Zing! Went the Strings of My Heart! part 3/5
title: Zing! Went the Strings of my Heart! part 3/5
N.B. All thanks and notes etc, including links to the soundtrack mix as well as the movie poster are to found in the Zing! Masterlist!
by norfolkdumpling
back to part 2
Zing Went the Strings of my Heart
Part 3/5
They arrive in Risa shortly before dawn and speed through the spaghetti highways, past the busiest, most lucrative tourist locations in Alpha Quadrant.
Jim tries in vain to snooze in the mini-bus. Now he isn’t focused on Bones, he’s unable to erase the bloody images of what he and Hikaru had witnessed less than twelve hours before.
“It looks way nicer from here,” he mumbles into Hikaru’s shoulder, jabbing a finger in the direction of the smallest of the two moons, silver discs low over the dark jungle canopy.
“Word,” Hikaru says and shoves Jim over so he has to settle for snuggling the greasy window.
The Mambo Pinto is chi-chi and exclusive, famed (according to Spock) for its old-style music and conventions. For the next three weeks, Nyota’s band, Take Me to the Bridge, are the main act. They’ll headline a variety of themed nights, showcasing tunes from the early part of the twentieth century, with the occasional original Leonard McCoy number thrown in.
Jim leans on Hikaru’s double-bass in the lobby and examines their surroundings, his heels sinking into the deep pile carpet, and his wig wafting in the climate controlled lobby.
“Smells nice in here,” Jim yawns rubbing an eye and losing a clutch of eyelashes when he forgets he mustn’t touch.
“Bajorian violets,” Hikaru says, pinching a blossom on a tall stand close by.
Bones is a little bouncy in the line. He’s reverted to slightly manic euphoria now they’re on terra firma, having slipped away to the men’s room during the landing and suffered a noisy but smooth re-entry alone. He and Christine are roomies in 412 and he snatches up his keycard and they walk arm in arm to the elevator.
Jim has to stop himself punching the air when they’re allocated 414, for the thought of sleeping in a bed only inches away from Bones is making Jim’s mouth water. Almost as much as the prospect of removing his disguise in the privacy of their room and giving his balls some air. And he can’t wait to take a bath; Jim loves baths.
When the elevator pings, Hikaru, temporarily distracted by a purring floral display near a water cooler, reverses into a curly haired, skinny youth on the way out through the doors. The kid drops his sun-hat, Jim crashes into the pair of them, and both music cases land in a heap.
“I am most sorry,” the youth says, clicking his heels, gray eyes sweeping over the pair of them. They settle, to Jim’s surprise, on Hikaru. He has a strong accent, Russian maybe.
Brushing down his dress, Hikaru swears under his breath. He snatches up his purse, looks up and freezes half bent retrieving his beloved bull fiddle. His eyes widen, his mouth stretched into a rose red gape.
“Not at all, young man,” he croaks, ignoring Jim’s amused expression.
“Chekov, Pavel Andreievich,” the Russian announces, doing the click thing again, this time with a half bow making his curls tumble dramatically. He looks like Caravaggio’s wet dream with his cheek bones and innocent expression. But you don’t fool me, Jim thinks.
“If there is any damage, here is my card. I am most wealthy and would be happy to make good cost of repairs.” He reaches into the breast pocket of an immaculate suit jacket and hands his card to Hikaru, his nails sporting a better manicure than the two of them combined. “Good day to you, ladies. I hope to see you again.”
“I certainly hope so, young man,” Hikaru purrs, a definite flush to his cheeks.
Jim nudges Hikaru and nods towards the Russian with a little eyebrow raise. Hik finally closes his mouth and they both track the youth’s saunter to the front desk while they wait for the elevator to return. Jim overhears, “penthouse”, “boat”, and “laundry”, and snaps his purse shut hurriedly sure Hik has no idea he’s just picked the youth’s pocket or he’d have already suffered a lecture.
“Curly goodness,” Hikaru says shakily, walking into the elevator.
Jim grins, “And you’d never have to do a days work again as long as you live. Still he’s a little young for you, huh, Hik?”
Hikaru ignores this. “The accent alone, imagine that in your ear when you…?” he’s interrupted in his musings when the door swishes open on their floor. Hikaru looks questioningly at Jim when he doesn’t get out.
“Here, take my sax and run me a bath, I’ll be right back, I forgot something!”
+++
The room’s full of steam by the time Jim returns. He can see Hikaru through the half open door of the bathroom sitting on the john reading a PADD. Jim yanks off his wig, drags his dress over his head and dumps it on the hardwood floor. In just his bra, panties and panty hose, he turns his back hoping to conceal his trophy.
He lifts a wheat colored linen suit to the light and strokes it lovingly; being a girl has stoked his appreciation of fine men’s tailoring no end. He sniffs the cloth - it smells clean enough to him - then he slips the Russian’s key card and a tiny key (which also, somehow ended up in Jim’s hands during the collision in the lobby) into the inside pocket. He looks sideways at Hikaru - even thus occupied, his friend manages to look disapprovingly at him.
“What?”
“You’ll make a gorgeous 1920s lesbian, Jim. Where the fuck did you find that?”
Jim steps closer to the mirror; he strokes his chest and raises his arm above his head to sniff his armpit. He’s going to have to get busy with the wax, Jim thinks, scratching his belly-button. “It’s not stealing…I’m going to put it back.“ He runs a finger across the suit’s lapel then checks the label - fucking bespoke, wow, he hasn’t touched such fine fabric since that time he screwed the guy in…
“-Jim…”
“Look, I will put it back, okay - just as soon as I’ve…”
“-won your man? What are you, crazy? Don’t you see that whatever it is you’re planning to do isn’t going to work?” The john flushes and when Hikaru moves out of sight to wash his hands, Jim flips him the bird and hides two more suits and a white shirt under his mattress. He’s glad he thought to drape them on the chair when he came in, soon as he saw the bathroom door was open - Hik’s in a damn judgmental mood.
“What isn’t going to work? My plan is genius!” He calls over the sound of running water.
“Go on - talk me through it - I’m thrumming with excitement watching you at work…no, wait, let me guess…” Hikaru emerges from the bathroom and stands way too close to Jim, glancing down at the suit, “you’ll wear this and because you are the model that Armani never discovered but totally should have - that is what you keep saying right? Tell me if I’ve got it wrong…” Jim rolls his eyes as Hikaru continues, ”Oh yeah, then Len will fall in love with you because... “ Hikaru adopts his ‘Jim pose’, legs wide and this horrible smirk on his face, then launches into his Jim voice. “My eyes are man magnets.” Hikaru allows this to sink in then adds, “and I get to be flower girl. Awesome.”
“You’re talking way too loud, man,” Jim pouts, feeling his neck color.
Their eyes shoot to the door when there’s a sudden knock. Hikaru, who appears to have become way too fond of his disguise, still looks the part. Jim on the other hand looks like a hairy guy wearing women’s underwear - he needs to hide. Now.
“Be right there!” Hikaru calls, ushering Jim towards the bathroom.
“Hey ladies, what’s your room like?” Fuck, it’s Bones.
“Wait!” Jim mouths and he tears the bed covers back to conceal his suit before shoving his wig back on. He holds up a finger, indicating Hik gives him one more second until he can slide into the brimming bath, still in his underwear fumbling to arrange his bangs. “Fuck, Hik, this is way too hot-“
“Well sorry,” Hikaru sneers and moves deliberately to the door panel, punching it with a force Jim’s sure Hikaru wants to apply to his face. The guy needs to chill the fuck out.
Jim has to stop himself gasping at the sight of Bones in sparkling white boxers and nothing else. He looks as fresh as a daisy and smells like a bowl of fruit.
Luckily Hikaru must have emptied an entire bottle of complimentary bubble bath into the water which conceals Jim’s less than womanly chest hair. It also hides Little Jim, who has perked up and has decided to play a game of ‘up periscope’.
Bones runs a hand through freshly showered hair revealing a dark shock of hair under his arms. He sits on the edge of the bed, tan, muscular legs a mile long. Jim can’t hold back a groan, and sinks deeper arranging the foam as best he can.
“Nice, Jem?” Bones smiles from the doorway all dimples and sparkly puppy eyes.
“Oh, yeah…” Jim manages, lifting a face cloth to his eyes. “Aching limbs - nothing like a bath for those…”He slides one hand under the water and gives his cock a reassuring squeeze then hastily pulls out when Bones sounds a lot closer.
“Your room’s better than ours, we only have a shower.”
Jim teases up a corner of the face cloth and can’t help making a little strangled noise when he sees Bones crouching by the bath, elbows on the side, chin on hands, his beautiful, soft mouth inches away. Damn it’s a good thing the water’s deep or he’d be so busted, Little Jim craning instinctively towards his goal.
Jim puts everything he’s got into sounding nonchalant. “I’ll come take a look later.”
“I don’t mind swapping, you can sleep here with Jemima,” Hikaru says magnanimously, “Though, Len, she snores like a man, I’m warning you!” The bastard.
