Corola (Lotrips; bb/ew)
Corola by edigo
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: bb/ew
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. No, really.
Summary: Of decaying flowers and lust.
With much thanks to the lovely shaenie for the brief once-over.
:::
The flower vase sits, mockingly, beside the telephone, its water discolored with thickening sap. Red roses hang limply by the sides, petals flushed crimson, the color of blood. Dying.
Elijah doesn't notice.
He doesn't even notice anymore that, whenever someone calls and he stands balancing the warm plastic receiver between shoulder and ear, he always reaches out to fiddle with the soft petals, run his fingertips along their silky smoothness. Sometimes he carefully plucks a petal, turning it over in his fingers as Billy's quiet lilt filters into his ear.
Sometimes, after he hangs up, he stands still on the same spot for endless minutes, staring, unseeing, at the flower vase, turning the plucked petal over and over in his hand. Sometimes, he methodically rips it apart, letting the pieces fall from his fingers. Sometimes, he doesn't discard it, and accidentally places it in his pocket or takes it with him into another room, the bathroom, the kitchen.
Once, when Orlando comes to spend the weekend, he finds rose petals strewn all over the house. There are several of them on the floor near the side table in which the telephone sits, but Orlando also finds them beside the tea kettle, on the bathroom sink counter, inside the shower stall, and, mostly, inside Elijah's bedroom. The warm space beneath his pillow is full of them, full. Orlando picks one up in his fingers, feeling the thin innervations, the smooth way in which his fingers slide over it. He watches the way the edges curl slightly inwards, the color too dark.
Elijah sees the question in Orlando's eyes, but his lips are silent. Orlando doesn't ask.
Orlando notices, however.
Notices that Elijah's fingers pluck and shred the petals more urgently when there is a Scottish brogue speaking in his ear, Elijah's knuckles white as he grips the receiver. Notices the almost imperceptible sway of Elijah's legs as he stands, pressing the phone to his ear with a concentration that almost amuses Orlando. Notices the way Elijah's touch lingers on the small crimson pieces as he hangs up.
Orlando doesn't ask.
::
When Billy arrives at Elijah's doorstep one night, holding a bottle of wine and a silent smile, Elijah will pause and open his mouth, but no words will come out. He will want to move, to reach out a hand, to at least smile with forced cheer to somewhat lessen the tension that presses insistently and rings in his ears, but he won't be able do do anything. He will only simply stand there, looking into Billy's clear gaze, and he will feel a tingle spread slowly down his spine, will feel his heart start to beat faster.
Eventually, he will invite Billy in, and he will feel disconcerted by Billy's unwavering gaze. He will feel Billy's eyes on him when he prepares dinner, when he makes idle conversation with his head turned toward the cabinet as he reaches for two wine glasses, when he is washing the dishes. He will feel the heat spread from the back of his neck to the lowest point of his spine, across his arms and down along his sides, to finally pool in his groin. He will feel Billy's eyes on him like a slow, sensual caress and, when he tucks the last dish away, turning around once more to make some sly joke at Billy, he will find him already there, filling his vision, breath fanning across his abruptly dry lips.
When Billy fucks him, he will come so hard it will be like his body is shattering into a billion particles of light. When, later, he is pushed into the mattress and Billy takes him in his mouth, he will clutch at the pillow beneath his head, and he will feel the smoothness, and when he retreats his fingers, they will be clutching rose petals, rose petals, flushed crimson and so dark against his pale skin. Billy will be watching his bewilderment, and will smile around his cock when he threads his hands in Billy's hair, spreading the petals all around them.
The next day, when they meet after the shooting is over for the week, Billy will be holding a single rose in his fingers and a wry smile on his lips. And Elijah will laugh, and nibble on Billy's lower lip.
But when Orlando comes for another visit, he will not find any vestige of Elijah's curious and ephemeral habit. Only then will he ask. Elijah will not answer.
Orlando will notice, however.
:::
fin.
