FIC: 'Cherries', Velvet Goldmine RPS, Christian/Ewan
Title: 'Cherries'
Author: Gabby Hope (yllosubmarine@yahoo.com)
Fandom: Velvet Goldmine RPS
Pairing: Christian Bale/Ewan McGregor
Rating: R
fb: Don't make me beg. ;)
Disclaimer: Don't know them, don't own them.
Notes: c'mon. Someone had to. Challenge using the voyeuristic line. For jadelynne, because she made me do it. About forty minutes.
~~
Even watching him feels like being a voyeur.
The glitter flies, circulates in the air like dust particles, lands, and Christian wonders if it makes Ewan's eyes sting. If that is why he's squinting his eyes just so. If that is why he's blinking and looking up, up toward where Christian is standing, smiling and blinking, blinking and smiling. With glitter swimming through the air around them.
Christian smiles and waves; the effect of wanna-be-normalcy. Ewan grins and waves in return. More glitter lands on his face. Golden glitter that matches the color of his skin and his bronzeish hair so wonderfully, shining in the stage lights, shining in the camera lights.
Take three.
The track is played. Curt Wild singing... she's got TV eye on me... she's got TV eeeye... and more glitter is thrown into the air.
Christian knows what'll happen next.
And it reminds him of how very content he is just to watch. To smile quietly to himself. To think, oh, yes. Before I cut off all of my hair and began to play Arthur, the grown up, I had kneeled on that rooftop with Ewan, naked and snorting laughter at first and then -- fuck, it had seemed so very real, hadn't it? -- moaning and writhing so close so close behind. I had him. For a split second. Had all of Ewan's attention.
Which is quite a thing to say, isn't it?
Ewan is more than pleased to show off. Christian's never really cared. He's not self conscious, no. Fuck, he's sang and danced on film before. He's even done a couple nudie shots. (well, not exactly.) But not to any extent, not to Ewan's extent, and Ewan is a brave man coming into a great career, and Christian was made a star at the age of twelve, but that doesn't mean that he has Ewan's Star Power, his will to dominate... himself.
Down come the pants. And, ha. Christian's seen it all before. Yet. He can't help but stare.
Cut.
Change of camera angles.
Ewan keeps his pants down. He turns around, lifts a hand, but resists the urge to run it over his sticky, glittery skin. "That'll take forever to get of," Christian thinks. He runs his own hand down over his throat and to where his skin ends and his clothes begin.
Ewan's skin is soft. Not that Christian had touched it all, it's just that. Well. They had been so very pressed together, that Ewan's chest was against his back, and Christian had reached back and ran his fingers over the backs of Ewan's thighs, his ass, his lower back. And this had gone on forever and a day, with the cool air whipping around them, making Christian's eyes sting (yes, that was why), making his nipples hard, making his dick stand a little more firmer, and Ewan was so into it, so into holding his hips and pushing and grunting and pulling Christian back, making Christian moan softly and think, if I, if we... WERE, this is how it'd be. And.
"Fuck, they're not even taping us!"
"....huh? Oh."
The people on the other roof were just watching. They weren't even grinning, smiling. Snickering. They were content to watch. Almost as into it as Ewan had seemed, only they weren't moving a muscle, just watching, like men at a peep show, except for the fondling and drooling and eyes popping out of their heads like on cartoons and...
"You sick wankers!" Ewan had shouted. Pulled away. Cold air all around Christian, raising goose bumps, making him shiver, until an assistant showed up and gave them robes and Ewan had turned back to him, held out a hand, "C'mon, let's get something to drink," and that was that.
Ewan's hands are strong and warm.
But, now. Even watching him feels like being a voyeur. Like the people on the roof. But, no. That's not exactly right. Bad, ah, wording right? And it isn't as if Christian's a stickler for language use, it's only that he's trying so very hard to avert his eyes, but Ewan keeps pulling him in, on purpose. All his fault. Which is precisely why he's here on his day off. Watching Curt Wild do his thing on stage, his first appearance, the oil-and-glitter duo mixed so very sinfully on Ewan's face and chest that if, when, he becomes a gigantic star, it'll come back to haunt him.
