So, yeah, my first RPS. Ever.
Title: Signs of Never (1/?)
Fandom: Real Person Fiction (though for obvious reasons connected to SW)
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter for a little bit of swearing (will be more- hopefully *smirks*)
Characters: Hayden Christensen, Ewan McGregor, Eve, Clara, Esther, mentions of Jude Law
Pairings: Ewan/Eve, Hayden/Ewan, mentions of Ewan/Other
Summary: Hayden's in London. And so is Ewan. Or at least he should be, right? Because really, what host leaves when a guest he invited a long time ago arrives?
Warnings (I'm not sure yet myself, so I'm giving what will most probably occur): Extreme Language, Sexual Situations, Angst, Graphic Violence, Slash, WiP
Disclaimer: They are both gorgerous, individual men, and I wouldn't dare claiming that I own them. Also, none of this ever happened- we have no possible way of knowing what they want, think, and would like to do.
So, yeah, it's only my imagination. Please, don't sue.
A/N: Haja, I expected it to be a two, three- part story at most. Well, it evolved, and it's leading me much more than I'm writing it at the moment. So, I take no responsibility for it. Just hopeful for a joyous ride *giggles*
Signs of Never
Hayden once again swept the airport with a glance, sure that it was empty from the certain Scotsman.
Actually, it was empty. Period.
All passangers from Hayden’s flight were already out, heading to their homes, hotel rooms, or bars, or lovers...
In short, going on with their lives. And he was standing at the airport’s exit, wondering for what must have been surely the300th time why did he fly to London at all in the first place.
No matter how many times he asked himself that, the answer stayed the same- he’d come exclusively for Ewan fucking McGregor. He had missed the happy spirit of the older man, his warm humour, teasing, he missed his whole self with ferocity that frightened him at times.
They had become friends; how could they not? Between George Lucas and his dialogues, and whooshing lightsabers’ noises, they’d found themselves stranded in the galaxy far, far away.
They were the Jedi. The team.
Maintaining the friendship was not easy when there were films to make and other things to do; Britain and Canada were on two different continents, after all.
Hayden wanted to make an effort, to stop their friendship from dissolving in the incestous affair that was Hollywood. So when Ewan politely asked if he wanted to come visit and stay a couple of days at his house (Clara and Esther both sacrifisingly declared that they could sleep in one bed so that he could sleep in the other in their room; never mind that there actually was a guest room in the house), he happily agreed.
And promptly started worrying. Was it a good idea, wasn’t it a little invasive, wasn’t Ewan’s request just sheer politeness, one that he was supposed to thank for, and then equally politely recline?
Was it not?
Hayden looked briefly around- for the last time, he told himself. The very fucking last time.
London was misty. The buildings he glanced through the cab’s window were grey, so very grey that it hurt just looking at them.
He derived some perverse pleasure from the view- it would be so beautiful to scream in fury in the middle of the Trafalgar Square, not caring about the early hour, disturbing the peace.
He might even feel better because of it, he snorted to himself.
„What were you expecting, you moron?” He whispered furiously. „He’s a busy man; man with life full of everything: laughter, lots of friends, family, work he loves and is great at. What are you even doing here?”
The handsome face twisted into harder expression. So maybe he shouldn’t be here; maybe it was a bad idea. But it was Ewan’s idea- if the Scot wanted to back out of it, couldn’t he at least call him earlier and not stand him up like this when he already was in London?
Fuck. He missed Canada now. Canada with its huge space, where there was always a place to go if you wanted to run away.
Canada was far away enough from everything to think clearly. And especially, it was far-off from Ewan fucking McGregor. It would be a little hard to strangle the roguish Scot from that distance.
London was too fucking near for his liking.
The cab stopped, indicating that he should get on with his life, get out and pay for the ride. Not exactly in that order, but close enough to perfection.
Nodding his head in thanks to the driver, he got out of the cab and went to the boot to get his suitcase, all this time throwing angry glances at the house.
Fighting sudden urge to throw stones at the window (he did not need to meet the British police, or even the concerned neighbours that early in his stay in London).
However, the idea was strangely appaling- to behave either as an impudent teenager (never mind he had spent the last couple of years vehemently stating he wasn’t one any longer), or... secret lover?
Now where did this come from?
Frowning in confusion, he started for the door, thinking furiously. He wasn’t even attracted to Ewan.
They were mates. As in blokes. Men.
He wasn’t really attracted to men in the first place.
The hall was dark and big. Awkwardly quiet.
Keeping his head low, he risked a glance at his hostess. Eve looked tired. Not tired like because she was woken at the ungodly early morning, sleep still lingering in the eyes and clouding the expression.
If he was the one to exaggerate (all right, maybe he sometimes was), he would say she had been exhausted for a long time.
„Je suis désolée, Hayden. You shouldn’t have to come here on your own. Ewan...”
He wanted to grunt in frustration. It was probably his own tiredness making an appearance in his mind, but he didn’t want to think about Ewan. But he didn’t make a sound.
Instead, he waited for her to finish the thought. He didn’t care much for excuses, and it was Ewan who was to blame. For one, he’d invited him. And Hayden thought he at least deserved to hear the man excuse himself, and he shouldn’t have sent his wife to do so for him.
But Eve never did finish the sentence. Maybe it was the early moring light slowly seeping through the window at the end of the hall (whoever designed the place, did a magnificent job in making it look uninviting and obscuring, Hayden decided), or maybe it was the way she was standing with her back turned to him a little too long, putting his cloak in the wardrobe.
Or maybe he was fucking psychic and imagining things. Again.
„Where is Ewan, Eve?” he asked carefully, taking a slow step towards the petite woman.
„Mon mari... He’s...” Eve cleared her throat, „He’s not here at the moment, Hayden.”
„Come, I’ll show you to your room. The girls has missed you greatly. You should take some sleep when they’re not awake, when you still can;” Ewan’s wife said with a soft smile.
He tried. He really did.
Logically thinking, it was strange. He’d been awake for twenty two hours, his body should yearn for sleep.
Instead of entering the blissful state of shut- mind, he tossed, sweated, changed his pajama twice, hugged the fucking pillow, and relentlessly kept thinking.
During that tormenting process, he reached some interesting conclusions. Firstly, he was angry, but he didn’t really know why. Or at whom, for that matter.
After all, getting to Ewan’s house on his own hardly equalled disaster. Shit like that happened sometimes, right? Really, Ewan was his friend. He should be worried about him, as it seemed that the man had just disappeared. Maybe the Scot wasn’t spending too much time with his family, but it was obvious to all who had eyes that he loved Eve. He wouldn’t make her worry, he would have told her where he was going.
When Eve had led him upstairs to the guest room, she admitted that she had no idea where her husband was.
Secondly, while lying rumpled in the too hot sheets, his fingers threading absent- mindedly through his growing hair, he made himself admit that Ewan was a good- looking man. And it was- hyphotethically speaking, of course- even possible, that maybe he was attracted to him.
That made his nervous thinking so much better.
Twisting awkwardly in the sheets, he allowed his tired body to be claimed by sleep. Shutting his eyes against the rich blue of his pillow, he thought of the ocean, peaceful waves, the distance he could not only see, but feel in his trembling, humbled body. He remembered the time he heard the singing of the humpback whales that stunned him into silence, trying to imagine it now, if now even existed anymore.
It worked. When the sleep finally came, he was smiling softly, tugging the pillow closer to his chest.
- Current Mood: artistic
- The birds are singing:Supermassive Black Hole- Muse