Fic: A Love Story of Sorts (Scotty/Keenser)
Title: A Love Story of Sorts
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Characters/Pairings: Scotty/Keenser
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language and sexuality
Word Count: 2377
Summary: Scotty has the hots for Keenser, Keenser isn't so sure.
By the time they'd landed on Delta Vega (in a tiny pill-shaped pod that only traveled one way no matter how much he fiddled with the propulsion) Scotty had already been trying to get into his best friend's jumpsuit for five years and eight months.
And four days. Not that he was counting or anything.
The problem was-- Well the problem was Scotty more than anything. He wasn't good at romance, not good at much that didn't involve a sonic spanner, and no matter how serious he tried to be, he generally gave the impression that he was an intoxicated frat boy looking for a good time and possibly his pants.
Scotty thought that Keenser might be the only one for him. From the moment they met in the hallway of the freshman dorm, each with his own large box of vaguely illegal equipment, Scotty knew that Keenser was something special. Maybe the sort of something special that he would like to share his life with.
Keenser, on the other hand, thought he was a fetishist.
He probably thought so because the first words out of Scotty's mouth when they met (after "is that a fucking impulse accelerator?") was "Well you're bloody beautiful. We should fuck."
Keenser had been shocked and (more importantly) pissed as hell. He'd assumed that Scotty had been having a laugh at him. Once Scotty had managed to convince him that this wasn't the case, he decided that it was because Scotty had an unhealthy obsession with non-terrans and thus should be avoided at all costs.
Scotty found it difficult to convince Keenser otherwise. He did, after all,
find his friend to be (devastatingly) attractive. Keenser, who had grown up as the only one of his species in an all-human suburb outside of San Francisco, was understandably suspicious of anyone expressing an interest in him. Scotty tried to tell him that he wasn't just into any non-terran but his protests fell on deaf (and increasingly annoyed) ears.
The fact that Scotty had slept with a Cardassian, a Tellerite, and that breasty Orion girl in his first six months at the academy (all of it due to Keenser-inspired angst) didn't help his case. Scotty had pointed out that he hadn't picked any of them up at those creepy xeno-bars, and that he valued them as people, and that he had also slept with a bloke from North London (which is really saying something for Scotty's acceptance abilities).
Keenser wouldn't have it. Called him a pervert and a stalker and had kicked him in the shins until he'd fallen over.
Scotty had been sure that Keenser wouldn't even want to be friends after that, but it hadn't quite worked out the way he'd expected. Nothing involving Keenser ever did.
They'd run into each other at the Cadet lounge just a few days later.
"Hey." Scotty had said. It was a good start. Nothing offensive about a nice 'hey', not that Keenser couldn't take offense to it anyway.
Keenser had nodded.
"I'm sorry I stalked you." Scotty was an honest man. "Is there some way we can not hate each other, or something?"
Keenser had nodded again, bought Scotty a (non-alcoholic) drink and they'd let bygones be bygones.
Soctty settled for friendship. Hung out with Keenser and took the same classes and slept around and tried to hide it and only provided more ammunition for Keenser's War Against Sex.
And it was good.
Alright maybe not good but it was adequate and Scotty still got to listen to Keenser's theories on warp core mechanics and he made sure that all the actual fetishists kept their distance.
Not that Scotty had something against fetishists, but if anyone was going to be objectifying his little green man it would be him.
So by the time they graduated and moved on to post-graduate work in the field of engineering, Scotty figured he would never break through Keenser's hard (green, ridged, adorable) shell and settled himself neatly into a life of wistful best-friend-ness. It was, he reminded himself in the voice of his great-aunt, better than a hot stick in the eye.
And then. And then Scotty got into that row with Admiral Archer and he and Keenser stayed up all night making adjustments to his teleportation array and drinking too much whiskey-mixed-with-coffee-grounds and before the night was over Scotty was up one horrible hangover and down one planet.
