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fellowshippers2005-02-04 02:06 am
blankversesfic.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-02-04 02:06 am
When Karl Met Eric (Part One)
I am now obsessed with this pairing (I mean, way obsessed), and spending too much time in class when I should be paying attention working on this story. Oh well. This is what happens when I take my laptop to classes. *grins*
FIC: When Karl met Eric (Part One)
Pairing: (well, rather obviously from the title) KU/EB
Rating: R this part (naughty language)
No warnings that I can think of
Disclaimer: I have never met, nor even laid eyes on in person, these sexy, sexy men. If this is how they spend their time, god speed to glory.
“Fucking hell,” Karl growled, kicking at the now mutilated and hole-ridden hunk of rubber that had just moments ago been a fully functioning tire, attached quite securely and faithfully to his quickly moving vehicle. Not only was said vehicle now missing the (ex) tire, but said vehicle was now also crumpled about the front in a most unpleasant, but probably still drivable, way. Karl wiped the back of his hand across his brow, wincing, and was not surprised when it came away bloody.
“Perfect. Just bloody fucking perfect.”
There was no way now that he’d make it to the premiere of Troy on time. Not even if he actually had a spare tire in his trunk (he hoped fervently that Astin would never find out about this, because if he did then Karl would certainly be treated to a Boy Scout like sermon on preparedness and the horrible consequences of the lack thereof) and his car still agreed to function once it was on. And if he did have a spare tire, then he would show up at the premiere covered in dirt, grease, and blood. A fine look for Eomer, perhaps, when trying to impress the Ladies of the Mark with his manly prowess, but not exactly all the rage with security guards who might not recognize him as a brunette. The last thing that Orlando and Bean needed to do on the night of the premiere for their new movie was to rescue their unprepared friend from jail.
Karl reached angrily into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. He punched a number on the keypad, and the phone hissed spitefully as it dialed.
“Karl! You almost here, mate? The hobbits are going crazy with longing for your body.”
Karl grinned in spite of himself. “No, I’m not almost there, and at the rate that I’m going I wouldn’t even make it to your next premiere, which is in what, five hours?”
“Oh?” Karl could almost hear Orlando's brow furrow, prettily. Everything that the stupid wanker did was pretty. Lucky git. If Orlando showed up to a premiere covered in blood and dirt and greasy bits of melted tire it would start a worldwide fashion trend, whereas Karl just knew that the same ensemble would get him locked up for the night in a cell with an overly-eager man named Bubba who wanted to show him his “little friend”.
**And that’s why Orli’s the prettiest woman in Troy. Helen, my ass. Now shut up and start begging for help.**
“Orli, I’m going to have to miss your movie,” Karl kicked the traitorous tire once again, wincing as he stubbed his toe. A large mac truck sped by, nearly squashing him, electing at the last moment to envelope him in a cloud of exhaust instead. He coughed, loudly.
“Where are you, Karl? You sound like you’re calling from the middle of the Daytona 500.”
“That would be a little bit safer that here, I do believe. At least then there would be a reason for a battalion of crazy American drivers to be trying to run me down.”
“Are you in your car?”
“No, Orlando. I’m standing next to my car, which has betrayed me.”
“Perhaps if you got back in your car the other drivers might have a harder time hitting you.”
“Then I’d just be a sitting target. This way I’m giving myself a sporting chance.”
“Is there a reason that your car is no longer a moving target?”
“Orlando, I’ve busted a tire in a cataclysmic fashion, bumped noses with the Jersey wall, and possibly broken my arse. I’m dirty, and I’m standing on the side of the Freeway, for fuck’s sake. I think it’s the Freeway at least. Big road, lots of lanes, crazy idiots flying by as though they wanted nothing more than to kill a poor, stranded motorist. What’s wrong with this state, Orlando?” A hint of hysteria was creeping into his voice, but he plowed on ahead anyway. “How does anyone understand the road systems out here? Are Californians smarter than we are that they can understand these things, or are they just all crazy enough that the road systems actually seem sensible to them? With their granola eating and -- and their ‘govenator’ and --”
“What exit are you near?” Orlando interrupted, speaking in the tones that one would use when addressing a child found eating paste.
Karl took a deep breath. “I’m about ten exists south of where your shiny elvish ass is sitting, bathed in luxury and working tires.”
“Well, that won’t do.”
“I’d tend to agree on that point. Even if I get a cab to come and pick me up, it’ll be at least an hour before I get there. And I’ll still look like a rejected crash test dummy.”
“Well, what the fuck are we going to do about thi-- Hey!”
Karl nearly dropped the phone as Orlando shouted.
