Chapter Seventeen
"Okay, let's see if we can clean up this table before anyone drowns or gets hurt otherwise," Viggo says, as casually as possible. "Orli, come with me." And for once, the elf is intimidated by what just took place in front of his eyes, causing him to silently follow Viggo to the bar without asking why.
Billy starts picking up the larger shards of glass on the table and soon Miranda and Dave are following his example, sliding the unbroken glasses to the middle of the table so the small pools of beer and other fluids can be cleaned away. They are both throwing furtive glances in Billy's direction, because surely he must know more about this relationship between Dom and Elijah. Billy keeps his eyes averted, however, finding it hard enough not to lash out at Sean, verbally or physically, at this point.
Karl and Ian help Sean into an upright position, and while the Kiwi checks the massive bruise on the back of Sean's arm where it forcefully collided with the unforgiving wall behind him, Ian just gives him his warmest, most comforting smile.
"O-okay," Sean finally stammers, gingerly touching around to find the bruise himself and wincing as Karl takes his hand and places it at the exact spot. "Fuck," he mutters. "It hurts like a bitch." He pulls the sleeve of his shirt down again and looks at Karl, then Ian, then sighs deeply.
"Did I deserve that?" he wants to know, voice barely audible and Ian chuckles a bit. "Sean," the older actor starts, serious now, sipping patiently from his apparently unharmed glass of water. "No matter how well you meant everything you said... Yes - I'm afraid you deserved all that." Sean casts his eyes down and looks at his hands in his lap, still shaky from the way he had been thrown around and screamed at a little earlier.
"Really," Karl mutters, replaying the scene in his mind. "I never thought Lijah could be so... so... angry. And strong! I mean, Sean, you're not the typical lightweight hobbit now, are you?"
"There is no such thing as a lightweight hobbit, human of the Mark," Billy offers his snide comment, busy swiping the table with a rag that Orli brought over from the bar, not looking up at Karl's face.
"Sam is the literal opposite, Frodo the figurative. I know you're not filming with them, but I harboured hopes you had figured that much out. Really..." he sighs in mock-despair and then quickly winks at Karl.
The need to lash out at Sean has passed, but he won't look at him. His thoughts drift to Dom, who walked out so cool and collected, and to Elijah, who did anything but. The harsh sound that Sean produced when he was hurled back into his seat is still ringing in his ears and the memory of Lij's furious eyes makes him shudder all over again. He stretches and takes the rag back to the bar.
Still rubbing his bruise gently, Sean shakes his head, standing up warily, collecting his jacket and wallet. "I'm out of here," he mumbles in Ian's direction. "Enough humiliation for one night." Ian rises from his spot in the booth and allows Sean to pass, squeezing his uninjured arm softly. "Call me if you need to talk," he says, so calm and quiet that Sean almost misses it. "Because that time will come."
The glimmer of relief in Sean's eyes at the consolation in Ian's voice is quickly replaced by a scowl and a shrug. "I doubt it," he says. "Lij has always been this cast's sweetheart, so you lot will surely bend to his every whim, no matter how ridiculous that whim is." He turns around, facing away from the Brit, only to find his way blocked by Viggo Mortensen.
He spins on his heels, once more looking at the Knight, who touches his arm a second time. "You are being unfair to more people than Elijah tonight, and when you realise that, you know where to find me. No matter when or where, you can talk to me."
Sean shrugs and snorts loudly, feeling cornered and seriously mortified, and then jumps at the sudden touch of the Ranger who is still standing right behind him.
"Come on, I'll drive you home," Viggo grumbles deep in his throat. And without waiting for Sean's consent he turns around and walks out of the pub.
* * *
"Lij! For fuck's sake, man! Wait up!"
Dom is running hard to catch up with his boyfriend, who had broken into a run the moment the door of the pub fell shut. It's a cold night and Dom isn't wearing a jacket or a sweater as he expected to simply hop into the warmth of a taxi and then into Elijah's bed. Yet now he finds himself running for warmth and security since both suddenly seem to have abandoned him.
