The Present
Gift!fic for Jane
It's seven pm on Christmas Eve and I am about to pick her up from the airport. I wonder how in the hell she has managed to get a ticket on one of the most wanted flights of the year. Christmas tomorrow... I realise I haven't seen her in seven months and suddenly I am nervous as hell.
Back in May, I had asked her to come with me to LA, fully aware that what I was asking was in fact quite immature and maybe even ridiculous, but I was so head over heels in love with her that for obvious reasons I didn't seem to care. All she did was give me her beautiful smile and kiss my nose and mutter something about her job and me being so cute, but... and the rest I couldn't make out. It was the only time during our two weeks together that she had actually patronised me, but, on the other hand, I guess I had it coming with such an outrageous request.
On the plane ride back home (a red eye, during which I couldn't sleep because I already missed her terribly and was so incredibly hard all the time that even my comfortable leather business class chair did little to improve my awkward state) I wondered why I'd had the nerve to ask her to just drop everything and come with me. I remember how at that very moment the plane had dropped a good twenty yards, making my empty stomach churn, and realising the plane itself was the answer.
I am used to travel the world. I ride planes like most people ride buses. I don't mind living out of suitcases in fancy hotels, even though I do sometimes suffer the occasional bout of homesickness. My job asks of me to be like that. Sometimes a contract comes through quicker than was anticipated and I have to go at the drop of a hat, leaving behind everything then and there and make the best of yet another set of people, cast and crew, in yet another strange place, for yet another often unknown stretch of time. I have been doing this since I was nine. It is the most normal thing in the world for me.
But not for her. She had to make all kinds of arrangements so she could go on this trip, because, as I came to understand, she is pretty indispensable where she works. We have been in contact of course, through e-mails and phone calls and I even resorted to sending her letters and cards from most of the places I visited throughout this year, but now that I am going to be able to really touch her again after all this time, it causes me to be nervous and slightly overwhelmed. My whole body is tingling and the first thing I did when I entered the terminal fifteen minutes ago, was finding a smoking area, because my nerves are shattered.
And that's where I am right now, sitting in an uncomfortable yellow plastic chair, having my eyes fixed on a monitor hanging from the ceiling in the corner, and lighting my third clove with the second one. I catch myself doing it and wince. Hi, I'm Elijah Wood, and I'm a chain smoker. I wince again and resolve to try and cut back in the New Year.
The monitor informs me that her plane has landed and that luggage can be collected. I crush the clove in the large ashtray and make my way to her gate, suddenly impatient to see her - hold her again.
A lot of time has passed since May. I wonder how we will feel about each other after such a long time. I know she is going through the hassle of flying out here, but her feelings may well have changed. I can imagine she has come to her senses during all those months apart and that, in the coming days, she will try to inform me that she would love for us to be friends, but let's face it, you�re a lot younger than I am and we live so far apart and what we had was just an infatuation...
I shudder a bit because I know that for me it's definitely not an infatuation. I still miss her and I still want to be with her. So many months have passed and there are so many people I have met after I said goodbye to her, and still she is the only one I think about almost every day. Definitely not an infatuation...
Suddenly I spot her dark hair, bunched in a ponytail, somewhere in the middle of a group of people. She is wearing a pair of jeans and a white blouse, and she is sporting the black leather strap around her neck with the little gold charm on it that I bought her when I, near the end of my stay, eventually did manage to ruin her ankle bracelet.
I watch how she grabs a large red suitcase from the belt, and I feel my mouth go dry when she whips her head around and I can finally see her face. Her eyes are searching the crowds, but I decide to refrain from making my presence known just yet, desperate as I am to just watch her for a minute, marvel at her beauty and keeping the bubble of my imagination intact for a tiny moment longer. For once my height, or lack thereof, is my ally, because she doesn't spot me until she is standing almost right in front of me.
She lets go of the trolley carrying her suitcase and stares at me. I feel how my hands are clenching and unclenching in the tight confines of my jeans' pockets and stare back, a half smile creeping up my face. "Hi," I utter, trying not to show how nervous I am. She moves away from her trolley and I close the distance between us. I can smell her perfume and I am certain that when I close my eyes, I will once again find myself on a rainy, muddy soundstage somewhere in London, quite near to having my teeth kicked out and fake blood poured all over me, childishly happy in the knowledge that she will be waiting for me at night. I smile.
"I had forgotten how blue they really are," she says, blushing lightly. I grin softly, removing my hands from my pockets and wrapping them around her waist. "Come here," I say, and pull her against me, feeling how her hands fold themselves around my body, and I can't help but very briefly nuzzle her exposed neck. She giggles and leans back in my arms, watching me. "Hi Elijah," she whispers, teasingly using my full name, and she kisses the tip of my nose. "I have missed you."
