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06/02/10--19:56: Almost the end of ZQ's birthday... (chan 2117071)


And I'm just going to leave this here.




Lord, we thank you that on this day, you gave us... well... THAT.


06/06/10--14:46: Karl/Zach/Chris:  Red as Blood (chan 2117071)


Title:  Red as Blood
Pairing:  Karl Urban/Zachary Quinto/Chris Pine
Summary:  Part of the Red Ribbon series written in tandem with withthepilot; this chapter is Karl's story.
Rating:  NC-17
Wordcount:  6156
Disclaimer:  even more unreal than the usual lies
Warnings:  let's see... BDSM, mild suspension, toys, whipping, post-orgasm sensitivity play, and then on the non-sexual side of things we have some pretty severe angst including loss of a child, mentions of clinical-level depression
A/N:  Some of you have been asking questions about Karl, and I hope that this chapter answers most if not all of them.  Also:  I've finally given up on the ass/arse conundrum.  It's all ass now, bless Karl's arse-loving Kiwi heart, I hope he forgives me for the Americanized version.  withthepilot and I have decided that there will be only one more chapter after this one, so this is my last big installment.  I must say it's been an absolute pleasure and just... shockingly, amazingly easy, to work with withthepilot (with with?).  Neither of us expected it to turn out as plotty and wonderful as it has.  I've tried in the past (more than once) to write with a partner and failed miserably, so I know how special it is to have something succeed this way.  withthepilot, consider me your co-writing bitch, any time you want one.  *love*




Red Ribbon:
*  1. Come for Him  *  2. The Christmas Package  *  3. Return to Sender  *  4. Tightening the Loop  *  5. Special Delivery  *  6. Unraveling  *  7.  The Punishment  *  8.  Into the Flame  *



Red as Blood



Karl had never been a man who needed to lie to himself.

Even as a boy, he'd always been almost fanatically honest and uncompromising; honorable in his way, even when it hurt.  Especially when it hurt.  He didn't run and hide from people or from problems, or even from emotions.

But being a man who didn't lie to himself, he also knew his limits, and knew that there were parts of himself he couldn't just pull out on a whim and examine.  Dwelling and overthinking the past were behaviors as weak and ineffective as avoidance was.  Karl could understand weak, ineffectual behavior, but he didn't tolerate it in himself.

He took another drag off his cigarette and stubbed it out against the brick.  Signs of stress; smoking too much, wandering about in alleyways rather than driving straight home after dinner... it would be his birthday soon, and Karl knew he was going to have to take out some of the things he normally kept under lock and key.  He had to prepare himself to see her again.

Because, in a few days, she would pick him up at the airport, and they would look each other in the eye, feeling the kind of deep-seated exhaustion that can only be inspired by another human being.  Karl would look her over, noticing the lost weight, the bedraggled and colorless clothing she favored now, the mess of her hair pulled back into a ratty bun or perhaps even cut shaggy and uneven because she'd finally grown sick of the length.  Again, he would feel so angry that it would consume him for a moment, and then, as always, he would swallow it back down.

She wasn't doing these things to him, after all.  And in the years since the divorce, it had gradually, so imperceptibly gradually, become easier to separate the things she allowed to happen to herself from things allowed to happen to his wife.  Karl wasn't quite there yet, he still cared, but he was getting closer each year.  It was a rough thing to do, giving her up.  He expected it would take a while longer before he could manage it, especially given how profoundly Nat had once belonged to him:  so completely that he could control the responses of her body with a look from across the room.

Karl realized that he was dwelling, and almost laughed.  Then he realized he was both dwelling and avoiding, and he did laugh, chuckling as he pulled out his phone and hit the top number on his speed dial.  "Pine.  Yeah... doing well.  Actually, well, I need to... no, that's not what I meant to say.  I'm calling about..."  Karl paused, irritated with his own fumbling.  This wasn't like him at all, and Chris was so mercilessly observant he had doubtless already sensed that something was Very Wrong.  Karl tried again, "Chris, I have some business to manage back in New Zealand.  I'll be leaving at the end of the week.  ... No, it's nothing to alarm yourself about, don't be ridiculous.  Just some rubbish I have to do once a year, family matter... Oh?  What about it?  ... Fuck.  Of course I'll be there.  No, I hadn't forgotten.  When do I ever forget anything?  ... Exactly, and don't you forget it."

Karl shut off the phone and stared at it for a moment.  Zach's birthday party was on Friday night.  How had he forgotten?

It wasn't like him at all.

* * *

The party was smallish, but there were enough friends and occasional family members (catch Zach throwing a party without inviting his brother, not that anybody minded) that the celebration was firmly traditional, with Karl and Chris introduced as "my very close dear friends and personal fucktoys", which was taken as a joke by almost everybody there and politely left alone by those who could see past the ends of their noses.  Everybody drank too much, smoked too much of various things, laughed and listened to music too loudly, flirted too much, and generally did their best to ring Zach's elderly status in properly.  Presents were exchanged which ranged from sentimental to bizarrely inappropriate, appropriately enough, and when Karl's gift was placed in Zach's lap, only two people in the room noticed the widening of his eyes.  It was a large white-wrapped parcel, wrapped in an ostentatious, sparkling, new red ribbon tied in an elaborate bow that was easily twice as large as the box.  Zach bit his lip as he began to untie the bow, and Karl grinned at him wickedly, noting how Chris was clearly tempted to reach out and finger the ribbon as well.  When Zach finally got it fully untied without ripping it, to the mocking enjoyment of the audience who found the act entirely too girly ("Who saves bows anymore, Quinto?"), he opened the box to find that it was empty.

Everybody loved it, laughing uproariously, but Zach merely locked eyes with Chris and Karl and shifted slowly in his seat as he carefully rolled up the ribbon.  He held up the roll and raised an eyebrow.  Karl shrugged.  The old ribbon hadn't survived the latest washing, or at least that was the story he gave the other two.  They didn't need to know he kept a scrap in his pocket, and intended to hold onto that scrap for a very long time.

For the rest of the party, Karl lounged and chatted, refusing to dance even with Zach, enjoying instead the sight of his subs dancing with each other, exchanging surreptitious touches and glances by the bar, casual gropes as they passed each other, too close for anybody to see unless that person knew what to look for.  Then their eyes would find Karl, vivid crystal and velvet brown, and he would smile at them, his mind full of plans.  Neither of them could possibly imagine how easy they made it for him to devise his evil little designs; neither of them realized what depraved muses they were.  Karl never ran dry of kinky new ideas to try them on.  It was almost amazing how many ways he could tease and torment those two beautiful bodies, how many ways he could use them to tease and torment each other.

It was almost... it was a little like... he found himself thinking about Nat again.

Karl had always been interested in BDSM, but when he was younger he'd merely dabbled, not realizing what a difference the right partner could make.  When he and Natalie met, they started dating on purely vanilla terms and kept it that way for months.  But the first time Karl dominated her, they were both stunned, knowing immediately they'd stumbled upon something amazingly special.  Nat was a natural sub, willing and sweet and responsive, and Karl found something in the control he exerted over her that made him feel like he was a whole person for the first time in his life.  He knew that she held most of the power in their relationship, that it was her constant choice to submit to him that drew them closer together and kept it working, and that didn't bother him.  Karl wasn't a man who needed to lie to himself.  He knew that they both needed what they had, and needing the thing you have is a uniquely fortunate circumstance.

After a year of training, she could come to orgasm from no more than a few whispered words in her ear.  Karl had never before felt so intimately connected to another human being...

"Karl, is it time for the real present yet?"

Karl blinked at Zach, who was biting his lip shyly and blushing.  Karl shook his head.  "Be a good host and show your guests out first."  He reached over and gripped Zach's leg for a moment, letting Zach feel the power in his hand.  Zach swallowed and promptly got up to turn off the music and turn the few remaining guests out.

Karl and Chris helped Zach tidy up the mess a little before leaving themselves, Karl guiding the other two to his car and opening the backseat door.  "Zachary.  Christopher."  He watched their eyes fasten on him.  "Ride in the backseat, both of you.  I want you to have each other sopping wet and hard as nails by the time we pull into my driveway.  No coming, though."

He drove carefully, perfectly sober, the sight of his boys at play ample intoxication for one night.  A steady issuance of sucking, licking, soft moans and the rustling and stretching of fabric accompanied his drive, and Karl almost wished he could drive forever to that soundtrack.  He caught glimpses of them in the rear view mirror, both of them flushed and sweating, straining to get each other as aroused and nearly naked as possible without completing the act.

Karl stopped the car and shut off the engine, opening the door.  "We're here.  Let's see how well you've done."  He waited for them to climb from the backseat, both rumpled and blushing, both resisting the urge to tuck things in or zip things up, Zach running his fingers through his hair, Chris licking his lips nervously.  Karl saw his stamp on the way they waited, watching, trusting, and he took a deep breath.  "What a lusciously depraved pair you make."  Chris shivered eagerly, and Zach blushed redder.  Karl felt a swell of proud ownership.  "Zachary, I know it's your birthday and all, but since I'll be out of the country for mine, I don't suppose you'd mind my taking my present early?"

Chris merely smiled.  Zach laughed.  "Karl, take whatever you want.  It's yours already."

Karl felt that swell of pride in his chest again.  It was a testament to hard work, training and trust... both the fact that Chris was silent and waiting patiently, and the fact that Zach could be so open with how he felt.  Karl let himself relish it for a moment more (after all, it was his birthday present, wasn't it?) and then snapped his fingers.  "In you go.  Bedroom, naked, two minutes.  I'm an impatient man this evening."

They hastily filed inside, and Karl spent one more moment looking up at the moon before following them, slowly cracking his knuckles.

Sometimes life gave you better than just one run.

* * *

They were a vision, cuffed, tied and blindfolded, hanging nude in his bedroom doorway, back to back and pressed tightly together, their asses fitted against each other by the pressure of the double-ended dildo buried deep within their clenching bodies.  They were slick with sweat, their skin gleaming with pink welts.  Karl's arm was getting sore, his sleeves rolled up tidily, and the strap in his hand had grown as warm as flesh.  He licked his lips looking at them, relishing the ache of his swollen cock still trapped tightly in his jeans.  "Enough tenderizing.  Let's get started."

He suspected they might have started without him, their hips rocking and twitching against the enormous toy inside them, but Karl was willing to let it go for once.  In any case, they were both incoherent and shuddering now, and the sight of their asses rubbing so tightly together was enough to make his mouth water.  Karl switched on the vibrator.

Chris keened, his hips jerking, and Zach laughed in that surprised way of his, the laugh fast turning to a groan as he fucked back against Chris, both their legs shaking as their feet tried to find a purchase on the floor, barely able to touch the ground.  Karl waited for a certain note in their voices, and moved to Zach's side, pocketing the remote.  Karl ran his hands over Zach's body, watching as the other man moaned desperately, straining against the cuffs in a futile effort to get closer.  Karl leaned in, licking the sweat from Zach's neck; Chris was panting, but Karl decided to let him wait for a bit.  It was a complicated dance he had to do, dominating both of them at once, but it was doubly satisfying when he could make it work... keeping Zach secure while giving Chris the structure he needed...  Karl moved to Chris's side, breathing on him.  "Christopher.  It's Zachary's birthday.  Why don't you make him come for me?"

Chris nodded.  "Karl..." his voice was a raw plea.

Karl kissed his sweetly begging lips and turned the vibrator up a little.  He moved to the side, pressed against the two bodies by the frame of the door, and well, wasn't that just a terrible shame.  It meant that their hips would brush the bulge of his cock as they moved.  It also meant that Karl could reach down and take one cock in each hand, Chris's in a stern, forbidding grip, Zach's in a looser hold, Karl's hand on that side lubricated by sweat smeared right off his twitching skin.  "Work him over, Christopher.  Don't make me wait too long, I've already told you I'm impatient tonight."  He let go of Chris long enough to crank the vibe to full.

Chris began to thrust back against Zach, grunting with effort, their asses slapping and sliding.  His glutes tightened deliciously as he clamped hard around the dildo to push it harder into Zach.  Karl moved closer still, close enough to feel them rocking against each other, their flanks bumping and slapping the front of his jeans nearly painfully.  Karl gritted his teeth as Zach's voice reached that almost fearful note again, the sound that meant he was beginning to lose control, and when Karl twisted his wrist, Zach promptly went limp, grunting and shuddering his climax out across Karl's fingers as Chris continued to fuck it out of him from behind, only slowing when Karl turned the vibrator off again.

Karl let them rest for a moment, and then nipped at Zach's ear.  "Christopher's turn now, but I have a little something more for you as well, Zachary."

Zach gasped, seeming to wake up, his cheeks red, his hair damp with sweat.  "Sir?"

Karl really wasn't sure where or why Zach had picked up that little honorific, but he liked it.  "It's time to start training your body up a little, get you to the same level as Christopher.  Are you ready?  It may hurt at first."

Zach nodded loosely.  "I trust you, Karl."

In the corner of his eye, Karl caught Chris in a slightly evil smile.  He was briefly tempted to slap it off his face, and then tempted to kiss it off his face, and then couldn't decide which.  That was the paradox about Chris... he could be such an angelic sub, but he was never absent that small trace of evil.  And if Karl was honest (and Karl was always honest), he fucking loved that little evil streak.  Zach was perhaps a little too sweet, a little too serious at times... but Chris had managed to drive him to vengeful near-fury.  Karl had been impressed by that.

Karl went to the toy chest and picked out a vibrating cock ring, sliding it slowly and carefully over Zach's limp cock, which made a brief and valiant attempt to rise.  Zach whimpered, still too sensitive, and whimpered again as Karl switched both the vibrator in the cock ring and the vibrator in the dildo on low, but he bore it, merely tensing in discomfort.

Karl moved around to Chris.  "Christopher..." he resisted the urge to confront the evil little smile.  This night wasn't about Chris.  "You brought Zach off in record time... but I think you can do more."  He took Chris's face in his hands and kissed him, probing deeply with his tongue until Chris was groaning and melting against him.  Karl drew back and lightly tapped Chris's cheek.  "Always so fucking cocky, needing to be reminded who the boss is, aren't you?" he whispered.  Karl began to pump Chris's cock with a masterful touch, letting him thrash.  Chris moaned in ecstasy, but Zach, freshly plumbed by the dildo, was making strangled noises halfway to agony, abused nerves strained to the limit.  Karl reached over Chris to squeeze Zach's shoulder encouragingly, turned the two vibrators to medium, and then sank to his knees.  "I'm the boss, Christopher, no matter whose cock is getting sucked off."  And he proceeded to prove it by sending Chris into convulsions with his lips, tongue, and throat, working the cock in front of him like a professional, using his fingernails to rasp over Chris's sensitive thighs.  Chris was gasping for breath, his hips jerking and plunging again, and Zach's cries and groans were suddenly changing, turning from pained to abandoned as the pain and pleasure combined.  Karl watched Chris as he sucked him, watched his skin begin to glow.  Karl pulled back.  "Beg."

"Please, Karl, oh please oh please please let me come, fuck, I'm going to explode if I don't come soon... ofuck please please please..." Chris babbled, no trace of cockiness left in him.  Karl watched Chris for a moment, watched him wracked with need, and swallowed down a sudden, painful surge of emotion in his throat.

That was a problem.

Karl licked his lips, suddenly unable to get his mouth to obey him... when getting his body to do his own will had always been his forte.  It was unnerving, but perhaps expected, given where his mind had been earlier.  Karl stood up.  Chris, blindfolded, was hopefully unaware of the struggle taking place in front of him, and as always, he was as stimulated by the withholding of contact as he would have been by a thorough fucking.  Karl reached for the lube and turned the vibrators to full, listening to Zach for a moment, satisfied with what he heard... and then he coated his hands, quickly reaching forward to smother Chris's cock in his soaking fingers.  Chris jolted, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"Hold still," Karl said harshly.  He began to push Chris against Zach with his fingers, fucking the two of them with his hands, and then leaned in to fuck Chris's mouth with his tongue, deep and hard.

Zach, quivering, hammered brutally by both vibrators, was being overtaken by his second orgasm.  When his hips began to shake, Chris was shocked into a series of high eager moans as he came explosively, pulsing into Karl's fingers, his head falling back.

Karl finished him, milking him dry, and quickly set about turning everything off and getting everyone down and cleaned up.  It kept him busy for a few minutes, and it wasn't until later that he realized he'd lost his erection.

* * *

The first time everything changed between Nat and Karl, it had been a good thing.

The sexual side of their marriage had taken a step back when their son was born, but Karl had expected and even looked forward to that, throwing himself into the new role and the new responsibilities eagerly, as he always had, as he always knew he would.  And the first time he had seen Nat with their baby in her arms, nothing in life could ever be wrong again.

He'd been so sure of that.

And for four years... Karl knew life couldn't be perfect, knew in fact that their life was not perfect, but it was amazing how even the imperfections were perfectly right and good.

To this day, he wondered sometimes why he wasn't more angered by the death of their little boy.

Anger was the natural reaction.  Karl and Nat had gone to support groups after the long year of sickness, after the year of hospitals and vomit and wasting away, hair loss and papery skin and tiny, desperately hacking lungs; the long year of begging to be able to keep him... the slowly dwindling candle that was finally snuffed as the year ended with two tiny rattling breaths that Karl could still hear sometimes in his dreams, could still hear sometimes when he was awake.  They had gone, stony-faced and dry-eyed, to grief counseling circles where other parents sat and talked.  The fathers always railed and raged and cried, roaring, bestial.  Karl couldn't find that anger in himself.  It seemed to him, more than anything, that his son had watched from the deck of a ship as it drew away from the shore, that Karl had watched that pale face as it was slowly taken from him.  His anger was nowhere.  There wasn't anybody to be angry at; there was nobody rowing that ship.  It merely departed.

He could feel loss, of course; the kind that clawed your insides up and tore at your chest until you sat bolt upright at night cursing and opening the window and pacing, unable to bear the tearing inside.  But anger?  He couldn't find it.

Karl soon realized, though, that he could feel plenty of anger at Natalie.

Just as their son had done, Nat was slowly disappearing, but not from any sickness.  She simply chose to go away, and then, she went.  Karl watched, horrified, as she absented herself from her job, from her friends and family, from her hobbies, from her life, and then even from her body until her eyes seemed replaced by two stones in her head that looked at him and didn't see him.  It was now that Karl realized her power, because Nat no longer submitted to him in any way.  Karl could watch, and he could get angry, and he could scream and throw things, but those acts only reinforced to him how truly, miserably powerless he really was, and he soon stopped.  Doctors, family, medications, nothing they tried could fight Nat's will to disappear.

He watched her drift away just as he had watched his son, and he raged and raged that it was by her own choice.  Raged at her as they slept in the same bed, and didn't touch, and didn't talk... raged as she left him alone with his grief.  Raged until he one day realized that she was never coming back, and on that day Karl made up his mind that his choice was going to be a different one from hers.

Two years of hell later, signing the divorce papers, Karl had looked into her eyes, searchingly, and said, "Nat, is this what you want?"

They were the first words he had spoken to her in months.  Nat merely shrugged in reply.  Even now he had absolutely no power to give her, or to know that he had given her, a single thing that she desired.

Their little one had died on June 8th, the day after Karl's birthday.  He still returned to New Zealand once a year to hold a grim rite in honor of that day; he would visit the grave with Nat.  It was the one thing she would allow him to do for her, and as such he couldn't refuse it.  Even if they barely spoke, even if they recoiled from each other like a disease.

She lived with her parents these days.  Karl would look at them, apologies in his eyes, and ask how she was doing.  "The same."  Concerned, helpless looks all around.  Nothing anybody could do.

The ship had departed.

* * *

Karl snorted himself awake, his eyes opening, letting his breath out slowly, sensing the presence of the other two men in bed with him.  One dark head was pillowed on his shoulder, the other on his chest, and he tried to calm his breathing, to not disturb them.  Chris's shoulders were warm beneath his arm, and he could feel life beneath the skin so vibrantly that it almost seemed like it might burst open and spill all over the house, like a precious drug or a perfume.

Karl still remembered the day he'd met Chris.  He'd been in Los Angeles three years already, still working through his rage, still learning how to sleep at night without hearing his son's voice crying in the dark, still resenting Nat every day, resenting her more because he himself was still alive and breathing and kicking his way through a career, still daring to care for people, still here, even though it hurt.  Especially when it hurt.

He'd not had a lover for those years.  He'd had partners, mostly at BDSM clubs where he was developing a little bit of a reputation for his perfectionism as a Dom.  Karl let himself explore what his body liked even if his heart was slow to reawaken, and when he first saw Chris, staring at him with those eyes that begged even from the very first day, he was almost ready for him.  Almost.  The first kiss had been a shock.

Karl's response to Chris had been another shock, but he quickly grew accustomed to the feeling of having something more to wake up in the morning for than pure force of will.  Chris was exciting; clumsy and nearly violent in his eagerness... Karl wanted to dominate him so badly he could taste it, but Chris was special, and in a way, almost fragile, so he held back.

And then Chris had lost it one day, lost his temper, lost his composure, just about lost himself, and Karl had looked into his eyes and had seen him drawing away from the shore and drifting out to sea.  More out of reflex than anything else, Karl had reached out.

And he'd caught him.

Unbelievably, fucking miraculously, Karl had caught him and pulled him back, and Chris had stayed.

Chris became his.  It wasn't what he'd had with Nat; Chris could be a snarky evil brat, especially at first, but that held its own charm.  In fact, Karl quickly realized that Chris was the first sub he'd had in years who was fun.  They taunted and pushed each other, chafing a little until they found their rhythm together, and when Chris was tantalizingly naughty, Karl could hold him down and fuck him raw and it was everything he had needed and craved, and it was almost everything that had been taken from him.  Every day, Chris sank into Karl's arms more willingly, until Karl finally wondered if he himself had been saved.

Karl still wasn't sure why he'd let Zach into their arrangement.  Perhaps because he'd wanted to show Chris off.  All the fucking Hollywood discretion grated after a while; Karl was damned proud of Chris and hated that he could never strut his handiwork among the other Doms at the club, even though he'd stopped clubbing months ago...  So Zach was a priceless audience at first, someone who Karl felt could truly appreciate Chris's various virtues.  The fact that Chris nearly creamed his pants in Zach's presence merely made it perfect.  Karl wasn't the selfish type.

But then Zach had fallen for them both so deeply and helplessly that Karl couldn't help but catch him.  Intense, emotional Zachary, who never lost the look of amazement on his face every time Chris or Karl touched him.  Abruptly something crystallized about the three of them, and Karl felt the world right itself from the hopeless, fucked up skew it had been for so long that he'd ceased to notice that things were fucked up.

Karl had a family again, of sorts, wrapped together and tied in red ribbon.

He couldn't completely suppress his worries, though, even now with both of them in his arms, warm and asleep and seemingly safe.  Karl's first family had been tied together by bonds of blood, and he'd watched them ripped apart before his eyes.  What chance did ribbon have?

The room was turning a soft gray, and he realized it was early morning, and his flight would be leaving that evening.  Karl sighed and closed his eyes.  He carefully loosened his hold on his boys.  It wouldn't do to have them think he was getting all mushy on them.

* * *

"Karl, what's wrong?"

Karl took a sip of his coffee and cursed what he already knew... that Chris was entirely too observant.  "Not looking forward to my trip.  A twelve hour flight isn't fun by any stretch of imagining."

Chris kicked at the rungs of the deck table, aimlessly, his forehead furrowed.  "Bullshit."

Karl gave him a weighty look, but Chris was firmly in friendspace right now, far outside subspace, and that look didn't have as much power as it needed.  "Let's just go with, I don't want to talk about it."

Chris gazed at Karl for a moment, his face softening.  "I probably wouldn't want to talk about it either," he replied softly.

Karl felt his bowels twist coldly, and looked quickly away.  So, Chris knew.  Zach probably knew as well, judging by the sideways glance he was giving Karl as he slid through the door to join them outside, his own cup of coffee steaming in his hand.  Zach sat down and Karl inspected the lawn in back, his brows sinking heavily.  So they knew.  They'd probably talked it over with each other, whispering about it surreptitiously, curious and horrified by turns.  So what?  It wasn't any state secret; anybody with five minutes and Google could easily read all about it, or at least the salient details, up to and including the fact that Karl didn't talk about it -- not to interviewers, not to anybody.

Karl didn't lie to himself, and he didn't run from things, or from people.  And right now, he would have given almost anything to be half a planet away, even if it meant having to look at Nat's stony eyes a day sooner than he'd planned.

Zach began, his voice reasonable as always, "Karl, we care about you... we just want to-"

"I'm a man who knows his limits."  Karl wiped his mouth with his hand.  He took a breath, and tried again, trying to iron the kinks from his voice, to sound authoritative.  "I can't have you mucking around in that part of my life."  He looked at Zach for a moment, looked at Chris.  "I can't be... who I need to be for both of you.  Not if you see what happened to who I used to be."  Karl weighed it in his mind, and it sounded right.

Chris and Zach looked at each other.  Chris still looked stubborn, but Zach looked thoughtful, and he said, "Fair enough."  Chris opened his mouth, and Zach shook his head slightly, and Chris subsided.  Karl took another sip of his coffee, fascinated.  He was briefly tempted to see if he could fit in another fuck before leaving... there was something that lit a fire in his belly whenever he saw Chris submitting to Zach.

Chris looked down at his hands.  "Do you want us to... abstain, while you travel?"

Karl blinked, feeling suddenly ashamed.  It was a question he ought to have anticipated, one he should have had a plan for.  He made a mental note... I'll be a better Dom to both of you when I get back.  No more of this distractedness.  "It's... not necessary."  He glanced from Chris to Zach.  "I know you'll both be thinking of me."  He winked.

Zach and Chris shared a small smile.  Zach said, "Still.  I think we should."

Chris said, "If you can keep your hands off me for that long."

Zach looked mildly alarmed.

Karl smirked.  "Quinto, it'll be your job to keep him in line while I'm gone.  You set the rules and stick to them... he'll make you work for it, I warn you."

Chris looked offended, until Zach turned a stern glance on him and said, "Sugar, if you even so much as lay a hand on yourself while Karl is abroad, I'll tie you to the bed with a deep-throat gag for a day.  Do you understand?"

Chris stared.  "I'll be good."

Zach nodded with satisfaction, and Karl tried his best not to laugh at the both of them.  He was grateful for the loose robe he was wearing now; his erection was growing stiffer by the moment as Chris responded to Zach, and he could let it fall easily between his legs.  He nearly jumped when Zach turned back to him, his eyes still hard, as though he knew exactly what Karl was sporting.  "Karl."

"Zachary."  Karl wondered if Zach was testing him, the way Chris usually did.

"Before you leave us, there's something we need to do.  Chris, it's time."

They both stood up and walked to his chair, Zach standing behind him, Chris in front.  Chris dropped to his knees, putting his hands on Karl's thighs.  He batted his eyelashes at Karl and suddenly he was different, he was Karl's boy again, he was open and willing and sweet with that faint touch of evil that Karl wanted to lick right out of him, and Karl caught his breath, his lips curving as they always did.

Zach was putting his arms around Karl from behind, holding him in place firmly.  "We know you didn't come last night.  That's unacceptable, Karl."

"I see."  Karl leaned back, his hips jutting out willingly enough.  If this was all they were going to ask of him, he was getting off easy, pun intended... he could give them this.  Chris opened Karl's robe, and when his beautiful mouth closed around Karl's cock, Karl had to close his eyes, force himself to last.  Chris's tongue slid beneath Karl's foreskin, swirling around the lip before pushing it back, and Karl barely suppressed a moan.  Well played, Pine.  Dim thoughts flickered through his head as Chris sucked him, nothing dreadful, nothing from the past, merely colors and shapes and remembered feelings of skin, and Karl shuddered and then had a new thought.  For the merest moment, he felt that he could be grateful to Nat for teaching him how to be a good Dom, so that he could have this now.

Maybe that was a better thing to focus his thoughts and emotions on, especially on the nights when his chest still clawed at him.  Karl sighed and leaned further back into Zach, lazily dropping his head back to taste Zach's sweet mouth, and almost lost himself in the feel of the two most amazing mouths on fucking planet earth, both fixed on his body.  Karl felt his emotions spiraling out of control again, and he dared for this one moment to let himself drift, but not too far... because he'd never leave them behind, he would never leave them the way he had been left.  Chris was speeding up now, using just the barest edge of his teeth, and Karl reached down to hold his head, pull him in deeper... with his other hand, he reached up and gripped a handful of Zach's hair, hard enough to draw blood.  Zachary, who had chosen to run away.

Zachary, who had chosen to come back.  He responded to Karl's cruel grip by holding Karl tighter.  A tear was dampening the corner of Karl's eye, threatening to reveal itself, but suddenly he was arching and shouting as he spurted down Chris's hot, throbbing throat, releasing all of the tension of the past day and night in a gush that felt like a clean bleed.  Zach and Chris both brought him down, raining soft kisses over his face, neck, belly, thighs, shoulders...

Karl was still catching his breath when he felt Zach leaning down and over him, and then he felt the pressure, heard the snick of the lock.

Zach was whispering in his ear, "We won't let you go unprotected.  Every minute you're over there, you'll know you are ours.  Understood?"

Karl looked down where Chris was running his fingers over the sleeve encased around his flaccid cock.  Zach had put Kali on him, but this wasn't the same cock ring that Karl had put on him not so long ago... this one was hard silver plastic, but clearly an able facsimile.  Karl took a deep breath.  "Fuck.  The trip is five days..."

Chris looked up at him and said, "You can take it.  I believe you can take anything."

Karl reached down and fingered Chris's swollen pink lips for a moment.  He looked at Chris, and back at Zach, feeling the prickly enclosure around his cock, and said, "Plastic?"

Zach chuckled.  "You'll be going through security at the airport.  We didn't want you to get wanded somewhere painful."

"God forbid."  Karl chuckled, and then sighed.  "I think I need to start packing."

Zach coughed.  "Loose boxers.  Trust me on that one."  He nuzzled Karl's shoulder, and Karl stroked his hair, almost apologetically.  Zach buried his nose in Karl's neck, sighing.

Chris merely smiled up at Karl, looking like a devil angel with a droplet of jizz still smearing his lips, and Karl couldn't resist it... he leaned down and licked the smile right off his face.

And even the imperfections felt just right.




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06/10/10--18:09: Pinto:  Nasty (chan 2117071)


Title:  Nasty
Pairing:  Zachary Quinto/Chris Pine
Summary:  From a prompt at trek_rpf_kink - "Pinto.  Watersports or Enema."  I chose enema.  Okay, so maybe the prompt was just an excuse.
Rating:  NC-17
Wordcount:  3424
Disclaimer:  dirty, filthy, nasty, really untrue lies
Warnings:  enema play... tiny bit of humiliation kink, mentions of scat, everything that goes with it, but all in good fun, and bodily contact with toilet seats
A/N:  Let me explain.

No, is too much, let me sum up.  Two things recently happened... anythingever delighted us with humiliation kink and watersports, and that, well, that just reminded me of why I really needed to write this.  And then beedlebarg wrote a somewhat traumatic treatment of enema play -- not singling you out, dear, it was a DAMN GOOD fic -- and it reminded me that I've written enema play the same way in at least one scene, as something used as a punishment.  (Let's face it, it works REALLY well as something horrifying.)  I've also hinted at it as a positive aspect of sex play in one K/Z fic, but never really explored it, and so... I came to the conclusion that the world needs...

Enema Fluff.

I admit to taking a good, hard look in the mirror after writing this one.  And I still have no explanation.  I bow humbly before you and hope to God someone else is as twisted as I am.




Nasty


"Are you... ready in there?"

Zach shifts his weight on the cool ring of the toilet seat.  "Yeah," he says, a little tentatively... but not quite so tentatively as Chris's voice from outside was.  "You can come in."

Chris opens the door nearly silently and creeps in as though he might somehow scare some monster out of hiding.

He looks so nervous that Zach almost giggles, choking it back with a cough and a widening of his eyes.  "Chris, it's okay.  I'm not going to explode or anything."  He smiles.

Chris shrugs, grinning as his cheeks flare red with brief embarrassment.  "No, I know you're not.  It's just... I... dude."  He shoves his hands deep in his pockets, looking awkward for a moment, which is priceless, considering that Zach is the one stark naked and sitting on the toilet.  Zach is waiting for Chris to say, This is so weird, or, I just don't know if I can be into this, and then Zach will simply excuse him from the small room and take care of business and they can get back to their regularly scheduled sex lives.  But Chris doesn't say either of those things.  Chris and Zach have already had that conversation, and Chris rarely if ever goes back on anything he's already decided upon.  He shrugs again.  "What do you want me to do?"

