The Satin Collection
Lijah Bean Fics

b. ShallowBlackkoda


 
 
Fic: Satin Fetishes, ElijahBean, NC-17 Series
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Two men, one thing in common
Disclaimer: Not real or true, just another of my pervy fairytales
A/N: For the contrelamontre challenge, done in 45 nerve-wracking minutes…Uggh

*** 

Elijah doesn’t like to be around Sean Bean, not at premieres not at parties and when they were together on the set he didn’t like to look at him then either. The anxiety, like birds in a cage, bashes against his chest and he has to move away, back to those his age. Dom, Astin, Billy and Orlando smile into the flashing lights, glowing healthy with the feast of their stardom. It makes Elijah feel safe to pretend that he is like them, that he is jubilant for the notoriety and every teen girls dream. To be near Sean and look into those moss green eyes, the little age lines creased knowingly as the Yorkshire man smiles…would only reveal Elijah’s pretentiousness however and that Elijah dreads. So he keeps far away. 

*** 

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” Elijah had whimpered writhing upon Sean’s lap, his head bowed with only visible remnant of his shame. 

Sean only laughed with that rich bass of a tone. His laughter jostled Elijah, making him bounce against the all too obvious erection underneath his ass. Covered in a pair of pink satin panties a size too large, Elijah was highly sensitive to every move that Sean made.

“I’m serious, Sean.” He turned to face the older man, thinking of calling the whole thing off. Elijah *thought* about it, but as Sean’s large palm clutched his chest, slid the slippery, cool satin of the chemise over his left nipple all Elijah could do was moan. Leaning back against Sean’s body, he spread his legs to straddle Sean’s just in case he needed to make a quick getaway… of course. 

He was going nowhere. Sean wove his arms tightly about Elijah’s waist; lowered brandy stained lips to Elijah’s ear and growled. “You think I’d want anyone to know either, slut.?”

Sean’s words hurt, poisoned with truth. Elijah would have gotten up, would have run away but the blonde’s hands were everywhere delighting in creating sensations of butter smooth caresses all over his ribs, using the satin of the women’s garment to stimulate him in ways he had never tried before. Never tried alone. His skin sang a tremulous opera that had his hips rolling lewdly against the bar of Sean’s denim covered shaft. “Oooh,” he breathed, head lilting towards Sean, his nose seeking the curve of a stubbly chin. 

“For a Halloween prank, I’d think it was actually a bit more to you,” Sean posed.

Elijah had no answer to give but then he didn’t need to divulge his fetish not when Sean so easily wrested that knowledge from him. Sean’s hand snaked between Elijah’s thighs and found the stiff arch of satin stained with the blossoming moisture of cock honey. Purposefully and with fingers quite fascinated, Sean caressed the head of Elijah’s penis through the satin.

“Awwsshhi,” Elijah bucked upwards, shuddering with the repression that kept him from begging Sean to push him to the floor and fuck him ruthlessly. His blood ran as hot as if *he* had been drinking 100 proof as he clutched deep into the flesh of Sean’s thighs for support. 

Relentless Sean continued his exploration of Elijah’s body through pink satin, rubbing the brunettes balls in tune to pinching fabric and nipple alike. For every sound that Elijah made, every squirm, Sean’s torturous caresses increased. 

Elijah couldn’t remember when Sean began to kiss him, he only knew that his tongue met with hot brandy wetness, heat and that the world slipped from him. He felt very humid, the insides of his thighs tense and clenching ever more. The satin of the panties Elijah wore felt lewdly damp and his heart was stalling and speeding in alteration. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t see. The only spot of light, of cognition came as thick fingers slipped inside the satin. Far. Back and against pursed flesh far too sensitive and vulnerable. “S-Sean… Please.” Elijah couldn’t even recognize the smallness of his own voice as Sean pushed slick fingers past the ring of his body and deep inside his ass. A keening sound pressed the walls of the small trailer, with vibrations of repetitiveness, yet when Sean’s other hand came round to grasp hold of Elijah’s near painfully aching sex, sound ceased all together. 

Sean’s grip, the silk moving against his cock so tight and yet so soft nearly brought Elijah to tears. Breath seared his throat before a kiss, that kiss massaged minutely before a bite, that bite, the satin, the fingertips prodding inside his core in undulating swirls…Sean Bean made Elijah still and snap like a branch under a tsunami wave, swift, complete, taking him to utter devastation in a second and washing him away with a flowing tide. 

Afterwards, Elijah had hurried out of the trailer in his overcoat. He had even left his trick-or-treat bucket behind in Sean’s trailer; Elijah was in such a hurry. The cool New Zealand air was merciless as it turned wet satin to chill against downy exhausted flesh. Elijah had never discussed it with anyone and certainly not with Sean. There were times that he could feel Sean staring at him and times when Elijah wished that he could look back. The fear that kept him from confronting Sean however was *not* that he thought Sean might ridicule him for his fetish, but the knowledge that Sean would only encourage it.
 

The End
 
 

***

Fic: Satin Embraces,(1/?), LijahBean, NC-17 Series
Disclaimer: Falsified Fantasy Ahead
Beta-Team Thanx: hjartad n housemouse
Summary: You can run but you can’t hide
 
 

***




It isn’t the same; hasn’t ever been, Elijah thinks. Sitting in his bedroom listening to Hannah’s stereo blare through the walls, he lays upon his bed cautiously picking the locks on the safe of his mind. Inside is a memory, perhaps shameful, perhaps the most delightful thing he has ever known. He opens his eyes and verifies once again that his bedroom door is locked before throwing the safe completely open. 
Sean had been merciless, sturdy and gentle but merciless all the same. Cradling Elijah in his lap, the man had made him feel both ashamed and glorified about the lingerie he had worn. The shade had been pink, turned a dusky, dark blush by all the sweat, the come, and the need. 

Elijah recalls the vulnerability, even more so, the repression he had felt because he couldn’t express his joy in it. His pleasure. In his daydreams he often changes the facts of his mental movie. In his mind sometimes he whispers words of gratitude to the Brit, sometimes he revels and parades shamelessly before Sean with seductive laughter and assuredness. It is along that plot that his dreams run in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He is smiling, taunting Sean gleefully in a white see-through gown with matching lace bikinis. He is hard and so is Sean seated on the edge of the bed. It is Elijah’s dream and in it he slides his hands around the rough beard of Sean’s cheeks, then back through shorn blond hair before curling about a strong manly neck. Sean’s gaze is hot upon the hard erection arching under the womanly garment. The sensation of Sean’s heated breath, the slightly prickly feel of the lace across his genitals, his nipples -- and Elijah wants. In his dream he says something like, ‘You like it, don’t you Sean? You want it?’ And Sean does. He always did, dreams notwithstanding. 

Biting his lip to stifle a moan, Elijah slides his hand over his taut belly to stray just an inch under the band of his jeans. There is silk underneath the denim. The sensation of the fabric against his penis is good, but it could be oh, so much better with his hand atop it. 

The sound of his zipper is almost vulgar in the almost quiet of his room. Elijah is grateful that Hannah needs to hear the Foo Fighters at max volume as he opens his jeans. He is half-erect simply from the thought of Sean Bean, and the man’s deep Yorkshire accent. Elijah can’t quite point to the one quality that makes Sean the master of his fantasies, but simply dwells on the fact that Sean’s hands easily dwarf his, that Sean’s chest is the perfect place to cuddle against, to seek shelter in. And the way that the man makes him feel both small and precious is enough to push him to complete hardness.

Elijah feels his palm over the dark blue silk, over the pulsing length of his cock and is almost surprised as to how it got there. It feels pleasant, but nothing like the way Sean’s hand felt, so sure and domineering. It will do, he decides as he gives a precursory rub and shivers with the sugar sweet thrills his cock triggers throughout his body. It will do because the dream of Sean is much safer. Elijah has a reputation, dignity, and pride to worry about. That night in New Zealand had set off a spark, one that Elijah knew could easily have grown into a shameless inferno. 

Fingers close upon his shaft, encasing his cock in a hold of satin, and fist. His hips tense, flex with timid movements. Elijah turns his head into the pillow, wishing it smelled of brandy, of Sean. His grasp holds tricks of its own, putting pressure upon the thick vein of his cock, heel massaging the clenched purse of his balls, fingers gently squeezing the bulbous head. Slowly, but ever increasing in speed, Elijah’s hips move in circles, half thrusts that won’t have the bed creaking too audibly. His heartbeat increases as he finds the rhythm that will abate the tension threatening to haunt him. 

Ever since that night, every minute Elijah had to be around Sean was mute torture. At first Elijah thought of it as mockery, but soon realized it was desire. Even after filming had ended, the premieres were worse. Sean looking like the perfect gentleman, Elijah hiding amongst Orli, Billy, Astin and Dom, all the while wanting nothing more than to link his arm with Sean’s and disappear into the nearest limo. His career would surely be over as well as Sean’s. So it was necessary, Elijah felt. 

Alone, free of blonde’s scathing glances, Elijah can mouth the words he had wanted to say that night so long ago… ‘Yes. Sean. Yes.’

His body is winding tighter and tighter, his insides coiling and vibrating. Stroking faster, tighter Elijah smiles into thoughts of being in Sean’s arms again, free of constriction, free as a fantasy can get. Sean spreads Elijah’s legs, settles between them. Those enormous fingers slide between Elijah’s legs moving aside the panties just enough to ease those thick fingers inside of his tight passage. Elijah folds into himself as the first white jet of come splashes against the silken barrier, tainting the color and temperature of the undergarment. 

He supposes as he tries to catch his breath that he’ll shower, put on an appropriate pair of boxers and review a few scripts before dinner, but for the moment, he lays reveling in the afterglow and pretending that the comfy pillow underneath his head is actually the shoulder of a Yorkshire actor. 
 

*** 
 

Elijah and Dom are late for their dinner with Viggo and Orli. It is to be a reunion dinner of sorts. Driving his convertible in the midst of the dark blue ocean of LA’s streets, Elijah feels relaxed under Dominic’s direction, a left here, a right there, and the car stereo shrilly blasting an old New Order track. They arrive at the restaurant at a quarter to nine and it is nothing that Elijah suspected. The place is ritzy, almost obscenely so and Elijah can’t imagine either Viggo or Orlando choosing such a swank, excessive place for a meal. Both men seemed to have a flare for simplicity and diners basically anywhere Viggo could wear his Birkenstocks or Orli could wear his trucker couture. Casting aside his doubts, Elijah uses the valet parking with ease and chuckles when Dom makes fun of him for tossing his keys to the uniformed driver. 

“What? You want that he should have it washed too, eh?”

Ignoring his friends jib, Elijah tries to prepare himself for the spectacle surely to come. Orli and Dom combined could be their own comedy special. Elijah’s own talent for humor often wanes, so it will be good spend a night amongst his old cast mates, he feels

Greeted by the restaurant’s host, they are lead through dining tables adorned with ball candles, glittering through the low light atmosphere of the establishment. Elijah figures they’ll come upon Viggo and Orlando in some dim corner of the expansive room, trying to avoid their constantly swelling female fan base. Shaking the thought from his mind, Elijah tells himself that the thought is definitely not jealousy. 

Looking ahead, Elijah sees Viggo, knows the slope of his shoulders, the wheat colored swath of hair. He also sees someone else but that someone isn’t remotely Orlando Bloom. He stops thinking of reprimanding Dom for not warning him, but then wonders if Dom even knew. As Dom’s voice catches the older mens’ attention, Elijah knows that there will be no backing, sneaking out, and no feigned illnesses.

“Vig, Hey! Oh Hell, Sean. Mate it’s good to seeya. When did you fly in?”

Watching the cheerful reception, Elijah approaches modestly with a nod to Vig and a stolen glance at Sean. With his heart pounding like a war drum, speech is nearly impossible. He sees Dom pull out the chair next to Viggo and has a mind to tell Dom, no! But Elijah says nothing, which leaves the only open seat next to Sean. He rolls his eyes in despair. It is one thing to sit at a table with the man, but something wholly different to sit *next* to him especially with the Brit looking like the cover model for GQ. Wearing a cream colored, linen shirt showing just a hint of collar bone at the neck, short sleeves flowing around broad shoulders and tan slacks, Sean looks almost edible. The urge to salivate arises, carried on the momentum of his nervousness as Elijah sits and tries to mask the fact that at any moment he could turn to jelly. 
 

*** 

Shaking his head, Viggo objects, “Nah…memorizing lines for a few scenes is one thing, memorizing them for an entire performance…”

“You underestimate your capabilities, as always Vig,” Sean interjects with a modest laugh. “And you, Elijah? Have anything in the works, do you?”

Elijah is still stuck back on the sound of the word *capabilities* the way Sean’s voice sculpted it into something naughty and soothing all at once. It takes him several more minutes to process the rest of the sentence. “…Theater isn’t my thing,” he murmurs.

“Nah, he’d rather be a DJ,” Dom quips before the waiter comes to discuss the night’s specialty dishes and wine recommendations. 

Elijah pretends as if the peppercorn roast with braised string beans and scalloped potatoes is of interest, but his left cheek is all too aware, warm with the attention it’s getting from Sean. Dom is browsing through the menu while Viggo is already nodding his agreement with the chef’s selection. Neither would have the slightest idea if he just fainted across the table, he figures hopelessly. 

It is ridiculous, Elijah tells himself. The man is old enough to be my father, we’re both kind of straight, he lives in another country; Elijah runs off the reasons he should not fear Sean, using them as bricks to build a wall of confidence about himself. Then there is the most substantial brick of all, the public opinion. Elijah shifts in his chair with renewed confidence as it occurs to him that Sean wouldn’t dare try anything in front of Vig or Dom, much less in a restaurant where Bruce Willis and his entourage were merely tables away. 

“I’ll have that too,” Elijah pipes up, not bothering to deal with the menu as the waiter comes to his side of the table. Secure behind his wall of reason and thinking himself clever, Elijah turns his gaze to Sean with an air of confrontation. “And what are *you* having, Sean?”

“The bacon wrapped prawns and the filet mignon with the white horseradish sauce, asparagus and roll. A house salad with vinaigrette dressing, and a bottle of your finest chardonnay please for the table, please.” All this Sean says to the waiter, without once breaking Elijah’s stunned gaze. 

Mesmerized by the assuredness, the command and the ease, Elijah feels something pulling inside him, something that wants to go to and situate itself against that proud chest. All of his courage dissipates and Elijah wants to look away, but Sean’s eyes are cool, not threatening in the least, pale fascinating jewels in fact that pull him into their depths.

“Sean must have picked out the restaurant, cause surely Orlando wouldn’t have picked such a posh place,” Dominic comments. 

Laughing at the comment, Sean turns to Dom and Elijah is free, just a shade off panting, but free nonetheless. Elijah looks around to be sure that no one noticed. Luckily, Dom’s attention is split between Sean and buttering a roll and Viggo is still mulling over the menu. Elijah sighs and vows to be more careful.

After a few more moments of perusing, Viggo gives his order to the waiter. He closes his menu and begins talking about his latest series of paintings and photographs. Dom adds in a bit about how badly Billy draws, a clearly intimate reference that seems to slide unnoticed between the men. The conversation all around is light and even Elijah chimes in every once and a while. He asks few questions and is careful to redirect the conversation whenever the focus lingers upon him too long. It is like a tennis match and he volleys as best as he can. Still Sean’s eyes, the tone of his voice, even his cologne, an expensive, airy sort of ocean scent is mocking Elijah’s stability. 

The wine arrives first and Elijah downs his glass before the waiter can finish pouring Dom’s. When he looks up from his empty glass, he catches Viggo’s eyes staring with suspicion. Hoping to avert what he knows will be a question, Elijah laughs with a precursory explanation. “When I’m home I don’t drink. But this is a good vintage…really good.”

