Ian McKellen took a deep breath as he entered the stage. Blue screen work always made him rue the day he had decided to go into films.

The Bridge of Khazad-dum, from which Gandalf the Grey was about to make his exit, had been constructed a few feet above ground level so that the Gandalf in question could dangle precariously from its end. He'd said to Peter the other day that it was just not believable for Gandalf to be able to hold on by his very finger nails for anything more than a few seconds. Peter had agreed and the set had been adjusted so that Ian could dangle believably. That would teach him to keep his mouth shut.

He got into position at the business end of the bridge. He grabbed hold of the bridge and noticed that fully extended his feet were only six inches above the blue mat below. Good.

While the technicians fussed about, arguing about lighting and crumbling masonry, Ian perched on his bridge and fished out his dog eared copy of 'Lord of the Rings', scrabbling through for the pages that dealt with Gandalf's demise. Some of Tolkien's characters were one dimensional at best; happily Gandalf was not one of them. There was amazing depth and colour to the wily old wizard and Ian rejoiced in being able to play such a richly drawn character. Kicking his legs in his voluminous robes and sucking on a lolly, Ian studied the pages. It was always difficult imagining exactly what CGI miracle Peter was envisioning; the director was always willing to describe them in great detail and they had the conceptual artists to help them but Ian often felt a little lost. At such times, Tolkien's always came to the rescue. The Bridge of Khazad-dum was described so elegantly that Ian found himself inching away from the edge as though the bottomless pit existed beneath his swinging feet.

He peered down, imagining in his mind's eye lava, bricks and ash and smoke. He could see the Balrog far below and, all around the demon, the blackest pit stretching for miles. His stomach gave a lurch. This was where Gandalf the Grey perished. Funny how until today he had not given his alter ego's death much thought, possibly because he knew it was not truly the end. But Gandalf the White, while still containing Gandalf's essence, was in reality a totally different character - more vital, more majestic, more godlike. Dear old Gandalf the Grey was homely, witty and the friend of hobbits - and here, bereft of aid, by his own choice he would die.

"Ian."

Someone was calling him. Stuffing the book back in Gandalf's bag, he clambered to his feet and rather than jumping down, he somewhat superstitiously walked along the bridge's length to the 'safe' end. One of the techs was wheeling in a television. Ian couldn't help but grin at the juxtaposition of something so stridently technical next to the gothic architecture of Khazad-dum. He accepted the chair and sat down obediently.

"This is a rough cut of Elijah's reaction to your fall," Peter said, hitting the play. Ian shifted uncomfortably. Perhaps it was the director's practical attitude to Gandalf's death or perhaps it was Peter's use of Elijah's name rather than Frodo's but Ian felt his heart constrict in a painful fashion. His mouth round the lolly had gone dry.

And there he was, his Elijah, his love.

Elijah's reaction was so real, so hurting. Genuine tears ran down his face as he jerked and fought against Boromir's arms. Pain shot through those beautiful blue eyes as Elijah saw Gandalf fall.

The tape snapped off jerking Ian out of his revelry. His heart was pounding. From a distance he heard the television being wheeled away - it squeaked - and heard Peter calling for places.

He took up his position. His heart hammered in time to the mental image of Elijah screaming for him. Like a man walking to the gallows he reached up and caught hold of the bridge's edge, let himself dangle. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He felt sick, dizzy with nausea not only in reaction to Elijah's video but reversed vertigo at knowing he would have to let go soon and plunge to his death. He did not know how Gandalf had done it, how he could knowingly let go. The courage necessary took his breath away.

It was ridiculous. It was stupid. Get a grip, Sir Ian, he berated himself, using his title as he always did when he was mentally upbraiding himself. All that was below him was a very solid floor and a squashy blue mat but in his mind's eye there was nothing but the void of Khazad-dum and a demon from the ancient world. He found himself clenching his eyes tight shut, felt his strength sapping. He had never realised how physically draining it was to support your whole weight on your arms.

They had looped a rope round his ankle to imitate the Balrog's whip and Ian could feel it tugging at him. The pain in his arms and shoulders and chest was becoming excruciating. He felt like he was being torn slowly in half by the pressure. Summoning all his strength, he tried to pull himself up, tried to use his arms to hoist himself over the precipice to safety but it was no use - the combined weight of wizard and Balrog was too much. With a cry he dropped down, dangling now by only his finger tips.

Elijah. If he fell, he would never see Elijah again. He summoned up his lover's face, saw the tears, heard the howls of anguish and a rational voice inside him - the same cold voice of reason that whispered to him at two o'clock in the morning - murmured that that was what would happen eventually. Elijah and he would be parted.

"Fly you fools," he cried, feeling the masonry give way.

Either Elijah would grow tired of an old man three times his age or death would cruelly snatch him away from his young lover. As if the words had sapped what strength he had left, Ian felt his fingers slipping.

No! He wouldn't leave Elijah. He wouldn't leave him. He could feel the pain howling in his chest and he knew, quite calmly, that he would go insane from it.

Suddenly another image came to him and he was too weak to fight it. A blue antiseptic room. His fingers clenched reflexively, not round the jagged rock of a make-believe bridge but around the beaten hand of a friend.

