FIC: (Let's Get) Metaphysical (DM/EW, PG13, 1/1)

[viva-gloria.livejournal.com]

TITLE: (Let's Get) Metaphysical
AUTHOR: Gloria Mundi
PAIRING: DM/EW
RATING: PG13
SUMMARY: On the benefits of a solid literary education
FEEDBACK: Yes please
DISCLAIMER: A work of fiction: I made it up.
ARCHIVE: List archives, Imagin'd Glories, BTF only please
AUTHOR NOTES: Happy birthday to demelzagirl, whose ear for dialogue and sense of the ridiculous (not to mention the slashtastic boots) only confirm her status as Goddess of Slash. Almost, almost, I am convinced of the charms of hobbitses. Almost.
Many thanks to lazulus for the book and the beta. A complete bibliography appears at the end of this fic, thus proving my point. At least it would if I had one.
I would also like to extend special thanks to soulstar, for much-needed technical assistance in the, er, merchandising area.

---

"- so then Karl said -"
"- nowhere does Tolkien say that Elves are effeminate. I'll put money -"
"- six vineyards on the same day? You must -"
Dom tuned out the voices, and let them all run together like white noise against the jukebox in the background. Everyone else seemed happy to fester in here. Orlando had gone off to the pool table with Craig and they were challenging all comers. Viggo and Sean were half-hidden in a foul-smelling cloud of cigar smoke, talking politics. It might as well be a rainy afternoon. In Manchester.
He finished off his pint and put the glass down - possibly, from the way everyone looked round at him, a bit more forcefully than he'd intended.
"What's up, Dommie?" enquired Billy, grinning.
"It's too nice out there to stay in this bloody pub all day!" said Dom, waving a hand more or less in the direction of the door.
"Didn't you get enough fresh air at the beach yesterday?"
"I don't melt in the rain. Unlike some people." Dom looked pointedly at Elijah, who'd let the side down by heading home while it was still light. So what if it had been raining? They'd had wetsuits. "Anyway, it's sunny today. I want to have a look around this place."
"I'll come with you," Elijah offered unexpectedly.
"Er, okay," said Dom. "Anyone else? ... Well, I'm sure you'll all still be here later on."
Back in England it would have been a hazy autumn afternoon. Here the air was cleaner (Dom took another deep breath of it to make sure) and the sun was mellow gold in a gentle blue sky. Dom idled past the market stalls in the square. He lost Elijah to a selection of second-hand CDs, and wandered on a bit further. Better not abandon Lij, he decided, or he'd never hear the end of it. There was a bookstall at the very end of the row. Dom started to look through the boxes. What with all the sitting around between takes, he was getting through more books than ever. There was only so much Playstation a grown man could play. Dom flipped through the Classics box, feeling virtuous, and was rewarded with the discovery of a TV tie-in copy of Sharpe's Eagle. That'd be good ammo in the morning when Bean saw it.
"Found anything good?"
Dom jumped, and hastily slid the Sharpe book back into the box. "Thought you'd be ages."
"Nothing there I want," said Elijah, crowding up close beside Dom. "Poetry? Didn't think that was your bag."
"You wouldn't know poetry if it bit you on the arse, Lij," said Dom loftily, picking out a suitably hefty volume. He tried to ignore the way that Elijah was pressing up, worryingly comfortable, against him.
"That's not true," Elijah protested. "I read some of Viggo's stuff on the web the other night."
Dom couldn't help laughing. "I rest my case." He checked the price inside the front cover. Under a pound, as far as he could work out: might as well go for it. He thrust a couple of bills at the stallholder.
"Okay, so tell me what's so great about this ... this Donne chap."
"You pronounce it 'dun', you bloody Yank, not 'don'."
"Does that mean I pronounce your name 'dumb' - ow!" Lij shimmied gracefully back out of range, grinning at him.
"Idiot," said Dom, grinning back. "John Donne was the greatest of the English metaphysical poets. He -"
"Wow," said Lij. "You're channelling your English teacher. That's so cool."
"My English teacher was very cool. You're just jealous. Anyway." Dom took a deep breath, trying to remember all the stuff he'd learnt. "All his stuff is about sex, and religion, and not getting up in the mornings."
"Cool," Elijah agreed.
They stopped at the crossing, waiting for the lights to change. Dom riffled the pages, inhaling the heady aroma of old books. "Listen. ''Tis true, tis day, what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise because tis light? Did we lie down because 'twas night?'" Dom stole a sideways look at Elijah, who was nodding approvingly. "Well?" he prompted, when Lij didn't comment.
"It's not getting up and leaving someone that's the problem, is it?" said Elijah, looking askance at Dom. "It's just the getting up."
"Mmm," said Dom noncommittally, tucking the book under his arm. He followed Elijah across the road. Now it was nearly sunset the narrower streets in the old town were shadowy and chill, and most of the shops were already closed. They inspected a couple of window displays, and took a detour through a carpark to avoid a gaggle of teenage girls outside the cinema. There was always a risk that Lij would be recognised, and it was too cold to hang around waiting for him to do the fame thing. Dom was glad it wasn't him.
