Teaching Elijah 1
Pairing: Ian/Elijah
Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.
An air of barely contained excitement hovered over certain members of the cast and crew, causing even Orlando, never the most sensitive of people, to stop occasionally and look around, trying to see what was making, as Dom so eloquently put it, "the hairs on their dicks stand up." But nobody would tell him, and Dom had taken to smiling in what he fondly considered a mysterious fashion, which only fuelled Orlando’s desire to smack him in the mouth.
"You’re not clever, you know," he snapped finally as Dom nodded knowingly at three crew members who were walking past. "You don’t know what’s going on, you just like to pretend that you do."
"No, you like to pretend that I’m pretending," Dom sounded incredibly pleased with himself, and Orlando actually felt his teeth grinding. He made a conscious effort to stop doing it, since an elf with toothache would be a Bad Thing.
"Has Sir Ian arrived yet?" Elijah appeared out of nowhere, moving ridiculously quietly on the Hobbit feet, and planted himself next to Orlando. "He’s some kind of icon to the gay people in the crew, you know. The High Queen or something."
Orlando smiled at Elijah and then turned to Dom, letting the smile morph into something altogether more smug, enjoying Dom’s look of vague peevishness before he pretended to spot somebody more interesting in the distance, and with a vague wave at Elijah and a smirk at Dom, he left them to it, going in search of fresh gossip.
"Soooo…" Elijah began, far too casually, before pausing to pull up a chair and flump into it. Dom followed suit and they sat in silence for a long minute, before Elijah shifted and put his feet firmly in Dom’s lap.
"What do you expect me to do with those? Comb your foot hair or something?"
"I’m resting them. Shut up." Elijah looked around again and then back at Dom. "Soooo…"
"Will you stop saying that, you sound like you’re gonna start herding pigs or something. What’s on what we laughingly call your mind?"
"You ever met him? Sir Ian?"
"Oh yes, you know how small my country is. He lives between me and Liz Hurley." Elijah glared and Dom relented. "No, I haven’t met him. Heard good stuff about him though - he’s meant to be a really decent bloke."
"Mmmm," agreed Elijah absently.
"What? What are you thinking about, you little toad?"
"Stuff," said Elijah, glancing at Dom from the corner of his eye. "Just stuff."
"No, this is you. You don’t think about ‘just stuff’. You always think about great big honking stuff. Want to explain?"
"Not really, no." Elijah stood up and turned, ready to walk away, before he seemed to change his mind, turning back to Dom. "Big stuff, you’re right there. One day I’ll tell you, okay? Just not yet."
"Okay." Dom watched as Elijah walked away, shrugging to himself. Weird sod.
*
Sir Ian’s arrival was remarkably low key. One day he wasn’t there, and the next day he was, as simple as that. One day Elijah didn’t have a Gandalf to play opposite him, and the next he did. He was aware that Ian was there all morning, but there was no chance to officially meet him until Peter finally called a break sometime in the early afternoon.
"Hey, Elijah! Come over here, you need to meet Sir Ian!" Peter was never one for formal introductions, and so it was that the Hobbit met the Wizard whilst said Wizard was wearing white linen trousers and a shirt better suited to tennis on the lawn. Elijah felt grubby and dirty, and was horribly aware of the fact that his feet were starting to stink to high heaven as the glue and the latex did their worst.
Dom, as was his current wont, was already hovering in the vicinity, and he smiled as Elijah approached. He hadn’t known his co-star long, but he was already able to read the odd mixture of nervousness and anticipation in Elijah’s bearing.
"Elijah, Sir Ian; Ian, Elijah." That, Peter considered, was enough of an introduction for anybody, and he had work to do. With a nod at both of them he marched away, his mind already elsewhere.
"Well, I suppose we’ve been left to our own devices." Ian smiled at Elijah. "It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you."
"Hello, " Elijah replied looking, in Dom’s opinion, so coy as to be almost edible. Except that would make him a carp. A koi carp. Dom snorted at his own outstanding wit, and then subsided as Elijah turned and gave him a glare stern enough to stop an oliphaunt in its tracks. "Didn’t you have somewhere to be, Dom?"
