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Title: Bruises
Author: The Chad
Pairing: Monaboyd (weird… I know!)
Rating: R-ish
Notes: Just a crazy idea I got… after examining my own bruises… not that you needed to know that… lol. Thanks to my lovely beta, and girlfriend, Xander. You rock!
Warnings: Language and bruises, mention of rough!Sex
&
“Fuck’s sake, Dom—did you have to leave so many?” I look down at my naked body – a scowl on my face – but there is no hint of anger in my voice; Dom knows this.
“Yep,” Dom appears quite proud of himself and I have a hard time keeping my act up.
He stretches and rubs his stomach, a sigh escaping those perfect lips. God, I love him like this: well-spent and satisfied, although not satiated. I look at his body with only three carefully-placed bruises on it. I had scouted the spots out, deciding where I wanted to mark Dom — my Dom — so that he couldn’t easily forget. My own body is a stark contrast to his: mark one- left hipbone, mark two- next to the right nipple, mark three- a bit above his belly button. Yes, mine is different.
Mark one- left side of my neck, mark two- below the right earlobe, mark three- inner elbow, mark four- above right nipple, mark five- left ankle and so on until I looked as if I’d sprouted some weird skin disease or had new freckles — large, purple freckles.
“You know you love it, wanker,” Dom’s voice announces, and I almost wince because he’s right. Fucking hell, I must be sick — a Scot with a kink for rough sex? I’ve summed meself up in eight words; how pathetic.
“Come off it, Bills,” Dom says, and I look down to realize he’s by my left leg, which — probably until now — had survived the night unscathed.
I had no sooner thought it than Dom was sucking unrelentlessly on a spot of peach skin sticking out from the sheet which I had thrown recklessly across my groin.
‘Can’t taste too good,’ I think, feeling the hair on my legs stick up. I worry about my thought processes sometimes; I’ve always seemed to be able to ruin the moment by inane and uncalled for laughter or comments. So in these times, I always think it’s best if I keep my mouth shut — save for moans that wouldn’t bother staying locked in anyway.
Dom’s lips make a small popping sound as they unlatch from my thigh; he looks up at me in a gesture of habit, his face not asking for approval, but his eyes glinting with concealed desire for it.
“Come ‘ere, Monaghan, you fucking cunt,” I pull his mouth up to mine, hoping to taste something that is never there.
&
Not but a few days later, we’re on the beach with Elijah and Orlando; they’ve flown in to Hawaii, claiming that they want to visit Dom on set, but we all know that it’s the great surfing and privacy from the press that really brings them here.
Orlando’s waxing up his board, and Elijah’s rubbing lotion along the scar on Orlando’s spine. I’m surprised that Orlando isn’t pinning Elijah to the ground and taking him right there like I would be if — fucking hell.
Before I know what’s happening, Dom’s pulling my white shirt over my head; next thing I know, he’s rubbing sun block in his hands to warm it before starting to spread it over my chest. Each slide of Dom’s hand sends jolts of pleasure and want straight to my groin. ‘Fuck, I’m in fucking swim trucks, you fucking cunt,’ I curse Dom inwardly but say nothing because I don’t want him to stop.
“Holy fuck!” Elijah says, and I wonder when he moved in front of me and when Dom started rubbing my back. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Now, Lijah,” Orlando croons, ever the courteous one on of the two, “don’t nose.”
“But…”
“Elijah,” Orlando’s voice is dangerous, and the younger man knows to let it drop. A few moments pass in silence before Orlando mutters, “Besides, I think we all can guess where they came from.”
Part of me knows I should protest, but I stand there, looking like a girl and blushing all bashful like. It’s as if I haven’t got any pride anymore or I just don’t give a fuck about the remainder of it.
“Is it true?” Elijah asks Dom in that ever curious voice, his eyes wide.
“Walk with me,” Dom suggests, adjusting his board in the ground before draping an arm around the American’s shoulders and steering him off.
“Now wait a minute,” For a moment, I’m not sure if it was me or Orlando who spoke. But then all eyes are on my and I know I’ve opened my big, Scottish mouth — something I haven’t done since Dom and I became us.
They’re all looking at me expectantly and I know it’s too late now. “Now, don’t you go bragging about how I’ve become your chewing toy,” I command, not even knowing if I’m making any sense.
“Ah, Bills,” Dom says in his ‘why-do-you-got-to-be-like-that’ voice, “you know I wouldn’t do that,” He winks; he actually winks at me. Then he leads Elijah past Orlando and me, leaning toward me to whisper, “You know you love it.”
I don’t answer right away, giving them time to saunter well out of earshot — not that I’d ever admit it out loud anyway. I’m lost in thought about all those nights spent together and how I’ll go home in a few days, sexually worn out and bruised all over. My mind sticks here, lingering on the bruises, knowing how I’ll examine them constantly, trying to remember each story that goes with each purple mark, hoping to grasp each moment in my mind until they fade and become nothing but fuzzy, yet happy, memories.
‘You know you love it, wanker,’ I can’t get Dom’s voice out of my head; I’ll never be able to — even years from now, trying to recall a taste that is never there from a kiss that will always linger.
“You bet I do, Monaghan,” I whisper, grabbing my surfboard from the sand. I’ll write it on his mirror before I leave — probably in lipstick like in those romance movies just to annoy the piss out of him — so he’ll know what I can never admit; but first, I’ve got a wave to catch.
