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monaboyd Jan. 5th, 2006 04:12 am)
cheekyluv28.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Jan. 5th, 2006 04:12 am)Title: Lost- 4/?
Author: Jen
Pairings: Monaboyd (eventually), Billy/ofc, liberal sprinkling of Losties throughout. (Possible other future pairings there, since I tend to slash anything that moves. *rolls eyes*)
Rating: R at the moment, for remembered mutual wanking, but knowing me, we'll get up to NC17 before too long. ; )
Summary: Dom sleeps on a nice, fluffy cloud, while Billy has a rousing conversation with a bird. Of the avian sort. And misunderstandings abound.
Warnings: WIP, mentions of het, some angst. (not nearly as much this part)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author does not know, and is in no way affiliated with the persons mentioned in this work. No disrespect is intended to the persons mentioned in this work. No money is being made from this in any way.
A/N: Light on the angst this time, but taken out in trade with my ludicrous sense of humor. I still haven't figured out which is worse. ; )
I can't stand it
I know you planned it
I'm gonna set it straight, this Watergate
I can't stand rocking when I'm in here
Because your crystal ball
ain't so crystal clear
So while you sit back and wonder why
I got this fuckin' thorn in my side
Oh my god, it's a mirage
I'm tellin' y'all
It's sabotage...
~Sabotage
The Beastie Boys~
Jorge and Bridget had spent well over two hours in the kitchen, passing the bottle of tequila back and forth, trading sob stories. When the two hours were up, Jorge realized he'd gained a new friend. In spite of her monstrous taste in clothing, Bridget was undeniably cool. She drank like a sailor (and could curse like one, too, he'd discovered after she'd downed a few shots). She had a wicked, sharp sense of humor buffered by a tender, loving heart. And, best of all, she understood exactly where he was coming from- because she was in that same exact place herself.
Jorge rose now from the kitchen table, a bit unsteadily, and forced himself to move. He knew he should head for his own home, but even if he had had the inclination, he didn't have the energy. He was tired, forlorn...and completely and utterly shit-faced.
He discovered this last fact after spending a good five minutes trying to remember how to unzip the fly of his beach shorts so he could use the toilet.
Wondering if Bridget had experienced as much navigating trouble as he was currently having, he got going again, wandering the hall in a semi-daze, rebounding gently off the walls. As much as he tried to steer them away, his thoughts kept returning to earlier in the evening, when Dom had cuddled up to him. It would undoubtedly sound stupid and childish to most people, but that had been the best moment of Jorge's life. No matter that Dom had been passed out cold and was dreaming of another man at the time. It had still been his best moment, and no one could ever take it away from him.
Jorge finally stopped his wandering, blinking blearily at his arrival spot. He had set out in search of the living room couch, so was surprised to find himself standing in the doorway to Dom's bedroom.
Or...maybe it really wasn't such a surprise, after all.
He hesitated there a few moments, knowing this was without doubt the worst idea he'd ever entertained. But the bed looked warm and cozy and inviting...and Dom looked even more so. Jorge would give about anything to have one last feel of those arms holding him tight.
The only person he could possibly harm with this little stunt was himself- it wasn't as if Dom would give a shit one way or the other. For one thing he was still blissfully unconscious, and for another, they had shared a bed plenty of times before, usually out of sheer laziness. Jorge crashed at Dom's almost as often as he did his own home, and more often than not, they wound up occupying the same general space, whether it be a bed, a sofa, or the kitchen linoleum. Odd that tonight was the first time he'd noticed that Dom talked in his sleep. Of course, that could be explained by the fact that Jorge was almost always the first one to succumb to whatever alcohol happened to be their poison for the evening. It might not be true about any other aspect of life, but in drinking, Jorge was the lightweight. Dom drank him under the table every time.
Jorge made his decision and entered the room, crawling under the warm covers. Dom immediately scooched over and cuddled close.
It might not seem like much to anyone else...but to Jorge, it was heaven.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************
Billy woke to a strange, sneaky noise. There was a rustling coming from the floor next to the bed, where Bridget's things lay. Billy listened a moment longer and heard the whisper of a zipper being undone, as if someone was furtively rummaging through her luggage, trying to be quiet about it. But Bridget was out cold next to him, and he couldn't in his wildest imaginings figure why- even as strange as his impulses were sometimes- Dom would want to make a late-night raid on her assortment of clothes and toiletries.
Billy raised his head in puzzlement, squinting towards the baggage, but saw nothing amiss.
He had lain back down, chalking it all up to his imagination, when the soft noise came again. His head shot back up in time to see Griffin making a sneaking escape, Bridget's lavendar trainer clutched in his jaws. The dog crept out of the room and Billy followed, trailing him down the hallway, staying far enough behind that Griffin didn't notice him.
The dog had never been one to chew on or tote around he and Bridget's belongings, even as a small pup. This current defiance was completely out of behavior...and Billy had not one doubt that Dom was somehow behind it. Whenever something went awry or there was some act of impropriety, no matter how far away he might be from the occurance of the activity, Dom was to be blamed. It was a law practically engraven in stone.
Billy watched, torn between bafflement and amusement, as- sure enough- the dog halted in front of Dom's bedroom door, wagging enthusiastically. Griffin waited a moment, trainer in mouth, then whined softly and dropped his contraband onto a large pile of assorted shoes- all of which appeared to be Bridget's. There were slippers, heels, mules, flip-flops... Bridget rivaled Imelda Marcos in shoe-collecting, although Billy seriously doubted Imelda's tastes had been as eclectic. It appeared that Griffin had made off with every single shoe Bridget had packed, one by one, and had parked them in front of Dom's bedroom. And was now sitting behind the amassment, head cocked, looking eagerly at the closed door as if this odd gift of footwear would somehow entice Dom out of bed to play.
"What're y' up t', y' daft wanker?", Billy asked the dog, who whirled around and looked at his master shamefacedly. Billy laughed and knelt down, scratching Griffin behind the ears. "What th' Christ is Uncle Dommie teaching y'?" He shook his head and grinned as the dog licked his face.
There in the darkness, it seemed hard to remember his reasons for closing himself off from the world. For the first time in months, he let himself forget his fears and allowed his inherent impishness to bubble back to the surface.