"Leave me alone!" Lij pants, chest heaving. He crashes down on one of the many benches that line big stretches of green along Wellington's Lambton Harbour, and gives Dom a pained look when he finally reaches him.
"What is this? Are you shutting me out again?" Dom is breathing hard as well, grabbing the back of the bench, bending over it. He looks at Lij's slumped shoulders and suddenly has the urge to shake him thoroughly.
* * *
God, Lij, you were terrific just now! Why, why for fuck's sake are you being so hard on yourself?
* * *
"Just leave me alone, Dom, I just want to be alo-"
"No way, Lij, you're not pushing me away after something big like this. We are in this together, baby, so don't you dare refuse me now." Dom walks around the bench and sits down, a foot or two away from Elijah, and folds his arms resolutely. "Besides," he swallows, hesitating briefly. "I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you..."
Elijah's face shoots up to face Dom, incredulity showing all over his pale features, almost silken in the mixed light of moon and streetlamps. He opens his mouth to say something but Dom beats him to it once again.
"I mean it, Lij! I am fucking proud of you. For once you had the fucking guts to stand up to that nosy bastard. You really gave him a piece of your mind and I think you fucking shattered him! And he deserved it big time." He takes a deep breath and exhales in erratic shudders, still not fully recovered from chasing after Elijah.
"But Dom," Lij offers weakly. "I treated the guy like a piece of shit, throwing him around like I did, allowing the whole bar to join in my hysterics." He buries his head in his hands and pulls his legs up, knees close to his face. "He probably hates my guts now..."
Dom sighs, no longer agitated or impatient, but resigned. Because this is something he understands. Lij and Sean may not see eye to eye about this, but it doesn't change the fact that they are a hair short of being brothers. And back in the bar, Lij denied that very fact, practically demolishing their seemingly unbreakable bond in his unleashed fury. He looks at his love, who has raised his head from his knees and has started chewing on his indexfinger, staring at the darkness of the water. Dom shifts to sit sideways, one knee flat on the bench, his arm stretched out behind Elijah's back.
"Baby," he starts. "Listen to me. Look at me..."
He waits for Elijah to look up and holds his head with one hand, cupping his cheek softly, stroking his thumb along Lij's jaw in long, soothing caresses.
"Lij," he says, clearing his throat. "I think I know what's going on. I know you're feeling guilty for exploding like that. I don't think I have ever seen that side of you, and I guess it's pretty scary for you too to discover so much anger within yourself." He feels a shudder travel across Elijah's spine and knows he hit a mark.
"Stop trying to please others all the time, Lij," he whispers, and scoots closer, resting his arm around small shoulders. "The only director for the movie about you is you. It's not me, it's not your mum, it certainly isn't Sean Astin, no matter how good a friend he has been to you. Stop caring about the consequences that are hard to handle for others."
Dom takes a deep breath. "I for one know you needed this, and the fact that it was so intense only tells me it should have happened much sooner than it did." He sits up and sighs once more, resting against the back of the wooden bench, suddenly cold again.
"Fuck, Dom, I know all this, but..." Elijah groans when words seem to fail him and frustration washes over his face. He raises his hands, but they hang aimlessly in the cold night air for a second, and suddenly his eyes go wide with anger again and before Dom realises what is going on, Elijah is in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, lips colliding greedily with Dom's surprised, slack mouth. His tongue is worming its way inside without preamble and his hands grab around Dom's shoulders and the back of Dom's head, making sure the coveted lips cannot escape his own.
Dom opens his mouth out of habit and Lij's tongue roughly works its way around lips and teeth and more tongue. "Lij," he mutters, when Elijah breaks contact for a moment in order to breathe. "Jesus, Lij, take it easy."
But Elijah doesn't listen to his words and lunges once more and Dom can only gasp. He moves to pry his hands between himself and Lij's chest that is forcefully pressing against him, and he manages to create just a little bit of space between the two of them. Then suddenly Elijah bites down hard on Dom's lower lip, drawing blood, and the Brit yelps and pushes Elijah away reflexively. Dom jumps up, fingers flying to the drops of blood on his chin, looking shocked and angry.