"Cool!" Elijah exclaimed as they emerged into another shopping arcade.
"It's a toyshop, you big kid," said Dom. "Haven't you got enough toys already?"
Elijah cuffed him affectionately. "C'mon, let's check out the display. I want to see if they've got the Phantom Menace figures."
"Now that was a crap film," said Dom, following Elijah across to the shop window.
"Yeah? And your point?" Lij threw his hands up in disgust. "What's the film got to do with it? Ewan McGregor, that's what I'm after."
"I'll be sure to tell him," Dom sniggered. "Actually, I think Billy knows him. Maybe he can put in a good word for you, huh?" He observed, with interest, that Elijah was blushing. Not bad for someone popularly supposed to have no shame. "I'll write a character reference for you," Dom needled. "Blue-eyed freak seeks action hero for -"
"Shut up," Elijah said, scowling. "Look, I just want to see if they've got Obi Wan, okay?" He scanned the display.
"I just don't get it," Dom said, trying to soften the tease.
"You'll be an action figure some day" Elijah muttered darkly. "Then you'll be sorry."
"Bollocks will I!"
"No, it's in your contract. Under Merchandising. Ha!" Elijah was crowing now, practically bouncing with glee. "You didn't read it! You're going to be an action figure and there's nothing you can do!"
"Come on, Elwood," Dom protested. "An Action Hobbit? What does it do, drink beer? Is there a little sound-chip in its back that says 'Mushrooms!' when you squeeze its tummy?"
"Yeah," said Lij gravely. "I hear they try to get them as realistic as - hey, that book's an offensive weapon!"
"Shut your face, then," said Dom, lowering his arm. It was probably a crime to use literature like that, though maybe not here in New Zealand. "Wanker. No one's going to buy Merry, anyway."
"Oh, I would," said Elijah softly, turning away.
"You!" Dom cackled with laughter. "You'd stick pins in it, you weirdo! You'd pull its legs off!"
Elijah was blushing again, but he rallied. "I'd see if it was fully posable," he leered.
"Oh yeah?" said Dom. "Well, I want to see where they put the batteries in the Frodo figure."
"Batteries?" said Lij, frowning. "What batteries?"
"For the freaky blue eyes that light up when he falls on his arse. No, that was unfair and uncalled-for, and I take it back unreservedly."
"I knew you would," said Elijah, removing his elbow from Dom's ribs. "Y'know, I think there's a set of Matrix figures ... Agent Smith, dummy."
"You mean Hugo's an action figure?" crowed Dom. "That's perfect! We could get him to sign it!"
"Are you mad?" said Elijah. "We could pose it. With ... hmmm. I wonder if he fancies Ewan McGregor?"
"You'd just get jealous, you know you would," consoled Dom. "Wait til the Frodo figure comes out. You can do a crossover scene: y'know, a Jedi Knight in Middle Earth or something. It'd be just like Mark Twain."
"Who?" said Lij. "Are you trying to raise the tone or something? Bet your John Donne has nothing to say on the subject."
"Actually," said Dom, "I think you'll find he does." He began to flip through the tatty paperback again, squinting at the pages: it was getting dark.
"Prove it," said Elijah.
"I intend to," said Dom, narrowly avoiding a lamp post. Elijah snickered.
The sky was violet by the time they reached their hotel, and the temperature was dropping fast. "Wanna come and have some coffee from room service?" Elijah offered as they came into the warm, bright lobby. "They do a mean mocha."
"Yeah, sure," said Dom. "As long as you don't mind me reading poetry at you."
"No problemo, man." Elijah gave him one of those innocent, wide-eyed looks that seemed to make everyone - everyone else, Dom corrected himself - weak at the knees. "I bet it'll be an education."
"Well, you definitely need one," Dom teased. Belatedly he remembered that Elijah's upbringing hadn't been quite like his own. "Er, not meaning to imply that you're thick or anything, Elwood."
"I know lots of poetry," said Elijah. He paused a moment. "I make a point of reading it in every restroom I visit."
Dom had to laugh. "No shit!"
"Quite the opposite," said Lij with a crooked grin, fiddling with his keycard. "Shall I order cake too?"
"Sure." Dom left Elijah to it. He settled himself in one of the armchairs, put his feet up on the coffee table and propped the poetry book on his knees. Nearly all the poems seemed familiar. Obviously they'd sunk in despite his ongoing attempts to flirt with the girl who sat next to him in English class. He couldn't even remember her name. But John Donne had known a thing or two. Even if he was dead.
"Here we go," he said. "John Donne's forgotten ode to action figures. 'All day the same our postures were, and we said nothing, all the day'."
"Well, I guess they didn't have voice chips back then," said Elijah, unimpressed. He sprawled on the bed, scratching his ankle. "Ow! Something just bit me."
"Well, it wasn’t me," said Dom. "Actually, I was just reading a poem about fleas."
"Yeah, yeah. Of course you -"
"It's the one where he tells his lover that they might as well have sex, " said Dom. "Since they've both been bitten by the same flea. Look." He stretched over and handed the book to Elijah.
There was a knock at the door.
"I guess that's Room Service," Elijah said, sitting up.
"I'll get it," said Dom. "You educate yourself."
