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monaboyd Feb. 15th, 2006 12:52 am)
flashditzie.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Feb. 15th, 2006 12:52 am)Title: Wiped
Rating: Erm…PG-13? R? Somewhere in there.
Summary: To be quite cliché, Dom’s looking for love in all the wrong places. Billy sets him straight.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, they’re each other’s. And this never happened, except in my twisted little mind.
A/N: Okay, be warned. I haven’t written in a looooooong time. And this is probably the most sexually-explicit piece I ever have written. And it’s pretty cheesy, if I do say so myself. So don’t expect great things, sorry to disappoint, etc.
They’re at a bar tonight, one of those disreputable affairs with smoky air and cheap beer that neither of them like, but both are drinking anyway.
The table they’re sitting at is covered in splotches of some sticky substance better left unidentified.
Most of the people here are loud and stupid-drunk, gyrating wildly on the dance floor, half-heartedly trying to follow the beat of some song that sounds just like all the other ones that they’ve been playing on the radio lately.
Dom hasn’t been laid in six months.
“Remind me again why we’re here,” Billy requests conversationally, leaning in to make himself heard. “Because--and I mean no offense, mate--this is beginning to feel a bit like a honky-tonk. Now, I’m going to reserve judgment because, despite all signs to the contrary, I just can’t believe that my best friend would drag me, Billy Boyd, to such a place.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Dom laughs nervously. “They only have honky-tonks in America.”
Billy sweeps the room with his eyes slowly, deliberately. “Really.”
Dom smiles in what he sincerely hopes is a charming fashion. When Billy still looks skeptical, he goes one step further and takes a big gulp of his motor oil purporting to be beer, forcing himself not to grimace. ”Great stuff.”
Billy gazes at him a moment longer in what looks to be sheer disbelief, then snorts and pulls his jacket off the back of his chair, standing to shrug into it. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Dom stiffens, freezes in the act of bringing the tankard of the bar’s finest rat saliva to his lips for another desperate swig. “Why? Where are you going?”
“In search of some decent whiskey.” A ten dollar bill lands facedown on the table. “That should more than cover it. One would hope, anyway.”
Billy turns and takes a step away, and Dom simultaneously vows not to beg him to stay and finds himself tugging on Billy’s coat sleeve like a fucking kid. Then makes it worse by adding, “Please Bills, no. I need to be here.”
Because they both know that if Billy leaves, Dom will follow him. Friends don’t let friends drink good alcohol alone and what have you.
Billy turns back slowly, confusion furrowing his brow. “For God’s sake, why? Have you suddenly developed dangerous tendencies? Because I have to tell you, Dom, there are much better ways to commit suicide.”
Fuck. Bills is right. This place isn’t to his taste at all. It’s just that…”I haven’t been laid in six months,” Dom hears himself blurting out, ducking his head a bit so as to avoid potential eye contact.
“What?” Billy practically screeches the word. “Six months? How?”
Dom winces and lets go of Billy’s sleeve so he can return to his seat. “I don’t know. It just…hasn’t happened. No one appeals to me.” Or maybe I don’t appeal to anyone.
“But the girls here are just as pretty as the ones in London. Or Scotland. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“I know.” Dom drags a hand over his face. ”Believe me. I know. I don’t understand what’s wrong either. I keep thinking that if I could just get back in the game…”
Billy sinks slowly back into his chair, looking suddenly weary. “Then why don’t you?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
Billy curls his lip. “Dom, do you know what kind of girls you’re like to meet here?”
“Yeah. Drunk ones. That’s the point.” Dom smiles grimly.
“Oh, so you find that whole pukes-on-your-favorite-shirt-and-passes-out-during-sex thing attractive, do you?
“No,” Dom sighs. ”But I’m beginning to think that’s all I’m going to be able to get.”
Billy, forgetting what sort of establishment they’re in, takes a thoughtful sip of his beer, then chokes on it. “Shite, that’s foul,” he gasps as Dom leaps from his seat to helpfully pound him on the back. “Tastes like horse piss.”
Dom quirks an eyebrow at him as he makes his way back to his chair. “And you know this because…?”
“Just never you mind,” Billy mutters. Then, louder, “Let’s focus on why the great Dominic Monaghan thinks the best he can do is some anonymous drunken slob.”
“With warts.”
“Okay, with warts.”
“And a lazy eye.”
“And a lazy eye.”
