FIC - ROBERT&JUDE - PG - [CONSTELLATIONS]
in my dreams, constellations speak ♪ title.
sherlock holmes RPF // robert-jude. ♪ fandom // pairing.
PG. softcore porn. and by softcore porn, I mean softcore porn with words. C; ♪ rating.
one shot. ♪ length.
not true. I deal in lies. ♪ disclaimer.
holmes_rpf ♪ crossposted.
The thing is...it's all in his head.
Really.
They never touch outside of filming, and he doesn't mean friendly pats on the back or normal happenstance touching, he means touching like the kind that makes you think twice or the kind that makes your heart kind of flutter.
It doesn't happen.
Robert is a married man. Sometimes, first and foremost. He is a married man and Susan is a.. well she's a beautiful woman. She is a goddess, if one were to ask Robert, and why wouldn't you?
“How is Susan?” and oh that's right, you don't ask because you don't want to know.
But really. You are not accountable for your actions anymore, and his eyes open a little bit wider like if he opens them wide enough he might catch a glimpse of her somewhere, like if he opens them wide enough you might be able to see everything that he sees in brilliant color, like if he opens them wide enough you might love her too.
The thing is...you really don't. And when he starts, he doesn't stop, and soon he's talking about all kinds of things that you don't really care to hear. But you asked.
Susan this. Susan that. She cooks, she cleans, she talks, she laughs, she smiles, she grins.
He talks and you absorb. You decide that this is not healthy. His face lights up like he is in love with the world, and he is. And its name is Susan.
You wonder for a really long time what the hell is the matter with you.
Because he is a great man. He knows more about everything than you could hope to learn. He is standing six feet tall and you are eager to catch up. Except not really. You are eager but you are not ready because you are Adam on a cloud reaching out his hand to God, and the secret is that they're not touching.
That night, you have a dream. In it, you are a simple man standing in a bustling forest and you are telling the stars how much you love them.
It's really, truly, undeniably, all in your head. Like everyone is sitting around a wooden, coffee table playing Monopoly and you're pretty sure Guy is cheating and has bills stuffed up his sleeve and every time you're about to buy a property, you think Robert gives you a look that's either yes or no and you decide on that. And then Rachel slips and it turns out she's the one cheating and she has hundreds crumpled in her sleeve and really, all along, they were just innocent glances you read into too much just like everything else and Robert was actually in cahoots with Guy, and all your bought properties are scrambled across the board, random and senseless.
Or maybe it's nothing like that. You're not really sure.
Robert spends a lot of his lunch breaks with you. You're both sitting down in your Holmesian garb, and then he kicks your foot and you kick his back and it's a good thing you're too busy pretending to be eating because you might read into that too.
You don't. And you're pathetic if you believe that, because you really, actually, do.
You spend a lot of your time like this. When you're not working, your mind finds other ways to preoccupy itself. You're better suited on stage or on set because then there's blinding white lights aimed right at your face and you have to hide all these thoughts away because you know they're on display. You have the curse of an expressive face, and it is so without you meaning it to be. Because you're sitting with Robert at a bar and you can pretend you have him all to yourself, until he gets up to leave and sleeps at home with a lovely wife where he belongs, and then you're left there all alone with you're face saying more things than it should.
He doesn't understand. But that's okay. Neither do you, really.
So maybe it's not like Monopoly. Maybe it's like a card game, everyone sitting around a plastic table with plastic smiles and shifty glances. Because you think Robert is bluffing while Guy is laughing and Rachel just raised someone's twenty with a haughty smirk and you haven't even looked at your cards.
No matter what happens, you will not win. Because you are a gambler in a game where you are only capable of losing. “Might be your lucky hand, Judesie,” he says and you shake your head with that plastic smile.
You fold because you know that Robert is holding a royal flush. And you might be holding four of a kind, and you might be holding a full house, but Robert is holding a royal flush and you know you can't compare. So you think you're perfectly content to be the one nursing the same drink all night long; sitting by yourself, and not in a bed with a lovely wife where you might belong but instead alone. In a bar. With that face that screams I hurt.
One day, you sit beside the staircase on a short break from filming and Robert sits on the ground right beside you. You're on set. On Baker Street and Guy is somewhere trying to work out a scene quickly with the lovely Irene.
You feel like Watson with the stage lights lighting up the set, and your thoughts shrink and hide.
Sherlock Robert is sitting so close, your left leg is touching his, thigh to thigh. His elbow knocks yours and you lean a little to your right to avoid the contact.
He wouldn't do stuff like that if he knew what went on in your head.
