Star Trek RPS (BLAME DANA)
Title: Cinematic Brilliance
Summary: Chris is okay with making a sex tape, but Zach is hell bent on making ~*~erotic arthouse cinema~*~*.
Pairing: Zach Quinto/Chris Pine RPF
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Originally written for a trek_rpf_kink anon prompt made last summer.
Disclaimer: Not true, no offence meant, no profit made, no harm intended, &c. &c.
So, one moment Zach is balls-deep in Chris's ass, his face buried in the junction between Chris's neck and shoulder, his teeth tight around a mouthful of Chris's golden skin. His hips are pistoning up and down-fuck, they're jackhammering up and down, and Chris's fingers scrabble for a handhold on his sweaty back. Chris clings to Zach's shoulder blades with his nails and bucks up. He thinks he could very possibly die of pleasure at any given moment right now.
And then the next moment, Zach pulls out.
"No, no, no," Zach says, extracting himself from Chris's arms and sitting up onto his knees. "The lighting doesn't match the mood of this scene."
"What?" Chris asks breathlessly. He can feel his heartbeat pounding rabbit-quick in his temples and his cock, and he can't make sense of Zach's words above the steady throb.
"The lighting," Zach reiterates. He untangles his legs from Chris's and moves to get off the bed, which goes against pretty much every instinct Chris has ever possessed. Chris tries to tackle him, to drag him back down onto the mattress and onto his body, goddammit, but he's too fucked-out and boneless to muster up the necessary strength. Zach bats him off easily. "The lighting is all wrong," he continues, bare feet on the floor now and walking towards where he has set up his tripod. "This scene is intense, relentless, almost brutal-"
Chris groans, writhes a little on the bed. It was indeed all of the above, and it could've continued to be so if Zach hadn't climbed off the fucking bed.
"-but the light is soft and warm, tender. The inconsistency is too discordant; it doesn't work." Zach turns the camera off. "It just isn't achieving the effect I'm looking for."
Horny, twisted up in sweat-soaked sheets and dripping with frustration, Chris cannot fucking believe that Zach is doing this to him. "I am so going to kill you," he tells Zach's bedroom ceiling.
* * *
Chris isn't sure exactly what had possessed him to say yes, but he guesses it probably had something to do with the way Zach had been holding him right after mind-blowing sex. He's always way too compliant and gullible during the afterglow. Yes, it must've been the post-coital cuddling that caused him to agree to Zach's suggestion of making a sex tape.
"We should really try filming ourselves when we do it," Zach had said while nuzzling his nose into Chris's mussed-up hair. "Just once. Can you imagine how hot it'd be, knowing the camera's right there? And being able to watch ourselves afterward?" Zach had been so into the idea that he'd given a full body shudder that Chris could feel down to his toes.
And Chris had said, "Sure," without needing too much convincing, because he thought it'd be fun and kind of exciting.
He didn't think it would mean waking up early on a Saturday morning in order to drive several hours to high-end A/V equipment store. He didn't think it would mean nodding politely while an elderly salesman in an oversized white dress shirt and a tweed bowtie goes on for over an hour about colour filters.
"What do you think, Chris?" Zach asks, fingering an indigo filter. "I like the cold tones, but I don't want it to make us look like blue aliens having sex."
Chris's eyes go wide with horror. Zach tips his head to the side a little bit, like a quizzical dog, and doesn't seem to think that he has over-shared at all. The salesman's smile falters for just a fraction of a second, but he recovers admirably quickly. "How you use the indigo filter changes depending on your other film selections," he says. "Are you filming in black and white?"
"No," Zach answers. He pauses to think. "Should we be?"
When Zach starts to talk seriously about the pros and cons of shooting porn in black and white with a salesman who is probably somebody's great-grandfather, Chris takes it as his cue to get the hell out of the store. He waits in Zach's car for another hour before Zach comes out holding three shopping bags.
"Where did you go?" Zach asks while stowing his new toys in the back of the car. "We could've used your help deciding on the right focal length."
Maybe it's just the way he was brought up, but one of the things Chris has never wanted to discuss with a complete stranger fifty years his senior is how best to capture his own image during a sex act. He tells as much to Zach, who just laughs at him.
"Hey, count yourself lucky I haven't called Leonard for advice," Zach says in a jokingly threatening tone. And then he pauses again, that same contemplative pause that Chris has begun to recognize as dangerous.
