Killer Dress
Or: The Fellowship in Drag, ft. Lawrence Makaore.
I'm not just randomly saying that, because believe me - it's totally bloody necessary. While I have been standing here, trying not to get annoyed with the scratch of my petticoat against my bare legs, drinking too many of those girly fruity vodka thingies, I have come up with no fewer than three valid reasons for my necessary vigilance. I may prove to have some difficulty naming them all, because those girly drinks actually kick arse, but I'm going to give it a try anyway.
Firstly, there is the fact that Elijah is wearing a dress. A black, velvet, form-hugging mini-dress. Before you start wondering what he and I are doing wearing women's clothes, maybe I should add that we're all at this cross-dressing party thrown by... Thrown by... By...
God, fuck, did I mention I've been drinking? Thrown by someone on this film most likely, and now all the guys are girls and all the girls are...
Well, in fits of giggles, to be quite honest. Anyway, back to my list of reasons.
Secondly, I have this nagging suspicion Elijah wouldn't be terribly averse to shagging me. He has been dropping quite some hints to that effect for the past few months and, to be quite honest, I wouldn't be terribly disinclined to return the favour. Especially not when he's all fitted out in that tight strappy number that clings in all the right places and rides up deliciously every time he crosses and uncrosses his legs.
Thirdly, there is this really enormously fucking huge guy in the corner who has been checking out those same legs all evening. Which is understandable, as they are really very nice legs, conveniently clad in sheer silk stockings, but rather disturbing as well because the guy I'm talking about is Lawrence Makaore. And believe me - I'd rush to my damsel's rescue in a heartbeat, but even in my current state of inebriation I understand that taking on Lawrence might be pushing my luck...
Actually, there is a fourth reason why I need to watch my best mate's back.
As per usual, Elijah seems blissfully ignorant of the reactions he tends to extract from tonight's crowd. You would say that with his experience in the glamorous world of Hollywood, the guy would be more aware of what looks - and more specifically, his looks - can do to people, but no... He just sips his drink, perched pathetically on that stool of his, and occasionally flips the long dark hair of his wig over his shoulder.
Be aware of the fact that every time he does that, I can hear people gasp. Not some courteous little coughs or the polite averting of eyes, no... I can literally hear them gasp. Girls and boys. Being boys and girls... Which is kind of confusing to me right about now so maybe I should just get another one of those fruity drinks and kill the need to even try and grasp that particular concept.
Maybe that drink can also help erase the hurt of hearing Liv and Miranda's giggles the minute Billy and I had walked in. I thought we had done a pretty decent job of transforming into girls of the fifties, complete with the heels and the polka-dot-petticoats and the fishnet stockings, but still they giggled. It could have been the fact that Billy should have worn something to cover his shoulders and part of his chest, or the fact that I might have looked more convincing if I had shaven that persistent stubble off my chin, but I still think it was pretty rude.
However, when Elijah had arrived - gracefully delivered to this very room by a strikingly handsome Cate Blanchett dressed in a white tuxedo and a fake moustache --both Liv and Miranda had watched in stunned and, more importantly, silent admiration how Elijah had not walked but glided to his current seat at the bar, his eyes blue and impossibly wide, cheeks and lips touched up with a little red, the hem of his dress stretching tight around his thighs, his heels at least four inches high, and had ordered a Sex on the Beach in a sultry, eerily feminine voice.
I am bloody convinced I wasn't the only one in the room to get hard after hearing that, but apart from Sir Ian, who gathered his sumptuous Victorian-style dress in both hands and made a beeline for the garden, no one gave anything away. And the fact that this erection I'm talking about hasn't abated since, might well be the fifth reason why I am keeping my eyes trained on Elijah.
I notice Lawrence talking to Bean, the Brit being unconvincingly adorned in an Empire dress, or should I say 'frock', straight from a Jane Austen novel. Only the ringlets in Sean's wig strike me as fitting to his face, but that's where it ends.
Suddenly, the Maori excuses himself and I watch him walk to the bar, where, under the pretext of refreshing his drink, he will no doubt try to touch the object of his fascination. Time to move in on the scene, because if there's going to be any touching of Elijah, I want to be involved.
"Can I get you another drink, Lij?" I hear Lawrence ask when I move within hearing distance.
"Great," Elijah answers and smiles as he pushes his empty glass away from him. "Another Sex on the Beach, please. With lemon, not grapefruit."
"Whatever the lady prefers,"Lawrence grins and flags down the bartender.
"So," I say, moving closer to Elijah from the opposite side, causing him to jump a little in his seat. He twists his head, and widens his smile when he realises it;s me. "How many drinks did you have to get yourself tonight?"
