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Undistracted (Star Trek XI Mirrorverse Ficlet, Hard R with warnings)
Title: Undistracted
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: Hard R with warnings.
Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike / Cadet Pavel Andreievich Chekov
Summary: Pavel is interviewed by the Captain of the ISS Enterprise.
Content Advisory: Spanking, slash, power differentials, Pavel is 17, Mirrorverse setting with all that implies.
Prompt: Written for this prompt at the ISS Enterprise Kink Meme.
Acknowledgements:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
flwrpwr_vampire for encouraging me to write this.
Author's Note: Yes, this is the Mirrorverse version of Condition of Distraction. And yes, even after having readdirty_smudge's masterful Yes, Daddy I wrote Pike spanking Chekov. What can I say, the Mirrorverse compels.
Disclaimer: None of these characters or their settings belong to me.
"So this is the whiz kid I've heard so much about." Pike's hand, clamped hard on the back of Pavel's neck, narrows his field of vision down to the polished wooden grain of Pike's desk. It gleams, a little old-fashioned, absolutely not soft, rather like the man who's bending Pavel over it after disarming him in three strikes, Captain Christopher Pike of the ISS Enterprise.
When the pause stretches long enough to demand a reply, Pavel answers, "Yes, Sir," and flexes his fingers against the hard wood. His heart bangs in his chest, but he holds himself still.
Pike squeezes Pavel's nape a little, not any more painfully, so the tip of his nose just brushes the silky wood. "Top marks in every math and physics course you didn't simply place out of, second place in the Academy marathon, three cadets killed and eight wounded in the last twelve months... how old are you, boy?"
"Seventeen, Sir." Pavel's voice doesn't crack, thank the nonexistent gods. "Also, it is four killed, not three. Collinomi died of his well-deserved injuries, Sir."
Pike rasps a chuckle. "I know kids your age whose balls haven't dropped yet." He sounds honestly impressed, and pride blooms warm in Pavel's chest. "Brilliant, vicious, and pretty. Mmm. Cadet, give me coordinates for the fastest route from Earthside Spacedock to Vega Station on stardate 2257.238."
"Yes, Sir!" Pavel inhales, star positions and dynamics already unfurling in his mind, the coordinates so simple he barely needs to calculate. It is almost insultingly easy --
Pike smacks Pavel on his upthrust ass, the sharp sound propagating a half second before the bright pain flares across his right asscheek. "Ow, fuck!" It hurts even through the uniform pants. Not as badly as an agonizer, but it hurts.
"Language, Cadet." Pike strokes where he just struck, his hand curving over a great deal of area. "Let's see what results you can produce while distracted. How about... twenty."
Pavel almost jerks against Pike's hand before he remembers why he came here. He wills his rigid back to loosen, forces his breathing to even out. He can take twenty. He's done calculations in the agony booth before, honing with pain the starlight-sharp beauty of mathematics. When the next blow scorches Pavel's left asscheek he's braced and ready, he doesn't make a sound.
He still doesn't when Pike growls, though he tries to twist around and see why, but Pavel doesn't even get a glimpse of Pike's face before the hard grip shifts up to the back of his head, broad fingers branding stripes into the base of his skull as Pike rumbles, "I don't hear anything."
Pavel's face floods with scalding blood. He's usually better than this. He needs to not be distracted. "Yes, Sir," he says, voice unwavering, and as the next blow sears through him, "three."
Pike snorts. "How did you get so far in math, boy, if you can't count?"
Pavel groans, anger flaring in his chest. The last man who thought he could toy with Pavel Andreievich Chekov now bears scars sliced all the way through his cheeks as mementoes of his mistake... but Sentah was nothing like Captain Christopher Fucking Pike, as the entire Academy calls him, with his granitic hold on Pavel's nape and his big hard hand cupping Pavel's ass, with his immovable thigh like a pillar behind Pavel's and his laserlike blue gaze as avid as if Pavel were naked.
