Fic: Chasing Ian chapter 1
Jan. 12th, 2006 09:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kribbanHehe. It's finished. :-)
Title: Chasing Ian.
Author: Kristina [k7@telia.com]
Pairing: Elijah Wood / Ian McKellen
Rating: M for language and sexual content.
Type: Lord of the Rings Real Person Slash (male/male erotica.)
Archive: Mirrormere, LFSI, all others please ask.
Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Flames will be laughed at.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is not affiliated with any of the individuals mentioned in this piece of fiction. The author is not insinuating anything about the mentioned individuals. No money whatsoever is made on this. Any similarities to actual events are purely coincidental. Again, this is fiction derived from the author’s imagination, nothing else. ‘Chasing Amy’ is a Kevin Smith film that I do not own in any way, shape or form. It belongs completely to View Askew.
Summary: Love doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to.
Warnings: Explicit talk about explicit sex. Kink.
AN: I once was struck by a plot bunny. The bunny whispered to me that the relationship between Ian and Elijah was suffering from the ‘Chasing Amy’ syndrome, and so of course I had to write it. This fic is NOT a re-enactment of that film, (and you definitely need not have seen it in order to understand this), but revolves around one of the film’s themes. Which one, you’ll soon see. I guess in a very vague way it could be seen as containing spoilers for ‘Chasing Amy’, which you should all see anyway.
Betad by Nefertiti who is a total star.
[ ]=Italics
For Joanne, Nefertiti and Elanor whose support and inspiration (along with plain and utter nagging) has helped me begin, evolve and fucking finish this story.
“Maturity is a magical thing. Now you see it. Now you don’t.” – Peter McWilliams.
1
It’s one of those things that you can’t pinpoint just exactly when they begin.
One of those things that blatantly declare themselves to you one day even though they already began ages ago. Elijah has no fucking clue as to when it’s supposed to have begun. He doesn’t know when he started thinking about these matters. All he knows is that one day it suddenly dawned on him.
His lover has had a lot of lovers.
He doesn’t know just what about this realisation is supposed to be a revelation. It’s not like he didn’t know it all before. He’s heard Ian mention his old flings and relationships from time to time. He met the ex-boyfriend in New York when he walked into Ian’s rehearsal. Elijah knows that a sixty-three-year-old must probably have extensive experience in the pleasures of the flesh by now, especially as lovely a one as Ian.
He knew all this before. It just never dawned on him.
He doesn’t know just exactly when the feeling of discomfort started creeping up on him. All he knows is that one day he suddenly had a problem with what he had realised. He doesn’t know why he has a problem with it, he just does.
He thinks it might be the number of photographs Ian has in his possession; dozens upon dozens of photo albums tucked into the bookshelves on the bottom floor. The first time Elijah looked through them was on a damp and hot summer night. More than slightly inebriated and fed up with boredom, he had pulled out one of the stacks and unceremoniously dropped down on the floor.
“Come. Lecture me.”
He’d been too drunk, of course, and too tired to keep up with Ian’s detailed descriptions of years of work and family life. Directors, venues, play-wrights, fellow actors, friends, distant relatives, all those English names of towns and places that all sound the same, who of Jean’s children her grandchildren belong to; all this information Elijah could not possibly process in his woozy state.
All, except for one thing: the number of times Ian had come across a picture of someone he described as a lover, or simply got this annoying look of nostalgia in his eyes that made Elijah think of all the junk in his room he can’t bring himself to get rid of. The frequency of such moments was something he could not help but notice. Maybe it was there and then that he learned what he later realised, he just wasn’t aware of it?
Elijah thinks he should stop psychoanalyzing himself.
Not a fucking child, he tells himself and doesn’t really give a shit what must have happened in Ian’s past. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he?
He finds himself paying more attention to the people Ian introduces him to, to looks and body language. There are tricks he’s learned through his craft that comes in handy, subtle things the uninitiated don’t notice.
He turns it into a game. Most often he can tell by simply looking hard enough. Of course, it’s often a tough call with Ian, for he’s always so physically affectionate and generous with endearments.
Elijah finds himself every so often asking his boyfriend whether or not he knows so and so in the biblical sense. Ian seems to think nothing of it, but simply satisfies his young lover’s curiosity. Most often Elijah gets it right.