“Hey, BEAN! How are you, mate? Listen, is Eric here yet?”
Karl dodged a beer can, chucked with startling accuracy out the passenger window of a passing SUV, while listening intently to half of the conversation between his mates. Listening to a whole conversation that Orlando was having with anyone was a trial, even if you were included, and from what Karl could figure out, Orlando was talking to Sean while Sean was talking to someone else on **his** phone, which left Karl completely out of the loop and more than slightly bewildered.
“Orlando --”
“And then he can take him to get cleaned up, since the hotel is only a about a mile or so past where the ruddy great lummox is stranded, and -- well, no, Sean, I’m not going out there to get him myself, do you actually think that I’d make it back alive after trying to navigate the roadways out here? I’d wind up in Mexico -- “
“Orlando --”
“Although some tequila would be nice right now, I could definitely use a drink, but -- well, of course I know that you’ve pre-gamed, Sean, why do you think that I didn’t ask you to get him? You’re better at this car thing than I --”
“ORLANDO!”
A startled squawk from the other end ot the telephone made Karl grin. “Yes?”
“Do I need to start hitchhiking, or what?”
“No, it’s -- oh, good, he’’ll be there in ten?” Orlando shouted, presumably to Sean. Karl winced again, wondering if it was possible for your ears to bleed due to abuse by Orlando over the phone. Orlando moderated his tone slightly, and spoke again to Karl. “He should be there in about ten minutes, mate, so just stay put and he’ll find you.”
“Orli, hon, who am I looking for?”
“See you at the party!”
*****
Karl was sitting on top of his car, smoking a cigarette (a habit that he had picked up again when hanging out with Matt Damon on the Bourne Supremacy set) and staring down all the passersby, wondering who in the world Orlando had sent for him. He hoped that it wasn’t one of the hobbits; their driving skills (minus Astin, who was at home with Christine and their chicken-pox ridden childer) left something to be desired, namely the safety of the occupants of the vehicle that they were attempting to maneuver. So it was with some surprise, but no real concern, when a green Accra slowed to a stop beside him.
He jumped off the car, pushing the lock button on his fob with a smirk. **Stupid car. I hope someone eats your hubcaps.**
He approached the car a little warily, realizing as he opened the door that the man inside was not one that he recognized. Although he was familiar, and, truth be told, attractive.
“Karl, I’m guessing?” the man asked, in a thick Australian drawl.
“What gave it away?”
“The head wound, actually.”
Karl laughed, and got into the car. “Well, you’re one up on me then, mate.”
The man smiled, and reached over to take Karl’s hand. “Eric, Eric Bana.”
“I hope I didn’t rip you away from the premiere to come and rescue me.”
Eric threw the car into drive and deftly avoided being smushed while maneuvering back onto the road. “Nah, I was on me way over to the theater when I got a rather confusing call from Bean, requesting that I rescue one princeling of Rohan and ‘see that he gets cleaned up a bit’ because, and I’m quoting here, ‘you don’t need the press to think that you’ve been beating on him on the way over’. “
“What?”
“Apparently, if you arrive bleeding it’s a sign that we’re lovers and having a spat.”
“Lovers already? We’ve only just met.”
Eric chuckled. “I move fast, you see.”
Karl decided to change the subject before saying something stupid, having already acknowledged to himself that he found the other man attractive. He had reconciled himself to this long ago, realizing that by working in the movies he was going to come across a large number of unbelievably good looking people, both male and female, who would push his buttons. He gave up fighting the attraction to men and admitted his bisexuality around the time that filming had started on Rings -- being in close quarters with that many good looking men and little to do after shooting but get drunk and play spin the bottle would do that to a bloke.
“So, any good stories about Orlando embarrassing himself during filming?”
Eric shot him a wicked grin. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
*******
Eric was surprised by the way that the two of them hit it off. By the time they got to the theater, it felt like they had known each other forever -- like they were mates in a previous lifetime, only finding each other now, and were just picking up where they had left off back in 1407 or something.
“Right then,” Eric said, pulling into a gas station. “Go in and get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll see if I can’t root a shirt out of my bag that will fit you.”
Karl snorted. “A gas-station bathroom? What do I look like, Brittney Spears?”
“Or, you could enjoy the tabloid reporters speculating over the nature of our tiff. Was it another man, or another woman? Both? Three headed space Elvis?”
“Back in a sec, then,” Karl replied, trotting off toward the bathrooms.
Eric hopped out of the car and began digging through the contents of his trunk, searching for a shirt that would fit Karl. ** Do I have the gold, with the black trimming? That would spark out his eyes right well -- ** “What?”
