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Title: Memory Lapse
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Elijah Wood
Rating: NC–17
Summary: PWP. Good lord, PWP.
Notes: *blames bunniewabbit* I have nothing to do with this. Nothing.

Elijah’s arm is halfway to the bedside table, halfway to his glasses, when it’s stopped in its progress and pushed back down to the mattress, not particularly gently but not too roughly either. The pressure of Dominic’s hand on a bruise he’d made two days before makes Elijah squirm a bit, and it then that he notices he’s been, well, ambushed this morning. It comes as quite a surprise to Elijah that he hadn’t woken sooner under the weight of Dominic straddling the backs of his thighs, but it’s not like he’s going to, you know, lodge a formal protest. Instead he arches his back a little and looks over his shoulder at Dominic’s look of intense concentration. It’s a different look from the one Dominic wears when he’s getting ready to fuck Elijah. Very different, actually.

“Dom—“

“Shh.” Dominic’s forehead wrinkles up and then smoothes back down. “Busy.”

Uh, clearly. Elijah raises his eyebrows and waits, but when Dominic doesn’t elaborate, Elijah turns back to the pillow and sighs, leaning on his hands and closing his eyes. Whatever Dominic’s doing, it shouldn’t keep Elijah from another ten minutes’ sleep.

“Well, well,” Dominic sighs after a very long time. “Guess that’s true, then.”

Elijah surfaces again, blinking. “True?”

“Snowflakes,” Dominic murmurs, as if they’ve been carrying on a conversation the whole time. “No two are alike.”

Elijah thinks about this for a moment, his tongue poking out from between his lips. “Pretty sure you’re going to expand on this, right?” Dominic swats Elijah’s ass, and Elijah feels his boxers ride up slightly as he twists around to face Dominic. “What the fuck?”

“Snowflakes,” Dominic says again, pointing this time at Elijah’s ass and the white boxes liberally decorated with blue snowflakes. “And I have to admit I’m impressed. You’d think that commercially printed fabric wouldn’t allow for such detail. You’d expect cheap screen jobs, right, with every snowflake the same, just staggered high and low to give the impression that they’re different.”

Elijah rolls his eyes. “OCD, man. I’m telling you. Ob–sess–ive Com–pul–“

“Oh, I will,” Dominic nods, pleasantly. “I’ll come pull till you shut right up. Here, look. Try to stay with me on this; I know it’s hard when you’re blind as a fucking bat, but at least make an effort, Elijah.” Dominic rests his hands on Elijah’s thighs, just at the hem of the boxers, and lets his fingers slide underneath the fabric. “If your eyes actually functioned, you’d notice how the outermost—well, let’s call them spindles or something—the longest spikes or spindles, whatever, of each snowflake have this kind of Gothic, twisted look to them. Who’d have thought to make snowflakes look threatening?”

“Only you, I’m guessing.” Another swat, and this time Elijah lets out an interested, slightly rattled breath.

“These seem a little too tight, just so you know,” Dominic nods again. “Inconvenient, is what I’m saying. Anyway, each of these Gothic spiral things is different from the others. And the snowflake design itself … it makes me think of spiderwebs more than snow. I mean, of course snow’s got that lacy kind of effect, like the hem of your mum’s nightgown—“

“This is where I get off this particular train of thought, Dom.”

“In which case you won’t be getting off anywhere or anyhow else, will you?” Dominic moves his hands easily up inside the boxers to cup the gentle rise and curve of Elijah’s ass. “Not as tight as I thought, then.”

Elijah inhales again. “You really, really don’t want me to answer that.”

“Maybe I do. But not right now.” Dominic kneads Elijah’s ass for a moment, feeling the skin warm under his hands and listening for Elijah’s breathing to speed up. “Where did you get these, Elijah?”

Elijah has to think hard, pursing his lips as he tries to remember. “Gift? Maybe? From, ah, I don’t know—“ Dominic’s hands curl a little in the fabric, his fingernails scraping lightly over Elijah ass. “Fuck. Dom.”

“No, they weren’t from me. I have this thing about you and patterns. I’d throw Billy in snowflakes before you.”

“That’s, ah,” Elijah breathes as Dominic’s hands flatten out again. “Good to know.”

Dominic makes a noncommittal sound and slides his hands out from underneath the boxers. Elijah turns his head once more, but Dominic cocks one eyebrow and slaps Elijah’s ass hard this time, enough that Elijah hisses and hardens and faces the headboard again.

“Moving on, then,” Dominic says, his tone very brisk now. “Just because they’re not from me doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate them. You might want to—“ Dominic hums for a moment. “Hold on to something. Just in case.”