"Lij, what the fuck is this all about?!" he cries out, stretching tall, desperately searching for a way to overpower Elijah before Elijah completely overpowers him. But Lij has already turned his back on him, running away as fast as he can.
Dom shivers, wraps his arms around himself, and it's not because he's cold. It's nothing but a flash, a nano-second of his memory, yet his knees almost give way when he remembers, the dimness of the room, the sounds, the scent, the harsh words...
* * *
"Don't even dream of touching yourself, Monaghan."
* * *
Elijah has whirled away from the bench once more, crossing the street without checking for traffic, running again. He reaches a junction and stops, grabbing a lamppost, resting his forehead against the cool metal, panting in ragged breaths. His hands around the post squeeze the unyielding metal as hard as they can, knuckles white. It actually feels quite good. He bumps his head against the pole experimentally and revels in the sting of pain he's earned himself with that. He bumps his head again, and smiles in wonder, before his face wrinkles up in anger again.
"Bruises wouldn't do on Frodo, now would they," he grumbles sarcastically after he has bumped his head a third time, and starts kicking a Converse-clad foot hard against the post. It hurts like hell and an unexpected tear escapes from his eye. He jerks his head over the sleeve of his t-shirt. "Jesus, you're such a baby," he growls and kicks the pole again.
"Fuck you, Sean," he curses, bumping his head once more, voice growing louder. "Fuck you and your fucking homophobic attitude. Fuck! You!" He's shouting now and lets go of the lamppost, wanting to run off again.
There's simply too much energy, too much heat, too much anger boiling inside of him; he's almost bursting with the need for some violent release. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs till his throat hurts. He wants to run so fast he'll feel his heart pounding in his chest and the blood thrumming in his ears.
He wants to kick the living shit out of Sean.
Cursing loudly, he turns around, frantically in search of something to hit, and his hand furiously lashes out at the brick wall opposite the lamppost.
The blood finally stops him. With his wild eyes wide open, he stares at his hand as if transfixed. He watches the blood trickle out of the soft flesh of his palm, down his wrist, into the long sleeve of his shirt. When the first splatter hits the pavement, he is torn from his haze, and then spins on his heels when he hears Dom's voice.
"What the fuck are you doing to yourself, Lij?" Dom is holding on to the same lamppost and catches his breath. He rounded the corner just before Elijah smashed his hand into the wall, and now he stares pointedly at the steady flow of blood that drips onto the concrete of the street.
Lij slumps against the wall, bringing his hand up for closer examination and winces when the fingers of his other hand prod lightly at the messy wound. He looks at Dom and cringes under his intense stare, dropping both hands to his sides.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, things come oddly into focus, and all he sees is Dom.
Dom, who stands there against the lamppost he so viciously abused just minutes ago. Dom, who looks so cold in his flimsy t-shirt and worn jeans. Dom, whose eyes have gone soft again, trying so hard to understand.
Forgetting about the blood on his hands, Lij reaches out and pulls Dom into his embrace, whispering soft apologies against his cheek.
The kiss that follows is shy, almost like their first one, years ago, nothing but a timid brush against dry, cold lips. But then the tip of Elijah's tongue darts out and wets Dom's lips, and when they part Lij slides inside and cannot help but moan, pulling Dom even closer, hands everywhere, sharing together what little warmth they have left.
With the slight remnants of his anger somehow still present, Elijah turns them both around, pushing Dom roughly up against the wall, unconsciously still needing the upper hand. The scary, anger-induced forcefulness is gone, however, and Dom trustingly arches his back, pressing his hips against Elijah's, causing his cock to twitch and grow.
With one hand against the wall beside Dom's head and one hand cupping Dom's ass, leaving bloody smutches on the dark denim, Lij grinds into Dom's growing erection, forcing unexpected moans from them both. He squeezes and slides his hand down to Dom's thigh, nudging, pushing, shoving his body in between Dom's legs, and starts to rub their erections together hard and steadily, grunting his need in Dom's ear.
