Fic: The Director's Cut
Title: The Director's Cut
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating: NC-17. Please note that this is the first thing I have written for a while that isn't actually pure porn, but - yes. Still NC-17. (Fail, self.)
Disclaimer: God, if this happened, I will personally shoot the person who knew and didn't film it.
Summary/Notes: This is for starcrossedgirl. It is a very, very belated fill of her kinkmeme prompt, here. This picture, on which Leonard looks very irritated, served as inspiration. Essentially, she wanted Leonard being very angry with Bill after Bill's impromptu decision to throw everyone into the water at the end of The Voyage Home, and subsequent shower-based making-up. Essentially, that is what I've written.
Warnings: Parts of this may possibly be read as dub-con, but I say this only to be very safe. Probably none, really, unless I need to warn for middle-aged man!sex.
"Leonard!"
From inside the room, there was only a stubborn silence, heavy and cold and deliberate. Bill sighed, and leaned his forehead against the door. The peephole offered exactly no visibility to anyone who attempted to peer into it from the wrong side, as Bill had already ascertained. There was no doorbell, no buzzer, no means of contacting Leonard other than the traditional medium of knocking - which was having no effect at all, and had been proving useless for the better part of a quarter of an hour, now - and the telephone. To call the telephone, Bill would be obliged to retreat to his own room, and that might allow Leonard to slip surreptitiously out of the hotel while his door was unguarded, which Bill decidedly did not want. He wondered bitterly whether it might be worth sounding the fire alarm, but the thought didn't survive more than a moment's contemplation. He knew Leonard, and Leonard knew him. In all probability, he'd assume Bill had done it until such time as smoke began to curl under his door, and stay resolutely, mulishly put.
The little brass numbers on the door were misting over with his breath: 219. He had been staring at them now for so long that they had ceased to make sense, and had become, instead, strange symbols of a culture long forgotten, weird, unearthly shapes that kept him from Leonard like a hex. In desperation, he hammered on the door a final time, throwing his whole weight upon it. "LEONARD!"
He was just drawing in another breath, with the intention of screaming Leonard's name at the top of his range, when the door swung suddenly open with the force of a pop-gun. Bill, taken completely by surprise, stumbled two steps forward, the breath startled out of him in an undignified squeak. He gripped the doorframe instinctively to keep himself in something resembling an upright position, and raised his eyes slowly, guiltily, to Leonard's face.
The sight that met them was - there was no other word for it - grim. The dark eyes glittered dangerously, brows drawn tight with fury. The lips were pressed together into a little bloodless line. The whole face gave the general impression of a black sky glowering on the edge of a thunderstorm. Faced with such a maelstrom, Bill found himself suddenly unable to do anything but stare.
Leonard, however, had no such qualms. "What the hell do you want?" he demanded. It had been a long time since Bill had heard his voice so strained with anger, and it made his chest twist painfully. Leonard was in a bathrobe that looked as if it had come from the standard hotel laundry, and his hair was mussed across his forehead, more wet than damp, as if he had just this moment stepped out of the shower. His knuckles on the edge of the door were white. Bill struggled for a long moment with the unfamiliar sensation of speechlessness.
"Len," he began, gently. "I really, really didn't - "
"Well, you never do, do you?" Leonard cut in, pushing the dripping hair out of his face with one irritable hand. "That's the problem with you, Shatner; the perpetual, apparently incurable problem: you never mean to do anything but you damn well do it anyway, and who suffers for it?"
Bill gaped. The question had sounded rhetorical, but Leonard had quite distinctly paused, and was now looking at him rather in the manner of an exasperated schoolmaster who has been pushed beyond his breaking point. So, he groped around for words, not wanting to enrage Leonard any further, if that were even possible. "Well - "
"Well?" Leonard slammed the flat of his hand against the door so violently that Bill twitched bodily. "Don't try to be diplomatic. I haven't got time for it. The answer, for future reference, is me, that's who. Not that you'll remember it." He manoeuvred himself so that one foot was propping the door open, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You could have fucking drowned me, you realise?"
Bill's mouth had gone painfully, croakingly dry. He hated confrontations, which was particularly unfortunate in light of the fact that he seemed to get into so many of them; but ordinarily, the arguments were all struck up among people he had no great attachment to, and were therefore manageable. Confrontations with Leonard were a different matter entirely. It had been a very long time since he had managed to inadvertently enrage Leonard to this extent - if, indeed, he had ever done so. Something tight and pained and anxious in his chest told him there had never been a look of such fury in Leonard's eyes before, nothing that had ever threatened The End of All Things. The expression on Leonard's face at this moment veered horribly close to hatred, as far as Bill could see, and it wrenched him in a way that rendered eloquence impossible.
"Leonard," he began weakly, "I didn't mean to. You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world."
