"Apropos of Nothing" (1/1)
Title: Apropos of Nothing (1/1)
Pairing: Robert Downey Jr./Jude Law (heresay about RDJ/Jake Gyllenhaal o.O)
Genre: Romance/humor
Rating: R (at most)
Warning: Language, mush, fluff, real-person slash
Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, but how much more interesting would things be if I did, eh? *sigh!*
Summary: Four random moments that are exactly what the title says. Little snippets out of Robert and Jude's friendship/working relationship/romance thing.
A/N: The 'inside voice' does in fact exist (click here to hear it - it happens at 0:07 seconds - Jude's being kinda loud, but you can hear Robert say 'you are, aren't you?' in that voice) - though I obviously don't know if Robert uses it for good or for evil where Jude's concerned irl. XD Also, the last vignette was inspired by this picture - don't throw things, srsly.
"Jude..." Stephen's voice, just as his smile, was just as warm and welcoming as ever. "My darling boy. It is an almost unspeakable pleasure to see you. Though if I were to remain silent, then you'd have no idea of how thrilled I am to find myself here in your bewitching company once again and I'd never wish to appear rude. Especially not to you, my dear. "
"Stephen," Jude said, beaming as he hurried over to hug Stephen, arms going around his midsection, head settling on his shoulder. He was nearly a head taller than Jude, but his gentleness and fondness for Jude were obvious as he wrapped his arms around him and hugged him close. "How have you been?"
"Oh, my dear, I've been as busy as a one-fingered man at a watch-winding factory," Stephen sighed, patting his back before releasing him. Jude gazed up at him, still grinning and listening avidly. "Round the world a dance or three, shooting documentaries, giving talks, being shuttled about hither and yon. I fear they'll stop purchasing airline tickets for me one day and just simply purchase a grand wooden box to pack me into, like King Kong."
Jude chuckled as he took half a step back. "They'd never," he declared. "We're just so happy to have you here. When Guy told us you'd signed on, I was well pleased. I was worried you wouldn't want to have anything to do with all this action movie tosh and turn us down."
"Even if it meant being thrown out on a battlefield with live ammunition being fired, I would have endured it, so I could be here with you," Stephen said, reaching up with one large hand to pat at Jude's cheek affectionately.
Chuckling, Jude felt something at the edge of his awareness tugging at him. Something he'd very nearly forgotten. "Oh, Stephen. I'm so sorry! I got so caught up - here, you must meet Robert," he said, cringing in embarrassment as he took a step back half a pace and to one side.
Indeed, Robert had been standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his corduroy great coat - a costume piece from the last Holmes movie that Robert had insisted on carrying over into the sequel - a crooked smile on his lips as he'd watched the two actors reunite. Shooting had already been underway for two or three weeks by then, so Jude and Robert were still in costume and full make-up when they met Stephen just outside of Guy's trailer.
When Guy had told them that Stephen had signed on to play Mycroft, Jude had been happy and genuinely excited at the news. Robert had seen Wilde many years before, when it was making its way around the festival circuits, and had treasured the film. Oscar Wilde had been a man, much like himself, who preferred to do things differently. Jude, just twenty-five when he'd appeared in the film, had been shockingly beautiful and had looked painfully young, despite his actual age.
Though Robert had never met Stephen before, he had to admit he was a bit nervous at the prospect - he was one of few men that Robert could feel anxious about meeting. Still, when Stephen looked up and looked past Jude to find him, his smile was just as friendly as it had been when directed at Jude.
"Robert... c'mon," Jude stage-whispered, crooking a finger at him and grinning from ear to ear.
Feeling very much in the hot seat, Robert did what he usually would and allowed the momentum of the moment to carry him - if Jude was excited, he would be, too. Inhaling, he stepped forward, withdrawing his hand from his pocket and holding it out to him.
"Mr. Fry. It's an honor and a pleasure, sir," he said, head tipped back so that he could look into his eyes. The height difference between them even more pronounced than it had been with Jude and Stephen. This wasn't a guy you could just saunter up to and start telling dirty jokes to, either - much like with the height difference, some sort of middle-ground had to be established with his demeanor, as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jude looking on and smiling almost proudly.
