He didn't even remember getting dressed and going home, but at some point he must have, because he woke up the next morning in his own bed, surrounded by his own things. And ached so much he wanted to die. Getting out of bed was almost too much of a chore. He dragged himself into the make-up trailer, avoided talking to anyone except in grunts and grumbles. He was barely able concentrate on filming, kept flubbing lines and missing his marks. Peter actually had to call a five-minute break and talk to him. Yeah, he knew he was fucking up, yeah he knew his mind wasn't on his character, yeah he'd try to do better. Really, he would. Couldn't let Pete down...the man was like a father to him, a father to them all. Dom drew on some well of strength he didn't even know he had and continued. He was only marginally better, but it was the absolute best he could do. He couldn't eat at lunch, couldn't focus on his surroundings. He kept searching for Karl, hating himself but unable to tear his eyes away from the tent opening. Karl never showed. Of course, he wouldn't. Why should he? Motherfucker. To just leave him like that...how could he? No one had ever done anything like that to Dom before. It wasn't like he was the world's most desirable man or anything (privately, he'd always thought that honor should go to Orlando), but still, he'd been with his share of men. And they'd all been happy with him, they'd all seemed satisfied. And none of them had ever fucking walked away in the middle of sex. Ever. The first night, Dom went over to Karl's house straight from make-up, determined to get some goddamned answers. Anger still burned like acid in his gut. He wanted an explanation. Karl had accused him of playing games and now he was doing the exact same thing. Hypocritical fuck. He wanted an apology, followed by great make-up sex. And got nothing. Dom had banged on Karl's door for an hour before going out to the pub with the other Hobbits and getting rip-roaringly drunk. He'd had to be carried home by Orlando and Billy combined. The second day found Dom groaning in bed with a hangover from hell and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't blame on mere alcohol. Karl was the first thing he thought of when he woke up. What the fuck was it about this man? If it had been anyone else treating him like this, he'd have forgotten them and moved on with his life. Why couldn't he forget Karl? Some of Dom's anger had twisted into hurt -- and confusion -- during the previous drunken evening. Why in the world would Karl just stop like that? Karl had been close to coming as well. Dom had felt it, felt the pulsing of Karl's cock within him, felt the trembling in Karl's muscles. What kind of a sick person would turn away from his own needs, his own pleasures, just to teach someone a lesson? And a lesson in what, exactly? What had Dom needed to learn? It hadn't made any sense yesterday, hadn't made any sense when he'd been drunk, and it didn't make any sense now that he was sober. He needed to find Karl, get some answers. He wouldn't be able to move on until he did. Dom was actually better at work that second day. They were filming the aftermath of Pelenor Fields and all he'd really been required to do was lie back and look injured. And confused. Since he was both in real life, it wasn't hard to draw up the necessary emotion to play his part. He still looked for Karl at lunch...but Karl never showed. Again. Dom had casually asked Viggo about him and had been told Karl seemed fine, showed up for work on time, nailed his scenes. So, where was he? Why was he avoiding Dom? That night, Dom raced over to Karl's house again, still hoping to talk to him, still hoping for answers. Still hoping for that apology and the sex that would come after. Karl owed him that much, at least. But, he never answered the door. No lights were on at his house, the porch was dark. He wasn't home. Dom had stayed longer that night, but gave up...and had done his drinking at home. The third day, Dom had decided he'd had enough of this shit. Yeah, yeah, the guy was sex on wheels, the most beautiful man Dom had ever seen. Yeah, yeah, he had eyes a man could drown in, a body a man could explore for years and never tire of. And yeah, his voice could melt diamonds, his sensuality was a siren call to anyone and everyone in his path. But, Dom was finished, he was through. Orlando could have the fucker, and on a silver platter. Dom would find his pleasures somewhere else, find another diversion to get his mind off the feel of a hard cock down his throat, of kisses that burned, of intense eyes that made him feel like he was the only person in the universe. He'd forget. He would. It wasn't until Dom caught himself looking for Karl for the fifth time at lunch that day that he realized how futile this was. He wasn't going to be able to let it go. But only because Dom couldn't get a hold of him, couldn't talk to him. He would be over it just as soon as he talked to Karl, got that apology. But he wasn't going to wait anymore on Karl's front porch. He wasn't going to beg. He'd begged the man once, he wouldn't do it again. He'd find Karl in his own sweet time. He would wait. He would be patient. When he found himself on the path that led to Karl's house after work, he made himself turn around. Went to the pub. Engaged in pointless conversation with Elijah and Orlando. Did more tequila shots with Billy. He would not go over there, he wouldn't. He wouldn't. And his vow lasted all of about five hours. He'd ended up on Karl's porch again, too drunk to remember what he'd shouted, to remember that he'd banged on the door until his knuckles were bruised, his fingers were raw. The week was a blur of filming and