Chapter Text
Elijah leans casually against the doorway to the kitchen, calls a final, "Tomorrow, noon, Orlando! Don't you dare be late!" across the room to where Orlando is being all but pushed out the front door by an impatient Dom, who seems to have finally reached his tolerance level for the teasing Elijah has been up to all night. Carefully murmured code words, casual brushes of skin on skin, the slightest suggestion of innuendo...Dom has been alert and aware of him since the party hit full swing, and that was nearly two-and-a-half hours ago.
He waits until the door shuts firmly on their last guest before widening his smile into something more dangerous, feeling possessive as his gaze travels over Dom's body, which is nearly vibrating with held tension. "Everything all right, Dom?" he inquires innocently. He doesn't move from the doorway, waits for Dom to come to him. "Enjoy the party?"
Elijah, Dom thinks, is a ruthless man. It's not a new discovery, not by a long shot, but only a ruthless man would tease him like that for the entire night, with all these guests about. And even Dom knows that it's bad form for the hosts to sneak off for a quick shag simply because one of them has been molesting the hors d'ouevre with his tongue. Or pressing up against him in the hallway to squeeze past their friends, flimsy apologies undermined by a single whispered word that sent a coil of heat through Dom. Or looking at him with big blue eyes, perfectly cool as he chats with some director about camera positions, the tiniest hint of a smirk on his lips.
Elijah knew bloody well what he doing, and Dom's certain that he's enjoyed watching him squirm all evening as he felt the stirrings of an erection, until at last Dom retreated to the kitchen and the cover of the countertop. Wound up tight as a bow, and thank god Orlando's left, because ruthless Elijah may be, but he'll finish what he's started.
And, from the tone of Elijah's voice - still light and teasing - it's clear that they've only just begun. Dom itches to cover the distance between them (three strides, at most) and drop to his knees. He'll do anything Elijah asks, just to find release.
But he knows the game, and there are rules. He may not always play by them, but Dom knows they're there. Besides, he doesn't want to give Elijah the satisfaction of breaking him that easily.
Dom breathes in through his nose (pause) and out through his mouth. He can't quite look at Elijah's face; instead, he fixes his eyes on Elijah's shirtsleeve.
"M'fine." His voice is almost steady. It would be enough to convince most people. "Had a good time, 'Lij." And he's still watching Elijah's sleeve, except there's also Elijah's arm, slim taut muscle and bone that's a hell of a lot stronger than anyone would guess. Strong enough to pin Dom to the mattress, or the living room floor, or the nearest wall.
And that's it. Before he even knows it, Dom's inches away from Elijah, hands hovering, body practically thrumming. Elijah's eyes are dark and glittering and unblinking, and how is it that he seems taller, bigger than Dom?
Without a second thought, or even a first, the word slips out of Dom's mouth. "Bitte."
"Bedroom," Elijah counters, although his eyes soften slightly, the teasing changing into something more serious and possessive. He lifts one hand and his finger traces Dom's lips without touching, leaving the charge between them incomplete and crackling. "You've waited for me this long, haven't you?"
He follows Dom down the hall, drinking in the tension and nerves that sing to him from Dom's body like a shower of sparks. As soon as they make it through the door, he's in motion, turning Dom around and pushing him onto the bed, his hands holding down Dom's shoulders and his tongue already seeking entrance into Dom's lush mouth.
Dom yields without a fight, beautiful in surrender, and Elijah murmurs an endearment as he settles astride Dom's hips, whispering into Dom's hungry mouth. His fingers slide down Dom's shoulders to find his hands, linking their fingers and raising them above the pillows to the headboard, closing Dom's fingers gently over the vertical wooden bars. "Hold," he orders quietly, leaving Dom's lips to nibble at his throat, sucking folds of soft skin between his teeth to tease and release before sitting back up, eyes roaming over Dom in satisfaction.
"Do you want me to fuck you, Dom?" he asks, leaning back and relaxing, his fingers slowly working the buttons through the holes of his shirt, one-by-one. "Are you going to tell me how you want me to do it? What you want me to do to you?" The last one slides through, shirt falling open to let the cool air whisper over his chest. "Or do you want me to tell you?"
Right now, all Dom wants is to grasp Elijah's shirt and twist, pull it off his shoulders. There's nothing stopping him except a breath, a word, mere air. His fingers slip, and he has to concentrate hard as he curves his palms around the bars, tightening his grip. Elijah's been sharp about this, and there's no way Dom's going to start them off on a bad foot tonight.
"Connard," he growls, and he uses the leverage from the headboard and his heels digging into the mattress to arch up, lifting Elijah off the bed. The contact is hot and blinding, crushing, and Dom's body gives way with a soft thump.
"You feel that?" he challenges, and the way Elijah's sitting there on top of him, so straight and easy, is maddening. "Take a guess."
"Hush, Dom," Elijah says easily, hanging onto his balance and shrugging his shirt off, tossing it over the edge of the bed onto the floor. One hand drops to the fly of his jeans, flicking the button open with casual ease, dragging down the zipper with malicious slowness. "Maybe I don't care about what you want, tonight." He eases a hand inside the waistband of his boxers, lets his eyelids lower to half-mast at the contact and squeezes enough to make his breathing slightly more ragged.
"Maybe it's all about me." His hips push up slightly, just enough that his weight leaves Dom's hips, only to return and settle his ass against the hard bulge of Dom's cock. "What would you do then, hmm? What if I just wanted to get off and let..." He pauses for a quick, indrawn breath, a hissing exhalation as his thumb teases over the head. "...let you watch."
Dom nods, tucking his chin to his chest, and now he can see better, watch the shift of tendons in Elijah's wrist...but he can't see what he wants to see. The tantalizing slow jerk of fabric over Elijah's hands makes him swallow, his throat already dry with want. His hands are damp, forcing him to rework his grip, and why couldn't Elijah just get the handcuffs and be done with it? Bloody wanker. There's a mild burn in his shoulders that Dom relishes; he flexes his arms to feel the strain.
