The World's Worst Pick-up Line
Title: The World's Worst Pick Up Line
Pairing: Dom/Elijah
Rating: PG13 (I know!)
Disclaimer: No I don't own them. Yes this is made up.
Feedback: As always, any would be welcome.
Orlando slams his glass onto the table. "You're a liar," he slurs, half-lying over Elijah's lap.
Elijah wrinkles his nose and pushes Orlando away. "Fuck off, I am not."
"You are so," Orlando insists. "No way could you pick up anyone you wanted in this place."
"I could!" Elijah argues, offended.
Orlando simply snorts and raises his glass again, downing the remaining liquid in one, and shuddering slightly. Elijah rolls his eyes.
"I'll prove it, if you want," he offers.
Orlando lifts an eyebrow messily. "Go on then."
"Right. Who should I try?" Elijah straightens up in his seat.
"Ah ah ah," Orlando interrupts, wagging his finger in an overexaggerated arc. "You have to use my special pick-up line."
Elijah's heart sinks slightly. "What is it, then?" he prompts, as Orlando goes into a fit of sniggers.
Orlando pulls him closer, and whispers something in his ear. His breath, smelling strongly of vodka, tickles Elijah's cheek.
Elijah pulls back in horror. "That must be the worst pick up line in the world! I can't say that!"
"Why not?" Orlando smirks.
"I - well, I sort of meant that I could pick up any bird, actually, not a bloke...."
Orlando slaps Elijah's wrist. "I know you don't swing that way." He scans the room blearily while Elijah shakes his head slightly to clear his thoughts. He follows Orlando's gaze - it's fixed on an oldish, fattish man in the corner. Orlando smiles evilly, turning to look at Elijah.
"That's going too far," Elijah says sharply.
Orlando shrugs. "You're the one that said you could get anyone."
"Anyone I wanted, I said!" protests Elijah, voice rising.
"You can't do it," Orlando taunts, voice teasing. Elijah can feel his cheeks going red.
"Alright, mate?" A warm shape slips onto the bench next to him and slings an arm casually around his shoulder. Elijah twists his head slightly. It's Dom, grey eyes shining darkly in the dim light.
"Elijah's a chicken," Orlando gloats.
"I am not!" Elijah says - though even to his own ears, there's a tinge of whinginess in his voice now. "Leave me alone!"
"Why, what's he done?" Dom asks fondly, ruffling Elijah's hair idly.
A flash of warmth spreads from Dom's palm, through Elijah's hair to his skull, into his brain, and finally settling in the base of his belly.
"Won't ask that bloke out," Orlando says, not quite managing to keep a straight face.
Dom looks over. His face contorts in disgust.
"Yeah, well," he says. "I wouldn't call someone chicken for that."
"Thank you Dominic!" Elijah says theatrically. "See, Orli? I'm not a chicken, see?"
Orlando mutters something, and lifts his glass. He seems surprised to see there's nothing left in it. He's still wearing that smug grin.
"Hey, Dom?" The words are out of Elijah's mouth before he can stop them.
"What, Lijah?" Dom looks at him, and all Elijah can think of is Orlando's stupid dare.
"Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?"
Dom, comically, glances at his lap, then up at Elijah again.
"Pleased to see you, mate," he says casually, but he moves his hand a little on Elijah's head, twisting his fingers into the dark messy waves.
Orlando's mouth has opened slightly, and he's staring.
"Wanna try some shooting practice?" Elijah says. The minute the question has left his lips, he's doubling over himself in a fit of giggles, cheeks burning.
He hears a huff of laughter and a high-pitched snort. He raises his head, eyes streaming, to see Orlando clutching his stomach with mirth, and Dom with one hand covering his face.
"Can't believe you said it - " Orlando pants.
There's a long moment before anyone can breathe again. And when the moment ends, Elijah finds his mouth smothered with Dom's.