Putting down the glass on one of the little cork mats that now protects his coffee table, Elijah turns his attention to his magazine. He cuts a quick glance at the time blinking at him from the dvd player and sighs. He flicks through the pages of Vegan Do It and turns down a corner on page sixty-nine with its informative article on chikong and how it can radically improve sexual stamina and performance. He knows Wolf, though already something of an expert in that field, will want to read that when he comes home.

Elijah thought that would be happening around an hour ago but he was obviously wrong. He seems to be wrong about a lot of things lately. He's wrong about smoking. So he quit. He's wrong about drinking, of course, so he doesn't anymore, though he clings to the one-lite-beer-a-day compromise and will not be shaken. He can be firm when needs to be. He isn't a pushover. But Wolf is right about it, like he is about a lot of things. Like scripts. And fitness. And interior decorating. And sex. He's particularly right about sex.

"Fuck this," Elijah says and swigs the remainder of his beer. He could have gone out – there's a Gael Garcia Bernal movie he wants to catch and tonight would have been a good time but then he'd got the call from Wolf and Wolf had specifically wanted him to be here when he got home. Their home.

He's being unfair, he chides himself as he opens a second can (he must remember to hide the evidence in the trashcan in his mom's yard, not his) – Wolf has never stopped him doing anything. He has nurtured Elijah, encouraged him, helped him to grow; in particular, he has introduced Elijah to discipline both in the bedroom and out of it. As he thinks of the ways that Wolf has disciplined him, Elijah hardens and he longs to touch himself… But Wolf says that masturbation is a form of deceit.

You're alone and you touch yourself, stroke yourself, come… You're taking that from me, Elijah. You have me now and I am your pleasure-giver: I am here to make you come, make you moan, give you release. Sure, you can do all that if I am here, watching you… You can pleasure yourself while I talk to you on the phone and instruct you; but alone? That's dishonest. I don't do it without you. Don't do it without me. Save it for when I'm with you. It's for the best, trust me.

So he waits. He's about as relaxed as a coiled spring, but he resolutely does not allow his hand to steal down to his groin. He drinks his beer and notes that Wolf is seriously late now and he wonders if he has had an accident or something. Maybe he could try him on his cell phone? But Wolf hates to be bothered when he's driving, even with his hands-free. Besides, he'd think he was whining. And Elijah doesn't do that.

He lies down on the couch, his hands safely behind his head, and focuses on the ceiling fan. He's thinking of his mom and some papers he has to sign; of Zack and some party he has to get out of because his brother dislikes Wolf and won't invite him… He's thinking of Sean who's been calling a lot lately but never seems to have that much to say anymore… He feels a little sleepy and he wonders why he's never noticed the swish-swish-swish of the fan before as its blades cut through the early evening Californian air. It must be hypnotic, the swish-swish-swish of the blades, because before he knows it, he's travelling backwards in time. Back. Back to the night he met Wolf. Was it really just half a year ago?

The group had been a pretty big one that evening: some musician friends, a couple of girl friends, and Dom. They had started out at some Irish pub, drinking Guinness – Elijah was a designated driver so he was only drinking his one half beer of the evening. The music was good and he didn't mind not drinking drinking; he'd been on medication and avoiding alcohol had seemed sensible.

Besides, back then he was high on Dom.

Dom's eyes picked up and refracted every single particle of light in the place, it was incredible… But he's lying there on the couch remembering Wolf, not Dom. Right.

He'd had the hots for Dom. Big time. Not in New Zealand, when it would have been alright and almost, well, expected. No, during filming it had been Karl with a side order of Viggo and Bean. All lustful yearnings, nothing acted on, just natural pining for something seasoned and beautiful. Dom had been the same, Elijah remembered. Dom and Karl.

He had only started thinking about Dom in that way when the publicity mill sucked them up and spat them out in what seemed like every capital city on the globe; endless interviews and photo opportunities and hotel rooms and questions questions questions. That was when he realised he not only was very attracted to Dom Monaghan, he had actually fallen in love with him. But he's remembering Wolf, not Dom. Get to Wolf.

So, yeah, that night – rewind… Irish pub… oh yeah. So, they had left the pub and done a club and Dom was looking at him in a weird way as if he couldn't decide whether to throw up or – grow up? Elijah had shrugged it off. He'd given Dom so many hints over the months, months when Dom had been shagging any halfway good-looking biped, it seemed. Just earlier that same night, Dom had been deep in conversation with some redheaded girl, discussing nail extensions like they were the world's best hope. Elijah had done his best to shrug it off – he was resigned to his voyeur role where Dom was concerned, content to at least be able to look.

