fic: no mask like truth (inception rpf; ellen/jgl; r)
Title: No Mask Like Truth (Or Five Times Joe and Ellen Deny Having a Relationship)
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Ellen Page/Joseph Gordon-Levitt; Inception RPF
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 3050
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: The first time it isn't a lie.
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt from inception_kink which can be found here. I go where my brain takes me. It apparently goes here now.
No mask like open truth to cover lies,
As to go naked is the best disguise.
~William Congreve
i.
The first time it isn't a lie.
They're doing an interview together in L.A. and the reporter gets this look on her face and Ellen knows that she's going to hate whatever question is coming next. She looks at Joe out of the corner of her eye and he has the same look of resigned annoyance on his face that she's sure is on hers.
"So," the reporter says. "Were there any on set romances?"
Ellen snaps her neck toward Joe before the last word of the question is even out of the woman's mouth. He's looking back at her with wide eyes and she can see the corners of his mouth start to twitch with barely repressed laughter. Ellen just stares at him, an open taunt in her eyes, daring him to be the one to answer. Joe bursts out laughing and she can't help but join in. She looks back at the reporter. "Does that answer your question?" she manages to get out between laughs.
"I believe so," the reporter says stiffly. "Moving on..."
They both get themselves under control and the interview continues, but every so often Ellen will catch Joe's eye and he'll roll his eyes and give her that half grin that she knows damn well has the internet in a tizzy.
When the interview ends, they have a five minute break before the next one starts. They both pull out their phones and she can't stop herself from asking, "So are you going to tell Lexy about our supposed torrid affair? I mean, it was torrid, wasn't it? It would be really lame if we had one and it wasn't."
Joe looks up from his phone and raises an eyebrow at her. "I was going to ask her if she wanted to join in," he says. "You'd be down with that, right?"
"Oh, of course," she says. "It only seems fair."
"Really?" he asks with an over-exagerrated leer in his voice. "Because that could be kind of --"
She hits him in the arm before he can finish. "You're such a guy sometimes, you know that?"
He nods, face deadpan serious. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
She rolls her eyes. "Go bug your girlfriend."
"Well, if you insist." He grins winningly at her. "But you should know, of all the people that I've never hooked up with on set, you're still my favorite. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
She doesn't bother to dignify that with a response, just swats him on the back of the head as she goes to refill her glass of water. The sound of his laughter follows her across the room.
ii.
It's not a lie the second time either.
Ellen has meetings in New York about a script that she's almost sure she's going to turn down, and when she mentions it to Joe in passing, he tells her that they should have lunch. She hesitates before agreeing, she's only there for two days and she's going to be busy as hell, but there's something in his voice that makes her say yes.
They meet at some vegan restaurant in the Village that Joe knows and the first half of lunch is just the same bullshit catching up that always happens when you haven't seen someone in forever, and Ellen hasn't seen Joe in at least six months, since the last of the Inception premieres. It's a lot of bullshit to get through.
But halfway through, Joe leans back in his chair with a look in his eye that Ellen recognizes. It means he wants something and she's already shaking her head before he even says a word. "No," she says, setting her fork down. "Whatever it is, no."
Joe smiles at her, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "But you haven't even heard what I'm going to say yet."
"I don't need to. I know --"
"There's a script," he says, not bothering to let her finish. "I think you should read it."
She eyes him suspiciously. Joe's requests are never that simple. "That's it?" she asks skeptically. "You want me to read a script?"
He nods.
"Fine," she sighs. She hold her hand out. "Hand it over, I assume you have it with you."
He ignores her hand and picks up his phone. She watches him press a bunch of buttons and then look back at her. "It'll be waiting in your inbox when you get back to the hotel." She frowns at him, and he laughs. "Technology, Page. Learn to love it."
"I hate you," she says.
He laughs again. "Read the script."
She lets it go and they finish lunch, exchanging hugs and promises to text or email more often. Ellen goes off to her next meeting and when she gets back to her hotel that night, she downloads the script to her laptop and starts to read. She doesn't stop until she finishes, and then she reads it all over again. When she finishes it the second time, it's three a.m. and she ignores the clock and calls Joe anyway.
He answers the phone.
She doesn't wait for him to speak. "You asshole," she says without a trace of heat in her voice.
He laughs, low and deep. "Ah, so you read it." He sounds incredibly mellow, and Ellen's pretty sure that he's high right now. She sort of wishes she was too. Sometimes she thinks it's the only way to have a conversation with Joe that makes any sense at all.
"Of course I read it."
