Est fic: Underwater
This is an Establishment Dom and Elijah scene, but I haven't worked out where in their timeline it will go, and I feel like sharing it now, right after I finished it, so... hey. Here it is. The usual Establishment scene warnings: slash, NC-17, BDSM w/ emphasis on submission.
Underwater
Elijah requires music the way most people need light and air, so it's usually a good sign when he doesn't bother with it; it means he has something even more important on his mind.
Morning, and Elijah always reaches first for his specs and then for his CDs. But today he slides himself on top of Dom, his teeth stitching into Dom's earlobe. "I love it when you sleep like that," he murmurs, sliding his hands along Dom's arms; the square tips of his fingers skidding along the ticklish undersides of Dom's wrists.
"Like...?" Dom starts to ask, muzzy and vague with lingering sleep, but it comes to him: arms flung up over his head, vulnerable, exposed.
Elijah draws back, pulls himself small, resting his chin on his folded hands stacked on Dom's chest, his entire body aligned and balanced on top of Dom. "So do you think you're done subbing now? Back to just masochism?"
It occurs to Dom, whiplash-quick, to say Excellent tactics, Elijah, wake the subject and confront him straight away, put him on the defensive, keep him disoriented; your technique is outstanding. A moment later he's ashamed and shocked at himself, though he shouldn't be surprised. It's happening often lately. These days, his brain seems ever-ready to supply him with the cruelest possible thing to say to Lij, the sharpest words aimed for the most tender spots.
He reaches for the thought of therapy like holy water, like a warding sign. He'll solve that in therapy. Eventually. Til then it's just something to put up with, something to be borne, like the greasy unstylable tumult of his hair or the distance between LA and Manchester.
"Nah," he says. "I don't think I can keep it to that, if I ever did really."
Elijah smiles widely, whitely. "Ehhhhhhxcellent," he Bill-and-Teds, or maybe it's a Simpsons reference.
"Sounds sinister," Dom observes.
"Can I?" Elijah asks, so brightly enthusiastic Dom nearly laughs; then Lij heaves himself forward, elbows braced on either side of Dom's head, hands stroking his hair, and snogs him thoroughly with such to-fuck-with-morning-breath surety that Dom twists up against him, suddenly and urgently hard far beyond the usual morning erection. Lij pulls back and dodges a second kiss to whisper into Dom's ear, "Let me."
"Yeah," Dom pants, "all right."
Another enormous smile and Elijah produces the metal collar. "Lift your head, Dominic," he says, with a pleased nod as Dom swiftly obeys and stays that way as Lij clicks the collar around his neck and locks it on, stays that way until Elijah says, "All right, lie back again."
He's barely obeyed when Elijah abruptly disappears under the duvet, his mouth bathing Dom's hard-on in sweltering heat, his hands teasing everywhere, scrotum, arse and perineum, and just when Dom can feel his body tighten, gathering up for the inevitable, Elijah stops.
His head pops up from under the covers, chin on his hands again. "Let's take a shower," he chirps.
Dom sets his jaw and rises. "Thought you'd never ask."
*
Elijah opens the shower door and gestures; Dom looks into it dubiously, fingering the metal collar around his neck. "This thing isn't going to rust, is it?"
"Stainless steel," says Elijah, rolling his eyes. "Get in."
"I should've thought of that with yours," Dom says as he slips into the shower. "It's not at all waterproof, I don't think. I'll have to get you another one."
"Yeah?" Elijah asks with interest as he closes the clear glass behind them. Dom's always been amused by the narcissism of this bath, the crystal-clear door to the shower set opposite the huge mirror over the sink. He can't help studying himself in the looking glass as Elijah twists the faucets and sets the showerhead on Massage; the spray pulses and pounds hotly down.
"Yeah-- what's waterproof that isn't completely boring?" Dom wonders, raising his voice over the rushing water. "We could have you one made of octopus tentacle. You could set the suckers pointing inside and gets the sort of marks you like on your neck--"
"The creative zoology's cool, but I think I like the old-fashioned way better," Elijah smirks, fencing Dom in with a hand on either side of his head, and his mouth catches at the base of Dom's neck, the edges of his teeth a neat flat semicircle against Dom's skin.
