FIC: Moving Pictures (2/2) NC-17
TITLE: Moving Pictures (2/2)
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Ioan Gruffudd/Matthew Rhys
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Come out to LA. It's pilot season.
DISCLAIMER: Ioan Gruffudd and Matthew Rhys belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many amazing thanks to inlovewithnight, my beta and partner in crime. She also did the soundtrack, which you can find here. Written for the rpf_big_bang.
Part One
The show is shit.
Matthew’s aware of that long before they actually get around to filming the pilot. The script gets rewritten four times in a week, and every draft gets worse and worse. He’s gone from sounding like an educated, street-wise bloke to an idiot who can’t tell his arse from a hole in the ground. It wouldn’t be so bad if his sidekick was getting wittier or wiser, but instead they’re both being dragged into a morass of awful, and no one’s going to believe they can solve any kind of mystery. As it is, the audience is going to be hard pressed to believe they can figure out how to get out of bed in the morning.
“It’s really bad.” His co-star, a lovely young thing who’s just as likely to go far in this business as he is to go back to London in a heartbeat, makes a face at the putrid green script. “I mean, there’s a good chance that this redefines bad. It makes bad look bad.”
Matthew laughs and rubs his eye, fighting off boredom. “Maybe one of us should sleep with one of the writers and possibly get some decent dialogue?”
“What if they think this is decent dialogue?” She chews her lower lip. “On the plus side, all these changes are coming from the higher ups, you know? Maybe even the network. That’s got to be a good sign, right? They want the show to succeed.”
“So they’re dropping us down to the lowest common denominator.” He sighs, sticking out his lower lip until he can see it in the bottom edge of his vision. “Or lower, in our case.”
“Never doubt the depths of America’s humor. Look at some of the stuff that’s popular right now.” She kicks a pebble near her feet. “You make more money and get more publicity in stupid reality shows than anything actually scripted. And the chance of any scripted show getting the advertising it needs, not to mention the viewers required to stay on the air is entirely dependent on the whims of middle America and whether or not there’s someone famous in the cast.”
“So we’re doomed then.”
“Most likely, yeah.”
“You’re really a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t you?” He kicks the pebble back her way. “It’s amazing how you hide such a cheerful and buoyant personality behind all that shining blonde hair and such.” He waves a hand up and down. “No one would suspect it.”
“I’m a study in contradictions.” She laughs and leans back, supporting herself on her hands, palms curved around the edge of the bench they’re sitting on. “Still, stranger things have happened.”
“Los Angeles seems to rather specialize in strange things.” He wrinkles his nose and copies her posture. “Do you go out much?”
“Not really. More of a homebody. Though there are some good places around that I’ve been to.” She stares out at the director, watching him gesture frantically at some of the sound people before suddenly turning her head. “Oh, God. Are you asking me out?”
“What? Fuck. No.” Matthew holds up his hands and nearly falls backwards, his stomach hurting as he wrenches himself upright before he tumbles to the fake grass. “No. God. I mean, not that you’re not…” He rushes to fill in the silence as her face contorts with a series of emotions. She’s really a very good actress. “I mean, you’re absolutely lovely, but I don’t…I’m not…”
“Because I don’t date co-stars.”
“No. Of course not. Me either. I mean, I don’t. I haven’t. There was that thing with Sophia, but it wasn’t…I mean, she was involved, so it was really just hanging out. I wasn’t…I don’t…Well, shit.” He clears his throat and then swallows. “I mean, I’m not…you’re quite lovely, as I said. But I don’t…I’m not. Asking you out.”
“You’re sure?” She almost laughs and Matthew manages to get another breath down into his lungs.
“Yes. Quite sure. Quite. Yes. Sure. Certain. Absolutely certain.”
Her eyebrow goes up dangerously and she straightens up, leaning in toward him. “You know Shakespeare, right?”
“Well, yes.” He probably only imagines he doesn’t sound offended. “I am British.”
“So, you’d know what I meant if I said ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much’?”
“Well, first off, I’d think you were obviously a little confused about what gender I am, and given I’m to play the male lead in our show, this could explain the issues we’ve been having with chemistry.” He sighs, blowing out the breath slowly. “Secondly, I’m not protesting really. I mean, I am, but it’s more that I’d really rather you didn’t sue me for sexual harassment or have some very large man come along and beat me to a pulp.”
“Maybe I’d be flattered.”
“Except you don’t date co-stars.”
“There is that.” She leans over and bumps her shoulder against his. “Besides, our saving grace in this might be our sexual attraction, and if we actually have sex, we’ll lose it like Cybil Shepherd and Bruce Willis on ‘Moonlighting’.”
“I think they actually hated each other, and the sex was all just on-screen.” He shrugs. “Thought I don’t want you to think I’m a proponent of you hating me.”
“You seem a little too adorable to hate.”
“Adorable?” He cringes. “God, you really do hate me, don’t you?”
She laughs as a whistle blows in the distance. “I don’t hate you. But I’m still not going to sleep with you.”
“What if the show folds?”
“Then I’ll blame you.”
“Right.” He nods decisively and stands up. He feels better now, more relaxed, more himself. He offers her his arm and a smile. “Let’s try not to suck then.”
**
The show doesn't live up to that, of course. It continues to suck monumentally, a habit that he bemoans to Ioan on a regular basis over beers in front of the telly. Ioan laughs at him sometimes and other times he just reminds him that that's rather what the world of acting is like. Matthew frowns a lot during the conversations, and Ioan rubs his thigh gently to soothe him. It's an old habit that they've each been on both sides of, and right now, Matthew's willing to take all the petting Ioan can manage.
"I actually had to say, 'is that a gun in your pocket?' Who actually thinks that's funny?"
"The American public?"
"Are they really that daft?" His voice is incredulous and he shakes his head, bumping off Ioan's hand for a moment before it settles back on the top of his hair. "Wait, don't answer that. I don't really want to know. Let me live in my sweet world of delusion."
"It's better than doing nothing, right? I mean, having a show means a foot in the door."
"I really should have joined the Army."
"That would have been a waste and you know it. Besides, you hate getting up early." Ioan reaches over Matthew to the coffee table and grabs his beer, taking a long pull. "Now, sit up like a proper boy and we'll practice your lines."
"You don't believe it's as awful as I say, do you?"
"Nothing can be as awful as you say, Matthew."
"Ha." Matthew sits up and grabs his script out of his bag, flipping through to the pages he has to memorize. "You start. Be Carlotta."
"Her name is Carlotta?"
"See?" Matthew takes a drink of his beer, triumphant. "It's all becoming clear now, isn't it? It's just...It gets worse. Go on. Say her line."
Ioan reads the script. "I can't say that."
"It's classic television, Ioan. Say her line."
"People don't talk like that."
"Ah, but we're not people. We're actors. Besides, that's an awful argument. People don't talk like they do in Shakespeare's plays, do they?"
"Well, no. But they used to. Even the most undereducated, completely inbred idiot doesn't talk like this."
"Remember," Matthew snags the script away. "We're not allowed to talk about Prince Charles that way."
"Very funny. Though...well, yes, even he talks a bit more educated that this. Is this slang?"
"Apparently, this is the way the common folk talk, and we have to get down to their level. We need to communicate with them."
"You're in a drama about a police detective who hit his head so hard that he's under the impression that he speaks with an accent."
"Really, it's more of a comedy, isn't it?"
"Yes, actually." Ioan makes a face and grabs the script back, setting it on the table and placing his beer very carefully on top of it, leaving a ring on the top page. "This is shit, Matthew."
"You know it. I know it. My co-star knows it. The only people who don't are the network, the writers, the director and the creator. And since they're willing to pay me and you're not, I pretend that it is not shit, so much as the best shit I've ever seen."
"You're a braver man than I."
"Smarter too."
Ioan glances at him quickly, holding back a snort of laughter. Matthew manages to keep a straight face, up until Ioan grabs the throw pillow and smacks Matthew in the head with it.
"Hey now!"
"Deserve every blow, Math." Ioan hits him again, gasping when Matthew grabs the pillow behind him and starts hitting back. They miss half the time, too busy trying to keep from falling off the sofa with laughter. "God, you're such a wanker."
"You adore me." Matthew grabs Ioan's pillow and shoves it behind him, leaning back on his own as well. "How come you're hanging out here with me instead of with your girlfriend?"
"She has a job tonight."
"She's a hooker?"
Ioan punches him this time, hard in the arm. "You're a fucker."
"You're the one..."
"She's a model, so sometimes she works nights. Parties. Shows. Those sorts of things." Ioan rubs his foot against the edge of the coffee table, and his beer tips and pours all over Matthew's script. "Hmmm. Whoops."
"Ioan, I have to use that tomorrow. They're going to think I'm a lush."
"Might actually help you act in this thing if you were intoxicated." They watch the beer spill out over the pages, spreading out and turning the green a darker, more virulent color. "Couldn't get worse. Besides, they're just as likely to change everything again like they've done every day so far. Maybe tomorrow will be orange."
"My luck, they won't change the script tomorrow, and I'll be stuck with a sodden, foul-smelling, falling-apart hunk of saturated paper."
"If it soaks through, maybe you can't read it, or maybe some of the words will blend together and actually form something resembling natural human dialogue."
"Or maybe they'll fire me for being a drunk."
"You say that like you actually think it's a bad thing." Ioan shifts and leans his head on Matthew's shoulder. "You're better than this, Math."
"But it's work, Ioan. Trust me, it's not the worst I've done. Probably not the worst I'll do."
"Oh, it has to be the worst. I'm horrified if there's something more horrible out there in the world. I see no reason to go on if this is not the epitome of wretchedness."
Matthew reaches a hand up and pets Ioan's dark hair, feeling the softness as it threads through his fingers. "I need the job, mate."
"Does it have to be this one? You're..."
"You were a lawyer in the future. You don't get to make career judgments for me, you know." Matthew smiles, brushing his lips over Ioan's temple. "In fact, I think 'Century City' might actually be worse than this."
"It's quite possible you're right." Ioan laughs and looks up at him, kissing the tip of Matthew's nose. "But at least our concept was interesting." He yawns and pulls away from Matthew. "Going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."
"You had something else going for you, you know. In the lawyer show."
"What's that?"
"You look lovely in suits."
"Even with the pink tie?"
Matthew nods as Ioan gets up, yawning as he makes for the bedroom. Matthew's voice is soft. "Yeah, mate. Especially with the pink tie."
**
Matthew's on the back steps drinking his way through a fifth of scotch and smoking the third in a new pack of cigarettes when Ioan steps out the door and settles next to him. "Hey ya."
