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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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Harry Styles and the OTP

HI SO IDK HOW THIS WORKS BUT ahaha @earlgreytea68 literally submitted this masterpiece to me, and i wish i could say i knew how we got here but in truth i do not, we were just talking about how Andrew Garfield runs in this hilariously nerdy Brit Pack (of RPatz, Eddie R, Jamie Dornan, and Tom Sturridge), and she was like, “This checks out and also Harry Styles should be a scotch-drinking sexual guru sage master” and then she just handed me this GLORIOUS THING and I mean………

THANK YOU, EGT, NONE OF US ARE WORTHY OF THIS AND I HAVE TO HIT POST AND GO DIE OF HILARITY BYE

“Oh, no,” says Rob, and shakes his head violently. “That is not good.”

“What?” Andrew says. “Why isn’t that good?”

“You got invited to Harry Styles’s house,” Eddie says, and purses his lips like that’s enough for Andrew to know.

Except Andrew already knew that. “Ye-es,” says Andrew. “Why is that a bad thing?”

“Do you know what Harry Styles does?” Eddie asks him.

“Yes?” says Andrew. “I mean. He’s, you know, a musician. One Direction. That’s what makes you beautiful,” he sang.

Eddie and Rob stare at him.

Rob says, “Christ, do not do that when you go to Harry Styles’s house.”

Eddie says, “He’s not in One Direction anymore.”

Andrew scowls. “I know that. Look, what is with you two? I just got invited to hang out at someone’s house. I’m sure it’ll be some kind of low-key evening. We’ll chat about avoiding paparazzi together or something.”

“You really don’t know what Harry Styles does,” Eddie says sadly.

“Well, I sure do wish one of my best friends here would tell me,” says Andrew impatiently.

“He gives love advice,” Eddie says.

“Love advice?” Andrew says blankly. “Like an advice columnist?”

“Yeah,” Rob says. “Harry Styles has an advice column.”

“Wow,” says Andrew.

“No,” Rob says. “Obviously Harry Styles doesn’t have an advice column. Harry Styles is a sexual sage.”

Andrew has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. “He’s a what?”

“He pulls you aside when he thinks you’re mucking up your love life,” Eddie says, “and he gives you advice.”

Andrew tries to process this. “What, he does this regularly?”

“Oh, yes,” says Rob. “And in great detail.”

Eddie winces. “Yeah, it’s really not necessary for him to go into such detail.”

“Yes, it is,” says Rob. “He’s got some tips that changed my life, I swear to God. Did you not listen to his tips, Eddie? You should have listened to his tips. Hannah would have thanked you. He told me to do this thing with my dick where I—”

“No,” Andrew and Eddie say simultaneously.

Rob makes a face but falls silent.

Andrew says, “So let me get this straight. Harry Styles is some secret sex sage who’s been taking people aside to fix their love lives?”

“Yes. And he’s coming straight for you, apparently,” says Eddie.

“Hmm.” Andrew mulls this over. “Do you think he’s going to have advice about Emma?” he asks brightly.

“I think he’s going to knock you upside the head,” says Rob.

***

Harry Styles’s house is exactly what Andrew would have expected the house of a sexual sage to look like, had he ever stopped to think about sexual sages existing in the world before. Every square inch of it is draped in impossibly lush and loudly patterned fabrics, from the cranberry velvet lining the walls to the zebra print fur sprawling on the floors to every rollicking chair in between. The curtains are black and crimson harlequin print, and they seem to be eight times longer than they need to be. All of the lamps are draped in fabric, so that the lights all around them are garishly colored. Harry is standing in a suit that seems to have been crafted entirely from a Turkish carpet. Andrew is envious of it, actually. Harry’s got a great stylist.

Andrew says, “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

Harry looks unamused. He sips from a tumbler that contains some indeterminate liquid and says, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Oh,” says Andrew. “I thought I had to come. I thought if I didn’t come you’d track me down and have me kidnapped so you could bring me here and save my love life.”

“I would have,” says Harry.

Andrew laughs.

Harry does not.

So Andrew stops laughing.

“Andrew Garfield,” Harry says, and reaches behind him. There’s a bookcase there that’s carpeted in lurid, hot pink tiger print. Harry pulls out a binder, except someone’s literally pasted fluffy white fur onto the binder. Andrew wonders idly if Harry can’t have any sharp surfaces around him.

And then Harry opens the binder and there’s a picture of…Andrew. A fairly old picture, actually.

“Hang on,” Andrew says. “Is that from Lions for Lambs?”

Harry ignores him, flipping through the binder. There are more pictures of Andrew, scattered through pages and pages of text. Harry glances through it, going hmm and huh at various places.

Andrew says, growing a little irritated, “What is all that?”

“Your blind items,” Harry replies without looking up.

“My blind items? Aren’t those blind?”

Harry looks up then, fixes him with a stare. “Blind items are never blind, to those with the sight.” Then Harry sips from his tumbler. Then he looks back down at the binder.

“Oh,” Andrew says, because he’s not sure what you can possibly say to that. “Okay, then. So you have the sight?”

Harry closes the binder and looks up at Andrew. “Your blind items are a fucking mess.”

Andrew bristles. “Well, I mean, they’re not that—”

“Andrew. Which of us has a house carpeted entirely in faux furs so soft, it had to be specially manufactured for me by Dior?”

Andrew looks around the house. “I think that’s you.”

“Exactly,” says Harry, and turns back to the bookcase.

“Is this about Emma?” Andrew asks.

Harry suddenly flings his tumbler entirely across the room, where it strikes harmlessly the heavily padded wall and lands on the soft carpet with a thud.

Harry says, “Pretend that shattered.”

“Okay,” Andrew says.

“The shattering of that glass is how you should feel about Emma.”

Andrew looks at the intact glass. “It didn’t shatter, though—”

“I said pretend it shattered!” Harry says.

“Okay,” Andrew agrees again.

“So, how do you feel about Emma?”

“…Shattered?” Andrew guesses.

“Yes. And what do we do with a shattered glass?”

“…Clean it up?”

“Wrong. We forget about it.”

Andrew considers. “That seems dangerous.”

Harry’s eyes glitter at him. “Oh, does it?”

“You could be walking around barefoot and forget you never cleaned up your shattered glass and then you’ve got glass in your foot—”

“You shouldn’t be walking around barefoot,” Harry says. “What the fuck. Why would you be walking around barefoot?”

“You never walk around barefoot in your house?”

“I’m not an animal,” Harry says. “Christ. You’re a disaster.”

“I’m not a disaster,” Andrew protests.

“The girl broke up with you, she’s making out with other costars, she’s chasing Justin Theroux around. You’re a little bit of a disaster here.”

“Okay,” Andrew allows. “When you put it that way.”

“Who the fuck is Justin Theroux anyway?” asks Harry.

“He’s in this show,” Andrew says. “The Leftovers? And he used to be married to—”

“Never mind,” Harry says. “I’ve lost interest.”

“Okay.”

“But the important thing is…I haven’t lost interest in you.” Harry points to Andrew. “You’re a fucking disaster, but I haven’t lost interest in you.”

“Thank you?” says Andrew.

“I wish I had my drink,” says Harry.

“You threw it,” says Andrew.

“I know,” says Harry. “I’m just saying. I wish I hadn’t done that. But I think it made an effective point.”

“Sure,” says Andrew. “So is this about helping me get over Emma?”

“Why do you still remember Emma’s name?”

“What?”

“We were supposed to forget about Emma, like the shattered glass.”

“But you were just talking about the glass—”

“You’re the one who needs to forget. Forget about Emma. It’s like she never happened.” Harry snaps his fingers in Andrew’s face.

Andrew wonders if Harry genuinely thinks he’s a sorcerer. Maybe no one’s told Harry he can’t erase people’s memories. Andrew’s certainly not going to be the one to break that news.

Harry says, “Okay, I’m going to solve your love life with one photograph.” Harry waves a manila envelope around. “Are you ready?”

Actually, Andrew is kind of desperately curious. “Yes,” he says.

Harry hands him the envelope, and Andrew opens it, and it’s a photograph of… “James,” Andrew says.

“Mmm,” Harry says.

Andrew looks at him. “This is James McArdle.”

“Yes.” Harry nods.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Harry leans closer and drops his voice. “Shag him.”

“He’s—I mean—What?”

“Shag him,” Harry says.

“But…” Andrew looks back at the photograph. “This is James McArdle,” he says again.

“Shag him,” Harry says.

“I…” Andrew looks at Harry, who nods encouragingly at him, then looks back at James’s photograph in his hands. He narrows his eyes. He thinks.

Harry says, “Would you like some tips?”

Andrew tucks James’s photograph into his pocket and says, “Yes.”

#omg #mcarfield #mcarfield fic #sort of #earlgreytea68 #idek what is happening right now #BLIND ITEMS ARE NEVER BLIND TO THOSE WITH SIGHT #submission

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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5 times Andrew and James were totally platonic boyfriends (and the first time they weren’t)

(#1) (#2)

The final night of the NT production the signing line outside the theatre is exhausting, and it’s only adrenalin that keeps Andrew on his feet.

That’s probably why he doesn’t really think about what he’s doing when he feels James’s hand sliding lightly over his back — and how he knows it’s James he couldn’t say, only that somewhere over the last nine months they’ve become imprinted on one another, apparently even down to the slightest touch. Andrew, tired and triumphant and giddy and more than a little punch-drunk, thinks, “Oh, it’s James,” and turns away from the line of fans and wordlessly asks for a kiss, as though it’s something they do every day.

And in a way, it is, but there’s a moment of startled hesitation in James’s face when he realizes what Andrew wants. It recalls Andrew to his senses, to the practical reality of where they are; but by then it’s too late to back out, of course, and James is leaning forward with a look of bemused befuddlement on his face, dear and gorgeous and the best... best. They kiss, and it’s oddly perfunctory: the kiss of two straight men kissing and being all hetero about it, not the kiss of two lovers who’ve been bound up in each other day after day for month after month, and... Andrew’s so tired, god.

James teases him and deflects, because that’s what James tends to do when Andrew gets too close to, to, whatever weird nebulous line he sometimes puts down between them. Andrew, because he can, because it’s the last night, because they won’t see each other for four months after tonight, pushes it a little anyway.

“I’m going to ask for a redo on that kiss later,” Andrew tells him saucily. “That was terrible.”

James swats at him. “I needed prep time, it was an ambush,” he says.

“Fine,” Andrew says. “Here’s your advance notice.” He leers, and James snorts. He’s only shown up to give Andrew directions to the impromptu meetup before the cast party, but Andrew doesn’t miss the way his smile lingers, bright and sweet, after the kiss.

They don’t really have a chance to talk or even to really interact until much later in the night. There’s too much activity, too much energy, too many people to hug and kiss and say goodbye to and get drunk with one last time, and every time Andrew finds James in the crowd he’s surrounded by a bevy of eager girls and looking as strung-out as Andrew feels, like he’s one bob away from keeling over where he stands. At one point Andrew gives up and texts him from across a giant living room full of people at Marianne’s house.

Would that I were a bird so that I could fly to you across this great divide, he writes, and hits send with an aggressive feeling of smug rebellion.

He watches James dig his phone out and smirk at the text, then look up and find Andrew’s face in the crowd. He blows Andrew a kiss, and Andrew, on cue and out of habit, catches it and deposits it in his breast pocket.

James doesn’t answer right away, but a short while later, as Andrew is listening to Nathan Lane tell an anecdote about Matthew Broderick that he’s told at least three times before, and trying to keep his eyes open, his phone vibrates.

You can barely stand, much less fly, big bird, do u need a lift back to your place?

Big Bird doesn’t fly, pick a better avian, Andrew sends back, unable to mask a yawn.

Whatever, swan princess, I’m taking you home

Promises, promises, Andrew texts.

He looks over to where James has been crowded for half the night near the door, but he’s vanished. A moment later he materializes next to Andrew, wobbly on his feet. Andrew pats the empty space on the sofa where he’s been curled up for the last half hour or so, mostly immobile. James swings his feet over the back like a hoodlum, and Andrew pulls him down on the cushions next to him. For a moment they sort of collapse against one another. Andrew’s already leaning against the corner and James wraps his arms around Andrew’s waist and scoots in close so he can use Andrew’s side for a pillow. Andrew cards his fingers through James’s hair. Like his own, it’s drenched through with sweat, and James shifts and sighs pleasantly, arching into the touch.

“Baby, this was a mistake,” Andrew murmurs. “You’ve trapped me.”

“Mmm,” James agrees. “I’m not moving until December.”

“Good,” Andrew says nonsensically, and then his eyes flutter shut, and the next thing he knows is the intrusive glare of a camera flash going off above his head. He cracks an eye groggily open, sleep-hazy and annoyed, and finds an angel looming above him.

“Sorry,” Amanda says, with Denise giggling at her side.

“Not sorry at all,” says Denise.

“You two just looked so adorable,” Amanda says. Andrew cracks the other eye open and realizes he’s somehow managed to wind both arms around James, who is firmly tucked along his side and stubbornly refusing to open his eyes. He turns his head into Andrew’s shoulder, and Andrew obligingly shifts to make him more comfortable.

“You’re both sadists,” he mutters.

“Wake up,” Denise says, poking him. “It’s a party, you can’t sleep through it. I need to get four months’ worth of teasing you both into the next half hour or so.”

“No,” Andrew grouses. “Go away, this is torture.” Above him, James flings a hand out and shoos Denise away, then wraps his arms around Andrew again, all without opening his eyes.

“Ha, we’ve got you awake now,” Amanda says. “You might as well get up and rejoin the party.”

