Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.

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46. Aidan Turner & Dean O'Gorman 1

~He’s falling. Slowly but steadily the darkness starts surrounding him, threatening to drown him. Maybe he should just let it go, let himself be drawn into this never-ending darkness. It takes his eyesight and all his hope and yet at the same time it’s strangely soothing. Inviting and warm. Maybe if he lets go, the pain will disappear. Pain that claws at every ounce of his body, turning every breath he draws into icy knives burning his lungs. Every tiny part of his body hurts like it’s on fire, a blazing inferno rushing through his body, his entire being. Maybe if he just lets go, it will be over and he can breathe again, move again, even think again…
‘Nadadith?’
Opening his eyes is torture. He blinks rapidly, resists the urge to simply let his eyes fall shut again, floating back into the blissful darkness which would carry him away to a place that hopefully is more beautiful than here.
His gaze sharpens; so do his other senses and he starts hearing again. He hears shouting, cursing, screaming, the sound of metal on metal, metal cutting through flesh…the air he’s barely able to press down into his lungs smells of smoke, blood and death. This isn’t right, he doesn’t want to be here…
‘Kíli!’
He reopens his eyes, his gaze wandering until it finally focuses on the body lying next to him.
The golden hair sticky with mud and blood alike, two nasty cuts defile the handsome face. The leathery armor is blood-smeared and the fur collar barely visible under the dirt. A hand slowly reaches for him, trembling fingers grasping his ebony hair. He gathers what strength he has left and lifts his own hand, his fingers shaking from the effort, the movement uncontrolled.
After what seems a little eternity he finally reaches that face and casually brushes his fingertips over the blood-caked cheek.
‘Fee…’
It’s barely a whisper, nothing more than a breath of air and even this small sound causes more pain shooting up his throat. But he ignores it, forces himself to look into these azure eyes, not breaking the contact. For a second he grazes the second figure who’s now halfway buried beneath them – for protection. Was he breathing, was this broad chest moving? How often had they snuggled against this chest when they were younger, after a nightmare or during thunderstorms?
Yes, there is a movement, definitely. A steady rhythm that’s both calming and reassuring. They had done something right. It would not be in vain that they were going to draw their last breaths today. Together, like always.
‘Nadadel?’
The whisper is a little louder now and more urgent. Kíli lifts his gaze again, looks into the beloved face of his brother, twisted in pain. His breathing is unsteady, too. It comes in rapid gasps and falters now and then; he must be in pain, like Kíli. Who now locks his brown orbs with Fíli’s azure ones, pleading silently now because he knows his voice has already left him and he can’t speak anymore, as the pain shoots through his veins like lava, robbing him of the needed air. He wants to let go, nothing more, he just wants to be allowed to let go.
‘It’s – alright, Kee, ev’rything’s fine. I’m here – you hear me? I – I’ll wait for you, you won’t be alone. Together, remember?’
The tears come unwanted and for a second he’s surprised about himself. He resists the urge to wipe them away, instead he lets them run freely, mixing with the mud on his face. And while he’s busy blinking rapidly, so he can look at Fíli once more, suddenly his brother’s gaze shifts. He seems more relaxed now, peaceful even, as if a large weight had been lifted of his shoulders. The piercing blue eyes are unfocused and he’s looking straight through Kíli, whose heart stops for a moment and he wants to scream, jump up and shake his brother. But he’s already speaking up again.
‘K-Kee, I…I can see father.’ He coughs and his voice gets weaker while a smile tugs on his lips. ‘Adad…adadel…’
Kíli's eyes widen and he struggles to breath. Unconsciously he notices a strange movement in the body underneath them, a twitching the younger can’t place. Shouldn’t he be lying still? But this loses all his meaning, when his big brother’s bright eyes slowly drift close and a peaceful expression settles on his face.
‘Follow quickly, nadad. Don’t – let me wait…’
One last whisper barely audible above the noise of the battle, then Fíli, son of Dís, heir to the throne of Erebor, lays still.
