Golden Hour
by: mldrgrl Rating: R Pairing: Hank/Stella Summary: The answer to whether or not Hank took the Netflix deal from La La Land. Happy new year, Hanella fans!
In the three months of filming the series adaptation of his novel, Hank felt like he’d learned a lot about being a director. He probably wouldn’t do it again considering his natural tendency towards passive aggressiveness and laziness, but still he would say he learned a lot. Initially he thought he might be a more hands off type, letting the actors do their acting and the designers do their designing and the best boy do whatever the fuck a best boy does, but somewhere inside was a glutton for creative control that took over and he found himself making changes, making decisions, and sometimes even making demands. He hoped he wasn’t too much of an asshole about it. He didn’t think he was.
The actors seemed to like him and he liked them. He’d gotten extremely lucky that his top picks, Sam Rockwell and Rosemarie Dewitt, were willing to work with a dilettante filmmaker, but their expertise definitely made up for his lack of experience. Watching them bring life to the characters he created had been exhilarating and at first it felt intimidating making his suggestions as a director for an emphasis on a different word or a change in blocking, but everyone on set seemed open to trying new things and as long as he got everyone out on time, people were happy.
The other surprising joy of agreeing to do the series was that he’d had the opportunity to co-write one of the episodes with Becca. In outlining and prepping the individual episodes it was apparent that he needed more material and he’d had a serious discussion with his daughter about expanding the world of the main characters to include more of their child. She agreed, not because she was eager to work with her father, but it would also give her a bit of experience should she ever want to adapt one of her own works into a screenplay. They only butted heads a few times and never seriously hurt each other's feelings, which was a relief considering she’d inherited his intellect and his sharp tongue.
The last day of filming was bittersweet. A lot of the supporting cast had been wrapped days ago and it was just Sam and Rosemarie for this last shot, and though incredibly rare, the last day of filming would also be the last shot of the show. He wanted it to be perfect. The last scene in his book had caused a lot of debate, mostly online, of what it meant for the characters. He could see how the ambiguity would be frustrating and got a kick out of the discourse that surrounded it. People hounded him at his book signings, begging them to tell them if Scott and Miranda got back together. For everyone that was adamant that they’d rekindled their marriage, there were those equally as adamant that they hadn’t. Hank kept his own thoughts close to the vest. The hopeless romantic in him wanted the happy ending, but the part of him that stole the pain of his many breakups with Karen as inspiration knew that sometimes people just weren’t meant to be together.
The set up was simple. Sam, as Scott, would stand at the bottom of the steps of the townhouse that the location scout had booked for exteriors. Rosemarie, as Miranda would stand at the top. They would have a brief conversation and she would make her way down, stand before him and then he would turn to leave, stop, and turn around again for one last look. As they rehearsed, as they got closer to filming and he watched the blocking play out through the lens of the camera, he had a different idea. He called his director of photography, the steadicam operator, and the gaffer over to where the actors were being touched up.
“I know we don’t have a lot of time,” he said, “but I want to make an adjustment. After we go wide in that last moment before Sam walks away, instead of a two shot, I want to push in on Sam’s back and when he turns, I want the camera to swing back to Rosemarie. Like it’s turning with him.” He made a frame with his fingers and imitated the movement of the lens. “And then we’re gonna hold there. We can eliminate cutting back to Sam, we're just going to hold on Rosemarie.”
Hank quickly demonstrated the new blocking using the stand-ins, showing them all how he wanted the flow.
“Look, I know it’s a big ask,” he told the group. “Sam, Rosemarie, we’ve talked about this last scene a few times and everyone’s motivation and none of that has to change, but I think…I think what the audience needs from this moment is to see exactly what Scott sees. And you can still play it as you feel it, it could be a goodbye or welcome home that’s…I’ve always said that’s in your court. You’re the embodiment of these characters. I may have shaped them, but you gave them a soul. Alright? Everyone good?”
