ext_198289 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
dreality.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2005-05-21 12:07 am
dreality.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-05-21 12:07 am
Untitled domlijah ficlet
Oy. This is my very firstest lotrips fic ever, so needless to say I am terrified. But here it is anyway. xposted over at domlijah.
Title: The Secret of Trees (no, I'm kidding. I really don't think this has a title.)
Distribution: Ask, please.
Disclaimer: If I owned them or had any proof that this was anything other than just the result of a diseased mind, there would be pictures. Not trying to step on any toes, not saying it happened, don't sue, thanks.
Rating: Ehm. PG-13...ish? For language.
Continuity Note: Takes place the night of the Two Towers NYC premiere in 2002.
Summary: Secrets have a way of being revealed.
Notes: Wow. Worst summary ever. Makes it sound far angstier than it is. Will fix that. Eventually. Started this about nine this evening, finished it at eleven-thirty, so let's not go expecting some masterpiece, eh? Also marks my first venture into lotrips, God help us all.
***
They had known each other for some time now and had, in a very small amount of that time, formed a bond strong enough to suggest to the unknowing that they had known each other all their lives. For all they knew of the other, that might as well have been the case.
Elijah remembered with embarrassing clarity the many long nights spent drunk and holding onto each other so they could both fit on the couch, secrets revealing themselves amid slurs and giggles. Endless car rides from one set to another provided ample opportunity to uncover various bits of trivia that were intimate enough to humiliate them and yet were always understood to be guarded. Certainly their closest friends would be thrilled at the chance to poke fun if they knew all of those details, however meaningless; Elijah had almost choked to death on a peanut once. Dom had been a wise man in his third grade Christmas play and had tripped over Mary's skirt, tangled it in his feet, ripped it off, and crashed into the holy manger to send the plastic infant hurtling into the front row of the auditorium. But these and much more serious, personal admissions were held in sacred confidentiality, which meant that they had developed a relationship in which anything could be said and trusted to be kept quiet.
Still, there were times when Elijah was still genuinely, utterly puzzled by this virtual stranger.
"Trees?"
Dom nodded from where he sat Indian style on the bed, left hand splayed across his thigh. The right hand helped a Sharpie glide across the back of it while the cap remained firmly clasped between his teeth. The final curve of the S completed, he held his hand up to allow the ink to dry and, supposedly, to admire his craftsmanship.
"Dude. Trees?" Elijah repeated, growing increasingly confused. "What the hell is that?"
Dom kept his eyes on his hand. "You know. Trees. Plants. Usually have bark, grow up from the ground. Big green leafy things."
"Asshole."
The gaze faltered suddenly, gray eyes shifting over narrow fingertips to meet Elijah's expectant face. "Think that'd fit on my other hand?"
Elijah rolled his eyes and continued the hunt for the dress shoes Billy had forced him into buying a few days earlier. "Everyone needs a least one nice pair of shoes," he'd declared while steering Elijah from the rack of blindingly green Vans he'd been inspecting. Elijah had grudgingly acknowledged the truth of the matter -- Orlando already held the position as the tacky one of the group, after all -- and bought the unbearably plain loafers Billy had tossed at him. Now...now he couldn't find them. His gaze fell on his beloved pair of worn, ratty sneakers at the foot of the bed, and for a moment he wondered if Billy would cry if he saw them.
"No, really, man. Why trees?"
The voice carried from the kitchenette with the slightest hollow echo, arousing in Dom a ridiculous amount of giddiness that they were staying in a suite with a kitchenette and a echo that wasn't the result of poorly finished walls. The place charged more for a night than a month's rent in most of the places he'd lived. For some reason, he didn't think the novelty would ever wear off of things like that.
"Why not?"
"Why not something that makes sense?"
Dom bent to drop the marker back into the duffel bag at his feet and noticed a shiny black shoe under one of the bar stools across the room. "Well," he started, getting to his feet to retrieve the shoe, "we -- Orlando and I -- wanted to put "satan sucks" on one hand and "balls" on the other, but we thought that might get misinterpreted."
A sputter of laughter and then a curse from somewhere behind him, which would only be Elijah's clumsy self running into something in the dark. "How could anyone misinterpret that?"