And suddenly he and his best friend and one-true-love were being shot into space in something that resembled a suppository with little more than a change of clothes and a sonic spanner with only half a battery and Scotty's pet tribble.
They didn't even have the decency to let Scotty try to beam them there. By the time they arrived, cold and shaken and humiliated, Scotty had only one thing to say.
"Buggering hell."
That generally summed the situation up for the both of them so Keenser nodded sharply and grabbed the packs and Scotty got the box of food rations and Mr. Tribblets and they headed for the distant shape of the cold research outpost.
Scotty tried not to feel his balls retreating into his body, Keenser tried to keep from falling into a snow drift taller than his head.
There was little say and so they didn't say anything at all until long after they had settled into the dank, freezing outpost. Scotty had joked about getting new drapes and Keenser had done that eye-twitch thing that meant he was laughing. Scotty figured that imprisonment could be manageable.
They got by alright for the first few months with the rations and a crappy replicator that Keenser had found in the basement and fixed up. It only produced wheat and oat products but Scotty was a fan of anything that wasn't protein bars and Keenser didn't eat that much anyway.
Nothing could be that bad when you could replicate enough quadrotriticale to set up a make-shift still that would produce something strong enough to get Keenser talking, or at least that was how Scotty saw it.
For the first few months Scotty might have admitted to being happy there. He had all the tools necessary to continue his research (after all) and he had booze and food and Mr. Tribblets. And he had Keenser.
"And the Transporter." Keenser reminded him one day when he brought this up.
"Aye, and the Transporter." Scotty agreed, because the Transporter was quickly becoming her own organism, growing and changing and breathing in the way only a sophisticated piece of machinery could.
The Transporter loved them. And they loved her in return.
Mechanophilia aside, Scotty basked in the glow of Keenser's attention. There wasn't anyone else around after all, and while Keenser hadn't exactly been the belle of the ball back at Starfleet he had still had other friends and potential romantic interests which had driven Scotty to jealous insanity.
Now, every word Keenser said was directed at Scotty (because unlike his human friend, Keenser was not interested in conversing with Mr. Tribblets) and every significant glance was made in Scotty's general direction.
It might have been unhealthy, but Scotty was willing to accept a little unhealthiness if it got him Keenser-time.
By the time the third and fourth months had come and gone Scotty was feeling a little bit less blissful. The military tribunal had sentenced them to 16 months of exile but they had only supplied the pair with 6 months worth of food, and most of that in the form of tasteless protein supplements. Supposedly there was to be a shipment arriving from Starfleet at some point or another but the vagueness of that "some point" and the infrequency of the communications from anyone, much less someone in charge of feeding them, indicated to Scotty that food might soon be in short supply.
It wasn't as though they couldn't survive, Scotty figured, but his makeshift replicator was only capable of making grain and really, one could only subsist on oatmeal and cream of wheat for a certain amount of time before they went insane... Or got scurvy.
So they engineered as hard as they'd ever engineered before and tried to make the replicator produce something like citrus and Scotty found himself carefully watching Keenser for (his ass) signs of illness and driving the poor alien crazy.
Keenser, Scotty noticed after a few solid days of surveillance, was acting strangely. He wasn't making nearly as many cutting remarks as usual. In fact, he was hardly speaking at all. He opened his mouth only when it pertained to the work at hand or (rarely) to eat. He was silent, following Scotty with his eyes.
Keenser was watching him.
It was weird. So Scotty watched Keenser watching him and said nothing for a few days while the tension grew thicker and everyone involved felt a little bit like they had bugs under their skin.
The only solution to this endless game of cat and cat (or possibly mouse-and-other-mouse) was to get drunk.
Really it was more likely that Scotty was stressed, and his reaction to stress was to either get smashed or explode stuff and it was too cold for explosions. But, as he saw it, this was just as good a reason as any to empty the last of the quadrotriticale into his make-shift still and gather up all the protein nibs he could find for a picnic.
