#when tears are in your eyes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

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Hi,

for your prompt request.

💻 angst for Austin. There was a short lived rumour he'd perform at the Oscars. I had this in my head for months, that he'd perform the in memoriam section (what Lenny Kravitz did this year). Maybe with the beautiful Elvis rendition of BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER .

Obviously that's a daunting thing, so maybe some praise kink that leads to more at rehearsals? With whoever your comfortable with writing this but if live to read it with Polly Bennett his movement coach.

Xxx

Ohhhh, dearest Nonnie, did you give me a challenge! It took me a minute to try and get into Austin's head because I've never written him before, so thank you for your patience! 💖

I really ended up leaning into that praise kink, and this turned out waaay filthier than I intended, but 'twas where my muse took me lol. The Bridge Over Trouble Water lyrics actually were a bit of an inspiration, so the song appears more figuratively than literally. I hope it's okay that it ended up being so much smut vs. storyline, but it is Austin and Polly! Thank you for your request and I hope you enjoy, When Tears Are In Your Eyes, darlin'! 💋

TW: This is utterly filthy. Minors BE GONE! 18+ only! Really, there is so much SEXXX, but, like, in a sweet, subby Austin way. Panic attacks. Negative self-talk. PRAISE KINK--so much praise kink... Sub space? Not as edited as usual! Hopefully this isn't too much of a mess cuz I'm a little nervous about writing about Austin (and Polly!)...I'm definitely not an Austin expert 👀

When Tears Are in Your Eyes

The first time was a fluke. The panic before he’d had to go out and really perform as Elvis for the first time, for the ’68 Special section, was utterly paralyzing and he’d needed something or someone to break him out of his mind prison, someone telling him he was going to be okay, that he was going to do a great job, that he was good enough. Desperate times had called for desperate measures.

Baz and Olivia and even Catherine had tried help him shake his nerves, but no matter the massive amount of support and encouragement from them all, he was convinced there was no way he could do Elvis justice. That he would fail completely, not only tanking his own career, but also Baz’s, and disappoint millions of Elvis’ fans across the world in the process. To say he’d worked himself into a frenzy was an understatement.

When Polly came in, his amazing and fiery movement coach, he was convinced she wouldn’t be able to stave off this horror building inside him, this pure terror that he was a complete fraud. But they’d worked so many hours together, one on one, that she could sense something in him that he could not. When she’d embraced him and told him he was going to be alright, that everything would be fine, he almost broke into pieces at his friend’s words. He’d sniffled into her blonde hair, his Elvis makeup running, clutching at her like she was a life raft.

And then it had happened. As she whispered words of encouragement into the shell of his ear, praising the commitment he had to the role and how he was already doing Elvis’ legacy proud, he’d felt it. Unfortunately, pressed up against her in that tight black leather suit, it didn’t take long for her to feel it, too.

He was totally mortified, of course, chalking it up to his anxiousness and heightened emotions, and it sent him into another kind of panic because Polly was his colleague and his friend and oh my god, he didn’t want to ruin any of that. Whimpering in her hair, he wanted to pull away and hide even more than he had before, but she just kept breathing praise into his ear. As if he wasn’t rock hard against her.

It hadn’t taken long for his body to go off the rails, his hips rolling into her ever so slightly, the friction of those damn pants coupled with what she was saying arousing him to the point of bursting. But she didn’t flinch or move away, she just kept her arms around him tight and let him grind and whimper into her.

It wasn’t enough. He was a sniveling mess, terrified of going out there and humiliating himself, and now he was insanely aroused, his mind starting to white out, and he needed release but the dry humping just wasn’t enough.

Somehow, she’d known exactly what he needed and for some unknown reason, hadn’t hesitated in the slightest in giving it to him. When she’d popped the button on the pants, unzipping him just enough to reach her tiny hand in, he’d nearly passed out from the way she’d groped his too-sensitive cock through his underwear.

“Doing such a good job for me, Aus, always doing so good for me. Always putting in your all. You’re gonna be perfect,” she’d whispered as she pumped him expertly. His mind went blank, hearing nothing but her praise, and he surrendered quickly. Shuddering violently, he crested and felt the hot spurts of his release coat the inside of his briefs.

