hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2005-06-04 09:16 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2005-06-04 09:16 am
Star Wars RPS - Him & Her & Him & Him
We've only done this twice. We're still working out the kinks.
Star Wars RPS (kinda)
Jude/Ewan, Ewan/Hayden, Jude/other, Ewan/other... fuck, you get the message.
Him & Her & Him & Him
By![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ethrosdemon and hackthis
It started with Jude, because everything in Ewan's life seemed to start with Jude.
Ewan tried blaming the phone calls, because people were always ringing him up at the wrong hour to discuss scripts and children and to make offers, but that was a bit superficial. The phone didn't help, but neither did Jude nor work nor any of it. He needed to get away from all the madness and the conveniences.
He needed a trip.
He had to ring Charley about it, because Charley was always up for anything, which was obviously what made him such a great mate. If Ewan rang up Charley and said he fancied a change of scenery something fierce, no London, no Australia, no clicking through the internet and pricing trips to Canada, Charley would understand.
London was strange with Eve gone to Nice with her entire bloody family, sprogs in tow, and no invite for him. "They're my family, darling, not what you need now. And I don't need maman to look through you to find something to criticize me about."
She'd been standing in the doorway to his office in linen and silk, smoking a Benson's and Hedges Gold. She'd smiled in a way that made him think Nice might not be where she was going, but he'd lost his train of thought because the phone'd rung, like it always did.
Like it was ringing right now.
Putting 'Coronation Street' on mute, Ewan leaned over the arm of the sofa and picked up the handset.
He'd meant to say hello or some sort of greeting, but Jude was already full tilt by the time he got the phone to his ear. "Do you suppose I could find one of those non-existent three billion women who would love to date me?"
Ewan sank back into the plush cushions of the sofa, which were smeared with jam and tomatoes from tiny hands. "And by 'date' you mean be your psychiatrist, nanny, maid, and prostitute depending on your exact need," he asked, fishing his cigarettes off the table and lighting one.
"So you know someone?"
"For you? No." He exhaled through a grin that Jude had to know was there.
"You're keeping everyone for yourself, selfish tosser."
"Now now, no need to call yourself names."
"I hate you," Jude’s voice was full of mirth.
"I know you do. Still, I'm the only one who'll put up with your diva behaviour." Jude had a bit of a sore spot regarding his press. Being the Sexiest Man Alive was obviously hard work -- Ewan was forever giving him shit about it. He couldn't help himself, not that he tried.
“Being the Sexiest Man Alive is fucking hard work,” Ewan said amiably. He could hear Jude's derisive snort.
"Are you going to help me out, you cunt, or what?"
"Or what, indeed. There's no way you're getting a leg over on one of my mates. I've seen the wreckage you leave behind."
Jude was quiet while Ewan inhaled leisurely. If Jude were a bird, Ewan might've been concerned he was offended, but it was Jude. That said it all. "Drinks at the Nag's Head around 8 then?" Jude said eventually.
"Not wanting to go home to your wife?" Ewan mocked.
"Didn't you hear, mate? I'm single."
Ewan rolled his eyes. "And the baby Jesus wept."
In Ewan's experience, Jude was never single. Single meant flirting and one-night stands, and flings that lasted a weekend. 'Single' meant not having to explain yourself to anyone besides persistent mates and your mother.
Jude was either involved, or playing married-time, or looking for the next likely candidate. Often he was in love with more than one person at a time. He could be vomit-inducingly, strung-out in love with three people at once —- Ewan had seen it.
Correction: Ewan'd cleaned up the wreckage, lost friends, and had Jude fucking up Ewan's situation in Australia because of it. How Jude could manage to be the Sexiest Man Alive and chronically celibate, Ewan couldn't quite reckon.
For someone who was constantly flirting with anything that walked, Jude didn't seem to get as much action as anyone would've thought. "Does Jesus have a sister that's available?" Jude said thoughtfully.
Ewan just snorted and ashed his cigarette in the tray on the table. "Haven't you heard by now? Jesus' sister is dating me."
