Fic: Acceptance Speech, RPS, HL/RSL
Fic: Acceptance Speech
Author: Nakanna Lee
Pairing: RPS, HL/RSL
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: If you don't like RPS, don't read it.
Disclaimer: None of this is true, nor does it claim to be. No harm is intended.
Summary: Hugh and Robert, pre-Golden Globes this past Tuesday.
A/N: Still follows the AU set up from my fics "Reasons" to "Violet." This is short but hopefully fills some gaps.
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“I hate these things.” Hugh grimaced from the confines of his suit and glanced down the hallway to where Robert sat on the living room sofa, intently flipping through the TV channels. His voice rose in satiric amusement, and his eyebrows crawled upwards, making his forehead break out into wrinkles. “Don’t make me stare covetously at your sweatpants and t-shirt. And holey socks. At least look like you made an effort.”
“To look decent while I’m sitting around doing nothing?” Robert rested his head against the couch, mussing the back of his hair. He was going to need another trim soon. Wilson couldn’t get too disheveled.
Hugh wandered into the room. His eyes were drawn almost immediately in suspicion towards the TV, which was currently, not so clandestinely, being set up to TiVo something.
“You’re not recording it?” Hugh asked incredulously. He leaned into the back of the couch, peering around to see Robert feigning one of his innocent expressions. Hugh waved a hand aimlessly, already sensing objection was pointless. “These shows are absolutely horrible to attend-I can’t imagine anyone wanting to watch them by choice. Let alone rewind to suffer through it again.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “You’re on. I want to see you.”
“I suppose you couldn’t have…I don’t know…just come along,” Hugh mumbled. Robert laughed, tugging on Hugh’s sleeve to promptingly guide him around the couch and sit beside him.
“You specifically told me not to, Hugh. Cited a conflict of interests.” His smile evened into a low, reflective expression, and he moved his hand down from Hugh’s suit sleeve to squeeze his hand. His tongue flicked out to wet his own lips as he rocked his head heavily from one side to another, words quiet but tight. “Look, I know you’re not leaving anybody. I’m not asking you to. But you don’t have to completely segregate me from all the other parts of your life…”
Hugh dropped his eyes but kept his body facing Robert’s. “Right now…isn’t a good time to bring this up again, Bobby.”
Robert’s jaw set sullenly for a moment, his eyes drifting away from Hugh and towards the television again. Some reporter in a dazzling dress and makeup that all tried too hard to impress was strangling a microphone as she rambled the previews for the fourth time in the past thirty minutes. It was an hour, Hugh knew well, before he officially would be late to the meet-and-greet; yet since early this morning, the cameras had been preened and ready, the interviewers busy preparing their nitpicking, blunt questions.
Hugh watched the unsettled motion of Robert’s features, the way his focus slanted to corners and walls and then waned back towards their feet. He hadn’t intended to leave him at home-Robert’s apartment was their mutual space now, and Hugh didn’t hesitate to call it that-but he certainly hadn’t planned on taking him either. He simply couldn’t.
Stephen, for one, had made the trip and was seated at a nearby table. They had planned to go out afterwards and catch up, not having seen one another since the last time Stephen had dropped by. That little trip had concluded in support for Hugh’s new relationship and candles for himself and Robert to share, Hugh recalled. A familiar flush deepened the color of his neck and the shirt collar felt all the more stifling for it.
And Jo was already there, too, on the same flight with Stephen. She’d asked if Hugh had wanted her to meet at his apartment, but Hugh had months ago abandoned that space for Robert’s company. He’d told her no, she should stay with Stephen and avoid the onslaught of press best she could, and he’d meet her there. The steadiness of his voice was what had troubled him. None of that so far had truly been a lie, but Robert walking in beside him would be something unjustifiable. He wouldn’t do that.
He’d known Robert had broken off the engagement with Gaby, although Robert had never fully told him that in any conversation since he considered it two months ago. But Robert no longer talked about New York, didn’t schedule trips out that way; her sudden lack of phone messages left empty spaces on the answering machine. Hugh waited for Robert to tell him exactly when he’d told her there wouldn’t be a spring wedding. He was almost terrified Robert had mentioned the exact reasons why marriage wasn’t in his plans, but certainly Robert hadn’t been that daft as to think honesty was the best route given the circumstances. Hugh waited to find out what her reaction was, and if Robert was regretting anything, but a part of him was relieved the longer Robert continued to say nothing. The reality of it preserved its suspension, and in that case, guilt could only be hypothetical.
“Bobby…”
Hugh said his name without any indication of warning-about the TiVo, about his exponentially increasing odds of being late, about the suit, about the warm grip of his hand-but it didn't have to be. He glanced down at their hands as Robert pressed the tips of their fingers together, harder with growing assurance as if he were trying to exchange prints. Slowly, Robert slid his index finger down to Hugh’s palm, where he traced a half-circle design that set off far more nerves than what it should have. Hugh lowered his head and suppressed a small, embarrassed smile. It was yet another lame attempt to distract himself from the fact that Robert was making him relax when he should have been inconsolably stressed, that he was making him shift in his seat from the slightest of touches.
“Feel good?” Robert murmured. He pressed into the softer part of Hugh’s palm, taking his time to dip in and out between the spaces of Hugh’s fingers. Robert glanced up at his face, and Hugh could feel him studying the curve of his mouth as Robert brushed his touches lower, over the sensitive skin of the wrist, slipping beneath the white cuff of Hugh’s sleeve.
Hugh sighed, a bit more roughly than what he would have liked, but didn’t dissent. He scooted around again as if he were only trying to get comfortable, hoping he wouldn’t have to stand for at least a couple more minutes. Stretching, he spread his knees just enough for his right to touch alongside Robert’s left. Then the fingers vanished in a smooth movement from his hand and reappeared on his thigh, massing leisurely. Quietly, Robert leaned into him and kissed his cheek.
Hugh took the moment to slip his own hand over Robert’s, which was gradually moving towards the inside of his leg. Breathy words slipped into his ear.
“When you win-”
“Don’t say that.” Hugh frowned and stopped Robert’s hand as he felt the dread of expectation returning. Defensively, he rummaged for something wry. ”Have you seen everyone else up for awards? Your own favorite heartthrob Dr. McDreamy, Jack Bauer himself… I’m shocked they even invited me-”
Hugh inhaled quickly as Robert cupped his face in his hands, positive that his graying stubble scratched negligently against Robert’s palms. His thumbs met to brush over Hugh’s protesting, half-opened lips.
“Shh, shut up for a second, Hugh. When you win, you’re going to up there thanking the writers and the cast and your family and your friends. I want you to thank me, too,” Robert whispered. “Don’t say why. I just want to hear you say it in front of people, so it's not still trapped in this little unspeakable corner.”
Hugh crinkled his forehead, troubled and unable to hide his discomfort. "Don't you think that will sound strange to single you out?"
A small, quiet laugh escaped Robert's mouth. His hands lingered for one last brush against Hugh’s neck before pulling away.
Hugh left a few minutes later, his mind still catching up. What little outline of a speech he’d written-upon Robert’s insistence-was left forgotten on the kitchen table. Better off that way, Hugh thought as he strode as easily as he could through the crowd and up the stage stairs when his name was called, just as everyone assured him, flattered him, that it would be. Now there weren’t papers in his hands to guide words. He glanced up sparingly at the cameras, stalling and searching for something funny to lighten every other line as he felt Robert, empty-handed and waiting, silently asking for confirmation. The acceptance had never been for the award. It was about these choices that weren’t going away.
He scratched at the back of his head and paused one beat too long before starting to speak.
end