His eyes flicker up to Elijah's face, to his parted lips and his eyelashes quivering slightly and the hint of colour in his cheeks. His hand is still moving, and he seems oblivious to Dom's presence. That's not on at all.
Dom swallows again, clearing his throat, though his voice sounds like it was raked over gravel. "I could help you there, mate. You're doing it all wrong."
"Criticizing, Dom?" Elijah asks, deceptively calm. He stops moving, ignores the twitch of his impatient cock in his hand and lets go, slipping his hand free of his boxers and wiping his palm casually on the material of his jeans. "I suppose you think you can do better? That you're more talented?"
His fingers push beneath Dom's shirt, tracing feather-light over a rib, warning with the soft touch of his fingertips against Dom's skin. He leans forward, looking down into Dom's eyes, and then glances casually up at the headboard, to Dom's white-knuckled hands. "And don't you dare let go," he threatens, fingers tripping into a pinch over Dom's abdomen. "Or you don't want to know what I'll do to you." He arches, bringing his cock against Dom's in a slow, grinding tease. "It won't be this."
Dom's sure that Elijah's said something, twisted his own words, something about talent (when it's indubitably clear at the moment that the talent lies in Elijah's fingers, springing prickles of heat under his skin), but he can't fathom a retort. It's enough to try and concentrate on breathing, to roll his hips into the lush pressure of Elijah's. He can't help grinning, knowing that Elijah's hard, and oh, what Dom wants to do for him.
But there's something else, a second warning. Shit. Elijah's really been on this lately, and Dom tries, he really does, and he wants it because Elijah does, but Christ. What's wrong with ropes and chains, all the stuff that supposedly makes this so kinky? Even Elijah's hands, holding him down, yeah, that'd be good. But this willpower stuff...he's never been able to manage it. And he knows the consequences (pretty damn unforgettable, actually. There's still marks on his hip from last week; hurts like hell in the shower), it's just that he can't help it. When Elijah works him up, twists him inside out, his body just wants to move.
But Dom will try again. Because Elijah's asking him to. It's that simple.
Elijah makes a little dig, and the seam of Dom's jeans scrapes against his cock. His eyes widen; he shifts, wanting more contact (always more), and when he takes a deep breath, his ribs rise under Elijah's fingertips. He looks up to find Elijah, smooth and hard-edged and gorgeous, and somehow it's still astonishing. He's unreal, and Dom's a lucky bastard.
Even now, though, Dom can't let Elijah get away with vague threats. "Care to," and his breath only catches a little as Elijah's thumb flickers over his nipple, "elaborate?"
Elijah laughs, a low chuckle that vibrates between their bodies, and slides forward to straddle Dom's chest, eyes glinting. His hips jut forward suggestively, hands sliding over Dom's dusk-rose nipples and pushing his shirt up around his neck. "Is that what you want?" he asks amusedly, bringing a finger to Dom's mouth in an echo of earlier actions, this time letting the tip rest on the plump curves of Dom's lips. "For me to tell you what the plan is for tonight? How I'm going to fuck you, how long and how hard?" He smiles at the look on Dom's face, his body tightening in anticipation, knowing that Dom is as worked up and eager as he is. "What I'm going to use on you, to make sure you enjoy it? How it's going to feel against your naked skin?"
Elijah doesn't need to glance up to know that Dom's hands haven't moved, are right where they're supposed to be. Dom's mouth, on the other hand.
"Lube," he orders, pushing two fingers between Dom's lips into the hot cavern of his mouth, curving them to stroke Dom's tongue. "I think your mouth needs to be occupied." His other hand slips back into his boxers, shoving them down over his hips along with his jeans so that his cock springs free, flushed and waiting. "And when you're finished with those, I'll give you something else to work on."
Dom eagerly accepts Elijah's fingers, even as they slide along the back of his tongue and there's a breathless flash of constricting muscles in his throat, pure reflex. It's just as instinctive, though, to open himself, and Dom does, curling his tongue around Elijah's fingers, feeling his teeth scrape lightly over Elijah's knuckles.
As much as Elijah talks, and as much as Dom loves to talk back, he finds it hard to protest when Elijah silences him like this. When he lets Dom touch him, lets Dom see Elijah's eyes on him, Dom knows the agony of hours past will pay off. His lips curve into a smile around Elijah; his gaze slips over Elijah's pale chest, smooth planes unmarred (not like his), down to the shadow of Elijah's navel. Dom's view is half-blocked by Elijah's forearm, and even when he cranes his neck at an unavoidably awkward angle, he can't quite see Elijah's cock. Too close - absurd to think that Elijah's cock could ever be to close, but it is, and yet not close enough. Dom can sense Elijah's heat, feel the ghost weight of Elijah's cock in his mouth, and he wants it so badly, but it's not quite there. It's all he can do to mouth Elijah's fingers, licking between the webbing of his skin, as he tries to convince Elijah that he can do this.
"What's wrong?" Elijah asks, twisting his fingers in Dom's mouth, playing along the slippery length of Dom's tongue. "Are you wondering why I haven't chained you, liebchen? Does it bother you that there aren't any restraints holding you down?" He leans in, pulls his fingers out and paints Dom's lips with his own slick saliva, murmuring low between them. "Do you need them? Do you want the feel of cold metal against your skin while I'm fucking you?"
He sits back abruptly, shifting to kneel between Dom's legs, and grabs Dom's fly, undoing the buttons and yanking the rough material down all the way over Dom's feet and ankles, tugging Dom's socks off at the same time. His lips curl into a smile at the sight of Dom's cock, bare and proud, standing out from between his thighs in a silent plea for attention. Elijah slides back up the length of Dom's body, stretching out on top of him and reaching with one hand for the drawer in the bedside table, the other slithering back up Dom's hot, wet mouth.
"Suck," he murmurs, pressing his denim-shrouded hips into Dom's bare skin. "Like you know where they're going. And I'll see what I can do to make you more comfortable, yeah? Find something to keep you in line."
