cathybites | (no subject)

anyways, here be the prompt ficlets for mass consumption, cleaned up a bit from what I'd written in the original post.

Taste
174 words, R
for

inell: Kirk/McCoy, taste

There's a spot just behind Bones' left ear that Jim swears is the sweetest thing he's ever tasted. His mouth waters just thinking about it, that tiny little stretch of skin, half-hidden from the rest of the world. Jim's constantly aware of it, though. Maybe because he knows that licking there will make Bones sigh happily, legs shifting wider to pull Jim in closer. Maybe it's because he knows that when he scrapes his teeth over the spot, Bones will moan, and Jim can slide his hand down to find Bones already half-hard, growing harder by the second. Maybe it's because he knows that biting down and sucking that bit of skin into his mouth will rip a growl out of Bones, make him push Jim up against the nearest flat surface, and before Jim can even blink, Bones will be fucking him, deep and strong, head dipped down and that spot behind his ear just waiting for Jim's mouth to find it again.

Then again, maybe he just likes the taste of it.

Metaphor
176 words, R
for

emiime: Kirk/McCoy, hypospray-as-metaphor

"Ow!" Jim swatted at Bones, who promptly smacked him upside the head.

"Stop acting like an infant and hold still." He grabbed a hold of Jim's chin and tilted his head to the side, resolutely ignoring the way Jim did so readily, eyes sliding shut and mouth falling open at Bones' touch. His neck was stretched before Bones now, the skin smooth and golden, and Bones swore under his breath and jammed the next hypospray into it.

"Dammit! OW!" Jim jerked away, glaring at Bones and rubbing at the spot. "I'm beginning to think you get off on sticking things in me."

There was a long awkward moment where Jim stared at him, clearly waiting for the usual gruff and snarky response, and all Bones could do was stare back and try to *not* think about what exactly he wanted to stick in Jim.

Jim frowned slightly, eyebrows crinkling before raising the tiniest bit. "Bones?"

Bones grabbed the next hypo and tilted Jim's head to the side again. "Last one."

"No, hey, I wanna know-- OW!"

Miscommunication
428 words, R
for

heather11483: Sulu/Chekov, miscommunication

It was all Scotty's fault. He'd invited Sulu down to the engineering room, filled him up with scotch - and it was *good* stuff, warm and soothing as he swallowed it down. Three drinks later and Sulu was relaxed, feeling just a little heated as Scotty related a *very* detailed anecdote about a Klingon and Orion twins. Just as Scotty was getting to the meat of the story, Sulu's comm went off. He scrambled for it, shaking his head a little, trying to clear it.

"Sulu here."

"Ah, Lt. Sulu?" Chekov's voice came in clear and strong, and Sulu couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face at the sound of it. "I was wondering if you could come to my quarters and offer assistance for a problem I am having."

"Yeah, sure," Sulu said. "I'll be up in a minute."

The comm clicked off and Sulu stood, frowning when Scotty let out a whoop.

"A problem, you say? Would this particular problem be in the young ensign's trousers?"

Sulu could feel the blush spreading quickly over his face. "What? No! We're not, it's not like that." Scotty just leered and waggled his eyebrows.

"But you'd like it to, wouldn't you?" Sulu just glared at him, mouth closed shut and tight-lipped, and Scotty's grin grew wider. "Trust me on this one. Chekov has no problem other than the one that comes up whenever you're around his vicinity. He's just waiting for you to get up there and show him whatfor."

Scotty had given him one more drink and a few more...well, Sulu supposed they were supposed to be words of encouragement, then sent him on his way with a slap on the ass. So now Sulu stood in front of Chekov's door, shifting from foot to foot, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants, mind skittering around Scotty's suggestions. The door opened and Chekov smiled at him. "Lt. Sulu! Than--unf!" Sulu swallowed the rest of what Chekov was going to say and pushed him into the room.

An hour later, Sulu fell back on Chekov's bed, sweating and gasping for air. Chekov stretched out next to him, goofy smile on his face. He rested his chin on Sulu's chest. "Do you think we could now look at the problem I am having?"

Sulu blinked. "Problem? You called me up here for an actual problem?"

"Da. It is not a great one, only something of the procedurals I am unsure of, but-- what is it?"

