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This started as a thing between the incomparable R Cooper, who is both an enabler in the best way possible and an inspiration. We started this something like 4 years ago and it was inspired by two hot guys who were doing a play and had some insane sexual chemistry for two characters who weren’t supposed to be sleeping together. Out of respect for the guys, I won’t call them out here, but just know that you’d probably sleep with one or both of them if guys are your thing because they are both that friggin’ hot. However, if you know anything about the theatre world and go back about 4-5 years, you can probably figure out the inspiration for this fic pretty quickly.

The Actors.

It was supposed to be a one hour–two tops–thing. Just a short video to promote the show. Simon wasn’t a fan of it from the beginning. He was a stage actor, after all. What would Oscar Wilde have to say about promoting yourself on Facebook?

But the sacrifice he made to be cast in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, a play on Simon’s bucket list, was humiliate himself on YouTube.

The idea was simple enough. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, two side characters in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, had been taken on by a few different writers in different genres and the premise of the short was to theorize what would happen if others in wildly different genres decided to give them a try. Rafael, his co-star, a full five years younger than Simon and as annoyingly vivacious in on stage as he was off, was all for the experimentation and played up every theorized trait to its fullest.

They’d run the gamut from Sci-Fi space drama to Kabuki Theatre, all done for laughs, of course. It had gone as smoothly as it could have until they got to 80s teen comedy.

It was after the fifth or sixth take when Rafael, for some reason, decided to take liberties with the stage direction. Simon knew enough about his co-star now to know when he was getting bored.

Now they were supposed to be playing the two like over the top characters from a John Hughes movie. Not what Simon imagined Tom Stoppard, or for that matter The Bard himself, had in mind for the two bumbling friends of Hamlet.

The line was easy enough.

He’s at the mercy of the elements, to then be punctuated with a lick of the finger to see which way the wind was blowing.

Why in God or Pinter or Wilde’s name the kid decided to give his finger a miniature blow job, complete with eye-rolling and a shit-eating smirk on his face directed towards Simon he didn’t know, but he’d decided he’d had enough of the smug bastard.

Simon wanted to punch that smirk off Rafael’s face every time he looked coy delivering his lines with pursed lips and raised eyebrows. Stoppard isn’t sexy, even being played as a teen sex comedy, and it was driving Simon crazy, even if he was pretty sure that he hated Rafael.

But, and maybe this was the wine they had both agreed they wouldn’t actually drink while taking a break an hour before talking, he’d noticed how much tighter Rafael’s costume pants seemed to be compared to the day before. And he enjoyed the view a great deal–so much so he wanted to pull Rafael close and then shove that smirking face away, shove him over the props table, the arm of a chair, and tear those pants away no matter how furious the costume department would be with him. It was a thought that consumed him sometimes at night and he would always feel conflicted and confused as he came with Rafael’s name on his lips.

The director was yelling something about loosening up, but Simon wasn’t even listening; couldn’t listen while trying to tame an erection that would surely show through his own tight trousers.

Even if it wasn’t as noticeable as it felt, someone surely noticed something, because it wasn’t long after that the director called for a wholly unexpected long lunch and disappeared before the cameras went off.

The Green Room was thankfully empty of people but full enough of the leftover wine and the last of their lunches from the little Cuban place across the street they’d sneaked off to during a twenty minute break earlier that Simon thought he could just about manage a little relaxation before they had to get back to it. Simon didn’t say a word to Rafael as he rummaged through the tiny fridge for his tamal con lechon. He didn’t know what he would say if did speak. It certainly wouldn’t be anything good.

But Rafael leaned against the counter, lazy and inviting, and adjusted his shirt, running his hand deliberately over the sore spot where Simon had shoved him up against the wall two hours earlier, yelling at him about “cues” and “marks” and mostly to stop fucking around.

Simon’s eyes followed Rafael’s fingers, widening when Rafael let out a little moan as he massaged the sore spot. Simon swallowed as Rafael quirked an eyebrow. A noise escaped Simon before he could stop it and Rafael looked almost guilty for a split second before tightening his grip on his skin and pursing his lips in what looked like a half-hearted attempt to repress a smile.

It’s then that what Rafael had been doing finally occurred to Simon, and the anger in his expression faded as quickly as it came.

