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fellowshippers2004-03-19 10:39 am
flowery-twat.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-19 10:39 am
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Title: (Thresh)Hold
Author: Linnaea
Rating: NC-17 for sexual and incest
Pairings: Hannah/Elijah, Dom/Elijah, implied Dom/Billy
Disclaimer: Completely entirely the product of my fevered imagination. As in, NOT REAL.
Summary: maybe there are no rules at all
A/N: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
annakovsky and minervacat, both for inflicting the plot bunny on me in the first place and then for beta reading the result.
(Thresh)Hold
He thinks later that it's something that should have happened in the middle of the night. There are rules about things that happen in the middle of the night. Or maybe there are no rules at all and that's even more appropriate.
But it's nowhere near the middle of the night.
It's toward the end of the kind of day that's so sunny and calm and warm it would be remarked on anywhere except southern California. The kind of day that leads Dom to feel actually pretty happy, even though he's really not.
Dom isn't entirely, precisely happy. There's a lingering 'do you really want this, Dom' in Billy's soft, resigned tone honing an edge between him and entirely, precisely happy.
But Dom is still doing okay.
Okay enough to be humming along to 'Brown Sugar'. Okay enough that it doesn't matter that it isn't his favourite song and that he can't remember much more than the chorus. Okay enough that 'how come you taste so good?' is a lyric to a song but also maybe a question he'll enjoy getting Elijah to answer.
***
There's always a moment, when you throw open the door to a darkened room and take one step in from a well lit hallway, when you are completely blind. When the light of the corridor and the dim of the room surge together and cancel each other out, leaving only dancing pinpricks in the aftermath of their fission.
And then there's another moment, when you can suddenly see again.
This is that moment: tangled mess of bed clothes and skin, shadows and honeyglow. You know it's a she on top by the curve of spine into hips before you ever see the swollen breasts rising and falling, rhythmically. Before you hear the breathy, "Lij", that's higher pitched and softer than yours has ever been, but that maps so effortlessly onto your recollections of the sound you've made a hundred, hundred times.
And there's a fraction of a second, not a half, not even a third. An infinitesimally small portion of a second, when it would be possible to step backwards, reverse momentum, and pull the door closed.
Dom feels that nowhere-near-second pass, lets his heart beat once, twice. Rides it out.
Hannah turns her head. A slow smooth movement, like she knows Dom is there, somewhere, but he could be anywhere and she can't overlook an inch in seeking him out. A brief moment when their eyes lock, still far too short to call by any known measure of time.
There's a half smile on her face. An offering. Like if Dom takes the smile and echoes it with one of his own, everything will be all right. Or maybe like if Dom just focuses on the smile, just studies the curve of her lips, those almost but not quite familiar lips, he won't be able to see the rest. The nakedness and the twined limbs and the darkened hollows where the two bodies become indistinguishable.
Won't be able to see Elijah's eyes rolled half backwards, mouth gaping as he comes.
The fact that he doesn't need to see anything anyways hits him in the next not-quite second. The fact that the *smell* of fucking is so strong it cuts through the usual mix of stale smoke, unwashed clothes and the Old Spice cologne Elijah thinks it's so funny to slather himself in. Cuts through sharp and clean as the envelope edge Dom had grabbed hold of the wrong way that morning had sliced a neat little line into his finger.
And then that moment passes too and the smell of sex isn't quite so overpowering and it hits Dom that it's going to be like this. Time is going to keep passing in these chopped up, blink and you miss them, pieces. Like he's peering through the slit in a zoetrope but the drum isn't revolving at quite at the right speed. So these microseconds of Hannahlijfuckingohgodno are all cut up by these fuzzy white patches of Dom not being quite sure he's seeing anything at all.
"Dom"."
The voice seems to come from one of the blank moments. But it's all right. Dom knows the sound of Elijah's voice, roughened by desire and shame. Dom's put a lot of effort into getting to hear that voice, as often as he can.
"Dom"."
And this voice is less familiar, but he's got the visual again and he can see Hannah's lips smack together on the final 'm'.
He should say something. Wants to say something. Wants to say, "Yeah", and "Lij", and "Oh, Doodle". Wants to ask "what?" and "why?" and "how long?".
Can't make a fucking sound.
"Dommie, come here."
It doesn't matter that Hannah doesn't get to call him Dommie. That Dommie is for Billy and Billy alone and that Lij has never, ever forgotten that. It doesn't matter that Hannah's turned half towards him and that Dom can just make out the imprint of Elijah's fingers on her breast. It doesn't matter that Elijah's cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment, but that his eyes are still liquid with want and lust.
It only matters that time's started running smoothly again. That Dom can close his eyes for a full, measured second, breath deep, and smell the way the heat and mess of the sex have merged into the socks and cigs and aftershave so he can't pick them apart anymore. And that he can open his eyes and the world is still there.
"Come, Dommie", she says, again.
