fic: love, canadian style
Title: Love, Canadian Style
Fandom: ST RPF
Pairing: Nimoy/Shatner
Rating: R (mostly language)
Word Count: ~4420
Summary: This is like, at least two different fics that together add up to a fucking epic Shatnoy first-time thing.
It started with stunt fighting, which the whole cast practiced while Leonard abstained.
"Come on," Bill whined. "I'm a pro at this! It won't hurt a bit!"
"Spock is a nonviolent creature," Leonard replied. "He wouldn't engage in fighting unless absolutely necessary."
"That doesn't mean Leonard Nimoy can't tumble around for a little bit," Bill answered. "Look, I'll even show you how to fall -- it's all in the limbs, see? Pretend to hit me and see how I go flying."
Leonard still hesitated, so Bill engaged in an elaborate demonstration in which he rolled across the control panel on the set for the transporter room and the cardboard bottom collapsed under his weight; there was more of the same when Leonard fake punched him the first time and he went flying into the wall of the same set and his head went through a 'screen'.
"How are you so good at this?" Leonard asked half an hour later after the tenth punch he had aimed at Bill's shiny cheekbones.
"Canada," Bill answered brightly, as if that answered anything.
Bill rode up in his GTO and sent Leonard and De scurrying to avoid being mowed down by the mammoth car.
"Car talk, eh?" he asked.
"Something like that," De replied.
"You two can go around trying to pick up all the pussy you want in your grandpa cars but nothing, and I mean nothing brings the ladies in like good old Canadian engineering," Bill said. As he spoke, he thought it would be a good idea to sit on the hood and then progressively become more horizontal on it as he spoke. Then he realized he had just been driving the damn car for quite a time, which made the hood unbearably hot and had him slide off with a shriek.
"Bill," De began as Leonard offered a hand to help him off the ground. "I'm usually a big believer in how 'the car makes the man', but what's your excuse?"
"Awesome," Bill said. "I'm awe-inspiring and great like my baby."
"If you believe it, then we will, too," Leonard said.
Bill suggested they have a seder for their families the spring after Star Trek wasn't renewed, as if that would appease a god that happened to be in charge of getting them work; as if Bill's ex could stand to be in the same room with him for more than the 45 seconds it took to kiss their daughters goodbye before leaving them with their father for a weekend; as if Bill wouldn't bring gravy to the Nimoys'.
Because he did show up with his girls and not their mother, beaming at Leonard madly, carrying matzo in one hand and a gravy boat in the other (Leslie, the eldest, had the rubber container with the actual gravy in it, because someone in the Shatner family had to have common sense rather than attempt to drive with a full gravy boat in the cup holder), and knowing exactly how hilarious and adorable he looked in his kippah.
"Gravy?" Leonard asked.
"Look, Elijah obviously needs some incentive," Bill replied. "L'chaim, pal."
Bill needed Leonard like he had never needed anyone. It wasn't something he openly acknowledged (his ex, when she felt particularly spiteful, dropped a hint or two for his benefit), but he felt it in every fiber of his being.
Leonard wasn't a part of him like his daughters whom he loved and allowed to grow and encouraged and all that surprisingly mature stuff no one thought him capable of. Leonard was a friend like De, but De took things to heart sometimes and it took a long time to work one's way back into those kind graces after fucking up. (Note: Don't make a joke, ever, when one of De's animals has died. EVER. No matter how funny-looking said animal was.)
He couldn't remember the moment when he had first looked at Leonard and saw someone whose laughter, kindness, intelligence, and amazing hair he couldn't live without. Really, it didn't matter when it started because afterwards, he couldn't live without that need for Leonard anymore than he could live without Leonard. That need reminded him that he may be shallow, stupid, narcissistic, cruel, awkward, fatter every day, unsuccessful, obnoxious, a total joke, and a thousand other awful things, but Bill knew the value of someone like Leonard and that put him ahead in the game.
"Whose barbeque is this?" Bill asked.
"Who gives a shit? We're just here to smile, pretend we don't want jobs from them, and then get the hell out."
"To another barbeque."
"Yes."
"Another American barbeque."
"Yes."
Bill rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, and stuck his hands in his pants pockets.
"It's one of my producer friends," Leonard said, and Bill wasn't sure if Leonard remembered the whole time or had just recalled.
"Is he really your friend?"
"Sure he is."
"When did you last spend time together socially?" Bill asked.
They wandered over to the drinks table and Leonard grabbed a beer for Bill before pouring himself a cocktail.
"Probably some Christmas party or something. No, he's Jewish. Well, he probably had a Christmas party anyway."
"But you still think he's a friend?"
Leonard shrugged and sipped from his glass.
"See, I don't," Bill said. "So now I feel better, because you call just about anyone a friend, while I call just about no one a friend."
"That offends me for some reason, but I can't think why." Leonard pursed his lips together, looked around for someone, and then led Bill away from the drinks table. "You make it sound like I'm a bad person for wanting to include people rather than exclude."
"No, I'm not saying that. I'm only... remarking on how strange it is, these two different ways of looking at people and categorizing them."
Bill told himself, very firmly, that he would not tell Leonard about his lack of friends and how, if he was really stupidly honest, he would count him and De and then start fumbling for more names before settling on his ex-wife. It would be pathetic, Bill reminded himself. Don't say it.
"I think you and De are my only real friends." Fuck!
"Has De forgiven you for what you said about his dog?"
"...Not... openly..."
"Oh, Bill." Leonard put an arm around Bill's shoulders and hugged him really tightly, a little too tightly for a mid-afternoon in July at some pool party barbeque with all these studio people watching and not caring. He loved every second of it.
