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elrhiarhodanTitle: The Beauty of Love (as it was made to be)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar (RPF)
Pairing/Characters: Matt Bomer (As a fictional character), Simon Halls (As a fictional character), Matt Bomer/Simon Halls,
Rating: PG-13 (for mildly suggestive language)
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~2000
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Matt gets ready for his evening at the Golden Globes, his husband Simon helps. Written forphotoash, for her donation to the Queensland Flood Relief auction.
__________________
Matt came out of the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing only a towel around his waist. His hair was wet, slicked back against his head and he was still sporting the day’s beard.
Simon was relaxed on their bed, ankles crossed elegantly, his pose casual to someone who didn’t know him quite as well as he did. To Matt, he was like some great cat in repose – quiet for now, but ready to pounce without warning.
Matt dropped the towel on the bed and walked back across the room (well, sauntering would be a better word for it), to the alcove that served as a dressing and grooming area.
“You know, you are a god amongst men.” Simon growled, reinforcing the feline image in his head.
He caught his husband’s eyes in the mirror and smiled, but he didn’t respond to the comment. He really hated the constant reference to his physical attributes.
“Do you want to do my hair tonight?”
Simon got off the bed and joined Matt in the dressing area. “You know, you could have a professional come in. Don’t you think she’d do a much better job than I do?”
“I’m not having myself ‘done’; I deal with that on the set every day, for five month a year. Besides, I like having your hands in my hair – I like knowing that you’re part of me when I go out. Alone.”
Matt wasn’t bitter – not by a long shot, but he hated that Simon – his lawful husband – kept himself to the shadows of his life.
“You know why we don’t go out in public.” Simon pressed a hot kiss on his shoulder and another on his neck. “You’re carrying a very popular show – you don’t want to ruin that.”
“Everyone knows I’m gay. Everyone knows I’m married. This isn’t the 1950s.”
Simon looked up and Matt held his grave gaze in the mirror.
“Yeah, a lot of your fans know, don’t care or even find it wonderfully romantic – but a lot more of them don’t know, or don’t want to know.”
“Sometime I wonder if this is all worth it. I’m away from you and the boys for half the year. I miss all of you so damn much. We have to hide ourselves because close-minded and bigoted idiots in the flyover states might object to a gay man in a primetime drama. Even outings with the kids have to be stage managed with the paparazzi.”
Simon must have felt the tension build up in his shoulders – he started massaging him, working his fingers into the tighten muscles and tendons.
“Relax, baby. There’s a time and a place for everything. And now is not it. Trust me – please. I know what I’m doing.”
Matt did know, but it still hurt. To be up on stage, if not a nominee or a recipient, but to be presenting in a major category at an important ceremony, and have the most important person in his world sitting at home. That was wrong. Just damn wrong.
Simon’s warm, smooth hands stroked his pecs and toyed for a few, too brief seconds with his nipples. Matt’s cock gave a sudden twinge of interest.
“Hmmmm – do we have time?”
Simon actually looked at his watch. “No, baby – we don’t. Not for what I’ve planned for you. When you get home tonight, okay?”
Matt nodded. Thinking about that would be something to make the evening pass just a little quicker.
Simon cupped a palm around his cheek. “First up, a nice close shave.”
Matt grinned. This was the best part of the evening, as far as he was concerned. Simon used an old-fashioned straight razor (and they both kind of snickered like schoolboys at the irony) and handmade lather. Of course, the razor, the shaving mug and the soap brush were British made – and the mug even had Matt’s initials on in – MSB-H – in fancy gilt lettering. Simon had a nearly identical one, but rarely used it, since Matt didn’t have the nerve to take a four inch deadly sharp blade to his husband’s throat.
He enjoyed the grooming – it relaxed him in ways that Simon’s impromptu massage never could. The way he bared his throat to him, it was such an act of submission. And then the feel of the sharp edge, scraping away the day’s rough growth was enough to send him into subspace.
