This is a work of fiction, very, very loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe. I wrote it for my own entertainment, and entertainment is its only purpose. No insult or injury is intended.

This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit adult language and sexual references.

Twist Of Fate

…what’s meant to be will come to pass

A Quentin Finch story

by: Jackie

©2008

Chapter Eleven

Quentin

They were at the diner, he was weighing into his meal with passion, and he was bearing Sally’s continued staring with commendable equanimity. And why wouldn’t he be; he was sitting right across from his Tazzie; he had her foot captured between his, and he had a smile on his face that seemed glued in place.

‘You have a… good appetite,’ Sally said, star struck.

‘I was fuckin’ starvin’, mate,’ Quent replied around a mouthful, ‘went to this make-up and hair girl at seven in the morning to get this lot done,’ he pointed at his wig with his fork, ‘then I had to get some sort of outfit arranged… Never even had time for my brekkie, let alone lunch... This is the first decent tucker I’m getting today so I’m makin’ the most of it, if it’s all the same to you… Christ, Taz, I wish I could have taken a pic when it dawned on you it was me; your face, luvvie, bloody priceless!’ He giggled and swallowed and giggled some more.

Tazzie smiled at him, her eyes all warm, and rubbed her foot against his leg. ‘I just can’t believe you did all that just to get here… You’re mental, you know that?’

‘Mmm,’ he conceded happily, shoving in another forkful and imagining how she’d feel in his arms, her skin against his… he was rock-hard in an instant and he saw her look up at him and blush slightly. She’d felt it, then. That kept amazing him, how she tuned in to his feelings, his state of mind, and responded immediately. ‘Taz, you staying here, in this town?’ he said huskily, lost in her eyes for a moment.

‘Yes… at the B&B,’ she replied. ‘How much time do you have?’

‘Day after tomorrow I’ll have to get back, reckon… You? You movin’ on tomorrow, or…?’

‘Well, that was the original plan; we have a day to kill and the idea was to drive on to Bumfuck, um, what was it called again, Sal? And spend it there…’

Quent spluttered into his beer. ‘Bloody hell, she didn’t learn those kind of words from me, swear to God,’ he said to Sally, who was sighing every time he so much as looked in her direction.

Taz grinned. ‘Quent, you can’t possibly claim innocence here, I mean your vocabulary’s worse than… than… well, you swear like a sailor, for one thing. And when you get nervous, you become virtually unintelligible.’

‘Nervous?’ he put down his glass and glared comically. ‘I don’t get bloody nervous; nerves of steel, me. I’m an actor!’

‘Yes yes,’ said Taz in a calm down honey voice, ‘anyway, I suppose we might as well spend another day here, and drive on a day later, eh, Sal, what do you say? Sally?’

‘Yeah… sure, whatever you say,’ Sally said, watching their playful exchange with something between dreaminess and envy. ‘Taryn, do you have any idea how lucky you are?’

‘Tazzie’s not the only one who’s lucky, Sal,’ Quent grinned, turning towards her and watching Tazzie’s publicist melt in her seat.

‘Oh that’s so sweet of you to say,’ Sally cooed, ‘Taryn, if you ever get tired of him, promise you’ll call me?’

They laughed their way through dinner, and several people from the town came to their table and chatted, none of them aware of Quentin’s true identity. One of them, a sturdy bloke in a polo shirt and jacket was, to Quentin’s enormous surprise, a fellow Aussie, and Quent and Terry, as it turned out he was called, went outside to share a smoke. Terry was ex-army and apparently had ended up in town by accident. He was doing some work for the community and intended to move on in a couple of weeks, but, as he confided in Quentin, he was thinking about making a move on the sheila who worked the day shift here at the diner. Quent had seen her, she was a fine looking girl, and he didn’t blame Terry in the least.

Quentin then did some confiding of his own, told Terry who he was, how he came to be here and why, and watched the other man’s eyebrows climb up his forehead right before he exploded with laughter. They got on like a house on fire, and when they’d finished their smoke and went back inside, they found that Terry’s mate Dino had slid in beside Sally and was leaning back casually, obviously working on getting his arm around her, high school-style. Sally appeared delighted, so Quent gave Tazzie a look that spoke volumes, settled the bill, and exited the diner post-haste with his own sheila hanging from his arm.

‘Am I staying with you then?’ he inquired, pulling at the moustache and growling, ‘bloody… fucker, itches like mad. Help me get this hairy bugger off me face, Taz, it’s driving me nuts.’

‘Of course you’re staying with me,’ Tazzie said, turning towards him and leaning against his solid body. He wrapped his arms around her while she picked at the moustache. ‘Where else did you want to stay?’