Of a lover.

Paul held his gaze, those amber eyes flickering and dying even as Ian watched. Paul squeezed his hand, hardly a pressure at all, then he was gone. Ian dangled there for uncounted seconds, fighting for breath around the pain, the sense of loss.

Then he looked down to where there was only darkness. He fell.

***

Elijah prodded Ian's body until Ian obligingly lifted his arm to let Elijah snuggle close against his chest. He wriggled happily a moment, frowned when the movement solicited nothing from his lover. Ian usually couldn't resist him wriggling his hips. With a discontented pout, Elijah propped his head on Ian's shoulder blade and regarded his lover's face. Ian was staring up at the ceiling, obviously abstracted, obviously a hundred miles away from Elijah's wiggling hips. Elijah nuzzled at Ian's nipples, determined to get a response. His lover, he decided, was just tired.

"Hey," he mumbled, around the pink nub, "I watched the dailies. Mmm. Taste good, baby. The death scene was great. Made me want to cry." He felt Ian shiver; he was becoming worried now but attempted to mask his worry through aimless prattle. "What were you thinking about? How did you get the depth? I bet it was me. I know I was your inspiration. What can I say," Elijah struck a tragic pose. "I am so worth dying for!"

Two seconds later Elijah felt Ian's hands clamp under his arms, lifted him off and away. Before he could utter a protest, Ian was sitting up, his hair looking even more dishevelled than usual. The Englishman sat up very straight and Elijah stilled instantly. There was something very commanding about Ian.

Ian fixed him with a glare that would have sent even the Balrog running and spoke in a nasty sneering voice. "Do you want me to tell you? Do you?"

Elijah could only squeak.

"I was thinking about Paul, my lover."

Elijah distinctly felt his heart shatter. For a second the world seemed to somersault round him. He half fell, half jumped out of bed. Ian was turned away from him, his back rigid. Elijah caught hold of the anger and grief he felt, held it tight to him as he marched round the bed and faced Ian.

"Look at me, " he said in a voice he scarcely recognised himself. "You fuck. You miserable old FUCK! Have you any comprehension how that makes me feel, Ian?"

"This is not a good time to talk Elijah," and Elijah was too wound up with his own anger and rejection to hear the thinness in Ian's voice.

"Excuse me," he bit back sarcastically. "When I was filming my part... All I could think about was you, losing you. But you, you - " He found he couldn't finish. Ian wasn't looking at him and it made him angry as hell. He suddenly grabbed Ian's shoulders, forced his head up.

"Please," Ian said quietly but Elijah was beyond hearing.

"Look at me. That's all I am to you, isn't it? Trophy Boy. A beautiful body to fuck."

Before Ian could answer, Elijah caught up Ian's dressing gown (he didn't have one) and marched out of the room.

***

"It's over," Elijah said.

Sean picked dirt from his hobbit toes. "What happened?"

Elijah gave a nasty smile - almost an exact carbon copy of the one Ian had given last night. "I was just a toy, a plaything."

"Hey, come on Lij." Sean took Elijah's hand in his, rubbed it gently. "That's not like you. Don't get all bitter and twisted on me."

Elijah met his gaze, the tears threatening to fall. "It hurts so much Seanie, I can't breathe."

"Oh baby. C'mere." Sean grabbed Elijah in a big bear hug. "We'll sort it out. I'm your big brother, it'll be okay."

"It's not like when I lock myself out of the house. You can't fix this," Elijah said dolefully.

"Just tell me what happened. You know, Ian's a good guy, perhaps you just over reacted."

He had expected Elijah to go ballistic at the charge - and Elijah in a fit of temper was pretty easy to deal with, you just tickled him until he gave in - but Elijah's eyes were serious and agonised.

"It's always been there, Seanie. I just never admitted it. I'm a fuck up." Elijah chewed on his fingernail, enjoying the shoots of pain. "We'd be together and he'd be kind and thoughtful and loving and all that shit."

"But?"

"He'd never let me in. Not really." he cocked his head at Sean, regarded him solemnly. "What you said about Ian being a good man is right. He's charming, he's witty and warm - but he's like that with everyone. It's just the way he is."

"And this is a problem?"

"Don't you see? I don't know him any better than you do. And I've been fucking him for the last three months!"

***

News travelled quickly round the set: Ian and Elijah had had Words. By afternoon the Words had somehow become a serious Falling Out and by three o'clock it was the generally held belief that Ian was quitting the film in a fit of pique. The fellowship knew better than to attend to gossip but there was most definitely an Atmosphere. Once Peter had called cut, by common silent agreement, the fellowship broke - the hobbits gathered around Elijah while the manly men tackled Ian. The elf and the dwarf ensured onlookers were discouraged.

Ian became aware that he was being tailed to his trailer. He turned sharply, his Gandalf robes flying round his legs. "Yes, gentlemen," he bristled and Bean gave a startled squeak: Ian in full Gandalf mode, frowning from beneath those bushy eyebrows was a sight to behold.

