Deep Blue Yonder, 2/2
Oct. 8th, 2011 03:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveDeep Blue Yonder part two
When Christian opened his eyes, he found himself in a bed in what looked an awful lot like the hospital wing. The room was silent save for one soft, repetitive beep. He turned his head and tried to focus on his surroundings, he saw a bank of monitors nearly lining his bed. His arms were numb just past the elbow and he tried to look down, saw only a blue blanket covering him. He started to turn his head the other direction and heard a voice whispering to him.
"Go back to sleep."
It sounded like a fantastic idea, so he closed his eyes and did.
Jensen was sitting in a chair with his feet propped on the edge of Christian's bed. He'd been scolded by the nurse a few moments ago, but he'd just smiled charmingly at her and moved his feet, only to put them right back the moment she'd left the room. It wasn't until he turned back around that he saw Christian watching him and his smile grew wide and infinitely more sincere.
"You scared the hell out of everyone," Jensen said, and Christian wasn't sure he was fully awake yet, but he was fairly certain he'd heard this said to him two or three times since he'd first woken in this bed already.
"Couldn't let them blow up my whiskey," Christian finally said, feeling his head throbbing at the effort of talking. He knew to be grateful for the headache, all things considered. The first couple of times he'd woken, Steve had been there and told him what the medics had said. Nerves in his hands fried, skull only half-fried because the new safety features in the pilots' helmets had actually worked and that everything would heal eventually. Christian remembered feeling half-relieved and half-terrified every time he'd woken up, but he'd never been able to stay awake long enough to get more details. Steve had always been there, calm and reassuring him before sending him back to sleep.
Christian wasn't sure he wanted to ask Jensen for more details, now that he was awake. He couldn't feel his hands -- he could see the bandages and tubing wrapped around them, knew the nerves in his forearms were blocked to stop the pain. He wanted to ask where Steve was, not sure he wanted to ask Jensen, another pilot, if he'd be able to fly again. But after a moment of trying to get his thoughts into gear Christian decided he didn't want to waste energy thinking about it, so he left it alone and focused on Jensen, who was shaking his head at him.
"Believe me, David has set aside all the whiskey he brought, for you. Ricky and Carina are bitching to high heaven about it, claiming they were at the same poker game and should at least get to split a bottle with you. Don't worry about it, though," Jensen added, leaning forward to pat Christian's arm. "They don't really mean it. Much."
Christian just nodded, because Jensen was right. Ricky and Carina had been at the game when David had written markers for his bets and ended up losing everything -- technically he'd lost everything he owned but they'd charitably settled for a case of whiskey. Christian wanted to tell Jensen that it was all right to let them have what was due, but his head was getting foggy again and he frowned.
Jensen stood up. "You ready to crash again for a couple days?"
"Ye-- what?" He looked up, trying to focus, but he suddenly felt too tired to keep his eyes open.
Jensen sounded like he was laughing softly, his voice calm and gentle and he said, "Doc says you'll stop sleeping so much once your skull finishes healing. Just my luck you woke up during my shift. Jared owes me ten." At that Jensen sounded smug as hell, and as hard as it was to think clearly, Christian knew he didn't want to ask ten what.
"You're...taking shifts?" he asked instead, trying to wrap his brain around what Jensen was saying. He pried his eyes open again but managed only halfway and it was hard to focus on Jensen's face. It felt like he'd only slept a few hours since the last time he'd woken and found Steve sitting by his bed.
"It's the only way we could get Steve out of here," Jensen said. "You go to sleep, man. Someone'll be here when you wake up." He felt a hand pat his shoulder.
It seemed to him like he ought to ask more questions, but Christian found that all he wanted to do was close his eyes again. Sleeping for two days? Didn't seem right, he thought, but he could argue with them about it later. He wouldn't put it past Jensen to mess with him even when he was sick in a hospital bed. He'd have to ask the nurse, next time she came in....
"Easy, take it easy," Steve said, tugging gently at Christian's arm as they walked down the hallway. It was the same boring grey metal walls that made up every single hallway on the cruiser, but Christian found them so much better than the pale blue walls of the hospital rooms.
"Steve, man, I am fine," Christian said, sighing inwardly at the sharp tone he couldn't quite stop from slipping out. But he was tired of people hovering, tired of lying on his back in a hospital bed. So when Doc Rogers had told him he was free to go, Christian had practically leapt to his feet before he'd even realised he was only wearing a long, thin hospital shirt.
"Which is why you nearly walked into a wall when we got off the lift," Steve countered, and didn't let go. "We're almost there, then you can be as grumpy as you like -- while sitting down."
"I ain't grumpy," Christian snapped, and scowled at Steve, daring him to so much as crack a grin. "I'm just...tired."
"I know," Steve said. "Your heads hurts and your hands itch and you're tired of being in bed. You've only been saying it for the last three days. I think it's why they kicked you out early."
"It's because I told Rogers he could have a couple shots of my whiskey," Christian admitted. Then he swayed, bumping against Steve who'd come to a sudden stop. He caught the look Steve was giving him, and smiled sheepishly.
"Lucky for you I know he wouldn't have let you go if you weren't okay to leave," Steve muttered. Then he tugged Christian back around to face forward and got them moving again.
"Which means I could walk on my own," Christian pointed out, though he wasn't completely convinced such was the case. He kind of liked leaning on Steve, letting the other man take most of his weight. He'd been thrilled to put on some real clothes and get out of the hospital wing, but as they made the long journey back to his quarters his enthusiasm was waning. Now, only half a deck away, he was beginning to think another day in bed might not be such a bad idea after all.
"Almost there," Steve said. "I'd offer to let you sit down, but if you get on the floor I don't think I could get you back up until after you'd had a nap. Rogers'll have my nuts if he finds out I let you sleep in a hallway."
Christian laughed weakly, tightening his grip for a moment in a half-hug. "I'm fine," he said again, though he knew he wasn't fooling anybody at this point.
"Maybe we should have stolen a wheelchair," Steve said, grunting slightly as Christian stumbled and Steve had to keep them both upright.
"We can do this," Christian insisted, and he stared up ahead at the lift that would take them up just twenty yards away from his quarters. "I'm not going back now."
"Even though you're going right back to bed?"
"Hell, at least it'll be my own bed. Nobody hovering every time I twitch asking me if I'm all right."
There was a soft chuckle from Steve. "Yeah, who knew Jared turned into such a worrywart?"
"He was worse than the entire medical staff put together. Heaven help him if Jensen ever stubs a toe or gets a cold." Christian shook his head.
