Pairing: Elijah Wood/Dominic Monaghan
Disclaimer: No profit is made nor offence intended.
Rating: R
AN: Old-School Domlijah.
Feedback: Always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk or http://trianne.livejournal.com
"If I ever meant anything to you, anything at all, even if it was just like an annoying fly buzzing around your bedroom light, an unpaid bill, a, a blockage in your toilet… do it now, like you mean it, like it's forever. Or do it like It's nothing at all and thirty seconds later you won't remember my name and you'll already be planning your next casual fuck. I don't care, honestly mate, I don't. Just do it now."
Elijah's at the door and he's got righteous anger on his side and mentally he's already in his car, driving down the freeway, the wind in his hair (if he had a sunroof - which he doesn't - and if he had longer hair, which likewise he doesn’t because it's at that wispy growing-out stage now that Viggo used to dislike the most when they were together and why aren't they together now? Because Viggo would never have done this, no never.)
He's mad. He has every reason to be. The Supreme Court or that Human Justice Thingy in that place in France or Holland (he's wound up, he can be forgiven for being shaky on the specifics) would surely uphold any claim he laid at its gilt-infested feet, were he to deign to make a complaint about the treatment he's had to suffer at the hands of this man. God himself would stop ignoring monsoons and famines and sit up and take notice, he's sure.
Yet those words, flung at him when he's nearly out the door… they halt him in his tracks, and, ironically, half a dozen tracks fall out of his holdall and onto the marble of the vestibule.
There's more.
"Do it to me. Make love to me. Or, if you prefer, screw me. Fuck me. Rod me. Shag me. Hump me. Penetrate me. Ride me. Take me. Possess me. Make me yours. Do it doggy-style, kangaroo-style, Star Trek-style, any style! Dom-in-ate me. Explore my innermost being with your red hot iron of love. Make me see stars. Make me see galaxies of stars. Make me feel like I'm on the Enterprise and we're boldly going through the most starry star-place that ever there was. Make it so, Ensign. Engage…"
Elijah drops the holdall.
He turns.
He glares at Dom. "You broke my fucking Millennium Falcon!" he spits. "I got that when I was ten. You knew what that meant to me." The tears begin to flow.
Dom stares at the floor then up at Elijah. His face disintegrates. "I am so sorry. You can smash my Beatles Outtakes, Lij. Every one. Not just the one that got jam on it that time and won't play anymore, no I mean all of them. With a hammer. In fact, tell you what - you can smash any toe of your choice, smash it to smithereens. I’ll paint it first with a target and you can get the hammer – don't worry, baby, I'll show you where we keep it – and smash my toe and I won't cry out or anything. And then we'll go on eBay and find you another-"
"No! You twat, you don't get it, do you? We can't replace that Millennium Falcon, Dom. It was special. It meant-" He turns away, batting Dom's comforting hand with his own angry one.
Dom sighs and scratches his head. He had known what he was getting into, that he'd fallen in love with the world's biggest geek, the world's most passionate Star Wars fan. He'd known all that. On Day One of their Big Fuzzy Living Together Relationship, Elijah had proudly shown him the cabinet with all his toys in it.
Elijah had related the history behind each one. "This Wicket Wystri Warrick", he explained, bright-eyed, pointing to a rather moth-eaten Ewok, "I got from Mom, Christmas 1986. And this," he continued, stabbing a finger at the glass behind which a C3PO figure stood, golden and imperious, "was a present from Mom for my birthday and it was signed by Anthony Daniels himself at a Taco Bell in the spring of 1994."
"He was doing signings at a Taco Bell?" Dom had asked, surprised.
Elijah had rolled his eyes a little and clarified, "No, you arse. He was having dinner at the Taco Bell and so were we, Mom and Hannah and Zack and me, and I recognised him – of course! – and he remembered me from some TV movie or something. Anyway, I asked him to sign it and he did. Nice guy."
"You just happened to have the C3PO with you?"
Elijah had looked at him as if he were crazy. "Well, yeah! I was thirteen. I carried a lot of crap around with me. Didn't you?"
Dom thought of the various articles he could probably have listed but a C3PO wouldn't have been one of them. He had squeezed Elijah's shoulder and nibbled his ear, wondering just when the Big Fuzzy Living Together Relationship would enter the rampant sex stage. Still, he'd been touched by Lij's passion for his collection.
You knew what that meant to me
Yet he can't remember, now, that Elijah had talked much about the Millennium Falcon at all. And now it lay broken just because Dom had felt the burning need to get it out of its display cabinet and peer at it, trying to decide if there were toilets installed in that particular model of YT-1300 Corellian Transporter. And he'd been so careful. But not careful enough. He should have remembered to wipe his hands clean of moisturiser first. Or just not touched. He'd been told not to touch and he'd gone and done it anyway. He was a bad man.