“But my pillow,” James says, muffled against Andrew’s shirt. Andrew sighs and relaxes beneath him. “I thought you were a bird,” James insists, tightening his hold. “Let’s fly away.”

“Where to, poppycake?” Andrew says, kissing the top of James’s head.

“Glasgow,” James mumbles. “Or Bethesda. Or the universe. Don’t care.”

“A trip to the moon on gossamer wings,” Andrew murmurs. “Get up, Pal Joey, your adoring public needs you.”

“Has anyone ever suggested to you that you know far too many obscure musical references to be straight,” James says, reluctantly releasing Andrew and sitting up.

“And yet you recognize all my obscure musical references,” Andrew says, unable to repress a smile.

“What can I say? I am what I am,” James says, coming fully to life at last and sending him a wink.

“I’ll take that kiss now, by the way,” Andrew says. “I ordered a do-over.”

“No,” James says, waving him aside.

“No?”

James shrugs. “Too many people, and —” he eyes Denise. “Too many cameras.”

“That was Amanda’s camera!” Denise says.

“And I sent you both copies,” Amanda says, unrepentant.

“You’re zealots,” Andrew says. He ruffles James’s hair. “Are you really going to deny me my rights as your temporary life partner?”

“You know I won’t,” James says, yawning. “Just need a bit of privacy to do it properly.”

“Ooh,” says Andrew. “If no one is around you, say, ‘baby, I love you?’”

“Something like that,” says James, sliding off him and pulling Andrew to his feet. Andrew sways and wobbles into him.

“Seriously, we should get you home,” James says.

“No, not yet, I want selfies of all of us,” says Denise, tickling Andrew and snapping a picture of the three of them.

“I am putting a moratorium on selfies,” James says, “you woke us up, don’t ask us to smile, too.”

“You two suck at this,” Denise says, examining the photo. Andrew is smiling groggily against her shoulder; James has his arms looped around Andrew and is side-eying the camera.

“I’ll wake up, I promise,” Andrew insists, stifling a yawn. “Just.. need some air, is all.”

“Right,” says James. “Same.”

“Whatever, the selfie train is leaving without you,” Denise says. James flips her off and tugs Andrew by the hand past the crowd and out onto Marianne’s oddly deserted patio, which opens onto a tiny cultivated garden and then the street a few steps beyond.

“Hullo, here’s that privacy you wanted,” Andrew says. James comes forward and tucks an arm around Andrew’s waist, propping him upright.

Andrew sways into him. “I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. McArdle.”

James rolls his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re very dramatic?”

“Hmm.” Andrew leans into him. “No, but they did leave me orphaned on a theatre doorstep with a sign around my neck saying, ‘he belongs here, raise him well.’”

James considers this. “I’d’ve pegged you as having been raised by pixie sprites.”

“Oh, I was,” Andrew says, “but we all lived in the theatre.”

“Under the boards?”

“Right, exactly,” Andrew laughs. “I came out at night and stole trinkets from the prop tables and the dressing rooms.”

“And you still have a small hoard of hat pins and lapel mics hidden away somewhere.”

“To remind me of my origins.” He giggles. James’s hand tightens around his waist.

“You’re delirious,” James says. “Honestly, you should cry off and go sleep. God knows I should, too.”

“Can’t, there’s too many people to say goodbye to,” Andrew says. He looks at James. “I’m going to miss you terribly.”

James makes a face. “You’ll see me again before you know it. And then you’ll be sick of me before you know it.”

“Are you sick of me?” Andrew asks, and James flinches.

“No,” he says, abruptly breathless. “No. Never.”

Andrew smiles at him. “This is your last chance until December to have a confusing sexual tryst with me that we never talk about again,” he says.

James laughs. “Come here,” he says, and he cups Andrew’s face and kisses him, lingering and slow, with just the right amount of tongue, deepening the kiss on cue when Andrew sighs and smiles against his lips. Andrew takes a moment to marvel at how easy this is, at how easy it is to have intimacy with someone when neither of you have anything to lose.

He pulls back at last, taking a mental snapshot of James’s eyes, glittering and fine in the lamplight.

“Was that kiss better?” James asks him mildly, smiling a little.

“Quite satisfactory,” Andrew says, running his hand over James’s stubble, thinking about how familiar it is, how strange it will be not to touch it for months.

“You know,” he says, “I’ve not had many fake boyfriends, but you’re by far my favorite.”

James flushes, pleased and pink. “Really,” he says. “Because I’m the best?”

Andrew grins and laces his arms around James’s neck. “Because you’ve lasted the longest,” he says. “You’ve gone and Stockholmed me.”

“Ruined you for all other comers, have I?” James’s smile is soft and fond, and god, Andrew is really, really going to miss him.

“You may have ruined me for all other actors,” Andrew admits. James blinks. Andrew sighs and leans against him. “You’re such a fucking game changer, I can’t believe you’re only 28, Jesus,” he says, smoothing James’s shirtfront. “How is that even — god, and I can’t believe you lost the Olivier to Bertie fucking Carvel.”

“Rubbish, you’re just, you’re being dramatic again,” James says, ruffling his hair.

“No one who sees you onstage can stop talking about it,” Andrew says. “I’d’ve burned down the theatre if they didn’t let you transfer.”

“Andrew,” says James, and then he looks as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“Don’t throw me over for Lee Pace,” Andrew says. “I want to be your number one fake boyfriend.”

James reaches up and drags his thumb over Andrew’s cheekbone, which Andrew has to admit is a good, smooth move. “If it helps,” he says, “I’ve never kissed any of my other stage boyfriends like that.”

“Like how?” Andrew says. “I’ve already forgotten, I think I need a reminder.”

James chuckles. “You just want everyone to love you,” he murmurs, reeling Andrew in.

“Guilty,” Andrew admits, “but I play favorites,” and then they’re kissing again, and James’s arms are tight around him, and Andrew is flush against his chest, and he can feel James’s warmth bleeding into his skin, and he drags his lips against James’s stubble and slides his tongue against James’s, suddenly wanting him to remember this for months, to really, really think of this moment as theirs, to make it count.

He feels a strangely intense thrill at the idea, and just as he’s wondering at it, James cups Andrew’s chin and shifts against him and deepens the kiss, making the most of their fractional height difference so he can possess Andrew’s mouth, and Andrew lets out a tiny appreciative gasp and arches up into him. He winds his hand into James’s hair and savors the way he tastes, the way he smells, his sweat and his heat and all those rum cocktails and the goodness of him, and he takes James’s lower lip and draws it into his mouth, and James shudders and Andrew thinks, yes, and somehow by mutual assent Andrew tilts his head back at the exact moment James moves to kiss his throat, and he ends up tugging James closer just as James reaches Andrew’s collarbone and nips it with his teeth before he finally pulls back.

Andrew follows him, feeling bereft of his mouth and his stubble and his closeness and not wanting any of it to end. He leans up and brushes his lips against James’s, and it’s meant to be something light and teasing, but the moment they touch it’s another open-mouthed kiss, firm and deep and seeking. James reaches up and laces their fingers together and sighs into Andrew’s mouth, and Andrew responds with an answering moan, curling his tongue against James’s.

And they’re both very good kissers who are very good by now at kissing each other, but they’ve never just explored one another like this, and Andrew is just wondering how long James would be willing to stay here like this, just enjoying each other, when James issues one final sweep of his tongue against Andrew’s and pulls away.

Andrew breathes in, breathes out. James tilts his forehead against Andrew’s and doesn’t speak, just looks at him. Andrew brushes James’s nose with his own. James flexes his fingers between Andrew’s where their hands are still laced together, and kisses the tip of Andrew’s nose, then kisses Andrew’s lips softly.

“Baby, I love you,” James whispers, and suddenly Andrew’s stomach feels like it’s made of jello.

“You know I love you, too,” he answers, and he thinks that if James were to kiss him again, now, he might — that they might —

But James is stepping away, raising Andrew’s hand to his lips and kissing it like a proper gentleman.

“I know,” he says, and Andrew isn’t going to cry, he’s already cried earlier today. Don’t be ridiculous, he orders himself.

“And you’re properly awake now?” James asks.

“Oh,” Andrew says, dazed. “Oh. Yes.”

“Good,” says James gently. “I’m going to go catch Denise’s selfie train. You coming?”

Andrew looks at him searchingly. He thinks for a moment that if he sees anything like hunger in James’s face that he might actually do this, that he might actually take James home with him and unpeel that ridiculous blue shirt and see what happens and fuck what it all might mean.

But he only sees James’s typical expression when he looks at Andrew: affectionate and pleasant, but opaque, too, and ever so slightly withdrawn. Andrew wants to be frustrated with him for that, but he can’t be, because James just made out with him like a teenager, solely because he wanted to share in some kind of intimacy with him, as much as he could.

He let Andrew through for a moment, Andrew realizes. But that was all: it wasn’t an invitation to more.

How could it be? They’re both straight.

He laughs a little — mostly at himself. “I am going to make my own selfie train. No, I want a selfie conga line.”

“I think a conga line might make the quality of the selfies a bit suspect,” James says.

“Let me show you how wrong you are,” Andrew says, taking his hand and leading him back inside. James is warm at his back, and it’s still a tight crush of people when they re-enter, but James keeps his hand tucked in Andrew’s until it’s time for him to walk the selfie conga line.

And for the next four months, when he thinks about James, that’s what he thinks of first: not the actual moment when they say goodbye, or the way James’s mouth felt against his, or the way his stubble felt against Andrew’s cheek; it’s just this: the two of them, standing in that crowd, holding hands for no reason — fingers laced together, bodies curving towards each other, like partners drawn together by instinct.

He’s not sure whether he’s being ironic or teasing or facetious or entirely sincere when he texts James one late night in November: I can’t wait to kiss you again.

James writes back, a few moments later: Cocktease.

And Andrew doesn’t overthink the flash of real arousal he gets at that, nor does he overthink what he says in response, because they’re going to be back together soon, and they’ll have the next six months to unpack what it all means.

But for now, there’s just Andrew’s text, hanging between them like a possibility, if not a promise:

I hope so.

#mcarfield #mcarfield fic #fake boyfriends #long post #oh my god this is so self-indulgent #queer andrew garfield is the only true andrew garfield #accept no substitutes

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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oh my god, dear anon, you don’t even know how bad i am at games, ahahaha, i had to watch a tutorial just to remember how to play Munchkin. So I apologize for how little actual gaming there is in this game night, lol, but look, thank you for giving me an excuse to write what seems to be the only thing i ever want to write: a totally drunk and/or high Andrew Garfield and a James McArdle in varying degrees of sobriety, platonically not-platonically being boyfriends in love.

Game nights are supposed to be full of rousing competition, but apparently, game night among the Angels in America cast just means that instead of sitting around exhaustedly in dressing rooms, everyone sits around exhaustedly at Andrew’s house.

It’s honestly quite relaxing, James thinks, though that has quite a lot to do with the blunt he and Andrew have been passing back and forth. It has even more to do with the warmth of Andrew at his side, leaning his head on James’s shoulder, even though James’s side has kind of gone numb from trying not to dislodge him.

The group is playing Munchkin, and considering how lifeless they all are, it’s actually going quite well.

“No!” Nate shrieks and throws his cards on the table as Denise takes all his treasure, cackling, and adds it to her growing pile of loot. Everyone groans, and James glances quickly around the room to assess how everyone is doing, out of killer competitive instinct that won’t quit just because he hasn’t slept properly in a few days.

They’re spread out, sitting crosslegged around Andrew’s giant coffee table. Lee looks mildly depressed over the state of his hand, but then Lee tends to look mildly depressed about most things. Beth isn’t even looking at the game; she and Susan are giggling into their martinis, but Susan keeps glancing back at her cards. Shrewd, that one, James notes. One to beat.

Next to him, Andrew stirs briefly from his position against James’s shoulder. "How long has this game been going?” he asks blearily, arching his perfect neck and exhaling a plume of smoke. “How has she not won yet, she’s got all the cards!”

James seizes the opportunity while Andrew isn’t leaning against him to jostle some feeling back into his shoulder. He stretches, then slips his arm around Andrew’s waist and shifts to settle him more comfortably against his side.

“Is it because you keep using all your moves to keep her from reaching the last level?” Andrew yawns, running his hand lightly over James’s chest. “Is that why this twenty-minute game has taken us nearly an hour?” James swats his arm, and Andrew hums and tucks himself into the curve of James’s body.

“I take issue with your framing of the situation,” James says.

“Oh, Louis,” Andrew says.

“I’m just saying,” says James, “I’m keeping Denise from winning, but I’m also keeping everyone else from losing.”

Everyone else groans.

“You’re incorrigible,” Andrew says. He picks up the blunt he’s been smoking and places it between James’s lips. “And now it’s your turn,” he says as James takes the hit, “and you don’t have any cards left to fight your own monsters. Typical.” James’s lips brush Andrew’s fingers, and Andrew takes the blunt back, watching James through hooded lids as he exhales.

“You know you’re not technically supposed to be a team,” Denise says pointedly. Nate snorts. “They’re not!” Denise protests. “You’re not supposed to be able to see his cards!”

Andrew sticks his tongue out at her. “You should be happy,” he tells her. “You’ve robbed him of his dignity and soon your path to the crown will be clear.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” says James, confident as only the pleasantly stoned can be, “I’m not going to get any monsters,” and he kicks open the door and promptly meets a plutonium dragon.

Andrew bursts into a string of giggles.

“Oh, noooo,” James says, and he’s probably snickering too much because of the weed, too. “This is your fault.”

“How is it my fault? I’ve been trying to save you from yourself.”

