Elijah
Elijah had decided to stop flirting with Ian.
It would be difficult. The older man still held an enormous appeal for him--BUT one could only take so much frustration.
How strange. He had assumed that an openly gay actor with no apparent current attachments would jump at the chance to have a young, gorgeous fellow like himself. He knew he was gorgeous--it wasn’t some weird self-delusion. Everybody said he was gorgeous: the fan magazines, his agent, movie reviewers, casting directors. Everybody but Ian, it seemed. No, it must be what he had figured. He was just too young. Too callow and inexperienced.
The phone rang, and he checked the ID readout. Ian. His heart leapt, but he took a deep breath as he quickly picked up. Nope, he reminded himself, not going down THAT road again. No plan, no timing, no nothing. "Hi, Ian," he said as cheerfully as he could.
"How—? Oh, right, I keep forgetting you have caller ID. I was wondering if you’d like to take a little drive, get some ice cream. Seems like the perfect thing for a hot, gorgeous day like this."
This day is not half as hot and gorgeous as you are, Ian. Whoa! We’re not thinking like that any more, Elijah scolded his overactive libido. Ian’s just a great guy, a pal, an amazing actor.
Before he could reply, Ian went on with a friendly chuckle, "We Brits, you know, we revel in this sort of weather."
"Yeah, you Brits," he said, daring his dirty little mind to make something of that. Luckily, it failed,
and he was able to add, "Sure, Ian, that’d be great."
"Half an hour long enough for you to get ready?"
I’m ready now, ready to be stripped and thrown into bed and have your hot, throbbing-- Man, this was going to be even more difficult than he expected. "Fine. You’ll pick me up?" Pick me up and throw me into bed and shove your hot, throbbing-- "Yeah, no problemo."
"Right. It’s a date! Half an hour, then," Ian said cheerfully. The phone went dead. Elijah stood there for a moment, his eyes closed. A date? If only! Half an hour? Half an hour wouldn’t be nearly enough time in bed with Ian, but it would be a GREAT start. Without looking, he fumbled until the phone slid back into its cradle.
He thought about a cold shower, but remembered the time he had actually had one by accident when the water heater died. NOT fun. He walked over to his closet. No point in dressing to look fuckable. He chose a pair of flowered, loose-fitting shorts that were hilarious and a faded T-shirt from the Taipei Film Festival that Ang had given him when THE ICE STORM wrapped. Examining himself in the mirror, he realized that the outfit made him look like a total dork. Who cares, anyway, he mused. Still twenty minutes left. He switched on the TV to distract himself. Five minutes later he realized that he was staring mindlessly at a 24-hour weather channel
reporting floods in Europe. He switched it off and picked up a stack of magazines from the end table. Oh, great, his Ian collection! From every cover and folded over article some variant of that dishy face stared out at him—sometimes dignified and somber, sometimes smiling in the way that made his stomach hurt with longing.
Well, that smile had made his stomach feel that way in the past. Not any more. His resolve was like a solid granite mountain. Yeah, sure it was. The blue eyes of his very favorite photo stared up tauntingly at him. He tossed the magazines down and just sat feeling sorry for himself until he heard Ian’s car honk in the driveway. He got up and went out, thinking, No, this isn’t going to be easy at all, but at least a bit of ice cream should cheer me up.
Ian
Ian had decided to stop lusting after Elijah.
It would be difficult. The younger man still held an enormous appeal for him--BUT one could only take so much frustration.
It wasn’t so strange, after all, that Elijah would not be attracted to him. Ian knew that to some extent he was still considered sexy. Certainly gay magazines had been running stories about him ever since he started getting famous, including pictures that made him look like some sort of fashion model. The same thing occasionally happened in the more mainstream press. The publicity machines for both the LORD OF THE RINGS and X-MEN films were trying to package him as
attractively as possible for the younger audience. His role as Magneto and his Website seemed, oddly enough, to be giving him a higher profile among teenagers than most of the other cast members enjoyed. All this was beside the point, though. Elijah wouldn’t think of him as sexy. Elijah was straight. And young. Ian had to face it, he was about three times as old as the young fellow, and no amount of trying to act young and be "cool" could change that. A father figure, he reminded himself. Closer to being a grandfather figure, he added bitterly.
All right, so he was not lusting after Elijah, he was being a father figure. What did father figures do? Presumably more-or-less what fathers did. After a moment’s thought he steeled his resolve and picked up the phone.
After only one ring, Elijah’s voice was in his ear. "Hi, Ian."
Ian started. "How--? Oh, right, I keep forgetting you have caller ID. I was wondering if you’d like to take a little drive, get some ice cream. Seems like the perfect thing for a hot, gorgeous day like this." He paused and grimaced, pounding his fist none too lightly on top of his skull. Right. Hot, gorgeous. Nice going, Sir Ian. Get a grip. He added with a nervous little chuckle, "We Brits, you know, we revel in this sort of weather."
"Yeah, you Brits."
Yeah, we Brits, Ian reflected. We middle-aged duffers with soggy umbrellas and tea cozies and hot-water bottles cuddled against us as we read our scrapbooks about our theatrical triumphs in decades past.
"Sure, Ian, that’d be great."
Ian sighed with relief. He realized that if Elijah had said no, he would have ended up sitting inside on this gorgeous--yes, gorgeous day (days could be gorgeous, not just captivating young dishes), becoming depressed and downright maudlin. Good thing his theatrical scrapbooks were all back in London.
"Half an hour long enough for you to get ready?" He was so used by now to watching for double meanings in every word and phrase he spoke to Elijah that his mind now automatically bounced back, Yeah, Ian, half an hour should be long enough to run down to the chemists--no, Elijah would say "drug store"--and pick up a packet of condoms and pop into bed. I’ll definitely be ready for you, with a hard-on like you wouldn’t believe. Ian gritted his teeth. Was he going to keep on thinking like that for the remaining fourteen months of the shoot?
"Fine. You’ll pick me up?" Ian had to pinch his arm hard to keep his mind from fixating on that innocent little question. In the car, you fool, he’s talking about you picking him up in the car! NOT about picking him up preparatory to throwing him in bed and shoving your hot, throbbing-- "Yeah, no problemo," Elijah added, dragging him back to the issue at hand.
"Right. It’s a date! Half an hour then," he said with what enthusiasm he could muster and quickly
jabbed the phone’s off button. NOT a date, he quickly reminded himself. People of reasonably compatible ages and sexual preferences go on dates. This is going to be . . . what? An outing. That’s it. Father figures took their son figures on outings. For ice cream.