There was silence, then, from Steve and Christian glanced over. Steve was looking ahead, frowning ever so slightly. Christian knew why -- it wasn't like he'd been laid up with a case of the flu. He knew exactly how close he'd been to getting killed, but he'd known it when he'd flown into the swarm of Tlantlen fighters.
It wasn't about the whiskey, or the supplies, or letters from home that could have been replaced. But David had been flying alone, defenseless, and the only chance he'd had of making it to safety had been Christian. He knew he didn't have to say any of that, however. He'd seen it in everybody's eyes, each pilot that had come to visit him who had known he or she would have done the same thing. He knew it by the way the crate of whiskey David owed him had mysteriously increased by one particular bottle, the flask David kept in his own personal stash.
When he'd flown towards the Tlantlen he hadn't known if he would survive the dogfight and waking up in the hospital wing had been an extremely pleasant relief. Right now, though, all he really wanted was to lie down on his bunk and have a nap. He glanced over at Steve again, and nudged him. "Hey. Thanks," he said when Steve met his eyes.
Steve's brow furled in confusion.
"For being one of the ones hanging with me," he clarified. "I appreciate all y'all's company, especially there at the beginning when I was still out of it."
For a moment Steve didn't respond, then the corner of his mouth twitched. "Unlike now, when you are very clearly not out of it at all?"
Christian just laughed. "Can I just say I'm glad I don't live on the rear deck? Halfway across the ship from the hospital wing is plenty far enough."
"Me, too," Steve said. "Your ass is fucking heavy."
Christian just flipped him off, and didn't make much effort to keep his weight on his own two feet.
When they got to Christian's quarters, Christian headed right for his bed. He could see the small packages from his mail allotment sitting neatly stacked on his desk, but he ignored them even though, like everyone else, mail day was a cause for taking a week off duty and throwing parties. He'd missed the round of celebrations this time of course, and didn't so much mind since all he wanted right then was his head on his own pillow and the absence of medical monitors beeping in the background.
As he headed for his bunk, however, he caught sight of his tiny container garden in the corner of the room where he'd built it a couple weeks before he'd been injured. He walked over, staring at the small green plants all neatly lined up along the water trough. "Didn't figure they'd still be alive." He reached out and brushed his finger across a leaf of one plant and realised he didn't have any idea which one it was. He'd gotten sprouts and seedlings from folks already growing gardens and he'd ended up planting tomatoes, spinach and oregano. Good for salads, he'd figured, no cooking equipment required.
Steve walked up behind him, just close enough Christian could feel the heat of his body. "Zoe and Aldis have been taking care of them."
"Aldis? Seriously?" Christian smiled. Zoe didn't surprise him, as she'd been the one to give him the oregano. "Guess she's got that boy right where she wants him, finally."
There was an odd sort of half-smile on Steve's face. "You're his friend, Christian. He cares about you and this was something he could do." Steve's tone changed, then, as he added, "It's just a good thing Zoe knew what to do or he might have killed your plants with more enthusiasm then sense."
"Yeah. I... I'll tell them thanks, when I see 'em." He touched the tiny plant again, wondering again at how something so small would even survive, much less give him food they way Zoe had promised. The trenches and exposed roots looked nothing like the gardens he'd grown up with and his fingers itched to cover them with dirt and knock out a wall to let the sun in.
Or maybe his fingers just itched, anyhow. He rubbed at them and Steve grabbed his hand. "I know, I know," he sighed. "Use the cream and don't scratch. I was just--"
"You'll be fine, Christian," Steve said, and Christian realised the other man had heard the frustration in his voice. Steve tugged him closer, but stopped short of what might have become an embrace. "Doc said you'll be flying again in a couple months. Don't worry."
"I'm not...worried," Christian allowed, because he could feel his fingers at least, even f they tingled and itched and didn't always do exactly what he told them to right away. But they were already better than when they'd first removed the nerve blocks. Ginny, the rehab nurse, had brought him a handheld flying game, let him practice at the controls enough to let him know he could fly, after a fashion. It gave him hope that the docs weren't lying to him when they said he'd be back in the pilot's chair when he was done with rehab.
He didn't know how to explain what he kept thinking, how his hands twitched when he thought about flying and how, as his head healed and they took him off the drugs his dreams had all been about flying. He'd never thought flying was so important to him until he'd nearly lost it -- but the thought of never flying again made him want to clench his hands into fists and storm down to the landing bay to steal one of the fighters and fly it away for real.
Steve was still holding onto his hand, and as Christian watched, Steve lifted it to his lips. He watched, stunned, as Steve pressed a soft kiss onto his fingers. "Thought we weren't doing that anymore," Christian said without moving his hand away, teasing through the off-kilter sensation that was hitting him. He swallowed his next words at the intense look in Steve's eyes as the other man looked up at him.
"For a long, long time I've been content with whatever you'd give me," he said, quietly. "But right now, I can't do that. If you want me to leave, I will, but--" He let go of Christian's hands and moved forward, touching either side of Christian's face then sliding his hands around to the back of Christian's neck.
Christian was stunned again, this time by the ghost of memory: fingers on his neck while he'd been flying his fighter. Someone had flipped off his helmet as his fighter had been destroyed; the docs hadn't known if it was that or the safety features that had saved him, protected his brain from being fried along with his hands.
"You--?" he started, then stopped because Steve was pulling him forward and kissing him hard. He didn't have to ask, then, could tell by the press of Steve's fingers on his neck, the very same spots he'd felt the light pressure and he wondered if he'd somehow known, recognized that touch from the years they'd been friends and occasional lovers.
He wanted to push Steve back for long enough to demand an explanation, but as Steve tugged at Christian's shirt, pressed his body against Christian with near-desperation, he knew he was already getting one. He pulled away from the kiss just long enough to say, "Let's get to the bed at least?"
Steve looked startled, and Christian saw the worry start to creep in and he smiled, shook his head.
"I'm fine, the answer's yes, I just wanna be lying down if it's all right with you." He followed up his words with pulling off his shirt and sitting down on the side of the bed to tug off his boots. Steve hovered nearby, not moving to help or run until Christian reached over and took his hand. "Seems to me you'd better get undressed or they'll be gossiping in the laundry room again."
That was all it took for Steve to get moving again. Dropping his clothes on the floor along with Christian's, Steve was quickly crawling onto the bed and on top of Christian who laid back and pulled him down. Christian kissed him then, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist and holding him close.
Steve's words kept tangling in the back of his mind but he set them aside as best as he could, concentrating on the man in his bed. There'd be time enough for questions later and Christian figured there would be time enough in the world for him to feel guilty about what he suspected he'd done.
Right now, though, he would lay right there in bed and make love to Steve.
