I only spam because of deadlines, DO NOT JUDGE ME! (shuffleupagus fic)
Author:
llassah
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Hugh/Callum
Rating: R (some sex, nongraphic, plenty of swearing)
Word Count: 2150
Notes: I, uh, yeah. This one is for
shuffleupagus again, for the pairing Hugh/Callum, with the songprompt Malevolent Rapture. Hugh is a werewolf. Lestat is not mine. Anne Rice is, hopefully, not going to sic her lawyers on me *cringes*. And this fic? Complete crack, complete with pervy vampire sex cults and bad french accents (and longitevitee *g*). And entirely fitting, judging by the lyrics (sorry, all death metal fans *hides under Hugh*)
He found him lying asleep on his doorstep again, completely naked, a peaceful smile on his face. Callum could no longer look his neighbors in the eye, and had given up on asking Hugh why he didn’t use the key he had had cut for him. He sighed, shrugged, slung Hugh’s arm around his neck and half carried, half dragged him inside. Hugh’s ability to grope him in his sleep was still astounding to Callum, making him nearly fall over as they stumbled down the hall, before flopping onto his bed. Hugh’s eyes were still closed, but by the leer hovering about his face, he wasn’t as asleep as he had been five minutes ago. Callum sighed, closed his eyes and resigned himself to another missed lie-in.
*~~*
Filming started up again. Hugh phoned whenever he felt like it, whatever the hour was. Callum wondered whether he would miss it at all if Hugh stopped. Concentration the next day, or one of Hugh’s rambling monologues…
He didn’t really need to be able to concentrate. Not really.
“I woke up naked again.”
“You, uh, you did?”
Callum closed his eyes, bit his lip.
“In the phone box at the end of the street. Nearly froze my fucking ass off. And you know what? I’ve, uh, been keeping a diary.”
Callum laughed. “You turning into a teenage girl on me, Mister Punk? Dear diary, you’re the only one that understands me, I feel so-”
“No, you fucking dink, of the mornings I wake up naked. There’s a pattern to them.”
“Does the pattern involve hookers and alcohol?”
“Fuck. Off. This is me putting my middle finger up at you, you fucking dink, and I hope you-”
“Hey, what’re you wearing?” Callum breathed down the phone, stopping him mid rant.
“Uh, boxers. One sock. A scarf. You?- Hang on, I was in the middle of explaining something, fuckface.”
“I’m naked. Keep talking.”
Callum waited patiently, listening to Hugh stand up, walk across the room, put the phone down and pour a glass of water over his head.
“Anyway, full moons. It happens on a full moon.”
“And?”
“I’m a fucking werewolf, baby!” he shouted, seemingly unable to resist a cackle.
Callum blinked, shook his head and scratched the back of his neck.
“You do realize horror films get you the wrong sort of-”
“Fuck off, psycho killer robot boy. And I mean in the, uh, literal sense, I’ve got these furry palms and fangs and I keep wanting to eat steaks, and-”
“How?”
“You know that werewolf horde thingy in that film about the screwy chick, cal?”
“Uh, yeah, that guy in the wolf suit who bit you and you wanted to know why the fuck he couldn't have asked for your autograph like a normal weirdo?”
“Well...it kinda turns out the costume department didn't actually need to make any wolf suits. Stingy fuckers were cutting back on production costs.”
“So that was...”
He still couldn’t quite say it.
“Fuck yeah,” Hugh breathed
“Oh. Uh, oh. That…and you say me playing golf’s freaky. At least I don’t turn into a fucking wolf for a few nights a month. At least I don’t have base and depraved animal passions- do you?”
“Animal passions? Fuck no, fur makes me itch. But base and depraved? That ain’t the werewolf spit doing that.”
Callum could practically hear him leering, knew the exact expression on his face. He sat back on the couch, rubbed a hand over his forehead and wondered what the fuck to do.
“So…is Canada some sort of hellmouth?” he asked, trying to dredge up the Buffy episodes he had seen in bleary eyed four in the morning bouts of insomnia. Hugh’s laugh meant he had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“Nah, only Moosejaw,” he said eventually, still giggling.
“And werewolves exist. Probably vampires too, which kinda explains those weird hickeys we saw the other week…”
“Either a sex cult or vampires. Or hell, vampires in some sort of weird as fuck pervy sex cult, who bite people and then initiate them as creatures of darkness in rituals that involve tubs of industrial strength lube and pitchforks…”
Callum drifted off, wondering what the hell was going on with his life at the moment. He waited for a pause in Hugh’s monologue, hoping he hadn’t just heard the words ‘enema’ and ‘trapeze’.