*Fin*
Author: The Chad
Pairing: Monaboyd (weird… I know!)
Rating: R-ish
Notes: Just a crazy idea I got… after examining my own bruises… not that you needed to know that… lol. Thanks to my lovely beta, and girlfriend, Xander. You rock!
Warnings: Language and bruises, mention of rough!Sex
&
“Fuck’s sake, Dom—did you have to leave so many?” I look down at my naked body – a scowl on my face – but there is no hint of anger in my voice; Dom knows this.
“Yep,” Dom appears quite proud of himself and I have a hard time keeping my act up.
He stretches and rubs his stomach, a sigh escaping those perfect lips. God, I love him like this: well-spent and satisfied, although not satiated. I look at his body with only three carefully-placed bruises on it. I had scouted the spots out, deciding where I wanted to mark Dom — my Dom — so that he couldn’t easily forget. My own body is a stark contrast to his: mark one- left hipbone, mark two- next to the right nipple, mark three- a bit above his belly button. Yes, mine is different.
Mark one- left side of my neck, mark two- below the right earlobe, mark three- inner elbow, mark four- above right nipple, mark five- left ankle and so on until I looked as if I’d sprouted some weird skin disease or had new freckles — large, purple freckles.
“You know you love it, wanker,” Dom’s voice announces, and I almost wince because he’s right. Fucking hell, I must be sick — a Scot with a kink for rough sex? I’ve summed meself up in eight words; how pathetic.
“Come off it, Bills,” Dom says, and I look down to realize he’s by my left leg, which — probably until now — had survived the night unscathed.
I had no sooner thought it than Dom was sucking unrelentlessly on a spot of peach skin sticking out from the sheet which I had thrown recklessly across my groin.
‘Can’t taste too good,’ I think, feeling the hair on my legs stick up. I worry about my thought processes sometimes; I’ve always seemed to be able to ruin the moment by inane and uncalled for laughter or comments. So in these times, I always think it’s best if I keep my mouth shut — save for moans that wouldn’t bother staying locked in anyway.
Dom’s lips make a small popping sound as they unlatch from my thigh; he looks up at me in a gesture of habit, his face not asking for approval, but his eyes glinting with concealed desire for it.
“Come ‘ere, Monaghan, you fucking cunt,” I pull his mouth up to mine, hoping to taste something that is never there.
&
Not but a few days later, we’re on the beach with Elijah and Orlando; they’ve flown in to Hawaii, claiming that they want to visit Dom on set, but we all know that it’s the great surfing and privacy from the press that really brings them here.
Orlando’s waxing up his board, and Elijah’s rubbing lotion along the scar on Orlando’s spine. I’m surprised that Orlando isn’t pinning Elijah to the ground and taking him right there like I would be if — fucking hell.
Before I know what’s happening, Dom’s pulling my white shirt over my head; next thing I know, he’s rubbing sun block in his hands to warm it before starting to spread it over my chest. Each slide of Dom’s hand sends jolts of pleasure and want straight to my groin. ‘Fuck, I’m in fucking swim trucks, you fucking cunt,’ I curse Dom inwardly but say nothing because I don’t want him to stop.
“Holy fuck!” Elijah says, and I wonder when he moved in front of me and when Dom started rubbing my back. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“Now, Lijah,” Orlando croons, ever the courteous one on of the two, “don’t nose.”
“But…”
“Elijah,” Orlando’s voice is dangerous, and the younger man knows to let it drop. A few moments pass in silence before Orlando mutters, “Besides, I think we all can guess where they came from.”
Part of me knows I should protest, but I stand there, looking like a girl and blushing all bashful like. It’s as if I haven’t got any pride anymore or I just don’t give a fuck about the remainder of it.
“Is it true?” Elijah asks Dom in that ever curious voice, his eyes wide.
“Walk with me,” Dom suggests, adjusting his board in the ground before draping an arm around the American’s shoulders and steering him off.
“Now wait a minute,” For a moment, I’m not sure if it was me or Orlando who spoke. But then all eyes are on my and I know I’ve opened my big, Scottish mouth — something I haven’t done since Dom and I became us.
They’re all looking at me expectantly and I know it’s too late now. “Now, don’t you go bragging about how I’ve become your chewing toy,” I command, not even knowing if I’m making any sense.
“Ah, Bills,” Dom says in his ‘why-do-you-got-to-be-like-that’ voice, “you know I wouldn’t do that,” He winks; he actually winks at me. Then he leads Elijah past Orlando and me, leaning toward me to whisper, “You know you love it.”
I don’t answer right away, giving them time to saunter well out of earshot — not that I’d ever admit it out loud anyway. I’m lost in thought about all those nights spent together and how I’ll go home in a few days, sexually worn out and bruised all over. My mind sticks here, lingering on the bruises, knowing how I’ll examine them constantly, trying to remember each story that goes with each purple mark, hoping to grasp each moment in my mind until they fade and become nothing but fuzzy, yet happy, memories.
‘You know you love it, wanker,’ I can’t get Dom’s voice out of my head; I’ll never be able to — even years from now, trying to recall a taste that is never there from a kiss that will always linger.
“You bet I do, Monaghan,” I whisper, grabbing my surfboard from the sand. I’ll write it on his mirror before I leave — probably in lipstick like in those romance movies just to annoy the piss out of him — so he’ll know what I can never admit; but first, I’ve got a wave to catch.
*Fin*
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