Again – always, when it's like this – Elijah's running questions at him far too quickly for Dom to process. The words aren't nearly as tangible as the jeans chafing his skin, gone in an instant, and the full-length press of Elijah's body – oh Christ, it's about fucking time – forcing Dom into the mattress. He arches his hips, but he can barely move, weighted down deliciously, just managing the barest friction against Elijah.
Dom hisses when the zipper teeth on Elijah's fly grate over the sensitized skin of his cock, a bright spark of pain. But then there's Elijah's fingers again, and he opens his mouth greedily, taking him in more easily than the first time, sucking until his lips brush Elijah's third knuckle. Stroking his tongue between Elijah's fingers, Dom dares a sharp nip at his joints.
Elijah jerks his fingers back in surprise, caught off-guard while his attention was focused on finding what he was looking for in the drawer, and his fingers catch on Dom's teeth, pulling for a second before he slips free and narrows his eyes. "I don't think you wanted to do that, Dom," he remarks calmly, pulling a length of jangling chain free of the drawer. "You might have to work a little to get me to believe you really want this."
His wet fingertips drop to slide in circles over one of Dom's nipples, coating the nub to glistening before moving to the next one, infinitely gentle. "Do you want chains?" he whispers, biting the shell of Dom's ear and rolling the skin between his teeth. His hands stretch the length of thin chain across Dom's bare chest while he ducks his head to blow cold air over wet nipples, drawing them taut. As soon as they've peaked, he rolls the chain up, keeping it out of Dom's line of sight, and then snaps the clamps on without warning.
He grins at Dom's indrawn breath, sits back and stuffs another pillow under Dom's shoulders, arranging him at a more comfortable angle for what Elijah has in mind. "Lube, Dom," he commands softly, shifting forward so that his hips are balanced within Dom's reach. "And don't try to get clever this time." The fingers of one hand slip under the chain that trails between the two nipple clamps, pulling it just enough to create tension, while the other reaches to cradle Dom's head and guide it to his cock.
There's a flash of triumph when Dom realizes that Elijah's going to let his transgression slide, that he'll still get what he wants, and then it's gone, obliterated by new sensations. The prickling heat of the clamps, chain taut in Elijah's hand, helps him focus.
But whatever Elijah thinks, Dom's more than capable of focusing now, surrounded by Elijah, feeling his hand sliding through his hair, pulling Dom close. And this is something Dom likes, something he's good at (something he won't mess up). He licks his lips, tucks them carefully over his teeth (perhaps the only lesson he's needed to learn only once), and purses his mouth softly over the head of Elijah's cock. Dom's eyes drift shut for a moment as he tongues the slit, applying a bit of suction now, and tasting Elijah. Fucking perfect.
He opens his eyes again, looking up at Elijah as he curls his tongue around the tip of his cock, silently questioning, asking permission.
Elijah almost loses himself in sensation as Dom's hot mouth envelops him, wet and welcoming, but he manages to keep his hips from jerking forward, lets his eyes flutter closed for only a fraction of a second before recovering. He nods in response to Dom's unspoken question, tilts his hips and Dom's head so that Dom can take more of him, and his other hand toys with the chain, jerking it upwards when Dom goes too far or tries to get creative. Normally, he would have all of the encouragement in the world for Dom's mouth on his cock; but he can't reward Dom for misbehaving, and he has other plans for tonight, more than Dom's clever tongue teasing his slit and making him hiss approvingly.
"Just lube it, Dom," he commands, directing with the chain in one hand, rubbing strands of thick, soft hair between his fingertips as he caresses Dom's head with the other. "Get me wet enough to be inside of you." His reaches behind him to trail his fingers over Dom's chest, pause to trace a few particularly memorable welts. "I want to fuck you like this," he murmurs, eyes half-lidded and heavy, fighting the tension in his muscles that urges him to thrust forward, deeper into Dom's throat. "Stretched out and chained. Will you do that for me?"
Elijah's eyes travel over the taut muscles in Dom's arms, his grip around the bedposts. He wonders if he's setting Dom up to fail, testing him like this. Dom has control in many areas, but sheer willpower isn't one of his strengths. He might make it, though, if Elijah keeps reminding him of the rules and possible consequences. "Can you last if I fuck you like this?" Elijah asks idly, challenging and taunting. "Will you not let go?"
Dom closes his eyes and tilts his head to take Elijah in as deep as he can, slowly, until he feels Elijah's cock nudge the back of his throat. Until there's no room for breath, nevermind words. Dom can't answer Elijah's question, but as he drags his tongue along the underside of Elijah's shaft, he tightens his grip on the bedposts and his nails (short, yes, but not like Elijah's, and even those can inflict a surprising amount of pain) dig into his palms. If he manages to do this, to be good for Elijah, he'll have marks there, his very own, and they'll be different but he can look at them and be proud.
I'll try, Dom says without words, mapping them out with his tongue on Elijah's cock. He opens his eyes, his field of vision reduced to a mere few inches of Elijah's skin, firm and smooth, and it's not a reduction at all but the most marvelous expansion. Elijah eclipses everything else, and all Dom wants is right here.
Elijah struggles to keep his breathing even as Dom takes him in, washes around him, hot and wet. "Enough," he murmurs after a few minutes of Dom's attentions, the first sound to break the silence beyond his own slightly hard-edged breathing and the sucking sounds as Dom moves over his cock. He sits back, easing Dom's head onto the pillows, and takes a deep breath to regain complete control before they move on. "Let's make this easier on you, yeah?" he suggests, already reaching for the bedside table and pulling a cloth rope line out of the drawer.
The leash is thin and supple, soft enough to bind without leaving marks, and it has a clip on one end that Elijah snaps over the chain on Dom's chest. He gives it a sharp, experimental tug to make sure that the clamps hold, and then smoothes it down the length of Dom's body, holding Dom's eyes as he does, as he wraps the soft rope around Dom's cock and balls; once, twice. "On your knees," he commands, putting enough pressure on the rope to keep it taut as he shifts to one side, giving Dom room to move. "You can let go and reposition, this time."
