Past Performance Is Not Necessarily A Guide

Author's Note: Other real people mentioned play soldiers in 28 Days Later, except for Brendan Gleeson, who plays dad/cabbie Frank.
Disclaimer: Once again, this is completely fictional! I don't know these actors and I'm not making any money from this story.

Now that was a really shit idea. Talk about asking for trouble. Cillian's cloudy mind churns as he walks down the hall away from Naomie. That was unforgivably reckless in more ways than one. Fuck, she's incredible. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It felt like he'd just gotten his hands on a sleek, custom-made guitar and played a favorite tune he'd known for years, but on this priceless instrument, so astoundingly smooth and sensitive, his fingers danced effortlessly with renewed inspiration, finally discovering the glory the song had always promised. It had been intoxicating to feel so sure how to make Naomie's body sing, to feel her hypnotic vibrations under his fingertips.

Wiping the mist of sweat off his face, he smells her on his hand and it makes his balls ache. He thinks about how it felt to touch Naomie's wet pussy and his still hard cock twitches at the idea of entering the hot, slick depths his fingers had plumbed. She'd wanted him to. He'd wanted to. So badly it hurt.

Cillian pushes through the restroom door, hurriedly locks the door, grabs some tissue and takes out his erect cock. Eyes squeezed shut, panting and panicked, he strokes himself madly. My god, it was brilliant to feel her body quake as she came. To hear her whimper and feel her cunt squeezing my hand. He comes almost instantly.

I have to get out of here. He cleans up, then peeks out the door. No one in sight. He heads for the stairs, feeling a little nervous. How long were we gone? He re-emerges into the pub.

"Cillian! There you are," Luke yells, striding toward him. "Won't you kindly grace us with your presence for a drink? I'm buying."

"Uhh, I'm knackered. I'm going to pack it in -- "

"What?!?" Luke interrupts. "C'mon, mate. I won't take no for an answer. Don't make me angry unless you want me to give you real beatings all week," he joked, referring to their upcoming fight scenes.

"OK, OK... thanks."

Luke buys Cillian a pint and they walk over to the table where a few of the other actors who play 28 Days soldiers are seated. A few minutes later, Cillian spies Naomie at the top of the stairs. She heads back to the booth where they'd originally sat and points out her bag and sweater to Brendan, who, smiling broadly, hands them to her, then beckons her to lean down so he can speak into her ear. Fuck, fuck, fuck, Cillian frets. Did he spot us snogging downstairs? I'm being paranoid. Stop watching her.

He smokes two fags in quick succession, fighting to impersonate a relaxed person having a good time, fighting to stay in the conversation. The guys are razzing Junior about his flirtation with one of the makeup artists. Stealing another look back over to the booth, Cillian sees that Naomie is now sitting next to Brendan and gulping a beer too fast. I've got to leave! Thinking that he shouldn't be drinking more, Cillian debates with himself whether he's obligated to finish his beer before making his excuses and taking off. The minutes drip by torturously.

Thirty minutes later -- or maybe it was only fifteen -- just as he's about to leave, Naomie walks over to them, coming to stand between Leo and him. Heart beating fast, Cillian pushes his chair away from the table a bit, in fight or flight mode -- well, just flight, really.

"Hello, boys! Give us a sip," she says brightly, if drunkenly, stealing a deep swig of Leo's beer.

"Hey!" Leo protests, trying unsuccessfully to get his drink back.

"You're a bit worse for wear, Naomie," Ray laughs, as she drains Leo's glass.

"I'm feeling just fine, thank you very much," she counters, leaning a hand on Leo's shoulder, swaying a little. "Just fine."

"You're out on the piss, girl, yeah?" Junior teases. "Never seen this side of you before."

"Well, I've been working, working, working... All work and no play, you know?" She accidentally drops her handbag and giggles. Cillian picks it up and holds it out to her. She takes it, and, eyeing him, flippantly adds, "A little play now and again never hurt anybody."

His heart pumps even faster, but he forces out a chuckle, then lightly chides her, "Go too far and ya get well hurt."

"Is that so?"

"You don't want to have a nasty hangover tomorrow, pal," Cillian warns.

