Both one and the other (lostlollipop) wrote,
Both one and the other

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Birthday fic!

Title: Smirks, Snogs, and a Silly Slumberparty
Genre: Lotrps
Pairing: Domlijah
Summary: Dom decides to throw a slumberparty, but things get a little out of hand.
Rating: Quite R
Warnings: This fic is silly. Sil-ly. S-I-L-L-Y. Also there is angst and sex and swearwords, ooh!
Disclaimer: Come on, even the Fellowship is not that silly in real life.
Feedback: Is like Dom in Stormtrooper pajamas: I could look at it all day.
Author's notes: A fic for Elijah's birthday! In which it's... not actually his birthday. But there is a party, and he does get what he wants. :) Since he is all grown up now, I decided to write something in which he's not quite so innocent anymore.
This is beta'd by the lovely avondster.

They’d promised each other.

When filming ended, they would still get together. An annual Reunion of the Fellowship, like. They’d come together and share stories, and memories, and lots and lots of alcohol. That’s what they’d do. They weren’t like all the other actors, kissy-kissy and dah-ling I love you too and then nothing more, after. Not them. They were family.

Only now it’s 2003, principal photography ended years ago, re-shoots and pickups are drawing to an end, the third film’s being edited for release, most of their careers have already skyrocketed, everyone’s busy, and already they’re losing each other bit by bit.

Sure, they’re still calling and emailing and seeing each other at premieres, at conventions, but it’s never the same.

They’ve missed their Fellowship reunion last year. Couldn’t be helped, really, because Orli and Sean and Lij were all filming, and we really can’t go without them can we? And the year before, too, when everyone was everywhere and nowhere doing pickups or promotion or whatnot.

But this year, no one’s stopping them. Pickups are over, promotions aren’t going to start until autumn, everyone’s enjoying off-time.

And still no one takes the initiative.


It was only a matter of time before someone would break down and do it, and of course that someone has to be Dom. Sensitive Dom, who’s just coming out of his rough time, values his friends more than anything, especially now.

He’s had a good audition lately, for a TV show. Not what he’d hoped, but then again his dreams of becoming a big fuck off moviestar have been shattered long ago, by a multitude of auditions that went mostly along the lines of the following script:

“So you were in Lord of the Rings?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“Who’d you play?”

“I was Merry.”

“One of the little dudes in the tree, right?”


“So are you the funny one or the other one?”

Later on he’d laughed bitterly at himself for ever believing that coming to Hollywood proclaiming “I was Merry in The Lord of the Rings!” would flood his mailbox with offerings from filmbuffs. In the UK, maybe. In any other part of the world, probably. But not here. Here, he was nothing. Here, he was “the little unfunny dude in the tree”.

He is over that, now. He’s accepted. He’s moved on.

He realises that, if he wants to stay in Hollywood, he’ll have to pipe down on the stardom-thing. Grab what he can get. So he can’t be Tom Cruise in a heartbeat, or even – God forbid – Hugh bloody Grant. But he can be himself, be charming, be enchanting, be Dom. He’s remembered that it’s Dom, not Merry, who needs to get him through auditions. And that thought is finally what saves him, humbles him, and enables him to stay in LA, instead of buggering off back to Manchester with his tail between his legs.

Because he wants to stay in LA, he needs to stay in LA. The reason of this no one knows except Dom himself. And perhaps Billy. Because Billy knows Dom too well for his own damn good.

The Reason itself is, thankfully, oblivious to it. Dom hopes.


Now that Dom has nearly gotten over his ‘Dark Days’, as Elijah calls them, he remembers the priorities in his life (apart from eating and a reasonable amount of personal hygiene), and with that the promise they made back in New Zealand. And suddenly Dom knows it’s up to him to make it happen.

So he makes calls, sends emails, sorts out dates, places, and punches holes in peoples’ filming schedules. He uses The Voice and The Look, threatens, bribes. And finally, they have a date.

That same week, two dozen mailboxes on three different continents receive a colourful envelope containing a positively loathsome card with a pink and yellow bear holding a cluster of brightly glittering balloons in its paw, the letters on them spelling ‘Invitation’. Inside, it says:

Dear: Everyone!

We are

I am having a: slumber! party on: The 25th of august at: Dom’s place to celebrate: Our Fellowship. Will you come too? It’ll be fun!