Much later Christian woke up, sheets still twisted around his legs and Steve half-laying across him. He opened his eyes and smiled to find Steve propped up on an elbow, watching him. "That's creepy, you know that, right? My own personal stalker."
"It's not stalking when you scream at me to fuck you harder," Steve pointed out, and a finger touched the inside of Christian's thigh, making him shiver despite his lingering exhaustion.
He just smiled and brushed his cheek against Steve's bicep, tucking himself in a little closer. Then he looked up and caught Steve's eye, then he asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"
There was a moment when Steve didn't answer and Christian wondered if he was going to pretend he didn't know what Christian was talking about. But he sighed and said, "You aren't the marrying kind, Christian. We both know that. Telling you would have just made things worse."
"Not telling me you loved me would have made things worse?" Christian glared at him, feeling like he might have been angry if he'd had enough energy. "How could that make things worse? What if I'd have said yes, you moron?"
Steve just looked at him with a sad sort of weariness in his eyes. "Because you didn't love me the same, Christian. You never did. And if you'd have said yes it would have been because you thought you should. After awhile we'd have both been miserable. This way...at least we're still friends."
Christian wanted to argue with him, but even though he knew Steve was wrong, somehow, he knew that he was right about something else. Christian hadn't ever thought about wanting to settle down, short-term, long-term or permanent. He'd enjoyed his life the way it was, carefree and casual, because he'd always had his friends around him.
And he'd always had Steve. He thought of something he'd only started to notice, right before the fight with the Tlantlen ships. "You know why I started that garden?" He jutted his chin out towards the collection of plants across the room.
Steve blinked in confusion, and shook his head. "Because you're always bitching about the food in the mess hall," he said.
Christian looked at him in the eye and said, "I thought I needed to spend less time with you so folks would stop talking about us. Figured if I had other things to do and other people to do 'em with, I wouldn't be spending all my free time with you and they'd stop telling me we were an item. "
He could see Steve's face close off a little as he spoke, but he just sounded confused when he asked, "So?"
"So every time I learned something about how to grow plants, or when I needed to build the planters, or had to decide what seeds to order -- I kept trying to find you, talk to you about it. And I made myself not do it, because that was the whole point, and I hated it."
Steve frowned. "You--"
"I missed you, dammit," Christian whispered. "I wanted to share everything I was doing with you. I wanted your opinions because I kept thinking you'd be the one to join me for whatever dinner I ended up growing. I wanted to know if you liked basil or oregano or garlic better. And every time I forced myself not to go looking for you...all I wanted was you, more."
Steve's eyes were growing wider as he talked, and when Christian fell silent he said, "That... doesn't mean.... Like you said, we spend all our free time together. Takes time to get used to not doing that."
But Christian shook his head. "It wasn't like that when I was transferred off," he said, hating himself for bringing it up, knowing now just how much what he'd done must have hurt the other man. But Steve had never made his feelings clear; Christian had had no way of knowing that what everyone else was saying was true. "I might not have been in love with you the same way back then, Steve, but somehow.... I'll be dammed if I ain't in love with you right now."
He felt Steve tense and his mouth opened slightly, but his eyes narrowed, suspiciously.
Christian shook his head again. "I'm not gonna try to explain it, because I don't know if I understand it, myself. But...all I know is I tried to give you up and I didn't want to. I don't want to, anymore."
"That's..." Steve stopped, leaned back a little, leaning up against the wall. Making space between them, but not trying to get away, so Christian didn't try to tug him back again. "I knew I was just... I nearly lost you, Christian, and I told myself I wasn't going to... push you into this. Then I couldn't stop myself, but I knew...even when I kissed you I knew it was just this once, because I was scared. You nearly got killed and I couldn't-- But you...."
"Figured it out before the dogfight," Christian finished for him. "All I was doing was growing plants, and I missed having you around. This isn't near-death experience talking, Steve. This is just me."
"I...don't know what to do with this," Steve said quietly, but he came when Christian tugged him forward, let Christian kiss him then slowly fell back onto the bed, half-on top and half beside Christian.
"We could get married," Christian said, even though he hadn't honestly thought much farther than just admitting to himself that he was in love. The thought of getting married made his stomach tighten a little, but he had no idea if it was from fear or nerves.
"I'm still not convinced you're the marrying kind," Steve replied, sounding tired.
Christian just gave him a kiss and said, "What about if we just start dating, then?"
There was a pause, then Steve raised his head and gave him a look. "Start spending our free time together, you mean?"
"Well, and we'd have sex again," Christian pointed out, whining just a little because okay, maybe Steve was right. So maybe they'd been dating for years, now, and Christian hadn't noticed. "And I'll stop telling people we're not together," he added, trying not to yawn.
"So that'll be the only real change," Steve said, teasing. But he laid his head back down on Christian's shoulder. "That'd be nice," he said softly.
"Yeah, yeah," Christian said as he gave Steve a squeeze and let his eyes fall shut. "So we've been dating for years. Oh, god, Jared is going to laugh himself sick when I tell him."
There was a muffled laugh from Steve. "You could bribe him with one of your bottles of whiskey."
"Nah. But I'll let him test the soju, make sure it's fit for human consumption."
"The what?"
Christian nodded towards the packages on his desk, or where they would be if he'd bothered to open his eyes and look. "Ordered some sweet potato seeds. Take less room than dwarf wheat or regular potatoes," he began.
There was a pause, then in an incredulous tone Steve asked, "You ordered seeds so you could distill them?"
Prying his eyes back open, Christian blinked at him, then went for a cute look on the grounds that even if Steve wasn't pissed, it couldn't hurt. "Why else would I bother? What's growing there will be about five salads' worth. Nice, but not really worth the effort. Was just making sure I knew what I was doing before the seeds arrived."
Steve looked a little stunned, and Christian still couldn't tell if he was in a heap of trouble or not. He wasn't sure why he would be, it wasn't like he'd borrowed any of Steve's mail allotment to place his order -- unlike Jared who'd been in the doghouse for six months and had given up his entire allotment when Jensen found out why his own shipment had been short by five square inches. Christian was one of the few who knew that Jensen had spent Jared's allotment on sex toys, so both Jared and Jensen had benefitted.
Suddenly Steve laughed. "I should have known. Better not tell Zoe, man, she'll kill you. She's been so excited about having another gardener on the ship. She's been telling Aldis her plans for you growing the spinach and Micah will grow tomatoes and she'll grow all the herbs. There's gonna be potluck dinners and everything. I think she's making charts."
"She can have some soju."
"I think you better plan on turning half your quarters over to gardening, if you also want sweet potatoes," Steve said.
