Fanfiction: The Method (Shatnoy, PG-13)
Title: The Method
Pairing: Shatnoy.
Rating: PG-13, for language mostly
Summary: Sometimes, Leonard thinks Bill takes his part too seriously. Or not seriously enough.
Words: 1,751
Notes: Written for this prompt from trek_rpf_kink:
So now I want a story about various instances wherein Bill kind of thought he was Captain Kirk for a moment, there. SHATNOY, obviously, on whatever level you like.
I could think of about ten ways for this to go, and tried to pick one, and I think it became about something else. So I'd love to see someone else's take. This is fluffy un-betad crack, for the record.
Disclaimer: So not true, and even the true parts have been adapted/shuffled around.
Leonard doesn’t think Bill ever really forgets he’s not Kirk. After all, he’s supposed to be the one who takes this too seriously; Bill’s just playing himself most of the time and everyone knows it. But sometimes he wonders.
It’s not all that surprising-it’s obvious why he was hired, just as it’s obvious why Leonard was hired, and that's the thing about actors that made them so childish sometimes. They were living out fantasies that often turned out to be tailored to their own particular neuroses. It was typecasting on a psychological scale. But then again, it’s funny when Bill walks into doors that aren’t even supposed to open automatically, though Leonard’s pretty sure that’s for the benefit of onlookers.
It’s less funny when Bill barks “Leonard!” into his communicator, tuning it with his eyes wide in mock-concentration as he regretfully informs him that his dressing room is unreachable. Bill knows about the fight over the telephone and he thinks he’s hilarious and really, he isn’t.
But Leonard doesn’t think it’s a problem until Bill tells him the story about being pulled over in his uniform on the way to a location shoot. Bill’s bubbling over with coffee and impertinence, bragging about how he was able to sleep in while Leonard’s been in that damn chair an hour already.
“There are no speed limits in space,” Bill points out, taking another sip.
Leonard swears to himself he’s not going to engage. “You weren’t in space.” Damn. It’s weird how he needs coffee to maintain the reserve he feels he needs to to be Spock. He clearly hasn’t had enough. “Nor do you have a space ship. And if you did, it wouldn’t be here. It’s at Paramount. The set is at Paramount.”
“I know that,” Bill waves away any attempt to bring him down. “If it was here, I’d have just beamed down, and saved another hour.”
Leonard thinks Bill thinks it’s funny. Sometimes he thinks it’s a jab at his own struggle with his character, who is nothing like him and can’t just be dialed on and off. Sometimes he thinks it’s possible there isn’t any separation at all and that’s why Bill doesn’t seem to notice anything weird. Which Leonard thinks is the worst possible source of identification for someone with an ego like Bill’s. The rest of the cast is feeling it, too; he’s so used to barking Kirk’s orders that he expects Bill Shatner’s to carry the same weight.
That is decidedly not funny.
One Saturday night, Bill calls him up and starts talking about, of all things, go karts.
“So I go up to the bastard, right? He’s all hairy and slobbering and I think, ‘Hell yeah, I can take him, he’ll think twice about messing with me again,’ and I wind up for that kick, you know the flying one I do, and-“
“Bill.”
“What?”
“Please tell me you didn’t kick him. You know you’d fall on your ass. Best case scenario.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, I figured it out after a minute. I mean, I really thought I was Kirk there.” Bill laughs, and Leonard reflects that the laughter directed at himself is genuine.
“Why are you telling me this?” he says, not really wanting to sound rude but he’s tired and he sees Bill enough as it is.
There’s a momentary silence on the line, and Leonard can hear disbelief swell. “Because we’re best friends, Leonard.”
It’s the first Leonard’s heard of it, but he doesn’t want to argue about it, not at ten o’clock at night after months of thinking Bill’s sore about all the fan mail Leonard’s been getting. Bill sounds patient and astonished at the same time, and utterly convinced. And really, Leonard doesn’t mind, and he realizes he’s sort of come to expect Bill’s bad puns and mugging and having to tell him he’s being ridiculous.
He doesn’t connect it to the show, though, for a few weeks. When they’re filming the pon farr one and they’re shooting the part where he says “I have killed my captain-and my friend” and when “cut” is yelled and he turns and Bill beams and gives him a thumbs up from where he’s lying on the ground.
It’s about then that Leonard gives in. Or rather, realizes he had already, without knowing it. Their morning makeup bullshit sessions, the increasing frequency of the phone calls, the fact that when Bill does his I’m-Captain-Kirk thing Leonard grumbles along with everyone else but smiles to himself and doesn’t talk shit behind his back.
He thinks he’s starting to see what Spock sees in him. And he can’t believe he just thought that.
