He had barely been 18 for twenty hours before the requests stared coming in – from the lowest crewman to those in control. Chekov had blushed red to the roots of his hair when Kirk paid him a proposition. The captain had been cordial and implied their fling would have happened off the ship, but still . . . embarrassing to have his brave and noble captain offer to blow him off.

The man he had actually chosen was no less than their fearsome, grouchy doctor. Chekov had been in the middle of a dreaded physical where McCoy had run scans all over him and announced he would be getting two hypo vaccines. McCoy then commanded him to lie front down on the bio bed and ease his uniform trousers down.

"But aren't they supposed to be in my –" Chekov motioned at his neck.

"That's only when you need to get the doses into your system right away. For vaccines, they can go through your body slower."

Chekov would have protested, but McCoy ordered, "Over and pull them down. I have other patients that might come in."

Chekov glanced around fearfully (McCoy wouldn't even pull the curtains around to even give them the illusion of privacy) and then twisted over on the bio bed and pulled the top of his pants down the slightest bit. There was no one else in sickbay, but there was a chance someone could walk in and with all the glass windows and doors . . .

"Okay," he squeaked.

McCoy snorted and then yanked his trousers and underwear down, exposing his pale buttocks. McCoy gave Chekov's right ass-cheek a sharp slap.

Chekov reared up with a cry of surprise, but McCoy already decompressed one hypo into the skin he had just slapped.

The hypo barely hurt after the slap, and Chekov froze, trying to decide which was worse – the sting of the hypo on untouched skin or a slap dulling the needle's prick. Before Chekov had time to figure out, McCoy slapped him on the other cheek and gave him the second hypo.

"There you go," McCoy grabbed his tricorder and dropped both used hypos in the recycling bin. "Pants up and you're free to go."

Chekov froze and then he looked back over his own naked ass at the doctor. "Would – uh – would you like to eat supper with me tonight?"

McCoy turned to look at him, raising his eyebrow and giving himself a very grouchy, stern look. "Excuse me?"

"S-supper," Chekov stammered. He reached down and tugged up his pants. "I kind of wanted to . . ." he trailed. His heartbeat was pounding through his eardrums, and he felt hot and dizzy, and he wanted to throw up or disappear or cry as he lay there.

"You're asking me out?" McCoy's eyebrow went even higher.

"No," Chekov said slowly.

"You're not asking me out?"

"No," Chekov stayed with the same answer, not knowing where to look.

"I'm old enough to be your father," McCoy grumbled.

Chekov stared down in dejection and then he whispered, "Sorry . . . Daddy."

"What?" McCoy demanded sharply.

Digging into bravery he didn't know he had, Chekov lifted his eyes up and said, "I'm sorry I'm being bad, Daddy."

McCoy twisted around, hissing between his teeth. "Blast it," he sneered as he clutched the edge of the nearest bio bed.

"Shouldn't you be saying 'damn'?" Chekov asked.

"Hey, you keep your pretty mouth clean," McCoy pointed a finger at him. "You're not a cranky, alcoholic doctor who hates his ex-wife – you got your whole future ahead of you."

"So what?" Chekov rolled up to a sitting position and winced. "Ow, that hurt."

McCoy watched him try to find a comfortable position on the bed, and Chekov saw him watching. Very aware of what he was doing, Chekov bit his lower lip and gave McCoy his best naughty-boy-knowing-he's-in-trouble expression.

"We're just having supper," McCoy growled.

-----

And month later, Chekov couldn't imagine what his life would be like without McCoy. In an awful, horrible, wonderful way, McCoy had taken charge of him and managed his life so well that Chekov felt better than he ever had before. He had never imagined being with such a dominant partner, but McCoy's gruff voice and stern directions made Chekov feel warm and protected inside. He loved it when McCoy insisted he eat more or go to bed or when McCoy made him stand naked after a shower to inspect his job of cleaning. Chekov loved standing with his arms above his head, his nipples hard in the cool air of the cabin, while McCoy looked him over.