Don’t forget to bring your favourite:

Swimsuit and towel

Pajamas and teddy

I hope to see you at my party!


Dom’s meant the card as a joke, of course, but he’s still very touched when it turns out that everyone has actually complied and brought their pajamas with them. Sean’s even brought his teddybear, though he is a bit disappointed when it turns out he’s the only one. Dom offers him a bit of consolation by fetching his monkey Lennon, the younger, and perching him defiantly at Mr. Snuggles’ side.

So, rather than going to the convention room Dom’s rented for them in a fancy hotel, he drags every mattress and other somehow sleepworthy surface into his living room, and with Billy’s help (because of course he has to be the first to arrive) manages to stow away his other furniture in the spare room and the bedroom.

At 6 pm there are fourteen bodies crammed into Dom’s large living room, and by 6:30 they have all claimed their own piece of floor or furniture, changed into their jammies – in Viggo’s case an extra pair Bean’s brought out of pure foresight, because no one wants to be responsible for the damage to Elijah’s youthful soul just because Our King doesn’t believe in pajamas – and are chatting merrily while eating out of boxes from Dom’s favourite takeaway Chinese.

Dom, in his most geeky pair of Stormtrooper pajamas, is on his own kingsize mattress, together with Billy – who disappointingly does not wear a tartan nightgown as was speculated, just boxers and a plain T-shirt – and Elijah, who’s wearing grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt with blood-red letters saying: ‘Sam will kill you if you try anything’. The two couches have been given to the ladies, and the rest are on the floor.

“So,” says Dom, after finishing the last of the nasi, “what’ll we do now?”

A clamour of voices rises up, and Sean, ever Mr. Political despite the fact that he’s wearing Goonies pajamas, decides they should have a vote.

Finally they end up having nine votes for a DVD, three votes for playing Truth or Dare and I Never (because girls will be girls, and yes, that does indeed include Orlando) and only a single one for the poetry-reading while bodypainting each other to music. Viggo slinks off to sulk in his corner, mumbling.

“A movie it is then,” says Dom, climbing over several people to get to his DVD rack. “Hmmm, we can watch Flipper and laugh at Lij, or watch G.I. Jane and laugh at Viggo, or watch Armageddon and laugh at Liv…”

“How about we watch ‘Rings and laugh at each other?” offers David.

“It should be Fellowship then,” says Bean. “That’s the only one that has me in it.”

“But that doesn’t have me in it!” mock-whines Miranda, who is covered by a plaid because her negligée was deemed ‘too sexy’ by the male population of the living room. “We should watch Towers!”

“Or how about…” says Dom, turning around and producing a DVD with a flourish, “this one?”

From the badly photoshopped cover Johnny Depp’s kohl-lined eyes stare menacingly into the room, a sword and pistol crossed in front of him. The image is blown up so that only Johnny is visible, and only when you look closely can you see a bit of Orlando.

“That’s ‘Pirates of the Carribean’!” shrieks Liv exitedly, actually jumping up and down on her knees, making Dom’s old couch groan in protest.

“Hasn’t that premiered only two weeks ago?” asks Billy, one eyebrow raised at Dom.

Orlando’s eyes grow wide. “Even I don’t have a copy of that yet, man, where’d you get it?”

“I have my sources,” says Dom mysteriously. Said source, who happens to be sitting next to him, stares innocently at the ceiling.

Sean’s face darkens, and he puts up what Elijah calls his Not Okay Allie voice as he turns to his fellow Hobbit, who still brandishes the DVD triumphantly. “Dom, pirating is illegal, do you know that?”

Dom sighs and puts the film away. “Fine then, Seanie, then what do you suggest we watch?”

Sean shrugs. “We could do a marathon of the Rings movies. Go through the fan experience, you know.”

This is met with an exasperated groan from the group in general. “What kind of fun is that?” asks Orlando. “You know how long those movies are, man?”

“I think we all know that, dear boy, considering we were in them,” says Sir Ian primly from his perch on Dom’s fold-up stretcher, which his ripe age has earned him, and also because no one dared to take on the Wizard, who can still be quite terrifying even in grey silk pajamas.

“So, marathon is definitely out?” asks Dom, looking around the room. Everyone nods, but Elijah looks thoughtful.

