Chapter 4 or Tupelo Honey
Yay! Another update from the one and only me! Just kidding...sort of. Guh, too tired to write. May be many a typo in this one...
Title: Sweet As Tupelo Honey
Author: Why, me, silly!(irish_channel)
Pairing: Cillian/Hayden/Ewan eventually
Rating: PG-13 to mild R for language now. (That will change....XD)
Disclaimer: I do not own Cillian, Ewan, nor Hayden.
Summary: Cillian and Ewan dance. XD
Sweet As Tupelo Honey
Chapter Four: Jonathan’s Sick Day
The past week was like nothing Cillian had ever experienced (or ever cared to experience) in the past. He’d won himself the role (surprise, surprise…) and, upon meeting the costume woman (a German lass named Uteh who spoke minimal English on good days), had known his days as a smart assed, tail-chasing handsome jerk were over if this play made it past small gay communities in Liverpool. Which he actually doubted it would.
He was going to make his first appearance in drag in a full Marie Antoinette getup complete with silken gloves, heavy eye makeup, and a hoop skirt. Luckily, Ewan had kept his word: he was only in a dress about 1/4 of the time, and some of them were quite lovely, actually.
Jonathan, who was starring as Billy, was a wonderful person to work with, all beautiful smiles and nonchalance. Philip had dancing lessons with the two of them twice a week (not the best part of working in this play, but certainly the most entertaining.) Jonathan and Cillian would bet each other what shirt would go with the white tights the following day…and, occasionally, even be right.
Ewan was a fair director, a great director, a colossal director. Every day, he wore a variation of the same thing. A form fitting black shirt, and jeans or a pair of loose black pants. And that would have been it. That would have been his complete opinion of G. Ewan McGregor. Finis, fin, etc.
…if Jonathan hadn’t been sick that Tuesday next.
Cillian woke up Tuesday morning with a slight headache. He and Hayden had gone out last night to a bar and stayed on until midnight, when they came stumbling back into the greenest house within miles, singing Irish pub songs that only Cillian knew all the lyrics to.
Looking to his side, he saw that Hayden had crashed on the bed next to him. Normal. They “slept” together often when they went out, too tired and full of drunken misery to settle into their own beds.
Cillian thoughtfully propped himself up on his elbow and gave the thin Canadian a shake. “Wake up, Hayd…come on, luv.”
“Hmm…wha?” Hayden groggily awoke, shaking his head in a nonsensical way, and then…wrapping his arms about Cillian’s shoulders. This seems to happen frequently… Cillian glanced at his bedside clock. Shit, I’m gonna be late!
“Oh,” a half conscious Hayden moaned, “Don’t go, Cillian…”
Cillian smiled and tucked the boy back in. He couldn’t remember if Hayden had classes today or not. “You’re a cute kid,” he said, before shutting his door and preparing for the day.
When he got to the now-familiar blue building, the Scottish receptionist waved him over discreetly, almost as if she were going to tell him a dirty secret.
“Cillian!”
“Yes,” Cillian answered, more than a little annoyed. He was already five minutes late for rehearsal…dance lessons today, actually, “What is it?”
“It’s Ewan…” She sounded concerned. Was he okay? Was he sick?
“Yes…” was all he could bring himself to say. He found himself paranoid, self conscious, and overly defensive when it came to Ewan. An ‘I’m not gay!’ response.
The receptionist smiled, and produced a large bouquet of flowers. “Would you give these to him?”
Cillian was momentarily stunned. Maybe he didn’t share his sexuality with all of his co -workers. “…Sure.”
When Cillian reached the fourth floor, he was once again surprised. Ewan was waiting right inside the theater, pacing.
“This is a bad day to be late, Murphy.” Ewan looked genuinely upset, more so than one late arrival should have made him. Oh, god, what if I get FIRED again…no!
“I’m sorry, but I got a late start this morning.” This wasn’t going to do at all. Cillian had to DO something. Suddenly remembering the flowers, he produced them from his jacket pocket and pushed them into Ewan’s hands. “And I, uh, stopped and got you these. As an, um, good luck with the play…present.”
It was Ewan’s turn to be stunned. “Thanks,” he said, smiling again. He was much more handsome when he smiled. He had very charismatic teeth.
