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fellowshippers2006-01-04 12:25 am
geniusartist.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-01-04 12:25 am
Entry tags:
In the Beginning
Title: In the Beginning
Pairing: Elijah/Dom
Rating: R to NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Sex
I ♥ feedback, so please, if you will. :)
This is for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
absolutefiction who suggested a plot bunny in which Elijah and Dom accidentally come out as a result of their on set bickering. She also requested a first kiss -- it’s in there, but a bit shadowed.
And forqueenbtch who insisted on “the nasty”. LOL. Hence, the “Sex” warning.
At 4:00 AM the alarm sounded. A pale hand, nail-bitten fingers, flung itself swiftly and crashed against the jarring intrusion. He rolled over. Five more minutes. An outstretched arm reached, expecting the usual warm body next to his, and already he is curling into a spooning arc. Instead, his arm falls flat against cold sheets. Unrumpled, as they remained empty throughout the night.
His eyes snapped open. A groan.
Shit.
He squeezed his eyes shut again and then pulled himself to a sitting position.
Fuck.
He was never eloquent first thing in the morning. Not that there were ever any complaints. His mouth had other uses than for talking in the early hours.
And apparently, his skills were appreciated in any and every circumstance. As proven of late. Two weeks ago, it was in between filming Fellowship scenes, in a Port-a-Potty. Several days later, it was in a more elegant setting at a landmark playhouse, but a porcelain crap-a-ture facility was still nearby. He was beginning to think that a toilet fetish was involved and wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. But earlier this week, visions of running water in a white oval hole were eclipsed by deafening music in a rave-like nightclub, and legs threatening to smother him as they crashed against his body, partially hidden by a long curtain draped over one blank wall. It was for affect. Accent on the “a”. Fortunately, they were surrounded mostly by other gay men who were as rapturously involved in satiating their own carnal desires.
It turned him on initially. And immediately. When Dom first whispered in his ear.
I want you to fuck me with your mouth. Right now.
He shivered in his innocent Frodo-make-up, a warm flush enhancing the fake rose in his cheeks. And in his Frodo-costume, he followed Dom-as-Merry to the momentarily unoccupied Port-a-Potty, squeezed to his knees despite the grime, and was both repulsed and aroused at the contradictory image he imagined he made. He felt sullied and it made his nipples stiffen, his dick ache. It didn’t take long for Dom to come into his mouth. Favor returned by a dry hump against the plastic door. The vision of the small enclosure rocking mindlessly to the confusion of anyone watching made his hips twitch and he came fast and hard in his Frodo-breeches.
It turned him on initially.
But at the club, again on bent knees, he began to feel like a whore. And after he climaxed from Dom grinding agaisnt him, he felt ashamed. Sobered abruptly.
I want to go home.
So they did. And he assumed Dom understood from his silence. At least to him, it felt palpable.
But then last night, they were at a movie theater. Back row with no one next to or in front of them. Those nearest were in the center, far enough away. It was forty-five minutes into the movie, he estimated, when Dom leaned into him, covered his mouth with salty, popcorn lips and dipped in with a salty, popcorn tongue, slicked a salty, popcorn trail down the length of his neck. He swallowed a moan against a thumb circling a nipple through his thin t-shirt, remembered through the haze that they were still in public. The mouth and tongue grew insistent at his lips and neck, the thumb at his nipple joined a finger and twisted, pulled, the friction of his skin against cotton sending spasms of pleasure to his cock. When Dom urged him partially into his lap, he went willingly. And when Dom coaxed his mouth to descend down Dom’s neck, he acquiesced. But when the hand on his head kept pushing down, lower, he began to resist. No, not here. Not again. But Dom only pushed harder. In his precarious position, his attempts were feeble at most, and he found himself mouth to head of Dom’s already exposed dick. So, he surrendered, for the moment, despite his own now flaccid cock. When Dom came effortlessly short moments later, he wiped at the spunk that spilled between his lips and reclaimed his seat next to his boyfriend. When Dom reached a hand between his legs, he grabbed at the wrist, circled it in a painful grip so that the other winced visibly. Don’t. They spent the remainder of the movie in silence and he ignored the glances thrown his way.
The car ride home was terse and heavy with only breathing and Coldplay. After Dom walked with him to the front door and readied to follow him in habitually, he raised a hand. Not tonight. He ignored the hurt in the blue-grey eyes. Refused an explanation even when asked, What’s wrong? What did I do? Remained stoic even when the eyes grew cloudier by the minute, anger replacing hurt. He only answered curtly, I don’t want to talk about this now, as the questions became accusatory and amplified in sound. He slammed the door as Dom stormed off, finally.
He now rubbed at his eyes and then at his temples, sighed. The headache wasn’t due to a hangover this time.