Keenser was still giving him the hairy eyeball as he loaded a bunch of old burlap into a barrel and lit it on fire before skewering some protein-chunk onto a long piece of metal (possibly scavenged from an oil tank) and settling down. Scotty ignored his friend, focusing on the fire and his booze.
It had always been this way when Scotty and Keenser really needed to talk. Scotty opened up when drunk, was able to express his emotions in a way that was nearly impossible without at least a little buzz going. Keenser hardly talked unless he had already consumed twice his weight (literally, he had the metabolism of a god) in alcohol. Scotty could usually tell how Keenser felt without a single word being said, but the current situation called for drastic measures.
As usual, Scotty kept his quadrosky (like whiskey! But made of something you can't pronounce!) intake slow until he had seen Keenser finish his first two quarts. The slight shiver of the ridges above Keenser's eyes told him that his friend was well on the way to being smashed.
Which meant that it was time for Scotty to start talking.
"Buggering hell." It was a good beginning.
Keenser nodded.
"Are y'mad? Is that it?"
Keenser shook his head.
"Y'sick?"
Another head-shake.
"Well y'er not pregnant are you?"
Keenser glared (well really he frowned and twitched his right eye, but it was equivalent to a glare) and snorted through his nose. Ever since he had admitted that the males of his species carried the female's fertilized eggs in an internal pouch, Scotty had been making pregnancy jokes. They had never been funny.
"Well the only other thing I could think of is that you've suddenly had a change of heart and realized that I'm yer one true love and not a pervert and that all you want to do is rip off my clothes right now an' have your way with me."
Scotty had tried this line of reasoning multiple times over the course of his friendship with Keenser. It never worked. Which is why he nearly choked when Keenser, after a brief moment of consideration, looked him in the eye and said "Yeah."
"What?"
"I said yeah" Keenser muttered
"I know what you fucking said!" Scotty cried, "I just-- What the hell changed your mind?"
Keenser shrugged.
"Oh no you don't, Greeny. You tell me what the fuck is going on or I'll--"
And, before he knew it, Scotty found himself with a lap full of Keenser and a face full of Keenser's lips and they were kissing.
Something, somewhere not-so-deep in Scotty's mind, went "Yes!" and all other things became strangely not-important.
Right up until Keenser stopped kissing him and Scotty realized that he'd been waiting his whole life for that kiss and therefore it couldn't possibly be real.
"What're you playing at?"
"Nothing."
Scotty snorted, "I dinnae believe you you slimey little... rock... sexy... thing."
Keenser's eyes twitched.
"Shaddup!" Scotty cried.
They had a moment of silence, the sort of silence they were quite used to. The sort in which they had a number of very complicated conversations through vague facial ticks and did more drinking. It was all very complex and necessary.
"Lets say we get of this rock without dying of scurvum."
"Scurvum?"
"Scurvy and boredom combined." Scotty explained, "It's like, all yer teeth fall out but you don't mind because you can use them to play chess or something, that's how bored you are."
Keenser nodded.
"Anyway... Lets say we get off this charming paradise and you and I have fucked on every clear surface and some of the cluttered ones, but once we get home you go back to thinking that I only want to fuck you 'cause your small and green and rocky. What of that?"
Keenser shrugs.
"Well it'd be a bloody dick move, is what it would be!" Scotty tells him, "So will you do that or won't you?"
Keenser thinks far longer than Scotty ever would have liked to see.
"I don't think so."
"Well I fucking love you, so you'd better not, asshole."
Keenser's eyes twitch again and this time Scotty leans down to kiss him, finally reveling in what he's been dying to have for years.
"Mmmmm. Craggy."
Keenser raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not a fucking fetishist!" Scotty said, "Now take off yer fucking clothes and get on the table so we can fuck."
Keenser did. And they did. And two months later when they were surprised by some crazy old man from an alternate universe and his younger boy-toy they found themselves traveling together to the greatest ship in the bloody 'verse, Delta Vega and the threat of "Scurvum" long behind them.
They kept fucking and they stayed friends.