He smirks, a dead give-away that Elijah is not a girl, and shrugs briefly.
"None," he grins, and in response I smirk some too.
�You look terrific, Lijah,� I can�t help but add. �I think you�re the only one here who could really fool an outsider. First time?�
Elijah only shrugs, which I think is the most intriguing bit of information I have been given all evening, and definitely something that deserves to be investigated a little further when the time is right.
Lawrence turns around, handing Elijah his cocktail. He spots me at his side and instantly starts to giggle, then tries to compose himself and takes a sip of his own drink, his face awkwardly contorted with the effort of not bursting out in loud laughter.
�What?!� I cry out. �Like you�re such a convincing girl!�
�Ladies, ladies,� Elijah cuts in, barely able to contain his own laughter. �Let�s keep this civilised, okay? You�re both very pretty but if you want to fight you do it outside in the mud bath.�
It shuts us both up, and apparently it is Lawrence's cue to grab the stool next to Elijah (and when did Orlando leave that much-coveted seat?), still towering over him even as he sits down.
"So tell me, Lij," Lawrence starts, and I lean against the bar, ordering the same drink Elijah is having by pointing at it and then at myself, causing the bartender to give me a knowing wink which I can't help but resent a little.
"Did you actually shave your legs before you put those stockings on?"
The question forces a gasp from me, very brief and barely audible, but Elijah heard it all right, and the corners of his carmine red lips tug up a little in silent amusement.
"I would never have thought that is the sort of thing you're interested in," he answers, a sweet, slow smile on his face, looking up at the giant Maori through lashes-that-don't-need-mascara, flirting outrageously. He lifts his drink from the bar and sips gently, then wetting his painted lips with a shiny pink tongue that must taste of peach and vodka, and I can see the trouble Lawrence is having forming his next coherent sentence.
"B-but did you?" Lawrence finally insists, and squirms a little in his seat when Elijah uncrosses his legs once more, not to cross them again but leave his knees slightly parted, feet resting on the rung.
"Ask him if you can feel," I interfere with a suggestive smirk, resting my chin on Elijah's shoulder, staring Lawrence straight in the eyes.
The Maori's eyes go wide and shiny, because isn't this just what he had wanted to do all evening?
"Can I?" he asks, voice strangely soft yet expectant, and I slide my hands around Elijah's velvet waist, resting them on the hem of his dress, never lifting my head from his shoulder.
The American nods, a tiny smile dancing around his slightly parted lips, and he rests his head against my chest, allowing me to get involved and play my part. I take a deep breath and try to steady my hands because isn't this just what I had wanted to do all evening? What I had wanted to do for months?
"Ready?" I ask softly, and then I sense the bartender moving in on our little scene. In fact, suddenly I become aware of more people who have closed in on us, trying to keep some sort of polite distance but almost breathing down our necks at the same time.
I notice Pete in his Hawaiian Hula outfit and Astin in his Catholic schoolgirl uniform. Orli has mysteriously returned from whatever he was doing, prodding his tiara back into place, signalling for Viggo to move from his spot on the couch, draping an arm across Bean's shoulder, the three of them elbowing their way to the front. They stop right behind Billy and I return my attention to Elijah's warm body pressed against my chest and Lawrence's burning eyes focused on my hands.
I curl my fingers around the velvet hem of Elijah's dress, careful not to scratch my nails against the silk of his stockings, and pull lightly at the smooth fabric, revealing even more of Elijah's legs. I smile when Lawrence starts to extend his hand, tentative, almost like he's waiting for someone to tell him i's okay to touch.
I strip the velvet away from Elijah's legs a little bit further, until my fingers bump into something hard. Frowning almost imperceptibly, I lift the hem of the dress, unexpectedly exposing the tiny hooks of a garter belt. I trail my fingers across the intricate lace patterns on the stockings' tops and skim across the black ribbons that connect them to the belt.
�Fuck�� I whisper, my head still close to Elijah�s ear, and I feel a large breath filling the boy�s lungs under the press of my arms around him.
Suddenly, Elijah�s hands are there and he fumbles briefly with the ribbons and the little hooks, disconnecting one stocking from the belt, causing Lawrence to almost slither off his stool.
"Fuck..." I whisper again, so softly this time that only Elijah can hear it. I feel a smile forming on his face, his cheek nestling against my own.
"Go on," he breathes in my ear, removing his hands from his lap, and turns his head again so he can lock eyes with the large man sitting opposite him.
I use my right hand to push the stocking down Elijah's thigh, all the way past his knee, until I can reach no further and Lawrence smoothly takes over. He catches a handful of silk in his hand and all of a sudden there is Elijah's naked leg, bare from the hem of his dress to halfway down his calf and I see a hint of goose bumps growing on the pale white skin.
