Past Performance Is Not Necessarily A Guide

Author's Notes: This one's pretty self-explanatory!
Disclaimer: Wholly fictional. Never happened. I don't know these actors, and believe me, I'm doing this for the obsessive love of writing, not for a single cent.

*** Many thanks go to my fabulous beta, Lilith, for her incredible insights and immeasurable talent as an editor. ***


"Give me a minute to collect meself. You just about destroyed me," Cillian sighs. Christ, that was so wrenchingly rippingly intensely gooood.

They're lying side by side across the middle of Naomie's hotel room bed. Her lissome body is overflowing with uncontrollable giggles and he gives her a playful kick. "Have you gone daft on me, then?" Still quaking with laughter, she curls into a ball against him, and he can't help but grin. She's pretty pleased with herself -- as she fucking well should be. "Fuck, that was so... You were so..."

His mind drifts back to Naomie's irresistible incantation, "Drown in me, drown in me..." and the rapturous undulation of her hips as she overtook him with her tight, wet cunt. She rode me till she broke me open -- reduced me to my humblest, purest state of being.

He has to kiss her again, now. "C'mereawantcha," he says, pulling her back up to him, rejoicing in the sensation of her voluptuous lips caressing his. He feels giddily drunk, drunk on Naomie and drunk on wine, and he's the just the right amount of drunk on both counts. Muscles pleasurably weak, Cillian's intoxicated body thrums with a profound sense of well being, and there's nothing in his peripherals but fuzzy afterglow, no thought of what's lurking around the next corner. The only thing in his sights is Naomie: Naomie's doe-like eyes, Naomie's graceful fingers, Naomie's hidden, silken core that stroked him into an ecstatic bliss. Her clothes are shutting him out and he's got the urge to go as far in as possible. "Will you please undress now?"

Naomie snickers.

"That's it -- I'm through with obeying your every command, your highness. Your clothes are coming off now!" He flips her onto her back, sloppily pulls her tight little shirt over her head, sees that her smile is wavering. He feels a wee twinge of regret about his performance, but keeps grinning widely, runs his hand over her smooth belly. "Sorry I couldn't... last longer, but you know, you just... you just fucked me too well." He jokes about their earlier conversation at the restaurant: "That qualified as fucking, right? You'd probably classify that as you fucking me, wouldn't ya?"

One side of her mouth twists up into a sideways smile and she chuckles, "Yeah, I'd say so." But then she gets a wicked look on her face and drawls, "I suppose some would differ. Some might say that there's a different way that... I. Could fuck. You."

His cheeks flush red, his hand freezes, mouth drops open. Stop it -- don't blush, boy. Maybe she doesn't mean...

Naomie's eyes gleam mischievously and she bursts into laughter, "I'll admit, I do have a dildo or two, but I don't have the thingy to strap it on with!"

Cillian splutters, "Quite the commanding force, you are!"

In a gentler, earnest tone, she asks, "Could be, perhaaaps... you're.... curious? About that?"

Maybe I am curious. He presses his lips together, trying to suppress a smile, then, flustered, quickly drops his head down onto her shoulder and tries not to laugh.

She purrs, "Oooh... so noted, so noted."

"Uh, I don't know about that," he mumbles into her skin, feeling a fearsome thrill in his chest.

"Mmmmmm, yeah.,. still noted." Naomie giggles, exclaims, "Game on! I'll need to go shopping though..."

"Mind yerself!" he protests, pouncing on her and cracking her up. But he quickly notices the messy johnny still on his semi-hard cock, and gets up to find the trash can. Walks back to the bed, takes in the sight of her: so long and lovely, saucy smile, glowing burnt sienna skin, the plunging bra that hugs her tits temptingly. "Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?"

Her smile softens vulnerably. So unbelievably beautiful.

Lying down on his side next to her, Cillian slips his hand round her neck and pulls her in for a kiss, sucking at her bottom lip gently. When he pulls back, he's rocked by the yearning expression on her face and the words start tumbling out of him. "Jesus, Nai, you made me come so hard. And everything you did, everything -- you were driving me mad, but it was so... You were on fire. You're amazing, fucking amazing."

"You were pretty amazing yourself," she says a little shyly. "I loved watching you, feeling you come."

His fingertips trace the curves of her breasts. "I've been thinking about you practically every waking minute. It was so hard to concentrate this week. I wanted you so much, so fucking much." Naomie's visibly warmed by his words. She's different somehow -- she looks hopeful, if guardedly so. It's like I'm finally saying the right things, making her... happy? Feels good... feels liberating.

"Yeah, that first drive to the set after was incredibly difficult for me," she confesses. "Seeing you... sitting next to you was -- "

"Really?"