Naomie sticks her tongue out and makes a face. "Don't you worry yourself about me, pal."

"Uh oh -- watch out!" Marvin says mockingly, while the other guys chortle. Cillian notices Junior's eyebrows rise quizzically at Naomie and him.

"Well, how long are you going to stand there?" Sanjay asks her. "Pull up a chair!"

Instead, Naomie plops down on Cillian's lap, putting her arm around his neck. "This seat'll do," she declares, to the uproarious amusement of everyone except Cillian.

"This seat was just about to say his goodnights," he retorts a bit too snappishly. Softening his tone, he tells her, "I think you're about ready to call it a night as well, young lady."

Naomie cries, "Noooooo!" and a few of the fellows chime in with her.

"Yes, indeed. You're drunk and disorderly -- "

"No, nooo... we're just starting to have fun, aren't we, lads?" She wraps another arm around Cillian.

Amid more laughter from the table, Ray suggests kindly, "Naomie, maybe you should head back to the hotel."

"Noooo!"

Cillian pushes Naomie off his lap and stands up. "Come on, I'll take you back," he coaxes, sounding put upon. "Good night, all." He takes her arm and hooks it into his, then starts for the door.

"Noooo... Cillian! Let's stay," she protests as they leave.

Junior calls after him tauntingly, "What a gentleman you are to take her home, Mr. Murphy!"

Fuck, fuck, fuck! How can this already have gotten messy?

"That was a lovely show you put on back there." Cillian mutters sarcastically.

Naomie doesn't respond. Cillian sighs, steers her out the door. He's relieved to see a taxi idling outside and helps her in. He sits down next to her, careful not to sit too close, tells the driver their destination.

After a few silent minutes, Cillian steals a quick look at her, and he's startled to see her shoulders shaking. Is she crying? Oh no.

Fighting his flight response, he turns to her, whispers, "Are you OK?"

Again, no response. She's definitely crying.

"Naomie... I'm sorry." He puts his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off. "I'm a right selfish arse." He strokes her neck and a tremor rocks her. "Please don't cry."

"I'm not crying," she says, laughing mordantly, still crying, wiping her face -- and melting his anger, if not his anxiety.

Sliding over, Cillian puts his arm around her shoulders, then tilts her head down onto his shoulder.

She insists, "I'm just drunk. I'm not crying, I'm not," but a sob catches on her last word.

"Shhh..."

"So stupid," she whispers, turning to bury her face in his neck.

He sucks in a quick breath as her arm snakes around his chest. He can't stop his hand from running down her back. Naomie's tears wet his neck, then it's her warm mouth, her tongue, washing a shiver down his back. He nudges her face with his, inviting a kiss. When her sweet, tentative lips find their way to his mouth, his volcanic desire for her erupts again; he kisses her hungrily, thrusting his tongue aggressively. He sucks and bites her neck, but when he tastes the salt of teardrops on her skin, he once again tastes his own fear. He stops to search her face and is relieved to see her smile as soon as their eyes meet. She's only swinging to emotional extremes 'cause she's sloshed. And you did just kind of fuck and run. And then you scolded her, when you're the one who has something to hide, you wanker. The taxi stops and they fumble to pay the driver and crawl out of the cab.

"I'll walk you to your room," he says quietly. They head upstairs in silence, Cillian's conscience castigating him for his lack of self-control in the cab. When they reach her door, she doesn't look at him, she just looks for her room key in her handbag. Just don't touch her again and you'll be OK. Just go to your room and put a good night's sleep between you and this drunken adventure. Say something reasonably kind, then walk away.

She rummages around for a bit, but can't seem to find the key.

Cillian snaps, "Right," snatches her bag and digs through it, his frustration level rocketing again. "Where did you put it?"

"I don't remember."

"In this pocket?"

"I don't know... Cill... stop it."

"It's not here."

"Let me look again," Naomie sighs, taking her bag back.

"Sod it -- the key probably fell out when you dropped your bag at the pub."

"Oh yeah, maybe... I'm really sorry. I don't usually drink," she explains meekly. "Will you go downstairs with me to call someone to reception?"

Cillian closes his eyes for a moment, gives a weary snort. "Bloody hell."

