Snippet: The Mirror Cracked (R)
Found this on the Trek RPF kinkmeme. Hmm. Here for archiving purposes, really.
Title: The Mirror Cracked
Pairing: Leonard/Zach
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Lies!
Notes/Summary: Teeny-weeny self-indulgent thing drawing on my narcissism kink. Yes, the one usually satisfied by writing Bill Shatner/Jim Kirk. I don't even know.
Most of all, he wants him for his face.
There is something wrong in that, Leonard thinks; something inherently strange about the way Zach's eyebrow feels as he draws his lips across it; something distasteful about the way the familiarity makes his stomach knot with quiet satisfaction. The bones of this face are known, somehow, as he explores them with the pads of long fingers.
He has never touched Zachary before today. He feels that he is reaching back forty years through a mirror.
They are, after all, distressingly similar. He doubted it, at first, but then the papers obligingly provided him with reams of comparative evidence, and now he is forced to concede that they are right. So, then, it stands to reason that he should not want to draw his mouth half-open over Zachary's; should not want to lick at the seam of those lips until they part on a gasp to his tongue. It is a sort of narcissism, surely?
Leonard has never been an egotist. Not like certain people he could name.
Zachary works very hard on making Leonard's brain too foggy to care. His hair is thick and soft between Leonard's fingers, the lithe young body warm where it's pressed to his. Leonard shifts, half-lifts him; pulls away from the luscious mouth to trail a heated line down the smooth throat until Zachary arches against him. His cock is hard and hot in Leonard's palm, and the zipper of his jeans yields easily to his commands. Zachary gasps a little; digs his fingernails into Leonard's shoulders. Leonard smiles up at him, and descends.
And then there is nothing but fuck and oh, a blasphemous litany of curses in his ears as Zachary bucks up into his mouth. The hands on his head are steadying, not pushing, but Leonard knows they would be, if Zachary had been less well brought up. The head of his cock brushes the roof of Leonard's mouth in a succession of spasmodic movements; Leonard takes hold of the sharp narrow hips, and presses him flat to the couch. Zachary is young, responsive to the curling of his tongue. Leonard remembers this, like riding a bike; and sure enough, the flick of tongue to slit is enough to send Zachary over the edge, pulsing waves of himself down Leonard's throat.
Afterwards, he is languid, loose, undone. His eyes are dark velvet, stormed in the new-old face. Leonard stretches up, kisses Zach's taste into his mouth.
There is something strange about this, about them; all the years that separate them and all the angles knotting them together.
But Zachary's mouth is warm, and he doesn't care.
Title: The Mirror Cracked
Pairing: Leonard/Zach
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Lies!
Notes/Summary: Teeny-weeny self-indulgent thing drawing on my narcissism kink. Yes, the one usually satisfied by writing Bill Shatner/Jim Kirk. I don't even know.
Most of all, he wants him for his face.
There is something wrong in that, Leonard thinks; something inherently strange about the way Zach's eyebrow feels as he draws his lips across it; something distasteful about the way the familiarity makes his stomach knot with quiet satisfaction. The bones of this face are known, somehow, as he explores them with the pads of long fingers.
He has never touched Zachary before today. He feels that he is reaching back forty years through a mirror.
They are, after all, distressingly similar. He doubted it, at first, but then the papers obligingly provided him with reams of comparative evidence, and now he is forced to concede that they are right. So, then, it stands to reason that he should not want to draw his mouth half-open over Zachary's; should not want to lick at the seam of those lips until they part on a gasp to his tongue. It is a sort of narcissism, surely?
Leonard has never been an egotist. Not like certain people he could name.
Zachary works very hard on making Leonard's brain too foggy to care. His hair is thick and soft between Leonard's fingers, the lithe young body warm where it's pressed to his. Leonard shifts, half-lifts him; pulls away from the luscious mouth to trail a heated line down the smooth throat until Zachary arches against him. His cock is hard and hot in Leonard's palm, and the zipper of his jeans yields easily to his commands. Zachary gasps a little; digs his fingernails into Leonard's shoulders. Leonard smiles up at him, and descends.
And then there is nothing but fuck and oh, a blasphemous litany of curses in his ears as Zachary bucks up into his mouth. The hands on his head are steadying, not pushing, but Leonard knows they would be, if Zachary had been less well brought up. The head of his cock brushes the roof of Leonard's mouth in a succession of spasmodic movements; Leonard takes hold of the sharp narrow hips, and presses him flat to the couch. Zachary is young, responsive to the curling of his tongue. Leonard remembers this, like riding a bike; and sure enough, the flick of tongue to slit is enough to send Zachary over the edge, pulsing waves of himself down Leonard's throat.
Afterwards, he is languid, loose, undone. His eyes are dark velvet, stormed in the new-old face. Leonard stretches up, kisses Zach's taste into his mouth.
There is something strange about this, about them; all the years that separate them and all the angles knotting them together.
But Zachary's mouth is warm, and he doesn't care.