Disengage (2/2)
Title: Disengage
Pairing: OB/EW
Rating: R
Summary: Advance, retreat, disengage.
Website: http://www.airgiodslv.dombillijah.com/
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.
Notes: Thank you to everyone who has helped me write this; msilverstar, kaydeefalls, impasto, arabia764, and mdbfan. Your contributions were priceless.
“I might be in a war movie. I mean, really, how crazy is that? And you should read the part, I mean…”
Dominic clapped Orlando on the back as they walked together to the parking lot, just hard enough to sting. “Orlando, be kind. Some of us are getting sent two crap scripts per month.”
Orlando checked his next sentence, bobbed his head meekly instead. “I know, but it’s just…”
“We know,” Elijah snapped, quick and tart, and Orlando glanced up in surprise. Elijah looked annoyed, but a split second later he smiled apologetically, and Orlando wondered if he had been joking.
“You need to calm down, mate,” Dominic commented, eyebrows raised. He moved a half-step closer to Elijah, who shifted automatically in his direction. Orlando looked away and searched briefly for a cigarette before realizing that he’d left the pack at home. On the nightstand, along with his wallet and the imprint of Elijah in his sheets.
He’d been in a bit of a hurry that morning.
“It’s just been a long day.” Elijah drifted away as easily as he’d moved in, comfort offered and received in a fraction of a moment. Orlando hated that it was that easy for them, that they meshed without thought. Emotional bonding always took a lot of effort for him, and the result was never as genuine.
“I hear that,” Sean chimed in.
Elijah rolled his shoulders, neck cracking as he stretched. A tiny wince of pain flickered past so quickly that Orlando may as well have imagined it. “I’m never working on my knees again.”
“Nah,” Dominic countered, smiling blandly at the horizon. “You just haven’t met the right guy yet.”
Orlando glanced between them, alarmed and guilty, but Elijah didn’t bat an eyelash. “Wanker.” A moment later he looked over, radiating calm and control, and Orlando felt like a child hiding dirty magazines from his parents.
“So Orlando, you’d be working with Josh in this one, right?”
He frowned, but Elijah’s eyes weren’t giving anything away. “I think so, yeah. According to rumor.”
Elijah had found his own cigarettes, slipped one professionally between his lips and snapped the lighter. A deep inhalation, and then he blew smoke, eyes fluttering closed in an expression of perfect nicotine bliss.
“Don’t tell Josh anything,” he advised. “He can’t keep a secret.”
Orlando blinked. Billy launched into a tale about another co-star who had gotten caught in bed with two women, neither of which were his wife. Orlando tuned out until Sean brought them to a halt with a loud warning.
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Dominic said, examining the strands of the spider web stretched between trees. It was a real work of art, thicker white strands looping through the weave to create a dizzying pattern. It was clear from several feet away, which was where they had stopped; now Orlando and Dominic crept closer, with the others lagging a few feet behind.
“Elijah, come look at this,” Dominic called back, picking up a stick.
“I don’t think the spider likes cigarette smoke,” Elijah shot back, holding the cig loosely at his side.
Orlando traced the pattern, studied the way it consistently returned to the large black-and-yellow spider watchfully standing guard at the center. His eyes caught Elijah’s through the web; looked away.
“He hasn’t caught anything yet, though,” Billy pointed out cheerfully, watching Dominic tap the web carefully with his stick.
Orlando wasn’t really surprised.
After all, the whole point of spider-silk was that you didn’t see it until it was too late.
“Dom, come on, leave it alone,” Billy chided, smiling as he caught the end of the stick and turned it aside. “We’ve got to go home and get dressed.”
“Going out tonight?” Orlando asked casually, looking anywhere but at Elijah.
Dominic hesitated, eyes flicking over the other three before he replied. “Yes, actually…ehm, reservations at that new Italian place. I suppose we could change them…ask them if they can seat five on short notice…”
“Never mind,” Orlando said quickly, looking away. Dominic’s invitation had been carefully neutral, the tone that politely offered while suggesting that the best response would be to decline. “I have plans anyway.”
“Well, then,” Dominic replied, and to his credit there was very little hint of relief in his voice. Orlando’s eyes met Elijah’s again, but they were blank. He forced himself to breathe around the tightening of his jaw; consciously released tensed muscles in his shoulders. Yoga tomorrow, he decided absently, would be an excellent idea. He didn’t think about the possibility that Elijah would take up his free time. That would make the reality too disappointing.
They had reached the parking lot; Orlando spotted Viggo and Sean and used them to make his escape before anyone suspected that something was wrong. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow then,” he interjected quickly, interrupting an inside joke regarding girls and foam latex toes.
Three hobbits chorused absent goodbyes; Elijah just stared at him. There was a question in his eyes that Orlando couldn’t begin to answer out here, in front of Elijah’s friends. So he turned and jogged away in the direction of his Jeep.
“Orlando,” Elijah called after him a second later, but he pretended not to hear. He changed his mind the moment after, guilt churning up from his stomach like acid, but Elijah was already turned away and the hobbits had closed ranks.
He prayed that his double-take hadn’t been noticed and wandered over, smiling brightly, to Viggo and Sean.
“Orlando,” Sean greeted him warily, but there was mischief in his eyes.
“Gentlemen,” he responded, turning the full force of his smile on Viggo. “Big plans for tonight?”
“Just wine and chess, actually,” Viggo answered, eyes narrowed although he was smiling slightly in return. “Why? Are you looking for entertainment?”
“No, I just…” he floundered after an explanation, wondered how much he could lie his way through.
“It just seems as if you would have more fun with the hobbits, rather than with us…older gentlemen.”
That stung, in spite of the gentle mockery he knew was intended. “I don’t feel like it, actually,” he fabricated, patting his pockets before remembering once again that his cigarettes had been left behind. “Think I’ll make it an early night.”
