Awry: D/E crackfic, NC-17, Xposted to tinfeebles
so very very not true
Awry
EW/DM
Another New Zealand morning and Elijah's waking up at what really ought to be his bedtime. Again. This time it's not the two alarms or the phone call from Sean ("Just making sure. See you at Feet!") but a drumming riff at his front door.
Elijah answers the door with crooked glasses and a surly, "What the fuck."
"Thought you might fancy a shag," Dom smirks.
Well, he does now, of course. He steps aside to let Dom in. "Cunt. It'll have to be quick."
"Oh, so you're topping, then?" Dom inquires politely.
"Fuck you, Monaghan."
"Yes, Lij, we've just established that," and he just fucking waltzes right into Elijah's bedroom, peeling his tank top off along the way.
Diving in ahead of him, Elijah hastily crams his home-nostalgia stuff into the hamper with the dirty clothes, since his Star Wars pillowcase and Fleetwood Mac sleep shirt from his mom seem like they'd really put a dent in the mood. His mood, anyway. Dom probably wouldn't care, the horny bastard; he's already naked on his back in Elijah's bed, shoulders propped on the pillows, legs cocked up and apart. Actually Elijah probably wouldn't care either. His morning wood is more like morning rock at this point. Dom eyes him with a grin, reaches into the drawer for a bottle of lube and tosses it over.
Elijah catches it, practically jumping out of his boxers. He's fucked plenty of gorgeous people. He made out at a cast party with Christina Ricci, and Josh Hartnett blew him while Elijah smoked his first clove cigarette. It's not like he's inexperienced. It's so weird that this kind of goony-looking British guy can just barge into his house and completely take over his libido, but it keeps happening, time after time.
"A full five minutes, that's all I ask," Dom taunts him; the cunt, Elijah's already shuddering just from rolling on the condom and looking at him.
"It's your own fucking fault," he accuses.
"I've done nothing!" Dom stretches, licking his lips.
He's a little less smug once Elijah climbs onto the mattress and kneels between his legs, forcing two slick fingers in. A little; he's grunting and fidgeting but he's still fucking smiling as Elijah hastily preps him.
"What're you meant to think of, to hold out, eh?" Dom asks. "Baseball?"
"Are you kidding me? Have you ever seen the tight pants those players wear?"
"Gandalf and Bilbo. En flagrante." He's panting, but Elijah knows that means nothing, Dom never shuts up.
"I don't know, man, Ian and Ian?" Elijah pushes, shoves, rides a fuckton of lube in, and fuck, Dom's so tight, how's a guy supposed to last when Dom's so fucking tight and he rolls his head back like that, the tendons of his neck standing out? "--That's kind of hot."
"In costume, though! That's not cooling you down a bit? Christ, you're a piece of work--" Dom hisses a little as Elijah thrusts, touches his chest to roll his own nipples between his fingers almost idly. "Fine, reverse psychology. Think of Liv and Miranda having a snog right here in your bed."
"I hate you." Elijah's glasses slide down his nose and he tosses his head to reseat them, though he'd probably have better luck without them, without being able to see. He's not doing so bad, though. He's kind of annoyed, which helps, and it's wet enough that he might be able to hold out for a change, even with Dom teasing like the total fucking bitch that he is.
"Pete then, think of Pete," Dom's gasping regularly now, "those shorts, his hair all tangled everywhere, round belly, dirty bare feet--"
"Stop," Elijah groans helplessly, but it's too late, he's coming.
Even before the last spasms play out he fists Dom's cock and yanks him vindictively. Dom gives a little yowl, grabbing his wrist, but all Elijah has to do is crush a kiss into his open mouth and Dom's arching and pulsing for him, jetting all over the both of them.
Fuck, that means Elijah has to really shower, not just wipe down and dry off and dress. They're going to be late.
He gets out and off and away as fast as he can, tugging off the condom and trashing it, not even pausing to enjoy the sight of Dom catching his breath, splayed and used in his bed. Not even pausing to warn Dom not to use his sheets to clean himself up, which he knows from experience that Dom will fucking do every time if Elijah doesn't explicitly fucking forbid it.
"Oi. Lij, are you--" Dom's following him into the bathroom, still a mess, frowning. "Mate, you all right? That was, uhm-- I mean. Pete?"
"Just shut up, okay?" Elijah snaps. "You can shut up and take a shower with me or you can fucking get out."
He's reaching for the soap when the shower door slides open again and Dom joins him. Elijah can feel the curiosity boxed up in him and bouncing around like radiation in a microwave. But Elijah means it, means it, and for once Dom is actually quiet.
"It's just. I know, okay?" he says as they're drying off. "Even besides everything else, he's married."
Dom just nods, watching him, and sidles close. When Elijah doesn't move away, he gives him a hug, damp and warm, but too slim, too young; he's exactly what Elijah wants, but not what he loves.