“We could do a drinking game.”


“A drinking game, you know, like people do with Star Wars, drink whenever the Force is mentioned, that sort of stuff. We could make up our own teams and rules. And after all, Dom, a slumberparty can’t be complete without great amounts of booze.” He grins.

Dom grins back, trying to ignore the tingly feeling in his stomach. He remembers the Star Wars drinking game all too well; he got it out of a magazine once, and when Billy was visiting last year the two of them and Elijah and Mac had played it and gotten totally and utterly smashed. He also remembers very well indeed the sloppy drunken goodnight kiss Elijah had bestowed upon him, if ‘kiss’ was indeed the word for it rather than ‘molesting’. Yes, Dom remembers it very well (especially late at night, alone in his bed), but, considering his usual resilience to drink, he is pretty sure Elijah doesn’t remember the encounter at all.

“Alright, Doodle, what’s your big plan?” Please let it involve me snogging you again.

“Well…” Elijah looks about the room. “The teams are easy. We can play as Hobbits, Men, Elves, Dwarves, and Wizards. Whoever gives up, passes out, or throws up first, loses.”

“That works,” says Billy, grinning and petting his bottle of Scotch. “What about rules?”

“Whenever Frodo falls down, the Hobbits must drink,” shouts Karl, to the hilarity of all save Elijah, who grimaces.

“Whenever a human with dirty hair or face appears on screen, the Men must drink,” he retaliates.

“Whenever Legolas says something stupid, the Elves must drink,” says John, his eyes glittering with glee.

“Might as well go home now,” mutters Hugo to Liv in a mock-whisper. Everyone laughs. Orlando glares.

“Whenever Gimli does something disgusting, the Dwarves must drink,” he mutters.

“When Pete’s cameo comes up everyone has to jump up and shout “hail, Caesar,” Bean snickers. “And the last one to do so must drain his glass.”

They spend another hour making up rules, until at last everyone settles in with a glass and a bottle of their liquor of choice, and Dom pops in the Fellowship DVD.


Some hours later, they are more than halfway through Towers, and competition is running high. The Hobbits are in the lead, with only Elijah being a little tipsy; the Elves are on the brink of losing but since Orlando still responds to prodding remain officially still in the game; Sir Ian has already twice attempted to molest the prone Elf while pretending to be Scarlett Johansson, Miranda and Liv haven’t stopped giggling since Boromir died, and John, undoubtedly regretting now that he chose brandy, has gone scarlet in the face as well as rather cross-eyed.

“That was difan… dafen… defininitely another Man getting killed,” the Dwarf shouts, squinting at the screen. The others nod (or rather, wag their heads) and Viggo, Bean, David, Karl and Miranda raise their glasses to the screen in salute and drink.

“Awww, shit,” mumbles Liv as Haldir dies a glorious death. “Bastard.” She takes a sip from her white wine and pours some beer in Orlando’s neck.

Elijah falls against Dom’s side, giggling, as Orlando mumbles something unintelligible and kisses Hugo’s kneecap. Dom, not quite drunk enough to not know what is happening, suddenly gets quite warm when Elijah pushes his face into the older man’s neck.

He gets up quickly as Elijah’s body slumps against him. The danger of him noticing Dom’s current state, should he slide a few inches further down, are remote – but they are there. The move is so sudden that Elijah sprawls on top of Billy, instead.

“I’m gonna go get some more beer,” Dom says distractedly.

“Ooh, wait, I’ll come with,” exclaims Elijah, getting up. “You,” he adds, and bursts into his ridiculous high-pitched giggles. Dom rolls his eyes.

“Fine, Doodle, come with if you like, as long as you don’t throw up on me.”

“’M not that drunk,” says Elijah as they stumble into the half-dark hallway to the kitchen.

Dom just snorts and keeps going. “Sure, Elwood.”

“No, really,” Elijah catches up with him by the kitchen door, and he’s really a lot more articulate than he has any right to be after Frodo fell down approximately 40,000 times. “I’d drunk a lot more that night when I kissed you.”

Dom falls over.

“Wh… what?” he stammers, pulling himself up on the counter. “How can you…”

Elijah is still standing by the kitchen door, his hands on his hips, smirking down at him and not looking the least bit drunk at all. “Oh, please, Sblom. I’m not seventeen anymore. I’ve learned to drink. The days I’d pass out after two beers are long gone, you know.”

