Title: Chasing Ian.

Author: Kristina [[email protected]]

Pairing: Elijah Wood / Ian McKellen

Rating: R

Status: WIP. Exists in a different universe than ‘Man for all Seasons’.

Archive: BTF, Love for Sir Ian.

Feedback: Yes, please! Especially since this is a WIP. But please no complaints about the subject matter, read the warning.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is not affiliated with any of the individuals mentioned in this piece of fiction. The author is not insinuating anything about the mentioned individuals. No money whatsoever is made on this. Any similarities to actual events are purely coincidental. Again, this is fiction derived from the author’s imagination, nothing else. ‘Chasing Amy’ is a Kevin Smith film that I do not own in any way, shape or form. It belongs completely to View Askew.

Summary: Who says that every aspect of the relationship between Elijah and Ian would be idyllic? Who says Elijah is even ready to handle Ian? Here be jealousy, insecurities and mean, nasty behaviour.

Warnings: Explicit talk about explicit sex. Kink.

AR: Again, in this fic current RL-partners are married to someone else. I love to use RL in my fics, except when it gets in the way of the pairing. It could also be set in the future.

AN: I said I would never write another Ian/Lij fic, but instead stick to the stories I had already invented. But this plot bunny begged to be written and I couldn’t resist. I am such a pushover. The plot bunny was that the relationship between Ian and Elijah was suffering from the ‘Chasing Amy’ syndrome. This fic is NOT a re-enactment of the film, and does not follow the plotline of the film, (and you definitely need not have seen it in order to understand this story), but revolves around one of the film’s themes. Which one, you’ll soon see. <g> I guess in a very vague way this could be seen as containing spoilers for ‘Chasing Amy’, which you should all see anyway. It *does* however contain a very un-vague spoiler for ‘Anything that moves’. Finally, in addition to my disclaimer, I would like to add that I seriously doubt Ian to be anything like this. Or to have been anything like this, rather. You’ll see what I mean.

Betad by Elanor who is a total star.

***

[ ]=Italics

For Joanne

"Maturity is a magical thing. Now you see it. Now you don’t." –Peter McWilliams.

It’s one of those things; you can’t pinpoint just exactly when they begin. One of those things that, blatantly declare to you one day that they’ve already begun ages ago. Elijah doesn’t know when it began. He doesn’t know when he started thinking of these matters. All he knows, is that one day it suddenly dawned on him. His lover has had a lot of lovers.

Elijah doesn’t know just what about this realisation is supposed to be a revelation. He’s known all this before. He’s heard Ian mention his old flings and serious relationships from time to time. He’s met the ex-boyfriend in New York when he walked into the Broadhurst Theatre. Elijah knows that a sixty-three year old probably has extensive experience by now. Especially a sixty-three year old as lovely as Ian. Elijah knew all this before. It just never dawned on him.

Elijah also doesn’t know just exactly when the feeling of discomfort started creeping up on him. All he knows is that one day he suddenly had a problem with what he had realised. He doesn’t know why he has a problem with it. He just does.

So, he doesn’t know what made him realise that Ian has had a lot of lovers, or what makes him have a problem with this realisation. He doesn’t know about these things. They just are.

He thinks it might be the number of photographs that Ian has in his possession. Dozens upon dozens of stacks of photo albums tucked into the bookshelves on the bottom floor of the house. Dozens and dozens of them. The first time he looked through them was on a damp and hot summer night. Elijah was more than slightly inebriated when, fed up with boredom, he pulled out one of the stacks and unceremoniously dropped down on the floor.

"Come. Lecture me." He’d been too drunk of course, and too tired, to keep up with Ian’s detailed descriptions of years of work - and family life. Directors, venues, play-wrights, fellow actors, friends, distant relatives, all those English names of towns and places that all sound the same, who of Jean’s children her grandchildren belong to; all this information Elijah could not possibly process in his inebriated state. All, except for one thing: the number of times Ian had come across a picture of someone he described as a lover, or simply got a look in his eyes that resembled either fondness or nostalgia. The frequency of this was something that Elijah could not help but notice, even if he didn’t reflect on it at the time. Maybe it was there and then that he knew what he later realised, he just wasn’t aware of it?

Elijah thinks he should stop psychoanalyzing himself.

He finds himself paying more attention to the people Ian introduces him to. To looks and body language. He thinks that maybe he can detect who has been a lover of Ian’s by simply looking hard enough. Of course, it is always a tough call with Ian, for he is always so physically affectionate and generous with endearments. Elijah finds himself every so often asking his boyfriend whether or not he knows so and so in the biblical sense. Ian thinks nothing of it at first, but simply satisfies his young lover’s curiosity. He is too happy and too busy to think to analyse it further.