It was the old refrain again, and even to Bill's ears, it rang hollow, even though it was true to the very bones of him. He never meant to hurt Leonard, but the thing was that he somehow often managed to do it, however innocent his intentions. Take today, for example. He struggled to remember what he had been thinking, in those windy, sea-soaked seconds of grappling with Leonard on the bow of the ship, gripping Leonard's arms through the damp terrycloth of his costume. A degree of vindictiveness, admittedly; a feeling that if Leonard would insist on Bill being in the water for this shot, then he damn well better be willing to join him. But there was no real malice to it, caught up as he was, for the most part, in a sort of childish exhilaration whipped up by the waves and the salt in the back of his throat; the cast's unfeigned laughter at the absurdity of their situation. He hadn't thought about how heavy that robe would be, when it was full of seawater. He hadn't thought about the fact that this was Leonard's picture, and if Leonard had wanted Spock in the water, he would have put it in the script. But all of this was only thoughtlessness, really; casual, cheery obliviousness, with no deliberation behind it. It was an excuse he had used so many times that it was fraying in the middle, but that didn't make it any less true.
It was perfectly obvious that, as far as Leonard was concerned, things had gone beyond fraying. His stony face told Bill that all the little bits and pieces of his protest had definitively fallen apart.
"You never do, Bill," Leonard said. "But that doesn't stop you doing it, does it?"
And on that note, he turned and walked back into the room, his long figure held tautly upright, leaving Bill standing alone in the doorway.
With his palm against the half-open door.
It is the nature of hotel doors to close themselves without any human interference, usually with the sort of almighty bang that serves as an excellent end to any conversation. This one was no exception, and Bill knew that he should step back, take his hand away, and at least allow Leonard the satisfaction of that final, resounding slam of wood against wood. He should walk away, and go back to his own room, and leave Leonard to stew in the hopes of rectifying the situation by degrees, starting in the morning.
But this was Leonard, and Bill couldn't stand the thought of going to bed with Leonard hating him, not any more. On the momentum of a half-second's decision, he ducked neatly into the room, such that when the door slammed shut, it shut behind him.
His deliberations, in spite of their intricacy, had occupied no more than a few seconds, but Leonard was already out of sight. Bill's eyes roved over the room: bed unmade, uncharacteristically; wet Spock-clothing deposited haphazardly on the carpet, seeping a dark stain. A book on the night-table, cover unreadable at this distance. And then the bathroom door, slightly ajar, throwing a narrow triangle of light out into the main room of the suite.
Pure logical deduction told him that Leonard had to be in there even before he heard the shower being turned on, the trickle of water surging to fierceness; and then the soft whumph of fabric as the robe was discarded. Leonard's passage across the bathroom threw vague shadows into the leaked area of light; his feet squeaked against the shower tray as he stepped into it. Bill stood very still in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on the sliver of bathroom just visible through the gap between the door and its frame. At some point, without knowing it, he had clenched his fists, hard enough that a pulse leapt now between his palms and the fingernails digging into them.
The sensible thing to do was, of course, quite obvious. If he were sensible, he would give the whole thing up as lost - for tonight, at least - and leave, being very careful to close the door soundlessly behind him. But this strange concept of sense held very little sway over Bill at the best of times, and often none at all when Leonard entered into the equation. He had, after all, already flouted this curious social doctrine of What Normal People Do by his failure simply to walk away from the argument when Leonard had done so. This being the case, he really didn't see how it could possibly do any further damage to pursue things, perhaps persuade Leonard, by his sheer persistence, that he was sorry. Whereas, if he left -
Bill didn't want to contemplate what would happen if he left; if Leonard were permitted to spend the evening on his own, cataloguing all the things he hated about Bill while he steadily emptied the minibar. Given the mood Leonard was in, Bill might find himself rudely awakened by an aide with a script revision, detailing the untimely and violent death of Captain Kirk.
All of this being so, there was really nothing for it but to square his shoulders, and follow Leonard into the bathroom.
Leonard was one of those rare people who look inexplicably taller without their clothes. Bill had remarked this oddity before, but now, as he stared at the long pale smudge of Leonard's body, obfuscated by steam, it struck him with renewed force. Leonard really was very tall, all wiry strength and compact muscle, and Bill suddenly quailed at the thought of attempting to fend off an angry Leonard in pitched battle. The thought unnerved him so much that he forgot what on earth he had been planning to say - because there had been something - and he was still thinking furiously about it when Leonard turned and saw him there, his hands stilling abruptly in his hair while the shower rattled on.
"BILL!"
Condensation muffled his voice, but incredulity made it sharp, and Bill held up a hand to forestall further outcry. "Leonard - look - I know what you're going to say, but just give me - "
"Bill, I'm in the goddamn shower!" Leonard was reaching new heights of shrill, which might have fascinated Bill at any other time than this. "Did you not listen to one fucking word of what I just said? - no, hang on, what am I saying? Of course you didn't. You never do. That's the whole point." With a single motion of his arm, Leonard flung open the door of the shower, fiercely enough that it connected with the wall behind. Bill's heart leapt into his throat, and he leapt with it.
"Len - "
"Get out." Leonard pointed a long arm towards the door, his eyes never leaving Bill's. His face was set, immovable, despite the water rushing down his neck and over his ribs and pooling between his feet.
