Sean didn't know why he disliked the Bree set so much. Well, maybe 'disliked' was too
strong a word. Rather, it unsettled him, really creeped him out. Heck, it was just a movie set,
right? Just like countless others he'd acted in before. So why did this one bother him so
much?
The four hobbits stood patiently outside the door while the make-up people sprayed them
carefully with warm water and Pete explained what he was planning to do. Then he left, the
clapper sounded, and they pushed through to the set, helped along by a shower of 'rain' and
a gust of wind from a huge fan. The tavern set was empty except for Peter, the film crew and
a stuntie in one of the "big men" stilt suits. One of the key lights had been covered with red
and orange cello and it cast a lurid glow over everything and everyone. Elijah went through
his lines with Peter filling in as Barliman, while the rest of the hobbits waited, looking around
with fascination and a hint of fear in their faces. Sean was finding it difficult to concentrate -
the room seemed to recede and advance by turns - and there was something wrong with his
vision. He took a deep breath and suddenly - he was somewhere else - a place with the same
lurid glare, peopled by faces he didn't know, his ears assailed by sounds and words he
couldn't place. It seemed to go on forever, a whirling kaleidoscope of weirdness, and he
couldn't move, couldn't make a sound; and then a jolt shook him and turned the world askew,
and the lights went out.
The stuntman stopped in consternation. He was supposed to push though the hobbit actors
on his way toward the door, and they were supposed to look up at him in trepidation and get
out of the way. But one of them didn't, and now the guy was on the floor and what the fuck
was he going to do now? At least, he hadn't hurt him bad, 'cause the guy - oh, it's Mr. Astin -
was sitting up now.
"Sean! What the fuck - are you okay?" Dom and Billy were down on their knees beside him,
their arms around Sean's shoulders.
"Dizzy - what happened?" Sean looked around muzzily. "Oh shit. Did I fall?"
Elijah had turned from the oversized bar and taken in the scene with wide eyes. He was at
Sean's side with a bound, his shaking hands tugging at Sean's sleeve, trying to look into his
friend's eyes.
"Somebody!" he snapped. "Get a chair!" And to Sean, urgently, "Seanie, did you hit your
head? Does it hurt anywhere?" He ran an agitated hand over the back of Sean's head.
"No -" Sean shook his head experimentally. "I'm okay. Sorry, guys - I must be more tired than
I thought."
They helped him get up and he gulped as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Peter shoved
a chair against the backs of his knees and pushed his head down. "Sean - put your head
between your knees," he advised.
And kiss my ass goodbye, Sean thought distractedly. What was wrong with him? Was he
going nuts? He forced himself to calm down, to think clearly, and found to his surprise that
it took no effort at all. His thought processes were as clear as they had ever been. That
didn't go with hallucinations, did it? A raised voice intruded on his musing and he looked up
to see Elijah, hands clenched into fists, confronting the confused stuntman. "Why'd you push
him?" Elijah was yelling, his face contorted with fury.
"Hey," the man returned, bristling. "I can't see too well with the head on, okay? And this rig
isn't exactly easy to handle. Ask him why he didn't get out of the way like he was supposed
to!"
"Look," Sean interrupted with finality. "It wasn't anyone's fault, all right? I just felt dizzy for
a second and missed my cue. I'm okay now, so let's get this over with."
Elijah calmed down eventually and apologized. Dom fingered his chin and looked at his
friend speculatively. Interesting, he mused. This was the first time he'd ever seen Elijah lose
his cool.
~~~~~
The club was noisy and crowded, as everyone who could get away celebrated the
Ringbearer's birthday. Viggo, Bean and Ian were there, and the hobbits and elf, of course.
John had begun to show an allergic reaction to the prosthetics and had begged off. Sean
took it easy on the alcohol, although the set doctor had given him a clean bill of health, and
he felt pleasantly buzzed. He didn't want to think about what had happened anyway, and
drinking helped him forget for a while. And he had other things to think about. Things like
the paleness of Elijah's skin against the all-black t-shirt and jeans that he had chosen to
wear tonight. Under the shifting black light and the strobes of the dance floor, his arms and
head seemed disembodied, weaving through the air with hypnotic grace, his body a dark
flame, flickering and writhing in counterpoint. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed,
and the thick lashes threw long shadows that scored his flushed cheeks like ritual scars. He
looked positively, incandescently divine; ripe for sacrifice, untouchable. Sean pressed the
cold bottle against his hot forehead and winced. He had a long night ahead of him.
It was past midnight by the time they got back to their hotel. Everyone had insisted on
buying drinks for the birthday boy, and Elijah had accepted all of them. He was well and truly
monged. He turned an alarming shade of green in the elevator and they managed to rush
him down the hallway and into his bathroom before he threw up on them. It was a close
thing. Sean and Billy cleaned him up and stripped him of t-shirt and jeans, leaving him his
boxers, while Dom cleared a path to the bed and turned it down.
