Stuck
Summary: After the physically demanding performance of the Russwood Park scene, Austin calls upon you, a wardrobe technician, to help resolve an issue with his costume. With your skills, you are able to fix the problem with his clothes and much more…
Part One of Production.
Pairing: Austin Butler x Gender Neutral Reader
Warnings: Language, Mature/Explicit Themes – 18+ only
Disclaimer: For entertainment purposes only. This story is in no way based in fact, aside from a brief skimming of costume design articles and the Queensland COVID-19 film production protocols. It is simply the product of my fevered brain.
Word Count: 3514
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Working for Catherine Martin, Academy Award winning costume designer, had long been a dream of yours. When you got the call in the middle of 2019 offering you a position in the costume design department on the Elvis movie, you signed on without hesitation. The costumes were incredible, and once shooting began, you were assigned the responsibility for cleaning and repairing them after they were worn by the actors on set. You had a knack for solving issues - removing stains without damaging the fabrics, performing invisible repairs, and an impressive attention to detail. You had taken it upon yourself to add extra stitching to the hips of the leather pants worn by Austin Butler during the ’68 special as the stress on the seams was very apparent to your trained eye. Your skill had not gone unnoticed.
When production had shut down in March of 2020, not only were you dealing with the shock of the pandemic but the possibility of losing a job you were genuinely loving. To your relief, you were invited back in September 2020, though things were different now with COVID-19 protocols. Catherine was pleased to inform you that she would be entrusting the care of Austin’s costumes entirely to you. She would of course be inspecting your work regularly, but you had impressed her with your work and dedication.
Your shift began at the end of each shooting day when you would don your mask and gloves before going to his trailer to collect the laundry bag holding that day’s costume. It was awkward at first, you had never had much interaction with him prior to that…but you made a point of asking him if there were any issues with the costume each time you retrieved it from him. Your friendship blossomed over discussions of the costumes, and his gratitude for some of the subtle adjustments you made for him.
Because the costume was delivered to him in the morning by another member of the department tasked with dressing, you two ended up sharing work phone numbers so you could let him know of any changes you had made. He also sent you photos of places where fabric was wearing thin, strained seams, marks from his consistent interactions with the floor…and sometimes just pictures of the beach outside his rental home, an interesting bird…and other things that he felt compelled to share with you. You returned the favour, though the view outside your apartment paled in comparison.
After a particularly lonely holiday season for the both of you, in your working bubbles and isolation, he asked if you would be comfortable taking off the mask…letting him put a face to his friend. You hesitated but, feeling the same desire for connection, you had stepped into his trailer and closed the door. You had slid the mask off, suddenly feeling shy, but seeing his warm smile you had relaxed. It became a ritual for the two of you, him at the end of his day and you at the beginning of yours, to spend 20- or 30-minutes chatting face to face in his trailer. He would be unwinding from the shoot, and you would be absorbing his stories, noting any issues with the costume but also just getting to know one another.
You had a sneaking suspicion that it was thanks to Austin that you were offered an opportunity to appear as a part of the crowd in the Russwood Park scene. After working so long with the costumes, you had jumped at the opportunity to wear one yourself. But, more than anything, you were thrilled at the chance to watch Austin perform. The buzz on set every day was palpable…he and Baz were making pure magic and you would get a chance to see it with your own eyes.
It is odd to be at work, but not working yourself. You submit yourself to hair, makeup, and wardrobe, wondering if you were even recognizable…You are positioned near the back, not being a trained actor, you are not slated for any of the close-up shots. Baz himself provides direction to the crowd, setting the scene and the level of excitement he is looking for. And then, he is walking on stage.
You’d seen sketches…you’d seen photos…but the full effect…it is not difficult to cheer excitedly as you feel the rush of desire, your cheeks reddening slightly. The experience on set is very different from the world you usually inhabited, but it is thrilling despite the repetition. When, finally, they start the performance of Trouble, however, Baz allows them to play the full way through. You are mesmerized by his hands…his hips…his eyes…his lips. You find it terribly difficult to breathe and you hope that awe is something Baz is looking for because it is written all over your face.