"Oh no, no you don't. Don't you dare call him."
Zach starts the care without a word, pulls out of the parking lot with a little smirk on his face. Chris is sweating bullets.
"Zachary, I swear to god, if you so much as hint to Leonard Nimoy about this, I will-"
* * *
Actually, Chris turns out to be the first one to break and call someone for advice.
That someone happens to be JJ Abrams. He's the most parental figure Chris can think of, without being an actual parent, because god knows the last thing Chris wants is to involve his parents in this whole debacle, good lord. JJ is older and wiser and has some measure of authority over both him and Zach, and he did tell them on the first day of shooting that they could come to him with any concerns at all.
"JJ, you have to help me. Zach wants me to masturbate in slow motion while he films it in the cinéma vérité style."
Granted, when JJ had said "any concerns at all," he'd probably meant concerns related to Star Trek. But Chris is desperate here, and JJ is a consummate professional.
JJ takes a few seconds to either think of a response or to suppress a laugh, Chris can't tell which. And then he says, "I'm sorry to hear that, Christopher. May I ask…why?"
Chris explains how he got himself into this mess, how it was supposed to be a one-time sexy thing that mutated into a sexless art-house obsession, and now Zach can't let go of it. "The perfect porno has become his Moby Dick," Chris says, possibly overdramatically, into the phone, "and his relentless pursuit of it will lead us to our doom!"
JJ pauses again, this time definitely to suppress a laugh. "Let me talk to him. I'll see what I can do."
After thanking JJ several dozen times, Chris tracks down Zach and finds him in the living room cleaning some lenses. He hands Zach the cordless phone without a word.
"Hello? Oh hey JJ, what's up. Yeah, well, you know how he is. It's not like I'm forcing him against his will."
Zach pauses, presumably to let JJ speak. Chris wishes he could hear both sides of the conversation.
"That's a good point."
Chris thinks that sounds positive.
"I hadn't thought of it that way. You're right."
Chris allows himself to hope.
"Oh, it's just a regular EFP camera. I know, I wish I could have multi-angle shots, but I can only work one camera at a time. Can you imagine the shitstorm if I asked Chris to hold one?"
Wait, that doesn't sound right. Where the hell has this conversation gone?
"Hmm, that's an intriguing idea," Zach says. "I might play around with that for the next film. Thanks a lot, JJ! Yeah, I'll talk to you later, man." Zach hangs up and turns to Chris with a grin.
"So, what did he say?" Chris asks nervously.
"At first he went on about some nonsense, but then we started talking about techniques and you know how big of a geek he is. In a good way, of course," Zach adds. "He gave me some really good tips. And he suggested we put some lens flares into our next production."
* * *
"Chris, just roll with me on this."
"But babe, I don't-"
"Look, do you want this to be brilliant or not?"
"Not really, no-"
"Just do it, or my mouth isn't going back on your dick."
"Zachary, I don't speak Italian."
Zach has moved onto his Federico Fellini phase. Chris discovers this fact rudely and firsthandedly when Zach pulls off his cock in the middle of the sloppiest blowjob on earth, hands him a piece of paper with a foreign language written on it, and tells him to read it out loud. "It'll really help with the authenticity," Zach insists, "if we have the audio in Italian and then subtitles underneath."
"This is ridiculous."
Zach raises an eyebrow.
"You know this is ridiculous, right?"
Zach tugs on Chris's erection, flushed dark red and still wet from Zach's mouth. He takes his hand away before Chris can get any proper friction going. His eyebrow is still raised.
Chris groans, a sound of frustration that rattles from deep within his chest. He snatches the handwritten script from where it's fallen and begins to sound it out phonetically. He's sure it sounds nothing even remotely close to Italian, or any human language currently spoken, but Zach seems satisfied-satisfied enough to open his jaw wide and swallow Chris all the way down his throat.
Chris's head thunks down backwards and he wonders how you say "oh my fucking god, fuck yes" in Italian, because that's the only sentiment he wants to express right now.
* * *
"Wait, so what's in these shoes again?"
"It's an accelerometer," Chris explains patiently. "It communicates your speed, the calories you've expended, and your exercise history directly to your iPod so you can hear how you're doing while you run."
