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fellowshippers2004-06-18 06:27 pm
perfect-oasis.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-06-18 06:27 pm
Scorpion Pinches and Butterfly Kisses, Part 3/6
Title: Scorpion Pinches and Butterfly Kisses, Part 3/6
Author: The Phantom Writer![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silentnumbsmoke
Pairing: DM/BB
Rating: R -- language and a sensitive topic
Feedback: ...is truly appreciated!
Disclaimer: This story is completely false. None of this ever happened... I'm assuming.
Notes: Many thanks tored_moon_rising for being a wonderful beta!
Warning: Touchy subject.
Before you read this, I'd suggest reading parts 1 and 2!
Part III
There he is. My plane got in an hour ago, but I stayed here at the airport to wait for the flight from LA to arrive. There he is, stumbling jet-lagged through the terminal, his eyes wandering. He hasn't seen me yet. (I didn't get a wink of sleep on the flight - I spent the entire time giving myself a pep talk, a reminder of what I can and can't say to Billy. I haven't seen him without Elijah hanging on my shoulder in ages…now that I'll be alone, I can't risk letting my mouth go without planning the words out ahead of time.)
He looks so tired, yawning as he scans the crowds for a familiar face. (Isn't someone going to pick me up?) So tired and so harried… abused, in more than one way. (Billy!!!) I smile and wave as I see his eyes light up in recognition.
Adjusting the light pack on his back, Dominic strides toward me, a grin stretched over his pale features. (I know I look fucking horrible… I'm just glad New Line hired such great makeup artists, otherwise everyone who sees these movies will know that my skin hasn't seen the sun for months.) There are no words and no hesitation as my arms open wide and engulf him in an almost bone-crushing hug. Once again I feel complete. We're reunited! DomandBilly - BillyandDom. It feels right. And as soon as we're on set tomorrow, it'll be MerryandPip, just like it used to be. (It's been far too long.)
"C'mon, Dommie," I speak, smiling in response to the joy that fills his eyes when I call him that. (I love it when he calls me Dommie!) "Let's go meet with Pete and get some food. Then we can talk until the sun comes up, alright?"
(That sounds perfect.) "Sounds like a plan to me," he grins, my arm across his shoulders as we head for the baggage claim.
We did talk last night, but nothing significant was revealed. Each time Elijah was mentioned, Dom tensed and didn't linger long before changing the topic, usually by attempting to tell a joke. He used to be able to quip witty comebacks at me without pausing to think, but it seems like his ability to banter has deteriorated. The humor is still there, but it seems like he isn't. (I just get so distracted, so caught up in my thoughts… thoughts that usually involve Elijah. Not fantasies, either - I haven't had a fantasy about Elijah since before we got together -, but rather, I wince at the idea of what he would do if he knew that I was here, enjoying my time with Billy, and actually wishing that he weren't going to show up in a week. Is that wrong of me?)
It's like I'm stuck at a standstill. I can't go back and pretend I don't know what Elijah does to him, but at this point I can't just tell him I know, either. (It would make things so much easier if Billy just suddenly knew about what's going on. Then I wouldn't have to tell him, and Elijah couldn't get mad at me for letting the cat out of the bag. He could still try, but it wouldn't be valid. I'm sure it wouldn't matter to Elijah, but it would matter to me. If I know his words have no foundation, maybe the hold he has on me will crumble.)
For now, I say nothing. (He's so much quieter than before.)
I'm Pippin-afied, walking back to the trailer Dom and I share, this time without Sir Ian to protest our music selection, when PJ runs into me. Literally. He asks me to spread the word about set: after makeup, we're to meet in the canteen for breakfast so we can go over some last-minute notes for the day. (I wonder what we're doing today?)
"Oi, Dommie!" I call out, pushing the trailer door open. (No, fuck! Billy, go the fuck away!) "Pete says-" I stop mid-sentence, shocked by what I see. (The only upside to this fucking situation? Now I don't have to tell him or worry about spilling the beans myself.) He's frozen, standing there in naught but his skivvies, his eyes wide. There's a moment of silence before he desperately fumbles for an excuse. (Any excuse!)
"Fell down the stairs." (Fuuuuck!)
It seems almost comical, Dominic standing there in nothing but his underwear, prosthetics and Merry wig… though Merry seems to have had too many painful encounters with the orcs. But the humor dies before it reaches my eyes, because this is Dominic, not Merry, and Orcs don't exist. This is my Dominic. I know, as I meet his haunted stare, that his fucking abusive 'stairs' hurt him emotionally as well as leaving behind the obvious physical signs.
