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unautremondeTitle: Chase
Series: Souviens-toi de moi, 2/3
Genre: AU
Pairing: Dom/Elijah
Rating: PG-13 (NC-17 for the whole series)
Summary: London, 1943. Dom has demons clinging to his skin and haunting him through his dreams.
Warning: none for this part.
Disclaimer: Obviously all lies, and I'm certainly not trying to pretend I know anything about these actors' real personalities and sexual preferences. It's all fiction, people.
Author's note: additional disclaimer and visual aids to be found here.
Thanks: to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rynalwyn and shaenie for incredible support and betas, this story wouldn't be what it is without you.
The street is eerily quiet between shrill siren cries and despite the imminence of all hell breaking loose upon them. People hurry out of buildings in a rush but no panic: too many raids and siren calls and they've all been used to it for so long, it's become merely a habit to run out of rooms and into a dark musty cave.
Inside the air is thick and laden with unspoken fear. Dom has never liked shelters and he misses the relative safety of his months hiding under the stars in the forests of France. Here, it's nothing but illusion. Yes, they're all safer inside than they would be outside in plain sight, but it's escaping no one's notice that one bomb exploding near the opening onto the street would suffice to entomb them all to death.
Dom makes his way deeper in and pushes himself towards the back, towards where he'll be undoubtedly stuck with no easy way out. He sits down next to a young mother and her frightened daughter, and awkwardly close to a skinny young boy who's obviously desperately trying to shut the world out. Dom can feel him shaking, small tremors and hitches of breath cursing through the boy and spilling over Dom as they’re pushed closer together by the surrounding bodies.
Dom can smell fear on his neighbours, rancid sour smell of cold sweat. Or maybe it's just the stench of such close quarters and too many people locked up in here too often and too long. He turns slightly to his left and nudges the boy's shoulder, trying to get him to pay attention to more than just his own inner despair.
"Hey."
The boy looks startled, of course. Dom has heard stories of people meeting in shelters and talking for hours only to come out of their hiding places friends and sometimes future lovers, but as far as he’s concerned, the shelters he goes to are always so very silent that for strangers to start talking feels like a small miracle. The boy certainly looks awed enough at being spoken to.
“Oh, uh… hi.”
Dom smiles, silently relieved that the boy hasn't gone into some kind of catatonic state. He's obviously still scared, very much so, but at least he's not mute, and Dom isn't sure he knows why that makes him so happy.
Any other day, Dom would simply ignore each and every person glued to his side throughout the alert. But tonight… It could be the dreams. He's feeling strangely human. Human and weak, longing for any contact that wouldn't be calculated and interested and necessary. He can feel adrenaline coursing through his veins, still, a mixture of nightmarish fear and present oppression. He feels restless and curious, eager, drunk without having had a drop of anything alcoholic in days.
It almost feels like he could laugh, open his mouth wide and throw his head back and just laugh at the irony of feeling more alive here, in a dark tomb, than he has for days, outside in a country where he is free to be without his demons, even if his demons are clinging to his skin.
He turns his attention back to the boy at his side, smiles and leans forward, his lips almost brushing against the pale pale skin of his companion, whispering softly into an unsuspecting ear.
"I'm more dangerous than these bombs out there, you know."
He's being foolish, of course, but he doesn't care and just leans back to look into the boy's eyes and wait for a reaction.
The boy doesn’t disappoint and the way his eyes widen sends another shot of…—adrenaline? Anticipation? Envy?—through Dom’s veins. His voice is awed and quiet, almost excited despite the fear ringing through it as he asks, “Oh, are you a spy, then?”
There is so much life swimming within those eyes, so much innocence and fascination and… passion in those words and on the boy’s face that Dom longs to throw himself forward, dig deep within this blessed well of feelings he hasn’t had in a very long time. It’s exhilarating enough that he finally gives in, finally lets his initial impulse to laugh take over. His laughter rings loud and awkward in the cramped shelter but no more eyes turn to him, just the wide blue of his neighbour’s.
The woman sitting to Dom’s other side jumps up a bit, though, and whispers irritably through her teeth, openly disapproving. Dom turns to glare at her, effectively shutting her up and wiping that disapproving frown off of her face. He believes he knows what she’s thinking: that it’s disrespectful and foolish to make fun of such serious and dangerous things as spies in war time. He knows as she knows that even here, in London, there are people everywhere who will turn their neighbour in without hesitation if they so much as suspect they might have dubious activities.
