Title: Net Metaphors Author: Shallow Blackkoda Website: www.geocities.blackkoda Pairing: EW/DM Rating: NC-17 Warnings: A dash of bdsm Disclaimer: It was just my imagination…running away with me *** If he had a net, he would cast it about Elijah, watch it fall over him with precision and grace. Fisherman would envy at Dominic’s technique, sirens upon the shores of gray seas would cower with fear. Yet no matter how skilled Dominic would be, as soon as cobalt eyes would make out the crisscross pattern, no sooner would the net unravel at the seems. It would puddle at his feet and Elijah would slip away like a swift-winged butterfly. Elijah would look down at the fallen contraption and raise his brow with mischief and questioning as if Dom’s attempt was curious, an amusing thing. But Dominic has other methods of capture; a night out at the pub, video games and CD stores, coffee shops and slacker lunches. For a few hours, Elijah is his -- attentive and close, confiding and open. Dominic fills with warmth and peace, at least until Elijah gets distracted. Then Dominic can unfurl the net, mend it in places, and prepare to cast it anew. “Let’s go back to your place,” Dominic will usually say. And Elijah will grin. Sometimes Elijah will shrug and come along right away. Most times he won’t. Elijah knows more people, is used to swimming in the bright neon sea of fame. At times like these, Dominic tries to swim as well. A few beers, a few vodka tonics and he can make quite the splash in the paparazzi pool. Then Elijah will notice and say, “Great dive, Dom!” and casually return to whatever conversation he’s having with whatever musician, fellow actor, producer…. Dom knows that Elijah isn’t a luster and sparkle elitist, more like an inquisitive professor talking shop, but still his fingers twitch with covetous thoughts. Elijah should be his alone -- magic and wisdom and most of all attention. The net, though practical, ancient and true is not helping. Dominic gets the idea that perhaps he is using the wrong contraption when he uses a net or at least not the proper ones. *** “Oh, kinky,” Elijah grins while Dominic fashions the handcuffs about his outstretched wrists. Kinky is a word that hasn’t even entered Dominic’s mind. He sees Elijah’s beauty laid out for him like a banquet of peaches and cream; a soft yet masculine belly, warm chestnut hair in the most intriguing lines and whorls. His touch is a thief’s touch upon Elijah’s skin, measuring, appreciating and possessive of sapphire eyes and ruby lips. “Not at all, Elwood… Not at all,” Dominic says. Dominic makes love both slow and gentle and hard and hurried. Slowly, it begins with savoring licks to every inch of Elijah’s body -- crawling forward along the bed to lick the tips of Elijah’s fingers, crouching on his knees to lick the hollows of Elijah’s armpits, laying flat along Elijah’s side to taste hipbones and thighs, then ultimately going back to his knees to run his tongue over and between Elijah’s toes. Above him Elijah is not silent about his pleasure, filling the room with baroque Eastern European symphonies of sound. Dom smiles as his fingers repeat the journeys of his tongue, like he’s playing an ominous harpsichord. He imagines a pastoral heaven of such sounds, wishes he could keep them in a locket close to his heart. One that he could open when and wherever he chooses to. “Fuck, Dom! You’re fucking killing me. Do someth--” Dominic silences Elijah’s dirty mouth with his own. Swallows the haste and the swearing like a bitter elixir. He snakes his hand between Elijah’s impatient thighs and his thoughts of patience dissolve like burning paper consuming him quick and bright. The rhythm of his caress and the rhythm of Elijah’s hips are all wrong, but Dom doesn’t care as he strokes Elijah’s cock. Elijah’s wicked knee brushes against Dominic’s leaking cock and Dominic loses the captor’s edge. Elijah takes control. His legs, so much stronger than Dominic thinks they are, coil about his waist and lock there. Elijah’s hips twist and undulate against Dominic’s own and the touch of skin against skin is electrifying, stimulating. There is no withstanding the command of Elijah’s mouth, the urgent bruising bites. And when Elijah opens his legs, raises his hips, loudly jangles the steel cuffs against the bed frame, Dominic can only marvel at the facade of true capture. Hurrying his strokes along the slippery satin of Elijah’s shaft, Dominic hopes to undo Elijah quickly. If Elijah comes, then Dominic figures he could have more time. He could compel his cock to wait, just perhaps, for