“So how do I stay safe?” he asked, checking the doors and windows.
“Why the fuck would I know? I’m a werewolf, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of expert. Just means I wake up naked in public a few nights a month, which isn’t really much of a change from before, when- Are you still naked?”
“Yeah,” he replied, wondering where Hugh was going with this one. By the sound of the mattress creaking and clothing hitting the floor, though, Callum figured he could work it out. Apparently, the discussion of Hugh’s lycanthropy was over.
*~~*
He got used to gripping a crucifix as he slept, and locking all the windows of his trailer. He would have mainlined garlic, but decided that was a cruel and unnatural thing to do to Katee. He kept getting the feeling that he was being watched, and not just sometimes, always, so that he kept turning around and trying to catch the watcher at it. He picked up the phone countless times during his run of filming, only to put it down again with a sigh and a breathed-out fuck. Once he got home, though, and he still felt twitchy, fear of vampire sex cults outweighed his fear of ridicule. The next time Hugh called, he interrupted Hugh’s speculating about the evil inherent in men with high cheekbones, words coming out in a babble. Hugh tried to calm him down, but he stood up, paced, speech rapid, movements jerky.
“But what if they come? What if there are, like, other things and they know what I know and-”
He knew he sounded like some sort of fucking toddler or something, and had whispered the word ‘they’ like his phone was tapped, but he was scared. Scared of something he should have been scared of years ago, and the house suddenly seemed a lot bigger and a lot harder to hide in. He felt watched every moment of every day, by something potentially scary, fanged, and pervier than Hugh. Hugh sighed, and Callum could hear the bed sheets being kicked away.
“Look, just stay there, I’m coming over, ok?”
“Yeah, be-”
The phone clicked, and Callum heard silence then a beep. He put the phone down, and then went around locking all the doors and windows. Ten minutes later, Hugh was at the door, hair fluffed up, shirt buttoned wrong. Callum let him in, was about to close the door when something rushed past him. Hugh swore and picked up the first object that came to hand, and they both turned to face the intruder.
The man was tall, pale, had long hair and reminded him of Paul, weirdly. Hugh was still holding the golfclub above his head, and was looking at the intruder with an expression of profound dislike. Callum savored the sight of Hugh voluntarily picking up something he had called ‘fucking lame’ so often for a few more moments then turned to the stranger.
“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?” he asked politely, resisting the urge to cover up his crotch and ask the man to stop looking at his nipples.
The man paused, waited for a draught from the still open door to move his blonde hair and then spoke, wide blue eyes fixed on Callum’s.
“I…am Lestat de Lioncourt, a vampire, tired of immortality, with an attractive pout and well conditioned hair, and many bestselling novels and I come here to take you to a life of luxury and immortality, where you will want for nothing-”
He paused again, cleared his throat and went on in a less dramatic tone of voice. “Come away with me, I will show you such wonders, such wonderful wonders, and you will assuage my loneliness, and together our voices will cry out to the moon with the passion of a thousand violins, our co-”
“Aren’t you shorter in the films?” Hugh asked, putting the club down and grinning. Callum recognized it as his complete shit eating grin, and braced himself for breaking up a fight.
“Tom Cruise. Fuck knows why they cast him, buck toothed, hook nosed little ingrate,” Lestat muttered, scowling at Hugh. “Anyway, werewolf, why are you here? You are not worthy of one so fine, so sensitive, so-”
“Bendy?”
This time, the look in Hugh’s eyes was dreamy. Callum wondered for the hundredth time why he put up with him. Their leers were frighteningly identical. Callum reached out for the mug on the table, not sure if he wanted to down the cold coffee or hit one of them on the head with it.
“Yes, bendy. And if he comes with me, he will be very…bent…”
Lestat frowned, Hugh snickered, and Callum skritched the back of his neck. Before he could tell Lestat precisely where he could shove his novel, pout and really quite girly hair, Hugh put down the golf club and stepped in front of him.
“Two things, dink. One, it’s his fucking choice, and ok, he’s a total fucking dickwad if he wants to spend the rest of his fucking life with a poofy haired vampire, who by some hilarious twist of fate has managed to be overshadowed by Tom fucking Cruise, and two, won’t that freaky Rice chick be looking for you by now? Because, uh, I don’t think she likes it when you go out unattended, what with her being so damn protective of you and all. Which I don’t judge you for, of course-”
Lestat swore, and ran out of the house and into the night, leaving the door ajar. Hugh looked at Callum, Callum looked at Hugh, and a gust of wind blew the door shut. For the first time in a while, Callum felt safe, and knew he wouldn’t have to fear for his virtue because of anyone other than the occasional werewolf.
