zerstören
rpf; zerstören
quentin tarantino/eli roth; christoph waltz/quentin tarantino
nc-17
1,246 words
It starts on the set of Death Proof. He’s leaning against the bar, listening to Quentin talk about how he’s been mixing and making drinks since the dawn of fucking time or something, but he’s not paying attention to that - his focus is drawn to how ridiculous that slicked back hair looks and how much he wants to fuck that mouth that never shuts the fuck up.
Eli is beginning to think he has a problem. Then again, he blames it on the fact that Quentin never shuts up. Clearly a dick is the answer to this problem. Sure is something Eli is focusing on far too much for it to be considered healthy.
If a good facefucking is what Quentin needs, it’s a damn good dicking that Eli wants. To do the dicking that is. He’s not gay. Really, he’s not. And when Omar comments on one of the extras with a tight-looking ass and perky tits, he makes it his mission to prove he’s not gay (in his mind) by fucking her on the bar when everyone’s gone. That, and it’s fun to argue who’ll be the first to do it with Omar. Now there’s a man who knows his sexuality.
…Of course as fate would dictate, Eli never makes it to the bar fucking and ends up at the after party of the premier, hanging off whoever was nearest, trying hard not to send his drink flying into the cleavage of the nearest hot chick.
And of course, he’s trying not to think about Quentin, looking suave as fuck, all black and contrasted nicely with a white tie. Really, he’s got to ask one day how the fuck he manages to pull off everything he wears but that might come out as slightly homosexual. And you know who’s not homosexual? Eli fuckin’ Roth. He’s a goddamn legend in his own mind. A conqueror of vaginas. Goddamnit.
Everyone seems to be in various degrees of wasted, so he doesn’t think about the fact that Quentin’s finally approaching him, pulling away from Rosario and cornering Eli like he’s got something important to say.
There’s nothing important about a thigh between his legs, lips on his own, whiskey, smoke and aniseed (fuck Jägermeister) invading his mouth and senses. No, there’s nothing about this that makes it okay, that makes Eli want a guy. Male. Quentin. But hell, he’s not exactly saying no, nor is he shoving the cocky goddamn director away. Eli is helplessly arching up against him, grabbing that tie and yanking him closer, turning his head just enough to bite Quentin’s lower lip hard, demanding more friction.
And as soon as it’s there, Quentin pulls back with a laugh, cuffing Eli’s shoulder and being pulled away by someone. And Eli’s left with a hard-on. Raging hard-on. It can cut glass, okay, that’s how fucking bad it is. He’s going to kill someone.
Fast-forward to the present and he’s too busy trying not to look like a drooling idiot at the Oscars. Way too many people way more famous than him, and he’s started to realize why they give them little food and too much champagne. On his quest for more champagne, he spots Christoph and Quentin talking in the corner, Chris practically clinging to that little statue, talking with it, as opposed to his hands as he usually does.
It’s actually kind of cute, and he watches for a moment, until he catches that wicked gleam in Quentin’s eyes and his stomach drops, warmth curling low in his gut. Fuck. Eli wonders if - no. No way. Like hell that’s going to happen, but he remembers what happened to him and now he’s curious.
So he does what any other curious person does - he follows them when they wander off, presumably (in his mind) somewhere private. It’s fantastic to see when they do, going into one of the hotel’s rooms (obviously one of theirs) and he manages to slip in before the door closes, only getting Christoph’s attention. He winks, pressing a finger to his lips, and Eli nods, indicating to the closet. Christoph nods, and he slips in quickly, shutting the door behind himself while Quentin’s busy getting himself another drink. Nerves much?
“Your room is very nice. It looks like mine. How utterly delightful,” Christoph drawls, sitting down on the couch and sets his Oscar down on the table, looking at Quentin with an almost coy look. Quentin just laughs, starts talking about cliché Hollywood movies and Eli tunes out for a moment, unzipping his trousers in anticipation.
Quentin still has a mouth he wants to fuck.
