My Lord!
Fic: Worlds Collide
Author: the_smooth_one
Rating: NC-17.
Warnings: Dark themes. Boy on boy sex. Threesome. Self-mutilation. You've been warned.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairing: LOTR RPS; Dominic Monaghan/Elijah Wood
Summary: Two men, one night, the same pain.
"Everywhere in the universe, worlds collide, and come to an end." -Touch the Moon, Dollshead
Hannah has this really cute skirt that she bought at one of those trendy, girlie stores. Wet Seal or something like that. It’s blue jean, rests at her knees, and it’s faded and has cross-strings in place of a zipper. Elijah loves it, thinks it’s funky yet classy. She’s visiting and she wore it last night, and discarded it on the bathroom floor. It looks like a boulder resting on a bed of feathers, the contrast between the dark denim and the tile (peach, very light peach, almost skin tone like) fascinates him. He can’t stop staring at it.
It’s really a pretty skirt, even bunched up on the floor like it is. Not like the skirt he had walk over to get in Dom’s room this morning. THAT skirt, with a very lacy racy purple bra laying on top of it, wasn’t nearly as cute as Hannah’s. Black and probably made of lycra, the thought of it managed to stretch itself around Elijah’s heart and just squeeze. Strangling him like a small piece of fabric shouldn’t be able to.
It’s way too hot. In the back of his head, something reminds Dominic that clubs are supposed to be this hot. He arrived a little under an hour ago, and he’s ready to discard his shirt. Everyone else got rid of their clothes a while ago. It’s so hot, he feels like he’s bathing in his sweat, there’s maybe a handful of people, male and female, wearing shirts, there’s maybe a hundred wearing nothing but the sheen of sweat, coating mounds of breasts, collarbones, shoulder blades, navels, thighs.
There’s this guy, standing by speakers across the room, and his dark hair falls into his eyes. Dominic sees faint crystals in his hair, silver, whenever the lights hit him. He’s beautiful, especially when the light hits him. He’s shirtless, too. Dominic blinks, and when he opens his eyes, the guy is looking at him. It’s almost like a photograph (maybe Viggo would take such a picture), a beautiful vacant boy across the room, leaned against a wall, like he’s in a void, and stars every now and then shed light and reveal him and nothing else at the same time. Shit. He’s waxing poetry. He must be drunk.
There’s no lights on in the bathroom except the lit end of his clove. Elijah likes the dark, he finds light to be terribly….hard. It makes no sense, he least of all. He can’t see, he feels blind, but his other senses are so much more heightened. He can smell the smoke curling in the air, even though he can’t see it. He hears the low hum of the toilet, even though porcelain is invisible in the dark. He feels cold, smooth metal, even though he can’t see its glimmer, of pain and promise and release.
It’s a very small bathroom, as far as bathrooms go. It’s not the main bathroom, the main bathroom’s a continent, and he hates things that remind him of how small he is. The second bathroom’s small, two steps above hobbit size. He doesn’t have to have light to know he’s only three steps away from touching the sink. It’s comforting, in a sense. Everything in the world is made for large people, and he hates how big everything is, especially Dom’s bedroom.
Dominic’s still looking at the guy when a flash of light reveals just how many people, hundreds, are in the club. But then it’s total darkness again. It’s supposed to be very mysterious and conclusive to seduction, but Dom hates the dark. It’s terribly… hard. It really makes no sense, but then again, neither does he. A flash of light again, and he’s blind for a moment, but he thinks he can feel everything else. He can smell the dirt and the sweat, mixing in with colognes and shampoos. He hears the thump of the music, and how it’s turned everyone, including him, into its slave. He feels bodies, with silky skin and rough clothes, all over him and next to him.
It’s a big club, from what Dominic can tell. It’s definitely not the biggest, he’s been in much larger clubs, but it’s big enough so he doesn’t feel trapped, he hates feeling like he has nowhere to run. In here, he could walk for fifteen minutes and not find the exit. It’s comforting, in a sense, that there’s so much room he can walk around. Everything in the world is made for meek people, and he hates how small everything is, especially Elijah’s bedroom.
