A Little R And R 1

Chapter 1: Freudian Slip

Dreams are funny things, they take from your experiences, your fears, hopes, desires...oh yes, especially your desires...and mix them up in your sub-conscious, only to spit them out again like a celtic knotwork of images; twisting and turning and looping back into themselves, like rats in a maze, until your brain acclimatizes and makes the jumble real.

That's how this dream came about. A weekend of gorging on the excitement, the nearness of the unattainable who, for a brief second in your life (and a split second of theirs), actually become attainable. They touch you, you touch them. For a moment, YOU are real to THEM. You talk, they listen and respond, and are generous with their time. They make you feel a part of their lives for just that briefest of instances.

Deep down, somewhere in your rational, grown-up mind, you know it's an illusion, but the energy you are absorbing allows you to regress, to ignore that exasperated adult rattling the cage of reality, to actually enjoy yourself so much and be made to feel so comfortable and accepted by these people you admire, that you are attracted to, that in that brief moment of interaction, you let yourself be fooled, perhaps not even consciously, and allow your well-guarded filter to slide.

You finally meet that object, no, that person, who melts your insides. Suddenly, the person who you have watched for years, not only in their movies and TV show, but in interviews, panels, talk shows, is there in front of you, smiling, waiting.

You can do this! You've seen how kind he is to his fans. You've practiced what you'd say since your photo op with him the night before. You came prepared, bringing a t-shirt from a bar in the city where he lives; hoping to use it as a conversation starter and, if you're being honest, a vain attempt to possibly impress him with your knowledge of something other than his career; a connection you, and (in your rapidly devolving brain) only you, can share with him. You look up at him to find him smiling at you. You manage to mumble a "Hi" and almost die when he says, "Hi, again, sweetheart! I remember meeting you last night. What's your name?"

You idiot! Of course he needs your name for the autograph. You tell him, then show him the shirt. He gets up and unfolds it, checking it out. He recognizes the bar and you explain that you used to go there with your friends all the time. He seems impressed and calls it cool. You thank him for his time and for coming all the way to the Con. He smiles and says, "Thank you for having me."

Maybe you shouldn't have watched that you tube video of him exchanging banter with his co-stars; but, you did, and now your senses are preparing to abandon you to your fate.

As you walk away, your filter evaporates and your flirty nature slips out. "I'd love to," you reply with a smile. He does an almost double-take, then what you said hits him, the double entendre, and he gives you a startled, half-grin.

You slink back into the crowd, mortified. Wondering if he saw the look of horror on your face as you realized what you had just done. You can imagine him saying to his handlers on the dais with him, "Did she just hit on me?"

Chapter 2: Freudian Slip Gets Reversed

All the way home, you keep mentally slapping yourself for the gaffe with Norman. You know a lot of it is due to your lack of self-confidence. If this had been 10 years ago, when you were still in shape, maybe you wouldn't be so mortified.

To make matters worse, you know you'll have to face him again that night at the V.I.P. party your friend won tickets for. You briefly consider not going, then give your head a shake. No way are you going to miss partying with Michael Rooker! It should be crowded enough that you can hide from Norman.

Finally, you're ready. Your phone rings and it's your friend telling you she's outside in the limo and has a surprise for you, too.

The driver holds the door open and your heart almost stops! Sitting beside your friend, who has a huge grin on her face, is Michael Rooker & Norman Reedus!

Good thing you are hanging onto the door, as your knees threaten to buckle. You feel your cheeks burn as your eyes briefly meet Norman's and he gives you a smile. You smile back then, taking a deep breath and sit down beside Michael. He gives you that impish grin of his and a one-armed hug, and says, "Hey, you look great, sweetheart."

Your heart-rate speeds up and you manage to choke out a thanks and introduction. He's wearing tight black jeans and a "Black Ops II" tee that shows off the (in)famous "Rooker Guns". The sight isn't helping your efforts to be cool and collected, and you feel a familiar tingle start between your legs.

The guys are great, joking around with you, making you feel relaxed and comfortable. You're still a bit embarrassed by your off-hand remark to Norman earlier that day, and are unable to look him directly in the eye when talking to him; feeling your cheeks flush, knowing your face is red. Michael teases you, trying to put you at ease, telling you not to worry about it, that both he and Norman have been propositioned in a lot less subtle ways; it was part of the job and usually taken as a compliment.

