Title: The Inner Workings Of Faith
Author: [personal profile] calicokat
Beta: black_regalia@livejournal.com
Pairing: Bones/Chekov
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A quarter of a year had slid by.
Notes: Sequel to "Remedial Intercourse" and "The Deeper It Runs."

Star Trek and all related properties © and TM 2009 CBS Studios Inc. and are used without permission.



The Inner Workings Of Faith
by [personal profile] calicokat




A quarter of a year had slid by.

A mess of adventures and near-death experiences in the wild frontiers of space had passed. Pavel Chekov began to feel at home at the Conn of the Enterprise next to Hikaru Sulu, a young man who'd rapidly become his best friend, but not his closest confidant. That honor went to another man entirely, although he seemed to view it as less of an honor and more of a massive inconvenience – an inconvenience that he missed few chances to complain about.

Pavel made it up to him with noisy, sweaty, enthusiastic sex.

That man was Doctor McCoy, who fit into a strange niche in Pavel's life as something more than a friend or comrade in arms and something less than a boyfriend.

For one thing, Pavel knew intuitively that you didn't call your boyfriend 'Doctor.' Maybe a cute nickname or a term of endearment – not 'Doctor McCoy.' But although McCoy had a more comprehensive carnal knowledge of Pavel than any man before him, Pavel only knew him as 'Doctor McCoy,' or maybe as 'Lieutenant Commander McCoy' or 'Chief Medical Officer McCoy.'

One Tuesday, he sat in front of the desktop monitor in his room for twenty minutes waffling over pulling up the personnel files to learn the first name of the man he'd been having sex with for three months. Somehow, it seemed disingenuous to go rooting around in the ship's records. Pavel didn't want to introduce that kind of subversive behavior into their relationship. And yet, after three months, the potential embarrassment of asking Doctor McCoy what his parents had named him staggered even a self confident young man like Pavel.

Pavel liked to think he comported himself admirably for his age. He'd been escalated through Russia's public school system so quickly that, by the age of ten, half his friends had already celebrated their sixteenth birthdays, often years before. He chose Starfleet as his future at thirteen. He’d sat at the front of classrooms full of students five or more years his senior, sticking his hand in the air, always ready with an answer – not because he had anything to prove, but because he loved everything he learned.

Equations and theories came as easily to Pavel as stretching his long legs over the rubberized surface of the Academy's 400m track. He excelled in his courses, top of his classes, and crossed the finish line ahead of the field in the 2257 Starfleet Academy marathon, grinning as he tore down the ribbon and waved it at the cheering crowd – the youngest cadet to ever win the race.

It had never occurred to Pavel not to excel. By the time he reached an age where it became apparent other children didn't consume breaking research on theoretical physics alongside their pancakes and eggs, he had lost contact with most of his peers. He spent such a normal time with his best friends at concerts and parties he didn't see himself as missing out on somebody else's regular childhood.

Pavel first kissed another cadet when he was fourteen and that boy was eighteen. Flushed and tipsy from somebody's room party, he grabbed him by the collar and mashed their lips together with uninhibited indecorum. They ended up on a bottom bunk, kissing and laughing, but it remained a joke between them. Pavel stumbled back to his room high on endorphins and arousal and collapsed on his bed to masturbate.

He didn't lose his virginity until he was fifteen, and it wasn't to a cadet but on vacation in Russia. The boy's name was Isaak. He had a pierced ear and worked as a waiter at a corner café. Pavel spent two days at his flat, mostly naked and living off a pot of soup they boiled out of the odd ingredients they could find in his kitchen. Pavel still fondly remembered the all the time they spent lamenting throwing the chopped bananas in amid the beets, tomatoes, rice and ham – and Isaak lying on the sofa scratching his abs and smoking a clove cigarette.

Doctor McCoy marked the fourth person he'd slept with. He hadn't exactly set out with the intention to seduce him, although the achievement left him puffed up with pride. His crush had started with the wrinkles that formed in the doctor's brow when he stood on the bridge next to Captain Kirk, focused on the viewscreen. He started to think somebody should kiss that tension away, caught himself, and then pursued the thought a little further and wondered if it could be him.