"Look, Dom. I know it was an accident. I know you didn't mean it. And I will forgive you. I love you, even if you are a clumsy bastard. Just, I really do need some time to get over it. I’ll do the gig at the Bar and play some really obscure stuff that no one will know and they'll have to ask and that'll make me feel better and when I get back everything'll be all right. I promise."
He's wearing a pained expression and he looks like shit, but he leans in and almost kisses Dom before pulling back and squaring his narrow shoulders. He picks up the holdall containing his iPods and CDs and three packs of cigarettes, and heads out of the door.
The pieces that have broken off, smashed on the unforgiving tile, are tiny in his hand. Really, if he didn't know any better he wouldn't know it was broken at all. But that's not the point. Elijah knows it's broken. And he loves it.
But why? Why this particular thing so much? It doesn't look like a collector's item, it looks like any he'd seen in mates' houses years ago, nothing special. It's not like it's signed or anything. Oh well. Gently, reverently, Dom places the model back in the cabinet, careful not to disturb anything else in there.
He knows his Elijah can't stay mad for long.
He'll make supper, one of Lij's favourites. And light candles. And do all the romantic stuff that comes with a Big Fuzzy Living Together Relationship.
But when he opens the kitchen cupboards and the huge fridge, he realises there's bugger all to make anything with, let alone something special for a special guy.
So he walks up to the main house and gives a quick, respectful rap on the back door before going in. Debbie's in the kitchen, just finishing clearing away. She's used to Dom, doesn't make too much fuss but is more than happy to supply all the ingredients for a romantic supper for two.
She supplies more than that, in fact, when Dom raises the topic of Star Wars toys.
It's enlightening.
He's sweaty and tired. The music was good; he'd relented and played some stuff the average punter would recognise, so everyone was happy. He'd turned down offers to stay late, and batted aside the "where’s Dom?" queries easily enough.
As he drives home he knows he'll make love to Dom. He loves him. And really, it is just a toy when all's said and done. He's a grown-up, an adult. He should let all that go. It's just a toy, one of many. Just a silly bit of brittle plastic.
He's almost convinced by the time he parks the car on the drive.
He takes a moment to compose himself, resolutely reasonable and calm; he pushes open the door.
He expects candles and food and soft music and all the other ammunition in Dom's armoury, and he is determined to appreciate them all, to be big about this.
Well, there's food and it smells good. Very good.
And music. Some old-school Project, he muses. Nice.
No candles but the soft glow of lamplight.
"I am so sorry, love," Dom says, emerging from the kitchen and holding a tea towel. Elijah lets the holdall fall to the floor and he smiles as he's taken into Dom's embrace.
"It's okay. I said it'd be okay, didn't I? You know me, I fly off the handle sometimes," Elijah says into Dom's shoulder. He feels those lovely long flexible fingers kneading him through his denim jacket.
Dom gently takes the jacket off of Elijah, lets it fall on top of the holdall, holds him tight.
"You had every right. It was special. I know why, Lij. And I am so sorry, my love."
Elijah stiffens in Dom's embrace.
"Your Mum told me, Lij. I'm glad she did."
Elijah starts to pull away but is held fast, Dom's hands describing comforting circles of eight on his back, soothing and sensual. It takes a minute, then Elijah's defences are gone. This, too, is part of the Big Fuzzy Living Together Relationship – sharing even the crap with the one you love.
"It was the only thing I ever got from him that was his idea, that Mom didn't have a thing to do with. He saw it one day and he thought of me and it was perfect. It was… it was a good moment."
They stand quietly, wrapped up in each other, Elijah limp in Dom's arms. Then Dom kisses the top of Elijah's head and speaks softly: "Do you want to eat or shower first?"
Elijah thinks about it, then says, "Shower. Then eat. Then you can dig out those Beatles Outtakes and the hammer."
Now it's Dom's turn to stiffen in Elijah's embrace, and not in the interesting way. "Okay. Fair's fair," he says valiantly, then realises Elijah is chuckling.
"Git," Dom says, thrusting his hips into Lij.
"Clumsy Manc Tart," Elijah retorts, meeting the thrust and matching it.
"You know I was saying earlier," Dom says, in the moments when his tongue isn't inside Elijah's mouth, "about you rodding me, shagging me, etc etc…?"
Elijah has one hand down Dom's sweatpants, stroking. "Yes, well?" he asks, impatiently.
"Well, can we rewind and edit and it be me doing the rodding and shagging, etc, etc…?"
Elijah's look is disbelieving. "You've got to be kidding, right? I'm the injured party here. I get to top."
Dom has pulled Elijah's jeans down past his hips and is squeezing the cheeks of his bottom.; to his mind, this equates to possession being nine tenths of the law.
"I can fuck the sadness right out of your system. You know it makes sense, baby," Dom points out, squeezing and kissing. His cock is hard and warm and urgent in Elijah's hand.
"That's a valid point," Elijah replies. "And afterwards, you can go to that secret place where the hammer lives and see if there's a tube of superglue there, too…"
The End