Elijah Wood and the Sober Voice of Reason

Title: Elijah Wood and the Sober Voice of Reason
Pairing: EW/some chick; EW/DM angst.
Author: [livejournal.com profile] cincodemaygirl
Rated: PG-13
Summary: Elijah's drunk at Mardi Gras and should be having more fun than he is.
Warnings: Includes HET.
Disclaimer: This is fiction.
Feedback: Yes, please.
A/N: First post. Many thanks to [livejournal.com profile] farothear for her mad beta skillz. Or something to that effect.



It was really, really late- well, actually early, or not so early, oh, fuck it- when Elijah shut his hotel suite door by backing, er, what was her name again, up against it. Oh, it was hopeless, he would never remember her name, and asking would involve talking which was definitely not going to work out. Wossername it would have to remain. She was cute, even though he was going to be covered in sparkles from all her glittery makeup when he woke up tomorrow.

Even in the middle of biting her lip it occurred to Elijah that waking up was going to be seriously unpleasant. Because he was totally, unbelievably fucking smashed. So smashed that a part of him- not any part in charge, mind you- was actually sober again, and worried about the hangover he was going to be suffering from in about five hours. Not worried enough for him do anything intelligent about it, though. Water and aspirin both appeared in his mind as possible solutions and were dismissed in the time it took to move his tongue a little sideways in between her lips, which she apparently appreciated judging by the noise she made.

The parade had been awesome- screw his agent for telling him the SAG awards were more important. How often do you get to throw fake money at people that's got your face on it? And all night, whenever he had a free hand, someone would insert a glass or a bottle of beer in it, which was damn cool. Why would anyone skip a party like *this* for a goddamn awards show?

The downside was that Elijah had no idea how many drinks he'd had, total. A whole lot, for sure. Which reminded him of what a good idea it would be to lie down. Right now, on the floor. As much by accident as by design, he took the girl down with him. As she landed beside him on the floor she made a surprised sort of sound but quickly recovered enough to latch back onto his lips, which was fine with him.

His body was quite happy with the situation- mmm, that's a nice place for her hand, he mused- but his mind was still swimming. In beer, honestly. And images from the ball after the parade. The parade had been great, but the ball, that was almost better, and almost torture, because of Dominic.

Dom, damn him to hell, had looked amazing tonight. Not that that was all, Elijah thought, no, of course he'd have to be such a sweet person and a good friend, and couldn't he stop thinking about Dom for just a fucking second? Hadn't he done enough of this tonight? He'd watched Dominic for hours at the ball; he had relished not having to worry about how it looked. There hadn't been anyone in the room to notice what he was doing, after all, because they were all far too busy looking at Dom and his eyes and his smile and his freaking godawful scarf.

Elijah was always telling him to skip the fucking scarves. And he knew he wasn't exactly renowned for his own fashion sense, what with his mother and sister and pretty much the whole fellowship constantly telling him to get a fucking stylist already. Which he had done. He was incredibly jealous that scarves or no, nobody was telling Dom to get a stylist. He growled, thinking about the unfairness, and flipped Wossername over to get a better grip on her.

'Cause apparently, Dom's style was working fine. God knew it seemed to draw women like a, well, like a bad metaphor. There were girls- and guys, Elijah noted, and felt a certain resigned kinship with them- crawling all over him at the ball. The ball, where Elijah, King of the Bacchus parade or no, was clearly not in the spotlight. Dom had taken it effortlessly and entirely unconsciously, so Elijah couldn't even be pissed about it. Can't be mad at a fellow just because he's got more liquid sex chemistry than you. Elijah sighs in exasperation, and Wossername takes it for passion and responds with a breathy moan, pulling his hand under her shirt. Elijah curses Dominic all over again. Jesus why can't he stop thinking about him long enough to properly grope the reasonably hot girl that's actually underneath him?

Goddammit, Elijah thinks, and reaches up to grab the beer that he'd brought in with him from the table by the door. That's the answer, more beer. He hands the bottle to Wossername, who sips and then swirls her tongue over the bottle's rim suggestively. Blessedly the beer and the hormones go straight to his crotch, and it's enough for the thoughts to leave him alone. For tonight, anyway. The last thing the little sober voice in Elijah's head says, before winking out to leave him to get on with things, is You know you'll have to think about him again in the morning.

[identity profile] queen-geek.livejournal.com 2004-02-25 09:48 am (UTC)(link)
This is a good story - I can really feel Elijah's consternation at Dom and himself. Well done!
(Also: Love your icon. Made one almost exactly the same last night, but mine says king_geek, which is a play on my username... Gah. Anyway, glad to see that I'm not the only one who feels that way about Elijah in this costume. :))