Oblivious

Part Nine.

Still buttoning my shirt when Billy’s hand shoots out of the dark. Jolt and stop.
“Where are you going?”
Finish the last button and look up at him. He’s still holding my arm, he and Dom have such a habit of doing that.
“Home.”
“I thought you were taking Elijah with you.”
“He went earlier.”
“No he didn’t.”
“But I…”
“He went back to his trailer.”
Frown. Why didn’t he go?
“Dom was with him, he didn’t leave.”
“Are you sure?”
“I haven’t seen him leave and we’ve been here all evening.”
“Oh…well thanks.”
Head back towards the sets.

Knock on the door of Elijah’s trailer and wait but there’s no reply from within, only a soft light coming from inside. Maybe he left and Billy didn’t see him go. But no, Billy was probably watching all afternoon. Probably had someone stationed out front when he had work to do. Knock again but still nothing. Open the door quietly. Unlocked. He always locks his door, even when he’s in, especially at night. Security has a spare key so it’s not like he’s unreachable, he said he got sick of people barging in. I can relate. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been changing and the door’s been flung wide open. It’s almost as if people forget you trailer is a second home. On sets like this, you live in it. Sometimes not leaving for days. Especially now we’re filming Helm’s Deep.

Step inside to gloom, soft light by the bed, and wait for my eyes to adjust. He’s here, spread out on the bed, fully clothed, not even under the covers. Just curled up there on his side like a child. So innocent, so vulnerable. And after this afternoon…the tear tracks still evident on his cheeks, the image is even more powerful. So vulnerable. He needs to talk, needs to explain what he meant by he can’t do this. What can’t he do? The isolation? The work? The constant gnawing loneliness? It’s eating at him, whatever it is, slowly but surely. Lean over and stroke hair from his eyes. He hasn’t stirred, continues to peacefully sleep. Maybe I should leave him, he so rarely sleeps peacefully. Most the time he looks exhausted like he doesn’t sleep at all, except when he’s with me. People have begun to accuse me of drugging him, they’ve noticed that he always sleeps when he’s with me. Curled up in my bed, lately wrapped around my back, he sleeps as soundly as a baby. As soundly as he is now, but now it’s from exhaustion. Maybe that’s why he’s still here. Either that or he doesn’t want to come home with me. Hurt. Don’t want to think that. I want him to come home with me.

Look down as his eyes flutter open. He’s still half asleep, drowsily smiling up at me, hand snaking round my waist, pulling me down till I’m on the bed beside him. Listen as he sighs content, nudges a leg between mine, slides an arm round my waist, hand resting between my shoulders. Cradle his head under my arm and he snuggles closer, gets comfortable. I can only lay still, unsure. Does he even know it’s me? He’s never done this before, always curls against my back at home. Maybe he did this with Dom. Sudden ache. Maybe he thinks I’m Dom. Hurt. Deep pain throbbing quietly in my t. Gt. Glide fingers through his hair.
“Elijah?”
“Orli.” Sighing content.
Blink. He knows it’s me. Knows how much I hate it when people call me that. And that’s he second time he’s called me that when he’s half asleep.
Feel him rock forward, suddenly pressed full length against me. Hips, chest.
Swallow hard.
So incredibly masculine. Warmth. Fingers splayed across my back, creeping down then back up under the shirt.
Can barely breathe let alone protest.
But I don’t want to protest. I want more, I want him to…
Try to breathe past the knot in my throat.
I want…I want him to look up, I want him to open those eyes and kiss me.
Try not to hyperventilate.
I want to know if that kiss was real, if I really kissed him then I want him to kiss me again. And again.
Swallow hard.
And I want to touch him. Hug him without the clothes. Touch him naked.
Clutch honvuonvulsively closer, his hips rolling.
Low panicked moan behind my lips.
So good, oh god I want…I want…wait for the panic.
I want him to touch me everywhere. Inside and out. And I want to touch him, soft, hard all over. Taste.
Bite my lip on the whimper.
Oh god I want to shag Elijah Wood. I really, really want to shag Elijah, long, hard, just all night, touching ,tasting, learning him.
Groan as he wriggles closer, hips undulating.
Swallow down the panic. I can’t do this, I can’t, not here, not now. He doesn’t know! He can’t know! He can’t, I can’t, he’ll…
He’ll what?
But I don’t have time to think because he’s finally waking up…

//still miraculously, stupendously Oblivious!//