"Come on," Elijah says softly, his voice laced with that same feminine quality again. I have to fight the urge to spin the stool around and simply ravish that peach and vodka mouth, but the stretch of Lawrence's free hand, ready to touch Elijah's leg, distracts me enough to stay in control.
The Maori's long, dark fingers softly brush against the boy's pale knee and I can barely suppress a gasp, suddenly aware of the pulsing of my own blood through my veins, causing me to harden even more, although I must admit I had for a second forgotten about the predicament underneath my skirt.
Lawrence trails his fingers further down Elijah's leg, all the way to the bunched up mass of silk he is still holding in his other hand. The man's eyes stay focused on his own hand for a second more, then he looks up and into Elijah's wide pools of blue.
"And?" the boy asks coyly, not once losing his poise, still the ultimate girl among the three of us. "Smooth enough?"
There is a soft smile on the Maori's face, but when he becomes aware of the audience around us, he bursts into uproarish laughter. He lets go of Elijah's stocking and hops off the stool, grabbing the boy's shoulder firmly.
"Very smooth, my lass," he jokes and picks up his drink from the bar, spilling some of it on the counter. The rest of the room has started to laugh as well and Billy is even trying to sneak his hand between the Maori and Elijah's leg, but Lawrence swats it away and barks something about asking the lady first. The tension in the room slowly but steadily disappears and everyone returns to their own conversations and jokes and drinks.
"Thank you," Lawrence mutters as he turns back to face Elijah. "Now if you'll excuse me... I think I need to join Sir Ian in the garden for a while ..."
"Sure," the boy grins, and I can feel the vibrations in his chest as we both watch Lawrence retreat to the other end of the room. I take another deep breath and decide now it's my turn to be bold.
This time I do swirl the stool around and carefully seize the dangling stocking, smoothing it back up along Lij's leg towards the garter belt. The skin of his leg is cool under my fingers and we both smile when I brush against the still-present goose bumps on his thigh. Then the stocking cannot go up any higher and we stare at each other for a second.
"Want me to fasten that?" I ask softly and step a little closer. I watch how Lij swallows, how he parts his lips and licks them very briefly and unconsciously with the tip of his tongue, and suddenly my mouth goes very dry. It feels like the world has secretly slipped into some kind of slow motion when the boy nods; no words, no winks, just a slight nod of his head and I reach for the little black ribbon that has disappeared underneath the hem of his dress.
I secure the stocking to the little hooks and when I look up again Elijah's eyes are all glassy and glittering, pupils wide with something I cannot yet put a finger on. Gently, I pull the dress down along Lij's thighs, covering the belt clasps, making sure it looks like nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened. Apart, of course, from the fact that the Fellowship in drag is quite out of the ordinary, but I still don't want to think about that too much.
"Dom?" comes Elijah's soft whisper and I look at him.
"Yes?" I ask, reluctantly lifting my hands from the dress, already mourning the loss of skin under my fingers, or the feel of velvet gliding through my hands. I am staring into his eyes and I am sure there is a party going on around us, but the world seems frozen. Where I noticed the bartender from the corner of my eyes just a minute ago, now all I see is the blue of Elijah's eyes and the red of his lips and I try not to drown.
"Follow me," comes Elijah's voice again as he flicks his hair over his shoulder once more, finishing his drink in one swallow.
Before I can blink he is up and gone, high heels clicking a path across the herringbone patterned floor, purse dangling carelessly from one finger.
Before I can blink a second time, Billy is prodding my side.
"Move, you sod," he smirks. "He wants you."
I blink a third time, vaguely registering Billy's laughter, and then I am moving, one feet in front of the other, again and again, until my hand grabs the knob of the very door Elijah just disappeared behind. I take a large gulp of air, turn the knob around and open the door, closing it with a determined click once I'm through, safely locking myself in as I spot the key. I turn around in a sumptuous, marble bathroom. In the middle of the room, on a small mahogany table, Elijah is sitting with his legs crossed, his wig removed, surrounded by a collection of fluffy white towels.
"Lij..." I start but I can't remember what I wanted to say as I watch the boy slide down the table.
"Ssh," he whispers and presses a finger against my lips. He takes my hands and places them on his hips again, then turns around, so that we're both facing the full-length mirror on the wall.
"Fuck," I mutter once more, as my eyes take in the sight in front of me. Elijah's slim form in his killer black dress stands out sharply against the candy pink of my petticoat and I move my hands up and down, feeling the velvet and the ripple of muscle under my fingers.
"Take off my panties, Dom," Elijah sighs, twisting his head to nuzzle my neck with his nose, his hands disappearing behind my body to squeeze my arse in slow rhythmic movements.
