September 9th, 2008
|feliciakain||04:01 am - Unassailable Urges: Chapter One|
Title: Unassailable Urges
Fandom: Real Person Slash
Pairing: Christian Bale/Jake Gyllenhaal
Summary: Jake Gyllenhaal was on the top of the world until the day his fiancée stated that she needed some time. Wondering what he could have done wrong, he soon finds that he won't have to wonder alone. Christian Bale enters his life and brings along with him urges that Jake just can't seem to ignore.
Rating: NC-17 (future chapters)
Warnings: Drinking. Homosexuality.
Disclaimer: This story is a tale about actors Christian Bale and Jake Gyllenhaal and their relationship, both sexual and romantic. This story is purely a work of fiction and any likenesses to real life are purely coincidental. I am not affiliated with either actor or Hollywood. This story is merely for entertainment and pleasuring purposes.
Finished?: No. Originally posted on Nifty Archive.
I really don’t like to think of myself as famous. The fact that my girlfriend is Reese Witherspoon, my sister is Maggie Gyllenhaal, and one of my very good friends was Heath Ledger means nothing to me. We are all people, after all, when it comes down to it. We all cry, laugh, eat, drink—do all the things that humans do. Yes, we have money, but we do work for it. Those people that call themselves normal tend to forget that.
We all have issues, insecurities, and above all else, we all have secrets.
My secret was the crème de la crème of secretdom. And I was dying to tell someone, anyone. Who could I tell that wouldn’t sell me out in a Hollywood minute to get their fifteen seconds of fame?
Another star who had nothing more to gain. A star who recently dealt with uncalled for and biased media attention. An actor like him.
I met Christian Bale through several after-premiere parties I attended with Reese. We talked—or rather I gabbed while he sat and blinked and sometimes grunted or made some other noise in the affirmative or negative—while Reese and my sister gossiped about some B-list star who had been denied entry at the door. Gasp! Stars gossip. Alert the media. Yes, we gossip. We are human after all. See? Exactly.
On one night in particular, after the media had turned the fact of his mother and sister borrowing money for their rent into a story that twisted every which way it could, I found myself seated next to Bale at a benefit for some disease I can’t recall the name or the pronunciation right now. I was quiet, but I was dealing with some inner issues at the time and really had nothing interesting to say in any case. For one, I was alone that evening. Bale (yes, I call him Bale when not to his face), however, seemed to take this as a personal insult and snorted in my direction. Me, being the totally cool and collected man that I am, smiled at him and quirked a brow.
“Yes? What’s so funny?”
He smirked and held up his glass of wine, bringing it to his lips as he took a sip and placed it down once more. His dark eyed gaze held mine for a moment longer before it returned to whatever the entertainment of the evening was for that event. I honestly don’t remember and I truly don’t care. The reason I didn’t care was that right before his attention was diverted from me, I could have sworn that the older man had winked. Winked.
I swallowed hard and stared at the entertainment unseeingly. What was going on? Was I giving off some weird vibes or something tonight that said hey, you! Wink at Jake over there and laugh as he squirms under the power of your gaze? Seriously. No sooner had Bale looked away than I blushed… profusely. I haven’t blushed since I was fifteen and had no idea how to put on a condom without tearing a hole in it. Stupid delicate things. I had already decided that I was decidedly not gay, never mind that the tabloids continued to swear up and down, left and right that I was. So if I was not gay, why the hell was my heart now beating at seventy five miles an hour and attempting to push it to jump eighty and make it to ninety? I was brought back to earth as a deep laugh reached my ears. I looked over and pouted—yes, I pout, get over it—at the other actor. His smirk widened.
“What is your issue?” I asked him after two minutes of awkward silent staring (well, awkward on my part anyway). He raised his brows.
“Are you seriously asking me that, Jake?” He leaned to the side and spoke lower. I was glad of this because his voice wouldn’t carry for the next thing he said. “You’re asking what my issue is when it is you that is squirming over here because I winked at you.”