But then, when everyone was winding down to go home, Dom – drunk as a skunk – had decided to corner him in the men's room. Elijah, caught by surprise, had been pinned against a grimy wall by a heavy and floundering Dom, a Dom whose eyes were no longer luminous but glassy, and whose sluggishly ineffectual fingers were trying to unbutton Elijah's fly.

I fucking like you… a lot. Wanted you to know that, mate. Wasted so much time, so much fucking time when we could've been… fucking

Elijah had turned his head to avoid the beer breath that accompanied this barely comprehensible pronouncement, one hand round Dom's waist just to keep his friend from sliding down the tiles and into the urinal. He'd nodded and looked longingly at the door. It was one thing to have craved this for the last few years, this intimacy, it was something else entirely to have it made base like this; Dom was pissed. He didn't mean any of it, it was just him not wanting to go home alone, the redhead with the impressive talons having already left with the drummer from the band. No, Dom didn't want Elijah, he just didn't want – no one. Elijah just wanted to get out from under Dom and pretend this hadn't happened. Or pretend it had – two years ago, when he was young enough and naive enough to believe it might lead to something more than a drunken soft—amorphous-shag against cold ceramic.

And that was when, mercifully, the door had swung open and someone else entered the frame. The lights from the hall lent his mane of bright hair a halo; someone had put The Darkness on the jukebox, the one track by that band that Elijah liked, and the newcomer's entrance coincided with the spiralling vocal. He was very tall and very blond and he was very quickly sizing up the situation and leaning in to firmly pull Dom away from Elijah. Elijah, once his jaw had begun functioning again, had let his rescuer know that Dom was no real threat, he was a mate, he was drunk, it wasn't really how it looked…

Let me help you the guy had said, and his voice was very husky. He was not Elijah's type at all, really. But there was something about him. Maybe it was the casual and artless way in which he picked up Dom and hefted him onto his meaty shoulder. Perhaps it was the newcomer's deep-set eyes of warm amber that transfixed him as if he was some juicy prehistoric fly; maybe it was his long legs and big-knuckled hands. Whatever it was, it was something that Elijah hadn't even realised he'd been missing. He had followed the guy out of the rest room and back to where he had left his friends. They had gone, presumably all rides home sorted. Elijah had been wondering just how he was going to get Dom into the Mini Cooper, parked a hundred yards thattaway. Wolf, for this was indeed he, seemed to find Dom's deadweight negligible; he merely motioned with an emphatic toss of silky blond locks that Elijah should lead the way.

So Elijah had trotted to the car, Wolf in steady pursuit, Dom snoring softly against Wolf's prodigious shoulder. Getting Dom into the back seat was difficult but they managed it; getting Wolf folded into the passenger seat was trickier. For of course he was going home with them, back to Santa Monica. It was given.

Wolf shoehorned himself into the little car and then turned to Elijah. His eyes glowed and Elijah found himself swallowing a little. He had been with a few guys but not for a while, and the guys he had been with had been, well, similar to himself really in that department; fairly lazy and easygoing. Wolf was something else; Elijah surreptitiously studied his profile as he drove. He was beautiful, if a little intimidating. When questioned, Wolf had revealed he, too, was an actor, in commercials, though he had a small-budget movie coming up, too. Elijah babbled about his time in Vancouver. Wolf merely smiled, knowingly. Maybe it was the fact that Wolf had that killer accent or that he was older – it transpired he was thirty five – or maybe it was just the right time, but for whatever reason, with Dom's melodious Mancunian snoring as an accompaniment, Elijah fell. By the time he pulled up on his drive, he was desperate.

Dom, awoken, was recalcitrant in the backseat, staring at Wolf as if he was the devil personified. Elijah had tried to explain things while they levered him out of the car.

Wolf? What kind of fucking name is Wolf?, which hadn't seemed to faze Wolf in the slightest; Elijah thought perhaps he was used to it, or just used to dealing with drunks. But he felt slightly irritated, nonetheless, on Wolf's behalf.

They'd finally got Dom into the house and onto the couch and managed to still his flailing limbs sufficiently to get a blanket over him. Elijah stood in the doorway, looking fondly at Dom, while behind him, Wolf was caressing him with no more, it seemed, than the power of thought.

Elijah. I want you.