‘Mmmph, nowhere, mph, fuck, Taz!’ he muttered, as she tried to get it off him.

‘How did you get this thing to stay on in the first place? Super glue? Skin graft?’ she complained, leaning in closer still and standing on tiptoe. ‘Ah, look, I’ve got a corner loose now. Hold on, love, I’m going to…’ she gave a tug and it came off with a slight tearing sound, making Quentin’s eyes water.

‘Bloody… hell!’ he groaned, ‘hurts like a… Christ! Fuck, Taz, did you have to, I mean I won’t have to shave there for at least…’ and then he couldn’t speak any more, because their lips had found each other and their communication was moving to an entirely different level.

She was so warm, so open, so… She tasted like chicken, from her dinner, and she smelled like strawberries. Her lips were soft and playful and he knew her so well, it was like he came home after a long journey when he finally plunged his tongue into her mouth and met hers… slick and velvety and darting against his like quicksilver… He sighed happily and pulled her in closer, wanting to move against her, feeling an urge to start that slow, undulating motion…

‘What have you got under that suit, a pillow?’ Tazzie muttered, breaking free to catch her breath. She obviously wanted to get closer as well; she wriggled against him and put her nose in his collar to sniff at him with a shameless urgency he recognized all too well.

‘Yeah, matter of fact it is, from my hotel room actually. Speaking of which… how far is it, Tazzie-luv? Can we… I mean… I just wanna, you know?’ He had trouble keeping his breathing even, especially while she was kissing his neck, and the soft chafing of his suit pants against his raging hard-on was driving him crazy. He should have put on a pair of boxer briefs or something, for a change; he’d soil his daks if they didn’t get a move on. And how was he going to return the suit then? Fuck, better not think about that. Endives, that was the way to go. ‘What sort of veg do you hate, Taz?’ he asked as they resumed walking, holding hands. ‘Really hate. Really detest. Not just dislike, but really loathe. You know?’

‘What?’ said Tazzie, dreamily puzzled, but then she remembered the APA dinner and she burst out laughing. ‘Are you thinking about endives again? You’re hilarious, you know that? And so transparent. Well, let me see… I hate green beans. Can’t stand the sight of them. Ew, intense turn-off. White beans as well, in tomato sauce, ewww.’

‘Oh I love those, remember how I ate yours, last year?’ They both fell silent for a while, remembering how Quentin had spent the night with her at her flat in London, how they had escaped the press gathering outside her front door by climbing down the tree at the back, how Tazzie had taken a fall and how, subsequently, her early pregnancy had ended. They would never know if it had been the fall, or stress – after all, their relationship hadn’t been smooth sailing then either – or if it had just been natural causes. And maybe it didn’t matter any more, if they could finally make it work now…

‘Look, here we are,’ Tazzie said quietly when they reached the B&B.  ‘What will we tell Mrs. Meyerhoffer?’

‘Who?’

‘Lady at reception. This is a very small, small town, Quent. Everyone knows everything about everybody, apparently. People constantly introduce themselves to you here, tell you their names and stuff… She’ll want to know yours; we can’t just sneak in or anything.’

‘Oh. All righty then, leave it to me, sweetheart.’

‘Oh dear,’ Tazzie said in mock horror.

‘What, don’t you trust me? Are we going inside or what, luvvie? I’m dying to get rid of this bloody pillow.’

Mrs. M. looked up from her crossword and smiled at Taz. ‘Miss Archer, back so soon? Are you ready for an early night in? And you, sir, you are…?’

‘Her fiancé,’ Quentin said with his poker face on, a spot on American accent rolling off his lips like it had lived there all his life.

‘You were at the bookshop, weren’t you? Came in late. Didn’t you have a moustache then?’ Mrs. M. asked, all innocence.

‘Yes, he did,’ said Taz, producing it from her pocket. ‘Look, here it is.’

Mrs. M. recoiled visibly.

‘I’m here incognito,’ Quentin said with a conspiratorial curl in his voice, ‘you see I’m an actor, I’m shooting on location not too far from here and I wanted to visit my girl on the sly.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Mrs. M., blushing, ‘are you anyone famous?’