The more he let himself dwell on Doctor McCoy, the more he noticed about him: from his stubbornly foul attitude and determined seclusion from every party but Kirk to the breadth of his shoulders and the gentleness of his hands on a patient despite whatever he gruffed during an exam. Suddenly he found one more, two more, and five more reasons to show up in sick bay, until they started to sound stupid even to him. Relief segued into easy flirting when the doctor finally caught on to his game. After all, he'd been rehearsing in the mirror for at least two weeks. He left the sick bay walking on air, dizzy with his own success.

He spent another week second-guessing his own motivations. Doctor McCoy deserved more than a teenager getting sloppy with loose hormones. Pavel believed that strictly, even early on. Neither attraction nor seduction was much in question. Pavel wanted to see McCoy in a lot less than a Starfleet uniform, his idle thoughts occupied with fantasies of the older man's body. McCoy had complained about Pavel inviting himself into his room, like he complained about everything else, but he hadn't turned him down. Odds were he'd take him up on some recreational nudity. (Pavel had narrowed it down to a 83.475% chance through esoteric equations that helped pass long stretches at the Conn.)

McCoy finally driving inside him with the taste of the doctor's arousal lingering in his mouth left Pavel's body shaking. He had never stopped making all the ways McCoy turned him on intimately clear.

So, what had gone wrong?

It wasn't, specifically, that Pavel felt like he and Doctor McCoy were on the outs. The sex remained blisteringly, can't-walk-straight-for-hours hot. Sometimes Pavel thought Sulu suspected something going on with him from his surplus of geniality above and beyond what even he was known for on cheerful mornings-after. Pavel spent nights in Doctor McCoy's embrace, curled against his warmth and breathing in the musky, spicy scent of his body. When he woke up in his arms he buried his face a little deeper in the pillow or in McCoy's chest and pretended they had a real relationship and a real future.

Discrepancies remained. That Pavel didn't know McCoy's given name topped the list of them.

"Maybe ve can take our next shore leave together," Pavel suggested enthusiastically from his seat on McCoy's bed while the Doctor surfed the subspace network.

"Wha'd'you mean?" McCoy asked in a vague tone that suggested he was still mostly distracted and still registering Chekov's voice as the kind of background chatter he'd grown accustomed to.

"Maybe we can take our next shore leave together," Pavel enunciated in more specific English, watching McCoy's back for the tension that quickly knotted across it.

"Maybe," McCoy murmured vaguely, probably filing it away to catch up with, later. Pavel might even get a real answer in fifteen minutes, if he stayed quiet.

Pavel bit off any impertinent questions like Don't you want to? He could already hear McCoy's gruff of Why would I want to? ringing in his head. McCoy had defenses a kilometer thick guarding any kind of real honesty.

Despite it all, he smiled, and it wasn't sad or even wistful. As fiercely as McCoy guarded himself, Pavel had still assimilated an encyclopedic knowledge of the irritable man he regularly shared a bed with. McCoy’s attitudes forced Pavel into a situation of coming sideways at things that should have been straightforward in any other relationship. It intimidated him, but he took it as an enjoyable personal challenge where things like quantum mechanics and statistical thermodynamics offered none.

Pavel settled back on the pillow, shut his eyes and listened for the occasional sounds of McCoy's fidgeting and his moody huffs – familiar noises he'd come to associate with the doctor's presence. McCoy no longer had to touch him for Pavel to feel close. So far, the doctor hadn't complained (too much) that, sometimes, Pavel came into his room just to hang around.

"The odds of finding a planet in this sector safe for a Starfleet officer to take shore leave on are astronomically low," McCoy pointed out, eventually, exactly as Pavel had anticipated.

"—but someday, vhen ve have shore leave," Pavel fired back, optimistically.

McCoy lapsed into another terse silence. Pavel heard him keying data into the interface at his fingertips.

"Maybe sometime," the doctor finally gruffed.