“That’s it, let it go, Aus. Cumming so well,” she’d praised him, talking him through his orgasm, then released him with a genuine smile, pressing her forehead to his as he tried to regain his senses.

It wrecked him just enough to break him free of his anxiety. He’d gasped in both refraction and shock and Polly had just patted his cheek sweetly and handed him tissues to clean himself up, like there wasn’t something completely bonkers that happened between them. Like she hadn’t just jerked him off and successfully made him feel like he could go out there now and be Elvis. Like his confidence hadn’t been restored by the magic power of her words and her hand.

Things had happened so intensely and fast after that with filming that he’d barely had time to think on it. When he’d stripped out of the suit and his messed underwear later that night, he’d actually laughed, thinking of the story of how Elvis had orgasmed in his leather suit as well.

How very ‘method’ of me, he’d thought with a chuckle.

He’d also been confused and embarrassed, but Polly acted like nothing strange had occurred at all. No lingering glances or silly winks. No uncomfortable silences or awkward words. Business as usual.

So, he’d moved on. It was a fluke. A moment of weakness.

Except now, backstage during rehearsals for the Oscars, he finds himself in that same completely panicked headspace for the first time since the ’68 Special. His agent had somehow convinced him to agree to singing “Bridge Over Troubled Water” during the “In Memorial” section of the show. But that was months ago, before he was exhausted from all the award shows and press and schmoozing and the traveling across continents, all the while trying not to let his grief for Lisa Marie (and the residual grief it triggered about his mom) consume him.

He is terrified. Stomach churning and palms sweating, he shakes all over, a leftover effect of those pieces of Elvis still lingering within him. Singing in front of people was never something he’d been able to do until Elvis. But even then, he’d been playing a character. It was so much more vulnerable to get out there singing as himself. In front of a room filled with the biggest names in Hollywood, in front of his heroes, and for millions on live television, no less.

No pressure or anything.

Sure, they’d convinced him to sing briefly on SNL, but that was still under the guise of Elvis and it had been only a small part of the farewell for Cecily, the focus being on her, not just him. He’d been nervous, to be sure, but it had been different. Not this. Nothing like this.

Of course, he knows the song in his sleep, it being one of his favorites to listen to while prepping for Elvis. But as much as the critics and the world loved his performance, and as much as he tries to draw upon the superstar’s confidence, he is not Elvis Presley.

His shallow and quick breaths as he waits for his turn to rehearse makes him think that he might pass out if he keeps freaking out at this rate. Forcing himself to breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, part of the dynamic breathwork he’d learned, he manages to keep from ending up on the floor. But his mind is still whirling and his stomach is churning.

You idiot, you’re just gonna go out there and embarrass yourself in front of everyone you admire. What a failure you’ll be, his inner critic berates him. Stupid fucking fool.

He can’t do this. There’s no way in hell.

Austin feels the tears prick in his eyes. Oh, good, now I’m gonna cry, too. Perfect.

It’s then that he feels the small arms encircle his waist and he knows.

He knows it’s her.

He’s not sure how Pol managed to get backstage—the security is insane—but like a miracle, she’s here. “Come on, Aus. You’re going to be okay,” she says quietly.

Gently, she pulls him back, back, back through the wings of the stage, whispering words along the way (“You can do this, hun, and will do it well. I know you will.”) and into an empty dressing room. He follows more than willingly, letting the tears free fall down his cheeks now.

He finds himself in that strange little space again where all he hears and wants and needs is her, her reassurances and praises, and she gives them liberally.

Polly gently pushes him into the room, closing the door and engaging the lock behind her. His brain is overloaded, his body buzzing with anxiety, but her words leave him wanting and he feels his cock twitch in his pants. All rational thought is abandoned, his body beginning to take over, and he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself back.

Austin steps into her, pressing her back against the door, nuzzling his head down into her neck. She lets him, her hands running softly, comfortingly, through his hair, causing a low moan to escape his lips.

“I-I-I need…please…” he begs through hiccupping little sobs.

“I know, shh, I know.”

Then, she proceeds to murmur at him all the ways he is good and talented and true. He can’t help rolling his now-aching cock into her belly, but she does not falter.

The sensations are all too much this time, even more than the first time, and he is running his hand up her bare leg and under her skirt before his mind even registers what he’s trying to do, all the lines he is going to cross. Because he has to do something, something he knows he’s good at, something he knows he won’t fail.