"What d' you say we storm in there and teach Uncle Dommie a lesson, eh, Griff?" The dog chuffed once in happy agreement.
Billy giggled softly, then turned the doorknob and snuck inside.
*************************************************************************************************************************
Jorge had been on the verge of unconsciousness when he heard a soft scrape and the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He lifted his head as far off the pillow as he could manage, hearing a familiar- and strangely giggly- voice.
Billy. Billy was outside Dom's bedroom door. And holding a rousing conversation with himself, from the sound of things.
Jorge's alcohol-pickled brain sputtered into gear and an insane- but not entirely unfeasible- idea wormed its way into his thoughts. Billy loved Dom- Bridget had made that perfectly clear. Dom loved Billy- there wasn't one frigging ounce of doubt on that score. Jorge wanted Dom with him...but he wanted Dom to be happy even more. And the only thing that would make Dom truly happy was Billy. If Jorge couldn't love Dom outright, then why not love him by helping him find happiness with Billy? Billy was scared, sure, but that was no reason to just give up on life. Just maybe...just maybe he needed something to shock him out of his funk. And, what was the one thing that might have the power to do that?
Jealousy.
Smiling drunkenly to himself at his own brilliance, Jorge waited for the door to swing open, then threw the covers over he and Dom's heads and started rocking his hips wildly, causing the entire bed to shake rhythmically.
Dom made some sleepy, irritated grumbling sounds under the duvet, smacked half-heartedly at Jorge's arm, then was quiet again, rolling out the motions unaware. There was no chance of him awakening in the middle of this little ruse- Jorge had been around Dom long enough to know that not even a herd of stampeding elephants could rouse him once he was passed out. Jorge had played enough nighttime pranks on him to be one hundred percent sure of that.
Billy ground to a halt in the open doorway, an absurd little ditty clanging through his head. 'When the trailer's rockin', don't come knockin!' This ridiculous sentence played on loop through his brain while he stood and stared. Dom's bed was not merely rocking; the fecking thing seemed about to be driven right through the floor. Whatever kind of sexual gymnastics Dom was performing to cause the ruckus, Billy didn't want to know.
Or...maybe he did, at that- his legs seemed to be cemented in place and his sleep pants had suddenly grown uncomfortably snug.
This wasn't the first time Billy had caught Dom in the act of wanking. In particular, Billy remembered an incident back in New Zealand. Dom had been showering and Billy had wandered into the loo for a razor. That in itself wasn't the least unusual; they'd gotten way past the polite knocking stage by that point. But this particular time, Billy didn't walk in on Dom shampooing his hair. His head had been thrown back against the shower wall, eyes closed, mouth open, steaming water rushing down over his gorgeous chest, his flat, perfect stomach. One hand had been tweaking a peaked (and absolutely kissable) nipple while the other slid along his (rigid, swollen, delicious, utterly-fucking-suckable) cock. Billy himself- he recalled with a rush of embarassment- had enthusiastically dry-humped the bathroom door, finally shooting off in Pippin's trousers...and had limped around with a hard-on for an entire month afterward.
But, Jaysus...Dom had been a helluva lot quieter about it back then! Maybe he'd heard Billy's whispered plans to enter the room, and was taking the piss with him. Aye...that had to be it. No one was this bloody rambunctuous, not even Dom.
He was getting ready to pounce onto the bed and call Dom's bluff when he noticed an unmistakable bush of hair poking out from beneath the blankets, and realized in horror that he hadn't burst in on Dom at all.
"Holy fecking Christ, Jorge!...'m sorry!", he blurted, blushing to the roots of his hair. Well...this was beyond mortifying. Dom was undoubtedly camped out on one of the sofas, having loaned out his room to Jorge and his inamorata for a bit of late-night shagging. And now Billy was standing here, frozen, staring at them like some zoo exhibit.
"Not a problem, man.", Jorge poked his whole poofy head from the covers and smiled amiably at Billy, then picked up Dom's limp hand and entwined their fingers, raising their linked hands to the top of the blankets, in plain view.
Billy saw the familiar painted nails and leather cuff and his eyes went wide. He mumbled a few more stuttered apologies, then fled from the room, Griffin yapping in confusion at his heels.
"Th' fuck? Whawastha? Bloodyfuckin'earthquake..." Dom opened one eye and mumbled incoherently before falling back into a stupor.
"Nothin'. 'night, stud muffin." Jorge leaned over and kissed Dom's scruffy cheek, then settled back against his pillow, grinning.
********************************************************************************************************************************
Dom woke with his nose buried in a large- and rather fragrant- armpit He'd been dreaming he was sleeping on a fluffy white cloud, drifting peacefully through the sky, but the illusion was shattered once he opened his eyes. It was not a cloud at all, but Jorge. And the fluffy sensation was still happening, because Dom was, for some unknown reason, sprawled out atop of him. He raised an eyebrow, a bit puzzled, then decided the hell with it. He'd awakened to far stranger things in his day.
He started to move off of Jorge and the world tilted on its axis. He knew from experience that he'd regret it heartily if he shifted even one more inch. If he stayed perfectly still a bit longer, he'd be fine- if he didn't, he'd spend the better part of the day with his head hanging over the rim of the toilet. There was no competition between Jorge and the Tidy Bowl man, so Dom settled back down for a wee kip, burrowing against Jorge's chest.
Jorge's eyes fluttered open halfway, and he squinted down at Dom. "Comfy, dude?"
"Amazingly. You're the perfect cloud, mate."
"Excellent.", Jorge muttered and fell back into unconsciousness, Dom following him the moment after.
He awoke for the second time a half-hour later, much better prepared to face the world. His tummy was still a tad flippy, and there was a persistant throbbing at the base of his skull, but the real danger had passed. He slid off of Jorge with only a slight groan and sat up, only then noticing his state of undress.
True to form, he'd kicked off all excess clothing in his sleep, getting as comfortable as humanly possible. Thank Christ yesterday had been one of the rare days he had chosen to wear underpants. Jorge was an unfailingly patient and forgiving bloke, but waking with a naked man using him for a chaise lounge might prove a bit much, even for him.