“However - and Quentin, I do love your stories, but I just wanted to thank you - personally, I might add - for my little gold man. For the opportunity to earn it. Without you, none of this - the past two years, almost - wouldn’t have been possible,” Christoph interrupts, and Eli has to admire his balls. Maybe literally soon, who knows. But it’s the fact that he knows that Christoph is hamming it up that makes him that little bit harder. A real life porno.
“Seriously, without you? Wouldn’t have been possible to get this far. You just… man, you’ve got no idea how ridiculously grateful I am with --”
Christoph, Eli decides, is a goddamn genius. Shutting Quentin up with a kiss that looks like it’s long overdue seems like one of the best ways to shut him (not Eli’s ideal way, but it’s something). And that passion, shit, Eli needs to stop jerking off before he comes prematurely (and he hasn’t had that problem since he was a teenager, thank you very much).
It all progresses quickly from there - Christoph gets to his knees, Quentin looks shocked but otherwise clearly thinks this is a great plan, and finally, finally there is some genuine cock-sucking action worthy of the best Deepthroat movie. Christoph looks good like this, all hollow-cheeked and sucking hard like he’s enjoying it just as much (judging by the tented suit pants, he is), and Quentin’s got his hand in his hair and encouraging him with softer words that Eli can’t hear, and tugs of his hair.
And then it’s a race in Eli’s mind as to who’s going to come first - him or Quentin? But it’s Quentin that comes with a shout (up until then, Eli was shocked by how not mouthy he is), keeping Christoph in place, and it’s the sight of Christoph swallowing that does it for Eli. At least he’s somewhat silent, even though he tries in vain to cover the head of his cock it still seeps through his fingers and onto his dress pants and shoes.
Well, fuck.
It doesn’t matter then, because Christoph is jerking off, and damn, that’s actually pretty damn hot, if Eli’s being truthful and not totally gay. He’s allowed to admire the human form, after all. In a purely -
Christoph shudders and comes all over his hand and the carpet. Eli has enough time to gape for a moment before suddenly he’s indicating to the closet, and Quentin’s walking over and -
“Huh.”
Eli grins. “Quentin, if it wasn’t for you --” But he’s cut off when Quentin yanks him out and shoves him in the direction of the bed. And all he can think is about fucking time.
quentin tarantino/eli roth; christoph waltz/quentin tarantino
nc-17
1,246 words
It starts on the set of Death Proof. He’s leaning against the bar, listening to Quentin talk about how he’s been mixing and making drinks since the dawn of fucking time or something, but he’s not paying attention to that - his focus is drawn to how ridiculous that slicked back hair looks and how much he wants to fuck that mouth that never shuts the fuck up.
Eli is beginning to think he has a problem. Then again, he blames it on the fact that Quentin never shuts up. Clearly a dick is the answer to this problem. Sure is something Eli is focusing on far too much for it to be considered healthy.
If a good facefucking is what Quentin needs, it’s a damn good dicking that Eli wants. To do the dicking that is. He’s not gay. Really, he’s not. And when Omar comments on one of the extras with a tight-looking ass and perky tits, he makes it his mission to prove he’s not gay (in his mind) by fucking her on the bar when everyone’s gone. That, and it’s fun to argue who’ll be the first to do it with Omar. Now there’s a man who knows his sexuality.
…Of course as fate would dictate, Eli never makes it to the bar fucking and ends up at the after party of the premier, hanging off whoever was nearest, trying hard not to send his drink flying into the cleavage of the nearest hot chick.
And of course, he’s trying not to think about Quentin, looking suave as fuck, all black and contrasted nicely with a white tie. Really, he’s got to ask one day how the fuck he manages to pull off everything he wears but that might come out as slightly homosexual. And you know who’s not homosexual? Eli fuckin’ Roth. He’s a goddamn legend in his own mind. A conqueror of vaginas. Goddamnit.
Everyone seems to be in various degrees of wasted, so he doesn’t think about the fact that Quentin’s finally approaching him, pulling away from Rosario and cornering Eli like he’s got something important to say.
There’s nothing important about a thigh between his legs, lips on his own, whiskey, smoke and aniseed (fuck Jägermeister) invading his mouth and senses. No, there’s nothing about this that makes it okay, that makes Eli want a guy. Male. Quentin. But hell, he’s not exactly saying no, nor is he shoving the cocky goddamn director away. Eli is helplessly arching up against him, grabbing that tie and yanking him closer, turning his head just enough to bite Quentin’s lower lip hard, demanding more friction.