And three years later they were married. It was fucking brilliant.
Fandom: Star Trek 2009
Characters/Pairings: Scotty/Keenser
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for language and sexuality
Word Count: 2377
Summary: Scotty has the hots for Keenser, Keenser isn't so sure.
By the time they'd landed on Delta Vega (in a tiny pill-shaped pod that only traveled one way no matter how much he fiddled with the propulsion) Scotty had already been trying to get into his best friend's jumpsuit for five years and eight months.
And four days. Not that he was counting or anything.
The problem was-- Well the problem was Scotty more than anything. He wasn't good at romance, not good at much that didn't involve a sonic spanner, and no matter how serious he tried to be, he generally gave the impression that he was an intoxicated frat boy looking for a good time and possibly his pants.
Scotty thought that Keenser might be the only one for him. From the moment they met in the hallway of the freshman dorm, each with his own large box of vaguely illegal equipment, Scotty knew that Keenser was something special. Maybe the sort of something special that he would like to share his life with.
Keenser, on the other hand, thought he was a fetishist.
He probably thought so because the first words out of Scotty's mouth when they met (after "is that a fucking impulse accelerator?") was "Well you're bloody beautiful. We should fuck."
Keenser had been shocked and (more importantly) pissed as hell. He'd assumed that Scotty had been having a laugh at him. Once Scotty had managed to convince him that this wasn't the case, he decided that it was because Scotty had an unhealthy obsession with non-terrans and thus should be avoided at all costs.
Scotty found it difficult to convince Keenser otherwise. He did, after all,
find his friend to be (devastatingly) attractive. Keenser, who had grown up as the only one of his species in an all-human suburb outside of San Francisco, was understandably suspicious of anyone expressing an interest in him. Scotty tried to tell him that he wasn't just into any non-terran but his protests fell on deaf (and increasingly annoyed) ears.
The fact that Scotty had slept with a Cardassian, a Tellerite, and that breasty Orion girl in his first six months at the academy (all of it due to Keenser-inspired angst) didn't help his case. Scotty had pointed out that he hadn't picked any of them up at those creepy xeno-bars, and that he valued them as people, and that he had also slept with a bloke from North London (which is really saying something for Scotty's acceptance abilities).
Keenser wouldn't have it. Called him a pervert and a stalker and had kicked him in the shins until he'd fallen over.
Scotty had been sure that Keenser wouldn't even want to be friends after that, but it hadn't quite worked out the way he'd expected. Nothing involving Keenser ever did.
They'd run into each other at the Cadet lounge just a few days later.
"Hey." Scotty had said. It was a good start. Nothing offensive about a nice 'hey', not that Keenser couldn't take offense to it anyway.
Keenser had nodded.
"I'm sorry I stalked you." Scotty was an honest man. "Is there some way we can not hate each other, or something?"
Keenser had nodded again, bought Scotty a (non-alcoholic) drink and they'd let bygones be bygones.
Soctty settled for friendship. Hung out with Keenser and took the same classes and slept around and tried to hide it and only provided more ammunition for Keenser's War Against Sex.
And it was good.
Alright maybe not good but it was adequate and Scotty still got to listen to Keenser's theories on warp core mechanics and he made sure that all the actual fetishists kept their distance.
Not that Scotty had something against fetishists, but if anyone was going to be objectifying his little green man it would be him.
So by the time they graduated and moved on to post-graduate work in the field of engineering, Scotty figured he would never break through Keenser's hard (green, ridged, adorable) shell and settled himself neatly into a life of wistful best-friend-ness. It was, he reminded himself in the voice of his great-aunt, better than a hot stick in the eye.
And then. And then Scotty got into that row with Admiral Archer and he and Keenser stayed up all night making adjustments to his teleportation array and drinking too much whiskey-mixed-with-coffee-grounds and before the night was over Scotty was up one horrible hangover and down one planet.
And suddenly he and his best friend and one-true-love were being shot into space in something that resembled a suppository with little more than a change of clothes and a sonic spanner with only half a battery and Scotty's pet tribble.