"The wall's cold," Dom grouses, but his tone wavers as Elijah bites in, the pain flaring, stirring the arousal already simmering in his gut. "Fuck--"
"Is that an invitation?" Elijah mouths against his collarbone.
Dom shoots back, "Did you want it engraved?"
"Maybe," Elijah says, drawing back and turning Dom in place with nothing more than two fingers pressing on his shoulder and a commanding look. Dom stares at the grid of the tiles as Lij's fingernails dig into his back, Lij murmuring, "Maybe I want it engraved right here," gouging in.
The water shifts suddenly, hits the wall and streams down, and Elijah's hands flatten against his shoulderblades til Dom's leaning at a slight angle with his chest and clavicle braced against the wall, hot water cascading down his face and the front of his body, though his back's left perfectly dry.
Elijah reaches around and cups him, collects hot water in his hand and palpates it around his balls, weird feeling, almost unpleasant except that it has Dom shudderingly hard, his fingers twitching to touch.
"Hands up over your head," Elijah orders, "hold your wrists."
Dom obeys, all wet heat flooding down his front, tactile heat against his back as Elijah presses close, hand twining to grasp his hard-on, playing up and down, fingertips plucking at the foreskin til Dom can't help twisting his hips, trying to get more friction, pinned in place by Elijah's body. He bites Dom's neck again, the same spot from a different angle, and Christ, but that's more than enough teasing.
And then he feels Elijah stroking his crack, fingers working smeary slickness against him, into him, and he can feel the slight invasion of fingertips-- fingers forming a ring-- the blunt head of Elijah's cock pressing nowhere near hard enough to penetrate, only enough to torture with sensation and possibility.
"Fuck-- Lij-- Elijah--" He can't push back into it, Elijah's circled fingers block him.
"Invite me," Elijah's voice is rough and low. "Go on, Dominic, you know how to get what you need."
"Fuck... Please, I want you, please, please," Dom begs, and Elijah pushes in smoothly, one swift well-lubed stroke that sends Dom practically gibbering, hands and cheek and chest against the tiles, arms up, vulnerable and exposed.
Once he has what he wants, though, words bubble up and rise and he finds himself grinning, his cheek pushing against the wet wall. "You could scrub my back while you're at it, eh, mate? Efficient and that."
Elijah chuckles low, his hands abandoning Dom's erection; his uneven stubby fingernails scrape down Dom's back. "You mean, like that?"
"I was more thinking of something with a flannel, ta--"
His pace never slacking, Elijah reaches back and his hands return with a flannel in hand. "You're right, I should be cleaning you up," he says, and wraps the pebbly side of the terrycloth round Dom's aching cock, his fist holding it firmly in place.
And then he withdraws and returns a bit harder, almost a jab, and at the perfect angle, perfect-- it wipes the grin off Dom's face, and he can't help thrusting into the flannel and it's rough and, "Ow, ouch, fuck, fuck," he grits his teeth hard.
Elijah's hand opens, unfolds, but he stops moving and his voice is tough, insistent. "That's not the word I need to hear, Dominic. You know how to get what you need."
Water pours down on Dom's head, his body, runs down his face, a few stray drops trickling down his back. "I'm all right," he says. "It's not too much."
The strike and splash of falling water echoes in the bath, and Dom feels the absence of Elijah's usual soundtrack again; no music. Just Elijah's harsh breathing, his own panting, the water smacking the tiles, pattering, flowing.
The room's cloudy with steam but his face feels hot, hotter still, as he forces out, "Please. Elijah, please, I promise, I'll say if I need to, I'll tell you-- please, I'll tell you how much I need you, anything you give me, I just want you to touch me, fuck me, please, please, I want you, please don't stop, please,"
and once he starts he can't stop, babbling more of the same as the flannel drops and Elijah strokes him, his hand so knowing, so fucking right, and the endless pumping pressure of his thrusts and his other hand steals up, two fingers hooking under the metal collar, tightening it oh so slightly more and more, "Yeah, oh God, more, don't stop, that's good," Dom tells him, lightheaded and gasping, "so good, I'm yours--"
"Yes," Elijah hisses, tight, strained, and just hearing how close he is, how close to the edge and still so controlled, yes.
