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fellowshippers2007-02-09 08:26 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2007-02-09 08:26 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Irascible
Title: Irascible
Author: Viktoria Angelique (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
v_angelique)
Pairing: AS/EW (and implied BB/DM)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Highly untrue.
Summary: It's all Laura's fault. Again. This is what happens when a shitty wanting-to-punch-people week combines with a slightly unhealthy lust bent in a Serkis-ward direction.
"Are you going out tonight?"
"It's Saturday, Elwood."
"Point. Can I come?"
Dom sighed in exasperation, and Billy gave Elijah a sympathetic look. "We're going to the pub on King."
Elijah frowned. The pub on King was weird about age restrictions. It was fancy and technically didn't allow under-twenty fives on weekends, but Dom could pass and Orli could dress up pretty enough that he looked like a member of the business and martinis set.
"I wanted to drink tonight, though."
"So buy a bottle."
"Dom! I'm not a fucking alcoholic."
"Fine, then. Why don't you go out with Viggo and that lot?"
"I wasn't invited."
"Well I didn't invite you anywhere either."
"Fucker. You and Billy and your little fucking club…"
Dom sighed over the sound of Elijah's muttering and reached out, giving Elijah's hair a ruffle. "C'mon, Doodle. Don't be that way. Next weekend, I promise. This weekend you can get pissed with Viggo."
"Bloody joy."
"Elijah?"
"Yes?"
"You do know that you're not actually English?"
"Oh, fuck off."
----
As it turned out, "Viggo and that lot" included several Orcs, a few miscellaneous crewmembers, Sean Bean, Dave, Miranda, and Andy. It was a larger group than usually gathered outside the hobbit-circle, and Elijah felt rather peripheral as he sat at the end of the big table near the back of the dive bar and slowly sipped at his pint. Also delegated to this end of the table, separate from the raucous laughter surrounding the story Sean was telling, Miranda half-leaning on his shoulder and Viggo interjecting nonsense at intervals, was Andy, sipping a little quicker from his tumbler of whisky. Elijah hadn't ever hung out with Andy socially, but he spent practically every waking hour with the man, these days. He wouldn't tell Andy this, but Elijah thought he looked weird now without a bright blue or flesh-coloured catsuit. He wasn't used to seeing Andy's hair.
"When's your call Monday?" he asked after enough silence had passed to make him feel slightly uncomfortable. The space around the table was cramped, and Andy and Elijah had their backs to the wall, their hips a hair's breadth from touching.
"Same as yours," Andy replied. "As it always is," he added after a moment, shooting Elijah a sideways glance.
"Right," Elijah muttered into the rim of his glass, a little defensively. "Just trying to make small talk."
Andy snorted derisively and took a long pull from his Macallan. "Sometimes silence can be preferable to speech, you know."
Elijah glared at him, murmuring under his breath. "Well fuck you, too."
He didn't need this. He could be with Dom and Billy, having a good time… except that he couldn't, because Dom and Billy were busy groping each other in some adults-only institution that determined adulthood by some arbitrary number and didn't bother to take into account the fact that Dom was rowdier than most seventeen year olds on a good night. Fuckers.
He didn't need this.
"Another?"
Elijah eyed Andy warily, and Andy just rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to the bar. Trying to be bloody nice, all right?"
Elijah sighed. "Yeah, okay. Bud Light, please."
Andy muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "figures" as he extracted himself from the bench seat, the toe of his boot brushing Eljiah's hip. The contact made Elijah's eyes turn to the side instinctively, and immediately after doing so he looked away and gulped, hard. But the damage was already done—worn blue jeans stretched across Andy's crotch, the seams straining with the unnatural movement required to get out of the tight space, and the image was imprinted on Elijah's brain for all eternity, now.
Andy was hung like a fucking horse.
"Hey, Elijah Wood! Whatcha drinkin', man?"
Elijah looked up, startled, and saw a techie at the end of the table, someone Viggo had invited, gesturing drunkenly at him with an empty glass. Viggo laughed and tugged the guy down by the shirt collar and said something quietly, and when Andy returned with Elijah's beer there was already a tall frosty cocktail glass sitting in front of him.
"The fuck's this?"
Elijah shrugged.
"Bloody rude, you know, letting someone buy you a drink and then already having one waiting for you when he returns."
"Fuck off. It was one of Viggo's jokes."
Andy raised an eyebrow, looking mildly impressed, and then shrugged in concession. "All right. Don't have to be a moody bastard about it."
Elijah looked up incredulously at Andy, but then the man was sliding in next to him again and he had to use some superhuman force of will to divert his eyes to the drinks in front of him. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hands around the first glass and took a healthy gulp. Vodka and pineapple juice rushed into his system in equal measures, and he coughed.
"What the fuck is in that?" Andy asked as he thumped the flat of his hand helpfully against Elijah's back.
