RP: Three's a Crowd Who: Jon, Robb and Zelda When 5th June 2013 Where: Jon's trailer, Red Gum Studios, Anaheim, CA Rating: Some language and sexual situations. Status: Complete
There were some days they simply couldn't wait till after work.
Worse than teenagers copping backseat feels beneath tulle prom dresses, erect all morning and so distracted by mid-afternoon that a quickie in the trailer was all that saved either from going completely mad. Days when Robb was dirty and sweaty from hours of wrangling horses and Jon wanted to lick a clean swipe through salty minerals coating his throat. Comb hungry, sharp teeth through all that ginger stubble and come up with a mouthful of grit. To rip sturdy clothes at the seams because buttons took too much time, to bend over a saddle rack or grip tight to hobbling post and let Robb ride him instead of all those horses.
Those were the days when every woman on set watched his boyfriend, too.
A leering pack of desperate vultures soaring above desert sands, barren of prey or roost and Robb the last meal standing. Auburn hair wet to forehead, button downs clinging, smelling raw and earthy. Muscles hard at work as beast and man tangled in the yard beneath scorching LA sun. Jon's heart and cock swelled with pride knowing every last inch of that beautiful creature was his.
Those were the days when Jon bodily dragged his lover off the lot and into his trailer while everyone else was too busy swooning to notice.
Days like today.
'Bloody hell, Robb. Feel!' Half tangled in sex-messed sheets, Jon wiggled his hips closer. Twenty minutes of solid, fast fucking and instead of languid, jello-like post-coital bliss, his body was already keen to go another round.
'Still half hard... How do you do this to me?' he asked, burying his teeth just there along an exposed throat and tasting dust and Robb and distant memories of the morning's aftershave. Enough to make Jon growl deep in his throat, 'Shag me again?'
Amusement expressed in an exhale of tired, shaky, giddy breath from just having shagged Jon within an inch of sanity, Robb flopped back against the pillow in a shameless heap. Boneless and sweaty and for once not really giving a fuck about the latter, thanks very much.
Robb let his eyes drift shut for a moment.
Now that he'd finally shed ironclad chastity belt, Jon Snow was like a crazed jackrabbit in heat at times. All quick for another go and Do it! Again! A greedy, slutty bairn that didn't mind getting his backside (and mouth - couldn’t forget that lovely mouth) abused multiple times in a row.
Not that Robb kicked up any sort of fuss about it. Abso-bloody-lutely not. He'd waited long enough for his boyfriend to come off the coveted cherry and wasn't about to refuse a bit of sweaty rutting in the tight confines of Jon's trailer. All the better that they were doing it while on the company dime in (and on) studio-owned property. Co-workers and stagehands and pages passing a few scant feet away, completely unaware of what was going on inside. The very first naughty location to 'get a leg over' crossed off a bucket list that continued to grow by leaps and bounds.
If these walls could talk, Robb mused while Jon budged up against him, insistently nudging that ruddy big prick closer and closer until Robb had no choice but to wrap long, pale fingers around quickly swelling girth.
"Christ, man," he laughed. Not nearly as jelly-like as before, though. Fast regaining his land legs, Robb already felt an initial twitch as his own cock stirred back to life. "Give us another minute, yeah?"
It hadn't taken long for Zelda to scrape most of the googly eyes off of her trailer. She'd put on some loud music and danced around while she did so, finally realizing that the friendship she'd desired between herself, Jon and Robb had happened. She'd just been too paranoid or busy or distracted with work to realize it. Or, perhaps more likely, friendship with the pair of them was a bit different from her other friendships. They showed it in a different way. Cool and snarky but genuine. It was strange, but good.
Carrying a little gift bag full of the googly eyes, she headed straight for Jon's trailer. She had a few ideas for how to return the favor but wanted to peek into his trailer and make sure that her ideas would work. So after checking in to make sure he was working and flirting to get a copy of his trailer key, she opened the door and rushed in, pulling the door closed behind her so she wouldn't be caught breaking and entering.
The sight inside the trailer wasn't exactly what she was expecting to see.
