Fic: Five By Five (Shatnoy, NC-17)
Title: Five by Five
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating Holy NC-17, Batman.
Summary: Written a very, very long time ago for a prompt on the shatnoy_rpf kinkmeme for Len fisting Bill circa TOS-era. And...yeah.
Warnings: See summary. Utterly without plot.
Disclaimer: This absolutely did not happen, and never ever will.
Notes: I'm posting this as part of a self-declared Embarrassment Amnesty day. It's been hanging around anonymously on the kinkmeme for months, but I think, in the months since I wrote it, I've ceased to be as embarrassed by fisting as I perhaps should be.
It started out almost as a joke.
Bill had been, in the beginning, very dubious about the whole idea of penetrative sex, insisting instead upon spending hours and hours doing other, very lovely but often rather teenagery things, rather than confront the issue, as it were, head on. He developed, for example, a particular trick of descending upon Leonard's cock with spectacular effect, the moment Leonard's fingers began to wander even the slightest bit too far back between his legs; and while Leonard in no way objected to Bill's attentions - as a distraction, they were certainly effective - there came a time when he decided that being distracted every time just wasn't working for him.
"Let me," he'd said, catching Bill by the shoulders one evening, just as he showed his first sign of downward movement, and then, "Just relax, Billy. I'm not gonna stick it in you without warning, for God's sake. Just relax." His fingers traced delicate patterns over Bill's balls, over his perineum; tracked back further, slowly, slowly, like an occupying army making a gradual advance. It had been almost torturously slow, that first exploration: Leonard touching so carefully, so gently, ignoring his own arousal in favour of watching the play of sensation displayed on Bill's face; the way his thighs tensed; the way he finally, finally, canted his hips towards Leonard's hand. At length, when Leonard's finger finally reached its goal sufficiently to circle and stroke, Bill shivered, his face tightening a little in apprehension, but he did not pull away.
The joke came in around about here, in the fact that, after having resisted even the slightest brush of Leonard's fingers to the base of his spine, for weeks upon agonising weeks, Leonard quickly found that Bill loved - loved - to be fingerfucked. As far as Leonard was concerned, in fact, this was gross understatement. His first invasion into that hot tightness had, certainly, been met with gritted teeth and clear concern from Bill, but Leonard had been very careful, and very slick, and the result - of, namely, his first contact with Bill's prostate - had been rewardingly exceptional.
It probably helped that Bill was, in general, a man of extremes. When Bill was enjoying something - and that something might just as easily be food, or a baseball game - everybody in the vicinity knew all about it, and this was no exception. Bill twisted under Leonard's touch; rocked down onto his fingers; shifted his position in such a way that Leonard was best able to press in deep, jerking and gasping and crying out at every touch of Leonard's curled fingertips to his prostate. In bed, Bill was always vocal, and now, as he fucked himself instinctively on Leonard's fingers, Leonard watched him turn his head from side to side on the pillow, breathing things like harder and there and fuck, yes.
In short, it very quickly became clear to Leonard that Bill was the sort of man anal sex was made for.
Bill, however, didn't seem to agree. This was rather frustrating, because while it was delicious to watch Bill sweaty and naked and writhing on the bed while Leonard's fingers slipped slickly in and out of his body, the sight of his own hand disappearing into that tightness only made Leonard's groin ache to complete the ritual by impaling Bill, in the time-honoured fashion, on his cock. Bill, though, simply wasn't having it. Although he was perfectly willing, indeed eager, to be fingerfucked hard and slowly for upwards of twenty minutes of a time, while Leonard brought him over and over to the cusp of orgasm, he always balked at any move Leonard made towards positioning himself there between Bill's legs. Despite the fact that Bill's instinctive moan invariably disintegrated into more - fuck - more in the moments before he came, he remained very stubbornly disinclined to admit what Leonard thought of as the obvious response to this plea.
This was what made Leonard begin to ponder less obvious responses.
