Fic: And Every Color Illuminates
Title: And Every Color Illuminates
Word Count: 4760
Pairing: Pinto, K/S preslash if you squint
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Chris and Zach begin filming the sequel in Hawaii. Zach is buff. Chris daydreams.
Warnings/Genre: Fluff. Unbeta’ed.
Disclaimer: None of this is true.
A/N: Happy New Year! Written and posted in haste, so this might be a bunch of half-baked ideas. Based on rumors about the sequel and plotbunnies planted by eefreeboo, for whom I will write an actual K/S someday.
Jim is vaguely aware that he’s being hauled up by a pair of strong hands while yells echo in the background. A shoulder and muscular bicep slide under his ribcage, bending him in half at the waist and hefting him up into the air. Suddenly, Jim is upside down. There’s a moment where his weight is shifted and his center of gravity carefully balanced before he feels the blood begin to rush to his head. His arms hang limply toward the ground, as Spock -- it couldn’t be anyone other than Spock -- begins to run.
Jim’s eyes are closed, but he hears boots pounding furiously against pavement, punctuating and the protesting cries of his captors. He’s unsure if it might be a dream at first, until he’s jerked helplessly in one direction and then another as Spock navigates the dark dungeons inside the mountain palace where Jim was held. There’s a growl from Spock, a shove, and the creaking of the stone doors that lead to his freedom.
With all the effort he can gather, he manages to open his eyes, just barely, and his field of vision is filled with rich blue. Unidentifiable green scenery fly by in his periphery, but his fluttering eyes are drawn to reassuring blue of Spock’s science tunic. He utters a groan and screws his eyes shut when something that feels like a large branch slaps him in the face.
Spock’s arms tighten around his legs, tense fingers digging into the back of Jim’s thigh with every labored breath. They’re far enough away that he can barely hear the yells of the planet’s inhabitants anymore. It feels like Spock’s been running for an eternity, but he finally comes to a stop and gingerly lowers Jim to the soft, red soil and rough, green grass. Those long and dexterous fingers splay out to cradle his head as he’s laid on his back.
Spock hovers over him and Jim feels the brush of fingertips over the gash on his chest exposed by the violent rip in his gold command shirt.
“Jim.” It’s barely above a whisper.
Jim attempts a grunt in response. He’s too weak to muster much else. He hears the flip of Spock’s communicator and the hurried approached approach of what he guesses is the rest of his rescue team.
“Enterprise, two to beam up. Page Dr. McCoy. The captain has been injured.”
The slight waver in Spock’s voice would’ve been unnoticeable to most people. Jim doesn’t like that his absence made Spock worry, but if it were Spock who had been kidnapped, he damn right would be worried and mad as hell, too. Spock takes his wrist and immediately there’s a projection of calm that washes over Jim. He’s safe. Spock’s rescued him. There was never any doubt he wouldn’t.
Chris cracks his eyes open and squints at Zach’s profile. The blazing Hawaiian sun casts a golden halo around Zach and his pointed ears. Blinking few times rapidly, Chris lets his eyes adjust to the brightness and pushes himself into a sitting position. Zach takes a deep breath and stands. He closes the communicator prop and reaches a hand out to Chris to help him to his feet just as JJ approaches them.
“Fantastic. Great. We got that all in one shot.” JJ nods as he snaps at his gum. “I’d like to try another take. Zach, do you think you can whip out the communicator before putting Chris on the ground? Balance him on your shoulder, call for the Enterprise, then put him on the ground.”
Zach isn’t completely out of breath, but his chest heaves a bit while he cocks his head to the side and thinks.
“Do I still squat? Or you want me to stand as I’m talking into the communicator?”
“Stand,” JJ says definitively. “Yeah, stand, do the thing with the communicator, put it away, and then squat and put Chris on the ground. Let’s try it that way and see how it looks.” He nods furiously and turns away. “Okay, we’re resetting!” he yells and a dozen camera, sound, and light people scatter.
Chris studies Zach’s face as they follow the dolly tracks back into the forest to their original mark. “Do you need a minute to catch your breath?”
With a shrug, Zach makes a non-committal sound. “It’ll take them about twenty minutes to set up the camera again. I’ll be good to go by then.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Chris watches the fabric by Zach’s bicep stretch against the outline of muscle. The entire cast had spent weeks getting in shape for filming, everyone having their share of stunts, not matter now small. But Zach had been preparing for months. During their run the other morning, Chris noticed that Zach’s arms and chest are probably the biggest he’s ever seen them. He spent the following few minutes wondering if Zach lifts weights while shirtless; he concluded that Zach probably wears an ugly striped tank top.
It only took them a day of stunt rehearsals to figure out how Zach would hoist Chris onto his shoulder for the running scene. And Zach only dropped Chris on his ass three times. It’s different when they’re in costume though, when Zach has his ears on and has to be careful not to rip them.
Opposite coasts and busy schedules gave them convenient excuses to not see much of each over the last two years. Still, when they do meet up for the occasional coffee or at an event, they don’t exchange pleasantries or shoot the shit about the weather. They jump into a genuine conversation, right before they begin snarking and gossiping like twelve-year-old girls. Or discussing the necessary but unpopular steps the Greek government should take to salvage their economy. The topics of conversation are often random and varied.
But the last two days have been different, though. They not acting like them and it’s weirding Chris out. It could be that “zone” Zach gets into when he’s fully immersed in Spock’s stiffness and quiet demeanor. Whatever it is, it’s starting to make Chris wonder if something’s changed in their friendship when he actually has to try to draw conversations and laughs out of Zach.
“I had the option of eating two breakfast burritos this morning, but I only ate one. You’re welcome. I know it’s tough hauling my fat ass around,” Chris quips.
A huff of laugher escapes Zach and it makes Chris grin. “I’m touched, really, that you’d make this kind of sacrifice for me. For the record, your ass isn’t fat. It’s just round. And perky.”
“It’s all the bacon I eat.” He tries not to linger on the possibility that Zach has been checking out his ass.
“God, bacon sounds so good right now.”
“Obviously.”
They trudge over to the craft service table. Zach grabs a bottle of water and Chris stares at the way the muscles in Zach’s left arm flex slightly as he twists the cap off. He looks away quickly before Zach notices.