They're going out for their usual morning run, but this time they're trying out the new Nike+iPod sports system Chris just bought for both of them. Zach can't understand why Chris wants his shoes to talk to him.
"Because we can maximise our workout as we go. We can tailor our run so that it suits our specific needs at every instant."
"Tailor" and "suits" aren't words Zach tends to associate with running. If they were, Zach would probably like running a whole lot more. "Do we really need all these fancy gadgets for running?" he asks Chris. "Isn't it just…moving fast over the sidewalk?"
Chris looks at him as though he suggested that Michael Bay was a director with artistic integrity: a look of shock, disgust, and slight betrayal.
"No, it isn't just "moving fast over the sidewalk"," Chris says with exaggerated air quotes. "It's the serious business of honing your mind and body into the pinnacle of fitness."
The sad part is, Zach knows he's completely serious. Zach yanks his shoes on with supreme reluctance and follows him out the door.
Chris runs with concentration, focusing on his technique, making each stride count. Zach just concentrates on keeping up with Chris and not panting loudly enough for Chris to hear and make fun of him. Zach has amateur film, and Chris has running.
The sex tapes are about sex, of course, but they're also about a different kind of passion. Zach's passion for making movies is as intense as Chris's obsession with fitness. And Zach isn't completely oblivious to the fact that Chris hates participating in Zach's hobby as much as Zach hates participating in Chris's. Sharing a life is about accommodating each other's hobbies. Zach knows that no matter how much he bitches and moans about it, Chris will always give in and indulge Zach to make him happy. He knows because he himself will always do the same for Chris, even if it feels like his lungs are going to explode into fire when they finally finish their run.
"Good workout!" Chris says, sounding pumped. He slaps Zach's back.
Zach gropes for his water bottle and manages to wheeze out a mock-cheery "Yeah!"
Chris takes his shirt off the second they get inside the house and uses it to soak up the sweat pooling in all the interesting crevices of his body. Zach watches him. He isn't going to tell Chris that he spent their run mentally equating Chris's favourite sport to homemade porn. But he knows Chris won't say no if he suggests they make a little "short film" right now, right here on the floor.
-end
Endless thanks to the princess slipsandtangles for all her ridiculous help. I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU OR YOUR FACE. ♥
Summary: Chris is okay with making a sex tape, but Zach is hell bent on making ~*~erotic arthouse cinema~*~*.
Pairing: Zach Quinto/Chris Pine RPF
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Originally written for a trek_rpf_kink anon prompt made last summer.
Disclaimer: Not true, no offence meant, no profit made, no harm intended, &c. &c.
So, one moment Zach is balls-deep in Chris's ass, his face buried in the junction between Chris's neck and shoulder, his teeth tight around a mouthful of Chris's golden skin. His hips are pistoning up and down-fuck, they're jackhammering up and down, and Chris's fingers scrabble for a handhold on his sweaty back. Chris clings to Zach's shoulder blades with his nails and bucks up. He thinks he could very possibly die of pleasure at any given moment right now.
And then the next moment, Zach pulls out.
"No, no, no," Zach says, extracting himself from Chris's arms and sitting up onto his knees. "The lighting doesn't match the mood of this scene."
"What?" Chris asks breathlessly. He can feel his heartbeat pounding rabbit-quick in his temples and his cock, and he can't make sense of Zach's words above the steady throb.
"The lighting," Zach reiterates. He untangles his legs from Chris's and moves to get off the bed, which goes against pretty much every instinct Chris has ever possessed. Chris tries to tackle him, to drag him back down onto the mattress and onto his body, goddammit, but he's too fucked-out and boneless to muster up the necessary strength. Zach bats him off easily. "The lighting is all wrong," he continues, bare feet on the floor now and walking towards where he has set up his tripod. "This scene is intense, relentless, almost brutal-"
Chris groans, writhes a little on the bed. It was indeed all of the above, and it could've continued to be so if Zach hadn't climbed off the fucking bed.
"-but the light is soft and warm, tender. The inconsistency is too discordant; it doesn't work." Zach turns the camera off. "It just isn't achieving the effect I'm looking for."
Horny, twisted up in sweat-soaked sheets and dripping with frustration, Chris cannot fucking believe that Zach is doing this to him. "I am so going to kill you," he tells Zach's bedroom ceiling.