It was kind of a dick move, making such a last minute change like that, but he had a good, solid crew that had proven in the last three months to be very adaptable and very skilled. Shit changed last minute all the time in film, he just preferred when it was due to the weather or a location falling through rather than the source being himself.
When everything was in place, they rolled sound, they rolled speed, and Hank called action for the last time. The scene played out exactly as he saw it in his mind and it brought him to tears. They wrapped the actors and though people lingered as they broke down the set and people wanted to make speeches and say their extended goodbyes, Hank bowed out as soon as he saw the opportunity. He had his driver bring him straight home.
Not having a clue when they would be done filming that evening, he’d told Stella not to wait up for him, but it was still fairly early and she had late classes in the morning so there was still a chance she’d be awake. The main room of the loft was dark, but their bedroom door was open and the lamp was on. He thought he might find her in bed, but she was in their bathroom washing her face.
“I was hoping you’d be up,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb as she shut off the water. She wore a silk camisole and lace underwear and he could see her breasts swaying softly as she patted her face dry, nipples pert against the thin fabric. Next to full nudity, it was his favorite of her summer nighttime attire.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he answered, crossing to her as she put the towel down. She yelped as he hoisted her up onto the counter and took her face in his hands, cheeks still slightly damp. She immediately wrapped her legs around his hips and smiled against his mouth as he kissed her, but then pushed him back at the chest, though she kept her legs locked around his hips. He tried to kiss her again and she pushed back so instead he circled his arms around her and cocked his head in question.
“You’ve got that look about you,” she said.
“What look?”
“Like you’ve just written something you’re particularly pleased with. I want to hear about it.”
“Mmm say ‘particularly pleased with’ again, Sherlock, there’s something about alliteration with an English I find intensely satisfying. Or I’m just having flashbacks to latent Mary Poppins fantasies.”
“Tell me.”
He rubbed his nose against hers and then pulled back a little, relaxing his stance so that his grip on her loosened. Even though she was always careful with the sunscreen, summer had a way of rousing the ordinarily dormant freckles across her nose and forehead. He pulled the elastic tie out of her hair to set it free and ran his hands through the soft waves. It was already frizzing and curling at her temples where her hairline had gotten wet. Sometimes it took his breath away what a natural beauty she was.
“Obviously, you remember the time we went to Bora Bora,” he said.
“Of course.”
“Do you know what golden hour is?”
Stella shook her head.
“In filming, after sunrise or before sunset, when the light hits just so. I remember hearing about it once when I was on a set a thousand years ago.”
“And you found a golden hour tonight?”
“I did.” He nodded then hesitated before he spoke. “Actually, I’d already found one, I just didn’t realize it.”
She gazed at him silently, waiting patiently for him to continue.
“We were blocking the shot tonight and I thought I’d had it all set up perfectly until we got to a point and…the sunlight, it suddenly just…I was standing on the steps of this townhouse and there were these brass plates on the door that just glowed when the sun hit them. And then I found myself thinking about Bora Bora.”
“Are you trying to say that you’d like to go on holiday when you’re finished?”
“No…well, I’m always down to vacation with you, Sherlock, you know it’s still on my bucket list to get you to a nudist resort, preferably before I start to develop saggy old man balls, but that’s not what I was getting at.”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, as I was saying, I found myself thinking of Bora Bora and this one particular moment, after we’d fucked in the hammock and all you were wearing were those blue bikini bottoms and you went over to the railing of our hut and you stood there with your face tipped up to the sun looking radiant, like a goddess, looking fucking ethereal and it’s like I was back in that place, watching you bask in the light. I remembered how you’d opened your eyes to look out at the water and I’d felt…I’d felt absolutely blinded. I saw the ocean in your eyes, saw the sky, and your skin…”
He stopped and ran his hand down the back of her arm from shoulder to elbow and up again. She shivered and shifted her hips. He smiled and pressed himself against her just slightly, teasingly. Her thighs clenched at his hips.
