Teaching Elijah 7
Pairing: Ian/Elijah
Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.
The next day, Elijah was back to his old self, which was a relief to many people, not least of all Peter, who was under more stress than anybody could imagine. The last thing he needed was his Frodo going off in some kind of daze.
As a result, he worked Elijah hard the whole day, moving from close-ups to group shots, and even throwing in a bit of blue screen, just to make the most of him. At the end of a fourteen hour day, Elijah was so tired he could hardly stand up, and when Peter finally called it a day, all he wanted to do was curl up and cry himself to sleep.
"Come on." Sean’s familiar and comforting arm slipped around him. "Let’s get you into Feet, and then get you home. I’ve never seen Pete work anybody so hard."
"S’all right," Elijah muttered, his feet dragging on the floor as he walked, causing him to stumble as the prosthetic caught in the rough ground. "I wasn’t really with it yesterday, and I think this was his way of showing me that he wasn’t thrilled."
"Sean…" Elijah felt Sean stiffen and turn at the sound of Ian’s voice, but he could hardly bring himself to react. It would be nice to fold into those arms and sleep, though.
"Hey, Ian. What can I do for you?"
"Not for me, my dear. Your good lady wife is on the telephone, and I was the one walking past at the time and so was entrusted with the message. Apparently your mobile - so sorry, ‘cell’ - isn’t switched on."<
"That’s because hobbits don’t have them," Sean said, amusement showing clearly in his voice. "Could you guide this hobbit to safety for me?"
"Good grief, what a myriad of tasks I’m being entrusted with today." Elijah felt himself being transferred from one set of arms to another. "Of course I will. Give my love to your wife."
"Get home, Lij. Sleep tight." Elijah listened to receding hobbit footsteps.
"You look dreadful, Elijah." Ian’s voice was completely different now, the amused, slightly world-weary tone replaced by real concern. "Did Peter ask too much of you today?"
"No, honestly, I’m fine," Elijah said, giving the lie to the statement even as he said it, sagging gratefully into Ian’s arms. "It’s just a combination of a late night and a long day. I’m fine." He struggled out of Ian’s arms, slightly embarrassed at being tended to by somebody so much older than he was. If Ian could finish a day still sprightly and good natured, then he sure as fuck wasn’t going to slide to the floor and stay there until spring, even if that’s what he felt like doing.
"There’s no shame in being exhausted," Ian’s voice was kind and understanding. "You work hard at this, Elijah, and you have the thought always in the back of your mind, don’t you? The thought that this film falls or stands with you. That takes it out of a person." He put his arm back around Elijah’s shoulders. "Come on, let’s do what Sean told us, or we’ll both be for the high jump."
"And that would never do," Elijah said seriously. "I have no idea what it means, but it sounds bad, and possibly painful."
Telling himself that it was to stop them both having to high jump, Elijah let himself be steered into Feet where he dozed off and on for the best part of an hour, listening to Dominic and Billy bickering gently over nothing in particular. Now he had seen them together, seen how good they were, Elijah found himself fascinated by the tone of their argument, listening to it with a new appreciation. Although he had known that they were an item for some time, actually witnessing it made it more immediate somehow, and he smiled at the old married couple tone they sometimes adopted.
"Okay, that’s you done." Elijah was startled out of his half doze as the person he privately thought of as ‘my foot fetishist’, patted his ankle and stood up, gathering together all the disgusting tools of his trade. "Go home, Elijah. Sleep tight."
"What is this?" Elijah pushed himself to his feet and stretched hugely. "People keep telling me to sleep. Do I look that bad?"
"Put it this way," said Dominic. "If Pete wants to film Tortured and Close To Death Frodo tomorrow, then you won’t need much in the way of make-up."
"Bleurgh," Elijah replied wittily. "I’m going home to sleep then. Wake me up next year."
Getting changed as quickly as was possible with fingers that refused to co-operate, Elijah made his way out of his trailer and headed for where his car should be parked. Except it wasn’t. Elijah blinked a couple of times and then looked again, just in case it was covered in some mysterious cloaking device, but still nothing.
He sighed, and bit his lip, so ridiculously close to tears that he was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t just slightly hormonal, when Ian’s voice cut through the confused fog of his brain.
"Come along. I sent your driver home. No point in his being here when you’re coming back with me."
