Part 1 - A Bit Of The Old Fuck and Fumble
Disclaimer: I do not make any money from writing this, which should be self-evident. I do not know these two men, sadly.
Pairing: Elijah Wood/Dave Wenham
Rating: PG15
Warning: Bad language.
Feedback: Always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk
Summary: Dave has a theory about Elijah...
AN: For Baranduin, who loves this pairing and who writes beautiful Frodo and Faramir
Setting: New Zealand, principal photography
1/ A Bit of the Old Fuck and Fumble
There comes a point when theorising goes out the window and it's time for empirical evidence. Dave liked the word "empirical", with its four syllables which rolled off the tongue. "Elijah" had three syllables: he would like to roll every one of them off his tongue, and roll Elijah on it.
Dave reviewed his findings on the drive over: a furtive glance here, a chance remark there, a flash of eyes some place else.. "Dave would know all about wallabies.. Dave is probably good at cricket.. Dave can hold his drink, can't you mate?" All from the dirty mouth of the cherub of Cedar Rapids. Pretty, dirty mouth..
The car came to a halt outside the little house and Dave took a moment to run a hand through his hair and chew a mint. Then he headed up the short drive.
Elijah opened the door just wide enough to be able to peer out and grimace. "It's Sunday," he pointed out, his words slurred and his hair all over the place. He stifled a yawn and moved aside to let his visitor in.
"I know it's Sunday. I just came round to take you to Church," Dave replied, following Elijah into the house. They stood in the hall for a moment, Elijah regarding Dave sceptically.
Dave laughed. "Okay, no Church. But how about a drive in the country? Find a nice pub, have lunch?"
Elijah yawned and smiled almost simultaneously, and then he looked down as if aware for the first time that he was practically naked. Dave was fully aware that Elijah was scantily clad. He noticed these things.
"I'll get dressed. Make coffee?" Elijah said sluggishly, retreating down the hall to the bedroom. Dave hesitated a second, eyes fixed on the firm orbs of Elijah's ass as the bendy boy shimmied away, then he wandered into the kitchen. He had been to the house once before, but then it had been brimful of boisterous drunks and the music had been loud enough to down a Nazgul.
On this fine Sunday morning, the house was very quiet, only the ticking of a clock somewhere breaking the silence. Dave set the coffee going and looked out onto the garden; he saw a small patio set, empty beer bottles scattered like hidden commandos in the long grass, and one solitary boot with a pack of cigarettes jammed inside.
"Had a bit of a party last night," Elijah explained, joining him. He had pulled on a sweater and jeans and was yawning again. Dave could think of nothing better than kissing that yawning mouth, closing those lips, stopping that breath for a second. Instead, he finished making the coffee and handed a cup to Elijah.
"You didn't invite me," he said, casually, smiling to negate the criticism. Elijah seemed wrong-footed for a moment, as if considering the implications of his reply, cogs in his brain turning and connecting, then he merely shrugged and sipped his coffee.
"No big deal, just a few of the techies. And Dom," he said finally, blowing the surface of his hot drink, his mouth becoming a pure and perfect O.
Dave pushed away from the counter and stretched, locking his arms behind his head, fully aware that the action had pulled his shirt loose from his jeans, exposing his furry belly; as he expected - hoped - Elijah cut him a very quick glance, his eyes honing in on the exposed flesh.
"So, the country…" Elijah's smile was all about the mouth today, Dave realised, and nothing whatever about the eyes. He had the guarded look of a cat being offered a plump and juicy salmon head by a strange dog. But was he hungry enough?
"Yep, the country," Dave replied. "Unless you can think of something else you'd rather do?"
"There's something in the bedroom you could help me with, actually," catboy said, his eyes narrow and flinty.
Dave pondered those eleven words carefully, rolling them around in his brain for a little while, assessing their implication. Possibility - Elijah had a suitcase on the top of his wardrobe he couldn't get down, him being such a delicious little runt. Possibility - Elijah had a spider in there just above his bed and he was a martyr to arachnophobia. Possibility - Elijah had always fancied him and desperately wanted to fuck his brains out... Of course.
"Okay." Dave smiled, happy with his reasoning. "We'll attend to bedroom matters: then we go out." He followed Elijah along the little hall to the bedroom, comfortably heavy below the belt.
"It's up there, in the corner." Elijah guided him with his hand on Dave's waist, pulling him into the room and turning him, until Dave saw...Oh fuck, it was a big one.
"Not that I am necessarily afraid of spiders, you understand," Elijah breathed, very close, his hand still pleasingly on Dave's waist. "Just, it's kind of high up and even with a chair... and you being here and all, and kind of tall..."
It was scuttling - spiders scuttled, what was it with spiders and their scuttling? Dave wondered idly - towards the wardrobe.
"Get me a jar or something, Lij," he said, authoritatively, and was gratified when Elijah quickly obeyed, though he instantly missed that hand on his waist.
"This do?" Elijah asked a few moments later, handing Dave a washed out peanut butter jar and a piece of paper.
"Just the ticket... hang on..." Dave paused mid-manoeuvre and looked down into Elijah's placid eyes. "Is this one of the poisonous ones?"
"How the fuck would I know?" Elijah shrugged. "It's just a fucking big one. The fucking big ones don't need to be poisonous, do they?"
Dave considered this carefully. Steve Irwin he was not. But to back down now, in front of the Yank, might not be such a good game plan. If he lost an arm to gangrenous infection, well, he had a spare...
"If it goes behind there, we'll have to shift the wardrobe. Get it now while you can," Elijah advised from the safety of the middle of the room. He picked up a chair and dumped its contents on the floor, placing it next to Dave.
Dave nodded, a manly and knowing nod, then hopped on the chair and reached up with the peanut butter jar, paper poised...
"Don't hurt it," Elijah hissed.
Okaaay.
"No worries," Dave replied, evenly. Come into my peanut jar, nice spider... He was eye to eye to eye to eye with the damned beast now, paper poised. Down and to the side, other eyes of an unfathomable blue were regarding him closely. Dave licked his lips, and with one deft flick of the wrist he had the creature in the jar and the paper sliding over the top.
"Got him," he said, triumphantly. From inside the jar, the spider glared. It really was a big bastard. Elijah took the jar from Dave's hand and gave the contents a cursory glance before emptying it carefully out the open window.
"We get bigger ones than that in Oz, of course." Dave felt rather cocky now. He jumped down from the chair.
"Course you do," Elijah drawled, closing the casement. "So. The country, then?"
"Yeah, the country." Dave didn't move. He glanced at the bed - Elijah's bed. Elijah glanced at the bed - his bed.
"Later," Elijah said, crossing to Dave and putting his arms firmly around the older man's waist. "Fuck the country," Dave thought, irrelevantly, pulling Elijah in for a good deep kiss.
Elijah's mouth tasted more or less as Dave had imagined it would, only more so - more spearminty from recently applied toothpaste and not a trace of cigarette breath. His lips were soft, too. Dave decided he liked this feisty, proactive Elijah very much, this was more in keeping with his expectations. Now to find out if just one more of his preconceptions was true - was Elijah a squealer?