Suddenly, he was frowning again. “Jonathan’s sick.”
“Um…isn’t he allowed to be?”
“Yes, yes, but why did it have to be a dancing day? You both need to learn the steps for Act II before the start of the fucking play!”
That was the first time Cillian heard Ewan say anything worse than ‘fudge’. And then out popped the brilliant suggestion that would eventually be Cillian’s downfall.
“Can’t someone fill in?”
“Yes…they could. But that would only help you.”
Cillian shrugged. “Jon can practice on his own time. He’s a MUCH better dancer.”
***
“Okay,” Hoffman said, stepping with one dainty foot, “On my count. One, two, one two three…” The music began and Ewan put his hand on the small of Cillian’s back, a serious expression on his face.
Jon was almost as new to these dance steps as Cillian, so they had common ground to laugh about, but Ewan had designed these steps, and he knew them intimately.
Ewan’s body was different than Jonathan’s, and the butterflies returned to Cillian’s stomach. He was harder, with more angles and lines. Almost as though he were simply more complex. Ewan sort of hummed along to the songs, and shook his head when Cillian made a wrong move.
After another half hour of practice, Hoffman left to go on his date (what a surprise…) and the two were instructed to spend the next hour preparing Cillian for his dance scene.
“Okay, no, no…with your right foot, please. God,” Ewan began laughing after the third time Cillian stepped on his foot, “you’re hopeless.”
Cillian began laughing too. They were dancing close, with Ewan’s chest pressed against his back. “Sorry…I’m just having trouble concentrating.”
“And why’s that?” Ewan sort of cooed. His voice grew deeper. “Why did you get the flowers?”
Cillian’s voice grew higher, more nervous by the second. “I just….they were so pretty….”
The music grew quiet, instrumental.
“Uh-huh…” Ewan breathed down the side of Cillian’s throat, which was being cleared noisily.
Without warning, his throat was attacked with a hungry kiss. He felt a hand roaming up the inside of his little red practice skirt.
“Um…” Cillian began, breaking away. “I’m sorry. I really just don’t uh, run that way…” But he was clearly upset as he dashed out of the room.
Ewan stared on in shocked silence. That man really was full of surprises.
Title: Sweet As Tupelo Honey
Author: Why, me, silly!(irish_channel)
Pairing: Cillian/Hayden/Ewan eventually
Rating: PG-13 to mild R for language now. (That will change....XD)
Disclaimer: I do not own Cillian, Ewan, nor Hayden.
Summary: Cillian and Ewan dance. XD
Sweet As Tupelo Honey
Chapter Four: Jonathan’s Sick Day
The past week was like nothing Cillian had ever experienced (or ever cared to experience) in the past. He’d won himself the role (surprise, surprise…) and, upon meeting the costume woman (a German lass named Uteh who spoke minimal English on good days), had known his days as a smart assed, tail-chasing handsome jerk were over if this play made it past small gay communities in Liverpool. Which he actually doubted it would.
He was going to make his first appearance in drag in a full Marie Antoinette getup complete with silken gloves, heavy eye makeup, and a hoop skirt. Luckily, Ewan had kept his word: he was only in a dress about 1/4 of the time, and some of them were quite lovely, actually.
Jonathan, who was starring as Billy, was a wonderful person to work with, all beautiful smiles and nonchalance. Philip had dancing lessons with the two of them twice a week (not the best part of working in this play, but certainly the most entertaining.) Jonathan and Cillian would bet each other what shirt would go with the white tights the following day…and, occasionally, even be right.
Ewan was a fair director, a great director, a colossal director. Every day, he wore a variation of the same thing. A form fitting black shirt, and jeans or a pair of loose black pants. And that would have been it. That would have been his complete opinion of G. Ewan McGregor. Finis, fin, etc.
…if Jonathan hadn’t been sick that Tuesday next.
Cillian woke up Tuesday morning with a slight headache. He and Hayden had gone out last night to a bar and stayed on until midnight, when they came stumbling back into the greenest house within miles, singing Irish pub songs that only Cillian knew all the lyrics to.
Looking to his side, he saw that Hayden had crashed on the bed next to him. Normal. They “slept” together often when they went out, too tired and full of drunken misery to settle into their own beds.
