Author's Note: I own nothing and derive no benefit from writing these stories except my own personal satisfaction and reviews and comments. The characters may engage in unprotected sex because it's the 23rd century, but 21st century humans on Earth should be careful and use protection. This is my first attempt at writing these characters, so your feedback would be most appreciated! Enjoy :-)

Ensign Chekov, Pavel Andreievich, sat on an examination table in sickbay. Now over a month into their mission, it was time for the Enterprise crew to report for routine physicals, which the only-recently-turned 18-year-old ensign passed without difficulty. Although physically fine, Chekov was worried. Captain Kirk had not been his usual, confident, sociable self for the past few days, and Chekov thought that meant trouble. Out here, anything was possible, and a crew with a distracted captain could pay dearly. But it wasn't just concern for his own safety or the safety of the Enterprise, which he now considered home, that had Chekov worried. At first, he was almost glad that Kirk had calmed down a bit, and he even caught himself staring at the senior officer's brooding expressions a few too many times. But something about seeing those normally piercing, vibrant blue eyes with a such an uncharacteristically distant look eventually unnerved Chekov, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it and restore the playful, bold, and—yes, he had to admit—distractingly sexy Kirk he knew from the Academy.

"Um, Doktor? May I ask you a kvestion?" Chekov thought that Dr. McCoy would know what was weighing on the Captain. The two were thick as thieves, even despite the good doctor's penchant for excessive hypo-spray use.

"What is it, Ensign? I'm a busy man with all these physicals to schedule," replied McCoy, showcasing his famously impatient bedside manner.

Chekov paused a moment. "I vas vondering . . . eet ees about ze Keptin . . . ees he, OK?"

Dr. McCoy turned to the ensign. "Captain Kirk is fine, of course he is. He is just very busy running the ship. I mean, sure he hasn't met me for an after-shift drink in a few days, and he's been distant, and he needs to be able to open up to someone and relax, but . . ." Suddenly McCoy remembered he was talking to a junior officer about rather sensitive personal matters and snapped a quick dismissal to Chekov: "It's really none of your concern, Ensign! You're finished with your physical; you are dismissed to your quarters."

Chekov leapt up from his seat on the table and saluted. "Yessir, Doktor! Zank you, sir."

As he went back to his quarters, Chekov thought about what Dr. McCoy had said. So ze Keptin needs to be able to open up to someone and relax . . . A sly smile burst across the teen's face as he proclaimed to the empty corridor—"I can do zat!"

Watching the weary Captain on the bridge the next day, Chekov's mind was finally made up. He has to be in charge all of ze time, he thought about Kirk. Maybe he only needs someone to be in charge and take care of heem for a change . . .

Chekov's normally shy and innocent appearance led many to think of him as an adorable younger brother, but he was, after all, an 18-year-old boy, and not nearly as naïve or inexperienced as his colleagues liked to joke that he was. That was part of Chekov's strategy and appeal, after all; he had surprised a select few Academy cadets and crewmembers, male and female alike, with his skill and energy in the bedroom. He liked turning the tables on his partners—he never called them "conquests;" it was too . . . unilateral and disrespectful—and suddenly asserting himself, getting what he wanted and needed, and giving far more than his partners had imagined possible when they began, thinking they would lead him gently down a previously untrodden path. Anyone who took Chekov to bed expecting to corrupt him quickly discovered that Chekov was the one to do the corrupting, and that realization was made all the more delicious in contrast to his apparent innocence.

So the young ensign decided it was time to test his strategy on the ultimate target—Captain James Tiberius Kirk.