He doesn’t care, though. He knows to trust his instincts, even when his senses are being overwhelmed with boyish foolishness and the desire to act his age, for once. Dom’s never acted his age; war and Walter Kappe got to him too early for him to ever be foolish and restless the way he wants to be right now.
Despite his foolishness, despite his will to play along with the pale blue eyed boy sitting next to him, Dom knows where to stop and how to make it look like what it is: someone stringing a beautiful boy along, playing with a boy’s nerves for purposes Dom feels are obvious enough.
He turns back to his prey, deliberately leaning closer and brushing the back of his fingers against the boy’s cheek as he raises his hand to his own forehead, grinning maniacally at the boy. He’s fairly sure he’s scaring him as much as he’s being fascinating and he thinks maybe this night won’t end with him cold and alone in his bed.
He hopes.
He leans even closer, all but wrapping himself around the pretty boy’s side, breathing down his neck, watching him intently as he drops his voice even lower to answer his questions.
“Maybe I am, maybe I‘m not. And maybe I just work for myself. Maybe I’d have to kill you if you ever found out more…”
Dom holds his breath for just one second before pressing on, his hand now wrapped around the boy’s elbow, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the fabric of the boy’s jacket, pressure just hard enough that he knows the boy can feel his hand on his skin even through his clothes.
“…or maybe… I’d need to find other ways to ensure you wouldn’t betray me.”
Dom grins and leans back, then, letting go of the boy’s arm and switching from darkly seductive and dangerous to casual in one breath, not even waiting for a reaction to his previous words before asking, “Anyway, what’s your name, pretty boy?”
The boy blushes a deep dark colour as he lowers his eyes and whispers almost inaudibly.
“Elijah. What…what’s yours? And uh... you don’t have to give me your real name if you can’t…or shouldn’t, or…”
Dom’s breath catches briefly at the enticing flush that’s slowly covering the boy’s cheeks and neck. He leans forward again, breathing deep and smiling predatorily when Elijah shivers. The boy is more than ready, more than open to any game Dom wants to play, and the thrill of the chase is running quicksilver through Dom’s veins as he pushes himself snugly against Elijah’s side. He’s off duty, tonight. He doesn’t want to think about anything else but hunting down his scared prey and devouring him once he catches him.
There’s not even the shadow of a doubt in Dom’s mind that he will get to devour every inch of Elijah’s pale, pale skin. There’s no doubt he will catch him, because Elijah wants to be caught.
Dom lifts his hand and drops it casually to Elijah’s knee, revelling in the warmth that’s burning through layers of clothes and promising an eventful and fun night. If they ever get out of the shelter, that is. The sirens haven’t stopped screaming, yet, and Dom is growing impatient. There’s only so much he can do, here, so much he can hint at before being reprimanded and thrown out into the street. He’s having more fun here than he would outside trying to duck bombs, though, and that thought keeps his touch light on Elijah’s thigh.
Dom doesn’t know what name to give. Of course, Elijah isn’t entirely wrong: Dom probably shouldn’t be giving his real name to a complete stranger, especially one he intends to put between his sheets and use. That said, Dom’s never used any other name but his own. It’s a generic name, one that remains common enough to not raise any suspicions or cling to anybody’s mind long enough to be recalled when Dom wants to disappear. It’s also a good name to be playing games with.
Dom pushes his hand against Elijah’s thigh, digging his fingers into the boy’s flesh, rubbing subtly and raising his hand higher, closer to where it really wants to go. It’s time for forcefulness, Dom thinks. It’s not time for subtlety any longer.
“I’m Dom. And whether that is my real name or not doesn’t matter. What matters is what use you will have for it, pretty boy.”
Elijah’s breath catches on something that sounds almost like a moan and Dom feels Elijah’s thigh tremble under his hand. Elijah doesn’t move to push Dom’s hand off, though, and Dom knows he’s won this round of the game.
When the sirens die down and everybody returns home, Elijah will be coming with Dom wherever Dom wants to take him.