He swiped a glance at the clock.
4:07 AM
He groaned again, reluctantly rose from the bed. He wasn’t looking forward to the early morning Hobbits-to-be fest.
*****
He stiffened in his chair when Elijah walked in. He made it a point to set the alarm earlier. After last night’s humiliating forced exit at his lover’s front door, he was determined not to be burdened with the awkward entrance this morning. A quick appraising look and he assessed the bedhead, the red eyes, the shadows underneath. Serves him right. Cunt. He returned his attention to the newspaper in his lap, feigned absorption. Even without make-up, Elijah was Frodo-about-to-cry ready. And this morning, it pleased him particularly.
Thankfully, Elijah took his usual seat next to Sean, a hop and jump away from him. But, first, he took liberties, as he always did, with the stereo, and moments later, Rage Against the Machine was blasting through the speakers.
“Will you fuckin’ turn that shit down?!!” he yelled, surprised at his own outburst, but veiled it beneath a deeper scowl. Elijah flinched, appeared two steps closer to a full-on waterworks display. Good. He felt mildly guilty anyway. His eyes briefly connected with Sean’s, and he saw a struggle between remaining neutral and reacting protectively. They both broke the stare, Sean’s eyes downcast, and his slid over to Billy’s. There he saw perplexity. And quiet assessment. He broke the stare and fidgeted slightly in his seat, noisily shook the paper in his lap.
Elijah lowered the volume.
After thirty minutes of silence and several cups of coffee between the four of them, the chatting began. Sean was rattling on about one of Ali’s latest toddler accomplishments. He found it rather amusing, precious even, and unconsciously chuckled. Elijah caught his eye then, and he immediately became silent. The blue eyes flickered quickly away and he returned to the newspaper in his lap. Another ten minutes later, Sean and Billy were arguing over the origins of the kilt, its cultural significance, and its relation, if any, to bagpipes. The good-natured barbs were being exchanged at a quicker pace and attempts made to get the other two involved. He did join in, quipped at a remark by Sean, which was followed by laughter.
Then, a sharp, humorless, “How the fuck would you know?” spoken in a soft, controlled voice sliced like a knife, and the wound gaped heavy.
He turned from Billy and met a cold, blank stare. Elijah was near porcelain doll perfect as Frodo without the yet added dirt, and the contrasting expression on his face elicited a shiver down his spine. He was unnerved, but masked it with, “How the fuck would you?”, in a similarly low, warning tone.
Blue eyes vapid with lack of emotion held the stare, two, three beats longer, unblinking, then Elijah turned his head, watched his reflection as his Frodo-wig was twisted into place.
“Fuckin’ arrogant prick,” a muttered hiss.
“Guys, come on.” That was Sean.
He counted to five. Gave up because it was a useless meditation. “Eeelijahhh,” he announced in a slow, mocking drawl, “if you have something to say, I’d cordially request that you stop acting like a fucking pussy and just say it.”
“Stop it.” Billy in his Scottish lilt.
He thought he saw Elijah wince. Silence answered and he couldn’t help the smirk that made his lip curl into something closely resembling a snarl.
“Only pussies wear black eyeliner and paint their fingernails black, pretend to be unique or the very least creative, when really, they’re just moderately talented fillers, forever relegated to the role of sidekicks,” Elijah took a breath, turned to stare back at him, “hardly extraordinary, so they have to resort to costuming themselves to appear interesting when all they really are is scared of being found out.”
It stung like a sharp slap to the face. If he had any reservation left, it evaporated with every acidic word that dripped from those girlishly pink lips.
He clapped his hands.
“Bravo, bravo. Fantastic performance from the truly extraordinary.” Elijah turned away from him once again, refocused his gaze at his reflection. He stood abruptly, fuming, ignored attempts from Sean and Billy -- Dom, stop. and Let it go, man. He took pleasure at the trembling now perceptible as he leaned in to the small figure stubbornly refusing to look at him. “Is that how you see yourself, Lij? Extraordinary. Frodo’s a fictional character that saved a fictional world, or have you become confused in your precious limelight, Mr. Wood? Word around town and the rest of the fucking world is that you got the role because of your pretty, useless eyes, your pretty crying face, and what little marquee value you have.” He felt a hand against his shoulder, urging him away, but he seemed unable to stop himself. “You’re no more talented than any other ordinary pinup boy who’s skated by on their boring allure, garnered fame because you satisfied a visual need. You’re just an empty nothing.” The last words spoken with emphatic scorn.
Next thing he knew, he was scrambling backwards, fighting to keep his balance.
“SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! YOU STUPID, FUCKING ASSHOLE!!”
He took the hand suddenly offered to him, steadied himself, and raised his eyes. Sean had an arm around Elijah’s waist, the other attempting to pin the flailing arms against the small, shaking body. Two dirty trails streaked down Elijah’s otherwise porcelain perfect face.
