Summary: Hugh's good at the unscripted stuff.
Huge, ginormous thanks to both Spacebabe and Malnpudl for close, fabulous betas on this!
When Hugh first met Callum, they hit it off right away. Hugh was a personable guy - people liked him in general - so he kind of wasn't surprised that he and Callum had a pretty damn good time ignoring Noel Baker together.
He noticed pretty quickly, though, that Callum didn't, as a rule, hit it off with too many people. Sure, he was a cool guy and all, but Callum just didn't open up the way Hugh did. He played it close to the chest. He'd give people a quick smile, chat with them for a while, but that was all most people got. He didn't talk to anyone real easy, and he didn't talk about himself if he could at all avoid it. Hugh'd never seen anyone get as pissed off about personal questions as Callum - he'd shut down entirely - and Hugh wondered, sometimes, what the fucking fuck Callum had been thinking when he'd gone into acting. You make it big, you get to talk about yourself. You have to talk about yourself. It's expected.
To Hugh, that was a bonus. To Callum, it was like a fucking death sentence. He hated it.
What was funny was how he'd never been that way with Hugh. Not even once; not even that very first night when they'd gotten bored as hell at Bruce's movie and fucked off together afterwards, leaving Noel and Bruce at the lame coffee shop they'd been sitting at for hours, talking about the film. Hugh had taken Callum back to his place, which was a mess and smelled like stale smoke and take-out, but Callum hadn't seemed to mind.
They'd sat on Hugh's couch till dawn, chain smoking and talking. Nothing else had happened that night, not one thing, though the vibe between them had been distracting as hell. Hugh knew he hadn't been the only one who felt it, couldn't be. He'd watched the curve of Callum's mouth, the way he ducked his head when he laughed, the way he let Hugh light his cigarettes and didn't pull away.
"I just stopped." Callum had finished his story, rubbing the back of his neck, and looking at Hugh through his eyelashes. "It was time, past time, and just -" He'd shrugged eloquently.
"You just stopped?" Hugh'd raised an eyebrow, because Callum knew as well as he did that you didn't just fucking stop drinking, easy like that.
Callum had cracked a smile. "Well." He'd taken a drag on his cigarette. "Not just like that. You know."
He'd rested his head against the back of the couch, watching Callum through slitted eyes. He'd wondered what Callum had been like when he'd been drinking. Hugh'd bet they'd have been fucking by now, if that were the case. He'd wondered if he was glad or sorry he'd never get the chance to find out.
The washed-out early morning light had been filtering in through the faded curtains and Hugh had shut his eyes against it. He was thinking he should take Callum on tour with the band. Show him what it was really like. Callum might know acting, but Hugh knew just exactly what they were going to have to show to the camera in this motherfucking movie. He could show Callum a thing or two.
When he'd opened his eyes, the light was bright and harsh and the noise of the cars going by on the street was louder, and Callum was gone. There had been dozens of cigarette butts in the ashtray, and the chain lock on Hugh's door dangled open, the only signs that Callum had ever been there.
Hugh had stretched, and sighed, heaving himself off the couch and to bed. He'd had weird dreams all morning, and when he'd woken up at five in the afternoon, he got up, took a shower, and went out drinking.
When Hugh signed the contract for the movie, all official-like, he didn't even hesitate before scrawling his name under the part that said he'd be straight for all of the filming. No drinking, no drugs, nothing at all like that. Bruce knew him pretty well, and he wanted Hugh on the up and up, here. Hugh had no fucking problem with that.
And he loved this, he loved every goddamn part of this. He loved the filming. He loved the waiting around smoking and shooting the shit in between the filming. He loved the driving over long and lonely Canadian highways in the crappy Goat van. And he fucking loved acting with Callum.
Christ, it was good. Put a camera on the two of them, or take it off, it didn't matter. Joe and Billy slid into place so easy, so fucking easy. It wasn't that they were just the same; it was that they were just that much different that it wasn't hard to get there. Like an out of focus picture, put the camera on them and Hugh and Callum would turn into Joe and Billy, like maybe this is what they'd have been like if they'd met when there were thirteen years old and Hugh'd been around for Callum's bad boy days.
He wondered if Callum would have sobered up if Hugh had been around.
