obstinatrix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obstinatrix) wrote2009-09-12 01:04 am
obstinatrix) wrote2009-09-12 01:04 am
Fic: Mr Spock In Space Sock Shock! (PG-13)
Title: Mr Spock In Space Sock Shock!
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating: PG-13 (for language, really)
Notes: This is a prequel to Mr Spock's Space Menagerie, and the other stories written by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
igrab and screamlet in that 'verse. It was written for a very bizarre kinkmeme half-prompt, but mostly was just midnight crack.
Summary: Leonard. Knitting. That's effectively all.
Halfway through the second season of Star Trek, Bill decides to give up smoking. This being the case, it naturally follows that, by a little over halfway through said season, he's accumulated a number of emergency nicotine stashes, stowed in various top secret locations in his dressing room, to be used only in the event of irritation levels reaching critical.
As it turns out, Bill's irritation levels are altogether more volatile than he expected, albeit absolutely in accord with what everybody else, apparently, anticipated when he announced that he was quitting. One especially hormonal morning, he's rifling through Emergency Stash Location #4 (behind his make-up table, between the fake back and the skirting board) when his hand encounters something soft.
"What the - ?"
Bemused, he swallows down a momentary fear that what he is touching might be alive - really, those tribbles were the stuff of nightmares - and pulls out - a ball of dark gold yarn.
Bill blinks at it for a moment. Yarn. Behind his make-up table. Further hasty investigation yields the additional information that the yarn is accompanied by three knitting needles, plus what appears to be the beginnings of a mouse's winter headgear.
He would pursue the matter, but frankly, he has about four minutes left before the yelling begins, and he's still feeling pretty irritable. So he rescues his cigarette packet from its hiding place, shoves the yarn and knitting needles back into the cavity, and scarpers to find somebody with a lighter to lend.
The next time he sees the ball of yarn, it's on the floor by Len's feet. To be more precise, the greater part of it is on the floor, but there's a long strand trailing from it, up over Leonard's leg, and into his lap, where he is - knitting.
Bill stands in the doorway of his dressing room, and stares. The scene before his eyes is, his mind screams, pretty damn illogical. Leonard, brows drawn together in concentration, tongue protruding slightly at one corner of his mouth, as he directs his attention - and two and a half knitting needles - towards what Bill thinks of as the mouse hat. Spock ears still attached. Starfleet uniform still in place. Goddamn gold yarn at his feet; goddamn knitting in his lap.
Mr Spock. Is in Bill's dressing room.
Knitting.
He thinks he needs to sit down.
"I think I need to sit down," announces Bill.
It's fairly obvious from the way Leonard jumps that he hadn't the faintest idea that Bill had come in. His eyes dart from side to side, shiftily. Bill detects a definite air of edgy criminality there. He always did think Leonard had the makings of a potential shade of some seedy LA underworld. In the 1940's. With trilby hats...
Bill sighs. Much as the image of Leonard in a trilby hat is one he would happily seize upon, given any excuse, the fact remains that it doesn't really bear any relation to the current situation. Trilbilicious criminal Leonard, most definitely, would not knit.
"I'm," says Leonard, informatively. Then he stops, and sticks the end of one knitting needle into the arm of the chair. Bill recognises the sense of futile fury in the gesture. It's one he's repeated many times himself, lately, normally at the expense of the cardboard scenery.
"Right," says Bill. "You're knitting mouse headgear. Leonard, why are you knitting mouse headgear? And then hiding the evidence in my - I mean, behind my make-up table?"
(Bill decides it is prudent to keep quiet about the cigarette stashes, just in case Leonard hasn't actually stuck his hand in far enough to detect Bill's emergency supply. He's 80% sure Leonard knows all about it, because Leonard is a devious bastard and always knows about everything. But still, the gambler in him says 20% is better odds than none.)
Leonard's jaw sags a little. "Bill - what?" He shakes his head. "I'm knitting what now?"