It was a pivotal moment, and everything in Bill strained at that knowledge: Leonard unprotected, but invulnerable; Bill with the decision yet in his hands. He who hesitates, he thought, is lost.
"No," he said firmly.
For a brief moment, the shuttered look on Leonard's face flickered open. His outstretched arm wavered. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said no, Leonard," Bill repeated. "You can't get rid of me as easily as that."
And while Leonard was still thinking of a sharp retort, Bill took hold of the gesturing hand, and pushed Leonard backwards, and stepped fully clothed into the shower cubicle.
Bill and Leonard had spent a considerable proportion of their waking hours together, over the past twenty years, complaining about the miserly tendencies of Paramount Pictures, Inc., but the fact remained that they never booked their stars into anything less than a five-star hotel. Until this moment, as he pulled the plexiglass door closed behind him, Bill had never quite managed to muster any sense of gratitude for this. And yet here they were, two sizeable adult men in one shower cubicle, and suddenly all he could think - ridiculously, typically, through a haze of adrenaline - was we'd never have managed this at the Holiday Inn. But they had managed it, Bill had managed it, and the clothes he'd thrown on after the end of the shoot were already soaked through. He took a moment to thank whatever god looked after reckless idiots that he had, at least, been barefoot.
The tendons in Leonard's wrist were tensed against Bill's fingers, the rest of him coursing with water and slack with shock as Bill blinked at him through the spray. "Leonard," Bill tried again, his voice pitched for calm.
The next thing he knew, he was flat against the wall with Leonard's hand at his throat, his wrist twisting out of Bill's grasp and his breath rasping against Bill's ear over the sound of the water. He had moved so quickly, and so unexpectedly, that Bill saw nothing but a swift blur of motion through the deluge, culminating in a dull pain in his lower back and the full weight of Leonard's body pinning him in place. "Don't," Leonard hissed, "don't you dare patronise me."
What he had expected when he climbed into the shower, Bill didn't know. Probably, he hadn't thought about it at all, as was so sadly often the case. What he did know was that it had never been this in his mind: Leonard's palm pressed flat to his collarbone, Leonard's strong slim thigh between his legs, not asking, but claiming. Leonard's mouth on his, a punishing onslaught of teeth and tongue, an act of aggression. Bill, legs unsteady with the shock of it, could only dig his fingers into Leonard's shoulders and cling.
When, at length, Leonard released Bill's mouth, he turned his attention immediately to the underside of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, teeth latching, sucking until the skin purpled under his lips. With every dart of pain, Bill made ready to protest, to push him away; but then the shivers followed after, shooting down his spine, and all that he could say was Leonard's name.
"If you were going to get into my goddamn shower and attempt to fuck me into submission," Leonard said conversationally, right into his ear, "you should probably have taken your clothes off first."
"I wasn't - " Bill protested, hurriedly; but Leonard cut him off with his mouth again, nipping at Bill's lower lip just hard enough to hurt, sucking it into his mouth and laving the bitten spot with his tongue. He was very, very naked, and Bill was swiftly becoming very, very aware of it; of Leonard's bloodwarm hardness against his thigh and the sudden surge of want in the pit of his stomach, undeniable. But he had never meant - "I wasn't - "
"Of course you weren't," Leonard growled against his throat, fingers working the zipper on Bill's jeans, shoving them down his thighs with more force than finesse. He moved quickly, in short, rough bursts, tugging Bill's t-shirt unceremoniously up over his head, pressing their naked skin together. Bill stared at him wide-eyed at that first contact, seeking an explanation in his face, but Leonard's eyes were unreadable, black and burning.
"Leonard," he said breathlessly, as Leonard palmed his flank, his hip; followed the curve of his thigh until he had Bill hitched up against him by the backside. He seemed to have said Leonard a lot, in the past few minutes, and at no point had it done him any favours at all. Leonard, it seemed, was of the same opinion, for in another moment, his free hand was over Bill's mouth, long fingers hooked around the sharp line of his jawbone.
"Shut up," Leonard hissed. "Just shut up, Shatner. I think you've done quite enough talking for today, frankly; and now it's time - " his hand inched up between Bill's thighs - "for you to keep quiet - " he was fumbling with something he'd unhooked from the shower attachment - "and do as I tell you, for once in your fucking life."
And then Leonard's fingers were pressing slick between his legs, and he realised that the swanky clip-on shower gel had somehow found its way onto the floor of the shower between his feet, a liberal amount of its contents now all over Leonard's hand. He permitted himself a moment to wonder whether this was potentially damaging - should shower gel be applied internally? - but then Leonard twisted his fingertip just so, slipping it abruptly, deliciously inside of him, and he bit down on Leonard's hand and abandoned the debate.
It wasn't more than a nip, really, but it earned him a reciprocal bite to the point of his jaw that made him gasp, squirming back against Leonard's hand. Leonard laughed. It was unmistakeably a laugh, if not a particularly friendly one, and the sheer relief of hearing it made the blood pulse in Bill's cock, a connection which he really didn't want to have to analyse too closely.