I have my own place these days - I finally left the guesthouse. It is a great house, right where I wanted it to be, and being on my own has the advantages I expected it would have, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that I actually miss my mom. Having her only thirty feet away at any given moment of the day, whenever I am hungry or in need of advice or comfort or just plain and simple companionship, was something I had unconsciously grown very accustomed to, and now that I am halfway across town instead of the backyard I feel kind of lonely at times.
Moreover, I am still a bit nostalgic about the guesthouse and I think I will show her the quaint little place anyway, because when I met her I still lived there and I always talked to her about it as it being my home. She should at least know what it looks like.
Right now, however, I open my very own front door, carry her suitcase into the house, and continue to invite her inside my freshly decorated but still rather empty living room.
"Do you want the grand tour?" I ask, slightly nervous again, because here we are - no more distractions, just the two of us. It makes me uneasy because all I really want to do is show her the bedroom and my outrageously big bed (I always wanted a huge bed but of course there was no room for one in the guesthouse) and just fuck her senseless, but that would not make me a terribly good host, I guess.
She smiles and nods and drops her purse on the coffee table. She eyes the magazines and CD cases that are scattered everywhere and grins. "I see some things haven't changed," she giggles and picks up the nearest stack for closer inspection. She continues to giggle softly while she reads one of the inlays and it makes me weak in the knees.
Suddenly she looks up through her lashes and I know she is flirting with me all over again, the way she used to do when we first met. Blood rushes down instantly and the pleasant tingling that had started at the airport intensifies and I am sure she can see the bulge in my jeans grow by now. God, how I want her...
The jewel cases she's holding fall on the coffee table with a loud clatter when I grab both her arms and pull her flush against my body to kiss her. We didn't kiss at the airport or in the car on our way to my home because I wasn't sure she wanted to be kissed. On top of that, I really have to be careful with public displays of affection, as my agent calls them, because I can never be sure if there aren't any photographers around to catch me in the act.
The kiss is short and probing. "Remember?" I ask, my voice low and raspy, suddenly bold with the promise of more within my reach. She smiles and pulls at my neck again, crushing our lips together. It's hot and wet, and reminds me of all our kisses back in England. The hurried, greedy ones I stole when she'd visit the set two or three times; the slow and teasing ones that we would share over dinner or breakfast; and the hot and intense kisses that accompanied our lovemaking.
This kiss promises to give me what I have been hoping for ever since she told me she would love to come over during the Christmas season, and now that it so near, it takes all my willpower not to whimper like a spoiled child when she stops my movements towards the stairs.
"Hang on, sweetheart," she says gently and strokes the side of my face. "I know what you want, but..."
I watch her mouth move and struggle to make sense of the words coming out of them. All I am really registering is the fact that she just denied me the one thing I have been so anxiously looking forward to. "Wh...what?" I manage to stutter and feel like a teenager with rampant hormones. Images of Flipper dart in and out of my mind, and I feel a blush growing.
"There's some stuff I'd like to talk about first," she says softly, and again I try to stay with the script. Her script.
Stuff? Talk??
The nagging feeling that she is going to tell me we can still be friends resurfaces in my brain with ruthless abandon and my knees go weak again, yet this time for a completely different reason. I let go of her and make my way to the couch, my throat dry and constricted, feeling as if someone is pulling a noose closer and closer around my neck.
I knew it. She is here, but she's not really here. She wants to see me again, but probably just because I am famous or whatnot. I realise she actually did talk herself out of whatever it was we had after I had left for the States and now she is trying to find words gentle enough to tell me. I knew it.
"I have been doing some thinking, Lij," she starts and it sounds like a thunderstorm rumbling on a distant horizon. �Because for some time now I have been seriously wondering if this is it." The thunderstorm rapidly swells to the proportions of a hurricane and I swallow hard, thinking I have been down this fucking road too many fucking times.
"I mean," she continues, either missing or ignoring my growing state of alarm, "I have missed you terribly, but now that I am here, I can't go back to the way it was before."
This can't be happening. I fight to keep a neutral face, but all I really want to do is burst out and get angry. Or, on second thought, all I really want to do is kiss her again and forget she ever said this, forget the sudden doubt in her eyes, the distance in her voice. Forget the icy shivers that are running up and down my spine and the tears that are kicking and screaming to be released, but I won't let them.
I clear my seemingly constricted throat, try to think of something sensible and mature to say, but all that comes out is a barely audible "oh" and so I drop my eyes and simply stare at my hands, afraid to make an even bigger fool of myself.