Dom had slept through it all, tucked up like a baby on Elijah's couch. Just fifteen feet away, Elijah was having the best sex of his life. Wolf was a master; all was languid and yet curiously efficient. If Elijah was a harpsichord, then Wolf was Mozart; if Elijah was a block of marble, then Wolf was Michelangelo. Just when he thought it could get no better, he'd reached the pinnacle and it was going to be a nice rush down the other side, Wolf had pulled something out of his bag of tricks and it had all begun again. By dawn, Elijah was exhausted but totally sated for perhaps the first time in his life.

Dom. I made you some tea, mate. And toast. You okay? It was nearly noon when Elijah gently peeled away Dom's cover, choosing to ignore the warm farty-beery smell wafting from his couch. Dom had looked adorable, one hand down his boxers, holding himself like a toddler clutching its comforter. Dom had blinked and then sat up, yawning. He seemed to become aware of where he was, a big grin breaking on his face, and he reached out to pull Elijah down onto the couch with him.

You look great, man! You've got this glow about you this morning – changed your face wash? Dom had always been able to make Elijah dissolve into giggles with just a waggle of his mobile eyebrows, and it worked again. Elijah had, however, evaded the sloppy embrace. He perched on the edge of the couch and watched Dom slurp his tea and crunch his toast.

I thought we might go out, Lij. I have a hankering to go to San Diego Zoo today; I feel Doctor Doolittleish. Then, after I have communed with the animals, I need to talk to you, Monkey. His eyes had been bright, burning into Elijah's in a way that was somehow different. Elijah recalled last night's sloppy fumbling in the men's rest room and shivered. He wanted to tell Dom, his best friend, Dom, all about

Wolf! You're up. Morning. Want some tea and toast? Elijah had jumped up to give his – boyfriend? – a chaste kiss on the cheek. Wolf had grabbed him as he'd made to go into the kitchen, still a little shy, and held him in a tight and possessive hug. He thought he had heard a little strangulated groan from the direction of the couch and grimaced to think of Dom laughing at them…At him?

He'd felt Wolf nodding civilly in Dom's direction then he was smiling fondly down at Elijah. Elijah could tell Wolf was hard under his bathrobe – Elijah's bathrobe, which was way too small for the big man – and wondered when Dom would be leaving.

You probably don't remember Wolf from last night. He helped me get you home. He's an actor, too, Dom. He's the guy from the NutCutlicious ads.

Dom had left soon after, moments later, in fact. He had got dressed really quickly, it seemed to Elijah, had refused Elijah's offer to drive him home, had said he'd walk – walk? In LA?

It was only much later, when Wolf was showering away the exertions of a whole afternoon spent indulging in rough, vigorous sex, that Elijah had remembered Dom had been going to tell him something. He'd called him but Dom wasn't home, nor was he answering his cell. Oh well, it couldn't have been that important. Giving up on Dom, Elijah had joined Wolf in the shower and hadn't emerged for half an hour; the guy knew things about shower heads that the Mario Brothers never figured out, that was for sure…

Elijah lies on the couch and turns his face into the upholstery, as if he can catch a lingering trace of Dom in its folds of fabric. It's been cleaned, of course. Wolf had seen to that, though he hadn't succeeded in getting a new one through the door; that couch is one of the few remaining pieces of Elijah's pre-lupus period. He's refused to let it go, though its past its best. It has tenure.

Six months. Just six months? It feels like longer. He looks at the clock again. Wolf is really late now. He'll arrive, have a good explanation though he'll begrudge having to share it. Then he'll take a sulky Elijah into the bedroom and undress him with infuriating slowness, stretch him out on their big waterbed and make love to him with infinite patience until Elijah will be out of his mind with longing and desire. The sex will be astronomical, of course; Wolf is not only well-endowed, he is well-versed in clinical sexual procedure and keeps himself up-to-date.

And when it's over and Wolf lies sleeping, Elijah will feel lonelier than before.

He lies on the couch and he thinks of Billy – filming with Russell and Paul, salty and secure in a franchise that is into its third successful outing. He thinks of Orlando, promoting his new movie in Cannes and it's good, and he's good. And then he thinks of Dom. And what might have been. If only Dom had been remotely interested. Though why he had taken such an instant dislike to Wolf was hard to fathom.

