Chapter Nine - Breakfast with Billy
He tries to steady himself on the brass doorknob, checking if he is going to be able to have a verbal exchange with whoever just had the incredible nerve to ring his doorbell so extremely long and loud, not to mention so horribly early in the morning.
"B-Billy," he stutters as he swings the door open wider, realising it's his normally all-time favourite Scot on the doorstep. "Jesus - man, what are you doing around here so early?"
"And a good morning to you too, my dear friend!" Billy exclaims with a cheerful smile, pointedly ignoring the glare Dom casts in his direction.
"I mean it, Bill," Dom tries again. "What the fuck are you doing here? It's far too early for me to entertain anyone. Even you."
That earns him a snort and a sly grin from Billy who breezily steps past a dumb-founded Dom and into the house, carrying a paper bag in his left hand and two paper cups balancing precariously in his right. He marches straight to the living room where he places the items on the coffee table, opens the paper bag and pulls out all kinds of edibles that after a few seconds of Dom's hazy deliberation suddenly equate breakfast.
"It's not that early, Dommie," Billy starts while crumpling the paper bag into a small ball. "It's past ten already." He throws the ball onto the dinner table at the other end of the living room and spins on his heels, facing his friend.
"And you look like shit," he adds, not missing a beat. "Been drinking?"
"Fuck, thanks man," Dom mutters, involuntarily reaching for his head, as if a tight grasp could erase the throbbing ache. He slowly sits down on the couch again and kicks his shoes out of the way. When he looks down briefly, he realises he fell asleep in the clothes he wore yesterday, and suddenly feels sticky and sweaty and all he wants is a long hot shower.
Billy shoves the coffee in his direction and plops down himself, sinking his teeth into a chocolate covered donut. "So tell me," he starts after he has swallowed his first bite, reaching for his own coffee. "You have to be on set in about an hour and you look like you couldn't even lift that paper cup - which, I might add, is quite unlike you. Want to tell me what happened, Dom? Must have been quite the night out."
* * *
Dom stares down into the bright blue of Elijah's eyes, still filled with an alarming amount of innocence, as he tries to process the "silly" question that was just casually aimed at him. He opens his mouth once, twice, but then he realises nothing sensible is going to come out of it and so he snaps it shut.
"How about I first of all move my head from your lap?" Elijah asks, and there's a glint in his eyes that causes a shudder to creep along Dom's spine. Cool air suddenly surrounds his thighs and he can barely suppress a whimper when he realises how much he already misses the intoxicating heat that radiated from Elijah's body as it pressed against his own just now.
The boy is sitting up next to him, his hair pressed ridiculously flat to one side of his head, and he runs both hands through it, ruffling it back into chaotic order. Dom swallows convulsively with the thought that those should be his hands going through that thick, dark hair.
"It's okay, you know..." Elijah says softly, and his voice is gravelly - lower than Dom's ever heard it before. "I couldn't help but notice... that it...erm... happens sometimes..."
Creating some space, Elijah slinks off the couch with feline grace and ends up sitting on the floor in front of Dom, who can only look at him with wide, moist eyes, his brain working feverishly fast against confusion and alcohol to try and get his speech functions up and running. He wants to say something clever to Elijah, who is slightly rocking back and forth, hugging himself - not because he's cold, but because he probably doesn't know what to say or do either.
He knows, he fucking knows! is all Dom can think, sobering up quickly and feeling as if the floor is about to drop from under his feet. All those staring moments, the poorly-hid hard-ons, that one night in the guestroom... He fucking knows...
"Lij..." he finally forces the word out after what seems like an eternity.
Rather uncharacteristically, however, Elijah doesn't raise his eyes to look Dom in the face. Instead, he seems mesmerized by the movement of his own hands as he lifts them slowly, almost - but not quite - teasingly, until they come to rest on Dom's knees. Then he stares at them, his small, soft, boyish hands with the ugly, ravaged nails; stares at them with such intensity that it temporarily prevents him from looking anywhere else.
"Lijah," Dom says, still unable to conjure up words and form comprehensible sentences with them. "God, I'm sorry... I don't... I... Oh, fuck..."
And suddenly Dom feels like he is back in Peter's living room all over again. Because now Elijah is looking at him and the colour of his eyes has gone from the mildly glittering, I've-had-a-few-drinks-blue that they were just a second ago, to the smashing, almost light sabre-blue they were when he met Elijah for the very first time. And when Elijah's eyes go this intense shade of blue, Dom knows they have the capability to cut through skin and bones and go straight to his very essence.