Lubrication, as far as Leonard was concerned, was always an absolute necessity. The fact that he always slicked himself and Bill very liberally in the stuff made his cunning plan somewhat easier to implement, if only because there would be nothing to suggest beforehand that anything out of the ordinary was about to go on. And, indeed, for a good ten minutes, nothing out of the ordinary did. As usual, Leonard worked his fingers into Bill, first one, then two; and then, when Bill was pressing down against his hand, working himself onto Leonard's fingers with increasing eagerness, he slipped a third digit into Bill's heat.
So far, Leonard thought, so normal. Bill's face was contorted with pleasure, his back tight and shivering, arching off the bed as he thrust himself down onto Leonard's fingers. Leonard held himself up on one elbow, rubbing his mouth against Bill's stomach and thighs as he fucked him with his fingers, steady and smooth in response to Bill's own rhythm.
"More," Bill murmured, fingers clenching in the sheets, and then, "Fuck, more!"
This was it. This was the point at which Leonard's general reaction was to increase his speed, his vigour; increase the intensity of his thrusts until Bill threw his head back, and clenched his jaw, and came all over his stomach. But that, really, did not accurately match Bill's demand, Leonard thought to himself, through a haze of lust. That, really, was faster and harder and there. More, on the other hand, was the fourth finger he now worked in to join the first three, stretching Bill open so that Bill jerked his legs in surprise.
"Ssssh," murmured Leonard, kissing his hipbone, then the crease where his leg joined his body. "Feel good, Billy? You okay?"
Deliberately, pointedly, he curled his fingers, crooking them until he could press them firmly to Bill's prostate. Whatever protest had been about to rise to Bill's lips was abruptly lost in a gasping whimper, and Leonard smiled, and went on working his fingers in and out of Bill's body: out, and slickly in again, marvelling at the way Bill accommodated his touch.
Four fingers, Leonard remarked to himself, already stretched Bill wider than Leonard's cock would. The stretching part, evidently, was not Bill's major concern. Leonard gritted his teeth, and wondered just how far this supposition would hold.
At the touch of his thumb, teasing at the loosened ring of muscle, Bill's body went momentarily tense. His muscles clenched down hard on Leonard's fingers, and Leonard felt the clenching echoed in his own body, a shudder of heat that passed from his shoulders to his toes. For a moment, he held his breath. Then, with a shiver, Bill seemed to relax, and Leonard took the opportunity to work his thumb carefully inside, tucking it as neatly as possible within the circle of his already-inserted fingers, making his hand as narrow as he possibly could.
This was not something Leonard had ever done before. But then, neither was fingerfucking anybody, man or woman, for upwards of twenty minutes at a time; and there was always a first time for everything. Bill's muscles were clamped very firmly around his hand, but they gave under pressure without any great resistance, and Leonard was more than surprised at the ease with which his hand slipped into Bill's body, first to the first thumb joint, and then to the second, and then finally - abetted by a greedy ripple of Bill's muscles - up to the wrist.
For a moment, he couldn't believe it. He could only lie there, staring in disbelief at the sight of his own hand buried, invisibly, in Bill; at the sight of Bill, moreover, gasping and panting at the ceiling, his body sheened with sweat and shock and his eyes gone black with pleasure.
"Fuck," he whispered, feeling the heated rush of, impossibly, more blood to his already aching groin. "Holy fuck."
When he flexed his fingers experimentally, Bill's body shuddered around his hand, like a complex instrument only Leonard had ever played.
Once fully enveloped in Bill's body, it became swiftly clear to Leonard that it would not be possible to thrust his hand and wrist in and out of the passage, however well lubricated it might be, despite what he had vaguely envisaged. The thing was, it didn't seem to matter very much. He was inside Bill, surrounded by his heat, deeper inside him than he had ever been, and the slightest flutter of his fingers, even when it seemed to Leonard that he wasn't touching anything very important, seemed to set Bill shivering and jerking, gasping and thrashing on the pillow. His hips lifted; his body trembled, shoulders tightening, as Leonard twisted his hand inside him, gently, gently; and the after-effects thundered through Bill exactly as if Leonard had been pounding him fit to snap him in two.
