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maroonladybug) wrote2009-07-16 11:42 pm
maroonladybug) wrote2009-07-16 11:42 pm
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Title: Insanity Loves Company
Authour:maroonladybug
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These gents belong to themselves and their agents, not the broke college student.
Summary: Misha needed a sensible accomplice in his quest for otherworldy knowledge. Pshhh. Right. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.
Warnings: I know damn near nothing about Misha Collins and Zachary Quinto other than they both seem oddly cool and atypically handsome. If you find the characterizations crappy then blame the person this is dedicated to. Oh and there is boy sex
Author's Notes: Fordorkpie(who is also a very thorough beta) because she’s a persuasive, evil little chit who needed cheering up.
Zach met Misha at some anniversary or another for CSI and immediately fell into a not-quite-so-platonic-like with him. They’d both been on the show as guest stars at some point and as such had been invited for this Unprecedented Milestone in the show’s history or some other bullshit that was merely an excuse for people to dress up in uncomfortable suits and drink champagne that left the taste of wasted money in the back of your throat .
Which was why Zach had quickly found his way onto the balcony.
He’d been staring into the relatively smoggy distance, an unlit cigarette twirling between his fingertips as he contemplated, Shakespearean style, whether or not he should reach into his pocket for the lighter he’d stolen out of Chris’ jeans during their last week of filming for Star Trek, when Misha had stepped out into the humid night air with a relieved sigh and firmly shut the rest of the party out with a snap of the door handle.
The harsh glow of white light from the glass paned French doors behind him hadn’t so much highlighted Misha’ s form in all the right ways as make him look like the angel he portrayed on Supernatural, his black suit throwing wing like shadows even as the look on his face spoke of nothing but serious times, death and damnation if his every word wasn’t heeded and obeyed.
But then he was smiling and running a large, thick fingered, hand through his hair in a sheepish way, like a kid caught peeking up the teachers skirt or maybe, if the once over Zach had just been given was any indication, for not obeying that hands to yourself rule that everyone broke at least once before the end of their childhoods.
“I hate shit like this.”
Zach shoved his glasses up his nose, nearly crushing his cigarette in the process, and thrust a tentative smile back at Misha along with his free hand, “ Me too. I’m Zachary Quinto.”
Misha’s handshake was strong and warm and friendly, as though he put as much feeling into clasping a stranger’s hand as he did into hugging a friend, “Misha Collins. You’re the new Spock, right?”
Zach’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then he frowned in a way that said something along the lines of you’ve-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me, as Misha’s left hand came up in the signature Vulcan aloha of both hello and goodbye, “Live long a prosper!”
And then he started to chuckle.
A grown man, with stubble and crows feet that grew more pronounced as he laughed and his eyes crinkled in at the edges, was chuckling as if he was privy to some supreme cosmic joke.
The relaxed openness of Misha’s face made something warm unfurl low in Zach’s belly, even as the irritation he’d felt tensing up his shoulders slowly bled into a shared hilarity.
Zach knew then, the way a child knows that the tooth fairy really does exist, that he was going to have to either befriend this Misha Collins or step away and go back to considering whether or not lung cancer was the way to go.
In his apartment. On the other side of town.
“How do you make that sound amusing when everyone else makes it sound repetitive and corny?” Zach leaned up against the railing of the balcony and stuck the cigarette behind his ear.
Misha shrugged before shoving his hands into his pockets, which caused the fabric of his dress pants to pull until it fit snuggly against his crotch; a crotch that Zach was trying desperately to ignore because he'd just met the man and, even though he really did like him, the wedding band glistening on his ring finger sort of deterred any failed attempt at flirting that Zach would have normally tried to make.
“I’m just cool like that.”
Zach felt his strangely glum mood – the same mood that had settled in a cloud of disappointment over his shoulders when everyone from the movie had been either too busy with other projects or catching up on sleep to come with him to this sham of a party – lift as a snort escaped his mouth, “How humble.”
But he was smiling at Misha and Misha was smiling back at him through the not quite dark and the cigarette and disappointment and party were forgotten as a friendship was forged under a pale sliver of smog obstructed moon.
~~~
dorkpie says the end is corny BUT WHATEVER BECAUSE CORN IS GOOD FOR YOU and makes you poop :D. ♥ I'm going to bed. Morning all and g'night.
