Bill's Journal

adorably narcissistic machismo

[OOC: squee!]
down laughing
Apologies to those of you who have already seen this - uh, several times - but my book came out today and I am kind of happy about it. :)

And, uh, yeah, note the subtly-altered names, there. *cough*

[we're this side of the rainbow for a REASON] - [Day 14] - [Bill and Len's rooms, NVC]
[main body concurrent-ish with this post; threads come just after.]

New Vulcan, always hot, was now burning. The ground was too hot beneath his feet; the humid air clung to his skin and, on contact, was transmuted into sweat. Leonard at the doorway he barely registered, except as a bearer of pheremones, a blurred symphony of limbs and soft hair and a hot mouth that would welcome his invasion.

He had to get inside. Given what he had experienced already on his laboured walk home from Tina's hotel, he did not trust himself to more than one kiss. Another second, and he would be on his knees in the hall.

Leonard was confused, Bill could tell, as he pressed on past him; but Leonard would get over it. For now, the cool air was wonderful, and he drank it in like a drowning man gasping as he surfaced. His cheeks were hot and damp. His clothes stuck sweatily to his skin in uncomfortable patches, and he tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, wrenching it up and off over his head as he crossed the room. Shorts followed, to be kicked hastily across the floor along with his shoes, toed-off still fastened; the bedroom door-handle slipped against the moisture of his palm.

Goddammit, he didn't have time for this.

He knew without a doubt, as he fell back onto the bed, arching his back against the cool sheets just for the sensation, that something was wrong. He was immoderately flushed, blood coursing hotter than the heat of the day could warrant. His head felt strangely fuzzy, as if he were thinking through cotton. And the things he was thinking - (faint scrape of his fingernails up over the outside of his thighs; Tina's knowing half-smile, virgin-Madonna-whore, and her mouth, her mouth, her mouth - )

"Fuck," he ground out, shame and frustration almost tangible, and yet, not enough. It was inexplicable, degrading, these pornographic flashes of her under him, over him; pretty little mouth spitslick around him ("No," he protested, fingers closing firm around himself). Something else, he insisted, as he worked himself roughly, almost punishment. Leonard's voice, his hands; Liz in that dress; Jim's tongue hot in his mouth. He bit his lip, arching into his hand; almost there almost there almost there. Girl-Spock, straddling a partner in conquest. Pasha - and fuck, no; he tried to steer away from that (as his breath came more quickly, rasping out of his throat as his hand sped up) - because Pasha was far too close to Tina, Tina's beautiful face flushed and glowing; Tina pushing him down to drink deep of her bounty on his knees.

"Fuck," he hissed, angry and confused, and gloriously, copiously finished. For now.

Apparently it wasn't entirely satisfied, and his skin still felt like it was tingling.

He reached indiscriminately for the nearest portable object - which so happened to be a bottle of lube on the nighttable - and threw it hard at the wall. Then he fell back, panting, and pressed both hands to his eyes.

Nobody was coming in here. Nobody. He was obviously very sick, and the next person he'd let in would be a goddamn doctor.


I'm so confused.

Is it me, or do these look like they want to eat you?

hands up
I understand that some of you aren't friends with the other Dr McCoy, sharpestscalpel. Can't think why. Very nice man.

Anyway, this is just a heads-up to those sad unfriended people that the doctor is doing that Secrets Monday thing. And so should you, say I.

If only I could think of any actual secrets I'd be there in a shot. This is the downside of saying everything you're thinking as it occurs to you; there's never much stored up to vent on these things.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow - [Bill, Tina] - [Tina's Rooms] - [NVC, Day 14]
me youngish
Bill was a man of his word. This applied particularly when it came to such vitally important things as food, being nice to pregnant ladies, and bringing food to pregnant ladies for purposes of being nice. As such, as promised, he was on his way back to Tina's rooms within a couple of days, proffering a bagful of Vulcan pudding in a variety of flavours, so she could see whether she had a favourite.

Pregnant ladies liked to have options.

It was hot out, as it had been every day since they arrived on-planet, but he was growing used to this, and had quickly learned never to venture outside without sunscreen and appropriate summer clothing. These concessions made, then, he was quite content as he strolled past the shops and street vendors on his way to Tina's rooms. He watched the salesmen as he walked, swinging the shopping bag slightly in one hand, wondering where they had all come from. An Andorian, there, selling what looked like abacuses, although he was surely mistaken. A little further along, a Vulcan selling what looked like roasted chestnuts, despite the heat. Beyond him, a blue-haired humanoid, whose origins Bill could not begin to guess at, was selling bottles of some brightly-coloured liquid from a stand.

...hmm. Pregnant ladies did like to have options.

The humanoid, Bill discovered, was not especially well-versed in Standard. However, he seemed to indicate that the drinks - which came in an assortment of thrilling rainbow colours - were not - at least, in human terms - alcoholic. Besides which, they certainly looked like soft drinks, and - well - if they did turn out to have alcohol content, he was sure this would be evident after a couple of sips. And he doubted that Tina's baby would be born with three heads from an accidental couple of sips of some kind of alien alcopop.

