(Su/C, TOS, m/m, NC-17) 1/1

This story is the result of a Mary Sue Whipple Challenge on ASCEM, "Bad Romance Novel Metaphors." I managed to slip in SEVEN out of the twenty. I hope you have fun finding them:-)

This story depicts graphic male/male sexual situations, if you are underage or not interested in such debauchery, best mosey on pardner. As for the rest of us, Paramount owns all things Star Trek, including "the boys." No infringement on that Copyright intended. Enjoy!

"Excuse *me.*"

Lt. Randolph moved Chekov out of his way with a strategically placed elbow to the midsection. The security officer used just enough pressure to force the younger smaller man back a few steps, but not so much that the sly, quick movement could be considered an actual shove.

"Cossack." Chekov muttered at Randolph's broad triangular back as the lieutenant sauntered across the rec room towards the replicators.

"That man's shape says 'Yield,' Chekov," Sulu grinned up at the scowling young Russian from a nearby table," And you did NOT!"

Chekov merely deepened his frown and plopped into the chair that Sulu had pulled out for him.

"Cossack." The Russian repeated and shot another venomous brown eyed glare in Randolph's direction. The security officer had joined a table of his equally thick-necked compatriots.

While Chekov was turned away, Sulu took advantage of the distraction to appreciate just how adorable his helmpartner looked when he pouted.

"You know, if you bulked up a little bit, those goons wouldn't pick on you so much." The helmsman advised while pushing a plate of ham sandwiches in Chekov's direction.

"I have tried to gain weight, but it all ends up here." The navigator attempted to pinch an inch of nonexistent flesh at his midsection. He wrinkled his nose and pushed the sandwiches back to Sulu's side of the table.

"I don't mean bulk up *that* way." Sulu mumbled around a sizable bite of ham sandwich. "I meant bulk up with weights, you know, build some muscle." He flexed a neat, round bicep as if to illustrate his point.

Chekov looked down reflexively at his own rather slender upper arm.

"Come on." Sulu stood and slapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Where are we going?"

"The gym."

"Now?!" Chekov asked, images of the reports he had to complete dancing in his head.

"No better time than the present," Sulu replied brightly as he dumped the uneaten sandwiches into the recycling unit, images of a half naked, sweat soaked Russian dancing in his head.

Chekov eyed the roomful of clanking, shiny weight machines dubiously.

Sulu was too busy ogling Chekov to notice the younger man's insecurity.

The ensign's body was harder than he had expected-not hard like Malosevic, the Serbian strongman, but hard like the marble on your shower floor when you fall and bang your knee.

Chekov was clad in the same grey sleeveless tank shirt and shorts as his helmpartner. While the Russian's arms were a bit more wiry than Sulu preferred, the young man had legs to die for.

Shapely calves led up to surprisingly defined, firm thighs which were accented by an equally firm, round...

Chekov cleared his throat.

"I...uhm...was just noticing that your legs could use a little work also," Sulu stammered, hiding his blush by fiddling with the closest piece of equipment-a bicep curl machine.

"Is there any part of my anatomy that you do not have plans for?" Chekov asked innocently while bending over to adjust the weight controls to a more reasonable setting.

"Nope. I'm afraid you're going to be pretty sore in the morning," Sulu replied straightfaced as he checked out how exquisitely the thin gym shorts flattered Chekov's ass.

"Remind me to thank you."

"Oh, you'll thank me, a thousand times over." Sulu assured him as he placed Chekov's hands in the correct position on the machine's padded bar.

"Now...lift."

Hesitantly at first, but with more confidence as he got the hang of it, Chekov pulled the bar towards his chest and lowered it with slow, controlled movements.

The little grunts and sighs the Russian made after completing each rep were almost more than Sulu could bear.

"Is that enough?" Chekov examined the peak of bicep his exertions had coaxed upward, then peered up at Sulu through the sweaty fringes of his bangs.

"Quite."

Sulu adjusted himself as discreetly as possible.