So Pavel clenches his teeth and nods, forehead rocking on the desk. The next blow stings right across his seat, and he grits out, "One."
"Very good." Pike's voice is a fraction softer, a degree warmer, sliding under Pavel's skin and curling deep inside him despite his throbbing ass and burning face, his aching neck and bruised pride. "You've caught me in an indulgent mood, so let's just call the next one..." Pike thwacks the air from him. "Four."
Pavel drags in a deep breath, clamping down on a whimper. "Thank you, Sir."
Pike hums deeply, almost a rumble, and begins spanking Pavel in earnest, his pace steady and fast, just enough pause between each blow for the count. "Six, seven, eight," Pavel gasps, thinking about why he needs to serve on the Enterprise. "Ten, ah, eleven, twelve..." He has eight years to become the youngest captain in the Empire's history, and the best place to learn how is under the man who set that record. "Pyat-- fifteen, shit, sixteen, seven-ach-teen..." Each blow shudders through him so he sobs, pinned under Pike, but Pike's pleased growls and solid weight harden Pavel's cock as surely as stroking fingers.
"Twen-twenty, Sir." Pavel chokes out at last, his face tipped sideways with his cheek pressed to the desk. Pike rests his hand almost soothingly at the base of Pavel's spine, doubtless enjoying his tremors. Pavel hitches, his diaphragm near spasm, but his face is still dry, tears barely prickling in the corners of his eyes. He's a cadet of the Empire, it takes more than this to make him cry. He tries to steady himself with the thought of Pike's belly opening under one of his starlight-bright knives, but realizes, as Pike rubs one small circle on his back, blood is not what he wants from this man. "I have coordinates. 3722.638, by 243.008, by 595.212. Sir."
"Very good, Cadet." Pike's voice has a burr now, a nearly tangible texture like something warm and plush. "Very good indeed. And for Stardate 2257.245?"
Calculation is almost a challenge, Pavel's mind shot through with tiny fissures and awash in dark heat, twin throbs in his aching ass and turgid cock, but there are reasons he spent his sessions in the agony booth doing math. "3718.225 by 242.938 by 601.002, Sir."
"Not .003?" Pike slides his hands up, one behind Pavel's heart, one into his hair. His hand on Pavel's back is as strong as if he could dig Pavel's spine right out with his fingers alone, and Pavel pushes into the touch, wanting more of it, wanting to learn it. "Tell me, Cadet, what do you want?"
"To navigate for the Enterprise," Pavel moans as Pike drags a hand back down his spine, hearing his vowels thicken. "To serve under you."
"I think both can be arranged," Pike rumbles, sliding his hand around Pavel's front and unfastening his uniform pants. Their scrape down over his radiatingly sore ass makes Pavel hiss, but he doesn't move, not until Pike curls his broad hand around Pavel's cock and he can press his hips into that hold.
Pike rubs fingertips over Pavel's scalp as he strokes, just once, then pulls his hand away, and now Pavel is frustrated enough to kill him, choking down a whine in his throat. Pike chuckles over him and runs one finger down the crease of his ass until he shivers with the achy tingle. "Welcome to my ship, Ensign," Pike tells Pavel, over the snarl of a uniform's zipper opening, with a light tug on his curls. "Can you scream for me?"
For now, Pavel thinks, as he nods and breathes, "Aye, Captain. I can do that."
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: Hard R with warnings.
Pairing: Captain Christopher Pike / Cadet Pavel Andreievich Chekov
Summary: Pavel is interviewed by the Captain of the ISS Enterprise.
Content Advisory: Spanking, slash, power differentials, Pavel is 17, Mirrorverse setting with all that implies.
Prompt: Written for this prompt at the ISS Enterprise Kink Meme.
Acknowledgements:
flwrpwr_vampire for encouraging me to write this.Author's Note: Yes, this is the Mirrorverse version of Condition of Distraction. And yes, even after having read
dirty_smudge's masterful Yes, Daddy I wrote Pike spanking Chekov. What can I say, the Mirrorverse compels.Disclaimer: None of these characters or their settings belong to me.