"What did PJ say?" he stutters, diverting his eyes as he slides, wincing, into his Merry costume. It looks a little too large on him now, bagging and bunching around his waist, the cloth hanging in dreary folds about shoulders that once filled it out perfectly. (Just keep on going, pretend I'm not a pathetic sight, just like nothing's happened…)
Is he really doing this? Really fucking doing this? Expecting me to ignore the - literally - painfully obvious topic ahead of us? Yet… as evident as what we have to discuss is, the plea in his eyes is just as evident, and I know Dominic can't do this now. He's an actor - a good one, at that - but some things, if probed too deeply, are damn near impossible to keep from showing through and staining your work. Besides, I think, watching the wheels turn in his mind, he needs this time to recall all the excuses he came up with. (Stairs, boxing, attacked by killer bunnies…) "After makeup, meet in the canteen for notes."
"Right," he says with a firm nod, crossing his arms in what I'm sure not only hides the bruises but offers him some sense of false security. (Out of sight, out of mind. Damn, I wish.) "I'll be in makeup in five and at the meeting as soon as possible." (I never thought I'd be wishing for that fucking fat suit again, but even suffocating would be better than having to see that look on Billy's face. Anything would be better than having him know now… though it's not as if I have much a choice, given the situation.)
"All right." He's waiting for me to leave now, I know, but I just can't tear my eyes away. Sure, I was pretty positive I had an idea of what was going on, but I still hadn't expected it to be so… ugly.
Why is it called 'black and blue'? It's never black and blue. Some of the bruises are purplish. Some are graying. And some, the not-so-recent ones, are a yellowish, isabelline color. They're a stark contrast against his pale skin, sprinkled about his arms, neck, and abdomen like flecks of mud. (Elijah never let me out of the house, except when time for publicity, to put on fake smiles and fake laughter and, recently, fake love. His love may be real, but…any emotion I'd once felt for him has changed into a sick sort of twisting fear, a low-simmering burn.) The bruises are difficult to look at, even worse to dwell on. "I'll seeya' in a few, then," I murmur, shaking myself from my trance and forcing my gaze to land on something - anything - else. The door! Lacking all my usual skill and grace, I throw myself at the metal, clawing at the handle until it shifts and the door slides open. I quickly step outside and slam the door behind me.
(I breathe a sigh of relief. It seems he was as desperate to get out of here as I was to get him out. I lock the door and press my back to the cool metal, sliding to the floor and tiling my head back in deep thought - what the fuck am I going to do?) Leaning heavily again the door, I shut my eyes and hear the lock turn. Shite. (Shite.)
Author: The Phantom Writer
silentnumbsmoke Pairing: DM/BB
Rating: R -- language and a sensitive topic
Feedback: ...is truly appreciated!
Disclaimer: This story is completely false. None of this ever happened... I'm assuming.
Notes: Many thanks to
red_moon_rising for being a wonderful beta!Warning: Touchy subject.
Before you read this, I'd suggest reading parts 1 and 2!
Part III
There he is. My plane got in an hour ago, but I stayed here at the airport to wait for the flight from LA to arrive. There he is, stumbling jet-lagged through the terminal, his eyes wandering. He hasn't seen me yet. (I didn't get a wink of sleep on the flight - I spent the entire time giving myself a pep talk, a reminder of what I can and can't say to Billy. I haven't seen him without Elijah hanging on my shoulder in ages…now that I'll be alone, I can't risk letting my mouth go without planning the words out ahead of time.)
He looks so tired, yawning as he scans the crowds for a familiar face. (Isn't someone going to pick me up?) So tired and so harried… abused, in more than one way. (Billy!!!) I smile and wave as I see his eyes light up in recognition.
Adjusting the light pack on his back, Dominic strides toward me, a grin stretched over his pale features. (I know I look fucking horrible… I'm just glad New Line hired such great makeup artists, otherwise everyone who sees these movies will know that my skin hasn't seen the sun for months.) There are no words and no hesitation as my arms open wide and engulf him in an almost bone-crushing hug. Once again I feel complete. We're reunited! DomandBilly - BillyandDom. It feels right. And as soon as we're on set tomorrow, it'll be MerryandPip, just like it used to be. (It's been far too long.)
"C'mon, Dommie," I speak, smiling in response to the joy that fills his eyes when I call him that. (I love it when he calls me Dommie!) "Let's go meet with Pete and get some food. Then we can talk until the sun comes up, alright?"
(That sounds perfect.) "Sounds like a plan to me," he grins, my arm across his shoulders as we head for the baggage claim.
