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fellowshippers2003-10-31 11:24 am
ananke9.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-10-31 11:24 am
Ficlet: Personal Space
Title: Personal Space
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: OB/DM, EW (Implied OB/DM/EW)
Disclaimer: This is what is generally known as fiction. As in lies.
Summary: Elijah has been wondering about personal space
"You have no idea of personal space, you know that?" Elijah grumbles, shoving the invading legs away from his own with one foot.
Orlando returns with three cans of beer and, illustrating Elijah's point beautifully, plonks himself between the two of them, his ass finding the tiny space that they aren't currently fighting over, legs overlapping theirs. He deposits an icy, condensation-dripping can in Dom's lap, rubs Elijah's against his face. Elijah squirms and yelps.
"What the fuck? See," he says, reclaiming his beer with poor grace from an innocent hand, "that's what I'm talking about. Personal fucking space. Ever heard of it?"
"Yeah," says Dom thoughtfully, studying his beer as he opens it with incredible care. "There was a memo. In drama school, like. About," he waves a circle with his beer-holding hand, sloshing an arc of amber over Orlando and Elijah, "about, you know, being on stage and, personal space and all that shit." He grins broadly, leaning over Orlando to wipe the spill of liquid on Elijah's leg with long strokes. "So what was your point?"
Orlando snorts and flicks spots of spilt beer at Dom's head.
Elijah considers holding his peace; he's done pretty well with that so far and after five beers when his limit is four, the chances are he's just going to sound like a total ass. But it's been bugging him for *ever* and four beers are enough to liberate his tongue as well as lose him his sobriety.
"You two," he explodes, and is gratified when they both glance upwards from their drinks. "Personal space. I mean, fuck, guys."
He is less gratified when they begin to laugh. Orlando cracks first, totally cracks up, head hitting the back of the couch as he spasms with laughter. Dom follows after a second, sniggering his appreciation of some joke that Elijah is not, apparently, in on.
Elijah has to fight the impulse to pout at this mean-spirited reaction.
"You're right, Lij," Orli laughs, finally. "We have no concept of personal space, either of us."
"And," says Dom, looking as though he may explode into incoherent giggles, "we fuck guys."
Elijah watches as Dom wraps an arm around Orli's neck; Orli hesitates for a split second, and then, throwing a sly look towards Elijah, leans into what fast becomes a long, wet, messy kiss.
Elijah is torn; a part of him wanting to kick their asses for trying (he doesn't think they've succeeded) to freak him out while another, more insistent part of him wants to sit very quietly so as not to disturb them, and watch. The watching part wins, strange as that is; he can't tear his eyes away from them, especially when their hands begin to move, drawing low, earthy moans from….one of them, he can't tell who.
He has his personal space back now; Orlando is draped almost entirely over Dom now, leaving Elijah's territory in peace, while Dom's leg has found a new body to wrap itself around.
He notices this with no pleasure, more like a dull resignation. Wonders if they have, like, a quota of personal space, or lack of personal space. Wonders if they have to share their space with him in a tangle of legs and rib-jarring elbows when they're refraining from the sort of invasion he's looking at now. Wonders how it would work with three people if the three people weren't just watching a movie together and if one of them wasn't bitching about personal space.
He wonders, as Dom's wicked grin gleams through the mass of body parts, if he's about to find out.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: OB/DM, EW (Implied OB/DM/EW)
Disclaimer: This is what is generally known as fiction. As in lies.
Summary: Elijah has been wondering about personal space
"You have no idea of personal space, you know that?" Elijah grumbles, shoving the invading legs away from his own with one foot.
Orlando returns with three cans of beer and, illustrating Elijah's point beautifully, plonks himself between the two of them, his ass finding the tiny space that they aren't currently fighting over, legs overlapping theirs. He deposits an icy, condensation-dripping can in Dom's lap, rubs Elijah's against his face. Elijah squirms and yelps.
"What the fuck? See," he says, reclaiming his beer with poor grace from an innocent hand, "that's what I'm talking about. Personal fucking space. Ever heard of it?"
"Yeah," says Dom thoughtfully, studying his beer as he opens it with incredible care. "There was a memo. In drama school, like. About," he waves a circle with his beer-holding hand, sloshing an arc of amber over Orlando and Elijah, "about, you know, being on stage and, personal space and all that shit." He grins broadly, leaning over Orlando to wipe the spill of liquid on Elijah's leg with long strokes. "So what was your point?"
Orlando snorts and flicks spots of spilt beer at Dom's head.
Elijah considers holding his peace; he's done pretty well with that so far and after five beers when his limit is four, the chances are he's just going to sound like a total ass. But it's been bugging him for *ever* and four beers are enough to liberate his tongue as well as lose him his sobriety.
"You two," he explodes, and is gratified when they both glance upwards from their drinks. "Personal space. I mean, fuck, guys."
He is less gratified when they begin to laugh. Orlando cracks first, totally cracks up, head hitting the back of the couch as he spasms with laughter. Dom follows after a second, sniggering his appreciation of some joke that Elijah is not, apparently, in on.
Elijah has to fight the impulse to pout at this mean-spirited reaction.
"You're right, Lij," Orli laughs, finally. "We have no concept of personal space, either of us."
"And," says Dom, looking as though he may explode into incoherent giggles, "we fuck guys."
Elijah watches as Dom wraps an arm around Orli's neck; Orli hesitates for a split second, and then, throwing a sly look towards Elijah, leans into what fast becomes a long, wet, messy kiss.
Elijah is torn; a part of him wanting to kick their asses for trying (he doesn't think they've succeeded) to freak him out while another, more insistent part of him wants to sit very quietly so as not to disturb them, and watch. The watching part wins, strange as that is; he can't tear his eyes away from them, especially when their hands begin to move, drawing low, earthy moans from….one of them, he can't tell who.
He has his personal space back now; Orlando is draped almost entirely over Dom now, leaving Elijah's territory in peace, while Dom's leg has found a new body to wrap itself around.
He notices this with no pleasure, more like a dull resignation. Wonders if they have, like, a quota of personal space, or lack of personal space. Wonders if they have to share their space with him in a tangle of legs and rib-jarring elbows when they're refraining from the sort of invasion he's looking at now. Wonders how it would work with three people if the three people weren't just watching a movie together and if one of them wasn't bitching about personal space.
He wonders, as Dom's wicked grin gleams through the mass of body parts, if he's about to find out.
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This is really lovely and funny- I always enjoy it when Elijah is the last to know!