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Shining On The Quay, 3/4
In all his planning for the day, Chris had never expected to get any sleep. Then again, he sure as hell hadn't expected to end the day with Jim Kirk in his bed, either. Even if he'd been able to take that confounding event into account, he still would never have imagined the effect of having Jim, pliant and sated (and smug--very, very smug, but that went without saying), draped over him, breathing slow and easy into the curve of his neck. Somewhere in there, Chris did indeed slide into sleep, and even managed a full four hours before the dreams slammed through his brain.
Not unexpectedly, they were as strong and vivid as any he'd had, all five senses fully engaged, so he didn't just see and hear Nero, but was breathing the dank, heavy air of the hold, and choking on the slugs in his throat. He'd gotten the techniques of lucid dreaming down well enough that he knew he was dreaming, knew it would end as soon as he woke, but the memories had their claws sunk deep enough that nothing he did got him that final step into consciousness.
It ground on, his brain dredging up every second in excruciating detail: the way the leather straps had bitten into his skin, the metallic tang of the implements they used to pry his mouth open. He'd managed to bite one of them, not Nero, but one of the others, deep enough to draw blood; when he'd jerked his hand away, Chris had been splattered with the viscous fluid and it had dried slowly on his skin. He heard every word Nero had spoken to him, all the threats, the false-regret for causing him pain, the final murmured promises to take him back to Romulus as a pet. He was to the point of reliving the hallucinations he'd seen between the rounds of questions when he finally jerked enough to snap the illusion he was tied down and jolted himself awake.
Jim sprawled out next to him, one arm thrown over Chris and the other pushed up under the pillow, all the coverings thrown off, the low light from the city outside the windows tracking along the long curve of his =back. Chris lay as quietly as possible, willing his heart and lungs back down from the pure fight-or-flight the dreams had left him with, and then slid carefully out of the bed, thanking whatever might be watching over him that he hadn't made enough of an idiot of himself to wake Jim.
He was drenched with sweat and his brain still thought it was smelling the Narada, neither of which were unexpected, so the first thing was a shower, a water-based one, with enough hot water to clean half the city and an equivalent amount of tea tree oil soap, that being the most effective at penetrating his stubborn brain and convincing it that there was something clean and fresh to smell. After that, he dressed in the oldest non-regulation clothes he had, and made his way into the small, old-fashioned kitchen.
The carrier bags Jim had brought with him were still piled haphazardly on the floor. From experience, Chris knew his stomach wouldn't tolerate much, but re-hydrating was never a bad idea. Lt. Andrews had favored ginger tea, so Chris packed the food away and dialed the replicator. Once the physical cues were dealt with, there wasn't much else to do but sit and wait for everything else to slowly fade back down into his subconscious. Some nights, he had enough of his wits about him that he could write student evaluations or review lesson plans, but tonight he just went out into the night and watched the sky. Only the brightest of stars could penetrate the city lights, but he knew where all of them were without having to see them.
Jim made plenty of noise as he came out to join Chris; if Chris wasn't so acutely aware of how every sense was on high alert, he might have been irritated at the care Jim was taking not to startle him. As it was, he was mostly just grateful for the consideration, even if he fucking loathed that it was needed.
Jim hadn't dressed beyond pulling on his jeans; Chris's breath caught at the brush of skin--like a tactile confirmation of the here and now--as Jim eased past him to lean on the railing next to where Chris sat. He didn't say anything, just settled himself like he was there for the duration and tipped his head back to study the night sky. After a while--Chris had no idea if it had been ten minutes or two hours--he shifted carefully so the back of his hand brushed along Chris's shoulder.
“Come back to bed,” Jim said, when Chris didn't move away.
“Sex isn't going to fix this,” Chris said. Jim was only barely touching him, but even that light pressure passed along the sheer force of his personality.
“You're freezing,” Jim murmured, and Chris was, but that wasn't anything new or different. He stood up, though, and let Jim shepherd him into the house and back to the bed, and while it was incredibly strange to have someone there as his brain let go of the last of the dreams, it didn't feel wrong. Jim didn't say anything more, and he didn't press Chris for explanations. He hesitated, waiting for Chris's okay before wrapping himself and the comforter around Chris. He matched his breathing to Chris's and then, matter-of-fact and straightforward, slowed the pace, and it didn't matter that Chris knew exactly what Jim was doing; his own breathing went right along.
“Your bedside manner is excellent,” Chris said, once he was fairly certain his voice wasn't going to give out on him.
“Tell Bones; he'll be so proud,” Jim mumbled into the curve of Chris's shoulder. “He's had the whole ship doing seminars on this stuff. Said he knew we were all going to need somebody to sit with us through this fucking day.”
“Very astute of him,” Chris said. Now that he was inside, and had his own personal blast furnace--Jim put out heat like a Vulcan--he could feel how chilled he'd let himself become. “Lucky you, to end up with me.”
“'s the least I can do,” Jim said, his arms tightening around Chris. “If we'd gotten there faster--”
Chris couldn't help the laugh that shuddered out of him, or that it sounded more like a sob than anything else. “You got there, which is more than I ever expected.”
“Yeah, but if we'd worked it out earlier, you'd have had less time with the neurotoxins--”
“Don't.” Chris shook his head. “It... is what it is.”
“Yeah,” Jim said, finally. “Okay. So long as you're taking your own advice.”
Chris shrugged, or at least tried to; with a person wrapped around him, his range of movement was decidedly limited. That should have been flipping switches and triggering the hell out of him, but he'd okayed every move, and something in his brain was holding on to that.
“You start thinking about the what-ifs and 'that way madness lies,'” Chris quoted.
“Whoa, Shakespeare,” Jim said, so close to his normal attitude that Chris couldn't decide if he was grateful or impressed. “So, it's just the 19th-Century stuff you hate?”
“We're not having this conversation,” Chris said, but only because that was what he was supposed to say. He'd gladly have any idiotic conversation Jim wanted to have, but he thought Jim already knew that.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jim answered. Chris could hear the exhaustion under the flip tone, or it was more that Jim was letting him hear it, and that felt like another deliberate step in whatever this dance was between them. “I knew you were only bitching at me on principle--”
“Go to sleep, Jim.”
“Just 'cause I'm gonna do exactly that, don't think you get to make all the decisions,” Jim mumbled, and was asleep before Chris even opened his mouth to respond.
Jim slept heavily, and Chris made a mental note to pull not just the standard ship's logs but the more in-depth mission briefings and see what was going on out there. He didn't trust any of the senior staff to keep a weather eye on the Enterprise, half because they were waiting for Kirk to flame out--and the more spectacularly the better--and the other half because they didn't think they could afford to second-guess the Golden Boy.
Chris didn't sleep again, but--maybe more importantly--he let down the mental guards and relaxed for the first time in a year. It was peaceful in a way that very little had been; Chris felt himself soaking it up, like a desert in the spring rains. A little after sun-up Jim shifted a little, enough that Chris could slide out without waking him. He stayed for a while, regardless, but finally left before he got restless and accidentally woke Jim.
Working from the theory that discretion was the better part of valor, he ignored the newsfeeds and their doubtless-maudlin coverage of the day, and settled himself in the study with coffee and notes for a series of lectures. He lost himself in the research so deeply that it took him several minutes to disengage enough to even look up when Jim came wandering in hours later.
“Keep going,” Jim murmured, roaming around and studying the shelves that lined the walls. Chris might not have much love for fiction in any form, but he'd managed to pick up a somewhat ridiculous number of bits and pieces over the years, and whatever else he'd done while he wasn't sleeping these past weeks, at least they weren't languishing in boxes and carriers any longer.
Chris took Jim at his word, following his line of thought through; making enough notes that he could pick it up later. When he finally closed the file and looked up, Jim was studying the vid screen, but instead of the newsfeed he stared thoughtfully at the wallpaper, a satellite shot of the high desert around Mojave.
“You grew up there, right?” Jim said.
“Grew up, and thought about retiring there,” Chris answered.
“Thought about?”
“I have some land, but... it's undeveloped.” Chris walked over to the screen and traced the boundaries of his land. “Nothing much there, even now.”
“It's a plan,” Jim said.
“It was a plan,” Chris answered. “I'm not sure what it is now. I haven't been there since...”
“Everything,” Jim suggested, which was about as neutrally as the last year could be summarized.
“I haven't been able to work out exactly what to do with it,” Chris said.
“Yeah, you've been a little busy,” Jim said absently, still studying the screen. “I was down that way for some advanced survival shit--you know, the class where they drop you five miles up and come back for whoever's left at the end of the week.”
“We haven't actually ever lost a cadet, Kirk,” Chris said. “And with the right supplies, the high desert around there is not only survivable, but beautiful.”
“If you say so,” Jim said dubiously. He traced over the same line Chris had, as though he was trying to see something he'd missed. “What were you going to do?” Jim asked. “Before.”
Before. Everyone talked like that now; Chris didn't suppose it was all that surprising, but it didn't make it easier to remember how everything had been, who he had been.
“Build a house,” Chris said, finally. “Stables. Nothing big or elaborate, just... enough room to spread out a little. See the sun and the sky.” Jim nodded but didn't say anything, and after a few moments Chris added, “The first thing I always did when I got back Earthside was to go look at the sky. I love--loved--flying, but something about seeing this atmosphere...”
It was a common reaction to being in deep space for extended periods of time; most career Starfleet officers and crew ranked being able to see a sunset on their home world pretty high on their lists of things they missed. If Jim didn't know it already, he would before too much longer out in the black.
“And now?” Jim was so carefully neutral that Chris almost laughed. It was a legitimate question, though, and one Chris had been asking for a while. That didn't mean he had an answer.
“Haven't gotten that far,” Chris said slowly. “I--it hasn't been... a priority.” What he meant, but couldn't make himself say, was that he'd have had every Fleet doctor who'd worked on him crashing down on his head if he took off and hit the high desert alone. "I don't know that it's important enough now."
“We should go down there,” Jim said suddenly. “Today.”
“Today,” Chris echoed, and Jim nodded.
“I can track down Bones, get him to give the medical okay--”
“No,” Chris said, quickly, before Jim could disturb McCoy's leave just to read Chris's chart. “There isn't a need for that... I'm as good as I'm going to get. I can go; I just haven't seen the point.”
“Yeah, so, I've still got...” Jim looked around for a clock. “Thirty-six hours before I need to be back for command briefings. I was thinking Vegas, but this is good. There's that spaceport right outside of Mojave, right? Easy trip down and back.”
Chris arched an eyebrow at that. “Going out to the high desert is better than Vegas? You're sure you haven't been exposed to anything odd recently?”
“See, now you're sounding like you've been talking to Uhura,” Jim said mildly. “Vegas is fun and all, but this'd be something new. “
“We wouldn't want you to be bored,” Chris said, but Jim had already stolen his PADD and was looking to see how quickly they could put something together.
“Okay, I admit I wasn't all that excited about staying out here,” Jim said, as the sun dipped low on the horizon. 'Not excited' was one way of describing the long-suffering look on his face when it turned out that none of the seasonal motels were open, but once Jim Kirk got an idea in his head it would take more than a No Vacancy sign to get it out, so they'd pressed on. “Beds are seriously a good thing, but I guess I can work with that sunset.”
Chris hadn't really forgotten how the sky rioted with colors at sunset--his mother, who otherwise had little use for the high desert, would generally stop whatever she was doing and sit down to watch, dragging whichever of her children were nearby along with her--but it had been decades since he'd had the time to properly appreciate it. Even knowing the precise explanation of dust particles caught in the lower atmosphere bouncing the light from the sun didn't take away from the impression of a painter gone mad and throwing colors at a canvas.
“The best part comes after dark,” Chris said.
“The best part always comes after dark,” Jim answered, with a lazy smile that almost redeemed the smirk hiding behind it. Chris shouldn't react--it would only encourage him--but he couldn't help rolling his eyes, and Jim laughed. The outfitters they'd found provided food, too, but they'd passed on it in favor of everything Jim had brought as a calling card. Jim fell on it with the single-minded attention of someone who'd been living on Starfleet rations, but Chris had to admit it wasn't half-bad, even if it was a day old and not reheated. That might have been because he hadn't actually paid attention to food for a couple of weeks. Either way, the view was spectacular, and--he took great satisfaction in acknowledging it--it was his.
Once the sun went down, night fell quickly, and the expanse of stars vindicated the decision to sleep out on Chris's property. Even after half a lifetime, they were still far enough away from the major cities to avoid light pollution. Add in the clarity of the dry desert air and there were few places with better night skies.
“Now I get it,” Jim murmured. “I mean, I totally understand that most people don't have my knee-jerk reaction at the thought of going back to where they grew up, but I still couldn't figure out why you were so gung ho about this place.”
Chris didn't answer, but he didn't think he needed to.
The shelter that came with their kit was less a tent and more a canopy with optional netting that they'd so far declined to attach, which meant that when Chris cupped Jim's face in his hands and drew him in for the first of a long series of kisses, he did it under the Milky Way. And later, when Jim had thrown their clothes in every direction, the half-moon had risen and was giving off enough light that Chris could see every shift in expression as he carefully worked three fingers deep inside Jim, stretching him so he could sink down on Chris in one slow, torturous glide. It was bright enough that Chris could watch him turn desperate and needy, even as he kept up the slow pace that was driving them both insane, bright enough that neither of them had any place to hide as every shift of Jim's hips stripped away another layer of their control.
“Nothing but this,” Chris said, moving his own hips and sliding, god, deeper. Jim answered wordlessly; an open, vulnerable agreement that all but set Chris's blood on fire.
“Have to,” Jim gasped. “Faster. Please,” he groaned. “Fuck, Chris, please.”
Almost blind with his own want--that final helpless please nearly shredding his control--Chris loosened the grip he had on Jim's hips and let him move more quickly, more roughly. Jim was taking him deep on every downstroke, each one harder than the last, each one wringing a sobbing moan from low in Jim's throat. Chris could feel his own climax building, gathering in his thighs and belly and groin, but he held on, determined to feel Jim coming around him first.
“Talk--talk to me,” Jim said. “Want to hear your voice.”
“What do you want to hear?” Chris murmured. “Do you want to hear that you're gorgeous on my cock, that you take it like you were made for it?” Jim choked out something that sounded affirmative, so Chris kept going, not entirely sure where any of the possessiveness was coming from, only that it was twisting them both tighter and higher with every syllable. “Do you want to hear how fucking much I want to mark you up, mark you as my property, make sure every single person who sees you knows you belong to me?”
“Fucking hell, Chris,” Jim gasped. “Fuck, I want that, too. Want them to know I got you, you're mine.”
“Come on,” Chris growled. “Don't you stop until I tell you--come on, fuck yourself, do it. Do it.”
JIm's body tightened convulsively around Chris and he was coming--low, helpless cries that sounded like they were shredding his throat, but he kept moving, fucking himself ruthlessly through the orgasm. Chris slammed up into him twice and then once more, and it was over, everything rushing through him, utterly out of his control except that he trusted that Jim would be there through it all.
Sunrise over the desert was spectacular in its own way. Where sunset was the work of a mad artist and night was a glittering swathe of diamonds, dawn was quieter, a pale nacreous sweep that bleached into the full light of the sun. Chris watched it from under the twin protections of a dead-to-the-world Jim and a microtherm blanket they'd scavenged from a storage box in Chris's attic. Jim slept through most of it, but lifted his head from where it was pillowed on Chris's shoulder right as the first true rays shot through the clouds.
“Tell me again why you can't build a house here,” Jim murmured once the sun was fully up and had chased the chill of the night off. When Chris didn't answer, he added, “I could dare you, if that'd help.”
The weather held through the morning and into the afternoon, so when they got back to the city, back to Chris's house, back to Chris's bed, Chris got to spread Jim out on sheets that were warm from the sun; got to take him one last time while the late afternoon rays slanted across the room. Chris took his time; fucked Jim slow and easy, and for all the bitching Jim was doing--goddamnit, I should have known you'd be a control freak and Pike, I swear to god if you don't get me off *now*, I will let Scotty do unspeakable things to the Enterprise; fuck, come *on*, or I'll help him myself--he didn't do anything to hurry Chris along, just arched his back and lifted his ass and took what Chris gave him.
Chris drew it out for as long as he could, until Jim came, wordless and shaking under him, around him, and every breath he took himself was closer to a sob. The sun was bright when he finally let go and it all swept through him; long, slow waves of everything he'd never thought to have again.
“Fuck,” Jim sighed as they eased down onto the bed, Chris sprawling out on top of him. “Fuck,” Jim murmured again. Chris managed to hum in agreement and was vaguely proud he got even that much verbalized. Jim squirmed a little, as though he couldn't get comfortable, but when Chris started to move off his back, he reached back and found Chris's hip. “'sokay, stay.”
Chris nodded into Jim's shoulder and let the world take care of itself for a while without him. Jim kept his arm behind him, the tips of his fingers just brushing Chris's skin; Chris mouthed over the plane of Jim's shoulder, along the salt-sweet edge of his hairline. He might even have dozed a little.
“Fuck,” Jim said again, in an almost-normal voice, one that snapped Chris back to the present. “I have to get back.” He turned his head and shifted around so he could look at Chris, but otherwise didn't make any further moves toward leaving. Chris kept still and let him work through whatever was flying around behind his eyes. Finally, Jim sighed. “This is where we have that talk, yeah?”
“The one you keep jumping to conclusions about?”
“Yeah,” Jim said with a half-smile. “That one.”
“Since I'd appreciate not being thrown to the wolves in absentia, let's have it, then,” Chris said. “I'll even start: you're four months into a five-year mission, and there's nothing that says the Klingons are going to keep beating their chests rather than saying the hell with it and attacking for real, not to mention whatever the Romulans are telling themselves about Nero and the rest of the Federation and when that situation will redline.”
“Yeah,” Jim said. “All of which means we should just … let this--” He reached out and stroked the back of his hand along Chris's jaw, swallowing hard before he finished, “We should let this be.”
“We should,” Chris agreed. Neither one of them moved. “Is that what you want?” Chris was almost certain he knew the answer, and he wasn't thinking about what it would do to him if he was wrong, but he had to ask.
“No,” Jim breathed, closing his eyes. “It's stupid and reckless and not fair to either of us, but no, I don't want that. I want...”
Chris turned his head so he could brush a kiss across the backs of Jim's fingers. “What?” he asked quietly.
“You,” Jim said, opening his eyes. They were clear and unshadowed and all for Chris. “I want to be the one who's allowed to bitch at you about building that damn house. I want to know you'll be the one Bones will threaten to rat me out to when he thinks I'm being stupid. I want to have the right to have you be the last thing I think about every night and to know I'm that for you, too.”
“Good,” Chris managed to say through everything that was surging through him, too many things to tease one out from the other. He caught Jim's mouth in a hard kiss, letting him go just long enough to repeat himself. “Good. I want that, too. All of it.” Jim came back for more, and again, but the sun was almost gone, and he was out of time. Chris forced himself to be satisfied with what he had--it was, after all, more than he'd ever expected.
It probably would have been more prudent to shower separately, but some times were not meant for sensible behavior, and Chris was not above flashing the stars and cutting through the more meaningless protocol to get Jim through to the shuttle waiting room on time.
“And, you know,” Jim said, in the last few minutes before he left for spacedock, “I've been wanting a good excuse to try out the captain's encryption, before it's an emergency. If you're in your office, Professor-Emeritus-Admiral, you should be cleared to accept a tight beam from me. A little private time--the kind without clothes, yeah?--wouldn't be a bad thing, right? “
“I'm sure they field-tested the encryption on the tight beam extensively,” Chris answered, with the exasperated tone he knew he was supposed to have. At the very least, he thought he covered how much certain parts of his brain fucking loved the idea; Jim did not need to know that. “Let's not give the Admiralty any new ammunition.”
“See? There you go again with the common-sense stuff,” Jim answered, laughing. “Fine. I'll be good. I hear there's an awesome club on Risa that specializes in private sessions between worlds. That might work better.”
“Possibly,” Chris said. He leaned a little closer and let his voice drop lower. “But only if you go for the fully private package. I would... object to random technicians getting off on your private time.” Jim gave him a fairly convincing smirk, one that was supposed to convey how very not-bothered he was by that possessive tone, but Chris knew what to look for now, and all the signs were there: slightly dilated pupils; the pulse at the base of his throat tripping hard and fast. It was, Chris admitted, a hell of a rush, seeing that effect.
In a more conversational tone, but still pitched quietly enough to be private, he added, “Five years is a long time, Jim; things happen. We both know that.”
“Yeah, we do.” Jim was unexpectedly serious again. “Doesn't mean we're not way out in front of the curve now.”
“No, it doesn't,” Chris agreed with a satisfaction that ran bone deep, all the more gratifying for how utterly unexpected the entire situation was.
“This is crazy,” Jim said. “But not stupid, right?”
“Right.”
“Okay.” Jim took a deep breath and turned to go. “Look for that transmission from Risa.”
“Jim,” Chris said, catching his arm. He kept a straight face as he said, “Try the Pan Risa Club. They have an outstanding library of toys for their transmission sessions.”
Jim blinked twice and then smiled, slow and brilliant. “Yeah, this is so not stupid.”
Chris had to laugh at the unholy glee in his eyes, which set Jim off as well, and if nothing else, at least they were starting off on a happier note than Chris felt he had any right to expect.
Epilogue