Eric blinked, startled. **Bring out his eyes? What the fuck? Are you his tailor now? ** Trying not to admit to himself how that thought had shaken him, he continued to search. ** There it is, the wanker. Hiding under the boxers as usual. **
He joking words about lover’s spats and being a fast moving man of action aside, Eric was not one who often fancied men. And by often, he meant exactly twice in his lifetime. And those were only little passing crushes, from being thrown in together on movie sets and whatnot. The first was on Ewan McGregor, from when they were filming Black Hawk Down. There was something about that irreverent Scott that had struck a chord inside of him, and while doing his “research” (and by research he meant drinking beer and watching other movies that his costar had been in) he had stumbled across Velvet Goldmine, where his new friend was often either naked, covered in glitter, snogging very good looking men, or some combination of the three that was highly tantalizing. Second was on Orlando, before those feelings fell into an overprotective brother mode. ** How anyone can not be attracted to him is beyond me. He really is too pretty for his own good, that one. I’m not surprised that the boys down in New Zealand passed him around like candy. **
Karl emerged from the bathroom, and Eric felt a little pull in his gut when he saw the man again, now relatively clean from blood and dirt and other exploded tire residue. He was almost devastatingly handsome. That pull was both familiar, and disturbing. It was a pull which had caused him to do all sorts of crazy things in the past, like showing off that he could climb the highest tree in the schoolyard when he was ten, which did not lead to the kiss that he thought it would but to a well-broken arm and a mild concussion. Warning bells started going off in his head.
“Got you a new shirt, mate. Hope it fits.”
“Well, you are a great giant, but it should be fine.”
Karl stripped off his shirt, obviously without regard to the fact that he was without a doubt a fine specimen of man who could stop traffic and cause drooling in the unwary ** -- Bana, get a grip on yourself -- ** and tossed the offending shirt at Eric. Eric handed him the shirt that he had picked out, trying to act completely natural as Karl’s muscles rippled in an unfair display of manly vigor as he reached towards him. Karl pulled the shirt on, and Eric used that as an opportunity to flee to the relative safety of the driver’s seat. Karl climbed in beside him and began to fiddle with the radio as soon as the car had started.
“Messing with a man’s stereo is cause for keelhauling in several countries,” Eric chastised.
“Too bad this isn’t one of them, isn’t it?” His cheeky smirk gave another tug at the cord tied around Eric’s *ahem* midsection.
“Too bad for me, you mean, ya wanker. God, what is this crap?”
“Crap is such a demeaning word to use in conjecture with brilliance, Eric.”
“Good thing we’re listening to this hideousness and not anything brillant then, eh?”
“Wanker.”
“Philistine.”
“Twit.”
“Bitch.”
They grinned at each other companionably, and pulled back out onto the freeway.
***************
“No, Bean, we’re not going to make it.”
“And just why the fuck not?”
Eric sighed. Forty-five minutes of heavy LA traffic lay had passed between them and the gas-station, and they were only up to the exit for the hotel. There was no way that they were making it to the premiere. And, for some reason, Eric couldn’t say that he minded.
“This little thing called traffic. Lots of buggers, in lots of cars, taking up the roadway that we’re trying to traverse. It’s laid a bit of a kink in our plans. There’s no way that we’ll be getting there within the next hour.”
“Fine. Any excuse for some man on man action, I suppose.”
“Bean!” Eric yelped, more stridently than he had intended. That little counter had hit a bit too close to home.
“Calm yourself, Bana. Jaysus. Take him back to the hotel, keep him amused, and then meet us at the party afterwards. And don’t be late to that, if you don’t mind. I’m having a hard time controlling the hobbits. It’s been a while since they’ve seen him, and they’re driving me mad.”
Sean hung up with a sigh, and Eric turned a quizzical expression towards Karl. “What is it with those three that everyone seems to be sighing or shaking their head when they’re talking about them?”
“Hmm, what? Oh, the hobbits?”
“Yeah, those three.”
“Well, when they get together their mental age drops to about thirteen, and it’s all yelping and stomping of feet and hobbit piles and mischief. One on one they’re reasonable, mostly sane men, but together they’re, well, they’re hobbity.”
“A bit too much time spent in character, do you think?”
“Could be. I’m fairly sure that Viggo’s kept a bit of Aragorn in him since filming, and smart money’s on the fact that Orlando’s never fully recovered from the elf-immersion experience.”
“That would explain a lot.” Eric turned into the hotel parking lot, picking a spot close to the entrance. They two men climbed out of the car, grabbing Karl’s bags and Eric’s laptop case from the trunk. They made their way in through the throng in the lobby and to the elevator without incident, and managed to wrangle both themselves and their belongings into the tiny elevator before the doors slammed closed with murderous speed.