They have a good life. Or rather, two lives plus a bi-continental love life. Everything is going smoothly. The perfect combination of means and obligations ensures that they do not see each other too often, yet have the means to do both that and make long distance telephone calls whenever they want to.

Elijah likes the arrangement. He is still very much his own man. He knows he would be even if they lived together, but he wants to keep his life the way it is. He finds himself more sick of London with each visit. The same bad weather, the same baked beans, the same chatty tea breaks. Those fucking crumpets. The endless stream of visitors and children. Little girls and boys who blush, and gasp, and follow him around the house with saucer-sized eyes. Over time he has perfected his good boy routine at tea. He has taken over the serving duties from Ian. Fetching honey. Pouring milk. Slicing cake. It gives him something to do between long moments of sitting quietly with his head in his hands watching his boyfriend catch up on the latest. He tries to do good and pay attention, but it’s hard when he doesn’t know any of the people or places being mentioned. He answers politely whenever he is asked a question, and soon earns the reputation of the quiet, serious, young man. More than the weather, it’s the feeling that he will never truly belong to Ian’s world that causes his growing disinterest with this place.

Seeing Ian is always wonderful though, and more than makes up for whatever small discomforts he has to endure. When they meet in Los Angeles, Elijah tends to lock Ian up in his small house and not let him out. He wants to keep him to himself. Is that such a crime?

One night in London finds Ian in a heated discussion with Judi Dench about biologism and the social construct of the human gender. It’s a good-natured argument, the kind old friends have from time to time, and Elijah knows that Ian is losing big time. He likes Judi. She treats him like he is an ordinary person instead of The American with a capital A, and he doesn’t have to have worry that [she] is an old fling of Ian’s.

"Like you would know anything about that, Ian," he decides to join the winning team. Ian grins wickedly and stage whispers over his Dr. Pepper; "Oh, I’m more experienced than you think. I’ve had a shot at bisexuality." Elijah doesn’t see Ian’s hand getting slapped, doesn’t hear the awed exclamations of "Bastard," "Oh my," and "Why didn’t you tell me before?" Oddly enough, he feels more hurt than surprised by the confession. He tries not to feel jealous as Ian’s hand is covered with one of hers. Why hasn’t he heard about this before?

"It would have been a shame to never test the waters. I mean, how can you really know if you never try it? So I did, well once or twice, and it wasn’t my cup of tea. I realized I really did prefer Earl Grey over Lady Grey. Too much cream." Ian smiles, and his eyes glaze over for a second. "Lovely lass, though."

Elijah tries not to imagine what Ian must have looked like when he was younger. A gorgeous, dark-haired angel, not afraid of experimenting. He wonders what else Ian experimented with. He knows about the absinthe, and the few pipes of weed, but he never suspected there might be more. In the taxi back he sits quiet while trying [not] to think of who this woman might be, trying [not] to think of the pictures he’s seen, trying [not] to think of Susan Sarandon circa 1981 sitting next to Ian, champagne glass in hand.

He remembers the Vanity Fair-party after the Academy Awards in 2002. How he’d had tequila shots with Orli and drunk himself into a stupor, finally being able to relax after days of nervous anticipation. At first he’d been upset that they’d lost to that fucking Ron Howard film with that fucking Russell Crowe, but as the alcohol burned in his system he found himself happier with each passing moment. So they’d lost. Big deal. They had two more chances to collect the Big One, and Ron Howard was really talented, and Crowe’s part kiwi and can therefore not be all bad. Yeah, he was quite happy. Just the fact that they were there, that he’d made it to the Oscars, was in itself amazing and something to be proud of. It hadn’t been easy getting Orli to himself. The Brit had been endearingly star struck and gushed at celebrities that wanted to shake his hand. Elijah had finally managed to pull him away for some private conversation. And a whole lot of tequila shots.

He remembers teasing Orli about being so star struck. He remembers the jokes about the other guests and the decadent industry. He remembers how they’d agreed that there were probably few people not trying to pick someone up that night. He remembers Orli's wicked eyes as he made a comment about Ian being known to succeed in that department. He remembers asking just exactly what Orli meant, and the drunken slurs that spoke of rumors and gossip, tidbits picked up at drama school. He remembers shaking his head and smiling fondly: "Naw… Trust me, he’s not like that." He’d picked up a cigarette and sucked it compulsively without lighting it. The slurring across the table had continued.

