(no subject)

[cathybites]

I have now reached the point in the shiny new fandom where I am annoyed about the fact that there's not new fic for me to read every second of the day. or, well. There probably is, but I'm picky. or not even picky, I just don't want to read about Spock. There, I said it! I liked him, but have no interest in reading about his peen.

I am also still having problems with picturing Sulu in fic as John Cho. Like, I was never a big fan of TOS, so when I'm reading fic, I'm all, 'yes yes, McCoy is Karl Urban and Kirk is that blond pretty boy,' so on and so on with no problem. but when it comes to Sulu, there's, like, this sequence in my head that goes along the lines of, 'okay, John Cho is Sulu, but Sulu is Japanese, but John Cho is not = DOES NOT COMPUTE.' because, really. I think John Cho looks so Korean he could be selling Milkis on a restaurant calendar.

I suspect most people don't have this problem. SIGH.

Anyways, I wanted to share these two prompts from st_xi_kink because OMG SOMEBODY NEEDS TO WRITE THEM RIGHT NOW NOW NOW:

1. I first came to Starfleet on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, have remained as an officer aboard the starship Enterprise.

2. Sirius Black/Leonard McCoy: Sirius falls through The Veil and, poof! All of the sudden he's on the USS Enterprise. Confusion, hilarity, and sexytimes ensue. (in the interest of full disclosure, this one is mine. so, y'know. WRITE IT.)

SERIOUSLY. These need to be written. NEEEEEEEEED.

bah. I still need more ST icons. This one is close enough.

eta: AND OMG THIS: Kirk/Reaper(Karl Urban's character from Doom) On shore leave Kirk runs into a guy who looks a LOT like Bones (can be whatever reason, coincidence, relative) and things happen

Comments

[cathybites.livejournal.com]

hmm, lemme thin--OMG YES YES YES. :D

[honeymull.livejournal.com]

OKAY. So the way I see it? Chekov is *definitely* a virgin. But, but, also in my head, he does have a little bit of experience. Rushed, drunk blowjobs in the back of a bar, Chekov half-confused, totally dazed as some random nobody hauls him back there and sucks him off. And it's awesome, and Chekov wants to do it, too, since the guy's making these happy little humming sounds while he's down there, so after he bangs his head into the wall behind him and sees stars when he comes after about six seconds, he wriggles down to his knees, and he gets like, one fleeting mouthful of dick before the guy's coming, and Chekov's spluttering and coughing with it, and then it's gone, it's over, and the guy's zipping back up, slipping past him with a murmur, and Chekov's left staring wide-eyed and panting, still kneeling on the floor of this stupid Star Fleet bar - And all he can think about is cock, how it felt in his mouth, how he had to stretch his lips around it, the taste, the slickness. Licks his lips a few times, maybe, sense memory.

And that's all his experience. WHICH MEANS, he's had it DANGLED in front of him, then SNATCHED AWAY, so he has to be going crazy by now. And I just like the idea of little Ensign Chekov getting hard-ons at critically inappropriate times because he can smellSulu from where they're sitting two feet apart, or when Bones runs a hand down his neck, over his throat to catch his pulse, or when Captain Kirk gives him that stupid cock-sure grin - and he has to shift in his seat and concentrate on the controls before he embarrasses himself.

Augh. I just really, really want cockslut!virgin!Chekov. And this is how my mind rationalizes it.

\0/

[cathybites.livejournal.com]

um. You're writing this, right? RIGHT?!?!?

[honeymull.livejournal.com]

Oh oh! AND, he doesn't really know that it's kinda slutty to be all excited and, well, slutty, and open once he actually has a cock in his mouth, since hey, nobody exactly sat him down and talked this through with him. So when a...series of events...leads to him and Sulu being in that particular situation, he's all enthusiastic and eager and nuzzling in at Sulu's cock through the uniform, because oh my god, he's waited way too damn long for this, and Sulu may have to manhandle him away before HE loses it, and kejrhlkjaehg. I DON'T KNOW IF I'LL WRITE THIS.

PROBABLY? Seeing as how they don't stfu in my head. D:/:D

[cathybites.livejournal.com]

sladk;alkda;lkdal;skda;k;alskda;ldka; SOMEONE HAS TO WRITE THIS NOW. DO IT DO IT DO IT, or I swear I will cry like poor cock-deprived Chekov. :(

[honeymull.livejournal.com]

AUGH OKAY I AM ON IT. DAMN YOU, ENSIGN JAILBAIT. *shakes fist*

[honeymull.livejournal.com]

Psssst.

It’s crowded when Chekov walks into the bar, sliding in behind a rowdy group of Star Fleet students who look already rosy with drink, flushed cheeks matching their uniforms. He’s not trying to sneak in; he knows with his Star Fleet uniform on he’ll be noticed just enough to be brushed off, just another student drinking their nerves away before an exam or celebrating a passed one.