Elijah tries so hard to understand, but he can’t. No matter how many times he goes over it in his head, he still can’t make sense of it. So there’s no point anymore, he decides, trying to figure out why Dom does this to himself. He wishes it wasn’t so; he wishes he wasn’t sitting here in the dark, with Dom out all alone and thinking he didn’t need anyone, he wishes Dom could be content sitting here with him, but Elijah knows he can’t be. He doesn’t know why, but knows Dom can’t. And while it hurts like nothing Elijah hasn’t felt before, there’s nothing that can be done. There’s nothing that can help either of them.
Not even the blade in his hand can help him, even though he’s deluded himself to think otherwise. This isn’t the first time he’s sat here alone, Dom out fucking God knows what, holding a razorblade above his thigh and trying to talk himself out of using it. He knows it’s not going to be the last. He knows he shouldn’t use it; he knows it’s not the answer, he knows it’s not going to help. But when he runs his finger along the blade and feels how cold it is, he knows he won’t be able to resist. He knows it’s going to be the only thing to offer comfort to him, even if it is just fleeting.
Dominic doesn’t want to understand, but he can’t stop himself from thinking about it. No matter how many times he tells himself to ignore it, he still tries to make sense of it. There’s no point anymore, he tells himself, trying to figure out why he does this to Elijah. He wishes it wasn’t so, he wishes he wasn’t standing here, with Elijah holed up alone in his room and thinking he was forever alone, he wishes Elijah could be content sitting with himself, but Dominic knows he won’t be. He doesn’t know why, but knows Elijah won’t. And while it’s painful in a way Dominic isn’t familiar with, there’s nothing that can be done. There’s really nothing that can help either one of them.
Not even a talented tongue in his mouth can help him, even though he’s somehow convinced to himself to believe otherwise. This isn’t the first time he’s stood here, Elijah at home telling himself God knows what, kissing strangers below their navels and trying to talk himself into it. He knows it certainly won’t be the last. He knows he shouldn’t do it; he knows that getting fucked against the wall, no matter how big his dick was, while some girl in a fluorescent tube top goes down on you isn’t the answer, he knows it’s not going to help. But when his eyes roll in the back of his head as the girl runs her studded tongue along his shaft, he knows he won’t be able to stop himself. He knows it’s the only thing that can make it better, even if orgasms only last a few seconds.
A tear falls down Elijah’s cheek, and he wipes it away, bringing his finger to his mouth and tasting the salt. His grip on the blade tightens, and before he loses his nerve, he takes a swipe at his thigh, gasping as the familiarity of the pain sinks in again. There’s only one thing that could possibly be better than this, but he knows it’s never going to happen. Elijah’s never been one to blindly reach for something when he knows it’s unreachable. He’d much rather stick with what he has, even if it does make him bleed.
He reaches down and touches his leg, rubs his fingers together, spreading his blood all over. A voice vaguely tells him he’s sick in the head; he silently agrees. It shouldn’t be this way, it really shouldn’t, but it is, and this is what he has to do to deal with the pain, with all the emotion whirling around in his heart. It has to be let out somehow, and Dom refuses to grant him with the opportunity to get that release. He must use what he has in order to achieve that. It’s sick, yeah, it’s really sick, and he wishes it weren’t like this. He wishes he could be everything that Dom needs, wishes he could be something he’s not.
A drop of sweat falls down Dominic’s chest, and the guy (is his name Jordan? Dominic’s not sure) licks it away, moaning at the taste. Dominic’s grip on the guy’s shoulders’ tightens, and he grinds against the guy, moaning as the familiarity of sensation washes over him again. There’s only one thing that would be better than this, but he knows it’s not going to happen. Dominic’s never been one to push for something he knows won’t work. He’d much rather stick with what he’s got, even if it does make him sinfully dirty.
He reaches down and rubs Jordan’s cock, faster and faster until Jordan can barely pound into him. A voice whispers to him he’s sick in the head; he more than readily agrees. It shouldn’t be this way, it honestly shouldn’t, but unfortunately it is, and this is what he does to deal with the void, with all the space whirling around in his head. It has to be filled somehow, and Elijah refuses to give him the chance to fill it up. He must use what’s around him to get that. It’s sick, of course, it’s disgustingly sick, and he wishes it could be different. He wishes he could be everything Elijah needs, wishes he could be something he’s not.