Cillian thoughtfully propped himself up on his elbow and gave the thin Canadian a shake. “Wake up, Hayd…come on, luv.”
“Hmm…wha?” Hayden groggily awoke, shaking his head in a nonsensical way, and then…wrapping his arms about Cillian’s shoulders. This seems to happen frequently… Cillian glanced at his bedside clock. Shit, I’m gonna be late!
“Oh,” a half conscious Hayden moaned, “Don’t go, Cillian…”
Cillian smiled and tucked the boy back in. He couldn’t remember if Hayden had classes today or not. “You’re a cute kid,” he said, before shutting his door and preparing for the day.
When he got to the now-familiar blue building, the Scottish receptionist waved him over discreetly, almost as if she were going to tell him a dirty secret.
“Cillian!”
“Yes,” Cillian answered, more than a little annoyed. He was already five minutes late for rehearsal…dance lessons today, actually, “What is it?”
“It’s Ewan…” She sounded concerned. Was he okay? Was he sick?
“Yes…” was all he could bring himself to say. He found himself paranoid, self conscious, and overly defensive when it came to Ewan. An ‘I’m not gay!’ response.
The receptionist smiled, and produced a large bouquet of flowers. “Would you give these to him?”
Cillian was momentarily stunned. Maybe he didn’t share his sexuality with all of his co -workers. “…Sure.”
When Cillian reached the fourth floor, he was once again surprised. Ewan was waiting right inside the theater, pacing.
“This is a bad day to be late, Murphy.” Ewan looked genuinely upset, more so than one late arrival should have made him. Oh, god, what if I get FIRED again…no!
“I’m sorry, but I got a late start this morning.” This wasn’t going to do at all. Cillian had to DO something. Suddenly remembering the flowers, he produced them from his jacket pocket and pushed them into Ewan’s hands. “And I, uh, stopped and got you these. As an, um, good luck with the play…present.”
It was Ewan’s turn to be stunned. “Thanks,” he said, smiling again. He was much more handsome when he smiled. He had very charismatic teeth.
Suddenly, he was frowning again. “Jonathan’s sick.”
“Um…isn’t he allowed to be?”
“Yes, yes, but why did it have to be a dancing day? You both need to learn the steps for Act II before the start of the fucking play!”
That was the first time Cillian heard Ewan say anything worse than ‘fudge’. And then out popped the brilliant suggestion that would eventually be Cillian’s downfall.
“Can’t someone fill in?”
“Yes…they could. But that would only help you.”
Cillian shrugged. “Jon can practice on his own time. He’s a MUCH better dancer.”
***
“Okay,” Hoffman said, stepping with one dainty foot, “On my count. One, two, one two three…” The music began and Ewan put his hand on the small of Cillian’s back, a serious expression on his face.
Jon was almost as new to these dance steps as Cillian, so they had common ground to laugh about, but Ewan had designed these steps, and he knew them intimately.
Ewan’s body was different than Jonathan’s, and the butterflies returned to Cillian’s stomach. He was harder, with more angles and lines. Almost as though he were simply more complex. Ewan sort of hummed along to the songs, and shook his head when Cillian made a wrong move.
After another half hour of practice, Hoffman left to go on his date (what a surprise…) and the two were instructed to spend the next hour preparing Cillian for his dance scene.
“Okay, no, no…with your right foot, please. God,” Ewan began laughing after the third time Cillian stepped on his foot, “you’re hopeless.”
Cillian began laughing too. They were dancing close, with Ewan’s chest pressed against his back. “Sorry…I’m just having trouble concentrating.”
“And why’s that?” Ewan sort of cooed. His voice grew deeper. “Why did you get the flowers?”
Cillian’s voice grew higher, more nervous by the second. “I just….they were so pretty….”
The music grew quiet, instrumental.
“Uh-huh…” Ewan breathed down the side of Cillian’s throat, which was being cleared noisily.
Without warning, his throat was attacked with a hungry kiss. He felt a hand roaming up the inside of his little red practice skirt.
“Um…” Cillian began, breaking away. “I’m sorry. I really just don’t uh, run that way…” But he was clearly upset as he dashed out of the room.
Ewan stared on in shocked silence. That man really was full of surprises.