Chapter Four - Quality Alcohol
"It's a fucking fantastic place!" Dom yells over the rattling sound of the stage lights that are being carried into the studio, the four hobbits watching how a blue screen is quickly and expertly set up. "In fact..." he yells again, but falling silent when the heavy, industrial noises stop all of a sudden. "In fact," he repeats, more softly this time. "I was wondering if you guys would like to come over for a drink this evening to celebrate the fact I now live in my very own house." He takes a deep breath and forces himself not to look at Elijah.
Filming had not started yet; they were still preparing for it - learning how to handle swords, walk in enormous latex feet, speak proper British English, and, more importantly, deal with each other.
Things were developing nicely, though, over the course of three weeks, as each of them opened up more and more to one another. Billy, for instance, had taught Sean how to appreciate a fine single malt Scottish whisky when he was being homesick - when missing his wife and daughter threatened to get the better of him. In turn, Sean had gone through the pains of repeatedly explaining to Elijah the importance of keeping one's house keys within reach at all hours of the day. Dom, always brave, tried to make Billy see the wonders of New Zealand's beautiful nature, especially when it meant getting up at four in the morning. Finally, Elijah, although initially shy, had turned out to be a very talkative, bright and honest spirit, and had, rather unconsciously, made Dom aware of the fact that if he wasn't careful he could very easily fall in love with the American.
For in lust, he already was.
For the past three weeks, Dom had gone to bed with crystal clear images of Elijah in his mind, and he had woken up to the same images the next morning. He had caught himself staring at those enormous pools of blue more often than he cared to admit, and had learned quite early on that watching Elijah's sinfully pink lips move with laughter or too many words per minute, caused his mental abilities to either malfunction or shut down completely.
And, worst of all, Dom had also found out that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. So he had quit fighting his hormones after about a week and had consequently tried to make sure Elijah wouldn't notice how he more or less continuously kept track of him, or how he could suddenly sport the most persistent of erections in his purposely baggy sweats or jeans. He had become great friends with his own right hand again (and when the fuck had that happened?), and, to his eternal embarrassment - but who was going to know anyway - he had searched the Internet for evenings on end, trying to find out as much as possible about Elijah Jordan Wood, "former child actor, one of the most gifted of his generation".
The only thing that still bothered Dom was the fact that he could not find a normal way to communicate with Elijah; a fact for which, he knew, he was largely to blame. For instance, while they were in a discussion with the other hobbits, Dom knew he was always trying to be cocky, or funny, or even a downright asshole whenever Elijah gave his opinion.
Elijah had shown considerable nervousness every time he had to deal with Orli's or Billy's or his own sense of humour, and Dom knew full well that Elijah did not yet understand that very British concept of taking the piss. Yet instead of piping down a bit for the boy's sake, he usually added more verbal fuel to the fire, which had resulted in Elijah trying to avoid discussions with the Brits, but especially Dom, most of the time.
For the past three weeks, Dom had been wondering why he couldn't keep his big mouth shut at such times - why he had to keep up his teasing past the point of embarrassment for the American. Was it because he liked to see him blush? See him squirm? Walk away? Was it because it triggered a serious emotion from that often seemingly stoic face? Or was it the only thing Dom could hide behind whenever his heart informed him that the boy had the potential of becoming more to Dom than anybody had ever been before?
"I'd love to, Dom," he suddenly hears Sean say, and is momentarily snapped out of his thoughts. "But tonight Christine and Ali are flying in for the week, and I want to pick them up at the airport."
"Of course," Dom says, and winks comically at Sean, who grins a bit and blushes almost lobster-red. "No amount of quality alcohol can compete with having the wife in town, right?"
"Billy?" he then asks as he turns towards the Scot, who smiles and nods his head.
"Sure, Dom - I'd really like to see those swanky new accommodations of yours," Billy snickers and barely evades a slap of Dom's hand on his butt. "I'll even bring some of that quality alcohol you just mentioned, to celebrate the occasion properly."
"Elijah?" Dom turns around. "Want to come too?" Elijah looks at Dom for a second, clearly considering the offer, shrugging slightly.
