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Chelsea White	By : Chris Category: Individual Celebrities > Ewan McGregor Views: 2374 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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More of the fic....and we get to see what's on the young man's mind....

The mentions of rough stuff- I am aware of the difference bewteen actual rough stuff and S&M, but for the sake of this story, I am blurring the lines (sometimes unknowingly) between the two. Call it literary license. :) Hope it doesn't offend....

//Holy…shit.// Though it was somewhere in his thoughts, he wasn’t even gonna broach the subject until he had managed to possibly get this gorgeous man near his hotel room.

“You’d…what?”

He grinned again, moving closer. “I said….I’d fuck you for free.” His left arm slid around his waist as he spoke, his hand slipping under the hem of his shirt, stroking the skin of his lower back possessively. “You couldn’t pay me enough, mate.”

Ewan’s voice was caught somewhere in his chest and his lips were dry suddenly. He was giving off a scent that was not unlike the earth after a thunderstorm on a hot summer’s day. He wot sot sure on how to react- after all, it wasn’t every day that some gorgeous man sidled up to him and offered to bed him within five minutes of meeting him, but he sure as hell didn’t mind it.

“What’s….your name?,” he managed to stammer out.

“Drink first,” he said, then boldly began nuzzling his neck. “Drink for me and you.” His lips moved against his neck as he spoke- a pointed weakness for Ewan. “Mmm…..you smell good, mate.” His tongue flicked out to taste his skin, and Ewan found himself catching his breath.

//Jesus fucking Christ, mate, I could bend you over a car right now and bang you till you were sore, and then some.//

“You mind me doing this, hmm?,” he asked Ewan, seeming to sense that the man didn’t mind it at all. “Just tyou you smell so damn good, you know? Like I could lick every inch of you, and just keep inhaling that scent of yours…like it’s a drug or something….”

//Fuck the drink. I want this boy right *now*.//

He finally pulled from his neck and looked up at him. His eyes were glazed over and he wore a very languid smile on his face. Licking his lips, he said, “Drink?”

“Room,” replied Ewan. “Now.”

He chuckled. “Now, now… even I am not *that* easy. One drink, anyplace, and you’re mine.”

Ewan smiled at the boy’s cheek. “Don’t you mean that you’re mine?”

He pulled from him, smiled brighter and said, “I know what I said, mate. Now…..as for that drink…” He nodded his head towards Washington Ave. “The sooner…the better…because I definitely wanna see your arse out of those pants within an hour.”

//I think I like this one,// Ewan thought. “Lead the way, mate.”

He grinned, then turned and began walking away, not walking with any seduction or obvious intentions…..but still he walked like a come on. Ewan was never one to run from something that was as good as his for the night.

And this was no exception.

His intention was to find the nearest bar, drag him in it, get a drink and get him the hell out of there and into his room. But as we all know, things never go as we want them to.

For starters, the boy found a crowded, loud and far too trendy bar right up the road from Twist. About three doors up from the place. But it was not happening for him at all.

The boy looked at him and said, “Not your style, eh? Okay, mate- I have a better plan.”

Which was how, ten minutes later, he found himself in one of the more authentic looking pubs outside of the Isles. They had to pass his hotel to reach it, but there it was- the Playwright Irish Pub and Restaurant. It was pure pub, right down to the darts game being played, snooker in the far back and a taped football match on the telly. Not too absurdly crowded either, so they were able to grab a booth. A waitress weaved her way over, and the boy said, “Hey love, just the bitter for me tonight.”

She smiled and looked at Ewan. “And you, sir?,” she asked, with a slight accent.

“Stout, if ya have it,” he replied.

“No worries,” she said and headed off towards the bar. Ewan looked back at the, boy, who had slumped back into the booth with a grin.

“I figured you for a pub boy,” he said with laugh. “I can tell those.”

“Can you now?” Ewan pulled out his package of smokes again and shook out another, lighting it, and tossing the pack on the table. “Somehow, that doesn’t shock me.”

He grabbed the pack and took out one for himself, then slid the package back over to Ewan and grabbed a matchbook. He struck a match and lit it fluidly, inhaling and holding the smoke in for a long while before blowing it out. “Shouldn’t,” he said finally. “Those are the only boys worth even snogging.”

//Didn’t think you smoked….but I guess if you’re into pub boys, that’s a given.//
“So…you only flirt with pub boys?”

“If I fancy them any.” The waitress returned with the drinks and he said, “Cheers.” She left and he continued. “Not every one would be willing to swing, ya know. Afraid for their manhood and all that nonsense. Fuck that. I mean- snog who fucking wanna snog, ya know? Everyone else can piss right off.” He took a healthy gulp of his bitter and grinned.

“Aren’t we the poetic one,” Ewan replied, dragging on his cigarette.

“Better believe it, babe,” he said with a wink. He took another drag, then asked, “You were cruising tonight, eh?”

Ewan shook his head. “Not even. Not at all, really.” He arched his brow and asked, “Were you offering?”

“I told you I ain’t trade, mate. Or did you pretend not to hear that part?”

“Then why did you come on like some tart before?,” he asked, downing a healthy gulp of his stout. “You sure were acting the part.”

“When I see something I want, I go for it,” he replied. “Don’t you?”

“What if I had been some lunatic that preyed on pretty boys or something?”