“Let’s go, Dommie.” He turned toward the voice. Billy. “Come on.” He let himself be pulled around and then gently pushed through the trailer doors.
*****
It was almost reverently quiet as his make-up was reapplied. Sean wanted to stay, but he asked him to leave. Please. His lip trembled from the threat of more tears, and it was hardly a pretense. Thankfully, no one else attempted to console him.
He sought solitude in his trailer afterwards, jammed his multi-CDs stereo with appropriately angsty indie rock, and turned the volume to loudest. Flat on his back on the small bed, he closed his eyes and willed to lose himself in the music. But Dom’s hissing voice played on repeat, words that cut and carved him in places where his custom tailored defense armour failed to protect him. And the words unspoken, but he heard nonetheless, attacked him like a hundred pecking birds.
You are nothing to me.
A convenient fuck.
A goddamned child.
He didn’t want a repeat round at the make-up chair so he forced his breathing to even and squeezed his eyes to prevent further leaking.
He kissed him first.
Sort of.
It was an obligatory fulfillment to a clumsy, drunken request. After 8 shots per of jagermeister, while watching soft porn on cable and sitting next to Dom on his couch, he felt horny. Never mind that the couple on the television screen was heterosexual and was pretend humping in missionary, vanilla position. He felt a sudden urge to experiment.
So he asked a favor of his very good friend.
Who willingly obliged him.
When Dom was two breaths closer to his lips, and his heart was pounding an almost hole in his chest, he considered saying, Just kidding. But then the soft lips pressed against his and it felt no different. Though, the grazing stubble did. So did the musky scent of man. And the hard bulge that pressed against his own when Dom pushed him to his back as his tongue plunged into an aggressive exploration.
Then suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He wiggled himself free and ran to the bathroom. Hacked into the toilet.
When he woke up the next morning, hard from a lingering dream, he didn’t know what to make of himself. Or of his quick climax as he relived Dom lying on top of him, rubbing against his erection.
Two weeks after a brief conversation -- Let’s forget about it. and Okay. -- and a series of platonic buddy activities, he found himself on Dom’s couch this time. And after sharing a joint rolled by Sala, with only the best New Zealand had to offer, he felt like more than experimenting and that it wasn’t so bad if he was attracted to another guy. Maybe gay, even.
And the kiss that time was slow, gentle and hesitant. And his body, like his mind, floated in a billowy haze of pleasure. When Dom’s hand slipped into his jeans, he moaned, Oh...Oh God. After Dom expertly freed him, he whispered I want to see you come, Elijah and stroked him to a shattering climax.
The first month consisted of frenetic hand jobs by both, and blow jobs by Dom. The taboo of their actions excited him. The day in and night out attempts to satiate their lust... He’d become a wanton creature as he never was, practically a virgin before any of it, and it made him feel sexy, like a fucking vixen.
The second month he became braver and discovered that he had a talent for using his mouth equal to that of delivering lines in a movie. And the word prostate was a welcome addition to his vocabulary, first learned from a slip of a lubed finger, then several up his ass, and then, later, Dom’s thick cock.
He cried after the first time. Never knew anything could feel so good and Dom held him afterwards, still trembling from the shocks of pleasure, soothed him with kisses against his temples, the nape of his neck, his shoulder.
Three months later, and he no longer enjoys feeling dirty in furtive escapades, misses platonic buddy moments that almost always end up with him on all fours or on his back, ass in the air. Or on his knees in a portable toilet or at the local cinema.
Suddenly, he wants more.
But now, his friend is also his lover and he’s afraid that it’s all become irreparably blurred and he doesn’t know how to ask or to confide, fears absolute rejection. Abandonment. Or worse.
Let’s just be friends, then.
*****
He was still seething atop the gnarled, mechanical hands of Treebeard. Billy, ever perceptive, though his clownish nature often belied it, permitted him his space and cloudy mood the rest of the morning, all through lunch and the early afternoon.
“Stop acting like you’re not smitten with the lad,” now came the wry, though carefully spoken remark.
“I’m not...” he let the rest of the sentence falter at the expression in the other’s face, one that demanded mutual honesty with its own frankness. He sighed. “Is it that obvious?” He asked quietly instead.
Billy chuckled. “Well, Dommie, I rarely see you so, er, passionate.” He continued, somber again. “How long’s it been going on for?”
He smiled. “Being smitten or just,” he waved his hand haphazardly.
“Both.”
He laughed then. “Smitten. Quite a while, Billy. Us -- Lij and I, about 4-5 months.”