"Seanie," a drowsy voice called as they turned to go.
Elijah lay in bed, blankets tucked up to his chin. Fearfully mature in so many ways, he looked
about twelve years old in the dim light of the lamp. "Sean," he said fretfully. "Want my
pillow."
Sean looked around the room blearily and located the bag near the door. He pulled the
cover off the pillow and crossed to the bed to hand it to its owner. Elijah took it with a sleepy
smile and snuggled down, nuzzling it against his cheek and taking a deep breath. Within a
heartbeat or two, he was asleep.
Sean felt a huge rush of tenderness and longing overwhelm him, and he reached down to
smooth the soft hair back. "Sweet dreams, Frodo," he whispered softly. "I love you."
Then he turned to find two pairs of incredulous eyes regarding him from the doorway.
"What?!" he snapped defensively as he marched past, flicking the light off.
"Jesus," Dom marveled, "He'll be wanting a bloody bedtime story next." But he cast an
affectionate look back as he shut the door.
~~~~~
The summer night was hot and humid, and the darkness throbbed to the beat of his aching
eyes. Sean felt restless, uneasy, and the questions returned to torment his unwilling brain.
Was this - attraction - something else to be laid at his mother's door? he wondered bleakly.
It would be easy - so easy to blame her for this too. But the honesty that was the bedrock of
his nature told him - no. Not this time, Astin. This time the fault was his; and the choices -
they were his to make. He'd grown up in Hollywood, for chrissakes - there had been no lack
of beautiful boys to tickle his fancy; if he'd had that particular itch, he would've wanted to
scratch it long ago. His wife and daughter were proof of his sexuality, weren't they? And
they'd had ten years of loving marriage; no passion, not any more, but he had been faithful,
yes, in thought and deed.
Until now.
He surrendered at last to the inevitable, and relaxed, his arms lying loose, his hands
upturned. His frantic heartbeat slowed and his churning mind grew still. The images rose,
twisting, from the deep silence of his guarded memories and liquid heat pooled in his groin,
shimmering. He walked in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies. . . his
personal blue-eyed demon. His incubus.
His Elijah.
He found release, and drifted into sleep. And in the night, when it was darkest, just before
the dawn, the screaming started.
~~~~~
strong a word. Rather, it unsettled him, really creeped him out. Heck, it was just a movie set,
right? Just like countless others he'd acted in before. So why did this one bother him so
much?
The four hobbits stood patiently outside the door while the make-up people sprayed them
carefully with warm water and Pete explained what he was planning to do. Then he left, the
clapper sounded, and they pushed through to the set, helped along by a shower of 'rain' and
a gust of wind from a huge fan. The tavern set was empty except for Peter, the film crew and
a stuntie in one of the "big men" stilt suits. One of the key lights had been covered with red
and orange cello and it cast a lurid glow over everything and everyone. Elijah went through
his lines with Peter filling in as Barliman, while the rest of the hobbits waited, looking around
with fascination and a hint of fear in their faces. Sean was finding it difficult to concentrate -
the room seemed to recede and advance by turns - and there was something wrong with his
vision. He took a deep breath and suddenly - he was somewhere else - a place with the same
lurid glare, peopled by faces he didn't know, his ears assailed by sounds and words he
couldn't place. It seemed to go on forever, a whirling kaleidoscope of weirdness, and he
couldn't move, couldn't make a sound; and then a jolt shook him and turned the world askew,
and the lights went out.
The stuntman stopped in consternation. He was supposed to push though the hobbit actors
on his way toward the door, and they were supposed to look up at him in trepidation and get
out of the way. But one of them didn't, and now the guy was on the floor and what the fuck
was he going to do now? At least, he hadn't hurt him bad, 'cause the guy - oh, it's Mr. Astin -
was sitting up now.
"Sean! What the fuck - are you okay?" Dom and Billy were down on their knees beside him,
their arms around Sean's shoulders.
"Dizzy - what happened?" Sean looked around muzzily. "Oh shit. Did I fall?"
Elijah had turned from the oversized bar and taken in the scene with wide eyes. He was at
Sean's side with a bound, his shaking hands tugging at Sean's sleeve, trying to look into his
friend's eyes.
"Somebody!" he snapped. "Get a chair!" And to Sean, urgently, "Seanie, did you hit your
head? Does it hurt anywhere?" He ran an agitated hand over the back of Sean's head.
"No -" Sean shook his head experimentally. "I'm okay. Sorry, guys - I must be more tired than
I thought."
They helped him get up and he gulped as a wave of dizziness washed over him. Peter shoved
a chair against the backs of his knees and pushed his head down. "Sean - put your head
between your knees," he advised.
