Chapter Eleven - Dreams
He slowly opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling for a bit, briefly wondering where he is exactly and what day it is. When he looks around, he discerns light behind the still drawn curtains and when he spots the Man U poster on the wall, he realises he's in his own house.
Memories of the previous day begin to filter into his consciousness.
There are images of Billy and his cups of coffee, Pete trying not to roll his eyes too often, and Viggo taking care of him after he had vomited his guts up. He remembers how good that wet cloth had felt on his face, and he really wouldn't mind feeling it again. A drink of water would also be quite nice; his body must be parched with this ridiculous fever he's been running all night.
When he shivers under the duvet, wondering if it is actually cold in the room, Dom realises the fever has not yet abated and he tries to move and see if that glass of water is still on the bedside table, because he is thirsty.
His eyes fall on the empty armchair in the corner of his room, the blanket neatly folded and the pillow already returned to his bed, and suddenly Dom feels like he is struck by lightning.
It's the same feeling he remembers from when he was little and had done something really bad and his father hadn't come home from work before he himself had gone to bed. He'd be blissfully ignorant of whatever might happen to him while he was asleep; ignorant of the harsh words his father would use once he did get home; ignorant of the punishment that always followed.
Ignorant still for a beautiful couple of seconds after waking up, and then being hit by the realisation that it was morning, that his father had come home, and that whatever the fuck had not happened the evening before, sure as hell was going to happen now. It had always felt like a punch in the gut, and now that Dom remembers how Elijah had slept in that chair just a couple of hours ago, how he had held him in his arms when he needed something to drink, and had just as easily told him to forget about what had happened between the two of them the night before, it doesn't feel like a mere punch in the gut - it feels like someone just tore his chest open and ripped his heart out.
Just forget it. Forget it ever happened. It was a mistake.
The fog that had filled his brain yesterday, when Viggo was trying to patch him up, returns all of a sudden and Dom swallows with difficulty, shivering again - but not because of the fever.
He turns his head once more and tries to locate the glass of water he knows Elijah left for him on the bedside table. He lifts his arm and stretches out, trying to reach for it without knocking it to the floor, but almost immediately, his head starts to pound viciously again and he pauses mid-stretch.
Suddenly he is angry that he is not even capable of getting his own fucking drink, and so, against his better judgment, he reaches even further, stretching out his objecting body, groaning with the effort, desperately trying to prove himself with things that are beyond his limited control.
Just forget it - Forget it ever happened - It was a mistake - Just forget it - Forget it ever happened - It was a mistake.
It is no use. His body screams its protest and he simply has to give up and roll back, sighing in frustration, surrendering to the loud, hurried beating of his heart, breaking a chilled sweat on his neck and forehead. He curses under his breath, and the knowledge that he is really a lot worse than he wants to believe, slowly pierces his hazy brain.
Just forget it - Just forget it - Forget it - Forget...
The second time Dom wakes up, it is because someone is gently nudging him, mentioning his name. Dom struggles to open his eyes that are sticky and grainy with sweat and sleep and when he finally manages, it is Fran looking back at him. He tries to blink the daze away, but it won't budge.
"Hey," she says softly, and her hand comes up to caress his cheek. "How are you feeling?"
Dom opens his mouth in an effort to say he feels like shit - because honestly, he does - but his throat is parched again and the words seem to be stuck somewhere at the back of it. A short stupid squeak is all that comes out and he watches how she picks up the glass of water, keeping him upright and making sure he drinks it all.
"The doctor will be here shortly, Dom," she says, rather matter-of-factly. "We suspect a serious case of the flu, but we would like to be on the safe side. I will stay with you until Billy comes back later today. He has promised to take care of you tonight, so that I can go back to the studio. We really don't want you to be on your own."
She rummages around in search of fresh sheets, opening and closing drawers, throwing the occasional glance at Dom. When she finds what she is looking for, she turns around with a triumphant look on her face and walks back to the side of the bed.
"More water?" she asks and Dom only nods. Fran produces a plastic water bottle and refills the glass, again holding him until he has drained it. "Now let's try to give you some new bedding, okay? I think some clean, fresh sheets will make you feel so much better."
"You know," she continues, wrapping Dom in the blanket she picked up from the chair, motioning for him to just roll over. "Even though you're a lot bigger than my Billy, I think I might be able to do this with you in the bed." She grins and Dom tries to crack a smile, but even that hurts, so he settles for a well-meant grimace and hopes she gets the idea.
He lets her fumble and fuss behind his back and closes his eyes, the blanket all snug and warm around him; which is just as well since his teeth have started clattering again, and all of a sudden he is hit by the image of Elijah dozing underneath this blanket just last night, here in this room - his room.
He knows it is ridiculous but he can't help but sniffle, desperate for a trace of Elijah's scent in the blanket, and although he knows he shouldn't be, he is still disappointed when there's nothing but the smell of dust and the slightest hint of fabric softener.
