Disclaimer: I do not not know these people. No offence is intended nor profit made.
AN: Names of requestees removed for reasons of privacy.
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Hands Solo
by Trianne
Pairing: Elijah and Elijah's Imagination
Clean sheets. Door locked. Music on, but low and unobtrusive.
He’d showered, resisting the urge to do it there in the torrent of hot water. No, it had to be here in bed. He slid beneath the covers and lay quite still for a moment, then his left hand moved to stroke his right nipple while his right hand closed around his cock. He stroked nipple and cock, trying to establish a nice rhythm and getting, instead, that rub-tummy-pat-head thing going.
He’d been spoiled by Viggo. Why have a dog and bark yourself? Sighing, he started again… “Viggo…Viggo,” he moaned.
Chosen One
by Trianne
Pairing: Ian McKellen/Chorus Actor (name changed)
“Can I ask you something?”
Ian turned from his newspaper and peered over his glasses at the young man across the table from him. He raised an eyebrow and said, “Of course, go on.”
“Have you asked Sean to change stage directions? So I don’t have to carry the litter?” Jay turned his coffee cup around, avoiding Ian’s eye.
“Yes,” Ian replied, softly.
“Why?” Jay asked, looking up.
“To conserve you for more useful things, of course,” Ian replied, smiling into the print.
Jay sighed. “Oh. That’s a relief, that you want sex. I thought I must just be clumsy…”
Itch
by Trianne
Charlie Pace (Lost)/Eijah
“You complete me,” he’d said and he’d meant it, completely. “I never felt like this about anyone, man.”
He’d wanted him; wanted his skin, his hands, his lips, his heart and soul. He devoured him. Liam said he was an addict, which was fucking rich. “You’re addicted to that kid; let him breathe, man,” he’d said, sneering.
Looking out on the ocean at sunset, Charlie feels the craving. Partly it’s the powder, mostly it’s the boy. Go back to the world? Or have that one bit of the world right here? Selfishly, he knows what he’d choose. The boy. Elijah.
Wasted
by Trianne
Dom and Elijah in a conservatory, second bottle of wine.
The bottle rolled along the tiles and came to rest at the feet of Buddha. He didn’t seem to mind; he hadn’t minded when Elijah’s boxers had landed on his outstretched arm, either.
Dom had Elijah on the old fashioned, wicker-framed sofa that he’d picked up second hand from the Bazaar in Van Nuys. His thrusts were a little sloppy, given they’d drunk a bottle of red each. Elijah, face down in the rose-covered cushions, didn’t seem to mind too much. Or to be contributing at all…
“Are you asleep?” Dom asked, mid-stroke.
Elijah shuddered awake. “No, I’m counting petals…”
Mood Music
By Trianne
Trent Reznor/Elijah
Elijah thinks this album is perfect to listen to when you’re heartbroken. He puts it on and cranks up the volume. The noise instantly pervades, working to fill up all those nasty little spaces where feeling once lived. By the time the sound reaches his heart, he’s on his fifth cigarette, fourth beer, second little pink pill…
The world turns over; he’s pretty sure the cigarette burn in the polished flooring wasn’t there before. There’s a boot in the field of his vision that wasn’t there, either.
He hears, “I was wrong, Elijah. You don’t need this. You got me.”
Pairing: Karl Urban/Viggo Mortensen
The boat creaked and rolled, dipping this way and that on the waves, one minute catching the late afternoon sun on the ocean, the next the mackerel sky.
A plate of fish lay on the galley counter, waiting to be gutted and prepared for supper. The fishermen, however, were more interested in preparing each other.
Viggo lay upon the bunk, legs akimbo, Karl straddling him. The boat, at anchor, hitched suddenly and Karl was almost bucked off the little cot. Viggo guffawed, earning a slap to his rump.
“You’re going to need a bigger boat,” Karl quipped, remounting.
Pairing: Dwayne Johnson (The Rock)/Elijah, featuring the words in the title.
The suitcase bursts open, hundred-dollar bills leaking all over the back seat; up front, Dwayne and Elijah are gasping and giggling, Dwayne fighting to keep the car on the road. Behind them, O’Toole’s men are frantically changing the tyres that Elijah and Dwayne had slashed. They reckon they have a five or six minute head start.
“We did it!” Elijah cries, beaming. “We’ve got a shitload of dirty money and a full tank of gas! What do we do now?”
Dwayne laughs grimly, one hand on the wheel, the other on Elijah’s thigh. “We follow the circus freaks!” he replies.
Selling A Dummy
by Trianne
Pairing: Charlie Hunnam/Elijah Wood from the film "Hooligans" (or "Green Street")
“It’s an infraction in which an offensive player does not have at least three defensive players between himself and the goal line when the ball is played forward by a member of the attacking team…?”
“Wrong!” The hand came down with a hard crack; white skin blossomed beautifully to red. Elijah moaned into the mattress. “Two defensive players, not three.” Charlie shifted his weight, going in deeper. “Try again,” he commanded. “The offside rule is?”
Elijah rolled his eyes and bit his lip, racking his brain. There was a limit to how many times he could deliberately get this wrong.
Room With A View
by Trianne
Pairing: Dom/Elijah
The view from the balcony was spectacular: the ocean crashing in moonlight, a great body of water that pounded the sand, unstoppable, unfathomable.
The smell of sex hung in the air, mixed with the heady aroma of incense and wax and rum, aftersun and mosquito repellent.
Dom lay with Elijah and though he heard the crash of the waves and knew that nature was almighty and beautiful and worthy of his respect, he had eyes only for the force of nature that slept in the crook of his arm.
The ocean would be there come sunrise.
Elijah was special.
The End