Exposed backside to the trailer door Jon remained completely oblivious to any intrusion. Lord Eddard Stark could have been the one standing right over trailer boot bed, broad arms crossed tightly as knotted brows watching a stranger milk breathy gasps from his son with practiced ease. Beneath that stare, Jon's world would still begin and end in that close capacity, manky sex-den created in the span of an elongated tea break.
Robb held his complete attention firmly by the palm.
'Not too long, yeah?' grinding forward into those expert fingers, twisting his own through auburn curls knocked loose from their first coupling.
Robb had admitted recently to thinking all those months ago during their first non-date for high end bevvies that it was the quieter, more reserved partners who usually wound up the wildest conquests. A bold statement - read challenge - Jon now attempted to prove true on a daily basis.
From laundry lists of kinks and sturdy surfaces he fantasized being doubled over, Jon strove to make up for his late introduction to adult pleasures and the many weeks he'd foolishly denied Robb sinful ruttings. All a clever ruse when really his super charged sex drive singularly conveyed an unavoidable arse-over-tit, teeth-kissing-curb trip into love. Every moment spent starkers in his boyfriend's arms packing the soil around roots grown deep into a shared pot.
So really, Zelda could have been Jon's long lost mother and he wouldn't have stopped to even ask her name except that Robb did stop, much to Jon's misunderstanding.
'No, no teasing,' he winged, 'Don't have time for that.'
Eyes blown wide, Robb let out a groan of dismay.
Bedlam. Standing - right here, right now - in Jon's trailer. With the two of them in flagrante, no less.
Fuck me. Fuck me sideways with an unsanded two-by without any lubricant and everyone I've ever loved watching.
Initial panic turned to barely contained fury at that ‘time stand still’ moment. Nevermind Zelda Hyrule's wheeler-dealer daddy was basically bankrolling the movie; kept them both employed, paid the bills, put food on the table and Jon in the country instead of back on unforgiving, dreary old English soil where he simply did not belong anymore.
"How the fuck did you get in here?" Robb barked, not giving a rat's very fuzzy arse he and Jon had been caught with their hands buried deep inside the biscuit tin and naked as the day they were born. The answer was quite obvious, of course, but his mind was still experiencing spiking adrenaline rush brought on by the shock of it all and thus why he wasn't making all the necessary, immediate connections.
A mental quickstep as synapses fired had him retracing footfalls from there to here. As always, he'd locked the door behind him when he'd gotten pushed-pulled-manhandled inside by one very randy Jon - a solid lock despite an otherwise flimsy as hell aluminum door - even going so far as to wiggle the handle a bit. Reassured by a doorknob stiff and unyielding as it should be after tumblers clicked into place, Robb had set about freeing them of pesky clothing and giving Jon exactly what he wanted.
The door had no deadbolt, though, more's the pity. Meaning anyone that had access to a spare key could waltz in when they damn well pleased. A spare key easily attainable if you knew the right way to chat up the idiots supposedly guarding specific people's privacy on set.
Zelda looked absolutely thunderstruck for a moment. Thankfully, both of the boys' naughty bits were covered with sheets, bedding, what have you, so she didn't get a good look. She simply lifted her hand, still holding the security guard's copy of the key. It dangled for the briefest moment before Zelda's face changed completely.
"I knew it!" she cried out, using her free hand to point at the two of them in flagrante. She was so very proud of herself, the grin on her face lit up like a Christmas tree (Oh, yeah, and she was happy for them that they were happy, blah, blah, blah...).
"I totally knew it!" she added, the pride in her voice sounding slightly foreign coming out of her sweet face. The grin, on the other hand, was right at home on her pretty lips.
“I knew there was more going on than meets the eye. You guys hide it well, but really...” she said, nearly laughing now. Then she realized that her intrusion might make them feel self-conscious? (If she was caught like that, she’d probably feel self-conscious...) “OH! SORRY,” she added, then spun around and turned her back to them.
“I totally knew it,” she added, softly. It was almost like she won at The Price Is Right.
Validity of bragging rights aside, one thing was certain. She knew now, and that struck as much anxious, head-banging-against-a-wall fear into Jon's spasming heart as did the sound of little metal keys jingling at finger's end. Proverbial rat's very fuzzy arse which meant nothing to Robb currently a bloody great deal to Jon.