*********
back to part one: Whisper -- on to part three: Remember
Series: Souviens-toi de moi, 2/3
Genre: AU
Pairing: Dom/Elijah
Rating: PG-13 (NC-17 for the whole series)
Summary: London, 1943. Dom has demons clinging to his skin and haunting him through his dreams.
Warning: none for this part.
Disclaimer: Obviously all lies, and I'm certainly not trying to pretend I know anything about these actors' real personalities and sexual preferences. It's all fiction, people.
Author's note: additional disclaimer and visual aids to be found here.
Thanks: to
rynalwyn and shaenie for incredible support and betas, this story wouldn't be what it is without you.CHASE
The street is eerily quiet between shrill siren cries and despite the imminence of all hell breaking loose upon them. People hurry out of buildings in a rush but no panic: too many raids and siren calls and they've all been used to it for so long, it's become merely a habit to run out of rooms and into a dark musty cave.
Inside the air is thick and laden with unspoken fear. Dom has never liked shelters and he misses the relative safety of his months hiding under the stars in the forests of France. Here, it's nothing but illusion. Yes, they're all safer inside than they would be outside in plain sight, but it's escaping no one's notice that one bomb exploding near the opening onto the street would suffice to entomb them all to death.
Dom makes his way deeper in and pushes himself towards the back, towards where he'll be undoubtedly stuck with no easy way out. He sits down next to a young mother and her frightened daughter, and awkwardly close to a skinny young boy who's obviously desperately trying to shut the world out. Dom can feel him shaking, small tremors and hitches of breath cursing through the boy and spilling over Dom as they’re pushed closer together by the surrounding bodies.
Dom can smell fear on his neighbours, rancid sour smell of cold sweat. Or maybe it's just the stench of such close quarters and too many people locked up in here too often and too long. He turns slightly to his left and nudges the boy's shoulder, trying to get him to pay attention to more than just his own inner despair.
"Hey."
The boy looks startled, of course. Dom has heard stories of people meeting in shelters and talking for hours only to come out of their hiding places friends and sometimes future lovers, but as far as he’s concerned, the shelters he goes to are always so very silent that for strangers to start talking feels like a small miracle. The boy certainly looks awed enough at being spoken to.
“Oh, uh… hi.”
Dom smiles, silently relieved that the boy hasn't gone into some kind of catatonic state. He's obviously still scared, very much so, but at least he's not mute, and Dom isn't sure he knows why that makes him so happy.
Any other day, Dom would simply ignore each and every person glued to his side throughout the alert. But tonight… It could be the dreams. He's feeling strangely human. Human and weak, longing for any contact that wouldn't be calculated and interested and necessary. He can feel adrenaline coursing through his veins, still, a mixture of nightmarish fear and present oppression. He feels restless and curious, eager, drunk without having had a drop of anything alcoholic in days.
It almost feels like he could laugh, open his mouth wide and throw his head back and just laugh at the irony of feeling more alive here, in a dark tomb, than he has for days, outside in a country where he is free to be without his demons, even if his demons are clinging to his skin.
He turns his attention back to the boy at his side, smiles and leans forward, his lips almost brushing against the pale pale skin of his companion, whispering softly into an unsuspecting ear.
"I'm more dangerous than these bombs out there, you know."
He's being foolish, of course, but he doesn't care and just leans back to look into the boy's eyes and wait for a reaction.
The boy doesn’t disappoint and the way his eyes widen sends another shot of…—adrenaline? Anticipation? Envy?—through Dom’s veins. His voice is awed and quiet, almost excited despite the fear ringing through it as he asks, “Oh, are you a spy, then?”
There is so much life swimming within those eyes, so much innocence and fascination and… passion in those words and on the boy’s face that Dom longs to throw himself forward, dig deep within this blessed well of feelings he hasn’t had in a very long time. It’s exhilarating enough that he finally gives in, finally lets his initial impulse to laugh take over. His laughter rings loud and awkward in the cramped shelter but no more eyes turn to him, just the wide blue of his neighbour’s.
