New S+A story: Swans mate for life
Swans mate for life
by Pearl-o
Slings + Arrows. Backstory, het, Geoffrey/Ellen, R-ish, about 1300 words. Not spoilery. Thanks to brooklinegirl for beta.
*****
The first time they slept together was the first week of rehearsals on Tempest. It was Geoffrey's second season and Ellen's first, and of course they knew each other well by then; they had drunk together in the bar night after night, and they had both just finished Lion in Winter under Greg Greenfield, Ellen's Alais and Geoffrey's Richard.
But this was their first Shakespeare together, the first time playing lovers, first time with Oliver directing them. It was an old story: acting together did things to you. Neither of them was surprised when Geoffrey knocked on Ellen's door in the middle of the night and asked her if she wanted to run lines.
"It's two a.m., Geoffrey," Ellen said, holding the door half-open. She was wearing a nightgown, short on her thighs, and no make-up. She glanced over Geoffrey -- his hair was a mess, like he had jumped up out of bed, and he was wearing sweatpants, an over-large sweater, and no shoes.
"Yes. It is," Geoffrey agreed immediately. There was a long pause as they looked at each other, and then he said, "So ... can I come in?"
Ellen opened the door all the way, and took a step back to let him in. He kicked the door shut behind him and she tilted her head up toward him just as he leaned forward to kiss her. They left his sweater a few feet from the door, her panties in the kitchen, and her nightgown and his sweats crumpled up on the floor as they fell into her bed.
"Christ, you're gorgeous," Geoffrey muttered, his head buried between her breasts. "Absolutely gorgeous. Jesus, Ellen -- Ellen. I want to consume you, every part of you--"
Ellen pulled hard on his hair and said, half out of breath, "Stop talking already and do something."
Geoffrey only ended up following half of her orders, because he kept talking even as he fucked her, his deep rich voice saying her name and bits of poetry and dirty things as she wrapped her legs around him and lost her own words while he made her come.
After he finished, he lay down heavily besides her, sweaty and panting. Ellen sighed and stretched like a cat. Geoffrey shook his head and trilled his lips at the ceiling.
"Well," Geoffrey said after a moment. "I don't know about you, but I am fucking starving."
"I could eat something," Ellen said thoughtfully.
"Very well!" Geoffrey got to his feet in one smooth, continuous motion. "You stay in bed; I shall forage through your kitchen and endeavor to provide us with sustenance." He bowed to her, still nude, and turned toward the door.
Ellen was distracted enough by the sight of the muscles of his back, thighs, and his wonderful ass that she almost forgot to call after him: "The wine is in the cupboard over the sink!"
"Wonderful!" Geoffrey called back. "What is a midnight picnic without some alcohol to lubricate our conversation?"
"I didn't realize conversation was our goal," Ellen said. She sat up in bed and started to comb through her tangled hair with her fingers.
"Ellen. Surely you can't have a communion of souls without any conversation." Geoffrey reappeared in her bedroom doorway, carrying a bottle of wine, a quart of ice cream, and a tin of mixed nuts. "The food is rather sparse in your kitchen, but I did what I could." He dumped the bounty on the bed in front of her, and sat back down beside her. He kissed her lightly and then began to open the wine bottle.
"No glasses?"
"Noooo," Geoffrey assured her. "It's much more exciting without. We've left civilization far behind us, Ellen." He took a long swig, then offered her the bottle; Ellen took it from his hands and took a large swallow herself. When she lowered the bottle again, Geoffrey took it from her hand and set it on the nightstand. He picked up the ice cream next, along with a spoon.
"I'm rather fond of civilization," Ellen pointed out. "It has theatres, and maids, and running toilets, and air conditioning, and clean linen..."
Geoffrey shut her up with a spoonful of ice cream; triple chocolate chunk. She closed her eyes and let him feed her.
"We'll make our own civilization," Geoffrey proclaimed. "There will be all those things. But no glasses for our wine. All our audiences shall be attentive and smart, all our reviews shall be raves, and all our sex shall be completely fucking spectacular."