"Hey." He takes a long drag and holds the smoke in his lungs before slowly letting it hiss out from between his lips. "Drink?"
"No."
"They axed us today. Didn't even finish filming. Just came back from a break and the director was gone, they were starting to put things away and..." He shrugs and sips from his glass, looking down at the bottle between his feet. "So, you know. I'm looking on the bright side."
Ioan stares out at what passes for his back yard, his voice soft as though he’s feeling Matthew out. "Does the bright side include the fact that you don't have to get up in the morning, so you can drink and smoke as much as you like?"
Matthew gives Ioan a sideways look and then nods his head a little in acquiescence. He feels he should be more broken up about this, but he can’t quite seem to manage it. That might have something to do with how much he’s had to drink. "Something like that. Later it will most likely involve the fact that I'm saved from having a piece of pure and utter crap on my resume, and that I don't ever have to have strangers come up to me on the street and quote lines of wretched dialogue at me."
"I do love that you're drunk enough to think you're Sir Alec Guinness again," Ioan laughs, but it’s not the same teasing tone Matthew’s expects from him. That also might be the alcohol, or Ioan just being unsure how Matthew’s actually taking things.
Mixed messages, Matthew thinks. It’s beginning to be a theme.
He shakes his head and clears his throat, his voice a perfect echo of one of their professors at RADA, Mr. Blomherd or, as they dubbed him, Mr. Blowhard. "Star Wars is a great and epic story and he should be honored to be identified with Obi-Wan, the greatest self-sacrificing martyr of them all." Matthew holds his drink out toward Ioan to make his point, smoke drifting in the air between them. "I could be Obi-Wan."
"Possibly,” Ioan agrees, barely managing a straight face. “You very well could be a number of things, but the one you are is drunk."
"And your point?" Matthew’s voice hardens, a flare of anger and disappointment and failure making it difficult to breathe until he shoves it down. He takes another drink and then another hit from the cigarette, nearly spilling his scotch on his lap at the same time. "Fuck."
"Yes, when you get to the point of spilling booze..."
"You spilled beer last night."
"That was a sacrifice to rid you of that horrible script,” Ioan sounds righteous, and it’s a perfect fit for him. Bloody ridiculous lad that he is, all legs and arms and eyes. Matthew pictures him in his Hornblower uniform and straightens up. “After I shut the bedroom door, I also did a dance and cut the head off a chicken. Really, the lengths I go to for you, and this is the appreciation I get. You, drinking my good scotch, and nearly pouring three fingers of it on your lap. Wasteful, Matthew. And ungrateful."
"What'd you want instead?” Matthew tries to match him in tone, probably only achieving a bit whiny as opposed to appreciative. “My eternal gratitude?"
"It'll do for a start." Ioan snags the glass from Matthew's hand. "C'mon. I'll put you to bed and you can sleep off the half bottle you now owe me."
"And what are you going to do?" Matthew watches him as Ioan gives him a hand up to his feet. He sways in slightly, feeling the heat of Ioan’s body as he gets too close. It takes an effort to pull back and stand upright, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of lying next to Ioan again, falling asleep together.
"I am going to go out and have a lovely dinner, and I'll see you when I get home."
"Which will be tomorrow morning?" Matthew slurs his words slightly, leaning into Ioan again. "Going to have a proper night with your lady?"
"We'll see." Ioan wraps his arm around Matthew’s shoulders, holding him close. "C'mon. Bed."
"Don’t suppose you happened to sacrifice a chicken for money to pay my rent?"
"No." Ioan guides him into the kitchen, dropping the cigarettes on the table as he sets the bottle down. "But things can be arranged."
Matthew nods, following obediently as Ioan leads him into the living room. He lies down and watches as Ioan gathers his wallet and his coat, tossing Matthew a quick smile as he heads out. “Sleep well.”
“Yeah. Have fun.” Ioan leaves and Matthew sighs softly, waiting until he hears the front door shut to close his eyes and slump back against the pillows. “Don’t go.”
**
When Matthew wakes up, the sun is streaming in through the window blinds and giving the room a sort of hot golden glow. He can’t see the clock from where he’s lying on the couch, so he starts to sit up, regretting the decision immediately. He manages to glance at the time, and from the position of the sun, he’s fairly certain it’s now three in the afternoon rather than in the morning. The TV’s off, which means either he was very energy-conscious while passed out or that Ioan’s home.
Matthew slumps further on the couch, pillow over his face. Ioan comes out of the bedroom and sits by his feet, fingers light on Matthew’s ankle. “Okay?”
“No.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Ioan stops talking though his hand stays on Matthew’s ankle, a comforting weight as his thumb rubs slowly over the bone. Matthew can feel the couch shift as Ioan leans back, and he knows if he peeks out, Ioan’s face will be turned toward him, his dark eyes filled with worry. He smiles beneath the pillow as Ioan shifts again, lifting Matthew’s legs and resting them on his lap. “It could be worse you know.”
“How does this count as not talking about it?”
“I asked if you wanted to talk,” Ioan informs him. “You said no. So you’re not talking. I am.”
“Sometimes your logic frightens me.”
“I get that a lot.” Ioan slides his hand up Matthew’s leg, palm against the calf, fingers ghosting over his shin. “Really though, it could be worse.”
Matthew raises the pillow just enough to give Ioan a look. Ioan just holds his gaze, a hint of a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. Heaving a sigh, Matthew lifts himself up on his elbows, letting the pillow fall behind his head. “Well, don’t stop now. Pray, tell me how it could be worse.”
“Well, first of all, you could be stuck without any place to live.”
Matthew laughs softly. “I’ll take that to mean you’re not kicking me out on my arse then.”
“Not today anyway.”
“A relief that, I assure you.”
Ioan grins and rubs a finger over Matthew’s toes, laughing softly as Matthew reflexively curls them under out of reach. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not, you lying wanker.”
“Mmm.” Ioan moves his finger, running it along the top of Matthew’s foot.
“Quit it. You know I hate that.”
“Always self-conscious about your feet.” Ioan doesn’t stop stroking the bridge of his foot lightly. “You know it’s a good thing, right? The show being axed. You do.”
“Yeah.” Matthew sighs and watches Ioan thoughtfully. His head doesn’t hurt as much as he’s certain it should, so it’s quite possible Ioan got some aspirin down him before he dumped him on the sofa. “Still, was my first real US TV show, you know? Wanted to be a success.”
“Matthew.” Ioan shakes his head sternly, his brow furrowing. “You are a success. Look at all the things you’ve done. You’re so talented. You’re…you’re good at what you do, Matthew. And you’ll find something that highlights that talent, rather than dump garbage all over it.”
“You’re being my number one fan again.” Matthew uses his toes to poke Ioan in the stomach. “Surprised you’re home.”
“At three in the afternoon?”
“I thought you’d be glad of the night without me and stay with the girlfriend for an extra bit of time.”
“Ah. That.” Ioan nods and rubs his thumb against Matthew’s arch. “We broke up.”
“You did? Why?” Matthew pulls his feet free of Ioan’s grasp and sits up properly, tilting his head. Ioan’s mouth quirks into a half-smile and he shrugs. Matthew growls softly and pokes him harder, this time with his finger in Ioan’s ribs. “Come on. She seemed nice.”
“She was. Quite nice.”
“And very pretty.”
“Exceptionally pretty.”
“A bit dense, as she was dating you.” Ioan smiles and ducks his head, a blush seeping up his collar. His pale skin tints pink and Matthew raises his hand and brushes Ioan’s cheek. “Come on. Out with it.”
“She was all those things. But it just wasn’t right. I mean, it was fun, but…” He folds his feet under him on the couch, his impossibly long legs tucked up beneath him. “I think maybe I want more than fun.”
“And she didn’t?”
“I don’t know.” Ioan turns his head and looks at Matthew, his dark eyes unreadable. “I didn’t ask.”
“But if you wanted more…” Matthew exhales softly, relief he doesn’t quite understand - doesn’t want to understand - flooding through him. “Oh. Right. Not with her.”
“No.” Ioan huffs out a laugh. “But there’s not exactly anyone else, is there? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I date and I see people, but no one seems…”
“Yeah.” Matthew nods. “I know.” He rests his own head on the back of the sofa. “You like it out here, don’t you?”
“What? Oh, yes. Love it.” Ioan blushes a little more. “I mean, I love home and I love London, but America is just…there’s so much, you know? Land of opportunity, and it’s true. I mean, look at what I have, what I can have.”
“Everything you ever wanted.”
“Not everything.” Ioan closes his eyes for a long moment, his head back against the couch. Matthew watches him carefully, dropping his hand down to Ioan’s shoulder, letting his fingers skim down Ioan’s arm to his hand, threading their fingers together. “I miss you, Math. So bloody much.”
“I know. Me too.”
Ioan rubs his forehead with his other hand, the heel of his hand rough and loud. “I wanted that stupid fucking show to be everything you wanted so you’d be here, so I’d have my best friend back, and instead it was horrid and you’re going to leave again and what am I supposed to do then? How am I supposed to get used to being without you again?”
“I know.” Matthew’s vision blurs and he closes his eyes, feeling the heat sting. His voice is rough and he has to clear his throat to speak again. “I feel the same way.”
“So fucking stupid.” Ioan sniffs and then rubs his eyes with his fists like a child. Matthew hates that Ioan takes his hand away to do it, but he releases him and uses the moment to move closer. He wraps an arm around Ioan’s shoulder and pulls him against him, letting him bury his face against Matthew’s neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not just you, boyo.” Matthew kisses the top of Ioan’s head. “I don’t want to go. Being here, being with you is like…it’s right. It’s what it’s supposed to be like. London’s not the same without you. It’s all off. It’s like it’s on a tilt, axis thrown off by you being halfway round the world.”
“Stay here, Matthew.”
He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “You know I can’t do that.” His hand slides around Ioan’s back, holding him closer. He can’t seem to get his voice above a whisper. “Come home.”
Ioan pulls away, looking up at him. They’re still closer than they should be, though Matthew’s certain it’s not nearly close enough. “And you know I can’t do that.”
Matthew nods and bites his lower lip, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly. “I do know.” They sit there like that for a long time, simply breathing each other in. “So what do we do now?”
“You could introduce me to your co-star. Just because she wasn’t interested in you doesn’t mean she won’t find me devastatingly attractive.”
Matthew laughs. “God, you’re incorri-” He’s cut off by Ioan’s mouth, the warm caress of his lips as they settle over Matthew’s, moving against them until Matthew relaxes into him, parting his lips to the brush of Ioan’s tongue.
