Semaphore

Semaphore

Posted: August 2003
Title: Semaphore
Author: Belinda, Doom's Eyebrow
Type: RPS
Characters: Elijah/Orlando
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: This is a work of amateur fiction, intended to imply nothing about reality, nor any disrespect.
Warning: real person slash, coarse language
Author's Notes: Birthday fic for Azrhiaz. Hrah!
Acknowledgements: thanks to Lobelia for repeated beta efforts in the midst of personal chaos.

Summary: Orlando is starting to think there is something that is too much the same about Elijah half the time, like he's playing a loop of videotape out front and just wandering away for a while out back.

*****

The sun slants sideways onto the deck of this waterfront place cafe-thingy. It's autumn, Orlando thinks. When they get off in the evening now there is noticeably less light and heat left in the sun than there used to be for him to bask in, standing around in a t-shirt in the stamped patch of earth in front of his trailer, having a fag, back turned to the warmest part of the sky. The world has been moving while he stood around, having a fag, the year has been waning, and it's sort of a bit rude, because he hasn't been doing any of the usual things he does to make time pass, like getting up mid-morning to go to Guildhall, the clubs on Saturday, his Mum's for tea on Monday. He's been doing this instead, and how many locations has it been now?

Still, right now it's early enough that it's only almost too cold for them to be sitting out here on the deck of the cafe in t-shirts, almost but not quite. Elijah and Sean Astin are sitting across the table and Elijah seems fine; Sean's got his jacket on but that could just be Sean for you. Orlando has got his back to the sun through the great perspex shield that saves the deck from the full force of the sea breeze, and maybe that's helping. Still, between fries Sean says to Elijah, "You cold?"

"I'm great," Elijah says. "It's all good, man."

The next lot of drinks comes, but the waitress seems to be moving really slowly and carefully, putting them out. And Orlando takes a breath to speak but then realises and stops, and then no one says anything. It's Elijah who looks up at the waitress and smiles and says, "Hi!"

She stands up straight and smiles widely, and says, "Hi." And then her face sort of moves a bit without her saying anything, and then she says, "How's the movie going?"

"Great," Elijah says. "It's going great. You're gonna love it."

"Yeah," Sean says, with feeling.

"That's great," she says. Then her face moves some more, and she says, "Well, I'd better..." And she takes her tray and goes.

When they're getting towards done, Elijah slaps his wallet against the heel of his other hand, and says, "I'm gonna get this cheque."

"Hey, no, I'll get it," Sean says.

"Don't start this," Elijah says, grinning. "You know I'll win."

Sean's mouth opens.

"No," Elijah says, getting up. "Don't start it!" He makes off for the door inside.

"Outgunned, man!" Orlando says to Sean.

Orlando gives Elijah half the width of the deck's head-start before he jumps up, winks at Sean, and jogs after Elijah, calling, "I'm helping."

"Aw!" he hears Sean say. "Backstabbed!"

Following Elijah into the dusk inside, Orlando can see him rolling his shoulders a little, and Orlando is suddenly sure Elijah is anticipating seeing the waitress again. Orlando is starting to think there is something that is too much the same about Elijah half the time, like he's playing a loop of videotape out front and just wandering away for a while out back.

So what if while they wait for the cashier to respond to the bell they ring, Orlando pinches Elijah's arse, what if Orlando kisses Elijah's cheek, hard and smacky, what if Orlando says, "Love ya, sweetheart"?

Elijah flinches, is what; flinches then tries to recover: his flinch puts a wonkiness into the smile he tries to give Orlando. He protests, "Hey!", and Orlando hears the sharp intake of breath and then the catch and the sudden cropping off of the sound, hears the conscious act of will that keeps the volume of the exclamation down. That's not on the tape.

***

And what if, the next night, like a kid left alone with a stick and something that looks pokeable, what if across the club Orlando sees the violet-black strobe of the lights cycling in Elijah's hair at the bar, what if he sees a woman's blonde head drenched even brighter in violet, bent towards Elijah's. And what if he pushes his way through the throng -- hips this way, hips that way, cigarette in the air, *'scuse us, love* -- and though the din and the pulsing Elijah does not notice him, and he stands behind Elijah like a ghost, and what if --

-- having heard Elijah say to the woman, "Yeah, it's been a really great experience," which, burbled in Elijah's personable interview voice, Orlando has sure he has heard *precisely* before, as if it is being played back, thrummed forth from laser holes on a CD; and having heard the woman say she'll be back and having heard Elijah say, "Great!" --

-- what if Orlando seizes Elijah from behind, clamps him around the torso and smartarse-tall-man *lifts*, what if he bellows, "Eh, baby!" What if he spins Elijah around and pins him to the bar, what if he pokes him, one side then the other, chop-chop, and shouts, "Are you in there, or what?"