“You jinxed me. Somehow.”

“I thought I was your lucky charm.”

“Not lucky enough,” James says, glancing over at Andrew’s cards. He looks around the room.

“Don’t you dare, you cutthroat,” Nate says.

“You have nothing to give me anyway,” James reminds him. “You’ve been razed to the ground.”

“I’ll help you,” Beth says from her corner, “I’m only on level 3, I have nothing left to live for.” She hands James a few cards.

“Don’t encourage his folly,” Andrew says disdainfully.

“Don’t listen to him,” James says, pressing a kiss against Andrew’s temple. “He always encourages my folly.”

“I could help you,” Denise says, wagging her eyebrows and fanning her giant pile of cards.

“You are not helping me!”

“What?” Andrew swats at the hand James has curled around his waist. “Let her help you! Take away her power, profit from her bleeding heart.”

“I can’t do that, babe,” James says, pinching Andrew’s stomach in retaliation. Andrew jumps and elbows him, so James reaches up and tickles the back of his neck.

Andrew squeaks and turns to him, grinning. “Why not,” he says, in a tone that’s either long-suffering affection or the sound of someone very high, or possibly both.

“Because,” James says, wrapping his other arm around Andrew’s waist and tugging him closer, “if we take things from a powerful sorceress, we get cursed. Powerfully.”

“I thought she was an elf,” Andrew says. He’s frowning, but he’s looking at James and his eyes are soft. “She drew the elf card!”

“I did, but I’m still a sorceress,” Denise says, grinning.

“You have to help save me from getting cursed,” James tells him.

“I stopped paying attention to my cards like ten minutes ago,” Andrew says, leaning forward to brush his nose against James’s, like that’s just a thing they do — and James supposes when they’re both this stoned, maybe it is. “I have no idea if I have anything that can help you fight the, the whatever it is.”

“Plutonium dragon,” says James, letting their foreheads drift together, aware even in his haze that they probably are crossing all manner of inappropriate public displays of affection right now. “And you have two cards that could help me very much, if you wouldn’t mind donating them.”

“Poof,” Andrew says, shrugging. “Take them, they’re gone, they’re yours.”

“Beautiful,” James murmurs, and he doesn’t mean to kiss Andrew, not then, not in front of everyone, not ever, but it happens without his conscious thought: he cups Andrew’s chin and kisses him briefly but firmly on the mouth, because they’re partners and, and, because that’s the only natural response. Isn’t it?

Andrew kisses back and then blinks at him, blank shock in his eyes. James stares back, grateful that the light fog in his head is keeping him from immediately panicking too much. He searches Andrew’s face for any sign of panic or revulsion, but Andrew just looks startled and surprised and otherwise unreadable.

“So you are dating, then,” says Nate. He looks at Lee. “You owe me five bucks.”

“They’re not dating,” Lee says boredly. “That’s not how you kiss someone you’re dating.”

“You’re both ridiculous,” James says hurriedly. “Susan, do you have a card? I only need one more level to defeat this dragon and plunder Denise’s treasure, which would let me win the game.”

Susan narrows her eyes at him.

“What do I get in return?” she says.

“You can win with me!” James says eagerly, desperate to keep the conversation going. “I’ll give you half Denise’s treasure and we can level up together.”

“We know you’re just playing dirty right now to distract us from the fact you and Andrew just lost a round of gay chicken,” says Denise. “And I’m your friend, so I’m going to let you, but just be aware, we all know what you’re doing!”

“I am going to demolish you and burn and pillage your castle and keep,” James says calmly.

“So,” says Susan, even more calmly. “If I give you this card, you beat Denise and win the game, and I get…. a consolation victory, is that it?”

“Er, well, it seems that way,” says James, laughing shrilly. Beside him, Andrew has gone still, and that’s probably not a good sign, but James can’t look back at him right now or he’ll be absolutely sunk.

“Right,” says Susan. “Well, for starters, I want you to kiss Andrew again before he starts getting that dejected puppy look he gets whenever he thinks you don’t love him, and then I want the two of you to go somewhere and figure out whether or not you’re dating, because my lord, it’s game night, not an orgy.”

“I,” says James.”What?”

“We’re not dating,” Andrew blurts, and James turns to him and now he does look a little mortified. James takes his hand and laces their fingers together, because obviously Andrew can’t look like that, he mustn’t ever, and Andrew sends him another startled confused glance.

“We’re not dating,” James says, face turning red, gazing back searchingly at Andrew. ”We just…” he swallows and tries to figure out what on earth to say. “We maybe skipped that part.”

“We just,” Andrew stammers. “We just…” he looks at James and smiles at him slowly, helplessly. “We just belong to each other.”

“Right,” James adds, dizzy. “Because of the play.”

“Yes,” says Andrew, and then, “No. Not because of the play.”

“No?” James blurts.

Andrew gulps and shakes his head, and then they’re kissing for real, a proper Prior-and-Louis kiss, only somehow it’s nothing like Prior and Louis, it’s Andrew, Andrew who smells like his favorite ridiculously citrusy aftershave and tastes like salt and grass and vermouth, Andrew who melts into him completely, Andrew who belongs to him and always has.

Another moment, and they’re on the verge of deepening the kiss when they both seem to abruptly recall where they are. They break apart with a gasp and stare at each other, slow dawning smiles replacing their stunned dazed looks.

“Don’t kiss like that onstage,” Lee says dryly. “My sanity can’t take it if they were to extend the run.”

Andrew lets out a hysterical giggle.

Susan says, “That will do, I suppose,” and tosses her winning cards over. James reaches up and thumbs Andrew’s cheek, and Andrew covers James’s hand with his own.

“Look at that,” says James, smiling at him. “Seems like I’ve won.”

Denise sets all her cards down on the table. “Not so fast,” she says. “I think you’ll find I have enough cards to quadruple the fighting power of the plutonium dragon, which means that not only do you not win, you end up with negative levels.”

James blinks at her. “You cheeky bastard.” She sends him an exaggerated courtly bow. “You could have just beaten me and saved me the confession.”

Denise grins slowly, and then sends Susan a thumbs-up. Susan laughs.

“I could have,” Denise says. She crosses her arms, smug. “But I like this way much better.”

James splutters.

“Shh,” Andrew says, brushing a kiss over his cheek and leaning his head against James’s temple. “Just let her have this.”

“I’m a terribly sore loser,” James murmurs, pulling him close. ”You’ll have to console me very hard.”

Andrew smiles and presses his lips to the curve of James’s jaw.

“I think I can do that,” he says. “After all — she might have won the game.” He raises his head and winks, and James’s stomach somersaults.

“But I’m pretty sure you’re the one walking away with the flawless victory.”

#mcarfield #mcarfield fic #lol this is so shameless #i'm sorry #long post

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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This utter self-indulgence has been sitting in a word doc for days. I have no idea how Tony commentary and livestreams work and none of these reporters would be talking this much about a nominee and his “friend/date” but honestly whatever, it was a delight to write. I know nothing about Peer Gynt either, so all that commentary is probably woefully wrong. It just fit with the timeline. This fic was not written with accuracy in mind so suspend your disbelief for a bit. It was meant to be at least somewhat serious but somewhere along the way became a parody of social media eh.

LITERALLY I CANNOT WITH THIS FIC. I WOULD READ 80 DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF TONY NIGHT LIKE THIS AND 80 DIFFERENT RED CARPETS WITH THESE TWO AHHHHHHHH

ALSO:

@mcarfields WHATEAHGDAJKGHK WHAT JTUST HAPPENDNE

^ THIS PERSON IS ME LOLOLOL <333333333

The Tony Awards @TheTonyAwards And the #TonyAwards Red Carpet has officially begun! Tune in to @NY1 to see arrivals, interviews and more Red Carpet coverage.

Deadline Hollywood Livestream of 2020 Tony Awards, courtesy of Nordstrom and hosted by Maya Reynolds and Michael Thomas:

MR: And the Red Carpet has officially begun.

MT: Various members of New York theater and arts elite have begun to arrive at Radio City Music Hall in New York City for the 74th Annual Tony Awards wearing stunning ball gowns and tuxes. Who should we look out for this year, Maya?

MR: This year’s a competitive one, Michael, but it’s certain that all eyes are on the Scottish James McArdle, this year’s breakout star in a Jonathan Kent adaption of Ibsen’s Peer Gynt. McArdle won American acclaim in 2018 for his performance as Louis Ironson in Tony Kushner’s epic two part play Angels in America but this is the first year he’s been recognized by the American Theater Wing… [Goes on to discuss other stars and favorites]

MT: Thanks, Maya, for the brief summary of who to look out for. Let’s take a look at the Red Carpet to see who’s arrived.

prior walter stan @andygarfields OMG OMG I THINK I SAW ANDREW ARRIVING

lizzy @rainyday anyone happen to see who james mcardle arrived w?? saw him putting his hand out to someone in the car but the stream cut before i saw who it was :/

emily @bwaystan @rainyday didn’t see who it was but was definitely a guy. wearing a black suit i think? ugh did anyone see his face?

James McArdle News @jmcardlenews James has arrived at the Tony’s in a stunning dark blue tux [Attached: Two photos of James leaving his car and walking to the Red Carpet]

MR: And some of the Best Leading Actors in a Play have arrived. Leading the pack is Nathan Lane for his…[Goes on to discuss Lane’s role]. And here comes James McArdle, greeting Lane with a hug. Lane and McArdle were co-stars in the 2017 National Theatre production of Angels in America and both were involved in the 2018 Broadway Transfer. Warm smiles all around.

MT: Andrew Garfield is not far behind McArdle in greeting in Lane. Curious that Garfield is in attendance tonight. He is not nominated for anything this year and isn’t presenting, but there is Oscar buzz for his performance in Guillermo Del Toro’s upcoming project.

MR: Garfield and McArdle have remained close friends since working together in 2018. They have both become regulars at each other’s premieres and performances.

emily @bwaystan DID ANYONE SEE IF JAMES ARRIVED WITH ANDREW? he’s wearing blue but cant find any pictures of the guy who got out of the car with james so annoying

Andrew Garfield Source @agarfieldsource @bwaystan Can confirm that James and Andrew arrived together.

prior walter stan @andygarfields HOLD UP JAMES TOOK ANDREW AS HIS DATE??? im dead

MR: Thanks for the fashion update, Michael. Back to the Red Carpet interviews. James McArdle is now reaching the step and repeat. Michael, care to tell us about what he’s wearing?

MT: Sources tell us McArdle is wearing Versace tonight and looking very dapper in it. Dark blue seems to be his signature at these events.

MR: And here comes Michael Arden with husband Andy Mientus on his arm. Tell us about what they’re wearing, Michael.

TONYS TONIGHT @jamesmcardles JAMES KILLED THE STEP AND REPEAT LOOK AT HIM IM SO EMOTIONAL [Attached: Three photos of James, looking stunning in deep cobalt blue with hair artfully disheveled]

MR: McArdle has returned to the step and repeat with Garfield, posing for pictures together.

MT: They’re rather touchy tonight. Garfield is wrapping his arms fully around McArdle now, clearly saying something to make McArdle laugh.

MR: Garfield just adjusted McArdle’s bowtie in a touching show of affection.

MT: Garfield has gone off to make small talk and McArdle is finishing up his photos, making his way to the gaggle of reporters clambering for an interview with the actor.

MR: Is it me or does he look somewhat surprised at how many people want to talk to him?

MT: He definitely does, Michael. McArdle of course looked criminally handsome at the step and repeat but you can tell he is not yet accustomed to this attention. Just another reason why he’s so likable.

MR: McArdle sidesteps reporters to rejoin Garfield, who has been standing off to the side chatting with good friend Carey Mulligan, who is presenting tonight.

MT: Garfield dutifully kisses McArdle on the cheek in a show of support. It seems McArdle and Mulligan have met before, judging by their familiar greeting.

MR: Ah, Ben Platt has arrived. He’ll be presenting… [Goes on to discuss other arrivals]

TONYS TONIGHT @jamesmcardles DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THAT CHEEK KISS??

emily @bwaystan y’all know I’m not one for conspiracy theories…but andrew and james are awfully cuddly tonight…

Vanity Fair @VanityFair Watch our interview with Best Leading Actor in a Play nominee, James McArdle, on the Tonys Red Carpet. [Attached: Video, James standing with reporter in crowd on the Red Carpet] Transcript of Vanity Fair Interview: Interviewer: Congratulations on your nomination, James! JM: Thank you, thank you. Interviewer: How does it feel to be here at the Tony’s with a nomination? JM: Well, I try not to bog myself down with awards and all that, focus on the work. But it does feel brilliant to have the recognition, I’m very grateful the play is getting the attention it deserves. The cast and crew is truly just so talented and they work so hard, so I’m very pleased that this is all happening. Interviewer: You’re based in Glasgow still, correct? How does it feel to live in New York again? JM: Much better than it did last time, to be quite honest. I’m stayi—I’ve got a nicer apartment now, I made the mistake of living uptown last time. Downtown is calmer, to me. I don’t like the crowded streets, the smell, eurgh. Interviewer: Thinking about staying longterm? JM: [Laughs but does not answer the question] Interviewer: What do you like about New York? JM: Well, often I’m really here for the people, or specific people. I do like the anonymity you get in a crowd here. And the food! So much cheap food everywhere. Hazardous to my health, but… Interviewer: You’ve attended the Tonys once before, yes? JM: [Nods] [Behind him, Andrew appears, whispering something in his ear. James grins and says something back, his hand over his mouth. The interviewer watches, rapt.] Interviewer: What’s changed between now and then, apart from the obvious? McArdle: [Clearly distracted] Umm…Well…Sorry, what was the question? Interviewer: Does it feel different to be here now with a nomination than before when you were not nominated, in what felt to many like a mistake? McArdle: Oh, it absolutely feels different. Lots more attention on me now, which is something to adjust to. I try to keep my head down, do my work, but with all the cameras and everything…Well, it’s a lot. Last time, it was more relaxed, I wasn’t in the spotlight. I quite enjoyed the parts where there weren’t cameras in my face. Interviewer: [Laughs] Well then, one more question before you go, so we don’t keep this camera in your face for too long. Any advice for struggling, aspiring actors and actresses? JM: Don’t take roles because they’ll make you famous, take roles that mean something. Of course, sometimes you’ve got to take roles because a role is a role and you need rent. I’ve done that a lot through my career. But once you have the privilege of choice, prioritize the work, not the career. Interviewer: Thanks so much, and good luck tonight! James: [Absentminded, already turning away to talk to Andrew] Thank you!