Christian smiled, then looked over at him, heart suddenly pounding and he asked, "How about our quarters?"
Steve had tensed all over again as Christian spoke, but he was smiling when he looked up. His eyes were shining a little as he said, "I like the sound of that."
Christian spun the 8-X62 on its axis, feeling the weight of the control stick between his fingers as he sent his fighter racing away from the targeting square of the opposing fighter. Across the room Aldis was sitting in his own pilot's chair, whooping as he fired; Christian grinned to himself as the lights danced across his screen, missing his ship. He turned his cannons and fired back, but missed his own target as well.
He sent his fighter sailing around to meet Aldis again. It was all simulated, both fighters tucked safely in the bay with no point in wasting fuel and energy or risking the actual destruction of a remote fighter. The controls were the same, and everything felt as real as it normally did during a fight. The only different was his flight screens showed Aldis' ship as a Tlantlen fighter, as Aldis' screens were doing the same for his own ship. They knew better than to train their reflexes to fire at anything they saw and pilots usually took turns mimicking Tlantlen flying techniques.
This wasn't one of those; they were just flying regular Academy drills. Christian grimaced as his grip seemed to loosen; he yanked on the control stick and his ship went skittering across Aldis' targeting path. A second later the screens dimmed, saving him from seeing the white flashes of a simulated destruction.
"Dammit," he cursed under his breath, even as Aldis let out another loud whoop form across the room.
"You're doing fine," Morgan said from behind his seat, clapping one hand on Christian's shoulder. "Your scores are improving. If we had an alarm go off, I'd clear you to fly today." Morgan gave him a stern nod, which for the Flight Sergeant was practically a grand gesture of affection.
"Yeah, but Aldis beat me again," Christian groused. His scores weren't showing on the Flight Board ranks yet, as he was still officially listed as undergoing rehab. He was flying simulations every day against whoever would take him on -- he'd only flown against Jared and Jensen once and been blown out of the sky in fifteen seconds. Jared had been so upset that he'd refused to fly against him again.
Aldis was thrilled to beat his ass as often as Christian wanted, however, and he was still doing his celebration dance, inching his way closer and beating the air with his fists. "Who's the man!" he shouted, holding up his hand for a high-five.
Christian just raised an eyebrow. "You seriously want me to congratulate you?"
Aldis just grinned. "You lasted nearly seven minutes. You've never lasted more than six against anybody. Either I'm losing my touch or you're getting better." He was grinning widely, and Christian found it hard not to smile back.
"Seven minutes?"
"Seven point two," Morgan said, and he showed Christian the readout. "That's up by 65 seconds over your previous time. See, told you you were getting better." He paused. "Or maybe Hodge here is losing his touch."
"Hey!" Aldis gave him a wounded look. Morgan just gave him a wink, and Christian spotted the small row of observers standing by the doorway. He made his way over, collecting a hug and a kiss from Steve -- then another from Jensen, which drew a growling protest from Jared.
"Jared, how many times we have to tell you, nobody's gonna steal him from you?" Christian asked, even as Jared slung his arm around Jensen's shoulders.
"You might," Jared retorted. "Anybody might swoop in here and entice him away with their tight jeans and alcoholic potatoes."
"I can be had for tight jeans and alcohol," Jensen agreed readily, grinning as Jared pouted at him. Jensen relented long enough to poke him in the chest. "Goofball," he said, fondly.
"I have tight jeans. Wanna see?" Jared asked.
Christian shook his head. "I am so glad we skipped that part."
"Which part?" Steve asked. "The one where I lust after you in your uniform?" He glanced downwards. "Because you might have skipped that part, but I sure didn't."
"I meant the part where we acted like idiots in public," Christian clarified, trying not to focus too much on the open look of appreciation in Steve's eyes. All three of his friends turned and looked at him. Christian sighed. "There's a difference between what these two clowns do and me being a moron."
"Yeah, I get regular sweaty-snuggles while you were spending years living alone," Jared said, smugly.
"Don't we have dinner plans?" Christian asked, ignoring Jared. "If we're late, Zoe's gonna have all our hides."
"We have time," Jensen began, as he glanced at his watch. "Crap. Okay, time for a shower and finding clean, respectable clothes, and getting our asses over to Zoe's place only if we leave right now."
"That's because you spend half an hour agonizing over your wardrobe," Jared said, but he let go of Jensen and let his husband lead him out of the room. Christian and Steve followed, less because either of them cared what they wore, but because showers before dinner sometimes took...awhile. Especially when Christian had to peel himself out of his uniform while Steve watched.
"How you manage to agonize over your wardrobe when they give us this much closet space," Christian held up his hands, indicating the size of a closet on board the battlecruiser. "Is beyond me."
"He uses part of the bathroom," Jared said. "And there's a rack along one wall."
"I thought that was some sex toy thing," Christian said, and Jensen's face turned suddenly red.
Jared shook his head sadly. "I asked, but apparently it's only for clothes. I'm hoping for my birthday he lets us mufuhuype." Jared looked down at Jensen, who was holding his hand over Jared's mouth.
"We'll see you two at Zoe's place," Jensen said. "I'll use duct tape this time." He nodded towards Jared, who scowled over Jensen's hand.
"He'll just make rude drawings," Steve reminded him as they reached the lift. He and Christian got in as Jensen dragged Jared down the hallway towards another lift. Christian watched them go as the lift door slid shut, then he found himself being pushed against one wall and kissed.
"What was that for?" he asked when he could breathe again. He slipped his hands around Steve's waist and held him there. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."
Steve shook his head, smiling. He reached up and put one hand on the side of Christian's face and kissed him again, more calmly this time. "Seven minutes," he said softly, and Christian still didn't understand. Steve tilted his head, then asked, "Didn't you know? Your fight... it lasted six minutes and fifty nine seconds. This--" Steve swallowed, then said softly, "This is the first time you lasted longer."
"I had no idea," Christian admitted. "I didn't know how long that one lasted." He let Steve kiss him again, felt the lift come to a halt but they made no move to leave as the door slid open. "I didn't know it was important," he said when Steve finally moved away.
"I didn't think it was, either," Steve admitted. "But I just... needed to do that."
"Well, you can do that any time you want," Christian told him, not letting go of Steve's waist.
"Maybe somewhere else, hm?" said a voice, and Christian and Steve both jumped.
"Commander Chen," Christian said, and he tried to think of a suitable response to being found making out in a lift by the battlecruiser’s commanding officer. "We were just...leaving." He pushed Steve out ahead of him and gave the Commander a nod as they hurried away.