Fandom: Lotrips
Pairing: bb/ew
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Entirely fictional. No, really.
Summary: Of decaying flowers and lust.
With much thanks to the lovely shaenie for the brief once-over.
:::
The flower vase sits, mockingly, beside the telephone, its water discolored with thickening sap. Red roses hang limply by the sides, petals flushed crimson, the color of blood. Dying.
Elijah doesn't notice.
He doesn't even notice anymore that, whenever someone calls and he stands balancing the warm plastic receiver between shoulder and ear, he always reaches out to fiddle with the soft petals, run his fingertips along their silky smoothness. Sometimes he carefully plucks a petal, turning it over in his fingers as Billy's quiet lilt filters into his ear.
Sometimes, after he hangs up, he stands still on the same spot for endless minutes, staring, unseeing, at the flower vase, turning the plucked petal over and over in his hand. Sometimes, he methodically rips it apart, letting the pieces fall from his fingers. Sometimes, he doesn't discard it, and accidentally places it in his pocket or takes it with him into another room, the bathroom, the kitchen.
Once, when Orlando comes to spend the weekend, he finds rose petals strewn all over the house. There are several of them on the floor near the side table in which the telephone sits, but Orlando also finds them beside the tea kettle, on the bathroom sink counter, inside the shower stall, and, mostly, inside Elijah's bedroom. The warm space beneath his pillow is full of them, full. Orlando picks one up in his fingers, feeling the thin innervations, the smooth way in which his fingers slide over it. He watches the way the edges curl slightly inwards, the color too dark.
Elijah sees the question in Orlando's eyes, but his lips are silent. Orlando doesn't ask.
Orlando notices, however.
Notices that Elijah's fingers pluck and shred the petals more urgently when there is a Scottish brogue speaking in his ear, Elijah's knuckles white as he grips the receiver. Notices the almost imperceptible sway of Elijah's legs as he stands, pressing the phone to his ear with a concentration that almost amuses Orlando. Notices the way Elijah's touch lingers on the small crimson pieces as he hangs up.
Orlando doesn't ask.
::
When Billy arrives at Elijah's doorstep one night, holding a bottle of wine and a silent smile, Elijah will pause and open his mouth, but no words will come out. He will want to move, to reach out a hand, to at least smile with forced cheer to somewhat lessen the tension that presses insistently and rings in his ears, but he won't be able do do anything. He will only simply stand there, looking into Billy's clear gaze, and he will feel a tingle spread slowly down his spine, will feel his heart start to beat faster.
Eventually, he will invite Billy in, and he will feel disconcerted by Billy's unwavering gaze. He will feel Billy's eyes on him when he prepares dinner, when he makes idle conversation with his head turned toward the cabinet as he reaches for two wine glasses, when he is washing the dishes. He will feel the heat spread from the back of his neck to the lowest point of his spine, across his arms and down along his sides, to finally pool in his groin. He will feel Billy's eyes on him like a slow, sensual caress and, when he tucks the last dish away, turning around once more to make some sly joke at Billy, he will find him already there, filling his vision, breath fanning across his abruptly dry lips.
When Billy fucks him, he will come so hard it will be like his body is shattering into a billion particles of light. When, later, he is pushed into the mattress and Billy takes him in his mouth, he will clutch at the pillow beneath his head, and he will feel the smoothness, and when he retreats his fingers, they will be clutching rose petals, rose petals, flushed crimson and so dark against his pale skin. Billy will be watching his bewilderment, and will smile around his cock when he threads his hands in Billy's hair, spreading the petals all around them.
The next day, when they meet after the shooting is over for the week, Billy will be holding a single rose in his fingers and a wry smile on his lips. And Elijah will laugh, and nibble on Billy's lower lip.
But when Orlando comes for another visit, he will not find any vestige of Elijah's curious and ephemeral habit. Only then will he ask. Elijah will not answer.
Orlando will notice, however.
:::
fin.