* * *
Chris isn't sure exactly what had possessed him to say yes, but he guesses it probably had something to do with the way Zach had been holding him right after mind-blowing sex. He's always way too compliant and gullible during the afterglow. Yes, it must've been the post-coital cuddling that caused him to agree to Zach's suggestion of making a sex tape.
"We should really try filming ourselves when we do it," Zach had said while nuzzling his nose into Chris's mussed-up hair. "Just once. Can you imagine how hot it'd be, knowing the camera's right there? And being able to watch ourselves afterward?" Zach had been so into the idea that he'd given a full body shudder that Chris could feel down to his toes.
And Chris had said, "Sure," without needing too much convincing, because he thought it'd be fun and kind of exciting.
He didn't think it would mean waking up early on a Saturday morning in order to drive several hours to high-end A/V equipment store. He didn't think it would mean nodding politely while an elderly salesman in an oversized white dress shirt and a tweed bowtie goes on for over an hour about colour filters.
"What do you think, Chris?" Zach asks, fingering an indigo filter. "I like the cold tones, but I don't want it to make us look like blue aliens having sex."
Chris's eyes go wide with horror. Zach tips his head to the side a little bit, like a quizzical dog, and doesn't seem to think that he has over-shared at all. The salesman's smile falters for just a fraction of a second, but he recovers admirably quickly. "How you use the indigo filter changes depending on your other film selections," he says. "Are you filming in black and white?"
"No," Zach answers. He pauses to think. "Should we be?"
When Zach starts to talk seriously about the pros and cons of shooting porn in black and white with a salesman who is probably somebody's great-grandfather, Chris takes it as his cue to get the hell out of the store. He waits in Zach's car for another hour before Zach comes out holding three shopping bags.
"Where did you go?" Zach asks while stowing his new toys in the back of the car. "We could've used your help deciding on the right focal length."
Maybe it's just the way he was brought up, but one of the things Chris has never wanted to discuss with a complete stranger fifty years his senior is how best to capture his own image during a sex act. He tells as much to Zach, who just laughs at him.
"Hey, count yourself lucky I haven't called Leonard for advice," Zach says in a jokingly threatening tone. And then he pauses again, that same contemplative pause that Chris has begun to recognize as dangerous.
"Oh no, no you don't. Don't you dare call him."
Zach starts the care without a word, pulls out of the parking lot with a little smirk on his face. Chris is sweating bullets.
"Zachary, I swear to god, if you so much as hint to Leonard Nimoy about this, I will-"
* * *
Actually, Chris turns out to be the first one to break and call someone for advice.
That someone happens to be JJ Abrams. He's the most parental figure Chris can think of, without being an actual parent, because god knows the last thing Chris wants is to involve his parents in this whole debacle, good lord. JJ is older and wiser and has some measure of authority over both him and Zach, and he did tell them on the first day of shooting that they could come to him with any concerns at all.
"JJ, you have to help me. Zach wants me to masturbate in slow motion while he films it in the cinéma vérité style."
Granted, when JJ had said "any concerns at all," he'd probably meant concerns related to Star Trek. But Chris is desperate here, and JJ is a consummate professional.
JJ takes a few seconds to either think of a response or to suppress a laugh, Chris can't tell which. And then he says, "I'm sorry to hear that, Christopher. May I ask…why?"
Chris explains how he got himself into this mess, how it was supposed to be a one-time sexy thing that mutated into a sexless art-house obsession, and now Zach can't let go of it. "The perfect porno has become his Moby Dick," Chris says, possibly overdramatically, into the phone, "and his relentless pursuit of it will lead us to our doom!"
JJ pauses again, this time definitely to suppress a laugh. "Let me talk to him. I'll see what I can do."
After thanking JJ several dozen times, Chris tracks down Zach and finds him in the living room cleaning some lenses. He hands Zach the cordless phone without a word.
"Hello? Oh hey JJ, what's up. Yeah, well, you know how he is. It's not like I'm forcing him against his will."
Zach pauses, presumably to let JJ speak. Chris wishes he could hear both sides of the conversation.
"That's a good point."
Chris thinks that sounds positive.
"I hadn't thought of it that way. You're right."
Chris allows himself to hope.
"Oh, it's just a regular EFP camera. I know, I wish I could have multi-angle shots, but I can only work one camera at a time. Can you imagine the shitstorm if I asked Chris to hold one?"
