Summary: They are, after all, actors.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not a true story, non-profit.
Notes: Angst and smut for Christina. Merry Christmas!
The panel isn't too bad or long. Mostly they talk about characterization and special effects. Elijah makes the usual jokes about Gollum and Viggo's method acting. Dom is more talkative than Elijah remembers, blabbering on about the books and the vision, toying with the ends of his scarf as he speaks. Elijah shakes his head at the question: he does not have the ring with him. He does not wear it around the house. His feet are not really that hairy. "He lies," Dom interrupts at that one, grinning at Elijah. Everyone laughs and the moment passes.
A snippet from the film, applause, and they're being herded toward the banquet. Elijah smiles for a few pictures and slips past Dom (posing, tongue out) for half a smoke. He hates that most about these evenings: not enough time to even smoke and absorb loose thoughts.
There's a courtyard lined with ivy and some purple, spiky flower. The walkway is brick, and the benches are wooden. It's quaint and only some of the noise filters out through the door. At the last convention, there had been a large fountain in the courtyard. Dom had nudged Elijah as they walked past it, and the two had collapsed into hysterics. Here, the centerpiece is only a shrub dedicated to someone's dead grandfather.
He lights up and turns his back to the window. There's a couple sitting on a bench against the opposite wall, holding hands and watching the pale yellow sunset. Deep breath. He would leave now if he could, just get in his car and bury himself in the new script.
He hasn't seen Dom in months. Dom left LA and they both started working on new roles. Elijah kept busy, and managed to push Dom out of his mind for the first time in years. It felt nice to be alone, and Elijah had thought it was probably better to ignore Billy's suggestions that he give Dom a ring. He's never quite figured out the time difference, anyway.
Elijah had actually cringed at Dom's arrival today. Dom had been wearing a cheesy t-shirt, a long scarf, tight leather pants, and fucking eyeliner. He'd also had his hair cut too short. He'd promptly pounced Elijah, digging his fingers into Lij's stomach and murmuring, "Long time, man. You look good." He smelled the same, at least. Elijah returned the hug after a moment, eyes fixed on the camera behind them.
They're keeping him busy today, running from panel to interview, and he's supposed to meet up with an ad agency at some point tonight. It's been easy to slip past Dom with no more than a smile and an occasional hand on the shoulder. It hasn't been as easy to drag his eyes away from Dom's ridiculous poses and over-artsy outfit. Elijah is vaguely reminded of everything he didn't like about Dom when they lived together; things he'd managed to forget about until now. He hasn't thought about Dom for a long time, and he'd like to keep it that way. It's a short convention, and he's busy. He doesn't need to think about it.
The sky is beginning to hint at darkness and his agent is going to slaughter him if she catches him out here. He takes another drag.
"Not much of a view, is it?"
That's Dom. He doesn't turn around, and tenses as Dom steps so close that Elijah can feel the warmth of his body.
There's a long pause, and Elijah studies the skyline. There are a few apartment buildings in the distance, and the smoggy outline of skyscrapers lit up against the failing blue of the sky.
It was never a relationship. They were best friends, and things just happened once in a while. Dom shouldn't feel like some ex-boyfriend. It's not as if things ended badly; there was nothing to end at all.
"So," Dom starts. "It's been a while."
"How've you been?" Elijah asks softly.
"I'm good. I, uh. Finished up Spivs, you know. Have a few more movies lined up. They look like they'll be fun. You?"
"I've been great."
"Good. Good." Dom rubs his hands together, fidgeting. "Hey, have you talked to Billy?"
"Oh, yeah. I called him a few times, and he keeps in touch. He's doing real well," Elijah blurts out.
"Yeah?" Dom grins half-heartedly. "We, uh, spent a few days together. Weeks, more like it, I guess. Just time with a friend, relaxing a little."
"Ah, right. He mentioned that, I think." Billy had hinted that Elijah should hop the next flight to Scotland and see them. Elijah had said he would think about it. He stares at the smoke melting into the air for a moment. "So."
"So." Dom chuckles. "It feels a little weird. Here, I mean. Us, you know?"
There had been a convention a lot like this one at exactly this time last year, but that was when Dom had been living with Elijah. They'd driven there together, gotten insanely drunk afterwards, and wandered around the hotel abusing their celebrity status. Elijah is surprised that Hilton doesn't have some kind of restraining order on either of them after the fish tank incident.