“That’s real sweet of you, Daphne, but Christine would never forgive me if I abandoned her - she likes me to snuggle up.”
Snuggle? Not fair - Jim fucking loves snuggling only Hikaru never will, no matter how cold it is. “Well, there you go,” Jim says, his voice muffled by the cloth, “and I wouldn’t like the snuggling - I’m a bed hog.”
“That she is,” Hikaru agrees now also standing in the bathroom. Jim can feel both sets of eyes boring into him and he tosses the cloth into the water, squirming a little at the way Bones is gazing at him with a slight frown on his face.
“Hey, Jem, you okay? You look a little pink around the cheeks…” and, oh god, no, long fingers fold as Bones moves his knuckles to feel Jim’s cheek, Jim’s slightly stubbled cheek. “You look kind of sooty again,” Bones says, but he hasn’t put two and two together. Yet.
“Don’t mention the facial hair, Leonard, she’ll cry.” Hikaru smirks moving out of sight to the balcony. “Computer, doors!” A blast of tropical air, the sound of sea birds circling the harbor and hover cars pulling up below, flood the room. “Will you lookit this view!”
“Yeah…” Jim breathes as Bones straightens elegantly and lopes away, his taut ass rolling out of reach. His hand goes under the water again, but it’s to press to his stomach - fuck, he feels a little queasy. “Computer, close bathroom door,” he mutters, unable to cope with another glimpse of Bones looking like that until he’s at least caught up on some sleep.
+++
A two hour nap and, yeah, a long, slow jerk-off in the bath, and Jim feels good as new. He’s scored something from Christine to numb his feet. She seems to have quite a collection of goodies in her bag - “How do you know this stuff?” He sighs while hypoing the balls of his feet - now he can wear the shoes again.
“Leo and me, we met in med school.” She clicks her bag shut and toes it under the bed.
Bones has gone ahead to rehearsal in the ballroom and Jim’s kinda glad to have an opportunity to talk to Chris, find out something about Bones, and see if there’s anything to learn he can use to bag his man. There’s a little voice in Jim’s head that won’t shut up. It keeps reminding Jim that Bones is a decent guy, how he’d hate Jim for lying and for twisting shit so he can find an opportunity for an in. Jim pushes such thoughts away. His plan’s so going to work - Bones will be powerless in the light of his persistence, just see if he isn’t.
“That’s why Spock calls him ‘doctor’.”
“Yep,” she moves to the door, “and because it irritates the hell out of him.” They head to the elevator.
“That doesn’t seem very, I don’t know, Vulcan,” Jim remarks.
Christine laughs, a great throaty laugh which makes Jim grin. “No it isn’t. Spock’s not your regular Vulcan, you’ll see… and Len’s very fond of him, though he’d sooner have his eyeballs fried than admit such a thing.”
“Why did he drop out of med school?”
“Man trouble. Well, sax player trouble, the infamous Joss - we like to call him ‘The Bastard’ round these parts,” she air-quotes with pink tipped fingers. “They met in high school, but Joss was a package; he couldn’t deal with Len being away and had an affair. And our Len doesn’t forgive and forget - if someone breaks his trust, they’re gonners.”
Jim scalp prickles and he falls silent.
They cross the lobby and enter the ballroom. Christine whistles in appreciation. Jim turns a circle taking in the tall, elegant windows hung with miles of billowy nets and rich velvet, the gleaming chandeliers, a dance floor and round tables dressed in white.
“It’s a fucking barn- how’re we going to fill it?”
“It’ll be jumping by 8 o’clock tonight, see if it isn’t,” Chris reassures him. “There’s a convention comes out here every year -they all look very cool, wearing the fringed skirts and spats. Only thing missing is cigarette smoke, but you can take authenticity a bit far, right?”
Jim nods and follows her to the low stage on one side of the dance floor. There’s no sign of Bones, only Spock sitting ram rod straight at the grand with, to Jim’s amusement, Nyota perched on his lap. Their eyes are both closed as they indulge in a long kiss, sweet and gentle. Something about the image reminds Jim of swans and he feels a little twist in his gut that he’ll never have something like this.
“Aww, look at you two love birds,” he coos, winking at Christine. The pair break apart and Nyota brushes some imaginary lint off her blouse. He fancies there’s a slight green tinge to Spock’s cheeks, but it could be a trick of the light, though the smudge of lipstick on his mouth is real enough.
“You’re early,” she says and Spock stands all politeness but again, Jim fancies he can detect something close to discomfort in his body language. Curioser and curioser - the Vulcan’s he’s met, and that’s not many, are pretty much a closed book. What the hell is up with Spock? Then he remembers that Spock’s fully aware of his real identity as well as why he’s here and Jim puts the questions aside for now. He jumps onto the stage and rests his case on a chair in front of the piano.
“Couldn’t wait. I guess,” Jim says turning to see Hikaru finally stroll in with his bass. Jim inserts the mouth piece into his sax and wets his lips - “Wanna get started, warm up some?”
“Sure thing,” Nyota says, “Pent Up House…” Jim toes his foot-pedal, turns the sax to bass, holds her eye, “2, 3 and…”
***Pent Up House***
She comes in two beats behind him in perfect time, and Jim knows that any doubts she might have had about him, will be completely dispelled - they’re just slick together, immediately in tune. She faces him, and they repeat, then when Jim hits his solo, Christine strokes the drums.
He watches Spock’s fingers begin to move, face impassive and head slightly cocked to the left. He’s good, damned good but it’s not until Spock noodles through the next solo that Jim finds himself wondering how the hell a Vulcan can play jazz anyway. The chaotic, frenzied brass synchronizes beautifully with the calm, bluesy piano and he only notices Bones has joined them when they’ve finished and he turns to see where the clapping’s coming from.
“This a private affair, or can anyone join in?” Bones drawls, popping the last of an ice-cream cone into his mouth then licking his lips.
“An illogical comment since we are in the same ensemble,” Spock replies, folding his arms.
Bones grins and takes two long strides to the piano, “Groovy,” he says putting on a ‘hep cat’ voice, then grins wide when Spock arches an eyebrow. “It’s weird, huh, the way he does this - plays jazz?” Bones says over his shoulder to Jim.
“Yes, I admit I was thinking that,” Hikaru whispers.
“I find the number of mathematical permutations…interesting,” Spock explains.
“Do you now?” Bones says, raising an eyebrow at Jim. See? There’s a bond forming already! - Jim tries to transmit wordlessly to Hikaru who refuses to catch his eye.
Jim grins stupidly when Bones lifts a stool to the front of the stage and settles on it, faded jeans pulling as he allows his thighs to splay, tight t-shirt struggling to hide his broad chest. Jim’s started to play a little sexy refrain in his head every time he sets eyes on Bones, like the ones they used to play in old time movies to herald the sexy ‘broad’ making an entrance as the camera panned up her legs - bwa-na-na-bwa-bwa-BWAAA. In Jim’s totally un-humble opinion, Bones is hotter than any Hollywood siren ever was with his full lips and easy loping walk.
“You want to try something, Len? How about that new song you’ve been working on?” Nyota says, fortunately oblivious to Jim’s internal musings.
“Sure.” Bones reaches into his back pocket and takes out his comm. “Here’s the piano arrangement, Spock. I’ll send it to your PADD.” Bones waits while Spock glances over it then nods he’s ready. “I’ll need to get Number One to come up with some strings, maybe oboe - I’ve got it roughed out on here too - but we’ll do it like this for now. You sure you’ve got it?”
Spock’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly but he makes no comment, merely launches into a flawless, plaintive piano intro.
***This Love Affair***
Jim’s breaths become shallow when Bones lowers his eyes and sings, cradling the mic in his right hand, eyes closed as he loses himself in the lyrics. His voice cracking with emotion, lush and deep and penetrating.
The song is autobiographical, evident by the sheen of tears in Bones’ dark eyes when they open again, though Jim realizes Bones can’t see any of them; he’s inhabiting a pain once felt, one he transforms through his voice into something beautiful which speaks to all of them. Jim, if he ever had any doubt, knows in this moment that he loves this man. It’s a feeling he hates. It makes him feel uncharacteristically weak and backed up in a corner, and painfully aware of all his short-comings.
Jim’s fingers clutch the neck of his sax and he drags his eyes away to scan the rest of the band who are standing and sitting in reverent stillness. Christine blinks back tears as she listens. Jim suspects she’s heard this before, knows that Bones runs his songs past her first, and he feels a ridiculous shot of jealousy that he’s not the one so close.
I don't know where I'm going
But I do know that I'm walking
Where?
I don't know
Just away from this love affair
The lyrics are deceptive in their simplicity yet far from prosaic. Jim thinks the wonders of the universe can fuck right off because, this is the sublime, right here in baritone and jeans.