They let him go so easily that it was almost an insult, and he slammed the Jeep door just a trifle harder than he perhaps should have. Viggo’s eyes watched him across the lot; probing rather than measuring, but it still felt like an invasion. His tires quite probably left scorch marks on the hot tarmac, but he didn’t look back to check.
He didn’t really want to go to Viggo’s, anyway. But he didn’t want to go home, either. He certainly didn’t want to go out with the hobbits. With Elijah.
He went dancing instead.
* * *
He had no idea where he’d ended up. He’d checked out several clubs - and several cocktails - before finding one with bright enough lights and loud enough music. Then he’d had more cocktails, and suddenly the night was starting to look up.
He’d thought about finding someone to take home, but nausea tickled the back of his throat at the idea; he’d probably had too much to drink for pulling tonight.
It wasn’t what he wanted anyway, although he kept quashing the little voice in his head that kept telling him that. What he wanted was to feel that coiled strength beneath his again, to hear Elijah gasp his name with every thrust into his body. He wanted to break Elijah, in a way that would mark him forever. He wanted…
He wanted to be a hell of a lot drunker than this, if he was still thinking in complete sentences.
The lights were starting to hurt his eyes: which was okay, but they were also making him dizzy. Flashes of colour strobed across the teeming dance floor, waves of blue; orange; magenta. He needed to sit down before he fell.
There was definite grace in the way he stumbled into the bar, the wooden counter cutting unforgiving into his ribs, and he was proud of it. He decided that it ought to be enough to impress the petite brunette who was watching him and smiling, sitting on the next stool over. He waited until the barman had placed a weighty glass in front of him before he made a move.
“You are, like, a total doll,” he told her, and she blinked at him and then laughed.
“You are, like, totally smashed,” a voice murmured, close to his ear. If the world hadn’t been moving so slowly, Orlando probably would have jumped. Instead, he swung around, loose-limbed, to confront whomever was interrupting his conquest.
The strobes flashed across Elijah’s face, and his skin reflected the light in purest colours. Purple; green. Orlando steadied himself and commanded his eyes to focus.
“What do you want?” he demanded. It was rather rude of him, but Elijah had been tormenting him all night, present or not, and all he really wanted at this point was to get drunk and sleep off the hangover that would sure to follow.
“Dance with me?” Elijah invited, looking more open and friendly than Orlando had any reason to expect. Which was, Orlando reasoned, definite cause for suspicion. The creature looking at him through contact lens-enhanced eyes and artfully lowered lashes knew exactly what effect they were having on him.
Orlando set his drink down hard, saw Elijah’s eyes flick to it automatically to check where it landed.
“You,” he accused, one finger pointing with only a slight waver at Elijah, “need to stop sending me mixed signals.” Orlando wanted very badly to get drunk and laid, preferably without further distraction and delay, and the brunette was undoubtedly losing interest.
In a moment of complete disorientation as the lights flashed from gold to blue and back to gold, Orlando found himself being pulled off his stool. Elijah was warm against his body, arms and torsos making fleeting contact as they wormed their way onto the dance floor. They danced close out of necessity, Elijah’s chest rubbing against his, Elijah’s eyes boring into him. Orlando looked away and concentrated on the feel of their bodies together, the rhythm drumming out of bass speakers.
Elijah’s hands were guiding his hips, allowing no more than brief snatches of contact between his own body and Orlando’s groin. The light tickle of fabric against the crotch of his pants was immensely frustrating; nowhere near enough pressure to seriously arouse, but enough to make him press forward every time his inseam was pulled tighter.
“I cannot believe that you were actually trying to pull that poor girl,” Elijah laughed, leaning just a little closer to be heard over the pounding music. “Man, your skills are pathetic.”
Orlando wondered what, exactly, he had done to earn this level of abuse and disdain. “I pulled you,” he retorted sharply, flushing anyway. His skin felt hot; his face flaming, the itch between his legs warming to a burn.
“Yeah, well, you’re considerably more charming when you’re not sloshed,” Elijah quipped. He seemed so relaxed that Orlando squinted at him in suspicion for a moment, checking for dilation of pupils or shallow breathing that would tell him Elijah was flying higher than he was this evening.
But there was nothing, only endless black ringed with blue, and Orlando realized too late that he’d made the mistake of really looking into Elijah’s eyes.
“I’m not in love with you,” Orlando informed him seriously, speaking to Elijah and to his own soul reflected back at him. It was important, somehow, for Elijah to know that. For both of them.
“That’s all right,” Elijah replied easily, “I’m not in love with you either.” For a moment, the amusement in his voice gave way to mild aggravation. “God, why do you have to make everything so complicated?”
Orlando closed his eyes and hummed along to the music, trying to lose himself in the dance and tease Elijah’s body closer to his. Just a fraction…
When he opened his eyes, Elijah was still there. Orlando had half-expected him to disappear, or to turn into someone else who stared out of the same eyes. The world spun around him again, and he wished fleetingly for his drink, abandoned back at the bar. He stumbled as someone bumped into him from behind, and Elijah’s arms came up to catch him. He breathed in the scent of Elijah beneath the stale smell of sweat, let himself go limp in Elijah’s arms for a moment before pulling back.
“I want to take you home,” Orlando stated firmly, voice raised to reach Elijah over the thump of bass drums and electronic harmony.
“Could you say it a little louder? I don’t think the people at the door heard you,” Elijah returned, but he was smiling. A pause, and then he shook his head. “Sometimes I despair of you.”
“Despair of me in bed,” Orlando suggested, and thought that that was the best pick-up line he’d heard all night. Pity he’d just thought of it, he could have used it on the blonde. Brunette. Whatever.
Elijah laughed, high and as painfully bright as the strobes, but he was already pulling Orlando towards the door and away from the crowd that threatened to swallow them. Orlando let his eyes close as they reached the door, enjoyed the cool air against his face and rested his head passively on Elijah’s shoulder as they walked.