"I'm sorry... I'll let you go after we find someone. I'm just a little embarrassed to wake up the staff while I'm such a shambles. Come with?"

"No."

Naomie looks taken aback. "Please?"

"No." He takes her hand roughly and starts pulling her down the hall.

"Cillian..."

They pass the stairs.

"Cillian?"

At the end of the hall, he takes out his key and unlocks the door to his room, pulls her inside, shuts the door.

In a rush, he blurts, "I know it's a huge rationalization to take your lost key as a sign, but right now I want you something terrible and, well... here we are." He rubs his eyes and brow, rambles on from behind his hand. "I don't trust this. I'm still a bit drunk. And you, you're completely hammered. We don't know what we're doing. We can't trust ourselves. But I want you here tonight. We just can't uhhh... Let's just sleep. You're tired, yeah? Let's just sleep and try to... let's try to hold back a little." He peeks a look at her.

A sexy smile unfurls languorously across Naomie's face. "You mean let's be stupid, but not too stupid?"

Cillian shrugs nervously.

"Ha!" Naomie kicks off her shoes.

Naomie takes off her sweater, goes into the loo. Cillian walks over to the window, opens it, lights a cigarette. Naomie reappears and wriggles out of her skirt; Cillian smokes and watches her. She meets his gaze, tugs on the bottom of her T-shirt, then the side strap of her knickers. But she leaves them on, lays down on the bed. Cillian heads into the restroom, extinguishes his cigarette in the sink, urinates, avoids his own eyes in the mirror on the way out.

All curled up on the bed, Naomie massages her temples. Cillian grabs a container of aspirin from atop a bureau, and shakes out two tablets for each of them. "Hey, lady," he says softly, standing next to the bed. She opens her eyes and he hands her the pills and a bottle of spring water. "Aspirin. And drink the whole thing." She raises herself up on one elbow, swallows the pills and drinks. Cillian opens another bottle of water and washes down his aspirin, looking down to watch Naomie's shapely, long legs stretch out along the bedspread. His fingers itch to play another song on her supple body, to make her twist and shout and sing.

I'm somewhere else. I'm someone else. I'm 18 again. I'm not here. It's just one night. It's just a momentary rupture in my space-time continuum. She's sitting up. She's taking off her shirt. Oh fuck, her tits are unreal. Her nipples sit up high like luscious milk chocolate kisses calling out for me to taste them. Fuck, don't look at me like that. She's getting under the covers. She's waiting for me.

Cillian strips down to his boxer shorts, climbs into bed and turns onto his side to face Naomie, whose sexy dark eyes open sleepily. He's getting hard without even touching her and he wonders how the hell he's going to stick to his half-baked resolution to, at the very least, keep his dick out of this alluring creature who isn't his girlfriend.

"So... can I do this?" Naomie's fingers drift slowly down his chest, then she slides her palm back upward, her nails dragging lightly over his skin. Cillian flinches slightly but says nothing. He bites his lip, and her eyes are drawn to his mouth. "Is it advisable to do this?" She lifts a bent knee and, maintaining the space between their bodies, rests her calf on his hip. His breath quickens. She scoots a little closer, asks "What about -- "

Cillian interrupts her question by pulling her face in for a few teasing kisses. His hand slides from the nape of her neck, around and down to caress her breast. He grazes her nipple with his palm, then quickly moves down to swirl his tongue around its erect tip. Naomie sighs and shivers, whimpers when he starts sucking. Cillian's mouth kisses its way over to her breastbone, up to her throat, her chin, and back up to suck her bottom lip. She wriggles closer still and they both moan at the shocking pleasure of their bare skin making contact for the first time. Her leg pulls him to her and he gasps to feel the moist crotch of her knickers grind up along the erection under his boxers. Grimacing, he pulls away, flopping onto his back. "Christ, that's too much for me. Too much."

"Isn't that a good sign? It'll be so fucking good," she says, slurring just a bit, rolling over, half onto him.

"Too good," Cillian sighs. "Maybe we should..." -- he inhales sharply as she starts sucking and biting his neck -- "...go to sleep. Fuck." Her hand is sliding down his chest, his stomach. "I'm sorry, I -- " Her hand darts under his boxers and she grabs his cock. "Uhhhnn... please..."

