Maybe You Don't Understand the Rules (TBBT fic)
Title: Maybe You Don't Understand the Rules
Rating: R
Word Count: 1746
Disclaimer: BBT is not mine, etc.
Summary: Evil!Wil/Sheldon. In their eternal struggle, Sheldon calls for a flag on the play.
AN: So...I guess this is a thing now. Sequel to Maybe You Should Just Accept the Loss
...Maybe You Don't Understand the Rules...
Wil Wheaton is sitting in Sheldon’s spot when he comes in.
Wil Wheaton should not be sitting in Sheldon’s spot.
In fact, strictly speaking, Wil Wheaton should not be in Sheldon’s apartment.
“What are you doing in my apartment?” Sheldon asks, the pitch of his voice reaching uncomfortable heights. “You cannot be in my apartment!” he says, practically trembling with outrage.
Wil is frowning. “You’re late,” he says.
“You’re in my apartment,” Sheldon hisses. His hands are twisting the strap of his messenger bag. “How did you get in my apartment?”
“Stuart told me you left his comic book store an hour ago, why are you so late?” Wil asks, casually crossing his ankle over his knee.
“Penny forced me to accompany her to the convenience store,” Sheldon answers automatically. “How did you get in my apartment?”
“Penny’s apartment was unlocked. I took her spare key,” Wil smirks, and he lifts his hand, the key dangling in it.
“You-you-” Sheldon stutters, apoplectic now. Wil’s unsure if it’s because he broke into Penny’s apartment or if he has the spare key, but he’s rather betting on the latter. “I have to change the locks,” Sheldon mutters. “You can’t be here.”
“And yet, I am,” Wil says.
“You’re in my spot,” Sheldon says, sounding almost a bit lightheaded at these circumstances.
Wil glances down at where he’s sitting on the couch. “Am I?” he asks, all suave innocence. Sheldon’s scowl grows more pronounced.
“You can’t be in my spot,” he says.
“And yet,” Wil grins, head tilted to the side, one hand waving in the air as if to say see?
“What are you doing here?” Sheldon asks. Because really.
Wil shrugs casually. “Maybe I missed you.”
“I highly doubt that,” Sheldon scoffs. “I should call the police.”
“You won’t,” Wil says, with the sort of easy confidence that gets Sheldon’s back up oh-so-quickly.
“I will.”
“You won’t.”
“I could,” Sheldon bites off. Wil grins slowly, and Sheldon clutches his bag closer.
“Maybe,” Wil compromises. “Maybe you could.”
“You should leave,” Sheldon says. “I want no part of whatever trap you are attempting to set, and-”
“I’m kind of hurt that you automatically assume the worst,” Wil says, elaborate sigh and all.
Sheldon narrows his eyes. “You broke into my apartment,” he says. “You broke into my apartment.”
“Technically, I broke into Penny’s apartment. For your apartment, I just used the key,” Wil says. He stands, sort of drawing it out, legs taking forever to finish straightening. Sheldon watches silently as Wil rolls his neck from side-to-side.
“Technically,” Sheldon says, his voice a tad more strangled, “You’re trespassing.”
“Mmm,” Wil says, eyes fixed on Sheldon’s. “That’s kind of bad of me, isn’t it?”
“It won’t work,” Sheldon half-chokes out. “Whatever you’re trying, it won’t work.”
“So suspicious,” Wil says. “Maybe I’m not trying anything.”
“You’re always trying something,” Sheldon spits. And there’s something…guilt? well-hidden amusement? that sweeps Wil’s face, and then it’s gone.
Wil finally moves closer to Sheldon. Very close. His hand grabs onto the messenger bag strap a hairsbreadth below Sheldon’s and tugs him in.
“Do you want me to leave?” Wil asks, standing completely still, eyes raised a little to meet Sheldon’s squarely.
Sheldon, who is trying vainly to look away.
“You can’t be here,” Sheldon stutters.
“Leonard’s gone for the week,” Wil says. (Sheldon is no longer surprised that Wil knows these things.) “That’s why Penny’s giving you rides to the comic book store, that’s why we’re here alone right now.”
“You’re up to something,” Sheldon says (asks hopes fears).
“Do you want me to leave?” Wil repeats, his fingers just gracing the edges of Sheldon’s hips.