Elijah and Ian
Elijah slammed the car door and looked at Ian expectantly. "Where we going?"
"Well, what about some of the tourist sites that everyone in the cast keeps saying they want to visit and never get a chance to. Take a look in this guidebook. I was thinking possibly the Mount Bruce National Wildlife Centre. That’s where that bookmark is. It’s apparently a lovely sixty-kilometer drive. Very educational, with lots of endangered species of birds."
"Oh, yeah. Sounds really . . . interesting. But hey, there are lots of things in this area. Oh, wow! The Southward Car Museum. That’s in Paraparaumu—remember, we saw signs for it when we were out there for Vig’s parties. And it’s lots closer. Listen to this: ‘Marlene Dietrich’s limousine . . . more than 250 classic and quirky vehicles . . . Racing boats . . . motor cycles, early motoring curios . . . A highlight is a 1950 Cadillac Gangster Special once owned by an employee of Al Capone and Lucky Luciano. It boasts a bomb-proof floor, armour-plated doors, bulletproof windows, and a hinged windscreen for firing from inside.’ Man, sounds like something we could use to ride in to the New Zealand premiere of the film."
"You are assuming it will be so successful that we shall need to hold the fans off with machine guns?"
"Yeah, sure. Everybody loves Tolkien, right? Oh, come on, I’m just kidding. But seriously, Ian, can we go there? Pleeeeeeease!"
Ian considered for a moment. "Well, I suppose that would be educational in a different sort of way."
"What’s all this stuff about educational? This is our day off, the weather’s great, we’re here to have fun. Fun, you know, Ian?"
"All right, fine. How are you on navigating? There’s a map in this map-holder right between our elbows."
"I’m great at reading maps. Let me just get oriented . . . yeah, I see where we are. Keep going here, but get ready to hang a left in about half a mile."
____________________________________________________________________
The museum proved both entertaining and educational as the pair spun out hypothetical film scenes that could be shot using some of the picturesque old vehicles. They continued to discuss these most of the way back to Wellington. Then, as they drove through the outskirts, they turned to the all-important topic of where to find ice cream.
They settled on a well-known ice-cream parlor down by the harbor, with a spectacular view. Despite the weather and the crush of tourists in the area, it was getting late in the afternoon, and luckily a few spaces were available at a nearby carpark. Finally they found themselves standing at the counter of the crowded ice-cream parlor. Although a few curious looks were cast their way, the shoot had begun too recently for many people to recognize them.
Ian settled on a modest cone with a scoop each of banana and strawberry, while Elijah insisted on three scoops, all of rich yellow French vanilla. "I LOVE real vanilla, and the menu says this is not
artificial, and I don’t like it when the flavors all melt together," he insisted when Ian questioned this
lack of variety. The tables were all occupied, and they stood leaning on a shallow countertop that ran the width of the front window, admiring the view.
Elijah began to feel distinctly melancholy. The excursion out to Paraparaumu and the museum had been fun, but now he felt such a sense of loss. Standing next to Ian in the crowd along the countertop, he realized that their faces had seldom been this close together for so long. His eyes ran over the light lines in the forehead, the wonderfully chiseled cheekbones drifting down into slightly hollow cheeks, the friendly blue eyes, the mop of somewhat graying hair. The hands, too, one holding the cone and one resting lightly on the countertop, were so beautiful and expressive. He had wanted all these for so long, and yet he would never have them. Well, ice cream was comfort food, and he needed comfort. He licked his cone like a connoisseur. Very nice, he thought. That’s definitely real vanilla and cream with lots of butterfat. It was one of the best cones he had had in a long time, and he realized that he would have to eat it quickly and carefully, because this place wasn’t air conditioned, and the triple stack of scoops was already starting to become a bit runny. He licked up and down the sides to catch the drips.
Ian stood nipping little chunks of ice cream off the top of his cone and congratulating himself on how well the outing had gone. Educational, yes, and now with a little reward for both of them at the end. He could deliver Elijah back to his home with a completely clear conscience. It was in some ways, he had to admit to himself, more relaxing to be with Elijah now that he had finally convinced himself to give up all vain hope of ever taking the enticing young fellow to bed. Exerting so much self-control to hide any sign of his desire had begun to wear him down. Still, devising this kind of innocent excursion was not exactly easy for him either. Maybe he should stop spending so much time with the lad. Let him find another father figure. Ian realized he had been right to begin with. He just wasn’t cut out to balance atop the high pedestal provided by Elijah. He wished he could just enjoy Elijah’s company for its own sake, but he had lusted after him for so long that he could barely think of his cast mate in any other way. Yes, he concluded sadly, he should just give up socializing with Elijah except in groups. Large groups.
He glanced sadly at the beautiful young man beside him, and every bit of motion in his body ceased. Elijah was flirting with him! It was so amazingly obvious! As he watched, almost forgetting to breathe, Elijah’s tongue swirled around the tall stack of three French Vanilla scoops, which by now had become a single upright, thin column. It was even slightly larger and bulbous at the top, since Elijah was concentrating on catching the drips that were running down and threatening to spill over the cone and his fingers. It looked exactly like-- Ian gasped. And that wet little tongue, so dexterously pulling little gobs of white, shiny, melting cream into his mouth. The young man’s blue eyes were gazing at Ian, half-closed with longing, and his mouth was lapping around that increasingly phallic cone in the most lascivious, arousing, exhilarating, crude, moist, obscene, messy, and delightful act of flirting ever committed in the history of the universe!
Elijah wanted him, suddenly, inexplicably! Why now? he wondered vaguely, brushing the question aside mentally the way his hand discarded his own half-eaten cone by the simple expedient of letting it drop unnoticed to the floor. Elijah’s own cone flew in a more dramatic arc before hitting the cash register with a splat as Ian stood up and threw his arms around Elijah and pulled him into a frantic, deep kiss that lifted the young man briefly up off the floor and threatened to deprive him of all breath. After a moment of stunned surprise, Elijah’s arms went around Ian’s waist and threatened in revenge to cut him in two. The murmur of holiday ice-cream eaters at the tables in the little shop went suddenly silent, though this fact was noted not at all by either Ian or Elijah, who seemed to have mistaken each other for particularly luscious chunks of ice cream and were
supplying the only slurping sounds audible in the room--as well as little moans and whimpers that went beyond even the enjoyment that would be appropriate to the rocky-road/crumbled-Oreo/praline triple-scoop sundae that was the special of the day. At last the owner of the establishment leaned across the counter and said loudly and with a distinct mixture of annoyance and amusement, "Could you two perhaps find someplace else to carry on? I think you’re melting my entire stock."
