Fic: The Idle Pleasures of These Days
Title: The Idle Pleasures of These Days
Summary: There but for the grace of god.
Fandom: Iron Man/Richard III (1995)
Word Count: 1482
Rating/Contents: NC-17, what is this i don't even
Pairing: Tony Stark/Lord Rivers
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: In my defense, this was for Porn Battle, for the prompt "Tony Stark/Any other character played by RDJ, then". And obvs if you tell me that, I'm going to go for the character from the movie I like the most. I apologize for nothing.
The resemblance between him and Lord Rivers has been remarked upon more than once, and Tony's still deciding if that's a good or a bad thing. He's pleased by the fact that the tabloids mistake them for each other, when Rivers is fifteen years younger than he is- mixed blessing, though, because sometimes, given grainy tabloid photographs, Obadiah and Pepper don't believe him when he says it's not really him.
And then there was that time in Ibiza; Tony still legitimately doesn't know which one of them that was.
He doesn't know that there are actually any pictures of them together; they've gone to the same parties before, smiled at the same cameras, but it hasn't happened yet. There have been, of course, the suggestions that they're secretly related, but all Tony's ever seen are shots placed side by side, the occasional hilariously bad photo manipulation. He's certain they've never actually had a conversation; sure, he'd come up with something, but what in the hell would he have to say to the current bad boy of the British royal family?
But it was going to happen eventually; their particular social set tends to put people in trajectories that only ever end in crash landings, and one night at some afterparty for some gala event he crashes into Rivers, or maybe Rivers crashes into him.
Tony is- holding court is a good phrase, he likes the sound of it- holding court in an alcove in the back, surrounded by several very pretty women and a whole lot of good champagne. People are coming and going, stopping in to say hi, kiss cheeks, whatever; photographers are snapping pictures left and right, their flashbulbs mixing into the lights strung around the pavilion, fading into them like background noise.
Rivers almost doesn't notice them; he's walking by on his way to somewhere else, and one of the girls calls out to him. He looks up, looking around as if he can't tell where the voice is coming from, and when she calls again, he turns on his heel, walking towards them.
"Well, hello," he says, looking at them, taking the champagne glass someone offers him and holding it out to be filled. He takes a sip, sighing happily. "Brilliant. You know, they've got the cheap stuff over there. Now I know where to turn to."
Before Tony offers him a seat or anything, Rivers just comes over to the girl nearest to Tony and sits in her lap, putting an arm around her neck and kissing her on the top of her head. She giggles, but people shift around, and he slides into the gap between her and Tony, pressed in very close to Tony's side.
"They tell me you're Tony Stark," he says, and his voice is so strange, English cadence and American accent.
"Last time I checked," Tony says, "but for royalty, I can have somebody check again."
"Lord Rivers, at your service," he says, grinning; he goes to put out his hand, but it's got a champagne glass in it, so he just shrugs and takes another sip.
"Calling somebody 'Lord' anything is a little formal for a party," Tony tells him.
"Rivers is fine," he says dismissively. "Call me anything you like, as long as you call me when there are beautiful girls and champagne." He pouts. "Which you neglected to do, apparently."
Tony raises an eyebrow at him. "From what I hear that's not something I need to help you with."
"But you didn't call me for these girls and this champagne," Rivers insists, "and both of them are of very high quality." He looks around at the girls, grinning, and they laugh and smile and generally swoon; Tony's not exactly thrilled about having his thunder stolen, but he can let it pass for now.
"My bad," Tony says, "but in my defense, I don't have your phone number."
"I must rectify that immediately," Rivers says, patting down his pockets, "only someone's taken my mobile." He shrugs. "It'll turn up," he says, apparently unconcerned about all the things that could happen if someone found a cell phone belonging to a member of the British royal family. "Anyway, I'm glad I caught you."
"Why is that?" Tony asks.
"I've been wanting to meet you for ages," Rivers tells him, as if it's obvious. "They say we're just alike."
"They say we look alike," Tony corrects.
"Six of one," Rivers says, and now he's quite close to Tony's face, studying him carefully. "Perhaps I should grow a goatee. I like yours."
"Then they really couldn't tell us apart," Tony says, turning his head to look at him. Rivers's eyes are so incredibly earnest, like a puppy or something; that's a really unfortunate comparison, because it makes Rivers look extremely fuckable.
Tony gets it, then, his appeal, the slightly befuddled sweetness that may or may not be genuine, Tony doesn't know yet. Tony knows what he's done, Tony knows exactly what he's done, but Rivers still manages to look innocent. He's got this look that just makes Tony want to do bad things to him, and Tony knows he's not the only one who's seen it. Rivers doesn't have to try; he just falls into people's laps and lets them do whatever they want to him- and then they end up doing whatever he wants.
Tony knows all this, but he still takes him home and fucks him.