Joy warmed the younger man, McCoy's acquiescence as astounding as if he'd dropped down on one knee. Pavel had a problem-solving mind and he hadn't missed how the doctor guarded himself from whatever past troubles hardened his heart. McCoy's communications came across in code, but Pavel had unraveled the intricacies of the measures he took to distance himself.

McCoy's suspicious voice cut into his bliss.

"Why do you look so damn happy?"

Pavel felt saucy with an ample reserve of cheek, spirits bolstered by his victory. McCoy was the last person on the Enterprise who could bring him down. His smile became teasing, affection pouring off him.

"If I tell you that, I have to listen to you moan about it."

McCoy turned off his monitor. Pavel's inner thighs surged with a familiar lust as the doctor pivoted in his chair to face him. He associated McCoy's attention with some very pleasurable activities.

"My lap. Now," the doctor commanded.

Pavel slipped off the bed and took a seat on McCoy's knees, at the edge of what counted as acquiescence. He'd progressively learned to enjoy McCoy's grumpy belligerence more and more. His smile beamed bright.

"Ve can't have the same discussion more than two feet away?"

McCoy's hands gripped Pavel's thighs, running from knee to hip and back in a slow and appreciative caress that made the ensign wiggle down a little and further open his hips.

"No," McCoy replied sourly, eyes squint. "This is a conference."

Pavel just kept grinning, arms sliding to rest over McCoy's shoulders in a habitual way. Confidence bubbled up inside him and he suddenly found the intimate place where he could ask some of those intimate questions nagging on his mind. If this really was a conference, he intended to confer. They got the idea to kiss each other at about the same instant, their attraction beginning to become a series of certain, practiced gestures.

Pavel's tongue was running over McCoy's smooth, wet teeth when the door whisked open with a soft susurrus. Captain Kirk's familiar voice piped up before it locked in place.

"Bones, could I borrow that—annnd, whoa."

Heat consumed Pavel's face, leaping up his neck to flush crimson over his cheeks. He sat back, awkwardly, self-consciously licking McCoy's spit off his lips and staring at the captain who'd earned his respect in the fight against Nero and in tens of scuffles since. Met with only Kirk's wide eyed stare, he grinned stupidly, giving an informal salute.

"Keptin."

McCoy remained unflappable, resuming business as usual as the tension broke.

"Sure, Jim. What'd you need?"

Kirk sprang to life, like being shocked awake from a strange dream.

"Forget it," he said, twirling a finger in the air. He jabbed it at the doctor to punctuate each successive sentence, smile too-wide and completely amused on his face. "You look busy. Getting some. From Chekov."

"I am, in fact, busy. Getting some. From Chekov," McCoy parroted with an irritated twitch. "Dammit, Jim – buzz the door next time. It's common fucking courtesy."

Pavel was used to some degree of professionalism from Jim Kirk on the ship's bridge, but the captain gleefully launched into a taunting harangue with his gleaming eyes fixed on McCoy, Pavel's presence an opportunity to torment his best friend.

"Sorry, I've been walking into your room for…four years now? Last time I checked you didn't get any. Especially not cradle-robbing, jailbait sex from my navigat—"

"Pretend he isn't here," McCoy growled over Kirk's ranting, voice low and rumbling as he pulled Pavel against him for a kiss that left the Russian floundering to comply.

Kirk lost his momentum with a strangled squawk.

"What—what are you…" Kirk got out.

As McCoy's tongue swept Pavel's own, their kissing grew hot, close, open-mouthed and more pornographic than Pavel had strictly ever participated in with an audience in a way that left him shuddering in surrender. Somewhere the captain started to realize the world's axis had shifted from him. He conceded with what grace he had the capacity to muster: "Okay, at this point, I'm leaving. And, honestly? Kind of turned on."

The door slid open behind the captain, who punched the lock before stepping out into the hallway.

Pavel kept his eyes tight shut, trying to remember a time when his face hadn't been burning at ninety-four degrees centigrade. McCoy kept kissing him, slow and messy, biting at his lower lip and tugging gently with his teeth. The doctor rubbed his back until his pulse no longer pounded like a drum beat in his ears. He began to relax over McCoy's lap, sinking onto his thighs. McCoy's hand on his backside tucked their hips close together and Pavel felt the doctor's arousal pressed against his own. The Russian finally gasped an audible breath and opened his eyes to face his lover.