They have a good life. Or rather, they have two lives plus a bi-continental love life. Everything is going smoothly. The perfect combination of means and obligations ensures that they do not see each other too often, yet have the means to do both that and make long distance telephone calls whenever they want to.
Elijah likes the arrangement. He’s still very much his own man. He knows he would be even if they lived together, but he likes to keep his life the way it is.
He finds himself more sick of London with each visit. The same bad weather, the same baked beans, the same chatty tea breaks. The increasingly crowded and grubby West End, where Ian insists on spending most of his time. Too strong tea served in too hideous porcelain mugs. He’s already bored with soft-boiled eggs, with gossiping neighbours and those fucking crumpets.
There’s an endless stream of visitors and children. A colorful mix of artists and civil servants, people who’ve known Ian far longer than Elijah has lived. There are little girls and boys who blush, and gasp, and follow him around the house with saucer-sized eyes. He considers making a shirt that says ‘Not Frodo’ but his mother taught him that lying was a bad thing.
Over time he has perfected his good-boy routine at tea, taking over the serving duties from Ian. Fetching honey, pouring milk, slicing cake. It gives him something to do between long moments of sitting quietly with his head in his hands while his boyfriend catches up on the latest.
He tries to be good and pay attention, but it’s hard when he doesn’t know any of the people or places being mentioned. He answers politely whenever he is asked a question and soon earns the reputation of the quiet, serious, young man. More than the weather, it’s the feeling that he will never truly belong to Ian’s world that causes his growing lack of interest in this place.
Seeing Ian is always wonderful though, and more than makes up for whatever small discomforts he has to endure. When they meet in Los Angeles, however, Elijah tends to lock Ian up in his small house and not let him out.
One night in London finds Ian in a heated discussion with Judi Dench about biologism and the social construct of the human gender. It’s a good-natured argument, the kind old friends have from time to time, and Elijah knows Ian is losing big-time.
He likes Judi. She treats him like he’s an ordinary person instead of as The American with a capital A.
He doesn’t have to worry that she’s an old fling of Ian’s.
“Like you would know anything about that, Ian,” he decides to join the winning team. Ian grins wickedly and stage whispers over his Dr. Pepper; “Oh, I’m more experienced than you think.”
Elijah doesn’t see Ian’s hand getting slapped and hardly hears the awed exclamations of “Bastard!” “Oh dear,” and “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He coughs dryly. “Uh, yeah, Ian, you’ve never told me that.”
Ian shrugs and smiles embarrassedly. “Well it hasn’t come up, I suppose. But yes, I have. It would have been a shame to never test the waters. I mean, how can you really know if you never try it? So I did once, well twice, and it wasn’t my cup of tea. I realized I really did prefer Earl Grey over Lady Grey. Too much cream.” He smiles, but his eyes glaze over for a second. “Lovely lass, though.”
Elijah knows exactly what Ian looked like when he was young. He’s seen the pictures of a dark haired and fierce-looking young man burning with something that has long since fizzled. Things were lost between that Ian and his. Bitterness, Ian tells him cheerfully, but there must be more to it than that.
It’s not hard to imagine what else Ian must have experimented with. Elijah already knows about the shady night clubs and the few pipes of weed, but he never suspected that there might be more.
He remembers the Vanity Fair-party after the Academy Awards in 2002. How he’d had tequila shots with Orli and drunk himself into a stupor, finally being able to relax after days of nervous anticipation. At first he’d been upset that they’d lost to that fucking Ron Howard film with that fucking Russell Crowe, but as the alcohol burned through his system he found himself happier with each passing moment.
So they’d lost. Big deal. They had two more chances to collect the Big One, and Ron Howard was really talented, if you thought about it, and Crowe’s part Kiwi and could therefore not be all bad. Just the fact that they were there, that they had made it to the Oscars, was amazing and something to be proud of.
It hadn’t been easy getting Orli to himself. The Brit had been endearingly star-struck and gushed at the celebrities that wanted to shake his hand. Elijah had finally managed to pull him away for some private conversation. Conversation and a whole lot of tequila shots.
Despite having been pissed out of his mind he remembers quite a lot of their conversation. He remembers teasing Orli about being so star-struck. He remembers the jokes they made about the other guests and the decadent industry.
But most of all, he remembers Orli's wicked eyes as he made a comment about Ian and the drunken slurs that spoke of rumors and gossip, tidbits picked up at drama school.