"Of course." Her fingers stroke the light stubble on his jaw.

"You seemed so... composed, like."

"Well, I am an actress. I've been doing some of my best work off camera," her voice quavers, "just to manage being around you this past week. Well, this past month... or two."

He stares into her eyes, taking in the uncertainty, the need there. His breath is shallow as he blurts, "I was in denial about my feelings. I realised it at the pub that night -- when we were flirting at the table, and I had my arm around you, and we were talking and it all felt so right that I almost started touching you right there. That's why I left the table." He strokes her neck at the memory of what he'd found himself about to do. "I was really confused at first, but then I realised it wasn't just that I was drunk. Being that drunk just... swept away my defences, my rationalisations about my feelings for you." And it feels so much better not to fight it anymore. "I'm crazy about you."

Dumbfounded, Naomie searches his eyes for a second, then lifts her head to kiss him, sucks his tongue into her mouth, whimpers softly as his tongue responds to her invitation. Cillian's hand attempts to open the front clasp of her bra, and she quickly undoes it for him. While deepening the kiss, his palm swiftly sweeps one of the lacy cups aside to caress and squeeze and tease. Naomie tenses, arching her back, and Cillian's cock stirs in response. Eagerly, his open mouth kisses her bare breast, his tongue laps up the salty mist of sweat at her breastbone, his hand pushes away the other cup, his lips lightly tug at her nipple. When he suddenly sucks her tit hard, she shudders and moans, rakes a palm over his closely shorn hair.

"This skirt," Cillian mutters, searching for the fastening. Naomie moves quickly to unhook and unzip her skirt, and Cillian yanks it off, socks too, whilst she wriggles the rest of the way out of her bra. He clambers back over to her side, and pulls her into an electrifying, skin to skin, full body embrace that makes them both groan. They slide and drag against each other excitedly, Naomie's fitful breaths hot against Cillian's ear, his neck. Closer, I need to get closer. He hugs Naomie tightly, nuzzles her smooth neck and licks her sweet skin, his mind swimming in the hot whirl stirred by their naked ardour. Then he pulls at her luscious round bum to grind his hardening cock against her; her hands pull back at him just as insistently, her ripe lips pull at his lips, her very life force pulls at his being. True bliss, a voice within him sings, as he crushes his mouth harder against hers.

Cillian slides a palm between her thighs, and Naomie whimpers in anticipation, thrusting her hips in search of contact. But he realises that he wants more than just touch; he wants to behold her most private facet. He breaks away from her arms and coaxes her legs apart so he can kneel at her altar. Slowly, he pushes her thighs up against her chest, greedily tries to reveal as much of her pussy as he can.

Pinned by her own limbs, Naomie strains her neck to see what he's going to do. "Cillian?" she pants, sounding unsure, jittery.

Voice heavy with need, he answers, "I just want to see you, want to know you." Don't be nervous, love, he tries to tell her with his eyes.

"Oh my god," she moans, dropping her head back onto the mattress. She gasps harshly as his palms slide down toward her pussy and she grabs behind her knees to hold her legs in place for him.

His thumbs begin to stroke the slick lips of her pussy while his fingers push at her inner thighs to spread her even wider, to lay bare the secrets of her mesmerising cunt. As his thumbs explore, his eyes map her tender layers, her tiny black curls, the all-powerful little pleasure node, the path leading back inside her. "Beautiful, you are." You make me want to explore everything, make me feel like I could try anything.

"Oh god oh god oh god..." she keens softly, voice trembling, crescendoing to a wordless cry when his right thumb swipes her clit. His other thumb pushes firmly into her cunt, the fingers of that hand turning back round to tickle her arsehole -- what's good for the gander! -- as the thumb on her clit starts rubbing steadily.

I want to taste you, smell you. But this intensely intimate view of Naomie -- shoulders quivering, eyes shut tight with mouth open, nipples firm and pert, fingers digging into the skin behind her knees, hips twitching up, juicy pussy fully and perfectly exposed just for him -- is almost too overwhelming for Cillian to handle. The blood has raced back to his now fully erect, throbbing cock. "I want to be inside you again," he groans roughly. "Cannot get enough of you."

Her eyes flutter open. "Yes... now, please, yes!"

Where is that strip of condoms? There. He snatches it up, tears off a packet. Still on his knees, Cillian unrolls the johnny over his stiff, leaking cock. Scoots up to hug her arse between his thighs, inserts the tip of his cock into her wet slit. Naomie releases her legs onto his shoulders and he pulls her hips up and forward to penetrate her deeply. Together, they groan. Biting his lip, he holds her arse in his left palm, fingers her again with his right hand, rolls his hips lightly, slowly, as he tries to concentrate more on her clit than on his urge to pump his dick faster inside her.