Simon didn’t know that – he never really got the whole D/s thing. Truthfully, it wasn’t something that Matt really had seriously enjoyed either, except for the way the moments of true submission grounded him. He could understand why men and women gave themselves over, and he counted himself lucky that all it took was his partner’s long fingers tilting his head this way and that, the sound of the blade as it passed across his skin, the very slight fear of death as the edge sat against his jugular to give him the few moments of utter peace that he needed.
“All done.” Simon’s voice, and a hot towel against his neck and jaw, brought him back into the world. He blinked and Simon’s face came into focus.
Matt ran a hand across his face – there was truly nothing like a shave with a straight edged razor, especially when you had a beard as thick and fast growing as his. If he used an electric, or even a double-edged, his scruff would have been visible by the time he got on stage.
As Simon ran his hands through his still damp curls, Matt felt himself go boneless. Those long fingers reaching all the pulse points and nerve endings. Now this was a massage that was doing a lot more than relaxing him.
“Hmmmm, Simon…”
“Whaaaat, Matt?”
Matt smiled at the gentle mockery in his husband’s voice. “You keep that up, and I may end up embarrassing myself on national television.”
Another kiss, this time on the crown of his head.
“You mean to tell me that you’d keep that erection going for three hours? What are you doing, taking a little blue pill? Because we may have to visit a doctor…” Simon teased him – it was an old joke. On their first date, Matt had popped wood and stayed hard for the better part of three long, aching hours. It had happened on each of their next three dates, until Simon took pity on him and gave him the best blowjob of his life.
He took pity on Matt again, and stopped stroking his scalp – reaching for the hair gel to keep the curls tamed.
The rest of the grooming didn’t take long. There’ll be a full makeup session before presenting – but for now he just needed a little powder to keep the shine off while he did the whole, very ludicrous red carpet thing.
His formal wear was laid out on the wooden valet – the tux was the one he just bought for the Kennedy Center performance. At least that one wasn’t a solo act – his mom came in and they dined with the President and the First Lady. As much as he loved his mother, he would so much have preferred to have his husband at his side. It was sadly ironic, he was part of a ceremony honoring a famously flamboyant gay man, and he had to put on the nominal cloak of a heterosexual. It really wasn’t fair.
He put on socks and an undershirt, but left his briefs off. The pants were tailored so that the gentleman would stay parked to the left.
Simon watched him get dressed. “I can’t believe you’re going commando to the Golden Globes…that you’re going to get up before an audience of millions and your big, fat dick is mere millimeters from being on full display. I don’t think that’s considered proper formal attire.”
“Well, I have a reputation to maintain…and after all, it was your idea for me to say that a man should go commando in formal wear for that British GQ interview.” Matt shrugged into the starched cotton shirt and struggled a bit with the studs.
Simon picked up the studs and brushed away Matt’s hands. They popped in easily, and he held out his wrist for the cufflinks, a gold set that had been Simon’s grandfather’s. Matt was sharply reminded of the scene from last season’s White Collar, when Neal had to put on Peter’s cufflinks. How absurd.
He lifted his chin and let Simon do the bow tie. “You know, if the PR business falls apart, you could always get a job as a ‘gentleman’s gentleman’.”
“Don’t be cute, Bomer. If the PR business falls apart, I’m becoming a house husband. Or even better, a kept man.”
That was another old joke between them – Simon wasn’t his agent, but he was able to pull the right strings, and Matt found himself with a half-million dollar per episode salary – something almost unheard of for a first season of basic cable show. It was a drop in the bucket compared to Simon’s annual take home as one of the most powerful publicists in Hollywood, but it was still mindboggling for the boy from Spring, Texas who was just about set to give up acting for a career in broadcast journalism.
He got into his pants, adjusted himself and checked the lay of things in the long mirror.
Simon stood behind him, casting a critical eye over his ass. “You know, the fan girls and fan boys are going to be drooling against their television screens tonight. And if they knew you weren’t wearing anything underneath those trousers – there’d be spontaneous orgasms all across the country.”
