The first Elijah knew about it was when Viggo walked half naked into Dom's kitchen.
Elijah hadn't dropped by for any real reason, other than it was late-ish on Sunday morning and he was bored and brunch with Dom had seemed like a good idea. Dom hadn't complained, and they'd been discussing whether Anakin Skywalker actually had brought balance to the Force as Dom started making coffee.
Everything had been fine. Until Viggo stepped into the doorway, hair a luscious mess, hopelessly creased shirt a jumble around his shoulders, cuffs hanging loose, unbuttoned entirely down the front, showing torso and unbuckled belt threaded through the loops of his jeans.
Elijah had simply gaped.
"Where the hell are my shoes?" Viggo asked, sounding annoyed and half-asleep and faintly plaintive.
Dom gestured with one hand, didn't even turn around. "Check behind the sofa."
"Thanks," Viggo replied, and disappeared from the doorway. "Morning, Elijah," floated back after him.
Elijah got his jaw working. "He- buh- you... You two are fucking?"
Eloquent. Really fucking eloquent. Tactful too.
But Dom didn't blink. "Yep. Two sugars or three?"
"Uh, two." A steaming mug slid across the bench in front of him. Dom handed a second mug to Viggo as the older man returned to the kitchen, a pair of black dress shoes dangling from one hand.
"How did one of my socks end up in the pot plant?" Viggo asked, sitting down next to Elijah at the bench.
Dom shrugged, stirring his own coffee. "I don't know. You were the one throwing them around."
Elijah just cradled his scalding hot cup, and got used to the idea.
And it all made sense, in an entirely unexpected sort of way.
Because Dom had broken away from the meandering hobbits and sprinted up behind the older men, vaulted onto Viggo's back with a falsetto "Yee-hah!" and was caught half-slipping in a stagger and laughter and shrugged higher, hands under thighs and gripping knees, hands on shoulders and breathless against his neck, but that was playing and Elijah leapt likewise onto Bean, and declared a joust, Sir Dominic and Lord Elijah, pulling at the ears of their recalcitrant, grinning mounts.
And Elijah realised they'd always shared those same vague moments, hovering on the edges of filming in gaps and breaks, in a big group of conversation and hubbub, or animated in play-acting, or hardly looking at each other and rarely speaking, and Elijah's eyes had simply slipped over them with Viggo in Aragorn-crouch with sword for balance and squinting into the middle distance, Dom talking half to himself with idle, ever-moving hands, but now when Elijah saw them he registered, hesitated until Viggo looked up with a half-smile and Dom gestured him over and then they included him, and it was just like always.
Then there was a moment, a gathering at Elijah's with Dom sprawled on the couch, feet up on the table and Viggo standing behind him, leaning against the couch and it was perfectly innocent except from where Elijah was standing in the doorway to the kitchen he could see Viggo's thumb against the sheltered strip of skin between Dom's collar and hair, hidden behind his ear, and the way that thumb moved stroking, soothing, incessant, possessive and he couldn't take his eyes off it as he felt a grin stretch his face and he asked if anyone wanted more coffee.
It all made beautiful, perfect sense.
The last Elijah knew about it was when Dom asked if he could move in.
It was the winding end of a typical evening out, settled into a pattern now towards the end of the shoot. They'd been the last two left at the pool table, the only two really sober enough to still play. Elijah had racked them up while Dom went to get another round.
Everything had been fine. Elijah chalked his cue and watched Dom at the bar, laughing with Viggo and Bean.
Dom waited until after he'd broken to say: "I'm thinking of moving to the States. Could I stay with you?"
"Sure," Elijah replied, circling the table. "I thought you'd want to stay with Vig, though."
"Might be a bit awkward," Dom commented, and Elijah straightened suddenly from his shot as realisation hit.
"You two broke up?"
Dom laughed, bent, and slammed the four into the corner pocket. "To do that, wouldn't have to be, like, going steady or something? We're not American high school kids, in case you hadn't noticed."
"So what were you?" Elijah asked as Dom lined up the next shot.
He sank that one too. "We were good friends who were shagging," Dom answered with a grin.
"Now..." Dom fudged the next shot, sending the six rolling across the table. He shrugged. "Now we're good friends who aren't shagging."
Elijah surveyed the spread of balls on the table, drank a third of his beer, and got used to the idea.