Sheldon jerks back. “I have to go,” he says, fumbling for the doorknob behind him, fingers unaccountably unable to perform the simple task he’s managed since he was a child (his fingers small and he could barely reach that high but Mommy how does it work I want to know-I want to know)-
Wil’s hands are on Sheldon’s hips, his forehead leaning against his back. “Don’t,” he says.
One word. One word, and Sheldon stills. One word, and Sheldon stills, and turns, and Wil’s mouth is on his, kissing him hard, pushing him back against the door, fingers slipping below the edges of Sheldon’s shirt, kissing him and-
“What is this?” Sheldon asks, breaking off, shoving him away-“I don’t understand, why are you-”
“Understanding is overrated,” Wil says, and Sheldon twists away, keeping his bag in front of him, between them.
“You can’t simply state things as if they are facts and expect me to accept them as such,” Sheldon says. “You can’t-you can’t just-”
“I want to kiss you,” Wil says. “I think you want to kiss me, too.”
Sheldon fumbles with the bag. “I should call Leonard,” he says. “I don’t-my phone-maybe Penny, I should ask-”
“You should kiss me,” Wil says, with his usual level of certainty that throws Sheldon off.
“We’re-we’re enemies, you lied about your Meemaw, you-you missed that convention, you-”
“You read comic books,” Wil says, eyebrow raised. “Superheroes are always hooking up with the hot supervillains.”
“That’s not at all accurate,” Sheldon frowns. And then, awkwardly, “You didn’t even-we didn’t ’hook up’, you-you didn’t even-”
“Afterwards,” Wil admits wryly. “I did afterwards.”
“I don’t-I don’t need this, I don’t require such-”
“Come here,” Wil says, voice firm, and Sheldon takes a skittish step forward. Wil grabs the strap and pulls the bag off, setting it on the floor.
“I know you’re lying to me,” Sheldon says. “I know that I can’t trust you.”
Wil slides a thumb along Sheldon’s jawline. “Then why are you here?” he asks, voice low.
Sheldon swallows thickly. “I don’t know.”
Wil kisses him, but when he slows the slightest, drawing it out, when he slides a palm gently down Sheldon’s side, and murmurs softly in Sheldon's ear and let's his long fingers slip along Sheldon's bare waist, Sheldon stiffens underneath him.
“Don’t,” he says, and he sounds unexpectedly irritated. His long fingers are twisted in Wil’s shirt, his voice air and anger.
And then he’s kissing Wil.
Sheldon Cooper is kissing Wil Wheaton. Mouth hard on Wil’s, fingers snug on his hips. Nothing more than that, but Wil gets the idea.
He walks Sheldon backwards, shoving him down on the couch, and maybe he’s a little angry, maybe he drags Sheldon’s shirts off with a bit more force than necessary, maybe he bites a little harder and kisses a little rougher and maybe he’s getting off on the way Sheldon’s eyelashes are so dark against his pale skin, on how he looks when he’s half-naked and sprawled on the couch.
“You, too,” is all Sheldon says, nimble fingers working loose the button on Wil’s jeans, sliding down the zipper and then tugging the jeans down his hips as he focuses on the details of Wil’s shirt.
Wil lets him.
Sheldon’s kissing him, fingers on him, but there’s something almost analytical about it. His hands are sure, a rhythm he’s no doubt perfected (speed, duration, tightness of grasp), but Wil…
Wil is gasping, his hands reaching for Sheldon, and Sheldon stops him.
Doesn’t let him touch him.
Kisses him, and brings him off, shuddering, on top of a half-naked Sheldon with amazing fingers and sharp eyes that won’t focus too long on Wil’s face, but doesn’t let him touch him.
“Shel-Sheldon-” Wil half-groans out, trying again for Sheldon’s ridiculous plaid pants, but Sheldon turns his wrist just so and scrapes a nail down Wil’s thigh and Wil buries his face in Sheldon’s neck, trembling on top of Sheldon as he steadies him, panting as he tries to regain eyesight and thought and breath.
Wil kisses his neck, tilting his head to slide his tongue along the edges of Sheldon’s ear. His hand reaches between their bodies, fingers hooking underneath the top of Sheldon’s pants. Except Sheldon’s hand knocks his away, and Sheldon is suddenly sliding his body up into a sitting position, leaving Wil half-sprawled on the couch.
