Jen (tyrybaby) wrote in knightgasm_rps,

New Ficlette

Title: Attraction

Author: KIHarwick

Rating:  R for some extreme images

Pairing: Ioan Gruffudd/OFC (Het)

Feedback: Would love to have some, please, and thank you.

Length: 2,481 words

Summary: Attraction is a dangerous thing.

Disclaimer: I don’t own anyone except my own characters. None of this is real, and it never happened. No offence is intended.

Author’s Note: Please don’t take my characters. They are copyright to me, and you will be caught if you steal them. There are appearances by Orlando Bloom, Eric Bana, and Josh Hartnett. They’re minor, but significant, for this little shorty might become a series of shorties. Appearances have been changed to suit my needs. I have to say that the song ‘Hope’ performed by Apocalyptica is a big inspiration for this piece. Thanks to them for creating beautiful music. Thanks to the wonderful Cat for all of her comments and the help she gave me. You’re still a jewel!



She was married when she met the dark haired god from Wales. He was sensual, exotic, and exciting; and yet, so was her husband, Orlando, her best friend in the world. Orlando had wooed her and won her passionately; but with her first glance at those Welsh eyes, she felt fire in her heart. He had taken her desire and rerouted it.  He intrigued her, oh God, how he did. And it burned both of them, the creeping, hidden passion…

Black Hawk Down was one of the most excruciating movies she’d ever seen. The plot was intense, set in the midst of the Somalian conflict of 1993. Her involvement, however, had been limited to working on set, observing and scribbling notes for the director and producers. She was a writer, after all. Most recently, she’d worked on the set of Ned Kelly with director Gregor Jordan, producing a good set of notes for the world to grasp.

The set of Black Hawk Down was riddled with set props, crew men, actors, make-up artists, costume designer’s everyday, and today was no different. She walked by a scorched skeleton of a helicopter and shuddered. It could really happen like that, she thought. She was familiar with the story of Black Hawk Down, for she’d read the book with Orlando for background research. He had been cast for Private First Class Todd Blackburn, the young man who broke his back by falling from a helicopter. It was a sad story, Blackburn’s. At least he had survived.

Today was a break from her work routine. Orlando was sick, and had spent the day at their rented flat, and so she had ventured out alone. Already, morning was sweltering. The sun beat down on her, smothering her with unbearable heat. When she was home in London, it wasn’t ever this hot; if by some stroke of chance it did reach such extremes, it would be the cause of some global warming catastrophe. London was gloomy old London. London was home; familiar, and safe. It was all she needed to sustain her for the rest of her days, she wanted for nothing except home and London fog.

A dark mess of hair clung to the back of her neck, while little curls escaped the old straw hat she wore and hung in her face, obscuring the vision of eyes the colour of a turquoise sea; delicately arched eyebrows framed them and her dark lashes. Her nose was small, almost like a button, and her lips were lush; they’d tempt any man to drink from the fountain of her lips.  Passer-by might have mistaken her for another of the white prop masters, in her cliché army gear: green tank top, khaki shorts, boots and socks, rucksack and water, and any other necessities for the day.

Men lifting and carrying props greeted her as she passed them with familiarity. She made it a point to try and get to know everyone. It made her more approachable, more open to having everyone around. That was how she met him; the dark haired god of a man from Wales.


Ioan Gruffudd was one of her brother’s best friends. They’d gone to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts together, and stayed friends. She’d never met him until now. Her brother had never introduced them. Once she met her brother’s old friend, she never again wondered why. From his smouldering dark chocolate brown eyes, the careless mess of curls that sat atop his head—he was every inch a heart breaker. Despite his roguish good looks, he astonished her as being in almost every way the perfect gentleman, treating everyone around him with respect and dignity. He had that smile that made the entire female population around him melt. He could be in the worst company and still maintain an air of politeness and dignity. He was almost perfect.

And yet, she suspected there was a streak of imperfection, maybe even the typical ‘bad boy’ persona to Ioan. She’d never seen it, but with his schoolboy charm and good looks, it was somewhere close to the surface. All she had to do was find it.

