Chapter Eight - Got to get you into my life
"Beer?" Elijah calls from the kitchen, and when Dom doesn't respond fast enough, the boy sticks his head around the doorjamb. "Beer?" he asks again, voice softer now, smiling when he takes in the sheer incredulity on Dom's face.
Dom nods, barely able to tear his gaze away from the spectacular sight in front of him. "Erm, yeah," he corrects himself, straightening, looking at Elijah's head that is still poking around the doorpost. "Yes, please."
Elijah disappears again and Dom vaguely hears him rummaging around in the fridge, distinguishing the sound of two bottles being opened. He stretches out one hand, touches the back of an enticing looking bright blue case and pulls it out from between its brothers carefully, almost reverently. He turns it around in his palms and reads.
Or at least he tries to. Because when Elijah is suddenly standing next to him, bottles in hand, Dom realises he hasn't taken in a word. Not one single letter. And the reason why is now gently offering him his drink, breathing steadily at his side, watching what Dom is watching in the same soothing silence and with the same unvoiced respect.
They stand together like that for a few more seconds, Elijah taking a quiet swig from the ice-cold bottle in his hand, Dom carefully sliding the case back in its designated slot. When Dom straightens again, he looks sideways and sees how Elijah's eyes seem larger than ever, shining like they did weeks ago, when they had been discussing the exact same topic in his house.
Much to Dom's surprise, Elijah had asked him to come over to his place for a couple of drinks and something to eat. Elijah had posed the question rather quickly, making an obvious effort to keep his eyes focused on Dom's face, and in turn Dom had agreed just as readily - the prospect of an evening together with Elijah, some cool beers, and plenty of new music to discover - in that order, please - had caused his heart to race.
Elijah's smile had been genuine and bright and while Trish finished up the work on the removal of the boy's prosthetic ears and feet, he had called his sister in Los Angeles and Dom had been amazed at the amount of unbelievably crazy giggles that had flown back and forth across the Pacific Ocean in the span of ten minutes.
The SUV that always took Elijah home after a hard day's work had been waiting patiently in the studio's parking lot and Dom had quietly slid onto the back seat, next to Elijah - his senses heightened in the dark, confined space of the car.
Elijah had closed his eyes during the drive to his house, claiming he was dead on his feet, and as he didn't want to smoke in the car for Dom's sake, there was no other choice for him than to just give in to gravity's pull on his eyelids. Within minutes he had slumped sideways, resting with his shoulder against the car door, and just when a hint of drool had started to form in the corner of his mouth, the car had jerked to a halt in front of a traffic light and the boy shot upright, wiping at his lips.
Ever since that particular moment Dom had wanted to reach out and stroke Elijah's cheek and neck, both so soft and smooth and glowing beautifully each time the car passed an overhead streetlight. It had caused him to harden abruptly and sudden images of Elijah being pinned against a wall while Dom ravished that firm neck flashed in front of his eyes and he almost couldn't breath.
He had been saved from any real embarrassment when the company car had reached Elijah's house, and, for the very first time, Dom had followed the boy up the garden path, waiting patiently for Elijah to find his keys and open the door, and was now smack dab in the middle of a large living room, staring at possibly the biggest collection of CDs he has ever seen in his entire life - bar HMV or Virgin.
"Good God, Lij," Dom mutters after swallowing a mouthful of cold beer. "How many are there? How did you get them here? I mean... Fuck, Lij... How many are there?"
Elijah giggles, stepping away from the seemingly endless rows of CDs against the wall of his living room. He flicks a button on a rather futuristic looking sound system and crashes on his couch, an old, cosy, black leather affair that looks as if it won't ever let you go after you have snuggled up between its cushions.
Dom turns around, finally able to stop gawking at Elijah's incredible music collection that is placed in rows on shelves, many of them already neatly arranged, others still waiting to be judged and allocated. Suddenly, Dom notices there are little stacks of CDs everywhere in the room, some still wrapped in cellophane, almost carelessly dismissed on whichever flat surface came first.
