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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.

Chapter List
- 3
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- 5
WARNING: D/s, light S/M (but consensual)
Author's Notes: "2nd AD" is short for second assistant director. The other real person mentioned plays a soldier in the film.
Disclaimer: As you must know by this point, this is completely fictional! I don't know these actors and I'm not making any money from this story.

Naomie's insides are queasy. She drops her dizzy head into her hands, leans forward in her chair, elbows on her knees. Last night was crazy. What a bloody awful hangover. Never, never again... I'm never drinking that much again. I just have to get through tonight's shoot and then I'll take some melatonin and sleep. The running in this scene is going to kill me. Ugh.

Someone enters the trailer and she looks up to see a self-satisfied smirk lighting up blue eyes. "Aspirin didn't do the trick for you?" This is not the attitude she expected from Cillian today.

"No, it didn't. Does that amuse you for some reason?"

He laughs. "Not nearly as much as fucking you senseless this morning amused me. Now, that amused me tremendously."

"Come again?" We did what?

"Were you still drunk this morning, love?" Cillian coos patronizingly. "Don't you remember?"

"What are you talking about?" Naomie feels woozy and strangely disconnected.

He moves to stand behind her, massages her shoulders lightly while watching her in the mirror. "I knew you were plastered, but wow -- really?" He snorts disdainfully. "Well, you begged me to fuck you. You were relentless – pathetic, really." Astonished and embarrassed, Naomie's shutting down, internally fleeing the moment, while Cillian's hand slides up into her hair seductively. His fingers tighten suddenly, pulling her head down to the side; he taunts her, "So I fucked you. I fucked you so well you cried like a baby when you came." Naomie stares at the reflection of his gloating face, too confused and horrified to respond. Her stomach lurches.

Junior opens the trailer door, but upon he seeing them, stops short. "Am I interrupting something?" He winks obnoxiously at Cillian, then asks with a pretence of earnest politeness, "May I cut in?"

Releasing her, Cillian laughs heartily like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "Maybe at some point, but for now, she's all mine."

Their rude insinuations hit her like a kick in her already hurting gut. She shuts her eyes tight for a moment to absorb the pain, then twists around in her chair to face Cillian: "What is wrong with you?!?" But he's not there. Junior's gone too. OK, what is going on? I feel so weird. Was that really aspirin he gave me?

Naomie's fuzzy brain thinks back to last night at the pub... Cillian's magic hands moving over her, inside her... the intense orgasms that his hands twice conjured. The vision of him jacking himself off on the hotel bed swims up through her consciousness: the sound of his cry, the tortured look in his eyes, the tensing in his thighs and hips when he came. What an exhilarating rush of sexual power she'd felt.

Then she has a heart-stopping flashback to the morning's activities: she sees herself naked and kneeling on the hotel room floor at Cillian's feet, begging him to make love to her. The images were returning in a disorienting, titillating flood, transporting her back. He'd stood over her, jeans unzipped, stroking his dick, while she actually pleaded, pleaded like an absolute fool. A sneer had curled his top lip and he rubbed the tip of his cock against her lips, causing her cunt to clench. "Suck me first, and maybe I'll fuck you." She'd pulled down his pants and taken him in her mouth, her tongue savouring the smooth head of his cock. Cillian loomed over her, his hair redder than it usually seemed, the sun glinting off the crown of his head brightly. When she started sucking in earnest, he'd groaned, but it almost sounded like he was laughing.

After a minute or so, Cillian abruptly thrusted into the back of her throat, gagging her. Choking and feeling a burning pain in her stomach, she turned away, clutching her abdomen.

"Why are you stopping?" he'd demanded petulantly, kicking off his jeans.

"Sorry... do you want... me to...?"

"God, you'll do anything for me, won't you?"

Naomie fumed, but her uncontrollable lust for him compelled her to beg. "Please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please make love to me," she whispered.

"I can't do that. Ask me to fuck you instead."

"Please... please fuck me." How the hell did I get so pathetic?

"Please fuck me, Cillian," he corrected her. "And speak up."

She felt dizzy and small. "Please fuck me, Cillian. Fuck me now, please, please."