"You selfish prat, does Eve know about this?"
Ewan made a noise and took another drag of his fag. "Who do you think told me to go for it in the first place?"
Ewan heard the tell-tale clicking of Jude's lighter in the background. "She's all right with Jesus' sister, but what does she say about Hayden?"
Jude was still laughing when Ewan rang off.
*
Jude was in jeans and a Crystal Palace away hirt when Ewan wandered into the pub at a quarter past. The fact that Jude was on time should've been surprising, but Ewan couldn't even be arsed to muster the act.
Jude's marriage to Sadie'd been a mess for ages, but Ewan'd seen enough break-ups to know that even when it'd been over, it was still hard to just move on. For example: Jude had a half-gone pint in front of him, and clearly, he hadn't shaved in days.
"Sweetheart." When Ewan leant down and laid one on Jude it got the smile he was after, and Les from around the way laughed and asked for his leg over.
Ewan ended up kissing three locals, all of whom would have probably beaten the ginger out of his hair ten years before.
"You're such a slut." The round was on Jude, and Ewan watched in amusement as the pints got passed over two tables from the bar. He could've walked them over in the time it took everyone's filthy fingers to smudge the glasses.
"I like to think of it more as morally flexible." He never should have let Jude order the drinks. "Newcastle? Fucking piss."
"Anyway, you're drier than a frigid bird's knickers, yeah?" Jude made a shooting motion with two fingers. That was his favorite PR nugget in the history of Ewan's relationship with the press.
Over Jude's right shoulder Ewan watched two punters playing darts.
"Don't make me use the Sexiest-Man-Alive card twice in one day," Ewan said, waiting for the bloke throwing red darts to back into the waitress near the bar.
"I'm a man in mourning -– fuck off."
Ewan took a mouthful of ale and lazily watched as the waitress dropped her tray, and the people nearby scowled at the dart players.
It had to be the Jude effect, which was like a chain reaction of badness that touched everything around Jude, but Jude. It was like an episode of Dr Who, where everyone went to some voodoo planet and got cursed.
Shit like Jude Law didn't happen to other people until they were unsuspecting and then their lives exploded and there were bodies and paparazzi everywhere. The mess with Gaz's wife after the wife-swap-gone-mental; Sadie locking Jude out of the house because she was depressed, and he'd run off with Jonny (again).
Ewan loved Jude, but Jude could be a thick, selfish cunt sometimes. Ewan still didn't know where Jude'd found the balls to tell Sadie he wanted a divorce -– it was very possible that he'd stolen Sadie's balls to do so. Ewan wouldn't have been surprised.
Nothing Jude did surprised him anymore.
Ewan was just waiting for Jude to tell him who he was fucking now. Jude would never have left the house in such a state if he weren't getting a leg over from somebody.
He had to look pretty to attract the moths, and Jude's smile was entirely too broad and white. Clearly he'd been visiting his Hollywood dentist again. "D'you know what your problem is, mate?"
Ewan felt his eyes rolling automatically. His brain knew how to respond to Jude effortlessly. "I'm sure you're going to tell me, so why should I bother even answering."
"It wasn't a rhetorical question."
"Right, pull the other one, it's got bells on it."
Jude's smile slipped into something predatory and Ewan groaned. He'd walked right into that one. "Is that what you tell Hayden then?" Jude lowered his voice dramatically; it was filled with false guilelessness.
"I have no idea what you're on about. Aren't we here to discuss you and yours?" Ewan took an enormous swallow of ale.
Jude's eyes focused somewhere over Ewan's left shoulder as he ran his index finger around the mouth of his glass. "Do you puff your cheeks out like that when you're giving him a blow job?"
Ewan meant to spew his ale all over Jude and the table, but instead he choked and almost passed out. People practically crawled over their tables to pound him on the back and make certain Obi-Wan wasn't about to kick the bucket, but Jude didn't even lift a finger. He just sat there, across from Ewan, smiling fiendishly.
Obviously this was war.