Zach doesn't mean to squirm, he really doesn't, but the pressure is already starting to build and being on the toilet is the absolute worst when it comes to staying power.  He'd allowed Chris to overrule him on the location for their first try, hoping that Chris would be bolder once he's had the opportunity to put Zach to the test.  And this time it's just saline; they're really taking it easy.  Zach is a tiny bit out of practice, though.  He squirms again, and smiles at Chris reassuringly.  "Well, for starters, feel free to talk about how weird and fucked up it is... that's... well, it's kind of the point."

Chris is noticing Zach squirm, and his eyes have a new and cautious interest in them.  No, not interest... fascination.  "Is it uncomfortable?"

"Not yet."  Zach stretches his arms above his head, leaning back, and throws Chris a filthy grin.  "It doesn't get good until the discomfort starts, though."

"Is that so."  Chris can't seem to look away, and Zach knows he's hooked.  Hooked, but not caught... not yet.

Zach draws his body out a bit more, practically lounging sinfully on the toilet throne, as much as he can while still keeping the tension in his gut.  He's never had to seduce Chris like this, never had to go the full extent that he can with his eyes and his smile and his body language, because Chris never needs that much encouragement.  But he needs it now.  Zach is looking at him with chocolate sex, hot melted fudge sex, buttery caramel sex, and ever other flavor of sex he can think of to make Chris forget the rather-less-appetizing issue at hand.  "You could help, you know."

Chris is moving closer, smiling a little, but keeping his face slightly turned away as though still fighting that urge... that urge to pretend that the bodily functions of others never, ever happen, least of all right in front of his face.  He stands in front of Zach, studying him, watching the faint shiverings through Zach's tight abdomen, the way Zach is gently curling and uncurling his toes against the cool tile.  "Am I supposed to... make it uncomfortable?"  And his eyes glance down and up again.

Zach gasps involuntarily, and the pressure ratchets up a tiny notch.  "God."

Chris, watching Zach closely, positively radiating vigorous attention, kneels down before him.  Zach knows that face, and silently exults.  It's the face Chris wears when he's memorizing lines for a new part, or really getting into a character.  It's Chris's research face, a look of utter, raw determination to master something difficult, and right now, that face is making Zach want to whimper with gratitude or desperation... or perhaps desperate gratitude.  Chris starts speaking slowly, hesitantly, feeling out what Zach needs from him.  "Um... Zach... I just want to say that... this?  This is really fucked up."  He's watching Zach closely.  "You are one seriously fucked up cookie.  I mean it."

Zach's breath was short from the moment Chris said his name.  "Yeah?"

Chris grins, nearly laughing.  "Shit, Zach, you want to hold in a fucking enema while I tease you?  You're sick!"  Zach grins back at him, laughing hoarsely as he shifts on the toilet, and then Chris leans right up into his face and whispers the word.  "Sick."

Zach bites his lip around a stifled moan, shivering.

"Is that what you want?"  Chris's voice is echoing warmly around the bathroom.

Zach feels his cock warming up in what feels like record time.  "Yeah.  Fuck, yes, please."

Chris notices.  "Jesus, this is really working you up."  He smiles again, his eyes still crinkling in that oh fuck this is SO weird way, and Zach doesn't mind, because Chris's voice has taken on a gentle, teasing tone, an almost knowing tone, and it's more than Zach had dared to hope for.  Some guys couldn't play a scene like this with their sense of humor intact.  It was just too counter to every male instinct; Fuck No, men couldn't embarrass themselves and be embarrassed, not during sex, when every dude was out to prove his epic manhood.  The fact is, Zach has always found enema play to be utterly ridiculous.

That didn't stop it from being the one thing he always eventually asks for.  Because nothing else hits all the right switches, not like this.  And Chris is being perfect, he's practically snickering right along with Zach at the utter absurdity of it, and just the thought makes Zach cramp up the tiniest bit, deep in his belly.  He moans, the sound jerked out of him.  "Ungh..."  And then he laughs again.

Chris squints at him.  "Zach, you are fucking messed up in the head!  Where the fuck do you even get ideas like this?"  He's staring Zach dead in the eye, his own eyes dancing and incredulous, and Zach squirms again.

"Just... just..." he gasps.  "Don't fucking blame my parents, okay?  I turned out this disgusting on my own."  He rolls his eyes, quelling more laughter.

Chris shakes his head.  "Your poor mother.  Jesus H.  What would she think of you?"

Zach groans deep in his throat, "Oh, fuck, no man, seriously, do not go there."

Chris blinks.  "Boner kill?"  He leans in a little bit, and he's squatting on his heels now.  He reaches out, and Zach stares until his eyes feel about to bug out as Chris actually reaches between Zach's legs and tweaks his cock, one solid tweak, right on the head, and Zach jumps on the seat.  He's now in semi-permanent squirm mode, his thighs unable to keep still.  Chris grins.  "Looks like I found the antidote."

"You're such an ass, Christopher."  Zach is panting for breath a little.

Chris hesitates.  "Yeah?"

Zach nods.  "Yeah.  Fuck, be an ass.  Please."  His voice already has that needy note in it, and the sound of his own voice with that tone in it ratchets up the pressure another notch.  "You can just... think of what you can do to me."

Chris takes a long, slow look up and down Zach's shaking body, utterly vulnerable, and smiles an evil smile.  "Well, I can just about do anything, can't I?"  He licks his lips and Zach leans forward, impulsively, but Chris slowly puts one hand on Zach's shoulder and pushes him back.  Zach's skin is hypersensitive, covered in goose bumps and chilled by the cold surfaces around him, and the touch makes him wince.  Chris reaches behind himself, pulling a towel off the rack, and rolls it up under his knees, getting comfortable.

Getting comfortable, as though to stay for a while.  Zach feels the pressure notch up, another muscle slowly tightening in his glutes, and struggles to relax his feet against the tile to keep them from cramping, and that's just one more thing to try to control, and eventually... he's going to lose control of something, because Chris isn't going anywhere... "Fuck.  Do something, just... something, oh fuck okay, just distract me, because..."

Chris's eyes visibly dilate, and Zach's erection brushes the rim of the toilet, making him jump again.  Chris says, "But why should I distract you?  You wanted this.  You wanted to be all dirty and jumpy and begging in front of me, just like you are now.  Oh yeah.  You really are, aren't you?"  He's short of breath, too, and Zach whines.  Chris laughs, "Fuck, just like that.  Want me to touch you?"

Zach's gone from squirming to wiggling now, and the cramps in his belly are starting to feel the way it always feels when it starts to get really good... "Please, please please?  Please touch me.  Chris?  Chris... Chris..."  There's a feeling like bubbles down in his pelvis, bright bubbles full of achy sickness, and they're rising in his pelvis and bursting deep inside of him and spreading that sharp, achy sick feeling all over and inside of him.  "Plee... oh..."

Chris is gazing rapt at Zach and Zach knows he must be a sight right now, shaking and whining, and Chris sticks his own finger and thumb into his mouth and licks them, and reaches out, and rubs one of Zach's nipples with the wet digits.

Zach arches forward into the touch, and that's when his shoulders start to move, and his head drops back a little, his mouth opening.  He's still perfectly coherent, he can see everything that's happening, but fuck if he can do anything with his body right now except just keep squeezing.  The pressure increases, and the ugliness of the cramps gets just a little thicker, and oh, oh, it's all so incredibly sick.  "It's so sick, Chris.  Fuck, inside me... it's all so... fuck... it's so sick inside of me..."  Zach realizes that he's lost control over what comes out of his mouth, too.  Fuck... point of no return.

Chris seems more frantically riveted than ever, though.  "Jesus, you are fucking sick, right down to the core.  What a fucking dirty boy you are."  Zach makes a surprised moan, and Chris continues, coaxingly.  "Just a dirty, filthy little sex-obsessed boy.  Just about to shit yourself, aren't you?  Fuck.  You're a mess.  Naked, dirty, filthy, slutty little whore..." his voice is a low, rumbling whisper, and he's rubbing Zach's nipples in loving circles, speaking right into his ear, and Zach is nothing but body parts anymore, just dirty, filthy, pressing, sick, nasty... oh fucking god nasty nasty nasty... and sick...

"Ch---rr-is... ohhhh..."  Zach's voice rises up high and then goes low again, and his head is a little tilted to the side, and he can't keep his voice from shaking because he can't keep anything from shaking.

Chris reaches down and flips the tip of Zach's cock again, and breathes against his jaw, almost kissing him, teasing him with his lips all over Zach's face and neck.  Zach can't catch him in a real kiss, because Zach is done for, reduced to nothing but a set of clenching muscles and a deep, delicious slutty sickness that has him over its knee and is just slamming him full of yet more filth... Chris flicks his cock again.  "Oh, Jesus, Zach, I can just do anything to you right now, and you... can't... stop me.  I bet this hurts a little right now, doesn't it?  I bet you want to come, I bet all you can think about is my mouth around your cock, but all you get is me just fucking tugging at you, just like this."  Zach is nearly convulsing now, and Chris's touch makes every inch of his skin feel like the head of his cock, all swollen and tender and fuck, so fucking raw.  "Say my name and maybe I'll jack you.  Say it."

Zach takes a gasping breath and tries, his belly rippling like a windsock now, "C... c..."

Chris pinches his nipples cruelly, and says, "Do it the first time I tell you."

"CHRIS!!" Zach bursts out, his teeth beginning to chatter a little.  "Chris Chris Chris oh my God... oh god ogod ogod... I can't even... I don't think I can... I can't..."  He's about to give out, everything's about to let loose, and he tightens up, clinging for all he's worth, and there is nothing on earth because everything else has disappeared in the entire infinite universe but Chris telling him what he can and can not do and even then, Zach is going to lose it, he's going to, he can feel it, and mother fucking fuck... even his thoughts are dissolving in that flood of heady sickness that's churning up his belly all foamy and overwhelming.

Chris laughs.  "No.  I'm not going to jack you."  But Zach hears that he's panting, and Zach starts begging, not even hearing the words that are coming out of his mouth because, fuck, it's hilarious, but stupid, and oh fuck he's actually going to do this and Chris is going to let him and...

Suddenly a bright hot flare of intellect stabs right through him and Zach clenches every muscle in his body to sudden stillness.  "Chris.  Fuck.  Get out.  Get out now."  He promised Chris he would stop before the final moment, and it almost got away from him, but now is the time.

Chris draws back, uncertainly.  "You're... gonna..."

Zach takes him by both shoulders in a hard grip and gasps between his teeth, utterly in agony, "Chris.  GET.  THE FUCK.  OUT."  Zach knows he's about to lose it, and more than anything, he knows he's got to keep Chris from that final instant, because if Chris sees that, well, they might get past it, but there is sure as fuck no chance Chris is ever going to do this with him again.  And it's too good to ruin now, not their first time, not... Zach feels his brief flare of adrenaline-fueled coherence slide away, and he's weak and starting to shake again, clinging desperately.

Chris looks at him for a moment, and smiles.  "Fucking gross me out, man.  Let go."

Zach stares at him.  "Fuck... no... you don't really want... Chris..."

Chris reaches forward and sticks his finger in Zach's mouth, shutting him up.  Then he wiggles his finger around nastily, stroking Zach's tongue with it, and Zach feels his eyes go wide as everything begins to slip.  Still, with that one flash of fear, of fucking panic, he probably has another minute or so before he really lets go, maybe Chris will leave, but Chris doesn't seem to be going anywhere.  Chris just keeps tickling Zach's mouth with his finger, and the sick feeling is taking over again, and Chris reaches down and takes just the bare tip of Zach's cock in his fingers, and motherfucking pulls it out and up to Zach's belly, stretching it painfully.

Zach goes utterly still and for the barest instant has the horrifying feeling he's about to grind down with his teeth on Chris's finger, but no, he isn't, Chris is actually forcing Zach to keep his mouth relaxed, and fuck... Zach's feet cramp up, both, sharply, at the same time, and it's too fucking much.  He gulps and wails noisily, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as his universe narrows itself down to one sick, thrashing, filthy body again with all of its sick, filthy, thrashing urges.

Chris says, "Now, what did I tell you about doing what I say the first time I say it?"  He yanks Zach's cock out a touch harder, and Chris is gasping, his face florid to the point of being purple, and he says, "Now, you filthy little sucking boy, suck my finger and show me just how sick and disgusting you really are."

And Zach sucks on Chris's finger and feels the sickness claim him, every muscle in his body succumbing to exhaustion, and then, oh fuck, no, I can't I can't I can't don't make me oh my god please, oh please not that not that anything but, because his body is tightening up again because he's fucking coming he's coming and the tension of orgasm is impossible, it's making all of his muscles scream bloody murder, but oh the sickness the dirty dirty filth and nastiness... he sucks and sucks and dribbles and spurts his dirty come as he releases, as he releases and the flood takes him and oh my god... he's floating... it's all gushing out of him and he's floating... it's all over him and it feels so good all over...

He hears the sound of a flush through ears that are ringing so loudly it sounds faint and distant, underwatery.  Zach tries to sit up, but his forehead doesn't seem to want to rise from the fabric-covered shoulder it's pressed against.  He struggles to breathe, discovers that he can.  Ah, breathing.  Breathing is fantastic.  Fuck, everything is...

Oh, shit.

Zach pushes himself up and away from Chris, sitting back on the toilet, blinking his eyes open.  "Gahmuffet.  Da.  Thing.  Shit.  Chris!"

Chris is already standing up, and Zach's eyes focus on him, and Chris has a washcloth over his nose and mouth -- huh, creative -- but his eyes are dancing, and his pants are still tented rather promisingly.  He pats Zach on the shoulder and backs toward the door.

Zach shoos him with a limp hand.  "Go, fuck, seriously, I'll be with you in a minute, you don't want to see this part."

Chris nods, disappearing and shutting the door behind him.

Zach lets himself slump back against the toilet for a moment, and then wipes himself off thoroughly, staggering to his feet and then into the shower.  He showers a little sloppily, but he's not really that dirty after all... he had a preparatory enema before Chris even came over, to get rid of the real nastiness before they played.  Zach really isn't into scat.  It suddenly occurrs to his addled brain that if he were into scat, he wouldn't be into enemas, because there'd be no reason to hold on or any particular shame in letting go... or maybe he's over-thinking it?

He stumbles out of the shower and woozily gropes for a towel, only to find that Chris has let himself back in.  "Here, man, let me."  Zach lets Chris dry him, nearly falling into his arms, and laughs exhaustedly as they manage the clumsy procedure.

Zach expects Chris to be a little hands-off when they get to the bed, but Chris just wraps him up, disregarding the fact that Zach's still a little damp and it's all soaking into Chris's shirt and pants, and really, Zach so fucking loves Chris right now he could just... "I could just... you're awesome.  You're so awesome.  I can't believe you did that and you're still willing to hug me."  Zach feels loose all over, so utterly relaxed that it's an effort to even worry about Chris's reaction.

Chris laughs.  "Are you fucking kidding me?  You went to pieces, Zach.  Pieces, right in front of me.  That was just... it was... fuck, I almost wanna try it now."

Zach takes a sharp breath.  "Jesus.  I dunno, Chris.  I'm pretty experienced at delivering them, too... you don't know how mean I can be."

Chris says a long, slow, breathed, "Fuuuuuuck," in Zach's ear, and Zach knows the sound of a growing erection when he hears it, even if he didn't have the evidence poking him in the towel-clad ass right now.

Zach rolls over in Chris's arms.  "Time for your reward."

Chris grins.  "I get to be the dirty boy now?"

"Christopher, you get to be the Queen of Sheba for the day if that's what you want."

Chris considers, but Zach can tell he already knows what he wants, and he's moving down and unlatching Chris's straining belt buckle before the words are even spoken.  "I want you to suck on my cock as hard as you were sucking my finger.  Except, no biting this time."

"I bit you?"  Zach notes with a rush of pleasure the stains of precum all over Chris's shorts, and pulls out his cock.

Chris laughs.  "Yeah, you did, but I... oh fuck... I... ah... don't stop... I forgive you."



Continue on to the sequel, 'Clean'.


06/12/10--15:39: Heh (chan 2117071)


Lessons learned:  I should not check my fandom flist in a public area.

I mean, I don't have much choice for the summer months, because I'm without internet on weekends unless I head to a place with free wifi... guess I'll just have to, um, blush a lot and scroll down quickly occasionally.

I love you guys.  Don't ever change.

Oh, and BY THE WAY WHILE I'M AT IT... I gave my flist an enema last week, and you loved it so much you're already asking me for another one in the comments.

Oh, YOU.  *snuggles to you sickos, you know who you are*


06/13/10--20:11: Pinto:  Sufficient Motive (chan 2117071)


Title:  Sufficient Motive
Pairing:  Zachary Quinto/Chris Pine
Summary:  Zach is a bit grumpy in the morning.  Chris is a bit hyper in the morning.  This is domestic, but not quite fluff.
Rating:  PG-13 for language
Wordcount:  1412
Disclaimer:  no resemblance to the guys with these names
Warnings:  none
A/N:  This is based upon true events.  So closely based, in fact, that I might print this out and hang it where my roommate can read it and maybe not get killed.




Sufficient Motive



Zach rolled lazily over in bed, squinting at the pale, early sunlight through the window.  He blinked, and sighed heavily as he realized what was waking him up:  a wet nose poking him in the neck.  "Nmmmph," he murmured into the pillow.

Noah lifted a tuft of doggiebrow at him.

Zach closed his eyes.  Maybe he could get away with five more minutes.

"Hey, I think Noah needs to go out."

Zach opened his eyes.  Oh.  Yeah.  Chris stayed over last night.

Chris sat up on the bed.  "How are you?  Did you sleep okay?"

Motherfuck.  Chris stayed over last night and he's in one of his wakey-wakey-talky moods.

"Man, I don't know how you do it, I'd be totally sore if I went to sleep in that position."

Zach made a grmmphing noise and shrugged.  Just shut up and let me sleep five more minutes.

"Hey, you awake?  You were awake a second ago."

I was ASLEEP a second ago, and wish to be asleep again in a few more seconds.  Just a few more seconds.  Ah, fucking nutbangers.  Zach pushed himself up with a groan and checked himself, looking down.  Thank Christ, shorts and a tank.

"You gonna take Noah out?  Like that?"

Zach nodded.  Please stop talking.  He patted Chris on the blanket-covered thigh loosely before giving Noah a quick whistle.  Snatched the leash from the wall hook on his way out.  Chris might have been saying something else as the door shut behind him, but Zach couldn't think of anything Chris might say that would warrant finagling his brain meat into the proper configuration to form a reply at this hour.

Zach stood like a zombie while Noah inspected the terrain, took a few steps, let Noah sniff around some more, took another step, and closed his eyes, nearly snoring on his feet.  Noah whined up at him.  Zach squinted an eye open.  Sorry, pooch, real walkies come later.  After daddy's had at least three lattes and taken his own turn.  Zach's bladder chose that moment to make its existence a pressing concern.  ... soon.

A few minutes later, still yawning and weaving on his feet, Zach came back through the door, hung the leash back up, and wandered back to the bathroom.  He passed Chris, who was up already, watching some television.  Chris glanced up.  "Hey, you feeling okay?  You don't look so good."

Zach made a shwrnxing noise and disappeared into the bathroom for a moment.  Then he went back to bed.

Chris followed him, sitting down as Zach flopped belly-down on his side, nestling into his pillow with a luscious sigh of too-long separation.  Chris said, "So, when were you thinking of getting up?"

Maybe he's like snow and if I ignore him, he'll disappear.  Zach snuffled against his pillow, stretching his shoulders until they cracked.

"Because I was thinking of the stuff we could do today.  You were talking yesterday about that web project the guys wanted you to work on... or did you need to do laundry today?"

Oh my god, the laundry.  Fuck.  Oh, fuck.  Do not talk to me about all the shitpile of things I have to be doing on my one fucking day off.  Zach growled into his pillow.

"I could help you get started."

Shut up.  I hate you.  From Hell's heart I hate at your ass.

"If, you know, you wanted to get up.  Were you going to get up soon?"

I know how I could do it, but where would I hide the body?

Chris seemed to subside, and Zach finally dozed off again.  When he woke the second time, it was broad daylight, and he was feeling far more capable of coping with the problems inherent in consciousness.  He opened his eyes, turning over in bed.  The bed was empty.  Ahhhh, bliss.

But he was awake, he realized.  Best to get up.

Zach lurched up, steadier this time, and wandered out of the room.  Chris was on the sofa.  Zach smiled at him in a friendly, I-am-much-less-likely-to-murder-you-right-now fashion, and then turned his eyes to the kitchen.  Coffee.  Needs.  Like sweet, sweet nectar of the lotus--

"So what did you want to start on first today?  It's a really nice day outside.  Well, you know that, you were outside.  Wasn't it awesome?"

Zach grunted.  No more questions.

"Hey, did you hear me?"

"Yeah."  Shut up.  Oh, for the love of... just shut up.  Shut.  Up.

"Hey, you going in there to make breakfast?"

"Mebbe."  Please, please, God, I don't ask You for many things, but if You could just give him a mute button...

"It always smells so good when you make breakfast, so I was going to ask, would you make me some too?"

Zach stopped dead, and slowly turned to stare at Chris.

"What?  Are you okay?"

Are you a device of the government sent to torture me?  Zach tried the opposite of what he usually tried:  instead of his usual attempt to winnow every bit of withering contempt out of his voice, he gathered it all up and put it back in.  "What is it that makes you think I look like someone who's about to make you breakfast?"

Chris stared, shocked.  "O... kay.  Jesus, I was just asking."

Zach regarded him for another moment, and then went into the kitchen.  There was a huge mess in the sink, including his favorite mug.  All this morning needs is a fresh fuck up the ass with a rusted backhoe.  He felt a spike of pain through the center of his forehead, and groused silently as he started washing up.  He turned around to throw some paper towels into the trash, only to see that it was overflowing.

Chris had come up behind him.  "Cleaning up?  Need any help?"

!$!#$@!  "You could empty out the trash."

Chris poked at it.  "Oh, man, I dunno, I don't have shoes on.  Besides, don't you hate taking it before the recycle bins are full?"

Why are you here?  "Chris.  I need you to empty the trash.  Right now.  Like, this instant, now."

Chris blinked, surprised.  "Why?"

"Because it will get you out of the room."

Chris looked utterly confused, and left.  Without taking the trash.

Why did I get out of bed?

Zach turned back to the trash and tamped it down, shoving the paper towels in.  He turned back to the sink and started scrubbing, the pain in his head worse than ever.

But the rhythm of washing and drying and filling up the dishwasher soothed him better than anything else could, and soon he was calmer, finding his center as he worked.  It did take him half an hour before he was able to make coffee, but when he finally did have it, it was off a clean countertop, and he set the dishwasher to running just before adding the soy milk.

Smiling beneficently, Zach took his coffee back to the sofa and settled in, putting it to his lips to take the first sip.

"So, you're like in a really terrible mood today, right?"

Just drink your coffee, Zach.  Just drink.  Quickly, before he continues on his theme.  Zach took a gulp of coffee, relishing the burn as it went down his throat.  He closed his eyes and took a deep, long, soothing breath, and then turned to Chris.  "We have really got to work out a better system."

"What system for what?"

Zach kept his voice smooth and modulated.  "Like, maybe I could hang a placard around my neck in the mornings that says DO NOT TALK TO ME YET.  Would that work?"

Chris grinned.  "Maybe.  You'd still be way grumpy in the mornings, though, Mr. Grumpy."

"Do you ever say anything that you think about first?"

Chris patted Zach affectionately.  "Soooo grumpy!  Man."

I've spent way too long living alone and waking up next to creatures who don't talk.  Zach sipped his coffee, easing into the day, finally beginning to feel like himself again.

"So when were you going to do laundry?"

"Chris?  Placard around my neck.  DO NOT TALK TO ME YET.  Just pretend I'm not here."

Chris rolled his eyes, tolerantly.  "Okay, okay.  Fine."

Zach sighed, trying to relax.  It'd be hell trying to run a production company from prison anyway.

"Let me know when you're done being grumpy."

I'd just need to hide the body really well.  That's all I have to do.




If you enjoy my writing and would like to help me produce more of it, please visit here and support my original fiction.  Thank you.


06/16/10--16:12: Anger. (chan 2117071)


I have a rotten, filthy, horrifying temper.  It's bad.  I could say it takes a lot to make me angry... but, no, it doesn't.  Oftentimes the tiniest of things can send me into fits.  I can say I rise to anger slowly, but that's not always true, either.  I can say I only grow angry when the target deserves it... but nah.

I'm something of an angeraholic, really.  In recovery, actually.

The disease runs in my family.  I've watched it; I've seen it feed.  I've seen it eat people up from the inside, hollowing them out like fire in a canoe, charring them hard and emotionless until they're nothing but a shell full of anger that occasionally bursts out like lightning.  And I told myself, That's not how I'm going to be.  I'm not letting it take me.

So I have all of the hallmarks of an addict in recovery.  I'm both terribly drawn to intense rage, and incredibly sensitive to it at the same time; arguments absolutely destroy me, but it's that emotional charge that keeps drawing me back.  So, these days, I behave with great care.  I avoid angry people.  I avoid angry situations much as an alcoholic would avoid some parties.  I do not let people piss me off, I take long, thought-out measures to ensure that they do not attain that kind of power over me.  When someone does piss me off, unless I absolutely trust that we can work the situation out without a fight, I do not let them know that they've hurt me.

But today, I am angry.

I am angry.  And trying very, very hard not to drink deep from that well and go back to my old, self-destructive ways, because this... this lj... has been a safe place for me.  A healthy place.  But I'm very, very angry today.

And all because one of my favorite fics got deleted.

You think I don't have a reason to be angry?  Perhaps you are right.  I would offer that you don't know the first thing about me, but that doesn't matter.  You have a right to your opinions.

I have a right to mine.

Yes, I'm referring to beedlebarg's Welcome to Hades fic.  I saw her post and apology, and fuckit, a day that was merely mildly sucktastic went to Absolute Shit in a hurry.

It's this that gets me the most:  "It's totally using dead brown people as a backdrop to beautiful white men falling in love."

There's a word for this type of description:  it's known as a straw man, a well-known example of a fallacious depiction used to advocate against a position.  It's such a contemptuous, dismissive description of what was really going on in that story that the idea of describing it like that makes me vomit in my mouth a little.

There isn't a work of art on the planet that can not be summarized in ten words or less in such a way as to make it sound trivial and offensive.  Hell, there isn't a religion that can't be summed up in such a way.  That's what art is!  It's the experience of something that resonates emotionally in such a way that the cliff's notes summary of the content is absolutely incapable of capturing.

And I have a whole rant stored up about the imperfections of artists... the way that it's often our failings as human beings that force us to reach out and strive to create beauty... the way that so many artists are often hopelessly, helplessly flawed and warped beings... the way that it's actually quite possible to sanitize the entire planet of everything beautiful merely by trying to correct the world's problems as you define them.

But the thing is, I don't really want to go there in this case, because then I'm subscribing to the idea that there was anything wrong with that fic, when in fact, I believe with all of myself that fic utterly defeats the criticisms being leveled at various others.

In order to do that, I have to explain my own experience of reading it.  You either give a shit or you don't.  (In fact, by now, you've either unfriended me or you haven't, and frankly if you have, I wouldn't have been able to keep you.  Not honestly.)

When the disaster in Haiti occurred, I was as horrified as anybody else could be, here, insulated and far away, only privy to televised accounts.  But pretty horrified nonetheless.  It was nightmarish, the way that the poverty in the country caused an earthquake that would have been a bump in L.A. into cataclysmic destruction, so much death, so.  Many.  People.

Many of us responded by writing for help_haiti, and I did my little Haiti-thon, writing about fifteen fics, I think?  It raised a little money.  Not much.

The thing is, and for this I do feel great shame... when I was done, I sighed with relief, and put my efforts away, and then Chile happened and I focused on other things.  It's called complacency, and it's how we're built, but dammit, I try not to submit too easily to how I'm built.  I did, though.  I forgot about Haiti.

I'll go even more shameful:  when I first say Welcome to Hades, I rolled my eyes.  I did think it was a little tacky, but moreover, I thought it was... yeah, I'm really this bad... belated.  No, I didn't go so far as to think Aren't we done with that yet? but I did wince tiredly and not read it.  Not at first.  It took me weeks and several recs from friends to finally get around to it.

And then I realized my mistake.  Because this was real storytelling.  It wasn't just about two privileged white boys falling in love, it was about what happened.  beedlebarg was making donations with each chapter, and people were donating right along with her, so that was one thing... but that wasn't the thing that really struck me.  What really struck me was Zach's character, talking about how difficult things were now that people in wealthy countries were starting to forget.

That fic reminded me of Haiti, in a way I couldn't push away or ignore, because it was described in such a real way, such a true way, and... honestly?  It was horrifying.  I was brought to tears many times by the things she described.

I'd forgotten about Haiti, and beedlebarg shook me the fuck up and reminded me that people were in horrible pain, and I started reading the news again, and checking again... it's more difficult, because the media, well, they forget too.  I started thinking, "What can be done about this?  What can be done about other situations like it?"

Then... she wrote the epilogue, which was more white boys in love.  And in the epilogue, there was a passage where Chris describes people suffering from phantom symptoms arising from long-term PTSD, and...

Well, fuck, she did it again.  She reminded me.  THIS IS STILL HAPPENING.  This is going to be happening to these people for the rest of their lives.  This is going to be happening to this country for decades, for far longer, it's not stopping.  What do we do?  What can we do?

We need to do something.  We need to not forget them.

I am not exaggerating my reaction to her fic.  I am describing exactly what her story did to me, and made me feel.  The fact that it was a love story so beautiful that it made my guts ache was just so much more.  The fact that it's now gone... that it's GONE when I had it actually OPEN IN MY TABS just YESTERDAY and I could have SAVED it and I CLOSED THEM ALL... makes me want to scream.

That story was beautiful.  It was beauty.

Does anybody give a shit?

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL, AND MEANINGFUL, THAT ACTUALLY HAD A CHANCE TO MAKE A REAL IMPACT ON THE WORLD, SOMETHING THAT HAD A REAL IMPACT UPON MY OWN WRETCHED, WORTHLESS SELF, THAT MADE ME THINK BEYOND MY OWN LITTLE WORLD AND TAUGHT ME JUST A LITTLE BIT MORE COMPASSION, WAS DESTROYED TODAY.

This.

Is.

NOT.

OKAY.

THIS IS NOT OKAY.

beedlebarg, only you can be the arbiter of what your conscience can bear.  I can't ask you to post it again.

But oh, I HATE it that you took it down.


So that's the first part of my little rant.

The second part is a little bit more complicated... but it still has to do with the dismissive description applied to this fic.  And really, to fic in general.

You see, I have a very close friend who does aid work.  One of the reasons why I loved WtH so much was because I recognized many of the situations described in it as things described by my friend, who spent heartbreaking years working in a war-torn country trying to educate people and get their families fed, often in the face of gangster warlords, massive corruption, police interference, and even the deaths of close colleagues.  My friend is a man who was built for the work, he loves what he does, but even he gets worn down to the nub in the face of trying to do the impossible, day after day, year after year.

Do you know what he does?

Well, he loves pop music.  He and I have been exchanging mix cd's for years.  He loves fandom, too, he watches tons of movies and has enthusiastic reviews and discussions of them with friends.  At night, he relaxes with fiction novels, or writes his own stories.  And some of my other friends who work down in Honduras with orphaned children... they can't do without constant news of Brangelina.  It's like, a thing with them.

Here's my gist:  STOP BEING ASHAMED.

No, really.  Stop it.  Cut it the FUCK out.  Now.  Never, ever, be ashamed of being a writer of fiction again.

I don't give a shit if all you write is gay fandom porn.  I don't give a shit if all you write is fluff, songfic, or if you're a crappy writer.

KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF WITH THE SHAME.  RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

I've been just as guilty... I've hung around my friends and joked, "Well, I gotta go home and write me some porn now!"  Making the joke before they do, that the stories I'm writing on this journal are somehow deserving of diminishment, somehow unimportant.  Kind of ridiculous, really.

Many entertainers feel similarly about their various works.  They feel that what they do, compared to the doctors, the builders, the movers and shakers of the earth, those who go and feed the hungry and tend to the helpless... most writers of fiction and singers of popular songs and actors in anything-but-a-hard-hitting-documentary feel lesser.

My friend who busts his ass every day in the field, and who, hence, has dickshit to prove to anybody, doesn't waste a damn instant of his time dissing on artists.  He LOVES artists.  Because, at the end of the day, he is reminded that there is something beautiful in the world, something fun, something sexy, something funny, something that goes beyond keeping you fed and clothed and actually makes life worth being alive for.