Elijah jumps in his arms, taut with fright as river salmon, is what. Elijah says, "Hey!" and, "No!"; Elijah jack-knifes at the waist from the poking but catches himself before he bends too far. And Elijah doesn't answer; trying to bend his grimace into a smile, he shakes his head and says nothing. When it's just getting too obnoxious not to, Orlando lets him go.

Later, Orlando finds Dom by a pillar, seeing a girl off with lingering, entwined fingers. Orlando winks at him over her shoulder. Orlando hasn't realised Elijah is there, but when the girl lets go of Dom, Elijah steps forward from further around the pillar and says, "I'm gonna go, yeah?"

"I'm coming too," Orlando says. He sees Elijah start to realise Orlando is there, too.

There is the arthritic goat trail they have to follow to get through the people to the door. A brief square of open, black floor in the lobby and then they're out, into a still, cloudy night. A woman is getting out of the door of a cab there already, and Elijah shouts, "Okay," and catches the door. When he is in, his head jerks to see that Orlando has jogged around and got in the other side.

"I'll come to yours," Orlando says.

The cabbie asks where to, and Elijah half-turns to tell him, distracted, eyes still on Orlando.

Elijah says to Orlando, "Uh. I, uh, I don't..." The cab pulls away.

"It's all right," Orlando says.

Elijah looks out of the window for a moment. "I was just going to go straight to bed," he turns back and says.

"That's fine, mate," Orlando says.

"Okay," Elijah says finally.

The cab drives. Orlando slouches in his seat, grins and knocks his knee into Elijah's. "Wanna snog?" he says.

"With the likes of you? I don't think so," Elijah says lightly, and turns back to watch the streetlights swimming past. But there is a moment, several minutes later, when Elijah turns again to look at Orlando -- Orlando knows this because he has been looking at Elijah. And they are caught, frankly, looking at each other.

***

Elijah's front door opens on to an open plan of living room and kitchen. He hasn't left a light on, and dark shapes hulk against the shine of the floorboards. Orlando goes to step forward, but Elijah says, "Wait!", and scrabbles for the switch. When the light comes on, some of the dark shapes become clothes on the floor, and some become the couch and the table and the chairs.

Elijah goes around the room, closing the blinds. "I really was just going to bed," he says. "Can I get you some tea or anything?"

"That's okay. Got some juice?" Orlando says.

"Sure, I got juice," Elijah says.

During the *suck-pop* of the fridge door opening, and the clink of the glass being got out, Orlando sits on the couch and bounces. "Can I sleep on your couch?" he calls out.

"Yeah," Elijah says. "Yeah, sure." He brings Orlando his juice and puts it on the coffee table. "I'll find you, um, a sleeping bag, or something," he says, and disappears upstairs.

When he's brought the sleeping bag back and given it to Orlando, he stands for a beat and then says, "Well, um, I'm going to go to bed, so. You know where the bathroom is. I'm gonna turn the light in the hall off, but if you need to turn it on again, the switch is just inside the door there." He gestures. "You got everything you need?"

"Yep," Orlando says.

"Okay," Elijah says.

Elijah is turning to go, but Orlando says, "Come here."

Elijah hesitates, but Orlando leans forward and takes his hands, one in each of Orlando's own. Then he sits back, dragging Elijah with him till Elijah's shins bump the couch, and he's standing between Orlando's knees.

"What?" Elijah demands. He shakes his head as if at an invisible audience.

Orlando grins, and strokes the back of Elijah's hands with his thumbs.

"What?" Elijah asks more softly, raising his eyebrows. Orlando just grins wider.

Eljiah smiles slowly and a bit twitchily, as if the muscles around his mouth can't quite decide what to do. He says, "Um, okay. Well." And then, "Goodnight." He pulls his hands loose.

***

Elijah is in the kitchen -- scuffle scrabble *bang* -- at the other end of the open plan when Orlando gets up in the morning. Orlando, wearing his boxers, scratches his head and wanders over there.