"The keptin vasn't serious?" he hoped, his voice unfamiliarly pitched and tinny.

"Jim? When isn't that bastard horny?"

Possibilities punched Pavel in the stomach. His eyes widened. He wasn't a jealous young man by any stretch of the imagination, but he felt blind sided and a little sluggish on the uptake.

"Have you and the keptin…?"

McCoy studied him quietly, brow knitting into those three familiar lines.

"No. He's only my best friend," the doctor confessed after a moment's silence. "He tried it one of the many times he got completely smashed and wobbled into my apartment to find more hooch." The momentum carried into further, reflective explanation: "He's some kind of kisser, just about had me sold. We got our shirts off, and then he started puking. I spent the rest of the night keeping his temperature down and getting him hydrated." McCoy's eyes took on distance with the memory. He shrugged. "To Jim, sex is the best sport God's ever invented. He'd do it with anything, and he's done it with just about everything." A pause, here, and some other memory caught him sideways. "–you run track, don't you? I remember something about that. You won…something."

Pavel couldn't describe the burst of dumb, giddy weightlessness the recognition stoked in his chest. He nearly forgot the sudden incursion of Jim Kirk.

"Da. The Starfleet Academy marathon, last year."

McCoy nodded along, but he'd set his eyes on Pavel's and the younger man caught a sudden impression that, inadvertently, a line had been crossed. His mind latched onto the fact that McCoy had never, in three months, shared a personal anecdote of more than one sentence. He wouldn't underestimate the importance of that step, not with the devastating expression McCoy wore, right now. The fact that Jim had discovered them paled against the importance of seizing the moment for what it was worth. Pavel had to think quickly, assess the risks, and choose his move.

"Doctor, what is your first name?"

McCoy flinched back, befuddlement clouding the intensity of his gaze, the tension of that precipitous moment easing from his body.

"Leonard. Leo. Take your pick—…How did you not—"

Pavel's spirits sky-rocketed, latching onto that freely given piece of information and the break in strain that cemented a step towards something further and more.

"I never asked, and you never told me," Pavel admitted with sheepishness, flush returning to color his smiling cheeks. "You think I call you 'Doctor' for my own health?" he teased, pleased he'd wrangled some degree of English pun.

McCoy contemplatively traced his thumb across Pavel's lower lip. Pavel had time to study the doctor – Leonard's – face and decide exactly what had just happened between Kirk's incursion and their 'now.' He tried his luck at another personal query.

"So, you and the keptin haven't…but did you vant to?"

Tension ran through McCoy's body a second time, but dissipated with a fortifying inhalation. Pavel couldn't take his eyes off him, searching his unguarded gaze. His lover spoke quietly and carefully, as if they could be overheard.

"When I came to Starfleet I'd just gotten divorced and come off a two month bender. Wife took the money and our daughter…I could not have been more drunk. Jim picked me up. Hell, he cleaned me up, which is funny since he spent half the time as trashed as I was. I owe him. I care about him. But he ain't looking to settle down."

Comprehension came quickly to a boy as smart as Pavel:

"You are."

"…I am. And that's a warning." McCoy scowled, defenses reengaging, but they remained as near as before, their breath mingling in the recycled air. "You're one hell of an investment, now. You know how much shit I'll have to put up with from Jim because of you?"

Pavel softened, touching the doctor's cheek with his fingertips. McCoy's eyes were the same green-and-brown mottled hazel as seconds before, yet steeled against interpretation.

"Someday, if I'm wery patient, you'll say out loud vhat you mean."

McCoy stared him down, but Pavel waited him out. A wince flashed across the doctor's face, its tension remaining around his eyes.

"I'm waiting for you to kick me to the curb. I suspect I'll go back to the bottle awhile and then get on with my life." He spoke with conviction, tightness in his voice.

Pavel understood the gist of his colloquialism, but not the foredoom that motivated his words.