By unspoken consent, another one of those scary “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” moments, they made directly for the minibar once inside. They began pulling out bottles, tossing them behind them onto the king sized bed that Eric had requested. Grinning like naughty children they clambered onto the bed, divying up the pile between them and setting to with a will.
“The party’s going to be in the club across the street, since most of the cast and crew are staying here,” Eric said, taking a long pull off a tiny bottle of Crown Royal whiskey. “So we can get just as drunk as we please before hand.”
“I would have liked to see the movie, mate.”
Eric shrugged. “There’ll be plenty of time for that. “ He laughed, taking another swig of whiskey. “I swear, it’s mostly soft-core porn for fangirls, anyway.”
Was it just his imagination, or did Karl look a little twitchy when he said that?
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Eric replied, tossing the empty bottle onto the floor. He reached for another, his hand brushing Karl’s as it was reaching for the tiny tequila. ** Did he just run his fingers along my hand? **
“Should get rave reviews, then.” Karl looked intently at him, then bit his lower lip and glanced away.
** Am I crazy, ** Eric thought wonderingly, pounding the new bottle of whiskey, ** or is he flirting with me? **
*****************
Eric was a damn attractive man, and Karl was beginning to get the feeling that he was a little less straight than first appearances had led him to believe. By the time they had each finished five of the little bottles, his feeling was become a certainty. And, dammit, even if Eric was straight he was going to have to test his theory anyway, because he didn’t think that he could sit here much longer watching Eric wrap his lips around the bottles like that without getting a hard-on that no amount of “Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day”- ing would get rid of.
So the next time that Eric leaned in for another bottle, tossing the empty behind him on the floor, Karl leaned forward as well. But instead of reaching for the ever-diminishing pile of mini-liqours, his hand came to rest on Eric’s cheek, gently rubbing his thumb over Eric’s lush lower lip. Eric blinked in surprise, and quickly drew in a breath, but he didn’t pull back, as Karl was half-convinced that he would. Instead, he parted his lips slightly, and as Karl moved his thumb again he bit it gently with his teeth, and pulled it into his mouth. Karl swallowed as Eric began to gently suck on his thumb, teasing it with his teeth in nibbling little bites.
Karl pulled his hand back, slowly, and licked his thumb, tasting the traces or whiskey left there. Eric growled, and lunged over the bed, attacking Karl, knocking him backwards and kissing him desperately. Lips parted, tongues danced, and Karl’s mind whirled frantically. Warm, strong hands began to move under his shirt, teasingly lingering over each button before popping them open.
And then the 1812 overture began to blare from Eric’s pocket, startling the living hell out of both men. Karl bit Eric’s tongue in surprise, and Eric recoiled, cursing, to fumble with the pocket of his jeans. He unearthed a cell phone, and, breathily flung it open.
“What the *fuck* do you want?”
He was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, okay, we’ll be right down.”
Once more he was silent, then, with his eyes dancing merrily, he growled into the phone. “Fuck you too, mate.”
He flipped the phone closed, and slipped it into his pocket. He sat back on the bed, staring at Karl, and ran his hands through his hair.
“I have been informed that if we do not proceed directly to the lobby, then the hobbit lads will shortly be at the door, demanding to be allowed, and again I’m quoting Bean, ‘access to Karl’s body’ ”.
Karl groaned. “Stupid bloody hobbits.”
“So, unless we want three overeager short men to be joining us, I suggest that we do as we were told and meet them downstairs.”
“There will be dead hobbits littering the red carpet tonight,” Karl muttered, buttoning his shirt.
“My thoughts exactly.”
The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Eric dropped his eyes, blushing.
“Karl, I --” Eric began, then stopped, uncertain.
Karl had seen this before. “Don’t worry about it.” He leapt from the bed and started for the door, checking his pocket for his wallet, and his now slightly crushed cigarettes. “It never happened.”
“No, that’s not it.”
Karl turned back to face him. “What, then?”
“I --” he swallowed, gathering courage. “I wish that we didn’t have to go.”
Karl felt a grin spreading across his face, and hoped that he didn’t look like an overeager school boy. “Well, I’m not sure that I’m up for a hobbit orgy right now, but the buggers have got to sleep sometime, don’t they?”
To his delight, he was rewarded with a deep, rumbling laugh.
FIC: When Karl met Eric (Part One)
Pairing: (well, rather obviously from the title) KU/EB
Rating: R this part (naughty language)
No warnings that I can think of
Disclaimer: I have never met, nor even laid eyes on in person, these sexy, sexy men. If this is how they spend their time, god speed to glory.