In spite of his hangover, Dom felt good. The depression which had settled over him the night before seemed to have evaporated. He was still hurt and confused, yes, but he was also determined now...and more than a little pissed off. He probably still didn't have a hope in bloody hell, but he wasn't about to let his Pippin go without one fuck of a struggle. If Bridget wanted to wage war over rights to Billy, that was perfectly okay, too.
Dom wasn't above a catfight.
He used the loo and started to groom himself and hunt out fresh clothing, then decided it required far too much effort, and trudged out towards the kitchen in his R2-D2 boxers, hair sticking up in wild clumps. Billy was used to Dom's morning-look, and if Bridget didn't like it, well...she could bloody well lump it. After the fashion horrorshow she put on daily, the woman had no sodding room to complain. If he was extremely lucky, maybe he'd frighten her off for good.
Once he reached the kitchen, however, he realized that Bridget wasn't in any shape to do much complaining- or anything else, for that matter. She looked to have a worse hangover than him. She was face-down on the table, her head resting on her crossed arms, the only sign of life being her hand which was weakly clutching a teacup. Her hair was absolutely frightful- clouded around her head in a fiery-red bush. But, as usual, her choice of clothing took the ultimate prize. Her pajamas were covered with a bizzare combination of baby chicks and sailor-capped whales. The chicks were painted a blinding shade of lemon yellow, while the whales were decked out in an obscene electric blue that Dom didn't even have a name for. He had to fight the urge to scurry back to his room for a pair of sunglasses.
"Good morning!", he announced his arrival chipperly, and quite loudly, half-hoping the sound might cause Bridget's head to explode. But she only raised her free hand and waved it feebly in greeting. Billy looked at him over the rim of his newspaper. Dom expected a 'good morning' back, or, at the very least, a polite nod, but what he got was an icy glare.
"Coffee's in th' pot.", Billy announced tightly, then went back to his news.
"Brilliant.", Dom muttered, walking over to pour a mugful, shooting perplexed looks at the back of Billy's head the whole way, wondering what had crawled up his arse and died overnight.
Perhaps Dom had walked in on the middle of an arguement. Bridget didn't look up for much arguing, but you never knew with birds. They could seem all but dead, then rise up to turn on you when you least expected it.
He got his coffee and a box of Pop Tarts and sat down at the table. This was the last place on earth he wanted to be- trapped between his arch-nemesis and a pissed off Billy- but he was damned if he'd flee his own kitchen. He'd stay and have a leisurely breakfast...on general principles.
Bridget shifted a tiny bit in her chair, and an odd- but somehow familiar- whispering sound came from the direction of the floor. Dom's mind associated the noise with mornings spent at breakfast with the Astins- he could hear little Allie's giggles and see her enthusiastically bouncing in her chair while Sean fought vainly for control. She had loved to swing her little legs back and forth, scraping them across the floor, driving Sean out-of-his-head bugshit. And the noise she had produced was identical to the noise Bridget had just made- Dom was sure of it. He peered under the table and confirmed his worst suspicions. Bridget's stupendously hideous pajamas had wee plastic feet. Billy was preparing to walk down the aisle with a colorblind toddler.
Dom glared down at the diamond glittering on Bridget's third finger, then stuffed a Pop Tart in his mouth and tried to forget where he was.
There was no conversation at the table for a good ten minutes, the only sounds being the rustling of Billy's newspaper, Dom's chomping, and the occasional soft groan from the direction of Bridget's lowered head.
"Y' could have told me, Monaghan.", Billy ground out suddenly into the stillness, causing Dom to jump a little. "I mean, would've been nice to've known- saved me th' fecking embarrasment of walking in on y' like that."
"Tol' y' wha, 'ills?", Dom asked around a mouthful of toaster pastry, baffled at Billy's statement. The bloody thing tasted like strawberry-flavored cardboard, but he had needed something to keep his hands occupied.
"That you and Jorge were lovers."
Dom inhaled the remains of his Pop Tart, choked helplessly for what seemed like eternity, then sprayed the debris across the table in a spasmodic coughing fit. Even though he was stupefied and half-strangled, he was pleased to note that most of the crumbs had lodged themselves in the bird's-nest of Bridget's hair.
After he could breathe, he opened his mouth to hotly deny Billy's statement, then stopped himself in his tracks. Billy was staring at him in anger, yes...but there was something beneath that. Something Dom had only seen a few times before, but which was unmistakeable, nonetheless.
Billy was jealous. Dom hadn't the foggiest fucking idea how this misguided notion of his had come about, but there was no denying it. Billy was jealous.
And it was an absolutely beautiful sight to behold.
"So...when did you two get together, eh?" Billy's eyes were positively flashing green fire.
"Uhh....quite recently.", Dom answered. Well, that was certainly the truth- it was so recent that Dom himself didn't even know about it yet.
"Lovely.", Billy muttered dryly, then went back to his newspaper, snapping the pages in irritation. He pretended to read for a few moments, then gave up the ruse, hurling the paper to the tabletop. "'m surprised y' c'n sodding walk this morning, Dommie, th' way he was pounding into y'!" Billy spat angrily, surprising even himself.
Bridget raised her aching head from the table, staring at Billy in mute shock. Dom was utterly flabbergasted...not only at the extent of Billy's pissiness, but at the bizarre font of information passing his lips. Where the Christ was he coming up with this shite?? Had he had an extraordinarily vivid dream and imagined up the rest? Dom hoped so...because the alternative was absolutely unthinkable. Sure, Dom had been hammered, dead to the world, but...
"'scuse me a minute.", he said calmly, with a small smile, then rose from the table. He strolled non-chalantly until he was out of sight of the kitchen, then bolted the rest of the way down the hallway, throwing the door to his bedroom open so hard it rebounded off the wall several times.
Jorge was barely sitting up in bed, blinking owlishly at him.
"Jorge...", he asked quietly, "why is Billy sitting in my kitchen, positively livid because he walked in on us last night whilst we were having mad, passionate- and apparently earth-shaking- sex?"
"Crap...you mean it actually worked?" Jorge scratched his head, then grinned up at Dom in disbelief.
Dom's calm shattered and he screeched at Jorge, "What actually worked?! What the Christ did y' do, Garcia?!"
"Just thought it might get him to thinkin'. Thought I might, ya know...shake him outta his complacency, sorta."
"By molesting me in my fucking sleep?!", Dom cried.
