imasupermuteant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
imasupermuteant) wrote2009-12-04 02:19 am
imasupermuteant) wrote2009-12-04 02:19 am
Entry tags:
Quick fic!
Trek Fic! It's not smutty!! ^_^
'Ensign Jailbait and the Incredibly Confusing Moniker'
by ISMA
Pavel Chekov had been living, and working, on the Enterprise for over three months (that's space-months really, which is to say four-times-thirty repetitions of twenty-eight hour cycles, which made it very hard to Chekov to figure out when Christmas was) before he heard what the other ensigns called him behind his back. Admittedly he had little experience with this sort of group-dynamic, he's graduated from the academy, and all other schooling, far too early to have a keen grasp of gossip, but he got the general feeling that he should be insulted.
Chekov spent a few days in abject misery as he wondered whether this new nick-name meant that his peers found him distasteful in some way or whether it was all friendly joking or whether it was some hurtful combination of the two like when ensign Reed had decided to copy Chekov's accent (in a humorous and slightly humiliating manner) for a week straight. Chekov had encountered bullying before and had no desire to play the victim ("wicktim") again.
So, Chekov did the only thing he could think to do at the time, half-way through the night-cycle and a good few hours past the time when he should have been asleep. He went to see the captain.
Kirk was understandably a little put out to hear his door charm at midnight (or what would have been midnight if they hadn't been, you know, in *space*) but the large eyed and watery look Chekov sent him from his doorstep was successful in melting any kind of irritation he might have held.
"Problem, ensign?" He asked as he beckoned the boy in, pausing only to give a yawn and to push a pile of PADDs off of a chair so that his guest could sit (Kirk still did not understand how he managed to get *piles* of a device which had been invented to remove the necessity for multiple devices).
"Er... Yes Keptin." Chekov told him, "I hope I am not bothering you, sir."
"Not at all!" Kirk told him, even though it was a bother, because the soft (admittedly adorable) features of his navigator seemed to instill some kind of "don't upset him!" instinct which was impossible to ignore.
"Vell, I have noticed some talk among the crew vhich has been causing me some worry..."
"Is everything... alright?" Kirk asked, "Do you have a disagreement with another crew member?"
"Not as such, Keptin, no. It is more that I am wery aware that the crew has dewelopped for me a name..."
"Name calling?" Kirk asked, feeling both relieved that there was nothing too serious and frustrated with the immaturity of the crew (and wouldn't that make Bones laugh his bitchy ass off, Kirk being bothered by *someone else's* immaturity.)
"I overheard an engineer," Chekov would, of course, never say who, "Call me... er... 'Ensign Jailbait."
"Ah..."
"Vhat is this 'jailbait' Keptin?"
Someone, somewhere in Jim's head was chanting "awkward!" like a prayer.
"Well... Ensign... 'jailbait' refers to someone that the speaker finds sexually attractive..."
"Really?!"
"...Who is also under the legal age of consent."
"But... Keptin! I am *not* under the legal age of consent."
"I thought you were sewen... seventeen." Kirk almost chocked on his own slip.
"The legal age of consent is *six*teen, Keptin, not to mention I turned eighteen nearly three weeks ago." Chekov gave Kirk a bright grin.
"Well then! Everything's all sorted out then!" With that Kirk stood and pushed Chekov out the door, glad to finally be free from the awkwardness of the conversation.
...although he was completely willing to watch Chekov (and Chekov's perky, perfectly legal, ass) as the ensign walked towards his own quarters.
Chekov himself had been given something wery... I mean very interesting to contemplate. He had *sex appeal*, slightly inappropriate, lolita-esque sex appeal, but sex appeal nonetheless. Chekov had never been a sex object before.
'Ensign Jailbait' indeed, Chekov snorted to himself as he returned to his bed. He could show them 'Ensign Jailbait'.
"I am *not* sewenteen." He muttered to himself just before he drifted off.
'Ensign Jailbait and the Incredibly Confusing Moniker'
by ISMA
Pavel Chekov had been living, and working, on the Enterprise for over three months (that's space-months really, which is to say four-times-thirty repetitions of twenty-eight hour cycles, which made it very hard to Chekov to figure out when Christmas was) before he heard what the other ensigns called him behind his back. Admittedly he had little experience with this sort of group-dynamic, he's graduated from the academy, and all other schooling, far too early to have a keen grasp of gossip, but he got the general feeling that he should be insulted.
Chekov spent a few days in abject misery as he wondered whether this new nick-name meant that his peers found him distasteful in some way or whether it was all friendly joking or whether it was some hurtful combination of the two like when ensign Reed had decided to copy Chekov's accent (in a humorous and slightly humiliating manner) for a week straight. Chekov had encountered bullying before and had no desire to play the victim ("wicktim") again.
So, Chekov did the only thing he could think to do at the time, half-way through the night-cycle and a good few hours past the time when he should have been asleep. He went to see the captain.
Kirk was understandably a little put out to hear his door charm at midnight (or what would have been midnight if they hadn't been, you know, in *space*) but the large eyed and watery look Chekov sent him from his doorstep was successful in melting any kind of irritation he might have held.
"Problem, ensign?" He asked as he beckoned the boy in, pausing only to give a yawn and to push a pile of PADDs off of a chair so that his guest could sit (Kirk still did not understand how he managed to get *piles* of a device which had been invented to remove the necessity for multiple devices).
"Er... Yes Keptin." Chekov told him, "I hope I am not bothering you, sir."
"Not at all!" Kirk told him, even though it was a bother, because the soft (admittedly adorable) features of his navigator seemed to instill some kind of "don't upset him!" instinct which was impossible to ignore.
"Vell, I have noticed some talk among the crew vhich has been causing me some worry..."
"Is everything... alright?" Kirk asked, "Do you have a disagreement with another crew member?"
"Not as such, Keptin, no. It is more that I am wery aware that the crew has dewelopped for me a name..."
"Name calling?" Kirk asked, feeling both relieved that there was nothing too serious and frustrated with the immaturity of the crew (and wouldn't that make Bones laugh his bitchy ass off, Kirk being bothered by *someone else's* immaturity.)
"I overheard an engineer," Chekov would, of course, never say who, "Call me... er... 'Ensign Jailbait."
"Ah..."
"Vhat is this 'jailbait' Keptin?"
Someone, somewhere in Jim's head was chanting "awkward!" like a prayer.
"Well... Ensign... 'jailbait' refers to someone that the speaker finds sexually attractive..."
"Really?!"
"...Who is also under the legal age of consent."
"But... Keptin! I am *not* under the legal age of consent."
"I thought you were sewen... seventeen." Kirk almost chocked on his own slip.
"The legal age of consent is *six*teen, Keptin, not to mention I turned eighteen nearly three weeks ago." Chekov gave Kirk a bright grin.
"Well then! Everything's all sorted out then!" With that Kirk stood and pushed Chekov out the door, glad to finally be free from the awkwardness of the conversation.
...although he was completely willing to watch Chekov (and Chekov's perky, perfectly legal, ass) as the ensign walked towards his own quarters.
Chekov himself had been given something wery... I mean very interesting to contemplate. He had *sex appeal*, slightly inappropriate, lolita-esque sex appeal, but sex appeal nonetheless. Chekov had never been a sex object before.
'Ensign Jailbait' indeed, Chekov snorted to himself as he returned to his bed. He could show them 'Ensign Jailbait'.
"I am *not* sewenteen." He muttered to himself just before he drifted off.