If they were in LA on the Paramount lot, he’d have plenty of people to distract him from Zach’s pecs. But they’re the only two actors from the bridge crew here and everyone else is bustling around with equipment. Even the prettiest of girls with soft curves, tan skin, tiny bikinis provide only the shortest of reprieves from his constant fixation on Zach. And Zach’s broader shoulders. And Zach’s sturdier musculature. And Zach’s perfectly bow-shaped lips.
It’s not that Chris didn’t appreciate Zach before his pecs got huge. He’s long been intellectually attracted to Zach’s off-beat humor and social awareness. Chris had always found his lanky frame appealing, but there’s just something about the idea that Zach worked out for the sole purpose of carrying Chris over his shoulder, perhaps even envisioned Chris’ ass pressed right next to his ear as he huffed and bench pressed, that made him shoot so hard into his own hand last night that he nearly blacked out.
Chris absently sips his water. His mind is elsewhere when Zach pokes him in the chest.
Chris looks down at where his pecs and nipples are exposed from the gaping, horizontal rip in his gold command and black undershirt.
“That fake blood’s got to itch like a bitch,” Zach comments and takes another swig from his water bottle.
A blush creeps across Chris’ face. “Yeah,” he stammers. “It gets crusted in my chest hair -- not that I have that much, I mean, not like you, cause you have like, more, thicker, but not like, in a bad way --,” and Zach raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, no, it itches like crazy,” he mumbles and raises the water bottle to his mouth again so he has an excuse to stop talking.
There’s a knock on his door as Chris steps out of the bathroom with a swirl of steam following him. He checks the peephole and sees Zach standing on the other side of door in black-framed glasses, glancing down at his phone, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Chris runs a hand through this damp hair and opens the door a crack.
“Hey,” he says.
Zach looks up, his eyes briefly flashing to Chris’ bare chest before meeting Chris’ eyes again. “Hey.” He bounces on balls of his feet. “So you got all that fake blood off, huh?”
Chris glances down. “Oh. Yeah. Right, yeah, just took some extra scrubbing.” His tongue flicks out at his bottom lip as they stand awkwardly looking at each other.
“You... umm, want to have dinner? With me?” Zach asks finally.
Self-consciously, Chris tightens the white towel around his waist. “Yeah, sure.” Zach almost looks relieved when he gestures at the door open and Chris steps back to let him in.
“Any place in particular?” Zach asks as he walks past Chris, eyes trained on his phone again. He stretches out on Chris’ bed and props himself up on an elbow. Raising an eyebrow, he crosses his ankles and peers at Chris expectantly over his large frames.
Chris follows the line of Zach’s body from his flip-flopped feet up to his shoulders and then down to Zach’s crotch. If he were Kirk, the Shatnerian Kirk, he could get away with just dropping his towel, flashing a cocky grin, mounting Zach, and taking what he wants. But he’s not. He’s Chris, and that’s Zach, and he’s suddenly feeling shy and exposed.
“Chris?”
And then he realizes he’s staring. Zach is staring back, an unreadable expression on his face, as he waits for an answer about dinner.
“Uh, wherever you want to go is cool,” he says, turning away quickly to grab some underwear and a change of clothes so he can hide his blush and dress in the bathroom.
***
“Jim,” Spock repeats, more urgently this time.
He coughs in response.
There’s a whisper of something near his temple and feels like he’s being recharged with energy. “Jim,” he hears again, but it’s not spoken. It rattles around in his head.
He takes a deep breath and manages to opens his eyes, just slightly, enough to see rays of reddish-orange light beyond Spock’s silhouette. Spock leans in closer and Jim recognizes fear and concern in his brown eyes.
“You found me,” Jim rasps.
Spock blinks. “Abandoning you was not an option I would take. Not when I knew you were alive.”
“Against Starfleet’s orders?”
“Captain.”
The three ensigns who joined Spock on the rescue mission approach, out of breath from their running.
“They’re not far, Captain, Commander,” Ensign Jones reports.
“Thank you, Ensign,” Spock answers.
“How’d you know --,” Jim’s question is interrupted as a cough seizes his whole body. “How’d you know I was alive?”
Looking away, Spock reaches for his communicator. “Enterprise. Report.”
JJ jogs up to them. “Excellent. I think that take’s the best one we’ve gotten so far.”
Chris sits up and Zach rests back on his heels.
“Okay, so we’re going to reset up camera and shoot this scene from the opposite angle.” He looks at his watch. “Thirty minute break.” JJ gives a clap and asks for the stand-ins to take Chris and Zach’s spots.
With a groan, Chris gets to his feet, watching out of the corner of his eye while Zach rises gracefully to his.
“Pineapple?” Zach asks.
“Yup.”
They walk over to the platters that are laid out on the crafts service table and heap chunk after chunk of the fruit onto their paper plates. It’s day four in Hawaii and their banter isn’t quite where it should be, but it’s getting there. At least their newly found shared obsession with pineapple gives them something to do together.
Chris plots down in the director’s chair with his name on it. “Do you think we’ll hate pineapple after this?” he says with his mouthful.
Planting himself in a chair next to Chris, Zach nods and shrugs. “Probably.”
Chris makes a sound of agreement and takes another bite. “Do you think someday, we’ll be old and at a Trek convention and be like, ‘hey, remember that time we ate all that pineapple in Hawaii?’”
Zach wrinkles his nose when he chuckles and answers, “And I’ll be like, ‘yeah, remember I had my thumb up your ass crack for a week and you couldn’t stop staring at my biceps?’”
Chris chokes on his pineapple.
After he returns to his hotel room, Chris shuffles around with a small frown and hops into the shower. He keeps replaying how Zach talked about having his thumb up Chris’ ass. Chris knows that Zach didn’t mean it like that, but it doesn’t stop Chris from wondering. He runs a fingertip between his cheeks as the spray of water hits his back. Within a minute he’s pumping himself with one hand while imagining that his other hand is actually Zach touching his backside. He comes with a whimper when he presses right behind his ballsack. Leaning his forehead against the tile, his vision adjusts and he watches the water slowly wash away the splatter he left.