The meal arrives and it is truly decadent, Elijah thinks, that and he is ravenously hungry. Throwing decorum to the wind he starts in on his food with focus and determination. The well-seasoned, skillfully prepared meal goes to waste on his palate as it glides down his throat to fill his nervous belly. His mind clears to the point where there is no Sean, nothing but the food on his plate. A quick swig of wine, too prevent from choking and he resumes happily. That is until he feels the hand. 

“Elijah could you pass me the salt please?”

His eyes flicker to the hand first, so large and imposing upon his arm. The grip is incuriously firm and there is just the slightest squeeze of pressure. Elijah feels his appetite drift away, drawn away by Sean’s touch as hunger of a different sort begins to plague him. “What?”

Sean’s eyes move to Dom, to Viggo, both of who are engrossed in their meals, before he returns to Elijah. His smile is curt and the very edge of wickedness as he repeats, ever so slowly, “The salt. My palate is *very* particular with its likes.”

Without his awareness, Elijah reaches for the salt. His mind is too befuddled with its attempt to decipher Sean’s words, to give a care to such a small motor function as grasping. He moves it towards Sean, thinking all the while of how foolish it is to swoon, how at any moment someone might see, and more importantly how much he needs. Luckily for him, Sean takes pity, takes the salt, and returns his focus to his plate. Unfortunate however that Elijah no longer has an appetite. 

*** 

“Hotel?” Sean laughs at Dominic’s suggestion. “Not at all. I have a small, condo in L.A. I’m here ever so often anyway, so might as well have somewhere cozy to rest.”

That single bit of information is too much and too insinuating for Elijah’s poor labored psyche to bear. The lie he tells when Viggo asks him if he is ok, is a scathing spotlight showing that everything is not…okay. When the waiter arrives he asks for water, laughs and blames everything on his overenthusiastic wine consumption. Sean on the other hand asks the waiter for after dinner brandy and chocolates. It is then that Elijah breaks, the tension, the speculation, and confusion riddling his skin like some rain forest fever. He waits until Viggo and Dom begin to discuss independent film financing before he chooses to attack. With an exasperated huff, Elijah leans in towards the man at his side and discreetly whispers, “Sean, I-”

“I know, Elijah.” Sean laughs. Leaning back in his chair, his humor attracts the attention of both Viggo and Dom. 

Elijah too backs away as he notices that everyone at the table is focused upon Sean. Dumbfounded, Elijah’s heart seizes with dread, stops in anticipation and prays that Sean is not cruel.

“I know, lad…and I’m sorry,” the Brit continues. “I can come off rude and you have every right to despise me. I joke about far too much. I should never have said that you were too *delicate* to make it in footie.”

***

Fic:Satin Embraces, (2/?), LijahBean, NC-17 Series
Disclaimer: Falsified Fantasy Ahead
Beta-Team Thanx: hjartad n housemouse
Summary: You can run but you can’t hide
 
 

***

Elijah is the first one standing at the end of the meal, propelled by relief. He wants to go home despite Dom’s announcement that they’re heading over to a nightclub on the strip. He overhears Sean say something about finding an old copy of his ex’s Victoria’s Secret catalog and winces. The bastard has toyed with him throughout the meal, with small allusions and coy references. Elijah keeps telling himself that soon it will be over, soon he can drop Dom off and flee to the safety of his house, his bedroom, but every second feels like an eternity. “Dom. Let’s go,” he almost whines.

“Someone’s anxious,” Viggo chuckles.

Dom rolls his eyes at Elijah and agrees with Viggo. 

Impatient, Elijah’s gaze flickers to Sean who is busy paying the bill, thankfully. For a moment, Elijah allows himself to look, to stare. The way Sean is turned, Elijah can see the broad width and long line of the Englishman’s back. Elijah’s lips are dry and his tongue takes a bit of effort to moisten them while his fingers flex with the desire to map out Sean’s shoulder blades and spine. He closes his eyes and sighs away his tension. There will be time later, time to remember and reminisce, time to savor. Now is not the time. “Dom,” he hisses under his breath.

“Elijah?”

Fear like a cool drink of water flowing through a fever-riddled body, Elijah shivers and burns in unison, his head slowly turning to the accented pronunciation of his name. “Wha-what,” he breathes.

Sean smiles down into wide eyes as his gaze caresses Elijah’s face from cheek to cheek. His voice is a warm exhalation as he leans into Elijah’s presence and says,” You were right to run from me that night and every time thereafter. You were too young and I would have rightly shagged you senseless through your wet, pink knickers. Wise lad, indeed.”

He is *not* going to faint. He is not going to stop breathing and collapse on the floor. He is not going cry with tears of wanting, Elijah tells himself as his legs stiffen and quiver to hold him upright. “Sean, please don’t,” he whimpers, his eyes cast to the floor. Elijah can feel his cheeks warm and knows that he is blushing. “Not here.”

“You still want it?” The question is almost rhetorical as Sean finds the answer in Elijah’s coloring and sighs, “You do. You’ve most likely *been* wanting it just as much as I have. I even went out and got a charming, little peach number that I would love to see you in… love to *rip* off you as well.”

Okay, Elijah’s brain says easily, but his lips remain closed. Sean is close enough for him to be able to smell him, warm sea waves and some flowery trace, and still the scent is nothing feminine. His eyes look up from the floor and up the length of Sean’s trousers, the flat of his stomach. The journey takes a few seconds, but when Elijah’s eyes meet Sean’s, time is no longer an issue and neither is propriety. He opens his mouth with what little nerve he has but another voice sounds much clearer than the hiss of his paltry curse. 

“Done, you impatient sod,” Dom harps as he shoves the napkin in his pocket and comes to Elijah’s side. 

A thousand thank you's wouldn’t be sufficient for the gratitude Elijah feels towards Dom’s presence at the moment. One more minute under Sean’s presence and undoubtedly, Elijah’s name will appear in the gossip rags right underneath a header of, Lord of the Rings Star Has Fainting Spell.

Sean takes a small step back and sighs. The exchange has him feeling just as warm as Elijah looks. Feigning innocence, he grins, “Right then, Elijah. I am just as ignorant of good music as you are of good beer and soccer but hopefully that will change, soon.” Digging into his inside, jacket pocket, Sean pulls out a small box, slightly smaller than a CD, slightly thicker and offers it towards the dark-haired young man. 

Dom stares at the gift, hovering there by Elijah’s arm. “Bugger. You didn’t get me anything,” he keens jealously at Sean.

“You’re a Man U fan, Dom. This wouldn’t interest *you* in the least. It’s strictly for Elijah,” Sean stresses, avoiding Dominic’s curiosity and understanding. For a moment Sean’s brow furrows with worry. Then Elijah turns to look at the gift before snatching it. Sean smiles as he watches Elijah turn on his heel and head for the exit of the restaurant, leaving himself and Dom standing in his wake. Sean looks to Dom and his smile resumes. “…A budding Blades fan.”
 

***

“What do you mean you don’t *feel* like going out,” Dom gapes from the passenger seat. “ Back at the restaurant, I thought you were going to bust a move right there, you were so anxious to get out of there.”

Elijah’s focus is on the road, the white and yellow lines, the flicker and change of the streetlights cutting through a deeper blue night than usual. His foot is heavy and quick on the pedals, but Elijah is alert, more alert than he’s been in ages. The present from Sean haunts him, calls to him from its resting spot on the dashboard. Its call is almost as loud as Dom’s voice. “If you want to go, I can drop you off, Dom, but I’m just not up for it.” And, no, he isn’t. He is up for something else entirely. Half-hard Elijah grips the wheel a bit too firmly. Curious about the contents of the box, aroused from Sean’s words. He just wants to be alone. “Did you want me to drop you off?”

Dom shakes his head and crosses his arms. “No, I wanted you to come with, but since you’ve been acting so strange.”

Unconvincingly Elijah balks and the car shifts a bit out of it lane before Elijah gets it back under control,” I haven’t been acting strange.” He turns a skeptical look at Dom. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Sean, Lij.”

His heart stops and his hands slip from the wheel entirely before he catches himself and returns them back to its curve. “What about that son of a bitch?”

With a huff and a sigh, Dom frowns. “You two really *don’t* get on, do you? I was telling Viggo that maybe you two might have been joking. Sean can be arrogant, but…” His voice trails off and Dom doesn’t know just what to say.

“But nothing,” Elijah hisses with underlying relief that Dom doesn’t have a clue. “He’s arrogant and he thinks he’s the most macho thing on two legs.”

Dom chuckles heartily,” Aye.” His eyes flicker with mischief as he adds, ”He *is* more macho than you though, if you look at it from the tall, strapping hunk perspective.”

Elijah glares at Dom, out of the corner of his eyes. Laughing boisterously, Dominic is becoming an annoyance. “Where the fuck can I drop you off, fag,” Elijah snaps as Dom’s laughter fills the inside of his car. 

*** 

Leaning over to the passenger side window, Elijah calls out to his departing friend. It seems awkward, considering that when Dom lived with him, Elijah never had to worry about when he would see Dom next. “What about next weekend? We could get together then.”

Dom turns, shaking his head. “Can’t. Um, going to visit Bill down in Mexico.”

“Right,” Elijah nods trying not to sound the least bit left out. His elbow, upon the dashboard hits against something, the gift from Sean and Elijah can’t help but laugh at the irony of it. “Private weekend just the two of you... I’m not even going to ask to come along.”

Dom grimaces at the truth. “Good mate. It spares me the drama of having to turn your arse down. Besides, you can come next time.”

“Uh huh.” Sitting back up in his seat, Elijah fits a hand around the steering wheel, the other about the gearshift. His eyes catch the box on the dashboard and it doesn’t really bother him that Dom and Billy have become so serious, that minutes after Dom’s plane lands, he and Billy will probably be entwined on some beach. No what bothers him is that his body yearns for something similar, yearns to have attention and worse still, wants it from Sean. Elijah pulls the gift box from off the dashboard and sets it in his lap. The golden ribbon bow and red wrapping paper won’t last past the next stoplight, he swears. “Later Dom,” Elijah calls over the rev of the engine. He pulls away before Dom can even answer. 

***

Fic: Satin Embraces, (3/?), LijahBean, NC-17 Series
Disclaimer: Falsified Fantasy Ahead
Beta-Team Thanx: hjartad n housemouse
Summary: Elijah makes a phone call
 
 

*** 

He should go, Elijah tells himself. The light is green and the other cars behind him pass by with angry drivers and their blaring horns. His foot is hard on the brake, his hands are stuck to the steering wheel, and there’s little he can do about it. He feels ill, vacant and empty, but that is not the cause of his paralyzed state. 

Elijah’s eyes shift fearfully, slowly to the passenger seat where torn red wrapping paper lays crumpled near an open box. He glances up a bit further and then -- he can’t do it. Looks away with a gasssp ass a flame of warning shoots through him, lighting every nerve to life. With renewed strength, exhilaration, Elijah slams his foot on the gas pedal, his car rearing back to life. 

His heart beats wildly in his chest but that is nothing compared to how he aches. ‘The nerve of that bastard,’ he hisses. It isn’t until he gets to the stop sign at the end of the block that he realises that he’s driven right past the turn for his house. So he does a u-turn. 

By the time he does pull into the driveway, the fear and the befuddlement is changing to anxiousness. Elijah turns off the ignition and blindly he snatches the items from the seat beside his and shoves them deep into his pockets. He gets out of the car and slams the door, and then he realizes that his car and house keys are locked inside. The extra minutes and pain of trying to squeeze his arm in through the crack in the window just enough to reach the lock are agony. With every breath Elijah finds new ways to combine curse words for his own aloofness. 

“What are you doing?”

Turning to find his sister, Hannah eyeing him humorously from the steps, Elijah is in no mood for explanations. “Will ya just get my other set of keys from the kitchen!” His voice is harsh and far more impatient than he has a right to be, and he feels ashamed of his own behavior. By all rights a simple pair of red satin panties with scallop-laced sides, a card with Sean’s private address and phone number should *not* be having such an effect on him. 

*** 

Pulling the covers high over his head, Elijah squirms underneath the tent of fabric. It is nowhere near as dark as he needs it to be. The small movements of his hips against the mattress are nice, nicer still because of the red satin slipping and caressing his arse, pulling taut and sighing over the flesh of his sex.

He allows the heavy spread to fall down on him, smother him and he imagines that is Sean. Not that he needs the man, after all the card he had thrown in the wastebasket. He doesn’t need *it* either, Elijah thinks as his naked chest heaves, breath catches. Moving his head languorously from side to side, he revels in the delight and intimacy of the satin panel across his half-hard cock and tells himself it wouldn’t be much better if Sean *were* there. Slipping a hand down over the flat of his chest, Elijah is pained to find that isn’t quite the case. Sean’s hands are much bigger and much stronger than his. He can’t recall how they felt exactly; he just knows that they were better, surer.

It takes him long moments of trying to find the right fantasy scenario—the one where he is sitting on Sean’s lap with his arms upon the blonde’s broad shoulders—the one where he is face down on the bed with Sean ripping the clothes off of him before swiftly taking him…Elijah finally decides on the fantasy of Sean laying atop him pressing him into the mattress and rubbing him. It’s the simplest one of the three and yet the hardest. The subtle balance of Sean’s movement between insistent and calm is not easily copied. Elijah’s fingers are clumsy and nervous as they skate across his chest. It is a mild disappointment to have to sate his own needs, when Sean is in town (is interested). Elijah shakes such thoughts from his head. He is needy but not half as needy as he would be if he called the British man, took him up on his offer. If Elijah is sure of nothing, he’s sure that Sean is very capable of turning him into a whore. Yet as his hands wander down between his thighs, the heel of his hand presses firmly against his cock head, rubbing the satin over and against it, Elijah knows that Sean has *already* done so. 

He arches up off the bed, his breath growing hot against the blanket covering his face. Oddly enough he sticks his tongue out to taste the wet fabric, that he wishes so much was Sean’s mouth. It is not. It’s heat, a damp, cottony pallid, reflection of Elijah’s own mouth; a mouth that insists upon forming Sean Bean’s name. With every gasping utterance, Elijah’s hand heavily smoothes the satin along his length. There is a damp spot forming upon the cloth and it turns him on all the more. Spreading his legs open further, his hips move faster with a staggered rhythm. His body is rebellious and shy and his desire rises no further than a fever, a slight bit of moisture here and there. The panties are nice, the hands are good things as well, but as the bed gives a loud squeak, the mood is broken and frustration takes its place. 

*** 

It’s 2:30 in the morning and Elijah’s heart is pounding inside his chest. He can’t recall ever being so nervous about anything more or less a phone call. Holding the cell against his ear, he tells himself that surely Sean is in bed asleep and that he just needs to hear that English accent directing him to leave a message. Elijah won’t of course, but then his traitorous body won’t know the difference. Just a simple ‘hello’ would be fuel enough for his fantasies. Lying in bed, Elijah listens to the third ring and the fourth and is just about to count his lucky stars, when he hears a click.

//…Hello?//

Elijah has to bite his quivering lip to keep quite the surprised gasp in his throat from bursting forth. Fear keeps him from speaking, but certainly has little effect on the tight grip he has on the phone. 

//Either this is a misdial or it’s a certain flighty footie player... Either way, I just got this mobile yesterday and only *one* person has the number, soo… I think you’re my little bird all right, ever prepared to flee. But then you’re still on the line, so I’ll assume you wanted to discuss my latest affront to your masculinity, eh? //

He doesn’t care to respond. He doesn’t need to, really. Moving the phone away from his mouth, he keeps the earpiece close. Elijah closes his eyes and lets out his held breaths. What was once fear and trepidation swiftly becomes excitement and heat. Silently he prays that Sean will keep speaking, keep talking to him. 

//Still nothing to say? Rather disheartening…I wonder did you like my little present? The color red suits you, satin suits you… Did you try them on, I wonder? Did you play with them?//

“Yea-.” Elijah cringes as the sound escapes his mouth before he can stop himself. His first instinct is to hang up. He moves the phone away and then Sean is speaking again, and his voice is something akin to that of a male siren if ever there was such a thing.

