#chekirk

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Jim didn't need to look to know whose hand it was that just barely brushed against, then settled itself into his own. All so tentative, shy, testing the waters - even though the owner of that soft, pale hand knew by now that gesture was more than welcome.

The captain continued on his way down the hall, pretending he hadn't noticed. The curling of strong fingers and a gentle squeeze told Pavel otherwise. It was as if they were synchronized, so finely attuned to the other's presence, even while they pretended to be completely unaware of the tiny instance of pre-shift PDA in their linked hands.

Other crewmen passed them by, coming or going from their various stations. On occasion, one would pause to do a double-take. Had they really just seen...? Was that the captain and that Russian kid?

Either oblivious to their stares, or not caring (perhaps a bit of both), by the time they stepped into the turbolift, their fingers had laced together. Only once the doors had closed did Jim finally cast a sideways glance to the young man beside him. Pavel's ears were tinted a faint pink, hazel eyes shining bright, soft pink lips slowly stretching into a wide smile, and rather quickly, he found himself doing the same.

The doors opened, and seamlessly, they made the shift from Pavel and Jim to Mr. Chekov and Captain Kirk. One last little squeeze, and onto the bridge they stepped, finally separating.

"Captain on the bridge!"

The otherwise-familiar call was so cheerful, it drew more than a few looks, none of which Chekov noticed as he took his seat at the console. All he cared about was the screen at his fingertips and the fond look he knew Kirk was giving him from the captain's chair.

When McCoy reported to the bridge minutes later, he took one look at both the captain and the navigator grinning like total loonies and just about turned around and left.