"You want to do it?"
"Would I be calling you at three a.m. if I didn't?" she counters, and she hears him laugh again.
"Touché," he says with amusement. "Call me back when it's not and we'll talk."
He hangs up. She resists the urge to hit redial just to bug him. But it's three a.m. and she's wide awake, so she checks her messages. There's one from her publicist, asking if there's anything Ellen wants to tell her about the lunch she had with Joe because there's a cellphone video of them up at TMZ, which is clearly another thing that's Joe's fault, Ellen thinks. She sends her publicist a one word email and deletes the message.
She thinks that's the end of it. She's wrong.
iii.
The third time they deny it, it's mostly not a lie. Whether it's the truth or a lie hinges on the meaning of the word relationship, and neither of them has ever really had a firm grip on just what that is.
The movie is a sort of love story, set in New York. They film there, on location, and it seems like people show up daily to watch. It's more than a little annoying, especially since new pictures show up online every damn day, insinuating that she and Joe are more than just co-stars.
Because they're not. Even if they are spending a lot of time together on and off set. Even if it's the first time since they've known each other that they're both single. Even if Ellen's found her thoughts wandering in that direction more than a few times since they started filming.
But really, they're just co-stars. Until one day when they're not.
It's a fight scene that changes things, a knock down, drag out fight between their characters, one where every lousy thing they've ever done to the other is thrown back in their faces. It's ugly and mean and the antithesis of hot, but take after take later, and Ellen can feel herself starting to get off on it. When she looks at Joe before they start the next take, she can see that it's happening to him, too.
She wants to laugh at how fucked up this makes both of them, but she can't quite manage it. She's relieved when they break for the day. She wants to get away from the set, from Joe, from the chance of making bad decisions that she's sure she'd regret the next day.
(She's not actually sure she'd regret it. That maybe scares her most of all.)
There's a knock on the door of her hotel room late that night. She doesn't want to answer it. There are a limited number of people in New York that know exactly where she's staying, and she knows exactly who is on the other side of the door. There's no one else it could be.
She opens it anyway.
Joe's standing there, leaning against the door frame. She steps back and he follows her into the room. There's a predatory gleam in his eye and her throat goes dry. "Joe," she says, but it's all she manages to get out before he's crowding her back into the wall. His hand is on her hip and the other is buried in her hair, and she thinks he smells like smoke. She knows he tastes like whiskey, his tongue heavy against hers, doing things that she can't even describe. Her hands grab onto his shoulders, looking for something, anything, to help her keep her balance. It's only a kiss, but her head is spinning. She was absolutely sure he'd be good at this, but this is something far beyond good.
He trails a row of wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat and she tries one more time to engage the part of her brain that uses logic and reason and that can list all the reasons that this is a terrible idea. "Joe," she says again, and he looks up at her with heavy eyes.
His fingers ghost along the line of her jaw and she can feel his breath hot against her skin. "Ellen," he says, and he's looking at her with more heat than she's seen from anyone in longer than she can remember and her will to do anything other than finish this crumbles into dust at their feet.
She closes her eyes for just a second, takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, he's still staring back at her with the same look in his eye. She nods her head to the side. "Bed?"
He grins at that, the quicksilver one that has always had more of an effect on her than she's ever wanted to admit. He's kissing her again in an instant, walking backwards, tugging her along with him. They trip over each others feet as they stumble their way to the bed, tugging ineffectually at each others clothes as they cross the room. When they finally tumble to the sheets, they're nearly as dressed as they were when they started, having only managed to remove a jacket (his) and a hoodie (hers). She starts to laugh at them, because really, what the hell are they doing, but before she can so much as blink, he's stripped off her tank top and bra and has latched onto her breast, and she can't even breathe, let alone laugh. Her hands clench in his hair and she can feel him grin against her skin as he traces elaborate patterns on her with his tongue. "Fuck," is all she manages to say and he laughs at that, even as he's flicking open the button to her jeans and pulling them down her legs.
"That's the idea," he says, as he's bending his head to kiss the inside of her thigh. He slides a finger deep inside and her hips buck against his hand. He adds another, and then his tongue against her clit, and she's making a keening noise that she's never heard herself make before. It's all too much, too good, and her hands twist knots into the sheets below them. She can't think, she can't catch her breath, all she can do is feel, and she comes before she knows what's even happening, letting his name out on a broken sob.
