RPF: Thirty- James McAvoy/Michael Fassbender

Sep 16, 2011 00:08


TRIGGER WARNING: Disordered eating thought processes, crash dieting.

Thirty

Michael takes the part mostly out of fascination.

He knows about Bobby Sands and the Hunger Strikes: although he was a very young boy when it was going on, he understands what it is to his country’s heritage, and if he can help put out that importance to a new generation of people, then he will do. He knows what it’s going to entail, and how difficult it will be. He isn’t stupid, he knows that even actors who are naturally quite skinny, like he is, can’t play a man who died of starvation without being expected to lose weight.

“I’m not sure if I like the idea,” James ponders when Michael tells him he’s taking on the role, “Crash dieting is awful for you, Michael.”

“It’s going to be medically monitored, and if it gets too much for my body to take, I just stop. You’ve lost weight for roles.”

“Yeah, I’ve lost half a stone,” James scoffs, “Not thirty pounds. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I’m sure. I won’t let myself get damaged, I promise.”

Michael kisses him, like he’s sealing a bargain, and that night they have a massive meal, as though it’s a send off. Michael weighs himself that night and as he’s falling asleep, James’ arms wrapped around his waist, he’s kind of excited to begin.

The first day is probably one of the most difficult, because it’s a shock to his system. The way he’s going to do it is to lessen and lessen his daily food intake, until he’s down to a bare minimum; but the first day is still quite a leap. James eats normally, but tentatively, awkwardly, like he knows Michael will be watching like a hungry wolf. To avoid this problem, Michael makes himself scarce around times when James is having meals. Around dinner time he goes for a run. They’re living in LA right now: Michael wonders if any of the incredibly thin girls he sees have eaten less than him today.

After the first five pounds, it gets a little easier. Everything is a bit sharper, clearer, brighter; having nothing in his stomach makes his head a little more focused. His bones ache slightly when he first wake up in the morning, his fingertips burn more easily when he wraps his hands around the mug of green tea that has replaced his usual morning cuppa. He can’t take breakfast tea without milk, and milk is banned on his diet, so he’s turned to green tea. The warmth gives an illusion of fullness in his belly and the matcha speeds up his metabolism. James kisses him and holds him, but can’t help but notice the absence of those five pounds. Five pounds fewer of Michael to love.

Ten pounds, and Michael feels oddly fantastic. He’s so hungry all the time, but he feels incredibly focused, and he’s filled with a strange, nervous energy that he uses to run and run until he’s utterly exhausted. He goes for a check up to ensure everything’s on track, and gets a few looks of what he thinks is admiration. He’s ahead of schedule, having lost more than was expected of him in the time he’s had so far. His pride at having achieved that is enough to feed him for a while.

“I’m sorry,” James says, after the fifteen pound mark. They’re not having sex anymore- James just can’t do it. “It isn’t that I don’t find you attractive, I do, you’ll always be beautiful to me. It’s just, you’re starting to resemble a little boy, and I always feel like I’ll snap you in two, and I can see your spine, and it’s freaking me out a bit.”

“I understand,” Michael says, with a wry smile, “I’ll just look forward to all the sex we’ll have when I’m completely full and sated- two pleasures combined.” He kisses James, who feels a bit awkward beneath his lips. Michael moves back, “What? Don’t tell me I can’t kiss or cuddle you either.”

“Yes. Sorry, yes.” James says quickly, “You can, just please don’t cut me with your hip bones if we snuggle.”

James and Michael have taken to doing their food shopping separately, as James always seems to pick up the wrong things and Michael is impossible to buy for. The last time they attempted to do it together, James’ hand turned pink from the amount of times Michael slapped it and said, “We can’t have that in the house, it’s too tempting for me” or “That’s full fat, James, Christ alive can’t you read?”. Michael studies labels for so long, face set in concentration, as though looking for some hidden ingredient, a snare that will entrap him into gaining weight. He has memorised the calorie content of everything that he might possibly consume in a day. He sometimes tells James the calories in a random item of food, purely as a point of interest, because to him it used to be mindblowing that something relatively small could be laden with them, and now it’s starting to be a given; but it only irritates James and makes him feel guilty for eating around Michael. James can’t do so much as eat a banana without Michael going, “There’s so many ca-“, prompting James to either leave the room or chuck whatever he’s eating in the bin.

Twenty pounds, and Michael is starting to look quite ill. His cheeks are hollow and white, his expressions always sullen. His clothes hang off him pathetically, but he sees no point in buying any new ones since it’s only temporary. Christmas comes and it’s a nightmare for everyone involved. Michael’s sister is staying with them, and she’s pregnant, so can’t drink, and of course Michael can’t eat; between the two of them, they make James wish that he’d taken his mother up on her offer of a Christmas dinner in Scotland, where everything’s normal and there aren’t crazy dieting boyfriends rampaging around licking yoghurt lids for their breakfast then doing 200 situps on the kitchen floor or pregnant ladies craving Guinness. James’ own Christmas dinner is shared with Michael’s sister, and whilst it’s very nice, the dark presence of Michael looms over them whilst he does his workout in the other room, his daily tin of sardines waiting by the sink.

