On Silent Feet

Pairing: Sean/Elijah

Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.

ON SILENT FEET - Sean's POV

It crept up on me on silent feet. To be precise, on silent, furry feet. One day he was Elijah, my friend, my co-star and respected colleague, and the next nanosecond he was Elijah, and I was in serious danger of embarrassing myself by stroking his hair, his arm, whatever I could reach, and possibly even giggling, which isn't something I've done in a long, long time. I find myself memorising his face, his posture, his smell - he smells of cigarettes and sunshine and a burning, ceaseless energy - and I know when he comes into a room. It's a trite thing to say, but the room lights up, is filled with some of that energy, and we all feel better for it, more alive, more, well, energised.

I don't know what it is; he has a way of looking at you when you're speaking, as if you're the most important thing there is, and as if everything you say is incredibly profound and worthy, even when all you're doing is trying to explain the difference between, oh I don't know, vegetarian and vegan, basmati rice and brown rice ("well, one's brown and the other isn't." "Oh, I see.")

I think, maybe, that it's a vibe he gives off without even realising it. He's got something about him that makes you want to protect him, almost baby him, although he would hate you to the ends of the earth if you dared to try. But you catch him sometimes, in a moment of stillness when he's not trying to appeal to everybody, and he has a look in his eyes, and the look goes so deep, and it's so lonely that to see it makes you stop and think, and look just a little bit more carefully at him. He has depths, and he's seen things, that nobody of his age should have seen, but he won't say anything about them. Sometimes though, in those brief moments, you get a hint that life isn't all wine and roses for him.

And I don't want him to be lonely. I don't want to see him lonely in a crowd of people who all count themselves as his friend, sometimes even his best friend. I don't think he has a best friend; I think he spreads himself too thinly, gives too much of himself to have enough left to share with a 'best' friend.

So maybe that's love; I think it is, you know. To want somebody else to be happy, and to worry for them and about them when you think there's something not quite right. The way that he'll suddenly snap out of one of his still moments and become bouncy, giggly Elijah again, hoping that nobody's noticed him. I worry about those moments, I worry about him.

And now I worry about myself, because what do I do? We've been filming a long time, but we still have the best part of a year to go, and I have responsibilities that the other hobbits don't share; I have a family and a reputation as a solid and reliable person. Oh, that came out wrong, I'm not saying they're not solid and reliable, it's just that they have a certain - freedom - that I don't.

"Why so silent?" He makes me jump; maybe I was wrong about always knowing when he's around. I look up at him and shrug, and he frowns slightly, then sits on the arm of my chair, leaning most of his weight against me - even with the little bit of extra weight he put on for Frodo, he's still built like a bird, and the pressure against me is negligible.

"Well?" he says again. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I finally reply. "I'm just sitting here watching you young things. You all drink far too much caffeine you know."

"We all drink far too much of everything," he says solemnly, then grins at me, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "Come on, Sam, come and play." He stands up.

"Don't keep calling me that," I say, a bit more sharply than I intend. "It's creepy."

He stops and looks around at me, surprise and a little bit of hurt in those far too expressive eyes. "Well aren't you? Aren't you my Sam? My Sean?"

And there we have the whole problem. Yes I'm his Sam, bound to love his Frodo to the depths of hell and back - an unreserved, selfless, intense love. And I'm his Sean.

And his Sean is frightened.

********

Elijah's POV

He can be the most fun in the universe, if you catch him right. He just knows so damn much and he loves to share it, but it's fun, you know? You know that you're being lectured but - oh, I don't know, I just like to listen to his voice I suppose.

But then sometimes he just retreats into himself and he gets a look about him that I hate to see; like all the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and at times like that I hate being me. I hate looking like I was 12, and sounding like it too. He says that he takes me seriously, but sometimes I don't believe that. I look like such a geek kid, so where do I get off being all wordly wise?

But the really stupid thing is that I *am* wise. I know what's going through his mind; we've been in each other's pockets for ages now and I know what he's thinking before he does.

And he's scared of me. I've woken something in him that he thought was long gone, dead in the ashes of a damaged childhood. I think he sees some of himself in me - the eager kid willing to please - and he wants to cherish that part of me/him.

For all that he's so clever, he sometimes seems to miss what's right in front of him. Me, for example. I have done just about everything apart from having myself delivered to his house, wrapped in a carpet and naked except for a smile, but all he does is look at me. But then, if he's running as scared as I think he is, maybe the carpet thing wouldn't be a good idea.

"Go bloody talk to him, before you end up burning a hole in the side of his head." Orli wanders past with a really amazing number of glasses in his hand, most of them still full. I don't answer, just nod vaguely at him, wishing him out of my sight.

I tear my eyes away and glance around, meeting Dominic's gaze. He's huddled in a corner with Billy, and just from the way they're standing, there's going to be some kind of trouble before the night's out; they shouldn't be allowed to plot so much. He scowls at me and nods his head towards Sean, and I scowl right back. He makes some kind of obscene hand gesture at me - don't know what this one means; the British seem to have so many of them and I'm still learning, but from the look on Billy's face I can tell it's obscene - and I put my glass back on the bar. Right.

