As both an actor and a man, he'd been subjected to many of them. Drugs, sex, money, fast pleasures, and faster highs. A note with a phone number slipped into his jacket here, an offer for a quick snort in someone's trailer there, the promise of a great part if he did this 'one teeny thing' for someone...yes, he knew them all. Knew the slippery slopes of temptation, had been in the business long enough, had been an adult long enough, to say no, to step back, to resist. Until Harry Sinclair. Beyond fascination, beyond admiration...Harry had become Hugo's Lancelot, his fatal flaw. Hugo obsessed, he wanted, he fucking craved. Couldn't even say why. Certainly Harry was a good-looking man, but Keanu Reeves was downright beautiful. And working with Keanu didn't make Hugo wake up in the middle of the night tangled in sheets and sweat with the mother of all erections. Harry was intelligent and witty, but Terance Stamp was just about the wittiest man Hugo had ever met. And Terance didn't make Hugo's palms sweat every single time he opened his mouth to speak. Harry was built and exuded raw sex appeal, but Russell Crowe had a great body and so much goddamned sex appeal that he should come with his own warning label. Russell didn't make Hugo want to throw him down and do unspeakably degrading sexual things to him until they were both wrung out from spent passions, yet eager to start all over again. Only Harry. Through rehearsals and Harry visiting Peter on set, Hugo had managed to keep his emotions bottled. He was married, he was a father, he was happy with his life, happy with his choices. A mild crush was allowed, even expected...after all, everyone had them. Everyone looked, everyone asked 'what if'. But looking and doing were two completely different things. Hugo had never even so much as passionately kissed another person off-camera during his entire marriage, and he wasn't about to fuck that up. So, he'd buried his lust for Harry, buried it deep. But, temptation is a crafty mistress, and it weaves its insidious web despite best intentions. Strength of character can only hold it back for so long. Hugo's strength failed him the day he and Harry shot their scene together. As Harry, dressed casually in shorts and t-shirts, waving hands to make a point, shy smile and bright laughter, he'd been tantalizing and attractive. But Hugo could resist, even if it was only by the barest thread. As Isildur, all wild, untamed looks and clarity of purpose, look of raw longing in his eyes as he stared at the ring, Harry was altogether the most irresistible thing Hugo had ever seen. Combine the two...temptation incarnate. Take after endless take, setting up lighting here, moving the boom mike there, a ping in the sound system, Harry blowing his blocking, Hugo screwing up his lines, make-up needing to be reapplied for the correct disheveled look...every single fucking time was worse than the previous time. Every single time Harry that looked up at him with Isildur's eyes and muttered that single word, Hugo fought his demons. Tried to remain strong, remain Elrond, resist the Ring, resist the temptation. But, unfortunately, Hugo was only a man, like Harry, like Isildur. And temptation, much like the Ring, corrupted everyone eventually. Fighting was a losing battle, and Hugo knew it. If he could just make it to the end of the day, he'd be fine. He'd go home, have a beer, fuck his wife senseless...he could do this, he could make it. And he might have... "Hugo, a word?" Harry, speaking just behind him, close, but not touching. Close, because Hugo could feel the heat, feel the sparks between them. Not touching, because touching would break him. He could do this as long as Harry didn't touch him. "Sure." Hugo didn't turn, couldn't. A step closer...still not touching, but it was worse, somehow. Light breath just against his ear, softly blowing against his neck. "I've noticed you looking at me." Tongue flicking out to lick dry lips. Cool, casual, unassuming? How did Hugo want to play this? "I look at a lot of people." There, that was safe enough. Another half-step. Breathing quickened, heart raced, skin puckered. Touching was irrelevant at this point. The almost feel of Harry against him was more erotic than a blowjob. "Not the way you look at me." Lips right against his ear...again, almost, but not quite, touching. Could only give an honest answer. "No. I don't." "You're not looking at me now." "I...I can't." Fought with everything in him not to turn around. "It's alright." Shifted slightly, a bare whisper of the back of Harry's hand against Hugo's. The jolt to Hugo's system hit him harder than a passionate kiss. "The time for looking is over." "Yes." Struggle, maintain, don't move back, don't move at all, don't breathe or you'll touch him. "You're not going to make it home." Shock had Hugo turning around before he could even think about it. Mistake...oh God, big fucking mistake. Harry, so close, closer than Hugo had thought, so close they were embracing in all but flesh, looking at him through Isildur's eyes. Smiling Harry's smile. "I..." Words were lost, scattered when Harry put a single finger just against Hugo's lips, shook his head. Such a small touch, such an innocent gesture...and all Hugo wanted to do was draw the digit into his mouth and suck, bite, take. "The time for words is over, too." Hugo could only nod. "Alright, places everyone. Let's get this thing done and correctly this time so we can go home." Sanity, in the shape of Peter. But it was too late. Onto Guilt
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