We denigrate that.  We say it's not important.  But when you create something that reaches out and touches someone, that makes them feel, or makes them love, or makes them happy or sad, or makes them in some way more alive than they were before... quite frankly, you are insulting something unbearably precious when you feel ashamed of that work you created.  Something unbearably precious, that little piece of beauty and worthiness; something so fragile that it can be destroyed by a ten word synopsis that ignores everything that was true about that work.

The destruction of any piece of beautiful art is something that should be done with great reluctance.  If there is something wrong with it, it HAS to be judged against the worth of a thing of beauty and meaningfulness, and that has to be done with love, or we risk damaging a heartbreakingly essential part of the world.

Do not dismiss any work of yours that has ever meant something to somebody.  If you've done it in the past, don't do it again.

The beauty of falling in love is a topic that has had more stories told about it than almost any other.  It is not bullshit, or pulp, or a waste of time.  It's one of the things we stay alive for.

And sometimes the only thing that makes disasters in the world, like the one that happened in Haiti, bearable... is the fact that people rise up and try, even clumsily, to help each other and love each other in the aftermath.

I'm not angry anymore, I'm just sad.

I don't know your pain, whoever you are.  And God knows you owe me nothing for anything you've suffered.

But you know fuck-all about mine, either, and I give what I can, love where I can, when I can, and I'm not fucking letting anybody stop me... and I'm never going to be ashamed of what I write again.  Life is too short, and there are too many people who let their anger get the better of them in the end.

I'm not letting it take me.

Comments are off.  Nobody, but nobody, has the rights to my ass but me... if you want to ride it, it's mine to tell you which and where and for how long.

I mean that.  Two years ago a young man put a knife to my throat and tried to tell me what to do, and I told him to go ahead and kill me.  You do not have a fucking chance of FORCING me into an argument, and you.  Have.  No.  Right.  To my ass.


06/20/10--14:03: Picspams - Goldfrapp and World Cup (chan 2117071)


Enough of butthurt and evil life events.  Enough of pain and drama.

Let there be pretty, pretty picspammage.

First of all, I was visiting with a friend recently and doing a little freelance work, and he offered to put on some music, and hey, he mentioned Goldfrapp.  I promptly said, "Oh, I've been meaning to check them out, for a reason I won't admit to."

Two hours later, I ripped the cds for Head First and Supernature, and a few days later got Black Cherry off iTunes.  And dude.  ZQ was not wrong.  Where has this music been all my life?  *is adore*  Head First in particular is absolute genius in terms of tribute value to the music of the late 70's and early 80's; I felt I was reliving Xanadu as I was listening to it.  It captured all that was campy and truly fun about that time period.

But can we just stop for a moment and discuss the album art for Supernature?

This is Alison Goldfrapp:



I had three reactions to this image, in order:

1.  OMG that is hawtt/pretty/awesome/SO MUCH GOOD IN ONE PHOTO I DON'T EVEN

2.  Kind of want one?  Not sure if I mean the Goldfrapp or the outfit.

3.  A peacock tail is the sexual adornment of a MALE CREATURE.  I find it highly interesting to think about this.  And now, yes, I do happen to want picspams of beautiful men in peacock garb because HOLY SHIT.

Incidentally, it's difficult to tell from this shot, but she's actually surrounded by sparkling glittery enormous... er... well, cocks it looks like, from some of the other pics on the album.

So, basically, made of Yes.

Do discuss amongst yourselves.

The next thing I want to discuss?  World Cup players, of course.

Anybody care to direct me to the kink meme?

Is there a kink meme yet?  Can we start one?

Can somebody explain to me why all of the forwards are so beautiful?  Is it a requirement?  Let's explore this.

My personal favorite so far is Roque Santa Cruz, of Paraguay.



He is, to put it mildly, a very pretty man.




But then there's Australia's Lucas Neill:



And they're always taking their shirts off!



God, I love soccer.  (Begging your pardon, football.  I have no effing clue why America decided to get the names all frigged up.  Nor do I care for American football.)

The guys on Côte d'Ivoire weren't bad either... Didier Drogba was glorious.  I'll let somebody else post about Brazil's Kaká, because I know that there have got to be some fangirls out there.  That man is so pretty it's damn near illegal.

Roque is still my fave, though.

ZQ-in-my-icon, dude, I SEE YOU ogling those soccer players.

And possibly Goldfrapp's shoes.


06/20/10--18:33: I love Twitter, redux (chan 2117071)


John Cho is a fan of Broken Social Scene.

That's it.  That's all.  Stick a fork in me, I'm dead.

♥


06/21/10--20:30: A recommendation:  Ursula Vernon (chan 2117071)


All of you already have ursulav friended already, right?

I mean, I don't actually need to be mentioning her, right?  Because such awesomeness encapsulated in one person should always infiltrate the world in such a way as to require no advertisement.

But just in case it does, ursulav is my very, VERY favorite artist.

And she does a lot, LOT of art based upon the male genitalia.

And it is inevitably a combination of hilarious and strangely beautiful and wonderful.

For instance, The Mighty Phalloenix.  NSFW.

NSFW, BECAUSE IT'S A COCK WITH WINGS.


06/29/10--15:54: Picspam:  NERDS. (chan 2117071)


So, I have a confession to make.

When it comes to men, I have a bit of a "type".  I quite simply adore textbook nerds.

And I do mean IRL.  I have dated this type of man to my near-ruin a couple of times, but I find them simply, utterly irresistible.  And the type of man I'm referring to can best be explained with a picspam, featuring some known hottnesses.

My fandom passion for ZQ is due in no small part to the fact that his two most notable roles typified, not the man of my dreams necessarily, but the man who makes my ovaries explode and sends me into feral hunting mode.

The type of man who does that to me is brilliantly intelligent, to the point of near social ineptitude.  He is quiet, and ferociously intense, with a dark side.  He is not the life of the party.  He is a gentleman.  He has passionate, geeky interests such as science or mathematics or fandom.  He has piercing eyes and an inevitably painful past.

This was where I first saw ZQ:



Do you see my problem, here?

When I walked out of the theatre, I had the look of a poleaxed cow in my eyes.  I think I sat and stared for several days.  And, NGL, Spock's character and demeanor so closely resembled the mannerisms of a particularly destructive ex-bf of mine (over whom I was, it can't be overstated, FUCKING INSANE IN THE HEAD), that I was actually terrified of how attractive I found him.

I wanted him to spank me and tell me what to do.  I am generally a fitful sub, if a sub at all.  I HAD IT IMMEDIATELY AND INTENSELY BAD.

And then I found Heroes... and let us be honest.  While this is just hot steaming sex on a plate, and certainly to my taste, and all kinds of gorgeous awesome:




I'm forced to admit that it is THIS:



... that brings me to the fucking yard.  Gabriel Gray... I want to strap him down and make him whimper.  He sends my salivary glands into overdrive.  Fuck, I have never wanted a man so badly.



Profanity is insufficient.  UNF.  WANT.  BITE.  SLURP.  Basically I would hit it until it broke.

The fact that Zach appears in public looking like this:



... does absolutely NOTHING for the psychotic levels of sexual requirement I have for his ASS.

Let's cut to the chase.  Why am I telling you this?

Because years before ZQ happened to me, There Was Another.  And he did to me very nearly the same thing, in very nearly the same amounts.  I had a crazy crush on him... but I wasn't into fic or fandom back then, so I never wrote about it, and it quieted down eventually.

And that man's name is Dr. Simon Tam, from Firefly.  (Otherwise known as the utterly beautiful Sean Maher.)



He's uptight.  He's ultra-brilliant.  He's intense.  He's honorable.  He's educated.  He's quiet.  He's awkward.  He's got a stick so far up his ass he's nearly a wigwam.

He gave away his entire life to save his sister.  The motherfucking doctor on the best motherfucking show ever.



And really... all of this was just to explain why I had to go and write a fic pairing Simon Tam with Gabriel Gray.

So now you know.  And yes, I'm going to format it up and repost and maybe even join a Firefly group, because clearly the World Needs to Know.

* * *

Edit:  I should mention the following thing that I said to elise_the_great... "I always picture Spock as a dom for some reason, and Gabriel Gray as a sub."

Except, that's not how I phrased it.

What I SAID was, "I always for some reason picture Spock over me and Gabriel Gray under me."

BRB, dead forever.  I have officially given myself a stroke.  A very, truly, awesome stroke.  OH MY GOD.

* * *

Edit redux: a nearly unforgivable omission:



So what if his scientific method is the pits?

He's still a definitive nerd. Tormented, to boot. *swoon* NGL, if ZQ hadn't been in the show, Mohinder would have been my pinup nerd of choice.


07/01/10--14:16: Simon Tam/Gabriel Gray:  Salvage Part 1 (chan 2117071)


Title:  Salvage
Pairing:  Simon Tam of Firefly and Gabriel Gray/Sylar of Heroes, River Tam is also present in the story
Summary:  Catalyst was here, reasoning is here.  I started this as utter crack and it turned into a story on me.
Rating:  R
Wordcount:  5113
Disclaimer:  these are not my beautiful men
Warnings:  character death; other pairings: Simon/Kaylee and Peter/Sylar; angst
Spoilers:  All of S4 for Heroes and most of Firefly
A/N:  So my brain said, "I want Simon Tam and Gabriel Gray."  And my brain produced Simon Tam and a modified Sylar, instead.  This is my first time writing Simon, and oh, I'm already addicted.  River was also entirely too much fun.  Also, this was written as commentfic, that's why it's in small segments.




Salvage



The casket was remarkably similar, but... Simon shook his head.  "No, it's not quite the same locking sequence as they used for you."

River peered over his shoulder.  "It's ancient."  She pointed.  "Welded."

Simon looked back at her.  "Yes, it's been lead-welded.  Who would have the tech to freeze a human body but not the tech to electro-magnetize the locks on the canister?"  He ran his hands over the blunt corners of the box, feeling a shiver at the base of his stomach.  Simon felt a sudden, instinctive hatred for the object.  He'd hated them ever since he'd had to use one to transport his sister.

River, on the other hand, seemed fascinated.  "You can open it if you freeze the corroded areas at joints 1 and 3 along the anterior side.  Reconfigure the--"

"Yes, I get it, but we need to be careful.  We might not want to open it."

River blinked at him, and then smiled, crookedly.  "Of course you want to open it."

Simon regarded her, and sighed.  He did want to open it.  Nobody should be frozen for eternity... at the very least, whoever this poor soul was should be given a chance to be decently buried.

Unless the poor soul was still alive, in which case, they should be given a chance to live.

Probably.

He spent a second wishing that Mal were around to order him to open or not open the canister, but they were far from those days.  Simon sighed again and then reconfigured his heat scalpel.  The contacts melted easily where River had pointed out the weaknesses and the lid slid open with a sigh, the hydraulics still viable even after so many years.

The man inside was young, perhaps in his early thirties, pale, slender, dark-haired, oddly perfect.

River covered a smile with her hand.  Simon was already scanning the body in the canister for damage or signs of life, and he glanced at her distractedly.  "What?"

"He looks like you!"

"What?  No, he doesn't."

The man opened his eyes, and Simon was shocked at how calm and aware they were.  He numbly recited assurances by rote; it was sensible.  "Don't be afraid, you're safe.  You've been asleep for a very long time."  He paused.  The man appeared to be trying to open his mouth or move his limbs.  "You might not want to talk yet..."  It was amazing that the man was already awake; even with modern technology, such a long hibernation would have produced crystals in his bloodstream, but he was already twitching, his muscles shuddering with the shock of renewed blood flow.

"There's a label."  River was crouching down on the side of the case, rubbing dirt and grit from a panel on the side.

"What does it say?"  Simon didn't take his eyes from the man, who was looking up at him with apparent bafflement, but not much fear.  His eyes were a clear brown and unusually large.

"Gabriel Gray."

"Is that your name, Gabriel?"  Simon reached down and touched the man's neck, gently feeling his pulse.  It fluttered beneath his fingers unevenly, but seemed to be fighting to regulate itself.  "Well, aren't you an amazing specimen."  Simon held his breath as the man moved...  his hand moving up to touch Simon's own.

The man blinked, slowly.  "Perhaps you could tell me...  when am I?"  His voice was weak, barely audible.

Simon couldn't help the tiniest of smiles.  "What an oddly appropriate question."

"Thanks."  The tone was dry, despite the wreckage of the man's voice.

River was leaning on her elbows, staring openly.  "You should be dead."

The man almost looked regretful.  "Maybe one day."

* * *

Simon suspected the stranger's name wasn't Gabriel after all.  There was something a little shifty in his furtive glances, the way he kept pausing before responding, as though trying to determine trustworthiness before sharing his true identity.  Or perhaps he simply wasn't sure yet who he was.

But Simon understood secrets, and the stranger didn't seem a bad sort.  And anyway, he knew that River would tell him if this Gabriel-or-whoever were dangerous.  Or River might not tell him; River might simply take care of the man in her own fashion, leaving the mess for Simon to clear up afterward...

"What's bothering you?"  Gabriel's voice was slightly less wretched, clearing as the seconds passed.  His accent sounded educated, but it was strangely foreign.

"Nothing."  Simon put on a reassuringly professional face, calming his features.  "This could take a while, but I'll try to make sure you're as comfortable as possible...  you might pass the time by trying to collect your most recent memories."

Gabriel shook his head, tugging irritably at the seam of the thin tunic he was wearing.  Simon had put the tunic on him soon after waking; Gabriel had been uncomfortable naked, so perhaps he was from a reasonably modest culture.  "I remember...  I...  there was..."  He closed his eyes in mute frustration, heavy brows knitting.

"Take it easy."  Simon ran a scan along one arm, checking for atrophy.  The muscles were toned and vibrant, though.  It was a perfect arm.  Simon suppressed a shiver of excitement, the kind of excitement he hadn't felt in years.  This man was a genuine scientific curiosity; his regenerative abilities were tremendous.  He was perfect.  Once upon a time, Simon might have made his career off this one individual...  once upon a time, Simon would have deliberately sought out that kind of fame.

The habit of years made throttling his enthusiasm easy.  But he knew his heart was racing as he continued to check Gabriel for damage, finding none.  The skin was unblemished, the muscle tone supple and... perfect, Simon couldn't resist the word.

"Simon?  It's the dreaded head examination and I know you're distracted but you'll be upset if I don't remind you."  River swung the hem of her skirt aimlessly as she leaned in the doorway.

Simon jerked away from his examination of Gabriel's chest.  "Yes!  Just sit down, mei-mei."  He turned to Gabriel.  "I have to give her a regular check-up...  just sit quietly and think about who you are, where you might have come from.  Don't expect it to come back immediately.  I'll be right back to finish up, but honestly..."  He paused.  "I honestly think you're 100 percent healthy.  It's amazing, but you are."

River hopped up onto the makeshift exam bed next to Gabriel and studied him intently.  "Simon likes you."

Gabriel blinked at her, bemused.  The expression on his face might have been a smile.  "Is that so."

"He thinks you're perfect."

Simon coughed.  "River, that's--"

"He thinks you're beautiful."

"River!"  Simon said, sharply.  "Please."  He felt himself blushing fiercely as he held her face still to shine a pen light into her eye.  "I'm sorry, she..." he glanced at Gabriel, feeling a nervous knot rise in his throat.  Gabriel was studying him with a strange expression, and to Simon's chagrin, a faint pink appeared to be rising in his face and neck, too.  Simon tried again, fumbling.  "My sister is not used to company."

Gabriel did smile then, with wry humor.  "I'm not overly civilized myself."

Simon glared at River for an instant as he applied some sensors to her scalp.  She smiled at him brilliantly and whispered, "What?  You haven't had anybody since Kaylee!"

Simon's blush intensified.  "That was a very long time ago!" he muttered beneath his breath.  "And Kaylee was... she was..."

River shrugged.  "Does it matter?"

"Yes!"  Simon paused for a moment, collecting himself.  He glanced over at Gabriel, expecting him to be laughing or awkwardly looking away, but Gabriel was looking back at him openly and searchingly.  He shouldn't be this alert and responsive yet.  It's impossible.  He's amazing.  Simon couldn't help the strange way his heart pounded, again.

River nodded as though the matter were settled.  "It's time."

* * *

Simon had expected Gabriel to sleep heavily for several days, but Gabriel woke with the dawn and was in the forechamber, looking uneasily rustic in the clothes Simon had laid out for him the night before.  They were too short at the ankle and wrist, and Simon made a note to speak to Jessie about it.  Perhaps something could be found that was tall enough for him.  "Did you sleep well?"

"I woke up not knowing where I was, and then I realized I wasn't supposed to know where I was."  Gabriel's eyes darkened.

"It'll get easier," Simon said, gently.  Gabriel seemed quiet and self-contained, but evidence of deep emotion was easy to see in his eyes.  The combination appealed to Simon.  He tried not to think about what River had said.  "Do you think you're up for some daylight?"

Gabriel's eyes went from introspective to laser-keen, and it was mildly unnerving.  "Why do you ask?"

"We have to go to work.  Everybody works here."

Gabriel quirked his chin to the side, appearing to consider that.  "Just like..."

"Like what?  Do you remember?"

"Carnival.  It's like Carnival."  Gabriel paused.  "What's a Carnival?"

Simon stared.  "It's a...  I think I recall from history that it's a kind of a show?"

River's voice rang out from the bedroom.  "Ancient ritual involving a massive entertainment complex of portable tents and acts, which made travel to perform at various locales."  She appeared, picking burrs out of her hair.

Simon and Gabriel looked at each other.  Simon said, "Ah."

It was close to harvest festival time, which meant that the men and women of the village both were working long hours, laboring to gather all the grain in before the first frosts hit.  Most of the threshers and reapers were refurbished and accidents were common, so Simon tried to stay near the edge of the communal fields during working hours, his medical bag seemingly a part of him as he went from place to place.  River was more of a nuisance than a help.  She was too flighty and distracted to thresh or sheave, but her feyness and tendency to say bizarre things had garnered her a special place in the eyes of the villagers: they considered her a good luck charm.

It seemed a small thing, but that was the one reason Simon had decided to settle them here.  River could too easily be taken for a witch and harmed by so many of the provincial colonies where they could have hidden.  Here, they treated her like an augur.  And Simon's skills were appreciated, too.

It wasn't Serenity, but it was a life, of sorts.

River quickly wandered toward the threshers, and was hailed by the workers there.  Simon kept an eye on her to make sure she stayed near the workers and not the machines, but she seemed safe, so he waved a casual hello to a small group by the barley field.  One of the men put down his tools and came to greet them.  It was Seamus, an Elder.  "Well, then, and who is your friend?"

Simon beckoned for Gabriel to come near.  "Seamus, this is Gabriel.  He..."  Simon paused.  "The casket you found was viable after all.  He doesn't know who he is, and we suspect he could have been asleep for some years."

Seamus took the news with his usual squinting nod, slow and thoughtful.  "Is he well and able to speak?"

Simon nodded.  "He speaks our language, and he's healthy.  Gabriel, Seamus can help you integrate into the community."

Gabriel looked at Seamus for a moment.  "This all seems so familiar."

Seamus nodded, as if that were a perfectly reasonable thing to say.  "Gabriel, we welcome you so long as you do your share and do no harm.  Hands are needed; you may become one of us after a span of days.  Will you work?"  He held out his hands, palms up.

"I... yes, I can work."  Gabriel hesitated, and then put his own hands out.

Seamus took them and held them for a moment, smiling.  "Then you'll find peace here."

Gabriel looked at Simon, uneasily.

Simon shrugged.  "It's definitely peaceful on this planet."  Boring, but peaceful.

Gabriel said, "Do you mean to tell me we're not on Earth?"

"Earth-that-was?" said Seamus, his voice filled with awe.

Gabriel turned to Simon.  "Was?"  His voice cracked.

Simon, with great effort, kept his face still.  "Try to remember more as the day passes... for now, work."

He knew the news would spread quickly.  Earth.  It can't be.  That would mean...

How old IS he?

* * *

Simon couldn't help watching him.  He told himself that the community was indeed boring, that Gabriel was the first anomaly he'd had a chance to study in ages.  He told himself that he was keeping an eye on a barely-recovered patient.  He told himself that Gabriel was new to this life and needed watching.

And then he told himself to hush, and he just watched.

Gabriel worked as hard as the other villagers, and he seemed strong, almost glowing with health in the golden autumn sunlight.  But Simon could tell the work was foreign, not just to his mind, but also to his muscles.  Gabriel didn't hold any of the heavy tools easily or well at first, but he learned so quickly that Simon felt a pang of nostalgia.  It reminded him of the way River used to pick things up when they were children.  He was extraordinarily quick and intelligent, this stranger.

He looks like you.  Simon realized what River meant.  Not that Gabriel looked like Simon, because he didn't, not really.  His eyes were far darker, he was taller and slimmer, his features were more marked.  But Gabriel did resemble the way Simon used to look, back when he'd rescued River.  Simon supposed that she had imprinted his features from that time as the way her brother was always supposed to look; clean-shaven, face unlined, dark short hair, stiff demeanor, stubborn.  These days Simon had let his hair grow shaggy, according to the local custom, and it was lightened by sun.  He reached up and scratched at the thick whiskers on his chin.

He hadn't gone clean-shaven since... he didn't want to think about her.

Nor of how he'd lost her.  Simon's face had its share of lines, now.

When one of the threshers seized and ground to a halt, Gabriel hung back and watched as the men opened up the hood, arguing amiably over what was wrong with it this time.  Simon watched Gabriel want to help, his eyes eager and his hands reaching forward tentatively, and Simon watched as he quietly offered a suggestion, followed by another.  Then the lure of the machine proved too much for him.  Gabriel shoved his way in, talking and pointing rapidly, picking up some of the machinists' tools and twirling them in his fingers with a skill he'd lacked on the hoe and scythe.  Within minutes, he had the engine running again.  Seamus caught Simon's eye, and nodded approvingly.

"Gabriel," Simon called.

Gabriel looked up, startled, and jogged over to him.  "Is something wrong?"

Simon smiled.  "I just need to check you over, make sure you're not over-exerting."

"I'm not."

"Nevertheless, please sit down."  Gabriel sat and Simon checked his pulse, his breathing, electrolyte balance, nerve function.  "So you know about machines."

"I believe I used to fix things."  Gabriel closed his eyes.  "Or... build things.  Time pieces.  That sounds... it feels right.  It was my calling."

Simon felt his breath catch.  "I used to know someone with a similar gift."

"Simon, I'm not supposed to be here."  Gabriel was looking into his eyes, hard.  "I don't know why yet, but I do know that much.  Something is very clearly telling me that it's wrong for me to be here.  Or..."  He waved his hands, the frustration rising in his face again.  "It's on the tip of my mind, so close!"

"And you can't force it.  Gabriel, I can assure you of one thing; whatever troubles you left behind, you have plenty of time to work through them.  Time to think is something we specialize in here."  Simon bit his lip.  Too much time to think.

"That should be reassuring, but it almost sounds nightmarish."

Simon felt jarred by how close Gabriel's feelings were to his own.  "No comment.  You're fine.  So you built time pieces?"

"He repaired and restored watches in a tiny, dark room, hunched over a table covered with gears and springs and coils."  River had appeared beside them, and was gazing at Gabriel with rapt interest.  "Pale young man who never spoke to anybody, and he sat there, he fixed watches, and he burned inside.  He burned to be special.  And you were.  You were the most special of all of them."

Simon felt chills run down his spine.  "Mei-mei, are you in there?"  He turned back to Gabriel, who was staring at River in utter horror.

* * *

The walk home was difficult; Gabriel remained in a state of shock, with fleeting looks on his face of fear or disgust or anxiety.  Simon kept his elbow the whole way, half expecting him to bolt at the least noise, but they made it back without trouble.  River sang quietly to herself, her strange mood gone.

Simon took Gabriel into his lab and helped him out of his shirt, began to examine him again.  He didn't think there was anything to find, but a strange helplessness kept his hands moving, as though the horror painted across Gabriel's face could be healed like a sickness.  Beneath the palm of his hand, Gabriel's heartbeat was rushed, the skin clammy.  "Gabriel, you need to say something.  What happened?"

Gabriel whispered, "She's a mind reader."

Simon swallowed, hard.  "She... yes, she is.  Please..."  He paused.  Please don't tell the authorities?  Who would he tell?  "Please don't be frightened by her.  She is a reader, though not very reliable.  It comes on her suddenly and then departs."

Gabriel looked at Simon with haunted eyes.  "Parkman.  We used to call the mind reader Parkman.  Oh my God.  He..."  A shudder ran through his body and he curled up.  "No... I have to..."

River said, softly from the doorway, "You're free now, he can't find you here."

Gabriel looked at her pleadingly.  "I was trapped there for so long."

She nodded.  "But you came out again."

"Peter got me out."  Gabriel turned back to Simon, clutching his shoulders eagerly.  "Peter may still be alive... he may... no."  Gabriel shut his eyes tightly, shaking his head.  "What is it?  It's important that I remember!"

Simon felt light-headed.  "You need to calm down."  He reached for his bag, pulled out a tranquilizer shot, administering it carefully.  Whoever this Peter was, had to be long dead.  "What did I tell you earlier today?  You have plenty of time, Gabriel.  Some of the panic is just your mind waking up."

Gabriel slumped.  "It's important, but I'm not recovering like I ought to be."

"Like you ought to be?"

Gabriel sighed, looking at himself.  His eyes lingered on a mark on the inside of one of his arms.

Simon reached down and turned his hand, revealing the tender skin on the lower inside of his wrist to the light.  "I noticed this before."  The tattoo was the face of a young woman.  "She's lovely," he said, feeling strangely impulsive.  The young face was rounded, wide-eyed.  She looked a little like Kaylee, and the thought ached.

Gabriel regarded the image.  "Her name is Claire.  She was... like me.  But different.  I can't REMEMBER!"  His voice was suddenly a roar, and he stood, scattering tools with his arm as he whirled around.  Objects in the lab abruptly dropped and skidded from their shelves as though possessed, raining down with crashing noises, and a flicker of electricity danced along the instrument table.

Simon felt his insides turn to ice; somehow, Gabriel was doing these things.  He was doing things he shouldn't be able to do.

Just like River.

"Gabriel!"  Simon said, sharply.  Gabriel swung back to him, his eyes filled with terror.  "Stop!  Whatever you're doing, stop it!"  He turned to River, who was still standing in the doorway, her eyes wide.  "River, go!  Get to your room!"  She fled.  Simon turned back to see that Gabriel had backed himself into a corner, was sliding into a crouch.

Simon approached him cautiously.  "Gabriel, there's something I want you to try to remember.  Have you ever been in a place like this?  A place like a laboratory, where people used needles and medications, and studied you?"

Gabriel looked around, his eyes frantic, trying to focus.  "I don't... y-yes.  I was in a place where they... they did things to me.  Forced sleep, white walls...  Yes, I have... why?  I couldn't get away, but then I did."

Simon felt an old, familiar surge of rage rise in his gut, so strong that his vision nearly went red.  He knelt before Gabriel and put a hand on his shoulder.  "Gabriel, listen to me."  His voice shook.  "You're never going back there again.  Nobody's going to take you, or cage you."

Gabriel swallowed.  "But..."

"Over my dessicated corpse will anybody threaten you, ever again.  I've kept River safe, I'll keep you safe, too.  Is that abundantly clear?"

Gabriel said nothing, but he took hold of Simon's wrist, a halting, trusting gesture.  His eyes were like wells.

Simon looked away, before he could fall in and drown.

* * *

Simon kept a worried eye on both Gabriel and River for the next few days, but there were no further incidents that week.  Work seemed to drive all mental activity below the surface; work from dawn to dusk, back-breaking, sweaty, never-ending work.  At the end of it there would be the festival and then a few days of rest, but for now life was a mountain of labor.  Gabriel seemed to thrive on the work.  As he relaxed, so did Simon.

The young village women inevitably noticed the newcomer quickly, and Gabriel soon found himself encumbered with admirers during breaks.  He was strangely reticent with the girls, giving them a small, private smile that seemed to say he knew more about the situation than they did.  But he didn't attach himself.  Simon waited to see him choose a favorite, and he never did.

Neither did Gabriel seem to favor any of the men.  He did occasionally seek out Simon during the day, as though for reassurance...  but that was only natural.

It didn't mean anything.

One person who Gabriel seemed to gravitate toward, oddly enough, was River.  He seemed fascinated by her, and after a day or two of cautious observation, he began to make a point of taking a few minutes to talk to her at the beginning or end of the day.  Simon kept an eye on them, but Gabriel's interest seemed within appropriate limits; he didn't touch her or stare.  There had been incidents when Simon had first brought River here, until he made it clear to the local roughs that his sister was off limits.  Her status as an oracle kept her safe now, fortunately.  As for Simon, the available women had eventually given up on him.  That had been a relief.

Gabriel was different from the locals.  Simon couldn't decide how he felt about him spending time with River, and so he allowed it, but kept watching them.

The two began to engage in long discussions, and Simon saw Gabriel gathering together the rudiments of history.  He hoped it wouldn't be too much for him.  Simon wasn't sure why he couldn't bring himself to tell Gabriel about Earth-that-was, but for someone who had already lost so much, and who was showing such clear improvement... somehow, he couldn't broach the topic.  But Gabriel read and studied, and his face darkened, and Simon knew what he was learning.

One evening, River unceremoniously walked up to Gabriel and dumped an armful of her "research" into his lap:  sheaves and loose scraps of paper and parchment, anything she could find to write on, all of it covered in her chicken-scratch handwriting.  Symbols, equations, quotations.

Gabriel, improbably, began studying it.  And then he began pointing to parts of the manuscripts and asking River questions.  They were soon avidly arguing over some point of mathematical theory so far above Simon's head that even the idea of it gave him a headache.

Simon's feelings crystallized suddenly, and he realized he was envious of both of them.  Of Gabriel, for being able to talk to River and actually understand her at all... and of River, for... he didn't quite know, but when she playfully swatted Gabriel's knee as they discussed the finer points of logic, Simon felt it like a punch to the solar plexus.  He rose to go to bed.

Gabriel looked up.  "Simon."

"Yes?"

Gabriel hesitated.  "I've been wondering something, but it seemed so trivial..."  He reached up and rubbed at his chin, where a soft, black stubble had grown, thicker than Simon's own.  It would be a beard in no time.

Simon nodded, understanding.  "I can get you a shaving kit; I apologize, it's just that I didn't think of it.  I haven't used anything but scissors in quite some time."  He felt strange referring to his own appearance, and coughed.  "If you want to conform to local custom, just wait to shave it off until the night of the harvest festival.  Everybody's permitted a little grime this last couple of weeks, and then they all clean up for the party."  Simon smiled, faintly.  How accustomed he'd grown to the local hygeine standards.

Gabriel thought for a moment.  "I may as well stick to custom, then."

"I'll get you what you need before the festival... that's in two days."  Simon awkwardly pushed his chair in and retreated to his room.  He glanced at the tiny round mirror that still hung in the corner, and felt a sudden impulse to go inspect his face.

It had been years since he had revealed his chin and lips.  The festival clean-up was a cosmetic ritual; the men presented themselves clean-shaven for the sake of the women.  Simon deliberately discouraged such attention.

There simply wasn't another woman, after Kaylee.

* * *

Harvest was always frenetic; one felt that there was no way that everything could be done in the time available, but somehow, it was always finished.  The hay was baled, the vegetables stored in cellars, the fattened animals had been slaughtered and salted down, the wheat had been threshed, corn was stored dry and safe, and the fields lay bitterly empty, covered in stubble of grain stalks and chaff.

Everybody went home to collapse, to sleep, and to prepare for the festival, which was itself no small task.  The village green had to be decked out in streamers and greenery, massive tables of food had to be cooked and laid out, casks of brandy and ale dug up and dusted off.  And all of the villagers, blistered and dirty and sore, had to be made clean and presentable.

Simon looked at himself in the mirror for a long, contemplative while, wondering just exactly what he was doing.  Then he pulled out the shaving kit, identical to the one he'd given to Gabriel earlier that day, and he cut off his beard and mustache and shaved his face smooth.  He even trimmed his hair.

He immediately realized that it was a mistake.  First of all, he looked so much older than he had before.  It wasn't merely his skin, which was less marked than his fears would have had him believe.  It was his eyes, which had once looked so much younger and prouder; now they looked ancient, in a face that had not changed to match them.

He touched his cheek, and a sensory memory flooded him.  He felt Kaylee's cheek pressed to his own, heard her sweet voice whispering in his ear, and Simon felt his eyes fill with tears.  He stumbled back to the bed, sat down, held himself.  Without the beard he felt naked.  Why did I do that?

There was a knock on his door.  Simon wiped his eyes hastily.  "River?  Is everything okay?"

"It's Gabriel."

"Oh."  Simon paused, feeling a strange tension.  He had given Gabriel the side room to sleep in, and the three of them socialized at the forechamber table.  Gabriel had never been in Simon's room before.  "Come in."

