Fic: "A Fucking Caress," RDJ/Jude Law, rating: SO NOT WORKSAFE AT ALL.
I like how this icon is appropriate for H/W and RDJ/Jude ALL AT ONCE.
NOTE: You know what? I have never been backstage of a theater. I have no fucking clue what they have back there. For my purposes, my completely-made-up theater has a laundry room, just because I WROTE IT, AND I WANTED ONE, SO THERE! And anyway, it's kohl_eyed's fault. All of this is completely her fault. Blame her. I CAN'T BELIEVE I WROTE THIS, OH MY GOD. SIMONE, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?
Anyway. This is the fic where Robert has a fantasy about Jude in drag (because in my head, RDJ loves Rage). And then they have sex. On a washing machine. NOT MY FAULT.
Oh, and if you haven't seen Jude Law's part in Rage, you are missing out. ...I may have listened to it over and over while writing this. For inspiration. Yep.
A Fucking Caress
The only way Robert would ever want to fuck Jude is if Jude were in drag. And it would have to be on top of a washing machine, because as long as he's going to the trouble of creating a fantasy, it might as well be specific--and somewhat acrobatic, if the washing machine were running. Which it would be, because Robert can have anything as long as it all stays in his head.
Except it doesn't all stay in his head, because Jude is extremely real when Robert finds his dressing room after the play, his eyes glowing like wild stars, his shirt damp under the arms when he wraps himself around Robert. Inside Jude, the standing ovation roars on; he rides the memory, clutching at the top of the wave, clutching at Robert.
In between kissing, Robert pieces together a sentence: "I was going to bring you flowers, but I didn't know what you like."
"I like sex," Jude says, and his hips roll like whitewater. "Can I have that?"
"Wow. You really are different after you've been on stage."
"I'm serious." Jude pulls back just far enough to frown at him. "I want it."
Might as well ask now. "In that case--would you do something for me?"
"What do you need, Robert? What'll get you off?
Robert licks his lips. "You, in a--" Say it! he commands himself-- "A dress. I want you in a dress."
"Oh," says Jude. "Quick answer. Think about that a lot, do you?"
"A bit."
Jude laughs. "A bit. Right. I bet you dream about it. I bet you wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it, and you are so fucking hard that you have to get off before you can even imagine going back to sleep."
Robert unzips Jude's pants and puts his hand inside to make Jude shut up.
Jude doesn't shut up. "If only I'd known this sooner... ohhh, oh fuck, okay, what dress? Do you have a particular dress in mind? I've had some experience with dresses, you know. Oh, I bet you know."
"Something that's red. And shows your shoulders."
Jude grins. "I know just the thing. Follow me." He does up his pants and they leave his room.
Jude knows the layout of the theater, every dusty hallway and side route and dead end, but Robert is thoroughly lost by the time they duck into a pitch-black room. He hears Jude slide the lock; then a click as a light switch flips. Now Robert sees the racks of an unimaginable variety of costumes, but his eyes lock on a line of glittering gowns.
Jude's looking that direction, too. "You want to pick one out, or should I?"
Robert shrugs. "I think you know what looks good."
"Yeah. I do." Jude's grin widens, and he ambles over to the dresses. He doesn't take long to flip through them before he pulls out a slinky off-the-shoulder number with this corset-like bodice and holds it up. "How about this?"
"Fine," says Robert, and it's a complete lie, because it is not just fine; it is fucking perfect.
Jude kicks off his shoes, drops his pants, and peels off his shirt, then steps into the dress. "You'll have to help me do the hooks," he says. The muscles in his arms go taut as he pulls the dress up over his hips; it's a tricky fit until he has it settled. Then Robert fastens the hooks running up Jude's chest, his fingertips brushing dark hair beneath the fabric.
When Robert's finished, he stands back. Jude holds still, letting Robert look, taking shallow breaths within the confines of the dress. The skirt falls to just below his knees, a swirl of glittering red chiffon.
Then, from a stand on one of the shelves, Jude takes down a long black wig and puts it on, tucking his hair underneath. He curls his bare toes on the concrete. "Now, can we get to the sex, or is there anything more you want to add to this picture?"
Well, if they've gotten this far already... "A washing machine?" Robert suggests.
