Title: Just Like Judy Garland
Author: MinervaFan
Fandom: Gilmore Girls
Rating: NC17 (Don’t even read if you’re not of age, please.)
Characters: Richard/Emily
Written for the Something Slutty Gilmore Girls' Smut-a-thon on LiveJournal
Warning: Kinks explored.  Nothing much, just light bondage and a little role-playing.
A/N: Set just after Lorelai’s bachelorette party at the drag club (Red Light on the Wedding Night, 2nd season)

Summary: Emily wants to bring Richard back from the depression that’s taken hold in him.  So she gives him a private little performance.


She found him, as she often did, asleep in his chair.  His hat and coat were draped across another chair in the office, his desk piled high with reports in creased manila files decorated with brightly colored sticky notes of various colors, his copy of Barron’s Dictionary of Insurance Terms opened to page 134.


Richard himself was sound asleep, his head tilted slightly to the right, hands loose at his side.  He’d loosened his bow tie and pushed himself slightly back from the desk.  Emily studied his face for a long moment.  Even in sleep, he seemed tense.  Richard didn’t like to discuss his work with her, well, not the important parts.  Not the parts that had him up all hours, poring over files and quotes and ledgers and email.  Not the parts that had him sulking and snapping and spending way too much time at the office or on the phone.


No, Richard would go on and on about claims and liability and coverage, but he wouldn’t go on at all about what was making him so unhappy lately.


People wanted to think she was clueless, or at least so self-involved she didn’t notice the pain of others.  But Emily Gilmore was neither clueless nor was she unaware of her husband’s pain.  She just didn’t know what to do about it.  She tried talking, arguing, coaxing, pleading, begging—but she just couldn’t make him open up to her.


She watched him sleeping, wanting so badly to reach out to him, wanting so badly to just make everything right.  He was her husband, her provider, her white knight.  She couldn’t think of a time when she needed him, really needed him, that Richard had not swooped in and rescued her.


Right now, Emily wanted to rescue him, to do something—anything—to make him at least smile for a moment.


Her eye glanced on his coat and hat, and she had to grin.  Maybe it was the gorgeous female impersonator she’d watched playing Judy Garland (Oh, those legs!  That short little suit!  The music!), or maybe it was the six Manhattans she downed over the coarse of the evening, but Emily was overwhelmed with a sudden burst of inspiration.


Moving quietly to lock the door to Richard’s study, she turned and removed her dress.  It smelled of smoke anyway, and she was glad to be rid of it.  Dressed only in her bra, panties, stockings, heels and pearls, she paused to take a long breath.  As an afterthought, she took off her stockings and, after replacing her high heeled shoes on bare feet, decided to remove her panties as well.


Quickly now, she wrapped herself in Richard’s suit jacket.  It reached halfway down her thighs.  She wrapped it around her, sniffing the material as she did.  It smelled of smoke, too, only cigar smoke.  Emily breathed it in for a long moment, remembering so many times when she’d been in his arms, wrapped in his protection, warm in his nearness.  It felt good, and she didn’t want to move at first.


But this wasn’t about her comfort, she reminded herself.  It was about Richard’s.  And she kept her husband in mind as she put his hat on top of her head.  She usually hated when he put his hat on her; he did it when he was teasing, trying to loosen her up, trying to get her to forget about the hair and what other people thought.  She normally didn’t like looking silly, but she knew that Richard loved it when she wore his hat.  He’d once told her she looked adorable with it on, so on it went.  Adorable hat and man’s suit jacket and high heels and pearls.


Just like Judy Garland.


Emily turned back to her husband.  He was still asleep, poor thing.  She put her hands in his pocket and almost laughed when she felt the extra bow tie.  So like Richard to carry a spare, in case of spills or spots.


It was only then that the little devil on her shoulder started whispering in her ears.  Maybe it was the Manhattans that drove her to sneak up to him and carefully remove the bow tie from around his neck.  Maybe it was the naughty jokes the drag queens told in their show that led her to tie first one, then both of Richard’s wrists to the arms of his desk chair, using his very own bow ties as restraints.