"I. Am. Canadian!" Bill's mind was pretty foggy from the three beers, two mimosas, and the occasional sip of Leonard's vodka tonic that happened to wander into his mouth without either of them realizing it. "Did all of you know that Canada Day was July 1? No! Not one of you!"
It was really irrelevant to Bill that he didn't know any one at the party except Leonard; if anything, they would certainly know him now.
"We're your little sister to the north!" Bill shouted from the higher of the diving boards. "We look up to you... while looking down, I guess..."
It was almost like an out of body experience for Bill, who saw this extremely handsome but certainly crazy person proclaiming things on a diving board in front of 200 semi-famous and important (certainly all rich) people who only knew him as a television space captain that snuck in on Mr. Spock's invite.
"Where, my good, beautiful people, my American cousins, would America be without Canada. EH?"
No one said anything, including Bill. He wasn't sure where it was all supposed to go.
"Well. I would like all of you to enjoy your Fourth of July... your independence... and consider that question very carefully." Bill finally caught Leonard's eye, somehow still capable of meeting, and smiled widely. "Anyone wanna see Captain Kirk do a cannonball?"
"Euan Lloyd, it's Euan's house," Leonard said as Bill was unbuttoning his shirt.
Bill stopped unbuttoning for a moment and laughed, and then leaned in and kissed Leonard.
"Wait, what are you mumbling," Leonard said as he tried to talk and kiss simultaneously.
"I said, Leonard, baise-moué l'ail, you langer lucksh."
"French and --"
"French Canadian, dumkop, and don't you forget it."
"And Yiddish, Bill you're fucking kidding me."
"I'm not fucking anything, shmendrik --"
"That doesn't count, I heard that on TV the other day."
"-- because you keep talking such pitsvinik -- this isn't turning you on as much as I'd hoped. Hm, puis tu chies de l'or en barre, eh?" Bill was nipping at Leonard's ear as he spoke, then added, "J'ai vu neiger, nudnik."
"Who gave you the dirty phrasebook? Was it Adam?"
Bill stopped and pounded his head against the wall next to Leonard. "Such a fucking putz -- I'm trying to fuck you until you scream in this charming little boathouse on the water and you won't even meet me halfway."
Leonard laughed and said, "Bill, you just stood up in front of 200 people, ranted about Canada, and fell in a pool. You're drunk as anything --"
"Come on," Bill whined, "I just want to seduce you in Québécois, for the love of Vulcan."
"That's it, we're going home."
He wasn't that drunk, but Leonard was really that noble. Fuckfuckmerde.
In the stupidest bargaining move in history, Bill had said he wouldn't record any of the animated Trek series without Leonard there. (If De could make it, fine, but he had a feeling De wouldn't try very hard.) He had more appointments to keep than Leonard, who was writing all the time, mostly poems he couldn't stand to read because he thought the short, stunted stanzas were making fun of his Captain Kirk voice on the series.
Anyway, the only time they could record together was Tuesdays between 8:30 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. and Thursdays between 6:30 a.m. and 9:00 a.m.
Bill heard De definitely wouldn't intrude on their sessions.
"Spock, I -- never told you this," Bill said into the microphone, "But I've wanted you these six years. I've wanted every -- inch of you -- to be mine, from the -- tips of your pointed ears to --"
"Cut," a voice interrupted from the booth. "No blooper reel this time, Bill, just do the lines. You have a schedule, remember?"
"Besides, I thought this was still part of the five-year mission," Leonard said to Bill.
"Shut up, Len."
Bill got married again without a best man. It didn't feel right, asking the one person he had wanted to bed so badly to... do whatever a best man did at a wedding. That's right, stand there, and then give some speech about love and whatever. No, best to go on without one.
De came to the wedding and Bill thought it was a good sign for this new marriage that he was kissing a man about an hour in. Maybe not good -- hilarious, though.
"Dammit, Bill," De said.
"I missed you, too."
"I really was set on never speaking to you again," De added. Bill still had his arms around him as his new wife explained to everyone why it was imperative Bill hold this man close before they had their first dance. "Len convinced me."
Of course he did, Bill thought. It wasn't a surprise, not at all -- he kind of expected it because in the movie of one's life, this was the part with the reconciliation when those people who haven't seen each other in years come back together and the music swells and everyone claps, maybe.
No one clapped for them and Bill felt like a jerk, really hated himself, for tearing up and needing to hug Deforest again.
He didn't see Leonard for hours and when he did -- fuck, really, fuck, he teared up again and Leonard just laughed at him, and he felt himself choking up even more. For fuck's sake, what was he supposed to do besides clap him on the shoulder in a manly fashion and then pull him in the for the fiercest hug anyone has ever given anyone else?
"Now Bill, I don't see a drop of gravy here -- I thought I had gotten the wrong wedding."
Bill choked out a laugh and couldn't stop wiping his face with his sleeve.
Leonard was going away to do his fucking theater or whatever. Sandy would stay, of course, and the kids, but he was going to go do six or eight or ten week runs in cities everywhere. It had been okay before the wedding when Bill was almost glad to have Leonard gone for a few weeks so that he could distract himself from the crushing want and focus on getting married.
Which he was. He was married. He was happy. But Leonard was leaving.
"Geez, what is this, American Graffiti?" Leonard asked. They were at a tiny sandwich shop near Leonard's house, neither of them seemingly hungry. "Are you going to give up your virginity to make sure I stay faithful at college?"
Leonard laughed, but stopped -- probably because Bill wasn't laughing, just stirring his coffee slowly and silently.
"Talk to me. What's wrong?" Leonard asked.
"Nothing --"
"This isn't a movie, Bill," Leonard said. "You tell me now and we fix it, or you don't tell me and we have this conversation 90 more times and never fix it. Then we'll resent each other and stop being friends, and I don't want that."