I walk towards him, and then stop in the middle of the room. Just what the fuck am I supposed to say? 'Hey Sean, you've got the hots for me haven't you? At least it's not just one sided then.' How smooth.

I take a deep breath and go and plant myself next to him. He was off in his own little world, because I see him jump as I speak.

"Why so silent?" He looks at me, and he's so scared that all kinds of emotions go through me, most of them without a name. I lean on him just a little bit more. "Well?"

He claims that he's fine, that he's just watching us, and it's the most badly disguised lie he's ever told me. Part of me wants to scream at him; 'For god's sake, Sean, I *know*, I can see it in every line of your body!' And another part wants to try and calm him, make all the fears vanish.

"Come on, Sam," I say finally, opting for the easy way out. "Come and play."

I'm really surprised when he snaps at me, says that he thinks it's creepy, me calling him Sam. But he is my Sam, and he's my Sean, and it's all so mixed up now that the line separating the two is all blurred and hard to fathom.

"Come on," I say again. "Sam, Sean, whoever you want to be; just come on. I don't want to see you sitting there all alone."

He says my name, and there's an edge of - something - in his voice. Annoyance? Frustration? Fear? Something.

"It's all right," I say, stopping to look at him properly. He keeps his distance, so I have to step forward to get into his space. I put my hands on his shoulders and lean close, my eyes closing as I soak up the heat pouring off his body. "It's all right. Just go with it, Sean, okay? Whatever this ..." and I tap his chest, just over his heart - "... tells you. Go with it."

"Elijah...." I can feel him close behind me as I turn to lead the way out of the bar. I catch Dom's eye and he winks and I grin back.

Once we're out of the bar, I stop and lean against the wall, gazing up at the sky. I feel him settle next to me, our shoulders just brushing, but I don't look.

"Different stars," he says softly. "We're really and truly under a different sky here."

"And the rules are different," I reply, equally quietly. "You shouldn't be scared, Sean, you know? You should take what you want."

"Elijah..." he trails off on a sigh again, and I let my head bang gently on the wall behind me, but I don't speak. Sometimes I can do waiting.

"What about the consequences?" he says finally. "What if I do something that I want to do - the *only* thing I want to do - and it turns out to be the one thing I shouldn't have done."

I work it out in my head, and let myself smile, just a bit.

"Under a different sky, you should just go with whatever you want, and believe it to be right," I reply. "There's nothing to be frightened of, not when everybody understands that things aren't the same here. Different rules, Sean."

He pushes himself away from the wall, and I nearly swallow my tongue in anticipation.

"Keep your eyes closed," he murmurs to me, and I can hear the panic in his voice. But the one thing I know for sure about Sean is that he doesn't back down, not when he wants something.

I feel his hands cup my face, his thumbs stroking along my eyebrows. And he's so solid and *there*. I put my hands on his chest and feel my smile getting wider. Possibly heading for smug grin.

I feel the air move in front of me, and then he says my name in a completely different tone.

*Elijah*

********

Sean's POV

*Elijah*

I hear the difference in my tone, and I know that he does. His face changes, gets this weird inward looking expression on it, and then he tilts his head slightly, resting against the wall, his lips parting. Oh god, how am I supposed to resist? How am I supposed to just pretend that this - boy, man, whatever he is - doesn't have this effect on me? Doesn't make me burn deep inside with a fire that I thought long, long dead. I feel a strange, unsettling pain deep inside me, and an emotion that I can't name pushes its way to the surface. Whatever it is you want to call it, it's something he does, something he causes.

"Don't go away from me, Sean," he says, putting his hands on my chest. "Not now. Different rules, remember?"

Yes, different rules. He makes me want to break the rules I've held to for most of my adult life, what I've always held to be right and proper. You don't mess about with your fellow actors in any way, and certainly not sexually - that way lies complete madness. And definitely not with somebody like him; like Elijah, who is so young - no matter how hard he tries to pretend he's not - and so willing to give everything. Iff I hurt him I would hate myself until the day I died.

As these thoughts go through my head, my body takes over and I step towards him, pushing him further into the wall. I can feel his body trembling and reach up to wrap my hands in his hair, tilting his head still further back, exposing his pale neck, and I actually feel my mouth water; how strange is that? He makes my mouth water.

"Sean," he says softly, and the way he says it is different to the way anyone else has ever said it, and I'm almost lost, until sanity suddenly reasserts itself, and I take a huge step back, tearing myself away from him.

"No!" The word is torn from my throat before I fully understand what's going on, and I put my hand over my mouth to try and stop myself saying anything else.

"What?" he says, and his eyes are already starting to show the hurt that I was so frightened of causing him. "Sean, what's wrong?"

"If I start this..." I begin, my tongue feeling as if it's blocking my whole throat. "I won't be able to stop... I don't know what will happen."

"Oh, fuck's sake, Sean," he says, laughing quietly, stepping towards me and wrapping his hands in my shirt. I look down - little boy's hands, so small.

He follows my glance, and shakes his head. "I'm not a little boy Sean, don't be fooled by the way I look. Don't fall for it." He tightens his grip and I put my hands over his, squeezing them tightly.