“Fucking hell,” Karl growled, kicking at the now mutilated and hole-ridden hunk of rubber that had just moments ago been a fully functioning tire, attached quite securely and faithfully to his quickly moving vehicle. Not only was said vehicle now missing the (ex) tire, but said vehicle was now also crumpled about the front in a most unpleasant, but probably still drivable, way. Karl wiped the back of his hand across his brow, wincing, and was not surprised when it came away bloody.
“Perfect. Just bloody fucking perfect.”
There was no way now that he’d make it to the premiere of Troy on time. Not even if he actually had a spare tire in his trunk (he hoped fervently that Astin would never find out about this, because if he did then Karl would certainly be treated to a Boy Scout like sermon on preparedness and the horrible consequences of the lack thereof) and his car still agreed to function once it was on. And if he did have a spare tire, then he would show up at the premiere covered in dirt, grease, and blood. A fine look for Eomer, perhaps, when trying to impress the Ladies of the Mark with his manly prowess, but not exactly all the rage with security guards who might not recognize him as a brunette. The last thing that Orlando and Bean needed to do on the night of the premiere for their new movie was to rescue their unprepared friend from jail.
Karl reached angrily into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. He punched a number on the keypad, and the phone hissed spitefully as it dialed.
“Karl! You almost here, mate? The hobbits are going crazy with longing for your body.”
Karl grinned in spite of himself. “No, I’m not almost there, and at the rate that I’m going I wouldn’t even make it to your next premiere, which is in what, five hours?”
“Oh?” Karl could almost hear Orlando's brow furrow, prettily. Everything that the stupid wanker did was pretty. Lucky git. If Orlando showed up to a premiere covered in blood and dirt and greasy bits of melted tire it would start a worldwide fashion trend, whereas Karl just knew that the same ensemble would get him locked up for the night in a cell with an overly-eager man named Bubba who wanted to show him his “little friend”.
**And that’s why Orli’s the prettiest woman in Troy. Helen, my ass. Now shut up and start begging for help.**
“Orli, I’m going to have to miss your movie,” Karl kicked the traitorous tire once again, wincing as he stubbed his toe. A large mac truck sped by, nearly squashing him, electing at the last moment to envelope him in a cloud of exhaust instead. He coughed, loudly.
“Where are you, Karl? You sound like you’re calling from the middle of the Daytona 500.”
“That would be a little bit safer that here, I do believe. At least then there would be a reason for a battalion of crazy American drivers to be trying to run me down.”
“Are you in your car?”
“No, Orlando. I’m standing next to my car, which has betrayed me.”
“Perhaps if you got back in your car the other drivers might have a harder time hitting you.”
“Then I’d just be a sitting target. This way I’m giving myself a sporting chance.”
“Is there a reason that your car is no longer a moving target?”
“Orlando, I’ve busted a tire in a cataclysmic fashion, bumped noses with the Jersey wall, and possibly broken my arse. I’m dirty, and I’m standing on the side of the Freeway, for fuck’s sake. I think it’s the Freeway at least. Big road, lots of lanes, crazy idiots flying by as though they wanted nothing more than to kill a poor, stranded motorist. What’s wrong with this state, Orlando?” A hint of hysteria was creeping into his voice, but he plowed on ahead anyway. “How does anyone understand the road systems out here? Are Californians smarter than we are that they can understand these things, or are they just all crazy enough that the road systems actually seem sensible to them? With their granola eating and -- and their ‘govenator’ and --”
“What exit are you near?” Orlando interrupted, speaking in the tones that one would use when addressing a child found eating paste.
Karl took a deep breath. “I’m about ten exists south of where your shiny elvish ass is sitting, bathed in luxury and working tires.”
“Well, that won’t do.”
“I’d tend to agree on that point. Even if I get a cab to come and pick me up, it’ll be at least an hour before I get there. And I’ll still look like a rejected crash test dummy.”
“Well, what the fuck are we going to do about thi-- Hey!”
Karl nearly dropped the phone as Orlando shouted.
“Hey, BEAN! How are you, mate? Listen, is Eric here yet?”
Karl dodged a beer can, chucked with startling accuracy out the passenger window of a passing SUV, while listening intently to half of the conversation between his mates. Listening to a whole conversation that Orlando was having with anyone was a trial, even if you were included, and from what Karl could figure out, Orlando was talking to Sean while Sean was talking to someone else on **his** phone, which left Karl completely out of the loop and more than slightly bewildered.
