Fic: Rehearsal
Title Rehearsal
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Historical RPF - don't sue or whatevs
Summary: What happens backstage...
Will strides backstage, still half in character and gasping for something to soothe his straining throat. He finds a tankard of small ale waiting on a table but as he grasps for it, pale and slender fingers remove it from his reach. He looks up, (or rather down for he has four or five inches on the man,)into the grinning face of Kit Marlowe.
“William, you are avoiding rehearsal?” Kit asks him, sipping the beer and making Will salivate. The movement of his throat as he swallows is mesmerising to the young and captivated actor. The worst part is he is acutely aware that Kit is acutely aware of his attention, if the sparkle in the playwright’s eyes is anything to go by.
Will forces himself to breathe more slowly before he speaks. “I just needed to find a drink, that drink.” He points to the tankard in Kit’s hand and wordlessly asks for it with a bending of his fingers. Kit however has other ideas.
“Walk with me a moment, I would talk with my most promising new actor.” He says, once again taking a long drink from the beer that Will so desperately wants. A drop escapes from the corner of his mouth and trails to his jaw, where it catches in the fine hairs of his beard. Kit was never very good at growing whiskers but what he had somehow suited him so perfectly, he needn’t ever grow it longer.
Will follows him without question as he has done in the months they have known each other.
He is rewarded by Kit drinking deeply from the tankard and then shoving him against a wall, capturing him in an ale-soaked kiss. He tastes barley and hops on Kit’s tongue and it’s just as intoxicating as drinking ten mugs in the tavern. Kit presses forwards, rising onto his toes to properly reach as Will grasps the fabric at his hips and holds him there, crushed against Will.
The kiss is frantic, more than once Kit bites sharply at his lip and in retaliation Will works his hands under the doublet and shirt and rakes his nails across Kit’s smooth skin. The man hisses and whines into Will’s mouth, setting his whole being aflame. Using his height and his grip on Kit to his advantage he whirls them around. He doesn’t quite mean to slam Kit into the wall with such force but the look on his lover’s face as the wind is knocked from him is entirely worth it.
“Christ on the cross, Will.” Kit blasphemes breathlessly in the way that only he can quite pull off. It both worries and amuses Will but he has no time just now for religious discussion, in fact, it’s about as far from his mind as it could possibly get. He steps back into Kit’s personal space and pulls the man up onto his toes once more, one hand tangles in the short sandy hair as the other drifts low to fight with the lacings on Kit’s impossibly fancy breeches.
Kit becomes bored and slaps his hands away. “You are clumsy and slow, Will.” He chastises with a teasing grin. “If you were in charge we would get no-where.”
Will frowns, not really annoyed but rather seeing the challenge, “we shall see about that.” He promises before delving his hand past Kit’s finally (mercifully) unfastened ties. Kit is already hard beneath his fingers and whimpers even at the trailing of Will’s thumb up the length. Will smirks as he takes hold and leans forward to swallow Kit’s moan in a kiss.
Ink stained but otherwise perfect fingers grasp at Will’s sleeves as he moves his hand, alternating between languorous strokes and short, quick tugs that have Kit trembling and groaning as perfectly as any whore. (The brightness of Kit’s eyes makes the experience so very different however.) Will kisses him deeply, nipping at his bottom lip as he pushes a hand up and underneath Kit’s already crumpled shirt. His fingertips find a nipple that he teases into hardness as he continues to stroke Kit’s cock, eliciting a low moan from deep in Kit’s throat that sends a shudder down Will’s spine.
Kit’s eyes slide closed and his head thumps back against the wall, his legs shake and his nails scrabble at Will’s arms as he pants Will’s name a dozen times. When he comes and spills over Will’s fingers, it’s quietly for fear of discovery, his sharp teeth buried deep in his own bottom lip to keep in a cry. (Will rather finds he’s right there with him and idly wonders where he might find spare trousers without alerting suspicion.)
“Hell’s teeth.” Kit swears in a whisper, slumping in Will’s free arm. Will says nothing, just smiles and slips his other hand out of Kit’s breeches. He lifts it to avoid mess and is stunned when Kit brings it to his lips and licks him clean. If he hadn’t already released himself, he would have done then at the sight of Kit’s tongue between his fingers. And then again at the kiss Kit gives him, slow and affectionate, even loving. Will never wants to let him go.
But he must for they are looking for him so he pulls away and smiles at his dishevelled playwright, who is still breathless but manages to smirk back. There will be retribution for this later, Will knows that well enough, but it will be glorious and he finds he cannot wait.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: Historical RPF - don't sue or whatevs
Summary: What happens backstage...
