Work Text:
James sneaks into his bunk one last time before they reach Earth. Steve doubts anyone onboard spends this night sleeping. They're too close to the edge of everything. At first James is quiet, his whole frame tense. He's warm, and heavy as always, but that only brings him closer. Clothes are torn and kicked, and heat rises like a fever; both of them are desperate by the time skin touches skin. It's more intense than ever before, grips and holds lasting, as if letting go for even a second would mean defeat. When James starts making noise, he keeps begging him to do it harder, make it fucking hurt, and Steve knows exactly why, and he won't. They lose themselves, for a while only two bodies entwining, just a knot of heat and desperation neither of them wants to open.
When the shipwide alarm pulls them back from the oblivion, and they have to go, Steve feels guilt for the first time. Robert's ghost has never haunted them before, no matter the comparisons he can't help making. After missing the feel of James's warm skin the minute it's gone, suddenly afraid he'll never feel it again, the past is hanging heavy over the messy bunk. He never said goodbye to Robert the way he should have, and now he doesn't have the heart to say goodbye to James. He wants to think Robert would understand. The world is ending and they're clutching at each other like people do, clutching at life at any cost.
Extraordinary times. Extraordinary relationships. He can't remember who wrote it now.
Steve reaches out and touches James's hand. His friend's fingers curl between his in response before he leaves.