“Orlando --”
“And then he can take him to get cleaned up, since the hotel is only a about a mile or so past where the ruddy great lummox is stranded, and -- well, no, Sean, I’m not going out there to get him myself, do you actually think that I’d make it back alive after trying to navigate the roadways out here? I’d wind up in Mexico -- “
“Orlando --”
“Although some tequila would be nice right now, I could definitely use a drink, but -- well, of course I know that you’ve pre-gamed, Sean, why do you think that I didn’t ask you to get him? You’re better at this car thing than I --”
“ORLANDO!”
A startled squawk from the other end ot the telephone made Karl grin. “Yes?”
“Do I need to start hitchhiking, or what?”
“No, it’s -- oh, good, he’’ll be there in ten?” Orlando shouted, presumably to Sean. Karl winced again, wondering if it was possible for your ears to bleed due to abuse by Orlando over the phone. Orlando moderated his tone slightly, and spoke again to Karl. “He should be there in about ten minutes, mate, so just stay put and he’ll find you.”
“Orli, hon, who am I looking for?”
“See you at the party!”
*****
Karl was sitting on top of his car, smoking a cigarette (a habit that he had picked up again when hanging out with Matt Damon on the Bourne Supremacy set) and staring down all the passersby, wondering who in the world Orlando had sent for him. He hoped that it wasn’t one of the hobbits; their driving skills (minus Astin, who was at home with Christine and their chicken-pox ridden childer) left something to be desired, namely the safety of the occupants of the vehicle that they were attempting to maneuver. So it was with some surprise, but no real concern, when a green Accra slowed to a stop beside him.
He jumped off the car, pushing the lock button on his fob with a smirk. **Stupid car. I hope someone eats your hubcaps.**
He approached the car a little warily, realizing as he opened the door that the man inside was not one that he recognized. Although he was familiar, and, truth be told, attractive.
“Karl, I’m guessing?” the man asked, in a thick Australian drawl.
“What gave it away?”
“The head wound, actually.”
Karl laughed, and got into the car. “Well, you’re one up on me then, mate.”
The man smiled, and reached over to take Karl’s hand. “Eric, Eric Bana.”
“I hope I didn’t rip you away from the premiere to come and rescue me.”
Eric threw the car into drive and deftly avoided being smushed while maneuvering back onto the road. “Nah, I was on me way over to the theater when I got a rather confusing call from Bean, requesting that I rescue one princeling of Rohan and ‘see that he gets cleaned up a bit’ because, and I’m quoting here, ‘you don’t need the press to think that you’ve been beating on him on the way over’. “
“What?”
“Apparently, if you arrive bleeding it’s a sign that we’re lovers and having a spat.”
“Lovers already? We’ve only just met.”
Eric chuckled. “I move fast, you see.”
Karl decided to change the subject before saying something stupid, having already acknowledged to himself that he found the other man attractive. He had reconciled himself to this long ago, realizing that by working in the movies he was going to come across a large number of unbelievably good looking people, both male and female, who would push his buttons. He gave up fighting the attraction to men and admitted his bisexuality around the time that filming had started on Rings -- being in close quarters with that many good looking men and little to do after shooting but get drunk and play spin the bottle would do that to a bloke.
“So, any good stories about Orlando embarrassing himself during filming?”
Eric shot him a wicked grin. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
*******
Eric was surprised by the way that the two of them hit it off. By the time they got to the theater, it felt like they had known each other forever -- like they were mates in a previous lifetime, only finding each other now, and were just picking up where they had left off back in 1407 or something.
“Right then,” Eric said, pulling into a gas station. “Go in and get yourself cleaned up, and I’ll see if I can’t root a shirt out of my bag that will fit you.”
Karl snorted. “A gas-station bathroom? What do I look like, Brittney Spears?”
“Or, you could enjoy the tabloid reporters speculating over the nature of our tiff. Was it another man, or another woman? Both? Three headed space Elvis?”
“Back in a sec, then,” Karl replied, trotting off toward the bathrooms.
Eric hopped out of the car and began digging through the contents of his trunk, searching for a shirt that would fit Karl. ** Do I have the gold, with the black trimming? That would spark out his eyes right well -- ** “What?”