"Worst I did was hold your hand, dude.", Jorge replied with a snort. You're the one that was sprawled on top of me in your undies this morning, remember?"
"You mean...nothing actually happened?"
"Nothin' happened. Ya may be handsome, but you're not that handsome, big boy.", Jorge drawled in his best Mae West voice. "I'm an actor, Dom. I faked it." He paused a moment then added dryly, "I do know how to set a bed to rockin', as unbelievable as that might be."
"I don't doubt it, if you shag the way you Humpty Dance." Dom said wryly, then grinned, shutting the door and sitting down on the bed next to Jorge. "So I don't need to be preparing myself for a shotgun wedding, then?"
Jorge laughed. "'sall good, man. No potential love-children."
"That's a relief. So...what was Billy doing in my room to begin with, do you think?", Dom asked with the tiniest bit of hope.
Jorge patted Dom's arm, shaking his head. "Well...I don't think he came to borrow a friggin' cup of sugar at three o' clock in the morning. I think he misses you, Dom."
Jorge's heart was hurting, but the smile that lit up Dom's face was more than worth the pain.
********************************************************************************************
After Dom had left the kitchen, Billy had fled, also, slamming out of the house without even a word to Bridget, nearly blinded by rage. Now he paced back and forth on the beach, fuming, trying to figure out what in hell was pissing him off so badly.
There was a large and odd-looking grey bird wading peacefully along the shore, dipping its head every few moments, presumably in search of supper. Billy didn't think he'd ever seen anything quite like it. While he paced, he idly rifled through his mind, trying to come up with an identity for the bird. Stork? No- storks were white, he was fairly certain. The cartoon ones that delivered babies were, at any rate. Crane? No- wrong part of the country. A pelican, perhaps? No- that wasn't quite it, either. Pelicans had those humongous flapping pouches- there wasn't a sign of a flap on this fellow.
"Dommie would know what y' are, without even having t' think about it.", Billy conversationally told the bird.
It turned and eyed the human intruder haughtily for a moment, then dismissed him, head poking back into the water.
It wasn't that Dom was shagging someone else- Christ...Dom had shagged a good three-fourths of the Rings cast right under Billy's nose. If he was going to get jealous over Dom's philandering, he would've done it long ago.
Maybe he was irked because Dom hadn't even bothered to tell his best mate that he'd started a new relationship. Dom had always told him everything. Of course, Billy himself had not been exactly communicative over the last couple of days. As a matter of fact, Billy had been a perfect arsehole over the last couple of days. Why would Dom want to tell him anything?
"He's sleeping with someone else, y' know.", he informed the bird. "Jorge's his name. He's a nice enough bloke, but they make a rather odd couple, don't y' think?"
The bird looked around again, shook its feathers in annoyance, then went back to foraging.
"It shouldn't bother me, I realize that...after all, 'm th' one getting married to someone I don't love, now aren't I?"
The bird swung around and squawked at him in irritation, then moved up the beach a few paces to try and escape the uninvited dinner conversation.
"Y' see...'ve got a bad heart. Or, potentially have a bad heart. Arryhthmia, at any rate."
The bird turned once more, regarded the persistant interloper, then lifted its tailfeathers and shat in the sand, not giving a flying fuck about the current state of Billy's health.
Billy scratched his chin, then addressed his avian friend one final time. "Could it be that 'm not mad at him at all...but at m'self?"
That was the last straw. The bird glared daggers at Billy, then made a completely unsettling hissing noise in the back of its throat and took a few menacing steps towards him. Billy hurriedly backed up a few to compensate, wondering warily if this bird, whatever its bloody breed, was prone to attacking.
He'd had an experience with an irate goose back in England that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Dom had decided, out of the blue, that they should go and feed the geese at a local park- no other activity would possibly do for that particular afternoon. Billy had hemmed and hawed, Dom had pleaded, pouting as only Dom could pout, and Billy had found himself steering the Audi into the lot of the park before he quite knew what was happening. He and Dom had walked around, doling out hunks of Wonder Bread, Billy stepping carefully, practically tip-toeing to avoid the abundant piles of goose droppings, Dom plowing right through them without a care in the world. A large and fearsome-looking gander had taken an immediate disliking to Billy, trailing around after him like an overzealous mall security guard. Billy was able to hold it at bay at first by tossing it a constant barrage of bread crumbs, but he all too soon ran out. The moment the gander realized Billy's arsenal was empty, it had taken after him with a loud, honking battle-cry and a murderous look in its beady little eyes. Billy had fled for his life up a hill, screeching like a runaway fire-engine, gander in hot pursuit. Dom had collapsed on the ground, rolling bonelessly in goose shit, laughing so hard he pissed himself. But, soggy trousers and all, he had gotten up after a few moments and had chased after and deftly plucked the gander from the ground, saving Billy from certain destruction. The fucker hadn't even pecked at Dom, not once, had just laid sedately in Dom's arms while he petted and cooed at it and tried to coax Billy down from his tree.
In the end, Billy realized, Dom was always there to corral the geese.
Billy supposed it wasn't fabulous as adages went, but apt all the same. When it all came down to it, Dom had always been there for him, had never let him down, not once in six years.
And never would.
And here Billy was, preparing to slough him off like yesterday's undershorts, preparing to give up years of friendship and devotion in fear of something that might not even come to pass. Was he really going to turn his back and walk away from the only person he had ever truly loved, just idly stand by and watch while another man ran off with his goose-slayer?
Well, yes...he supposed he was.
"The bloody feck I am!", Billy suddenly hollered at the bird. He watched it squawk in terror and take flight in a swirl of feathers, then spun on his heel and ran back in the direction of the house.
tbc....
Author: Jen
Pairings: Monaboyd (eventually), Billy/ofc, liberal sprinkling of Losties throughout. (Possible other future pairings there, since I tend to slash anything that moves. *rolls eyes*)
Rating: R at the moment, for remembered mutual wanking, but knowing me, we'll get up to NC17 before too long. ; )
Summary: Dom sleeps on a nice, fluffy cloud, while Billy has a rousing conversation with a bird. Of the avian sort. And misunderstandings abound.
Warnings: WIP, mentions of het, some angst. (not nearly as much this part)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author does not know, and is in no way affiliated with the persons mentioned in this work. No disrespect is intended to the persons mentioned in this work. No money is being made from this in any way.
