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Elijah Wood/Keanu Reeves, PG-13

The road stretched out in front of Keanu, the pavement beating out a steady rhythm beneath his front wheel. The wind stung his skin and snaked cold fingers into his helmet as usual, but things were different. He wobbled slightly on the turns, overcompensating for added weight, and the body pressed against his back was foreign and disconcerting. But he felt the warmth of small hands and arms through his leather jacket, and the lights of Hollywood winked and throbbed below him.

He rode on.


Elijah looked up at a ceiling much like his own, a hairline crack splitting his view in half. The sheets felt familiar; soft, worn cotton with just a bit of give. But his cheeks were still flushed and chapped, and his thighs still thrummed from the vibrations of the engine as he was slowly fucked by a man who worked in deep silence. Elijah clenched his fists, and his breath hitched momentarily. But the night breeze was cool on his bare chest, and the lights of Hollywood lay quiet and expectant outside the window.

They rode on.

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