"Mr. Downey," Stephen said, hand going to his heart for a moment and resting there before he reached out and took Robert's hand. "I've never had the good fortune of meeting you, but make no mistake, I am quite familiar with your work. I suppose the fates decided it would be best if our meeting was in the spirit of something more constructive than some dreadful awards thingy where no one ever truly meets anyone."
Robert laughed, drawing his free hand from his other pocket and resting it lightly atop Stephen's as they shook. "I know exactly what you mean."
"What a curious bit of symmetry we find ourselves playing out, here," Stephen said, eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between Robert and Jude, only to finally settle on Robert's face, an expectant expression sitting there as he waited for Stephen to elaborate. "The young man who was once my fiery, irrepressible Bosie is now your stalwart and trustworthy Boswell."
"Stephen," Jude said, chuckling softly as he ducked his head. His gloved hand came to rest on Robert's shoulder, body swaying in close to Robert in spite of himself, unwittingly giving Stephen an even better view of the two of them side by side. Robert turned his head towards Jude, his grin lopsided but impossibly warm as he looked at his mustachioed friend.
"You are a such handsome duo," Stephen said. "Your light, my boy, and his dark. Your regulation bristle and his scruff." His gaze turned from Jude to Robert. "Oh, indeed, Mr. Downey, I do believe you have the very best of our Jude now."
"You have every assurance I can offer that we shall endeavor to be gentler with you than a number of the stunt ensemble have been with me," Robert said, dropping into his Holmes accent effortlessly.
"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I do say - any touch that's delivered by a handsome man, be it gentle or ferocious, is still a touch delivered by a handsome man and thus I have no objection to either," Mr. Fry replied with a subtly wicked quirk of his lips.
Robert threw his head back and laughed loud, clapping Stephen on the shoulder. Meanwhile, Jude mentally kicked himself for ever worrying in the first place; Robert was imminently lovable. It was a thing that was quickly proving itself an undeniable force, much like gravity.
-
"Does it ever make you tired?" Jude asked. He bit his lip, shutting the door and locking it behind them after the words had left the sounding chamber of his chest.
"Does what make me tired?" Robert answered with a question quietly, fingers gliding along the keys of his piano. There were two in the house, but this one was in Robert's 'office', surrounded by his elegant savage interior design choices mixed with sleek, minimalist furniture. The piano fit in with neither of these styles, but maybe that's why it was so perfect. He turned his head, gaze lifting from the keys to look at his friend as he sat next to him on the piano bench, a sweet, encouraging smile pushing itself into place on his mouth: first one corner and then the other. He didn't have to say 'you can ask me, you can tell me anything you want' - the smile did that for him.
"Being you?" Jude asked, a small smile barely curling up one corner of his own mouth. There was no teasing or humor, there. Just a friend asking a genuine question.
"Mmm," he hummed, eyes sliding away from Jude's face as he considered the question. The smile didn't fade, was just simply nudged into the background by a pensive line. His fingers coaxed a Peter Gabriel tune up from the keys, the movements almost like a meditation. "Sometimes. I guess."
"Why?" Jude lowered his eyes and watched Robert's fingers on the keys, feeling himself sinking into a sort of mesmerist trance as well, quite unwittingly.
"Whenever another actress drinks a little too much and goes crashing into a palm tree on Santa Monica Boulevard or an actor gets caught with a dollar bill in his wallet that's got the scent of a speck of coke on it that the drug-sniffing dog happens to catch, everybody wants to know what I think," he said, his tone measured. He didn't sound tired, exactly - more resigned, but the set of his shoulders gave him away. "Like I'm their father confessor or … some kinda professional rehab doctor who can save them. I'm not."
"No, I'd say you're something else altogether. You're a bloody walking miracle," Jude murmured, lifting his head to gaze at Robert. "All we ever hear in the news and tabloids is the tragedies. The falls. The disappointments. The crash and burn. But we never hear about people like you."
"Sure, you do," Robert said. "People do it all the time. It's just that I'm the one they pay attention to because I'm the schmuck on the movie posters. I mean, who am I? Really. I'm just a guy. I got through it. I ate a lot of shit. It wasn't fun. Eating shit's not fun, regardless of whether you've got a solid gold Bentley in the driveway or a Kia. You know."
