Rating: R
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Elijah Wood
Summary: Dominic has always wanted Lij. Does Lij feel the same?
Notes: Written for Jenwyn's "I Want" Contest, and winner of The SK Lakely Award For Infusion Of Humor. *Proud*
~*~
"I think you should move out."
Six simple words, spoken softly over breakfast.
Scrambled eggs, that I made, with our pan and our stove and our eggs, and yeah, they can stop being "ours" just that fast. They can be his again whenever he wants.
"What?" I feign ignorance.
"Well, I think it's time. I think you should find your own place," Elijah says quietly, looking at the spot on the wall directly above my head.
I shift in our kitchen chair, and push our plate back, and try not to look like I consider these things ours. "Why?"
"Well, I think I'm putting a damper on your lovelife, and just your life in general," he mumbled into a bowl of cheerios.
Of course there's a damper on my lovelife; Elijah is my love, and my life. And there's nothing going on with that, so yeah, there's a huge fucking damper.
"You know that's not true," I say. "There was never exactly a steady stream of girls coming and going back in New Zealand."
"'Cause you're into being in love before you fuck, right?" Elijah asks, no, not asking, telling.
"Yeah."
"Sure. Dom, you never even try to make a move."
"I'm shy," I say, a bit tensely. I don't like the way this is going. I don't like his tone of voice - serious, like he's actually serious - and accusatory. Accusing me of what? Not getting any?
"And it's starting to be a drag, ok?"
"Ah. So the truth comes out." I scowl, picking at eggs with a spoon. Someone forgot to buy new plastic sporks. "I'm a damper on your lovelife."
I wish I was. I wish I could prevent him from bringing girls here and fucking them on the couch so I didn't have to hear them scream and wish it was me. I wish he thought about me half as much as I thought about him, even if they were negative thoughts.
"Well, I don't want to be harsh, but yeah."
"Thanks," I say shrilly. I know I'm being way too much the nagging housewife. "How lovely. Really. Let's hear more about me then."
"Dude," he says, and really it is more a whisper now. "It's just, I'm tired of bringing girls home and having to explain away your presence, and why there is only one bed, and if this is my house, why are you the one sleeping in it. And I'm tired of coming home to see you falling asleep in the chair by the door like you're waiting for me."
Well, Elijah, that'd be because I am waiting for you. Spending every moment waiting for you to suddenly say you love me, to come home without a girl and fuck me on the couch instead, to roll over in bed and curl your body around mine, anything really.
He's a bloody idiot for not seeing that I'm waiting.
"Tell them the truth then, okay? Tell them I'm your flatmate, and I'm waiting by the door because I'm scared you'll come home in a body bag, 'cause you get so fucking high it's amazing you actually manage to get it up." If what he'd said was harsh, this was murderous. But it was true, and maybe he needed to hear it.
"That's not any of your business, Dominic. I'm an adult, and my mother lives 100 feet away; I don't need another one. Look, I don't even know why we're having this conversation. I think it's time you found your own place, and I don't think I have to give all these reasons why and defend them."
He pushes his chair back, and stands, practically throws his plate with the eggs still on it, into the sink. He gets prissy when he's mad, more so than I. It makes for an interesting combination. If he had long hair, I'm sure he'd be tossing it behind his shoulder right now.
He turns away from me, and stands in the doorway a minute. Runs his hands over his hair, and then turns back to face me.
"Dom please. It's starting to kill me. I can't be around you like this anymore. I'm going out for some cigarettes, ok?" He smiles half-heartedly, and leaves the kitchen.
I sit there, just sit there, don't even jump up to wash our dishes. His dishes. I should go talk to him before he leaves, but what about? Hey, how's the weather up there in heaven? Heaven? Heaven, yeah, 'cause you're an angel. No. How about the game yesterday? What game? I don't watch any of these stupid american sports and he doesn't either. Shit.
Why'd you say that? Say being around me was killing you?
I'm scared of the answer that might bring.
~*~
"Where are you going?"
Spoken loudly, over his stereo.
He stands in the front doorway, having gone out for that pack of cigarettes (and a joint, no doubt), and come home to me shuttling sloppily packed boxes from the bedroom to the front door.
I don't think he expected me to leave this quickly. I think he thought we'd tiptoe around each other for a month until I found a place. But I leave today. I'm not going to stick around here and deal with this, even if being away from him is worse than being with him.
"I'm moving out," I say briskly, and drop the box by the door. "I'm going to stay with Greg until I find a flat."
I turn and start to go back into the bedroom, to collect another box. He stops me with his tone of voice: sorrow, yearning.
"Who's Greg?"
I shake my head, and then continue on to the bedroom. Grab the last box, and set it with the others. We both stand there, silent and awkward.
"Greg, he's a friend. You don't know him," I say finally, noting the look of relief on his face that I spoke first.
"Oh. Well, you don't have to leave yet, if you want..." he offers, half meaning it. I guess he wanted my exit to be on his terms.
"Elijah." I try not to sound condescending, even though I'm feeling so, very much. "There's a lot of things I want. Like, I want someone to grant my wishes...I want a friend that I can care for." I say, hoping he won't get the vague reference to the song, and realize the lines I left out. "But I can't have everything I want."
"'Cause you can't have me?" he whispers, eyes downcast as though it's daring to even say those words.
Well, obviously Dayna Manning has somehow managed to reach the ears of Mr. Neo-Bowie-with-an-Emo-twist.
I sigh, a sickening sigh that's more like a moan, and lean against the wall beside him. Yeah, Elijah, exactly.
"Something like that."
Elijah nods, and I can tell now that he's known forever; this is just the affirmation he was hoping wouldn't come. "Dom...I want you to understand why you're doing this for me, instead of just doing it 'cause it's for me." He paused, and thought carefully about his next words. "It's the same for me, ok? I want...a love that's not so painful."
Not so painful? What does he know about love, anyway? He can't possibly consider his girlfriend-for-the-night a love full of pain. It's not love; it's sex.
"You don't have a love that's painful. And, you forgot one line." I remind him, and remind myself as well. "But it doesn't matter. 'Lij, I'm just going to go-"
"Wait," he says, and touches my arm, runs his fingers up it and onto my shoulder. "You have to understand. I do, I do have a love that's painful. I love you, Dom. And it just...sucks. 'Cause I can't be with you. For reasons I don't want to understand, or try explaining. Being around you scares me, Dom. The kind of love I feel for you scares me. That's why."
Stupid, the whole thing...stupid and I can't believe it's happening. So I could have him if it weren't for his fright...his very desperate attempt to pretend he really doesn't like a boy "like that". I stand, pinned to the wall by his hand on my shoulder and my own unwillingness to move. There's not anything I could say, at this point. Except one....
"I want a boy who only kisses."
Almost like it was a beckon call, Elijah leans closer, cocks his head and kisses me. His mouth opens, and through a flood of warmth I can taste the weed he was most definitely smoking. God, he's just like I imagined.
It's nice being almost exactly as tall as someone for a change.
I try to slip my tongue in unnoticed, but as soon as I do he pulls away, kisses me on the cheek, mumbles a good-bye, and runs to the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. I think he's probably leaning against the door, running his hands over his hair, blinking rapidly. Maybe his hands are shaking, and he's reaching for a cigarette.
Or maybe that's just wishful thinking; maybe I just want him to be feeling the same thing I am.
With hands shakier than I imagined his to be, I pick up one of the boxes, kick open the door, and take it to my car. It's really fucking unfair it's ending like this. More unfair than the way we lived for so long, wanting but not having.
end.