Pairing: Jonathan Groff/Lea Michele
Word Count: 2,222
Summary: Sometimes all it takes is a feeling you can't get out of your head.
Disclaimer: I do not own either Jonathan Groff or Lea Michele. This is purely fictional and entirely for fun, and no offense is meant to anyone. Any relation to real life persons is purely accidental.
Author's Notes: First RPF ever! /breakingrecordsandtakingnames
It hasn't been a question for several years now. The first time they decided to go out for coffee after rehearsal, he'd gone on and on about the Tony's, how amazing Idina Menzel had looked on the red carpet, and how much he was looking forward to finishing up his Queer As Folk marathon. When Lea's question-- Are you gay?-- was followed quite naturally with a yes, neither of them ever thought to question it any more.
Every time he has to watch Lea get intimate with someone else-- whether on stage or on screen-- the pit of his stomach knots up terribly. He doesn't have all the answers, and every time he looks for them, he comes up with more questions. This hasn't happened ever before, so why now? Why should he worry about this in the first place?
Jonathan supposes that part of the problem lies in the seeking out. It's not that he's ever been particularly masochistic-- in fact, if there's a dominant leading partner in bed, it's always him-- but seeking out this feeling has become fairly regular recently. Watching the scene in Grilled Cheesus on repeat-- watching Cory feel up Lea--
He's considered, of course, whether it's actually Cory he wants, but he knows it's not true. Watching her perform on stage opposite another male lead had the same effects. So it's Lea.
When Jonathan feels particularly stressed, he inevitably starts making lists. Now, taking a seat in the taxi that had pulled up to the curb, he takes the notepad out of his shoulder bag and studies it.
Feeling the familiar vibration against his leg, he pulls his phone out of his pocket only to see Lea's name on the screen.
Hey, are you busy tonight? I got Nigella Lawson's new cookbook and thought maybe you'd want to come over for some domesticity :)Sighing, he reluctantly presses the call button and feels his stomach churn in response. Second ring.
"Hey, what's up? Did you get my text?"
"Uh, yeah, but I won't be able to make it. I've, uh. Got a date." It sounds as believable to his own ears as it is true, but he bites his lip regardless and leaves it at that.
"Oh," she mutters, not even bothering to try and hide the disappointment from her voice, though her showface returns a second later. "Well... in that case, have fun! You deserve this! Don't worry about me, I'll make it a girl's night in! You have fun with your hunk!"
"Thanks, you're an absolute sweetheart. I'll text you and let you know how it goes!" Hanging up, he runs a hand through his hair, feeling excessively haggard.
His phone lying abandoned on the nightstand, he's alone in bed with only one hunk. Himself. He hasn't called, texted, or emailed Lea to let her know anything so far, and he can't bring himself to feel bad about it, either. A sequence of lies becomes easier as it progresses further, and Jonathan feels the ties of honesty that bind slowly slipping away as the why part becomes more obscured as time goes on.
He has all the gay porn that he needs already pulled up and loaded on his laptop, but when his hand moves lower and lower, finally slipping onto him, he's already forgotten about it, closing his eyes.
He can't stop thinking about her. It's all wrong, in his head, and yet he can't bring himself to stop.
When he comes, he sees her coming undone beneath him simultaneously. He's never had such an orgasm in his life. He's also never felt this guilty before.
"Perhaps you are... bisexual?"
Jonathan shakes his head, lowering his forehead onto his hands as he absently rubs at his temples. His head hurts. They haven't gotten anywhere in the double-session he's booked with his therapist today, and he is fairly certain they aren't going to get anywhere, either.
"I don't... it's not any other girls. It's just her."
"And you're certain you're still gay. Otherwise, I mean."
"I can still get off to gay porn, if that's what your asking," he deadpans, frowning.
"All right, well. There are... instances in which a gay man may delude himself into believing that he is in love with his opposite-gender partner. This happens among heterosexual people, too, so it's not entirely uncommon. Some people may call that college, but it can happen at anytime, to anyone. It's not something to be ashamed of, by any means. It's merely a delusion. You're confused about your relationship, and are translating your chemistry incorrectly. One reason for that could be... tell me, Jonathan, have you been seeing anyone lately?"
"No, I've been to busy to even consider a relationship."
"That might be why. You haven't been seeing anyone for a while, and your mind is rebelling against this, and so you're looking to the nearest thing that one might consider 'intimate' in your life, and that just happens to be Lea."
"Will it pass?"
"It may, it may not... it depends entirely on you. Do you want it to pass? Will you go and seek out same-gender relations? That might help."
He feels as if he's cheating on her, and he hasn't even touched anyone. Just sitting in this barstool, willing himself to look at the merchandise, feels wrong. Eyeing his phone, he briefly considers calling her, but that thought sends painful pangs into the pit of his stomach even more so than all of this.
There's a tapping on his shoulder, and he turns to see someone staring, smirking. "It's a miracle you're still alone here."
"Guess you should change that, huh." There's no real inflection in his voice, and he can't bring himself to care, either, but it seems to be enough for the man who he would typically be calling Lea to drool over with.
"Bathroom," he mutters as he leans in close to his ear, and Jonathan's dick perks up just a touch-- enough to fool himself into thinking that this is a good idea. The yes slips out of his mouth before he considers the implications of his words, the ramifications of his actions, and he downs the remainder of his drink, slipping off and away to the bathroom with the handsome stranger.