They usually made love in the doctor's quarters that was close enough to sickbay for McCoy to venture there in his spare time. Chekov got used to staying there during all his free hours, and he felt slightly jealous when McCoy had to go see to patients. Kirk, especially, seemed to always cause a fuss when he got injured and Spock dragged him down to get patched back up.

"It's not fair," Chekov complained as he lay on McCoy's bed, one hand thrown out in exasperation. "He gets hurt on purpose just to make sure we don't get time together."

"It's Kirk," McCoy shook his head. "I doubt he thinks things through that much."

"Well, I don't like it," Chekov pouted as he flipped over to his hands and knees. "He should be more careful."

"Preaching to the choir," McCoy nodded.

Two minutes later, he was hilt-deep into the young man, holding both of his hips to rock him back and forth.

Chekov never knew what to do with his hands in this position; he couldn't reaching McCoy and he wasn't allowed to touch himself – that was McCoy' prerogative. "Uh, go faster," he scrunched his eyes tight as McCoy edged deeper and deeper into him.

"Settle down," McCoy directed.

"Ugh, I can't. Oh, ooooooooooohhhh, right there, right there, yes, oh, McCoy, ffffffuuuuuuuuuck."

The rocking stopped suddenly. Chekov's eyes flew open as he felt McCoy draw out of him.

"Wait, what –" Chekov tried to look around, but then he was flung face down over McCoy's hard lap.

How the doctor had managed to sit down and move him so fast Chekov had no idea, but Chekov found himself over that lap, his bared legs dangling on one side and his uniformed arms floundering on the other side. McCoy often took him only half-naked from the waist down.

"No, don't," Chekov pleaded, but McCoy lifted his hand and spanked that impudent bottom in front of him.

"I've told you to watch that pretty mouth of yours," McCoy ordered as he kept spanking. "Let's see if this helps teach you a lesson. Ah! No squirming. You get off my lap and I'll tied you right up on this bed and let the whole senior staff have a chance to swat you."

"You wouldn't!" Chekov declared.

"You're right – I'd blister your tail just fine by myself. Settle down, Pavel – you got a lot coming for that word."

"Not fair," Chekov sniffed as he jerked with each pounding slap. Good grief, McCoy had an iron hand. "I shouldn't be held responsible for what I say during sex. You get to whatever you like."

"That's because I'm the old doctor and you're just a naughty boy who needs a good spanking to remind him to behave. I'm surprised I haven't spanked you before – this bottom needs to be properly reamed and paddled for its owner to act right."

Chekov had never been in such agony, nor so turned on in his whole life. McCoy kept spanking him, burning slap after slap down his bare bottom while Chekov hung there. The tears came, and Chekov began squalling.

"No, no, don't spank me anymore. Ow – I can't take it. It's too hard. I just said one bad word. OW! I know you've said it before. It's not fair."

"Do you want me to find something to spank you with or are you going to take it until I'm done?" McCoy demanded.

Chekov lowered his head and gave into more tears. McCoy knew just how to get to his core, to the depths of his soul and then do horrible, beautiful things to him.

"There," McCoy grabbed him around the waist and set him down on his bare feet.

Hiccupping, Chekov raised one hand to swipe at his face, but McCoy took hold of his other hand and marched him towards the tiny bathroom. The floor felt cold to Chekov's feet, and he self-consciously tugged down on the hem on his shirt, wishing it were long enough to cover his privates or his flaming bottom.

McCoy opened several drawers in the metal wall before he found what he was looking for. "Here we go," he tore something off a red square.

"What's that?" Chekov sniffed back his tears.

"Lifebouy soap. Open up."

Pressing his lips together, Chekov shook his head.

"Now, Pavel," McCoy deepened his voice to that low rumble that made Chekov's toes curl and his low stomach ache with need. Chekov could just about cum from that voice alone, especially when McCoy was being strict with him.

"How long?" Chekov opened his mouth the smallest bit to ask.

"One minute," McCoy replied.