I can't say that I'm waltzin'
Not that I don't like waltzing
Would rather be waltzin' with you
The applause and whoops from the band shake Bones out of his little world. He gives a self-deprecating, wonky grin and inclines his head with an unspoken ‘you’re welcome’.
Jim doesn’t clap; he daren’t move, worried he’ll draw attention to himself and the aurora of cupids which must be waltzing in pairs around his head. He looks away when Hikaru touches him lightly on the arm and lets out a relieved breath when Nyota passes across their field of vision temporarily allowing Jim to gather himself. She hugs Bones whose large hand pats her fraternally on the back.
“It’s great, Len, you up for including it in tonight’s set?”
“Yeah, if Number One’s sure she’s got it…”
Number One makes the sign for ‘okay’ and Bones passes her his comm so she can upload too. Nyota whispers something in his ear and turns to face them. Jim stretches his lips, runs his tongue across his teeth waiting for the next number to appear on the PADD. He’s seen the set list but he’s learned already that rehearsal’s a fluid affair with these guys and as much for experimentation, for bonding, as anything else. He feels a pang, knowing they’ll have to leave this happy little family soon - wishing he could be a part of it on honest terms, but it’s not possible. No way.
Nyota taps her screen, and Jim’s PADD refreshes.
“Ladies, you ready? After that amount of sadness, we need to goose it up a little! Feeling Good, after four…” She counts them in, finger-clicking with her left hand, her other poised with the trumpet against her lips.
The old Nina Simone classic is given that big band feel through Number One’s magic - adding strings, making Nyota sound like half a dozen trumpets, and mixing in a tuba track to give Jim’s sax more muscle.
Bones transforms into cocktail lounge lizard, striding across the stage, owning the lot of them, clicking his fingers through the middle eight and even flirting from the stage with the cleaning staff who pause in their work to watch.
***Feeling Good***
“Good job everyone - we’ll close on that tonight.” Nyota wipes her brow, “Okay, water break, we’ll keep at it and hit the beach in an hour!”
The beach? Fuck - Jim hasn’t got a thing to wear.
+++
“You don’t want to come? But you love the beach, Jim!”
Hikaru tosses sun lotion into a canvas bag and adjusts his sunglasses. He looks at himself in the mirror and removes them again to pull on a floppy sun hat.
Not strictly speaking - not with this skin, but Jim shrugs. “It’s cool, you go - I’m tired.” Plus, he does not want to have to shave his chest, armpits and legs like he just helped a complaining Hikaru do.
His friend looks faintly ridiculous in his one piece swimwear, cock tucked down the middle underwear model style, package barely concealed by the vintage style swimsuit’s flouncy skirt.
They’ve managed to get a small advance from Nyota, reminding her they lost everything when they were ‘mugged’ and now Hikaru has a whole new wardrobe, including the paneled one-piece in fetching violet. Jim’s not convinced by the swim hat despite agreeing a wig wouldn’t survive the water despite being made of finest, replicated human hair.
“You know how those girls are going to wrestle and try and duck me under-“ Hikaru’s saying, throwing the cap into the bag.
Jim narrows his eyes while he thinks about it. Wet, slippery girls…well, maybe…
“No, Hik, I’m tired. Need to be at my best tonight.”
“Since when did Jim Kirk say no to some semi-nude fun? I’m getting worried about you.”
“Being in love’s fucking tiring,” Jim says earnestly. He’s lying naked on the bed, tooting the sax tunelessly, flexing and un-flexing his tortured toes. When the fuck is Hik going to leave already?
Hikaru shakes his head and pulls a sun-dress over it, struggling to get it down over his broad shoulders. Serve him right for lying about his dress size - lying to a replicator, seriously…
“Okay, lover-boy, I’ll see you later!”
Finally!
Jim yawns theatrically, lifting a ‘weary’ hand to wave as the door closes behind his friend’s fine ass. Then he leaps out of bed and reaches underneath it where he’s stashed the Russian’s clothing borrowed from the laundry room.
He decides on the linen suit, and roots through his purse for his reading glasses - they’ll provide that final, killer touch.
Dressing is an unexpected pleasure, the shirt slipping across his shoulders. It’s made from finest Egyptian cotton - something he’s never been able to afford. Dammnit - it feels good to be himself again, with the afternoon stubble on his cheek okay to stay, and his face clean of thick make-up. He grins at his reflection, mimes hand guns, “Welcome back, James T. Kirk,” he says and strolls out of the room barefoot.
He wonders up and down a few corridors hoping to find shoes waiting to be cleaned that will fit. In the end he’s forced to buy a pair of chucks (it’s all he can afford) from the hotel boutique. They don’t really go with the fine tailoring but he hopes it’ll come over as the eccentricity of the rich - or at the very least hipster cool.
He makes for the bar and orders a double shot of bourbon to steel himself, “Put it on 414’s tab,” he says grinning when he spots Nyota. She’s in a red polka dot sun-dress buying water to take to the beach.
“Hi!” he says, enjoying his man voice. She narrows her eyes and gazes at his face long enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable.
“Do I know you?”
He leans in to give her the full wattage of his boyish smile. “Do you want to?”
She really doesn’t look like she does, but it’s fun knowing she doesn’t see Jemima sitting on the stool. When he opens his mouth to use one of his killer lines he’s cut short by Nyota’s eyes sweeping his face; she lifts her chin and turns on her ankle like a dancer, her pony tail swinging behind her. Spock is one lucky Vulcan he thinks, leaning half off the stool so he can track her lovely butt as she leaves the bar.
He waits another ten minutes and heads for the dock where he examines all the boats there and lifts a hand to shade his eyes to scan those moored further from the jetty - he hasn’t a clue which one is Chekov’s.
A guy sidles up to him and makes an approving sound, pointing in the general direction Jim was looking.
“That’s one beauty,” the guy says, “The Enterprise, belongs to that millionaire Russian kid, first time he’s come up here without his folks.”
Score!
The boat’s a glorious vintage, perfectly restored, twentieth century fantail yacht, its wood shining in the sun.
“Wasted on the kid. He doesn’t spend a whole lot of time on it.That’s his boat right here.” The guy points down the line to a small hover-boat. Jim can’t believe his luck.
“They don’t make them like that anymore,” he says sincerely and, after a few more minutes talking boats, he says goodbye and heads to the beach.
As Jim strides along the boardwalk, he spies the girls playing volleyball and, thank you god, Bones is out there too, diving about on the sand and making full use of his height. It’s bright and sunny and, because it’s Risa, the temperature is perfect. Now all he has to do is get Bones to spot him and the rest will be history!
Jim smiles to himself when the hotel radio, blaring out over the speakers, kicks off with one of his favorite tunes, totally designed for James Kirk looking mighty fine (if he says so himself) to make an entrance. He puts one hand in his pocket, the other holding the hat. He sighs happily when he sees out of the corner of his eye how when Christine spots him, she nudges Bones who stops dead, holding the ball in one big hand while he tracks Jim’s progress along the walkway.
***Peter Gunn Mambo***
Jim times it perfectly, glancing sideways at Bones, and utilizing one of his best ‘what? cruising? me?’ looks which never fail him. It’s got to be the right blend of aloof and maybe-available and Jim’s the master of this shit. He goes with his gut feeling that the only way to get into Bones’ head and stay there is to irritate him and turn him on at the same time.
He finds an empty chair under an umbrella far away enough from where Spock is sunning himself, looking very serene in immaculate navy blue shorts. It’s also close enough to Bones and the girls so a stray ball might give Jim an opportunity for an in.
Jim kicks off his shoes, places his hat on his lap and perches his reading glasses half way down his nose. He fires up the cheap, complimentary PADD he found in the hotel drawer. It’s full of ‘inspirational’ texts. Of course, he’s not interested in reading, it’s just a shield as he watches Bones surreptitiously over the top of it.
The girls are in bikinis and wearing baseball caps and Bones looks fucking edible in his white trunks, his skin olive and gleaming with sweat and sun cream. Hikaru’s there too, naturally, but Jim tells himself if he's spotted he'll deal with that when it happens.
It’s some time before fate deals Jim a hand and the ball comes rolling towards him to stop at his feet. He counts under his breath, partly to keep calm, “One-elephant, two-elephant...” Eleven elephants later a long shadow falls across him and a pair of familiar feet come to a halt in his peripheral vision. The toes twitch in the sand inches from his own.
Jim tsks irritably, “Hey, sir, careful!” he says in faux irritation and trying on his Russian accent. He keeps his eyes fixed on the PADD and turns his body away a little.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, our bass player, Daphne’s gotta helluva punch on her.”
When Jim grunts, Bones crouches down and peers at him. Jim can smell clean sweat, potato chips, he thinks, and he’s real glad his hat’s where it is because his senses seem to go haywire when Bones is around and fucking everything turns him on.
“It iz no problem, now leave.” Without looking up, Jim waves a hand in the direction of the volley-ball pitch, “I am reading journal.” He places his forefinger to his bottom lip and teases it as if he’s trying to concentrate.