“Eh, Dom. Does he know?” He shrugged. “Well, I’m not trying to be unoriginal here,” Billy smirked, “but why don’t you tell him how you feel? Maybe clear up the air between the two of you if you did.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.” He looked towards a cluster of technicians milling about a camera. Elijah had been behaving so strangely the last week. The worst of it was his nagging insistence to keep it all to himself. It was driving him insane. And deeply insecure. “Maybe he’s grown tired of his little experiment.” He couldn’t keep the sudden sadness from his voice, the resurface of a memory.
Dom...I, um. Can I... Well, I was wondering...
Spit it out, Elwood.
Um, well, you’ve kissed guys. Er, more than kissed. You’ve told me. I, ah. Oh God, this is so embarrassing. Never mind. Forget it. It’s stupid.
And that’s when he leaned in, started with closed lips, then drew the bottom, fuller pout in between nibbling teeth, urged Elijah on to his back and dove into his mouth with a hungry tongue. It was like a dream... That quickly turned into a nightmare, when Elijah shook him off moments later and ran to the bathroom.
Heartbroken, but determined not to show it, he told Elijah the next day, Let’s forget about it. He ignored the raw vulnerability that shone through the blue eyes and accepted the quietly spoken Okay.
And then two weeks later, it seemed that mistakes were destined to repeat themselves. But Elijah didn’t shove him off that time. And as he stroked him to orgasm, he watched tears leak from tightly shut lids as the impact of Elijah’s climax shuddered through his body. Afterwards, he held him through the night, murmured comforting words, remembered his own first sexual experience with another young man.
Once they started, it seemed like they were unable to stop. And he deliciously discovered how incredibly responsive his new lover was. And how quickly he learned. How game he was for a spontaneous rendezvous.
Until the last week. He seemed worse than disinterested. More like revolted. As though he’d just woken to realize he was soaked in grime, filth, and disease.
Perhaps it was just a passing phase. The I love you blurted in the heat of passion as meaningless as any other moan of pleasure.
*****
Ian replaced Sean in the chair next to him, and spent the last fifteen minutes regaling previous on set movie blunders between actors, directors, and, sometimes, animals. He did his best to feign interest.
“I’ve always felt that honesty served the best interests of all involved,” Ian finished saying and now peered at him.
“Uh, yeah, I agree. Honesty’s the best policy. Yup,” he nodded enthusiastically.
“Whether between men and women, women and women,” Ian paused for a swallow of water, “or between men and men, love is never easy.”
He looked up sharply into the wizened face of Gandalf. Squinted against the light and in an attempt to decipher whether his knowing look was not just an illusion created with make-up and added prosthetics. He didn’t have a chance to reach a proper conclusion because Ian abruptly stood and shook himself to straighten his robes.
“Well, I think I hear my call.” And he strode briskly away.
*****
Sean nodded at Ian as they passed each other. When he saw Dominic approaching Elijah, who was now standing in front of his fold-up chair, he quickened his pace, prepared to intervene in another inexplicable disagreement. And quite a heated disagreement it was. But just as he had begun to take longer, swifter strides towards the other two hobbits, he abruptly stopped.
He watched the two young men exchange words he was too far to hear. Each so thoroughly absorbed in the other that he felt sure neither was aware that he was watching. He glanced around. Or that anyone else was, for that matter.
The darker head tilted and then looked down, shook from side to side. A finger traveled upwards to lodge itself between Elijah’s teeth. Dominic’s hand followed and extracted it free, then lifted the chin up. The blond head nodded, more words were said, and Elijah nodded, too, this time. And then they just stood, staring at each other, neither saying a word. Dominic spoke first, Elijah nodded again, said something briefly in return. And then Dominic’s hand brushed against Elijah’s. A brief, almost imperceptible squeeze.
Oh.
He started walking towards Elijah as Dominic departed. Set his features to mask his just discovery. Though once he reached the younger man, he knew he needn’t worry. Elijah’s face, which had in turns worn looks of preoccupation, worry, sadness, and guilt all day was suddenly an image of calm. With a hint of faraway. Like Frodo after his release from the ring.
“Everything okay, Lij,” Sean asked.
“Yeah...yeah. Everything’s ok.”
THE END
Pairing: Elijah/Dom
Rating: R to NC-17
Warnings: Angst, Sex
I ♥ feedback, so please, if you will. :)
This is for
absolutefiction who suggested a plot bunny in which Elijah and Dom accidentally come out as a result of their on set bickering. She also requested a first kiss -- it’s in there, but a bit shadowed. And for
queenbtch who insisted on “the nasty”. LOL. Hence, the “Sex” warning.At 4:00 AM the alarm sounded. A pale hand, nail-bitten fingers, flung itself swiftly and crashed against the jarring intrusion. He rolled over. Five more minutes. An outstretched arm reached, expecting the usual warm body next to his, and already he is curling into a spooning arc. Instead, his arm falls flat against cold sheets. Unrumpled, as they remained empty throughout the night.