"About seven hundred, I guess," Elijah's voice breaks the silence. He kicks off his shoes and wriggles his toes as he pulls his legs up, folding them effortlessly underneath his slim body. "I bought about a hundred of them here, in Wellington. I am a compulsive buyer, I suppose, but there's so much fantastic stuff to get, I really can't help myself," he giggles again.
Dom finally sits down, places his bottle on the floor, since Elijah doesn't seem to own a coffee table, and slowly starts to grin.
"Elijah Wood," he says, smirking, and leans back, locking his eyes with the blue ones on the other side of the couch. "Why the fuck did you have to bring all your freaking CDs from the States? Is that your weird way of showing off? We know you're more loaded than any of us, man - we don't need your little collection here to tell us that."
The second those last words leave Dom's mouth, he wishes he could take them all back when he sees the flicker of hurt in Elijah's eyes. It's very brief - like lightning in a clear blue sky - but it's there. He hadn't said the words because he meant them; he was just trying to tease again, trying to cover up his nerves, trying to hide from Elijah how he truly feels about him. This time, however, it seems as if his antics will backfire on him with a vengeance.
Schooling his features like the actor that he is, Elijah forces a smile around his lips and looks at Dom while he lifts his bottle in silent acknowledgment.
"My collection is at home, Dominic," he states, his voice clear and slightly cold. "I brought about a third of it - the rest is still with my Mom in LA." He takes another swig from his beer, allowing for Dom to take his words in. He produces a pack of cigarettes from out of nowhere, it seems, and slides one out, lighting it with the practised ease of a seasoned smoker.
So, Dom thinks as soon as he has recovered a bit. I don't know when to keep my mouth shut, and you will smoke your way into an untimely death. We're a fine pair, we are...
"You still live with your Mum then?"
Oh fuck, where the hell did that come from? Why can't he just say 'sorry' and ask the boy's permission to browse that incredible amount of silvery discs? Why does he have to keep walking the tightrope between the safe and solid ground inside this living room and the murky quicksand out on the doorstep of Elijah's house? Why does he always have to push the buttons of someone he really, really likes?
And why does he suddenly want to kiss this breathtakingly beautiful boy?
He stares when Elijah tips his head back and exposes his pale neck, full lips closing around the dark brown bottle. He listens when he hears the sound of Elijah swallowing his drink, and can't help but lick his own lips. He opens the eyes he never realised he had closed and looks straight into Elijah's steadfast gaze, helplessly releasing a shuddery breath.
"Fuck, yes, Dom," Elijah suddenly blurts out. "Yes, I do still live with my Mom! And so does my sister! All together with my dogs, and my car, and my action figures, and my shitload of CDs! I am fucking eighteen, Dom; where else do you think I'd live?!"
Dom scoots back, knowing full-well he just got what he deserved for asking stupid questions after he had been out of line in the first place. But then again, this guy should learn how to handle when some Brit is taking the piss.
"Hey, I'm sorry," he tries, raising one hand and quickly offering a placating smile. "I didn't mean what I said about you showing off - it was a joke, really."
"Fucking hell it was," Elijah mutters, calming down slightly. "I don't get your jokes, man. I never know when you mean things or not." He squirms a bit in his seat and lifts the cigarette to his lips once more, taking a firm drag, steadying surprisingly unsteady hands.
"Elijah," Dom starts and scoots closer to the boy again. He moves to sit sideways so he can watch Elijah's face, bending his knee, lifting it onto the couch. "I have known you for about six weeks now, right? I have seen you act; I have heard you talk; I have been with you when you were drunk; I know about your taste in music; I think I know when you're having a good day or a bad one..."
His voice trails off a bit when he looks down and sees how his knee is this close to Elijah's thigh. On an unexpected bold streak, he moves the slightest bit so that their legs actually touch and when Elijah does not flinch or pull his leg back, he feels safe enough to go on.
"Everything you have showed me about yourself I really like, Lij," he says and that makes the boy look at him. "I want you to know this, because I really want for us to be friends. So when I make tacky jokes, it's not because I mean them, it's because you're my friend and..."
Elijah is watching him intently, taking in every word the Brit is dealing out right now. But when Dom valiantly tries to return the gaze, Elijah's eyes are simply too blue, and he has to look away, his voice becoming softer again.