“Hey, I said I was sorry.” Ah, there’s that snarky tone he’s only ever heard Bones use on Spock. Truth be told, it kind of turns him on, all growly and drawly like that. And he can’t help wondering what that attitude would be like if (when) they’re in bed. It’s a strain for Jim, reining in his natural charm, but he needs to keep the fish on the line.
“Is true and thank you, but I am nevertheless irritated by how you broke my concentration. I was reading a very complex study in ziss medical journal.”
“Is that right?”
Finally Jim allows himself to look up . His eyes trail up, past Bones’ white shorts, mercifully not wet because, if they were, Jim might find himself wrestling Bones to the sand. It’s so not the kind of behavior you expect in a public place. The baggy shorts have slid down so Bones’ hipbones are at eye level, as is the fine line of hair disappearing tantalizingly out of sight.
“Yes, is right.” Jim crosses his legs and pushes his glasses up. He looks Bones right in the eyes which are narrowed, crazy eyebrows drawn together; Jim’s desperate to sweep his tongue across them. “Now, if you will excuse me…”
“Excuse you? What’s your problem, mister?”
“My problem iz I am trying to work and I have been rudely interrupted.”
“Unbelievable.” Bones picks up the ball one-handed. “You make sure and have a nice fucking day, why don’t you?” And with that he saunters away back to the group muttering under his breath. Damn, Jim hopes he hasn’t overplayed it.
Jim sees Bones waving his hands around and pointing in his direction. Jim’s hoping against hope he’s telling Hikaru all about the hot Russian guy with the killer blue eyes. When Hikaru throws down his sunhat and stomps towards Jim, he makes a pointless attempt to look very small. He should have anticipated how, Hikaru, ever the gentleman, would never stand for rudeness. Jim’s had to hold him back many times - Hik’s the kind of guy who just won’t let hair in the soup go by. Ever. Fuck.
Jim’s shielding his face with the PADD. “Sir!” Hikaru’s growling, “Way I hear it - you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘manners’ - why the…” Hikaru’s mouth falls open when he taps the PADD to make him move it, and sees it’s Jim. He stares speechless for some moments before shooting a look over his shoulder and then back to Jim. “Jim? What the ever loving fuck?”
“I’m not Jim,” he replies weakly with the lame accent, “I am Mr. Chekov, Russian millionaire. Zat is who I am.” It’s worth a try…
“You’re an asshole. You’re going to get us busted here. Why were you so rude to Len? I had to stop him coming back here to punch you out. Good thing I said it was better a woman handle it.”
“It’s unresolved sexual tension. I will marry him, zen he’ll forgive me.”
Hikaru clenches his hands by his thighs. “And what’s with the accent, no one talks like zat!”
Jim raises a finger coolly to his lips, refusing to be crushed - seriously, it’s the best accent he can do and Hikaru is being less than supportive. “If you continue to call me zis - Jim - I will report you to the police. I am trying to work and now you interrupt me too. I ef been coming here for years and this place is not what it used to be.”
“Yeah, right, now it’s FULL OF LIARS…and…have you even thought what would happen if the real Russian finds out you’ve been impersonating him and stolen his suit? You’re going to land us both in jail, Jim.” Jim really doesn’t know what to say to that, not that he can get a word in. “Look,” Hikaru says, lowering his voice, “I’d better go back; they’re going to be wondering why I’m taking so long.” Indeed the girls are standing by Bones who, arms folded, is watching them talk. Jim pushes past Hikaru and turns his back on his judge and jury.
“Hik, you’ve got to help me out here,” he says, dropping the accent, ”I fucked up. I hoped playing hard to get would get him interested but now he just thinks I’m a dick. Tell him I’m sorry, okay, tell him I’ll make it up to him and for him to come to my yacht tonight for supper and drinks. He’ll trust you - come on, man just-”
Hikaru scowls and holds up his hand to shut Jim up. “-don’t say it.” Jim clamps his lips tight, waits for Hikaru to soften. “What about the Russian? You know, who’s the actual owner of the yacht?”
“It’ll all work out - everything always works out for me, Hik, you know that?”
“Everything works out? That’s why we’re here on the run, worried for our lives. You know Nero will have followed us here, don’t you? He knows we were on that cargo ship and if he didn’t, he’d only have to ask around. I don’t want to end up in a morgue in a dress.”
“But you look so pretty in a dress,” Jim tries.
“I’m sick of being your conscience, Jim. You need to grow up.”
“I’m twenty-two, Hik, give me a break. I’ve never been in love before - I’m learning-“
“I don’t think you are. Len’s too decent a guy to do this to him.”
“I can make him happy-“ Jim places his hat on his head. “Shake my hand and nod, Len’s looking over, quick.”
Hikaru frowns, “Okay, but you’ve gotta promise me you won’t do anything to hurt him, okay?” This quite moves Jim.
He spreads the fingers of his right hand over his heart, “Scout’s honor, on my father’s grave, okay?” He really means it too. This seems good enough for Hikaru who takes the same hand and shakes it. “Tell him midnight, after the show, on the dock. I’ll take him out on the hover-boat. Please? Tell him I’m sorry and that I had some bad news or something and that’s why I was so rude, k?”
Hikaru blows out an exasperated breath and turns to return to the group. Jim raises his hand in a sheepish little wave. Bones doesn’t wave back, just gives him a long, assessing look. Hikaru takes Bones to one side and hopefully does what he does best - covering up for Jim.
Jim doesn’t wait to see what happens. He feels like he’s run a marathon, so he picks up his things and walks quickly back to the hotel to get back into his tights.
+++
“Oh my god, he’s here, look - the hot Russian guy!” Hikaru elbows Jim in the ribs. “No, don’t look, he’ll see us. Shit - he’s so hot.”
Jim doesn’t want to tear his eyes away from the vision of Bones in a tuxedo, hair all slicked back and even more handsome (if that’s actually possible) now his tan’s been topped up by an afternoon in the sun.
“What? Shut up, I’m working here.”
“He keeps looking over, Jim - I am so in!”
That’s when the penny drops. This is fucking perfect!
The Russian’s sitting at the best table right up close to the stage, and when he sees Jim looking, he raises a champagne flute, amazingly enough bypassing Jim’s smile to check out his best friend.
“Catch his eye!” Jim insists.
“No need, bro, he’s mine already! Fish is bi-ting!”
Hikaru’s not wrong; half way through the set, they take a break and a waiter brings over a bottle of champagne.
“Compliments of Mr. Chekov,” he announces, handing a white envelope to Hikaru. The Russian’s left the ballroom temporarily, his jacket still draped over the back of his chair, so Jim snatches the note from Hik’s hand and scours its contents.
“An invitation to supper on the boat. Perfect!” Jim glances at Bones then calls the waiter back, whispers in his ear. Hikaru punches Jim on the shoulder when he sees the note being re-delivered to Bones. Jim’s heart does a little dance as he watches out of the corner of his eye how Bones lowers his bottle of water and reads the note with a scowl. Please, Bones, come on…
Jim holds his breath; there’s no clue in that scowly expression as to whether or not he’ll accept. At least he’s scanning the few faces that are visible in the dim lighting, looking for the man who invited him, looking for Jim.
Bones gives a little shrug and places the champagne at the back of the stage, before tapping something on the PADD on the nearest music stand. Jim’s PADD pings along with everyone else’s and he sees a change of plan. It’s not a song he knows, and must be another Bones original. Jim scans the clarinet sheet waiting for his cue from Nyota. The song will be his answer, Jim knows it.
Bones adjusts the mic, takes up his guitar and nods at Nyota to indicate he’s ready.
Jim suspects Bones will be warring with himself. One thing he’s learned from past experience that the sight of Jim Kirk in spectacles would melt the hardest of hearts, and Leonard McCoy’s heart is the warmest Jim’s ever encountered, Jim’s pretty damn sure he won’t be able to say no.
Number One hits the backing vocal track and Bones begins to sing:
***Crumb by Crumb***
Maybe in you I’ll believe
Maybe I’ll believe in you
The future of
My understanding of love
Many a time I’ve before
Before I’ve many a time
Knocked a stranger’s door
Discretion hardly I’m know for
The sentiment is all in the louche delivery, and the beauty of Bones’ rough molasses voice, hopeful and cynical all at once. He strums a folksy riff, and since the clarinet only makes a brief appearance, adding an extra romantic swell to the sound, Jim’s mostly free just to watch and enjoy.
By the end of the song, he’s not certain Bones will come. Fact is, going by the lyrics, maybe Bones isn’t sure either.
Jim sees Chekov’s and takes in how the Russian’s eyes are boring into Hikaru. When the song’s over Hikaru nods coyly towards his suitor who beams back.
It’s all going to work out just fine, Jim tells himself - the only thing Jim has left to do is persuade Hik to forgo romance on the boat for some in the penthouse instead and keep the real Russian occupied so that Jim can give Bones the night of his life.