His eyes snapped open. A groan.
Shit.
He squeezed his eyes shut again and then pulled himself to a sitting position.
Fuck.
He was never eloquent first thing in the morning. Not that there were ever any complaints. His mouth had other uses than for talking in the early hours.
And apparently, his skills were appreciated in any and every circumstance. As proven of late. Two weeks ago, it was in between filming Fellowship scenes, in a Port-a-Potty. Several days later, it was in a more elegant setting at a landmark playhouse, but a porcelain crap-a-ture facility was still nearby. He was beginning to think that a toilet fetish was involved and wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. But earlier this week, visions of running water in a white oval hole were eclipsed by deafening music in a rave-like nightclub, and legs threatening to smother him as they crashed against his body, partially hidden by a long curtain draped over one blank wall. It was for affect. Accent on the “a”. Fortunately, they were surrounded mostly by other gay men who were as rapturously involved in satiating their own carnal desires.
It turned him on initially. And immediately. When Dom first whispered in his ear.
I want you to fuck me with your mouth. Right now.
He shivered in his innocent Frodo-make-up, a warm flush enhancing the fake rose in his cheeks. And in his Frodo-costume, he followed Dom-as-Merry to the momentarily unoccupied Port-a-Potty, squeezed to his knees despite the grime, and was both repulsed and aroused at the contradictory image he imagined he made. He felt sullied and it made his nipples stiffen, his dick ache. It didn’t take long for Dom to come into his mouth. Favor returned by a dry hump against the plastic door. The vision of the small enclosure rocking mindlessly to the confusion of anyone watching made his hips twitch and he came fast and hard in his Frodo-breeches.
It turned him on initially.
But at the club, again on bent knees, he began to feel like a whore. And after he climaxed from Dom grinding agaisnt him, he felt ashamed. Sobered abruptly.
I want to go home.
So they did. And he assumed Dom understood from his silence. At least to him, it felt palpable.
But then last night, they were at a movie theater. Back row with no one next to or in front of them. Those nearest were in the center, far enough away. It was forty-five minutes into the movie, he estimated, when Dom leaned into him, covered his mouth with salty, popcorn lips and dipped in with a salty, popcorn tongue, slicked a salty, popcorn trail down the length of his neck. He swallowed a moan against a thumb circling a nipple through his thin t-shirt, remembered through the haze that they were still in public. The mouth and tongue grew insistent at his lips and neck, the thumb at his nipple joined a finger and twisted, pulled, the friction of his skin against cotton sending spasms of pleasure to his cock. When Dom urged him partially into his lap, he went willingly. And when Dom coaxed his mouth to descend down Dom’s neck, he acquiesced. But when the hand on his head kept pushing down, lower, he began to resist. No, not here. Not again. But Dom only pushed harder. In his precarious position, his attempts were feeble at most, and he found himself mouth to head of Dom’s already exposed dick. So, he surrendered, for the moment, despite his own now flaccid cock. When Dom came effortlessly short moments later, he wiped at the spunk that spilled between his lips and reclaimed his seat next to his boyfriend. When Dom reached a hand between his legs, he grabbed at the wrist, circled it in a painful grip so that the other winced visibly. Don’t. They spent the remainder of the movie in silence and he ignored the glances thrown his way.
The car ride home was terse and heavy with only breathing and Coldplay. After Dom walked with him to the front door and readied to follow him in habitually, he raised a hand. Not tonight. He ignored the hurt in the blue-grey eyes. Refused an explanation even when asked, What’s wrong? What did I do? Remained stoic even when the eyes grew cloudier by the minute, anger replacing hurt. He only answered curtly, I don’t want to talk about this now, as the questions became accusatory and amplified in sound. He slammed the door as Dom stormed off, finally.
He now rubbed at his eyes and then at his temples, sighed. The headache wasn’t due to a hangover this time.
He swiped a glance at the clock.
4:07 AM
He groaned again, reluctantly rose from the bed. He wasn’t looking forward to the early morning Hobbits-to-be fest.
*****
He stiffened in his chair when Elijah walked in. He made it a point to set the alarm earlier. After last night’s humiliating forced exit at his lover’s front door, he was determined not to be burdened with the awkward entrance this morning. A quick appraising look and he assessed the bedhead, the red eyes, the shadows underneath. Serves him right. Cunt. He returned his attention to the newspaper in his lap, feigned absorption. Even without make-up, Elijah was Frodo-about-to-cry ready. And this morning, it pleased him particularly.
Thankfully, Elijah took his usual seat next to Sean, a hop and jump away from him. But, first, he took liberties, as he always did, with the stereo, and moments later, Rage Against the Machine was blasting through the speakers.