"I suppose I do," he agreed, nodding. Sitting up a bit, he arched his back, feeling it pop, and he sighed, letting his back slump into the slouch he was used to. His mum had always pestered him about his awful posture; she'd been so delighted when he'd taken the Gigolo Joe role in A.I. and they'd all but resorted to brainwashing to teach him how to maintain the posture of a dancer. "I don't know. Maybe they look up to you as the king of paying back for mistakes. Most people don't like to admit that they've even done something wrong, much less several things - make that several very public things that you wound up serving time for and … that pretty much makes you the Superman of fucking up and making it better, to them."
"Ah-ah! The Iron Man of fucking up and making it better, if you please," Robert chided, a small but warm grin appearing as he played. "I'm faithful to the generous benefactors of my franchise." He played a few more measures and then nodded, his voice almost too soft to be heard over the piano. "Thank you."
-
There was a volume to him. To his voice. When he spoke, it was always unrestrained, irrepressible. Especially when he was 'on' - whether that was on a stage, accepting or presenting an award (or singing). On the screen, mugging for the cameras one moment and then crushing the audience's hearts the very next. Or on television, talking to anxious interviewers like he was no kind of big thing at all and putting them at ease.
He had an impressive set of lungs, for a longtime smoker. The volume he could manage was bloody incredible. He could yell and laugh so loud, it could make your ears ring - the yelling he could (admittedly, sometimes) do without, but the laughter made his heart do cheery cartwheels inside his ribcage. Jude didn't even really have to try very hard to make him laugh; Robert thought practically everything he said was hysterically funny. More often than not, all Robert would have to do is lift one of his eyebrows and give him one of those piercing looks and he'd feel his lips tick out and draw back into a smile in an almost Pavlovian response.
Robert could be quite loud when he wanted to be, but then there were other times that...
Jude had taken to calling it Robert's 'inside voice'. A low-key murmur that was barely recognizable as his usual brassy, assertive means of expression. He'd only ever heard Robert use it around him. It was a warm, alluring tone - it reminded Jude of curling up in front of a fire, snuggled down into a cashmere blanket - a sound you wanted to burrow into and be lost in. No growl or rumble or gravel to it - or even that characteristic cheeky, teasing humor - just smooth and deep and bewitching. It's the quietest and calmest that Robert ever sounds and, for Robert, that's quite the meaningful landmark. When he'd first heard Robert start using the inside voice around him, he'd actually looked around, trying to see who was talking to him, the voice sounded so unlike Robert's regular speaking voice.
Jude's sitting there bored at the press junket, head propped up on his hand. Robert leans in, lips so close to his ear - and that voice - speaking so low that not even the ultra-sensitive microphones can pick it up. In the periphery of his vision, he can see the flashes going off like faraway lightning. "See how he leans his cheek upon his hand," Robert whispers. It's not Hamlet, for which Jude had been preparing so dutifully during the course of shooting Sherlock Holmes, but to Robert, it's probably close enough. "O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek."
The same voice, incidentally, that he slips into after they've made love. Robert's arms winding around him from behind, drawing Jude back into his chest and holding on, their fingers laced together, as Robert rests his lips next to Jude's ear and just talks. About the cosmos, about the beauty of nature in chaos, about how they must have been reincarnated, that it was a certainty that they had known each other before. How else, then, to describe the immediacy of their rapport and the intensity of their closeness all those months ago?
Snatches of song lyrics, humming, and from the outside, it might seem like Robert is doing all this - engaging in all this post-coital mumbling - simply because he loves the sound of his own voice, but Jude knows better. Because even then, Robert isn't firing off at the rate of his own neurons - pow! kabang! bzzzt! - like he usually would. His voice is even, his pace elegantly measured, like all the Hamlet that Jude hadn't known he knew, rolling off his tongue as easily as someone else would rattle off their shopping list.
-
"You like us cute and unassuming, don't you?" He asked, a slow, knowing grin shaping his lips, no teeth to be seen. "That's how it was with him, wasn't it?"
"Him?" Robert asked, bushy dark eyebrow pinging up for a moment.
