Mr Do


"Are you sure?"

Elijah leans forwards, bending his body over dusty white tiles, reaches out and tugs the light on. His face lights up in the mirror, the image burning on to his retinas for a split second - a shaggy outline, blue-black against the glow. He looks down at the sink, at the patches of soap scuz on the sides and the grime peaking out from the bottom of the toothbrush mug.

"Are you sure?"

Dom is behind him now, one arm snaking around his waist. It would be so easy just to rest against this chest, feel the warmth bleed through both tee-shirts and heat up his skin. To lean his head back against this shoulder and instinctively know the tiny movements that allow it to fit perfectly. But instead, he leans forwards again and stares at his face, inches away from the surface of the mirror. He kinda likes this bit - the decision made, the quiet wait before the transformation.

He can feel Dom as he folds his chest over Elijah's back. Feels the breath against his ear a split second before he speaks.

"Are you sure?"

Dom's face is half hidden behind the soft spires of Elijah's hair. Reflected-Elijah smiles at flesh-Elijah's face, at Dom's half-face. He pushes his hips back, rolls them from the jut of one hip bone to the next, by minute increments.

"Sure." He replies easily. "You?"

He can feel Dom's breath behind his ear, feel a lightly bristled cheek rub against it. He knows Dom is sniffing his hair, knows it smells of wet sugar.

"I'm not sure I want you to lose this." Dom's voice is quiet but Elijah thinks he can feel the muscles in Dom's face shift.

"But short hair can be fun." He reasons.

He's watching Dom in the mirror now. Dom's eyes are closed and - yes -he's definitely smiling. Dom's hands have shifted, his fingers now alternating between wrapping around, and sliding between chunky sections of waxed hair. Elijah can feel the tugs and the nerves in his scalp bristling. He's fallen asleep this way before, late at night, in front of a movie seen a thousand times, lulled by a few cold beers and a warm orgasm or two. But bent over a sink he won't be dozing.

'I might purr though.' He thinks, rising on his tiptoes, pressing back into the familiar bend of Dom's body, against the unmistakable ridge in his trousers. Dom's fingers tighten around the current section of hair, tug, then are gone. Elijah takes this as his cue to push back, push his body away from the edge of the sink and turn, first his head, to meet Dom's in a fierce kiss; then his shoulder, twisting till his waist follows, shifts his leg to turn on the ball of the other foot so that Dom is in his arms, his hands back in Elijah's hair, the pads of his fingers encouraging him closer, his tongue flicking and stroking against Elijah's own. He's so beautiful here, and yet it's so easy to break away, glance at Dom's swollen lips, the viscous smile that makes him look drugged, and stoop to press wet, open mouthed kisses against Dom's chest through his tee-shirt; smell the familiar mixture of soap and musk and cotton; push the hem up and lick at the hairs on his belly as his hands fumble at the buttons on Dom's cords till - at last - they're free and can be slipped off slim hips, trapping Dom's calves as they pool around his canvas sneakers.

Elijah presses his nose against the side of the ridge. The cotton feels soft against his skin - softer that Dom's tee-shirt - but underneath is hard, pulsing even, surrounded by spongy, wiry hair. The smell is ripe and powerful, intoxicating. He pushes upwards, following the length with his nose, his open mouth, and the small jutted-out end of his tongue.

Dom is still silent, but Elijah knows that if he looked up, Dom would be staring at him, can already feel Dom's eyes burning into his scalp, feel the tiny twists and pull of his fingers still in Elijah's hair. But Elijah is distracted by the bump and ridge of the head against his nose, rolls his head to lick at it through the cotton, feel the smooth stretched skin underneath. His fingers slide up from the back of Dom's thighs and scrabble for the waist band, pulling it away from his body so he can press his mouth to the head as soon as it bobs free, wrap his lips around it to wet it, pull at the cotton, push it down till it's around his knees.

He rolls his tongue over the tip then pulls away, pulls free despite the tiny protests his feels in the roots of his hair. Pulls away long enough to purse his lips against the head of Dom's cock then push forwards, let it push it's way into his mouth, his lips moving, opening only as much as it necessary as it pushes past, his mouth tight and warm and wet, Dom hard and hot and slippery. He pushes further, wraps the fingers of one hand around the base to steady it, eager to see how far he can go. Pushes till all he can feel is this cock in his mouth, till it fills him completely, making him gag. Then just a bit further because he can - because it's possible.

Dom's groans pool in Elijah's stomach, warm and wet, making him even harder, still held tightly beneath his jeans. Dom flexes his hips, little movements directing the pleasure, intensifying every lick, every wet glance. He never pushes too far, too deep, enough to make Lij cough.

A million ways to trust someone. This is only one.

The head is slick in his mouth now, and Elijah shifts his hand, pulls upwards, sliding his fingers over and over the ridge, till Dom is pulling at his hair, all the muscles in his legs - and Elijah's scalp - tight and tingling, suddenly over-sensitive and Dom's back arches, Elijah can feel it shift, and knows he's probably gasping at the ceiling - his thrusts are erratic now - knows that if he pulled away and rocked the palm of his hand over the head Dom would probably explode, a shower of guts and cum. So instead he sucks harder, moves faster, until Dom stops dead mid thrust and, though Lij can't feel the cum as it hits, he can taste the bitter salt at the edges of his mouth and it makes him grin. He pulls out slightly to swallow, then takes Dom back into his mouth, licks at the insistent pearl of cum at the very tip, realises he's panting, that his trousers are too tight, that his arms hurt, that Dom is starting to crumple and it too much for him to hold him up.

The floor is cool. Dom's wrapped him up in limbs, he head tucked into Elijah's neck. Elijah is alive, nerves raw and sparking. Dom's hair is getting long, and it's tickling his chin, and Elijah can't help but wonder if they should discuss cutting his hair too?