The morning after the night before [Chris, Karl]
The play had gone well. While a part of him wished he could have made it down to Comic Con to see Karl and Zach, Chris had put that out of his mind, focusing entirely on the performance. By the time he walked out the stage door he was tired, yet riding that high from a night where everything had gone right. He’d signed a few autographs, even
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He poked around looking for those first, though it occurred to him when he glanced over at the bed that clean sheets were probably a good idea, too. Assuming they’d be staying there, that is. He didn’t know if they would be moved elsewhere or not. After checking a few drawers and the closet, he’d found some clean clothes he was fairly certain were Jim’s, as well as a spare set of sheets. Chris stripped the bed, trying hard not to think about waking up that morning, pressed snug against Karl. It was something he’d thought about on occasion, true, but he found it cosmically unfair that it should finally happen when they’d just swapped bodies with their Star Trek counterparts, who had apparently fucked each other senseless the night before. Or, well, one of them had. He snapped the top sheet with a sigh, watching it settle lightly onto the bed before smoothing it into place.
Chris finished making the bed and looked around again, gravitating toward one of the loaded bookshelves. Several of the books were familiar; things he’d read in school or loved himself. He traced his fingers down the spine of a well-loved looking copy of Treasure Island, remembering Jim mentioning it was one of his favorites. Other books were unfamiliar, and a fair few were in languages he could only guess at. He was still studying one when Karl emerged.
His eyes skimmed over Karl wrapped in that towel, trying not to linger. “Thanks,” Chris replied, going to gather his change of clothes. He showed Karl the drawers he thought were Bones’ and ducked into the bathroom.
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Thus outfitted, he got up to take a proper look around the room, eyeing the big window but mostly staying away from it. There were lots of books on the shelves built into the walls -- would they have a forcefield or something to keep them from falling out if the ship got jolted around, he wondered -- some knick-knacks, a few datapads reminiscent of the iPad Zach was probably lusting after.
Some framed pictures caught his attention, and he leaned down to take a close look at one in particular, a shot of a little girl, outdoors somewhere, grinning widely at the camera. The hue of her hair, face shape and some, though not all, of her features left little doubt that it was Bones' daughter, Joanna. "Wow," he murmured, smiling. Weird, being able to see some of himself in this little stranger, and even a few similarities with his own boys.
Karl went to fiddle some more with the computer when he was done looking at everything. There was some text, and yet it was still pretty much unnavigable. "Computer, I don't suppose you could switch over to Mac OS X?" The computer gave a weird, disgruntled beep, so Karl started tapping various areas on the screen in hopes of getting onto the internet. If it was still called that.
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After some trial and error with the panel on the wall, he got the water just right. He stuck his head under the spray to soak his hair, gasping a little when the water first hit those sensitive scars. Blinking at the bottles of shower stuff, he picked one and began to wash himself slowly, enjoying the time to just ignore everything else and clear his head. Too many things were clamoring for attention in his mind, with fucking hell, I’m on the Enterprise number one on the list. He decided to let go of the things he couldn’t do anything about-the play and everything else back home-and just try to take things step by step.
Chris tried to keep the shower short but the warm water felt so good he found himself slowing down, really taking the opportunity to learn this body. There were aches here and there that he didn’t recognize, things he supposed went along with some of the scars. His hand slid through the lather on his ribs, tracing the line of that scar before sliding down over his stomach. He looked down as his fingers brushed over his cock, watching as it twitched in interest. This, then, was just about the same, he thought as he stroked himself to hardness, his hand circling the shaft and settling into a purposeful rhythm. He bit his lip to keep quiet, mindful that Karl was just outside and not wanting things to be any more awkward than they already were. Before long he was groaning quietly, his body rigid as he spilled over his hand. He rinsed himself off and then leaned against the wall for a minute, feeling relaxed for the first time all day.
He shut off the water and climbed out of the shower, toweling off quickly before pulling on the clean clothes - a pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. Scrubbing the towel over his hair once more, Chris hung it up neatly on the rack and walked barefoot back out into the main room to find Karl sitting at the console, muttering things at the computer.
