Fic: Hidden Beneath
Title: Hidden Beneath
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Meryl Streep/George Clooney
Rating: R
Summary: Meryl's SAG dress causes George Clooney's mind to wander to places where perhaps it should not.
Requested by: merylandrebafan
A/N: So yeah, RPF, I'm not really comfortable writing that. It just feels weird and wrong, but I still hope you can maybe enjoy it a little. Just for everybody's peace of mind, it's mostly a fantasy in the story, so...
Hidden Beneath
He knows men fantasize about women. That is just a fact. Everybody knows this, even wives know it. The only fun part about it is that sometimes, as a man, you can imagine all the things you know could never while the woman is right in front of you and does not have a clue, at least that is what most men think.
She stands right in front of him talking, but while normally anybody around her would listen and try to soak everything up she says, he has lost focus and has no idea what she talking about. He blames the dress of course.
The first time he saw her in that dress, he didn’t really know what to think of it. It was a little too busy for him with those blue and green spots. That was until he saw her up close. He had walked over to her to talk. They had to talk, they were Mr. and Mrs. Fox. It was only natural that they would talk.
When they met in the crowded space, he immediately wished he had just gone over to Jon Hamm to talk to him or at least to someone whose dress didn’t display so much of what was hidden beneath. From a distance the neckline had been low cut, but up close he noticed, he actually saw how far he could actually see.
He knows he’s looking fairly obvious at her cleavage, he even sees camera’s flashing so he knows that his wandering eyes have been captured forever, but at that moment he can’t bring himself to care. He focusing too hard to keep his hands under control. They are itching to unbuckle the belt that holds the dress together. He wants to slowly part the dress and reveal what it is underneath it.
‘George?’ His head snaps up and his eyes meet her sparkling ones. They always sparkle, but now there’s something mischievous about it. That and the little smug smile that plays on her lips tell him that she knows.
Of course she knows. How could she not? What surprises him at that she actually finds it amusing that he is thinking things he definitely should not while having a girlfriend.
‘Yeah?’ he replies, waiting for some sharp retort, something that she will say that will make him cringe and wish he had never let his eyes wonder, but she doesn’t. She just smiles, pats his back which makes him feel like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and leans towards him as if to kiss him on the cheek.
‘I’ll see you later,’ she whispers in his ear and walks off to talk to whoever is standing behind him. He sighs. Suddenly he has the feeling it will be a long evening. That thought is soon confirmed when he sits at the reserved table and notices that he can, without too much trouble, look at her the entire evening. Which he does.
Every actor always says that a screen actors guild award is always such a pleasure to receive, because you’ve been given it by your peers. But that doesn’t mean that the evening isn’t boring. It’s just like any other award show. A presenter arrives, there’s a little speech, usually with a few failed attempts at humour, the nominees are presented, the winner is announced and there’s an uninspired speech with a thousand times ‘thank you’ in them.
George needs to make an effort to not rest his elbow on the table and let his head rest in his hand. Nights like this seem to drag on forever, so he can’t really be blamed to let his mind wander to places where it shouldn’t. Like all sorts of impossibilities that could happen at the after party or after that.
It’s so easy to fantasize when you don’t have to imagine the person, but instead you can just look at them. In the darkened room he can easily inspect her, even though she isn’t that close to him. Even in the dim light her porcelain skin seems to glow and she looks ethereal. He wonders if her skin is a soft as it looks, if the skin on her legs, stomach, breasts is as soft as her the skin on her cheeks. It probably is.
He wishes that for one night, just for one night she could be his. That for one night he gets to be the one that unbuckles her belt and tosses it behind him, not caring about anything but the woman before him. Slowly he would push the dress off her shoulders, taking in every inch of her body as it came into view.
He knows already that he would love her body, that it won’t be perfect and that time will have taken its toll, but that it will still be beautiful. Who cares that she’s twelve years older? He knows he doesn’t and won’t.
He would place feather light kisses on her skin. In his mind she would tremble and whimper and he would continue. He would kiss her breasts, her nipples until she couldn’t take it anymore, then he would kiss her mouth.
Suddenly he sits a little straighter in his chair. He can’t get too carried away. He almost moaned when he thought about her mouth. That kiss was perfect, soft and sensual, but full of passion. Passion for night. He would tangle his fingers in her hair and it would feel like silk.