Does Ewan care? No.
It makes Christian smile. Think of warm liquor. Think of laughter shared over glasses and,
"My first gay sex scene."
"No! Really? Mine too!"
"Broken cherries, eh?"
"Cherries were a sign of the time."
"Very true!"
"And, ha, and what a way to go about it all."
"Rooftop."
"A dozen people watching."
"Fuckers."
"What a riot."
"...I'm glad it was someone like you, mate," Ewan had said, far too seriously, far too out of the blue.
"Ha, gee, I feel honoured," Christian had replied. He held his glass with one hand, steadied his elbow in the other. It still shook. Barely.
"No. Really." And then a warm smile.
Christian couldn't do anything but laugh softly, look down into his drink. Think, how long should I wait until I reach across the table and touch him?
Ewan got there first. Right on his slightly shivery, just barely shaking, forearm. Warm fingers.
They didn't say anything else.
And, funny. Christian hadn't thought that Ewan could seem any more into the act of making it.
Crash, bang, boom, back to the present, away from the past.
Ewan hisses on stage, and Christian thinks, yes, definitely glitter in his eyes. Must hurt like a bitch. He almost wants to walk over to him, touch him, ask softly, are you okay, can I get you something, do you need help, talk to me, touch me, like when...
Better if Christian just stays where he is.
Someone bumps into him from behind. Make-up assistant. "Christian, honey! Your day off. Just watching the action?" She smiles, smacks her gum, nods to where Ewan is getting help from a balding man with a scarf around his neck (how fitting) and a little paintbrush like thing in his hand, dabbing at Ewan's eyes.
Christian smiles, runs a hand over his short, adult hair, and looks up, catches Ewan's eye. Another exchanged smile. Another half-wave
Okay, ready? Lights!
Action.
"Yeah. You could say that."
fin.
Author: Gabby Hope (yllosubmarine@yahoo.com)
Fandom: Velvet Goldmine RPS
Pairing: Christian Bale/Ewan McGregor
Rating: R
fb: Don't make me beg. ;)
Disclaimer: Don't know them, don't own them.
Notes: c'mon. Someone had to. Challenge using the voyeuristic line. For jadelynne, because she made me do it. About forty minutes.
~~
Even watching him feels like being a voyeur.
The glitter flies, circulates in the air like dust particles, lands, and Christian wonders if it makes Ewan's eyes sting. If that is why he's squinting his eyes just so. If that is why he's blinking and looking up, up toward where Christian is standing, smiling and blinking, blinking and smiling. With glitter swimming through the air around them.
Christian smiles and waves; the effect of wanna-be-normalcy. Ewan grins and waves in return. More glitter lands on his face. Golden glitter that matches the color of his skin and his bronzeish hair so wonderfully, shining in the stage lights, shining in the camera lights.
Take three.
The track is played. Curt Wild singing... she's got TV eye on me... she's got TV eeeye... and more glitter is thrown into the air.
Christian knows what'll happen next.
And it reminds him of how very content he is just to watch. To smile quietly to himself. To think, oh, yes. Before I cut off all of my hair and began to play Arthur, the grown up, I had kneeled on that rooftop with Ewan, naked and snorting laughter at first and then -- fuck, it had seemed so very real, hadn't it? -- moaning and writhing so close so close behind. I had him. For a split second. Had all of Ewan's attention.
Which is quite a thing to say, isn't it?
Ewan is more than pleased to show off. Christian's never really cared. He's not self conscious, no. Fuck, he's sang and danced on film before. He's even done a couple nudie shots. (well, not exactly.) But not to any extent, not to Ewan's extent, and Ewan is a brave man coming into a great career, and Christian was made a star at the age of twelve, but that doesn't mean that he has Ewan's Star Power, his will to dominate... himself.
