The Lost Boys
by Buffonia

Dom never wanted to be a fireman. He didn't want to be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or a priest. Jesus fucking Christ, especially not a priest. He didn't care about learning how to drive. He hadn't any designs for university like some boys did by the age of thirteen. Cars and college and careers were things for men. And Dom never wanted to grow up.


It's Elijah's twenty-first birthday and he isn't sure how he feels about it. Officially being an adult doesn't mean much good in Hollywood. He's always had money and his own corner of fame and the ability to buy vodka since he was fourteen.

Elijah doesn't feel twenty-one and people would never say he looks it. He thinks that maybe they still see him as the eternal ten-year-old with the orphan eyes. He thinks that maybe they'll always see him that way.

Elijah's not afraid of getting older; he's just afraid the rest of the world won't let him.


Orlando will never tire of getting blowjobs in the back of limousines. He will never stop loving the thrill of watching people pass by the tinted windows, trying to not look obvious in their curiosity, attempting to hide their glances at the shaded glass and disappointment at only being met with their dejected reflection.

He will always smirk at the blind bystanders, even though they can't see him, with his head back and chin up and dick out and some pretty thing wrapping its pretty lips around his erection. His fingers will ruffle the soft, pretty curls that bob accessibly in his lap because he always likes his Plaything Du Jour to have curls for him to pet when they're on their knees.


Dom never once regretted that he never became a fireman. He's perfectly glad to have moved to the fairyland of California; where appearances deceived, magic's a day to day business and age was nothing but a fictitious number. Only in Hollywood could Dom be twenty-six and still a boy.

It's Elijah's twenty-first birthday and he's chasing the taste of many celebratory liquor shots with the salty flavor of Orlando's cock. Dom is all drunken laughter on the limo bench behind him, opposite a groaning Orlando, who won't take his eyes off the window or his toying fingers from Elijah's hair.


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