"And... cut! That's a wrap for today. Well done, all! Caitriona and Sam, thank you for doing one more take; I know your knees have got to be skinned to hell from that carpet by now. But we've got what we need after that last one. It's been a long day. Go home and enjoy your weekend. We'll see you back here Monday morning! Again, great job, guys!" The crew joined his sentiments with applause.
I could feel Sam's eyes on me as my arms slid into the terrycloth robe that was held out for me. Oh God, I couldn't look at him. I could see him in my peripheral vision, also in a robe now, slipping his bare feet into flip flops for the trudge back to the trailer.
[Our trailer. Our shared trailer. Oh God, there would be no avoiding him.]
Still, I did try. I set off first, still not meeting his gaze, even when he called my name: "Cait."
I kept walking.
"Wait! Cait, wait! Let me walk with you."
[No hablo ingles? Oh. If only.]
I stopped and let him catch up.
"Sam, we're going to the same place. We don't have to walk there together."
His hand on my forearm. "Hey." This time I looked him full-on in the face, like I always did when we touched. "What's going on with you?"
Damn his face and the genuine concern I found there. As though he didn't already know the answer. I was in no mood to spell it out for him. "Sam, I'm tired. I want to go change clothes and get home, ok? I'm fine."
He sighed then. "You're not fine. You're embarrassed."
[Oh God, here it comes. He wants to talk about it.]
I resumed walking, with him just a step behind. "Cait. You don't have to be embarrassed. It's not a big deal. I mean it."
That was enough. I stopped, turned to him, and put up a hand to stop him. It worked. "Sam, I just did the two most unprofessional things in my career: I said your name instead of Jamie's. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, well, I had an orgasm during our first love scene, which I know you felt. So yes, it is a big deal."
The last 25 paces were in silence until I reached the trailer steps. He followed me in and shut the door before locking it behind us. I sunk into an armchair and allowed my head to fall into my hands.
"Cait, we need to talk. I'm not going to let things get weird between us. Talk to me."
"Well, lucky for you, it won't be weird for long. They're definitely going to sack me after this. I just know it."
"Look at me."
I couldn't. He moved in front of the armchair and knelt down to meet me at eye-level. "Oh shit!" He winced. "Are your knees as shredded as mine are?" I half-smiled and moved my robe to expose them: pink and red, covered in angry carpet burns. "I'd say so."
"Yeah, this isn't going to work. I gotta move." He tried for one smooth move up and onto the sofa, but succeeded in mostly plopping down. "Gah, never again on a rug. I want that added to my contract." I felt a smile rise, which pleased him. Turning the armchair toward the couch, he took my hands in his.
"Now. Look at me. Please?" This time I did as he asked. "Oh, Cait. No one is going to sack you. They'll edit out the "Sam" in post. And as far as how you reacted -- involuntarily, so give yourself a break -- no one knows but us. They'll just think you sold the hell out of our fake fucking, and that you’re an incredible actress. My cock sock, which is on its way to be laundered, won't be telling tales any time soon, and neither will I. OK?"
He was making a lot of sense. I took a deep, cleansing breath. "OK, Sam, I believe you. So then why do I still feel so fucked up?" He shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm counting both little blunders as huge compliments." He wagged his eyebrows.
"Arse," I said, removing my hands from his and rubbing my tired eyes hard enough to see light.
"What can I do?" His concern was authentic. “Let me help.”
[Well, for starters, you could get me off.]
A sharp intake of breath on his part left no room for ambiguity: I’d said it out loud. Fuck.
Oh God, in for a penny, in for a pound. Third blooper today. I decided to own it: "You heard me."
His eyes were wide. "Ohh my God, you're serious."
"I am. And for a thousand reasons, none of which I feel like discussing just now."
Another audible breath. "Say it again." The lust in his eyes made me feel brazen, and the shrinking space between us left me vulnerable. It was a heady combination, and I liked it. I met his eyes.
"Get ... me ... off."
An electrically-charged pause.
I rose from the armchair and stood between his knees. He scooted forward to the edge of the couch, then froze, eyes straight ahead to the cinched belt of my robe. Underneath it I was still naked and he knew it. So close, and yet he hesitated.
He swallowed, still fixated on the knot of my belt, and his voice came out in a choked whisper: "Yeah."
"Put your hands on me."
He licked his lips. "I – I want to – oh my God, so badly," he began. Looking up at me, he finished. "But I can't believe this is happening, and I'm afraid something in my brain is waiting to hear the word 'Action'."
His face was barely-restrained frustration and tenderness in equal measures, and he looked about twenty years old. I leaned down to cup his face into my hands and kissed him deep. Inertia broken, he relaxed.
I stood back up to my full height and undid my belt myself, letting the two halves of the robe flutter open. I took his hands from where they lay gentlemanly and stock-still on his lap, and brought them to my naked waist.
That was all the encouragement he needed; his mouth went immediately to my stomach, pressing frenzied kisses and licking my skin without any pattern in mind. He was settling into the feel of being way off-script now, bolstered by the breathy noises I couldn't stop making, and slid his hands up to my breasts. Thumb and forefinger met around each nipple as his lips paused at my navel. He tightened them into a pressured pinch, and a high-pitched whine came out of me. "Mmm," he hummed into my skin as his stubble rasped against me, causing my abdomen to curve inward. I felt his mouth turn into a smile of self-satisfaction. "Yeah?" He tightened his micro-vises again, then changed to a steady pulsing.
