Title: Thunder Road
Author: Cherry Vanilla
Fandom: LotR_RPS
Pairing: Dom/Lij, implied Billy/Orli
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "We've got one last chance to make it real."
Notes: A homage to my favorite song.
* * * * * *
I. You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright.
You never expected to make a movie and fall in love in the process. That just wasn't in the cards. And yet, Dom didn't exactly make it difficult for you. Dom, who you could spend hours sitting on the floor with and going through CD's; who could find humor in anything and wear a smile like it's Christmas morning; who flaunts his attraction to men and women without a second thought and flirts openly with you in front of cast members, slinging an arm around yours shoulders, exclaiming, "Alright, you gits, Lij and I are off to shag now."
You want to wrap your fingers around the hand over your shoulder, when he does that; smooth those smile lines on his face with your tongue.
No, you never expected this to happen.
* * * *
II. Don't run back inside, darling, you know just what I'm here for.
Dom's sleeping on your couch, amidst the empty beer cans and pizza boxes left over from last night's party. Billy and Orli are passed out on your bed after disappearing for god knows how long; even the calls of "Beckham's on!" couldn't tear him away. You didn't sleep, just ushered everyone out and tried to ignore the moans coming from your room, tried not to picture two different bodies in there. Dom, of course, only made things worse. He sat on the couch, knees against his chest, and drunkenly described what they were probably doing. And then decided to act it out. He stalked over, rubbed his body up against you, trying to steal a kiss but settling for your neck. And though your dick responded, the rest did not. You pushed him away and went for a walk. Which is where you find him now, on the couch, dead to the world. Sighing, you throw a blanket on him and decide to make some coffee.
* * * *
III. What else can we do now, except roll down the window and let the wind blow back your hair.
Three weeks passed with no mention of that night. Either Dom doesn't remember or he's embarrassed. But you can't imagine Dom embarrassed, and if he's noticed your slight distance, he hasn't said anything. Your thoughts consume you, confusion etching every line of your face, unable to decipher drunken flirting from actual wanting. That Friday night, you find yourself at his front door.
"Lij?"
"Let's go for a drive."
"What?"
"Let's go for a drive," you repeat.
"Er, okay."
"Get your jacket."
You drive toward the beach, the cool breeze brushes against your face and hair as you ignore Dom's questioning looks. When you get there, you sit on the car together, looking out at the water.
"Lijah, what's going on?"
You want to tell him everything you're feeling, or just show him with your tongue. You can't bring yourself to do either.
"Nothing. Sorry, let's just go."
The drive back is tense. He doesn't look at you. You tighten your hands on the steering wheel, wishing you could take back this whole night.
You get out and walk to the door with him, willing yourself to explain.
"See you, Lij," he mumbles, hurt in his voice, hand on the door.
"Dom, wait."
* * * *
IV. Sit tight, take hold.
He turns, looks at you expectantly. Before you can think, barely breathe, your mouth is on his, and he folds himself into your arms like he fits. Kissing deeply, you lick at one another with months of pent up longing.
He maneuvers you into the house, pushing you back against the door, teasing your lips with his tongue, mouthing your jaw. His hand moves down, stroking your erection through your jeans. You gasp and buck against him, grinding against his hand. His mouth attacks your neck, hot puffs of air against your skin that sends shivers all throughout your body. Your hands tremble as they make their way under his shirt, fingertips trailing up to his nipples; pinching and rubbing, feeling them harden beneath your touch.
"Lij.."
You groan at his voice, rough and thick with arousal. He sheds your shirt, pulls you toward him by the loop in your jeans, walking backwards to the bed where you fall on top of him and lift off his shirt with impatient hands. Soon you're falling together, naked in a tangle of limbs, mouths and hands roaming, bodies colliding, thrusting. And he does fit. Fits against your body, your mouth; fits in your arms. And when you come against one another it's nail scratching, tongue clashing, breathless display of passion that leaves your eyes burning and your throat sore.
He curls his arm around you, pulling you against his side, tucking you in close. And when you hear his whispered words, you let out the breath you hadn't known you were holding.
[end]