He laughed again and straightened up, bringing his hands up to smooth out his suit. I looked away determinedly. I was not all flustered because stupid Christian Bale, sex god to young women around the world and conveniently now divorced, winked at me.
Okay, fine. I was. Damnit.
It made no sense to me. Reese and I had reached a rocky part in our relationship. The media had noticed too and of course, as their job is, they made it seem a lot worse than it was. Reese, however, began to grow more and more distant until finally she said the absolute unthinkable to me: she was going home to her parents and taking the kids with her. Without me.
Me being me, of course, I began to wonder what I did or what happened to make us distant. During that time I had begun to look at porn but that wasn’t the issue and in any case, it just didn’t help me at all.
Now Reese was gone and I had no answers at all. Nor did I have any answers to the fact that my eyes continuously shifted to Bale, questioning and confused. What was going on?
I looked at my champagne glass and stared at it for a few good minutes. Next, my hand closed around it as I continued to stare, wondering if I stared long enough I would get a buzz through osmosis. I was disappointed.
I gave into my mandatory ten second glance at Bale and blushed. Bale snorted and looked away and I felt like an utter idiot as I focused so intently on the band performing that I swear I burned holes into several of their outfits. I brought my glass to my lips and drank heavily from it. I had a new motto: when life gives you alcohol, drink it.
“You might want to slow down there, tiger.”
I jumped. Not because Bale had leaned over to whisper in my ear. Or even because I was caught drinking like a college frat boy. No. I jumped because a hand was now setting quite comfortably on my thigh. A hand that very much belonged to Christian Charles Bale. Yes. I Googled it. Right now, however, I gaped at the man for a good minute, my gaze shifting the large hand very close to a part of me where it should not be, that part reacting in a way that it couldn’t be but was. He cleared my throat and took another drink of the alcohol.
The hand left my leg and I nearly whined, catching myself in time. Then that same hand shot into my peripheral vision and before I could understand what was taking place, my glass was out of my hand and sitting next to Bale’s glass a moment later. I really whined then and looked at my table partner indignantly, thankful that our other tablemates were not at all interested in the little drama taking place right next to them. I scoffed and held out my hand. I was totally holding it out for my glass but knew the other wasn’t about to give me back what he just took away.
I was right. Bale snorted and rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the show. I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms, wishing several thousand death curses on the man sitting next to me.
The party ended and Bale passed my glass back to me. I reached out to grab it and he pulled back.
“Don’t drink it. Champagne is shit. Come with me,” he said. “We’ll get some real alcohol, hm?”
I completely forgot about the hand-thigh incident and could not agree fast enough. I smoothed down my suit jacket as I followed Bale from the place, the both of us waving at friends and acquaintances, declining party invitations, and completely ignoring the media. He led me to his limo that was parked at the curb, awaiting him and I stood there stupidly as he slid in before turning to head to my own limo. He grabbed my wrist and tugged me to his ride.
“Just ride with me,” he said. “We’re going to my place. Quieter. No fans to bother you or me. Sound good?”
I hesitated but decided that yes, it sounded very good. He smirked and slid over as I shuffled in and took the seat across from him. He shut the door and Bale called out home to the driver. I looked pointedly out the window as the car started into motion.
We didn’t talk as we rode to Bale’s place. I stared determinedly out the window as Bale stared determinedly at me. The way he watched me it seemed as if he was trying to calmly pull everyone of my inner most thoughts out with a simple flick of his gaze. Ten minutes after that, he got bored and looked out his own window, silent. Now the silence was getting to me and I had to look at him. I opened my mouth once before realizing that I had absolutely nothing to say and closed it again. I did this again when I found something to say but the moment I opened my mouth to say it, it sounded stupid in my head and so I closed my mouth once more.
Bale snorted and looked at me. “Does the fish need water?” He shook his head and perked up a bit. He then grinned and nodded forward. “We’re here.”