He’s taking off the beard one evening when Bill saunters into his dressing room and promptly grabs one of Leonard’s towels to wipe his face with. “Isn’t it great how we’re friends even in an evil alternate dimension?” he says with what sounds like cheerful sincerity. “Doesn’t that just warm your heart? You should leave that on-we’ll go to dinner and see if anyone recognizes you.”
He doesn’t, of course, but Leonard goes to dinner with him anyway. He’s thinking about that time last year, after Bill’s dad died and Leonard tried really hard to be supportive and was greeted with mockery, and he thinks now that maybe it wasn’t, it was just Bill blowing off steam and not being Kirk for once and maybe Leonard was too hard on him, then. Not that Bill’s mentioned it since, other than to thank him for being there.
They start hanging out on weekends. Bill is not Kirk but Leonard’s starting to think that Bill is a lot of the things he likes about Kirk, or maybe it’s the other way around, and maybe it’s okay for Bill to think he’s Kirk because Kirk is one hell of a guy, for all his self-righteousness, even if he’s written impossibly. Then again, it’s probably not okay for Leonard to start thinking like this, because Bill is not Kirk, and Leonard is not the one with the problem. Not that Bill’s helping any, trying to draw him out of being Spock on his down time by working Kirk’s charm on him, which is confusing as all hell.
They’re sharing a drink in Bill’s dressing room one night, and Bill’s repeating a story about how difficult those Saurian brandy bottles are to drink out of without spilling it all down your shirt, and Leonard’s trying not to encourage him, when he changes the subject abruptly.
“Do you think there’s something going on between us?” he says. He’s still wearing his uniform and it doesn’t even strike Leonard as incongruous anymore, even though he wonders if Bill doesn’t keep it on longer than is strictly necessary because it brings out the gold in his hair.
Leonard stares at him. He tries to remember if he was staring before. “Something…?”
Bill lowers his lashes and it really shouldn’t be right for a 38 year old man to get away with that sort of thing, but Kirk does all the time and Leonard realizes he’s going to let him. “You know… The rumors.”
“I haven’t heard any rumors,” Leonard assures him, not sure what Bill’s looking for and eager to put him at ease. At the same time, his mind is flying. Who’s been talking? And what the hell have they been reading into… whatever this is?
“Well, all those times we’ve risked our lives for each other, and I know it’s not easy for you to express something as illogical as friendship, and that pon farr thing… I mean people are wondering if there’s a reason the hot chick always leaves by the end of the episode, and why I keep looking at you like that.”
Leonard thinks he understands what Bill’s referring to, but he is at a loss to parse this information. Is Bill kidding? Is he teasing him? Is there some reason to couch this question in this particular context, while he’s relaxed and the lights are kind of low and suddenly the distance between them on this dressing room loveseat seems ridiculously small?
“The camera,” he says. “You look at the camera that way. Kirk is looking at Spock…” Kirk looks at everyone that way. So does Bill.
Bill waves his glass hazardously. “Right, right,” he says. “Whatever. Haven’t you been getting those fan letters, too?”
He has, and it’s not like he’s not flattered, but he’s damned if he knows what Bill’s driving at. “Bill,” he says finally. “What exactly are you driving at?”
“It’s just that I think there might be something to it,” he says, his expression open and guileless and utterly certain. “And I think it’s about time that you got over yourself and admitted that Spock has a thing for his captain.”
Okay, so that’s a little more obvious, if stupid, and Leonard for the life of him can’t figure out if Bill thinks he’s Kirk or thinks Leonard thinks he’s Kirk or is just playing around and frankly, he doesn’t care anymore. Because he’s not Spock, and he does feel, and it has nothing to do with that stupid uniform or that cocky grin Bill has on now, except maybe it does because he’s leaned forward and Bill’s leaned forward and Bill’s not going to call his bluff.
So Leonard won’t call his.
And then he’s pressing Bill into the couch, and Bill’s kissing him back and his hands are working their way under Leonard’s shirt and Bill’s shirt is too tight and Leonard can’t find that stupid zipper.
“Rip it,” Bill says huskily, “it tears right off,” and Leonard is only too happy to comply, though it’s harder when the seams haven’t been weakened by wardrobe.
When they break away to fumble with the rest of their clothes Bill’s grinning knowingly and Leonard knows that he knows he’s not Kirk, but he thinks it’s okay if Bill wants to think of himself that way sometimes, if only so he can kiss that smirk off his face, and he knows Spock would never be taking off his captain’s pants in a dingy dressing room but it’s okay if Bill wants to think he would. He might even call Bill “Jim,” if he asks nicely.
Bill leans forward and nips Leonard’s earlobe and Leonard thinks he could get used to this when there’s a pause and a sudden whisper.
“Wait,” Bill says. “What’s wrong with your ears?”
