Fic: Untitled (im/dm)

[fox_confessor]

Title: Untitled
Author: almaviva
Pairing: dm/im
Rating: PG
Notes Written for Laura's birthday 2008



At the end of this particular night, there's more Lear than McKellen left in the dressing room after everyone else has gone home. The performance had taken so much from him that he'd waved off his fellow actors at the end of the night--their good cheer and their youth. The audience had seemed almost adversarial--Shakespeare's groundlings revisited--and he just couldn't shake it.

Ian stares into the mirror, his make-up streaked by sweat. His eyes look heavy--shadowed--and he feels the weariness in his very bones. He's glad the run is coming to an end but couldn't quite think of the future yet. In the past, he's always known where he was going. Who he was going to. Now, he can't even think to the next week much less to a month from now, or more precisely, six weeks to the end of London. He thinks of his understudy, of just leaving and being done, but he's never done that before--never abandoned a show--and he knows it's just idle wishing. Likely, tomorrow night's performance will be different. He hopes.

"Ian?"

Startled from his thoughts, Ian straightens, reaches to pull his robe closed over his costume and runs his hand through his hair. He can't quite keep down his irritation at being caught. Turning, he tries to hide it but his wooden smile turns into something quite genuine when he sees his guest.

"Oh, my boy. Come tell me all your news. How are your parents?"

"You sounded like Gandalf just then."

"I feel more like Lear," Ian says shortly then turns his head, embarrassed. He reaches his hand out for Dominic in apology and is grateful when Dominic steps nearer, bends for a kiss. "Ignore me."

"Never. I thought you were great tonight."

"The audience wasn't with me."

"Nonsense."

Ian sweeps his hand through the air and hrumphs but he's secretly pleased with Dominic's praise. Leaning towards the mirror, he grabs a tissue and swipes at his cheeks but he's watching Dominic's reflection. "I missed my cue in the third act."

"I didn't notice."

"I forgot three lines of Lear's last speech."

"You delivered it beautifully."

"I was a fraud tonight." Dominic doesn't say anything and Ian tosses down his tissue. Sits back in his chair. "I'm old, Dom, and I don't always feel it but tonight I do."

Dominic moves closer, his hand sliding over Ian's shoulder and Ian grasps at it like a life line. For a moment, he can't meet Dominic's eyes in the mirror but the silence outlasts his ire and he finally looks up. He expects to see pity but finds nothing but compassion from Dominic and is ashamed that he'd thought to expect less. "You'll see one day, Dom. You'll wake up one day with gray hair and wrinkles and wonder what's become of you," Ian says, attempting to give his anger and frustration one last chance but it's quite spent. "Did you really like it?"

"Immensely. I thought you were beautiful on stage."

"Careful there."

"Beautiful." Dominic bends to press a kiss to Ian's temple, leaning down to curl his body against Ian's. "You were. You're like nothing I've ever seen on stage."

Ian pats Dominic's hand, finally able to meet Dominic's eyes and not just by reflection. He doesn't quite believe in his performance yet. He's used to praise but knows there's a place, too, for an audience made uncomfortable. Even if their unable to say they loved the play, they won't forget it, and that is nothing if not every actor's dream. For now, though, it's enough that his audience of one find his performance worthy and for that, he'll accept his bows.