How convenient, she giggled to herself.


How she did it without waking him, she didn’t know, but he was still asleep when she pulled back to admire her handiwork.  No, she thought.  The shirt needs to be unbuttoned a bit.  So she leaned forward and started unbuttoning the top buttons of his expensive white shirt.  Then it was the second.  Then it was the third.


By the time she was down to his belly button, Richard started awake.  He stared at her, bleary-eyed, for a long moment before finding his voice.  “Emily?”


She laughed, a low smoky-flavored laugh she hadn’t heard come out of herself for a long, long time.  “Why, Mr. Gilmore. You missed your ten o’clock meeting.  I was just coming in to do some dictation.”  She tried for a mixture of Marilyn Monroe and Lauren Bacall; she would have been satisfied with Kathleen Turner.


Either way, he smiled, confused.  “I fell asleep again, didn’t I?”  He moved to stroke her cheek, frowning when he realized that his wrists were tied to the chair.  “What the hell?”


Emily shook her head, leaning forward to kiss him on the ear.  Still whispering in that Marilyn/Lauren/Kathleen voice, she said, “It’s time for you to relax, Mr. Gilmore.”  She bit the lobe of his ear gently, adding, “You’ve been working soooo hard.”


“Emily?”  It was obvious to her that he’d only just noticed her outfit.  “What—“


She pulled back, giving him the full view, complete with sultry smile.  “For your relaxation pleasure, Mr. Gilmore, the house presents a very special musical performance.”


Richard began to chuckle.  He stopped tugging at the bonds and nodded, a huge grin on his face.  “Well now, just for me?”


Emily, if she’d not had so many Manhattans, if she’d not watched so many talented female impersonators that night, if she’d not been so desperate to see her Richard smile, might have been shy and embarrassed by the way he looked at her.  By the way his eyes raked down her body, taking in the legs, the way the jacket opened down to reveal the black lace of her brassiere, the way her eyes lowered when she looked at him from under the hat.  But she was too into the moment for shyness, and the spirit of allure kept her from stopping.


She lowered her head slightly, eyes up, and began to sing in a slow and sultry voice.  “Forget your troubles, come on, get happy.  We’re gonna chase all your blues away.”  As she undulated, she found his eyes glued to her.  It made her feel sexy and smart; it made her want to do more for him.  She moved toward him, slowing her tempo just a bit.  “Shout hallelujah, come on, get happy.  We’re headed for the judgment day.”


She leaned slightly, climbing on his lap to straddle him.  Richard looked a bit shocked, but continued to smile as she sang.  “The sun is shining, come on, get happy.”  She continued to unbutton his shirt, and then loosened his belt and trousers as she sang.  “The Lord is waiting to take your hand.”  She reached into his trousers and pulled out his shaft.  “Shout hallelujah, come on, get happy,” she sang softly in his ear as she began to stroke him.  “We’re going to the promised land.”


“Emily…”  His voice was hoarse, low, as she started kissing his ear, his neck, his shoulder.  “Emily, what about the maid?”


“Passed out in her bedroom with an empty bottle of sherry on her dresser,” she whispered into his ear, her hand still stroking him to hardness.  “I’m firing her in the morning, by the way,” she added with a nip at his ear.


“Obviously,” he choked as she eased off of him, lowering herself to kneel between his legs.  “Emily, please…”


“Patience, Mr. Gilmore,” she purred and began to tug off his shoes.  The socks followed, along with his trousers and finally his shorts. 


They'd been married almost two years before he’d finally convinced her to take him this way, she remembered as she lowered her lips to kiss his shaft.  She'd complained and cursed and even questioned his fidelity every time he suggested her going down on him.


Nice women, proper women, don't do that sort of thing.


Emily flicked her tongue over the head of his cock, remembering how stupid she'd felt the first time she'd finally agreed to do this to him.  It had taken much pleading and several glasses of alcohol in varying strengths and denominations before she’d finally given in, feeling foolish and wicked and taken advantage of by her pervert of a husband.


She needn't have protested.  Emily looked up at Richard, smiled at him from her low-down perspective, and was rewarded with a hungry, horny look from her usually preoccupied husband.