It is probably- but not definitely, which is vaguely troubling- the most narcissistic thing he will do all year, but Rivers looks so damn good laid out across his bed. When Tony pins his hands above his head, he keeps them there, even when Tony lets up on him. He's blushing all the way down his chest and all the way up to his hair, and he's still got that innocent look on his face when Tony leans down and takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Tony cuts his eyes up at him, and Rivers is staring down at him like he's scandalized; Tony just grins, sucking harder, sliding down to get more into his mouth.
By the time Tony pulls away, Rivers is making noises of desperation, his hips rocking up. He watches avidly as Tony slicks up his fingers, spreading his legs wider in invitation, and one, two of Tony's fingers slide in easily. He's not particularly tight, and somehow that's better, hotter; he can lie with everything else, but his body is telling the truth. Just for the fun of it, Tony gives him another finger, and then he twists; Rivers arches right off the bed, swearing in shock.
"If you could please stop that and fuck me," Rivers says, through clenched teeth.
Tony smirks, pushing his fingers in deeper and moving them to just the right spot, and Rivers gasps. "You're just making me want to keep it up," he says, pulling his fingers out, "but since you asked so nicely."
Tony takes him by the thighs, dragging him closer, pushing his knees back toward his chest; Rivers groans loudly when Tony pushes into him, his hips working to get more, deeper, and Tony gives it to him. He figures neither of them want him to hold back, so he doesn't let up. This is fucking, pure and simple and glorious.
A royal fucking, as it were, and Rivers is certainly getting royally fucked. Tony doesn't even try to stop himself from laughing.
Rivers looks at him like he's sort of put out that Tony isn't taking this seriously, but a couple of hard thrusts, and he doesn't even seem to remember. Tony takes one of Rivers's hands, licking the palm slowly before he guides it to his cock, and Rivers takes the hint immediately, working himself quickly. Tony's not going to last a whole lot longer, not at this rate, not when Rivers is writhing and sweating and generally coming apart underneath him, and when Rivers throws his head back, moaning as he shoots all over his stomach, that's game over for Tony.
Rivers won't leave in the morning until after his second mimosa. He does give Tony wake-up head though, so it's hard for Tony to care very much.
--
Tony sees it a few days later in People or something; there's finally a picture of him and Rivers together, clear as day, and the press is pretty excited about it. Tony is smiling at the camera, but Rivers is distracted, leaning over to tell Tony something, his hand placed far up Tony's thigh.
Good picture, he thinks. Representative.
And then Tony ends up in a cave in the middle of the desert, and when he comes back, seeing Lord Rivers only makes him depressed.
There but for the grace of god, Tony thinks, and he's not at all sure he won't go back that way again.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/382512.html.
comments over there.
Summary: There but for the grace of god.
Fandom: Iron Man/Richard III (1995)
Word Count: 1482
Rating/Contents: NC-17, what is this i don't even
Pairing: Tony Stark/Lord Rivers
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: In my defense, this was for Porn Battle, for the prompt "Tony Stark/Any other character played by RDJ, then". And obvs if you tell me that, I'm going to go for the character from the movie I like the most. I apologize for nothing.
The resemblance between him and Lord Rivers has been remarked upon more than once, and Tony's still deciding if that's a good or a bad thing. He's pleased by the fact that the tabloids mistake them for each other, when Rivers is fifteen years younger than he is- mixed blessing, though, because sometimes, given grainy tabloid photographs, Obadiah and Pepper don't believe him when he says it's not really him.
And then there was that time in Ibiza; Tony still legitimately doesn't know which one of them that was.
He doesn't know that there are actually any pictures of them together; they've gone to the same parties before, smiled at the same cameras, but it hasn't happened yet. There have been, of course, the suggestions that they're secretly related, but all Tony's ever seen are shots placed side by side, the occasional hilariously bad photo manipulation. He's certain they've never actually had a conversation; sure, he'd come up with something, but what in the hell would he have to say to the current bad boy of the British royal family?
But it was going to happen eventually; their particular social set tends to put people in trajectories that only ever end in crash landings, and one night at some afterparty for some gala event he crashes into Rivers, or maybe Rivers crashes into him.
Tony is- holding court is a good phrase, he likes the sound of it- holding court in an alcove in the back, surrounded by several very pretty women and a whole lot of good champagne. People are coming and going, stopping in to say hi, kiss cheeks, whatever; photographers are snapping pictures left and right, their flashbulbs mixing into the lights strung around the pavilion, fading into them like background noise.
Rivers almost doesn't notice them; he's walking by on his way to somewhere else, and one of the girls calls out to him. He looks up, looking around as if he can't tell where the voice is coming from, and when she calls again, he turns on his heel, walking towards them.
"Well, hello," he says, looking at them, taking the champagne glass someone offers him and holding it out to be filled. He takes a sip, sighing happily. "Brilliant. You know, they've got the cheap stuff over there. Now I know where to turn to."
Before Tony offers him a seat or anything, Rivers just comes over to the girl nearest to Tony and sits in her lap, putting an arm around her neck and kissing her on the top of her head. She giggles, but people shift around, and he slides into the gap between her and Tony, pressed in very close to Tony's side.