And by the little squeak that turns into a mewl when he reaches the apex between her thighs, the thin cotton covering her warm little sex, he knows he’s right. Slipping his fingers under, he runs them through her already dampening folds and up to circle the sensitive nub at the top.

“T-this o-okay?” he stutters out, needing to know he’s doing right by her.

“Yes, Aus, that’s perfect, oh god,” she moans breathlessly in his ear.

The praise fully short-circuits his brain, sending him into that white space where his career expectations and fears don’t touch him like they did before.

Please, please, please…is all he thinks and he realizes eventually that he’s panting it out loud, ignoring the straining in his pants because he wants to get her off, he needs to please her, and if he does, everything will somehow be okay.

He slides his fingers down through her softness, and finding her wet and ready for him, turns her around to face the door and slides two fingers into her heat, his thumb working circles on her clit. Pumping, his fingers search for that spongy spot, the one he thinks will make her keen and pleased, and when he finds it, he curls his fingertips into it.

“That’s it…just like that,” she pants, then she bucks back, her ample ass giving him some much-needed friction. The sensation is almost too much, causing him to press her into the door, his throbbing erection making him desperate.

“Oh, my good, good boy. Oh god. Oh g-god, Aus, you’re gonna make me cum,” she chokes out and it’s music to his ears, this approval and proof of his goodness. “That’s p-perfect, you’re perfect!”

Her cry couples the fluttering of her walls and the dam breaks, arousal flooding onto his hand. But her release sends his body into overdrive, and he pulls his fingers out of her, leaving her moaning. Frantically, he pulls her soaked panties down her legs and unbuckles his pants, letting them slide down and free his cock.

“Please, I-I-I…can I?” he whimpers at her.

She nods. “Yes, yes!”

He is in shambles. It only takes a second before he’s rubbing his cock between her legs, coating himself in her slick, and they both moan at the sensation.

Going into that white space, the one he only gets to when with her, all he can think is please, please, I need, I need, and it causes him to rush a little. He pushes up into her comforting and plush folds, meeting a little resistance on the way because he’s thick and she’s small but oh god, she’s so tight around him.

Through the hazy fog of his brain, he hears her pretty little gasps as she adjusts to his girth, but when he bottoms out in her wet heat, it feels too good and a fresh panic hits him. This awareness of what he is doing to her—spearing her and splitting her in two—and the thought that he might be doing it wrong or hurting her in some way has him sobbing, “Pol,” as he clutches at her waist.

“It’s okay, you’re perfect, Aus,” she moans, encouraging him. “Now move those hips, just like I taught you.”

Relief and fresh arousal floods over him. He knows this. He can do it in his sleep. Cock twitching inside her, he starts to move, rolling those narrow hips of his smoothly, precisely, just as he’d practiced for hours and hours prepping for Elvis.

Polly lets out a low, pleased groan as he does so, and it fills him with pleasure because he’s pleasing her, he’s doing it right. With each thrust, she coos at him words of praise and he eats them up like he’s starving. The terror and the trepidation are banished into the shadows, consumed by that white space, the space where he is perfect and good and doing everything just right.

He could stay here forever, surrounded by light and warmth and comfort, buried deep in his friend.

His smooth thrusts become pointed because the more she praises his work, the hotter he becomes, like he’s burning up from the inside in the best way possible. She writhes below him, pushing back into him, the sound of his balls slapping her weepy, perfect little cunt sending every ounce of blood straight into his dick.

One hand slams next to hers on the door, using it as leverage to pound into her. Deeper, need to be deeper, oh fuck, oh Jesus. The other grips desperately at her waist, anchoring himself to her so he doesn’t fly too far away into that glorious white space.

Her voice does that, too, her breathless sighs of, “Yes, yes, you’re doing so good, giving me that perfect cock so well, Aus,” are pushing him headlong to the brink.

Reaching around under her skirt, he finds her puffy clit and works it furiously, even in his blinding fog knowing he wants her to come over the edge with him. She keens and he pistons erratically at the sound.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be a good boy and come with me now, right Aus?” she pants, taking him like she was made to do so.