When he looks at her again, he sees her seat is empty. He tries to locate her. Where has she gone? He remembers she has to present an award. Soon he must go to the stage too. Best Ensemble, he can barely remember who he voted for.
He makes his way to the side of stage and watches her present. She doesn’t like this, never has. She always comes because she’ll get to see her friends, but she hates everything that comes along with these events. The red carpet, the interviews, presenting.
Completely mesmerized he watches her move. He wonders if she knows what she does to men by just being herself. She isn’t fake, she isn’t pretty like a model. She beautiful, gorgeous. There’s literally no one like her. She just is one of kind, one that he will never have, but how he wishes she could be his.
If they ever had their night he knows he will do everything for her, everything to make sure he pleases. It would be his reward to hear her cry out in pleasure, preferably with his name falling from her lips. Just before Jeff finishes his speech he can picture her underneath him, her hair spread out on the pillow, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her irises nearly black.
When she and Jeff leave the stage he tries to get himself under control. With these feelings and images going through his head he has to make sure he won’t jump her, which would be rather embarrassing. So he stares straight ahead where the Best Actresses are being presented.
In one swift movement someone pulls him aside into a dark little corner where no one can see him or her for that matter. He stifles a gasp. Before he has any chance to react, those lips are on his own. He melts and moves his lips against hers. It’s over in seconds, because she has to look presentable when she is announced and the camera switches to her, but he can’t believe it. She has kissed him.
She smirks and leaves after wiping her lipstick off his lips with her thumb. He has to resist the urge to kiss her thumb. He wants to ask her what just happened and why she did that, but he knows he shouldn’t. He’d either get an answer he doesn’t want or she’d be evasive and neither is exactly pleasing.
He watches her applaud and cheer for Sandra. She really is a wonder. If he hadn’t known any better he could have sworn she had won. She can be genuinely happy for somebody other than herself. He wants to kiss her again, but shakes his head.
‘Enough,’ he whispers to himself. ‘No more.’
He has been kissed by Meryl Streep. What more could a guy or girl, he thinks when he looks at Sandra, ask for?
Fandom: RPF
Pairing: Meryl Streep/George Clooney
Rating: R
Summary: Meryl's SAG dress causes George Clooney's mind to wander to places where perhaps it should not.
Requested by: merylandrebafan
A/N: So yeah, RPF, I'm not really comfortable writing that. It just feels weird and wrong, but I still hope you can maybe enjoy it a little. Just for everybody's peace of mind, it's mostly a fantasy in the story, so...
Hidden Beneath
He knows men fantasize about women. That is just a fact. Everybody knows this, even wives know it. The only fun part about it is that sometimes, as a man, you can imagine all the things you know could never while the woman is right in front of you and does not have a clue, at least that is what most men think.
She stands right in front of him talking, but while normally anybody around her would listen and try to soak everything up she says, he has lost focus and has no idea what she talking about. He blames the dress of course.
The first time he saw her in that dress, he didn’t really know what to think of it. It was a little too busy for him with those blue and green spots. That was until he saw her up close. He had walked over to her to talk. They had to talk, they were Mr. and Mrs. Fox. It was only natural that they would talk.
When they met in the crowded space, he immediately wished he had just gone over to Jon Hamm to talk to him or at least to someone whose dress didn’t display so much of what was hidden beneath. From a distance the neckline had been low cut, but up close he noticed, he actually saw how far he could actually see.
He knows he’s looking fairly obvious at her cleavage, he even sees camera’s flashing so he knows that his wandering eyes have been captured forever, but at that moment he can’t bring himself to care. He focusing too hard to keep his hands under control. They are itching to unbuckle the belt that holds the dress together. He wants to slowly part the dress and reveal what it is underneath it.
‘George?’ His head snaps up and his eyes meet her sparkling ones. They always sparkle, but now there’s something mischievous about it. That and the little smug smile that plays on her lips tell him that she knows.
Of course she knows. How could she not? What surprises him at that she actually finds it amusing that he is thinking things he definitely should not while having a girlfriend.
‘Yeah?’ he replies, waiting for some sharp retort, something that she will say that will make him cringe and wish he had never let his eyes wonder, but she doesn’t. She just smiles, pats his back which makes him feel like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and leans towards him as if to kiss him on the cheek.