Quentin leaned over the desk and whispered in Mrs. M.’s ear. She squealed and reddened, and said, ‘I’d never have guessed, what with your disguise! It’s amazing what they can do with make-up nowadays; your face looks completely different! But, isn’t the age difference… oh my, I’m being impertinent now…’

Quentin put his finger to his lips, his eyes twinkling. Mrs. M. literally shuddered with all this new information as she turned to get Tazzie’s key off its hook, and she handed it to her with a little flourish. ‘There you are, my dear, number seven, our best room. Our lucky room, if I may add; I could tell you stories about room number seven that…’

‘We’ll have to listen to them some other time, honey,’ Quentin said, and he guided Tazzie towards the stairs. He was literally shaking inside, trying not to laugh, and any moment, any moment now his armour would crack and he’d let fly.

‘Age difference?’ Tazzie asked pointedly over her shoulder as she climber up ahead of him. ‘Quent, what on earth did you tell poor Mrs. Meyerhoffer? And what’s up with the accent?’

‘Shhh,’ he said, his inside shakes beginning to show on the outside as well. His eyes crinkled up, his voice hitched, and he leaned against Tazzie as she struggled with the key. ‘Hurry, hurry,’ he gasped urgently, his giggle barely suppressed now.

‘What, who did you say you were to that poor woman?’ Tazzie said as she finally got the door open and dashed inside.

Quent closed it just in time before the giggles got the better of him, and between hitches and gasps he hiccupped, ‘I said… I was…Clint… bloody… Eastwood…’

Taryn

‘Clint Eastwood?’ Tazzie almost shrieked right before she burst out laughing as well. ‘But he’s ancient! Why on earth did you have to pick him?’

‘Explains the age difference remark though, hey? It was just a spur of the moment decision; there was this The Good, the Bad and the Ugly poster on the wall, did you see it? Reckon I just took it from there, hee-hee,’ Quent positively percolated with laughter and in the meantime shucked his coat, pulled his shirt out his waistband and off over his head, removed a plump pillow, and dropped his pants. His cock sprang forth unhindered and Tazzie tried to keep breathing.

Quentin was still giggling as he got out of his tee and kicked off his shoes, and Taz just stood there, mesmerized. He was so beautiful. He lacked the padding she so loved, he was all muscles now, but that was only because he’d worked out so hard for the film… If she’d have a couple of months with him alone and she could do some cooking for him, he’d soon have his lovely love handles back…

‘Oi,’ he complained, moving in on her, ‘Get your clothes off, luvvie. I’m not gonna be the only one in his birthday suit here.’

‘You still have your hair on,’ Tazzie grinned, ‘I’m not going to make love to you with your hair on.’

‘Oh fuck!’ Quent hopped into the tiny bathroom and worked on removing his wig while Tazzie quickly undressed. She stood in the middle of the room, feeling awkward all of a sudden; should she lay back on the bed in a seductive pose, or...

Quent came galumphing out of the bathroom, his own yellow locks streaming freely, and he ran smack against her, wrapped her in his arms, and rolled onto the bed with her. ‘Mmmmm, Tazzie,’ he rumbled delightedly, running his hands all over her until she squirmed and squealed.

He was wonderfully warm and his smell of healthy, musky male engulfed her; his whole being invaded her emotions, her soul, her heart… and his skin, his beautiful skin against hers, he was soft yet lightly furred and he made her own skin feel a if electrified as they rolled around together on the bed, trying to feel each other everywhere at once.

‘C’mere, Taz, c’mere,’ he husked, running his hands over her back and sides, then through her hair, then down her back again, as if he couldn’t believe he was finally holding her, feeling her.

‘I am here, silly,’ Tazzie mumbled in his ear, stroking his hair, kissing his face, trying to keep up with him. She felt her body respond to his playful arousal with an almost painful, urgent pang and she knew she was completely ready for him.

When he rolled on top of her though, she stilled his boundless enthusiasm for a moment with a soft hand against his cheek. She looked deeply into his light gaze and saw his eyes grow moist. He quickly closed them, kissed her palm, then kissed her face until he found her lips, and he tasted them first, slowly sucking them in one by one, running the tip of his tongue over them, before he finally, slowly, started deepening his kiss.

Tazzie forgot where she was, forgot what she was doing here, she could only sigh and succumb to this all-pervading feeling of belonging, right here, in this wonderful man’s arms, and she rubbed against him, trying to get closer, and closer still; Quentin’ hips started moving against her in return and she shivered right against him from pure delight. She reached down and grabbed his cock, his beautiful, beautiful hot hard cock straining up from its nest of soft chestnut hair and she ran a gentle palm over it, spreading out that first pearl of moisture that had collected at its tip.