"You don't?"
"I should hit you right now, you know that?"
They paid, went outside, hugged, and went their separate ways. Bill wished him a good trip and a good run on each of his shows, and Leonard promised amusing postcards and that he'd probably call.
Bill was fucking starving, as he had been for the past six months, and still wasn't used to it. 1978 was the year of being ironically hungry because, though for the first time in a long time he had enough money to keep his family comfortable, he had to starve himself for this new fucking Trek movie.
He looked good, and that was great, but fuck, he was starving.
"You're getting a gut," he happily told Leonard at the first costume fitting.
"We can cover that with a belt or... some... space buckle," the costume designer said, holding up huge sample buckles in front of Leonard's miniscule paunch. "But Bill, if you gain an ounce, it's going to show. Everywhere. I watched the series."
Leonard raised an eyebrow at Bill, who was being measured everywhere and glaring like his life depended on it -- which it did, because if he couldn't eat, the least he could do was be a little crazy. They had to give him that, at least.
"Why does De have a beard?"
"Why is your hair six inches tall?"
"No, I'm really asking, why does De have a beard? And a medallion like he's on his way to a very important sacrifice to the sun god?"
"Just shut up, both of you," De said as he walked by them. "Just. Shut. Up."
"I really don't understand what this movie is about," Bill said. "We keep saying things but my brain has... shut off."
"Yeah, mine too," Leonard said.
"I think my new goal is to inject as much lust as I can into every look I give you." Bill nodded to confirm with himself. "It won't accomplish much, but I just need something to entertain myself."
It had been close to six years since that Fourth of July barbeque when Bill was varying shades of drunk and had done that whole failed language seduction thing with Leonard (he still remembered more Yiddish than he cared to admit as a result of preparing for that encounter). Since then, he hadn't allowed himself to be more than slightly drunk in front of Leonard in case something slipped out -- something like by the way, I think fucking you would consummate the most epic love story I've ever participated in and we might even bring about world peace by doing it.
If Leonard was interested in fucking a man, Bill thought it would be distantly, academically, logically, and he couldn't stand the thought of being a fly pinned to a board, examined and regarded. Jokes threw Leonard off the trail, he thought, because who looks right in front of them for the truth?
"You do that," Leonard said. "And every raised eyebrow Spock gives actually means I love you, Jim."
"Like it hasn't for years."
"Exactly."
"Wait -- what?"
They were being called to their marks and Leonard raised an eyebrow at him as he walked away.
"Bill, close your damn mouth before the flies swoop in," De said from the turbolift.
They were walking to a late dinner at some restaurant near the studio, as Bill had finished their last scene with a proclamation along the lines of "FEED ME OR DIE", and Leonard seemed to take it upon himself to do that.
"It's official! I really hate this movie!" Bill said once they were off the lot.
"No you don't," Leonard said.
"No, I don't, because it means we get to spend all day together watching millions of dollars float on by and all we have to do is talk absolute shit, and that's fine! If that's what they want, fine! But -- oh, I don't care."
"Yes you do."
"Of course I do! Such a waste. Give me cardboard any day."
"Wood, at least."
Bill snorted.
"It's getting easier for you, isn't it?" Bill asked. "To be Spock and then be Leonard."
"A little. Mostly because Spock is so... so out of character, so severe here, so absolutely without joy until that last scene, I have to get out or I'll fucking collapse."
"It'd be different if he were funny, then?"
"You remember how funny we were on the show! That was great. That's when it was hard to stop being Spock -- he had the dry humor I always wanted, and so what if the price was I had to stop emoting?"
Bill noticed they had passed the restaurant, but the conversation was good and he wasn't about to faint yet, so --
"I don't think we've ever talked about how you play Kirk," Leonard said.
"Play Kirk? I am Kirk."
"I'm serious, Bill, come on. No one ever asks you that, do they?"
"Sometimes, and I tell them what they want to hear: he's noble and intelligent and I read what's on the goddamn page."
"That's it?"
"No, probably not. I don't know." Bill shoved his hands in his pockets and looked for something on the sidewalk to kick. "It's just a switch in my head. Kirk on, Kirk off. He doesn't laugh at stupid things like I do; he's always thinking of his ship and his crew; he's a good guy. I like having him near."
"Spock's good, too. Even that episode, with the evil Spock? Spock is logical, and evil's not logical; in Bond movies, they're just idiots. But there, even evil Spock wasn't that evil, just... working in a different paradigm than normal Spock." Leonard stopped and looked around, then said, "We passed the restaurant. Quite a while ago."
"Yeah..." Bill said. "I didn't want to interrupt."
"Shut up, you were the starving one, and now I can eat at least half a horse." Leonard looked around some more and took a few steps forward. "Here's a Holiday Inn with a restaurant. Come on."
But the restaurant was closed.
"Our kitchen is open only for room service at this hour, I'm afraid," the man at the counter said.
Bill leaned on the counter and looked at Leonard. "Wanna do something... illogical?"
Leonard laughed and held up a finger. "One room, one night, doesn't matter how many beds, please."
"It's too late to drive back anyway," Bill said.
"And we're probably going to drink in the room," Leonard said. "I am, anyway. Not safe to drive after that."
"I'll join you."
Bill had sensed a strange tension that night, the kind that came with Serious Conversation -- something about Leonard had him on his guard, even before they were in their hotel room, each on a twin bed, a tray of food at the end of each bed.
"Are you all right tonight?" Bill asked. He was horizontal on his bed and had just finished whining about how much he had eaten and how his stupid stomach wasn't used to food anymore.
Bill heard Leonard hesitate before letting out a reluctant, "Yeah."
"Well?"
"Well?"
