Laura Stone (stoney321) wrote,
Laura Stone

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Fic! Fic ahead.

Been up to my eyebrows in paint, needed a break. Especially since Mr. Stoney came home early and HATED what I was doing to the walls. HATED. IT. So, trying something new, and he's lucky I like to paint, or he'd be stuck. When it's finished, I'll post pictures. Phooey.

In the meantime, while sizing dries on the wall, I finished up the first part of the next Ewan/Hayden RPS, taking place a few short weeks post the last fic. I see two parts, almost done with it, so more tonight or tomorrow? Unbeataed, email me mistakes, mm'kay? 10-Q!

Author: Stoney321
Title: No Regrets
Rating: Adult - NC-17?
Pairing: Ewan McGregor/Hayden Christensen - RPS
Disclaminer: RPS is a dream, baby. A lovely, porny dream, but not real.
Summary: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. A continuation from "The Wrath at Cannes, Parts One and Two."


Part One

He rubbed his face his both hands, enjoying the silence in the elevator at it raced to the top floor of the high-rise hotel. This was the hardest leg of the trip; the longest, too. Ewan had two premieres happening this week, The Island and the final Star Wars movie, and his publicist decided to leave him in Tokyo for the week to get all the interviews possible. Ewan hated interviews. He hated peeling the layers back and revealing the strings behind the puppets. The Japanese press was usually forgiving of him not wanting to reveal the "How To's" of movie making and would let him have a little fun. Most of the cock jokes stemmed from the "fun" he had with their press. I could use a little fun...

Scarlett had left after two days. He enjoyed her company: smart, bright, a little nervous in the beginning, but she eventually relaxed and laughed. She brought a lot to the table. She seemed older than she was. Like someone else I know. Ewan didn't let himself be still enough to recognize the tension building up in his body. He didn't want to think about the upcoming weekend. He had a massage lined up for this evening, was going to head up to the rooftop bar and drink until the floor caught him, then he was going to drag himself to bed. The Japan People affiliate loved to see him shit-faced and hungover. It fed into their stereotype of a Scotsman, one Ewan was willing to portray this week.

The doors opened, Ewan stepped out and gave a low bow to the woman standing at his door and a nod to her helper carrying the massage table. He let them in, indicated where to set up with a flick of his finger, and headed straight to the bar.

"No, no. Saki. No hard liquor. Body want saki." Liquor came out garbled with an "r," the Japanese didn't have that letter in their arsenal, but her meaning was clear. The massuese was small boned and appeared shy, but her hands looked like they could bend sheet metal. Or snap his neck.

"Whatever you say, dear. Shall I undress here?"

A touch of red creeping up her neck - she knew who her "important client" was. She didn't acknowledge her helper leaving the room, but held her gaze and nodded. Ewan had come to expect this sort of behavior. After all, you don't whip yourself out during half of your interviews and films, constantly go on and on about your randy sex life without a little intrigue. He flashed his famous grin, looked her in the face, and worked off his shoes, socks, and trousers. He walked out of the material pooled at his feet and hopped on the table. She nodded, handed him a small dish with a hand gesture to drink. He downed it in one. She giggled behind her hand and filled it again.

"Oh, aren't you lovely. Yes, thanks, I'll have another."

Music began to play softly, hands took the small china out of his possession, and those same hands pushed until Ewan was lying face-down on the massage table. He felt all of his tension moving to his fingertips, like electricity along a trip wire. As she moved around his body, pushing and rubbing, the tips of his fingers felt like they were swelling. She spoke in soft tones.

"Big man, carries the world on shoulder. Shoulder break - in time. Shoulder forget there is arm. Arm forget there is hand." She continued working her way down the path she spoke of. "Hand wants work." She spread his fingers, pulled on each one, then took his hand as one between the flats of her hands, rubbed and pulled away. "Tension gone. Let wind carry it far."

The swelling/tingly feeling was gone. He felt drunk, but knew he wasn't. Ewan relaxed and let her work her magic. For the first time in weeks, he felt calm, strong. Felt that he wouldn't lose his cool when he saw him again.


