Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I made it all up.
Betaed by: ozcmom
Notes: slashababy story for Jess.
“What do you think?” Orlando demanded and he turned around.
Dom winced and said, “No. That shirt is hideous. Just hideous. And the pants…” Words failed Dom at that point. The brown and orange shirt and dark green trousers were truly awful.
Elijah appeared from the other change cubicle and said, “Lemme see.” Elijah was wearing black leather pants that were cut wrong and a bright blue shirt with green dolphins around the hem. “Dom’s right. The pants are bad, and I don’t mean that in a good way. But the shirt is great. Get that one. How do I look?”
Orlando surveyed Elijah. “No way. Those are girls’ pants. And the shirt sucks.”
Dom leant against a rack of clothes and shook his head. It was like his memories of being dragged clothes shopping by his girlfriends as a teenager. When Orli and ’Lij weren’t parading an endless array of ghastly clothes in front of him and demanding his approval, they were trying to convince him to buy something for himself.
The pair of them disappeared into the cubicles again, and Dom closed his eyes wearily. He knew why he’d agreed to come along. Elijah thought he could make anyone do anything, and that included Dom, just be widening his eyes and pouting a little. After several months filming, eyes the colour of butterfly wings no longer worked on him. He’d been conned once too often.
But whilst Elijah pouted, Orlando had grinned at him too and said, “Come on, Dommie,” and he had succumbed.
But not next time.
Then Orlando appeared from his cubicle wearing a dancer’s black cat suit with nothing underneath, smooth chest and arms exposed, cat suit hugging his thighs and crotch.
Elijah popped out of his cubicle wearing board shorts that reached to his ankles and a tank top and said, “You can’t wear that. You look like Cat from Red Dwarf.”
Orlando turned around, showing off his arse and the backs of his thighs and said, “Are you sure, ’Lij? Dom, what do you think?”
Dom swallowed. “No fucking way. You’d get arrested.”
This was why Orlando had been able to convince Dom to come shopping, the reason why women fell over each other to offer themselves to Orlando, why Catering put up with his requests for special meals. This was the real reason. No denying it when Orlando was peering over his shoulder at Dom and running his hands down his thighs. Lust.
Dom didn’t lust after Orlando all the time, or even often. He hadn't lusted after him from the beginning. In fact he hadn't ever lusted after another man before, and it had taken him a while to work out what the warm buzzing he sometimes felt around Orlando was. He didn’t lust after him when he was Legolas, or when he was wearing baggy jeans and some appalling shirt. Only when his pants were tight and he was moving on a dance floor in some sweaty club. Or in his wet suit astride a surfboard. Or when he was stretching material over his legs in a second hand clothes shop. Not all the time, because Dom didn’t think he’d be able to cope with that. He wasn't sure he could cope with feeling like this even occasionally.
When Orlando disappeared back into the cubicle, Elijah peered at Dominic and said, “What’s up, Dommie?”
Dom shook his head and said, “Nothing. Have you guys finished yet? I’m dying of boredom here.”
Elijah stared at Dom for a moment longer, then ducked back into his cubicle.
When Orlando appeared next time, he was wearing his own clothes, body safely hidden, and Dom was relieved. Elijah bounced out of his cubicle like a manic muppet carrying an armful of clothes and said, “I got so much good stuff, Dom. You should have tried stuff on, you could have found really cool clothes here.”
Dom shook his head and followed Elijah to the counter. “But I might look like the pair of you then.”
The four of them had intended going surfing the next day, to celebrate Orlando finishing a long stretch of night shoots for the Helm's Deep battle, but bad weather and hangovers had combined and made staying home look so good. Dom was focussed on the TV screen, frantically pushing buttons on the PlayStation hand set. Elijah was beside him, swearing steadily. Dom could hear Billy cheering ’Lij on, urging him to smash Dom’s character. Dom went to turn his head for a second to shut Billy up, and Elijah shrieked and pushed buttons and Dom’s character died in a pool of lurid blood.
“My turn,” Billy shouted and grabbed the hand set from Dom.
Dom slumped down into the empty armchair and opened a can of beer.
Orlando, stretched out on the couch, said, “Billy deliberately made you lose so he could have his turn.”