"What's happened between you and Elijah?" Viggo asked, seemingly unperturbed. That kind of bravery, Sean decided, was why Aragorn was going to be king.

Ian gaped at the two for a moment then turned and resumed his walk. Viggo spun him round. "We're the fellowship. Can't keep secrets, Gandalf."

"Oh fuck off," Ian said with uncharacteristic coarseness. Viggo reared back, leaving him to continue alone.

"Bloody hell," said Bean, "It must be bad."

***

The merry go round of filming was so hectic that Elijah didn't have much time to think about his argument or to consider what to do next. He didn't even think about the practical arrangements. If he had, he might have bundled up some things in a bag and gone to stay at Sean's but at the end of the day's filming, he was so tired that he found himself being dropped off outside Ian's house before he realised what was happening. He watched the taxi leave as if it were his last link with sanity. He took a few steps towards the front door, stopped and very nearly turned tail and ran. He wasn't welcome here, it was over. A glimpse of movement behind the glass caught his eye - Ian was watching him. Anger and resentment flared inside him: no way was he going to slink off like a cringing dog. If Ian had a problem then good, Ian could be the one who left. He yanked open the door and glared blue murder at Ian.

"Don't worry," he spat. "I'll take the spare room. I wouldn't want to disturb you and Paul." He was well aware he was acting childishly but he couldn't help adding from half way up the stairs, "I don't do menage a trois."

The evening was miserable. Elijah had got his stubborn head on and refused all invitations (by assorted elves, hobbits and men) to go out, parking himself in the main room and playing his vilest music full blast. His efforts were rather wasted since Ian was conspicuous by his absence having retired to his bedroom immediately. Elijah turned his music even louder and dashed away the tears that fell on the plastic cover.

At eleven Elijah gave up and went to bed. He found linen set out on the spare bed and he fought to get the duvet cover over the duvet. Eventually the thing defeated him and he plopped down on top of it crying hard. The idea of sleeping here, alone without Ian's comforting arm round him, without Ian's warmth spooned against him was horrifying. It seemed claustrophobic and alien to him.

***

Ian stared up at the ceiling, noting drearily that there was a cobweb over the lampshade. He couldn't sleep, couldn't rest. The pounding of Elijah's music had stopped but the silence wasn't comforting, it was isolating. Ian ruffled his hands through his hair and determinedly closed his eyes. It was, he decided trying to sound upbeat and practical, better this way. At least this way they got it over with quickly and cleanly before Ian's heart could be broken again. Definitely for the better.

***

After two hours of clock watching, Elijah gave up on sleep and slouched downstairs in search of food. A thought occurred to him: he hadn't eaten since a burger at midday. Usually he was starving hungry by the time he arrived home and Ian would joke with him about his bottomless tummy even while he fixed him sandwiches and cookies while their main meal cooked. Elijah opened the refrigerator but the idea of food suddenly turned his stomach. He had just closed the door and was contemplating coffee, when the kitchen light flared on and Ian was standing in the doorway. Elijah worked at not flinching. He stood up straight, determined not to look like the thief he felt.

"I couldn't sleep," Ian said. "I see you couldn't either."

Before Elijah could make a smart retort - if and when one presented itself - Ian moved over and began digging about in the freezer. He pulled out some ice cream, hesitated slightly then busied himself with bowls as he said casually, "Would you like some?"

It wasn't much of a peace offering. He wanted to tell Ian where to stick his ice cream and leave in pointed fashion but he couldn't. He mumbled a "Whatever" and perched on the stool, cross legged, so he could keep his toes warm. Ian placed a generous quantity of Haagen Daz in front of him, which he did, Elijah noticed, without once meeting his gaze.

The two ate in silence. Ian poked at his strawberry cheesecake and thought ice cream was probably the worst choice because it took so long to eat. He looked over at Elijah, all crumpled and red eyed. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Ian touched the back of Elijah's wrist and said quietly, "I'm sorry."

"Great. Break out the balloons," mumbled Elijah around a mouthful of cookies and cream.

"I've treated you rather badly, haven't I?"

Elijah looked up, caught Ian's gaze with fiery eyes. "No kidding. D'you think?!"

Ian winced at the sarcasm. "I'm sorry. Again. I wish someone would invent a new word because 'sorry' never seems to quite cover it, does it?" <P<>"The worst of it, every time I see that scene, I'll know ..." Elijah trailed off. Saying the words would open the floodgates but he discovered it was too late anyway. "I'll know you weren't thinking of me! All the years to come! Every time the fucking thing is repeated, every interview I do! I'll know, I'll know!" Elijah wrapped his arms round himself while he tried to fight the tears. He was too angry to cry; he wanted to scream and shout, not cry.

With a low moan, Ian caught Elijah, began to pull him into his arms. Elijah pushed him away, still gulping back the sobs, but Ian was stronger and they ended up perched on the counter top with Elijah's head on Ian's lap.

Eventually the tears eased and Elijah accepted the tissues Ian handed him. He pulled away, looking anywhere than at Ian.

"I wish I could take it back, love. With all my heart I do. And you know," Ian again reached to touch his lover, was repelled, "it's not true that I didn't think of you."