And kiss my ass goodbye, Sean thought distractedly. What was wrong with him? Was he
going nuts? He forced himself to calm down, to think clearly, and found to his surprise that
it took no effort at all. His thought processes were as clear as they had ever been. That
didn't go with hallucinations, did it? A raised voice intruded on his musing and he looked up
to see Elijah, hands clenched into fists, confronting the confused stuntman. "Why'd you push
him?" Elijah was yelling, his face contorted with fury.
"Hey," the man returned, bristling. "I can't see too well with the head on, okay? And this rig
isn't exactly easy to handle. Ask him why he didn't get out of the way like he was supposed
to!"
"Look," Sean interrupted with finality. "It wasn't anyone's fault, all right? I just felt dizzy for
a second and missed my cue. I'm okay now, so let's get this over with."
Elijah calmed down eventually and apologized. Dom fingered his chin and looked at his
friend speculatively. Interesting, he mused. This was the first time he'd ever seen Elijah lose
his cool.
~~~~~
The club was noisy and crowded, as everyone who could get away celebrated the
Ringbearer's birthday. Viggo, Bean and Ian were there, and the hobbits and elf, of course.
John had begun to show an allergic reaction to the prosthetics and had begged off. Sean
took it easy on the alcohol, although the set doctor had given him a clean bill of health, and
he felt pleasantly buzzed. He didn't want to think about what had happened anyway, and
drinking helped him forget for a while. And he had other things to think about. Things like
the paleness of Elijah's skin against the all-black t-shirt and jeans that he had chosen to
wear tonight. Under the shifting black light and the strobes of the dance floor, his arms and
head seemed disembodied, weaving through the air with hypnotic grace, his body a dark
flame, flickering and writhing in counterpoint. His head was thrown back, his eyes closed,
and the thick lashes threw long shadows that scored his flushed cheeks like ritual scars. He
looked positively, incandescently divine; ripe for sacrifice, untouchable. Sean pressed the
cold bottle against his hot forehead and winced. He had a long night ahead of him.
It was past midnight by the time they got back to their hotel. Everyone had insisted on
buying drinks for the birthday boy, and Elijah had accepted all of them. He was well and truly
monged. He turned an alarming shade of green in the elevator and they managed to rush
him down the hallway and into his bathroom before he threw up on them. It was a close
thing. Sean and Billy cleaned him up and stripped him of t-shirt and jeans, leaving him his
boxers, while Dom cleared a path to the bed and turned it down.
"Seanie," a drowsy voice called as they turned to go.
Elijah lay in bed, blankets tucked up to his chin. Fearfully mature in so many ways, he looked
about twelve years old in the dim light of the lamp. "Sean," he said fretfully. "Want my
pillow."
Sean looked around the room blearily and located the bag near the door. He pulled the
cover off the pillow and crossed to the bed to hand it to its owner. Elijah took it with a sleepy
smile and snuggled down, nuzzling it against his cheek and taking a deep breath. Within a
heartbeat or two, he was asleep.
Sean felt a huge rush of tenderness and longing overwhelm him, and he reached down to
smooth the soft hair back. "Sweet dreams, Frodo," he whispered softly. "I love you."
Then he turned to find two pairs of incredulous eyes regarding him from the doorway.
"What?!" he snapped defensively as he marched past, flicking the light off.
"Jesus," Dom marveled, "He'll be wanting a bloody bedtime story next." But he cast an
affectionate look back as he shut the door.
~~~~~
The summer night was hot and humid, and the darkness throbbed to the beat of his aching
eyes. Sean felt restless, uneasy, and the questions returned to torment his unwilling brain.
Was this - attraction - something else to be laid at his mother's door? he wondered bleakly.
It would be easy - so easy to blame her for this too. But the honesty that was the bedrock of
his nature told him - no. Not this time, Astin. This time the fault was his; and the choices -
they were his to make. He'd grown up in Hollywood, for chrissakes - there had been no lack
of beautiful boys to tickle his fancy; if he'd had that particular itch, he would've wanted to
scratch it long ago. His wife and daughter were proof of his sexuality, weren't they? And
they'd had ten years of loving marriage; no passion, not any more, but he had been faithful,
yes, in thought and deed.
Until now.
He surrendered at last to the inevitable, and relaxed, his arms lying loose, his hands
upturned. His frantic heartbeat slowed and his churning mind grew still. The images rose,
twisting, from the deep silence of his guarded memories and liquid heat pooled in his groin,
shimmering. He walked in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies. . . his
personal blue-eyed demon. His incubus.
His Elijah.
He found release, and drifted into sleep. And in the night, when it was darkest, just before
the dawn, the screaming started.
~~~~~