"But.." Elijah tailed off, and officially gave up. He had reached the stage of not really caring where he went, as long as there was a bed when he got there. Instead of arguing, he simply climbed into the back of Ian’s car and closed his eyes.
Ian was more than slightly worried about Elijah. Yes, he had undoubtedly worked hard, both physically and more importantly perhaps, emotionally, but as he glanced over, he thought he had never seen anyone look so completely drained. He longed to reach out and hold him, try and bring some of that bright energy back, but one look at his driver made him realise what a foolish move that would be. It would be all over the set tomorrow that they had gone home together; why add fuel to the fire by touching Elijah, holding him as he so badly wanted to.
The journey to Ian’s house passed in a heartbeat for Elijah; one second he was climbing into Ian’s car, the next he was being shaken gently awake by Ian, clambering out of the car, ungainly in his tiredness, and being chivvied into Ian’s house, where he stood, uncertain and ragged, in the kitchen.
"Do you want something to eat?" Ian asked, automatically switching on the kettle. "I don’t have much, but I’m sure I could rustle something up."
"Are you eating?" Elijah asked, amazed to hear how dull his voice sounded. "Well I won’t either," he continued when Ian shook his head. "D’you think I could just have a shower?"
"My home is your home, Elijah. You should know that by now."
As soon as he heard the water start running, Ian picked up the phone.
"Peter. Would you care to tell me just what you’ve done with Elijah? The only one I’ve seen today is a shadow."
"I know he’s tired, but I’m sure he’s at home having a good night’s sleep." Peter sounded alive and energetic, as if a good night’s sleep was the last thing on his mind, even after putting in a 20 hour day. "We had to shoot some of the Cirith Ungol scenes today, and it took more out of him than he expected, I think. He’s a good little actor, Ian. He feels it right down inside."
"Yes, you’re right," Ian said, nodding even though Peter couldn’t see him. "Thank you, Peter. I was just a little concerned when I saw him earlier. I know he tends to burn the candle at both ends and I thought perhaps he had over-reached himself."
"He bounces," Peter assured him blithely. "Tomorrow he’ll be fine again. Just as well, since he’s going to spend most of the day having his finger bitten off."
"I’m sure he can hardly wait." With that, Ian bid Peter goodnight and hung up the phone. Picking up his cup of tea from the counter, he made his way upstairs. The shower was still running when he reached the bedroom, and he prevaricated for a long moment, trying to decide whether he would be welcome to go in, or whether he should stay where he was.
The decision was taken out of his hands when the water was turned off, and after a minute, a damp, pink Elijah appeared, swathed in a bath sheet big enough for him and several friends.
"This is so big I can practically pleat it," he said. "I know people who would wear this to go out."
"Well, I’m not one of them." Ian perched on the edge of the bed and beckoned Elijah to join him. When Elijah had obeyed, Ian took a corner of the huge towel and began to rub at the dark hair until it was nothing more than damp.
"That’s better," he said finally, dropping the towel and letting the tips of his fingers rest lightly on the damp skin just below Elijah’s hairline. "How do you feel now?"
"Tired." Elijah’s voice was flat and nasal, most unlike his usual self, and Ian slid off the bed until he was on his knees in front of Elijah, small hands clasped firmly in his own. Elijah looked at him and blinked once or twice, stupid and dizzy with exhaustion.
"You’ve had a hard day," Ian said softly. He reached up with one hand and rubbed at the faint frown mark between Elijah’s eyebrows. "I was hoping tonight would be our night for doing a little talking, but you’re dead on your feet, aren’t you?"
"No, I’m fine." Elijah sat up a little straighter, shaking his head to try and clear the fuzziness. "We can do as much talking as you like."
"Into bed," Ian ordered. "We shall talk, my love, but we shall only do so until you fall asleep." He looked at Elijah. "Five minutes, unless I miss my guess."
Feeling ridiculous, Elijah swallowed hard past a lump in his throat. He was tired, that was all. Tired and drained after a day of putting his heart and soul into those horrible scenes, of being prodded and knocked about by those fucking orc actors, who took their roles way too seriously. And if that hadn’t been bad enough, hours spent having to react to Sam finding him, scenes when his emotions had been running at a high, intense level all day. And that was why he had a lump in his throat now, not because of some silly term of endearment, which had no doubt slipped almost unheeded from Ian’s lips.