Oral sex was power.  They should have it printed on business cards or plastered on billboards, she thought as she took him partially in her mouth, sucking gently to increase his pleasure and, consequently, her control over him.


She could feel him tugging against the bow ties that held his wrists in place, felt his hips shifting hard underneath her, urging her to take more of him in her mouth as he moaned her name over and over again.


Emily fought the urge to give in, to give him what he was practically begging for in word and action.  Would Judy have just given Gene Kelly what he wanted, or would she make him earn it?


She laughed again and kissed her way down him until she was flicking her tongue over his balls.  It wasn't her favorite part of the activity, but it drove him crazy and that was enough incentive for her.  She could feel him, hard against her cheek as she flickered her tongue lightly over his balls, delighting in the way they twitched under her tongue.  As usual, it took very little of this sort of attention to get Richard excited and in no time, he was bucking against the chair, urging her to do more than just tease.


“Mr. Gilmore, what kind of girl do you think I am?” she taunted, moving away from him to slowly peel his jacket away from her body.  She continued her slow striptease, the bra, the shoes, the pearls, and finally the hat, which she put atop his head before straddling him again.  She could feel his cock between her thighs.  She wanted him inside her, but that wasn’t how this little story played out.  She didn’t take Mr. Gilmore.  Mr. Gilmore took her.  “Nice girls never take a man in their mouth, Mr. Gilmore,” she whispered in an almost innocent tone as she pushed forward, increasing the pressure against his cock.


“Are you a nice girl, Emily?” he choked. 


Emily nodded and kissed the base of his neck as she glanced down to see the material from his bow ties biting into his wrists as he struggled to get free of the restraints.


“Why don’t you untie me, Emily?”  Richard’s voice was low, commanding, as if he were talking to a very disobedient child.  “Why don’t you untie me so that we can continue our conversation in comfort?”


“Aren’t you comfortable?” she asked, letting him guide her where he wanted to go.


“No, not at all.”  He coughed as she eased more of herself against him, squeezing just gently with her thighs to capture his cock between them.  “I think we’d be much more comfortable in the bed.”


“Nice girls don’t go to bed with their employers, Mr. Gilmore,” she countered.


Richard laughed and then coughed slightly.  “What about the desk, then, Emily,” was his reply, and she couldn’t help laughing too as the spell was broken.  “Let me go, please, Emmy,” he growled as he kissed the nape of her neck.


She smiled, thrilled to see that look in his eyes again, that humor that she hadn’t seen in the last few months.  Part of her wanted to drag it out, to make him beg for it.  Another part knew that, with the way things had been going recently, he might just give up, or get angry, and neither of them would get what they wanted.  So she batted her eyes at him, chuckling low in her throat, and reached a single hand down to untie his left wrist.


As soon as his hand was free, it was at her neck, pulling her face forward to capture her mouth in a hungry kiss.  His fingers twined in her hair and his tongue pushed between her teeth to play against her own soft tongue.  Emily’s hand shook as she struggled to loosen the bow tie holding his other hand down; she finally had to pull away and use both hands to free him.


Richard lifted her in one fluid motion as he stood, her legs wrapped around his hips as he carried her the short distance to the desk.  Leaning, he swept the files and the book and the sticky note pads onto the floor in a crashing mess.  Then he lay her down on her back, his mouth never abandoning hers as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it behind him.  Emily reached between them, guiding him into her with a practiced hand, gasping as he skipped the preliminaries and plunged straight into her with a single, forceful stroke.  Even after all these years, it still took her by surprise when he did that.  Richard was usually so gentle.  Richard was usually so patient.


Her head dropped back as he began to move inside her, and she moaned with delight as her body adjusted quickly to his size.  She’d had the luxury of fantasizing the whole way back in the car to prepare her, the work up of undressing for him, of peeling off his clothes, of toying with him.  All these things, along with the strength of his lust, had prepared her, opened her to him, and once the initial shock was gone, all she felt was lust and pleasure and gratitude as they moved together with skill and practice.  She could feel the pull of her muscles as he lifted her ankles onto his shoulders.  Richard was ridiculously proud of her years of formal dance training, and the corresponding flexibility it had produced, so he took any opportunity he could find to enjoy it.