“You are going to be such a mess in the morning,” Orlando heard, along with another laugh as he drifted in and out of awareness. Elijah had gotten them a cab, evidently, and Orlando was lying sprawled across the back seat, his head at an awkward angle on Elijah’s chest.
“Oh, and I suppose you’ve never been out for a few drinks, yeah?” Talking almost wasn’t worth the effort; his tongue felt like a three-pound weight in his mouth, and his lips buzzed when they moved.
Elijah’s hands stroked the hair back from his forehead, combed through sweaty, tangled curls. “I never said that,” he countered quietly, his voice thankfully hushed and not grating on Orlando’s skull. “I’ve just learned better.”
Behind closed lids, Orlando could hear the sparkle in Elijah’s eyes. “Why’d you stop?” he asked drowsily, just to keep Elijah talking. His voice was almost soothing. Which was odd, because Elijah’s voice was always so full of pent-up energy, even when he was dead on his feet.
“I got tired of vomiting,” Elijah returned lightly. “Up you go.”
They somehow made it from the cab to the house without difficulty, even though Orlando’s head kept lolling about because the muscles in his neck weren’t working properly. His eyes refused to stay open, and he clenched them tight against the brightness when Elijah found the switch.
“Come on,” Elijah coaxed, and Orlando responded a second too late to the gentle push of Elijah’s hands against his chest; landed on the soft mattress with a ‘whoomph’ that took the air from his lungs.
“Don’t wanna,” Orlando replied petulantly. Because it was almost fun, having Elijah doing this. Taking off his shoes and socks, looking after him, giving Orlando his complete attention…
Orlando didn’t open his eyes, but he heard the rustle as Elijah sorted out the covers - still rumpled from Elijah’s stay the night before - and felt hands guiding him to the pillow a moment later.
“Sleep well,” Elijah said quietly, and Orlando reached out blindly.
“Stay,” he mumbled, barely able to focus his energy long enough to speak. “Want you.”
“Orlando, you’re…oh, all right,” Elijah capitulated. “I don’t want to drive home at this hour anyway.”
Orlando heard the click of the bedside lamp and felt the cool darkness against his closed eyelids. He sighed contentedly into the pillow, asleep before Elijah’s skin ever touched his.
* * *
Elijah liked to ride. Bottom-from-the-top. It was a control thing, probably, and proof that he was free to do what he liked. Free in a way that he never was outside of the bedroom. Orlando respected that.
He just wished that it wasn’t all about control.
* * *
“No, no, and no.” Ngila left with the mock-ups, and Orlando pulled on his shirt, doing up the buttons from the bottom. Costume fittings were proceeding much faster than usual; he might just have an hour or two left before afternoon weapons practice. He settled onto the overstuffed couch in a bright corner of the room, once again dressed completely in street clothes, and waited for one of the costume mistresses to dismiss him.
The desire to go home and nurse his hangover was battling with the urge to stay and be sociable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow alienated the hobbits en masse, and while his throbbing brain insisted that they were the ones who’d ditched him yesterday, it did seem as if they were irked. Odds were three to one that it was something to do with Elijah.
He reacted to the thought before he had a chance to really consider it, and caught himself for the umpteenth time watching Elijah across the costume shop, being pinned into a set of loose trousers.
Orlando had been alone when he’d woken up this morning, and he wasn’t at all sure how to feel about that. Elijah had been called earlier than he had, which may have accounted for his disappearance. The possibility that he hadn’t stayed the night was disturbingly prominent in Orlando’s mind…but there was still a persistent warmth in his stomach when he thought of Elijah’s sleep-loosened limbs tangled with his.
This whole thing with Elijah was just moving way too fast. He was drowning, and desperately needed to bail before it was too late.
And yet…
He was distracted by the rustle of a potted plant, and looked up to see Dominic perching beside him on the couch. Dominic was half in costume, a bizarre combination of British punk and fantasy peasant. Chalk lines and brightly-coloured pins decorated his mock-vest, which made him look a bit like a children’s scarecrow. Tufts of wheat-blond hair in total disarray did nothing to dispel the image, and Orlando hid his smile in time only because the pain in his head redoubled when the couch cushions shifted.
“How’s it going?” Dominic asked, jerking his head in the direction of the departing Ngila.
“They haven’t gotten it quite right yet. Still too patchwork, she says.” Ordinarily, Orlando would be more than willing to launch into a discussion of his character, and what garb would be considered appropriate for a prince of his rank - but today he felt like half an invalid, and he was continually distracted from his thoughts by Elijah, standing patiently across the room, arms outstretched as chattering women draped him in fabric and pattern paper.
“Pretty, isn’t he?” Dominic asked idly behind him, and Orlando murmured something like noncommittal assent before his brain caught up with the question.
“I’m sorry?” If there was a way to extricate himself from this, he needed it now. Continuing along this line of conversation would only serve to alienate the hobbits collectively and Elijah singularly, which was not what he wanted at this moment in time.
“He looks so fragile, doesn’t he? Almost hungry.” Dominic’s eyes were on Elijah as he spoke, and all Orlando could do was stare at him in disbelief and listen. “I wonder…” Dominic began, drifted off and turned his gaze on Orlando. “How hard a fucking do you think it would take to make him come, eh?”
“Excuse me?” If Orlando hadn’t been so completely stunned, he would have probably been squirming. “I really don’t think…”
“It’s just, when you’re pretty, you get fucked,” Dominic continued bluntly.
Orlando thought that if he didn’t have such an incredible hangover, he’d be getting a lot more out of this conversation.
Dominic’s eyes glinted dangerously, and realization clicked into place so quickly that Orlando had to take a moment before he could really believe it. Dominic knew. Dominic bloody well knew, and Orlando hadn’t said a word…
He was off the couch and across the room so quickly that he nearly ran over one of the cutter/drapers. Elijah’s eyes were wide and startled, and Orlando briefly lost track of his anger, but the presence of Dominic scrambling after him dispelled any momentary misgivings. “What did you tell him?” he demanded, and saw the look in Elijah’s eyes change in between heartbeats.