Elijah's head snapped round and now there was fierce anger in his blue eyes. "Don't. It's bad enough already. Don't try to sleaze your way out of this by fucking lying to me, Ian!"

Ian reared back, ran his hands through his hair. He took a deep calming breath. "I'm not lying, Elijah and I think you know me better than that."

Elijah muttered something uncomplimentary.

"I hung there above the blue mats and I was frightened. You know, just occasionally old Gandy gets the better of me. I found myself imagining how he felt."

Elijah sniffled but he was caught by Ian's commentary, his lover's familiar resonant voice soothing him. He understood as a fellow actor what if felt like to be taken over by a character - he still had nightmares about Cirith Ungol.

"What it felt like to knowingly sacrifice himself, how he felt leaving Frodo when the hobbit needed him so very much. Very touching. And I imagined it was me at the end of the precipice, leaving you."

Elijah pouted. "Then why Paul? Why did you ruin it all by thinking of him?"

Ian worked at getting his emotions under control, settled for a slightly sardonic air. "Thinking of death naturally brought him to mind." He wanted to say more but the constriction in his throat wouldn't let him. Instead he mechanically collected and washed the bowls. When he turned back to Elijah, the other had the kind of expression Ian associated with dentist waiting rooms when one is waiting for bad news but still, stubbornly, hoping the drill is not going to make an appearance. He resumed his seat, took Elijah's hand in his.

"You see, Paul died. So many years ago now but ... It's difficult." Elijah regarded him, all hurting and vulnerable. "We were lovers. Briefly."

***

Paul had leapt out of the closet in typically flamboyant fashion while Ian, five years his senior, was still creaking the closet door open and having a peek. Paul was a breath of fresh air; vibrant, amusing and passionate, the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. Ian still remembered with a dizzy sort of light headedness how amazing the sex was, how high he soared both on Paul's passion and his tenderness. They had spent a few mad incautious months together, luxuriating in the sex and the closeness they both missed.

It was while they were finishing their Christmas shopping, crossing the road and teasing each other about the terrible presents they'd bought, that the car appeared out of nowhere. Ian remembered watching as if from a distance as Paul's body was hurled through the air - it was so surreal, it looked just like a dummy.

At the hospital, after an age of pacing and reading god awful magazines, the doctor had taken him into a private room which appeared self consciously aware of its function as the place where Bad News was given. Ian looked at the violent flock wallpaper and the flouncy armchairs as the doctor used every euphemism in the book rather than admit Paul was dying.

"Can I see him?" he'd asked, surprised how well the words came out.

Paul had creaked open one massively swollen eye. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," Ian had lied because it was expected of him.

Paul had smiled, that final smile that all these years later Ian could see so clearly - a smile of amusement and chagrin but mostly the smile of a fighter. "One day you're gonna stop fighting yourself, Ian," he had said very quietly, his voice slurring.

Stricken and exposed, Ian could only stare. Paul sighed slightly as though the passage to the whatever followed was easier than Ian had feared then the light failed. Ian stayed there, holding his lover's dead hand while the nurses and doctors fussed, only moving away when a friend was called to ferry him home.

***

"Ian? Baby, it's okay."

Ian returned to the present with a shudder. He badly needed to blow his nose. He rooted through his dressing gown pockets, found none since Elijah had used the last one, and had to settle for kitchen towel. He blew lustily while busily scrutinising the wallpaper rather than meet Elijah's eyes. "There now. That's better," he mumbled.

"That's the thing with tissues, never find one when you need one."

"Like Bilbo," Ian agreed, "he left Bag End without his pocket handkerchiefs. That will never do."

Elijah suddenly threw his arms round Ian's neck and kissed him hard. "Can we go back to bed now? This counter top is cold."

Ian stared at him, all surprise and a desperate yearning like a kid who thinks he deserves a slap but is rewarded with a cookie. "That would be just what -

"The wizard ordered?" Elijah dropped a kiss on Ian's cheek as he slid down.

***

Ian was amazed and touched beyond words when Elijah climbed back into bed and cuddled close as if nothing bad had happened. He rubbed Elijah's cold feet and fought the traitorous tears. After a few minutes Elijah stirred.

"Is that's why you thought of Paul - because he died?"

"Because Gandalf fell. Died." Elijah didn't miss the correction nor the turn of phrase but for the life of him he didn't understand it. Ian clenched his jaw, blinked furiously. Elijah pulled and tugged at Ian until they had switched positions, Ian cuddled now against his chest. "Tell me."

"It's a complex matter, Elijah, as memories always are. There are so many layers of emotion to bereavement. I suppose I have been in denial." Ian's voice sounded shaky.

"And at Christmas time too. Poor baby!"

"Paul, he was so much more confident and extrovert than I." Ian kissed Elijah's collarbone as he fell deeper into his narrative, talking his way hesitantly through fears and anguish that hadn't seen the light of day for fifteen years. Elijah listened intently, absently sifting his fingers through Ian's hair, but the more Ian talked the more Elijah got the feeling that Ian was deliberately evading the real issue.

"Ian?"

"What love?"

"What do you think he meant?"

"Who?"

