Fic: On Introductions (originally posted June 14th)
That's right, folks: I'm at it again! Well may you groan. The kinkmeme has eaten my life.
Title: On Introductions
Rating: hard R
Pairing: Shatnoy, of course; nobody else
Disclaimer: Lies, lies, and more perverted lies.
Notes: This was written in response to the following prompt: Shatnoy, circa "The Strigas Affair" on Man from U.N.C.L.E. Quick-and-dirty between two guys who've only just met and barely know each other. Bonus points if they then have to go back onto the set and act as if nothing's happened. Doesn't quite fulfil everything up to the last part of the prompt, but that's the gist of it. Why exactly did both gentlemen claim not to remember their first meeting on the U.N.C.L.E. set?
If he doesn't have a name, Leonard thinks, he doesn't count. That's his rule: nameless women don't mean anything, and nameless men, even less.
This one has no name, only golden skin and tawny hair and the most incredible eyes he's ever seen. Wedding ring. Leonard always takes note of that, making a point of gripping the left hand, and he doesn't know why, since it's never made him change his mind to find a band of metal under his fingers. Easier, maybe, to know you're not alone in needing more than you deserve.
It's been a while since he's done this: met a man on a short-lived set, wanted, and taken. It must have been the eyes, deep amber, leonine; or the way he holds himself, sure to the point of cockiness. He had a script in his hand. He's playing a guy who can't decide if he's a suit or a pair of overalls, which Leonard thinks is pretty accurate casting for this man, all unplaceable, educated accent and sexy downtown stride. At any rate, he had a script in his hand, and all Leonard wanted was to knock it out of his grip - why did he want that so strongly? - and drag him into the nearest closet. Fuck him hard, break his cocky swagger.
Leonard thought about this all through morning shooting.
As it was, it didn't take too much: a grin, a shared cigarette, and a hand on his leg. Leonard's good at this, or he was once, and he doesn't forget things. Like riding a fucking bicycle, this is; finding an unused room, shucking their trousers; closing his mouth on the smooth-grained golden skin of his neck. Leonard sucks him there, just a little, tasting.
The man allows this for a minute, and then pulls away. He's reluctant to stop - Leonard likes that - but he says don't make any marks, all under his breath, and hell, Leonard knows all about that, so he refrains. It seems a shame, though, with a neck as smooth and biteable as that one.
They don't kiss. That would be a waste of time that might be better spent unbuttoning shirts, fumbling for lubricant; Leonard is good at this; knows how to push hard and not hurt. The man makes a small sound anyway, his face pressed to the back of his hand and his palm against the wall. Leonard holds him by the hips and fucks him, tasting his whimpers in the air, fucking him good.
There'll probably be bruises where his fingers were. He can't quite get round to caring about it, not when this man smells so good and tastes like salt at the nape of his bent neck. They come together, which doesn't happen often. And then Leonard pulls out, says, "Thanks," like the guy had just lent him a dime, and fastens his pants again.
It's kinda awkward, but it's okay. Par for the course. They have another cigarette later in the day, not speaking much, and their eyes are all over each other like they want to be properly naked together and Leonard tries his best to ignore it, but he's hard anyway all the way back home in the car.
He doesn't see him again. He forgets about it. It's not like it's a rare occurrence. It's not like it'll ever bother him again.
A year later, he's doing a bit better, career-wise. A lot better, maybe, if this project comes through. The first pilot wasn't quite right, sure; but the network offered a second chance, and that's a rare thing. So there's a spring in his step as he strides onto the lot to meet the man who'll be carrying this thing the second time around.
They don't count if they don't have names: that's Leonard's rule.
"Leonard, this is Bill Shatner," Gene says, conversationally. "Bill: Leonard." Leonard thinks fast: no name, no shame, okay? He meets the tawny eyes, signalling silently.
He sticks out a hand.
"Pleased to meet you," Leonard says.
Title: On Introductions
Rating: hard R
Pairing: Shatnoy, of course; nobody else
Disclaimer: Lies, lies, and more perverted lies.
Notes: This was written in response to the following prompt: Shatnoy, circa "The Strigas Affair" on Man from U.N.C.L.E. Quick-and-dirty between two guys who've only just met and barely know each other. Bonus points if they then have to go back onto the set and act as if nothing's happened. Doesn't quite fulfil everything up to the last part of the prompt, but that's the gist of it. Why exactly did both gentlemen claim not to remember their first meeting on the U.N.C.L.E. set?
If he doesn't have a name, Leonard thinks, he doesn't count. That's his rule: nameless women don't mean anything, and nameless men, even less.
This one has no name, only golden skin and tawny hair and the most incredible eyes he's ever seen. Wedding ring. Leonard always takes note of that, making a point of gripping the left hand, and he doesn't know why, since it's never made him change his mind to find a band of metal under his fingers. Easier, maybe, to know you're not alone in needing more than you deserve.
It's been a while since he's done this: met a man on a short-lived set, wanted, and taken. It must have been the eyes, deep amber, leonine; or the way he holds himself, sure to the point of cockiness. He had a script in his hand. He's playing a guy who can't decide if he's a suit or a pair of overalls, which Leonard thinks is pretty accurate casting for this man, all unplaceable, educated accent and sexy downtown stride. At any rate, he had a script in his hand, and all Leonard wanted was to knock it out of his grip - why did he want that so strongly? - and drag him into the nearest closet. Fuck him hard, break his cocky swagger.
Leonard thought about this all through morning shooting.
As it was, it didn't take too much: a grin, a shared cigarette, and a hand on his leg. Leonard's good at this, or he was once, and he doesn't forget things. Like riding a fucking bicycle, this is; finding an unused room, shucking their trousers; closing his mouth on the smooth-grained golden skin of his neck. Leonard sucks him there, just a little, tasting.
The man allows this for a minute, and then pulls away. He's reluctant to stop - Leonard likes that - but he says don't make any marks, all under his breath, and hell, Leonard knows all about that, so he refrains. It seems a shame, though, with a neck as smooth and biteable as that one.
They don't kiss. That would be a waste of time that might be better spent unbuttoning shirts, fumbling for lubricant; Leonard is good at this; knows how to push hard and not hurt. The man makes a small sound anyway, his face pressed to the back of his hand and his palm against the wall. Leonard holds him by the hips and fucks him, tasting his whimpers in the air, fucking him good.
There'll probably be bruises where his fingers were. He can't quite get round to caring about it, not when this man smells so good and tastes like salt at the nape of his bent neck. They come together, which doesn't happen often. And then Leonard pulls out, says, "Thanks," like the guy had just lent him a dime, and fastens his pants again.
It's kinda awkward, but it's okay. Par for the course. They have another cigarette later in the day, not speaking much, and their eyes are all over each other like they want to be properly naked together and Leonard tries his best to ignore it, but he's hard anyway all the way back home in the car.
He doesn't see him again. He forgets about it. It's not like it's a rare occurrence. It's not like it'll ever bother him again.
A year later, he's doing a bit better, career-wise. A lot better, maybe, if this project comes through. The first pilot wasn't quite right, sure; but the network offered a second chance, and that's a rare thing. So there's a spring in his step as he strides onto the lot to meet the man who'll be carrying this thing the second time around.
They don't count if they don't have names: that's Leonard's rule.
"Leonard, this is Bill Shatner," Gene says, conversationally. "Bill: Leonard." Leonard thinks fast: no name, no shame, okay? He meets the tawny eyes, signalling silently.
He sticks out a hand.
"Pleased to meet you," Leonard says.