"I'm going to 'kick you to a curb'?"

McCoy nodded curtly.

"You'll want to go to parties – or whatever it is kids do. I like to sit at home with a glass of whiskey."

Pavel couldn't exactly argue the point, but didn't grasp it, either.

"Why do ve have to be, how do you say – 'joined at the hip'?"

McCoy looked so resolved to pessimism that Pavel's heart ached for him.

"At one of those parties you'll meet a guy your age who wants to do all that and you, and you'll move on."

Something inside Pavel slipped and shifted. His expression shuttered and he nodded somberly, his usual cheer overcome by the gravity of the situation. Clearly, everything going on in McCoy's paranoid mind reflected pure and inflexible reality. He made his agreement gravely clear, voice lowered to the point of exaggeration:

"It's the truth. Ewentually a younger man with long, blonde hair and a fast shuttlecraft vill make me his sexual plaything."

McCoy stared – then gave him a shake as Pavel fell apart into laughter.

"You makin' fun of me?" the doctor growled, brusque and bristling.

Pavel canted his head to the side, grinned impishly, and pressed in close, speaking against McCoy's jaw, bellow his ear, the doctor's five o'clock shadow brushing his lips.

"Only vhen you make up foolish things, Leo." He decided he liked the doctor's given name at the same time McCoy caught his breath. The captain called him 'Bones,' but Pavel could find intimacy on his own terms. He playfully scraped his teeth against McCoy's skin with a slight pinch.

A tremor shivered through McCoy with an abandon usually reserved to times the doctor had already penetrated his hips. Connections flashed through Pavel's sharp mind. Pavel himself grew short of breath without any workout.

McCoy's clothed hardness still pressed insistently against Pavel's own sex. Pavel had conceived a plan, but one that would be inadvertently torturous to a man with a full, un-sated erection.

Pavel did have one outstanding question barring the way of chasing satisfaction.

"—the keptin, vill he tell the whole ship?"

"No. Just me. Over and over. And then maybe you, like you hadn't already heard." McCoy rolled his eyes, tired of it all before it started.

Pavel pecked a doting kiss on his cheek.

"Then don't vorry. I vill make your suffering worthvhile."

The doctor's eyebrows inched up as Pavel scooched out of his lap, taking a few steps backwards until McCoy had a clear look at him. Beaming like the sun at his lover's cautious curiosity, Pavel began to undress, letting his shirt and black undershirt roll off over his head. He stepped on the heels of his boots and tugged his long calves out of them one foot at a time. McCoy settled back in his chair, chewing his lower lip as his posture sank into a comfortable sprawl, his gaze everywhere but Pavel's eyes, from square jaw to solid, fit chest to sock-feet.

In any other situation, Pavel walked with a boyish spring in his step and ran with his long limbs flailing to the sides. In the stillness of McCoy's room, however, he showed off natural sensuality. A squirm of his hips as his pants went over them, a stretch just right as he leaned to peel off his socks, and a thoughtful appreciation of his own long body with his hands splayed on his waist, brow rising in consideration.

He glanced up at his rapt audience, flashing another innately easy grin. Letting his hands slide off his body across his pale skin, he headed to rifle the second drawer from the top in McCoy's inset dresser, producing the tube of lubricant the doctor stashed there when they weren't slicking themselves up with it. He turned it in his fingers, its surface faintly slippery from past, hurried deployments.

"Exactly what's the plan here?" McCoy asked, voice uneven at the edges.

Pavel shot him a doe-eyed, silencing look, holding his index finger up to his lips. Unable to maintain a sense of gravity for long, his cheer spilled over into his cheeks. McCoy gruffed but fell silent. Pavel stepped back against the wall, wiggling until his shoulders rested square against its cool metal surface and then relaxing.

He popped the tube in his hand open with his thumb and squeezed a little onto the fingers of his right hand, rubbing them against his palm and thumb until his hand was slick and warm. He took his more than half-erect sex in hand, a tight, satisfied sound escaping his throat as he looked down on himself as if to make sure he got it right.