Quent broke free to heatedly pant in her ear. ‘Taz, Tazzie-luv, you need to stop doin’ that or I’ll, I’ll…’

‘Endives,’ she whispered in reply, which had him giggle in her hair. She felt his hand running down her shoulder, deliciously warm, trailing all the way down her back, rounding the curve of her hip and coming to rest against her soft curls. His fingers probed, and she moved to give him better access, but didn’t open her legs for him. Instead, she lapped at his earlobe with a little pink cat’s tongue and despite his warnings, she grabbed him and squeezed and pulled at him gently until he groaned and his eyes crossed. Then, she let up and just gently stroked his balls.

He softly tugged at her short curlies.  ‘Good thing you don’t use any defoliant down there… I like… oh bloody hell Taz…’

She softly, teasingly tugged at his foreskin in return and asked, innocently, ‘…what? What do you like, love?’

‘I like a bit of shrubbery on the mound… Not like all those Hollywood types with their little landing strips, or not even those, sometimes… don’t like a bald pussy at all, it just isn’t bloody natural…oh come on, open up, let me feel you…’

‘You’re very knowledgeable about these Hollywood types, aren’t y… oh!’

He’d finally grabbed hold of her leg and hitched it up so that he could run a tantalizing, probing finger along her slickened fissure. ‘Christ you’re wet,’ he sighed happily, ‘Is that for me?’

‘No, it’s actually for the dustman, you’re just a warm-up,’ Tazzie replied breathlessly, following that with a soft moan when his fingers found her nub and started massaging it gently.

‘Bloody hell, where did you get that attitude, hey, giving me lip, you’re not gonna get it on with the garbo,’ Quent growled, ‘not when I’ve gone to such lengths to be with you…’

‘Lip, I’ll give you lip,’ mumbled Taz against his lips, and she kissed him with passion. Quentin completely lost control over the action when Tazzie simply pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him, taking him inside her swiftly and securely, snug in her warm, welcoming passage. All he could do was grab onto her hips and let her ride him in long slow strokes that gradually sped up until he could no longer stand it and he just had to flip her over and drive himself into her with all his force until she started quivering under him and was emitting a string of sweet little moans. Her spasming was the thing that finally sent him over the edge, giving him long, delicious shivers from the crown of his head all the way down to his feet as he blossomed his relief into her.

They lay tangled together for a long time, softly stroking each other, too overwhelmed to speak. They had tonight, Tazzie thought with a lump forming in her throat, and tomorrow and tomorrow night, and then he’d have to go and she’d have to try and live with this hole in her heart until who knew when. Who knew when they’d manage to see each other again?

‘Fuck, and I wanted to go slow,’ he at last mumbled in her ear, full of disappointment.

‘Well the night is still young, I mean it’s…’ Tazzie lifted her head to look at the alarm, her voice thick with emotion, ‘It’s only eleven thirty.’

‘Is it,’ said Quent, rolling onto his side and leaning his head in his hand. ‘What are you implyin’, you up for another round?’ His voice was as warm as his eyes and he trailed a finger over her breast. ‘Love your tits; they’re beautiful you know that? Hey, hey, what’s that luvvie? Are you gonna cry again? Shhh, c’mere, let me hold you, sweetheart… I’ll have to work on me bloody technique, hey; every time we make love you end up in tears… Shhh,’ he hugged her close and stroked her, purred in her ear with his sweet, dark voice. ‘Just promise me you’ll keep your mobile switched on when I have to get back to filming this time…’

‘I will, I will, I promise,’ Tazzie muttered through her tears, hiding against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry Quent, it’s just that when we’re together I’m so, so happy that when I think of when you have to leave again, I just start to blubber… I just feel so horrible when you have to leave… feels like I can’t breathe…’

‘Shh, we’ll sort something out, and we have tonight, and then a whole day and another night ahead of us… Tazzie-luv, the film won’t go on forever… your book tour will end… we can be together full-time soon as we’re done…’

‘You’ll have another project, and another…’

‘Not if I don’t want to…’ Quentin’s voice was so soothing, so soft in her ear.

‘You can’t give up your acting for me, I’d never ask that of you…’ Tazzie lifted her wet face and stroked his hair behind his ear.

‘You could come with me, sweetheart, we could get a house together for the duration of a project, you and me, Tazzie-luv; you could work anywhere in the world, couldn’t you? I don’t care if we’d have to live in a fuckin’ movie trailer, long as we’re together… I know you don’t really like to travel, but it wouldn’t be so bad if we were together? Would it? Oh, shhh, now, shhh…’

He slowly rocked her in his arms, shushed and rocked her, pulled her closer and rocked her, hooked a leg around her and rocked her, and gradually, the rocking changed pace, turned from comforting into something else, something warm and urgent and instinctive, and their mouths found each other again.

Chapter Twelve