Against the Rules

~600 words :: Jude Law/Ewan McGregor :: 4/23/06
They have a deal: if Ewan brings someone home, all shagging should take place in his own bedroom, and the same goes for Jude. Now, a bit of a snog on the sofa while you’re watching a video, that’s fine. What’s not fine is coming home to find your flatmate shoved up against the wall in the hallway with his jeans around his thighs and some bloke’s tongue down his throat. That’s definitely against the rules, no question about it.


The queue didn’t look that long when Jude queued up. Only three people ahead of him and none of them were buying much; it shouldn’t have taken more than ten minutes.

Shouldn’t have.

Just his luck the till broke down and no one can be arsed to open another one. He’s this close to saying fuck it all and going home, but the fridge is empty and Ewan’ll bitch if he’s not done the shopping when he promised he would, especially when Ewan gave him a fiver and everything.

So he stands there waiting for what seems like forever, his basket getting heavier and heavier til finally he sets it down on the floor by his feet with a sigh. He’s obviously not going anywhere soon.

He should just go home and come back later. Or tell Ewan to go, even though he knows if he lets Ewan do the shopping, they’ll end up with nothing but tinned haggis and sausages. Not that Jude doesn’t like sausage, but-

Biting his lip, he stares down at his feet, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. Why did he have to go and think of Ewan and sausage and oh fuck, he’s not getting hard. He’s not. Not in the fucking queue at fucking Tesco.

It’s all Ewan’s fault. They have a deal: if Ewan brings someone home, all shagging should take place in his own bedroom, and the same goes for Jude. Now, a bit of a snog on the sofa while you’re watching a video, that’s fine.

What’s not fine is coming home to find your flatmate shoved up against the wall in the hallway with his jeans around his thighs and some bloke’s tongue down his throat. That’s definitely against the rules, no question about it.

Jude had stammered an apology and retreated to his room as soon as possible, but not before he’d seen it. Ewan’s dick in the bloke’s hand. And sure, he’s seen Ewan naked before; he doubts it’s possible to live with Ewan for any length of time and not see him naked, so it’s not like he was checking him out or anything. Why would he be checking him out? Ewan’s not a girl.

And Jude’s not queer. Ewan even said so, when the bloke asked if Jude was his boyfriend. “Just a mate,” Ewan’d said, hips still moving, rolling, almost hypnotically, and Jude couldn’t look away. “Don’t worry. He’s straight.”

He’s straight, so he shouldn’t be getting a boner in the fucking supermarket queue thinking about Ewan’s dick. Or about anyone’s dick, for that matter.

He has to pick up his basket again, hold it in front of his crotch because the problem’s not going away.

“Sir?” the cashier says, and he glances up to find her looking at him expectantly.

“Sorry,” he mutters, quickly emptying his basket. She’s pretty, the cashier, and he’s found himself staring at her tits more than once when he’s been in here. She probably thinks that’s why his cheeks are red, why he’s acting strangely.

He does think about her later, when he’s in his room wanking, the shopping bags left strewn on the kitchen table. He thinks about pressing his face between her tits, one in each hand. He thinks about squeezing and kissing and rubbing his dick between them. He thinks about sucking her nipples as he slides into her wet cunt, and he doesn’t think about Ewan at all. Really.