“Your skin was like hot honey in the sun,” he continued. “It was just…it was one of those moments where you see the past and present and the future all at once and then it’s gone, but you know something profound just happened that you’ll never truly be able to put into words. So I…I had them change the blocking because up until that moment I thought it had been so important that we end with the image of Scott on the screen as he looked back at his wife.”
“Heartbreak and hope,” Stella said, clearing her raspy voice and then swallowing. “I think that’s what the last sentence of the book was. He looked at her with heartbreak and hope.”
“That’s right. And that was…that’s what I thought I wanted until I remembered Bora Bora.” He paused. “Suddenly I just wanted to capture that feeling in a bottle and it occurred to me that the only way to really do that was to reevaluate that last shot and so we redid the blocking and instead of keeping the camera on Sam, I had it swing back to Rosemarie when he looks at her that last time and she was facing west and the sun was setting on her face and…and Stella, it felt like this is what I wrote the book for.”
Stella didn’t say anything. She simply curled her hand and took a fistful of Hank’s shirt and pulled him to her for a kiss. It was soft and sweet, just a touch of her lips to his, then another, and one more before she pulled away. He tried to steal another kiss from her, but she turned her face and wrinkled her brow and he ended up grazing her cheek instead.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’ve yet to moisturize,” she murmured, trying to wiggle away from him.
He grunted and locked one arm about her before he pulled at the side of her panties, slipping his fingers inside. “I’m no expert,” he said, “but sure seems moist enough to me.”
“Let me just-”
“Later.” He grabbed her by the ass and pulled her up off the counter, heading to their bed.
She stayed wrapped around him, ankles locked at the small of his back, arms locked around his neck, and he brought her down to the bed with a soft oof and an exhale. He moved up on hands and knees above her as she relaxed. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, moved a hand up her camisole to hold a breast. She raked her nails softly up and down his sides. He’d missed this. Even though he’d finagled it into his contract that the show be shot in New York, he’d been so busy that they’d barely had time for more than a few quick fucks in the last three months and he’d missed the slow ache of desire over the frenetic need for release.
They kissed and touched each other leisurely, neither making moves to undress, even though the room was warmer than Hank would like. The ceiling fan wasn’t much of a match against the combination of late summer and body heat. He stroked her thighs and she let her arms fall back above her head as she shifted her legs. When his thumbs caressed the thin edge of her panties she arched her back and her lips parted with a small moan.
He pulled his shirt off by the back of the collar and tossed it over the side of the bed. Stella wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He dragged his chest up against hers, camisole rucking up between their bodies. Belly to belly, he could feel her labored breathing, the clench of her abdominal muscles as she writhed beneath him.
By the time he started grinding his hips against her, his groin had started to ache to the point of discomfort. He was about to very reluctantly move off of her to unzip his fly, but his blessed, perfect wife had already come to his rescue and her nimble fingers were already there. She panted into his mouth with the exertion of shimmying his jeans and jockey shorts off his hips and he grunted appreciatively when she grabbed his ass with both hands. The lacy fabric of her panties scratched the underside of his cock as she pulled him tight against her. They both groaned and he bit into the point of her chin as she tipped her head back.
“Off,” he mumbled, fumbling with the left side of her panties to drag it down her thigh.
“Careful, they’ll rip,” she said, trying to move his hand away.
“I’ll buy you a dozen more.”
Together, they managed to remove her underwear, without ripping them, and his pants, and in the tangle of clothes and limbs, Stella managed to get him on his back and without any preamble, took him in hand and guided him home. He groaned and she pressed her hands into his chest, fingernails biting into his pectorals like claws as she rocked herself back and forth. The undulation of her breasts beneath her camisole was hypnotic and he reached up, pebbling one of her nipples with a twist of his thumb and index finger. She grabbed his hand, holding it to her breast and squeezing his fingers over his.
“Touch me,” she breathed.
“You’re close?” he asked.
“Mmm touch me.”