Gabriel opened the door, hesitating before entering, as though he too felt odd about crossing this particular threshold.  "I'm sorry to disturb you, but...  holy Christ, Simon."  The ancient curse sounded odd.

"Yes, I shaved it off."  Simon smiled.  "Pretty horrific, I'm certain."

"Not at all.  I didn't realize how young you are."  Gabriel stopped himself, blushing.  "I came here because there's something you need to see."

"What is it?"

Gabriel sat down on the bed beside Simon, and Simon noticed that he was holding his own straight razor.  I just assumed he remembered how to shave... good thing he's apparently smarter than I am.  Gabriel's face was smooth, and without the stubble, the angles of his jaw and cheek were so stark that they almost looked like unadorned bone.  "I have a rather remarkable ability, it seems."  Gabriel flicked open the razor and quickly slashed into his arm, just below the tattoo.

Simon grabbed Gabriel's arm to wrestle the razor from him, but something in Gabriel's eyes stopped him.  The slash began to bleed, and then almost immediately the flesh knit itself together and healed, right before Simon's eyes.  Simon stared.  "You... does that... what?"

Gabriel looked at him with consternation.  "It happens again and again.  I can even regrow a finger.  Do not ask me how I know that."

Simon tightened his grip on Gabriel's arm.  "You can regenerate tissue.  Spontaneously."

"I believe that's what they call it."

Simon felt a sudden, wild excitement.  Suddenly he understood Gabriel's miraculous recovery from hibernation.  Gabriel had to be studied, his blood analyzed!  His gift could be synthesized; medicine would advance by leaps and bounds.  Simon could publish results that would solve intractable medical problems for decades.  The government needed to be--

He stopped himself, aware that he was short of breath, aware that Gabriel was staring at him, waiting for him to react, to tell him what to do.

The government.

Simon was years past being so naive.  The Alliance would take Gabriel and tear him to shreds, and then they would use those shreds to build weaponry.

Simon took the razor from Gabriel and cleaned it, snapping it shut.  "Gabriel, don't tell anybody else about this."

Gabriel seemed troubled.  "Very well."




Continue on to Part 2...


07/01/10--14:16: Simon Tam/Gabriel Gray:  Salvage Part 2 (chan 2117071)


Title:  Salvage
Pairing:  Simon Tam of Firefly and Gabriel Gray/Sylar of Heroes, River Tam is also present in the story
Summary:  Catalyst was here, reasoning is here.  I started this as utter crack and it turned into a story on me.
Rating:  R
Wordcount:  4484
Disclaimer:  these are not my beautiful men
Warnings:  character death; other pairings: Simon/Kaylee and Peter/Sylar; angst
Spoilers:  All of S4 for Heroes and most of Firefly


Part 1 is here





Shaving was becoming a clearer mistake by the minute.  Simon was mortified by his error; he had failed to warn Gabriel that denuding your chin was tantamount to putting a banner over your head declaiming "FRESH MALE MEAT".  The women didn't merely flirt, they swarmed.

Simon tried to laugh it off at first, and after all, they knew him.  He could look Thinta or Nan in the eye and smile and tell them they were neglecting far better specimens.  But he wasn't easy in that kind of banter, and after a while, he resorted to hiding in the shadows, beyond the light from the campfires.  He wanted desperately to go home, but River never missed an opportunity to dance, and he couldn't deny her this, it was the biggest party of the year.  He had to stay to keep an eye on her.

Simon worriedly looked for Gabriel, and then chided himself for assuming Gabriel would need any looking after.  Most likely, Gabriel was enjoying the attention.

"Finally.  I've been looking all over for you!"

Simon whirled in surprise at the harsh whisper, and saw Gabriel standing behind him, further in the shadows, his eyes furtively darting around them as though terrified of being tracked to this location.

Apparently Gabriel hadn't been enjoying himself.

Simon smiled.  "Why aren't you out there, dancing?  Or, well..." he coughed.

Gabriel smirked at him.  "Rutting?"

Simon shrugged, feeling his face flame.  "Getting acquainted."

Gabriel moved forward through the brush, lowering himself to the handy log stump where Simon was sitting.  Their thighs nearly touched.  "This is going to sound odd, but I have to be careful with women."

"Why?"

"I've hurt them before.  Well.  I've hurt... I don't know who I've hurt, but those women by the fire, those girls dancing... not one of them has any experience to compare with, well, me.  I wish I knew what I was trying to say."  Gabriel blinked out into the night, his face fierce and remote.

Simon nodded.  "I think I understand."

"I know you do.  It's in your eyes.  You've seen terrible things, perhaps done a few.  You can't just give yourself to some innocent girl.  It would sully her."

Simon nodded, a lump rising in his throat.  "You're afraid you may break something fragile."

"I suspect I have that fear from experience."  Gabriel's eyes darkened.

"I have that experience as well."

They looked at each other, and the darkness around them was suddenly full.  Voices and laughter were drifting out from the dancing around the bonfire, the noises of food being served and games being played, and Simon felt himself leaning in, and he let it happen, because in the dark, it couldn't be seen.

Gabriel might have been leaning, too.  It was too dark to tell.  "River told me about you."

"What did she tell you about me?"  Simon's tongue felt heavy, it was hard to form words.

"That you gave up everything to rescue her."

Simon felt the pressure of a hand on his own, and he closed his eyes.  "I had no choice."

"Yes, you did."  Gabriel's voice was soft and warm, it sounded very close.  "Someone did that for me, once.  They gave up something terribly precious to save me.  You remind me of him."

Simon knew that Gabriel was still talking, but all he could focus on was the way the air surrounded them both like a blanket, the feel of words sweeping over his ears.  Gabriel was so close that he could smell the tang of wine on his breath.

A voice in Simon's mind said, Stop fooling yourself.  You know perfectly well what's happening here.  Without the beard, Simon could feel the movement of air, like hands touching his face.

Something brushed his lips.  He held his breath.

Gabriel whispered, "I can feel how much you want me, every time you touch me.  But you touch me so gently, and I have no idea how I know... what I know."

Their lips brushed again, and Simon's heart felt like it might burst in his chest.  Yes.  He wanted Gabriel so badly that it hurt.

It hurt too much.

He staggered to his feet, jerking away.  "I have to go... you stay.  See River home."

"Simon."  Gabriel stood, his eyes wide.  "But..."

"Bring her home safely, I trust you."  Simon allowed himself one more look, and then crashed away through the trees, cursing himself.

* * *

Simon slept badly that night; he had fallen face-down on his cot, and found himself with an erection pressed hard into the mattress.  He refused to touch it, just letting it throb there, painful and unappeased.  Then he dreamed about Gabriel's mouth, and woke sticky and uncomfortable, relieved but ashamed of himself.  It's physiological, I should have just taken care of it before it took care of itself.  It didn't feel natural, though.  It felt frightening.

Simon had not been prepared for Kaylee, much less for life after her.  Before her, there had been one lover, in college.

Berthold Naiyo...

In retrospect, Bert had been an unmitigated ass.  But he had been interested, and aggressive, and Simon was so incredibly awkward socially that he'd been helplessly grateful for any initiation into sex he could get.  After Bert, there had been a long dry period, and of course no women.  Simon simply couldn't seem to relate to any woman sexually.  When River was in danger, it was almost a relief to wave goodbye to any chance of a normal life.  Normal fit him badly.

Kaylee had been special.  Sweet and sensitive and playful and, well, shiny.  Not to mention determined, in the end.

He still couldn't think about her without hurting.  Losing her had been like losing a limb.  He still walked with a limp, emotionally; he couldn't quite recover.  She'd infiltrated him deeply, working her way into his mind and his heart, learning his awkward language and teaching him other ways to speak.

Funny, I'd forgotten completely about men.  Of course, any man who spent several years stuck on a ship with Mal, Jayne, Wash, and Book was likely to forget about men as a sexual choice.  Simon grimaced.

And then he'd let her die.  He couldn't forgive himself for that... he couldn't forgive her for dying, either.

Simon scrubbed his face with his hands, hating the sharp, short hairs that now covered his chin.  His skin felt raw and chafed.

He hadn't the faintest idea how he was going to face Gabriel.

Just the thought of Gabriel's name, of his eyes, the way they watched Simon -- Simon could see it, now, how Gabriel had watched him -- his voice, his lips, his laugh.  The way he had held Simon's shoulders so tightly when he was frightened.  The way he focused on a broken motor, his forehead creased the way Kaylee's used to.  The way he understood River and could talk to her, make her light up with intellectual energy; so unlike anybody Simon had ever known.  And he wants me.  How can I live in this house with him?  This is impossible.  I'm not remotely capable of this.

He lay and agonized until the sun was well up, but everybody lay abed the day after the festival.  It was permitted and expected.

Simon was close to drifting off again when a roar like the call of a cliffbeast shook the house.  He jumped from the bed and was out in the hallway in a heartbeat, looking for River and Gabriel to see if they were safe, trying to locate the source of the noise.  River was standing in the hallway, her face white, and she pointed at Gabriel's door.

Simon tried it.  It was locked.  "Gabriel?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE."  It barely sounded like his voice; it sounded like something animal.

Simon turned around, stunned.  It couldn't be from last night.  Could he be that upset?  What have I done?  "River.  Go back to your room and lock yourself in."

River said, "He's remembered everything, Simon."

Simon paused, not sure whether to feel relieved or terrified.  "Okay.  I understand, but do as I say."  River went to her room, and he heard the lock snap to.  Simon leaned back into Gabriel's door.  "Gabriel?  It's Simon.  I want you to open this door."

"Please leave me alone."  It was still a growl, but sounded more wretched than fierce.

"I can't leave you alone until I know that you're okay.  Please understand that.  I'm your doctor, Gabriel."  Simon hoped he wouldn't have to use the skeleton key.

The voice was abruptly startingly close on the other side of the door.  "Simon.  You have to put me back into that hibernation canister."

"Why?"

"I'm not safe."

"I can keep you safe!"

"That's not what I meant!  I mean that nobody is safe as long as I'm free!"  Gabriel pounded on the door and there was a grinding, tearing sound, and then crashes... and then a long, eerie silence.

* * *

The skeleton key didn't work.  Gabriel had his door blocked somehow.

River finally ventured out of her room to find Simon sitting at the forechamber table, glaring balefully at Gabriel's still-shut door.  She touched his shoulder.  "Nightmares?"

Simon looked up at her, his eyes softening.  "I can't tell, mei-mei.  He's not coming out."

"You need to go make your rounds."

Simon shook his head.  "I'm not leaving."

A crashing noise sounded from the bedroom, and Simon and River both jumped.  River said, "There are some powerful nightmares at play today."

They sat a vigil until a pounding was heard on the outer door.  Simon answered it and Seamus came in, looking tired and disheveled.  "Healer, you're needed.  Betta's close to delivery, and the midwife believes there will be complications."

Simon stood very still, his face blank.  "I..."

Seamus looked stern.  "Healer, you are needed.  Is there something wrong?"

River touched Simon's arm.  "Simon, I can watch his door."

Simon gazed at her, pain furrowing his brow.  "I can't leave."

"He won't come out until later, I think."  She sat on the tabletop, curling her feet beneath her and examining Gabriel's door with ferocious attention.  "I have it under control.  Absotively."

Simon still felt torn, but he let Seamus pull him away.

It was several hours before he was able to return, exhausted and bloodstained, but his head was clearer.  The baby had been born healthy.  Betta wouldn't be up and about for several weeks, but it was a good day's work.

He found his feet moving faster and faster as he neared the house, faster until he was running.  When he burst in, looking rather nightmarish himself with wild hair and red stains, stinking and clearly exhausted, he found a rather calm scene before him:  River and Gabriel, drinking tea and speaking in hushed voices.

Gabriel stood up when Simon appeared.  Simon grated out, "Are you okay?"

"No."  Gabriel paused, his eyes filling with some private agony.  "I had hoped... but apparently I was found after all.  Oh, Simon.  I wish you hadn't woken me up."

Simon was too tired to hide his emotions or worry.  He dropped his bag carelessly and started forward.  "Gabriel, stop saying that.  Whatever this is, we can fix it."

Gabriel leaned heavily onto the table, gritting his teeth.  "You don't understand!  I'm a murderer!"

"So am I," said River, softly.  "I bet you haven't killed as many men as I have."

Gabriel stared at her.

Simon walked to the table.  "She's right.  The Alliance tried to turn her into a killing machine.  But I try to let her be a human being when I can.  You aren't the only person with blood on your hands, and Gabriel...  I just don't see you killing again."  Not you, with your shy smile and the way you're so careful with everyone.

Not you.

Gabriel put his face into his hands.  "But I will."

"Why?"

"Because Peter died.  He died, and I had myself... locked away.  Because I knew I couldn't make it without him."

Simon wasn't sure how to respond to the admission, so he merely responded to the loss.  "I'm very sorry."

Gabriel groped his way back into his chair and sat, breathing shallowly, his eyes tightly shut.  It looked like panic, but Simon recognized it as unprocessed grief.

He sat down beside Gabriel and put a hand on his shoulder, and it was hardly a surprise at all when Gabriel curled up, rocking back and forth with pain so deep it couldn't be wept, couldn't be spoken.  Simon awkwardly wrapped his arms around Gabriel and held him.

River waved and tiptoed from the room, disappearing into hers and shutting the door almost silently.

As soon as she was gone, Simon leaned into Gabriel and said in his ear the words he had needed to tell himself for years.  "Gabriel, it wasn't your fault he died.  The universe is a dangerous place."

Gabriel groaned deeply, but it was enough.  The tears began soon after.

* * *

It was remarkably quiet.  Simon thought about getting up to make fresh tea, or perhaps open the window shade, but he didn't want to break the spell.

"What was she like?"  Gabriel's voice was soft.

Simon felt himself curl up inside around an old pain, but it had eased.  He could talk about her.  "She was innocent in a way that couldn't be corrupted.  Eternally optimistic, loving, friendly."  He paused.  "My opposite."  He was forced to smile.

"How did she die?"  They were sitting, facing each other, knees touching.  Simon's hand was resting on his knee, and Gabriel reached out and took it in his own.

Simon swallowed.  "She... was shot.  It wasn't a painful death, she went very quickly, but... we."  He shut his eyes tightly, and couldn't speak until Gabriel squeezed his hand gently.  "We fought just before it happened.  Over nothing, really.  Over the same tired issues we always had.  Why I couldn't be more forthcoming.  Why she couldn't accept me for who I was.  Why I wanted to settle down somewhere with River...  Kaylee needed to be with her ship, you see."  Simon sighed, blinking his eyes open.

Gabriel nodded.  "Peter... he wouldn't take care of himself.  He had to be a hero, always.  I tried to watch out for him, but... he wouldn't hold onto the healing ability, there were too many things he wanted to do, it was too passive."  Simon still felt somewhat muddled by the talk of powers and abilities, but the human interactions behind them seemed familiar enough.  Gabriel took a deep breath.  "We didn't fight, but we didn't... he didn't... I never told him."

"That you cared for him."

"That it was more than gratitude."

Simon searched his memory for slang learned in Archaic English 101.  "Well.  Shit."

Gabriel blinked a few times.  "Thank you, Simon."

"You're welcome.  Gabriel..."

Gabriel sighed.  "My name has been Sylar for longer, actually, but I'm not sure what to call myself now.  Sylar was the name of the murderer, but I can't afford to forget that's who I am.  Gabriel was that pale young man trapped in the watch shop, just like River described.  I don't know who I am."  He glanced at Simon.  "You haven't told me yet.  Where was I found?"

Simon tried to suppress it, but a smile came out anyway.  "Well, I was understandably hesitant to tell you the complete story.  You're on Grebes, Gabriel.  This planet is one of the biggest heaps in the galaxy."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"We're not an official colony.  We're just people who live on the few scraps of tenable land leftover from the trash piling that occurs here on a regular basis.  This planet is literally a dump.  You were... disposed of here, and...  I salvaged you, I suppose.  You were found on one of the regular dump-digging expeditions.  Gerold thought you were a battery."

Gabriel stared.  "You dug me out of the trash?"

"Technically, you're still in the trash.  That's why I brought River here.  Nobody pays attention to the squatters on a dump."  Simon's grin was nearly wide enough to break his face.

Gabriel started smiling, too.  "You mean all of this quaint, rustic beauty, is surrounded by garbage?"

"Home sweet home!"

They both started laughing, quietly at first, and then howling, holding onto each other as they laughed themselves to tears.  Simon hadn't felt anything so good in months.

It occurred to him for the first time that Kaylee would have wanted him to love again.  The thought was so startling and powerful that he hid it away, knowing he couldn't fully handle it, knowing that it would keep.

* * *

Gabriel, or Sylar, or whoever -- Simon felt a sudden déjà vu -- was different with his memories intact.  Some of his quiet and diffidence around people remained, but at other times, a smooth, nearly dangerous confidence arose in him, and he could manipulate almost anybody to do things they would never have agreed to on their own.

Simon felt very nervous of this new incarnation.  Especially when he noted how Gabriel dealt with the single girls.  When they showed an interest, instead of merely drawing back, he would deliberately lead them onto other quarry.  He would brush a curl away from a turned-up face, or touch a hand, and then he'd mention some topic in passing that would abruptly capture the girl's attention and hold it long enough for him to escape.

Simon asked him point-blank, "What are you doing to them?"

Gabriel smiled.  "Sending them to what they really want.  It's not me.  They just don't know it."

Simon blinked.  "Ah."  And he knew that if Gabriel wanted to, he could send Simon off as well, redirect his thoughts to something else in life.  Simon was almost tempted to stop touching Gabriel.  But he had to keep examining him to make sure there were no ill effects of the memory recovery and ensuing trauma... and even without that need, Simon knew he wouldn't stop wanting to touch him.

The abilities were even more disturbing in their way.  Gabriel sat Simon and River down and quietly explained to them that there were special things that he could do.  Then he made objects fly around the room, boiled water without touching it, sent arcs of blue lightning through the air, and kept pulling out trick after trick until Simon was exhausted by the impossibility of it.  And then Gabriel said, "The tissue regeneration renders me effectively immortal.  Just so you know.  That's why I chose... disposal."

Simon leaned far back in his chair, nearly panting for breath.  He couldn't imagine such an existence.

River, utterly unflapped, smiled at Gabriel sweetly.  "It's not going to work."

Gabriel wrinkled his nose at her.  "You don't know anything, half-pint."

She looked smug.  "It won't work.  He still loves me, and you should have seen the things I can do."

Simon recovered himself a little.  "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing important," said Gabriel.  "But there's something you should think about."

"What's that?"  said Simon, trying to calm himself.

"If you wanted to travel again, you could."  Gabriel said it calmly and without emotion, as though proffering a business arrangement.  "I can probably protect you."

"Probably."  Simon felt a funny surge in his stomach.

Gabriel shrugged.  "As you said, it's a dangerous universe."

Simon spent a full day considering the idea before he realized that Gabriel might just be offering him something to deflect him, just like the village girls.  And then he made up his mind.  If Gabriel wanted to magick him into a different thought process, he was going to have to do it to Simon's face.  Not that it would make any difference, Simon suspected.  Gabriel hadn't offered anything but a touch of fingertips since the night of the festival.  It was possible he had lost interest.

But I know what I want.

* * *

Hard days in the fields had passed into hard days thatching rooftops and gumming chinks in log cabins, preparing for winter.  Simon lent a hand where he could, but nobody wanted to over-utilize the doctor, and there was always some wound or sickness to tend to.  Gabriel, as usual, threw himself into manual labor with gusto.  His hands couldn't develop callouses, but his mind became inured to the work.  Simon watched him carrying, the muscles straining beneath his shirt, saw his beautiful smile flashing at the friends he was slowly making among the villagers.

River had been right the first day, though Simon would never admit it to her.  It was time.

Simon had been shaving his face regularly for days.  He knew why, now.  He waited until evening, a fine, soft one with still enough warmth in the air to feel comfortable despite the open windows, and he met Gabriel at his bedroom door.  Gabriel was stripping off his shirt, and he turned to Simon at the door, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light.  Out of the corner of his eye, Simon saw River retreating to her room, but he could swear she winked at him as she disappeared.

Simon closed the door behind him as he walked in.  He took a deep breath, and said the most seductive thing he could think of.

"I'm not a hero, you know."

Gabriel paused, wiping sweat from his neck.  "No?"

"No.  I don't need to travel the stars, or to be protected from dangerous situations.  I'm extraordinarily risk-averse."  Simon paused.  "I can't even urinate without using a hand sanitizer."  Perhaps that was too much.

Gabriel smiled, though.  "Well..."  He moved closer.  "I'm not sweetly innocent and incorruptible.  And I do accept you for who you are."

Simon felt his mouth go dry.  "Do you?"  He reached up and took hold of Gabriel's shoulders, and felt Gabriel's hand move to his hip.

Gabriel touched Simon's face, and shook his head, soberly.  "Oh, my.  There's nothing you want in the world more than me right now.  That is a truly pathetic state."

"Says the man who jettisoned himself as space garbage for five hundred years in a fit of guilt."

"Touché."  Their hands were gradually tightening on each other, pulling in.  "Simon?"

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

They didn't kiss so much as collide, mouths mashing together as though they could somehow make up for weeks of not kissing by doing it all at once.  Simon felt fabric tearing beneath his fingers, and he knew they were destroying his shirt in the attempt to get it off, but all he could feel or think about was how hot Gabriel's skin was, how hot his mouth was, heat pouring over them both in waves as they fell to the cot.  It wasn't large enough, but they made do, laughing and panting as they pushed more clothing aside, Gabriel arching back and baring his neck when their naked bodies were finally pressed together.  Simon couldn't get enough of watching him.  "You're beautiful.  You're so beautiful," he whispered.

Gabriel was more vocal and demonstrative, but Simon was the more knowledgeable of the two, and his was the guiding hand as they learned each other's bodies, every smooth line, rough edge, and pulsing channel.  He committed Gabriel to memory with his mouth, an examination far more thorough than he could have done with scanner and sensors... his hands, his fingers, found every part and piece of Gabriel and stitched them together into a shuddering, moving, living whole.  Perfect.

He moved inside Gabriel, slowly at first and then with increasing frantic need, and Gabriel, despite his powers, allowed Simon to hold him down and set the pace until they were both straining for more, harder...  Simon watched Gabriel finish, and he closed his eyes and pushed...

Perfect.

The indescribable didn't need to be put into words, because it was made flesh.

Coming down; the cot was suddenly tiny, they were both soaked in sweat and stained with sex, it was horribly uncomfortable, and Simon couldn't bring himself to move or care.  He kissed Gabriel, tasting sweat.

Gabriel panted, "Not bad for something you dug out of the trash, was it?"

Simon wasn't that skilled at witty retorts, so he just started laughing, and then they were both laughing.  "Oh, I could get used to this.  To you.  If you stay?"

Gabriel pushed, sliding Simon off him, the two rolling over to a better position.  He kissed Simon's neck, biting it.  "I think I can stand to stay here for awhile.  I have plenty of time."

* * *

River was teaching some of the village girls to dance, and it was really less a lesson and more of a romp that was rapidly degenerating into a heap of giggling females.

Simon glanced at Gabriel, and noticed that he was enjoying the view.  Simon gave himself permission to do the same, but casually reached over and twined his fingers with Gabriel's.  "It will be winter, soon."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  "It doesn't feel cold at all."

Simon nodded.  "I know.  But it comes quickly here.  There will be a somewhat chilled week, and then boom, snow-covered paradise.  Or torture, depending on how well you've prepared for it."

Gabriel arched his head back, letting the setting sun bathe his forehead.  Simon shifted in his seat to change views; village girls had nothing on this.

Gabriel's voice sounded half asleep.  "Have you given any thought to what I told you?"

Simon didn't have to ask for clarification, he knew Gabriel was referring to the idea of traveling again.  "Yes.  I admit there's an itch."  He paused.  "You're not as clever as you think you are."  Gabriel smiled.  Simon said, "We could send out feelers with some of the passing ships, see if we could get in touch with Mal.  The satellite here is fairly pathetic, and I wouldn't want to attempt a broadcast."  Simon paused.  "Mal will come back by here in a few years anyway.  He doesn't let any member of his crew go without keeping tabs on them."

"Protective?"

"When you're family, as far as he is concerned, you stay family."

Gabriel looked at Simon.  "I don't integrate into families very easily."

Simon tried to imagine Mal's response to Gabriel, and gave it up.  "Then we'll stay here.  River likes it, and I have a good job."  Simon stretched.  "I like it here, too."

Gabriel grinned.  "Because I'm here now?"

Simon merely glanced at him, and then looked back at River, playing at dance teacher.  She was actually working at it now, trying to demonstrate a flying kick.  None of the other girls would be even close to capable of that maneuver.  "This is a nice place."  Trash planet.  Home sweet home.  Simon smiled, unable to stop himself... that was happening on a frequent basis, lately.

Above the sinking sun, a star winked into view.



Continue on to the sequel, Winter's Eve...


07/08/10--18:24: Pinto:  Clean (chan 2117071)


Title:  Clean
Pairing:  Zachary Quinto/Chris Pine
Summary:  Chris gets his.  A sequel to the fic Nasty, which was inspired by a prompt at trek_rpf_kink - "Pinto.  Watersports or Enema."  I chose enema.
Rating:  NC-17
Wordcount:  6265
Disclaimer:  dirty, filthy, nasty, really untrue lies
Warnings:  enema play, humiliation kink, mentions of scat, everything that goes with it, public excretion, mild baby talk, pregnancy kink, Seriously This Is Kinky Nasty Shit Okay?  Only the sickest of sick puppies need apply.
A/N:  This started out as a sequel and ended up the mother of all dissertations on enema porn.  I would apologize, but you people have already convinced me that you love it when I talk dirty.  I'm actually more worried by how detailed it is, but, well, what can I say.  When I try to do something, I want to do it right.




Clean


"You're cute when you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

Zach chuckles.

Chris glares over his naked shoulder and his ass -- held appealingly high -- reading the indulgent sound of Zach's amusement clearly.  "Okay, you try to look cool and collected from this position."

Zach grins with arrogant charm.  "I could manage it."

"Easy to say when you're not butt-naked on all fours."  Chris pauses.  "You probably could, though.  Supercilious asshole."

"Yes, yes."  Zach pats Chris affectionately on the rump.  "I'm not actually referring to your face, though expressive... nor to the position.  More to the fact that you assumed that position so readily.  This isn't how I want you."

Chris sits back on his heels, chastened.  "Oh.  But... I read..."

Zach presses his fingertips to Chris's lips, shushing him.  "You studied."  His smile widens.

Chris shrugs uneasily, ducking away from Zach's hand.  "I always study.  We know this about me."

"You are my very favorite person in the whole world."

"Again with the cute talk."  Chris squints and sighs.  "Just... look, tell me what to do?  I'm..."

"You're?"

Chris huffs.  "I'm not nervous, just, tell me what to do already!"

Zach grins, relenting, and rubs his hands together in a businesslike manner.  "Okay, we're doing this twice.  Just like last time, the first enema is for voiding the bowel, and the second is for play.  Not that the first can't be fun, but it should be relaxing, or at least not difficult.  So just lie on your back, and bend your knees a little."

Chris glances down at the triple layer of towels cushioning the area where his pelvis is expected to rest.  "I'm sensing a lack of faith."

"Just being prepared.  Excessive cleanup tends to kill the mood.  Go on, lay down and have a chizzill."

"Did you really just say 'chizzill'?"  Chris rolls to his back, adjusting the pillow beneath his head and shoulders so he can watch the procedure.

Zach nods soberly, readying his gear, the most impressive piece of which is a very official-looking IV stand with a heavy rubber bag dangling from one of the hooks.  "I may take unjust advantage of my ability to say whatever I like right now.  I mean, the fact is, you could go and tell Zoe tomorrow, 'Do you know that this so-called hipster uses terms such as chizzill?' and I'll immediately retort with, 'Why yes, I did use that term while pumping a gallon of suds down Chris Pine's rectal cavity.'"

Chris grins.  "Dude, if anybody has blackmail material right now, it's me.  You own your own IV stand.  I mean, that's just... seriously..."

Zach turns to look over his shoulder at Chris, with a smile of pure sin.  "Sick?"

Chris considers retorting, but then finds himself distracted.  "Wait.  Did you just say a gallon?"

Zach laughs.  "Oh, fuck no.  Not on your first try."

"Zach..."

"Chris, it's going to be just fine.  I would estimate you could take a few quarts if you were experienced and clear enough, but does this bag even look like it holds a gallon?"

Chris squints suspiciously at the bag.

Zach pats Chris's tummy gently.  "The answer is no.  It's a two quart bag, and we probably won't even use it to capacity.  Lift up your knees and spread a little."

"You're not going to..."

"Chris, relax, stop talking, and trust me.  I want to get everything set up before I pour the enema."  Zach speaks low and soothingly, and Chris swallows down a lump of tension, bending his knees.  Zach sits down beside him and begins to rub his chest, up and down, stroking over his hips and down his legs.  "Feel good?"

Chris tugs at Zach's arm, and Zach leans down, smiling, letting himself be pulled into a kiss.  They eagerly press into each other's mouths, tasting deeply as Zach's hands continue to glide up and down Chris's body, smoothing out the contours like working in clay until he finally relaxes in a small circling rub just over Chris's lower abdomen.  Zach lifts up and grins at Chris.  "I can't wait to fill you up.  You have no idea what you're about to experience.  I fucking love that."

Chris stares at him, suddenly short of breath, caught between anxiety and desire.  Zach reaches down and gives his cock a solid pump, gripping it almost reassuringly, and Chris sighs.  "Do it."

Zach's face immediately goes calmly professional as he reaches for the lube.  It's so different from his usual foreplay face that Chris barely feels aroused by the gentle touch of a fingertip at his anus.  Zach prepares him slowly, with just the one finger, not bothering to graze the prostate, merely focusing on the ring of the entrance.  Zach glances up at Chris with a twinkle in his eye, and Chris clenches the tiniest bit and suddenly it's better than it was, and then it's really nice, just a little further, "Fuck..."  Chris arches into Zach's hand just as Zach pulls out and stills his thrusting hip with a quick push.

"Take it easy."  He shows Chris the nozzle, which is slender and somewhat unassuming compared to some of the other toys they've used, and then he lubes it slowly and grins as he presses it to Chris's twitching hole.  "Ready?"

"Ready for something, Jesus!"

"Oh, you'll be getting something soon enough."  Zach slides it in.  It moves in with a little resistance, and then the widest part slides past the sphincter muscle and it's seated, firmly, deeper than Chris expected.  Chris feels a mild tugging as Zach fastens the tube to the nozzle, possibly doing other things as well, adjusting the height of the bag.  Zach puts a clamp on the tube and presses gently along the length.  "Good.  Now we get the solution."

"What are you going to use?"  Chris can't stop staring at the tube running from the IV bag to his body, feeling a bit like a science experiment.

"First one, Epsom salts."

"Why not tap water?"

"Plain unsalted water would deplete your body's electrolytes, and could even bloat you.  This will be soothing and will clean you right out, which means I'll be able to fill you even fuller on the second go."

Chris processes this.  "You're like a mad scientist."

Zach throws his head back and barks a theatrical, maniacal laugh that echoes shrilly around the room.  "IT'S ALIVE!  IT'S ALIIIIIIVE!!"  He grins at Chris and winks, checking the connection of the tube to the bag.  "I get to play with your body.  Muah ha ha."

Chris blinks at him, in a not-at-all nervous manner.  "I do kind of need this body.  For, you know, running, acting, stuff like that."

"Worry not, wiggle-muffin, you'll feel like a million bucks when this is over.  Now don't run away in terror, I need to go fetch your solution."  Zach points at Chris sternly as he disappears.  Chris occupies himself by staring at the tube between his legs.  His cock is twitching half-heartedly, as if unsure whether it's the best idea to be turned on.  Chris can sympathize.

Zach brings in a large pitcher.

Chris eyes it.  It might be a gallon after all.  "Is that gonna be cold?"

"Nope, 106 degrees."

"Motherfuck, boiling?"

Zach quickly presses Chris back to the bed with one hand, glaring at him.  "Fahrenheit, moron.  Water boils at 212 degrees.  This is just a little warmer than your own body temp, it will feel awesome.  Will you please, for just two seconds, trust me?  I swear to God I will warn you when I'm about to do something mean."

Chris winces, trying to relax.  "Fine."

"I'm the expert."  Zach has a thermometer in the liquid, and appears satisfied by what he sees.

"You're the expert."

Zach pours the solution into the bag, causing it to bulge, and Chris holds his breath, his body tensing, until he realizes that the clamp on the tube is keeping it from flowing into him just yet.  He lets his breath out explosively.  Zach shakes his head, rolling his eyes, and reaches down to rub Chris's tummy again.  "Don't tense.  It's just going to feel odd at first."