"No. Which is to say, yes," agreed Dom. "Sir Ian, it’s a pleasure, a real pleasure. I’ve just got to go and … over here … do something." With that, he wandered off, casting confused glances back over his shoulder. Elijah had turned back to the older actor and was, unless Dom was much mistaken (and he never was) flirting with him, head tilted to one side, the works. Any second now he was going to get all bashful and look down at his own feet, which would then give him the chance to glance up under his eyelashes.
"Well, well," Dom said aloud. "Bugger me. Or rather, bugger him."
*
"So Elijah, we’ll be working together rather closely, I believe." Ian draped himself in his chair, crossing his long legs and tilting his head slightly so that he could look at Elijah, because it was worth looking at. The face wasn’t perfect, not by any manner of means, but it was utterly captivating in its openness and honesty. The eyes were a little uneven, the teeth charmingly crooked - so wearing to see perfect teeth all the time - and to be frank, the young man stank both of whatever noxious substance he smoked and old feet. But he was still a beautiful thing to behold.
"Yeah, and that’s great," agreed Elijah, dropping gracefully to the ground and sitting at Ian’s feet, carrying off the move with such a casual, natural air that Ian merely smiled, rather than making some caustic comment. Elijah rested his chin on his knees and smiled. "I am a little bit nervous though," he admitted. "I mean there’s so much talent in this cast …" He tailed off and shrugged his shoulders charmingly.
"Nothing to be nervous about, dear boy," Ian assured him. "We’ll have a marvellous time."
"I hope so," Elijah answered. "There’s so much I want to learn about, so much that people here can teach me - that you could teach me, if it wasn’t too much trouble for you." He looked down and then up again, catching the look on Ian’s face, and something inside him clenched. He was acting on a stupid, stupid instinct here - an idiot idea that had come to him only a few weeks ago - and he wasn’t sure how it would work.
"I’m sure that you know a great deal already," Ian answered, studying the modestly downturned face. Looking like that, sweet boy, you’re surely not an innocent! "What do you still have to learn?"
"Lots," said Elijah. "So much."
"And I’m the one to teach you?"
Elijah looked up and Ian couldn’t help but blink as he was subjected to the full treatment. Stinky feet or not, when Elijah did that, it took a brave man to deny him anything.
"Yes," he said softly. "I think you are."
*
Dom watched Elijah. He liked people-watching at the best of times, but Elijah fascinated him in ways he couldn’t explain. So much there, hidden behind that innocent little boy face. And as he watched him now, he saw Elijah watching someone else; watching Ian with a strange look in his eyes, a look that Dom couldn't really name, but if he was pushed, he would be tempted to call it lust. But that couldn't be right, could it? Ian was old - okay, he was a charmer, but he was an old charmer. If Elijah was after an on-set fling, there were much younger people, of either sex, willing to play along. Why would he choose an old codger like Ian?
He blinked as Billy appeared in his line of vision, grinning in a way that rarely boded well.
"What?" Dom asked suspiciously. "Why are you looking like that?"
"I was going to ask you the same," Billy replied. "You're gazing off into what less suspicious people would call the middle distance; however I am a suspicious sod and I would like to know why you're trying to bore two holes into Elijah's arse."
"I'm not looking at his arse," protested Dom.
"Well, less suspicious people would think you were gazing at some other portion of his anatomy," agreed Billy placidly, leaning next to Dom, "but as we've established I am a suspicious sod, and anyway, looking at that angle, what else would you be staring at?"
Dom shrugged and laughed. They stood in companionable silence for a few minutes watching Elijah as Elijah watched Ian.
*
"What's wrong?" Ian glanced over and caught Elijah staring at him again. He was beginning to find it distinctly unnerving since it seemed that every time he turned around the spooky blue eyes were fixed on him.
"Nothing," Elijah answered immediately and automatically. "I'm just thinking, you know."