Bill doesn't know whether to smile knowingly or flail in utter bemusement. He settles for a compromise, which propels him across the room and into the nearest chair in a slightly undignified heap. He says, "Well, what the hell is that, then?" He indicates the yellow hatlike thing in Leonard's lap.
To Bill's astonishment, Leonard colours. He mumbles something, too low to catch. Bill cups a hand around his ear and strains.
"Whassat? You're in shock? It's for your cock?"
Leonard flushes all the way to scarlet in half a second, and raps out "I SAID IT'S A SOCK." Hurriedly, as if to steamroller Bill and his sense of decency into forgetting whatever mental images Bill's suggestions have just conjured regarding possible uses for his in-progress knitwear.
Bill raises an eyebrow. He does smile, now, slowly, but it's there. "A sock?" A pause. "Leonard, why are you knitting socks in my dressing room?"
"A sock," Leonard corrects. "I don't know if it'll ever find a companion, now." He sighs heavily. It is a sigh laden with angst. Bill almost sympathises. "They were for you. It - was meant to be for you."
Bill doesn't know what to say to that. His stomach seems to have gone all funny, like there are lots of little Spocks inexplicably knitting inside it, all of a sudden. He laughs, because the Spocks are kind of ticklish. Then he says, more for the excuse of saying it aloud than anything else, "Sooooo - you thought you'd come and sit in my dressing room and knit me socks in command gold? Just for the hell of it?"
Leonard frowns. "Well, yeah." He shrugs. "Shoot me. It gets boring between takes, especially when you're not here." The blush shows no signs of diminishing. He adds, a little shamefacedly, "I dunno, I thought you might like the gesture."
Bill laughs out loud at that. Leonard's wearing this little schoolboy half-scowl that's so utterly adorable that Bill just wants to go over there and eat his head or something right now, like he's a marshmallow oozing all kinds of sweet embarrassment.
Because he is Bill, it only takes him about half a minute to decide that, yes, this is a good idea; and he gets up out of his chair, strides over to Leonard, and bites his neck gleefully.
"Ow!" Leonard slaps a hand over the spot. "The fuck was that for, asshole?" He moves to put the yarn away. "Come on, get out of my face. I can take a hint. I'll get out of your way."
"Nuh-uh." Bill's hand shoots out, quick as lightning, to catch Leonard's, stilling it. He catches Leonard's eyes. "You're not going anywhere, bucko." He smirks. "You're gonna finish my damn socks. Or you're gonna start, anyway. Start - finishing. You know."
Leonard looks at him. Bill looks at Leonard. Leonard's hand is wavering over the yarn and needles in his lap. Bill smiles a little more, and strokes Leonard's hand. Suddenly everything in Leonard's face shuts down, all the spikes falling flat like he's something pointy that was blown up full of air and is now deflating. Bill likes it; it's weird to watch, and lovely. It makes him smile all the more.
After a few seconds of this (and they feel like more), Leonard jerks his hand out of Bill's. His cheekbones are still pink. It makes Bill want to draw little hearts on them in eyeliner, just for the joy of it. Leonard says grumpily, "Fine. But you'll have to sit back down." A pause. "And I don't guarantee that they'll fit. Or even that you'll ever actually have two."
This is fine by Bill. Scrutinising the thing in Leonard's hand, he reassures himself that even if a brother to this does not materialise, he'll be able to use it to keep his cock warm in winter or something. Whatever. He'll find a use for it. He nods to Leonard, straightens, and sits back down again.
"Carry on, then," he says airily, waving his hand.
God, he wants a smoke. Leonard smells of it, and it's reminded Bill what he came in here for. He's quit. Really he has. Len would never let him hear the end of it if he caught Bill lighting up, even though Leonard smokes enough to give a chimney asthma. Len's a hypocrite like that.
For another minute or two, Bill watches as Leonard, in full Spock regalia, slowly gets back into the swing of his knitting. Then he says, in a flash of inspiration born of nicotine withdrawal, "Hey, Len. Deal for ya. You don't tell anyone I'm about to light up, and I won't tell anyone it turns you on to have Spock knit socks for the captain in my dressing room. Deal?"
