like spinning plates 1-4, dom/elijah nc17
Title: Like Spinning Plates 1-4
Pairing: Dom/Elijah
Rating: NC17
Notes: From an idea by kyuuketsukirui by request from kissing_athelas. Originally posted in four parts on my LJ.
Summary: Dominic meets "Danny", who may or may not be a rentboy, amnesiac, and/or Elijah Wood.
*
Dominic came out on the pull tonight, and he's looking his best: tight tee and a touch of eyeliner, hair newly tipped with bleach and styled and sorted, rings on his fingers and condoms in his pockets.
But Poptastic is packed with scores of gay men just as kitted out as Dom, all of them intent on copping off with each other, hardly anyone giving him a second look. Essential's just the same, and so's Queer, and so's Cruz. By the time he fucks off to Mantos for a last drink, he's resigned himself to going home alone.
Then near the front window, heads turn in a wave-- not an unusual phenomenon in the cruising grounds of Canal Street, but Dom finds himself on edge all the same, straining to see who's going by. Then it's not just the blokes by the window as the head-turner comes inside.
It's like he's bringing the atmosphere of a brilliant night on the dancefloor in with him-- like he's the best ever night in the Village, incarnate. He's wearing leather trousers and a filmy translucent black shirt. It's a completely played-out look, but he carries it off so well it's as if it never occurred to anyone to wear it before.
Even though he's quite young and quite thin, with dewy wide blue eyes, he doesn't look like a skinny teenager. His skin isn't just perfect and spotless, he actually has a sort of blue-silver glow about his face and chest. It's iridescent body dust, Dom realizes after an interval of staring, but by then he's so hooked it hardly matters.
He doesn't stop to think it over; Dom goes the bar and sends the newcomer a drink. He doesn't pretend he's not watching when the barman goes to the boy and takes his order, points to Dom and starts mixing.
Dominic doesn't really expect it to work, but after a shit night like this, even being blown off by this pretty new creature would be a bit of a treat.
But then the boy's accepting the drink and standing up and coming over with a smile. There's glitter confetti in his dark hair. Dom's mesmerized by the silvery shimmer on his neck and chest, gleaming on his cheekbones, sparkling at the corners of his lips and eyes.
"Hiya," Dom says. "Having a good night?"
"It's kind of sucked so far," he says, his accent startling-- broadly, irrevocably American.
"So's mine," says Dom. "But that's all right. Means it can only get better."
The Yank smiles. American accent, but not quite a perfect fencerow of American teeth. They're white, small, neat and even, but with a little gap in front. "I'm Danny."
"Dominic."
"Thanks for the drink, Dominic."
They drink. "Tourist?" Dom asks.
"No."
Informative. "I was going to say. Can't be much to tour around here."
"There's plenty of sights to see," Danny flirts. His lashes dip and waver. Close up, his eyes are large and pronounced, almost too much to be attractive. Almost.
Drinks drained, they look each other over openly, and Danny does seem to appreciate the view.
"Another?" Dom waves down the barman.
"Sure. Club soda with lime, please."
"--I'll have the same."
When the drinks come, Danny crushes the lime slice against the side and licks his fingertips before sipping through the narrow straw. It's not so much sexy as hypnotic.
Dom clears his throat. "Don't drink? Or just not drinking tonight?"
"Just not drinking tonight. I think we can have a good time sober, don't you?"
"Sounds quite likely. Cheers then," Dom grins, feeling suddenly much more at ease. After all, short of handing him a printed card reading 'I intend to sleep with you tonight', Danny could hardly make himself more clear.
They chat lightly about the clubs, comparing notes about the toilets. Dom ventures a complaint about the music and Danny responds with a hearty, "Fuck yeah! God!" and launches into a minutes-long rant against house music that swells Dom's heart with adulation.
And although they've both been blatant about their intentions, still... it's almost as though they're on a date rather than a pickup. Danny catches his hand to look at the black crescents Dom drew on his fingernails with markers, and they hold hands for a bit; they step out so Danny can have a smoke, and Dom cups his hands around the lighter. It feels natural to slip his arm around Danny's waist as they go back inside. He can't blame alcohol for the warmth in his stomach; he's been on club soda for an hour now.
So he's especially gutted when an older geezer steps up to them and says to Danny, "Whatever he's paying-- half again, what do you say, sweetheart?"
"I say fuck off," Danny rolls his eyes. There's something wrong with his reaction though, he's not surprised enough. Even as lovely as he is, surely people don't often mistake him for trade.
"Twice then. Twice as much. You know I'm good for it." The codger's not even that bad, he wouldn't have to pay for it, if he wasn't choosy.
"I'm not working, okay, so fucking back off." Danny turns to Dom. "Sorry, this is fucked up. Can we just go?"
"Yeah."
"Give over, Danny," says the geezer, and Dom winces a bit. If he knows Danny's name, hard to see how this could be a mistake. "I've been looking for you all night," the geezer whinges. "Two and a half, all right?"
"It's not a fucking auction!" Dom snaps at last. "And twice zero's still zero."
"I hope you don't think he's free, you little troll."
"Go fuck yourself with your bankroll, it's all you're getting tonight. C'mon," Dom winds his arm around Danny's waist again and walks out with him.
Danny tucks against him as they fall into stride together. He's such a good fit, just that inch shorter than Dom and slim, fitting neatly into the curve of Dom's arm.
But it's no use, the polish is a bit dimmed now. Dom can't help feeling self-conscious, looking himself over to see if he's wearing anything pricey, anything that makes him look like a mark. His watch is a bit nice, and once or twice tonight he checked his text messages on his rather flashy mobile phone, but it's not as though he's flaunting loads of cash. He doesn't think he's the sort a hustler would pick out of the crowd, but then he wouldn't really know, would he.
Dom looks at Danny's creamy skin, iced with a glimmer of powder. He doesn't just look gorgeous, he looks expensive.
They reach the corner, and Dom bends his head. "Where do you live, which way? I'll get you a cab."
"What? Oh, for-- shit, man, come on." Danny steps out of his grip to face him. "That guy's an asshole."
"I spotted that."
"Look..." Danny meets his eyes. "When I first came over from the U.S., I didn't plan things out too well. I got to where I was going to end up on the street if I couldn't get some money together. I was selling CDs, everything, I was going nuts. My friend took me out to try to cheer me up, and-- this guy offers me cash."
He tips his head, brows cinching over his lovely straight nose. "It was just a couple of times to tide things over, and then I started getting regular paychecks and that was it. Everything was safe. It's been like a year. That fucker keeps dogging me whenever he sees me just to be a cunt, he knows I don't do that."
"Any more," Dom says.
Danny's lips smash together in displeasure, but he sighs and admits, "Any more."