TONYS TONIGHT @jamesmcardles lol did anyone see that vanity fair interview? james was so out of it, whats up w him lmao?

tony night!! @mcarfields @jamesmcardles andrew was totally distracting him, what did he say to him?

prior walter stan @andygarfields andrew and james look sooooo good tonight holy shit?? and what did andrew say to james in that interview, can anyone read lips?

emily @bwaystan ok someone has to find out what andrew was saying to james I’m dying of curiosity!

Andrew Garfield Source @agarfieldsource Andrew has yet to have an interview, but he did crash James McArdle’s interview with Vanity Fair, though we can’t determine what he said to James.

TONYS TONIGHT @jamesmcardles also, anyone else notice how james didn’t answer when they asked if he was staying in nyc longterm? hmmm…

MT: I hate to bring up the dreaded internet, but it seems that Twitter has blown up with speculation about Andrew Garfield and James McArdle since Garfield interrupted McArdle’s interview and distracted McArdle quite noticeably. Questions about the nature of their friendship have been raised over the past two years, but have never been taken very seriously.

MR: Garfield has hinted that he is perhaps not straight in several articles this year, including one with OUT Magazine, but has yet to confirm anything explicitly.

MT: Looks like a new hashtag has surfaced tonight: #McArfield

MR: Moving away from rumors…

MT: Kelli O’Hara has arrived, looking gorgeous in red [Goes on to talk about O’Hara]

tony night!! @mcarfields ok i slowed down some gifs from the vf interview, but still can’t tell what andrew said to him!

emily @bwaystan @mcarfields wait is that james blushing?

tony night!! @mcarfields @bwaystan YES I THINK IT IS

emily @bwaystan @mcarfields WHAT DID ANDREW SAY

tony night!! @mcarfields @bwaystan lets make #WhatDidAndrewSay trend tonight lol

BroadwayWorld @BroadwayWorld Eight times James McArdle stopped our hearts at the Tony’s Red Carpet [Attached: link to article including various pictures of James looking incredibly handsome on the Red Carpet]

Entertainment Weekly @EW Surprised to see Andrew Garfield at the Tony Awards tonight? So were we! Check out our interview with the Tony winner here. [Attached: video, Andrew on the Red Carpet with reporter] Transcript of EW interview: Interviewer: Andrew, good to see you here tonight! AG: Good to see you too, good to see you too… Interviewer: Last time we saw you at the Tony’s was when you were nominated for your performance as Prior Walter in the 2018 revival of Angels in America. What’s it like coming without the stress of a nomination? AG: Oh, well I was just happy and lucky enough to be nominated then, and I’m equally happy to be here now, supporting my—erm—friend James McArdle. Interviewer: You and James became friends during Angels, right? AG: We did, we did. That play really bonded us all together, I think we became a peculiar type of family, really. Of course, after it ended, we didn’t want to see each other ever again. [Laughs] But then after a bit of a break from each other, when we see each other again, it’s like we’re one big family. I love them all very much. And I’m really just so proud of James and so happy he’s getting the recognition he deserves. Interviewer: I’ll bet. Have you seen the show? AG: Oh yeah. I’ve seen it about five times now. It’s a truly amazing production. Interviewer: So, are you presenting anything tonight? AG: No, I’m not. Just here for support. Interviewer: You’re such a good friend. AG: [Laughs] Well, thank you, I suppose? Interviewer: No problem! What’s next for you? AG: Well, I’ve got Guillermo’s movie coming out soon and after that’s finished, I’d like to return to theater, so I’ve got a few things lined up. Interviewer: In New York? AG: Afraid I can’t say… Interviewer: Such a tease! AG: Sorry, sorry! It’s all very secret right now. But I am very excited for the project. Interviewer: What’s your one piece of advice for award shows, whether you’re nominated or not? AG: Eat! Eat lots of protein. There’s so much champagne at these things and you end up forgetting to eat and then it’s past midnight and you’re at the Carlyle and well…I won’t get into it. Interviewer: The afterparty is quite famous… AG: Oh it’s a good time. Interviewer: Are you going to attend? AG: Tonight? Who knows? As I get older, my energy for those things wanes…The person I’m seeing and I, we’re much more inclined towards dinner parties and movie nights now. It’s quite boring. Interviewer: You’re seeing someone? AG: [Nods, looks around] I am. Interviewer: Is it recent? AG: [Smiles at someone behind the camera] Not really. Interviewer: You don’t look like you’re going to tell us. AG: [Laughs] I probably won’t. Interviewer: [Laughs] That’s cruel! AG: I’m sorry! Interviewer: Well, I’ll pester you about it later. Have a good time tonight. AG: You too, thanks.

Andrew Garfield Source @agarfieldsource CONFIRMED: Andrew is seeing somebody, it isn’t new, but he has yet to say who it is.

tony night!! @mcarfields i cant be the only one who picked up on the lack of gender in andrew’s answer right?

MT: Andrew Garfield has created a bit of a stir tonight by admitting he’s in a relationship but has yet to say who it’s with.

MR: Looks like the guests are streaming into Radio City Music Hall now. The show starts in about ten minutes.

MT: Let’s take a look inside the theater where guests are taking their seats.

The Tony Awards @TheTonyAwards Welcome to the 74th Annual Tony Awards! Tune in only on @CBS for the whole show.

Andrew Garfield Source @agarfieldsource Andrew is sitting in the center left beside his friend and date James McArdle. Look out for a blue tux and you’ll find him. [Attached: Two screenshots of a stream, zoomed in on Andrew and James, heads bent together. The second photo reveals Andrew to be beaming at James.]

tony night!! @mcarfields holy shit when the camera panned across the theater i screenshotted james and andrew and i swear that’s james’s hand on andrews leg [Attached: Very blurry photo zoomed in on James and Andrew. James’s hand is just barely noticeable on Andrew’s knee.]

TONYS TONIGHT @jamesmcardles I’m so relieved james’s award is early I can’t handle the stress

MR: Our first award tonight is Best Leading Actress in a Play. A very competitive category this year.

[Twenty minutes later]

emily @bwaystan AHHHHH HERE IT COMES

TONYS TONIGHT @jamesmcardles if james doesn’t win i’ll eat my own foot then the entire american theater wing

tony night!! @mcarfields I’m so nervous and excited james better win ugh

MT: And one of the hotly anticipated awards of the night approaches: Best Actor in a Play. We’ve got some great contenders in his category.

MR: Here comes Bernadette Peters with the envelope…

The Tony Awards @TheTonyAwards Congratulations to James McArdle for his first Tony win! [Attached: Photo of James in character with loopy type beside it reading: Winner! Best Leading Actor in a Musical James McArdle, Peter Gynt

TONYS TONIGHT @jamesmcardles TONY AWARD WINNER JAMES MCARDLE

MR: McArdle really did have a spectacular performance this year.

MT: Agreed. He does deserve this award. And—

MR: Oh, that was unexpected.

MT: Quite.

tony night!! @mcarfields WHATEAHGDAJKGHK WHAT JTUST HAPPENDNE [Attached: Four screenshots of stream, close ups of Andrew leaping to his feet at the announcement, followed by James joining him in standing. The last one is Andrew with his arms wrapped around James in a deep kiss.]

emily @bwaystan holy fucking shit.

prior walter stan @andygarfields did that just happen.

Entertainment Weekly @EW BREAKING: Andrew Garfield and James McArfield share a congratulatory kiss after McArdle’s Tony win

Olivia @oliviag is andrew garfield dating that guy or what?

tony night!! @mcarfields CONFIRM THEYRE DATING YOU COWARDS AGHGHDG THAT KISS

MT: A good speech by McArdle upon winning his first Tony. Clearly a very genuine and humble guy.

MR: I look forward to seeing his future work.

TheaterMania @theatermania Click here to see pictures of THAT kiss at the Tony’s everyone’s talking about. [Attached: Link to article]

tony night!! @mcarfields SOMEONE RELEASE JAMES’S POST WIN PRESS CONFERENCE

The Tony Awards @TheTonyAwards Watch Tony Winner James McArdle’s post-win press conference below! Excerpt from press conference: Reporter: Care to comment on your now viral kiss with Andrew Garfield? JM: Well, I suppose I don’t much of a choice…[Laughs around the room] How d’you mean? [More laughs] Reporter: Are you just friends? JM: No, we’re not just friends. We are together [Shifts uncomfortably] Reporter: How long have you been together? JM: I think Andrew and I would prefer to answer those questions at a later date. Reporter: How does it feel to have won a Tony? [End excerpt]

MCARFIELD CONFIRMED @mcarfields MCARFIELD IS CONFIRMED WATHT TH FUCK

Andrew Garfield Source @agarfieldsource Andrew is confirmed to be in a committed relationship with fellow actor and Tony winner James McArdle. [Attached: Four photos. The first: a photo from an EW photoshoot from the 2018 Angels in America press junket. The second: a photo of James and Andrew eating outside in New York, Andrew with his head thrown back laughing. The third: James looking on with a equally proud and fond look in his eye as Andrew is interviewed at his last movie premiere. The fourth: a higher resolution photo of James in Andrew’s arms from that night, eyes closed, lips pressed against each other’s, looking positively in sync and blissful.]

Local New York Trends:

#Tonys2018

#PrideMonth

#USWNT

#Beyonce

#McArfield

BuzzFeed @BuzzFeed 21 Times We Were Totally Blind to Andrew Garfield and James McArdle’s Love [Attached: Link to article] Excerpt from article: 4. [Gif of Andrew smirking on Ellen when she asks if he’s seeing anybody] That time we just thought Andrew was being coy for kicks but was actually seeing someone. 5. [Hi-Res photo of Andrew and James at the Oscars last year, James with a friendly arm around Andrew on the Red Carpet] When Andrew took James as his date to the Oscars and we just thought they were friends. 6. [Five photos taken on different nights on an iPhone of Andrew entering the stage door for Peter Gynt] The fact that Andrew went to Peter Gynt five times and every time went to the stage door and we thought he was just a supportive best friend. 7. [Photo of Andrew and James in the Mediterranean, laughing in the water] When they went on vacation together and we thought it was just a platonic trip. 8. [Two photos of Andrew and James standing outside the IFC Theater, looking up at what was playing that night] All the times they were caught out and about in the city and we never realized they were on a date. 9. [Photo taken on an iPhone of Andrew in a theater, standing and clapping with visible tears in his eyes] That time Andrew cried at opening night of James’s play and we thought it was just because the ending was sad. [End Excerpt]

broadway.com @broadwaycom Watch our exclusive post-Tony’s interview with James McArdle and Andrew Garfield. [Attached: Video, James with his arm slung around Andrew’s waist and Andrew leaning his head on James’s shoulder, both facing the interviewer with punch-drunk grins on their faces.] Transcript of Broadway.com Interview: Interviewer: So, you two made the headlines today with your confirmation that you’re dating. AG, JM: [Laugh] Interviewer: Did you plan to come out tonight? AG: Not tonight specifically… JM: [Turns to Garfield] We’ve talked about it. AG: [Looks right back] At length. JM: Yeah, we made sure we were ready, and then I heard my name called and Andrew looked at me and— AG: [Shrugs, still looking at McArdle] I had to kiss him. Interviewer: How long have you been together? JM: Two years this… [Pauses] AG: Sunday. Interviewer: Wow, that’s a long time. AG: It feels very long and very short, really. JM: Yeah… Interviewer: Have you put any thought to where you’re going to put your Tony, James? JM: Oh, Christ, no. I just got it! AG: It’ll look quite nicely next to mine. JM: A perfect pair. Interviewer: Andrew, you played an iconic gay character, Prior Walter, two years ago. Why come out now? AG: [Pauses] I know I could have come out earlier. I don’t think my career would have suffered. But it was something very personal to me, how I got to the place where I felt I could acknowledge and embrace those parts of myself. And of course, it coincided with being with James and we felt we wanted to keep this to ourselves for as long as we could. I do feel as though people feel entitled to know things about my personal life that ordinarily no one would really give a s*** about. But with this, if I can set an example to young LGBTQ actors, wherever they might be, then I want to do that. For a long time I fooled myself into thinking I didn’t owe anyone anything. But I do owe the community a lot and I was able to come out and I got to the place where I was comfortable, and I had a lovely boyfriend by my side and there was really no reason not to. James has just been so lovely through it all, I count on him in too many ways and I love him dearly for it. JM: Andrew’s really been very brave through it all. He lives a very high-profile life and we’re very aware of that. Trying to balance it all is just a part of life now and he does it so well. Interviewer: You two are adorable. AG: [Laughs] Yes, I think so. Interviewer: What’s next for you two Tony winners? JM: I just got mine, can’t I breathe? [Laughs] AG: After Peter Gynt closes, we’re going on a much needed vacation. We’ve both been incredibly busy this past year and because we’re both based in different cities, we’ve been moving around. It’s been lovely to have James here for so long. Interviewer: Any thoughts about staying in New York permanently, James? JM: [Turns to Andrew with a smile] We’ve discussed it. AG: Which is really saying something. If James is contemplating moving to New York, you know something’s up. [All laugh] Interviewer: We’d be very glad to have you. JM: Thank you. Interviewer: James, tell us about the moment you heard your named called. JM: Very surreal. I hadn’t really processed it, I heard my name and thought, oh that’s not me but then Andrew was standing and everyone was looking at me and I realized, well, f*** I won, I’ve got to go up there and make a speech. And then I saw Andrew, and suddenly we were telling everyone about us and I had won a Tony and had to go on stage and cobble together my thoughts. Of course, I promptly forgot everything I had thought to say. I can’t remember anything I said up there, actually. Could have all been rubbish but [Shrugs] no one’s said anything about me making an utter fool of myself so… AG: You were very articulate and poised. JM: See, I have him to remember if I cock everything up. AG: We make a great team. Interviewer: That you do. Well, congratulations on your much deserved win, James! JM: Thank you. Interviewer: Have a good night, you two!

