Quoi? (2/?)

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Title: Qoui? (2/More than 2)
Pairing: Domlijah
Rating: R, this part
Disclaimer: I'll give you the standard "I don't know them, they don't know me, this is all a product of my possibly diseased mind" line.
Summary: Boys in cars, boys in bars.





Billy cackled in the backseat, falling over drunkenly into Orlando's lap.

"Billy Boyd, your life is now at stake. Shut your gob before I am forced to end you."

Billy wisely acquiesced to Dom's demands, and the four drove in silence for a while, listening to the radio. Dom idly dialed through the stations, never quite satisfied with any song for more than a minute and a half, always certain that if he gave in and committed to one station that his very favourite song of all time would be playing on the one just down the line, and that he would tune in only to catch the last few words, the excitement welling in his heart only to be crushed by the lackluster voice of the dj. Whenever this happened -- even if he owned the CD, even if the CD was currently resting in the CD player ready and just begging to be played -- it left him with a great sense of disappointment.

His mother had convinced herself that this was the reason why he was still single.

Occasionally Dom would steal a glance at Elijah's profile, wondering why it hadn't changed in the last hour, wondering everytime he looked over if the young man would appear different in his eyes. He wasn't sure what he was looking for -- maybe for the cupid theme to start playing, or for Elijah to be wearing a big creaky suit of armor, the kind with a giant nancing red plume stuck in the top of it for no earthly reason whatsoever, and for Elijah to lift the visor and smile dashingly into his eyes. But no, it was still the same old Elijah with the absurd stubbly sideburns.

A snicker came from the backseat, and then muffled laughter. Billy and Orlando were whispering drunkenly, having what seemed to be the most amusing conversation ever held. Billy let out a little scream of laughter, and the two fell onto each other's shoulders, clinging to each other and nearly weeping.

"Do you have something you'd like to share with the rest of the class, children?" Elijah asked, annoyed.

"Not really, no," Billy replied, an expression of extreme sobriety plastered on his face.

"Can't say that we do." Orlando added. They continued to look serious for a moment, and then Billy leaned over to Orlando and whispered in his ear -- loudly enough for Dom to overhear --

"Behymen--"

And they fell again into a fit of hysteria

Dom's hands closed into fists.

"Billy."

"Yes?"

"Light of my life --"

"That would be I, indeed."

"If you use that word one more time, then I shall be forced to beat you senseless."

"As well and though you could get past my cat-like grace and ninja-reflexes."

"You have all the ninja-reflexes of a drunken swine-herd."

Billy sighed. "One day, Dom my lad, your dry British wit will give way, and all will see the true despairing depths of your jealousy."

"About as deep as a bucket, you mangy rat."

Billy turned to Orlando. "See what I mean?"

Orlando shook his head. "This is the sort of conversation that I make a point of staying out of."

"Cheers," Elijah added from the driver's seat, rounding a bend and pulling into a parking space. "The two of you have got snarking down to an art form."

" 'All the good art is made purely for arts sake --' "

"Stop that right now, Dominic Monaghan," Orlando interupted from the back seat. "There will be no misquoting of Oscar Wilde in my presence."

Dom shrugged, pushing open the car door. "As you wish."

Orlando rolled his eyes.


The club was packed, and there was a line, but Orlando, impatient to get inside, played the celebrity card and walked straight up to the bouncer, the three hobbits trailing along behind him like errant ducklings. The bouncer gave Orlando a cold glare, and Orlando stared right back unflinchingly, daring him to do his worst. The bouncer turned towards the first girl near the front of the line, as though using her as a barometer of Orlando's worth. Her eyes were wide, and she appeared to be having difficulty breathing. Orlando flashed her a dazzling smile, and she gave a little shriek, grabbing onto her glaring date's arm for support. He turned back to the bouncer expectantly, and the very large man stepped aside and ushered them in.

"Neat trick, Bloom," Billy commented as the four made their way trough the crowd.

Orlando shrugged imperiously

While Dom and Billy snagged a table recently vacated by a stumbling group of half-dressed women (and Orlando began surveying the talent on the dance floor) Elijah made a bee-line for the first open inch of barspace, and within seconds was greeted by a smiling female bartender. With practiced ease he wrangled a large pitcher, four cups, and a round of shots back to his friends. They managed to get Orlando's attention back from the gyrating co-eds -- barely -- long enough to hand him his shot.

"What *is* this thing you have put before me?"

Elijah grinned. "Buttery nipple. It's the house specialty."

"Jibber-jabber what?"

"Have you never heard of a buttery nipple, you philistine?" Billy scoffed. "Butterscotch schnapps and baileys."

"Leave it to a lush like yourself to know these things."

"Indeed."

"Well then, Billy," Dom interupted. "'What shall it be?"

Billy raised his glass, and the others followed suit. "To Dom's behymen --"

"Hey now --"

"Shut up, wanker, it's my turn afterall. Ahem. To Dom's behymen: what once was lost . . . shall now be sniggered at. Cheers!"

"Cheers," the others chorused, downing their shots.

"This is brilliant!" Orlando cried happily. "I must get another." He grabbed his beer, turned on his heel, and started towards the bar.

