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[flashditzie.livejournal.com]

Title: Elijah Wood, Matchmaker
Author: Flashditzie
Rating: PG or PG-13
Pairing: Billy/Dom, slight Elijah/Sean
Summary: Early morning phone calls can lead to unexpected epiphanies.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened.
Notes: Yeah, this is one of my multiple fandom fics. Sorry. I always feel guilty about posting these, because it seems like I’m cheating somehow. But you know how it is. Billy and Dom love will not be repressed! I should also note that I was in a particularly silly mood when I wrote this, so if things seems a bit...out there, that’s why. My goofiness also refuses to be repressed. Anyway, onto the story.



Brrrring!

The sudden, sharp sound rips through the silence of the apartment with all the finesse and discretion of a toddler in a toy store, and in the first bedroom off the hall, a tumble of white cotton sheets shifts a bit, rousing.

Brrrring!

The heap of bedclothes stirs, swelling and collapsing with audible creaks, and the mound emits a croaky, inquisitive groan.

Brrrring!

After a bit more rustling and some confused tossing about, the sheets go perfectly, decisively still again. They have positively identified the source of the disturbance and formulated a plan to hunt down the shrilling telephone and replace it with a newer, less sleep-shattering one as soon as they manage to get up. Which, with the way things are looking at the moment, might be never.

Brrrring!

The huddle stays motionless in silent defiance through three more insistent rings, and then, with a resigned sigh, it gives in. A hand snakes out from under a fold in one of the rumpled sheets and closes firmly over the black cordless perched on the bedside table, and there’s a muffled beep from within the depths of the fabric as the instrument cuts off in the middle of another piercing peal.

Brrr--

“Fuck off,” the sheets order in the gruffest voice they can muster. Given the early hour and the fact that their disposition is somewhat less than cheerful these days even without annoying phone calls to prod them out of pleasant dreams about laughing green eyes and soft Scottish burrs, it’s pretty damned gruff.

“Well, good morning to you too, Sunshine!”

“Wood.” The tone is accusing, and the sheets, caught up in another flurry of sudden activity, drift to the carpet and are revealed to be none other than a certain Dominic Monaghan, who, though undoubtedly far more attractive than the impostor linens, sounds no less pissed off. “What do you want?”

“An estate in the Hamptons, actually, but a hello will suffice for now.”

“Hello, Elijah. I hate you.”

To Dom’s dismay, instead of being utterly crushed by this bit of news, the bright voice bouncing down the line to him is simply amused. “Ah, come now, I know you don’t really mean that. You’re just a tad grouchy this morning, for some unfathomable reason.”

Dom rolls his eyes, then remembers that Lij can’t see him and decides to settle for letting his next words practically ooze sarcasm. “Yeah, break out your magnifying glass and phone the Yard for this one, Nancy Drew, because it’s a real mystery. I mean, it’s not like you’ve called me up at fucking eight in the morning for no apparent reason or anything.”

“Please,” Lij scoffs derisively, dismissing Dom’s complaint. “I know for a fact that you’ve gotten up earlier, and you weren’t half as bitchy on mornings when we had Feet as you’re being right now. Obviously, something else is bothering you, so why don’t you make this as quick and painless as possible by telling me now what it is?”

Dom remains silent, politely giving his friend a moment to process the absolute idiocy of that question. There’s a short, humming pause in which Lij seems to be considering and rejecting possible reasons for his usually cheerful friend’s bad mood, and then he asks doubtfully, “You aren’t still moping about Billy being gone for a few days, are you?”

“Of course not!” Dom denies the allegation with what he feels is justifiable indignation, unconsciously straightening his slumped posture. The nerve of Elijah to suggest that he, Dominic Monaghan, would mope over anything! Especially something so trivial as his flatmate having gone on a short holiday to visit his sister in Scotland! Why, the very idea was laughable!

“Mmm-hmmm. I’ll just bet you aren’t.” Conviction has replaced doubt, and it is, amazingly enough, even more irritating than amusement.

“Look, I might be a bit lonely,” Dom acknowledges. He’s a reasonable guy. He’s willing to make concessions, especially when he can rationalize them. “After all, I became quite used to sharing space with other people while we were filming, and then what with Billy moving in and all, I kind of...well, let’s just say that to suddenly have the entire apartment to myself is a little strange. But I’m certainly not moping.”