Authour:
maroonladybugRating: PG
Disclaimer: These gents belong to themselves and their agents, not the broke college student.
Summary: Misha needed a sensible accomplice in his quest for otherworldy knowledge. Pshhh. Right. That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.
Warnings: I know damn near nothing about Misha Collins and Zachary Quinto other than they both seem oddly cool and atypically handsome. If you find the characterizations crappy then blame the person this is dedicated to. Oh and there is boy sex
Author's Notes: For
dorkpie(who is also a very thorough beta) because she’s a persuasive, evil little chit who needed cheering up.Zach met Misha at some anniversary or another for CSI and immediately fell into a not-quite-so-platonic-like with him. They’d both been on the show as guest stars at some point and as such had been invited for this Unprecedented Milestone in the show’s history or some other bullshit that was merely an excuse for people to dress up in uncomfortable suits and drink champagne that left the taste of wasted money in the back of your throat .
Which was why Zach had quickly found his way onto the balcony.
He’d been staring into the relatively smoggy distance, an unlit cigarette twirling between his fingertips as he contemplated, Shakespearean style, whether or not he should reach into his pocket for the lighter he’d stolen out of Chris’ jeans during their last week of filming for Star Trek, when Misha had stepped out into the humid night air with a relieved sigh and firmly shut the rest of the party out with a snap of the door handle.
The harsh glow of white light from the glass paned French doors behind him hadn’t so much highlighted Misha’ s form in all the right ways as make him look like the angel he portrayed on Supernatural, his black suit throwing wing like shadows even as the look on his face spoke of nothing but serious times, death and damnation if his every word wasn’t heeded and obeyed.
But then he was smiling and running a large, thick fingered, hand through his hair in a sheepish way, like a kid caught peeking up the teachers skirt or maybe, if the once over Zach had just been given was any indication, for not obeying that hands to yourself rule that everyone broke at least once before the end of their childhoods.
“I hate shit like this.”
Zach shoved his glasses up his nose, nearly crushing his cigarette in the process, and thrust a tentative smile back at Misha along with his free hand, “ Me too. I’m Zachary Quinto.”
Misha’s handshake was strong and warm and friendly, as though he put as much feeling into clasping a stranger’s hand as he did into hugging a friend, “Misha Collins. You’re the new Spock, right?”
Zach’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then he frowned in a way that said something along the lines of you’ve-got-to-be-fucking-kidding-me, as Misha’s left hand came up in the signature Vulcan aloha of both hello and goodbye, “Live long a prosper!”
And then he started to chuckle.
A grown man, with stubble and crows feet that grew more pronounced as he laughed and his eyes crinkled in at the edges, was chuckling as if he was privy to some supreme cosmic joke.
The relaxed openness of Misha’s face made something warm unfurl low in Zach’s belly, even as the irritation he’d felt tensing up his shoulders slowly bled into a shared hilarity.
Zach knew then, the way a child knows that the tooth fairy really does exist, that he was going to have to either befriend this Misha Collins or step away and go back to considering whether or not lung cancer was the way to go.
In his apartment. On the other side of town.
“How do you make that sound amusing when everyone else makes it sound repetitive and corny?” Zach leaned up against the railing of the balcony and stuck the cigarette behind his ear.
Misha shrugged before shoving his hands into his pockets, which caused the fabric of his dress pants to pull until it fit snuggly against his crotch; a crotch that Zach was trying desperately to ignore because he'd just met the man and, even though he really did like him, the wedding band glistening on his ring finger sort of deterred any failed attempt at flirting that Zach would have normally tried to make.
“I’m just cool like that.”
Zach felt his strangely glum mood – the same mood that had settled in a cloud of disappointment over his shoulders when everyone from the movie had been either too busy with other projects or catching up on sleep to come with him to this sham of a party – lift as a snort escaped his mouth, “How humble.”
But he was smiling at Misha and Misha was smiling back at him through the not quite dark and the cigarette and disappointment and party were forgotten as a friendship was forged under a pale sliver of smog obstructed moon.
~~~
dorkpie says the end is corny BUT WHATEVER BECAUSE CORN IS GOOD FOR YOU
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