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fellowshippers2004-03-28 10:01 pm
rosechilled.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-03-28 10:01 pm
(no subject)
Title: Caged
Pairing: DM/EW
Notes: It's an AU Winged!Fic, wonderfully beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pirateslotr87.
Elijah had always loved the sea. At times he thinks that may have been why he had moved back to L.A., not for the work, but for the smell of salt that sticks to the inside of your thighs and wedges its way into the most disgruntling of places; for the gentle hush of lapping waves that might lick it all off of you, if you let it. He'd missed having that glassy expanse of blue only a few hours and a couple of good CDs away.
But then the ocean always made him think of Dom.
And not in that good, sun heated, beer drenched type of way. It made his heart prickle, and his mind fumble with a depression he could never quite understand.
But then, Elijah had always known that there were a lot of things about Dom that no one would ever be able to lift from up under his cuffs and to the top of his skin.
*
When Dom moved in, in what seemed like ages ago, he'd arrived with a suitcase full of clothes, and a tiny, delicate antique birdcage under his arm. Elijah had given him a look, but didn't question it before he threw his arms, in what could only be described as a hobbit hug, around Dom and led him in. Dom smiled briefly, threw down his suitcase, and placed the birdcage off in the corner of the living room.
*
Elijah was never quite fond of Dom's connection with birds, and he didn't find it as amusing as Dom did when they would poop on Elijah and then try to nest in Dom's hair. Seagulls in particular seemed to have a thing for Dom, and it was amazing how ridiculous Dom looked with a Seagull trying to balance itself perpendicularly on his head. Elijah took pictures and put them on all of his Christmas cards.
When they made the hot car ride to the beach, Dom would spend more time feeding the birds, then he would surfing with Elijah. Elijah would call him in, and Dom would shake his head and, instead, settle for making winged Angels in the sand.
*
Some days Elijah would walk in, to find Dom hunched, childlike, over his birdcage. Elijah would stare for a moment or two, and watch as Dom would poke in twothreefour multi-color feathers that would nutcracker dance down to the bottom.
*
There were little bits of crumbs, Elijah noticed, all around Dom's plate trailing onto his lap. Even in restaurants Dom could find a way to be messy, and all Elijah could do was sigh disdainfully at his lack of concern. Not that he had much himself. Elijah swirled the contents of his painfully Caribbean blue drink (something that spoke to him from the coverlet in the menu) around in his glass and half listened to himself as he began to talk about the ocean.
Purposefully turning his head, and looking very much like a prophet, Dom said, "Well then maybe someday, Doodle, you'll grow fins."
*
The feathers in Dom's birdcage were beginning to pile and shift on top of each other, poking out between the frail wooden bars. Dom kept piling them in, and that, somehow, kept pushing Elijah out.
*
More often than not, Elijah would come home, seafood in hand, to find Dom hauled up in his room, the door locked and music thrumming softly out from under the crack in the door, along with the light. He'd knock once or twice to signal dinner, and receive a muffled 'mgnhhh' through the splintering wood and rubbery paint.
When Dom came out his eyes were always red and shoulders drooped, making Elijah wish he'd left the take-out on the carpet just outside the door.
*
There were days when Elijah thought about knocking the birdcage over and watching the look on Dom's face, as all the feathers spilled out like so many teardrops.
*
One morning when Elijah invaded Dom’s room, looking for a CD, a razor, or something equally tangible, a dust storm of tiny feathers swept up around his feet from amid the shiny hardwood floor. Elijah had surveyed them for a moment, thinking about vocalizing a long unanswered question. He caught sight of one of Dom's shirts, disheveled onto itself and half kicked under the bed, tiny splotches of blood showing up through the back. He closed his mouth, and swallowed back the interrogative words. Bending down, he projected himself forward on the balls of his feet and put the feathers in his pocket.
*
The birdcage had completely filled up. A labyrinth of fading feathers that Elijah didn't know when Dom had the chance to go out and find. But he did, and there it sat, a sad testimony that marked the dying out of happier days.
*
The night before Dom moved out, Elijah had dreamed of Angels. Bright, luminescent, sapphire angels, that painfully stretched out their misused wings and ruffled them experimentally for the fist time-- dropping feathers all around him. And they laid their wings, blue and rotting with bent and fragile feathers sticking up at odd angles, across his body and glided them slowly over his torso, leaving behind trails of rusty blood. They began to whisper silent thank yous in his ears, though Elijah didn't know what for, and the smell of decay saturated his thoughts as the wings wisped over his face and disappeared into shadow.
In the morning when Elijah woke up, Dom was gone and there were little blue feathers in his hair.
*
Gathering dust, still sitting abandoned in the corner of Elijah's living room, was a tiny birdcage Elijah couldn't bring himself to touch. The way the light caught and honeyed on the speckled feathers seemed romantic, and Elijah wasn't ready to let go.