"Like that, do you?" Leonard's voice was rough in his ear, hot and dry in this world of water. He twisted his finger again until Bill whimpered; pressed another in to join it, and then - after a long moment that lost itself in the violent pleasure of Leonard's clever fingers against that spot inside him - a third.
Ultimately, it would have been beyond pointless to have attempted any sort of denial. Bill's legs were trembling, his head tipped back against the wall behind him, making indistinct sounds into the palm of Leonard's hand. He rocked backwards onto Leonard's fingers, seeking that perfect touch again, and the resultant rush of sensation. Leonard laughed again, the sound vibrating in the hollow of Bill's throat.
"Oh, I see you do. I wonder if you'll like it when I fuck you?" A sharp twist of his fingers; Bill was melting from the inside, completely at his mercy. Leonard was unremitting. "I bet you will. And then maybe I'll make you suck me until I come all over your goddamn smirking face. Would you like that, Billy?"
And God, it was too much; everything was too much and too bright and too close and too good when Leonard talked like that, all hot and silken-dark in Bill's ear, and the things he whimpered into Leonard's hand intrigued Leonard enough that he let him go; said "What was that, Bill?" and pressed his head back by the underside of the jaw. Bill swallowed, eyes screwed shut under the combined pressure of the water and the encroaching orgasm, and repeated, "I said would you just fucking do it, if you're going to?"
Leonard needed no further encouragement than that, one hand sliding immediately to grip Bill's thigh, hitching it up until his leg curved around Leonard's waist. The sound he made as he pushed into Bill was brief, strangled tight in the back of his throat, and his fingers closed on Bill's flesh hard enough that he knew there'd be bruises tomorrow.
It would be worth it, though, for the knowledge of Leonard inside him like this, gasping little things into the curve of Bill's ear as he fucked him, kissing him slack-mouthed and slow. Bill anchored himself on Leonard's shoulders and followed his lead, drinking in his breathless instructions, doing exactly as he was told. "Oh, yeah, like that," Leonard breathed; and, "c'mere, let me kiss you," with accompanying palm to the face, directing him. Bill could happily have done this, any of this, just to have Leonard forgive him, even without the spiralling bliss that made him cry out with every thrust. Leonard was strong, easily able to support them both, and this was messy and rough and gutwrenchingly, breathtakingly raw; but the sound Leonard made when he came inside Bill was distinctly, unquestionably Billy, and that was enough. Bill's orgasm wracked him from the inside in a strange way, a new way, like he was somehow feeling it from outside himself; and then Leonard was kissing him and he felt as if the day had been reset to perfect equilibrium, even if there was soap in his eyes from Leonard's fingers.
When they were able to stand unaided, Leonard manoeuvred Bill with him into the centre of the cubicle, where they could both catch the full force of the still-gushing shower. Bill paused briefly to wonder just how much water had been wasted, here; but Leonard's arms were around him, and Leonard was wearing that little lopsided smile that told Bill there had never been anything close to hatred in his very real anger, so he put the thought aside and, instead, simply cupped Leonard's nape in his hand and drew him down into a kiss.
After too brief a moment, Leonard pulled away, rubbing an apologetic thumb over Bill's cheekbone. "Trying to get cleaned off here, Shatner. That's not gonna happen if you start that up again."
Bill laughed. "Oh, really? What, you can't resist me?"
"Obviously not," Leonard grumbled, taking a cake of soap from a little shelf that jutted at eye level, and applying it vigorously to his stomach. Bill noted that he had not made any move to recover the shower gel, and grinned.
"How obviously?"
Leonard paused in his soaping to roll his eyes. "Because I was trying to teach you a goddamn lesson about not giving me any crap when I'm trying to fucking direct. Instead of which, I fucked you into next week and now we're here sharing a shower."
"You fucked me into next week," Bill pointed out, reiterating the words in a tone of voice that somehow turned them on their head.
"Yeah, but you liked it."
"Wasn't I supposed to?"
Leonard sighed exaggeratedly, and pressed the soap into Bill's hand. "Yes. Don't ask me why I'm so nice to you. I've got no idea. I keep trying to tell you off and you won't fucking let me." He closed Bill's fingers over the soap. "Clean yourself up, would you?"
Bill smirked. "Why don't you do it?"
"I," Leonard retorted, loftily, "am the goddamned director. And don't you fucking forget it." He paused. "Again."
"Oh, really." Lazily, Bill dragged the soap across his stomach. Leonard was giving him a look that Bill knew prefaced a comment along the lines of I suppose you think that's sexy or something; but Leonard's cock, stirring again already, belied any such sentiment. Leonard, apparently, realised this, because he just stood there and watched him, his eyes darkening.
"So," Bill said, lifting his chin to meet those eyes, "you gonna direct me? I promise I'll be good. I'll be great. I'll be a joy to direct. I'll - "
"Shut up, Shatner," Leonard rapped out, interrupting him mid-flow, "and get down on your fucking knees, and stay there until I tell you to get up again. That clear?"
"As crystal," Bill said with uncharacteristic promptness, and proceeded to do exactly - exactly - as he was told.