"Out with it, come on. You never let me keep my secrets, why should you keep yours? And if not now in this Holiday Inn, then --"
"Billy, I think --" Bill's eyes widened and he listened more intently than he had ever listened to anything in his life. Leonard had choked, probably from the nineteen fucking cigarettes he had had that day and barely drinking any water, fuck, Bill's throat was tightening just thinking about it.
"Yeah, I think I'm in love with you," Leonard finished.
"Yeah, me too."
"You think you're in love with yourself, too?"
"Well, I know I am. But. You know." Bill sat up and looked over at Leonard, who was completely still on his bed, also stretched out and staring at the ceiling. "Hey. Len."
Leonard looked over slowly and Bill tried not to dissolve at the absolute terror and helplessness he saw in his face. It was happening and felt so fake; the daydreams he had about this moment were much more realistic than this.
"Come on, let's push the beds together -- like in The Godfather!"
"Bill --"
"What?" Bill asked. "Come on."
If Bill were Leonard, he would know just what to say as they were in their (their) one big bed, taking it slow because Bill still felt disgusting from eating and did not want their first goddamn time to be tainted by Bill sweating the vinaigrette he had poured all over his awful fucking overpriced salad dinner.
But if Bill were Leonard, he would know what to say (and probably would, eventually, say it): I've wanted this for twelve years. I've wanted you for twelve years. I'm not sure who I was before you came along, but I haven't cared since.
Instead, Bill said, "I wasn't drunk in the pool house." Leonard stopped and Bill laughed and bit the tip of his nose. "We could have been doing this all the time."
"No," Leonard said. "I... I don't know, I would have said no anyway. I would have tried."
"But why?"
"I'm not just a fuck, Bill. You can't just throw this off and pretend --"
Bill's mouth dropped open and he stared at Leonard for several seconds.
"Twelve years, Leonard!" Bill sat up and looked down at Leonard. "Do you realize how long twelve years is for me?! Gloria and I called it quits after eleven; I haven't had a steady job for half that time! My GOD, do you really have the fucking chutzpah to tell me that you're not just a fuck?! I'm serious, Len, I might murder you!"
As Bill shrieked, he could feel the wheels under his bed shifting slightly, but didn't think much of it. He continued to not think about it until he flopped back down on the center of their bed only to have it cave in, both beds sliding apart. He slipped down between the beds slowly and took the comforters, sheets, and pillows with him, along with Leonard.
"Yeah, just like The Godfather," Leonard laughed.
"Ugh, get off me, you weigh a thousand pounds -- and I'm still mad at you."
"No you're not."
"No, I'm not," Bill sighed.
"No! Fuck it! Crap. I am not having sex in this bed," Bill announced.
The damn thing had began to rock, as beds were wont to do when two grown men had finally stopped talking gently to each other and gotten to the business of having some goddamned sex.
And then the damn wheels decided to act up again and the whole fucking thing had rolled into the wall (not through it, just loud enough to scare the hell out of Bill and his erection) before sliding apart again and sending them to the floor.
"Maybe it's a --"
"Don't!" Bill said. "Don't you even try that, Leonard fucking Nimoy, don't! We are goddamned adults with free will and if we want to fuck each other, then it will happen. Come on."
Bill amassed the comforters from both beds into his arms and dragged them off to the bathroom. "Bring the pillows!" he called to Leonard.
"Billy, I think you've snapped," Leonard said in a tone that, to Bill, sounded like it came from a man who had been cockblocked by Fate one time too many. It wasn't right, Bill reflected, it wasn't right that Leonard should be used to this bullshit to the point where he thought he deserved it.
"You're an American! What kind of frontier spirit is this?" Bill shouted, motioning to Leonard holding only two pillows and looking rather concerned at the mess Bill was making in the bathroom.
"Well, not really in the traditional --"
"Bring me the pillows."
"We could have just used the one bed, you know," Leonard said.
"If I can't have both, I want something else entirely," Bill said stubbornly. "Don't ask me why, I just do. Now get in the damn bedtub." He caught a glimpse of them both in the mirror and grinned at the skyrocketing insanity of everything, brought into sharper focus by their being completely naked and Leonard looking down into the bedtub with a look of intense concentration.
Bill had first put down several pillows along the tub and then covered them with one comforter, the other bunched near the drain and faucet for when they actually slept (whenever that was). Leonard hesitantly crawled in and laid down, edging towards one side of the slightly-larger-than-average tub and waited for Bill to follow.
"No, get in the middle, I'm going to be on top. You better enjoy the space while you can," Bill said.
"Why do you get to be on top?" Leonard asked, his hands suddenly clasped behind his head, almost leading Bill to believe the bedtub was comfortable rather than just insane.
"I called dibs just there, when I said 'I'm going to be on top'." Bill lowered himself on Leonard, straddling his hips and grinning as he shifted and began to grind against Leonard. "I promise you. I really do. We'll talk about this later. The rules of dibs, how to ask for a queen-sized bed without making it sound like that's what we're doing, not ordering raspberry vinaigrette -- we'll talk about it. There will be time."
Leonard woke up in the bedtub with his arms around Bill, who had fallen asleep on top of him. His spine was attempting to crawl out of his body through his belly button. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but it seemed to work.
"I like you better like this," Leonard said to no one in particular, as Bill was fast asleep. "Not running around trying to impress me by breaking every bone in your body. You like that I'm boring. I like that you're crazy."
There was no response, only Bill snoring against Leonard's chest. He could live with that.
Author's Note:
HOLY CRAP, so I finally, finally looked at Shatner's Toupee and asjdhajshd KNOW THE WEDDING SCENE? THIS IS WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE. OH BABY. I'M SO SORRY. NOW I WANT TO CRY.
