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Claudia's Cove [userpic]

Title: Mining (Written for slashyvalentine)
Pairing: Dom/Karl
Rating: R
Summary: Dom and Karl relive old times in a 13th century castle in Scotland.
Disclaimer: I don’t know or care what these people do with their personal time. I just make up things. Also, I don’t claim to know whether or not Dom and Karl have ever been to Scotland. In my universe, at least Dom hasn’t.

Thank you, baranduin, for the great beta!

Dom had not planned on flying into Scotland on the way to a visit home, but since for some fluky reason flights from L.A. to Edinburgh ended up being significantly cheaper than flights to London, he took it as a sign that he needed a change of scenery. So he had left the parched glare of L.A., and as the plane landed in Edinburgh, the rolling green cheered him – while at the same time bringing back heart-tugging memories of another time in a different continent of rolling green hills.

Let down.

So much had happened, but it had ended, and now he was expected to go on, just like the rest of them, by moving onto new projects and new alliances. And he just couldn’t. He had hung around with Elijah and Billy for a time, but he had begun to feel stagnant and depressed. He drank and smoked more than he ever had.

Above all, he never allowed himself to think about Karl – his deep-set hazel-green eyes, glowering under thundering brows. Of course that hadn’t stopped him from startling whenever the phone rang or holding his breath whenever he checked his email. All things considered, he thought he’d done pretty well in getting over him.

Once off the plane in Edinburgh, he found a taxi willing to drive him straight to St. Andrews. A small village by the sea was just what he needed right now, a chance to think, unclouded by L.A.’s glitz.

After checking into the unobtrusive bed and breakfast near the world’s oldest golf course, he did not crash as he thought he might after such a long trip. Instead, he found himself wandering to the churchyard behind the ruins of St. Andrews Cathedral. He did not do much thinking of the kind he needed to do but instead found himself lost in studying the inscriptions on the ornately decorated Celtic-style graves. The recently deceased were buried alongside those who had died probably as far back as the 12th century, whose crumbling inscriptions were carved in nearly illegible Latin.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, making him jump. When he turned around, he thought it must be a bizarre joke. His mouth hung open for a moment before a goofy grin covered his face.

Karl wore a deep blue button down shirt. He had cut his hair since filming, although he still had somewhat of a beard. Dom had forgotten how hypnotic his eyes were.

“What…what are you doing…here?” Dom hunched in his jacket, embarrassed by his sputtering. Even in April, the wind off the North Sea cut deeply.

“Visiting a friend. And you?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Karl didn’t question Dom’s odd response and went on. “I like this place,” he said, nodding. “Full of history and yet unassuming. It’s hard to imagine how old it is.”

“Have you been here before?” Dom dreaded the moment when the small talk would end and a fork would divide the road -- either they would part ways with some awkwardness or they would get reacquainted. Dom wasn’t sure which he dreaded more.

“A few times.”

“How long are you here then?”

“I leave tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Dom felt let down again. They were quiet for several moments, and Dom could hear the sea. Unlike L.A., in a small village like St. Andrews, you were always near the sea.

“Have you seen St. Andrews Castle?”

“Not yet. I just arrived this afternoon.”

“We should have a look at it before it gets dark. They might close soon.”

Dom nodded. An inevitable buzz of possibility surged through him. He tried to play it cool, but he knew he had chosen a dangerous path. “All right then.”

The 13th century castle, mostly ruined, was just across the street from the churchyard, and it was poised on the edge of the sea, which was now a pastel blue. A few people wandered on the grounds, but since the tourist season didn’t fully kick in until May, not many people were about.

Karl and Dom bought their admission tickets. The girl working behind the counter did not seem to recognize them; either that or she was trying to play it cool. Dom often played that game inside his head. When he encountered strangers, he would hold his breath. If the person recognized him, he felt a short-lived high (special bonus points if person could identify him as the right hobbit), and if person didn’t recognize him at all, disappointment curled in his stomach. This time he didn’t mind. Perhaps because Karl hadn’t been recognized either, and it gave them both a certain anonymity, which for today, was quite all right.