Man, the hour till midnight sure is going to drag.
on to part 4
N.B. All thanks and notes etc, including links to the soundtrack mix as well as the movie poster are to found in the Zing! Masterlist!
by norfolkdumpling
back to part 2
Zing Went the Strings of my Heart
Part 3/5
They arrive in Risa shortly before dawn and speed through the spaghetti highways, past the busiest, most lucrative tourist locations in Alpha Quadrant.
Jim tries in vain to snooze in the mini-bus. Now he isn’t focused on Bones, he’s unable to erase the bloody images of what he and Hikaru had witnessed less than twelve hours before.
“It looks way nicer from here,” he mumbles into Hikaru’s shoulder, jabbing a finger in the direction of the smallest of the two moons, silver discs low over the dark jungle canopy.
“Word,” Hikaru says and shoves Jim over so he has to settle for snuggling the greasy window.
The Mambo Pinto is chi-chi and exclusive, famed (according to Spock) for its old-style music and conventions. For the next three weeks, Nyota’s band, Take Me to the Bridge, are the main act. They’ll headline a variety of themed nights, showcasing tunes from the early part of the twentieth century, with the occasional original Leonard McCoy number thrown in.
Jim leans on Hikaru’s double-bass in the lobby and examines their surroundings, his heels sinking into the deep pile carpet, and his wig wafting in the climate controlled lobby.
“Smells nice in here,” Jim yawns rubbing an eye and losing a clutch of eyelashes when he forgets he mustn’t touch.
“Bajorian violets,” Hikaru says, pinching a blossom on a tall stand close by.
Bones is a little bouncy in the line. He’s reverted to slightly manic euphoria now they’re on terra firma, having slipped away to the men’s room during the landing and suffered a noisy but smooth re-entry alone. He and Christine are roomies in 412 and he snatches up his keycard and they walk arm in arm to the elevator.
Jim has to stop himself punching the air when they’re allocated 414, for the thought of sleeping in a bed only inches away from Bones is making Jim’s mouth water. Almost as much as the prospect of removing his disguise in the privacy of their room and giving his balls some air. And he can’t wait to take a bath; Jim loves baths.
When the elevator pings, Hikaru, temporarily distracted by a purring floral display near a water cooler, reverses into a curly haired, skinny youth on the way out through the doors. The kid drops his sun-hat, Jim crashes into the pair of them, and both music cases land in a heap.
“I am most sorry,” the youth says, clicking his heels, gray eyes sweeping over the pair of them. They settle, to Jim’s surprise, on Hikaru. He has a strong accent, Russian maybe.
Brushing down his dress, Hikaru swears under his breath. He snatches up his purse, looks up and freezes half bent retrieving his beloved bull fiddle. His eyes widen, his mouth stretched into a rose red gape.
“Not at all, young man,” he croaks, ignoring Jim’s amused expression.
“Chekov, Pavel Andreievich,” the Russian announces, doing the click thing again, this time with a half bow making his curls tumble dramatically. He looks like Caravaggio’s wet dream with his cheek bones and innocent expression. But you don’t fool me, Jim thinks.
“If there is any damage, here is my card. I am most wealthy and would be happy to make good cost of repairs.” He reaches into the breast pocket of an immaculate suit jacket and hands his card to Hikaru, his nails sporting a better manicure than the two of them combined. “Good day to you, ladies. I hope to see you again.”
“I certainly hope so, young man,” Hikaru purrs, a definite flush to his cheeks.
Jim nudges Hikaru and nods towards the Russian with a little eyebrow raise. Hik finally closes his mouth and they both track the youth’s saunter to the front desk while they wait for the elevator to return. Jim overhears, “penthouse”, “boat”, and “laundry”, and snaps his purse shut hurriedly sure Hik has no idea he’s just picked the youth’s pocket or he’d have already suffered a lecture.
“Curly goodness,” Hikaru says shakily, walking into the elevator.
Jim grins, “And you’d never have to do a days work again as long as you live. Still he’s a little young for you, huh, Hik?”
Hikaru ignores this. “The accent alone, imagine that in your ear when you…?” he’s interrupted in his musings when the door swishes open on their floor. Hikaru looks questioningly at Jim when he doesn’t get out.
“Here, take my sax and run me a bath, I’ll be right back, I forgot something!”
+++
The room’s full of steam by the time Jim returns. He can see Hikaru through the half open door of the bathroom sitting on the john reading a PADD. Jim yanks off his wig, drags his dress over his head and dumps it on the hardwood floor. In just his bra, panties and panty hose, he turns his back hoping to conceal his trophy.
He lifts a wheat colored linen suit to the light and strokes it lovingly; being a girl has stoked his appreciation of fine men’s tailoring no end. He sniffs the cloth - it smells clean enough to him - then he slips the Russian’s key card and a tiny key (which also, somehow ended up in Jim’s hands during the collision in the lobby) into the inside pocket. He looks sideways at Hikaru - even thus occupied, his friend manages to look disapprovingly at him.
“What?”
“You’ll make a gorgeous 1920s lesbian, Jim. Where the fuck did you find that?”
Jim steps closer to the mirror; he strokes his chest and raises his arm above his head to sniff his armpit. He’s going to have to get busy with the wax, Jim thinks, scratching his belly-button. “It’s not stealing…I’m going to put it back.“ He runs a finger across the suit’s lapel then checks the label - fucking bespoke, wow, he hasn’t touched such fine fabric since that time he screwed the guy in…
“-Jim…”
“Look, I will put it back, okay - just as soon as I’ve…”
“-won your man? What are you, crazy? Don’t you see that whatever it is you’re planning to do isn’t going to work?” The john flushes and when Hikaru moves out of sight to wash his hands, Jim flips him the bird and hides two more suits and a white shirt under his mattress. He’s glad he thought to drape them on the chair when he came in, soon as he saw the bathroom door was open - Hik’s in a damn judgmental mood.
“What isn’t going to work? My plan is genius!” He calls over the sound of running water.
“Go on - talk me through it - I’m thrumming with excitement watching you at work…no, wait, let me guess…” Hikaru emerges from the bathroom and stands way too close to Jim, glancing down at the suit, “you’ll wear this and because you are the model that Armani never discovered but totally should have - that is what you keep saying right? Tell me if I’ve got it wrong…” Jim rolls his eyes as Hikaru continues, ”Oh yeah, then Len will fall in love with you because... “ Hikaru adopts his ‘Jim pose’, legs wide and this horrible smirk on his face, then launches into his Jim voice. “My eyes are man magnets.” Hikaru allows this to sink in then adds, “and I get to be flower girl. Awesome.”
“You’re talking way too loud, man,” Jim pouts, feeling his neck color.
Their eyes shoot to the door when there’s a sudden knock. Hikaru, who appears to have become way too fond of his disguise, still looks the part. Jim on the other hand looks like a hairy guy wearing women’s underwear - he needs to hide. Now.
“Be right there!” Hikaru calls, ushering Jim towards the bathroom.
“Hey ladies, what’s your room like?” Fuck, it’s Bones.
“Wait!” Jim mouths and he tears the bed covers back to conceal his suit before shoving his wig back on. He holds up a finger, indicating Hik gives him one more second until he can slide into the brimming bath, still in his underwear fumbling to arrange his bangs. “Fuck, Hik, this is way too hot-“
“Well sorry,” Hikaru sneers and moves deliberately to the door panel, punching it with a force Jim’s sure Hikaru wants to apply to his face. The guy needs to chill the fuck out.
Jim has to stop himself gasping at the sight of Bones in sparkling white boxers and nothing else. He looks as fresh as a daisy and smells like a bowl of fruit.
Luckily Hikaru must have emptied an entire bottle of complimentary bubble bath into the water which conceals Jim’s less than womanly chest hair. It also hides Little Jim, who has perked up and has decided to play a game of ‘up periscope’.
Bones runs a hand through freshly showered hair revealing a dark shock of hair under his arms. He sits on the edge of the bed, tan, muscular legs a mile long. Jim can’t hold back a groan, and sinks deeper arranging the foam as best he can.
“Nice, Jem?” Bones smiles from the doorway all dimples and sparkly puppy eyes.
“Oh, yeah…” Jim manages, lifting a face cloth to his eyes. “Aching limbs - nothing like a bath for those…”He slides one hand under the water and gives his cock a reassuring squeeze then hastily pulls out when Bones sounds a lot closer.
“Your room’s better than ours, we only have a shower.”
Jim teases up a corner of the face cloth and can’t help making a little strangled noise when he sees Bones crouching by the bath, elbows on the side, chin on hands, his beautiful, soft mouth inches away. Damn it’s a good thing the water’s deep or he’d be so busted, Little Jim craning instinctively towards his goal.
Jim puts everything he’s got into sounding nonchalant. “I’ll come take a look later.”
“I don’t mind swapping, you can sleep here with Jemima,” Hikaru says magnanimously, “Though, Len, she snores like a man, I’m warning you!” The bastard.