Never would have occurred to him before this moment to ask, but Dom finds himself pleading again, this time, "Close-- can I-- please--"
"Yes," Elijah repeats, and everything tightens still further, his hand, the collar, "do it, come for me, go on, take me with you."
It shouldn't be that easy, but it is, it's that easy, something unspools inside him and Dom can feel control slip away, release him, make this permissable, possible, perfect, necessary, "Please don't stop please just a bit more please" and the rest isn't words at all, just sound, noise. If you listen the right way, music.
*
Elijah really does scrub his back afterward. The flannel's sudsed up with friendly white froth and Dom obeys, with inevitable cheeky commentary, as Elijah bosses him through a series of poses and washes him up thoroughly, lingering over spots both predictable and un-. Dom's accustomed to appreciation for his ass, his abs, his neck, and even a certain amount of bemused fascination with his sticky-out ears. Elijah evinces fascination for all that and more, the back of his skull, his kneecaps, ankles, wrists, examining Dom's body like he's studying for his A-levels in Monaghan PhysEd.
He washes himself up just as completely, though far more briskly, and Dom is allowed to watch but not to assist as Elijah cleans and displays himself, fair skin broiled pinkish in the heat, hair dark and wet and smooth as seal's fur, all of him streamlined and tidy, his eyes dark in the steamy dim, yawning pupils ringed in arctic blue, lips slightly parted as he concentrates on maintaining his justly famous complexion.
Dom doubts, because he can't help doubting... not Elijah exactly, but these circumstances, this tenuous space in time. Elijah is young and unspeakably lovely; Dom has far too many problems to make this worthwhile; Elijah needs to sort out his own past and problems; LA hasn't been good for Dom's career so far; there are a million reasons this can't last.
But when they're both squeaky clean and face to face again, drawing close, Elijah looks uncommonly avaricious, pleased and proud; he touches the collar around Dom's neck and smiles, "Mine," folds himself close to Dom, their bodies damp and fresh as newborns, "everything to me, all I need, I love you."
And Dom believes him.
Underwater
Elijah requires music the way most people need light and air, so it's usually a good sign when he doesn't bother with it; it means he has something even more important on his mind.
Morning, and Elijah always reaches first for his specs and then for his CDs. But today he slides himself on top of Dom, his teeth stitching into Dom's earlobe. "I love it when you sleep like that," he murmurs, sliding his hands along Dom's arms; the square tips of his fingers skidding along the ticklish undersides of Dom's wrists.
"Like...?" Dom starts to ask, muzzy and vague with lingering sleep, but it comes to him: arms flung up over his head, vulnerable, exposed.
Elijah draws back, pulls himself small, resting his chin on his folded hands stacked on Dom's chest, his entire body aligned and balanced on top of Dom. "So do you think you're done subbing now? Back to just masochism?"
It occurs to Dom, whiplash-quick, to say Excellent tactics, Elijah, wake the subject and confront him straight away, put him on the defensive, keep him disoriented; your technique is outstanding. A moment later he's ashamed and shocked at himself, though he shouldn't be surprised. It's happening often lately. These days, his brain seems ever-ready to supply him with the cruelest possible thing to say to Lij, the sharpest words aimed for the most tender spots.
He reaches for the thought of therapy like holy water, like a warding sign. He'll solve that in therapy. Eventually. Til then it's just something to put up with, something to be borne, like the greasy unstylable tumult of his hair or the distance between LA and Manchester.
"Nah," he says. "I don't think I can keep it to that, if I ever did really."
Elijah smiles widely, whitely. "Ehhhhhhxcellent," he Bill-and-Teds, or maybe it's a Simpsons reference.
"Sounds sinister," Dom observes.
"Can I?" Elijah asks, so brightly enthusiastic Dom nearly laughs; then Lij heaves himself forward, elbows braced on either side of Dom's head, hands stroking his hair, and snogs him thoroughly with such to-fuck-with-morning-breath surety that Dom twists up against him, suddenly and urgently hard far beyond the usual morning erection. Lij pulls back and dodges a second kiss to whisper into Dom's ear, "Let me."