one more savoring appraisal of Elijah’s body. After all, there is the entire backside, small of the spine, dimpled arse to consider. Then Elijah groans, “Get the lube, Dom. Now! I want you to fucking-- Come on!” Dominic scurries to the bedside table to retrieve the necessary precautions of lube and condoms. His fingers shake once in contact the crisp foil packaging, and it isn’t solely due to anxiety. Elijah is impatient, true, but then Dominic has an overwhelming dread that Elijah will free himself of the handcuffs at any second, despite the fact that Dominic has the key hidden under the mattress. Elijah is supernatural, especially when it comes to escape. Elijah’s hips buck upwards and Dominic’s attempt at a measured penetration is annihilated. Drawn into the heated vice of Elijah’s body, Dominic closes his eyes and gasps for mercy, air and strength. All around him, he feels Elijah’s presence and it is like the crush of something giant and ominous. A leviathan roaring above him, shredding splinters from the bedposts with the exertion of the handcuffs. Elijah is uncontrollable and insatiable, although Dominic tries to rectify both. His fingers dig harshly into the back of Elijah’s thighs, pushing them further into Elijah’s chest. Dominic’s hips snap and bash against Elijah’s arse creating blossoming bruises with every tumultuous clash. He gives everything he has, pushes himself to the threshold where pleasure and pain mingle like watercolors…in a hatched mesh sort of pattern. “Yes! Fuck. Harder,” Elijah sneers like the crack of a whip and Dominic is helpless. Elijah clenches around his cock, trapping him, siphoning his release from him with every flex, stealing his orgasm from him in mighty, undulating currents and spills. Dominic’s eyes snap open in a fit of shock, a gasping surprise. Elijah’s attention is fixed upon him with probing demands. Sweaty and as stern as a cabin boy, Dom thinks that Elijah was born to be the Seven Sea greatest pirate, a wizened whaleboat Captain, a hardened Naval Commander. Dominic finds that all of his allusions amount to one thing; Elijah is no fool at the ways of capture. In fact, he was born with the talent. Floating down from the heights of his own passion, Dominic frowns as he realizes that Elijah is still hard and unsatisfied beneath him. With shimmering weariness, he finds the strength to lower himself between creamy thighs and sift his finger through hazelnut curls. Dominic lowers his lips to the crown of Elijah’s swollen cock, tasting the salt of sea and sweat. Elijah’s legs wrap around his shoulders, while he presses deeper and deeper into Dominic’s throat. With anyone but Elijah, Dominic would never tolerate such rashness; but with Elijah, Dom sees it as battle and suckles even more, uses his tongue to course the underside of Elijah cock, prod the eye of the opening, demand something that he can keep. Elijah gives it with a breaking sob. *** “My wrists hurt,” Elijah yawns, matter-of-factly destroying all hopes Dominic has of keeping Elijah bound into eternity’s end. Leaning over the bed, Dominic slips a hand between the mattresses and removes the tiny silver key. He raises it to the handcuffs and the ensuing click of the lock springing free is a sound he now associates with obscenity. He watches through hooded eyes as Elijah slips his wrists free, rubs the ruby ringlets of bruises surrounding each. Shame begins swirling in Dominic’s naked belly, steel being far more vulgar than netting, at least the woven type and he cringes to have used such a method. He reaches over to turn off the light, to hide the sorrow in his features in pillows and darkness. He succeeds in darkening the room, but before he can settle down to softness, Elijah’s arms close about his waist, pull him close. Dominic is surrounded by the tightest, warmest embrace he has felt in years and snuggles against Elijah’s hairless chest with a near purr of a sob. As he listens to Elijah soft snore, Dominic is much too tired to contemplate the breadth and width, the connotations of Elijah’s net. But not too tired to realize…. Elijah is a better caster than he, and while that should dawn in his mind’s epiphany, Dominic’s weary brain is curious about the skill of casting a net from within. Surely, with time and practice he could be that good. The End +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ AIM-shallow9 Website: http://www.geocities.com/blackkoda/ LJ: http://www.livejournal.com/users/blackkoda Website: http://www.mindspring.com/~lychelle/myra +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++