Warning: If you are less than 18 years of age, hit the information superhighway to somewhere else, see ya kid, and/or not interested in m/m sex, brown-eyed ensigns, mechanics or frisky behavior in hot weather on low gravity planets, you will not enjoy this story.

Disclaimer: Copyright 1999 by Karmen Ghia. This is an original work of amateur fiction based on Star Trek. It makes transformative use of Star Trek and is intended only for noncommercial purposes. This work makes "fair use" of Star Trek copyrighted material; it is not intended to infringe on the intellectual property rights of Paramount, Viacom or other owners of copyright in Star Trek or any of their assignees or licensees. The author's copyright extends only to the original material in this work.

Yet another re-write of _All Revved Up_, but this one by Karmen Ghia

Divinely inspired by Britta, Jane and Skazitelnisky. Thanks.

The Enterprise in dry-dock was not the most heart stoppingly beautiful sight in the galaxy. Her graceful lines were rather lost in the dusty sunlight that slanted off her in the dry-dock on Mnr 7. She looked rather tired and somewhat jaded.

Star Fleet had chosen Mnr 7, a hot, dry, low gravity, type-M planet, as the perfect dry-dock in that sector. Its low gravity made suspending huge ships simpler and heavy equipment easier to manipulate. The crew was also enjoying the less confining gravity and many of them had even rigged up mylarplex wings and were flying about the landscape. Due to the heat, the flyers were wearing as little as possible to do as much flying as they could in their spare time.

Unfortunately, their spare time was minimal. Suspended in dry-dock the ship was being completely turned out under Mr. Scott's direction. Everyone but Captain Kirk, who was trying not to look too bored as he regarded the proceedings, was put to work cleaning, adjusting, refurbishing, etc. The arid heat was the best way to dry out the light molds that were inevitable in the closed, recycled air environments of starships so all the ship's moveable equipment was scattered around the huge dry-dock area. This included the shuttlecrafts Copernicus and Galileo and it was in the Galileo that Pavel Chekov was currently enslaved.

Not exactly enslaved, Chekov enjoyed working on the shuttlecraft engine. It was complex enough to be a challenge but not as daunting as the warp engines, which he was not allowed near anyway. Mr. Scott had put him, Sulu, Riley, and a few others to work in that corner of the oven of the dry-dock. In a gesture of mercy, Scott allowed them work in the flimsy drawstring pants engineers wore in the 'clean' rooms of engineering. The pants were lightweight, cool and left very little to the imagination. But this was not a problem because in the 23rd century human society had evolved beyond such things as false modesty, racism, sexism and day-glow stretch pants.

It was late in the heat of the Mnr 7 day. Chekov had watched on the shuttlecraft monitors as, one by one, his comrades had finished their work and gone off for a glide through the late afternoon air. He had not seen Sulu depart yet and assumed his beloved Karushka would not leave him without even saying good-bye (and perhaps then some). The Russian had last noticed his lover working across the way and watched him disappear behind the Copernicus.

Chekov glanced wistfully at the Sulu-free monitor screen and bent back over his task. He was adjusting the thruster pistons in the Galileo, which required that they be removed, oiled with a viscous gel, wiped off and replaced. It also required that Chekov bend over and crawl halfway into the control panel of the craft. (He had actually pulled this duty because he was small enough to fit into the craft's control panel.) Although the lighter gravity made the job a littler easier, it was still sweaty work - flimsy drawstring pants notwithstanding. It was also arousing work because his groin was constantly massaged against the padded edge of the control panel.

Hearing a step behind him, Chekov assumed it was Sulu come to call. Without turning or withdrawing from the machinery, he asked the helmsman to hand him a No. 7 Breman wrench.

A very aroused male groin pressed against the Russian's backside and the tool was delivered via a caress from Chekov's flank, across his belly, over each nipple and down his arm.

"Thank you," Chekov murmured, taking the tool with a trembling fingers. He heard the shuttlecraft door close behind him and was gently pulled half way out of the control panel. "Oh, Karushka!" he sighed as strong hands caressed him from hips to shoulders and back again. He let his eyes fall dreamily shut as the drawstring was undone and his flimsy excuse for pants pooled around his bare feet. The Russian was positively purring as the right hand stroked his erection to its full potential and the left caressed his balls.