Ioan groans softly as Matthew's mouth opens to his, pushing his tongue deeper. Matthew curls his own tongue around it, sucking gently until Ioan moves closer, his hands catching on Matthew's shoulders and tightening there. It's surreal in some ways, to feel this right when Matthew knows perfectly well that doing this is wrong, especially when he's going to be leaving again in just a couple of days, a week at the most. He can't help it though, can't help fitting his mouth so smoothly to Ioan's, so perfectly and deepen the kiss even more.
They tangle together easily, many nights of lying in one bed or the other, talking until all hours of the morning, insisting that there should be no smoking as either one of them is liable to doze off. But for all that this is the same, it's different, and Matthew knows it. He knows that this isn't something innocent or just a friendly touch to pass the time, to make it through the night. This is something more, something bigger, and it's frightening in its own way.
Ioan breaks the kiss and pulls back, looking at Matthew with his huge brown eyes, the dark lashes almost invisible they're open so wide. Matthew swallows and licks his lips, his eyes avoiding Ioan's, darting down to his lips, wet and pink and swollen from the kiss. "It's...it's different, isn't it?"
Matthew nods and leans in, kissing him again. Ioan doesn't resist, but he doesn't really participate either, so Matthew settles back. His heart is pounding in his chest, too loud for him to hear properly. He tilts his head, not meaning to, but questioning because if this isn't what Ioan wants, if he didn't mean to start this whatever it is, then Matthew needs to know now. It's possible that Ioan just wanted an innocent kiss, a snog to ease the pain of being alone again. "Io?"
"Nothing, Math." His voice is hushed and almost reverent. "It's nothing."
"Is it really?" He's surprised that it hurts as much as it does. He hadn't realized how much it might matter. Maybe that's the problem. "Nothing, that is?"
"What?" Ioan's eyes widen impossible further. "Oh, no, Math. God." Ioan laughs and it's a strangled, desperate sound. "This isn't nothing. Just...whatever was in my head. I...you feel it too, right?"
Matthew nods. They're good at not needing words, or not needing a lot of them. "Yeah."
"What is it?"
"Dunno. Us, maybe." He leans in and kisses him again, slowly this time. Ioan whispers a soft 'yes' against Matthew's mouth and then he's in the kiss and they're back on the same wavelength. Matthew gives and Ioan takes and then it all turns around again until Matthew's leaning back on the couch and Ioan's over him, bracing himself on the cushion on either side of Matthew's head, kissing him, thrusting his tongue into Matthew's mouth slowly and sinuously until Matthew can't help but groan.
He rakes his fingers down Ioan's back, wanting him closer. Ioan shudders and thrusts against him and Matthew's shocked by the sudden realization that Ioan's hard against him, his prick pressing against Matthew's thigh. He's not sure why it's such a surprise. His own prick is hard, insistent as he grinds up against Ioan, but for some reason, the thought of Ioan being the same way startles him.
"God, Math." Ioan breaks from Matthew's mouth and rains a bevy of kisses on his face, teeth and lips teasing at Matthew's skin. He sucks at Matthew's jaw and nips at his earlobe, sucking on it when Matthew growls at the sharp pain. "Been so long."
"You've had a girlfriend." Matthew's voice is soft, teasing, though Ioan pulls back as if he's been stung.
"I meant with you."
Matthew reaches up, tracing Ioan's brow with his thumb. He shakes his head. "I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, Ioan. I'm sorry."
"What then?" He shifts back off Matthew and Matthew wants to slam his head against the arm of the sofa.
"I just meant...you...I thought you were talking about sex."
"I was talking about sex."
"In general. And, you know, until last night you had a girlfriend, and from the nakedness I experienced in the kitchen, I figured there had been sex. So when you said...I just...fuck." He does then, slamming his head hard against the arm, against the wood frame so that it hurts. "I was teasing."
"It's not like you've been celibate."
"How do you know?" Matthew sits up and looks at him. "Maybe I have. Maybe I've spent the last two years that you've been in Hollywood at home, wanking off, wishing you hadn't gone."
Ioan's mouth hangs open for a moment before he seems to realize and he snaps it shut. It works that way for a few more minutes, opening and shutting until he manages to find his voice. "Have you?"
"Have I what?"
"Been...doing that."
"Wanking? Of course I wank. I'm a bloody guy."
Ioan kicks him hard in the shin. "You know what I fucking mean, Matthew Rhys Evans, so don't be a monumental prick or I'll take back what I said earlier and kick your arse out on the street."
"No." Matthew shakes his head. "Of course not, Ioan. We're friends first, right? And you had this amazing opportunity and you took it and I wanted you to take it, and of course I'm jealous from time to time, because I want the same amazing opportunities, but I'd never wish you not to have it. You joke that you're my biggest fan-"
"I am."
"Well, I'm yours as well." He blows out another breath and rubs the back of his head where it stings from hitting it on the couch. "So...I'm not going to try to make you feel bad about that, and certainly not with sex."
"So why did you say it?"
"I was trying to be funny. And I failed spectacularly, which is why I tried out for dramas instead of comedies, not that that worked out, and for Christ sake, can I kiss you again, please?"
"No."
"Fine." Matthew puts his hand on the sofa arm to lever himself to his feet, but Ioan's there, holding him down.
"Because I'm going to kiss you."
It starts out slow again, and Ioan doesn't push it. Matthew lets him guide it, lets him lead them wherever Ioan needs to go. It doesn't take long before Ioan's tongue brushes at Matthew's lips, until they're kissing again in earnest, back where they started before Matthew had made the mistake of talking.
This time though, there are hands. Ioan's hands on Matthew's arms and back and Matthew's settled at Ioan's hips, thumbs rubbing his lower stomach. Ioan's fingers are long and firm, stroking easy rows up and down Matthew's spine, over his shoulders and he can't help the soft noises he keeps making, muttering and moaning them into Ioan's mouth.
Ioan's just as vocal, low desperation in his voice as he matches Matthew sound for sound. They shift on the sofa, trying to find the right match for their bodies, the alignment that allows them to touch and feel. Ioan whimpers finally, pulling away and breathing hard. "This is miserable."
"Now who's being insulting?" Matthew's mouth aches for Ioan's, and his hands slide up Ioan's back, trying to urge him in again.
"No. This couch. How the hell did you sleep on it?"
"Who gives a fuck, Ioan?" He tugs him closer again, angling up for a kiss. Ioan melts against him for a moment and then pulls back yet again. "What the actual fuck?"
"It's bloody fucking uncomfortable." Ioan gets off the couch and Matthew just looks at him, dumbfounded. Ioan's obviously enjoying himself, his cock is hard and tight against his jeans and he's unsteady when he stands. "Let's go to bed."
"Oh. Oh." Matthew scrambles off the couch and to his feet, meeting Ioan's mouth in a kiss as he stands as well. Ioan laughs against Matthew's lips and pulls away, catching his hand and leading him down the hallway to the bedroom. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, but Ioan's disturbingly fastidious about wherever he's sleeping, so it's easy to navigate the way to the bed.
Ioan stops at the edge of it and looks at Matthew. Matthew’s eyes have adjusted enough that he can see Ioan, can see the brightness and want in his eyes as he reaches down and grabs the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head. Matthew makes a noise low in his throat and reaches out, fingers splaying over Ioan's chest and sliding down to his stomach, feeling the brush of hair against his palms. Ioan arches like a cat into Matthew's hands, and Matthew bends his head, flicking his tongue lightly over one of Ioan's nipples.
"Oh, fuck." Ioan's entire body shudders in response, so Matthew does it again. This time Ioan's hands dig into Matthew's hair, holding Matthew's head against his body. Matthew catches the nipple between his teeth and sucks on it, flicking it occasionally with just the tip of his tongue, reveling in the sharp intake of Ioan's breath, in the tremors that run through him. "Don't stop." Ioan's not quite begging, but he's definitely wanting, and Matthew's content with that, teasing the nipple for just a bit longer before turning his attention to the other one, watching from the corner of his eye as cool air touches the wet nipple he just left, tightening it further.
Matthew's hands slide from Ioan's hips to the small of his back, rubbing small circles there as he teases Ioan's nipples, moving from one to the other until Ioan's body quivers even without Matthew's mouth on him. Looking up, Matthew meets Ioan's eyes, pupils blow wide with want, and holds them as he sinks down on his knees, peppering kisses down Ioan's sternum, across his stomach. He dips his tongue in Ioan's navel and Ioan's cock gives a hard jerk in his jeans. Matthew doesn't touch it, moving his hands up instead, sweeping the line of Ioan's back as he nuzzles at the trembling muscles of Ioan's abdomen.
"Matthew. Please." Ioan's voice is strangled, and his hands trace over the lines of Matthew's cheeks before they slip to the fastening of Ioan's jeans. "Please. Fuck. Hurts."
"Don't ever want to hurt you, Io." Matthew moves Ioan's hands away and grabs the denim with his own fingers, working the button loose and carefully sliding the zipper down. Ioan groans in relief and shivers all at once. His cock is tight against his briefs, a wet spot staining the grey cotton. "Better?"
"Getting there," Ioan laughs, the sound off a bit as Matthew's fingers trace over his hard prick. "Closer still if you keep that up."
Matthew huffs a laugh, the air feathering over the bulge of Ioan's cock. Ioan moans softly and his hips thrust forward, seeking out the heat of Matthew's mouth. Matthew keeps his eyes on Ioan's face, watching the play of emotions, the easy way that everything shows in his eyes, in his expression. Ioan looks down at Matthew, lips parted and eyes still so wide, so trusting. "Ioan," Matthew manages roughly as he tugs Ioan's briefs over the head of his prick and pushes them down along with his jeans.
Ioan groans in relief again, and Matthew wraps his hand around the hard flesh of Ioan's dick. It's thick and hard, long and smooth. He traces the crown of the prick at the opening of the foreskin, listening to Ioan's ragged breathing when his finger slides across the wet slit. Pushing the foreskin back, he breathes against the sleek head then presses his tongue to the wetness, closing his eyes and holding the taste in his mouth.
"O-oh," Ioan breathes roughly, his hand finding the curve of Matthew's skull again. His fingers fight the wild curl of Matthew's hair as Matthew's tongue presses against the ridge at the base of the head, tracing the circumference of Ioan's dick slowly. He can see muscles trembling beneath Ioan's skin and he lets one hand stroke up and down Ioan's thigh. Ioan makes a noise low in his throat and thrusts forward. Matthew's not certain, but it's possibly please and so he parts his lips and takes Ioan into his mouth.