It is quiet for a while, and I finally speak up once more. "Why did you come then?" I ask and lift my eyes to find hers already locked on mine. "You could have called from England to tell me that this is no longer what you want; it would have saved time and money and you seeing me... seeing me all..." I can't really bring myself to say it and I hear my voice trail off.
Suddenly she is on her knees in front of me, a look of panic on her face. She grabs my hands and pulls them close to her mouth, her eyes searching mine. "Oh damn," she mutters and squeezes my hands a bit, kissing them lightly. "I am so sorry, honey," she starts again. "This is not at all what I meant to say. I do want to be with you, but I think what I am trying to say is that I was hoping it could become something more than the way we left it back in May."
Now it is her turn to cast her eyes down. She doesn't let go of my hands, though, and I almost dare to hope again. I free my left hand and lift her chin so that we are looking at each other once more.
"I'm afraid to talk about this to you," she whispers and when her eyes nervously dart left and right, I squeeze her hand in mine and force her to look at me. "I mean, let's face it, Elijah....." I offer her a questioning look and she continues hesitantly after my reassuring smile.
"You're a lot younger; you're a much-in-demand actor; your life is so much different from mine." She swallows and takes a deep breath. "You have given me two beautiful weeks last spring and after our first or second night together I knew that I had to be careful not to get my heart broken. I decided I needed to treat you and me as just another fling, an affair, something short-lived. You are such a free spirit, Elijah, I didn't want to pin you down. I still don't."
I kiss her nose. It makes me feel giddy to realise that the tables are turning, and that in fact she is afraid. I pull out my warmest smile, seeing it is the only way I can make this easier for her.
"I knew I couldn't fall in love with you, because after the shoot you would leave me; you would go back to the States, to your friends and family and I would never see you again. I fought it, really, but it was no use. One night, you unconsciously showed me that vulnerable side of yours, when you admitted your loneliness and your homesickness and I guess it was then and there that I fell for you. It was beautiful and scary at the same time. I was sort of hoping you would lose interest in me after you had returned to LA, but you kept in touch so faithfully that I started to wonder. It was the only reason why I decided to fly out here. I need to know how far you are willing to go. With me."
She is not looking at me anymore, but it's okay. I am not really seeing anything anyway. Instead I just take her hand firmly in mine and stand up. "Come on," I say, smiling. "Come with me."
This time she follows me upstairs without any protest. Strangely calm, I cross the landing and push open the door to my bedroom. Standing with her back to me, she takes in the surroundings and I wrap my arms around her, locking my hands over her stomach. "You cleaned up for me," she giggles softly. "I bet this is a disaster area normally."
I unlock my hands and fumble at the topmost button of her blouse. "You know me too well," I whisper against her ear, blowing gently across her cheek. "Changed the bed too and brushed my teeth." She laughs out loud and the brilliance of it gives me goose bumps. "Silly," she mutters, and I move on to the next button, her back still pressed tightly against my chest.
"Ironed my shirt..." I whisper and finish opening the last button. "Got a close shave..." and slide the blouse from her shoulders, exposing a white lace bra. "I even put on a pair of boxers..." She giggles again and tries to turn around, but I tighten my grip and gently kiss her neck while simultaneously slipping the bra straps down her arms.
I close my hands around her breasts and squeeze gently, involuntarily circling my hips, grinding my resuscitated erection shamelessly against her buttocks. I close my eyes and moan, my lips still trailing her neck, searching for the soft spot behind her ear, while my hands slide down the soft skin of her stomach. When I touch the waistband of her jeans and pull at the top button to slip my hand inside, I elicit a soft groan from her.
"Lij..." she mutters, and tries to turn around again. "Elijah..."
But instead I push her forward gently until her knees touch the edge of the bed and she is forced to climb on top of it. Free from my strong grasp she turns around quickly and lies on her back, looking up at me, her face flushed, blouse already gone, jeans well on its way. "Get out of those clothes," she commands, but has trouble keeping a straight face. "And I'll do the same..."
It only takes me a few heartbeats to get rid of my clothes and before I know it we are lying between the dark and light blue sheets and I am nudging her legs apart with my knees, lowering my body on top of hers, and feel the warmth of her breath glide past my neck and ear. I groan when I feel how my cock, hard and weeping, gets trapped between my body and her thigh and I can't help but grind into her leg roughly, desperately needing friction by now.