A/N: Light on the angst this time, but taken out in trade with my ludicrous sense of humor. I still haven't figured out which is worse. ; )
I can't stand it
I know you planned it
I'm gonna set it straight, this Watergate
I can't stand rocking when I'm in here
Because your crystal ball
ain't so crystal clear
So while you sit back and wonder why
I got this fuckin' thorn in my side
Oh my god, it's a mirage
I'm tellin' y'all
It's sabotage...
~Sabotage
The Beastie Boys~
Jorge and Bridget had spent well over two hours in the kitchen, passing the bottle of tequila back and forth, trading sob stories. When the two hours were up, Jorge realized he'd gained a new friend. In spite of her monstrous taste in clothing, Bridget was undeniably cool. She drank like a sailor (and could curse like one, too, he'd discovered after she'd downed a few shots). She had a wicked, sharp sense of humor buffered by a tender, loving heart. And, best of all, she understood exactly where he was coming from- because she was in that same exact place herself.
Jorge rose now from the kitchen table, a bit unsteadily, and forced himself to move. He knew he should head for his own home, but even if he had had the inclination, he didn't have the energy. He was tired, forlorn...and completely and utterly shit-faced.
He discovered this last fact after spending a good five minutes trying to remember how to unzip the fly of his beach shorts so he could use the toilet.
Wondering if Bridget had experienced as much navigating trouble as he was currently having, he got going again, wandering the hall in a semi-daze, rebounding gently off the walls. As much as he tried to steer them away, his thoughts kept returning to earlier in the evening, when Dom had cuddled up to him. It would undoubtedly sound stupid and childish to most people, but that had been the best moment of Jorge's life. No matter that Dom had been passed out cold and was dreaming of another man at the time. It had still been his best moment, and no one could ever take it away from him.
Jorge finally stopped his wandering, blinking blearily at his arrival spot. He had set out in search of the living room couch, so was surprised to find himself standing in the doorway to Dom's bedroom.
Or...maybe it really wasn't such a surprise, after all.
He hesitated there a few moments, knowing this was without doubt the worst idea he'd ever entertained. But the bed looked warm and cozy and inviting...and Dom looked even more so. Jorge would give about anything to have one last feel of those arms holding him tight.
The only person he could possibly harm with this little stunt was himself- it wasn't as if Dom would give a shit one way or the other. For one thing he was still blissfully unconscious, and for another, they had shared a bed plenty of times before, usually out of sheer laziness. Jorge crashed at Dom's almost as often as he did his own home, and more often than not, they wound up occupying the same general space, whether it be a bed, a sofa, or the kitchen linoleum. Odd that tonight was the first time he'd noticed that Dom talked in his sleep. Of course, that could be explained by the fact that Jorge was almost always the first one to succumb to whatever alcohol happened to be their poison for the evening. It might not be true about any other aspect of life, but in drinking, Jorge was the lightweight. Dom drank him under the table every time.
Jorge made his decision and entered the room, crawling under the warm covers. Dom immediately scooched over and cuddled close.
It might not seem like much to anyone else...but to Jorge, it was heaven.
*******************************************************************************************************************************************
Billy woke to a strange, sneaky noise. There was a rustling coming from the floor next to the bed, where Bridget's things lay. Billy listened a moment longer and heard the whisper of a zipper being undone, as if someone was furtively rummaging through her luggage, trying to be quiet about it. But Bridget was out cold next to him, and he couldn't in his wildest imaginings figure why- even as strange as his impulses were sometimes- Dom would want to make a late-night raid on her assortment of clothes and toiletries.
Billy raised his head in puzzlement, squinting towards the baggage, but saw nothing amiss.
He had lain back down, chalking it all up to his imagination, when the soft noise came again. His head shot back up in time to see Griffin making a sneaking escape, Bridget's lavendar trainer clutched in his jaws. The dog crept out of the room and Billy followed, trailing him down the hallway, staying far enough behind that Griffin didn't notice him.
The dog had never been one to chew on or tote around he and Bridget's belongings, even as a small pup. This current defiance was completely out of behavior...and Billy had not one doubt that Dom was somehow behind it. Whenever something went awry or there was some act of impropriety, no matter how far away he might be from the occurance of the activity, Dom was to be blamed. It was a law practically engraven in stone.
Billy watched, torn between bafflement and amusement, as- sure enough- the dog halted in front of Dom's bedroom door, wagging enthusiastically. Griffin waited a moment, trainer in mouth, then whined softly and dropped his contraband onto a large pile of assorted shoes- all of which appeared to be Bridget's. There were slippers, heels, mules, flip-flops... Bridget rivaled Imelda Marcos in shoe-collecting, although Billy seriously doubted Imelda's tastes had been as eclectic. It appeared that Griffin had made off with every single shoe Bridget had packed, one by one, and had parked them in front of Dom's bedroom. And was now sitting behind the amassment, head cocked, looking eagerly at the closed door as if this odd gift of footwear would somehow entice Dom out of bed to play.
"What're y' up t', y' daft wanker?", Billy asked the dog, who whirled around and looked at his master shamefacedly. Billy laughed and knelt down, scratching Griffin behind the ears. "What th' Christ is Uncle Dommie teaching y'?" He shook his head and grinned as the dog licked his face.
There in the darkness, it seemed hard to remember his reasons for closing himself off from the world. For the first time in months, he let himself forget his fears and allowed his inherent impishness to bubble back to the surface.
"What d' you say we storm in there and teach Uncle Dommie a lesson, eh, Griff?" The dog chuffed once in happy agreement.
Billy giggled softly, then turned the doorknob and snuck inside.
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Jorge had been on the verge of unconsciousness when he heard a soft scrape and the sound of footsteps in the hallway. He lifted his head as far off the pillow as he could manage, hearing a familiar- and strangely giggly- voice.
Billy. Billy was outside Dom's bedroom door. And holding a rousing conversation with himself, from the sound of things.