He expects protestations, remonstrations. He expects Leonard to give him the eyebrow, say something wittily cutting. At the very least, he expects the silence that says I Am Judging You.
So when Leonard says, "Sure," without even looking up from his knitting, Bill's a bit taken aback. And then Leonard looks up at him under his eyelashes, and smirks, and - yeah.
Bill suddenly really needs a smoke. So it's a pretty good job they've got a deal on this one.
Pairing: Shatnoy
Rating: PG-13 (for language, really)
Notes: This is a prequel to Mr Spock's Space Menagerie, and the other stories written by
igrab and screamlet in that 'verse. It was written for a very bizarre kinkmeme half-prompt, but mostly was just midnight crack.Summary: Leonard. Knitting. That's effectively all.
Halfway through the second season of Star Trek, Bill decides to give up smoking. This being the case, it naturally follows that, by a little over halfway through said season, he's accumulated a number of emergency nicotine stashes, stowed in various top secret locations in his dressing room, to be used only in the event of irritation levels reaching critical.
As it turns out, Bill's irritation levels are altogether more volatile than he expected, albeit absolutely in accord with what everybody else, apparently, anticipated when he announced that he was quitting. One especially hormonal morning, he's rifling through Emergency Stash Location #4 (behind his make-up table, between the fake back and the skirting board) when his hand encounters something soft.
"What the - ?"
Bemused, he swallows down a momentary fear that what he is touching might be alive - really, those tribbles were the stuff of nightmares - and pulls out - a ball of dark gold yarn.
Bill blinks at it for a moment. Yarn. Behind his make-up table. Further hasty investigation yields the additional information that the yarn is accompanied by three knitting needles, plus what appears to be the beginnings of a mouse's winter headgear.
He would pursue the matter, but frankly, he has about four minutes left before the yelling begins, and he's still feeling pretty irritable. So he rescues his cigarette packet from its hiding place, shoves the yarn and knitting needles back into the cavity, and scarpers to find somebody with a lighter to lend.
The next time he sees the ball of yarn, it's on the floor by Len's feet. To be more precise, the greater part of it is on the floor, but there's a long strand trailing from it, up over Leonard's leg, and into his lap, where he is - knitting.
Bill stands in the doorway of his dressing room, and stares. The scene before his eyes is, his mind screams, pretty damn illogical. Leonard, brows drawn together in concentration, tongue protruding slightly at one corner of his mouth, as he directs his attention - and two and a half knitting needles - towards what Bill thinks of as the mouse hat. Spock ears still attached. Starfleet uniform still in place. Goddamn gold yarn at his feet; goddamn knitting in his lap.
Mr Spock. Is in Bill's dressing room.
Knitting.
He thinks he needs to sit down.
"I think I need to sit down," announces Bill.
It's fairly obvious from the way Leonard jumps that he hadn't the faintest idea that Bill had come in. His eyes dart from side to side, shiftily. Bill detects a definite air of edgy criminality there. He always did think Leonard had the makings of a potential shade of some seedy LA underworld. In the 1940's. With trilby hats...
Bill sighs. Much as the image of Leonard in a trilby hat is one he would happily seize upon, given any excuse, the fact remains that it doesn't really bear any relation to the current situation. Trilbilicious criminal Leonard, most definitely, would not knit.
"I'm," says Leonard, informatively. Then he stops, and sticks the end of one knitting needle into the arm of the chair. Bill recognises the sense of futile fury in the gesture. It's one he's repeated many times himself, lately, normally at the expense of the cardboard scenery.
"Right," says Bill. "You're knitting mouse headgear. Leonard, why are you knitting mouse headgear? And then hiding the evidence in my - I mean, behind my make-up table?"
(Bill decides it is prudent to keep quiet about the cigarette stashes, just in case Leonard hasn't actually stuck his hand in far enough to detect Bill's emergency supply. He's 80% sure Leonard knows all about it, because Leonard is a devious bastard and always knows about everything. But still, the gambler in him says 20% is better odds than none.)
Leonard's jaw sags a little. "Bill - what?" He shakes his head. "I'm knitting what now?"