Despite a few sharp cries, Naomie soon plucks his hand away from her clit. "Please... come down here... need your mouth."

"You have it," he grins, quoting her, kissing the inside of her leg as both his hands push and pull on her hips. Cillian is enjoying how this perpendicular position turns the tables: it's quite a turn-on to control the pace this time, to watch her react below him as she's getting fucked. Wilfully, he wraps his arms around her thighs, clasping them to his chest, and raises up on his knees a little so he can thrust more forcefully.

"Please... c'mere... in my arms... please," Naomie begs breathlessly.

The expression on her face kills him. You're looking up at me with such passion and such fear intertwined, I want to wipe away that fear and feel the closeness again. He quickly relents.

Now they're face to face and it's as if time has stopped, as if he's not breathing and his heart has stopped, even though he can feel his pulse everywhere in his burning body. He hears them both panting and whimpering as if from far away, because his world has narrowed to each slow, long, deep thrust of his cock into her enveloping cunt and how each one feels different and amazing in its own way and how each one reads differently on her wondrous face. "Naomie," he gasps. I want to dive into you and never come up for air again.

Naomie's hands sweep over his back, his hair. Her eyes shine with love. He bows worshipfully into her shoulder, rejoicing in the euphoric melding of their bodies, the luxurious wetness of her pussy, the heaviness gathering pleasurably in his balls, the astonishing sensation of his cock dragging against the hot muscle walls inside her.

Now he's fucking her mouth with his tongue as their bodies enmesh at their rolling hips, now he's sucking her chocolate nipples, now he's raising himself up so they can watch as his thick cock moves in and out of her. Now her hands caress the rippling curves of his buttocks as they flex, now she cries out and it's his cock that hears her, now her arms and legs enfold him as their bodies slide against each other, slippery with sweat. Now he rides higher, and her moans make a crazy, halting melody that drives him to stay right there and thrust steadily, knowing that he can make her come.

Soon she calls out, "Cill... I -- Cill! Mmnn mmnn..."

"Yes, baby, yes," he urges her breathlessly, quickening his pace just a little.

"...mmnn mmnn mmnn oh oh Cill oh oh oh oh oh -- uuuhhhhhhhnnn -- " The sound stops in her throat as her body, wrapped around him, spasms helplessly through a blazing climax.

When she relaxes, Cillian takes off, jacks into her faster and harder, grunting and moaning with abandon. He relishes her strangled cries and the stabbing of her fingernails into his shoulders, knowing that this fiercer fucking is probably torturing her sensitive clit now that she's come. You're so at my mercy. But now he's moving so fast, vibrating like a jackhammer, more shallow and with as much friction within her tight cunt as he can get, his arse pushing, pushing, pushing him over the edge and all his muscles contract and he goes rigid and the hot cum is spurting out of his cock, coating the head of his dick under the condom and he falls onto Naomie, not wanting to move ever again.

They're very quiet, neither wanting to leave this sacred space they've carved out for themselves. They don't move until Cillian catches the condom as his softening dick is about to pop out of her. But then they tangle their legs together, stroke each other's moist, heated skin, and gaze at each other dazedly. And a silent acknowledgment passes between them: now they've moved way beyond just getting each other off, and they both know it. A chill runs through Cillian's body. The dread is seeping back into his consciousness, but much stronger is a new awe at the power of their connection. He clings to it fiercely, kisses her forehead, her cheek, her swollen lips.

Finally, Naomie sighs, "So good, Cillian, so fucking good."

"Yeah, good fucking, that," he murmurs.

She chuckles and he moves in quickly to kiss her, feeling no regrets as her low, sexy laugh vibrates against his mouth. Then their eyes meet, and again they know they're not just kidding around.

"I'm knackered," he mumbles, "But it's probably still pretty early, right? My internal clock is broken so."

"Yeah... can y-, um, do you want to stay the night with me?"

"Absolutely." But... Oh no, I have to catch the train home in the morning. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What am I going to do? The morning -- wait until the morning, just wait. "Like eh... are you hungry? I'd murder that soup and salad now. Shite."

"Maybe they're still serving food at the hotel bar. Let me look it up... Oh, I think I have some trail mix and biscuits too."

They end up eating bad snack food, cuddling and talking for hours. Parents. Childhood. Siblings and pecking order. First acting roles. First big performances. University traumas and boredoms. Worst moments in front of the camera. Gossip about the 28 days later... cast and filmmakers. Not romantic histories. Not the romantic present.

Cillian feels her love. He wants it. Crazy as it might be, he wants Naomie all to himself, wants them to exhaust each other endlessly on their own private hotel room island. He's falling hard, but... But.

You're mine. But I'm not yours.