The woman sitting to Dom’s other side jumps up a bit, though, and whispers irritably through her teeth, openly disapproving. Dom turns to glare at her, effectively shutting her up and wiping that disapproving frown off of her face. He believes he knows what she’s thinking: that it’s disrespectful and foolish to make fun of such serious and dangerous things as spies in war time. He knows as she knows that even here, in London, there are people everywhere who will turn their neighbour in without hesitation if they so much as suspect they might have dubious activities.
He doesn’t care, though. He knows to trust his instincts, even when his senses are being overwhelmed with boyish foolishness and the desire to act his age, for once. Dom’s never acted his age; war and Walter Kappe got to him too early for him to ever be foolish and restless the way he wants to be right now.
Despite his foolishness, despite his will to play along with the pale blue eyed boy sitting next to him, Dom knows where to stop and how to make it look like what it is: someone stringing a beautiful boy along, playing with a boy’s nerves for purposes Dom feels are obvious enough.
He turns back to his prey, deliberately leaning closer and brushing the back of his fingers against the boy’s cheek as he raises his hand to his own forehead, grinning maniacally at the boy. He’s fairly sure he’s scaring him as much as he’s being fascinating and he thinks maybe this night won’t end with him cold and alone in his bed.
He hopes.
He leans even closer, all but wrapping himself around the pretty boy’s side, breathing down his neck, watching him intently as he drops his voice even lower to answer his questions.
“Maybe I am, maybe I‘m not. And maybe I just work for myself. Maybe I’d have to kill you if you ever found out more…”
Dom holds his breath for just one second before pressing on, his hand now wrapped around the boy’s elbow, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the fabric of the boy’s jacket, pressure just hard enough that he knows the boy can feel his hand on his skin even through his clothes.
“…or maybe… I’d need to find other ways to ensure you wouldn’t betray me.”
Dom grins and leans back, then, letting go of the boy’s arm and switching from darkly seductive and dangerous to casual in one breath, not even waiting for a reaction to his previous words before asking, “Anyway, what’s your name, pretty boy?”
The boy blushes a deep dark colour as he lowers his eyes and whispers almost inaudibly.
“Elijah. What…what’s yours? And uh... you don’t have to give me your real name if you can’t…or shouldn’t, or…”
Dom’s breath catches briefly at the enticing flush that’s slowly covering the boy’s cheeks and neck. He leans forward again, breathing deep and smiling predatorily when Elijah shivers. The boy is more than ready, more than open to any game Dom wants to play, and the thrill of the chase is running quicksilver through Dom’s veins as he pushes himself snugly against Elijah’s side. He’s off duty, tonight. He doesn’t want to think about anything else but hunting down his scared prey and devouring him once he catches him.
There’s not even the shadow of a doubt in Dom’s mind that he will get to devour every inch of Elijah’s pale, pale skin. There’s no doubt he will catch him, because Elijah wants to be caught.
Dom lifts his hand and drops it casually to Elijah’s knee, revelling in the warmth that’s burning through layers of clothes and promising an eventful and fun night. If they ever get out of the shelter, that is. The sirens haven’t stopped screaming, yet, and Dom is growing impatient. There’s only so much he can do, here, so much he can hint at before being reprimanded and thrown out into the street. He’s having more fun here than he would outside trying to duck bombs, though, and that thought keeps his touch light on Elijah’s thigh.
Dom doesn’t know what name to give. Of course, Elijah isn’t entirely wrong: Dom probably shouldn’t be giving his real name to a complete stranger, especially one he intends to put between his sheets and use. That said, Dom’s never used any other name but his own. It’s a generic name, one that remains common enough to not raise any suspicions or cling to anybody’s mind long enough to be recalled when Dom wants to disappear. It’s also a good name to be playing games with.
Dom pushes his hand against Elijah’s thigh, digging his fingers into the boy’s flesh, rubbing subtly and raising his hand higher, closer to where it really wants to go. It’s time for forcefulness, Dom thinks. It’s not time for subtlety any longer.
“I’m Dom. And whether that is my real name or not doesn’t matter. What matters is what use you will have for it, pretty boy.”
Elijah’s breath catches on something that sounds almost like a moan and Dom feels Elijah’s thigh tremble under his hand. Elijah doesn’t move to push Dom’s hand off, though, and Dom knows he’s won this round of the game.
When the sirens die down and everybody returns home, Elijah will be coming with Dom wherever Dom wants to take him.