Ian reluctantly dragged his tongue up from the region of Elijah’s vocal chords and looked at the owner in a dazed, uncomprehending fashion. Elijah recovered more quickly, laughing as he plucked at Ian’s sleeve. "Let’s go, Gandy," he said breathily, coaxing his stunned companion out onto the sidewalk.
"Where?" Ian said, still clearly dizzy with bewilderment and arousal. Without waiting for an
answer, he suddenly seized Elijah’s arm and dragged him along the street until they found the carpark and the car and were inside the blazingly hot interior. Elijah fumbled with one hand to roll down the window on one side as Ian, in the driver’s seat, seized him and resumed his extremely deep exploration of Elijah’s mouth. He struggled to pull the young man’s body against his own, but a vast barrier of various cup-holders, change-holders, map-holders, brake and gear-shift handles and other hard plastic contrivances came between them. Ian surfaced again, frustrated and
panting.
Elijah was doing a bit of panting himself, but he managed to say, "Ian, maybe you should cease the
mega-snogging for a while and drive us someplace where we can . . ."
Ian’s blue eyes stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. "Someplace?"
"Yeah. Like your house. You know, where there’s a bed? I don’t think we can do it right here in the middle of a parking lot. And I wanna do it, Ian, I really wanna do it. If we don’t do it soon, I’m gonna start screaming in total sexual frustration. So let’s get going! Assuming you can tell the gear-shift from that,’ he added with a giggle, pointing to Ian’s very, very hard erection.
"Bed, yes, bed," Ian mumbled, straightening up with a new sense of focus and purpose. He squirmed in his seat, fitting the key into the keyhole after about a dozen tries and starting the engine. "I just hope there are no cars on the road between here and my bed--uh, house." He maneuvered the car up to the ticket booth of the carpark and shoved an absurdly large bill at the attendant, peeling out before the pimply-faced youth within could even begin counting out his change.
Miraculously, Ian’s car remained undamaged until it came to an abrupt stop in his driveway. Ian took a moment to turn and smile in a still somewhat dazed way at his lovely young companion.
Elijah batted his eyelashes. "Ian, let’s get in there and fuck like crazed weasels!"
Ian gave a snort of laughter and threw open his door.
"Better turn off the motor. For one thing, you’re gonna need the key to get in the door," Elijah said with a giggle as Ian began to get out. He paused and turned the key, then jumped out and went up to the door at a brisk pace, as Elijah scrambled from the car and ran to catch up. He threw his arms around Ian’s waist as the Brit tried unsteadily to negotiate this second key-hole. Elijah thrust against Ian’s butt until the older man groaned and threw the door open, moving inside and turning immediately toward him.
Elijah kicked the door closed - he'd never actually done that, only seen it in ridiculous films but, boy, was it fun! - and pressed Ian up against the nearest wall, feeling how sweaty his hands were on the cool surface. No matter, he intended to get a lot more hot and bothered in the next few minutes - in fact, if things went to plan, the wallpaper would be peeling off from all the steam their bodies gave off. He giggled again, and Ian removed his mouth from Elijah's throat to spare him a look—a very pleased look.
Elijah grinned impishly. "Why, Sir Ian, you didn’t let me finish my ice-cream cone."
Ian smirked. "Don’t worry, in a very short time you’ll get the real thing." Ignoring Elijah’s baffled look, he returned his attentions to the young man’s throat. Elijah jammed his body harder still against Ian, feeling the man's erection against his own. It would appear that Ian was now very willing to play ball and cock . . .
Ian's hands were moving, snaking between their bodies to fumble at belts and zippers. Elijah hissed in pleasure as Ian finally released him. He was so fucking hard! Surely he'd had this hard-on for weeks, ever since he'd first had fantasies about Ian. His mind was starting to spiral. He opened his
mouth as Ian slid his tongue up over his chin and between his lips, leading to a replay of the kiss at the ice-cream shop. Elijah pressed and thrust against Ian, who grasped his ass and pulled him even closer. The friction of cock against cock was enough, and within minutes, with no finesse whatsoever, they reached climax. Elijah distinctly felt his mind turn inside out.
Feeling unutterably smug he opened his eyes at length and saw Ian smiling indulgently at him. The older man flipped a damp tendril of Elijah's hair back behind his ear, and Elijah caught the wrist and licked at the pulse point, then flicked his tongue into Ian’s ear, moving immediately to his throat—hardly knowing which of the many places he had fantasized about for so long to try next. The man groaned and pushed him away, albeit gently.
"Let us adjourn to the lounge," Ian suggested.
"Good idea. I've got lube in my bag. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks, unopened, just waiting for this moment." Elijah frowned at him accusingly. Ian froze, staring at him as the young man turned and headed for the kitchen.
"Weeks?"
"Yeah, sure, weeks. I’m going to get some paper towels. We’re a bit of a mess, you know." He grinned back at Ian over his shoulder.
Ian followed with a puzzled frown and vacantly accepted the wad of paper towels that Elijah thrust toward him. "But I thought . . . I thought it was only today that you decided you wanted me." He wiped himself off as best he could and fastened his trousers as Elijah did the same with his floral shorts.
Elijah snorted. "Ian! I have been frantically flirting with you for weeks now."
Ian stared at him again. "Just when did that start, may I ask?"
Elijah pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and pretended to think back carefully. "Oh, I’d say about two . . . or maybe it was three seconds after I first saw you. I couldn’t believe it when you ignored it! You could have at least said that you weren’t interested—that you were getting over a break-up or thought I was too young or something."
Ian sagged against the counter. "But Elijah, I thought you looked up to me as a father figure."
Elijah rolled his eyes. "Ian, I didn’t like my father a whole lot, and I certainly didn’t want another one. Plus I’m a grown-up guy and all. Pubic hair, as you may have noticed during that shower incident. I’ve even been shaving for a little while, you know."
Ian blinked in bafflement. "But if I wasn’t influencing you, why did you imitate me—learning so much about Shakespeare and so on?"