He chuckled, then took another drag. “I should be so lucky.”

“What? I was serious about the lunatic part.”

He just smiled and downed more of his bitter. “I bet you were.”

Ewan sat back in the booth and studied the young man. He was brash, granted. And cocky as hell. damndamn gorgeous and edible to boot. It wasn’t often that he got the chance to chat up anyone- after all, who wants to talk to a washed up artist? Apart from the groupies and hangers-on and such, and they didn’t count. But this one….he obviously was too young to know about him and his fall, rise and fall again. He studied him a bit longer, idly drinking his stout and alternately taking major drags from his cigarette.

The young man finally broke the silence. “So, do you mif Iif I ask you what you do for a living, mate?” He tapped the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray.

“What do you think I do?,” Ewan asked with a grin.

“I bet you’re some rich bloke’s kept boy,” he said with a wicked laugh.

“Heh….not somesome time, mate,” he laughed.

“Seriously?,” he replied, eyes widening. “You were some rich man’s boy toy?”

“I prefer the term sponsor. It sounds less tawdry than it was.” //Although not even close, since I had to damn near do everything with that old geezer to even get my first showing…// “He started me out on my path of ruin,” he said with a wink.

“Wicked,” he whispered, then gulped more of his bitter before speaking again. “So, you got your foot in the door by shagging some old dude…”

“He wasn’t that old, I don’t think. Maybe mid-40’s or so.”

“Married?”

“Yeah.”

“His wife know?”

“She set us up.”

He shook his head. “Wild,” he finally replied. “She was cool with it?”

Ewan nodded. “How do you think I got in touch with him?”

A dark chuckle. “Sleeping your way to the top. Wicked thing.”

“It was for a reason, you know. Besides, the fact that I had only shagged one couple made me practically chaste in comparison to many of my peers. They all thought I was too uptight as it was, but hell- I was young.”

“How young?”

“Much younger than you, mate.”

“I am older than you think. I just carry myself young.” He sat forward and leaned over on the table, then asked, “You ever turn tricks to get by?”

He shook his head. “Amazingly enough, I didn’t. Well…I did a few escort deals, but no sex involved. Had to make rent a few times like that.”

“Yeah, well….” He trailed off. “I almost had to turn some a couple of months ago. But I lucked out- got a job as a lifeguard and they pay pretty damn well down here. It was either that or bartend. But ummm….nope, never had to do trade. Suppose I missed an opening, eh?” He drank a bit more.

“Maybe not. You get such closet cases….”

“You talking from-”

He waved off the question. “Nah. I am far from one myself. But I know a few boys in the trade, and they tell me that a lot. And the ones that like the rough stuff.”

He nodded. “Rough trade. Nasty buggers. Dated a couple of those. A little rough is okay, but there is a limit….”

“Limit? Rough is roug

“Nah, you should know there are limits in everything.” He paused. “Hmmm, wait…you never had rough sex in your life.”

“Define your idea of rough.”

“Not just rough fucking, mate. I mean….more like being dominated. No lube. Arms pulled over your head, chained. Nipples being bitten and the like. Spanking….maybe whipping…”

Ewan felt the blood rush to his face. Not that he hadn’t be aware of all of that- he had been handcuffed a few times in his life- but the rof iof it….some of it he had explored in his works- photos of blindfolded men kissing black leather boots, chained to walls, on their hands and knees….. It had always held a sort of perverse fascination and aura to him. He finally brought himself to the present and said, “Not like you mentioned, no.”

The young man shook his head with a smile. “More’s the pity for ya, mate,” he said. “There is nothing like it.” His voice seemed to drift off in recollection. “I did it a few times….got chained up in a dungeon once- you know, shackled to the wall and all that. Man fucked me completely raw, and lemme tell ya….I couldn’t sit for three days, but I’ll be fucked if it wasn’t an amazing experience. ‘Nother time, dude put me in nipplamplamps, this harness thing that suspended my legs up and open in the air- you know, like with cuffs or something like that- and this silver cock ring and spanked me so hard he drew blood, then rode me hard and wouldn’t let me come till he said so, and when he jerked that thing off me….” He laughed roguishly. “Jesus fucking *Christ*, mate- you have never seen such a mess.”

He had to smile a little. He was picturing it already in his mind’s eye- the boy’s eyes squeezed tight in mixed pain and pleasure, beads and beads of sweat all over him, maybe wrists cuffed over his head, mouth open to free a deep and wanting moan of release, his hips jerking upwards in the harness as he came, sending rns ons of white fluid to land on his stomach, chest, maybe even his gorgeous face or even splattering on his trussed up arms, toes clenching hard as it forced its way out of him…such loud cries…. //Damn….what I wouldn’t give to have seen *that*…// “Oh, dunno,” he said breezily after the image had sufficiently burned itself into his mind, “for sure it wasn’t all that bad….”

He grinned. “Never said it was. Hell, I couldn’t wait until the next time, ‘cept I got to top him.” He finished his drink, then set down the bottle and added, “I fact, I think I am quite good at that.”

“Eh?,” Ewan asked absently.

“Topping. Personally…” He trailed off and looked Ewan over slowly. “You look like you could handle a round of being topped, mate,” he added with a husky whisper.
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Chelsea White