Ewan kept his eyes closed in blissful relief. "If I could move any part of my body, I'd kiss you full on the lips just now."

A quiet giggle. My god, he could hear her bowing as she walked through the door. Several blissful minutes later, Ewan was propped up against the door frame to the bath with a towel clutched weakly in his hand. He took a staggering step in towards the shower, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like he had just been fucked in a vat of oil. Hair tangled outwards in crazy knots from the scalp massage, shiny skin from the ylang-ylang, a stupid grin and eyes at half-mast. He turned the shower on full steam and laid his head against the cool slate; the water pulsed over his skin.

When he felt like he must either get out or grow gills, he shut the water off, wrapped up in a thick, cotton towel, and poured himself a few fingers of whiskey. He was so focused on getting dressed and out that he didn't notice the red light blinking on his hotel phone. Or the "3 Missed Calls" on his cell. Humming and stretching his newly relaxed arms, he rode the elevator down to the lobby, executed a little hop-step out of the door, and moseyed past the Concierge with a twiddle of his fingers in acknowledgment, so intent on making ass meet leather and hand meet glass in the adjoining bar. He completely ignored the frantic, "Sir, but Sir!" and sat down in front of the bartender. "Laphroaig. 30 year, if you have it."

The bartender blinked for a moment, bowed, and motioned for the bar-back to dust off a bottle and bring it out immediately. Ewan, satisfied that he'd be taken care of for the night - after all, a whiskey that cost a thousand Euros insured proper service - spun in his chair to face the jazz trio playing in the corner. Elbows hooked over the seat back, fingers tapping in time to the music, breathing regulated and slow.

"Sir? Your drink."

Ewan tossed half of the pungent liquid back in a gulp, then took a small sip and rolled it around his mouth. His nostrils stung, his chest burned, and after swallowing, his face broke into a grin. "THAT was not 30 year old."


"More like 40? Fantastic. I'll have another."

The next half hour passed with Ewan tossing back a few more drinks and people watching. There was a couple flirting in the back corner. He suspected this was their first date by how self-consciously they held their bodies. A lonely businessman watched an older couple sway on the dance floor. Waiters made change and scurried back and forth. Ewan relaxed back against his seat, right leg over left, foot bouncing to the beat of the music. The whiskey was weighting him down and dulling his senses - exactly what he had hoped for. A tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a medium-sized man, slightly balding, with a grin on his face.

"Are you the actor, Ewan McGregor?"

"I am," he slurred, "Hallo."

"My wife and I love your movies. My name's Ben. My wife - she's from Abernathy, by the way. We live in Tokyo now."

"Is that right?" Ewan dropped into the familiar brogue of his youth. "Weel, let me pour you a drink, man, and we'll drink to our women!"

A few drops were left to the bottle as thanks, while Ewan filled his new friend's ear with songs and jokes from his youth.

"...and he says to the young boy, 'But do they call me MacGregor the Ship-Builder? No. But you screw one goat...'"

They broke up into raucous laughter at the punchline.

"Do you wear a kilt? Doesn't it drive you nuts?"

"Weel, the swing of my walk drives my nuts, the kilt just lets 'em be. No, they're only worn for special occasions. But I have many a time, and find them to be quite comfortable."

Ewan pounds his fist on the table to create a beat and sings,

"Just got hame from the Isle of Skye
I'm awfully big and I'm awfully shy
The ladies shout as I go by:
Ewan, where's your trousers?

Weel, I caught cold and me nose was raw
I had no handkerchief at all
So I hiked up me kilt and gave it a blow
Now, you canna do that with trousers!"

Ben clanged his glass to Ewan's, downed it, checked his watch and stammered, "Ah, Christ, my wife'll kill me. I was supposed to head back after my meeting."

"You better hurry home, then. Wait..." Ewan scribbled a note with the bartender's pen on a cocktail napkin. He handed the napkin to Ben and gave him a mock salute.