waiting...waiting for Karl outside his trailer tent. Waiting for Karl at lunch. Waiting for Karl at his house after his day's work was done. Seeing Karl had become the primary focus of his days, the only thought in his head when he closed his eyes. Dom barely slept, couldn't eat, started to lose his concentration on the job again. He'd have given anything for one decent night's rest, one uninterrupted hour of not thinking about Karl, wondering where he was, what he was up to. He just wanted a glimpse, just one look. It stunned him how necessary it had become in such a short period of time to see those watchful eyes on him, to know Karl was in the same room, breathing the same air. He'd stopped wondering why he couldn't forget, stopped wondering why he was obsessing so hard over a complete cunt. He just wanted to see Karl. Needed to see Karl. The need ate at him day and night, consumed his every thought, erased all else. Billy and Orlando were starting to worry about him. He knew this. He could feel their eyes following him around as he left the make-up trailer every day. He'd stopped going to the pub, stopped speaking to anyone except to say his lines, such as they were. He knew that he was letting everyone down in his performance, that he was causing delays, bringing everyone else down. At one point (God, had it only been last week?), he would have been mortified that he was the weak link of the Fellowship, that he wasn't doing his best, giving his all. Now he couldn't even summon the energy to care. By the time filming was done for the week, Dom was a twitchy bundle of sheer nerves. He felt like he was on drugs...he couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. Every time he heard a New Zealand accent, he turned, hoping it was Karl, knowing it wasn't. He hadn't felt Karl's presence all week. And the absence was driving him crazy. Thankfully, it was a short day -- perhaps Pete was taking pity on Dom -- he didn't know, didn't care. He just knew it took far too long to get his feet off. He had to get to Karl's. The man had to come home sometime. Didn't he? And, since Dom didn't have anywhere to be the next day, he was going to wait. All night, if need be. Karl still owed him some answers and he was going to get them. Once again, Karl's porch light was off. Once again, the house was dark. Dom pulled his jacket closer to him, settled in the front stoop of the door. Karl would have to trip over him to get inside. Hours passed...still he waited. It seemed that his entire existence revolved around this door, this front porch. There was nothing else. There was only this moment, suspended in time, an infinity of waiting for a man who would never show up, never speak to him again in low tones, never look at him, never touch him... Dom blinked and stared down at the moisture on his hands. He'd started crying and hadn't even noticed. He tried to will himself to wipe the tears away, but couldn't summon the energy. It was too much. All of it. Everything. "Please Karl...please, don't leave me alone." He wasn't even aware he was speaking aloud. All he knew was anguish, all he knew was emptiness. "Please open the door. Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He started crying in earnest, hot tears streaking down his cheeks. He curled himself into a ball, rocking back and forth, repeating the same thing, the same plea, over and over again like a litany. He was so far gone that it took him a good minute to realize the front door had opened. He looked up, blinked back tears, saw Karl standing in the doorway, looking down at him with those eyes, those lovely, familiar watchful eyes. And the look in them... Dom hiccupped, tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Instantly, he was surrounded by warmth, picked up, cradled in strong arms. He clutched Karl to him like a lifeline, still sobbing, breathing in the other man's scent...familiar, Karl, home. He couldn't stop crying. He could feel the rumbling in Karl's chest that let him know Karl was speaking, but he couldn't make out any of the words. Didn't matter. He was home, he was safe. Dimly, he was aware of being carried to a bathroom, of being stripped. He was so drained, so tired...lifting his arms to take off his shirt took too much energy. Karl talked to him the whole time. It could have been in Elvish, for all he knew. He just never wanted it to stop. Karl cradled him again, stepped into the hot shower with him. He hadn't even known he'd needed one. He stood there with Karl's arms wrapped around him, letting the hot spray wash over him, wash over them both. Gradually, he warmed up, became aware of his surroundings. Karl still had his arms wrapped around him. He could feel Karl's steady heartbeat. Dom looked up, shook water out of his face. And saw hazel eyes gazing down at him, letting him know without words all was forgiven, all was forgotten. Karl kissed him then, a kiss of welcome, a kiss of belonging. Dom returned it with fervor, passion, devotion. He was never losing the feel of that mouth again. The water turned cold around them, their skin started to prune, and still Karl slanted his mouth over Dom's, still Dom kissed him back, pouring every ounce of emptiness he'd felt over the last week into it. Finally Karl lifted his head, reached around, turned off the icy water. Dom snuggled closer, so fucking relieved to be finally feeling Karl's bare skin under his hands. He allowed Karl to dry him and lead him to a darkened bedroom. Karl pushed him under lemon-scented sheets and slid in behind him. Strong arms wrapped around him, that muscled body spooned him and finally, finally Dom allowed himself to sleep. Onto Part Nine
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