“I’m sorry, would you excuse us please?” Elijah’s movie-star smile evidently reassured the costume staff; they slipped out wordlessly and left the actors alone in the room, at an apparent standoff. “Lock the door, Sean,” Elijah commanded, his eyes never leaving Orlando’s.
“What about…” Orlando began, with a dismissive wave at the others in the room. Whatever Elijah had or hadn’t told Dominic was one thing, but this was a private discussion. He wasn’t going to talk in euphemisms just because Sean and Billy were present.
“They already know,” Elijah replied, cutting him off. No apology, no regret. Orlando was beginning to wonder what kind of a game Elijah was playing with him.
“Of course they do.” Orlando took a moment to glare at Dominic, as he was the closest. Dominic didn’t budge an inch.
“What’s the problem?” Elijah asked, and the fact that he was so calm was perversely making Orlando even more furious.
“You told them. After you told me to keep it our dirty little secret…”
“And a fine job you’re doing, too, of not raising any suspicions.” Elijah’s eyes were starting to brighten, fire and ice melting together in his gaze. “It’s only been two days, and yesterday you threw a tantrum and left…”
“I thought that was the way you wanted it!” Orlando retorted, upset out of all proportion now that it had become a personal attack. “After you made such a big deal about it…”
“Oh, grow up, Orlando,” Elijah snapped, and the venom and disdain in his voice almost made Orlando flinch.
“Why? Because you have? Because in Hollywood everyone has to be ashamed of themselves or they have nothing to live for?”
He didn’t even know, really, where all of this was coming from; he was lashing out now, and the fact that Elijah refused to take the bait wasn’t helping him to calm down. He ran one hand through his hair and glanced briefly around the room. Billy looked ready to bolt. Dominic looked ready to intervene. And whatever Sean was about to say would undoubtedly only make it worse.
“No, you don’t understand,” Elijah said quietly, and Orlando could hear the strangled tension in his voice. “But you will. This time next year you’ll be doing exactly the same thing. Wait and see.”
If Orlando had been holding something, he would have thrown it, would have shattered it against the wall just to surprise Elijah into showing emotion. “So you’re allowed to tell people, but I’m not?” he demanded.
“I know who I can trust.” The implication left hanging in the air was like a barb ripping through his flesh.
“And I don’t?”
“You don’t have anything to lose!” Elijah yelled.
Absolute silence. Orlando’s jaw worked, but nothing came out. Finally, he spun on his heel and walked out. The costuming people could go to hell, he’d deal with them later. The door slammed behind him. Elijah’s voice didn’t call him back.
He paused by a tree, wherever his angry, undirected strides had taken him, and lit a cigarette. The nicotine wasn’t much of a salve for his nerves or the pounding in his head, but it was the best he could do. He took a deep drag and stuck the lighter in his pocket, blew the smoke out and headed towards the parking lot.
Took a moment to wonder why - if Elijah was the one who didn’t want this - Orlando was always the one walking away.
* * *
Orlando had nearly twenty minutes to agonize over the mess he’d made before someone knocked on his door.
He wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly, thump of wood against the background patter of a sudden rain shower, but he answered it anyway.
“You’re wet,” he stated, in lieu of anything else to say.
“It’s raining,” Elijah pointed out. Dark hair plastered against his face, curling into commas and question marks. The rain beaded on his jacket, perfect crystal drops.
Well, that hadn’t gotten them very far. He opened the door wider, stood to the side. “You’d better come in.”
“Do you want me to?” Elijah challenged, but the fire-ice was gone from his eyes.
Almost, Orlando wished for it to return.
“I can make tea,” Orlando offered. “Or coffee. We could go out, if you wanted.”
“This is fine,” Elijah replied, smile flickering as he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it by the door to slouch shapelessly. “Café de Bloom.”
Orlando shook the kettle to make sure that there was enough water in it for two cups and set it on the smallest burner. He was acutely aware of Elijah watching him, but didn’t return the honesty of a gaze. The black in Elijah’s eyes could swallow him whole, and then he would never be free again.
Measuring out coffee grounds had a certain calming influence. He scooped in precise amounts, mixing a special blend that he usually only made for himself. But this was Elijah, and that was almost the same thing.
The cups clinked together when he pushed them across the counter, and the noise almost drowned out his sigh. “Why don’t you ever go away?” he asked no one in particular.
“Why do you always push me?” Elijah returned softly.
“I don’t…” Orlando began, but when he turned he found himself in Elijah’s arms, with cool rain-kissed lips against his.
“Yes,” Elijah whispered, “You do.”
“Elijah,” Orlando murmured, like a blessing; felt Elijah’s body press against his in response.
“Stop fighting me,” Elijah ordered. His tongue traced Orlando’s lips, the angle of his jaw. Orlando moaned, fingers tightening their hold on the counter and Elijah’s hipbone.
“This is never going to work,” Orlando pleaded softly, half-convinced of the contrary by the way Elijah’s hips moved against his; tiny circles with hints of pressure where their groins met.
“Give it time,” Elijah soothed. His body rocked forward and up; Orlando’s fingers scrabbled against the Formica. “We’ll make it work.”
“Elijah,” Orlando breathed again, and this time it was a prayer.
“Yes.” Another slow roll of hips, material scraping.
“Elijah, I…”
“Shhh.”
* * *
He’s watched Elijah sleep a thousand different times, in a thousand different places. It’s different now, though…and yet the same at the same time. Elijah is guarded even in sleep. He talks sometimes, shockingly loud in the absolute stillness of a townhouse at two or three am, but he never gives anything away. He keeps his secrets.