"I don't care if you can't stop once you start. Maybe I don't want you to stop." He leans towards me and I can hardly breathe as he looms so close that he fills my vision, fills all my senses. I can smell him and taste him, taste the cigarette haze that surrounds him all the time, and I can see him; he's all I can see.

He moves, closing the last of the gap between us, and involuntarily I close my eyes, anticipating what will come next. Maybe if *he* starts it then I won't feel so conflicted about this, about what I want for myself and what I should want for him. Maybe those things are not mutually exclusive, but some part of me is still holding back, still trying to pretend that this isn't right, that I shouldn't be doing this, and that it would somehow be imposing on him.

"Open your eyes." He's so close now that when he speaks I can feel his breath against my face, hot and moist, somehow both disturbing and erotic. I want to speak, want to say something, but I seem to have surrendered all motor functions and I am existing on a plane made up solely of feelings. I haven't experienced such - freedom - for many years, if ever. I open my eyes.

"That's it," he says, and presses his lips to mine, a fleeting a chaste kiss, almost brotherly. It still makes me gasp, makes my skin feel as if it has been flayed, exposing all my nerves to the open air.

"Elijah," I say again, hanging onto the last lonely outpost of sanity, but I can feel his lips against my cheek, brushing my skin, and I can taste him on my lips and with a groan, I tangle my hands into his hair once again and lower my mouth to his, not brotherly, oh no, not at all. He gasps against me and I feel his arms go around me, scrabbling at my shirt, searching for purchase, I think. No, I was wrong and I press him harder against the wall as his hands slide under my shirt, resting on my back, starting to knead the flesh there. I regret the extra poundage I'm forced to carry for this role, but he seems to revel in it, grasping the flesh in his hands and squeezing hard enough to leave marks.

He tastes ... god, how to describe it? How to describe a thing you had forbidden yourself, promised yourself never to sample? On a basic level it's cigarettes and alcohol, unpleasant in the extreme; but it's more than that - it's *him* - it's Elijah. It's quicksilver energy and a wit and wisdom which goes beyond his years. And some lost remant of romance in my soul wants to describe it as 'home', as a thing I've been looking for without even realising it was missing.

Almost of their own volition my hands slide down and rest on his waist. He grunts into my mouth and his hips move against me, leaving me in no doubt as to what he wants.

"Not here," I gasp, managing to gather enough of my wits to pull away from him. "Elijah, stop! We're going to get caught."

"Well then take me home, or take me to your car or take me into the shadows over there, but if I don't get my mouth around you pretty damn soon, I'm not going to answer for the consequences!"

We stand quietly for a minute, gathering our breath. He keeps one hand on my back, his fingers stroking my skin. I think that I'm going to be grateful that he doesn't have any nails. That thought makes my nerves tingle again, and I slide one hand from his hair, tracing down the side of his face then following the shape of that perfect mouth. He looks up at me, peering from under his eyelashes and offering me the merest glimpse of his eyes. He knows what he's doing, has learned through the years what works and what doesn't, and much as I would like to claim to be immune, I'm not, and I can fall under the spell of his eyes just as much as any teenage girl. Except that no teenage girl would see him like this, under the spell of a strange sky, a moment outside our normal lives, his lips softly parting to grant my fingers access to the heat and warmth of his mouth.

"Come on," I mutter, pulling away. I put my arm around his shoulder, pulling him close so that I can feel him moulded against my side. He lets his arm snaked around my waist and then casually drop until his hand is brushing my hip, trailing fire with every movement.

I know where this night is going to end, but the journey will be new to me.

********

Elijah's POV

"If I start this..." he says, "I won't be able to stop..."

Thank you, god! Music to my ears. I think that underneath that calm and mature exterior, there's something much more - elemental, more exciting, and I want that. I want him to show me that layer.

I move towards him and he closes his eyes, which bugs me, so I tell him to open them, and he does, so now I can fall into honey and amber. I think the landing will be soft. That's one of the words I use in my head when I think of him; soft. Along with gentle, and kind and just about the nicest person that ever drew breath.

But when he tangles his hands in my hair and pulls my head back, he's rougher than I thought he would be, not that I mind. And then he kisses me and it's so much more than I expected and I have to add another word to my description of him. Passionate. Christ, so much passion hidden under that calm exterior. I can feel it pouring out of him as his body presses against mine, shoving me against the wall. I slide my hands under his shirt and grab as much of his flesh as I can. Why does he hate this extra weight so much? It's beautiful; it's my Sam.

Oh. Wonder if I actually want to screw Sam's brains out, and not Sean's? Who knows, maybe I'm channelling Frodo from across the Sundering Sea. Well, if Frodo's Sam looked at all like Elijah's Sean, then why weren't they at it from sunup to sundown? 'Ring, what Ring? Fuck off, I'm screwing the gardener.' Would have been a short book.

My attention is pulled back to the here and now as I feel his hands slide down and rest on my waist. My hips drive forward and my hands tighten against him. I want him right now. I just want him. I'm a nice person God, everyone says so; please could I just have this one reward? Even if it's just one night with this good, kind and passionate man, I will hold it safe inside me forever. Of course if you could see your way to making it longer, that would be nice.