"Jake."
"Ahh." Robert lowered his eyes, then, only to lift them up to meet his a moment later, gleaming wickedly, shamelessly. "Maybe I do." His hand stroked up over his hip, feeling the heat of him through his pants. Questions floated amidst the dark ether of his gaze. "What made you ask me that?"
"I saw some pictures somewhere. You and Jake. You had your hand on his shoulder. It looked... very familiar," Jude mused, tipping his head back onto the pillow wedged under his head. "It was strange. Seeing that and thinking, 'I know what that feels like'. Being on the receiving end of you. Of your … affections."
"Oh, don't tell me you're jealous." Not a question. "Jude, that was years ago. Anyway, nothing even happened. We're friends. That's all."
"I'm not jealous," Jude replied, shaking his head, even as he reached out, hand smoothing along the white silk tie knotted so expertly around Robert's neck, hand caressing down his chest in the same motion. "I'd just... never known what I looked like from the outside. Never looked at any of the pictures. When I was standing next to you, with your hands all over me. Now I do."
"And?" Robert still wasn't quite sure where he was headed with that particular train of thought, eyes murky.
"I feel a bit like the Velveteen Rabbit, in that one story. The one toy tells him, if you're loved on long enough and hard enough, you eventually become real," Jude said, arching his back languorously, feeling Robert's hand go sliding up along his ribcage, the touch too steady and firm to be ticklish. "Mmm. I feel like I'm at that stage right before I become real. You know, button eyes falling off, ears all droopy and worn and … I couldn't be happier. That's what it's like, being yours."
"I'd never throw you out, like that kid in the story," Robert promised, palm settling on his chest so as to act as a landing pad for his chin, which touched down there just a moment later, dark eyes shining as they roved over Jude's face.
When Jude relaxed from his stretch, he reached out, the backs of his fingers brushing over Robert's cheek, feeling the prickle and scratch of his stubble against his skin, hearing the sandpaper rasp of it in the air. "I know," he murmured, a warm smile shaping his lips. "I'm not done loving the shine off of you, yet, either."
Pairing: Robert Downey Jr./Jude Law (heresay about RDJ/Jake Gyllenhaal o.O)
Genre: Romance/humor
Rating: R (at most)
Warning: Language, mush, fluff, real-person slash
Disclaimer: Not mine. Oh, but how much more interesting would things be if I did, eh? *sigh!*
Summary: Four random moments that are exactly what the title says. Little snippets out of Robert and Jude's friendship/working relationship/romance thing.
A/N: The 'inside voice' does in fact exist (click here to hear it - it happens at 0:07 seconds - Jude's being kinda loud, but you can hear Robert say 'you are, aren't you?' in that voice) - though I obviously don't know if Robert uses it for good or for evil where Jude's concerned irl. XD Also, the last vignette was inspired by this picture - don't throw things, srsly.
"Jude..." Stephen's voice, just as his smile, was just as warm and welcoming as ever. "My darling boy. It is an almost unspeakable pleasure to see you. Though if I were to remain silent, then you'd have no idea of how thrilled I am to find myself here in your bewitching company once again and I'd never wish to appear rude. Especially not to you, my dear. "
"Stephen," Jude said, beaming as he hurried over to hug Stephen, arms going around his midsection, head settling on his shoulder. He was nearly a head taller than Jude, but his gentleness and fondness for Jude were obvious as he wrapped his arms around him and hugged him close. "How have you been?"
"Oh, my dear, I've been as busy as a one-fingered man at a watch-winding factory," Stephen sighed, patting his back before releasing him. Jude gazed up at him, still grinning and listening avidly. "Round the world a dance or three, shooting documentaries, giving talks, being shuttled about hither and yon. I fear they'll stop purchasing airline tickets for me one day and just simply purchase a grand wooden box to pack me into, like King Kong."
Jude chuckled as he took half a step back. "They'd never," he declared. "We're just so happy to have you here. When Guy told us you'd signed on, I was well pleased. I was worried you wouldn't want to have anything to do with all this action movie tosh and turn us down."