Yeah, a movie would be great, Lij. Is Rover coming with us? had been pretty typical. Elijah hadn't been so entirely lost in lust that he hadn't grieved for a friendship apparently broken, but he couldn't see that he had done anything wrong, either. So the days slipped into weeks and then, one night out of the blue, Dom was on his doorstep and it was late and Wolf was filming in Vancouver – a series of commercials for a new energy drink (Elijah had tried it out of politeness but secretly thought it was fucking revolting).

Dom.

On his doorstep, standing right there… And for a second, the old feeling had coming rushing back but it had been changed, somehow, until Elijah wasn't sure if it was love or friendship or something in-between. And then he'd been pretty sure it was just relief – Dom was back. But his timing was crap. He hadn't seen Wolf for a couple of weeks and his backside was thrumming with anticipation of the phone call he was expecting. Yet, Dom… And then the call had come and Wolf was pushing all Elijah's buttons just with the sound of his voice, buttons Elijah had not only not known existed, but buttons which merely depressed other, deeper buttons…

But afterwards, he'd got to thinking. Because Dom had had such a look upon his face just before he left, when he took Elijah in his arms and held him. Elijah had wondered if Dom was drunk but it hadn't seemed like it; besides, Dom was in love – with Karl. Karl! Lucky Dom!

Luckier Karl.

Elijah lies upon the couch and defies the mystic powers of the wobbling ceiling fan; a web is floating from it, tenantless at the moment, and Elijah wonders how it evaded Wolf's eagle eye. Clever spider.

When the phone rings, Elijah hesitates, then rolls over to pick it up on the third ring. He hears muted traffic noise and tinny music. And then he hears Wolf's voice and for a split second he is on that familiar diving board called lust, looking down upon a crystal clear swimming pool, waiting to make the expected leap, toes curled like fingers on the very brink, knees preparing to bend and lift him soaring up… Only trouble is, it's not there. He knows his heart is not going to make that dive: he's simply sitting on his couch in his house at twilight, lovely old couch… And he knows.

There are no lights on. Elijah looks down at a dead something in a terracotta pot by the screen door. He peers inside the house. It's eight thirty, it's cool and dark and why should there be anyone home? Not everyone has to wait home for a significant other, do they? Some people have exciting lives to lead, parties to go to and stuff to do.

"Wolf. Hi."

"Hello, Elijah. I should be home in about thirty seven minutes. I have a video for us to watch, remember, I told you about it? I think it'll help you to resolve some of those remaining issues, baby. We'll eat and then we'll watch it in bed and afterwards put the theory to the test." Wolf's chuckle is throaty.

Elijah makes no reply. After a moment, Wolf says "Are you there? I'll be home in – (Elijah guesses that here Wolf is referring to his titanium plated diver's watch) – in about thirty five and a half minutes."

"I won't be here. I'm going out, Wolf."

There is a very satisfying silence, then the music stops. Elijah thinks Wolf has probably pulled over. He's a man who needs to focus. The voice, when it continues, is controlled.

"Going out? We haven't seen each other in three days and you're going out? Where are you going?"

"Just out. Sorry."

"Sorry? No need to be sorry; you are a grown man, you can come and go as you please, Elijah. I'm just a little surprised and disappointed you don't want to be with me, after we'd been apart for so long," Wolf says, patiently.

"Yes, well. I just need some time to think. I need to sort things out." Elijah picks up his keys.

"I can help you sort out anything, you know that. You don't need anyone else, baby." And now he sounds slightly strained and Elijah feels sad because, really, Wolf needs to be with someone who needs him. Which Elijah, apparently doesn't.

"That's the trouble, Wolf. I do. Need someone else. I just hadn't realised till now. I know this is bad and I really am sorry. But I think this is for the best," Elijah says, eyeing the door; he's heard the engine start up again and knows Wolf is driving and will be here in – hell, he doesn't have a titanium-plated diver's watch, so he makes a guess at fifteen minutes. And he really can't face him right now.

"Elijah, Elijah, you sound so tense. Just give me chance to get home and I'll run you a bath. We can-"

Elijah feels like scum as he puts down the phone.

"Wish me luck," he says to the couch on the way out.

And so now he's here. At Dom's.

Only Dom isn't. At Dom's.

Or is he? For there is the faintest of sounds and Elijah thinks it's coming from the back of the house, so he pushes open the ill-fitting wooden gate and makes his way along the side of the house, towards the sound.