"I don't know, guys," he starts, shuffling his feet a bit, looking somewhat nervous all of a sudden. "Filming starts day after tomorrow, and there's so much Pete wants me to read and go over and I just got my first set of call sheets and it basically tells me I won't be getting any sleep for the first three months till Christmas and I still need to unpack about twenty boxes and I am expecting a phone call and-"
"Hey..." Billy interrupts in his typical Scottish lilt, resting a hand on Elijah's arm, offering a reassuring smile. "It's okay, you know. It's only a drink. He's not getting married or anything..."
Wanting to giggle at the image Billy is conjuring up, Elijah settles for giving Dom an apologetic smile, secretly grateful for the way out.
"Maybe, okay?" he offers hesitantly, fully aware of the flicker of disappointment in Dom's eyes the moment Billy had interrupted his flow of useless excuses. "Just give me the address..."
"What is it with that guy?" Dom asks incredulously, as soon as Elijah is called away to yet another unscheduled wardrobe fitting. "Does he think he's too good for us or something?" He turns around and stuffs his hands in his pockets, half-heartedly wishing he could kick something, then deciding that would be very childish and settles for some more grumbling instead.
"Dom," Billy starts and wraps an arm around Dom's shoulders. "I have known you for the grand total of three weeks now, and there is this little something I feel the need to point out to you." They walk towards the blue screen together, where the four of them will be given a thorough instruction about the workings of such a device in about fifteen minutes.
"Our precious Elijah," Billy starts. "Our leading man, excuse me - leading hobbit - and top of the bill, is anything but a diva. I sincerely doubt he thinks he is too good for us and his continuous refusal to go and have a drink with you and me lies more in the fact that he thinks he cannot compete with us, rather than the other way around." Billy takes a deep breath. "And don't tell me that in essence you don't know all of this, because I have noticed your eyes following the guy like a hawk."
Dom at least has the decency to blush.
"I can't help it really, Bill," he mutters and turns his back on the technicians who are milling around them. "On the one hand I think he's utterly fascinating - and on the other he irritates the hell out of me."
Billy squeezes Dom's shoulders a bit. "I know," he says. "I think I understand. But this is neither the place nor the time to discuss such matters." He claps him fiercely on the back. "Tonight, Dominic!" he proclaims. "When we can enjoy some of that quality alcohol!"
Billy seemed particularly taken with the deck. It was exactly what Dom had fallen for as well, when he eventually decided to sign the lease for this house, so that is where they had been sitting all evening, eating some home made stir fry straight from the wok, washing it down with a bottle of Australian white wine.
"Great place, Dommie," Billy says and stretches his legs out in front of him, "and this deck is smashing - will you just look at that view?"
Dom grins a bit as they both stare at the view beyond the garden for a while. "Orli's trying to get a place overlooking the ocean," he says while refilling Billy's glass. "That should be bloody fantastic if he can get it done."
Billy nods, sipping from his wine. "Sean's place is pretty nice as well," he then says, dropping his eyes to the contents of his glass. "Bigger than what you have, though. But then again, Christine and his daughter have to live there as well in a couple of months. And then there is Elijah's place." He looks up and cocks his head sideways, watching Dom's reaction. "Have you been there already?" he asks and then stares off into the distance again, sipping more wine.
Dom gives Billy a pointed stare, coughs briefly, and stands to lift the wok from the garden table. "I'll be just a minute taking this inside," he mutters, and stalks off towards the backdoor, entering his freshly painted kitchen. He barely has the time to dump the wok in the sink to rinse it clean, when Billy is standing next to him, grabbing a kitchen towel, indicating for Dom to wash up the few plates and cups and utensils they used to cook their meal earlier that evening.
"No one has been there, Dom," he grins softly. "He has barely moved in and besides, I have never met a shier person than Elijah Wood," Billy says as he grabs a plate and turns around, resting his back against the counter. "He must go through quite a transformation once he's in front of a camera." He turns around again and accepts the wok from Dom, who pulls the plug and watches the water disappear down the drain.
"And he is excessively shy around you, my friend," Billy continues and smirks slightly; quickly averting his eyes for fear Dom might not take the words the way he meant them. "Which is understandable, as you've gone out of your way to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible." Dom drops the dishcloth he'd picked up a moment earlier in the sink and stares at Billy.
"I'm right, right?" Billy asks, putting the last of the cutlery away in a drawer, not looking at Dom, giving him time to regroup. "He makes you feel uncomfortable, so you can't help but make him feel uncomfortable. Only he's not aware of it and you are." He accepts another glass of wine from Dom and they both head for the deck again.