When the blood finally stops to just a trickle, Elijah stands up and wobbles, holding onto the sink for support. He drops the blade into the sink and opens the door, stumbling to his bedroom, to sleep and try to forget who he is and what Dom’s not. He crawls into the bed, covering his body, from his neck to his toes, with his blankets and staring at the phone. He really shouldn’t. He really doesn’t even want to know. He needs to just go to bed.
When he’s finally home five hours later, Dominic gets out of the cab and wobbles, holding onto the hood of the cab for balance. He drops his keys on the porch, but finally opens the door, stumbling to his bedroom, to sleep and try to forget what he’s done and what Elijah hasn’t. He gets in bed, laying on top of the covers, too tired to tuck himself in and staring at the phone. He really shouldn’t. He really doesn’t want to know. He should just go to bed.
Elijah bites his lip, wondering if he should, is it just going to kill him if he does call and ask Dom what he did tonight. He stares some more, rubbing his feet together. It makes the scabs on his legs catch on the blanket, and he hisses at the momentary pain. That’s it, he finally decides. He’s going to do it. He’s going to call Dom, and he’s going to tell Dom the truth. Please, I love you, give me release for all of this.
Dominic runs his tongue in the spaces of his teeth, wondering if he should, is it just going to destroy him if he does call and asks Elijah what he did tonight. He stares some more, rubbing his hands together. It reminds him of how stained his hands are, and he curses at the momentary stab of consciousness. Alright, he finally decides. He’ll do it. He’ll call Elijah, and he’ll tell Elijah everything. Please, I love you, fill me like all of this can’t.
Elijah picks up and the phone and dials Dom’s number. The silence is pounding in his ears as he waits for the ring.
Dominic grabs the phone and punches in Elijah’s number. The stillness is dizzying to his eyes as he waits for the ring.
Busy signal.
Busy signal.
Author: the_smooth_one
Rating: NC-17.
Warnings: Dark themes. Boy on boy sex. Threesome. Self-mutilation. You've been warned.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairing: LOTR RPS; Dominic Monaghan/Elijah Wood
Summary: Two men, one night, the same pain.
"Everywhere in the universe, worlds collide, and come to an end." -Touch the Moon, Dollshead
Hannah has this really cute skirt that she bought at one of those trendy, girlie stores. Wet Seal or something like that. It’s blue jean, rests at her knees, and it’s faded and has cross-strings in place of a zipper. Elijah loves it, thinks it’s funky yet classy. She’s visiting and she wore it last night, and discarded it on the bathroom floor. It looks like a boulder resting on a bed of feathers, the contrast between the dark denim and the tile (peach, very light peach, almost skin tone like) fascinates him. He can’t stop staring at it.
It’s really a pretty skirt, even bunched up on the floor like it is. Not like the skirt he had walk over to get in Dom’s room this morning. THAT skirt, with a very lacy racy purple bra laying on top of it, wasn’t nearly as cute as Hannah’s. Black and probably made of lycra, the thought of it managed to stretch itself around Elijah’s heart and just squeeze. Strangling him like a small piece of fabric shouldn’t be able to.
It’s way too hot. In the back of his head, something reminds Dominic that clubs are supposed to be this hot. He arrived a little under an hour ago, and he’s ready to discard his shirt. Everyone else got rid of their clothes a while ago. It’s so hot, he feels like he’s bathing in his sweat, there’s maybe a handful of people, male and female, wearing shirts, there’s maybe a hundred wearing nothing but the sheen of sweat, coating mounds of breasts, collarbones, shoulder blades, navels, thighs.
There’s this guy, standing by speakers across the room, and his dark hair falls into his eyes. Dominic sees faint crystals in his hair, silver, whenever the lights hit him. He’s beautiful, especially when the light hits him. He’s shirtless, too. Dominic blinks, and when he opens his eyes, the guy is looking at him. It’s almost like a photograph (maybe Viggo would take such a picture), a beautiful vacant boy across the room, leaned against a wall, like he’s in a void, and stars every now and then shed light and reveal him and nothing else at the same time. Shit. He’s waxing poetry. He must be drunk.
