Three’s a Crowd
Part Three
Author: kevswitchau
Pairing: EW/TM, CR
Genre: RPS
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sex, language.
Disclaimer: I
don’t own the rights to the movie, or the boys (or Christina) and none of this
ever happened. It’s all in my mind...my twisted, twisted mind. Thank you to
Kinky Hobbit and Catrine for ideas and inspiration.
Note:
Elijah was 16 during Ice Storm. Our age of consent is 16. Enough said.
He didn’t know what to
say.
He could cry. He could
plead. He didn’t think it would do any good.
He’d fucked up.
He’d fucked up big
time.
The sound of Elijah’s
trailer door slamming had been loud.
So loud.
So final.
His head throbbed, his
mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage. And he thought that he might cry, or at the very least, throw
up.
Waking up that
morning, pressed against a soft, warm body, his mind had briefly touched on
Elijah. For a few seconds, it was Elijah’s softness. Elijah’s warmth.
When she spoke to him,
he had almost screamed. It had been so close. He’d wondered briefly what she
would have done if he had screamed.
Just opened his mouth and let all of his horror and disgust go in one huge,
earth shattering scream.
He hadn’t been able to
get out of there quick enough. It had taken a few seconds to disentangle
himself, throw on his clothes and despite her protests, fling open the door. He
could have sworn that he’d heard the universe laughing at him as he found
himself face-to-face with Elijah.
Elijah, raising his
fist to knock on the door. Elijah, about to ask Christina if she’d seen Tobey
because he’d been so upset last night and Elijah was worried...worried that he
might have done something stupid.
Tobey marvelled
briefly at how quickly emotions flowed across Elijah’s face. First came the
shock, the surprise at having the door open before he had even touched it. The
greater shock of seeing Tobey, dishevelled and smeared with Christina’s
lipstick, buckling his belt...zipping his fly...
Then came the hurt.
Then came the fury.
Tobey would never have
believed that those eyes could harden like that. Like blue steel. Like ice.
He’d opened his mouth,
but nothing came out. So he’d closed it again.
Elijah had stared at
him. Stared past him, at Christina who had climbed naked from the bed and was
pulling on her robe.
“Elijah...I...”
His brain had screamed
at him to say something, anything. Say something that might just make a
difference. But his mouth refused to comply. Nothing emerged. He stood there in
miserable silence.
Elijah had turned
around and walked away. And then he had run.
“No...no, wait...”
Then Tobey had felt
Christina behind him, all over him, holding him back. It had been like a bad
movie. Cliche after cliche had played out, but if this was a movie, he badly
wanted to kick the scriptwriter’s ass. And he wanted out. Now.
He pulled away from
her. “For Christs sake, let GO of me!”
“He doesn’t want you,
Tobey.”
“Fuck off,” he moaned,
stepping down from the trailer.
“He’ll never forgive you, Tobey!” she taunted.
He could hear the smile in her voice.
“FUCK OFF!” This time
he had screamed, he’d screamed right in
her face. Then he’d turned on his heel and run after Elijah, her laughter
following him.
And so he had found
himself at the door to Elijah’s trailer.
It was freezing.
Again. But he hadn’t felt it. He couldn’t think of a damn thing to say, but he
knew that if he didn’t say something, that would be it. The shoot was over.
They were all going home. So he’d knocked.
Silence.
“Lij? I know you’re in
there...c’mon man...” He’d knocked again.
Nothing.
He’d clenched his fist
and pounded on the door. The pain was incredible – he’d forgotten his gloves
and the metal of the door was so cold it burned – but he didn’t care. It didn’t
matter.
“Fuck off, Tobey.”
Elijah must have been standing right against the door.
“Elijah, open the
goddamned door. I need to talk.”
“I don’t wanna hear
it.”
“Jesus,
Elijah...please...please man...”
He’d almost cried with
relief when the door clicked open, but there was no welcome in Elijah’s
face.
“Thank you,” he’d
breathed.
“so....talk”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
“Elijah...”
“You have five minutes
Tobey. I’m busy. Make the most of it.”
Damn that was cold.
Colder inside that trailer than out...the kid had been beyond pissed. So Tobey
had wrapped his arms around himself and stamped in the snow, trying to bring
feeling back into his feet...trying to think of something to say.
“Four minutes...”
“Aw, shit
Elijah...can’t we just...”
“Three and a half.”
“Christ, man, I fucked
up, OK? I fucked up royally...”
“Are you going to tell
me something I don’t know?”
“I’m sorry...that’s
all I have. That’s it. I fucked up. Big time. And I’m sorry. That’s all I got.”
“That’s it?”
Tobey had nodded
miserably. He couldn’t say anything else, there was nothing more to it. There
were no excuses. There was no out.
“You’ve got nothing
else?”
Tobey had given it one
more try. “I was drunk...I didn’t know what...I’m only human...”
Elijah had nodded
silently. “It’s not enough, man.”
He’d stepped back and
slammed the door.
Tobey felt sick. He stood
in the snow and stared at the door, willing it to open. But it never did. He
knocked again, but he knew Elijah wouldn’t open the door. He tried the handle
but it was locked. He called, he pleaded, he begged, but his voice was blown
back to him by the wind.
Finally, he gave up.
When he got back to
his trailer, Christina was there, waiting outside the door.
“Fuck off bitch,” he
snarled, unlocking his door.
“Tobey...sweetie...you’re
cold. You need warming up.”
He turned to look at
her, sneering. “Don’t you have any self respect?”
She glanced at him
contemptuously from under lowered eyelids. “At least I got what I wanted, lover. What have you got?”
She turned and walked
away.
Toby felt his gorge
rise, and he leaned over, hanging onto the trailer for support. His muscles
clenched but nothing came out. His stomach had emptied itself last night...all
over Christina’s shoes, if he remembered correctly. Eat shit bitch. He grinned
humourlessly.
Tobey climbed into his
trailer and slammed the door. He sat on the bed, feeling more alone than he’d
ever felt in his life. He wanted a drink, badly. But that was one promise to
himself that he wouldn’t break. No more. Not again. Never again.
He wanted to cry. He
wanted to scream. Instead he opened the closet and started to throw his clothes
on the bed. It was only a matter of weeks before he started work on a new
movie. He hoped for somewhere warm. Somewhere sunny.
He didn’t want to see
snow again for a very long time.
Kevswitchau 2002
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