Matt blushed at Simon’s earthiness, and was rewarded with a kiss and a very possessive grope on his ass.
Shoes next – the de rigueur patent leather, and finally his jacket.
Simon fussed a little with the handkerchief and smoothed out the shoulders. He twirled a finger and Matt spun around to give him the complete three-sixty.
“You know, I really do prefer when you don’t dress like a lesbian from Oregon.”
“Thanks.” Matt’s tone was dry. ‘Neal’s’ sense of fashion had been wearing off on him, but he was never really going to be comfortable as a clothes horse. At the end of the day, he still preferred comfortable old jeans, tees and plaid shirts, which were, quite ironically, the uniform of butch lesbians everywhere – not just from Oregon.
“When I start to grow a mullet or get a really tight curly perm, you can get worried.”
The doorbell rang and Matt looked at the clock. It was 5:30 pm, and that would be the limo.
He gave Simon a kiss, and felt his husband reach for the ring on his left hand.
He closed his hand into a tight fist. “No.” He wasn’t going to let Simon take off his wedding band.
“Matt – please. You shouldn’t wear it in public.”
“I wear it in public all the time.”
“Wear it on a chain around your neck, if you want to keep it with you.”
“No. I wear my ring, or I don’t go out. It’s a simple as that.” Simon may be older, and he may even be wiser, but he was not as stubborn as Matthew Staton Bomer-Halls, and he never would be.
Simon relented, and smiled. “I love you, you idiot.”
“I love you too, moron.” Matt kissed him.
Simon slapped him lightly on the ass. “Get out of here, before I undo all this hard work and you end up on national television looking like you were just fucked.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Simon raised an eyebrow out him. Matt raised one back.
“All right, all right.”
The limo was waiting and so were the kids. He kissed them all, and kissed Simon again.
As the car drove off, Matt toyed with his wedding ring, twisting it around and around his finger, resenting – not for the first and certainly not for the last – the heavy price of his success.
FIN
Author:
elrhiarhodanFandom: White Collar (RPF)
Pairing/Characters: Matt Bomer (As a fictional character), Simon Halls (As a fictional character), Matt Bomer/Simon Halls,
Rating: PG-13 (for mildly suggestive language)
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~2000
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Matt gets ready for his evening at the Golden Globes, his husband Simon helps. Written for
photoash, for her donation to the Queensland Flood Relief auction.Matt came out of the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing only a towel around his waist. His hair was wet, slicked back against his head and he was still sporting the day’s beard.
Simon was relaxed on their bed, ankles crossed elegantly, his pose casual to someone who didn’t know him quite as well as he did. To Matt, he was like some great cat in repose – quiet for now, but ready to pounce without warning.
Matt dropped the towel on the bed and walked back across the room (well, sauntering would be a better word for it), to the alcove that served as a dressing and grooming area.
“You know, you are a god amongst men.” Simon growled, reinforcing the feline image in his head.
He caught his husband’s eyes in the mirror and smiled, but he didn’t respond to the comment. He really hated the constant reference to his physical attributes.
“Do you want to do my hair tonight?”
Simon got off the bed and joined Matt in the dressing area. “You know, you could have a professional come in. Don’t you think she’d do a much better job than I do?”
“I’m not having myself ‘done’; I deal with that on the set every day, for five month a year. Besides, I like having your hands in my hair – I like knowing that you’re part of me when I go out. Alone.”
Matt wasn’t bitter – not by a long shot, but he hated that Simon – his lawful husband – kept himself to the shadows of his life.
“You know why we don’t go out in public.” Simon pressed a hot kiss on his shoulder and another on his neck. “You’re carrying a very popular show – you don’t want to ruin that.”
“Everyone knows I’m gay. Everyone knows I’m married. This isn’t the 1950s.”
Simon looked up and Matt held his grave gaze in the mirror.