*****
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating: NC-17. Please note that this is the first thing I have written for a while that isn't actually pure porn, but - yes. Still NC-17. (Fail, self.)
Disclaimer: God, if this happened, I will personally shoot the person who knew and didn't film it.
Summary/Notes: This is for starcrossedgirl. It is a very, very belated fill of her kinkmeme prompt, here. This picture, on which Leonard looks very irritated, served as inspiration. Essentially, she wanted Leonard being very angry with Bill after Bill's impromptu decision to throw everyone into the water at the end of The Voyage Home, and subsequent shower-based making-up. Essentially, that is what I've written.
Warnings: Parts of this may possibly be read as dub-con, but I say this only to be very safe. Probably none, really, unless I need to warn for middle-aged man!sex.
"Leonard!"
From inside the room, there was only a stubborn silence, heavy and cold and deliberate. Bill sighed, and leaned his forehead against the door. The peephole offered exactly no visibility to anyone who attempted to peer into it from the wrong side, as Bill had already ascertained. There was no doorbell, no buzzer, no means of contacting Leonard other than the traditional medium of knocking - which was having no effect at all, and had been proving useless for the better part of a quarter of an hour, now - and the telephone. To call the telephone, Bill would be obliged to retreat to his own room, and that might allow Leonard to slip surreptitiously out of the hotel while his door was unguarded, which Bill decidedly did not want. He wondered bitterly whether it might be worth sounding the fire alarm, but the thought didn't survive more than a moment's contemplation. He knew Leonard, and Leonard knew him. In all probability, he'd assume Bill had done it until such time as smoke began to curl under his door, and stay resolutely, mulishly put.
The little brass numbers on the door were misting over with his breath: 219. He had been staring at them now for so long that they had ceased to make sense, and had become, instead, strange symbols of a culture long forgotten, weird, unearthly shapes that kept him from Leonard like a hex. In desperation, he hammered on the door a final time, throwing his whole weight upon it. "LEONARD!"
He was just drawing in another breath, with the intention of screaming Leonard's name at the top of his range, when the door swung suddenly open with the force of a pop-gun. Bill, taken completely by surprise, stumbled two steps forward, the breath startled out of him in an undignified squeak. He gripped the doorframe instinctively to keep himself in something resembling an upright position, and raised his eyes slowly, guiltily, to Leonard's face.
The sight that met them was - there was no other word for it - grim. The dark eyes glittered dangerously, brows drawn tight with fury. The lips were pressed together into a little bloodless line. The whole face gave the general impression of a black sky glowering on the edge of a thunderstorm. Faced with such a maelstrom, Bill found himself suddenly unable to do anything but stare.
Leonard, however, had no such qualms. "What the hell do you want?" he demanded. It had been a long time since Bill had heard his voice so strained with anger, and it made his chest twist painfully. Leonard was in a bathrobe that looked as if it had come from the standard hotel laundry, and his hair was mussed across his forehead, more wet than damp, as if he had just this moment stepped out of the shower. His knuckles on the edge of the door were white. Bill struggled for a long moment with the unfamiliar sensation of speechlessness.
"Len," he began, gently. "I really, really didn't - "
"Well, you never do, do you?" Leonard cut in, pushing the dripping hair out of his face with one irritable hand. "That's the problem with you, Shatner; the perpetual, apparently incurable problem: you never mean to do anything but you damn well do it anyway, and who suffers for it?"
Bill gaped. The question had sounded rhetorical, but Leonard had quite distinctly paused, and was now looking at him rather in the manner of an exasperated schoolmaster who has been pushed beyond his breaking point. So, he groped around for words, not wanting to enrage Leonard any further, if that were even possible. "Well - "
"Well?" Leonard slammed the flat of his hand against the door so violently that Bill twitched bodily. "Don't try to be diplomatic. I haven't got time for it. The answer, for future reference, is me, that's who. Not that you'll remember it." He manoeuvred himself so that one foot was propping the door open, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You could have fucking drowned me, you realise?"
Bill's mouth had gone painfully, croakingly dry. He hated confrontations, which was particularly unfortunate in light of the fact that he seemed to get into so many of them; but ordinarily, the arguments were all struck up among people he had no great attachment to, and were therefore manageable. Confrontations with Leonard were a different matter entirely. It had been a very long time since he had managed to inadvertently enrage Leonard to this extent - if, indeed, he had ever done so. Something tight and pained and anxious in his chest told him there had never been a look of such fury in Leonard's eyes before, nothing that had ever threatened The End of All Things. The expression on Leonard's face at this moment veered horribly close to hatred, as far as Bill could see, and it wrenched him in a way that rendered eloquence impossible.
"Leonard," he began weakly, "I didn't mean to. You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world."
