FIC: ST RPS - Turnabout Intruder in My Pants (2/7)
Title: Turnabout Intruder in My Pants (2/7ish)
Author: the_deep_magic
Pairing: Pinto
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,316
Warnings: crack, consent issues stemming from overused fandom trope (skip) masturbation while in someone else’s body without prior permission
Disclaimer: so very, very untrue
Summary: bodyswap!fic
A/N: Ok, I’m not entirely happy with this part, but I really think I need to just post it and move on with the story. :oP It may get revised before I cross-post. And please read the warning if consent issues bother you. I personally don’t find it squicky, but I’m certainly not looking to trigger anyone. The good news is that I have the next part and a half nearly complete, so you won’t have to wait another two months (~shame~).
Monday
Tuesday
Zach makes it an entire 24 hours. No, more than 24 hours, really, since that bastard Chris woke him up at 5 am yesterday and it’s a more reasonable hour today. Zach’s of the opinion that he ought to be sainted by now, despite the growing bulge in his boxers.
He supposes he might have had a little morning wood yesterday, but his immediate introduction into the Twilight Zone was quite the effective bonerkill. He’s kept things pretty much hands-free except for the absolute necessities, even though it had taken some deep breathing and calming visualization to will away an erection in bed the night before.
But fuck it all, Chris’ body must be used to some regular morning delight, because Zach is awake and he’s hard. He does give into ethical considerations for a moment before realizing that to deny Chris’ body its regular routines would just be cruel on all levels. Can’t hand this body back over with a raging case of blue balls. He’ll be quick and business-like about it. Decision made, he kicks away the covers and tugs off his boxers. Ooh, yeah, Chris has a nice cock. It’s not overly long but it’s thick, sprouting from an unruly patch of hair and rising a little even as Zach looks at it.
And if “Thus Spake Zarathustra” plays in his head while he catches his tongue between his teeth and slowly reaches down to the monolith currently jutting out over his belly, well, it’s Chris’ fault for making him watch 2001: A Space Odyssey too many times while drunk (because, god help him, as pretentious as he is, that’s the only way Zach can make it through 2001: A Space Odyssey).
And it is a bit like the discovery of fire. Or the discovery of masturbation, at least. Because Zach knows his own body’s responses like clockwork, knows just how much motion and pressure he needs to make things go faster or slower. But this body, this is completely new to him. He doesn’t know its needs, its limits, its hot spots. The touch itself is familiar, but the hands and the skin under them are brand new.
He starts simple - just a hand wrapped lightly around his cock. It’s Chris’ right hand, Zach realizes, that has taken the initiative here. So he’s right-handed now; he’ll have to remember that. Maybe he shouldn’t examine his cock too closely - after all, it’s not technically his - but he’s already committed to this, so he figures he might as well just make the best of it.
A visible vein runs from the thicket of hair at the base to just under the head, and he traces it slowly with the pad of his thumb, up and then back down again. He can actually see the blood thrumming ever so slightly through the thin skin. The crown is a little less flared than his own as Zach runs his fingertips around it, but he already can tell it’s a darker red. What’s killing him is that, from his vantage point, it doesn’t look like masturbation - it looks like Chris’ hand very thoroughly and leisurely exploring Chris’ cock, which in turn looks a great deal more like a few of Zach’s more explicit dreams than he’s comfortable with. He has to shut his eyes after that, the whole process seeming much less intrusive when he can only focus on what he’s feeling. Touch, but don’t look.
Zach lets his hands wander a little more, one up to his chest and one lower. He’s a little disappointed to find that Chris’ nipples are much less sensitive - hardly any erotic sensation at all, no matter how he rubs or pinches them. Chris’ balls are quite another story; just rolling them in his palm makes Zach gasp. They’re almost too sensitive, but as long as he keeps a light hand, the feeling raises goosebumps all along his arms.