//Elijah. You naughty bird you! You’re wearing them now aren’t you? Touching yourself, aren’t you… You writhing, little cunt… So you’ve called to torture me? Fair is fair, I suppose, but then you torture me far more than you know… You are so cruel. That night when I was so hard for you, wanted to hold you in my arms. That pink bra you had on under the coat, so awkward…never seen a bloke look so…Mmmm yes, you *are* bloody cruel…//

Sean’s voice flows through him like honey and perhaps Sean does have a point but Elijah is not about to feel any pity. His attention is solely on the intonations, the naughty bits poignant like sparkles and Sean’s very heavy bass. A manly voice, Elijah grins slowly at the thought. His hands reacquaint themselves with his chest and none of the night’s prior efforts have succeeded in arousing him this fast, this sure. 

//Wish you were here in bed with me now. I have a very tart-ish little nightgown for you. Mmm, you’d like it. Hot, nude little body… Me slipping it down over you. It stops mid-arse and with you in my bed, I could just snuggle up, right up behind you.//

Elijah likes that idea very much. He can envision it behind the darkness of his eyelids. Sean’s body is at least twice as broad as his, big enough to cover him like a duvet. He moves underneath his own spread teasingly, thinking of Sean, even turns upon his side. With the phone snug between his ear and his pillow, Elijah snakes a hand between his legs and waits.

//...Put my arms around you. Kiss your neck. Caress your satin-covered chest…your nipples. I wonder if they are as sensitive as the rest of you…but then I *know* how sensitive your cock is. You squirmed in my lap and moaned so when I grasped your panty-covered cock head, Elijah. God but you are gorgeous like that. //

Elijah hears something that sounds like a whimper but he doesn’t think that it is him. He doesn’t think at all. Fingers curved around the red satin column so stiff and pulsing with need, he moves his hand up and down, pushing his hips in deep, tight thrusts. Consumed by the fantasy of Sean, rigid and omniscient behind him, by Sean’s very real voice on the phone, Elijah knows that completion will be met *this* time. His stomach trembles and he aches sweetly all over.

//Ahh, to see those bright blue eyes of yours flutter, that perfect heart mouth of yours gasping as you get wet back and front…my cock leaking against the back of your panties, yours along the front. They’d be dreadfully damp and sticky, but we wouldn’t rightly care…you and I.//

More phantom noises fill the room, yet this time Elijah knows that it *is* him and he can’t help it. They aren’t very loud. Perhaps Sean might hear them, but Elijah can’t be concerned with that kind of dread. A different sort of dread is upon him. The dread of how wicked the orgasm building from his inner thighs to his balls will be, from his belly to the tip of his cock. Faster and faster he moves, even says Sean’s name. Shame holds no sway with him now however. 
 

//I’d push the nightie just a bit up over your hips, put my thigh between your legs and part them…//
 

It’s like going up an incline on a roller coaster and knowing that the three hundred foot drop is coming to push your heart into your throat, stun the body and the mind. Elijah pushes himself with more and more speed, quicker strokes and thrusts. He sees the drop off and is more elated than scared. It promises to be such a rush. “Yes,” he hisses through gritted teeth, “Please, Sean, please!”

//I would… but because you’re not here, I take that to mean you’re not really interested. So...Goodnight, Elijah.//

Within mere seconds of his completion, Elijah is stopped cold by the click of the phone going dead. Sean is gone, left him hard, wild and desperate in the void of his room. His fantasy dissipates just as quickly under the shock of Sean’s dismissal. ‘Fuckfuckfuck,” he sneers in lieu of his own weakness. Turning off his phone, Elijah throws it off the bed and half across the room. Alone, cock heavy in his hand, Elijah feels depraved. Sean hadn’t even needed to touch him for Elijah to have considered shamelessness. The panties, damp with pre-come are all the more embarrassing evidence of his actions and he swiftly pushes them off and tosses them across the room as well. He takes his erection in hand and treats it with rough, demanding strokes telling himself over and over that he *has* control. Unfortunately, his body does not listen. 

***

Fic: Satin Embraces, (4/?), LijahBean, NC-17 Series
Disclaimer: Falsified Fantasy Ahead
Beta-Team Thanx: hjartad n housemouse
Summary: Footbie is not a sport, not a combination of rugby and football, it is not real ;D

***

“What are you doing?”

Elijah’s attention is drawn away from the laundry detergent label as he meets his mother’s gaze. “My laundry.”

Her laughter dances around the room. She approaches with skepticism arching her brow. It isn’t the first time that her son has attempted the oh-so-complex science of washing clothes, but it’s also nearly impossible to recall the last time he had. Debbie holds out her hand for the clothesbasket perched upon the washing machine. “Here, I’ll do that,” she offers.

Quickly, Elijah grabs hold of the basket and cradles it out of his mothers reach. Thanking god, that he had tucked the satin panties underneath his jeans and T-shirts, Elijah keeps a death grip on the rim of the basket. “Mom…I can handle this, really. Consider it a learning experience. Besides, these are just some of my ratty clothes. If I fuck 'em up…oh well.” He gives his best attempt at a cheery smile, while his heart does the hula in his chest.

“Erm…” Cocking her head to the side, Debbie is no fool. She knows that her son is keeping something from her and is almost curious enough to pry. Almost, but then with a shrug she takes pity. “Fine. But lemme give you a tip. Be sure to separate the whites from the colors this time.”

Recalling his last laundry mishap, Elijah smiles. “But I don’t mind wearing pink socks, really.”

They both laugh as Debbie leaves her son to go finish breakfast, but Elijah’s laughter fades as soon as she leaves the room. Biting his lip, Elijah has a thousand curses to mutter beneath his breath. He couldn’t bear to throw out the satin underwear. He doesn’t like admitting it to himself but they are special. Sean gave them to him. Sean thinks they would look good on him. Elijah chuckles to himself-- too fucking bad. Sean Bean will never actually see him in them. 

His thoughts on the prior night’s phone call, Elijah unloads the clothesbasket into the washing machine and takes hold of the laundry bottle. That conceited fucker, he smiles to himself at the nerve and the wickedness of Sean, leaving him so miserable and excited. Oh, Elijah knew what the Brit had been trying to do. Sean probably expected that such a ploy would have Elijah in the car and over at his house by sundown. But he was wrong, Elijah thinks. It may be difficult but with Sean’s little present, he will make do. And with Sean’s phone number there’s always the chance he might want to talk again. Elijah might even ask Sean for it…after all phone sex is safe, discreet enough.

Elijah’s eyes go wide as he snaps out of his trance and realizes that a half a gallon of laundry detergent is in the washing machine. Oh well, he thinks…it’ll dissolve in the water anyway he tells himself.

*** 

The day so far has been awful, one of the worse in his life actually. The washing machine had overflowed and there were bubbles and water everywhere. Thankfully his mother had been out getting her manicure and pedicure but Hannah was another story. She had laughed at first, then offered to help but Elijah had been furious, panicked and wanted her nowhere near the washing machine. 

As he nurses the galss of juice in his hand, he eyes the treacherous washing machine carefully. Nearly an hour he has wasted toweling the floor, mopping, and finally the washer seems to be behaving. But then he can’t blame it on the machine. It was his fault for daydreaming, for being so…stubborn? He wonders if Sean is having similar bouts of clumsiness and is sure he isn’t. It is perhaps the reason he is so unwilling to give in: Sean would know how to handle him, but Elijah would fold, would fall so deeply into the Sheffield gentleman that even oceans would seem shallow in comparison. The past few days have held more than evidence of that. 

When his mother arrives he is taking his clothes out of the dryer. Her smile is just a little proud and just a bit knowing…after all it has been at least four hours for one load. His socks are a deep shade of pink but the red satin panties are bright, warm, and clean and they are at the bottom of the basket as he hefts it under his arm. “See, Mom,” he huffs. “ I can do my laundry.”

*** 

Night comes sooner than he thinks and definitely sooner than he wants it to and like a vampire, he is craving. With Dom away, Elijah has to think of other distractions. He decides to go clubbing with a few of his craziest friends. He needs to get wild, to push himself out of Bean’s orbit. He needs to find a willing, insane chick to rub his jeans…. where underneath the satin feels so good. He feels embarrassed about putting them on, but they feel delightfully electric and he knows they will boost whatever high he gets that night. Pulling a form fitting, downright sinful gray shirt over his head, Elijah takes a look at himself in the mirror. He musses his hair about, grabs wallet, keys and cell… Right before he leaves, he spies the card, the one with Sean’s info. Laughing to himself, Elijah plots on the call he will make when he’s toasted, when he’s spotted the girl he’ll make out with, maybe even the man… He’ll tease Bean until the Brit is moaning and calling his name on the fucking phone line.

*** 

Everything is as it should be. The lights flicker, sparkle in kaleidoscopic supernovas. The DJ has a furiously wicked backbeat underneath the roaring hip vocals of some British singer. Elijah and his friends are in the V.I.P. section, hyped on chilly imported beer and primed for harsher grains of alcohol. A bubbly, Japanese girl with pigtails is up against his side and his hand atop hers along the curve of his cock is a nice stimulant. It is excessive and at the moment is the polar opposite of what he needs.

By midnight Elijah has moved to tequila shooters, more out of depression than working his way up the scale of alcohol proofs. The Japanese girl is avoiding him and he can’t blame her. At some point she had slipped into his lap and was grinding her ass over his denim-clad dick. He thinks he pushed her off because he was envious. He would have rather been the one squirming over sturdy thighs. It’s just not fair, Elijah laments as he takes another salty, limey shot and shudders. All around him his anonymous friends take from life what they want, do whatever they please. In a corner one of his friends is getting a rather unabashed hand-job from a hot red-haired boy with freckles. On a couch to the side of him, the aforementioned Japanese girl is showing her tits to his friends. It is decadent, but not the kind of sordidness that Elijah needs…or even wants. 

He wants Sean and is tired of running from it any longer. He wants quiet and discretion, peace and focused intensity. Elijah wants it to be easy and he is sure that it will be, so sure that Sean will know exactly what he needs and how he needs it. His shoulders slouch with longing, wishing to be held. It is not a good feeling within him, the longing heightened by the copious amounts of liquor in his system, the thoughts stampeding through his head. He stands up suddenly, needing to be free of the noise and the madness, needing stronger than ever and he tells himself that if he can be with Sean once, that it will be enough. Just one fix, he tells himself. Spurned on by the liquor, Elijah walks intently towards the stairs that lead to the exit. 

*** 

Elijah’s hand is not under his control and he knocks loud and heavy upon the white oak door. Elijah flinches at his folly and considers running back to the car, or hiding. His legs refuse to obey him however, locked in place they are doing enough just to keep him upright. Moments pass, and Elijah wonders if he has the correct address. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he feels about for the address card. Then the sound of a lock unhitching catches his ear and then he looks up. 

The door opens and Elijah gapes in awe. He’s never seen an angel before; at least not one so manly. Sean looks like some desert prince in loose white trousers, a long sleeved white shirt that illuminates the glow of Sean’s skin. Sean looks, smells pristine, his hair is just a tad spiky, but it looks ever so debonair. Senses muted by drink, awaken all at once in Elijah and he wants to taste, touch, smell and feel all at once. His left leg twitches, wanting to move forward but stiff from his stance and Elijah thinks that he could fall at any moment. 

“Hello, Elijah,” Sean smirks as he drinks in the sight of the befuddled youth before him. Elijah’s cheeks are ruddy and the stench of alcohol and cigarettes is strong enough to warrant it’s own greeting. 

“Don’t swoon.” Don’t swoon, Do not swoon, Elijah tells himself over and over, praying that he doesn’t say the mantra aloud but not being able to tell the difference. All that matters, is that Sean is near, near and looking quite smug. Small and intimidated, Elijah’s heart mimics a hummingbird in his chest. Feverishly, Elijah juts out his chest and opens his mouth with nothing particularly important, “You know,” he hiccups ruefully. “I could play rugby, footbie or whatever. I’m quite masculine, you know?”

Footbie, Sean thinks he’s never heard such a ridiculous thing. The lad is just a few notches past pissed and more than likely flammable and still Sean is mystified. “You’re quite drunk as well,” he shakes his head as he looks over Elijah’s shoulder and sees the car in the driveway.” Sean worries that Elijah could be so reckless and frowns to think that he caused it. “Did you drive here?”

“No,” Elijah lies. He can sense the tone of concern in Sean’s voice and it is causes an ache in his chest similar to the one in his head. He is not here on Sean’s doorstep for concern or emotion. Lowering his head shamefully, Elijah finds the strength to move his legs. He staggers past Sean and into the house where the cool of the air-conditioning gives him some clarity. “I walked and that is not my car.”

Stepping back inside the house, Sean shuts the door behind him. It is too late for reprimands, and he knows that Elijah will not listen to them anyway. The boy is all heat and feathers and would welcome the excuse for flight. His eyes find Elijah leaning against the back of his sofa and regardless of his apprehensions, Sean can’t help admiring the tight shirt highlighting air-stiff nipples, the narrow waist of Elijah’s jeans. Sean’s had a touch to drink as well, not nearly as much as Elijah but enough to awaken the prowler in him. “Hmm…okay. So you’re here for-”

“I’m here,” Elijah blurts out, waving his finger accusingly. “…Here to give you a piece of my mind, you arrogant, self-centered, snobby, cock-sure…all-must-fall-and-suck-you-off, Brit bastard.”

“Whoa,” Sean raises a brow, only slightly reeling from Elijah’s onslaught. He is aware that Elijah is nervous, probably needed the liquid-courage just to show up and he appreciates the attempt at machismo if only for a second. Elijah’s leaning hard on one hip; the other is suggestively pushed out. “That was creative, far more so than moans, grunts and pleading this time. I’m impressed.”

Elijah’s embarrassment and sufficing warmth makes him dizzy. Clutching his head for stability, Elijah feigns ignorance. “What… the fuck?”

“Nothing…” Closing his eyes, Sean tells himself that it is a good thing Elijah is wasted. He moves forward, deciding to take at least some pity on the beautiful star. His hands, he clenches at his sides, his breathing he measures out dolefully, but something in Sean’s blood is shimmering. His patience is a ravenous cur kept on a leash of steel and it will hold, he tells himself. When he opens his eyes, he is right in front of Elijah, nearly a foot of space in between them and he sighs with his reserve. He decides to be ambiguous. “Just… I had a lovely anonymous call yesterday from a sweet little bird,” Sean remarks casually and that gets the attention of sapphire globes. Elijah’s lips part and Sean instantly thinks of cherries. “In fact, I was hoping he would show up. I have a present for him.”

The room stills, his headache is muted as Elijah focuses his entire being on the golden-haired god in front of him. Sean has this way he thinks of looking both angelic and demonic at the same time. Drawn to that worldly smirk, those unholy deep green eyes, Elijah digs his fingers into the fabric of the sofa using it as an anchor. 

“He…my lovely bird is not at all offended when I question his manhood; the exact opposite. It gets him rather excited.” Sean closes his eyes for a long moment as he remembers the call the night before. He knows that the anonymous caller and Elijah are the same, but can’t resist just the slightest torture. Elijah is familiar with such cruelty even if the hobbit never realized it was such. Sean leans forward, close enough that he can feel the heat of Elijah’s breath as it hitches puffs of air against his throat. The boy is needy, emanating heat with a tequila taint. Sean thinks he could get drunk by just breathing in Elijah. He inhales greatly as Elijah exhales a delightfully vulnerably. “Hearing his tiny gasps, him calling my name while fondling that perfect cock of his, begging me not to stop…Christ,” he harps with the memory. “ I just wanted to suck him through the phone.”

Speechless, mesmerized, Elijah can feel himself trembling, his heart hammering. At any moment, he knows that Sean will grasp him, ravish him, break him into flour, and bake warm pies with his soul. He closes his eyes, and arches his head back, so willingly. There is a smile of relief on his face and he will not argue, will not take flight.

