He always forgets to bring a tricorder. Next time, he really needs to get a proper picture of this. ...Purely for scientific and research purposes, of course.
“Where do you keep your lube, Ensign?”
“Zhe top drawer on my nightstand, Doctor.”
Leonard pats his ass and gives him a look that says, ‘stay here and behave.’ Chekov smiles innocently back, like he wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.
Shuffling over to the nightstand, Leonard pulls out a small bottle of clear liquid that must be it—there’s nothing else in the drawer, other than a blank-screened PADD. A part of him is pleased, and a part of him is disappointed. For some reason, he half expected to find a drawer full of other toys. No one can be this cute and naïve. Certainly not Pavel Chekov—he’s seen the minx underneath. A small part of Leonard half expects to discover this is Chekov’s normal M.O.—going around seducing all his senior officers..
Maybe Leonard just hoped that so he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty. But then, he’s not about to stop. Most of him would be pleased to find Chekov untouched and available, but he shakes that thought off—he’s too old for it and that’s ridiculous.
Settling back into place, Leonard pops the bottle open and squeezes some of it onto his palm, closing the bottle again and dropping it beside him. The bed’s made, blankets pulled taut. Leonard spreads the lube over his fingers, then presses one against Chekov’s hole, tracing the furrowed dot.
“Say when, Ensign.”
“When you’d like me to enter you.”
Chekov says, “Oh,” and tries to look down, but he probably can’t see much. His pink nipples are just barely visible beneath his legs, and most of his curves are unfortunately out of sight. But his smooth stomach’s bared, flat chest clean and perfect, dipping down into a tuft of light curls. What a body. What a beautiful, ripe body. Chekov mumbles quietly, “When, Sir.”
Leonard stabs his finger in, noting the way Chekov gasps, lashes fluttering closed and rosy lips parting, wet from being chewed and licked. Leonard’s careful, and he pistons gently in and out of the tight enclosure, resisting the urge to stab in all at once. Chekov’s too tight. His hot walls are already squeezing, trying to either suck Leonard in or push him out, pulsing slightly. Leonard worms his way in to the knuckle, feeling around. Chekov makes faint, needy noises, until Leonard finds the right spot, and then Chekov shrieks in pleasure, arching sensually off the bed. Leonard strokes the velvety nub over and over. Chekov writhes and moans, and he starts to beg, “D-doctor, p... please...”
Leonard can’t resist. He snickers, “You like that?”
“Da...” Chekov pants, licking his open lips. “Y-yes, yes...”
“Dirty thing,” Leonard chuckles. He pulls his finger out to try and work in a second, so he can scissor Chekov softly apart. Chekov squirms but behaves. He keeps his legs out of the way, holding his knees, looking like a scrumptious little fuck-toy, ready for the taking. Leonard stretches him wider and wider, watching the way the lube slips around his twitching hole, dribbling down his cheeks. Finally, Leonard pulls out, and Chekov whines.
“Shh,” Leonard purrs. “I’m a doctor, not a monster. I’ll treat you right, fill you back up...”
Chekov’s half-lidded, dilated eyes look at him appreciatively. Leonard pets Chekov’s warm belly with one hand, putting the beads in place with another.
The first bead pops in easily. Chekov still squeaks, eyebrows knitting together cutely. Leonard pushes the next one in—another gasp. The third one goes in a bit slower, but without too much trouble. Leonard pauses. Chekov takes a shuddery breath. Leonard asks, “Doing alright there, kid?”
Chekov licks his lips again and nods. When Leonard doesn’t move, he pleads, “M... more, please...”
Fuck. It’s too easy. How did they even start with any medical charade? Chekov obviously just wants Leonard to stuff him full and leave him breathless. Leonard tells himself that; it’s easier and it makes more sense. He presses the fourth bead forward, watching the way it plunders Chekov’s shuddering hole, forcing it wider than comfortable, red around the edges. Once it pops in, Leonard pauses to get more lube. He needs to be careful. He doesn’t want to hurt his cute little Russian, and he lathers up the rest of the beads, right up to the hoop on the end meant to be held afterwards.
The fifth bead has to be screwed in. Leonard grabs one of Chekov’s cheeks and tries to help spread it, slowly twisting the bead inside. Chekov’s breathing is erratic and heavy, hitching in odd places. Delicious. The sixth bead is the last one Chekov said he could take. The fifth was probably the last comfortable one. Leonard screws it in even slower, forcing Pavel’s hole wider and wider, until he can force it inside, with an audible squelching noise and Chekov’s muscles hurriedly swallowing it after.
Leonard takes another break, looking up to watch Chekov breathe. Chekov’s gasping for air, eyes reduced to slits, all pupils. Cheeks bright red. He’s flushed down to his neck, up to his ears. Whether or not it’s hitting his prostate, Leonard has no idea. He moves it around a little just in case, and Chekov whimpers, then moans.
“Should I stop?” Leonard asks. He will if he has to, but he really doesn’t want to.