Rafael grinned then and it was slow, knowing, and genuine. It was also driving Simon slowly out of his mind, but he was frozen with something that could be called fear if he chose to name it, even though Rafael had issued an open invitation.

It was someone’s body that moved forward, Simon was certain of that, but it took a second to realize it was his own, and Rafael’s clever, graceful hands spread out over his chest. A moment beyond that, a moment of his own shocked, heavy breathing, and he felt the buttons on his coat being slid free.

“You know…they say that two actors’ chemistry goes to shit after they sleep together.” It was a stupid thing to say to fill the silence.

Rafael leaned in close, nose to nose.”I guess it’s a good thing we have no love scenes, then.”

He kissed Simon and it was soft and wanting and he could taste the wine on Rafael’s lips. Simon pulled back in surprise, blinking and confused but also completely turned on. He absentmindedly touched his fingers to his own lips, never looking away from Rafael.

“Good?” For once the little shit looked something far less than confident.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s good.”  Of course it was good. How many nights since they were cast in this stupid play had he thought about it? Simon knitted his eyebrows together. He would have done this ages ago if he had known it would knock the great Rafael’s world off-kilter like this. He could feel Rafael’s breath slow and Simon wanted more, wanted to shock him more, but clever Rafael wasn’t out of tricks yet.

“Oh, Simon. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, do you?”

Simon wavered between wanting to rip the smirk off or swallow it whole, but Rafael stared at him with a cocked eyebrow, daring him to make the next move. Simon wisely chose the latter.

Simon knew he was fucked even if he got his way and was the one actually doing the fucking. Rafael straightened to meet Simon’s lips and took control to make this his own–tongue frenzied and hands gripping Simon’s arms.

Simon wanted to win, damn it, so he pushed back and wrestled for control and, God, they both liked the struggle.

Simon had the advantage of height and pressed Rafael against the counter, kissing him hard–harder than he should have, probably, but Rafael didn’t complain.

Simon knew he was not really winning, but it felt so good to drag the little bastard into his dressing room and shove him to his knees. Rafael wasn’t acting when Simon lifted up his chin and slipped his own finger into Rafael’s mouth. Rafael moaned as he sucked on them.

Simon threaded his fingers through Rafael’s hair and yanked his head back–hard.

“Fuck!” Rafael cried out and hearing him swear only made Simon harder and if he didn’t find release soon he thought (melodramatically, of course. This IS theatre, after all) that he might, in fact, die before they finished filming.

He could feel Rafael’s fingers drag across Simon’s erection as he unbuttoned his trousers. Simon’s breath hitched and he tightened his grip on Rafael’s hair as a warning that if he didn’t intend to finish this, he better let him know right the hell now.

Rafael got the hint and freed Simon’s cock from its restraints. He licked his lips and swallowed Simon down as far as he could go. No teasing, no build-up, like he knew Simon wouldn’t be able to function without this, like he knew that it was all his fault and he needed to address the situation personally.

Simon struggled to stay still enough so he wouldn’t choke the tiny psycho, but each time a moan escaped and Rafael made an attempt to go deeper, he faltered and pushed forward. Simon tried to apologize between breaths, occasionally managing only a syllable or turning it into a hiss, but Rafael seemed to like it, keeping pace with Simon’s thrusts and never complaining.

Simon looked down to see Rafael looking up at him with wild eyes and he wanted to lock his hands around his head and hold him there like that until he came. And, lucky for Simon, getting Simon to come NOW–fast and messy–seemed to be Rafael’s only coherent thought.

Simon could feel Rafael’s tongue swirl around him, all hot and needy, parrying every hip thrust like an expert and Simon should have cared that he never pegged Raf as having done this before and he’d kick himself later for not seeing how damned obvious it had always been. Rafael flattened his tongue against the head and Simon suddenly passed the point of no return. He knew beautiful release was on its way.

He tugged on Rafael’s hair and tried his damnedest to let Rafael know he was at the end, but Rafael batted his hand away and instead caressed Simon’s balls. It was–fuck–amazing.

Simon stifled his cry when he came, not knowing if the crew had come back and was roaming the halls outside. He bit his lip and watched Rafael take all of him. There was a fine sheen of sweat on Rafael’s forehead and Simon wanted to lick it off and then taste himself on Rafael’s lips. Rafael finally, finally, breathed again, letting Simon slip from his mouth and it was then that Simon noticed somehow, at some point, Rafael had unfastened his own trousers and was obviously hard and ready for some kind of reciprocation.