"Come on," he mutters at me after I've made my desires clear. His arm is around my shoulder, and I let my hand drop to his hip. He walks me to his car and I'm pretty much in a daze now. It's gone so fast and now it looks as if my dream has come true. I put my fingers up to my lips and I can't stop a smile as I realise that they feel kind of tender already. He kisses hard, like he means it, which is nice. Too often people kiss me like I'm going to break, like I'm some sort of hothouse flower. Part of me thought he would be like that too, but judging by the first kiss that's not going to happen. I close my eyes briefly as we reach his car and he digs out his keys, and I think of him over me, pressing me into the mattress, claiming me, and I think I must whimper, because the next thing I know, he's there, his arms around me.

"It's okay," he says. "We won't do anything you don't want to. If you don't want to do anything at all, that's fine."

I smile at him and kiss him again, just because I can. Because, even if it's only for this night, I'm allowed to.

"I want so much," I whisper against his lips. "I want it all..."

"Tell me," he says playfully, and I blink at him. "Tell me what you want. What do you mean by all?"

"I want you over me and under me," I say, watching him closely. "I want to be inside you and I want you inside me. I want to learn your taste and I want you to learn mine. And I want to watch as you sleep and I want to watch you wake up." He swallows hard, and I half smile.

"Get in the car," he says and he definitely sounds a bit shaky now.

It takes a few miles for me to realise that we're going to my apartment. Makes sense; for all that we're under a different sky there are certain things that remain constant, and Sean has responsibilities; if we went back to his house, he would feel awkward, and so would I. I like his wife; I love his kid. But I like and love him more. My place is safe - it looks like what it is; a crashing place for a guy with no time and absolutely no sense of tidyness. On the occasions he's been there before I've seen a smile in his eyes as he surveys my palace. Of course, he may just have been looking for the floor.

As we drive, I rest my hand on his thigh, pleased when with hardly any hesitation he lowers his own hand to cover it. I've got ridiculously small hands, and I'm absolutely engulfed in his paw. Makes me feel a bit stupid and fragile again, but that's something I'm used to. No point in pretending that I'm anything but what I am. I get a sudden sensation of that hand around my cock, and that sends a jolt right through me. I put my free hand over the bulge in my jeans, not knowing what I want to do to relieve the pressure, so I gaze out the window thinking about my mother. That seems to do the job.

"Okay?" he says, and I nod without looking over at him. I squeeze his hand to let him know that I'm with him, and that seems to be enough, as we complete the rest of the journey in silence. But it's a comfortable silence; it always is when I'm with him. I've spent the last six months watching him, sometimes just sitting with him, and I've learned how to be quiet around him.

He pulls up outside the apartment and kills the engine, and then sits there, his hands on the steering wheel, and I carry on gazing out of the window.

"Well..." he finally says. "Here we are."

"Can't argue with that," I agree. "Here we are."

We look at each other at exactly the same time, and we both start to laugh at the sheer weirdness of the whole thing. He reaches out and puts his hand on my face, and I press into it before quickly turning my head and kissing his palm. I let my lips linger on his hand and watch his eyes, watch as his pupils dilate. I don't get any warning as I'm suddenly grabbed and crushed against him, his tongue in my mouth, his hands running up and down my back, pulling at my shirt as if he's trying to find a way in.

Fuck it. I climb out of my seat and into his lap, straddling him and trying hard to ignore the discomfort of the steering wheel sticking into my back. I slide until I'm as close to him as I can possibly get, kissing him and being kissed. No better feeling.

So it's kinda rude of him to open the car door and dump me on my ass, then sit there laughing at me. But I look at him and he smiles, and even though I'm so hard I can feel the zip on my jeans leaving marks on my dick, it doesn't matter. Because he's smiling and because the fates were kind enough and wise enough to put us on this planet at the same time, and were then working overtime when they brought us together in this fabulous place.

"Ow," I say, rubbing my ass. "That hurt."

"I'll kiss it better," he says sincerely, and I feel that particular promise all the way through my body.

He climbs out of the car and holds out his hand to pull me to my feet. I go willingly and don't let go once I'm on my feet; why would I want to do that?

"Hi," he says, pulling me into a hug. "You okay?" I put my hand on his chest so that I can feel his voice rumble way down deep.

"More than okay," I answer. And I am. So much more

"Can we go inside?" he says, and suddenly he sounds like some kind of scared teenager, and a million and one emotions race through me, most of them moving too fast to name. I recognise a couple though: Fear, although I'm not sure what I've got to be frightened of, not with this wonderful, kind man; lust - oh my god yes, big time lust. I feel like I could eat this guy up at one sitting. A bit of panic I think, but we'll put that in with the fear. And then there's that feeling as well, and I don't want to look at that one for too long. It's just lying there pretty quiet at the moment, but I think that if I prodded at it, it might just wake up and prod me back.

And I can't let that happen, because love isn't an emotion that I can afford. Not for him, not here, not now. Because this can't last.

"Elijah?" he sounds a bit worried now, and I realise that I've been quiet for a bit too long. I look up at him and he's got that patented concerned look going, so I hug him and kiss him, then let my hand trail down to his, our fingers linking.

"Let's go inside, " I say.