Will strides backstage, still half in character and gasping for something to soothe his straining throat. He finds a tankard of small ale waiting on a table but as he grasps for it, pale and slender fingers remove it from his reach. He looks up, (or rather down for he has four or five inches on the man,)into the grinning face of Kit Marlowe.
“William, you are avoiding rehearsal?” Kit asks him, sipping the beer and making Will salivate. The movement of his throat as he swallows is mesmerising to the young and captivated actor. The worst part is he is acutely aware that Kit is acutely aware of his attention, if the sparkle in the playwright’s eyes is anything to go by.
Will forces himself to breathe more slowly before he speaks. “I just needed to find a drink, that drink.” He points to the tankard in Kit’s hand and wordlessly asks for it with a bending of his fingers. Kit however has other ideas.
“Walk with me a moment, I would talk with my most promising new actor.” He says, once again taking a long drink from the beer that Will so desperately wants. A drop escapes from the corner of his mouth and trails to his jaw, where it catches in the fine hairs of his beard. Kit was never very good at growing whiskers but what he had somehow suited him so perfectly, he needn’t ever grow it longer.
Will follows him without question as he has done in the months they have known each other.
He is rewarded by Kit drinking deeply from the tankard and then shoving him against a wall, capturing him in an ale-soaked kiss. He tastes barley and hops on Kit’s tongue and it’s just as intoxicating as drinking ten mugs in the tavern. Kit presses forwards, rising onto his toes to properly reach as Will grasps the fabric at his hips and holds him there, crushed against Will.
The kiss is frantic, more than once Kit bites sharply at his lip and in retaliation Will works his hands under the doublet and shirt and rakes his nails across Kit’s smooth skin. The man hisses and whines into Will’s mouth, setting his whole being aflame. Using his height and his grip on Kit to his advantage he whirls them around. He doesn’t quite mean to slam Kit into the wall with such force but the look on his lover’s face as the wind is knocked from him is entirely worth it.
“Christ on the cross, Will.” Kit blasphemes breathlessly in the way that only he can quite pull off. It both worries and amuses Will but he has no time just now for religious discussion, in fact, it’s about as far from his mind as it could possibly get. He steps back into Kit’s personal space and pulls the man up onto his toes once more, one hand tangles in the short sandy hair as the other drifts low to fight with the lacings on Kit’s impossibly fancy breeches.
Kit becomes bored and slaps his hands away. “You are clumsy and slow, Will.” He chastises with a teasing grin. “If you were in charge we would get no-where.”
Will frowns, not really annoyed but rather seeing the challenge, “we shall see about that.” He promises before delving his hand past Kit’s finally (mercifully) unfastened ties. Kit is already hard beneath his fingers and whimpers even at the trailing of Will’s thumb up the length. Will smirks as he takes hold and leans forward to swallow Kit’s moan in a kiss.
Ink stained but otherwise perfect fingers grasp at Will’s sleeves as he moves his hand, alternating between languorous strokes and short, quick tugs that have Kit trembling and groaning as perfectly as any whore. (The brightness of Kit’s eyes makes the experience so very different however.) Will kisses him deeply, nipping at his bottom lip as he pushes a hand up and underneath Kit’s already crumpled shirt. His fingertips find a nipple that he teases into hardness as he continues to stroke Kit’s cock, eliciting a low moan from deep in Kit’s throat that sends a shudder down Will’s spine.
Kit’s eyes slide closed and his head thumps back against the wall, his legs shake and his nails scrabble at Will’s arms as he pants Will’s name a dozen times. When he comes and spills over Will’s fingers, it’s quietly for fear of discovery, his sharp teeth buried deep in his own bottom lip to keep in a cry. (Will rather finds he’s right there with him and idly wonders where he might find spare trousers without alerting suspicion.)
“Hell’s teeth.” Kit swears in a whisper, slumping in Will’s free arm. Will says nothing, just smiles and slips his other hand out of Kit’s breeches. He lifts it to avoid mess and is stunned when Kit brings it to his lips and licks him clean. If he hadn’t already released himself, he would have done then at the sight of Kit’s tongue between his fingers. And then again at the kiss Kit gives him, slow and affectionate, even loving. Will never wants to let him go.
But he must for they are looking for him so he pulls away and smiles at his dishevelled playwright, who is still breathless but manages to smirk back. There will be retribution for this later, Will knows that well enough, but it will be glorious and he finds he cannot wait.