There is a fleeting moment where you think, maybe just maybe, his eyes have found you in the crowd. Your heart skips a beat, but your head is actively trying to rationalize your way out of it until his eyes are locked on yours through the sea of people. He’s growling out the lyrics and your costume is feeling very warm. As he thrusts his entire body into the air in your general direction, before sinking to his knees, your own knees are feeling rather weak.
Twinges of jealousy tug at you as you watch him lean forward, grabbing the faces of lucky actresses, inches from his writhing body. You are even jealous of the damn microphone, the way his fingers wrap around it. As if to prove to you it was not a fluke, however, his eyes find yours every time he runs through the song until you’re breathless and filled with tension. Baz finally wraps for the night, and you can’t help but be a little sad that it is over…that someone else gets to collect his costume and tend to it tonight.
You pick up your stuff from the storage locker and wait your turn to hand in your wardrobe. The vibration of a phone catches your attention and you notice it is your department assigned phone. You unlock the screen, and your eyes widen as they skim the message from Austin.
- I need your help with the costume, are you still here? -
Looking up, you see that there are still quite a few extras in front of you. You step out of line, mumbling something about needing the washroom, before heading back out towards the trailers. You slide on a mask, always carrying one just in case, and show your security pass to the guard. Making a quick stop to grab your repair kit, you then wind your way to his trailer. You knock on the door, mind buzzing with speculations about what he needs help with. You can hear pacing inside…frustration in his voice as he mutters angrily.
“Austin?” You call and the door swings open.
He is standing behind it, hidden behind the door as he motions you inside. You step in, still in your costume, which he notes with a smirk.
“Looking good.” He drawls, still thickly accented and you chuckle a little despite the flame of desire that licks at your stomach.
“How can I help?” You ask.
He closes the door behind you as you pull off your mask, eyes roaming across the costume…forcing yourself to focus on the fabric, though the clear outline of his erection is eye catching.
“It’s the zipper…I’m stuck…it’s stuck…shit, I’m gonna break it if I pull any harder.” His voice is edged with desperation.
You swallow thickly, immediately aware of exactly where you will be working to help him out of this.
“Are you comfortable with me working on your fly? We can cut the pants if we have to”
“No! No, no that will just make a ton of work for y’all, please…”
You nod and take a deep breath to focus.
“Ok I’m going to take a look now…Please tell me to stop if you need, ok?” Your cheeks are a faint pink as you sink to your knees in front of him, setting you repair kit down on the floor beside you. Tentatively, your fingers reach for the fly, and you can see he has the top clasp undone but the zipper is still fully closed. You lean in closer to see if there are any snags or threads that could easily explain the situation. Nothing is evident at first glance.
“I’m going to try pulling it down…can you maybe brace against something?” You could see his chest heaving as your eyes worked their way up to his as you spoke.
Your mouth goes dry as your eyes meet his makeup rimmed eyes, your tongue trying to wet your lips…You barely register that he is nodding before you yank your eyes away from his. He steps back to the doorway leading into the bedroom of his trailer, bracing his forearms against the top of the doorframe and looking down at you expectantly.
You shuffle after him on your knees, missing the dart of his tongue along his lower lip as you are reaching for the repair kit.
“Ok, here I go…” The breathiness in your voice is betraying the effect he’s having on you, but you soldier on. Gripping the bottom of his fly with the index finger and thumb of one hand, you pull the fly straight before your other hand pulls on the zipper with some force. He groans. You bite your lip viciously as you yank again and again. You’re all but holding your breath, clinging onto your professionalism with a vice grip. It’s not working.
You try the same technique, but gripping at the top of the zipper, knuckles accidentally brushing his stiff cock…he moans again, shuddering. The zipper does not budge, your fingertips are tender against the metal of the zipper pull.