"Oh come on. He’s a kinky one. You can see it in his eyes. The wickedness is written all over."

Elijah had been puzzled, confused, and more than a bit annoyed. "Look, Orli. I think I know my own boyfriend. Ian’s a bloody teddy bear! Come on, this is the guy who drinks the same tea every fucking morning. He’s all about smiles and kisses. Trust me on this one. He’s [not] like that." Elijah can remember being greeted with a warm smile and a "whatever-you-say"-shrug.

"Those were the days, huh?" Elijah keeps his tone light, as he watches Ian handle his correspondence the next day. Ian looks up from the desk "What?" Elijah thinks that Ian is cute like this, absorbed by paperwork, curious eyes studying him through wire-rimmed glasses. Elijah takes a sip of beer. "The 70’s. And the 80’s. I was just thinking that you were there. So you could tell me what it was like."

"Mmm." Ian shrugs and returns his gaze to the flat surface of his desk. "What is it you want to know?"

Elijah tries to look casual as he ventures into this unknown territory. "Well, was it as wild as they say? I mean, I’ve seen lots of films and I’ve heard stuff."

"That depends on who you ask. Everything is relative, this too. Yes, there was a lot of partying and disco fever. There was also the Moral Majority, and Thatcher. I can assure you that it wasn’t any "wilder" than the 1990’s, or indeed, the present age. Trust me, forty years from now, your children will ask you the same thing."

Elijah winces at the unspoken statement and takes another sip of his drink. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But I was thinking more of you. Since I know you were out and about then…" He doesn’t say ‘young’ since he doesn’t want to insinuate that Ian is too old to be wild, and he does indeed [not] want a lecture right now. Ian turns his head to smile at him. "You’re wondering if I was wild." Elijah nods, grateful that he has managed get his message across. Ian continues writing. "Well, I was about as wild as I am now. I am saying this so you do not mistake me for some bored, boring, old Tory". He says the last bit with a grin. "But yes, I was different. I was very impulsive when younger, and I did some things that look plain stupid today. I wasn’t quite as angry as people say I was, although I tried very hard to live up to that image. I was a different actor then for sure, because I used up so much energy hiding part of myself in my every day life. And well, I had certain interests that I don’t maintain today."

Elijah takes a moment to catch his breath. He tries to find a way to [not] sound like a stupid little kid.

"What interests?" He can almost hear the seconds ticking by before Ian answers, still immersed in correspondence.

"This has to do with what you mean by "wild", does it not?" This time, Elijah doesn’t have to nod. Ian knows what he’s getting at. "I can honestly say that I probably did most of the things you associate with that time. Nothing that doesn’t go on today, mind you."

Elijah’s heart is beating loudly, and he waits a few moments for Ian to elaborate. When that doesn’t happen, he is forced speak up. "What did you do?"

Ian sighs and gives him a long look. "I tried some drugs, nothing heavy of course, and I never have since. Such a disgusting thing to do really, willingly give yourself over to something that changes your personality and clouds your mind, no matter how temporarily." He folds the sheet of paper and stuffs it in an envelope. He pulls out another sheet and picks up his pen. "I drank a lot of champagne, although to you non-tee-totalists that is more of a virtue than a vice." He grins at this. "And… I took part in some not so traditional sexual practices. Of course, in those days, any kind of sex between men was un-traditional. At least officially."

Elijah is sure that Ian can hear his heartbeat by now. He is growing irritated by Ian’s discretion. He needs to hear the whole truth, and that now. He takes care to make his next question specific enough that it will be his last. "What did you do exactly… sexually? Tell me. I want to know everything".

Ian looks up from his letter to his stepmother, and is quiet for a while, mentally recollecting his experiences. Then he begins. "I had one-night stands, although not as many as you might think. I had a couple of… orgies, I guess you could call them, and a few more threesomes. My boyfriends and I used to swing a bit. Hmm… Let me see. I mostly slept with people I cared about or admired, friends and co-workers and such. Idols of mine. I had the fortune of enjoying the attentions of a few legendary actors. I didn’t really pick up someone I didn’t know and shag him senseless, although as I said, I did do that a few times. Nothing I regret, but nothing I’d do again. There was the woman I told you about, and I can assure you that it was just the two of us that time. Then there was a bit of role-play, most of it in monogamous relationships, although not as much as one might think. I think I was so tired from pretending to be someone else all day that I didn’t want to do it when I came home. There was some medium heavy S&M, of which I practiced, and enjoyed, both roles. There was definitely no exhibitionism, because you wouldn’t want to get caught consorting with another man, now would you? There was a place though, a little club in Soho where you could get away from the public eye for a while, and…well, do whatever you felt like in front of friendly people. Hmm. What else? I cross-dressed once, but it was just for fun. I didn’t get off on it. I once shagged a fella who wanted to be called Your Majesty when he was giving head. Well, that’s about it, I guess. Nothing very spectacular. Have I satisfied your curiosity?" His voice is soft, and he has not once lifted his eyes from the letter.

