Chapter One
What the fuck?
Dom has touched him before, in infinitely more sensuous ways than this, so why does he feel like he's been hit by a bolt of fucking lightning? He closes his eyes for an instant and the answer brutally slams him in the face. There it is again. His totally unexpected encounter with Franka this morning. Her five hour lay-over, her expectant eyes as she popped the question standing in front of his open door, his unsurprising consent, her hands around a much-praised mug of coffee, his exhausted body against the counter - watching her watching him.
* * *
"Did I wake you up?" she asks and a sense of guilt washes over her face, knowing full well how hard Elijah has been working during the past few months, only to temporarily forget the misery she thrust him in the day she left him. Suddenly, she is almost ready to get up and leave him to his sleep. He nods, but touches her arm in that particular way, as if to say 'but please stay...' and that is exactly what she does.
She sips more of her coffee, looking out of the window, admiring the view Elijah has from his 14th floor apartment. Elijah has slouched down onto the kitchen table and in the reflecting pane of glass she notices his eyes fluttering shut. "You look dead tired," she says, placing the mug in the sink and heading over to him. "What's wrong?" His feet dangle off the table as she stands between his knees, wrapping her arms around his compact body. He almost immediately gives in to her embrace, finding his usual space in her neck and closing his eyes again, breathing in her familiar scent. She strokes his neck absent-mindedly and rests her cheek on his dark hair.
Out of nowhere they kiss; open-mouthed, wet, warm, knowing. It lasts short of a lifetime and they part breathlessly. Elijah drags himself off the table and, with her hands in his, walks back to his bedroom. She doesn't object as he takes off his clothes, climbs into the sumptuous bed and softly asks her to join him there. "We can just..." his voice trails off. "Whatever..." He tries again. "Sleep for a while... you know..." She understands, and takes her clothes off, familiarity kicking in, and climbs into the bed, next to Elijah. Naked. Both. She takes him into her arms, their old habit quickly remembered, and while making shushing sounds to calm him down, he falls asleep again.
* * *
"Earth to Elijah," Dom quips, and raises his eyes to the boy in the sticky jeans, who is now leaning against the doorframe. Elijah snaps out of memory and hears Dom repeat his words. "Take them off."
"Huh - what?" Elijah desperately tries to focus on the present topic of discussion. "Oh - the jeans." He is suddenly aware of his icy wet hair; drops of rainwater are running down his neck, which make him shiver visibly. Dom hops off his bed to fetch a towel from his en-suite bathroom, which he proceeds to wrap around Elijah's small frame.
"Take the fucking jeans off, Lij," he breathes, as he pulls the boy in a tight embrace, rubbing his back, drying his hair. Dom's spaceless hold triggers visions of this morning again, when he nestled into the crook of Franka's arm, breathing shallow breaths, sensing her other hand tracking up and down the side of his naked body. He could always lose himself in her, pretending he wasn't there anymore, disappearing off the face of the earth, only by merging with her soft, oh such soft forms, and let her body take over his own.
* * *
"You like?" she whispers in his hair and he only whimpers a bit in an attempt to confirm what Franka already knows. "Still want me?" Again that fucking whisper and an unmistakable twist hits his stomach, only to travel down to his crotch. 'Oh yes,' he thinks. 'Ever since you fucking walked out on me.' But he doesn't say it, his pride still prevailing. She fondles the taut flesh of his stomach and her fingers crawl towards his nipples.
"Once more, honey?" her whisper is barely audible.
Elijah struggles. Fuck, he wants her. Why the hell is she playing these fucking mind games with him? His entire body screams out for her, but he keeps his mouth shut. The way she dumped him, only three months ago, is a fresh wound in his soul, and it was placed alongside a few other wounds of the same kind. His hurt is big in that area.
Her hand trembles against his shoulder, and he is shocked to realise that she needs an answer from him. He opens his eyes and rolls onto his back, she slides away to give him space.
"You know," he starts and his voice is raspy and hoarse. "Quit the headfuck, you know exactly how I feel." Frowning, she slowly removes her hand. He continues. "God, I want you. I have fucking ached for your touch for the past three months, I still do. Why do you think I beat my body up like I have, lately? To stop feeling anything. To stop wanting you..."
He closes his eyes and sighs. He doesn't want to look at her; missing her touch terribly but fighting the eternal battle with himself to withstand the roaring desire that is building up like an enormous bonfire in the pit of his stomach.
Her hand returns to his chest. His eyes fly open, almost accusingly. Yet her touch burns its print on his flesh and, involuntarily, he shivers. He knows then that it is a lost cause; he'll hate himself in a few hours time, but he cannot find the willpower in his exhausted mind anymore to stop his body from reacting to her ministrations. His eyes flutter close again, and then he allows his body to react, enjoying the way her hand roams the side of his face, swiping her thumb against his lower lip, forcing it down a bit and nudging her index finger against his clenched teeth, which he eventually parts. She pries the index into his mouth, touches his tongue, knowingly unleashing Elijah's raging desire. He sucks fiercely on her finger, taking her somewhat off-guard. She pulls her hand back and quickly covers his lips with her own, warm-wet-wonderful kisses, tongue and teeth and saliva-slick-suction.
* * *
"God, where are you today?" Dom asks, as he loosens his grip on Elijah, ruffling his messy hair with the thick towel to drain the last drops. He now senses something is terribly wrong with the pretty hobbit and worry creeps into his brain. He pulls him down beside him, places an arm around his hanging shoulders and forces Lij's eyes to meet his own. The blue stare is on him now, and Dom cannot help but smile, being the sucker for Elijah's eyes that he is.
It's quiet for a minute before Dom thinks of saying something again, when Elijah suddenly blurts out. "I fucked her this morning."
Dom, shocked, tries to find a facial expression to cover that shock up, then realising he is failing miserably. Fortunately, Elijah is not looking at him at all, being completely immersed in his own disturbing train of thoughts. "Hard," he continues and swallows his tears down.
"I fucked her so hard that I don't think she can sit straight in that business class flight seat of hers, and I enjoyed every split second of it."
Dom squeezes the sagging shoulders, his way of letting him know that he won't judge him.
And he won't.
He won't.
At all.
Chapter Two
Meet Confusion Index