"Yes, I know," Ian agreed, not pursuing it. He was warming to Elijah more and more as they worked together, moved by the need Elijah seemed to have to be touched and hugged; and after all, who wouldn't be happy to be positively fawned over by this loving bundle of energy?
"I get homesick sometimes," Elijah said suddenly, and Ian nodded, not speaking. "Can I tell you something?"
"Anything, you should know that."
"I brought a blanket with me from home. It's not a blankie, you understand, I want to make that perfectly clear. Just a blanket. Smells of home."
Ian ruthlessly smothered a smile, and managed to turn a snort of unanticipated laughter into a cough. Elijah glared suspiciously for a second and then relented and smiled slightly. "Smells of home," he said again, this time more softly.
"It must be hard for you," Ian said when he could get his voice under control. "But just think of how much you'll learn here, and there's always the added bonus of being away from your family," He winked and Elijah's smile grew wider.
"There is that," he agreed. "Oh I don't hang around like some wimp who just needs smacking, don't get me wrong. I just - miss them sometimes; mom, and my brother and sister. The dog..." He tailed off and laughed. "I sound really pathetic, don't I?"
"Not at all. You sound like a perfectly sane young man." He paused and then looked around theatrically. "Shall I tell you something?" He leaned closer and beckoned to Elijah, who obediently scooted forwards. "I have a piece of quartz that I carry with me at all times. A dear friend gave it to me many years ago, and I like to keep it with me." He smiled in a way Elijah thought was almost wistful, and he scooted forwards another inch and put his hand on Ian's leg. Ian shook his head, obviously clearing it, and briefly covered Elijah's hand with one of his own. "We all have things we like to keep with us."
*
"That boy," Billy said softly, "is a fucking genius. He's seen what he wants and he's going for it. But why does he want to shag Ian? Explain."
"I don't have the foggiest," Dom admitted. "Do you think he's ever done it before? Elijah, I mean. Shagged, I mean. With a bloke."
"You mean?"
"Fuck off and answer the question." Dom prodded Billy hard in the side.
"I don't know," Billy admitted. "I mean, he looks like every sin in the book, and he was brought up in Hollywood, so it's feasible, but there's something about him that makes me think he's been pretty well protected from lots of stuff..." Billy tailed off and shook his head. "I don't know why he's chosen Ian though."
"Chosen?" Dom shifted so that he was leaning one shoulder against the wall, facing Billy. "Why did you say chosen?"
"Because that's what he's done, I think," replied Billy, shrugging his shoulders. "I think he's made his choice."
*
Elijah sat on his couch, gazing fixedly at the phone. He had a cigarette in his hand which had almost burned out, completely unnoticed, and in the other hand he had a glass of wine which he sipped at distractedly. His fellow cast members wouldn't believe that he could sit still for so long, but in fact he had learned a long time ago how to be still for long periods of time - it was a necessary part of his job; to hurry up and wait. To learn patience.
He had been patient for 6 weeks now, watching as Ian settled in and became one of them, part of the Fellowship, and with each passing week a need had grown in him that he couldn't name, not with confidence, but it was a need which tied his guts up in knots and made him wake up in the night, hard and sweaty. His dreams were strange and haunted; a figure touching him, leading him somewhere he couldn’t name. He knew it was Ian, it had to be, and now he had to decide what he was going to do about it.
"Jesus!" He finally moved, dropping the cigarette into the glass of wine and glaring around the empty room. "You’ve got a crush, you sad fucker. A crush on an old English dude. Could have been Dom. Could have been Orlando - now that would have been sensible - but noooo, not you. You have to have wet dreams about your grandad."
He was trying to fool himself, and he knew it. As soon as he had realised Ian was going to be in the movie, his mind had started working, trying to find an angle for this. The dreams and the general sweatiness were getting worse the longer he left it. He wanted Ian; weird as it undoubtedly was, that was what he wanted.
And sitting around staring at the phone wasn’t going to make it happen.