"Paul. When he said one day you're gonna stop fighting yourself." He felt Ian tense slightly under his hands and he moved so he could spoon behind his lover protectively. He wrapped his arm more securely round Ian's chest and kissed his ear. "Please, baby?"

Ian leaned back to kiss Elijah but Elijah caught a glimpse, a tell-tale flicker in his eye. "I imagine he was referring to coming out of the closet."

"Is that why you came out?"

"Provided the catalyst, you know. I spent a few weeks feeling very sorry for myself - what's the term you young things use - mooching. I mooched around for a few weeks then I realised that Paul's death had taught me something. That I wasn't going to go through that kind of exclusion and fear again. I came out to my stepmother and sister and discovered, to my enormous chagrin, that they already knew. Well once I'd started I found I couldn't shut up. One critic said I acted like an evangelist. Tremendously cathartic." Ian gave a gusting sigh, one of those let's-change-the subject sighs and said lightly, "I'm a silly old sausage, aren't I?"

Elijah giggled at Ian's old fashioned language but there was an undercurrent to Ian's voice, like a man who has dodged something painful and thinks he has got away with it. Ian relaxed back against him and Elijah felt his lover's heart beat slow. Elijah pressed his head against the back of his shoulder and gnawed thoughtfully on his nail.

***

They were arguing about the music as Ian drove them home from their weekly shopping excursion. Elijah twiddled through the stations until he found a hip hop beat, Ian immediately switched to light jazz. Elijah slapped his hands away. "Stop that, you're supposed to be watching the road. Besides it's my turn to choose."

Ian snapped his gaze away from the road long enough to spear his lover with a particularly nasty glower. "You lying hobbit. I should wash your mouth out with soap and water. As I recall you had your choice this morning."

"You are so the liar! Sir Ian McKellen, you should be ashamed of yourself, that's no way for a Knight of the British Empire to behave."

They both pouted, enjoying the argument immensely. Elijah's hand stroked Ian's thigh gently and Ian removed his hand from the gear stick to cover it for a moment. "The only answer - since you refuse to do the honourable thing and confess yourself a filthy liar - is to pick a radio station at random."

Elijah twirled the dial. Boy George. He rolled his eyes - at least it wasn't ABBA which occasionally Sean tortured him with. Ian was singing along, tapping out the rhythm on the back of Elijah's hand: "I'm a man without conviction, I'm a man who doesn't knooow!" he lisped, camping it up outrageously. Elijah giggled. Another song began and Ian suddenly stopped his antics and his face, always so very expressionate and animated, stilled. Elijah felt he was holding his breath until the mystery song finished and Ian flicked the radio off.

"If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting," Ian murmured as if lost in memories. The Brit caught Elijah's gaze, seemed to snap back to the present all at once. "Cyndi Lauper I believe. Ah Lij. It was our song, mine and Paul's."

***

Two days before the accident they'd had one of those silly arguments that start over ridiculous trivial things, when you are both feeling grumpy and tired, and quickly escalate out of control. This argument, Ian recalled, had started because Ian used to dust in Paul's presence which the other swore triggered his allergies. Fifteen years on, Ian still avoided Mr Sheen furniture polish.

"I moved in with you, didn't I? Or am I imagining it. No, hang on, you're right I am just an illusion. See, I can pass my hand through my body."

"Grow up, for fuck's sake Ian! Moved in? You don't live here! You still keep your place going. When you write to your stepmother what address do you put? How many friends have you told??"

"We fuck every night - "

"Ah, you said it. We fuck. I fuck my dick inside you but that's all. We don't make love."

"Don't chop semantics with me. All right we make love. Happy?"

"Will you listen to yourself. You can't even say the word, not without looking away." Paul caught Ian's hand, kissed the palm softly, deliberately trying to cool them both off. He sought Ian's gaze, trying in vain for that connection. "What are you so afraid of?"

Ian snorted in derision but Paul pressed on. "I'll tell you: commitment. You're afraid to love me. God, Ian how long are you going to fight yourself?"

"This isn't a big deal - "

"If you fall, I will - "

"Don't! You're beginning to sound like a broken record - which incidently is what Cyndi Lauper is going to be if you don't turn her off!"

"Ian please! I want you. All of you. Not just the hot sex. I want Ian McKellen in my bed."

Ian didn't have the words, couldn't find an answering echo in his own heart so he sought to bridge the gap through sex. He grabbed Paul, pushed him down onto the sofa where he held him in place with a heavy hand on his chest while he jerked his trousers down to his knees with the other. Paul watched unhappily, caught Ian's mouth for a kiss. "Slow down," he murmured and to Ian's actor's ears there seemed to be so many emotions in his voice, emotions Ian couldn't face. So he pretended not to hear him, diverting his attention by swooping down on his erection and sucking it hard. When Paul was keening for release, Ian leaned away and dizzily removed his own clothes. His heart felt heavy in his chest and for a moment all he wanted to do was cry - then he angrily shoved the thought away, telling himself it was just the adrenaline or the aftermath of their argument, anything rather than admit the truth. He rolled on a condom and Paul wrapped his legs round him. He met his gaze, saw love and tenderness there but also a great sadness. He looked away, keeping his eyes closed the whole time. It took a long time to climax. And in the background Paul's favourite song repeated.