Dom is in the back yard, barbecuing. Even though the evening is cool, he's wearing sweatpants, leather wristbands and nothing else; he's grilling sausages and steaks, though Elijah, standing in the shadows, can see only one chair. This is Dom in his natural habitat. He's got long handled tongs in one hand and a can of beer in the other; he's rigged up some lights but only two of them are working, so he's relying on a couple of stubby candles to make up the shortfall. There are moths everywhere and the smell of the sausages inexplicably reminds Elijah of New Zealand.

Elijah thinks he could probably stand here all night, watching Dom make his sacrifices to the gods of outdoor cooking. Dom gingerly removes a sausage from the barbecue but it doesn't make it to the plate; he bends down to retrieve it, cursing as it burns his hand. He sucks his fingers, doing a little fuck you dance and that's when he sees Elijah. He stands, mid-curse and mid-suck and stares for a second.

"You come for my sausage?" he asks, softly, and turns away, back to the barbecue.

"Yeah. I've come for your sausage, Dom," Elijah replies, sauntering over.

"Where's Rin Tin Tin?" Dom asks, casually turning over meat. Elijah sighs softly.

"If you mean Wolf – he's most likely at home right now."

"So why aren't you? At home?" Dom asks the question. Elijah eyes the tongs in Dom's hand warily and Dom, as if seeing them for the first time, lowers them.

They stand for a moment, valiantly ignoring the moths and the smell of burning pork. The fact that Elijah hasn't been round in months, that they haven't spoken socially for three, is sidelined.

"Dom, can I ask you something?" Elijah is toeing at the earth where plants should be.

"Yeah, sure, Lij. Fire away." Dom proffers a can of beer; Elijah is tempted, but he has the car, so he shakes his head.

"You and Karl-"

"There is no me and Karl." Dom removes the last of the sausages from the barbecue and places them on a paper plate. Elijah can see the grease spots, wonders if the meat is raw on the inside – he's tasted Dom's barbecued offerings before. So, no Karl. That's interesting.

"Sorry."

"No need. It was very nice while it lasted. He's a very good man, Karl. Just didn't work out."

"He's a great guy. Dom," Elijah says. He needs to take a deep breath and get this out-

His cell phone ringing stops him mid sentence. He knows, even before he looks, that it's Wolf. He raises an eyebrow at Dom, who shrugs. Elijah takes the call.

"Hi. No. I'm not coming home, I told you that, three times in the car already. It doesn't matter where I am… No, I don't want one of your special massages… I just want my life back."

Dom studiously ignores all this, poking bits of charred sausage pork steak around and around the hissing barbecue. Elijah knows he's listening, though.

"So, trouble in the Kennel Club – I mean, paradise?" Dom asks, when Elijah disconnects. Elijah smiles thinly.

"It's his real name, you know. He can't help his name, Dom." Elijah reaches for the can he had rejected earlier and swigs away some of the barbecue smoke.

"He just grew into it, then? Look, Elijah, it's nothing to do with me. If you want to spend the rest of your life with that – Svengali - then do it. I hope you'll both be very happy, man."

"Oh quit it. You know it's over."

Dom has abandoned all pretences that he's going to be eating the food he's incinerated and is now perched on the low wall surrounding his little dining area, cradling a beer. He looks up at Elijah and shakes his head.

"So, it didn't work out with Wolverine - and Magneto isn't in town: so you've settled for good old Nightcrawler, eh?"

Elijah knows that Dom has always assumed Elijah was fucking Ian somewhere along the line; it's not true, though he wouldn't have said no, that's for sure. It used to be a joke between them, now it just sounds bitter.

"Shut up, Dom," Elijah says. This isn't going how he'd planned on the drive over. Why was Dom difficult? If this was fiction, they'd be rolling around on the scrubby lawn by now. Jeeze.

"You know I had this thing for you, right? You do know that?" Elijah says, very quietly, between sips of the beer. He risks a glance at Dom, who is cross-armed, brows lowered.

"Yeah, I knew. Sort of." Dom concedes. He starts to worry one of his wrist bands, nipping at the stitching, avoiding Elijah's eyes.

"You just didn't want me, then?" Elijah asks. He's remembering evenings out when Dom would just disappear and return later, dishevelled and glowing.

"It wasn't that, Lij," Dom says and he relinquishes the ratty leather. "I couldn't fuck you - I couldn't."

Elijah stares. He thinks of Wolf back home, preferably packing but most likely composing a Mission Statement or something; Wolf hadn't objected to fucking him, had told him over and over that he was a beautiful and desirable lover who just needed some instruction… No, Wolf hadn't minded climbing aboard the old Elijahmobile, had he?