Lighting another cigarette, he took a deep drag on it, waiting until he was lightheaded before exhaling, then he reached for the phone and dialled before he could change his mind.
"Hi," he said brightly. "It's me, Elijah. I was just wondering - this may sound a little odd - but would you like to come to dinner tomorrow? I mean, we have the day off, don't we? Well, not tomorrow, but the day after… That is, dinner tomorrow, and the day after we’re off…" He stopped and was briefly grateful that he didn't have a video phone, since that would have allowed Ian to see that he was attempting to silently beat himself up.
"That would be lovely, Elijah." Ian's voice was smooth as honey. "Where would you like to go?"
"Oh, neat!" Elijah closed his eyes in complete disgust. Neat. Oh god, there really was no hope. "Er, why don't you choose? Just let me know, yeah? Wouldn't want to have to search the whole of the island for you!" He tried to hold back a giggle, but it was hopeless, and as he hung the phone up, he just knew that Ian was trying to hold back hysterical laughter. Briefly contemplating killing himself, he decided instead to go to bed.
*
During the next day's filming, Elijah saw Ian watching him on several occasions, a small smile on his lips, and he felt suitably mocked. He couldn't forgive himself for having used the word 'neat.' It made him sound so - Californian. He spent the day trying to be very English, in the hope that he could be forgiven.
At lunch, Ian came over to him as he sat with the other hobbits and, without speaking, slipped a piece of paper into his coat pocket. Elijah waited until the others had stopped asking him what was on the paper before he actually looked. The name of a restaurant, and a time. He couldn't help feeling a thrill as he screwed the paper up and mixed it into the remains of his lunch so that nobody could see it.
"You," said Billy, "are a tart."
"No I'm not," he protested. "Go away and bond with Dom, why don't you?"
"Because I'm all bonded out, little American boy." Billy's smile slipped. "Seriously, sunshine, do you know what you're trying to do, what you're letting yourself in for?"
"I'm not 'letting myself' in for anything," Elijah protested. "It's just a dinner date."
"Date?"
"Just dinner," Elijah amended. He stood up and walked over to Billy and leaned in to give him a quick hug. "Just dinner, little Scotch man."
"Scottish," Billy amended, laughing. "Scotch is a drink; Scottish is what I am."
"Whatever. Come on, time to hobbit."
*
The boisterous approach wasn’t the one to use, Elijah decided as he studied his reflection. He had a mission in mind, and tonight was the night It was going to happen. Hopefully. With a final tweak to the hair, he was done. Black linen pants and a midnight blue shirt. He looked, he had to admit, pretty damn good.
"Fuck," he said aloud. "I’d want to have sex with me, especially if I offered it to me on a plate."
As he stepped away from the mirror he jumped at the sound of a car horn. His cab, ready to take him to dinner, where, if he was lucky, he would be the dessert.
*
Surreptitiously, Ian watched Elijah approach the table, weaving past the other diners with a wonderfully unselfconscious sway of his hips, a half smile on his face at all times, even though he was carefully not meeting the eyes of his fellow diners; he was already learning how to create space around himself without seeming rude.
Ian wasn’t surprised to realise that his opinion of this boy was changing; he had, perhaps, been fooled by the beauty and boyish charm projected at all and sundry. Now, as they worked together and spent time together, he was beginning to understand that Elijah was much more than the sum of his looks. He had wisdom beyond his years, no doubt about that, but there was also a core of absolute steel - he would bend, but he would never, eever break, and Ian wasn’t even sure if Elijah realised that about himself.
As he watched, Elijah glanced up and smiled, before sliding into the chair opposite Ian’s.
"Hi," he said. "You look good."
"So do you, Elijah. Very good."
"Thanks. I like to make an effort sometimes, you know?"
"I’m sure I do, yes." Ian picked up a menu from the table and passed it to Elijah. "I took the liberty of ordering the wine, but I’m afraid I don’t know what you wanted to eat. They don’t do hamburgers here."
