fic: like honey to the bee, baby [1/2]
Title: Just Like Honey To The Bee, Baby [1/2]
Word Count: 3,870 total; about a thousand words for this part
Rating: PG-13 for all the desperate emotions and Chris saying fuck a lot
Warnings: Chris’s anxiety (derailed before a full-blown attack), unspecified past reasons for Sebastian to be afraid of doctors
Notes: title courtesy of James Taylor (“How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)” because Chris and Scott were singing “Fire And Rain” for fun.
Summary: The sun pounds down. The asphalt sizzles up. Someone yells cut at last, and Chris heaves in a breath, lungs grateful-
And Sebastian drops to his knees. Right there on the spot. In the street. Fingers brushing weakly at that stifling Winter Soldier mask.
The thing is, Sebastian’s brilliant on set. Chris knows this.
The thing is, Sebastian’s dedicated and determined and willing to do whatever it takes to get the shot. Chris knows this too.
The thing is, Sebastian will never ever ever complain or let anyone know that anything is wrong, he’ll just straighten broad shoulders and get through it, and Chris knows that as well. These are all reasons that Chris admires his co-star and is frustrated by his co-star (“What do you mean I kicked you hard enough that you’re limping? You didn’t say so yesterday!”) and is a little in awe, maybe, of Sebastian’s ability to balance sweetness and drive and shyness and mischief and that wicked wide smile.
The thing is that Chris is in love, and puppy-clumsy with it, never quite knowing what to do or say, tripping over his own feet or choking on a sip of coffee when Sebastian saunters up to him in full-on Winter Soldier gear-minus mask and eyewear-and purrs, “Hello, Captain.”
Chris’s whole body decides it’d be an excellent idea to get so turned on that to the outside observer his rigidity might be mistaken for frozen terror. Sebastian’s smile drops away like the morning’s dew, and he flails, “Sorry, sorry, Anthony just said you wanted to see me before the scene, I’ll just-” and flees, a one-eighty-degree spin from the hopeful playfulness of seconds before.
Chris drops his coffee, stumbles over words for ten seconds, and finally yells “Wait!” Sebastian’s gone.
And if there’s one thing Sebastian’s good at (besides everything, Chris’s besotted heart points out) it’s being unsure of his own welcome.
And so they don’t see each other again before the scene. The knife-fight scene, the hand-to-hand combat they’ve been choreographing for months. (Chris does see Anthony. Chris glares at Anthony. Anthony bursts out laughing, shakes his head, and walks away snickering and muttering something about idiots and two peas in a pod.)
Sebastian’s fully suited up now. Mask and eyewear firmly in place. Chris can’t see his eyes, can’t see his face, desperately needs to know what he’s thinking. “Sebastian-”
Sebastian turns that face his direction, but Joe Russo waves them over to their marks, and the cameras’re rolling, and they have to go.
And they do. Flawless, perfect, the way they’ve rehearsed-punch, kick, block, spin-over and over, and they’re good together the way they always are, so good, nothing held back.
They fuck up a few times, get the angles wrong, have to go again. Chris is breathing hard, and his costume’s getting sweaty under Cleveland heat and unrelenting camera eyes. He can only imagine how Sebastian, covered head to toe in black, must feel.
Again. He thinks longingly of water, of mountain streams, of clear pools.
Again; he catches Sebastian’s shoulder after they mess up this take and whispers, “You, me, all the Gatorade in the fuckin’ universe, after this?” Sebastian doesn’t answer. Chris gulps back tiredness and the twinging of his heart. Sebastian must not want to talk to him. Not after this morning. Not after Chris messed everything up. Clumsy. Ungainly. As always.
Again. They’re not just good but great this time, fast and brutal and efficient. Joe Russo confers with his brother. They nod and ask for one more, just to be sure. The sun pounds down. The asphalt sizzles up.
Again. And-cut, at last, and Chris heaves in a breath, lungs grateful-
And Sebastian drops to his knees. Right there on the spot. In the street.