This was also a prime example of why Jedis were meant to carry light sabers.
“Do you want to find out first hand?” Everyone’d seen Ewan’s tackle. Everyone and their grandmother who happened to walk through the room at the wrong time during The Pillow Book had seen Ewan’s tackle. But Jude had a bit of modesty in him -- until he was pissed and crying about his latest heartbreak and whipping his knob out randomly.
Jude never remembered those occasions later.
Blackouts were a crazy man’s best friend.
“Ewan, if you just offered to suck my dick you must have been drinking at home before you popped ‘round.” Jude took long enough to respond that Ewan knew with absolutely surety that if this were ten years ago this would be the prelude to fucking their relationship up so badly superglue and ten wishes wouldn’t put it right.
Unlike Jude, however, Ewan had learned moderation.
One destructive, mad affair at a time, please.
Ewan thought that he and Jude would end up together in old age anyway, two old, bitter men whose children lived in other countries and never called and a lifeboat’s worth of ex-wives between them.
“I know you just want to get your greedy hands down my knickers. Lord knows what sort of embarrassing diseases you’d give me anyway. Is that a cold sore?”
Three pints down, Jude confessed that he might have been stalking a bird named Sienna, but it was only a little stalking. She was so deliciously clueless that he couldn't help himself.
Four pints down, Ewan confessed that he'd had inappropriate thoughts about Hayden before he was exactly of age. Jude didn't even pretend to act surprised.
Five pints down, Jude fumed that he’d been thinking of getting paternity tests on the kids. Not that he wouldn’t still love them all the same, no matter, but with Sadie one never knew.
At the start of the sixth pint, a hand fell on Ewan’s shoulder with a familiar weight, and Jude winked at the newcomer with the sort of saucy flirtatiousness that was not feigned or taught in drama school.
Jude's eyes were entirely too bright -- it had to be the ale. "What a surprise, your lordship," he said standing up with wobbly legs. "Would Darth Vader care to have a drink with a Jedi and a serial monogamist?"
-end-
p.s. Yeah, uh, totally unbetad. We could prolly use one though. I am late. Icon created by the fantabulouszeplum.
Star Wars RPS (kinda)
Jude/Ewan, Ewan/Hayden, Jude/other, Ewan/other... fuck, you get the message.
By
ethrosdemon and hackthisIt started with Jude, because everything in Ewan's life seemed to start with Jude.
Ewan tried blaming the phone calls, because people were always ringing him up at the wrong hour to discuss scripts and children and to make offers, but that was a bit superficial. The phone didn't help, but neither did Jude nor work nor any of it. He needed to get away from all the madness and the conveniences.
He needed a trip.
He had to ring Charley about it, because Charley was always up for anything, which was obviously what made him such a great mate. If Ewan rang up Charley and said he fancied a change of scenery something fierce, no London, no Australia, no clicking through the internet and pricing trips to Canada, Charley would understand.
London was strange with Eve gone to Nice with her entire bloody family, sprogs in tow, and no invite for him. "They're my family, darling, not what you need now. And I don't need maman to look through you to find something to criticize me about."
She'd been standing in the doorway to his office in linen and silk, smoking a Benson's and Hedges Gold. She'd smiled in a way that made him think Nice might not be where she was going, but he'd lost his train of thought because the phone'd rung, like it always did.
Like it was ringing right now.
Putting 'Coronation Street' on mute, Ewan leaned over the arm of the sofa and picked up the handset.
He'd meant to say hello or some sort of greeting, but Jude was already full tilt by the time he got the phone to his ear. "Do you suppose I could find one of those non-existent three billion women who would love to date me?"
Ewan sank back into the plush cushions of the sofa, which were smeared with jam and tomatoes from tiny hands. "And by 'date' you mean be your psychiatrist, nanny, maid, and prostitute depending on your exact need," he asked, fishing his cigarettes off the table and lighting one.
"So you know someone?"
"For you? No." He exhaled through a grin that Jude had to know was there.
"You're keeping everyone for yourself, selfish tosser."