"Right. K. I'll be off, then," Elijah says, throwing the half empty beer can into Dom's dried up birdbath with a dull clang.

"Lij, wait. It's not how it sounded. This is hard," Dom pleads, running a hand through his already mussed up blond hair. Elijah hesitates, turns. Waits.

"I've fucked up. I know that. I played with your feelings, I know that, too."

"All true, yes." Elijah wants to gather Dom up and pet him – or knee him in the balls. Either would work for him. "Go on."

"All my life, I've sort of felt like a fraud, you know? Like I was going to be found out. Peter would find me out and put me on a plane back home. Billy'd find me out and not want to be my mate…"

One of the makeshift lights twinkles and dies and now Dom is standing in shadow and Elijah can't make out his face but can't bring himself to move, to break the moment.

"And you, Elijah. I knew you'd find me out, too. We'd shag and it'd be fantastic… But you'd find me out. You'd realise there's nothing to me. Then you'd go, too. So, I thought maybe by not shagging you, not doing you like the others, that would mean, maybe, you'd stay."

Elijah remembers to breathe. "You stopped coming round, Dom. Wolf moved in and you moved out of my life and I didn't know what I'd done."

"Ah well, with the legendary Monaghan timing, I'd realised I'd rather take the risk. And it was my fucking luck that the day I was going to tell you all about it, was the day Scooby Doo came into your life. Sorry, Wolf."

"Well, that was inconvenient." Elijah says, simply. He's thinking of the men's room at the club, of Dom pressing against him, of Dom's face that evening - before he'd got slaughtered and fucked it all up.

Dom grunts, shrugging his shoulders philosophically. "So, what happened? With you and the Norse god?" he asks.

Elijah laughs. "You don't want to know, trust me!" he says, holding open a trash bag so that Dom can shovel in the ruined food. Their fingers brush gently and there isn't the bolt of electricity Elijah might have expected or hoped for, but there is warmth.

"I do. Tell me all about it," Dom ties off the bag and dumps it in the trash can; Elijah hears it hit what must be a fair number of bottles.

They slide down onto the little patio, backs against the wall, and watch the moon.

"Okay then, since you want to know. He was amazing in bed, absolutely incredible. He could do things with his tongue-"

"Woah! Changed my mind. You were right, I don't want to know." Dom takes Elijah's hand in his and strokes it almost absently.

"He's a good guy. He likes to control things, is all. He's just not for me."

Dom raises Elijah's hand to his mouth and stops, his lips a bare centimetre from Elijah's skin whereon the hairs are standing on end like merekats on an African plain. He completes the circuit, a gentle bussing of lips, then releases the hand with a sigh.

"So," says Elijah, unsure about next steps. He's lived with a man for six months who knows exactly what to do next. He's abdicated responsibility for next steps. He wants Dom to take the lead. He waits.

"So," says Dom, simply.

"What happens now?" Elijah asks and he's aware of a delicious tingling down below, an insistent and delicious buzz - that apparently is his phone, on silent and vibrate. Dom moves aside to let Elijah reach into his jacket pocket. "Is that him again?" he asks. Elijah nods, makes as if to take the call; abruptly, however, Dom extricates the phone from Elijah's hand and flicks it expertly into the barbecue, where it hisses and finally dies…

"Fuck," says Elijah, perplexed. That had all his numbers in it. Fuck.

"You're my man now, Elijah," says Dom, deepening his voice. He underscores the sentiment by pushing his man down onto the scrubby lawn and straddling him, pinning his wrists. Elijah tries to keep a straight face.

"Am I your bitch, Dom?" he asks, deadpan. For answer, Dom nods and rotates his hips.

"You are. My bitch. My puppy."

"Tomorrow, can you be the bitch?" Elijah asks, squirming a little.

"Maybe. We'll see… I kind of want to prove a theory of mine, Lij," Dom says, in between bouts of nuzzling Elijah's neck. "My dominant bottom theory, in fact."

"Theory? That sounds dangerously like Wolf," Elijah replies, though he doesn't seriously object, is a little intrigued.

"Just promise me one thing, Lij, and this is serious now, okay?" Dom says very seriously, indeed. He's nose to nose with Elijah now and not blinking.

"When I take you inside and then take you inside, and you reach the point of unbearable ecstasy, promise me…"

Elijah waits, a little anxiously, though the bit about unbearable ecstasy sounds hopeful. "Yes?" he prompts.

"Promise me you won't cry Wolf…"

The End