As the lift door slid closed, he could have sworn he heard a laugh.
the end
When Christian opened his eyes, he found himself in a bed in what looked an awful lot like the hospital wing. The room was silent save for one soft, repetitive beep. He turned his head and tried to focus on his surroundings, he saw a bank of monitors nearly lining his bed. His arms were numb just past the elbow and he tried to look down, saw only a blue blanket covering him. He started to turn his head the other direction and heard a voice whispering to him.
"Go back to sleep."
It sounded like a fantastic idea, so he closed his eyes and did.
Jensen was sitting in a chair with his feet propped on the edge of Christian's bed. He'd been scolded by the nurse a few moments ago, but he'd just smiled charmingly at her and moved his feet, only to put them right back the moment she'd left the room. It wasn't until he turned back around that he saw Christian watching him and his smile grew wide and infinitely more sincere.
"You scared the hell out of everyone," Jensen said, and Christian wasn't sure he was fully awake yet, but he was fairly certain he'd heard this said to him two or three times since he'd first woken in this bed already.
"Couldn't let them blow up my whiskey," Christian finally said, feeling his head throbbing at the effort of talking. He knew to be grateful for the headache, all things considered. The first couple of times he'd woken, Steve had been there and told him what the medics had said. Nerves in his hands fried, skull only half-fried because the new safety features in the pilots' helmets had actually worked and that everything would heal eventually. Christian remembered feeling half-relieved and half-terrified every time he'd woken up, but he'd never been able to stay awake long enough to get more details. Steve had always been there, calm and reassuring him before sending him back to sleep.
Christian wasn't sure he wanted to ask Jensen for more details, now that he was awake. He couldn't feel his hands -- he could see the bandages and tubing wrapped around them, knew the nerves in his forearms were blocked to stop the pain. He wanted to ask where Steve was, not sure he wanted to ask Jensen, another pilot, if he'd be able to fly again. But after a moment of trying to get his thoughts into gear Christian decided he didn't want to waste energy thinking about it, so he left it alone and focused on Jensen, who was shaking his head at him.
"Believe me, David has set aside all the whiskey he brought, for you. Ricky and Carina are bitching to high heaven about it, claiming they were at the same poker game and should at least get to split a bottle with you. Don't worry about it, though," Jensen added, leaning forward to pat Christian's arm. "They don't really mean it. Much."
Christian just nodded, because Jensen was right. Ricky and Carina had been at the game when David had written markers for his bets and ended up losing everything -- technically he'd lost everything he owned but they'd charitably settled for a case of whiskey. Christian wanted to tell Jensen that it was all right to let them have what was due, but his head was getting foggy again and he frowned.
Jensen stood up. "You ready to crash again for a couple days?"
"Ye-- what?" He looked up, trying to focus, but he suddenly felt too tired to keep his eyes open.
Jensen sounded like he was laughing softly, his voice calm and gentle and he said, "Doc says you'll stop sleeping so much once your skull finishes healing. Just my luck you woke up during my shift. Jared owes me ten." At that Jensen sounded smug as hell, and as hard as it was to think clearly, Christian knew he didn't want to ask ten what.
"You're...taking shifts?" he asked instead, trying to wrap his brain around what Jensen was saying. He pried his eyes open again but managed only halfway and it was hard to focus on Jensen's face. It felt like he'd only slept a few hours since the last time he'd woken and found Steve sitting by his bed.
"It's the only way we could get Steve out of here," Jensen said. "You go to sleep, man. Someone'll be here when you wake up." He felt a hand pat his shoulder.
It seemed to him like he ought to ask more questions, but Christian found that all he wanted to do was close his eyes again. Sleeping for two days? Didn't seem right, he thought, but he could argue with them about it later. He wouldn't put it past Jensen to mess with him even when he was sick in a hospital bed. He'd have to ask the nurse, next time she came in....
"Easy, take it easy," Steve said, tugging gently at Christian's arm as they walked down the hallway. It was the same boring grey metal walls that made up every single hallway on the cruiser, but Christian found them so much better than the pale blue walls of the hospital rooms.
"Steve, man, I am fine," Christian said, sighing inwardly at the sharp tone he couldn't quite stop from slipping out. But he was tired of people hovering, tired of lying on his back in a hospital bed. So when Doc Rogers had told him he was free to go, Christian had practically leapt to his feet before he'd even realised he was only wearing a long, thin hospital shirt.
"Which is why you nearly walked into a wall when we got off the lift," Steve countered, and didn't let go. "We're almost there, then you can be as grumpy as you like -- while sitting down."
"I ain't grumpy," Christian snapped, and scowled at Steve, daring him to so much as crack a grin. "I'm just...tired."
"I know," Steve said. "Your heads hurts and your hands itch and you're tired of being in bed. You've only been saying it for the last three days. I think it's why they kicked you out early."
"It's because I told Rogers he could have a couple shots of my whiskey," Christian admitted. Then he swayed, bumping against Steve who'd come to a sudden stop. He caught the look Steve was giving him, and smiled sheepishly.
"Lucky for you I know he wouldn't have let you go if you weren't okay to leave," Steve muttered. Then he tugged Christian back around to face forward and got them moving again.
"Which means I could walk on my own," Christian pointed out, though he wasn't completely convinced such was the case. He kind of liked leaning on Steve, letting the other man take most of his weight. He'd been thrilled to put on some real clothes and get out of the hospital wing, but as they made the long journey back to his quarters his enthusiasm was waning. Now, only half a deck away, he was beginning to think another day in bed might not be such a bad idea after all.
"Almost there," Steve said. "I'd offer to let you sit down, but if you get on the floor I don't think I could get you back up until after you'd had a nap. Rogers'll have my nuts if he finds out I let you sleep in a hallway."
Christian laughed weakly, tightening his grip for a moment in a half-hug. "I'm fine," he said again, though he knew he wasn't fooling anybody at this point.
"Maybe we should have stolen a wheelchair," Steve said, grunting slightly as Christian stumbled and Steve had to keep them both upright.
"We can do this," Christian insisted, and he stared up ahead at the lift that would take them up just twenty yards away from his quarters. "I'm not going back now."
"Even though you're going right back to bed?"
"Hell, at least it'll be my own bed. Nobody hovering every time I twitch asking me if I'm all right."
There was a soft chuckle from Steve. "Yeah, who knew Jared turned into such a worrywart?"
"He was worse than the entire medical staff put together. Heaven help him if Jensen ever stubs a toe or gets a cold." Christian shook his head.