“How did you know that would get rid of him?”
Hugh just smiled mysteriously and tapped the side of his nose. “Word gets around. Aren’t you going to, uh, thank me for saving you?”
“Thank you for saving me.”
He turned to go into the kitchen, grinning as Hugh huffed in frustration. He could outwait him any day, and Hugh knew it. Besides, if he gave in too quickly he would…
Get laid sooner…
Bizarrely, his inner voice sounded like Hugh. With a shrug, he made his way back to the couch instead, removing his t shirt as he walked and letting it fall to the carpet.
“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing him and pushing him back towards the couch. Hugh unzipped both jeans, and he tugged Hugh’s t-shirt over his head, momentarily breaking the kiss. Jeans were hastily pulled off, socks were left on and both of them were laughing as they fell back onto the couch, Hugh putting on a fake French accent and telling him about ‘zee vair vair magnifique density, avec beaucoup de longitevitee’ that he had in store. He giggled into Hugh’s shoulder, licked up the side of his neck and gasped as Hugh’s hand wrapped around their cocks, as he lifted his head to see Hugh sprawled out underneath him. Hugh grinned up at him, other hand pulling his head down for another kiss, so it felt as if they were completely joined, completely lost in each other as they fucked away all memory of pervy vampire sex cults, and serendipitous copyrighting.
*-*-*
Later, once they had cleaned up, they curled up together on the couch with Callum’s duvet wrapped around them, and the TV turned on.
“Say, do you think Buffy’s real, because I don’t know about you, but I think Spike would totally not mind being shared. And Oz is kinda cute, in a pintsized sort of way…I mean, think of the possibilities! Witches, and hot girls who can kick ass…”
Callum didn’t bother replying. Hugh would talk himself out eventually. He let his head loll back on the couch and smiled as Hugh slipped a hand behind his head and stroked his hair and the back of his neck
“And Harry Potter, I mean ok, the kid annoys me, and Sirius should have been played by someone who wasn’t Oldman, but you know, there are twins. Identical twins...I wonder if we know anyone who can do magic, you know, in secret.”
The phone rang again. Callum picked it up, hoping it wasn’t Anne Rice’s lawyers or anything.
“Hey, Callum.”
“Paul, uh, why are you phoning at four in the morning?”
“I’m a motherfucking wizard, baby!”
llassah
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Hugh/Callum
Rating: R (some sex, nongraphic, plenty of swearing)
Word Count: 2150
Notes: I, uh, yeah. This one is for
shuffleupagus again, for the pairing Hugh/Callum, with the songprompt Malevolent Rapture. Hugh is a werewolf. Lestat is not mine. Anne Rice is, hopefully, not going to sic her lawyers on me *cringes*. And this fic? Complete crack, complete with pervy vampire sex cults and bad french accents (and longitevitee *g*). And entirely fitting, judging by the lyrics (sorry, all death metal fans *hides under Hugh*)
He found him lying asleep on his doorstep again, completely naked, a peaceful smile on his face. Callum could no longer look his neighbors in the eye, and had given up on asking Hugh why he didn’t use the key he had had cut for him. He sighed, shrugged, slung Hugh’s arm around his neck and half carried, half dragged him inside. Hugh’s ability to grope him in his sleep was still astounding to Callum, making him nearly fall over as they stumbled down the hall, before flopping onto his bed. Hugh’s eyes were still closed, but by the leer hovering about his face, he wasn’t as asleep as he had been five minutes ago. Callum sighed, closed his eyes and resigned himself to another missed lie-in.
*~~*
Filming started up again. Hugh phoned whenever he felt like it, whatever the hour was. Callum wondered whether he would miss it at all if Hugh stopped. Concentration the next day, or one of Hugh’s rambling monologues…
He didn’t really need to be able to concentrate. Not really.
“I woke up naked again.”
“You, uh, you did?”
Callum closed his eyes, bit his lip.
“In the phone box at the end of the street. Nearly froze my fucking ass off. And you know what? I’ve, uh, been keeping a diary.”
Callum laughed. “You turning into a teenage girl on me, Mister Punk? Dear diary, you’re the only one that understands me, I feel so-”
“No, you fucking dink, of the mornings I wake up naked. There’s a pattern to them.”
“Does the pattern involve hookers and alcohol?”
“Fuck. Off. This is me putting my middle finger up at you, you fucking dink, and I hope you-”
“Hey, what’re you wearing?” Callum breathed down the phone, stopping him mid rant.
“Uh, boxers. One sock. A scarf. You?- Hang on, I was in the middle of explaining something, fuckface.”
“I’m naked. Keep talking.”