She feels herself sag into the sheets, spent and breathing hard. She's only barely aware of him moving above her, shedding his own clothes, the sound of a condom wrapper tearing. Then he's leaning over her, kissing her, and she can taste herself on his tongue. His cock nudges against her and he looks at her and she nods and then he's sliding inside her and she lets out a low hiss, because goddamn. He tugs a leg up around his hip and she arches her hips against him. She lets him set the pace. He sucks at a spot on her collarbone and her nails rake against his sweat-slicked back. He slips a hand between them and when he presses his thumb against her clit, she lets out a loud moan. He moves faster.
When she comes for the second time, he follows her over the edge, collapsing on top of her. She thinks, fleetingly, that he's heavier than she thought he'd be, and then he's rolling off her and out of the bed. She sees the light from the bathroom go on and she sits up, drawing the sheet up around her. This is where it's going to get awkward, she thinks (she knows), and she's already dreading the moment he steps out of the bathroom.
But it's not that moment, and when he comes out, he slips back into bed next to her, tossing her a shirt and she tugs it on over her head. They lay in bed, side by side, and Ellen falls asleep, not sure of anything but how weird it all isn't. She thinks that's the weirdest thing of all.
(In the morning, he's gone, with a note on the nightstand saying he'll see her on set later. Someone in wardrobe spots the bruise on her collarbone and gives Ellen a speculative look as she's handing her yet another scarf. The look Ellen ignores and when she sees Joe, they both act like nothing happened. By the time the shoot's over, Ellen's almost convinced herself that nothing did.)
iv.
The fourth time it's definitely a lie. But it's also the truth.
They're doing press together again, for the new movie and this time Ellen's prepared for the inevitable questions about their relationship. God knows the press lacks in anything resembling creativity and they play love interests and of course they're going to be asked about it. Without actually discussing it, they settle on a party line of "oh, we're just good friends, it's not like that," which is most definitely true, but not all at the same time.
They haven't really been friends, not in the way they were, since that night that they've never talked about. She misses him more than she ever expected.
It's not by thought or design or out of some petty form of payback, but Joe answers most of the questions about their relationship. Sometimes she'll catch him looking at her while he's answering them, and she thinks she sees apologies in his eyes. But he never says anything to her directly, and she goes back to thinking that she's seeing what she wants to see.
The night of the premiere in L.A., at the after party, they both get more than a little drunk. They spend the whole night circling each other, staring at each other from across the room, ignoring what the people they're supposedly talking to are saying.
They go home together. Of course, they go home together.
They fuck up against Ellen's front door, nine months worth of heat and anger and regret pouring out of both of them, and when they've fallen to the floor, the tile cool against their hot skin, Ellen feels like an enormous weight has been lifted off her chest.
When she can feel her legs again, she stands and holds out a hand for him. He takes it, twining their fingers together, and lets her pull him to his feet. She leads him to her bedroom, and this time the air is no less heavy between them, but it's heavy with questions not yet asked and answered, with promises not yet made.
When Ellen wakes up the next morning, Joe is still there, looking back at her with serious eyes. He reaches out, fingers trailing delicately over her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans into his hand.
It feels like the start of something.
v.
The fifth time it's a lie, but the kind of wink-wink, nudge-nudge lie that everyone knows is a lie.
Some paparazzi asshole snaps a picture of them and it shows up online, a picture of them holding hands while walking down the street in New York. Joe's got his head bent down to hers, kissing the top of her head, and there's no way to read the picture as anything but what it is. TMZ picks it up, and then Perez, and finally Ellen's publicist calls, because People wants to run it and she wants to know what Ellen wants her to say.
Ellen watches Joe try to cook breakfast in his too small kitchen from her spot on the couch. He's burning the eggs again, just like he always does, but she can never quite bring herself to mention it. She draws her her knees up to her chest. "Tell them," she says slowly, biting at her lower lip. "Tell them that you don't comment on your clients personal lives. That as far as you know, we're just good friends."
"You do know what they're going to take that as, don't you? A non-denial denial is the same thing as just admitting it."
"Yes. Just do it."
She hangs up before she can change her mind, tossing the phone to the side and resting her head against her knees. When she looks up, Joe is standing in front of her, plates of food in hand.
"What was that about?" he asks, setting them down on the coffee table.
She raises her eyebrows at him. "Do you really want to know?"
"Well," he says, dropping down onto the couch next to her and pulling her legs across his lap. He kisses the corner of her mouth and grins. "Maybe not."
She laughs and tugs on the front of his shirt, dragging his head down so that she can kiss him properly. "I didn't think so," she murmurs against his lips, and then they're not doing much talking at all.
