A DomLijah Story
- Disclaimer: This is fiction. And not intended even to be wise. While most of these characters may be based on real people, I don’t personally know them. I made it all up out of my perverted little head. No, I don’t make any money at this.
- Archive: No thank you.
- Feedback: Please feed me. Praise is lovely. Constructive criticism is valued.
- Contains opinions, assumptions and situations that some might find offensive.
- This is a work in progress; however it is about half written and I am actively working on it. Feedback does stimulate me to greater effort.
- Please note that while most of this story is basically happy with just enough angst to make it interesting, there will be parts of it that some people will not want to read. I will post appropriate warnings of those chapters.
I have made every effort to present the background of this story in accordance with known details about filming, and in accordance with the rumors which I personally consider reliable. This should not be taken to mean that anything in this story is accurate or true.
All errors are strictly mine.
For warnings, click here
For those who don't want to read any het:
I will post a * before a paragraph that contains any hint of het sex.
One * = very slight (in this case a kiss),
***** = full on, NC17-type sex.
There will be a ** where it's 'safe' to read again.
Pursuit of Happiness
They pulled into the driveway, through the open gate. Elijah was waiting there, t-shirt and baggy shorts, barefoot, waving his arms. Instead of stopping, Dom gunned the gas and zoomed up the long driveway, Elijah racing behind, shouting. Ellen turned to watch him. "God, he can run!" she commented. Dom just said, "Yeah," softly, and she turned to look at him, reading from his crooked smile the things he wasn't saying: He has the best body in the world - better than any other man, better than any woman, strong, lithe, agile. And so beautiful. She turned back to watch him, fascinated by the smooth, feline grace.
"From his penchant for falling down in his movies, you'd think he was clumsy," she commented.
Dom grunted. "I just realized ..." He stopped.
Dom made no answer and Ellen, always irritated by a half-spoken thought, turned again to him. "Realized what?" she persisted.
"You don't really know us all that well," he said, pulling up to a stop.
Ellen was taken aback. In many ways that was surely true. Two days more than a year ago while they were ill hardly made for knowing the details of a friend's life, no matter how much they might talk by internet or phone.
"I'll have to fix that," she grinned as Elijah yanked open the door. Now, actually in his presence again, she was caught in a moment of awe. Everything stopped for a moment. She had forgotten that in person his beauty was a thing alive, an aura about him, an energy of both elation and peace.
Elijah hadn't really realized how much he was looking forward to seeing her. He had been so keyed up lately, with his upcoming movie, the biggest part he had landed since he came out; excitement about the wedding, doubts about how Dom actually felt about it, uncertainty about how his mother was taking it. Now, as soon as he saw her face through the window, it dawned on him that here was a person who was entirely on his side. He opened the door and practically pulled her out, grinning broadly.
She gave him a hug, meaning it to be quick, but Elijah hugged back, fiercely. She pulled him against her, deliberately avoiding getting their faces too close, getting their lips too close, remembering her reaction to kissing Dom. But it felt so good, this boy, this man, within the circle of her aura, and for a moment she was lost in a misty haze where nothing existed but two souls loving, knowing each other. She could feel his excitement sliding down into a peaceful joy, while at the same time her own tranquil acceptance of life keyed up, and she felt tinglingly alive. As though they had exchanged a bit of the best of their natures.
They stepped back from the embrace, Ellen not allowing herself to look long at his face because she wouldn't want to stop. There would be plenty of time to get her fill later.
"Wanker," Elijah called over the car to Dom. "Wouldn't stop to pick me up. You get the luggage." He steered Ellen toward the door.
Elijah put on music by his latest favorite band, and the three of them danced together, but after a bit Ellen threw herself down on the sofa to just watch. "I certainly can't keep up with you guys," she declaimed, loud enough to be heard over the pounding beat. And anyway, I want to watch.
There had been tacos ready when she arrived. Elijah had declared it one of his favorite foods. "And the only one he doesn't burn," Dom teased. Elijah threw a handful of shredded lettuce at him. Dom retaliated with a tomato slice.
Nervous and trying to act normal, Ellen thought. She threw an onion slice at Dom just to join in the laughter but then spread her arms over the rest of the food. "Don't throw it all away 'til I get seconds," she admonished.
All through the meal she avoided looking too deeply at Elijah, knowing that she wouldn't want to stop. In the car she'd had a chance to look at Dom, to relearn the angles, the movements, while he was busy driving. But a few minutes of looking at Elijah was not going to be enough. Stilted attempts at conversation (How was the trip? What've you been up to?) interspersed with spurts of clowning were lost in a sea of uneasiness, trying to find a way to be genuine, spontaneous. In a dead silence she found herself looking down at her plate, wondering whether she should fix another taco or try to come up with one of the witty or wise things they had come to expect from her on the internet. Dom touched her shoulder, and she turned to him.
"You can look at him," he said, thinking about a time he was himself afraid to look.