Elijah’s bare throat is the perfect illustration of a boyish man. It is wide, silky-smooth yet the Adam’s apple is definitive, so delectable. Sean knows that Elijah is a creature animated by liquor’s whims, but he can’t resist and so bends to run the tip of his tongue over it. The ensuing moan and vibration along the throat are nothing short carnal evil burning at Sean’s soul. He moves away, shaking his head at his own vulnerability. Clenching hands that want nothing to do but fist themselves in Elijah’s short locks, dig themselves into the curve of Elijah’s waist, rip off that bloody enticing gray shirt, Sean laughs at irony’s game. “…He and I are so bloody perverse.” 

The brief flicker of Sean’s tongue upon his throat is like the striking of a match and when it is taken away, Elijah is distressed. Lowering his head he looks directly into Sean’s eyes and opens his mouth, mere breaths away from begging. 
 

Sean turns, unable to look at the lithe, tempter for too long. He resolves then and there that Elijah will not leave. He’s too drunk to drive. Sean also resolves to have Elijah in his bed as quickly as possible. When he does turn to look at the dark-haired youth, Sean is near damned. Elijah is propped up by the sofa, but no longer by the strength of his hands. Elijah’s hips are braced against the sofa and those thin, pale hands are making swirls around the opening to his jeans. Sean knows why, licks his lips at the very idea. “You know,” he says. “I gave him such a saucy pair of red knickers. He likes them, I think. He had them on last night, when he called me. He loves to wank in them, especially. I think he’d like to try other things…naughtier things that require him in Nancy-looking delicates, that require me to rip them off of him, but-”

“Sean,” Elijah squeaks, so needy, so lost. Drowning in the sea of his own desire, Elijah pouts. He is glad of the veil of inebriation, for without it, fear would have surely sent him running back home. As it is he can barely stand upon legs that tremble and tense. Sean’s teasing is driving him mad. His cock is heavy and insistent with its throbbing. Massaging helps, he thinks before realizing that that is exactly what he is doing. Looking down at his crotch, the notion of shame enters his mind only briefly. 

The question slips from Sean’s subconscious, as clever as a stealthy criminal. “Are you wearing them now, Elijah?”

Elijah nods only once.

“Show me,” Sean hisses, his reserve cracking.

The command sends thrills all over his body and Elijah wonders if his lingerie fetish is in any way tied to a deeper submissive fetish, either way it makes no difference. Sean has issued a command and like a marionette, Elijah moves to do the British man’s will. His fingers find the top button on his jeans and it is delightfully cool as he plucks it open. The zipper is next, peeling away with an audible hiss. Instinct takes over, where sense has no claim. Elijah moves from the couch and braces himself in a stand. He puts his hands on his hips upon the fabric of jeans and pushes down. 

Sean is at Elijah’s hip in a second, catching Elijah quite suddenly by the waist. “Bloody hell,” he curses as the sight Elijah’s cock arching underneath the ruby satin, begging to be held, leaking to be tasted, ignites his passion. Control is lost to him as captures Elijah’s shocked gasp in his mouth, attacks it with his tongue and gives the sound back in a hoarse groan. His hands cup Elijah’s satin-covered arse, slipping, gliding over the taut muscle beneath, pressing Elijah to him. Yet Elijah needs no encouragement to stay close, as Sean feels the hard length of Elijah’s shaft rubbing, pressing, and grinding against his thigh. 

Elijah is a wreck. Things are out of control and he never knew that bliss and a tornado were the same. He lets Sean plunder and take, loves the way Sean’s tongue intimidates his own, singes his nerves with heated, over-stimulation. It is too much for his system to take, Sean’s hands squeezing, caressing him. When Sean frees his mouth, Elijah can’t catch his breath. He feels aflame, feverish, and drained. He’s so hard and yet weak and Sean is relentless attacking his neck with sucking kisses and wet lashes while moving a hand to Elijah’s front. The feel of Sean’s hand closing around his panty-clad cock is devastating. Sean squeezes surely yet not too harshly and Elijah thinks that all of the blood in his body must be in his swollen cock for he has no strength, no feeling or strength anywhere else. One of Sean’s hands around his waist is not enough to hold him upright and Elijah slips to the floor suddenly.

As Elijah falls from his hands, Sean has a moment of redemption. Stepping back to compose himself, to catch his breath, Sean runs a hand through his hair in worry. Suddenly it is he who wishes he could flee especially as he looks to Elijah, vulnerable upon the floor. Expecting the American to have fainted, to have passed out already, Sean shudders to see Elijah staring at him, eyes a dazed and clouded cerulean. Elijah’s cheeks and lips are deep shades of rapture-pink, his pants are lewd and inviting around white thighs parted ever so to expose the crimson bulge. Sean is sure that the image before him will consume his mind forever. Woeful due to the of the rampant hunger he can’t necessarily control, Sean warns, “If I were you, I’d get up off of the floor.” 

***

Fic: Satin Embraces, (5/?), LijahBean, NC-17 Series
Disclaimer: Falsified Fantasy Ahead
Beta-Team Thanx: hjartad n housemouse
Summary: Laundry=Vicky’s Secret

***

Elijah awakes not knowing where he is, but knowing only that he is warm, snug and that goose feathers make for an amazingly comfortable slumber. Unfurling his limbs, which had been in the fetal position, he is unsure of how long he has slept. He grabs hold of the spread and pulls it from over his head and is immediately acquainted with a room that is not his own. His mind scrambles for details, to remember the events that led him to a king-sized bed which could only be Sean’s. That much he is certain of and not just because of the mini-shrine to Sheffield United on a shelf above the wide screen television at the opposite wall. 

Shivering as a breeze curls about his naked shoulders, Elijah’s attention turns to the open window and the billowing curtains. The light outside is weak and Elijah wonders why he awoke so early in the morning. He feels well rested and somewhat peaceful as he yawns, stretches his arms in the air and feels the most delicious sensation brush across his groin. Tentatively he raises the covers and immediately recognizes the red satin underwear, before letting the spread fall to cover him. Sean had to see him, had to have put him to bed, Elijah worries. Wondering if the Brit had done anything to him, Elijah doesn’t know which is worse -- not being awake and sober enough to have enjoyed it, or that Sean could be so greedy and rude. Yet somehow he doubts that either scenario has weight. He doesn’t feel as if he’s been ravished and as the heavy veil of his memory parts just sparingly, Elijah recalls Sean holding him up, giving him water and aspirin. Taking care of him instead of devouring him. 

Surely enough, when Elijah looks to the bedside table there is a half-empty glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. His face burns with shame as realizes that not only has Sean seen him drunk and looking like a complete twat but that his sole opportunity for the most erotic night of his life has been decimated by reality and her long reaching arms.

Elijah throws back the covers and slips somewhat mournfully from the comfortable bed. As his feet touch upon the cool hardwood floor his only objectives are to find his clothes and escape to the sanctuary of his home where he can chide and console himself in peace. Unfortunately his jeans and shirt are nowhere to be found, and a particular sight halts his thorough search. His eyes are drawn to the giant lounge chair, richly covered in cream brocade, made richer still by the sheer white nightie with a feathered hemline and matching thong laying over it. Just draped there, coy and suggestive, alluring in its delicacy, distracting with its simplicity. Elijah can’t help but wonder what it would feel like, and thinks only of air-spun made fabric, a shimmer of a cloud upon his flesh. 

He turns his head nervously to the doorway, tunes his ear seeking the slightest hint of approach. Elijah feels that he needs to leave, if only to spare what little pride he has left He has ruined any seductive edge he might have had when he passed out the night before, and looking back at the negligee Elijah knows that it would have been a fucking wonderful night at that. He reaches out to touch the fabric, just a faint brush, perhaps even theft is upon his mind. Fingertips curl around the gossamer shift and a touch becomes a caress, caressing becomes handling and examining. 

“The Sleeping Princess has awoken, I see.”

Elijah freezes as the English accent catches him by surprise. “Huh,” he mutters refusing to turn about refusing to see what fashionable outfit, robe, or whatever Sean is dressed in. 

Moving just a few feet into the room, Sean knows not to get to close to the American. Elijah standing there in nothing more than red panties is a bitter reminder of the failed night before. Even still it is a harrowing reminder of the pent up desire he’s felt for the dark haired man. Just looking at Elijah’s shapely bum and the smooth ruby like fabric covering it sends a shudder straight to Sean’s groin and he has to shake it away. “You slept the night and day away,” he says, amazed at the depth and bass of his own voice. He coughs and says in a much less intimidating tone. “Must have been some party?”

Warmed instantly by the near salacious growl of Sean’s voice, Elijah stiffens his stance to prevent from wobbling. He clutches the nightie to his belly, hoping to keep it hidden from Sean. He doesn’t want the Brit to find him as enthusiastic, needy and vulnerable as he actually is. The loss of a day is entirely irrelevant. He needs to leave. “W-where…are my clothes?”

“In the washer,” Sean says easily. Expecting Elijah’s fight-or-flight instinct to kick in, he smiles at the forethought, which will surely prevent any of that. 

Elijah whips around in shock as he realizes that his dream of a swift and clean escape has just gone up in flames. As his eyes land on the tall blonde, the sight of the simple, gray tracksuit puts him at some ease. The sly smirk curving at the edge of Sean’s mouth however threatens to take it away. Even though he knows Sean has planned something, Elijah can’t stifle the fitful complaint that escapes his lips. “But you had all day to do that!”

Lowering his eyes as he laughs at Elijah, Sean can’t help but cherish the nervousness in the air. He has Elijah just where he wants him. “I’m not a maid service,” he shrugs in his best nonchalance. “…And I had meetings and the gym to deal with.” Walking over to his closet, Sean toes off his tennis shoes and pushes them inside. Closer to Elijah by nearly five feet, he notices that Elijah is clutching the bait exactly –again- as planned. He stills his excitement with the knowledge that Elijah *will* be with him for at least a while. “In a hurry, I take it? Ready to fly away, now?”

Elijah can almost see the laughter in Sean’s eyes as he sulks quietly. Lowering his eyes, he cradles the sheer garment to him. It is almost comforting in its softness and he can’t wholly admit that he does want to leave. The pale creams of the room, the soft carpeting, the ease with which Sean wears his casual clothing, they sting at him with their promise of shelter, safety and bliss. If anything, Elijah is afraid of, has been afraid of, consumption and already he feels the claim of the British man. He doesn’t dare to ask what Sean expects of him, not when Elijah admits to himself that he would give everything. He shakes his head at his own weakness. 

He is not blind and definitely not cruel, Sean tells himself. Perhaps he is a bit selfish and conniving though. His eyes glide over Elijah’s naked limbs, the belly just the slightest bit plump with baby fat, skin bare still of a man’s fur and Sean can’t deny that he does want to lock all of the doors, and bar the windows. His justification is patience, nearly a year since he truly noticed Elijah, since that fateful Halloween when Elijah first revealed his remarkable fetish. Before that, Sean had considered Elijah as just another lad coming into adulthood slowly and rebelliously, no different from Orli, Billy, Sean or Dominic…After the incident, Elijah had become the embodiment of a siren, haunting him at night, a vision of perfect androgyny and shy sexuality. 

Sean doesn’t even call his lust for the young American, homosexual -- he thinks of it in terms of only possessing something he needs. Already his fingers tense with the need to wrap themselves around Elijah’s white shoulders, his tongue twists moistly wanting to taste Elijah’s pouting lips, shoulders…those tiny, dusky nipples. He shakes his head, eyes darting away. It takes a moment for him to gather himself enough to suppress the lasciviousness of every breath. 

Elijah looks over at his partner in crime and for the first time he realizes that Sean is not so debonair and wicked, so sure as he seemed before. Sean’s face although downward, seems flushed and somewhat demure if such a word could describe the Brit. Still, Elijah feels some confidence in his effect upon him. 

Turning away, he gives a cough to clear his throat and motions with a finger towards Elijah’s new security blanket. “You like that, eh? I got it from Victoria’s Secret especially for you. It’s your gift. You should go shower…put it on. Bet it feels wonderful.”

“I’m not-” Elijah halts his speech before the lie passes his lips. He’s been anxious to try on the long camisole since he first laid eyes on it. The white feathers upon the hem *are* so soft and light. The entire outfit seems pristine and he *does* feel the need for a long hot shower. He has a notion suddenly. Perhaps spurned from that glimpse of vulnerability of Sean’s, perhaps because he thinks he’s going mad and is going nowhere, but Elijah says, “Maybe.”

Sean looks up only to verify the words he has heard and finds the minx nervously leaning on a hip, attempting boldness. His eye catches the semi-hardness tenting the red satin and Sean immediately feels lust and defeat. Turning on his heel, he won’t refer to his leaving the room as flight, he’ll call it…anxious not to miss the football game. Calling over his shoulder, he pretends not to care, “Right then Elijah, The games on. Your clothes won’t be dry for a bit and if you want to walk around in just the red knickers thinking that I’ll molest you or something then fine. I *just* want to see it on you. However, you don’t want to put on clean clothes when you reek of cheap liquor, wretched mixers and some dingy club.” 

“It *wasn’t* dingy,” Elijah snaps back. His little show is definitely having an intimidating effect on the older man. He sees it clearly in Sean’s swift exit and he thinks he might indeed like to stay. 

As Sean returns to the living room in time to see the first play of the game, he can’t help but smile. Elijah has no clue what he is up against, he muses. Settling down on the couch, Sean doesn’t even see the first few minutes of the game as his eyes are closed and he is in deep concentration…trying to will the hardness between his thighs to calm. 

*** 

It really isn’t what he’d call a game—In fact the spectacle of Sheffield United dominating Burnley at 2 to 0 is practically boring when weighed against the sound of running water and imagining Elijah in the shower soapy and wet. He groans at the thought, tosses down another gulp of lager and tries anew to pay attention to the television screen. It’s been nearly forty minutes and he tells himself that Elijah couldn’t have slipped through the window and escaped. Sean wonders if he should offer to help, after all Elijah might still be dizzy from his hangover, but then quickly shoots down that offer as being impatient. Just thinking about being in the shower running a sponge over Elijah’s shoulders, back, down his spine and…The fucking game he tells himself, returning his eyes to the television. Unfortunately the game is no more exciting than it was.

“I love these little barbeque wings. Can I?”

His team is doing beyond well, but the excitement Sean feels at hearing Elijah’s voice behind him takes precedence. He smells his vanilla almond soap upon an inhalation and turns just as Elijah comes around to join him on the sofa. Scooting over to make room, Sean watches as Elijah reaches forward to the coffee table for a chicken wing. “Course…of course,” he stutters, bewitched immediately by clean, pale peach skin and the white shimmering veil of fabric hardly covering it. One of the shoulder straps is precariously hanging off Elijah’s shoulder but the young man seems more concerned with food and Sean is practically out his mind with hunger as well. “How’s it… feel?”

Elijah parlays his utter fright into his hunger for sustenance. The sweet barbeque sauce simply heightens his appetite as he makes swift work of the chicken and returns to the platter for more. It was hunger that compelled him out of the bathroom in the first place, especially after he had caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The word ‘slut’ doesn’t even begin to describe how he both looks and feels at the moment; luckily the feathery hem covers his oh-so-enthusiastic bits. He can feel Sean’s gaze searing over his flesh and making his very bones quiver. His heart is beating so loudly that Elijah almost wonders if Sean can hear it over the game. “Who’s winning,” he mumbles as he chews, trying to draw Sean’s attention elsewhere. 

“Sheffield,” Sean answers dryly, after a time. The game is the last thing of importance at the moment. Slow, even breathes, he tells himself at the sight of Elijah’s dark nipples showing through the sheer fabric.