And the thing is, Sebastian’ll never ever tell anyone when he’s dizzy or hurting, not if it means delaying the shot, and now those expressive long fingers’re trying to pull at the edge of his mask and they can’t, they can only manage a weak flutter at molded stifling blackness-
And Chris is right there on his knees too, grabbing Sebastian and tugging frantically at the mask and forgetting to inhale for himself, heart slamming itself against his ribs as Sebastian goes limp, as Sebastian’s hand falls to his side and lands still and palm-up in Cleveland-freeway dust.
“No,” someone’s saying, “no, no-come on-” and it’s his own voice but it doesn’t sound like his, broken and terrified and splintering; those’re his fingers hooking around the edges of the mask and yanking and failing to get a proper grip, and Sebastian’s dead weight-no, God, not that phrase-against him, head falling over Chris’s arm-
He gets fingers under deadly smothering black. Flings it away. A plastic crack echoes; he doesn’t care.
Sebastian’s chest lifts. Lungs expanding. He’s not conscious, but he’s breathing. Oxygen in lungs.
Chris holds him, Chris cradles him, balancing sprawled weight as they huddle on cracked ground. Paramedics run. Sunshine scalds Chris’s skin, the top of his head, his cheek. Like the taste of parched gold. Dryness in the air, salt on his lips.
He says Sebastian’s name. He says please. He asks Sebastian to wake up.
He eases off that Winter Soldier eyewear. The shape of the goggles burns hot against shaking hands. Sebastian’s eyelids flicker-dreaming movement behind them, maybe, and the maybe skewers Chris’s gut-but don’t lift.
Please, Chris says again. No sound. Puff of word scraping over his lips. Sebastian, he says, I’m sorry, I should’ve known, should’ve seen it if you weren’t okay, should’ve been taking care of you. You smiled at me this morning and you’ve never done a film this physically intense and I have and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should’ve, I should’ve. I love you and please just keep breathing. I love you, I’m here, I’m right here-
Word Count: 3,870 total; about a thousand words for this part
Rating: PG-13 for all the desperate emotions and Chris saying fuck a lot
Warnings: Chris’s anxiety (derailed before a full-blown attack), unspecified past reasons for Sebastian to be afraid of doctors
Notes: title courtesy of James Taylor (“How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)” because Chris and Scott were singing “Fire And Rain” for fun.
Summary: The sun pounds down. The asphalt sizzles up. Someone yells cut at last, and Chris heaves in a breath, lungs grateful-
And Sebastian drops to his knees. Right there on the spot. In the street. Fingers brushing weakly at that stifling Winter Soldier mask.
The thing is, Sebastian’s brilliant on set. Chris knows this.
The thing is, Sebastian’s dedicated and determined and willing to do whatever it takes to get the shot. Chris knows this too.
The thing is, Sebastian will never ever ever complain or let anyone know that anything is wrong, he’ll just straighten broad shoulders and get through it, and Chris knows that as well. These are all reasons that Chris admires his co-star and is frustrated by his co-star (“What do you mean I kicked you hard enough that you’re limping? You didn’t say so yesterday!”) and is a little in awe, maybe, of Sebastian’s ability to balance sweetness and drive and shyness and mischief and that wicked wide smile.
The thing is that Chris is in love, and puppy-clumsy with it, never quite knowing what to do or say, tripping over his own feet or choking on a sip of coffee when Sebastian saunters up to him in full-on Winter Soldier gear-minus mask and eyewear-and purrs, “Hello, Captain.”
Chris’s whole body decides it’d be an excellent idea to get so turned on that to the outside observer his rigidity might be mistaken for frozen terror. Sebastian’s smile drops away like the morning’s dew, and he flails, “Sorry, sorry, Anthony just said you wanted to see me before the scene, I’ll just-” and flees, a one-eighty-degree spin from the hopeful playfulness of seconds before.