One day, Orlando will probably stop listening.
Pairing: OB/EW
Rating: R
Summary: Advance, retreat, disengage.
Website: http://www.airgiodslv.dombillijah.com/
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.
Notes: Thank you to everyone who has helped me write this; msilverstar, kaydeefalls, impasto, arabia764, and mdbfan. Your contributions were priceless.
“I might be in a war movie. I mean, really, how crazy is that? And you should read the part, I mean…”
Dominic clapped Orlando on the back as they walked together to the parking lot, just hard enough to sting. “Orlando, be kind. Some of us are getting sent two crap scripts per month.”
Orlando checked his next sentence, bobbed his head meekly instead. “I know, but it’s just…”
“We know,” Elijah snapped, quick and tart, and Orlando glanced up in surprise. Elijah looked annoyed, but a split second later he smiled apologetically, and Orlando wondered if he had been joking.
“You need to calm down, mate,” Dominic commented, eyebrows raised. He moved a half-step closer to Elijah, who shifted automatically in his direction. Orlando looked away and searched briefly for a cigarette before realizing that he’d left the pack at home. On the nightstand, along with his wallet and the imprint of Elijah in his sheets.
He’d been in a bit of a hurry that morning.
“It’s just been a long day.” Elijah drifted away as easily as he’d moved in, comfort offered and received in a fraction of a moment. Orlando hated that it was that easy for them, that they meshed without thought. Emotional bonding always took a lot of effort for him, and the result was never as genuine.
“I hear that,” Sean chimed in.
Elijah rolled his shoulders, neck cracking as he stretched. A tiny wince of pain flickered past so quickly that Orlando may as well have imagined it. “I’m never working on my knees again.”
“Nah,” Dominic countered, smiling blandly at the horizon. “You just haven’t met the right guy yet.”
Orlando glanced between them, alarmed and guilty, but Elijah didn’t bat an eyelash. “Wanker.” A moment later he looked over, radiating calm and control, and Orlando felt like a child hiding dirty magazines from his parents.
“So Orlando, you’d be working with Josh in this one, right?”
He frowned, but Elijah’s eyes weren’t giving anything away. “I think so, yeah. According to rumor.”
Elijah had found his own cigarettes, slipped one professionally between his lips and snapped the lighter. A deep inhalation, and then he blew smoke, eyes fluttering closed in an expression of perfect nicotine bliss.
“Don’t tell Josh anything,” he advised. “He can’t keep a secret.”
Orlando blinked. Billy launched into a tale about another co-star who had gotten caught in bed with two women, neither of which were his wife. Orlando tuned out until Sean brought them to a halt with a loud warning.
“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Dominic said, examining the strands of the spider web stretched between trees. It was a real work of art, thicker white strands looping through the weave to create a dizzying pattern. It was clear from several feet away, which was where they had stopped; now Orlando and Dominic crept closer, with the others lagging a few feet behind.
“Elijah, come look at this,” Dominic called back, picking up a stick.
“I don’t think the spider likes cigarette smoke,” Elijah shot back, holding the cig loosely at his side.
Orlando traced the pattern, studied the way it consistently returned to the large black-and-yellow spider watchfully standing guard at the center. His eyes caught Elijah’s through the web; looked away.
“He hasn’t caught anything yet, though,” Billy pointed out cheerfully, watching Dominic tap the web carefully with his stick.
Orlando wasn’t really surprised.
After all, the whole point of spider-silk was that you didn’t see it until it was too late.
“Dom, come on, leave it alone,” Billy chided, smiling as he caught the end of the stick and turned it aside. “We’ve got to go home and get dressed.”
“Going out tonight?” Orlando asked casually, looking anywhere but at Elijah.
Dominic hesitated, eyes flicking over the other three before he replied. “Yes, actually…ehm, reservations at that new Italian place. I suppose we could change them…ask them if they can seat five on short notice…”
“Never mind,” Orlando said quickly, looking away. Dominic’s invitation had been carefully neutral, the tone that politely offered while suggesting that the best response would be to decline. “I have plans anyway.”
“Well, then,” Dominic replied, and to his credit there was very little hint of relief in his voice. Orlando’s eyes met Elijah’s again, but they were blank. He forced himself to breathe around the tightening of his jaw; consciously released tensed muscles in his shoulders. Yoga tomorrow, he decided absently, would be an excellent idea. He didn’t think about the possibility that Elijah would take up his free time. That would make the reality too disappointing.
They had reached the parking lot; Orlando spotted Viggo and Sean and used them to make his escape before anyone suspected that something was wrong. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow then,” he interjected quickly, interrupting an inside joke regarding girls and foam latex toes.
Three hobbits chorused absent goodbyes; Elijah just stared at him. There was a question in his eyes that Orlando couldn’t begin to answer out here, in front of Elijah’s friends. So he turned and jogged away in the direction of his Jeep.
“Orlando,” Elijah called after him a second later, but he pretended not to hear. He changed his mind the moment after, guilt churning up from his stomach like acid, but Elijah was already turned away and the hobbits had closed ranks.
He prayed that his double-take hadn’t been noticed and wandered over, smiling brightly, to Viggo and Sean.
“Orlando,” Sean greeted him warily, but there was mischief in his eyes.
“Gentlemen,” he responded, turning the full force of his smile on Viggo. “Big plans for tonight?”
“Just wine and chess, actually,” Viggo answered, eyes narrowed although he was smiling slightly in return. “Why? Are you looking for entertainment?”
“No, I just…” he floundered after an explanation, wondered how much he could lie his way through.
“It just seems as if you would have more fun with the hobbits, rather than with us…older gentlemen.”
That stung, in spite of the gentle mockery he knew was intended. “I don’t feel like it, actually,” he fabricated, patting his pockets before remembering once again that his cigarettes had been left behind. “Think I’ll make it an early night.”