They'd awaken early the next morning, figured out the exact location of the press meeting, and had loud sex in the room directly above it. Hobbits Gone Wild, they'd called it once they got back to Elijah's place, and went out on a quiet dinner date in celebration of a well-executed dirty weekend.
Dom continues quietly. "I was wondering what it would be like to see you."
"What's it like?" Elijah asks.
Dom is silent for a moment, just watching the sky. He looks like a struggling eighties rocker in the eyeliner, which was probably his intent. It's postmodern or possibly just an emo fashion statement. "Can I bum a smoke?" he finally asks, looking back toward Elijah and resting a hand lightly on his back.
Elijah turns. "What happened to the Nicotine Nazi?"
Dom grins half-heartedly. "Things change."
Elijah nods and hands him his half-smoked cigarette. "You can have mine. I've been out here too long already." He takes a few steps away, leaving Dom with the cig limp in his hand and confused, smudged eyes. He can't imagine what Dom looks like smoking, but doesn't try too hard.
He doesn't get inside. Dom grabs his shoulder as he reaches the door, and pulls him into a corner. "Elijah. Please, just a second of your precious time."
Elijah stares at the cigarette in Dom's fingers. "Talk to me, then. It's been a long time, Dom. Something wrong?"
"Yes." He takes an uneasy puff. "Maybe. Look, you've been avoiding me all day."
"I've been busy," Elijah mutters, but Dom cuts him off.
"You've always been busy. I'm busy too. But you and I used to..." He sighs. "I want this to be like last year. I want to have fun with you again. I want to know what you're fucking doing now. I've missed you, okay?"
You're the one that left, Elijah thinks. I just pushed back. "So did I, but I don't know if we can..."
Dom takes another drag. Somehow it doesn't seem odd that he's sharing Elijah's addiction now. "We could give it a try. Like before. If you still want it."
"I'm." Elijah turns back to the door. "I've got to get back inside, Dom. I want it, but I really don't know."
"Lijah. Can we just try?" is soft and light as a wisp of smoke.
Elijah can't make decisions in a split second like Dom can. He turns and smiles all the same. "Yeah. We can do that," comes easily. They are, after all, actors.
Elijah knots his hands into either side of Dom's t-shirt and pushes him away. Dom hooks a finger through one of Elijah's beltloops and jerks himself back against his body. Their legs and lips still fit together, and Dom's fingers are still hot against Elijah's belly as they shove his shirt out of the way. He knows he should be thinking about repercussions and old habits, but Dom's hands are frantic, just careless enough, and. "Dominic. No," he mutters against his neck.
"What?" Dom pulls away sharply. Elijah leans back toward the warmth of Dom's body, his skin aching. Dom kisses Elijah's temple and slides his hands down his body, tracing the tip of his tongue along the pulse.
Elijah bites his lip, trying to keep his hands from sliding to their spot at the dip in Dom's back. "We don't have time."
The pressure on either side of his waist is gone and Dom's got a fistful of hair in a rough, hot movement. He growls into Elijah's neck, "Fucking hell, Lijah, we have time." The clenched fist is gone and Dom's pulling his own jacket off, letting the scarf slide through his fingers. He hesitates. In a split second, his hips are rolling with Elijah's, grinding against him, teasing him, familiarizing him with a rhythm he'd nearly pushed out of memory. "You want this or not?"
"Please," Elijah gasps, not really caring which one he's begging for. His spine arches, his hips sway towards Dom's, and he feels like he's somewhere behind this.
"Then you can make time," he hisses, jerking the scarf from his neck and rubbing it between his fingers. "If you would keep in one fucking place for fifteen fucking minutes, Lij." Their lips meet again for a rough, wet kiss, and Dom pushes Elijah backwards, against the wall.
When Dom thrusts against him, Elijah pulls away to suck in a breath of air and reason. Dom's got a nasty, wicked grin on his face and he's still holding that faux-artsy scarf in his hands. Fingers snag against his waistband, tugging him a few steps to the left. A murmured "C'mere," a pressure against the back of his knees, the arm of a chair beneath his fingertips. Dom's hands position him, molding him against the chair, until Elijah is half-kneeling in it, face toward the wall and fingers wrapped around the arms.
He turns around in confusion, but Dom pushes him back in place, his motions firm again. There's the scarf, against Elijah's wrist, and – oh.