AndrewGarfieldOfficial [Instagram post: two photos. The first: James accepting his Tony. The second, clearly taken the morning after: James seated at a kitchen table, his Tony sitting beside the plate of eggs before him, looking at the person behind the camera with an unmistakably loving look in his eye and a soft, bashful smile on his face] Caption: In case you were wondering, I am so in love with this Tony award winning idiot. We are a proud two-Tony household now!

#mcarfield #mcarfield fic #long post #SO AMAZING #SOCIAL MEDIA FIC IS THE BESSSSSSSSSST ILU ANON <3 #submission

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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Anon can do you one better, sweetness, LOOK AT THIS BEAUTY. I just want the world to know that I read this epic masterpiece three and a half times before hitting post and sending this out to the rest of you all because it’s AMAZING and LOVELY and SO HOT and absolutely everything i want from them, and holy shit, Anon is an amazing writer and I cannot believe you cranked all this out in an excitable afternoon. Omfg I love you, I love it, I love them, I love everything. ENJOY, EVERYBODY.

This was intended to be a short follow up to the tabloid fic, you enabled me into it. It’s also bordering on crackfic. I feel bad for making Denise so ridiculous in her determination to find out who James is sleeping with in this fic but I have had friends that set their mind to something like this so I guess I don’t feel too too bad.

At first James thinks nothing of it; “It,” being the fact that he now finds himself routinely spending the night at Andrew’s apartment and fucking him in his dressing room on a daily basis. The pseudo-platonic relationship they had before was blurred enough as it is and their relationship on the surface looks no different now that they’re sleeping together regularly than it did before.

Though it had been frustrating at the time, James is grateful for Andrew’s complete and utter lack of boundaries with his costars because it means no one bats an eye if Andrew plops himself in James’s lap or presses a kiss to his temple in passing even if now it’s decidedly loaded and no longer remotely friendly. Though, the assumption that Andrew doing those things was ever remotely friendly is hazy at best.

Three weeks after the Tonys, with two weeks left to the run, James realizes that perhaps this secret friends-with-benefits-crossed-with-a-very-serious-relationship will require more effort that he’d predicted.

It started with Denise ducking into his dressing room unannounced between shows with a guess of who he took home on Tonys night and the more he denies it, the more she thinks he’s still sleeping with whoever it was. And if it were anyone but Andrew, who is very much so in the closet still, he would tell her.

“Joe Mantello,” she says, her head poking through the door one day. He spins in his chair, fixing her with a look.

“He’s married,” James says.

“Not married, just in a serious relationship,” she says innocently.

“And also thirty years older than me,” says James, turning back to his book and propping his legs up on the table before the mirror.

“Twenty seven years older,” she corrects and James snorts.

“Why are you so convinced it’s someone who’s played Louis?” he asks, eyes remaining resolutely on the page.

“You have a type,” she says with a shrug, coming fully into the room and curling up on his couch. James sets the book aside and turns the chair to face her fully.

“Except that I’m not sleeping with any of them,” he reminds her and Denise waves an errant hand.

“That’s what you say.”

“I can promise you I am not sleeping with anyone that’s ever played Louis.”

“So you are sleeping with someone regularly!” she says, pumping a fist in the air and James can’t help it; he laughs.

“Remind me why you care?”

“Oi, I’m your friend!” she says, looking mock-affronted. James raises his eyebrows. “Because I am your friend and this damn play is hard enough as it is to get through without getting laid.” She pauses. “Also it’s fun to make you squirm.”

“Some friend,” James scoffs and she sends him a cheeky grin, hopping off the couch to kiss his cheek and make her way to her own dressing room.

“See you on stage,” she calls through the doorway and James waves vaguely in her direction, turning back to his book so he can resume his daily “dissociate from Louis for a few hours a day” routine.

But not thirty seconds later, Denise’s voice carries from across the hallway. “Rannells?”

“Fuck off!” he calls back.

The day after is Pride and Beth invites them all over for drinks after the Sunday show. James is grateful for it, the idea of attending a party or wandering around lower Manhattan drunk or high or both is the opposite of what he needs after a performance. He ducks into Andrew’s dressing room before leaving the theater to find Andrew sprawled on the couch, eyes closed.

“Hi,” Andrew says lowly at the sound of James entering the room, one eye cracked open.

“Did I wake you?” James asks, coming to sit on the edge of the couch. Andrew shakes his head, his eyes falling shut again.

“Just trying to…” He waves his hand lazily, trailing off, and James nods in understanding. He had to help Andrew off the stage that afternoon, sliding his arm around his waist so Andrew could lean against him, head on James’s shoulder.

“Do you want to come to Beth’s?” James asks, raising his hand to tuck a loose lock of Andrew’s hair back. Andrew hesitates, swallowing hard and opening his eyes.

“I don’t think I’m much up for it,” he says quietly.

“S’all right,” James says with a little smile. “Need help getting home?”

“No,” Andrew says. “But thank you. I think I’ll be good.”

“You sure?” James asks, offering his hand out to help Andrew up. Andrew takes it, pulling himself up into a seated position. He rubs his eyes and looks at James sleepily. He looks like he’s about to say something but seems to decide against it, kissing James softly instead. James sighs against him, letting himself melt against Andrew and only distantly aware that Andrew’s door is open.

Not one second after Andrew pulls away, Denise rounds the corner and knocks on the doorframe. “Coming to Beth’s?” she asks them both.

“I am,” James says, glancing back toward Andrew. “This one’s a bit knackered.”

“Too bad,” Denise says, coming to kiss the top of Andrew’s head. He smiles up at her. “I have a theory James is bringing his new boy toy tonight, you’re going to miss meeting him.”

The fact that James does little but turn a bit red is truly a testament to his acting, especially considering the way Andrew is looking at him, suddenly much more awake and much more smug.

“Oh is he?” Andrew says, tilting his head at James with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I am not,” James says with a pointed look at Denise who only smiles wider.

“I never thought to ask…” Denise says, looking positively devious. “Andrew, you don’t know who he is, do you?”

“I can’t say that I do,” Andrew says with a shake of his head. “James really is just so private.”

“Mmh, it’s infuriating,” says Denise, grimacing. “Did he tell you he took someone home Tony night?”

“Well, everyone did,” says Andrew fairly, clearly trying not to laugh. “Good for James.” He brings his hand up to ruffle James’s hair affectionately, and James glowers at them both. “I’m proud of him.”

“I’m being ambushed,” James says darkly.

“You make it so fun,” says Denise.

“He really does, doesn’t he?” says Andrew. “So, he won’t tell you who he brought home?”

“No,” she says, faux-pouting. “But I can tell he must’ve been good because James would’ve said if he was bad.”

“Oh, really?” James has rarely seen Andrew so smug.

“I see ganging up on me has you feeling better,” James says sourly and Andrew grins at him widely.

“That’s all I need to knock me out of my catatonic post-show ritual,” he says fondly. “Now go to Beth’s, I’ll see you Wednesday.”

He waves them off, nudging James off the couch. Denise waves goodbye but James lingers, catching Andrew’s hand in his. Andrew looks up at him from the couch, still looking tired but much more at peace than he had when James first entered the room. He is hit with the sudden desire to blow off Beth’s and curl up on Andrew’s couch with him just so Andrew can keep looking at him like this.

“Have fun at Beth’s,” Andrew says quietly, pulling himself up from the couch with effort so he can kiss James goodbye. “And come over when you’re done. If you feel like spending the night with your new boy toy.”

“Always,” James says, leaning in to kiss Andrew again. “All right,” he says between kisses. “I really do have to go.”

“Mmmh, I bet you do,” Andrew says, slanting his lips over James’s and drawing him further from the door. James makes a half-hearted protest against Andrew’s lips but makes no move to pull away. How can he when kissing Andrew makes him feel this weightless?

“Get some sleep,” James says when he pulls away and Andrew nods slowly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

They both make good on their promises; Andrew takes his much needed post-show nap and James shows up at his apartment around ten in the name of making sure he’s eaten something with enough protein in it but really so that they can let out all the tension from the play with each other. And if James spends much of the party at Beth’s instinctively reaching for Andrew when someone says something that reminds James of him…Well, he’ll dissect that later.

Later that week, James arrives before Andrew at the theater (for once) and pops his head into Denise’s dressing room to kill time. She’s half-dressed in costume, curled up on her couch on her laptop, and she beckons him in when she sees him. He comes to sit on the arm of the couch, bending over so he can see what’s on her screen.

“You’re looking at…Tony pictures?” he asks when he sees that she’s flipping through a slideshow on Vanity Fair with photos from the afterparty. She hums in assent, clicking through the photos. “Why?”

“It started as an attempt to prove to my mum that I was in Vanity Fair but now I’m trying to find who you were photographed with that night so I can see who you took home.”

“Your mum didn’t believe you were in Vanity Fair?” he asks, ignoring the second part.

“I know, ridiculous, right?” She continues to study each photo carefully before moving on. “Nice dodge, by the way.”

“I was hoping you hadn’t noticed.”

“As if,” she scoffs.

“You know not many photos were taken of me that night,” says James. “Besides, we hung out for most of the party.”

“I know, which is why I’m so bloody determined to find out who you took home. You hadn’t the time to flirt with anyone,” she says. “You just vanished around one and I didn’t see you ‘til the next morning.” She pauses in her search and turns to look at him. “You could just tell me, you know.”

“Not a chance.”

“Damn.”

But he lets her get to the end of the album as she occasionally throws out potential names and rolls her eyes every time he shoots her down.

“I didn’t even care that much before,” Denise muses as she finds a Vogue article with more Tony pictures. “But now I feel like I’ve got to know.”

“Clearly,” he says and she grins up at him. He swallows his laugh when Denise quickly clicks past a picture of Andrew draped across him at the Carlyle.

The next day, she texts him: Jonathan Groff?

Just quit while you’re ahead, Gough.

Denise never does guess who was in his shower that morning but she doesn’t have to wait too long after to find out who it was.

“You’re delighting in torturing me,” Denise says, coming to sit beside him on Nate’s couch. It’s one of those rare nights when the cast, crew and their friends get together on a day off for drinks, sometimes out, sometimes in one of their apartments. This time, they’re clustered in Nate’s living room, talking about anything but the show and trying to remember what it feels like to have a real life outside of the theater. James is nursing a whiskey on the couch and he had been talking to Nate before Denise had deposited herself between them.

“I am?” James says, brow raised.

“This should be good,” says Nate with a grin.

“He still won’t tell me!” she says to Nate, who chuckles lowly and sips his beer.

“Let it go, love,” says Nate. “If we don’t know who James is seeing now, I doubt he’s going to tell us any time soon.”

“Thank you,” James says to him and Denise scoffs.

“How boring,” she says. “You’re no fun.”

“I know a lost cause when I see one,” says Nate. “Speaking of…” James looks to Nate quizzically and Nate replies by jutting his head in the direction of Andrew, who has just reached the couch and is unceremoniously nestling himself into James’s lap, warm and soft against him. Nate adjusts himself, moving over so Andrew has room, but he just swings his legs over James’s, resting them on the couch. James lets his arm wrap comfortably around Andrew’s waist and Andrew puts the hand that isn’t holding his drink in James’s hair, fingers brushing across his scalp.

“Hi,” he says, smiling at James lazily.

“Hi,” says James, unable to stop himself from mirroring Andrew’s expression.

“Enjoying yourself?” asks Andrew.

“Thoroughly,” says James, leaning into Andrew’s hand and resisting the urge to let his eyes fall shut.

“Good,” says Andrew. “I’m glad.”

“Hold on…” says Denise. “What did you mean, ‘Lost cause’?”

“Oh, James and Andrew,” says Nate, as if it’s obvious. This pulls James’s attention back to them, tearing his eyes away from Andrew to look between Nate and Denise with his brow knit in a frown.

“What?” he asks, slightly dazed. Andrew’s fingers slow their movements along his scalp as he turns his attention away from James and over to Denise and Nate.

“Look at them,” Nate says, again as if it were plain to see.

“I’m not following,” says Andrew. Nate shoots him a look of affectionate impatience.

“We all thought you two were shagging early in the run,” says Nate simply.

“You did?” says Andrew. Both Denise and Nate nod. “Huh.”

“But clearly Andrew’s a total lost cause because if James was going to sleep with him, he would have done it already,” says Nate with a shrug.