‘I’ll see you later,’ she whispers in his ear and walks off to talk to whoever is standing behind him. He sighs. Suddenly he has the feeling it will be a long evening. That thought is soon confirmed when he sits at the reserved table and notices that he can, without too much trouble, look at her the entire evening. Which he does.
Every actor always says that a screen actors guild award is always such a pleasure to receive, because you’ve been given it by your peers. But that doesn’t mean that the evening isn’t boring. It’s just like any other award show. A presenter arrives, there’s a little speech, usually with a few failed attempts at humour, the nominees are presented, the winner is announced and there’s an uninspired speech with a thousand times ‘thank you’ in them.
George needs to make an effort to not rest his elbow on the table and let his head rest in his hand. Nights like this seem to drag on forever, so he can’t really be blamed to let his mind wander to places where it shouldn’t. Like all sorts of impossibilities that could happen at the after party or after that.
It’s so easy to fantasize when you don’t have to imagine the person, but instead you can just look at them. In the darkened room he can easily inspect her, even though she isn’t that close to him. Even in the dim light her porcelain skin seems to glow and she looks ethereal. He wonders if her skin is a soft as it looks, if the skin on her legs, stomach, breasts is as soft as her the skin on her cheeks. It probably is.
He wishes that for one night, just for one night she could be his. That for one night he gets to be the one that unbuckles her belt and tosses it behind him, not caring about anything but the woman before him. Slowly he would push the dress off her shoulders, taking in every inch of her body as it came into view.
He knows already that he would love her body, that it won’t be perfect and that time will have taken its toll, but that it will still be beautiful. Who cares that she’s twelve years older? He knows he doesn’t and won’t.
He would place feather light kisses on her skin. In his mind she would tremble and whimper and he would continue. He would kiss her breasts, her nipples until she couldn’t take it anymore, then he would kiss her mouth.
Suddenly he sits a little straighter in his chair. He can’t get too carried away. He almost moaned when he thought about her mouth. That kiss was perfect, soft and sensual, but full of passion. Passion for night. He would tangle his fingers in her hair and it would feel like silk.
When he looks at her again, he sees her seat is empty. He tries to locate her. Where has she gone? He remembers she has to present an award. Soon he must go to the stage too. Best Ensemble, he can barely remember who he voted for.
He makes his way to the side of stage and watches her present. She doesn’t like this, never has. She always comes because she’ll get to see her friends, but she hates everything that comes along with these events. The red carpet, the interviews, presenting.
Completely mesmerized he watches her move. He wonders if she knows what she does to men by just being herself. She isn’t fake, she isn’t pretty like a model. She beautiful, gorgeous. There’s literally no one like her. She just is one of kind, one that he will never have, but how he wishes she could be his.
If they ever had their night he knows he will do everything for her, everything to make sure he pleases. It would be his reward to hear her cry out in pleasure, preferably with his name falling from her lips. Just before Jeff finishes his speech he can picture her underneath him, her hair spread out on the pillow, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her irises nearly black.
When she and Jeff leave the stage he tries to get himself under control. With these feelings and images going through his head he has to make sure he won’t jump her, which would be rather embarrassing. So he stares straight ahead where the Best Actresses are being presented.
In one swift movement someone pulls him aside into a dark little corner where no one can see him or her for that matter. He stifles a gasp. Before he has any chance to react, those lips are on his own. He melts and moves his lips against hers. It’s over in seconds, because she has to look presentable when she is announced and the camera switches to her, but he can’t believe it. She has kissed him.
She smirks and leaves after wiping her lipstick off his lips with her thumb. He has to resist the urge to kiss her thumb. He wants to ask her what just happened and why she did that, but he knows he shouldn’t. He’d either get an answer he doesn’t want or she’d be evasive and neither is exactly pleasing.
He watches her applaud and cheer for Sandra. She really is a wonder. If he hadn’t known any better he could have sworn she had won. She can be genuinely happy for somebody other than herself. He wants to kiss her again, but shakes his head.
‘Enough,’ he whispers to himself. ‘No more.’
He has been kissed by Meryl Streep. What more could a guy or girl, he thinks when he looks at Sandra, ask for?