"So if I'm not getting you a cab, what then?" Dom asks. "Cos I have to say, confession may be good for the soul and that, but it doesn't do much for the evening. It's sort of sucked the fun out of things, yeah?"
"We'll suck the fun back into things," Danny promises. "Come on, we'll get a room at the Union. I'm buying. You got the drinks, it's my turn."
Dom shakes his head. "I can't help thinking, you know? There must've been dozens of guys who'd've taken you home tonight, and I know I'm not the best looking of the lot, so if you're not on the job--"
"Your hands," Danny says.
"Sorry?"
"I like your hands. I have a thing for guys with nice hands. And you seemed, you know, easygoing. Fun. Like we'd have a good time. And we have had a good time." Danny shrugs. "That's all, that's why."
It's probably a bit stupid and risky, but Danny looks ripe and pretty under the streetlights, resolute. Surely it's no worse really than any other one-night stand.
"Yeah," Dom says, "all right," and when Danny leans into Dom's arms again, just like before, he fits just right.
*
Danny pays for a room at the Union from a stack of notes that's thick enough to prove he's no pauper, but not so thick as to suggest the goods are ill-gotten. Not that Dominic would have any idea of the going rate for rentboys, but he imagines that someone in that line would be obliged to carry a substantial wad of cash. Though that hardly seems as if it would be safe, carrying loads of notes. But then having sex for pay is something short of safe as houses.
At five-seven, Dominic's not a big guy by any means, but Danny's build is even smaller and more slender; he's narrow even next to Dom's 23-inch waist. If Danny really were selling it, surely he'd need to have muscle with him, in case he needed help to collect.
Finally, Dom's able to fully relax. Danny must be telling the truth, he can't still be working; he was alone tonight.
And Christ, but he's lovely. Those leather trousers might be cliche, but they frame his tight arse so nicely. Dom ogles him a bit as they hove up the stairs; Danny gives him a lazy, promising little smile.
The moment they shut and lock the door behind them, Danny takes Dom's hands and touches them to his mouth, rubbing his face wantonly along Dom's knuckles. Dom falls back against the door with a bit of a thump, caught off guard, his breath stepping up at once. Danny smiles again and sucks in a fingertip, scraping lightly with his neat little teeth.
"Christ," Dom mutters, and opens his hands in Danny's, snaking around his wrists-- Danny gasps, and Dom files that lovely bit of trivia away for later-- skimming up his arms and down his chest, tugging out his dark see-through shirt and unwrapping him like a present, slowly, while Danny leans back and watches his hands work.
Dominic opens his trousers; no pants, and Danny's already firming up beautifully, Dom only has to squeeze once to feel him fill up and fully harden.
Danny groans when Dom lets him go. "I'll get back to that," Dominic grins, lifting Danny's shirt off him. Danny shrugs it off; he may be narrow, but his arms and shoulders are nicely knit with muscle, sleek under the skin. Dom licks his collarbone, his neck, and Danny takes his face in both hands and pulls his head up to kiss him.
He sucks aggressively at Dom's lower lip and purses his lips around Dom's tongue, inviting him in, drawing him deep, chasing him back and licking into Dom's mouth just as lewdly. By the time they back off a bit, Dom's heart pounds in his ears, and he can't hear a thing but Danny's breathing, quick and harsh as he attacks Dom's fly. Dom flips his t-shirt off in the meantime, flinging it in the general direction of the bed.
Danny glances that way for the first time-- gratifying that he couldn't be bothered before-- and says, "Yeah, better over there maybe," but then he's pushing Dom's jeans down and squeezing his arse in both hands and murmuring, "Fuck, yeah-- oh my God."
"Thought you wanted to move," Dom teases, stealing more kisses.
"Too late, I can't let go. What the fuck, man, you--" Danny gropes him shamelessly, bending to look around him, hands describing every contour. "I can't believe you wear those big loose jeans over an ass like that, it's fuckin' criminal." His fingers sneak down Dom's crack, just skating along shallowly, but it's enough to leave Dom a bit lightheaded and dangerously stupid.
"I got out the habit of wearing tight trousers," Dom says, "had too many fellas coming on strong trying to get me to bottom."
"You don't do that?" Danny asks, not with any particular disappointment, thank fuck.
"No." Which isn't strictly true, but who needs details when Danny's lining himself up a bit more carefully with Dominic, sparing a hand from his arse to stroke Dom's hard-on into place against Danny's. He snaps his hips just once and Dom groans, biting back a change of heart and a frenzied plea for Danny's cock up his arse as soon as possible.
"What d'you want," Dominic gasps, to stop himself offering more than he ought to give.
"I wanted--" Danny sucks in a breath, "wanted your hands on me but, fuck, now, I don't know, anything. No, let me blow you, that's-- wait, ow, there's something--"
Dominic takes in enough of their surroundings to realize Danny's up against the wall, and they move a bit to the left and away from the light switch that was digging into his back. Danny moves to turn them round, to put Dom against the wall and drop, but Dom halts him, manhandling him just a bit, enjoying the stifled moans as he wraps one hand around Danny's bicep and cradles his balls with the other, brushing his fingers behind, toying with him til Danny's bucking and whinging.
He brings his hand up to Danny's mouth and even with his glazed eyes and high color, Danny twigs at once and licks his fingers, his palm, really making a meal of it, nibbling and licking some more til Dom slips his slick hand around Danny and pulls at him, pulls and pulls and Danny throws his arms around Dom, adheres to him and shudders, burying his pleading noises against Dom's neck, his hands flexing in Dom's hair as he thrusts abruptly, coming in hot pulses that stream through Dom's fingers and splash on his skin.
Danny drags his hand through his spunk and rubs it along Dom's length, muttering, "Gimme a minute." Dom can't help being flattered by Danny's tremors, his rubbery slackness; if Dom weren't pinning him to the wall he might not even be upright.
Even hotter, though: Danny gazes down at him and licks his lips, and his spent cock jerks a bit, the spark of a new erection that can't possibly kindle again this soon. Sliding down, Danny puddles at his feet and mouths him, greedy tongue traveling up and down, teasing.
"Just--" Dominic folds his arms against the wall and leans his head into them, deep breaths, trying not to beg. Danny carries on torturing him, licking maddeningly at his furled foreskin, sliding down to take in his balls, fucking breathing on his shaft til Dom's ready to give up and wank himself off rather than wait another-- and then Danny takes him in, not all the way but nearly, as much as he can seem to manage.
Dominic can feel him swallow and strain to get just that last bit more, the full length, and the fact that he can't is doing Dom's head in, pride and heat pooling in his groin, tightening him, full and tense and Danny cups his arse and urges him-- God.