Just because both lads thoroughly enjoyed the adrenaline rush keystone to exhibitionism did not mean they actually wanted to be caught. Well, Robb might have but not Jon! No thank you, particularly at work.
Getting the boot from a pub for drunken lewdness or a record shop after abusing utility of personal listening booths were not interchangeable with co-workers suddenly appearing uninvited. Which was why they locked doors and typically staggered wobbly-legged returns to the set. Why texts were so very important in facilitating meet-ups. Hardly ever did Robb and Jon stride side-by-side off to a rendezvous and never hand-in-hand, despite fingers itching to lay claim. Maintaining appropriate distance was essential with nosy interests already sniffing round. Quiet Jon with his canine torn clavicles and Robb every woman's wet dream whenever he opened his mouth and said, ”Hullo, lass.”
Flopping fish on a line now and no water in sight, Zelda had them by the bollocks more literally than the hand once coaxing life into a spent cock.
Wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and pass out so he could wake back up and find this all some terrible nightmare, Jon curled in against Robb and dropped face first into a pillow. Fucking tit wanking Grand Sergeant Major bollocks ouch! A litany of curses strung mentally together as Jon's nose pointedly reminded how little it enjoyed being touched these days.
The pebble that started the avalanche... he scowled, raising a bed-tousled head - not really all that different from his usual style - with a grunt. A broken nose leading to an interview turning revenge prank and now culminating in feminine cackles, Zelda lording her intelligence over them both.
At least it hadn’t been one of the Gorgons...
'You can't tell anyone,' he spoke quietly, finally braving to shift round and stare at Zelda's back, a welcomed sight as it allowed for a bit of shifting and grabbing at pants and trousers.
Pushing positive energy and undying affection through the connection of bare flesh much the way he had during that initial meeting between Jon and Weir, Robb squeezed at slumped shoulders, strong thumbs pressing into hard, tense muscles criss-crossing scapula.
Jon would - was - going inward; mentally curling into a little tight ball to ride out the latest storm. Shutters tight, lights off, praying for the roof to remain on the building while all around him a wild tempest raged was Jon Snow's default way of coping. A very pretty hedgehog hiding in the thickets, you could say, sans pointy quills.
"Steady, krasevyi. We'll get this sorted," he murmured against messy black curls, getting aggravated all over again when he saw the twingy face Jon made; all compliments of Bedlam and her piss-poor swing. Stomping, yelling and pitching a wobbly in true ruddy uncouth Scottish fashion wouldn't work in this instance.
But it was tempting. So very tempting to pick her up by the scruff and toss her out on her Tiffany blue and gold-plated arse and damn the consequences. He held himself in check, though, and reached for his discarded pair of cargo trousers. One of the more utilitarian pairs he owned. Wearing those tighter, more 'arse and crotch on display' cargoes to work was out of the question these days. Not when Jon was barely over when he'd taken one for the team to acquire a key to Bedlam's trailer.
"Hang in here for a bit until I get the kettle on."
Tea. The British cure-all for any and all problems, Jon would be gagging for a cup of hot comfort much the way he'd been gagging for another shag barely five minutes earlier.
Buttoning buttons and zipping zip, Robb strode into the common area, ignoring Zelda for the time being. He would get to her shortly; once he'd run his hands under the tap with a squinch of soap and pulled three clean mugs from the cupboard.
"Have a seat." More an order and less a request, Robb softened his words with a simple "Please."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly," Zelda said, taking another step toward the doorway. She really didn't want to intrude on their personal and obviously private time. "I shouldn't have... burst in like that."
Even though they'd done the same thing to her trailer. It was just bad timing that she'd walked in on something she never would have if she'd had the choice. The two of them could very well have caught her in there themselves, couldn’t they? Her hand on the doorknob, she finally turned back to glance at them both.
"I just wanted to return these," she said, reaching over to set the bag down on the table. "I don't want to keep you from... uh... your... time."
Though still cocooned in evidence at trailer boot, Jon heard the exchange as if he'd been standing between Robb at kettle and Zelda by the door. Inching her way towards society, every tick of the clock elongated to span several heartbeats felt high in Jon’s throat threatening calm, cool, collected exterior as throbbing pulse cut off his oxygen supply.
