Fic: The One Where They Watch Star Trek Some More
This was written in response to a demand on the kinkmeme for a sequel to The One Where They Watch Star Trek. Thus, more voyeuristic Shatnoy-through-Pinto porn came to be, because how could I resist?
None of this happened. Massively NC-17. You have been warned.
So, it turns out that old-school Star Trek is better than porn. In Zach's box set, there are four episodes on every disc, and a helluva lot of discs in the box. Between The Enemy Within and Miri, Chris counts four orgasms on his part and five on Zach's, which is particularly disturbing given that Miri appears to be mostly about Kirk flirting with twelve-year-old girls in the name of scientific advancement.
Still, you know. Whatever. Shatner's smirking the Kirksmirk, so Chris isn't inclined to complain.
They're curled up together on the settee, watching assorted crewmen and monsters beam in and out of the transporter pad that marks the main menu, when Zach says, "Obviously Leonard."
It is such a random utterance that Chris can't help but jerk his head up from Zach's shoulder, blinking in bemusement. "Obviously Leonard what?" he queries.
Zach runs lazy fingers into Chris's hair and smiles at him, unconcerned. "You asked who I thought would be on top. Hours ago. Well, I wasn't really in a position to answer, then, but I've considered the issue since, and I've decided that the answer is: obviously, Leonard."
Now, whatever Leonard might think, Chris is no chirpy youngster. He's nearing thirty. He's come four times already. So he actually can't believe it when he feels his cock do a bit of a jumping jack, just for that comment and the dark wash in Zach's eyes. He swallows, trying for levelness. "Oh, you've considered it, have you?"
"Mmmmm," says Zach. Chris feels the vibration alllllll the way down, reverberating deep in Zach's ribcage where it's pressed under his own. "From all angles," he adds. "Every - conceivable - angle."
A grin. It occurs to Chris that he's doing it on purpose. He says, "Zach, you're fucking doing this on purpose!"
"Doing what?" Zach asks, the picture of innocence. "Chris, dearest, I only thought you might actually like an answer to your question. Particularly now that I've got such a thorough one all worked out. But hey, if you don't want to know my theory about Leonard screwing the golden boy on the hood of his huge great fuck-off Buick, I guess I'll just have to go to the bathroom and tell myself about it again."
Oh. The sudden rush of blood is undeniable, this time, and Chris bites his lip to hold back a very undignified noise. Four fucking times already, he tells himself sternly. Jesus. He shifts a bit. "Now, wait a minute," he protests. "On the - on a Buick?"
The smile on Zach's face is full of smugness, all broad and bright and damn I'm good. He knows he's won. Chris kind of wants to smack him, but he wants to know about the Buick-fuckage more, so he restrains himself. Zach says, "Mm. Leonard had this absolute Leviathan of a Buick. I saw a picture of it once, and him standing in front of it, all Spocked up. It was pretty hot."
Chris laughs. "What, Leonard, or the car?"
"Both, of course," Zach tells him, smoothly. He draws a fingertip down the outside of Chris's arm, over the knobbly outcrop of his wristbone and onto the back of his hand. "And then it occurred to me that nobody has a car like that and doesn't put the hood to alternative uses. Like, for example, fucking Captain Kirk from behind."
There's a strangled little noise somewhere, and Chris only wishes he could be sure it's only in his throat, and not actually, you know, audible. "Oh yeah?"
He's breathless, now. He kind of hates himself for how easy he is, tonight; but on the other hand, there's Zach, stroking his arm, and his side; and Zach's voice, thick velvet against his ear; and oh, fuck, the image of Leonard and Shatner fucking on some massive-ass 1960's Buick; and he's just a little afraid he's going to come in his pants over this, and he doesn't even know why.
"God, the colour of his skin, Chris," Zach is saying. "You've seen him. He's fucking golden. He looks like he tastes good. Just, can't you see it - Leonard pushing his head down just a little, holding him by the hair. Kissing the nape of his neck." He nips at Chris's jaw for emphasis. Chris whimpers.