"No longer."

"No longer," McCoy held out the soap.

Chekov eyed it suspiciously, but then he opened his mouth and took in the soap. He winced from the taste, but he pulled his lips around it and waited for further instruction.

"Good boy," McCoy's voice was strangely husky. "Now keep it in your mouth and lean over the sink. There's a good boy."

Chekov, in just his uniform shirt with a block of red soap bulging from his mouth, leaned over the sink, ready to let the extra saliva from his mouth drool down into the sink.

Pow! Something slammed into his bottom.

Chekov gave a low cry and lurched forward, but he didn't lose the soap. His teeth had dug down into it, and it tasted simply awful – bitter and acidic. He could not believe that McCoy had spanked him and then put soap in his mouth and was spanking him just again just for saying one word. McCoy was thorough – no doubt about it. Chekov hated to think what the doctor might have done if he had said several bad words.

"You stay still while I finish up your spanking," McCoy growled. "Then you can rinse."

McCoy kept swinging his open-handed hand against Chehov's red, burning bottom, and the poor boy gave into tears again, careful not to drop the soap.

Just when he felt certain it would never, ever end, McCoy reached around and took the soap out of Chekov's aching mouth.

"Ow," Chekov said before leaning over to spit the nasty taste out of his mouth.

McCoy stood silently by while Chekov rinsed several times and then splashed cold water on his face.

Afterwards, Chekov stood up straight and let out a shuddering breath. He expected McCoy to take him back into the bedroom, put him back in position, and then keep rutting into his ass that would now be raw and sore.

But surprisingly, McCoy sat down on the bed, and for an awful second, Chekov thought he would be spanked again. McCoy patted his left knee, and Chekov's heart dropped as he dragged his feet over to his disciplinarian, dreading more punishment. But rather than toss him over his lap, McCoy pulled Chekov down to sit on his left knee, putting an arm around the young man and hugging him close.

"Shh, there," McCoy soothed. "It's all over. You were a good boy."

Chekov meant to keep himself together, but he lowered his head against McCoy's shoulder and started crying again. He loved when McCoy would hold him, wrap those strong arms around him and keep him close. McCoy was quite a bit taller and stronger than he was, and Chekov savored moments when the dominant man would hold him protectively and let him express any emotion he wanted.

"Let it out, kid," McCoy pressed a soft kiss on his curly hair. "I know I was hard on you, but I also know you like it that way. You like it when I'm strict with you."

"Not always," Chekov sniffed though he didn't believe his own words. "You didn't have to wash my mouth out."

"Shh," McCoy shushed. "You get those tears out, and you think about what any future bad language will mean for your bottom and your mouth."

Chekov squirmed slightly, but McCoy tightened his arms around the young man. Any time, Chekov knew he could walk away and never deal with McCoy again, except for the occasional checkup. He did not have to endure McCoy's stern discipline or gruff words, but Chekov could not think of another place he wanted to be at the moment.

"You take another minute," McCoy whispered into his hair, "and then I'm going to put you down on this bed and wring orgasm after orgasm out of you. You're cumming at least three times tonight, and if Kirk shows up, he can wait bleeding in my sickbay until I'm finished seeing to you."

Chekov shut his eyes in the bliss of McCoy's words.

An hour later, McCoy tucked himself against an exhausted Chekov who could not hold his eyes open a second longer. McCoy spooned him, chuckling at the heat Chekov's bottom still radiated.

"I've wanted to spank you for a long time," McCoy nuzzled into Chekov's neck, loving the sensitize skin. "I'm glad you finally gave me a reason to."

Chekov moaned slowly, too far gone to understand any of McCoy's words though he put his hands around the firm hands that held him tight. He was held fast in his lover's embrace, and Chekov couldn't have moved for anything.

"Guess we'll just have to see what other naughty things you do," McCoy pulled him tighter, savoring the tender skin and soft body of the young man.

Chekov made no reply, but he didn't let go of those hands as he fell into a deep sleep.