Elijah pounded one fist on the counter in pent-up exasperation. "Jesus, Ian! I don’t know more than maybe two little facts about Shakespeare. I was just trying to seem older and sophisticated to impress you. I suppose you didn’t notice because you were so busy making a fool of yourself trying to impress your precious Orli."
"Orli!? What—" Ian stared at him yet again, trying to adjust to this new concept. "I was doing all that—making a fool of myself as you so accurately state—for YOU, you young twit. And what with that sun-cream business, I thought I was succeeding until . . ." He paused, realization dawning in his face. "Oh, THAT’S why you didn’t want to go surfing with me . . . and Orli."
Elijah gaped at him throughout this, shocked briefly into silence. "You mean . . . you’ve wanted me all along? Since before the parties? Before the shower? Before the massage? From the beginning?"
"Well, not quite. For me it started at Peter and Fran’s barbeque."
Elijah nodded, thinking back. "That was pretty close to the beginning. Before the massage."
They stared at each other in mingled embarrassment, amusement, and lust. Finally Elijah shook his head. "We have wasted so much fucking time."
"Fucking time is exactly what we’ve wasted. Well, I for one do not intend to waste any more."
"Neither do I." On common impulse, they exited the kitchen.
Elijah walked on ahead and stopped by his bag where he had dropped it just inside the door. He turned and saw Ian watching him in fascination. With a grin Elijah slowly unzipped his shorts and stepped out of them, then slid his underpants off. The long, loose, one-size-fits-all T-shirt hung frustratingly far down, nearly to the middle of his thighs. Ian was distinctly panting and about two shades pinker by the time he finished.
"NOW let us retire to the lounge," the young man purred, picking up the bag. He sauntered through the door. Ian followed, watching him wiggle - definite wiggling going on under the trailing hem of that shirt. His fingers itched.
Once in the lounge, Elijah dumped the bag on the coffee table, causing the contents to slide partway out as he searched for and found the lube. He placed the tube prominently on the table and turned to face Ian.
***
Having recovered much of his customary urbanity, Ian settled himself on the sofa and said, "Now, take that shirt off for me."
"Why, what are you gonna do?" Elijah turned big Frodo eyes at him.
"Throw you on your back and fuck you cross-eyed. First, however, I am going to give you a massage. The one you wanted."
"Ian." Elijah wriggled uncomfortably and just for the fun of it, Ian snaked his hand under the lower edge of the shirt to cup him. Elijah gave a squeal of delight. He grinned his trademark grin and actually dared to turn his back on Ian. He lifted his hands and the movement caused the shirt to hike up, ever so slightly revealing shapely thighs and just a hint of a peachy-perfect ass. Ian had to swallow hard - either that or start drooling. Elijah cast him a look over his shoulder and raised his arms above his head, interlocking his fingers. The view was heavenly; even more so when the American flexed each cheek. Ian had a sudden vision of himself parting Elijah's lean thighs without ceremony and plunging into him. He gave a strangled moan and reached out, stroking across the peachy firmness, digging his fingers in, watching the flesh dimple and bounce back. He lifted the shirt and grazed his lips up one ass cheek, then licked the sweat from the small of his back. He felt something tickle his face and realized that Elijah had finally pulled the shirt off and let it fall backwards. Ian tugged it off his head and tossed it onto the floor.
"Here, lie down. Massage time."
Elijah pouted, but Ian heroically ignored this. With ill grace Elijah flopped back onto the sofa, spreading his legs in obvious invitation. Ian let his hot gaze travel down his body. He caressed his chest with light fingers before moving to lie not quite on top of the other man, keeping a pillow of air between their bodies. Elijah bucked his hips, trying to pull Ian closer to his straining torso. Ian smiled devilishly, holding himself just out of contact. He lowered his mouth, flicking his tongue at Elijah’s lips but retreating when the mouth obligingly opened. At Elijah's hiss of frustration Ian scraped his finger along the underside of his hardening cock and then again withdrew, this time sitting up properly.
"You bastard!" Elijah said and kicked out at him.
"Calm yourself," Ian lectured. "Now, let me see if I understand more precisely the circumstances leading up to our present situation."
"Crazed-weasel sex now," Elijah whimpered, "Talk later."
"So, you provoking little imp, that massage session was the first abortive seduction, was it not?"
"If you mean," Elijah grated out, curling his hand round his own shaft until Ian stopped him, "was it the first time I tried to jump your bones, yeah."
Ian laughed suddenly and planted a smacker of a kiss on Elijah's lips. "Have you any idea how frustrating that massage was?"
"Every idea, believe me!"
"Then why the hell didn't you make your intentions more obvious?"
"I invited you to get your hot sticky paws on me. Short of putting up a sign saying ‘get it here' - what more did you expect? You never batted an eyelid."
"Never batted--! I was in agony! I had a massive hard-on. I had to use more self-control than I thought I possessed. You seemed SO innocent. And you had a bad back . . . Oh." He smiled ominously and waggled his eyebrows. "All right, you maddening, gorgeous little . . . this - to use a filthy American expression - is payback time."
***
Ian started at Elijah's wild hair before drifting his fingers across his face, brushing his lids closed over the ridiculously beautiful eyes, lightly rubbing at the vertical line of concentration on his forehead. His fingers moved down the straight nose, caressing his cheekbones and the line of his jaw. He feathered a touch across Elijah's full, sensual lips, and they parted to close warmly and wetly on his fingers. Elijah's tongue glided across his fingertips, and Ian withdrew them quickly, fighting to control his incipient orgasm. It was almost as if they hadn’t come only a short time before—as if the frustration of the past weeks was still aching in his cock. He could tell that Elijah felt the same way.
"Ian," Elijah gasped, his hips lifting involuntarily. Ian grinned wickedly and withdrew his hand altogether. With a fretful moan, Elijah quieted and, as a reward, Ian drifted his fingers gently down his throat until they rested on Elijah's chest. The skin was like silk under his hand.
Elijah's body was singing like a bowstring. He had yearned for this for so long, and all he'd wanted to do was throw himself on Ian. Surrendering control like this was pure torment - much worse than the first massage even - but it quickly became the most erotic experience of his life. His focus was
completely centred on what Ian's hands were doing to him, and the lightest touch ignited his senses. He remembered fantasizing about Ian as his doctor examining his body intimately. It would appear that the reality was even better.
Ian's fingertips burned hot on his chest, like five little brands, and Elijah moaned, begging for more. Ian leaned forward to flick at his nipple with his tongue, over and again, teasing it into a hard peak and then circling both nipples with his fingers. Elijah was going crazy. There was nothing else in the world but his nerve endings and Ian's maddening touch.
