(no subject)
To make up for the madness that was Anna (omg girl crush!) bouncing plastic toys off zombies...I bring you smutty goodness. Slashy fun ahoy!
Title: Etiquette
Summary: "...always keep it in your head that you're prettier, more famous, more adored."
Rating: [hard] R
Pairing: Robert Pattinson/William Moseley
Author: sonata_art
Length: short
Status: complete
Warnings: slash, adult themes & language
Disclaimer: This story is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only.
A mutual nodding of heads is initially the only greeting that passes between them. The usual Hollywood etiquette. Not too nasty, not too nice. Acknowledge them, but always keep it in your head that you're prettier, more famous, more adored. Always. The club opening is what such an affair should be, of course. Swanky get-up, the room nicely arranged and decorated. Swanky people pretending they like each other but secretly sneering at each other's dresses. Some band plays on the stage and everyone only half pays attention.
The younger of the pair breaks the stare out (when did it become a competition?) and goes to the bar, aware the entire time that he is being followed, being hunted. He turns and gives a wary look at his hunter, who gives a grin that is nothing less than shark-like.
"Saw your movie."
"Yeah?" Petulant arrogant pout as he gives his order to the man behind the bar. "What about it?"
"Fair deal better than I thought it would be." Teasing smirk from behind a five o'clock shadow. They take their drinks and move to another area, where it's suddenly a lot quieter and a lot more private.
"Thought it would be rubbish did you? Thought it couldn't live up to your..." And his voice dies in his throat because suddenly the other moves closer. His drink is taken from his hand and he is pressed up against the wall by hands slightly larger than his own.
"Never thought you'd look so damn gorgeous." He'd answer you see but he's silenced by a mouth that's hot and so deliciously wet. There's bitterness to the kiss, like cigarettes. Tart citrus too, like good white wine. When he's released he glares indignantly but doesn't say a thing.
"So I'm there in the cinema right?" A long slow lick to his throat brings about a moan that he can't stop. "Every scene," lick "with you," lick "I'm sitting there, fully hard and all that."
"A-and?" Can't help but press against the older boy, can't hide the evidence of his lust. He's about ready to collapse.
"Then there's that scene." A moist, warm suckle. "You on that horse."
"Unicorn." He manages to interject. Got to have your facts right about the movie, right?
"Fuck off, glorified horse then." There's no more argument because now the other is cupping parts he's never let anyone else touch, pressing the heel of a palm against the swelling bulge in his pants. His breath is quickly becoming laboured as his arousal is massaged slowly...achingly...by a hand whose owner seems to know exactly what to do, to make him arch his back and mewl in such a wanton way. He's harder than he's ever been before, and the fire in his belly frightens him, because he's never wanted to be possessed as much as does right now. The other's speaking again, though he can barely hear through the roar of the blood pounding in his ears. "...riding it. Wishing that you were riding me instead."
"Tell me - uh, more." He can't help but say, although it comes out choked, his mouth struggling around the words.
"Us...in darkness. Like here." Lips trail up to find his burning ear lobe, mouth sucking on the pink flesh. "You on top, body glistening with sweat. Riding me, squeezing me."
"Fuck." And it's so unlike him because he doesn't normally talk like that, see? But it's all because of the other. It's under Robert Pattinson's touch that he comes undone.
"Now that lad, is the idea."