everyone loves a wee sombrero (bibliotech) wrote in domorli,
everyone loves a wee sombrero

FIC: Pretense, DM/OB, hints of DM/BB, PG-13

Title: Pretense
Author Name: Aralinde
Email and Site: Tooken
Pairing: DM/OB, hints of DM/BB, OB/EW
Date: April 5th.
Summary: Dom wants to reach out and touch that face—his face—so badly, that his arm trembles. But he doesn’t.
Warnings: OMGtheirloveissoslashy.
Disclaimer: I do not own these people (they own themselves). This is 100% fiction.
Notes: present for vegetariansushi for the Sushi Ficathon.
Note the second: X-posted to bibliotech, domorli, dorli and one day, fellow_shippers.

Orlando is as far away from him as he can possibly be. Even in this bed, with Dom’s arm looped around his waist—he’s not here. Dom doesn’t know where he is, simply because he doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t want to know. It’s easier to pretend that he’s right here, in this bed, with Dom.

His breathing is deep and even; black lashes rest on his cheeks. Dom wants to reach out and touch that face—his face—so badly, that his arm trembles. But he doesn’t. Orlando might wake up and—see. And more than anything, Dom doesn’t want him to pull away. Again.

They met—oh, such a long time ago, it seems now. Years ago. Minutes ago. And Dom knew. Without words. Without action. He took one look at Orlando fucking Bloom and just knew.

Knew that he was going to want this man. Knew that he was going to fuck this man.

Didn’t know that he was going to love this man. Didn’t know that this man wasn’t going to love him back.

Didn’t know that this man was going to love someone else. Would only stay in his arms because having Dom was better than having nothing at all.

He can tell he’s not going to get any sleep this night, either.


It’s insane, really. Billy’s told him, over and over, to just let it go. Let him go. That this love is making him miserable. That he needs a chance to be with someone that wants to be with him.

Dom can hear the words he isn’t speaking; the things Billy leaves unsaid. He knows that love is there for him, any time he wants it. And he does. Want it. Badly. He wants to want Billy so damn much.

Billy gets all his jokes. Knows when to stop laughing, and just…be. Is willing to sit up for hours talking about everything and nothing. Is willing to talk to him, period.

Billy’s perfect. And Dom knows it would be so easy to love him. So easy to sink into his embrace and his concern and love. If he stops to think about it, he’s already halfway there.

So easy to love him.

He just needs to get Orlando out from under his skin, first.


Elijah calls with his own concerns that Dom doesn’t have time to hear. He wonders if Elijah knows—if he’s really aware of what’s going on. “Look,” he wants to say, “this wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t love you. Didn’t want to be with you. So keep your fucking nose out of it, alright?

But he doesn’t say that. Can’t say it. Elijah’s still his friend, after all. Even if the worst happens, and Orlando does go off—with anyone—he’ll always want Elijah for a friend.

Although he doesn’t know how easy that will be, if Orlando and Elijah became a reality instead of Dom’s half-fevered nightmares.


Orlando shifts and mumbles in his sleep. Effectively dislodging Dom’s arm from around his waist. Even in his sleep, he doesn’t want him.

Dom sits up abruptly, running a hand through his hair. Too much, this. Too fucking much. It has to be over. Enough of this half-life. He can’t do it.

He turns, places a hand on Orlando’s shoulder—pauses. Even opens his mouth to speak, but—nothing.

And for that moment, he hates Orlando, hates himself—and most of all, hates himself. For hoping. Still wanting.

His head hits the pillow, accompanied by a small sigh.

He can tell he’s not going to get any sleep this night, either.

The sequel: Reality
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