Obviously, Zelda had no idea the sort of gold this particular rumour mill could potentially mine, dangerous explosives in hands untrained for handling such volatile matter.
Closet door only cracked open enough to let incandescent bedroom light chase away the darkness, Jon really was not prepared for anyone to know about his private preferences outside of confidant and family members. To end up the dark-haired royal beauty on the cover of one of Gorgon’s rag mags while Pincurl jabbered on and on and on, record set to repeat of Zelda’s earlier I knew it! with all the annoyances of a teacup poodle denied choccy biscuits.
”I don’t want to keep you from... uh... your... time.” Was she being purposefully boorish or was insolence part and partial to being an heiress? Jon didn’t know; he’d never been heir to anything.
Seeking gentle baby blues for support but finding none through the dim trailer - Robb’s eyes trained on Zelda while the kettle began to click and clank - Jon squirmed into pants and trousers, palming a shirt and excusing himself momentarily to the toilet with an apologetic murmur. Obliging tough conversation when needs demanded, Jon remained useless in situations such as these. Robb’s quick handiness at coercing compliance from people a far superior skill set than his ability to listen and respond slowly and diplomatically in kind.
For now he would concentrate on what he could control - a quick wash up and a few moments alone to collect his scattered thoughts. With any miracle, Robb would have Zelda settled over a cuppa by the time he emerged, his own mug of sweet tea waiting on the counter.
"Oh, no trouble at all, Zelda." All disarming, charming smiles now, Robb waved off unease and apprehension with a quick flick of fingertips. No matter that he stood there half dressed and those normally perfect curls all higgledy-piggledy from Jon's tugging, insistent grip, he intended to keep Zelda indoors for the next little while so they could control whatever damage might come from her discovery.
"Come sit a moment or three. We'd be terrible hosts if we didn't."
In went Robb the Roustabout and out came Robb the Fixer. Dueling personalities changed up in the blink of an eye; as quick as a mercurial drag queen dispatched unwanted boa when suddenly shocking pink marabou feathers were not the favorite on Frisco cabaret runways anymore.
"Besides," he said, bunging water into mugs with practiced ease, "I've already put a Tetley in your cup. Would be a real shame to waste it..."
Robb glanced over to the clear bag filled to bursting with plastic googlies, accusing black buttons of varied sizes staring, leering at him. Expression held rock steady for about 1.5 seconds after that - the jig, as they say in all those outdated old films - was really and truly up.
Robb shook his head and chuckled. What a ridiculous, surreal encounter this was turning out to be!
"I really shouldn't," Zelda said. She felt terrible that she'd interfered so far. It was obviously a big deal for her to have interrupted... whatever it was they were doing. (She wasn't thinking that far into it. She didn't really care either way.)
She hesitated for another moment, then turned around and set the bag of googly eyes down on the table. She supposed that saying no would be rude now, right? "All right." A little smile crossed her features and she slipped into the booth. "Can't waste the good stuff."
Around that moment as small answered prayers would have it, Jon emerged from the minuscule toilet cubicle with another soft, 'Excuse me,' lest he interrupt a conversation already in heady process. Squeegeed clean in the sink and now fully dressed, the proverbial bed well made up and he prepared to sleep it in no matter the consequences so long as Robb remained beside him eager to dirty the sheets.
A reassuring smile from his lover and noting Zelda triumphantly seated at the equally wee brekkie nook came as precious relief to rattled nerves. So too the tea prepared and waiting, just the way Jon liked it with a splash of whole milk and enough sugar to supply a small sweets factory. He picked up the mug clinging to its warmth, seat of trousers backed up against the counter to stand and stare down at Zelda.
What a fucking mess...
Knowing as he did now the turn of events to follow one simple prank, Jon would never in his lifetime have proceeded so carelessly. It’d seemed harmless enough when laid out on paper; a bit of a flirt for a key, a dash in and out during Zelda’s day off with enough materials to turn her trailer into a creepy funhouse exhibit. At worst, he’d been prepared for her accusatory laughter, perhaps to find his trailer covered in post-its engine to boot but certainly not this. And certainly not the security bint sniffing round his thoroughly claimed lover refusing to take a hint and chuck herself into a chemical fire.