"Yeah.  Okay."

"Okay?"

Chris finally gives up, consigning himself to Zach's clutches with a minor groan.  "Oh fuck.  Yeah.  Okay.  Whatever."

Zach chuckles and releases the clamp, does something to the nozzle.

The creeping sensation of warmth actually is a bit pleasant, if strange... Chris is still watching, but of course there's nothing to see.  He can feel everything, though, the slow seepage of something invading him, even if it's a warm, soft invasion.  He bites his lip.

He notices that Zach is bulging against the seam of his jeans.  Chris wants to taunt him, but all that comes out is a whispered, "See something you like?"

Zach laughs, reaching down to rub Chris's belly some more.  With the liquid filling him, Chris can feel the motions of Zach's hand increasing the pressure, and it's strange and stimulating.  His cock decides that hardening is a safe bet.  Zach leans in and kisses Chris on the belly button.  "Oh, yes, I definitely like what I see.  Can you feel it?"

"Yeah.  It's... it's on one side."

Zach nods.  "This is your colon."  He traces a loose square around Chris's abdomen.  "The fluid is going to travel up this way," he marks it with the lingering trace of a fingertip, "Across here," a line bisecting Chris's belly, "And then down to where it joins the intestine."  Zach traces a line on the other side.

The feeling of being Zach's science experiment increases, but Chris is interested in spite of himself.  "I didn't know it was so big."

"That's why most adults can actually take over a gallon enema in an empty bowel."  Zach is rubbing more circles, deliberately massaging Chris, and Chris can feel it deep inside, a strange but not unpleasant sensation.

Suddenly he feels a dull ache.  "Cramp.  Ow."

Zach nods.  "Peristalsis.  Your body notes the pressure and is trying to respond by pushing masses through the colon.  Ride it out, I want you to see if you can last through a few cramps before voiding.  Hold it."

"Ugh."  Chris twists a little, trying to alleviate the discomfort.  Zach is still rubbing him, and he can't tell if it's helping or making it worse, but it certainly adds to a strange feeling of growing helplessness:  he feels unable to move from the bed.  "Um.  Zach... This... this is fucking weird..."

Zach nods.  "It packs a psychological punch."

"What is it?"  Chris feels himself edging toward whiny.

Zach keeps rubbing, and Chris can feel the fluid traveling through him, and now... bizarrely enough, he can actually see his own belly swelling a little bit.  Zach caresses the swelling, and the cramp eases a little.  "It's like a direct line to your toilet training, somehow, and all of those deliberately instilled socially necessary mental hangups.  I have control over a part of you that feels shameful.  Infantile, even."  Zach gives Chris a look from beneath lowered eyelashes, a deliberately sexy, evil look.  "I've made men cry from this position.  Once you've been reduced to a toddler again... it's not much of a stretch."

Chris feels a wave of nervous arousal pass through him like a shiver, and then another cramp seizes him.  "Ahh... shit.  Zach..."

Zach clamps the tube, stopping the flow.  "Okay, now we take a little break."  He's rubbing Chris again, rocking him from side to side, rolling his belly.  Chris closes his eyes and grunts.  He can feel movement inside, perhaps even gas bubbles... Zach says, "Turn a little."  Chris lets himself be rolled to one side, and feels Zach carefully kneading his abdomen along the line of his colon that Zach had traced earlier.  Chris can feel warmth spreading slowly through him, the pressure evening out.  Zach murmurs approvingly, "There we go."

"I feel like a lump of fucking dough, Zach."

Zach kisses him, gently biting his lower lip.  "Mmmm, cookie dough."  He reaches over and removes the clamp, and Chris gasps as the pressure fills him a little further.  Another cramp grips him, stronger this time, and it's all he can do not to double up.  Chris makes an embarrassing sound, and feels his face reddening.  Zach shushes him, still rubbing his tummy, and now when he presses Chris can hear the gurgling sound clearly.  It's all just a little bit disgusting, but the fullness is pressing against some very interesting areas, and Chris is almost... it's...

Zach begins to nibble along his jaw line and Chris winces.  "Fuck, cut it out."

"Am I confusing your body yet?"  Zach's voice is low and dirty and determined.  Chris watches his belly expand further, and the next cramp that takes him means serious business, it wrings his torso like a bear hug.  He bites his lip, squeezing hard against the pressure and arching back.  Zach puts the clamp on the tube again.  "Okay, a quart and a half... not bad.  Hold it just a little bit longer."

Chris thrashes a little as Zach adjusts something on the nozzle again, still buried deep inside of him.  There must be a valve of some kind on it.  "Zach, fuck, I think I need to go, I need to get up..."

"Getting up in the middle of a cramp is the worst possible time, you'll void all over the floor.  Wait for it to pass.  It'll pass, Chris."  Zach is rubbing Chris's hair back from his forehead, and Chris realizes he's sweating.  The pain isn't bad so much as just wrong, it's a deep feeling of wrongness that his body could so very easily get rid of if only he could just get to a toilet... Fuck...  The cramp finally begins to ease after a minute or two, and Chris groans in relief, feeling Zach's tireless hands still massaging and moving the fluid around inside him.  Chris looks down at the way Zach is pushing at his full belly, and realizes he's fully hard now, smearing a thin sheen of precum across his belly, which Zach is also rubbing into the skin.  Zach leans in and licks at it.  He glances up at Chris, who's suffering and gnawing at his own lip, and smiles.  "Okay, time to take the nozzle out..."

Chris tries to relax, but he clenches as Zach pulls out the nozzle, which is good because it means he can hold the enema in, no problem, except... "Hey, I'm not cramping, is it time yet?"  The grating tone in his voice is hard to suppress.

"Not yet.  Five more minutes."

Zach keeps rubbing him through it, and Chris makes strange faces and twists on the bed a little, trying to get comfortable.  The touch of Zach's fingers confuses everything about the experience; Chris can feel his body wanting to be desperately aroused, but the mixture of arousal plus the pressure in his gut makes it feel incredibly wrong in a way that's hard to describe.  He thinks about the words that he and Zach used last time; Sick... nasty...  Oddly appropriate words, right now.  "Aren't you supposed to humiliate me?"

Zach laughs.  "Honestly, you're already red-faced and look like you wish you could hide, so I doubt it's necessary."  Chris whimpers, feeling his blush deepen.  Zach gives his belly one more firm rub.  "Okay, it's time.  Chris, when you get to the toilet, don't hunch forward.  Sit sideways on the toilet seat and lean back, far as you can without losing your balance, okay?  And stay in there as long as you need to, even if it's half an hour.  I'm serious.  Sit until you're done.  Now sit up carefully, and trust me, rookie, you'll probably want to hold your ass closed until you get to your destination."

Chris, blushing furiously and biting back sarcastic retorts because he doesn't know how long he really has before the shit hits... the... yeah, rolls up out of bed and clutches himself with both hands, hobbling to the bathroom.  He hears Zach chuckle as he leaves, and blushes harder, but his cock seems to be more awake every second.  It stays hard as he balances himself on the toilet, stays hard as he closes his eys and lets go.  It doesn't in fact calm down until he's nearly empty.  Chris gives himself plenty of time, awkwardly laying across the toilet and feeling like an idiot, wondering if perhaps that's the point.  The sounds are embarrassing, the feeling is embarrassing, and he's never known it could be possible to pass this much disgustingness in a single sitting when he wasn't sick.  Altogether he feels reduced to the most basic level of humanity: fluids and organs.  He wonders what kinds of kinks nurses end up with, seeing this kind of thing every day.

It's a relief to let go, but not quite the insane experience that Zach had last time, and Chris wonders whether he's doing something wrong; whether he's in some kind of trouble.  That's a rather babyish thought.  Chris bites his lip, and wants to clean up and take a piss before his cock gets any more ideas, because it's responding entirely too enthusiastically to the bizarre toilet-training-whatever psychological aspect of this.

He stays, though, counting the seconds.  He grabs a book from over the toilet and reads for a few minutes, and waits until he's sure nothing else is coming.  Chris is the sort of person who wants to do everything right the first time.

He finally goes back to the bedroom feeling rather lighter than normal.  He almost wants to bounce on his toes.  "Um, hi."

Zach smiles at him.  "How do you feel?"

"Okay.  Fine."  Chris pauses.

"Disappointed, I see."

"Well..."

Zach stands up and walks over to Chris with a slink in his step like a line of rhythmic smut.  "Don't worry, we're far from being done."  He seizes Chris and backs him into the wall, pulling his hair hard enough to set a fierce tingle through his scalp, and bites his way through a fierce kiss, Chris gasping at the sudden press of bodies, the rough cotton of Zach's shirt rubbing raw against his nipples, the denim of his jeans hard on Chris's cock.  "Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm about to do mean things to you.  All fours.  Now."

Chris grits his teeth against a sudden surge of arousal.  Zach sounds a little more evil now, a little more aggressive, and while Chris isn't overly eager to feel the strange sensations again, he's more than eager to experience more of this version of Zach.  Even if this strangely raw, juvenile feeling is making him tender and twitchy in Zach's hard grip.  Chris seeks his lips again, and Zach just pulls away.  "I said, now."

Chris falls to the bed, crawling into position and looking back behind him for Zach's approval.  "This okay?"

Zach slaps his ass once, hard.  "Brilliant.  Now, did you get all clean in the bathroom?"

Chris feels heat rise in his skin from his face to his chest.  "I guess so."

"Did you flush all that nastiness away?"

Chris ducks his head.  "Fuck, Zach."

Another slap.  "Tell me."

Chris clenches his glutes briefly, feeling the sting.  "It's all gone."

Zach is drumming across Chris's ass with his fingernails now, scratching it lightly.  "And did you wipe yourself all clean and shiny?"

Chris shuts his eyes, battling the strange shame creeping over him.  His cock is so hard that it's curving nearly up to his belly.  "I'm clean.  Very clean."

"Good baby."

Chris feels the invasion of the nozzle without any preparation, but it's well-lubricated and he's somewhat loose now.  It's still a shock, though, cold with the lube, and he swallows hard as Zach shoves it in.  Chris looks over his shoulder to see what Zach is doing.  Zach glances at him sternly.  "Eyes front, Chrissy."

Chris swings back to the front, feeling chastened and ridiculous.  He says, "What are you... going to use?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."  Zach pinches him.  "Whatever I give you, you're going to fucking take.  It could be soap suds... they burn, you know.  Depending on the soap.  Or I could give you one cut with lemon juice, that gives you the worst cramps.  I'm fond of cramps myself."  Zach is rubbing over Chris's ass now, his voice wicked.  "Or coffee... or I could be really cruel and get you drunker than you've ever been in your life.  Ever had beer poured into your guts?  It just keeps fizzing... now stay still, while I fetch it."

Chris stays still, caught between dread and excitement, long enough to start shaking.  By the time he hears Zach return, he's gritting his teeth against the shudders wracking him.  "Ummm..."

"I'm going to be nice and let you talk during this, but only because I seem to have rendered you sub-lingual.  Now get ready for your medicine."

Chris hears the sound of something pouring, and hopes to Jesus F. Christ it isn't beer.  But the flow just feels warm at first.  He waits for a stinging sensation, almost feels it, but can't quite tell.  It might be stinging.  No, it definitely is stinging.  "Fuck..."

"No need to take breaks this time, babycakes, you're cleared out and can take all of it.  Maybe I'll get out the long tube and hook you up to the faucet, give you a good old-fashioned high colonic."

Chris groans, his head dangling as the pressure fills him, too quickly.  It's warm, warmer than the last one, so warm it feels like it's heating his body up from the inside, and Zach is right, there's very little resistance, it's just flowing right into him.  Chris opens his eyes and can see his belly swinging heavily.  "Fuck."

"Intense, yes?"  Zach is roughly massaging Chris's buttocks.  "How's the burn?"

Chris can feel the stinging become a burn now, hot and demanding.  "Jesus..."

"Good."

Chris feels something sharp at his buttock, and jumps a little.  Zach is biting him, leaving tiny little nips over the rounded flesh, still slightly raw from the slaps earlier.  Chris clenches around the nozzle, and Zach bites him more and scratches him a little, leaving trails of scratches down the backs of his thighs.  Chris whines, feeling his empty abdomen fill with pressure and stinging and fullness and... he can't tell if there's fizz or not, or if it's making him drunk, or high, or whatever-the-fuck it's supposed to do.  He gasps for breath, sweat breaking out all over as Zach keeps tormenting the skin on the outside and the inside both.

He has no idea how long it lasts, but by the time Zach has him full, Chris feels like a farm animal ready for slaughter, gasping for breath and grunting at the various holds on his body, swaying and possibly inebriated, eyelids heavy, shivering yet soaked in sweat.  It's heady and unpleasant and he's not sure how much more he can take, but then Zach says, "Okay, we're full now."  And Chris feels, with a mild shock of horror, the nozzle being removed.  He clenches for all he's worth, feeling so full from the inside that he could swear he's swollen up like a pumpkin.  He groans, deep.  The sting burns a little more, but oddly, almost tickling him.

Zach bounces onto the bed beside Chris and then his hands are at Chris's abdomen, rubbing and massaging him, and with Chris so full he can suddenly feel the pressure from his diaphragm to his pelvic bone, deep and invasive, pushing everywhere, pushing... pushing... and Chris suddenly feels a flare of arousal so deep and thorough that he throws his head back, shouting.  "Zach!"

Zach laughs.  "This, baby, is where it gets good.  Because you're so full that I can press on nerve endings you didn't know you had."  He pushes up against Chris's distended belly and Chris staggers on his hands, nearly falling forward.

Zach is behind him now, and Chris can't keep track of anything.  His body is tingling all over, feeling so stretched and full, it's like being fucked all over from the pit of his stomach and he's twisting and making sounds that don't sound like a human being at all as Zach begins to spank and torment his ass again.  Every slap enhances the sensations, and Chris's dripping cock is bouncing, bumping up against his stomach now, easily because his belly is so distended.

Zach starts talking in a low, dirty voice.  "Oh, Chris.  You're so dirty like this, so fucking helpless.  Three quarts... yes, that's right, you took that much, I had to refill the bag... and you're so full you're ready to spurt all over your own face, aren't you?"  Chris clenches tighter, yearning back for more touch, but there's nothing there now.  Zach is by his ear now, whispering into it.  "I am inside of you, now, I'm just stroking you all over from the inside.  There's no part of you that can hide from me.  You dirty, slutty little baby."  Zach gives him a light shove on the belly and Chris garbles a noise into the air, biting his tongue.  Zach rubs Chris's stomach, his fingers barely touching Chris's cock.  "You're so turned on you're dribbling all over the sheet.  I bet you want to come, don't you?  You're fucking getting off on this, aren't you... oh, Chris."  Zach's voice is heavy with disappointment.  "Fuck, you're such a whore."

Chris mewls, straining to rub his cock against Zach's hand.  "Fuck... Zach, please..."  Zach's right, he's an absolute whore, he would do anything, give anything right now for just one touch on his cock.  "Please!"

Zach rubs Chris everywhere but his cock, luxuriantly rolling his belly, squeezing large handfuls of flesh around his nipples like groping a tit.  It aches, and Chris presses into it.  "Yeah, you're begging me for it.  And when I give it to you, you're going to come harder than you ever thought was possible."

Chris is burning up from the inside, every shred of his body attuned to the aching need to release, despite the fact that his ass is clenched up so tightly he doesn't think he can ever let go.  He whines shamelessly, shaking all over, wordless pleas slipping from his lips, drops of sweat and precum raining down on the sheet.  His desires are formless and intense, churning with the forces moving around in his body, desperately needy and wanton and helpless.  For a moment, he wonders if Zach is right... he thinks he may start to cry if it keeps on.  He begs for a touch, for anything.

Zach takes his cock in a firm grip and pumps him, twice.  That's all it takes.  Chris feels his orgasm roll all over his body, starting in his chest and spreading down through him, over his ass, down into his cock, erupting like a geyser now over the sheet.  His ass is wound up tighter than a fist, but some of the pressure is relieved by the orgasm.  He falls forward finally, collapsing onto his elbows, riding echo after echo through his body.

Zach is rubbing his back.  "Come on, Chris, we need to get you to the bathroom again."

Chris pants for a few moments, the aftershocks still licking through him like lightning.  He manages to prop himself up again, but words are impossible.  He protests with a groan instead.

Zach helps him up.  "Come on, you can't possibly hold it much longer..."

Chris lets Zach help him up, and then promptly reaches back and clutches his own ass again, realizing how bad the cramps are now.  "Fuck!"

"Yes, time to hurry."  They make it to the bathroom, but Zach doesn't let Chris sit on the toilet, he puts him on his back in the bath tub.  Chris tries to protest, but Zach shakes his head.  "I want you to void this one completely and it's easier on your back.  Don't worry, the other one was the bad one, this one will be mostly clean."

Chris whimpers and settles back, his shoulders and arms on the lip of the tub.  He tries to relax his sphincter... and he can't.  He looks at Zach, pointedly.

Zach is watching Chris, and the flicker of evil is still in his eyes.  "What's wrong, baby?  Can't go potty in the tub?  Is it too shameful?"

Chris stares, and his belly lets out a fierce-sounding burble of strain.  "Fucking, no.  Zach.  Please... I need to let this go."

"So let it go."

Chris pauses.  He looks up at Zach pleadingly.  "I can't do it with you in here."

Zach leans into the tub, his nose nearly touching Chris's, and places a heavy hand on Chris's belly.  "Then I guess we're going to be sitting here for a very, very long time."

Chris gives him a look of utter horror and then groans as another cramp seizes him.  "Zach, I'm serious!"

"So am I."  Zach is stroking Chris now, and then he starts pinching him, tickling him.  Chris tries to slap his hands away, but the odd paralysis from earlier is gripping him, and all he can do is groan and endure it.  The tub is cold, and he's starting to shiver, and his anus is still clamped so tightly shut that it feels fucking welded.

Then Zach starts talking to him again.  "Chris, do you know what's about to happen?"  Chris grunts, feeling the burn again in his bowel, the rippling cramps, the unbearable urge to push and to hold tight warring one with the other.  "You're about to spew a whole lot of fluid all over yourself.  But that's not what's really going to happen; when you hold back this long, when you fight it this hard... and then you finally let go?"  Zach pinches Chris's nipple, tweaks his testicles, flicks his cock back and forth like a cat with a toy.  "It's going to feel like another orgasm, except different.  Your body rewards you for finally letting go."  Zach places his hands, spread wide and huge, across Chris's belly and slowly leans in, putting his weight into it.  Chris quavers a wail, holding onto the tub for dear life, his legs kicking.  "It's going to feel like the dirtiest, most shameful, most pleasurable thing you've ever felt.  All at the same time."  He presses harder.

Chris gasps for breath, knowing he must be flushed all over, shaking with the efforts of his body.  He can't help watching the fascinated, lustful look on Zach's face.  "You're... fucking enjoying this... aren't you?"

Zach nods, unabashed.  "I told you I would.  Which is why you better believe I'm not going anywhere.  I have all night long, Chrissy-boo."  He pinches Chris's cheek, and then goes back to pressing on his stomach.  Chris whines helplessly, taking hold of Zach's shoulder.  It almost feels like they're fighting, but then Zach is whispering encouragements, little goading reassurances, almost like he's helping.  "Come on, baby.  You have that dirty all inside of you, let it go, let it out.  You know you want to do it in front of me."  Chris groans, abandoned, his body sick with pain and pressure, burning and fizzing inside as though Zach's filled him with some insane cocktail of lava and champagne, wanting to go so bad, so bad, it's the only thing he's ever wanted in his life, and he can't.  He can't release at all.  He and Zach are both pushing now, and he just can't force himself to do it.

It's remarkably focusing to the mind.  Chris can almost feel everything being stripped away from him; language, gone.  Philosophy, gone.  Logic and reason, rapidly depleting.  Ethics, disappearing without a trace.  With what remains of his intellect he wonders just exactly how deeply buried in the psyche it is, the commandment to hold your excreta until in private, but then that whirls away and all he's left with is a deep and absolute conviction that he can't possibly let go, and a deep and absolute conviction that he has to.  Then he's whining again, trapped in some pre-verbal space where all he can feel is Zach hovering over him, pushing, pushing, and he clings to Zach and cries out, dipping into and out of incoherence like a man delirious with fever.

Zach lets it go on for minutes, maybe for an hour, Chris can't tell.  But finally, during a quiet spell, Zach puts his lips to Chris's ear, pressing his nose against the sweat drenching Chris's hair at his temple, and he says, "Almost feels like I got you pregnant, baby.  You're all full of me.  Yeah, that's just what you look like."

Chris's eyes fly open and he feels a shock all the way to his toes, cold and bracing enough that his body is jarred loose, distracted, it lets just the tiniest rivulet go... he reaches over and clings hard to Zach, locking eyes with him, and strains to open up, and then... the wash of ecstasy that sweeps over his body is so pure and profound that he wonders if he's dying.  He gusts a moan, floundering like a fish.  Zach whispers him through it, holding him up, rubbing his stomach as it empties.  Sweet reward; Chris's body is making him feel good in a way he's never felt before...  Yes.  Do that.  Keep doing that.  More.  Again.  Keep going.  Yes, yes, yes... oh fuck, oh God, YES... please... more...

There's a moment of blank whiteness, where Chris just tries to scrape the remnants of himself together.  He can feel Zach rinsing out the tub, can feel warm water and soap being rubbed along his legs, but he can't seem to care about anything, because everything feels too good, too relaxed.  He just did the only thing he would ever need to do in this life, forever and ever, Amen.  He never needs anything again.  Not even to talk.

Zach lets him rest, sweeping a shower of warm water back and forth along his body with the massage attachment.  It finally revives Chris sufficiently to open his eyes and gaze at Zach with something like awe.  He opens his mouth, says, "Hi."

"Hey, welcome back."  Zach moves the water back and forth, back and forth.  "How are you?"

"Feel a little weird, like I've been... like... scraped out.  Hollowed."

Zach nods, as though it makes sense, and Chris wonders if he's being humored.  "If you feel anything weird tonight or tomorrow, just be sure to talk to me about it.  I kind of... okay, I didn't expect you to go quite that deep."  He chuckles.  "You did cry a little, near the end."

"I'm not surprised.  I wouldn't be surprised if I sang opera and burst three organs near the end."

"No organs were burst in the making of this film."  Zach pats Chris's belly gently.

At the touch of Zach's hand on his stomach, Chris feels a surge of sensation right through his cock.  He blinks, shaking his head rapidly.  That could be interesting, not to mention inconvenient.  "I have one question for now."

"What's that?"

Chris squints at him.  "Dude.  Pregnant?"

Zach blushes bright red and ducks his head, laughing.  "Crap.  Um.  I was in the heat of the moment and kinks are inherently stupid and wrong?"

"Your kinks may be the wrongest ones I've ever heard of."  Chris sits up, taking the shower massage from Zach and rinsing his backside, making sure it's really clean.  His body feels light and cool and utterly lax.  He stretches his legs.  "Um, I don't think I can get myself up."

Zach turns the water off.  "Yeah, my disgusting kinks apparently settled your hash but good."  He helps Chris up, kissing him, reaching for a towel.  "Can you walk?"

"Barely."  They manage to dry Chris off, stagger to the bedroom, collapse onto the bed.  Zach shrugs his way out of his clothes, never entirely letting go of Chris, and then they spends a few minutes still and silent.  Chris doesn't begrudge a moment of it, since he still feels a little strange, a little disjointed.  He can feel himself settling, but it's slow and a little frightening.

"Chris?"

"Zachary Quinto, Impregnator of Rectums?"

They both lose it, giggling for a moment, and the release of tension feels good.  Zach swings an arm and a leg over Chris, rubbing his chest.  "I just want to say, you're still my very favorite person in the world.  That was... astounding.  God, I nearly came watching you."

Chris turns over, looking down Zach's body.  "Do you need anything?"

"We can take care of me later."

Chris pulls Zach into a tight hug, squeezing his lanky frame mercilessly.  "That was awesome, but I'm going to feel really fucking funny the next time I have to take a shit.  Are you sure it's safe to cross one's potty-training circuits with kink?"

Zach catches his breath, his ribs creaking in Chris's arms.  "I've been doing it for years and I've managed to avoid the scat clubs, so yeah, I'm guessing it'll be okay."

They lie quietly for another small while.

"Zach?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you put into me the second time?"

"Oh.  Saline and soda.  Basic, isotonic, non-irritating, very mild."

"Wow.  You're really a motherfucking bastard."

Zach smiles into Chris's chest.  "Next time you get milk and molasses cut with peppermint soap."

"Oh, very ha, like there'll be a next time."

"There will be."

Chris thinks about arguing, but he feels too good all over to do anything but fall asleep.




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07/09/10--03:27: Simon Tam/Gabriel Gray:  Winter's Eve (chan 2117071)


Title:  Winter's Eve
Pairing:  Simon Tam of Firefly and Gabriel Gray/Sylar of Heroes, River Tam is also present in the story
Summary:  Sequel to Salvage, and this pairing just keeps writing itself in my head.
Rating:  NC-17
Wordcount:  3790
Disclaimer:  these are not my beautiful men
Warnings:  angst, post-orgasm sensitivity/soft cock play, violence
Spoilers:  All of Heroes and all of Firefly
A/N:  Dudes, this is almost painfully sweet.  IDK why.  ♥  THEY DON'T KNOW HOW TO QUIT EACH OTHER, THAT'S WHY.  A quick word about the name game that I can never seem to resist playing with Sylar:  Salvage was written from Simon's POV, and to him, Sylar's name was on the casket label, so he calls him and thinks of him as Gabriel Gray.  Sylar, of course, thinks of himself as Sylar, and this chapter is from his POV.




Winter's Eve



Sylar couldn't get used to having to duck beneath doorways.  Physical invulnerability was handy for bullet wounds, fire, and any and all manner of maiming influences, but these days he spent far more time appreciating the way his forehead didn't hold a mark from the constant banging into things.  The majority of the homes in the area were framed and insulated using doorways and cabins scrounged from space-faring vessels, and in space, for some bizarre reason, doors were always small.  It reminded him of his mother's apartment in the city.

With a shock, Sylar realized that the memory was wryly affectionate.

He couldn't get used to the feeling of family, either, but there was no way around that one.  River had glommed onto him as firmly as a barnacle, treating him as Simon's co-pilot.  She had developed the habit of referring to him as Relief Commander Sub-Brother Number 2, which title was accompanied by a complex salute.  Sylar got his own back by giving her a different nickname every time he saw her (everything from "Syndrome-Head" to "Chuck").  Simon kept well back from their apparent sibling rivalry, though he did occasionally get his patented why me? look when they traded shoulder swats over a discussion of political theory.  River had Sylar absolutely beat in mathematics, but her understanding of politics was in its infancy compared to his.  He was very nearly positive of that.

All in all, there were plenty of emotional crash courses that Sylar was forced to take in order to function in his new incarnation, none of them trivial.  But by far the hardest was learning how to deal with conflict.

Conflict was so much easier to deal with when you simply blasted it right out of existence.  Sometimes Sylar missed that.  Simon, it turned out, could hold a grudge even worse than Peter Petrelli, and for far less reason.

Sylar carefully ducked and entered Simon's lab, crossing his arms to lean against the inside of the door frame.  "Keeping busy, I see."

Simon didn't move a muscle or turn away from his monitor, which was cycling through a series of test results on local micro-fauna.  "Some of us have important work to be doing."  His shoulders were stiff beneath the white expanse of his lab coat, one of the few remaining anti-static, anti-biotic garments he owned.

Sylar smiled.  "You're cute when you're annoyed."

The shoulders stiffened even more.  "Your deriving pleasure from my annoyance would explain a lot."

"It would explain how I've managed to stay with you this long without killing you," Sylar noted, still smiling.  He moved close to Simon, not touching him, but letting his presence be felt.  Sylar was taller by a few centimeters; just barely enough to convey a looming sensation.

Simon's shoulders were deeply unimpressed.  "Don't disturb me right now."  Sylar touched the back of his neck, and Simon pulled away with a jerk, whirling to face him, his eyes vividly enraged.  "I said do NOT touch me!"

Sylar folded his arms over his chest.  It was tempting to answer Simon's anger with his own, but Simon couldn't fool Sylar; the instant Sylar had touched his skin he had known that the reason Simon was pulling away so violently wasn't because he didn't want to be touched.  It was because he did.  "It's so unfair, isn't it?  You want to show me nothing but rage, but every time I touch you it's like I can see it written over you like a sign, how you really feel about me, what you truly want."

Simon's lips were pressed tightly together.  "Get out."

"What's more unfair is that you can't see what I'm feeling in return," Sylar continued, calmly.  He turned to leave, but before walking through the door, he looked over his shoulder and winked.

Simon swore in rapid Mandarin and turned away.

* * *

In retrospect, the sparring had probably not been the best idea.  Sylar had underestimated how overprotective Simon could be; or else he'd simply misinterpreted what a deep gesture of trust it had been when Simon had begun to leave River alone in Sylar's care.

River had tried to explain it in her fragmented way, but it had taken Sylar entirely too long to realize:  when Simon had first rescued her, she had been far more broken than she was now.  And now it was too late to realize:  Simon had never gotten over that.

Although the afternoon had begun innocently enough.

Ordinarily Sylar could find plenty of things to tinker with, enough to keep him more than occupied.  He was working on a more efficient irrigation system than the current hauling-pipe method favored by the farmers.  It turned out that being on a trash planet had its advantages.  Space garbage tended more toward hazardous waste and scrap than organic refuse.  The toxic waste had to be avoided with great care and kept, if possible, from the water supply, and still there were a few species of bird and rodent that were perhaps just a little more interesting than they would have been with a non-irradiated evolution.  But the scrap was really quite amazing.  It towered around the hills:  great, rusted heaps of junked machinery, engines, parts, all too broken for its previous owners to justify the cost of repair, but very little of it too broken to make the attempt.

For Sylar's nervous hands, it was like a wonderland.  He spent hours sifting telekinetically through the mountains of ridiculously useful trash, sorting it into piles according to function and level of decrepitude.  He had several dozen projects ongoing, most of them far less practical than the irrigation system.

He felt oddly shy about telling Simon about the hulk in the back yard.  It would actually be space-worthy given a few months work and a few more lucky finds, but then what?  Where was there to go?

But he kept working on it.  Sylar didn't like to let himself get restless or unoccupied.  Perhaps Simon was right, as perhaps Peter had been, and there was no danger now.  But there was no point in giving himself time to sit and dwell.

Simon, of course, was marvelously distracting at times, but after the first time Sylar watched him walk into the lab, come out four hours later and express genuine surprise at the lateness of the hour, Sylar realized he had a workaholic on his hands.  Which was fine, as Sylar tended to drop into his own little world of gears and mechanisms, too.  And anyway, when Simon was plunged into his research, River was there to talk to and bicker with.

Early on, when she still seemed to occasionally regard Sylar as a big, intelligent toy, she'd tried to groom him as a dance partner.  He'd promptly refused.  "I don't dance."

"He who can talk, can sing, he who can walk, can dance.  Zimbabwean proverb."

Sylar blinked.  "I'm not Zimbabwean, and I can walk, but I do not dance."

She had persisted, continuing to bring it up from time to time, and that afternoon had been one of the times.

River aimlessly spun around the room.  She had already exhausted her own morning's allotment of study, and Simon was overseeing the spring gelding and wasn't expected back for hours.  When he did come back, he'd most likely just collapse at the table, muttering to himself about being the most gifted trauma surgeon in his class, now overseeing the genital mutilation of farm animals... Sylar and River both knew better than to try to talk to him after a veterinary day.

River's posture shifted, and she suddenly flowed into a set of formal stances; kicks interwoven with cutting arm motions and leaps.  It was some form of martial arts, but not one Sylar recognized.

Sylar crossed his arms over his chest, watching her.  "That's not dance."

She looked at him, coyly.  "It's your kind of dance."

Sylar was forced to agree with that.  "Show me what you can do."  River moved back to her starting position, and Sylar held out a hand in a stop motion, shaking his head, smiling as he stepped in front of her.  "I said show me what you can do, not what you can pretend to do."

River accepted this with her usual calm.  "I'll kill you," she pointed out.

"I'll recover," he replied, casually.

Within ten minutes he was beginning to regret his cavalier attitude.  River had not been exaggerating; she did kill him.  Five times, in fact, before he called a time-out to re-assess the situation and make some sense of his clothes.  They took a break and drank some juice.  River grinned at him.  "You die well."

Sylar rolled his eyes.  "I've had some practice.  So perhaps you could teach me some moves after all."

River's brow lowered.  "Inappropriate form of negotiation."