They walked through the souvenir shop and out onto the grounds. They wandered into several nooks and crannies in the ruins of the castle, climbed up into what had once been chambers but were now broken stone, walked past a dungeon, and finally onto the grounds where the patchy grass was dark emerald green.

From there it was easy to look far out to sea. The sun had peeked out from behind a thick tuft of clouds, and it had changed the sea from pastel blue to a nearly tropical turquoise.

“I’ve been here a few times already,” Karl said. “I want to show you something.”

“Right.” Dom followed Karl around a corner until they came to a series of stone steps leading down into a dark tunnel that resembled a mineshaft. And sure enough, a plaque on the wall stated: “Mine and Counter Mine.”

“Come on.” Karl started down the steps, waving Dom to follow.

“Are you mad?” Dom asked, looking behind him. “I don’t think we’re supposed to go down there.”

“Sure we can. Otherwise they’d have it closed off. Come on, Merry. It’s not like you to shrink back from danger.”

“Fucker,” Dom said, and Karl grinned.

He followed Karl down the sharp stone steps. Black metal bars covered the wall on the right side of the steps. As they went down, the air grew closer and damper. At times the ceiling was so low that they had to inch downward crab-style.

“The Mines of Moria,” Karl whispered back and then laughed.

“Ha ha. Are these for real? How deep down do they go?”

And Karl would know the answer. He’d always taken pride in a teaching role.

Sure enough, Karl didn’t miss a beat. “These go back to when the Catholic forces of the Earl of Arran laid siege on this castle. They almost completed a mine here beneath the castle walls. The defenders of the castle dug this countermine, the one we’re on now, which intersected with the mine – you’ll see in a bit -- at a higher elevation, allowing the defenders to drop rocks, boiling oil, or whatever else on the attackers' heads. This went on for a whole year.”

“No shit,” Dom said. He couldn’t imagine lasting a year in such a smothering and dark environment. Give him his rolling green hills, thank you, and a tall mug of strong ale, and he’d be happy.

Karl did love to ramble on about historical stuff, and just hearing him go on made Dom’s heart ache. Karl thrived on the control – and at one time, Dom had known just how to respond to him to make him feel like he was always in control.

They came to the intersection of the mine and countermine, and there they had to climb down a steep metal ladder into the original mine.

Once they both made it down, Karl turned with a wicked grin and pushed Dom against the rough, slimy wall. “This is as far as we need to go. The mine never got finished.”

Karl had been the one to break it off back in New Zealand during that wretched time when they were all saying good-bye to each other and his heart was being torn apart anyway. He couldn’t count the number of times since then that he had imagined such a meeting as today, with Karl seeking him out and telling him that he hadn’t meant a word of what he’d said when they broke up, that they did have a fighting chance.

Of course if he were smart, he’d push Karl away because this could only end badly again, and he’d lose the modest ground he’d gained so far in getting over him. Karl was leaving Scotland tomorrow and they’d likely never see each other again.


“What?” Karl breathed in his ear before letting his tongue run lightly over his lobe.

“Nothing,” Dom said, releasing a breath. Just go with it. Later he could deal with his heart, which would be ripped apart all over again even if he walked away right now. Now he just needed…this.

Karl captured his lips, smothering him in a kiss that brought back fierce memories of Karl’s trailer, of the alley outside their favorite club in New Zealand, of the Meduseld set. Just as he had then, Dom gladly opened his mouth to him, letting Karl’s tongue explore and conquer familiar ground. Finally Karl pulled away, looking down at Dom like he might a prized pet.

“Someone might come,” Dom said, looking over Karl’s shoulder. The idea of being caught aroused him, but he knew that it aroused Karl even more. That was how he had gotten him hard so quickly in the alley behind the pub that night in Wellington.

“Someone might,” Karl said, as if he didn’t much care. He was intent on unbuttoning Dom’s shirt.

“We could get arrested.”

Karl ran his hands over Dom’s bare chest, and Dom shuddered under his touch. “Then if we’re lucky, they’d throw us in the bottle dungeon.”

“Bottle dungeon?”

Karl’s hands paused. “You didn’t read any of the plaques, did you? Did you see that hole up there, covered by grating, in the middle of the grounds?”

