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Past Performance Is Not Necessarily A Guide	By : MeltyGirl Category: Individual Celebrities > Cillian Murphy Views: 4436 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Cillian Murphy. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Disclaimer: Once again, this is completely fictional! I don't know these actors and I'm not making any money from this story.

"Well, bloody well kiss me then." It's a command, but it catches in Naomie's throat, it feels like begging. She's furious at Cillian's hesitation, even as she's furious at how she's put herself in this vulnerable position.

She should simply be overjoyed that something's actually happening between them, even if it is in the hallway approaching the restrooms at a pub. But of course, it's not just the setting that's a little risky.

Minutes ago, even as she'd reached out to touch Cillian's beautiful bee stung lips, Naomie was telling herself it was a big mistake to make the first move. Even as she had been so relieved that he didn't let her walk away from him, she was exasperated to be so in thrall to a man who couldn't just give himself over to her. Even as she'd swooned to feel his unexpected desperation for her, trembling, grasping and hard, the fierce desire driving her forward was entwined with fear: fear that he would stop, fear that he wouldn't stop but he was just drunk, fear that either way, her pent-up feelings for him would be multiplied exponentially and she'd spin irrevocably out of control.

Naomie had been instantly attracted to Cillian the day they met at a test for the leads in 28 Days Later. When she found out she'd won the role, she was over the moon with excitement about doing the film. And she couldn't help but think, Maybe there will be an added bonus.

She hadn't dated anyone in a few years, something that often surprised people. "Single? A pretty young thing like you, love?" they'd say. Yet somehow no one who appealed to her ever offered to rectify the situation.

From the first day of work, she and Cillian had a lot of fun. He was often totally silly, which she always found appealing and which was especially welcome given the apocalyptic mood of the film. Since they were both naturally skinny, they often joked about what a twist it was that a film's female star was trying in vain to gain weight, while the male star could for once stop worrying about not being able to. From time to time, she'd catch him watching her and it gave her such a rush.

But Naomie repeatedly admonished herself that there was no way she was going let an impulsive on set romance interfere with this amazing opportunity. What if it turned sour immediately? They'd be stuck working together and if it became really difficult, it could damage her working reputation. Better to channel the high energy the crush generated into her performance, keep everything between them positive and wait to get to know him better. Better to see if her feelings for him even lasted, see if he turned out to be problematic or untrustworthy or annoying. In the meantime, a little flirting wouldn't hurt.

Then, still pretty early on, she'd overheard Cillian use the dreaded phrase: "My girlfriend and I..." Heat rushed into her cheeks. She felt so stupid, so embarrassed. Oh, and it got even worse: they lived together.

Well then, that's that. Naomie resolved to put her feelings aside. That's when she started waking up in the mornings all wet and throbbing, the dream state feel of Cillian still rippling inside her.

It started to piss her off, the way she had to work to conceal her disappointment and burgeoning lust, while he got to be carefree and carelessly flirtatious. One minute he'd do something that made her sure that he'd sensed the depth of her crush, then the next minute, it would seem like he didn't have a clue. She really got to flex her acting chops the couple of times he'd mentioned The Girlfriend. Hearing about her made Naomie's feelings seem foolish and out of bounds. But this woman whom she'd never met was a mere abstraction compared to the tangible sensory overload that vibrated through her body whenever she was close to Cillian.

But now, unexpectedly -- miraculously -- the sensory overload melting her was being set off by his hands actually touching her, his desire for her unmistakably strong. But it's not fair that I have to beg him to kiss me! I don't want to have to push him into this.

Then his mouth is on hers. A wet, hot clenching between her thighs overwhelms her thoughts. His lips tenderly opening her mouth, his hands on her backside, his thigh sliding between her legs -- this is all that matters, this is all that is.

Their kissing is agonizingly slow, nothing like the frantic urgency of the scene they'd shot in the soldiers' mansion HQ. Even the moments between kisses – hearing his halting breathing, anticipating the next sweet crush and suck -- are intensely erotic. Then Cillian's lips and tongue slowly burn a path of hot kisses from her lips to her jaw to her throat and Naomie's shoulders start to quiver.

Cillian pins her hips to the wall with his pelvis and leans back so his hands can cup her breasts, which are braless under her shirt. This bold move takes her breath away and her eyes scan the hall nervously -- luckily, no one's there. He smiles sheepishly, eyes a bit pained, then takes her face in his hands, pulling her in for a long kiss. Naomie wraps her arms around him, drags her fingers down his back; he embraces her tightly like he can't get close enough. Their tongues tangle sensuously, their hands slide and caress.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, get a room," a passer-by cracks.

Naomie pulls away, embarrassed, then ducks around Cillian to see who it was. No one we know, thank god. Cillian growls softly and tips forward to lean against the wall face first.

"C'mon," Naomie hears herself say, starting down the hall, pulling on his hand but failing to keep hold. Her mind races as she keeps walking, fervently hoping to find somewhere private further down the hall. This might be my only chance. But if it's the only time, then what the hell am I doing? Throwing myself in front of the train?

She stumbles just a bit, laughs at her tipsy state. She's never been this drunk before, always having been a good girl who rarely drinks anything. When she turns back to smile at him, she laughs again at catching him adjusting the bulge in his pants. Cillian feigns a scowl, laughs too, follows her. Breaking into a light jog, with each stride she feels just how drippingly aroused she is. She passes an empty kitchen, looks back momentarily to make sure he's still following her, rounds a corner, hears him coming closer. She's about to reach a back door, when suddenly his arms are pulling her back, wrapping around her from behind.