"They could just take a picture of one hand, you know? And then I'd be branded some kind of freak that goes around writing shit like 'balls' on his hands."
"But everyone already knows that."
"Yes, but there aren't pictures."
Dom flicked on the bathroom light and found Elijah caressing his shin, glaring hatefully at the toilet. He leaned against the doorway and let the shoe dangle from a finger hooked inside it. Elijah accepted it with a grateful smile, holding onto Dom's shoulder for balance as he slipped it on.
"So, Cinderella, how's it fit?"
Elijah glanced up at him, mildly annoyed that he was only partially ready for a premiere that was scheduled to begin in less than an hour and only had one half of an obscenely expensive pair of shoes. "Like a shoe. Find the other one?"
"Nope, sorry."
He roamed out into the main room, stopping between the beds and letting his eyes make a quick scan of the room. Dom breezed past him and toward the kitchenette, still talking as he went.
"My first choice, actually, was 'Elijah Wood is my boytoy and I shag him senseless on a regular basis, aren't you jealous, haha, love Dom.'" He stopped by the mini-fridge and held up his hands, backs out, and frowned slightly. "Sadly, I'm afraid my hands just aren't big enough for all that. So clearly 'trees' was the only logical substitute."
Despite the anxiousness of another exhausting night of cameras and pushy interviewers and screaming fans, Elijah found himself grinning. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah," came a disembodied voice somewhere behind the bar; Dom's head appeared seconds later, a can of Pepsi held out over the counter top. "Want one?"
"No, thanks."
The refrigerator door shut and Dom emerged from behind the counter, pulling the tab of the can, with a familiar shoe wedged under his arm. Elijah snorted.
"You're kidding. It was in the fucking fridge?"
"Next to it, actually. We've only been here for, what? Not even twenty-four hours. You've got shit all over the place, you slob."
Elijah's head tilted slightly as Dom drew nearer, licking the sticky soda from his fingertips with deliberate slowness; Elijah forced himself to stare at the eyes, not the way the lips curved around each finger and released it with a quiet, wet sliipth.
"'Shag him senseless', huh?" Dom nodded with what Elijah could only call an incredibly lewd gesture with his index finger still in his mouth. "Good to see you have such a healthy ego."
The breath caught in his lungs as Dom continued to close the distance between them until their noses touched and he could faintly smell soda on his breath. His eyes drifted closed and he leaned in, hands balanced around a pair of hips that, like secrets, he knew so well.
The gentle slap of the bottom of a shoe against his chest shocked him back to reality and Dom's sly grin and matching eyes.
"Always, love," he assured in a voice just above a whisper before walking casually away.
With all that they knew about each other, Elijah thought, it seemed somehow fitting that soda and expensive shoes would resonate with him.
***
"See, now don't those look better?"
"Huh? Oh, right, the shoes. Yeah, I guess so."
Funny. Even on the red carpet, on display like dolls for thousands of prying eyes, they still managed to find time for themselves. In this case, it involved standing to one side with Billy's arm draped about his shoulders while they watched Dom chatting it up with fans, happily flashing his hand at the cameras when the mood hit. The writing had smudged with sweat and constant handshakes, before long it would be pretty close to illegible.
"Too bad you couldn't do something about his jacket," Elijah continued with a nod in Dom's direction and his garish blue coat. Billy shook his head dramatically.
"Aye, I'm afraid he's already a lost cause. You, though. You're still young and impressionable."
"Says the guy who looks like a pine tree."
"Speaking of...why in God's name does he have 'trees' written on his hand?"
Elijah grinned and shook his head, neither confessing he didn't know nor simply refusing to tell. One hand absently went down to settle across his stomach, where yet another secret existed. Safe from flashbulbs and excited teenage girls with elf ears was a message scrawled in black Sharpie from his chest to the top of his pants. Each mark was a straight, definitive stroke, and Elijah smiled as he recalled the way the tip of Dom's tongue had poked from his lips as he concentrated on making the letters as clear and legible as possible. "We have to make sure it can be read, just incase," he'd said when Elijah pointed out that they had exactly twenty-three minutes to meet up with the rest of the cast and he was still stretched out on his bed with Dom kneeling between his knees and clutching a marker in his hand. "Just one more secret, 'Lij."