Ioan tastes like soap and salt and sweat, and Matthew tightens his mouth around him, letting Ioan weigh on his tongue. He can feel the hard, throbbing pulse of Ioan's blood, can feel the restraint as Ioan holds himself back, holds himself still so that he doesn't thrust too deeply. Matthew sucks hard and grabs Ioan's hips, taking him deep enough that he can feel the rough wiry hair against his face, can feel the weight of Ioan's balls against his chin.
Ioan's hands tighten and he starts thrusting, matching the steady rhythm of Matthew's mouth. They move together easily, Matthew's tongue pressing Ioan's prick against the roof of his mouth, sucking on it until Ioan shivers, unable to move and desperate to do so. When Matthew eases the pressure, Ioan's nails dig into Matthew's scalp and his hips start moving more determined, more regularly, pushing into Matthew's mouth. Matthew groans around him, easing his own movement so that Ioan is controlling it, feeling the tang of Ioan's pre-come hitting the back of his throat.
"Ma-Math." Ioan shudders and it's all the warning Matthew gets, feeling the pulse of Ioan's orgasm against his tongue in the second before he's swallowing him down. He keeps going until Ioan's shuddering and begging him to stop, breath ratcheting out of him like he's losing control all over again. Matthew eases back and wipes his mouth, spit and semen wetting his swollen lips. Ioan sinks onto the bed and looks down at him, slightly dazed. "You."
"Yeah?" Matthew licks his lips and Ioan tugs him up higher so that their lips meet again. Matthew's mouth is stretched and stiff, unused to the prolonged activity of a blow job, to Ioan's tongue fucking his mouth and tasting himself on Matthew's tongue is almost painful, but in all the best ways. He reaches down and undoes his own jeans, needing them off quickly. He's just as hard as Ioan had been, the pain blocked out by the rush of pleasure from sucking Ioan down, but now his whole body is alive with need and waiting seems impossible.
Ioan breaks the kiss to breathe and slides back onto the bed, sprawled there like some sort of sacrifice. Matthew's more than happy to worship at the altar, shrugging out of all of his clothes before kneeling on the bed and crawling up Ioan's body. Ioan's fingers skim over Matthew's flesh as he makes his way up, tracing the curve of his back and the slope of his arse. "Want you, Math."
Matthew nods. He glances at the nightstand and Ioan nods, so Matthew tugs out the drawer and fumbles around for the supplies. There are condoms readily at the front, but the lube is in the back. He manages to wrap his hand around it, using his thumb to open the lid. "Nearly full."
"Don't have need for it when you're in London." Ioan shifts, spreading his legs farther apart, opening himself up for Matthew. Matthew works the condom on, stroking himself and gritting his teeth at the sensation. The lube is cool in his hand as he strokes himself, adding more before he presses a finger against Ioan's opening. Ioan shudders and the world narrows down to the sudden pressure of Ioan's body around him as Matthew pushes the finger in slowly.
"Fuck," Matthew breathes, resting his head on Ioan's thigh as he works it deeper. Ioan's mouth is open but no sound comes out, and his chest doesn't seem to move at all until he sucks in a huge gasp of air. Matthew feels him relax eventually, and that's when he starts moving, working his finger in and out until Ioan's begging for more. More lube and another finger and he can press them deep, scissor them open until Ioan' s heels are planted on the bed and he's arched off the mattress. "God, you're so fucking..."
"Want you, Math." Ioan's panting and Matthew pushes his fingers deeper in response. "Fuck, want you. Please. Inside me." He's just got the two fingers in and he's not sure it will be enough, but he's equally sure he can't wait. It's been so long, been too long, and so he shifts between Ioan's legs and uses both hands to hold Ioan's thighs as he presses the tip of his prick against Ioan's opening.
Matthew holds there for a moment, waiting until Ioan's eyes open and they're looking at each other. There's a hint of a smile, of something, on Ioan's lips and Matthew returns it with one of is own before he pushes in slowly, taking his time as Ioan opens up around him with each shallow thrust.
Ioan's tight - so tight - and Matthew's lost before he even manages to get completely inside him. He's shaking, arms trembling on either side of Ioan's face and his thrusts are erratic. Ioan's cradling him between his thighs and Matthew drops down to his elbows, wrapping himself around Ioan as he drives deeper inside him. Ioan's breath is hot against his ear and it sends shivers down Matthew's spine.
He can feel the heat gathering in his balls and he tries to hold back, tries to keep from giving in, but Ioan's body constricts around him and Matthew comes, cock pulsing as Ioan's body tightens around him, Ioan's legs wrapping around Matthew's calves and drawing him deeper. Matthew doesn't move for several minutes, isn't actually sure he can. He just lays there, forehead against Ioan's and his hands stroking through Ioan's unruly hair, rubbing and teasing sweat-damp tendrils apart.
"I need to move," he whispers.
"Don't."
Matthew laughs and he can feel his body shifting. "I can't, actually. No muscle response. I'm afraid we're stuck like this until some feeling comes back into my limbs or my brain synapses start firing again."
"Move or you'll make a mess, which you'll clean up." Ioan belies his statement by drawing Matthew in for a warm kiss. "I'm not sleeping in the wet spot."
"Could go sleep on the couch." Matthew pulls away reluctantly, easing out of Ioan with a great degree of care. It doesn't stop Ioan from gasping, pain and pleasure mixed, but he does his best all the same.
"Why didn't you tell me the couch was so bloody uncomfortable?" Ioan turns his head, watching Matthew walk naked across the room to the bath to dispose of the condom. "Might have gotten you a blow up bed or something."
"I don't trust you around anything inflatable."
"One time," Ioan moans and covers his face with his hands, glaring at Matthew from between his fingers. "One time, and you won't let me live it down."
"One time. In front of 50 witnesses." Matthew comes back to the bed and stretches out, head propped on his hand and elbow just below the pillow where Ioan's head is resting. "There's no way that can ever be forgotten. In fact, I think there's a video tape of it floating around somewhere."
"I hate you."
Matthew shakes his head and leans in, kissing Ioan softly. "No. You don't."
"No. I don't." Ioan makes a face at him then moves closer, turning his face to kiss the inside of Matthew's elbow. "But I could."
"No, you couldn't."
"Yes, I could."
"No. You really couldn't, Ioan." Matthew drops his head down and kisses Ioan's forehead. "You might try, but you would fail miserably, so there's really no reason to set yourself up for that kind of heartbreak."
"You're a wanker."
"Yes. But at least I'm your wanker, right?"
Ioan smiles and nods before closing his eyes, tugging Matthew closer. "Yes. You are that."
"It's still only four in the afternoon."
Ioan opens one eye. "You saying you couldn't do with a nap then?"
"No," Matthew admits with a smile. "I'm not saying that at all."
**
The weeks go by too quickly after that. Matthew's visa expires quickly when there's no job to keep him there, and it's not long before his bags are packed and he's staring at the living room he used to call home. "So."
"You'll call," Ioan says. "You'll write."
"I'll probably call, but there's no way in hell I'd write. And even if I did, you wouldn't be able to read it, so you'd just call me and bitch about how I need to learn how to write properly and what the fuck did I scribble on about for seven pages."
"Seven, huh?"
"I would not write you seven page letters."
"You would." Ioan grins triumphantly. "I'll bet you have. Next time I come to London, I'm scouring the flat. Going to find all your deep, hidden secrets, Rhys."
"I don't have any from you." Matthew taps Ioan softly on the tip of his nose. "I've got to catch a plane."
"No.” Ioan’s voice is suddenly thick. “No, don’t go. You could stay and become a waiter or something. Get an extended visa. Go back to school. Learn a trade. Become...hell, become something useful like an architect or...or...a lighting grip. Anything. Just stay."
"I can't stay."
"I don't want you to go."
"That's because you're a sentimental wanker." Matthew moves away from him to grab his bags, needing some distance before he actually gives in to Ioan's requests, cede to his demands. "Do I need to call a cab?"
"No. I'll drive you, though you don't have to seem quite so bloody happy about leaving."
"Says the man who didn't have to sleep on the couch." Matthew tightens his grip on his bag, flexing and unflexing his hand.
"I had to listen to you snoring."
"I don't snore." Matthew huffs indignantly. "Obviously you're just hearing echoes of your own, lingering in the bedroom after you wake up."
"Stay."
"I can't."
Ioan frowns and nods. "Let me get my keys."
"I want to. You know I want to, right?"
Turning around, Ioan nods. "I do, Math, yeah."
"You need to know that. Believe it."
"I do."
"Ioan..."
"I do. Jesus, I'm not a mental and emotional cripple, you fucker." He tosses his keys in the air and then catches them. "Christ, it'll be good to be rid of you. Always going on and on about things. Never a moment's pea-"
Matthew grabs him by the shirt and hauls him closer, dropping his suitcase so that he can use both hands to hold Ioan close, to keep him from moving away. The kiss is long and hungry, tinged with regret and promise and tasting very much like things Matthew doesn't know how to say as he pulls away. "Well, come on. I've got a plane to catch."
"Yeah, yeah." Ioan's blushing and smiling as he moves to the door. "Bossy wanker."
**
The flight home is longer than it has any right to be, and Matthew can't manage to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. There aren't the hordes of screaming children from his flight to Los Angeles, and they actually serve him decent booze, though they do charge and arm and a leg for it. It's worth it though to feel the warm rush down his throat, to ease the tightness there that started long before Ioan had even dropped him off.
He watches out the window as England comes into sight, the horizon littered with stately towers and the odd angles of farmland and country, the familiar fog and grey of London becoming larger and larger until all Matthew can see is mist. The roar of the wheels descending and the whine of the brakes as they hit the tarmac seem as unreal as the lights of Hollywood, and he's beginning to wonder if he belongs in either place, if either will ever truly feel like home.
Of course, Los Angeles has the advantage of Ioan, in more ways than one. That thought keeps him smiling the entire cab ride home, even though he knows he has too many phone calls ahead, listening to his family be proud of him no matter what, and what did those daft Americans know anyway. Matthew appreciates the support, but if he's honest, he'd rather just go home and sleep for a day or two before he has to come back to the real world.
He drops his bag by the door and kicks the pile of mail further into the room. The air smells stale and he opens a window to air it out. The blinking red light catches his eye and he frowns. He'd cleared his messages the night before over the phone and everyone knows he was flying today. Probably just his mum telling him to call when he gets in, let her know he's all right. He thinks about avoiding it for a little longer, not wanting her to worry, but not ready to face it all just yet.
Guilt wins over, of course, as it always does and he pushes the play button and turns away to get himself a drink. He stops at the sound of the voice, closes his eyes and smiles.
"It's almost pilot season," Ioan informs him softly, saying something altogether different. "Come out to LA."