And perhaps if they were both a little less drunk and a little less tired of being a secret, they would have been able to hide their reactions just a shade better, but they’ve both had more to drink tonight than they’ve had in a while and James always feels his inhibitions fly out the window when Andrew is in his lap, so James lets out a rough cough and Andrew flushes bright red.

There’s a long pause.

“Oh my god,” says Denise, jaw dropping.

“Oh my god,” Nate says too, blinking at James and Andrew, who both look away.

“It’s you,” Denise says, looking directly at Andrew with an odd combination of understanding and shock written on her face, as if she wants to say “Of course” but can’t quite believe that moments ago she didn’t know what she knows now.

“What, no it’s not!” Andrew says, twisting in James’s lap and drawing a low groan from James, who pinches his side. Andrew sends him an apologetic look and once again, James wishes he had had less to drink and Andrew wasn’t sitting on his lap all at once. Or that they were very much so not in public.

“I don’t believe you!” says Denise, her eyes dancing with excitement. “It was Andrew in the shower, you little sneak!”

“What shower?” asks Andrew innocently but it only serves to make them look more suspicious.

“You even fed my theories,” Denise says, giggling. This makes James turn back to Andrew.

“You did?”

Andrew opens his mouth to respond, but Denise does it for him. “Yes, he was the one suggested Chris Colfer.”

“Chris Colfer?” James repeats, aghast.

“Oh, that one was fun, I couldn’t believe she bought it,” says Andrew.

“You thought James was shagging Chris Colfer?” asks Nate, gaping at Denise. “The kid from Glee?”

“Well, I didn’t believe him,” says Denise with a defensive lilt in her tone.

“I’m much better looking than Chris Colfer,” Andrew says smugly. “Besides, isn’t he like a baby?”

“He’s a year younger than James,” Denise says. “I just googled it.”

“Shut up, he is not,” Andrew says, snatching Denise’s phone and studying the screen. His brow is furrowed in a frown as he reads the screen. “My god. You’re so young.” Andrew takes James’s face in his hands, pursing his lips so as not to smile as he scans his face.

“You’re realizing this now?” James says with a laugh and Andrew runs his fingers lightly over the wrinkles that form his smile, sending a shock through James’s veins and making his heart stutter in his chest. Andrew winds his arms around James’s neck, leaning in to press his lips to each of his temples, where his crow’s feet have begun to form. James’s smile softens as he does so, his arm tightening around Andrew’s waist.

“And we’re only realizing they were fucking now?” says Denise to Nate with a shake of her head. Andrew laughs as he pulls away to rest his head on James’s shoulder.

“We were pretty obvious, you two are quite dense,” Andrew says, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Be nice,” says James, pinching his hip. “It can’t be easy being so blind.”

“Are you asking to be punched, McArdle?” asks Denise curiously.

“No, don’t hurt him!” Andrew winds himself around James tighter, drawing laughs from them all.

“Thank you for defending my honor,” James says, pressing a quick kiss to Andrew’s lips. Andrew smiles against him.

“Always.”

“Eurgh,” says Denise. “Please go back to being a secret if you’re going to be this nauseating.”

“Seconded,” says Nate, pulling a face.

“Then I’ll just go back to being very grateful in private,” James says without looking away from Andrew, reveling in how it feels to be with him public, to have him in his arms and to kiss him freely.

“That’s it, I’m leaving,” says Denise, getting off the couch. She puts her hand out for Nate to take, which he does, and she throws her arm around him when he stands. “You’re officially the worst friend ever and I’ll see you in twelve hours when you decide not to be so sickeningly cute in public anymore.”

“Bye,” says Andrew with a wave and a grin as Denise and Nate disappear into the party. He turns back to James, who’s watching him carefully. “All right?”

“Fantastic,” replies James honestly. “You?” What he wants to ask is how Andrew is faring now that people know about them, but Andrew looks so light-hearted James can’t bring himself to do it; It’s enough of an answer. Besides, starting that conversation half-drunk on a couch with Andrew in his lap isn’t exactly how he envisioned it would go.

“Brilliant,” says Andrew, beaming at him and James hates the way his heart feels like it’s swelling to twice its size when Andrew looks at him like that. He can’t help but nudge his nose against Andrew’s jaw before pulling his lips to his effortlessly. Andrew moves against him almost instinctively, like it’s a habit after only a few weeks. James does not fancy himself the kind of guy who sits on a couch making out with his not so secret boyfriend at a party but the idea of tearing his lips from Andrew’s is so uninviting he lets himself relax into it, coaxing Andrew’s mouth open. It isn’t until he tugs on Andrew’s hair and Andrew lets out a sinful moan against him that he decides they have to move.

“Your place or mine?” he asks when they break apart. Andrew’s hair is comically disheveled and his kiss-swollen lips are stretched in a slow smile.

“You decide,” says Andrew with a shrug, crawling from his lap to stand shakily. He offers his hand out to James and he slides his own into it, tugging Andrew through the apartment.

He catches sight of Nate and Denise by the door and sends them a wave. Denise winks at him over-dramatically after glancing at Andrew and Nate rolls his eyes fondly at them both.

“Oi, McArdle!” Denise calls out just as they reach the door. She takes a few steps towards them so she’s no longer yelling across the room. “I’m happy for you.” She lets her eyes slide to Andrew. “It’s about time.”

#mcarfield #mcarfield fic #DENISE #sobbing anon this is EVERYTHING omfg #long post #submission

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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I saw in one of your post you said something about a video of Andrew and James kissing backstage. Could you post it? I can’t find it anywhere!! Thank you! Your blog is a blessing

Hi, anon! Just for you, here are a collection of links. When in doubt, check the “mcarfield” tag on this here Tumblr, haha.

Video of James and Andrew kissing after the show (at the NT)

Video of Andrew using up his entire Drama Desk acceptance speech by praising James’s acting

This photo of the two of them on Tony night

This quote from NT Live where Andrew talks about how much he loves James

This photo where they hold hands at the curtain call until the absolute last possible second

This gifset where they’re loopy and laughing and just gratuitously holding hands longer than necessary for no reason

As I say frequently, there is not a lot of content for this ship but what little there is is mighty

#mcarfield #perhaps i should tag this #mcarfield receipts #anonymity #asks

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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Okay, look, it’s not like James thinks he has some kind of monopoly on Andrew Garfield just because he’s spent the better part of two years basically being his boyfriend, and getting to know his intimate quirks and habits, and the way he always gasps whenever James touches his collarbone or flicks his tongue over Andrew’s lower lip.

And it’s not as if James has been secretly cataloguing a list of ways he absolutely does not want to touch Andrew, because that would be absurd, because James is Good Enough To Not Be Method and he’s not going to confuse his character’s feelings with his own feelings.

And anyway, even if he has, that would be absurd, because Andrew is Andrew Garfield, and after this is all over he’s going to go back to being a superstar and James is going to go back to… Glasgow, probably.

So it’s completely ridiculous that James’s first reaction to hearing Andrew’s dumb answer to getting asked which of his nominees he’d fuck/marry/kill is a ludicrous amount of jealousy.

Especially since they all know how Andrew feels about Mark Rylance.

“Oh! Mark Rylance!” he’d exclaimed randomly at James within two weeks of meeting him. James doesn’t even remember why, just that it had led to a 20-minute recap of Mark Rylance’s Twelfth Night.

“Do you think Mark Rylance will come see the show?” Andrew asked him more than once before they opened in London, as if James has a personal insider view of Mark Rylance’s schedule. “He’ll have to come see the show, right?”

“Have you seen Farinelli and the King?” Andrew asked him on their first day of New York rehearsals. “We should go see it together!” They did not, but Andrew managed to see it twice, and he seemed a little deflated whenever James, focused on not freaking out over his own performance, managed to miss it. “But, but, it’s Mark Rylance,” Andrew blurted at one point, because Andrew is just… like that. And James doesn’t know when he started finding Andrew’s obsessive quirks and puppy-dog need to be liked endearing instead of annoying, but that horse is long out of the barn; and so when Tony night finally arrives, James is going to focus on enjoying Andrew enjoying himself, and not give himself a pointless neurotic breakdown wondering if Andrew will finally get to ingratiate his way into Mark Rylance’s lap.

Or at least, that’s what he thinks, until Andrew declares on camera that in a game of fuck/marry/kill, he would fuck all his fellow nominees and marry Mark Rylance.

For some reason, this response draws laughter from everyone around them, people who clearly aren’t aware that Andrew is 100% serious.

“Should I be worried that you’re apparently planning your wedding without the groom’s consent,” James tells him when he returns to his seat next to James. Andrew smirks at him.

“Or just that you’re planning on flagrantly cheating on him with all those other men,” James continues. “Jamie Parker, really.”

“You’re lying if you say you’d pass up the chance to have sex with Harry Potter,” Andrew says, elbowing him. “You’re from the land of Hogwarts, please, you’d be first on your knees.”

“I don’t actually believe in magic,” James laughs. “I don’t actually think he’d do magical things to my cock.”

“Well, Mark Rylance does magical things to my cock,” Andrew says. “That is why we are to be married.”

“Is that your main criteria for a successful marriage, then?” James says.

Andrew shrugs. “I think that’d be an effective predictor.”

“But you’re assuming that only one person at a time can do magical things to your cock,” James says, in what he thinks is quite a reasonable tone. Andrew casts a coy, sidelong glance at him from beneath his eyelashes, in that way he has of randomly and stealthily eyefucking everyone, and James is on to him, James has always been on to him, so it’s absurd that his stomach flutters a little anyway.

“Who else?” Andrew asks.

“Sorry?”

“Who else,” Andrew says shrewdly, “is doing magical things to my cock in this hypothetical scenario?”

James swallows.

Andrew turns and looks at him calmly, eyes dark, and James realizes he has fooled no one here but himself.

Andrew bends towards James and says, voice dropping, “Ask me which of my co-stars I’d fuck-marry-kill.”

“Fuck,” James manages. His mouth has suddenly gone dry.

“James McArdle,” Andrew says.

“Marry?” James asks, trying not to grin.

“James McArdle,” says Andrew, his gorgeous little mouth slowly spreading into a smile.

“Kill,” James says.

“James McArdle, for being an absolute fool,” Andrew says fondly, and he leans in and kisses James, and doesn’t even stop when Mark Rylance approaches to introduce himself.

(Rylance, seeing Andrew Garfield occupied with far better things, decides not to interrupt. This turns out to be quite fortuitous for the eventual McArdle-Garfield marriage, because Mark Rylance is in fact an actual wizard. He might not have worked more magic upon Andrew’s cock than James does, but it would have been a close thing.

However, magic or no magic, he wouldn’t have been able to top James for frequency and sheer enthusiasm, so in the end, all’s well that ends well.)

#mcarfield #mcarfield fic #long post #in my head mark rylance is this ship's unseen fairy godfather lolol #ilu anons

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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chief competitors for andrew garfield��s heart:

- mark rylance

- nathan stewart-jarrett on rare days when he’s in a good enough mood to put up with all andrew’s andrew-level bullshit, which granted is probably not often

- any director who wants to cast him in something lol

- louis ironson and anyone lucky enough to play him for 2 years opposite andrew, especially if they’re also the next mark rylance

- this really spiritual rock he found on a walk this morning, it reminds him of the filmography of terence malick and also his relationship with his father

chief competitors for james mcardle’s heart:

- any bonnie lass with dark hair and a buxom build who sparkles at him just so

- this sandwich

- glasgow

- andrew garfield when he’s too wiped to stand and wraps himself around James like James is his last remaining source of strength

- trashy B-movie roles that Jack Lowden convinces him to take mainly to troll him, knowing James can’t resist because he has to prove he’s not some posh tosser and he’ll still take a role just for the paycheck

- every other actor who’s ever played Louis Ironson, and also every actor who’s ever played Prior Walter; it’s a very crowded field. (James has no idea Quinto and Borle are currently sparring over who gets to be the middle of the Quinto-Borle-McArdle sandwich they’re preparing, but that’s nothing compared to what Dominick Cooper and Andrew Scott are planning.)

- this beer

- andrew garfield when he’s manically happy and overly physical and at his most ridiculous, though james will deny it to the grave

#mcarfield #james mcardle #andrew garfield #angels in america #lol #idek

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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5 times Andrew and James were totally platonic boyfriends (and the first time they weren’t)

(#1) (#2) (#3)

A bunch of things happen once they all reconvene in New York. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that a bunch of things shift and converge once they’re in New York, things that are hard to disentangle from each other.

Among them is that Andrew hurls himself as deep into Prior as he can go; he tries to become the part even more intensely, and that means he starts trying to consciously experience queerness as authentically as he can, not from watching episodes of RuPaul or taking fashion tips and drag tips from his queer friends, but from plumbing the deepest and most hidden parts of himself in order to seek out the parts that don’t conform to normative gender and sexual and social expectations. He’d done that to some extent in London, though it had mostly manifested in painting his fingernails and re-examining his drink choices and doing lots of Pride events, but he’s thought about it a lot over the break and he wants to go deeper, thinks that he can go deeper. And he’s not sure what that means, but he’s had a few moments of experimentation during the break, exploring bodies and being explored, and it hasn’t really yielded a lot of conclusions, but it’s been nice, not scary, just nice.

And he’s been thinking, a lot, about the way it felt to kiss James out on Marianne’s patio — not just because it’s a part of all of this, but because it’s James, and because things between him and James are shifting as well.

By mutual unspoken assent, and also because Marianne keeps praising them whenever they pile it on, when they resume playing Prior and Louis they, well, pile on the physical affection. They touch more, they kiss more, they keep working in more ways to be physically affectionate onstage. And because they spend such a long time apart the moments they do spend together start to feel more urgent and charged with intimacy.