"I see that," he manages.
"Keep seeing it," Zach demands. He rocks his hips up against Chris's back; bites at the curve of his neck. "God, just. Licking down his back. I bet he tastes salty, Chris; all clean sweat and fucking masculinity and his hips, his fucking tapered little waist and Leonard's hands on it. 'Cause Leonard's got absolutely the longest fucking fingers that ever existed and Jesus - " Zach's hands on Chris's waist; Zach's mouth against his ear - " - oh Jesus, Chris, think of Leonard working him over with those fingers, and he's all writhing and whimpering and pressed flat against the hood of the fucking car in the dark. In the fucking parking lot, Chris. Anyone could walk in at any fucking time and he's making a helluva noise and Leonard's just fingerfucking him right there in the lot."
It's like, Chris thinks dazedly - it's like -
Zach is touching him, rubbing himself against Chris's back. Chris struggles for thoughts, for anything other than this mess of breathless illicit other-people fucking in some Paramount parking lot way back in the goddamn summer of love, Leonard's fingers and Shatner's goddamn fucking beautiful face and back and hips and sounds. Chris can hear himself panting, as if from far away.
"Fuck, Zach," he hisses, rocking up into the world's second longest set of fingers. "Fuck, Zach, would you let them fuck already?"
Zach's laughter is rich and throaty in Chris's ear, husky and turned-on and delicious. He says, "Would you like that?"
"I want it," Chris breathes, blunt and suddenly shameless. "You think they fucked, Zach?" He is rocking, rocking, writhing on the couch, fingers digging into the muscle of Zach's forearm. "Tell me about them fucking."
"Ngh," says Zach. It is a definite ngh and nothing else, not anything so cool or collected as a word, and Chris takes some small pleasure in it. Then Zach says, "God, Chris. Just, Leonard fucking up into him slow and tight and hard while he sucks on the back of his neck. Shatner biting his hand. Ohgod - "
After a second, Chris's mush of sensory impulses recognises an insistent pattern of pressure moving against his back. After another second, he belatedly realises that Zach is jerking himself off against the small of Chris's back. He swallows. His vision is blurring. Incongruously, the room is still filled with little bleeping transporter noises.
"Ohfuck," says Chris. "Ohfuck. God, yes. And, and, Zach, they're getting faster like that, like that like that; and Shatner's hand on Leonard's hip, pulling him close; and Leonard licking and biting and nipping at his jaw and his throat and the nape of his neck and his hair, Zach; Leonard's hands in his hair, and the pair of them fucking whimpering and gasping and moaning - "
" - God godgod and Shatner going 'Fuck me, Leonard, fuck me' like it's not hard enough, slammed into the car like that with his arms all braced and shivering - "
" - fuck yes, and coming the fuck all over the hood," Chris finishes for him, words gasped out like whispers in a goddamn electrical storm of sensation.
"Oh, Jesus," Zach gasps out; "Motherfucking Christ - " and then he's coming, heavy and damp and thrusting into Chris and his fingers clench hard enough to bruise. It takes about a half second before Chris follows him, closing his own hand over Zach's trembling fingers and shooting the fuck all over them both.
They lie there panting, trembling, tiny little stars firing in Chris's fingers and toes and his throat all thick like he'd been smoking. Fuck this, Chris thinks. He doesn't know what the hell it is about those two, but Jesus.
Jesus.
"So, Star Trek," Zach says, after a long, long moment of drifting, sticky nothing. "Aphrodisiac, you think?"
Chris bursts out laughing. It is so exactly what he was thinking, he wants to roll over and kiss Zach for it. His chafed cock says that might not be wise.
"Mmm," he agrees, sleepily. "Next time, I want Shatner to fuck me, yeah?"
Zach snorts. "I might get jealous," he warns.