********

Sean's POV

I don't know why I just did that. It was nice, having a lapful of Elijah, but it was fun dumping him on his ass like that. Now I've got a reason to be gentle with him. I want to be gentle, but I'm not sure what he wants.

I pull him to his feet.

"Hi." I look at him, drinking him in. "You okay?"

"More than okay," he says, and he is, I think. He looks - grounded in a way that is rare for him. He's such a bundle of energy, my Elijah, that to see him like this is rare.

My Elijah? Just where did that thought come from? Mentally I take a step backwards, away from the thin ice that I can feel cracking under my feet.

"Can we go inside?" I ask, and I know that my voice sounds a little reedy, but I can't help that. Even if it's just for this one night, he is my Elijah, and I want that; I want to make him mine

He's very quiet, and I say his name again. He kisses me and slides his fingers down my arm, linking them through mine. We stand together for another minute, lips almost touching. I feel his heat again, taste the haze of cigarettes around him. And then I realise that he's trembling.

"Let's go inside," he says, and I nod, past words.

As he leads me towards his door, I look up, very briefly. Different stars. Different rules. I dig deep and look for the guilt that I'm sure will be getting ready to kick in at any minute, but there's nothing. Just Elijah, and this night.

His apartment is a mess, and he looks at me as I sigh, a huge grin spreading over his face. "What? It's artistic licence, that's what it is."

"No, it's a tip, Elijah. You are a slob, and it's time you stopped relying on your mother to tidy up after you."

"D'you want a drink?" he says, ignoring my comment, heading towards the kitchen. "Just a coffee, yeah?"

"Sure," I reply, following him. Now that we're here I don't want him out of my sight, even though I'm not sure what we're going to do. No, I know what we're going to do, obviously, but I'm not sure how we're going to get there.

He switches the coffee machine on, then pulls himself up onto the counter. He looks at me and half smiles and I feel it in my gut. I open my mouth, not even knowing what it is I want to say, but he shakes his head at me and I close it again, almost grateful.

"Come here," he says. "Just come here."

So I close the gap between us and wrap my arms around him, feeling his thighs either side of me, his arms tight around my shoulders. He feels so damn small and for a second I'm frightened that I'll break him, but then he tightens his grip and I realise that I'm being stupid. There's steel under there, and he's as strong as he needs to be.

His hands slide up into my hair, and I hear him laugh softly. "I love your hair," he says. "How stupid is that? I've wanted to touch it, to know it since the second I jumped on you in the hotel lobby. It looks so soft and thick ..." he pauses and I close my eyes in pleasure as he runs his fingers through it. "... and I was right. So soft, Sean. So gorgeous." He moves his hands to the back of my head, cradling my skull, his fingers rubbing gently, soothingly. I feel his head move slightly and then I can't stop a soft moan of pleasure as his lips brush against the skin just below my ear, then down my jawline. I push into the touch and turn my head to capture his lips.

The kiss is soft but not hesitant. It's as if I've known him a lifetime already, which I sometimes think I have. The thought makes me smile, and he feels it, pulling back.

"What?"

"I know you," I say softly, realising how stupid that must sound to him. "I've always known you. We were just waiting to meet again, this time around."

"Do you really believe in that stuff?" he asks, and I can hear the scepticism in his voice.

"I believe in you," I say after a pause.

"You're weird sometimes, you know that?" And he kisses me again, harder this time, more demanding. I feel his body slide forward to press against mine, his hands tightening in my hair. His tongue slides into my mouth and I respond without thinking, enjoying the duel as we fight for dominance. I move my hands from around his waist and rest them on his thighs, digging my thumbs into the strong muscle there, feeling him tense and then relax under my hands. Pulling back from the kiss - I need to see his face - I move my hands until they're high on his thighs. If I move my thumbs just so, I could brush against -

"Oh!" It's more of a gasp than a word and his hips move. "Oh, *Sean*, please. Just ... please." And he dives in for another kiss.

His hands scrabble against my back and he hooks his fingers under my shirt again, pulling at it this time, making his desires clear.

"Elijah," I say, once more breaking our kiss. "Elijah, calm down... we've got all night."

"Take this off," he says, and his eyes are darker than I've ever seen them before, his pupils dilated with want. "I want to see you, want to touch you."

"Well you won't manage to do anything like that." I take hold of his arms and pull until he moves, grumbling slightly. "Sweet Elijah, the shirt has buttons on it."

"Oh," he looks at me and grins sheepishly. "Doh."

And then he does the most simple thing and I practically hit the ceiling with - what? With lust and desire and love, and the most overwhelming feelings of tenderness and protectiveness.

He takes my hands in his - his hands are so small! - and he holds them flat against his chest so that I can hear his heart beating, and he smiles, that Elijah-smile that makes the whole world love him - and he says, very quietly, "Take me to bed, Sean."

Hanging on to the last bit of practicality I possess, I lean over and switch off the coffee machine. He grins, but I ignore him, and he doesn't make any smart comments. Then I put my arms around his waist again and pull him forwards, off the counter. For the briefest of brief moments he lets himself hang in my arms like a child, before setting his feet on the floor.