"Why not?" Cillian had bent down, grabbed her under the arms, thrown her back onto the bed. Naomie's heart raced in anticipation, even though she felt thoroughly humiliated. Brusquely, he gripped her calves, forced her knees to bend, spread her legs. Knelt on the bed and, walking on his knees, crept up between her legs. Sat back on his heels, grasped her inner thighs and plunged both his thumbs into her. Eyes never veering from her crotch, he slid his hands under her hips and dragged her backside up onto his lap. He guided his cock into her and quickly pulled on her hips so that he was instantly sheathed in her wet cunt. Holding tight to her hips to keep her impaled on him, he rose up on his knees, lifting her so that she was balanced uncomfortably on her shoulders and neck. Still not meeting her eyes, he watched his dick ram into her again and again.

Naomie's shame and helplessness only seemed to fuel the fiery shocks that shot out from her clit. She watched the muscles of his abdomen tense and roll, then looked up to see what seemed like intense anger take over his face. Inexplicably, she heard herself begging him to hurt her; he dug his fingers into her hips bruisingly hard and quickened his pace, his pelvis slamming hers brutally, his cock pounding painfully against her cervix. Her hands clutched at the mattress, trying to stop her head from bouncing too painfully on the base of her neck. Suddenly, orgasmic convulsions seized her cunt, her arse, her thighs, her shoulders. Sobs wracked her body in tandem with the fierce contractions. Infuriated with herself for breaking down again, she cried on angrily even as her climax ebbed and her skinny body fell slack like a rag doll. Cillian hoisted her limp legs over his shoulders, pushed her pelvis back down against the mattress and kept on fucking her hard, whining and moaning until his body suddenly stiffened and froze as his cum poured into her.

The next thing Naomie knew, Cillian had pulled out and tossed her body aside. "Fuck," he spat, sitting up, sneering cruelly. "Stop your crying, for god's sake. Didn't I give you what you asked for?"

She felt her stomach and oesophagus heave dangerously. "Why are you being so nasty?"

Cillian ignored the question. "Listen, when we get back to London, this has to end. I'm not going to let you wreck my life. I mean, I guess I took pity on you, seeing as how you're so in love with me, but..."

Naomie tuned out Cillian's voice as she felt vomit rise up into the back of her throat. Swallowing hard, she sat up fast to make a run for the toilet. Yet somehow her feet didn't hit the floor, somehow she was still lying down. Frightened and ill, she willed herself to sit up. Shakily, she rises only to find herself opening her eyes in the dark. There's a sleeping figure next to her: it's Cillian, snoring lightly. I was only dreaming! But I wasn't dreaming about having to throw up...

She stumbles to the loo, but only makes it as far as the sink before throwing up. Runs the water to wash the sick away, makes it through some more bouts of vomit and dry heaves. Dazedly washes up. Brushes her teeth with a complimentary hotel toothbrush, drinks some water. The details of her anxiety dream are slipping out of reach, but the anxiety lingers. Did I make a complete fool of myself?

Out in the bedroom, from behind the curtains, the sun hints at its imminent arrival. When Naomie slips back under the covers, Cillian mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep. She watches him for a few minutes. His serene expression, smooth skin and long eyelashes make him look like an innocent teen. Cillian would never be intentionally hateful to me. At least I don't think so. But this seems likely to end badly. Painfully.

She drifts back to sleep.

***

Cillian's eyelids open a crack. The back of Naomie's head slowly comes into focus, her chaotic spiky hair dark against the white pillowcase. Her slender shoulder is peeking out of the covers, her burnished cocoa skin just inches away. Cillian gently touches her soft shoulder, runs his hand down her upper arm, under the covers and over the warm curves of her side, her waist, her hip. Naomie's body stirs a little.

Closing his eyes, Cillian snuggles in, spooning Naomie and sliding an arm around her waist. When their warm, naked bodies meet, desire surges through them both. His morning hard-on is pressed against her backside, but the sleepy pair lies still, luxuriating in the sweet heat radiating through their skin, seeping into their bones. They are bathing in an aura of easy pleasure, breathing deeply.