Jorge's alcohol-pickled brain sputtered into gear and an insane- but not entirely unfeasible- idea wormed its way into his thoughts. Billy loved Dom- Bridget had made that perfectly clear. Dom loved Billy- there wasn't one frigging ounce of doubt on that score. Jorge wanted Dom with him...but he wanted Dom to be happy even more. And the only thing that would make Dom truly happy was Billy. If Jorge couldn't love Dom outright, then why not love him by helping him find happiness with Billy? Billy was scared, sure, but that was no reason to just give up on life. Just maybe...just maybe he needed something to shock him out of his funk. And, what was the one thing that might have the power to do that?
Jealousy.
Smiling drunkenly to himself at his own brilliance, Jorge waited for the door to swing open, then threw the covers over he and Dom's heads and started rocking his hips wildly, causing the entire bed to shake rhythmically.
Dom made some sleepy, irritated grumbling sounds under the duvet, smacked half-heartedly at Jorge's arm, then was quiet again, rolling out the motions unaware. There was no chance of him awakening in the middle of this little ruse- Jorge had been around Dom long enough to know that not even a herd of stampeding elephants could rouse him once he was passed out. Jorge had played enough nighttime pranks on him to be one hundred percent sure of that.
Billy ground to a halt in the open doorway, an absurd little ditty clanging through his head. 'When the trailer's rockin', don't come knockin!' This ridiculous sentence played on loop through his brain while he stood and stared. Dom's bed was not merely rocking; the fecking thing seemed about to be driven right through the floor. Whatever kind of sexual gymnastics Dom was performing to cause the ruckus, Billy didn't want to know.
Or...maybe he did, at that- his legs seemed to be cemented in place and his sleep pants had suddenly grown uncomfortably snug.
This wasn't the first time Billy had caught Dom in the act of wanking. In particular, Billy remembered an incident back in New Zealand. Dom had been showering and Billy had wandered into the loo for a razor. That in itself wasn't the least unusual; they'd gotten way past the polite knocking stage by that point. But this particular time, Billy didn't walk in on Dom shampooing his hair. His head had been thrown back against the shower wall, eyes closed, mouth open, steaming water rushing down over his gorgeous chest, his flat, perfect stomach. One hand had been tweaking a peaked (and absolutely kissable) nipple while the other slid along his (rigid, swollen, delicious, utterly-fucking-suckable) cock. Billy himself- he recalled with a rush of embarassment- had enthusiastically dry-humped the bathroom door, finally shooting off in Pippin's trousers...and had limped around with a hard-on for an entire month afterward.
But, Jaysus...Dom had been a helluva lot quieter about it back then! Maybe he'd heard Billy's whispered plans to enter the room, and was taking the piss with him. Aye...that had to be it. No one was this bloody rambunctuous, not even Dom.
He was getting ready to pounce onto the bed and call Dom's bluff when he noticed an unmistakable bush of hair poking out from beneath the blankets, and realized in horror that he hadn't burst in on Dom at all.
"Holy fecking Christ, Jorge!...'m sorry!", he blurted, blushing to the roots of his hair. Well...this was beyond mortifying. Dom was undoubtedly camped out on one of the sofas, having loaned out his room to Jorge and his inamorata for a bit of late-night shagging. And now Billy was standing here, frozen, staring at them like some zoo exhibit.
"Not a problem, man.", Jorge poked his whole poofy head from the covers and smiled amiably at Billy, then picked up Dom's limp hand and entwined their fingers, raising their linked hands to the top of the blankets, in plain view.
Billy saw the familiar painted nails and leather cuff and his eyes went wide. He mumbled a few more stuttered apologies, then fled from the room, Griffin yapping in confusion at his heels.
"Th' fuck? Whawastha? Bloodyfuckin'earthquake..." Dom opened one eye and mumbled incoherently before falling back into a stupor.
"Nothin'. 'night, stud muffin." Jorge leaned over and kissed Dom's scruffy cheek, then settled back against his pillow, grinning.
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Dom woke with his nose buried in a large- and rather fragrant- armpit He'd been dreaming he was sleeping on a fluffy white cloud, drifting peacefully through the sky, but the illusion was shattered once he opened his eyes. It was not a cloud at all, but Jorge. And the fluffy sensation was still happening, because Dom was, for some unknown reason, sprawled out atop of him. He raised an eyebrow, a bit puzzled, then decided the hell with it. He'd awakened to far stranger things in his day.
He started to move off of Jorge and the world tilted on its axis. He knew from experience that he'd regret it heartily if he shifted even one more inch. If he stayed perfectly still a bit longer, he'd be fine- if he didn't, he'd spend the better part of the day with his head hanging over the rim of the toilet. There was no competition between Jorge and the Tidy Bowl man, so Dom settled back down for a wee kip, burrowing against Jorge's chest.
Jorge's eyes fluttered open halfway, and he squinted down at Dom. "Comfy, dude?"
"Amazingly. You're the perfect cloud, mate."
"Excellent.", Jorge muttered and fell back into unconsciousness, Dom following him the moment after.
He awoke for the second time a half-hour later, much better prepared to face the world. His tummy was still a tad flippy, and there was a persistant throbbing at the base of his skull, but the real danger had passed. He slid off of Jorge with only a slight groan and sat up, only then noticing his state of undress.
True to form, he'd kicked off all excess clothing in his sleep, getting as comfortable as humanly possible. Thank Christ yesterday had been one of the rare days he had chosen to wear underpants. Jorge was an unfailingly patient and forgiving bloke, but waking with a naked man using him for a chaise lounge might prove a bit much, even for him.
In spite of his hangover, Dom felt good. The depression which had settled over him the night before seemed to have evaporated. He was still hurt and confused, yes, but he was also determined now...and more than a little pissed off. He probably still didn't have a hope in bloody hell, but he wasn't about to let his Pippin go without one fuck of a struggle. If Bridget wanted to wage war over rights to Billy, that was perfectly okay, too.
Dom wasn't above a catfight.
He used the loo and started to groom himself and hunt out fresh clothing, then decided it required far too much effort, and trudged out towards the kitchen in his R2-D2 boxers, hair sticking up in wild clumps. Billy was used to Dom's morning-look, and if Bridget didn't like it, well...she could bloody well lump it. After the fashion horrorshow she put on daily, the woman had no sodding room to complain. If he was extremely lucky, maybe he'd frighten her off for good.