"I don't mean to, Bill," Dom mutters as they take their old seats again, watching how the sun is slowly setting in the distance. "I really can't help it... I want to bite my tongue all the time, but it's always out there before I know it..." Billy grins softly, shaking his head the slightest bit.
"You like to be around him, don't you?" he asks. "And when you find out he doesn't feel the same, you're upset." Dom turns his head away, feeling caught. "And when you're upset, you start to take the piss, which in turn confuses the little bugger, and makes him run away even harder. It's a nice cycle you got yourself into..." Billy smiles, watching Dom's hand twitch around his wineglass.
"So," he continues, not missing a beat, turning his look away from Dom. "You're gay, then?"
Dom's head moves up and he looks at Billy, who sits totally relaxed in one of the newly purchased deck chairs, fiddling with his almost empty wine glass, enjoying the last rays of the sun. Dom clears his throat, suddenly feeling all of twelve years old. He answers by nodding, but when he realises Billy's not looking his way, he opens his mouth.
"Yes," he says quietly. "You okay with that?"
Billy looks at Dom again and smiles gently. "Yeah, Dom," and their eyes lock for a long moment. "I am okay with that." He grabs behind his chair and comes up with a bag, pulling a bottle of whisky out of it. "Tumblers?" he asks, unscrewing the cap. "This calls for quality alcohol, don't you agree?"
Dom grins, visibly relieved, and jumps up to go in search of glasses that can pass for tumblers.
"Well, Dom," Billy starts once the Englishman has returned outside and has placed two glasses on the table. He pours some of the amber brown liquid in each of them and screws the cap back on the bottle. "You guys need to find some common ground, mate. Something you both like." He picks up his glass, waits for Dom to grab his and they clink them together carefully. "Something that will raise his interest in you."
"What's the use, Bill?" Dom mumbles softly, swirling the whisky around in his glass, watching it flow with moody grey eyes. "He's as straight as they come." He takes a big gulp, scrunches up his nose, as it always takes him a glass to get used to the stuff again, and swallows. "He's straight..."
"What makes you so sure of that?" Billy asks and turns his head towards the last rays of sunshine that are now disappearing fast on the horizon. "Has he told you that? Nah - I bet he hasn't."
"He hasn't, no," Dom almost grins, as the thought alone is funny. "But when we were still staying at the hotel, he had the room next to mine, remember? I saw him outside a few times during those nights, and he was always calling with a girl, mentioning her name, telling her how much he missed her..." He twirls the glass around in his hands nervously; shivering with the cold that rapidly enfolds the garden now that the sun is gone. "And then, Billy, he's eighteen years old. What do you know about such things when you're eighteen years old?" They're both quiet for a while, until Dom shivers one final time and stands up. "Let's go inside."
"But seriously, Dom," Billy resumes once they are both inside, and he has nicely curled up in one of the two large modern looking armchairs that accompany a giant red velvet couch. "Find some common ground, let the guy know you're okay - connect over something. You guys need to be friends; even if he is as straight as you say he is. Because, Dom, in the end, it doesn't mean a bloody thing. You know as well as I do that you shouldn't fuck around in a cast you have to work with for so long. And do I need to add: especially not with someone who is indeed barely eighteen years old, who is struggling visibly to dig your twisted sense of humour, and who is on the verge of fronting three fucking expensive movies all at once. He can do without this shit. I know it's not what you want to hear, but this is my advice."
Dom swallows the last of his remaining whisky and looks at Billy. Yes, he has known Billy for three weeks, which is nothing, really, compared to how long he's known his friends back in Manchester. Yet, the Scot sounds like he knows what he's talking about, and, instinctively, Dom knows he'd better listen.
"I know that you're right, Bills," he says, frowning a bit. "But it's bloody difficult, you know? I haven't been myself ever since the very first time I saw him at Pete's house; he just totally blew my socks off." A slight pause, then softer. "He's just constantly on my mind, Bill." Dom's voice trails off, and he knows he must sound pathetic, but it's the truth.
"Well, Dommie-boy," Billy grins, absent-mindedly peering out of the window. "You'd better think of a way to deal with that - soon."
"Why's that?"
"He's on your doorstep."
Chapter Five
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