~900 words :: Jude Law/Ewan McGregor :: 9/13/06
In hindsight, Ewan probably shouldn’t have left the door open, but even then, he’s not sure it wouldn’t have happened some other way.
Ewan jumps out of the shower, a pile of dirty clothes on the floor the only thing saving him from slipping on the lino and cracking his head open. Fucking amazing, that, considering everything else that’s gone wrong this morning, what with his alarm clock not going off and the hot water mysteriously giving out in the middle of his shower.
Teeth chattering, he grabs a towel and scrubs his hair dry. Christ, why do things like this always happen in the middle of winter? He’s surprised the water dripping off him’s not turning to icicles.
“Fucking Jude using up all the fucking hot water,” he mutters.
“I did not.”
Ewan freezes, then slowly pushes the towel out of his face to find Jude standing in the doorway. “I thought you’d gone to work.” Wouldn’t have left the fucking door open otherwise.
“I, uh,” Jude says. “I realised I didn’t have my wallet. Can’t bloody well get on the Tube with no money.”
It’s a wank fantasy come true, the perfect porno setup. Flatmate walks in on you in the shower and bam. Jude should have him up against the wall by now. Though in the porno version Ewan wouldn’t be shivering, and no way would his dick be trying to burrow back into his body and hibernate.
He yanks the towel off his head and starts drying his arms. “What’re you looking at?”
It’s the wrong thing to say and Ewan’s regretting it even before the words are out of his mouth. Jude flushes and looks away, his hands clenching into fists, and then he looks pointedly at Ewan’s crotch, his mouth twisting in a sneer. He snorts. “Nothing.”
“Fuck you.” Ewan grins, laughing it off, but his shoulders are tense as he bends down to finish drying, and he doesn’t look up again until after he hears Jude leave.
The whole thing’s forgotten by that night, or at least they pretend it is. It’s beer and pizza in front of the telly, business as usual. Jude asks if they gave him trouble for being late, but that’s the closest they come to mentioning it.
After a couple of days, Ewan really has forgotten it – or at least not thought about it more than once or twice a day, which is nearly the same thing, right? But it’s not like he thinks about it every time he’s in the bathroom anymore, and he’s definitely not dwelling on it. What would be the point? So it’s not how he’d imagined getting naked with Jude. It’s not like those fantasies ever stood any chance of becoming reality in the first place.
But still, it’s a matter of honour. Maybe that’s why he wears his tightest jeans, the ones usually reserved for clubbing. Not really appropriate for the crowd down the local, but what the hell. If he gets his arse kicked, maybe Jude’ll save him. Another pipe dream, that.
It gets Jude looking, though, and he can’t fail to notice that when Ewan’s not fucking freezing his balls off, he’s got a damn good reason to be wearing jeans that leave nothing to the imagination.
Ewan thinks about it on the walk home. His mind’s all full up with it. Jude was looking tonight. He was looking the other day in the bathroom, too.
Humming to himself, Ewan leans against the wall, hips canted, while Jude jiggles the key in the lock, muttering about how they ought to get it fixed.
“You always say that.”
“Yeah, well.” The door swings open and Jude grins, punching him on the shoulder. “Maybe someday you’ll take the hint.”
Ewan could swear Jude’s gaze flicked down to his crotch again just then. “Why’s it my responsibility?” He follows Jude inside, flips on the light.
Jude shrugs, looks away. “Just because. Never mind.”
Steadying himself with one hand on the back of the sofa, Ewan toes out of his trainers, listens to the click of the lock behind him. When he straightens up, Jude’s just standing there looking at him. What the fuck is it with Jude looking at him lately?
Ewan takes a step forward and Jude blinks like he’s coming out of a trance. He frowns and runs his fingers through his hair and brushes past Ewan. “You want a beer?”
Without thinking, Ewan grabs Jude’s arm. “Wait.”
Ewan takes another step, and then another so he’s facing Jude. They’re toe to toe. Jude doesn’t try to pull away. He’d pull away if he didn’t want this, right? But he’s just looking at Ewan. Waiting.
“Taking the hint,” he says, putting Jude’s hand on his crotch. “It’s not ‘nothing’ now, is it?”
Jude’s eyes are wide, his lips parted. His fingers move over the denim, tracing the shape of Ewan’s dick as it hardens. They’re so close Ewan can hear him breathing, close enough that Ewan can just lean in, tilt his head a little and they’re kissing. When he shifts, Ewan can feel Jude’s erection against his hip.
It lasts forever, or maybe a few seconds, and then Jude’s jerking his hand out of Ewan’s grasp and backing away. He rubs his hand on his jeans, mouth pulled tight, and he looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. For a minute Ewan wonders if he’s going to hit him.
Staring at the carpet like it’s the most fascinating thing ever, Jude finally says, “I’m not a fucking poof.”
“Yeah,” Ewan mutters. He’s too sober suddenly, wanting that beer Jude offered, and maybe the rest of the case with it. “I know.”