"Let me fuck you, Dom," he whispers. "I really need to fuck you."
Dom vaguely realises how Elijah has replaced his unusual fury with his usual unbridled lust, and smiles against the boy's wet tongue as he snakes his hands around Lij's tight little ass, rubbing and kneading hot flesh through tough fabric.
"God yes," he pants and gasps when Lij places soft bites along his chin and neck, only to lap at them wetly, driving Dom insane with want. When he feels Elijah's hand move around the top button of his jeans, his eyes snap open. "You want to do it here?" he breathes, with both fear and awe in his voice. "We're in the middle of a fucking street, Lij."
By way of an answer Elijah yanks Dom's pants open with force and shoves them down just below his ass, at the same time sticking three fingers in his mouth, wetting them with dirty, squelching little sounds bringing Dom close to his undoing. "Jesus, Lij," he gasps. "You can't... You're not go-"
Elijah breaks off Dom's words and what little train of thought he had left with an almost ferocious bite at his nipple, straight through the cotton fabric of his t-shirt. "Fuck," is all he can manage and he realises he doesn't care anymore which wall Lij will push him up against, as long as he will fuck him raw. And fast.
With a quick move, Lij's other hand unzips his own jeans and reaches down to free his throbbing cock, slicking it smoothly with the string of sticky, glistening precum that is gathering steadily around the slit and he groans loudly with the violent sensations.
"Turn," he barely manages to wheeze out, in between grunts of almost unbearable lust. "Give me that ass of yours," and it almost causes Dom's undoing right there. He has just moved when he feels Lij's saliva-slick finger up his ass, no soft probing, just there, hard, wet and insistent, curling up against his prostate, unraveling him faster than he likes. "Easy, Lij, easy," he pleads. "For fuck's sake..."
Elijah doesn't bother with second or third fingers, but presses up to Dom's back and into his god-awful tight hole and pushes ruthlessly, seeking fast, desperate release. He yanks at Dom's exposed cock, causing his lover to arch his back and fling his head on Lij's left shoulder, panting with the need to come, begging for release.
"Christ, Dom," Lij grunts into Dom's ear, slamming into him with merciless force and pace, quickly reaching unreachable heights. "God, please, just come for me, come for me now..." And with those words Dom looses sight of the gravelly wall he is clinging to and Lij's small, expert hand abusing his aching, swollen cock, and he comes with a strangled cry he muffles by biting his upper arm, only to find the pain he causes himself adding to the overwhelming sensations of this forbidden orgasm.
He reaches around to grasp Lij's ass, digging his fingers into the familiar, tight, denim-clad flesh and pushes back the moment Elijah thrusts forward one final time, spilling hot and urgent within Dom's body, fighting to keep his noises in check, registering the pale lamplight on Dom's partly bared back and shuddering with one last obscene spasm.
* * *
"Remember what Ian said, Sean," Viggo states, clearer than he ever sounded all night. "Don't bottle this up, 'cause it will destroy you."
Sean slams the door to the passenger side shut with a loud bang and strides determinedly towards his front door. "Sure," he sneers and gives Viggo an incredulous look. "Don't give me that shit."
The Dane gives him a quizzical look, then shrugs and finally turns around. "Have it your way, Astin," he declares before getting into his car, barely looking at Sean. "Just know that Elijah would never, never deliberately hurt you." Viggo slams the door, staring at the steering wheel for a second or two before lowering the window. "And the fact that you, of all people, are unable to acknowledge that, makes me wonder what kind of friend you have been to the boy all these years." Viggo starts the car and screeches out of sight in a matter of seconds.
Sean fumbles at the zipper of his bag and withdraws his keys, opens the front door, walks inside. After he has closed the door with almost painful deliberation, he rests his back against it and stares off into space.
Finally, he stirs, only to hurl his backpack into the nearest corner and cradles his face in his hands, sobbing messily, incoherently muttering Elijah's name.
Chapter Eighteen
Meet Confusion Index