Putting his hands against my chest, he leans forward and rests his lips against the hollow of my throat, and I pull him close.

Only a minute ago, he was tearing at my clothes, desperate for access, and now he's standing here as if there was no hurry and we had all the time in the world. A mass of contradictions, my Elijah.

And that's what he is. What he has always been, and what, in some way, he always will be. My Elijah.

********

Elijah's POV

He grabs hold of me around the waist and pulls me towards the edge of the counter. I slide off and let myself hang in his arms, my own tight around his neck. My feet are on the ground, but I bend my knees a bit so that he has to take all my weight. It's only brief, but it's nice; he's strong and good, he wouldn't ever let me fall.

I let him go and then rest my hands on his chest, leaning forward to kiss the hollow of his throat, only softly, just wanting to feel his pulse beneath my lips, feel the life rushing through him. Such a huge love of life, an appreciation of everything around him. He has a way of telling you something without making you feel like an idiot; he shares his knowledge with everyone, and people respond to that. People respond to him; there are no preconceptions with him; he doesn't get patted on the head for being cute, and carded when he goes into bars, and then 'ooh'd' at when he makes an intelligent, coherent remark. I like being me, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I wish I was him.

When we finally reach the bedroom, I push him onto the bed, laughing as he bounces a bit. Oh, he's beautiful - people should be able to see it in him, see all that goodness. He sits on the edge of the mattress staring up at me, looking a bit befuddled, as if he can't believe he's here. I know that feeling!

I know that I'm confusing him with the way that I'm behaving - I keep coming onto him and then backing off, but it's not like that, not really. He's... oh shit, he's just everything, and next to him I'm nothing. I just feel like I'm out of my depth.

But one thing I have learned over the years is how to make people happy, and he deserves to be happy.

Reaching out, I let my hand stroke down his face, and then I ... well, I pounce. He grunts but goes with it, and we end up lying on the bed. Well technically he's on the bed and I'm on him. Very comfortable.

"Enough," I say, my mouth against his lips. "No more playing, Sean, no more." And I push myself up so that I can sit astride his hips, unfastening the buttons of his shirt and pushing the edges apart, sighing as I finally get my hands on that hot, smooth flesh. I feel his stomach muscles tense, and look up at him, his soft eyes guarded and embarrassed. "No," I say, knowing what's wrong. "It's beautiful. You have a beautiful body."

"I'm fat," he says, and his mouth turns down in the most gorgeous pout. I smile and lean down and lick softly across one nipple, making him draw in a sharp breath. I don't bother speaking, because I plan to show him just how damn beautiful he is, and I lick his nipple again, harder this time, brushing my teeth across it as well. He says something on a breath, but I can't hear it because the blood is starting to pound in my ears.

"Sit up," I mutter, and he does as he's told so that I can push the shirt off him completely. Oh, he feels nice; hot and smooth against me. "I've got too many clothes on," I say, nipping at his ear. "Do something about it."

His hands are quick and clever and he's soon got my shirt open, then off, and I wrap my arms even more tightly around his neck, loving this feeling. I let my hands move down his back, slipping my fingers into the waistband of his jeans. His hips buck up so hard that I nearly fall off him, and he laughs and relaxes back onto the bed. Oh Christ! That laugh.

"There," I say, picking up his hand and placing it on my crotch. I hold him firmly against me while I move my hips, pushing into him. How do I do this? Does he want me to make it last, or does he want it fast and hard? I don't think I care; I just want him.

He solves it for me, by arching his hips and pushing me off so that I land on my back, with him looming over me, and this is it; this is what I imagined, what I dreamed of; being pressed deep into the bed by him, having him looming over me, his fingers cupping my dick through my jeans, kissing me. His lips are everywhere at once as far as I can tell, on my face, my neck, my shoulders, my chest, and he leaves a trail of fire wherever he's been. I don't know what to do with my hands; I pull his hair, let them run across his shoulders, down to his hips, and then I wrap them in the bedsheet, starting to crumple the cotton beyond all recognition. I can feel the sweat starting to bead on my lip as he moves further down my body.

When he slowly unfastens my jeans and slips his hand inside, I think I nearly go into orbit.

"Okay?" he says softly, his lips teasing at the hair on my belly. "Oh christ, Elijah ..." He doesn't say anything else, just grabs my jeans and drags them down, so hard that it fucking hurts. There is a chance that I squeak, but he politely ignores it.

And then his hand is firmly around my cock, and I really do go into orbit, complete with stars.

"The plan was," I pant, "for me to do this to you first."

"Want me to stop?" he says, and I start to laugh, but then stop because the movement pushes my cock further into his hand and come on, I'm only 19, these things don't necessarily take long. On the plus side, it does mean that I'm ready to go again pretty damn fast. So therefore .... oh, stop fucking *thinking* Elijah, and start doing. Just as I decide to go for it, Sean does something, some weird combination of finger and twisting and palm, and then his teeth pull at my belly, and my back arches off the bed, and I come so hard that I may possibly rip one of the sheets. I definitely get a cramp in my fingers.

Fuck.

He pulls back a bit, and it bothers me that I can't see his face. Is he freaked? It was all over embarrassingly fast, and he's just lying there now, his face against my belly, really still.