Elijah doesn’t answer. He can’t answer, because his mind is too busy taking in the surrealism of the situation. The very casual way in which his boyfriend just recited a long list of activities Elijah could not possible have believed him capable of, makes him half-expect Ian to say "Got you!" and reveal it all to be a joke. Elijah doesn’t think it’s a joke, though.

His gaze is lost on Ian’s long, smooth fingers handling the pen, and he imagines those same fingers stroking another man’s cock. "Damn!" The shout startles him, and he looks up. Ian turns to him and smiles sweetly. "I broke the pen." Elijah can feel his stomach turning, as Ian sighs and picks up a new pen from his beloved "The World’s Greatest Uncle" mug.

Elijah pulls up his knees and wraps his arms around them. He’s going to be sick, he thinks. He is going to be sick. He is going to be sick. He is going to be…

"Love?" He looks up into the eyes of the man he has loved for most of his adult life and hopes to see humor and wickedness there, but finds only fondness. "You seem tired. You should go to bed. I tell you what, this is my last letter, why don’t you go brush your teeth while I finish up? Okay?" The voice is so gentle, and the eyes so full of love, that Elijah wants to weep and drown himself in comfort, but he feels only numbness.

When he stands before the large oaken bed, Elijah has calmed himself to an admirable degree. His breathing is quite even now, and the beating of his heart doesn’t hurt anymore. All physical symptoms of shock are gone, now there is only numbness. And a hint of pain. He hasn’t allowed one thought, rational or otherwise, to linger in his head. This seems to be the best way to ensure that unwilling images and unpleasant truths are kept at bay. It seems to be the safest approach.

He hears the familiar footsteps behind him, and he doesn’t have to look to know the expression of infatuation and amusement on Ian’s face. "Got stuck, sweetie?" Elijah pulls off his socks and drops them onto the plush, thick carpet. He slides his body between soft cotton sheets and feels for the first time how tired he is, despite his supposed youth. He doesn’t want to think of what happened just now. He doesn’t want to think of anything except the feel of fabric against his skin.

Included in that vast group of topics is of course the other person in the room. Ian carefully sets his glass of water on the bedside-table, before he sits down on his side of the bed and kicks off his slippers. Elijah lies still on his back and gazes up at the ceiling. He instinctively reacts to the touches, to the arm wrapped around him, to the soft hand on his cheek. "Who could possible resist such a sweet puss like this, huh?"

His smile is an instant reaction to the purrs in his ear. He loves this man, more than he’s ever loved anyone else. No one has ever known him like this, inside and out. He realises that Ian will soon think that something is wrong, and there isn’t really, just Elijah being stupid. He turns in Ian’s embrace and buries his face in a warm chest. "I’m totally beat, Ian. I’m really tired. Sleep will do me good, you’ll see." His nose is full of Ian-smell, a lovely honeyed version of musk, and he rubs his cheek against the warm skin. Ian’s steady heartbeat pounds in his ear as the owner of the chest drifts off to sleep. The heart is still strong, Elijah thinks. Ian might live to be a hundred. He has cuddled up like this more times than he can remember. This time it’s different though.

Despite his efforts to keep them out, unpleasant thoughts sip into his mind. Thoughts of other hands touching soft skin. Other smells mingled with the familiar musk. The pain in his chest is quite physical as the thoughts parade around in his head. It’s jealousy, he realises, mingled with something else. Disapproval? Disappointment? He’s so stupid. Stupidstupidstupid. He asked for it, he knows that. There’s also embarrassent. Embarrassment over his strong reaction, over what he’s thinking now. He’s being childish, he realises that. Both childish [and] stupid. There’s a strong feeling of regret thrown into the mix, too. He regrets asking Ian, he thinks, he’s truly sorry that he asked.

[No.] Realisation suddenly hits him, clearer and more painful than his jealousy. He isn’t sorry that he asked. He’s sorry that the answer wasn’t different.

End part 1.