Flatmates

~600 words :: Jude Law/Ewan McGregor, Jude Law/Jonny Lee Miller :: 11/15/04
Ewan spends his nights half wishing they’d sleep – not that they’re actually sleeping – in Jonny’s room instead of Jude’s, and half glad they don’t. Jude’s bedroom is the one that shares a wall with Ewan’s.


The flat is laid out so that the front door opens onto the sitting room, which is long and narrow, running nearly the length of the flat. The kitchen is to the left, and straight ahead are the hallway and the bedrooms. There are three: two next to each other, then the bathroom, and then the third bedroom.

Ewan spends his nights half wishing they’d sleep – not that they’re actually sleeping – in Jonny’s room instead of Jude’s, and half glad they don’t. Jude’s bedroom is the one that shares a wall with Ewan’s.

He’d been asleep when they got in tonight. Would still be asleep if the bed knocking against the wall hadn’t woken him, startled him out of a dream in which he was going down on Jude, and into reality, which involves lots of enthusiastic, Ewan-free fucking, apparently.

Groaning, he wriggles out of his pyjama bottoms, wraps his hand around his cock and starts pulling. Quick, rough strokes that have him coming long before Jonny and Jude.

“Oi!” he shouts, and his voice sounds odd, but they’ll not notice. He bangs his fist against the wall. “Oi, some of us’re trying to sleep!”

There’s a breathless “sorry” – Jonny, he thinks – and then a long moan fading into silence. There’s more, Ewan’s sure: harsh breathing, mumbled words, the creak of bedsprings; he just can’t hear it.


It’s two weeks later when Ewan comes home to find Jonny gone, Jude sulking on the sofa. He doesn’t ask what it was about, just plops himself down next to Jude and picks up one of the few unopened beer cans on the table.

When helping Jude drown his sorrows turned into Ewan with one hand down Jude’s jeans and fierce, biting kisses and Jude whispering in his ear “fuck me, Ewan” is not a question Ewan can ever answer. He doubts Jude can either.

Off come jeans and pants and shirts and Ewan’s kissing a line down Jude’s spine, tongue dipping between his cheeks. Jude moans, clutching the arm of the sofa, but he says, “Just fuck me, Ewan,” and Ewan’s mouth, guts, heart twist with jealousy.

“Hang on, hang on…” Dashing – comically, he’s sure – to his bedroom, he comes back with lube and a johnny in hand, half afraid Jude will have changed his mind. But no, he’s there, elbows and knees on the sofa, and Ewan scoots up behind him. He rolls the condom on quickly, slicks his cock, positions himself. Hands on Jude’s hips, he works his way in slowly, slowly, Jude trembling under him. He’s nearly trembling himself.

“God…fuck, Jude…” he pants, grip slipping on sweaty skin. “Always so tight.”

They both reach for Jude’s cock at the same time, but Jude bats Ewan’s hand away, which makes Ewan tighten his grip, deliberately, wanting to leave bruises. His mouth tightens, too, and he slams in harder, and when Jude comes with a bit-back whimper, body convulsing, it pulls Ewan along with him.

As soon as he catches his breath, Ewan’s out, off, already padding to the bathroom. He won’t make the mistake of hoping for anything else again.


The next day Jonny’s still gone, and Jude doesn’t offer any explanation. Part of Ewan wants to ask, wants to say things like “does this mean I’ve got a chance?” but he keeps quiet and Jonny’s back that night. Ewan hates the relief he sees in Jude’s face, but it’s not a surprise anymore.