Sean threw his dog-eared script across his trailer and scowled at it. He paced, cursing the confines of the narrow room. He needed a cigarette -- no he didn't -- yes he did. He was forty-fucking-one and he'd have a cigarette if he wanted one. His daughters weren't here to yell at him anyway. He reached out, grabbed his battered pack from the scarred table and jumped at the knock on the door. His first guilty thought was 'but I haven't even had one yet' to be replaced by the more rational one of 'who the hell is outside my door?' Another knock. Sean, luv, you might want to get it as opposed to just standing at the table, staring at the door as if it was some goddamn Palantir you could see into. Right -- door. He opened it…and was slammed, as he always was, by the sight of lovely, purely fucking Hawaiian ocean blue eyes -- Jesus, the kid needed to go around with a warning label. And a great big pair of sunglasses. Elijah shifted from foot to foot, hopping a bit. Those amazing, fuck-me eyes peered up at Sean questioningly. Questioningly...oh wait, Elijah had said something, hadn't he? Sean had been too caught up in the eyes to notice. He licked dry lips, spoke. "I'm sorry, Elijah, what was that?" "I was asking if it was okay if I came in so I don't freeze on your doorstep." Now the eyes were warm, cheerful, teasing. "Oh, sure, come in, come in." Sean held the door open, allowed the small whirlwind inside. And fought not to panic. Relax, Sean, relax. It's just a friendly visit, nothing more. Inhale, exhale. Sean wondered if he was going to have to remind himself to breathe for the rest of his life. God, how depressing. "Ooooooohhh, ciggie!!" Elijah pounced on the forgotten pack at the table, held it up with grungy hands. "You mind?" "No, no, go right ahead." Sean forced himself to stop staring at Elijah, at the tousled dark hair and lithe young body and the smile on his heart-breaking face. He went to the small kitchenette. Yes, yes, something domestic. "Want something to drink?" Elijah inhaled on his newly lit cigarette, grinned, showing that gap between his teeth that never failed to make Sean weak at the knees. "Wine, if you've got it." "Cheeky lad, you know you're not old enough." Or do anything else, for that matter. He's only seven years older than Lorna. Remember that, Sean. "Not in America, I'm not," Elijah agreed, twirling his cigarette around those delicately grubby fingers. "But, we're not in America. And you're not American." He had a point. "Fine. One glass, though. That's it." Sean uncorked a bottle of Merlot, poured two glasses, and handed one to Elijah. Their fingers brushed when Elijah took the glass and it took all of Sean's considerable acting ability to not jump at the contact. Relax, Sean. Just fucking relax. *** Relax, Elijah, relax. It's just Bean. Don't stand there like an idiot, take the stupid glass already, sip the wine like an adult. Elijah tasted the full-bodied richness of the wine, and it was a nice contrast to the acrid taste of the nicotine on his tongue. It was a good combination, a mature combination. Mature…yes, he could be mature. He would not stand and gawk at Sean, gawk at how sublimely beautiful he was, just standing there in his faded jeans and old Oxford shirt. Would not gawk at the long, graceful fingers that held Sean's wineglass, would not gawk at full lips as Sean took a sip of his drink. Would not gawk at that ruggedly handsome face with its small scar on that eyebrow and the neatly trimmed goatee that only brought those remarkable green eyes into focus. Christ, Elijah, you're going on and on like a blushing teenager…oh right, you are a blushing teenager. So what if you'll be 20 in a few months, you still have a 'teen' at the end of your age. The thought depressed him...Elijah was tired of being young. He was impatient, he wanted everything now. Wanted to experience everything now. And he most assuredly wanted Sean Bean right the fuck now. Well, you're not going to get him, Elijah old chap, so think of a reason to be here before he asks. "So, what brings you to my doorstep, then?" Too late. Okay, think, Elijah, think. Don't get lost in that lovely Yorkshire accent...it's just his voice. You've done a British accent yourself, it shouldn't make you weak at the knees. Concentrate on the question. You can improvise, you've done some theatre. Elijah glanced around the room, saw the discarded script -- ah yes, perfect. Great excuse. "I was...uh...wondering if we could go over our scene together." Good, good, keep it casual, keep it light. "I'm a bit nervous about it. It's so pivotal and all." Good one, great. You're pretty good at this. "You too, eh?" Sean gave a little laugh