"Don't know… I think it's a Sex on the Beach," Elijah replied, giving the drink an accusatory look. "Tastes horrible."
Andy grinned and slid Elijah's beer towards him.
"Can't imagine this is any better, but…"
"Thanks," Elijah offered, raising his glass briefly to Andy and taking a sip.
"Don’t mention it."
---
By last call, Elijah had consumed four beers and the Sex on the Beach, which suddenly looked much more appealing after his second pint. Viggo was on some other plane, trying to drag Beanie with him by the looks of it, and the rest of their little group was in varying states of intoxication. Andy was a much quieter drunk, but Elijah didn't doubt that he was at least a little inebriated, for whether he realised it or not their legs were now pressed together from hip to knee, and Andy was leaning on Elijah slightly. Andy was not a touchy-feely sort of a bloke. The only coherent thoughts that Elijah could really form in response to this were that Andy's bicep felt massive next to his own puny one, and Andy's eyes were eerily disarming.
"Who's going to do a shot with me?" Miranda asked loudly, returning to the table with two shots of Jaeger. She turned first to Dave, but he politely declined, and then she caught Elijah's eye with a grin. "C'mon, hobbit—bottoms up!"
The Jaeger went straight to Elijah's brain, and then hung a sharp left and plummeted to his cock. As they walked out into the cold, a massive huddle of friends and colleagues, he realised that he was teetering slightly. Andy helpfully grabbed at an elbow to steady him, and Elijah turned, suddenly, staring into bright blue eyes at point-blank range. He whimpered, and then he reached out with the other hand, fisting it hand in Andy's shirt and tugging him forward, hard. Andy stumbled and they fell into each other, Elijah's lips slamming messily into the other man's as he vaguely registered that there should be something wrong about this situation, but his brain was moving too slowly to compute, and all his cock knew was that Andy's tongue was licking across his mouth, too warm and alive to be an accident.
The punch came out of nowhere, blindsided him—one moment the warm wet smack of lips tasting of equal parts alcohol and salt and the next, the sharp impact of knuckles just under his cheekbone, a delayed drunken stumble, the jarring safety net of Bean's arms under his own the only thing keeping him from landing arse-to-pavement. He stared up at Andy, blinked, and for an instant Andy's eyes burned with warm, hard heat. They say that desire and anger skirt a very fine line. It never happened again, but no matter how little Elijah remembered of that night after the fact, he would never forget one thing—Andy kissed back.
Author: Viktoria Angelique (
v_angelique)Pairing: AS/EW (and implied BB/DM)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Highly untrue.
Summary: It's all Laura's fault. Again. This is what happens when a shitty wanting-to-punch-people week combines with a slightly unhealthy lust bent in a Serkis-ward direction.
"Are you going out tonight?"
"It's Saturday, Elwood."
"Point. Can I come?"
Dom sighed in exasperation, and Billy gave Elijah a sympathetic look. "We're going to the pub on King."
Elijah frowned. The pub on King was weird about age restrictions. It was fancy and technically didn't allow under-twenty fives on weekends, but Dom could pass and Orli could dress up pretty enough that he looked like a member of the business and martinis set.
"I wanted to drink tonight, though."
"So buy a bottle."
"Dom! I'm not a fucking alcoholic."
"Fine, then. Why don't you go out with Viggo and that lot?"
"I wasn't invited."
"Well I didn't invite you anywhere either."
"Fucker. You and Billy and your little fucking club…"
Dom sighed over the sound of Elijah's muttering and reached out, giving Elijah's hair a ruffle. "C'mon, Doodle. Don't be that way. Next weekend, I promise. This weekend you can get pissed with Viggo."
"Bloody joy."
"Elijah?"
"Yes?"
"You do know that you're not actually English?"
"Oh, fuck off."
----
As it turned out, "Viggo and that lot" included several Orcs, a few miscellaneous crewmembers, Sean Bean, Dave, Miranda, and Andy. It was a larger group than usually gathered outside the hobbit-circle, and Elijah felt rather peripheral as he sat at the end of the big table near the back of the dive bar and slowly sipped at his pint. Also delegated to this end of the table, separate from the raucous laughter surrounding the story Sean was telling, Miranda half-leaning on his shoulder and Viggo interjecting nonsense at intervals, was Andy, sipping a little quicker from his tumbler of whisky. Elijah hadn't ever hung out with Andy socially, but he spent practically every waking hour with the man, these days. He wouldn't tell Andy this, but Elijah thought he looked weird now without a bright blue or flesh-coloured catsuit. He wasn't used to seeing Andy's hair.
"When's your call Monday?" he asked after enough silence had passed to make him feel slightly uncomfortable. The space around the table was cramped, and Andy and Elijah had their backs to the wall, their hips a hair's breadth from touching.
"Same as yours," Andy replied. "As it always is," he added after a moment, shooting Elijah a sideways glance.