***

Sunday. No wake up calls, no script meetings, no Feet. They lingered over jam and toast in bed while Ian read the newspaper and occasionally shared an article with Elijah. Elijah snuggled against Ian's bare chest and listened to the deep rumble of the man's voice resonate in his ribcage. After last night, Ian was pleased to note that Elijah did not bring up the subject of Paul again. It was like a reprieve, a stay of execution. The call sheets for Tuesday showed he'd be filming Gandalf's demise again but for now he had every intention of forgetting the whole unsettling business. He did not want to admit how much it had affected him and so adopted a mood of transparent cheerfulness.

Elijah was not fooled. He watched Ian potter about the place while he was playing on his gameboy, noticed the swiftly summoned smiles and slightly preoccupied air as though Ian's energies were directed inwards. Elijah sighed and worried nervously on his nails before coming to a decision. He finished the game and wandered into the garden where Ian was watering the plants. It was very hot and bright and he had to squint. Ian was wearing the T shirt Elijah had bought him last shopping trip and a panama hat. Elijah walked over the grass enjoying the heat and texture under his bare feet.

"Hey."

"Hello there. I was wondering how long you were going to stay cooped up destroying your IQ on that benighted computer when you could be out here in the sun."

"Funny guy. Listen, I'm gonna go out for an hour or so. Need to get a few things." He tried to keep it casual, just another routine chore to do. Ian looked surprised then his smile switched on.

"Certainly. Will you be back for dinner?"

"Sure. I'll see you later." Elijah picked up his car keys and cell phone and pecked Ian's cheek before making for the exit.

***

The HMV store was one of Elijah's favourite places in the universe; he could spend the whole afternoon clicking happily through all the bright and shiny CD's, however, there was a problem. Pouting in irritation he punched numbers on his cell and waited.

"Hello?"

"Hey Seanie."

"Lij, what you up to?"

"Buying a CD."

Sean snorted. "Does Ian know. I thought you promised to cut back? CD Junkie!"

Elijah dismissed the matter out of hand. "That's different, this is a special CD."

"'Special' to you has a different definition to the rest of us."

"It's for Ian and I need your help."

"Okay." Sean didn't sound too convinced.

"There's this song I heard on the radio - Ian really likes it and I want to buy it for him. It was an 80's song."

"An 80's song, that narrows it down. Good work, Lij."

"It was a female artist." Elijah was using his wheedling tone - the one he used to get Sean to pick up his dry cleaning.

Sean sighed, settling in for the long haul. "Okay, Madonna? Toyah? Er Bananarama?"

Elijah remembered Ian saying the name, it was just he couldn't remember it. It was there on the tip of his tongue. "Leopold? Leopard!"

"Def Leppard. You know I really don't think that's Ian's kinda music Lij." Sean went off into peals of delighted laughter at the image of Ian, in torn jeans and leather jacket, head banging away to Def Leppard.

"Not Def Leppard. Will you stop that? You're not helping. The lyrics were ..." Elijah trailed off, looked round to make sure no-one was within earshot, "If you fall I will catch you. I will be waiting. Time after time."

"What? All I heard was someone scalding a cat."

Elijah promised himself darkly that the next practical joke would be played on his big brother hobbit. "Very funny, you're killing me, Seanie. Come on, man, I need you on this one!" He berated himself for doing this over the phone - if he were face to face he could have turned on his puppy dog eyes.

"Okay, okay. Sing it again."

"If you're fucking with me Astin, so help me - " Elijah took a deep breath and crooned the lyrics again.

"Cyndi Lauper," Sean said at once and Elijah had the impression his best mate had been stringing him along for the past five minutes. He was too pleased to care. He broke the call, practically skipped back into the shop and rifled through for Cyndi Lauper's albums.

***

Ian smiled as Elijah came back into the garden. He kissed his cheek gently. "Confess, Elijah. How much money have you spent? Where is the convoy of trucks needed to deliver home your purchases?"

His lover didn't pick up on the teasing; in fact he looked unusually solemn. "I've bought you a present. Come inside."

Ian raised an eyebrow. Judging by Elijah's rather sepulchral tone, the present in question could very well be a set of thumb screws. He slipped off his hat and ran his hands through his rather damp hair as he followed. Ian had the distinct feeling this was leading to something climatic. "I never liked big scenes, Elijah," he said going for a tone of sardonic irony but coming out with something closer to fear.

Elijah was gnawing on his nail. He plopped down on the settee, Ian sitting close but not touching. He scanned Elijah's face for clues but found none.

"I .. I thought you might like this," Elijah said into the silence that followed and handed over the present. Ian smiled on cue, muttering polite nothings. He slipped off the ribbon and carefully unwrapped the gift. He knew immediately that it was a CD and tried to lighten the mood by asking if it was a tool set.

"Cyndi Lauper," he said when he'd opened it, going for the original line. He turned the CD over, made a show of studying it. This was like at Christmas when a dotty old aunt had knitted you a ghastly sweater and you were trying to think of something polite to say. Ian had the feeling Elijah was watching him very closely.