"Now now, no need to call yourself names."
"I hate you," Jude’s voice was full of mirth.
"I know you do. Still, I'm the only one who'll put up with your diva behaviour." Jude had a bit of a sore spot regarding his press. Being the Sexiest Man Alive was obviously hard work -- Ewan was forever giving him shit about it. He couldn't help himself, not that he tried.
“Being the Sexiest Man Alive is fucking hard work,” Ewan said amiably. He could hear Jude's derisive snort.
"Are you going to help me out, you cunt, or what?"
"Or what, indeed. There's no way you're getting a leg over on one of my mates. I've seen the wreckage you leave behind."
Jude was quiet while Ewan inhaled leisurely. If Jude were a bird, Ewan might've been concerned he was offended, but it was Jude. That said it all. "Drinks at the Nag's Head around 8 then?" Jude said eventually.
"Not wanting to go home to your wife?" Ewan mocked.
"Didn't you hear, mate? I'm single."
Ewan rolled his eyes. "And the baby Jesus wept."
In Ewan's experience, Jude was never single. Single meant flirting and one-night stands, and flings that lasted a weekend. 'Single' meant not having to explain yourself to anyone besides persistent mates and your mother.
Jude was either involved, or playing married-time, or looking for the next likely candidate. Often he was in love with more than one person at a time. He could be vomit-inducingly, strung-out in love with three people at once —- Ewan had seen it.
Correction: Ewan'd cleaned up the wreckage, lost friends, and had Jude fucking up Ewan's situation in Australia because of it. How Jude could manage to be the Sexiest Man Alive and chronically celibate, Ewan couldn't quite reckon.
For someone who was constantly flirting with anything that walked, Jude didn't seem to get as much action as anyone would've thought. "Does Jesus have a sister that's available?" Jude said thoughtfully.
Ewan just snorted and ashed his cigarette in the tray on the table. "Haven't you heard by now? Jesus' sister is dating me."
"You selfish prat, does Eve know about this?"
Ewan made a noise and took another drag of his fag. "Who do you think told me to go for it in the first place?"
Ewan heard the tell-tale clicking of Jude's lighter in the background. "She's all right with Jesus' sister, but what does she say about Hayden?"
Jude was still laughing when Ewan rang off.
Jude was in jeans and a Crystal Palace away hirt when Ewan wandered into the pub at a quarter past. The fact that Jude was on time should've been surprising, but Ewan couldn't even be arsed to muster the act.
Jude's marriage to Sadie'd been a mess for ages, but Ewan'd seen enough break-ups to know that even when it'd been over, it was still hard to just move on. For example: Jude had a half-gone pint in front of him, and clearly, he hadn't shaved in days.
"Sweetheart." When Ewan leant down and laid one on Jude it got the smile he was after, and Les from around the way laughed and asked for his leg over.
Ewan ended up kissing three locals, all of whom would have probably beaten the ginger out of his hair ten years before.
"You're such a slut." The round was on Jude, and Ewan watched in amusement as the pints got passed over two tables from the bar. He could've walked them over in the time it took everyone's filthy fingers to smudge the glasses.
"I like to think of it more as morally flexible." He never should have let Jude order the drinks. "Newcastle? Fucking piss."
"Anyway, you're drier than a frigid bird's knickers, yeah?" Jude made a shooting motion with two fingers. That was his favorite PR nugget in the history of Ewan's relationship with the press.
Over Jude's right shoulder Ewan watched two punters playing darts.
"Don't make me use the Sexiest-Man-Alive card twice in one day," Ewan said, waiting for the bloke throwing red darts to back into the waitress near the bar.
"I'm a man in mourning -– fuck off."
Ewan took a mouthful of ale and lazily watched as the waitress dropped her tray, and the people nearby scowled at the dart players.
It had to be the Jude effect, which was like a chain reaction of badness that touched everything around Jude, but Jude. It was like an episode of Dr Who, where everyone went to some voodoo planet and got cursed.
