Work Text:
One thing Richard Madden prided himself on was his never allowing his heart to cloud his better judgement. He kept most of his relationships, both personal and professional alike, at arm’s length. It was commented upon often enough that for such an accomplished actor, his circle was quite small. At times small enough to even be counted on one hand. He was perfectly pleased with his situation as a whole, of course.
Until he came into the mix, that was. Nothing could have prepared him well enough for the storm that was Taron Egerton.
Standing in Dexter Fletcher’s version of ‘the Troubadour’, in the ridiculous black suit and sewn-on wig that were both straight out of the 1970’s, Richard felt his heart do it’s very best to leap out of his chest.
They had met before this, of course. All the crew had met at one time or another before filming began, dressed down in everyday casual wear as they read their scripts with each other. They had laughed and shared an occasional whisky after a recording session.
But this… This was very different. And for the life of him Richard couldn’t figure out why.
Richard gulped, looking at Taron’s, Elton’s , form with new eyes. He knew he didn’t have to worry about being in character from the first note sung behind that piano. He didn’t have to worry about ensuring the joy and apparent lust John must have felt for Elton that evening all those years ago were in his own eyes, for Richard was captivated in a way he had never been before.
And that could be a problem. A very big problem indeed.