Eikasia, RPS HL/RSL (Section 1, Pt 3)
Fic: Eikasia
Author: Nakanna Lee
Pairing: RPS HL/RSL; H/W
Rating: PG13 - Mature
Disclaimer: None of this is true or means any harm
A/N: I might not be around tomorrow, so I’m posting both today’s update and tomorrow’s now. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. Please let me know what you like, what is working, so I can make sure these chapters don't disappoint. :) Also, be patient with the guys. They're still trying to sort out their relationship.
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Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Hugh closed the bathroom door with relief, face burning and muttering profanities under his breath. He glanced down at House’s jeans and they only seemed to get tighter. Shame seared across his skin, making him rushed, hot, and over-sensitive to just how much his body wasn’t listening when he said Robert was off-limits from now on.
“Shit, shit...” Hugh bit his bottom lip and rested his head against the arm he’d leaned against the manila-colored stall. Everything reeked of Lysol and disinfectant. They would come in here to get him in five, ten minutes. Restroom trips weren’t supposed to take longer than that.
They had a schedule-a schedule that didn’t include jacking off after scenes because he couldn’t get this under control. And all Robert-Wilson-had done was kiss him, kiss House. In the script, in what would most likely amount to a throwaway scene that just had to be shot for filler purposes; in Wilson’s apartment, standing in the doorway, Hugh’s mind demanding that he press Robert against the door and crush the distance.
But he didn’t, couldn’t, and Robert left the gap between their bodies, a respectful gesture that now only seemed teasing and mocking. Hugh had kept his lips still as if in pain while Robert lightly nipped them, and for the first time it was expression for the camera only.
At the end Robert looked for him, face unreadable and restricted. He’d wanted to talk about how these scenes were going to work. His impersonal professionalism stung.
“Not now, Robert.” Hugh shot him down immediately. “Just stay away, all right?
He’d retreated to the bathroom, where he stood in a locked stall while embarrassment choked his pulsing veins. It was supposed to be over. He couldn’t even get through the first week. He closed his eyes, grimacing at how pathetic this was, as he dipped his hand into his pants.
“God dammit, Bobby.”
He gasped, trembling, as he tried to take himself as quickly as he could, continuing with long, hard strokes as he struggled to push his pants and shirt out of the way simultaneously. If he wasn’t careful he was going to have to change again before anyone saw him and started asking what the hell was all over his clothes. Robert would notice for sure.
That thought alone made him push his hips harder into his hand. Tight heat wound frantically in his gut, ready to implode; he could feel each individual sweat drop accumulating on the back of his neck. He imagined Robert behind him, leaning in to lick them off, as he slid a finger inside him.
Hugh groaned in a staggered, stifled mess and came violently, jarring white consuming his vision and throwing sounds out to the distance. Vaguely he became aware of his shaking breath, the taste of salt and sweat in his mouth from when he’d tried to stop a shout by pressing his mouth against his forearm. He shifted back, half-expecting to feel the weight of another hot, spent body against him.
“Oh, fuck,” he sighed unsteadily when he saw the streaks on his shirt. He closed his eyes again and tilted his head back. This wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t put himself through this on a day-to-day shooting schedule.
At the sink, he splashed water over his clothes so it looked as if the faucet had momentarily attacked him. It would give enough of an excuse to tell everyone he was running to change into one of House’s identical blue shirts. Once in the dressing room, he could dispose of the stained one and no one would know the difference.
* * *
Friday, February 23, 2007
Hugh surveyed his undecorated trailer, its bare walls clashing with the elaborate floor plan. He’d never tried to make it seem like a home-on-set, even while Jen was adorning every open space in her own with pictures of friends and Omar brought in a couple posters for his and Lisa kept rearranging or adding flowers and small furniture. It just wasn’t worth the effort to him.
It had been five days since he’d called Jo and had still gotten no reply. That was normal. Time differences made it difficult to catch one another, or they were busy with immediate issues that weren’t an ocean away, or messages were accidentally deleted or kids forgot to pass them on. He’d left another since then and restricted himself from leaving more and sounding urgent.
He still hadn’t called Stephen, but that was because he truly did have nothing to say. A rift between them was nothing new and nothing that would stay permanent. Stephen knew him too well and would wait until Hugh circled back. It was a calming thought, that they knew when to give one another space. For now, Hugh enjoyed the blankness and relief of isolation.
A knock came, then steps and Bobby stood at the base of the couch, hands hanging non-threateningly at his sides. He’d gone blank-faced again, still and impenetrable. Hugh regretted that he couldn’t even make Bobby laugh without sending some kind of underlying signal they both were trying to avoid. It usurped so much energy to deprive himself of Robert’s company. It was one thing to fight the disappointment of not crawling into his bed at the end of the day; it was another to realize he couldn’t even kiss him lightly, couldn’t touch him casually, couldn’t be around him too long or else risk wanting to do those things again.
He wished Jo would call him back already.
Miserably, Hugh nodded at the reminder that lunch break was over in ten minutes. Robert glanced around as if expecting evidence of a meal, a sandwich, something ordered out laying in a cooling Styrofoam box, but nothing. Hugh rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. His head settled back on the arm of the couch, neck craned awkwardly but a little bit of discomfort was distracting and good. He held his breath, the heaviness descending on his chest, and waited to hear Robert’s footsteps retreat.
Instead the end of the couch sank as Robert sat by his feet. Hugh considered the prolonged silence for a moment before tentatively opening his eyes. Robert had his elbows on his knees and forehead in his hands, upper body curved in a deflated C.
They didn’t talk and didn’t touch.
Section 1, Pt 4: http://nakannalee.livejournal.com/28722.html