At sixteen, having been in the program for three years already, this is the first time he’s gotten the guts to come to this loud and smoky place, where men and women reel with drink and the air is heavy with it. He skirts his way around the crowded tables and finds a barstool set back in a corner, perches on it, and looks around.

He orders vodka, and drinks the first few shots faster than he knows he should, made nervous by the press of sound and bodies.

He has to wave to get the bartender’s attention, feeling awkward and self-conscious as he orders another shot, his lips failing to shape the sounds of “vodka” correctly once again.

“You’re not using your teeth.”

Chekov startles, nearly upsetting the frosted glass in front of him. There’s a man in a worn tee-shirt leaning on the bar next to him, head tilted, watching him.

Chekov scoots back on his stool, creates a little more distance between them. “I am sorry?”

The man taps his fingers lazily against the surface of the bar. “When you pronounce ‘v’s. You don’t use your teeth. You’re not…biting down.”

Chekov just looks at him, a tiny worried frown between his eyes now, and the man huffs out a sigh. He moves in closer, and there’s nowhere Chekov can really go, the wall hard and smooth at his back.

“When you say “vodka”, you don’t set your teeth in your lip. Just a little graze, but it makes all the difference.” The man demonstrates briefly, catching his bottom lip in his teeth and dragging his teeth over its length. He’s still holding Chekov’s gaze, and Chekov’s breathing speeds up. He clutches his vodka glass harder, thin fingers flexing around it.

“Want me to show you more?” When Chekov nods, the man’s eyes go dark, and he smiles with his teeth. Chekov’s still a little unsure, but his dick gives a throb in his pants and the alcohol’s making him hungry and hazy and heated. Before he can rethink it, he’s sliding off the barstool, abandoning his drink and stumbling to the back corridors of the bar, the heavy weight of the man’s hand directing him on the small of his back.

When the noise of the bar’s faded a little bit and they’re in a dim hallway, the man shoves Chekov up against the wall, presses in against him and mutters in his ear, “Ever get your dick sucked, kid?”

Chekov screws his eyes shut, rolls his head against the rough wood behind him a couple times in a parody of shaking his head “no”.

The man rumbles a pleased, “Good,” against his neck, low voice right up against Chekov’s pulse point, and Chekov can’t stop the whine that escapes him at how damn good it feels. The man gets a hand in between them, palms at Chekov’s dick through his pants, grits out, “God, you’re so damn hard.”

And then he’s on his knees, unzipping Chekov’s pants and taking his cock in his mouth and oh, god, Chekov has to bang his head against the wall at the sensation, hot and wet and dirty, fast suction pulling pleasure from him in waves that make him grasp and scrabble at the wall to either side of him to ground himself.

All too soon, he’s feeling the vibration of hums and choked-off words as he shoots down a stranger’s throat in the back of the bar. He’s only barely aware when the man stands up again, fists a hand in his shirt and reverses their positions. His knees hit the floor with a thud, and he brings up both hands to steady himself on the man’s hips, swaying into him, breathing in the scent of his arousal and resting his forehead on the man’s thigh for a second. When he feels a slack fist knock against his jaw, he gathers himself together, slides his hands into the man’s pants and touches a dick that isn’t his own for the first time.

[honeymull.livejournal.com]

He pauses, breathing on the tip, unsure exactly of the right way to do this, and the man swears above him, startling Chekov into leaning forward, wrapping his lips around the head all at once, the fingers of his left hand curled hesitantly around the base.

He looks up, for direction or approval, but the man’s head is tilted back, eyes shut. Hips jerking minutely, a low groan almost continuous, and Chekov draws back, lips at the head again – and is choking around a sudden mouthful of come as the man gives a hoarse shout above him, muffled by his fist.

Chekov stays on his knees while the guy zips back up, slipping past him with a murmur. Stays on his knees, hands fisted against his knees, hard again in his pants. He’s staring at nothing, wide-eyed and panting, and all he can think about is the silky weight of the man’s cock, how it felt in his mouth, how he had to stretch his lips around it, the taste, the slickness.

He licks his lips a few times, tastes the come spattered on his lower lip, and closes his eyes.
*

[cathybites.livejournal.com]

aldk;lkd;alkd;laskd;ldk;asdkalska;lfkalfak MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE

*grabbyhands*

[honeymull.livejournal.com]

LIFE IS INTERFERING WITH MY PORN-MAKING. DDD:

That's why it's taken me so long to just get THAT cranked out. So sad, Rachel. *facepalm*

BUT. If I skip, um, logic and continuity, and use a lot of "AND THEN THIS HAPPENED AND NOW SULU AND CHEKOV ARE BANGING" I can fast-forward to moar porn. Ahahaha. Oh god. My writing standards, they are failing.