He touches Danny's face to be sure, feels him nod and goes for it, pumping his hips and fucking into his mouth; he's open enough that Dom never seems to graze teeth, but tight enough to make every hair on Dom's body rise. Danny's tongue presses up to meet him, firm, fleshy, wet and hot just behind the head of his cock-- Dominic twitches back as his climax starts and Danny follows, lapping with every show of eagerness, and the sight of glossy come on Danny's lips feeds back into it, brings Dom off even harder, wringing him dry.
Eventually his brain finally congeals in his head again, and Dominic relishes the hollow feeling in his ears that always follows a really good orgasm. Danny's just getting up from the floor. They both still have their shoes on.
"So I'm thinking we need to do that again as soon as possible, but on the bed this time," Danny says.
It's not in Dominic to be witty at the moment, he's too satisfied to be clever. "Yes," he says, kicking off his trainers.
They don't end up doing that again exactly. Danny cracks the window and has a cigarette, blowing a thin stream of smoke across the sill. Dominic touches him all the while, enjoying the way he feels now at his leisure, without all the urgency of impending orgasm. Danny's hair is soft in the back, and the nape of his neck is smooth and vulnerable. The knobs of his spine show when he leans to exhale.
Digging in the pocket of his discarded trousers, Danny finds a mint to take out the taste of the smoke; Dominic takes one as well, and offers a spearmint blowjob. He's not nearly ready to go again yet, but his mouth's already watering, nothing to do with the mint.
"In a little while," Danny says, kissing him instead, sweet and cool from the candy. They kiss quite a lot, til it's not really sexual any longer, becoming comfortable. Dominic trails his fingers everywhere, down Danny's nearly hairless chest to his oddly hairy legs; his groin appears to have compromised between either option, sparsely decked with short kinky curls.
Danny explores him as well, muttering, "You have such a great body" with disarming frequency. "You have such a fantastic ass, I can't get over it," he repeats more than once as well, and eventually adds, "I want to see you jerk off, are you up for that?"
It sounds a bit lonely compared to all the other things they could be doing, but Dominic agrees; he's already had a spectacular night, anything else is a bonus, really. He doesn't realize quite how turned on the idea's made him til Danny smiles and touches a fingertip to the precome beading at the tip of Dom's cock.
Now when they kiss it's nothing to do with comfort, mouths blazing. It turns out that Danny's notion of a wank is very interactive and involves him levering Dominic's arse up with both hands, surprisingly strong, and switching off between rimming him and watching him stroke himself off. Dom comes the second time with Danny's tongue wedged inside him, splitting him to fine pieces, shivering.
By the time Dominic finally gets his mouth around Danny, Dom's nearly euphoric, and so relaxed he can easily deep-throat him. He's cut, nicely long, but not too thick, and tastes heavenly; since it's his second time as well, he's not too quick off the mark, and Dom draws it out, savoring it.
After a bit, Dominic remembers before, and winds his hands around Danny's wrists while he sucks him-- Danny arches, thrashing, whimpering, it's beyond dead sexy, it's amazing, Dominic feels powerful and tender toward him all at once, tightening his grip and licking him, sucking a bit faster, drawing cries from him, spasms, warm semen that jets down his throat almost faster than Dom can swallow.
Afterward they can't seem to stop touching each other, til Danny finally gets up for a glass of water. Not to drink, as it turns out, but for his contact lenses. Dominic thinks of joking that he knew Danny was too good to be true, his eyes aren't really that pure pretty blue, but then Danny dumps out his contacts, and his eyes are still the same color; just unfocused, now, not as keen.
"You really can't see without them, can you," Dominic says, as Danny sweeps his hand across the bed to find the pillow.
"No, totally blind," Danny answers; cheerfully, but he's not joking. Dom sticks his tongue out and Danny doesn't react at all, can't even seem to tell. Dom turns down the blankets and guides him under them, gets the pillow under his head and the lamp sorted.
"Thanks," says Danny, curling alongside him. "Is this too close?"
"No, it's perfect," Dominic tells him, resting an arm around him. "It's been a great night."
"Yeah. Too good for just a one-night-stand. We could meet up again..?"
"I'd like that, yeah."
"We could hook up here on Friday, like at ten. Do some dancing, get a room."
"If you're not busy earlier, we could even do dinner together."
"Then it's like a date," says Danny. "You date?"
"It's been known to happen."
"I haven't done a lot of dating."
"It's mostly like tonight," says Dominic, "but with dinner first."
"That sounds good," Danny says, quiet, sounding almost shy.
Dom kisses him. "Then it's a date," he says, and falls asleep happy.
*
Dom likes to think he has a knack for the morning after, a friendly way of leaving things open to let a bloke stay and chat or detach and flee with as little awkwardness as possible. So when he wakes up the next morning, with Danny still asleep (beautifully, of course, his hands folded under his head, it's rather sweet), Dom has every reason to hope today will work out as nicely as last night.
He stretches, scratches, picks glitter out of his chest hair. He's faintly silver here and there, where Danny's body dust rubbed off on him, and the sheets look like Tinkerbell sneezed on them.
The same beam of sunlight that woke Dom reaches Danny soon enough. His nose crinkles and he flops to the edge of the mattress, his arm flailing out next to the bed, pawing at the air.
"Your contacts are on the bureau, mate, remember?"
Danny starts violently and begins to jump out of bed, but he stops in mid-bolt to grab at the bedclothes, coming up with a pillow and part of the sheet. Clutching them to his body, he blinks unfocused in Dom's general direction, wild and frightened. "Who're you?"
Not the wake-up call Dominic might have hoped for, but it happens. Pick up a bloke on Canal Street, it's hard to know how he'll turn up the next morning; Dom's had closet cases who seemed quite ready to crawl out a window to avoid facing what they'd done. One fellow was religious and begged Dom to come to church with him so they could both be forgiven. Another geezer accused Dom of stealing his wedding ring, backing down red-faced when he remembered he'd put it in his pocket when he went out cruising. It happens.
In as soothing a voice as he can muster, he says, "It's Dominic. Everything's all right."
"Uh, no, no, I don't think so... what the fuck, where is this?"
"It's okay, mate. Look. Let me fetch your contacts." He gets the cup from the bureau and brings it to Danny, putting it into his hand.
"Thanks," Danny mutters, and awkwardly tries to cinch the sheet under his arms, drape it over himself, and fish into the glass all at once.
"You needn't be so shy. I'm wearing your glitter this morning, after all."
"Shit," Danny swears quietly, poking his contacts into his eyes. Once they're in, he blinks and gawks at Dom. "Okay, start over, you're who again?"
"Dominic."
"Right, great, okay, Dominic. Where the fuck am I?"
"We got a room at the Union last night. Oh, go on, you remember."
"Okay, 'we' got a room, or you brought me to a room? What the fuck, man?"