“I’m going to try some grease…” Your voice thicker than the last time you’d managed to speak, fingers fumbling as you open your kit and pull out the tube of zipper grease…it looks remarkably like a tube of Chapstick…You pull the cap and twist up an inch or so of it, holding the fly still to spread the grease across the teeth of the zipper. You risk a glance up at him as you work, flush deepening on your cheeks as he is still staring down at you heatedly. You shiver and look back to your work quickly, pulling the fly tight…tensing as another desperate moan slips past his lips.
You taste the copper tang of blood. Your lower lip is bleeding a little from the rough treatment you’re dealing it as you grasp for focus. You both gasp as the zipper slides a third of the way down before it is impossibly stuck again. You grab the waistband of his pants, testing how much give they have now.
His moan is ragged and thrums right through your body. You are stunned for a moment before forcing yourself back to the task at hand, applying more grease. Pulling at the zipper, you make it halfway before you try the waistband again. The pants begin to slide down but catch on his cock. An anguished moan. You have become aware he is not wearing anything underneath.
You look up at him again and he’s working his jaw in restraint, but never once looking away from you…The air is thick with arousal, his musky scent enveloping you. You exhaled deeply trying to regain your focus and see him shudder as he can feel your breath through the thin material.
“Can I kiss you…” The words tumble from your lips before you even have a chance to stop them. You tense, eyes shooting wide at your own impertinence, but he’s already hauling you up against him, kissing you with a hungry desperation. He spins you to put your back against the door the washroom, pressing his full frame along yours. You hold on to him for dear life, helpless against the onslaught but happy to be the recipient.
His lips pull back to allow you both to breathe, but his mouth quickly moves on to other targets, your jaw, your throat. He’s pulling down the shoulder of your shirt so he can ravage the tender flesh beneath. You whimper and moan at the ferocity, but the feel of the tube of zipper grease in your hand brings back your focus. If you could just the waistband over his cock, he could be free…
You toss the tube away and slide your hand down his side to pull his shirt up, he had long untucked it, and lay your hand on the skin of his waist. His whole body jerks towards your touch in response.
“I think…” you panted. “I think I’ve got it; I just need to…” It was nearly impossible to focus and speaking reminded him of your lips, which were quickly under the onslaught of his mouth again. You slide your hand down under his waistband…there was just enough room now …and cup the weeping tip of his cock.
His lips brush against yours as he curses thickly, his teeth nibbling the soft flesh in appreciation as he presses tighter to you. Your other hand begins to tug at various parts of his waistband, slowly exposing his skin inch by inch until your hand, and his cock, are free. The pants slide down to his knees then, and so do you. You reach down and pull off his shoes before working his pants off, giving him the freedom he so desperately craved.
You look up to him in triumph and watch his tongue drag across his lower lip. You realize your hand is covered in precum and maintain eye contact while you boldly lick it clean. He can barely keep his eyes open as he growls at the sight. Your gaze shifts to his cock, standing proudly against his lower abdomen, twitching as it begs you for attention. You raise up a little higher on your knees and wrap your fingers around him. You’d tasted a little and now you wanted more…His ragged breath and whine of delight keep your eyes glued to his as you lean forward and greedily swirl your tongue along his cock to collect the droplets of precum.
He is moaning your name and you squirm a little as he is the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen. It’s addictive and makes you bold. You part your lips and slide the length of him into your mouth, feeling his fingers grip your hair.
“Ahn, stop stop…If you do that it’ll all be over before I get to have any fun with you.” You’re honestly not certain who is speaking at that point, he is so lost in the drawl he had been honing to perfection over the last two years. He guides your greedy lips off his cock and back up to his, kissing you fiercely as he walks you back into the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind him.
He pauses at the side of the bed to look you over…really looking at you…allowing you a chance to look at him, drinking in the sheen of sweat…the blown pupils of his eyes that have practically devoured his brilliant blue irises. His lips twitch into a smile, his eyes tender, before he’s kissing you again, pulling at your clothing. You return the favour, undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt carefully…property of the film and all…his jacket is long discarded in the earlier struggle.