"Any luck?" He leaned over Karl's shoulder, studying the screen carefully. "What about this one?" Chris reached out, tapping a likely-looking button and watching as the screen changed to a sleek, functional-looking browser. He soon found the bookmark menu and was pleased to see Livejournal among the sites listed. The layout was a little different but the site was pretty much the same, and it only took him a minute to figure out how to log in. When he saw the message waiting, he grinned excitedly.
"We've got them!"
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"They're gonna get themselves fucking arrested somehow," said Karl darkly, still leaning over Chris's shoulder to squint at Jim's last message. "And wind up on the cover of every gossip rag in existence. If they don't die first."
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He stood up from his position leaning over the console, stretching and hearing his spine pop a little. Startled, he looked at the time stamp on that last message, converting the military time in his head. "Is it really lunchtime already?"
Chris was startled to realize he didn't feel hungry at all, but knew they should eat. He hadn't even thought of breakfast given all that had happened. Looking around, he spotted another device nearer the table. "You think this is the replicator?" he asked, examining it curiously.
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Coffee was one of the first things he came across -- naturally, considering these people's jobs -- so he punched that in, and it magically appeared in the alcove in a sleek metal mug. "Hey," said Karl, pleased. "There we go, I didn't blow it up."
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Watching as Karl went through the rest of the options, he waited for something to sound appetizing, but was curiously disinterested in almost everything. Finally, he settled on the next thing to scroll past. "I'd like the roast beef sandwich. Are there fries?" Chris wondered.
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His stomach started grumbling as the food appeared, the smell of hot grease (healthy, no doubt) reaching his nostrils. It could've passed for home-cooked, but the one thing betraying the fact that the meals had been materialized by a machine was the identical arrangement and placement of fries on the plates, down to the number. Slightly unsettling, but not enough to blunt his appetite.
He handed Chris his, and they went back over to the couch area, sitting down across from each other to eat. Karl was hungry enough that he focused mostly on his plate, but he did notice (in sneaking little glances, looking quickly down again when Chris started to look up) that Chris was playing with his food more than much of it was actually going into his mouth.
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Chris glanced up occasionally, curious as to whether Karl felt the same way. He seemed to be making short work of his own food, though. Chris drank some more coffee, then picked through his fries.
"Maybe after lunch, you can try logging in to your journal? You might be able to get a message to Nat and the kids," he said, his voice hesitant. It had to be hard for him, Chris thought, remembering Karl's expression when he'd realized his tattoo wasn't there.
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They both fell silent again, Karl turning his coffee cup around and around in his hands and Chris playing with his sandwich. After the fifth fry he picked up but didn't eat, Karl felt compelled to intervene, for Chris's health. "You all right? Beyond the obvious, I mean?"
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Chris looked up, dropping the fry back onto his plate. "I don't know yet," he replied honestly. "I guess I'm trying to adjust to all this." He indicated his left arm, the tattoos visible below the short sleeve of his shirt. He was silent a few minutes, tearing a corner of bread off his sandwich and crumbling it idly. "I--I'm sorry about this morning. That was awkward."
He kept his eyes on his plate, feeling his face get hot.
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Thinking on it, that last part had possibly been a dumb thing to say. Shrug. Too late.
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The food was already doing him some good. He was feeling more energized, antsy, ready to see what was out there beyond the walls of this room (besides space, which he was already quite well aware of, thank you). "Wanna go look around? Uhura didn't say we had to stay in here..."
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Chris was halfway across the room when the door chimed. Casting a curious glance at Karl, he responded. Uhura hadn't been gone long - maybe it was Zach? "Enter."
The armed, red-shirted officer was a surprise. Chris listened as he identified himself as security. One of the formalities Uhura had mentioned, no doubt. He answered the questions directed at him as best he could, anxiety making him want the interrogationinterview over with as soon as possible. Once the officer was done with them both, they were cleared to explore the public areas of the ship.
"Okay..." Chris stared at the door after he left, then looked at Karl. "I guess that's one question answered."
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"I keep expecting to round a corner and see Bruce and Anton sitting there playing magnetic chess," Karl admitted with a laugh, when they took a right turn, finding no Pikes or Chekovs but only a little alcove with a computer terminal and another bright stretch of door-lined hallway. The halls didn't just end like their set had. This was really real. So cool.
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