A/N: For anyone here that is here because they follow me as an author, I am so bloody sorry that I haven't been working on anything in forever. I'm actually working on getting a legitimate work written in hopes of publishing it or getting the format changed into that of a produce-able movie, so fanfiction has fallen rather low on my list of things to do.
For anyone here simply because it is Star Trek, thank you for taking the time to read my story. This was so beyond rushed in the end, because I didn't intend on publishing this to here, but I did because reasons. McCoy/Chekov is my OTP for Star Trek, at least the more recent versions anyways. (The old McCoy wasn't as attractive, nor was he as easy to ship with that Chekov.)
This is rated M for occasional sexual content and for language. (You can't write McCoy without the cursing involved, lets be honest here.)
The story title (OH GEEZ SHE'S RAMBLING AGAIN) came from my thoughts that, you know, I'm young for my grade and I get bullied all the damn time for it. I KNOW Chekov must deal with at least a little of the same shit, especially because he's even further ahead than me! So the basis of the story is McCoy protecting Chekov from the bullies, not McCoy bullying... I really need to work out a different title, I know that so many are going to misconstrue the title as McCoy being a douche...
Anyways, you're probably more interested in the story than my rambling about the story, so move on along.
Hot hands trailed down McCoy's sweaty and bare stomach, eliciting a gasp from the southerner's mouth. "Ah, fuck…" He ground out through his teeth. Those hands slid their way down to his pants, slowly dragging the button through the loop and the zip down. The quiet rustling of his pants being pulled off echoed through the quiet air of McCoy's quarters. One of those hot hands palmed him through his boxers, which had quickly become insanely restrictive.
He choked out a moan as the hands pressed and rubbed at his erection through the thin fabric. "Ensign…" He breathed heavily, recalling the image of the young mans face, his bright blue eyes, his curly golden-brown hair; they were burned into McCoy's mind as those hands moved against him.
He had just collapsed against his pillows, one of those sweating hands nearly under the waistband of his boxers, when the door chime of his room rang out and shattered his fantasy. He didn't want to, but he slowly opened his eyes, removing his own hands from his boxers with a sigh, the image building in his mind broken by the image of the empty air between his legs rather than the young man he had been picturing.
Being the CMO on board meant that he was always, ALWAYS, on call at any time of the day or night, scheduled or not, and therefore despite the need throbbing though his stomach, he absolutely had to answer the door.
So, he pulled the blanket from the bed with him as he got up, wrapping it around his waist and commanding the computer to open the door as he moved from his bedroom into the small kitchen/sitting area of his private quarters. The doors slid open, revealing one of his nurses.
"Doctor, two just came in, both injured, and I'm the only one in med bay tonight. I could use your help." She gushed quickly, her hair in a loose bun and her cheeks flushed, clearly rushed and frantic.
"Alright, calm down Anna. Wait a damn minute." He grumbled, moving back into the bedroom long enough to pull his pants and blue shirt on, ignoring the ache in his groin. "Who're the two hurt?" He asked as he moved into the sitting room and then to the hallway. His quarter doors slid shut behind them as they hurriedly moved to the turbo lift.
"Ensign Smith and Ensign Chekov I believe." She said, following behind him. His head snapped towards her, his previous arousal entirely forgotten at the mention of the boy being hurt.
"What happened?" It came out of his mouth almost too quickly, and she shifted uncomfortably as the turbo lift sped down to the med bay level.
"Apparently, the two ensigns were engaged in a fight." She explained. He prodded her for all the information she had as to where and why the fight had occurred as they made their way. He stormed through the med bay doors, eyes locking immediately onto Chekov.
The seventeen year old was curled onto his side on one of the crisp white tables, his lip and nose both bleeding. He had his right arm pulled against his chest, and from what the doctor could see through the tears in the sleeve of Chekov's uniform shirt, the skin underneath was purple and swollen.
McCoy tore his gaze away, looking at Ensign Smith, who was sitting on the edge of another bed with wide eyes. He was sporting a forming bruise underneath his left eye and under his chin.
"What the hell happened, Ensign?" He demanded, pointing a large finger at Smith.
"He… I… Um…" Smith was reluctant to answer the question as McCoy gathered a scanner and moved to Chekov's side. "We had an argument, um, in engineering…" Smith started as the nurse, Anna, moved in front of him with her own scanner.
"Okay, and?" McCoy demanded, gently pulling the sleeve away from Chekov's arm, causing the boy to whimper. McCoy cringed, shooting Smith a glare.
"And we fought, and… It… I… Things… escalated quickly…" Smith looked away from Chekov's cracked arm, clearly regretful.
"Your blood-alcohol content is higher than normal, Ensign Smith," Anna's voice chimed in. "Have you been drinking tonight?" She asked, locking eyes with him. He started to say no, but then realized that lying would be futile and simply nodded in answer.
"Damn it, man," McCoy started, clenching his teeth to prevent himself from cursing the man to hell. A quiet noise sounded from Chekov, whose eyes slid open. There were tears in the corner of his eyes that brimmed over after a moment and slid down his cheeks. "Kid, you with me?" McCoy asked upon the realization that he was awake. Chekov made a soft acknowledgement that McCoy figured was in Russian. "Good. Can I get you to sit up?" His voice was gentle for once, surprising Anna as she bandaged Smith up. Chekov moved around, grunting when his ribs stretched and pulled painfully. McCoy wrapped an arm around his shoulder and helped him sit up, then proceeded to cut the ruined shirt from his body. There were bruises mottling his pale, smooth skin, and his arm was swollen and dark purple and blue. "God damn, Smith, were you trying to kill him?" McCoy snapped, gently turning Chekov's arm over in his gentle grasp. There were long, thin bruises on the underside of his arm, shaped much like fingers.