Doing as he was told, he crawled into the bed, unwrapping himself from the towel at the last minute, his body actually sagging with relief as it was finally allowed to relax.
"Now, I’m just going to have a quick shower, and then I’ll be back. Don’t try and stay awake just because you feel you should." He felt Ian’s lips soft against his temple, and listened to him bustle around the room, quietly opening drawers and gathering whatever it was he needed.
Elijah was convinced he would be asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, but although his body was practically screaming for rest, his mind had decided to go into high gear, with the result that when Ian came out of the shower as quietly as possible so as not to disturb what would no doubt be a fast asleep Elijah, he was met with the sight of said Elijah curled up in the bed, eyes wide open and staring at nothing.
"Elijah?" Ian slid naked into the bed and put a hand on Elijah’s shoulder. "What’s the matter?"
"Nothing." Elijah turned over and practically launched himself into Ian’s arms, and Ian was even more concerned when he felt the tremors running through the slender body.
"What’s wrong?" Ian tried again, his fingers pulling gently at Elijah’s hair. "You looked fit for nothing but sleep when I left you."
"Happens sometimes," Elijah said, his face buried against Ian’s shoulder. "I get over tired, apparently. Mom used to say that I always tired my body out before my mind, and this was my mind’s way of getting back at me. I’m sorry."
"Don’t be silly." Ian moved his hand so that his fingers were stroking down Elijah’s warm, naked back. "Was today truly awful for you?"
"Not awful, no. Just … so hard, I suppose. I didn’t expect it, you know? I guess that sounds stupid to you, right?"
"Again, no. You have to go through a lot in this film, Elijah, nobody goes through more, and it’s bound to take it out of you." Ian paused. He wanted to ask what had been so bad, but if he mentioned Cirith Ungol, then Elijah would want to know how he knew, and for some reason Ian didn’t want to name, he wasn’t ready for Elijah to know that he had been almost checking up on him.
The opportunity, however, presented itself only a few minutes later when Ian’s gentling fingers stroked their way lower down Elijah’s back, and unexpectedly Elijah flinched against the touch, trying to pull away. He stilled immediately, and looked up at Ian somewhat guiltily.
"What?" Ian asked. "What’s the matter?" He propped himself up on one elbow and, holding Elijah in place with one hand, leaned over until he could see what had caused the reaction. His breath caught and he looked at Elijah almost accusingly. "And when were you going to tell me about this?"
A bruise was spreading across Elijah’s lower back, almost from hip to hip, and as Ian brushed his hand across it, he again felt Elijah flinch.
"It’s nothing," Elijah said. "Those orcs, y’know? Vicious bastards. And the guys playing them aren’t much better." He tried to make light of it, but as he watched Ian’s face knew that he had failed miserably.
"Honestly, it’s nothing," he said again. "They’re big guys and they were supposed to be pushing me around. I just hit a wall harder than anybody intended." He lowered his head and scrubbed his face against Ian’s chest. "Doesn’t matter."
"No, it doesn’t," Ian agreed lightly. "It’s just a risk we occasionally take." He pulled Elijah close and kissed him lightly. "But it would be nice if you felt you could trust me enough to tell me."
"It’s not that!" Elijah looked up again, horrified. "It happened at the start of the day; I’d honestly forgotten about it."
"You’re not a good liar," Ian answered. He paused, and then jumped straight in. "It’s not the physical hurt, is it? It’s the emotional toll this kind of thing takes. It must be about time for you and Sean to shoot Cirith Ungol, yes? Certainly the mention of our orc friends makes me think that. You must have spent a lot of the day suffering as poor Frodo suffered, being made to feel small and vulnerable, and I already know how much you hate that." He put a finger under Elijah’s chin, and tipped his face upwards. "Tell me, my heart, does it hurt inside?"
And that was what Elijah either needed, or didn’t need, depending on the point of view. In a startlingly short space of time, he reverted to a little hobbit who had been pushed around and abused. A whole day spent in Frodo’s mind, trying to come to terms with the loss of the Ring, the loss of Sam, and then the reunion with Sam; the orcs threatening him and wanting to hurt him - it had knocked his own defences down to practically zero, and it was an odd mixture of hobbit and boy who cried himself out, held safe captive in Ian’s arms.
"Oh god, I’m sorry," he spluttered as soon as he was able to formulate a sentence. "I don’t know why that happened." He rubbed his nose with his forearm, looking about twelve. "I’ve been feeling very girly these past few days. Must be my hormones."