that had an army of butterflies floating in Elijah's stomach. "Thought it was just me." "No," Elijah replied sincerely, "it's not just you...Ouch!" He looked down at his hand. His cigarette had burned, unnoticed, to the nub and blistered his thumb. "What'd you do, let me see." Elijah's wine glass was plucked from his fingers, as was the cigarette butt, and Sean was standing there, blond hair falling in soft waves around his forehead, breath soft and light on Elijah's fingers as he examined them for injuries. Elijah's breath caught in his throat -- he was afraid to move, afraid to end the touch. This was torture of the most exquisite kind. Sean touched the reddened mark and Elijah winced, but only slightly. "Sorry," Sean said, accent a bit thicker than normal, "but it's not too bad. I've got some ointment I can put on it. Be right back." And Sean disappeared to the back of the trailer. Breathe, Elijah, remember, you can breathe again. *** Breathe, Sean, breathe. It was just his hand in yours. Just those small, nail-bitten fingers curled in yours, swallowed in yours, sheltered and safe. Oh no, you don't...don't go there. Just grab the ointment sitting on the bathroom counter, just walk down the hallway...and just lose your heart, your mind, all over again at the way those wide blue eyes light up when they see you. Sean forced frozen legs to walk over, to start applying the ointment to the burn. And was so proud of himself when his hands didn't shake. "You said you were nervous?" What? He had? "I did?" "About the scene," Elijah clarified. He stood there, so serious, so still, so close, as Sean touched up the injured skin. Sean couldn't resist running his finger over the inside of Elijah's wrist. And thought, for a moment, that he heard Elijah sigh. "Yes, yes, you're right, the scene, I did," Sean babbled. He tried to focus, tried to pull his thoughts together. "We could..." Elijah licked his lips, ran his pink tongue along the Cupid's bow of them. And Sean's heart stopped, his world halted. Forget breathing, forget relaxing...because you're too busy wondering if that tongue is as soft as it looks and if those red lips taste like the strawberries you had with lunch. "Sean?" A soft touch on his shoulder and Sean snapped out of his thoughts. Christ, he was worse than a teenage girl. "Yeah, yeah, go on." "I was just saying that we could run through the lines, go over the scene. If you want." No, he didn't want. Okay…that was a lie. He did want. But, what he wanted had nothing to do with going over the scene and everything to do with going over that young, lithe body with his mouth, making it tremble under him. He was a perv of the worst sort. The kid was practically his oldest daughter's age. Why couldn't he seem to remember that? "I think it would help us both out." And there it was, the pleading in those Mediterranean blue eyes and Sean couldn't say no to them, didn't know a single soul who could, and so of course he said yes, he'd go over the scene, over his lines, whatever Elijah wanted...which seemed to make Elijah smile, for some reason. No matter, it's just a read-through, Sean, you'll be fine. He picked up his tattered script, sat down at the table, and Elijah sat next to him, curled his feet up under him so he almost appeared to be doing Yoga on the chair. Odd boy...could tie himself into all kinds of twister-pretzel positions...and stop that train of thought right now before it even leaves the station. "Okay," Elijah said, staring down at the script pages. "Go ahead." Breathe, Sean, relax. It's only a scene. "Frodo?" he started, infusing the word with concern and the first beginnings of madness, and looked into Elijah's eyes. "None of us should wander alone. You least of all. So much depends on you. Frodo?" And Elijah simply stared at him, but it was through Frodo's eyes, Frodo's wary countenance. "I know why you seek solitude." Sean's voice dropped to a husky, intimate whisper. Yes, Boromir was friendly, non-threatening, an ally. "You suffer. I see it day by day. Be sure you do not suffer needlessly." And, with those soft words, something shifted, changed. No longer Boromir, no longer Frodo -- but Sean and Elijah. And the words took on a whole new meaning as Sean lost himself inside blue eyes and a gentle soul. "There are other ways, Frodo. Other paths that we might take." Don't tempt me, Elijah. We can still be just friends, still pretend. Elijah continued to look straight at him, gaze never wavering. "I know what you would say. And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart." "Warning?" Yes, Sean, stay away. He's too young for you, too pure. He'll break your heart, you know this. But, like