“Will you fuckin’ turn that shit down?!!” he yelled, surprised at his own outburst, but veiled it beneath a deeper scowl. Elijah flinched, appeared two steps closer to a full-on waterworks display. Good. He felt mildly guilty anyway. His eyes briefly connected with Sean’s, and he saw a struggle between remaining neutral and reacting protectively. They both broke the stare, Sean’s eyes downcast, and his slid over to Billy’s. There he saw perplexity. And quiet assessment. He broke the stare and fidgeted slightly in his seat, noisily shook the paper in his lap.
Elijah lowered the volume.
After thirty minutes of silence and several cups of coffee between the four of them, the chatting began. Sean was rattling on about one of Ali’s latest toddler accomplishments. He found it rather amusing, precious even, and unconsciously chuckled. Elijah caught his eye then, and he immediately became silent. The blue eyes flickered quickly away and he returned to the newspaper in his lap. Another ten minutes later, Sean and Billy were arguing over the origins of the kilt, its cultural significance, and its relation, if any, to bagpipes. The good-natured barbs were being exchanged at a quicker pace and attempts made to get the other two involved. He did join in, quipped at a remark by Sean, which was followed by laughter.
Then, a sharp, humorless, “How the fuck would you know?” spoken in a soft, controlled voice sliced like a knife, and the wound gaped heavy.
He turned from Billy and met a cold, blank stare. Elijah was near porcelain doll perfect as Frodo without the yet added dirt, and the contrasting expression on his face elicited a shiver down his spine. He was unnerved, but masked it with, “How the fuck would you?”, in a similarly low, warning tone.
Blue eyes vapid with lack of emotion held the stare, two, three beats longer, unblinking, then Elijah turned his head, watched his reflection as his Frodo-wig was twisted into place.
“Fuckin’ arrogant prick,” a muttered hiss.
“Guys, come on.” That was Sean.
He counted to five. Gave up because it was a useless meditation. “Eeelijahhh,” he announced in a slow, mocking drawl, “if you have something to say, I’d cordially request that you stop acting like a fucking pussy and just say it.”
“Stop it.” Billy in his Scottish lilt.
He thought he saw Elijah wince. Silence answered and he couldn’t help the smirk that made his lip curl into something closely resembling a snarl.
“Only pussies wear black eyeliner and paint their fingernails black, pretend to be unique or the very least creative, when really, they’re just moderately talented fillers, forever relegated to the role of sidekicks,” Elijah took a breath, turned to stare back at him, “hardly extraordinary, so they have to resort to costuming themselves to appear interesting when all they really are is scared of being found out.”
It stung like a sharp slap to the face. If he had any reservation left, it evaporated with every acidic word that dripped from those girlishly pink lips.
He clapped his hands.
“Bravo, bravo. Fantastic performance from the truly extraordinary.” Elijah turned away from him once again, refocused his gaze at his reflection. He stood abruptly, fuming, ignored attempts from Sean and Billy -- Dom, stop. and Let it go, man. He took pleasure at the trembling now perceptible as he leaned in to the small figure stubbornly refusing to look at him. “Is that how you see yourself, Lij? Extraordinary. Frodo’s a fictional character that saved a fictional world, or have you become confused in your precious limelight, Mr. Wood? Word around town and the rest of the fucking world is that you got the role because of your pretty, useless eyes, your pretty crying face, and what little marquee value you have.” He felt a hand against his shoulder, urging him away, but he seemed unable to stop himself. “You’re no more talented than any other ordinary pinup boy who’s skated by on their boring allure, garnered fame because you satisfied a visual need. You’re just an empty nothing.” The last words spoken with emphatic scorn.
Next thing he knew, he was scrambling backwards, fighting to keep his balance.
“SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! YOU STUPID, FUCKING ASSHOLE!!”
He took the hand suddenly offered to him, steadied himself, and raised his eyes. Sean had an arm around Elijah’s waist, the other attempting to pin the flailing arms against the small, shaking body. Two dirty trails streaked down Elijah’s otherwise porcelain perfect face.
“Let’s go, Dommie.” He turned toward the voice. Billy. “Come on.” He let himself be pulled around and then gently pushed through the trailer doors.
*****
It was almost reverently quiet as his make-up was reapplied. Sean wanted to stay, but he asked him to leave. Please. His lip trembled from the threat of more tears, and it was hardly a pretense. Thankfully, no one else attempted to console him.
He sought solitude in his trailer afterwards, jammed his multi-CDs stereo with appropriately angsty indie rock, and turned the volume to loudest. Flat on his back on the small bed, he closed his eyes and willed to lose himself in the music. But Dom’s hissing voice played on repeat, words that cut and carved him in places where his custom tailored defense armour failed to protect him. And the words unspoken, but he heard nonetheless, attacked him like a hundred pecking birds.