Fandom: ST RPF
Pairing: Nimoy/Shatner
Rating: R (mostly language)
Word Count: ~4420
Summary: This is like, at least two different fics that together add up to a fucking epic Shatnoy first-time thing.
It started with stunt fighting, which the whole cast practiced while Leonard abstained.
"Come on," Bill whined. "I'm a pro at this! It won't hurt a bit!"
"Spock is a nonviolent creature," Leonard replied. "He wouldn't engage in fighting unless absolutely necessary."
"That doesn't mean Leonard Nimoy can't tumble around for a little bit," Bill answered. "Look, I'll even show you how to fall -- it's all in the limbs, see? Pretend to hit me and see how I go flying."
Leonard still hesitated, so Bill engaged in an elaborate demonstration in which he rolled across the control panel on the set for the transporter room and the cardboard bottom collapsed under his weight; there was more of the same when Leonard fake punched him the first time and he went flying into the wall of the same set and his head went through a 'screen'.
"How are you so good at this?" Leonard asked half an hour later after the tenth punch he had aimed at Bill's shiny cheekbones.
"Canada," Bill answered brightly, as if that answered anything.
Bill rode up in his GTO and sent Leonard and De scurrying to avoid being mowed down by the mammoth car.
"Car talk, eh?" he asked.
"Something like that," De replied.
"You two can go around trying to pick up all the pussy you want in your grandpa cars but nothing, and I mean nothing brings the ladies in like good old Canadian engineering," Bill said. As he spoke, he thought it would be a good idea to sit on the hood and then progressively become more horizontal on it as he spoke. Then he realized he had just been driving the damn car for quite a time, which made the hood unbearably hot and had him slide off with a shriek.
"Bill," De began as Leonard offered a hand to help him off the ground. "I'm usually a big believer in how 'the car makes the man', but what's your excuse?"
"Awesome," Bill said. "I'm awe-inspiring and great like my baby."
"If you believe it, then we will, too," Leonard said.
Bill suggested they have a seder for their families the spring after Star Trek wasn't renewed, as if that would appease a god that happened to be in charge of getting them work; as if Bill's ex could stand to be in the same room with him for more than the 45 seconds it took to kiss their daughters goodbye before leaving them with their father for a weekend; as if Bill wouldn't bring gravy to the Nimoys'.
Because he did show up with his girls and not their mother, beaming at Leonard madly, carrying matzo in one hand and a gravy boat in the other (Leslie, the eldest, had the rubber container with the actual gravy in it, because someone in the Shatner family had to have common sense rather than attempt to drive with a full gravy boat in the cup holder), and knowing exactly how hilarious and adorable he looked in his kippah.
"Gravy?" Leonard asked.
"Look, Elijah obviously needs some incentive," Bill replied. "L'chaim, pal."
Bill needed Leonard like he had never needed anyone. It wasn't something he openly acknowledged (his ex, when she felt particularly spiteful, dropped a hint or two for his benefit), but he felt it in every fiber of his being.
Leonard wasn't a part of him like his daughters whom he loved and allowed to grow and encouraged and all that surprisingly mature stuff no one thought him capable of. Leonard was a friend like De, but De took things to heart sometimes and it took a long time to work one's way back into those kind graces after fucking up. (Note: Don't make a joke, ever, when one of De's animals has died. EVER. No matter how funny-looking said animal was.)
He couldn't remember the moment when he had first looked at Leonard and saw someone whose laughter, kindness, intelligence, and amazing hair he couldn't live without. Really, it didn't matter when it started because afterwards, he couldn't live without that need for Leonard anymore than he could live without Leonard. That need reminded him that he may be shallow, stupid, narcissistic, cruel, awkward, fatter every day, unsuccessful, obnoxious, a total joke, and a thousand other awful things, but Bill knew the value of someone like Leonard and that put him ahead in the game.
"Whose barbeque is this?" Bill asked.
"Who gives a shit? We're just here to smile, pretend we don't want jobs from them, and then get the hell out."
"To another barbeque."
"Yes."
"Another American barbeque."
"Yes."
Bill rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, and stuck his hands in his pants pockets.
"It's one of my producer friends," Leonard said, and Bill wasn't sure if Leonard remembered the whole time or had just recalled.
"Is he really your friend?"
"Sure he is."
"When did you last spend time together socially?" Bill asked.
They wandered over to the drinks table and Leonard grabbed a beer for Bill before pouring himself a cocktail.
"Probably some Christmas party or something. No, he's Jewish. Well, he probably had a Christmas party anyway."
"But you still think he's a friend?"
Leonard shrugged and sipped from his glass.
"See, I don't," Bill said. "So now I feel better, because you call just about anyone a friend, while I call just about no one a friend."
"That offends me for some reason, but I can't think why." Leonard pursed his lips together, looked around for someone, and then led Bill away from the drinks table. "You make it sound like I'm a bad person for wanting to include people rather than exclude."
"No, I'm not saying that. I'm only... remarking on how strange it is, these two different ways of looking at people and categorizing them."
Bill told himself, very firmly, that he would not tell Leonard about his lack of friends and how, if he was really stupidly honest, he would count him and De and then start fumbling for more names before settling on his ex-wife. It would be pathetic, Bill reminded himself. Don't say it.
"I think you and De are my only real friends." Fuck!
"Has De forgiven you for what you said about his dog?"
"...Not... openly..."
"Oh, Bill." Leonard put an arm around Bill's shoulders and hugged him really tightly, a little too tightly for a mid-afternoon in July at some pool party barbeque with all these studio people watching and not caring. He loved every second of it.