On his sixth wing, Elijah reaches for a bottle of lager and twists off the cap. As Sean finally speaks, Elijah is aware of his predicament. The excitement in the air is almost palpable and he’s sure the tiny hairs on his arms are bristling with it. He closes his eyes as the alcoholic beverage courses down his throat sweet and bitter at once. When he opens his eyes he can swear that Sean has somehow inched closer. His eyes go wide as he looks directly into a ravenous, forest green gaze. “…Sheffield’s your team isn’t it?” He knows that it is, he knows that it was a stupid thing to say, but then he really can’t help his loss of wits, Elijah concludes as Sean casually leans over and takes the beer from his hand. 

“Right. Come here.” He’s waited entirely too long, Sean thinks as he slips an arm around Elijah’s waist and one about his hip. Ignoring the little yelp of surprise that comes from the barbeque stained lips, Sean maneuvers Elijah onto the open wedge of his thighs, directly over his demanding cock. He thinks at first that his actions are rash, expects Elijah to break free and run. He doesn’t and Sean begins to think that Elijah has begun to come to terms with what he already knows: Elijah belongs in his lap. 

“Sean,” Elijah gasps, his heart ceasing suddenly, almost painfully with surprise. When it starts anew, he dares not overexert its function by moving. Sean’s arm is strong across his waist, preventing him from moving, if ever he had such a notion. Thinking back on all of his procrastinating, all of his worries the days before, Elijah deems it all bullshit. He’ll deal with the consequences later, he decides, settling comfortably in Sean’s lap. Elijah hears Sean groan underneath him as he wiggles, then Sean does a bit of getting *comfortable* himself, arches his hips up a tad and it is Elijah who then moans. 

He holds Elijah like something precious and coveted. The word ‘Frodo’ appears in his mind and he smiles against the downy skin of Elijah’s chubby arm. Whereas he was eager and desperate before, now that Sean has Elijah in his arms, he is settled. Sean can breath. He discovers serenity floating above the sea of his vicious need. With Elijah in his lap, his footy on the television, beer and snacks, Sean honestly can’t remember when he’s had it so good. He fans his fingers over the silky, sheer fabric covering Elijah’s firm little pot of a belly and cherishes every tremble, every shudder. Using his free hand, Sean tests the softness of Elijah’s naked thigh and finds it comparable to satin. 

Feeling Sean’s hardened sex against his ass, Elijah sighs. His memory of it fades to nothing in comparison to the real thing. “Ahh,” he breathes aloud, almost joyously. Ignoring the little bit of him that wants to cower, that thinks that Sean is a bit too advanced for his repertoire of fumbling fucks and clumsy sucks with men his age, Elijah moves his hips just a little, inviting more friction. His fear dissolves with every shift and tremble, as his desire for Sean grows. 

“You like football, Elijah…real football,” Sean asks if only to hear Elijah’s voice, if only to distract.

Exhaling, Inhaling heavily, Elijah glances briefly at the television screen, but for all he knows the program could be a cereal commercial. Sean’s hand slides down the inside of his thigh, stroking lazily and firmly and Elijah says, “Yah,” because it’s onomatopoeic and easy, almost as easy as Sean’s teasing caresses. Such gentleness, he hadn’t expected but he finds it so much more than pleasant. Spreading his legs just a bit wider, Elijah relaxes back against the broad chest supporting him. 

As Elijah leans back, so does Sean. He doesn’t mind at all, amazed by Elijah relaxing his guard after so long. Stretching his long legs out to better support Elijah’s weight atop him, Sean finds the outer rim of Elijah’s ear both near and fascinating. His tongue darts out to trace the orifice, to delve wetly inside causing Elijah to squirm tumultuously. Sean is quick to grab, to still Elijah’s hips and thrust up against Elijah’s heavenly-tight arse. He growls closely, “You *do* understand the game?”

Elijah doesn’t really, but he does understand the game that Sean wants to play. His legs feel hollow and weak as Sean clasps a hand around each of his thighs, massaging the juncture between thigh and buttock, fingers feigning accidental swipes over Elijah’s swollen testicles. “Mmhmm. Ball and goal,” Elijah smiles at the absurd question. He turns his head and brushes his lips against Sean’s jaw in a peck of a kiss that wants to be bold. 

“Aye.” Sean rewards the correct answer by licking a trail over down the column of Elijah’s throat, kissing Elijah’s shoulder. “Smart one,” he croons as he can spare only one hand from Elijah’s moist thighs to venture northwards. His hand slips and glides over a quivering stomach to rest upon Elijah’s chest and toy with the pert bud of a hardened nipple. Elijah moans, hisses and it is all music to Sean’s ears. Distantly he hears the announcer on television report another goal for Sheffield and feels just about as sorry for Burnley as he does for Elijah. His blood up, Sean moves to cup the brunette’s heavy erection in his hand, giving it a possessive squeeze. “ …That and the total fucking annihilation of the other team. Complete and utter devastation,” Sean says, stressing every word with fisted pumping along Elijah’s shaft. “No padding, no fairy helmets or gloves…just the natural, celebration of the human limbs, knees, shins, chests…”

Elijah’s brow creases with his concentration. Sean’s hand…wrist, play him as expertly as an instrument, building a high, reverberating sound inside him with every stroke. He needs all of his energy just to hold back. Elijah doesn’t want his inexperience to show but then everything Sean does is perfect, from the corkscrew motion up and down, to the swiping thumb over the head of his cock. That Sean doesn’t bother to remove the thong is an even bigger turn on. With every downward stroke of Sean’s hand, the soft silken fabric tortures Elijah’s cock. Elijah closes a hand over Sean’s wrist unsure of whether to still the hand so firm and relentless, delicious as it strokes his panty-clad dick or encourage it…He settles on encouragement. His head falls into the crook between Sean’s neck and shoulder as his body sings, shimmers like waves and sparks. “Fuck! S-Sean,” he pleads against the smooth skin of Sean’s throat.

Watching Elijah unravel is oddly the most feminine, most delicate thing Sean’s laid eyes on in a while. Watching that small mouth quiver, those thick lashes fanning while eyes of the purest sapphire roll dreamily is maddening. Sean has to see it, has to see Elijah shatter and thus be conquered. Sean dares not kiss that vermilion mouth forming moans over and over. He dares not even blink. He can feel that Elijah is close and he doesn’t want to miss a thing. He lowers his other hand to cup Elijah’s balls to rub the damp material from perineum to the bud of Elijah’s arsehole. Curving a finger, Sean pushes it underneath the crotch of the thong to caress the humid, silken flesh and two very swollen, balls. “Ya know, some footy players wear nothing underneath their kits, Elijah.”

Speechless, feeling his control slip away, Elijah slides his arms about Sean’s shoulders for support. He feels as if vertigo has taken him over and his equilibrium has abandoned him. Just one finger has him crazed and squirming upon Sean’s lap, just one finger rubbing circlets under the fabric of his damp panties and directly in contact with the underside of his straining erection. Spreading his legs even wider, Elijah bites his lip and fights the tide within him. 

“Pay attention Elijah. I wouldn’t want you to miss the game,” Sean teases. The only thing Elijah seems to be able to concentrate on is moaning and thrusting, the slender hips crashing into his arm desperate for completion. Determined to give Elijah what he wants, Sean quickens his hand on Elijah’s slick shaft, uses the other hand to press inside the sweat-slick opening to Elijah’s body. It is tight, almost impossibly so and the idea of taking such a prize for his own, spurns Sean to new heights of command and taunting. Pistoning his finger in far enough to torture Elijah’s prostrate. Pumping his fist around Elijah’s cock like an engine, Sean marvels at the keening shrieks filling the room, drowning out the sound of the television. His voice is hoarse with the wildness he feels, “…The addition of a new echelon in your budding masculinity. I could totally see you out there on the pitch, jockeying the ball into position, slipping past those brutish hulking blokes and taking the goal. You’d make a nice footy player, Elijah…so bloody nice!”

Clutching hold of Sean as if his life depends up it, Elijah has no control over his limbs. He can hear Sean speaking, but can’t make out any of the words. His head tossing from right to left as Sean’s heavy breathing scorches and delights the flesh of his cheek, Elijah falters, slips and slams into the wall of his orgasm. “Ahhh, Sean! I…I’m…Comi- Ooh,” he sputters with the last vestige of control. Wracked with delirious currents of release, Elijah comes long and hard, soaking the delicate fabric of the thong, the skin of Sean’s hand with heated pearl streams. 

It is so beautiful, that tiny mouth stretched wide, no sound, just straining against that near unnatural spike of release. Sean can’t resist plundering that open mouth, swallowing every jagged, hitching breath from Elijah’s tart of a mouth, licking, coiling around the submissive muscle and claiming it. When Sean breaks from the kiss, he can taste barbeque, lager and a taste of mint. “Mmm,” he groans at the sweetness. The ache, the pain of his restricted cock has spread all throughout his body and Sean needs with every fiber of his being. Removing his hand from the warm milk and slick mess of Elijah’s panties, Sean brings his fingers to his mouth and savors the bittersweet potion. Sean wants more and he doesn’t want it on the sofa. He releases Elijah and the exhausted youth slips to the couch as if he were pale syrup. Coming to a stand, Sean reaches to the coffee table and finds the remote control. He doesn’t really care if Sheffield wins or loses. Instead he turns his gaze back to the one thing he *does* care about at that moment, the young man baselessly draped upon his couch. “Elijah?”

Sean’s voice comes to him as if from a great distance. Breathing is simply automatic and he can barely do anything but. He enjoys every receding wave of pleasure that laps over him and he feels inebriated with the liquor of his afterglow. Every molecule of him feels warm and glowing. Softly, contently, he purrs, “Hmm?”

“Remember how I said *all* I wanted to do was see you in your pretty little frock, Elijah?”

Elijah grins and nods. He snuggles into the cushions of the sofa with a notion for sleep. He thinks he might like it if Sean would lie atop him, cover him and heighten his warmth. 

Reaching down to pull Elijah into his arms, Sean smiles as eyes lazily shut blossom to nervous wakefulness. “Right then, I’m thinking you already know that *that* was a lie, eh?”
 
 

Fic: Satin Embraces, (6/?), LijahBean, NC-17 Series
Disclaimer: Falsified Fantasy Ahead
Beta-Team Thanx: hjartad n housemouse
Summary: Whipped…and I’m not talking about cream, not necessarily

*** 

Elijah knows what it’s like to be vanilla pudding. He’s sure of it. Soft, creamy, heavy and quivering with sweetness; inanimate, but adoringly pushed, licked and mouthed is how he feels under Sean’s tongue. Helplessly open, his legs pinned apart by the Brit’s large hands, Elijah can just barely move his head into a nearby pillow to muffle an endless stream of moans. His limbs are useless to him, yet overly sensitive nerves spark and ripple with every flick of Sean’s tongue along his inner thighs. It borders slightly between pain and ecstasy, even more so because he hasn’t quite recovered from his first orgasm. His brow creases in divine exertion as Sean’s heavy palm covers Elijah’s sex, the sopping wet fabric, decadent and slimy with his ejaculate. Elijah floats in new realms of depravity and Sean is his guide. 

Fascinated and obsessed, Sean smiles into the crease of Elijah’s inner thigh. The scent of Elijah’s arousal is so strong that every breath makes him swoon. It is altogether overwhelming added to the fact that he finally has Elijah laid out like a beautiful buffet. Sean nibbles at the downy, sweat dappled flesh of Elijah’s white thigh, but he can no longer hold back from what he wants. His fingers creep to the darkened fabric of Elijah’s spoiled panties, play along the length of Elijah’s soft cock. He feels a twitch in the organ and automatically his fingers close around in response. Further up on the bed, Sean hears a muffled wail that only heightens his nearly unbearable arousal. Moving to the center of Elijah’s thighs, Sean spends only a moment admiring the feathery hem of the nightie haphazardly lying around Elijah’s waist, only a moment eyeing the growing outline of Elijah’s dark cock under the sheer white thong, so invitingly wet. Lowering his mouth to the head of Elijah’s cock, Sean closes his mouth around panties and organ alike, inhaling, tasting sweat, musk, and saltiness. Elijah gives a remarkable, muffled groan, and Sean in his ravenous state gives one as well, with much more timbre. 

The vibrations go straight through to Elijah’s bones with liquefying clarity. Sean is a beast, he thinks, one that will devour him and leave no physical trace that he ever existed. His energy is rising but not in any limbs he might actually use. His hips, on the other hand, have awoken from their post-orgasmic weakness and are beginning to undulate. Sean’s mouth is hell, Sean’s tongue is Satan and apparently Elijah deserves the infernal punishment. He feels himself growing full and stiff, his thighs jerking with spasms. This is wholly different -- what Sean is doing to him is not necessarily rough, not necessarily loving, but it is something more than both combined, and Elijah is slightly fearful of it. He has no control over himself. “Sss-Sean,” he whimpers, gasping just above the pillow.

Sean decides he loves the American’s broken sounds and that he has to hear more. Every whimper, cry, moan and wail sends shockwaves straight to his groin. Addictive. Inspiring. Sean snakes a hand between his own legs and into his sweat pants and into his boxer shorts. Just one, long, slow stroke, he thinks taking hold of his shaft. One is not enough, especially when his mind is seized with the idea of opening and pressing inside of Elijah’s tightness. The second and third strokes almost undo him, and Sean deems playtime over. He moves both hands to take hold of Elijah’s thighs, push them up and into the American’s chest, exposing the rounded curves of Elijah’s arse, the gossamer fabric leaving nothing to the imagination. 

At the first press of Sean’s tongue into his crevice, Elijah can’t stand another second. His entire body is crackling with nerves gone mad. It is too much, too soon and he wants…he is afraid and his fear is what gives him the energy to move and to speak. Scrambling away from Sean’s hold, Elijah looks up into eyes the color of midnight, sin and evergreen. “No, Sean,” he breaths hoarsely. “Please…please just give me a fucking minute.”

Sean’s hands are empty and at first he doesn’t know why, then his eyes settle on Elijah at the head of the bed, curled against the headboard with his legs curled under his bum and that feathery shift just barely covering him. Burning with the heat of his desire, Sean can’t think for the throbbing ache in his groin, the pounding of his heart. “…Elijah, I-” It is on the tip of his tongue and fingers to deny Elijah’s request. Every ounce of him is tense and ready to pounce. Elijah is looking at him with a nervous, reserved hunger and Sean realizes that the battle has truly begun. That look promises more than he can handle, as so Sean suspects is the man whom they belong to. Leaning back on his haunches, Sean sighs heavily “…ok.”

Submission is not truly his thing, neither is dominance, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Elijah is considering them both. The way Sean looks, cowed, needy, and oh, the tenting in his sweatpants… Elijah deems it priceless. He knows that he is playing with fire. The pitch of both their arousals is suffocating even in such an expansive room, but the break in contact helps. Scooting up into a sitting position, Elijah runs his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “You… are a fucking whirlwind,” he swears, never daring to take his eyes off of the larger man. 

“I want you Elijah.” Sean’s response is direct, coarse and to the point. 

Elijah swoons, bites his lip and swears that Sean’s voice should be patented as an aphrodisiac. His stomach clenches and he does want to give himself, just not his entire self and Elijah is sure that Sean will take him, has already. “That’s not even the issue,” he groans. 

“Isn’t it, Elijah,” Sean counters, more than a bit harshly. He doesn’t have a clue what Elijah means and neither compassion nor conversation are his strong points at that moment. He has become a creature of simple instinct and Elijah’s temptation blocks out rational thought, lacing his words with mild venom. “Christ! You’ve come to play the game…after all this time avoiding me you don’t think that -”

“Quiet,” Elijah snaps, and amazingly Sean obeys although stranded in his compliance. Jutting out his chest, Elijah is taken by the feeling of power he has come into. He watches as Sean all but scowls and stretches his legs out nervously to sit upon the bed. Although at least twenty years his senior, Sean looks almost like a scolded boy, Elijah thinks at first. Then his eyes take in the broad chest, the muscular shoulders and thighs. Sean has a hand in his crotch, tentatively stroking the bulge between his thighs as if he’s trying to calm the lesser beast. Just the sight of it makes Elijah shift uncomfortably. Rolling his eyes in annoyance with his own behavior, Elijah throws his hands up. “I’ve avoided you because of this, what you were just trying to fucking do!”