Why don't I smell him? - I know he slept under this thing - Maybe because he wasn't naked underneath this - Actually I'm pretty sure he had his clothes on last night - Would he sleep naked? - Where is he now? - And where's Billy? - Or just his boxers? - What scene could they be filming? - Why the fuck am I here in bed and not with them? - Or maybe real pyjamas - "Brandywine Bridge... Twenty miles" - Soft, snug, flannel pyjamas - Would he fit in the curve of my body while we slee? - God, I miss them - I miss him - Homesick -
Miserable - Cold -
Tired -
Elijah
The third time Dom wakes up it is because a doctor is prodding and poking at him and his clumsy swatting at her hands is of no use at all. He drags his eyes open once more, vaguely aware of the fact that the fog still hasn't lifted; the light in the room indicates that it is somewhere late in the afternoon; the curtains are slightly parted.
And although he realises the questions that fill the room are aimed at him, he is certainly glad Billy is answering them for him.
Oh-
Billy.
Thank God you're here. Because-
Did you see Elijah? - Speak with him? - Does he hate me? - I don't hate him - Will he stay with me again tonight? - I still have his blanket...
"No, the fever has been pretty consistent, I'm afraid," Billy rumbles in his typical accent, and the doctor just nods and looks from Billy to Dom and back. "And we try to make him drink water, but he's asleep most of the time." She frowns and looks at Dom once more. "And he is having dreams or something, because there's a lot of talking in his sleep."
Okay - he hadn't expected that one. What the fuck had he been talking about, then? He resolves to ask Billy once the doctor leaves and is left to endure some more touching and feeling up, pulse-taking and eyelid-pulling.
It's just the flu, you stupid bint - That and being sick - Homesick - Lovesick - Lovesick - Lovesick - Elijah - Love - Sick - Can I close my eyes now? - I want to sleep - With Elijah - In my arms, he fits right in, right here - Stop touching me, woman - I want to sleep - With Elijah - Sleep - Sleep...
The fourth time Dom wakes up, it is pitch dark and the curtains are fully closed again. He checks the alarm and realises it is the dead of night. A whole day has passed and all he can remember is Billy and a doctor and his feverish dreams about Elijah.
Elijah - who told him that what they did was a mistake - oh, he remembers that all right. Elijah - who hugged him close when he helped him drink his water; who slept under the blanket Dom is still clutching in his hands; who never even bothered today to come and see if he is okay.
Or maybe he did bother, Dom thinks and stares blindly at the ceiling. Maybe he did bother and I just never noticed.
Suddenly, he remembers Billy's words when he spoke to the doctor earlier that day about how he had been talking in his sleep. Had he talked about Elijah? Would Billy have been able to distinguish what he had said? And what's more... Had Billy said anything to Elijah?
Jesus - what the fuck had he said?
The thoughts and the insecurity and the anticipation make his head hurt again, and he notices how the fog that had been blissfully absent for the entire five minutes he had been awake, is now descending on him again and his eyelids feel terribly heavy all of a sudden so he just closes his eyes and tries to fight-
Did I talk about Elijah? - Did I ask for him? - Why isn't he here? - I am sure he wants to be with me -Forget it - You smell so nice, so sweet, so... - Just forget it - And you could lie here with me, really, that's okay - Forget it - And maybe you could stroke me lick me blow me again - It was a mistake - Like you did yesterday - A mistake - Because it felt so nice and you were so warm and I touched your hair and - A mistake - I want you - Elijah - And we could finally kiss - Lijah - Kiss
"Dom..?"
With great difficulty Dom tries to return from that plush, velvet place inside his brain where Elijah is kissing him, so deep and smooth and slow, his arms wrapped around Dom's neck, needy little sounds falling between their bodies that are pressed tight against each other.
"Dom?"
He finally opens his eyes and realises he is looking at Elijah. Pretty, tousled-haired Elijah, sitting cross-legged on the bed in sweats and a ratty t-shirt, eyes wide and worried, an outstretched finger hanging in mid-air, ready to be abused by those angry little teeth.
His heart skips a beat.
He actually wants to say something, or maybe offer a smile, but his throat is parched yet again and instead he just coughs pathetically, causing Elijah to jump off the bed instantly, grabbing the bottle of water Fran left, and fill the glass on the bedside table.
"Come here," Elijah says and drapes an arm around Dom's shoulders, pushing him upright. "Drink." Dom empties the glass greedily, staring into Elijah's eyes while he does. All too soon the boy places the glass on the bedside table and returns to his place on the bed, a little away from Dom, who gratefully rests against his pillows again.
Then, since neither one of them is opening their mouths to speak, there is nothing left to do but watch.
Dom looks at Elijah, studies him; notices how the boy's feet are bare as per usual, though never cold; how the neckline of his ratty t-shirt is old and threadbare and too wide, showing his collarbone, stark and white in the darkness of the room. How all of a sudden, when Dom looks up and sees the moist, wide eyes staring straight back at him, everything suddenly hurts a little bit too much.
"It wasn't a mistake, Lijah... Please don't tell me it was a mistake..."
"Dom, I..." Elijah starts and casts his eyes down, the black, sooty lashes fanning on his cheeks. His ever-nervous fingers start fiddling with the worn, frayed chord of his sweats and although it is too dark in the room to actually see it, Dom knows Elijah is blushing.