There was silence, then, from Steve and Christian glanced over. Steve was looking ahead, frowning ever so slightly. Christian knew why -- it wasn't like he'd been laid up with a case of the flu. He knew exactly how close he'd been to getting killed, but he'd known it when he'd flown into the swarm of Tlantlen fighters.
It wasn't about the whiskey, or the supplies, or letters from home that could have been replaced. But David had been flying alone, defenseless, and the only chance he'd had of making it to safety had been Christian. He knew he didn't have to say any of that, however. He'd seen it in everybody's eyes, each pilot that had come to visit him who had known he or she would have done the same thing. He knew it by the way the crate of whiskey David owed him had mysteriously increased by one particular bottle, the flask David kept in his own personal stash.
When he'd flown towards the Tlantlen he hadn't known if he would survive the dogfight and waking up in the hospital wing had been an extremely pleasant relief. Right now, though, all he really wanted was to lie down on his bunk and have a nap. He glanced over at Steve again, and nudged him. "Hey. Thanks," he said when Steve met his eyes.
Steve's brow furled in confusion.
"For being one of the ones hanging with me," he clarified. "I appreciate all y'all's company, especially there at the beginning when I was still out of it."
For a moment Steve didn't respond, then the corner of his mouth twitched. "Unlike now, when you are very clearly not out of it at all?"
Christian just laughed. "Can I just say I'm glad I don't live on the rear deck? Halfway across the ship from the hospital wing is plenty far enough."
"Me, too," Steve said. "Your ass is fucking heavy."
Christian just flipped him off, and didn't make much effort to keep his weight on his own two feet.
When they got to Christian's quarters, Christian headed right for his bed. He could see the small packages from his mail allotment sitting neatly stacked on his desk, but he ignored them even though, like everyone else, mail day was a cause for taking a week off duty and throwing parties. He'd missed the round of celebrations this time of course, and didn't so much mind since all he wanted right then was his head on his own pillow and the absence of medical monitors beeping in the background.
As he headed for his bunk, however, he caught sight of his tiny container garden in the corner of the room where he'd built it a couple weeks before he'd been injured. He walked over, staring at the small green plants all neatly lined up along the water trough. "Didn't figure they'd still be alive." He reached out and brushed his finger across a leaf of one plant and realised he didn't have any idea which one it was. He'd gotten sprouts and seedlings from folks already growing gardens and he'd ended up planting tomatoes, spinach and oregano. Good for salads, he'd figured, no cooking equipment required.
Steve walked up behind him, just close enough Christian could feel the heat of his body. "Zoe and Aldis have been taking care of them."
"Aldis? Seriously?" Christian smiled. Zoe didn't surprise him, as she'd been the one to give him the oregano. "Guess she's got that boy right where she wants him, finally."
There was an odd sort of half-smile on Steve's face. "You're his friend, Christian. He cares about you and this was something he could do." Steve's tone changed, then, as he added, "It's just a good thing Zoe knew what to do or he might have killed your plants with more enthusiasm then sense."
"Yeah. I... I'll tell them thanks, when I see 'em." He touched the tiny plant again, wondering again at how something so small would even survive, much less give him food they way Zoe had promised. The trenches and exposed roots looked nothing like the gardens he'd grown up with and his fingers itched to cover them with dirt and knock out a wall to let the sun in.
Or maybe his fingers just itched, anyhow. He rubbed at them and Steve grabbed his hand. "I know, I know," he sighed. "Use the cream and don't scratch. I was just--"
"You'll be fine, Christian," Steve said, and Christian realised the other man had heard the frustration in his voice. Steve tugged him closer, but stopped short of what might have become an embrace. "Doc said you'll be flying again in a couple months. Don't worry."
"I'm not...worried," Christian allowed, because he could feel his fingers at least, even f they tingled and itched and didn't always do exactly what he told them to right away. But they were already better than when they'd first removed the nerve blocks. Ginny, the rehab nurse, had brought him a handheld flying game, let him practice at the controls enough to let him know he could fly, after a fashion. It gave him hope that the docs weren't lying to him when they said he'd be back in the pilot's chair when he was done with rehab.
He didn't know how to explain what he kept thinking, how his hands twitched when he thought about flying and how, as his head healed and they took him off the drugs his dreams had all been about flying. He'd never thought flying was so important to him until he'd nearly lost it -- but the thought of never flying again made him want to clench his hands into fists and storm down to the landing bay to steal one of the fighters and fly it away for real.
Steve was still holding onto his hand, and as Christian watched, Steve lifted it to his lips. He watched, stunned, as Steve pressed a soft kiss onto his fingers. "Thought we weren't doing that anymore," Christian said without moving his hand away, teasing through the off-kilter sensation that was hitting him. He swallowed his next words at the intense look in Steve's eyes as the other man looked up at him.
"For a long, long time I've been content with whatever you'd give me," he said, quietly. "But right now, I can't do that. If you want me to leave, I will, but--" He let go of Christian's hands and moved forward, touching either side of Christian's face then sliding his hands around to the back of Christian's neck.
Christian was stunned again, this time by the ghost of memory: fingers on his neck while he'd been flying his fighter. Someone had flipped off his helmet as his fighter had been destroyed; the docs hadn't known if it was that or the safety features that had saved him, protected his brain from being fried along with his hands.
"You--?" he started, then stopped because Steve was pulling him forward and kissing him hard. He didn't have to ask, then, could tell by the press of Steve's fingers on his neck, the very same spots he'd felt the light pressure and he wondered if he'd somehow known, recognized that touch from the years they'd been friends and occasional lovers.
He wanted to push Steve back for long enough to demand an explanation, but as Steve tugged at Christian's shirt, pressed his body against Christian with near-desperation, he knew he was already getting one. He pulled away from the kiss just long enough to say, "Let's get to the bed at least?"
Steve looked startled, and Christian saw the worry start to creep in and he smiled, shook his head.
"I'm fine, the answer's yes, I just wanna be lying down if it's all right with you." He followed up his words with pulling off his shirt and sitting down on the side of the bed to tug off his boots. Steve hovered nearby, not moving to help or run until Christian reached over and took his hand. "Seems to me you'd better get undressed or they'll be gossiping in the laundry room again."
That was all it took for Steve to get moving again. Dropping his clothes on the floor along with Christian's, Steve was quickly crawling onto the bed and on top of Christian who laid back and pulled him down. Christian kissed him then, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist and holding him close.
Steve's words kept tangling in the back of his mind but he set them aside as best as he could, concentrating on the man in his bed. There'd be time enough for questions later and Christian figured there would be time enough in the world for him to feel guilty about what he suspected he'd done.
Right now, though, he would lay right there in bed and make love to Steve.