Eric blinked, startled. **Bring out his eyes? What the fuck? Are you his tailor now? ** Trying not to admit to himself how that thought had shaken him, he continued to search. ** There it is, the wanker. Hiding under the boxers as usual. **
He joking words about lover’s spats and being a fast moving man of action aside, Eric was not one who often fancied men. And by often, he meant exactly twice in his lifetime. And those were only little passing crushes, from being thrown in together on movie sets and whatnot. The first was on Ewan McGregor, from when they were filming Black Hawk Down. There was something about that irreverent Scott that had struck a chord inside of him, and while doing his “research” (and by research he meant drinking beer and watching other movies that his costar had been in) he had stumbled across Velvet Goldmine, where his new friend was often either naked, covered in glitter, snogging very good looking men, or some combination of the three that was highly tantalizing. Second was on Orlando, before those feelings fell into an overprotective brother mode. ** How anyone can not be attracted to him is beyond me. He really is too pretty for his own good, that one. I’m not surprised that the boys down in New Zealand passed him around like candy. **
Karl emerged from the bathroom, and Eric felt a little pull in his gut when he saw the man again, now relatively clean from blood and dirt and other exploded tire residue. He was almost devastatingly handsome. That pull was both familiar, and disturbing. It was a pull which had caused him to do all sorts of crazy things in the past, like showing off that he could climb the highest tree in the schoolyard when he was ten, which did not lead to the kiss that he thought it would but to a well-broken arm and a mild concussion. Warning bells started going off in his head.
“Got you a new shirt, mate. Hope it fits.”
“Well, you are a great giant, but it should be fine.”
Karl stripped off his shirt, obviously without regard to the fact that he was without a doubt a fine specimen of man who could stop traffic and cause drooling in the unwary ** -- Bana, get a grip on yourself -- ** and tossed the offending shirt at Eric. Eric handed him the shirt that he had picked out, trying to act completely natural as Karl’s muscles rippled in an unfair display of manly vigor as he reached towards him. Karl pulled the shirt on, and Eric used that as an opportunity to flee to the relative safety of the driver’s seat. Karl climbed in beside him and began to fiddle with the radio as soon as the car had started.
“Messing with a man’s stereo is cause for keelhauling in several countries,” Eric chastised.
“Too bad this isn’t one of them, isn’t it?” His cheeky smirk gave another tug at the cord tied around Eric’s *ahem* midsection.
“Too bad for me, you mean, ya wanker. God, what is this crap?”
“Crap is such a demeaning word to use in conjecture with brilliance, Eric.”
“Good thing we’re listening to this hideousness and not anything brillant then, eh?”
“Wanker.”
“Philistine.”
“Twit.”
“Bitch.”
They grinned at each other companionably, and pulled back out onto the freeway.
***************
“No, Bean, we’re not going to make it.”
“And just why the fuck not?”
Eric sighed. Forty-five minutes of heavy LA traffic lay had passed between them and the gas-station, and they were only up to the exit for the hotel. There was no way that they were making it to the premiere. And, for some reason, Eric couldn’t say that he minded.
“This little thing called traffic. Lots of buggers, in lots of cars, taking up the roadway that we’re trying to traverse. It’s laid a bit of a kink in our plans. There’s no way that we’ll be getting there within the next hour.”
“Fine. Any excuse for some man on man action, I suppose.”
“Bean!” Eric yelped, more stridently than he had intended. That little counter had hit a bit too close to home.
“Calm yourself, Bana. Jaysus. Take him back to the hotel, keep him amused, and then meet us at the party afterwards. And don’t be late to that, if you don’t mind. I’m having a hard time controlling the hobbits. It’s been a while since they’ve seen him, and they’re driving me mad.”
Sean hung up with a sigh, and Eric turned a quizzical expression towards Karl. “What is it with those three that everyone seems to be sighing or shaking their head when they’re talking about them?”
“Hmm, what? Oh, the hobbits?”
“Yeah, those three.”
“Well, when they get together their mental age drops to about thirteen, and it’s all yelping and stomping of feet and hobbit piles and mischief. One on one they’re reasonable, mostly sane men, but together they’re, well, they’re hobbity.”
“A bit too much time spent in character, do you think?”
“Could be. I’m fairly sure that Viggo’s kept a bit of Aragorn in him since filming, and smart money’s on the fact that Orlando’s never fully recovered from the elf-immersion experience.”
“That would explain a lot.” Eric turned into the hotel parking lot, picking a spot close to the entrance. They two men climbed out of the car, grabbing Karl’s bags and Eric’s laptop case from the trunk. They made their way in through the throng in the lobby and to the elevator without incident, and managed to wrangle both themselves and their belongings into the tiny elevator before the doors slammed closed with murderous speed.
By unspoken consent, another one of those scary “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?” moments, they made directly for the minibar once inside. They began pulling out bottles, tossing them behind them onto the king sized bed that Eric had requested. Grinning like naughty children they clambered onto the bed, divying up the pile between them and setting to with a will.