“But… but…” Dom’s world seems to have stopped making sense, and he doesn’t think it’s anything to do with the drink.

“I was pretending, Dom. I’m an actor. I did it because I’d be eighty fucking years old before you’d decide to get your head out of your ass and make a move on me.”

Dom’s vocal organs seem to have ceased functioning altogether, and his mouth opens and closes like a flabbergasted goldfish, his eyes as large as Elijah’s (and that’s saying something!).

“I thought that if I gave you the perfect opportunity to take advantage of me that night, and got you enticed by kissing you, you might give in and make the next move, but nooo,” Elijah waves his arms in exasperation. “You had to be all noble and gentlemanly and put me to bed.”

He turns back to Dom, suddenly looking very much younger than he is. “Call me a scheming little shit if you like. But… all I wanted was to pull you up from whatever hole you’d fallen into. Last year… you didn’t have to go through that, Dommie. You didn’t deserve all that shit. And be honest: if it was me looking so fucking miserable as you did then, you’d do anything to make me smile again, too.”

“So that’s what this is, then?” asks Dom, feeling as sober now as the day he was born, not to mention as naked and vulnerable. “You’re plotting all this because you feel sorry for me, and figure you can lift my spirits with a little mercy-snog, what?”

In a movement that’s too fast for his inebriated brain to process, he’s roughly hauled to his feet and backed against the countertop, Elijah’s face about an inch from his own, looking desperate and furious.

“No, you fucking prick,” he hisses. “You really think I’d have considered it, hell, even noticed it, if I hadn’t loved you so damn much? I did it for me as well as for you, because when you’re miserable, I’m fucking miserable, too. And I want you to be happy, so fucking happy, Dom, and if it takes me snogging you for the rest of our lives to make it so, then you won’t hear me complaining. So shut the fuck up and kiss me, you asshole.”

Dom dives forward, slamming his forehead into Elijah’s, but neither of them cares, and their kiss is hard, and desperate, and messy, and the best thing in the whole fucking world ever. He feels wetness on his cheeks, and tastes salt, and doesn’t know or care if the tears are his or Elijah’s, as long as they are all kissed away.

Elijah pushes himself against Dom, grunting, and the older man nearly faints with want as their erections rub against each other through trackies and pajama trousers, respectively. “Want you.”

He leans forward until his face is in Dom’s neck again, right where it was mere minutes ago, in the living room, and begins to kiss, nibble, suck on the skin there. Dom’s hands have by now found the hem of Elijah’s T-shirt and slide under it, caressing warm skin.

“Want you,” Elijah says again, before his lips find Dom’s left earlobe and begin to worry at it. After a while he releases it again and breathes hotly into his ear. “Want to suck you off, Dom. Can I?”

“Ohhh,” moans Dom unabashedly, thrusting his hips into thin air. “Yeah…”

Elijah smirks and drops to his knees, pillowing his head on the older man’s thigh and exhaling a gust of warm air onto the bulge inches from his mouth, his hand moving up and down Dom’s other thigh, toying with the waistband of his pajama trousers, pulling it down an inch or so each time.

“Not… not here,” Dom forces out. “Bed.”

“The bed’s in the living room, Dommie,” purrs Elijah, his fingers never stilling. “Along with all the other beds and sofas, and the rest of the gang, getting drunk, remember?”

Dom groans, but before he can make another suggestion or indeed even think of one, Elijah has pulled down his trousers, and thinking is suddenly very, very far from his mind as a warm wetness envelops his cock and sucks him in.

He lets out a strangled shout, and Elijah hums, and even without looking Dom can tell he’s smirking yet again, but he can’t look because seeing those delicious lips around his swollen flesh will most certainly be the end of him.

Just then the kitchen door bursts open with a loud bang, and Dom opens his eyes in horror to see John standing on the threshold, purple in the face, clutching an empty bottle and wobbling on his legs. He doesn’t seem to notice that his two youngest castmates are engaged in a round of mind-blowing oral sex.

“What ho, lads, what ho,” he hollers, swaying dangerously as he waves the empty bottle.

