Day #4 - Game
imaginationandheartbreak (alexgrey)
“…But if you weren’t recognized… famous…” Matt struggles and almost stumbles on that last part.
“But I am sweetie – only second tier, though… welcome to LA,” Alex says with a grin. “Could be worse…”
“Worse?”
“Easy – no one *ever* knowing who you are. Bad for business.”
Shit. He knows it. But sometimes the obvious isn’t easy to appreciate. Alex Kingston, on the other hand, is so, so, so easy to appreciate and Matt leans in close and whispers low across her neck: “We could play the stranger game.”
“Stranger game?”
“Yeah… we could be in a grocery store, carts passing unaware until I see those fucking curls. I’d just throw myself in front of you and beg you to fuck me in the frozen food section.”
“Steady, soldier… frozen foods?” her smile is impossibly carefree and perfect, he thinks. That’s what he’s working to do.
“Oh, yes… I so would love… and forget about fucking me. I would *worship* you by the frozen peas. On my knees…”
“Am I wearing a skirt?”
“Yes…”
“Then proceed. Under the skirt then, by the peas.” Alex takes a big gulp of wine. “I’m not wearing underwear.” She drinks like she fucks – with an utterly uncalculated abandon. And giggles fetchingly at the faux admission.
“You never do.” Matt leers at her and grabs his beer and finishes it. Opens another. “Oh, I am SO under your skirt by the peas” and he laughs and kisses her and can’t quite believe – he never quite can – that Alex Kingston kisses him back.
“You, me, skirt, peas…” she whispers all in a rush, close to his lips, before Matt moves to lick a trail along her neck, stopping to tug at her earlobe, pulling a moan, his hands hot on her waist, her hands on his hips and they giggle softly together into the dark of the room, then, rain outside the window, television tuned to a movie they’ve both already seen, background hum, cotton nightclothes, teeth already brushed and she pulls his lower lip between hers with a light nip: “Love you.”
It’s more slumber party than porn movie, Alex thinks. And she likes it. More than she wants to, to be honest. More than she should. It seems impossibly fragile to get Matt Smith like this and like … well, like the rest of what they have. Desperate. Academy award-winning sex. She adores it. But she’d be lying if she didn’t occasionally worry that the future might have her calling in the stunt double. She hasn’t had so many rug burns since RADA.
“Ok, I’ll play,” she purrs in a voice she knows can make him hard, pouring another glass of wine and looking dreamily out the window into the dark: “You, me, presidential suite, hotel bar.”
“mmm…. Another game we both win,” Matt laughs. “I want you in a hat. I want no one to interfere with our hotel fantasy. Wait - it’s not at a convention or anything, is it?”
“No, never… that would…” she stops to think. And then she’s smiling “… involve far more negotiation. For the record, I’d prefer a brunette.” She says this last bit with a dirty smile, another large gulp and a steady gaze.
Matt chokes just a bit on his beer. “Really? Could we?”
And she is blushing. Matt makes a mental note of both her surface discomfort and the deep yes of her body language. Being with Alex Kingston is like winning the lottery on a daily basis honestly, he thinks, and not for the first time…“shit you are so hot, love, no one but you for me. But if you’d like me to watch…” he adds, grinning, already hard, ready for her.
“Anything for you. Bless. Not a hardship.” She’s winking at him. Fuck. “But right now it’s just the two of us. I’m at the bar.”
“In a beret.”
“Fine. A beret.”
“And very high heels?”
“Honestly, are you in uni?”
“Do you want to me to be?”
“Oh, shut up,” she says, smiling. “I’m in shoes a regular human woman might wear, and I’m in a beret and I’m drinking a complicated drink…”
“And I ask the bartender to send you another ..”
“And I say thank you, silently. And raise my glass in a toast…”
“I make sure the everyone sees me watching you.”
“You do?”
“Yes… they’re all watching me watch you now…” Matt tries to see her as a stranger might, the way he saw her when they first met, those curls, those mood-ring eyes, hips like a golden age movie star…
“Yes…?”
“Oh, yes… and I’m getting up now and walking over to the bar…”
“What are you going to do?” Alex pulls a pretty, begging face… and underneath it is a raw, happy need.
“Show them you’re mine…” Matt’s words are a low, forced breath, and he follows with a growl bringing his hands under Alex’s nightgown… “the pretty stranger in the beret is coming back to the presidential suite with me..”
“Does she know?”
“I’m going to show her.”
“How?” Alex is voice hitches in that tell-tale way he loves. God, her voice.
He wants to tell her a story that will make her come; make her happy. He pulls her onto his lap and just holds her a long moment before speaking again, into her ear: “I walk over and toast your glass. Put both glasses down on the counter. No talking.”
Alex leans into him and laughs dirtily: “I look into your eyes. My perfect stranger.” She leans her body into him with a moan and nips at his neck.
“I grab you by the wrist, throw a fistful of bills on the bar and pull you behind me.” Matt has his hand firmly on her wrist and has half a mind to tug her to the floor.
“No, they’ll think I’m a prostitute.”
“No they won’t.”
“Yes, they will. Nick the bartender will.”
“Nick?”
“Yes, we’ve become quite friendly.”
“Oh shut up,” Matt laughs. “Fine – what do you suggest?” He’s twirling a nipple under hot fingers now and thrusting his hips up gently into her ass and she wriggles against him. “Please, Alex… god..”
“Ok, here is what really happens: you send the drink over and raise your glass. And I drink, staring into your eyes and stand up and undo all the buttons on my shirt.” Alex moves from his arms and pulls her nightgown over her head. “I’m walking toward you and I take off my shirt. Everyone in the bar is watching me…”
“Oh yeah…”
“And I stop in front of you…”
“I don’t even say hello, Alex. I pull you into me and put my face in your tits…” Matt lets the story lead him and brings his tongue to her nipple and then sucks, hard, and pulls her to a standing position, knee between her thighs.
“Uh-huh…” Alex’s head is thrown back and she presses her cunt hard against that knee and rotates her hips “Presidential suite: now…” Matt can barely get out the words.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
“I’m not asking, love.” And he does pull her to the floor then, in that ordinary room, rainy night, room filled with a million million stories, and he tents two fingers, then three, moving his hand back and forth into the warm of her cunt, Alex’s breath ragged and pitching and perfect and needy.
“Let’s pretend were still in bar Matt…?” her voice is high and questioning and almost somewhere else now.
“God yes… still in the bar, Alex. Can’t wait for our room. I’m fucking you right here, right now, right in the bar, everyone watching…”
“Yes… god… now…”
He doesn’t even remember pulling down his pyjamas but he has, and he doesn’t ask before sinking into her with a ‘yes baby, so good’. “You like me fucking you in front of all these people?” he moans, half gone but willing himself to focus, half of him floating, half of him riveted on her face: he needs to know her. Everything about her.
Alex can barely answer, can barely make words, uttering only a breathy “yes.”
“You need me to, baby? So hot, so good… so glad I bought you that drink, Alex…”
And she pulls him deeper into her with a lovely laugh: “no names…”