The Pool Rules (Ben Mendelsohn x reader)
I couldn't resist, okay? We were brainstorming a specific scene for Homme Fatale with @meepetteoneonly the other day - and found out that the pool rules can be very annoying. She had made a partially arcade game from it for her version of Director Krennic (and I have to beta-read it, yet). But I then had even more wicked idea. So... To have a little break from the Director of Advanced Weapons Research, I wrote another story for the RPF series revolving around Ben Mendelsohn. Should I be sorry? Maybe. Am I, really?
You bet I'm not.
THE POOL RULES
more stories with Ben Mendelsohn
If you like my writing, I have a ko-fi.
We have a reservation for two on the name Mendelsohn.
To keep your marriage from slipping into the maelstrom of boredom, you kept a mutual agreement of having date nights with Ben from time to time. Nothing strictly scheduled, although there was little space for absolute spontaneity in both your schedules – he was too busy to let you bask in his attention at times, especially while abroad on a movie set. But he always kept in mind that you liked an occasional surprise.
I’d like you to teach me how to play pool one day, you had once said. Or maybe more than once.
His signature sly smile he had given you was imprinted in your memory.
That one of these date nights found you in the heart of Melbourne’s Central Business District was a welcome change of scenery. You were so used to the route from your house or the clinic to the university campus and back that you almost forgot what the CBD looked like.
In all honesty, it was nice to have no animal patients queuing behind the door in the clinic’s waiting room for once.
And The Carlton Club? You had never visited it before. Ordering a cocktail at the bar felt… different. It made you self-conscious at first, but once the luxurious drink found your hand, you felt more at ease. Perhaps the lack of your vet scrubs helped. You loved the dress you were wearing, and by Ben’s lingering touches here and there, you could tell he liked it, too. Even though its cut was kind of rockabilly. He kept so close to you that the organza of the petticoat under the polka-dot skirt brushed against your thigh insistently.
Ben led you to the pool room, a cold beer in hand, following the directions to a salon he had reserved for your little lecture.
He didn’t have a definite plan yet, though.
“I thought the tables were covered in green,” you mused, tentatively touching the red velvety material with your fingertips once you approached the pool table in the centre of the room. A large, old-fashioned lamp with tassels lining the edge of its broad shade illuminated the polished wood along the rail flawlessly. You had seen a billiard table before, but you had been a little girl back then – a rather hazy memory from your childhood in England when the adults had not let you even touch a cue in fear you would be reckless with it.
Ben started taking the balls out from a return system carved into the table’s side. You knew that some were a solid colour and others striped, and you watched as he was then arranging them in rows within a plastic rack. “I might not be the best teacher,” he smiled cockily, catching your attention, “but I’ll do my best, I promise. Now it’s time to choose, sweetheart: solids or stripes?” With that, he caressed two of the balls lovingly with his large paws like he would your tits covered in his favourite bra, and it made you blush over the rim of your cocktail glass.
His grin only widened at that.
read the whole story on AO3