Elijah had shaken his head and smiled fondly, picking up a cigarette and sucking it compulsively. “Naw… you’re wrong. He’s not like that.”
The slurring across the table had continued. “Oh, come on. He’s a kinky one. You can see it in his eyes. The wickedness is written all over.”
Elijah had been puzzled, confused, and more than a bit annoyed. “For Christ’s sake, Orli, I think I know my own boyfriend. Ian’s a fucking teddy bear! It’s hardly…You don’t know him like I do. I mean, this is the guy who drinks the same fucking tea every morning. I doubt I’d get him to swap sides in bed if I wanted to! Trust me on this one, OK?”
Orli had smiled warmly and patted Elijah’s hand. “Whatever you say, Lij. I’m sorry. Shit…I… Look, there’s Nic Kidman…”
Elijah remembers the feeling of uncertainty that hadn’t left him all night.
***
“Those were the days, huh?” He keeps his tone light, as he watches Ian handle his correspondence the following day. Ian looks up from the desk.
“What?”
Elijah thinks that Ian is cute like this, absorbed by paperwork, curious eyes studying him through wire-rimmed glasses. He takes a sip of beer.
“The 70’s. And the 80’s. I was just thinking that you were there. So you could tell me what it was like.”
Ian shrugs and returns his gaze to the flat surface of his desk. “What is it that you want to know?”
Elijah tries to look casual. “Well, was it as wild as they say? I mean, I’ve seen lots of films, and I’ve heard stuff.”
“That depends on whom you ask. Everything is relative – this too. Yes, there was a lot of partying and disco fever. There was also the Moral Majority and Thatcher. I can assure you that it wasn’t any ‘wilder’ than the 1990’s, or indeed, the present age. Trust me, forty years from now your children will ask you the same thing.”
Elijah winces at the unspoken statement and takes another sip of his drink. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But I was thinking more of you. Since I know you were out and about then…”
He doesn’t say ‘young’ since the last thing he wants right now is a lecture. Ian turns his head to smile at him.
“You’re wondering if I was wild.” Elijah nods, and Ian turns back to his writing.
“Well, I was about as wild as I am now. I am saying this so you do not mistake me for some bored, boring, old Tory”. He says the last bit with a grin.
“But yes, I was different. I was very impulsive when younger, and I did some things that look plain stupid today. I wasn’t quite as angry as people say I was, although I tried very hard to live up to that image. I was a different actor then, certainly, because I used up so much energy hiding part of myself in my everyday life. And well, I had certain interests that I don’t maintain today.”
Elijah takes a moment to catch his breath. Is there a way for him [not] to sound like a stupid little kid?
“What interests?” He can almost hear the seconds ticking by before Ian answers, still immersed in correspondence.
“This has to do with what you mean by ‘wild’, does it not? No doubt many people would think that the things I did then were wild, though I don’t trouble myself with such labels. I can honestly say that I probably did most of the things you associate with that time. Nothing that doesn’t go on today, mind you.”
Elijah’s heart is beating loudly, and he waits a few moments for Ian to elaborate. When that doesn’t happen, he is forced speak up. “What did you do?”
Ian sighs and gives him a long look. “I tried some drugs, nothing really heavy, of course, and I never have since. Such a disgusting thing to do really, willingly give yourself over to something that changes your personality and clouds your mind, no matter how temporarily.” He folds the sheet of paper and stuffs it in an envelope.
“I drank a lot, although to you hobbits that is more of a virtue than a vice.” He smiles. “And… I took part in some not so traditional sexual practices. Of course, in those days, any kind of sex between men was un-traditional. At least officially.”
Elijah is growing irritated by Ian’s discretion. He swallows uneasily, tapping his beer bottle with his finger to vent his frustration. He takes care to make his next question specific enough that it will be his last.
“What did you do exactly…sexually? Humour me, here. I – I kinda want to know everything”.
Ian looks up from writing the address neatly on his envelope and is quiet for a while, as if mentally recollecting his experiences. Just as Elijah is about to protest the silence, he begins.