Sulu shook his head, grinning. "Nothing, nothing. Just a little miscommunication."

Pranking
514 words, R
for

deirdre_c: Sulu/Chekov, pranking

It starts when Chekov tries to climb into bed and finds his top sheet folded up so he can't stretch out under it. He looks over to Sulu, who's doing a lousy job of pretending to sleep, shoulders shaking with obvious laughter. Chekov narrows his eyes.

The next day, when Sulu tries to get out of bed, he finds he can't because of the plastic wrap wound tightly around him and the frame. He's fifteen minutes late for his shift, and Chekov smiles at him, the picture of innocence, and says, "Mr. Sulu, you slept well?"

Sulu gets him back with itching powder in his underwear, but that stupid genius Russian brain of Chekov's turns Sulu's entire closet into a freezer. Sulu hides all of Chekov's clothes while he's in the communal shower; Chekov plays a shipwide broadcast of a drunk and weepy Sulu singing a Bajoran love song. Sulu tries the plastic wrap on the toilet trick, but it backfires when he wakes up in the middle of the night to take a piss.

The pranks keep going, getting a bit more elaborate and, in a sure sign that he's getting old, a little risky to Sulu's mind. Chekov is damn lucky that Uhura had paused to talk to Gaila, leaving Sulu with the full brunt of the blue dye attack. He's in the bathroom, in the middle of trying to clean off his arm for the third time, when Chekov walks in. They both freeze, staring at one another, and Chekov's mouth curves up in a smile.

"You are trying to pass for Andorian?"

Sulu sets down his cloth before turning to Chekov. "You," he says, "are dead meat." He lunges forward and Chekov squeaks, turning on his heel to dart away. But Sulu grabs a hold of the back of his shirt and wrestles Chekov to the ground. He shoves the shirt up and rubs his arm across Chekov's belly, grinning when a bright blue streak is left behind.

"No no, nyet!" Chekov yells, but he's smiling and laughing, so Sulu presses down fully on him, smearing his chest against Chekov's, shoving his hands all over Chekov, leaving blue prints all over Chekov's pale skin.

"Hold still so I can get you back!" Chekov laughs again, wriggles under him, batting at Sulu, and then suddenly he goes still. Sulu jerks back, ready to ask what's wrong, when he can *feel* what it is. Chekov's cock, hard against Sulu's thigh. There's a blue smudge on Chekov's cheek, which makes the red blush across his face stand out even more. Sulu swallows heavily, staring down at Chekov.

"Sorry, I am sorry, please, I must go," Chekov says miserably, trying to scoot out from under Sulu. Sulu blinks and shakes his head, and before Chekov can escape, he leans down and kisses him, rolls his hips just so he can press his own erection against Chekov's.

Chekov moans into his mouth, and the next twenty minutes fly by in a blur of sweat, long limbs tangled up with one another, and blue streaks everywhere.

Need
172 words, R
for

anothersuperboy: Chekov/Kirk, need

Kirk nuzzled at Chekov's throat, scraping his teeth over the soft skin of it. He smiled when Chekov shuddered. "C'mon, tell me."

Chekov whimpered, arms straining against his bonds, but he didn't speak. So Kirk drew his finger out, teasing the rim of Chekov's hole before thrusting three fingers back in, scissoring them. Chekov keened and arched up. He pushed back on Kirk's hand, riding his fingers in a desperate rhythm. "Please," he finally said, opening his eyes, blinking furiously. His cheeks were stained bright pink, freckles standing out starkly.

Kirk twisted his hand and Chekov gasped. "Please what?"

Chekov licked his lips, brow furrowing as he tried to concentrate. Kirk kept his hand moving, and Chekov trembled all over, the pretty flush spreading down from his cheeks to his chest. "Please, I need, I need...need..." His mouth caught on that word, lips curving around the sounds over and over, repeating it like a litany.

Kirk drew his hand back and smiled, settling himself between Chekov's thighs. "I know you do."

ps - still taking five things requests. will start on them tomorrow.

pps- PORN BATTLE VIII IS ON!!! There are many many tempting prompts there, including some FABULOUS ST ones I kind of want to get my hands on. HMMM.

hmm. I still need more ST icons.