“And a cocaine addiction.”
“Check on the crack-whore.”
“And a fondness for Neil Diamond.”
“You’ve gone too far with that one, Dominic. Now stop evading the question and tell me why.”
Dom shrugs. “I dunno, it’s as if women have started avoiding me.”
“It could be the nail varnish,” Billy suggests unkindly.
“Stop being a prat. It’s not funny,” he insists as Billy chortles wickedly. “No one flirts with me anymore.”
And that’s when Billy stops laughing and just looks at him, and the temperature of the room suddenly jumps about thirty degrees. Dom tugs at his shirt collar, inexplicably nervous. There’s something about a pair of green Scottish eyes, he finds himself reflecting. When they’re focused solely on you, probing, hot…
And before he can amend that last thought, Billy’s shifting forward, the tip of his tongue tracing over that sexy, perfect bow of an upper lip, and when he speaks, it’s like honey, like warm, sticky caramel sliding slowly down Dom’s throat and coating the inside of his mouth.
“Oh,” Billy purrs, “Don’t they?”
Dom doesn’t want to respond, doesn’t want to surrender more of the space remaining between them, doesn’t want to be completely and utterly transfixed by those eyes, that mouth, those words. Jesus, this was Billy. But it’s too late. He’s already sliding forward, a hunger he’s never known before beginning to pound behind his gritted teeth. “Billy?”
Billy grins at him, a mischievous little smirk that’s trying too hard to be innocent. “Yes?”
“What are you doing?” Dom grounds out, then freezes when a socked foot skims lightly up his leg, pausing a moment to rub suggestively against his inner thigh.
“Flirting.” He has a smile like an angel, bright and sweet, and if it weren’t for the appendage in his lap, Dom might believe that ingenuity.
“I didn’t want you to flirt with me,” he hisses, glancing around to make sure no one has noticed what Billy is doing. This doesn’t seem like the kind of place where a game of footsie between two grown men would be welcome. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“You’re sure about that?”
Dom’s about to make some sort of scathing, self-righteous reply when Billy’s toe brushes over his groin, and Dom realizes with a jolt of horror that he’s hard. Achingly hard. Straining-against-his-fly hard. Get-up-and-go-to-the-restroom-to-relieve-himself-but-he-can’t-because-then-everyone-would-know-he’s-got-a-boner hard.
Not that it would be that much more embarrassing if everyone knew. Billy knows, he has to. Dom can see it in the cheeky little wink Boyd sends his way. Smug Scottish bastard.
“I flatter myself that I’m a pretty good flirt,” the smug Scottish bastard continues blithely. “Something about my accent. Makes the birds crazy.”
You’re making me crazy, Dom wants to say, but he’s too busy biting back a groan as Billy’s foot rubs lazily over his hard-on.
“I think I’m a reasonably sexy bloke. What do you say?”
Mmm. Sexy as fuck, Dom thinks, but none of it actually makes it past his lips. Well. Maybe the ‘mmm.’
“Is that a yes?”
“Billy.” Dom catches himself, rallies what remains of his brain cells. He forces the words out through gritted teeth, his voice still a good deal breathier than he would have liked, but damned if he can help it. “What are you doing to me?”
Billy stops stroking, adopting an expression of wide-eyed surprise. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
And maybe it’s just the six months of celibacy talking, but Dom thinks that he might be more turned on than he’s ever been before in his life, and for Billy to stop now is just cruel. “I feel like fucking Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally,” he pants, sliding down in his seat a bit in an effort to press himself against the foot hovering over his thigh.
Billy raises it higher, just out of his reach, and Dom opens his eyes to deliver a glare of epic proportions. “You’re such a fucking tease.”
Billy raises his eyebrows incredulously. “I’m a tease?” he repeats. His foot finds its way back into Dom’s lap and begins to rub more urgently.
Dom whimpers and his hips buck slightly, involuntarily. He gives another fleeting thought to being discovered by some muscle-bound jerk whose biceps outweigh his brains, but it seems that most people here are too drunk or too intent on hooking up to notice. Besides, maybe a few blows to the head is exactly what he needs, considering the fact that he’s practically humping his best friend’s foot.
“I’m not a tease,” Billy insists. “If anyone at this table is, it’s you.”
Dom tries to wrap his mind around the words coming out of that pretty mouth, because for some reason, Billy seems to expect a reply. Just how many brain cells does the man think I have? He’s shorted out three-fourths of them, at least. Finally he manages, ”How’d you figure that?”
