Every Good Boy
by Trianne
Elijah Wood/Ian McKellen/Patrick Stewart. NC17
Summary: Hero worship, the age gap, Sci-Fi geekiness, mutual admiration.
AN: The POV switches between the three men, and for the purposes of this story both Ian and Patrick think of Elijah as a boy. I have done some basic research but do not claim that this is any way a true depiction of events in Vancouver or of the theatrical experiences and careers of the men involved. Every Good Boy Deserves Favour is a Tom Stoppard play, which was performed at the Barbican Concert Hall, London in 1977. Andre Previn conducted the London Symphony Orchestra. Ian McKellen played Alexander and Patrick Stewart played the Doctor. Patrick is, as far as I know, happily married which means this is simply and unequivocally not true.
Feedback: Always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk
Disclaimer: Sadly I do not know any of these actors. I have no idea of their sexual orientation or proclivities, though I have a sneaking suspicion that Sir Ian McKellen may be gay.
" and the closing party for Every Good Boy Deserves Favour? My God, it was the Queen's Silver Jubilee that year, twenty five years ago!" Ian paused to take a bite of his pasta, "Virginia Wade won Wimbledon-"
"Yes, that's right!" Patrick waved his speared asparagus around for effect, "and you couldn't cross the street without bumping into a punk rocker. The Mohican! I might have been tempted to have that done if I had had more hair. I might have looked rather Orlando Bloomish!"
"Mm, the Barbican... Andre Previn... happy days, Patrick."
The two British thespians sighed and sipped their wine. 1977 had been a pretty good year for them, in more ways than one. They had trod the boards together that year, relishing Tom Stoppard's great lines, and they had become great friends. Yes, a good year.
The fact that their companion at dinner could not possibly know if 1977 had been a good year or not was neither here nor there.
Elijah could have listened to it all evening - sitting in the restaurant, the three of them, sipping wine and swapping stories. Or rather they swapped stories, Elijah just listened and loved every minute. These guys, Sir Ian McKellen and Should Be Sir Patrick Stewart, were the real article bona fide Shakespearian Actors. And fucking hot for old guys.
"Elijah, I am so sorry!" Patrick said, "Ian, we're boring our young friend. He doesn't want to sit here and listen to two old dinosaurs spinning yarns. You should be out with people your own age, Elijah, having a good time!"
Patrick's voice was even more beautifully mellifluous in real life, Elijah decided. The American had begun to get an ear for British accents and could now readily distinguish the lilting Lancashire of Ian and the mellow, stately Yorkshire of Patrick.
"No, no! Really, I love listening to you guys, carry on." Elijah beamed, sipping his wine and trying to age twenty years by sheer force of will.
The X-Men set had been irresistible to Elijah. Numerous telephone calls had been made, diaries co-ordinated, arrangements made, all so that Elijah Wood could fly out to Vancouver to visit with his dear friend, Ian McKellen, alias Magneto (and Gandalf), and his old friend, Patrick Stewart, alias Charles Xavier. Of course, Ian knew full well that Elijah hero-worshipped Patrick; it amused him greatly to think of him playing with his Star Trek toys and books. Naturally he would grant him his wish and introduce him to Captain Jean Luc Picard.
In the restaurant, Ian was still amused but was also something else. As he watched Elijah watching Patrick, watched Elijah drowning in Patrick's voice, watched Elijah squirming in his chair as Patrick related some funny story concerning Brent Spiner, Ian felt a growing unease. It troubled him that his dear friend could spin such a web around the boy, pulling him in with distressingly little effort. Ian had never, ever, considered that Elijah would be attracted to a man so much older - and Patrick was almost exactly Ian's age. It was a disconcerting thought.
For his part, Patrick had been flattered when Ian had relayed Elijah's request. He had been listening to the showbiz buzz, he knew this young man had a great future, was considered exceptionally talented and dedicated. And, after all, he was Frodo Baggins! The visit to the set had gone very well; all the cast were pleased to make time to show the wide eyed celebrity around and Elijah had been able to renew acquaintance with two of the technicians he had worked with in the city a few months before.
"I know this will confirm my standing as a total geek, but hell, all I wanted in life was to meet Obi-Wan Kenobi and Captain Picard, and now I've done both", Elijah had chirped on the movie set, blushing. Patrick had grinned like the proverbial Cheshire cat and Ian had decided that at that moment Elijah had never looked lovelier.