Simon pulled Rafael up and kissed him, reaching for his cock and feeling its warmth in his hands. Rafael breathed in, eyes never leaving Simon’s. His breath was so ragged Simon thought he may have found the only way to bring Rafael down a few notches.

“Tell me how I can come, Simon. Tell me what you’re going to do to make me come. I want you to tell me.” Simon knew what his deep baritone voice did to the ladies, but never what it did for Rafael.

Simon cupped Rafael’s chin and kissed him once more before making his way to his ear, letting his lower lip catch on Rafael’s stubble as he went. Each swipe of his tongue across Rafael’s sweaty skin elicited another soft moan that Simon wanted to hear again, but louder, lower, making him cry out and swear.

“You’re going to make yourself come, Raf. I’m going to watch and tell you what I want to see you do. How fast or slow I want you to go. How loud I want you to come. Got it?”

Rafael nodded and swallowed thickly. Simon took Raf’s hand and placed it on his cock.

“Stroke yourself, Raf.” His voice was low and demanding and Raf did as he was told. Simon stepped back to get the best view and Rafael’s eyes were already rolling up into the back of his head.

“Not yet. Slow it down a bit.” As much as he wanted to watch, as much as he liked to watch, he didn’t want Raf to win.

Rafael groaned at the effort of slowing down, but dutifully obeyed as he screwed his eyes shut and leaned in to rest his cheek on Simon’s shoulder. Simon pushed him back so he could watch the beautiful reactions on Rafael’s face as he stroked himself.

Rafael gripped the back of Simon’s neck with his free hand and he knew the skin was red and scratched, but still Simon leaned back into it like he needed it.

“Are you ever going to tease me again, Raf? Are you going get me turned on and frustrated and then walk out like you do? Or are you going to let me fuck you next time?” Simon hoped it was cheating to whisper that low in his ear. “You have no idea how many nights I had to go home and jerk off after rehearsing with you, Raf. No idea how hard I wanted to fuck that grin off your face today filming. Looking coy and so satisfied with yourself. Did you know how hard you were making me even pretending that you wanted to fuck?”

Rafael stroked to the sound of his voice, eyes closed, flushed, and every passing second was more beautiful than the last. Simon could hear the tremendous effort it was taking to answer his question.

“Wasn’t pretending….” Simon couldn’t resist the urge to help Rafael with his task, wrapping his hand around Rafael’s and feeling sweaty, slick fingers and velvety softness underneath. He gently moved his hand to replace Rafael’s and began stroking him. Rafael started to fall apart, breath hitching and that smirk nowhere on his face.

Simon didn’t want to to torture the kid too much longer. He sped up, firmed up his grip, and the small moans escaping from Rafael’s lips got louder, more animal-like.

“Like it, Raf? Show me what you look like. Let me hear what it sounds like. Come on, Raf.”

And when he stopped talking, Simon could only hear the strained whimpers and the sound of slick flesh on flesh in between ragged intakes of breath. It was everything he imagined it would be and suddenly Rafael cried out, shaking, and kneading Simon. Warmth spread across Simon’s hand as Rafael threw his head back, biting off Simon’s name.

Rafael came down like he climbed up–smiling and coy, but flushed and wrecked and absolutely–”Beautiful,” breathed Simon. “Just like I thought.”

He kissed Rafael and glanced at the clock on his wall. “Damn. Our lunch break is over. We have to get back out there.”

Rafael zipped up his trousers and adjusted his costume. He was still flushed and his hair was a wreck and anyone who saw him walk out of Simon’s dressing room would know exactly what they had been up to. And, of course, they both had to get back into character quickly to avoid filming into the night.

“What’s left? How many more of these do we have?” Simon rolled his head around to loosen up his neck.

Simon raised his eyebrow in thought. “Uuuuh,  not many. Musical, cop drama, and sitcom, I think.”

Simon sighed. “Do you think you’ll be able to behave so we can make it out of here at a decent time?”

And there was that smirk again, but a little more shy this time around. “Why? You have plans tonight? Doing something special?”

Simon pulled Rafael close one last time. “I was hoping, well…you.”

Rafael’s eyes widened and he smiled. And didn’t misbehave again until they were alone in Simon’s bedroom later that night.

Piper Doone on Amazon  |   R Cooper on Amazon

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