Dom nodded. “And he’s a stupid fucker if he thinks he can beat ’Lij.”
Dom fell silent after that, watching the screen flicker, listening to Billy’s particularly inspired cursing and eventually turned back to Orlando and found his words frozen in his throat.
Orlando was watching him, his eyes on the side of Dom’s face. Dom saw Orlando drop his gaze, then a moment later meet Dom’s eyes. Orlando’s eyes were soft and warm, without the usual manic gleam that he had around Elijah. Milk chocolate, Dom thought. Nestle’s milk chocolate. And for a moment, Dom’s imagination tasted chocolate melting and he felt saliva wet his mouth. Orlando held Dom’s eyes for too long, for far too long, even when Dom blinked nervously. Elijah swore and the TV blared inane music repetitively and Dom began to wonder how they would stop staring at each other, and exactly how much Orlando was reading on his face. Then Billy gave a cry of dismay, and Dom glanced at the screen and Orlando was standing up from the couch and not watching Dom’s face any more.
When Orlando knelt down in Billy’s place and picked up the handpiece, he glanced back over his shoulder at Dom and gave him a quick smile, and Dom wondered if he had imagined the gentleness he had seen in Orlando’s eyes because everything seemed completely normal again.
Dom had been silent for a while, concentrating on the road ahead.
They were driving north, heading for Napier, to a beach that Karl had recommended. He’d also suggested a place to hire a caravan, a place that was used to mad surfers turning up in the winter and would think nothing of obnoxious hobbits.
Dom’s car was ahead of Billy’s; Orlando was riding with Billy, Elijah with Dom.
Dom had been quiet for the past hour, having exhausted himself with a bitter diatribe about New Zealand roads, Peter Jackson, filming schedules, being away from home, prosthetic ears and feet, and the grievous inequities present in the Hollywood star system.
Elijah had let him rant, knowing that he had bored his friends witless over the previous weeks by whining about the Emyn Muil shoot, and also that Dom would eventually get around to what was really bugging him.
“Elijah,” he eventually said. “What is it that makes you queer?”
Elijah pretended to ponder for a moment. “It would have to be the sex with men. If I had to choose just one thing.” Then he grinned at Dom.
Dom laughed. “No, I’m serious.”
“Are you asking how I know I’m queer?”
“Well, OK. You’re a straight guy, right? You have this imaginary woman you think about when you wank?”
Dom nodded and slowed down as a logging truck overtook them.
“Now, this imaginary woman, you know what she looks like. Whether she has black hair, or blonde-“
“-you know whether she has big tits, what her mouth looks like, what colour eyes she has. Well, I’ve got one of them, and an imaginary bloke as well. Tall, clean-shaven, blonde guy. When I started fantasizing about him, I knew I was queer. That, and I kept winding up on my knees at parties, blowing guys.”
“So, you fancy all guys?”
“No more than you fancy all girls. As a general principle, guys work for me. The drunker I am, the less fussy I am, same as for girls.”
Dom stared out of the window again and said, “What if there was just one guy you fancied? Would that make you queer?”
Elijah flicked a glance at Dom. So that was what the questions were about, that was what was really bothering him.
“No. If I was just curious, and tried it once, I wouldn’t be queer. If I slept with several guys, and didn’t want to be called queer, I wouldn’t be. Once I got into double digits, I’d be thinking about how I identified.”
“Why do people come out then, if they don’t have to?”
“I’ve always found that it’s easier to pick guys up if I wear my preference on my T-shirt.” Elijah waved a hand at his shirt, which read ‘I used to be indecisive; but now I’m bisexual’.
Dom was silent again.
“Dom, you need to remember that both you and the guy you’re considering experimenting with have feelings.”
Dom ducked his head and blushed. Damn Elijah, he always knew these things. He probably even knew it was Orlando that Dom was attracted to.
Elijah continued, “And, unless you’re planning on bonking a stranger in a bar or a bathhouse, those feelings are going to be important. Hang on, Wellington doesn’t have a bathhouse. End of lecture.”
Dom looked at Elijah quickly. “You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?”
Elijah shook his head, “Promise.”