Ben read, "'Pls excuse me, dearheart. I got pissed with yer man. Love and giggles, Ewan McGregor.' That's great! Now if I can only convince her I didn't do this myself... It was great meeting you. I don't look forward to the hangover I'll have in the morning, but it was great to meet you!" He hurried towards the door.

Ewan called out to him, "May your bed be warm and your wife not cold." He turned back to the bar and signaled for the check.

"Not leaving yet, are you?" a voice tickled into his ear.

Ewan felt his stomach drop and a cold sweat break out on his body. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling.

"Was he the reason why you didn't return my calls? It's hard to be discreet when I have to call the Concierge twice to find you."

"Hayden. Why are you here now? I thought the group wasn't getting here for two more days."

Hayden slid into the seat next to Ewan, turned at an angle so his leg was close to Ewan's. Dark blue eyes searched light blue ones. Hayden chewed on his lower lip in nervousness. "I wanted to get settled here before all of the reporters swarmed over us. It'll help me not feel so trapped while I answer the same damn question over and over again. At least you have another project they're asking about. Everyone just wants to know how Natalie and I got along. Hang on."

Hayden signals for a drink from the bartender.

"I'll have whatever he had."

"Hayden, you don't drink whiskey. And this is serious whiskey, lad."

With a mischievious grin, Hayden replied, "Remember how you thought you had me figured out? And you didn't?"

A cloud passed over Ewan's face. Hayden seemed to quickly realize his mistake. "Hey. I can't go drinking cat-piss my whole life, right? You got me drinking better beer, I figure I should start drinking better all around, okay?" The bartender set a glass on a cocktail napkin and faded back into the scenery. "So, what am I drinking, anyway?"

Ewan had a glass poured for himself, toasted the glass in Hayden's hand and replied, "Ambrosia. Bottoms up, mate."

Hayden took a large gulp, still used to drinking beer with his buddies back home, and almost choked. Ewan laughed and clapped him on the back, unable to stop his hand from lingering and rubbing a few, small circles. "Take your time. Last time I checked, no whiskey ever jumped off the bar and ran away to keep from being drunk. Sip it. Enjoy it."

Hayden felt the whiskey warm his insides, but not as warm as the spot on his back where Ewan's hand had rested. He could feel every nerve ending in his lower back tingle when Ewan left his hand on the back of Hayden's barstool, not quite touching him. Hayden twisted his foot, forcing his knee to the right slightly, and rose up on his toe to let his knee caress Ewan's thigh. "It's good. Strong, but good."

Ewan held his gaze longer than intended, then dropped his face as he searched his pocket for his pack of smokes. He tried to hide his hands and their slight tremor from Hayden's eyes.

"Those things'll kill you."

"So will walking down the street in some neighborhoods."

"True. Okay, they give you bad breath."

Ewan took a long drag, blew the smoke from the side of his mouth, touched his tongue to his lower lip and said, "Now, who is going to care about the way my breath tastes on a night like tonight?"

"I can think of someone."

Ewan regarded the boy coolly. "Can you now?"

Hayden slid his foot forward a few inches, rubbing his thigh along the outside of Ewan's, all hidden in the darkness of the bar. Hayden leaned back, trapping Ewan's hand where he had let it stay. Hayden felt a pulling sensation in his middle as Ewan slowly rubbed his thumb up and down the boy's back.

"I thought you were avoiding me."

"Well, that's because I was."

Hayden leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar, and tried to hide his disappointed face. He turned his head after a few moments to see Ewan had left his hand on the chair, but was looking at the ceiling and smoking.

"Hayden, I didn't know you tried to reach me today. But I'd be lying if I didn't say that I wasn't ready to see you."

"I can't say that I'm sorry it happened, Ewan. Is that what you want me to say? I am sorry that you were upset by it. I never wanted that."

"It wasn't what I wanted, either."

Hayden caught the double meaning. He leaned back in his chair, eyes forward, relieved to feel the flat of Ewan's hand on his lower back, fingers gently caressing, working the hem of Hayden's shirt up.

"What if you were able to have it your way?" Hayden asked. "Would that change anything? Make things alright between us?"

