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but you didn't notice because
RPF. Robert Pattinson/Zac Efron, 650 words, NC-17.
It takes Rob all of three events to talk to Zac. The first time he spots him in the crowd, there's a crowd to get through, and Rob's not nearly high enough to let random strangers fondle his arse. The second time, Rob's too stoned to care. The third time, well-he's just slightly baked, so he gives it a go. No need to put this kind of inevitability off.
"Well, if it isn't Wonderboy," is Rob's admittedly cliché entrance.
Zac chuckles and turns back. It takes a couple of seconds for realisation to sink in, and then he smirks. "You're not really one to talk."
Rob raises an eyebrow. "I scare people off," Rob says, "I think I am."
"You don't scare anyone," Zac says. "All those twelve-year-old girls out front are dying for you to bite them. You may have tried, but, at the end of the day, you're a sparkly vampire."
"Fair enough," Rob says. No point in dragging out the obvious, either. Not when on that medium-high stage where he's horny as fuck and the gents' is just round the corner. "I hear you're Hollywood's new bike," he says, straight on. There'll be time for pleasantries later.
Zac doesn't seem pleased, but he doesn't look offended either. "You heard wrong."
"Did I? I think I heard just fine. 'Zac's become the industry's bicycle', is what I heard. Not that there's truth to it, but you know." Rob gives him a look full of implications, he hopes, or else just stupid, according to Kristen's habit to point this shit out.
Zac chuckles, so it's probably the stupid one. Rob thinks he can blame the pot for that later.
Bicycle or not, the guy's already hard when Rob shoves his hand down his trousers, and there's something dollish about the way he starts panting when Rob's hand undoes his belt and his trousers-the way he lets his head fall back against the wall and exposes his throat for Rob to lick and nibble at, like he's one of Rob's fangirls, except this one doesn't really believe he's a vampire.
Hopefully, anyway. Rob squints sideways as he scrapes Zac's earlobe with his teeth, and Zac's eyes are half-closed, looking nowhere in particular, no indication that he wants Rob's teeth to draw blood or anything.
Rob grasps Zac's neck and pulls him close for an open-mouthed kiss, and Zac breathes into his mouth, seems just as turned on by kissing as he was by Rob vampiring over his throat.
Disney kids are weird, Rob thinks, and wraps his hand around Zac's cock.
He strokes lazily, squinting at Zac's ridiculous pained expression through his pot-induced haze, and tries not to laugh when Zac comes with a small, breathy, ridiculously girly moan, because, whatever, with his senses this clouded, it's not like he's gonna last that much longer.
The boy looks very pretty on his knees, too, and he's clearly done this enough, because, when Rob reaches out to grab onto his slippery-looking hair (should probably be gross, and yet it really isn't, and Rob has a brief moment of realisation where he finally understands why so many people are obsessed with his hair, though said realisation quickly vanishes and leaves him slightly dizzy with confusion), Zac slaps his hand away like slapping hands away from his head is his cross to bear.
"Don't mess my trademark," he warns, and tugs Rob's trousers down.
It takes Rob three more instances of this-the last couple times without even being high, the idea that Zac's gonna be there and maybe this'll be the time the kid forgets himself and lets Rob fuck up his carefully styled hair enough of an incentive to stay sober-to realise it's become habit, and not one he wants to work towards giving up.
Rob's never claimed to be quick on the uptake.
RPF. Robert Pattinson/Zac Efron, 650 words, NC-17.
It takes Rob all of three events to talk to Zac. The first time he spots him in the crowd, there's a crowd to get through, and Rob's not nearly high enough to let random strangers fondle his arse. The second time, Rob's too stoned to care. The third time, well-he's just slightly baked, so he gives it a go. No need to put this kind of inevitability off.
"Well, if it isn't Wonderboy," is Rob's admittedly cliché entrance.
Zac chuckles and turns back. It takes a couple of seconds for realisation to sink in, and then he smirks. "You're not really one to talk."
Rob raises an eyebrow. "I scare people off," Rob says, "I think I am."
"You don't scare anyone," Zac says. "All those twelve-year-old girls out front are dying for you to bite them. You may have tried, but, at the end of the day, you're a sparkly vampire."
"Fair enough," Rob says. No point in dragging out the obvious, either. Not when on that medium-high stage where he's horny as fuck and the gents' is just round the corner. "I hear you're Hollywood's new bike," he says, straight on. There'll be time for pleasantries later.
Zac doesn't seem pleased, but he doesn't look offended either. "You heard wrong."
"Did I? I think I heard just fine. 'Zac's become the industry's bicycle', is what I heard. Not that there's truth to it, but you know." Rob gives him a look full of implications, he hopes, or else just stupid, according to Kristen's habit to point this shit out.
Zac chuckles, so it's probably the stupid one. Rob thinks he can blame the pot for that later.
Bicycle or not, the guy's already hard when Rob shoves his hand down his trousers, and there's something dollish about the way he starts panting when Rob's hand undoes his belt and his trousers-the way he lets his head fall back against the wall and exposes his throat for Rob to lick and nibble at, like he's one of Rob's fangirls, except this one doesn't really believe he's a vampire.
Hopefully, anyway. Rob squints sideways as he scrapes Zac's earlobe with his teeth, and Zac's eyes are half-closed, looking nowhere in particular, no indication that he wants Rob's teeth to draw blood or anything.
Rob grasps Zac's neck and pulls him close for an open-mouthed kiss, and Zac breathes into his mouth, seems just as turned on by kissing as he was by Rob vampiring over his throat.
Disney kids are weird, Rob thinks, and wraps his hand around Zac's cock.
He strokes lazily, squinting at Zac's ridiculous pained expression through his pot-induced haze, and tries not to laugh when Zac comes with a small, breathy, ridiculously girly moan, because, whatever, with his senses this clouded, it's not like he's gonna last that much longer.
The boy looks very pretty on his knees, too, and he's clearly done this enough, because, when Rob reaches out to grab onto his slippery-looking hair (should probably be gross, and yet it really isn't, and Rob has a brief moment of realisation where he finally understands why so many people are obsessed with his hair, though said realisation quickly vanishes and leaves him slightly dizzy with confusion), Zac slaps his hand away like slapping hands away from his head is his cross to bear.
"Don't mess my trademark," he warns, and tugs Rob's trousers down.
It takes Rob three more instances of this-the last couple times without even being high, the idea that Zac's gonna be there and maybe this'll be the time the kid forgets himself and lets Rob fuck up his carefully styled hair enough of an incentive to stay sober-to realise it's become habit, and not one he wants to work towards giving up.
Rob's never claimed to be quick on the uptake.