Billy’s eyes are darkening rapidly, from emerald to pine in an instant. “Monday, approximately one o’clock in the afternoon. You bend over to pick something up, and I have to shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from grabbing your arse.”
Dom half laughs, half gasps. “You dirty old bastard.”
“Tuesday morning, 5:45 in Feet. You’re sitting opposite me in your Merry wig, eating an apple. I become fascinated with your mouth and throat, and consider what else you could be swallowing.”
Dom’s panting, sliding lower in his seat, trying to get more friction. Billy obliges him.
“Wednesday night. You stay over. You fall asleep on the couch watching Letterman. I entertain fantasies of carrying you off to my bedroom and handcuffing you to the bed frame. You look as if you’d enjoy it.”
Dom moans. “Jesus, Billy.”
“Thursday morning,” Billy continues doggedly. His voice has deepened to a rasp, rough and hungry, and Dom’s about to explode just listening to him. “I awake to find that I’ve come in my pajama pants and that, sometime during the night, you’ve snuck into bed with me. I think about how the events are probably related and wonder what I did to you. What I could still do to you. I think about fucking you, about just holding you down and taking you, it, everything. I can practically feel you shudder underneath me, almost hear you scream my name. I come again without touching myself.”
But now it’s Dom that’s coming, jerking spasmodically under the table and biting clear through his lower lip in an effort to muffle his cries. As it is, they’re still loud enough to alert the waitress, who makes her way over to ask if they’d like more drinks. Billy hastily assures her that they wouldn’t, while Dom, flushed and short of breath, merely stares at her in a dazed fashion. She eyes them both dubiously for a moment, then shrugs and sashays off. After she’s gone, Dom turns wide eyes toward his best friend. “Billy--” he begins, but Billy shushes him.
“Last Saturday,” Billy continues, leaning forward to gently blot the blood dripping from Dom’s split lip, “Ten o’clock in the morning. I’m standing on the beach, watching you surf and thinking how beautiful you are, how seamlessly you merge with the ocean. I’m wishing I could capture just half of your grace and take it with me on my own board. Suddenly, the wave you’re riding swallows you, and I know you’ve wiped. I wait for your head to pop out of the water, but it doesn’t. You don’t appear, and the seconds are ticking by, and I’m getting worried, and before I know it, I’m charging through the shallows with some fool notion of rescuing you. I’ve made it about chest deep and am about to start swimming, when you grab me around the waist from behind and say, low and breathy, right in my ear, ’Lost something, Boyd?’ And I’m relieved, Dom, because God only knows what I’d do without you, but I’m also feeling your arms around me and your breath on the back my neck and I’m coming apart inside.” Billy draws a deep, shuddering breath, and Dom notices that though his voice has been calm, his hands, folded together on the table, are trembling.
Not that Dom has any room to talk. He thinks it’s just possible that his whole body is trembling with the force of what Billy’s saying. If he’s saying what Dom thinks he’s saying. Which it is suddenly vital to ascertain.
“Bills, do you mean that…?” Dom lets his words trail off into nothingness, unsure of how the phrase the rest of the question, and it’s so important that he gets this right.
Billy’s eyes, almost black with the something that they’re so close to, meet Dom’s as he almost whispers, “I’m lost, Dom, and I finally know it. You might have been the one that wiped that day, but I’m the one that drowned.”
Dom takes a deep breath. In, out. Testing his lungs to see if they still work. He stares at the mass of humanity surrounding them, then down at the wet spot forming on the front of his pants. He licks his lower lip, tasting the blood, and watches the tissue with that same blood soiling it crumple in Billy’s fingers. Finally he looks up at the man sitting across from him. Thinks about Merry and Pippin, thinks about Letterman on the couch, thinks about surfing. Thinks about everything he already knows and how much more there is to find out. Feels good. And knows what he wants to say.
“You know, mate, you’re right,” he declares, pushing his chair back and rising. “I’m not going to meet anyone worthwhile here. I’ve got somewhere else in mind now, somewhere I can get a good drink and I’m sure to meet someone I actually care about.”
The green eyes are carefully blank, reminding Dom of Eliot and The Wasteland and other things that shouldn’t ever be associated with Billy. “Oh? Where’s that?”