Elijah looked up, ready to protest, but caught the twinkle in Ian’s eyes and instead he smiled, not speaking. He opened the menu and pretended to study the choice before him, but he couldn’t stop his eyes sliding up to glance over at Ian. This part of the plan hadn’t been thought out properly, he would be the first to admit, but he had been pretty sure he could wing it. He looked up again and saw Ian’s kind eyes full of knowledge and wisdom and he felt his whole gut lurch with a searing want which frightened and amazed him in equal measure.
"So, what do you want to eat?" Ian asked, and Elijah bit down on his tongue to make sure that he didn’t make a fool of himself, or use the word ‘neat’ in any of its forms.
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
"Are you deferring to my age?" Ian asked, one eyebrow raised archly, and Elijah snorted, realising that he was in danger of becoming very, very girly.
"No," he said, "I’m not. Lobster. I’ll have the lobster."
"Excellent choice," commented Ian, and held up a hand to attract the attention of the helpfully hovering waiter, who had chosen that moment to start looking out of the window.
*
The meal was undoubtedly superb, and Ian was a witty and urbane companion, happy to regale Elijah with stories of previous shoots and how happy he was to be doing this role here and now.
"But you, young man," he said as the conversation began to flag. "What made you ring me and invite me to dinner? What makes you watch me on the set – and don’t try and deny it, because I may be old, but I’m far from blind."
Elijah swirled the last of his wine around in his glass, trying to decide whether to be coy, appealing or plain honest. He looked into Ian’s amused eyes, and went for honest.
"Yes, I have been watching you," he said slowly. "There’s something I need to ask you, something that’s been digging at my head since the day I heard you were going to be in the movie." He paused and looked down at his hands before raising his head again. "Remember when I said that I had things I still needed to learn, things that I need to be taught? And how I think that you’re the person to teach me?"
Ian sat back, a small frown appearing between his eyes. He wasn’t sure that he liked the way Elijah was looking at him; nervous and slightly edgy.
"Teach you?" he asked, calling on his years of training but to his regret, sounding more like Lady Bracknell commenting on handbags than a mature actor. If he would just stop looking at me like that… "What exactly would you like me to teach you?"
"Everything." Elijah smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "That clear enough for you? I want you to teach me everything there is to know, everything that you know. And the first thing I want you to do is take me back to your house and f… make love to me."
Ian gaped like a goldfish for what felt like half an hour, but was in reality only a matter of seconds.
"Elijah, stop it. This isn’t worthy of you."
"I’m not trying to be worthy," Elijah sat back in his seat and glanced around the room. "I’m asking you to do this. There’s no catch; I won’t demand that you take me back to England and introduce me as the love of your life. I want to learn, I want you to teach me. About life, and about acting, and about sex. I want you to tell me wild stories of what you got up to when you were my age." He paused and then leaned forward once more. "I don’t want my first experience with a man to be some grope in a trailer between shots; I don’t want it to be over in 10 seconds. I want to feel it all."
"But what makes you think you want to be with a man?" Ian could feel himself being drawn into this ridiculous idea; he wasn’t a saint, and he wasn’t one for denying himself the pleasures of life, and he couldn’t deny that the thought of this precocious little handful warming his bed was an enticing one. Mentally, he shook himself. "How old are you, Elijah? And don’t lie, it’s not as if I can’t check."
"Nineteen," Elijah admitted. "God, why does age have to matter so much?"
"Because, dear boy, in some countries you aren’t even legal."
"Would I be legal in England?" Elijah asked, and smiled when Ian nodded. "Well, we can pretend that we’re in England." He huffed out an annoyed sigh. "God, why does it have to matter how old I am? I know what I want, and I want to learn."
"And so I ask you again, what makes you think you want to be with a man?" Ian sat back in his chair, as far away from this intoxicating child as he could politely get. He then chastised himself mentally. Not a child, Ian, he hasn’t been a child for a long time.
"I just know," Elijah shrugged. "I like girls, I like their softness and I like the way they smell, but when it comes to doing the dirty … I want to do it with someone who has the same plumbing as me. I just know."