Dom had a vague recollection of it, of going through the motions of reading the plaque, all the time spending his energy in trying to stop himself from staring at Karl’s broad shoulders and sniffing in his cologne that had always driven him wild in New Zealand.

“The prison goes down 7 meters, cut into the rock, and back then, both prisoners and food were dropped through it. They say there’s not a nastier dungeon in all Scotland.”

“Well,” Dom said, licking his lips. “Would we be the only prisoners down there?”

His arousal made him want to wriggle out of his jeans immediately, but he forced himself to be patient. With Karl, everything had to go at his pace. That was how it had been in New Zealand, and he expected that Karl hadn’t changed at all since then.

“Of course.”

Karl slid his arms around Dom, smiling the way he always had when he knew he had Dom quivering in his hands. Then he leaned closer and rubbed his groin in deliberate slow motion over Dom’s. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Please, Karl.” Dom hated how weak and pitiful his voice sounded.

Karl did it again, but this time Dom grabbed Karl around the waist, squeezing him so that he couldn’t back away.

“Ha ha ha,” Karl said, raising his brows. “I have missed you, sly one.”

“No you didn’t,” Dom said, grinding against him. Two thick layers of denim lay between them still, but he could feel just how hard Karl was.

Karl only laughed and fumbled with the button to Dom’s jeans.

Dom looked furtively to the side. “Someone really could come down here.”

“Footsteps echo. We’ll have plenty of warning to get the fuck dressed before they reach us.”

Dom’s jeans slid down his thighs and the cool damp air hit his arousal. He was rock hard, quivering; he hadn’t been this helpless with shameless need in a long time, not even during those long bitter nights alone, dreaming and imagining.

“What about you?” he asked, out of breath, eyeing the bulge in Karl’s jeans.

“Don’t be impatient,” Karl said, leaning in. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t breathe. Is that enough?”

Dom barely felt the chill of his ass on the rough cold wall. “What are you waiting for then?”

Karl undid his jeans and let them fall to his ankles. Somehow he had rubbed something slick and oily on his hands, and Dom caught the scent of the lube they had always used in New Zealand. Dom knew better than to make something more out of that than there was; Karl couldn’t have possibly known he was going to run into him. All that mattered now was oil and slick and the feel of Karl’s big hands all over his arousal and buttocks. Then it was just like old times and he was being fucked against the wall -- hard and vicious, just the way he liked it.

Karl had pinned his arms against the wall, and every time he thrust into him, Dom’s backside abraded against the wall, which made it better than ever before.

Dom no longer cared about anyone catching them. Even if he had heard echoes of other tourists, he couldn’t have stopped.


Panting, Dom pulled up his jeans with shaking hands. “Where’d you get the lube, by the way?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing here in Scotland?” Karl tucked his shirt into his jeans.

“Visiting a—“ Dom’s face numbed as it occurred to him. “Oh.”

“He’s just an occasional fuck.”

“Okay,” Dom said, keeping his voice neutral. Karl owed him nothing. “I guess that’s why you carry lube with you everywhere you go.”

“I keep it with me at all times.”

“Why?” But Dom already knew the answer. Control.

Dom wanted back out into the light. Unlike the fellows besieged back in the 1500’s, there was nothing Dom could think of worth fighting for in the smothering dark. At least the fighters in the countermine had hot oil and battering rocks. The upper hand always won.

“Ready?” Karl said. “We have to go back the same way we came in. The tunnel ends the other way.”

Once outside the mines, Dom looked out to sea, now dark gray-blue, streaked with pink from the coming sunset. It seemed they had been in the mines for hours, but it had probably only been about thirty minutes.

“Join me for supper?” Karl asked. “There’s a good restaurant on Market Street – has excellent fish. Good wine, too.”

“What about your friend?” Dom asked, swallowing hard.

“I told you, just an occasional fuck.”

Dom thought long and hard before he declined. Karl didn’t try to convince him otherwise. Once outside the grounds of the castle, Dom wandered alone down the sidewalk that ran along the sea. He watched, hunched forward in his jacket, until the sea turned to dark gray and then to black.