But after a while, Naomie shifts ever so slightly and Cillian's cock twitches at the subtle friction. He lightly rubs himself against her, just once, and his breath catches. Slowly, his hand begins to caress her smooth belly, then creeps up to her breasts, and the newness of the landscape he's exploring arouses him intensely. His hips can't resist moving his dick against her skin again, and Naomie stretches, rubbing back against him. Nibbling her velvety shoulder, he pulls her hips more firmly against him and her breathing grows shaky. His hand slides over her hip and down to her round bottom, glides across the underside of her thigh, pushes her leg up, and starts to play with her juicy pussy. Little tremors ripple through Naomie as Cillian strokes her wet lips, and she gasps when he teasingly brushes past her swollen clit. Kissing the nape of her neck, Cillian shifts to move the arm he's lying on so that he can rub his cock while he slowly runs his fingers back and forth to explore her slick folds. His fingertip traces a circle against the walls just inside her cunt, moves out to flick her clit lightly.

Before long, Naomie's body is trembling all over. Cillian moves his hand from fingering her pussy to grasp his stiff cock and rub its tip up along her wet slit. When he grinds his cock against her clit, she cries out his name. He breathes unevenly, clenches his jaw and keeps teasing her with his dick, but soon the teasing is more than he himself can take. He's so turned on that there doesn't seem to be any earthly reason to stop here, much less any way he can resist. So he positions his cock at her opening, gently grasps her hips, and, as slowly as he can bear it, pushes inside her; it feels like he's bursting out of his skin, like he's breaking and dissolving and exploding all at once and he moans in ecstasy. Naomie's bewitching pussy is where he wants to live from now on. His balls tighten powerfully -- he fights to keep control, pulls almost all the way out. Naomie lets out an "Ohhhhhh!" that crescendos as he waits a few long seconds before again slowly steering his cock into her tight, drenched cunt. She arches backwards to speed him to the depths of her and he gasps blissfully.

Holding her joined to him, Cillian rolls them over onto their hands and knees, speeds up the pace of his thrusts just a little, struggles to keep it slow. Again, he feels himself riding close to the edge and stops, breathing heavily. Naomie's beautiful face looks back at him over her shoulder, her eyes drunk with desire, her mesmerizing lips parted in a wordless question. "Turn over," he whispers, pulling out. She flips onto her back and spreads her legs wide. Cillian slides his dick back into her, slides his torso over hers and kisses her passionately, whimpering as her hips rock up to meet his thrusts.

They're absolutely soaring when Cillian hears his mobile ring. Sounds like the ring tone he assigned the 2nd AD -- she's probably going to tell him they have to be on set before dusk after all.

"Shite," he mumbles, his lips releasing Naomie's nipple.

"What?"

"I bet... they're ringing up... uhhnn... to drag us in early."

"What do you mean?"

"My mobile... don't you hear... it?"

"No," she says, caressing his arse, pulling him into her.

He inhales harshly. "Could've sworn... ohhh, you feel so good."

"Mmmmmm," she breathes into his neck.

Then there's a knock at the door. Cillian stops mid-thrust, hips rigid. Oh god, did they send someone round to collect me?

"Don't stop!" she gasps, straining to envelope him and his hips respond in kind, driving his cock deep into her. More knocking from outside -- she's ignoring it, so he does too, thrusting faster, sucking her neck. Trying -- unsuccessfully -- not to moan.

Then, from out in the hall, a familiar voice yells, "Cillian, what are you doing in there?"

His body freezes in disbelief and embarrassment. It can't be.

"Open this door. Who's in there with you?"

"Ma?!?"

Naomie is perturbed. "What did you call me?"

"Cillian, I don't know what you think you're doing in there, but I hope you're at least practicing safe sex like we talked about."

A creeping horror crawls over his skin. What the fuck are we doing not using any protection? What if I get her knocked up? His heart is pounding. Then his girlfriend's ring tone bleats loudly from his mobile. Jesus Christ, no!

Cillian's body jerks sharply in fear, shaking him out of this hot sex dream gone wrong and shocking him out of sleep with a disorienting bang. "Huhh?" he grunts, startled. He wakes up to find that he's curled around Naomie, his arm encircling her waist and his erection pressing against her, but certainly not inside her.

"Hmmmm?" she murmurs.

Cillian lies still, collecting his wits, sorting out dream from reality, willing his heart rate to slow down.

Naomie mumbles, "'Zat th'phone?" sounding half-asleep.

His mobile is actually ringing. His girlfriend is on the other end of the line waiting to talk to him. And here I am, totally hard and wrapped around my co-star in a hotel room.

He lets the call go to voicemail.
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Past Performance Is Not Necessarily A Guide