New Slings and Arrow fic
Title: Love Song
Fandom: Slings & Arrows
Pairings: Ellen/Geoffrey, Ellen/Sloan, Ellen/Geoffrey
Rating: Teen/vaguely suggestive
Notes: A fic for lucifuge_5, who requested Slings and Arrows fic for her winning help_haiti bid. Thank you -- I hope you enjoy the story! With thanks to akarui_rynka for the beta.
What Ellen loved best about Geoffrey was, he knew who she was going to be -- who they both were going to be.
They'd found each other, in nearly empty theatres, rehearsing the staging for the spear-carriers, lords, attendants and maids. They'd sought each other out in crowded houses, with a sock over the knob serving as the illusion of privacy.
They tumbled together and Geoffrey would whisper in her ear, "Next year, you will be Helena, and I'll be Demetrius. You'll be Beatrice to my Benedick. We're going to be magnificent. My Viola, my Juliet."
And she said, always, "Yes."
~~
What Ellen loves best about Sloan is, he has no idea who she is.
He sweeps into her house with flowers (not his) in hand, takes charge of her chameleon, and... moves into her life. He's young and handsome, two things she looks for in a lover. And he finds her attractive, despite not knowing a thing about her -- other than lizard ownership and a recent loss. Of sorts. Honestly, she and Oliver had lost each other years ago.
Sloan is unexpected and sweet.
That Geoffrey hates him on sight is simply a happy accident.
And she's not thinking of Geoffrey while on the back of Sloan's motorcycle, the speed and the sound making her squeak and clutch at Sloan. Her arms wind around his muscular torso, and she swears he speeds up anytime she even thinks about loosening her grasp.
They pull off the road and into a bit of field turned parking lot -- more grass than gravel beneath the wheels. He parks and leads her by the hand to a group of young men and one young woman gathered around a trailer and a different motorbike. This one is all engine and exhaust and metal -- it looks unfinished compared to the red plastic-enclosed one they rode in on.
Sloan is greeted with heads nodding up and half-grunted "heys."
"Guys, this is Ellen," he says, an arm slung low and possessive around her back, voice almost... proud. He introduces 'the guys,' but she's not sure she connects the names to the right faces before Sloan's sucked into a conversation that may as well be in Latin.
Actually, she suspects she'd have a better chance at following it if it were.
On the heels of an incomprehensible exchange involving torque and someone's cursed tool box, he leads her through a weaving path around other knots of enthusiasts, gear, and bikes, and past a fence so she can see the track, a vaguely oblong dirt construction. The metal bleachers are the most permanent looking part. Sloan leads her up into the stands, turns to the track, and points to the left. "See, there? When I come over that hill, I'll see you."
"I'll be here," she says simply.
He grins and kisses her, then he's jumping down the stairs and running back to the guys, leaving her surrounded by a t-shirt and jeans crowd that averages closer to Sloan's age than hers, especially if one figures in the large number of children. She shrugs and sits and wishes she'd brought something to read, feeling vaguely ridiculous and out of place.
Then the bikes line up, and the already-loud engine noise actually increases. A PA system crackles to life, the words all but incomprehensible. A traffic light with too many bulbs flashes down through yellow-yellow-yellow to green and the race is on. Sloan immediately fights his way towards the lead, and Ellen finds herself on her feet, cheering and yelling and not feeling ridiculous at all.
When she hears how many other voices in the crowd are cheering for Sloan, Ellen realizes she may not know exactly who he is, either. But that doesn't matter, right? No, of course not.
~~
What Ellen loves best about Geoffrey is...
Geoffrey knows exactly who she is. He's always known her, before she was someone to know.
As she joins him at the altar, Ellen watches him watching her. His expression shows a soft adoration, a tinge of amazement -- the lover played too sincere, but she suspects her own face reflects the same.
The amazing part is that she knows he sees her, Ellen, not the famous Ellen Fanshaw, queen of the New Burbage stage and occasional pain-in-her-director's-ass (for the good of the play, though, always). Geoffrey has known her too well and too long to idolize her. He knows that her life is often a mess as dramatic as any staged production, that she's currently paying back taxes and facing a lawsuit for breach of contract.
He knows who she was, who she became, who she could have been and might still be and -- he doesn't turn away. From any of it. And yes, Geoffrey is a little crazy, sometimes, but he's never been stupid.
What Ellen loves best about Geoffrey is everything. She hopes even a fraction of what she feels shows in her voice as she affirms, "Yes, I do."