Ian found himself, in the restaurant , remembering that particular look of Elijah's. "A toast? Here's to Luvvies, young and old," he said ironically, raising his glass. Laughing, his companions clinked their glasses obligingly, and then there was a comfortable lull, as the wine was finished and the bill settled with some good natured grumbling.
Outside, in the fresh evening air, the three men stood and there was, for the first time, an awkwardness about them. Elijah wanted to go to a club he knew and he was pretty sure the old guys would have a good time but he doubted they would give it a go. Patrick and Ian both had the next day free but it had been a long and arduous week and each of them felt that an early night might be a good idea. As they all formulated their plans and geared up for the farewells, they realised, however, that they didn't want to break the party up. Not yet.
A cab pulled up outside the restaurant and the driver waited impatiently for one of them to make a decision. Still no one budged. Elijah, Patrick and Ian simply stood as if held by some invisible force field. The driver, mouthing some obscenity, drove off into the night.
"Erm, well, are we going back to my place for a nightcap?" Ian asked, at last. Elijah nodded his head, enthusiastically. Patrick just smiled.
"So, Elijah, how long are you here for?" asked Patrick as they all climbed into the next cab that came along.
"Just until the day after tomorrow, unfortunately. I love the city." Elijah replied. The boy on full beam was somewhat overpowering, and Patrick found himself having to watch the passing urban landscape and consider just what this evening was all about.
Ian, in the middle, found himself quite at a loss to know what to do with his hands so chose to use them to brush his thick hair out of his eyes. It was quite discomforting to have lithe Elijah on one side and the predatory Patrick on the other. How could he not have seen that side of Patrick before? Had he never been that way before, was Elijah the catalyst that was allowing him to be the man he must be? If that was the case, Ian considered Patrick something of a fool to have waited such a bloody long time! Before he could answer his own question, however, they had arrived at Ian's rented house.
Inside the door, the light was flashing on the answer machine, indicating a message. Ian declined to check it there and then; he knew it would be Nick calling from his assignment in New York to say goodnight. He had never ignored a call from Nick before, he realised with a start. Oh dear. Before guilt could set in, he had snatched his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and turned it off, just to be on the safe side. No point in a long conversation with his lover right now...
"Make yourselves at home, please," Ian waved Patrick and Elijah inside and went to fix drinks.
Patrick had visited the house before, but always in the company of others, actors and crew from the film, friends on visits from the States. Never had he been there in this way before. And what was this way? He still wasn't entirely sure. He simply knew that he didn't want to say goodnight just yet.
Elijah chose the couch and sat down, kicking his shoes off as he did so. Loosening his tie, he tucked one leg beneath him and watched as Patrick examined the titles in Ian's bookcase.
When Patrick bent down to reach a book from the lowest shelf, Elijah had a good view of a very firm rump and strong thighs. That bald head reflected the discreet lighting in the room and Elijah imagined that head between Elijah's legs, bobbing up and down. To boldly go - so many stupid Star Trek jokes he must keep a tight lid on. Patrick must have heard them all, be sick of them all. But Elijah thought that if Patrick would just say that one word, "Engage" for him, breathe it in his ear as he engaged Elijah's arse, then Elijah might very well die there and then.
From the doorway, Ian watched Elijah watching Patrick's tight bottom and he didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Surely this should be the other way round; the young, beautiful boy being letched after by the older more experienced man? But, of course, that was happening too. Only the old letch was himself.
By the bookcase, Patrick wondered just how long he could stay bending over, allowing Elijah a premium view, before his knees popped. He was fit, fitter than most men half his age, but age was definitely starting to catch up with him. Sensing those lustrous, fabled eyes on his backside had been utterly thrilling; almost he could feel them caressing his body, penetrating his inner core, stripping him down to the bare essentials. It felt fucking good. Decidedly so.
"Patrick, do straighten up, there's a dear. Your drink's here." Ian placed the tray on a small table by the couch and took a seat. Elijah beamed happily at him and reached out his hand to cover Ian's own.
Patrick joined them on the couch, which was very big and well sprung. They sipped their drinks for a moment, the moment prior to the shift. Then that moment had gone forever.