Chris finishes up in the shower and picks out clean clothes from the closet as waits for Zach’s knock. They’ve developed a routine of having dinner together every night. It provides Chris with some comfort to know that Zach wants to be in his company, and that maybe this awkwardness between them isn’t as real as he thinks it is. Maybe his physical attraction to Zach is fucking with his mind and making him paranoid.
He’s pulled on a pair of boring jeans and a generic white t-shirt, so he blinks in confusion and shock minutes later when Zach arrives and tells him he looks “really good”.
“I do?” Chris blurts.
Zach chuckles as he breezes into his hotel room, smelling like soap and sandalwood and wearing too many stripes.
“Don’t sound so surprised, Christopher.” He plops himself down in a chair and hooks his sunglasses to the front of his tank top. “You always look good, but lately you’ve just looked good. Anyway, it’s your turn to pick where to go for dinner.”
It’s the most forward and explicit Zach has ever been about Chris’ appearance, something other than “nice jacket” or “your hair looks good”. And of course Zach makes it sound entirely casual, like he’s admiring Chris’ choice in bathroom hand towels.
Chris nervously rubs at the back of his neck. “You look nice, too,” he offers meekly.
“Oh god,” Zach sighs, rolling his eyes. He twists his lips into a bitchy and sarcastic smile. “You’re not obligated to compliment me back,” he drawls and crosses his legs. “But that’s cute. Okay, pick a place cause I’m hungry.” There’s a hint of disappointment in Zach’s voice, but Chris doesn’t know what else to say. He picks up his phone and begins scrolling through the list of local restaurants.
***
“Captain.” Spock says, communicator in hand. “Jim,” he says softly. “There are periodic surges of negative electrical charges in the magnetic field surrounding the atmosphere. Engineer Scott estimates functional and safe transporter capabilities for only the next seventy-five to ninety seconds, for one crew member at a time.”
Jim nods and grimaces as he attempts to sit up. A sharp pain bolts up his leg. “Beam up the rest of the away time first.”
Spock gives Scotty the go ahead to beam up Ensigns Jones, Markesa, and Elliot. One by one, they disappear.
“Spock, you’re next.”
“I find no logic in that. You are the captain, and also injured. You will be transported next to ensure your safe arrival on board.”
“Quit being so stubborn. You’re next! We only have thirty seconds,” Jim says. He struggles to his feet and reaches for Spock’s communicator, but Spock jerks it away. “Spock! We’re wasting time!”
“Captain, your refusal is what is causing the delay.”
“I’ll make it an order!” Jim yells desperately. Spock risked his life to save him once today, he won’t allow him to do it twice.
“Mr. Scott, Captain Kirk is ready for transport.”
Before Jim can override Spock’s command, everything around him dissolves and the last thing he sees is the determined set of Spock’s human eyes.
“Good, good. That’s a wrap for the day,” JJ signals with a definitive clap.
Stretching, Chris cracks a few vertebrae and groans. “I can’t wait to jump in the shower,” he mumbles.
“I bet,” Zach says, heading toward their chairs.
Chris walks up behind him and places his hands on Zach’s shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. “You seem like you could use a massage.”
“I’d love one, actually,” Zach says, eyes lighting up.
Chris laughs and gives Zach one last squeeze. It’s their second to last day here and they’ve just gotten back into that comfortable buddy dynamic again. Chris is thankful for it because his paranoia had really been getting the best of him all week.
“We should go together,” Chris suggests.
Zach shrugs and looks down. “Sure.”
With another groan, Chris yawns. “Alright, well, I’m heading out.”
Sipping from his water bottle, Chris gestures at his ears, asking Zach if he was going to the makeup trailer to get his Vulcan props removed. Zach nods and Chris gives him the thumbs up.
As Chris starts shuffling off, he hears Zach call for him. He stops and looks back.
“Dinner?” Zach asks.
“Of course.” He gives Zach another wave and a smile and returns to the hotel.
“Wear your swim trunks,” Zach tells him. “And leave your phone here.”
Chris furrows his eyebrows and closes his door. Zach is wearing a pair of plaid swimming shorts and that goddamn bicycle t-shirt, which is a bit too tight in all the right places.
“But I’m hungry.”
“We’ll eat first,” Zach assures him. “Come on, I have something amazing planned. Where are your trunks?”
They end up at a shack that has the most amazing pulled pork Chris has ever tasted. It’s a quaint place packed with locals and a live ukulele band. When it starts getting too crowded inside, they take their beers outside to the picnic tables.
“Chris.” Zach taps his arm. “Chris, look.”
He glances up from peeling the label off his beer bottle and focuses his eyes toward the horizon. Ribbons of purple and pink mingle in the sky and bleed into a fiery orange where the sun meets the water. Everything’s so bright and saturated that it hurts to watch.
“So beautiful,” Chris murmurs. He hears Zach hum in agreement.
Zach drains the last of his beer. “You ready?”
Chris doesn’t know what he should be ready for, but he follows suit, finishing his beer and setting off after Zach. They hop the fence and walk along the water in silence until they reach a secluded bend. Zach whips his shirt over his head and tosses it at his feet. Carefully, he takes his glasses off, folds them, and leaves them on top of his shirt.
“Don’t step on my glasses,” he warns Chris playfully.
Chris lifts his foot and pretends to make a motion like he’s going to crush them, but Zach pulls on his arm and drags him toward the water.
“Hey, my shirt!” Chris yells between giggles.
By the time he manages to wrestle off his shirt, he’s knee deep in the bluish black water. Zach’s a few feet away from him, dunking his head under the surface, the beads of water that cling to his skin and hair glisten like crystals in the moonlight. They laugh like children, splashing water at each other and ducking underwater. Suddenly, Chris can’t see Zach. He turns and looks behind him, but the water is still.
“Zach?”
Seconds pass and he doesn’t know if he should call louder for Zach. Then, strong arms unexpectedly wrap around his waist and lift him into the air. He hears laughter as he’s flipped over Zach’s shoulder, landing backward in the water. Zach is so fucking strong. Chris is momentarily stunned before he realizes that he’s completely hard in his swim trunks. Paddling a little farther away, he tries to adjust himself, but it’s pointless.
“Don’t run away from me,” Zach whines and swims closer.
Chris feels the brush of Zach’s hand against his and gasps. He dives, afraid Zach will accidentally bump into him and discover his erection, but Zach just keeps pursuing him.