"They tell me you're Tony Stark," he says, and his voice is so strange, English cadence and American accent.
"Last time I checked," Tony says, "but for royalty, I can have somebody check again."
"Lord Rivers, at your service," he says, grinning; he goes to put out his hand, but it's got a champagne glass in it, so he just shrugs and takes another sip.
"Calling somebody 'Lord' anything is a little formal for a party," Tony tells him.
"Rivers is fine," he says dismissively. "Call me anything you like, as long as you call me when there are beautiful girls and champagne." He pouts. "Which you neglected to do, apparently."
Tony raises an eyebrow at him. "From what I hear that's not something I need to help you with."
"But you didn't call me for these girls and this champagne," Rivers insists, "and both of them are of very high quality." He looks around at the girls, grinning, and they laugh and smile and generally swoon; Tony's not exactly thrilled about having his thunder stolen, but he can let it pass for now.
"My bad," Tony says, "but in my defense, I don't have your phone number."
"I must rectify that immediately," Rivers says, patting down his pockets, "only someone's taken my mobile." He shrugs. "It'll turn up," he says, apparently unconcerned about all the things that could happen if someone found a cell phone belonging to a member of the British royal family. "Anyway, I'm glad I caught you."
"Why is that?" Tony asks.
"I've been wanting to meet you for ages," Rivers tells him, as if it's obvious. "They say we're just alike."
"They say we look alike," Tony corrects.
"Six of one," Rivers says, and now he's quite close to Tony's face, studying him carefully. "Perhaps I should grow a goatee. I like yours."
"Then they really couldn't tell us apart," Tony says, turning his head to look at him. Rivers's eyes are so incredibly earnest, like a puppy or something; that's a really unfortunate comparison, because it makes Rivers look extremely fuckable.
Tony gets it, then, his appeal, the slightly befuddled sweetness that may or may not be genuine, Tony doesn't know yet. Tony knows what he's done, Tony knows exactly what he's done, but Rivers still manages to look innocent. He's got this look that just makes Tony want to do bad things to him, and Tony knows he's not the only one who's seen it. Rivers doesn't have to try; he just falls into people's laps and lets them do whatever they want to him- and then they end up doing whatever he wants.
Tony knows all this, but he still takes him home and fucks him.
It is probably- but not definitely, which is vaguely troubling- the most narcissistic thing he will do all year, but Rivers looks so damn good laid out across his bed. When Tony pins his hands above his head, he keeps them there, even when Tony lets up on him. He's blushing all the way down his chest and all the way up to his hair, and he's still got that innocent look on his face when Tony leans down and takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Tony cuts his eyes up at him, and Rivers is staring down at him like he's scandalized; Tony just grins, sucking harder, sliding down to get more into his mouth.
By the time Tony pulls away, Rivers is making noises of desperation, his hips rocking up. He watches avidly as Tony slicks up his fingers, spreading his legs wider in invitation, and one, two of Tony's fingers slide in easily. He's not particularly tight, and somehow that's better, hotter; he can lie with everything else, but his body is telling the truth. Just for the fun of it, Tony gives him another finger, and then he twists; Rivers arches right off the bed, swearing in shock.
"If you could please stop that and fuck me," Rivers says, through clenched teeth.
Tony smirks, pushing his fingers in deeper and moving them to just the right spot, and Rivers gasps. "You're just making me want to keep it up," he says, pulling his fingers out, "but since you asked so nicely."
Tony takes him by the thighs, dragging him closer, pushing his knees back toward his chest; Rivers groans loudly when Tony pushes into him, his hips working to get more, deeper, and Tony gives it to him. He figures neither of them want him to hold back, so he doesn't let up. This is fucking, pure and simple and glorious.
A royal fucking, as it were, and Rivers is certainly getting royally fucked. Tony doesn't even try to stop himself from laughing.
Rivers looks at him like he's sort of put out that Tony isn't taking this seriously, but a couple of hard thrusts, and he doesn't even seem to remember. Tony takes one of Rivers's hands, licking the palm slowly before he guides it to his cock, and Rivers takes the hint immediately, working himself quickly. Tony's not going to last a whole lot longer, not at this rate, not when Rivers is writhing and sweating and generally coming apart underneath him, and when Rivers throws his head back, moaning as he shoots all over his stomach, that's game over for Tony.
Rivers won't leave in the morning until after his second mimosa. He does give Tony wake-up head though, so it's hard for Tony to care very much.
--
Tony sees it a few days later in People or something; there's finally a picture of him and Rivers together, clear as day, and the press is pretty excited about it. Tony is smiling at the camera, but Rivers is distracted, leaning over to tell Tony something, his hand placed far up Tony's thigh.
Good picture, he thinks. Representative.
And then Tony ends up in a cave in the middle of the desert, and when he comes back, seeing Lord Rivers only makes him depressed.
There but for the grace of god, Tony thinks, and he's not at all sure he won't go back that way again.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/382512.html.
comments over there.