Boromir, Sean was only a man. And no Ring could match Elijah Wood for temptation. "Against what? We're all afraid, Frodo." Sean was practically trembling with fear. "But, to let that fear drive us to destroy what little hope we have...don't you see, that is madness." "There is no other way." But Elijah's eyes told a different story and Sean could see the yearning that was always there behind the surface of Elijah's smile. Sean fought it as long as he could...stared into those blue, blue eyes, fought the pull, resisted temptation by the barest thread... And then Elijah snapped it. Blue -- Sean was drowning in an ocean of blue, in a universe of blue as Elijah leaned closer to him, leaned up into him, unblinking, unwavering, and pressed his lips against Sean's in the faintest whisper of a kiss -- barely enough to be a memory, but the muted taste of wine and cigarette smoke and Elijah was seared into Sean's synapses all the same. Elijah's eyes sought his own, that angelic face showing concern, showing indecision over what to do now. This first move had surprised them both. Relax, Sean, it's just a kiss. *** Relax, Elijah...it was just a kiss, just a token of affection. Could be taken a million different ways. Except that Elijah hadn't meant it a million different ways, he'd only meant it in the one way. And now Sean was looking at him, those pale green eyes just staring at him like Elijah held all the answers to the universe and Sean was trying to figure out how to ask for the key. And now Elijah didn't resist, didn't even try to -- just sat forward again. His kiss this time was sure, firm. Sean's lips finally on his, that goatee finally scrapping his chin, that mustache tickling his upper lip, breath tasting of peppermint and wine mingling with his -- Elijah felt he'd waited his whole life for these sensations, for this kiss. He moved forward, off his chair, lips still on Sean's, still chained to the heaven of this kiss, and crawled on Sean's lap, straddling his hips. Now he could feel heat, now Sean's arms closed around him. Trembling, why was Sean trembling, oh wait, that's you trembling, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered except those lips on yours, that body pressed up against yours, moving with each breath against yours in a rhythm older than you, him, the universe. Elijah gently lifted his head, still tasting Sean on him, still savoring the taste. Yes, he'd needed this, wanted this, craved this without knowing what it was. Don't bother to breathe, Elijah, 'cause now you don't need to -- you only need more of those kisses, more of that taste. He bent forward again, intent on more, and Sean stopped his progress. Damn, no, Sean don't ruin this moment, don't remind me of reality, don't tell me you're not interested, that you're not gay, not bi, you don't like men, you don't like me. Then Elijah looked down at Sean, at the look on his face...and knew, somehow knew, that Sean would say none of those things. But he was scared, all the same. "Are you sure, Elijah?" Concern in that lovely voice -- concern on that beautiful face -- and it made Elijah weepy, which was stupid, really, and so typical teenager and not mature and Elijah really didn't care because he was honestly moved. Of course Sean would be concerned. His gentleness was one of the things Elijah liked best about him. So Elijah just nodded his head. "Yes, I'm sure." And bent his head again. And was stopped again. Jesus, Sean, what now? "Elijah, look at me." How was it possible to have that much sexual charisma and compassion in the same look? Simply amazing. "I want you to be absolutely sure," Sean said. Elijah smiled and picked up one of Sean's hands, lacing their fingers together. Yes, it had been Sean that was trembling, he was trembling now...that lean body was shivering, even though it was warm in the trailer. And it made Elijah feel good, powerful. It wasn't just him. It wasn't just some stupid schoolboy crush. This was real. Elijah leaned forward again, and, this time, Sean did not stop him. And Elijah looked over those bold features, brushed his free hand over that small scar on Sean's eyebrow. "Relax, Sean." He breathed the words into Sean's mouth, so close he could inhale the taste of him. "I'm not going to hurt you." And pale green eyes, so close Elijah could count the flecks of color in them, focused on his and Sean's lips curved into a small smile. "Yes, you will." And Elijah could see that, yes, he probably would. And he could also see that Sean would welcome the pain. Well, then, only one thing to do. "I promise I'll be worth it," Elijah said and sealed the vow with a kiss.
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