Elijah's hand was on Ian's thigh, squeezing very gently while all the time Elijah's eyes were locked on Patrick's. The Yorkshireman put down his glass and took Elijah's face in his hands, pausing before coming in for the kiss. Just as first contact was established, Elijah fluttered his eyes shut. Somehow, losing the blue was unbearable for Patrick.
Ian watched Elijah's smooth hand questing around in his nether regions as a snake charmer might watch a particularly unreliable python: with utter fascination. The boy's fingers were flexible and warm. It was immensely erotic to be thus stroked whilst the stroker was engaged in a deep kiss with another man. The strokee gave himself up to the sensation and merely allowed his arm to drape across Elijah's shoulder.
His tongue delving around the inner space of Elijah's mouth, Patrick found all coherent thought had deserted him. All he saw was impossibly smooth pale skin and spidery lashes; all he felt was harder to define. The boy's tongue was versatile, his breath tinged with wine and the faintest trace of garlic. Patrick liked the feel of those sharp little teeth as they rasped over his tongue, he definitely liked the full bottom lip, suffused and almost claret red. With a groan, he pulled out of that mouth to take a breath and Elijah's eyes popped open on cue.
"Are those coloured contacts?" Patrick asked, running his hand gently along the strong line of Elijah's jaw. The boy blinked and then laughed out loud. With a flourish, he popped his contacts out there and then and Patrick could see that there was absolutely no discernible change in the colour of those eyes. A pair of older eyes was vying for attention, however, and Patrick tore himself away from Elijah to kiss his friend on the forehead.
"You think you are getting away with that, after all these years? Not a chance, old friend," chided Ian, pulling Patrick away from Elijah and into a warm embrace. The two Brits slid down the couch and onto the floor, leaving Elijah alone but happy. He watched as Ian's hands deftly divested Patrick of his shirt and then his trousers; he sighed as Patrick struggled to get Ian's clothes off him, as if he was not so experienced in the art of undressing a man. Finally, they were more or less naked and rolling about at Elijah's feet. Elijah now felt totally overdressed and rather superfluous but he decided that if the oldies wanted some quality time together, he could be patient. Up to a point.
Patrick, his hand stroking Ian's cock, wondered if he had always wanted to do this and thought, hell yes! Ian was his theatrical hero and had always been the brightest star in his firmament. He just couldn't believe they had waited twenty five fucking years!
Up on the couch, Elijah gently stroked himself and made mental notes. Grey pubic hair had sort of squicked him, but not for long; the sight of Patrick's strong, lean thighs wrapping themselves around Ian's waist sort of clinched the deal.
Elijah wondered whether this would go all the way and realised with a start he really needed another drink. Carefully stepping over the melee of mature masculinity writhing about on the carpet, he made his way to the drinks cabinet in the adjoining room, and selected a rather nice chardonnay. He caught sight of himself in Ian's full length mirror and took stock of his reflection - okay physique, good skin, tight butt. So why the fuck was he standing way over here sipping wine when the good stuff was happening way over there? He quickly downed the glass in one and then had another. It was a light- headed Elijah who wended his way back to the couch.
"Can I ask you something, guys?" he asked, petulantly. The wine was taking effect now and loosening his inhibitions.
Ian removed his tongue from Patrick's mouth for long enough to say, "Yes Elijah, anything."
"Was I just a set of jump leads for you guys? Was I? Just here to juice you up and watch you go?"
Patrick and Ian exchanged glances and then reached up to each grab an ankle. Elijah fell between them and lay on the carpet; he could see stars, a veritable universe of shooting stars and there was Captain Jean Luc Picard so this must be the USS Enterprise. And Gandalf was there but that couldn't be right, could it? When did they let wizards join Starfleet?
"Is he alright? Is he drunk?" Elijah could hear the disembodied voice of Captain Picard someway above him. First Officer Gandalf replied: "No, just tipsy. I've seen the little bastard drunk - believe me, this is nothing."
"Maybe we should leave him alone. It wouldn't be right, if he was, well if he was drunk..." that was Picard again.
With a monumental effort, Elijah sat up and focused. There was no fucking way he was fucking missing out on a fucking now.
"I am not drunk, I am just relaxed. Now is one of you dirty old men going to shag me or what?" he asked.