***
It had been a long night, but a fun one, as it always was when he got to hang out with his friends. It was made even more fun when someone -- he suspects it was Sean, but that was denied fervently -- set up a drinking contest at the after party, from which only Viggo and Billy emerged with something resembling coherence. No doubt the stuffed suits had been mortified at their antics, especially when Viggo tried to bow to the applause and ended up falling face-first into a table. Billy had accepted that as being close enough to a concession, and had taken what remained of a bottle of whiskey back to the hotel with him. Or at least he did once someone stopped him from talking animatedly to a potted tree in the corner.
Not a bad night, really.
Orlando settled into the desk chair and yawned while he waited for the hotel's painfully slow Internet service to establish a connection with his laptop. The homepage, apparently set to the New York Times web site, loaded with a large picture from the premiere -- Dom with his tongue out and his hand proudly screaming "REES" at the camera -- and he laughed to himself. When he signed in to check his email, he raised an eyebrow to find two messages from the scribbler in question.
From: slaphappyjack@yahoo.com
To: randomelfguy2@hotmail.com
Date: December 6 2002 2:43 A.M. EST
Sub: hey
lok @ thisa
djom
Brow creased, Orlando deleted the message and moved on to the next.
From: slaphappyjack@yahoo.com
To: randomelfguy2@hotmail.com
Date: December 6 2002 2:46 A.M. EST
Sub: oops
sorrry forg;t to atach pic hear it is
lij and i hav thsi thing about secrest so we thought we;d share 1 we did tonitgh b4 the show
am salightly inebrated plz excuse
dom
Attachment: us.jpg (435 KB)
He grinned and opened the picture, and then choked on the mouthful of water he'd just taken from the bottle in his hand. Elijah lay sprawled backwards over a bed with a ludicrous grin that suggested he'd been more active in the drinking contest earlier than Orlando had thought. His hands were poised like toy guns aimed at his stomach, and though the aim of the camera was crooked and the writing was smudged, it was still legible.
"Dominic Monaghan is my boytoy and he shags me senseless on a regular basis, aren't you jealous, haha, love Elijah.
PS: Thanks for the idea, Orli."
No, not a bad night at all.
Title: The Secret of Trees (no, I'm kidding. I really don't think this has a title.)
Distribution: Ask, please.
Disclaimer: If I owned them or had any proof that this was anything other than just the result of a diseased mind, there would be pictures. Not trying to step on any toes, not saying it happened, don't sue, thanks.
Rating: Ehm. PG-13...ish? For language.
Continuity Note: Takes place the night of the Two Towers NYC premiere in 2002.
Summary: Secrets have a way of being revealed.
Notes: Wow. Worst summary ever. Makes it sound far angstier than it is. Will fix that. Eventually. Started this about nine this evening, finished it at eleven-thirty, so let's not go expecting some masterpiece, eh? Also marks my first venture into lotrips, God help us all.
***
They had known each other for some time now and had, in a very small amount of that time, formed a bond strong enough to suggest to the unknowing that they had known each other all their lives. For all they knew of the other, that might as well have been the case.
Elijah remembered with embarrassing clarity the many long nights spent drunk and holding onto each other so they could both fit on the couch, secrets revealing themselves amid slurs and giggles. Endless car rides from one set to another provided ample opportunity to uncover various bits of trivia that were intimate enough to humiliate them and yet were always understood to be guarded. Certainly their closest friends would be thrilled at the chance to poke fun if they knew all of those details, however meaningless; Elijah had almost choked to death on a peanut once. Dom had been a wise man in his third grade Christmas play and had tripped over Mary's skirt, tangled it in his feet, ripped it off, and crashed into the holy manger to send the plastic infant hurtling into the front row of the auditorium. But these and much more serious, personal admissions were held in sacred confidentiality, which meant that they had developed a relationship in which anything could be said and trusted to be kept quiet.
Still, there were times when Elijah was still genuinely, utterly puzzled by this virtual stranger.
"Trees?"
Dom nodded from where he sat Indian style on the bed, left hand splayed across his thigh. The right hand helped a Sharpie glide across the back of it while the cap remained firmly clasped between his teeth. The final curve of the S completed, he held his hand up to allow the ink to dry and, supposedly, to admire his craftsmanship.