"You certainly have a way with words," Ian smiled. "Listen, Elijah. If this happened - and I’m saying if, kindly notice - what would people say? I can handle anything people throw at me; after all I’m old, a queen and out, so I can be insulted on three fronts there - but you… what would your mother say?"
The expression on Ian’s face was so serious that Elijah had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to make sure he didn’t laugh out loud, which wouldn’t have done, oh no, wouldn’t have done at all.
"Well I wasn’t necessarily counting on telling my mother," he finally managed to say, in an almost normal tone. "Ian, I’m not wasting all this time, you know? I’m on the other side of the world to my home; people here haven’t got a clue who any of us are - no offence - and so I intend to enjoy myself. I’ve already got more drunk, more often than I have in practically my entire life, and I’ve done things that would make my poor mom’s hair go grey if she knew about them. But she never will, and that’s my point; I want to try it all while I’m here, and go home knowing more than I did. I’m going to do most of my growing up in a strange country, away from everybody I know…" He tailed off and shrugged his shoulders. "I know what I want."
"So you want to have sex with a man as some kind of growing up ritual?" Ian asked. Against all common sense, he could feel his resolve weakening as he watched Elijah, his eyes wide, his lips red and slightly parted, looking like some kind of fantastical virginal slut made flesh.
"No," Elijah insisted. "It’s not just ‘have sex.’ I told you, I want you to teach me, show me everything I need to know. For as long as you want me around, I’ll be your willing pupil. Anything you choose to teach me …" Elijah leaned forward, the tip of his tongue moistening already moist lips "… anything at all."
And even though he knew he was being played, and even though he knew that this was quite possibly a very bad idea, Ian’s good intentions crashed around his feet as he watched that sharp little tongue flicker across those plump, shining lips.
For the first time that evening he let his eyes rove openly over Elijah’s body, or at least as much of it as could be seen above the table. Tight and firm - Ian could feel himself hardening as he thought of that body underneath his own, or covering him. Being allowed to stroke that pale flesh … He must have let some of his thoughts show on his face because Elijah’s breathing began to speed up and he couldn’t quite mask the look of triumph in his eyes, as he leaned back, offering more of himself to Ian’s gaze.
"You are a bad, bad boy," Ian said finally, letting his gaze lock with Elijah’s. "But you are also too charming and foolish to deny. Come along, Grasshopper, we have work to do." The giggle Elijah gave was flinchingly loud and young, and Ian felt himself waver: Just what are you doing, you old Mary? And then Elijah stood up and moved away from the table, and whilst Ian accepted that perving after a 19 year old’s backside could perhaps be seen as a little sick, it was hardly the same when that backside was being offered up, was it?
No.
*
The cab ride back to Ian’s was remarkably easy and casual, with Ian pointing out the local landmarks, and Elijah pointing out the trash cans he had thrown up in, and by the time they were standing on the pavement outside Ian’s house, any tension seemed to have dissipated.
"Come on," Ian said, "let's go and have some coffee, yes?"
"Yeah, sure," Elijah agreed. He stood back and watched as Ian unlocked the door. Well, it seemed to be going well so far; now it was just a question of seeing what happened next. He had agreed to be Ian's pupil, which could be a lot of fun, but he had meant it; he wanted to learn.
Ian beckoned Elijah in and pointed towards the living room, soft light leaking from the doorway. Nodding silently Elijah pushed the door open and went in, listening to the clink of cups and spoons as Ian bustled around in the kitchen. He had been in Ian's house before of course, but he had never taken his time and looked around, trying to get to know a little bit about this man. He ran his finger over the well worn spines of a few of the books propped on the shelves and idly picked up a couple of the photographs, recognising a much younger Ian in one of them, but not the other people he was with; he was laughing uproariously, obviously enjoying being the centre of attention, and Elijah felt the corners of his mouth quirk - that hadn't changed!