“Certainly not,” Lij echoes, and Dom is just about to breathe a sigh of relief when he continues in a voice that smacks of poorly-concealed mirth, “So tell me then, what are you wearing?”

Dom blinks. Pulls away to stare at the telephone in his hand as if it were going to bite him. Decides, quite sensibly, that it won’t, brings it back to his ear, and blinks again before speaking. “Sorry, mate, but I’m not having phone sex with you.”

There’s a strangled sound on the end of the line, easily identifiable as Elijah choking back laughter, and he asks, somewhat incredulously, “You think I called you for phone sex?”

“It’s a distinct possibility.”

“Dominic, your vanity astounds me.” He doesn’t sound astounded, though. He sounds like he’s having a hard time not pissing himself. “Even if I were wildly attracted to you, which, let me assure you, I am not, who the fuck has phone sex at eight in the morning?”

Hmm. Lij has a point, but Dom has never been one to let a little thing like logic stand in his way. He resolutely barges on. “Well, those of us who actually possess a libido welcome any kind of sex at any time of the day, mornings included. I, for one, see no reason why early phone sex shouldn’t be just as desirable as late phone sex.”

“You’re telling me that you routinely participate in intimate conversations over the telephone line at this hour?”

“No, because I’m usually not up at this hour. But if I were and the opportunity presented itself, I would.”

Elijah heaves a gusty sigh. “Okay, fine, Dom. We’ve established that you’re a horny bastard. However, it does not necessarily follow that I am too. I could be asking about your clothing for any number of reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Such as...well, maybe I’m wondering about Hollywood’s finest’s choice of sleepwear. Maybe I’m taking a poll on how many men prefer boxers as compared to briefs. Maybe I’m calling to warn you that there’s a terrible tsunami speeding towards your apartment and unless you want your corpse to be found wearing those little pajamas with the feet in them, you’d better get a move on.”

Dom shakes his head skeptically. “I don’t know, I still think the phone sex sounds more likely than any of those options.”

A rather vicious growl is his only answer, and for a moment, Dom dares to hope that his friend has been set upon by wild dogs and is therefore incapable of finishing this pointless and increasingly disturbing conversation. In fact, he’s already begun expectantly easing the phone toward its cradle, intent on slipping back beneath the sheets for another hour or six, when his attention is arrested by an abrupt cacophony of squawks from the receiver.

Dom perks up. Have chickens joined in the skirmish? How very interesting. In the small sector of his mind that’s actually human at this time of day, he’s vaguely aware that he should be shocked and horrified by this coordinated attack on someone who has, in the past, bought him drinks, but he manages to stifle that feeling with the idea that this is what people who ring their friends at eight in the morning deserve. Death by pecking. Quite just, actually. Having thus satisfied his guilt, Dom brings the phone back to his ear to eavesdrop on what has the potential to become an agreeably gruesome battle.

“--and for God’s sake, will you just answer the fucking question? I promise I’m not going to try to molest you via cell or anything!”

Oh. It would seem that the squawking isn’t chickens at all, only Elijah being unusually shrill. So the wild dogs probably aren’t a go, then, either. Damn.

Well, still the choice remains: to hang up and go back to sleep or to suffer through the rest of this conversation. Dom carefully considers the situation, then decides that since Elijah isn’t being devoured, the fact that he’s making animal noises to express himself must indicate that he’s feeling a bit exasperated, and it’s never a good thing to let him get too upset. He tends to unleash his emotions indiscriminately, usually resulting in such criminal activities as assault and battery or destruction of private property. Innocent people often get hurt. Add that fact to Dom’s reassuring thought that if Elijah does try to phone-rape him, he can always rip the cord from the wall and run to bleach his ears, and it seems that the wisest thing to do (this time, at least) is let the little fucker have his way.

“Fine. I’m wearing boxers and a T-shirt, if you must know.”

“There! Finally! That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Elijah exclaims, sounding suspiciously enthused over this scrap of information.

“Whatever. I still don’t understand why it was so vital that I tell you that.”

“You’ll see.” There’s an infinitesimal pause, and then he continues, “So, what do they look like?”