“I had one-night stands, although not as many as you might think. I participated in a couple of… orgies, I guess you would call them, though my generation called them ‘parties’. My first boyfriend and I used to swing a bit. Hmm… Let me see. I mostly slept with people I cared about or admired, friends and co-workers and such. Idols of mine. I had the fortune of enjoying the attentions of a few … legendary actors. I didn’t really pick up someone I didn’t know and shag him senseless, although as I said, I did do that a few times. Nothing I regret, but nothing I’d do again… There was the woman I told you about, and I can assure you that it was just the two of us that time. Then there was a bit of role-play, most of it in monogamous relationships, although not as much as one might think. I think I was so tired from pretending to be someone else all day that I didn’t want to do it when I came home… There was some medium-heavy sadomasochism, of which I practiced, and enjoyed, both roles. There was definitely no exhibitionism, because you wouldn’t want to get caught consorting with another man, now would you? There was a place though, a little club in Soho where you could get away from the public eye for a while, and…well, do whatever you felt like in front of friendly people. Hmm… What else? I cross-dressed once, but it was just for fun. I didn’t get off on it… I once shagged a fellow who wanted to be called Your Majesty when he was giving head… Well, that’s about it, I guess. Nothing very spectacular. Have I satisfied your curiosity?”
His voice is soft, and he has not once lifted his eyes from his writing.
Elijah doesn’t answer. He can’t, because his mind is too busy taking in the surrealism of the situation. The very casual way in which his boyfriend just recited a long list of activities that Elijah could not possibly have believed him capable of, makes him half-expect Ian to say “Got you!” and reveal it all to be a joke.
His gaze is lost on Ian’s long, smooth fingers handling the pen, and he can almost see those same fingers stroking another man’s cock.
“Damn!”
The shout startles him, and he looks up. Ian turns to him and smiles sweetly. ”I broke the pen.”
Elijah can feel his stomach churning as Ian sighs and picks up a new pen from his beloved ‘The World’s Greatest Uncle’ mug.
Elijah pulls up his knees and wraps his arms around them. He feels like he’s going to be sick. He burps loudly, tasting sour beer in his mouth. He shouldn’t have drunk so much.
“Love?”
He looks up into the eyes of the man he has loved for most of his adult life and hopes to see humor and wickedness there but finds only fondness.
“You seem tired, Elijah. You should go to bed. I tell you what, this is my last letter, why don’t you go brush your teeth while I finish up? Okay?”
The voice is so gentle, and the eyes so full of love that Elijah wants to weep and drown himself in comfort, but he feels numb and simply nods.
As he stands before the large oaken bed, Elijah has calmed himself to an admirable degree. He hasn’t allowed one thought, rational or otherwise, to linger in his head. This seems to be the best way to ensure that unwilling images and unpleasant truths are kept at bay.
He hears the familiar footsteps behind him, and he doesn’t have to look to know the expression of infatuation and amusement on Ian’s face.
“Got stuck, sweetie?”
Elijah pulls off his socks and drops them onto the plush, thick carpet. He slides his body between soft cotton sheets and feels for the first time how tired he is, despite his supposed youth. He doesn’t want to think of anything except the feel of fabric against his skin.
Included in that vast group of topics is of course the other person in the room. Ian carefully sets his glass of water on the bedside-table before sitting down on his side of the bed and kicking off his slippers. Elijah instinctively reacts to the touches, to the arm wrapping around him, the soft hand on his cheek.
“Who could possible resist such a sweet puss as this, huh?”
Elijah’s smile is an instinctive reaction to the purrs in his ear. He loves this man, more than he’s ever loved any guy. If he doesn’t cheer up Ian might start to think that something is wrong, and there isn’t really, just Elijah being stupid. He turns and buries his face in a warm chest.
“I’m totally beat. I’m really tired. Sleep will do me good, you’ll see.”
He rubs his cheek against the warm skin. Ian’s steady heartbeat pounds in his ear as the owner of the chest drifts off to sleep. The heart is still strong, Elijah thinks. Ian might live to be a hundred.
They have cuddled up like this more times than Elijah can remember. This time is different though. Despite his efforts to keep them out, unpleasant thoughts seep into his mind, thoughts of other hands touching the soft skin of Ian’s chest.
Elijah can’t believe how fucking stupid he is. Why on earth did he have to go asking Ian that? Should have known he couldn’t handle it. But he can handle it, of course he can. It’s cool really, if he thinks about it. He’s seeing a man of experience – much like he himself is one. Every teenaged boy’s dream – except for the man part, of course.
He takes a steadying breath and squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the workings of his immature heart.
He is truly disappointed with himself. Fifteen years of handling a movie career should have taught him better than this. He swallows and listens to his shaky exhale. He’s sorry Ian’s answer wasn’t different.