Eventually, the chase ends up on land and they run until they’re breathless and call for a truce. They pull their shirts back on and Chris is looking for his other flip flop when he chuckles to himself.
“This would’ve been an awesome date.”
As soon as the words leave Chris’ mouth, they both freeze. On the inside, he’s frantically thinking of a way to back peddle. Zach is staring at him with his mouth slightly open, blinkingly owlishly at him from behind his black frames.
“This was a date,” Zach says quietly. “These were all dates.”
“What?”
“Oh my god.” Zach covers his face. “I knew I wasn’t being obvious enough with you.” He straightens his shirt and beings to walk away.
“Wait. No, Zach, wait,” Chris calls after him. He grabs Zach’s wrist to stop him. “What are you talking about? These were dates?”
"Nevermind. Don't be mad."
"I'm not mad. I'm... I'm totally okay with it. I don't get how you throught I was agreeing to dates, though."
“I said, ‘Chris, do you want to have dinner with me?’ and you would say ‘Sure.’”
“But you never said the word 'date'! Is that how you ask people out on dates? You use the word “dinner” and you assume it’s synonymous?”
“I don’t know! I never hit on anyone! People hit on me!” Zach throws his hands up. “I don’t know how to ask someone out on a date! I’ve always been the one asked on a date! Or I just get blowjobs in the men’s bathroom!” He begins stomping away.
Chris takes two huge steps after Zach, and it dawns on him. The awkwardness all week. The ass crack comment. The compliment about the way he looked. Everything made sense now. Zach had been trying to flirt with him. Poorly.
“Wait. So you want to go on dates with me?”
“Alright,” Zach says, turning to face him. “I get it. I’m bad at this. Do we have to make it as painful as possible?”
“I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly.”
Zach sighs, relenting. “Yes, okay? I tried, but failed, to ask you out on dates because I like you. I like spending time with you and... I’ve missed you,” he confesses. “Something about us works and I just wanted to know if something more could work, too. I hover around your door after we walk to your hotel room because I keep hoping that one of these nights you’ll invite me inside.”
Chris swallows, but the lump in his throat won’t go away. He closes the space between them and wraps Zach up in a hug. They begin walking back to their hotel, kicking sand and looking up at the stars, neither one saying a word until they’re in the elevator.
“Do you want to come back to my room, Zach?”
There’s a pause, then quietly, “Yes.”
He’s barely gotten his door open before Zach’s hands are on his waist. Chris turns in his loose embrace and is nudged backward until he’s pinned against the wall, lips pressed to Zach’s.
They line up their hips and rut against each other, attempting to pull off their clothing at the same time. Somehow, they end up on the floor, Zach on top, holding him down with just the right amount of insistence, and it’s the hottest thing Chris has ever felt. His cock is drooling so much that his belly is covered in it and it dampens the curls of Zach’s bush, making them stick to his dick as they rub against each other.
“So hot,” Chris pants.
“Yeah.”
When Zach takes them both in his hand, Chris spreads his legs and cants his hips to the rhythm that Zach’s established. He can see Zach’s arm shaking with the effort of supporting his weight, trying not to crush Chris while draped over him. Chris lifts his head and places a trail of kisses down Zach’s neck. At the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Chris bites down, not hard enough to cause real pain, but enough to make Zach come with a growl that sounds a bit like Chris’ name.
Zach collapses on him, chest heaving and hips still twitching. He looks up with dazed eyes and shimmies down Chris’ body with adorably uncoordinated movements. It only takes a few flat-tongued licks and one hard, hollowed-cheeked suck before his vision goes white and Chris is coming with a shout. He feels Zach’s hands kneading his ass as he pulses in his mouth.
Zach flops down next to Chris, sated and exhausted, an arm thrown over his waist. Chris traces the outline of muscle on Zach’s bicep and shoulder, the sound of Zach’s breathing lulling him to sleep.
***
“Do it! Now! Get him back on this ship!”
Jim’s scrambles off the transporter pad, ignoring the pain in his leg, and continues yelling. Bones is there, catching Jim when he pitches forward. He isn’t even aware of what he’s saying, but he knows that there’s less than ten seconds before the window for safe transport closes and Spock is stranded on the planet for God knows how long.
“Cap’n, we’re tryin’!”
“Jim,” Bones says, waving the tricorder around his head. “You need to calm down. Spock will be fine.”
“Not now, Bones.”
With each second that ticks by, more dread fills Jim’s chest. Nothing happens and the transporter pad remains empty.
“Scotty!” Jim whirls around and hobbles over to the control panel where Scotty’s fingers are flying all over frantically.
“Jus’ gimme a sec!”
“We don’t have a sec to spare!”
And then he hears it, the swirl and chime of molecules being reassembled. When he looks up, Spock is standing there, blue tunic stained with his dried crimson blood, blank regulation pants, not a hair out of place. Jim is so relieved that he thinks his knees might give out.
“Mister Spock, if you ever pull stunt like that again,” Jim says sternly, but the beginnings of a smile betray him.
Tipping his head in acknowledgment, Spock steps off the transporter pad and returns a small smile to Jim. “Welcome back, Captain.”
“Welcome back, jerk faces.”
“John, seriously, I asked JJ like, four times if I could bring you with us to Hawaii and he said no,” Chris told him, sitting in his chair and wiping at his makeup with a towel.
“I don’t believe you,” Karl says, sidling up to them. “I think you at least owe us drinks.”
“Yeah,” John chimes in. “Drinks are the least you could do to make us feel better for missing out on that. Drinks. Tonight. Us three and Quinto.”
Chris shakes his head. “I can’t tonight. I have plans.”
“Boo, you whore,” John says and claps Chris on the back as he walks away with Karl.
Zach appears, toying with one of his ears. “What kind of plans?”
Chris blinks at him. Panic rises in him. Maybe that thing they did was just a Hawaii thing?
“You mean dinner?” Zach asks.
“Dinner? Or a date?” Chris squints at him.
Leaning in, Zach pulls at the sleeve of Chris’ gold command shirt. “As long I can get you to howl again, like the way you did last night, I don’t care what you want to call it.”
Heat pools in his groin and rises to his face. Blushing, Chris’s eyes flick to Zach’s brown ones. He nods. “So dinner date at my place, then?”
