Current mood:	accomplished
Entry tags:	dom, lij

Ember, LoTR RPS, DM/EW, PG-13
Title: Ember
Author: ipso__facto
Fandom: Lotr RPS
Pairing: Domlijah
Rating: PG-13 I think...
Feedback: I would really appreciate criticism as well as wonderful lovely happy feedback. I want to make this better.
Disclaimer: Elijah and Dom belong to their respective families/agents/publicists/whatever and certainly not to me. It's fiction. Plain and simple. No disrespect intended.
Notes: Written for the contrelamontre taste challenge. Thanks to ladyshrew for the lovely quick beta and for catching my "ands." Cigarettes and angst, a winning combination.



No one knows, but nicotine is not his addiction. Physically, sure, his body craves, and his mind wants, but intellectually, emotionally, he knows he's after something else. He inhales slowly, and the tip burns down, closer and closer to his mouth, and he can smell it like sex, right there, almost there, and then it hits the filter and his lips twist in distaste and frustration. He drops the butt on the ground and stomps on it, grinding it into the dirt with his heel, wiping out its existence.

He steals a quick glance at his watch. Damn. Not enough time. He won't get near it if he starts now. Best to go back in with the others, forget for a while, taste something else.

The stars jump and dance and spark, and he's caught, just for a second. Balls of gas, burning, gas, balls burning, gas burning...Elijah wonders if it's possible to taste starlight, if it would give him what he craves, the sweet cinnamon-y ashy-ness that he can never quite get. Blurring at the edge of his vision is a small copse of trees, far enough away from the cheerful, crowded light, close enough to the silvery sheen, and he steps, hesitantly, towards it.

Soft smooth skin envelops his wrist, darting fingers daring his digits to fight their resolve, and the muscles in his shoulder stretch and pop, and his skin fizzes like carbonation.

"Doodle," Dom coos, soft and dark, the sound slithering towards him through the humid hush of the garden. Lij blinks owlishly, blue eyes flashing in the light spilling through the open doorway.

Dom licks his lips, small, raspy tongue sliding sensually across the lushfulldarkpink mouth and he tongues at a piece of dry skin in the corner, a piece that Elijah has noted, before, a piece that tastes like copper.

Distracted, Elijah turns his head, corded muscles in his pale neck straining against the darkness. He can sense the starlight slipping, fading away into ash and dust. A deft twist, and his wrist is free, positions reversed, his bitten down nails not quite nearing each other as he squeezes water out of the sponge of Dom's wrist, squeezes until he feels bones scraping and hears Dom breath hiss inward through clenched, mint-flavored teeth. Then he loosens his hold and pulls, tugs and yanks and breaks into a run, chasing the shining fall across the dirt-smelling green lawn, with Dom following.

Elijah's mouth is open and he is gasping, sucking in the air in great huge breaths that sear his lungs and make his chest ache sweetly. And his tongue is tense, pulsing, pushing at the air, sucking the atoms free of any lingering remnant of stardust when one of Dom's flailing arms connects with his jaw and his teeth slam down on the muscle, the bitter taste of blood obscuring his reward. Elijah whimpers, and then Dom's thumb is there, thick and salty, rubbing at his bottom lip, slipping between the slick surfaces, taking the place of the starlight.

Elijah can feel the bark digging into the skin of his back where his shirt has ridden up. He jerks, up and down, leaving big red angry scratch marks that smell of trees and will taste dark and earthy like rich red wine when Dom tongues them in apology.

Dom's mouth on his is like the cigarette, so close and yet never there, not quite there, burning but not a blaze, tasting only of powdery dust and used fuel, like a burnt out end. He devours it, stores it inside, stale remnants of bright consumption and sweet release. Lij only finds the leavings, and when Dom sighs his name as they lie salty and sweaty and sweet on the ground, he wonders if his tongue would know the difference.