"Mmm-hmmm," was all I could manage, as both hands feasted on heaps of soft ginger curls at my waist. "Oh God," I sighed, my head tipping backward as his lips ghosted my skin. I wasn't sure my legs could hold me up much longer.
He must have sensed it too. His hands fanned out, expanded around my rib cage down to my lower back, and cupped my arse.
"Cait." He patted the backs of my thighs.
[On him. Oh God, he wants me to sit. On him.]
He brought his knees together and made a lap for me with the muscular thighs I'd felt against me earlier. On the floor. At Leoch.
[Oh God. He’s so beautiful.]
I dropped my arms and allowed the robe to slip off fully. I was well and truly exposed to him now, with no pretense or illusion of coverage. He extended a hand and I took it, straddling his legs before lowering my bare arse onto his thighs. He let out a long, slow breath and supported me with his forearms across my lower back. "Wrap your legs around me", he whispered. "You won't hurt your knees that way."
So I did, rewarding his thoughtfulness with a series of nips and kisses up the side of his neck, pausing at his earlobe: "Thank you for thinking of me." He dipped me back, so my face was in front of his: "I always think of you."
Before I could process what he meant, his mouth overtook mine with such force it shocked me out of my thoughts. Hunger. I heard a growl in his throat as he kissed me deeper, harder. Desperation. For the first time in my life, I opened my eyes mid-kiss and found that his were open too. Fascination.
Dipping me back again, with my feet anchored at the back of his robe, he kissed down, down my neck, between my breasts, and looked to me for permission. I tacitly gave it by threading one hand through the curls at the nape of his neck and closing my eyes. He brought his open mouth around one breast, feeling the weight of it against his tongue, and moaned. Or growled. Something gorgeous. When he turned his attentions, and tongue, and teeth, to my pebbled nipple, every muscle group in my core contracted at once, and I clutched him harder. “Yes, oh Sam, God, yes".
Focused as he was, my reaction was familiar to him, and between breasts he asked: “This was what got you going earlier, isn’t it?” And he kept going, needing no answer. He knew it was, and at that moment he realized it was him who had elicited my orgasm: not being filmed, not being watched, not the adrenaline of our first intimate scene, but my body’s response to him and only him.
I knew him to be a gentleman; he’d shown me in many ways in the short time I’d known him. But giving me pleasure was emboldening him, and he indulged himself – and me, in turn – with dirty talk. “Tell me how it happened. How you felt. I want to hear you say it.”
So I told him in breathy bits and pieces, what he’d done to me on camera. “Um, it started when you, ohhhh, came at me with an open mouth. And I um, tasted your tongue… God… I was so hot for you alrea – ohhh. Already. But when you touched my breast and ohhhmyGod Sam, sucked it, mmm, that was when I felt my ooooh, my clit swell.”
“Yeah?” He snaked a hand down my stomach and thumbed it. He whispered in my ear. “Was it big like it is now?”
[Fuuuuck. He was touching me. As Sam.]
“Yesss.” I may have squeaked a bit.
He was panting now, same as me. “And were you wet like this, kitty Cait?”
“Ungh. Fuuuck. Yes, I was.”
He slipped his fingers between my swollen lips. “Jesus,” he breathed. “And then?”
His thumb and fingers began to work in tandem, and it was harder to think.
“It was when I was… oh shit yes… on… top of you that my clit was rubbing… fuck… your fucking pouch… and I… ooooh.. “
“Keep going, babe. You’re doing so good.”
[Oh hell fuck shit damn]
“And I had to keep going. Ungh, and the… friction was… getting me off.”
“And.” Circles on my clit now.
“And I wan – wan-ted – you in… side me.”
Two fingers went in, and he parted his knees a bit wider for better access. In doing so, he parted me. And with his knees relaxed and apart, I saw his bare cock for the first time. He watched his fingers disappear into my body over and over, and I watched his rock-hard cock twitching. I wanted to feel it. I freed a hand and reached for it.
“No.” He shook his head, trapped my hand under the weight of his thigh, and kept working me. “Not me. This is what you needed, what you asked me for. Come for me, come. Let go. Do it.”
Circling, rubbing, fucking. I tensed everywhere all at once, stopped breathing for three full seconds, and flooded his hand.
“Mmm, yes, Cait. There. That’s what you needed.”
I managed to stay upright by throwing both arms around his neck as he withdrew his fingers and kissed my collarbone. One hand behind me, the other going up to his lips. He traced his lips with it, smiled wickedly, and kissed me.
We said nothing for at least a minute as my heart rate returned to normal and I clung to him.
“All better now?”
“Yes… and also no, because I want more.”
His eyes widened along with his smile. “So do I. You have no idea how badly. But right now, Wendy’s waiting for me in makeup, to take off my scars. And besides, I have no intention of fully having you in this trailer.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because this isn’t just a fuck for me. You -- are not just a fuck for me.”
I placed a hand along his jawline and listened intently.
“Cait, I don’t sleep with co-stars. I just don’t. But this, with you, runs deep.” He took a deep breath. “I think this could be something, and you deserve better than a quickie. Don’t you think this could be more?”
[God help me, I do. I really do.]
“I didn’t expect you to say that, but absolutely, yes. So what now?”
“Well, now I take my blue balls and go do my time in makeup, but please wait for me.”
I kissed him. “And then what?”
He smiled. “Then I’m coming home with you."