You are nothing to me.
A convenient fuck.
A goddamned child.
He didn’t want a repeat round at the make-up chair so he forced his breathing to even and squeezed his eyes to prevent further leaking.
He kissed him first.
Sort of.
It was an obligatory fulfillment to a clumsy, drunken request. After 8 shots per of jagermeister, while watching soft porn on cable and sitting next to Dom on his couch, he felt horny. Never mind that the couple on the television screen was heterosexual and was pretend humping in missionary, vanilla position. He felt a sudden urge to experiment.
So he asked a favor of his very good friend.
Who willingly obliged him.
When Dom was two breaths closer to his lips, and his heart was pounding an almost hole in his chest, he considered saying, Just kidding. But then the soft lips pressed against his and it felt no different. Though, the grazing stubble did. So did the musky scent of man. And the hard bulge that pressed against his own when Dom pushed him to his back as his tongue plunged into an aggressive exploration.
Then suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He wiggled himself free and ran to the bathroom. Hacked into the toilet.
When he woke up the next morning, hard from a lingering dream, he didn’t know what to make of himself. Or of his quick climax as he relived Dom lying on top of him, rubbing against his erection.
Two weeks after a brief conversation -- Let’s forget about it. and Okay. -- and a series of platonic buddy activities, he found himself on Dom’s couch this time. And after sharing a joint rolled by Sala, with only the best New Zealand had to offer, he felt like more than experimenting and that it wasn’t so bad if he was attracted to another guy. Maybe gay, even.
And the kiss that time was slow, gentle and hesitant. And his body, like his mind, floated in a billowy haze of pleasure. When Dom’s hand slipped into his jeans, he moaned, Oh...Oh God. After Dom expertly freed him, he whispered I want to see you come, Elijah and stroked him to a shattering climax.
The first month consisted of frenetic hand jobs by both, and blow jobs by Dom. The taboo of their actions excited him. The day in and night out attempts to satiate their lust... He’d become a wanton creature as he never was, practically a virgin before any of it, and it made him feel sexy, like a fucking vixen.
The second month he became braver and discovered that he had a talent for using his mouth equal to that of delivering lines in a movie. And the word prostate was a welcome addition to his vocabulary, first learned from a slip of a lubed finger, then several up his ass, and then, later, Dom’s thick cock.
He cried after the first time. Never knew anything could feel so good and Dom held him afterwards, still trembling from the shocks of pleasure, soothed him with kisses against his temples, the nape of his neck, his shoulder.
Three months later, and he no longer enjoys feeling dirty in furtive escapades, misses platonic buddy moments that almost always end up with him on all fours or on his back, ass in the air. Or on his knees in a portable toilet or at the local cinema.
Suddenly, he wants more.
But now, his friend is also his lover and he’s afraid that it’s all become irreparably blurred and he doesn’t know how to ask or to confide, fears absolute rejection. Abandonment. Or worse.
Let’s just be friends, then.
*****
He was still seething atop the gnarled, mechanical hands of Treebeard. Billy, ever perceptive, though his clownish nature often belied it, permitted him his space and cloudy mood the rest of the morning, all through lunch and the early afternoon.
“Stop acting like you’re not smitten with the lad,” now came the wry, though carefully spoken remark.
“I’m not...” he let the rest of the sentence falter at the expression in the other’s face, one that demanded mutual honesty with its own frankness. He sighed. “Is it that obvious?” He asked quietly instead.
Billy chuckled. “Well, Dommie, I rarely see you so, er, passionate.” He continued, somber again. “How long’s it been going on for?”
He smiled. “Being smitten or just,” he waved his hand haphazardly.
“Both.”
He laughed then. “Smitten. Quite a while, Billy. Us -- Lij and I, about 4-5 months.”
“Eh, Dom. Does he know?” He shrugged. “Well, I’m not trying to be unoriginal here,” Billy smirked, “but why don’t you tell him how you feel? Maybe clear up the air between the two of you if you did.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.” He looked towards a cluster of technicians milling about a camera. Elijah had been behaving so strangely the last week. The worst of it was his nagging insistence to keep it all to himself. It was driving him insane. And deeply insecure. “Maybe he’s grown tired of his little experiment.” He couldn’t keep the sudden sadness from his voice, the resurface of a memory.
Dom...I, um. Can I... Well, I was wondering...
Spit it out, Elwood.
Um, well, you’ve kissed guys. Er, more than kissed. You’ve told me. I, ah. Oh God, this is so embarrassing. Never mind. Forget it. It’s stupid.
And that’s when he leaned in, started with closed lips, then drew the bottom, fuller pout in between nibbling teeth, urged Elijah on to his back and dove into his mouth with a hungry tongue. It was like a dream... That quickly turned into a nightmare, when Elijah shook him off moments later and ran to the bathroom.