"Yeah," Dom pants, "all right."
Another enormous smile and Elijah produces the metal collar. "Lift your head, Dominic," he says, with a pleased nod as Dom swiftly obeys and stays that way as Lij clicks the collar around his neck and locks it on, stays that way until Elijah says, "All right, lie back again."
He's barely obeyed when Elijah abruptly disappears under the duvet, his mouth bathing Dom's hard-on in sweltering heat, his hands teasing everywhere, scrotum, arse and perineum, and just when Dom can feel his body tighten, gathering up for the inevitable, Elijah stops.
His head pops up from under the covers, chin on his hands again. "Let's take a shower," he chirps.
Dom sets his jaw and rises. "Thought you'd never ask."
*
Elijah opens the shower door and gestures; Dom looks into it dubiously, fingering the metal collar around his neck. "This thing isn't going to rust, is it?"
"Stainless steel," says Elijah, rolling his eyes. "Get in."
"I should've thought of that with yours," Dom says as he slips into the shower. "It's not at all waterproof, I don't think. I'll have to get you another one."
"Yeah?" Elijah asks with interest as he closes the clear glass behind them. Dom's always been amused by the narcissism of this bath, the crystal-clear door to the shower set opposite the huge mirror over the sink. He can't help studying himself in the looking glass as Elijah twists the faucets and sets the showerhead on Massage; the spray pulses and pounds hotly down.
"Yeah-- what's waterproof that isn't completely boring?" Dom wonders, raising his voice over the rushing water. "We could have you one made of octopus tentacle. You could set the suckers pointing inside and gets the sort of marks you like on your neck--"
"The creative zoology's cool, but I think I like the old-fashioned way better," Elijah smirks, fencing Dom in with a hand on either side of his head, and his mouth catches at the base of Dom's neck, the edges of his teeth a neat flat semicircle against Dom's skin.
"The wall's cold," Dom grouses, but his tone wavers as Elijah bites in, the pain flaring, stirring the arousal already simmering in his gut. "Fuck--"
"Is that an invitation?" Elijah mouths against his collarbone.
Dom shoots back, "Did you want it engraved?"
"Maybe," Elijah says, drawing back and turning Dom in place with nothing more than two fingers pressing on his shoulder and a commanding look. Dom stares at the grid of the tiles as Lij's fingernails dig into his back, Lij murmuring, "Maybe I want it engraved right here," gouging in.
The water shifts suddenly, hits the wall and streams down, and Elijah's hands flatten against his shoulderblades til Dom's leaning at a slight angle with his chest and clavicle braced against the wall, hot water cascading down his face and the front of his body, though his back's left perfectly dry.
Elijah reaches around and cups him, collects hot water in his hand and palpates it around his balls, weird feeling, almost unpleasant except that it has Dom shudderingly hard, his fingers twitching to touch.
"Hands up over your head," Elijah orders, "hold your wrists."
Dom obeys, all wet heat flooding down his front, tactile heat against his back as Elijah presses close, hand twining to grasp his hard-on, playing up and down, fingertips plucking at the foreskin til Dom can't help twisting his hips, trying to get more friction, pinned in place by Elijah's body. He bites Dom's neck again, the same spot from a different angle, and Christ, but that's more than enough teasing.
And then he feels Elijah stroking his crack, fingers working smeary slickness against him, into him, and he can feel the slight invasion of fingertips-- fingers forming a ring-- the blunt head of Elijah's cock pressing nowhere near hard enough to penetrate, only enough to torture with sensation and possibility.
"Fuck-- Lij-- Elijah--" He can't push back into it, Elijah's circled fingers block him.
"Invite me," Elijah's voice is rough and low. "Go on, Dominic, you know how to get what you need."
"Fuck... Please, I want you, please, please," Dom begs, and Elijah pushes in smoothly, one swift well-lubed stroke that sends Dom practically gibbering, hands and cheek and chest against the tiles, arms up, vulnerable and exposed.