Their breakfast goes cold. They don't care.
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: Ellen Page/Joseph Gordon-Levitt; Inception RPF
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 3050
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: The first time it isn't a lie.
Author's Notes: Written for a prompt from inception_kink which can be found here. I go where my brain takes me. It apparently goes here now.
No mask like open truth to cover lies,
As to go naked is the best disguise.
~William Congreve
i.
The first time it isn't a lie.
They're doing an interview together in L.A. and the reporter gets this look on her face and Ellen knows that she's going to hate whatever question is coming next. She looks at Joe out of the corner of her eye and he has the same look of resigned annoyance on his face that she's sure is on hers.
"So," the reporter says. "Were there any on set romances?"
Ellen snaps her neck toward Joe before the last word of the question is even out of the woman's mouth. He's looking back at her with wide eyes and she can see the corners of his mouth start to twitch with barely repressed laughter. Ellen just stares at him, an open taunt in her eyes, daring him to be the one to answer. Joe bursts out laughing and she can't help but join in. She looks back at the reporter. "Does that answer your question?" she manages to get out between laughs.
"I believe so," the reporter says stiffly. "Moving on..."
They both get themselves under control and the interview continues, but every so often Ellen will catch Joe's eye and he'll roll his eyes and give her that half grin that she knows damn well has the internet in a tizzy.
When the interview ends, they have a five minute break before the next one starts. They both pull out their phones and she can't stop herself from asking, "So are you going to tell Lexy about our supposed torrid affair? I mean, it was torrid, wasn't it? It would be really lame if we had one and it wasn't."
Joe looks up from his phone and raises an eyebrow at her. "I was going to ask her if she wanted to join in," he says. "You'd be down with that, right?"
"Oh, of course," she says. "It only seems fair."
"Really?" he asks with an over-exagerrated leer in his voice. "Because that could be kind of --"
She hits him in the arm before he can finish. "You're such a guy sometimes, you know that?"
He nods, face deadpan serious. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
She rolls her eyes. "Go bug your girlfriend."
"Well, if you insist." He grins winningly at her. "But you should know, of all the people that I've never hooked up with on set, you're still my favorite. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
She doesn't bother to dignify that with a response, just swats him on the back of the head as she goes to refill her glass of water. The sound of his laughter follows her across the room.
ii.
It's not a lie the second time either.
Ellen has meetings in New York about a script that she's almost sure she's going to turn down, and when she mentions it to Joe in passing, he tells her that they should have lunch. She hesitates before agreeing, she's only there for two days and she's going to be busy as hell, but there's something in his voice that makes her say yes.
They meet at some vegan restaurant in the Village that Joe knows and the first half of lunch is just the same bullshit catching up that always happens when you haven't seen someone in forever, and Ellen hasn't seen Joe in at least six months, since the last of the Inception premieres. It's a lot of bullshit to get through.
But halfway through, Joe leans back in his chair with a look in his eye that Ellen recognizes. It means he wants something and she's already shaking her head before he even says a word. "No," she says, setting her fork down. "Whatever it is, no."
Joe smiles at her, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. "But you haven't even heard what I'm going to say yet."
"I don't need to. I know --"
"There's a script," he says, not bothering to let her finish. "I think you should read it."
She eyes him suspiciously. Joe's requests are never that simple. "That's it?" she asks skeptically. "You want me to read a script?"
He nods.
"Fine," she sighs. She hold her hand out. "Hand it over, I assume you have it with you."
He ignores her hand and picks up his phone. She watches him press a bunch of buttons and then look back at her. "It'll be waiting in your inbox when you get back to the hotel." She frowns at him, and he laughs. "Technology, Page. Learn to love it."
"I hate you," she says.
He laughs again. "Read the script."
She lets it go and they finish lunch, exchanging hugs and promises to text or email more often. Ellen goes off to her next meeting and when she gets back to her hotel that night, she downloads the script to her laptop and starts to read. She doesn't stop until she finishes, and then she reads it all over again. When she finishes it the second time, it's three a.m. and she ignores the clock and calls Joe anyway.
He answers the phone.
She doesn't wait for him to speak. "You asshole," she says without a trace of heat in her voice.
He laughs, low and deep. "Ah, so you read it." He sounds incredibly mellow, and Ellen's pretty sure that he's high right now. She sort of wishes she was too. Sometimes she thinks it's the only way to have a conversation with Joe that makes any sense at all.
"Of course I read it."
"You want to do it?"
"Would I be calling you at three a.m. if I didn't?" she counters, and she hears him laugh again.