It didn't really matter, not right now, anyway, because Hugh was sober too, and he was the only one Callum was interested in hanging around with. Callum was friendly enough with the other guys, sure, but mostly, it was just the two of them together. They were good together; Callum had, in the end, gone on tour with Hugh and the band and that had ramped things up between them. After the tour, Hugh hadn't seen Callum for months, not until filming started, but they talked almost every night, and Hugh couldn't stop thinking about all the late nights in the back of the tour bus, the two of them taking so many stupid chances, fucking as quietly as they could in Hugh's tiny bunk as the road raced by underneath the bus.
Being together filming the movie was a lot like that, but with even less alone time. Finally, Hugh asked Callum to come back to his hotel room with him to run lines. Even as the words came out of his mouth, he couldn't believe how lame it sounded. Not that he didn't need the fucking help. He did, he couldn't remember his lines to save his life. He really had to work at it, and he'd bet Bruce would be a lot more pissed if Hugh wasn't so goddamn good at the improvisational stuff, the one-on-one interviews that Bruce insisted go unscripted. Callum got tight before filming those scenes, smoking too many cigarettes and pacing. Whereas Hugh - Hugh was in his element. It was an interview like any other, and Hugh was good at interviews. Hugh fucking thrived on that. It was easy.
It was the scripted stuff that was hard, and Hugh'd fucked up more than once this week. Callum agreed to come help him out readily enough, but with the door closed between them and the rest of the crew, fucking finally, Hugh lost any hold on himself. He kept right on moving into the room, after shoving the door shut with one booted foot, until he had his hands on Callum, had Callum up against the wall next to the window, and just held him there and kissed him, shoving his tongue into his mouth.
Hugh didn't think they were managing to hide very much when they were out from behind closed doors, but anytime they managed not to do this out in public, he counted it as a win.
And Callum - Callum didn't just let him, Callum wrapped his hands in Hugh's sweater and dragged him closer. Callum shoved his own tongue right up against Hugh's, and they were lost in this fantastic struggle against each other, trying to get closer, closer.
Callum was pressing up against him, holding him close. Hugh's heart was pounding hard and he sank up against Callum, kissing him until Callum dragged his mouth away and tilted his head back against the wall, breathing harshly as Hugh mouthed at his throat. "God," Callum said, wrapping his fingers in Hugh's mohawk, dragging his head back so he could look him in the eye. "Jesus, Hugh."
Hugh couldn't catch his breath. He felt out of his fucking depth here. He just - "Shut up," he said.
The corner of Callum's mouth quirked up. "Thought you wanted to run lines?"
Hugh pressed his thigh between Callum's legs, shoving it hard up against his balls. Callum gasped, and his eyes fluttered shut. "You want to run lines with me?" Hugh asked softly. "Is that what you want to do?" He watched Callum's pulse pound in the hollow of his throat.
"Sure," Callum said easily, even though he was practically riding Hugh's thigh. "Let's."
"Fucker," Hugh growled, and Callum laughed as Hugh hauled him off the wall and pushed him towards the bed.
They'd been doing this since Callum went on tour with Hugh and the band; not that long ago, but it felt like they'd been doing it forever. Like it was something that always had been and always would be, and Hugh couldn't figure how he'd lived with it any other way.
Tonight, though, Callum let Hugh push him back onto the bed. They didn't get locked doors very often; they didn't get even crappy hotel beds very often. Hugh knew this wasn't all it took to get Callum to loosen up, but it sure didn’t hurt.
Hugh slid on top of Callum on the bed, kissing him again and pressing him down. "So," Callum said, pulling away, his voice only a little breathless. "What did you need help with?"
Hugh grinned down at him and shoved his hips forward. They both groaned. "That's what I need help with. Give me a hand?"
Callum's eyebrow went up and he gave Hugh this soft grin, letting his arms fall to the side like he had no fucking clue what Hugh wanted him to do.
Fucker. They had one bed for one night, and Hugh wasn't playing games here. "Fine," he snapped, and Callum, if possible, slouched back even more loosely against the bed, gazing up at Hugh, all innocence. "Fine," Hugh said again, and shoved his hands under Callum's old, soft button-down shirt, running them up the soft skin of his stomach, then sliding them down to the front of his jeans. Callum was still just watching Hugh, all relaxed. Hugh bared his teeth at Callum like a grin, and undid his button-fly jeans with one hand.
"Clever," Callum breathed, one eyebrow going even further up.
"Shut the fuck up, cuntface." Hugh grabbed hold of Callum's hips roughly and turned him over.