They put the theory into action once the ice cream was gone. Ellen had always been fond of giving blowjobs, but going down on Geoffrey was rather wonderful, slow and wet and hot, with Geoffrey vocally, loudly appreciative enough to make her feel like a sex goddess. He returned the favor, too, going down on her and fingering her and making her come, before they were spent, falling asleep in her bed.
Everyone could tell immediately at rehearsal the next day, of course; Ellen might as well been holding his hand and wearing his letter jacket. But she wasn't particularly embarrassed, and it was easy to ignore their rolled eyes, especially when she couldn't help smiling every time Geoffrey caught her eye.
"You lucky girl," Oliver murmured to her, catching her arm and walking with her after rehearsal. "Your very own Adonis! However did you manage it?"
"Don't be so catty, Oliver." Ellen ruffled through her handbag, looking for her cigarettes. "Jealousy doesn't become you."
"Oh, I'm not jealous, darling," Oliver said cheerfully. "Simply impressed. Not only gorgeous, but he has a mind, too." He made a moue. "Do you think I can sign up for one of my own?"
Ellen lit her cigarette, and took a quick puff. "The line forms in the back."
"I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised," Oliver mused. "He is a brilliant boy, after all. And since his inclinations do seem to run that way, how could he resist your exquisite charms? A few changes of biology and I would claim you for myself."
"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Oliver," Ellen said, "and it's also a complete lie. Even if I were a boy, I still couldn't be further from your type."
"True enough." They stopped walking, underneath one of the trees lining the streets outside the theater. "Still, let me take the both of you out for dinner. I insist. We'll talk about the play and toast your new acting strategy."
Ellen smiled, shaking her head. "I'll ask Geoffrey."
"Wonderful," said Oliver. "Now, Ellen, could you possibly spare me one of your cigarettes? I'm afraid I'm a bit low at the moment."
Ellen narrowed her eyes and handed over the pack. Oliver lit it up quickly, with a practiced hand, and blew the smoke out in a ring. It was a cloudy day, and as they stood there it started to rain, though the two of them were still protected by the tree canopy above them.
"A brave new world, indeed, eh, dear?" Oliver said, and Ellen dropped her cigarette and crushed it beneath her heel, raising her head to the sky and breathing in the fresh spring air.
by Pearl-o
Slings + Arrows. Backstory, het, Geoffrey/Ellen, R-ish, about 1300 words. Not spoilery. Thanks to brooklinegirl for beta.
*****
The first time they slept together was the first week of rehearsals on Tempest. It was Geoffrey's second season and Ellen's first, and of course they knew each other well by then; they had drunk together in the bar night after night, and they had both just finished Lion in Winter under Greg Greenfield, Ellen's Alais and Geoffrey's Richard.
But this was their first Shakespeare together, the first time playing lovers, first time with Oliver directing them. It was an old story: acting together did things to you. Neither of them was surprised when Geoffrey knocked on Ellen's door in the middle of the night and asked her if she wanted to run lines.
"It's two a.m., Geoffrey," Ellen said, holding the door half-open. She was wearing a nightgown, short on her thighs, and no make-up. She glanced over Geoffrey -- his hair was a mess, like he had jumped up out of bed, and he was wearing sweatpants, an over-large sweater, and no shoes.
"Yes. It is," Geoffrey agreed immediately. There was a long pause as they looked at each other, and then he said, "So ... can I come in?"
Ellen opened the door all the way, and took a step back to let him in. He kicked the door shut behind him and she tilted her head up toward him just as he leaned forward to kiss her. They left his sweater a few feet from the door, her panties in the kitchen, and her nightgown and his sweats crumpled up on the floor as they fell into her bed.
"Christ, you're gorgeous," Geoffrey muttered, his head buried between her breasts. "Absolutely gorgeous. Jesus, Ellen -- Ellen. I want to consume you, every part of you--"
Ellen pulled hard on his hair and said, half out of breath, "Stop talking already and do something."
Geoffrey only ended up following half of her orders, because he kept talking even as he fucked her, his deep rich voice saying her name and bits of poetry and dirty things as she wrapped her legs around him and lost her own words while he made her come.
After he finished, he lay down heavily besides her, sweaty and panting. Ellen sighed and stretched like a cat. Geoffrey shook his head and trilled his lips at the ceiling.