Word Count: 4760
Pairing: Pinto, K/S preslash if you squint
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Chris and Zach begin filming the sequel in Hawaii. Zach is buff. Chris daydreams.
Warnings/Genre: Fluff. Unbeta’ed.
Disclaimer: None of this is true.
A/N: Happy New Year! Written and posted in haste, so this might be a bunch of half-baked ideas. Based on rumors about the sequel and plotbunnies planted by eefreeboo, for whom I will write an actual K/S someday.
Jim is vaguely aware that he’s being hauled up by a pair of strong hands while yells echo in the background. A shoulder and muscular bicep slide under his ribcage, bending him in half at the waist and hefting him up into the air. Suddenly, Jim is upside down. There’s a moment where his weight is shifted and his center of gravity carefully balanced before he feels the blood begin to rush to his head. His arms hang limply toward the ground, as Spock -- it couldn’t be anyone other than Spock -- begins to run.
Jim’s eyes are closed, but he hears boots pounding furiously against pavement, punctuating and the protesting cries of his captors. He’s unsure if it might be a dream at first, until he’s jerked helplessly in one direction and then another as Spock navigates the dark dungeons inside the mountain palace where Jim was held. There’s a growl from Spock, a shove, and the creaking of the stone doors that lead to his freedom.
With all the effort he can gather, he manages to open his eyes, just barely, and his field of vision is filled with rich blue. Unidentifiable green scenery fly by in his periphery, but his fluttering eyes are drawn to reassuring blue of Spock’s science tunic. He utters a groan and screws his eyes shut when something that feels like a large branch slaps him in the face.
Spock’s arms tighten around his legs, tense fingers digging into the back of Jim’s thigh with every labored breath. They’re far enough away that he can barely hear the yells of the planet’s inhabitants anymore. It feels like Spock’s been running for an eternity, but he finally comes to a stop and gingerly lowers Jim to the soft, red soil and rough, green grass. Those long and dexterous fingers splay out to cradle his head as he’s laid on his back.
Spock hovers over him and Jim feels the brush of fingertips over the gash on his chest exposed by the violent rip in his gold command shirt.
“Jim.” It’s barely above a whisper.
Jim attempts a grunt in response. He’s too weak to muster much else. He hears the flip of Spock’s communicator and the hurried approached approach of what he guesses is the rest of his rescue team.
“Enterprise, two to beam up. Page Dr. McCoy. The captain has been injured.”
The slight waver in Spock’s voice would’ve been unnoticeable to most people. Jim doesn’t like that his absence made Spock worry, but if it were Spock who had been kidnapped, he damn right would be worried and mad as hell, too. Spock takes his wrist and immediately there’s a projection of calm that washes over Jim. He’s safe. Spock’s rescued him. There was never any doubt he wouldn’t.
Chris cracks his eyes open and squints at Zach’s profile. The blazing Hawaiian sun casts a golden halo around Zach and his pointed ears. Blinking few times rapidly, Chris lets his eyes adjust to the brightness and pushes himself into a sitting position. Zach takes a deep breath and stands. He closes the communicator prop and reaches a hand out to Chris to help him to his feet just as JJ approaches them.
“Fantastic. Great. We got that all in one shot.” JJ nods as he snaps at his gum. “I’d like to try another take. Zach, do you think you can whip out the communicator before putting Chris on the ground? Balance him on your shoulder, call for the Enterprise, then put him on the ground.”
Zach isn’t completely out of breath, but his chest heaves a bit while he cocks his head to the side and thinks.
“Do I still squat? Or you want me to stand as I’m talking into the communicator?”
“Stand,” JJ says definitively. “Yeah, stand, do the thing with the communicator, put it away, and then squat and put Chris on the ground. Let’s try it that way and see how it looks.” He nods furiously and turns away. “Okay, we’re resetting!” he yells and a dozen camera, sound, and light people scatter.
Chris studies Zach’s face as they follow the dolly tracks back into the forest to their original mark. “Do you need a minute to catch your breath?”
With a shrug, Zach makes a non-committal sound. “It’ll take them about twenty minutes to set up the camera again. I’ll be good to go by then.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Chris watches the fabric by Zach’s bicep stretch against the outline of muscle. The entire cast had spent weeks getting in shape for filming, everyone having their share of stunts, not matter now small. But Zach had been preparing for months. During their run the other morning, Chris noticed that Zach’s arms and chest are probably the biggest he’s ever seen them. He spent the following few minutes wondering if Zach lifts weights while shirtless; he concluded that Zach probably wears an ugly striped tank top.
It only took them a day of stunt rehearsals to figure out how Zach would hoist Chris onto his shoulder for the running scene. And Zach only dropped Chris on his ass three times. It’s different when they’re in costume though, when Zach has his ears on and has to be careful not to rip them.
Opposite coasts and busy schedules gave them convenient excuses to not see much of each over the last two years. Still, when they do meet up for the occasional coffee or at an event, they don’t exchange pleasantries or shoot the shit about the weather. They jump into a genuine conversation, right before they begin snarking and gossiping like twelve-year-old girls. Or discussing the necessary but unpopular steps the Greek government should take to salvage their economy. The topics of conversation are often random and varied.
But the last two days have been different, though. They not acting like them and it’s weirding Chris out. It could be that “zone” Zach gets into when he’s fully immersed in Spock’s stiffness and quiet demeanor. Whatever it is, it’s starting to make Chris wonder if something’s changed in their friendship when he actually has to try to draw conversations and laughs out of Zach.
“I had the option of eating two breakfast burritos this morning, but I only ate one. You’re welcome. I know it’s tough hauling my fat ass around,” Chris quips.
A huff of laugher escapes Zach and it makes Chris grin. “I’m touched, really, that you’d make this kind of sacrifice for me. For the record, your ass isn’t fat. It’s just round. And perky.”
“It’s all the bacon I eat.” He tries not to linger on the possibility that Zach has been checking out his ass.
“God, bacon sounds so good right now.”
“Obviously.”
They trudge over to the craft service table. Zach grabs a bottle of water and Chris stares at the way the muscles in Zach’s left arm flex slightly as he twists the cap off. He looks away quickly before Zach notices.