He jumped as a hand reached over his shoulder and plucked the photograph from his fingers, putting it back on the shelf. "Happy days," Ian said softly. His finger traced the face of one of the laughing young men in the group, then his hand moved to rest on Elijah's shoulder, the same finger tracing along the side of his neck.
Elijah's stomach clenched with nerves as he pushed into the touch, then turned his head so that Ian's thumb was brushing the corner of his mouth. Reaching out he ran his hand down Ian's chest, resting it on his stomach.
"Are you sure?" Ian asked softly, his breath catching as Elijah nodded. He was so young.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, Elijah stepped forward and lifted his head, lips parting slightly as his eyes slid half closed and with a groan, Ian realised that he was completely lost, and he lowered his head, brushing his lips softly against Elijah's. It was startling and wonderful; the sensation of young, willing flesh against his was something he had thought lost to him, but as he felt Elijah push more deeply into the kiss, pressing his body against Ian's, he realised that he could no more back away from this than he could capture the moon. He let his fingers trail softly down Elijah's back, revelling in the gentle moan that move elicited, and then reluctantly, he pulled back, watching as Elijah's eyes slowly opened, his gaze slowly coming back into focus.
"You are a very beautiful young man," Ian said, his thumbs resting against Elijah's throat, moving gently, keeping Elijah slightly off balance and unfocused as his body craved more of the touch. "And I feel this is a bad, bad idea, but I'm a foolish old queen, and you are so tempting..." Ian trailed off and watched as Elijah swayed slightly, his eyes slowly sliding half closed again, his head tipping backwards. It was intensely erotic and Ian was already hard.
"More..." Elijah whispered softly. "Please... more." He leaned forwards, his hands coming up to cup Ian’s face, his breath hot and damp against the older man’s neck. Ian tipped his head back, his own breathing shallow and fast, and Elijah’s hands slipped until they were tangled in the collar of the white silk shirt Ian had so fastidiously ironed earlier that evening.
With more willpower than he realised he would need, Ian pushed Elijah away, and shook his head.
"No more tonight," he said, swallowing loudly. "Drink your coffee and come and sit with me on the sofa."
It took a moment for Ian’s words to penetrate the haze of pure lust filling Elijah’s mind, but when it did, he felt his mouth open and then close again.
"What?" He blinked, and then said it again. "What?"
"You heard," Ian answered, smiling slightly. "You said yourself that you didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want it all to be over too soon. Take this as being your first lesson." He leaned forward and kissed Elijah on the forehead, ignoring the snort of disgust that produced. "Now come on."
*
"So, why is that it?" Elijah asked when they were both on the couch - sofa - whatthefuckever. "Do I suck at kissing?"
"If you did, you wouldn’t be doing it right," said Ian gravely, smiling gently as Elijah went off into peals of laughter, all traces of the determined seducer lost as the boy appeared again. Eventually, still hiccuping slightly, he rested his head against Ian’s shoulder, sliding over until their bodies were pressed together.
"It’s nice," he said, after a long minute’s silence, "don’t you think?"
"Yes, I do," Ian replied, letting his hand rest on Elijah’s thigh. "Treat this as part of your education. It isn’t necessary to fill every second of every day with noise. Learn to enjoy silence occasionally."
"And you’d really like me to appreciate it early in the morning, wouldn’t you? Say, when we’re all in Feet?" He laughed again. "You could just tell us to shut up, you know."
"You wouldn’t hear me," Ian said, squeezing Elijah’s leg. "You’re a noisy bunch, most especially you and that Monaghan boy."
Elijah tilted his head so that he could look at Ian, and smiled, stretching up and planting a soft kiss on his cheek.
"More … please," he whispered.
Ian smiled and shook his head, only too aware of how easy it would be to say yes, to simply bed this enticing handful. But this was being done properly, and it wasn’t the time.
"No more," he said softly. "Either sit with me and enjoy the silence, or take yourself home. Which is it to be?"