"It's because you're my friend and the jokes are not meant to hurt you. I pull jokes on you because I think you can handle them... Ah no, fuck... it's not even that, you know. I pull them on you simply because you are you... Christ, am I making any sense here?"
They're both silent for a few seconds, giving Dom's words a chance of slowly settling themselves between the two of them as they listen to the ticking of the clock and the humming of the fridge. Suddenly, Elijah reaches over and grabs Dom's forgotten bottle off the floor.
"Here," he says, handing it over. He stands and walks up to the dazzling amount of CDs. "Beatles?" he asks and offers a hesitant smile, index finger already on the back of Rubber Soul. Dom's slight nod, surprise evident on his face, causes Elijah to pull it out and, after taking a quick peek, to grab another one. "Which one?" he asks and holds Revolver up as well. "One of these, please, because my ears are not yet adjusted to the rest."
Dom smirks and points at the case in Elijah's left hand. The boy slides the disc into the CD player and throws Dom the remote and a blistering smile.
"Pizza good enough for you?" he then wants to know, and starts rummaging through papers and magazines and more CDs on his dinner table. He gives Dom a questioning look after he has turned around again, phone in hand - and Taxman starts to play.
"I am starving," Dom replies and his head is already nodding in time with the song. "Pizza would be great."
Dom yawns widely, feeling like a big, lazy tomcat, his half of the oversized pizza long gone and his ninth - eighth, tenth? - beer securely in hand. He rests the arm that he just stretched above his head on the backrest of the couch and briefly closes his tired eyes.
Revolver had started its second run about twelve songs ago and the sounds of Got to get you into my life are filling the room.
"You didn't run, you didn't lie
You knew I wanted just to hold you
And had you gone you knew in time we'd meet again"
For the very first time this evening Dom feels like he is breathing, really breathing, as he looks down and watches Elijah.
The two of them had shared an enormous pizza, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, listening to the Beatles while Dom told Elijah every last detail he could come up with about the album and the various songs on it. When he had ran out of things to say, they had continued telling each other what their all-time favourite songs were, quickly finding out that you had to be in certain moods to appreciate certain songs ("No, Dom - you've got it all wrong - Black Sabbath makes you feel good, not depressed!") and when they had thoroughly exhausted that particular subject, went on to discuss the number and quality of the various concerts they had attended over the years.
With a wry smile on his face, Elijah had recounted the time his parents had forbidden him to see a Smashing Pumpkins concert, when he was thirteen years old, and that he had been "fucking furious" about it, especially since his older brother Zach had been allowed to go. When Dom had grinned and muttered something about Elijah's parents being very wise in their decision, the boy had nicked the last slice of pizza from right under his nose, had whacked him on the head with the now empty cardboard box, and had enjoyed a brief moment of stunned disbelief on Dom's face while he dissolved into maniacal giggles himself.
They had worked their way through three six-packs of beer (and Elijah through the remains of a pack of cloves), and now Dom finds himself checking the clock on the wall. He notices it is past two in the morning and wonders for the second time that evening if he should leave Elijah alone. If he should just call a taxi and go to his own house to try and get some sleep - or at least close his eyes and pretend he is getting his much-needed rest.
He realises it will all be futile, however, when he looks down again and watches Elijah's face.
After his fifth or sixth beer, when they had found themselves too tired to say anything else for a while and were just listening to the music, Elijah had sighed sleepily and had sagged sideways once more - yet this time against Dom's body. He had rested his head on Dom's shoulder and continued to hum along with Eleanor Rigby when the song came around a second time.
Dom had panicked a bit, because the sensation of Elijah's hair softly tickling the side of his face and the invigorating combination of powerful body heat and a pulsing heart so close to his own had left him dizzy and aroused.
His gut reaction had been to move.
To move away from Elijah's regular, soft breaths against his neck. To move away from the warm skin of the boy's arm suddenly pressed against his own. To move away from the risk of Elijah finding out how Dom gets hard when Elijah gets too close.
So Dom had hurriedly stood up to fetch two more bottles from a still well-stocked fridge, and on his return he had found the boy splayed flat out on the couch, barefoot, his hair a beautiful mess, empty bottle resting on his chest, fingers wrapped tightly around it.