"...three-way?" Chris proposes, grinning over his shoulder.
"Sold," Zach agrees readily, and kisses the tip of his ear.
*
None of this happened. Massively NC-17. You have been warned.
So, it turns out that old-school Star Trek is better than porn. In Zach's box set, there are four episodes on every disc, and a helluva lot of discs in the box. Between The Enemy Within and Miri, Chris counts four orgasms on his part and five on Zach's, which is particularly disturbing given that Miri appears to be mostly about Kirk flirting with twelve-year-old girls in the name of scientific advancement.
Still, you know. Whatever. Shatner's smirking the Kirksmirk, so Chris isn't inclined to complain.
They're curled up together on the settee, watching assorted crewmen and monsters beam in and out of the transporter pad that marks the main menu, when Zach says, "Obviously Leonard."
It is such a random utterance that Chris can't help but jerk his head up from Zach's shoulder, blinking in bemusement. "Obviously Leonard what?" he queries.
Zach runs lazy fingers into Chris's hair and smiles at him, unconcerned. "You asked who I thought would be on top. Hours ago. Well, I wasn't really in a position to answer, then, but I've considered the issue since, and I've decided that the answer is: obviously, Leonard."
Now, whatever Leonard might think, Chris is no chirpy youngster. He's nearing thirty. He's come four times already. So he actually can't believe it when he feels his cock do a bit of a jumping jack, just for that comment and the dark wash in Zach's eyes. He swallows, trying for levelness. "Oh, you've considered it, have you?"
"Mmmmm," says Zach. Chris feels the vibration alllllll the way down, reverberating deep in Zach's ribcage where it's pressed under his own. "From all angles," he adds. "Every - conceivable - angle."
A grin. It occurs to Chris that he's doing it on purpose. He says, "Zach, you're fucking doing this on purpose!"
"Doing what?" Zach asks, the picture of innocence. "Chris, dearest, I only thought you might actually like an answer to your question. Particularly now that I've got such a thorough one all worked out. But hey, if you don't want to know my theory about Leonard screwing the golden boy on the hood of his huge great fuck-off Buick, I guess I'll just have to go to the bathroom and tell myself about it again."
Oh. The sudden rush of blood is undeniable, this time, and Chris bites his lip to hold back a very undignified noise. Four fucking times already, he tells himself sternly. Jesus. He shifts a bit. "Now, wait a minute," he protests. "On the - on a Buick?"
The smile on Zach's face is full of smugness, all broad and bright and damn I'm good. He knows he's won. Chris kind of wants to smack him, but he wants to know about the Buick-fuckage more, so he restrains himself. Zach says, "Mm. Leonard had this absolute Leviathan of a Buick. I saw a picture of it once, and him standing in front of it, all Spocked up. It was pretty hot."
Chris laughs. "What, Leonard, or the car?"
"Both, of course," Zach tells him, smoothly. He draws a fingertip down the outside of Chris's arm, over the knobbly outcrop of his wristbone and onto the back of his hand. "And then it occurred to me that nobody has a car like that and doesn't put the hood to alternative uses. Like, for example, fucking Captain Kirk from behind."
There's a strangled little noise somewhere, and Chris only wishes he could be sure it's only in his throat, and not actually, you know, audible. "Oh yeah?"
He's breathless, now. He kind of hates himself for how easy he is, tonight; but on the other hand, there's Zach, stroking his arm, and his side; and Zach's voice, thick velvet against his ear; and oh, fuck, the image of Leonard and Shatner fucking on some massive-ass 1960's Buick; and he's just a little afraid he's going to come in his pants over this, and he doesn't even know why.
"God, the colour of his skin, Chris," Zach is saying. "You've seen him. He's fucking golden. He looks like he tastes good. Just, can't you see it - Leonard pushing his head down just a little, holding him by the hair. Kissing the nape of his neck." He nips at Chris's jaw for emphasis. Chris whimpers.