And for his younger brother there’s nothing left but to close his eyes as well, to let go, to finally give in. Because he knows that whatever waits for him on the other side, he won’t be facing it alone. Because Fíli would be at his side, like he always had been.
~*~*~
Silence. Aidan has stopped counting the seconds ticking by. He has no idea for how long they’ve been lying there on the ground and yet there is no movement or sound around them. It’s as if the whole set is frozen. Carefully, Aidan lifts one eyelid a tiny bit. Not that he sees very much, mostly because he‘s still lying on the ground, half on top of Richard whose chest, no, Thorin's chest is blocking his view. Plus, there are still tears streaming from his eyes like sand from a broken hourglass. Dean has outdone himself this time. No matter how often they have already shot this scene, Aidan has never before cried real tears.
These strange shivers that irritated him during the scene are still there, vibrating trough the body he lies on top of. Aidan lifts his head carefully so he can see what causes them. The answer is simple: Richard’s crying. From behind his closes eyes tears are streaming down his cheeks and into the wig, already wetting the dark skeins. And Aidan can feel that his own flood of tears is nowhere near to dry up. The only one not bawling his eyes out is Dean himself, who’s still lying next to Aidan, upper back half sprawled across Richards groin and legs – the shadow of Fílis last smile still visible on his lips.
For a brief moment Aidan feels panic rise, but the faint fluttering of eyelids confirm that Dean is very much alive. He’s just waiting, like Richard and Aidan – because they haven’t heard the ‘Cut’. In contrast to their other shootings Peter doesn’t intervene. An almost spooky silence surrounds the set, there’s no sound at all. No crew bustling around, ready to shift props and renew make-up. All the extras around them, simulating a great battle, have come to an halt and don’t move. They seem to be waiting, too. As time ticks by, Aidan gets a little nervous. What’s wrong? Is Peter not satisfied?
The sentence about Fíli's and Kíli's father has not been in the script, so Dean must have made it up purposely or maybe it just popped into his mind in that intense moment. And this extra sentence had been Aidan's cue to openly start crying, that had been the one that got him and Richard as well, apparently, despite the fact that Thorin should be unconscious. But it wasn’t just the death-scene for Aidan; it wasn’t the first time he’d died in front of a camera, hell, they had been shooting this particularly scene for the better part of a week now. It was overwhelming and disturbing, absolutely; but what really affected him deeply was the fact that this farewell was not so much of an act after all.
In only four days time the Hobbit-cast would be saying goodbye to each other as well. They would return to their different home places all over the world and not see each other for some months. Aidan himself already had future plans, a new film project he would be working on; and before that he had to go back to Ireland as well, visiting his family who’d murder him if he didn't at least spare them a month. He was looking forward to going home, seeing his parents and sisters, go out with some friends, especially because he was such a family-kind-of-guy. And yet – to leave New Zealand, his home for the last two years would also leave a great hole in his life, of that he was certain.
Aidan thought about the friends he had made at this project, friendships that would hopefully last for a lifetime. Gods, how he would miss the laughs with Jimmy between takes; sipping a Coke with Graham; learning lines with Richard, cracking jokes with Martin; hell, he would even miss hyper-wired Jed at four in the morning. The after-work-beers with Stephen and Adam; listening to Ian telling stories of his adventurous and exciting life, not being smug about it for one second; the soothing calm Peter, Ken and John evaporated when the whole world around them was completely upside down.
And, of course: Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean.
Whose hand he was still holding and whose fingers twitched a little between his own, while they waited for PJ’s signal to finally move. A feeling was creeping up his throat, something between coughing and gagging, but Aidan forced it down furiously. Kíli was dead after all and he was not supposed to move, let alone cough. Without his intention, Aidan's thoughts trailed back. Had it really been twelve months? After Rob had taken his leave Aidan had been afraid, seriously worried if his replacement would be able to slip in. Would they get along, would they fit, like Fíli and Kíli were supposed to?
In fact, they had become more than that, so much more. From the beginning they clicked as if Dean and Aidan had known each other for years instead of minutes. They easily became friends, laughing and joking and soon they had come to be inseparable. Their names were said in one go, being practically attached at the hip. Fíli and Kíli they had become, the closest of brothers, a unit, a stronghold, until the end.