“Yeah, a lot of your fans know, don’t care or even find it wonderfully romantic – but a lot more of them don’t know, or don’t want to know.”
“Sometime I wonder if this is all worth it. I’m away from you and the boys for half the year. I miss all of you so damn much. We have to hide ourselves because close-minded and bigoted idiots in the flyover states might object to a gay man in a primetime drama. Even outings with the kids have to be stage managed with the paparazzi.”
Simon must have felt the tension build up in his shoulders – he started massaging him, working his fingers into the tighten muscles and tendons.
“Relax, baby. There’s a time and a place for everything. And now is not it. Trust me – please. I know what I’m doing.”
Matt did know, but it still hurt. To be up on stage, if not a nominee or a recipient, but to be presenting in a major category at an important ceremony, and have the most important person in his world sitting at home. That was wrong. Just damn wrong.
Simon’s warm, smooth hands stroked his pecs and toyed for a few, too brief seconds with his nipples. Matt’s cock gave a sudden twinge of interest.
“Hmmmm – do we have time?”
Simon actually looked at his watch. “No, baby – we don’t. Not for what I’ve planned for you. When you get home tonight, okay?”
Matt nodded. Thinking about that would be something to make the evening pass just a little quicker.
Simon cupped a palm around his cheek. “First up, a nice close shave.”
Matt grinned. This was the best part of the evening, as far as he was concerned. Simon used an old-fashioned straight razor (and they both kind of snickered like schoolboys at the irony) and handmade lather. Of course, the razor, the shaving mug and the soap brush were British made – and the mug even had Matt’s initials on in – MSB-H – in fancy gilt lettering. Simon had a nearly identical one, but rarely used it, since Matt didn’t have the nerve to take a four inch deadly sharp blade to his husband’s throat.
He enjoyed the grooming – it relaxed him in ways that Simon’s impromptu massage never could. The way he bared his throat to him, it was such an act of submission. And then the feel of the sharp edge, scraping away the day’s rough growth was enough to send him into subspace.
Simon didn’t know that – he never really got the whole D/s thing. Truthfully, it wasn’t something that Matt really had seriously enjoyed either, except for the way the moments of true submission grounded him. He could understand why men and women gave themselves over, and he counted himself lucky that all it took was his partner’s long fingers tilting his head this way and that, the sound of the blade as it passed across his skin, the very slight fear of death as the edge sat against his jugular to give him the few moments of utter peace that he needed.
“All done.” Simon’s voice, and a hot towel against his neck and jaw, brought him back into the world. He blinked and Simon’s face came into focus.
Matt ran a hand across his face – there was truly nothing like a shave with a straight edged razor, especially when you had a beard as thick and fast growing as his. If he used an electric, or even a double-edged, his scruff would have been visible by the time he got on stage.
As Simon ran his hands through his still damp curls, Matt felt himself go boneless. Those long fingers reaching all the pulse points and nerve endings. Now this was a massage that was doing a lot more than relaxing him.
“Hmmmm, Simon…”
“Whaaaat, Matt?”
Matt smiled at the gentle mockery in his husband’s voice. “You keep that up, and I may end up embarrassing myself on national television.”
Another kiss, this time on the crown of his head.
“You mean to tell me that you’d keep that erection going for three hours? What are you doing, taking a little blue pill? Because we may have to visit a doctor…” Simon teased him – it was an old joke. On their first date, Matt had popped wood and stayed hard for the better part of three long, aching hours. It had happened on each of their next three dates, until Simon took pity on him and gave him the best blowjob of his life.
He took pity on Matt again, and stopped stroking his scalp – reaching for the hair gel to keep the curls tamed.
The rest of the grooming didn’t take long. There’ll be a full makeup session before presenting – but for now he just needed a little powder to keep the shine off while he did the whole, very ludicrous red carpet thing.