Once he reached the kitchen, however, he realized that Bridget wasn't in any shape to do much complaining- or anything else, for that matter. She looked to have a worse hangover than him. She was face-down on the table, her head resting on her crossed arms, the only sign of life being her hand which was weakly clutching a teacup. Her hair was absolutely frightful- clouded around her head in a fiery-red bush. But, as usual, her choice of clothing took the ultimate prize. Her pajamas were covered with a bizzare combination of baby chicks and sailor-capped whales. The chicks were painted a blinding shade of lemon yellow, while the whales were decked out in an obscene electric blue that Dom didn't even have a name for. He had to fight the urge to scurry back to his room for a pair of sunglasses.
"Good morning!", he announced his arrival chipperly, and quite loudly, half-hoping the sound might cause Bridget's head to explode. But she only raised her free hand and waved it feebly in greeting. Billy looked at him over the rim of his newspaper. Dom expected a 'good morning' back, or, at the very least, a polite nod, but what he got was an icy glare.
"Coffee's in th' pot.", Billy announced tightly, then went back to his news.
"Brilliant.", Dom muttered, walking over to pour a mugful, shooting perplexed looks at the back of Billy's head the whole way, wondering what had crawled up his arse and died overnight.
Perhaps Dom had walked in on the middle of an arguement. Bridget didn't look up for much arguing, but you never knew with birds. They could seem all but dead, then rise up to turn on you when you least expected it.
He got his coffee and a box of Pop Tarts and sat down at the table. This was the last place on earth he wanted to be- trapped between his arch-nemesis and a pissed off Billy- but he was damned if he'd flee his own kitchen. He'd stay and have a leisurely breakfast...on general principles.
Bridget shifted a tiny bit in her chair, and an odd- but somehow familiar- whispering sound came from the direction of the floor. Dom's mind associated the noise with mornings spent at breakfast with the Astins- he could hear little Allie's giggles and see her enthusiastically bouncing in her chair while Sean fought vainly for control. She had loved to swing her little legs back and forth, scraping them across the floor, driving Sean out-of-his-head bugshit. And the noise she had produced was identical to the noise Bridget had just made- Dom was sure of it. He peered under the table and confirmed his worst suspicions. Bridget's stupendously hideous pajamas had wee plastic feet. Billy was preparing to walk down the aisle with a colorblind toddler.
Dom glared down at the diamond glittering on Bridget's third finger, then stuffed a Pop Tart in his mouth and tried to forget where he was.
There was no conversation at the table for a good ten minutes, the only sounds being the rustling of Billy's newspaper, Dom's chomping, and the occasional soft groan from the direction of Bridget's lowered head.
"Y' could have told me, Monaghan.", Billy ground out suddenly into the stillness, causing Dom to jump a little. "I mean, would've been nice to've known- saved me th' fecking embarrasment of walking in on y' like that."
"Tol' y' wha, 'ills?", Dom asked around a mouthful of toaster pastry, baffled at Billy's statement. The bloody thing tasted like strawberry-flavored cardboard, but he had needed something to keep his hands occupied.
"That you and Jorge were lovers."
Dom inhaled the remains of his Pop Tart, choked helplessly for what seemed like eternity, then sprayed the debris across the table in a spasmodic coughing fit. Even though he was stupefied and half-strangled, he was pleased to note that most of the crumbs had lodged themselves in the bird's-nest of Bridget's hair.
After he could breathe, he opened his mouth to hotly deny Billy's statement, then stopped himself in his tracks. Billy was staring at him in anger, yes...but there was something beneath that. Something Dom had only seen a few times before, but which was unmistakeable, nonetheless.
Billy was jealous. Dom hadn't the foggiest fucking idea how this misguided notion of his had come about, but there was no denying it. Billy was jealous.
And it was an absolutely beautiful sight to behold.
"So...when did you two get together, eh?" Billy's eyes were positively flashing green fire.
"Uhh....quite recently.", Dom answered. Well, that was certainly the truth- it was so recent that Dom himself didn't even know about it yet.
"Lovely.", Billy muttered dryly, then went back to his newspaper, snapping the pages in irritation. He pretended to read for a few moments, then gave up the ruse, hurling the paper to the tabletop. "'m surprised y' c'n sodding walk this morning, Dommie, th' way he was pounding into y'!" Billy spat angrily, surprising even himself.
Bridget raised her aching head from the table, staring at Billy in mute shock. Dom was utterly flabbergasted...not only at the extent of Billy's pissiness, but at the bizarre font of information passing his lips. Where the Christ was he coming up with this shite?? Had he had an extraordinarily vivid dream and imagined up the rest? Dom hoped so...because the alternative was absolutely unthinkable. Sure, Dom had been hammered, dead to the world, but...
"'scuse me a minute.", he said calmly, with a small smile, then rose from the table. He strolled non-chalantly until he was out of sight of the kitchen, then bolted the rest of the way down the hallway, throwing the door to his bedroom open so hard it rebounded off the wall several times.
Jorge was barely sitting up in bed, blinking owlishly at him.
"Jorge...", he asked quietly, "why is Billy sitting in my kitchen, positively livid because he walked in on us last night whilst we were having mad, passionate- and apparently earth-shaking- sex?"
"Crap...you mean it actually worked?" Jorge scratched his head, then grinned up at Dom in disbelief.
Dom's calm shattered and he screeched at Jorge, "What actually worked?! What the Christ did y' do, Garcia?!"
"Just thought it might get him to thinkin'. Thought I might, ya know...shake him outta his complacency, sorta."
"By molesting me in my fucking sleep?!", Dom cried.
"Worst I did was hold your hand, dude.", Jorge replied with a snort. You're the one that was sprawled on top of me in your undies this morning, remember?"
"You mean...nothing actually happened?"
"Nothin' happened. Ya may be handsome, but you're not that handsome, big boy.", Jorge drawled in his best Mae West voice. "I'm an actor, Dom. I faked it." He paused a moment then added dryly, "I do know how to set a bed to rockin', as unbelievable as that might be."
"I don't doubt it, if you shag the way you Humpty Dance." Dom said wryly, then grinned, shutting the door and sitting down on the bed next to Jorge. "So I don't need to be preparing myself for a shotgun wedding, then?"
Jorge laughed. "'sall good, man. No potential love-children."
"That's a relief. So...what was Billy doing in my room to begin with, do you think?", Dom asked with the tiniest bit of hope.