Chekov takes a second to shake his head. He hikes his legs up again, holding his knees right down to his shoulders, feet lifting weakly in the air. He mumbles, “Not if... not if healzhy boys can take more...”
“Healthy boys can take all eight,” Leonard says evenly. “I know the last two are very large, but if your ass is in good shape, it’ll eventually take them. Otherwise I might have to take you back to sickbay and run some tests.”
Chekov looks up at the ceiling, eyebrows knit together. It looks like he’s torn between finishing this and having more ‘tests.’ To make the decision easier, Leonard adds, “Of course, once we know you can take eight beads, we can move on to other tests, just to be sure...”
Chekov nods and moans, “Please put more in me, Doctor.” Music to Leonard’s ears.
He fingers the lube a bit, just to make sure it’s spread evenly. Then he decides, “Hold your cheeks apart, but keep your legs up.”
Chekov nods and lets go, reaching down for his ass. Leonard helps tug his wrists into place, spreading his delicate fingers out in his cheeks, and watching rapturously as they stretch it open. Leonard hisses under his breath, “Damn.”
The seventh bead is a little smaller than a fist. It takes a lot of twisting and pushing, gently but firmly, but eventually it goes, popping inside, making Chekov howl and squirm. His ass is now twitching violently, thighs trembling, breathing rapid and shallow. Leonard pets him and makes soothing noises, as though trying to pacify a worried patient. He has to wait a minute or two for Chekov to calm down.
Then he murmurs, “There’s a good kid. You’re almost there. ...Do you think you can take the last one...?”
Chekov gasps, “Whatewer... whatewer you zhink is best, Doctor...” His accent is thicker in his need.
Leonard has one hand on the final bead. As much as he’d like to see this, he wants to touch, more. He leans forward, stretching out over his patient, ducking his head between Chekov’s spread legs, rubbing his stubble against Chekov’s smooth chin. Chekov makes an adorable giggling sound. Good. Leonard wants him happy and comfortable. The last bead is the size of a fist, and the more Chekov is distracted and relaxed, the easier it will be.
So he kisses Chekov, that excuse all over his head.
Chekov moans instantly. He’s still obediently holding his cheeks apart, but what he lacks in fingers he makes up with tongue, pressing eagerly up against Leonard, desperate and attentive. Leonard sucks on it and nibbles on Chekov’s lip, plundering his warm mouth and gently adjusting the anal beads, making Chekov twitch beneath him. He’s still devouring Chekov’s mouth when he presses the last bead against Chekov’s entrance, large and wet.
He starts to push, and he won’t let Chekov go, swallowing every gasp and moan. Chekov’s body jerks minutely against him, but Leonard kisses him quiet, kisses him still, kisses him over and over. It seems to take forever to get the large ball inside. When it goes, it happens all at once, closing up around the rest, sucking it in, and Chekov howls.
“Good boy,” Leonard growls proudly, kissing his cheek and his jaw and his throat. “Good boy, you’re nice and healthy, in perfect condition...”
Pavel whimpers, sounding almost as though he’s crying, like he’s hiccupping cutely through tears, “Can I... Can I mowe my hands, now?”
Leonard kisses him hard and growls, “Yes.”
Chekov’s hands dart for Leonard’s shoulders, and he buries his face in Leonard’s neck, curling into him. Leonard rubs his hand over Chekov’s abused entrance, around the handle still sticking out. He waits while Chekov trembles and squirms, until his grip loosens, slipping tiredly back into the mattress. But still breathing heavy. Still flushed all over. Leonard looks down at him, pants tight. Leonard’s still fully dressed. He has all the power. Chekov looks wanton and debauched, spoiled by a dirty old man.
Leonard kisses his nose. Chekov smiles, mumbling brokenly, “Please... please do more tests on me, Doctor?” The hope in his erotic voice is overwhelming.
Leonard is about to make up some other absurd procedure, mainly one that’ll involve his dick in Chekov’s mouth, but his communicator beeps in his pocket. Leonard hangs his head. Chekov winces.
He has to whip it out, flipping it open. “What? Damnit, man, it’s after hours!”
“Sorry, Bones,” Jim laughs. “But I’m afraid I need you up here. Got a minute?”
He doesn’t. But he snaps, “Fine,” anyway, and shoves the communicator closed and back into his pocket. He looks down at Chekov, who seems unsure whether or not he’s allowed to put his legs down.
Leonard grabs his knees and pulls them back, spreading his legs in the mattress, letting him lie down properly. Chekov grimaces and whimpers, but takes it.
“I’ll be back,” Leonard insists. “So don’t you move, and don’t you dare take that out. I want you just like this when I get back, or I’ll find another doctor to treat you.”
Chekov moans, “Yes, Sir! I will... I will be right here...” The thought of having another doctor looks like it might break him. M’Benga would never pull this nonsense.
Grinning, Leonard bends back down to peck him on the lips.
Then Leonard pulls back, slips off the bed, and marches towards the door, grabbing a PADD off the table he passes to cover the bulge in his pants.