The Furies
[ miranda/liv/elijah . dm/ew implied ] R
He's on his way back to his suite when Liv and Miranda find him.
Two sets of hands pull at Elijah's jacket-at the hem and the collar and the sleeve and the waist-out of the light of the hallway and into the dim recesses of one of their rooms. Two sets of hands, each with their own set of well-honed nails claw at the edges of Elijah's clothing; one fumbles with the belt while the other strips him of his tie. "Boys and their toys," Liv giggles, and Miranda echoes her, "boys and their toys."
Elijah isn't so much resisting, but he isn't so much encouraging; he's just allowing himself to be pulled in so many different directions. He's disoriented and more than slightly drunk and has no idea what Liv and Miranda mean to accomplish. Actually-scratch that-he has some idea, but his muddled brain needs some clarification. As if on cue, one set of hand stops, and then the other, and Liv is there, inches away from his face and smiling. There is mischief and alcohol and sex in her eyes, Elijah wonders if there's the same in his. "Don't go to Dominic tonight," Liv says, and Miranda whispers from somewhere behind her, "Not Dominic."
"We can play all the games that Dominic doesn't want to play..." "We'll leave marks..." "...And we'll make noise..." "...And we won't make you leave before morning..." Their voices follow so hurriedly upon one another, that Elijah's fuzzy fizzed-out brain has difficulty keeping track of which one is which. They're one being now, Liv and Miranda, two parts of one whole-dark and ravenous, golden and treacherous. They wait and they smile and lick their lips in quick succession.
Elijah doesn't speak, but instead runs a finger along the chain of Liv's necklace; he loops two fingers inside. He thinks momentarily of Dominic with his arched back and his rough cheeks and his lips that seem to leave blisters beneath Elijah's skin. He knows that what's being offered to him is something just as unrelenting and raw, but Dominic doesn't look at Elijah through his lashes and talk in a voice drenched in sugar and temptation. Dominic offers no pretense of sweetness or honesty or innocence. Elijah is beginning to think that perhaps Dominic should.
He lets his two fingers tug Liv forward by the delicate chain. He wants it to snap, but it doesn't. "Look, Randi," Liv says, stopping short of Elijah's lips. "Yes, love," Miranda answers and they fall back upon him like vultures, scouring his body as if for answers or evidence or spoils of war.
Two voices talk in hushed tones that Elijah can't understand, even though the moving lips are pressed up against the side of his face and that sensitive spot right above his pulse. They speak their own language, Elijah thinks to himself, and his mind flashes Sirens and Furies and other female creatures from the old mythologies that ripped fair heroes into shreds. Someone's fingernails scrape against his exposed belly. Clothing falls to the floor with a soft huff.
Elijah can smell the champagne caught to the heavy drapes of their hair. The overly sweet, dusty scent of blush and talc clings to the pale pink of their cheeks. Liv's lipgloss tastes like canned peaches while Miranda's tongue tastes like Liv.
"Touch me," Liv says quietly, pleadingly. Elijah does. "Touch us both," Miranda amends.