Jorge patted Dom's arm, shaking his head. "Well...I don't think he came to borrow a friggin' cup of sugar at three o' clock in the morning. I think he misses you, Dom."
Jorge's heart was hurting, but the smile that lit up Dom's face was more than worth the pain.
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After Dom had left the kitchen, Billy had fled, also, slamming out of the house without even a word to Bridget, nearly blinded by rage. Now he paced back and forth on the beach, fuming, trying to figure out what in hell was pissing him off so badly.
There was a large and odd-looking grey bird wading peacefully along the shore, dipping its head every few moments, presumably in search of supper. Billy didn't think he'd ever seen anything quite like it. While he paced, he idly rifled through his mind, trying to come up with an identity for the bird. Stork? No- storks were white, he was fairly certain. The cartoon ones that delivered babies were, at any rate. Crane? No- wrong part of the country. A pelican, perhaps? No- that wasn't quite it, either. Pelicans had those humongous flapping pouches- there wasn't a sign of a flap on this fellow.
"Dommie would know what y' are, without even having t' think about it.", Billy conversationally told the bird.
It turned and eyed the human intruder haughtily for a moment, then dismissed him, head poking back into the water.
It wasn't that Dom was shagging someone else- Christ...Dom had shagged a good three-fourths of the Rings cast right under Billy's nose. If he was going to get jealous over Dom's philandering, he would've done it long ago.
Maybe he was irked because Dom hadn't even bothered to tell his best mate that he'd started a new relationship. Dom had always told him everything. Of course, Billy himself had not been exactly communicative over the last couple of days. As a matter of fact, Billy had been a perfect arsehole over the last couple of days. Why would Dom want to tell him anything?
"He's sleeping with someone else, y' know.", he informed the bird. "Jorge's his name. He's a nice enough bloke, but they make a rather odd couple, don't y' think?"
The bird looked around again, shook its feathers in annoyance, then went back to foraging.
"It shouldn't bother me, I realize that...after all, 'm th' one getting married to someone I don't love, now aren't I?"
The bird swung around and squawked at him in irritation, then moved up the beach a few paces to try and escape the uninvited dinner conversation.
"Y' see...'ve got a bad heart. Or, potentially have a bad heart. Arryhthmia, at any rate."
The bird turned once more, regarded the persistant interloper, then lifted its tailfeathers and shat in the sand, not giving a flying fuck about the current state of Billy's health.
Billy scratched his chin, then addressed his avian friend one final time. "Could it be that 'm not mad at him at all...but at m'self?"
That was the last straw. The bird glared daggers at Billy, then made a completely unsettling hissing noise in the back of its throat and took a few menacing steps towards him. Billy hurriedly backed up a few to compensate, wondering warily if this bird, whatever its bloody breed, was prone to attacking.
He'd had an experience with an irate goose back in England that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Dom had decided, out of the blue, that they should go and feed the geese at a local park- no other activity would possibly do for that particular afternoon. Billy had hemmed and hawed, Dom had pleaded, pouting as only Dom could pout, and Billy had found himself steering the Audi into the lot of the park before he quite knew what was happening. He and Dom had walked around, doling out hunks of Wonder Bread, Billy stepping carefully, practically tip-toeing to avoid the abundant piles of goose droppings, Dom plowing right through them without a care in the world. A large and fearsome-looking gander had taken an immediate disliking to Billy, trailing around after him like an overzealous mall security guard. Billy was able to hold it at bay at first by tossing it a constant barrage of bread crumbs, but he all too soon ran out. The moment the gander realized Billy's arsenal was empty, it had taken after him with a loud, honking battle-cry and a murderous look in its beady little eyes. Billy had fled for his life up a hill, screeching like a runaway fire-engine, gander in hot pursuit. Dom had collapsed on the ground, rolling bonelessly in goose shit, laughing so hard he pissed himself. But, soggy trousers and all, he had gotten up after a few moments and had chased after and deftly plucked the gander from the ground, saving Billy from certain destruction. The fucker hadn't even pecked at Dom, not once, had just laid sedately in Dom's arms while he petted and cooed at it and tried to coax Billy down from his tree.
In the end, Billy realized, Dom was always there to corral the geese.
Billy supposed it wasn't fabulous as adages went, but apt all the same. When it all came down to it, Dom had always been there for him, had never let him down, not once in six years.
And never would.
And here Billy was, preparing to slough him off like yesterday's undershorts, preparing to give up years of friendship and devotion in fear of something that might not even come to pass. Was he really going to turn his back and walk away from the only person he had ever truly loved, just idly stand by and watch while another man ran off with his goose-slayer?
Well, yes...he supposed he was.
"The bloody feck I am!", Billy suddenly hollered at the bird. He watched it squawk in terror and take flight in a swirl of feathers, then spun on his heel and ran back in the direction of the house.
tbc....
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"Th' fuck? Whawastha? Bloodyfuckin'earthquake..."
Gaah, I love it! =D
Moremoremore! ^^
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Oh, Jorge. ♥
Jealous Billy. I love it.
Griffin and the shoes. Priceless.
I love this story, please don't make me wait too long until the next update *pouts prettily, bats eyelashes*
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I've been juggling so many lately that I'm going mental- if I wasn't there already. *grins* But this one seems to be taking top billing at the moment. I'm working on the next chapter as we speak. Hopefully it won't be too long till I post. : )
Thanks so very much for the wonderful comments, I'm so glad you're enjoying this. : )
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boatbed, and i love the shoe-stealing dog and i love everything about this story. <3From:
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The animosity that Dom feels towards poor Bridget is too much! His description of her clothing, his glee at spitting half-chewed pop tart in her hair, teaching the dog to eat her shoes... Even thinking about it makes me chuckle.
I am being so mean to that poor girl, but I can't seem to help myself. *shakes head* I have a feeling Dommie'll get his comeuppance sooner or later, however. ; )
I'm so very glad you're enjoying this. : ) Thank you so much for the lovely and detailed feedback, it's very much appreciated. I'll see what I can do about making your workweek from hell a little more enjoyable- if you've any particular fic requests or suggestions, I'd be happy to try and accomodate them. : )
At any rate, I wish you luck getting through the week unscathed. *hugs*