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Leonard McCoy never liked shore leave. He'd much rather stay on the tin can, no matter how much he didn't like that, either. But today, they were on a very beachy planet, and Chekov, having never been anywhere sunnier than Moscow in his life, managed to persuade the doctor to take shore leave with him to visit a beach.
Chekov pulled the man along with him, leading him down the sandy seaside, with Kirk, Spock, and Uhura following behind. They managed to finally agree on where to leave their things ("I highly suggest above the sand hill; our things are much less likely to get wet"), and then Kirk and Chekov ran towards the water, pulling their significant others along, while Uhura smiled and settled on a towel.
Chekov pulled McCoy into the water, the boy quickly diving under, his blonde curls wet when he swam back up, smiling brightly at the doctor, who hadn't yet gotten his hair wet, much like Spock. It scared him how much he seemed like the hobgoblin sometimes.
"Come on, Len," He coaxed lightly, pulling him deeper into the water.
"I don't swim." He told the boy, shaking his head.
"You can't?"
"Of course I can, I just don't." He said gruffly. Chekov smiled, before wrapping his legs around the doctor's waist and pulling him under with him.
When they resurfaced, McCoy sputtered, shaking a piece of hair out of his face. "You're terrible." He told the Russian, shaking his head as he smiled and kissing his cheek before swimming off, his wet hair catching the sun and making him look like an angel.
The kid would be the death of him.