"Well," Geoffrey said after a moment. "I don't know about you, but I am fucking starving."
"I could eat something," Ellen said thoughtfully.
"Very well!" Geoffrey got to his feet in one smooth, continuous motion. "You stay in bed; I shall forage through your kitchen and endeavor to provide us with sustenance." He bowed to her, still nude, and turned toward the door.
Ellen was distracted enough by the sight of the muscles of his back, thighs, and his wonderful ass that she almost forgot to call after him: "The wine is in the cupboard over the sink!"
"Wonderful!" Geoffrey called back. "What is a midnight picnic without some alcohol to lubricate our conversation?"
"I didn't realize conversation was our goal," Ellen said. She sat up in bed and started to comb through her tangled hair with her fingers.
"Ellen. Surely you can't have a communion of souls without any conversation." Geoffrey reappeared in her bedroom doorway, carrying a bottle of wine, a quart of ice cream, and a tin of mixed nuts. "The food is rather sparse in your kitchen, but I did what I could." He dumped the bounty on the bed in front of her, and sat back down beside her. He kissed her lightly and then began to open the wine bottle.
"No glasses?"
"Noooo," Geoffrey assured her. "It's much more exciting without. We've left civilization far behind us, Ellen." He took a long swig, then offered her the bottle; Ellen took it from his hands and took a large swallow herself. When she lowered the bottle again, Geoffrey took it from her hand and set it on the nightstand. He picked up the ice cream next, along with a spoon.
"I'm rather fond of civilization," Ellen pointed out. "It has theatres, and maids, and running toilets, and air conditioning, and clean linen..."
Geoffrey shut her up with a spoonful of ice cream; triple chocolate chunk. She closed her eyes and let him feed her.
"We'll make our own civilization," Geoffrey proclaimed. "There will be all those things. But no glasses for our wine. All our audiences shall be attentive and smart, all our reviews shall be raves, and all our sex shall be completely fucking spectacular."
They put the theory into action once the ice cream was gone. Ellen had always been fond of giving blowjobs, but going down on Geoffrey was rather wonderful, slow and wet and hot, with Geoffrey vocally, loudly appreciative enough to make her feel like a sex goddess. He returned the favor, too, going down on her and fingering her and making her come, before they were spent, falling asleep in her bed.
Everyone could tell immediately at rehearsal the next day, of course; Ellen might as well been holding his hand and wearing his letter jacket. But she wasn't particularly embarrassed, and it was easy to ignore their rolled eyes, especially when she couldn't help smiling every time Geoffrey caught her eye.
"You lucky girl," Oliver murmured to her, catching her arm and walking with her after rehearsal. "Your very own Adonis! However did you manage it?"
"Don't be so catty, Oliver." Ellen ruffled through her handbag, looking for her cigarettes. "Jealousy doesn't become you."
"Oh, I'm not jealous, darling," Oliver said cheerfully. "Simply impressed. Not only gorgeous, but he has a mind, too." He made a moue. "Do you think I can sign up for one of my own?"
Ellen lit her cigarette, and took a quick puff. "The line forms in the back."
"I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised," Oliver mused. "He is a brilliant boy, after all. And since his inclinations do seem to run that way, how could he resist your exquisite charms? A few changes of biology and I would claim you for myself."
"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Oliver," Ellen said, "and it's also a complete lie. Even if I were a boy, I still couldn't be further from your type."
"True enough." They stopped walking, underneath one of the trees lining the streets outside the theater. "Still, let me take the both of you out for dinner. I insist. We'll talk about the play and toast your new acting strategy."
Ellen smiled, shaking her head. "I'll ask Geoffrey."
"Wonderful," said Oliver. "Now, Ellen, could you possibly spare me one of your cigarettes? I'm afraid I'm a bit low at the moment."
Ellen narrowed her eyes and handed over the pack. Oliver lit it up quickly, with a practiced hand, and blew the smoke out in a ring. It was a cloudy day, and as they stood there it started to rain, though the two of them were still protected by the tree canopy above them.
"A brave new world, indeed, eh, dear?" Oliver said, and Ellen dropped her cigarette and crushed it beneath her heel, raising her head to the sky and breathing in the fresh spring air.