His formal wear was laid out on the wooden valet – the tux was the one he just bought for the Kennedy Center performance. At least that one wasn’t a solo act – his mom came in and they dined with the President and the First Lady. As much as he loved his mother, he would so much have preferred to have his husband at his side. It was sadly ironic, he was part of a ceremony honoring a famously flamboyant gay man, and he had to put on the nominal cloak of a heterosexual. It really wasn’t fair.
He put on socks and an undershirt, but left his briefs off. The pants were tailored so that the gentleman would stay parked to the left.
Simon watched him get dressed. “I can’t believe you’re going commando to the Golden Globes…that you’re going to get up before an audience of millions and your big, fat dick is mere millimeters from being on full display. I don’t think that’s considered proper formal attire.”
“Well, I have a reputation to maintain…and after all, it was your idea for me to say that a man should go commando in formal wear for that British GQ interview.” Matt shrugged into the starched cotton shirt and struggled a bit with the studs.
Simon picked up the studs and brushed away Matt’s hands. They popped in easily, and he held out his wrist for the cufflinks, a gold set that had been Simon’s grandfather’s. Matt was sharply reminded of the scene from last season’s White Collar, when Neal had to put on Peter’s cufflinks. How absurd.
He lifted his chin and let Simon do the bow tie. “You know, if the PR business falls apart, you could always get a job as a ‘gentleman’s gentleman’.”
“Don’t be cute, Bomer. If the PR business falls apart, I’m becoming a house husband. Or even better, a kept man.”
That was another old joke between them – Simon wasn’t his agent, but he was able to pull the right strings, and Matt found himself with a half-million dollar per episode salary – something almost unheard of for a first season of basic cable show. It was a drop in the bucket compared to Simon’s annual take home as one of the most powerful publicists in Hollywood, but it was still mindboggling for the boy from Spring, Texas who was just about set to give up acting for a career in broadcast journalism.
He got into his pants, adjusted himself and checked the lay of things in the long mirror.
Simon stood behind him, casting a critical eye over his ass. “You know, the fan girls and fan boys are going to be drooling against their television screens tonight. And if they knew you weren’t wearing anything underneath those trousers – there’d be spontaneous orgasms all across the country.”
Matt blushed at Simon’s earthiness, and was rewarded with a kiss and a very possessive grope on his ass.
Shoes next – the de rigueur patent leather, and finally his jacket.
Simon fussed a little with the handkerchief and smoothed out the shoulders. He twirled a finger and Matt spun around to give him the complete three-sixty.
“You know, I really do prefer when you don’t dress like a lesbian from Oregon.”
“Thanks.” Matt’s tone was dry. ‘Neal’s’ sense of fashion had been wearing off on him, but he was never really going to be comfortable as a clothes horse. At the end of the day, he still preferred comfortable old jeans, tees and plaid shirts, which were, quite ironically, the uniform of butch lesbians everywhere – not just from Oregon.
“When I start to grow a mullet or get a really tight curly perm, you can get worried.”
The doorbell rang and Matt looked at the clock. It was 5:30 pm, and that would be the limo.
He gave Simon a kiss, and felt his husband reach for the ring on his left hand.
He closed his hand into a tight fist. “No.” He wasn’t going to let Simon take off his wedding band.
“Matt – please. You shouldn’t wear it in public.”
“I wear it in public all the time.”
“Wear it on a chain around your neck, if you want to keep it with you.”
“No. I wear my ring, or I don’t go out. It’s a simple as that.” Simon may be older, and he may even be wiser, but he was not as stubborn as Matthew Staton Bomer-Halls, and he never would be.
Simon relented, and smiled. “I love you, you idiot.”
“I love you too, moron.” Matt kissed him.
Simon slapped him lightly on the ass. “Get out of here, before I undo all this hard work and you end up on national television looking like you were just fucked.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Simon raised an eyebrow out him. Matt raised one back.
“All right, all right.”
The limo was waiting and so were the kids. He kissed them all, and kissed Simon again.
As the car drove off, Matt toyed with his wedding ring, twisting it around and around his finger, resenting – not for the first and certainly not for the last – the heavy price of his success.