Callum waited patiently, listening to Hugh stand up, walk across the room, put the phone down and pour a glass of water over his head.
“Anyway, full moons. It happens on a full moon.”
“And?”
“I’m a fucking werewolf, baby!” he shouted, seemingly unable to resist a cackle.
Callum blinked, shook his head and scratched the back of his neck.
“You do realize horror films get you the wrong sort of-”
“Fuck off, psycho killer robot boy. And I mean in the, uh, literal sense, I’ve got these furry palms and fangs and I keep wanting to eat steaks, and-”
“How?”
“You know that werewolf horde thingy in that film about the screwy chick, cal?”
“Uh, yeah, that guy in the wolf suit who bit you and you wanted to know why the fuck he couldn't have asked for your autograph like a normal weirdo?”
“Well...it kinda turns out the costume department didn't actually need to make any wolf suits. Stingy fuckers were cutting back on production costs.”
“So that was...”
He still couldn’t quite say it.
“Fuck yeah,” Hugh breathed
“Oh. Uh, oh. That…and you say me playing golf’s freaky. At least I don’t turn into a fucking wolf for a few nights a month. At least I don’t have base and depraved animal passions- do you?”
“Animal passions? Fuck no, fur makes me itch. But base and depraved? That ain’t the werewolf spit doing that.”
Callum could practically hear him leering, knew the exact expression on his face. He sat back on the couch, rubbed a hand over his forehead and wondered what the fuck to do.
“So…is Canada some sort of hellmouth?” he asked, trying to dredge up the Buffy episodes he had seen in bleary eyed four in the morning bouts of insomnia. Hugh’s laugh meant he had to hold the phone away from his ear.
“Nah, only Moosejaw,” he said eventually, still giggling.
“And werewolves exist. Probably vampires too, which kinda explains those weird hickeys we saw the other week…”
“Either a sex cult or vampires. Or hell, vampires in some sort of weird as fuck pervy sex cult, who bite people and then initiate them as creatures of darkness in rituals that involve tubs of industrial strength lube and pitchforks…”
Callum drifted off, wondering what the hell was going on with his life at the moment. He waited for a pause in Hugh’s monologue, hoping he hadn’t just heard the words ‘enema’ and ‘trapeze’.
“So how do I stay safe?” he asked, checking the doors and windows.
“Why the fuck would I know? I’m a werewolf, but that doesn’t mean I’m some sort of expert. Just means I wake up naked in public a few nights a month, which isn’t really much of a change from before, when- Are you still naked?”
“Yeah,” he replied, wondering where Hugh was going with this one. By the sound of the mattress creaking and clothing hitting the floor, though, Callum figured he could work it out. Apparently, the discussion of Hugh’s lycanthropy was over.
*~~*
He got used to gripping a crucifix as he slept, and locking all the windows of his trailer. He would have mainlined garlic, but decided that was a cruel and unnatural thing to do to Katee. He kept getting the feeling that he was being watched, and not just sometimes, always, so that he kept turning around and trying to catch the watcher at it. He picked up the phone countless times during his run of filming, only to put it down again with a sigh and a breathed-out fuck. Once he got home, though, and he still felt twitchy, fear of vampire sex cults outweighed his fear of ridicule. The next time Hugh called, he interrupted Hugh’s speculating about the evil inherent in men with high cheekbones, words coming out in a babble. Hugh tried to calm him down, but he stood up, paced, speech rapid, movements jerky.
“But what if they come? What if there are, like, other things and they know what I know and-”
He knew he sounded like some sort of fucking toddler or something, and had whispered the word ‘they’ like his phone was tapped, but he was scared. Scared of something he should have been scared of years ago, and the house suddenly seemed a lot bigger and a lot harder to hide in. He felt watched every moment of every day, by something potentially scary, fanged, and pervier than Hugh. Hugh sighed, and Callum could hear the bed sheets being kicked away.
“Look, just stay there, I’m coming over, ok?”
“Yeah, be-”
The phone clicked, and Callum heard silence then a beep. He put the phone down, and then went around locking all the doors and windows. Ten minutes later, Hugh was at the door, hair fluffed up, shirt buttoned wrong. Callum let him in, was about to close the door when something rushed past him. Hugh swore and picked up the first object that came to hand, and they both turned to face the intruder.
The man was tall, pale, had long hair and reminded him of Paul, weirdly. Hugh was still holding the golfclub above his head, and was looking at the intruder with an expression of profound dislike. Callum savored the sight of Hugh voluntarily picking up something he had called ‘fucking lame’ so often for a few more moments then turned to the stranger.