"I see that," he manages.
"Keep seeing it," Zach demands. He rocks his hips up against Chris's back; bites at the curve of his neck. "God, just. Licking down his back. I bet he tastes salty, Chris; all clean sweat and fucking masculinity and his hips, his fucking tapered little waist and Leonard's hands on it. 'Cause Leonard's got absolutely the longest fucking fingers that ever existed and Jesus - " Zach's hands on Chris's waist; Zach's mouth against his ear - " - oh Jesus, Chris, think of Leonard working him over with those fingers, and he's all writhing and whimpering and pressed flat against the hood of the fucking car in the dark. In the fucking parking lot, Chris. Anyone could walk in at any fucking time and he's making a helluva noise and Leonard's just fingerfucking him right there in the lot."
It's like, Chris thinks dazedly - it's like -
Zach is touching him, rubbing himself against Chris's back. Chris struggles for thoughts, for anything other than this mess of breathless illicit other-people fucking in some Paramount parking lot way back in the goddamn summer of love, Leonard's fingers and Shatner's goddamn fucking beautiful face and back and hips and sounds. Chris can hear himself panting, as if from far away.
"Fuck, Zach," he hisses, rocking up into the world's second longest set of fingers. "Fuck, Zach, would you let them fuck already?"
Zach's laughter is rich and throaty in Chris's ear, husky and turned-on and delicious. He says, "Would you like that?"
"I want it," Chris breathes, blunt and suddenly shameless. "You think they fucked, Zach?" He is rocking, rocking, writhing on the couch, fingers digging into the muscle of Zach's forearm. "Tell me about them fucking."
"Ngh," says Zach. It is a definite ngh and nothing else, not anything so cool or collected as a word, and Chris takes some small pleasure in it. Then Zach says, "God, Chris. Just, Leonard fucking up into him slow and tight and hard while he sucks on the back of his neck. Shatner biting his hand. Ohgod - "
After a second, Chris's mush of sensory impulses recognises an insistent pattern of pressure moving against his back. After another second, he belatedly realises that Zach is jerking himself off against the small of Chris's back. He swallows. His vision is blurring. Incongruously, the room is still filled with little bleeping transporter noises.
"Ohfuck," says Chris. "Ohfuck. God, yes. And, and, Zach, they're getting faster like that, like that like that; and Shatner's hand on Leonard's hip, pulling him close; and Leonard licking and biting and nipping at his jaw and his throat and the nape of his neck and his hair, Zach; Leonard's hands in his hair, and the pair of them fucking whimpering and gasping and moaning - "
" - God godgod and Shatner going 'Fuck me, Leonard, fuck me' like it's not hard enough, slammed into the car like that with his arms all braced and shivering - "
" - fuck yes, and coming the fuck all over the hood," Chris finishes for him, words gasped out like whispers in a goddamn electrical storm of sensation.
"Oh, Jesus," Zach gasps out; "Motherfucking Christ - " and then he's coming, heavy and damp and thrusting into Chris and his fingers clench hard enough to bruise. It takes about a half second before Chris follows him, closing his own hand over Zach's trembling fingers and shooting the fuck all over them both.
They lie there panting, trembling, tiny little stars firing in Chris's fingers and toes and his throat all thick like he'd been smoking. Fuck this, Chris thinks. He doesn't know what the hell it is about those two, but Jesus.
Jesus.
"So, Star Trek," Zach says, after a long, long moment of drifting, sticky nothing. "Aphrodisiac, you think?"
Chris bursts out laughing. It is so exactly what he was thinking, he wants to roll over and kiss Zach for it. His chafed cock says that might not be wise.
"Mmm," he agrees, sleepily. "Next time, I want Shatner to fuck me, yeah?"
Zach snorts. "I might get jealous," he warns.
"...three-way?" Chris proposes, grinning over his shoulder.
"Sold," Zach agrees readily, and kisses the tip of his ear.
*