His hands have been quick, your own costume is in a pile on the floor, allowing him to explore the planes of your body. His hands come around to take two handfuls of your buttocks, pulling you flush against him, skin to skin. The sensation is electric, and you arch up against him, feeling his cock pressed against your stomach, painting patterns of precum along your skin. You feel yourself turning under his guidance, the backs of your thighs hitting the mattress and his hands slide to your hips, guiding you to sit. He sinks low between your thighs and groans to find the evidence of your own desire.
“Well, aren’t you a desperate thing…” He purrs up at you through those eyelashes…truly that look should be a crime…You part your lips to counter but then his mouth is on the source of your pleasure, and you fall back on your elbows with a cry. Your hips are bucking of their own accord as his wickedly talented tongue is stealing the very breath from your lungs. He is a conscious lover, aware of his generous size, and has retrieved a bottle of lube from the bedside table, coating his fingers. Your fists wrench at the bed linens as his fingers are slowly massaging up your inner thigh before they find your entrance, teasing in time with his tongue.
“Fuck…” You grit out, essentially rutting against his face at this point. The chuckle that rumbles through his chest and against you makes your thighs spread wider in unspoken invitation. By the time he feels you’re ready for him, he has three of his long and graceful fingers inside you, working you open and closer to climax. When you are practically begging for him, he finally rises to kiss your battered lips. He reaches into the bed side table and retrieves a condom. Your fingers take it from him, opening it carefully and rolling it down his throbbing cock, delighted to be teasing him again as he groans and sucks on your ear lobe.
Your fingers wrap around his cock and give a squeeze when your work is done. He pulls your hips forward on the bed, looking down at you…drinking in your debauched form as he ensures you’re slick and prepared. His cock twitches again, and he takes it in hand, slowly easing into you. His eyes clamp shut, and you can see the muscles of his jaw flex as he clings to his self control, sinking further into the warmth of you.
You fall back fully on the bed, back arching as his cock drags a nearly depraved moan from deep inside you…truly the foreplay had begun hours ago during filming as he made eye contact with you through the crowd. He pauses, chest heaving, eyes opening to look you over. You are grateful for the moment to catch your breath rather than simply falling apart at the feeling of being completely filled by him. You take another ragged breath before nodding. He rocks up against your hips once, your moans mingling at the sensation, before he pulls out.
Loathe to part from him, your legs twine around his hips and only allow him to go so far. His lips twitch into a smirk before parting in awe as he sinks back into your softness. With each thrust of his hips, the pleasure burns hotter, brighter. He leans forward onto one hand, causing a swear to slip past his lips at the change in angle…all you could do at this point is thrash a little and grip his forearm as you rasp out his name like a prayer. His other hand is far from idle; his thumb rubbing along your lower lip until you suck it into your mouth, speeding up his pace; sliding down the column of your throat, feeling your pulse beneath his fingertips; caressing the flesh of your chest and lower abdomen.
It came to rest once again between your thighs, fingers as relentless as his hips. You shudder, toes curling.
“So…close…” You manage to vocalize, the edge of desperation that had been so audible in his voice has now infected yours.
He grunts in reply, hips snapping to yours almost commanding your climax. It is not a command your body is inclined to deny, and you go rigid against him as the orgasm rips through you. He watches, enraptured, as his thrusts become erratic and his own release overtakes him, roaring hungrily against your lips in a hasty kiss as he tries to dampen the volume of his cry.
You slide your fingers into his hair, kissing him warmly, appreciatively, as all the tension of the day is ebbing from his body…he is quite literally melting onto the bed beside you.
The room is silent save the sound of the two of you trying to catch your breath after the intensity. You regain your wits a little sooner than him and roll over to divest him of the condom, disposing it in the garbage beside the bed.
An incoherent mumble, possibly expressing gratitude, is all you receive in reply. You kiss his lips softly and pull a blanket up from the bottom of the bed. His arms snake around you, pulling you tight to him. You hold him as he quickly drifts to sleep. You are not far behind him. As you fall asleep your last thoughts are of replacing the zipper on his costume to better withstand the physical demands of the role.
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Read Caught (Part Two)