Title: Chasing Ian.
Author: Kristina [k7@telia.com]
Pairing: Elijah Wood / Ian McKellen
Rating: M for language and sexual content.
Type: Lord of the Rings Real Person Slash (male/male erotica.)
Archive: Mirrormere, LFSI, all others please ask.
Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome. Flames will be laughed at.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is not affiliated with any of the individuals mentioned in this piece of fiction. The author is not insinuating anything about the mentioned individuals. No money whatsoever is made on this. Any similarities to actual events are purely coincidental. Again, this is fiction derived from the author’s imagination, nothing else. ‘Chasing Amy’ is a Kevin Smith film that I do not own in any way, shape or form. It belongs completely to View Askew.
Summary: Love doesn’t always turn out the way you want it to.
Warnings: Explicit talk about explicit sex. Kink.
AN: I once was struck by a plot bunny. The bunny whispered to me that the relationship between Ian and Elijah was suffering from the ‘Chasing Amy’ syndrome, and so of course I had to write it. This fic is NOT a re-enactment of that film, (and you definitely need not have seen it in order to understand this), but revolves around one of the film’s themes. Which one, you’ll soon see. I guess in a very vague way it could be seen as containing spoilers for ‘Chasing Amy’, which you should all see anyway.
Betad by Nefertiti who is a total star.
[ ]=Italics
For Joanne, Nefertiti and Elanor whose support and inspiration (along with plain and utter nagging) has helped me begin, evolve and fucking finish this story.
“Maturity is a magical thing. Now you see it. Now you don’t.” – Peter McWilliams.
1
It’s one of those things that you can’t pinpoint just exactly when they begin.
One of those things that blatantly declare themselves to you one day even though they already began ages ago. Elijah has no fucking clue as to when it’s supposed to have begun. He doesn’t know when he started thinking about these matters. All he knows is that one day it suddenly dawned on him.
His lover has had a lot of lovers.
He doesn’t know just what about this realisation is supposed to be a revelation. It’s not like he didn’t know it all before. He’s heard Ian mention his old flings and relationships from time to time. He met the ex-boyfriend in New York when he walked into Ian’s rehearsal. Elijah knows that a sixty-three-year-old must probably have extensive experience in the pleasures of the flesh by now, especially as lovely a one as Ian.
He knew all this before. It just never dawned on him.
He doesn’t know just exactly when the feeling of discomfort started creeping up on him. All he knows is that one day he suddenly had a problem with what he had realised. He doesn’t know why he has a problem with it, he just does.
He thinks it might be the number of photographs Ian has in his possession; dozens upon dozens of photo albums tucked into the bookshelves on the bottom floor. The first time Elijah looked through them was on a damp and hot summer night. More than slightly inebriated and fed up with boredom, he had pulled out one of the stacks and unceremoniously dropped down on the floor.
“Come. Lecture me.”
He’d been too drunk, of course, and too tired to keep up with Ian’s detailed descriptions of years of work and family life. Directors, venues, play-wrights, fellow actors, friends, distant relatives, all those English names of towns and places that all sound the same, who of Jean’s children her grandchildren belong to; all this information Elijah could not possibly process in his woozy state.
All, except for one thing: the number of times Ian had come across a picture of someone he described as a lover, or simply got this annoying look of nostalgia in his eyes that made Elijah think of all the junk in his room he can’t bring himself to get rid of. The frequency of such moments was something he could not help but notice. Maybe it was there and then that he learned what he later realised, he just wasn’t aware of it?
Elijah thinks he should stop psychoanalyzing himself.
Not a fucking child, he tells himself and doesn’t really give a shit what must have happened in Ian’s past. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he?
He finds himself paying more attention to the people Ian introduces him to, to looks and body language. There are tricks he’s learned through his craft that comes in handy, subtle things the uninitiated don’t notice.
He turns it into a game. Most often he can tell by simply looking hard enough. Of course, it’s often a tough call with Ian, for he’s always so physically affectionate and generous with endearments.
Elijah finds himself every so often asking his boyfriend whether or not he knows so and so in the biblical sense. Ian seems to think nothing of it, but simply satisfies his young lover’s curiosity. Most often Elijah gets it right.
They have a good life. Or rather, they have two lives plus a bi-continental love life. Everything is going smoothly. The perfect combination of means and obligations ensures that they do not see each other too often, yet have the means to do both that and make long distance telephone calls whenever they want to.
