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fellowshippers2004-08-27 11:30 am
hanarobi.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-08-27 11:30 am
Fic: Wing Development: Floundering ew/dm PG-13
Title: Wing Development: Floundering
Author: Hanarobi hanarobi_muse@yahoo.com
Pairing: ew/dm
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not true. No profit.
Archive: Mirrormere, others please ask
AN: Many thanks to MSilverstar, Lorie945, Vshendria, and Lady Sunrope for the betas.
Earlier stories in this series may be found at my beautiful website designed by the wonderful Hope at
http://hanarobi.dombillijah.com/stories.php
Floundering
Timeline: the end of the second cycle
Restless. Bored. Cabin-fever, if you can even have cabin fever in the middle of early spring in LA. Trapped. Grumpy. (Happy, Dopey, Doc, Bashful, Sneezy, Sleepy—whee! Got all seven without a moment’s hesitation.) Bored. Bored. Bored.
Elijah is bored. And restless. Trapped. Grumpy. Did he mention he’s bored? It’s close to the end of the second cycle of his wings. They are getting long. And heavy. Too heavy. “They aren’t heavy, they’re my wi-ings” he sings to himself in the falsetto that annoys virtually everyone. He doesn’t amuse himself. Fuckin’ wings. And that stops him cold. He’s never thought that before. He loves his wings. He is dreading having them grow out, fall out. He’ll miss them. He’s also looking forward to sleeping on his back. Hell, at this point, he’s just looking forward to sleeping.
Can’t sleep on his back for the obvious reason. Can’t sleep on his side anymore because the wings have just gotten too big, even for that. Can’t sleep on his stomach because the wings are so heavy by now that he can’t breathe with their weight pushing down on him. Can’t sleep standing up because who can, though, lord knows, he’s tried it often enough in the last week or so. So he sleeps sitting up, leaning forward on something. Sitting backwards in the recliner. Or draped over pillows piled up on the coffee table. But then his hips and legs go numb from sitting on the floor too long. Basically he hasn’t slept in days.
According to the schedule Dom reconstructed from the first cycle of wings, the wings should have fallen out two weeks ago. He had made contractual obligations based on this reasoning. He should be wing-free by this point. Able to work again. He wants to work, needs to work. Doing nothing but voice-overs gets old. And he hasn’t been able to do even that lately. Gagh, the rumors will start again. Where’s Elijah? Oh, you know, just home, waiting for his wings to fall out.
But the wings just keep growing, longer and heavier than they had been last time when they had pulled loose. He’s getting a little worried. Plus, his back is killing him. He rubs a tired hand at his neck. A massage would be great. Now, if only he could find a massage therapist who wouldn’t run screaming from the room at the sight of his wings…”Dom?” he calls into the empty house.
He knows better. Dom isn’t here. Dom went shopping. Elijah hates Dom at the moment. Bugger gets to go shopping. If Dom will return with something interesting and some wine or imported beers, Elijah will go back to loving him. If Dom relents and buys Elijah cigarettes while he’s out, Elijah will love him forever. Might even fuck him. That would be a nice change. They haven’t had sex in almost three weeks. A record for them. He knows Dom is beginning to climb the walls but he just can’t. Zero interest. It’s because of the wings. It’s just hard these days to think about anything except the wings. They are all-consuming now that the end of their time is near. I’m being eaten alive, he thinks.
Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. Very bored. So tired. Cranky. Considers jerking off. Can’t work up any enthusiasm. He’s twenty-three. Shouldn’t ever think of it as work, but there it is.
He shrugs his shoulders, ever so slightly. The wings start to expand, to stretch. He looks over his shoulder at them, a bit of a look on his face, “Careful, guys.”
The wings continue to expand anyway. They need this, so he lets them. If it happens, it happens. It probably should happen. Get it over with.
He’s glad Dom isn’t here. Dom would be yelling at him for letting the wings expand to their full length. The span is impressive by this point, overwhelming. Almost ten feet across. It’s hard to find a place in the house that will accommodate them fully extended. And of course it doesn’t stop there. Once fully extended, they want to flap, to stretch, to reach some limit only they seem to understand.
He lets them, even though he has to hold on to the back of the couch to keep from being thrown around by their movement.