Once he has what he wants, though, words bubble up and rise and he finds himself grinning, his cheek pushing against the wet wall. "You could scrub my back while you're at it, eh, mate? Efficient and that."
Elijah chuckles low, his hands abandoning Dom's erection; his uneven stubby fingernails scrape down Dom's back. "You mean, like that?"
"I was more thinking of something with a flannel, ta--"
His pace never slacking, Elijah reaches back and his hands return with a flannel in hand. "You're right, I should be cleaning you up," he says, and wraps the pebbly side of the terrycloth round Dom's aching cock, his fist holding it firmly in place.
And then he withdraws and returns a bit harder, almost a jab, and at the perfect angle, perfect-- it wipes the grin off Dom's face, and he can't help thrusting into the flannel and it's rough and, "Ow, ouch, fuck, fuck," he grits his teeth hard.
Elijah's hand opens, unfolds, but he stops moving and his voice is tough, insistent. "That's not the word I need to hear, Dominic. You know how to get what you need."
Water pours down on Dom's head, his body, runs down his face, a few stray drops trickling down his back. "I'm all right," he says. "It's not too much."
The strike and splash of falling water echoes in the bath, and Dom feels the absence of Elijah's usual soundtrack again; no music. Just Elijah's harsh breathing, his own panting, the water smacking the tiles, pattering, flowing.
The room's cloudy with steam but his face feels hot, hotter still, as he forces out, "Please. Elijah, please, I promise, I'll say if I need to, I'll tell you-- please, I'll tell you how much I need you, anything you give me, I just want you to touch me, fuck me, please, please, I want you, please don't stop, please,"
and once he starts he can't stop, babbling more of the same as the flannel drops and Elijah strokes him, his hand so knowing, so fucking right, and the endless pumping pressure of his thrusts and his other hand steals up, two fingers hooking under the metal collar, tightening it oh so slightly more and more, "Yeah, oh God, more, don't stop, that's good," Dom tells him, lightheaded and gasping, "so good, I'm yours--"
"Yes," Elijah hisses, tight, strained, and just hearing how close he is, how close to the edge and still so controlled, yes.
Never would have occurred to him before this moment to ask, but Dom finds himself pleading again, this time, "Close-- can I-- please--"
"Yes," Elijah repeats, and everything tightens still further, his hand, the collar, "do it, come for me, go on, take me with you."
It shouldn't be that easy, but it is, it's that easy, something unspools inside him and Dom can feel control slip away, release him, make this permissable, possible, perfect, necessary, "Please don't stop please just a bit more please" and the rest isn't words at all, just sound, noise. If you listen the right way, music.
*
Elijah really does scrub his back afterward. The flannel's sudsed up with friendly white froth and Dom obeys, with inevitable cheeky commentary, as Elijah bosses him through a series of poses and washes him up thoroughly, lingering over spots both predictable and un-. Dom's accustomed to appreciation for his ass, his abs, his neck, and even a certain amount of bemused fascination with his sticky-out ears. Elijah evinces fascination for all that and more, the back of his skull, his kneecaps, ankles, wrists, examining Dom's body like he's studying for his A-levels in Monaghan PhysEd.
He washes himself up just as completely, though far more briskly, and Dom is allowed to watch but not to assist as Elijah cleans and displays himself, fair skin broiled pinkish in the heat, hair dark and wet and smooth as seal's fur, all of him streamlined and tidy, his eyes dark in the steamy dim, yawning pupils ringed in arctic blue, lips slightly parted as he concentrates on maintaining his justly famous complexion.
Dom doubts, because he can't help doubting... not Elijah exactly, but these circumstances, this tenuous space in time. Elijah is young and unspeakably lovely; Dom has far too many problems to make this worthwhile; Elijah needs to sort out his own past and problems; LA hasn't been good for Dom's career so far; there are a million reasons this can't last.
But when they're both squeaky clean and face to face again, drawing close, Elijah looks uncommonly avaricious, pleased and proud; he touches the collar around Dom's neck and smiles, "Mine," folds himself close to Dom, their bodies damp and fresh as newborns, "everything to me, all I need, I love you."
And Dom believes him.