"Touché," he says with amusement. "Call me back when it's not and we'll talk."
He hangs up. She resists the urge to hit redial just to bug him. But it's three a.m. and she's wide awake, so she checks her messages. There's one from her publicist, asking if there's anything Ellen wants to tell her about the lunch she had with Joe because there's a cellphone video of them up at TMZ, which is clearly another thing that's Joe's fault, Ellen thinks. She sends her publicist a one word email and deletes the message.
She thinks that's the end of it. She's wrong.
iii.
The third time they deny it, it's mostly not a lie. Whether it's the truth or a lie hinges on the meaning of the word relationship, and neither of them has ever really had a firm grip on just what that is.
The movie is a sort of love story, set in New York. They film there, on location, and it seems like people show up daily to watch. It's more than a little annoying, especially since new pictures show up online every damn day, insinuating that she and Joe are more than just co-stars.
Because they're not. Even if they are spending a lot of time together on and off set. Even if it's the first time since they've known each other that they're both single. Even if Ellen's found her thoughts wandering in that direction more than a few times since they started filming.
But really, they're just co-stars. Until one day when they're not.
It's a fight scene that changes things, a knock down, drag out fight between their characters, one where every lousy thing they've ever done to the other is thrown back in their faces. It's ugly and mean and the antithesis of hot, but take after take later, and Ellen can feel herself starting to get off on it. When she looks at Joe before they start the next take, she can see that it's happening to him, too.
She wants to laugh at how fucked up this makes both of them, but she can't quite manage it. She's relieved when they break for the day. She wants to get away from the set, from Joe, from the chance of making bad decisions that she's sure she'd regret the next day.
(She's not actually sure she'd regret it. That maybe scares her most of all.)
There's a knock on the door of her hotel room late that night. She doesn't want to answer it. There are a limited number of people in New York that know exactly where she's staying, and she knows exactly who is on the other side of the door. There's no one else it could be.
She opens it anyway.
Joe's standing there, leaning against the door frame. She steps back and he follows her into the room. There's a predatory gleam in his eye and her throat goes dry. "Joe," she says, but it's all she manages to get out before he's crowding her back into the wall. His hand is on her hip and the other is buried in her hair, and she thinks he smells like smoke. She knows he tastes like whiskey, his tongue heavy against hers, doing things that she can't even describe. Her hands grab onto his shoulders, looking for something, anything, to help her keep her balance. It's only a kiss, but her head is spinning. She was absolutely sure he'd be good at this, but this is something far beyond good.
He trails a row of wet, open-mouthed kisses down her throat and she tries one more time to engage the part of her brain that uses logic and reason and that can list all the reasons that this is a terrible idea. "Joe," she says again, and he looks up at her with heavy eyes.
His fingers ghost along the line of her jaw and she can feel his breath hot against her skin. "Ellen," he says, and he's looking at her with more heat than she's seen from anyone in longer than she can remember and her will to do anything other than finish this crumbles into dust at their feet.
She closes her eyes for just a second, takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, he's still staring back at her with the same look in his eye. She nods her head to the side. "Bed?"
He grins at that, the quicksilver one that has always had more of an effect on her than she's ever wanted to admit. He's kissing her again in an instant, walking backwards, tugging her along with him. They trip over each others feet as they stumble their way to the bed, tugging ineffectually at each others clothes as they cross the room. When they finally tumble to the sheets, they're nearly as dressed as they were when they started, having only managed to remove a jacket (his) and a hoodie (hers). She starts to laugh at them, because really, what the hell are they doing, but before she can so much as blink, he's stripped off her tank top and bra and has latched onto her breast, and she can't even breathe, let alone laugh. Her hands clench in his hair and she can feel him grin against her skin as he traces elaborate patterns on her with his tongue. "Fuck," is all she manages to say and he laughs at that, even as he's flicking open the button to her jeans and pulling them down her legs.
"That's the idea," he says, as he's bending his head to kiss the inside of her thigh. He slides a finger deep inside and her hips buck against his hand. He adds another, and then his tongue against her clit, and she's making a keening noise that she's never heard herself make before. It's all too much, too good, and her hands twist knots into the sheets below them. She can't think, she can't catch her breath, all she can do is feel, and she comes before she knows what's even happening, letting his name out on a broken sob.