He obliged, thumbing her clit in tight, quick circles as they both squeezed and massaged her breast. He could tell her orgasm was approaching by the way she clenched her thighs like she was pulling it towards her, pulling harder, pulling higher until she could let go. He wasn’t quite there, but he was always spurred on by her pleasure and it wouldn’t take much to tip him over once she got there.
“Are you close?” she asked.
“Don’t wait for me, Sherlock, I’ll be right behind you.”
She rolled her head back and forth and slowed her hips slightly. “No,” she said. “Come with me.”
That was new. He couldn’t ever recall a time she’d said that to him and he felt his balls tighten at the request. It was then he decided he’d been playing the pillow princess too long and even though it pained him to do so, he took his thumb off her clit so he could push himself up with one hand. She whimpered in frustration and he moved quickly to flip her down to her back, slipping out from inside her as he did so to stand on his knees. His cock was throbbing, glistening with his precum and her wetness and he grasped himself, giving a few quick tugs for good measure.
“Bastard,” she grumbled, throwing the back of her hand up against her forehead. He sat back with his legs folded and yanked her towards him by the hips so that her thighs were draped over his.
“You want to come, don’t you?” he asked, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock. She hated teasing, always an all or nothing type woman, but this was one of those times he felt he could get away with it.
“For fuck’s sake,” she breathed. “Yes, I want to come.”
“Then take me with you.” He drove into her, burying himself to the hilt without stopping, and then he pulled back and did it again. And again. And again.
The headboard rattled against the brick wall, thumping rhythmically with every thrust, paired beautifully with the high pitched keening noise Stella made in the back of her throat with every gasp.
“Almost there,” he muttered, feeling that coil of tension building in his groin. His dick throbbed in time with the loud pulsing of his blood in his ears. Any moment now he was going to break.
“Yes,” Stella gasped. “Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes…” Her thighs clamped his hips like a vice and she scrabbled at his sweat-slick back for purchase as he shouted his release. He could feel her body quaking in his arms, the walls of her cunt milking him for all he was worth.
They stayed entwined, slowly rocking out of their joint euphoria. Hank assumed she would be the one to finally let go, but she stayed wrapped around him, bearing his weight, her body still mournfully clutching for him as he began to soften and slip free.
Finally, they both began to loosen and he rolled off of her, coming to rest on his back. He was hot and sweaty and felt like jelly. His limp cock was sticky against his thigh, but he couldn’t move. He needed to catch his breath before he got up. He turned his head to look at Stella, also on her back beside him. Her eyes were closed. He tapped her wrist with the back of his finger.
“Hey, Sherlock.”
“Hm?”
“I want you to know that I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Done what?”
“The show.”
“Of course you could have.”
“No.” He sighed and managed to roll up onto his elbow, propping his head in his hand. He grasped her hand, pulling it up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “You’re the reason I’m so much better now than I ever was,” he murmured against her skin. “It’s your radiance, your presence, the very essence of what makes you you that inspires me every day, even when I don’t always see it. Even when I don’t always say it. What I want you to know is that you…you’re my golden hour.”
Stella stared at him agape, and then she turned to look at the ceiling and blinked back the tears that gathered in her eyes. One rolled from the corner of her eye along her temple and Hank reached over to brush it again.
“The things that you say sometimes,” she whispered, “the way that you say them, it’s…it’s overwhelming.”
“In a good way?”
“Yes, in a good way.”
“Okay, well just so you know if the show comes out and it gets panned we’ll also know who’s to blame.”
She closed her eyes and breathed out a small laugh. He leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth. She turned to him and kissed him fully, bringing her hand up to his face. When they parted, he peppered her face with kisses until she pushed him away.
“I do want to take you somewhere when I’m done,” he said. “Whenever that may be.”
“That would be nice.”
“I didn’t hear a ‘no’ from you on the nudist resort.”
“Never in a million years, my love.”
“Plenty of time to think of something, I guess.” He rolled onto his back again with a smile. That’s right, he thought, they have all the time in the world.
The End