I reach down and put a hand on his hair and clear my throat, ready to say his name, but as soon as I touch him, he looks up, and - it's all right. It's more than all right. His face is soft and sweet, but his eyes are on fire. Thank you, god.

"Come here," I say, tugging on his hair and he slides up my body, his eyes crossing as his cock -seriously hard - rubs against me, and he lies on me *covers* me, and oh, this is what I wanted, just this. I run my hands down his back and tuck them into the waistband of his jeans and part my legs so that he can settle between them. He reaches around and takes one of my hands, sliding it between us so that I can feel the bulge in his jeans. He says my name on the very edge of sound.

"What?" I say, running my fingers over his arousal, trying to learn the way he feels. He mutters something, but I don't hear it, so I ask him again.

"Please...." he finally mutters, loud enough for me to hear. "Elijah, I'm *dying* here..." He raises his head and I see his eyes again. As I stare at him, he digs his fingers into my hips, hard enough to make me flinch. He sees that, but he doesn't let up on his grip, and part of me wonders if I'm going to discover a whole new side to Sean as this night goes on.

"Come on," he says. "It's my turn."

And it is, he's right. I slide out from under him and start to move down the bed, kissing him thoroughly as I go. When I'm face to crotch I bury my face against the thick denim, biting him through the material, making him buck and whimper, one hand wrapping itself in my hair. I wonder briefly what he's doing with the other hand, but then decide that it's really none of my business.

After a couple of minutes I get bored with torturing him, and begin to unfasten his jeans. As I reach the final button, and slide my hand inside, I feel him tense again. I don't look at him, but I raise my head and kiss his belly, very softly, then rest my head there, waiting as he calms down. As the tenseness eases I slide my hand slowly inside his jeans. Oh, boxers! I never knew that. Finding the slit in the material I slip my hand through and let the tips of my fingers brush against him. Oh *fuck*. Just this is making me hard again. Finally being able to touch him ... I have to close my eyes against way too many feelings.

As he relaxes even further I slip my hand out and begin to push at his jeans. He understands and raises his hips with hardly any hesitation, and between us we get everything off - shoes are a bad, bad invention and can cause way too much hilarity and awkwardness at vital moments - then I settle again with my head on his thigh this time, my fingers wrapped loosely around his cock, loving the hardness beneath the silk. I have to swallow hard as I imagine how it would feel to have him inside me, my legs over his shoulders or wrapped around his back, watching his face as he pounds himself into me ... and then to return the favour. I bite back what may well be either a groan or another squeak.

There's just nothing about this man I don't ... like a whole lot. The way he looks, the way he sounds, and now I can add the way he feels and the way he smells. He feels like silk and steel and velvet, and he smells ... he smells like Sean. I've spent enough time both off and on set, plastered against him, so I know how he smells, but this most intimate scent is uniquely Sean, and I close my eyes again, just for a second.

All that's left is to learn his taste.


********

Sean's POV

I never thought it would come to this; I never thought that I would be lying naked on the bed with Elijah. I just made him come, and the fulfilment I felt then was almost more than I could bear; to have given him such pleasure ... the look on his face as I touched him is one that will stay with me for the rest of my days, I know that. Even when this is over and we're no longer under this different sky, I will carry the memory of Elijah's face with me wherever I go.

When he sat astride me, looking down at me; every day every day I feel the horrible self consciousness of being the 'fat hobbit' surrounded by three beautiful co-stars, but when Elijah looked at me, I didn't feel that, not after the first shock; I felt as if I was beautiful too, as if I could stand next to any of them and not be eclipsed by them. I don't think I've ever felt that, not in my whole life; I've always been 'too short' or 'too fat' or 'too quiet' or 'too damn clever for your own good'. But he thinks my body's beautiful, and the way he looked at it, as he stroked it with his tiny, little-boy hands, I believed him.

I suppose he knows, knows what it's like to be pre-judged. People look at him and they see the cute little boy with big blue eyes and an elfin face. They don't take the time to discover the person underneath, the kind, quirky man. We're more alike than either of us realise, I think.

I glance down at him, and can't help smiling. He's lying with his head on my thigh, and he's studying his hand as it wraps around my cock, trying to judge what I like from what happens. I want to see his face, so I reach down and stroke his hair. The effect is immediate and he looks up, hand still working, and he smiles at me.

"Hi," he says. "You still dying up there?"

"Oh yes," I say, and it's true. I lick at my upper lip, tasting the sweat there, my eyes not leaving Elijah's face. I see the effect I have had as he reaches up with his free hand and brushes the tips of his fingers across his own upper lip. His tongue, pink and moist - a cat's tongue - peeks out from between his teeth, but doesn't quite echo my movement.

"I want ...." he starts, then ducks his head, a little embarrassed. His hand tightens again, and the extra pressure makes my stomach muscles clench. I move my hips, holding back the sound I want to make. Whatever it is he wants, I just wish he'd do it, before I spontaneously combust.

"What?" I manage to grind out. "What do you want?"

He kisses my belly, low down where the hair is thick and springy, and I move into his hand again. Nobody has ever done that, kissed me so intimately in that particular spot, and I suddenly know what he wants to do before he asks, so to save him stuttering his way through his request, I whisper an affirmative.

