Warnings :: Out of character-ness, fo' sho'. And weird thoughts. idky.
A/N :: Holy fuck. I am so excited to write this. Like, you don't even know. Partly because I love slut!Chekov, and partly because this is my first future!M rated fic EVER. Unfortunately, it's kind of sucky this chapter, I'm sorry. I'm not good at beginnings of stuff. But anyways! Ignore that, the next chapter'll be better; this is just the setup so not much happens. I hope you enjoy it anyways. (:
Inspired by :: The st_xi_kink meme on livejournal. The prompt was "Chekov/anyone. Everyone thinks Chekov's a virgin. When in fact he's not. He gives the person questioning this a demonstration." :D
THISISTHESTUPIDLINETHATSEPERATESTHESTUPIDAUTHORSNOTESFROMTHESTORY
Chekov glanced around the room with narrowed grey eyes, taking small sips of the clear liquid in the thick glass that was clenched tighter than necessary in those long, pale fingers.
He would deny it if anyone asked, but the vodka wasn't really doing anything to help him.
On the contrary, instead of bringing the expected haze over his thoughts so that he could relax and enjoy the evening, it just seemed to be bringing them into clearer focus, causing him to scoff and then down the rest of the glass in one shot, wiping his lips hastily with the back of his hand afterwards.
'To erase the evidence,' he thought wryly.
He really didn't know who was trying to fool. With the amount of vodka he's consumed already (and will more than likely be consuming later on), he's well aware that anyone he runs into will undoubtedly know he's been hitting the drink.
And he's also well aware that they will deny him drinking if asked, because he's the innocent little 17-year-old Russian whiz kid who speaks with an adorable accent and doesn't drink ever, because he's a total lightweight.
Apparently, this also means he's a virgin.
He almost laughs aloud at the thought.
Whoever started that rumor must have been drunk; that's the only way the logic would make sense. Just because he's younger than everyone on board doesn't automatically make him a virgin. In the real world, he's almost a legal adult.
Unfortunately, the Enterprise wasn't the real world, and he was stuck with the "I-am-adorable-and-younger-than-everyone-else-on-board-so-I-must-be-a-virgin" title, and quite frankly, it was beginning to piss him off.
Plus, it was totally screwing with his sex life.
A few hours ago, he had tried to get with this pretty, short-haired Science Officer that he'd been chatting with for a couple of days before he made his move.
That bitch had the nerve to give him a sympathetic smile, sweetly say, "You're nice, but I can't be your first," pat him on the head like he was a small child, and then leave.
He's quite sure he stood there gaping after her like an idiot for minutes until he snapped out of it, but not before people caught the gist of what was happening, and he's sure she went off and told everyone she knew about it, because that's what bitches did.
The whispers and laughs and sympathetic looks that were going to follow him tomorrow were already making him cringe.
Ugh.
All of this thinking while drinking was giving him a headache.
With a sigh, he stood up and stretched, hearing the joints in his back and shoulders popping with an ominous cracking sound that made him wince.
He staggered towards and out the door, down the hall and into the turbolift, only thinking about falling into his comfortable bed and sleeping his woes away until the morning comes.
It was even worse than he thought it was going to be. The second he walked onto the bridge the next morning, he was practically jumped.
And not in the sexy way.
With a hardly contained growl, he swiftly avoided their advances and slid to his seat, practically burying himself in the work the second his butt hit the chair, where he was mercifully left to his devices.
Until his captain entered the bridge.
A booming, "Mr. Chekov! May I speak with you for a minute?" almost had him jumping out of his chair in surprise, but he quickly regained his bearings and instead stood up calmly and replied, "Of course, sir," in his thick Russian accent.
The instance the turbolift doors had closed behind him, he was treated to the full force of James T. Kirk's bright blue gaze as the captain reached over and pushed a bright red button, and the 'lift shuddered to a halt.
"So, Mr. Chekov…"
The Russian looked up at Kirk as he drawled out Chekov's name, and it hit him as to just how short he was.
With what he was sure was a pout on his face, he answered, "Da, Keptain?"
"What's this I hear about you trying to get laid?"
If Chekov had been in the habit of slapping his palm to his forehead as he often saw Dr. McCoy do in the captain's presence, he would have done so.
However, seeing as how he didn't have that habit, he instead settled for raising an eyebrow questioningly and staying silent.
When he saw Kirk lean against the wall and settle his arms across his chest, Chekov let out a defeated sigh and mirrored his captain's position on the opposite wall, knowing he was in for a long talk.
"Well, first off, you're going about this the entirely wrong way…"
Chekov mentally rolled his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't like to listen to his captain talk, because on the contrary, he loved listening to him talk.
It was just that he didn't really care for what he had to say.
He'd gotten the "how-to-pick-up-a-bed-partner" talk more times than he could count, and most of them had been for naught, as he already knew everything they were telling him. Although there had been a few memorable ones, like the one from his cousin and his friends that included shadow puppets…
He snapped back into focus just in time to hear Kirk say, "Not that anybody blames you for being a virgin or anything..."
UGH.
There was that word again!
He was not a virgin!
By any stretch of imagination!
Unfortunately, with everyone under this incredibly wrong misconception, the only way he could prove them wrong would be…
To sleep with them.
The metaphorical light bulb suddenly went on over Chekov's head.
He could sleep with everyone, but really, why bother? He wasn't that desperate.
Yet.
No… the most logical course of action would be to find a few people he knew for a fact would talk about his amazing sexual talents (because he knew he had them) and have sex with them.
He felt a large grin stretch itself against his face.
Well! He wasn't called "whiz kid" for nothing.
The sudden hand on his shoulder startled him, and he once again looked up at his captain, this time to see a broad grin directed down at him.
"So! I take it this means we'll be seeing good things from you in the future. Mr. Chekov?"
It took Chekov a moment to figure out that the turbolift was moving, and another to figure out what Kirk was talking about.
"Oh! Da, Captain! Zere vill be good zings happening!" And an enthusiastic nod of the head for good measure.
With a chuckle down at the young ensign, James Kirk stepped out of the 'lift and onto the bridge happily, with an absent minded, "Take the rest of the day off, Mr. Chekov. I think you need it," and a sly wink over his shoulder.
"Aye sir," and then the lift was gone again, and Chekov was going down to Engineering to see if he couldn't have a nice "chat" with his close friend, Mr. Scott.
THISISTHESTUPIDLINETHATSEPERATESTHESTUPIDAUTHORSNOTESFROMTHESTORY
Next chapter shall be up soon! (: Drop me a line or two if you get the chance, but if not, that's cool too. Hope you liked it.
Btw, I totally just realized that in all of my ST stories Chekov is always planning something. Hm. Wonder if it's a sign. A sign of what? I have no clue. ;)