Her giggle is cut short by a gasp: Cillian's warm mouth is on her neck, sucking insistently, and she feels his chest heave, his hardness rub against her. She tries to turn around, but he resists. His left hand slides under her shirt to her right breast, while his right hand hastily hikes up the side of her skirt. In a flash, his hand is under her knickers and his throat releases a low moan as his fingers glide into her slick folds. Whimpering at this sudden escalation, Naomie reaches an arm back behind her to grab his arse, but she's helpless to do much more. He's taken control, twisting her erect nipple, sucking her earlobe lightly, teasing her swollen clit with a wickedly skilful finger.

She realizes that she's started moaning when his left hand moves up to gently cover her mouth and he whispers wryly, "Shhhhhh, baby. We don't want an audience for this." Then two of his fingers slip into her mouth, keeping her quieter, but she's still panting, flying high. Pleasure radiates from the core of her as Cillian coaxes her closer to the edge.

After all his hedging, this dizzying seduction is a delicious surprise. But Naomie also feels too much at his mercy in this position. Or at her own mercy. Any moment, she might hear the thrilling sound of him unzipping his pants, and she wasn't sure she'd have the willpower to stop him from fucking her. She wasn't on the pill, she didn't have a condom -- and if he did, she how should she interpret that? Maybe he does this all the time. I don't think that's likely. Maybe he's been feeling the same way I have. Or maybe he's already sensed how easy it would be to get in my pants and he doesn't care about anything but the sex.

Again she wriggles, attempting to turn around, but his left arm moves down to tighten around her chest. "I want to make you come," his lilting baritone breathes into her ear. "I'm going to make you come so hard." Naomie shudders, his words almost taking her there. "Tell me how you want it."

"A little harder," she gasps.

"Yeah?" he whispers, pushing her knickers down a bit. His arm works two rigid fingers over her clit, rubbing harder and faster.

"Uhhhn -- " she groans, quickly stifling the sound. Oh, he's so, sooo good. Feeling almost afraid of the tremendous tension building fast within her, she grinds against his hand. "I'm... I'm close... just don't stop."

"As if I could."

Naomie can't restrain a high whimper.

"Kiss me," he intones, turning her chin back toward him. She twists around to reach him, and his tongue thrusts into her trembling mouth. Moments later, wrenching waves of pleasure wrack her lithe body, jerking her away from his kiss. Her knees falter, but Cillian clasps her to his chest, holding her upright as his hand fights to keep rubbing her despite her bucking hips. She clenches her teeth to stay quiet; her lungs heave.

As her spasms soften, Cillian's arm releases her torso. Stepping around to face her, he abruptly thrusts four fingers into her. She lets go a cry, but he quickly smothers it by pulling her into an almost violent kiss, and backs her against the wall by pushing with the hand inside her. Naomie contracts around his hand and shudders, but Cillian doesn't let her mouth get away this time – he kisses her fiercely, while again plunging his fingers into her, twisting his hand and sliding out, then quickly pushing in once more. Soon he's pumping faster, the heel of his hand hitting her clit again and again. Naomie feels her tightly closed eyes squeeze out a few tears in response to the exquisite pressure. Maybe that's what they mean by the G-Spot?!?

Soon she gasps into the kiss, pierced by a sharp echo of her first orgasm. Cillian slows then stops, leans his right side against the wall while his left hand roams over her, raising a few shivers. He wipes away a teardrop from her cheek and she opens her eyes, feeling completely overwhelmed, still terribly turned on.

"Jesus Christ, you feel incredible," Cillian murmurs, still breathing a little quickly, his hand roving underneath her shirt. "Fucking amazing."

The intensity of his gaze, his big blue eyes, those otherworldly cheekbones -- not to mention his fingers lightly grazing her breast -- make her feel helpless. "How did you do that to me?" she asks breathlessly before she can stop herself. It's never been like that before.

He smiles, with a hint of sadness that gives her a twinge of jealousy. Of course, he gets more practice than I do.

She suppresses thoughts of The Girlfriend, caresses his face, marvels at his long eyelashes. Blurts, "God, you're pretty, Cillian. Scary pretty."

Cillian chuckles. Then a shadow falls over his face and he says tremulously, "It's you... you're so beautiful, it's... You do know you're fucking killing me, yeah?"

Naomie doesn't respond, wonders exactly what he means by that. Is he afraid he could fall for me? Or is he just trying to tell me that he can't unzip right now even though he wants to? The Girlfriend is not just a concept for Cillian -- she's decidedly actual. Could he actually think it's not as bad if he fucks me with his hand while his cock stays in his pants?

He traces the contour of her collarbone. He looks so worried, almost angry. Was this a huge mistake? I don't want this to be a mistake. Fear flutters in her chest.

With a touch of bravado, she asks, "Got a condom?" and reaches down to Cillian's waistband.

Grabbing her wrist before she can get the button open, he stares her down, clenching his jaw, the hint of a snarl on his lips. Or maybe it's a wince.

Naomie's free hand breaks the standoff, moving in to palm the erection straining beneath his jeans and this time he doesn't stop her. His full mouth drops open, his grip on her wrist tightens. Stroking him, Naomie whispers huskily, "I want some more. Don't you want more?"

"Yes." Cillian's eyes close for a moment as he shakes his head. "You know I do." He sighs and looks down, mumbles, "But I can't. I just can't."

He stops her hand, taking it in his, and he tries to meet her gaze but can't quite manage it. "I'm going to go back to the hotel. It might be better, if you... wait 15 minutes before you leave." Bringing her hand to his lips, he takes the curve between her thumb and forefinger in his mouth and kisses slowly.

Naomie is dying to ask him what tonight means to him, or just to ask him not to go, but she can't figure out what to say that won't sound like begging. She watches helplessly as his beautiful lips part to release her hand; her fingers tug his bottom lip sorrowfully. Cillian gently moves her hand away. He says softly, "I'm sorry," and walks away.
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Past Performance Is Not Necessarily A Guide