Marriage Material - Part 1 - Jim Kirk
Summary: in this chapter, you’re aren’t asked. you’re told.
Warnings: alcohol, language
A/N: this should be interesting to write. that drunk friends gettin’ married trope.
Street upon street lined with lights brighter than you’d ever seen. Reds, yellows, greens, blues— colors you’d never encountered in your life stung your eyes as they flashed over the building-sized television screens, the bulbs lining each tower, and the clothes of every creature stumbling along every sidewalk just like you were.
You imagined that’s what Las Vegas looked like back on Earth— you’d heard stories from the old bitties in your family and you’d seen pictures of its heyday, but the sight of such excess, of such unnecessary glitz was nearly overwhelming in person.
Your eyes were hooded and foggy from the drunkenness that warmed you to the tips of your toes while your steps managed a certain degree of stability, your arm looped through that of one of your closest friends.
You let your arm fall from his, catching his hand instead and pulling him closer into your side. His hip bumped against yours and you took a deep breath, feeling the cold air burn your nostrils as you inhaled. “Remind me to never go to another Chekov party. I swear the boy wants me hospitalized with alcohol poisoning.”
Jim laughed through his nose, his glassy blue eyes sliding shut for a moment. “He didn’t force the shots down your throat, starlight.”
You mouthed his words imitatively and laughed loudly when he shot you a dirty look. “You know, Nyota said she and Spock might get married.”
“What, like in the future?” he asked, pulling you along the sidewalk until he came to a brief stop before a large white marble fountain.
You sighed at the feeling of the cold mist splashing against your warm skin, shutting your eyes as he continued walking to let him guide you blindly. “No, like, soon. Like before we leave the base.”
His steps halted and you opened your eyes, nodding upwards as he stared at you with his head tilted. There was a soft red tint spreading over the tip of his nose and the highpoints of his cheeks, his blonde hair sticking up every which way from the ongoing breeze.
You were tempted to smile and pinch his cheek adoringly but stopped yourself when you read his confusion and mild shock. “What? This place is loaded with little wedding halls probably for every religious faith and culture in the Federation. We even passed one for atheists, like, fourteen feet from the junior officer barracks.” You pointed ahead of you at a plain white building which looked misplaced amongst all the excess. “There’s one for Vulcan atheists right there.”
He blew a raspberry, the sound childish and inspiring another one of your smiles. “Them getting married would be a mistake.”