With Elijah gone (not really of course, but he's not there anymore, not where Dom wants him to be, except he will be again soon, if Dom's lucky) it's difficult to focus again, and his fingers slip for an instant before Dom can adjust to the emptiness in his mouth, the taste of Elijah still on his tongue.
But he manages to hold fast, even when he sees the rope in Elijah's hands, one of Dom's favourites (and he wonders if Elijah knows that, if he ever told him, but of course Elijah would know, yeah?) because it looks innocuous and soft, but in Elijah's hands it's anything but. Dom wants to reach out, offer himself, and the instinct is barely quelled. Truth be told, it's the jerk of the chain that stops his movement and his breath for a crucial instant, giving his lagging synapses a chance to catch up. He may not have any self-control, but a sense of self-preservation will do in a pinch, and Dom knows he doesn't want to let go. He knows Elijah, yes, but even now Dom can't fathom what would happen if he broke, after two-three-four warnings.
As it is, Elijah's reprieve comes not a moment too soon. Dom's arms drop to the pillow on either side of his head; there's a rush of heat, the release of muscle tension, burning slower than the tight heat in his groin. He doesn't take more than a breath, though (not the time to relax), before tucking his knees underneath him and rising in a fluid motion, watching Elijah through his lashes, head bowed slightly.
Dom's shirt slithers over his chest, catching briefly on the clamps, and before he can think or ask, his hands are above his head again, behind his neck, tugging the fabric over his head. Only when he sees his shirt hit the floor does Dom question, look to Elijah again for - reassurance? reprimand? - guidance.
Elijah smiles without comment, eating Dom up with his eyes, gaze sliding across every inch of smooth, toned skin. The marks displayed so clearly on Dom's body bring up a well of possessiveness and protective instincts, remembering how each one was made, and when, and why. Dom remembers too, he knows; except when he forgets.
He laughs at Dom's doe-eyed hesitation, the careful look from behind silken eyelashes that silently pleads for more direction. He gently turns Dom around, skimming his hands down the marred expanse of Dom's back and then back up to his shoulders, gently applying pressure until Dom yields and bends.
"Not getting out of it that easily, liebchen," Elijah murmurs, leaning in to flicker his tongue out over a dark spot on Dom's back, the result of one of their games over the past week. "Hold on again. Knees and elbows," he clarifies, running a finger down the length of Dom's spine all the way to where it first disappears between the curves of Dom's buttocks. He stretches over Dom, his finger slipping down to just press against Dom's entrance, his tongue flickering out to taste Dom; salt-sweat and nerves. He whispers his words to Dom's skin, enjoying the tiny tremors that answer him in the silence. "I want you open for me."
Dom settles, shifting, automatically bracing his forearms on the mattress. Elijah's touch, light as it is, draws shivers out of him; Dom arches his back, relishing the dull twinge of the most recent marks (and the memories, oh). Elijah's tongue, the softest weapon in his arsenal, and even that's enough to snare Dom's concentration, distract him beyond reason or instinct. His breath catches with the press of Elijah's finger, and exhales hard, clinging to Elijah's words - hold. Already it's hard to summon the energy, to unclench his fists, stretch and curl his fingers around the bedposts, to grip.
But Dom does it.
His head drops between his shoulders, the cool press of the pillow against his forehead soothing briefly. Dom shifts again – he knows what Elijah wants, knows he has to be able to take it. Knees spread, finding his balance, arching into Elijah's touch. Hands twist more firmly around the bedposts as Dom reminds himself - hold - but it's not the same in his own head, not half as convincing as Elijah's tone, all fire and ice.
But he holds.
Elijah purrs his pleasure, rewarding Dom with a dusting of kisses across his back, and reaches for the lubricant on the bedside table. He watches Dom for the shiver of response when he snaps the lid open, and holds the lip of the tube pressed against the soft pucker between Dom's cheeks, stroking his other hand soothingly over raised buttocks.
"Relax," he commands, velvet-soft, and squeezes the tube as soon as he feels Dom tremble. The gel squirts out and in, smearing over Dom's skin, and Elijah snaps the tube shut with a smile, one that shades into an anticipatory grin as he sits back on his heels to watch Dom, positioned and waiting, perfectly obedient. "So good, baby," he praises, replacing the lubricant on the table. He grasps Dom's hips firmly, forcing Dom to arch just a fraction more, and then drops one hand to his cock, aligning them and starting the slow push inside.
Elijah's voice wraps around him, and this time it's easy to listen, to comply, even as the cold shock of lubricant raises goosebumps along the back of Dom's thighs. This Dom can do, loosening himself, envisioning Elijah pushing in an instant before he does. The chill vanishes, giving way to rough heat and the burn of stretching muscle, with just enough lubricant to take the edge off, let Dom feel Elijah.
Dom makes a noise, low in his throat, trapped hard by Elijah's hands, drawing him steadily closer. Dropping his shoulders lower, Dom changes the angle slightly (oh yes), and there's a sharp tweak on his nipples as the rope draws taut.
And Elijah's still slow, even though Dom knows he can take it; he fights the urge to snarl, fuck careful, c'mon, wanting Elijah - all of him - inside. Now. His hands flex, the edge of the posts digging into his palm, and he presses his face into the pillow, soft cotton stifling another guttural sound.
Elijah bites his lip to keep from making a sound, listening instead to Dom's noises, feeling the tiny twitches as they settle together, until Elijah's hips are flush against Dom's backside. No matter how many times they do this, Dom is still tight, perfectly clenched around Elijah's cock. Elijah strokes over what skin he can easily reach, praising and warning at the same time, because this is where it's going to get rough, for both of them.
"Feel that?" he whispers, pushing his hips forward even though there's no further he can go, just to shift Dom slightly and hear the noise that he muffles into the pillow. "Do you love it when I'm inside you?" Elijah draws back a fraction of an inch, and his hands part Dom's cheeks so that he can thrust in that much deeper, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. "Do you love being filled?" He holds his breath, glides out and in another tiny fraction, circles his hips to grind against Dom's walls. He has to play this carefully, or Dom might not forgive him for it. But this could be so good, for both of them...