"So this is the whiz kid I've heard so much about." Pike's hand, clamped hard on the back of Pavel's neck, narrows his field of vision down to the polished wooden grain of Pike's desk. It gleams, a little old-fashioned, absolutely not soft, rather like the man who's bending Pavel over it after disarming him in three strikes, Captain Christopher Pike of the ISS Enterprise.
When the pause stretches long enough to demand a reply, Pavel answers, "Yes, Sir," and flexes his fingers against the hard wood. His heart bangs in his chest, but he holds himself still.
Pike squeezes Pavel's nape a little, not any more painfully, so the tip of his nose just brushes the silky wood. "Top marks in every math and physics course you didn't simply place out of, second place in the Academy marathon, three cadets killed and eight wounded in the last twelve months... how old are you, boy?"
"Seventeen, Sir." Pavel's voice doesn't crack, thank the nonexistent gods. "Also, it is four killed, not three. Collinomi died of his well-deserved injuries, Sir."
Pike rasps a chuckle. "I know kids your age whose balls haven't dropped yet." He sounds honestly impressed, and pride blooms warm in Pavel's chest. "Brilliant, vicious, and pretty. Mmm. Cadet, give me coordinates for the fastest route from Earthside Spacedock to Vega Station on stardate 2257.238."
"Yes, Sir!" Pavel inhales, star positions and dynamics already unfurling in his mind, the coordinates so simple he barely needs to calculate. It is almost insultingly easy --
Pike smacks Pavel on his upthrust ass, the sharp sound propagating a half second before the bright pain flares across his right asscheek. "Ow, fuck!" It hurts even through the uniform pants. Not as badly as an agonizer, but it hurts.
"Language, Cadet." Pike strokes where he just struck, his hand curving over a great deal of area. "Let's see what results you can produce while distracted. How about... twenty."
Pavel almost jerks against Pike's hand before he remembers why he came here. He wills his rigid back to loosen, forces his breathing to even out. He can take twenty. He's done calculations in the agony booth before, honing with pain the starlight-sharp beauty of mathematics. When the next blow scorches Pavel's left asscheek he's braced and ready, he doesn't make a sound.
He still doesn't when Pike growls, though he tries to twist around and see why, but Pavel doesn't even get a glimpse of Pike's face before the hard grip shifts up to the back of his head, broad fingers branding stripes into the base of his skull as Pike rumbles, "I don't hear anything."
Pavel's face floods with scalding blood. He's usually better than this. He needs to not be distracted. "Yes, Sir," he says, voice unwavering, and as the next blow sears through him, "three."
Pike snorts. "How did you get so far in math, boy, if you can't count?"
Pavel groans, anger flaring in his chest. The last man who thought he could toy with Pavel Andreievich Chekov now bears scars sliced all the way through his cheeks as mementoes of his mistake... but Sentah was nothing like Captain Christopher Fucking Pike, as the entire Academy calls him, with his granitic hold on Pavel's nape and his big hard hand cupping Pavel's ass, with his immovable thigh like a pillar behind Pavel's and his laserlike blue gaze as avid as if Pavel were naked.
So Pavel clenches his teeth and nods, forehead rocking on the desk. The next blow stings right across his seat, and he grits out, "One."
"Very good." Pike's voice is a fraction softer, a degree warmer, sliding under Pavel's skin and curling deep inside him despite his throbbing ass and burning face, his aching neck and bruised pride. "You've caught me in an indulgent mood, so let's just call the next one..." Pike thwacks the air from him. "Four."
Pavel drags in a deep breath, clamping down on a whimper. "Thank you, Sir."