"Even if it meant being thrown out on a battlefield with live ammunition being fired, I would have endured it, so I could be here with you," Stephen said, reaching up with one large hand to pat at Jude's cheek affectionately.
Chuckling, Jude felt something at the edge of his awareness tugging at him. Something he'd very nearly forgotten. "Oh, Stephen. I'm so sorry! I got so caught up - here, you must meet Robert," he said, cringing in embarrassment as he took a step back half a pace and to one side.
Indeed, Robert had been standing there, hands tucked into the pockets of his corduroy great coat - a costume piece from the last Holmes movie that Robert had insisted on carrying over into the sequel - a crooked smile on his lips as he'd watched the two actors reunite. Shooting had already been underway for two or three weeks by then, so Jude and Robert were still in costume and full make-up when they met Stephen just outside of Guy's trailer.
When Guy had told them that Stephen had signed on to play Mycroft, Jude had been happy and genuinely excited at the news. Robert had seen Wilde many years before, when it was making its way around the festival circuits, and had treasured the film. Oscar Wilde had been a man, much like himself, who preferred to do things differently. Jude, just twenty-five when he'd appeared in the film, had been shockingly beautiful and had looked painfully young, despite his actual age.
Though Robert had never met Stephen before, he had to admit he was a bit nervous at the prospect - he was one of few men that Robert could feel anxious about meeting. Still, when Stephen looked up and looked past Jude to find him, his smile was just as friendly as it had been when directed at Jude.
"Robert... c'mon," Jude stage-whispered, crooking a finger at him and grinning from ear to ear.
Feeling very much in the hot seat, Robert did what he usually would and allowed the momentum of the moment to carry him - if Jude was excited, he would be, too. Inhaling, he stepped forward, withdrawing his hand from his pocket and holding it out to him.
"Mr. Fry. It's an honor and a pleasure, sir," he said, head tipped back so that he could look into his eyes. The height difference between them even more pronounced than it had been with Jude and Stephen. This wasn't a guy you could just saunter up to and start telling dirty jokes to, either - much like with the height difference, some sort of middle-ground had to be established with his demeanor, as well. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jude looking on and smiling almost proudly.
"Mr. Downey," Stephen said, hand going to his heart for a moment and resting there before he reached out and took Robert's hand. "I've never had the good fortune of meeting you, but make no mistake, I am quite familiar with your work. I suppose the fates decided it would be best if our meeting was in the spirit of something more constructive than some dreadful awards thingy where no one ever truly meets anyone."
Robert laughed, drawing his free hand from his other pocket and resting it lightly atop Stephen's as they shook. "I know exactly what you mean."
"What a curious bit of symmetry we find ourselves playing out, here," Stephen said, eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between Robert and Jude, only to finally settle on Robert's face, an expectant expression sitting there as he waited for Stephen to elaborate. "The young man who was once my fiery, irrepressible Bosie is now your stalwart and trustworthy Boswell."
"Stephen," Jude said, chuckling softly as he ducked his head. His gloved hand came to rest on Robert's shoulder, body swaying in close to Robert in spite of himself, unwittingly giving Stephen an even better view of the two of them side by side. Robert turned his head towards Jude, his grin lopsided but impossibly warm as he looked at his mustachioed friend.
"You are a such handsome duo," Stephen said. "Your light, my boy, and his dark. Your regulation bristle and his scruff." His gaze turned from Jude to Robert. "Oh, indeed, Mr. Downey, I do believe you have the very best of our Jude now."
"You have every assurance I can offer that we shall endeavor to be gentler with you than a number of the stunt ensemble have been with me," Robert said, dropping into his Holmes accent effortlessly.
"Oh, Mr. Holmes, I do say - any touch that's delivered by a handsome man, be it gentle or ferocious, is still a touch delivered by a handsome man and thus I have no objection to either," Mr. Fry replied with a subtly wicked quirk of his lips.
Robert threw his head back and laughed loud, clapping Stephen on the shoulder. Meanwhile, Jude mentally kicked himself for ever worrying in the first place; Robert was imminently lovable. It was a thing that was quickly proving itself an undeniable force, much like gravity.
-
"Does it ever make you tired?" Jude asked. He bit his lip, shutting the door and locking it behind them after the words had left the sounding chamber of his chest.