You arrive at the venue for the party - a club beside the hotel for the con - and are helped out of the limo by Michael, always the Southern gentleman. Norman immediately lights up a smoke, then smiles and offers you one. You accept shyly, and stand there, making small talk and enjoying your cigarettes.

As you enter the club, you're surprised to see that it's not as crowded as you thought it would be. Security escorts you to your table and you sit down, conscious of all eyes on you - well, on your companions. Men glance over briefly and shrug, going back to their conversations. Most of the women there are giving you the evil eye.

You're a bit surprised when Norman orders you a drink, but you thank him for his generosity; making sure to sip it slowly, highly aware that your filter has been known to disappear after one drink, and determined not to embarrass yourself again. Your friend whispers that she doesn't feel well and is going to go to your room to lay down for a bit. Seeing her get up, Michael offers to escort her safely to her room, knowing no drunk will bother her while he's there. As he gets up, you think you see a look pass between the two men.

As usual, Norman has his phone out and is taking pictures of everyone and everything. You figure he is just posting to his Instagram account, so think nothing of it. He puts his phone on the table, then excuses himself for a minute saying he is just going to get a drink. While he is gone, his phone buzzes and, not able to help yourself, you peek at the screen. It's a text from Michael, saying, "Go for it!".

"Go for it"? Now you have to know what Norman had sent him. Looking around quickly, you scroll back a bit to see that he had sent a text to Michael saying, "Should I?"

Well, that was helpful! Not!

Mentally shrugging, you put his phone back where it was and take a sip of your drink. Just in time, too, as he comes back and sits down. You mention that his phone buzzed while he was gone, and he picks it up, a slow grin curving those luscious lips. He looks at you and says, "C'mere," crooking his finger at you. You must have frowned in confusion because he says, "I want to tell you something, but this table is in the way."

You get up and are about to lean over to hear what he has to say, when he suddenly pulls you onto his lap and, with your side against his chest and his arm holding you there, he starts slowly, gently kissing the crook of your neck; you know, that sweet spot where your neck ends and your shoulder begins. A shiver runs through you and your heart rate skyrockets. You look around to see if anyone else is seeing this fantasy come to life; that's when you notice that Michael is back, sitting across from you, grinning that shit-eating grin he has.

You barely have time to catch his wink of encouragement, when Norman turns you around and kisses you deeply! You're pretty sure that, if anyone else is watching, it is quite the show. You're kissing him back, losing yourself in the moment. You can hear Rooker faintly in the background, just above the roar of your heart thudding in your ears. His words aren't quite reaching your brain, but they sound encouraging.

You break off the kiss, breathing heavily and smile at him. You start to say that you guess he wasn't insulted by your earlier faux pas, but he puts his finger on your lips to silence you. He smiles and grabs your hand, whispering, "Let's go somewhere more private."

It takes you two tries to get out of Norman's lap, your legs weak at the thought of what could possibly happen. As you get up to leave, still holding hands, Michael gives you a thumbs up and settles back in his chair.

You exit the elevator, feeling everyone's eyes on you. Norman's arm goes around your waist, his thumb sliding slowly up and down your side. You cling to him, scared that if you let go, your knees will buckle. As he opens the door to his suite, you tell him that you have forgotten your purse at the table. Leading you in, he says, "Don't worry, Rooker can bring it up later".

The meaning of his words don't fully register in your addled brain as he kicks the door shut, and says, "Now, what was it you said about 'having' me earlier?"

He gives you that mischievous, little boy grin of his, while you blush and try to explain. Your mouth is barely open, when he pushes you up against the wall, pressing the full length of his lean, hard body against you; pinning your hands above your head, grabbing your hair in his fist and tilting your head back to kiss you again; this time it is demanding, owning.

Dear gods! Your heart is pounding, your entire body is trembling and waterweed has nothing on you at this point; your legs barely hold you up. As you try to catch your breath, he looks down at you, his eyes dark & says softly "Why don't I 'have' you instead?"

You can't seem to form words and the only sound out of your lips is a soft whimper. You just nod your head weakly, not believing this is happening.

He kisses you again, lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom, then letting you slide down him til your feet touch the floor. He leans in, nibbling your neck while unzipping your dress, letting it fall to the floor. He eyes you up & down and you become self-conscious. You try to cover your belly, but he pulls your arms away and says, "No, let me see you - all women are beautiful in their own way."

You let your arms fall down to your side and close your eyes, looking down, hoping he doesn't see your blush, knowing it's impossible as it's not only your face that goes red. He traces a finger from your jaw to your neck, over your shoulder and across to your collarbone; trailing a finger between your breasts and down your stomach to the waistband of your panties. You're mesmerized by his touch; so much so that you don't hear the door to the room open.