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Ioan Gruffudd/Matthew Rhys
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Come out to LA. It's pilot season.
DISCLAIMER: Ioan Gruffudd and Matthew Rhys belong only to themselves. I don't claim them, I don't claim to know them and no harm is intended. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many amazing thanks to inlovewithnight, my beta and partner in crime. She also did the soundtrack, which you can find here. Written for the rpf_big_bang.
Part One
The show is shit.
Matthew’s aware of that long before they actually get around to filming the pilot. The script gets rewritten four times in a week, and every draft gets worse and worse. He’s gone from sounding like an educated, street-wise bloke to an idiot who can’t tell his arse from a hole in the ground. It wouldn’t be so bad if his sidekick was getting wittier or wiser, but instead they’re both being dragged into a morass of awful, and no one’s going to believe they can solve any kind of mystery. As it is, the audience is going to be hard pressed to believe they can figure out how to get out of bed in the morning.
“It’s really bad.” His co-star, a lovely young thing who’s just as likely to go far in this business as he is to go back to London in a heartbeat, makes a face at the putrid green script. “I mean, there’s a good chance that this redefines bad. It makes bad look bad.”
Matthew laughs and rubs his eye, fighting off boredom. “Maybe one of us should sleep with one of the writers and possibly get some decent dialogue?”
“What if they think this is decent dialogue?” She chews her lower lip. “On the plus side, all these changes are coming from the higher ups, you know? Maybe even the network. That’s got to be a good sign, right? They want the show to succeed.”
“So they’re dropping us down to the lowest common denominator.” He sighs, sticking out his lower lip until he can see it in the bottom edge of his vision. “Or lower, in our case.”
“Never doubt the depths of America’s humor. Look at some of the stuff that’s popular right now.” She kicks a pebble near her feet. “You make more money and get more publicity in stupid reality shows than anything actually scripted. And the chance of any scripted show getting the advertising it needs, not to mention the viewers required to stay on the air is entirely dependent on the whims of middle America and whether or not there’s someone famous in the cast.”
“So we’re doomed then.”
“Most likely, yeah.”
“You’re really a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t you?” He kicks the pebble back her way. “It’s amazing how you hide such a cheerful and buoyant personality behind all that shining blonde hair and such.” He waves a hand up and down. “No one would suspect it.”
“I’m a study in contradictions.” She laughs and leans back, supporting herself on her hands, palms curved around the edge of the bench they’re sitting on. “Still, stranger things have happened.”
“Los Angeles seems to rather specialize in strange things.” He wrinkles his nose and copies her posture. “Do you go out much?”
“Not really. More of a homebody. Though there are some good places around that I’ve been to.” She stares out at the director, watching him gesture frantically at some of the sound people before suddenly turning her head. “Oh, God. Are you asking me out?”
“What? Fuck. No.” Matthew holds up his hands and nearly falls backwards, his stomach hurting as he wrenches himself upright before he tumbles to the fake grass. “No. God. I mean, not that you’re not…” He rushes to fill in the silence as her face contorts with a series of emotions. She’s really a very good actress. “I mean, you’re absolutely lovely, but I don’t…I’m not…”
“Because I don’t date co-stars.”
“No. Of course not. Me either. I mean, I don’t. I haven’t. There was that thing with Sophia, but it wasn’t…I mean, she was involved, so it was really just hanging out. I wasn’t…I don’t…Well, shit.” He clears his throat and then swallows. “I mean, I’m not…you’re quite lovely, as I said. But I don’t…I’m not. Asking you out.”
“You’re sure?” She almost laughs and Matthew manages to get another breath down into his lungs.
“Yes. Quite sure. Quite. Yes. Sure. Certain. Absolutely certain.”
Her eyebrow goes up dangerously and she straightens up, leaning in toward him. “You know Shakespeare, right?”
“Well, yes.” He probably only imagines he doesn’t sound offended. “I am British.”
“So, you’d know what I meant if I said ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much’?”
“Well, first off, I’d think you were obviously a little confused about what gender I am, and given I’m to play the male lead in our show, this could explain the issues we’ve been having with chemistry.” He sighs, blowing out the breath slowly. “Secondly, I’m not protesting really. I mean, I am, but it’s more that I’d really rather you didn’t sue me for sexual harassment or have some very large man come along and beat me to a pulp.”
“Maybe I’d be flattered.”
“Except you don’t date co-stars.”
“There is that.” She leans over and bumps her shoulder against his. “Besides, our saving grace in this might be our sexual attraction, and if we actually have sex, we’ll lose it like Cybil Shepherd and Bruce Willis on ‘Moonlighting’.”
“I think they actually hated each other, and the sex was all just on-screen.” He shrugs. “Thought I don’t want you to think I’m a proponent of you hating me.”
“You seem a little too adorable to hate.”
“Adorable?” He cringes. “God, you really do hate me, don’t you?”
She laughs as a whistle blows in the distance. “I don’t hate you. But I’m still not going to sleep with you.”
“What if the show folds?”
“Then I’ll blame you.”
“Right.” He nods decisively and stands up. He feels better now, more relaxed, more himself. He offers her his arm and a smile. “Let’s try not to suck then.”
**
The show doesn't live up to that, of course. It continues to suck monumentally, a habit that he bemoans to Ioan on a regular basis over beers in front of the telly. Ioan laughs at him sometimes and other times he just reminds him that that's rather what the world of acting is like. Matthew frowns a lot during the conversations, and Ioan rubs his thigh gently to soothe him. It's an old habit that they've each been on both sides of, and right now, Matthew's willing to take all the petting Ioan can manage.
"I actually had to say, 'is that a gun in your pocket?' Who actually thinks that's funny?"
"The American public?"
"Are they really that daft?" His voice is incredulous and he shakes his head, bumping off Ioan's hand for a moment before it settles back on the top of his hair. "Wait, don't answer that. I don't really want to know. Let me live in my sweet world of delusion."
"It's better than doing nothing, right? I mean, having a show means a foot in the door."
"I really should have joined the Army."
"That would have been a waste and you know it. Besides, you hate getting up early." Ioan reaches over Matthew to the coffee table and grabs his beer, taking a long pull. "Now, sit up like a proper boy and we'll practice your lines."
"You don't believe it's as awful as I say, do you?"
"Nothing can be as awful as you say, Matthew."
"Ha." Matthew sits up and grabs his script out of his bag, flipping through to the pages he has to memorize. "You start. Be Carlotta."
"Her name is Carlotta?"
"See?" Matthew takes a drink of his beer, triumphant. "It's all becoming clear now, isn't it? It's just...It gets worse. Go on. Say her line."
Ioan reads the script. "I can't say that."
"It's classic television, Ioan. Say her line."
"People don't talk like that."
"Ah, but we're not people. We're actors. Besides, that's an awful argument. People don't talk like they do in Shakespeare's plays, do they?"
"Well, no. But they used to. Even the most undereducated, completely inbred idiot doesn't talk like this."
"Remember," Matthew snags the script away. "We're not allowed to talk about Prince Charles that way."
"Very funny. Though...well, yes, even he talks a bit more educated that this. Is this slang?"
"Apparently, this is the way the common folk talk, and we have to get down to their level. We need to communicate with them."
"You're in a drama about a police detective who hit his head so hard that he's under the impression that he speaks with an accent."
"Really, it's more of a comedy, isn't it?"
"Yes, actually." Ioan makes a face and grabs the script back, setting it on the table and placing his beer very carefully on top of it, leaving a ring on the top page. "This is shit, Matthew."
"You know it. I know it. My co-star knows it. The only people who don't are the network, the writers, the director and the creator. And since they're willing to pay me and you're not, I pretend that it is not shit, so much as the best shit I've ever seen."
"You're a braver man than I."
"Smarter too."
Ioan glances at him quickly, holding back a snort of laughter. Matthew manages to keep a straight face, up until Ioan grabs the throw pillow and smacks Matthew in the head with it.
"Hey now!"
"Deserve every blow, Math." Ioan hits him again, gasping when Matthew grabs the pillow behind him and starts hitting back. They miss half the time, too busy trying to keep from falling off the sofa with laughter. "God, you're such a wanker."
"You adore me." Matthew grabs Ioan's pillow and shoves it behind him, leaning back on his own as well. "How come you're hanging out here with me instead of with your girlfriend?"
"She has a job tonight."
"She's a hooker?"
Ioan punches him this time, hard in the arm. "You're a fucker."
"You're the one..."
"She's a model, so sometimes she works nights. Parties. Shows. Those sorts of things." Ioan rubs his foot against the edge of the coffee table, and his beer tips and pours all over Matthew's script. "Hmmm. Whoops."
"Ioan, I have to use that tomorrow. They're going to think I'm a lush."
"Might actually help you act in this thing if you were intoxicated." They watch the beer spill out over the pages, spreading out and turning the green a darker, more virulent color. "Couldn't get worse. Besides, they're just as likely to change everything again like they've done every day so far. Maybe tomorrow will be orange."
"My luck, they won't change the script tomorrow, and I'll be stuck with a sodden, foul-smelling, falling-apart hunk of saturated paper."
"If it soaks through, maybe you can't read it, or maybe some of the words will blend together and actually form something resembling natural human dialogue."
"Or maybe they'll fire me for being a drunk."
"You say that like you actually think it's a bad thing." Ioan shifts and leans his head on Matthew's shoulder. "You're better than this, Math."
"But it's work, Ioan. Trust me, it's not the worst I've done. Probably not the worst I'll do."
"Oh, it has to be the worst. I'm horrified if there's something more horrible out there in the world. I see no reason to go on if this is not the epitome of wretchedness."
Matthew reaches a hand up and pets Ioan's dark hair, feeling the softness as it threads through his fingers. "I need the job, mate."
"Does it have to be this one? You're..."
"You were a lawyer in the future. You don't get to make career judgments for me, you know." Matthew smiles, brushing his lips over Ioan's temple. "In fact, I think 'Century City' might actually be worse than this."
"It's quite possible you're right." Ioan laughs and looks up at him, kissing the tip of Matthew's nose. "But at least our concept was interesting." He yawns and pulls away from Matthew. "Going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."
"You had something else going for you, you know. In the lawyer show."
"What's that?"
"You look lovely in suits."
"Even with the pink tie?"
Matthew nods as Ioan gets up, yawning as he makes for the bedroom. Matthew's voice is soft. "Yeah, mate. Especially with the pink tie."
**
Matthew's on the back steps drinking his way through a fifth of scotch and smoking the third in a new pack of cigarettes when Ioan steps out the door and settles next to him. "Hey ya."
