Oh, why art thou so angsty, Caiden?

[varietyshow.livejournal.com]

(x-posted to: domlijah)


Title: This Demise
Author: Caiden // varietyshow
Rating: Somewhere in between PG and PG-13.
Pairing: DM/EW
Summary: Why are Dom's wrists bruised? Elijah can tell you.
A/N: This was hard for me to write, because I hate to think of Elijah as a bastard. But, you know... what if?

For savethecrayons. This has absolutely nothing to do with the Praise Chorus series.

Also, let's just pretend that they didn't actually arrive on the Oscar's Red Carpet until after dark, because if we don't this won't make much sense. The Elastic Clause, people.




Elijah Wood gets what he wants, and that's the end of the story.

Dominic Monaghan gets whatever Elijah doesn't care for, and that's just the beginning.

So when Dom wants Elijah to quit smoking, Elijah insists that the habit will be less annoying if Dom picks it up as well. He was very kind about it, really. He showed Dom exactly how to smoke and not cough up a lung after every inhalation, and he even bought Dom a month's worth of unfiltered cigarettes. He did not, however, remember to tell Dom that smoking would be hazardous to his health.

"Are you nervous?" Elijah asked as he straightened Dom's tie for him. Dom pushed his hand away.

"It was straight before, and no. Are you?" Dom asked, re-fixing his tie.

Elijah shrugged. "A little. I'm going to go smoke, see you in a minute." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes master," Dom murmured, his tone acidic and pathetic all at once. His thoughts have been all sorts of unexpected combinations lately, and he's pretty sure it's from the cigarettes. Dom wondered briefly if it was the opposite for Elijah: his thoughts were thrown astray, so he smoked to knock some sense into them. Wasn't that how it's supposed to work?

When Dom finally came out onto the patio, really only a minute or two after Elijah had left, the sun had already made progress in disappearing. Dom was getting ready to think that the dark-haired man looked beautiful, leaning on his elbows against the wrought-iron railing, his fingers flirting with the patterns engraved into the iron bars, but then he looked at his watch and blew smoke in Dom's general direction and Dom was pretty sure he'd never seen anything quite so ugly.

"Well, now that I'm almost done," Elijah said, standing up and flicking the clove down and off of the patio. He watched it fall five floors and almost hit an old lady's poodle.

"Shut up," Dom murmured. His rebellious side wished Elijah would hear that.

"What'd you say to me?"

Wish granted. "I said—" Dom took a steadying breath and a cautious step in between them. "I said, shut up."

Elijah's jaw clenched, but he didn't say anything. He didn't think Dom would continue. When the silence became too much for even the sun to handle and it retreated below the horizon, Elijah finally spoke.

"Fuck you." Okay, not original or eloquent, but it packed enough of a punch. Or maybe it was the smell of toxins and the crickets talking that drove Dom to finally light his cigarette and inhale deeply.

And when Dom still didn't say anything in return, Elijah took the white stick out of his mouth and grabbed onto his wrist. Performing the next motion just as fluidly as the smoke that was then floating up into his darkened eyes, Elijah snubbed the nicotine deep into Dom's wrist.

Dom didn't yell or even yank his hand away. He only stared at Elijah's retreating, tux-clad back. The burn mark was already forming into a nice, red spot on the cusp of his wrist. Sighing, he went inside and shrugged on his coat.

Dominic Monaghan gets everything Elijah doesn't care for, and that night Elijah doesn't really care for Dom.

Dom has a cigarette. Dom has a bruised wrist. Dom has Dom.

And that really is the end of the story.