"I thought - you know, after we heard it in the car, you might like to hear it properly."

Suddenly Ian's mood which had been more bewildered than anything turned sour. He looked down at the CD with something close to dislike; the last thing he wanted was to listen to that song again. "Thank you," he heard himself say.

Elijah paused as though steeling himself then messed with the stereo and the remote. Ian gritted his teeth. 'If you fall I will catch you.' Cyndi's lyrics, Paul's words uttered a thousand times until they became almost his motto. Ian remembered how he had loved and hated that song. It made him feel a part of Paul, a part of his lover's courage and strength and yet at the same time, made him feel excluded because he had known, deep down in his heart, that he did not have the same courage himself.

"When are you going to stop fighting, Ian?" Paul's last words - and yet they were being spoken here and now by Elijah.

"You planned this?" It was a stupid thing to say but safe.

"I finally figured out what Paul meant. You were running from commitment then, you're running from it now."

Ian smiled a nasty smile, one Elijah had seen on his face a scant few nights ago. "For one so young, you seem remarkably in tune with my motivations."

"This isn't easy, Ian. Because I love you and I want you."

Ian closed his eyes, fought for control. "And you are under the impression that I do not love you?" It was almost too difficult to say like uttering the words would breathe validity into the statement.

"I know you love me. But ... Paul was right, you're fighting the whole time. I don't know if you're fighting yourself or us but there's always a barrier. A private you that you never let me touch."

"Come on, Elijah, we all have secrets."

"It's about falling, Ian." Elijah sniffed morosely and automatically Ian handed him a tissue. "I can't go on like this, you see. I won't be another Paul."

"That was fifteen years ago - "

"I want your heart and soul. Nothing less. It's like one of those trust games - did you do those in your Actors' workshop? Where one person has to lean back and back until he falls and the guy behind catches him. If you fall I will catch you."

"It's just a song lyric, Elijah," Ian made a deprecating sweep of his arms, "and not a very good one. I always preferred Queen myself."

"See? You're doing it again! Whenever I try to talk to you about something serious, you hide behind jokes. I don't know if Paul would have worked out but I do know we don't stand a chance with this in the way."

"And if there is nothing more to give?"

Elijah smiled a sad but determined smile. "All or nothing Ian." He sucked in a deep breath as though he had only just remembered to breathe then he stood up a little shakily. "I'm going to go to bed. Give you some thinking space." He waved his hand vaguely and rather awkwardly left the room. Ian sat watching the play of sun and shadows on the carpet and listened to Cyndi Lauper.

***

Ian appeared in the doorway. Elijah felt his breath catch in his throat for tears shimmered in Ian's eyes, emphasising the sapphire. He came over to the bed and Elijah could see he was carrying something - ice cream. Despite himself, he couldn't help but smile.

"I'm a silly old sausage, aren't I?" Ian said, smiling shyly.

Elijah could only shake his head, mesmerised by this new Ian. It was like all of his emotions were on show for Elijah to see. Ian sat down, caught his mouth for a deep kiss. He moaned softly as Ian rubbed the back of his neck. "You know what I'd like?" Ian rumbled, that wonderful Gandalf rumble that always had Elijah's toes curling in delight.

"What?"

"I want you to fuck me."

Elijah ogled at him, struck by a sudden hunger that was almost frightening. To take Ian, to plunge inside him - he groaned loudly, crushing their mouths together hotly. Ian broke away with a startled gasp but his eyes were dancing. The knight stood up and began to undress, slowly, achingly slowly. Elijah wriggled uncomfortably, feeling his erection crush against his jeans. But he couldn't move, his gaze fixed on Ian's body as the man stripped for him. There was something wildly erotic about watching Ian for Ian, standing tall and proud, was commanding his undivided attention. Ian slipped out of his boxers, threw them to the side. He traced Elijah's collarbone, a strangely erotic touch and Elijah pressed into the touch instinctively. Ian, grinning a little wickedly, scraped out a dollop and held the spoon for Elijah.

"What flavour?" Elijah asked though it was patently obvious.

"Cookies and cream, just like you."

Elijah's tongue flicked out at the ice cream then he sucked it off the spoon to hold it in his mouth. He reached up, sharing the ice cream with Ian. After a few more spoonfuls, Ian twinkled again and pointed to his own nipple. "There," he said and Elijah shivered not only at the erotic image but at the deep need in Ian's voice. He warmed the ice cream slightly in his mouth before suckling the nipple into his mouth, swirling the ice cream around it. Ian gave a little ooh and shuddered under the hot cold sensation. Elijah grinned and scooped up another mouthful, treating his other nipple to the same routine. Ian leaned down, kissed him again, urging Elijah to kneel up while he unfastened the younger man's shirt and slipped it off.