“That’s real sweet of you, Daphne, but Christine would never forgive me if I abandoned her - she likes me to snuggle up.”
Snuggle? Not fair - Jim fucking loves snuggling only Hikaru never will, no matter how cold it is. “Well, there you go,” Jim says, his voice muffled by the cloth, “and I wouldn’t like the snuggling - I’m a bed hog.”
“That she is,” Hikaru agrees now also standing in the bathroom. Jim can feel both sets of eyes boring into him and he tosses the cloth into the water, squirming a little at the way Bones is gazing at him with a slight frown on his face.
“Hey, Jem, you okay? You look a little pink around the cheeks…” and, oh god, no, long fingers fold as Bones moves his knuckles to feel Jim’s cheek, Jim’s slightly stubbled cheek. “You look kind of sooty again,” Bones says, but he hasn’t put two and two together. Yet.
“Don’t mention the facial hair, Leonard, she’ll cry.” Hikaru smirks moving out of sight to the balcony. “Computer, doors!” A blast of tropical air, the sound of sea birds circling the harbor and hover cars pulling up below, flood the room. “Will you lookit this view!”
“Yeah…” Jim breathes as Bones straightens elegantly and lopes away, his taut ass rolling out of reach. His hand goes under the water again, but it’s to press to his stomach - fuck, he feels a little queasy. “Computer, close bathroom door,” he mutters, unable to cope with another glimpse of Bones looking like that until he’s at least caught up on some sleep.
+++
A two hour nap and, yeah, a long, slow jerk-off in the bath, and Jim feels good as new. He’s scored something from Christine to numb his feet. She seems to have quite a collection of goodies in her bag - “How do you know this stuff?” He sighs while hypoing the balls of his feet - now he can wear the shoes again.
“Leo and me, we met in med school.” She clicks her bag shut and toes it under the bed.
Bones has gone ahead to rehearsal in the ballroom and Jim’s kinda glad to have an opportunity to talk to Chris, find out something about Bones, and see if there’s anything to learn he can use to bag his man. There’s a little voice in Jim’s head that won’t shut up. It keeps reminding Jim that Bones is a decent guy, how he’d hate Jim for lying and for twisting shit so he can find an opportunity for an in. Jim pushes such thoughts away. His plan’s so going to work - Bones will be powerless in the light of his persistence, just see if he isn’t.
“That’s why Spock calls him ‘doctor’.”
“Yep,” she moves to the door, “and because it irritates the hell out of him.” They head to the elevator.
“That doesn’t seem very, I don’t know, Vulcan,” Jim remarks.
Christine laughs, a great throaty laugh which makes Jim grin. “No it isn’t. Spock’s not your regular Vulcan, you’ll see… and Len’s very fond of him, though he’d sooner have his eyeballs fried than admit such a thing.”
“Why did he drop out of med school?”
“Man trouble. Well, sax player trouble, the infamous Joss - we like to call him ‘The Bastard’ round these parts,” she air-quotes with pink tipped fingers. “They met in high school, but Joss was a package; he couldn’t deal with Len being away and had an affair. And our Len doesn’t forgive and forget - if someone breaks his trust, they’re gonners.”
Jim scalp prickles and he falls silent.
They cross the lobby and enter the ballroom. Christine whistles in appreciation. Jim turns a circle taking in the tall, elegant windows hung with miles of billowy nets and rich velvet, the gleaming chandeliers, a dance floor and round tables dressed in white.
“It’s a fucking barn- how’re we going to fill it?”
“It’ll be jumping by 8 o’clock tonight, see if it isn’t,” Chris reassures him. “There’s a convention comes out here every year -they all look very cool, wearing the fringed skirts and spats. Only thing missing is cigarette smoke, but you can take authenticity a bit far, right?”
Jim nods and follows her to the low stage on one side of the dance floor. There’s no sign of Bones, only Spock sitting ram rod straight at the grand with, to Jim’s amusement, Nyota perched on his lap. Their eyes are both closed as they indulge in a long kiss, sweet and gentle. Something about the image reminds Jim of swans and he feels a little twist in his gut that he’ll never have something like this.
“Aww, look at you two love birds,” he coos, winking at Christine. The pair break apart and Nyota brushes some imaginary lint off her blouse. He fancies there’s a slight green tinge to Spock’s cheeks, but it could be a trick of the light, though the smudge of lipstick on his mouth is real enough.
“You’re early,” she says and Spock stands all politeness but again, Jim fancies he can detect something close to discomfort in his body language. Curioser and curioser - the Vulcan’s he’s met, and that’s not many, are pretty much a closed book. What the hell is up with Spock? Then he remembers that Spock’s fully aware of his real identity as well as why he’s here and Jim puts the questions aside for now. He jumps onto the stage and rests his case on a chair in front of the piano.
“Couldn’t wait. I guess,” Jim says turning to see Hikaru finally stroll in with his bass. Jim inserts the mouth piece into his sax and wets his lips - “Wanna get started, warm up some?”
“Sure thing,” Nyota says, “Pent Up House…” Jim toes his foot-pedal, turns the sax to bass, holds her eye, “2, 3 and…”
***Pent Up House***
She comes in two beats behind him in perfect time, and Jim knows that any doubts she might have had about him, will be completely dispelled - they’re just slick together, immediately in tune. She faces him, and they repeat, then when Jim hits his solo, Christine strokes the drums.
He watches Spock’s fingers begin to move, face impassive and head slightly cocked to the left. He’s good, damned good but it’s not until Spock noodles through the next solo that Jim finds himself wondering how the hell a Vulcan can play jazz anyway. The chaotic, frenzied brass synchronizes beautifully with the calm, bluesy piano and he only notices Bones has joined them when they’ve finished and he turns to see where the clapping’s coming from.
“This a private affair, or can anyone join in?” Bones drawls, popping the last of an ice-cream cone into his mouth then licking his lips.
“An illogical comment since we are in the same ensemble,” Spock replies, folding his arms.
Bones grins and takes two long strides to the piano, “Groovy,” he says putting on a ‘hep cat’ voice, then grins wide when Spock arches an eyebrow. “It’s weird, huh, the way he does this - plays jazz?” Bones says over his shoulder to Jim.
“Yes, I admit I was thinking that,” Hikaru whispers.
“I find the number of mathematical permutations…interesting,” Spock explains.
“Do you now?” Bones says, raising an eyebrow at Jim. See? There’s a bond forming already! - Jim tries to transmit wordlessly to Hikaru who refuses to catch his eye.
Jim grins stupidly when Bones lifts a stool to the front of the stage and settles on it, faded jeans pulling as he allows his thighs to splay, tight t-shirt struggling to hide his broad chest. Jim’s started to play a little sexy refrain in his head every time he sets eyes on Bones, like the ones they used to play in old time movies to herald the sexy ‘broad’ making an entrance as the camera panned up her legs - bwa-na-na-bwa-bwa-BWAAA. In Jim’s totally un-humble opinion, Bones is hotter than any Hollywood siren ever was with his full lips and easy loping walk.
“You want to try something, Len? How about that new song you’ve been working on?” Nyota says, fortunately oblivious to Jim’s internal musings.
“Sure.” Bones reaches into his back pocket and takes out his comm. “Here’s the piano arrangement, Spock. I’ll send it to your PADD.” Bones waits while Spock glances over it then nods he’s ready. “I’ll need to get Number One to come up with some strings, maybe oboe - I’ve got it roughed out on here too - but we’ll do it like this for now. You sure you’ve got it?”
Spock’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly but he makes no comment, merely launches into a flawless, plaintive piano intro.
***This Love Affair***
Jim’s breaths become shallow when Bones lowers his eyes and sings, cradling the mic in his right hand, eyes closed as he loses himself in the lyrics. His voice cracking with emotion, lush and deep and penetrating.
The song is autobiographical, evident by the sheen of tears in Bones’ dark eyes when they open again, though Jim realizes Bones can’t see any of them; he’s inhabiting a pain once felt, one he transforms through his voice into something beautiful which speaks to all of them. Jim, if he ever had any doubt, knows in this moment that he loves this man. It’s a feeling he hates. It makes him feel uncharacteristically weak and backed up in a corner, and painfully aware of all his short-comings.
Jim’s fingers clutch the neck of his sax and he drags his eyes away to scan the rest of the band who are standing and sitting in reverent stillness. Christine blinks back tears as she listens. Jim suspects she’s heard this before, knows that Bones runs his songs past her first, and he feels a ridiculous shot of jealousy that he’s not the one so close.
I don't know where I'm going
But I do know that I'm walking
Where?
I don't know
Just away from this love affair
The lyrics are deceptive in their simplicity yet far from prosaic. Jim thinks the wonders of the universe can fuck right off because, this is the sublime, right here in baritone and jeans.
I can't say that I'm waltzin'
Not that I don't like waltzing
Would rather be waltzin' with you
The applause and whoops from the band shake Bones out of his little world. He gives a self-deprecating, wonky grin and inclines his head with an unspoken ‘you’re welcome’.