Pairing: Shatnoy.
Rating: PG-13, for language mostly
Summary: Sometimes, Leonard thinks Bill takes his part too seriously. Or not seriously enough.
Words: 1,751
Notes: Written for this prompt from trek_rpf_kink:
So now I want a story about various instances wherein Bill kind of thought he was Captain Kirk for a moment, there. SHATNOY, obviously, on whatever level you like.
I could think of about ten ways for this to go, and tried to pick one, and I think it became about something else. So I'd love to see someone else's take. This is fluffy un-betad crack, for the record.
Disclaimer: So not true, and even the true parts have been adapted/shuffled around.
Leonard doesn’t think Bill ever really forgets he’s not Kirk. After all, he’s supposed to be the one who takes this too seriously; Bill’s just playing himself most of the time and everyone knows it. But sometimes he wonders.
It’s not all that surprising-it’s obvious why he was hired, just as it’s obvious why Leonard was hired, and that's the thing about actors that made them so childish sometimes. They were living out fantasies that often turned out to be tailored to their own particular neuroses. It was typecasting on a psychological scale. But then again, it’s funny when Bill walks into doors that aren’t even supposed to open automatically, though Leonard’s pretty sure that’s for the benefit of onlookers.
It’s less funny when Bill barks “Leonard!” into his communicator, tuning it with his eyes wide in mock-concentration as he regretfully informs him that his dressing room is unreachable. Bill knows about the fight over the telephone and he thinks he’s hilarious and really, he isn’t.
But Leonard doesn’t think it’s a problem until Bill tells him the story about being pulled over in his uniform on the way to a location shoot. Bill’s bubbling over with coffee and impertinence, bragging about how he was able to sleep in while Leonard’s been in that damn chair an hour already.
“There are no speed limits in space,” Bill points out, taking another sip.
Leonard swears to himself he’s not going to engage. “You weren’t in space.” Damn. It’s weird how he needs coffee to maintain the reserve he feels he needs to to be Spock. He clearly hasn’t had enough. “Nor do you have a space ship. And if you did, it wouldn’t be here. It’s at Paramount. The set is at Paramount.”
“I know that,” Bill waves away any attempt to bring him down. “If it was here, I’d have just beamed down, and saved another hour.”
Leonard thinks Bill thinks it’s funny. Sometimes he thinks it’s a jab at his own struggle with his character, who is nothing like him and can’t just be dialed on and off. Sometimes he thinks it’s possible there isn’t any separation at all and that’s why Bill doesn’t seem to notice anything weird. Which Leonard thinks is the worst possible source of identification for someone with an ego like Bill’s. The rest of the cast is feeling it, too; he’s so used to barking Kirk’s orders that he expects Bill Shatner’s to carry the same weight.
That is decidedly not funny.
One Saturday night, Bill calls him up and starts talking about, of all things, go karts.
“So I go up to the bastard, right? He’s all hairy and slobbering and I think, ‘Hell yeah, I can take him, he’ll think twice about messing with me again,’ and I wind up for that kick, you know the flying one I do, and-“
“Bill.”
“What?”
“Please tell me you didn’t kick him. You know you’d fall on your ass. Best case scenario.”
“Oh. Yeah. Well, I figured it out after a minute. I mean, I really thought I was Kirk there.” Bill laughs, and Leonard reflects that the laughter directed at himself is genuine.
“Why are you telling me this?” he says, not really wanting to sound rude but he’s tired and he sees Bill enough as it is.
There’s a momentary silence on the line, and Leonard can hear disbelief swell. “Because we’re best friends, Leonard.”
It’s the first Leonard’s heard of it, but he doesn’t want to argue about it, not at ten o’clock at night after months of thinking Bill’s sore about all the fan mail Leonard’s been getting. Bill sounds patient and astonished at the same time, and utterly convinced. And really, Leonard doesn’t mind, and he realizes he’s sort of come to expect Bill’s bad puns and mugging and having to tell him he’s being ridiculous.
He doesn’t connect it to the show, though, for a few weeks. When they’re filming the pon farr one and they’re shooting the part where he says “I have killed my captain-and my friend” and when “cut” is yelled and he turns and Bill beams and gives him a thumbs up from where he’s lying on the ground.
It’s about then that Leonard gives in. Or rather, realizes he had already, without knowing it. Their morning makeup bullshit sessions, the increasing frequency of the phone calls, the fact that when Bill does his I’m-Captain-Kirk thing Leonard grumbles along with everyone else but smiles to himself and doesn’t talk shit behind his back.
He thinks he’s starting to see what Spock sees in him. And he can’t believe he just thought that.