"Meaning?  Oh."  Sylar grimaced.  "Fine... give me half an hour of my kind of dance, and then you can teach me half an hour of your kind."

"Mine first and you have a deal," she countered, shrewdly.

Naturally Simon couldn't arrive home when Sylar was making an idiot out of himself, kicking up his heels and learning frilly hand motions.  No, of course Simon had to walk in just as Sylar was practicing throat jabs... with River's throat as the target.  He'd been hesitant at first until she'd proven to him exhaustively (and mockingly) that there was no way he was going to actually make contact with her skin.  Finally, in frustration, Sylar had cheated by nabbing her telekinetically and was mock-throttling her with his arm, barely two instants from the inevitable throw right over her shoulder, where Sylar knew he would gasp on the floor for a few minutes before trying again...

But the throw never came, because Simon walked in, and gave them both a look so quiet and awful that they separated and stared at him until he walked between them, retreating to his lab.

That had been two days ago, and the silence in the house was now so thick that Sylar felt like he was breathing soup any time he crept near Simon's lab.  Simon wasn't being too different when he was around River, but around Sylar, he was now the absolute icon of chilled civility.  It was the most bizarre form of silent treatment Sylar had ever experienced.

Sylar had to do something.  Presumably.  He didn't particularly like his old room, sleeping in Simon's had become something of a habit.  Simon's bed was far bigger, after all.

And it had Simon in it, which was something, when Simon wasn't in a rage.

The first night, Sylar had come to bed and sat at the edge, getting such blatant signals of fuckoffanddie -- paraphrased from Simon's own undoubtedly more cultured way of framing the expression -- from Simon's stiff body beneath the sheet that Sylar had simply stood up and left again.

Touching Simon only made it harder.  The emotions roiling beneath the surface would surge forth like a riot of static:  loveyouwantyouhowcouldyoudothistrustedyou so tangled up in rage and confusion that it almost stung Sylar's fingers.  But the worse the emotional storm grew, the tighter the lockdown.  Sylar had found years ago that Lydia's ability was tricky, diffuse; the ability to feel what people wanted and needed was not at all like mind reading.  He could feel what Simon needed, without knowing how to get him to talk.

And Lydia's ability had a side-effect:  it made you want to give people what they wanted.  Sylar drifted around Simon's perimeter, feeling the need drawing him, but unable to satisfy it... it was painful.

His equal need for Simon turned the pain to agony.

River, cleverly, had become suddenly extraordinarily accident prone.  Simon was forced to treat her for a rash of cuts, bruises, and stings.  He scolded her as he bandaged her, but Sylar watched Simon's careful hands on her wounds, and understood her tactics, and cursed for a second his physical invulnerability.

"How do I get him to talk to me again?"  Sylar asked.

River tilted her head.  "You have to turn him into a doctor."

Sylar recognized what she meant... that Simon's physician side was where he kept the most powerfully good parts of his nature; his compassion, his honor, his decency, they all resided there.  He and Sylar had first established common ground on the examination table.  But now, there was nothing wrong with Sylar, and Simon was all too aware that there might never be.

When Simon entered his lab the following evening, he found Sylar sitting on the examination bed.  "Hello."  Coldly.

Sylar looked into Simon's eyes.  "I'm feeling unwell.  Could you check me out?"

Simon paused, and pressed his mouth into a thin, firm line.  "There's nothing wrong with you.  Do not waste my time."

"Simon, you are my doctor."

"And therefore my judgment on the matter can be trusted."

Sylar began to calmly unbutton his shirt.  A hint of lust plus Simon's bedrock need to fix anything that might be wrong... perhaps it would be enough.  "I'll leave the second you're done."

Simon glared at him for a moment.  He put down his bag, yanked it open.  "Fine."

"Thank you."

For the first few minutes it was like the rush of a drug hit; Simon's touch with its still-overwhelming burden of emotion rolled across Sylar's senses like a tidal wave and it was difficult to keep still, to keep calm.  And Simon noticed the increase in blood pressure and breathing, but all he did was murmur, "Calm down."  Sylar tried, and gradually, he could feel Simon's touch growing gentler, the emotions toning down.  Now there was just pain, a deep, aching well of it, so profound Sylar almost wanted to hiss and pull away, but he bore it, letting Simon touch him until they both knew there was nothing else to examine.

Simon paused, his face lowered, holding Sylar's wrist.  He was on the point of releasing it when Sylar reached out and pulled him close.  Simon resisted, and Sylar whispered, "Please don't.  Just... let me talk for a minute."

They both remained still, wrapped in silence.

Sylar breathed in Simon's smell, deeply.  "River and I are similar; when we have an exciting ability, we want to be able to use it.  She's never gotten a chance to use the things she learned, not for fun, not without desperation.  Her ability to fight and kill, that's a part of who she is, now."  Simon tried to pull away again, and Sylar held on.  "Please.  Please."  He felt tears spring to his eyes.  "You know I would never, ever do anything to hurt her."  He waited.  "Please tell me you know that, Simon."

Simon let out a shuddering breath.  "She's not invulnerable."

"I know."  Sylar kept holding him.  He didn't know how to say what he needed to say next.  It was harder than anything he could imagine doing.  "Simon, I..."  His throat locked up.  He swallowed hard, tried again.  "I'm not invulnerable, either.  You're hurting me, and yourself, and.  I don't know what to do, how to stop it."

Simon shivered.  "Gabriel..."

Sylar tried to force the words out, and it was too much.  His mouth balked.  He pressed a hand to the back of Simon's neck -- painguiltwhydidyouneedlovelovelovewhy -- and it was enough.  He whispered, "I love you, I'm sorry, but I love you and I can't let you do this.  Come back."

Simon pulled back enough to look at him, and his eyes were stunned, silver-blue tinged with steel, so clear and piercing, amazed as they had been the day Sylar had awoken.  He whispered, "You understand her.  Nobody understands River, but you do.  I don't.  When I see the two of you together..."  He swallowed.  "I don't understand you either, Gabriel, I'm just... just a person, I'm not like you.  Maybe..."

Sylar felt his heartbeat speed up, and in that moment, his mind went in two very different directions.

One was purely intellectual, and he realized that Simon was in fact envious of his connection to River, and perhaps even jealous, but definitely insecure in his ability to hold Sylar's interest.

The other was a bright, strangling flash of terror so pure that it obliterated thought and reason and sent him lurching forward, seizing Simon's jacket by the lapels and gasping into his face, "No!  No.  You do not push me away from you, or give me away, or SEND me away.  I.  Am.  Yours."

"Gabriel, calm down, please."

Sylar shoved a hand beneath Simon's collar, gripping his shoulder.  "I feel you want me.  I can feel it!  Simon..."

Simon took a double handful of Sylar's hair and clenched his fists, harshly, his voice oddly serene as he said, "Gabriel.  Stop talking, take two breaths, in and out."  He dictated them, "Innn... out.  Just like that.  Innn... hold it... out."  Sylar began to breathe more regularly.  He closed his eyes, not sure why the sudden fit had come over him, but feeling Simon's clear love and desire like a draft of cool water, he clung to it.  The facts had spoken for themselves in the end; Sylar was broken.  Simon did need to fix it.  Simon said, gently, "No, I don't want to give you away.  Silly of you to think that.  It will never happen, Gabriel... never."

Their lips met, clumsily for a moment until both relaxed into it, yes, this was where we were before...  Sylar felt Simon pulling him forward, and followed him, out of the lab, back to Simon's bedroom.  Falling into the bed together was a relief, and Sylar pulled the cloth from Simon's skin, touching him everywhere, licking him to taste the echoes of want still thrumming beneath his skin, panting after it like a starving man.  Simon pushed him over, holding him.  "Gabriel."  He paused, seeming to struggle with something.  "Why... why me?"

Sylar growled and rolled them over, nuzzling into Simon's neck.  "God only knows.  You're uptight, stupidly dignified, and possibly too insecure to live."  He paused.  "Don't let go of me."

"I won't."  Simon held him close.  "I won't."

* * *

Sylar woke in the night, feeling a cold spot in the bed next to him.  He lifted himself up, looking around the room.  "Simon?"

"I didn't mean to wake you up."  Simon was peering through the tiny frosted-glass window.  "Come here and look at this."

Sylar rose up, moved over to Simon and put his arms around him.  Simon backed into him gratefully.  They were both stripped to their shorts, and the air had grown cold.  Sylar looked through the window, and outside, snow was falling in a thick, billowing swirl.  The ground was already white with it.  Sylar took a deep breath, recognizing the smell of snow.

"I wonder if I should wake River," Simon said, musingly.

Sylar nuzzled the side of his neck.  "No, let her sleep.  Come back to bed."

Simon smiled.  "You don't want to to go outside and make a snow beast?"

"No."  Sylar paused.  "What's a snow beast?"

"See?  You're intrigued."

Sylar growled, rubbing his stubble against the tender point where Simon's neck met his shoulder.  "Knock it off."

"You're the mind-reader, all I have are my meager machinations."

"I don't read minds, and only you would attempt to machinate yourself out of sex.  Why do you always ask for the opposite of what you want?"

Simon pushed Sylar gently away from the window to the bed and crawled over him, sweeping the blanket over both of them.  "You always know what I want."

Sylar pulled him closer.  "And that annoys you."

"Mind reader."

"Fine, whatever."  They were shivering a little, but beneath the blanket the heat of their bodies and shared breath was already becoming warm and mildly stuffy.  Simon's eyes swept over Sylar's body as they always did, with a mixture of analytical approval and open, almost helpless lust.  Sylar waited, his hands twitching with impatience.  "Touch me."  Their legs twined together.

Simon began to touch.  "Tell me what I want."

Sylar sighed, deeply, arching up into Simon's fingertips.  "You want my mouth."  He grinned.  "So predictable."  He curled his way down Simon's body.

"Don't be snide... ahh.  Gabriel..."

"Mmmm... sing for me."  Sylar took Simon's hips firmly in his hands and mouthed along his cock, and Simon pressed his face into the sheet to stifle a low moan.  Sylar began to work him in earnest, glancing up wickedly, waiting for the dam to break.  He hummed gently.

Simon curled around Sylar's head, gasping hard, closing his eyes.  His lips moved wordlessly for a moment, and then he groaned deeply.

Sylar lifted up to kiss Simon's slackened lips for a moment.  "There we go."  He tried to go back down, but Simon seized Sylar's face and wouldn't stop kissing him, pressing their bodies together.  Sylar reached down to stroke them both, eagerly tangling his tongue with Simon's as their hips thrust together.

Simon broke the kiss.  "I missed you.  I'm so sorry, it was... ah... stupid."

"Stupidly stupid.  So... irritating!"

"Hush..."  Simon reached down and pushed Sylar's hands out of the way, taking over, and Sylar growled, thrashing back and kicking until Simon rolled on top of him, weighing him down.  He fastened his mouth to the side of Sylar's neck as Sylar arched back and seized, moaning tight in his throat.  They exchanged short, soft sounds, lungs almost burning now until they finally struggled free of the blanket and took startled breaths of the cooler air, releasing heat into the room, heat against their pressed bellies, hipbones almost bruising each other as they came.

Sylar slung an arm over Simon's quaking shoulders, and they kissed each other roughly.  He caught his breath and moved himself down on the bed again, nuzzling into Simon's hips.  Simon gasped, his face twisting, but he didn't push Sylar away, and Sylar licked and sucked at his softened cock until Simon's gasps turned into moans.  Sylar pressed his cheek to Simon's hip.  "I knew I could get you to sing for me."  Simon bit his lip, stubbornly.  Sylar chuckled and reapplied himself, sucking and gliding along the soft, fragile skin with his tongue until Simon began to harden again, then more eagerly, teasing it to full.

He crawled his way back up Simon's chest, leaving bites along his path.  "Tell me... what do I want?"  Simon, flushed and sweating, seized Sylar and rolled him face-down, rutting fiercely against his backside before reaching down to divide him.  Sylar moaned, spreading his legs.  "Mind reader."

"You're so predictable," whispered Simon, pushing in.

Sylar gripped the edge of the blanket so hard his knuckles cracked, smiling as he was taken.




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07/12/10--17:46: Pinto:  Kirks and Spocks, Part 1 (chan 2117071)


Title:  Kirks and Spocks
Pairing:  Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, implied William Shatner/Leonard Nimoy
Summary:  From aprilleigh24's prompt for help_chile - (paraphrased) When Zach signs on for Trek, he expects his life to change in many awesome ways.  He does NOT expect writer's strikes, strange histories, obsessive mentors, ultra-hot co-stars, and to be eventually driven halfway to the lunatic asylum by The Greatest Love Story Ever Untold.  It turns out he has a lot to learn about being a Spock.
Rating:  PG-13
Wordcount:  5373
Disclaimer:  can't be proven
Warnings:  mildly cracky, sexual harassment in the workplace, gradual insanity, Shatner
Spoilers:  STXI and some moments of TOS
A/N:  So, here it is, the Fic That Nearly Killed Me.  It's a good old-fashioned Pinto, too!  Some things you, as a reader, should note - first of all, the deleted scene from the film mentioned and quoted in the story is real.  Click here and scroll to the bottom to see the whole thing.  Also, there may be a little promptFAIL going on in this one; it's a bit crackier than requested, but hopefully still fits the tone of the prompt.  Also also:  I wish I could give you a nice smutty finish, but PG-13 was all this one could handle in the end.  As always, if you desire MOAR SEX, do feel free to write an addendum.  I won't stop you!  :D  As I announced to withthepilot, my patient and wonderful beta on this fic, I HAVE GIVEN UP THE WAR ON CAPS.  When I write humor, I apparently like some caps.  Whatev.




Kirks and Spocks, Part 1



"A lot of the things I spoke to Leonard about, I'm really interested in... keeping for myself."
- Zach Quinto, Casting featurette



Life was really, really good.

Zach had an image in his head, something boilerplate and mundane enough to be iconic.  It was the young man standing on the stoop of his date's house on prom night, running a last-second comb through his hair; it was the guy checking his teeth in the reflection of the elevator door right before stepping off to take his interview.  That was him.  Of course he couldn't comb his hair, because it was already in its final form, sleek and bowl-shaped, and Zach had been threatened with violence should he mar its gleaming perfection.  And he'd already been through all of the interviews.  Still, he was bouncing nervously from foot to foot in his scratchy new uniform, trying not to twist his fingers together, silently praying that his voice wouldn't turn squeaky.  He was all too cliché.

Leonard's entrance was like the ripple of a rock thrown into a pool.  Everybody stood back at a respectful distance, turning to him, the focus of the energy shifting around one point.  And then, there he was, Nimoy himself, smiling and dignified, his eyes full of wisdom and humor.  He looked superhumanly magnanimous and serene.  Zach told himself to breathe.  He smiled as Leonard walked up to him and took his hand.

"Zach, it's great to see you again."  Leonard paused, checking Zach's hair and ears.  "Looking good!  Has the hairdresser given you the usual blood contract with death threat provisos?"

"Oh, yes."  Zach shook Leonard's hand and chuckled.  "You look fantastic.  How does it feel to be back?"  His voice was entirely free of squeak, and Zach felt his confidence lift up a notch.

"Oh, I suppose I could get used to it."  Leonard's eyes twinkled.  "Come on.  Let's take a walk and look at the ship."

He put a warm hand on Zach's shoulder and led him off.  Zach told himself to keep breathing, because everything was going to be okay.  This was just the fitting, after all... there would be weeks to grow accustomed to all of this.  "Leonard, I was wondering if I could ask your advice on a few things..."

"I would expect no less of a dedicated performer, Zach."  Said paternally, with a hint of affection.

This was going to be good.  Life was so good.

* * *

Then came the reading.  Zach thought that life couldn't possibly get any better... he and Leonard were going to be absolute besties (he could just tell), J.J. was a force of positive energy that infected everybody around him, the cast seemed like a terrific group, and the script, well.  Zach was in utter bliss over every aspect of this project.

His nervousness about meeting Zoe had been one obstacle, but they clicked immediately.  She was experienced, tough, and had an improbably bubbly laugh that burst out frequently, especially when she blew one of her ridiculously technical lines.  Zach could tell by the sly quirk of her eyebrow that she had him firmly pegged as gay within seconds.  They were flirting shamelessly by the end of the first coffee break.  She drank hot herbal tea, holding it delicately over crossed legs that seemed to stretch forever.  Zach found himself briefly questioning his sexuality until he began lusting over her cross-strap patent leather heels.

Captain Kirk was another matter.  Before the auditions, Zach had confined himself to the faint hope that it wouldn't be some action flick asshole hopped up on transdermal anabolic testosterone, cursed with an elevated opinion of his own body odor.

Then he'd seen Chris Pine.  A name he knew, vaguely.  A guy he'd seen around, met here and there.  Maybe looked at again in passing.  And then again, because just about anybody would.

Chris, whose smile required a pair of polarized shades to view without optical injury.  Chris, who had what seemed to be the Surgeon General's recommendation of ideal muscle bulk to inspire maximal ogling.  Chris, whose pants threatened near-coronary when viewed from any angle, front to back.  All in all a generally hazardous person to be around.  Zach had to think about whether he was an improvement on the dreaded action-flick asshole.

Then Chris showed up with a pen stuck behind his ear and proceeded to quibble with the writers over any line that wasn't "grammatically balanced".

Zach felt the flutterings of a hard core crush begin in his... er... heart.  He was pretty sure it was his heart.  He decided he was okay with that.  Chris was goofy and friendly and lovable, and having a crush on him was not merely a popular hobby, judging by where half the crew's eyes were tending, but a fun way to pass the time between takes.  When Chris turned on the juice, playing Kirk with a cocky squint and a grin, Zach had to really fight to pretend (as Spock) to detest him.  They had immediate, fantastic chemistry.

Life was good.  Life was so good.

Zach settled between Chris and Zoe, Leonard right across from him, and he barely managed not to cast his eyes skyward in rapturous gratitude.  The reading was rough, choppy as they worked the lines, figuring out what worked, laughing at the funny parts.  Everybody lost it when Karl first started reading, and anything Simon said was sure to herald at least a minute of utter chaos.  It was pure play, the kind of day where you wonder why they pay you at all.

Then they reached Leonard's scene, and Zach sat back and watched as he and Chris batted the lines back and forth like expert tennis players.  When Chris actually teared up a little bit at the mind meld, Zach gently chewed on the corner of his script, thinking about five different and unfortunately mutually exclusive pornographic acts that Chris might look just as good performing.

He managed to suppress his, er, throbbing enthusiasm, and then he was reading with Leonard himself... and Zach felt both Chris's and Leonard's eyes on him.  When young Spock and elderly Spock exchanged their Vulcan salute, Zach felt himself shiver.  Oh my God.  This is going to be good.  This is going to be SO good.

It was better than a fresh paycheck.  It was better than a new Versace line.

He was contemplating whether it was better than morning head (conclusion:  probably not, but close), when they reached the optional and/or transition scenes.

Kirk's long speech at the end, the recorded hologram kept in a cherished locket worn by the elder Spock for long years, was introduced by J.J., who explained that this would be the cameo for William Shatner.  The cast members visibly brightened.  The Shat himself.  The Legend!  Leonard smiled fondly, and Zach barely managed not to coo at the adorableness.  J.J. asked if Chris would fill in and read the lines until negotiations could be finalized with Mr. Shatner, and Chris readily agreed.  He read the lines with inspired emotion, never dwindling into sentiment, but speaking them rough and manly and real, humor coloring every word.

"You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny...  If that's true, then yours is to be by my side.  If there's any true logic to the universe... we'll end up on that bridge again someday."  Chris paused, smiling per the script notes, looking so affectionate that Zach wanted to curl up in his lap and purr.  "Admit it, Spock.  For people like us, the journey itself... is home."

The reading ended, and applause filled the room.  Both Zach and Leonard pressed their mouths tightly shut, fighting the persuasiveness of the emotion.  It wouldn't do for either Spock to cry.  At least not until the lift scene.

Leonard was deeply moved, however, and he stood for a moment.  Everybody quieted, respectfully.  "Mr. Abrams," he said, his voice rough with unshed tears, "I would just like to tell you how very much I respect and admire the bold decision that you and the writers have made with this scene."  He paused.  J.J. looked visibly awed and only slightly baffled.  "When the series first aired, naturally there were things we felt we could shift in the social consciousness, but there were also things we felt we couldn't, compromises we had to make.  The true nature of the relationship between Kirk and Spock... well, we could only take it so far, even in the succeeding films."

Around the table, eyes were meeting each other, rabbit-glances seeking reassurance...  Do you know what he's talking about?  No?  How about you?  Does anybody?  What medications is he on?  J.J. blinked, the beginning of a bemused smile on his lips.

Leonard continued, "That you have included this heartfelt admission between them... what can I say?  It reveals... it forgives... it apologizes for... so very much.  In a way, you have requited one of the greatest star-crossed romances of the twentieth century."

Confusion gave way to shock in the eyes of his audience.  Zach realized his mouth was hanging open.

Leonard took a deep breath, wiping his eye.  "I commend your courage and your generosity.  I'm sure that Bill will be just as, if not more, delighted to hear about this scene."  He bowed his head briefly and sat, a beatific expression of contentment gracing his features.

There was a silence.

J.J. cleared his throat noisily, his smile now open and his eyes kind.  "Thank you, Leonard.  What can I say?  That's just... incredibly gracious of you.  I'm sure that the writers will be delighted to hear about it.  You know, once the strike is over."

Zach noticed a harsh chittering in the corner of the room, the sound of dueling frantic whispers.  He looked over to where two suits were sitting in semi-violent discussion, practically crawling into each other's clipboards with panicked attention.  He thought he remembered that they were the producers' representatives.  Bean counters.

He was new to cinema, but he guessed it probably wasn't good that they were turning a funny shade of green.  Even if they were the Money.

Zach noticed Chris looking at him with frank curiosity.  He realized that they were probably both wondering what Leonard's implication about Kirk and Spock meant for the future of their own rendition of the duo.  Zach's mind went suddenly and painfully blank.

Chris winked at him.

* * *

This was not good.  This was so not good.

The gossip was that Shatner's cameo was cut because the studio reps took another look at the script after Leonard's eloquent remarks and decided that it was indeed just a little bit too "courageous and generous" for their blood.  The gossip was that the writer's strike gave the execs the excuse to pull the scene without calling for a rewrite instead.  The gossip was that similar cuts had been made to the Trek franchise in the past for similar reasons.  The gossip went on further to state that one of the producers had actually sprained his eyelids at the mention of the phrase "one of the greatest star-crossed romances of the twentieth century", although Zach wasn't sure if he should credit that or not.

To give J.J. his due, at least he gave the announcement in person.  There were plenty of directors who liked to hand out bad news via memo:  Your scene has been cut, you can say goodbye to any face time, we don't love you, go eat some more ramen and thank your lucky stars you live in L.A. and don't have to burn your resumes to keep warm.  Signed, Management.

No, J.J. had class, he had style, and when he gathered everybody up for some blocking, he put the bad news out with apologetic candor.  "Leonard, I want you to know that I personally found the scene quite moving.  But the producers have let it be known that negotiations with Shatner have fallen through, so the last bit with the locket has been cut.  I'm sorry, guys.  Now we have to get to work."

Leonard accepted it with what seemed quiet but dignified regret.  Zach noted that he didn't seem surprised.

He learned why later, as he and Leonard sat for yet another session of what was to be several gajillion ear-refittings.  Leonard was next to him, and they spoke quietly about lines and character for a little while as the technicians diddled with the points of their ears, making them pointier or curlier or perhaps adding feathers (one had to wonder, after the first hour or so).  Finally, Leonard let out a sigh that was deep and hollow and filled with the angst of several thousand unpetted puppies.

Zach felt himself melt inside, and said in a cajoling voice, "Oh, Leonard, what's wrong?"

Leonard hesitated, judging Zach according to some internal measure.  Zach could see it, and he silently begged, Oh, consider me worthy of trust, please please pleeeeease, I'm totally wise beyond my years and I could be your confidante and we could be bff's forEVer and and and--  Leonard interrupted his internal monologue with, "Bill isn't speaking to me again."

Zach quelled a sudden burst of jubilation and did his best to look appropriately horrified.  "That's too bad!"  Be supportive!  Be empathetic!  Be... wait.  "... again?"

Leonard mused, a finger pressed to his lips.  "It's his contention that I got his cameo cut.  With my... as he puts it... 'incessant need to stroke my own poetic sensibilities in public rather than keeping them decently in my pants'."  Leonard scowled.  "And yes, again.  This happens every few years.  He'll get into a snit over, well... you'll soon see yourself."

Zach tilted his head quizzically.  "Will I?"

Leonard glanced at him.  "Well, you've got one of your own.  Highly volatile creatures, Kirks."  He shrugged wearily.  "You'll learn to deal with it in fifty or sixty years, but it never ceases to irritate."

Zach was too stunned to reply immediately.  Possibly Leonard was referring to Chris, but in a bizarre way.  He decided to skirt the issue.  "So this should blow over?"

"Well, one hopes.  He is awfully upset this time, though.  I expect I'll hear about it for a few years."  Leonard settled in his chair, causing the artists hovering over his ear to buzz and flitter like sharply well-equipped gnats.  Zach felt momentarily reassured by the fact that Leonard's ears were still feather-free.

He ventured, cautiously, "You almost sound like quarrelsome siblings."

"Oh, you can make the comparison to marriage, Zach.  It's far more apt."  Leonard winked at him.  "Anyway, you'll soon know all about it.  How are you and Chris getting along?"

Zach found himself deliberately constructing an entity in his mind and labeling it Chris... a charmless, stupid entity entirely lacking in any distracting body parts.  "Chris?  Does he have anything to do with this?"

Leonard looked surprised, and then indulgent.  "Oh, Zach, you don't have to share private matters with me.  Let's just leave it at this:  history often repeats itself."

Zach was torn between the intense desire to ask and the equally intense desire to forget the entire conversation.  After all, he knew perfectly well that Leonard and Bill were married... to two women.  "Chris and I... we barely know each other, actually."

Leonard's eyes were far away.  "Ahh, to be young again, to have that journey of discovery ahead of you."  He glanced at Zach.  "You should use me, you know.  I can help you avoid some of the pitfalls I fell into near the beginning."

The beginning of what?  Zach stared for a moment, and decided to change the subject.  He said, "It seems a shame, the studio not being more open-minded."

Leonard nodded sagely.  "You'll learn, if you haven't already, that studio executives have balls the size of giant, hairy microbes."

Zach wanted to be amused by the image, but in the context of the conversation, any reference to testicles just made him want to check his own for defensive shriveling.  He permitted himself a thought of Chris Pine and Zach Quinto, behaving like married folks.  The resultant shrivel made him twitch hard enough that the ear tech seized his chin to hold him still.

Zach said, "You know, maybe once shooting begins, I should watch a little of the old series."

"Do that," said Leonard, seemingly pleased.  "I'm going to recommend a similar notion to Chris, so perhaps you could watch together."

Zach twitched again.

* * *

Zach greeted the first day of shooting with a spring in his step and the determination to enjoy himself.  Not that he hadn't been enjoying himself thus far.  Except for a few mopey moments from Leonard, and perhaps a little discomfort around Chris, everything was fine.  He spotted Zoe and bounced over to her.  "Hey, legs."

"Hi there, gorgeous."  Zoe rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.  "Have you managed to sex up the Captain yet?"

Zach put on his best baffled face.

Zoe smirked.  "You don't fool me.  What with all the star-crossed lover talk..."

"Nobody actually believes they were lovers, Zoe.  I'm sure that Leonard was merely being... expressive.  Chris and I have a wholly professional relationship, defined by mutual respect and.  Stuff," finished Zach, lamely.

"Who says a nice thorough fucking can't be respectful?"

Zach stared at her in consternation.  "Who?  What?  Figs?"

Zoe shrugged.  "Fine, have it your way.  I saw how you were looking at him during the reading."

Zach scoffed with conviction.  "Like you even have eyes."

She smiled brilliantly at him.  "You're deeply in the throes of crush, babycakes.  Your scathing retort-o-mator is broken."

"Yeah, well, so's your mom."

Zoe eyed Zach, possibly measuring the number of kicks it would take to kill him, when Leonard walked up and conveniently distracted her.  "Ah, the young lovers.  Or I should say, the other young lovers."  Zach thought about figs again.  He nearly mentioned it, but just then Leonard put an arm around his shoulders.  "Perhaps we could talk for a little while, Zach."

Zach tried to suppress the swell of pride in his chest that Zoe should see Leonard treating him as an equal, nearly commensurate with an advisor.  He gave Leonard a look of calm professionalism.  "Why, Leonard, what's the matter?"

Leonard gave a slightly disgruntled huff.  "Bill's hired help has begun screening my calls.  You know, if I could just get the studio to listen to reason, we could work this whole thing out.  I don't suppose you have any clout with J.J.?"

Zach paused, the pleasurable sense of pride dribbling out of his ears, leaving him cold and confused.  "Not exactly."  He glanced at Zoe, who was squinting suspiciously at both of them.  "Are you sure it won't simply blow over?  Executives make idiot decisions like this all the time."

"Yes, yes," sighed Leonard, his shoulders hunching.  "But this is important!  The love story spanning a century divide, and it's simply not being told!"

Zoe tilted her head, her voice deceptively innocent.  "Mr. Nimoy, what exactly do you mean, love story?"

"Do call me Leonard, Zoe.  I insist."  He smiled warmly, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.  "And in order to tell you about Kirk and Spock, I must provide a few decades of history.  Surely you're too busy to listen to the ramblings of a nearly retired star..."

Zoe shook her head, her eyes Bambi-like in their glimmering sweetness.  "Oh, no, I have plenty of time to hear this!  And I know Zach is dying to hear all about it.  In excessive detail."

"Well, if you insist, let's start with the early 1970s, when the fans began to write about us."  Leonard tightened his grip on Zach's shoulder and proceeded to regale them both for an hour of the extent and history of the sexual and emotional connection between Kirk and Spock through the years.

Zoe hid her smirk behind her hand as Zach grew redder and more uncomfortable, sweating and twitching worse with every mention of Kirk's "golden masculinity and representative machismo of the generation" and Spock's "deeply-buried passions".  Zach made a mental note:  Do not ever mention Zoe's mom.  In any context.

* * *

Zach was rubbing makeup off his face and grimacing at himself in relief when he heard the knock, and froze.  The thought that it might be Leonard, an idea once so exceedingly attractive that it would have made him giddy, now made him pale and start thinking up a rapid list of excuses why right now was a Bad Time To Talk.

Not that he minded discussing the various political and socio-emotional implications of the rejection of the Kirk/Spock slash interpretation of the original series, but... okay, maybe he minded a little.  He was really trying hard not to act like a love-struck ball of bubblebrain around Chris, who had the strange ability to don his Kirkself and strut it like smut-gilded catnip until Zach wanted to bury his head in Chris's lap and slurp at him like a deer at a salt lick.

Being reminded of the ostensibly obvious and, in Leonard's opinion, "beautiful" shades of sexuality inherent in their characters was simply counter to productivity.  Zach could not play Spock with drool dripping off his chin and puddling onto Uhura's arm.  And smashing Kirk around the bridge like a rag doll was far easier to do when he wasn't sporting his own personal Steeler in his pants.

But Leonard, bereft of his closest friend, was taking the whole confidante thing quite as Zach had unfortunately intended him to.  He was giving Zach the benefit of his entire half a century's worth of mulling.  And, as it turned out, the romance between Kirk and Spock was a topic he never tired of.

The knock happened again.  Zach stood very still and thought, I am not here.  I am a table.  I am a chair.  I am a kitchenette far too tiny to produce a decent reduction of port wine.  I am not the droid you seek.  A muffled voice from outside yelled, "Man, are you in there?  Leonard said you were.  If you're jacking off I can come back later, just give me a grunt for affirmation.  Do I hear a grunt?"

Zach flew to the door and had it open so fast that his blush didn't even have time to flow into his cheeks.  "Chris!  Sorry, I was, er, in the bath... room."  The blush found its mark and he felt the heat like a dead giveaway.

Chris smiled indulgently.  "Hey, it's fine, you can finish up."

"No, really, I wasn't... I was... I mean..."

"Look, it's not like it's anything to be ashamed of; those pants are stupid-tight.  Like, with literal tightness-of-stupidity.  I can feel my IQ dropping every time they cinch up the dance belt.  Here I'd spent my life hoping desperately that my brain wasn't actually housed in my pants.  Now, I'm not so sure."  He smiled winningly.  "So yeah, taking care of any potential erections between takes?  That's just good business sense."

Zach felt himself try to put on his least-guilty face, and knew it only made everything worse.  "I was just... I was... okay.  I didn't answer because I'm avoiding.  No, that's... shit."  He blinked, unsure of whether his avoidance of Leonard, catty and immature as it was, might come across as catty and immature.