If they were in LA on the Paramount lot, he’d have plenty of people to distract him from Zach’s pecs. But they’re the only two actors from the bridge crew here and everyone else is bustling around with equipment. Even the prettiest of girls with soft curves, tan skin, tiny bikinis provide only the shortest of reprieves from his constant fixation on Zach. And Zach’s broader shoulders. And Zach’s sturdier musculature. And Zach’s perfectly bow-shaped lips.
It’s not that Chris didn’t appreciate Zach before his pecs got huge. He’s long been intellectually attracted to Zach’s off-beat humor and social awareness. Chris had always found his lanky frame appealing, but there’s just something about the idea that Zach worked out for the sole purpose of carrying Chris over his shoulder, perhaps even envisioned Chris’ ass pressed right next to his ear as he huffed and bench pressed, that made him shoot so hard into his own hand last night that he nearly blacked out.
Chris absently sips his water. His mind is elsewhere when Zach pokes him in the chest.
Chris looks down at where his pecs and nipples are exposed from the gaping, horizontal rip in his gold command and black undershirt.
“That fake blood’s got to itch like a bitch,” Zach comments and takes another swig from his water bottle.
A blush creeps across Chris’ face. “Yeah,” he stammers. “It gets crusted in my chest hair -- not that I have that much, I mean, not like you, cause you have like, more, thicker, but not like, in a bad way --,” and Zach raises an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, no, it itches like crazy,” he mumbles and raises the water bottle to his mouth again so he has an excuse to stop talking.
There’s a knock on his door as Chris steps out of the bathroom with a swirl of steam following him. He checks the peephole and sees Zach standing on the other side of door in black-framed glasses, glancing down at his phone, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Chris runs a hand through this damp hair and opens the door a crack.
“Hey,” he says.
Zach looks up, his eyes briefly flashing to Chris’ bare chest before meeting Chris’ eyes again. “Hey.” He bounces on balls of his feet. “So you got all that fake blood off, huh?”
Chris glances down. “Oh. Yeah. Right, yeah, just took some extra scrubbing.” His tongue flicks out at his bottom lip as they stand awkwardly looking at each other.
“You... umm, want to have dinner? With me?” Zach asks finally.
Self-consciously, Chris tightens the white towel around his waist. “Yeah, sure.” Zach almost looks relieved when he gestures at the door open and Chris steps back to let him in.
“Any place in particular?” Zach asks as he walks past Chris, eyes trained on his phone again. He stretches out on Chris’ bed and props himself up on an elbow. Raising an eyebrow, he crosses his ankles and peers at Chris expectantly over his large frames.
Chris follows the line of Zach’s body from his flip-flopped feet up to his shoulders and then down to Zach’s crotch. If he were Kirk, the Shatnerian Kirk, he could get away with just dropping his towel, flashing a cocky grin, mounting Zach, and taking what he wants. But he’s not. He’s Chris, and that’s Zach, and he’s suddenly feeling shy and exposed.
“Chris?”
And then he realizes he’s staring. Zach is staring back, an unreadable expression on his face, as he waits for an answer about dinner.
“Uh, wherever you want to go is cool,” he says, turning away quickly to grab some underwear and a change of clothes so he can hide his blush and dress in the bathroom.
***
“Jim,” Spock repeats, more urgently this time.
He coughs in response.
There’s a whisper of something near his temple and feels like he’s being recharged with energy. “Jim,” he hears again, but it’s not spoken. It rattles around in his head.
He takes a deep breath and manages to opens his eyes, just slightly, enough to see rays of reddish-orange light beyond Spock’s silhouette. Spock leans in closer and Jim recognizes fear and concern in his brown eyes.
“You found me,” Jim rasps.
Spock blinks. “Abandoning you was not an option I would take. Not when I knew you were alive.”
“Against Starfleet’s orders?”
“Captain.”
The three ensigns who joined Spock on the rescue mission approach, out of breath from their running.
“They’re not far, Captain, Commander,” Ensign Jones reports.
“Thank you, Ensign,” Spock answers.
“How’d you know --,” Jim’s question is interrupted as a cough seizes his whole body. “How’d you know I was alive?”
Looking away, Spock reaches for his communicator. “Enterprise. Report.”
JJ jogs up to them. “Excellent. I think that take’s the best one we’ve gotten so far.”
Chris sits up and Zach rests back on his heels.
“Okay, so we’re going to reset up camera and shoot this scene from the opposite angle.” He looks at his watch. “Thirty minute break.” JJ gives a clap and asks for the stand-ins to take Chris and Zach’s spots.
With a groan, Chris gets to his feet, watching out of the corner of his eye while Zach rises gracefully to his.
“Pineapple?” Zach asks.
“Yup.”
They walk over to the platters that are laid out on the crafts service table and heap chunk after chunk of the fruit onto their paper plates. It’s day four in Hawaii and their banter isn’t quite where it should be, but it’s getting there. At least their newly found shared obsession with pineapple gives them something to do together.
Chris plots down in the director’s chair with his name on it. “Do you think we’ll hate pineapple after this?” he says with his mouthful.
Planting himself in a chair next to Chris, Zach nods and shrugs. “Probably.”
Chris makes a sound of agreement and takes another bite. “Do you think someday, we’ll be old and at a Trek convention and be like, ‘hey, remember that time we ate all that pineapple in Hawaii?’”
Zach wrinkles his nose when he chuckles and answers, “And I’ll be like, ‘yeah, remember I had my thumb up your ass crack for a week and you couldn’t stop staring at my biceps?’”
Chris chokes on his pineapple.
After he returns to his hotel room, Chris shuffles around with a small frown and hops into the shower. He keeps replaying how Zach talked about having his thumb up Chris’ ass. Chris knows that Zach didn’t mean it like that, but it doesn’t stop Chris from wondering. He runs a fingertip between his cheeks as the spray of water hits his back. Within a minute he’s pumping himself with one hand while imagining that his other hand is actually Zach touching his backside. He comes with a whimper when he presses right behind his ballsack. Leaning his forehead against the tile, his vision adjusts and he watches the water slowly wash away the splatter he left.
Chris finishes up in the shower and picks out clean clothes from the closet as waits for Zach’s knock. They’ve developed a routine of having dinner together every night. It provides Chris with some comfort to know that Zach wants to be in his company, and that maybe this awkwardness between them isn’t as real as he thinks it is. Maybe his physical attraction to Zach is fucking with his mind and making him paranoid.