"I think we should work on your back now."

"My back? How can I lift weights with my back?" Chekov asked while wiping his sweaty face with a towel.

"Haven't you ever lifted weights before, Chekov?" Sulu manipulated the controls of the lat-row machine and gestured for his friend to sit down on the small, padded seat.

"Not much." Chekov admitted while grasping the handles and planting his feet. "I do not have much time to exercise so I usually just make use of the treadmills or play handball with you."

"Pull back and try to squeeze your shoulder blades together." Sulu instructed, placing his fingertips on the backs of Chekov's arms "to help him with the correct form."

The helmsman felt Chekov tense slightly at the unexpected contact.

"Why don't you take your shirt off?" Sulu suggested, attempting to sound as nonchalant as possible.

"Why?"

Chekov released the handles of the lat-rower, letting the plates drop with a resounding clang.

"So I can see your back muscles to...uhm...see if you are working them correctly." Sulu felt a lone rivulet of sweat trickle between his own shoulder blades as he endured the Russian's intense scrutiny.

Chekov gave a small grunt of dissatisfaction but finally relented and peeled off the sweat stained tank shirt.

"Now, isn't that better?" Sulu said, trying to keep his chest from heaving like a bulimic after Thanksgiving dinner.

His eyes couldn't help but follow the enticing little treasure trail of dark hair that started between the navigator's rosy nipples and disappeared into the waistband of his gym shorts.

Chekov turned back to the machine, grasped the handles and resumed rowing vigorously.

Sulu soon found himself transfixed by the sight of each clearly defined muscle on Chekov's surprisingly broad back, muscles that made themselves more evident with each rhythmic contraction.

Catching a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye, Sulu was surprised to discover Lt. Randolph, a dumbbell frozen in mid rep, also checking out Chekov's rippling back, slender waist and tight ass. It seemed the security officer had also noticed how Chekov's firm little rear-end clinched with each backwards pull of the lat-row.

When Randolph finally realized that Sulu was watching him, the security guard blushed furiously and resumed exercising, pumping the dumbbell up and down furiously.

"What now?" Chekov gasped, hands on his waist as he attempted to catch his breath.

The helmsman grinned as he caught Randolph casting another furtive glance in Chekov's direction.

"Squats."

"It was nice of you to let me use your shower."

Chekov's words were slightly muffled by the towel he was using to rub his hair dry.

"It seems that whenever Randolph's around, there is trouble. I guess it is best that I just avoid him."

Sulu was busy spreading a sheet on the floor and eyeing the other towel-the one slung low and rather haphazardly around the Russian's slender hips. One little tug and...

"What are you doing??"

"Getting ready to give you a massage."

Sulu rolled a bottle of scented oil slowly between his palms to blend it. "You won't be nearly as sore in the morning."

"What's that for?" Chekov pointed to the small, amber bottle in his friend's hand.

"Lubrication."

"Oh."

"Lie down, Pavel."

The towels dropped to the floor, rustling like a cockroach in a sugar bowl.

Chekov lowered himself push-up style to the floor, sighing at the feeling of the cool sheet on his warm belly and half-erect manhood.

Sulu sighed at the sight of Chekov's ass glowing peachy smooth in the dim light of his quarters.

"Don't be too rough, I'm feeling a bit stiff already," The ensign muttered drowsily, his sable lashes brushing his pale cheeks.

The helmsman nearly dropped the bottle of oil.

"Just relax. I promise, you won't be feeling stiff when I'm finished with you."

Chekov groaned long and low as Sulu's warm, skilled, oil-slicked hands kneaded the tight, overused muscles of the ensign's shoulders and back.

The groan rose an octave as Sulu's gently probing knee pressed between Chekov's, forcing the Russian's legs apart and giving Sulu room to kneel between them.

From this more intimate angle, Sulu could devote more liberal attention to Chekov's lower back, hips and finally the firm mounds of his buttocks.

