hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2005-06-02 02:35 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2005-06-02 02:35 pm
Star Wars RPS - Haydenspotting
This is a visual exercise. Nuff said.
Star Wars RPS, NC-17
Hayden Christensen/Ewan McGregor + mentions of other people.
Disclaimer: OMG, please don't sue me, I'm already fucked up enough if you cannae tell.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ethrosdemon and poopins (spit-shined gold, I tell you)
Haydenspotting
For reasons that don't need too much exploring right now, Ewan is jerking off in one of the private bathrooms in the British Embassy in Mongolia. It's even stranger than it sounds, which is impressive, because this is one of those exceedingly weird things that only seems to happen to Ewan, like the time down at the pub where this bloke wanted to arm-wrestle Obi-Wan. He hopes that no one decides they want an autograph right now as that would be a bit awkward what with his knob out and everything.
Obviously, he didn't come to the Embassy for this express purpose, although if Charley ever gets wind of this all he'll hear for the rest of their trip is, 'So, 're you gonna have a wank in every Embassy along the way, cos if you are, I want in as well.' And Ewan loves Charley a lot, but circle jerks have never really been his thing. Having said that, however, he should also probably point out that there have been one or three notable exceptions. Him and Jonny and Ewan B in Edinburgh, while shooting Trainspotting, and then there was that weird episode with Chris Eccleston and Shallow Grave. Keith Allen wanted to watch, but Keith's a nutter anyway. Ewan really doesn't need to think about his ugly mug when he's tossing off over pristine conveniences, and god, that was a weird Trainspotting moment there.
His mind flitters around thoughts of Jude for a brief moment, but his eyes conveniently land on the folded magazine page sitting on the edge of the sink basin, and he's right back where he started. Stroking himself with ragged, dirty fingernails and hands so calloused from all his bike riding that jerking off almost hurts. Almost. It would take an act of God, Satan, Eve and The News of the World for Ewan to stop rubbing the head of his cock with his thumb, but the thought is there briefly.
None of this explains him being in the toilet, but well, it's a nice toilet, and he's really fucking filthy from being on his bike and not washing for six days now. The woman at the front desk practically climbed over the railing to get away from what he can only presume is his magical aroma, and he would feel a bit sorry, but he's travelling, mate. He's off to see the world, and the world is a bit dirty and grimy and most people don't smell like fucking roses all the time. Especially when they're him and Charlie, who thinks bathing is optional at the best of times.
The thing is though, that Charley wasn't necessarily Ewan's first choice for a travelling companion, but Jude wouldn't have lasted three days before complaining that he needed a proper bed and his arse was hurting from the unpaved roads. There would've been much discussion of Jude's backside, which wouldn't have been a bad thing, but the novelty wore off many wives ago, and god, Ewan cannot start thinking about Jude when he's jerking off, that's never gotten him anywhere but frustrated.
He inhales deeply,and around the floral soapy smell he gets a nose full of how pungent he really is. He actually feels a small modicum of sympathy for the receptionist, because he really does smell awful, which probably had to do with them getting stuck behind that goat herder, and who knew goat shit smelled so bad? Who knew Ewan could get this filthy?
He can taste the dust on his lips and his tongue, and a brief look in the mirror is a truly harrowing sight. Here he is, actor, father, husband, friend, traveller caked in fucking dirt and sweat and grime, impossibly pasty cock in hand. His dick is so white it practically glows like a fucking lightsaber, and isn't Star Wars how he got in this mess in the first place?
No, that's placing blame in the wrong place.
Hayden is how Ewan got to the toilet in the fucking British Embassy in Mongolia. Hayden fucking Christensen and his full-mouth and the way he always ducks his head and looks up at Ewan through his fringe like an innocent, before he says something completely corrupt like, 'Fuck me. Now.'
Ewan can hear the soft Canadian twang in his ears, and his cock is twitching in his filthy grasp. It's all Hayden's fault that Ewan's soiled and spoiled, and god, why did Hayden have to grow up? Life would've been perfect if Hayden had stayed the virginal, virtuous boy from Attack of the Clones, but something changed somewhere along the line. Some bastard taught Hayden about sexual promise and being alluring, and it's almost like he took lessons from Angie. Ewan could kill whomever it was that made his life so fucking complex that he's been reduced to jerking off in embassy bathrooms.
He would really like to blame someone other than himself.
For starters he could blame whomever sent him this fucking picture that started this whole mess in the first fucking place. Everything had started out fine. Ewan had just gone to the embassy to get his post, because apparently, if you were travelling and your agent was freaking out because you weren't reading scripts, you could have your post sent to the closest embassy to whereever you were going to be and it was all sorted.
Except that Ewan's thrown away every script his agent's sent, and he was all set to do that today as well, but in addition to the box of crap there was also this tiny envelope addressed to him, care of the British Embassy.