Down come the pants. And, ha. Christian's seen it all before. Yet. He can't help but stare.
Cut.
Change of camera angles.
Ewan keeps his pants down. He turns around, lifts a hand, but resists the urge to run it over his sticky, glittery skin. "That'll take forever to get of," Christian thinks. He runs his own hand down over his throat and to where his skin ends and his clothes begin.
Ewan's skin is soft. Not that Christian had touched it all, it's just that. Well. They had been so very pressed together, that Ewan's chest was against his back, and Christian had reached back and ran his fingers over the backs of Ewan's thighs, his ass, his lower back. And this had gone on forever and a day, with the cool air whipping around them, making Christian's eyes sting (yes, that was why), making his nipples hard, making his dick stand a little more firmer, and Ewan was so into it, so into holding his hips and pushing and grunting and pulling Christian back, making Christian moan softly and think, if I, if we... WERE, this is how it'd be. And.
"Fuck, they're not even taping us!"
"....huh? Oh."
The people on the other roof were just watching. They weren't even grinning, smiling. Snickering. They were content to watch. Almost as into it as Ewan had seemed, only they weren't moving a muscle, just watching, like men at a peep show, except for the fondling and drooling and eyes popping out of their heads like on cartoons and...
"You sick wankers!" Ewan had shouted. Pulled away. Cold air all around Christian, raising goose bumps, making him shiver, until an assistant showed up and gave them robes and Ewan had turned back to him, held out a hand, "C'mon, let's get something to drink," and that was that.
Ewan's hands are strong and warm.
But, now. Even watching him feels like being a voyeur. Like the people on the roof. But, no. That's not exactly right. Bad, ah, wording right? And it isn't as if Christian's a stickler for language use, it's only that he's trying so very hard to avert his eyes, but Ewan keeps pulling him in, on purpose. All his fault. Which is precisely why he's here on his day off. Watching Curt Wild do his thing on stage, his first appearance, the oil-and-glitter duo mixed so very sinfully on Ewan's face and chest that if, when, he becomes a gigantic star, it'll come back to haunt him.
Does Ewan care? No.
It makes Christian smile. Think of warm liquor. Think of laughter shared over glasses and,
"My first gay sex scene."
"No! Really? Mine too!"
"Broken cherries, eh?"
"Cherries were a sign of the time."
"Very true!"
"And, ha, and what a way to go about it all."
"Rooftop."
"A dozen people watching."
"Fuckers."
"What a riot."
"...I'm glad it was someone like you, mate," Ewan had said, far too seriously, far too out of the blue.
"Ha, gee, I feel honoured," Christian had replied. He held his glass with one hand, steadied his elbow in the other. It still shook. Barely.
"No. Really." And then a warm smile.
Christian couldn't do anything but laugh softly, look down into his drink. Think, how long should I wait until I reach across the table and touch him?
Ewan got there first. Right on his slightly shivery, just barely shaking, forearm. Warm fingers.
They didn't say anything else.
And, funny. Christian hadn't thought that Ewan could seem any more into the act of making it.
Crash, bang, boom, back to the present, away from the past.
Ewan hisses on stage, and Christian thinks, yes, definitely glitter in his eyes. Must hurt like a bitch. He almost wants to walk over to him, touch him, ask softly, are you okay, can I get you something, do you need help, talk to me, touch me, like when...
Better if Christian just stays where he is.
Someone bumps into him from behind. Make-up assistant. "Christian, honey! Your day off. Just watching the action?" She smiles, smacks her gum, nods to where Ewan is getting help from a balding man with a scarf around his neck (how fitting) and a little paintbrush like thing in his hand, dabbing at Ewan's eyes.
Christian smiles, runs a hand over his short, adult hair, and looks up, catches Ewan's eye. Another exchanged smile. Another half-wave
Okay, ready? Lights!
Action.
"Yeah. You could say that."
fin.