Five steps of cold tiles underfoot and then he can squeeze Elijah, in pyjama pants and t-shirt, from behind and say, "Eh, lovie."

"Hey," Elijah says lightly. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Fabulous," Orlando says, and pushes the neck of Elijah's t-shirt aside with his mouth to blow a raspberry. Elijah's shoulder kicks up a little.

There is the scrape of a butter knife on toast, and Elijah's arm moving. Elijah smells musky and a bit wheaty, like bed, though some of the wheaty could be the toast. Elijah says, "So, uh, why did you want to stay over?"

"I was hoping for some sugar," Orlando says.

"Uh-huh," Elijah says with a little laugh. When he turns toward the cupboard, Orlando catches him and turns him fully, pushing him against the bench. "Hey, no," Elijah says, "not this again!"

But Orlando kisses him, all pushy tongue and hand holding the jaw. "Jesus, it's too early," Elijah gets in when Orlando slows down for a bit of butterfly peck-and-retreat. "You taste..." Orlando pries Elijah's mouth open and slips his tongue in again.

"Like a fucking hamster hatch, man," Elijah finishes, when Orlando breaks off to nuzzle his ear with wet lips.

"You wanna go back to bed?" Orlando says.

Elijah stops struggling. "Wh...?" he begins. His voice is soft and small. It's a new-minted sound.

Orlando his tightens his arms around Elijah, bringing him into a hug, his cheek against Orlando's shoulder. One hand slips up the back of Elijah's neck into his hair. They stand very still.

Elijah's breath hitches and flutters against Orlando's collarbone. "Are you queer, man?" Elijah says quietly, finally.

Orlando clears his throat. "Enough," he says. "I mean, yeah. Yeah."

Still they stand still. Then Orlando gathers a bit of the back of Elijah's t-shirt up with his hand.

"Jesus Christ!" Elijah says, and twists, and shoves Orlando away.

Elijah strides out of the kitchen and across the room. "You are so fucking arrogant," he turns, before the door, and says. "I mean, just because I... doesn't mean. You! Jesus, asshole!" He twists the lock open savagely and goes out, slamming the door behind him.

Orlando stands for a while in the kitchen. Then he goes and puts his jeans on. He takes his glass back from the coffee table into the kitchen, rinses it, dithers and then pours more juice. He drinks the juice standing up.

He is just about to rinse the glass again when the bolt of the door clunks open. Elijah comes in without looking towards the kitchen, and sits on the couch, face in his hands.

Orlando leans against the lounge room side of the bench, arms folded. "Am I completely off my trolley, then?" he says.

Elijah shakes his head at the wall.

Orlando crosses the floor to the couch and sits down next to Elijah, not touching. There is the sound of Elijah scratching his arm.

Orlando slides off the couch and to his hands and knees. He rubs his temple on Elijah's knee.

"Jesus," Elijah says, with a note of a giggle in his voice, "you wanna, like, wear me down? That's the full extent of your aspiration?"

"I've never heard it called that before," Orlando says, kissing the pyjama cotton over Elijah's knee.

Elijah throws his head back and barks briefly without volume, the air punching out of his mouth. But when he lifts his head, Orlando has straightened up and craned forward, his face close enough to breathe on.

Orlando leans in and runs the tip of his nose down Elijah's. Elijah's eyes are open, and they watch each other, out of focus.

When Orlando's nose falls off the end of Elijah's, he closes his eyes and kisses Elijah. Four, five times he presses gently, closed-mouthed. Elijah's lips stay soft -- he does not retreat. Orlando nudges Elijah's mouth open and laps. After a moment, Elijah's tongue slips along his; twists over and around. Through the kiss, Orlando asks, "Mmm?"

Elijah answers him: he says *mmm* too, and it's a new sound, first taste of an uncharted vocabulary of sound-semaphore. And Orlando talks back to him in the new language: he says *mmm* again, and then Elijah says it back, and they are having a whole conversation, out of time, like the conversation of two kids bubbling over to tell the same story. And Elijah's fingertips, all pad and no nail, have found the furrow of Orlando's spine and are ploughing it, *puck-puck-puck*; Orlando has insinuated his hand between the couch and Elijah and is pushing soft fabric up into the crease between Elijah's arse and thigh. And this is it, the next thing that is going to happen is happening: they have busted open the join in the tape loop and are reeling away; they are going somewhere.

"Come on," Elijah says sharply.

*****

THE END

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Belinda