Ian swept his hand briefly down his body, giving his cock a good pump before returning to his chest. Elijah bucked again, tossing on the couch. The trail of fire continued across his flat stomach with Ian's hands digging into muscle and fat before cupping his prominent hipbones. Elijah made an incoherent sound as Ian stroked the tender skin that joined hip to thigh. He parted his legs further, wild for Ian's touch to continue. He gave a groan that was half delight, half despair when Ian, with a definite smirk, avoided his throbbing erection to scrape his nails gently across his inner
thigh.
"Turn over."
"No way! Aw, Ian!"
Ian again removed his hands, folding them primly in his lap. "There's a fascinating documentary about whales which we could watch if you prefer."
Choking back a sob, Elijah rolled over, clawing his fingers into the pillow. Time to start reciting the eight times table again, he thought. Ian straddled his hips as he had that first time. He licked teasingly at Elijah’s neck, then settled back and began massaging his shoulders. Last time his touch had been purely clinical - or at least to Elijah – but now it was arousing and teasing. Elijah buried his head in the pillow and sought to remain still. Any movement only caused his cock to hurt more as it rubbed against the sofa.
"All right, turn back."
Surely now Ian would abandon the massage. Elijah grabbed Ian's hand and pressed it where it could do the most good. The man chuckled, swirling his fingers round the head of him, pressing his thumb pad into the flesh.
"Fuck, Ian!" Elijah gave a yowl that sounded like a scalded cat. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Oh, you haven't begun to suffer yet, I assure you."
So saying, Ian scraped a line down his shaft before moving to his legs. He tortured Elijah endlessly, one leg at a time, gentling him with soft, soothing caresses along his thighs and tickling behind his knees, pushing his knuckles into Elijah's hard calves and the arches of his feet.
He kissed the instep gently. "I was even having fantasies about your hobbit feet," he admitted.
Finally when Elijah had lost all coherent thought, Ian pushed his thighs farther apart, settling on his knees between them. He leaned over to kiss Elijah's sweaty forehead. "You did very well, dear boy."
His hand closed over Elijah's erection. He was still for a moment, pulling Elijah back from the brink; then his thumb swirled gently across its tip. Elijah's hardness was steel sheathed in velvet, and he imagined how it would feel on his tongue when he finally drew it into his mouth. Later.
He wet his fingers and teased the opening behind Elijah's balls, his own tightening as he thought about Elijah surrounding him. Tears had started to leak from Elijah's closed eyes.
"Ian, please," he panted, and Ian slid up Elijah's trembling body, one hand between his legs, the other reaching to pull Elijah's head toward him for a long-withheld kiss.
"Are you sure you don't want to watch the documentary?"
"Fuck you!"
"Perhaps later." Ian massaged his erection firmly, smirking again as Elijah practically lifted off the sofa. Very flexible, these Americans. He looked at Elijah’s cock, his mouth filling with saliva in anticipation. He leaned down, opening his mouth -
"Ian? Are you in?" A new voice, not whimpering, invaded his thoughts. He shot to his feet as though electrified, and Elijah did his scalded cat impression again.
"It's Peter, for fuck's sake. Don't you English know how to lock doors?" Elijah looked like he was going to burst into tears.
"You were the one who kicked it closed and pinned me against the wall," Ian hissed back, "And anyway I had other things to think about."
"Ian?" Peter again, sounding closer.
With a blistering curse, Ian marched into the hall, closing the lounge door firmly behind him. Peter was dithering by the front door, a script and pad of paper under his arm. Thankfully the hall was only dimly lit but still Ian was more than aware of how tight his trousers were - and of the pile of clothes Elijah had left in an untidy heap.
"Ah, Peter," he said, forcing a smile which came out more of a snarl. "What a very PLEASANT surprise."
Peter beamed and held up the script. "Hey, Ian. I've got a few scenes I want to discuss with you." He pushed past Ian eagerly, switching the light on as he passed and babbling about something unrelated to sex. Ian toed the clothes under the hall table, but Peter wasn't looking; he was marching for the lounge.
The lounge where a very naked Elijah lay.
Ian leapt for the door but Peter was already through, still talking rapidly and eagerly. Ian prepared himself for total embarrassment as Peter made for the couch. The empty couch. He did a double take.
"Ian?"
"What?" His eyes flitted nervously round the room and back to Peter. "Pardon?"
"I said, I’m not catching you at a bad time?" Peter was smiling, too excited by his visions to notice Ian's preoccupation or to wait for an answer.
Ian swallowed hard as Peter plonked himself down on the couch. Ian quickly sat down beside him, grabbed Elijah’s discarded shirt, and threw it behind the sofa, all in one smooth movement. He winced as his erection jammed against his trousers. He switched on his smile, feeling slightly dazed.
"We've thought of some nude scenes for Frodo and Gandalf."
Ian gaped. Nude scenes?! His mind, already fixated on Elijah, immediately conjured up images: Gandalf towering over little Frodo who was standing at just the right height to suck his cock. Frodo sitting on Gandalf's lap, bouncing up and down in the most delightful manner. He wrenched his mind back, dimly realizing that this made no sense whatsoever. Peter was still speaking, then held up the pad of paper to read from it.
"Yeah, one of the new scenes involves a quick exchange outside Moria . . . ."
Peter began to read, but Ian let the director's voice fade out. He scrabbled his hands through his hair and tried to breathe deeply. He was a professional actor. Get yourself under control, Sir Ian, he berated himself. Of course, an actor’s training seldom covered circumstances like this.
Peter stopped reading and looked up, beaming. "So, Ian, I think that's a very touching . . ." Ian drifted out again. Touching. Elijah touching him. Him touching Elijah. Them touching each other. Peter concluded, ". . . make it a more compelling scene, at least in my opinion." Speaking of touching Elijah, where was the American? When Peter seemed focused on finding another scene in the thick wad of notes, he risked a peek over the back of the couch.
"Have you lost something?" Peter began to lean back, obviously ready to help in the search. Ian had spotted Elijah behind the couch and hastily intervened.
"Thought I saw a spider. You were saying?"
While Peter once again launched into a new scene involving Gandalf, Ian darted another look at Elijah. The poor lad was looking almost deranged with frustration. He was mouthing something.
"What?" mouthed Ian.