Dom grins, the same cheeky grin that he received earlier, and bends down to whisper two words into Billy’s ear on his way out the door. “My place.”
Rating: Erm…PG-13? R? Somewhere in there.
Summary: To be quite cliché, Dom’s looking for love in all the wrong places. Billy sets him straight.
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: They aren’t mine, they’re each other’s. And this never happened, except in my twisted little mind.
A/N: Okay, be warned. I haven’t written in a looooooong time. And this is probably the most sexually-explicit piece I ever have written. And it’s pretty cheesy, if I do say so myself. So don’t expect great things, sorry to disappoint, etc.
They’re at a bar tonight, one of those disreputable affairs with smoky air and cheap beer that neither of them like, but both are drinking anyway.
The table they’re sitting at is covered in splotches of some sticky substance better left unidentified.
Most of the people here are loud and stupid-drunk, gyrating wildly on the dance floor, half-heartedly trying to follow the beat of some song that sounds just like all the other ones that they’ve been playing on the radio lately.
Dom hasn’t been laid in six months.
“Remind me again why we’re here,” Billy requests conversationally, leaning in to make himself heard. “Because--and I mean no offense, mate--this is beginning to feel a bit like a honky-tonk. Now, I’m going to reserve judgment because, despite all signs to the contrary, I just can’t believe that my best friend would drag me, Billy Boyd, to such a place.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Dom laughs nervously. “They only have honky-tonks in America.”
Billy sweeps the room with his eyes slowly, deliberately. “Really.”
Dom smiles in what he sincerely hopes is a charming fashion. When Billy still looks skeptical, he goes one step further and takes a big gulp of his motor oil purporting to be beer, forcing himself not to grimace. ”Great stuff.”
Billy gazes at him a moment longer in what looks to be sheer disbelief, then snorts and pulls his jacket off the back of his chair, standing to shrug into it. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Dom stiffens, freezes in the act of bringing the tankard of the bar’s finest rat saliva to his lips for another desperate swig. “Why? Where are you going?”
“In search of some decent whiskey.” A ten dollar bill lands facedown on the table. “That should more than cover it. One would hope, anyway.”
Billy turns and takes a step away, and Dom simultaneously vows not to beg him to stay and finds himself tugging on Billy’s coat sleeve like a fucking kid. Then makes it worse by adding, “Please Bills, no. I need to be here.”
Because they both know that if Billy leaves, Dom will follow him. Friends don’t let friends drink good alcohol alone and what have you.
Billy turns back slowly, confusion furrowing his brow. “For God’s sake, why? Have you suddenly developed dangerous tendencies? Because I have to tell you, Dom, there are much better ways to commit suicide.”
Fuck. Bills is right. This place isn’t to his taste at all. It’s just that…”I haven’t been laid in six months,” Dom hears himself blurting out, ducking his head a bit so as to avoid potential eye contact.
“What?” Billy practically screeches the word. “Six months? How?”
Dom winces and lets go of Billy’s sleeve so he can return to his seat. “I don’t know. It just…hasn’t happened. No one appeals to me.” Or maybe I don’t appeal to anyone.
“But the girls here are just as pretty as the ones in London. Or Scotland. Or anywhere else, for that matter.”
“I know.” Dom drags a hand over his face. ”Believe me. I know. I don’t understand what’s wrong either. I keep thinking that if I could just get back in the game…”
Billy sinks slowly back into his chair, looking suddenly weary. “Then why don’t you?”
“Why do you think I’m here?”
Billy curls his lip. “Dom, do you know what kind of girls you’re like to meet here?”
“Yeah. Drunk ones. That’s the point.” Dom smiles grimly.
“Oh, so you find that whole pukes-on-your-favorite-shirt-and-passes-out-during-sex thing attractive, do you?
“No,” Dom sighs. ”But I’m beginning to think that’s all I’m going to be able to get.”
Billy, forgetting what sort of establishment they’re in, takes a thoughtful sip of his beer, then chokes on it. “Shite, that’s foul,” he gasps as Dom leaps from his seat to helpfully pound him on the back. “Tastes like horse piss.”
Dom quirks an eyebrow at him as he makes his way back to his chair. “And you know this because…?”
“Just never you mind,” Billy mutters. Then, louder, “Let’s focus on why the great Dominic Monaghan thinks the best he can do is some anonymous drunken slob.”
“With warts.”
“Okay, with warts.”