"We came here together. You paid for the room!" Dom rakes a hand through his hair, feeling tense and sour. This isn't the very worst morning after he's ever had, but it's in the running, and they've only just begun. "You can't have just forgotten the entire night. I know what high looks like, and you weren't. We weren't even drinking."
"We're at the Union," Danny repeats. "Where's the Union?"
"Give over. It's in the Village. Look, if you don't want to see me again after all, you can just say. You don't have to make a huge production out of it."
"Okay, the Village. All right, okay," Danny's almost chanting to himself. He focuses on Dom again with pained honesty in the crease between his brows. "I don't know what the deal is, but somebody must have slipped me something last night, because I don't remember coming to the Village, or you, or anything."
Dom wavers. After all, if someone did give Danny one of those date rape pills last night, how would Dominic recognize the signs? He's never seen anyone on Rohypnol. Speed, cocaine, E, sure, but beyond that...
And Danny's voice is almost plaintive as he asks, "Where are my clothes?"
"Foot of the bed," Dom says tiredly, slumping back against the headboard.
Danny pulls on Dominic's jeans, looking confused when they sag around his hips. "These, um..."
"Those are mine, the leather ones are yours."
"You've gotta be kidding," says Danny, and picks up Dom's t-shirt.
"That's mine as well."
"You're trying to tell me this shit is mine? I've never seen these before in my life!" Danny shakes the black translucent shirt frantically. "I wouldn't wear this in a million years!"
"Just calm down, Danny--"
"What?!" His voice climbs, dangerously shrill.
"Calm down, all right? Everything's going to be all right, Danny. We'll sort this."
"Will you quit calling me that? My name's Elijah. Fuck, you know what, I'm putting this on," his head disappears into Dom's t-shirt. It's loose on his shoulders and chest. With jerky steps, he crosses to the window and yanks the blind open, looking down with frustration quickly replaced by fear.
"What?" Dom's trying to be patient, but this is beyond out of hand. He grabs his pants, the one thing Danny didn't nick, and tugs them on, going over to the window. Nothing seems amiss, it's just the usual street-cleaning, a couple of tea shops opening up. "What's wrong?"
"Where are we exactly," says Danny, though that doesn't seem to be his name after all.
"The Village," Dom answers. "Canal Street. It's by, well, the canal, and the park. Sackville Park. Near city centre."
"I thought you meant we were in Greenwich Village. I thought." He swallows. "I was in New York."
"New York? You're in Manchester."
"Fuck, how'd I get to New Hampshire?"
"Is this a wind up?" Dom asks, but Danny's-- Elijah's-- hands are shaking, and it's too strange to be a joke. "Manchester, England."
"Oh, no fucking way," Elijah breathes, but then he squints out the window again. "Fuck, the cars are backwards. Fuck. What the fuck!"
"Just keep your head, mate. However you got here, we can get you back to wherever you were, all right? Where are you from?"
"I--" Elijah scrubs his face with both hands. "From? I. I was in New York."
"All right, that's a start. Where in New York?"
He looks up at Dominic and lifts his shoulders helplessly.
"What's your surname then, we can look you up in a directory or sommat. There's an internet cafe just down the road."
Elijah purses his mouth as if to answer, but halts, appalled. "I don't... I can't think of it."
"Maybe we should take you to Casualty. If someone's slipped you something, it may not have worn off yet."
"Maybe." Elijah crosses his arms, just shy of hugging himself, frowning deeply. "My name's Elijah--" he stops. "The rest should just come naturally, shouldn't it?"
"I don't know," Dom answers. "I'll give you a lift to hospital, but you do need to give me my clothes back."
Elijah looks doubtfully at the leather trousers on the floor. "I can't wear that stuff. Seriously, I was in that last night?"
"Yeah. And you introduced yourself to me as Danny."
"I may not be able to remember some things, but I sure as fuck know my name isn't Danny." Elijah hesitates and finally collects his clothes. "Where's the underwear?"
"Uhm, you didn't have any."
"Fuck me. Okay, look, could you turn around?"
Dominic's inclined to snap at him a bit, but he reminds himself that if Elijah's really having some kind of strange memory lapse, he must be feeling quite scared and shaky just now. Dom turns round and looks down through the window. It must be terrifying, really. If he's telling the truth, he's a continent away from where he started. If he's not a liar, or a nutter. It's a strange story for a con artist, but Danny did seem ever so slightly dodgy, with the rentboy proposition and that.
"Okay," Elijah says. "Thanks."
"No bother." Dom faces him again, and decides a con is quite unlikely, or else Danny-Elijah is the greatest con artist in the world and he's wasting his talents on Dominic.
Because now that he's wearing Danny's clothes, the difference between Danny and Elijah couldn't be more marked. Danny wore those leather trousers and filmy top as if they were in quotation marks. With an exclamation mark to boot; he made a statement.
Elijah holds his shoulders slightly hunched, clearly uncomfortable with the barely-there shirt, drawing more attention to it with his odd posture. The leather trousers that hugged his hips and arse last night are now tugged up too high, bunched and ill-fitting. Elijah's elbows poke out awkwardly, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands.
"Your cigarettes," Dom remembers, and fetches them.
"What? I quit a long time ago..." Elijah looks at the pack. "That's my brand, though. Jesus, this is so fucked."
He takes the cigarettes and hands Dominic his clothes, looking a bit reluctant to part with them. Dom takes pity on him all at once. He dresses slowly, trying to talk himself out of it; he's such a soft touch without Billy about to rein him in, it's ridiculous. But he remembers how lost he felt in LA, and he knew how he got there and why. Elijah must be utterly adrift.
Dominic pushes his hair off his forehead, smooths it with his hands, makes up his mind. "Look. If you have been drugged, maybe if we get some food in you it'll help. It can't hurt. I'll take you to breakfast."
"I don't know how much money I have," Elijah tries the pockets of the leather trousers.
"It's all right. Like I said, you paid for the room, so I owe it you. And then some, so we can stop at a shop on the way and get you something else to wear if you like, as well."
"Oh, come on. How much can one night in this room cost?"
"I suppose if you remember, you can argue about it with me then," Dom says.
"Uh, that's really tactful," says Elijah.
"I thought so, yeah. C'mon, they say the sense of smell's the most connected with memory. We'll see if anything comes back to you when you get a whiff of Canal Street the morning after. If you've been here before you'll recognize that, dead cert."
Elijah gnaws his thumbnail, brow crinkled, and finally steps close enough to hand the cigarettes back to Dominic. "Okay, just... take these back, would you? Last thing I need is to start smoking again on top of everything else."
"Right." Dom bins them and cups, not Elijah's elbow-- he seems far too skittish for that-- but sort of the air in his general elbowish vicinity, and guides him to the door. Elijah's body language couldn't be more reluctant, he all but digs in his heels and clings to the bedpost.
But then he squares his narrow shoulders and follows Dom's lead, and they go down the stairs, more or less together.
