After School

~900 words :: Jude Law/Ewan McGregor :: 4/26/06
Ewan can’t help but notice how Jude sticks the tip of his tongue out when he concentrates. Things go downhill from there.

“Ha!” Jude crows as Ewan throws his controller down in disgust. “My turn!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d like to see you do any better,” Ewan says, twisting around to grab his Coke from the coffee table behind him. It leaves a wet ring on the wood and he hastily covers it with a magazine in hopes that his mum won’t notice.

The Coke is room temperature and a bit flat already, but he wrinkles his nose and drinks it anyway for something to do. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jude leaning forward and frowning in concentration, the tip of his tongue stuck out between his lips.

And, oh, he really shouldn’t have looked. He really shouldn’t have, because now he’s remembering all the things he’s thought about that tongue doing and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cheeks burning, he furtively untucks his shirt and spreads it over his lap.

“Bugger,” Jude mutters, and Ewan manages somehow to choke on his own spit. At least the round of coughing distracts him from the situation in his trousers and gives him a good excuse for his red face.

Jude waits for him to stop coughing and then says, “Still, I did beat your score.” He leans forward, switching off the Atari. The telly buzzes with static for a few moments before he turns the sound down. “If I hadn’t gone for that pretzel, I would have beaten the level, too. I always do that. What do you want to play next?”

“Oh, erm,” Ewan says, trying not to look at Jude’s bum and failing utterly.

“Well, you choose. I have to pee.” Jude pushes himself to his feet, turns up the radio, and dances down the hallway, singing along to Madonna.

“Spaz!” Ewan calls out. Shuffling forward on his knees, he pulls out Pac-Man and picks up the first game at hand, shoving it in without even looking at it. It doesn’t matter what they play; at this rate he’s not going to be able to concentrate anyway.

The music changes and he hums along, but it’s only when the first “relax” booms out that he really recognises the song. Scrambling over to the radio, he manages to turn it off just as Jude sings his way back into the living room, hips swaying.

“When you want to co-” Jude breaks off, finally realising the music’s gone. “Why’d you turn it,” he stares at Ewan’s crotch, eyes going almost comically wide, and his voice cracks when he says, “off.”

“Erm…” Surely the fact that Ewan could literally die of embarrassment right this very second should have some sort of negative effect on his erection, but it doesn’t. Looking away, he swallows and starts to stand. “I gotta…”

“Wait!” Jude grabs his arm, sinks down onto his knees in front of Ewan and shuffles forward. “Let, erm…let me.”

He fumbles with Ewan’s belt, with his fly, and his hand is shaking as he pulls Ewan’s dick out of his pants. Ewan almost comes just from that. Jude’s palm is warm and sweaty, both familiar and unlike anything Ewan’s ever felt before, and it’s only the fact that Jude’s clumsier than he would be himself that’s kept him from coming this long.

Inching closer, he reaches out, fingers brushing over the front of Jude’s trousers. Jude’s just as hard as he is now, and he makes a little sound in the back of his throat and pushes into Ewan’s touch. It doesn’t take long before he’s got Jude’s cock out, too, and now he sees why Jude is clumsy. It’s like wanking only not, and he can’t quite get the hang of it.

He gets the hang of it enough, though, because Jude comes even before he does, mouth dropping open and hand going slack. Then he’s moving even closer, til he’s almost on top of Ewan, one hand on Ewan’s shoulder for balance. His strokes are faster now, rougher, and Ewan reaches up, gripping his arm tightly as he comes.

“Oh,” Ewan says, after what seems like forever. Jude’s breathing is loud in his ear, almost as loud as his own heartbeat.


They pull away at the same time, red-faced and breathing hard. There’s jizz cooling in Ewan’s palm and nowhere to wipe it off on, and Jude says faintly, “I need to wash my hands.”

“Me, too,” Ewan says, stumbling to his feet. He holds his trousers up in one hand and scurries into the kitchen, runs his hands under the tap and wipes them on his trousers before zipping up his fly.

Jude must do the same – the tap turns on and off again and there’s the sound of a zipper – but Ewan keeps his back turned, peers into the cupboard as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Eventually, as if that’s what’s been on his mind all along, he says, “D’you want HobNobs or Bourbons?”

“Bourbons,” Jude says. “So what game did you put in?”

“I don’t remember.”


They eat nearly the entire pack in silence, darting glances at each other across the kitchen table. Finally Ewan gets up, makes two glasses of Vimto and nearly jumps when he feels Jude’s hand on his shoulder.

“Wha-” When he turns around, Jude’s pressing his lips to Ewan’s and they’re kissing – properly snogging, with Jude’s tongue in his mouth and everything, rubbing against each other until they come again.

“I wanted to do that before,” Jude says breathlessly, “kiss you, I mean. But I forgot.”

“Oh,” Ewan says, wondering how much time they have left before someone else comes home. “I’m glad you remembered.”