urbancate: (beauty - anne hathaway isn't coy)
[personal profile] urbancate
Title: guilty filthy soul
Pairing: Anne Hathaway/Aaron Eckhart (RPF)
Notes: Written for after parties! banter! he's not a fan of musicals! and makes it known! prompt at Oscar Night Edition RPF Comment Ficathon. IDEK. Like, someone prompted Aaron Eckhart and I love his FACE, okay? As always, LIES, LIES, LIES. Title and cut text from the Awolnation song.







guilty filthy soul


(the hair at the nape of her neck curls a little; bodies colliding cause humidity to rise; he thinks it's a funny thing to notice, but he likes it - the undoing it reveals)



By the time he sees her at the Vanity Fair party, she's changed out of the pink dress (the obvious and somewhat cloying Paltrow callback), and he thinks it's a shame because he could very clearly imagine her tits in that one - untethered and perky - and he's been thinking about testing his imagination for a few hours now. Itching to test it, truth told.

But she is always surrounded. Has just catapulted into a sphere that is beyond him, despite piles of mutual acquaintances, despite their own glancing mutual...knowing.



("what was it like, kissing Christian"

"kissing Batman, you mean" she smirks "i never kissed Christian"

"whatever"

"jealousy is so unbecoming"

"this isn't about jealousy"

"isn't it though"

so he puts his hand over her mouth and thrusts into her hard; she bites into his palm, closes her eyes

everything is punishment for something)



It's two parties and a lot of drinks later before he can corner her, watch knowledge and a tremble of something else slide across her high flying face for a brief instant.

"Aaron!"

She's still holding the damn statue, but he hugs her anyway, presses. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she smiles and blushes, which anyone would chalk up to champagne, except he knows better.

"Well-deserved, is what I read."

"What, you didn't see my little movie?"

"Nope. Just couldn't make myself sit through a musical. Not even for you."

"Ouch." She's still smiling, still joking, still thinks it's all just fun; has clearly forgotten his meaner aspects.

"Not afraid of a little pain, are you, though." He remembers her meaner aspects perfectly well.

Her nostrils flare, she raises an eyebrow, and there it is - her real face, the not-so-innocent-really face. "Fuck you," with a smile.

"That's the plan, darling."



(it's not at all what he had planned, actually. thinking is not the same as planning.

but here they are

not the pink dress, some silver concoction up around her hips, a golden statue on the table next to them

he bites first this time, teeth marks on her thighs, while her fingers pull his hair

he could eat her out like this forever, he thinks - ferocious, feral -

but she's impatient, pulling, demanding

and when he's sinking into her, fully, he's not complaining, he's owning her mouth and her body and her everything

"still jealous," a gasping barb

"maybe, yeah, who fucking cares"

nobody cares)

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