You turn to him and ask him about Susan. “How is Susan?” you ask, and his eyes widen and he gets this twinkle in his eyes like his love is this huge secret he's sharing only with you.
and you feel like a rather stupid bloke and this is all a rather funny joke. And maybe you should speak in rhymes and you tell Robert this, you tell him that you'll speak in rhymes because Robert would laugh and you'll tell him if he keeps laughing like that he'll grow crow's feet faster and maybe you'll mention that his smiles aren't just limited to his lips, they're a whole facial expression starting with his brow and his eyes and nose and his lips and his chin like every structure of his face is laughing and smiling and all together sharing a private joke or a scandalized fib like the time Rachel had ran on set shouting I'm late I'm late I'm late because it was the first day and Robert had turned to him then and said You slept with her-you knocked her up already?! like it was a contest and Robert was genuinely hurt that he had already lost and you barely had enough brain functions to crack a joke back at him and say I've got mad sperm and he laughs and you think that your jokes are never as funny as Robert seems to think
--except that you really don't say any of this at all, because Robert is smiling at you and he knows all the cards in your hand and you don't know any of his.
It continues. You're sitting alone by a prop set, on a huge trunk that is mostly just for show. It's sturdy enough to hold your weight and you sit there when Robert finds you and sits right beside you. You're both in your Holmesian garb again, and you are not you and he is not him.
There are voices floating everywhere but no one is in sight.
He is a warm constant by your side, warming you through your clothes. You wonder if he knows what he's doing.
There isn't a hand casually on your thigh.
And it's not lingering there on that blurry edge of friendly and suggestive that makes your head spin and your stomach lurch like you're sick. You think about swatting it away because it's making you think and you really don't have the head to be doing any such thinking, but the hand isn't really there, remember?
It's not there. Or you pretend it's not there. What difference does it make?
Instead, you look ahead and ask about Susan.
Susan this. Susan that. She cooks, she cleans, she talks, she laughs, she smiles, she grins.
His eyes widen like they always do, like maybe if he widens them enough, you will drown in what he knows, like maybe if he widens them enough, he will trap you in, like maybe if he widens them enough you will see everything that he sees and you will love her too. You listen, and you absorb, because you are Adam on a cloud reaching out his hand to God and the secret is that He is touching him.
That night, you have a dream. In it, you are a simple man, and you are vowing your love to the stars though they will never vow anything back.
~♪
sherlock holmes RPF // robert-jude. ♪ fandom // pairing.
PG. softcore porn. and by softcore porn, I mean softcore porn with words. C; ♪ rating.
one shot. ♪ length.
not true. I deal in lies. ♪ disclaimer.
holmes_rpf ♪ crossposted.
The thing is...it's all in his head.
Really.
They never touch outside of filming, and he doesn't mean friendly pats on the back or normal happenstance touching, he means touching like the kind that makes you think twice or the kind that makes your heart kind of flutter.
It doesn't happen.
Robert is a married man. Sometimes, first and foremost. He is a married man and Susan is a.. well she's a beautiful woman. She is a goddess, if one were to ask Robert, and why wouldn't you?
“How is Susan?” and oh that's right, you don't ask because you don't want to know.
But really. You are not accountable for your actions anymore, and his eyes open a little bit wider like if he opens them wide enough he might catch a glimpse of her somewhere, like if he opens them wide enough you might be able to see everything that he sees in brilliant color, like if he opens them wide enough you might love her too.
The thing is...you really don't. And when he starts, he doesn't stop, and soon he's talking about all kinds of things that you don't really care to hear. But you asked.
Susan this. Susan that. She cooks, she cleans, she talks, she laughs, she smiles, she grins.
He talks and you absorb. You decide that this is not healthy. His face lights up like he is in love with the world, and he is. And its name is Susan.
You wonder for a really long time what the hell is the matter with you.
Because he is a great man. He knows more about everything than you could hope to learn. He is standing six feet tall and you are eager to catch up. Except not really. You are eager but you are not ready because you are Adam on a cloud reaching out his hand to God, and the secret is that they're not touching.
That night, you have a dream. In it, you are a simple man standing in a bustling forest and you are telling the stars how much you love them.
It's really, truly, undeniably, all in your head. Like everyone is sitting around a wooden, coffee table playing Monopoly and you're pretty sure Guy is cheating and has bills stuffed up his sleeve and every time you're about to buy a property, you think Robert gives you a look that's either yes or no and you decide on that. And then Rachel slips and it turns out she's the one cheating and she has hundreds crumpled in her sleeve and really, all along, they were just innocent glances you read into too much just like everything else and Robert was actually in cahoots with Guy, and all your bought properties are scrambled across the board, random and senseless.