It is this colour, this intensity that both excites and frightens Dom. He so desperately wants to be on the receiving end of the passion these eyes must surely contain, but they also scare him. What if he misinterpreted everything; what if he read each and every sign the wrong way? What if Elijah isn't drunk enough? What if he remembers everything tomorrow morning? In fact, shouldn't he just make up an excuse and get the hell out of here?
* * *
Dom carefully pries the plastic lid of the cup and tosses it on the table, looking at Billy and shrugging slightly.
"I ended up at Elijah's last night, is all," he starts and Billy's eyebrows move up a bit. "And we had a tad bit too much to drink." He sips his coffee and sighs, appreciating the miracle that caffeine can be at times like these.
"And?" Billy wants to know, keeping his eyes steadily fixed on Dom's face. "Is it just the hangover and the accompanying attitude that I am on the receiving end of today?" He puts the sticky bun down and licks his fingers quickly. "Because, frankly, Dom," he continues as he wipes his hand on his jeans. "I think I know you when you're hung over and this looks different. Is there something going on?"
Dom puts his coffee down as well.
"You know what, Bill?" he says, and he winces with the harshness of his own voice. "I shared a couple too many beers over at Elijah's. Let's just say the guy can drink if he commits himself to the task. All there is to know is that I am hideously hung over, that I slept in my clothes, that I reek so badly I am about to kill for a hot shower right now - not to mention the fact that my head hasn't felt like this in a very fucking long time. That's all. So stop giving me grief here, okay?"
Billy almost splutters the entire contents of his cup all over the front of his shirt, but finds his neutral face almost within the same second and ever so gently places his coffee on the table, schooling his features.
"Okay, okay - sorry, Dom," he says softly, raising both hands in placating gestures and making brief, reassuring eye contact with the Brit. "Of course I'll butt out of this. I'm probably seeing things. We Scots have a habit of seeing things. We see monsters in lochs and no one ever believes that, so I guess when I see sharp edges on friends I must be equally deluded..."
The moment Billy's last words leave his mouth, Dom feels like the bastard he truly is. As if in slow motion, he watches Billy pick up his cup of coffee again, sipping gently from it, casting his usually brilliant green eyes to the floor, probably wondering what it was he said that upset his friend so much. Dom shakes his aching head slightly, trying to throw off the cotton-wrapped feel of his surroundings, and places his hand on Billy's knee, who looks up at him immediately.
"Sorry, Bills," Dom says. "You come here with breakfast and coffee and your ever-cheerful self and all I can come up with to add to the festivities is biting your head off. I am just a prick with a hideous hangover and I apologise." He tips his paper cup gently against Billy's and winks, which earns him a smile from the Scot.
"It's alright, you daft twat," Billy grins and takes yet another sip, before he puts the cup down to give Dom one final hard stare. "Just look me in the eye and tell me you're okay, Dom, because you had me worried a bit when you opened the door just now."
Dom squeezes Billy's knee softly and gives him his most encouraging smile. "I'm fine, Bills," he says softly, almost a whisper. "Nothing to worry about. It's been a good night..."
* * *
"Ssh, Dom," Elijah whispers. He reaches up and softly traces a lone finger across Dom's cheek while his other hand is still gripping Dom's knee.
The blue of his eyes has changed again, Dom thinks and tries to relax the muscles in his body that he never realised had become so tense in mere seconds. The bright cut-through-to-my-essence-blue has been replaced by a dark, I-am-drunk-enough-to-pull-this-off-blue and suddenly Dom no longer has the will to think about getting up and leaving. Now, all he wants is for Elijah to be braver than he is.
Dom knows Elijah must have found some sort of courage in his many bottles of beer, since he has already moved to sit right in front of him, on his fucking knees for God's sake, and Dom's imagination is quickly going into overdrive... He wouldn't... he thinks feverishly. He wouldn't... But I want him to put his hands on me... Or his mouth... Or...
When Elijah opens his mouth again, all Dom can focus on is the way that pink tongue moves behind and between small, white teeth, and he almost misses it when whispered words tumble from between shiny, pliant lips.
"I... This... It's okay..."
It is nothing more than a hesitant murmur - throaty and breathless and ragged, but it sends shivers down Dom's spine. His eyes never leave Elijah's, not even when he feels the boy's hand travel from his face to his neck where deft fingers lace themselves through tiny curls, then down towards the collar of his t-shirt. Scooting a little closer towards Dom and the couch, Elijah traces his fingers from their warm spot in Dom's neck to the stubble on Dom's chin and lets out a deep sigh.
"Is this okay...?" he asks softly, while his big, glossy eyes are looking up at Dom again. "I mean... You want me to..." Dom knows he should say something, but still his vocal chords are out of order and so he nods stupidly, hoping that the look in his eyes will be enough to convince the boy it is more than okay.