He knows he’s being foolish, taking a risk. If he has to exercise the wings, he should at least wait until Dom is here in case something happens. Still gripping the couch, he glances around the room for his cell phone. Nowhere in sight. He thinks he may have left it in the bedroom. Fine, he’ll just be really, really careful. Dom should be home soon anyway.
The wings flap, just once, but they are massive and he staggers despite his hold on the couch. He is surprised his back is strong enough for this. He wonders how much the wings weigh. They flap again and he relaxes his shoulders, the knot in his neck twanging as it uncoils. He groans at the release of the pain that has been with him for days. The wings pull up a little behind his back and carefully flap again at a different angle. It feels wonderful. This is the way it should be. Let the wings be wings. No more of this holding them down crap, cradling them against his body.
His mother had tried to fashion a sling out of sheets so he wouldn’t have to bear their weight. But when he felt the fabric enclose the wings, closing off their freedom, his freedom, he panicked, pulling at the sheets desperately, fighting to breathe. He felt sick by the time he got the sling off, his mother and Dom struggling to help him once they realized he couldn’t bear it. “Well, that didn’t work,” was all Dom said. His mother just raised her hands in defeat.
Just leave the wings alone. He can handle them. He can even handle the pain he knows is out there, waiting for him, once the wings come loose. It’s not that bad, actually. Better than this, this…whatever the fuck this is. He closes his eyes, just letting the wings take over.
The wings are very protective of him. Suspicious even, of everything, everyone else, but him. In return, he takes very good care of them. Only occasionally does he forget and bump them up against something. They smack him in the face when he does that. He doesn’t forget nearly as often anymore.
They like to be stroked, but the touch has to be just right. He knows how to do it. No one else quite gets it right. They tolerate Dom’s touch, but only because they know Elijah would be hurt if they didn’t. But Dom is too rough, even though he tries not to be. Elijah has the right touch. Only Elijah.
They know they are jealous but their time with him is limited. Their entire life span is limited. So they caress him, soothe him with their touch, seduce him. For this last little while, they will be all he needs, just as he is all they need. It isn’t fair to Dom. The wings know this but don’t care. Dom will have him once they are gone. It is good that Dom is there, waiting. Elijah will need him then. When he is no longer a winged creature.
Dom stands in the doorway, just watching. Elijah never heard the keys or the opening of the door. He is lost in his wings, lost to Dom. They fill the room, taking over. Dom steps back out, closes the door, and waits in the backyard. Elijah will come get him when he wants him. If? No…when. He has to believe it’s a when, not an if. He puts the sack containing two new CDs, a DVD, and a carton of Elijah’s favorite cigarettes on the ground beside him. He opens one of the beers he bought. He can wait. It’s not like he has a choice.
#####
“What happened to the wings last time?
“When?” Dom is puzzled, not sure what Elijah is asking.
“At the hospital. After.” Elijah rarely talks about the wings being cut out, not directly.
“Don’t know. Destroyed, I guess. Incinerator?”
“I don’t want them to be destroyed this time.”
“What? The wings?”
“I want to bury them in the back yard.”
Oh, that’s just wrong. Dom doesn’t even try to disguise the look on his face that says this is a really bad idea. A creepy idea.
“I don’t think your mom is going to go for that.”
“She’ll come around.”
“Doubt it.”
“She doesn’t have a choice; it’s my yard.”
Dom is stunned. Not once in all the years he’s known him, has Elijah ever asserted his financial control over his family.
“It’s that important?” He knows that Elijah understands what he’s asking. If Elijah plays this trump card, everything will be different from here on.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Why?” Dom is really struggling to understand what is going on. He’s known that somehow, this time, Elijah’s connection to the wings is different, but he’s assumed it had to do with knowing that the wings will eventually be gone.
“Because, it…,” and he doesn’t finish. Instead he says, “It just is. Okay?”
And Dom lets it be. Sometimes, you do. “Okay.” And then, sometimes, you don’t. “Maybe it’s time to find our own place.”
“Maybe.” But they won’t find a place in time. Not even if they start looking today. And what if they don’t stay there. Elijah can’t bear the thought of leaving the wings behind, where maybe someday, someone would dig them up, and disgusted, just toss them in the trash in the alley. He’s pretty sure his mom will stay here for a very long time. So he’ll always know where the wings are, once they’ve left him.
“I’m going to be out of it when it happens. You have to be the one to do this. Make sure it happens.”
