Fic-like thing: Across the Universe - The Gay Mix

[allyndra]

I have reached the point where I can't watch a TV show or movie without searching for the slash potential. Case in point: Across the Universe. I was wary of seeing it. On the one hand, it was directed by Julie Taymor, the genius who brought The Lion King to the stage. On the other hand, it was directed by Julie Taymor, the freak who brought Titus Andronicus to the screen. But my love for musicals overwhelmed my caution and I went to see it. And I loved it. Been listening to the soundtrack non-stop in the car. Even though I really liked the romance the film presented, I can't stop speculating about the slash story they didn't show. 

In my mind, it went like this:
 

Max walked Jude back to his little basement room the night they met, both of them still wobbly and more than a little high. When they got inside, Max leaned into Jude's space without even thinking about it. The room was just so small, it pressed him against Jude's warm body, shoved them both down onto the tiny cot, trapped them together mouth to mouth and flesh to flesh. When he woke up the next morning, Max was naked and lying on a sleeping Englishman. He scrubbed his hands over his face and tried to gather his clothes quietly, just in case Jude was the type to punch first and lay blame on the drugs and alcohol later. But when Jude woke up, he just gave Max a sleepy smile and said he was liking America more all the time. Max let his clothes drop back to the floor, let his body drop back onto the bed, and let his worries drop away.

 

Max didn't know why he brought Jude home for Thanksgiving. He knew it would be a disaster, and he knew Jude didn't even celebrate the holiday. He didn't admit even to himself that he was afraid Jude would disappear while Max was off visiting his family, afraid that Jude would find a boat back home and leave Max here all alone. Watching Jude in the car, wind in his hair and laughter in his voice, Max felt happy to be going home for the first time in years. When they stopped to stretch their legs, Jude helped him put the top up on the car, giving him such a wicked grin that Max kept fumbling his part of the job. When Max slid back into the driver's seat and started the engine, Jude wriggled until he was lying with his head in Max's lap. When Max worried aloud about getting caught, Jude looked up at him and said, "This is a holiday for thanks, isn't it? Say thank you, Max." And then he went down and Max didn't say anything other than "thank you" for miles. It was awkward and terrifying, and he couldn't shift gears without jabbing Jude in the chest, but it was the hottest thing Max had ever experienced.

 

Max saw the way Jude looked at Lucy. He wasn't blind, after all. But he knew that Lucy was safe, protected by her devotion to Daniel. He warned Jude away, but he didn't think too much about it. Late that night, when he was gasping against Jude's skin, shuddering out his silent, intense longing, Max couldn't help gloating just a bit that this was his and not Lucy's.

 

He didn't even consider moving to New York without Jude, and that should have been a warning of how fast he was falling. It couldn't be normal, this inability to picture his future without Jude in it so soon after meeting him. The apartment was crowded and rundown, but it was theirs, and Max had never felt so right, so at home as he did tangled up with Jude on the messy bed, staring up at the cracked ceiling and listening to Jude breathe. He knew that Jude didn't feel the same way about him. He didn't make a big deal about it, but it cut him every time Jude went home with some girl. Max slept with Prudence out of revenge and nearly laughed himself sick on the irony: the faggot screwing the lesbian out of jealousy.

 

When Lucy came to stay with them, Max tried to be sympathetic rather than jealous, but Jude's eyes followed her everywhere she went, and Max felt the bitterness choking him. When he found them in bed, he wanted to yell, wanted to throw things and play the jilted lover for all he was worth. But it would hurt him so much more to see pity in his sister's eyes while she stole Jude away, to see the confusion and possibly disgust in Jude's face when he realized that Max wasn't just fucking him, he was in love with him. So Max looked at Lucy lying in his place - sated and bare and curled up with Jude - and he barely said a word.

 

When she gave him the draft notice, Max almost hated Lucy. He knew she hadn't planned any of this, hadn't wanted to send him to war, hadn't even known she was taking Jude away. But it felt like it was all her fault, and he hated her with a fiery loathing he hadn't known himself capable of. For about 30 seconds. Then he felt the most overwhelming gratitude that she would be there to take care of Jude, to love him when Max was far away. He was petrified of going to Viet Nam, but if he had to go, he was glad Jude wouldn't be left alone.

 

When he was brainstorming for ways to get out of the Army, Max gave a moment's consideration to just telling them he was queer. They didn't let fags in the military, and it was a lot more true than faking a spot on his lung or a heroine addiction. But he didn't think he could face the humiliation and ostracism alone, and he couldn't expect Jude to stand by him. Not when he was already so much more in love with Lucy than he'd ever been with Max.

 

Viet Nam was a hell of heat and wet and boredom and violence. Sometimes when he lay in his bedroll at night, Max would stare up at the stars or the tent canvas and think that Jude had been right to choose Lucy. Lucy wouldn't kill people just because someone told her to. Lucy wouldn't come halfway around the world just to wallow in self pity and mud. But other nights he closed his eyes, closed out his tent mates and the war and the whole damn world and remembered Jude's smile that first morning. Remembered the time Jude dragged backstage after one of Sadie's shows and gave him a blow job, hidden in the dusty stage curtains. Remembered the way Jude panted out obscenities when Max was thrusting inside of him. And sometimes he just remembered that Jude liked his sandwiches with mustard instead of mayonnaise and the way his forehead crinkled when he was drawing.

 

It had been a shock, coming out of the hospital to find Jude gone. Max had been steeling himself to see Jude happy with Lucy, but to not see Jude at all ... It was like getting shot all over again. He recovered slowly from his wounds and even more slowly from the hole in his life. It made him quiet. All of his bitterness toward Lucy melted away; he knew that she missed Jude, too. It drew them together, even if she didn't realize it.

 

When he got the telegram from Jude, saying he was coming back, Max felt his heart pound as though it had just started beating. As though his life had stopped months ago, and it was just beginning again. He was at the docks before sunrise, sitting on his cab and watching for Jude to appear. When he finally saw him, it was as though gravity lost its hold on him. Max didn't remember jumping up to the fence, he just found himself there crying out Jude's name and not caring who heard. And then Jude's arms were around him and Max was home from the war for the first time. It didn't matter that he was delivering Jude to Lucy, it just mattered that he had Jude back in his life.

 

He watched Jude searching the crowd for Lucy, and Max couldn't bring himself to hope she wouldn't come. He didn't want Jude if the only way he could get him was heartbroken and lost. When he spotted Lucy, gazing across at Jude with her heart in her eyes, Max smiled. "All you need is love" is what Jude had said, and Max had love all around him.