Bill doesn't know whether to smile knowingly or flail in utter bemusement. He settles for a compromise, which propels him across the room and into the nearest chair in a slightly undignified heap. He says, "Well, what the hell is that, then?" He indicates the yellow hatlike thing in Leonard's lap.
To Bill's astonishment, Leonard colours. He mumbles something, too low to catch. Bill cups a hand around his ear and strains.
"Whassat? You're in shock? It's for your cock?"
Leonard flushes all the way to scarlet in half a second, and raps out "I SAID IT'S A SOCK." Hurriedly, as if to steamroller Bill and his sense of decency into forgetting whatever mental images Bill's suggestions have just conjured regarding possible uses for his in-progress knitwear.
Bill raises an eyebrow. He does smile, now, slowly, but it's there. "A sock?" A pause. "Leonard, why are you knitting socks in my dressing room?"
"A sock," Leonard corrects. "I don't know if it'll ever find a companion, now." He sighs heavily. It is a sigh laden with angst. Bill almost sympathises. "They were for you. It - was meant to be for you."
Bill doesn't know what to say to that. His stomach seems to have gone all funny, like there are lots of little Spocks inexplicably knitting inside it, all of a sudden. He laughs, because the Spocks are kind of ticklish. Then he says, more for the excuse of saying it aloud than anything else, "Sooooo - you thought you'd come and sit in my dressing room and knit me socks in command gold? Just for the hell of it?"
Leonard frowns. "Well, yeah." He shrugs. "Shoot me. It gets boring between takes, especially when you're not here." The blush shows no signs of diminishing. He adds, a little shamefacedly, "I dunno, I thought you might like the gesture."
Bill laughs out loud at that. Leonard's wearing this little schoolboy half-scowl that's so utterly adorable that Bill just wants to go over there and eat his head or something right now, like he's a marshmallow oozing all kinds of sweet embarrassment.
Because he is Bill, it only takes him about half a minute to decide that, yes, this is a good idea; and he gets up out of his chair, strides over to Leonard, and bites his neck gleefully.
"Ow!" Leonard slaps a hand over the spot. "The fuck was that for, asshole?" He moves to put the yarn away. "Come on, get out of my face. I can take a hint. I'll get out of your way."
"Nuh-uh." Bill's hand shoots out, quick as lightning, to catch Leonard's, stilling it. He catches Leonard's eyes. "You're not going anywhere, bucko." He smirks. "You're gonna finish my damn socks. Or you're gonna start, anyway. Start - finishing. You know."
Leonard looks at him. Bill looks at Leonard. Leonard's hand is wavering over the yarn and needles in his lap. Bill smiles a little more, and strokes Leonard's hand. Suddenly everything in Leonard's face shuts down, all the spikes falling flat like he's something pointy that was blown up full of air and is now deflating. Bill likes it; it's weird to watch, and lovely. It makes him smile all the more.
After a few seconds of this (and they feel like more), Leonard jerks his hand out of Bill's. His cheekbones are still pink. It makes Bill want to draw little hearts on them in eyeliner, just for the joy of it. Leonard says grumpily, "Fine. But you'll have to sit back down." A pause. "And I don't guarantee that they'll fit. Or even that you'll ever actually have two."
This is fine by Bill. Scrutinising the thing in Leonard's hand, he reassures himself that even if a brother to this does not materialise, he'll be able to use it to keep his cock warm in winter or something. Whatever. He'll find a use for it. He nods to Leonard, straightens, and sits back down again.
"Carry on, then," he says airily, waving his hand.
God, he wants a smoke. Leonard smells of it, and it's reminded Bill what he came in here for. He's quit. Really he has. Len would never let him hear the end of it if he caught Bill lighting up, even though Leonard smokes enough to give a chimney asthma. Len's a hypocrite like that.
For another minute or two, Bill watches as Leonard, in full Spock regalia, slowly gets back into the swing of his knitting. Then he says, in a flash of inspiration born of nicotine withdrawal, "Hey, Len. Deal for ya. You don't tell anyone I'm about to light up, and I won't tell anyone it turns you on to have Spock knit socks for the captain in my dressing room. Deal?"