He’s pulled on a pair of boring jeans and a generic white t-shirt, so he blinks in confusion and shock minutes later when Zach arrives and tells him he looks “really good”.
“I do?” Chris blurts.
Zach chuckles as he breezes into his hotel room, smelling like soap and sandalwood and wearing too many stripes.
“Don’t sound so surprised, Christopher.” He plops himself down in a chair and hooks his sunglasses to the front of his tank top. “You always look good, but lately you’ve just looked good. Anyway, it’s your turn to pick where to go for dinner.”
It’s the most forward and explicit Zach has ever been about Chris’ appearance, something other than “nice jacket” or “your hair looks good”. And of course Zach makes it sound entirely casual, like he’s admiring Chris’ choice in bathroom hand towels.
Chris nervously rubs at the back of his neck. “You look nice, too,” he offers meekly.
“Oh god,” Zach sighs, rolling his eyes. He twists his lips into a bitchy and sarcastic smile. “You’re not obligated to compliment me back,” he drawls and crosses his legs. “But that’s cute. Okay, pick a place cause I’m hungry.” There’s a hint of disappointment in Zach’s voice, but Chris doesn’t know what else to say. He picks up his phone and begins scrolling through the list of local restaurants.
***
“Captain.” Spock says, communicator in hand. “Jim,” he says softly. “There are periodic surges of negative electrical charges in the magnetic field surrounding the atmosphere. Engineer Scott estimates functional and safe transporter capabilities for only the next seventy-five to ninety seconds, for one crew member at a time.”
Jim nods and grimaces as he attempts to sit up. A sharp pain bolts up his leg. “Beam up the rest of the away time first.”
Spock gives Scotty the go ahead to beam up Ensigns Jones, Markesa, and Elliot. One by one, they disappear.
“Spock, you’re next.”
“I find no logic in that. You are the captain, and also injured. You will be transported next to ensure your safe arrival on board.”
“Quit being so stubborn. You’re next! We only have thirty seconds,” Jim says. He struggles to his feet and reaches for Spock’s communicator, but Spock jerks it away. “Spock! We’re wasting time!”
“Captain, your refusal is what is causing the delay.”
“I’ll make it an order!” Jim yells desperately. Spock risked his life to save him once today, he won’t allow him to do it twice.
“Mr. Scott, Captain Kirk is ready for transport.”
Before Jim can override Spock’s command, everything around him dissolves and the last thing he sees is the determined set of Spock’s human eyes.
“Good, good. That’s a wrap for the day,” JJ signals with a definitive clap.
Stretching, Chris cracks a few vertebrae and groans. “I can’t wait to jump in the shower,” he mumbles.
“I bet,” Zach says, heading toward their chairs.
Chris walks up behind him and places his hands on Zach’s shoulders, giving them a firm squeeze. “You seem like you could use a massage.”
“I’d love one, actually,” Zach says, eyes lighting up.
Chris laughs and gives Zach one last squeeze. It’s their second to last day here and they’ve just gotten back into that comfortable buddy dynamic again. Chris is thankful for it because his paranoia had really been getting the best of him all week.
“We should go together,” Chris suggests.
Zach shrugs and looks down. “Sure.”
With another groan, Chris yawns. “Alright, well, I’m heading out.”
Sipping from his water bottle, Chris gestures at his ears, asking Zach if he was going to the makeup trailer to get his Vulcan props removed. Zach nods and Chris gives him the thumbs up.
As Chris starts shuffling off, he hears Zach call for him. He stops and looks back.
“Dinner?” Zach asks.
“Of course.” He gives Zach another wave and a smile and returns to the hotel.
“Wear your swim trunks,” Zach tells him. “And leave your phone here.”
Chris furrows his eyebrows and closes his door. Zach is wearing a pair of plaid swimming shorts and that goddamn bicycle t-shirt, which is a bit too tight in all the right places.
“But I’m hungry.”
“We’ll eat first,” Zach assures him. “Come on, I have something amazing planned. Where are your trunks?”
They end up at a shack that has the most amazing pulled pork Chris has ever tasted. It’s a quaint place packed with locals and a live ukulele band. When it starts getting too crowded inside, they take their beers outside to the picnic tables.
“Chris.” Zach taps his arm. “Chris, look.”
He glances up from peeling the label off his beer bottle and focuses his eyes toward the horizon. Ribbons of purple and pink mingle in the sky and bleed into a fiery orange where the sun meets the water. Everything’s so bright and saturated that it hurts to watch.
“So beautiful,” Chris murmurs. He hears Zach hum in agreement.
Zach drains the last of his beer. “You ready?”
Chris doesn’t know what he should be ready for, but he follows suit, finishing his beer and setting off after Zach. They hop the fence and walk along the water in silence until they reach a secluded bend. Zach whips his shirt over his head and tosses it at his feet. Carefully, he takes his glasses off, folds them, and leaves them on top of his shirt.
“Don’t step on my glasses,” he warns Chris playfully.
Chris lifts his foot and pretends to make a motion like he’s going to crush them, but Zach pulls on his arm and drags him toward the water.
“Hey, my shirt!” Chris yells between giggles.
By the time he manages to wrestle off his shirt, he’s knee deep in the bluish black water. Zach’s a few feet away from him, dunking his head under the surface, the beads of water that cling to his skin and hair glisten like crystals in the moonlight. They laugh like children, splashing water at each other and ducking underwater. Suddenly, Chris can’t see Zach. He turns and looks behind him, but the water is still.
“Zach?”
Seconds pass and he doesn’t know if he should call louder for Zach. Then, strong arms unexpectedly wrap around his waist and lift him into the air. He hears laughter as he’s flipped over Zach’s shoulder, landing backward in the water. Zach is so fucking strong. Chris is momentarily stunned before he realizes that he’s completely hard in his swim trunks. Paddling a little farther away, he tries to adjust himself, but it’s pointless.
“Don’t run away from me,” Zach whines and swims closer.
Chris feels the brush of Zach’s hand against his and gasps. He dives, afraid Zach will accidentally bump into him and discover his erection, but Zach just keeps pursuing him.