Wil sits up, slowly and with much irritation.
“Sheldon,” he says, voice low, because he know what effect he has on Sheldon, he’s seen what affect he can have on Sheldon, he’s watched Sheldon fall into veritable pieces underneath his hands.
“No,” Sheldon says.
Wil blinks, and then tries on a slow smirk, and Sheldon folds him arms firmly across his bare chest. “I’m going to-”
“No,” Sheldon says. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Wil Wheaton,” he says. “But I’m not fool enough to fall for your tricks twice.”
“Maybe you-”
“No,” Sheldon says. Wil stares at him and then shifts awkwardly. “You can use my bathroom to clean up,” Sheldon says, before looking wryly at himself and then walking towards the sink in the kitchen.
Awkwardly, oh so very awkwardly, Wil goes back to the bathroom.
When he comes out several minutes later, a million silver words on his tongue, Sheldon is washing his hands, his back still bare, soap lathered halfway up his forearms.
“Don’t forget your keys,” he says, pointing with his elbow to where they’ve fallen underneath the coffee table. “I wouldn’t want you to have to return for anything.”
Sheldon’s voice is even, devoid of snideness or sarcasm, but Wil stills.
“Sheldon,” he says, but Sheldon is still facing the sink, meticulously washing his hands.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Sheldon says, a cool dismissal. “Goodbye, Wil Wheaton.”
Wil watches him for a moment and then grabs the keys from underneath the table. Sheldon doesn’t turn around. Wil flips the keys in his hands, the metal jangling, and he can see the tension in Sheldon’s shoulders but the water keeps running.
Wil stuffs the keys back in his pocket, the sharp edges poking into his side.
He pauses at the last second and grabs something from his pocket, tossing it back onto the table before walking out of the room. The door shuts tight behind him.
Sheldon dries his hands carefully, thoroughly, and then finally turns and walks back into the living room. On the coffee table is Penny’s spare key to the apartment.
Sheldon studies it for a long moment, and then picks it up, the metal cool in his hand.
“I should still change the locks,” he says, voice soft.
(He doesn’t mean it.)
...Finis...
AN: There'll be a couple more of these, I think.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1746
Disclaimer: BBT is not mine, etc.
Summary: Evil!Wil/Sheldon. In their eternal struggle, Sheldon calls for a flag on the play.
AN: So...I guess this is a thing now. Sequel to Maybe You Should Just Accept the Loss
...Maybe You Don't Understand the Rules...
Wil Wheaton is sitting in Sheldon’s spot when he comes in.
Wil Wheaton should not be sitting in Sheldon’s spot.
In fact, strictly speaking, Wil Wheaton should not be in Sheldon’s apartment.
“What are you doing in my apartment?” Sheldon asks, the pitch of his voice reaching uncomfortable heights. “You cannot be in my apartment!” he says, practically trembling with outrage.
Wil is frowning. “You’re late,” he says.
“You’re in my apartment,” Sheldon hisses. His hands are twisting the strap of his messenger bag. “How did you get in my apartment?”
“Stuart told me you left his comic book store an hour ago, why are you so late?” Wil asks, casually crossing his ankle over his knee.
“Penny forced me to accompany her to the convenience store,” Sheldon answers automatically. “How did you get in my apartment?”
“Penny’s apartment was unlocked. I took her spare key,” Wil smirks, and he lifts his hand, the key dangling in it.
“You-you-” Sheldon stutters, apoplectic now. Wil’s unsure if it’s because he broke into Penny’s apartment or if he has the spare key, but he’s rather betting on the latter. “I have to change the locks,” Sheldon mutters. “You can’t be here.”
“And yet, I am,” Wil says.
“You’re in my spot,” Sheldon says, sounding almost a bit lightheaded at these circumstances.
Wil glances down at where he’s sitting on the couch. “Am I?” he asks, all suave innocence. Sheldon’s scowl grows more pronounced.
“You can’t be in my spot,” he says.
“And yet,” Wil grins, head tilted to the side, one hand waving in the air as if to say see?
“What are you doing here?” Sheldon asks. Because really.
Wil shrugs casually. “Maybe I missed you.”
“I highly doubt that,” Sheldon scoffs. “I should call the police.”