The address was typed out and everything, which meant he couldn't tell who'd sent it by handwriting, and when he looked for the postmark the receptionist explained that the envelope had come in a DHL packet. She'd become a lot more receptive when he'd handed over his passport to get his post -– in fact she'd gone from crawling away to practically leaping over her desk. He'd almost had to wrestle her to get his passport back.
And he wants it understood, in between panting and grimacing at the fucking photograph on the counter –- both his hands are currently occupied -– that he really had meant to go meet Charley at the dive bar three blocks over, but when he'd ripped the envelope there'd been nothing inside by a folded up page from a magazine.
And then Ewan'd had to excuse himself.
See, the thing is, Ewan came on this trip for a few purposes: time-off from work, time-off from family, quality time with his mate, a chance to forget about whatever stupid fancies he might've developed while in Australia.
And things like photographs of Hayden shirtless and filthy do not help him achieve his goals.
If anything, they only make things worse.
Ewan would not be having a wank in the toilet of the British Embassy in Mongolia if someone had not sent him a photograph of Hayden Christensen, sweaty and filthy, and looking like he just got fucked hard in the back of some American's pick-up truck.
Hayden's wiping his mouth like he just gave someone a fucking blow job. Jesus Christ. The things that go through Ewan's mind have him bracing himself against the wall, because he knows what Hayden looks like when he comes. Ewan knows the keening noises and the wrinkled nose. Hayden likes having his earlobes tugged on with sharp teeth, and he will ride Ewan's lube-slicked fingers and jerk himself off until he comes and then do it all over again.
Hayden's refractory period makes Ewan's knees wobble just from mere thought alone.
Hayden never cared about sleeping in the wet spot or post-shagging baths or the sweat or the marks or who knew what things they'd been up to. It never really bothered him when they got dirty.
He would've been a good companion on this trip, but if wishes were horses, Ewan wouldn't be riding a motorcycle. The bone-liquefying pleasure of coming is hampered slightly by the dirt and the muck and the fact that Ewan's jerking himself off alone when he could've chosen something else.
But that's not Ewan's life.
So he wipes the smear of semen off the corner of the photograph and folds it back up before sticking it in his trouser pocket. He may not have chosen the real thing, but the substitute will do just fine.
It has to, or this trip has no point at all, and he thinks about washing his hands before he leaves, but he's already been stained and nothing is ever going to change that.
-end-
AN: I am working on the assumption that everybody knows about Ewan's crazy trip around the world via motorcycle with his mate, Charlie Boorman
Star Wars RPS, NC-17
Hayden Christensen/Ewan McGregor + mentions of other people.
Disclaimer: OMG, please don't sue me, I'm already fucked up enough if you cannae tell.
For
ethrosdemon and poopins (spit-shined gold, I tell you)Haydenspotting
For reasons that don't need too much exploring right now, Ewan is jerking off in one of the private bathrooms in the British Embassy in Mongolia. It's even stranger than it sounds, which is impressive, because this is one of those exceedingly weird things that only seems to happen to Ewan, like the time down at the pub where this bloke wanted to arm-wrestle Obi-Wan. He hopes that no one decides they want an autograph right now as that would be a bit awkward what with his knob out and everything.
Obviously, he didn't come to the Embassy for this express purpose, although if Charley ever gets wind of this all he'll hear for the rest of their trip is, 'So, 're you gonna have a wank in every Embassy along the way, cos if you are, I want in as well.' And Ewan loves Charley a lot, but circle jerks have never really been his thing. Having said that, however, he should also probably point out that there have been one or three notable exceptions. Him and Jonny and Ewan B in Edinburgh, while shooting Trainspotting, and then there was that weird episode with Chris Eccleston and Shallow Grave. Keith Allen wanted to watch, but Keith's a nutter anyway. Ewan really doesn't need to think about his ugly mug when he's tossing off over pristine conveniences, and god, that was a weird Trainspotting moment there.
His mind flitters around thoughts of Jude for a brief moment, but his eyes conveniently land on the folded magazine page sitting on the edge of the sink basin, and he's right back where he started. Stroking himself with ragged, dirty fingernails and hands so calloused from all his bike riding that jerking off almost hurts. Almost. It would take an act of God, Satan, Eve and The News of the World for Ewan to stop rubbing the head of his cock with his thumb, but the thought is there briefly.
None of this explains him being in the toilet, but well, it's a nice toilet, and he's really fucking filthy from being on his bike and not washing for six days now. The woman at the front desk practically climbed over the railing to get away from what he can only presume is his magical aroma, and he would feel a bit sorry, but he's travelling, mate. He's off to see the world, and the world is a bit dirty and grimy and most people don't smell like fucking roses all the time. Especially when they're him and Charlie, who thinks bathing is optional at the best of times.
