The Thin Line Between Love and Hate

~1000 words :: Jude Law/Ewan McGregor :: 3/7/05
Ewan hates Jude. Jude hates Ewan. No really. That’s why he can’t stop thinking about him.

“You’re not supposed to smoke in the bog.”

“You’re not supposed to get smashed out of your fucking skull in here, either,” Jude snaps. He takes a drag of his cigarette, eyes narrowing at the small mirror and razor on the counter. “Sean’s not going to be happy.”

“Don’t tell him, then,” Ewan sneers. He lolls his head to the side, scratching idly under his waistband.

He’s wearing tracksuit bottoms that look like they’ve been slept in. No shirt. Hasn’t shaved. Bags under his eyes and hair sticking up every which way. Jude wrinkles his nose. Ewan cleans up nicely – he’d have to or Sean wouldn’t keep him on – but Jude wishes he didn’t insist on reverting to form during the day.

“You want something?”

“I have to piss,” Jude says.

Ewan untucks one leg and Jude thinks for a moment he’s going to move from his perch on the counter, but all he does is tuck the other one up instead. His ankle is red from being sat on.

“Nothing’s stopping you.”

Flicking his cigarette butt into the toilet, Jude turns on his heel and stomps out, ignoring Ewan’s jeering call of “wanker”. He pisses in the back garden – not like there’s anything there but mud anyway – glaring all the while at the dustbin as if it were Ewan.

He grabs a Coke from the kitchen on his way back in, glares at the bathroom as he passes it. Flopping down on the sofa, he picks up the paper off the coffee table, holding it carefully by the edges so as not to get newsprint on his fingers.

He doesn’t know why Sean puts up with Ewan; if Jude were in charge, he’d be long gone. Good riddance to bad rubbish, Jude would say as he tossed him out on his arse. He smiles to himself, imagining it. Sean never will, of course; Ewan is unfathomably popular. He won’t be popular forever, though; he’ll be just another washed up junkie and by then Jude will be somewhere else. Someone else. He reads the paper aloud, practising his accent.

Sean should be home soon, he hopes, or Jonny. Jude doesn’t like being alone with Ewan. For some reason, he’s always hyper-aware of Ewan’s presence; it’s disconcerting. He can remember exactly how far down on Ewan’s hips his tracksuit bottoms rode, the way his eyes looked bluer against the bathroom tiles, and he thinks he could find the finger-shaped bruise on Ewan’s biceps with his eyes closed, but he can’t remember the words he just read without looking back down at the paper.

It’s only a matter of time before Jude finds himself back in the bathroom, leaning against the door frame. Ewan is still sat on the counter and he looks as if he hasn’t moved.

Ewan’s lip curls up. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” he says, and Jude feels a momentary surge of panic.


“Trying to sound all posh,” Ewan says, mimicking Jude’s accent. “You think that’s going to change anything?”

“What do you know?” Jude snarls, pushing away from the door and taking a step towards Ewan. “Your biggest ambition is to sit around on your arse getting high.”

Jude expected an outburst in response, but Ewan is silent, his expression shuttered.

“Don’t ignore me.” Jude grabs Ewan’s shoulder, shaking him; Ewan just sneers. To his dismay, Jude can’t stop staring at Ewan’s mouth, the way his thin lips tighten, pressing into a line, and he finds himself leaning in until there’s only a few inches separating them.

Ewan looks away and tries to shrug out of Jude’s grip. “Don’t ignore me!” Jude says again, and cringes inwardly as his accent slips, falls apart.

The corners of Ewan’s mouth twitch up in a self-satisfied smirk. Jude wants to smack him, but his body’s not listening and instead he’s fisting his hand in Ewan’s hair, kissing him hard. His eyes are squeezed shut.

He keeps expecting Ewan to push him away, but it doesn’t happen. Ewan’s mouth opens under Jude’s, head tilting slightly; one hand creeps up, clutching at Jude’s shirtsleeve. His fingers twist and Jude’s dig into Ewan’s shoulder like he’s trying to get under his skin.

It’s an eternity later when Jude pulls back, flushed and breathing heavy. Ewan’s eyes are dark and half-lidded, his bottom lip glistening and wet. He doesn’t say anything and Jude doesn’t know what to say, either.

Jude reaches for Ewan’s waistband. Ewan lifts his arse up enough so Jude can tug his tracksuit bottoms down around his thighs. He’s not wearing pants. Planting one hand on the counter, Jude bends down and takes Ewan’s dick in his mouth, lips and tongue teasing back the foreskin. Ewan goes from halfway to rock hard in no time and now it’s his hands in Jude’s hair, though when Jude peers up, Ewan is staring blankly ahead.

Everything Jude does, every lick and stroke, hand sliding up thigh to cup Ewan’s balls as he takes him deeper into his throat, everything wrings the right response from Ewan, but it’s hollow. It’s hollow and now Jude’s own actions feel too precise, too perfect. Something that was there when they were kissing has slipped away and in its place is a cold detachment he can’t seem to shake.

Jude swallows around the head of Ewan’s cock, tries not to think about the pubes tickling his nose and threatening to bring on a sneeze. Another swallow, throat contracting, and Ewan’s fingers tighten in his hair, hips jerking forward as he comes. Nothing changes.

Letting Ewan’s cock slip from his mouth, Jude straightens, steps back as Ewan slides off the counter, tugging his tracksuit bottoms up, leaving them riding low on his hips. The sight still draws Jude’s eyes and he hates himself for it.

“You want me to return the favour?” Ewan asks, not looking at him.

“No,” Jude says after a moment.

Ewan’s lips press together into a line and he turns away, collecting his things off the counter and pushing past Jude without another word.

Jude shuts the door and slumps against it, palms pressed flat against the wood. He can’t look in the mirror; he’s afraid he’ll look as blank as Ewan.

Read the sequel: In the Mirror.