"I. Am. Canadian!" Bill's mind was pretty foggy from the three beers, two mimosas, and the occasional sip of Leonard's vodka tonic that happened to wander into his mouth without either of them realizing it. "Did all of you know that Canada Day was July 1? No! Not one of you!"
It was really irrelevant to Bill that he didn't know any one at the party except Leonard; if anything, they would certainly know him now.
"We're your little sister to the north!" Bill shouted from the higher of the diving boards. "We look up to you... while looking down, I guess..."
It was almost like an out of body experience for Bill, who saw this extremely handsome but certainly crazy person proclaiming things on a diving board in front of 200 semi-famous and important (certainly all rich) people who only knew him as a television space captain that snuck in on Mr. Spock's invite.
"Where, my good, beautiful people, my American cousins, would America be without Canada. EH?"
No one said anything, including Bill. He wasn't sure where it was all supposed to go.
"Well. I would like all of you to enjoy your Fourth of July... your independence... and consider that question very carefully." Bill finally caught Leonard's eye, somehow still capable of meeting, and smiled widely. "Anyone wanna see Captain Kirk do a cannonball?"
"Euan Lloyd, it's Euan's house," Leonard said as Bill was unbuttoning his shirt.
Bill stopped unbuttoning for a moment and laughed, and then leaned in and kissed Leonard.
"Wait, what are you mumbling," Leonard said as he tried to talk and kiss simultaneously.
"I said, Leonard, baise-moué l'ail, you langer lucksh."
"French and --"
"French Canadian, dumkop, and don't you forget it."
"And Yiddish, Bill you're fucking kidding me."
"I'm not fucking anything, shmendrik --"
"That doesn't count, I heard that on TV the other day."
"-- because you keep talking such pitsvinik -- this isn't turning you on as much as I'd hoped. Hm, puis tu chies de l'or en barre, eh?" Bill was nipping at Leonard's ear as he spoke, then added, "J'ai vu neiger, nudnik."
"Who gave you the dirty phrasebook? Was it Adam?"
Bill stopped and pounded his head against the wall next to Leonard. "Such a fucking putz -- I'm trying to fuck you until you scream in this charming little boathouse on the water and you won't even meet me halfway."
Leonard laughed and said, "Bill, you just stood up in front of 200 people, ranted about Canada, and fell in a pool. You're drunk as anything --"
"Come on," Bill whined, "I just want to seduce you in Québécois, for the love of Vulcan."
"That's it, we're going home."
He wasn't that drunk, but Leonard was really that noble. Fuckfuckmerde.
In the stupidest bargaining move in history, Bill had said he wouldn't record any of the animated Trek series without Leonard there. (If De could make it, fine, but he had a feeling De wouldn't try very hard.) He had more appointments to keep than Leonard, who was writing all the time, mostly poems he couldn't stand to read because he thought the short, stunted stanzas were making fun of his Captain Kirk voice on the series.
Anyway, the only time they could record together was Tuesdays between 8:30 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. and Thursdays between 6:30 a.m. and 9:00 a.m.
Bill heard De definitely wouldn't intrude on their sessions.
"Spock, I -- never told you this," Bill said into the microphone, "But I've wanted you these six years. I've wanted every -- inch of you -- to be mine, from the -- tips of your pointed ears to --"
"Cut," a voice interrupted from the booth. "No blooper reel this time, Bill, just do the lines. You have a schedule, remember?"
"Besides, I thought this was still part of the five-year mission," Leonard said to Bill.
"Shut up, Len."
Bill got married again without a best man. It didn't feel right, asking the one person he had wanted to bed so badly to... do whatever a best man did at a wedding. That's right, stand there, and then give some speech about love and whatever. No, best to go on without one.
De came to the wedding and Bill thought it was a good sign for this new marriage that he was kissing a man about an hour in. Maybe not good -- hilarious, though.
"Dammit, Bill," De said.
"I missed you, too."
"I really was set on never speaking to you again," De added. Bill still had his arms around him as his new wife explained to everyone why it was imperative Bill hold this man close before they had their first dance. "Len convinced me."
Of course he did, Bill thought. It wasn't a surprise, not at all -- he kind of expected it because in the movie of one's life, this was the part with the reconciliation when those people who haven't seen each other in years come back together and the music swells and everyone claps, maybe.
No one clapped for them and Bill felt like a jerk, really hated himself, for tearing up and needing to hug Deforest again.
He didn't see Leonard for hours and when he did -- fuck, really, fuck, he teared up again and Leonard just laughed at him, and he felt himself choking up even more. For fuck's sake, what was he supposed to do besides clap him on the shoulder in a manly fashion and then pull him in the for the fiercest hug anyone has ever given anyone else?
"Now Bill, I don't see a drop of gravy here -- I thought I had gotten the wrong wedding."
Bill choked out a laugh and couldn't stop wiping his face with his sleeve.
Leonard was going away to do his fucking theater or whatever. Sandy would stay, of course, and the kids, but he was going to go do six or eight or ten week runs in cities everywhere. It had been okay before the wedding when Bill was almost glad to have Leonard gone for a few weeks so that he could distract himself from the crushing want and focus on getting married.
Which he was. He was married. He was happy. But Leonard was leaving.
"Geez, what is this, American Graffiti?" Leonard asked. They were at a tiny sandwich shop near Leonard's house, neither of them seemingly hungry. "Are you going to give up your virginity to make sure I stay faithful at college?"
Leonard laughed, but stopped -- probably because Bill wasn't laughing, just stirring his coffee slowly and silently.
"Talk to me. What's wrong?" Leonard asked.
"Nothing --"
"This isn't a movie, Bill," Leonard said. "You tell me now and we fix it, or you don't tell me and we have this conversation 90 more times and never fix it. Then we'll resent each other and stop being friends, and I don't want that."