Arse-over-tit, the whole affair; and it was all his fault.
'Suppose this means you figured it out,' Jon acknowledged the bag of craft googly eyes that still sat at the center of their suddenly rather awkward triangle. 'I hope we didn’t ruin anything with the paste.’
Folded into the opposing bench seat, Robb cautiously sipped his tea, watching her body language and facial expressions like a hawk. While Zelda seemed hardly the type to invite the press to her own back garden by blabbing and gabbing, anything was possible.
Robb didn't know her all that well, not nearly on the same level as Jon. The two often worked, side by side, throughout filming and thus a sort of friendship had formed. And because of that Robb was going to have to use Jon as the barometer; see how he reacted to whatever Bedlam would agree or disagree to the next little while.
Thank fucking Christ she's nothing at all like Big and Large.
Robb mentally shivered at the thought. Had this same information fallen, quite literally, into the lap of the film's former mercurial headliner, Jon and Robb would've been absolutely doomed. Big and Large was a nasty, salivating tale-carrier, much along the lines of the Gorgon Sisters. Always hoping to grab another chunk of the spotlight, she would have run, not walked, to the nearest willing ear as itchy fingers punched scandalous information to a multitude of Twitter accounts.
Young Lord Snow had dodged a bullet just a few weeks before; that Hollywood insider column mentioning his aristocratic background hadn't really blown the lid off of anything. Their relationship would remain safe, their cover firmly seated in place, thanks to people like Margaery Tyrell. Willing to jump in and be Robb's 'steady' for the upcoming wrap party, all they had to do was get over this hump and they would be relatively safe and sound.
"Just having a bit of a laugh is all. We didn't mean anything by it," said Robb, pitching in his own two pennies. "If there were any damages, we'll gladly pay for it."
Zelda wasn't stupid. She may have acted it, donned the Jessica Simpson demeanor to give herself a bit of an advantage, but she was far from the idiot!blonde that she sometimes pretended to be. Sure, she was a bit naive, and sometimes a bit too innocent. And sometimes jokes went over her head. But when it all came down to it, Zelda had a pretty good head on her shoulders.
So, she knew the information that she now held was valuable. Important.
But she wasn't anywhere near cruel enough to try and use it for anything. In her position as heiress/socialite, Zelda had been burned more than a time or two by information leaking out to the wrong people. She would never, ever do something like that to someone she was trying to build a friendship with.
"Don't be silly," she said, breaking into a cheerful smile as Jon came back into the main portion of the trailer. "It's all fine. I even left a few of them up." It'd been a good trick. She wanted to remember it.
Hearing some trinkets had been classified prodigal and therefore left in place as homage coaxed a genuine smile from Jon. Just a wee ghost of a thing, soft and boyish while still managing to carry the weights of the world. Nonetheless there for those special few who'd bothered enough to learn complex coding, what the twitch of a cheek muscle or droop of eyelid conveyed where no words would ever translate. Robb was fast becoming fluent after months of intense, close study but even Zelda, new to varied dark and twisty expressions, could plainly see the brief respite from absolute devastation fleet across Jon's face.
'One of my finer pranks...'
With tea and repose - not to mention clothing - Jon's knees seemed to be solidifying beneath him. Emotions pushed down deeper with each sip of steaming comfort, freeing up precious brain function to consider the facts before them.
One. Zelda knew their naughty secret. Craftily fabricated illusion of "Just friends, thanks" shattered beyond the assistance of paste. The lads had absolutely no hope of brushing this bit of gritty dirt beneath the proverbial rug, the jig very much, as they say, being well and truly sky high.
Two. They were in clear violation of company policy and Mr. Moneybags, the man with the green light, just so happened to also answer to the endearing title, Daddy. A further complication that threatened to turn sensitive bellies inside out. At least Robb knew how to handle angry fathers of pretty young women; he'd been, after all, practicing his entire life.
Three. Jon's history and family status - and probably in no minute fashion all those dark, luscious curls - were just interesting enough to put to print. They'd seen it once already over far less tempestuous a tale; breeding, money, and scandal were the meat and potatoes of Tinseltown. No more or less caution required than growing up in the British aristocracy but certainly different enough that the young half-lord felt lost in the woods anticipating any potential outcome.