If he overthinks what his hand is doing, he stops - it feels strange to be doing it with his right hand, after all. But if he lets his mind wander a little, he finds his hand knows almost exactly what to do, how fast to tug, how much to tighten. And before he knows it, hello, lefty has joined in, too. It’s not a straight climb - he has to stop when he squeezes his balls a little too hard, has to dig in the nightstand for some lotion when spit isn’t enough - but it builds, slowly and inevitably. His mind wanders between some of his favorite fantasies, getting a nice little jolt when he mentally subs in Chris’ body fucking Christian Bale over the hood of a car.
The closer Zach gets to his climax, the more his body seems to function on its own. He doesn’t have to think about thrusting his hips up to meet his fist, he just does it, though in his own body he’s usually pretty still. He feels it coiling in his lower belly like always, but it also makes his mouth go dry, his feet curl in on themselves. It’s different, like watching a favorite movie scene from an entirely new angle and seeing details that were never there before.
When it finally builds to the breaking point, his hand flying over his cock and his back arched off the bed, Zach gasps. His orgasms have always felt like a wave, washing up from under him, but this is a pulse of pleasure radiating out from his center. It feels like he’s never come before in his life, and he strokes hard and slow to try and draw it out as long as he can. But it’s over all too soon, leaving his skin damp and tingling and both his hands sticky.
Well, that killed about twenty minutes.
&&&
Zach glances at the TV. Then at the four remote controls sitting on the coffee table. Then back at the TV. The last time he attempted to push a button, Neil Young started blaring out of the stereo and Zach had to yank the plug out of the wall to turn the damned thing off. Problem is, he doesn’t remember which of the remotes did that. He supposes that one has now been rendered effectively harmless, but that still leaves two bringers of potential horror and one that might - just might - let him watch the Ace of Cakes marathon promised by the TV Guide. The print version of the TV Guide. Chris still gets that, apparently. Him and Zach’s 90-year-old great aunt.
He’s just considering braving the phone to text Chris when the Blackberry rings, the display reading “Zach Quinto,” and he really needs to change that because it’s still unsettling, getting phone calls from himself. “What, Chris?”
Hearing his own voice on the other end is no better. “Can you talk?”
“I guess. I thought we weren’t going to call each other unless it was an emergency.” They’d decided it was just too weird to hear their own voices talking at them.
“It is a fucking emergency,” Chris hisses dramatically, and Zach makes a mental note never to use that tone of voice again. Ever.
“Oh my god, what did you do? You’re not at the hospital are you? Chris? What the fuck did you do to my body?”
Chris has the audacity to snort. “Wow, histrionics are really not flattering on me.”
“You’re the one who called me, asshole! And said there’s an emergency!”
“Well, it is… kind of.”
“Fucking spill it, Pine.”
“Yeah, okay, right,” Chris breathes, obviously psyching himself up for something. “Okay. So. I think… I’m gay.”
The remotes - all four of them - are utterly, utterly forgotten. “You’re what?”
“I’m gay, Zach! Your body is making me gay! Or at least bisexual, I think. I don’t know.”
“What are you telling me? Not 48 hours in my body and you’ve fucked someone?”
“What? No, nothing like that. I just… I went out today, I was getting cabin fever, you know? And I’m at this café - sitting in the back, I was careful, I don’t think anyone saw me - and this couple goes up to the register and the guy is hot, right? Like, anybody with eyes would say he was hot. But I didn’t just think it. My eyes - your eyes - start wandering down to his ass, and then it’s like, what would that ass feel like in my hands? What would that ass feel like around my-? And then I realize my pants feel tight and I’m getting a boner. A boner for a dude, Zach.”
Fuck Ace of Cakes. This is right here is entertainment. “Aw, Chris, your first gay hard-on! I’m so proud! What did you do?”
“Stabbed my hand with the fork until it went away. But then I look at the guy’s girlfriend, ‘cause she’s hot, too. Really nice legs, right? And it takes a little bit of focus, but I start getting hard again when I think about rubbing… when I think about her.”
Zach can’t help it. “Fascinating.”
“So it can’t all be controlled by your body, because you don’t get, you know, from the ladies, right?”
“Chris, if you’re asking me whether sexual orientation stems from the physical body or the mind, I’m no more qualified to answer that question than you are.”