I don't think he's new to this, but he's new to it with me, and so he's hesitant to start with. The tip of that cat's tongue peeks out again, and he trails his way up my full length, hesitating before he gets to the crown, running his tongue around the ridge underneath the head. Unable to stay quiet any longer, I groan loudly and let my head drop back onto the bed, his name on my lips and filling my mind.

When he laps softly across the tip, my hips thrust forward without meaning to; I've been waiting for this for a long time, and now the little swine has decided to tease me, and when I was so good about making sure he was taken care of! I'll kill him later.

"Elijah...." I tail off; there's nothing to say.

"It's all right," he says softly, echoing my thoughts. "Seanie, it's all right. Just let me do this for you." He shifts position until he can nudge my legs apart and kneel between them. He looks up and smiles at me, and I can't help but smile back. He leans down, and I feel that clever tongue on my skin, lapping at the top of my thigh, teeth pulling at the hair growing there. He keeps one hand on my belly, pressing down as I move upwards, a sensation which is intimate and erotic at the same time, whilst the other hand moves between my legs, his fingers moving back into an even more intimate place, stroking at the sensitive skin, his knuckle pressing and kneading. Every time he puts pressure there, I feel it in every nerve ending, and I think that before the night is through, I will have let this man-child do everything to me, and be grateful for it.

Before I have time to consider anything else, before I wonder what it would feel like to have him touching me inside, he moves his hand again, cupping me, fondling me with such tenderness and yet at the same time with an undercurrent of strength. And that sums up the contradiction that is Elijah.

I feel his mouth on me again, below my cock, and again the sensation is shattering. I never thought I would be so grateful that this young man has such an oral fixation, but as my hands cramp in the sheets, I find a small window of sanity to offer up thanks. His hands push my thighs even further apart and he half lies between them. There is a brief pause, and then I feel a rush of air across my straining flesh as he blows softly, cooling and then igniting me with his tongue. I taste copper in my mouth and realise that I have bitten my tongue in an attempt to stay quiet. My whole body trembles with the effort.

"Don't," he suddenly says, looking up at me. "Let it go, Sean. Just for tonight, let it go. You don't have to hold back for me."

He lowers his head again and I feel his tongue this time, lapping at the very tip before, with a shift in his balance, he takes all of me into his mouth. I close my eyes, and then open them, and force myself onto my elbows, leaning there so that I can look at him, look at that pouting, rosebud mouth wrapped tight around the core of my being. My head drops back again and my mouth opens wide, a silent - what? Prayer? Scream? I don't know. I hear myself take in a deep, shuddering breath, and then let it out again.

"Elijah," I say, very softly, and then again, and again. "Elijah... Elijah!" By the time I finally stop, I'm almost screaming his name, revelling in the strangeness of the sensation.

He has spread his tongue wide, bracing against the bottom of my cock, letting his teeth scrape very gently over the large vein there, then with a tilt of his head, he is concentrating on the upper side. It is an amazing feeling. I remember a long and foolish discussion Elijah and Dominic had on one of their drunken nights out, as to whether the a man really is better at giving another man pleasure since they know exactly what works. I was sitting peacefully in a corner waiting to do my duty as designated driver, and I managed to keep my face neutral, ignoring the image which burned itself into my brain at that second, and was now being fulfilled.

I feel the muscles in my belly and thighs tighten and tremble, and put a hand on Elijah's head, not sure whether I intend to warn him to move or to hold him there. He makes the decision for me by reaching up and taking hold of my wrist, holding my hand flat against the bed. Unable to support myself on one elbow, I flop back onto the bed, my hips moving helplessly, thrusting myself into his mouth, feeling myself brush the very back of his throat.

When those throat muscles relax and I slide an impossible inch deeper, I abandon all pretence of control, wrenching my hand away from his and tangling it in my own hair, pulling desperately to try and distract myself from the amazing sensation of his tongue and his teeth and his throat, all working towards one end. And then he make some kind of sound; whether it's supposed to be a word, or whether it's just a noise I'll never know, but the vibrations are too much and I tip over the edge, spilling into Elijah's mouth, not breathing, not even thinking, too lost in the sensations coursing through me.

At last, after what seems an age, it's over and my muscles finally relax, letting me breathe again, huge sobbing gasps, my fingers unclenching and my arms reaching for Elijah, needing him in my arms. He comes to me willingly and lies next to me, and as I turn towards him, one hand cups my face. His eyes are kind; soft and vaguely amused. He looks as if he has the wisdom of an age in that gaze, and yet when I touch him he is still Elijah.

"That was nice," he says, sounding rough voiced. "It was nice, wasn't it?"

I don't answer, and he starts to pull away, obviously concerned. I reach out and grab him before he gets very far.

"Don't leave," I say; stupid remark since we are after all in his apartment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, kissing my cheek. "We've got all night, and if you want it, tomorrow night, and the next and the one after that. As long as we're under a different sky."

Unable to help myself I pull him to me, holding him so close that he gasps my name in surprise. I won't let him go though, not yet. Maybe never.

The End

Feedback would be nice

Home