"He swung at me… So I grabbed his arm and slammed it into the wall… Too hard… I heard the bone crack… So I brought him here…" Smith chewed on his bottom lip. McCoy felt sick to his stomach as he lifted Chekov's uninjured hand and put it onto his own shoulder.
"Kid, I gotta re-set the bone, so squeeze as hard as you need to." He nearly whispered, gently squeezing the hand that was now resting on his shoulder before returning his attention to the broken arm in front of him. He barely had the heel of his palm pressed against the crooked bone when Chekov gasped in pain and his fingers dug into the broad shoulder beneath his hand. McCoy didn't hesitate, despite the boy's discomfort, and a sickening snap followed by Chekov's pained wail resounded through med bay as the bone was thrust back into its proper position.
The room was silent for a few heavy moments, save for Chekov's sobs, until McCoy spoke again. "Kid. Chekov." He got the boy's attention and was pleased to see that he was still with him, able to look him in the eyes. "Can you tell me what happened? The whole story?" He requested as his nimble and trained fingers applied a bandage and splint to the boy's cracked arm, and then to the bruises and cuts littered across his chest. Chekov mumbled some words out in Russian before he started forming some words in English.
"We… Argued… Zen fought… I lose…" He stumbled out, his head rolling back against the wall behind him.
"I see that…" McCoy looked over his shoulder at Smith. "But I need details, Chekov. Smith isn't telling me and I know you will."
"He wery drunk… and… he…" He trailed off into Russian slurs before snapping back. "We argue over opinion… on… Scotty's theories… and zen he corner me in hall… He tease and mock, and zen he hit me for argue back…" His accent was thicker due to his fatigue and his injuries, but McCoy still caught the story in between.
"So basically, you bullied the kid?" McCoy glanced at Smith, who clenched and unclenched his jaw without speaking. McCoy finished bandaging and cleaning Chekov up, getting blood of his face and using a dermal regenerator to heal the simple cuts on his lip and cheek, all while waiting for a response from Smith.
When none came even as McCoy finished, he turned on his heel to glare at the ensign. "Look here, boy, just because the kid is young and smarter than you, don't give you the damn right to pick on him," he jabbed his finger at the ensign, only a mere inch from his nose. "Chekov is damn good at what he does, and if you or any of your other little bullying pals got a problem with Pavel Chekov, I'm the new complaint department. Not his fucking face." McCoy placed his hand on Smith's shoulder, yanking him off of the bed. "Now, get the fuck out of my med bay, go to your damn room, and pray that you still have a job in the morning." McCoy jabbed his finger towards the door, gesturing for Ensign Smith to leave now. He willingly obeyed, limping slightly towards the med bay doors.
Once McCoy was sure Smith had left, he turned back to Chekov, who had his cracked arm pressed against his own chest and was whimpering in pain.
"Thank you, Anna… Go fill out the report for me while I finish tending to Ensign Chekov." He pointed to his own office, interrupting her further scans of the young ensign.
"Oh, um… Yes, sir, Doctor, right away." She scampered into his office, the door hissing as it slid shut behind her. McCoy immediately had his full attention on Chekov, doing everything he could to make the boy comfortable on the stiff medical table. He wound up laying on his stomach, head turned to the side, arms rested under his cheek.
"Are ya hurt anywhere else, kid?" He gently kneaded his fingers down Chekov's back, checking for more bruises, unseen injuries, anything broken...
Chekov hissed as McCoy's large fingers brushed over a bruise. "My… eh… ankle hurts a bit, Dokter… Ze… Ze right one…" His accent made "doctor" sound odd, but it brought a slight amused smile to McCoy's face as he knelt by Chekov's feet and gingerly pulled his shoe and then sock off. Rolling the leg of the boy's pants up, McCoy looked the ankle over.
"It's a bit red, ya might have twisted it." He held up the scanner to it, which confirmed that it was at most sprained and that he would be fine. "Do ya want a painkiller? Help ya sleep, maybe?" The southerner asked quietly as he stood up.
"Zat would be nice, da…" Chekov hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. McCoy walked to a drawer, producing a hypo spray.
"This might pinch a bit," Was his only warning before he pressed the hypo to Chekov's neck. The hypo hissed, and almost immediately, Chekov's body relaxed.
"Spasiba, Dokter…" The boy murmured as he fell asleep.
McCoy shook his head, gently patting the less injured of the boy's two shoulders, before walking to his office. He entered with out knocking – it WAS his office, damn it – and dropped onto the little couch. Anna looked entirely surprised for a moment before remembering that she was in his office filling out the report that he usually does.
"Doctor… Um…" She started, watching him shift around on the little couch until he found himself in a position he would be able to sleep in.
"Return to your station," he stated simply, waving his hand without looking at her. "Let me know if you need my help, anyone else comes in, yadda yadda, and I'll finish the damn report in the morning."
"Oh, well, um… Thank you, sir… Goodnight…" She stood up hesitantly, waiting for any further commands from him.
All she got from her hesitation were snores.
A/N: I may or may not continue... I don't know if I will make this more than two chapters (I have a paragraph for ch. 2 written out already, so I have to fucking finish it or I am going to scream. By the way, the next paragraph is rambling, so if you aren't prepared for that, you can leave now. Nothing too important here on in.) I have never written a full length smut scene before, at least one that wasn't rape and that cut off basically in the middle of it for one reason or another, so DON'T expect that from me (although I may likely try.) I've tried in the past, and I fail epically because I pretty much write in school. I always think that one of my teachers or even one of my peers is going to walk up behind me and see the lovely written porn on my computer (which is NOT allowed in my school system, for some odd reason... hmmm...)
So I'm going to cease my rambling so that you all may continue with your lives. Thank you.