"Sulu...?" Chekov gasped and arched his back slightly.

"Just...relax." Sulu purred, slathering the cleft of the ensign's buttocks liberally with the scented oil.

Chekov gasped even louder and turned to look back at his friend, dark eyes wide and luminous.

"Do you want me to stop?"

The ensign gnawed at his sexy lower lip for a moment. The fact that Sulu was running warm, oil-slicked fingers up and down the alabaster skin on Chekov's inner thighs made it rather difficult to think clearly.

"No." He whispered finally and lifted his ass ever so slightly to meet Sulu's exploring finger.

"Uhn..." Chekov grunted primaly and arched his back. " I want..."

Sulu brushed the Russian's prostate with a second probing finger.

"You want...?"

"...You!"

Chekov caught his helmpartner off guard, grabbing him and ripping his uniform off like it was a Publisher's Clearinghouse letter in which he, Pavel Chekov, was a potential winner of ten million credits.

It was Sulu's turn to grunt primaly as Chekov's velvety mouth descended onto the helmsman's stiff cock like a piranha on a corn dog.

'Slow down, Chekov." He whispered hoarsely, even though he wanted nothing more than for the long sought after, dark-eyed object of his lust to suck him to surging satisfaction.

"I'm sorry, Hikaru, " Chekov said and began kissing his way up Sulu's tight belly. "I have wanted you for so long..."

When he and the Russian were finally nose to nose, Sulu took Chekov's elegantly boned face in both hands and kissed him like a butterfly kisses the windshield of a Porsche on the Autobahn. He sucked the ensign's sweet, supple tongue just as Chekov had sucked Sulu's throbbing cock just moments before.

"I want you." Chekov repeated like a mantra when Sulu finally let him come up for air. "I have not done this before...with a man. You will show me?"

Chekov's pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked black as jet in the dim light. The Russian's cheeks were flushed and his full, pouty lips had been made even fuller by the bruising kisses.

Sulu knew he could deny this man nothing, not when he looked so damn beautiful.

"Lie down on your back and just relax." Sulu instructed while reaching for more of the lubricating oil.

As he took Chekov's penis into his mouth, the lieutenant began massaging his own dick with the pleasantly warm, scented substance.

"Oh, now, Hikaru!" Chekov moaned, his head thrown back, eyes closed.

Sulu pushed Chekov's creamy thighs apart, grasped the ensign's throbbing erection in one hand and guided himself into the tight opening to Chekov's body with the other.

Chekov's hips came up to meet Sulu's as he pushed his cock inch by deliciously tight inch into the Russian's ass.

The navigator finally took Sulu over the edge by grabbing him by the back of the head and thrusting his tongue teasingly between the lieutenant's lips in sync with the thrusting of Sulu's hips.

He moaned into Chekov's open mouth as he began pumping surge after surge of hot cum into the younger man's body.

A half second later, Sulu felt Chekov tighten around him and the Russian's hot semen splashed against his belly as Chekov too reached a shuddering- back-arching-eyes-rolled-in-the-back-of-his-head orgasm.

Sulu continued to stroke the navigator's cock until Chekov's legs dropped and they both fell into a sweat-soaked, oily heap on the floor.

"Excuse *me.*"

Chekov moved Randolph out of his way with a strategically placed elbow to the security officer's midsection.

"I think our workouts are starting to pay off." Sulu said, turning around just fast enough to catch Lt. Randolph rubbing at his accosted midsection and staring at Chekov's retreating ass.

"I think you are right." Chekov agreed, pausing while removing his lunch from the replicator to flex a noticeably bigger bicep.

"Not that there still isn't room for improvement." Sulu stifled a grin while reaching around the startled ensign to retrieve his own meal.

"Oh?"

"Oh, yes." Sulu looked at the chronometer on the rec room wall with exaggerated scrutiny. "If we hurry with lunch, we have just enough time for another quick workout. But this time, I *promise* you'll be sore in the morning!"

***The End***