It was refreshing to her, that Ioan didn’t curse in front of women. She found that incredibly charming. He always waited until the women were gone before cursing softly to himself. She caught him a few times, and listened with a grin as he made his apologies. Despite her insistence that it was perfectly alright, he’d always told her it just wasn’t done for a proper Welsh boy to curse in front of a lady. She was astonished. No one ever called her a lady.


The first time they actually admitted a mutual attraction for each other was when all the actors had gone to the local pub. Josh and Eric had invited her for a special surprise which had turned out to be a birthday party in her honour. Orlando had told them; Josh and Eric made it happen. Everyone had taken her for a dance, saying she belonged to all of them and owed every man a dance. As the night progressed, they all likewise became progressively drunker. Ioan had stayed quiet in a corner, watching the party from the sidelines, safely keeping his distance from her. But he had misjudged her; she wouldn’t let him get off that easily. Dressed in a sequined tube top, a black miniskirt, she stunned him. Her lithe body was like wine, he craved it, desired it as he’d desired nothing else in his life.

She marched over to him, stared him straight in the face, and the most beguiling smile he’d ever seen played over her face. She bent over him, took his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. Bush was playing, or at least he thought that was who it was. It was hard to tell with the tantalizing woman in front of him igniting fire in his blood when she touched his hands. She turned to him, and rotated her hips in his direction. He stared stupidly at her, knowing that Orlando would be angry if he’d pulled her against him, and ground himself against her soft nimble body.

He didn’t want to offend his friend, but his attraction toward his wife was wearing on him. Everyday he’d see her, talk to her, ask about her relations; nothing was going on between them. So it seemed. But attraction was just below the surface. Every time they were together, it reared its beautiful, dangerous head. Tonight was no different. His mind told him to leave her on the dance floor, leave the pub, seek solace in some willing whore, but his body was traitorous at its best.

He twisted his hips, following her into a dance that he didn’t know he knew. She moved to the left, he mimicked; she moved right, he followed, his mind lost, his body attuned to hers. She teased and taunted him; he teased and taunted her back, exacting his revenge, in a sense. The song brought them closer. He stared into her jewel-like eyes, noting how they darkened to emerald green when she was around him. He knew it was the attraction.

She was a lissom little thing, all curves and willowy. She was making his mouth water just by simple little moves. He saw Orlando look at him and smile. He smiled back, though the smile was fake. He couldn’t face Orlando with the thoughts in his head about his wife.

If only he knew, he thought, and turned back to the goddess in front of him. The music changed to that of a soft ballad. Celine Dion, was his first thought as the soft cords of a cello ran through the speakers. He soon came to realise that it wasn’t Celine Dion, it was Hope performed by Apocalyptica. He stepped back, watching as she moved, gracefully; stepping into ballet moves the likes of which he’d never seen. The beat picked up, almost as if it were going to turn into a rock beat, but it didn’t.

He barely remembered anything else but the way she looked at him during the song. He saw the raw hunger in her eyes, the raw need, and the raw animal lust. He shook his head of the thoughts of her on her knees in front of him, his fingers tangled in her hair as he thrust himself into her mouth; of her body beneath his, and him thrusting into her, bringing them both the completion they sought. He was helpless now; he wanted her. She held him in the palm of her hand. And neither of them could do anything about it.

The song was over, finally, and he found himself being lead to the bar for a pint and laughter with the rest of his cast mates. Eric smiled at him as he grabbed the pint eagerly and gulped half of it down in one gulp. Ease up, mate, Eric said, she’s a bloody tease. Ioan knew that all to well. She was a bloody little tease. He watched as she walked to Orlando, who reached for her and kissed her soundly on the lips. Jealousy reared its head in Ioan’s eyes. He wanted to be the one she ran to when she came home at the end of the day. He wanted to run to her when he came home at the end of the day. He wanted to wake each morning and see her lying beside him, the sun shining in from the window and turning her face to a rosy peach colour.