Sean’s fingers halt their delectable movements along the outline of his cock as he reels from Elijah’s accusation. “Excuse me?”

“I need a little dignity, yah know,” Elijah stammers, daring to sneak a glance at Sean’s crotch before a hot flash causes him to look away. He is more than aware that his time is running short as he speaks quick, flushed. “ You just took my breath away and you’re not giving me a chance to get it back. You don’t want me to have any shame. Just want me to lay there with my legs spread while you turn me to jelly… embed yourself in my fantasies more than you already are.” Elijah knows that he’s not making sense and the effort alone is frustrating. “Sean, I don’t want… Taking a deep breath he realizes that the truth is much, much easier. “I don’t want to be ravished. I don’t want to be fucked stupid.”

If his brain was not suffocated with the heat of lust, Sean might not have needed further explanation. Luckily he possesses enough common sense to stay calm, he thinks. Resuming the movement of his hand, he cups the heavy erection in his pants and marvels at how Elijah’s eyes hone in on it. That the young American still wants to play is the only thing he is truly certain of. Curiously, slyly he asks, “What do you want then?”

Elijah has no clue how it happened, but he is suddenly closer to Sean on the bed. He is certain that Sean hasn’t moved. His gaze has been on Sean, or rather between his thighs with hardly a blink. His legs which are nearly numb settle close to Sean’s and Elijah knows that it is he who is doing the moving. He is close enough to feel Sean’s breath upon his forehead, which is cast downward. Close enough even to touch, to slide his fingers underneath Sean’s for his own personal inspection of the rigid bar curving under the cotton fabric. “I want you to let me…” Elijah loses his train of thought as his palm comes to rest on Sean’s sex. It seems every part of the Brit is intimidating. He knows that Sean is big, he remembers the feel of Sean’s cock from sitting in his lap both times, yet from what he can feel, Sean is only slightly above average in length; the width is another thing entirely. Elijah wonders how such thickness would feel inside of him, wonders if it would even fit. Marveling at the possibilities, Elijah pushes away Sean’s hands entirely. His fingers go to the stays of Sean’s sweat pants and tug them a loose. Pushing his hand into Sean’s boxers, Elijah is startled by the heat inside. “I’ve never touched you,” he breaths, chest rising slow and stammering. And then he does touch Sean’s cock.

Elijah’s touch tugs at something so deeply embedded in Sean, that he has to throw his head back and curse the ceiling. He asks rhetorically, “You’ve wanted to?” The sensation of slight, shorter fingers holding him firmly, an easy gliding stroke that slips down to toy with the flesh of his foreskin, the bulb of his dick-head. It’s almost as if the hobbit is curious, or villainous, Sean can’t decide which as Elijah slowly jerks his cock. Sean eagerly presses his hips into Elijah’s hand with slow rolling thrusts meant for intensity, not speed. He is already so close to completion and it takes all of his energy just to keep from falling over. As his heart trips over its heavy rhythm Sean leans down to lay upon the bed, pushes his pants down to allow Elijah full reign. 

Norse God. Norse fucking God, Elijah thinks as Sean stretches his entire frame upon the bed. Even with his pants down around his knees, no especially with his pants around his knees, Sean Bean is fucking hot and Elijah’s recovery period has just passed. “No,” He quips sarcastically, “I just wanted to sit in your lap and be fondled all fucking day…” Which is not as bad and just as bad as it sounds, but Elijah relents, “Of course, I wanted to touch you, see you...” Leaning on his elbow, Elijah takes his time exploring Sean’s body. With his left hand he smoothes Sean’s cock against the trembling muscles of the Yorkshire man’s abdomen. Fanning his right through the soft, golden curls of Sean’s pubic hair, Elijah scoops the heavy sack of the Brit’s sex into his hand. Above him, Sean groans. 

If there’s one thing Sean is particularly fond of it is having his balls played with. Elijah is an expert, it seems, at such a task, and his fingers have Sean squirming like a teen. Licking his lips as if he could taste the sweetness of Elijah, Sean hisses, “And do you…like?”

“Mmhm.” Settling length-wise against Sean’s side, Elijah wraps one of his legs over Sean’s to keep him somewhat still as the older man seems to be having control issues. He slides his hand Sean’s back to get that much closer. It is a new sensory experience for Elijah, rubbing his lingerie-clad body against Sean’s solid frame and he drops his head to Sean’s shoulder and sighs with pleasure. “I like it a lot,” Elijah smiles, stating the obvious as his cock throbs with attentive urgency against Sean’s hip. Taking hold of Sean’s cock, he renews the slide and press up and down the length. Sean’s width makes his grip awkward, strained but Elijah does not falter. He looks up wanting to see what he can tell from the rocking of Sean’s hips. The Brit is seconds away… 

Blue eyes find his, and Sean is certain that devastation was supposed to be Elijah’s field, not his. Yet as his hips rise and fall against the bed, Sean can’t hold off any longer. Elijah’s fingers have invented a twist that has the very insides of his thighs twitching. It doesn’t help that he can feel feathers, and sheer silk, slipping and brushing against his side and to make matters worse, Elijah’s wide-eyed fascination. He has to close his eyes, can’t bear to be seen so vulnerable. Roughly, he shoves his arm under Elijah’s body, grabs the dark-haired vixen by the bare arse and holds him tightly. Finding shelter under Elijah’s cheek, his breath is so hot even he is singed by it. “Ahh, Elijah. I’m going to come in your fucking hand.” Moving so fast, so hard, striving for a release Sean can’t even think straight more or less find a comprehensive string of words. “Wanted to be inside of you so badly… you standing on the red carpet with the fucking hobbits, knowing what I wanted-. Your hot little arse, pretty frock-”

Snuggled close, feverish with the heat between them Elijah braces himself against Sean’s tempestuous exertions. Holding and being held, Elijah deems this the sharing of pleasure and it is better than Sean’s tactic of command and conquer. This is something akin to a combined effort. He moves his face to nudge Sean’s upwards, hoping to get a glance of the older man’s ecstasy. Instead, he gets a taste. Sean’s mouth pressing against his, Sean’s tongue plunging inside to explore, to taste, to claim. Elijah moans into the urgency, buckles under the aggressive dueling. When Sean’s lips part from his, they both gasp. Elijah does so simply trying to catch his breath; Sean does so because his has departed. 

The first explosion is as acute as a sliver of lightning jolting Sean upwards in an arch that would seek heaven. It is brief but the fall is a languorous rippling that leaves him dizzy. Hot jets of come splash across his stomach and then the lightning strikes again. It is slightly less jarring than the first and he clings to Elijah with the last ebbing vestiges of strength he has. “Ohh. Oh, Elijah you are so-”Sean can’t finish his sentence as another series of tremors shatters his foundation, taking him completely. 

As Sean goes lax upon the cloud of after glow, Elijah is freed from his iron grip. He grins at the near-drugged look of contentment upon Sean’s features and thinks of déjà vu. Sean looks tussled and undone, and while that is a pleasing sight, a twinge in his hips suggests that there is more pleasure to be had. He releases his hold upon Sean’s softening cock before giving it one last caress from base to tip. His hand does not stop there, trailing over the glossy moisture upon Sean’s rippling belly. Smearing Sean’s come along the rippled muscles, up underneath Sean’s haphazard shirt to coat the tiny nub of a nipple.

The stimulation is bittersweet as Elijah rolls the nub between sticky, cool fingers and it is more than he needs in his sated, recovery. Sean grabs hold of Elijah’s wrist and pulls it from underneath his shirt. He brings Elijah’s hand to his lips and kisses it before placing it on his chest and keeping it there. He wishes he had enough strength to pull Elijah into his arms, but somehow he fears that isn’t quite what Elijah wants. 

It is ironic that Elijah wants to play again, doesn’t want to leave Sean be, but his erection aches so for attention. His skin is tingling with warmth and excitement, yet he decides to be merciful…in a way. Removing his hand from Sean’s grasp, he sneaks it instead under the hem of feathers to shove down the waist of the thong panties. They are drenched and Elijah can’t stand another second of them against his flesh. Hooking a finger around the band he wiggles them off without distancing himself too far away from Sean, after all he wants the older man’s attention in this particularly. Kicking the underwear free, Elijah lays his head on Sean’s shoulder, relaxing upon his back. He pulls the end of the nightie up to rest on his belly revealing the stark nudity of his arousal in open view. Sliding hand between his legs, Elijah sighs loud enough for Sean to hear. 

Even if relaxing is on his mind, Sean cannot ignore the shifting body so close to his. Burying his nose in the mess of Elijah’s hair, Sean breaths in the scent of his wheat and honey shampoo. Then he glances down and thanks God that Victoria’s Secret has discreet delivery service. He’ll be ordering from them more often. “Sexy, cruel little bitch,” he hisses. 

His fist slowly, firmly stroking, Elijah turns and grins into Sean’s shoulders. “Funny, that’s was I was going to call you when you wouldn’t leave me be, Fucker.”

Sean would laugh but his humor takes a back seat to watching Elijah pump his cock under stark white feathers. Deliberately Elijah’s crown meets the fringe with every upward pull and Sean is envious of how wonderful it must feel. He is covetous of everything about the lad and his current subdued state has him nearly vexed. Turning onto his side for a better view, Sean hikes Elijah’s frock up a bit and smirks, “Hmm, I should have fucked you then. Then your little fanny wouldn’t be wiggling so.”

Eyes hooded with dreamy intent close. “And you call me cruel,” Elijah breaths through a shudder of bliss. His right hand speeds its tempo along his shaft, heightening the pleasure coiling in his belly. Seeking Sean blindly with his left hand, Elijah is too busy surfing the tide of his need to worry about sight. His searching hand finds the contour of Sean chest, the shirt that covers it. “Take it …” Irritated by the article of clothing, Elijah tugs at it. “O-Oh…Off!” He snaps writhing with impatience.

Automatically, Sean seeks to do Elijah’s bidding. He doesn’t understand or care that Elijah has become more aggressive; he just does what he is told to do. Pushing his pants, boxers and socks all the way off, pulling his shirt over his head, Sean is pleased to see Elijah moving towards him. Opening his arms, he fastens his hands on narrow, stuttering hips to help. He has never seen something so awkward and otherworldly strange. Even the months in New Zealand upon the mystical shoot of Lord of the Rings can’t compare to the gender-destroying angel rising above him.

Raising himself up on his knees, Elijah straddles Sean’s waist. He is seized by the sight of green eyes, pink tongue and the seriousness of who is beneath him, Sean Fucking Bean! He rocks a bit unstably upon the bed, but Sean’s hands move quickly to hold him still by the curve of his ass. He would say thank you, but instead he says, “Open your mouth.” 

Sean obeys, taking Elijah’s cock between his lips. The younger man tastes and smells of sex so strongly that Sean is drugged and felled by it. Salt, bitters, warm musk, trances of vanilla-almond, Sean wants to consume it all. Tongue greedily laving at the underside of Elijah’s shaft, he wants the scent and taste to be embedded in his memory so deeply that no matter the end of their tryst he will remember. 

If he thought that Sean was good with his hands, Elijah bows and breaks to Sean’s oral talents. The Brit takes him to the root, pressing on his ass from behind to get him deeper into his throat. In what little experience he has had, none of his lovers, even Dominic had never done that. Lights explode behind his eyelids, squeezed so tightly shut and he hears obscene shrill cries that can only be his own. Elijah lets the feathery hem of the nightie fall over Sean’s head. Bracing himself upon the headboard, clinging to the headboard, Elijah doesn’t even have to thrust. Sean provides such wet, hot suction that even if he wanted to say something witty and wry, speech is not an option. Too quickly, too soon, he feels the acid of completion in his bones, up and down his quivering spine. It burns, it aches and it will dissolve him. 

Covered in tent of feathers and silk, Sean feels it when Elijah is there, ready to break and spill. He pulls back just slightly concentrating his tongue’s torturing point upon the sensitive head of Elijah’s cock, willing, demanding the milk of release. It comes and it is like a shock to both men. Elijah wails, Sean growls and jet after jet of sweet cream flows down his throat. 

Riveted by the force and intensity of his ejaculation, even Elijah’s fingers feel drained, and sensitive, the rest of him is useless and glowing. He can not take any more, no matter how good it feels. Pushing Sean’s hands off his ass, withdrawing from Sean’s greedy, ruthless mouth, Elijah slips to lie at the older blonde’s side. With weary lungs, he yawns, “If you’re aroused you’d better wank or something cause I can’t…I won’t. I’ll fucking sue.”

Sean laughs softly, closing his arms around Elijah’s limp form. Drawing the spread up around them as best he can. He has to reach a bit to get to the remote that controls the light switch, such a thoroughly extravagant luxury, but then he’s thankful that he doesn’t have to let Elijah go. He doesn’t want to at least for this night. The morning will be another thing entirely. He smiles in the newly darkened room as Elijah settles atop him. “You’d better not be here when I wake then, up you naughty bird,” he whispers lightly. 

“Right,” Elijah exhales drowsily making Sean’s chest his pillow. “Promises, promises.” As his eyes drift closed, Elijah smiles, unafraid of Sean’s threats he replies, “You’d better have breakfast ready when I get up.” 

*** 

Something is wrong, Sean thinks immediately upon waking. His arms feel empty, his body not as warm as it had been during the night. Opening his eyes to the sunlight of the room, he knows that something-- no, someone is missing! 

It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. The softness of Elijah’s skin, the sweetness of his lips, the welcome attention of the dark-haired angel himself. It could have been a dream, but Sean knows it isn’t. The scents in the air, upon the sheets are too strong and his lips ache from kissing and being kissed. 

Sean sits up in the bed, searching the room for signs that Elijah is still there. He pushes the spread off and rises from the bed, finds his sweatpants on the floor and eases them on over hips that leave no doubt to his actions the night before. His first inclination is to check the living room, but more pressing matters demand his attention. Walking to the bathroom, Sean tells himself that perhaps it is a good thing that Elijah left. At nearly twenty years his junior, so primed for stardom, it is perfectly understandable that Elijah would want nothing to do with him. Sean can’t wholly admit that he isn’t disappointed though and therein lies his problem: if Elijah hadn’t left, Sean would have wanted everything to do with him. Already he feels the obsession taking hold in his belly, in his bones and he does wish that Elijah had stayed just a bit longer. 

He should never have taken that first kiss, that first caress, but now that he has, Sean frowns to think of never being able to delve into such lusciousness again. It’s stupid and weak to think so but Sean is sure Elijah isn’t lamenting their separation and that belief is what gives him strength to ignore his wanting. 

Sean’s hand touches the bathroom door and it opens easily. Stepping inside, he is immediately aware of the temperature change. Sean hears the slosh of bubbles in water and his heart ceases to beat at the sight before him. Alabaster shoulders haloed by copious bubbles, short hair made black by wetness, skin glistening, Elijah lays submerged in the tub gazing casually at him. 

At first he has a mind to turn about and leave; Sean’s prior dilemma heightened only by the rush of covetous heat that engulfs him from head to toe, but then he does need to piss. It is his bathroom, his house and by fuck’s bloody sake, Elijah should be his fucking housewife, Sean thinks before wincing at his own absurdities. Sean tries to clear his head, moving straight to the toilet. It takes every ounce of his acting skill to pretend and he does have to pretend that Elijah is his bitch and not the other way around. He’s been doing it so long that it is only slightly harder to continue. 

“Enjoying a bit of a soak are you,” Sean asks rhetorically as he lifts the toilet seat. “I thought surely you had left.”