You feel another pair of hands, bigger but just as gentle, slide down your arms to your waist, then to your hips; one hand gently taking your right hand and caressing it, massaging it. A mouth nips at your neck, as you hear that smokey, slightly southern voice whisper, "Just enjoy this, darlin', you deserve to be treated right."

You lean back against Michael, opening your eyes as you feel Norman's hands on your hips, seeing him kneeling in front of you, watching as he kisses slowly down your belly, his teeth gently tugging at your belly ring. Michael's hands have moved up & released the clasp of your bra, letting the straps fall off your shoulders. His thumbs tease the sides of your breasts, just as Norman runs his tongue along your bikini line; then moves lower, kissing you through the cotton. A moan? whimper? escapes you and your legs do buckle now.

You hear a soft, raspy laugh from behind you and are easily caught by Rooker's strong hands. Norman stands up slowly and leads you to the bed, gently pushing you down until you are sitting on the edge. You feel Michael get on the bed behind you and pull you against him. Somewhere along the way, he's lost his clothes as you can feel only hot flesh behind you. You lay back in Michael's arms, marveling at the contained strength in them, watching as Norman slowly unbuttons his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours.

Michael's hands cup your breasts, his thumb flicking over your nipples, causing you to gasp and instinctually raise your hips in a gesture of want. You try to turn to kiss him, but he whispers, "Shhhh, baby, soon, just watch This is all for you," his native Alabama accent becoming more pronounced.

Norman has pulled his shirt off now, baring his chest and arms, your eyes drifting down his abs to the denim covering the rest of him. He grins and slowly undoes his belt, then unzips his jeans, letting them fall to the floor and stepping out of them. His boxers are loose, but not loose enough that you can't tell he's starting to enjoy this. He drops to his knees and moves slowly towards the bed.

Michael pulls you back further, so that you're laying against him, legs dangling off the edge. You close your eyes in surrender to the anticipation as you feel Norman start to kiss his way up your inner thigh, while Michael slides your bra down your arms and off of you. He flattens his hands and lightly runs his palms along the sides, under, then across the top of your breasts; his touch like a feather against over-sensitive nipples.

You feel hot breath between your legs, opening your eyes to watch Norman hook two fingers into your panties and slowly peel them down your legs and off your feet. His eyes never leave your face as he gently parts your knees; placing your feet on his shoulders, his hands running up your thighs to rest on your pelvic bone, holding you down as you feel his mouth on you. You gasp and writhe slightly, and he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed by your hips, effectively leaving your head in Michael's lap.

Rooker leans over you, his eyes gone dark blue and you can see the controlled desire in them. He gently kisses you, softly at first, then more insistent, his tongue caressing your lips, then twining with yours. The man knows how to kiss! His hands explore your upper body freely now, knowing exactly where and when to caress and where and when to be rough.

While Michael's tongue teases your mouth, Norman's tongue and mouth are doing an excellent job of making you squirm. It's obvious he's enjoying it and he knows exactly what to do. Not once has he tried to penetrate you; using his tongue, teeth and lips to gently suck, nibble and lick until you want to grab his head and hold him against you.

You moan as you feel his lips close over your most sensitive spot, creating suction, the tip of his tongue flicking at the same time, subjecting you to such exquisite torture, you feel like you're going to burst.

Your moans are getting louder now and both men are breathing heavily. Norman's hands slide under your ass as he raises you higher, burying his face into you, the suction on you increasing, the flicking getting faster. Michael's gently scratching his nails up and down your ribs as he whispers, over and over "That's it, baby, don't hold back..", before kissing you deeply.

The combination of the sensations these men are giving you is too much; your back arches suddenly and your body stiffens. Wave after wave flows over you as Norman's mouth doesn't stop and Michael hotly whispers encouragement in your ear. The waves subside into intermittent shudders, each one being rewarded with another caress from Michael.

You lay back, panting, finally opening your eyes to see Norman grinning up at you. Rooker slides out from behind you and you're surprised to see he still has his boxers on. Norman snakes up your body and kisses you. "So," he says with a smile, "how do you like me having you?"

Rooker laughs and tells you to stay where you are, he'll get you some water. Like you can move! Your legs, hell, your entire body feels like jelly. Norman rolls off you and reaches over a cigarette, sharing it with you. "Just a little break," he says in his soft voice, "then round 2."