Or maybe it's nothing like that. You're not really sure.
Robert spends a lot of his lunch breaks with you. You're both sitting down in your Holmesian garb, and then he kicks your foot and you kick his back and it's a good thing you're too busy pretending to be eating because you might read into that too.
You don't. And you're pathetic if you believe that, because you really, actually, do.
You spend a lot of your time like this. When you're not working, your mind finds other ways to preoccupy itself. You're better suited on stage or on set because then there's blinding white lights aimed right at your face and you have to hide all these thoughts away because you know they're on display. You have the curse of an expressive face, and it is so without you meaning it to be. Because you're sitting with Robert at a bar and you can pretend you have him all to yourself, until he gets up to leave and sleeps at home with a lovely wife where he belongs, and then you're left there all alone with you're face saying more things than it should.
He doesn't understand. But that's okay. Neither do you, really.
So maybe it's not like Monopoly. Maybe it's like a card game, everyone sitting around a plastic table with plastic smiles and shifty glances. Because you think Robert is bluffing while Guy is laughing and Rachel just raised someone's twenty with a haughty smirk and you haven't even looked at your cards.
No matter what happens, you will not win. Because you are a gambler in a game where you are only capable of losing. “Might be your lucky hand, Judesie,” he says and you shake your head with that plastic smile.
You fold because you know that Robert is holding a royal flush. And you might be holding four of a kind, and you might be holding a full house, but Robert is holding a royal flush and you know you can't compare. So you think you're perfectly content to be the one nursing the same drink all night long; sitting by yourself, and not in a bed with a lovely wife where you might belong but instead alone. In a bar. With that face that screams I hurt.
One day, you sit beside the staircase on a short break from filming and Robert sits on the ground right beside you. You're on set. On Baker Street and Guy is somewhere trying to work out a scene quickly with the lovely Irene.
You feel like Watson with the stage lights lighting up the set, and your thoughts shrink and hide.
Sherlock Robert is sitting so close, your left leg is touching his, thigh to thigh. His elbow knocks yours and you lean a little to your right to avoid the contact.
He wouldn't do stuff like that if he knew what went on in your head.
You turn to him and ask him about Susan. “How is Susan?” you ask, and his eyes widen and he gets this twinkle in his eyes like his love is this huge secret he's sharing only with you.
and you feel like a rather stupid bloke and this is all a rather funny joke. And maybe you should speak in rhymes and you tell Robert this, you tell him that you'll speak in rhymes because Robert would laugh and you'll tell him if he keeps laughing like that he'll grow crow's feet faster and maybe you'll mention that his smiles aren't just limited to his lips, they're a whole facial expression starting with his brow and his eyes and nose and his lips and his chin like every structure of his face is laughing and smiling and all together sharing a private joke or a scandalized fib like the time Rachel had ran on set shouting I'm late I'm late I'm late because it was the first day and Robert had turned to him then and said You slept with her-you knocked her up already?! like it was a contest and Robert was genuinely hurt that he had already lost and you barely had enough brain functions to crack a joke back at him and say I've got mad sperm and he laughs and you think that your jokes are never as funny as Robert seems to think
--except that you really don't say any of this at all, because Robert is smiling at you and he knows all the cards in your hand and you don't know any of his.
It continues. You're sitting alone by a prop set, on a huge trunk that is mostly just for show. It's sturdy enough to hold your weight and you sit there when Robert finds you and sits right beside you. You're both in your Holmesian garb again, and you are not you and he is not him.
There are voices floating everywhere but no one is in sight.
He is a warm constant by your side, warming you through your clothes. You wonder if he knows what he's doing.
There isn't a hand casually on your thigh.
And it's not lingering there on that blurry edge of friendly and suggestive that makes your head spin and your stomach lurch like you're sick. You think about swatting it away because it's making you think and you really don't have the head to be doing any such thinking, but the hand isn't really there, remember?
It's not there. Or you pretend it's not there. What difference does it make?
Instead, you look ahead and ask about Susan.
Susan this. Susan that. She cooks, she cleans, she talks, she laughs, she smiles, she grins.
His eyes widen like they always do, like maybe if he widens them enough, you will drown in what he knows, like maybe if he widens them enough, he will trap you in, like maybe if he widens them enough you will see everything that he sees and you will love her too. You listen, and you absorb, because you are Adam on a cloud reaching out his hand to God and the secret is that He is touching him.
That night, you have a dream. In it, you are a simple man, and you are vowing your love to the stars though they will never vow anything back.
~♪