Left. Leaving. Elijah finds the idea almost humorous. He has been up for at least the past two hours, contemplating leaving like it was a life or death situation. Several times he had even picked up his shoes, but to little avail. He didn’t want to leave, couldn’t even make himself go. Sean’s home is so cozy, Elijah admits but then that isn’t the reason he hasn’t been able to go. Whether he faces up to it that day or months, years later, Sean and he have unfinished business and Elijah has seen the path to victory. It is patience. Sighing as he uses his toe to reactivate the jets on Sean’s jacuzzi tub, Elijah closes his eyes. “My clothes are in the dryer. I had to wash them again because you didn’t take them out of the washing machine last night. They reeked, but I did find that gown over there. I’ll wear it ‘till they dry.”

Looking around the bathroom, Sean catches the shimmer of cranberry. The long satin nightgown with the simple spaghetti straps hangs off his towel rack almost innocent in its casualness. He remembers thinking such an outfit being far too domestic, too plain when he had ordered from the lingerie store. Now he can’t wait to see Elijah in it. “Sorry…” Sean stammers, taken by Elijah’s matter-of-fact response. His fingers seem stuck to the waistband of his sweats, and Sean has to will them to move, push down his pants just enough to free his cock, which has ideas of its own. Sean checks out of the corner of his eyes to see if Elijah is watching him and luckily the vixen seems not to be. One lascivious glance and who knows what his body would and would not do. It takes a bit of effort, a few calming breaths but finally Sean feels the bliss of golden release. 

Elijah opens his eyes, mere slits, but more then enough to catch a glimpse of Sean pissing. The Brit is half hard, disheveled and sexy as hell in the morning, Elijah sums. He passes a hand underneath the bubbles and into his crotch, teasing his cock with a slow stoke before stopping. There will be time enough for that later, Elijah tells himself shutting his eyes again. 

Sean finishes, readjusts his sweat pants. He flushes the toilet with shaking hands made all the more nervous by the fact that there is no other morning priority standing between him and the sweet bird lounging in his bath, needing a back rub, neck massage…tongue bath and maybe more. Licking his lips as he goes through the decadent possibilities for action in his brain, Sean smiles wickedly, “Need some help washing your back, perhaps?”

A shiver and an evil smirk happen simultaneously. Sean’s suggestion is good, very exciting and charming, but Elijah isn’t quite ready to relinquish control just yet. Filing away the notion for later, Elijah has to will his desire to abate, calm down and behave its fucking self. “No,” he gulps.

“Oh.” Shaking with quiet disappointment, Sean takes Elijah’s rebuff with a sigh. He changes his mind then, wishing that Elijah had left. Walking to the basin to wash his hands, he wonders what is on the television that can distract him from feeling like a sentimental fop. “Ok.” 

It is definitely disappointment that Elijah hears in Sean’s voice. Panicking, Elijah’s veneer of calm slips as he sees Sean’s sulking posture and he sits up a bit too excitedly, water sloshing. “I would like an omelette and some juice,” he requests as Sean grasps hold of the doorknob. 

Pausing, Sean chooses not to turn around. There’s no need for Elijah to see the broad smile of possibilities upon his features and there is definitely no reason for him to turn around and see the minx relaxing like a millionaire housewife. “Toast too?”

“Yeah,” Elijah replies watching Sean leave. Things will go at his pace, he promises himself. He will not be giddy, or overly proud that Sean obeys him. He won’t even dwell on the fact that he is in Sean’s house and he’ll do his damnedest to pretend that even if the water wasn’t hot, filled with soothing bath salts and bubbles, he’d still be swooning. 

*** 

Sean can’t remember the last time he put so much care and skill into preparing a meal. Angling his frying pan just so, he carefully slips the spatula underneath the flat omelette covered with finely diced onions, tomatoes, green peppers and ham, seasoned to perfection and folds it onto itself. Rapt, he has decided to expel his attention solely upon making breakfast rather than pondering Elijah’s motives. Behind him the toaster sounds and by force of habit, he turns to check it. The toast is up, but he barely even sees it for the vision in the archway of his kitchen. 

The slight chill of freshly cleansed, sauna-silky skin abates in the wake of green eyes that warm him faster than a summer sunrise. Had he been anywhere but within the privacy of Sean’s home, Elijah would have been horrified, afraid and evading but there is no one to judge him, no one to see his cheeks warm with rosy color, no one but Sean Bean. Pride pushes his shoulders back as Sean stares at him, paralyzed yet potently focused. The floor length gown he wears, billows from Sean’s power; It radiates and ripples softly from it, the satin feathery and electric all over his sensitive, nude body underneath. Elijah lowers his eyes and smiles, can’t help it. He doesn’t want to, will not contemplate all of what Sean’s gaze does to him. He wants only to float, to rise up like a cloud and sprinkle warm, happy, raindrops. Luckily the cool tiled floor anchors his feet and they move him to the table where he can sit. “I could eat a cow, I’m so hungry.” Elijah feels it important to stress which hunger he plans to take care of first, lest he forget. 

Breath, Sean tells himself, just bloody exhale and start fresh with the lungs. The deep cranberry color of the negligee looks shockingly delicious against the pale peach of Elijah’s coloring and his appetite desperately craves, wants to peel away fabric and get to the juicy bits. “Breakfast…is ready,” Sean stammers.

“Great. After last night, I’m fucking starving.” Drumming his fingers beside his place setting, Elijah motions to the frying pan, which seems to have slipped Sean’s attention. 

Blinking himself back into attention, Sean uses the spatula to pry out the slightly browned omelette. He puts it upon his plate and gives Elijah the perfect omelette he had already finished. Deciding to focus instead on the chores of serving, Sean takes the orange juice from the refrigerator and pours two glasses, pulls the toast from the toaster, and adds butter, jam, salt and pepper to the table as well. 

Elijah doesn’t wait for Sean to sit. Once the omelette hits his plate, he lifts his fork. He looks up from his plate only to see Sean placing a saucer with toast, a glass of orange juice and then napkins upon the table. It is all the distraction he can spare. Something about the hard cushioned chair underneath his satin covered ass, his balls against the soft fabric keeps distracting him. One look at Sean and surely the Brit would know, see his weakness and usurp what little command Elijah has. Quickly snatching a slice of buttered toast, Elijah mumbles with an already full mouth, “You’re a really good cook, Sean.”

“Thanks.” The compliment slides off Sean like water upon oil. Not quite ready to be seated, Sean finds a good vantage point against the countertop where he can watch the slope of Elijah’s back, the curve of his lower back disappearing into a soft, cranberry curve of fabric.

So intent upon filling his eager stomach, Elijah is nearly finished when he realizes that Sean has not joined him at the table and that there is warmth upon shoulders. Licking orange jam from his lips, He turns about in his chair and finds the older man watching him. “What’s wrong with you? Have you poisoned me or something? Why aren’t you-.” Elijah ceases his line of questioning as his eyes fall down to the obvious bulge in Sean’s sweat pants. He half blushes, half grins with knowing. “Oh.”

Shame burns the very tip of Sean’s ears and greed pretty much possesses all else. Asking Elijah for just an embrace seems too much. After all he’s heard the youth say No. He’s already been trained to Elijah’s command, even though for the life of him, Sean can’t figure out when that happened. His need is almost rampant and he fears it almost as much as he fears the look he can’t decipher in Elijah’s eyes. Rather, than bear their scrutiny and sapphire light a second more, Sean turns away with an excuse. “I’m just going to go and get a shower…I have to-.”

It’s almost cute, Elijah thinks as he sees what used to be his favorite routine. “Who’s the one running now?”

“I’m going,” Sean snaps loud and coarse. He turns around and glances at Elijah briefly, “… so I don’t do anything to frighten you away.”

Returning his attention back to his plate, Elijah smirks. Sean and his noble façade had never had Elijah fooled. Listening to either Viggo or Orlando tell it, Sean was a mate’s mate, a gentleman and someone to be respected as well. It was possible either one or the both of them even had a crush on the Yorkshireman. If only they knew that Sean liked to throw unbefitting temper tantrums. A shower, he huffed, the fucker wants Elijah to do something about that snake in his pants and even though Elijah’s own cock is eager to play, he is enjoying his own game far too much. Authority. “Well, that’s awfully big of you, now, at least. Thanks, but you’re not going to frighten me away.” And he is shaking, not from fear, but from excitement. “I’ll leave when I’m ready. ”

Elijah’s words hit Sean like a splash of cool water, stunning him. He has no words, no reply that he dares speak. 

Elijah deepens his voice and arches his shoulder just until the thin, spaghetti strap falls. He looks down to see that the right front of the gown has fallen slightly as well. The outfit is slightly large for him and exposes the flat of his left breast, a stiffened nipple. He waits for only a moment before turning around and asking Sean nicely. “Come here and eat. Please.”

He’s in good health for his age, his doctor told him so and yet Sean feels certain he’s going to die from a heart attack. Elijah looks like liquid sex half in and half out of the nightgown and food is the last thing on Sean’s mind. He feels more compelled to fall to the floor and get under the hem of Elijah’s frock and stay there. His body wants to do as Elijah says but his mind tells him otherwise. Shaking his head in defeat, Sean motions, no. 

Elijah can see the cracks in the armor. Determined to have the upper hand, he scoots his chair back and rises, finishes off the last of his toast and marmalade. He does it casually while keeping his eyes on Sean, who is looking at him with abject suspicion. Elijah thinks that Sean has no idea how hot he looks, how good nervousness looks upon those pale English features. Elijah’s cock has an idea though, and rises heavily underneath his gown. Elijah keeps his eyes on Sean, even as Sean’s eyes go to the tenting of satin. It is a good distraction as Elijah wipes the crumbs from his lips, moves close to where Sean is paralyzed against the doorframe. “When are you going back to England?”

The fabric is purple-dark in a small circle, right about where the tip of Elijah’s cock is arching upwards. Going back to England is the furthest thing from his mind at the moment, and wrapping his lips around that dark spot seems to be the closest. Sean wants the games to end, wants Elijah back upon the bed. Breathing, just trying not to pull Elijah closer, to him. He can’t help himself, hands moving to Elijah’s hips, Sean answers hurriedly, “...At the end of the week. Sunday.”

Closing his hands over Sean’s as the older man seeks out the curve of his ass; Elijah stills their movement. The deep rise and fall of Sean’s chest, the warmth of Sean’s breath, its raspy sound is so close that Elijah’s senses are drowning with stimuli. His fingers give light, feathery caresses to Sean’s hands. “Hmm, so you’ll be here for a few more days?”

Sean nods, “Yes.” 

“And…” Leaning in closer, Elijah rises just slightly upon his toes, enough to bring him to the height of Sean’s mouth. He wants to share the same humid air, wants the force of Sean’s rising chest to move his own. “Would you like to play a bit more?”

Unable to get the words out fast enough, Sean breaks Elijah’s hold. “God, yes!” His hands succeed in grasping the slighter man’s arse. Pulling Elijah flush against him, Sean moans at the contact of Elijah’s erection nudging and prodding his own. Desperately moving to the line of Elijah’s throat, nuzzling just under his earlobe, Sean sighs with relief. “You’re willing to be my playmate, eh beautiful bird?”

So out of character. So back to the beginning. Elijah’s knees tremble as Sean devours him with wet licks, the press of kisses and the grinding of his hips. Craning his neck to allow Sean better access, Elijah tells himself that it is not a good idea to lay down on the kitchen floor, spread his legs and let Sean feast upon and fuck him. Definitely not a good idea but definitely what his body craves. 

Running his tongue along the whorls of Elijah’s ear, Sean thrives off the shrill gasps of the brunette in his arms. It is one thing to have lusted, but far more so another to finally have and Elijah is definitely giving, so much so that Sean dares not contemplate the entirety of it all. In his maddened state, he would promise anything just to have Elijah against him, small yet masculine fingers stroking his sides; the perfect weave of gender and desire is overwhelming. Trailing kisses from ear, to cheek, from cheek to supple lips, Sean frets, “Elijah, I know how you feel about your masculinity. And your peace of mind…I do, but you have to know, I feel the same way, quite befuddled, lost and intimidated.”

“Mmm, yeah.” Agreeing with his moans, Elijah rocks into Sean’s solid frame eager for more friction. Elijah is content to kiss like a female; especially because Sean has the most masculine, dominating form of kissing he has ever known. There is no escape, no restraint and nowhere to hide from the Brit’s thrust and coiling tongue. He feels as if he’s being lifted from the floor and then realizes that Sean is indeed lifting him. 

Sean pulls away from the kiss, adjusting his grip on Elijah’s slippery, stain-covered bottom. The lad is slightly heavier than he seems and his first thought is to balance Elijah against the wall, fuck him there, but then Sean sees the chair and has other ideas. “I want you in my lap!”

Looking at the line of Sean’s vision, Elijah sees the chair, knows what it means. It means that he’ll be Sean’s doll, helpless and fragile. It means that Sean wants control again and that, Elijah isn’t ready for. Struggling, Elijah wiggles himself out of Sean’s grasp, feet hitting the floor softly. He steps away from Sean as swiftly as he can and looks a disheveled, panting mess, but Elijah is quite together and adamant when he speaks. “No, Sean. Bedroom.”

Elijah could have easily told him to sit, stay and roll over and Sean would have obeyed. Accompanying Elijah to his own bedroom is an easy enough order though. He lets the younger man lead the way, hope heavy in his mind for all things devouring and carnal. His cock is so hard that his legs tremble with every step. He stares at Elijah’s swaying bottom and it is all that he can focus upon. Elijah stops once inside the room and Sean’s mouth gapes with question. What now, he worries.

Putting a finger up to halt the question he knows is coming. He’s only interested in hearing Sean answer his question. “Sean?”

Sean frowns but lifts his brow. Elijah is a wicked tart but worth the wait he proves, raising up to kiss Sean quiet. 

He can feel the heat rolling off Sean in waves. Wrapping his hands around Sean’s biceps, Elijah smiles to feel the momentous power waiting for his consent. “You’re so fucking tense. I know what you want, what you’ve wanted since New Zealand,” Elijah whispers huskily. He is awed by Sean’s desire but no longer afraid of it and he knows the answer to his own question. “You really would listen to me if I told you to wait, to be patient, to take everything slow, wouldn’t you? You do realize that I want this just as much as you and that I don’t want to just lie here and let you take everything? You would be my whore as much as I would be yours, right?”

Sean nods yes to both questions, looking into eyes almost preternatural in their size, depth and clarity. Elijah’s eyes are cobalt and Sean sees himself in them, looming and hungry. His mood softens and he understands that Elijah wants mutual consent, mutual agreement and mutual devastation. The answer is whole-heartily voiced. “Yes.” Even as Elijah slips from him again, slinks away from him, Sean trains himself to calm. He knows the score and the fearful, covetous edge of excitement is quelled by his new certainty. Watching as Elijah goes to the bed, stretches out enticingly upon his back, lifts the hem of his gown over his creamy porcelain legs just firming with a man’s musculature, Sean feels a tad faint, feverish. 

When Sean does not move, does not immediately pounce, Elijah is pleased. Almost gone is the look of a raptor in Sean’s emerald eyes and in its stead is the look of a lover. Resting his head back upon a pillow, Elijah closes his eyes, pulls the gown up over his hips and bunches it around his belly. “Good,” he breaths, “Since that’s clear, I’m not going to say another word. Moan, curse, wail maybe…scream, but I have no intention of stopping you from fucking me into this mattress.”

It’s no simple offer and Sean is determined not to dishonor it with haste. He undresses where he stands, leaves his clothing in a puddle and joins Elijah upon the bed. Lying on his side, Sean places a protective leg over Elijah’s, places a hand upon Elijah’s slight yet soft belly toying with the man-trail of fur there. His lips seek out Elijah’s shoulder and he savors the sweet, clean skin with bites and kisses. Curving against the slighter man’s side, Sean smiles as Elijah curls about him as well. He hears Elijah’s hitching breaths, feels Elijah’s fingers card through his hair urging him upwards for a shower of urgent kisses.