"Three," Billy began.

"Two," Dom continued.

"One," Elijah finished, and the three of them laughed as Orlando detoured from his path towards the bar, zeroing in on a young woman standing by herself.

"He's getting a might predictable in his old age, that one," Billy sighed, shaking his head.

"You're one to talk about old age, you senile git."

"Dominic, Dominic, didn't we discuss this already?"

"Disaffirmative. My speaking the truth hardly counts as bitter snarking."

Elijah grabbed Dom's hand and pulled him close, his lips brushing against Dom's ear. Dom shivered involuntarily.

"Less pathetic attempts at witty banter and a little more dancing, wench boy," he murmured.

"Done and Done, Captain Dork," Dom replied, his voice shaking only slightly

Billy heaved a melodramtic sigh. "Off with you then, slut-puppy and destroyer of British behymens. I'll pull better on my own than with your company, anyways."

Dom pounded his drink and followed Elijah out onto the floor, weaving between several different clumps of people, all pretending not to recognize Elijah as they followed him with their eyes, their too casual glances betraying their notice of the rather short young man. Dom was surprised to feel a possessive snarl trying to work its way out of his throat. *Where the bloody fuck did that come from?* he wondered, and then Elijah's hands drew him close and the snarl forced itself out of his lips, although it was now tinged with desire.

They'd danced before, the two of them, although not really together. They had danced before in front of people who were expecting a show, and so they would be silly, exagerating their movement, nance about mocking themselves and each other with their own dorkiness. They had danced before when they were playing around, when they were recording songs with Viggo, when they were drunk in Wellington, when they were on MTV, when they were showing off, when they were trying to pull. Come to think of it, they had danced before whenever they were on display, as though realizing that their desirability was increased whenever they were touching. They danced before only when it was for everyone else.

They had never danced before when it was just the two of them who mattered.

Dom fell into rhythm with Elijah, just as he had before, and the two of them began a long grind to the song, something with a deep, pulsating beat that drove itself into Dom's blood, taking over for his erratic heartbeat, moving him and Elijah together until they were really just one being. He felt as though he were less dancing with Elijah as flowing into him, their bodies locked in some sort of strange Borg meld where they would come out the other side different and yet somehow distilled into truth.

Elijah's head lolled backwards, and he licked his lips, and Dom leaned forward to lick a line along his exposed collarbone. Lij shivered in his arms, and Dom pressed his advantage, biting gently on Lij's neck, flicking his tongue back and forth over the trapped skin. Lij moaned, and Dom could feel fingernails pricking through his shirt to dig into the skin of his back.

Dom was growing hard, and he ground himself against Elijah.

"You've fucked me once already today, mate," Dom growled into Elijahs ear, basking in the lust-blue gaze fixed on him. "Are you up for round two?"

"Bring it on," Elijah purred.

Dom chuckled, and disentangled himself from the younger man. "Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes."

Elijah's eyes narrowed. "You're not going to do what I think you're about to do, you idiot."

"Tell me the idea doesn't make you hot."

Elijah gave a sly half-grin. "I'd be lying it I did," he replied.

"Good then. Go on, lover," he taunted. "Wait for me."

Dom watched as Elijah walked off towards the bathrooms. He licked his lips, eyes taking in every move of Elijah's arse in the tight jeans. After a moment he smiled ferally, then turned, and started casually surveying the crowd.

He knew what he was looking for -- young woman on her own, pretty but not in the typical LA way. He liked glamorous women, yes -- but not the brazen hussy type that you usually got in the LA clubs, women who looked like they had been left sitting in the sun too long to season like raisins, with fishbowl boob jobs and brittle dyed blonde hair. He enjoyed fast women yes, on the whole, preferring not to have to make silly small talk for several interminable dates, discussing the merits of this hair gel or that, their first pet's middle initial or perhaps where their maiden aunts had gone to boarding school and by the way, did you happen to know that it takes this and that many muscles to smile but so and that many muscles to frown, before they were able to get down the serious business at hand which would, in fact, be the fucking. Fast, yes, but had no desire to live his life my the creed of Confederate Railroad*.

He noticed one girl in the corner, eyes wide, panting slightly. She blushed furiously as he locked his eyes with hers, and before she could escape he struck.

"Hey," he murmured, stroking her bare arm with his forefinger.

"Hi," she responded, swallowing hard.

"What's your name, pet?"

"M-Mary Sue."

"Mary Sue, then. And I'm Dominic."

"I -- I know."

He leaned forward, pulling on her the move that Elijah had used on him, purring in her ear, "Do you then, pet?"

He could feel her tremor, taught as a bow string.

"You seem familiar," he continued. "Have I met you before?"

"No," she whispered.

"But I could have sworn that we'd met somewhere." He gently took her earlobe between his teeth, bringing his hands around behind her to the small of her back, pulling her very gently towards him, giving her a chance to get away it that was what she wanted -- although he knew very well that she wouldn't try. "Perhaps Elijah knows."

He pulled back, taking her hand in his. "Let's go ask him."




*"I like my women just a little on the trashy side," says Confederate Railroad.