*
Pairing: Dom/Elijah
Rating: NC17
Notes: From an idea by kyuuketsukirui by request from kissing_athelas. Originally posted in four parts on my LJ.
Summary: Dominic meets "Danny", who may or may not be a rentboy, amnesiac, and/or Elijah Wood.
*
Dominic came out on the pull tonight, and he's looking his best: tight tee and a touch of eyeliner, hair newly tipped with bleach and styled and sorted, rings on his fingers and condoms in his pockets.
But Poptastic is packed with scores of gay men just as kitted out as Dom, all of them intent on copping off with each other, hardly anyone giving him a second look. Essential's just the same, and so's Queer, and so's Cruz. By the time he fucks off to Mantos for a last drink, he's resigned himself to going home alone.
Then near the front window, heads turn in a wave-- not an unusual phenomenon in the cruising grounds of Canal Street, but Dom finds himself on edge all the same, straining to see who's going by. Then it's not just the blokes by the window as the head-turner comes inside.
It's like he's bringing the atmosphere of a brilliant night on the dancefloor in with him-- like he's the best ever night in the Village, incarnate. He's wearing leather trousers and a filmy translucent black shirt. It's a completely played-out look, but he carries it off so well it's as if it never occurred to anyone to wear it before.
Even though he's quite young and quite thin, with dewy wide blue eyes, he doesn't look like a skinny teenager. His skin isn't just perfect and spotless, he actually has a sort of blue-silver glow about his face and chest. It's iridescent body dust, Dom realizes after an interval of staring, but by then he's so hooked it hardly matters.
He doesn't stop to think it over; Dom goes the bar and sends the newcomer a drink. He doesn't pretend he's not watching when the barman goes to the boy and takes his order, points to Dom and starts mixing.
Dominic doesn't really expect it to work, but after a shit night like this, even being blown off by this pretty new creature would be a bit of a treat.
But then the boy's accepting the drink and standing up and coming over with a smile. There's glitter confetti in his dark hair. Dom's mesmerized by the silvery shimmer on his neck and chest, gleaming on his cheekbones, sparkling at the corners of his lips and eyes.
"Hiya," Dom says. "Having a good night?"
"It's kind of sucked so far," he says, his accent startling-- broadly, irrevocably American.
"So's mine," says Dom. "But that's all right. Means it can only get better."
The Yank smiles. American accent, but not quite a perfect fencerow of American teeth. They're white, small, neat and even, but with a little gap in front. "I'm Danny."
"Dominic."
"Thanks for the drink, Dominic."
They drink. "Tourist?" Dom asks.
"No."
Informative. "I was going to say. Can't be much to tour around here."
"There's plenty of sights to see," Danny flirts. His lashes dip and waver. Close up, his eyes are large and pronounced, almost too much to be attractive. Almost.
Drinks drained, they look each other over openly, and Danny does seem to appreciate the view.
"Another?" Dom waves down the barman.
"Sure. Club soda with lime, please."
"--I'll have the same."
When the drinks come, Danny crushes the lime slice against the side and licks his fingertips before sipping through the narrow straw. It's not so much sexy as hypnotic.
Dom clears his throat. "Don't drink? Or just not drinking tonight?"
"Just not drinking tonight. I think we can have a good time sober, don't you?"
"Sounds quite likely. Cheers then," Dom grins, feeling suddenly much more at ease. After all, short of handing him a printed card reading 'I intend to sleep with you tonight', Danny could hardly make himself more clear.
They chat lightly about the clubs, comparing notes about the toilets. Dom ventures a complaint about the music and Danny responds with a hearty, "Fuck yeah! God!" and launches into a minutes-long rant against house music that swells Dom's heart with adulation.
And although they've both been blatant about their intentions, still... it's almost as though they're on a date rather than a pickup. Danny catches his hand to look at the black crescents Dom drew on his fingernails with markers, and they hold hands for a bit; they step out so Danny can have a smoke, and Dom cups his hands around the lighter. It feels natural to slip his arm around Danny's waist as they go back inside. He can't blame alcohol for the warmth in his stomach; he's been on club soda for an hour now.
So he's especially gutted when an older geezer steps up to them and says to Danny, "Whatever he's paying-- half again, what do you say, sweetheart?"
"I say fuck off," Danny rolls his eyes. There's something wrong with his reaction though, he's not surprised enough. Even as lovely as he is, surely people don't often mistake him for trade.
"Twice then. Twice as much. You know I'm good for it." The codger's not even that bad, he wouldn't have to pay for it, if he wasn't choosy.
"I'm not working, okay, so fucking back off." Danny turns to Dom. "Sorry, this is fucked up. Can we just go?"
"Yeah."
"Give over, Danny," says the geezer, and Dom winces a bit. If he knows Danny's name, hard to see how this could be a mistake. "I've been looking for you all night," the geezer whinges. "Two and a half, all right?"
"It's not a fucking auction!" Dom snaps at last. "And twice zero's still zero."
"I hope you don't think he's free, you little troll."
"Go fuck yourself with your bankroll, it's all you're getting tonight. C'mon," Dom winds his arm around Danny's waist again and walks out with him.
Danny tucks against him as they fall into stride together. He's such a good fit, just that inch shorter than Dom and slim, fitting neatly into the curve of Dom's arm.
But it's no use, the polish is a bit dimmed now. Dom can't help feeling self-conscious, looking himself over to see if he's wearing anything pricey, anything that makes him look like a mark. His watch is a bit nice, and once or twice tonight he checked his text messages on his rather flashy mobile phone, but it's not as though he's flaunting loads of cash. He doesn't think he's the sort a hustler would pick out of the crowd, but then he wouldn't really know, would he.
Dom looks at Danny's creamy skin, iced with a glimmer of powder. He doesn't just look gorgeous, he looks expensive.
They reach the corner, and Dom bends his head. "Where do you live, which way? I'll get you a cab."
"What? Oh, for-- shit, man, come on." Danny steps out of his grip to face him. "That guy's an asshole."
"I spotted that."
"Look..." Danny meets his eyes. "When I first came over from the U.S., I didn't plan things out too well. I got to where I was going to end up on the street if I couldn't get some money together. I was selling CDs, everything, I was going nuts. My friend took me out to try to cheer me up, and-- this guy offers me cash."
He tips his head, brows cinching over his lovely straight nose. "It was just a couple of times to tide things over, and then I started getting regular paychecks and that was it. Everything was safe. It's been like a year. That fucker keeps dogging me whenever he sees me just to be a cunt, he knows I don't do that."
"Any more," Dom says.
Danny's lips smash together in displeasure, but he sighs and admits, "Any more."
"So if I'm not getting you a cab, what then?" Dom asks. "Cos I have to say, confession may be good for the soul and that, but it doesn't do much for the evening. It's sort of sucked the fun out of things, yeah?"