They drove in silence again for several kilometres before Dom spoke again. “Can I ask, well, technical questions?”
Elijah nodded. “Ask away.”
“If I do, hypothetically, decide to experiment, how will I know what to do?”
Elijah laughed. “Hypothetical men are much easier to please than hypothetical women. You already know the basics from your own body. So, just touch the guy, and listen to him and watch him and work out what he likes.”
“But what about … other stuff?”
“Remember how confusing it was the first time you went down on a woman?”
Dom nodded and smiled shyly. “Yeah.”
“Men are so much easier. You can’t get lost, and I haven’t met a man yet who didn’t want to get blown. And you can tell if it’s working.”
“What about…?” Dom faltered.
“Lots of guys, hypothetical or otherwise, don’t fuck, so it might not be an issue. And it’s not something you’re likely to do the first time anyway.”
Dom subsided into embarrassed silence again and Elijah pushed the play button on the CD player.
They surfed, and when the light faded, ate fish and chips from the nearest town, before settling around a fire outside their caravan. The caravan park was primitive, and the caravan draughty and gritty, and Karl was right. No one had blinked at three British guys and an American turning up to surf in the off-season.
Orlando felt the sort of warm, expansive happiness that comes from exhaustion and bourbon and good company, a spreading mellowness that obliterated the cold misery of filming Helm’s Deep.
Billy finished an highly improbable and obscene story from his days in theatre, Elijah passed the bottle to Orlando; and the wind coming in from the ocean was cold and carried the smell of the waves, and the fire flickered a little.
Elijah shivered inside his jumper. “Aren’t you guys freezing?”
“It’s not cold, you Californian pansy,” Billy pointed out.
Orlando and Dom agreed. “There’s no snow,” Dom said. “It’s not cold until it snows.”
“And you’re not standing in the rain at three in the morning whilst PJ yells at you for not looking inscrutably elvish. I’m off to bed. My body still believes we’re doing night shoots and that I’ve been awake forever.” Orlando stood and stretched and went to crawl into his sleeping bag. PJ deciding that another week of night shoots were needed had sucked.
The others woke him briefly when they came to bed some time later, making him swear at them in beautifully rounded elvish, proving that he had paid attention to Viggo's impromptu language classes.
Dom came back in to the caravan after going to the loo, grinning because he could hear Billy snoring from outside the van.
The light filtered through the rattling blinds from the wavering street light outside. Elijah was a bump in a sleeping bag, Billy was flat on his back in one of the top bunks, snoring his head off. And Orlando was in the bunk beneath Billy, sleeping bag pushed down around his waist, arms sprawled across the bunk, hair in ridiculous salt dried tufts.
Dom took a step closer to Orlando. His mouth was slightly open, and Dom wished that just once he could touch Orlando’s lips. Just once to feel their softness, even to taste them. He took another step closer and knelt down next to Orlando.
Orlando smelt of cigarettes and the ocean and bourbon and Dom reached out a hand and touched Orlando’s cheek, drifting his fingers over the softness downwards to the stubble around his chin.
Orlando opened his eyes to find Dom kneeling next to him, stroking his face. “Dommie?” he whispered.
Dom’s fingers pressed briefly against his lips. “Shhh” he whispered back.
Orlando reached for the zip of his sleeping bag and eased the zip down. He held the bag open for Dom, who looked at him with confusion on his face. “Hop in,” he whispered to Dom.
Dom was acutely aware that he was wearing nothing but his boxers and that he was hard, but he guessed that if a man invited you into his sleeping bag, that was probably the appropriate dress.
Dom climbed into the bag next to Orlando, who slid his arms around him. They stayed silent, listening anxiously to Billy’s snoring, for a moment, then Dom dared to move enough to embrace Orlando back.
Orlando was slender and strong and Dom held him closer and felt Orlando’s lips press against his face. He turned slightly and their lips met. Then Orlando’s tongue was in his mouth and for a moment he was confused, and then his body responded to the slick probing and he had to work hard not to moan.