“Who the fuck are you, and what are you doing in my house?” he asked politely, resisting the urge to cover up his crotch and ask the man to stop looking at his nipples.
The man paused, waited for a draught from the still open door to move his blonde hair and then spoke, wide blue eyes fixed on Callum’s.
“I…am Lestat de Lioncourt, a vampire, tired of immortality, with an attractive pout and well conditioned hair, and many bestselling novels and I come here to take you to a life of luxury and immortality, where you will want for nothing-”
He paused again, cleared his throat and went on in a less dramatic tone of voice. “Come away with me, I will show you such wonders, such wonderful wonders, and you will assuage my loneliness, and together our voices will cry out to the moon with the passion of a thousand violins, our co-”
“Aren’t you shorter in the films?” Hugh asked, putting the club down and grinning. Callum recognized it as his complete shit eating grin, and braced himself for breaking up a fight.
“Tom Cruise. Fuck knows why they cast him, buck toothed, hook nosed little ingrate,” Lestat muttered, scowling at Hugh. “Anyway, werewolf, why are you here? You are not worthy of one so fine, so sensitive, so-”
“Bendy?”
This time, the look in Hugh’s eyes was dreamy. Callum wondered for the hundredth time why he put up with him. Their leers were frighteningly identical. Callum reached out for the mug on the table, not sure if he wanted to down the cold coffee or hit one of them on the head with it.
“Yes, bendy. And if he comes with me, he will be very…bent…”
Lestat frowned, Hugh snickered, and Callum skritched the back of his neck. Before he could tell Lestat precisely where he could shove his novel, pout and really quite girly hair, Hugh put down the golf club and stepped in front of him.
“Two things, dink. One, it’s his fucking choice, and ok, he’s a total fucking dickwad if he wants to spend the rest of his fucking life with a poofy haired vampire, who by some hilarious twist of fate has managed to be overshadowed by Tom fucking Cruise, and two, won’t that freaky Rice chick be looking for you by now? Because, uh, I don’t think she likes it when you go out unattended, what with her being so damn protective of you and all. Which I don’t judge you for, of course-”
Lestat swore, and ran out of the house and into the night, leaving the door ajar. Hugh looked at Callum, Callum looked at Hugh, and a gust of wind blew the door shut. For the first time in a while, Callum felt safe, and knew he wouldn’t have to fear for his virtue because of anyone other than the occasional werewolf.
“How did you know that would get rid of him?”
Hugh just smiled mysteriously and tapped the side of his nose. “Word gets around. Aren’t you going to, uh, thank me for saving you?”
“Thank you for saving me.”
He turned to go into the kitchen, grinning as Hugh huffed in frustration. He could outwait him any day, and Hugh knew it. Besides, if he gave in too quickly he would…
Get laid sooner…
Bizarrely, his inner voice sounded like Hugh. With a shrug, he made his way back to the couch instead, removing his t shirt as he walked and letting it fall to the carpet.
“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing him and pushing him back towards the couch. Hugh unzipped both jeans, and he tugged Hugh’s t-shirt over his head, momentarily breaking the kiss. Jeans were hastily pulled off, socks were left on and both of them were laughing as they fell back onto the couch, Hugh putting on a fake French accent and telling him about ‘zee vair vair magnifique density, avec beaucoup de longitevitee’ that he had in store. He giggled into Hugh’s shoulder, licked up the side of his neck and gasped as Hugh’s hand wrapped around their cocks, as he lifted his head to see Hugh sprawled out underneath him. Hugh grinned up at him, other hand pulling his head down for another kiss, so it felt as if they were completely joined, completely lost in each other as they fucked away all memory of pervy vampire sex cults, and serendipitous copyrighting.
*-*-*
Later, once they had cleaned up, they curled up together on the couch with Callum’s duvet wrapped around them, and the TV turned on.
“Say, do you think Buffy’s real, because I don’t know about you, but I think Spike would totally not mind being shared. And Oz is kinda cute, in a pintsized sort of way…I mean, think of the possibilities! Witches, and hot girls who can kick ass…”
Callum didn’t bother replying. Hugh would talk himself out eventually. He let his head loll back on the couch and smiled as Hugh slipped a hand behind his head and stroked his hair and the back of his neck
“And Harry Potter, I mean ok, the kid annoys me, and Sirius should have been played by someone who wasn’t Oldman, but you know, there are twins. Identical twins...I wonder if we know anyone who can do magic, you know, in secret.”
The phone rang again. Callum picked it up, hoping it wasn’t Anne Rice’s lawyers or anything.
“Hey, Callum.”
“Paul, uh, why are you phoning at four in the morning?”
“I’m a motherfucking wizard, baby!”