"We'll suck the fun back into things," Danny promises. "Come on, we'll get a room at the Union. I'm buying. You got the drinks, it's my turn."
Dom shakes his head. "I can't help thinking, you know? There must've been dozens of guys who'd've taken you home tonight, and I know I'm not the best looking of the lot, so if you're not on the job--"
"Your hands," Danny says.
"Sorry?"
"I like your hands. I have a thing for guys with nice hands. And you seemed, you know, easygoing. Fun. Like we'd have a good time. And we have had a good time." Danny shrugs. "That's all, that's why."
It's probably a bit stupid and risky, but Danny looks ripe and pretty under the streetlights, resolute. Surely it's no worse really than any other one-night stand.
"Yeah," Dom says, "all right," and when Danny leans into Dom's arms again, just like before, he fits just right.
*
Danny pays for a room at the Union from a stack of notes that's thick enough to prove he's no pauper, but not so thick as to suggest the goods are ill-gotten. Not that Dominic would have any idea of the going rate for rentboys, but he imagines that someone in that line would be obliged to carry a substantial wad of cash. Though that hardly seems as if it would be safe, carrying loads of notes. But then having sex for pay is something short of safe as houses.
At five-seven, Dominic's not a big guy by any means, but Danny's build is even smaller and more slender; he's narrow even next to Dom's 23-inch waist. If Danny really were selling it, surely he'd need to have muscle with him, in case he needed help to collect.
Finally, Dom's able to fully relax. Danny must be telling the truth, he can't still be working; he was alone tonight.
And Christ, but he's lovely. Those leather trousers might be cliche, but they frame his tight arse so nicely. Dom ogles him a bit as they hove up the stairs; Danny gives him a lazy, promising little smile.
The moment they shut and lock the door behind them, Danny takes Dom's hands and touches them to his mouth, rubbing his face wantonly along Dom's knuckles. Dom falls back against the door with a bit of a thump, caught off guard, his breath stepping up at once. Danny smiles again and sucks in a fingertip, scraping lightly with his neat little teeth.
"Christ," Dom mutters, and opens his hands in Danny's, snaking around his wrists-- Danny gasps, and Dom files that lovely bit of trivia away for later-- skimming up his arms and down his chest, tugging out his dark see-through shirt and unwrapping him like a present, slowly, while Danny leans back and watches his hands work.
Dominic opens his trousers; no pants, and Danny's already firming up beautifully, Dom only has to squeeze once to feel him fill up and fully harden.
Danny groans when Dom lets him go. "I'll get back to that," Dominic grins, lifting Danny's shirt off him. Danny shrugs it off; he may be narrow, but his arms and shoulders are nicely knit with muscle, sleek under the skin. Dom licks his collarbone, his neck, and Danny takes his face in both hands and pulls his head up to kiss him.
He sucks aggressively at Dom's lower lip and purses his lips around Dom's tongue, inviting him in, drawing him deep, chasing him back and licking into Dom's mouth just as lewdly. By the time they back off a bit, Dom's heart pounds in his ears, and he can't hear a thing but Danny's breathing, quick and harsh as he attacks Dom's fly. Dom flips his t-shirt off in the meantime, flinging it in the general direction of the bed.
Danny glances that way for the first time-- gratifying that he couldn't be bothered before-- and says, "Yeah, better over there maybe," but then he's pushing Dom's jeans down and squeezing his arse in both hands and murmuring, "Fuck, yeah-- oh my God."
"Thought you wanted to move," Dom teases, stealing more kisses.
"Too late, I can't let go. What the fuck, man, you--" Danny gropes him shamelessly, bending to look around him, hands describing every contour. "I can't believe you wear those big loose jeans over an ass like that, it's fuckin' criminal." His fingers sneak down Dom's crack, just skating along shallowly, but it's enough to leave Dom a bit lightheaded and dangerously stupid.
"I got out the habit of wearing tight trousers," Dom says, "had too many fellas coming on strong trying to get me to bottom."
"You don't do that?" Danny asks, not with any particular disappointment, thank fuck.
"No." Which isn't strictly true, but who needs details when Danny's lining himself up a bit more carefully with Dominic, sparing a hand from his arse to stroke Dom's hard-on into place against Danny's. He snaps his hips just once and Dom groans, biting back a change of heart and a frenzied plea for Danny's cock up his arse as soon as possible.
"What d'you want," Dominic gasps, to stop himself offering more than he ought to give.
"I wanted--" Danny sucks in a breath, "wanted your hands on me but, fuck, now, I don't know, anything. No, let me blow you, that's-- wait, ow, there's something--"
Dominic takes in enough of their surroundings to realize Danny's up against the wall, and they move a bit to the left and away from the light switch that was digging into his back. Danny moves to turn them round, to put Dom against the wall and drop, but Dom halts him, manhandling him just a bit, enjoying the stifled moans as he wraps one hand around Danny's bicep and cradles his balls with the other, brushing his fingers behind, toying with him til Danny's bucking and whinging.
He brings his hand up to Danny's mouth and even with his glazed eyes and high color, Danny twigs at once and licks his fingers, his palm, really making a meal of it, nibbling and licking some more til Dom slips his slick hand around Danny and pulls at him, pulls and pulls and Danny throws his arms around Dom, adheres to him and shudders, burying his pleading noises against Dom's neck, his hands flexing in Dom's hair as he thrusts abruptly, coming in hot pulses that stream through Dom's fingers and splash on his skin.
Danny drags his hand through his spunk and rubs it along Dom's length, muttering, "Gimme a minute." Dom can't help being flattered by Danny's tremors, his rubbery slackness; if Dom weren't pinning him to the wall he might not even be upright.
Even hotter, though: Danny gazes down at him and licks his lips, and his spent cock jerks a bit, the spark of a new erection that can't possibly kindle again this soon. Sliding down, Danny puddles at his feet and mouths him, greedy tongue traveling up and down, teasing.
"Just--" Dominic folds his arms against the wall and leans his head into them, deep breaths, trying not to beg. Danny carries on torturing him, licking maddeningly at his furled foreskin, sliding down to take in his balls, fucking breathing on his shaft til Dom's ready to give up and wank himself off rather than wait another-- and then Danny takes him in, not all the way but nearly, as much as he can seem to manage.
Dominic can feel him swallow and strain to get just that last bit more, the full length, and the fact that he can't is doing Dom's head in, pride and heat pooling in his groin, tightening him, full and tense and Danny cups his arse and urges him-- God.