They let him go so easily that it was almost an insult, and he slammed the Jeep door just a trifle harder than he perhaps should have. Viggo’s eyes watched him across the lot; probing rather than measuring, but it still felt like an invasion. His tires quite probably left scorch marks on the hot tarmac, but he didn’t look back to check.
He didn’t really want to go to Viggo’s, anyway. But he didn’t want to go home, either. He certainly didn’t want to go out with the hobbits. With Elijah.
He went dancing instead.
* * *
He had no idea where he’d ended up. He’d checked out several clubs - and several cocktails - before finding one with bright enough lights and loud enough music. Then he’d had more cocktails, and suddenly the night was starting to look up.
He’d thought about finding someone to take home, but nausea tickled the back of his throat at the idea; he’d probably had too much to drink for pulling tonight.
It wasn’t what he wanted anyway, although he kept quashing the little voice in his head that kept telling him that. What he wanted was to feel that coiled strength beneath his again, to hear Elijah gasp his name with every thrust into his body. He wanted to break Elijah, in a way that would mark him forever. He wanted…
He wanted to be a hell of a lot drunker than this, if he was still thinking in complete sentences.
The lights were starting to hurt his eyes: which was okay, but they were also making him dizzy. Flashes of colour strobed across the teeming dance floor, waves of blue; orange; magenta. He needed to sit down before he fell.
There was definite grace in the way he stumbled into the bar, the wooden counter cutting unforgiving into his ribs, and he was proud of it. He decided that it ought to be enough to impress the petite brunette who was watching him and smiling, sitting on the next stool over. He waited until the barman had placed a weighty glass in front of him before he made a move.
“You are, like, a total doll,” he told her, and she blinked at him and then laughed.
“You are, like, totally smashed,” a voice murmured, close to his ear. If the world hadn’t been moving so slowly, Orlando probably would have jumped. Instead, he swung around, loose-limbed, to confront whomever was interrupting his conquest.
The strobes flashed across Elijah’s face, and his skin reflected the light in purest colours. Purple; green. Orlando steadied himself and commanded his eyes to focus.
“What do you want?” he demanded. It was rather rude of him, but Elijah had been tormenting him all night, present or not, and all he really wanted at this point was to get drunk and sleep off the hangover that would sure to follow.
“Dance with me?” Elijah invited, looking more open and friendly than Orlando had any reason to expect. Which was, Orlando reasoned, definite cause for suspicion. The creature looking at him through contact lens-enhanced eyes and artfully lowered lashes knew exactly what effect they were having on him.
Orlando set his drink down hard, saw Elijah’s eyes flick to it automatically to check where it landed.
“You,” he accused, one finger pointing with only a slight waver at Elijah, “need to stop sending me mixed signals.” Orlando wanted very badly to get drunk and laid, preferably without further distraction and delay, and the brunette was undoubtedly losing interest.
In a moment of complete disorientation as the lights flashed from gold to blue and back to gold, Orlando found himself being pulled off his stool. Elijah was warm against his body, arms and torsos making fleeting contact as they wormed their way onto the dance floor. They danced close out of necessity, Elijah’s chest rubbing against his, Elijah’s eyes boring into him. Orlando looked away and concentrated on the feel of their bodies together, the rhythm drumming out of bass speakers.
Elijah’s hands were guiding his hips, allowing no more than brief snatches of contact between his own body and Orlando’s groin. The light tickle of fabric against the crotch of his pants was immensely frustrating; nowhere near enough pressure to seriously arouse, but enough to make him press forward every time his inseam was pulled tighter.
“I cannot believe that you were actually trying to pull that poor girl,” Elijah laughed, leaning just a little closer to be heard over the pounding music. “Man, your skills are pathetic.”
Orlando wondered what, exactly, he had done to earn this level of abuse and disdain. “I pulled you,” he retorted sharply, flushing anyway. His skin felt hot; his face flaming, the itch between his legs warming to a burn.
“Yeah, well, you’re considerably more charming when you’re not sloshed,” Elijah quipped. He seemed so relaxed that Orlando squinted at him in suspicion for a moment, checking for dilation of pupils or shallow breathing that would tell him Elijah was flying higher than he was this evening.
But there was nothing, only endless black ringed with blue, and Orlando realized too late that he’d made the mistake of really looking into Elijah’s eyes.
“I’m not in love with you,” Orlando informed him seriously, speaking to Elijah and to his own soul reflected back at him. It was important, somehow, for Elijah to know that. For both of them.
“That’s all right,” Elijah replied easily, “I’m not in love with you either.” For a moment, the amusement in his voice gave way to mild aggravation. “God, why do you have to make everything so complicated?”
Orlando closed his eyes and hummed along to the music, trying to lose himself in the dance and tease Elijah’s body closer to his. Just a fraction…
When he opened his eyes, Elijah was still there. Orlando had half-expected him to disappear, or to turn into someone else who stared out of the same eyes. The world spun around him again, and he wished fleetingly for his drink, abandoned back at the bar. He stumbled as someone bumped into him from behind, and Elijah’s arms came up to catch him. He breathed in the scent of Elijah beneath the stale smell of sweat, let himself go limp in Elijah’s arms for a moment before pulling back.
“I want to take you home,” Orlando stated firmly, voice raised to reach Elijah over the thump of bass drums and electronic harmony.
“Could you say it a little louder? I don’t think the people at the door heard you,” Elijah returned, but he was smiling. A pause, and then he shook his head. “Sometimes I despair of you.”
“Despair of me in bed,” Orlando suggested, and thought that that was the best pick-up line he’d heard all night. Pity he’d just thought of it, he could have used it on the blonde. Brunette. Whatever.
Elijah laughed, high and as painfully bright as the strobes, but he was already pulling Orlando towards the door and away from the crowd that threatened to swallow them. Orlando let his eyes close as they reached the door, enjoyed the cool air against his face and rested his head passively on Elijah’s shoulder as they walked.