"Do you ever imagine it's someone else?" he asks, whisper-soft and seductive. "Ever want someone else here, fucking you, while I watch?" He takes a deep breath, gives Dom an inch of out-and-in, teasing and taunting. His tongue licks delicately at a recent crop-stripe, softening the wound so that it re-opens, saliva salting the shallow cut. "Do you ever fantasize about someone else when you're with me?"
Christ, finally, and Elijah feels so fucking good, buried inside him. Even Elijah's teasing little movements, grind-press-pull, fail to elicit angry pleas from Dom's lips, only a ragged moan. After so many hours of simply wanting something, here he is with everything now, tightening his thighs, tightening around Elijah. Yes. He rounds his back to feel Elijah's chest flush against his skin, wanting contact, ever more.
He gets more than he bargained for, though not more than he should know to expect by now. Dom hisses when Elijah's tongue sparks against his skin, and he remembers. That was a punishment, that one (but for what, that's slipped his mind), and Dom can't help but recall the long minutes of isolation, not a touch from Elijah, not a word, just silence and absence.
But now Elijah's here, close, and he's speaking still. Dom lifts his head to listen, and he hears the words, but he doesn't understand. It seems preposterous, especially here, now. Who else was there besides Elijah? Years ago, there were, even in the early days in New Zealand, but even still, who else mattered? What more could Dom want?
Dom's certain that he's meant to answer. But he doesn't know how, or what Elijah wants. Is this a test? Is he supposed to say no, or risk punishment? Or is this something Elijah wants? The thoughts twist in Dom's mind, and he presses his head against his forearm.
Does Elijah know something he doesn't? Does he want the truth? What is the truth?
Dom blinks a bead of sweat out of his eyes, lifts his head and cranes his neck. He needs to see Elijah, there, that's better. "No," Dom shakes his head. "Le meilleur."
Elijah can barely summon the patience to wait for Dom's answer, but somehow he manages it, remaining still and silent while Dom's hesitation speaks for him. When Dom uses that name for him, the one that always makes Elijah want him more than anything else in the world, he almost loses his grip on his control, almost groans and gives in, fucks Dom like nothing else matters but the two of them.
But this is the two of them; and Elijah could be wrong, but he thinks that Dom might want something else. Or someone else, rather, and if Dom keeps repressing it because of Elijah, things could turn out very badly a few weeks or months down the road.
Elijah presses an awkward kiss to Dom's lips, runs one hand across his stomach and chest, twisting a nipple clamp gently as he watches Dom's eyes. "It's not a trick question, Dom," he murmurs, and slips his hand around to massage the muscles in Dom's neck, encouraging him to let go and stop tensing up. "You don't have to hide anything from me."
His hand gently pushes Dom's head down then, so that Dom can't look at him anymore, can't plead with those beautiful eyes for Elijah to just be quiet and let this go. He's still walking the line, but he knows that if he doesn't take charge again soon and show dominance, Dom will probably start panicking.
"Stop thinking," he orders, bracing his hands on Dom's hips again and repositioning him so that Elijah's thrusts don't graze Dom's prostate, starting a slow, steady rhythm that sparks along his nerves. "I can keep this up all night," he murmurs, bending to place a kiss on one of the raised knobs of Dom's spine. "Just let go, Dom. Forget that it's me. Say whatever comes into your head."
Threat, promise, demand - now Dom doesn't have a choice, but it's easier even if he doesn't want this. He still doesn't know what Elijah's on about, why he's so serious. For a moment when Elijah looked at Dom there were shadows clouding his cool blue eyes, edging away from calm, and a flash of fear shook Dom, because what if there was something he didn't know, that Elijah didn't know?
Stop thinking. Right. Fuck.
Dom exhales slowly, closing his eyes, and just feels...the twitch of the clamps when he breathes, the deceptively soft constriction around his cock and balls keeping him on the edge, even when Elijah's measured thrusts paint bright stars, white-hot, on the inside of Dom's eyelids. His mouth opens on a moan, and the words tumble out unbidden.
"Want you, 'Lij, bitte," and it's true, absolutely; there's no one else that can do this like Elijah. "No one." He knows what Dom wants, knows what he needs, always two steps ahead. What else could Dom desire?
"You're fucking gorgeous," all porcelain and strength, "different."
Elijah closes his eyes, lets the words wash over him and adjusts his angle, gives Dom the rough scrape of his cock against Dom's prostate with every long, drawn-out thrust. "Different?" he asks, curious and aroused beyond belief, his breath coming harder with every word Dom speaks. "Different from what?" He checks, pausing in mid-thrust, and then pushes in deep and hard, rocking Dom forward with the force of his hips and pulling the rope tighter, trying to catch Dom off-guard with the combination of pain and pleasure. "Different from whom?"
"Everybody," Dom gasps, sensations roiling and twisting through his body – his arse, his groin, his chest, his arms, oh god – and when Elijah grips the rope, squeezes, Dom can't think anymore. It's the first name that comes to mind, each syllable stretching with harsh panted breaths.
"Orlando."
Orlando.
Elijah swallows a groan, feeling something like relief washing over him at having his suspicions confirmed. If he had been wrong...if Dom hadn't said it... But he did, and now they both know. Elijah suspects that Dom is more shocked by the words than he is, so he bottles the undercurrent of jealousy, shunts it aside for the moment and concentrates on Dom. He lets go of the slow tempo immediately, rewarding Dom for his honesty with the snap of his hips, hard and fast, just short of punishing.
"Tell me," Elijah urges breathlessly, bending over Dom to sink his teeth into resilient flesh, nipping sharply at fading bruises. "Tell me what you want him to do to you. Don't think, just say whatever comes into your head. Do you fantasize about him?" Elijah takes a deep breath, pushes a little bit more, waiting to see if Dom will follow his lead. "He's beautiful. Do you imagine him inside you, fucking you? You sucking his cock? Tell me, Dom. Stop thinking and just tell me."