On Broadway, everything is much, much more intense, everything feels bigger, larger and realer and higher-stakes, more politically charged, just, more. That makes Andrew’s feelings for the whole cast more intense, on a level. The addition of Lee throws a whole new dynamic into the mix; he’s far more compatible with James’s Louis than Russell was, and Andrew is immediately and drastically aware that the two of them get along extremely well.

And that shouldn’t be surprising, because it takes work to fail to get along with James McArdle, but it makes Andrew hyper-aware that James’s dynamic with him isn’t like his dynamic with anyone else. He and James don’t joke much, unless they’re mocking their infinitely mockable characters; they both tend to focus on the work, and on each other on a practical level — has the other one been getting enough sleep, have they eaten today, are they emotionally holding everything together — the important things to ensure their partnership is functional. James is always playful and facetious with everyone else; with Andrew, however, he tends towards serious, sincere. They do flirt, but increasingly it’s a bit of an afterthought.

Instead, they cling to one another. It starts the first day back, when they’re all sitting in a circle listening to Marianne talk about production changes, Andrew holding hands with Nate and James, James holding hands with Andrew and Denise. Or at least, it starts out that way, but somewhere along the way it becomes Andrew leaning into James with his head on James’s shoulder and James’s arms tucked around him.

And without anyone talking about it, exactly, that becomes the default for the rest of the production — James taking his hand at odd moments, or squeezing Andrew’s arm when they’re backstage and hurrying between scene changes, Andrew seeking James out for a long embrace or dropping by his dressing room to massage his shoulders before places — the two of them reaching for each other whenever they can.

It’s not flirtatious, is the thing, it’s not coy or really even conscious. It’s just a thing they do now; they touch each other, they hold each other, they take every opportunity to just... give one another physical touches as though they can send strength back and forth to each other through their fingertips.

It’s an entirely new emotional and physical part of his life that he has no words for, can’t really articulate, and wouldn’t part with for anything, so he just lets it happen. He hopes that James understands that it’s about love and gratitude and admiration for him, and about wanting to take care of James in whatever way he can; he’s not sure what it’s about for James, because it’s so out of character for James to interact this way with anyone. But James is all softness and fond smiles these days where Andrew is concerned, and Andrew will take it, he’ll take it all.

When the production opens on Broadway and everything goes into full swing, the exhaustion, combined with the constant red-carpet and press appearances that greet them in New York, is nearly overwhelming. A day after Andrew all but passes out one night in James’s dressing room, James slips a key into his hand.

“What's this?”

“You're always struggling to get back and forth from your place to the theatre and back again on nights we have to be out til arse o’clock in the morning,” James says. “Just stop over at my apartment instead, it's right down the block, and maybe you can get in a couple more hours of sleep coming and going.”

“This is your key,” Andrew says blankly.

James rolls his eyes. “They have these things called copies.”

“Thank you,” Andrew says sincerely.

“Just get some sleep,” James says, ruffling Andrew's hair.

Andrew takes him up on it the very next night, stumbling from the theatre to James’ apartment and collapsing on James’ couch. He's woken up by James entering an hour or two later and nudging him awake, saying, “God, I didn't mean you had to sleep on the couch, come on.” He drags him into the bedroom, where his king bed takes up most of the room.

“Honestly I figured you'd sleep on a roll-out mattress on the floor,” Andrew says, ending on a giant yawn.

“I never stint on sleep,” James says, turning back the covers on the right side of the bed and pushing Andrew gently down to the bed. Andrew gingerly curls in on the far side, and James tugs the topsheet over his shoulders and goes into the bathroom. Andrew means to thank him when he comes out, but the next thing he knows, it's morning, and he's awaking slowly from the best sleep he's had in ages, gradually adjusting to the sound of the shower running and the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. He turns his head into the pillow and clings to it just as James materializes long enough to say, “Hey, yeah, go back to sleep.”

Andrew mumbles something incoherent into James's pillow that he hopes translates to “I'm never leaving this bed, I plan to sleep forever.” Somewhere above him James huffs out a laugh and then disappears. The next time Andrew awakes, it's to an alarm clock James has set next to the bed. He's left him ninety minutes before call time, plenty of time to get showered and dressed and raid James's fridge before strolling into the Neil Simon early for once. James is already there, which is unheard of for him, and he beams at Andrew’s fresh face and bright eyes, smug as anything.

“You look well-rested,” he says. “Practically perky.”

“And you look entirely too self-satisfied for someone who slept with me and didn’t make me come once.”

“You look like it was the best sleep you’ve ever had,” James grins. “I’ll take that over a shag any day.”

Andrew laughs. “A lesser man might challenge your priorities,” he says, looping his arms around James’s neck. “But I’m too grateful to care.”

“Good,” James says, resting his hands lightly on Andrew’s waist before giving in and pulling him into a firmer embrace. “I’m being selfish, too. I can’t get through this mess if my partner’s half-dead from exhaustion.”

“Yes, that’s you,” Andrew says, snuggling against his shoulder. “Entirely selfish. No care for anyone else at all.”

A few days into this new arrangement, Andrew caves and goes shopping and stocks James’s fridge with real food. The next morning, James slips from bed and goes through his morning routine while Andrew is still clinging to sleep, which is the new normal — except then he goes to open the fridge and lets out a yelp.

Andrew cracks one eye open blearily and peers into the kitchen, where James is staring inside the refrigerator blankly.

“Someone broke in and filled the icebox with food,” James says.

“A burglar who wants you to eat proper nutrients,” Andrew mumbles.

“But I had protein shakes,” James says.

“Protein shakes can’t be all you're eating,” Andrew calls. “Your fridge was nothing but protein shakes and days-old takeout, it was begging for a makeover.” He can hear James rustling around.

“These are eggs.” James still sounds baffled. “And strawberries. And cantaloupe? Some sort of melon. What am I supposed to do with eggs and cantaloupe?”

“Make us breakfast,” Andrew yawns, and the next time he opens his eyes, James is sliding a breakfast tray gingerly across the expansive king bed.

“You didn’t have to make me breakfast in bed,” Andrew says, unable to keep the grin off his face. James shrugs and joins him, curling up against the headboard, legs crossed. He takes one of the glasses of orange juice from the tray and offers Andrew a pristine red strawberry as Andrew sits up and takes stock.

“We are very Bert and Ernie right now,” Andrew says, taking the strawberry from James’s fingers.

“Meaning we don’t exist below the waist?” James smirks.

“Meaning we — ooh, you made toast, I love toast.”

“God, you’re easy to impress.”

“You say that like I get people making me toast all the time,” Andrew says, and James turns pink and stuffs his mouth with a toast slice instead of answering, and after they finish breakfast Andrew volunteers to clean up and wash dishes while James showers, and then it’s Andrew’s turn. And James is usually eager to get out of his apartment before going to the theatre, but today he settles on the couch and watches Cartoon Network while eating strawberries out of the carton, which means he ends up waiting for Andrew, and they walk over to the Neil Simon together, and it’s nice.

The next night Andrew returns to his own apartment, partly because he doesn’t want to crowd James and partly because he wants to get a few changes of clothes so he’ll have them the next time he’s at James’s place, and he intends to stay there, really, but he can’t seem to shut his eyes once he hits the pillow. After nearly an hour of tossing and turning and missing James’s shallow breathing from the opposite side of the bed, he gives in and texts him: You awake?

James replies within a few seconds: Just come over, you silly twit.

So Andrew does, and by the time he gets across town, makes it inside, toes off his shoes, and wriggles into his pajamas, he’s completely exhausted. James is half-asleep and slanted sideways across the bed, but he doesn’t move when Andrew eventually flops down next to him; instead he just stirs and drapes one corner of the bedsheet over Andrew and goes right back to sleep. Andrew is asleep within minutes.

When he awakes the next morning, it’s to the steady rising and falling of James’s breathing beneath him. Somewhere in the night, he’s drifted towards James, and wound up tucked against his chest, using him like a pillow, one arm slung across James’s stomach. James has shifted fully onto his back and he has one arm draped loosely around Andrew’s shoulders. His t-shirt’s ridden halfway up his stomach, and Andrew’s fingers are splayed there, just below his belly button.

It’s really nice, Andrew thinks, half-hazy still from sleep and addicted to the delicious warmth emanating from James’s body. They’ve held each other like this hundreds of times onstage, and this is no different, but it’s nice. He’s still processing it all, barely coherent, when James stirs beneath him. He can sense from the sudden halt in James’s breathing the moment he fully wakes up and registers Andrew’s head on his chest — followed by the moment immediately afterwards when he relaxes and slips his fingers gently through Andrew’s hair.

“You awake?” James murmurs.

Andrew hums noncommittally and turns his head into James’s chest. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry. “I’ll move.”

“No, stay,” James says, but he stretches as he says it, body arching up involuntarily into Andrew’s arms. Andrew leans up and presses a light kiss against James’s shoulder before moving away. He misses James’s reaction because he burrows back into his own side of the bed, but a moment later James runs his hand over Andrew’s back, not quite a caress, before slipping away.

Sometime during the next night, it’s James who’s tucked against Andrew’s back, one arm wrapped around Andrew’s waist, his leg nudging its way between Andrew’s. Andrew wakes an instant before James, who comes to with a start and mutters a groggy, “Fuck,” before Andrew solves his crisis by rolling over on top of him and going back to sleep the way he was the day before, head ensconced firmly on top of James’s broad chest. In the morning, he comes awake slowly to the feel of James still beneath him, lightly scratching his back, coaxing Andrew to wake up enough to shift away on his own before he slowly disentangles himself, presses a kiss against the back of Andrew’s neck, and leaves Andrew in bed.

The next night is a two-day show, and they’re both so exhausted when they get home that they don’t even bother with the pretense of starting out on opposite sides of the bed: James faceplants more or less in the center of the giant mattress, and Andrew collapses right next to him. In the morning, they’re wrapped up in one another, James’s arms around Andrew and Andrew curled into him, forehead brushing his on the pillow they’ve somehow wound up sharing. And — and they’re both hard, he realizes, with something more like wonder than panic.

It’s just morning wood, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that hasn’t happened before, but now they’re touching, and he can feel James’s hard-on against him, and it’s such a new sensation that he almost takes a moment to enjoy the novelty of it before he finally, slowly, pulls away, excruciatingly careful not to wake James.

It’s just morning wood, he reminds himself as he’s showering. It doesn’t count, it’s not real.

“You woke up before me,” James greets him when he steps out of the shower. “That’s a first.”

Andrew shrugs as James shucks off his shirt and grabs a towel before heading into the bathroom himself. “I guess I’m finally making up my sleep deficit,” is all he can offer, because he’s suddenly newly aware of how almost-naked James is, how very bare his chest is and how close Andrew’s been to it all week. He’s also newly aware that James definitely exists below the waist, that they both exist below the waist, and it’s suddenly dawning on him that perhaps this sleeping arrangement they’ve developed isn’t exactly the usual kind of roommate situation. Maybe roommates are supposed to be more bothered than he is when they wake up to their roommate and bed partner sprouting an erection against their thigh. Maybe it’s strange that he isn’t more weirded out. And thinking about this is starting to make him feel weirded out that he’s not weirded out, which is weirding him out on the original level.

“Hey,” James says, voice gone wry, and Andrew realizes he’s been standing numbly in the doorway of the bathroom, blocking James’s path.

“Oh, sorry,” he says, inanely, but James just laughs softly.

“I take it back, you’re not awake yet,” he says, and he reaches up to ruffle Andrew’s hair.

And it’s because Andrew is standing there being weirded out that he reacts the way he does — he flinches away, like a complete asshole, like James is somehow making him uncomfortable, and he hates himself as soon as he does, because that’s not what’s happening, it’s not James’s fault, he just...

But James jolts and takes a step back, clearly startled for a moment, before an odd, unreadable look sweeps over his face. He rolls his eyes at Andrew and swats at his arm instead, and there’s something about it that makes Andrew’s gut twist.

“Go back to sleep, mate,” he says, stepping past Andrew into the shower.

But Andrew is suddenly wide awake.

#mcarfield #mcarfield fic #long post #sorry everybody

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mcarfield · 6 years ago

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new anon fic (yayyyy)!

Written for this prompt, because I couldn’t resist: “Our mutual friend apparently has been waiting for us to get together and so they’re very angry/disappointed/upset when they find out that the reason we kissed last night was because we were black-out drunk, but hey I actually do like you so how’s lunch sound after we’re done being hungover and can actually stand being in the sunlight?”

[omg anon you have no idea how much i love this and how delighted i was to get this giant dose of romance in my inbox! also we are on the same wavelength, i’m writing them sleepy and cuddly right now, too, so i loved reading this even more <3 yayyyyy it’s so great, thank youuuuu <333333]

On the last day of 2017, James finds himself on the balcony of Andrew’s West Village apartment, looking down at the street below and contemplating how he ended up here, in the apartment of the guy who played Spiderman and holding a joint handed to him by someone he swears was in the last Spielberg movie.

The door behind him opens and suddenly he can hear the party going on inside; someone has put on the Talking Heads and they’ve turned it all the way up, pushing the couches aside for a dance floor.

“There you are.” James turns to see Andrew himself poking his head through the door. “Denise is looking for you.”

“I know,” James says and Andrew grins at him, glancing behind him before stepping fully outside and sliding the door shut behind him. Andrew steps closer, coming to lean against the railing, tucking his hands under his arms, and hunching his shoulders up. “She wants me to do shots.”

