In the dark, machines buzzing softly, lights of a hundred different colors dimly glowing on control panels, the captain kissed the young Russian ensign.

At first it was sweet, a small kiss to show infatuation, Kirk's lips barely brushed those of the ensign, but as it deepened, it became clear to Chekov what Kirk really wanted.

Chekov felt the pressure against his lips increase, and he found the need for air overwhelming, however, upon opening his mouth for much needed oxygen, Chekov felt the introduction of tongue. Kirk was an expert kisser, his tongue making fierce circles around that of Chekov's. It was a kiss that portrayed a cocktail of different intentions.

Kirk took a step forward, pushing himself into Chekov, and Chekov against the wall yet again. The same awkward object that the ensign had collided with before, met his back again, and Chekov arched himself as a reflex. It occurred to Chekov later that that involuntary arch was some kind of green light to Kirk, because the captain seemed to pick up vigor after that.

The captain pressed his hands against Chekov's stomach, and began slowly pushing his shirt up. Chekov tensed up with a sharp intake of breath.

"K-k-keptin, I, ah, I've newer, ah, newer . . ." Chekov panted as Kirk tongued his neck.

"Oh, well then I can assure you, ensign, if I'm going to be taking you, it won't be here on the bridge." Kirk breathed into the Russian's ear. "Your bed, or mine?"

"I, ah . . ."

"Hmm, I'm going to pretend you said mine." Breathed Kirk.

The captain bent his knees, picked Chekov up from his standing position, and held him in his arms like a bride.

"Keptin! I assure you I am wery able to valk!" Chekov said, sounding slightly offended.

"Ah but that wouldn't be any fun." Kirk told him as he carried Chekov through the door. "Besides, your entirely too cute, ensign, I can't keep my hands off of you."

If it were possible, the shade of red in Chekov's cheeks deepened.

Once out in the hallway, they found it empty as ever, however that did nothing to make Chekov more compliant. "Keptin, please, If somebody vere to valk up and see us-" he pleaded.

"-Then I would tell them to get the fuck off my ship, or I'd kick their ass." Smiled Kirk, taunting the young boy.

"Please, k-keptin . . ." Chekov said, sounding tired.

"Never. Answered Kirk.

They reached Kirk's room, and Chekov hung onto the captain's shoulder as Kirk fumbled to press his palm to the key pad, thus opening the door. Only the captain's room had such a lock. It assured that the captain could have privacy, lest he have pressing matters to attend to.

When Scotty installed this panel, neither him nor the captain imagined it would be to separate the following activities from the rest of the ship.

Kirk threw the young Russian onto the bed, clearly in a hurry to begin ravishing the seventeen-year-old again.

Kirk crawled onto the bed, and continued towards Chekov unlit he was above the boy again. Chekov held his hands by his shoulders, and looked up at the captain, biting his lip.

Kirk, though anxious, paused. "If you're not ready . . . I'll stop." Kirk told him.

"No, it's . . . umm it's fine keptin. I'm . . . I'm just nerwous, that's all." Chekov responded. "Before dis I had newer ewen been to second base . . ." he admitted.

"Well then you've come to the right place Chekov." Kirk said, placing a soft kiss on the Russian's lips, "Because I'm practically a seasoned veteran."

Kirk placed his hands on Chekov's sides, and brushed the tips of his fingers against the bottom of the Boy's tank top, which had ridden some ways up the ensign's stomach. The captain grabbed the hem, and pulled Chekov's shirt off. Kirk leaned down and kissed the boy's collar bone. Slowly, he made a trail of kisses, and hickeys down the Russian's chest, an abdomen, until Chekov let out another sharp breath, as Kirk neared the top of the boy's shorts.

"Chekov . . ." breathed the captain, his mouth positioned just below the ensign's navel. "Just . . . relax."

"A-aye keptin." Said Chekov.