“And a lazy eye.”
“And a lazy eye.”
“And a cocaine addiction.”
“Check on the crack-whore.”
“And a fondness for Neil Diamond.”
“You’ve gone too far with that one, Dominic. Now stop evading the question and tell me why.”
Dom shrugs. “I dunno, it’s as if women have started avoiding me.”
“It could be the nail varnish,” Billy suggests unkindly.
“Stop being a prat. It’s not funny,” he insists as Billy chortles wickedly. “No one flirts with me anymore.”
And that’s when Billy stops laughing and just looks at him, and the temperature of the room suddenly jumps about thirty degrees. Dom tugs at his shirt collar, inexplicably nervous. There’s something about a pair of green Scottish eyes, he finds himself reflecting. When they’re focused solely on you, probing, hot…
And before he can amend that last thought, Billy’s shifting forward, the tip of his tongue tracing over that sexy, perfect bow of an upper lip, and when he speaks, it’s like honey, like warm, sticky caramel sliding slowly down Dom’s throat and coating the inside of his mouth.
“Oh,” Billy purrs, “Don’t they?”
Dom doesn’t want to respond, doesn’t want to surrender more of the space remaining between them, doesn’t want to be completely and utterly transfixed by those eyes, that mouth, those words. Jesus, this was Billy. But it’s too late. He’s already sliding forward, a hunger he’s never known before beginning to pound behind his gritted teeth. “Billy?”
Billy grins at him, a mischievous little smirk that’s trying too hard to be innocent. “Yes?”
“What are you doing?” Dom grounds out, then freezes when a socked foot skims lightly up his leg, pausing a moment to rub suggestively against his inner thigh.
“Flirting.” He has a smile like an angel, bright and sweet, and if it weren’t for the appendage in his lap, Dom might believe that ingenuity.
“I didn’t want you to flirt with me,” he hisses, glancing around to make sure no one has noticed what Billy is doing. This doesn’t seem like the kind of place where a game of footsie between two grown men would be welcome. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“You’re sure about that?”
Dom’s about to make some sort of scathing, self-righteous reply when Billy’s toe brushes over his groin, and Dom realizes with a jolt of horror that he’s hard. Achingly hard. Straining-against-his-fly hard. Get-up-and-go-to-the-restroom-to-relieve-himself-but-he-can’t-because-then-everyone-would-know-he’s-got-a-boner hard.
Not that it would be that much more embarrassing if everyone knew. Billy knows, he has to. Dom can see it in the cheeky little wink Boyd sends his way. Smug Scottish bastard.
“I flatter myself that I’m a pretty good flirt,” the smug Scottish bastard continues blithely. “Something about my accent. Makes the birds crazy.”
You’re making me crazy, Dom wants to say, but he’s too busy biting back a groan as Billy’s foot rubs lazily over his hard-on.
“I think I’m a reasonably sexy bloke. What do you say?”
Mmm. Sexy as fuck, Dom thinks, but none of it actually makes it past his lips. Well. Maybe the ‘mmm.’
“Is that a yes?”
“Billy.” Dom catches himself, rallies what remains of his brain cells. He forces the words out through gritted teeth, his voice still a good deal breathier than he would have liked, but damned if he can help it. “What are you doing to me?”
Billy stops stroking, adopting an expression of wide-eyed surprise. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
And maybe it’s just the six months of celibacy talking, but Dom thinks that he might be more turned on than he’s ever been before in his life, and for Billy to stop now is just cruel. “I feel like fucking Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally,” he pants, sliding down in his seat a bit in an effort to press himself against the foot hovering over his thigh.
Billy raises it higher, just out of his reach, and Dom opens his eyes to deliver a glare of epic proportions. “You’re such a fucking tease.”
Billy raises his eyebrows incredulously. “I’m a tease?” he repeats. His foot finds its way back into Dom’s lap and begins to rub more urgently.
Dom whimpers and his hips buck slightly, involuntarily. He gives another fleeting thought to being discovered by some muscle-bound jerk whose biceps outweigh his brains, but it seems that most people here are too drunk or too intent on hooking up to notice. Besides, maybe a few blows to the head is exactly what he needs, considering the fact that he’s practically humping his best friend’s foot.
“I’m not a tease,” Billy insists. “If anyone at this table is, it’s you.”