“You are going to be such a mess in the morning,” Orlando heard, along with another laugh as he drifted in and out of awareness. Elijah had gotten them a cab, evidently, and Orlando was lying sprawled across the back seat, his head at an awkward angle on Elijah’s chest.
“Oh, and I suppose you’ve never been out for a few drinks, yeah?” Talking almost wasn’t worth the effort; his tongue felt like a three-pound weight in his mouth, and his lips buzzed when they moved.
Elijah’s hands stroked the hair back from his forehead, combed through sweaty, tangled curls. “I never said that,” he countered quietly, his voice thankfully hushed and not grating on Orlando’s skull. “I’ve just learned better.”
Behind closed lids, Orlando could hear the sparkle in Elijah’s eyes. “Why’d you stop?” he asked drowsily, just to keep Elijah talking. His voice was almost soothing. Which was odd, because Elijah’s voice was always so full of pent-up energy, even when he was dead on his feet.
“I got tired of vomiting,” Elijah returned lightly. “Up you go.”
They somehow made it from the cab to the house without difficulty, even though Orlando’s head kept lolling about because the muscles in his neck weren’t working properly. His eyes refused to stay open, and he clenched them tight against the brightness when Elijah found the switch.
“Come on,” Elijah coaxed, and Orlando responded a second too late to the gentle push of Elijah’s hands against his chest; landed on the soft mattress with a ‘whoomph’ that took the air from his lungs.
“Don’t wanna,” Orlando replied petulantly. Because it was almost fun, having Elijah doing this. Taking off his shoes and socks, looking after him, giving Orlando his complete attention…
Orlando didn’t open his eyes, but he heard the rustle as Elijah sorted out the covers - still rumpled from Elijah’s stay the night before - and felt hands guiding him to the pillow a moment later.
“Sleep well,” Elijah said quietly, and Orlando reached out blindly.
“Stay,” he mumbled, barely able to focus his energy long enough to speak. “Want you.”
“Orlando, you’re…oh, all right,” Elijah capitulated. “I don’t want to drive home at this hour anyway.”
Orlando heard the click of the bedside lamp and felt the cool darkness against his closed eyelids. He sighed contentedly into the pillow, asleep before Elijah’s skin ever touched his.
* * *
Elijah liked to ride. Bottom-from-the-top. It was a control thing, probably, and proof that he was free to do what he liked. Free in a way that he never was outside of the bedroom. Orlando respected that.
He just wished that it wasn’t all about control.
* * *
“No, no, and no.” Ngila left with the mock-ups, and Orlando pulled on his shirt, doing up the buttons from the bottom. Costume fittings were proceeding much faster than usual; he might just have an hour or two left before afternoon weapons practice. He settled onto the overstuffed couch in a bright corner of the room, once again dressed completely in street clothes, and waited for one of the costume mistresses to dismiss him.
The desire to go home and nurse his hangover was battling with the urge to stay and be sociable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow alienated the hobbits en masse, and while his throbbing brain insisted that they were the ones who’d ditched him yesterday, it did seem as if they were irked. Odds were three to one that it was something to do with Elijah.
He reacted to the thought before he had a chance to really consider it, and caught himself for the umpteenth time watching Elijah across the costume shop, being pinned into a set of loose trousers.
Orlando had been alone when he’d woken up this morning, and he wasn’t at all sure how to feel about that. Elijah had been called earlier than he had, which may have accounted for his disappearance. The possibility that he hadn’t stayed the night was disturbingly prominent in Orlando’s mind…but there was still a persistent warmth in his stomach when he thought of Elijah’s sleep-loosened limbs tangled with his.
This whole thing with Elijah was just moving way too fast. He was drowning, and desperately needed to bail before it was too late.
And yet…
He was distracted by the rustle of a potted plant, and looked up to see Dominic perching beside him on the couch. Dominic was half in costume, a bizarre combination of British punk and fantasy peasant. Chalk lines and brightly-coloured pins decorated his mock-vest, which made him look a bit like a children’s scarecrow. Tufts of wheat-blond hair in total disarray did nothing to dispel the image, and Orlando hid his smile in time only because the pain in his head redoubled when the couch cushions shifted.
“How’s it going?” Dominic asked, jerking his head in the direction of the departing Ngila.
“They haven’t gotten it quite right yet. Still too patchwork, she says.” Ordinarily, Orlando would be more than willing to launch into a discussion of his character, and what garb would be considered appropriate for a prince of his rank - but today he felt like half an invalid, and he was continually distracted from his thoughts by Elijah, standing patiently across the room, arms outstretched as chattering women draped him in fabric and pattern paper.
“Pretty, isn’t he?” Dominic asked idly behind him, and Orlando murmured something like noncommittal assent before his brain caught up with the question.
“I’m sorry?” If there was a way to extricate himself from this, he needed it now. Continuing along this line of conversation would only serve to alienate the hobbits collectively and Elijah singularly, which was not what he wanted at this moment in time.
“He looks so fragile, doesn’t he? Almost hungry.” Dominic’s eyes were on Elijah as he spoke, and all Orlando could do was stare at him in disbelief and listen. “I wonder…” Dominic began, drifted off and turned his gaze on Orlando. “How hard a fucking do you think it would take to make him come, eh?”
“Excuse me?” If Orlando hadn’t been so completely stunned, he would have probably been squirming. “I really don’t think…”
“It’s just, when you’re pretty, you get fucked,” Dominic continued bluntly.
Orlando thought that if he didn’t have such an incredible hangover, he’d be getting a lot more out of this conversation.
Dominic’s eyes glinted dangerously, and realization clicked into place so quickly that Orlando had to take a moment before he could really believe it. Dominic knew. Dominic bloody well knew, and Orlando hadn’t said a word…
He was off the couch and across the room so quickly that he nearly ran over one of the cutter/drapers. Elijah’s eyes were wide and startled, and Orlando briefly lost track of his anger, but the presence of Dominic scrambling after him dispelled any momentary misgivings. “What did you tell him?” he demanded, and saw the look in Elijah’s eyes change in between heartbeats.