We did talk last night, but nothing significant was revealed. Each time Elijah was mentioned, Dom tensed and didn't linger long before changing the topic, usually by attempting to tell a joke. He used to be able to quip witty comebacks at me without pausing to think, but it seems like his ability to banter has deteriorated. The humor is still there, but it seems like he isn't. (I just get so distracted, so caught up in my thoughts… thoughts that usually involve Elijah. Not fantasies, either - I haven't had a fantasy about Elijah since before we got together -, but rather, I wince at the idea of what he would do if he knew that I was here, enjoying my time with Billy, and actually wishing that he weren't going to show up in a week. Is that wrong of me?)
It's like I'm stuck at a standstill. I can't go back and pretend I don't know what Elijah does to him, but at this point I can't just tell him I know, either. (It would make things so much easier if Billy just suddenly knew about what's going on. Then I wouldn't have to tell him, and Elijah couldn't get mad at me for letting the cat out of the bag. He could still try, but it wouldn't be valid. I'm sure it wouldn't matter to Elijah, but it would matter to me. If I know his words have no foundation, maybe the hold he has on me will crumble.)
For now, I say nothing. (He's so much quieter than before.)
I'm Pippin-afied, walking back to the trailer Dom and I share, this time without Sir Ian to protest our music selection, when PJ runs into me. Literally. He asks me to spread the word about set: after makeup, we're to meet in the canteen for breakfast so we can go over some last-minute notes for the day. (I wonder what we're doing today?)
"Oi, Dommie!" I call out, pushing the trailer door open. (No, fuck! Billy, go the fuck away!) "Pete says-" I stop mid-sentence, shocked by what I see. (The only upside to this fucking situation? Now I don't have to tell him or worry about spilling the beans myself.) He's frozen, standing there in naught but his skivvies, his eyes wide. There's a moment of silence before he desperately fumbles for an excuse. (Any excuse!)
"Fell down the stairs." (Fuuuuck!)
It seems almost comical, Dominic standing there in nothing but his underwear, prosthetics and Merry wig… though Merry seems to have had too many painful encounters with the orcs. But the humor dies before it reaches my eyes, because this is Dominic, not Merry, and Orcs don't exist. This is my Dominic. I know, as I meet his haunted stare, that his fucking abusive 'stairs' hurt him emotionally as well as leaving behind the obvious physical signs.
"What did PJ say?" he stutters, diverting his eyes as he slides, wincing, into his Merry costume. It looks a little too large on him now, bagging and bunching around his waist, the cloth hanging in dreary folds about shoulders that once filled it out perfectly. (Just keep on going, pretend I'm not a pathetic sight, just like nothing's happened…)
Is he really doing this? Really fucking doing this? Expecting me to ignore the - literally - painfully obvious topic ahead of us? Yet… as evident as what we have to discuss is, the plea in his eyes is just as evident, and I know Dominic can't do this now. He's an actor - a good one, at that - but some things, if probed too deeply, are damn near impossible to keep from showing through and staining your work. Besides, I think, watching the wheels turn in his mind, he needs this time to recall all the excuses he came up with. (Stairs, boxing, attacked by killer bunnies…) "After makeup, meet in the canteen for notes."
"Right," he says with a firm nod, crossing his arms in what I'm sure not only hides the bruises but offers him some sense of false security. (Out of sight, out of mind. Damn, I wish.) "I'll be in makeup in five and at the meeting as soon as possible." (I never thought I'd be wishing for that fucking fat suit again, but even suffocating would be better than having to see that look on Billy's face. Anything would be better than having him know now… though it's not as if I have much a choice, given the situation.)
"All right." He's waiting for me to leave now, I know, but I just can't tear my eyes away. Sure, I was pretty positive I had an idea of what was going on, but I still hadn't expected it to be so… ugly.
Why is it called 'black and blue'? It's never black and blue. Some of the bruises are purplish. Some are graying. And some, the not-so-recent ones, are a yellowish, isabelline color. They're a stark contrast against his pale skin, sprinkled about his arms, neck, and abdomen like flecks of mud. (Elijah never let me out of the house, except when time for publicity, to put on fake smiles and fake laughter and, recently, fake love. His love may be real, but…any emotion I'd once felt for him has changed into a sick sort of twisting fear, a low-simmering burn.) The bruises are difficult to look at, even worse to dwell on. "I'll seeya' in a few, then," I murmur, shaking myself from my trance and forcing my gaze to land on something - anything - else. The door! Lacking all my usual skill and grace, I throw myself at the metal, clawing at the handle until it shifts and the door slides open. I quickly step outside and slam the door behind me.
(I breathe a sigh of relief. It seems he was as desperate to get out of here as I was to get him out. I lock the door and press my back to the cool metal, sliding to the floor and tiling my head back in deep thought - what the fuck am I going to do?) Leaning heavily again the door, I shut my eyes and hear the lock turn. Shite. (Shite.)