One of the hands momentarily removed itself in order to free a very hard cock that rubbed voluptuously against the ensign's fine ass. Chekov tried to twist round to participate a little more actively but a gentle hand between his shoulder blades and a playfully stern "shhhh" dissuaded him. He relaxed back down to enjoy Sulu's skillful touch. If the helmsman wanted to be mysterious, even changing the character of his caresses slightly, Chekov was willing to indulge his lover's whim.

Chekov jumped slightly when a finger, then two, well oiled with the thruster piston gel, probed him. He felt Sulu pull back slightly and center his cock and ever so gently press the head in.

"Karushka...?" Chekov hoped the door was securely locked as he wondered, fleetingly, if this was the most prudent place to make love.

"Shhh."

Surrendering to the act he adored with Sulu, Chekov obligingly arched his hips and thrust back. He was rewarded with a grunt of pleasure and slick fingers pumping his cock.

"Oh, Karushka..." he moaned as Sulu started to fuck him like he owned him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Sulu's gold shirt's sleeve. Chekov was impressed that Sulu's cock seemed bigger than usual to him in this mysterious encounter. '... Must be the (pant) different gravity and (moan) surroundings that make this so ... oh ... strange and ... wonderful ... ummmmmmm,' he thought. "Oh! Kar..."

"Shhh." The fingers lengthened their strokes in time with the thrusting hips. In the lighter gravity, Chekov was lifted off his feet for a better, deeper angle of penetration. (And Chekov was loving every second of it.)

Chekov had been drawn far enough out of the control panel so he had the craft's monitors in this peripheral vision. He was annoyed to be distracted by some movement on one of them. However, the monitor then had his full attention as he watched Sulu walk out from behind the Copernicus. He watched his beloved Karushka cross the dock, glance at the closed door on the Galileo and disappear into the deepening twilight. Swirling in the throes of pleasure, the Russian made time to do some very fast thinking. He focused on the hand braced against the panel for leverage, which he now recognized as not Sulu's, and noticed, not one, but three bands of gold braid encircling the cuff. 'Boshe moi,' he thought ruefully. 'Why do these things always happen to me?' And then decided to make the most of it.

"Oh, Karushka," Chekov panted. "When you take me like this it makes me want to pour Logerian honey all over your hard body and lick it off - slowly and carefully." The Russian proceeded to elaborate in great detail on all the things the lovemaking in progress inspired him to want, body and soul, to do with and to his lover.

This purring, growling, impassioned recital had an inspirational effect on the man making love to him. His lover lengthened his strokes on Chekov's cock and brought the Russian to a shuddering, heart stopping climax. Two more thrusts and Chekov felt hot breath and a strangled, passionate moan at his nape. Strong arms held him fast as he felt his lover's cock jerking deep inside him.

After a moment of rest, Chekov's 'visitor' gently withdrew his cock and settled Chekov back into the control panel. He pulled the flimsy drawstring pants back up around the navigator's hips and gave Chekov's flank a grateful pat before slipping away as quietly as he'd arrived.

Chekov composed himself for another moment, retied his pants and finished reinstalling the piston thrusters. He had to stop every so often to shudder as remembered pleasure rushed through him. His work finished, he retired to his cabin, bathed thoroughly and joined Sulu for dinner. The helmsman asked him where he'd been all afternoon.

"Oh, working," was all the answer Karushka got that evening.

Annoyed by this vagueness, Karushka decided he preferred a moonlight flight to Chekov's company just then.

Chekov, feeling a little fatigued from his afternoon activities, entered the turbolift intending to go home and get some sleep.

"Good evening, Ensign."

"Good evening, sir," Chekov looked up innocently at his captain.

"Did you finish everything you wanted to do in the Galileo this afternoon?" Kirk asked with equal innocence.

"No, sir." Chekov kept his face respectfully bland. "I was planning to stop by on my way to bed and do a few more things I thought of this afternoon."

Kirk studied his navigator for a moment before barking 'lift halt!' and redirecting it to the floor of the moonlit dry dock where they proceeded to do a few more things in the Galileo.

end