Orlando was unbearably aroused. Waking to find Dom touching him had been a recurring fantasy of his, and having Dom, warm and very real, holding him now was driving him crazy. He knew he was taking a risk when he kissed Dom, that Dom might push him away, wake the others, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Not that Elijah would be surprised. Elijah was never surprised by anything anyone did. Billy, however, would be surprised and upset and angry with Orlando for making a move on Dom. Billy’s snore drifted down from the bunk above them again, and Dom kissed Orlando back, and there didn’t seem to be anything to worry about.
Orlando moved a little, pressing himself closer to Dom and felt Dom’s cock nudging his thigh. This was good, so very good, and Dom slid a hand down Orlando’s side, reveling in the feel of his skin, in the warmth radiating from him. Orlando’s hands were drifting over him too, sliding into his boxers at the back, brushing over his buttocks and Dom, emboldened by the feel of Orlando’s hand cupping his ass, drifted his fingers down the length of his sweat pant clad cock. Orlando pushed up into his hand, and sucked on his tongue.
Dom nearly moaned out loud when Orlando touched his cock, and bit Orlando’s lip when Orlando slid his hand inside his boxers and began to stroke him. He pushed his hand inside Orlando’s pants and began to stroke him too, matching his rhythm, matching his grip. He found he knew exactly what to do and the tiny mewling noises that Orlando was making matched his own silent moans. He knew they weren’t being quiet enough, that the drag of skin on skin was audible, but had no intention of stopping. He just hoped that Billy went on snoring.
Orlando knew he was close and bit Dom’s shoulder to keep himself from crying out when the friction on his cock became too much and he began to come. Dom grunted and thrust into his hand and the wet heat of his cum trickled through Orlando’s fingers.
Dom stayed in the sleeping bag with Orlando, not caring about anything except the feel of a lean body curled up with his and the delicious warmth filling the sleeping bag.
After Dom had fallen asleep and Billy’s snores had softened when he rolled over, Orlando lifted his head a little to check that Elijah was asleep too. He had his back to him and what looked horribly like a pillow wrapped around his head. Orlando shrugged mentally. Elijah was unlikely to give either of them a hard time about it.
The next morning Orlando woke first, his confused body clock insisting it was time to get up and go to work. He stretched and tried to roll over and couldn’t. He definitely wasn’t in his own bed. Ahh yes, sleeping bag, caravan, surfing. Billy was on the bunk above him, breathing noisily. Elijah was across from him, a hump in a sleeping bag. Dom was… with him still. He reached out a hand and shook Dom’s shoulder gently.
Dom woke with a start, confused as to why Orli was waking him. Orlando pointed at Elijah, then at the underside of the bunk above them. Billy. Realisation dawned. Orlando was saving him from the embarrassment of explaining to anyone why he was in Orlando's sleeping bag.
Elijah joined Orlando outside the caravan for a smoke a moment later, whilst Dom went to fill the kettle. “You were awake, weren’t you?” Orlando said.
Elijah nodded. Then Elijah lifted an eyebrow and grinned at him.
“I owe you one, Elijah,”
Elijah nodded again. “You do. You owe me several.”
“Shit.” Orlando took a drag on his cigarette.
Dom and Orlando watched Billy’s car pull out of the carpark, Elijah at the wheel.
Dom looked at Orlando. “Elijah did that deliberately, didn’t he?”
“Got Billy to let him drive. Said he wanted to drive but couldn’t face my talking at him. Just so we could drive back together. Did you tell him?”
“Everything Elijah does is deliberate. And, no I didn’t tell him. I didn’t need to, he was awake.”
Dom flushed bright red. “He was awake. Arrgghh. How embarrassing.”
Orlando leaned across the car, stroked Dom’s cheek with his fingers. “You’re blushing. And Elijah won’t say anything. Come back to my place when we get to Wellington. Nobody will be listening this time.” Orlando slipped one finger into Dom’s mouth.
Dom groaned at the feel of the finger. “Orli, I’ve never been with a guy before.”
“It’s alright, I have. I know what to do.”
When Dom and Orlando stood under the shower in Orlando’s apartment, and Orlando kissed him, Dom wondered why it had taken him so long to get to that point. When Orlando came in his mouth, and his own cum washed down the drain, Dom found that it was easy as Elijah had said it would be. That everything was easy, and Orlando was even more beautiful than he had imagined he would be.