"Hey." He takes a long drag and holds the smoke in his lungs before slowly letting it hiss out from between his lips. "Drink?"
"No."
"They axed us today. Didn't even finish filming. Just came back from a break and the director was gone, they were starting to put things away and..." He shrugs and sips from his glass, looking down at the bottle between his feet. "So, you know. I'm looking on the bright side."
Ioan stares out at what passes for his back yard, his voice soft as though he’s feeling Matthew out. "Does the bright side include the fact that you don't have to get up in the morning, so you can drink and smoke as much as you like?"
Matthew gives Ioan a sideways look and then nods his head a little in acquiescence. He feels he should be more broken up about this, but he can’t quite seem to manage it. That might have something to do with how much he’s had to drink. "Something like that. Later it will most likely involve the fact that I'm saved from having a piece of pure and utter crap on my resume, and that I don't ever have to have strangers come up to me on the street and quote lines of wretched dialogue at me."
"I do love that you're drunk enough to think you're Sir Alec Guinness again," Ioan laughs, but it’s not the same teasing tone Matthew’s expects from him. That also might be the alcohol, or Ioan just being unsure how Matthew’s actually taking things.
Mixed messages, Matthew thinks. It’s beginning to be a theme.
He shakes his head and clears his throat, his voice a perfect echo of one of their professors at RADA, Mr. Blomherd or, as they dubbed him, Mr. Blowhard. "Star Wars is a great and epic story and he should be honored to be identified with Obi-Wan, the greatest self-sacrificing martyr of them all." Matthew holds his drink out toward Ioan to make his point, smoke drifting in the air between them. "I could be Obi-Wan."
"Possibly,” Ioan agrees, barely managing a straight face. “You very well could be a number of things, but the one you are is drunk."
"And your point?" Matthew’s voice hardens, a flare of anger and disappointment and failure making it difficult to breathe until he shoves it down. He takes another drink and then another hit from the cigarette, nearly spilling his scotch on his lap at the same time. "Fuck."
"Yes, when you get to the point of spilling booze..."
"You spilled beer last night."
"That was a sacrifice to rid you of that horrible script,” Ioan sounds righteous, and it’s a perfect fit for him. Bloody ridiculous lad that he is, all legs and arms and eyes. Matthew pictures him in his Hornblower uniform and straightens up. “After I shut the bedroom door, I also did a dance and cut the head off a chicken. Really, the lengths I go to for you, and this is the appreciation I get. You, drinking my good scotch, and nearly pouring three fingers of it on your lap. Wasteful, Matthew. And ungrateful."
"What'd you want instead?” Matthew tries to match him in tone, probably only achieving a bit whiny as opposed to appreciative. “My eternal gratitude?"
"It'll do for a start." Ioan snags the glass from Matthew's hand. "C'mon. I'll put you to bed and you can sleep off the half bottle you now owe me."
"And what are you going to do?" Matthew watches him as Ioan gives him a hand up to his feet. He sways in slightly, feeling the heat of Ioan’s body as he gets too close. It takes an effort to pull back and stand upright, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of lying next to Ioan again, falling asleep together.
"I am going to go out and have a lovely dinner, and I'll see you when I get home."
"Which will be tomorrow morning?" Matthew slurs his words slightly, leaning into Ioan again. "Going to have a proper night with your lady?"
"We'll see." Ioan wraps his arm around Matthew’s shoulders, holding him close. "C'mon. Bed."
"Don’t suppose you happened to sacrifice a chicken for money to pay my rent?"
"No." Ioan guides him into the kitchen, dropping the cigarettes on the table as he sets the bottle down. "But things can be arranged."
Matthew nods, following obediently as Ioan leads him into the living room. He lies down and watches as Ioan gathers his wallet and his coat, tossing Matthew a quick smile as he heads out. “Sleep well.”
“Yeah. Have fun.” Ioan leaves and Matthew sighs softly, waiting until he hears the front door shut to close his eyes and slump back against the pillows. “Don’t go.”
**
When Matthew wakes up, the sun is streaming in through the window blinds and giving the room a sort of hot golden glow. He can’t see the clock from where he’s lying on the couch, so he starts to sit up, regretting the decision immediately. He manages to glance at the time, and from the position of the sun, he’s fairly certain it’s now three in the afternoon rather than in the morning. The TV’s off, which means either he was very energy-conscious while passed out or that Ioan’s home.
Matthew slumps further on the couch, pillow over his face. Ioan comes out of the bedroom and sits by his feet, fingers light on Matthew’s ankle. “Okay?”
“No.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Ioan stops talking though his hand stays on Matthew’s ankle, a comforting weight as his thumb rubs slowly over the bone. Matthew can feel the couch shift as Ioan leans back, and he knows if he peeks out, Ioan’s face will be turned toward him, his dark eyes filled with worry. He smiles beneath the pillow as Ioan shifts again, lifting Matthew’s legs and resting them on his lap. “It could be worse you know.”
“How does this count as not talking about it?”
“I asked if you wanted to talk,” Ioan informs him. “You said no. So you’re not talking. I am.”
“Sometimes your logic frightens me.”
“I get that a lot.” Ioan slides his hand up Matthew’s leg, palm against the calf, fingers ghosting over his shin. “Really though, it could be worse.”
Matthew raises the pillow just enough to give Ioan a look. Ioan just holds his gaze, a hint of a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. Heaving a sigh, Matthew lifts himself up on his elbows, letting the pillow fall behind his head. “Well, don’t stop now. Pray, tell me how it could be worse.”
“Well, first of all, you could be stuck without any place to live.”
Matthew laughs softly. “I’ll take that to mean you’re not kicking me out on my arse then.”
“Not today anyway.”
“A relief that, I assure you.”
Ioan grins and rubs a finger over Matthew’s toes, laughing softly as Matthew reflexively curls them under out of reach. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not, you lying wanker.”
“Mmm.” Ioan moves his finger, running it along the top of Matthew’s foot.
“Quit it. You know I hate that.”
“Always self-conscious about your feet.” Ioan doesn’t stop stroking the bridge of his foot lightly. “You know it’s a good thing, right? The show being axed. You do.”
“Yeah.” Matthew sighs and watches Ioan thoughtfully. His head doesn’t hurt as much as he’s certain it should, so it’s quite possible Ioan got some aspirin down him before he dumped him on the sofa. “Still, was my first real US TV show, you know? Wanted to be a success.”
“Matthew.” Ioan shakes his head sternly, his brow furrowing. “You are a success. Look at all the things you’ve done. You’re so talented. You’re…you’re good at what you do, Matthew. And you’ll find something that highlights that talent, rather than dump garbage all over it.”
“You’re being my number one fan again.” Matthew uses his toes to poke Ioan in the stomach. “Surprised you’re home.”
“At three in the afternoon?”
“I thought you’d be glad of the night without me and stay with the girlfriend for an extra bit of time.”
“Ah. That.” Ioan nods and rubs his thumb against Matthew’s arch. “We broke up.”
“You did? Why?” Matthew pulls his feet free of Ioan’s grasp and sits up properly, tilting his head. Ioan’s mouth quirks into a half-smile and he shrugs. Matthew growls softly and pokes him harder, this time with his finger in Ioan’s ribs. “Come on. She seemed nice.”
“She was. Quite nice.”
“And very pretty.”
“Exceptionally pretty.”
“A bit dense, as she was dating you.” Ioan smiles and ducks his head, a blush seeping up his collar. His pale skin tints pink and Matthew raises his hand and brushes Ioan’s cheek. “Come on. Out with it.”
“She was all those things. But it just wasn’t right. I mean, it was fun, but…” He folds his feet under him on the couch, his impossibly long legs tucked up beneath him. “I think maybe I want more than fun.”
“And she didn’t?”
“I don’t know.” Ioan turns his head and looks at Matthew, his dark eyes unreadable. “I didn’t ask.”
“But if you wanted more…” Matthew exhales softly, relief he doesn’t quite understand - doesn’t want to understand - flooding through him. “Oh. Right. Not with her.”
“No.” Ioan huffs out a laugh. “But there’s not exactly anyone else, is there? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I date and I see people, but no one seems…”
“Yeah.” Matthew nods. “I know.” He rests his own head on the back of the sofa. “You like it out here, don’t you?”
“What? Oh, yes. Love it.” Ioan blushes a little more. “I mean, I love home and I love London, but America is just…there’s so much, you know? Land of opportunity, and it’s true. I mean, look at what I have, what I can have.”
“Everything you ever wanted.”
“Not everything.” Ioan closes his eyes for a long moment, his head back against the couch. Matthew watches him carefully, dropping his hand down to Ioan’s shoulder, letting his fingers skim down Ioan’s arm to his hand, threading their fingers together. “I miss you, Math. So bloody much.”
“I know. Me too.”
Ioan rubs his forehead with his other hand, the heel of his hand rough and loud. “I wanted that stupid fucking show to be everything you wanted so you’d be here, so I’d have my best friend back, and instead it was horrid and you’re going to leave again and what am I supposed to do then? How am I supposed to get used to being without you again?”
“I know.” Matthew’s vision blurs and he closes his eyes, feeling the heat sting. His voice is rough and he has to clear his throat to speak again. “I feel the same way.”
“So fucking stupid.” Ioan sniffs and then rubs his eyes with his fists like a child. Matthew hates that Ioan takes his hand away to do it, but he releases him and uses the moment to move closer. He wraps an arm around Ioan’s shoulder and pulls him against him, letting him bury his face against Matthew’s neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not just you, boyo.” Matthew kisses the top of Ioan’s head. “I don’t want to go. Being here, being with you is like…it’s right. It’s what it’s supposed to be like. London’s not the same without you. It’s all off. It’s like it’s on a tilt, axis thrown off by you being halfway round the world.”
“Stay here, Matthew.”
He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “You know I can’t do that.” His hand slides around Ioan’s back, holding him closer. He can’t seem to get his voice above a whisper. “Come home.”
Ioan pulls away, looking up at him. They’re still closer than they should be, though Matthew’s certain it’s not nearly close enough. “And you know I can’t do that.”
Matthew nods and bites his lower lip, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly. “I do know.” They sit there like that for a long time, simply breathing each other in. “So what do we do now?”
“You could introduce me to your co-star. Just because she wasn’t interested in you doesn’t mean she won’t find me devastatingly attractive.”
Matthew laughs. “God, you’re incorri-” He’s cut off by Ioan’s mouth, the warm caress of his lips as they settle over Matthew’s, moving against them until Matthew relaxes into him, parting his lips to the brush of Ioan’s tongue.