Rainbow. colours.

His mind was made up. He bought a bottle of every colour the vendor had available, and tucked them into his bag. The vendor seemed duly gratified. Bill shrugged, and went on his way, arriving at Tina's door with the bag now bulging in a way that suggested imminent collapse.

Hopefully, she would be home. He didn't give much for his chances of getting all his purchases home again without incident. He sounded the buzzer.

[ooc: as of this post, folks, ~*sex pollen*~ - or rather, *~sex pop*~ is a-go-go, if you want to play with it. Remember it's transmitted Naked Time-wise, by contact, so your character doesn't need to drink any of this stuff to get infected, s/he just needs to touch someone who has (or has touched someone who has, etc...) Or you could pick up some bottles from ye handy vendor yourself.

Oh - and, yes, it is supposed to start same day as the trial.]

[ooc - *FLAIL*]

*staggers away, clutching tinhat*

down laughing
Everybody else is writing little stories. Jim wrote me one about sand-Vulcans, for example. I want a little of this action.

As they said in my day, fine ladies and gentlemen of the Enterprise: hit me. Tell me what you want (what you really really want) and I will make it so. I haven't exercised my authorial muscles in a while. Not being an authoritarian, however, I do not insist that you ask for a story about yourself, or me and you, or whatever, although that's the usual - if you want someone else in there, tell me. And a random word or idea or whatever. Prompts may be brief or rambling, I care not.

I just want to be able to have something to call 'Lines Written on New Vulcan'.

[ooc - if you would rather I wrote a thing for you, that is also fine. :D Just please specify, or you will get Bill's ridonkulousness.]

[for the man who has everything] - [Bill, Len] - [Quarters]
down laughing
Bill had never been good at gift-giving. It was one thing, giving something impersonal to somebody you didn't know especially well: a bunch of flowers here, a bottle of wine. Tickets to the theatre. But giving things to his people, his special people...that was different.

The easiest thing was to wait for the ideas to fall into one's lap.

Leonard was out. Bill wasn't sure what business he had, being out, when Bill had something to give him for this most confusing of birthdays, but he could guess where he had gone. His absence gave Bill time to prepare things: to find a stunningly suitable sweater from the bank Kirk had programmed into the replicators for them; to wave De off to Botany and attempt to ignore the half-knowing twist to his mouth as he departed. When Leonard returned with, as Bill expected, his precious Proper Coffee, Bill was ready.

"There you are."

He was smiling, warm and soft and suggestive of something as yet undeclared, as he reached out, took the cups from Leonard's unsuspecting hands and set them down.

"I've got something for you," he explained, fingers curling around Leonard's wrists, gently guiding him backwards. "And - " he cut off Leonard's protest - "I can't give it to you if you've got your hands full of coffee."

The wall was flush against Leonard's back in a matter of seconds; the deck firm under Bill's knees not a moment later. Bill looked up to catch Leonard's eyes, dark-washed-heat over confusion. He smiled, slowly. And set his hands to the buckle of Leonard's belt.

Private Comm
looking down and away
FAO: Operations Department
Re: This relocation roster

To whoever is dealing with reassignment and relocations:

I notice that myself, len_not_spock and de_forest, currently occupying a passenger suite, are down to be relocated. I would like to very strongly request that we not be. DeForest has been having considerable difficulties settling in as it is; Dr Helen Noel (first_noel) will confirm for you, if needed, that moving him at this stage could be detrimental to his mental health. We most emphatically do not want this now that it is turning for the better.

I await your speedy response, and hope that you will give this matter your due consideration. We don't wish to be an imposition, but frankly we don't see how we could be more of one in our current quarters than on the other side of the ship. If you could make an exception to your rule about duration of time to be spent in passenger quarters, we'd be grateful.

Bill Shatner

[Yes, we have no bananas] - [Bill, Len] - [Quarters]
in the chair
It had been, if nothing else, an eventful week.

Bill would have been lying if he had said that it didn't amuse him a little, watching Leonard run headlong to and from the comm-system and other people's quarters, apologising profusely and blushing slightly throughout. In the first instance, it was unusual not to be the one whose foot had landed squarely in mouth. For another, Len had been kind of adorable in his crack-banana haze, and was equally so in this fit of contrition.

So, Bill was amused.

If he had known that Len had planned to visit the non-native Nyota Uhura, he would undoubtedly have asked to tag along. He was yet to meet her, and - well. As it was, he had returned to quarters to find a little note from Leonard explaining his absence. Bill shook his head, smiling, and sank down onto the bed. He wondered if there were grammars and things on this thing.

Moments later, he had pulled up A Basic Introduction to the Vulcan Tongue. Had Leonard been here, he would undoubtedly have made some crack about Leonard having already had one of those; as it was, inappropriate smirking was far less fun on one's own. He settled down to read.


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