Jude widens his eyes. "Oh, you're fun! Why didn't you tell me you were so much fun? We could have been fucking on a washing machine long ago. Come on, then." He gathers up his clothes, hauls up handfuls of the skirt (baring his legs further, to Robert's glee), and dashes out of the costume room. Robert jogs after him.
Several more hallways later, Jude grabs his hand and yanks him into another room. Glaring fluorescent tubes illuminate a row of washers and dryers. Jude flings out his arm. "Behold, the laundry room. Pick a washing machine, any washing machine. But make it a good choice, because I am going to fuck you til you can't speak."
Robert points at the closest washer. "Did you hide condoms in that dress?" He's stalling a little bit. He's being smart, yeah, but he's definitely stalling. Their relationship is going in all kinds of new directions.
"As a matter of fact--" Jude reaches into the pocket of the pants he's carrying. "Ta-da! I had a feeling something like this might happen, so..."
So Jude's a smart guy, just as smart as Robert himself. They've been pushing the line for weeks, and now they're going to break the line into tiny little pieces, but they're going to do it sensibly. Robert will get very sensibly fucked on a washing machine. This is good.
"All right, get your clothes off," Jude tells him. "I'm not running the washer on an empty load."
When Robert has stripped, Jude checks all the pockets and makes a pile of keys, change, and lint. He shoves their clothes into the machine, adds soap, and turns it on. It rumbles, and Robert sinks his teeth into his lower lip. Now is not the time for making noise. That will come later, and so will he. Ha, he's funny. Haha, oh god, he's going to get fucked. "What if someone comes in here?" He's thinking they're screwed if they're found in here all...completely naked. With no clothes in sight but for that dress.
"Trust me, we'll be alone." Jude smiles, ostensibly reassuringly but looking rather predatory instead. "Now--up!"
Robert clambers up on top of the washer. His bare skin slips on the cold metal, and Jude reaches out to steady him.
"Careful, now," Jude says, and there is real concern in his voice. "I want you to have fun, not break a bone."
"I'm fine," Robert says. He dangles his legs off the washer. "So, how exactly does--"
Jude bends low over Robert's lap and sinks his mouth down over Robert's cock. His dark wig is long enough to brush Robert's thighs.
"Ah," says Robert. "Like--oh."
"I forgot something," Jude says, raising his head. From the little pile of objects he removed from his pockets, he pulls out a tube of red lipstick and begins to stroke it onto his lips.
Robert says, "Your hands are shaking."
Jude pauses. "I can't help it. I'm kind of really fucking turned on. I don't know if you noticed."
"You're going to mess it up, though. Give it here."
Jude raises an eyebrow, but hands Robert the lipstick. "Have a go if you want."
Robert takes several very deep breaths so his hands won't shake, and then he puts one hand on the side of Jude's face to steady them both. Jude parts his lips and looks straight at Robert while Robert carefully, cautiously turns Jude's mouth crimson.
"Good?" asks Jude.
"Good." Robert caps the lipstick and sets it aside.
Jude drops his mouth down again. Robert has to look; Jude's mouth is as red as a target. Robert hooks his feet around the backs of Jude's thighs, under the dress, and he runs his fingers over Jude's bare shoulders and back. Beneath him, the washer shakes; the metal has finally warmed up. He's going to be close in a moment, and then he's there right now but Jude slides off him before he can come, and Jude's lipstick is smeared and he's hilarious and beautiful at once.
Robert wants to kiss that red-smudged mouth, so he does. He wraps one hand around the back of Jude's head, the long hair sleek beneath his fingers, and he pets at Jude's collarbone with his free hand. Jude hasn't shaved in awhile, and his stubble scrapes at Robert's skin. Kissing stubble and lipstick at once, yeah, that's a new one, just like perching on a washing machine while someone's cock nudges against your leg through chiffon.
He pulls a little too hard at Jude's hair and the wig comes loose and falls into Robert's hand, but Jude just laughs and tosses it aside and doesn't give Robert a moment to feel distressed.
Then: "Would you do something for me, now?" Jude asks.
"Yeah," says Robert. "I think you deserve anything right now."
"Would you climb down from there, and would you bend over the washer while I fuck you?"
Robert thinks that sounds like a brilliant idea, and he slips off and turns his back to Jude. Jude comes up close behind him and pushes on his shoulders so he bends forward, his cheek pressed against the metal that's still warm from his skin. His cock is pleased with this turn of events that lets him rub up against the shuddering washer.