"You're w-wearing...?""is all I can utter and suddenly the throb of my erection is becoming almost painful. I move my hands down, in search of the hemline again, and pull the dress up just enough for my hands to slip underneath, in search of unexpected ladies' underwear.
"I didn't want to," Elijah murmurs in my neck, hot breath causing me to shiver. "But what if I would get hard, hmm? This dress is so fucking tight that it would show immediately. And the prospect of seeing you in a dress was a bit too much of a risk, you know."
I try to process that information as I find the edge of Elijah's knickers and I hook my fingers around it, slowly pulling them down. My wrist brushes against a rather prominent bulge as I tear at the underwear some more and I smirk at Elijah as we lock eyes.
"Why do you think I was sitting down all the time," Elijah grins. "Crossing and fucking re-crossing my legs... I have been hard the minute I laid my eyes on you, Sblom. I should have worn a petticoat like you..."
"Thank fuck you didn't," I interfere and bend my knees to allow Elijah to step out of his lacy pair of knickers. "Because watching you all evening in this unbelievable dress has turned out to become the single most erotic experience of my life."
I move back up and start pushing the dress upward, almost breathless with anticipation. I tug at the velvet just a little more and suddenly Elijah's cock springs free and it is bobbing in the cool air of the bathroom, framed by the ruthless black of the garter belt. The tip of his cock is dark red and sticky, and I can feel my knees buckle.
"Jesus Christ, Lijah," I curse and sling one arm across his belly, trying to remain upright . "Look at you. Just fucking look at you..."
I reach my other hand around his body and close my fist around the base of his erection, causing him to moan in relief and frustration, feeling him buck into my hand already.
"Steady," I whisper against his cheek, dragging my tongue against the shell of his ear. "Just let me look at you for a bit, okay?"
"Mmmmm," Elijah mumbles and hooks one hand around my head, pulling me even closer. "Kiss me first..."
And that is what I do. I crush my mouth on his, deliberately trying to ruin as much of the deep red make up as I can, smudging it with my lips and tongue, causing Elijah to groan. He pushes his tongue against mine, tasting the same peach and lemon and vodka on me as I am tasting on him. His mouth is wet and frantic and I want to hear him moan again so I slip my hand down and start stroking him firmly.
He's heavy and hot in my hand, and the combination with the smooth velvet fabric underneath my other hand that is still clutched around his belly makes my head spin. I was right, though - he's moaning again. He's closed his eyes, the back of his head pushing against my shoulder, and I look at our reflection in the mirror, wondering all of a sudden if I should savour this brief moment in time or realise it's the beginning of something good and lasting.
I bend my head to lick the shell of his ear again, then trail a wet path down his neck, all the way down to his shoulder. He is bucking into my hand again no matter how hard I�m trying to hold him with one arm, and his breath is coming in frantic little bursts, indicating he must be close to coming.
"Fuck, Dom," he groans. "D-don't stop, please. I'm so..." He writhes and struggles against my hold. "I'm so fucking close."
I lift my lips from his shoulder long enough to tell him to look at me and with what seems to be his last ounce of resolve he manages to raise his head and watch. I know this will probably drive him over the edge, because the sight of those dark silk stockings and that black dress and garter belt set against his white skin is too much even for me to handle.
I continue to lick his shoulder, relishing the salty taste of Elijah on the verge of climax, when my nose suddenly feels the sleek strap of his dress. I slip my tongue underneath and yank at it with my teeth, tearing it straight off, leaving bite marks in his flawless, smooth skin, causing him to cry out my name and come.
"Jesus..." he pants and rests heavily against my chest. "Jesus, Dom..."
I lower my arm and stroke his soft belly, flushed a little around his belly button, heaving with the effort of returning his breathing to normal.
"Oh, God, Dom," he gasps again. "That was fucking good..." He dares a look at himself and smirks rather crookedly when he takes in his debauched reflection in the mirror. Then he locks eyes with me and the smirk changes into something softer, something good and lasting...
"Tell me," he says gently. "What do you want me to do?"
I wipe my hand on one of the many towels on the small table and pull at the hem of Lij's dress a second time that evening, making him presentable once more. I take Elijah's mobile phone out of his purse before I replace it with the discarded wig, then ruffle his hair and finally hand him his phone.
"I want you," I start and pull him close to me, kissing him softly, "to call a taxi and take me home."
He breaks the kiss and I watch his huge eyes sparkling in the dimmed light of the bathroom. He giggles in his own, girly fashion and links his arm through mine, already thumbing a number into his phone.
"I want you to take me home, to my bedroom, to my bed," I whisper before I unlock and open the door. "And what I really want you to do, is take this fucking itchy petticoat off."
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