He tipped the maid, took the tray and set out the coffee pot and the plate of sliced cake on the little table. Elijah was oblivious. Dom found himself staring at the pure curve of his forehead as he read, at the way his teeth caught his lower lip. What would it be like to have Elijah concentrating on him? He swallowed, and Lij looked up and grinned at him.
"Just checking if your lips move when you read," Dom said, blushing.
Elijah laughed. "Nice poem," he said. "I like the bit about ... sucking." The light was behind him, so Dom couldn't be sure he'd seen Elijah wink.
"Yeah," he said, leaning forward to pour them both coffee. "Well. It was probably a prime chat-up line in Renaissance England."
"I ..."
"What?" said Dom, trying to scratch his left foot with the heel of his right shoe.
"Nothing," said Elijah, handing the book to him in exchange for a steaming cup of coffee. "Find me another good one."
"Um," temporised Dom. Suddenly all the poems seemed to be about sex. He was sure there'd been one or two that dealt with mundane matters. He shifted in the chair, trying to disguise the beginnings of an embarrassing physical response. It was bad enough getting turned on looking at Elijah. Reading poetry to him would definitely get Dom labelled as a deviant.
But Elijah, lounging decadently on the bed and eating chocolate cake, seemed genuinely interested. Dom scratched his leg again, trying not to speculate about what was really grabbing Elijah's attention.
"You get bitten too?" said Lij, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course not," said Dom quickly. "No fleas on me."
"Might be the same one," said Lij. "'Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee'."
Learning lines was his job, after all. His eyes were huge and dark in the soft light, and that was almost definitely a come-hither look. Dom choked on a mouthful of cake.
"Read me some more poetry, Dominic," said Elijah sweetly. "I'm very interested in this ... metaphysical ... stuff."
Dom could feel himself blushing. The way Lij was looking at him ... Well. It would be daft to pass up the opportunity, wouldn't it?
He opened the book at random, and began to read.
"'Send me some tokens, that my hope may live, or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest.'" He paused and swallowed again, not daring to meet Elijah's gaze. "'Send me some honey to make sweet my hive, that in my passions I may hope the best.'"
He raised his eyes from the page and found Lij staring at him, lips parted. He was beckoning Dom closer, towards (Dom swallowed) the bed. Dry-mouthed, he let the book fall to the carpet and dropped to his knees in front of Elijah, unable to speak, unable to do anything except stare back.
Elijah's hand came up towards his mouth, and he parted his lips reflexively. The taste of chocolate exploded onto his tongue. Elijah was feeding him the remains of the cake.
"I don't have any honey," whispered Lij, running sticky fingers along the curve of Dom's lips. "Is this sweet enough?"
Dom reached up and held Elijah's hand steady as he began to suck his friend's fingers. Underneath the chocolate, he could taste soap and beer and cigarettes. Dom ran his tongue across tender cuticles and Elijah inhaled sharply: the sound sent a shiver of lust down Dom's spine, and he closed his lips more tightly around Elijah's fingers, sucking harder, swirling his tongue more vigorously. They continued to stare into one another's eyes.
This close, in the dim light, Elijah's eyes weren't so intensely blue, but his lashes were still long and his flushed face as beguiling as ever. His thumb pressed into the corner of Dom's mouth. "Stop that," he said. "I want to kiss you."
"Oh, is that -" Dom found himself made speechless by Elijah's mouth on his. Coffee and chocolate and cloves: but, sweeter than anything, a sense of relief that he was finally kissing Lij. Finally, huh? He wondered vaguely how long he'd been wanting to do this. Not that it mattered.
He broke the kiss and pulled himself up onto the bed, practically on top of Elijah. Elijah didn't seem to mind. He wound his arms around Dom's neck and shoulders and kissed him again, slowly and intensely. They lost themselves in the kiss, tongues twining together, hands straying over fabric and skin, bodies pressing and pushing one against the other so that neither of them was in any doubt about the other's enthusiasm.
Eventually Dom pulled away, panting, to run his hand along the incline of Elijah's jaw. "Want some more poetry?" he asked, voice rather less mellifluous than before.
"Hell, no," said Elijah, flushed and grinning. "You stay right where you are."
"I know this bit by heart," Dom breathed against his neck, and concluded the sentence with a lick.
"Is it ... oh ... more Donne?" Elijah managed.
"Yep," said Dom, twisting himself to lean over Elijah so that their foreheads were touching. "'License my roving hands, and let them go, before, behind, between, above, below,'" he quoted, not giving a damn about accuracy.
Elijah grinned and arched up against him, his own hands carrying out a thorough exploration of Dom's back. "Oh, go on then," he said.
-end-

---

Bibliography: Donne, John: Complete English Poems (Everyman, 1985) ... with thanks to lazulus
The poems referred to are, in order:
'Breake of Day'
'The Exstasie'
'The Flea'
'Sonnet: The Token'
'Elegie: To his Mistris Going to Bed'