Dom loops the scarf around the wood of the chair and ties the knot a little too tightly, pulling any slack out of the fabric. "To keep you still," he whispers, trailing his fingers up Elijah's arms, over his shoulders and back, and down to his belt. "You're not going to get away from me until we're done with this." His jeans are around his ankles in a few seconds, and Dom's thumb is gliding along the head of his cock, pressing down just enough to remind Elijah that he's stuck here. He likes Dom best when he's like this: snarling, pushy, and terse.
He still carries lube and condoms in his pocket, the cocky fuck. He rubs a slick finger inside Elijah, and Elijah grits his teeth, aching from the irony. It had been his goal to pick up some chick before this stupid convention, someone quirky and distracting, to keep this from happening again. And fuck, now they're in a fucking conference room, no telling if anyone's going to walk in at any moment. Just because Elijah hates leaving Dom hanging. Old habits, he thinks, but pushes that away. Dom didn't wear scarves or taste of smoke when he'd lived in L.A.
He feels the same inside Elijah, though. Dom pushes inside him and takes Elijah's cock in both hands. He slides back out, arms twisted around Elijah's body, panting and whimpering desperately into the back of Elijah's neck. He thrusts in again, and strokes his hands down at the same time. Elijah gasps and doesn't know which way to arch, pressed inward from both sides. He jerks upward, and the chair moves with him, heavy at his wrists.
"Yeah, now you can stand to be around me," Dom hisses, and the strokes quicken. He matches the rhythm of his hands and his hips, pushing Elijah's knees firmly into the seat of the chair, moaning and tightening his grip. Elijah leans into the chair, curving his body for Dom, leaning his head against the wall and gasping. He's being pushed from every direction and it feels like everything that he'd forgotten he wanted.
Elijah comes trembling and wrapped up in Dom, breathing "Fuck, Dom, fuck." Dom groans, strokes slowing, sliding his hands back to Elijah's hips one last, hard push, and it's over, yeah.
Dom rests his head on Elijah's back and chuckles. He slides his hands along the knots in his scarf. "Not bad for so long without you, huh?"
Elijah suspects that he's still shaking, and clenches his fingers more tightly around the sweaty arms of the chair. "Fuck."
Elijah's still fully clothed when Dom knocks on his door. He gathers his courage, getting into character, and opens it.
Dom's standing there in his full glory, bad haircut and all. He's washed the eyeliner off but his eyes are still smudged with something unfamiliar. "Hey," he breathes.
"Hey," Elijah replies. "Come on in."
Dom shuts the door softly behind him and steps tentatively toward Elijah's bed. "Can I, uh."
"Sure, go ahead!" The Daily Show is on TV, and Elijah had been staring at it for the past fifteen minutes, half-buried in the blankets.
Dom climbs awkwardly onto the bed and leans against the spare pillow, sliding his feet beneath the sheets. Elijah slides in next to him, keeping an inch of space between them. The sheets still aren't quite warm.
They sit in silence, watching as Julia Stiles skillfully begs the question. Dom toys with the comforter for a moment, then turns to Elijah. He opens his mouth to speak, but says nothing, leaving the question written plain on his face.
Elijah smiles and hopes that's enough. Dom doesn't smile back, just studies his face, and there's still an ocean and nearly six months between them. Elijah wonders if he's changed like Dom has, if he tastes and smiles differently than he did last year. He's somehow even less certain about Dom and him than he was then.
He'd thought about finding some girl, someone cute and distracting, to bring to the convention. Someone to keep him from doing something like this, because he's always been blind to how much of Dom is good for him. Hannah has a friend, Alana. He could have called her. He could have said no in the courtyard. He could have made Dom just stay in the first place. Maybe he's being a fool. Maybe that's the one thing that's stayed the same about both of them.
Dom slides his hand slowly over Elijah's, watching his fingers cautiously. Elijah gives him a moment before squeezing back and locking their thumbs together. He smiles, and he has no idea if it's a good idea, but he rests his head on Dom's shoulder. Dom relaxes a little, and brushes his lips against Elijah's forehead before turning back to the television.
Elijah leans against him stares at the clock. It's 12:49 and he's still in character. There's something cold digging at the bottom of his stomach, but he doesn't yield to it. He doesn't wonder about Dom. He's an actor. He just has to be able to play the role. He doesn't have to know if it's the right one.