Elijah likes the arrangement. He’s still very much his own man. He knows he would be even if they lived together, but he likes to keep his life the way it is.
He finds himself more sick of London with each visit. The same bad weather, the same baked beans, the same chatty tea breaks. The increasingly crowded and grubby West End, where Ian insists on spending most of his time. Too strong tea served in too hideous porcelain mugs. He’s already bored with soft-boiled eggs, with gossiping neighbours and those fucking crumpets.
There’s an endless stream of visitors and children. A colorful mix of artists and civil servants, people who’ve known Ian far longer than Elijah has lived. There are little girls and boys who blush, and gasp, and follow him around the house with saucer-sized eyes. He considers making a shirt that says ‘Not Frodo’ but his mother taught him that lying was a bad thing.
Over time he has perfected his good-boy routine at tea, taking over the serving duties from Ian. Fetching honey, pouring milk, slicing cake. It gives him something to do between long moments of sitting quietly with his head in his hands while his boyfriend catches up on the latest.
He tries to be good and pay attention, but it’s hard when he doesn’t know any of the people or places being mentioned. He answers politely whenever he is asked a question and soon earns the reputation of the quiet, serious, young man. More than the weather, it’s the feeling that he will never truly belong to Ian’s world that causes his growing lack of interest in this place.
Seeing Ian is always wonderful though, and more than makes up for whatever small discomforts he has to endure. When they meet in Los Angeles, however, Elijah tends to lock Ian up in his small house and not let him out.
One night in London finds Ian in a heated discussion with Judi Dench about biologism and the social construct of the human gender. It’s a good-natured argument, the kind old friends have from time to time, and Elijah knows Ian is losing big-time.
He likes Judi. She treats him like he’s an ordinary person instead of as The American with a capital A.
He doesn’t have to worry that she’s an old fling of Ian’s.
“Like you would know anything about that, Ian,” he decides to join the winning team. Ian grins wickedly and stage whispers over his Dr. Pepper; “Oh, I’m more experienced than you think.”
Elijah doesn’t see Ian’s hand getting slapped and hardly hears the awed exclamations of “Bastard!” “Oh dear,” and “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
He coughs dryly. “Uh, yeah, Ian, you’ve never told me that.”
Ian shrugs and smiles embarrassedly. “Well it hasn’t come up, I suppose. But yes, I have. It would have been a shame to never test the waters. I mean, how can you really know if you never try it? So I did once, well twice, and it wasn’t my cup of tea. I realized I really did prefer Earl Grey over Lady Grey. Too much cream.” He smiles, but his eyes glaze over for a second. “Lovely lass, though.”
Elijah knows exactly what Ian looked like when he was young. He’s seen the pictures of a dark haired and fierce-looking young man burning with something that has long since fizzled. Things were lost between that Ian and his. Bitterness, Ian tells him cheerfully, but there must be more to it than that.
It’s not hard to imagine what else Ian must have experimented with. Elijah already knows about the shady night clubs and the few pipes of weed, but he never suspected that there might be more.
He remembers the Vanity Fair-party after the Academy Awards in 2002. How he’d had tequila shots with Orli and drunk himself into a stupor, finally being able to relax after days of nervous anticipation. At first he’d been upset that they’d lost to that fucking Ron Howard film with that fucking Russell Crowe, but as the alcohol burned through his system he found himself happier with each passing moment.
So they’d lost. Big deal. They had two more chances to collect the Big One, and Ron Howard was really talented, if you thought about it, and Crowe’s part Kiwi and could therefore not be all bad. Just the fact that they were there, that they had made it to the Oscars, was amazing and something to be proud of.
It hadn’t been easy getting Orli to himself. The Brit had been endearingly star-struck and gushed at the celebrities that wanted to shake his hand. Elijah had finally managed to pull him away for some private conversation. Conversation and a whole lot of tequila shots.
Despite having been pissed out of his mind he remembers quite a lot of their conversation. He remembers teasing Orli about being so star-struck. He remembers the jokes they made about the other guests and the decadent industry.
But most of all, he remembers Orli's wicked eyes as he made a comment about Ian and the drunken slurs that spoke of rumors and gossip, tidbits picked up at drama school.
Elijah had shaken his head and smiled fondly, picking up a cigarette and sucking it compulsively. “Naw… you’re wrong. He’s not like that.”