"It might. I think I need one more drink, however." Ewan signaled for the bartender while Hayden put a card down, made a circle gesture with his hand to let the bartender know he was paying for the remaining tab.

Hayden looked at the receipt to sign. "Jesus! What the hell were we drinking?"

"Liquid gold. Let's take this with us," and to the bartender, "I'll take the bottle with me, yeah? Charge it to my room."

With a jerk of his head, Ewan indicated that Hayden should follow him. Ewan strode through the open lobby with confidence, unaware of the few late-night guests checking in. Hayden followed a few paces behind, trying to maintain an air of indifference. He focused on the cool glass in his hand. By the time he reached the elevator doors, they were open and Ewan was inside. Hayden stepped in, leaned back against the far wall, and felt a vice grip around his heart squeeze as the door shut and Ewan turned to him.

Hayden let his head fall to one side. "I'm sorry." He reached out with his free hand and grabbed on to Ewan's waist band, arm dangling. Ewan took a step closer, raised his hand with the glass still in it, and rested his knuckles on the wall next to Hayden's face. "You will be." Hayden leaned forward slightly and caught the mouth waiting for him. He traced Ewan's lower lip with his tongue, taking in the taste of smoke and whiskey. Ewan, slightly drunk, staggered a bit and broke the kiss.

Hayden turned him around, put Ewan's back against the wall to steady him, let his fingers linger at the open collar of Ewan's shirt. Hayden's fingers made quick work of unbuttoning the top two buttons, and those same fingers traced the hard bone at the center of Ewan's chest. Hayden let the flat of his hand rest on that warm, smooth skin, while his fingers worked back and forth gently. Hayden bent his head forward, deliberately missed the older man's mouth, and placed a soft kiss on the tender flesh where jaw and ear and neck meet. His knee nudged Ewan's legs apart, and Hayden pressed himself against the hardness he found there.

Ewan sloppily flung one arm around Hayden, not caring about the expensive bottle that banged into Hayden's back. Ewan rose up on his toes, arching his back and driving their bodies closer. He buried his face in the warm crook of Hayden's neck. Hayden let his free hand cup the side of his face, thumb rubbing his lip. Ewan continued to create friction between their bodies, his current state made him more brazen than usual, and moaned into the boy's ear.

"I'm going to fuck you. I'm not going to stop until you cry out, and I may not stop even then."

Hayden continued kissing his neck and let his free hand drop back to the buttons. Ewan outlined his lover's ear lobe with his tongue and continued, "I want you. Do you want me? Do you want me to bury myself in you? Do you want to feel me cover your body with mine?" Ewan breathed hotly into Hayden's ear. "As soon as the door shuts, I want you to fucking get naked, do you hear me?"

Hayden put his forehead against Ewan's and dipped at the knees slightly, then rose up, slowly, the friction between their bodies overwhelming their senses. "God, I've wanted that for so long."

The elevator slowed down, came to a stop, and opened. Ewan walked through the doors backwards, eyes on Hayden's. "Come on. And you heard what I said: as soon as the door shuts, love."

Ewan turned his back to Hayden, slipped the bottle under his arm, pulled out the card reader and walked in, kicking the door with one foot to keep it open long enough for Hayden to slip in behind him. He finished the liquor in his glass and set it on the nightstand. The door clicked shut, and Ewan pulled his clothes off and sat on the edge of the bed. Ewan looked at Hayden as he slipped out of his oxford shirt, then his T-shirt, and as Hayden began unbuckling his jeans and kicking off his shoes simultaneously, Ewan looked at his crotch, then back at the younger man with an impish grin. "Hayden, it isn't going to suck itself, now is it?"


A/N: The song Ewan sings is an old Scots song, Donald, Where's Your Trousers? With apologies to Donald, but Ewan's a bit full of himself, and praise be, because it's what makes him so damn sexy.

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  • Lobster macaroni and cheese

    YOU READ THAT CORRECTLY. It's always time for that. Unless you just finished running a marathon and it's 115F outside. That's probably not when you…

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