It was the old refrain again, and even to Bill's ears, it rang hollow, even though it was true to the very bones of him. He never meant to hurt Leonard, but the thing was that he somehow often managed to do it, however innocent his intentions. Take today, for example. He struggled to remember what he had been thinking, in those windy, sea-soaked seconds of grappling with Leonard on the bow of the ship, gripping Leonard's arms through the damp terrycloth of his costume. A degree of vindictiveness, admittedly; a feeling that if Leonard would insist on Bill being in the water for this shot, then he damn well better be willing to join him. But there was no real malice to it, caught up as he was, for the most part, in a sort of childish exhilaration whipped up by the waves and the salt in the back of his throat; the cast's unfeigned laughter at the absurdity of their situation. He hadn't thought about how heavy that robe would be, when it was full of seawater. He hadn't thought about the fact that this was Leonard's picture, and if Leonard had wanted Spock in the water, he would have put it in the script. But all of this was only thoughtlessness, really; casual, cheery obliviousness, with no deliberation behind it. It was an excuse he had used so many times that it was fraying in the middle, but that didn't make it any less true.
It was perfectly obvious that, as far as Leonard was concerned, things had gone beyond fraying. His stony face told Bill that all the little bits and pieces of his protest had definitively fallen apart.
"You never do, Bill," Leonard said. "But that doesn't stop you doing it, does it?"
And on that note, he turned and walked back into the room, his long figure held tautly upright, leaving Bill standing alone in the doorway.
With his palm against the half-open door.
It is the nature of hotel doors to close themselves without any human interference, usually with the sort of almighty bang that serves as an excellent end to any conversation. This one was no exception, and Bill knew that he should step back, take his hand away, and at least allow Leonard the satisfaction of that final, resounding slam of wood against wood. He should walk away, and go back to his own room, and leave Leonard to stew in the hopes of rectifying the situation by degrees, starting in the morning.
But this was Leonard, and Bill couldn't stand the thought of going to bed with Leonard hating him, not any more. On the momentum of a half-second's decision, he ducked neatly into the room, such that when the door slammed shut, it shut behind him.
His deliberations, in spite of their intricacy, had occupied no more than a few seconds, but Leonard was already out of sight. Bill's eyes roved over the room: bed unmade, uncharacteristically; wet Spock-clothing deposited haphazardly on the carpet, seeping a dark stain. A book on the night-table, cover unreadable at this distance. And then the bathroom door, slightly ajar, throwing a narrow triangle of light out into the main room of the suite.
Pure logical deduction told him that Leonard had to be in there even before he heard the shower being turned on, the trickle of water surging to fierceness; and then the soft whumph of fabric as the robe was discarded. Leonard's passage across the bathroom threw vague shadows into the leaked area of light; his feet squeaked against the shower tray as he stepped into it. Bill stood very still in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on the sliver of bathroom just visible through the gap between the door and its frame. At some point, without knowing it, he had clenched his fists, hard enough that a pulse leapt now between his palms and the fingernails digging into them.
The sensible thing to do was, of course, quite obvious. If he were sensible, he would give the whole thing up as lost - for tonight, at least - and leave, being very careful to close the door soundlessly behind him. But this strange concept of sense held very little sway over Bill at the best of times, and often none at all when Leonard entered into the equation. He had, after all, already flouted this curious social doctrine of What Normal People Do by his failure simply to walk away from the argument when Leonard had done so. This being the case, he really didn't see how it could possibly do any further damage to pursue things, perhaps persuade Leonard, by his sheer persistence, that he was sorry. Whereas, if he left -
Bill didn't want to contemplate what would happen if he left; if Leonard were permitted to spend the evening on his own, cataloguing all the things he hated about Bill while he steadily emptied the minibar. Given the mood Leonard was in, Bill might find himself rudely awakened by an aide with a script revision, detailing the untimely and violent death of Captain Kirk.
All of this being so, there was really nothing for it but to square his shoulders, and follow Leonard into the bathroom.
Leonard was one of those rare people who look inexplicably taller without their clothes. Bill had remarked this oddity before, but now, as he stared at the long pale smudge of Leonard's body, obfuscated by steam, it struck him with renewed force. Leonard really was very tall, all wiry strength and compact muscle, and Bill suddenly quailed at the thought of attempting to fend off an angry Leonard in pitched battle. The thought unnerved him so much that he forgot what on earth he had been planning to say - because there had been something - and he was still thinking furiously about it when Leonard turned and saw him there, his hands stilling abruptly in his hair while the shower rattled on.
"BILL!"
Condensation muffled his voice, but incredulity made it sharp, and Bill held up a hand to forestall further outcry. "Leonard - look - I know what you're going to say, but just give me - "
"Bill, I'm in the goddamn shower!" Leonard was reaching new heights of shrill, which might have fascinated Bill at any other time than this. "Did you not listen to one fucking word of what I just said? - no, hang on, what am I saying? Of course you didn't. You never do. That's the whole point." With a single motion of his arm, Leonard flung open the door of the shower, fiercely enough that it connected with the wall behind. Bill's heart leapt into his throat, and he leapt with it.
"Len - "
"Get out." Leonard pointed a long arm towards the door, his eyes never leaving Bill's. His face was set, immovable, despite the water rushing down his neck and over his ribs and pooling between his feet.