"Does what make me tired?" Robert answered with a question quietly, fingers gliding along the keys of his piano. There were two in the house, but this one was in Robert's 'office', surrounded by his elegant savage interior design choices mixed with sleek, minimalist furniture. The piano fit in with neither of these styles, but maybe that's why it was so perfect. He turned his head, gaze lifting from the keys to look at his friend as he sat next to him on the piano bench, a sweet, encouraging smile pushing itself into place on his mouth: first one corner and then the other. He didn't have to say 'you can ask me, you can tell me anything you want' - the smile did that for him.
"Being you?" Jude asked, a small smile barely curling up one corner of his own mouth. There was no teasing or humor, there. Just a friend asking a genuine question.
"Mmm," he hummed, eyes sliding away from Jude's face as he considered the question. The smile didn't fade, was just simply nudged into the background by a pensive line. His fingers coaxed a Peter Gabriel tune up from the keys, the movements almost like a meditation. "Sometimes. I guess."
"Why?" Jude lowered his eyes and watched Robert's fingers on the keys, feeling himself sinking into a sort of mesmerist trance as well, quite unwittingly.
"Whenever another actress drinks a little too much and goes crashing into a palm tree on Santa Monica Boulevard or an actor gets caught with a dollar bill in his wallet that's got the scent of a speck of coke on it that the drug-sniffing dog happens to catch, everybody wants to know what I think," he said, his tone measured. He didn't sound tired, exactly - more resigned, but the set of his shoulders gave him away. "Like I'm their father confessor or … some kinda professional rehab doctor who can save them. I'm not."
"No, I'd say you're something else altogether. You're a bloody walking miracle," Jude murmured, lifting his head to gaze at Robert. "All we ever hear in the news and tabloids is the tragedies. The falls. The disappointments. The crash and burn. But we never hear about people like you."
"Sure, you do," Robert said. "People do it all the time. It's just that I'm the one they pay attention to because I'm the schmuck on the movie posters. I mean, who am I? Really. I'm just a guy. I got through it. I ate a lot of shit. It wasn't fun. Eating shit's not fun, regardless of whether you've got a solid gold Bentley in the driveway or a Kia. You know."
"I suppose I do," he agreed, nodding. Sitting up a bit, he arched his back, feeling it pop, and he sighed, letting his back slump into the slouch he was used to. His mum had always pestered him about his awful posture; she'd been so delighted when he'd taken the Gigolo Joe role in A.I. and they'd all but resorted to brainwashing to teach him how to maintain the posture of a dancer. "I don't know. Maybe they look up to you as the king of paying back for mistakes. Most people don't like to admit that they've even done something wrong, much less several things - make that several very public things that you wound up serving time for and … that pretty much makes you the Superman of fucking up and making it better, to them."
"Ah-ah! The Iron Man of fucking up and making it better, if you please," Robert chided, a small but warm grin appearing as he played. "I'm faithful to the generous benefactors of my franchise." He played a few more measures and then nodded, his voice almost too soft to be heard over the piano. "Thank you."
-
There was a volume to him. To his voice. When he spoke, it was always unrestrained, irrepressible. Especially when he was 'on' - whether that was on a stage, accepting or presenting an award (or singing). On the screen, mugging for the cameras one moment and then crushing the audience's hearts the very next. Or on television, talking to anxious interviewers like he was no kind of big thing at all and putting them at ease.
He had an impressive set of lungs, for a longtime smoker. The volume he could manage was bloody incredible. He could yell and laugh so loud, it could make your ears ring - the yelling he could (admittedly, sometimes) do without, but the laughter made his heart do cheery cartwheels inside his ribcage. Jude didn't even really have to try very hard to make him laugh; Robert thought practically everything he said was hysterically funny. More often than not, all Robert would have to do is lift one of his eyebrows and give him one of those piercing looks and he'd feel his lips tick out and draw back into a smile in an almost Pavlovian response.
Robert could be quite loud when he wanted to be, but then there were other times that...