“That doesn’t sound like Denise,” says Andrew, regarding James dubiously.

“That’s because you’ve never seen her after being on break for a few months and about to start work again,” says James, twisting around so his back is against the railing and he’s in line with Andrew, both looking through the glass door and watching the party.

“So no shots tonight?” Andrew asks, turning to face James, eyes dancing.

“No,” says James emphatically. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t make you to do anything you didn’t want,” says Andrew and something about his tone makes James’s face go hot despite the fact that it’s nearly negative ten degrees out. “Care to share?” he asks, gaze flickering down to the still lit joint between James’s fingers. James hold his hand out and Andrew plucks it from his fingers, raising it to his lips to take a long drag. He leans his head back, closes his eyes, and exhales slowly. James’s eyes are inexplicably drawn to Andrew’s long neck and he can’t seem to look away, at least not until Andrew opens his eyes and turns his head to face James, handing the joint back. “Thanks,” he says softly.

James just shrugs in response and takes a drag, wondering why his heart is hammering so hard when just minutes ago he had been the only kind of relaxed he ever gets when he smokes. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, but it’s just Andrew shivering. He’s been looking at James the entire time, though studying may be a better word, and it unmoors him.

“Christ, aren’t you cold?” he asks, pulling his own coat tighter around his body.

“Fucking freezing,” says Andrew, his breath visible in the cold air.

“You’re a bloody fool,” mutters James, unwrapping the scarf around his neck and coming to stand before Andrew so he can tug him closer, wrapping the scarf around his shoulders. “Why’d you come outside?”

“Keep you company,” replies Andrew before adding, “You’ll be cold,” with a pout as James adjusts the scarf around him.

“I have a coat, you twit,” says James. “I’ll be fine.”

“Such a gentleman,” says Andrew, looking at him with a soft look in his eye, so soft it makes James want to melt into him, though that might just be the weed. They stand there for a beat, just looking at each other in the eye before Andrew blinks twice and steps away. “Thank you for the scarf,” he says, his voice strange. “But it’s fucking cold out here.”

“Here, last puff for good luck,” James says, holding the joint out. Andrew’s arms are tucked under the scarf, so James brings it to his lips instead of handing it over. It’s burned down to the filter nearly and James’s fingers brush against Andrew’s lips as he inhales, looking James in the eye the whole time. “Ready to ring in 2018 now?”

“Definitely,” Andrew says, grinning at him widely. “Let’s get inside.”

The warm air from the heat and from the bodies packed into Andrew’s apartment hits them like a wall and Andrew visibly relaxes, unwrapping himself and draping the scarf around James’s neck, still holding onto the ends.

There’s a quick moment where James thinks he’s going to pull both ends and drag James’s lips to his but it passes as quickly as it came and Andrew is dropping his hands to his side, leaving James confused over his over the unmistakable sense of disappointment that floods him.

“See you in an hour,” says Andrew with a wink and he disappears into the depths of the party before James can ask what he means. He brushes it aside, because trying to decipher what Andrew means when he sends him cryptic winks with even more cryptic words is not how James wants to spend the last hour of 2017.

So he finds Denise and some of the new makeup team to get well and truly drunk enough to ring in the new year and to forget whatever lines he’s blurring with Andrew despite the fact that he knows better. They dance to whatever Nate puts on and he doesn’t see Andrew until approximately 11:56. He jumps a foot in the air when Andrew comes up behind him, snaking his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Hi,” James says through a laugh, twisting his head so he can look at him.

“Hi,” says Andrew, looking blissfully relaxed.

“Enjoying your party?” asks James.

Andrew nods, gripping James’s hips so he can spin him around. They’re face to face now and just as James thinks Andrew is going to let his arms fall to his side and step back so they can hold a conversation, Andrew settles his arms around James’s waist. At first, James is unsure what to do but when he sees the look on Andrew’s face, he raises his arms to wind them around Andrew’s neck loosely.

“I wanted to ring in the new year with my boyfriend,” says Andrew and the word sends a jolt through James; he prays Andrew didn’t feel it and it seems like he didn’t because his expression hasn’t changed, just the same playful yet calm face looking back at him.

“Not with your friends?” asks James. Andrew looks affronted.

“You are my friend,” he says and it sends a warm feeling through James. He had known, all through the run in London and during the break when they occasionally texted, that they were more than just colleagues or costars. But there’s something in the tenderly earnest expression on Andrew’s face that gives him pause. “In fact…I’d say you’re one of my closest friends. And—“

“One minute!” comes someone’s voice across the room and Andrew’s head snaps to look across the room. James moves to untangle himself from Andrew.

“Go find your New Year’s kiss,” James says, taking a step back. Andrew frowns at him, like he’s thinking very hard all of the sudden, working through his options. He tilts his head to the side. James glances at the clock behind Andrew. There’s thirty seconds to midnight and Andrew shows no signs of moving.

“Andrew…”

“James…” mimics Andrew, lips curling upwards. “I don’t need a New Year’s kiss.”

“Stupid tradition, after all,” says James, suddenly feeling rather winded.

“I agree,” Andrew says, except then everybody is counting down and just before midnight, Andrew steps forward and brushes his lips against James’s, soft and quick. “There. Starting the New Year off right.”

Everyone around them is celebrating, kissing and hugging everyone else, except James finds himself pulled forward like the opposite end of a magnet, his hand cupping the back of Andrew’s neck so he can pull his lips back to his. Andrew is frozen against him and James breaks away, an apology ready on his tongue, except Andrew chases his lips and they’re kissing again, except for real this time, and Andrew’s arms are tightening around James and James feels as though the sound around them is muted as Andrew moves his lips against his effortlessly. He buries his hand in Andrew’s hair, drawing a muffled moan from Andrew that serves to wake them up.

When they move away, James catches sight of the clock. Barely a minute has passed yet he feels like he’s lost his footing completely in that minute.

“Happy New Year, James,” says Andrew and James is at least grateful that he sounds as dazed as James feels. Andrew pats James’s cheek softly and grins slowly at him. “See you later.” And he melts back into the party around him again. James turns, swallows hard, and makes a beeline for the bar.

The next time he sees Andrew is around five am, when the majority of the party has dispersed and only his closest friends and a couple members of the Angels cast remain. Denise is curled up on the couch with a friend of Andrew’s, Nate is making eggs in the kitchen with someone James doesn’t recognize, and Susan and Andrew are playing cards on the floor beside the couch.

“Good New Year?” asks Denise when James comes to take Andrew’s friend’s spot on the couch beside her, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch, eyes closed. He hums his assent and nods half-heartedly.

“Probably his best yet,” says Susan from the floor. Andrew glances up to look at them and James raises his head to send her a quizzical look. “Given all that…” She waves her hand vaguely.

“Given what?” asks James and Denise snorts.

“I’d say we all might be more excited than you about it,” she says with a smirk. Nate lets out a chuckle from the kitchen.

“I’m not following,” James says, unsure if it’s because he’s in that twilight transition between being high and being sober or if it’s because they really are making no sense.

“I mean you two,” says Susan, gesturing at Andrew.

“Sorry?” Andrew says, frowning deeply. Susan rolls her eyes.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you, darling,” she says fondly.

“I wasn’t aware I was playing dumb,” he mutters.

“Given that you two stopped tiptoeing around it and got together,” says Denise, taking pity on them both. Andrew’s gaze darts to James, his eyes wide and startled, but he looks away before James can even react, looking down.

“We’re not,” says James, coughing into his hand and feeling his neck heat up, the red spreading from his cheeks to his ears.

“Oh,” says Susan, looking contemplative.

“No way,” Denise says, pulling a pout.

“What?” asks James defensively, tucking his chin against his chest.

“No way do you two kiss at midnight on New Years and act like it means nothing,” she says heatedly and if he weren’t so disconcerted, he’d laugh at the comically stormy look on her face.

“We’re friends,” says Andrew, his voice small and James won’t look at him, he won’t.

“‘Friends,’” Denise scoffs.

“I was drunk, he plays my boyfriend,” says James with a shrug, hoping he sounds less overwhelmed than he feels.

Denise looks between them, looking astonished and incredulous all at once. “Men,” she says impatiently before shaking her head and pulling herself off the couch so she can go join Nate in the kitchen. Susan lets out a little laugh before getting to her feet too. She leans down to kiss Andrew’s cheek and whispers something in his ear that James can’t catch. Whatever it is, it leaves Andrew looking stricken.

Then just like that, they’re alone in the living room.

“Want to go get breakfast?” asks Andrew suddenly, breaking the silence. James turns to face him, unable to wipe the confounded look from his face.

“It’s five am, Andrew,” says James and once more, he really feels that it’s five am. He hasn’t stayed up after a party like this in what feels like an age and suddenly all he wants is to be curled up in his own bed sixty blocks north. Andrew shifts closer so he’s leaning against the couch and he’s looking up from James, chin resting on James’s knee.

“Then go home and take a nap,” says Andrew. “And meet me for breakfast later.”

“Rain check?” says James against his own wishes. He feels weary with it all. It doesn’t help that Andrew doesn’t mask the flash of disappointment that flits across his features, like James has just dealt him a catastrophic blow. It almost makes him want to take it back, to lift Andrew into his arms and kiss him until that look disappears.

The thought takes James by surprise. He recognizes—vaguely—that he was the one that kissed Andrew five hours earlier and that it wasn’t the first time that he thought about kissing him. But those thoughts only arise when he’s high or drunk or both and they’re always unbidden. He’s never given them much thought. This play, Tony’s words, they’re intoxicating and James knows better than to let them completely take control. So he gives Andrew an apologetic smile and ruffles his hair for good measure.

Except then Andrew goes and says, “So get breakfast with me another day. Any day.”

“Andrew…”

“I’m not stupid,” says Andrew, straightening and coming to sit on the couch, a respectable distance from James. “I’m not.”

“I know,” says James. “I never thought you were.”

“Good,” says Andrew. “I’m not naive either. Or maybe I am, but I know it’s not in my head. And I know you’re rationalizing it right now. But you kissed me, James. I know you’re telling yourself it’s because we’re just close friends and comfortable with each other and that it’s the play confusing us and you were drunk or high or whatever. I know you well enough to know that you’re trying to make it seem like it wasn’t anything, just a slip. But I also know you well enough to know you’re not that idiotic and even you can’t pretend that this isn’t something.

“The fact of the matter is,” says Andrew pensively, like he hasn’t just dropped a bomb right in James’s lap. “I’m not straight. And I don’t think it’s the play telling me that. And I have come to the realization that I quite like kissing you and I’d like to do it some more. Preferably offstage. Alone. So after you wipe that adorable thunder-struck look on your face, realize you want this too and we’re both at least marginally less hungover, come get breakfast with me. Or lunch, or dinner. Go on a date with me, James McArdle. And for once in your life, don’t overthink it.”

“You really don’t miss a beat, do you?” says James, amused. Andrew shakes his head. “You’re just…You just say those things and…“

“You weren’t ever going to say it,” says Andrew with a shrug. “I took it upon myself.”

“That you did,” says James, exhaling slowly. “It’s just…There’s so much to think about. There’s the play starting soon, and you’re a fucking movie star. We can’t just…do a test drive.”

“Why not?” asks Andrew, catching his lip between his teeth as he looks at James and bringing his hand to rest on James’s thigh. “I’m very good at sneaking.”

“But previews start in a few weeks and we can’t fuck this, Andrew, it’s New York and Angels and we can’t—“

“Shut up a minute about the play,” says Andrew. “What do you want? Do you want to go on a date with me? Don’t think—“

“Fine, yes,” James snaps finally, interrupting Andrew before he can really think. “All right? I do.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” says Andrew, a smile growing. He moves an inch towards James so he’s pressed to James’s side and he looks at him hesitantly, like he’s asking a question. James isn’t sure what the question is, but he nods anyway and Andrew moves closer again, brushing his nose against James’s, and it makes James inhale sharply. Andrew smiles again at his reaction and takes that as his cue, slanting his lips over James’s.

And all the tension leaves James’s body and he forces himself to think only of this feeling, of having Andrew tucked into his side and his soft lips against his. His hand comes up Andrew’s back, coming to rest at the back of his neck so he can pull him closer and Andrew responds by bringing his legs up to rest across James’s. Andrew’s body is warm and pliant against him, sending a wave of unbridled joy and contentment through James. They’re both too tired for anything but this slow and blissful kissing and Andrew smiles lazily when he pulls away, resting his head against James’s forehead.

“I’m going to kick everyone from the apartment,” says Andrew, though he doesn’t move to do so. “And you’re going to have the best goddamn nap of your life, James McArdle.” James chuckles against him, running his thumb across Andrew’s jaw.

“Show me the way,” says James, gesturing with his arm and Andrew grins at him languidly, swinging his legs off the couch and extending his hand for James to take, which he does. They duck quietly past the last dregs of the party into Andrew’s bedroom and Andrew guides him over to the bed, kicking off his shoes before curling into the blankets.

James hesitates for a moment, watching as Andrew lets his eyes fall shut, head nestled into the pillows, and he glances to the space beside him. When he doesn’t move, Andrew cracks an eye open to look at James. He pats the space beside him and looks at James imploringly. It works.

James toes off his shoes and doesn’t bother to strip himself of his clothes, too fatigued to do anything but lie beside Andrew. Andrew, unsurprisingly, reacts instantly and closes the space between them, throwing an arm over James’s abdomen and a leg across his. He pulls James closer so that he’s wrapped fully around him and James falls asleep quicker than he has in months.

#mcarfield #mcarfield fic #long post #fic-writing anon you are the BEST <333333 #ilu anons #submission

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