"You don't?"
"I should hit you right now, you know that?"
They paid, went outside, hugged, and went their separate ways. Bill wished him a good trip and a good run on each of his shows, and Leonard promised amusing postcards and that he'd probably call.
Bill was fucking starving, as he had been for the past six months, and still wasn't used to it. 1978 was the year of being ironically hungry because, though for the first time in a long time he had enough money to keep his family comfortable, he had to starve himself for this new fucking Trek movie.
He looked good, and that was great, but fuck, he was starving.
"You're getting a gut," he happily told Leonard at the first costume fitting.
"We can cover that with a belt or... some... space buckle," the costume designer said, holding up huge sample buckles in front of Leonard's miniscule paunch. "But Bill, if you gain an ounce, it's going to show. Everywhere. I watched the series."
Leonard raised an eyebrow at Bill, who was being measured everywhere and glaring like his life depended on it -- which it did, because if he couldn't eat, the least he could do was be a little crazy. They had to give him that, at least.
"Why does De have a beard?"
"Why is your hair six inches tall?"
"No, I'm really asking, why does De have a beard? And a medallion like he's on his way to a very important sacrifice to the sun god?"
"Just shut up, both of you," De said as he walked by them. "Just. Shut. Up."
"I really don't understand what this movie is about," Bill said. "We keep saying things but my brain has... shut off."
"Yeah, mine too," Leonard said.
"I think my new goal is to inject as much lust as I can into every look I give you." Bill nodded to confirm with himself. "It won't accomplish much, but I just need something to entertain myself."
It had been close to six years since that Fourth of July barbeque when Bill was varying shades of drunk and had done that whole failed language seduction thing with Leonard (he still remembered more Yiddish than he cared to admit as a result of preparing for that encounter). Since then, he hadn't allowed himself to be more than slightly drunk in front of Leonard in case something slipped out -- something like by the way, I think fucking you would consummate the most epic love story I've ever participated in and we might even bring about world peace by doing it.
If Leonard was interested in fucking a man, Bill thought it would be distantly, academically, logically, and he couldn't stand the thought of being a fly pinned to a board, examined and regarded. Jokes threw Leonard off the trail, he thought, because who looks right in front of them for the truth?
"You do that," Leonard said. "And every raised eyebrow Spock gives actually means I love you, Jim."
"Like it hasn't for years."
"Exactly."
"Wait -- what?"
They were being called to their marks and Leonard raised an eyebrow at him as he walked away.
"Bill, close your damn mouth before the flies swoop in," De said from the turbolift.
They were walking to a late dinner at some restaurant near the studio, as Bill had finished their last scene with a proclamation along the lines of "FEED ME OR DIE", and Leonard seemed to take it upon himself to do that.
"It's official! I really hate this movie!" Bill said once they were off the lot.
"No you don't," Leonard said.
"No, I don't, because it means we get to spend all day together watching millions of dollars float on by and all we have to do is talk absolute shit, and that's fine! If that's what they want, fine! But -- oh, I don't care."
"Yes you do."
"Of course I do! Such a waste. Give me cardboard any day."
"Wood, at least."
Bill snorted.
"It's getting easier for you, isn't it?" Bill asked. "To be Spock and then be Leonard."
"A little. Mostly because Spock is so... so out of character, so severe here, so absolutely without joy until that last scene, I have to get out or I'll fucking collapse."
"It'd be different if he were funny, then?"
"You remember how funny we were on the show! That was great. That's when it was hard to stop being Spock -- he had the dry humor I always wanted, and so what if the price was I had to stop emoting?"
Bill noticed they had passed the restaurant, but the conversation was good and he wasn't about to faint yet, so --
"I don't think we've ever talked about how you play Kirk," Leonard said.
"Play Kirk? I am Kirk."
"I'm serious, Bill, come on. No one ever asks you that, do they?"
"Sometimes, and I tell them what they want to hear: he's noble and intelligent and I read what's on the goddamn page."
"That's it?"
"No, probably not. I don't know." Bill shoved his hands in his pockets and looked for something on the sidewalk to kick. "It's just a switch in my head. Kirk on, Kirk off. He doesn't laugh at stupid things like I do; he's always thinking of his ship and his crew; he's a good guy. I like having him near."
"Spock's good, too. Even that episode, with the evil Spock? Spock is logical, and evil's not logical; in Bond movies, they're just idiots. But there, even evil Spock wasn't that evil, just... working in a different paradigm than normal Spock." Leonard stopped and looked around, then said, "We passed the restaurant. Quite a while ago."
"Yeah..." Bill said. "I didn't want to interrupt."
"Shut up, you were the starving one, and now I can eat at least half a horse." Leonard looked around some more and took a few steps forward. "Here's a Holiday Inn with a restaurant. Come on."
But the restaurant was closed.
"Our kitchen is open only for room service at this hour, I'm afraid," the man at the counter said.
Bill leaned on the counter and looked at Leonard. "Wanna do something... illogical?"
Leonard laughed and held up a finger. "One room, one night, doesn't matter how many beds, please."
"It's too late to drive back anyway," Bill said.
"And we're probably going to drink in the room," Leonard said. "I am, anyway. Not safe to drive after that."
"I'll join you."
Bill had sensed a strange tension that night, the kind that came with Serious Conversation -- something about Leonard had him on his guard, even before they were in their hotel room, each on a twin bed, a tray of food at the end of each bed.
"Are you all right tonight?" Bill asked. He was horizontal on his bed and had just finished whining about how much he had eaten and how his stupid stomach wasn't used to food anymore.
Bill heard Leonard hesitate before letting out a reluctant, "Yeah."
"Well?"
"Well?"