"Clothes?!" Elijah mouthed back. He was cupping his groin, his cheeks flushed. He had managed to struggle into the T-shirt, which was bunched around his chest.
"Hall!" Ian mouthed back.
"Did you say something?" Peter asked, and Ian flicked his eyes back to the director.
"Me? No. Or rather yes. I said ‘All excellent.’ All. Yes, excellent ideas." Elijah was crawling determinedly for the door. Ian quickly switched positions so that he was perched on the coffee table in front of Peter, keeping Peter's gaze away from the rest of the room. The door squeaked open and closed. "Have you considered how the door - I mean SCENE could be played?" He spotted the lube, which had been sitting in plain sight all this time, and pocketed it.
Peter looked up brightly. "Well, I was hoping that stretch of added dialogue might give YOU some new ideas about how to play it."
Ian passed his hand across his brow, realizing that he had not the foggiest idea which scene Peter was talking about, much less what the new dialogue was. "I . . . I’m afraid I’d have to read it over a
time or two."
"Sure. I was going to discuss it with Elijah too. Have you seen him?"
"Not enough of him," Ian said regretfully.
"Oh, I thought he was here. That’s Elijah stripped, isn’t it?"
Ian winced. My God, he must have seen the poor boy nearly naked. Ian began to pray fervently for the ground to swallow him up. He started to mumble apologies, almost incoherent in his embarrassment. Peter was tugging at something that was sticking partway out of Elijah's bag, and Ian stopped talking abruptly.
Peter glanced at it. "Yes, this is Elijah’s script. His name is on it—yeah, and that’s his bag. Great, is he here? If I've got you both together, it'll save a lot of time. Where is he?"
Ian shifted guiltily and thought for a brief moment. In the bedroom? No! That's not where he'd be. Definitely not naked and tied up to the bed post, covered in ice cream. "Oh, I think he went to the bathroom."
At that moment Elijah appeared in the door. He was looking slightly panicky and wild. His lips were swollen and his shirt was still bunched up to reveal a stretch of stomach. "Oh, hi, Peter. I didn't know you were here," he positively trilled with a bright smile that could have eclipsed the sun. "What a pleasant surprise. I was just in the - "
"Bathroom," said Ian.
"Kitchen," said Elijah at the same time. "Well, I went to the kitchen after I went to the bathroom." Ian rolled his eyes.
Peter looked from Ian to Elijah and back. "Ian, I thought you hadn't seen Elijah?"
His mind went back to the massage; Elijah's plump buttocks, his rose-pink nipples and that succulent cock which he had been about to taste. "I meant I hadn't seen enough of him - on set, is what I meant. We need to talk over some of our scenes more than we usually get a chance to."
"On set, that's right. Talk over scenes. More," Elijah echoed, nodding sagely. He wriggled uncomfortably. Ian could see the outline of his cock and winced in sympathy. Elijah wriggled again and said almost desperately. "I'm going to make some chamomile tea."
"Make me a pot too!" Ian called after him.
***
When Elijah returned with the tea, he and Ian exchanged desperate glances. Peter had taken advantage of the pause to sort his notes into messy little piles, and it definitely looked like he was settling in for the long haul. The only alternative, Elijah decided darkly, was murder.
"Peter was just saying," Ian explained, "how he has thought of some nude, that is, new scenes for Frodo and Gandalf."
Initially Elijah's eyes lit up until his brain registered the amendment, and his face fell. Of course it couldn’t be nude scenes—New Line insisted on a PG-13 rating. Unlike the multiple-X rating he hoped to achieve with Ian—VERY soon. He flung himself into the far chair, determined to get himself under control, but his gaze kept returning to Ian. Ian's mouth descending on his cock, Ian's hands moulding him. Ian naked and rampant, his cock purple, his head thrown back . . . Ian was trying not to look at Elijah, but the younger man could tell that he was having similar thoughts.
The next half hour was torture. Elijah kept squirming, and two or three times Peter asked him if he was all right. He sat on the far chair and gripped the arm rests as he tried to concentrate on Peter's words, but his mind kept wandering back to various parts of Ian’s anatomy coming into contact with various parts of his own. Elijah whimpered and shifted again.
"Pardon?" Peter said to him politely.
"I said, I agree." He took another gulp of camomile and shakily poured himself his third cup. It wasn't relaxing him. He was going to write a wordy letter to the manufacturers about the claims.
"I've also been working on the scene of Gandalf's arrival in Hobbiton," the director continued. "It still needs polishing, but see what you think of these lines. After Frodo says Gandalf is late, we thought it might be amusing to have Gandalf say, 'A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor is he early. He comes precisely when he means to.'"
Ian choked on his tea and had to be clouted on the back. Elijah glowered and, while Peter was occupied with Ian, kneaded himself and muttered, "Wish I could’ve come precisely when I meant to."
Peter returned to his script after ensuring Ian was suffering no ill affects from his choking fit. It wouldn't do for their lead to die - and indeed he did still look a trifle flushed. "Perhaps we could act the scene out, just so I can see if it flows."
Elijah walked over carefully, more than aware of his cock pressing agonisingly against his jeans. He looked so mincing that Ian couldn't help but tease him. "Are you all right, dear boy? You're walking oddly."
Elijah glared daggers at him and replied, "Blisters from Feet. How are you? You're looking a little hot. D'you want me to open a window? Perhaps you should take something off."
Peter moved around to the end of the couch, directing them to get into position—though not the right position, unfortunately. Elijah sat on the edge of the coffee table, while Ian used the couch’s arm as the seat of Gandalf's cart. He tried desperately to imagine the scene: Gandalf arriving in Hobbiton for the first time after a lengthy absence, bantering happily with the innocent young Hobbit--NOT Gandalf launching himself on the lusty little fellow and ravishing him on top of the boxes of fireworks.
Ian looked over at Elijah, taking a deep breath. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor is he early. He comes precisely when he means to. . . . Um, Peter, could we make that ‘he arrives precisely when he means to?’"
"Fine, if it sounds better to you. Let me make a note of that."
The scene on the cart was finally amended to Peter’s satisfaction. "Good, shall we move on? OK, now Gandalf enters the hobbit hole, but of course he's very large, and it's a tight fit . . . Gesundheit! Ian? Are you all right? Maybe you're coming down with a cold or developing some sort of allergy to the local plants."
Ian fished out a handkerchief and pressed it hard against his nose and mouth. He gasped in a muffled tone, "I’m fine, just . . . um . . ."