Sean shifts his hips, his hard cock dripping against Elijah’s hips. Elijah moans against Sean’s mouth as the older man thrusts against him. The inferno is coming; already he can feel it in the temperature of the room, upon Sean’s skin. He thinks he knows what to expect with Sean. Somewhat. He knows how Sean’s rough and tight caress upon his satin-covered belly will make him squirm. He knows that Sean’s tongue delving deep into his mouth, coiling about his own tongue for dominance, will make him writhe and shudder. Elijah knows a lot, but he doesn’t know how in the hell he’ll respond with Sean’s rather generous erection inside him. It won’t get any more girlish. He will have no dignity or power and he prays that Sean will hold true to his word and not lord anything due to happen against him…That there will be no smoldering looks and knowing winks across the red carpet, no nods and grins that convey the words, ‘Elijah is Sean’s bitch.’ Sean’s strokes his naked thighs and works its way between his legs. Bucking upwards, Elijah wails, trusts and gives in.

As sweet as Elijah’s lips are, Sean can’t hear those precious sounds of Elijah’s that he covets. His hands roam the creamy plains of Elijah’s thighs testing the muscle and light fur between. Breaking from the kiss, Sean buries his nose against Elijah’s neck and concentrates on taking the prize that Elijah has so willingly offered. His fingers play against Elijah’s balls, as the brunette’s legs open wide and the symphony begins. 

“Oooh, Sean,” Elijah breathes twisting his head into a nearby pillow. Sean’s fingers are electric warmth and every touch is ass-clenching bliss. Every movement now is an exercise in endurance, a sensory overload. The satin of the gown bunched up around his chest, teases the hard nubs of his nipples, which Sean’s other hand as it slips under his back, thoroughly exploits. It feels good, better than good. Elijah folds into Sean’s wicked embrace, mewls his utter joy and then Sean moves lower, sets Elijah free, but only enough to move down between Elijah’s legs. 

Adding his mouth to the play of his fingers around Elijah’s balls, Sean laps at the ripe globes, the arch of Elijah’s cock above. Elijah tastes of something warm, freshly baked and sweetly salted, a pretzel, Sean thinks as his tongue draws loops and swirls around each ball. He uses his shoulders to push Elijah’s legs open even wider, delves deeper until his kisses press to Elijah’s quivering opening. The younger man clinches, bucks above him with a moan that Sean finds irresistible. Toying about with sloppy kisses and wet licks, Sean’s desire is thunder in his blood, sounding loud and fast. Slowly moving his hand to stroke the shaft above, Sean is wet and sloppy in his hunger, draws a trail up from Elijah’s sack to the tip of Elijah’s erection before lowering his greedy mouth atop it.

With a hand pushing, pinching cranberry satin over sensitive nipples, a hand weaving its fingers through Sean’s close-cropped hair, Elijah can’t orient himself, can’t stay still and definitely cannot stop shaking. “Fucking Hell, Sean,” Elijah whimpers as he tosses his head back and forth, willing himself not to explode so soon! It is not an easy endeavor as Sean’s mouth and hands are stimulating every millimetre of his groin. The walls of Sean’s throat constrict and pull his orgasm from him by the second. His heart pounding, Elijah isn’t thinking about reneging on his promise in the least. There is no way on Earth he can tell Sean to stop. His brow bent with distress, Elijah can feel the tightening in his balls, the tension in his thighs. He thrusts madly and a bit brutally, but Elijah can’t give what Sean cannot take, not even as the lightning strikes and Elijah rises from the bed coming hot and wailing down the Brit’s throat. 

Pleased as a kitten with a bowl of milk, Sean laps at Elijah’s cock wanting all of the nectar, all of Elijah’s responses for himself; especially the short, panting post-coital breaths. He moves up Elijah’s body slowly, marking his ascent with a kiss to the hip, elbow, shoulder, neck, and earlobe. Elijah’s body is limp, delicate in his arms and Sean is humbled as Elijah snuggles, eyes heavy-lidded, into him. It is an action of trust and contentment and it is what motivates Sean to give the youth time. 

Minutes pass with nothing more than Sean’s hand circling Elijah’s belly with loving strokes. Elijah would rise up and tell Sean that he doesn’t need such loving endearments but it would only complicate matters. He would tell Sean that it’s hard enough being intimate, being open, and most importantly being obsessed. If love ever entered the picture, he would be thoroughly out done. Elijah would tell Sean those things, but the calm he feels is more profound. When Sean rolls away to fetch a condom and lube from the bedside drawer, Elijah doesn’t feel the least bit anxious. He let’s Sean prepare him with the softest of gasps, the subtlest of surprise and pleasure. Fingers slick with lubricated jell warmed in considerate palms, slide inside of him and it occurs to Elijah that having had an orgasm already, he is more than relaxed enough to take two fingers, three fingers…. Sean positions Elijah on his side, pulls him close. Elijah squeezes his eyes shut; the gentleness of it is too much for him to bear. 

Lifting Elijah’s leg, Sean moves his hips in line behind Elijah’s. With his elbow keeping Elijah’s leg up, Sean can aim his turgid cock at its target. He places his head against Elijah’s shoulder and concentrates. Slowly, slowly he tells himself. He wants it to be good for Elijah because he knows it’s already good for him. The penetration is slightly difficult, although Elijah is relaxed and the pressure surprises Sean, bearing down upon him. “Oh, fuck! But you’re a tight lass,” he hisses.

Elijah is no virgin, he’s been fucked before or so he thinks and yet Sean is already in a higher class than any of his lovers. Sean’s forethought in satisfying Elijah beforehand, Sean’s slow torturous penetration filling him so completely that even Elijah’s throat feels constricted with trapped gasps. It hurts like hellfire but Elijah is too relaxed to stop it, too relaxed to do anything but accommodate and once he does, it is by far the fullest feeling of sensation he has ever felt. Humbled, he stirs as Sean presses home within him. “You thick, bull-cocked fucker, I am not-.” It burns and he feels stretched beyond his limits. It is delicious and all the more so because Sean has taken his time. Elijah feels Sean move once within him, gasps as Sean hooks an arm around Elijah’s thigh to keep him wide open before giving another, testing, tight stroke that has him seeing stars. Biting his lip, in an effort to stifle a scream, Elijah stammers, “…I am not a fucking… lass!”

Snaking his other arm underneath Elijah’s side, Sean clutches the burgundy satin fabric, uses it to torture Elijah's chest. Reeling from the flaring waves of ecstasy coursing through his veins, Sean’s resolve, his patience leaks from him with every breath. He moves his cock within Elijah’s velvet vice again and again. He tries to keep it loving and gentle, but with every snap of his thighs getting quicker, pressing harder in succession, Sean is unraveling fast. “No…no you’re not, baby,” he grinds out between clenched teeth. 

“Not your fucking baby, either!” Shrill and gasping, Elijah tries to fight the utter betrayal of his body, so supplicated by Sean’s every movement. Sean’s cock is undeniably exquisite and Elijah’s insides feel like pudding. It is every bit as devastating as he imagined it would be. He has no control over himself but it is not frightening, it is euphoric bliss. The addition of Sean’s hand stealing about his swiftly hardening cock only reaffirms it. “ Fuck!” he chokes out in despair. His body is on the precipice of release and there is no way he can call it back. “Ohhh God…Sean, don’t stop! Don't you fucking dare stop!”

Sean is not so sure that he can meet such a request. He’s never been so aroused, never had to hold off for as long as he’s had with Elijah. It feels so right and so bloody incredible to finally have Elijah that as the youth clenches around him, Sean can already see the beacon of his orgasm shining brightly. His face screwed with determination, he has to make it good for both of them, he tells himself. “So good… so good Elijah…So…” Pulling Elijah’s cock with faster, firmer strokes, Sean’s pace quickens, the intensity grows harsher. 

“Uhhnnn.” Elijah’s muscles are taut and straining and although he tries to move back for every thrust, tries not to just lay there and be manipulated, Sean is indeed doing his damnedest to fuck Elijah senseless. The combined stimulation of the gown, Sean stroking his cock, Sean plunging within him using shallow strokes that bruise his prostate with every descent, has Elijah flailing, drowning in the waves of his oncoming orgasm. Clutching the sheets in sweating palms, Elijah is rocked by the full brunt of Sean’s desire. He comes like a surprise, in violently pleasing spurts, body racked with spasms, cries stifled by the loss of breath. He feels Sean breaking apart inside of him, shaking, growling against the nape of his neck as he releases and Elijah has just one thought as the room fills with hoarse ragged breaths: Sean waited for him, catered to him…allowed him to come first and if that isn’t some form of respect, he doesn’t know what is. 

***

Sean shifts uncomfortably on his feet as he rings the doorbell in front of him. He hadn’t wanted to come to Viggo’s party and wasn’t wholly certain that he was ready to be in such a public setting with Elijah just yet. In private, one glance from the blue eye vixen and Sean would ache. 

Elijah had established his own play-wardrobe in Sean’s closet, and Sean always made sure that parcels from Vicky’s always arrived the day he flew in, and he visited L.A. at least once a month. In private, Elijah ruled him and Sean didn’t mind in the least. Sean had loved watching footy, brought tapes over from England to watch whenever Elijah was off with his family or busy with work. Elijah had gotten into the habit of waltzing into his place…their place, and changing into the sexiest thing imaginable before demanding that they watch one. Many a night, Sean would have to sit through entire games, hard as granite, while Elijah simply smiled behind his beer, played with the hem of whatever teddy or camisole he was wearing. Sean would have to wait until the final score before any pouncing was to be done. Sometimes, Elijah wouldn’t change at all, and that still didn’t make Sean any more attentive to the game. 

So when Elijah suggested attending a barbeque at Viggo’s, Sean had stiffened with dread. He didn’t think it was a good idea. Elijah simply shrugged and gave him a little gift box. ‘We can go in separate cars. Don’t worry,’ he said. 

But Sean did worry; especially once he had opened the box and discovered the cock ring. He complained up until the point that Elijah had gotten dressed, pulling up the periwinkle-colored thong before concealing them under rough and rugged jeans. Grumbling, Sean had to admit it was only fair that they both be inconvenienced. 

Sean is just about to turn about and head back to his car when he hears the click of the door unlocking. 

“Hey Sean, it’s so cool having you back in town so soon. Told yah that you’d get addicted to L.A.” Slapping Sean upon the shoulder, Viggo notes that Sean appears a bit pale, but then Elijah had told him that he had seen Sean out at a pub the night before. ‘He had some floozy with him and was knocking back the drinks. So he'll probably look like hell,’ Elijah had laughed. Viggo has little pity. “Well come on in. Everyone’s out back, bar is fully stocked…not that you need any more of that,” Viggo chuckles. 

“Eh?” Stepping into the house, Sean hasn’t a clue what Viggo is talking about. He follows close behind Viggo’s Birkenstock-covered feet as they traipse through the house. Sean’s brain is stilled fixed upon the image of the periwinkle line that disappeared between Elijah’s arse. He can hear the music getting louder and louder as they enter the kitchen and near the patio doors. There is a thrumming bass to the music, and without looking he already knows from his time in New Zealand that Dom, Henry…or Elijah is serving as the DJ. Periwinkle… “I would like that drink after all, Vig.”

*** 

Elijah steps aside, giving Dom and Billy free reign over the CD player. He takes up his beer, eyes upon the strapping, blonde at the far end of the patio. Sean hasn’t looked at him more than twice in the two hours since he arrived. Elijah doesn’t know whether he’s grateful or not, the cotton blended panties are already sensually delightful. If Sean were to call his bluff, stare at him with those mystic green eyes, Elijah would break but Sean won’t look at him, doesn’t dare and Elijah likes that idea even more. Sean is already at that breaking point, was at it before he even arrived, Elijah knows. 

Sean’s been in a huddle with the older blokes: Vig, Astin, Ian and Karl, some other guys, off and on, with some variation, all night. But the moment that Elijah chooses to approach, Sean is only with Ian. Like a phantom, Elijah sneaks up behind Sean, casually waiting while Sean goes into detail about the quality of Indian tea over British tea. Ian is attentive to a point, but then he notices Elijah and smiles. Sean stops mid sentence, turns around and freezes. 

Ian tries to include Elijah in the conversation, but then notices that Sean and Elijah seem to be having their own discussion, speaking with their eyes alone. He is struck with wonder, curiosity, and then awareness. Demurely, he muffles his knowing smirk into his Tom Collins and sneaks away. Wise and experienced enough to know what their conversation is about, he assumes that he is the only one to have seen the joy, the mischief and the desire in their eyes and their secret will remain safe with him. He goes to the bar to freshen his drink and turns to look at them, one tall, broad, older, golden-haired; the other shorter, narrower, younger and dark-haired; an odd, yet intriguing match. They look as if they are having a casual conversation between colleagues, but Ian is an old pro at deception and he knows it when he sees it. 

Elijah notices as Ian slips away, leaving Sean and him alone. Smiling like a predator having cornered its prey, Elijah turns to Sean. The Brit is visibly hungry, his eyes toasting Elijah’s insides to golden-brown warmth. It feels good, a little exciting to bear his lover’s complete attention, after having it denied to him the whole night. Raising his beer to his lips, yet keeping his eyes locked with Sean’s, Elijah remarks, “You’ve avoided me all night. Walked away, cut your eyes…Are you afraid of something?”

Sean is fascinated. He can swear there are periwinkle flecks in the blue of Elijah’s eyes. Shaking slightly from the inside out, Sean can feel the leather band of the ring as his cock grows large, tight and heavy within it. Elijah wanted him to share in the naughty-work, he had said before they left the house, but Sean doesn’t think he’s that strong. Even when he crooks his head back and pretends to give a doubtful huff, his “…No,” is utterly unconvincing. 

Lowering his drink from lips so moist and beer-sweet, Elijah has to run his own tongue across them. Sean’s gaze dips with jealousy and Elijah is aware that he is playing a dangerous game. He knows however how to win and it will take a bit of offense on his part. “These panties are such a pain. How’s the cock ring? Do you like wearing it?”

“No. Not… really.” In fact he wouldn’t be able to think of anything crueler, even if he hadn’t solely been thinking of Elijah on all fours, periwinkle-arse in the frame of his hands. Swallowing at the thought, Sean raises his beer with a nervous hand. “It’s bloody torture is what it is.” 

Elijah is certain it is no more torture than having a line of fabric, hardly bigger than tooth floss tight between his ass cheeks, growing tighter with every second of staring at Bean. He’s knows already that it will be one of those nights, one of those nights when Sean will tear the panties off him, will bruise him with urgent kisses, nips and grasps. Swooning at the idea, Elijah lowers his eyes for fear he’ll be the first one to crack. Stepping to the side, he looks over and sees Dom approaching, a needed distraction. Keeping his voice low, Elijah whispers one last private line. “Well, one more hour and you’ll be able to take it off…but only after I come.”

“Elijah,” Sean whimpers with a frown. An hour is more than he thinks he can stand and he wonders if Elijah has included driving time in that equation, just as Dominic joins them. Using his beer as a shield, Sean tries to gather some composure. 

“Eh, Dom. I was just telling Sean about my new found admiration of footie,” Elijah lies with an added laugh for convincing. He hears Sean huff with sarcasm beside him and ignores it. Playing with Sean is a lot easier when Elijah isn’t looking at him. “Yeah…I definitely plan on seeing a real game in England sometime.”

“What the fuck? Really?” Dom balks as if he can’t believe it. Knowing how Sean used to tease the American so about sports and masculinity, he figures that Elijah is showing off just to get a jab in at Bean. He wonders when Elijah and Sean will ever get over their petty dislike of one another, but sees from Sean’s scowl that it won’t be anytime soon. Curiously he asks, “What do you know about the footie then, mate?”

Pausing to find the right words, Elijah cuts his eyes to Sean, finds his lover warily attentive. “A lot…I don’t think Sheffield is doing well this year though. They need to learn how to control the ball, how to control the pace of the game and especially when and when not to wait. It’s all about savoring the shot.”

Sean walks away, shaking his head. He vows to show the little demon the meaning of the words control and savor…right after he remembers what they mean. 

The end.
 
 

 

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