Watching Elijah
Pairing: Sean/Elijah
Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.
The best time to watch him
is when he thinks nobody's looking. That's when you see what he's
really like, see the way his body relaxes completely when he
doesn't have to be 'up', doesn't have to be 'Frodo' - when all he
has to be is Elijah.
The way his hands curl into fists as he reaches his arms over his
head, his back bending and hollowing, his eyes closed as he
attempts to stretch every muscle in his body, and then the way he
collapses back in on himself with a sound very like 'ooof'.
Then he'll sit down in the nearest available chair and rest his
head in his hands and my fingers start to tingle as I look at his
neck, pale and vulnerable, the skin just visible through the
thick dark hobbit hair. For a minute he looks what he is - tired,
scared, and so very young. He's carrying hundreds of millions of
dollars on his shoulders, because if this movie - these movies -
flop, then it's Frodo they'll remember. And hopefully if they
succeed, it'll still be him.
After a minute or so, he'll sit back and dig around until he
finds his cigarettes, lighting one and leaning back so that he
can take the first pull of smoke right down into his lungs. He
has a way of smoking that is truly, and unconsciously, obscene,
that perfect mouth of his wrapping around the tip, and then the
way he tips his head back and indulges himself by blowing smoke
rings, or - and this is my favourite - the way he'll just open
his mouth and let the smoke drift out. I've never seen anybody
enjoy their habit as much as he does.
There's something different about him today though - he's edgy,
looking as if he either wants to burst into tears or rip
somebody's head off - and I try hard to clamp down on the
instincts that surge through me - instincts that make me want to
hold him to me, stroking my hand down his back, soothing him,
finding out what's wrong with him. I don't know how welcome that
would be. I've held him before, of course. He's almost our
mascot, much as he would hate that label - little Elijah who's
making it in the world of the grown ups. Oh, how he'd hate that!
I know I always did.
I shift my balance slightly, my back starting to ache from my
uncomfortable position, and the movement catches his eye; he sees
everything everybody does, he always has. He looks startled for a
second, but then he calms down when he realises who it is - good
old unthreatening Sean - and with a half smile he throws his
cigarette on the ground and stamps on it with his hobbit foot,
making me wince inwardly. Not for his real foot, but for the
damage he'll be doing to the prosthetic.
"Hey," he says, coming to stand within a foot of me,
close enough for me to feel his heat, and for me to see the
tiredness in his eyes.
"Hey," I reply wittily. My hands twitch at my side, but
I clench them into fists to make sure that I don't do anything
foolish. "You okay?"
It was, it would seem, both the wrong thing and the right thing
to say, as his eyes suddenly fill up with tears.
"Oh, no," I say, giving in to instinct, and putting my
arms round him, pulling him close so that his head is against my
shoulder. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Everything." His arms go around me in a
brief, tight squeeze, and then he tries to pull away, but I don't
let him. He struggles for a second, but then relaxes and rests
his head against my shoulder again. "Tired," he says
finally, his face nestling in my neck so that I can feel his lips
move against my skin, feel the warmth of his breath.
"Homesick," he adds for good measure.
"We're all homesick I think," I answer. "You know
that you can talk to me, don't you? Anytime you want?"
I feel him smile against my neck, and his body relaxes slightly,
his fingers sliding up and down my back in a staccato rhythm -
up, pause, downup - so like Elijah, edgy and sharp, and yet with
underlying calm and strength. "I know," he says.
"You'll always be there, won't you?"
Yes! my mind screams, my emotions held too long in check. They're
battering against that door now, the one that I locked them
behind the day that this bundle of energy landed in my arms. To
have him so close, warm against me, his body relaxing and
moulding itself to me ... I can feel my body starting to react,
and am grateful for the layers of clothing between us.
My breath catches in my throat as I feel his lips press against
my neck, and I squeeze him tightly for a second before forcing
myself to relax, trying to pretend I haven't noticed.
"My Sean," he says quietly, lips brushing my skin.
"My Sam..." His hands still, pressed into the small of
my back, and I can feel something building, something that I
shouldn't want so badly.
"Lij..." I say, and my voice is little more than a
strangled grunt, which tails off into a bit of a whinny when he
moves one of his hands and puts it over my heart.
"Heart big as the sky," his voice is little more than a
breath. "I've been watching you. I know you watch me. Sean,
please ..." His voice, what little there is of it, fades and
we stand in silence, our breathing perfectly in time.
Eventually I pull back so that I can see him, all eyes and hair,
so ridiculously pretty that he should wear some kind of warning
sign. But there's so much more - velvet over steel - and I feel
my stomach lurch into my throat with wanting.
"Sure?" I manage to wheeze out, and he nods.
"Since the day I saw you. You're solid and trustworthy and
... everything I want. You're what I want, Sean..." The
question he won't ask sits in his eyes, and I nod helplessly, my
hand going to cover his where it still lies on my chest.
"Yes," I say. "Yes, Elijah." And then I pull
him as close to me as I can, and close my eyes. And in my mind, I
unlock the door
The End
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