"One more thing?" Jude whispers, like after all this, he's still got a secret or two left.
Robert closes his eyes and pushes back against Jude's hips. He wants Jude to lift that dress and get to it. "Yes," he says. "Whatever you want. Anything. Come on, Jude."
"I want--" Jude stops; takes as deep a breath as his bodice will allow. "I don't want you to call me Jude. I'm not Jude right now. I'm Minx. Are you able to believe that?"
Jude hasn't dropped into Minx's accent; he's still using his own. But Robert believes it--perhaps he already knew it--and he says so. "Minx, love, I've been waiting for you. Come on, do it."
Minx curls forward and around him until she can reach his mouth, and he feels her gratitude in the brief kiss. A few moments after she leans back, her slick fingers reach into him.
He makes noise. She strokes his spine until he relaxes, and then she presses her free hand hard on his lower back, holding him down, holding him together. "Remember to breathe," she says.
The dress tickles the backs of his legs when she pulls it up, and then he can feel her, hard and slippery against him. He closes his eyes. He concentrates on the vibration against his stomach and cock.
She pushes in, careful and slow to give him plenty of time. It's been awhile. It's been a long while. He remembers to breathe.
"Good," she tells him. "You're doing so well, honey."
"Plea--" he tries, but the word trips on a gasp when she gives a small, quick thrust.
"What do you need?" she asks, low and soft in his ear.
Something sparks hot in his belly and he shoves back against her until she's all the way in. "Go," he says. Short words are better. "Do it now."
She doesn't speak again. She braces her hands on either side of his head--he can see scattered hairs on her knuckles--he can see nothing; his eyelids have crushed themselves shut; his mouth opens and sounds rip themselves out of him until he comes.
He gathers his mind back to himself while she pulls away and runs water in a sink to clean them both up. There was a sink? He hadn't paid attention. He'd seen nothing but red.
The washer has stopped; he's not certain when that happened. And Minx is standing there, her skirt thoroughly rumpled, and he cannot help smiling at the entire situation. "So here I am, completely naked, with nothing but wet clothes to wear," he says. "Any suggestions?"
She grins at him. "We might as well do it on the dryer while we wait."
NOTE: You know what? I have never been backstage of a theater. I have no fucking clue what they have back there. For my purposes, my completely-made-up theater has a laundry room, just because I WROTE IT, AND I WANTED ONE, SO THERE! And anyway, it's kohl_eyed's fault. All of this is completely her fault. Blame her. I CAN'T BELIEVE I WROTE THIS, OH MY GOD. SIMONE, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?
Anyway. This is the fic where Robert has a fantasy about Jude in drag (because in my head, RDJ loves Rage). And then they have sex. On a washing machine. NOT MY FAULT.
Oh, and if you haven't seen Jude Law's part in Rage, you are missing out. ...I may have listened to it over and over while writing this. For inspiration. Yep.
A Fucking Caress
The only way Robert would ever want to fuck Jude is if Jude were in drag. And it would have to be on top of a washing machine, because as long as he's going to the trouble of creating a fantasy, it might as well be specific--and somewhat acrobatic, if the washing machine were running. Which it would be, because Robert can have anything as long as it all stays in his head.
Except it doesn't all stay in his head, because Jude is extremely real when Robert finds his dressing room after the play, his eyes glowing like wild stars, his shirt damp under the arms when he wraps himself around Robert. Inside Jude, the standing ovation roars on; he rides the memory, clutching at the top of the wave, clutching at Robert.
In between kissing, Robert pieces together a sentence: "I was going to bring you flowers, but I didn't know what you like."
"I like sex," Jude says, and his hips roll like whitewater. "Can I have that?"
"Wow. You really are different after you've been on stage."
"I'm serious." Jude pulls back just far enough to frown at him. "I want it."
Might as well ask now. "In that case--would you do something for me?"
"What do you need, Robert? What'll get you off?
Robert licks his lips. "You, in a--" Say it! he commands himself-- "A dress. I want you in a dress."
"Oh," says Jude. "Quick answer. Think about that a lot, do you?"
"A bit."
Jude laughs. "A bit. Right. I bet you dream about it. I bet you wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it, and you are so fucking hard that you have to get off before you can even imagine going back to sleep."