“Yeah, but do you-? I mean, are you, like, straightish now?”
“Well, I haven’t had the opportunity to, uh, re-evaluate my stance on women, but trust me, I’m still all about the cock.”
“Wait, why do you sound so sure about that?” Chris snaps. “You didn’t…”
“Not with someone else, no.”
And Zach probably should have seen it coming, but Chris freaks the fuck out. “Oh my god, not okay, Zach! Bad touch! Bad touch!”
“How is this a big deal? It’s your hand and your dick. I’m assuming based on your hand strength and poor vision that this is not a novel combination.”
“Yeah, but I’m not in the driver’s seat!”
Zach winces. Yeah, he really didn’t think that one through so well. “Chris, I know you don’t exactly have any basis of comparison, but trust me when I say your body is really horny. Like, all the fucking time.”
“News flash - you’re not exactly a monk, either. The first hot guy I saw. The very first one.”
“But you haven’t-?”
“No, Zach, I haven’t. Because this body isn’t mine to play with.”
“It’s fine with me if you want to.” Chris is quiet for a moment, so Zach says, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to deny yourself. And c’mon, I know you’re curious.”
“Yeah,” Chris finally admits.
“Then go for it. It’s kind of cool, actually. Different.” Chris doesn’t say anything right away - maybe the thought is too much - and Zach’s guilt gets the best of him. “But if you don’t want me to anymore, then I won’t.”
“No, it’s… It’s okay, I guess. I just kind of wished you had asked first.”
Zach really does feel bad, but he can’t help the edge to his voice. “Sorry, Chris. The next time we switch bodies, I’ll be sure to ask you if I can use your penis first.”
“Seriously though,” Chris sighs, “how are you dealing with this so much better than I am? You don’t sound like you’re freaking out at all.”
Well, the wanking helped, Zach thinks, but he says, “I’m just not freaking out at the moment. I’ve done my share of it, though. Do you realize you have the worst wardrobe in the history of time?”
This has the result of making Chris sputter indignantly. “My wardrobe? My wardrobe? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was anything worse than eight pairs of the same ugly-ass skinny jeans and a stupid hat for each day of the week.”
“Just for that, I am going to find that visor in your closet, put it on backwards, and get papped coming out of LAMILL. No, not LAMILL. Starbucks. And I’ll even wave sweetly for the cameras.”
“Zach.”
“Kidding. I was kidding. You know I wouldn’t do that.”
Zach finds himself holding his breath for the few torturous seconds before Chris finally sighs, “Yeah, I know.”
They lapse into silence for the moment, and it’s actually a relief for Zach not to have to hear his own voice through the speaker but still know that Chris is there on the other end of the phone, reminding Zach that he’s not actually insane. Or at least that he’s not the only one.
“Why us?” Chris finally says, voice surprisingly soft. “Why did this happen to us? I mean, it’s not like we’re… I haven’t seen you since May, and we haven’t even talked on the phone since… I don’t know when.”
“It wasn’t that long ago, was it?”
“You were just starting the previews for Angels, so… September-ish?”
“Shit,” Zach mutters. “I didn’t think it had been that long.”
“We’ve both been busy.”
“Yeah.”
“Still, though.”
“Yeah. I don’t even know what you’re doing these days.”
“I start on This Means War… oh, fuck, next week. We’ve got to figure this out before then.”
No shit, Zach almost says, but manages to hold back. If this had happened during the run of Inishmore, Chris would be just as upset as Zach is.
“So,” Chris says, his tone conversational again. “Have you bought plane tickets yet?”
“No, not yet. I couldn’t get on to your computer. What’s the password?”
“Oh, uh…” Chris mutters some indistinguishable consonants into the phone.
“Didn’t catch that.”
“Tiberius. It’s Tiberius, alright?”
Zach pauses to savor the moment. “You’re cute,” he says. “Like a puppy.”
“Shut up.”
“Like a dozen puppies. A dozen puppies frolicking in a meadow, their tiny noses beset by a light dusting of pollen. What’s this? They’re sneezing, oh god, too cute-”
“I hate you.”