Christmas ends, and Michael’s sister goes home with a kiss and a hug made awkward by his thinness. James thinks that maybe the storm is over for a short while, and foolishly offers Michael a beer.

“How many calories are in it?” Michael asks automatically.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, it doesn’t matter…” James mutters, loud enough for Michael to hear.

“It matters if it means I can’t eat for the rest of the day, James!” Michael spits in response, before quickly quitting the room. James hears the door slam and sees out of the window Michael step down off the decking, setting off at a run.

It’s when he’s lost twenty-five pounds that Michael calls James fat. He doesn’t mean to, nor does he means it at all, he’s just so exhausted and so cross with James’ constant disapproving looks and snide comments.

“You look godawful.” James says from the bed, as Michael peers at himself in the mirror. He isn’t sure if he agrees. A part of him thinks that he looks disgusting, but another part thinks that, apart from the dark circles under his eyes, he’s looking pretty good. He feels powerful, strong, in control.

“Thanks, babe.” Michael replies dryly, running a finger over his protruding ribs, rubbing at his stomach, not used to the lack of any muscle or flesh.

“I mean it. I hate this. You’re so unhealthy.”

“I think I’m doing alright, James,” Michael snaps, “I still seem to have the ability to get out of bed and go about my day. I don’t have to be as fat as you to be healthy.”

It takes a moment for the words to hit, for either or them. Michael turns around, his heart sinking. James looks as though Michael has physically struck him.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t mean-“

“Forget it,” James says briskly, getting out of bed and crossing the room to the door.

“James, I didn’t-“

“I said fucking forget it!” James shouts, turning on his heel to face Michael, “You’d better hope something or someone gives me the strength to stay with you until filming’s over. I love you, Michael, but this is changing you. This is messing with your head, it’s screwing up your perceptions. You’re sick, Michael, you’re fucking sick in the head.”

James leaves the room and Michael tries to cry, but his eyes just hurt, so he stops trying.

The final five pounds are lost in silence. He doesn’t say a word to James, and James has nothing to say to him. When Michael gets down to 58kg, he calls Steve and asks if they can get this over with as quickly as possible. He supposes Steve will just think Michael wants food back, but in reality he wants his boyfriend back too, and if gaining thirty pounds as quickly as possible is what’s gonna do that, he’ll do it as soon as he can.

When they wrap, Michael feels like crying. Partly because he is emotionally exhausted, partly because he’s so hungry that he’s been chewing the insides of his mouth until they bleed. Thank God his final scenes don’t require talking. He hopes they’ve got everything right, because there is no way they’re getting him back for a reshoot, ever.

He gets home to James and lets his bag and coat fall on the floor. He calls out his boyfriend’s name, and James comes into the room and looks at Michael standing there, thin arms outstretched.

“I hate the way you look.” James says flatly.

“I don’t have to look like this anymore.” Michael replies.

“Good,” James eyes Michael’s thin body suspiciously, like he thinks his skeleton will turn to dust, “I am going to fatten you up, Fassbender.”

“I thought you’d never offer,” Michael sighs, lunging forward to kiss James. James keeps his hands by his sides as he kisses back, because he can’t stand the feeling of Michael’s bones.

They go out for sushi at Michael’s request. He gets full very quickly: his stomach has shrunk, so he can barely eat a thing. As soon as he stop eating, Michael begins to shudder. He realises that it’s from cold: his body is so unused to burning energy that it doesn’t know how to warm him up. James wraps his coat around Michael and hugs him close all the way home.

They go away, leave LA, end up somewhere they won’t be bothered. James feeds Michael like a baby, little portions and often so as to increase his stomach capacity. He feeds him creamy yoghurts with honey, white bread soaked in whole milk, porridge and jam. It’s easy for Michael to eat, and it helps gets the weight on quickly without overwhelming his body with anything that might affect his heart. James licks and kisses and tastes the food from around Michael’s mouth, and makes love to him as he hasn’t in weeks.

In the end, within a month Michael has gained back the thirty pounds, with a sly extra few in addition. Neither he nor James object to this. Michael delights in eating the way James delights in Michael’s body.

Michael knows that the next role he gets (for there will be one, his phone has barely stopped ringing since he turned it back on after what James has affectionately dubbed the, “Feed Up Fassbender Sojourn”) might require getting a little more in shape. But for now, he’s happy as he is, and doesn’t plan on ever feeling such hunger again.

-The end-

mcfassy, rpf, michael fassbender, james mcavoy, fanfiction

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