Untouchable Face

AUTHOR: Fainpathe Elanesse
TITLE: Untouchable Face
PAIRING: Dominic/Orlando, poss. Dominic/Elijah, Orlando/Kate
RATING: NC17
WARNING: language, m/m relationships, bastard!orli, angst.
DISCLAIMER: I'm an impoverished student who's making no money from this, honest! This obviously never happened. I have no idea what these boy’s sexual preferences are, and I don’t really care.
FEEDBACK: Is my raison d’etre, my mojo, the fires that stoke the pit of hell from whence come my ideas. How can I know I’m crap if you guys don’t tell me?

A/N: I’m sure Kate Bosworth is a lovely woman, and I’m sure Orli’s not a masochistic bastard. But it’s fun to play, no?
Inspired by Ani Difranco’s song ‘Untouchable Face’ (see end for lyrics)

244 hits and only one review? COME ON, PEOPLE! feedback is my lifeblood, i need to know people are actually enjoying my work!
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It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, I know. I try and be pleased for you; you’re doing well, lots of film roles, you’re happy. And you look great, but then you know that already. Now I’m over here in LA, we see eacher her more, and that’s great, I keep telling myself. I just can’t be happy for you, can’t be happy that you’re with her, in love with her, even. My face is twisting with malice just thinking about her, I can tell. I have to try and control myself before Lij notices something. He’s a bit oblivious, thankfully, but if I don’t calm myself down even he’ll know something’s up.

I can see you, across the room, laughing, with your arm around her. You glance over, catching my eye, and I know you can see every emotion played out across my face, as if I’d shouted it to the world. Yes, I, Dominic Monaghan, am in love with Orlando Bloom. Sounds stupid, I know. Or perhaps not unexpected, if the Internet is to be believed. I see a look of pity and shame cross your face, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to feel joy that you feel bad about what you’ve done to me. But then the self-pity kicks in once again, and I can’t take it any more. I’ll go for a walk, clear my head.

I wobble as I stand up, realising I’ve had more beer than I thought. As I walk out, Lij looks at me questioningly, and I shake my head. I want to be alone, don’t want anybody to follow. Except maybe you. If you followed me out, apologised, begged me to take you back – ah, whom am I kidding? You wouldn’t even have to beg.

It was always me that did the begging in our relationship, wasn’t it? Me begging you to come out drinking with me, me begging you to give me lift home, me begging you to fuck me, me begging you to not leave. Didn’t work, though, did it? You always wanted to be in control, always making me submit to you. Only Lij knows the full extent of our relationship, and I know he’s never felt the same towards you since. You may have caused me all manner of physical and emotional pain, but it was what I needed. I alone saw the worse half of you, the one you kept hidden under that bright, sunny exterior. The side that longed to humiliate me, to beat me, to fuck me until I was raw and my throat was hoarse from screaming. Does she do that for you?

Does she lie there, chained up, begging for more as you slowly bring her to orgasm before stopping, driving her insane with need? But no, I can tell, from the way you look at her. She has the better half of you. I think of her, and I can’t help but feel sorry for her, in a way. She will never know al you you.

I suppose she’s pretty enough. Blonde, curvy. Not my type obviously, I tend to go for darker hair and a more….masculine figure, shall we say. But your caramel skin and chocolate eyes contrast perfectly with hers. Alabaster skin and blonde hair, making her look young and fragile. You do look good together, that I’ll admit. When I see you now, the way you are with her, it tears me apart. And you seem happy together. Our friends cooing over you both, all saying you’re perfect for each other. You’ve changed, so much.

Your fashion sense, while terrible, was uniquely yours, and now the Hollywood machine – and matching glamorous girlfriend – have toned down your image, and now it’s all black suits and fashionable scarves. You still look stunning of course – you always did – but it’s as if someone’s taken a photograph of you and placed their own image of what an actor should look like upon it. You look ill-at-ease with this new you, and I know the darker ins inside rages at this calm exterior you present to the world.

When that calm manner is directed towards me, coolly polite, it makes me want to scream out loud. What right do you have to be happy, after what you’ve done to me? Made me crave you; crave the punishments you would bestow upon me? Well fuck you, Orlando. I don’t need you.

I don’t need you. I’ve tried telling myself that over and over again, but it doesn’t get any more true. I still long for your touch upon my skin, your voice whispering in my ear, whether it’s endearments or abuse. Anything would be better than this cold nothingness that exists now. You avoid me, as much as you can, and when you do talk, all I can see is the pity and sorrow in your eyes. Like you don’t know this is all your fault. You try to talk to me about what I’m doing now, what’s been going on in my life. But the truth is, you know nothing about me anymore. You couldn’t tell me anything about myself if you tried. The Dominic you knew died when you walked out on him for your precious career, worried that no gay man could be a romantic lead.

I look around, realising I’ve walked back towards my car. I don’t feel like joining the party right now. Or ever, in fact. Seeing you is still too painful, too raw, like peeling back a scab in the hope that it’s healed, just to find raw, bloody flesh underneath. I climb into my car and drive. I don’t know where, I just need to get a I s I send Lij a quick text, telling him I’m fine, I just need some time alone, then switch my phone off so he can’t bother me.

It’s almost 2.30, and the streets are empty. As drive, I realise I’m almost out of petrol, and I’ve not got much cash on me. I see a diner up ahead, and pull in to get some food. The radio’s playing some romantic country shit that jars painfully with my mood, and the thoughts that keep running round in my head of you, in your untouchable beauty. Again, my anger almost overcomes me, and I have to breathe deeply, bringing myself under control.

Even here, far away from you know, in this half-empty diner full of strangers, you affect me. Fuck you. You and your perfect, unblemished beauty. For coming into my life and changing me completely, more than those 5 years of Lord of the Rings did. Yes, I’m recognised now, and yes I’m living the actors’ life in LA, but it was you that did this to me. You and your fucking screwed up life.

But still I want you. As my heart and my head rages against you, still my body yearns for you. But that’s your talent. It always has been. Making people want you. Just the fact that you exist, so perfect and undamaged from the outside, is unfair. You make those around you yearn for you, then you leave them, empty and abused. You may have the face of an untouched angel, but Lucifer himself has nothing on your black heart.

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THE END

‘Untouchable Face (Fuck You)’ – Ani Difranco

Think I’m going for a walk now
I feel a little unsteady
I don't want nobody to follow me
'cept maybe you
I could make you happy you know
if you weren't already
I could do a lot of things
and I do

tell you the truth I prefer
the worst of you
too bad you had to have a better half
she's not really my type
but I think you two are forever
and I hate to say it but
you're perfect together

so fuck you
and your untouchable face
and fuck you
for existing in the first place
and who am I
that I should be vying for your touch
and who am I
I bet you can't even tell me that much

two-thirty in the morning
and my gas tank will be empty soon
neon sign on the horizon
rubbing elbows with the moon
a safe haven of sleepless
where the deep fryer's always on
radio is counting down
the top 20 country songs
and out on the porch the fly strip is
waving like a flag in the wind now,now, I don't look forward
to seeing you again soon
you'll look like a photograph of yourself
taken from far far away
and I won't know what to do
and I won't know what to say

except fuck you...

I see you and I’m so perplexed
what was I ting ing
what will I think of next
where can I hide
in the back room there's a lamp
that hangs over the pool table
and when the fan is on it swings
gently side to side
there's a changing constellation
of balls as we are playing
I see Orion and say nothing
the only thing I can think of saying

is fuck you...