“It’s a really bad idea, Lij.”
“Promise me.”
There is a long moment, eyes locked, one set demanding, the other pleading to be released. The blue set wins.
“Fine. I promise.”
“Thanks. Love you.”
“Fucker.”
Dom reaches over and takes Elijah’s head in his hand, pulling him toward him. Elijah leans in and Dom kisses him gently on the side of his head.
“It’ll be okay, baby. Just a few more days, at most.”
Elijah is just so tired. He has to sleep. He starts to lean heavily on Dom but Dom shifts away from him, earning a glare from Elijah. Dom gets up and snags a pillow off the couch, plops it on the floor, and then sits down again. He motions Elijah over to him, and takes him in his arms, cradling him. He pulls his knees up slightly and Elijah fits down into the bowl of his lap, facing mostly forward against Dom’s chest, straddling him. The wings droop and Dom leans further back so that Elijah can lean forward enough to keep the wings from pulling at his back. They are barely settled before Elijah is sound asleep.
After an hour, Dom’s arms have passed from being tired to completely numb. The sensation matches the one in his butt quite nicely. He isn’t sure if he has ever been this uncomfortable. But Elijah is sleeping, breathing heavily, leaving a wet spot on Dom’s shirt. Dom leans his head back against the wall and allows himself to flex his feet a bit. Then he settles back in, holding his love.
Elijah’s dreams are dark and confused. Blackness. Grief. Loss. There is something about a body standing upright in a closet but there are too many seashells on the floor and he slips and the lights go out and he can’t see in the closet anymore and there isn’t a closet anyway but a bed and the sheets are bloody but he doesn’t know why and he cuts his knee when he falls on the seashells. All he remembers when he wakes up is that the seashells were pretty, all pink and pearly, like bones lightly covered in blood. He thinks he has forgotten something important.
He starts to sit up, to move away from Dom, who is slowly waking up himself, clearly very stiff. But when Elijah moves, he feels the left wing slip. For some reason, the left wing has always been the weaker. He catches his breath at the feeling, not quite pain, but a sharp, clear, warning sensation. He doesn’t dare move. He raises his eyes to meet Dom’s, nodding yes in answer to the question he sees there. Dom leans forward, moving slowly, and tenderly kisses Elijah’s forehead as Elijah shivers.
Author: Hanarobi hanarobi_muse@yahoo.com
Pairing: ew/dm
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not true. No profit.
Archive: Mirrormere, others please ask
AN: Many thanks to MSilverstar, Lorie945, Vshendria, and Lady Sunrope for the betas.
Earlier stories in this series may be found at my beautiful website designed by the wonderful Hope at
http://hanarobi.dombillijah.com/stories.php
Floundering
Timeline: the end of the second cycle
Restless. Bored. Cabin-fever, if you can even have cabin fever in the middle of early spring in LA. Trapped. Grumpy. (Happy, Dopey, Doc, Bashful, Sneezy, Sleepy—whee! Got all seven without a moment’s hesitation.) Bored. Bored. Bored.
Elijah is bored. And restless. Trapped. Grumpy. Did he mention he’s bored? It’s close to the end of the second cycle of his wings. They are getting long. And heavy. Too heavy. “They aren’t heavy, they’re my wi-ings” he sings to himself in the falsetto that annoys virtually everyone. He doesn’t amuse himself. Fuckin’ wings. And that stops him cold. He’s never thought that before. He loves his wings. He is dreading having them grow out, fall out. He’ll miss them. He’s also looking forward to sleeping on his back. Hell, at this point, he’s just looking forward to sleeping.
Can’t sleep on his back for the obvious reason. Can’t sleep on his side anymore because the wings have just gotten too big, even for that. Can’t sleep on his stomach because the wings are so heavy by now that he can’t breathe with their weight pushing down on him. Can’t sleep standing up because who can, though, lord knows, he’s tried it often enough in the last week or so. So he sleeps sitting up, leaning forward on something. Sitting backwards in the recliner. Or draped over pillows piled up on the coffee table. But then his hips and legs go numb from sitting on the floor too long. Basically he hasn’t slept in days.
According to the schedule Dom reconstructed from the first cycle of wings, the wings should have fallen out two weeks ago. He had made contractual obligations based on this reasoning. He should be wing-free by this point. Able to work again. He wants to work, needs to work. Doing nothing but voice-overs gets old. And he hasn’t been able to do even that lately. Gagh, the rumors will start again. Where’s Elijah? Oh, you know, just home, waiting for his wings to fall out.