But when Elijah's hand drops slowly from Dom's face to his stomach, and the short, stubby fingers reach the top of his jeans, a sudden growl escapes Dom's mouth and he clasps his hands over Elijah's, stilling all movement. They stare at each other, their breathing hard and irregular.
"Lij..." Dom is talking while squeezing Elijah's fingers between his own. "S-should we... I mean... Is this wise?" Dom vaguely registers the shock on Elijah's face the second he grasped both hands in his, but he needs to say this. Maybe he isn't as drunk as he thought or hoped he was... Maybe they are both making a big mistake... Maybe Dom cannot even wrap his brain around the bloody fact that Elijah would want him. That Elijah would want a guy. They have never ever discussed anything like this before, right? And they have known each other for just about six weeks. And they are going to be in each other's presence for a very fucking long time to come. And is Elijah asking himself the same questions, or is he really too drunk to even care?
"Dom..." it comes softly, and Elijah pulls his fingers from between Dom's. "I don't know if it's wise..." His hands move back to the top button of Dom's jeans and start fumbling with it. "But I don't give a fuck about wise right now..."
He is no longer looking at the Brit. Instead his eyes are riveted on the way his hands are easing the zipper of Dom's trousers down, uncovering the soft cotton of a dark blue pair of boxers. He pushes both parts of the jeans further open and lets out another shaky breath that caresses the downy hair on Dom's stomach.
Dom tries to think. He really, really does, yet Elijah's hands and hot breath ghosting all over the lower parts of his body are making it almost impossible. He opens his mouth so that the questions that must surely be in there can tumble out, but Elijah has found the opening in his boxers and Dom makes the classical mistake of looking down. A fresh wave of desire for the boy's shiny, plump lips around his dick sweeps through him and although he doesn't exactly know what is about to come, he does know that whatever it is, he can surely deal with it tomorrow.
* * *
"I must say I am really glad to hear the two of you are hitting it off so well," Billy's voice pierces Dom's hazy memory of the previous night. "It certainly didn't look that way the first few weeks, right? I bet it was the music, that must have been the one thing you two could bond over."
Dom smirks along with his friend, downs the last of his coffee, and thinks back briefly to those first days when he was either totally annoyed with Elijah or completely turned on.
"He's okay, Bills," Dom murmurs and ignores the smile that has settled firmly around Billy's lips. "We understand each other a lot better these days."
"Good," Billy says and cleans up the mess of paper and plastic on Dom's coffee table. "Glad to hear it." He tosses it all into the bin in the kitchen, walks back in and grins when he catches Dom stifling a yawn.
"So what time did you leave his place then?" Billy wants to know and starts ushering Dom in the general direction of the shower.
"Must have been around four..." Dom answers and opens the bathroom door. He grabs a towel from the radiator and opens the door to the shower so that he can fiddle with the dials, adjusting the water until the spray is hard and - more importantly - hot. When he turns around again, he catches Billy looking at him.
"What?" Dom asks and pulls his shirt over his head.
"Couldn't you have stayed at his place for those lousy five hours of sleep?" Billy accepts the shirt and tosses it onto a pile of undoubtedly dirty clothes in an obscure corner of the bathroom. "He must have a bedroom or two to spare?"
Dom shrugs and steps out of his jeans unceremoniously, chucking it onto the same pile. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and eyes Billy with a combination of suspicion and amusement.
"Let's just say the timing for that was a bit off, Bills," he mumbles and starts pulling his boxers down. "And now I would like for you to get the fuck out of my bathroom."
* * *
The first time Dom actually dares to look down again, is when his hands have blindly found the soft pale flesh of Elijah's face. He caresses the shells of small ears with his fingertips and then runs his nails through thick, dark hair, causing Elijah to purr like a contented little kitten.
What he sees actually almost takes his breath away, because Elijah is softly fingering his cock through the opening in his boxers, pressing the pad of his thumb into the slit, working the moist around the flushed head. When he looks up his eyes are glittering with excitement, and Dom wonders how much of it is the alcohol speaking and how much the boy's actual want. He decides again that for now he couldn't care less.
"Dom," Elijah's hoarse voice breaks through his hazy thoughts. "You want me to..."
Somewhere deep down Dom realises for a split second that this could be a mistake, that he could be taking advantage of a drunken friend, that he should be wiser than this and talk about it first. But the feeling of that soft-strong hand around his cock obliterates any semblance of control he has over his thoughts; the vision of those unholy blue orbs looking up through long lashes crushes all of his doubts. Elijah clearly knows what he wants, and by God, he fucking knows what he's doing.