Eventually, the chase ends up on land and they run until they’re breathless and call for a truce. They pull their shirts back on and Chris is looking for his other flip flop when he chuckles to himself.
“This would’ve been an awesome date.”
As soon as the words leave Chris’ mouth, they both freeze. On the inside, he’s frantically thinking of a way to back peddle. Zach is staring at him with his mouth slightly open, blinkingly owlishly at him from behind his black frames.
“This was a date,” Zach says quietly. “These were all dates.”
“What?”
“Oh my god.” Zach covers his face. “I knew I wasn’t being obvious enough with you.” He straightens his shirt and beings to walk away.
“Wait. No, Zach, wait,” Chris calls after him. He grabs Zach’s wrist to stop him. “What are you talking about? These were dates?”
"Nevermind. Don't be mad."
"I'm not mad. I'm... I'm totally okay with it. I don't get how you throught I was agreeing to dates, though."
“I said, ‘Chris, do you want to have dinner with me?’ and you would say ‘Sure.’”
“But you never said the word 'date'! Is that how you ask people out on dates? You use the word “dinner” and you assume it’s synonymous?”
“I don’t know! I never hit on anyone! People hit on me!” Zach throws his hands up. “I don’t know how to ask someone out on a date! I’ve always been the one asked on a date! Or I just get blowjobs in the men’s bathroom!” He begins stomping away.
Chris takes two huge steps after Zach, and it dawns on him. The awkwardness all week. The ass crack comment. The compliment about the way he looked. Everything made sense now. Zach had been trying to flirt with him. Poorly.
“Wait. So you want to go on dates with me?”
“Alright,” Zach says, turning to face him. “I get it. I’m bad at this. Do we have to make it as painful as possible?”
“I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly.”
Zach sighs, relenting. “Yes, okay? I tried, but failed, to ask you out on dates because I like you. I like spending time with you and... I’ve missed you,” he confesses. “Something about us works and I just wanted to know if something more could work, too. I hover around your door after we walk to your hotel room because I keep hoping that one of these nights you’ll invite me inside.”
Chris swallows, but the lump in his throat won’t go away. He closes the space between them and wraps Zach up in a hug. They begin walking back to their hotel, kicking sand and looking up at the stars, neither one saying a word until they’re in the elevator.
“Do you want to come back to my room, Zach?”
There’s a pause, then quietly, “Yes.”
He’s barely gotten his door open before Zach’s hands are on his waist. Chris turns in his loose embrace and is nudged backward until he’s pinned against the wall, lips pressed to Zach’s.
They line up their hips and rut against each other, attempting to pull off their clothing at the same time. Somehow, they end up on the floor, Zach on top, holding him down with just the right amount of insistence, and it’s the hottest thing Chris has ever felt. His cock is drooling so much that his belly is covered in it and it dampens the curls of Zach’s bush, making them stick to his dick as they rub against each other.
“So hot,” Chris pants.
“Yeah.”
When Zach takes them both in his hand, Chris spreads his legs and cants his hips to the rhythm that Zach’s established. He can see Zach’s arm shaking with the effort of supporting his weight, trying not to crush Chris while draped over him. Chris lifts his head and places a trail of kisses down Zach’s neck. At the juncture of his neck and shoulder, Chris bites down, not hard enough to cause real pain, but enough to make Zach come with a growl that sounds a bit like Chris’ name.
Zach collapses on him, chest heaving and hips still twitching. He looks up with dazed eyes and shimmies down Chris’ body with adorably uncoordinated movements. It only takes a few flat-tongued licks and one hard, hollowed-cheeked suck before his vision goes white and Chris is coming with a shout. He feels Zach’s hands kneading his ass as he pulses in his mouth.
Zach flops down next to Chris, sated and exhausted, an arm thrown over his waist. Chris traces the outline of muscle on Zach’s bicep and shoulder, the sound of Zach’s breathing lulling him to sleep.
***
“Do it! Now! Get him back on this ship!”
Jim’s scrambles off the transporter pad, ignoring the pain in his leg, and continues yelling. Bones is there, catching Jim when he pitches forward. He isn’t even aware of what he’s saying, but he knows that there’s less than ten seconds before the window for safe transport closes and Spock is stranded on the planet for God knows how long.
“Cap’n, we’re tryin’!”
“Jim,” Bones says, waving the tricorder around his head. “You need to calm down. Spock will be fine.”
“Not now, Bones.”
With each second that ticks by, more dread fills Jim’s chest. Nothing happens and the transporter pad remains empty.
“Scotty!” Jim whirls around and hobbles over to the control panel where Scotty’s fingers are flying all over frantically.
“Jus’ gimme a sec!”
“We don’t have a sec to spare!”
And then he hears it, the swirl and chime of molecules being reassembled. When he looks up, Spock is standing there, blue tunic stained with his dried crimson blood, blank regulation pants, not a hair out of place. Jim is so relieved that he thinks his knees might give out.
“Mister Spock, if you ever pull stunt like that again,” Jim says sternly, but the beginnings of a smile betray him.
Tipping his head in acknowledgment, Spock steps off the transporter pad and returns a small smile to Jim. “Welcome back, Captain.”
“Welcome back, jerk faces.”
“John, seriously, I asked JJ like, four times if I could bring you with us to Hawaii and he said no,” Chris told him, sitting in his chair and wiping at his makeup with a towel.
“I don’t believe you,” Karl says, sidling up to them. “I think you at least owe us drinks.”
“Yeah,” John chimes in. “Drinks are the least you could do to make us feel better for missing out on that. Drinks. Tonight. Us three and Quinto.”
Chris shakes his head. “I can’t tonight. I have plans.”
“Boo, you whore,” John says and claps Chris on the back as he walks away with Karl.
Zach appears, toying with one of his ears. “What kind of plans?”
Chris blinks at him. Panic rises in him. Maybe that thing they did was just a Hawaii thing?
“You mean dinner?” Zach asks.
“Dinner? Or a date?” Chris squints at him.
Leaning in, Zach pulls at the sleeve of Chris’ gold command shirt. “As long I can get you to howl again, like the way you did last night, I don’t care what you want to call it.”
Heat pools in his groin and rises to his face. Blushing, Chris’s eyes flick to Zach’s brown ones. He nods. “So dinner date at my place, then?”