Inevitable
by Trianne
Pairing: Elijah Wood/Orlando Bloom, and ?
Rating: PG15
Summary: Jealousy and lust, quite dark
Warnings: Sexual violence
Author's Notes: A departure from my usual stuff, a bit experimental, and definitely no humour. Basically, the stuff in brackets is from either the imagination of the narrator, or perhaps even from his future, you decide.
Feedback: Always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk
Disclaimer: I don't know these people. No profit is made nor offence intended.
If I stand here long enough I will see you. It's inevitable because I have been in this same place for many, many nights, sometimes for hours, and waited for you and watched you. I watch you but you have never seen me. That's because you don't expect to see me, not here. On the set, yes, with our friends, laughing and drinking and reading dog eared scripts, but not here. Not in the street in the dusk, watching you. Its human nature, I guess, to see what we expect to see and blank out what we don't. Deep, that's deep.
(My hands on your hands, my hands on your skin, my hands on your neck - are you trembling yet?)
Yes, here you are. The waiting is over, the living begins again. You emerge from the doorway, part obscured by shadow, but I know it's you; I know your body, your moves, I would know you anywhere. You hesitate, then glance down the street, both ways, before the door is closed behind you and you are heading down the block and I am heading after you. I see you, you don't see me. That's got to change. You have to start seeing me.
(My breath on your face, my mouth on – in - your mouth, my eyes reflected in your eyes as they see me.)
You take a left, cross the street, dodging the slow moving traffic, then stand and stare into the window of a record store. You scan the displays, the posters, but only for a moment, because you are you and privacy is an issue, even though it's getting late and there are few people about.
I give the same posters in the same store a cursory glance but my interest is solely in studying you. Even from this distance I can make out the liquidity of your stride, the way your ass shimmies with each step, almost as if your body knows it is being worshipped and is taking a bow. If I didn't love you I could kill you for being such a tease. You are walking to the lot where you left your car; I saw you park it there an hour ago - a discreet distance from your lover's home. You think these precautions afford you some security but you are deluding yourself. You are so open, so vulnerable it makes me ache with fear for you, and yet I know I am the one you should fear the most. I am the one who wants you the most, needs you the most and will have you. As soon as you see me. Does this make me a sick fuck? Maybe.
(I am straddling you now, pinning you down, holding your wrists tightly, you cannot move, you have to lay there, legs spread, and give me your whole attention. I feel the heat of your body through my jeans and I grind down into it, into the core of you. You groan a little, despite yourself, and I could laugh out loud….)
You open the car and climb in the driver's seat. You sit for a minute, hands on the wheel, staring into space. I know you are remembering, thinking of what happened just a short while ago, in there, with him. You are smiling a silly, love flushed smile, and I know you are in love. With him. He is no good for you, I can see that, everyone can see that, he has nothing to offer you but an insipid, small life. Yet you love him. But that will pass.
(Your eyes are pleading, you want to move but you cannot because I am much, much stronger than you. I hold you down and I lean into you and fasten my mouth on your mouth. You try to not respond but that is a response in itself and I enter you with my tongue. Your mouth is everything I expected it to be and more. You smell good, clean and fresh, the soap you use is the one I handled in your bathroom yesterday when you were working and I paid a courtesy call to your place, my future home; the deodorant is the one you keep in the cabinet next to your condoms and lube. Your shirt smells of the fabric conditioner I saw next to the sink in your apartment. I like your bed sheets, by the way, very crisp and cool to the touch. When I move in with you we will keep your bed exactly the way it is, I approve of your taste and I know you will be happier in familiar surroundings, and I do want you to be happy…)
You sit in your car and pick through your CDs, rejecting, considering, rejecting, until you find the one you want. I can guess which ones you discarded, I have been through each and every one of them while you have been otherwise occupied; I have scrutinised each crack in the plastic of each case of each CD. You love your music but you are lousy at looking after your stuff. I, on the other hand, am very good at looking after my possessions.
(I approve of the larger CD collection you keep in your home - though I will need to educate you, refine your tastes, my love - and I admire your laptop which has yielded so many little secrets; your password was ludicrously easy to crack. After we have done making love, many hours from now, I will instruct you how to secure your apartment to keep out all the crazies out there in the big wide world, and you will thank me for it; you really do need protecting, you know.) You start the engine and I hear the music start and I smile at your selection. You hum along to the tune and beat time with your hands on the wheel as you glance in the mirror prior to moving off, and in that instant you look at me. Right at me. You see me. This is good. This is where what is and what is yet to pass will converge, inevitably, and the world will start anew and you will be with me.
(Your teeth have a faint strawberry tang, edged with an almost imperceptible trace of beer, which is extremely arousing, and I am extremely aroused already…I let go of your hands for long enough to slip my own beneath your body so I can cup you while I grind…I know you so well, you want me but you cannot say the words. I will make it easy for you. You want it like this, you just don't know it yet. You want me to take you and I will, because I love you. I love you. There, I've said it now, now you can enjoy this without feeling cheap. I feel you shudder and your hands are caressing my face, or are they scratching my face? I am not sure. You are saying "no", but you surely mean "yes". You are squirming; are you trying to get closer to me, to enjoy the friction all the more, or are you trying to get out from under me? Why can't you just relax and fall into the moment? This will be so good for you if you will just let it be. Relax, baby, let me do all the work...)
I smile, a gentle smile, a loving smile. A want you smile. But there is no smile in return as the engine roars and I am left standing alone in the lot as you speed away. Maybe you didn't see me, after all it's quite dark now. If you had seen me you would have stayed, been happy, beckoned me over and asked me if I needed a ride. You might have been surprised to see me here in this part of town but you wouldn't have suspected it was anything other than coincidence because that's just how you are. Trusting. Too trusting.
Maybe I will just follow you home tonight, make sure you are safe and well, in your cosy apartment with its woefully inadequate locks - or perhaps I will bide my time for a little while longer. Either way, the next time I really will make you see me Elijah.
Then Orlando will not exist for you and I will. It's inevitable.
The End