Fandom: Slings & Arrows
Pairings: Ellen/Geoffrey, Ellen/Sloan, Ellen/Geoffrey
Rating: Teen/vaguely suggestive
Notes: A fic for lucifuge_5, who requested Slings and Arrows fic for her winning help_haiti bid. Thank you -- I hope you enjoy the story! With thanks to akarui_rynka for the beta.
What Ellen loved best about Geoffrey was, he knew who she was going to be -- who they both were going to be.
They'd found each other, in nearly empty theatres, rehearsing the staging for the spear-carriers, lords, attendants and maids. They'd sought each other out in crowded houses, with a sock over the knob serving as the illusion of privacy.
They tumbled together and Geoffrey would whisper in her ear, "Next year, you will be Helena, and I'll be Demetrius. You'll be Beatrice to my Benedick. We're going to be magnificent. My Viola, my Juliet."
And she said, always, "Yes."
~~
What Ellen loves best about Sloan is, he has no idea who she is.
He sweeps into her house with flowers (not his) in hand, takes charge of her chameleon, and... moves into her life. He's young and handsome, two things she looks for in a lover. And he finds her attractive, despite not knowing a thing about her -- other than lizard ownership and a recent loss. Of sorts. Honestly, she and Oliver had lost each other years ago.
Sloan is unexpected and sweet.
That Geoffrey hates him on sight is simply a happy accident.
And she's not thinking of Geoffrey while on the back of Sloan's motorcycle, the speed and the sound making her squeak and clutch at Sloan. Her arms wind around his muscular torso, and she swears he speeds up anytime she even thinks about loosening her grasp.
They pull off the road and into a bit of field turned parking lot -- more grass than gravel beneath the wheels. He parks and leads her by the hand to a group of young men and one young woman gathered around a trailer and a different motorbike. This one is all engine and exhaust and metal -- it looks unfinished compared to the red plastic-enclosed one they rode in on.
Sloan is greeted with heads nodding up and half-grunted "heys."
"Guys, this is Ellen," he says, an arm slung low and possessive around her back, voice almost... proud. He introduces 'the guys,' but she's not sure she connects the names to the right faces before Sloan's sucked into a conversation that may as well be in Latin.
Actually, she suspects she'd have a better chance at following it if it were.
On the heels of an incomprehensible exchange involving torque and someone's cursed tool box, he leads her through a weaving path around other knots of enthusiasts, gear, and bikes, and past a fence so she can see the track, a vaguely oblong dirt construction. The metal bleachers are the most permanent looking part. Sloan leads her up into the stands, turns to the track, and points to the left. "See, there? When I come over that hill, I'll see you."
"I'll be here," she says simply.
He grins and kisses her, then he's jumping down the stairs and running back to the guys, leaving her surrounded by a t-shirt and jeans crowd that averages closer to Sloan's age than hers, especially if one figures in the large number of children. She shrugs and sits and wishes she'd brought something to read, feeling vaguely ridiculous and out of place.
Then the bikes line up, and the already-loud engine noise actually increases. A PA system crackles to life, the words all but incomprehensible. A traffic light with too many bulbs flashes down through yellow-yellow-yellow to green and the race is on. Sloan immediately fights his way towards the lead, and Ellen finds herself on her feet, cheering and yelling and not feeling ridiculous at all.
When she hears how many other voices in the crowd are cheering for Sloan, Ellen realizes she may not know exactly who he is, either. But that doesn't matter, right? No, of course not.
~~
What Ellen loves best about Geoffrey is...
Geoffrey knows exactly who she is. He's always known her, before she was someone to know.
As she joins him at the altar, Ellen watches him watching her. His expression shows a soft adoration, a tinge of amazement -- the lover played too sincere, but she suspects her own face reflects the same.
The amazing part is that she knows he sees her, Ellen, not the famous Ellen Fanshaw, queen of the New Burbage stage and occasional pain-in-her-director's-ass (for the good of the play, though, always). Geoffrey has known her too well and too long to idolize her. He knows that her life is often a mess as dramatic as any staged production, that she's currently paying back taxes and facing a lawsuit for breach of contract.
He knows who she was, who she became, who she could have been and might still be and -- he doesn't turn away. From any of it. And yes, Geoffrey is a little crazy, sometimes, but he's never been stupid.
What Ellen loves best about Geoffrey is everything. She hopes even a fraction of what she feels shows in her voice as she affirms, "Yes, I do."