On some level, Leonard was almost certain that Bill had no idea what was actually being done to him. It was as if the whole thing was too startling, too incredible a thing to actually feel as good as it apparently did, that Bill's mind had blocked it out, even as he torqued his body down onto Leonard's wrist; even as his whimpers shifted, as Leonard's fingers worked indistinctly, onto a keening, high-pitched, constant sound, and stayed there.
Bill's cock was twitching against his stomach, slick and leaking precome; and Leonard's, trapped achingly between his body and the mattress, was in a similar state. He was clenching around Leonard's hand, now, around his fucking wrist, dammit; and Leonard was almost blind with the need to come. He leaned forward, tongue extended, to lick the wetness from Bill's tip, his mind blank of everything but the desire for more of him, more of this, more of Bill.
The next thing he knew was a bloodwarm wetness spurting all over his face, and a vicelike sensation so deep and hard that his hand felt suddenly numb. Bill came with all the force of a rocket breaking sound, his fingers tightening in Leonard's hair, his body twisting sideways in a sudden whiplash that carried Leonard with it. The force of it was such that Leonard could not contain himself, and he sealed his mouth around Bill's slackening cock as his own jerked and pulsed long streams of come all over the sheets.
The hardest part of the evening, Leonard mused afterwards, was withdrawing. This was hard, because although now very relaxed, Bill was no longer distracted enough not to care that Leonard's entire hand was in his ass, and this made things a little interesting as Leonard withdrew. Still, Bill had said more, right? He had done nothing Bill hadn't asked for. And fuck, had Bill enjoyed it.
By the following Friday, Bill had apparently decided that being fucked with cock was less weird than having another guy buried inside him practically up to the elbow, while simultaneously providing a level of stimulation three fingers simply couldn't. Leonard very happily slid into him up to the hilt when invited to do so, and proceeded to fuck Bill thoroughly into incoherence.
Leonard's jokes? Always have a point.
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating Holy NC-17, Batman.
Summary: Written a very, very long time ago for a prompt on the shatnoy_rpf kinkmeme for Len fisting Bill circa TOS-era. And...yeah.
Warnings: See summary. Utterly without plot.
Disclaimer: This absolutely did not happen, and never ever will.
Notes: I'm posting this as part of a self-declared Embarrassment Amnesty day. It's been hanging around anonymously on the kinkmeme for months, but I think, in the months since I wrote it, I've ceased to be as embarrassed by fisting as I perhaps should be.
It started out almost as a joke.
Bill had been, in the beginning, very dubious about the whole idea of penetrative sex, insisting instead upon spending hours and hours doing other, very lovely but often rather teenagery things, rather than confront the issue, as it were, head on. He developed, for example, a particular trick of descending upon Leonard's cock with spectacular effect, the moment Leonard's fingers began to wander even the slightest bit too far back between his legs; and while Leonard in no way objected to Bill's attentions - as a distraction, they were certainly effective - there came a time when he decided that being distracted every time just wasn't working for him.
"Let me," he'd said, catching Bill by the shoulders one evening, just as he showed his first sign of downward movement, and then, "Just relax, Billy. I'm not gonna stick it in you without warning, for God's sake. Just relax." His fingers traced delicate patterns over Bill's balls, over his perineum; tracked back further, slowly, slowly, like an occupying army making a gradual advance. It had been almost torturously slow, that first exploration: Leonard touching so carefully, so gently, ignoring his own arousal in favour of watching the play of sensation displayed on Bill's face; the way his thighs tensed; the way he finally, finally, canted his hips towards Leonard's hand. At length, when Leonard's finger finally reached its goal sufficiently to circle and stroke, Bill shivered, his face tightening a little in apprehension, but he did not pull away.
