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Summary: Chekov thinks he's really smooth with the ladies when he's drunk, but we know better.


A Uhura/Chekov vignette by Farfalla
blueberrysnail (at) yahoo dot com
Beta: my aunt Maude; rated PG

"How come you are so beautiful ven I'm drunk?"

Lieutenant Uhura put down the book she'd been holding in one hand, the frosted mango milkshake she'd been holding in the other, and looked Ensign Chekov straight in the eye. She clasped her hands on the rec room table and leaned towards him. "Because I'm breathing," she answered smugly.

"That's good! Breathing is a good part of the daily exercises." Chekov took another swig of vodka from his glass and refilled it from a nearby bottle.

Beside him, Sulu sat watching him with detached amusement. He could tell Chekov was just drunk enough to make a perfect fool of himself, but he was harmless. It would be entertaining to watch him fall on his face, hopefully only in metaphor, while attempting to flirt with the glorious Uhura.

"You breathe often?" Uhura asked in a ditzy deadpan. She shot Sulu a look, and they shared a twinkling moment of secret humor at Chekov's expense.

"Oh, yes!" Chekov answered proudly. "I breathe ewery minute!"

"Wow," Uhura cooed. "I wonder how you find the time. Most of the time, I'm just too busy to breathe."

"I alvays breathe," Chekov beamed. "I owe it to this!" He held out an unsteady hand toward his vodka bottle. "Wodka! Makes a man strong like elephant."

"I prefer mixed drinks myself," said Uhura blithely. She sipped daintily at her frosted mango milkshake, which may or may not have contained rum, come to think of it. But unlike Chekov, her behavior would never reveal the answer to that little mystery.

"Mixed drinks? Like... the pina colada drink?" Chekov clumsily refilled his glass. "Vith coconuts?"

"Mmmhmm." Uhura nodded. "But I especially like White Russians."

"Vite..." Chekov paused. "...Russians?" A wicked smile crept into his face.

"If you take my meaning." Uhura's voice became low and sultry.

Sulu hid his laughter safely inside his teacup.

"Da, I do!" Chekov's face broke into a grin.

"I really love White Russians," Uhura repeated, leaning towards him over the table. She looked deeply into his eyes and batted her eyelashes slowly. "And you know *how* I like them, Mr. Chekov?"

Finding it very hard to take his eyes off of her prominent cleavage, which was jutting into his field of vision like two temptingly large chocolate-covered bon-bons, Chekov squeaked, "How?"

"Without so much vodka in them," said Uhura, "....if you take my meaning."


"Have a nice night, Chekov," Uhura continued, vacating her chair and taking the book and the milkshake with her. "Sulu, you'll look after him, won't you?"

"Definitely," Sulu called after her with a grin.

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