And occasionally, when you throw a door open and walk into a darkened room from a well lit corridor, you see more clearly than you ever have in your life.
Author: Linnaea
Rating: NC-17 for sexual and incest
Pairings: Hannah/Elijah, Dom/Elijah, implied Dom/Billy
Disclaimer: Completely entirely the product of my fevered imagination. As in, NOT REAL.
Summary: maybe there are no rules at all
A/N: Thanks to
annakovsky and minervacat, both for inflicting the plot bunny on me in the first place and then for beta reading the result. (Thresh)Hold
He thinks later that it's something that should have happened in the middle of the night. There are rules about things that happen in the middle of the night. Or maybe there are no rules at all and that's even more appropriate.
But it's nowhere near the middle of the night.
It's toward the end of the kind of day that's so sunny and calm and warm it would be remarked on anywhere except southern California. The kind of day that leads Dom to feel actually pretty happy, even though he's really not.
Dom isn't entirely, precisely happy. There's a lingering 'do you really want this, Dom' in Billy's soft, resigned tone honing an edge between him and entirely, precisely happy.
But Dom is still doing okay.
Okay enough to be humming along to 'Brown Sugar'. Okay enough that it doesn't matter that it isn't his favourite song and that he can't remember much more than the chorus. Okay enough that 'how come you taste so good?' is a lyric to a song but also maybe a question he'll enjoy getting Elijah to answer.
***
There's always a moment, when you throw open the door to a darkened room and take one step in from a well lit hallway, when you are completely blind. When the light of the corridor and the dim of the room surge together and cancel each other out, leaving only dancing pinpricks in the aftermath of their fission.
And then there's another moment, when you can suddenly see again.
This is that moment: tangled mess of bed clothes and skin, shadows and honeyglow. You know it's a she on top by the curve of spine into hips before you ever see the swollen breasts rising and falling, rhythmically. Before you hear the breathy, "Lij", that's higher pitched and softer than yours has ever been, but that maps so effortlessly onto your recollections of the sound you've made a hundred, hundred times.
And there's a fraction of a second, not a half, not even a third. An infinitesimally small portion of a second, when it would be possible to step backwards, reverse momentum, and pull the door closed.
Dom feels that nowhere-near-second pass, lets his heart beat once, twice. Rides it out.
Hannah turns her head. A slow smooth movement, like she knows Dom is there, somewhere, but he could be anywhere and she can't overlook an inch in seeking him out. A brief moment when their eyes lock, still far too short to call by any known measure of time.
There's a half smile on her face. An offering. Like if Dom takes the smile and echoes it with one of his own, everything will be all right. Or maybe like if Dom just focuses on the smile, just studies the curve of her lips, those almost but not quite familiar lips, he won't be able to see the rest. The nakedness and the twined limbs and the darkened hollows where the two bodies become indistinguishable.
Won't be able to see Elijah's eyes rolled half backwards, mouth gaping as he comes.
The fact that he doesn't need to see anything anyways hits him in the next not-quite second. The fact that the *smell* of fucking is so strong it cuts through the usual mix of stale smoke, unwashed clothes and the Old Spice cologne Elijah thinks it's so funny to slather himself in. Cuts through sharp and clean as the envelope edge Dom had grabbed hold of the wrong way that morning had sliced a neat little line into his finger.
And then that moment passes too and the smell of sex isn't quite so overpowering and it hits Dom that it's going to be like this. Time is going to keep passing in these chopped up, blink and you miss them, pieces. Like he's peering through the slit in a zoetrope but the drum isn't revolving at quite at the right speed. So these microseconds of Hannahlijfuckingohgodno are all cut up by these fuzzy white patches of Dom not being quite sure he's seeing anything at all.
"Dom"."
The voice seems to come from one of the blank moments. But it's all right. Dom knows the sound of Elijah's voice, roughened by desire and shame. Dom's put a lot of effort into getting to hear that voice, as often as he can.
"Dom"."
And this voice is less familiar, but he's got the visual again and he can see Hannah's lips smack together on the final 'm'.
He should say something. Wants to say something. Wants to say, "Yeah", and "Lij", and "Oh, Doodle". Wants to ask "what?" and "why?" and "how long?".
Can't make a fucking sound.
"Dommie, come here."
It doesn't matter that Hannah doesn't get to call him Dommie. That Dommie is for Billy and Billy alone and that Lij has never, ever forgotten that. It doesn't matter that Hannah's turned half towards him and that Dom can just make out the imprint of Elijah's fingers on her breast. It doesn't matter that Elijah's cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment, but that his eyes are still liquid with want and lust.
It only matters that time's started running smoothly again. That Dom can close his eyes for a full, measured second, breath deep, and smell the way the heat and mess of the sex have merged into the socks and cigs and aftershave so he can't pick them apart anymore. And that he can open his eyes and the world is still there.
"Come, Dommie", she says, again.
And occasionally, when you throw a door open and walk into a darkened room from a well lit corridor, you see more clearly than you ever have in your life.