There’s no lights on in the bathroom except the lit end of his clove. Elijah likes the dark, he finds light to be terribly….hard. It makes no sense, he least of all. He can’t see, he feels blind, but his other senses are so much more heightened. He can smell the smoke curling in the air, even though he can’t see it. He hears the low hum of the toilet, even though porcelain is invisible in the dark. He feels cold, smooth metal, even though he can’t see its glimmer, of pain and promise and release.
It’s a very small bathroom, as far as bathrooms go. It’s not the main bathroom, the main bathroom’s a continent, and he hates things that remind him of how small he is. The second bathroom’s small, two steps above hobbit size. He doesn’t have to have light to know he’s only three steps away from touching the sink. It’s comforting, in a sense. Everything in the world is made for large people, and he hates how big everything is, especially Dom’s bedroom.
Dominic’s still looking at the guy when a flash of light reveals just how many people, hundreds, are in the club. But then it’s total darkness again. It’s supposed to be very mysterious and conclusive to seduction, but Dom hates the dark. It’s terribly… hard. It really makes no sense, but then again, neither does he. A flash of light again, and he’s blind for a moment, but he thinks he can feel everything else. He can smell the dirt and the sweat, mixing in with colognes and shampoos. He hears the thump of the music, and how it’s turned everyone, including him, into its slave. He feels bodies, with silky skin and rough clothes, all over him and next to him.
It’s a big club, from what Dominic can tell. It’s definitely not the biggest, he’s been in much larger clubs, but it’s big enough so he doesn’t feel trapped, he hates feeling like he has nowhere to run. In here, he could walk for fifteen minutes and not find the exit. It’s comforting, in a sense, that there’s so much room he can walk around. Everything in the world is made for meek people, and he hates how small everything is, especially Elijah’s bedroom.
Elijah tries so hard to understand, but he can’t. No matter how many times he goes over it in his head, he still can’t make sense of it. So there’s no point anymore, he decides, trying to figure out why Dom does this to himself. He wishes it wasn’t so; he wishes he wasn’t sitting here in the dark, with Dom out all alone and thinking he didn’t need anyone, he wishes Dom could be content sitting here with him, but Elijah knows he can’t be. He doesn’t know why, but knows Dom can’t. And while it hurts like nothing Elijah hasn’t felt before, there’s nothing that can be done. There’s nothing that can help either of them.
Not even the blade in his hand can help him, even though he’s deluded himself to think otherwise. This isn’t the first time he’s sat here alone, Dom out fucking God knows what, holding a razorblade above his thigh and trying to talk himself out of using it. He knows it’s not going to be the last. He knows he shouldn’t use it; he knows it’s not the answer, he knows it’s not going to help. But when he runs his finger along the blade and feels how cold it is, he knows he won’t be able to resist. He knows it’s going to be the only thing to offer comfort to him, even if it is just fleeting.
Dominic doesn’t want to understand, but he can’t stop himself from thinking about it. No matter how many times he tells himself to ignore it, he still tries to make sense of it. There’s no point anymore, he tells himself, trying to figure out why he does this to Elijah. He wishes it wasn’t so, he wishes he wasn’t standing here, with Elijah holed up alone in his room and thinking he was forever alone, he wishes Elijah could be content sitting with himself, but Dominic knows he won’t be. He doesn’t know why, but knows Elijah won’t. And while it’s painful in a way Dominic isn’t familiar with, there’s nothing that can be done. There’s really nothing that can help either one of them.
Not even a talented tongue in his mouth can help him, even though he’s somehow convinced to himself to believe otherwise. This isn’t the first time he’s stood here, Elijah at home telling himself God knows what, kissing strangers below their navels and trying to talk himself into it. He knows it certainly won’t be the last. He knows he shouldn’t do it; he knows that getting fucked against the wall, no matter how big his dick was, while some girl in a fluorescent tube top goes down on you isn’t the answer, he knows it’s not going to help. But when his eyes roll in the back of his head as the girl runs her studded tongue along his shaft, he knows he won’t be able to stop himself. He knows it’s the only thing that can make it better, even if orgasms only last a few seconds.