“What?!” Dom yelps. “You can’t be serious! First you tell me you’re not trying to hit on me, then two minutes later you ask me to describe my underwear? What the fuck, man?”

“Look, I have my reasons, okay? And believe me, they have nothing to do with wanting your sexy body.”

“I don’t believe you.” Dom is, at best, unconvinced.

Elijah sighs again, impatient. “Now Dominic, don’t be difficult. I haven’t got all day. Well, no, actually I do, but that’s beside the point.”

“There’s a point to all of this? Could have fooled me,” Dom retorts, and hesitates with his finger hovering over the talk button. He’s torn between a wild urge to escape and the knowledge that if he hangs up, Elijah will surely call back. And if no one picks up the phone, he’ll just let it ring. Over and over and over again.

“Very funny. I’ll have you know that there’s an extremely good point, which you will perceive if you ever decide to cooperate.”

“Right.”

“Okay, okay, look, I’ll make you a deal. Just answer a couple of quick questions for me, and if you still don’t see what I’m getting at, I promise to fuck off.”

Hmm. A tempting offer. Indulge Lijah’s sudden creepiness in exchange for peace and quiet? Dom is not, by nature, a gambling man, but this is one bet he feels quite secure in taking. After all, Lij has never had a point before. Why should he suddenly start having them now?

“Plus, I’ll force Sean to refrain from making cruel jokes about your hair for two entire weeks.”

“All right, fine,” Dom finally concedes, lifting his shoulders in a resigned shrug. “You’ve got a deal. However, I feel it only fair to warn you now that you’re going to lose.”

“We’ll see about that,” Elijah replies, his voice edged with a mixture of confidence and triumph that Dom finds very unpleasant. “Now. What do your pajamas look like?”

“Well...uh...my boxers are plain blue plaid...”

“Uh-huh, and your T-shirt?”

There’s a scratching sound on the other end of the line, a sound like paper being crumpled and discarded, and fuck, is Elijah taking notes or what?

“My T-shirt...” Dom pauses uncertainly, straining his ears for more tell-tale rustling. “Um, my T-shirt...well...God, this is so weird...I just don’t know if I can do this, Lij...”

“Me. Fucking off. You. Getting back to sleep.”

“My T-shirt is gray with two small black stripes across the front.”

“Gray with two small black stripes,” Elijah echoes thoughtfully, then, as if he’s just recalled something important, “Say, that sounds a lot like one of Billy’s shirts, doesn’t it?”

This remark merits yet another eye-roll. “Maybe because it is one of Billy’s shirts, genius.”

“Oh, is it? Billy’s, huh?” He’s gone back to being thoughtful.

“Yes. It’s Billy’s. And before you ask, no, I’m not giving you his sister’s number so you can try this shit with him too.”

Lij makes a sound that, had it come from anyone else, would have been classified as a snort. “Somehow, I don’t think Billy needs me to try this shit with him.”

Dom frowns, baffled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind,” Elijah backpedals hastily. “You’ll see. Let’s just move on to the next question, shall we?”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

“Where are you?”

“Huh?”

“That’s the next question: where are you?”

Dom shakes his head incredulously. “Elijah, what have I been saying throughout this entire conversation? I’m in bed. I swear, it’s like I’m talking to a--”

“I know you’re in bed,” Lij interrupts, heading off his as-yet-unthought-of-but-undoubtedly-brilliant insult. “I meant whose bed?”

“Oh. Billy’s.”

“Ah.”

That sound conveys immense triumph and satisfaction and for some reason, Dom is suddenly, inexplicably terrified. “What do you mean by that? What’s ‘ah’ supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Elijah assures him blithely. “It’s just...I’m wondering why you’re sleeping in Billy’s bed when you’ve got your own just down the hall, that’s all.”

And that’s when it hits Dom, the reasoning behind all of these questions, and he gasps because not only has he just been thoroughly tricked, but he’s just been thoroughly tricked by Elijah, who (will wonders never cease?) actually has a point. It’s mind-blowing, earth-shattering information, and he wonders idly if he should rush it to the news studios now or wait until Katie Couric barges into the bedroom, teeth gleaming and hair a-bounce.

While he’s pondering that decision, Elijah apparently decides to take his abrupt silence as an acknowledgement of defeat. “You see what I’m getting at, then?”