Over the past months, he'd become well aware of the effect his naked body had on Leonard McCoy. The doctor's eyes were hard to miss when they followed him across the room on those morning-after expeditions to collect his clothes. Pavel knew he had fine attributes despite the gawkiness of his youth. His skinny legs were firm and muscular and his abdomen well-defined, with definition clinging, too, to his skinny arms – and nobody had a backside more compact than a track star's. He'd never be a thick-bodied specimen of masculinity like the man he slept with, but he didn't need to be, really. He had his own kind of masculinity, different and separate from that other definition.

His hand slid smoothly over the length of his sex, grip closing over the head and releasing as it pushed back down. The heat of his own caress flooded his stomach, bringing a blush to his skin. He imagined McCoy's steady, calloused hand in place of his own, the doctor's surgeon's touch sensitive, gentle and provoking. He brushed the pad of his thumb against the ridge of his glans, quaking with memories of passion spent in the past.

"Shit," McCoy whispered, across the room, unable to remain unaffected.

Pavel shut his eyes, listening to the ragged sound of his own breathing as he tugged at his erection. Riding his pleasure, he began eke out those insistent, pleading noises in his throat that McCoy loved to swallow up into kisses. With a low, needy groan he reluctantly unclenched his hand, backing off from a mounting sexual high.

He dared to look up, McCoy's gaze dark and intense across the distance between them. A deeper arousal punched him low in the gut, and he opened the tube in his left hand a second time with a shaky grasp. He pressed the cool, viscous liquid inside onto the tips of his index and middle finger, pressed the cap shut, and let it drop onto the floor. A sheen of sweat had appeared on his skin.

Pavel arched his lower back off the wall and reached behind himself to slide his hand along the crease between his buttocks and then hook them in. His head fell back against the wall and his eyes drifted the ceiling and then closed as his long fingers pushed and then kneaded inside his own puckered entrance. He writhed and bucked against the wall to find a better, deeper angle, dragging in shuddering breaths through his parted lips.

Pavel had no reservations about putting a show on for his lover, no ghost of shyness or modesty inhibiting him from doing what would, if not cheer McCoy right up, turn him on so hard he forgot his own name. McCoy had put his erection, fingers and tongue in the passage Pavel's lube-slick digits now massaged under the doctor's watchful eyes. A warm, relaxed smile lit the teenager's face as he wet his lips and stole back to memories of their bodies straining together. Since Isaak first taught Pavel the sensitivity of the flesh between his firm butt cheeks, Pavel had rarely shied from touch and sensation, there.

Pavel laughed softly as he heard a chair shoved aside, heat intensifying on his cheeks as he looked to watch his lover. McCoy approached with a purpose, grabbed Pavel by the hip and a hand at his back, and dragged the naked teenager against him as he stepped up to the wall. He brushed Pavel's hand away from its work and leaned in to hungrily kiss at his neck, licking Pavel's Adam's apple as it bobbed under his tongue.

McCoy kept his hair combed neat, his face clean shaven, and his fingernails trim, but in sex he possessed a powerful ruggedness belaying the half-civilized doctor he played in the medical bay. He pushed Pavel to face away from him without giving an inch, the fabric of his clothes dragging against the ensign's naked skin. Pavel spread his hands against the wall, lube smearing and leaving marks. He caught his breath as McCoy fumbled his pants open between them, the cloth shoved down to pool around the tops of his boots. McCoy stopped to run his hands over the ensign's back, culminating with his fingers lingering at the nape of Pavel's neck, the affectionate touch building Pavel's breathless anticipation for the doctor to get around to business.

McCoy tucked the head of his sex in the entrance to Pavel's body moments later, bringing his weight to bear as it pressed past the sphincter's initial resistance. Pavel enjoyed the familiar hitches of breath as McCoy buried himself deeper in his body and the tightening of the doctor's hand on his hip. He pushed against him with the strength of his arms, facilitating McCoy's ease of entry. The fly of McCoy's open briefs tickled against Pavel's skin as the doctor began to thrust through the soft, lubricated flesh that had parted so readily for him.