"Time of the month," Ian agreed gravely, smiling as Elijah giggled at the thought. "It’s all right," he said softly, his finger tracing the soft curve of Elijah’s lips. "It gets to us all at some point, and you are so young…" His voice trailed off into a half-formed gasp as Elijah parted his lips, letting Ian’s finger slide into the wet cavern of his mouth.
After a long minute, Elijah pulled back, very slowly, letting Ian’s finger slide from his mouth with an obscene popping sound. "Not so young," he said. "Not really." He smiled. "Not so tired now either. All cried out like some big girl."
"If you were a big girl, or indeed even a small one, then you would have no place in my bed," Ian said, his fingers trailing down Elijah’s arm. "You are so beautiful, Elijah. So beautiful."
Elijah reached out and put his hands on Ian’s chest, splaying the fingers as wide as they would go before leaning down and placing a kiss between each of them, making Ian heave in a huge breath. He lifted his own hands and slid them through Elijah’s hair, and then down across his shoulders, reaching as far down his spine as possible.
"You have to work again tomorrow," he said. "And I suspect your scenes will be just as tough. Maybe you should rest."
"No." Elijah’s breath was warm against Ian’s chest. "Give me this tonight. I can take anything they throw at me, as long as I can have this." He trailed his tongue up Ian’s chest and neck before kissing him, tongue delving deep. Ian, helpless, responded, his hands reaching further down and pulling at Elijah’s hips before he remembered the bruise there, and shifting his grip so that he wasn’t causing any pain.
Elijah settled himself on top of Ian, his fingers running through soft grey hair, lips nuzzling along Ian’s jaw. He moved his hips experimentally once, and then again, pleased at the grunt it produced from Ian, and then stopped, concentrating instead on kissing and touching, part of his mind still stunned that this had happened; that he was here, in this bed with this man, and that it was enough.
Ian parted his legs, letting Elijah settle more comfortably, his sigh of contentment making Elijah look up and smile, happy with himself again. He lowered his head and continued his exploration of Ian's chest, his tongue working through the sparse hair before he shifted downwards in the bed, kissing a path down Ian's belly.
"Come here," Ian said softly, and Elijah did as he was told, albeit reluctantly, finally settling himself astride Ian's hips.
"What, old man?" he asked teasingly. "What do you want?"
"You." It was all Ian could think of to say. He ran his hands up Elijah's thighs, his thumbs teasing at the very edges of the dark pubic hair, making Elijah start and then smile.
"You can have me," he said, his eyes remarkably tender as he looked down at Ian's face, putting his hands over Ian's and guiding them towards where they could do some good.
"What it is to be young," Ian laughed, letting Elijah direct his hands. "Always ready to go. Whatever you want, take it. I think you need a little bit of healing tonight."
"I don't want to take it," Elijah answered, his hips beginning to move against Ian's hands. "I want you to give it." He leaned down and kissed Ian, trapping their hands between them, and Ian could feel the heat and hardness against his fingers, feel the energy starting to thrum through Elijah, and once again he felt himself responding helplessly; he couldn't stop this even if he had wanted to.
And he couldn't deny it to himself, couldn't lie. He didn't want to stop it; didn't want to stop these feelings, or push away the young body now pressed so tightly to his. He wouldn't be human if he had wanted such a thing.
Elijah's hips were moving faster now, one hand gripping Ian's shoulder while the other stayed between their bodies, controlling Ian's pace and pressure. Ian could hear Elijah's breath beginning to shorten, and with each indrawn breath came that wonderful grunt he had come to know so well, a sure sign that things were heating up. He pulled one hand free and put his arm around Elijah, pulling him closer, harder.
"Jesus, Jesus..." Elijah getting religious was the beginning of the end, and without prompting, Ian tightened his grip.
With a sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan, Elijah came, his body stilling, not even breathing, until it was over, and then it was as if someone had cut all the strings, and he collapsed completely onto Ian, straightening his legs with a groan.
Tenderly, Ian stroked back dark wisps of hair from Elijah's sweat-sheened forehead and dropped a soft kiss on his temple.
"Sleep now, my heart," he whispered. "Nothing will touch you tonight."
"Love you," Elijah mumbled, barely above a whisper.
Ian didn't answer for a moment, wanting to make sure Elijah was asleep.
"And I, you."