"OK, so, he goes in, and he gives his staff to Bilbo, who can't really handle it very well because
it's so big. Ian? Seriously, do you need an antihistamine or something? You sure?"
Elijah decided it was time to pay Ian back for the walking jibe. Severely schooling his features, he said, "I'm not sure that works. Is your staff THAT big, Ian? It doesn't look that big to me . . ."
Peter smiled indulgently while Ian shot Elijah a withering glance. "Well, you have to remember the scale issue, Elijah. It’s all going to be worked out in false perspective and CGI and so on," the director explained.
"Oh yeah. Shouldn't he put his staff in Frodo's hands, maybe, while Dildo—er, Bilbo hangs up the hat?" Elijah asked innocently while Ian turned fire-hydrant red.
"Frodo's not inside Bag End at this point," Peter explained.
"Oh, right. Too bad, because he'd know exactly how to handle that staff." He stared at Ian and circled his lips with his tongue. Ian glared and retaliated by staring at Elijah’s crotch and circling his own lips even more lasciviously with his tongue. The young man’s erection, which had started to diminish somewhat, returned with a vengeance.
"Excuse me," Elijah squeaked, standing up suddenly. "Just going to make some more chamomile tea." He grabbed both teapots and practically ran for the door.
Ian watched his bottom wriggle away and suddenly stood up. "I'll just get some biscuits," he said and hastily withdrew. He fumed inwardly. Elijah was making increasingly silly jokes. This really could not go any further without them making fools of themselves, he thought—bigger fools than they already had. When Ian entered the kitchen, the young man was practically hopping from one foot to the other, clenching and unclenching his hands.
"Oh God, Ian! I'm going to die, I know I am."
The pitiful sight led Ian to make a decision. "Don’t worry, you won’t have to," Ian soothed. "We'll just get rid of him."
Elijah's face brightened. "Can we kill him? I may be small, but if I get the drop on him . . "
"Guys?" Peter called.
"Coming!" Elijah yelled back. He glanced forlornly at Ian and muttered, "Yeah! If only . . ."
***
Elijah followed Ian into the lounge, puzzling nervously about how Ian could possibly handle the situation. Ian marched to stand in front of Peter and gave him his best Gandalf-eyebrow-bristling look.
Ian took a deep breath, then launched in. "Peter, I am afraid we are going to have to curtail this fascinating interview."
"Hold on, I've only got a few more points to cover. Really, another hour, tops."
Elijah positively whimpered. Another hour! He'd self-combust in one minute, never mind one hour!
Peter looked curiously at them, beginning to sense that something was wrong. "Am I keeping you two from something?"
You're keeping my tongue from his mouth, my hand from his ass, and my cock from his cock . . . Elijah thought, feeling dizzy with need.
"Actually, yes," Ian was saying and Elijah managed to tear his thoughts back to the scene before him. "You are keeping me from fucking Elijah until he sees stars, planets, choirs of angels and other celestial phenomena."
Elijah goggled. Peter goggled and then stood up in a flurry of cascading notes. "I'll be off then."
"And so will your clothes," Ian said to Elijah with a wink as he moved to see Peter out.
***
When Ian returned, Elijah was waiting to pounce on him and remove his clothes in record time. He grabbed Ian's hand and led him at a brisk gallop toward the couch - the nearest horizontal surface, though it seemed so distant that he gave serious thought to throwing him onto a nearby rug instead. He shed his own clothes as he went until they were both naked. Ian flopped onto the sofa and Elijah leapt on top of him immediately, all arms and legs and hungry, desperate kisses. He ground his groin against Ian's, hissing his pleasure as Ian moulded his cheeks firmly.
"Can I interest you in some crazed-weasel sex?" Ian said, his voice sounding hoarse.
"God, yes!" Elijah began thrusting in earnest, his kisses becoming more urgent as he spiralled towards completion. As Elijah fastened his hand round Ian's half-hard cock, he said breathlessly, "You have locked the door, right?"
Ian growled in answer, biting at Elijah's chin before locking his arms round the narrow waist and executing a perfect roll so that he was on top. He rapidly descended Elijah’s body, nipping and licking. Elijah writhed, one hand ruffling Ian's hair, the other clenching and unclenching. Ian tapped the inside of his leg and he obliged instantly, opening himself so the Ian could resume his position between his spread thighs.
Ian paused to savour his lover's body once more. "Now, where was I before that unfortunate intrusion?" Elijah hiccuped, half moan, half choked sob. "Ian, if you don't suck me off, right now, right this instant, I really am going to lose my mind."
Ian obliged. He sucked the head, closing his eyes in bliss. Heaven did exist after all. He kept a hand on Elijah's belly while he increased the stimulation, licking from root to tip before sliding the whole cock into his mouth. He squeezed his balls in time to his mouth's rhythm and listened to Elijah’s incoherent swearing and whimpering. The younger man bucked against him and came, yelling his name loud enough to be heard in the Northern hemisphere.
"Oh, my God," Elijah pronounced in awe. "That was the best fucking massage ever."
"Despite the disturbances. Good things really do come to those who wait," Ian sniggered.
"That is the worst pun of the evening—and there were plenty of other candidates," Elijah replied, skimming his finger along Ian's still rampant cock. "The look on Pete's face when you told him you wanted to fuck me- oh man!"
"Yes, well, I can get away with it," Ian said, his voice strained as he pushed his hips against Elijah until the man obliged and wrapped his hand around him. "I'm English. We're supposed to cultivate a certain eccentricity."
Elijah's gaze slid to Ian's demanding cock and he licked his lips. "Fancy that shower now?"
"Definitely. Choirs of angels, here we come."
***
Elijah twiddled the shower knobs, thinking happily that soon he would have other knobs to twiddle. He turned to Ian, and what he saw made his mouth water, his cock harden, his balls ache. Ian was rotating slowly under the water, soaping himself down, his body glistening; an enticing river of suds ran down between his shoulder blades, along his spine, to end between his ass cheeks. Elijah swallowed hard and reached out. In one perfectly coordinated move, he rubbed one hand over the erect nipples while the other wrapped possessively round the cock. Ian sucked in a deep breath and practically stood on tip toes. "Kiss me," Elijah whispered, then opened his mouth and ran his tongue over Ian's already-parted lips. Ian responded immediately, passionately, diving his tongue deep into Elijah's mouth, slamming the slender body against the tiles, and thrusting hard against him. Elijah's body slid along the slippery surface of the tiles with each frantic thrust.