But the wings just keep growing, longer and heavier than they had been last time when they had pulled loose. He’s getting a little worried. Plus, his back is killing him. He rubs a tired hand at his neck. A massage would be great. Now, if only he could find a massage therapist who wouldn’t run screaming from the room at the sight of his wings…”Dom?” he calls into the empty house.
He knows better. Dom isn’t here. Dom went shopping. Elijah hates Dom at the moment. Bugger gets to go shopping. If Dom will return with something interesting and some wine or imported beers, Elijah will go back to loving him. If Dom relents and buys Elijah cigarettes while he’s out, Elijah will love him forever. Might even fuck him. That would be a nice change. They haven’t had sex in almost three weeks. A record for them. He knows Dom is beginning to climb the walls but he just can’t. Zero interest. It’s because of the wings. It’s just hard these days to think about anything except the wings. They are all-consuming now that the end of their time is near. I’m being eaten alive, he thinks.
Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. Very bored. So tired. Cranky. Considers jerking off. Can’t work up any enthusiasm. He’s twenty-three. Shouldn’t ever think of it as work, but there it is.
He shrugs his shoulders, ever so slightly. The wings start to expand, to stretch. He looks over his shoulder at them, a bit of a look on his face, “Careful, guys.”
The wings continue to expand anyway. They need this, so he lets them. If it happens, it happens. It probably should happen. Get it over with.
He’s glad Dom isn’t here. Dom would be yelling at him for letting the wings expand to their full length. The span is impressive by this point, overwhelming. Almost ten feet across. It’s hard to find a place in the house that will accommodate them fully extended. And of course it doesn’t stop there. Once fully extended, they want to flap, to stretch, to reach some limit only they seem to understand.
He lets them, even though he has to hold on to the back of the couch to keep from being thrown around by their movement.
He knows he’s being foolish, taking a risk. If he has to exercise the wings, he should at least wait until Dom is here in case something happens. Still gripping the couch, he glances around the room for his cell phone. Nowhere in sight. He thinks he may have left it in the bedroom. Fine, he’ll just be really, really careful. Dom should be home soon anyway.
The wings flap, just once, but they are massive and he staggers despite his hold on the couch. He is surprised his back is strong enough for this. He wonders how much the wings weigh. They flap again and he relaxes his shoulders, the knot in his neck twanging as it uncoils. He groans at the release of the pain that has been with him for days. The wings pull up a little behind his back and carefully flap again at a different angle. It feels wonderful. This is the way it should be. Let the wings be wings. No more of this holding them down crap, cradling them against his body.
His mother had tried to fashion a sling out of sheets so he wouldn’t have to bear their weight. But when he felt the fabric enclose the wings, closing off their freedom, his freedom, he panicked, pulling at the sheets desperately, fighting to breathe. He felt sick by the time he got the sling off, his mother and Dom struggling to help him once they realized he couldn’t bear it. “Well, that didn’t work,” was all Dom said. His mother just raised her hands in defeat.
Just leave the wings alone. He can handle them. He can even handle the pain he knows is out there, waiting for him, once the wings come loose. It’s not that bad, actually. Better than this, this…whatever the fuck this is. He closes his eyes, just letting the wings take over.
The wings are very protective of him. Suspicious even, of everything, everyone else, but him. In return, he takes very good care of them. Only occasionally does he forget and bump them up against something. They smack him in the face when he does that. He doesn’t forget nearly as often anymore.
They like to be stroked, but the touch has to be just right. He knows how to do it. No one else quite gets it right. They tolerate Dom’s touch, but only because they know Elijah would be hurt if they didn’t. But Dom is too rough, even though he tries not to be. Elijah has the right touch. Only Elijah.
They know they are jealous but their time with him is limited. Their entire life span is limited. So they caress him, soothe him with their touch, seduce him. For this last little while, they will be all he needs, just as he is all they need. It isn’t fair to Dom. The wings know this but don’t care. Dom will have him once they are gone. It is good that Dom is there, waiting. Elijah will need him then. When he is no longer a winged creature.
