About Midnight, by Lbilover

Originally written for 2014 OTP Summer Dreams Month at the Tol Eressea Community. Not a word of truth to any of it, except that Elijah was in Salt Lake City to DJ and Sean is there for a convention. As far as I know, they never met (which is why I had to write this!) I rarely ever write Sean and Elijah having sex while Sean is still married. But that's how the story wanted to be written. Gorgeous but not at all safe for work manip by the wonderful and generous Hildigard Brown.


Sean arrives in Salt Lake City early enough to attend the FantasyCon opening party, but instead, pleading exhaustion, he begs off and goes straight to his hotel. The exhaustion is no lie - he's been running on pure adrenaline for far too long - but it's only half the truth. No, less than half. The other seven-eighths, or is it fifteen-sixteenths, have to do with Elijah, who is DJing the party with his friend Zach.

Not that he's reluctant to see his former Rings costar, far from it. But to see him for the first time in months in such a public arena is to risk revealing truths long and oh-so-very-carefully hidden. Nor, selfishly, is he interested in posing for endless fan selfies, him on one side, Elijah on the other, with a fake smile pinned to his face while he wishes them all at Jericho so that he can be alone with Elijah. So that he can make love to Elijah, uninhibited, passionate love - while his wife sleeps alone in their bed at home.

He's made his peace with that reality over the years. Elijah has, too. One of them more or less happily married, the other free to play the field, which he does, but when the occasion arises to be with each other, they grab it. With Sean scheduled to be in Salt Lake City for FantasyCon, Elijah had jumped at the chance to host the con's opening party on his way back to LA from his movie premieres in Edinburgh and Madrid. Opportunity has knocked for the first time in months. It will only be one night at a mediocre convention hotel, but it's not only better than nothing, it's a gift.

Both have rooms, but they arrange to meet after the party in Sean's room. It's weird, but he doesn't feel even a twinge of guilt as he says goodnight to the girls, chats briefly with his wife and ends by telling her he loves her. If people knew, and they don't, not their fellow Hobbits, not Chris, not Mack, not Elijah's mom or his siblings or closest friends, they'd stand in judgment, call Sean unfaithful, Elijah a home-wrecker. But they'd be wrong. What he and Elijah share is special, and though every cheating spouse has probably said that to justify an affair, Sean knows that it's true.

The foundation of their love is an experience so profound that it bound them together in ways and on levels that neither can articulate fully. How could you articulate a bond like theirs, Sean often thinks. To fathom its depths, one would have had to walk across Middle-earth for nineteen months in their prosthetic feet. Nothing in their individual lives - wives, children, girlfriends, families, careers - will ever sever that bond. It exists separate and apart from everything else, and it's sacred to them and to the characters they played.

His duty done to his family, Sean orders room service and settles in to wait. After eating a decent if not inspiring meal, he takes care of some business then stretches out on the king sized bed, now covered in a spare flat sheet he'd brought with him, and lets the slow subtle burn of desire build inside him. He's old enough and wise enough to control it, but even at his age just the thought of touching Elijah can quicken him as if he's a teenager again. Sex with Christine has gradually mellowed into the comfort of the familiar, but Sean suspects that even were he and Elijah long-time partners, the sex would continue to be as fresh and exciting as if it were their first time.

About midnight a soft knock comes at the door and with a jubilant leap of his heart, Sean runs to open it.

"Hey," Elijah says. He looks tired, his eyes red-rimmed and slightly puffy, but he glows with happiness at the sight of Sean.

"Hey yourself." Sean holds the door wider to let Elijah in then he hangs the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the knob and closes and locks it. He slides the security chain into place and turns to find Elijah staring at him, taking him in, measuring the differences since the last time they were together, nearly a year earlier. Sean returns the favor.

"You've gained weight," Elijah remarks. "No time for running, huh?"

"Not much." Sean pats his belly and thinks regretfully of how lean and mean he'd been at their last meeting. "But I always have this gut. I think it's permanent."

"Good," Elijah says without hesitation. "I'd miss it."

Sean grins. "Your squashy paunch fetish. I watched you on Seven Minutes in Heaven, you know."

"I was definitely thinking of you," Elijah agrees, and Sean recalls the adorable giggling Lighe who had appeared at the moment he confessed his quirk. That boy had largely disappeared under the gravitas of the grown man, and it delights Sean that he can still bring that Elijah out - even when he himself isn't physically present.

"But you haven't changed at all," says Sean.

"Liar. I got my hair scalped, as you like to call it, and you're pissed."

"I'm not pissed, and if I say you haven't changed, you haven't changed. Now shut up and come here." Sean opens his arms and Elijah walks into them.

They hold each other in silence for a time, readjusting and reabsorbing, both thinking that no one has ever felt so right in his arms. To say it aloud, though, is to skirt the problematic parts of their relationship, and dredge up memories that they'd mutually decided to leave buried. Peace had been hard come by; they don't want to disturb it.