He expects protestations, remonstrations. He expects Leonard to give him the eyebrow, say something wittily cutting. At the very least, he expects the silence that says I Am Judging You.
So when Leonard says, "Sure," without even looking up from his knitting, Bill's a bit taken aback. And then Leonard looks up at him under his eyelashes, and smirks, and - yeah.
Bill suddenly really needs a smoke. So it's a pretty good job they've got a deal on this one.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
QUOTING EVERYTHING
"Hey, Len. Deal for ya. You don't tell anyone I'm about to light up, and I won't tell anyone it turns you on to have Spock knit socks for the captain in my dressing room. Deal?".... So when Leonard says, "Sure," without even looking up from his knitting, Bill's a bit taken aback. And then Leonard looks up at him under his eyelashes, and smirks, and - yeah.
SO UTTERLY PERFECT OMFG. LEONARD. LASHES. AND BILL. OMG.
This is fine by Bill. Scrutinising the thing in Leonard's hand, he reassures himself that even if a brother to this does not materialise, he'll be able to use it to keep his cock warm in winter or something. Whatever. He'll find a use for it.
I hope hope hope there is ONE DRAWER full of individuals 'socks' for Bill's cock. ♥
His stomach seems to have gone all funny, like there are lots of little Spocks inexplicably knitting inside it, all of a sudden. He laughs, because the Spocks are kind of ticklish.
HOW CAN SENTENCES THAT ADORABLE EXIST IN THIS UNIVERSE. HOW, I ASK YOU.
Ohhhh my gosh this is too fucking amazingly adorable and YOU WIN ALL THE TIME, BABY, ALL. THE. TIME.
no subject
I love your mad spazzing feedback, bb, ALL THE TIME. Also, now there totally needs to be a drawer full of individual cocksocks.
Possibly in the offing, prompted by
no subject
no subject
"His stomach seems to have gone all funny, like there are lots of little Spocks inexplicably knitting inside it, all of a sudden. He laughs, because the Spocks are kind of ticklish."
Jesus Christ. Genius.
no subject
And hee, I'm glad you liked the little Spocks. My crazy, let me show you it.
no subject
fanficspublished personal canon.I usually don't get pictures in my head, I usually get phrases or words, but WOW that mental image of a dozen tiny, knitting (ticklish!) Spocks is still with me.. I might have to put it on paper to make it go away.. (but it's so full of cute that I might not).
no subject
no subject
I love this!!
no subject
*icon twins*
no subject
the icon was made by anoncomment7
no subject
no subject
no subject
I am still hearing this in
ADORABLE KNITTING SPOCKS OF WIN. *flails in a pile of squee*
no subject
SPOCKS SHOULD KNIT ALWAYS. I want a fanart of this.
no subject
His stomach seems to have gone all funny, like there are lots of little Spocks inexplicably knitting inside it, all of a sudden. He laughs, because the Spocks are kind of ticklish.
Eeeeeeeeeh! ♥ ♥ ♥
no subject
Thank you, hon. Next up: Gay Pride Shatnoy. It needs to happen. &hearts
no subject
By the way, I'm still yearning after that stranded-on-planet-as-enemies survival fic, ever since I mentioned it to you. Damnit.
no subject
no subject
SHINY SHINY PIECES OF FANDOM HISTORY, COME AND BE MIIIINE!
no subject
no subject
I REALLY NEED TO POKE MY MULTIFUNCTION PRINTER INTO WORKING AGAIN, SO I CAN JOIN THE DAMN LIBRARY AND COPY LIKE MAAAAAAD.
no subject
I so want that one of Kirk in the Kirok-pants (I think) and no shirt, sitting down. UNF.
no subject
no subject
When the cops find me dead from choking on my Calistoga with lime, I hope you're happy. You vicious murderer you. ♥
no subject
no subject
I just love that this is goofy but also sweet - the whole bit about mouse headgear about killed me.
So good!
no subject