Pairing: DM/EW
Notes: It's an AU Winged!Fic, wonderfully beta'd by
pirateslotr87.Elijah had always loved the sea. At times he thinks that may have been why he had moved back to L.A., not for the work, but for the smell of salt that sticks to the inside of your thighs and wedges its way into the most disgruntling of places; for the gentle hush of lapping waves that might lick it all off of you, if you let it. He'd missed having that glassy expanse of blue only a few hours and a couple of good CDs away.
But then the ocean always made him think of Dom.
And not in that good, sun heated, beer drenched type of way. It made his heart prickle, and his mind fumble with a depression he could never quite understand.
But then, Elijah had always known that there were a lot of things about Dom that no one would ever be able to lift from up under his cuffs and to the top of his skin.
When Dom moved in, in what seemed like ages ago, he'd arrived with a suitcase full of clothes, and a tiny, delicate antique birdcage under his arm. Elijah had given him a look, but didn't question it before he threw his arms, in what could only be described as a hobbit hug, around Dom and led him in. Dom smiled briefly, threw down his suitcase, and placed the birdcage off in the corner of the living room.
Elijah was never quite fond of Dom's connection with birds, and he didn't find it as amusing as Dom did when they would poop on Elijah and then try to nest in Dom's hair. Seagulls in particular seemed to have a thing for Dom, and it was amazing how ridiculous Dom looked with a Seagull trying to balance itself perpendicularly on his head. Elijah took pictures and put them on all of his Christmas cards.
When they made the hot car ride to the beach, Dom would spend more time feeding the birds, then he would surfing with Elijah. Elijah would call him in, and Dom would shake his head and, instead, settle for making winged Angels in the sand.
Some days Elijah would walk in, to find Dom hunched, childlike, over his birdcage. Elijah would stare for a moment or two, and watch as Dom would poke in twothreefour multi-color feathers that would nutcracker dance down to the bottom.
There were little bits of crumbs, Elijah noticed, all around Dom's plate trailing onto his lap. Even in restaurants Dom could find a way to be messy, and all Elijah could do was sigh disdainfully at his lack of concern. Not that he had much himself. Elijah swirled the contents of his painfully Caribbean blue drink (something that spoke to him from the coverlet in the menu) around in his glass and half listened to himself as he began to talk about the ocean.
Purposefully turning his head, and looking very much like a prophet, Dom said, "Well then maybe someday, Doodle, you'll grow fins."
The feathers in Dom's birdcage were beginning to pile and shift on top of each other, poking out between the frail wooden bars. Dom kept piling them in, and that, somehow, kept pushing Elijah out.
More often than not, Elijah would come home, seafood in hand, to find Dom hauled up in his room, the door locked and music thrumming softly out from under the crack in the door, along with the light. He'd knock once or twice to signal dinner, and receive a muffled 'mgnhhh' through the splintering wood and rubbery paint.
When Dom came out his eyes were always red and shoulders drooped, making Elijah wish he'd left the take-out on the carpet just outside the door.
There were days when Elijah thought about knocking the birdcage over and watching the look on Dom's face, as all the feathers spilled out like so many teardrops.
One morning when Elijah invaded Dom’s room, looking for a CD, a razor, or something equally tangible, a dust storm of tiny feathers swept up around his feet from amid the shiny hardwood floor. Elijah had surveyed them for a moment, thinking about vocalizing a long unanswered question. He caught sight of one of Dom's shirts, disheveled onto itself and half kicked under the bed, tiny splotches of blood showing up through the back. He closed his mouth, and swallowed back the interrogative words. Bending down, he projected himself forward on the balls of his feet and put the feathers in his pocket.
The birdcage had completely filled up. A labyrinth of fading feathers that Elijah didn't know when Dom had the chance to go out and find. But he did, and there it sat, a sad testimony that marked the dying out of happier days.
The night before Dom moved out, Elijah had dreamed of Angels. Bright, luminescent, sapphire angels, that painfully stretched out their misused wings and ruffled them experimentally for the fist time-- dropping feathers all around him. And they laid their wings, blue and rotting with bent and fragile feathers sticking up at odd angles, across his body and glided them slowly over his torso, leaving behind trails of rusty blood. They began to whisper silent thank yous in his ears, though Elijah didn't know what for, and the smell of decay saturated his thoughts as the wings wisped over his face and disappeared into shadow.
In the morning when Elijah woke up, Dom was gone and there were little blue feathers in his hair.
Gathering dust, still sitting abandoned in the corner of Elijah's living room, was a tiny birdcage Elijah couldn't bring himself to touch. The way the light caught and honeyed on the speckled feathers seemed romantic, and Elijah wasn't ready to let go.