"Well, I think that honour should really go to Ian," said Patrick, though the look on his face said otherwise. He watched intently as Ian deprived the rubber limbed boy of all his clothes. God, he was gorgeous. And so was Elijah.
Ian had given many master classes in acting, passing on tips of the trade, enlightening younger actors as to interpretation and motivation, the iambic pentameter and so on. This was no different really; he had been having sex with men for a great many years now and he was always happy to inspire. Aware of Patrick's interest in proceedings, and greatly aware of his own rock hard cock, Ian set to with Elijah. All his artistry was concentrated on pleasuring the boy. And boy, did he like to be pleasured.
Taking Elijah's cockhead in his mouth, Ian licked off the pre-cum and then sucked the whole length deep in his throat. Elijah found himself launching off the floor and Patrick obligingly laid his hand on that hard belly to keep him securely docked. Ian sucked, Elijah bucked and Patrick moved around so he could kiss the writhing boy, who groaned in a most satisfactory manner. Encouraged, Patrick took Elijah's nipples between finger and thumb and teased them up like tiny little stalks; he was instantly gratified to find that Elijah's hand had fastened firmly where it could do most good. Patrick leaned over to allow Elijah greater access; that young, strong hand stroked him firmly, twisting and applying exactly the right amount of pressure.
Patrick began to feel quite dizzy and he went down on his elbows across Elijah's torso. Between Elijah's legs, Ian was still going strong and Patrick could see that thick head of almost white hair as it moved up and down in a steady rhythm.
Elijah came with a shuddering spasm right in Ian's mouth. Patrick watched as his friend licked his lips as if it was vintage wine he had just guzzled, or a pint of Boddingtons. Sadly, Elijah's hand seemed to lose interest in Patrick's dick, which seemed most unfair. But it was only temporary amnesia.
The unseen choreographer waved his hands and the dance began anew. Elijah was still on his back on the floor but he had borrowed a cushion from the couch and tucked it in the small of his back. Patrick watched as Ian found a condom and a tube of something. It all seemed rather mechanical to Patrick after the passion, but he was still gratifyingly hard so that was a good sign.
"C'mere, Captain. Let me run a level five diagnostic on you..." Elijah grinned impishly and Patrick was relieved to feel the return of the grip. "Make it so," he whispered and it was exactly the right thing to say to the geek because he did indeed make it so. Giving himself up entirely to the sensation of that hand on him, Patrick considered that life perhaps never got any better than this. His orgasm, when it came, was out of this world.
Ian applied lube to his fingers and then gently pushed Patrick out of the way. As he straddled Elijah and teased him open, he thought that Elijah was a very lucky man. Not for him years and years of agonising and dissembling, he could have it all now. Starting with this...
Elijah, being opened and then entered, had lost all rational thought by this time and just wanted to be filled up. Ian's cock was long and hard, and his eyes, locked onto Elijah's own, were bright and wicked. Elijah lifted his legs higher until they were locked around Ian's waist and he could pull him in harder and harder. He had been shagged before, of course, but never by a master craftsman. Each thrust was better than the last and angled with precision; almost he expected someone to hand Ian a Kewpie doll for his brilliant aim.
Ian knew he couldn't last much longer, this boy was so tight and wanting. As he came, he had a fleeting image of another young man in much the same position and knew without a shadow of a doubt that guilt would set in almost straight away, but for now he shuddering, he collapsed on top of Elijah and felt his arms around him, holding him.
"There, there, its okay." How nice it was, to be held like that, rocked and comforted. Old man Elijah kissed the top of Ian's sweaty forehead and breathed into his hair, "thank you."
Patrick got up first, rather unsteadily, and headed for the shower. Ian and Elijah were content to merely lie there for a while, quietly.
Elijah awoke with a start. He was on the couch and covered with a blanket. He felt slightly disoriented and reached for his watch. It was 4:00 a.m. The house felt eerily quiet. He smiled as he remembered the night's events and stretched out. He wondered how long he oldies would need to recover before they could do it all again.
There was the sound of a car engine outside, and then the front door was opening. In walked Ian and Patrick, fully dressed and laughing like a pair of teenagers.
"Ah, you're awake!" cried Patrick, swaying slightly on his feet.
"Lazy boy," added Ian, mischievously, "we tried to wake you, but you were zonked. We thought the night was young and so were we, so we went clubbing. You should have come, you would have enjoyed it!"
The End