"Out with it, come on. You never let me keep my secrets, why should you keep yours? And if not now in this Holiday Inn, then --"
"Billy, I think --" Bill's eyes widened and he listened more intently than he had ever listened to anything in his life. Leonard had choked, probably from the nineteen fucking cigarettes he had had that day and barely drinking any water, fuck, Bill's throat was tightening just thinking about it.
"Yeah, I think I'm in love with you," Leonard finished.
"Yeah, me too."
"You think you're in love with yourself, too?"
"Well, I know I am. But. You know." Bill sat up and looked over at Leonard, who was completely still on his bed, also stretched out and staring at the ceiling. "Hey. Len."
Leonard looked over slowly and Bill tried not to dissolve at the absolute terror and helplessness he saw in his face. It was happening and felt so fake; the daydreams he had about this moment were much more realistic than this.
"Come on, let's push the beds together -- like in The Godfather!"
"Bill --"
"What?" Bill asked. "Come on."
If Bill were Leonard, he would know just what to say as they were in their (their) one big bed, taking it slow because Bill still felt disgusting from eating and did not want their first goddamn time to be tainted by Bill sweating the vinaigrette he had poured all over his awful fucking overpriced salad dinner.
But if Bill were Leonard, he would know what to say (and probably would, eventually, say it): I've wanted this for twelve years. I've wanted you for twelve years. I'm not sure who I was before you came along, but I haven't cared since.
Instead, Bill said, "I wasn't drunk in the pool house." Leonard stopped and Bill laughed and bit the tip of his nose. "We could have been doing this all the time."
"No," Leonard said. "I... I don't know, I would have said no anyway. I would have tried."
"But why?"
"I'm not just a fuck, Bill. You can't just throw this off and pretend --"
Bill's mouth dropped open and he stared at Leonard for several seconds.
"Twelve years, Leonard!" Bill sat up and looked down at Leonard. "Do you realize how long twelve years is for me?! Gloria and I called it quits after eleven; I haven't had a steady job for half that time! My GOD, do you really have the fucking chutzpah to tell me that you're not just a fuck?! I'm serious, Len, I might murder you!"
As Bill shrieked, he could feel the wheels under his bed shifting slightly, but didn't think much of it. He continued to not think about it until he flopped back down on the center of their bed only to have it cave in, both beds sliding apart. He slipped down between the beds slowly and took the comforters, sheets, and pillows with him, along with Leonard.
"Yeah, just like The Godfather," Leonard laughed.
"Ugh, get off me, you weigh a thousand pounds -- and I'm still mad at you."
"No you're not."
"No, I'm not," Bill sighed.
"No! Fuck it! Crap. I am not having sex in this bed," Bill announced.
The damn thing had began to rock, as beds were wont to do when two grown men had finally stopped talking gently to each other and gotten to the business of having some goddamned sex.
And then the damn wheels decided to act up again and the whole fucking thing had rolled into the wall (not through it, just loud enough to scare the hell out of Bill and his erection) before sliding apart again and sending them to the floor.
"Maybe it's a --"
"Don't!" Bill said. "Don't you even try that, Leonard fucking Nimoy, don't! We are goddamned adults with free will and if we want to fuck each other, then it will happen. Come on."
Bill amassed the comforters from both beds into his arms and dragged them off to the bathroom. "Bring the pillows!" he called to Leonard.
"Billy, I think you've snapped," Leonard said in a tone that, to Bill, sounded like it came from a man who had been cockblocked by Fate one time too many. It wasn't right, Bill reflected, it wasn't right that Leonard should be used to this bullshit to the point where he thought he deserved it.
"You're an American! What kind of frontier spirit is this?" Bill shouted, motioning to Leonard holding only two pillows and looking rather concerned at the mess Bill was making in the bathroom.
"Well, not really in the traditional --"
"Bring me the pillows."
"We could have just used the one bed, you know," Leonard said.
"If I can't have both, I want something else entirely," Bill said stubbornly. "Don't ask me why, I just do. Now get in the damn bedtub." He caught a glimpse of them both in the mirror and grinned at the skyrocketing insanity of everything, brought into sharper focus by their being completely naked and Leonard looking down into the bedtub with a look of intense concentration.
Bill had first put down several pillows along the tub and then covered them with one comforter, the other bunched near the drain and faucet for when they actually slept (whenever that was). Leonard hesitantly crawled in and laid down, edging towards one side of the slightly-larger-than-average tub and waited for Bill to follow.
"No, get in the middle, I'm going to be on top. You better enjoy the space while you can," Bill said.
"Why do you get to be on top?" Leonard asked, his hands suddenly clasped behind his head, almost leading Bill to believe the bedtub was comfortable rather than just insane.
"I called dibs just there, when I said 'I'm going to be on top'." Bill lowered himself on Leonard, straddling his hips and grinning as he shifted and began to grind against Leonard. "I promise you. I really do. We'll talk about this later. The rules of dibs, how to ask for a queen-sized bed without making it sound like that's what we're doing, not ordering raspberry vinaigrette -- we'll talk about it. There will be time."
Leonard woke up in the bedtub with his arms around Bill, who had fallen asleep on top of him. His spine was attempting to crawl out of his body through his belly button. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but it seemed to work.
"I like you better like this," Leonard said to no one in particular, as Bill was fast asleep. "Not running around trying to impress me by breaking every bone in your body. You like that I'm boring. I like that you're crazy."
There was no response, only Bill snoring against Leonard's chest. He could live with that.
Author's Note:
HOLY CRAP, so I finally, finally looked at Shatner's Toupee and asjdhajshd KNOW THE WEDDING SCENE? THIS IS WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE. OH BABY. I'M SO SORRY. NOW I WANT TO CRY.