Dom cries out, and he'll do anything now, for Elijah, for relief from the near-blinding pressure building inside, and oh god, Elijah feels so fucking good. The line of Dom's body is wound taut, hands clenched around the bed posts (how'd he forget about those?), spine arching almost painfully (toward Elijah, always), thighs quivering with tension (felt like he'd just sprinted a dozen blocks, Christ).
He's never thought about what he would do to (for) Orlando, never let himself think. But here, now, it's shockingly easy. "Want everything. Want to suck him off, hear him moan. Want his fingers, oh god, want him inside. Want to watch you while he fucks me..." A groan wrenches itself from his throat, overcoming the words, but Dom can picture it now, Orlando and his pretty curls and his fucking luscious mouth, wouldn't that feel good around him? Not like this, never, but good, oh Christ.
Every muscle, every nerve in his body is singing with strain, and Dom doesn't know how he's held on this long, how long it's even been. It's almost too much to get what he wants, to feel Elijah pounding inside him, quick and deep, spangles of pleasure waiting to burst. "Bitte, Elijah," he pleads, "bitte."
Elijah gasps, seeing Dom's words painted on the back of his eyelids, imagining Dom bent and open with Orlando's hands on his skin, his lips parted, taking everything Orlando has to give with Elijah right there, watching him...
His thrusts grow erratic, short and arrhythmic, and just as his vision starts to blur, he reaches down and yanks the clamps off with an abrupt jerk, allowing the blood to flow into Dom's nipples, and rubs his thumb over one before sliding his hand down and closing it around Dom's swollen cock. At the same time, he releases the rope, letting go of the tension holding Dom captive, and comes with a sharp, uncontrollable cry and one final thrust.
The force of release is almost as powerful as restraint, explosions of pleasure-pain that set fire to Dom's skin, stealing oxygen and threatening to engulf him; Elijah's touch seems to burn as he strokes Dom off, raw sensations eclipsing everything else. And Dom has no desire, no choice, but to give himself over. Shuddering, his voice dry and hoarse, Dom comes over Elijah's hand and nearly collapses. His head drops, knees and elbows splaying, and his fingers loosen, slip away from the bed posts without a thought.
It takes a moment for Elijah to catch his breath; but as soon as he does, Dom is in his arms, cradled gently against Elijah's chest while Elijah strokes his hair and sweat-sheened, trembling skin, murmuring assurances into his hair.
"Relax, liebchen," he soothes, pulling Dom with him so that they're both lying on their sides, spooned together. "You did very well, so good..." He rambles for a few seconds, repeating endearments and praises until Dom's breathing has calmed, and there's awareness rather than blind obedience in his eyes. Elijah touches Dom's nipples gently, massaging them into softness to ease the worst of the burn, and untangles the bindings with his free hand, tossing them off of the bed as he eases Dom onto his back and ducks his head, taking one reddened nipple into his mouth and sucking softly.
"Love you," he murmurs, lifting his head to catch Dom's eyes before moving to the other nipple, washing it with his tongue, pouring his awe and concern into his care for Dom's pain. He captures Dom's hands next, kissing the knuckles, and then sits up and reaches for the bottle of massage oil that they keep next to the bed, knowing that Dom's arm muscles must be screaming at him from the strain of holding on so long.
He pours some of the oil into his palms and starts working into one of Dom's biceps, firm but tender, giving Dom room to breathe and come back to himself by not holding his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks quietly, thumbs smoothing the oil onto Dom's shoulder, pressing in to work out the knots.
"I didn't know." Dom's limbs feel heavy, impossibly so, and he thinks that if he were drifting like this in the ocean, the south Pacific maybe, he'd sink like a stone; but he's not there, he's with Elijah, and Elijah would never let him drown.
Dom hums contentedly as Elijah's hands soothe his muscles, finding the knots of pressure and easing them away. He's inexpressibly grateful for the care and attention, can never fathom what he does to deserve it. There's a glowing pleasure, knowing that Elijah lets Dom see him like this, tender strength and soft words, and Dom knows that he belongs - to Elijah, yes, and there's nothing more.
It's easier to breathe now, gathering himself together, picking up the little pieces that Elijah's shattered so beautifully. So tempting to let his eyes drift shut...but there's a stronger pull as Dom's gaze rests on Elijah, finding the little furrow of concentration in his brow as he looks down at Dom's arm, the shiver of Elijah's eyelashes, the curve of his lips. Dom smiles softly.
He blinks slowly as he tries to unearth tendrils of thought, like pulling up a tangle of weeds, one stringing along to another endlessly, some buried so deep that they don't even break the surface. But he owes it to Elijah to sort this through - oh god, how cruel could he be to say things like that? But Elijah asked, and Dom could never hide something from Elijah, even when he could hide the same thing from himself.
"Je t'aime. Le meilleur," Dom begins, and his throat is thick. "I - I don't know what Orlando is. Remember back in New Zealand, when he was just a kid...didn't have clue, but he threw himself into it. All bows and arrows and swords that he actually got to use." Dom chuckles. "And now he's changed. Hell, how could he not? But he's still the same, still fearless."
Dom lifts his hand, fingertips tentatively stroking Elijah's arm. "I didn't mean..."
"I know," Elijah answers quickly, curving his arm to run the oil-free back of his hand across Dom's jaw, smiling fondly. It hurts a little that Dom wants someone else, but it's also only natural. And the fact that he's been so completely loyal and honest eases the brief twinge of pain. The fact that it's Orlando they're talking about, and not some complete stranger Dom has the hots for, helps as well. "It's all right, I understand."
Elijah shifts to start rubbing Dom's other arm, adding more oil so that the skin glistens, dark and shining. "Would you want that?" he asks carefully, looking into Dom's eyes this time, trying to let him know that they're okay either way, no matter what the answer is. "Be honest, don't just tell me what you think I want to hear."
Dom swallows, but he holds Elijah's gaze. "I don't know. I don't, I'm sorry." And what is it, really? A simple matter of spending too much time together, perhaps; Orlando clocking air miles between this shoot and that one and L.A., and of course Dom saw him when he was in town, what else did he have to do? Coffee, shopping, dinner, whatever. But what did that mean?