"Right," Elijah muttered into the rim of his glass, a little defensively. "Just trying to make small talk."
Andy snorted derisively and took a long pull from his Macallan. "Sometimes silence can be preferable to speech, you know."
Elijah glared at him, murmuring under his breath. "Well fuck you, too."
He didn't need this. He could be with Dom and Billy, having a good time… except that he couldn't, because Dom and Billy were busy groping each other in some adults-only institution that determined adulthood by some arbitrary number and didn't bother to take into account the fact that Dom was rowdier than most seventeen year olds on a good night. Fuckers.
He didn't need this.
"Another?"
Elijah eyed Andy warily, and Andy just rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to the bar. Trying to be bloody nice, all right?"
Elijah sighed. "Yeah, okay. Bud Light, please."
Andy muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "figures" as he extracted himself from the bench seat, the toe of his boot brushing Eljiah's hip. The contact made Elijah's eyes turn to the side instinctively, and immediately after doing so he looked away and gulped, hard. But the damage was already done—worn blue jeans stretched across Andy's crotch, the seams straining with the unnatural movement required to get out of the tight space, and the image was imprinted on Elijah's brain for all eternity, now.
Andy was hung like a fucking horse.
"Hey, Elijah Wood! Whatcha drinkin', man?"
Elijah looked up, startled, and saw a techie at the end of the table, someone Viggo had invited, gesturing drunkenly at him with an empty glass. Viggo laughed and tugged the guy down by the shirt collar and said something quietly, and when Andy returned with Elijah's beer there was already a tall frosty cocktail glass sitting in front of him.
"The fuck's this?"
Elijah shrugged.
"Bloody rude, you know, letting someone buy you a drink and then already having one waiting for you when he returns."
"Fuck off. It was one of Viggo's jokes."
Andy raised an eyebrow, looking mildly impressed, and then shrugged in concession. "All right. Don't have to be a moody bastard about it."
Elijah looked up incredulously at Andy, but then the man was sliding in next to him again and he had to use some superhuman force of will to divert his eyes to the drinks in front of him. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hands around the first glass and took a healthy gulp. Vodka and pineapple juice rushed into his system in equal measures, and he coughed.
"What the fuck is in that?" Andy asked as he thumped the flat of his hand helpfully against Elijah's back.
"Don't know… I think it's a Sex on the Beach," Elijah replied, giving the drink an accusatory look. "Tastes horrible."
Andy grinned and slid Elijah's beer towards him.
"Can't imagine this is any better, but…"
"Thanks," Elijah offered, raising his glass briefly to Andy and taking a sip.
"Don’t mention it."
---
By last call, Elijah had consumed four beers and the Sex on the Beach, which suddenly looked much more appealing after his second pint. Viggo was on some other plane, trying to drag Beanie with him by the looks of it, and the rest of their little group was in varying states of intoxication. Andy was a much quieter drunk, but Elijah didn't doubt that he was at least a little inebriated, for whether he realised it or not their legs were now pressed together from hip to knee, and Andy was leaning on Elijah slightly. Andy was not a touchy-feely sort of a bloke. The only coherent thoughts that Elijah could really form in response to this were that Andy's bicep felt massive next to his own puny one, and Andy's eyes were eerily disarming.
"Who's going to do a shot with me?" Miranda asked loudly, returning to the table with two shots of Jaeger. She turned first to Dave, but he politely declined, and then she caught Elijah's eye with a grin. "C'mon, hobbit—bottoms up!"
The Jaeger went straight to Elijah's brain, and then hung a sharp left and plummeted to his cock. As they walked out into the cold, a massive huddle of friends and colleagues, he realised that he was teetering slightly. Andy helpfully grabbed at an elbow to steady him, and Elijah turned, suddenly, staring into bright blue eyes at point-blank range. He whimpered, and then he reached out with the other hand, fisting it hand in Andy's shirt and tugging him forward, hard. Andy stumbled and they fell into each other, Elijah's lips slamming messily into the other man's as he vaguely registered that there should be something wrong about this situation, but his brain was moving too slowly to compute, and all his cock knew was that Andy's tongue was licking across his mouth, too warm and alive to be an accident.
The punch came out of nowhere, blindsided him—one moment the warm wet smack of lips tasting of equal parts alcohol and salt and the next, the sharp impact of knuckles just under his cheekbone, a delayed drunken stumble, the jarring safety net of Bean's arms under his own the only thing keeping him from landing arse-to-pavement. He stared up at Andy, blinked, and for an instant Andy's eyes burned with warm, hard heat. They say that desire and anger skirt a very fine line. It never happened again, but no matter how little Elijah remembered of that night after the fact, he would never forget one thing—Andy kissed back.
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You are most welcome!
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"Bloody joy."
"Elijah?"
"Yes?"
"You do know that you're not actually English?"
oh noo! does that mean I can't say "bloody"?
bloody hell...
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