Wait, that doesn't sound right. Where the hell has this conversation gone?
"Hmm, that's an intriguing idea," Zach says. "I might play around with that for the next film. Thanks a lot, JJ! Yeah, I'll talk to you later, man." Zach hangs up and turns to Chris with a grin.
"So, what did he say?" Chris asks nervously.
"At first he went on about some nonsense, but then we started talking about techniques and you know how big of a geek he is. In a good way, of course," Zach adds. "He gave me some really good tips. And he suggested we put some lens flares into our next production."
* * *
"Chris, just roll with me on this."
"But babe, I don't-"
"Look, do you want this to be brilliant or not?"
"Not really, no-"
"Just do it, or my mouth isn't going back on your dick."
"Zachary, I don't speak Italian."
Zach has moved onto his Federico Fellini phase. Chris discovers this fact rudely and firsthandedly when Zach pulls off his cock in the middle of the sloppiest blowjob on earth, hands him a piece of paper with a foreign language written on it, and tells him to read it out loud. "It'll really help with the authenticity," Zach insists, "if we have the audio in Italian and then subtitles underneath."
"This is ridiculous."
Zach raises an eyebrow.
"You know this is ridiculous, right?"
Zach tugs on Chris's erection, flushed dark red and still wet from Zach's mouth. He takes his hand away before Chris can get any proper friction going. His eyebrow is still raised.
Chris groans, a sound of frustration that rattles from deep within his chest. He snatches the handwritten script from where it's fallen and begins to sound it out phonetically. He's sure it sounds nothing even remotely close to Italian, or any human language currently spoken, but Zach seems satisfied-satisfied enough to open his jaw wide and swallow Chris all the way down his throat.
Chris's head thunks down backwards and he wonders how you say "oh my fucking god, fuck yes" in Italian, because that's the only sentiment he wants to express right now.
* * *
"Wait, so what's in these shoes again?"
"It's an accelerometer," Chris explains patiently. "It communicates your speed, the calories you've expended, and your exercise history directly to your iPod so you can hear how you're doing while you run."
They're going out for their usual morning run, but this time they're trying out the new Nike+iPod sports system Chris just bought for both of them. Zach can't understand why Chris wants his shoes to talk to him.
"Because we can maximise our workout as we go. We can tailor our run so that it suits our specific needs at every instant."
"Tailor" and "suits" aren't words Zach tends to associate with running. If they were, Zach would probably like running a whole lot more. "Do we really need all these fancy gadgets for running?" he asks Chris. "Isn't it just…moving fast over the sidewalk?"
Chris looks at him as though he suggested that Michael Bay was a director with artistic integrity: a look of shock, disgust, and slight betrayal.
"No, it isn't just "moving fast over the sidewalk"," Chris says with exaggerated air quotes. "It's the serious business of honing your mind and body into the pinnacle of fitness."
The sad part is, Zach knows he's completely serious. Zach yanks his shoes on with supreme reluctance and follows him out the door.
Chris runs with concentration, focusing on his technique, making each stride count. Zach just concentrates on keeping up with Chris and not panting loudly enough for Chris to hear and make fun of him. Zach has amateur film, and Chris has running.
The sex tapes are about sex, of course, but they're also about a different kind of passion. Zach's passion for making movies is as intense as Chris's obsession with fitness. And Zach isn't completely oblivious to the fact that Chris hates participating in Zach's hobby as much as Zach hates participating in Chris's. Sharing a life is about accommodating each other's hobbies. Zach knows that no matter how much he bitches and moans about it, Chris will always give in and indulge Zach to make him happy. He knows because he himself will always do the same for Chris, even if it feels like his lungs are going to explode into fire when they finally finish their run.
"Good workout!" Chris says, sounding pumped. He slaps Zach's back.
Zach gropes for his water bottle and manages to wheeze out a mock-cheery "Yeah!"
Chris takes his shirt off the second they get inside the house and uses it to soak up the sweat pooling in all the interesting crevices of his body. Zach watches him. He isn't going to tell Chris that he spent their run mentally equating Chris's favourite sport to homemade porn. But he knows Chris won't say no if he suggests they make a little "short film" right now, right here on the floor.
-end
Endless thanks to the princess slipsandtangles for all her ridiculous help. I COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT WITHOUT YOU OR YOUR FACE. ♥