Much later Christian woke up, sheets still twisted around his legs and Steve half-laying across him. He opened his eyes and smiled to find Steve propped up on an elbow, watching him. "That's creepy, you know that, right? My own personal stalker."
"It's not stalking when you scream at me to fuck you harder," Steve pointed out, and a finger touched the inside of Christian's thigh, making him shiver despite his lingering exhaustion.
He just smiled and brushed his cheek against Steve's bicep, tucking himself in a little closer. Then he looked up and caught Steve's eye, then he asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"
There was a moment when Steve didn't answer and Christian wondered if he was going to pretend he didn't know what Christian was talking about. But he sighed and said, "You aren't the marrying kind, Christian. We both know that. Telling you would have just made things worse."
"Not telling me you loved me would have made things worse?" Christian glared at him, feeling like he might have been angry if he'd had enough energy. "How could that make things worse? What if I'd have said yes, you moron?"
Steve just looked at him with a sad sort of weariness in his eyes. "Because you didn't love me the same, Christian. You never did. And if you'd have said yes it would have been because you thought you should. After awhile we'd have both been miserable. This way...at least we're still friends."
Christian wanted to argue with him, but even though he knew Steve was wrong, somehow, he knew that he was right about something else. Christian hadn't ever thought about wanting to settle down, short-term, long-term or permanent. He'd enjoyed his life the way it was, carefree and casual, because he'd always had his friends around him.
And he'd always had Steve. He thought of something he'd only started to notice, right before the fight with the Tlantlen ships. "You know why I started that garden?" He jutted his chin out towards the collection of plants across the room.
Steve blinked in confusion, and shook his head. "Because you're always bitching about the food in the mess hall," he said.
Christian looked at him in the eye and said, "I thought I needed to spend less time with you so folks would stop talking about us. Figured if I had other things to do and other people to do 'em with, I wouldn't be spending all my free time with you and they'd stop telling me we were an item. "
He could see Steve's face close off a little as he spoke, but he just sounded confused when he asked, "So?"
"So every time I learned something about how to grow plants, or when I needed to build the planters, or had to decide what seeds to order -- I kept trying to find you, talk to you about it. And I made myself not do it, because that was the whole point, and I hated it."
Steve frowned. "You--"
"I missed you, dammit," Christian whispered. "I wanted to share everything I was doing with you. I wanted your opinions because I kept thinking you'd be the one to join me for whatever dinner I ended up growing. I wanted to know if you liked basil or oregano or garlic better. And every time I forced myself not to go looking for you...all I wanted was you, more."
Steve's eyes were growing wider as he talked, and when Christian fell silent he said, "That... doesn't mean.... Like you said, we spend all our free time together. Takes time to get used to not doing that."
But Christian shook his head. "It wasn't like that when I was transferred off," he said, hating himself for bringing it up, knowing now just how much what he'd done must have hurt the other man. But Steve had never made his feelings clear; Christian had had no way of knowing that what everyone else was saying was true. "I might not have been in love with you the same way back then, Steve, but somehow.... I'll be dammed if I ain't in love with you right now."
He felt Steve tense and his mouth opened slightly, but his eyes narrowed, suspiciously.
Christian shook his head again. "I'm not gonna try to explain it, because I don't know if I understand it, myself. But...all I know is I tried to give you up and I didn't want to. I don't want to, anymore."
"That's..." Steve stopped, leaned back a little, leaning up against the wall. Making space between them, but not trying to get away, so Christian didn't try to tug him back again. "I knew I was just... I nearly lost you, Christian, and I told myself I wasn't going to... push you into this. Then I couldn't stop myself, but I knew...even when I kissed you I knew it was just this once, because I was scared. You nearly got killed and I couldn't-- But you...."
"Figured it out before the dogfight," Christian finished for him. "All I was doing was growing plants, and I missed having you around. This isn't near-death experience talking, Steve. This is just me."
"I...don't know what to do with this," Steve said quietly, but he came when Christian tugged him forward, let Christian kiss him then slowly fell back onto the bed, half-on top and half beside Christian.
"We could get married," Christian said, even though he hadn't honestly thought much farther than just admitting to himself that he was in love. The thought of getting married made his stomach tighten a little, but he had no idea if it was from fear or nerves.
"I'm still not convinced you're the marrying kind," Steve replied, sounding tired.
Christian just gave him a kiss and said, "What about if we just start dating, then?"
There was a pause, then Steve raised his head and gave him a look. "Start spending our free time together, you mean?"
"Well, and we'd have sex again," Christian pointed out, whining just a little because okay, maybe Steve was right. So maybe they'd been dating for years, now, and Christian hadn't noticed. "And I'll stop telling people we're not together," he added, trying not to yawn.
"So that'll be the only real change," Steve said, teasing. But he laid his head back down on Christian's shoulder. "That'd be nice," he said softly.
"Yeah, yeah," Christian said as he gave Steve a squeeze and let his eyes fall shut. "So we've been dating for years. Oh, god, Jared is going to laugh himself sick when I tell him."
There was a muffled laugh from Steve. "You could bribe him with one of your bottles of whiskey."
"Nah. But I'll let him test the soju, make sure it's fit for human consumption."
"The what?"
Christian nodded towards the packages on his desk, or where they would be if he'd bothered to open his eyes and look. "Ordered some sweet potato seeds. Take less room than dwarf wheat or regular potatoes," he began.
There was a pause, then in an incredulous tone Steve asked, "You ordered seeds so you could distill them?"
Prying his eyes back open, Christian blinked at him, then went for a cute look on the grounds that even if Steve wasn't pissed, it couldn't hurt. "Why else would I bother? What's growing there will be about five salads' worth. Nice, but not really worth the effort. Was just making sure I knew what I was doing before the seeds arrived."
Steve looked a little stunned, and Christian still couldn't tell if he was in a heap of trouble or not. He wasn't sure why he would be, it wasn't like he'd borrowed any of Steve's mail allotment to place his order -- unlike Jared who'd been in the doghouse for six months and had given up his entire allotment when Jensen found out why his own shipment had been short by five square inches. Christian was one of the few who knew that Jensen had spent Jared's allotment on sex toys, so both Jared and Jensen had benefitted.
Suddenly Steve laughed. "I should have known. Better not tell Zoe, man, she'll kill you. She's been so excited about having another gardener on the ship. She's been telling Aldis her plans for you growing the spinach and Micah will grow tomatoes and she'll grow all the herbs. There's gonna be potluck dinners and everything. I think she's making charts."
"She can have some soju."
"I think you better plan on turning half your quarters over to gardening, if you also want sweet potatoes," Steve said.
