Fic: 'Stay or Go', Trainspotting RPS, Ewan McGregor/Jonny Lee Miller
Title: 'Stay or Go'
Author: Gabby Hope
Fandom: Trainspotting RPS
Pairing: Ewan McGregor/Jonny Lee Miller
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don’t know them, don’t own them, not mine in the least. I also do not own their fictional characters, or Trainspotting itself. Both Irvine Welsh and Danny Boyle have those honors.
Notes: For the song!muse challenge at contre la montre. Used The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Go Now?” as inspiration.
~~
When Jonny smiles, he resembles a wolf. Predator on the loose (like that Duran Duran song, aha, remember that one?). White teeth, straight and strong and solid, slashed through golden skin that in no way matches the bleak Scottish setting. Jonny shouldn't be in the picture, Ewan thinks. He doesn't mesh with the burred accent or the pale legs or the pubs or the boys, girls, women, men, Ewan himself. Ewan feels thin and gangly, like Renton should feel. Vulnerable, with his nicotine stained fingers (which Ewan didn't have to work to get, thank you very much), his buzzed head, his minus twenty pounds. Jonny did nothing to become Sick Boy but adopt a passable Scottish accent, which slips every now and then and sounds Welsh and/or damn near insane. He doesn't belong here.
"I don't belong here," He laughs into Ewan's ear as people chat around them. As cameras are meticulously placed, as extras smoke their real smokes and drink their real beers. It's noisy, and Jonny's elbow presses into Ewan's side as they stand there. Jonny shifts easily from one foot to the other as Ewan smacks away at his gum (juicy fruit but it's lost its flavor, and tastes more like the paper it was wrapped in), which one of the make up artist girls gave to him, winking and saying 'here you are' in a breathy voice.
"The fuck're you talking about?" Ewan asks, turning his head, his nose brushing against Jonny's cheek (smooth, warm, golden). He turns back to face the front a little too quickly. He reminds himself to call Eve later in the evening.
"It's like... I'm out of place, you know? Englishman stuck in some fucked up time warp. Fuck knows how I even got the damn role."
Ewan rolls his eyes and chuckles softly. "You're an actor, man. Actors act. YOU act."
A shake of the head, and Jonny switches his weight once more. His elbow digs deeper into Ewan's side. Ewan runs a hand over his head, wishing to feel hair once more. "It's different," Jonny murmurs, barely audible. "That's all."
"You're fucking daft," Ewan says, spitting his gum into his hand. He licks his lips, a sour expression on his face, and turns to pick up a napkin from the bar. The gum sticks to his hand when he tries to wrap it up in the napkin, and he picks at the left residue, grumbling to himself.
When he looks back up, Jonny's watching him, small smile playing across his bright face. He grins, fishes in his (worn, low riding, washed out, form fitting...) jeans, and holds out a piece of gum. "Freshen your breath!" the packaging brightly exclaims.
Ewan's always liked peppermint best.
~~
"It is all but five seconds," Danny explains, "But a very important shot."
It took four takes.
Ewan sat across the destined club area (Ewen and Robert nearby, but fuzzy, like the dancers, like the cameramen, like Ewan’s lower half), and watched as a pretty little girl sucked the sugar pill off of Jonny's tongue (long, pointed, snake-like, almost... flash of white, wolfish teeth, and Ewan's mouth waters, the back of his throat like sandpaper).
He watches all four times as Danny says "cut!", Jonny and the girl share a little secret laugh, and then Jonny turns around to face him.
Four times, Jonny turns to face him and smiles, his lips wet, his teeth gleaming in the flash of lights overhead.
Ewan asks for a cola somewhere along the line, his throat dry, his tongue craving something sweet. He thinks of dashing as soon as it is announced that they're done until tomorrow.
He stays.
~~
Later that night, Jonny kisses Ewan with sweet, sugary breath, and bites at his neck with his strong, sharp teeth. When he cups Ewan's face and looks down at him, chest heaving, eyes round and murky, half lidded, Ewan doesn't say a thing.
Jonny murmurs, "Yeah," and falls to Ewan's knees. He looks up at him, smiling, licking his lips, pulling Ewan's fly open with long, capable fingers.