And then there was his poor lover, stuck in the middle of a bloody great mess and the beautiful blonde who still refused to pass reassurance despite one straightforward address and all the current tiptoeings.
Well accustomed to those tiny, treasured smiles, Robb felt the tight hitch of tensed shoulders loosen, just a smidgen. Jon was settling physically thanks to Joseph and Edward Tetley's premier blend, but the mind residing inside pretty head was still whirling at a million miles an hour.
Nudging his mobile to life, Robb noted the time, and inwardly cursed mischief gods and fate, whomever had designed this ruddy box with its lack of reassuring, secure deadlock, and ill-timed payback pranks in equal measure.
"Not to hurry our little visit along, Zelda, but since we've all got to get back to it soon..." Holding up his Smartphone for all and sundry to see, large white numbers announced he and Jon had exactly twenty-two minutes to pull themselves together and return to their respective positions on sprawling studio lot. Robb still had to shower off the muck; Jon needed to guzzle down at least one more cuppa and a sugary sweet or ten in order to get through the remainder of his grueling workday.
Simply put, they had things to do, and as precious seconds ticked by Robb felt patience begin to wear thin. Time to lay cards on the table and see where that got them.
"Now, I think we need to agree on a few things before we head back." Returning mobile to tabletop, Robb looped first and middle fingers through ceramic mug handle, drawing his drink closer. “To put it plainly, Jon and I wish to keep our relationship, our preferences completely under the radar. Our reasons really wouldn’t interest you, so I’ll not bore you to death with all the details...”
Jon’s elite background, the dirty secret of his birth made him an overlarge, bright and blinking target. Robb cared very little what might happen to his hide if suddenly the poison pens took great interest in a young lord’s secret lover. He was relatively small potatoes, nothing of real interest for nosy hounds to sniff out of family backgrounds.
Eyebrows raised, the look he gave their unexpected visitor was quite plain: 'Are we going to have to hire ourselves a brace of cutthroat solicitors for the coming shitstorm or not?'
"Oh." Zelda set the teacup down and pulled out her own phone to glance at it. Two missed calls? Must be Jack checking in. "Yeah, it's definitely time to head back." She bit back the urge to point out that Robb had been the one insisting she stay, not the other way around.
"No no, your secret's safe with me," she said, then stood up from her chair. Hyrules knew about secrets. She had her own fair share and was an excellent secret keeper for others. Not even torture would get her to spill, for sure. "So, I'll see you on the set, then!"
Tight bands compressing lungs and a frantic heart sprung loose allowing Jon to take his first big and proper breaths since Zelda's arrival fifteen minutes prior. Disadvantage of being aristocratic and a generally good man, he took every oath for value of gold despite university degree highlighting historical instances proving exactly opposite. Entire empires fallen to broken promises, assassinations of important figureheads, conspiracies to maintain feigned control of foreign soils, a thousand ships launched to war over one fair maiden's smile.
To a stubborn fault, if Zelda insisted their secret was safe Jon would put his full weight atop her words and force himself to trust they held. And if that rickety bridge ever gave way despite her reassurances then there was no telling the sort of madness Zelda had coming for her at crossing a hot-blooded Scotsmen with fiery auburn hair and temper to match.
A force to be reckoned with at best of times, Jon never wanted to see Robb truly angry. Armed to punch holes through solid concrete the night of their infamous clothing fiasco or the sub-dermal bubble of passionate fury which rattled dishes and Jon's nerves the catalyst to happily ever after, now that Jon resided with Robb in Santa Ana and not in the confines of non-securable coachman. Little previews of the terrifying wild wolf pacing inside and waiting for the chain round its neck to finally rust away.
And even that paled in comparison to the years of turmoil backed up inside his own brooding skull. Two delicate bombs with very different fuses and Zelda the spy juggling wire-cutters between red and green. The decision and resulting consequences were entirely her own.
'Thank you, Zelda,' Jon politely walked their drop-in guest to the door, stalling with a gentle touch to elbow before letting her escape back into the light. A last second to tightly pack bubble-wrap about the delicate secret now squirreled away inside a blonde head.