Theyâre in Lorcaâs quarters, Ash fresh off a party and Lorca just off his shift on the bridge. Ash is still holding a cup with something neon green inside that smells strong enough to make Lorcaâs eyes water. He endures the smell long enough to lean close to Ash and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth before he moves on and sets about stripping down.
Usually Lorca would linger, see if he can get Ash to snuggle close, but he canât show up hungover to his next shift, and that stuff looks strong enough to knock him on his ass just by being near it.
For his part, Ash seems quietly cheerful. Heâs swaying to music only he can hear and smiling softly as he watches Lorca undress.
âHey, Captain?â he asks when Lorca moves onto pulling his sleep pants on.
âYou should dance with me.â
Lorca snorts. âI donât dance.â
âWhy not?â Ash asks, brows knitting together. âItâs not about your eyes, is it? âCause Iâve checked online, and there are lots of blind people who dance, so you should be fine.â
Lorca shakes his head and walks toward the bed. He doesnât expect Ash to follow, so he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels his uniform shirt tugged up by hands that arenât his own.
âTyler,â he says warningly. âIâm tired.â
âYouâre always tired.â
âIâm a captain. If Iâm not tired, Iâm not doing my job.â
Ash hums, clearly disappointed, but lets go of the shirt and gently pulls Lorca back against him. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, swaying in place, and Lorca lets himself sway with him.
Itâs a small thing, something he can do easily that Ash probably wonât even remember tomorrow, but letting Ash dance with him- such as it is- is enough to make Ash happy, which is good enough for Lorca.
They sway for a while, Ash humming a song Lorca doesnât recognize as he presses his temple to Lorcaâs. Itâs off-key and a little annoying, but Lorca doesnât object. Itâs still rare to see Ash at peace. Whatâs a little humming when just two weeks ago, Ash was barely comfortable staying longer than it it took to get off?
Itâs still complicated. Theyâve both got their tragedies, and Lora isnât fool enough to think they can fix each other just like that.
But itâs hard to feel cynical when Ash is in a good mood. Lorca doesnât typically get caught up in other peopleâs moods, but heâs never been as aware of anyoneâs moods as he is of Ashâs. He feels Ashâs fear as acid in his own mouth, Ashâs weariness as an ache in his own bones, Ashâs joy like a sun bursting in his own chest.
He puts his hands over Ashâs, squeezing them gently.
âItâs not because of my eyes,â he says softly.
âThen why?â Ash asks, equally soft. He canât be that drunk if heâs still on track, but that isnât a surprise. Lorcaâs the real drinker between them.
âOn the Buran, we used to have competitions. It started with just the lower ranks, but it spread quickly through the whole crew. You could do any kind of dancing you liked- the only hang-up was, you got judged on how much the crew liked what you did.â He pauses, the memories of those dance-offs rusty with disuse but there despite it all. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he continues, âIt spread so high, they even managed to get their captain to compete a time or two.â
âNot a lot of people remember how old style ballroom dancing goes, I suppose. My partner and I came in second.â
Ash hums thoughtfully. âI donât know about any of that either. Whatâs it like?â
Lorca huffs. âItâs more regimented than what you lot do. Lots of stepping precisely, a lot of memorization. And trust. You canât dance well if you donât trust the person youâre dancing with.â
âBecause people can tell. They can see how tense you are when your partner dips you and how reluctant you are to touch each other. It makes everybody uncomfortable, the dancers and the audience.â
Ash takes that in wordlessly, but Lorca can feel him thinking. The alcohol will slow his brain down a little, so Lorca lets his eyes fall shut and just enjoys the feeling of Ashâs body pressed against his back, Ashâs arms wrapped around him. He could almost nod off like this. He wasnât kidding when he said heâs tired, and itâs just warm enough in the room to encourage him to relax. Even the swaying is nice.
Eventually, though, Ash says, âWeâd win.â
âYeah.â Tightening his hold, Ash adds, âYou should show me sometime. Maybe youâll even teach me a thing or two. And I can teach you something, too-â
Rolling his eyes- he really doesnât have the energy to get into what Ash is trying to start- Lorca lifts one hand and pats the side of Ashâs head.
âSometime, sure. In the meantime, Iâm tired, and youâre drunk.â
âOnly a little,â Ash protests.
âEnough to get a hangover- and I donât want to hear about you and Tilly stealing hangover hypos.â
âItâs practice. You know, stealth.â
âPractice something else. Youâre upsetting the staff, and I donât need Stamets coming onto the bridge to mope because Culber got snippy with him.â
Ash snorts. âFine- Tilly and I wonât steal from Med Bay.â
âDonât even think about trying to bully Owosekun or Rhys into getting you hypos either. Weâre running a sim bright and early, and theyâre both on duty for it.â
Ash freezes. âThatâs fine.â
âDamn. Youâre really putting the whole bridge crew through their paces? The night after a party?â
âThe enemy could appear at any time,â Lorca reminds him, if not as sternly as he usually would. âThey may be hungover for a real battle, and they will have to perform then.â
Lorca shrugs. âSoâs life. Now, are you sleeping here or in your quarters?â
âThen you might want to let go of me,â Lorca prompts when Ash fails to release him.
âI never want to let go of you.â
Closing his eyes, Lorca counts back from ten. Ash is a clingy drunk. It starts with the first drink and only gets worse the more he drinks. It isnât a bad thing necessarily, but Lorca really is tired, has been for months. Maybe even years. No matter how long he sleeps, he never gets enough of it, and Ash is keeping him from that.
When he reaches zero and Ash is still clinging to him, Lorca firmly pries his hands away. Ash doesnât resist, just takes his hands back with a sigh.
Lorca wonders sometimes just how much Ash knows. They donât compare wounds- instead, they skirt around the edges of bruises, pressing close to the edges of unhealed wounds, circling and circling and circling but never daring to be the one to ask. But Ash is good at reading people. More than that, heâs a light sleeper. He must know when Lorca tosses and turns. He must feel when Lorca rolls out of bed and grabs a little something to help him sleep. Ash canât not know.
But he says nothing now, just as he never says anything during the night. He simply watches Lorca slide into bed with those dark, knowing eyes before stripping off his own uniform- which he lets fall to the floor in a heap, something he only started doing yesterday- and flops his way under the covers.
He cuddles up behind Lorca without hesitation, his legs slotting into place behind Lorcaâs, one arm flopping over Lorcaâs waist.
âDonât trip over your clothes in the morning,â Lorca says absently.
âI wonât,â Ash says dutifully.
To the surprise of neither of them, he does trip over them.