Christian smiled, then looked over at him, heart suddenly pounding and he asked, "How about our quarters?"
Steve had tensed all over again as Christian spoke, but he was smiling when he looked up. His eyes were shining a little as he said, "I like the sound of that."
Christian spun the 8-X62 on its axis, feeling the weight of the control stick between his fingers as he sent his fighter racing away from the targeting square of the opposing fighter. Across the room Aldis was sitting in his own pilot's chair, whooping as he fired; Christian grinned to himself as the lights danced across his screen, missing his ship. He turned his cannons and fired back, but missed his own target as well.
He sent his fighter sailing around to meet Aldis again. It was all simulated, both fighters tucked safely in the bay with no point in wasting fuel and energy or risking the actual destruction of a remote fighter. The controls were the same, and everything felt as real as it normally did during a fight. The only different was his flight screens showed Aldis' ship as a Tlantlen fighter, as Aldis' screens were doing the same for his own ship. They knew better than to train their reflexes to fire at anything they saw and pilots usually took turns mimicking Tlantlen flying techniques.
This wasn't one of those; they were just flying regular Academy drills. Christian grimaced as his grip seemed to loosen; he yanked on the control stick and his ship went skittering across Aldis' targeting path. A second later the screens dimmed, saving him from seeing the white flashes of a simulated destruction.
"Dammit," he cursed under his breath, even as Aldis let out another loud whoop form across the room.
"You're doing fine," Morgan said from behind his seat, clapping one hand on Christian's shoulder. "Your scores are improving. If we had an alarm go off, I'd clear you to fly today." Morgan gave him a stern nod, which for the Flight Sergeant was practically a grand gesture of affection.
"Yeah, but Aldis beat me again," Christian groused. His scores weren't showing on the Flight Board ranks yet, as he was still officially listed as undergoing rehab. He was flying simulations every day against whoever would take him on -- he'd only flown against Jared and Jensen once and been blown out of the sky in fifteen seconds. Jared had been so upset that he'd refused to fly against him again.
Aldis was thrilled to beat his ass as often as Christian wanted, however, and he was still doing his celebration dance, inching his way closer and beating the air with his fists. "Who's the man!" he shouted, holding up his hand for a high-five.
Christian just raised an eyebrow. "You seriously want me to congratulate you?"
Aldis just grinned. "You lasted nearly seven minutes. You've never lasted more than six against anybody. Either I'm losing my touch or you're getting better." He was grinning widely, and Christian found it hard not to smile back.
"Seven minutes?"
"Seven point two," Morgan said, and he showed Christian the readout. "That's up by 65 seconds over your previous time. See, told you you were getting better." He paused. "Or maybe Hodge here is losing his touch."
"Hey!" Aldis gave him a wounded look. Morgan just gave him a wink, and Christian spotted the small row of observers standing by the doorway. He made his way over, collecting a hug and a kiss from Steve -- then another from Jensen, which drew a growling protest from Jared.
"Jared, how many times we have to tell you, nobody's gonna steal him from you?" Christian asked, even as Jared slung his arm around Jensen's shoulders.
"You might," Jared retorted. "Anybody might swoop in here and entice him away with their tight jeans and alcoholic potatoes."
"I can be had for tight jeans and alcohol," Jensen agreed readily, grinning as Jared pouted at him. Jensen relented long enough to poke him in the chest. "Goofball," he said, fondly.
"I have tight jeans. Wanna see?" Jared asked.
Christian shook his head. "I am so glad we skipped that part."
"Which part?" Steve asked. "The one where I lust after you in your uniform?" He glanced downwards. "Because you might have skipped that part, but I sure didn't."
"I meant the part where we acted like idiots in public," Christian clarified, trying not to focus too much on the open look of appreciation in Steve's eyes. All three of his friends turned and looked at him. Christian sighed. "There's a difference between what these two clowns do and me being a moron."
"Yeah, I get regular sweaty-snuggles while you were spending years living alone," Jared said, smugly.
"Don't we have dinner plans?" Christian asked, ignoring Jared. "If we're late, Zoe's gonna have all our hides."
"We have time," Jensen began, as he glanced at his watch. "Crap. Okay, time for a shower and finding clean, respectable clothes, and getting our asses over to Zoe's place only if we leave right now."
"That's because you spend half an hour agonizing over your wardrobe," Jared said, but he let go of Jensen and let his husband lead him out of the room. Christian and Steve followed, less because either of them cared what they wore, but because showers before dinner sometimes took...awhile. Especially when Christian had to peel himself out of his uniform while Steve watched.
"How you manage to agonize over your wardrobe when they give us this much closet space," Christian held up his hands, indicating the size of a closet on board the battlecruiser. "Is beyond me."
"He uses part of the bathroom," Jared said. "And there's a rack along one wall."
"I thought that was some sex toy thing," Christian said, and Jensen's face turned suddenly red.
Jared shook his head sadly. "I asked, but apparently it's only for clothes. I'm hoping for my birthday he lets us mufuhuype." Jared looked down at Jensen, who was holding his hand over Jared's mouth.
"We'll see you two at Zoe's place," Jensen said. "I'll use duct tape this time." He nodded towards Jared, who scowled over Jensen's hand.
"He'll just make rude drawings," Steve reminded him as they reached the lift. He and Christian got in as Jensen dragged Jared down the hallway towards another lift. Christian watched them go as the lift door slid shut, then he found himself being pushed against one wall and kissed.
"What was that for?" he asked when he could breathe again. He slipped his hands around Steve's waist and held him there. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."
Steve shook his head, smiling. He reached up and put one hand on the side of Christian's face and kissed him again, more calmly this time. "Seven minutes," he said softly, and Christian still didn't understand. Steve tilted his head, then asked, "Didn't you know? Your fight... it lasted six minutes and fifty nine seconds. This--" Steve swallowed, then said softly, "This is the first time you lasted longer."
"I had no idea," Christian admitted. "I didn't know how long that one lasted." He let Steve kiss him again, felt the lift come to a halt but they made no move to leave as the door slid open. "I didn't know it was important," he said when Steve finally moved away.
"I didn't think it was, either," Steve admitted. "But I just... needed to do that."
"Well, you can do that any time you want," Christian told him, not letting go of Steve's waist.
"Maybe somewhere else, hm?" said a voice, and Christian and Steve both jumped.
"Commander Chen," Christian said, and he tried to think of a suitable response to being found making out in a lift by the battlecruiser’s commanding officer. "We were just...leaving." He pushed Steve out ahead of him and gave the Commander a nod as they hurried away.
As the lift door slid closed, he could have sworn he heard a laugh.
the end