“You won’t,” Wil says, with the sort of easy confidence that gets Sheldon’s back up oh-so-quickly.
“I will.”
“You won’t.”
“I could,” Sheldon bites off. Wil grins slowly, and Sheldon clutches his bag closer.
“Maybe,” Wil compromises. “Maybe you could.”
“You should leave,” Sheldon says. “I want no part of whatever trap you are attempting to set, and-”
“I’m kind of hurt that you automatically assume the worst,” Wil says, elaborate sigh and all.
Sheldon narrows his eyes. “You broke into my apartment,” he says. “You broke into my apartment.”
“Technically, I broke into Penny’s apartment. For your apartment, I just used the key,” Wil says. He stands, sort of drawing it out, legs taking forever to finish straightening. Sheldon watches silently as Wil rolls his neck from side-to-side.
“Technically,” Sheldon says, his voice a tad more strangled, “You’re trespassing.”
“Mmm,” Wil says, eyes fixed on Sheldon’s. “That’s kind of bad of me, isn’t it?”
“It won’t work,” Sheldon half-chokes out. “Whatever you’re trying, it won’t work.”
“So suspicious,” Wil says. “Maybe I’m not trying anything.”
“You’re always trying something,” Sheldon spits. And there’s something…guilt? well-hidden amusement? that sweeps Wil’s face, and then it’s gone.
Wil finally moves closer to Sheldon. Very close. His hand grabs onto the messenger bag strap a hairsbreadth below Sheldon’s and tugs him in.
“Do you want me to leave?” Wil asks, standing completely still, eyes raised a little to meet Sheldon’s squarely.
Sheldon, who is trying vainly to look away.
“You can’t be here,” Sheldon stutters.
“Leonard’s gone for the week,” Wil says. (Sheldon is no longer surprised that Wil knows these things.) “That’s why Penny’s giving you rides to the comic book store, that’s why we’re here alone right now.”
“You’re up to something,” Sheldon says (asks hopes fears).
“Do you want me to leave?” Wil repeats, his fingers just gracing the edges of Sheldon’s hips.
Sheldon jerks back. “I have to go,” he says, fumbling for the doorknob behind him, fingers unaccountably unable to perform the simple task he’s managed since he was a child (his fingers small and he could barely reach that high but Mommy how does it work I want to know-I want to know)-
Wil’s hands are on Sheldon’s hips, his forehead leaning against his back. “Don’t,” he says.
One word. One word, and Sheldon stills. One word, and Sheldon stills, and turns, and Wil’s mouth is on his, kissing him hard, pushing him back against the door, fingers slipping below the edges of Sheldon’s shirt, kissing him and-
“What is this?” Sheldon asks, breaking off, shoving him away-“I don’t understand, why are you-”
“Understanding is overrated,” Wil says, and Sheldon twists away, keeping his bag in front of him, between them.
“You can’t simply state things as if they are facts and expect me to accept them as such,” Sheldon says. “You can’t-you can’t just-”
“I want to kiss you,” Wil says. “I think you want to kiss me, too.”
Sheldon fumbles with the bag. “I should call Leonard,” he says. “I don’t-my phone-maybe Penny, I should ask-”
“You should kiss me,” Wil says, with his usual level of certainty that throws Sheldon off.
“We’re-we’re enemies, you lied about your Meemaw, you-you missed that convention, you-”
“You read comic books,” Wil says, eyebrow raised. “Superheroes are always hooking up with the hot supervillains.”
“That’s not at all accurate,” Sheldon frowns. And then, awkwardly, “You didn’t even-we didn’t ’hook up’, you-you didn’t even-”
“Afterwards,” Wil admits wryly. “I did afterwards.”
“I don’t-I don’t need this, I don’t require such-”
“Come here,” Wil says, voice firm, and Sheldon takes a skittish step forward. Wil grabs the strap and pulls the bag off, setting it on the floor.
“I know you’re lying to me,” Sheldon says. “I know that I can’t trust you.”
Wil slides a thumb along Sheldon’s jawline. “Then why are you here?” he asks, voice low.
Sheldon swallows thickly. “I don’t know.”
Wil kisses him, but when he slows the slightest, drawing it out, when he slides a palm gently down Sheldon’s side, and murmurs softly in Sheldon's ear and let's his long fingers slip along Sheldon's bare waist, Sheldon stiffens underneath him.