I twisted in my seat and slid to the far left, looking out the window. I had never been to Bale’s house before. He never hosted parties—none that I heard of anyway. I really didn’t go to many parties either, and now that I thought about it, neither did he it seemed. That was good. We had something in common. This little get-together was bound to go all the more smoothly then. The driver reached the front of the large home and Bale slipped out. I followed after and thanked the driver before rushing after Bale who was already on the steps of his porch. Damn that man could walk fast. No wonder he had beaten me out for the role of Batman. Compared to him, I would have easily secured the role of Robin.
I snorted at this thought just as I climbed up the stairs. He looked at me with an amused sort of look but said nothing as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, waiting for me to pass. I entered the house and looked around. It was very cultural but also very simple. I was wondering if I was actually in Bale’s house. He seemed the type to spend money for lavish things simply for his own pleasure rather than for the point of showing it off to other friends. The door closed behind me and I spun, laughing lightly. I was a bit embarrassed that I had been caught in my very animate thoughts. He just blinked at me and offered to take my jacket, which I unbuttoned and slipped off. He took it and hung it on the old wood coat rack before taking off his own and hanging it up.
“I wouldn’t ask this if it was anyone but you,” he began, stepping out of his shoes and then socks. He didn’t continue his statement but looked at me pointedly and I got the point. I stepped out of my own shoes and then socks. He grinned. “Thank you. I am very fond of my white carpet.”
He started off and I followed him into a large room that was obviously a sitting room. As I looked around the room I realized that I had hit the nail on the head. Bale loved expensive things. Expensive but very tasteful things. He nodded toward his black suede couch as he made his way to the large bar in the far corner of the room. I looked around at the room. It was both very modern and a little eclectic. The overall look of the room showed quite simply that Bale was very much a fashionable man. Unless he had an interior designer do it, but even then it was his idea to begin with. I could see many touches of Bale here in there. It was interesting and I couldn’t help but grin as Bale returned with two tumblers. He passed me mine and snorted.
“Vodka. Now, what is so funny?” he asked and sat in his white suede chair, posing the same question I had not hours ago. He took a drink and swallowed and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he did so before I looked at the fire-less hearth, drinking deeply from my own glass. We drank in companionable silence, and I finished my own drink relatively fast.
“There’s more on the counter,” he said as he continued to stare at nothing across the room. I got up and made my way to the bar, pouring me a bit more Vodka—if a bit more is constituted as the rim of the glass. I made my way back over and took a seat on the side of the couch that was closest to Bale. I was close and when I slid down a bit, our knees touched. I had a few more glasses after that. I continued to drink from my fourth serving and my glass wasn’t even half-empty when Bale pulled it away and frowned at me.
“Lightweight,” he snorted and placed the glass on the stand to the far side of him. I frowned deeply and stood up, stumbling just slightly. I placed my hand on his thigh and reached across him to grab the glass. He hissed and grabbed my wrist. I glared at him, tugging my hand away before going for the glass again. He got hold of my wrist again and twisted until I stumbled back and glared at him. He merely looked up at me and smirked, widely.
It was at that point that I felt several urges at once. I felt like I wanted to slap that damned smirk off his face. I felt like I wanted to crawl into his lap and just cry and carry on. I felt like I wanted to kiss him and urge him to kiss me back.
After a slight hesitation, I went with the last and was quite pleased as Bale set his glass down and took my face into his hands, kissing me back. The kiss was hot and messy (on my part) but neither of us cared as Bale stood up and walked forward, turning our bodies just slightly until I felt the seat of the couch at the back of my thighs. I immediately fell back onto it and Bale looked down at me, a deep hunger in his dark eyes.
“Lay down,” he whispered and I didn’t hesitate. He climbed down on top of me and smirked. Then he kissed me and I was lost in the way his mouth moved against mine and the way his tongue dominated mine.
Unassailable Urges updates weekly on Sundays
Originally posted on Nifty: Unassailable Urges