Title: The Five Times Scotty and Chekov Interrupted Lunch
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters: Scotty/Chekov, McCoy, Kirk, Spock, Uhura
Warnings: Language and implications
Notes: This was some pure crack I picked up at the crackmeme. Keyphrase is "Not in the restaurant, dammit."
From this prompt:
Okay this prompt is inspired by the dinner I just had with my friends. I was kinda hoping like "5 times someone said ‘Not at the restaurant'" or something like that. For example (one that came up tonight) "No biting at the restaurant damnit!".
Anon likes the following pairings: Bones/Kirk, Sulu/Kirk, Chekov/Scotty, Chekov/Sulu, Spock/Uhura
They were having lunch on Betazed, that day, which was unsettling enough. The idea that everyone else in the restaurant probably thought they were barbarians, every time one of them spoke, weighed heavily on McCoy. He was not generally fond of the idea of people reading his mind and fucking about in his head, and that was the first thought, he was certain, that any snoopy damned mindreader was going to get off him.
At least, that was his focus before Scotty’s knee slammed into the bottom of the table, and the engineer choked on his drink.
"Not in the damn restaurant, Chekov!" McCoy snapped, glaring at the little Russian. "And sure as hell not in the middle of a restaurant full of telepaths. It doesn’t matter if they can see you doing it, if they can all hear you thinking it!"
Sulu was enjoying what seemed like it was going to be a relatively uneventful lunch, with the guys. The weather was pleasant, and this restaurant had tables large enough to fit seven people with relative ease. Scotty and Chekov were hudled together over a napkin, with two forks, a rubber band, and a ketchup bottle, but at least they weren’t making out, in public. A normal spring afternoon, he thought, letting his attention linger on the flavour of his meal.
Sulu heard Chekov’s voice just before the ice cube landed in his plate. Scotty and Chekov guiltily tried to hide the construct they’d been playing with, but the notes on the napkin said it all.
"Not in the restaurant, goddammit!" Sulu threw the ice cube back across the table. "You two are like kids! Go build trebuchets in engineering, or something, not over my lunch!"
Kirk had always thought that Scotty and Chekov were kind of cute together. He had a deeply held belief that it was one of those sorts of relationships that would better the human condition — nerds in love were twice as nerdy, as far as he could tell. He watched them scribbling furiously on cocktail napkins, as he lounged on the patio of a truly lovely tavern, on Arcadia Prime. He’d go home with the waitress, the way he always did, and when he got back to the Enterprise, in the morning, his canoodling compatriots would have re-wired half of Engineering, for better efficiency, or some similarly bizarre thing.
That was when he heard Chekov’s voice go up an octave and a few decibels. "No! You cannot do it in this fashion, Scotty! You will cause warp core malfunction, right here!" A skinny finger jabbed at one of the napkins.
"She’ll take it fine, Pavel. Me and the Enterprise, we’ve got an understanding." Scotty winked and elbowed Chekov.
"You love her better than you do me! But, I think you only know her half as well!" And now Chekov was just being sulky — it happened, sometimes, when he drank too much, but Scotty took the insult personally, and Kirk could see it hit.
"Not in the restaurant, goddammit!" Kirk shouted across the crowded patio. "Take your lovers’ quarrel back to the ship. And keep it out of Engineering. I still want to be able to hit warp five, in the morning."
By the next week’s layover on Arcturus IV, things appeared to be back to normal between Mr. Scott and Ensign Chekov, not that Spock particularly cared about their personal lives, but it was a definite improvement to be able to eat a meal without them sniping at each other across the table. Of course, lunch on Arcturus IV left quite a bit to be desired, as far as palatability went, but Spock was well aware that the diplomatic integrity of the Federation depended on his ability to eat the excuse for food on his plate. Even in restaurants, Arcturus IV was that sort of place, he reflected, looking around the table, to see how the other officers were faring. Mr. Scott and Ensign Chekov appeared to be mostly focused on their food, until one noticed the manner in which their hands lay together between their plates, fingers twisted together in ways that brought shocked colour to Spock’s face.
"Chekov," he hissed across the table, looking as horrified as a Vulcan dared look, "that is patently obscene. Kindly refrain from — from doing that in the restaurant!"
Chekov blinked. He looked confusedly at Scotty. He looked confusedly at Spock. Finally, it was Uhura who suggested he might keep his fingers away from Scotty’s hands, while in front of Spock, and Spock relaxed, visibly.
They went to lunch alone, on Risa — just Scotty and his little Russian. The restaurant was some fancy Andorian place, just a block from a beautiful beach, and for all the wonderful food, Scotty couldn’t wait for lunch to end. He rubbed his ankle against Pavel’s, earning himself a sly smile. Little things, now and then, each a little further than the last, but as he opened the top button of Pavel’s pants, under the table, his little Russian finally protested.
"Not in the restaurant, Scotty! Is too public! Someone will see!" Pavel blushed above his amazed and intrigued smile.
"People have this peculiar tendency of only seeing the things they can believe in," Scotty argued, somewhat disheartened when Pavel closed his pants.
Pavel stood, with a wicked little grin on his face. "Then clearly we must to be doing this in much more unexpected place," he said, and Scotty just followed as he walked away.