"Tell me," Dom offers, his ragged voice barely audible.
"It was a mistake, Dom," Elijah whispers.
"But-" Dom protests, shock open and raw on his face.
"Please," and the boy briefly closes his eyes. "Please let me explain."
He opens them again and looks at Dom, who nods helplessly and sighs. Icy shivers of both fever and anticipation are running along his spine and he is feeling miserable all over again.
"It's just that I don't think I should have done what I did. At least..." Elijah's hand crawls over to where Dom's leg is covered by the duvet, as if to relieve some of the hurt showing in the stormy grey eyes. He softly squeezes and Dom closes the mouth he had already opened to voice another protest.
"At least," he whispers and stops again, retracting his hand, uncertain of what to say - or better yet, how to say it.
"God, I'm fucking nervous," he chuckles, almost under his breath, and squeezes Dom's leg again, causing Dom to grin, then croak, then gasp for breath. They stare at each other some more, Dom not wanting to break the spell, Elijah gathering his courage.
"I should have done this... I don't know... differently. I was so drunk and there was this heat coming off your body and you were touching me in all the right places and I... God, Dom - I just wanted it so badly and I think I got caught up in the moment and the knowledge that you were so turned on by me, but-" He takes a deep breath, staring straight ahead, hands tearing at some loose threads on his sweats.
"We hardly even know each other, Dom. Well... We do, but not like that and I feel like I have done this all wrong. I hate myself for what I did that night, I am so embarrassed and I feel like a... like a... God - please don't take it the wrong way, but I almost feel dirty."
"Elijah," Dom interrupts, hoarsely, swallowing with difficulty again. "I liked what you did to me. I really don't want you to feel embarrassed or dirty about it."
"But I do! Because it's not me... Or at least it's not what I would like to be. It was cheap and quick and it makes me cheap and easy and... Jesus, Dom, how can you even stand to look at me?!"
Dom pulls one hand from under the duvet and closes it over Elijah's twitchy fingers, trying to reassure, but the boy still doesn't look at him when he continues.
"Let's face it, Dom. We never talked about anything even remotely connected to sex, and frankly..... this is not how I like to come out to people... I really hate myself right now, because I can never take this back, I fucked this up from the start..."
Elijah sighs dejectedly and stares past Dom again, his fingers still twitchy under Dom's much bigger hand. He runs his other hand through his hair and it reaches a completely new level of disarray, which makes Dom smile.
"Do you mean to say," Dom starts carefully, taking a deep breath, his thumb tracing gentle back-and-forth patterns on the soft skin of Elijah's hand. "That although you would rather have gone about this in a different way... this whole thing actually is something?"
Another deep breath, and damn but the world is spinning again, and he watches how Elijah reaches for the water bottle on the floor. He accepts a full glass and drinks all of it, realising that for the first time in twenty-four hours he is capable of rising up from his bed and lifting a glass of water without anybody's help.
"I don't know, Dom," Elijah says, softly, and a little scared. "If you hadn't fallen ill, and if I hadn't felt so guilty walking out on you that night, I might not have told you this at all and I would probably have tried to act as if nothing happened and give it time and hope that in the end we would both forget about it."
He looks up, a little flushed with the rush of his words, staring straight into Dom's eyes for the first time. "But that's not going to happen, right?" he asks. "You are not going to forget about this, are you? Forget about me, I mean."
A smile forms on Dom's face and he slowly moves his head from side to side, almost challenging the boy with the beautiful eyes to admit the same.
"God - I wish I was as sure as you, Dom," Elijah mutters suddenly. "All I did the other night was give in to my hormones - you should meet them some time, they're a fucking nuisance - and I can't even tell you for sure that I did it because it was you."
A pause.
"I really can't believe I actually just said that to you."
A frown starts between the dark eyebrows and Elijah's eyes flick from left to right, uncertainty and fear written all over them. "I'm sorry. It is really perfectly okay for you to start hating me now, Dom - really - quite okay..."
Dom's smile is still firmly in place, and again he moves his head from left to right, careful enough to not allow the pounding to start again.
"Elijah," Dom starts, speaking slowly, making sure each and every one of his words are coming across. "Would you like to find out?"
"Find what out?"
"Well... You know..."
"What?"
"Would you like to find out if you did it because it was me?"
The frown returns.
"I'm not really sure I understand."
Dom moves a little, trying to find a more comfortable position in the rumpled bed, and groans slightly with the effort. Elijah immediately shoots him a concerned look, but he catches his breath and gives the boy a quick wink.
"Listen to me, Lij," Dom starts again, coughs briefly, his voice nothing but a whisper this time. "Look at me..."
Elijah tilts his head and gives Dom a curious stare, his eyes soft and shiny, the frown almost gone from his forehead.
"We are friends, right?" Dom asks, locking eyes.
Elijah nods, a smile hesitant and small around his lips.
"Good - that's good," Dom winks again. "I guess... What I am saying is that I would like for us to try and be more than friends."
Chapter Twelve
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