They didn't even have the decency to let Scotty try to beam them there. By the time they arrived, cold and shaken and humiliated, Scotty had only one thing to say.
"Buggering hell."
That generally summed the situation up for the both of them so Keenser nodded sharply and grabbed the packs and Scotty got the box of food rations and Mr. Tribblets and they headed for the distant shape of the cold research outpost.
Scotty tried not to feel his balls retreating into his body, Keenser tried to keep from falling into a snow drift taller than his head.
There was little say and so they didn't say anything at all until long after they had settled into the dank, freezing outpost. Scotty had joked about getting new drapes and Keenser had done that eye-twitch thing that meant he was laughing. Scotty figured that imprisonment could be manageable.
They got by alright for the first few months with the rations and a crappy replicator that Keenser had found in the basement and fixed up. It only produced wheat and oat products but Scotty was a fan of anything that wasn't protein bars and Keenser didn't eat that much anyway.
Nothing could be that bad when you could replicate enough quadrotriticale to set up a make-shift still that would produce something strong enough to get Keenser talking, or at least that was how Scotty saw it.
For the first few months Scotty might have admitted to being happy there. He had all the tools necessary to continue his research (after all) and he had booze and food and Mr. Tribblets. And he had Keenser.
"And the Transporter." Keenser reminded him one day when he brought this up.
"Aye, and the Transporter." Scotty agreed, because the Transporter was quickly becoming her own organism, growing and changing and breathing in the way only a sophisticated piece of machinery could.
The Transporter loved them. And they loved her in return.
Mechanophilia aside, Scotty basked in the glow of Keenser's attention. There wasn't anyone else around after all, and while Keenser hadn't exactly been the belle of the ball back at Starfleet he had still had other friends and potential romantic interests which had driven Scotty to jealous insanity.
Now, every word Keenser said was directed at Scotty (because unlike his human friend, Keenser was not interested in conversing with Mr. Tribblets) and every significant glance was made in Scotty's general direction.
It might have been unhealthy, but Scotty was willing to accept a little unhealthiness if it got him Keenser-time.
By the time the third and fourth months had come and gone Scotty was feeling a little bit less blissful. The military tribunal had sentenced them to 16 months of exile but they had only supplied the pair with 6 months worth of food, and most of that in the form of tasteless protein supplements. Supposedly there was to be a shipment arriving from Starfleet at some point or another but the vagueness of that "some point" and the infrequency of the communications from anyone, much less someone in charge of feeding them, indicated to Scotty that food might soon be in short supply.
It wasn't as though they couldn't survive, Scotty figured, but his makeshift replicator was only capable of making grain and really, one could only subsist on oatmeal and cream of wheat for a certain amount of time before they went insane... Or got scurvy.
So they engineered as hard as they'd ever engineered before and tried to make the replicator produce something like citrus and Scotty found himself carefully watching Keenser for (his ass) signs of illness and driving the poor alien crazy.
Keenser, Scotty noticed after a few solid days of surveillance, was acting strangely. He wasn't making nearly as many cutting remarks as usual. In fact, he was hardly speaking at all. He opened his mouth only when it pertained to the work at hand or (rarely) to eat. He was silent, following Scotty with his eyes.
Keenser was watching him.
It was weird. So Scotty watched Keenser watching him and said nothing for a few days while the tension grew thicker and everyone involved felt a little bit like they had bugs under their skin.
The only solution to this endless game of cat and cat (or possibly mouse-and-other-mouse) was to get drunk.
Really it was more likely that Scotty was stressed, and his reaction to stress was to either get smashed or explode stuff and it was too cold for explosions. But, as he saw it, this was just as good a reason as any to empty the last of the quadrotriticale into his make-shift still and gather up all the protein nibs he could find for a picnic.