Jude had taken to calling it Robert's 'inside voice'. A low-key murmur that was barely recognizable as his usual brassy, assertive means of expression. He'd only ever heard Robert use it around him. It was a warm, alluring tone - it reminded Jude of curling up in front of a fire, snuggled down into a cashmere blanket - a sound you wanted to burrow into and be lost in. No growl or rumble or gravel to it - or even that characteristic cheeky, teasing humor - just smooth and deep and bewitching. It's the quietest and calmest that Robert ever sounds and, for Robert, that's quite the meaningful landmark. When he'd first heard Robert start using the inside voice around him, he'd actually looked around, trying to see who was talking to him, the voice sounded so unlike Robert's regular speaking voice.
Jude's sitting there bored at the press junket, head propped up on his hand. Robert leans in, lips so close to his ear - and that voice - speaking so low that not even the ultra-sensitive microphones can pick it up. In the periphery of his vision, he can see the flashes going off like faraway lightning. "See how he leans his cheek upon his hand," Robert whispers. It's not Hamlet, for which Jude had been preparing so dutifully during the course of shooting Sherlock Holmes, but to Robert, it's probably close enough. "O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek."
The same voice, incidentally, that he slips into after they've made love. Robert's arms winding around him from behind, drawing Jude back into his chest and holding on, their fingers laced together, as Robert rests his lips next to Jude's ear and just talks. About the cosmos, about the beauty of nature in chaos, about how they must have been reincarnated, that it was a certainty that they had known each other before. How else, then, to describe the immediacy of their rapport and the intensity of their closeness all those months ago?
Snatches of song lyrics, humming, and from the outside, it might seem like Robert is doing all this - engaging in all this post-coital mumbling - simply because he loves the sound of his own voice, but Jude knows better. Because even then, Robert isn't firing off at the rate of his own neurons - pow! kabang! bzzzt! - like he usually would. His voice is even, his pace elegantly measured, like all the Hamlet that Jude hadn't known he knew, rolling off his tongue as easily as someone else would rattle off their shopping list.
-
"You like us cute and unassuming, don't you?" He asked, a slow, knowing grin shaping his lips, no teeth to be seen. "That's how it was with him, wasn't it?"
"Him?" Robert asked, bushy dark eyebrow pinging up for a moment.
"Jake."
"Ahh." Robert lowered his eyes, then, only to lift them up to meet his a moment later, gleaming wickedly, shamelessly. "Maybe I do." His hand stroked up over his hip, feeling the heat of him through his pants. Questions floated amidst the dark ether of his gaze. "What made you ask me that?"
"I saw some pictures somewhere. You and Jake. You had your hand on his shoulder. It looked... very familiar," Jude mused, tipping his head back onto the pillow wedged under his head. "It was strange. Seeing that and thinking, 'I know what that feels like'. Being on the receiving end of you. Of your … affections."
"Oh, don't tell me you're jealous." Not a question. "Jude, that was years ago. Anyway, nothing even happened. We're friends. That's all."
"I'm not jealous," Jude replied, shaking his head, even as he reached out, hand smoothing along the white silk tie knotted so expertly around Robert's neck, hand caressing down his chest in the same motion. "I'd just... never known what I looked like from the outside. Never looked at any of the pictures. When I was standing next to you, with your hands all over me. Now I do."
"And?" Robert still wasn't quite sure where he was headed with that particular train of thought, eyes murky.
"I feel a bit like the Velveteen Rabbit, in that one story. The one toy tells him, if you're loved on long enough and hard enough, you eventually become real," Jude said, arching his back languorously, feeling Robert's hand go sliding up along his ribcage, the touch too steady and firm to be ticklish. "Mmm. I feel like I'm at that stage right before I become real. You know, button eyes falling off, ears all droopy and worn and … I couldn't be happier. That's what it's like, being yours."
"I'd never throw you out, like that kid in the story," Robert promised, palm settling on his chest so as to act as a landing pad for his chin, which touched down there just a moment later, dark eyes shining as they roved over Jude's face.
When Jude relaxed from his stretch, he reached out, the backs of his fingers brushing over Robert's cheek, feeling the prickle and scratch of his stubble against his skin, hearing the sandpaper rasp of it in the air. "I know," he murmured, a warm smile shaping his lips. "I'm not done loving the shine off of you, yet, either."