It doesn't matter what his name is-- the only thing that matters is that his dick, large enough to make him feel full and whimpering for more, keeps him distracted from brown hair, brown eyes, and an altogether too female shape.
When he comes, it's unceremonious. The stranger leaves, and Jonathan is left feeling even more disgusting than he felt before.
Two weeks later, he doesn't feel any better.
The disgusting reminder of his night of deviancy has finally faded, the bitemarks on his shoulder no longer demanding make-up to cover up.
He still feels pathetic.
He hasn't contacted Lea this whole time, either, ignoring her abundance of worried text messages, voice mails, and phone calls. He doesn't just feel like a shitty friend, he feels like a shitty gay.
He doesn't know what possesses him to press the play button on her message, but he does.
Hey, I know I've asked before, but are you okay? I... was kind of hoping you could come over tonight. I haven't been having the best couple of days, and having you back in my life would be the perfect thing to cheer me up, you know? Love you, hope you're okay.
Hearing her voice makes all the difference.
How does 7 sound?--
Two shots of vodka to calm his nerves, a bottle of Lea's favorite wine, and suddenly he's already sitting in a cab on his way.
Knocking, he feels his heart pounding in his chest. She opens on the second knock already, as if she had been expecting him.
When she runs into his arms, it feels like coming home.
"God, I missed you so much," she mutters into his neck, and his heart skips a beat. Maybe he doesn't want it to go away. Maybe this isn't even so bad.
"Yeah. Me, too." It's whispered into her hair, hardly audible, but she squeezes him a bit harder, anyway.
When she does pull away, her eyes are wet, and she's grinning.
"I, um, brought wine."
"We'll have to put it to good use! Come on in, no need for you to linger out here."
He feels awkward for the first time in his life. Lea doesn't even mention his absence, and for that, he is grateful.
"What happened that made you call?" he finally asks, three glasses each later, after Lea's pulled out a bottle of her own for both of them to enjoy.
"I could ask you the same thing about your text," she quips, but doesn't. When she crosses her legs opposite him on the loveseat, she smiles faintly.
"I had to shoot down a friend of mine. I had to... confess to him that I'm in love with someone else. After spending two hours trying to get him to leave my apartment, I just... wanted to see you, I guess."
His breath catches in his throat and he can't bring himself to ask. A part of him does want to know (this could all be over if she just told you that it's not you, and hasn't ever been) and another really doesn't (but what if it is me?).
The conflict in his mind doesn't last long.
When he leans in to kiss her, she doesn't stop him, the alcohol leaving their brains fuzzy enough that this could be an oversight, even if both parties know it really isn't.
When he reaches a hand up as if he's suddenly back in character, Jesse St. James claiming what's rightfully his, tilting his face just that tiny bit more to plead for the entrance of his tongue, she stops him, pulling back.
"If it's not me, stop me, and I'll never do it again. But if there's even a chance--"
"It's you," she whispers, her confession slipping past her lips like a waterfall before her lips return to his, and she whimpers against him.
Lea tastes like strawberries, lemons, and an amalgam of flora when he kisses her neck, losing the ability to breathe, speak, or think. The focus has become feeling, and he can feel his heart racing when they hit the mattress together. His tongue flicks out and dares to explore her neck, groans slipping out despite how much he tries not to make any noise. It certainly seems favorable, judging by the amount of noise that she's making.
"Lea--" he breathes against her neck, eyes slipping closed as he inhales more of her. Their clothes come off in what seems like a flash, and he finds himself kissing down her chest, adoring her breasts (even more so than he was before), lapping at her nipples with his tongue, a stray finger slipping into the waistband of her panties.
"You're going to have to excuse any rough spots; I'm not as familiar with this anatomy," he mutters against the skin of her stomach. It doesn't seem to matter-- when he begins to explore inside her panties, she seemingly forces them off of her, allowing him better access. The hastily groaned Jonathan, please-- just adds to it all, and he feels himself getting harder than he'd expected still.
When he dares touch her clit-- only to let his finger wander lower and in between her folds, in, out, in, out, his tongue choosing to occupy her clit instead, she bucks up against him, whimpering.
It takes a good while-- and some guidance from her-- but she when she comes, it's all worth it, and when she begs and pleads with him to stop and just give it to her, she's more than accommodatingly wet for him.
She feels incredible.
Her legs close around his waist as if they have always belonged there, and she whimpers, begging for him to move. So he does.
It's over much sooner than he would have expected, and while his power bottom tendencies with other men tend to translate particularly well into dominance with a woman-- especially one like Lea, very much a go-getter in reality, but coming apart at the seams for him here, in bed-- she feels far too good for him to hold on for too long, and he comes, hard, inside the condom.
She hasn't come, other than the time before, but they're both gasping, Lea wrapping her arms more tightly around Jonathan, having tucked his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder.
It's almost too good to be true.
"Are you sure you're okay with this? I'd hate to... cockblock you from any gay relationship you could have with some guy."
"I promise, I'm really okay. You're better than anyone else I could ask for. Really." Linking her pinky in his, he grins at her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Not that that means we can't watch Logo together, right? RuPaul's Drag Race?" Her face splits into a grin, and he laughs.
"Darling, I wouldn't give that up for anything."