“What? No!” Dom blusters, startled out of his thoughts. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. After all, guys sleep in other guy’s beds all the time, right?”

“Why yes, Dom, yes they do,” Elijah agrees, pausing before he adds, “It’s called homosexuality, and I hear it’s all the rage in Europe.”

Dom scowls blackly. “You suck.”

“Mm-hmm, and from what I’ve been told, I’m very good at it, too.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’ll be sure to pass the suggestion along to Sean.”

“Asshole.”

“Dom,” Elijah says, sounding pained, “You don’t really want me to go there, do you?”

“Please don’t, and give me a minute to come up with some insults that you can’t pervert.”

“You’re wasting your time with that one. Look, why can’t you just admit that you miss Billy? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with missing your best friend.”

“Fine,” Dom concedes sulkily. “I miss Billy.”

“And you wish he was on his way home right now?”

“And I wish he was on his way home right now.”

“And you’re actually considering storming up to Scotland and dragging him away?”

“And, sadly, I am actually considering storming up to Scotland and dragging him away.”

“And you can’t wait until he gets back so you guys can stay up all night together, giggling like schoolgirls over the reruns on the soap channel.”

“And I can’t wa--whoa, hold on. What? S-soap channel? Why, whatever can you mean, Elijah? We don’t--”

“Dom, how long have we been friends?” Elijah interrupts.

Dom pauses to consider the question and do some quick math. “Um...I dunno...a couple years?”

“Exactly. Don’t try to lie to me. Especially when I had to listen to William rant about the abortion of Gloria’s illegitimate child for two hours straight the last time he called.”

Dom can’t help it. He laughs, just a little. “Fine. I can’t wait until Billy gets back so I can tell him about Marco’s evil twin and Devon’s seduction in the laundry room. And...and...”

“And you’ve slept in his bed every night since he’s been gone because the sheets smell like him?”

“Ye--hey, how did you know that? Is this place bugged with tiny cameras or something?” Dom peers around the room suspiciously, shifting the sheets a bit higher on his torso.

“No. I know because it’s what I do whenever Sean’s not here.”

This blunt statement is immediately followed by a long, tense pause. Elijah, having made his point, has nothing further to say, and Dom...well...he’s absorbing said point. Not exactly thinking, because what is there to think about? The facts of the case are plain and simple, sad but true. He’s in love with Billy Boyd, and that’s all there is to it. There’s not a comma or a colon or even an open parentheses, there’s just a period. End of story. Finito. And what have you.

Finally, Elijah breaks the lengthening silence by clearing his throat and prodding, “Dom? You still there?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m here.” Dom rouses himself from his reflections enough to say, “Tell me, do you always help your friends admit they’re gay by calling them up at hideous hours of the morning and confusing the hell out of them?”

“Well, so far you’re the only one to have been that lucky,” Elijah responds sweetly. “But you never know. We’ve still got Orli and Viggo, don’t we?”

Dom snorts. “You’re a fucker.”

“In fact, usually I’m the fuckee, bu--”

“Virgin ears! Virgin ears!”

“Fine. For your sake, I won’t finish that sentence.”

“Thank you. I’m already screwed up enough without hearing about my friends’ sex lives. With each other.”

Elijah laughs indulgently. “You’ll learn, Padawan. One day you’ll learn.”

“Padawan? So now I suppose you think you’re Obi Wan or something?”

“Nah. I’m fucking Yoda, man. Hell, I might even be the Force itself.”

“And just how do you figure that?”

“Well, not only did I get you to admit that you have a thing for Billy, but...” Elijah hesitates, then lowers his voice to a conspirational whisper before continuing. “You know when I asked you what you were wearing? There was actually a purpose to that, besides the T-shirt thing.”

“I knew it! I knew you wanted phone sex!” Dom shouts in a mixture triumph and revulsion.

“Actually, I was just checking to make sure you were presentable. Cause, uh...I kinda dropped Billy off at the apartment, like, a minute ago.”