The holding turns to gentle nuzzling. It's strange, but despite the infrequency with which they meet, despite the limited time they have together when they do meet, they are never in a rush. It's as if time elongates, grows elastic, and provides them with exactly as much of it as they need, no more, no less.

Or maybe it's simply that when they're together, every second is full and rich with emotion and meaning, no matter what they are doing.

"New cologne?" Sean asks, inhaling deeply. "I like it."

"Swag from Madrid, to disguise the fact that I haven't showered since I left there."

"As if I'd mind. We didn't exactly smell like a rose garden after slogging through those marshes, Mr. F, or farting around the Emyn Muil in the mist," Sean reminds him. "Do you want to shower first?"

"Later. If you don't mind, I don't mind." He tilts his head back to give Sean better access to his neck. "We can shower together."

"Sounds like a plan. But no more talking, 'kay? We'll have time for that later, too."

Nuzzling morphs into kissing, deep, intimate, slanting kisses. They're still standing near the door fully clothed, but as desire wells up, sharp and sweet, hands move, tugging shirts from waistbands, unfastening buttons and belts. Shoes are kicked free next, until they're down to shorts and socks.

But even then they don't move, though Sean's hands are restless at Elijah's hips, fingers slipping in and out of the elastic waistband, or sliding around to caress his ass or down to shape his cock, already pushing demandingly against the green plaid cotton. It's strange, Sean thinks, but while he will always have an eye for an attractive woman, he's never wanted, never will want, any man but the one in his arms, the one who moans against Sean's lips and bucks into his fist, closed tightly now around the pulsing heat, and then gasps hoarsely, "I need you to fuck me, Irish, right now. It's been too long."

There's never been any discussion about who will top, though they've joked that if they actually were Frodo and Sam, positions would be reversed.

The bed is only a dozen feet away and they shuffle toward it, unwilling to let go of each other. Sean has the supplies out and ready on the bedside table. He'd bought them at a drug store on the way from the airport to his hotel, asking the driver to stop so he could pick up some OTC allergy medicine. He and Chris don't use condoms as she's on the pill, and he doesn't dare keep any around the house. He never in his life has been good at keeping secrets, but this secret is so huge and so important that he will do anything to keep it. Not only for himself, though he truly thinks that if he had no more hope of this, he'd sink into despair, but for Elijah.

If things were different - and god, there is the conundrum, for if they were, he wouldn't have three completely kick-ass, amazing daughters - Elijah would settle down with him in a heartbeat. Since things aren't different, Elijah gets on with his life, and it's a busy, happy, fulfilling life, a fact that brings Sean comfort and a measure of joy, even as he wishes, futilely, that he could have a larger part in it.

But right now he is the focus of Elijah's life, and that's all that matters.

When they reach the bed, Sean stops toying with the waistband of Elijah's boxer briefs and tugs them down, freeing the only cock he has ever touched beside his own. He takes it, not gently, in his hand again, weighing it hot and heavy in his palm, and thumbs away the pearly fluid welling up and smears it around the tip. Elijah whimpers and bucks again, pants, "Just fuck me already, please, before I go off like a rocket."

"It is almost the fourth of July," Sean says, and Elijah lets out a sound that is half laugh, half impatient growl. "Sorry," he apologizes, but he isn't really. God, how he loves that sound.

But he releases Elijah's cock, and Elijah immediately turns around and places his right knee on the bed, canting it wide. He bends forward to rest his forearms on the bedspread; he is offering himself, open and vulnerable and trusting, to Sean. Sean wastes no time in discarding his own shorts then grabbing a condom and the Astroglide, and suiting up as fast as he can. It's not easy; his hands are actually shaking.

Elijah has his head swiveled around to watch him. His face is flushed, sweat trickling down his temples. His pupils are so enlarged that his eyes appear almost black. "Ah god," he breathes reverently, his gaze pinned to Sean's cock, proud and erect. "I always forget how fuckin' magnificent you are, Sean."

"And I always forget how you pump my ego, Elwood." Sean squirts lube onto the pads of his right fore and middle fingers, and with his other hand pulls Elijah's left ass cheek, smooth and flawless as a baby's still, to one side, opening him wide to expose the dark puckered opening in a lightly furred cleft. It winks convulsively when he touches it and a visible shudder runs through Elijah.

"Oh shit," he gasps. "Shit."

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Sean promises, and makes good on the promise. He lubes Elijah well, inserting his slick fingers partway into the opening, then further until they breach the tight ring of muscle. He finds Elijah's prostate and strokes it, and Elijah keens his pleasure and bucks, almost dislodging Sean's fingers.

"Guess you're ready," Sean says, giving one more inflaming stroke and then pulling his fingers free.