It was a pivotal moment, and everything in Bill strained at that knowledge: Leonard unprotected, but invulnerable; Bill with the decision yet in his hands. He who hesitates, he thought, is lost.
"No," he said firmly.
For a brief moment, the shuttered look on Leonard's face flickered open. His outstretched arm wavered. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said no, Leonard," Bill repeated. "You can't get rid of me as easily as that."
And while Leonard was still thinking of a sharp retort, Bill took hold of the gesturing hand, and pushed Leonard backwards, and stepped fully clothed into the shower cubicle.
Bill and Leonard had spent a considerable proportion of their waking hours together, over the past twenty years, complaining about the miserly tendencies of Paramount Pictures, Inc., but the fact remained that they never booked their stars into anything less than a five-star hotel. Until this moment, as he pulled the plexiglass door closed behind him, Bill had never quite managed to muster any sense of gratitude for this. And yet here they were, two sizeable adult men in one shower cubicle, and suddenly all he could think - ridiculously, typically, through a haze of adrenaline - was we'd never have managed this at the Holiday Inn. But they had managed it, Bill had managed it, and the clothes he'd thrown on after the end of the shoot were already soaked through. He took a moment to thank whatever god looked after reckless idiots that he had, at least, been barefoot.
The tendons in Leonard's wrist were tensed against Bill's fingers, the rest of him coursing with water and slack with shock as Bill blinked at him through the spray. "Leonard," Bill tried again, his voice pitched for calm.
The next thing he knew, he was flat against the wall with Leonard's hand at his throat, his wrist twisting out of Bill's grasp and his breath rasping against Bill's ear over the sound of the water. He had moved so quickly, and so unexpectedly, that Bill saw nothing but a swift blur of motion through the deluge, culminating in a dull pain in his lower back and the full weight of Leonard's body pinning him in place. "Don't," Leonard hissed, "don't you dare patronise me."
What he had expected when he climbed into the shower, Bill didn't know. Probably, he hadn't thought about it at all, as was so sadly often the case. What he did know was that it had never been this in his mind: Leonard's palm pressed flat to his collarbone, Leonard's strong slim thigh between his legs, not asking, but claiming. Leonard's mouth on his, a punishing onslaught of teeth and tongue, an act of aggression. Bill, legs unsteady with the shock of it, could only dig his fingers into Leonard's shoulders and cling.
When, at length, Leonard released Bill's mouth, he turned his attention immediately to the underside of his jaw, the hollow of his throat, teeth latching, sucking until the skin purpled under his lips. With every dart of pain, Bill made ready to protest, to push him away; but then the shivers followed after, shooting down his spine, and all that he could say was Leonard's name.
"If you were going to get into my goddamn shower and attempt to fuck me into submission," Leonard said conversationally, right into his ear, "you should probably have taken your clothes off first."
"I wasn't - " Bill protested, hurriedly; but Leonard cut him off with his mouth again, nipping at Bill's lower lip just hard enough to hurt, sucking it into his mouth and laving the bitten spot with his tongue. He was very, very naked, and Bill was swiftly becoming very, very aware of it; of Leonard's bloodwarm hardness against his thigh and the sudden surge of want in the pit of his stomach, undeniable. But he had never meant - "I wasn't - "
"Of course you weren't," Leonard growled against his throat, fingers working the zipper on Bill's jeans, shoving them down his thighs with more force than finesse. He moved quickly, in short, rough bursts, tugging Bill's t-shirt unceremoniously up over his head, pressing their naked skin together. Bill stared at him wide-eyed at that first contact, seeking an explanation in his face, but Leonard's eyes were unreadable, black and burning.
"Leonard," he said breathlessly, as Leonard palmed his flank, his hip; followed the curve of his thigh until he had Bill hitched up against him by the backside. He seemed to have said Leonard a lot, in the past few minutes, and at no point had it done him any favours at all. Leonard, it seemed, was of the same opinion, for in another moment, his free hand was over Bill's mouth, long fingers hooked around the sharp line of his jawbone.
"Shut up," Leonard hissed. "Just shut up, Shatner. I think you've done quite enough talking for today, frankly; and now it's time - " his hand inched up between Bill's thighs - "for you to keep quiet - " he was fumbling with something he'd unhooked from the shower attachment - "and do as I tell you, for once in your fucking life."
And then Leonard's fingers were pressing slick between his legs, and he realised that the swanky clip-on shower gel had somehow found its way onto the floor of the shower between his feet, a liberal amount of its contents now all over Leonard's hand. He permitted himself a moment to wonder whether this was potentially damaging - should shower gel be applied internally? - but then Leonard twisted his fingertip just so, slipping it abruptly, deliciously inside of him, and he bit down on Leonard's hand and abandoned the debate.
It wasn't more than a nip, really, but it earned him a reciprocal bite to the point of his jaw that made him gasp, squirming back against Leonard's hand. Leonard laughed. It was unmistakeably a laugh, if not a particularly friendly one, and the sheer relief of hearing it made the blood pulse in Bill's cock, a connection which he really didn't want to have to analyse too closely.