"Dude. Trees?" Elijah repeated, growing increasingly confused. "What the hell is that?"
Dom kept his eyes on his hand. "You know. Trees. Plants. Usually have bark, grow up from the ground. Big green leafy things."
"Asshole."
The gaze faltered suddenly, gray eyes shifting over narrow fingertips to meet Elijah's expectant face. "Think that'd fit on my other hand?"
Elijah rolled his eyes and continued the hunt for the dress shoes Billy had forced him into buying a few days earlier. "Everyone needs a least one nice pair of shoes," he'd declared while steering Elijah from the rack of blindingly green Vans he'd been inspecting. Elijah had grudgingly acknowledged the truth of the matter -- Orlando already held the position as the tacky one of the group, after all -- and bought the unbearably plain loafers Billy had tossed at him. Now...now he couldn't find them. His gaze fell on his beloved pair of worn, ratty sneakers at the foot of the bed, and for a moment he wondered if Billy would cry if he saw them.
"No, really, man. Why trees?"
The voice carried from the kitchenette with the slightest hollow echo, arousing in Dom a ridiculous amount of giddiness that they were staying in a suite with a kitchenette and a echo that wasn't the result of poorly finished walls. The place charged more for a night than a month's rent in most of the places he'd lived. For some reason, he didn't think the novelty would ever wear off of things like that.
"Why not?"
"Why not something that makes sense?"
Dom bent to drop the marker back into the duffel bag at his feet and noticed a shiny black shoe under one of the bar stools across the room. "Well," he started, getting to his feet to retrieve the shoe, "we -- Orlando and I -- wanted to put "satan sucks" on one hand and "balls" on the other, but we thought that might get misinterpreted."
A sputter of laughter and then a curse from somewhere behind him, which would only be Elijah's clumsy self running into something in the dark. "How could anyone misinterpret that?"
"They could just take a picture of one hand, you know? And then I'd be branded some kind of freak that goes around writing shit like 'balls' on his hands."
"But everyone already knows that."
"Yes, but there aren't pictures."
Dom flicked on the bathroom light and found Elijah caressing his shin, glaring hatefully at the toilet. He leaned against the doorway and let the shoe dangle from a finger hooked inside it. Elijah accepted it with a grateful smile, holding onto Dom's shoulder for balance as he slipped it on.
"So, Cinderella, how's it fit?"
Elijah glanced up at him, mildly annoyed that he was only partially ready for a premiere that was scheduled to begin in less than an hour and only had one half of an obscenely expensive pair of shoes. "Like a shoe. Find the other one?"
"Nope, sorry."
He roamed out into the main room, stopping between the beds and letting his eyes make a quick scan of the room. Dom breezed past him and toward the kitchenette, still talking as he went.
"My first choice, actually, was 'Elijah Wood is my boytoy and I shag him senseless on a regular basis, aren't you jealous, haha, love Dom.'" He stopped by the mini-fridge and held up his hands, backs out, and frowned slightly. "Sadly, I'm afraid my hands just aren't big enough for all that. So clearly 'trees' was the only logical substitute."
Despite the anxiousness of another exhausting night of cameras and pushy interviewers and screaming fans, Elijah found himself grinning. "Oh, really?"
"Yeah," came a disembodied voice somewhere behind the bar; Dom's head appeared seconds later, a can of Pepsi held out over the counter top. "Want one?"
"No, thanks."
The refrigerator door shut and Dom emerged from behind the counter, pulling the tab of the can, with a familiar shoe wedged under his arm. Elijah snorted.
"You're kidding. It was in the fucking fridge?"
"Next to it, actually. We've only been here for, what? Not even twenty-four hours. You've got shit all over the place, you slob."
Elijah's head tilted slightly as Dom drew nearer, licking the sticky soda from his fingertips with deliberate slowness; Elijah forced himself to stare at the eyes, not the way the lips curved around each finger and released it with a quiet, wet sliipth.
"'Shag him senseless', huh?" Dom nodded with what Elijah could only call an incredibly lewd gesture with his index finger still in his mouth. "Good to see you have such a healthy ego."