"Avoiding me?"  Chris looked mildly hurt.

"No, not you, Leonard."  Zach clamped a hand firmly over his face.  "I shouldn't have said that."

Chris took the opportunity to sidle inside, his sculpted torso brushing across Zach's arm as he mounted... as he climbed the stairs.  "Let's talk it over.  I mean, if you're actually done with, ya know, personal time."  He sat down easily on Zach's miniature sofa.

Zach eyed the remaining space on the sofa, which was ample enough for his ass, but perhaps not for his bruised and tender dignity.  He went to the freezer and shoved his hand into the ice for a moment.  "Want something to drink?"

"Nah, I'm good.  So what's up with you and Leonard?  Seemed like you were becoming the best of Vulcan amigos."

Zach got a glass from the kitchenette cabinet, filled it with ice, poured some water over it, and resisted the urge to dump it over his head as he gingerly sat next to Chris and took a prim sip.  "He's just... a little... well.  Mildly.  He's the tiniest, merest bit... totally and utterly obsessed with the romance between Kirk and Spock."

Chris stared, but to Zach's intense relief, he didn't leap from the couch and run out the door screaming.  "Really?  Is that why he was so insistent that I watch the original series?"

"Was he?"  Zach took another sip, crossing his legs slowly and carefully.

"He was adamant.  Said that I needed to view the episodes in order to capture the emotional essence.  He did mention Kirk and Spock, too, said that I had a lot of material to process before I could master the complexities of the relationship and represent them accurately, particularly without Bill's assistance.  At least, that's what he said, er, paraphrased."  Chris smiled modestly.

"Paraphrasing appears to be your forte."  Zach hoped that staring was appropriate.

Chris tugged at his collar.  "So, you wanna brave the original series together?  Could be fun.  It may warrant a little liquor consumption."

Zach paused.  "What's a little complex relationship representation and liquor consumption between friends?"

Chris beamed.  "Right!  You're off the board for today, right?"

Zach nodded, cautiously.

Chris magically produced a CD sleeve and unzipped it, spilling some suspiciously copied-looking DVD's into his hand.  "Let's get started, then."

* * *

It had taken Zach about three hours and enough wine to garnet-wash a wall before he felt completely relaxed around Chris.  But by the end of the viewing session, they were both making notes like dutiful students, trading occasional quips about the subject matter of the episodes, admiring their counterparts, and Zach suspected Chris was enjoying himself as much as Zach was.  Chris finally tapped the remote to turn off the set, and turned to Zach. 

"Well, that's enough for one evening.  I thought we made some good progress."

Zach grinned lazily.  "Yes, Doctor, the therapy appears to have taken root."

"Hey, I'm a Captain, not a Doctor, dammit."  Chris grinned, loosened by beer and the easy camaraderie that had filled the room.  "So what are you going to say to Leonard when he asks for your interpretation of the Last Great Starstruck Romance?"

Zach sighed with resignation.  "Ah, well.  I guess I can see where he's coming from, but he's certainly exaggerated it a bit.  I suppose I can live with the obsessiveness, I mean, he's so cool otherwise..."

Chris's forehead was creasing with confusion.  "Wait, you can see where he's coming from?"

Zach blinked.  "Well, I mean, yeah."

Chris stared.

Zach tried again, feeling himself lose his footing, his tongue growing clumsy in his mouth as he adjusted position on the sofa, sitting straight.  "I mean, yes, clearly he's over-emphasizing the looks and touches..."

"What looks and touches?"

Zach paused.  "You... I mean, you don't see it?  It's not overt, but..."

Chris shrugged, looking almost painfully baffled.  "I didn't see anything.  But you did?  Where?"  He picked up the remote and turned the TV on.

"You don't have to..."

"No, no, I wanna see it too.  Wait, did you mean here?"  Chris paused a scene where Kirk was touching Spock.  Slapping him, in fact.

Zach winced.  "Well, I mean, it has a context, so maybe not there so much..."

"What's the context, though?"

"Look, I'm not saying it's really overt, it's just this subtle array of gesture and nuance.  Um."

Chris crossed his arms over his chest.  "I am so not seeing this.  Are you sure you're not imagining it?  I mean, what kind of touching?  Like this?"  He reached out and pushed a fingertip into Zach's shoulder.

Zach quirked an eyebrow at him.  "Not... quite."

"More like this?"  Chris slung an arm around Zach companionably.  Zach's cock responded in a neighborly manner.

Zach tried to shrink away.  "I, um..."

"Closer?"  Chris nudged himself closer.

Zach stared.  "They're never this close.  Never this close.  Ever."

Chris backed off, looking disappointed.  "Then I'm not sure where you're getting this from."

Zach, able to breathe again, flapped his hands helplessly.  "It's more in the... just... chemistry is more than contact, you know that!"

"Well, maybe if you're ready to see it, it's more there..."  Chris looked distinctly cross now, glaring at the television like it was a mathematical problem.

Zach blinked.  "What?  No!  I mean, I don't really see Kirk and Spock that way."

"But you said..."

"No.  Maybe it was easier for me to see because Leonard's been schooling me on it for a few weeks now, but..."

Chris harrumphed.  "I just don't see it.  I mean, I don't want to play up this romantic thing unless it's accurate."

Zach felt his mouth drop open.  "Oh my God.  Chris, look, it doesn't have to be..."

"Because I want to get it right, but frankly, they just look like good friends to me."

"They look like good friends to me, too!"  Zach felt his color rising again, and couldn't believe he was arguing about this.

"But you said..."

"No, no, unh-unh, no way, what I said was... forget what I said.  We don't have to play it that way, friendship is purely canonical."  Zach blushed harder.

Chris examined him closely.  "Tell me the truth."

Zach twitched so hard he nearly fell off the sofa.  He blurted out, "We should watch more episodes before we make a determination."

Chris harrumphed again, but he subsided.  Even as he prepared to leave, the disgruntlement was clearly written on his face.

Once Chris was out the door, Zach promptly dumped his glass of ice water over his head.

* * *

Life was turning difficult.

Zach suffered through his ear treatment with ill will and a bad case of the fidgets, mildly hung over and not entirely happy about his first friend-date with Chris.  Leonard, fortunately, was waxing eloquent over photographic art and the form of light as it strikes human skin.  It was improving Zach's mood a great deal, and he was actually beginning to grin with daft unconcern by the time they had stretched his head back to glue his earlobes on.

It was difficult to talk because they were pulling at his mouth, but Zach did his best.  "Smooo, Leomard, I was hopeeng wee could tmalk about the lift sceeeeen..."

Leonard nodded minimally but wisely.  "Ah, yes, the Uhura thing.  Well, the key thing you need to remember is that Spock is sublimating there."

"Subleemateen?"

"Yes, you see, he doesn't have a harmonious relationship with Kirk yet, because they had such a prickly beginning.  But still the passion rides deep beneath the surface, and Uhura makes a handy target for exhibiting some of those feelings..."

Zach squeaked.

Leonard gave him a sympathetic look.  "It can be uncomfortable sometimes.  Don't worry, you grow accustomed to the way they manhandle your face after ten years or so."

Zach remained silent, hoping for a miraculous change of subject, but unable to bring it about on his own steam.

Leonard sighed.  "So just focus on your burgeoning feelings for the upstart young cadet who bested your Kobayashi Maru, and when Uhura confronts you, merely let it spill out.  She's a lovely girl.  Spock and Uhura always had a very special relationship, mind you."

"Zat so?"

"Absolutely.  I'm charmed and pleased that the writers gave them these moments of emotional exchange.  I merely wish that the studio had gone further into an accurate depiction of Spock's feelings for Kirk as well."

Zach closed his eyes, whimpering.

"Your ears will get tougher after a few months, Zach, don't worry.  Now, Spock and Uhura have a real affection and connection.  But Spock needs a bit of a firmer grip, I would say.  Perhaps it would be a good idea to envision Kirk's hands while you're doing the scene.  Just think about his hands all over you, and then sublimate that on Uhura."

Zach wondered what it was like to be driven slowly insane.  How in the hell was he going to manage that scene now?



Continue on to Part 2...


07/12/10--17:47: Pinto:  Kirks and Spocks, Part 2 (chan 2117071)


Title:  Kirks and Spocks
Pairing:  Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto, implied William Shatner/Leonard Nimoy
Summary:  From aprilleigh24's prompt for help_chile - (paraphrased) When Zach signs on for Trek, he expects his life to change in many awesome ways.  He does NOT expect writer's strikes, strange histories, obsessive mentors, ultra-hot co-stars, and to be eventually driven halfway to the lunatic asylum by The Greatest Love Story Ever Untold.  It turns out he has a lot to learn about being a Spock.
Rating:  PG-13
Wordcount:  5356
Disclaimer:  can't be proven
Warnings:  mildly cracky, sexual harassment in the workplace, gradual insanity, Shatner
Spoilers:  STXI and some moments of TOS



Part 1 is here


Kirks and Spocks, Part 2



Chris and Zoe were talking... well, flirting.  Zach regarded them for a few minutes, wondering if he should be jealous of Zoe, or, in a strange shift of possessiveness, jealous of Chris.  He gave both up and decided to simply enjoy the view.

The viewings of original Trek had been proceeding smoothly, aside from Chris's perpetual refusal to see any chemistry between Kirk and Spock.  Zach tried to downplay the fact that it was so obvious to him, but each viewing still ended with him quirking an eyebrow at Chris, waiting for him to concede the undertones.  Chris usually responded with, "What?  Do I have something on my face?"

Chris was expounding upon something to Zoe now, talking with his hands and his shoulders and, strangely enough, his hips, and Zach had to get closer.  At that moment, Chris pointed directly at Zach and said, "And he keeps trying to convince me that the two were supposed to be lovers!  But I'm trying to see it and I just can't."

Zach's face turned Spock-green.

His mind loudly warned, Zachary John Quinto, do not speak.  If you speak right now, your voice is going to do that thing that sounds like a squirrel being ripped apart on a band saw, and you will be humiliated forever, forced to kill yourself by finding the deepest hole on earth and falling down it.  DO.  NOT.  SPEAK.

Before his internal voice could finish its warning, he was already speaking.  "Wait, what?  WHAT?  Oh my God, no I didn't say anything like that!"

It was too late.  The squirrel had perished in squeaky horrifying agony, and both Chris and Zoe were staring at Zach's mouth as if they'd never imagined it capable of such sounds.  Zoe took Zach's arm.  "Zach, is your dance belt too tight?"

Zach's mouth slammed shut, and he wondered if there were any good deep holes within the city limits.

Chris was looking around the room as if attempting to track the source of the tormented rodents, but gave it up and looked at Zach again.  "Look, Zach, I'm not saying you're wrong, I just don't understand how you and Leonard can both feel this way when I'm apparently blind to the subtext."

Zach opened his mouth again, risking yet worse noises.  The squirrel crawled back from death and squeaked anew, albeit slightly lower and more calmly.  "What?  No, I don't agree with Leonard, I mean, the studio really didn't treat his position fairly given the... given..."

Chris stared at him.  "Are you doing vocal exercises?"

Zoe handed Zach a bottle of water, and Zach took a long, deep swig, and cleared his throat.  "Thank you."  It sounded nearly normal.

"No problem.  You sure you don't need an adjustment?"  Zoe tugged at the front of Zach's pants, and Zach made another embarrassing noise, pulling away skittishly.  Zoe laughed.  "Okay, not trying to molest you."

"No, I know, but trust me, my pants are just fine.  I just.  I mean.  Look, Chris, you're fine in your interpretation of Kirk.  We're fine."

Chris smiled.  "Zach, come on.  You see something I don't between them.  Something tender and sweet, somehow.  Or perhaps poetic."

Zach was certain his voice was possessed at this point, he was sounding a little bit like a constipated cow.  "Chris, poetic?  Poetic, Chris?"  He stared.  This is what it's like to go insane.  Insane is what I am going.  Where I am going.  Is insane a place?

Chris and Zoe looked at each other.  Zoe said, "Zach, are you feeling light-headed?"

Zach paused.  "Yes.  I think I may faint.  Hold me, Zoe."

Chris reached out and promptly folded Zach up into a warm and pressing hug.  Zach closed his eyes and thought about the old man he grew up next door to, who used to sit outside on the front stoop in a short cotton gown with his legs spread wide and eat his own earwax.  By focusing steadily on the image, he kept himself from passing out and from humping Chris's hip like a deranged cocker spaniel.  He closed his eyes, relishing the brief victory, and wearily patted Chris on the shoulder.  Chris said, against his neck, "Feel okay?"

"Just fine."  That one sounded like a drowning cat.  Zach made a mental note:  Do not speak in Chris's presence again.  Or, well, ever.  Just don't ever speak again.  You can bag groceries for a living without speaking, can't you?

Chris shook his head.  "You don't sound good.  I'm going to just hold onto you until you feel better.  Will that help, buddy?"

Do not speak.  Do not speak.  Think about squashed insects and maxi pads.  Paper or plastic?  Oh, shit, motherFUCK, I WOULD have to speak to be a grocery bagger!

* * *

Life was bad.  Life was so bad.

The perfect project was turning into a nightmare.  First, Leonard had progressed from simply annoying Zach to deliberately putting erotic images into his psyche... and Zach felt himself descending into nightmares over the fact that Leonard had taken to reading selections aloud from fandom zines and mailing lists from the 1970s.  Leonard did this mostly during their ear fittings.  His voice would roll out, sonorous and rich, with something along the lines of:

'Captain, when the need comes upon me, I must mate... or I shall die,' said Spock, quietly.

Kirk approached him, his eyes lit as though with an interior fire.  'You're not going to die.  Not on my watch, my friend.  My... close friend.'

The makeup artists seemed to be taking a cruel delight in hearing more.  They began to request the works of certain authors repeatedly, and Leonard did his best to track them down.

Zach listened to the fifth variation on Kirk stroking Spock's fingers and sucking on the tips of his ears while they rutted together in a froth of manly passion, and felt himself churn inside.  Resorting to masturbating several times a day had ceased to quell the semi-hard that immediately rose the instant he spotted or heard or smelled or saw anybody who looked like Chris.  He was beginning to feel nearly allergic to his closest cast mates.  Zoe actually did sometimes end up with drool on her uniform; Zach was afflicted by constant cold sweats; the costumers were beginning to complain.  J.J., at wit's end, had limited Zach's caffeine intake.  That alone was reason enough to consider mass homicide.

The viewing sessions of the original series had become a hell.  Chris was maddened by his inability to detect what he was positive that Zach could see, and Zach's denials were interpreted as condescension.  Zach merely sat stiffly, waiting for the episodes to end, but helplessly convinced more and more that Leonard was correct, and that the original writers had done everything but have Kirk and Spock swap tongue juice on film for the edification of the masses.

Zach really hated the fact that he agreed with Leonard, because Leonard would.  Not.  Fucking.  Shut.  Up.

Wandering through the set like a zombie, possessed by horror and haunted by thwarted desires and the awareness that everything was wrong and everybody was against him, Zach spotted Leonard and Chris deep in conversation.  He immediately made a beeline for them.  His brain, having given up on him days prior, sat in a sullen silence.

Chris looked troubled, and Leonard patted him on the shoulder in understanding.  "Chris, don't let it worry you.  It took Bill a long time to reconcile it to himself, too."

Chris blinked and looked affronted.  "What?  I'm not bothered by the idea.  I'm not!"

Leonard smiled fondly.  "Oh, Chris.  Your fears will resolve themselves in time."

Chris looked spluttery.  "You're completely misinterpreting me!"

Zach, for a brief, wonderful instant, felt such a glow of empathy with Chris that it was almost ecstatic.  "Chris, I understand."

Chris threw his hands up.  "But you don't, because it's still not there!  Thousands of women from the 70s and my coworkers all believe in this but I don't?  How can that be?"

Zach wasn't sure how to respond.

Leonard said, "Chris, you'll feel it.  Deep within your bones, you will feel it when it happens.  Just stay close to Zach and strive for patience."

Chris considered that for a moment.  "You're the expert."  He walked over to Zach and put an arm around him.  "Looks like we need to get even deeper into each other's personal space, my friend.  Hope you don't mind."

'I won't leave you,' said Kirk, his hands kissing against Spock's fingertips.  Zach made a sound that might almost have passed for a laugh, but which was actually a sob.

* * *

Things had come to a climactic point of agony, there was no denying it.

Zach slammed his hands down on J.J.'s desk.  He was a man in a maniacal state of mind.  He was no longer responsible for his own craziness.  He was well and truly fucked in the head.  He told himself this, firmly, and reasoned that it excused his actions.  "J.J."

J.J. blinked at him.  "Zach.  What's the problem?  I'm here for you."

"I am being SEXUALLY HARASSED by Leonard."

J.J. blinked again, slowly.  "I've had seventeen diet cokes today.  Could you repeat that?"

Zach shook his head.  "No, I can't, it was impossible to say it the first time."

"Clearly not impossible, because you said it."

"Okay, not impossible, but very diffi... MISSING THE POINT.  LET US GET BACK TO THE POINT."

"Right, okay.  Zach..."  J.J. sighed heavily.  "Okay, what's going on and what do you need me to do?  This is a very serious accusation, you know.  It could halt filming.  We try not to ignore things like this anymore, and I certainly don't want it happening on my set."

"I just..."  Zach blinked.  He had desperately hoped that J.J. would have some kind of a plan of action.  He hadn’t considered that Leonard Nimoy sexually harassing his young Spock counterpart probably wasn't in the three-ring binder of common directorial situations.  "Could you make him stop talking about Kirk and Spock?"

J.J. lifted an eyebrow and stood, walking around his desk.  "Zach, are you referring to the little speech he gave at the first reading?"

Zach wilted a little, wondering if he had grounds for an accusation to stick at all.  "He just won't stop talking about it, J.J.  It's terrible.  He's... there's..."

"Is he really harassing you?  I can have a talk with him, tell him to stop.  Do you want me to keep the two of you separate while on set?  Do you feel... well, unsafe?"

Zach wilted more.  The thing was, Leonard was still wonderful sometimes.  He still listened when Zach had a problem and gave him invaluable advice, and when he wasn't obsessing, Zach truly wanted to be around him.  "The things he tells me just... well.  They make me feel uncomfortable in an unprofessional way when I'm around Chris, you know?"

The instant the words left his lips, Zach knew he'd made a mistake.

J.J.'s eyes twinkled.  "Oh, so it's like that, is it?"

Zach spread his hands, backing up.  "Oh, no.  No way.  That's not what I meant.  I just want Leonard to stop reading... well... Kirk/Spock based erotica during makeup."

"He's reading you porn?"  J.J. looked shocked.

Zach seized upon that idea.  Of course!  That, at least, was something definite, something that could be stopped.  "Yes!  Porn!  Highly inappropriate, very sexual porn, with body parts and alien parts and rubbing and... just... yes, porn!  Oh God, just ask him to stop, please?"

J.J. looked stern.  It wasn't a look that fit his face well at all, but he did his best.  "Well, that is definitely not a good thing, Zach.  I'll talk to him, okay?  Jesus, I had no idea anything like that was happening.  It’s utterly inappropriate and unprofessional.  And if he does anything further to make you feel uncomfortable, well, we'll deal with that, too.  I'm serious.  If he's endangering your emotional safety, we don't need him in the film."

Zach nearly collapsed with relief.  "Thank you.  Please don't say it was me."

J.J. shook his head sadly.  "Don't worry, Zach, we'll get it taken care of."  He patted Zach's shoulder reassuringly.  "I'm so sorry.  I can't even imagine how awful this has been for you, given your feelings for Chris."

Zach was too stunned to reply.  Which, as it turned out later, was another mistake.

* * *

At first, it seemed that life might stop being awful for a moment.

Leonard stopped reading fanzines during the morning, and Zach felt a momentary relief, especially as it seemed that J.J. had managed to send the message without implicating Zach.  Aside from a few sniffingly offended remarks about "yet more officious nonsense and repression of the natural elements of character development", Leonard was silent on the issue of Kirk and Spock for a full two hours.

It was beautiful.  Zach felt himself relax for the first time in days, and was easy and loose for half the day, right up until the moment when he met Chris on set to do the fight scene, and Chris immediately walked up to him and said, "Zach, do you have a crush on me?"

Zach went blank.  His mind was blank, his face was blank, possibly his hair was blank.  He was tempted to check his wallet to see if his cards had been demagnetized.  Blank, blank, blank.  "What did J.J. say to you?"

This, of course, was precisely the wrong thing to say.

Chris's eyebrows went up so high they nearly disappeared into the scruff of his hair.  "Holy Christ on a motherfucking saltine, dude, you did speak to him!  You do!  You totally have a crush on me!"

Zach couldn't move, or speak, or join the Witness Protection Program.  He merely stood.

"I mean, I wasn't sure at first, but then he came to me and delivered this ultra sensitive supervisory spiel to the effect that I needed to be careful with today's shoot and not do anything that might embarrass you, because you were experiencing some, and I quote, 'on-set discomfort with certain aspects of certain interactions'.  I shit you not, that's exactly what he said.  So unspecific, right?  But Zach, you could have just told me."  Chris paused.  "I mean, I think it's sweet.  Is that the reason why you think Kirk and Spock are romantic partners?"

Zach was silent for a moment, but deep inside of his mind, a defense mechanism was kicking in, and that defense mechanism said, Let's not deal with this right now.  Let's think about puppies and rainbows instead.  Or at least work.  Work is awesome.  Work will save you.  His mouth spoke.  It said, "I'm staying in character until the scene begins."

Chris laughed.  "Okay, fair enough.  But don't you hold back whaling on my ass just because you have certain feelings, okay?  I understand, but don't let it interfere."

"I won't."

It was honestly very therapeutic to beat the exhaustive, detailed, and repeated shit out of Jim Kirk all afternoon.

* * *

Life was crap.  There was no getting around it.  The world was a miserable place, and all hope was doomed to die a stinking, suffocating death.  People were born, they lived in squalor and misery, and they died.  There was no meaning.  Life was a room with no windows.

Zoe tried her best to cheer Zach up, but as the first words out of her mouth to him were, "So, you and Chris?  That's adorable, sweetheart," her efforts were doomed from the start.

Zach crumpled up into a ball of gurgling agony.  "Please don't."

"Zach, what's wrong?"  She helped him to a chair.  "Is Leonard still going on about the Last Great Unrequited Romance?"

"Chris thinks I have a crush on him.  Everybody thinks I have a crush on Chris."

Zoe paused.  "Everybody knows you have a crush on him.  And I doubt anybody blames you for it."

"I want to be professional!"  There was that thrice-damned dying squirrel again.

"Boopsie, you really ought to get your fitting adjusted.  Or perhaps see a chiropractor..."

"Chris keeps trying to get me to talk about it with him, and he keeps harping on how it might affect characterization, and he won't leave it alone, but we can't stop arguing about Kirk and Spock and how it's soooo obvious, but he thinks it's because of the way I feel, like he even cares how I feel?  And maybe he does or maybe he doesn't, but he just keeps bringing it up in the context of characterization, and touching me, and.  And.  And!"

Zoe patted him.  "That's awful.  Have you tried telling him to just shut up and bone you?"

Zach sobbed.  "I was so happy about this job!  It was going to be the best job ever!"

The sound of Leonard's voice fell on them both, wise and soothing.  "Now, now.  What's all this?"

Zoe replied, "Zach is upset that Chris found out about his crush.  That's about all I can make sense of."  She whispered, too loudly, "I think he's under a lot of pressure!"

Leonard tutted with great concern.  "Ah, Zach.  It's a sad state of affairs, but this as well is something you will grow accustomed to in time... the many, many ways that a Jim Kirk can break your heart.  Buck up, my boy.  This will likely happen again."

Zach felt Leonard's arm fall, heavy over his shoulders, and he thought about screaming really loudly, and not stopping until everybody (but EVERYBODY) went away and died.

But he had to work with Leonard.  He had to work with Zoe.  He had to work with Chris.  He could not fall completely apart.

At least, not around any of them.

* * *

In a gently lit room, deep within the plush of a velvet-sheathed sitting chair, surrounded by the scent of incense and shelves of books, several walls of DVDs and photographs of horses, family members, and various roles he'd played, sat the venerable and respected James Tiberius Kirk, perusing his memoirs.

Well, not that he called himself Kirk anymore in company.  But occasionally he still, privately, referred to himself that way.  There was no harm in reliving the old days now and then, and certain characters died hard.

Bill Shatner flipped a page and made a quick notation.  Ah, life passed so fast.  It spun away more and more quickly as one grew older, and yet he wanted to do more and more each day with the life he had left.  There was so much in the world!  Places to go, roles to play, people to see.  It amazed him how much more precious life was now than it had been even ten years ago.

The phone rang.  Bill reached over in a leisurely fashion, noted the line, and picked it up.  "Francis."

"Mr. Shatner, there's a call for you."

"Who is it?"

"Well..."

"Francis," Bill said patiently.  "I pay you to prevent problems from reaching my ears.  If this caller represents a problem, then why am I paying you?"

"It's one of the stars from the new film, Mr. Shatner.  I just thought..."

Bill sat up.  "Oh, it's the new Kirk, is it?  Put him on.  I have so much to impart to that young man.  He's in need of guidance!"

"But it's..."

"No, don't worry Francis, I won't make you sleep in the maid's cottage this time, I'm too delighted by this opportunity."

"It's just..."

"Put him on, now.  Don't delay a moment.  I'm too old for unnecessary delays, Francis.  Right away."

Francis paused.  "Very good, sir."

Bill heard the line switch over, and a voice he didn't recognize said, "Is this Mr. Shatner?"

Bill beamed with pleasure.  "It most certainly is.  And do I have the pleasure of speaking with the young Captain Kirk?"

"No sir, this is Zach Quinto.  I play Spock."

Bill frowned.  He'd had enough of Spocks for one year.  But perhaps this Spock was calling on behalf of Kirk, after all.  "I beg your pardon, Mr. Young New Spock.  What can I do for you?"

"You."  The voice was unsteady.

Bill smiled, pleased.  "Me."

"YOU."

It was his favorite topic of conversation!  Bill's smile broke into a wide grin.  "ME!"

"YOU ARE RUINING MY LIFE."

Bill paused.  That was unexpected.  "Me?"

"You.  You have turned my life into a hell, a living embodiment of every nightmare I have ever endured, a descent into the depths of madness no man should ever be forced to contemplate.  You.  YOU.  I am a wreck.  IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT."

Bill paused.  This was fascinating.  "Do go on."

"YOU AND THE OTHER SPOCK FOUGHT AND NOW EVERYTHING IS RUINED.  I HATE YOU."

"We fought and... I'm not sure I understand."

"UNDERSTAND THIS, YOU EPIC SPOOGE-MONGER.  Leonard will not leave me alone.  HE KEEPS READING ME PORN AND SNIFFLING OVER YOU.  And now Chris thinks I have a thing for him and he keeps needling me about it like he can CURE me or something!"

"Who is Chris?"

"You know what?  I don't GIVE A RAT'S TURD what you and Leonard got up to over the last fifty years!  YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO RUIN MY ENTIRE LIFE LIKE THIS.  I have a mind to come over there and KICK YOUR GERIATRIC, OVER-ACTING, UNNECESSARY-VOCAL-PAUSE-INSERTING ASS!"

Bill blinked.  "I'm sorry, but are you positive that you're Spock?"

"FEEL MY FUCKING VULCAN FURY, YOU POMPOUS DESTROYER OF LIVES."

"Come again?"

"FEEL IT.  DO YOU FEEL THE FURY?  YOU'RE GONNA."

Bill was fascinated.  "Are you quite alright?"

"I HAVE HIVES.  FUCKING HIVES.  I HAVE HIVES AND I'M NOT EVEN QUALIFIED TO BAG GROCERIES.  I'M KILLING HORDES OF SQUIRRELS EVERY TIME I FUCKING TALK TO HIM."

"You're... an exterminator, then?"

"HE'S SO GORGEOUS. I FUCKING HATE EVERYTHING BUT ESPECIALLY YOU.  EVERYTHING IS STUPID.  HATE KILL ARGH YOU FUCKING GRAAAAAAAUGH--" 

The voice on the other end of the line devolved into a series of squeaky, grunting, screaming noises, but Bill was certain that whatever kind of creature it was, it was still attempting to communicate.  He could distinguish occasional words like 'Leonard' and 'Kirk' and 'Spock' and 'fuck', but beyond that it was quickly becoming a cipher.  Several more seconds of incomprehensible auditory wreckage finally dissolved into silence and the sound of weeping, and then there was a distinct click.

Bill stared at the phone for a moment.  "That was remarkable!"  He spent a few moments in thought, and then pressed his lips together tightly.

He didn't like it, but there was only one way to get to the bottom of this, and really, he supposed it was time anyway.  He couldn't afford to let these little disagreements last as long as they used to.  Unlimited time was a dream of the past.  He was getting old.

Bill depressed the phone set, released it, and spoke.  "Francis?"

"I'm sorry, sir, I did try to tell you..."

"Never mind that now, Francis.  That doesn't concern me.  I want you to get me..."

"Sir?"

"Get me Leonard.  And find out the name of the young man who plays the new Kirk, while you're at it."

Francis paused.  "Yes, sir."

Bill girded himself and set his jaw.  The universe had sent its clarion call:  there was a disaster that needed fixing.  A Kirk's work was never done, it seemed, but then, that was precisely what kept one young.

* * *

The knock on the door was nearly tentative, but Zach still jumped as though stung by a stripped jumper cable.  "What?  GO AWAY.  I HATE EVERYTHING."

"Hey, Zach, can I come in?"  The voice was Chris's.

Zach went to the door and pressed his head against it.  "J.J. gave me the day off, okay?  I'm sick.  Very sick.  I'm Typhoid Marvin.  I just want to hole up and be miserable."

"I understand that, okay?  But... look, just let me in?"

Zach sniffed, loudly and expressively.  He was an actor.  He could do that.

Chris sounded uncommonly gentle.  "Hey, I promise you something."

"What?"

"I promise not to make you more miserable.  Does that sound good?"

"It sounds impossible."

"It is nonetheless a thing I can deliver."

Zach sniffed again.  He slapped at the door lock until it gave, and trudged away from the door, back to the couch.  He heard the door open but did not care.  Nothing mattered.  The door was stupid.  He hated the stupid door.  He hated the stupid carpet, and his stupid shoes on the stupid carpet.  He hated stupid beautiful Chris, who was patting him gently on the stupid shoulder, he hated the stupid television, he hated the stupid glass of water that Chris was setting next to him.  Zach took a sip.  Stupid water.  Stupid Chris and his stupid compassionate glass of water.  He hated Chris's stupid Trek DVD's, and the way stupid Chris was putting one of them into the stupid DVD player.

Ah, there they were:  stupid Kirks and stupid Spocks.  Stupid, stupid Spock on television, almost as stupid as the Spock on the sofa.  And their stupid, ridiculous love affair from hell, and everything else that was stupid in the whole universe.

"I want to show you something."

Stupid, stupid something.  "Whatever, man."  Zach took another sip of water, and sniffed again.  Chris was sitting nearly close enough to touch him.  Stupid, gorgeous, stupid Chris.

They watched a few moments of the stupid show together.



Chris paused it.  They sat together for a moment in silence.

Chris said, "And that was the moment that converted me."

Zach felt tears come to his eyes.  "Shut up.  You don't mean it."

Chris put a hand on Zach's shoulder, and began to rub back and forth, soothingly.  "You know what?  That was, well, it was blatant.  I mean, I'm shocked that even made it past the censors.  Clear and present flirting.  That was what I saw."

Zach dared to look Chris in the eye.  "Don't tease me."

Chris looked as earnest and true as a doting lover.  His eyes were brilliant, and Zach couldn't look away.  "I'm being completely honest with you, Zach.  Kirk and Spock... well, I can't say that they were banging between scenes, but they most definitely were more than friends."  He nodded, epic sincerity in every line and angle of his face.

Zach kept staring.  Tears were coming to his eyes.  "Tell me the truth."

Chris scooted a little closer.  "They had special, deep, squishy feelings for each other.  Possibly feelings deep within their dance belts.  The possibility is definite, Zach.  I believe."

Zach paused, hardly daring to believe it.  No more arguments?  No more obsessive series watching and picking apart of his behavior?

Apparently so.

"Thank you," he said, uncertainly.

"It's not overt."

"I never said it was."

"No, you never did."  Chris was rubbing Zach between the shoulder blades now, and Zach had stopped mentally labeling everything on the planet 'stupid' several thoughts back.

"And I'm not crazy," Zach pointed out, because that was important.

"No, you're not."

Zach glanced at the television.  "How much of the series did you watch before you found that scene?"

"I didn't find it.  Leonard actually pointed it out to me."

Zach blinked.  "He did?"

"Turn to the right, away from me."