The joke came in around about here, in the fact that, after having resisted even the slightest brush of Leonard's fingers to the base of his spine, for weeks upon agonising weeks, Leonard quickly found that Bill loved - loved - to be fingerfucked. As far as Leonard was concerned, in fact, this was gross understatement. His first invasion into that hot tightness had, certainly, been met with gritted teeth and clear concern from Bill, but Leonard had been very careful, and very slick, and the result - of, namely, his first contact with Bill's prostate - had been rewardingly exceptional.
It probably helped that Bill was, in general, a man of extremes. When Bill was enjoying something - and that something might just as easily be food, or a baseball game - everybody in the vicinity knew all about it, and this was no exception. Bill twisted under Leonard's touch; rocked down onto his fingers; shifted his position in such a way that Leonard was best able to press in deep, jerking and gasping and crying out at every touch of Leonard's curled fingertips to his prostate. In bed, Bill was always vocal, and now, as he fucked himself instinctively on Leonard's fingers, Leonard watched him turn his head from side to side on the pillow, breathing things like harder and there and fuck, yes.
In short, it very quickly became clear to Leonard that Bill was the sort of man anal sex was made for.
Bill, however, didn't seem to agree. This was rather frustrating, because while it was delicious to watch Bill sweaty and naked and writhing on the bed while Leonard's fingers slipped slickly in and out of his body, the sight of his own hand disappearing into that tightness only made Leonard's groin ache to complete the ritual by impaling Bill, in the time-honoured fashion, on his cock. Bill, though, simply wasn't having it. Although he was perfectly willing, indeed eager, to be fingerfucked hard and slowly for upwards of twenty minutes of a time, while Leonard brought him over and over to the cusp of orgasm, he always balked at any move Leonard made towards positioning himself there between Bill's legs. Despite the fact that Bill's instinctive moan invariably disintegrated into more - fuck - more in the moments before he came, he remained very stubbornly disinclined to admit what Leonard thought of as the obvious response to this plea.
This was what made Leonard begin to ponder less obvious responses.
Lubrication, as far as Leonard was concerned, was always an absolute necessity. The fact that he always slicked himself and Bill very liberally in the stuff made his cunning plan somewhat easier to implement, if only because there would be nothing to suggest beforehand that anything out of the ordinary was about to go on. And, indeed, for a good ten minutes, nothing out of the ordinary did. As usual, Leonard worked his fingers into Bill, first one, then two; and then, when Bill was pressing down against his hand, working himself onto Leonard's fingers with increasing eagerness, he slipped a third digit into Bill's heat.
So far, Leonard thought, so normal. Bill's face was contorted with pleasure, his back tight and shivering, arching off the bed as he thrust himself down onto Leonard's fingers. Leonard held himself up on one elbow, rubbing his mouth against Bill's stomach and thighs as he fucked him with his fingers, steady and smooth in response to Bill's own rhythm.
"More," Bill murmured, fingers clenching in the sheets, and then, "Fuck, more!"
This was it. This was the point at which Leonard's general reaction was to increase his speed, his vigour; increase the intensity of his thrusts until Bill threw his head back, and clenched his jaw, and came all over his stomach. But that, really, did not accurately match Bill's demand, Leonard thought to himself, through a haze of lust. That, really, was faster and harder and there. More, on the other hand, was the fourth finger he now worked in to join the first three, stretching Bill open so that Bill jerked his legs in surprise.
"Ssssh," murmured Leonard, kissing his hipbone, then the crease where his leg joined his body. "Feel good, Billy? You okay?"
Deliberately, pointedly, he curled his fingers, crooking them until he could press them firmly to Bill's prostate. Whatever protest had been about to rise to Bill's lips was abruptly lost in a gasping whimper, and Leonard smiled, and went on working his fingers in and out of Bill's body: out, and slickly in again, marvelling at the way Bill accommodated his touch.
Four fingers, Leonard remarked to himself, already stretched Bill wider than Leonard's cock would. The stretching part, evidently, was not Bill's major concern. Leonard gritted his teeth, and wondered just how far this supposition would hold.