“I’m sorry, would you excuse us please?” Elijah’s movie-star smile evidently reassured the costume staff; they slipped out wordlessly and left the actors alone in the room, at an apparent standoff. “Lock the door, Sean,” Elijah commanded, his eyes never leaving Orlando’s.
“What about…” Orlando began, with a dismissive wave at the others in the room. Whatever Elijah had or hadn’t told Dominic was one thing, but this was a private discussion. He wasn’t going to talk in euphemisms just because Sean and Billy were present.
“They already know,” Elijah replied, cutting him off. No apology, no regret. Orlando was beginning to wonder what kind of a game Elijah was playing with him.
“Of course they do.” Orlando took a moment to glare at Dominic, as he was the closest. Dominic didn’t budge an inch.
“What’s the problem?” Elijah asked, and the fact that he was so calm was perversely making Orlando even more furious.
“You told them. After you told me to keep it our dirty little secret…”
“And a fine job you’re doing, too, of not raising any suspicions.” Elijah’s eyes were starting to brighten, fire and ice melting together in his gaze. “It’s only been two days, and yesterday you threw a tantrum and left…”
“I thought that was the way you wanted it!” Orlando retorted, upset out of all proportion now that it had become a personal attack. “After you made such a big deal about it…”
“Oh, grow up, Orlando,” Elijah snapped, and the venom and disdain in his voice almost made Orlando flinch.
“Why? Because you have? Because in Hollywood everyone has to be ashamed of themselves or they have nothing to live for?”
He didn’t even know, really, where all of this was coming from; he was lashing out now, and the fact that Elijah refused to take the bait wasn’t helping him to calm down. He ran one hand through his hair and glanced briefly around the room. Billy looked ready to bolt. Dominic looked ready to intervene. And whatever Sean was about to say would undoubtedly only make it worse.
“No, you don’t understand,” Elijah said quietly, and Orlando could hear the strangled tension in his voice. “But you will. This time next year you’ll be doing exactly the same thing. Wait and see.”
If Orlando had been holding something, he would have thrown it, would have shattered it against the wall just to surprise Elijah into showing emotion. “So you’re allowed to tell people, but I’m not?” he demanded.
“I know who I can trust.” The implication left hanging in the air was like a barb ripping through his flesh.
“And I don’t?”
“You don’t have anything to lose!” Elijah yelled.
Absolute silence. Orlando’s jaw worked, but nothing came out. Finally, he spun on his heel and walked out. The costuming people could go to hell, he’d deal with them later. The door slammed behind him. Elijah’s voice didn’t call him back.
He paused by a tree, wherever his angry, undirected strides had taken him, and lit a cigarette. The nicotine wasn’t much of a salve for his nerves or the pounding in his head, but it was the best he could do. He took a deep drag and stuck the lighter in his pocket, blew the smoke out and headed towards the parking lot.
Took a moment to wonder why - if Elijah was the one who didn’t want this - Orlando was always the one walking away.
* * *
Orlando had nearly twenty minutes to agonize over the mess he’d made before someone knocked on his door.
He wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly, thump of wood against the background patter of a sudden rain shower, but he answered it anyway.
“You’re wet,” he stated, in lieu of anything else to say.
“It’s raining,” Elijah pointed out. Dark hair plastered against his face, curling into commas and question marks. The rain beaded on his jacket, perfect crystal drops.
Well, that hadn’t gotten them very far. He opened the door wider, stood to the side. “You’d better come in.”
“Do you want me to?” Elijah challenged, but the fire-ice was gone from his eyes.
Almost, Orlando wished for it to return.
“I can make tea,” Orlando offered. “Or coffee. We could go out, if you wanted.”
“This is fine,” Elijah replied, smile flickering as he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it by the door to slouch shapelessly. “Café de Bloom.”
Orlando shook the kettle to make sure that there was enough water in it for two cups and set it on the smallest burner. He was acutely aware of Elijah watching him, but didn’t return the honesty of a gaze. The black in Elijah’s eyes could swallow him whole, and then he would never be free again.
Measuring out coffee grounds had a certain calming influence. He scooped in precise amounts, mixing a special blend that he usually only made for himself. But this was Elijah, and that was almost the same thing.
The cups clinked together when he pushed them across the counter, and the noise almost drowned out his sigh. “Why don’t you ever go away?” he asked no one in particular.
“Why do you always push me?” Elijah returned softly.
“I don’t…” Orlando began, but when he turned he found himself in Elijah’s arms, with cool rain-kissed lips against his.
“Yes,” Elijah whispered, “You do.”
“Elijah,” Orlando murmured, like a blessing; felt Elijah’s body press against his in response.
“Stop fighting me,” Elijah ordered. His tongue traced Orlando’s lips, the angle of his jaw. Orlando moaned, fingers tightening their hold on the counter and Elijah’s hipbone.
“This is never going to work,” Orlando pleaded softly, half-convinced of the contrary by the way Elijah’s hips moved against his; tiny circles with hints of pressure where their groins met.
“Give it time,” Elijah soothed. His body rocked forward and up; Orlando’s fingers scrabbled against the Formica. “We’ll make it work.”
“Elijah,” Orlando breathed again, and this time it was a prayer.
“Yes.” Another slow roll of hips, material scraping.
“Elijah, I…”
“Shhh.”
* * *
He’s watched Elijah sleep a thousand different times, in a thousand different places. It’s different now, though…and yet the same at the same time. Elijah is guarded even in sleep. He talks sometimes, shockingly loud in the absolute stillness of a townhouse at two or three am, but he never gives anything away. He keeps his secrets.
One day, Orlando will probably stop listening.