He’s taking off the beard one evening when Bill saunters into his dressing room and promptly grabs one of Leonard’s towels to wipe his face with. “Isn’t it great how we’re friends even in an evil alternate dimension?” he says with what sounds like cheerful sincerity. “Doesn’t that just warm your heart? You should leave that on-we’ll go to dinner and see if anyone recognizes you.”
He doesn’t, of course, but Leonard goes to dinner with him anyway. He’s thinking about that time last year, after Bill’s dad died and Leonard tried really hard to be supportive and was greeted with mockery, and he thinks now that maybe it wasn’t, it was just Bill blowing off steam and not being Kirk for once and maybe Leonard was too hard on him, then. Not that Bill’s mentioned it since, other than to thank him for being there.
They start hanging out on weekends. Bill is not Kirk but Leonard’s starting to think that Bill is a lot of the things he likes about Kirk, or maybe it’s the other way around, and maybe it’s okay for Bill to think he’s Kirk because Kirk is one hell of a guy, for all his self-righteousness, even if he’s written impossibly. Then again, it’s probably not okay for Leonard to start thinking like this, because Bill is not Kirk, and Leonard is not the one with the problem. Not that Bill’s helping any, trying to draw him out of being Spock on his down time by working Kirk’s charm on him, which is confusing as all hell.
They’re sharing a drink in Bill’s dressing room one night, and Bill’s repeating a story about how difficult those Saurian brandy bottles are to drink out of without spilling it all down your shirt, and Leonard’s trying not to encourage him, when he changes the subject abruptly.
“Do you think there’s something going on between us?” he says. He’s still wearing his uniform and it doesn’t even strike Leonard as incongruous anymore, even though he wonders if Bill doesn’t keep it on longer than is strictly necessary because it brings out the gold in his hair.
Leonard stares at him. He tries to remember if he was staring before. “Something…?”
Bill lowers his lashes and it really shouldn’t be right for a 38 year old man to get away with that sort of thing, but Kirk does all the time and Leonard realizes he’s going to let him. “You know… The rumors.”
“I haven’t heard any rumors,” Leonard assures him, not sure what Bill’s looking for and eager to put him at ease. At the same time, his mind is flying. Who’s been talking? And what the hell have they been reading into… whatever this is?
“Well, all those times we’ve risked our lives for each other, and I know it’s not easy for you to express something as illogical as friendship, and that pon farr thing… I mean people are wondering if there’s a reason the hot chick always leaves by the end of the episode, and why I keep looking at you like that.”
Leonard thinks he understands what Bill’s referring to, but he is at a loss to parse this information. Is Bill kidding? Is he teasing him? Is there some reason to couch this question in this particular context, while he’s relaxed and the lights are kind of low and suddenly the distance between them on this dressing room loveseat seems ridiculously small?
“The camera,” he says. “You look at the camera that way. Kirk is looking at Spock…” Kirk looks at everyone that way. So does Bill.
Bill waves his glass hazardously. “Right, right,” he says. “Whatever. Haven’t you been getting those fan letters, too?”
He has, and it’s not like he’s not flattered, but he’s damned if he knows what Bill’s driving at. “Bill,” he says finally. “What exactly are you driving at?”
“It’s just that I think there might be something to it,” he says, his expression open and guileless and utterly certain. “And I think it’s about time that you got over yourself and admitted that Spock has a thing for his captain.”
Okay, so that’s a little more obvious, if stupid, and Leonard for the life of him can’t figure out if Bill thinks he’s Kirk or thinks Leonard thinks he’s Kirk or is just playing around and frankly, he doesn’t care anymore. Because he’s not Spock, and he does feel, and it has nothing to do with that stupid uniform or that cocky grin Bill has on now, except maybe it does because he’s leaned forward and Bill’s leaned forward and Bill’s not going to call his bluff.
So Leonard won’t call his.
And then he’s pressing Bill into the couch, and Bill’s kissing him back and his hands are working their way under Leonard’s shirt and Bill’s shirt is too tight and Leonard can’t find that stupid zipper.
“Rip it,” Bill says huskily, “it tears right off,” and Leonard is only too happy to comply, though it’s harder when the seams haven’t been weakened by wardrobe.
When they break away to fumble with the rest of their clothes Bill’s grinning knowingly and Leonard knows that he knows he’s not Kirk, but he thinks it’s okay if Bill wants to think of himself that way sometimes, if only so he can kiss that smirk off his face, and he knows Spock would never be taking off his captain’s pants in a dingy dressing room but it’s okay if Bill wants to think he would. He might even call Bill “Jim,” if he asks nicely.
Bill leans forward and nips Leonard’s earlobe and Leonard thinks he could get used to this when there’s a pause and a sudden whisper.
“Wait,” Bill says. “What’s wrong with your ears?”