"You can look at him," Dom had said.
Ellen was so startled that for a moment the meaning/implication didn't sink in. In steps she sorted it: Dom realized she wasn't looking at Elijah. Dom knew how much she wanted to. Dom said it was all right. Before she thought, her head turned to do that and, to her mortification, she realized that her face was hot. Elijah's face was also reddening, and she laughed at herself.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I was trying to not be obvious. Yes," her voice turned serious as she addressed Elijah alone, "I want to look at you. I haven't changed. And you haven't gotten ugly." She reached toward him and he quirked a smile and took her hand. "My feelings haven't changed at all," she reiterated softly. She squeezed his hand, then reached up to touch his face, a tender caress. Then she pulled abruptly away. "But I don't want to rock the boat. And I don't want to embarrass you. Your friendship is worth everything."
Elijah didn't answer right away. He had been thinking of his own time of 'afraid to look.'
Being truly on his own was exciting, invigorating. Elijah felt, finally, truly a man. Not that he hadn't taken responsibility before. His had been the deciding opinion in what work he accepted for years.
His mother had deferred to him on matters of money for longer than was comfortable, but her rules, her presence, her Catholic principles had constrained every move, every decision.
She assumed that, having raised him right, she had also protected him from sexual deviancy. She certainly had protected him from examining within himself how he felt about the issues. It was simply expected that eventually he would fall in love (with a girl), get married, and then have sex.
For the most part he was glad of his upbringing. He knew she had protected him from the degeneration of the Hollywood life - from sex and drugs and a swelled head. Like any kid, he had rebelled. He'd even taken up smoking as a way to assert control. He wasn't proud of that, but not ashamed of it either.
The swelled head part he was really glad he'd avoided, when he considered the shallowness of those around him. But he did wonder, sometimes, whether there were really any normal people out there somewhere. People like his family. People he could actually like, people who weren't thinking at all times in terms of putting themselves in the spotlight.
And now, at last, he seemed to have found them.
Sean. Sean was wonderful beyond anything he had ever imagined. Sweet, beautiful, considerate, caring; and awed by Elijah's knowledge of acting.
Billy and Dom. So wrapped up in their friendship that there simply was not time for any swelled heads. Although, not from Hollywood, it kind of seemed natural that they wouldn't be so wrapped up in prestige and appearances.
Orlando. Bouncy, gorgeous, innocent, naive even. Totally at ease in any situation, with any people.
Peter. Always ready to listen, always having the right words of encouragement. His pride in Elijah showing on his (nonexistant) shirtsleeves.
It was a different world than the female dominated home he grew up in. He missed his mother's solicitation and his sister's teasing. Homesickness tugged at him daily, for the familiar and comfortable, for stores and playgrounds and skateboards.
But as September waned and October waxed, Elijah became more and more comfortable with these men. He learned to enjoy stretching his conversational skills, chatting between takes or over the lunch table.
And Sean. Sean was always there. Beautiful, caring Sean. Sometimes, as he found himself watching the third and fourth take as Peter sought a particular effect from Sean, Elijah found himself staring, fascinated with Sean's cute upper lip, his lovely eyes, the arch of his nose.
And for some reason, he found himself shy about this. In fact, he began looking away quickly if it appeared that Sean might catch him staring.
Staring. He was indeed.
Was there anything wrong, though, with staring at a beautiful face?
Elijah had conquered his embarrassment, the flush gone from his face already. He smiled sweetly. "I admit I love being loved," he allowed with a smirk. "It's certainly not going to interfere with our friendship." He changed the subject. "Let's get this cleaned up and find something fun to do."
So now Ellen just watched: Dom's moves frankly lascivious, flowing and smooth as though he were liquid music; his feel for the beat flawless and sensual. Elijah surprisingly ungraceful, struggling to move with the beat, yet somehow charming, ingenuous. The glances, the touching; the compact, muscular bodies moving together in the dance as old as time, more beautiful and suggestive than any choreographer could have planned it.
It seemed to be too serious a game to maintain for long though. Dom pinched Elijah's butt, Elijah tickled him in retaliation. Dom tackled him to the floor; Elijah rolled himself on top. They were both laughing so hard that it didn't change when one or the other got tickled. Finally, they both lay on the floor, panting and watching each other warily.
"Do you do that when you don't have an audience?" Ellen wondered.
"Sometimes." Dom studied her speculatively, then glanced at Elijah who grinned a conspiratorial response. In unison, two pairs of eyes turned on her.
"Oh, no you don't," Ellen exclaimed with all the authority she could muster. But she could see it wasn't going to be enough. She jumped up and ran shrieking for the bathroom with the boys at her heels.
A foot in the doorway foiled her plan to lock the door, so she turned on a faucet, plugged it with her thumb and aimed a spray at the first face coming in.
Somehow this didn't dampen the mood. Somehow they all ended up on the floor, wet and giggling like ten-year-olds.