Elijah takes his mouth off Dom’s private parts, wipes his lips with the back of his hand, turns to the drunken Dwarf, and says, quite calmly: “well, if you must know, John, Dom and I have just established that we are madly in love with each other, and I am currently on my way of giving him the best fucking orgasm of his life.”

John nods earnestly. “I see. Well, don’t let me keep you. Tally ho!”

And with that, he keels over backwards and passes out cold on the hallway floor.

Elijah doesn’t even bat an eye at this and resumed his previous activity as if nothing happened. He goes down on Dom again, swallowing him down like he wants to eat him. The older man moans loudly and grips the countertop so hard he wouldn’t be surprised to find permanent marks there, come morning.

“Lij, I’m gonna,” he manages to say before his climax coils in his belly, flares up and hits him over the head with a jackhammer. His vision goes black then brilliantly white, and when colours start coming back and blurring together to form the familiar interior of his kitchen, Elijah is standing in front of him, smirking once again and wiping his mouth.

“Did you…?” pants Dom, and Elijah grins broadly, pulling the older man in for a kiss to let him taste himself on his tongue.

“Nice boys swallow.”

Dom stares at him for a long moment, a million things to say tumbling over one another in his mind: words of love, lust, regret, gratitude, anger… before he decides that words are not necessary with Elijah. They never have been, really.

So instead, he lunges forward, grabs the younger man by both his slender wrists and pins him against the wall, pushing his thigh between the still trackpants-clad legs. When Elijah doesn’t quite succeed to hold back a moan, he grins ferally.

“Well, well, well, little Lijah, you’ve been a very naughty boy. Tricking people into molesting you, tsk tsk tsk.”

Elijah’s eyes glitter with blue fire, and he bucks his hips provocatively. “Yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Dom kisses him, hard. “I’ll tell you. I’m gonna take you to the bathroom to wipe that fucking smirk off your face.”


When Dom and Elijah return, some hours later, dressed in clean pajamas and with wet hair, the Hobbits are riding to the Grey Havens and the living room is filled with the sound of Sean’s gurgling snores and the near-hysterical giggles of Liv and Miranda.

Orlando, as expected, has passed out, sprawling over three matresses as well as Hugo and Sir Ian. His hair seems to have been plaited in countless tiny pigtails with differently coloured bows, on which Ian is only just putting the final touch. Bean is on his back next to him, humming happily at the ceiling. Viggo crouches in a corner, mumbling, though if he’s writing poetry, painting his left foot, or getting high, Dom cannot see. David and Karl seem to be having what sounds like a burping and farting contest, which seems outrageously hilarious to them both. Billy is the only one still staring at the screen with a mildly interested expression.

“Hobbits win, then?” asks Dom as the both of them flop down next to him.

“S’pose tha’s righ,” says Billy, looking at them attentively. In the four years Dom has known Billy, he’s never seen drink have any effect on his friend, other than thicken his accent until he’s nearly unintelligible.

“Sou…” Billy cocks his head, eyes looking from one to the other. “Ye finely go’ yer ‘ed outta yer arse den an’ ded et, Dommeh?”

“Why yes Bills, I do like haggis, but kilts are a bit too scratchy for me, if you must know.”

Billy just smiles knowingly at the two of them. “Ahwees knew th’ lad cud doo et to ye ef ‘e wonted teh.”

“Ta, mate. I know I’m devillishly attractive, but it’s always nice to be reminded.”

Then, unexpectedly, Billy pulls Dom into a tight hug, crushing him against his chest. As he lets go, Dom is absolutely astounded to see the green eyes clouded over with brightness.

Billy turns to Elijah, beaming. “Ye’re dooin’ et, Lij. Our ould Dommeh’s comin’ back. Thank ye.”

Elijah just smiles. Dom looks from one to the other in confusion and, not being offered an explanation, throws his hands up in exasperation. “Fine, whatever. I’m going to sleep and ask tomorrow, when it’ll actually make sense.”

He rolls over on his side, and doesn’t see the look that passes between Elijah and Billy, but he does feel, moments later, slender arms going about his waist, and a warm body spooning behind his own, and a soft kiss behind his ear.

And just as he drifts off to his first peaceful sleep in ages, he hears, even over the deafening sound of about ten different snores, three soft words, spoken into the night.

He is smiling as he sleeps.

Tags: birthday wishes, boytouching, fic, first kiss, humour, one-off

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