Ioan groans softly as Matthew's mouth opens to his, pushing his tongue deeper. Matthew curls his own tongue around it, sucking gently until Ioan moves closer, his hands catching on Matthew's shoulders and tightening there. It's surreal in some ways, to feel this right when Matthew knows perfectly well that doing this is wrong, especially when he's going to be leaving again in just a couple of days, a week at the most. He can't help it though, can't help fitting his mouth so smoothly to Ioan's, so perfectly and deepen the kiss even more.
They tangle together easily, many nights of lying in one bed or the other, talking until all hours of the morning, insisting that there should be no smoking as either one of them is liable to doze off. But for all that this is the same, it's different, and Matthew knows it. He knows that this isn't something innocent or just a friendly touch to pass the time, to make it through the night. This is something more, something bigger, and it's frightening in its own way.
Ioan breaks the kiss and pulls back, looking at Matthew with his huge brown eyes, the dark lashes almost invisible they're open so wide. Matthew swallows and licks his lips, his eyes avoiding Ioan's, darting down to his lips, wet and pink and swollen from the kiss. "It's...it's different, isn't it?"
Matthew nods and leans in, kissing him again. Ioan doesn't resist, but he doesn't really participate either, so Matthew settles back. His heart is pounding in his chest, too loud for him to hear properly. He tilts his head, not meaning to, but questioning because if this isn't what Ioan wants, if he didn't mean to start this whatever it is, then Matthew needs to know now. It's possible that Ioan just wanted an innocent kiss, a snog to ease the pain of being alone again. "Io?"
"Nothing, Math." His voice is hushed and almost reverent. "It's nothing."
"Is it really?" He's surprised that it hurts as much as it does. He hadn't realized how much it might matter. Maybe that's the problem. "Nothing, that is?"
"What?" Ioan's eyes widen impossible further. "Oh, no, Math. God." Ioan laughs and it's a strangled, desperate sound. "This isn't nothing. Just...whatever was in my head. I...you feel it too, right?"
Matthew nods. They're good at not needing words, or not needing a lot of them. "Yeah."
"What is it?"
"Dunno. Us, maybe." He leans in and kisses him again, slowly this time. Ioan whispers a soft 'yes' against Matthew's mouth and then he's in the kiss and they're back on the same wavelength. Matthew gives and Ioan takes and then it all turns around again until Matthew's leaning back on the couch and Ioan's over him, bracing himself on the cushion on either side of Matthew's head, kissing him, thrusting his tongue into Matthew's mouth slowly and sinuously until Matthew can't help but groan.
He rakes his fingers down Ioan's back, wanting him closer. Ioan shudders and thrusts against him and Matthew's shocked by the sudden realization that Ioan's hard against him, his prick pressing against Matthew's thigh. He's not sure why it's such a surprise. His own prick is hard, insistent as he grinds up against Ioan, but for some reason, the thought of Ioan being the same way startles him.
"God, Math." Ioan breaks from Matthew's mouth and rains a bevy of kisses on his face, teeth and lips teasing at Matthew's skin. He sucks at Matthew's jaw and nips at his earlobe, sucking on it when Matthew growls at the sharp pain. "Been so long."
"You've had a girlfriend." Matthew's voice is soft, teasing, though Ioan pulls back as if he's been stung.
"I meant with you."
Matthew reaches up, tracing Ioan's brow with his thumb. He shakes his head. "I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, Ioan. I'm sorry."
"What then?" He shifts back off Matthew and Matthew wants to slam his head against the arm of the sofa.
"I just meant...you...I thought you were talking about sex."
"I was talking about sex."
"In general. And, you know, until last night you had a girlfriend, and from the nakedness I experienced in the kitchen, I figured there had been sex. So when you said...I just...fuck." He does then, slamming his head hard against the arm, against the wood frame so that it hurts. "I was teasing."
"It's not like you've been celibate."
"How do you know?" Matthew sits up and looks at him. "Maybe I have. Maybe I've spent the last two years that you've been in Hollywood at home, wanking off, wishing you hadn't gone."
Ioan's mouth hangs open for a moment before he seems to realize and he snaps it shut. It works that way for a few more minutes, opening and shutting until he manages to find his voice. "Have you?"
"Have I what?"
"Been...doing that."
"Wanking? Of course I wank. I'm a bloody guy."
Ioan kicks him hard in the shin. "You know what I fucking mean, Matthew Rhys Evans, so don't be a monumental prick or I'll take back what I said earlier and kick your arse out on the street."
"No." Matthew shakes his head. "Of course not, Ioan. We're friends first, right? And you had this amazing opportunity and you took it and I wanted you to take it, and of course I'm jealous from time to time, because I want the same amazing opportunities, but I'd never wish you not to have it. You joke that you're my biggest fan-"
"I am."
"Well, I'm yours as well." He blows out another breath and rubs the back of his head where it stings from hitting it on the couch. "So...I'm not going to try to make you feel bad about that, and certainly not with sex."
"So why did you say it?"
"I was trying to be funny. And I failed spectacularly, which is why I tried out for dramas instead of comedies, not that that worked out, and for Christ sake, can I kiss you again, please?"
"No."
"Fine." Matthew puts his hand on the sofa arm to lever himself to his feet, but Ioan's there, holding him down.
"Because I'm going to kiss you."
It starts out slow again, and Ioan doesn't push it. Matthew lets him guide it, lets him lead them wherever Ioan needs to go. It doesn't take long before Ioan's tongue brushes at Matthew's lips, until they're kissing again in earnest, back where they started before Matthew had made the mistake of talking.
This time though, there are hands. Ioan's hands on Matthew's arms and back and Matthew's settled at Ioan's hips, thumbs rubbing his lower stomach. Ioan's fingers are long and firm, stroking easy rows up and down Matthew's spine, over his shoulders and he can't help the soft noises he keeps making, muttering and moaning them into Ioan's mouth.
Ioan's just as vocal, low desperation in his voice as he matches Matthew sound for sound. They shift on the sofa, trying to find the right match for their bodies, the alignment that allows them to touch and feel. Ioan whimpers finally, pulling away and breathing hard. "This is miserable."
"Now who's being insulting?" Matthew's mouth aches for Ioan's, and his hands slide up Ioan's back, trying to urge him in again.
"No. This couch. How the hell did you sleep on it?"
"Who gives a fuck, Ioan?" He tugs him closer again, angling up for a kiss. Ioan melts against him for a moment and then pulls back yet again. "What the actual fuck?"
"It's bloody fucking uncomfortable." Ioan gets off the couch and Matthew just looks at him, dumbfounded. Ioan's obviously enjoying himself, his cock is hard and tight against his jeans and he's unsteady when he stands. "Let's go to bed."
"Oh. Oh." Matthew scrambles off the couch and to his feet, meeting Ioan's mouth in a kiss as he stands as well. Ioan laughs against Matthew's lips and pulls away, catching his hand and leading him down the hallway to the bedroom. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, but Ioan's disturbingly fastidious about wherever he's sleeping, so it's easy to navigate the way to the bed.
Ioan stops at the edge of it and looks at Matthew. Matthew’s eyes have adjusted enough that he can see Ioan, can see the brightness and want in his eyes as he reaches down and grabs the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head. Matthew makes a noise low in his throat and reaches out, fingers splaying over Ioan's chest and sliding down to his stomach, feeling the brush of hair against his palms. Ioan arches like a cat into Matthew's hands, and Matthew bends his head, flicking his tongue lightly over one of Ioan's nipples.
"Oh, fuck." Ioan's entire body shudders in response, so Matthew does it again. This time Ioan's hands dig into Matthew's hair, holding Matthew's head against his body. Matthew catches the nipple between his teeth and sucks on it, flicking it occasionally with just the tip of his tongue, reveling in the sharp intake of Ioan's breath, in the tremors that run through him. "Don't stop." Ioan's not quite begging, but he's definitely wanting, and Matthew's content with that, teasing the nipple for just a bit longer before turning his attention to the other one, watching from the corner of his eye as cool air touches the wet nipple he just left, tightening it further.
Matthew's hands slide from Ioan's hips to the small of his back, rubbing small circles there as he teases Ioan's nipples, moving from one to the other until Ioan's body quivers even without Matthew's mouth on him. Looking up, Matthew meets Ioan's eyes, pupils blow wide with want, and holds them as he sinks down on his knees, peppering kisses down Ioan's sternum, across his stomach. He dips his tongue in Ioan's navel and Ioan's cock gives a hard jerk in his jeans. Matthew doesn't touch it, moving his hands up instead, sweeping the line of Ioan's back as he nuzzles at the trembling muscles of Ioan's abdomen.
"Matthew. Please." Ioan's voice is strangled, and his hands trace over the lines of Matthew's cheeks before they slip to the fastening of Ioan's jeans. "Please. Fuck. Hurts."
"Don't ever want to hurt you, Io." Matthew moves Ioan's hands away and grabs the denim with his own fingers, working the button loose and carefully sliding the zipper down. Ioan groans in relief and shivers all at once. His cock is tight against his briefs, a wet spot staining the grey cotton. "Better?"
"Getting there," Ioan laughs, the sound off a bit as Matthew's fingers trace over his hard prick. "Closer still if you keep that up."
Matthew huffs a laugh, the air feathering over the bulge of Ioan's cock. Ioan moans softly and his hips thrust forward, seeking out the heat of Matthew's mouth. Matthew keeps his eyes on Ioan's face, watching the play of emotions, the easy way that everything shows in his eyes, in his expression. Ioan looks down at Matthew, lips parted and eyes still so wide, so trusting. "Ioan," Matthew manages roughly as he tugs Ioan's briefs over the head of his prick and pushes them down along with his jeans.
Ioan groans in relief again, and Matthew wraps his hand around the hard flesh of Ioan's dick. It's thick and hard, long and smooth. He traces the crown of the prick at the opening of the foreskin, listening to Ioan's ragged breathing when his finger slides across the wet slit. Pushing the foreskin back, he breathes against the sleek head then presses his tongue to the wetness, closing his eyes and holding the taste in his mouth.
"O-oh," Ioan breathes roughly, his hand finding the curve of Matthew's skull again. His fingers fight the wild curl of Matthew's hair as Matthew's tongue presses against the ridge at the base of the head, tracing the circumference of Ioan's dick slowly. He can see muscles trembling beneath Ioan's skin and he lets one hand stroke up and down Ioan's thigh. Ioan makes a noise low in his throat and thrusts forward. Matthew's not certain, but it's possibly please and so he parts his lips and takes Ioan into his mouth.