He touches Danny's face to be sure, feels him nod and goes for it, pumping his hips and fucking into his mouth; he's open enough that Dom never seems to graze teeth, but tight enough to make every hair on Dom's body rise. Danny's tongue presses up to meet him, firm, fleshy, wet and hot just behind the head of his cock-- Dominic twitches back as his climax starts and Danny follows, lapping with every show of eagerness, and the sight of glossy come on Danny's lips feeds back into it, brings Dom off even harder, wringing him dry.
Eventually his brain finally congeals in his head again, and Dominic relishes the hollow feeling in his ears that always follows a really good orgasm. Danny's just getting up from the floor. They both still have their shoes on.
"So I'm thinking we need to do that again as soon as possible, but on the bed this time," Danny says.
It's not in Dominic to be witty at the moment, he's too satisfied to be clever. "Yes," he says, kicking off his trainers.
They don't end up doing that again exactly. Danny cracks the window and has a cigarette, blowing a thin stream of smoke across the sill. Dominic touches him all the while, enjoying the way he feels now at his leisure, without all the urgency of impending orgasm. Danny's hair is soft in the back, and the nape of his neck is smooth and vulnerable. The knobs of his spine show when he leans to exhale.
Digging in the pocket of his discarded trousers, Danny finds a mint to take out the taste of the smoke; Dominic takes one as well, and offers a spearmint blowjob. He's not nearly ready to go again yet, but his mouth's already watering, nothing to do with the mint.
"In a little while," Danny says, kissing him instead, sweet and cool from the candy. They kiss quite a lot, til it's not really sexual any longer, becoming comfortable. Dominic trails his fingers everywhere, down Danny's nearly hairless chest to his oddly hairy legs; his groin appears to have compromised between either option, sparsely decked with short kinky curls.
Danny explores him as well, muttering, "You have such a great body" with disarming frequency. "You have such a fantastic ass, I can't get over it," he repeats more than once as well, and eventually adds, "I want to see you jerk off, are you up for that?"
It sounds a bit lonely compared to all the other things they could be doing, but Dominic agrees; he's already had a spectacular night, anything else is a bonus, really. He doesn't realize quite how turned on the idea's made him til Danny smiles and touches a fingertip to the precome beading at the tip of Dom's cock.
Now when they kiss it's nothing to do with comfort, mouths blazing. It turns out that Danny's notion of a wank is very interactive and involves him levering Dominic's arse up with both hands, surprisingly strong, and switching off between rimming him and watching him stroke himself off. Dom comes the second time with Danny's tongue wedged inside him, splitting him to fine pieces, shivering.
By the time Dominic finally gets his mouth around Danny, Dom's nearly euphoric, and so relaxed he can easily deep-throat him. He's cut, nicely long, but not too thick, and tastes heavenly; since it's his second time as well, he's not too quick off the mark, and Dom draws it out, savoring it.
After a bit, Dominic remembers before, and winds his hands around Danny's wrists while he sucks him-- Danny arches, thrashing, whimpering, it's beyond dead sexy, it's amazing, Dominic feels powerful and tender toward him all at once, tightening his grip and licking him, sucking a bit faster, drawing cries from him, spasms, warm semen that jets down his throat almost faster than Dom can swallow.
Afterward they can't seem to stop touching each other, til Danny finally gets up for a glass of water. Not to drink, as it turns out, but for his contact lenses. Dominic thinks of joking that he knew Danny was too good to be true, his eyes aren't really that pure pretty blue, but then Danny dumps out his contacts, and his eyes are still the same color; just unfocused, now, not as keen.
"You really can't see without them, can you," Dominic says, as Danny sweeps his hand across the bed to find the pillow.
"No, totally blind," Danny answers; cheerfully, but he's not joking. Dom sticks his tongue out and Danny doesn't react at all, can't even seem to tell. Dom turns down the blankets and guides him under them, gets the pillow under his head and the lamp sorted.
"Thanks," says Danny, curling alongside him. "Is this too close?"
"No, it's perfect," Dominic tells him, resting an arm around him. "It's been a great night."
"Yeah. Too good for just a one-night-stand. We could meet up again..?"
"I'd like that, yeah."
"We could hook up here on Friday, like at ten. Do some dancing, get a room."
"If you're not busy earlier, we could even do dinner together."
"Then it's like a date," says Danny. "You date?"
"It's been known to happen."
"I haven't done a lot of dating."
"It's mostly like tonight," says Dominic, "but with dinner first."
"That sounds good," Danny says, quiet, sounding almost shy.
Dom kisses him. "Then it's a date," he says, and falls asleep happy.
*
Dom likes to think he has a knack for the morning after, a friendly way of leaving things open to let a bloke stay and chat or detach and flee with as little awkwardness as possible. So when he wakes up the next morning, with Danny still asleep (beautifully, of course, his hands folded under his head, it's rather sweet), Dom has every reason to hope today will work out as nicely as last night.
He stretches, scratches, picks glitter out of his chest hair. He's faintly silver here and there, where Danny's body dust rubbed off on him, and the sheets look like Tinkerbell sneezed on them.
The same beam of sunlight that woke Dom reaches Danny soon enough. His nose crinkles and he flops to the edge of the mattress, his arm flailing out next to the bed, pawing at the air.
"Your contacts are on the bureau, mate, remember?"
Danny starts violently and begins to jump out of bed, but he stops in mid-bolt to grab at the bedclothes, coming up with a pillow and part of the sheet. Clutching them to his body, he blinks unfocused in Dom's general direction, wild and frightened. "Who're you?"
Not the wake-up call Dominic might have hoped for, but it happens. Pick up a bloke on Canal Street, it's hard to know how he'll turn up the next morning; Dom's had closet cases who seemed quite ready to crawl out a window to avoid facing what they'd done. One fellow was religious and begged Dom to come to church with him so they could both be forgiven. Another geezer accused Dom of stealing his wedding ring, backing down red-faced when he remembered he'd put it in his pocket when he went out cruising. It happens.
In as soothing a voice as he can muster, he says, "It's Dominic. Everything's all right."
"Uh, no, no, I don't think so... what the fuck, where is this?"
"It's okay, mate. Look. Let me fetch your contacts." He gets the cup from the bureau and brings it to Danny, putting it into his hand.
"Thanks," Danny mutters, and awkwardly tries to cinch the sheet under his arms, drape it over himself, and fish into the glass all at once.
"You needn't be so shy. I'm wearing your glitter this morning, after all."
"Shit," Danny swears quietly, poking his contacts into his eyes. Once they're in, he blinks and gawks at Dom. "Okay, start over, you're who again?"
"Dominic."
"Right, great, okay, Dominic. Where the fuck am I?"
"We got a room at the Union last night. Oh, go on, you remember."
"Okay, 'we' got a room, or you brought me to a room? What the fuck, man?"
"We came here together. You paid for the room!" Dom rakes a hand through his hair, feeling tense and sour. This isn't the very worst morning after he's ever had, but it's in the running, and they've only just begun. "You can't have just forgotten the entire night. I know what high looks like, and you weren't. We weren't even drinking."