“What?!” Dom shrieks, and immediately drops the phone. His instincts kcik in and he leaps from the bed, legs still tangled in the twist of bedclothes, and hits the hardwood floor face-first. Curse words are uttered, frantic scrambling with the bloody sheets takes place, and Dom eventually emerges the winner, kicking free of the grasping cotton and ignoring the telephone, which is squawking once again. He bounces up and makes a beeline for the closet, completely forgetting that it isn’t his own, muttering under his breath, “Gotta get dressed, can’t let him see me like this, T-shirt and boxers, gotta get dressed, gotta get dre--”

“That’s actually the exact the opposite of what you have to do,” a voice cuts in, and Dom freezes in his tracks, then slowly turns to face the person in the doorway.

It’s Billy, of course, looking just as adorable and pixie-ish as ever in his jeans and green T-shirt, and it doesn’t seem possible that the low, hungry words Dom just heard came out of that perfect, artlessly sweet mouth. Of course, more improbable than that is the fact that they were addressed to him, and that’s just...

He shudders visibly, and Billy smirks at him, a real, honest- to-God smirk. Dom has no idea who he picked it up from, but he’s suddenly quite willing to donate 90% of his paycheck to that person. For, like, the rest of his life.

“B-Billy?” Dom stammers, folding his arms self-consciously across his chest. “What...what are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to get home for at least another week.” Not that I don’t want you here. Not that I want you to leave. Ever.

For a moment, Billy doesn’t answer, just keeps smiling at him from the doorway, and then he drops his bags and hurls himself across the room, and the next thing Dom knows, he’s pinned to the bed by a solid weight and being kissed by someone who really, really knows what he’s doing. Lips part eagerly, the tongue in his mouth claiming, possessive, occasionally breaking contact to let sharp teeth nibble at ears and sensitive collarbones, and hands are, fuck, just everywhere. Cupping his face and sliding into his hair and bracing against his shoulders and dipping under his shirt to teasingly flick a nipple and fuckinghell, pressing against his crotch with the right amount of pressure drive Dom right out of his mind.

“Billy,” he pants, because it’s the only word he can think to say, it’s the only one that makes sense anymore. It’s a gasp and a chant, a curse and a prayer, a plea and a demand, and it’s also the name of the beautiful creature who sits back on his heels, blushing, when Dom utters it.

“Yes?”

“I...I...” He has two words now. This is progress.

Billy bites his lip, his green eyes clouding slightly. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want this?”

Coherency returns makes a triumphant return, hand in hand with desperation. “No. No, I don’t. As a matter of fact, I don’t want it so much that if you stop, I just might have to kill you.”

Billy brightens again and he chuckles, lowering his head to let the sound ghost over Dom’s mouth. “You realize this means we’re going to miss our soaps,” he whispers.

“Tragic, really,” Dom commiserates. “And they were going to reveal the consequences of Devon’s laundry room seduction too. But tonight, I think I’m more interested in learning about the bedroom seduction of William, who, unable to have any kind of sex while visiting his sister, has returned home unbelievably horny.”

“Well, it’s all your fau--” Billy begins, then pauses for a beat, frowning. “Do I hear chickens?”

“Wha--oh. No, that’s just Elijah. He’s still on the phone, apparently.”

Billy glances around, somewhat helplessly. “Should I hang it up?”

“Would it involve you moving?”

“As I can’t see the telephone anywhere nearby, I’m going to hazard a guess here and say yes, I would probably have to move.”

“Then fuck it. If he has any common decency, he’ll hang up himself.”

Billy raises an eyebrow. “You realize we’re talking about Elijah here. Common decency doesn’t enter the picture.”

“I heard that!” a mechanical voice cries dimly from the floor. “You ungrateful bastards! I’m the one who’s responsible for all the sex you two are about to have, just remember that! Remem--”

There’s an abrupt silence, then after a moment, the dial tone.

“Sean finally got to him,” Dom speculates, thinking that he’ll have to thank his friend the next time he sees him.

“Hmm,” Billy murmurs, toying with the waistband of his boxers. “Kind of like I’m about to get to you, you mean?”

And as Billy leans back in for another kiss, Dom realizes that he was wrong earlier when he thought that his love for Billy ended with a period. That’s not the case at all, he’s suddenly realized. In fact, there’s actually a comma and a magical little three letter word called “and” there, followed by the beautiful phrase that completes the sentence, completes the entire world, really: “Billy loves Dom too.”