He dragged Callum's jeans down his thighs, then pulled them all the way off, holding Callum down as he cursed against the pillows. Dragged those dark blue briefs down and off, too, and then it was just Callum there, face down on the cheap hotel bedspread, the tail of his shirt trailing loosely over his ass. Hugh was pinning him with one hand spread in the center of his back, but Callum wasn't really trying to get away. He was just shifting on the bed there, like he was testing Hugh, and fuck that.
Just fuck it.
Hugh held Callum down, shifting so his hands were tight against his ribs, Callum's shirt shoved up so Hugh could mouth at his back. Callum went still against the bedspread, his body tense. And just - what the fuck did he expect, what the fuck did he want? Hugh just wanted - he just -
He licked the curve of Callum's back. The fucker was too thin, bones too close to the surface. Hugh traced his tongue over the top of his ass for a long time, till Callum was gasping lightly against the covers, these tight, controlled breaths that were turning Hugh on something fierce.
Hugh took a deep breath, and wrapped his hands around Callum's hips, holding him down firmly as he mouthed at the spot at the small of his back till it was hot and damp, and then slowly and very, very deliberately licked his way down, until his tongue was between Callum's cheeks, until he could feel Callum shaking like crazy underneath him. Until he was right up in there, right up in there, and all there was to it was to press his tongue inside and do his level best to make Callum fall apart right here in this dirty Vancouver motel.
Hugh was good at this, he knew he was good at this. He also was a patient man, and he stroked his tongue against Callum, right there, just perfectly, going for this tense, driving rhythm that was going to break them both to fucking pieces. Callum's muscles were tight under Hugh's hands, and he was panting brokenly against the sheets as he tried so fucking hard to hold on.
Hugh wasn't giving up, giving in, letting go. He held on to Callum's hips and licked his ass, and Callum - together, smooth, reserved Callum fucking Rennie - sobbed for breath as Hugh pressed his tongue in again, and again, until Callum was shaking even harder and coming against the sheets, muttering, "Hugh, you fucker, you fucking, fucking -"
Callum kept his head turned down, and Hugh stayed there between his thighs for a while after he came. Hugh's cock was hard in his jeans - Hugh was still fully fucking dressed, sprawled between Callum's legs, licking patterns onto his ass - and he wanted to fuck Callum, he wanted nothing so much as to fuck Callum - but for right now, all he could do was listen to Callum breathe there against the hotel sheets, and wait.
Until finally Callum said his name in a whisper, and Hugh drew himself up Callum's body. Draped over him, Hugh muttered curses into his ear as he opened him up, first with his fingers and then with his cock, pressing in slow, slow as he knew how.
Callum moaned as Hugh angled his way inside him. His hands clenched tight in the hotel sheets, like he was looking for an anchor, something to ground him. Hugh shifted, slid further up against him, pushing his hands up Callum's arms, wrapping their fingers together as he fucked him, hard as he could. Panting, Callum took it, and asked for more.
Hugh gave it to him, all of it, everything, pounding into him hard until he came deep inside him, moaning helplessly and mouthing the back of Callum's neck. He stayed there for a long time afterwards, his forehead against the soft skin of Callum's shoulder. It was so good between them. It was so fucking good.
Finally, they slid apart there on the bed, Hugh rolling over on his back, his heart still pounding in his chest. Callum pushed up onto one elbow, curving over Hugh to reach for the cigarettes on the bedside table. He lit one for Hugh first, handing it to him, then one for himself.
They lay there smoking quietly into the dark - they'd never even gotten the goddamn light turned on. After a while, Hugh turned on his side and wrapped himself around Callum's back; Callum fit against his body like he'd been made for it. He smelled like smoke and sex.
Hugh breathed it in deep for a moment, then let out his breath slow. "I'm tired of waking up tired, waking up tired, waking up tired," he sang, soft and rough.
Callum shifted against him, settling in, and smoothly joined in with, "…waking up tired, waking up tired." They were quiet for a second, then Callum said, "Touch of Evil."
Hugh smiled against his neck. "La Dolce Vita."
Hugh shut his eyes for a second. "Lolita."
"Alphaville ends in an E," Callum shot back.
They went back and forth, muttered the lines, Callum feeding Hugh corrections until Hugh had it all down smooth as anything, knew his lines as well as he knew his own name.
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