#hunsky

"So I found this interview," Rob says, sitting down across from Charlie at the table.

Charlie kind of grunts at him, picking around the pieces of fruit with Cool Whip on them.

Rob grabs for one with his grubby little fingers. Charlie does not stab him in the hand with a fork, because he is feeling generous.

Licking Cool Whip off his finger, Rob says, “I was playing pretty boys and these angelic roles like -"

"Aw, fuck off," Charlie says, no longer feeling generous. "Stop eating my fruit if you're gonna be a tool. You don't get both."

"Nicholas Nickleby and all that stuff," Rob says, and steals another piece of fruit. He goes right for the strawberries, too. Jackass. "And I was like, ‘What am I doing? This isn’t who I am, as a man or an artist.’ I had to overcome people’s belief that I was too pretty to be a badass.”

He looks up at Charlie, grinning.

Charlie hates that smile. God, he hates that fucking smile. He does not enjoy feeling like butterflies have exploded in his sternum. "So?" he says.

"So I don't think you're too pretty to be a badass," Rob says, helpfully. He waits a beat. Always with the flair for the dramatic, Rob. "I don't think you're pretty or a badass."

"Liar," Charlie says, and he doesn't really know which trait he's talking about. But still. "That's a damn lie, Southie."

Rob's eyes do that stupid twinkly thing. "Aw, don't take it personal, Chazza-"

"You are not actually Australian," Charlie says. "You know that, right? You've met real Australians before? I mean, judging by your accent -"

"Pot, kettle, and so on," Rob says. "Anyway, I don't think you're -"

Charlie is really tired. He's been in the Guillermo del Toro death machine for five days now with Rinko, and Rob gets to sit back and laugh - and Charlie really can't wait until it's his turn - and he is way too tired for this.

He grabs Rob's wrist and yanks him in. "You're lying and you know it," he says from a few inches away.

Rob's eyes are very wide and very green from this angle. He swallows. "I..."

"Admit it," Charlie says.

"I'm lying," Rob says.

Charlie releases him and pulls away, satisfied.

"I'll admit it," Rob says. He licks his lips. "You're really, really, really fucking pretty."

"And...?" Charlie says, heart doing kind of weird, worrying things in his chest.

"And what, mate?" Rob says. "That's all."

Charlie growls.

"Cheers," Rob says, and leans forward in a flash, kissing Charlie's cheek and pulling away before he's had a chance to do more than blink.

"Oi!" he says.

Rob winks and eats his last strawberry before walking off.

this is half crack, half something I am convinced is 100% true. concocted from chatting with snack-size. real person fiction ahoy, all warnings implied..

Charlie hears about Rob before they even get to the first read-through together. He was in EastEnders, he knows a lot about robots, and he’s from Brighton. 

Oh, and he plays a lot of WoW, apparently.

He expects someone the exact opposite end of the spectrum as his character – none of Chuck’s bravado, or his anger, or his sly sneer, and maybe a bit more deference to his peers – and he’s kind of right, except, like…

“You do a lot of push-ups,” Rob says, sitting above him with a cardboard coffee cup in hand, aviators pushed on top of his head. His hair is sticking out at all angles. It looks ridiculous.

Charlie grunts.

“I guess, though, they’re filming one of Yank Charlie’s scenes, what else is there to do if you’re a Newcastle bloke away from his mine – and hey, can’t sit around growing that douchebag beard like you normally would –”

“I really can’t wait to shoot our fight,” Charlie says. “How the hell’d you convince Rinko you’re sweet?”

“The dimples,” Rob says, grinning, and Charlie thinks – oh, yeah, those. Rob doesn’t really look 21, and most of the time Charlie doesn’t see Chuck in him, but. Those dimples.

Charlie rolls his eyes. “I’m going to go…” he starts, and then kind of trails off when he realizes there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, but it’s too late to back down now. He pushes himself up.

“Swagger off, then,” Rob says. “Maybe one of the caterers doesn’t know how big your cock is, Jax.”

“You were on EastEnders!” Charlie says, because he’s not the only tool here by a long shot.

“Was,“ Rob says. “You’re still Jax Teller – and by the way, cry enough this season, mate?”

Charlie flips him the bird. Stupid fucking… ugh, there are no words. He goes behind a trailer to do more push-ups, out of Rob’s sight.

Adjusts his cock once he’s out of Rob’s sight too.

That fucking smirk, Jesus Christ. Yeah, they got Chuck right.