ext_17747 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
mcee.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2002-09-16 04:42 pm
mcee.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2002-09-16 04:42 pm
(no subject)
TITLE: "Asunder" (ficlet)
AUTHOR:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mcee
SITE: sblomie.com
DISCLAIMER: Just... no.
PAIRING: Domlijah
RATING: R
* * *
Elijah can't sleep, and his sudden insomnia fragments his thoughts into cheesy moonlit poetry. He's aware of the dangers of smoking in bed, but he's young and jetlagged and figures he can get away with it. Besides, not his bed, so why should he care if he shakes ashes on the wet spot.
Dom's spine is a sinewy groove down to the edge of the sheet draped over him like the forced modesty of a Renaissance painting. A shapely ass, coveted, cherished almost fetish-like, providing 'relief', as the French say, to the still form. There is a slight up-down to his back, blinding moon-streaks to his hair. Breath comes out of parted lips, moistening the pillowcase under his mouth. His fingers are loosely curled against the mattress, leftover from his earlier death-grip when Elijah was pounding into him, blissful, devoted, driven.
Two foil wrappers are trapped under sleepy Dom, Elijah knows, but it's not like the pea under the princess' mattresses, or however the fairy tale goes, Elijah doesn't think he should be expected to remember. Fairy tales are for girls. Boys are for boys. But Doms, with their different names and faces and accents and ways to say his name, are for him, even when the real Dom is not.
-end-
AUTHOR:
mceeSITE: sblomie.com
DISCLAIMER: Just... no.
PAIRING: Domlijah
RATING: R
* * *
Elijah can't sleep, and his sudden insomnia fragments his thoughts into cheesy moonlit poetry. He's aware of the dangers of smoking in bed, but he's young and jetlagged and figures he can get away with it. Besides, not his bed, so why should he care if he shakes ashes on the wet spot.
Dom's spine is a sinewy groove down to the edge of the sheet draped over him like the forced modesty of a Renaissance painting. A shapely ass, coveted, cherished almost fetish-like, providing 'relief', as the French say, to the still form. There is a slight up-down to his back, blinding moon-streaks to his hair. Breath comes out of parted lips, moistening the pillowcase under his mouth. His fingers are loosely curled against the mattress, leftover from his earlier death-grip when Elijah was pounding into him, blissful, devoted, driven.
Two foil wrappers are trapped under sleepy Dom, Elijah knows, but it's not like the pea under the princess' mattresses, or however the fairy tale goes, Elijah doesn't think he should be expected to remember. Fairy tales are for girls. Boys are for boys. But Doms, with their different names and faces and accents and ways to say his name, are for him, even when the real Dom is not.
-end-