Jim doesn’t clap; he daren’t move, worried he’ll draw attention to himself and the aurora of cupids which must be waltzing in pairs around his head. He looks away when Hikaru touches him lightly on the arm and lets out a relieved breath when Nyota passes across their field of vision temporarily allowing Jim to gather himself. She hugs Bones whose large hand pats her fraternally on the back.
“It’s great, Len, you up for including it in tonight’s set?”
“Yeah, if Number One’s sure she’s got it…”
Number One makes the sign for ‘okay’ and Bones passes her his comm so she can upload too. Nyota whispers something in his ear and turns to face them. Jim stretches his lips, runs his tongue across his teeth waiting for the next number to appear on the PADD. He’s seen the set list but he’s learned already that rehearsal’s a fluid affair with these guys and as much for experimentation, for bonding, as anything else. He feels a pang, knowing they’ll have to leave this happy little family soon - wishing he could be a part of it on honest terms, but it’s not possible. No way.
Nyota taps her screen, and Jim’s PADD refreshes.
“Ladies, you ready? After that amount of sadness, we need to goose it up a little! Feeling Good, after four…” She counts them in, finger-clicking with her left hand, her other poised with the trumpet against her lips.
The old Nina Simone classic is given that big band feel through Number One’s magic - adding strings, making Nyota sound like half a dozen trumpets, and mixing in a tuba track to give Jim’s sax more muscle.
Bones transforms into cocktail lounge lizard, striding across the stage, owning the lot of them, clicking his fingers through the middle eight and even flirting from the stage with the cleaning staff who pause in their work to watch.
***Feeling Good***
“Good job everyone - we’ll close on that tonight.” Nyota wipes her brow, “Okay, water break, we’ll keep at it and hit the beach in an hour!”
The beach? Fuck - Jim hasn’t got a thing to wear.
+++
“You don’t want to come? But you love the beach, Jim!”
Hikaru tosses sun lotion into a canvas bag and adjusts his sunglasses. He looks at himself in the mirror and removes them again to pull on a floppy sun hat.
Not strictly speaking - not with this skin, but Jim shrugs. “It’s cool, you go - I’m tired.” Plus, he does not want to have to shave his chest, armpits and legs like he just helped a complaining Hikaru do.
His friend looks faintly ridiculous in his one piece swimwear, cock tucked down the middle underwear model style, package barely concealed by the vintage style swimsuit’s flouncy skirt.
They’ve managed to get a small advance from Nyota, reminding her they lost everything when they were ‘mugged’ and now Hikaru has a whole new wardrobe, including the paneled one-piece in fetching violet. Jim’s not convinced by the swim hat despite agreeing a wig wouldn’t survive the water despite being made of finest, replicated human hair.
“You know how those girls are going to wrestle and try and duck me under-“ Hikaru’s saying, throwing the cap into the bag.
Jim narrows his eyes while he thinks about it. Wet, slippery girls…well, maybe…
“No, Hik, I’m tired. Need to be at my best tonight.”
“Since when did Jim Kirk say no to some semi-nude fun? I’m getting worried about you.”
“Being in love’s fucking tiring,” Jim says earnestly. He’s lying naked on the bed, tooting the sax tunelessly, flexing and un-flexing his tortured toes. When the fuck is Hik going to leave already?
Hikaru shakes his head and pulls a sun-dress over it, struggling to get it down over his broad shoulders. Serve him right for lying about his dress size - lying to a replicator, seriously…
“Okay, lover-boy, I’ll see you later!”
Finally!
Jim yawns theatrically, lifting a ‘weary’ hand to wave as the door closes behind his friend’s fine ass. Then he leaps out of bed and reaches underneath it where he’s stashed the Russian’s clothing borrowed from the laundry room.
He decides on the linen suit, and roots through his purse for his reading glasses - they’ll provide that final, killer touch.
Dressing is an unexpected pleasure, the shirt slipping across his shoulders. It’s made from finest Egyptian cotton - something he’s never been able to afford. Dammnit - it feels good to be himself again, with the afternoon stubble on his cheek okay to stay, and his face clean of thick make-up. He grins at his reflection, mimes hand guns, “Welcome back, James T. Kirk,” he says and strolls out of the room barefoot.
He wonders up and down a few corridors hoping to find shoes waiting to be cleaned that will fit. In the end he’s forced to buy a pair of chucks (it’s all he can afford) from the hotel boutique. They don’t really go with the fine tailoring but he hopes it’ll come over as the eccentricity of the rich - or at the very least hipster cool.
He makes for the bar and orders a double shot of bourbon to steel himself, “Put it on 414’s tab,” he says grinning when he spots Nyota. She’s in a red polka dot sun-dress buying water to take to the beach.
“Hi!” he says, enjoying his man voice. She narrows her eyes and gazes at his face long enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable.
“Do I know you?”
He leans in to give her the full wattage of his boyish smile. “Do you want to?”
She really doesn’t look like she does, but it’s fun knowing she doesn’t see Jemima sitting on the stool. When he opens his mouth to use one of his killer lines he’s cut short by Nyota’s eyes sweeping his face; she lifts her chin and turns on her ankle like a dancer, her pony tail swinging behind her. Spock is one lucky Vulcan he thinks, leaning half off the stool so he can track her lovely butt as she leaves the bar.
He waits another ten minutes and heads for the dock where he examines all the boats there and lifts a hand to shade his eyes to scan those moored further from the jetty - he hasn’t a clue which one is Chekov’s.
A guy sidles up to him and makes an approving sound, pointing in the general direction Jim was looking.
“That’s one beauty,” the guy says, “The Enterprise, belongs to that millionaire Russian kid, first time he’s come up here without his folks.”
Score!
The boat’s a glorious vintage, perfectly restored, twentieth century fantail yacht, its wood shining in the sun.
“Wasted on the kid. He doesn’t spend a whole lot of time on it.That’s his boat right here.” The guy points down the line to a small hover-boat. Jim can’t believe his luck.
“They don’t make them like that anymore,” he says sincerely and, after a few more minutes talking boats, he says goodbye and heads to the beach.
As Jim strides along the boardwalk, he spies the girls playing volleyball and, thank you god, Bones is out there too, diving about on the sand and making full use of his height. It’s bright and sunny and, because it’s Risa, the temperature is perfect. Now all he has to do is get Bones to spot him and the rest will be history!
Jim smiles to himself when the hotel radio, blaring out over the speakers, kicks off with one of his favorite tunes, totally designed for James Kirk looking mighty fine (if he says so himself) to make an entrance. He puts one hand in his pocket, the other holding the hat. He sighs happily when he sees out of the corner of his eye how when Christine spots him, she nudges Bones who stops dead, holding the ball in one big hand while he tracks Jim’s progress along the walkway.
***Peter Gunn Mambo***
Jim times it perfectly, glancing sideways at Bones, and utilizing one of his best ‘what? cruising? me?’ looks which never fail him. It’s got to be the right blend of aloof and maybe-available and Jim’s the master of this shit. He goes with his gut feeling that the only way to get into Bones’ head and stay there is to irritate him and turn him on at the same time.
He finds an empty chair under an umbrella far away enough from where Spock is sunning himself, looking very serene in immaculate navy blue shorts. It’s also close enough to Bones and the girls so a stray ball might give Jim an opportunity for an in.
Jim kicks off his shoes, places his hat on his lap and perches his reading glasses half way down his nose. He fires up the cheap, complimentary PADD he found in the hotel drawer. It’s full of ‘inspirational’ texts. Of course, he’s not interested in reading, it’s just a shield as he watches Bones surreptitiously over the top of it.
The girls are in bikinis and wearing baseball caps and Bones looks fucking edible in his white trunks, his skin olive and gleaming with sweat and sun cream. Hikaru’s there too, naturally, but Jim tells himself if he's spotted he'll deal with that when it happens.
It’s some time before fate deals Jim a hand and the ball comes rolling towards him to stop at his feet. He counts under his breath, partly to keep calm, “One-elephant, two-elephant...” Eleven elephants later a long shadow falls across him and a pair of familiar feet come to a halt in his peripheral vision. The toes twitch in the sand inches from his own.
Jim tsks irritably, “Hey, sir, careful!” he says in faux irritation and trying on his Russian accent. He keeps his eyes fixed on the PADD and turns his body away a little.
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, our bass player, Daphne’s gotta helluva punch on her.”
When Jim grunts, Bones crouches down and peers at him. Jim can smell clean sweat, potato chips, he thinks, and he’s real glad his hat’s where it is because his senses seem to go haywire when Bones is around and fucking everything turns him on.
“It iz no problem, now leave.” Without looking up, Jim waves a hand in the direction of the volley-ball pitch, “I am reading journal.” He places his forefinger to his bottom lip and teases it as if he’s trying to concentrate.
