interpretthis: (sh_elementary)
[personal profile] interpretthis
Title: Dare To
Author: interpretthis
Fandom: Holmes RPF
Pairing: Robert Downey Jr./Jude Law
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: To my knowledge, this never happened, is not happening, and never will happen. Shame.
Summary: In the middle of a boring party, Robert decides to do something unadvisable.
Notes: Prufrock's Eliot's.

It’s a natural progression. They meld together like chocolate and peanut butter from the start, their off-set chemistry just as strong as Holmes and Watson’s. They’re completely comfortable with each other, arms easily slipping around shoulders and waists whenever they’re in touching distance, chins perched on shoulders. They come up behind each other and pinch each other’s sides before dissolving into laughter, hunching close together. They’re constantly joking and whispering, heads bent together, almost one entity, completely separate from the set around them.

If Guy left in all the bloopers of them forgetting lines and just staring intensely into each other’s gleaming eyes (or quite possibly forgetting lines because of this), smirks dancing around their lips until one of them cracks up and they both collapse into laughter, he’d have a Robert and Jude Are Fucking Each Other’s Brains Out show longer than the film itself. Not to mention the times they spontaneously nip at each other’s necks and earlobes.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, pricks snugly back in your trousers please, boys, we’ve got a movie to make here.”


It’s at a gala, a full year after they start filming, that they become something new. They’ve never talked about what they have – it’s always just been there, something they’ve both tacitly accepted. They’re strolling around the place, arms draped around each other’s waists, sharing a glass of red and trying to avoid other people when they’re roped into a one-sided conversation with an elderly man who’s set on telling them all about the history of London’s pollution.

He drones on and on, eyes slightly unfocused. Jude plays along, listening only enough to nod and “ah” in all the right places. Robert doesn’t even make an effort. He downs the remainder of the wine, places the empty glass on the table to his left, and gets the brilliant idea to grab Jude’s ass. The only change in Jude’s bearing is a quick, barely detectable intake of breath and a twitch of a smile. When the man, now getting into the killer fog of 1952, turns slightly to examine a roving plate of hors d’oeuvres, Jude’s head dips down, his lips burning a kiss against the tensing flesh of Robert’s neck. He gives a small bite and feels Robert’s throat vibrate beneath his lips, though the other man’s groan is nearly silent. Jude smirks against his neck and pulls away, sweeping the back of his hand in front of his mouth just as the droning man turns back, canapé in hand.

Jude mentions Prufrock, pretending to be interested. His eyes widen slightly as he feels Robert’s hand trailing from his right hip down to where his thigh meets his ass and squeezing once more before the sides of his fingers press against the fabric of Jude’s pants and into the cleft of his ass, sliding from the bottom up until his hand is resting on the small of Jude’s back, his index finger teasing beneath his waistband, stroking at the dip between Jude’s cheeks. The arm Jude has around Robert’s waist tightens its hold. His mind is going as foggy – not to mention as dirty – as the damned London fog. Taking a steadying breath, he slips his arm from around Robert’s waist, brings it surreptitiously to Robert’s navel, and in one flash of a motion grabs the other man’s crotch, nodding at the oblivious man across from them, his face set in a mask of polite interest, only his eyes betraying what is rapidly turning from amusement to lust. He’s only half-surprised to find that Robert is hard. Jude strokes and squeezes – once, twice – and Robert’s hand moves from the small of Jude’s back to his hip in an instant as his knees threaten to buckle.

Jude hides a snigger as he clears his throat, replacing his arm back around Robert’s waist.

“Thanks ever so much for the informative little chat, but I’m afraid we’ve got to be on our way.”

Jude yanks the two of them around without a second’s thought for the fog man, marching them towards a corner of the dimly lit room where a corridor juts off to the left.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Robert’s muttering to himself, having a difficult time placing one foot in front of the other but desperate to get the hell away from the chitchat and the platters and the eyes. What started out as a game has spiraled into a burning necessity laughably quickly.


“Pretty sure she thinks this has been happening for a year and a half. Sienna?”

“We’re on the way out. Not to mention I’m sure she’d much prefer you to the nanny.”


They practically launch themselves into the deserted corridor, managing to make it only halfway down before Robert cracks and throws Jude into the wall, his lips everywhere. Jude kisses back with abandon, tangling his fingers in Robert’s hair and arching his head back with a moan as the other man’s lips slip down to attack his pulse point, sending a shiver down his spine.

Fuck, we’re idiots. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve wanked to the thought of you?”

Robert groans against his neck. Jude’s hand rakes through the other man’s damp hair, over the nape of his neck, down his back to the curve of his ass. He pulls him closer, their clothed cocks pressing together. Robert swears, his lips recapturing Jude’s, his hands working furiously at the clasp of Jude’s pants. He layers raspy words between heated kisses, shoving Jude’s pants off his hips and taking the other man’s cock in hand, receiving a moan and a jut of hips in return. “I’ve – wanted you – so – fucking bad – since day – one.” Jude gives an arousal-strained moan, his head rolling back against the wall as Robert frees his own erection. Jude bucks and their cocks slide together. “Oh fuck me,” the British man breathes. Robert curses in a rush, slicking his cock with pre-cum and spitting into his hand. He curls one finger up inside, eases a second in. Jude stuffs his knuckles into his mouth, not quite having forgotten the gala twenty feet away. He feels the delicious burn of himself widening as Robert’s fingers scissor inside him, and then they’re gone and Robert’s coaxing Jude’s legs up around his waist and the head of Robert’s cock is flush against his entrance.

Their eyes meet as Robert pushes in, and the obsidian heat that Jude finds in the other man’s blown-out pupils combined with the feeling of being filled forces his eyes shut, his head pressing back, an unhinged moan rolling off his lips. Neither of them can believe this. They’re fucking in a surreality. A year and a half of being closer than the closest close and yet never crossing this line, never being quite this close. If there had been something inevitable about their relationship, everyone had seen it but them. Now, though, they wonder how they managed to go a single day without ending up in bed.

Jude hisses as Robert pulls back slowly and eases in again, urging him on by tightening his legs against his back.

God, Robert, please.”

Robert groans low, one hand grasping Jude’s ass, the other slamming into the wall beside his head. He speeds up without further encouragement and they’re rutting against each other now, paying no heed to the world around them, every second of every minute of the past year and a half building into this moment. Jude’s cock leaks between their bodies. Robert buries his lips against Jude’s shoulder, thrusting wildly, too far gone to do anything but fuck his costar into the wall, society be damned. He hears Jude keen, feels warmth against his abdomen, and thrusts into the blazing whiteness as Jude clenches around him and his whole body shudders.

There’s a rushing fading in Robert’s ears and he can feel his chest working like a bellows. He doesn’t move. Jude doesn’t move. Their chests rise and fall together. Robert lifts his head from Jude’s shoulder.

“Well then.”

Jude smirks and blinks sleepily, completely relaxed.


Robert’s eyes are sparkling.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Jude gives a soft laugh, eyes lighting up.

“You’re going to have to get out of me first.”

Robert grins deviously.

“Not necessarily.”

Jude flushes a becoming shade of pink.

“Cheeky bastard.” He unlocks his legs, lowering himself off of Robert. He leans down to do up his pants, and Robert imitates him mock-grudgingly. They look each other over – stained, flushed, disheveled – and their laughter threatens to burst.

“It’s going to be almost as good as if I carried you out of here with my cock up your ass.”

Jude laughs, slipping his arm comfortably around Robert’s waist.

“Won’t they be proud.”

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