Maybe nothing, on its own. But. "It was a long time ago." And yeah, when Rings started, he saw Orlando, and he was interested. It seemed, too, that the attraction was mutual. Orlando wasn't the most subtle bloke, even standing next to somebody as oblivious as Dom. It was nothing, went nowhere; they were like puppies on set, rollicking and wreaking havoc.
"That was before you came," Dom murmurs, and his cheeks flush with the memory; he can feel his cock stirring slightly. Doctor Elijah Pavlov, ladies and gentlemen.
He looks up at Elijah, shifting a bit to reach out with his free hand, placing his palm flat on Elijah's chest. Smooth fair skin beneath the pads of Dom's fingertips, and he slides his hand up to curve around Elijah's neck, thumb grazing across his cheek.
Dom's never been very good at separating what he wants from what he needs. But one thing is certain, and it turns his voice low and earnest. "I need you, 'Lij."
Elijah sighs, pulls Dom back into his arms and shifts to lie behind him, so that he doesn't have to look into Dom's eyes, to deal with his own conflicted feelings and the sum of Dom's need at the same time. "I know you do," he says, retreating into his own thoughts so that he can figure out what to do now that he's gotten them this far. But do you need him too?
Dom and Orlando were always close. Just because he and Dom had the hobbit-bond to build from, because Elijah got there first...was that what changed things? If Elijah hadn't sparked so hard to Dom's mild-mannered aggression and constant challenges, hadn't practically forced him into that first kiss...would Orlando be here now, wrapped around Dom's naked body, pressed against his skin? Would Dom not have the second thoughts in his head about taking another lover, would he be satisfied?
Elijah doesn't usually doubt himself or his abilities. But if Dom needs something more than he can provide, they need to deal with that. He needs to step out, let Orlando...fuck. He doesn't want to give Dom to Orlando. He's not ever certain that he wants to share. But it doesn't really matter what he wants, does it? He needs to do what's best for Dom.
Dom settles with Elijah; the curve of his ankle, the back of his knees, the angle of his hips fitting easily. And he wants to drift off like this, like normal, but the tension in Elijah's body transmits to Dom's easily, too. Dom sucks in air, worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His hand finds Elijah's on his belly, fingers easing between Elijah's; Dom squeezes gently, reassuring. It's a strange position to be in, to know that Elijah's having doubts (for that's what they must be, for him to be this quiet, and Dom can't fault him for it, even if it does feel a bit like trying to keep his balance in quicksand), but Dom knows that he has to be strong now.
Dom turns his face toward his pillow, brushing his nose against the inside of Elijah's elbow, and he presses a kiss to the soft skin there. "'Lijah," he breathes, feeling warm air on his lips.
"Nothing would've changed, you know." And Dom is aware of Elijah's greed, relishes it, because it means that he wants Dom, all of him. But Elijah needs to know that he wasn't wrong, that he didn't take anything that Dom didn't choose to give, not now, and not in the early days. Christ, Elijah took his sweet time then...after all that waiting, what doubts could he have?
"Look," Dom tells Elijah's forearm, "I like Orlando, yeah? But it's nothing to what we've got. Nothing. I'm not going anywhere." He pauses for a moment, trying to make sure he can get the words right, the way Elijah does.
"Whatever happens, I'm with you."
Dom's voice pulls Elijah out of his thoughts, but he lies still, breathing, until he comes to a conclusion. Not a good one, necessarily, but it's a conclusion. Whatever happens...
He nudges Dom's shoulder with his nose, scoots closer so that his cock is pressed against Dom's ass, so Dom can feel him slowly hardening again. His fingers, still slippery with oil, slide over Dom's chest, press-and-drag, marking his territory with the imprint of his fingertips. "What if you had both of us?" he whispers into Dom's ear, taking the lobe softly between his teeth. His hips push forward slightly, testing to see how Dom will react. To see how far both of them are willing to take this, now that the seeds have been planted.
"Ohh..." Dom rolls his hips back into Elijah's, feels the sizzle of nerves that have barely settled, only to awaken in an instant. He turns his head, burrowing in the crook of Elijah's elbow, just to feel Elijah's teeth sharpen and tug on his earlobe. Already, it's dizzying, and the moments just before (the quiet uncertainty) are blurring as they find their way back (because this is how it should be).
And both of them. The three of them. "Wouldn't want it any other way." It's inconceivable, utterly, to think of Orlando without Elijah. Dom needs Elijah, so much that it would be frightening if he didn't know that Elijah would always be there. He'll always be Elijah's.
That stings a bit, even knowing how Dom intended it, and understanding that Dom isn't necessarily at his most clear-headed right at this moment. But Elijah just rolls Dom's earlobe between his teeth, feels the barely-there tremors of Dom's muscles beneath his hands, and reminds himself that they belong to each other, that Dom is his without question or hesitation. The thought brings blood rushing to his cock, and he releases Dom's ear with a low moan as their bodies fit more snugly together.
He thinks about Orlando and Dom together, and how no part of him wants them alone, or wants to watch Dom yield and submit to someone else. He can't do that. It would tear him apart, and probably Dom as well. Elijah rocks forward, teasing thrusts along the crevice between Dom's cheeks, and considers.
"In Korea," he muses thoughtfully, "Wives used to find surrogates to bear their husbands' children, so that they wouldn't have to." The head of his cock nudges at Dom's entrance, slides forward a slow centimeter at a time, sinking steadily into heat and pressure. "They didn’t want to lose their figures, so they would make a deal with one of these women. There were whole villages of them, mothers and daughters, because wealthy families only wanted to keep the sons."
Dom hisses slowly, cool air stinging the back of his teeth as Elijah presses, and he focuses on relaxing, the burn and the stretch of taking Elijah in raw, oh Christ. He leans forward into Elijah's hands, seeking that resistance, the safety of hard edges and firm muscle. It's good, yes, the twisting heat in his cock, body trapped by Elijah's arms, chest, cock, the only borders he really needs. Dom shifts, trying to draw Elijah in, sliding his hand behind him, along Elijah's flank. Not pressing, he wouldn't dare, but it doesn't hurt to ask (or if it does, all the better).