Robert unzips Jude's pants and puts his hand inside to make Jude shut up.
Jude doesn't shut up. "If only I'd known this sooner... ohhh, oh fuck, okay, what dress? Do you have a particular dress in mind? I've had some experience with dresses, you know. Oh, I bet you know."
"Something that's red. And shows your shoulders."
Jude grins. "I know just the thing. Follow me." He does up his pants and they leave his room.
Jude knows the layout of the theater, every dusty hallway and side route and dead end, but Robert is thoroughly lost by the time they duck into a pitch-black room. He hears Jude slide the lock; then a click as a light switch flips. Now Robert sees the racks of an unimaginable variety of costumes, but his eyes lock on a line of glittering gowns.
Jude's looking that direction, too. "You want to pick one out, or should I?"
Robert shrugs. "I think you know what looks good."
"Yeah. I do." Jude's grin widens, and he ambles over to the dresses. He doesn't take long to flip through them before he pulls out a slinky off-the-shoulder number with this corset-like bodice and holds it up. "How about this?"
"Fine," says Robert, and it's a complete lie, because it is not just fine; it is fucking perfect.
Jude kicks off his shoes, drops his pants, and peels off his shirt, then steps into the dress. "You'll have to help me do the hooks," he says. The muscles in his arms go taut as he pulls the dress up over his hips; it's a tricky fit until he has it settled. Then Robert fastens the hooks running up Jude's chest, his fingertips brushing dark hair beneath the fabric.
When Robert's finished, he stands back. Jude holds still, letting Robert look, taking shallow breaths within the confines of the dress. The skirt falls to just below his knees, a swirl of glittering red chiffon.
Then, from a stand on one of the shelves, Jude takes down a long black wig and puts it on, tucking his hair underneath. He curls his bare toes on the concrete. "Now, can we get to the sex, or is there anything more you want to add to this picture?"
Well, if they've gotten this far already... "A washing machine?" Robert suggests.
Jude widens his eyes. "Oh, you're fun! Why didn't you tell me you were so much fun? We could have been fucking on a washing machine long ago. Come on, then." He gathers up his clothes, hauls up handfuls of the skirt (baring his legs further, to Robert's glee), and dashes out of the costume room. Robert jogs after him.
Several more hallways later, Jude grabs his hand and yanks him into another room. Glaring fluorescent tubes illuminate a row of washers and dryers. Jude flings out his arm. "Behold, the laundry room. Pick a washing machine, any washing machine. But make it a good choice, because I am going to fuck you til you can't speak."
Robert points at the closest washer. "Did you hide condoms in that dress?" He's stalling a little bit. He's being smart, yeah, but he's definitely stalling. Their relationship is going in all kinds of new directions.
"As a matter of fact--" Jude reaches into the pocket of the pants he's carrying. "Ta-da! I had a feeling something like this might happen, so..."
So Jude's a smart guy, just as smart as Robert himself. They've been pushing the line for weeks, and now they're going to break the line into tiny little pieces, but they're going to do it sensibly. Robert will get very sensibly fucked on a washing machine. This is good.
"All right, get your clothes off," Jude tells him. "I'm not running the washer on an empty load."
When Robert has stripped, Jude checks all the pockets and makes a pile of keys, change, and lint. He shoves their clothes into the machine, adds soap, and turns it on. It rumbles, and Robert sinks his teeth into his lower lip. Now is not the time for making noise. That will come later, and so will he. Ha, he's funny. Haha, oh god, he's going to get fucked. "What if someone comes in here?" He's thinking they're screwed if they're found in here all...completely naked. With no clothes in sight but for that dress.
"Trust me, we'll be alone." Jude smiles, ostensibly reassuringly but looking rather predatory instead. "Now--up!"
Robert clambers up on top of the washer. His bare skin slips on the cold metal, and Jude reaches out to steady him.
"Careful, now," Jude says, and there is real concern in his voice. "I want you to have fun, not break a bone."
"I'm fine," Robert says. He dangles his legs off the washer. "So, how exactly does--"
Jude bends low over Robert's lap and sinks his mouth down over Robert's cock. His dark wig is long enough to brush Robert's thighs.
"Ah," says Robert. "Like--oh."