Keenser was still giving him the hairy eyeball as he loaded a bunch of old burlap into a barrel and lit it on fire before skewering some protein-chunk onto a long piece of metal (possibly scavenged from an oil tank) and settling down. Scotty ignored his friend, focusing on the fire and his booze.
It had always been this way when Scotty and Keenser really needed to talk. Scotty opened up when drunk, was able to express his emotions in a way that was nearly impossible without at least a little buzz going. Keenser hardly talked unless he had already consumed twice his weight (literally, he had the metabolism of a god) in alcohol. Scotty could usually tell how Keenser felt without a single word being said, but the current situation called for drastic measures.
As usual, Scotty kept his quadrosky (like whiskey! But made of something you can't pronounce!) intake slow until he had seen Keenser finish his first two quarts. The slight shiver of the ridges above Keenser's eyes told him that his friend was well on the way to being smashed.
Which meant that it was time for Scotty to start talking.
"Buggering hell." It was a good beginning.
Keenser nodded.
"Are y'mad? Is that it?"
Keenser shook his head.
"Y'sick?"
Another head-shake.
"Well y'er not pregnant are you?"
Keenser glared (well really he frowned and twitched his right eye, but it was equivalent to a glare) and snorted through his nose. Ever since he had admitted that the males of his species carried the female's fertilized eggs in an internal pouch, Scotty had been making pregnancy jokes. They had never been funny.
"Well the only other thing I could think of is that you've suddenly had a change of heart and realized that I'm yer one true love and not a pervert and that all you want to do is rip off my clothes right now an' have your way with me."
Scotty had tried this line of reasoning multiple times over the course of his friendship with Keenser. It never worked. Which is why he nearly choked when Keenser, after a brief moment of consideration, looked him in the eye and said "Yeah."
"What?"
"I said yeah" Keenser muttered
"I know what you fucking said!" Scotty cried, "I just-- What the hell changed your mind?"
Keenser shrugged.
"Oh no you don't, Greeny. You tell me what the fuck is going on or I'll--"
And, before he knew it, Scotty found himself with a lap full of Keenser and a face full of Keenser's lips and they were kissing.
Something, somewhere not-so-deep in Scotty's mind, went "Yes!" and all other things became strangely not-important.
Right up until Keenser stopped kissing him and Scotty realized that he'd been waiting his whole life for that kiss and therefore it couldn't possibly be real.
"What're you playing at?"
"Nothing."
Scotty snorted, "I dinnae believe you you slimey little... rock... sexy... thing."
Keenser's eyes twitched.
"Shaddup!" Scotty cried.
They had a moment of silence, the sort of silence they were quite used to. The sort in which they had a number of very complicated conversations through vague facial ticks and did more drinking. It was all very complex and necessary.
"Lets say we get of this rock without dying of scurvum."
"Scurvum?"
"Scurvy and boredom combined." Scotty explained, "It's like, all yer teeth fall out but you don't mind because you can use them to play chess or something, that's how bored you are."
Keenser nodded.
"Anyway... Lets say we get off this charming paradise and you and I have fucked on every clear surface and some of the cluttered ones, but once we get home you go back to thinking that I only want to fuck you 'cause your small and green and rocky. What of that?"
Keenser shrugs.
"Well it'd be a bloody dick move, is what it would be!" Scotty tells him, "So will you do that or won't you?"
Keenser thinks far longer than Scotty ever would have liked to see.
"I don't think so."
"Well I fucking love you, so you'd better not, asshole."
Keenser's eyes twitch again and this time Scotty leans down to kiss him, finally reveling in what he's been dying to have for years.
"Mmmmm. Craggy."
Keenser raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not a fucking fetishist!" Scotty said, "Now take off yer fucking clothes and get on the table so we can fuck."
Keenser did. And they did. And two months later when they were surprised by some crazy old man from an alternate universe and his younger boy-toy they found themselves traveling together to the greatest ship in the bloody 'verse, Delta Vega and the threat of "Scurvum" long behind them.
They kept fucking and they stayed friends.
And three years later they were married. It was fucking brilliant.