A tear falls down Elijah’s cheek, and he wipes it away, bringing his finger to his mouth and tasting the salt. His grip on the blade tightens, and before he loses his nerve, he takes a swipe at his thigh, gasping as the familiarity of the pain sinks in again. There’s only one thing that could possibly be better than this, but he knows it’s never going to happen. Elijah’s never been one to blindly reach for something when he knows it’s unreachable. He’d much rather stick with what he has, even if it does make him bleed.
He reaches down and touches his leg, rubs his fingers together, spreading his blood all over. A voice vaguely tells him he’s sick in the head; he silently agrees. It shouldn’t be this way, it really shouldn’t, but it is, and this is what he has to do to deal with the pain, with all the emotion whirling around in his heart. It has to be let out somehow, and Dom refuses to grant him with the opportunity to get that release. He must use what he has in order to achieve that. It’s sick, yeah, it’s really sick, and he wishes it weren’t like this. He wishes he could be everything that Dom needs, wishes he could be something he’s not.
A drop of sweat falls down Dominic’s chest, and the guy (is his name Jordan? Dominic’s not sure) licks it away, moaning at the taste. Dominic’s grip on the guy’s shoulders’ tightens, and he grinds against the guy, moaning as the familiarity of sensation washes over him again. There’s only one thing that would be better than this, but he knows it’s not going to happen. Dominic’s never been one to push for something he knows won’t work. He’d much rather stick with what he’s got, even if it does make him sinfully dirty.
He reaches down and rubs Jordan’s cock, faster and faster until Jordan can barely pound into him. A voice whispers to him he’s sick in the head; he more than readily agrees. It shouldn’t be this way, it honestly shouldn’t, but unfortunately it is, and this is what he does to deal with the void, with all the space whirling around in his head. It has to be filled somehow, and Elijah refuses to give him the chance to fill it up. He must use what’s around him to get that. It’s sick, of course, it’s disgustingly sick, and he wishes it could be different. He wishes he could be everything Elijah needs, wishes he could be something he’s not.
When the blood finally stops to just a trickle, Elijah stands up and wobbles, holding onto the sink for support. He drops the blade into the sink and opens the door, stumbling to his bedroom, to sleep and try to forget who he is and what Dom’s not. He crawls into the bed, covering his body, from his neck to his toes, with his blankets and staring at the phone. He really shouldn’t. He really doesn’t even want to know. He needs to just go to bed.
When he’s finally home five hours later, Dominic gets out of the cab and wobbles, holding onto the hood of the cab for balance. He drops his keys on the porch, but finally opens the door, stumbling to his bedroom, to sleep and try to forget what he’s done and what Elijah hasn’t. He gets in bed, laying on top of the covers, too tired to tuck himself in and staring at the phone. He really shouldn’t. He really doesn’t want to know. He should just go to bed.
Elijah bites his lip, wondering if he should, is it just going to kill him if he does call and ask Dom what he did tonight. He stares some more, rubbing his feet together. It makes the scabs on his legs catch on the blanket, and he hisses at the momentary pain. That’s it, he finally decides. He’s going to do it. He’s going to call Dom, and he’s going to tell Dom the truth. Please, I love you, give me release for all of this.
Dominic runs his tongue in the spaces of his teeth, wondering if he should, is it just going to destroy him if he does call and asks Elijah what he did tonight. He stares some more, rubbing his hands together. It reminds him of how stained his hands are, and he curses at the momentary stab of consciousness. Alright, he finally decides. He’ll do it. He’ll call Elijah, and he’ll tell Elijah everything. Please, I love you, fill me like all of this can’t.
Elijah picks up and the phone and dials Dom’s number. The silence is pounding in his ears as he waits for the ring.
Dominic grabs the phone and punches in Elijah’s number. The stillness is dizzying to his eyes as he waits for the ring.
Busy signal.
Busy signal.