Awry
EW/DM
Another New Zealand morning and Elijah's waking up at what really ought to be his bedtime. Again. This time it's not the two alarms or the phone call from Sean ("Just making sure. See you at Feet!") but a drumming riff at his front door.
Elijah answers the door with crooked glasses and a surly, "What the fuck."
"Thought you might fancy a shag," Dom smirks.
Well, he does now, of course. He steps aside to let Dom in. "Cunt. It'll have to be quick."
"Oh, so you're topping, then?" Dom inquires politely.
"Fuck you, Monaghan."
"Yes, Lij, we've just established that," and he just fucking waltzes right into Elijah's bedroom, peeling his tank top off along the way.
Diving in ahead of him, Elijah hastily crams his home-nostalgia stuff into the hamper with the dirty clothes, since his Star Wars pillowcase and Fleetwood Mac sleep shirt from his mom seem like they'd really put a dent in the mood. His mood, anyway. Dom probably wouldn't care, the horny bastard; he's already naked on his back in Elijah's bed, shoulders propped on the pillows, legs cocked up and apart. Actually Elijah probably wouldn't care either. His morning wood is more like morning rock at this point. Dom eyes him with a grin, reaches into the drawer for a bottle of lube and tosses it over.
Elijah catches it, practically jumping out of his boxers. He's fucked plenty of gorgeous people. He made out at a cast party with Christina Ricci, and Josh Hartnett blew him while Elijah smoked his first clove cigarette. It's not like he's inexperienced. It's so weird that this kind of goony-looking British guy can just barge into his house and completely take over his libido, but it keeps happening, time after time.
"A full five minutes, that's all I ask," Dom taunts him; the cunt, Elijah's already shuddering just from rolling on the condom and looking at him.
"It's your own fucking fault," he accuses.
"I've done nothing!" Dom stretches, licking his lips.
He's a little less smug once Elijah climbs onto the mattress and kneels between his legs, forcing two slick fingers in. A little; he's grunting and fidgeting but he's still fucking smiling as Elijah hastily preps him.
"What're you meant to think of, to hold out, eh?" Dom asks. "Baseball?"
"Are you kidding me? Have you ever seen the tight pants those players wear?"
"Gandalf and Bilbo. En flagrante." He's panting, but Elijah knows that means nothing, Dom never shuts up.
"I don't know, man, Ian and Ian?" Elijah pushes, shoves, rides a fuckton of lube in, and fuck, Dom's so tight, how's a guy supposed to last when Dom's so fucking tight and he rolls his head back like that, the tendons of his neck standing out? "--That's kind of hot."
"In costume, though! That's not cooling you down a bit? Christ, you're a piece of work--" Dom hisses a little as Elijah thrusts, touches his chest to roll his own nipples between his fingers almost idly. "Fine, reverse psychology. Think of Liv and Miranda having a snog right here in your bed."
"I hate you." Elijah's glasses slide down his nose and he tosses his head to reseat them, though he'd probably have better luck without them, without being able to see. He's not doing so bad, though. He's kind of annoyed, which helps, and it's wet enough that he might be able to hold out for a change, even with Dom teasing like the total fucking bitch that he is.
"Pete then, think of Pete," Dom's gasping regularly now, "those shorts, his hair all tangled everywhere, round belly, dirty bare feet--"
"Stop," Elijah groans helplessly, but it's too late, he's coming.
Even before the last spasms play out he fists Dom's cock and yanks him vindictively. Dom gives a little yowl, grabbing his wrist, but all Elijah has to do is crush a kiss into his open mouth and Dom's arching and pulsing for him, jetting all over the both of them.
Fuck, that means Elijah has to really shower, not just wipe down and dry off and dress. They're going to be late.
He gets out and off and away as fast as he can, tugging off the condom and trashing it, not even pausing to enjoy the sight of Dom catching his breath, splayed and used in his bed. Not even pausing to warn Dom not to use his sheets to clean himself up, which he knows from experience that Dom will fucking do every time if Elijah doesn't explicitly fucking forbid it.
"Oi. Lij, are you--" Dom's following him into the bathroom, still a mess, frowning. "Mate, you all right? That was, uhm-- I mean. Pete?"
"Just shut up, okay?" Elijah snaps. "You can shut up and take a shower with me or you can fucking get out."
He's reaching for the soap when the shower door slides open again and Dom joins him. Elijah can feel the curiosity boxed up in him and bouncing around like radiation in a microwave. But Elijah means it, means it, and for once Dom is actually quiet.
"It's just. I know, okay?" he says as they're drying off. "Even besides everything else, he's married."
Dom just nods, watching him, and sidles close. When Elijah doesn't move away, he gives him a hug, damp and warm, but too slim, too young; he's exactly what Elijah wants, but not what he loves.