She bloody well is a tease, Ioan said to himself, but Eric heard him.

She’s attractive, He said, staring at the happy couple, damn pretty, and he snatched her up, he did, the lucky bastard.

You’ve your wife, Ioan looked at the man beside him. Eric had no beard, but a bit of stubble hinted that he’d have one if he didn’t have in the next few days. Eric looked back at Ioan.

She’s a pretty wench, mate, He said, smiling, if I wasn’t married, I’d give Orlando there a run for his money. You’re the first bloke I’ve seen her actually look at, Ioan didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

She’s pretty enough, I’ll give her that, Ioan said, gulping down the rest of his pint and setting it on the bar for more.

She’s more than pretty, mate, Eric said, you can’t tell me that you haven’t imagined her in your bed at least one time or anther, Ioan looked at his cast mate with a dark smile.

Glad I’m not the only one, Ioan replied, smiling. He looked at the pint that he’d set down. Easy enough to get pissed, and then go home and wank off to the thoughts of a certain woman who entertained his fantasies. He looked over at her, watching as she got up and went towards the door. Orlando didn’t notice, or if he did, he though she was going to the loo.

He followed, watching every move she made. He only wanted to taste her lips once, then he’d leave her alone, never talk to her again, let her fall off the face of the earth if he had to. Then he remembered her brother. He would be tormented every time he saw Jude from the moment he kissed his sister.


She pushed the door open, and welcomed the cool air as it hit her skin, and threw her arms out in jubilation. She’d been waiting for the right moment to act upon her attraction for Ioan, and from what she saw, he was receptive. Desire thrummed through her body. She’d found it hard to go back to Orlando after the dance with Ioan.

She heard the door open again, and moved out of the way to let the stranger pass. But it was no stranger.

Tease, he said, his accented voice running over her body like warm liquid.

Tease, she repeated, turning to look him in the eye, you’re just as much a tease as I; she squared her chin defiantly, daring him to tell her otherwise.

Do you have any idea how much you could burn yourself if we were to act on the attraction that we feel for each other? He asked, grabbing her arm and pulling her with him around the corner to a dimly lit alleyway.

I’d hurt him, yes, She looked up at him, her eyes clear as crystal. But what about me, Ioan? I have to do what’s right for me. Doesn’t my happiness matter as much as his? Isn’t’ it a question of what will make me happy? Content? A better wife, she whispered sensually.

Is this what you want? He asked, leaning in close to her. She closed her eyes and sighed. I dream of having you in my arms, he whispered, staring into her eyes. I dream of having you in my bed, in my house, everywhere. It kills me to see you with him.

We can’t, she said, trying to escape.

Why the bloody hell not? He asked, pushing her against the wall, forgetting whatever manners he’d been taught by his parents. His hand traveled up her arm in a loving gesture. She looked at him, her eyes turning darker with desire.

It’s wrong, she said, all the while arching into his body. He ran his finger across the top of her chest, just below her neck, and felt her shudder.

Does he make you feel like this? Ioan asked, pressing her against the wall, and moving so that he was pressed against her tightly. Does he make you feel like you’re on fire, that you’ll explode if nothing gives? He touched his fingers to her sides. She gasped as his hands lifted the shirt slightly and touched her bare skin. Does he make you gasp in both shock and pleasure? Ioan asked harshly.

No, the traitorous word came out of her mouth, hanging in the air about them. He doesn’t, she added, looking up at him. His manly pride complimented him on a job well done. He’d gotten her to admit it. He’d gotten her to admit her attraction toward him.

Good, he said, moving so that she could sag against him. He straightened her out, helped her stand with the balance she usually had and proceeded to walk away.

Ioan? She called softly after him. His name on her lips almost caused him to turn back and have her then and there.

Go back to your husband, dear, He said, but when he makes love to you, remember what I just proved. He can’t make you feel the way I do, He walked off, out into the night, leaving her wanting, just as she made him want her.

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