At the touch of his thumb, teasing at the loosened ring of muscle, Bill's body went momentarily tense. His muscles clenched down hard on Leonard's fingers, and Leonard felt the clenching echoed in his own body, a shudder of heat that passed from his shoulders to his toes. For a moment, he held his breath. Then, with a shiver, Bill seemed to relax, and Leonard took the opportunity to work his thumb carefully inside, tucking it as neatly as possible within the circle of his already-inserted fingers, making his hand as narrow as he possibly could.
This was not something Leonard had ever done before. But then, neither was fingerfucking anybody, man or woman, for upwards of twenty minutes at a time; and there was always a first time for everything. Bill's muscles were clamped very firmly around his hand, but they gave under pressure without any great resistance, and Leonard was more than surprised at the ease with which his hand slipped into Bill's body, first to the first thumb joint, and then to the second, and then finally - abetted by a greedy ripple of Bill's muscles - up to the wrist.
For a moment, he couldn't believe it. He could only lie there, staring in disbelief at the sight of his own hand buried, invisibly, in Bill; at the sight of Bill, moreover, gasping and panting at the ceiling, his body sheened with sweat and shock and his eyes gone black with pleasure.
"Fuck," he whispered, feeling the heated rush of, impossibly, more blood to his already aching groin. "Holy fuck."
When he flexed his fingers experimentally, Bill's body shuddered around his hand, like a complex instrument only Leonard had ever played.
Once fully enveloped in Bill's body, it became swiftly clear to Leonard that it would not be possible to thrust his hand and wrist in and out of the passage, however well lubricated it might be, despite what he had vaguely envisaged. The thing was, it didn't seem to matter very much. He was inside Bill, surrounded by his heat, deeper inside him than he had ever been, and the slightest flutter of his fingers, even when it seemed to Leonard that he wasn't touching anything very important, seemed to set Bill shivering and jerking, gasping and thrashing on the pillow. His hips lifted; his body trembled, shoulders tightening, as Leonard twisted his hand inside him, gently, gently; and the after-effects thundered through Bill exactly as if Leonard had been pounding him fit to snap him in two.
On some level, Leonard was almost certain that Bill had no idea what was actually being done to him. It was as if the whole thing was too startling, too incredible a thing to actually feel as good as it apparently did, that Bill's mind had blocked it out, even as he torqued his body down onto Leonard's wrist; even as his whimpers shifted, as Leonard's fingers worked indistinctly, onto a keening, high-pitched, constant sound, and stayed there.
Bill's cock was twitching against his stomach, slick and leaking precome; and Leonard's, trapped achingly between his body and the mattress, was in a similar state. He was clenching around Leonard's hand, now, around his fucking wrist, dammit; and Leonard was almost blind with the need to come. He leaned forward, tongue extended, to lick the wetness from Bill's tip, his mind blank of everything but the desire for more of him, more of this, more of Bill.
The next thing he knew was a bloodwarm wetness spurting all over his face, and a vicelike sensation so deep and hard that his hand felt suddenly numb. Bill came with all the force of a rocket breaking sound, his fingers tightening in Leonard's hair, his body twisting sideways in a sudden whiplash that carried Leonard with it. The force of it was such that Leonard could not contain himself, and he sealed his mouth around Bill's slackening cock as his own jerked and pulsed long streams of come all over the sheets.
The hardest part of the evening, Leonard mused afterwards, was withdrawing. This was hard, because although now very relaxed, Bill was no longer distracted enough not to care that Leonard's entire hand was in his ass, and this made things a little interesting as Leonard withdrew. Still, Bill had said more, right? He had done nothing Bill hadn't asked for. And fuck, had Bill enjoyed it.
By the following Friday, Bill had apparently decided that being fucked with cock was less weird than having another guy buried inside him practically up to the elbow, while simultaneously providing a level of stimulation three fingers simply couldn't. Leonard very happily slid into him up to the hilt when invited to do so, and proceeded to fuck Bill thoroughly into incoherence.
Leonard's jokes? Always have a point.