The jerks of his hips pushed Pavel up against the wall a little harder, each time. The ensign braced himself accordingly. McCoy had one hand on the wall but was fucking him mostly on leverage. The hand on Pavel's hip soon closed around his flushed and swollen erection and began to stroke the organ up close to Pavel's abdomen. McCoy laid kisses on the backs of his shoulders as he drove inside him.

Pavel smiled privately to himself and the wall as his body moved in time with McCoy's sex, as his breath grew short and his skin more damp, yet. He'd first seduced the doctor for the encompassing pleasure engulfing his hips between McCoy's erection and his palm, but he'd kept coming back for McCoy's simple gentleness and consideration. It had only been seventeen years, but he'd yet to meet another man as genuinely good hearted as his bitchy, grumbling lover. He had reason enough from the anecdotes of older men to doubt he ever would.

Pavel let himself move like liquid within McCoy's momentum, the doctor's thrusts rolling his hips forward and up into his hand – the ensign's body relaxing back as McCoy pulled away. McCoy fucked him into a heady blur of sweat and pleasure, Pavel's world losing definition but the doctor's affection grounding him in the heat of the swollen organ he caressed.

McCoy's hand tightened, jacking him off close to the base of his sex. Pavel's cock spasmed and he breathed Leo when his cum painted the wall sticky white.

McCoy coaxed his cum out in wet strings until Pavel was spent and wracked with his usual, excited tremors. Then, the doctor switched his grip back to the ensign's hip and fucked home his own orgasm, growling equally familiar obscenities while Pavel struggled to keep his feet underneath him, long legs like gelatin.

They sank down to the floor together when McCoy pushed himself out of him, the doctor's labored breathing hot on Pavel's neck. Pavel sank back into his arms, eyes dozing shut and McCoy's embrace firm around him. The doctor's rumpled uniform pressed against him at odd places. Their chests heaved for air together, and Pavel could smell his own spunk on the wall in front of him. It made him laugh. McCoy nuzzled against him, lips making quiet sounds where they found skin to kiss.

"Mmm…but the truth is, that vasn't what I vas talking about," Pavel confessed with a playful lilt.

McCoy took a few moments to collect his thoughts and whatever Pavel had said before.

"—you can make yourself even more worth my while?"

Pavel only grinned.

"Come to bed, Leo," he invited, disentangling his gangly body from McCoy's embrace and climbing unsteadily to his feet, briefly using the wall for support. He stretched his back, the space between his legs still a little sore as he headed to make himself comfortable under the covers of McCoy's bunk. He rolled over to watch the doctor undress, admiring the moles that speckled his skin.

McCoy tossed aside the last of his clothing and climbed into bed next to Pavel, dick still a little stiff but gradually growing flaccid. Pavel shifted up close to him, face to face, sliding an arm around him beneath McCoy's armpit, the soft hair that curled there and carried the scent of the doctor's body brushing his forearm.

McCoy examined him, uncertain if he should suspect some trick or surprise. Pavel smiled quietly, leaned in, and pressed a kiss against his forehead. It took McCoy seconds to begin to understand what was going on as Pavel drew him close and slipped a hand beneath his cheek and into his hair to guide his face to rest in the nook of his neck.

He squeezed the older man against him, and stayed quiet.

McCoy's shoulders had gone rigid, but as Pavel remained relaxed and still the doctor's body eventually, grudgedly sank more comfortably into his arms.

He could hold Leonard McCoy. He could rebuff the wounds the world inflicted on the man with his simple optimism and adoration. He accepted the challenge, where McCoy had been the one to hold him near every night before. He wouldn't say I love you or murmur any promises, tonight. A woman Pavel had never met had done all that before. McCoy would have to live through the proof to believe it, this time. Pavel had the cleverness to work it out.



"James T. Kirk Will Not Be Dissuaded">>

----


Missy Higgins – "All For Believing," may or may not totally be my song for this ship. Right click save, if you're into that kind of thing. (Then, thank [personal profile] dirtyzucchini for convincing me to admit to you I listen to anything other than metal.)
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