"Stay here," Elijah answered, his head returning to its position against Ian's shoulder. "It's nice here." He let his eyes slide closed and listened to the soft sounds around him; the distant hum and rattle of the refrigerator as it switched itself off, cars passing in the street outside, and closer to hand, Ian's breathing, deep and slow, and under that his heartbeat, a steady, comforting sound, reassuring as it continued in its relentless task.
Ian pulled Elijah closer, his cheek resting against the mop of dark hair, his nostrils full of the scent of hair gel and cigarettes. Easy, so easy, to turn his head slightly and kiss the top of Elijah's head, smiling at the muffled grunt it produced. So quiet now as the night deepened, so peaceful. Just the two of them left awake as the world spiralled down to sleep.
He was startled out of his half-trance, half-doze as Elijah pulled away and turned himself around so that he was sitting in Ian's lap. He wrapped both arms around Ian's neck and smiled up at him, another facet coming to the surface; no seducer, no boy; just a young man who wanted comfort and warmth. He pressed his face against Ian's chest and let his eyes close again, one hand sliding down until it was resting over Ian's heart.
"If I had grandchildren, they would be your age," whispered Ian, his lips against Elijah's forehead. "I wonder if they would have ever done this? Sat in my lap, trusting me to look after them as they slept." He pulled Elijah tight against him for a second, and then softly shook him awake. "Come on, it's time you went home."
Elijah, dazed by sleep as well as by the thwarted lust of earlier in the evening, let himself be chivvied to his feet, standing quietly while Ian rang a cab, and then, whilst waiting for it to arrive, planted himself in Ian's arms again, tilting his face up and begging silently for kisses. Safe in the knowledge that the cab would arrive before anything could get out of hand, Ian lowered his head and kissed Elijah, softly at first, chaste, closed mouthed kisses, smiling when Elijah began to shift impatiently. Then he opened his mouth, letting his tongue trail across Elijah's lips, which willingly parted, and for a few minutes they both lost themselves in the wonder and newness of what was happening and the excitement of what was to come.
Ian finally pulled away as the headlights of the cab caused the room to flare into brief life. He looked down at Elijah with his parted, swollen lips, and his half closed eyes, and used every bit of self control he had to stop himself telling the cab driver that things had changed, and that nobody was leaving the house, not this night.
"You have to go now," he said, running his fingers through thick, dark hair. "You've been working hard, and you're tired. Go home and get some sleep."
"Okay." Elijah sighed, but didn't argue, more than ready to go home, to take out what had happened this evening and turn it over in his hands, studying it from all angles. "But this is only the start, right? You're not going to change your mind?"
"No, I won't change my mind." Ian opened the door, his head clearing in the cool night air. "I'll see you tomorrow."
He didn't close the door until the cab turned the corner, out of his sight.
*
Elijah didn’t sleep much that night. He got home, showered and went to bed, fully intending to sleep, but the minute his head hit the pillow his mind began to work and wouldn’t shut down. So much to think about, so many sensations to relive. He ran his fingers over his lips, still swollen and sore from kissing Ian, and slowly, languorously, let one of his fingers slide into his mouth, his tongue sliding up and down the length of it, catching on the ragged nail, trying to imagine how it would feel to have a cock in his mouth, or more specifically, Ian’s cock. He had never had a man, not fully - a few fumbled handjobs didn’t count - and he didn’t know how it would taste, how it would feel. He added a second finger, trying to simulate the width of a cock, feeling it fill his mouth.
He let his other hand weave lazily down his body, trailing over the soft skin of his belly, until the tips of his fingers were brushing against his own cock, hard and needy. He gripped it tightly and began to work it, his hips lifting off the bed, pushing into an imaginary grip. His tongue kept licking and sucking at his fingers, his mind supplying the heat and smell of another body, and it wasn’t long before his whole body went rigid as he came, violently enough to cry out, the sound muffled. As he calmed down, he turned his head to the side, still breathing hard, almost whimpering, and gazed out of the window at the slowly lightening sky.
He fell asleep with his fingers still in his mouth, like some kind of bizarre comforter.