"I forgot something," Jude says, raising his head. From the little pile of objects he removed from his pockets, he pulls out a tube of red lipstick and begins to stroke it onto his lips.
Robert says, "Your hands are shaking."
Jude pauses. "I can't help it. I'm kind of really fucking turned on. I don't know if you noticed."
"You're going to mess it up, though. Give it here."
Jude raises an eyebrow, but hands Robert the lipstick. "Have a go if you want."
Robert takes several very deep breaths so his hands won't shake, and then he puts one hand on the side of Jude's face to steady them both. Jude parts his lips and looks straight at Robert while Robert carefully, cautiously turns Jude's mouth crimson.
"Good?" asks Jude.
"Good." Robert caps the lipstick and sets it aside.
Jude drops his mouth down again. Robert has to look; Jude's mouth is as red as a target. Robert hooks his feet around the backs of Jude's thighs, under the dress, and he runs his fingers over Jude's bare shoulders and back. Beneath him, the washer shakes; the metal has finally warmed up. He's going to be close in a moment, and then he's there right now but Jude slides off him before he can come, and Jude's lipstick is smeared and he's hilarious and beautiful at once.
Robert wants to kiss that red-smudged mouth, so he does. He wraps one hand around the back of Jude's head, the long hair sleek beneath his fingers, and he pets at Jude's collarbone with his free hand. Jude hasn't shaved in awhile, and his stubble scrapes at Robert's skin. Kissing stubble and lipstick at once, yeah, that's a new one, just like perching on a washing machine while someone's cock nudges against your leg through chiffon.
He pulls a little too hard at Jude's hair and the wig comes loose and falls into Robert's hand, but Jude just laughs and tosses it aside and doesn't give Robert a moment to feel distressed.
Then: "Would you do something for me, now?" Jude asks.
"Yeah," says Robert. "I think you deserve anything right now."
"Would you climb down from there, and would you bend over the washer while I fuck you?"
Robert thinks that sounds like a brilliant idea, and he slips off and turns his back to Jude. Jude comes up close behind him and pushes on his shoulders so he bends forward, his cheek pressed against the metal that's still warm from his skin. His cock is pleased with this turn of events that lets him rub up against the shuddering washer.
"One more thing?" Jude whispers, like after all this, he's still got a secret or two left.
Robert closes his eyes and pushes back against Jude's hips. He wants Jude to lift that dress and get to it. "Yes," he says. "Whatever you want. Anything. Come on, Jude."
"I want--" Jude stops; takes as deep a breath as his bodice will allow. "I don't want you to call me Jude. I'm not Jude right now. I'm Minx. Are you able to believe that?"
Jude hasn't dropped into Minx's accent; he's still using his own. But Robert believes it--perhaps he already knew it--and he says so. "Minx, love, I've been waiting for you. Come on, do it."
Minx curls forward and around him until she can reach his mouth, and he feels her gratitude in the brief kiss. A few moments after she leans back, her slick fingers reach into him.
He makes noise. She strokes his spine until he relaxes, and then she presses her free hand hard on his lower back, holding him down, holding him together. "Remember to breathe," she says.
The dress tickles the backs of his legs when she pulls it up, and then he can feel her, hard and slippery against him. He closes his eyes. He concentrates on the vibration against his stomach and cock.
She pushes in, careful and slow to give him plenty of time. It's been awhile. It's been a long while. He remembers to breathe.
"Good," she tells him. "You're doing so well, honey."
"Plea--" he tries, but the word trips on a gasp when she gives a small, quick thrust.
"What do you need?" she asks, low and soft in his ear.
Something sparks hot in his belly and he shoves back against her until she's all the way in. "Go," he says. Short words are better. "Do it now."
She doesn't speak again. She braces her hands on either side of his head--he can see scattered hairs on her knuckles--he can see nothing; his eyelids have crushed themselves shut; his mouth opens and sounds rip themselves out of him until he comes.
He gathers his mind back to himself while she pulls away and runs water in a sink to clean them both up. There was a sink? He hadn't paid attention. He'd seen nothing but red.
The washer has stopped; he's not certain when that happened. And Minx is standing there, her skirt thoroughly rumpled, and he cannot help smiling at the entire situation. "So here I am, completely naked, with nothing but wet clothes to wear," he says. "Any suggestions?"
She grins at him. "We might as well do it on the dryer while we wait."