“Hey, I said I was sorry.” Ah, there’s that snarky tone he’s only ever heard Bones use on Spock. Truth be told, it kind of turns him on, all growly and drawly like that. And he can’t help wondering what that attitude would be like if (when) they’re in bed. It’s a strain for Jim, reining in his natural charm, but he needs to keep the fish on the line.
“Is true and thank you, but I am nevertheless irritated by how you broke my concentration. I was reading a very complex study in ziss medical journal.”
“Is that right?”
Finally Jim allows himself to look up . His eyes trail up, past Bones’ white shorts, mercifully not wet because, if they were, Jim might find himself wrestling Bones to the sand. It’s so not the kind of behavior you expect in a public place. The baggy shorts have slid down so Bones’ hipbones are at eye level, as is the fine line of hair disappearing tantalizingly out of sight.
“Yes, is right.” Jim crosses his legs and pushes his glasses up. He looks Bones right in the eyes which are narrowed, crazy eyebrows drawn together; Jim’s desperate to sweep his tongue across them. “Now, if you will excuse me…”
“Excuse you? What’s your problem, mister?”
“My problem iz I am trying to work and I have been rudely interrupted.”
“Unbelievable.” Bones picks up the ball one-handed. “You make sure and have a nice fucking day, why don’t you?” And with that he saunters away back to the group muttering under his breath. Damn, Jim hopes he hasn’t overplayed it.
Jim sees Bones waving his hands around and pointing in his direction. Jim’s hoping against hope he’s telling Hikaru all about the hot Russian guy with the killer blue eyes. When Hikaru throws down his sunhat and stomps towards Jim, he makes a pointless attempt to look very small. He should have anticipated how, Hikaru, ever the gentleman, would never stand for rudeness. Jim’s had to hold him back many times - Hik’s the kind of guy who just won’t let hair in the soup go by. Ever. Fuck.
Jim’s shielding his face with the PADD. “Sir!” Hikaru’s growling, “Way I hear it - you don’t know the meaning of the word ‘manners’ - why the…” Hikaru’s mouth falls open when he taps the PADD to make him move it, and sees it’s Jim. He stares speechless for some moments before shooting a look over his shoulder and then back to Jim. “Jim? What the ever loving fuck?”
“I’m not Jim,” he replies weakly with the lame accent, “I am Mr. Chekov, Russian millionaire. Zat is who I am.” It’s worth a try…
“You’re an asshole. You’re going to get us busted here. Why were you so rude to Len? I had to stop him coming back here to punch you out. Good thing I said it was better a woman handle it.”
“It’s unresolved sexual tension. I will marry him, zen he’ll forgive me.”
Hikaru clenches his hands by his thighs. “And what’s with the accent, no one talks like zat!”
Jim raises a finger coolly to his lips, refusing to be crushed - seriously, it’s the best accent he can do and Hikaru is being less than supportive. “If you continue to call me zis - Jim - I will report you to the police. I am trying to work and now you interrupt me too. I ef been coming here for years and this place is not what it used to be.”
“Yeah, right, now it’s FULL OF LIARS…and…have you even thought what would happen if the real Russian finds out you’ve been impersonating him and stolen his suit? You’re going to land us both in jail, Jim.” Jim really doesn’t know what to say to that, not that he can get a word in. “Look,” Hikaru says, lowering his voice, “I’d better go back; they’re going to be wondering why I’m taking so long.” Indeed the girls are standing by Bones who, arms folded, is watching them talk. Jim pushes past Hikaru and turns his back on his judge and jury.
“Hik, you’ve got to help me out here,” he says, dropping the accent, ”I fucked up. I hoped playing hard to get would get him interested but now he just thinks I’m a dick. Tell him I’m sorry, okay, tell him I’ll make it up to him and for him to come to my yacht tonight for supper and drinks. He’ll trust you - come on, man just-”
Hikaru scowls and holds up his hand to shut Jim up. “-don’t say it.” Jim clamps his lips tight, waits for Hikaru to soften. “What about the Russian? You know, who’s the actual owner of the yacht?”
“It’ll all work out - everything always works out for me, Hik, you know that?”
“Everything works out? That’s why we’re here on the run, worried for our lives. You know Nero will have followed us here, don’t you? He knows we were on that cargo ship and if he didn’t, he’d only have to ask around. I don’t want to end up in a morgue in a dress.”
“But you look so pretty in a dress,” Jim tries.
“I’m sick of being your conscience, Jim. You need to grow up.”
“I’m twenty-two, Hik, give me a break. I’ve never been in love before - I’m learning-“
“I don’t think you are. Len’s too decent a guy to do this to him.”
“I can make him happy-“ Jim places his hat on his head. “Shake my hand and nod, Len’s looking over, quick.”
Hikaru frowns, “Okay, but you’ve gotta promise me you won’t do anything to hurt him, okay?” This quite moves Jim.
He spreads the fingers of his right hand over his heart, “Scout’s honor, on my father’s grave, okay?” He really means it too. This seems good enough for Hikaru who takes the same hand and shakes it. “Tell him midnight, after the show, on the dock. I’ll take him out on the hover-boat. Please? Tell him I’m sorry and that I had some bad news or something and that’s why I was so rude, k?”
Hikaru blows out an exasperated breath and turns to return to the group. Jim raises his hand in a sheepish little wave. Bones doesn’t wave back, just gives him a long, assessing look. Hikaru takes Bones to one side and hopefully does what he does best - covering up for Jim.
Jim doesn’t wait to see what happens. He feels like he’s run a marathon, so he picks up his things and walks quickly back to the hotel to get back into his tights.
+++
“Oh my god, he’s here, look - the hot Russian guy!” Hikaru elbows Jim in the ribs. “No, don’t look, he’ll see us. Shit - he’s so hot.”
Jim doesn’t want to tear his eyes away from the vision of Bones in a tuxedo, hair all slicked back and even more handsome (if that’s actually possible) now his tan’s been topped up by an afternoon in the sun.
“What? Shut up, I’m working here.”
“He keeps looking over, Jim - I am so in!”
That’s when the penny drops. This is fucking perfect!
The Russian’s sitting at the best table right up close to the stage, and when he sees Jim looking, he raises a champagne flute, amazingly enough bypassing Jim’s smile to check out his best friend.
“Catch his eye!” Jim insists.
“No need, bro, he’s mine already! Fish is bi-ting!”
Hikaru’s not wrong; half way through the set, they take a break and a waiter brings over a bottle of champagne.
“Compliments of Mr. Chekov,” he announces, handing a white envelope to Hikaru. The Russian’s left the ballroom temporarily, his jacket still draped over the back of his chair, so Jim snatches the note from Hik’s hand and scours its contents.
“An invitation to supper on the boat. Perfect!” Jim glances at Bones then calls the waiter back, whispers in his ear. Hikaru punches Jim on the shoulder when he sees the note being re-delivered to Bones. Jim’s heart does a little dance as he watches out of the corner of his eye how Bones lowers his bottle of water and reads the note with a scowl. Please, Bones, come on…
Jim holds his breath; there’s no clue in that scowly expression as to whether or not he’ll accept. At least he’s scanning the few faces that are visible in the dim lighting, looking for the man who invited him, looking for Jim.
Bones gives a little shrug and places the champagne at the back of the stage, before tapping something on the PADD on the nearest music stand. Jim’s PADD pings along with everyone else’s and he sees a change of plan. It’s not a song he knows, and must be another Bones original. Jim scans the clarinet sheet waiting for his cue from Nyota. The song will be his answer, Jim knows it.
Bones adjusts the mic, takes up his guitar and nods at Nyota to indicate he’s ready.
Jim suspects Bones will be warring with himself. One thing he’s learned from past experience that the sight of Jim Kirk in spectacles would melt the hardest of hearts, and Leonard McCoy’s heart is the warmest Jim’s ever encountered, Jim’s pretty damn sure he won’t be able to say no.
Number One hits the backing vocal track and Bones begins to sing:
***Crumb by Crumb***
Maybe in you I’ll believe
Maybe I’ll believe in you
The future of
My understanding of love
Many a time I’ve before
Before I’ve many a time
Knocked a stranger’s door
Discretion hardly I’m know for
The sentiment is all in the louche delivery, and the beauty of Bones’ rough molasses voice, hopeful and cynical all at once. He strums a folksy riff, and since the clarinet only makes a brief appearance, adding an extra romantic swell to the sound, Jim’s mostly free just to watch and enjoy.
By the end of the song, he’s not certain Bones will come. Fact is, going by the lyrics, maybe Bones isn’t sure either.
Jim sees Chekov’s and takes in how the Russian’s eyes are boring into Hikaru. When the song’s over Hikaru nods coyly towards his suitor who beams back.
It’s all going to work out just fine, Jim tells himself - the only thing Jim has left to do is persuade Hik to forgo romance on the boat for some in the penthouse instead and keep the real Russian occupied so that Jim can give Bones the night of his life.
Man, the hour till midnight sure is going to drag.
on to part 4