Attitude Adjustment

Recipient: often_adamanta
Author: chaosmanor
Pairing: Orlando/Elijah
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: betaed by crimson_bride
---

I'm watching him, of course, over the rim of my mug of coffee, trying not to spill it on myself, trying to act like I belong. Trying to act--now there's a fucking joke. We're all trying to act, except for people like him, born into the fucking business, knowing everything already.

There's wrangling happening; he and Dom are arguing over something, and it makes me want to smack their heads together or something, but that's really only because we drank rum the night before, and I'm dying inside.

We're on Dom's back veranda, supposed to be getting ready to go surfing, but I'm still dying, and Billy's already dead, out cold on the couch, so instead I'm sitting on the steps, drinking coffee, and watching 'Lij and Dom act out some grotesque courting ritual, involving wedgies, swearing, and licking each other's necks.

I just feel sick, the kind of twisty-gutted sick that isn't because I need to throw up, because, fuck, I tried that last night. I'm jealous sick, not hangover sick, and the only thing that's going to cure that is what my mum calls an attitude adjustment. But I don't want to adjust my attitude; I just want it to be me.

Dom goes over, crumpled up, and maybe I don't want 'Lij's knee right there, but on the other hand, if he did crush my balls with his patella, at least I might stop obsessing about him.

"Orliorliorli," Elijah says, leaving Dom writhing on his yellowed back lawn and collapsing down onto the back steps beside me.

"Wanker," I say, and he's got his arm wound tight around my waist, trying to break me in half. Do I look like I want to be broken in half?

"Wanker," he says back, and I have to laugh, it just sounds so fucking funny when he says it.

"Wanker!" Dom squeaks from the lawn.

"Wanker," I repeat, and I must be fucking losing it, because he's looking up at me with those pretty eyes, and I can't keep laughing, and I don't think I'm hiding it very well.

He's bitten his lip, or Dommy got a good, solid blow in, because there's a smear of blood, a rusty streak, on his bottom lip, and he's digging at it with his tongue.

His tongue's not pretty, it's kind of rugged and worn, like he's been chewing it as well as his fingers. I know this feeling, like any moment now I'm going to accidentally lean over and kiss him, and all the staying away and pretending is just going to be wasted.

"Orli?" he asks, and he's frowning, and what did I ever do to deserve this kind of torture?

Dom's babbling, but I'm tuning him out, because 'Lij is trying to tell me something, not that his lips are saying anything apart from, "Are you fucked already?"

My heart's pounding, there's sweat trickling down my back, and he's squeezing me tighter.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dom shouts. "Just fucking kiss him, all right?"

I'd like to kill Dom, but that might have to wait, because 'Lij isn't making a joke, or pulling away; he's just staring up at me, and he's not playing at anything that I can tell, just watching me with his young-old eyes, pushing the tip of his tongue into the tear in his lip.

I lean forward, waiting for disaster to strike, for someone to leap on me from behind, for Elijah to run screaming, but he's half-closed his eyes, so all I can see are crescents of blue, and the eerie black holes of his pupils. Light falls into those holes, and he soaks it up and never lets it go.

Then our noses bump, and I have to close my eyes too, because I can feel the tiny bristles of stubble over his top lip, against the edge of my mouth. Dom shrieks, an endless fucking counterpoint to every part of our lives, and Elijah's mouth is warm, his lips dry and a little cracked. He's got hold of both of my upper arms, squeezing them painfully, and he gasps, and we're kissing, really kissing.

My teeth click against his, and he tastes of coffee and cigarettes, and we're sprawling backwards, mouths still clamped together, into Dom's laundry, tiled floor cold and hard, knees against the doorframe, Elijah's head solidly against the side of the washing machine.

"Whoa," Billy says, and I can tell by the sound of his voice that he's just woken up. I guess with the way Dom is shouting, even the dead would be disturbed. I'm not going to look up, or do anything that might make Elijah stop kissing me, because it's just about the hottest thing that has ever happened to me.

He's let go of my arms, and one hand is shoved under my shirt at the back, blunt fingertips grabbing at my skin, and the other hand has a solid grip on my arse through my jeans, so I clamber over him a little, sliding my knee between his legs, so that I'm over him, and there's no way of denying how fucking hot the kiss is or what I want to do.

He's squirming, all tongue and lips, and his cock is jabbing into my hip, and we're so far past anything that's happened before; this is no rough-and-tumble fight, no game, no tease, this is about me and him, and about wanting to be naked, grinding against each other. He's breathing so hard, moaning without breaking the kiss, and he's not the only one; I'm just about jumping out of my skin, I'm so fucking turned on.

"We're off," Billy calls, and Dom must have stepped over us, but I don't think I noticed, because he and Billy are heckling, their voices moving through the house, then the front door slams.