"No shit, Sherlock." Elijah's voice is high and tight.

Sean moves into position, standing directly behind Elijah and gripping his hips hard. He enters him with a single sustained push, all the way in until his belly is pressed up snugly against Elijah's ass. Though he has sometimes wished he could fuck Elijah without a thin layer of latex between them, the almost vice-like grip on his cock is so intensely pleasurable that the fleeting, absurd thought flits through his mind that if he did fuck Elijah without a condom, it might actually be the death of him.

"Oh fuck," he breathes. "Jesus fuck, Elijah." He withdraws an inch, pushes back in, and a guttural moan is torn from his throat as Elijah deliberately clenches that tight, white hot passage around him. Feeling as if his skin is now on fire, he withdraws a second time, but this time he thrusts in harder, hard enough that slap of flesh on flesh is audible. He repeats the motion again, and then again.

"Fuck, that's good, so fucking good," Elijah moans, and that is the moment when Sean's sanity and consciousness of self start to dissolve and melt away, leaving only blind instinct and the drive for fulfillment behind. Passion Sean had known in the early days of his marriage, and need and desire, but nothing remotely equal to this.

They move in perfect unison, two becoming one; Sean can no longer tell where he starts and Elijah ends, and that, too, has only ever happened with them. The pace begins to quicken, the insistent thrum of desire a tribal drumbeat that soon becomes a wild cacophony, pounding through their blood. Thrust-slap-moan. Thrust-slap-moan. Thrust-slap-moan. Colors throb and undulate behind Sean's eyelids like the northern lights. They are a warning sign of impending climax, and he wants desperately to hold it back, make this union go on and on, but he might as well try to hold back an avalanche or some other force of nature. So instead, he slides a hand along Elijah's sweat-slick belly and downward, finds his cock and joins his hand to Elijah's to stroke him to completion.

"Sean," Elijah sobs as their fingers twine and move up and down, and that single word, laced with desperate need, is enough to send Sean over the edge. He gives one final, wild thrust and then he is falling, falling, falling... and Elijah falls with him. After what seems an eternity they land together, face down on the bed in a small pool of mingled come and sweat. They lie there gasping for breath while tiny aftershocks course through them, going from one to the other in an infinite loop.

Maybe it's cruel and unfair, especially at that moment, but when he's recovered enough to speak, Sean can't not say it. "Elijah, I love you." His lips blindly seek Elijah's and find his mouth; soft and willing it opens against his. They barely kiss, but breathe together, eyes closed, bodies still joined. The moment is almost shocking in its intimacy, and Sean wants more than anything to remain joined to Elijah like this for the rest of the night.

But real life doesn't work that way. He's a heavy weight, pinning Elijah to the mattress, not to mention the soreness Elijah must inevitably be feeling. So he lifts himself on his hands and carefully withdraws, bereft, as always, at the moment of their separation. He stands up, thigh muscles quivering, and pinches off the condom and removes it. He'll have to flush it; there can't be any trace left behind of their lovemaking. Stupid to mind so much, to wish he could leave it in the trash, graphic evidence of what they were and are to each other.

"Sean," Elijah says, and Sean looks at him. His eyes are no longer dark but rain-washed blue and they're filled with understanding. "I love you, too, and nothing and no one can take this away from us, okay?"

Sean nods, suddenly too choked up to speak. He swallows hard, holds out his hand. "Shower?"

Afterward, they climb into the bed and shut off the lights. They'll make love one more time, but not just yet. With bodies temporarily satiated, Elijah spoons around Sean, knees tucked into his bent legs, chin resting on his shoulder. He will have to return to his own room in a couple of hours, but they don't think about that or look at the clock. They talk softly, catching up on each other's lives, not the big important events that their texts and emails cover, but the small inconsequential things that matter only to the two of them.

Sean hardly notices when they fall into silence. He's so content, so peaceful. So fulfilled.

And then Elijah breaks the silence. "Sean," he says, "I know we agreed not to discuss it but... do you think we'll ever be together for real?" He doesn't sound wistful or disappointed, but only curious.

"I don't know," Sean replies. Then he says, "Maybe. It took sixty-one years for Sam to follow Frodo over the Sea, but he finally did. Maybe our time will come, too, just like theirs did."

Sean thinks about the ending of the Lord of the Rings, of Sam standing on the shore of Middle-earth late into the night as the sound of the sea sank into his heart. Eventually he'd gone back, returned to his wife and child, but he'd a left a large piece of himself behind in Frodo's keeping until he could go and claim it - just as Sean does whenever he and Elijah part. And so perhaps someday, like Sam, he will do the same.

"I hope you plan on living a very long time then," Elijah says lightly, but his arms tighten possessively around Sean.

"I do," Sean replies and turns his head to kiss Elijah. "I definitely do."