Breathe
Title: Breathe
Author: Rahalia [ rahalia_cat@livejournal.com ]
Category: Improv. Written for contrelamontre's Even watching him felt like being a voyeur challenge
Genre: RPS
Part: Standalone fic
Pairing: Ewan McGregor / Baz Luhrmann
Rating: R
Summary: Sometimes even a genius can take things too far.
Feedback: is like oxygen ;O)
Spoilers: None
Archive: contrelamontre, kleio, and my site. Anyone else, please ask.
Disclaimers: All this gleaned only from a kiss seen on a DVD extra and a few suggestive photographs. Baz belongs to Baz, Ewan belongs to Ewan. It's fiction. Damn.
Author's Notes: 21 minutes from start to finish.
Even watching him feels like being a voyeur. Seeing his hands clutch at her, fingertips digging into skin so white that I'm already mentally briefing makeup to cover bruises tomorrow, hurts me as much as it pains her. Hearing his voice cry out for her, an anguished howl that goes beyond grief and across the borders of pain into somewhere - God knows where - in his own life; something terrible that he has dredged up to give him the tears he needs to make this scene so utterly and terribly real.
I call, "Cut," so quietly that I have to do it twice. Cameras roll down, boom mikes lift and I gesture for the peripherals to move away. Already she is holding him as he sobs, still far too deeply in role to come out of it. She's cradling him against her now, rocking him gently, pressing tiny kisses to his hair that I know he can't feel.
I need to get him out of here. He's too far into this. I've dragged too much emotion from him. Breathe. He needs to breathe.
"Out," I say softly. "All of you. Out."
Nic raises her head as the crew melt silently from the soundstage until there are only the three of us remaining. "You want me to go, too, Baz?" she asks, still cradling his head against her shoulder.
"Would you mind, darling? I need to get him to somewhere quiet. Somewhere he can feel safe." I rub one hand over the back of my neck. "Shouldn't have done it like this," I mutter.
"Well you'd better come over here and get him then," she says, looking down, "because I don't think he's going to move otherwise."
I cross the rose petal-strewn floor and crouch down, taking hold of Ewan's arms and guiding him gently out of Nic's embrace. Standing slowly, I bring him to an upright position. He's shaky, but he's holding together.
"Thanks, love. Would you just tell everyone on the way out that we're wrapped for the night?"
She nods, taking the tiny steps that are all her dress will allow her until she's gone, the soundstage door closing with a distant clapping sound. I look down at Ewan. His gaze is downcast, his eyes red. He sniffs pathetically and it makes me smile. He feels like a little boy who has fallen over in the school yard and grazed his knee. I just wish I could make this all better with a Band Aid and a few whispered words of comfort, but I think it's going to take a lot more than that somehow.
"C'mon," I say to him. "Let's get you out of here."
He clings to me as we cross the soundstage, the sickly scent of roses coming from the petals crushed beneath our feet. I take him out by a side door, close to where my car is parked. I need him far away from here. I need to be able to hold him without the worry that a technician will stick his head around the door to ask about sound levels for tomorrow morning, or that Angus will walk in with a last-minute query about the Black Diamonds costume.
I think that I need to breathe, too. I thought this was going to be easy, but it's not. I've had relationships with people on-set before. Never had this much trouble with them. Never had to be so constantly there for them. Ewan is far from needy, but this role is making him like that in a way that's starting to scare me. He's becoming Christian in far too many aspects. It shocked the hell out of me to hear him start to stutter when he asked if we could change a scene around a few days back. A stutter!
Christ...
Driving to Iona, I ask myself once again what the hell I'm doing to these two bright and beautiful people. I wonder what I'll be writing in my diary tomorrow morning when I find a few moments. Yesterday I dragged Ewan into the darkest depths of his soul and made him sob like a child that's lost his mother.
Way to go, Baz.
I drive almost blind to Iona. I could do this journey with my eyes shut. In fact, I'm aware of glancing a lot more at Ewan in the passenger seat than at the road. It's a wonder I don't wrap the Merc around a tree.
His room? My room? One of the guest suites?
My room. Damn it, I need to feel grounded, too. So much guilt, so much pain. No doubt later on there'll be some anger, too. Can't have him suffering that in a room he's going to continue to sleep in.
He stands there, still the helpless little boy, as I undress him, trying to maintain continuous physical contact; hands on skin, kisses pressed to his face, his shoulders, his hair. He settles beneath the covers with a murmur that goes straight to my heart and I divest myself of my own clothes quickly, slipping in beside him. The warmth of his body never fails to surprise me as he curls up to me, arms sliding around my waist, forehead seeking his favourite place, nestled somewhere against my throat.
Tomorrow we'll shoot the elephant medley scene. Yes. Tomorrow I'll let them fall in love.