Ian deepened their kisses while with his free hand, he pulled Elijah's fly open. Elijah gasped, his mouth opening wide and Ian took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His hand pumped at Elijah's cock; the younger man grabbed Ian's shoulders to keep himself upright. Then Ian was tugging him, pulling him gently to his feet. Dizzy, he complied, watched as Ian worked his jeans and boxers down his thighs and off. He stepped out of them having to grab at Ian again to retain his balance. Ian kissed him again, hard then dropped to his knees. Elijah almost howled as he felt Ian take him in his mouth. It had never been like this between them before: Ian had been funny and kind and jolly but never so commanding and passionate. Ian suckled him avidly for a few minutes, nuzzling his shaft, his balls, before taking him deeply. Elijah found himself rearing up on tiptoes, the sensation was so strong. Eventually Ian pulled away, licked his lips as though Elijah were a very fine wine. Elijah cupped his face, caught once again by those blue eyes.

"Look at me," Ian said, all throaty and needy. He slid a gentle hand, so at variance with the passionate eyes, up Elijah's inner thigh, caressed the join there. Never taking his eyes off Elijah, he nuzzled him again, just the head while his free hand pumped him expertly. Elijah gasped and writhed, holding onto the wall and Ian's shoulder to stay upright. Ian was still looking up at him and the knowledge of that sent him over the edge.

Elijah collapsed backwards, so fuzzy feeling that he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Ian had sucked all his bones from his body. Ian, still kneeling, shifted over him, kissed his lips. "You know," he said, all delighted amusement, "the rest of this ice cream's going to melt."

Elijah groaned, pulled himself together enough to lean up on his elbows. "That would be unforgivable. Your turn."

Ian finally got up off the floor and passed his lover the ice cream. Elijah giggled, a plan forming in his mind. He pushed Ian down to lie full length on the bed and, grinning, rolled the ice cream carton up his body from his foot to his shoulder. Ian shuddered under the coldness. Elijah grinned some more. He held the carton over Ian's left nipple while gently suckling on the other. The simultaneous heat / cold feeling had Ian crying out and bucking madly. Elijah scooped out a generous dollop onto his fingers which he held for Ian to suckle and they lay there, Elijah suckling Ian's nipple, Ian licking Elijah's fingers. Eventually Ian decided he couldn't take any more. He grabbed Elijah's hand, pressed it against his own aching erection.

"There's going to be cream without any cookies if you carry on, love." He grabbed at Elijah's spiky hair until the man crawled up on top of him to kiss him. "I want you."

Elijah thrust hard against Ian, locked gazes with him. "Say it."

The passion didn't die in Ian's eyes but there was real love there too - and trust. Connection. "I want you to fuck me, Elijah."

Elijah felt like Ian's eyes were burning a hole in his heart. He nodded. He put the carton down, wriggled between Ian's parted legs. He took a few steadying breaths. Ian lifted his legs, rested them over Elijah's shoulders. Elijah found he was trembling so hard he couldn't get the lube open. He practically threw it at Ian who laughed at him, albeit shakily, while he unscrewed the top. Elijah squirted a generous amount on his fingers and traced patterns over Ian's heated cock with it. Ian shuddered.

"You're at my mercy now," Elijah purred, "I could just make you come like this."

Ian's voice sounded stretched, "No, inside. Hurry Elijah."

The tone made the younger man dizzy with need. He prepared Ian quickly, lube going all over the place because his co-ordination was shot to hell. He slathered his own cock with the stuff, having to think of mathematic equations to stop himself from coming. He glanced up and his heart skipped a beat - Ian was watching him and it was like it was every Ian, every facet of him all at once: commanding Ian, wicked Ian, sexy Ian but most of all trusting open Ian.

"If you fall," Elijah asked, needing despite it all that final reassurance.

"You will catch me. Fuck me Elijah."

And Elijah did. Ian was so hot around him and, when Elijah had pumped all the way in, he squeezed his internal muscles. They both groaned. Ian wrapped his legs more securely round his lover and lifted his hips. Elijah sank in again, revelling in the feeling, revelling even more in the knowledge that he Elijah Wood was fucking the great stage and screen icon Sir Ian McKellen. He pulled out leisurely and met Ian's gaze - and it struck him. No, he was fucking his Ian, not the actor Sir Ian McKellen but his boyfriend Ian. He sobbed out with the pleasure of it and Ian cradled his face, reached to kiss him gently.

"If you fall I will catch you," Ian said turning the tables and it was all Elijah needed to spiral into oblivion, feeling Ian's muscles clamp around him as his lover found his own completion. After a few moments, Ian eased his legs down and pulled Elijah bodily on top of him so they could kiss lazily. Elijah played with Ian's hair and kissed his eyebrows. Ian smiled.

"Elijah?"

"Yeah?"

"There's another carton of ice cream in the freezer..."

***

Ian was perched on his bridge again, sucking his lolly and swinging his legs. They were filming Gandalf's fall today rather than his line to Frodo. He jumped down from the bridge when Fran indicated they were ready and stored his lolly in his Gandalf bag. A piece of paper tickled his fingers and Ian slipped it out as he made his way to the bridge's end. He opened it and smiled. He reached up and let his body pendulum slightly as he let his mind furnish him with the images he needed to make Gandalf's last moments believable. He looked down at the whirling nothingness beneath his feet but this time he was not afraid.

If you fall today I will catch you, Elijah's note had said.

Ian fell.