Heartbroken, but determined not to show it, he told Elijah the next day, Let’s forget about it. He ignored the raw vulnerability that shone through the blue eyes and accepted the quietly spoken Okay.
And then two weeks later, it seemed that mistakes were destined to repeat themselves. But Elijah didn’t shove him off that time. And as he stroked him to orgasm, he watched tears leak from tightly shut lids as the impact of Elijah’s climax shuddered through his body. Afterwards, he held him through the night, murmured comforting words, remembered his own first sexual experience with another young man.
Once they started, it seemed like they were unable to stop. And he deliciously discovered how incredibly responsive his new lover was. And how quickly he learned. How game he was for a spontaneous rendezvous.
Until the last week. He seemed worse than disinterested. More like revolted. As though he’d just woken to realize he was soaked in grime, filth, and disease.
Perhaps it was just a passing phase. The I love you blurted in the heat of passion as meaningless as any other moan of pleasure.
*****
Ian replaced Sean in the chair next to him, and spent the last fifteen minutes regaling previous on set movie blunders between actors, directors, and, sometimes, animals. He did his best to feign interest.
“I’ve always felt that honesty served the best interests of all involved,” Ian finished saying and now peered at him.
“Uh, yeah, I agree. Honesty’s the best policy. Yup,” he nodded enthusiastically.
“Whether between men and women, women and women,” Ian paused for a swallow of water, “or between men and men, love is never easy.”
He looked up sharply into the wizened face of Gandalf. Squinted against the light and in an attempt to decipher whether his knowing look was not just an illusion created with make-up and added prosthetics. He didn’t have a chance to reach a proper conclusion because Ian abruptly stood and shook himself to straighten his robes.
“Well, I think I hear my call.” And he strode briskly away.
*****
Sean nodded at Ian as they passed each other. When he saw Dominic approaching Elijah, who was now standing in front of his fold-up chair, he quickened his pace, prepared to intervene in another inexplicable disagreement. And quite a heated disagreement it was. But just as he had begun to take longer, swifter strides towards the other two hobbits, he abruptly stopped.
He watched the two young men exchange words he was too far to hear. Each so thoroughly absorbed in the other that he felt sure neither was aware that he was watching. He glanced around. Or that anyone else was, for that matter.
The darker head tilted and then looked down, shook from side to side. A finger traveled upwards to lodge itself between Elijah’s teeth. Dominic’s hand followed and extracted it free, then lifted the chin up. The blond head nodded, more words were said, and Elijah nodded, too, this time. And then they just stood, staring at each other, neither saying a word. Dominic spoke first, Elijah nodded again, said something briefly in return. And then Dominic’s hand brushed against Elijah’s. A brief, almost imperceptible squeeze.
Oh.
He started walking towards Elijah as Dominic departed. Set his features to mask his just discovery. Though once he reached the younger man, he knew he needn’t worry. Elijah’s face, which had in turns worn looks of preoccupation, worry, sadness, and guilt all day was suddenly an image of calm. With a hint of faraway. Like Frodo after his release from the ring.
“Everything okay, Lij,” Sean asked.
“Yeah...yeah. Everything’s ok.”
THE END
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- “Is that how you see yourself, Lij? Extraordinary. Frodo’s a fictional character that saved a fictional world, or have you become confused in your precious limelight, Mr. Wood? Word around town and the rest of the fucking world is that you got the role because of your pretty, useless eyes, your pretty crying face, and what little marquee value you have.”
- “You’re no more talented than any other ordinary pinup boy who’s skated by on their boring allure, garnered fame because you satisfied a visual need. You’re just an empty nothing.”
HARSH. Brilliant though :D
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that and lij looking at himself in the mirror after dom cuts him up.
...and dom reaching between elijah's legs in the theatre and getting blocked.
thank you,
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Quite possibly the most poignant moment in the fic for me, because Elijah had felt used, and Dom was pretty much saying that he was.
“Whether between men and women, women and women,” Ian paused for a swallow of water, “or between men and men, love is never easy.”
A lot of people have a really hard time writing Ian, and I think that in just a few paragraphs you've done a fantastic job of capturing him. It was the swallow of water that made him really three-dimensional and good in my mind.
Plus, I just loved the totally ambiguous ending.
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Thank you for reading.
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Thank you for your feedback!
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Thank you for reading!
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My goodness you do harsh insults frighteningly well, and spot on.
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Er, heh.
*sheepish grin*
I don't quite know yet whether that works to my advantage in RL. :)
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Heh heh...
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Thanks for sharing this.
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Thanks for reading while you're at work! I hope the squirming parts were enjoyable, too. :)