Dom tries to wrap his mind around the words coming out of that pretty mouth, because for some reason, Billy seems to expect a reply. Just how many brain cells does the man think I have? He’s shorted out three-fourths of them, at least. Finally he manages, ”How’d you figure that?”
Billy’s eyes are darkening rapidly, from emerald to pine in an instant. “Monday, approximately one o’clock in the afternoon. You bend over to pick something up, and I have to shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from grabbing your arse.”
Dom half laughs, half gasps. “You dirty old bastard.”
“Tuesday morning, 5:45 in Feet. You’re sitting opposite me in your Merry wig, eating an apple. I become fascinated with your mouth and throat, and consider what else you could be swallowing.”
Dom’s panting, sliding lower in his seat, trying to get more friction. Billy obliges him.
“Wednesday night. You stay over. You fall asleep on the couch watching Letterman. I entertain fantasies of carrying you off to my bedroom and handcuffing you to the bed frame. You look as if you’d enjoy it.”
Dom moans. “Jesus, Billy.”
“Thursday morning,” Billy continues doggedly. His voice has deepened to a rasp, rough and hungry, and Dom’s about to explode just listening to him. “I awake to find that I’ve come in my pajama pants and that, sometime during the night, you’ve snuck into bed with me. I think about how the events are probably related and wonder what I did to you. What I could still do to you. I think about fucking you, about just holding you down and taking you, it, everything. I can practically feel you shudder underneath me, almost hear you scream my name. I come again without touching myself.”
But now it’s Dom that’s coming, jerking spasmodically under the table and biting clear through his lower lip in an effort to muffle his cries. As it is, they’re still loud enough to alert the waitress, who makes her way over to ask if they’d like more drinks. Billy hastily assures her that they wouldn’t, while Dom, flushed and short of breath, merely stares at her in a dazed fashion. She eyes them both dubiously for a moment, then shrugs and sashays off. After she’s gone, Dom turns wide eyes toward his best friend. “Billy--” he begins, but Billy shushes him.
“Last Saturday,” Billy continues, leaning forward to gently blot the blood dripping from Dom’s split lip, “Ten o’clock in the morning. I’m standing on the beach, watching you surf and thinking how beautiful you are, how seamlessly you merge with the ocean. I’m wishing I could capture just half of your grace and take it with me on my own board. Suddenly, the wave you’re riding swallows you, and I know you’ve wiped. I wait for your head to pop out of the water, but it doesn’t. You don’t appear, and the seconds are ticking by, and I’m getting worried, and before I know it, I’m charging through the shallows with some fool notion of rescuing you. I’ve made it about chest deep and am about to start swimming, when you grab me around the waist from behind and say, low and breathy, right in my ear, ’Lost something, Boyd?’ And I’m relieved, Dom, because God only knows what I’d do without you, but I’m also feeling your arms around me and your breath on the back my neck and I’m coming apart inside.” Billy draws a deep, shuddering breath, and Dom notices that though his voice has been calm, his hands, folded together on the table, are trembling.
Not that Dom has any room to talk. He thinks it’s just possible that his whole body is trembling with the force of what Billy’s saying. If he’s saying what Dom thinks he’s saying. Which it is suddenly vital to ascertain.
“Bills, do you mean that…?” Dom lets his words trail off into nothingness, unsure of how the phrase the rest of the question, and it’s so important that he gets this right.
Billy’s eyes, almost black with the something that they’re so close to, meet Dom’s as he almost whispers, “I’m lost, Dom, and I finally know it. You might have been the one that wiped that day, but I’m the one that drowned.”
Dom takes a deep breath. In, out. Testing his lungs to see if they still work. He stares at the mass of humanity surrounding them, then down at the wet spot forming on the front of his pants. He licks his lower lip, tasting the blood, and watches the tissue with that same blood soiling it crumple in Billy’s fingers. Finally he looks up at the man sitting across from him. Thinks about Merry and Pippin, thinks about Letterman on the couch, thinks about surfing. Thinks about everything he already knows and how much more there is to find out. Feels good. And knows what he wants to say.
“You know, mate, you’re right,” he declares, pushing his chair back and rising. “I’m not going to meet anyone worthwhile here. I’ve got somewhere else in mind now, somewhere I can get a good drink and I’m sure to meet someone I actually care about.”
The green eyes are carefully blank, reminding Dom of Eliot and The Wasteland and other things that shouldn’t ever be associated with Billy. “Oh? