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The beer is good, the liquor is better, and the cake—oh, the cake is incredible. Dairy-free, too, which is good because it means Jim won’t have to get a shot like he did for years growing up in farm country. Milk everywhere, cheese on everything, and him with the charming lack of enzymes able to digest it. It even says, Happy Birthday Captain! Wisely, no one had put any candles on it. Jim is twenty-five and has been for the last eight years.
His mom calls in from San Francisco, where she’s been stationed for the last year. It’s been three years since he saw her in person, since the Enterprise’s mission started, and seeing her brings a sudden flood of homesickness crashing over him. She’s cut her hair to chin-length and has let it go grey, which is in fashion again. “Tiberius,” she says, which is what she always used to call him when she wanted to embarrass him, “what’s this I hear about you crashing the ship built in your father’s honor?”
As usual, Jim feels all of about fifteen when he’s under her gaze. “Mom,” he whines. “Come on, you read the mission report. I got all my crew to safety, saved Yorktown. They can rebuild the Enterprise.”
His mom arched her eyebrows. “I suppose they can.” She softened then, smile turning sad. “He’d be so proud of you.”
“Aww,” Scotty murmurs, apparently completely sincerely.
Jim lifts his glass and clears his throat. “To George Kirk.” Around him, his crew lifts their glasses and echo him: “To George Kirk.”
After, he switches his mom’s feed to his personal screen and sits in a corner of the room to catch up with her. She has a dozen smart, interesting questions about the nebula, about Krall, about the planet they’d found. He knows, from talking to his grandparents and his mom’s old friends back home, that his mom used to have the same wanderlust as him. She’d leapt at the chance to join Starfleet; it was his father’s death that had kept her from going back. She never quite felt the same about the stars.
But still she is curious, and he resolves to himself that he’ll do a better job of keeping in touch with her. Send her more messages and videos. Tell her about the strange new places they find. He signs off with, “Love you, stay safe,” and she with, “Happy birthday, Jimmy.”
The party is winding down. Sulu and his husband have left, Spock and Uhura are curled up in a corner together, and Jaylah is passed out on the couch, snoring quietly. Chekov and Scotty are having a heated debate about the origins of whisky, and Bones—well, Bones is staring out the window. Which is weird, because when they’re in space, Bones generally tries to avoid looking out windows as much as possible.
Jim makes his way over to Bones and nudges him gently. “Hey,” he says. “Eager to get out there already?”
Bones full-body shudders. “Never.” He glances over at Jim with a wry smile. “You gotta wonder what they were thinking when they thought, yes, let’s launch ourselves into that vast void we know nothing about.”
“Curiosity,” Jim says. “Don’t you think it’s a miracle? That people looked to the sky and thought, maybe there’s life out there. And there was. There was all this.” He gestures around them. “A whole vast—well, a whole universe of possibility, full of new species and cultures. Art. Music. Fashion. Marriage rituals.”
“You promised not to mention that ever again,” Bones says.
“I didn’t!” Jim says. “I’m just saying, somewhere out there, your loving spouse is waiting for you to come home.”
“Zie only married me because zie wanted access to the ship’s medical bay,” Bones says. “And I’m very sure zie isn’t waiting on anything.”
“Mm hm.” Jim watches Bones’s face for a moment. “Why do you stay? You’ve got family back on Earth. Joanna, your parents. You could take a post at the Academy, see them more often. You wouldn’t have to live in space.”
Bones shakes his head. “I couldn’t do that.” He turns and claps Jim on the shoulder. “You wouldn’t survive two days without me.”
“Hey,” Jim protests.
“I am the only reason you are even in charge of the Enterprise,” Bones says. “Or did you forget that I was the one you got you on board in the first place?”
“Seeing as you remind me of that at least once a week, no, I had not forgotten.” Jim’s eye catches on the Bones’s necklace again, just above that tantalizing vee in his shirt. “So you stay because of me, huh?”
Bones looks at him sideways, the way he always does when he doesn’t want to come out and say something directly. “I don’t know if I’d say that, exactly.”
Jim smiles and reaches out to hook his finger in Bones’s necklace. Bones doesn’t move away. “I haven’t seen this in a while,” Jim says.
“We’ve been a bit busy.” Bones’s voice has grown huskier. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there ain’t a lot of time for recreational activities when we’re fighting ex-Starfleet officers who’ve gone off their rockers.”
“True,” Jim says. “We’ve got time now, though. Three months of shore leave.”
Bones’s gaze is heated as he looks at Jim, but he still doesn’t make a move closer. Jim is used to that, though. Bones is stubborn as all get-out, and he likes to make Jim work for it. But Jim knows him, and he knows exactly how to get to Bones. They’ve been doing this for years, after all.
“Three months with nothing to do but recreation.” He trails his fingers down the exposed skin of Bones’s chest, right to the vee of his shirt. He can feel Bones’s breath speeding up. Perfect. “So I’d better rest up. Good night!”
He drops his hand and strides unhurriedly from the room, nodding goodbye to those who are left. He’s gotten maybe three feet past the door when he hears rapid footsteps behind him. Bones catches him by the shoulder, turning him around.
“Don’t you want your birthday present?” Bones asks. “You’re always badgering me about getting you something nice.”
“Aw, Bones, you shouldn’t have.” Jim grins and knocks him in the shoulder. “Where is it?”
“Back in my quarters,” Bones says without a trace of irony or embarrassment. Jim is impressed. He isn’t sure even he could pull off a line that blatant and cheesy.
“Well, why don’t you show me,” Jim says, and grins when Bones gives him an exasperated look. “Back in your quarters, you say?”
“Yeah, come on,” Bones says. He takes Jim by the upper arm and starts marching him through the halls. Jim makes a show of resisting, but allows himself to be dragged along. That’s part of the game, too.
Bones’s quarters are nice, homey. He must have opted for the Earth-5 (Southern United States) decoration option; Jim recognizes the plush sofas and old-fashioned carpets from the catalog they’d all been sent ahead of their arrival at Yorktown. Jim drops himself on the large sofa in the middle of the room, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and shrugging off his jacket. Bones squints at him but doesn’t tell him to get his feet down. Must be a birthday present.
“It took some doing to find this,” Bones says, going to the desk and rooting through it. “You’d better appreciate it, Jim.”
“Oh, there’s really a gift?” Jim asks, raising his eyebrows. “I thought it was a euphemism.”
Bones glances over at Jim and smirks; Jim suddenly feels as though his entire body is on fire. “Why, what were you hoping for?”
“Mostly that you’d fuck me, to be honest,” Jim says, since he’s found that being straightforward about sex is generally appreciated.
“We can do that too,” Bones says. “But first—aha.”
To Jim’s surprise, he produces a book: an actual real book, leather-bound and worn. Jim sits up straighter as Bones comes over and takes it from him carefully. He traces the embossed and gilded lettering: Memories of the Stars, by Captain Ileana Richmond. One of the first Starfleet captains, one of the most influential admirals. They’d read her book in his first year at the Academy, and even though Jim tried to maintain the façade that he was flying by the seat of his pants, he couldn’t help reading it long into the night, reading some passages over and over again until he had them memorized. Any doubts he’d had about going up into space—that’s where they had ended.
“There were only a hundred or so actually printed,” Bones is saying, sitting down beside Jim. “Mostly to use as presents, apparently. Personally I think it’s all a little romantic, but I know you liked it.”
Jim nods silently, not knowing what to say. He opens the book to a random page and reads out loud, “The most remarkable thing about landing on a new planet is the night sky. We grow so accustomed to our own view of the cosmos that it’s easy to forget that it isn’t universal. The first time I accompanied a ground crew, I forgot that they would not have the constellations I had memorized as a girl, and when night fell, I was startled to see the sky alight with the shining stars of the Horseshoe Nebula. In that moment I was a child again, newly astonished by the vastness of space.”
Jim stops there, chest tightening. He remembers standing in a cornfield in Iowa when he was three or four years old, George holding his hand. Their mom had been away on assignment, and George pointed to one star in particular, said, “See? That’s where Mom is.”
As a child Jim hadn’t been awed by the stars. No, he’d been angry at them for taking away his father. For being his mother’s first love. Earthbound, that’s what he was. He’d decided that. Except that of course he wasn’t destined for that. Even Iowa, with its vast expanses of land and endless sky, began to feel too cramped and small. And when he took his first steps outside of Earth’s atmosphere, he’d finally felt it: belonging.
Bones clears his throat and says, “See? Sentimental rubbish,” but he doesn’t sound quite as convincing as usual. Jim closes the book and sets it down on the table reverentially. He can’t quite believe he’s touched it, the real thing. Printed books are a relic of the past these days, but he thinks there’s nothing quite like how beautiful they are.
“Bones, that’s—I don’t know what to—” Jim stops and shakes his head wryly. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get sappy about it,” Bones says gruffly. “Just thought it might be a good thing. We’ve still got two more years of this mission, which you’re insane for wanting, by the way, but maybe it might be nice to have around.”
“It will be,” Jim says. He reaches out to snag Bones’s shirt and tugs him in. “You big softie.”
“Hey, I just figured I couldn’t keep stealing gifts from Chekov’s locker,” Bones says.
“Nah.” Jim beams smugly at Bones, pleased by the flush slowly rising to Bones’s face. “You like me.”
“I can barely stand you,” Bones says, leaning in. “Would throw you out an airlock if it wouldn’t get me court-marshaled.”
“You like me,” Jim says, singsong, and Bones kisses him.
Bones kisses in a very specific way: like he’s drowning and Jim is his salvation. Jim has had a fair number of sexual partners, but none of them kiss quite like Bones, with a single-minded intensity that is exhilarating and intimidating. It isn’t that he’s more focused, or that he’s more passionate; it’s more like he means it, with every fiber of his being.
Jim scrabbles at Bones’s jacket, trying to shove it off his shoulders. Bones pulls away—Jim whines and tries to chase his mouth—and wrestles his jacket off before throwing it vaguely in the direction of the closet. Then he returns back to Jim, pushing him back against the cushions to kiss him senseless.
Jim wraps his legs around Bones’s thighs—thank god for those morning stretches he does with Ensigns Jannel and Ekzia—and pulls Bones against him. Bones’s hips move restlessly, his fingers digging into Jim’s upper arms, and this is what Jim loves about sex: the sheer immediacy of it.
So he’s always been an adrenaline junkie. He’s always been obsessed with sensation: the pressure of g-forces, the sharp pain of a punch to the face, the steady rub of Bones’s thigh between his legs, up against his cock. Bones knows this and will ruthlessly exploit it when he can. Jim remembers one particular night a few months into their assignment, Bones sliding ice across Jim’s stomach, down into the hollow his hips—
Bones rubs his cheek against Jim’s and growls, “Bed,” which is an excellent idea. Bones hauls him up by the belt loops and drags him to the four-poster monstrosity which Jim is definitely going to tease him about once he has blood flow back to his brain. For now, though, he’s mostly grateful for just how wide the bed is when Bones pushes him down.
“Take off your shirt,” Jims says, because he’s been waiting all day for that and Bones is being a deliberate tease by wearing a shirt that shows his chest hair. He knows that drives Jim nuts.
“Is that an order, sir?” Bones mocks. Jim tries very hard not to let on how much that turns him on. “That’s one command I’m happy to obey.”
When they’ve divested themselves of their clothes, Bones sinks back down onto Jim, covering him so fully that Jim feels as though he’ll sink into the mattress. This is the other thing he likes about Bones: usually Jim is on top. It isn’t a dominance thing as much as he wants to make sure that his partner is having a good time. He makes it a point of pride for them to have more than one orgasm, when possible. But Bones always knows when Jim needs to be taken out of his own head.
“How do you want it?” Bones asks, reaching down to loosely encircle Jim’s wrists in his hands. “On your knees? Your back?”
“Like this,” Jim says decisively. He tilts his head back; Bones kisses his neck, where Krall—Edison—had wrapped his fingers not two days before. Bones nods, but doesn’t reach for wherever he’s stashed his lubricant. Instead he starts sucking marks into Jim’s skin, which is a good sign: it means Bones is feeling possessive tonight, and that’s always the most fun.
“You know,” Bones says as he drifts down Jim’s torso, “you’re lucky you weren’t more hurt. Chekov told me about some of the stunts you pulled. Blew up the ship, really?”
“That’s what you want to talk about now?” Jim asks incredulously. Bones kisses Jim’s hip and looks up with a wicked smile. “Bones.”
“So impatient,” Bones grumbles. “All the magic is gone, Jim. What happened to foreplay?”
“What about my dick right now makes you think I need foreplay?” Jim demands, gesturing down at his erection. Bones gives it a cursory glance, smirks, and nods.
“Good point,” he says.
A minute later he has Jim’s legs up around his hips and he’s pushing in slowly. Jim screws his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of it: the slight pain of the stretch; the feeling of being penetrated; Bones’s fingers pressing into his thighs; Bones’s breath, lightly gracing his cheek. And then the flash of pleasure that resonates to his fingers, his feet, that stiffens his cock, and turns over in his chest. He moans—he’s never been shy about being noisy—and reaches up to drag Bones by the hair for another kiss.
He’s reaching for his climax, Bones’s mouth on his, his cock in his ass, hands on his wrists, holding him down. Jim bucks up, into Bones’s thrusts, and breaks from the kiss to arch back against the pillows, staring sightlessly at the headboard. Every part of his skin prickles with sensation, and he knows just the barest touch will set him off, if only Bones would just do it—
And then Bones does, he sits back so he can thrust even harder into Jim, the bed shaking, and he wraps his hand around Jim’s cock and Jim is coming, gasping out needy, desperate noises as he shakes beneath Bones’s steady hands. He shudders, oversensitive, with every successive movement of Bones’s hips. He tries to tell Bones to come, already, but his mouth isn’t quite working. Instead he gropes for Bones’s hand and links their fingers together.