"Say pretty please," Naomie murmurs into his neck between kisses, as Cillian gasps for air and helplessly thrusts into her fist.

"No, stop..."

"Stop?" she laughs, fingering the weepy eye at the tip of his cock.

"I... mmmnf... I can't do -- "

"But it's your turn now." She blazes a path of searing kisses down to his nipple, down his chest, down over his stomach, down...

It takes every ounce of willpower he possesses for Cillian to once again grab her wrist. "Don't," he gasps.

Naomie looks up at him, her chin resting on his ribs. "If you won't let me do it... I want to watch you do it."

"What?" He feels his face blush. Does she mean what I think she means?

She releases his cock, shakes off his grip on her wrist. Rolls over, pushes back the bedclothes. Peels off her knickers.

"Wait, what are you doing? Naomie..."

He scoots away from her, back toward the headboard, propping his shoulders up against it, but Naomie clasps onto his legs and gives him a warning look not to move up any farther, then pulls off his boxers and greedily takes in the sight of his thick, stiff cock. She kneels next to him, leans forward to run her tongue under his top lip. Sitting up again, she brings his hand to her mouth seductively and licks his palm, then moves his hand down to his dick. "Show me how you do it," she says, grinning a little mischievously.

Stunned and excited by this cheeky suggestion, Cillian stammers, "Ummm... kiss me?"

She leans in to tongue his mouth again; he sucks her tongue and starts stroking himself, but she quickly pulls away. She looks down to see that his hand has stopped. "Keep going. I want to see," she directs. He chews his lip, grasps the base of his cock with his other hand, and starts rubbing again, his head lolling back against the headboard, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"Open your eyes." Naomie tucks a pillow under Cillian's neck, which props him up a little more, and she licks his shoulder. Then she sits up to watch him. "Mmm, I wish you'd let me... let me suck you off." He groans, closes his eyes again. She caresses his face. "Look at me, Cillian. Don't close your eyes when you come, just keep looking at me." His eyes open wide; she nods and their breathing quickens in sync. Her eyes travel down to watch him pulling on the head of his cock. "Beautiful. Slowly... make it last."

Naomie's hands sweep over his thighs, then she pushes his legs further apart, runs a finger along the inner crease of his thigh. Cillian's head tilts to the side, his buttocks flex and push up his hips, all his muscles tensing, his cock rock hard. "Fuck!" He stills his hand for a moment. Wait, wait, not yet...

He watches Naomie raise up onto her knees and throw a leg over his thigh, straddling it. Staring into his eyes intently, her hips roll to slowly drag her creamy pussy up and down against his leg. Feeling her wetness and watching her undulate is painfully erotic, and he twists the head of his cock, a desperate expression on his face. But quickly, she pulls her outside leg over him so she's kneeling between his legs, then sits back, extends her arms behind her to lean on her hands, and lifts a leg over each of his thighs, resting her feet flat on the bed on either side of him. A low grunt escapes Cillian's throat as Naomie slides her feet out across the sheets, spreading her legs wide to show him her cunt. Incredulous, he strokes himself urgently, his muscles charged like taut electrical coils, his eyes hungrily surveying her naked, open, panting body. He imagines thrusting his cock inside those slippery walls and his eyes fall shut.

He hears Naomie call his name, and he opens his eyes and groans to see her stroking the wet lips of her pussy. He feels the storm within him building fast; when she pushes two fingers inside herself, the orgasm starts crashing through his body ferociously. "Look at me, come for me," she commands. A savage cry bursts from him as he struggles to hold her gaze, the warm cum spilling over his stomach.

Open-mouthed, chest heaving, Cillian stares at her. Naomie clambers over him, throws him a box of tissues, gathers up the covers, lies down.

"You're certainly full of surprises tonight," he says hoarsely.

"I guess we both are," Naomie observes, turning onto her side, her back to him. After a long pause, she says sleepily, "Picture me like that whenever you touch yourself."

Perfect. I'm really fucked now.

"And know that when you're ready to come inside, my door is open."

Cillian slides down off the headboard and closes his eyes.