Chris drops his coffee, stumbles over words for ten seconds, and finally yells “Wait!” Sebastian’s gone.
And if there’s one thing Sebastian’s good at (besides everything, Chris’s besotted heart points out) it’s being unsure of his own welcome.
And so they don’t see each other again before the scene. The knife-fight scene, the hand-to-hand combat they’ve been choreographing for months. (Chris does see Anthony. Chris glares at Anthony. Anthony bursts out laughing, shakes his head, and walks away snickering and muttering something about idiots and two peas in a pod.)
Sebastian’s fully suited up now. Mask and eyewear firmly in place. Chris can’t see his eyes, can’t see his face, desperately needs to know what he’s thinking. “Sebastian-”
Sebastian turns that face his direction, but Joe Russo waves them over to their marks, and the cameras’re rolling, and they have to go.
And they do. Flawless, perfect, the way they’ve rehearsed-punch, kick, block, spin-over and over, and they’re good together the way they always are, so good, nothing held back.
They fuck up a few times, get the angles wrong, have to go again. Chris is breathing hard, and his costume’s getting sweaty under Cleveland heat and unrelenting camera eyes. He can only imagine how Sebastian, covered head to toe in black, must feel.
Again. He thinks longingly of water, of mountain streams, of clear pools.
Again; he catches Sebastian’s shoulder after they mess up this take and whispers, “You, me, all the Gatorade in the fuckin’ universe, after this?” Sebastian doesn’t answer. Chris gulps back tiredness and the twinging of his heart. Sebastian must not want to talk to him. Not after this morning. Not after Chris messed everything up. Clumsy. Ungainly. As always.
Again. They’re not just good but great this time, fast and brutal and efficient. Joe Russo confers with his brother. They nod and ask for one more, just to be sure. The sun pounds down. The asphalt sizzles up.
Again. And-cut, at last, and Chris heaves in a breath, lungs grateful-
And Sebastian drops to his knees. Right there on the spot. In the street.
And the thing is, Sebastian’ll never ever tell anyone when he’s dizzy or hurting, not if it means delaying the shot, and now those expressive long fingers’re trying to pull at the edge of his mask and they can’t, they can only manage a weak flutter at molded stifling blackness-
And Chris is right there on his knees too, grabbing Sebastian and tugging frantically at the mask and forgetting to inhale for himself, heart slamming itself against his ribs as Sebastian goes limp, as Sebastian’s hand falls to his side and lands still and palm-up in Cleveland-freeway dust.
“No,” someone’s saying, “no, no-come on-” and it’s his own voice but it doesn’t sound like his, broken and terrified and splintering; those’re his fingers hooking around the edges of the mask and yanking and failing to get a proper grip, and Sebastian’s dead weight-no, God, not that phrase-against him, head falling over Chris’s arm-
He gets fingers under deadly smothering black. Flings it away. A plastic crack echoes; he doesn’t care.
Sebastian’s chest lifts. Lungs expanding. He’s not conscious, but he’s breathing. Oxygen in lungs.
Chris holds him, Chris cradles him, balancing sprawled weight as they huddle on cracked ground. Paramedics run. Sunshine scalds Chris’s skin, the top of his head, his cheek. Like the taste of parched gold. Dryness in the air, salt on his lips.
He says Sebastian’s name. He says please. He asks Sebastian to wake up.
He eases off that Winter Soldier eyewear. The shape of the goggles burns hot against shaking hands. Sebastian’s eyelids flicker-dreaming movement behind them, maybe, and the maybe skewers Chris’s gut-but don’t lift.
Please, Chris says again. No sound. Puff of word scraping over his lips. Sebastian, he says, I’m sorry, I should’ve known, should’ve seen it if you weren’t okay, should’ve been taking care of you. You smiled at me this morning and you’ve never done a film this physically intense and I have and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should’ve, I should’ve. I love you and please just keep breathing. I love you, I’m here, I’m right here-