Bones squeezes his eyes shut as he comes, fucking Jim so deeply Jim knows he’ll feel it in the morning before spilling inside him. Jim blindly tugs Bones back down to him, eager to kiss him again, and finding Bones’s mouth responsive and soft. They kiss lazily as Bones starts to soften, before Bones pulls out and makes a face at the mess.
“We should get clean,” Bones says. He tends to be a stickler about that kind of thing.
“Later,” Jim says. He throws his leg over Bones’s thighs to keep him from leaving. “Let me bask.”
“Hmph.” Bones eyes Jim, then carefully brushes his thumb over the fading bruise over Jim’s right eye. “You should have let me fix this up for you.”
“I hear battle scars are attractive,” Jim says. “I need all the help I can get.”
“Of course you do.” Bones’s gaze roams over Jim’s face, like he’s trying to memorize him. “Dammit, Jim,” he says, softer. “Do you know how much it scares the piss out of me when you do crazy shit like that?”
“I do,” Jim says.
“I honestly don’t think you do.” Bones kisses the corner of Jim’s mouth, then the underside of his jaw. “But I guess that won’t be changing anytime soon.”
“Do you worry about me?” Jim teases.
But Bones takes it seriously, which Jim should have anticipated. Bones is always more sincere after sex. It’s like the endorphins knock all the sarcasm out of him. “Of course I do,” he says. “I don’t know if you’ve caught on at all, but I kind of like you.” Bones pauses, then adds, almost reluctantly, “I might even kind of…love you.”
Jim pushes himself up onto one elbow to look down at Bones. He’s flushed, not meeting Jim’s eyes, and he looks young and shy. Jim grins and tilts Bones’s chin up. “Well,” Jim says, “that’s lucky.”
“Is it?”
“It would be awfully inconvenient to be the only one,” Jim says.
Bones finally cracks a smile. “I’m pretty sure you’re not the only one who loves yourself.”
“Hey,” Jim says, “you know that’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t know.” Bones palms Jim’s bare ass, teasing one finger at his entrance. “I think you could be clearer.”
“Oh, Jesus, Bones, I can’t go again,” Jim says, even as his dick twitches despondently. “And neither can you, old man.”
“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Bones says. “More accurately, a few toys.”
Jim nearly goes cross-eyed at that. “Oh.”
“But you have to ask nicely, Jim,” Bones adds. He mouths at Jim’s neck. “Tell me what you meant.”
“I meant—Christ—that I love you too, you ornery Southern bastard,” Jim says, and then, “Fuck,” when Bones pushes two fingers inside him.
“Okay,” Bones says. “Now here comes the second part of your gift—”
“I knew it was a euphemism!” Jim says. Bones grins against his neck.
“Well,” he says, “maybe a bit.”
So Bones produces a variety of vibrators, some of which Jim has seen before and others he hasn’t, and between them and his talented and filthy mouth, he reduces Jim to complete jelly. At last, when Jim is wrung dry and shaking with exhaustion, Bones relents and fucks him one last time, this time on his stomach. Jim comes, dry, and lies with his face pressed into the pillows until Bones hauls him upright and takes him for a shower.
Of course, that mostly turns into necking against the tiles until Bones pushes Jim away and starts washing his hair, complaining under his breath about the water pressure. Jim is well-used to this rant by now; Bones insists that the water on stations or ships isn’t nearly as good as on Earth. Jim personally thinks Bones just likes complaining, but he does like listening to Bones complain.
“You know,” Jim says when they’re toweling off—his legs are still a little trembly, so he’s taking longer than usual—“I think you actually like it up here.”
“Bite your tongue,” Bones says.
“Nah, you do,” Jim says. “You like finding new and different things to complain about.”
“Well, that’s true,” Bones says. He drops his towel onto the autodryer. “I don’t know, Jim. I’m not like you. For me it isn’t about the exploration.”
“I know,” Jim says. “But you like it anyway.”
“Hmph.” Bones takes Jim’s towel. “Come on, help me take out the clean sheets. Then you can read me some of that book you like so much.”
Jim smiles to himself and follows Bones back into the bedroom. Out the window he can see out to courtyard of the Starfleet officers’ wing, and past that, the stars. Artificial night is setting in, and in that moment Jim feels like Ileana Richmond, gazing up at an unfamiliar sky. Out there are hundreds, thousands of new worlds. How could he have ever started to grow tired of it all? The universe is waiting for them. Jim can’t wait to get started.