Dom stands in the doorway, just watching. Elijah never heard the keys or the opening of the door. He is lost in his wings, lost to Dom. They fill the room, taking over. Dom steps back out, closes the door, and waits in the backyard. Elijah will come get him when he wants him. If? No…when. He has to believe it’s a when, not an if. He puts the sack containing two new CDs, a DVD, and a carton of Elijah’s favorite cigarettes on the ground beside him. He opens one of the beers he bought. He can wait. It’s not like he has a choice.
#####
“What happened to the wings last time?
“When?” Dom is puzzled, not sure what Elijah is asking.
“At the hospital. After.” Elijah rarely talks about the wings being cut out, not directly.
“Don’t know. Destroyed, I guess. Incinerator?”
“I don’t want them to be destroyed this time.”
“What? The wings?”
“I want to bury them in the back yard.”
Oh, that’s just wrong. Dom doesn’t even try to disguise the look on his face that says this is a really bad idea. A creepy idea.
“I don’t think your mom is going to go for that.”
“She’ll come around.”
“Doubt it.”
“She doesn’t have a choice; it’s my yard.”
Dom is stunned. Not once in all the years he’s known him, has Elijah ever asserted his financial control over his family.
“It’s that important?” He knows that Elijah understands what he’s asking. If Elijah plays this trump card, everything will be different from here on.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Why?” Dom is really struggling to understand what is going on. He’s known that somehow, this time, Elijah’s connection to the wings is different, but he’s assumed it had to do with knowing that the wings will eventually be gone.
“Because, it…,” and he doesn’t finish. Instead he says, “It just is. Okay?”
And Dom lets it be. Sometimes, you do. “Okay.” And then, sometimes, you don’t. “Maybe it’s time to find our own place.”
“Maybe.” But they won’t find a place in time. Not even if they start looking today. And what if they don’t stay there. Elijah can’t bear the thought of leaving the wings behind, where maybe someday, someone would dig them up, and disgusted, just toss them in the trash in the alley. He’s pretty sure his mom will stay here for a very long time. So he’ll always know where the wings are, once they’ve left him.
“I’m going to be out of it when it happens. You have to be the one to do this. Make sure it happens.”
“It’s a really bad idea, Lij.”
“Promise me.”
There is a long moment, eyes locked, one set demanding, the other pleading to be released. The blue set wins.
“Fine. I promise.”
“Thanks. Love you.”
“Fucker.”
Dom reaches over and takes Elijah’s head in his hand, pulling him toward him. Elijah leans in and Dom kisses him gently on the side of his head.
“It’ll be okay, baby. Just a few more days, at most.”
Elijah is just so tired. He has to sleep. He starts to lean heavily on Dom but Dom shifts away from him, earning a glare from Elijah. Dom gets up and snags a pillow off the couch, plops it on the floor, and then sits down again. He motions Elijah over to him, and takes him in his arms, cradling him. He pulls his knees up slightly and Elijah fits down into the bowl of his lap, facing mostly forward against Dom’s chest, straddling him. The wings droop and Dom leans further back so that Elijah can lean forward enough to keep the wings from pulling at his back. They are barely settled before Elijah is sound asleep.
After an hour, Dom’s arms have passed from being tired to completely numb. The sensation matches the one in his butt quite nicely. He isn’t sure if he has ever been this uncomfortable. But Elijah is sleeping, breathing heavily, leaving a wet spot on Dom’s shirt. Dom leans his head back against the wall and allows himself to flex his feet a bit. Then he settles back in, holding his love.
Elijah’s dreams are dark and confused. Blackness. Grief. Loss. There is something about a body standing upright in a closet but there are too many seashells on the floor and he slips and the lights go out and he can’t see in the closet anymore and there isn’t a closet anyway but a bed and the sheets are bloody but he doesn’t know why and he cuts his knee when he falls on the seashells. All he remembers when he wakes up is that the seashells were pretty, all pink and pearly, like bones lightly covered in blood. He thinks he has forgotten something important.
He starts to sit up, to move away from Dom, who is slowly waking up himself, clearly very stiff. But when Elijah moves, he feels the left wing slip. For some reason, the left wing has always been the weaker. He catches his breath at the feeling, not quite pain, but a sharp, clear, warning sensation. He doesn’t dare move. He raises his eyes to meet Dom’s, nodding yes in answer to the question he sees there. Dom leans forward, moving slowly, and tenderly kisses Elijah’s forehead as Elijah shivers.