Ewan twists his yellow fingers into Jonny's bleach blonde hair, and doesn't need to say a thing.
fin.
Author: Gabby Hope
Fandom: Trainspotting RPS
Pairing: Ewan McGregor/Jonny Lee Miller
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don’t know them, don’t own them, not mine in the least. I also do not own their fictional characters, or Trainspotting itself. Both Irvine Welsh and Danny Boyle have those honors.
Notes: For the song!muse challenge at contre la montre. Used The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Go Now?” as inspiration.
~~
When Jonny smiles, he resembles a wolf. Predator on the loose (like that Duran Duran song, aha, remember that one?). White teeth, straight and strong and solid, slashed through golden skin that in no way matches the bleak Scottish setting. Jonny shouldn't be in the picture, Ewan thinks. He doesn't mesh with the burred accent or the pale legs or the pubs or the boys, girls, women, men, Ewan himself. Ewan feels thin and gangly, like Renton should feel. Vulnerable, with his nicotine stained fingers (which Ewan didn't have to work to get, thank you very much), his buzzed head, his minus twenty pounds. Jonny did nothing to become Sick Boy but adopt a passable Scottish accent, which slips every now and then and sounds Welsh and/or damn near insane. He doesn't belong here.
"I don't belong here," He laughs into Ewan's ear as people chat around them. As cameras are meticulously placed, as extras smoke their real smokes and drink their real beers. It's noisy, and Jonny's elbow presses into Ewan's side as they stand there. Jonny shifts easily from one foot to the other as Ewan smacks away at his gum (juicy fruit but it's lost its flavor, and tastes more like the paper it was wrapped in), which one of the make up artist girls gave to him, winking and saying 'here you are' in a breathy voice.
"The fuck're you talking about?" Ewan asks, turning his head, his nose brushing against Jonny's cheek (smooth, warm, golden). He turns back to face the front a little too quickly. He reminds himself to call Eve later in the evening.
"It's like... I'm out of place, you know? Englishman stuck in some fucked up time warp. Fuck knows how I even got the damn role."
Ewan rolls his eyes and chuckles softly. "You're an actor, man. Actors act. YOU act."
A shake of the head, and Jonny switches his weight once more. His elbow digs deeper into Ewan's side. Ewan runs a hand over his head, wishing to feel hair once more. "It's different," Jonny murmurs, barely audible. "That's all."
"You're fucking daft," Ewan says, spitting his gum into his hand. He licks his lips, a sour expression on his face, and turns to pick up a napkin from the bar. The gum sticks to his hand when he tries to wrap it up in the napkin, and he picks at the left residue, grumbling to himself.
When he looks back up, Jonny's watching him, small smile playing across his bright face. He grins, fishes in his (worn, low riding, washed out, form fitting...) jeans, and holds out a piece of gum. "Freshen your breath!" the packaging brightly exclaims.
Ewan's always liked peppermint best.
~~
"It is all but five seconds," Danny explains, "But a very important shot."
It took four takes.
Ewan sat across the destined club area (Ewen and Robert nearby, but fuzzy, like the dancers, like the cameramen, like Ewan’s lower half), and watched as a pretty little girl sucked the sugar pill off of Jonny's tongue (long, pointed, snake-like, almost... flash of white, wolfish teeth, and Ewan's mouth waters, the back of his throat like sandpaper).
He watches all four times as Danny says "cut!", Jonny and the girl share a little secret laugh, and then Jonny turns around to face him.
Four times, Jonny turns to face him and smiles, his lips wet, his teeth gleaming in the flash of lights overhead.
Ewan asks for a cola somewhere along the line, his throat dry, his tongue craving something sweet. He thinks of dashing as soon as it is announced that they're done until tomorrow.
He stays.
~~
Later that night, Jonny kisses Ewan with sweet, sugary breath, and bites at his neck with his strong, sharp teeth. When he cups Ewan's face and looks down at him, chest heaving, eyes round and murky, half lidded, Ewan doesn't say a thing.
Jonny murmurs, "Yeah," and falls to Ewan's knees. He looks up at him, smiling, licking his lips, pulling Ewan's fly open with long, capable fingers.
Ewan twists his yellow fingers into Jonny's bleach blonde hair, and doesn't need to say a thing.
fin.