Ioan tastes like soap and salt and sweat, and Matthew tightens his mouth around him, letting Ioan weigh on his tongue. He can feel the hard, throbbing pulse of Ioan's blood, can feel the restraint as Ioan holds himself back, holds himself still so that he doesn't thrust too deeply. Matthew sucks hard and grabs Ioan's hips, taking him deep enough that he can feel the rough wiry hair against his face, can feel the weight of Ioan's balls against his chin.
Ioan's hands tighten and he starts thrusting, matching the steady rhythm of Matthew's mouth. They move together easily, Matthew's tongue pressing Ioan's prick against the roof of his mouth, sucking on it until Ioan shivers, unable to move and desperate to do so. When Matthew eases the pressure, Ioan's nails dig into Matthew's scalp and his hips start moving more determined, more regularly, pushing into Matthew's mouth. Matthew groans around him, easing his own movement so that Ioan is controlling it, feeling the tang of Ioan's pre-come hitting the back of his throat.
"Ma-Math." Ioan shudders and it's all the warning Matthew gets, feeling the pulse of Ioan's orgasm against his tongue in the second before he's swallowing him down. He keeps going until Ioan's shuddering and begging him to stop, breath ratcheting out of him like he's losing control all over again. Matthew eases back and wipes his mouth, spit and semen wetting his swollen lips. Ioan sinks onto the bed and looks down at him, slightly dazed. "You."
"Yeah?" Matthew licks his lips and Ioan tugs him up higher so that their lips meet again. Matthew's mouth is stretched and stiff, unused to the prolonged activity of a blow job, to Ioan's tongue fucking his mouth and tasting himself on Matthew's tongue is almost painful, but in all the best ways. He reaches down and undoes his own jeans, needing them off quickly. He's just as hard as Ioan had been, the pain blocked out by the rush of pleasure from sucking Ioan down, but now his whole body is alive with need and waiting seems impossible.
Ioan breaks the kiss to breathe and slides back onto the bed, sprawled there like some sort of sacrifice. Matthew's more than happy to worship at the altar, shrugging out of all of his clothes before kneeling on the bed and crawling up Ioan's body. Ioan's fingers skim over Matthew's flesh as he makes his way up, tracing the curve of his back and the slope of his arse. "Want you, Math."
Matthew nods. He glances at the nightstand and Ioan nods, so Matthew tugs out the drawer and fumbles around for the supplies. There are condoms readily at the front, but the lube is in the back. He manages to wrap his hand around it, using his thumb to open the lid. "Nearly full."
"Don't have need for it when you're in London." Ioan shifts, spreading his legs farther apart, opening himself up for Matthew. Matthew works the condom on, stroking himself and gritting his teeth at the sensation. The lube is cool in his hand as he strokes himself, adding more before he presses a finger against Ioan's opening. Ioan shudders and the world narrows down to the sudden pressure of Ioan's body around him as Matthew pushes the finger in slowly.
"Fuck," Matthew breathes, resting his head on Ioan's thigh as he works it deeper. Ioan's mouth is open but no sound comes out, and his chest doesn't seem to move at all until he sucks in a huge gasp of air. Matthew feels him relax eventually, and that's when he starts moving, working his finger in and out until Ioan's begging for more. More lube and another finger and he can press them deep, scissor them open until Ioan' s heels are planted on the bed and he's arched off the mattress. "God, you're so fucking..."
"Want you, Math." Ioan's panting and Matthew pushes his fingers deeper in response. "Fuck, want you. Please. Inside me." He's just got the two fingers in and he's not sure it will be enough, but he's equally sure he can't wait. It's been so long, been too long, and so he shifts between Ioan's legs and uses both hands to hold Ioan's thighs as he presses the tip of his prick against Ioan's opening.
Matthew holds there for a moment, waiting until Ioan's eyes open and they're looking at each other. There's a hint of a smile, of something, on Ioan's lips and Matthew returns it with one of is own before he pushes in slowly, taking his time as Ioan opens up around him with each shallow thrust.
Ioan's tight - so tight - and Matthew's lost before he even manages to get completely inside him. He's shaking, arms trembling on either side of Ioan's face and his thrusts are erratic. Ioan's cradling him between his thighs and Matthew drops down to his elbows, wrapping himself around Ioan as he drives deeper inside him. Ioan's breath is hot against his ear and it sends shivers down Matthew's spine.
He can feel the heat gathering in his balls and he tries to hold back, tries to keep from giving in, but Ioan's body constricts around him and Matthew comes, cock pulsing as Ioan's body tightens around him, Ioan's legs wrapping around Matthew's calves and drawing him deeper. Matthew doesn't move for several minutes, isn't actually sure he can. He just lays there, forehead against Ioan's and his hands stroking through Ioan's unruly hair, rubbing and teasing sweat-damp tendrils apart.
"I need to move," he whispers.
"Don't."
Matthew laughs and he can feel his body shifting. "I can't, actually. No muscle response. I'm afraid we're stuck like this until some feeling comes back into my limbs or my brain synapses start firing again."
"Move or you'll make a mess, which you'll clean up." Ioan belies his statement by drawing Matthew in for a warm kiss. "I'm not sleeping in the wet spot."
"Could go sleep on the couch." Matthew pulls away reluctantly, easing out of Ioan with a great degree of care. It doesn't stop Ioan from gasping, pain and pleasure mixed, but he does his best all the same.
"Why didn't you tell me the couch was so bloody uncomfortable?" Ioan turns his head, watching Matthew walk naked across the room to the bath to dispose of the condom. "Might have gotten you a blow up bed or something."
"I don't trust you around anything inflatable."
"One time," Ioan moans and covers his face with his hands, glaring at Matthew from between his fingers. "One time, and you won't let me live it down."
"One time. In front of 50 witnesses." Matthew comes back to the bed and stretches out, head propped on his hand and elbow just below the pillow where Ioan's head is resting. "There's no way that can ever be forgotten. In fact, I think there's a video tape of it floating around somewhere."
"I hate you."
Matthew shakes his head and leans in, kissing Ioan softly. "No. You don't."
"No. I don't." Ioan makes a face at him then moves closer, turning his face to kiss the inside of Matthew's elbow. "But I could."
"No, you couldn't."
"Yes, I could."
"No. You really couldn't, Ioan." Matthew drops his head down and kisses Ioan's forehead. "You might try, but you would fail miserably, so there's really no reason to set yourself up for that kind of heartbreak."
"You're a wanker."
"Yes. But at least I'm your wanker, right?"
Ioan smiles and nods before closing his eyes, tugging Matthew closer. "Yes. You are that."
"It's still only four in the afternoon."
Ioan opens one eye. "You saying you couldn't do with a nap then?"
"No," Matthew admits with a smile. "I'm not saying that at all."
**
The weeks go by too quickly after that. Matthew's visa expires quickly when there's no job to keep him there, and it's not long before his bags are packed and he's staring at the living room he used to call home. "So."
"You'll call," Ioan says. "You'll write."
"I'll probably call, but there's no way in hell I'd write. And even if I did, you wouldn't be able to read it, so you'd just call me and bitch about how I need to learn how to write properly and what the fuck did I scribble on about for seven pages."
"Seven, huh?"
"I would not write you seven page letters."
"You would." Ioan grins triumphantly. "I'll bet you have. Next time I come to London, I'm scouring the flat. Going to find all your deep, hidden secrets, Rhys."
"I don't have any from you." Matthew taps Ioan softly on the tip of his nose. "I've got to catch a plane."
"No.” Ioan’s voice is suddenly thick. “No, don’t go. You could stay and become a waiter or something. Get an extended visa. Go back to school. Learn a trade. Become...hell, become something useful like an architect or...or...a lighting grip. Anything. Just stay."
"I can't stay."
"I don't want you to go."
"That's because you're a sentimental wanker." Matthew moves away from him to grab his bags, needing some distance before he actually gives in to Ioan's requests, cede to his demands. "Do I need to call a cab?"
"No. I'll drive you, though you don't have to seem quite so bloody happy about leaving."
"Says the man who didn't have to sleep on the couch." Matthew tightens his grip on his bag, flexing and unflexing his hand.
"I had to listen to you snoring."
"I don't snore." Matthew huffs indignantly. "Obviously you're just hearing echoes of your own, lingering in the bedroom after you wake up."
"Stay."
"I can't."
Ioan frowns and nods. "Let me get my keys."
"I want to. You know I want to, right?"
Turning around, Ioan nods. "I do, Math, yeah."
"You need to know that. Believe it."
"I do."
"Ioan..."
"I do. Jesus, I'm not a mental and emotional cripple, you fucker." He tosses his keys in the air and then catches them. "Christ, it'll be good to be rid of you. Always going on and on about things. Never a moment's pea-"
Matthew grabs him by the shirt and hauls him closer, dropping his suitcase so that he can use both hands to hold Ioan close, to keep him from moving away. The kiss is long and hungry, tinged with regret and promise and tasting very much like things Matthew doesn't know how to say as he pulls away. "Well, come on. I've got a plane to catch."
"Yeah, yeah." Ioan's blushing and smiling as he moves to the door. "Bossy wanker."
**
The flight home is longer than it has any right to be, and Matthew can't manage to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. There aren't the hordes of screaming children from his flight to Los Angeles, and they actually serve him decent booze, though they do charge and arm and a leg for it. It's worth it though to feel the warm rush down his throat, to ease the tightness there that started long before Ioan had even dropped him off.
He watches out the window as England comes into sight, the horizon littered with stately towers and the odd angles of farmland and country, the familiar fog and grey of London becoming larger and larger until all Matthew can see is mist. The roar of the wheels descending and the whine of the brakes as they hit the tarmac seem as unreal as the lights of Hollywood, and he's beginning to wonder if he belongs in either place, if either will ever truly feel like home.
Of course, Los Angeles has the advantage of Ioan, in more ways than one. That thought keeps him smiling the entire cab ride home, even though he knows he has too many phone calls ahead, listening to his family be proud of him no matter what, and what did those daft Americans know anyway. Matthew appreciates the support, but if he's honest, he'd rather just go home and sleep for a day or two before he has to come back to the real world.
He drops his bag by the door and kicks the pile of mail further into the room. The air smells stale and he opens a window to air it out. The blinking red light catches his eye and he frowns. He'd cleared his messages the night before over the phone and everyone knows he was flying today. Probably just his mum telling him to call when he gets in, let her know he's all right. He thinks about avoiding it for a little longer, not wanting her to worry, but not ready to face it all just yet.
Guilt wins over, of course, as it always does and he pushes the play button and turns away to get himself a drink. He stops at the sound of the voice, closes his eyes and smiles.
"It's almost pilot season," Ioan informs him softly, saying something altogether different. "Come out to LA."