"God," she moans and her hands are everywhere on my back. "There are other things that haven't changed." I grin softly and start licking my way from her mouth to her cheek to her neck and all the way down until I come to a halt on the rosy-flushed skin between her breasts. "Same here," I mutter and swirl my tongue over and around a peaked nipple. I scoot down even further and lick her stomach, dipping into her navel, gently nipping at its edges, making her squirm and giggle.
"Tell me," I whisper against the soft flesh of her stomach. "Just pretend I am Santa..." It earns me a short grin, but she doesn't say anything; just twirls her fingers in my hair. "What would you like to have right now?" I close my eyes when I feel how strands of my hair glide through her fingers and I shiver at the feel of her nails on my head.
"You still like this, don't you?" she says and purposely scratches my skull for a while in teasingly slow circles, causing me to moan low in my throat and giving me goose bumps. I try to nod, but I am already too far down for her to see. "Why not keep your head there for a bit, so I can scratch some more?" she suggests and I grin with the dual message she is giving me.
"Santa's here to please," I giggle and give her experimental, getting-to-know-you-all-over licks at the insides of her thighs, breathing in her sweet scent and quickly losing my cool. "Spread wider," I mutter - a bit startled by the harshness in my voice.
She immediately obeys and I suckle her slowly until I reach the spot that always makes her squirm and writhe under my hands. Driven on by her generous moans and her deliciously long nails still raking over my skull I start to suck her clit in rhythmic movements, steadily bringing her to a fast and furious climax, leaving us both breathing hard and my cock throbbing with the overwhelming need to sink into those hot, wet, pulsing folds that I can still feel against the tip of my tongue.
"Jesus, Lij," she breathes heavily. "I had forgotten how good you are at this." I crawl back up, yank a condom from the nightstand drawer and roll it on quickly, annoyed with the necessary interruption. Then I lower my body onto hers, feeling the press of her breasts against my chest, nudging the head of my cock against her wetness, waiting just that little bit longer to push into her.
"You know what?" she whispers, her lips close to mine. "I hadn't forgotten about anything, now that I come to think of it. I just never dreamed I would be here with you like this ever again. I guess I just didn't dare to remember it..." I interrupt her with a greedy, saliva-slick kiss, causing my head to spin and our bodies to rock forcefully against each other, and I feel how the tip of my cock slips inside of her.
"I hadn't forgotten about that teasing tongue of yours," she continues, after we break the kiss. I struggle not to move and push in further because I know she is going to talk dirty to me, and I know I won't last that way.
"Also, I hadn't forgotten about the way you can go so deliciously hard in mere seconds," she continues and I close my eyes, my lips ghosting over her cheeks - just brushing - not really kissing or licking. "Or how fantastic your dick feels in my hand, or my mouth, or my body. Remember the record store, baby? God, you came so hard there..."
It's exactly this memory that I treasure most, because it was wild and weird and so incredibly hot... and it coming from her mouth, causes me to push in hard. She screams briefly - at least I managed to surprise her - and immediately bucks up to meet my first forceful thrust.
I try to keep my strokes deep and slow but within a few minutes my rhythm is growing faster and harder and I push up on myhands to watch her face. "You know," I manage to say between two thrusts, shuddering with the sting of pain when my balls slap against her ass a little too forcefully, causing me to slow down a bit.
"I have jerked off to the memory of your mouth on me in that bloody record store too many times in the past months than I care to remember..." She looks at me and smiles, kneading my ass with her hands, tucking her legs up around me even higher. "I bet it was good wanking material," she grins on an exhalation, and I ram into her again, hardening even more when I imagine her watching me masturbate, and suddenly everything within me tightens and I know I am there.
"Gonna come..." I manage to grunt out, and I plunge into her one final time before everything in my system short-circuits and the only thing left to feel is the overpowering force with which my cock empties itself over and over again inside of her.
When we're both pleasantly exhausted, already drifting in and out of post-coital sleep, I wrap my arms around her and pull her close. "Tomorrow we talk, okay?" I whisper, stroking her hair. "I'll tell you how far I am willing to go then." I feel her smile against my chest.
"I already have an idea, Elijah," she says and her hand strokes the back of my head. "Good," is all I answer, as it is the only appropriate reply. Then I think of something.
"I still have a Christmas present for you, downstairs."
She kisses my throat and looks at me, offering me her warmest smile again, two gorgeous green-blue eyes shining brightly.
"I think you just gave it to me."
"Merry Christmas then."
I giggle softly, nuzzling her hair, feeling content and safe and warm and like I never want to leave this bed ever again. I close my eyes and realise that I never want to leave her ever again.
"Merry Christmas."
~fin~
(This series will continue in ...and beyond in which love is explored on Elijah's side of the ocean.)
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