The slurring across the table had continued. “Oh, come on. He’s a kinky one. You can see it in his eyes. The wickedness is written all over.”
Elijah had been puzzled, confused, and more than a bit annoyed. “For Christ’s sake, Orli, I think I know my own boyfriend. Ian’s a fucking teddy bear! It’s hardly…You don’t know him like I do. I mean, this is the guy who drinks the same fucking tea every morning. I doubt I’d get him to swap sides in bed if I wanted to! Trust me on this one, OK?”
Orli had smiled warmly and patted Elijah’s hand. “Whatever you say, Lij. I’m sorry. Shit…I… Look, there’s Nic Kidman…”
Elijah remembers the feeling of uncertainty that hadn’t left him all night.
***
“Those were the days, huh?” He keeps his tone light, as he watches Ian handle his correspondence the following day. Ian looks up from the desk.
“What?”
Elijah thinks that Ian is cute like this, absorbed by paperwork, curious eyes studying him through wire-rimmed glasses. He takes a sip of beer.
“The 70’s. And the 80’s. I was just thinking that you were there. So you could tell me what it was like.”
Ian shrugs and returns his gaze to the flat surface of his desk. “What is it that you want to know?”
Elijah tries to look casual. “Well, was it as wild as they say? I mean, I’ve seen lots of films, and I’ve heard stuff.”
“That depends on whom you ask. Everything is relative – this too. Yes, there was a lot of partying and disco fever. There was also the Moral Majority and Thatcher. I can assure you that it wasn’t any ‘wilder’ than the 1990’s, or indeed, the present age. Trust me, forty years from now your children will ask you the same thing.”
Elijah winces at the unspoken statement and takes another sip of his drink. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But I was thinking more of you. Since I know you were out and about then…”
He doesn’t say ‘young’ since the last thing he wants right now is a lecture. Ian turns his head to smile at him.
“You’re wondering if I was wild.” Elijah nods, and Ian turns back to his writing.
“Well, I was about as wild as I am now. I am saying this so you do not mistake me for some bored, boring, old Tory”. He says the last bit with a grin.
“But yes, I was different. I was very impulsive when younger, and I did some things that look plain stupid today. I wasn’t quite as angry as people say I was, although I tried very hard to live up to that image. I was a different actor then, certainly, because I used up so much energy hiding part of myself in my everyday life. And well, I had certain interests that I don’t maintain today.”
Elijah takes a moment to catch his breath. Is there a way for him [not] to sound like a stupid little kid?
“What interests?” He can almost hear the seconds ticking by before Ian answers, still immersed in correspondence.
“This has to do with what you mean by ‘wild’, does it not? No doubt many people would think that the things I did then were wild, though I don’t trouble myself with such labels. I can honestly say that I probably did most of the things you associate with that time. Nothing that doesn’t go on today, mind you.”
Elijah’s heart is beating loudly, and he waits a few moments for Ian to elaborate. When that doesn’t happen, he is forced speak up. “What did you do?”
Ian sighs and gives him a long look. “I tried some drugs, nothing really heavy, of course, and I never have since. Such a disgusting thing to do really, willingly give yourself over to something that changes your personality and clouds your mind, no matter how temporarily.” He folds the sheet of paper and stuffs it in an envelope.
“I drank a lot, although to you hobbits that is more of a virtue than a vice.” He smiles. “And… I took part in some not so traditional sexual practices. Of course, in those days, any kind of sex between men was un-traditional. At least officially.”
Elijah is growing irritated by Ian’s discretion. He swallows uneasily, tapping his beer bottle with his finger to vent his frustration. He takes care to make his next question specific enough that it will be his last.
“What did you do exactly…sexually? Humour me, here. I – I kinda want to know everything”.
Ian looks up from writing the address neatly on his envelope and is quiet for a while, as if mentally recollecting his experiences. Just as Elijah is about to protest the silence, he begins.