And what was that Elijah said? Korea? Women? "Mate," Dom grits out, "what are you on about?"
"Hush, Dom," Elijah replies mildly, although his heartbeat has increased now that he's inside Dom - home - and he can feel Dom's pulse pick up speed as well, the stretch and give of his body around Elijah's cock. "I'm trying to tell a story, here." There's just enough lube left between them for Elijah to move without the friction being painful, so he starts sliding in and out, tilting his hips as he flexes to make the angle good for both of them.
"The Korean wives," he continues, his voice rougher now that he's having to divide his concentration between the history lesson and Dom's blessedly tight ass, "Didn't just give up their men, though. They used to sit outside the door to the bedroom, while the surrogates were with their husbands." One of his hands slips down to grasp Dom's cock, squeezing it briefly and then stroking to match the tempo of his thrusts, burying his face in the back of Dom's neck.
"The wives had to be involved in the conception, see?" Elijah gasps, starting to fracture and holding back, slowing their rhythm until he regains control. "So they would give directions, tell the surrogate and the husband what to do." He stifles another moan, has to hold his breath for a second before it passes and he can speak again. "They controlled everything."
It takes Dom longer than it should to follow Elijah's train of thought, to figure out that he actually has a point (of course, because Elijah always does). But fuck, it's hard to think when Elijah's already pushing him to the edge, thumb flicking over the slick head of his cock, not at all like earlier, the agonizing stretch of arousal – not that Dom was complaining, but god, this is too easy, so luscious and perfect.
History, right. Dom pushes back onto Elijah, just a fraction – oh, there - and a short burst of heat helps clear his mind, not much, but enough.
"You're," the wife, Dom thinks, and it's ludicrous, "in charge, yeah?" Elijah makes a little dig with his hips; Dom gasps, and seconds pass while he tries to pick up the trail again. "I'm the partner," and that's easy enough, "and Orlando is…?" The farmgirl? Even now, in this rather precarious position, Dom has to choke back a burst of laughter at the image. He bites down on his tongue, hard, and the taste of copper in his mouth is enough to distract him. Hopefully enough to satisfy Elijah.
"Whatever it is you're thinking, Dom," Elijah warns, "don't say it." He's partially annoyed at Dom for taking this so lightly, but a part of him is amused as well, and relieved, because if they can joke about it, they must be all right. His hips snap forward, hard enough to make them both gasp, and the hand not working Dom's cock uses its leverage to yank Dom closer to him, tight against his body. "I'll take it out of your ass, I swear I will."
He sinks his teeth into the flesh of Dom's shoulder briefly, licking roughly at the salt of Dom's sweat on his skin, and then clicks his teeth together sharply as his orgasm threatens, gradually building to the crest. "And I'm not coordinated enough to fuck you and beat you at the same time," he manages, even though they both know it for a lie, so close now, hanging on just to see how long he can draw this out, knowing that Dom can't come until he gives permission.
Dominic tucks his chin to his chest, arching his neck in offering. Elijah's hard and sharp along his whole body and Dom's crackling with every twist of Elijah's fingers, every twist of Elijah inside. He's pinioned. Remember when this was easy, yeah? Too fucking complacent, boyo. He should (does, some of the time) know by now that Elijah doesn't need a thing to wrench these sounds from him, to string him tight and make him beg. And he's doing it now, Christ. Dom's keening, the heat of Elijah's hand and the tightness gathering in his balls threatening to drive him mad. He clenches his jaw, skates a hand across his chest until he can tweak a nipple – flash of pain - just to hold on that little bit longer.
Elijah makes an abortive move to slap Dom's hand away, but he knew that he couldn't hold Dom for much longer without involving any real pain, so he lets it go and tumbles into his orgasm, shooting deep inside Dom and finishing him off with a final jerk, a slide of his palm over the head, and the scrape of a barely-existent fingernail inside Dom's slit.
He's tempted to just collapse here and not move, but a stronger part of his will is forcing him to move, to sit up and act before Dom loses his cloudy, post-coital daze. "Stomach," he orders, and snags the twelve-inch cane from the drawer of the bed table, straddling Dom's upturned backside. The cane is heavy enough to sting, but not to leave blood, and he brings it down in a sharp pattern of criss-crossing lines, hard enough to raise thin welts.
Elijah flips Dom over onto his back as soon as the last stripe is laid, throwing the cane onto the table and sliding into Dom's arms, claiming his mouth for a hungry, ferocious kiss. His tongue forces its way past Dom's lips, possessive and demanding, and his hands roam over all of the bare skin he can reach, pulling Dom tight against his chest. Most of the time, he marks Dom because it's what Dom needs; but occasionally, it's what Elijah needs. To remind himself that Dom is here because he wants to be, that he belongs to Elijah, that Elijah can bruise Dom's beautiful skin for no other reason than because he needs to know he still can.
The lashes smart Dom's skin, their tempo countering his heartbeat still thundering in his chest. It's Elijah's rhythm, laid over his own, and the blows bring Dom back into focus. He can feel his eyelashes scratching against the pillow, and then the sudden friction of the sheets on his raw skin. But even more, there's the urgent electricity of Elijah's mouth, and it's all too easy to remain pliant, revel in the invasion; Dom tilts his head, opening and inviting, and Elijah swallows the sounds that he makes.
He wonders what Elijah's thinking, worries for a moment that he shouldn't have said anything at all, because whatever else goes on, the answer is Elijah, and Elijah needs to know that, but what else could Dom do? And it will be alright, yeah, because Elijah will take care of it, and Dom should really stop tying himself in knots, that's Elijah's job, and Christ those are teeth. The cut on Dom's tongue flares, and Dom lets himself go, curling his hands around Elijah, sliding over his back, tangling in his hair. There's nothing else.