“Mhm,” is all he can manage, biting his lower lip and nodding. Heat floods him, overwhelming his senses as he fucks into her, needing every inch to remind him who he is. He begins to shudder when he feels her walls clench tighter around him.

“Oh, fuck, you’re g-gonna make me cum again, Aus! Oh, YES,” she moans, fluttering around him, and he shatters into little pieces right behind her.

He’s too far gone to pull out, selfishly claiming her and painting her walls white with his seed. Relishing in her warmth, he clings to her in his climax, not realizing the tears of relief streaming down his face.

Every ounce of tension in his body releases. The only sound in the room is their heavy breathing as they recover. She lets him linger inside her, seemingly aware of how far away he’s gone.

Eventually, the white space dims and he comes back into himself, sliding his softening cock out of her. He kisses her softly at the place where her neck meets her shoulder.

“I—Thank you,” he whispers, voice low and gravely, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to make her understand that she managed to banish his self-hating demons away right when he needed her.

She turns around and pulls his head down, pressing her lips to his forehead. “Anything for you, Aus.”

His now-relaxed body fills with warmth at that.

Finding a box of tissues, he grabs a clump, then falls reverently to his knees in front of her with the intent of cleaning her up. He pulls up the hem of her dress, revealing the short thatch of hair at the top of her pussy, worked swollen and red from him.

“You don’t have to do that, Aus,” she breathes. He can sense the blush in her voice, a modesty that was absent when she was trying to help him through his panic.

“Hush.” He taps her legs open and she relents quickly, unable to deny him. Pink and slick and bare to him, he looks up at her from below and adds, “You’re beautiful.”

She flushes pink and bashfully looks away.

His initial task to clean her abandoned, he watches in a kind of awe and pride the way his spent arousal, mixed with her own, leaks from her tight, little hole. He abandons the tissues on the floor. So entranced is he that he can’t stop himself from running his fingers through her folds and the slick.

She gasps from above, which quickly turns into a punctuated sigh when he leans forward and softly kisses her oversensitive nub. Fueled by her reaction and the deliciously musky taste of her on his lips, he flicks his tongue there.

She nearly doubles over, her hands flying into his sandy locks.

His body, still recovering from their sex, hums with pleasure. He laps at her again, and again. He can’t seem to help himself because she just makes him feel so good.

She shudders over him, trying to still his head. “Aus, I can’t,” she whines. This was obviously not part of her plan to calm him.

He smiles against her clit, then pulls back to watch as he uses two long fingers to push his dripping arousal back up into her tight heat.

The sound of her loud moan resonates in the small space as she falls back against the door, eyes closing with pleasure.

He holds there for a moment before he turns his attention back to her puffy, oversexed clit. Licking, sucking, and kissing it, he teases her. He works her into a frenzied, whimpering mess above him.

He pulls away briefly. “Am I doing good?” he asks with a hopeful little smile, still needing her approval. He scissors his fingers, sliding them in and out of her soaking and nearly-wrecked pussy.

All she can seem to do is nod frantically. That thrill of praise runs through him again.

Diving back in, he relishes the taste of her, of them, adding a third digit into her stretched hole. The noises are obscene, the squelching of their combined arousal filling the room as he fucks her relentlessly with his fingers. Her mewling whimpers let him know he’s still satisfying her. He can feel himself hardening again, but it’s an afterthought to her pleasure.

“Cum for me, baby, let me make you cum. Come on now,” he urges her.

Once he curls his fingers into that soft spot inside her and sucks on her nub just so, it doesn’t take long until she goes rigid and comes undone with a panting shudder. Again.

Austin strokes her through her climax then releases her with one last soft kiss to her mound. Then he finally uses those tissues to clean her gently. She shudders with overstimulation.

“You are too good, Austin Butler,” she gasps out.

“Promise?” he says, only half joking as they both put themselves back together.

Polly grabs him by the cheeks and stares directly into his big, blue eyes. “Aus, you are one of the best, most talented men I have ever known. Anything you choose to do, you give it your all. You will do well,” she says seriously. “Now, go out there and kick some ass for me, will you?” She smiles and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

He can’t help but grin from ear to ear, his doubts banished.

And even though he is nervous and emotional the night of the awards, he thinks of that sublime and calm white space where he is always good enough. And when he sings at the show, he gives it his all, knowing that Polly is watching.

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