Pike hums deeply, almost a rumble, and begins spanking Pavel in earnest, his pace steady and fast, just enough pause between each blow for the count. "Six, seven, eight," Pavel gasps, thinking about why he needs to serve on the Enterprise. "Ten, ah, eleven, twelve..." He has eight years to become the youngest captain in the Empire's history, and the best place to learn how is under the man who set that record. "Pyat-- fifteen, shit, sixteen, seven-ach-teen..." Each blow shudders through him so he sobs, pinned under Pike, but Pike's pleased growls and solid weight harden Pavel's cock as surely as stroking fingers.
"Twen-twenty, Sir." Pavel chokes out at last, his face tipped sideways with his cheek pressed to the desk. Pike rests his hand almost soothingly at the base of Pavel's spine, doubtless enjoying his tremors. Pavel hitches, his diaphragm near spasm, but his face is still dry, tears barely prickling in the corners of his eyes. He's a cadet of the Empire, it takes more than this to make him cry. He tries to steady himself with the thought of Pike's belly opening under one of his starlight-bright knives, but realizes, as Pike rubs one small circle on his back, blood is not what he wants from this man. "I have coordinates. 3722.638, by 243.008, by 595.212. Sir."
"Very good, Cadet." Pike's voice has a burr now, a nearly tangible texture like something warm and plush. "Very good indeed. And for Stardate 2257.245?"
Calculation is almost a challenge, Pavel's mind shot through with tiny fissures and awash in dark heat, twin throbs in his aching ass and turgid cock, but there are reasons he spent his sessions in the agony booth doing math. "3718.225 by 242.938 by 601.002, Sir."
"Not .003?" Pike slides his hands up, one behind Pavel's heart, one into his hair. His hand on Pavel's back is as strong as if he could dig Pavel's spine right out with his fingers alone, and Pavel pushes into the touch, wanting more of it, wanting to learn it. "Tell me, Cadet, what do you want?"
"To navigate for the Enterprise," Pavel moans as Pike drags a hand back down his spine, hearing his vowels thicken. "To serve under you."
"I think both can be arranged," Pike rumbles, sliding his hand around Pavel's front and unfastening his uniform pants. Their scrape down over his radiatingly sore ass makes Pavel hiss, but he doesn't move, not until Pike curls his broad hand around Pavel's cock and he can press his hips into that hold.
Pike rubs fingertips over Pavel's scalp as he strokes, just once, then pulls his hand away, and now Pavel is frustrated enough to kill him, choking down a whine in his throat. Pike chuckles over him and runs one finger down the crease of his ass until he shivers with the achy tingle. "Welcome to my ship, Ensign," Pike tells Pavel, over the snarl of a uniform's zipper opening, with a light tug on his curls. "Can you scream for me?"
For now, Pavel thinks, as he nods and breathes, "Aye, Captain. I can do that."
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GUH.
oh MY.
please, ma'am, might I have some more?
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I think I am even more in love with this than the other because hnnnnnr Mirror!Pike, so very ridiculously believably beautifully evil.
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Also, Mirror!Pike and Slade Wilson have some kinship, don't they?
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Has anyone done the chart of nu!Trek/DCU correspondences yet? We do seem to keep stumbling across them.
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So you hit almost all my kinks here... the spanking, the dom!Pike, the brooding Pavel... I just.. GUH.
You slay me.
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This is very hot. I just... I can picture a much fiercer Checkov's cheeks and how he'd bite his lip and just fucking take it... and just kind of tilt his ass up like a sonnet. And Goddamn Captain Fucking Pike is just the man to appreciate what he has in his hands.
Hells yeah.
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Eeee, this comment made my little day, it did.
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And I love the descriptions of Pike's huge hands, it's such a subtly brilliant way to describe how powerful he is/how much control he has here. And it's hot.
Also I'm usually really picky about what I enjoy in a USS version of Chekov, and I really really like yours, his viciousness and ambition. It really feels like a darker reflection.
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Also, yeah, Pike/Chekov over a desk -- brilliant prompt, how could I resist?
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(blushes, fidgets, tries to get back to work)
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