Fic: Reputation (PG), for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
majestic_shriek
Jan. 16th, 2010 06:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
obstinatrixTitle: Reputation
Rating: PG for language
Pairing: This is a fic about DeForest Kelley. Other people wander in and out of it, but there is no pairing.
Word Count: 488
Summary: De's got a reputation. It's not quite accurate. For example, they left off the part where he's an enormous tease.
Notes: This is for my lovelymajestic_shriek, partly because I adore her unreservedly and thus am providing her with a rhapsody in De, but also because she has donated to UNICEF in return for this. If you want me to write a wee thing for you in response to a donation, please visit my thread at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_haiti, here.
No-one ever thought they'd have much of a problem with De.
Bill, yes, always; Bill with his tongue too quick with jokes, his bedroom eyes working overtime, was pretty much expected to be trouble right from the get-go. It was always gonna be Bill who slipped off with the guest-star, or caused half the cast to spend an afternoon mysteriously pissed off. But he was good, and he was very good-looking, and the bottom line of it was that he never got too much Shatner in the way of work. He'd been brought up too professional for that. So nobody said much, just let it all slide over their heads, because Bill was Bill after all, and he was good at heart. Even if he was something of a liability.
DeForest simply wasn't the same thing at all. Gravel-gold Southern talkin' family man, with eyes like midsummer sea, and everybody loved him, from the main cast to the cleaning lady. De was a gentleman in every fibre of his fabric, and nobody expected him to cause any difficulty. Hell, no; working with him shoulda been a dance.
No-one ever bet on dealing with his Habit.
In later years, it somehow got blamed on Bill, probably as a result of a lot of verbal sparring at Conventions, with an added twist of really, they couldn't mean De. Because, indeed, who would have expected DeForest to be the man who wouldn't let you leave the room till you'd hugged him? Who would have expected him to be the one faux-propositioning his co-stars? De was a tease, through and through, and Bill thought it deeply unfair that he should have to take the blame for it every time.
"I never fucked up an entire scene," Bill says, snapping chocolate into squares. "Who was it made them postpone the damn scene 'cause your grabby hands terrified Len too much to go on working?"
"He wasn't afraid, he was laughing," De scoffed, left eyebrow shooting up in protest. "Chrissake. I only got him on the nose."
"Point," Bill said. "How come I always got it on the mouth?"
"You were prettier," De told him, taking a square of chocolate. "And we're gonna need more'n that, Billy. I know how you get."
Bill beamed a little, and then tried to pretend he wasn't. Still, he very obligingly snapped up some more rows of chocolate. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." De picked up the remainder, slotting it neatly back onto its shelf in the fridge. "Course, these days, he's way prettier'n you are."
It is fucking annoying, Bill thinks, as he grumpily dumps the chocolate into a bowl, that nobody would ever believe this crap if he told them. De's got everybody too completely wound around his little finger. That's what the ring's for: to keep the whole goddamn world securely on.
Rating: PG for language
Pairing: This is a fic about DeForest Kelley. Other people wander in and out of it, but there is no pairing.
Word Count: 488
Summary: De's got a reputation. It's not quite accurate. For example, they left off the part where he's an enormous tease.
Notes: This is for my lovely
majestic_shriek, partly because I adore her unreservedly and thus am providing her with a rhapsody in De, but also because she has donated to UNICEF in return for this. If you want me to write a wee thing for you in response to a donation, please visit my thread at help_haiti, here.No-one ever thought they'd have much of a problem with De.
Bill, yes, always; Bill with his tongue too quick with jokes, his bedroom eyes working overtime, was pretty much expected to be trouble right from the get-go. It was always gonna be Bill who slipped off with the guest-star, or caused half the cast to spend an afternoon mysteriously pissed off. But he was good, and he was very good-looking, and the bottom line of it was that he never got too much Shatner in the way of work. He'd been brought up too professional for that. So nobody said much, just let it all slide over their heads, because Bill was Bill after all, and he was good at heart. Even if he was something of a liability.
DeForest simply wasn't the same thing at all. Gravel-gold Southern talkin' family man, with eyes like midsummer sea, and everybody loved him, from the main cast to the cleaning lady. De was a gentleman in every fibre of his fabric, and nobody expected him to cause any difficulty. Hell, no; working with him shoulda been a dance.
No-one ever bet on dealing with his Habit.
In later years, it somehow got blamed on Bill, probably as a result of a lot of verbal sparring at Conventions, with an added twist of really, they couldn't mean De. Because, indeed, who would have expected DeForest to be the man who wouldn't let you leave the room till you'd hugged him? Who would have expected him to be the one faux-propositioning his co-stars? De was a tease, through and through, and Bill thought it deeply unfair that he should have to take the blame for it every time.
"I never fucked up an entire scene," Bill says, snapping chocolate into squares. "Who was it made them postpone the damn scene 'cause your grabby hands terrified Len too much to go on working?"
"He wasn't afraid, he was laughing," De scoffed, left eyebrow shooting up in protest. "Chrissake. I only got him on the nose."
"Point," Bill said. "How come I always got it on the mouth?"
"You were prettier," De told him, taking a square of chocolate. "And we're gonna need more'n that, Billy. I know how you get."
Bill beamed a little, and then tried to pretend he wasn't. Still, he very obligingly snapped up some more rows of chocolate. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah." De picked up the remainder, slotting it neatly back onto its shelf in the fridge. "Course, these days, he's way prettier'n you are."
It is fucking annoying, Bill thinks, as he grumpily dumps the chocolate into a bowl, that nobody would ever believe this crap if he told them. De's got everybody too completely wound around his little finger. That's what the ring's for: to keep the whole goddamn world securely on.