No, that’s wasn’t exactly all of it. Somehow they had this special connection from the beginning, more than mere friendship and camaraderie. There was always a different atmosphere between them, some sort of tension, not unpleasant but noticeable. They discovered early on that they were both attracted to women and men alike. It had been a relief for both of them, had given them the opportunity to act more freely and open around each other. Some sort of understanding had been created between them, a bond they hadn’t shared with one of the other cast-members. A sentimental bond, nothing physical. At least at first.
Until this evening a year ago. They were out with the boys, both extremely pissed by the time they reached the trailer park in the taxi they were sharing. Stumbling through the gate they were clinging to each other to not land flat-face on the ground and they were giggling like schoolgirls without any particular reason. And then they were parting in front of Dean's trailer, just saying good-night. How exactly Dean’s lips had ended on his own, Aidan didn’t know afterwards. But he certainly wasn’t complaining in that moment, responding eagerly. Dean was tasting like Scotch and mint and a hint of oranges. But beneath this taste was something unique, something Aidan by now associated with Dean himself. Spicy and sweet at once, an intoxicating mixture…
And intoxicated he was till this day, there was no denying that. The morning after had been awkward since no one knew how to deal with this drunken kiss. Until it happened again and again. Without any alcohol the second time and the third – the third time had been only a week after the first kiss. They were out on location shoot and a thunderstorm had surprised them. In the downpour and with everybody running to their vans to find shelter, no one had noticed Dean and Aidan had ended up in the same trailer. And while the storm had rampaged around them, air thick and charged, lightning bolts chasing over the black sky, they had given in. Again with that mutual agreement they had had from the beginning, as if all of that was totally normal.
Friends with benefits. Aidan had to restrain himself not to laugh bitterly at that thought. Yes, that’s what they’d become since this night in the thunderstorm. To the rest of the cast they still were just friends who cracked jokes and got along splendidly. To them they were brothers, like Fíli and Fíli. What they didn’t know were the nights Aidan and Dean shared. Which belonged only to them, all that passion, the secrecy of it all, the thrill. And heavens, the sex was amazing, without exaggeration or whitewashing. To his big surprise Aidan had found out that this time, with Dean, he wasn’t opposed to be on the receiving end from time to time; it took Dean only a handful of nights to wake this side of him and wrap him around his little finger. After that Aidan didn’t even protest, but simply let himself be pressed in the mattress, Dean crawling possessively over him. He actually enjoyed it to no end.
Other times it was Dean who dedicated himself to Aidan and who became putty in his hands in no time. Aidan liked that, the variety of their bed sport, that they alternated who bottomed and who topped. It was a give and take, they catered to one another. It had worked well so far, keeping the nights and days separated; but not for eternity, obviously. Deep inside, Aidan had always feared that what they had would not be as easy as it seemed at the beginning. The risk was immense. But stubbornly he had silenced this little voice inside his head. Now, it was only screaming louder all the more. He really should have known.
‘Just sex’, having some fun between the sheets and being just friends throughout the day didn’t work anymore. Not for Aidan, at least. There was this constant gnawing feeling inside his chest, whenever Dean was hit on in a bar, of both men and women, whenever he got just that little bit too much attention. But for Aidan, there had been no other way than gripping his drink so hard his knuckles turned white, swallowing down his growing jealousy and looking the other way. All the time knowing that his hope they could be more than just friends with benefits, were in vain.
Still, at some point ‘just sex’ wasn’t enough anymore and Aidan repeatedly caught himself thinking about these ‘what if’s’ and ‘I wished’. Until the point where he simply couldn’t deny it anymore: he wanted more. Whenever he looked at Dean, heard him laugh; even when he slept with him. He wanted more closeness, more tenderness, simply more, more, more.