"Jesus..." Dom had muttered under his breath, trying frantically to decide what to do. He had eyed the only other chair in the room, filled with clothes and CDs and script pages, and chose against it. He had looked at Elijah again, thinking that maybe this would be a very good moment to just sneak out and go home. No one would blame him for that at one in the morning, right?
It had been Elijah who had opened his bleary eyes and, by lazily patting the space next to his head, had motioned for Dom to take his old seat again. "Come sit, Dommie," he had drawled, using that rather silly nickname for the first time. Yet, coming from Elijah, it had sounded strangely endearing and Dom had moved back to his place on the couch. Elijah had briefly lifted his head, placed it on Dom's leg as soon as Dom sat down, accepted his bottle with a smile and had closed his eyes.
So now Dom finds himself in Elijah's house, with a bottle of Elijah's beer in one hand, strands of Elijah's soft hair rather tentatively in his other, and Elijah's sleep drunk head resting on his thigh. Soft purring noises fall like clockwork from those wicked lips every time Dom works up the nerve to run his nails over the skin of Elijah's pale neck. It causes him to drink instead of think, and to enjoy the feeling of Elijah's smooth skin against his own - as well as his rampant cock against the scratchy denim of his jeans.
The combination of too much alcohol in his system and the boy's musky scent in his nostrils encourages Dom to finally get back to the question that Elijah had so simply explained - almost dismissed - earlier that evening in their trailer.
"Lij?"
"Hmm?"
"Did you really send Hannah pictures of me?"
"Hmm-hmm."
"Is that a 'yes'?"
"Yes..."
"Why?"
"She's curious..."
"Oh..."
"Dom?"
"Hmm?"
"She really thinks you have a cute ass..."
He shudders when Elijah turns his head around a bit, squirming against his thigh, taking a sloppy swig from his bottle of beer, barely managing not to spill it all over his face and Dom's leg and the couch.
And what about you? Dom can't help but think. Do you think I have a cute ass? He opts for safety instead.
"I can't deny the lady has exquisite taste..."
"Sure, Dom..."
"..."
"Lij?"
"Hmm?"
"Are we drunk?"
"I should damn well think so..."
"Can I ask you something really stupid?"
"You mean more stupid than when you're not drunk?"
"Fuck, Lij... You are not drunk; you're far too sharp. I am not going to ask you anything when you are so sharp, because you're going to remember the question tomorrow..."
"Aw, Dom... Come on, man. I like you when you ask me questions, especially the stupid ones. And I really am drunk..."
He takes another swig for extra emphasis only to find out that he has emptied yet another bottle. He lets it slip from his clumsy fingers and it clatters onto the floor, rolls away from the couch and comes to a halt against the abandoned pizza box.
"Dom...?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you going to ask your question or not?"
"I don't know..."
"I'll ask you a stupid question too if it makes you feel any better..."
"Okay..."
Elijah moves again - fidgets until he is flat on his back, his blue eyes staring up at Dom, the top of his head mere inches away from Dom's crotch. The huge eyes are unfocused and glossy with the buzz of alcohol, telling Dom that Elijah is looking at him but does not really see him. The boy sighs and rubs his cheek closer against Dom's stomach, awaiting his question with his eyes closed.
Dom rests the hand that is not currently residing in Elijah's hair against the hard ridge in his jeans, touching his persistent erection through the fabric of his trousers and trying to prevent Elijah's head from rubbing across it. He takes a deep breath and realises he is much too drunk for his own good, but here he is anyway... His defences are down and he will most likely regret it all in the morning, unless they are as drunk as Elijah claims they are and it will all turn out to be one big blur. Ah - fucking hell...
"Uhm, Lij...?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I have a cute ass?"
"That's your stupid question?"
"Uhm... Yeah..."
"How about I ask my stupid question first before I answer yours..."
"Okay..."
"So... Dom..."
"Yeah..."
"How long were you going to try and hide that hard-on from me?"
Lyrics from "Got to get you into my life" by The Beatles, from the album Revolver, first released in 1966.
Chapter Nine
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