“Do I—“ Elijah coughs. “Do I get to ask why?”

“Provided you do so politely, ask away,” Dominic smiles, and Elijah actually feels the spread of Dominic lips over his teeth, because Dominic’s lowered himself down to kiss the base of Elijah’s spine. Elijah arches his back again and reaches for the spindles of the headboard almost unconsciously, and Dominic laughs. “Well?”

“I forgot what I was going to ask, actually.”

“I don’t blame you.” Dominic smirks. “Stay still.”

Elijah curls his fingers around the spindles, biting his bottom lip and waiting, waiting. Dominic’s hands are at the waistband of Elijah’s boxers, just tracing there at first and then pulling, dragging the fabric down slowly, until it’s just beneath the curves of his ass and just pulled taut over his trapped cock beneath him. Elijah closes his eyes tight, feeling Dominic’s breath on his ass, hot and wet, and then his lips again, and his tongue, moving down the cleft slowly, no particular place to go or be.

“Cotton,” Dominic tuts as he slides one hand back inside the boxers to stroke lightly at the patch of skin behind Elijah’s balls. “This is not going to be comfortable in a bit.”

“It’s, ah, not that comfortable now—“

“I didn’t mean for you.” Dominic raises the elastic of the waistband and lets it snap back down sharply, making Elijah’s hips rise. “It’d be a shame to make a mess of these, though. What d’you think, Elijah, off with them?”

“I think—whatever you think would be fine.”

“I’m going to have to require that you remember to breathe, Elijah. Sounds as though you’re forgetting that, too, along with everything else.”

Elijah nods, and Dominic goes back to his happy work. “Off they come. Tonight I think you’re going to bring yourself off with them. On them. You know. Be creative or something.” Elijah tenses and squeezes his eyes shut harder, and Dominic slaps him one last time before he pulls, yanks more like from beneath, and the boxers come down and away.

“Jesus,” Elijah breathes. “Dom, whatever you’re doing, hurry the fuck up and do it—“

“Mmm.” Dominic lifts Elijah’s ass in his hands, guiding his hips to rise again. “Whatever I’m doing’s not got a lot to do with your timing, Elijah. Stay still.”

And Elijah does, because he can hear Dominic moving around the bedroom, which only means one thing, because more than once Dominic’s told Elijah that the only thing that could drag him away from the sight of Elijah’s ass high in the air would be the need for lube. That thought makes Elijah want desperately to shift down and rub or squirm or thrash or fucking something, anything to give his cock some attention, dammit, attention it’s not going to see until Dominic’s had his turn, apparently.

Dominic’s fingers are cooler than Elijah would prefer, but that’s a temporary thing, and Elijah can deal. He rocks back on them almost immediately, only slowing at the third and then fucking grinding down on them, greedy to the point of wanting to turn this around and shove himself inside Dominic. Which is not, of course, going to happen.

“There, now, there,” Dominic murmurs and turns his wrist slightly before he’s pulling away. Elijah almost follows him back, stretching and spreading his knees wider while Dominic’s distracted and probably wouldn’t say anything anyway. Dominic’s hands, slick and hot, land on Elijah’s hips and Elijah inhales, waiting again, for the push and burn and fucking yes.

It’s a little off, a little strange, and a lot perfect. Elijah feels a sort of panic because he knows Dominic’s much too close to draw this out for a long time, and there’s a chance—a very big chance, actually—that he’s going to—

“When you’re ready,” Dominic whispers, and Elijah chokes off what was almost—what was certainly going to be a raspy little sob. Dominic steadies him and pushes harder, deeper, and Elijah feel the burn in his palms from the wood of the spindles, and the chill up and down his spine before he’s coming, gasping and biting back DomDomIhateyouIhatethisIloveyou. Elijah’s hands slip down the spindles and he braces his damp palms on the mattress as Dominic continues to thrust inside him while Elijah shakes and curses. When Dominic falls, laughter high in his voice and the gentlest touch in his hands, Elijah relaxes and falls, too, back to the pillows and back to right here and now.

“Billy,” Elijah sighs, and Dominic erupts in a violent burst of coughing.

“Good of you to fucking wait till afterward to call me someone else’s name, you little fuck—“

“The boxers, asshole. They were from Billy.”

“Oh.” Dominic considers this for a moment. “Well, then.”

“Well, then? That’s it?”

“We should let him know. Remind me—don’t fucking forget, Elijah—to give him a call later.”

“So we can tell him how much you appreciate his taste in underwear?”

“No,” Dominic yawns, stretches and sighs, rolling to the other side of the mattress. “So you can show him.”


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