I lift my head, open my eyes, and Elijah is so beautiful, so fragile, with dust dinosaurs from under Dom's washing machine stuck in his hair, his mouth slick and open.

"Fuck," he says, and he might be passing comment, or he might be offering, because he's smiling now, and I'm more than a little in love with him, have been for weeks.

"Wanna go to bed?" he asks, as if, shit, the way my cock is digging into his thigh isn't already an answer.

"Fuck, yeah," I say, just in case I need to be even clearer.

"Good," he says. "Because I'm just about ready to cream myself here."

He's not the only one.

I help him up to his feet, and can't get my eyes past the front of his jeans while he gives himself a squeeze.

Dommie has a spare room. I slept in it last night--on the floor, because I lost Paper Scissors Rock with Billy for the bed.

No Billy this time, and I close the door and shove one of Dommie's moving cartons against it. 'Lij throws himself at the bed, dragging his t-shirt off, making the bed creak, his skin translucent in the half-light of the room, sunshine creeping around closed curtains.

He holds one hand out to me, while the other hand undoes the top of his fly. I drag my shirt off, something on it ripping a little, then slide across the bed.

This time, when we kiss, I touch his chest, sliding fingers across the dips and runs of his ribs, and I'm caught in the wonder of it all, of being able to touch him, of feeling his heart just about shaking its way out of his body.

And he's touching me too, roughened skin of his hands on my back, scraping at me, then he's pushing my jeans down, hand on my arse, and I'm half over him, sucking the skin of his neck while he grinds his cock through denim.

I shove one hand between us, not even trying to find the fly of his jeans, just intent on getting rid of some of the layers of clothes between us, because there's a whole lot of action going on in my body, and with the amount of noise Elijah's making, he's feeling it too.

He squirms, wriggling and kicking, and my jeans are low enough now that my cock is free, and we're rolling on the narrow bed, changing positions, 'Lij kneeling up over me.

He unzips his jeans, pushing them down, and his cock is stretching his boxers, he's been leaking, darker smears across the cotton, and I want to taste him, want him to come in my mouth, right now.

He pushes his boxers down, and his cock juts out from the thick dark curls, and I've got my mouth open already, gripping his thighs, trying to pull him closer, not that he's needing encouragement.

He plants one hand firmly on the wall above me, then shuffles forward, so my arms are wound around his hips and thighs, holding him steady as he slides his cock into my mouth.

"Gonna come," he gasps, and he tastes like it, pre-come bitter in my mouth, making me suck him hard, one hand between his buttocks, groping for his arse.

He grunts and shoves, getting all of himself inside my mouth, balls against my chin, his hair tickling, cock all the way into my throat, so that I'm working at not gagging, and hoping he's right and he doesn't last long. Next time, we're doing this with a bit more control.

I find his arse, and I've got fingernails to scratch over the skin, making him yell and grab at the strip of my hair with his free hand, and he's pumping come into my mouth, tasting so fucking good.

He lets go of my hair, his hand cradles my cheek, and there's so fucking much in his eyes, and I still can't believe this is finally happening.

Then he's gone, this random wriggle of person, skittering down the bed, pushing my jeans down further, then my cock's in his mouth, and I can't reach any of him, just lie there and groan and thrust, roaring towards coming, too wound up to hold back for a moment longer.

He sucks and squeezes, and it's so good it hurts, but it's even better when he crawls back up the bed and collapses down on me.

I just want to hold him, for as long as I can.

He sighs, and we both smell of come.

"Dommie may be a shit, but he was right," Elijah says.

"'Bout what?" I ask, tightening my arms around him, touching his back, finding the line of his spine and rubbing fingers down the side, where the muscles are like piano wire.

"That you weren't going to do anything unless I threw myself at you," Elijah says, and it makes me smile even more.

"I wasn't sure you were interested," I say; I'm a fool in so many ways.

"I'm fascinated," Elijah says. "How's the hangover?"

"Not dead yet," I say.

We lie there for a while, listening to the shrieking and pounding as Dom and Billy return from wherever they went, then Elijah lifts himself up and kisses my chin.

"So, are we a thing?" he asks.

"A thing?" I ask. "Could be, as long as it's the sort of thing that involves a lot of sex."

He laughs, sweetest sound, just as someone starts pounding on the bedroom door.

"Stop fucking!" Dom shouts. "We've got food!"

I can smell coffee, and pizza, but it's still no real struggle to choose to stay with Elijah.

"I need a smoke," Elijah says, lifting his head up from my chest, where his chin has left a groove. "Wanna spend tonight at my place?"

I just have to kiss him. "Can't think of anything I'd rather do."

 

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