“The party’s going to be in the club across the street, since most of the cast and crew are staying here,” Eric said, taking a long pull off a tiny bottle of Crown Royal whiskey. “So we can get just as drunk as we please before hand.”
“I would have liked to see the movie, mate.”
Eric shrugged. “There’ll be plenty of time for that. “ He laughed, taking another swig of whiskey. “I swear, it’s mostly soft-core porn for fangirls, anyway.”
Was it just his imagination, or did Karl look a little twitchy when he said that?
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Eric replied, tossing the empty bottle onto the floor. He reached for another, his hand brushing Karl’s as it was reaching for the tiny tequila. ** Did he just run his fingers along my hand? **
“Should get rave reviews, then.” Karl looked intently at him, then bit his lower lip and glanced away.
** Am I crazy, ** Eric thought wonderingly, pounding the new bottle of whiskey, ** or is he flirting with me? **
*****************
Eric was a damn attractive man, and Karl was beginning to get the feeling that he was a little less straight than first appearances had led him to believe. By the time they had each finished five of the little bottles, his feeling was become a certainty. And, dammit, even if Eric was straight he was going to have to test his theory anyway, because he didn’t think that he could sit here much longer watching Eric wrap his lips around the bottles like that without getting a hard-on that no amount of “Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day”- ing would get rid of.
So the next time that Eric leaned in for another bottle, tossing the empty behind him on the floor, Karl leaned forward as well. But instead of reaching for the ever-diminishing pile of mini-liqours, his hand came to rest on Eric’s cheek, gently rubbing his thumb over Eric’s lush lower lip. Eric blinked in surprise, and quickly drew in a breath, but he didn’t pull back, as Karl was half-convinced that he would. Instead, he parted his lips slightly, and as Karl moved his thumb again he bit it gently with his teeth, and pulled it into his mouth. Karl swallowed as Eric began to gently suck on his thumb, teasing it with his teeth in nibbling little bites.
Karl pulled his hand back, slowly, and licked his thumb, tasting the traces or whiskey left there. Eric growled, and lunged over the bed, attacking Karl, knocking him backwards and kissing him desperately. Lips parted, tongues danced, and Karl’s mind whirled frantically. Warm, strong hands began to move under his shirt, teasingly lingering over each button before popping them open.
And then the 1812 overture began to blare from Eric’s pocket, startling the living hell out of both men. Karl bit Eric’s tongue in surprise, and Eric recoiled, cursing, to fumble with the pocket of his jeans. He unearthed a cell phone, and, breathily flung it open.
“What the *fuck* do you want?”
He was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, okay, we’ll be right down.”
Once more he was silent, then, with his eyes dancing merrily, he growled into the phone. “Fuck you too, mate.”
He flipped the phone closed, and slipped it into his pocket. He sat back on the bed, staring at Karl, and ran his hands through his hair.
“I have been informed that if we do not proceed directly to the lobby, then the hobbit lads will shortly be at the door, demanding to be allowed, and again I’m quoting Bean, ‘access to Karl’s body’ ”.
Karl groaned. “Stupid bloody hobbits.”
“So, unless we want three overeager short men to be joining us, I suggest that we do as we were told and meet them downstairs.”
“There will be dead hobbits littering the red carpet tonight,” Karl muttered, buttoning his shirt.
“My thoughts exactly.”
The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Eric dropped his eyes, blushing.
“Karl, I --” Eric began, then stopped, uncertain.
Karl had seen this before. “Don’t worry about it.” He leapt from the bed and started for the door, checking his pocket for his wallet, and his now slightly crushed cigarettes. “It never happened.”
“No, that’s not it.”
Karl turned back to face him. “What, then?”
“I --” he swallowed, gathering courage. “I wish that we didn’t have to go.”
Karl felt a grin spreading across his face, and hoped that he didn’t look like an overeager school boy. “Well, I’m not sure that I’m up for a hobbit orgy right now, but the buggers have got to sleep sometime, don’t they?”
To his delight, he was rewarded with a deep, rumbling laugh.
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Death to hobbits!!!! Coitus Interruptus!
Get your author-ity butt back here and write more or I'm sending one little tiny Teegre out after you with a whip and spurs and she'll drag you back here and you WILL write more!
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Grrrr, more! and the sooner the better.
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and,
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Yes,yes,yes!
*smacks stupid hobbitses*
These two are definitely very obsession-inducing...I can't seem to get enough of them myself lately.
I really enjoyed reading this. Not only was it well-written & very hot, it was also hysterically funny. I was afraid I would wake up my kids because it had me laughing so loudly. Can't wait for the next part!!