Zach turned, and Chris began to rub both his shoulders and his neck, releasing knots that had grown there so fixedly that Zach was worried that his muscles had fossilized.  Zach moaned a little, letting his head drop forward.  "I'm not sure why I was so obsessed with it.  I think Leonard's obsession... it became contagious."

"Hush.  Just let me do this, and relax.  Everything's okay.  Leonard is okay, and I'm okay, and you're going to be just fine, too.  Even Bill is okay."

Zach tensed a little.  "Bill?  You don't mean Bill Shatner, do you?"

"Relax.  He and Leonard patched things up.  No more obsessive unhappy Leonard for you to deal with.  Actually, Leonard asked me to offer you an apology on his behalf."

Zach sniffled, feeling a sudden resurgence of misery, combined with embarrassment.  "Did he suggest the back rub, too?"

Chris slowly, gently pulled Zach back into his arms, and Zach let himself be pulled, relaxing back into Chris with a weary groan.  Chris said, softly, "No, putting my hands on you is, and will always be, all my own idea."

Zach's heart began to pound, and he kept very still, letting the moment spin out, reaching up to touch the arms surrounding him warmly.  His fingers traced Chris's muscles, gingerly, as if afraid they might evaporate and leave him alone on the couch again.  "Can you putting your hands on me occasionally be my idea, too?"

Chris laughed, and held him tighter.  "Yeah.  Of course."

Zach breathed the smell of Chris in so deeply that he could feel it infuse his entire body, chasing all the crazy out with it as he exhaled.  "And you think Leonard's going to leave me alone now?"

"If Leonard troubles you with his obsession again, Bill has promised me to administer a very thorough spanking.  Not that I really want to think about that."

"Me neither."  Zach nestled himself firmly against Chris.  "I have the worst crush on you."

"Awesome.  I intend to requite that immediately, right after I finish rubbing your shoulders.  I guess it was kind of stupid of me never to mention the fact... I really want you to have a crush on me.  I guess I just got caught up in extraneous details.  Maybe you can help me not do that in the future."

"I can maybe do that.  Maybe."  Zach hesitantly decided that life might be worth living after all.

* * *

Chris lifted his head, looking down at Zach's prone form with a smile.  He resisted the urge to wake him for another kiss.  Not that they had engaged in anything particularly athletic, but Zach had suffered an exhausting few weeks, and once Chris had undressed him, given him a thorough back rub and a way-more-than-thorough frontal rub, Zach had gone right to sleep and was still gently snoring.

It was so cute that Chris had to leave quickly lest he molest Zach any further.

He tiptoed from the room, nabbing his briefs from the floor and sliding them on.  It seemed gauche to sit on Zach's couch in the nude, at least this early in their relationship.  Ass decently covered, he sat down and pulled out his phone.

"Hi there... yeah, it's me, Francis.  Could you... thanks."  He paused.  "Hi, it's Chris Pine.  How are you, sir?  ... I'm glad to hear it.  So everything worked out, then.  I wanted to thank you... well, yes, as a matter of fact.  You were absolutely right... ...Yes, Spocks can be very sensitive... oh, yes, a big responsibility.  I'm glad you made a point of contacting me.  Without that, I probably wouldn't... no, I wouldn't.  You have the advantage of years of experience!  The advice was golden, really.  I owe you.  Is there anything... oh, well, certainly, of course I'd love to hear your ideas about characterization and diction.  ... Yes, diction is very, very important, I couldn't agree more.  We should have dinner some time.  ... That sounds fantastic.  Thank you again, Mr. Shatner.  ... Okay, Bill, then.  No, you won't have to tell me again... Ha ha, I dunno, that maid's cottage seemed fairly nice to me!  Okay.  Okay, excellent.  ...The pleasure was all mine.  Absolutely.  Ciao."

Chris put down the phone and smiled to himself, stretching his arms above his head.  He reached for the remote and turned the TV on, replaying the scene with Kirk and Spock.

When it was over, he shook his head and turned the TV off.  "I still just don't see it," he muttered.  "Ah, well."

Perhaps a few intense method-acting sessions in bed would be enough to convince him.

And if not, at least it would be fun.

Chris grinned, and then laughed.  He felt a little silly, but he couldn't help it... life was awesome.

Life was so good.




If you enjoy my writing and would like to help me produce more of it, please visit here and support my original fiction.  Thank you.


07/17/10--12:55: Yup. (chan 2117071)


Basically.

In other news, when I get done with my Heroes bigboom, I REALLY NEED TO TAKE A FUCKING BREAK.

Of course, these words have left my typing fingers before...  *le sigh*


07/21/10--05:24: Inception (chan 2117071)


Go see it, basically.


07/22/10--04:14: Two quick notes (chan 2117071)


1.  My pintofest post is AWESOME.  I HOPE I GET GOOD FILLS.

2.  MOTHERFUCKING BUZZCUT BEETCHES!!!


07/22/10--15:33: Pinto:  The First of 437 -- Or Possibly 438 -- Times (So Far) (chan 2117071)


Title:  The First of 437 -- Or Possibly 438 -- Times (So Far)
Pairing:  Chris Pine/Zachary Quinto
Summary:  There's a first (and a second, and a third) time for everything!  Written for the 2010 pintofest Luau, on behalf of ceresvulcan who wanted first-time fics.
Rating:  NC-17
Wordcount:  5419
Disclaimer:  Pretty, sweaty, and stolen
Warnings:  elaborate flirting, drunk sex, bjs, frotting, rimming, fingering, sweat & other bodily fluids, bathroom floors, fluff
A/N:  Hopefully this is long and detailed and cute and shmexy, rather than just... long.  And detailed.




The First of 437 -- Or Possibly 438 -- Times (So Far)



Zoe was using Chris as a barcalounger; settled firmly between his legs and nearly dozing as she rested back on his chest.  She had one slender arm high over her head draped loosely over the back of his shoulder, and every time she shifted, the frill on her fitted sleeve tickled his nose or temple or cheek.  Chris kept wincing, and Zach, watching the two of them, could not stop laughing.  The communal liquor-soaked haze wafting through the room wasn't helping.  Chris noticed Zach's soft chuckling, caught his eye, shook his head ruefully.  Zach winked at him.

Zoe tossed her head, coughing herself awake.  "God.  Is it daylight yet?"

"Not yet," said Chris, softly.

"I feel like such a lightweight.  No offense, Chris, but I think it's time for a real pillow."  She sat up, stretching, and Chris promptly scrubbed his face with his hands, looking relieved.

Zach said, "Do you need a ride home?"

"Not from you, you're drunker than I am."  Zoe smiled.  "Besides, I don't want to have to leave yet."  She moved to the unoccupied end of the other sofa, pillowing her head on a cushion and letting her legs drape across Eric's lap.  Eric, who was passed out with his head leaning so far back he looked decapitated, coughed mid-snore, legs twitching, and then drifted off again.

Karl and Simon were playing a really terrible game that Simon had found on the internet, involving mice and cherry bombs and graphic sound effects, all subtitled with hilariously bad Hong Kong translations for the Japanese expository scenes.  He'd connected his laptop to the tv so that the others could watch, and Karl had somehow found a hidden level involving horse manure.  Everybody had laughed themselves nearly sick at it.  But now the two gamers were conferring in quiet voices over something technical, and the living room was nearly quiet.  A couple dozen remaining party denizens were scattered all over, falling into quiet, intimate groups and pairs, dozy and comfortable.  John had reclaimed his stereo a few hours back and turned the music over to something softer than the earlier party mix, and Zach could feel the low jazz nudging at his ears like a lover.

He could understand Zoe not wanting to leave.  Some parties just made you want to fall asleep right where you sat, just to be able to stay there among the people you love most.

Chris was still sitting with his legs spread wide, arms open.  It was a priceless opportunity.  Zach, well-buzzed and brimming with opportunism, rolled up from his end of the sofa and crawled over.  "Sorry, buddy, I'm taking Zoe's place."  He settled down against Chris with a cheeky grin.  Zoe giggled at them, and Zach noticed a few other people smiling, but otherwise the move was unnoticed.  Chris and Zach had been almost in each other's laps since the premiere.  Nobody cared anymore.  Zach let his body press Chris's from hip to neck with a sigh.

Chris groaned and batted at Zach's shoulders ineffectually.  "Dammit, I am not a recliner!"

"You are reclining, therefore you are a recliner.  QED."  Zach reached back to pat Chris on the head and mess up his hair.  Chris took immediate revenge, messing up Zach's hair far more successfully, but without undue vindictiveness.  Zach let his eyes drift closed, getting comfortable.  He half-heartedly wished that Chris would play with his hair some more.

Then he noticed something a little out of the ordinary pressing against his lower back.

Zach felt a tiny thrill in the pit of his stomach.  He glanced at Zoe beneath lowered lids, but she was dozing off again.  He turned his head to the side, craning a little to look at Chris, who was resolutely gazing at the ceiling.  "Behold, the power of Zoe," he whispered, grinning.

Chris blushed.  He glanced at Zach and shook his head.  "Hey, I'm only human," he murmured.

Zach settled back against him, breathing deeply to quell the sudden flutter in his chest.  He kept his voice pitched so only Chris could hear.  "You have excellent taste.  Even if she is taken."

Chris chuckled.  "Thanks.  Compliment me with one hand as you break my heart with the other."

"It's my duty as your first officer to keep you grounded."

Chris wrapped an arm around Zach and squeezed, half hugging and half jostling him.  "It's your duty as my first officer to keep me flying, buddy."

"Ah, right.  My bad."  Zach draped his arm over Chris's to keep it where it was and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the proximity of the body behind him, the warmth, the strength in the arms, the unique scent of Chris and Chris alone.  He'd know that smell anywhere.

The erection behind him wasn't going away.  If anything, it was getting a little more insistent.

Zach felt a flicker of hope deep inside, and he stuffed it down with both metaphorical hands.  He shifted, knowing that it was probably just the pressure of his body that was keeping Chris hard.  He hoped Chris didn't feel embarrassed.

The movement was slight, but Zach felt a throbbing in response; almost instinctively he pressed back against it, and then he froze.

Time seemed to stop.  Zach could feel Chris holding his breath, both of them tense against each other, maintaining the illusion of lazing in their corner of the dim room.  Zach, carefully, slowly, let his head fall back to rest against Chris's shoulder.  His lips barely moved as he whispered, "Sorry, man.  Do you want me to move?"

Chris didn't reply immediately.  His arm tightened over Zach's chest the tiniest bit, and he took a deep breath, in and out.

Zach bit his lip against the smile that was threatening to break across his face, a mixture of anticipation and the ridiculous hopes that kept threatening to rise up and suffocate him.  Fuck, yes, let it be true.  Just once, let me have an insane crush that actually results in something good.  He wiggled a little, trying not to shiver.

Chris started laughing, silently.

Zach lifted his head forward, far enough to glance back.  Chris was flushed, looking almost shy, his eyes twinkling, but he was making steady eye contact.  Flustered, but not ashamed.  Zach's grin finally burst forth and he quickly turned away, glancing around the room, trying not to laugh out loud.  It wasn't quite the assurance he wanted, but fuck, okay, it was pretty funny after all.  Chris was poking into him like a tree root.  It was uncomfortable, actually.  Zach laughed harder, feeling his face redden with the effort of keeping quiet.  "Fuck.  I can move, if you need me to."  He paused, but Chris didn't reply.  "I'll move."

Zach began to struggle up and out of Chris's lap.  Chris pulled him back.  "No, don't."

Zach froze again, and felt an adrenaline rush that started somewhere in his scalp, flooding him with ice, and ended in a blast of heat at his groin.  He melted back against Chris.  "Okay."  The fingers of Chris's hand brushed lightly over Zach's nipple.

They settled into each other, trying to make it look like they were merely getting comfortable.  Zach could feel Chris looking over his shoulder, but still nobody seemed to be paying attention, and then all he could focus on was the feel of warmth at his back, the crazy giddiness that was making the room spin far more than the booze.

He felt a nervous need to keep talking.  "Should I press closer?"  Zach let one hand drift down, resting on Chris's thigh.

Chris laughed again, that silent chuckle that surrounded Zach with a cushion of vibration.  "Just stay still."  He tightened his hold, and Zach squeezed his arm.

They stilled, trying to calm their breathing.  Zach felt himself slowly relaxing again, but his body was simmering with excitement, tensing with each gentle rise and fall of Chris's cock, pulsing slowly behind him.  He realized he was biting his tongue, chewing on it meditatively.  He was so turned on...  Zach let his head drop back again, his lips nearly brushing Chris's ear.  He could feel the strong pulse against his cheekbone, the heartbeat thrumming from Chris's chest against his back.

Chris whispered, "You smell good."  He turned his head so that his lips were close to Zach's, and then back forward again, his stubbled cheek brushing Zach's in passing.

Zach felt his lips part.  He tilted his head to the side, the tip of his nose resting just behind Chris's ear.  He inhaled, deeply... skin.  Warmth.  Chris.  "So do you."  He was still touching Chris's thigh, the one shadowed by Zach's bent legs, so he could give it a squeeze without anybody seeing.

Not that anybody who looked at them now would guess that they were back-slap buddies, but somehow this was better:  whispers, gently exchanged, the air smoky and dim, surrounded by others in their own various semi-private scenes.

Zach struggled a little against Chris, arching his back and twisting like a cat.  He felt Chris hiss, felt his hips rise the tiniest bit.  "You feel good, too."  He had to force the whisper out through his teeth, his jaw tight.

Chris lowered his head, his lips barely brushing over Zach's jaw.  "Are you..." he began, hesitantly, swallowing hard, and then he mutely shifted his hips again as if to indicate what he was referring to.

Zach smiled broadly, the nervous clench of his teeth a dead giveaway, hiding against Chris's neck.  "Oh, yeah.  Very."  He paused.  "I'm only human."

Chris laughed again, another near-silent rumble.  "Fuck, you're cute."

Zach's mouth was dry.  He worked up enough saliva to say, "I'm single, you know."

"Don't tell me that.  I might take advantage."  Chris throbbed against Zach's ass again.

Please God, yes.  Please.  "Yeah?"

"Definitely.  You being drunk and all."  Chris spread the fingers of his hand across Zach's chest, rubbing him surreptitiously.

Zach felt light-headed.  "So how do I convince you to throw morality by the wayside?"  He felt Chris's breathing change a little.  Zach moved his chin back and forth, almost nuzzling.  "Any suggestions at all?  I would do..."  Just about anything.  He left the words unspoken but hanging in the air, moist against Chris's ear.

Chris's free hand was resting lightly against Zach's side, and he began to stroke lightly up and down.  "I, ah..." he chuckled.  "Okay, I am way too drunk to resist and make it sound convincing."  He groaned quietly, the muscles in his arm cording up like warm ropes of iron, and Zach felt need radiating through the tight grip like a magnetic force.  Zach slowly reached back and curled his hand around the back of Chris's neck.  He could feel the hairs rising against his fingertips.

They waited for the tipping point; so silent, tensed and wanting, it was close to prayer.

Chris let his arms loosen and fall back by his sides.  "Where?  You pick."

"Back bathroom, down the hallway."  Zach took a slow, deep breath.  "Don't... make me wait long."

"I'll be right behind you."

Zach gathered his straying thoughts together - oh shit this is actually going to happen -- and pulled his yearning body away from Chris.  He reached behind himself as he stood, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, which was sticking to a light film of sweat over his back; glanced over his shoulder with half a smile as he left.  Chris was watching him with eyes that wanted to eat him.  Fuck.  This is actually going to happen!  Zach quickly glanced away, focusing on not stumbling, not smiling too broadly, not losing his way to the back bathroom, not doing the Victory Dance.  It was extremely difficult.  He smoothed down Zoe's hair on his way out of the room, and she made a simpering noise into the sofa pillow.  Zach smiled.

He could feel the phantom presence behind him all the way to the bathroom, but it had to be an illusion; he guessed that Chris would wait a few minutes at least.  He flipped on the harsh bathroom light.  It threw him back his own reflection, skin grayed by the fluorescence, eyes reddened and hair mussed.  Jesus.  Zach reached behind him to shut the door, but Chris was already there, stepping into the bathroom and locking it behind him with a soft click.  "Hi."

Zach forced a smile, trying to calm the sudden thumping of his heart.  "Hi."  He glanced at his sallow reflection again, noticing that Chris looked oddly funereal in this awful light, too.

Chris gave Zach a slow smile that said he knew exactly what was going on in his head, and with a casual gesture, snapped off the light.

The darkness was absolute, and suddenly, Zach was intensely aware of Chris's scent.  And then he felt hands closing around his upper arms, pushing him slowly back, back, and then there was nowhere else to go because there was a wall but still Chris was getting closer and then, Oh God, Chris was pressed against him, thighs to lips.  Zach caught Chris by the shoulders, tension melting as they shared a long, slow kiss, getting wetter and deeper with every passing second, the soft sound of sucking tongues close in the darkness, fighting to catch and steal breath away.  Zach felt Chris stretching broad and powerful all over him, hard underneath his hands.  A ripple of cloth between their bodies and shirts were off.

Zach, feeling strangely free in the darkness, smeared himself shamelessly across Chris's smooth chest, working his way down with his hands and tongue, grinning at every small sound Chris made.  Chris froze for a moment as Zach slowly descended, and then frantically began working his jeans open.  Zach chuckled, biting loosely at Chris's wrist as he waited, falling from a crouch to his knees.  Long minutes of feeling that cock pressed against him, and now he was finally going to make its acquaintance... he licked his lips.  Chris finally managed to tear his zipper open and push his jeans and briefs down with a sigh that was relieved and urgent at the same time.  Zach held back for a second, and then did to Chris's cock what he'd done to his chest, smearing it with his hands and his face, letting his tongue drag over Chris messily, following it with the rasp of his stubbled cheek.  Chris was gasping and swaying on his feet, and Zach was cooling skin wet with saliva with his own panted breaths.  Zach closed his eyes and sucked, relishing the feel of Chris in his hands and his mouth.

Chris gripped the sink behind him and managed to hold still for several seconds, but then Zach tipped his head back to swallow Chris down as deep as he could, and Chris let out a heartfelt curse, loud enough to echo sharply against the tile, and apparently flailed as well, because something loud and hollow fell from the sink counter top to the floor, banging and skidding.

They both froze for an instant, and Chris's cock left Zach's mouth with a loud pop.

Zach felt Chris's belly jerk with laughter.  He giggled, and whispered, "Um, want to try to hold it down up there?"

Chris dragged him back up.  "Jesus."  He turned Zach around, pressing him to the sink with his body.  "We can never go back out there now.  Have to stay in here until everybody falls asleep or leaves."

Zach wrapped his hands around Chris's cock again, compulsively.  "That could take hours."

"Hope so."  Chris was pulling at the tight denim over Zach's crotch, and Zach was forced to let go of Chris long enough to keep his designer jeans from getting ripped.  They managed to get the button undone, and the zipper crept down slowly but surely.

Zach felt his mouth fall open as his own cock was released from pressure and nudged out into Chris's waiting hands.  "Fuck!  Chris..."  Chris crouched, tugging Zach's jeans all the way off, sucking and jacking Zach in a way that clearly meant business as Zach tried not to stumble, endeavoring to step out of his jeans without interrupting what Chris was doing to him.  They had to pause for a moment when Zach banged his ankle against the corner of the cabinet, cursing and doubling over, but when Chris rose back up, they were both naked but for their socks.  Zach took advantage of the increased skin area to rub more of himself against Chris.  He was learning curves and muscles and lines he'd never realized he didn't know, even after months of looking.  Zach ran his fingertips up the groove of Chris's spine and tried to memorize it as they kissed again, chest to chest, Chris reaching down to line their cocks up before grinding in.

Chris whispered, "What do you want, Zach?"

Zach paused, perplexed, hoping he wasn't as drunk as he knew he probably sounded.  "Is this a trick question?"

Chris laughed silently.  "No, I meant... I mean... what, specifically?  Fuck..." his mouth wandered over Zach's neck as their hips rocked together slowly.  "I think I, um.  Imagined this a few too many times.  I don't know what I want to do first."

"You imagined this."  Zach, absolutely incapable of processing that concept, lost control of his breath again, his lungs heaving like a bellows as he struggled to hold onto Chris and keep himself in one piece.  His tongue was still tingling, full of the heavy taste of Chris.  "God... just... let me suck you again."  All he wanted was to feel and taste it, to know that Chris had fantasized about him, to know that Chris had a picture in his mind's eye to fill in the darkness of the bathroom.

Chris groaned and let himself be maneuvered back to the sink again, grabbing at Zach's body as Zach slithered his way back down, filling his mouth with Chris again, focusing all of his attention on tonguing and sucking and stroking, impishly hoping he could get Chris to yell out again, but at the very least determined to taste his come, milk it out of him to the last drop.  He felt Chris swelling, seeming almost impossibly huge, Zach's lips stretching over him... and Chris pushed Zach's head away firmly, gasping over him, "No, wait, stop!"

Zach panted for a second, feeling a numb tingle rise across his tongue.  "What?  What's wrong?"

"Don't want it to end so quickly."  Chris held Zach firmly in place for a moment, seeming to get a grip on himself.  "My turn now."

Zach started laughing, feeling a little ridiculous as Chris pushed him up and took his place on the floor, and his smile lingered even as Chris wrapped his mouth around him and began to suck, lapping at his cock hungrily.  Zach bit his lip and grunted, his thighs shaking as Chris worked him, and he was grateful to be as drunk as he was, or he knew he would have come in seconds.  As it was, Chris was already making him want to thrust hard down his throat, making him want to burst.  Zach pictured Chris in his mind, pictured his lips, his mouth, and he tried to last, but he was already shaking, his cock growing heavy and hot, throbbing slickly against Chris's active tongue, wanting so badly to push... Zach reached down and shoved Chris back.  "FUCK!  Stop, okay, I'm too close."

Zach heard Chris lick his lips in the darkness.  "What now?"

Zach reminded himself again that this was actually happening.  He husked, "You, all fours.  I want your ass."

"Jesus."

Zach dropped back down and felt for Chris's ass, smacked it a few times gently, rubbing it, and spread it wide.  He ducked down and touched Chris lightly with his tongue, leaving dots of sensation down between his buttocks, nuzzling the soft, sparse fuzz before pressing the flat of his tongue hard over Chris's hole.  Chris whined almost silently, backing into him for more.  The ring of muscle tightened against Zach's mouth, and he sucked at it, licking and shoving with his tongue.  He felt his own arousal ratchet up as he practically attacked Chris with licks and tongue jabs, drawing back to spit and blow lightly over the hole, going back in to fuck at it fiercely with his tongue.  Zach slicked up a finger and pushed it in, licking around it, biting Chris's ass cheeks, rubbing him all over.  Chris was pushing against him steadily now, his breath harsh and uneven.

Zach pulled Chris's cock out between his legs and started lapping at it as he kept fingering, tapping the prostate steadily, and then sucking, licking, laving his way back up to where his finger was and working the tight clench with his lips, going back down to swirl his tongue around the ridge of the head of Chris's cock... Chris jerked and said, "Stop!"

Zach nearly ground his teeth with the effort it took to stop.  It was a few seconds before he could let go of Chris and pull his finger out.  "Fuck, I didn't want to."

"Just a little longer.  Holy shit."  Chris rolled up into a sitting position.  "Come here."

Zach straddled him and they kissed, really getting the hang of it, teasing each other's mouths with everything that they now knew they were capable of.  Zach reached down and took their leaking, twitching cocks in a strong grip, rocking into Chris, and realized they were both sweating now, soaking wet, rubbing against each other hot and slick and panting, their muscles trembly and near the breaking point... Zach slid back down Chris's thighs, letting their dicks spring free of his hands, leaning back.  "I'm getting really... fucking... close."

Chris gasped, "Yeah, me too."  He paused.

Zach recognized that particular silence.  "Out with it, man."  He grinned.  "I know what you're going to say."

"What am I going to say?"  Chris pulled Zach back in for another kiss.

Zach let himself sink into it for a moment, and then pulled away.  "I want what your cock has been wanting ever since it first met my ass earlier this evening."

Chris stiffened.  "Fuck... really?"

Zach pushed Chris back and kissed him fiercely.  "Fuck do you mean, really?  YES.  Think I have a condom in my jeans, hang on..."  He cast around the floor for a second, but before he could find the condom, Chris had grabbed his hips and was skillfully nuzzling down into his ass.  Zach's head dropped as his elbows gave out, and he bit his own arm hard enough to bruise it, shuddering as Chris dug in with his tongue.  Zach moaned, lifting up and frantically searching the fabric on the floor, wrestling through his jeans, trying desperately not to come at the wet, seeking touch curling right into him, and when he felt Chris's swollen lips pressing and sucking and spreading him even further open, he grabbed the floor and crawled forward, forcibly pulling away.  "JESUS, STOP, you have to stop, oh my God, that... I... haah."  Zach fell flat, and pushed one of his arms back behind him, waving his wrist as if to surrender.  "I have a condom in my hand, you merciless fucker.  Do what you will, but please God fuck me first."

Chris fell on top of him, laughing helplessly.  "We are so way too drunk to be doing this!"

"Whatever, shut up, fuck me."  Zach bucked up against Chris, grunting.

Chris lifted up, and Zach felt the condom taken from his hand, heard the crinkle.  "What do we use for lube?"

"Don't need any.  Condom is pre-lubricated anyway."

Chris paused.  "Um, ow?"

Zach rolled over and wriggled his back against the clothing on the floor until there were no painful seams or rivets poking him in the spine, and pulled Chris's sweaty, heavy body over him, reaching down to check that he had the condom fully on.  "I never need it when I'm drunk."

"Fuck, you're just that relaxed?"

"So fucking ready for you..."  They both groaned a little, and Chris mouthed along Zach's neck again.  Zach drew his knees high up on either side of Chris's ribcage, and reached down to pull them into alignment, Chris's cock nudging just at Zach's entrance, making him gasp and buck up, hungry for penetration.  Chris shuddered and pushed in, slowly.

"Come on, it's fine."  Zach writhed, pulling Chris up with the grip of his legs, reaching down and tugging at his ass.

Chris shoved in hard, quivering against Zach for a second before pulling out and then shoving in again, and Zach felt himself hover at the breaking point.  Chris began moving strongly, rocking them both across the floor and back, and Zach clung to him hard, breathless and silent, caught just on the cusp of orgasm and held there by the fact that his body had been waiting so long for it.  Each thrust brought him closer, higher than he'd ever felt, insanely high and hot and desperate, and then Chris grunted and shifted position so that he could take Zach's cock and squeeze it almost as though for reassurance as he fucked him.  Just a little more, just a little harder, and...

Chris stopped, let go of Zach, gasping.  "Have to stop..."

"What?  The fuck... Chris, you... don't stop!"

"Have to!"  Chris pressed his forehead against Zach's shoulder and caught his breath.

Zach took a deep, yoga-style breath, and managed not to strangle Chris.  "What.  The fuck.  Is the problem?"  Chris shook his head.  Zach slammed a fist against the floor, hard enough to sting, and it refocused his mind long enough to think, Maybe we ARE too drunk.  "God, tell me you're not sick."

"I'm not sick, I just... I don't want it to end," Chris gasped.  He buried his fingers in Zach's hair and shifted against him.

Zach groaned.  "Chris, you're... I'm going to... just... fuck, it has to end sometime, please just go."  He jerked his hips, wanting so badly for Chris to move again that he was panting and shaking with it.  "Save some for next time, okay?  Fuck!"

"Next time?  Really?"  Chris sounded oddly hopeful.  He rocked his hips again, and Zach clutched his shoulders and lifted up the floor, straining, then collapsing back.

"Yes!  And next time we're totally doing this on a fucking bed.  Now fuck me.  Fuck me until we both come.  Do it!"

Chris kissed him forcefully and then lifted up, thrusting again, hard and eager.  The cooled sweat on their bodies heated up quickly as they moved, Zach whispering soft encouragements, "Yeah, harder, fuck, yes, don't you dare fucking stop, fuck..."  He was frantic over the idea that Chris might stop again, clenching around him so tightly that he knew he'd probably be walking funny for a day or two, but unable to loosen as Chris pulled and pushed at him.  Chris took Zach's cock again and pumped it as he sped up, both of them finally hitting the sweet spot, that point of no return.  Chris grunted, and Zach gritted his teeth, and...

Zach felt a sudden swelling sensation over his entire body, and then he was coming so hard he saw stars flickering around the edges of the pitch dark, spangling his vision with heaven lights as he convulsed, clamping down on Chris who was now shifting frantically against Zach's body and locking up, his hips twitching.  Zach felt a tiny droplet of come trickle down the underside of his jaw, and just knowing that he came hard enough to hit his own chin made him shudder in aftershock, rutting into Chris's fist a few more times before he could relax.

They both melted down, muscles easing as they tried to breathe.  Zach felt his legs slide to the floor as Chris pulled out.  Chris flopped to the side.

They panted for a moment.

It was still dark, and Zach felt strangely serene, as though he were drifting in space.  And something occurred to him.  He turned on his side and took Chris's shoulder in the dark, smoothing down the muscle.  "Wait.  You kept trying to stop because you didn't think this was ever going to happen again?"

Chris laughed, softly.  "I just kept thinking, 'Zach is going to sober up and realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.'  Hopefully a really fun mistake..."

"Chris.  Idiot."  Zach took a handful of Chris's hair and yanked him into a rough kiss, pressing against him.  The floor was starting to feel less like a floating cloud of afterglow, and more like hard tile.  He sat up.  "This was just the first time.  Trust me."

Chris squeezed Zach's knee.  "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"So.  Bed next time, then?"  He could almost hear Chris smiling in the dark.

Zach stretched his sore shoulders, relishing the sharp cracks.  "Yeah.  Next time.  Can we turn the light on?"  He felt Chris rise beside him, fumbling at the wall, and then the bathroom was flooded with light again.  They both squinted, blinking at each other.

Chris was shiny with sweat, a few smears of Zach's come glinting on his stomach, the condom still hanging limply off his dick.  He was shaking a little, his chest still moving a little faster than normal, his hair smeared sweatily all over his head, his lips pink and swollen, a deep mottled flush across his face and neck.  Even now, his eyes looked hungry as they scanned Zach's body.

Zach was shaken with a surge of overwhelming dizziness as his cock tried its best to react to the image.  Chris looked a little dizzy, too.  Zach blinked.  "Do you think John will mind if we use his shower?"

"Probably only if we use it for our second time."  Chris grinned.  His blush deepened.

Zach smirked at him.  "Oh, I guarantee he's already going to be pissed at us.  I can hear him now, 'Guys, I have to put my FEET on this floor!'"

Chris licked his lips, glancing down.  "Fuck.  That actually just happened."  He slid the condom off, turning to drop it into the trash, and then turned back to Zach, a smile playing around his lips.

"You really did fantasize about this."  Zach stared at him for a few more seconds and then lurched forward, flattening Chris to the tile as he held him down and kissed him ferociously.  "Sorry, but I think our second time is going to be on this bathroom floor.  Right now."

"Fuck... will we ever make it to the bed?"  Chris tried to look concerned.

"Eventually.  We have a lot of ground to cover."

It took them several minutes to realize they had to stop again.  Zach pressed his forehead against the tile.  "I just realized... I only had the one condom."

Chris laughed.  "Jerk each other off in the shower?"

"I think I'm in love with you."

"You're still drunk."

"Very much so.  Help me up."

* * *

Zach blinked his eyes open at the sunlight seeping rudely in through the edges of the curtains, and tried to roll over.  His body felt oddly heavy.  He pushed hard, grunting, and felt something slide off his back.

A look over his shoulder revealed that it was Chris, who was yawning and squinting up at him.  "Morning."

Zach stared at him.  "Morning.  You're in my bed."

"Is that where we are?"  Chris looked around the room.  "Nice bed.  You sober yet?"

"Plausibly, yes."  Zach couldn't seem to stop staring.

Chris smiled a little sheepishly.  "Worst mistake ever?"

"Best mistake ever."

"Oh."  Chris paused.  "Cool."

Zach let himself flop back down to the pillow.  "So.  We did make it to the bed by the... what, the fourth time?"

"Fifth time."

Zach shook his head.  "No, it was fourth."

Chris grinned.  "Fifth for me."

"I'm pretty sure fourth for you, too.  I was there."  Zach grinned back at him.

"Dude, I was there too.  Fifth."

"Shut up, you're wrong."

"Is this our first fight?"

"No."  Zach paused.  "But it's our first fight in bed."

Chris rolled back over onto him, nuzzling his neck.  "Awesome.  Let's get up and have some breakfast and then do number six.  In bed."

"Number five, you mean."

"No, I said what I meant."

"It's five."

"Six."

"Fi... mmmph."

A few minutes later came the softest of whispers... "Six."

"I heard that."




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