“I had one-night stands, although not as many as you might think. I participated in a couple of… orgies, I guess you would call them, though my generation called them ‘parties’. My first boyfriend and I used to swing a bit. Hmm… Let me see. I mostly slept with people I cared about or admired, friends and co-workers and such. Idols of mine. I had the fortune of enjoying the attentions of a few … legendary actors. I didn’t really pick up someone I didn’t know and shag him senseless, although as I said, I did do that a few times. Nothing I regret, but nothing I’d do again… There was the woman I told you about, and I can assure you that it was just the two of us that time. Then there was a bit of role-play, most of it in monogamous relationships, although not as much as one might think. I think I was so tired from pretending to be someone else all day that I didn’t want to do it when I came home… There was some medium-heavy sadomasochism, of which I practiced, and enjoyed, both roles. There was definitely no exhibitionism, because you wouldn’t want to get caught consorting with another man, now would you? There was a place though, a little club in Soho where you could get away from the public eye for a while, and…well, do whatever you felt like in front of friendly people. Hmm… What else? I cross-dressed once, but it was just for fun. I didn’t get off on it… I once shagged a fellow who wanted to be called Your Majesty when he was giving head… Well, that’s about it, I guess. Nothing very spectacular. Have I satisfied your curiosity?”
His voice is soft, and he has not once lifted his eyes from his writing.
Elijah doesn’t answer. He can’t, because his mind is too busy taking in the surrealism of the situation. The very casual way in which his boyfriend just recited a long list of activities that Elijah could not possibly have believed him capable of, makes him half-expect Ian to say “Got you!” and reveal it all to be a joke.
His gaze is lost on Ian’s long, smooth fingers handling the pen, and he can almost see those same fingers stroking another man’s cock.
“Damn!”
The shout startles him, and he looks up. Ian turns to him and smiles sweetly. ”I broke the pen.”
Elijah can feel his stomach churning as Ian sighs and picks up a new pen from his beloved ‘The World’s Greatest Uncle’ mug.
Elijah pulls up his knees and wraps his arms around them. He feels like he’s going to be sick. He burps loudly, tasting sour beer in his mouth. He shouldn’t have drunk so much.
“Love?”
He looks up into the eyes of the man he has loved for most of his adult life and hopes to see humor and wickedness there but finds only fondness.
“You seem tired, Elijah. You should go to bed. I tell you what, this is my last letter, why don’t you go brush your teeth while I finish up? Okay?”
The voice is so gentle, and the eyes so full of love that Elijah wants to weep and drown himself in comfort, but he feels numb and simply nods.
As he stands before the large oaken bed, Elijah has calmed himself to an admirable degree. He hasn’t allowed one thought, rational or otherwise, to linger in his head. This seems to be the best way to ensure that unwilling images and unpleasant truths are kept at bay.
He hears the familiar footsteps behind him, and he doesn’t have to look to know the expression of infatuation and amusement on Ian’s face.
“Got stuck, sweetie?”
Elijah pulls off his socks and drops them onto the plush, thick carpet. He slides his body between soft cotton sheets and feels for the first time how tired he is, despite his supposed youth. He doesn’t want to think of anything except the feel of fabric against his skin.
Included in that vast group of topics is of course the other person in the room. Ian carefully sets his glass of water on the bedside-table before sitting down on his side of the bed and kicking off his slippers. Elijah instinctively reacts to the touches, to the arm wrapping around him, the soft hand on his cheek.
“Who could possible resist such a sweet puss as this, huh?”
Elijah’s smile is an instinctive reaction to the purrs in his ear. He loves this man, more than he’s ever loved any guy. If he doesn’t cheer up Ian might start to think that something is wrong, and there isn’t really, just Elijah being stupid. He turns and buries his face in a warm chest.
“I’m totally beat. I’m really tired. Sleep will do me good, you’ll see.”
He rubs his cheek against the warm skin. Ian’s steady heartbeat pounds in his ear as the owner of the chest drifts off to sleep. The heart is still strong, Elijah thinks. Ian might live to be a hundred.
They have cuddled up like this more times than Elijah can remember. This time is different though. Despite his efforts to keep them out, unpleasant thoughts seep into his mind, thoughts of other hands touching the soft skin of Ian’s chest.
Elijah can’t believe how fucking stupid he is. Why on earth did he have to go asking Ian that? Should have known he couldn’t handle it. But he can handle it, of course he can. It’s cool really, if he thinks about it. He’s seeing a man of experience – much like he himself is one. Every teenaged boy’s dream – except for the man part, of course.
He takes a steadying breath and squeezes his eyes shut, ignoring the workings of his immature heart.
He is truly disappointed with himself. Fifteen years of handling a movie career should have taught him better than this. He swallows and listens to his shaky exhale. He’s sorry Ian’s answer wasn’t different.