“Don’t,” he says, and he sounds unexpectedly irritated. His long fingers are twisted in Wil’s shirt, his voice air and anger.
And then he’s kissing Wil.
Sheldon Cooper is kissing Wil Wheaton. Mouth hard on Wil’s, fingers snug on his hips. Nothing more than that, but Wil gets the idea.
He walks Sheldon backwards, shoving him down on the couch, and maybe he’s a little angry, maybe he drags Sheldon’s shirts off with a bit more force than necessary, maybe he bites a little harder and kisses a little rougher and maybe he’s getting off on the way Sheldon’s eyelashes are so dark against his pale skin, on how he looks when he’s half-naked and sprawled on the couch.
“You, too,” is all Sheldon says, nimble fingers working loose the button on Wil’s jeans, sliding down the zipper and then tugging the jeans down his hips as he focuses on the details of Wil’s shirt.
Wil lets him.
Sheldon’s kissing him, fingers on him, but there’s something almost analytical about it. His hands are sure, a rhythm he’s no doubt perfected (speed, duration, tightness of grasp), but Wil…
Wil is gasping, his hands reaching for Sheldon, and Sheldon stops him.
Doesn’t let him touch him.
Kisses him, and brings him off, shuddering, on top of a half-naked Sheldon with amazing fingers and sharp eyes that won’t focus too long on Wil’s face, but doesn’t let him touch him.
“Shel-Sheldon-” Wil half-groans out, trying again for Sheldon’s ridiculous plaid pants, but Sheldon turns his wrist just so and scrapes a nail down Wil’s thigh and Wil buries his face in Sheldon’s neck, trembling on top of Sheldon as he steadies him, panting as he tries to regain eyesight and thought and breath.
Wil kisses his neck, tilting his head to slide his tongue along the edges of Sheldon’s ear. His hand reaches between their bodies, fingers hooking underneath the top of Sheldon’s pants. Except Sheldon’s hand knocks his away, and Sheldon is suddenly sliding his body up into a sitting position, leaving Wil half-sprawled on the couch.
Wil sits up, slowly and with much irritation.
“Sheldon,” he says, voice low, because he know what effect he has on Sheldon, he’s seen what affect he can have on Sheldon, he’s watched Sheldon fall into veritable pieces underneath his hands.
“No,” Sheldon says.
Wil blinks, and then tries on a slow smirk, and Sheldon folds him arms firmly across his bare chest. “I’m going to-”
“No,” Sheldon says. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Wil Wheaton,” he says. “But I’m not fool enough to fall for your tricks twice.”
“Maybe you-”
“No,” Sheldon says. Wil stares at him and then shifts awkwardly. “You can use my bathroom to clean up,” Sheldon says, before looking wryly at himself and then walking towards the sink in the kitchen.
Awkwardly, oh so very awkwardly, Wil goes back to the bathroom.
When he comes out several minutes later, a million silver words on his tongue, Sheldon is washing his hands, his back still bare, soap lathered halfway up his forearms.
“Don’t forget your keys,” he says, pointing with his elbow to where they’ve fallen underneath the coffee table. “I wouldn’t want you to have to return for anything.”
Sheldon’s voice is even, devoid of snideness or sarcasm, but Wil stills.
“Sheldon,” he says, but Sheldon is still facing the sink, meticulously washing his hands.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Sheldon says, a cool dismissal. “Goodbye, Wil Wheaton.”
Wil watches him for a moment and then grabs the keys from underneath the table. Sheldon doesn’t turn around. Wil flips the keys in his hands, the metal jangling, and he can see the tension in Sheldon’s shoulders but the water keeps running.
Wil stuffs the keys back in his pocket, the sharp edges poking into his side.
He pauses at the last second and grabs something from his pocket, tossing it back onto the table before walking out of the room. The door shuts tight behind him.
Sheldon dries his hands carefully, thoroughly, and then finally turns and walks back into the living room. On the coffee table is Penny’s spare key to the apartment.
Sheldon studies it for a long moment, and then picks it up, the metal cool in his hand.
“I should still change the locks,” he says, voice soft.
(He doesn’t mean it.)
...Finis...
AN: There'll be a couple more of these, I think.