![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
asimaiyatTitle: "Got Your Back"
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov or Sulu and Chekov, depending on whether you've got your slashgoggles on.
Rating: PG-13 for action-movie violence
Summary: Fight scene without plot -- Sulu and Chekov vs angry Klingons
AN:kinkme over at the Kink Meme wanted a fic that showed nu!Chekov kicking some butt, possibly as part of a dynamic BAMF duo with Sulu. I haven't written a lot of fight scenes before, so concrit is seriously appreciated! :)
Sulu didn't know what he'd done to piss off three drunk Klingons, but as he ran down the alley he made a mental note to figure it out and never do it again. He'd been hoping that, considering their compromised state, he could just outrun them and avert a fight... but no such luck. Here he was, running sideways while unfolding his sword, one eye on his opponents and one eye on where he was going --
Until they caught up to him, and one of them honest-to-God snarled at him like a lion or something and took a swing at him with one of those big stick things. He parried with the sword, wincing at the sound of impact, and took little grapevine steps back to try to hold as much ground as he could as he dodged heavy blows and thrust his sword in wherever he could, every once in a while hearing a howl of pain that let him know he'd scored a point. He was holding them at arm's length for now, but it was hard to do this and keep an eye out behind him, and there was barely time to think ohshit before his back slammed up against something solid.
The Klingons reacted fast to their quarry's newly limited territory, closing in faster than he could parry them off, so he almost didn't get a chance to whip his head around when he heard a loud crack and an inhuman howl of goddamn agony behind him. He did, though, and he almost had to do a double take, because it turned out that the solid surface against his back was somebody else's back -- specifically, that of Pavel Chekov. Who was up against two more Klingons, one of whom he'd just managed to crack over the head with the butt of his phaser. The two humans exchanged a split-second look of sheer desperation, during which Sulu deduced that a) something had to have gone wrong with Chekov's phaser (not to mention his shirt, which was ripped open and hanging off his slim shoulders), and b) this was some kind of set-up, no doubt about it.
They'd figure that out later. Right now, Chekov was using his foot to catch the weapon of the Klingon he'd downed and flip it into his own hands (and dammit, Sulu had always wanted to use that move in real life, and never gotten a chance --) and swinging it at the remaining one, bringing the two powerful clubs together with a head-splitting crash. And Sulu had turned back in an instant to take advantage of the fact that "his" Klingons were obviously stunned by recent developments, and cut in under their weapons to get a couple of good shots in vulnerable places, sides and chests and underarms. He managed to disarm one of them with a quick slash to the arm, and extended one leg to kick the damn club as far away as he could.
He felt Chekov's back shifting behind him and instantly got what he was doing -- slowly rotating the two of them to catch their adversaries off guard and even things out a little bit. He shifted his feet to follow his crewmate's lead, surprised by how naturally they moved together. Before the Klingons knew quite what was going on -- apparently the other two were also pretty damn drunk -- he'd started to swing his sword at the one who'd previously only had to worry about Chekov's club, and from the sounds he could hear behind him Chekov was taking full advantage of the element of surprise as well.
A couple of thwacks and swooshs later, they'd managed to carve out and defend a radius of about a yard on all sides, both hunkered down in something vaguely resembling Horse Stance and prepared for an attack on any side. As soon as they'd secured that small patch of free space, Sulu let one hand off the handle of his sword for just long enough to hit a button on his communicator. "Scotty. Get us up there. Now!"
They almost fell backward against each other on the transporter deck, as the adrenaline rush was abruptly overtaken by relief and exhaustion. Someone managed to guide them to a couple of chairs, and for a minute all Sulu could think was if it weren't for Chekov...
"Good lord, Chekov," he managed between heaving breaths, "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
The navigator was panting, face flushed and curly hair weighted down by sweat. "Didn't you know," huff "melee combat" puff "Russian invention?"
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov or Sulu and Chekov, depending on whether you've got your slashgoggles on.
Rating: PG-13 for action-movie violence
Summary: Fight scene without plot -- Sulu and Chekov vs angry Klingons
AN:
kinkme over at the Kink Meme wanted a fic that showed nu!Chekov kicking some butt, possibly as part of a dynamic BAMF duo with Sulu. I haven't written a lot of fight scenes before, so concrit is seriously appreciated! :)Sulu didn't know what he'd done to piss off three drunk Klingons, but as he ran down the alley he made a mental note to figure it out and never do it again. He'd been hoping that, considering their compromised state, he could just outrun them and avert a fight... but no such luck. Here he was, running sideways while unfolding his sword, one eye on his opponents and one eye on where he was going --
Until they caught up to him, and one of them honest-to-God snarled at him like a lion or something and took a swing at him with one of those big stick things. He parried with the sword, wincing at the sound of impact, and took little grapevine steps back to try to hold as much ground as he could as he dodged heavy blows and thrust his sword in wherever he could, every once in a while hearing a howl of pain that let him know he'd scored a point. He was holding them at arm's length for now, but it was hard to do this and keep an eye out behind him, and there was barely time to think ohshit before his back slammed up against something solid.
The Klingons reacted fast to their quarry's newly limited territory, closing in faster than he could parry them off, so he almost didn't get a chance to whip his head around when he heard a loud crack and an inhuman howl of goddamn agony behind him. He did, though, and he almost had to do a double take, because it turned out that the solid surface against his back was somebody else's back -- specifically, that of Pavel Chekov. Who was up against two more Klingons, one of whom he'd just managed to crack over the head with the butt of his phaser. The two humans exchanged a split-second look of sheer desperation, during which Sulu deduced that a) something had to have gone wrong with Chekov's phaser (not to mention his shirt, which was ripped open and hanging off his slim shoulders), and b) this was some kind of set-up, no doubt about it.
They'd figure that out later. Right now, Chekov was using his foot to catch the weapon of the Klingon he'd downed and flip it into his own hands (and dammit, Sulu had always wanted to use that move in real life, and never gotten a chance --) and swinging it at the remaining one, bringing the two powerful clubs together with a head-splitting crash. And Sulu had turned back in an instant to take advantage of the fact that "his" Klingons were obviously stunned by recent developments, and cut in under their weapons to get a couple of good shots in vulnerable places, sides and chests and underarms. He managed to disarm one of them with a quick slash to the arm, and extended one leg to kick the damn club as far away as he could.
He felt Chekov's back shifting behind him and instantly got what he was doing -- slowly rotating the two of them to catch their adversaries off guard and even things out a little bit. He shifted his feet to follow his crewmate's lead, surprised by how naturally they moved together. Before the Klingons knew quite what was going on -- apparently the other two were also pretty damn drunk -- he'd started to swing his sword at the one who'd previously only had to worry about Chekov's club, and from the sounds he could hear behind him Chekov was taking full advantage of the element of surprise as well.
A couple of thwacks and swooshs later, they'd managed to carve out and defend a radius of about a yard on all sides, both hunkered down in something vaguely resembling Horse Stance and prepared for an attack on any side. As soon as they'd secured that small patch of free space, Sulu let one hand off the handle of his sword for just long enough to hit a button on his communicator. "Scotty. Get us up there. Now!"
They almost fell backward against each other on the transporter deck, as the adrenaline rush was abruptly overtaken by relief and exhaustion. Someone managed to guide them to a couple of chairs, and for a minute all Sulu could think was if it weren't for Chekov...
"Good lord, Chekov," he managed between heaving breaths, "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
The navigator was panting, face flushed and curly hair weighted down by sweat. "Didn't you know," huff "melee combat" puff "Russian invention?"
(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-07 06:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-07-08 04:41 am (UTC)