The thing is though, that Charley wasn't necessarily Ewan's first choice for a travelling companion, but Jude wouldn't have lasted three days before complaining that he needed a proper bed and his arse was hurting from the unpaved roads. There would've been much discussion of Jude's backside, which wouldn't have been a bad thing, but the novelty wore off many wives ago, and god, Ewan cannot start thinking about Jude when he's jerking off, that's never gotten him anywhere but frustrated.
He inhales deeply,and around the floral soapy smell he gets a nose full of how pungent he really is. He actually feels a small modicum of sympathy for the receptionist, because he really does smell awful, which probably had to do with them getting stuck behind that goat herder, and who knew goat shit smelled so bad? Who knew Ewan could get this filthy?
He can taste the dust on his lips and his tongue, and a brief look in the mirror is a truly harrowing sight. Here he is, actor, father, husband, friend, traveller caked in fucking dirt and sweat and grime, impossibly pasty cock in hand. His dick is so white it practically glows like a fucking lightsaber, and isn't Star Wars how he got in this mess in the first place?
No, that's placing blame in the wrong place.
Hayden is how Ewan got to the toilet in the fucking British Embassy in Mongolia. Hayden fucking Christensen and his full-mouth and the way he always ducks his head and looks up at Ewan through his fringe like an innocent, before he says something completely corrupt like, 'Fuck me. Now.'
Ewan can hear the soft Canadian twang in his ears, and his cock is twitching in his filthy grasp. It's all Hayden's fault that Ewan's soiled and spoiled, and god, why did Hayden have to grow up? Life would've been perfect if Hayden had stayed the virginal, virtuous boy from Attack of the Clones, but something changed somewhere along the line. Some bastard taught Hayden about sexual promise and being alluring, and it's almost like he took lessons from Angie. Ewan could kill whomever it was that made his life so fucking complex that he's been reduced to jerking off in embassy bathrooms.
He would really like to blame someone other than himself.
For starters he could blame whomever sent him this fucking picture that started this whole mess in the first fucking place. Everything had started out fine. Ewan had just gone to the embassy to get his post, because apparently, if you were travelling and your agent was freaking out because you weren't reading scripts, you could have your post sent to the closest embassy to whereever you were going to be and it was all sorted.
Except that Ewan's thrown away every script his agent's sent, and he was all set to do that today as well, but in addition to the box of crap there was also this tiny envelope addressed to him, care of the British Embassy.
The address was typed out and everything, which meant he couldn't tell who'd sent it by handwriting, and when he looked for the postmark the receptionist explained that the envelope had come in a DHL packet. She'd become a lot more receptive when he'd handed over his passport to get his post -– in fact she'd gone from crawling away to practically leaping over her desk. He'd almost had to wrestle her to get his passport back.
And he wants it understood, in between panting and grimacing at the fucking photograph on the counter –- both his hands are currently occupied -– that he really had meant to go meet Charley at the dive bar three blocks over, but when he'd ripped the envelope there'd been nothing inside by a folded up page from a magazine.
 |
And then Ewan'd had to excuse himself.
See, the thing is, Ewan came on this trip for a few purposes: time-off from work, time-off from family, quality time with his mate, a chance to forget about whatever stupid fancies he might've developed while in Australia.
And things like photographs of Hayden shirtless and filthy do not help him achieve his goals.
If anything, they only make things worse.
Ewan would not be having a wank in the toilet of the British Embassy in Mongolia if someone had not sent him a photograph of Hayden Christensen, sweaty and filthy, and looking like he just got fucked hard in the back of some American's pick-up truck.
Hayden's wiping his mouth like he just gave someone a fucking blow job. Jesus Christ. The things that go through Ewan's mind have him bracing himself against the wall, because he knows what Hayden looks like when he comes. Ewan knows the keening noises and the wrinkled nose. Hayden likes having his earlobes tugged on with sharp teeth, and he will ride Ewan's lube-slicked fingers and jerk himself off until he comes and then do it all over again.
Hayden's refractory period makes Ewan's knees wobble just from mere thought alone.
Hayden never cared about sleeping in the wet spot or post-shagging baths or the sweat or the marks or who knew what things they'd been up to. It never really bothered him when they got dirty.
He would've been a good companion on this trip, but if wishes were horses, Ewan wouldn't be riding a motorcycle. The bone-liquefying pleasure of coming is hampered slightly by the dirt and the muck and the fact that Ewan's jerking himself off alone when he could've chosen something else.
But that's not Ewan's life.
So he wipes the smear of semen off the corner of the photograph and folds it back up before sticking it in his trouser pocket. He may not have chosen the real thing, but the substitute will do just fine.
It has to, or this trip has no point at all, and he thinks about washing his hands before he leaves, but he's already been stained and nothing is ever going to change that.
-end-
AN: I am working on the assumption that everybody knows about Ewan's crazy trip around the world via motorcycle with his mate, Charlie Boorman
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