Dom hears a strangled "please" leave his mouth and watches in strange fascination how Elijah closes a determined fist around his shaft. Next thing he knows is the touch of a hot, pointy tongue experimentally dipping into his weeping slit, followed by surprisingly soft lips closing around the head, suckling him, wetting him, familiarising themselves with their newfound territory.
The hand around his shaft has started to move and Dom just has to close his eyes, dropping his head onto the backrest of the couch, hands still wandering around in Elijah's suddenly slightly damp hair, then falling away to lie limp and boneless at his sides. Pressure and pace vary for all of about a minute until he's made some noises that tell Elijah what he likes, and before he knows it Elijah's hand is pumping him at a steady rhythm while his mouth works him into a quick frenzy.
Dom is not going to last long - he knows that for sure - because Elijah has done this before. He must have. His tongue knows exactly where to go and what to do, and his squeezing, stroking hand is nothing but a fucking miracle.
Or maybe Dom is slightly biased and Elijah isn't all that fabulous, and it is just the fact that Dom can't believe the object of his perpetual desire for the past few months is now willingly blowing him to kingdom come with his slick, pink lips and his wicked, solid grip around his dick that has been begging for attention throughout the entire night.
Then, suddenly, before Dom can think about anything else, the world seems to close in on him, then does the opposite and everything explodes and goes white and starry and syrupy dense as he feels the short, regular bursts of his orgasm crash through him.
* * *
"It's okay, Dom, thank you," comes Caro's voice. "You and Billy can take five."
Dom walks back to his chair and plops down into it, noticing Billy is doing the same next to him, and he absent-mindedly watches how technicians tamper with the enormous lighting rigs.
Earlier this morning, Billy had ushered him in and out of the shower, had driven him to the set, had made sure he carried the right script out onto that same set and even fucking apologised for him to Pete when he screwed his lines up. All of it in the name of friendship and the worst hangover Dom had suffered in a very fucking long time.
He decides to adopt Elijah's trick, and closes his eyes so maybe people believe he is actually asleep, whereas in reality he just needs to think without being disturbed all the time.
* * *
Dom wakes up and blinks a couple of times, trying to figure out where he is, and, more importantly, where he can find some water. His mouth feels and tastes as if a small furry animal just died in it and the slight pounding of his head indicates the beginning of a serious hangover. He groans as he lifts himself in an upright position and staggers towards the kitchen where he finds bottles of water in Elijah's enormous fridge.
Elijah's fridge.
Elijah.
Oh - fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck with a capital F.
Fuck as in where the fuck is that geeky American with his insane giggle and that adorable gap between his front teeth and the amazing ability to suck a man's soul out through his dick? Where the fuck did he go after Dom fell asleep on the couch, basking in the afterglow of one of the best orgasms of his life? Just...
Fuck.
Dom grabs the bottle from the door of the fridge and moves back into the living room, walks into the hall and climbs the stairs. Bathroom? He flicks the light switch, opens the door and looks inside. Nothing. No traces of a shower, no evidence of someone being sick. Nothing.
Dom turns on his heels and eyes the other doors, not knowing yet behind which one Elijah's bedroom is located. He randomly grabs one of the handles and ever so softly opens the door, trying to adjust his eyes to the dark, quickly noticing this is not Elijah's bedroom. He blindly searches for the light switch again and when he hits it he realises this is a spare bedroom that Elijah obviously uses for storage purposes. Dom turns his back on the unmade bed and the clutter of an eighteen-year-old and closes the door.
The third door must be the bedroom and Dom walks over to it as quietly as possible. For some strange reason he has to know for sure that Elijah is in there, that he just left Dom sleeping on the couch because he couldn't wake him, or because he obviously has no bed available for him right now.
He has to know for sure, because suddenly Dom finds the house eerily silent. He turns the doorknob and pushes the door open just far enough so that he can stick his head around it, eyes adjusted to the dark now. As soon as he locates the bed, Dom pushes the door open wider, because that strange feeling he had downstairs in the kitchen and just now in the spare bedroom fills every pore of his being, and he needs to know the truth. Elijah is not in his bedroom.
Fuck.
Dom rushes to the window and yanks the curtains aside to give him an unobstructed view of the garden. The first, faint rays of sunlight that have started to peak over the distant hills, give Dom just enough light to realise that Elijah is not in his garden either.
Dom staggers away from the window, the back of his knees crashing into the bed frame, and he collapses on the unused sheets. Dom grabs his aching head in both hands, dropping his water bottle on the floor, trying to think back to what had happened after he had come all over his stomach and Elijah's hands.
Where the fuck did he go?
TBC
Chapter Ten
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