After a few minutes, Elijah pulled his mouth away, not without some regret, and forced his eyes to focus on Ian's flushed face. "My turn," he declared breathlessly. "I've dreamed about this moment for weeks. Fuck, Ian, I want to suck you." Babbling his need, Elijah switched their positions. He took hold of the hot, wet flesh of Ian's rampant cock and pulled, slowly, making the other hiss and gasp and scrabble helplessly for some sort of handhold on the tiles. He smiled then, smugly satisfied that he could do that for Ian. He pulled again, rubbing the head, then began to stroke him, very slowly, watching, mesmerized, as the pre-come pooled at the slit. His mouth was watering as if Ian were a particularly succulent ice cream as he dropped to his knees, grabbing Ian's hips for support. He leaned in, nuzzling through the wiry pubic hair before darting his tongue out to taste the cock, running it slowly over the head, then following the ridges and slope of the slippery, satiny skin. He took the head into his mouth, gently suckling, making Ian half climb the wall in reaction.
"Wait!" Ian commanded, his voice sounding stretched. He pushed at Elijah's shoulders and the younger man rocked back, disappointed at having such a sweet treat denied him. He forced his gaze away from the delectable cock and met Ian's wild-eyed gaze. "If you carry on, my dear Elijah, I'll come so hard the ground will shake."
Elijah smirked and dared a quick lick at the weeping slit. "And this is a problem?"
Ian grasped him under his arms and pulled him upright, fastening his mouth over Elijah's, hot and commanding. "It is, because I want to fuck you slow and hard. Tell me you want that."
Elijah trembled, feeling his own cock harden at one of his fantasies coming true. He was in danger of going off like one of Gandalf's fireworks. How the hell Ian was managing to hold back so long he had no idea. "I want it! Fuck me!"
"Turn around," Ian whispered, pawing at him to make him do it faster. Spooning up behind him, he ran his hands down the slippery length of Elijah's arms, guiding him to position his hands around the shower handle. He stared at Elijah's beautiful bottom and again had to take deep breaths to control himself. His cock was on fire. Just a few more minutes, he promised himself. He fumbled for the lubricant that Elijah had been carrying about for weeks and that he had had just enough awareness to pull out of the pocket of his discarded trousers as Elijah urged him toward the shower. He worked a generous amount between the young man’s eagerly spread legs. Ian rotated his hips, sliding his cock forward and backward through the cleft of Elijah's ass, feeling the shudder from Elijah that his movements elicited. Despite his cock demanding that he get on with this right now, he continued to undulate and rock his hips, luxuriating in the slick, silky feel of Elijah's skin. He leaned in to nuzzle Elijah's neck, flicking his tongue at his ear.
"Ready?" he breathed. "Relax for me, Lij." He positioned his cock and pushed firmly, guiding himself inside. A deep rumbling groan was torn from him as Elijah's tightness and heat enveloped him. He was going to lose his mind, he knew he was. Once he was buried all the way in, Ian wrapped one hand round Elijah's chest to pull him in closer, and the other snaked lower to pump his erection in time with his deep, smooth strokes. Elijah was panting almost as heavily as Ian, both hands grasping the handle for dear life. They settled into a white hot frenzy until Ian gave a ragged cry and spurted long and blissfully into his body. He worked Elijah's cock until the younger man reached his own completion.
Ian eased out and slid down the tiles - convinced at that moment that he had never been happier. Elijah snuggled down next to him, and Ian flung a heavy arm round him. The water continued to splash down on them, drumming against overly sensitive skin, but neither of them could be bothered to stand up to turn it off.
***
After several minutes Ian summoned up all his strength, rose, turned off the water, and hauled Elijah out of the shower stall. Drying themselves on the way to the bed would mean standing up for a shorter time, so he threw a towel around Elijah’s shoulders and took one to pat randomly over the surface of his own skin as he walked rather unsteadily into the bedroom. "Bed, Elijah," he said coaxingly, and the young man opened bleary eyes and followed him. Ian dried him a bit, then sat heavily on the mattress and lay back. Elijah collapsed without bothering with the strenuous sitting-down part. Ian realized that they were both still wet over most of their bodies, and he also realized that he did not care one little bit.
Once Elijah’s mind had become capable of coherent thought, he grinned lazily into half-closed blue eyes. "Well, it’s about time." His grin suddenly turned into a puzzled frown. "Wait a minute, Ian, if you didn’t know all this time I was flirting with you, why did you suddenly kiss me today?"
Ian grinned back at him. "Well, my dear boy, you finally found a way of flirting that was obvious even to an oblivious old fellow like me."
Elijah stared at him blankly. "Ian. I gave up on you this morning. Promised myself I’d never flirt with you again, and I didn’t."
Ian’s eyes opened fully, and he gazed curiously at Elijah, then smiled skeptically. "Oh, come on, you’re joking. I would say that what you were doing with that ice-cream cone risked getting you hauled into police court for public indecency."
Elijah gaped at him and slowly began to laugh.
Ian continued, "Very clever. And quite a turn-on. We should experiment a bit more with ice cream—in private, of course."
"Sounds yummy." Elijah ran his fingers through Ian’s soft, thick hair. "Promise me you’ll never wear your hair the way you did at that party. You’re gorgeous the way you are, you know."
"You hardly need to convince me to avoid any more ‘cool’ hairstyles, but I promise—as long as you promise not to smoke that ghastly pipe. It made you look YOUNGER, you know, like a little boy playing at being grown up."
"I promise, believe me! I’ll only smoke a pipe as Frodo, from now on. Oh, and one more thing."
Ian was beginning to nuzzle inquiringly against Elijah’s neck, but he resurfaced. "Yes?"
"Could I have your Gameboy?"
Ian feigned surprise. "Oh, you’re interested now, are you? You seemed not even to notice that I had it at the party. Bloody waste of money, I thought afterwards. I almost chucked it in the rubbish bin."
Elijah snorted. "Ian, you are SO clueless. You’re just lucky you’re such a great actor and so dishy and so good in bed and so—"
Ian put his hand over Elijah’s lips and reduced him to a whimpering state by swirling his tongue insistently into the young man’s ear. "Of course you may have that ridiculous machine. I don’t want you to get too obsessive about playing with it, though. Crazed weasels don’t play with Gameboys, and we’ve got a lot more fucking time to make up for."