"We're at the Union," Danny repeats. "Where's the Union?"
"Give over. It's in the Village. Look, if you don't want to see me again after all, you can just say. You don't have to make a huge production out of it."
"Okay, the Village. All right, okay," Danny's almost chanting to himself. He focuses on Dom again with pained honesty in the crease between his brows. "I don't know what the deal is, but somebody must have slipped me something last night, because I don't remember coming to the Village, or you, or anything."
Dom wavers. After all, if someone did give Danny one of those date rape pills last night, how would Dominic recognize the signs? He's never seen anyone on Rohypnol. Speed, cocaine, E, sure, but beyond that...
And Danny's voice is almost plaintive as he asks, "Where are my clothes?"
"Foot of the bed," Dom says tiredly, slumping back against the headboard.
Danny pulls on Dominic's jeans, looking confused when they sag around his hips. "These, um..."
"Those are mine, the leather ones are yours."
"You've gotta be kidding," says Danny, and picks up Dom's t-shirt.
"That's mine as well."
"You're trying to tell me this shit is mine? I've never seen these before in my life!" Danny shakes the black translucent shirt frantically. "I wouldn't wear this in a million years!"
"Just calm down, Danny--"
"What?!" His voice climbs, dangerously shrill.
"Calm down, all right? Everything's going to be all right, Danny. We'll sort this."
"Will you quit calling me that? My name's Elijah. Fuck, you know what, I'm putting this on," his head disappears into Dom's t-shirt. It's loose on his shoulders and chest. With jerky steps, he crosses to the window and yanks the blind open, looking down with frustration quickly replaced by fear.
"What?" Dom's trying to be patient, but this is beyond out of hand. He grabs his pants, the one thing Danny didn't nick, and tugs them on, going over to the window. Nothing seems amiss, it's just the usual street-cleaning, a couple of tea shops opening up. "What's wrong?"
"Where are we exactly," says Danny, though that doesn't seem to be his name after all.
"The Village," Dom answers. "Canal Street. It's by, well, the canal, and the park. Sackville Park. Near city centre."
"I thought you meant we were in Greenwich Village. I thought." He swallows. "I was in New York."
"New York? You're in Manchester."
"Fuck, how'd I get to New Hampshire?"
"Is this a wind up?" Dom asks, but Danny's-- Elijah's-- hands are shaking, and it's too strange to be a joke. "Manchester, England."
"Oh, no fucking way," Elijah breathes, but then he squints out the window again. "Fuck, the cars are backwards. Fuck. What the fuck!"
"Just keep your head, mate. However you got here, we can get you back to wherever you were, all right? Where are you from?"
"I--" Elijah scrubs his face with both hands. "From? I. I was in New York."
"All right, that's a start. Where in New York?"
He looks up at Dominic and lifts his shoulders helplessly.
"What's your surname then, we can look you up in a directory or sommat. There's an internet cafe just down the road."
Elijah purses his mouth as if to answer, but halts, appalled. "I don't... I can't think of it."
"Maybe we should take you to Casualty. If someone's slipped you something, it may not have worn off yet."
"Maybe." Elijah crosses his arms, just shy of hugging himself, frowning deeply. "My name's Elijah--" he stops. "The rest should just come naturally, shouldn't it?"
"I don't know," Dom answers. "I'll give you a lift to hospital, but you do need to give me my clothes back."
Elijah looks doubtfully at the leather trousers on the floor. "I can't wear that stuff. Seriously, I was in that last night?"
"Yeah. And you introduced yourself to me as Danny."
"I may not be able to remember some things, but I sure as fuck know my name isn't Danny." Elijah hesitates and finally collects his clothes. "Where's the underwear?"
"Uhm, you didn't have any."
"Fuck me. Okay, look, could you turn around?"
Dominic's inclined to snap at him a bit, but he reminds himself that if Elijah's really having some kind of strange memory lapse, he must be feeling quite scared and shaky just now. Dom turns round and looks down through the window. It must be terrifying, really. If he's telling the truth, he's a continent away from where he started. If he's not a liar, or a nutter. It's a strange story for a con artist, but Danny did seem ever so slightly dodgy, with the rentboy proposition and that.
"Okay," Elijah says. "Thanks."
"No bother." Dom faces him again, and decides a con is quite unlikely, or else Danny-Elijah is the greatest con artist in the world and he's wasting his talents on Dominic.
Because now that he's wearing Danny's clothes, the difference between Danny and Elijah couldn't be more marked. Danny wore those leather trousers and filmy top as if they were in quotation marks. With an exclamation mark to boot; he made a statement.
Elijah holds his shoulders slightly hunched, clearly uncomfortable with the barely-there shirt, drawing more attention to it with his odd posture. The leather trousers that hugged his hips and arse last night are now tugged up too high, bunched and ill-fitting. Elijah's elbows poke out awkwardly, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands.
"Your cigarettes," Dom remembers, and fetches them.
"What? I quit a long time ago..." Elijah looks at the pack. "That's my brand, though. Jesus, this is so fucked."
He takes the cigarettes and hands Dominic his clothes, looking a bit reluctant to part with them. Dom takes pity on him all at once. He dresses slowly, trying to talk himself out of it; he's such a soft touch without Billy about to rein him in, it's ridiculous. But he remembers how lost he felt in LA, and he knew how he got there and why. Elijah must be utterly adrift.
Dominic pushes his hair off his forehead, smooths it with his hands, makes up his mind. "Look. If you have been drugged, maybe if we get some food in you it'll help. It can't hurt. I'll take you to breakfast."
"I don't know how much money I have," Elijah tries the pockets of the leather trousers.
"It's all right. Like I said, you paid for the room, so I owe it you. And then some, so we can stop at a shop on the way and get you something else to wear if you like, as well."
"Oh, come on. How much can one night in this room cost?"
"I suppose if you remember, you can argue about it with me then," Dom says.
"Uh, that's really tactful," says Elijah.
"I thought so, yeah. C'mon, they say the sense of smell's the most connected with memory. We'll see if anything comes back to you when you get a whiff of Canal Street the morning after. If you've been here before you'll recognize that, dead cert."
Elijah gnaws his thumbnail, brow crinkled, and finally steps close enough to hand the cigarettes back to Dominic. "Okay, just... take these back, would you? Last thing I need is to start smoking again on top of everything else."
"Right." Dom bins them and cups, not Elijah's elbow-- he seems far too skittish for that-- but sort of the air in his general elbowish vicinity, and guides him to the door. Elijah's body language couldn't be more reluctant, he all but digs in his heels and clings to the bedpost.
But then he squares his narrow shoulders and follows Dom's lead, and they go down the stairs, more or less together.
*