And it didn’t hurt that this allowed him deeper access into her, a fact that didn’t escape Emily’s notice as she moaned low in pleasure.  She could feel her body reacting to him.  It was no different than it had been almost forty years ago, the first time they’d made love, frantic and nervous and long before they’d actually made it legal to do the sort of things they did together on that first night.  There was no less joy, no less passion, no less desire in Emily’s heart now than there had been the first time they’d made love.  In fact, it was better now, even with the aging bodies and years of baggage they carried with them to the bedroom (or desk, as the case may be).  It was better for the history and better for the experience.  It was better for the deep tones of his voice, gone gravelly with age, tickling her nerve endings as he whispered naughty things in her ear, provocative phrases and suggestions that he’d learned with experience would always send her over the edge, always make her feel seduced and desired.


And she was better, too, for the years.  Young Emily, who’d never been afraid of sex but who’d shuddered at the thought of intimacy, had melted over the years into a woman who was passionately in love with her husband, who’d borne him a child and shared the loss of her with him, who knew his weaknesses and loved him anyway.  Emily felt the tension in his shoulders, even with the pleasure she could tell he was experiencing from his groans and gasps.  She wanted to wrap him within her and take away his pain, to understand the roots of his dissatisfaction.


But that was something she couldn’t manage just yet, so she gave him pleasure instead, the last resort, the only thing she could control.  She gave him her body, because her heart couldn’t break through, and her words always made things worse.  And when she felt the familiar tug inside her, when she sensed the quickening of pace that always meant he was going to come, she knew in the back of her mind that this would only be a temporary fix.  That he would be gentle and sweet for a moment, may several, before sinking back into the depression that neither of them was able to fix.


She held her breath, not wanting to come, not wanting it to end.  She didn’t want to be so far from her husband, didn’t want the terrible distance that no amount of proximity could change.  She wanted her Richard back, and that single, powerful thought set her body free of its own restraints, plunging her headfirst into orgasm.  Richard followed quickly, clutching his fingers into a fist next to her shoulders as he leaned forward to let loose his own orgasm.  Afterwards, he carefully lowered her legs from his shoulders before collapsing onto her for a moment as he caught his breath, whispering her name sweetly into her skin as he lay there for a long time.


All too soon, though, reality reared its ugly head in the guise of aching muscles and sharp edges poking into flesh.  Emily squirmed slightly, but it was all Richard needed to pull him back into himself.  He kissed her gently and then took several tissues from the box on his desk, carefully extricating himself before reaching out his free hand to help her to her feet.


She blushed, even with so many Manhattans in her system and the voices of so many drag queens cheering her on in her imagination.  She blushed and lowered her eyes as she stood before her husband, her beloved Richard, naked and satisfied and terrified of what might happen to them before they passed beyond this point in their lives.


When he pulled her into his arms, there was nothing for either of them to say.  They said it in the strength of his arms, the warmth of her cheek against his chest, the sweetness of his lips against her hair.  This too shall pass, their bodies seemed to be saying, even as the spell wore off and they were Richard and Emily again.


He held her for a long time, and then reached for the jacket they’d thrown on the floor.  Always the gentleman, that Richard, Emily thought as he wrapped her in it, kissing the tip of her nose as he did so.


“Come to bed, Richard?” she whispered.  She wanted to be with him, to curl into his arms and feel that protective warmth again.  “Please?”


He looked at her with the saddest eyes, and then turned to the mess they’d made of his files.  “I…” 


She didn’t want to hear him say it, prayed to any god who would listen not to let him say it.  But she held her tongue, knowing that no amount of prayer was going to alter the outcome of this moment.


“I have to finish my work,” he said.


Emily nodded, her lower lip caught slightly between her teeth as she struggled to maintain her poise.  “Don’t be too late,” she whispered.  Then she gathered her things and headed off, alone, to bed.


The End


If you wish to provide feedback, please follow this link.