The breath caught in his lungs as Dom continued to close the distance between them until their noses touched and he could faintly smell soda on his breath. His eyes drifted closed and he leaned in, hands balanced around a pair of hips that, like secrets, he knew so well.
The gentle slap of the bottom of a shoe against his chest shocked him back to reality and Dom's sly grin and matching eyes.
"Always, love," he assured in a voice just above a whisper before walking casually away.
With all that they knew about each other, Elijah thought, it seemed somehow fitting that soda and expensive shoes would resonate with him.
***
"See, now don't those look better?"
"Huh? Oh, right, the shoes. Yeah, I guess so."
Funny. Even on the red carpet, on display like dolls for thousands of prying eyes, they still managed to find time for themselves. In this case, it involved standing to one side with Billy's arm draped about his shoulders while they watched Dom chatting it up with fans, happily flashing his hand at the cameras when the mood hit. The writing had smudged with sweat and constant handshakes, before long it would be pretty close to illegible.
"Too bad you couldn't do something about his jacket," Elijah continued with a nod in Dom's direction and his garish blue coat. Billy shook his head dramatically.
"Aye, I'm afraid he's already a lost cause. You, though. You're still young and impressionable."
"Says the guy who looks like a pine tree."
"Speaking of...why in God's name does he have 'trees' written on his hand?"
Elijah grinned and shook his head, neither confessing he didn't know nor simply refusing to tell. One hand absently went down to settle across his stomach, where yet another secret existed. Safe from flashbulbs and excited teenage girls with elf ears was a message scrawled in black Sharpie from his chest to the top of his pants. Each mark was a straight, definitive stroke, and Elijah smiled as he recalled the way the tip of Dom's tongue had poked from his lips as he concentrated on making the letters as clear and legible as possible. "We have to make sure it can be read, just incase," he'd said when Elijah pointed out that they had exactly twenty-three minutes to meet up with the rest of the cast and he was still stretched out on his bed with Dom kneeling between his knees and clutching a marker in his hand. "Just one more secret, 'Lij."
***
It had been a long night, but a fun one, as it always was when he got to hang out with his friends. It was made even more fun when someone -- he suspects it was Sean, but that was denied fervently -- set up a drinking contest at the after party, from which only Viggo and Billy emerged with something resembling coherence. No doubt the stuffed suits had been mortified at their antics, especially when Viggo tried to bow to the applause and ended up falling face-first into a table. Billy had accepted that as being close enough to a concession, and had taken what remained of a bottle of whiskey back to the hotel with him. Or at least he did once someone stopped him from talking animatedly to a potted tree in the corner.
Not a bad night, really.
Orlando settled into the desk chair and yawned while he waited for the hotel's painfully slow Internet service to establish a connection with his laptop. The homepage, apparently set to the New York Times web site, loaded with a large picture from the premiere -- Dom with his tongue out and his hand proudly screaming "REES" at the camera -- and he laughed to himself. When he signed in to check his email, he raised an eyebrow to find two messages from the scribbler in question.
From: slaphappyjack@yahoo.com
To: randomelfguy2@hotmail.com
Date: December 6 2002 2:43 A.M. EST
Sub: hey
lok @ thisa
djom
Brow creased, Orlando deleted the message and moved on to the next.
From: slaphappyjack@yahoo.com
To: randomelfguy2@hotmail.com
Date: December 6 2002 2:46 A.M. EST
Sub: oops
sorrry forg;t to atach pic hear it is
lij and i hav thsi thing about secrest so we thought we;d share 1 we did tonitgh b4 the show
am salightly inebrated plz excuse
dom
Attachment: us.jpg (435 KB)
He grinned and opened the picture, and then choked on the mouthful of water he'd just taken from the bottle in his hand. Elijah lay sprawled backwards over a bed with a ludicrous grin that suggested he'd been more active in the drinking contest earlier than Orlando had thought. His hands were poised like toy guns aimed at his stomach, and though the aim of the camera was crooked and the writing was smudged, it was still legible.
"Dominic Monaghan is my boytoy and he shags me senseless on a regular basis, aren't you jealous, haha, love Elijah.
PS: Thanks for the idea, Orli."
No, not a bad night at all.