"Like that, do you?" Leonard's voice was rough in his ear, hot and dry in this world of water. He twisted his finger again until Bill whimpered; pressed another in to join it, and then - after a long moment that lost itself in the violent pleasure of Leonard's clever fingers against that spot inside him - a third.
Ultimately, it would have been beyond pointless to have attempted any sort of denial. Bill's legs were trembling, his head tipped back against the wall behind him, making indistinct sounds into the palm of Leonard's hand. He rocked backwards onto Leonard's fingers, seeking that perfect touch again, and the resultant rush of sensation. Leonard laughed again, the sound vibrating in the hollow of Bill's throat.
"Oh, I see you do. I wonder if you'll like it when I fuck you?" A sharp twist of his fingers; Bill was melting from the inside, completely at his mercy. Leonard was unremitting. "I bet you will. And then maybe I'll make you suck me until I come all over your goddamn smirking face. Would you like that, Billy?"
And God, it was too much; everything was too much and too bright and too close and too good when Leonard talked like that, all hot and silken-dark in Bill's ear, and the things he whimpered into Leonard's hand intrigued Leonard enough that he let him go; said "What was that, Bill?" and pressed his head back by the underside of the jaw. Bill swallowed, eyes screwed shut under the combined pressure of the water and the encroaching orgasm, and repeated, "I said would you just fucking do it, if you're going to?"
Leonard needed no further encouragement than that, one hand sliding immediately to grip Bill's thigh, hitching it up until his leg curved around Leonard's waist. The sound he made as he pushed into Bill was brief, strangled tight in the back of his throat, and his fingers closed on Bill's flesh hard enough that he knew there'd be bruises tomorrow.
It would be worth it, though, for the knowledge of Leonard inside him like this, gasping little things into the curve of Bill's ear as he fucked him, kissing him slack-mouthed and slow. Bill anchored himself on Leonard's shoulders and followed his lead, drinking in his breathless instructions, doing exactly as he was told. "Oh, yeah, like that," Leonard breathed; and, "c'mere, let me kiss you," with accompanying palm to the face, directing him. Bill could happily have done this, any of this, just to have Leonard forgive him, even without the spiralling bliss that made him cry out with every thrust. Leonard was strong, easily able to support them both, and this was messy and rough and gutwrenchingly, breathtakingly raw; but the sound Leonard made when he came inside Bill was distinctly, unquestionably Billy, and that was enough. Bill's orgasm wracked him from the inside in a strange way, a new way, like he was somehow feeling it from outside himself; and then Leonard was kissing him and he felt as if the day had been reset to perfect equilibrium, even if there was soap in his eyes from Leonard's fingers.
When they were able to stand unaided, Leonard manoeuvred Bill with him into the centre of the cubicle, where they could both catch the full force of the still-gushing shower. Bill paused briefly to wonder just how much water had been wasted, here; but Leonard's arms were around him, and Leonard was wearing that little lopsided smile that told Bill there had never been anything close to hatred in his very real anger, so he put the thought aside and, instead, simply cupped Leonard's nape in his hand and drew him down into a kiss.
After too brief a moment, Leonard pulled away, rubbing an apologetic thumb over Bill's cheekbone. "Trying to get cleaned off here, Shatner. That's not gonna happen if you start that up again."
Bill laughed. "Oh, really? What, you can't resist me?"
"Obviously not," Leonard grumbled, taking a cake of soap from a little shelf that jutted at eye level, and applying it vigorously to his stomach. Bill noted that he had not made any move to recover the shower gel, and grinned.
"How obviously?"
Leonard paused in his soaping to roll his eyes. "Because I was trying to teach you a goddamn lesson about not giving me any crap when I'm trying to fucking direct. Instead of which, I fucked you into next week and now we're here sharing a shower."
"You fucked me into next week," Bill pointed out, reiterating the words in a tone of voice that somehow turned them on their head.
"Yeah, but you liked it."
"Wasn't I supposed to?"
Leonard sighed exaggeratedly, and pressed the soap into Bill's hand. "Yes. Don't ask me why I'm so nice to you. I've got no idea. I keep trying to tell you off and you won't fucking let me." He closed Bill's fingers over the soap. "Clean yourself up, would you?"
Bill smirked. "Why don't you do it?"
"I," Leonard retorted, loftily, "am the goddamned director. And don't you fucking forget it." He paused. "Again."
"Oh, really." Lazily, Bill dragged the soap across his stomach. Leonard was giving him a look that Bill knew prefaced a comment along the lines of I suppose you think that's sexy or something; but Leonard's cock, stirring again already, belied any such sentiment. Leonard, apparently, realised this, because he just stood there and watched him, his eyes darkening.
"So," Bill said, lifting his chin to meet those eyes, "you gonna direct me? I promise I'll be good. I'll be great. I'll be a joy to direct. I'll - "
"Shut up, Shatner," Leonard rapped out, interrupting him mid-flow, "and get down on your fucking knees, and stay there until I tell you to get up again. That clear?"
"As crystal," Bill said with uncharacteristic promptness, and proceeded to do exactly - exactly - as he was told.
*****