She feels herself sag into the sheets, spent and breathing hard. She's only barely aware of him moving above her, shedding his own clothes, the sound of a condom wrapper tearing. Then he's leaning over her, kissing her, and she can taste herself on his tongue. His cock nudges against her and he looks at her and she nods and then he's sliding inside her and she lets out a low hiss, because goddamn. He tugs a leg up around his hip and she arches her hips against him. She lets him set the pace. He sucks at a spot on her collarbone and her nails rake against his sweat-slicked back. He slips a hand between them and when he presses his thumb against her clit, she lets out a loud moan. He moves faster.
When she comes for the second time, he follows her over the edge, collapsing on top of her. She thinks, fleetingly, that he's heavier than she thought he'd be, and then he's rolling off her and out of the bed. She sees the light from the bathroom go on and she sits up, drawing the sheet up around her. This is where it's going to get awkward, she thinks (she knows), and she's already dreading the moment he steps out of the bathroom.
But it's not that moment, and when he comes out, he slips back into bed next to her, tossing her a shirt and she tugs it on over her head. They lay in bed, side by side, and Ellen falls asleep, not sure of anything but how weird it all isn't. She thinks that's the weirdest thing of all.
(In the morning, he's gone, with a note on the nightstand saying he'll see her on set later. Someone in wardrobe spots the bruise on her collarbone and gives Ellen a speculative look as she's handing her yet another scarf. The look Ellen ignores and when she sees Joe, they both act like nothing happened. By the time the shoot's over, Ellen's almost convinced herself that nothing did.)
iv.
The fourth time it's definitely a lie. But it's also the truth.
They're doing press together again, for the new movie and this time Ellen's prepared for the inevitable questions about their relationship. God knows the press lacks in anything resembling creativity and they play love interests and of course they're going to be asked about it. Without actually discussing it, they settle on a party line of "oh, we're just good friends, it's not like that," which is most definitely true, but not all at the same time.
They haven't really been friends, not in the way they were, since that night that they've never talked about. She misses him more than she ever expected.
It's not by thought or design or out of some petty form of payback, but Joe answers most of the questions about their relationship. Sometimes she'll catch him looking at her while he's answering them, and she thinks she sees apologies in his eyes. But he never says anything to her directly, and she goes back to thinking that she's seeing what she wants to see.
The night of the premiere in L.A., at the after party, they both get more than a little drunk. They spend the whole night circling each other, staring at each other from across the room, ignoring what the people they're supposedly talking to are saying.
They go home together. Of course, they go home together.
They fuck up against Ellen's front door, nine months worth of heat and anger and regret pouring out of both of them, and when they've fallen to the floor, the tile cool against their hot skin, Ellen feels like an enormous weight has been lifted off her chest.
When she can feel her legs again, she stands and holds out a hand for him. He takes it, twining their fingers together, and lets her pull him to his feet. She leads him to her bedroom, and this time the air is no less heavy between them, but it's heavy with questions not yet asked and answered, with promises not yet made.
When Ellen wakes up the next morning, Joe is still there, looking back at her with serious eyes. He reaches out, fingers trailing delicately over her cheek. Her eyes flutter shut and she leans into his hand.
It feels like the start of something.
v.
The fifth time it's a lie, but the kind of wink-wink, nudge-nudge lie that everyone knows is a lie.
Some paparazzi asshole snaps a picture of them and it shows up online, a picture of them holding hands while walking down the street in New York. Joe's got his head bent down to hers, kissing the top of her head, and there's no way to read the picture as anything but what it is. TMZ picks it up, and then Perez, and finally Ellen's publicist calls, because People wants to run it and she wants to know what Ellen wants her to say.
Ellen watches Joe try to cook breakfast in his too small kitchen from her spot on the couch. He's burning the eggs again, just like he always does, but she can never quite bring herself to mention it. She draws her her knees up to her chest. "Tell them," she says slowly, biting at her lower lip. "Tell them that you don't comment on your clients personal lives. That as far as you know, we're just good friends."
"You do know what they're going to take that as, don't you? A non-denial denial is the same thing as just admitting it."
"Yes. Just do it."
She hangs up before she can change her mind, tossing the phone to the side and resting her head against her knees. When she looks up, Joe is standing in front of her, plates of food in hand.
"What was that about?" he asks, setting them down on the coffee table.
She raises her eyebrows at him. "Do you really want to know?"
"Well," he says, dropping down onto the couch next to her and pulling her legs across his lap. He kisses the corner of her mouth and grins. "Maybe not."
She laughs and tugs on the front of his shirt, dragging his head down so that she can kiss him properly. "I didn't think so," she murmurs against his lips, and then they're not doing much talking at all.
Their breakfast goes cold. They don't care.