The words echoed in his head all day, all night. He'd gone drinking with Billy and Orlando and Elijah -- tried to drown the words, but couldn't. No amount of alcohol had erased them, no amount of conversation had changed them. "I belong to you." By the time Monday morning rolled around, Dom was a nervous wreck. Every time he closed his eyes, every time he tried to dream, Karl was there. And Dom was on his knees in front of him, sucking him off like a practiced whore. The thought made him queasy. And, so, he was unnaturally subdued when he went into 'feet'. The other guys joked and laughed and he tried to join in, tried to pay attention, but couldn't focus. This wasn't going to work. He couldn't function like this. Thankfully, he and Billy were doing green screen work today -- filming some scenes that would have a fully animated Treebeard in them later, after the glories of CGI were put in. He could lose himself in the technical headache of acting against blue dots, in the mundane details of blocking shots. Billy cracked jokes all morning, putting everyone, including himself, at ease. Such a dear friend...why couldn't Dom be with him? Because you want Karl, his mind whispered. He pushed the thought away, pushed away the image of those light eyes flashing with desire, with approval. "I belong to you." The unexpected sight of Karl at lunch threw Dom's already clouded, confused emotions into a tailspin. He'd been in the middle of telling a story to Billy and Bean...and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He knew, without turning, that Karl had entered the tent. He wasn't ready. He couldn't face Karl in the daylight with the memories of what had happened between them. He muttered an unintelligible goodbye to his friends and left them in mid-sentence, practically running away from the table. He should have known he'd be too late, that Karl would have spotted him. Karl never missed anything. "Dominic." Just that one word -- just his name rolling off of Karl's tongue -- stilled his flight. He stopped, sighing. And turned. Karl walked to him, back in the armor and blond wig. Back to being Eomer. But those eyes, and, God, what was it about those eyes, anyway? They flicked over Dom, sapped his energy, stole his reason. Karl stopped in front of him. "Why are you running?" "I'm not." "Don't lie to me." "I..." Dom closed his eyes, unable to look at Karl for another second. Just the sight was killing him. "Ah, I understand." Karl's voice was patient. "You're ashamed. What seemed so necessary in the dead of night seems so tawdry by daylight." Dom sagged with relief. Yes, that was it, exactly. How had Karl guessed? "I'm sorry..." he began. "Don't be. You're scared and that's natural. But I'm not going to let you go." Dom snapped his eyes open, jolted, shocked. "What?" "You made a promise. An oath, Dominic Monaghan," Karl said gently. "And I'll go slow, I'll be patient. But I won't let you back away." He caught Dom's hand with his own, brought it to his crotch. "Feel this," he commanded. The world around Dom ceased to exist. He forgot about everyone in the tent, his co-stars, his friends, the movie. His hand flexed under Karl's. Even through the leggings and leather armor, he could feel Karl's erection, hard and straining, against his fingers. "Feel what you do to me," Karl said, threading his fingers through Dom's. His beautiful features softened and Dom melted, sinking, drowning. "All of this is for you. Only you. As all of you is for me." And Dom could not resist. He knew he would have never been able to anyway. "I belong to you," he whispered, and offered his lips to Karl. Onto Part Seven
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