Opposing to what Dean wanted, obviously. For as open and laid-back as the Kiwi normally seemed, Dean certainly didn’t wear his most intimate feelings on his sleeve. He was composed even during sex, a fact that surprised Aidan every time, but he was addicted to those little sounds Dean made for a while now. Aidan practically absorbed every small whimper and sigh, contrasting sharply with the Irishman himself. Dean became demanding rarely, but mostly when the Kiwi himself took over. They swapped roles instantly when that happened, Deans voice suddenly being a lot deeper than normally, feral even. And the filth he spilled then – Is that good, baby? Do you like that, huh? Yes, that’s how I want it, give it to me, come on… - hearing that, Aidan had no choice but to submit completely. He would hold his breath, whimpering and begging, just like Dean did the other way around. The way they complemented each other was almost scary sometimes.
So, given the situation, Aidan had no intention to make his move. Like hell he would tell Dean about his real feelings, not knowing how the Kiwi felt. During the last months, Dean had become too important for him to lose him altogether. Aidan wouldn’t risk this brilliant friendship and their ‘friends with benefits’-agreement, even if the latter was really selfish. The mere thought about flying back to Ireland in a few days, leaving Dean behind was hunting him for a while now. He had tried to suppress this again and again until today. But during the last couple weeks it had become more and more obvious. The atmosphere between the two of them was not as laid-back and relaxed as it had been, but somehow tense – up to the point where it could go over the edge any minute.
Maybe that was the reason why they had barely spoken lately, Aidan mused. They even stopped sharing a bed, avoiding mere body contact. Was it due to the goodbye looming over their heads? Aidan knew already he would fall into a sort of limbo after coming home, because he’d fallen hard for Dean and that wouldn’t just go away.
Aidan did not fall easily or often, although the public seemed to think otherwise. According to them Aidan had his choose amongst the women on this earth and could have everyone, man and woman alike. At that thought, Aidan almost laughed bitterly.
No, he couldn’t. There was one he could not have. The one he wanted with heart and soul.
‘Cut.’ PJ's voice was small and it took several minutes for Aidan to grasp what their director had actually said. Oddly enough the command was not followed by the usual bustling of crew members, checking cameras and footage. Even now, the whole set remained almost silent. Aidan finally lifted his head and glanced through the tear-damp skeins of his wig.
Peter emerged from the tent he was sitting in, observing their work on monitors. The pair of glasses he exceptionally wore that day to rest his eyes was fogged and at first Aidan didn’t understand why that was the case. Until he realized that the director was crying, too. With a simple statement - I can see father, Kíli -, Dean had made the great Peter Jackson burst into tears. Out of instinct, Aidan knew they wouldn’t shoot the scene again. This had been perfect and it had also been the last time. The pang he felt in his chest as realization dawned only made his tears flowing harder.
Aidan met Peter's gaze and saw the tiny nod he gave him in appreciation. So he let go of Dean's hand and sat up, head bowed low to hide his face behind Kíli's long raven hair. He tried hard to gain some control over his emotions and foremost his tears. Having his emotions brimming just now was not fair. The set was crowded with people, though everyone would blame the death scene for his breakdown, surely. Nobody would think even for a moment that the cause for Aidan's sadness was a totally different one.
For Aidan didn’t think of Fíli and Kíli and Thorin, their heroic deaths or the end of the mighty line of Durin; his thoughts solemnly whirled around the fact that in a few days he would be sitting in a place heading to Ireland on the other end of the world; leaving behind the man who possessed his heart without even knowing it.
‘Aid?’
The hand on his shoulder made him snap out of thought for a moment and Aidan turned his head slightly and looked directly in those eyes, blue and bright like the ocean, completely mesmerizing.
‘Everything alright?’
No, Aidan wanted to scream, nothing’s alright! Because you just don’t understand, any of it! You don’t get that I would do anything for you, that you are everything to me – and at the same time, nothing’s changed for you and you will go on and continue your life. But I can’t do that, I will be left behind at the end of the world alone and…
Aidan didn’t say that, of course. Instead he gave a tiny nod, turning away again, his mind unfocused and desperate to get the grit. There were still tears streaming down his face and his lower lip was trembling, but he just couldn’t… He shoved the hand from his shoulder almost coarsely and for one moment he thought something flashed up in Deans eyes – hurt maybe? But as fast as it had appeared is was gone.