And as soon as it’s there, Quentin pulls back with a laugh, cuffing Eli’s shoulder and being pulled away by someone. And Eli’s left with a hard-on. Raging hard-on. It can cut glass, okay, that’s how fucking bad it is. He’s going to kill someone.
Fast-forward to the present and he’s too busy trying not to look like a drooling idiot at the Oscars. Way too many people way more famous than him, and he’s started to realize why they give them little food and too much champagne. On his quest for more champagne, he spots Christoph and Quentin talking in the corner, Chris practically clinging to that little statue, talking with it, as opposed to his hands as he usually does.
It’s actually kind of cute, and he watches for a moment, until he catches that wicked gleam in Quentin’s eyes and his stomach drops, warmth curling low in his gut. Fuck. Eli wonders if - no. No way. Like hell that’s going to happen, but he remembers what happened to him and now he’s curious.
So he does what any other curious person does - he follows them when they wander off, presumably (in his mind) somewhere private. It’s fantastic to see when they do, going into one of the hotel’s rooms (obviously one of theirs) and he manages to slip in before the door closes, only getting Christoph’s attention. He winks, pressing a finger to his lips, and Eli nods, indicating to the closet. Christoph nods, and he slips in quickly, shutting the door behind himself while Quentin’s busy getting himself another drink. Nerves much?
“Your room is very nice. It looks like mine. How utterly delightful,” Christoph drawls, sitting down on the couch and sets his Oscar down on the table, looking at Quentin with an almost coy look. Quentin just laughs, starts talking about cliché Hollywood movies and Eli tunes out for a moment, unzipping his trousers in anticipation.
Quentin still has a mouth he wants to fuck.
“However - and Quentin, I do love your stories, but I just wanted to thank you - personally, I might add - for my little gold man. For the opportunity to earn it. Without you, none of this - the past two years, almost - wouldn’t have been possible,” Christoph interrupts, and Eli has to admire his balls. Maybe literally soon, who knows. But it’s the fact that he knows that Christoph is hamming it up that makes him that little bit harder. A real life porno.
“Seriously, without you? Wouldn’t have been possible to get this far. You just… man, you’ve got no idea how ridiculously grateful I am with --”
Christoph, Eli decides, is a goddamn genius. Shutting Quentin up with a kiss that looks like it’s long overdue seems like one of the best ways to shut him (not Eli’s ideal way, but it’s something). And that passion, shit, Eli needs to stop jerking off before he comes prematurely (and he hasn’t had that problem since he was a teenager, thank you very much).
It all progresses quickly from there - Christoph gets to his knees, Quentin looks shocked but otherwise clearly thinks this is a great plan, and finally, finally there is some genuine cock-sucking action worthy of the best Deepthroat movie. Christoph looks good like this, all hollow-cheeked and sucking hard like he’s enjoying it just as much (judging by the tented suit pants, he is), and Quentin’s got his hand in his hair and encouraging him with softer words that Eli can’t hear, and tugs of his hair.
And then it’s a race in Eli’s mind as to who’s going to come first - him or Quentin? But it’s Quentin that comes with a shout (up until then, Eli was shocked by how not mouthy he is), keeping Christoph in place, and it’s the sight of Christoph swallowing that does it for Eli. At least he’s somewhat silent, even though he tries in vain to cover the head of his cock it still seeps through his fingers and onto his dress pants and shoes.
Well, fuck.
It doesn’t matter then, because Christoph is jerking off, and damn, that’s actually pretty damn hot, if Eli’s being truthful and not totally gay. He’s allowed to admire the human form, after all. In a purely -
Christoph shudders and comes all over his hand and the carpet. Eli has enough time to gape for a moment before suddenly he’s indicating to the closet, and Quentin’s walking over and -
“Huh.”
Eli grins. “Quentin, if it wasn’t for you --” But he’s cut off when Quentin yanks him out and shoves him in the direction of the bed. And all he can think is about fucking time.