Shit like Jude Law didn't happen to other people until they were unsuspecting and then their lives exploded and there were bodies and paparazzi everywhere. The mess with Gaz's wife after the wife-swap-gone-mental; Sadie locking Jude out of the house because she was depressed, and he'd run off with Jonny (again).
Ewan loved Jude, but Jude could be a thick, selfish cunt sometimes. Ewan still didn't know where Jude'd found the balls to tell Sadie he wanted a divorce -– it was very possible that he'd stolen Sadie's balls to do so. Ewan wouldn't have been surprised.
Nothing Jude did surprised him anymore.
Ewan was just waiting for Jude to tell him who he was fucking now. Jude would never have left the house in such a state if he weren't getting a leg over from somebody.
He had to look pretty to attract the moths, and Jude's smile was entirely too broad and white. Clearly he'd been visiting his Hollywood dentist again. "D'you know what your problem is, mate?"
Ewan felt his eyes rolling automatically. His brain knew how to respond to Jude effortlessly. "I'm sure you're going to tell me, so why should I bother even answering."
"It wasn't a rhetorical question."
"Right, pull the other one, it's got bells on it."
Jude's smile slipped into something predatory and Ewan groaned. He'd walked right into that one. "Is that what you tell Hayden then?" Jude lowered his voice dramatically; it was filled with false guilelessness.
"I have no idea what you're on about. Aren't we here to discuss you and yours?" Ewan took an enormous swallow of ale.
Jude's eyes focused somewhere over Ewan's left shoulder as he ran his index finger around the mouth of his glass. "Do you puff your cheeks out like that when you're giving him a blow job?"
Ewan meant to spew his ale all over Jude and the table, but instead he choked and almost passed out. People practically crawled over their tables to pound him on the back and make certain Obi-Wan wasn't about to kick the bucket, but Jude didn't even lift a finger. He just sat there, across from Ewan, smiling fiendishly.
Obviously this was war.
This was also a prime example of why Jedis were meant to carry light sabers.
“Do you want to find out first hand?” Everyone’d seen Ewan’s tackle. Everyone and their grandmother who happened to walk through the room at the wrong time during The Pillow Book had seen Ewan’s tackle. But Jude had a bit of modesty in him -- until he was pissed and crying about his latest heartbreak and whipping his knob out randomly.
Jude never remembered those occasions later.
Blackouts were a crazy man’s best friend.
“Ewan, if you just offered to suck my dick you must have been drinking at home before you popped ‘round.” Jude took long enough to respond that Ewan knew with absolutely surety that if this were ten years ago this would be the prelude to fucking their relationship up so badly superglue and ten wishes wouldn’t put it right.
Unlike Jude, however, Ewan had learned moderation.
One destructive, mad affair at a time, please.
Ewan thought that he and Jude would end up together in old age anyway, two old, bitter men whose children lived in other countries and never called and a lifeboat’s worth of ex-wives between them.
“I know you just want to get your greedy hands down my knickers. Lord knows what sort of embarrassing diseases you’d give me anyway. Is that a cold sore?”
Three pints down, Jude confessed that he might have been stalking a bird named Sienna, but it was only a little stalking. She was so deliciously clueless that he couldn't help himself.
Four pints down, Ewan confessed that he'd had inappropriate thoughts about Hayden before he was exactly of age. Jude didn't even pretend to act surprised.
Five pints down, Jude fumed that he’d been thinking of getting paternity tests on the kids. Not that he wouldn’t still love them all the same, no matter, but with Sadie one never knew.
At the start of the sixth pint, a hand fell on Ewan’s shoulder with a familiar weight, and Jude winked at the newcomer with the sort of saucy flirtatiousness that was not feigned or taught in drama school.
Jude's eyes were entirely too bright -- it had to be the ale. "What a surprise, your lordship," he said standing up with wobbly legs. "Would Darth Vader care to have a drink with a Jedi and a serial monogamist?"
-end-
p.s. Yeah, uh, totally unbetad. We could prolly use one though. I am late. Icon created by the fantabulous
zeplum.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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