Author: Rahalia [ rahalia_cat@livejournal.com ]
Category: Improv. Written for contrelamontre's Even watching him felt like being a voyeur challenge
Genre: RPS
Part: Standalone fic
Pairing: Ewan McGregor / Baz Luhrmann
Rating: R
Summary: Sometimes even a genius can take things too far.
Feedback: is like oxygen ;O)
Spoilers: None
Archive: contrelamontre, kleio, and my site. Anyone else, please ask.
Disclaimers: All this gleaned only from a kiss seen on a DVD extra and a few suggestive photographs. Baz belongs to Baz, Ewan belongs to Ewan. It's fiction. Damn.
Author's Notes: 21 minutes from start to finish.
Even watching him feels like being a voyeur. Seeing his hands clutch at her, fingertips digging into skin so white that I'm already mentally briefing makeup to cover bruises tomorrow, hurts me as much as it pains her. Hearing his voice cry out for her, an anguished howl that goes beyond grief and across the borders of pain into somewhere - God knows where - in his own life; something terrible that he has dredged up to give him the tears he needs to make this scene so utterly and terribly real.
I call, "Cut," so quietly that I have to do it twice. Cameras roll down, boom mikes lift and I gesture for the peripherals to move away. Already she is holding him as he sobs, still far too deeply in role to come out of it. She's cradling him against her now, rocking him gently, pressing tiny kisses to his hair that I know he can't feel.
I need to get him out of here. He's too far into this. I've dragged too much emotion from him. Breathe. He needs to breathe.
"Out," I say softly. "All of you. Out."
Nic raises her head as the crew melt silently from the soundstage until there are only the three of us remaining. "You want me to go, too, Baz?" she asks, still cradling his head against her shoulder.
"Would you mind, darling? I need to get him to somewhere quiet. Somewhere he can feel safe." I rub one hand over the back of my neck. "Shouldn't have done it like this," I mutter.
"Well you'd better come over here and get him then," she says, looking down, "because I don't think he's going to move otherwise."
I cross the rose petal-strewn floor and crouch down, taking hold of Ewan's arms and guiding him gently out of Nic's embrace. Standing slowly, I bring him to an upright position. He's shaky, but he's holding together.
"Thanks, love. Would you just tell everyone on the way out that we're wrapped for the night?"
She nods, taking the tiny steps that are all her dress will allow her until she's gone, the soundstage door closing with a distant clapping sound. I look down at Ewan. His gaze is downcast, his eyes red. He sniffs pathetically and it makes me smile. He feels like a little boy who has fallen over in the school yard and grazed his knee. I just wish I could make this all better with a Band Aid and a few whispered words of comfort, but I think it's going to take a lot more than that somehow.
"C'mon," I say to him. "Let's get you out of here."
He clings to me as we cross the soundstage, the sickly scent of roses coming from the petals crushed beneath our feet. I take him out by a side door, close to where my car is parked. I need him far away from here. I need to be able to hold him without the worry that a technician will stick his head around the door to ask about sound levels for tomorrow morning, or that Angus will walk in with a last-minute query about the Black Diamonds costume.
I think that I need to breathe, too. I thought this was going to be easy, but it's not. I've had relationships with people on-set before. Never had this much trouble with them. Never had to be so constantly there for them. Ewan is far from needy, but this role is making him like that in a way that's starting to scare me. He's becoming Christian in far too many aspects. It shocked the hell out of me to hear him start to stutter when he asked if we could change a scene around a few days back. A stutter!
Christ...
Driving to Iona, I ask myself once again what the hell I'm doing to these two bright and beautiful people. I wonder what I'll be writing in my diary tomorrow morning when I find a few moments. Yesterday I dragged Ewan into the darkest depths of his soul and made him sob like a child that's lost his mother.
Way to go, Baz.
I drive almost blind to Iona. I could do this journey with my eyes shut. In fact, I'm aware of glancing a lot more at Ewan in the passenger seat than at the road. It's a wonder I don't wrap the Merc around a tree.
His room? My room? One of the guest suites?
My room. Damn it, I need to feel grounded, too. So much guilt, so much pain. No doubt later on there'll be some anger, too. Can't have him suffering that in a room he's going to continue to sleep in.
He stands there, still the helpless little boy, as I undress him, trying to maintain continuous physical contact; hands on skin, kisses pressed to his face, his shoulders, his hair. He settles beneath the covers with a murmur that goes straight to my heart and I divest myself of my own clothes quickly, slipping in beside him. The warmth of his body never fails to surprise me as he curls up to me, arms sliding around my waist, forehead seeking his favourite place, nestled somewhere against my throat.
Tomorrow we'll shoot the elephant medley scene. Yes. Tomorrow I'll let them fall in love.