A/N: Written for a prompt on the Star Trek kink meme.

Pairing: Scotty/Chekov

Rating: R

Length: 585 words

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, and am making no money from this.

Summary: Scotty and Chekov take a shower together.

It's one of the things Scotty had insisted on: that he be given quarters with a proper old-fashioned H20 shower, "and not any o' that sonic crap." It got you clean, yes, but it didn't feel like got you clean, and the phantom memory of grime always clings to him until he can get some real, tangible water and scrub the feelings away.

Water hisses on the tiled floor (that was another of his requirements) as he opens the door of the little bathroom gently and sees the outline of Chekov, happily showering and oblivious to his presence. He smiles in memory of the night before. They've been lovers now for a few weeks and it's early on but the Scotsman can feel himself falling for the kid, falling deeply.

For a while Scotty just watches him, because he takes the engineer's breath away: the expanses of pale skin glistening, his curls plastered down to his head, droplets chasing each other down his nose and cheeks and chin as he soaps himself. For a moment Scotty imagines they are outside, and those droplets are raindrops during a wild storm on the Scottish moors, and he's kissing Chekov in the rain because the boy says he's never done that before. It's a wonderful feeling. However, he thinks mischievously, returning to the present, there are certainly benefits to being where they are now.

Scotty reaches almost casually up and rotates the showerhead so it's spraying uselessly onto the wall; Chekov starts and spins round to face him. In the absence of hot water, his skin begins to cool instantly.

"Now why did ju go an' do zat?" he asks somewhat reproachfully. "I am needed on ze bridge in jus -

For a genius of dizzying heights, sometimes the kid's a bit clueless. Scotty steps much too close. "So the tiles aren't cold." the engineer says with a knowing grin, "when I do this." He pushes the navigator back hard against the wall. Chekov is trapped between the warmth pouring against his back and the warmth pressing against his front as Scotty pins him against the tiles and kisses him, hard.

Steam wreathes around them, mixing with their breath as they break apart the kiss to inhale, hastily, before devouring the other's lips again. Turning Chekov around Scotty finds the boy's already hard for him, desperate, bucking slightly as the Scot licks his fingers generously and slides them in, impatient to move on but not willing to rush the younger man. It's Chekov, though, who's panting, begging him onward, and when Scotty enters him, the Russian flings his head back and moans in a way that drives him wild with desire.

He doesn't know how long they go on for as it seems as if all that has ever existed was this: hot, hot water sluicing down their bodies as they move slickly against each other, Chekov's cries reverberating off the tiles and Scotty's groans following like gruff echoes behind. But then Chekov's shouting and coming in his hand; it pushes Scotty over the edge too, who empties himself into Chekov with a blinding heat and a satisfaction that seems to reach the very bottom of his soul.

And afterwards, Chekov goes back to lathering himself and Scotty gently washes his hair, massaging the shampoo in almost reverently and running his fingers through the thick curls with quiet delight.

Cheeks flushed, uniform askew and his hair still damp, Chekov makes it to the bridge on time after all.