‘Yeah, ‘m fine.’
His voice was rough and shook so much he didn’t believe himself, but that didn’t matter. He turned his head away, knowing his feelings always showed in his eyes and he didn’t want Dean to see but a glimpse of what he was going through at the moment. That could only end badly.
So Aidan slowly stood on wobbly legs. On the margins he heard Peter talking to his assistants. Richard too was sitting up now and furtively rubbing his eyes. Aidan could practically feel Dean still staring at him, his gaze drilling into the back of his head, but he ignored it. The tight feeling in his chest was back, iron bands wrapped tightly around his lungs and panic rose. He had to get out of here, away from Dean, from everyone…
‘Pete?’ His voice was rough from disuse and tears, but the director heard him nonetheless.
‘Yes, Aidan?’
‘I…can – I…go to the loo?’
Peter understanding the rough whisper, accompanied by pathetic hiccupping was a miracle. His gaze softened instantly.
‘Sure, Aid, no problem at all.’
Rising his voice he gave the command: ’15 minutes, guys.’
Aidan didn’t hesitate after that, just turned on his heels and ran; from the corner if his eye he could Dean raise from his spot on the ground, cautiously extending a hand towards him which Aidan bat away. He doubled his speed, rushing forward; Dean mustn’t know. Aidan didn’t want to see the sad look in his eyes and hear the ‘I’m sorry, mate, but I don’t feel the same.’ He could almost taste that one coming, thank you very much.
Aidan darted past make-up-people and crew, just wanted to be alone for a moment. Just when he threw the door of the little washing room shut behind him, Aidan gave in. He lowered the hand he had pressed over his mouth on his way here to suppress the shuddering sobs threatening to break free. He stumbled to the wall and sank down on the floor, small tremors shaking his entire body as he now gave freely into the sobbing. He curled into a ball and started crying into his knees, the sleeves of Kílis tunic getting wetter with every minute but he couldn’t for the life of him care.
Again, the darkness began looming on the edges of his visions, threatening to swallow him, pull him down; the ugly black hole in his chest started to slowly drown him. His own sobs echoed from the walls and that was why he didn’t hear the door being opened. He realized he wasn't alone anymore when hands reached for his arms, gently tugging him forward.
‘No…I – don’t want to…’
‘Hush, it’s alright. I’m here, everything’s going to be fine.’
He was pulled forward against a broad chest, inhaled the scent of fake blood and mud and wet fur, mingled with the faintest hint of a deodorant and perfume he knew all too well.
For a long moment, Aidan tried to struggle and wiggle free from the grasp, but strong arms wrapped themselves around his upper body and refused to let go. Then he finally gave in, let himself be pulled into a lap. He didn’t dare to open his eyes while Dean gently rocked him, his hands stroking his back soothingly.
Never before had their embrace been so gentle and calming, sweet even. The words murmured into his ear with a hoarse voice, not at all lewd this time but smooth as silk.
Warm fingers tugged on his own, cupped his cheek and lifted his head.
‘Look at me, Aid. Please?’ Dean's voice was low and careful, for the first time since Aidan knows him. Hesitating, Aidan opened first one, then the second eye. And there was Dean, his face just inches away from Aidan’s, no disgust or pity in his eyes – only understanding.
‘I…I…’ Aidan had no idea what he wanted to say, what he should say. He swallowed, tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips. All words had left him, together with all coherent thoughts. He could only stare at Dean, dumbstruck - but apparently, that was enough.
Deans mouth twitched in a funny way, almost as if he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to cry and his eyes were wet with emotion and realization.
‘I know, Aidan. I know.’
That was all. Then Dean tilted his head, hesitated. It was Aidan himself who closed the distance between them, softly brushing his lips against Dean’s in a tender kiss.
And Aidan closed his eyes, let himself be drawn into Dean’s warm embrace, felt his warm lips on his own. He didn’t think about tomorrow or next week.
In this moment there was nothing left for him but to close his eyes and simply feel.

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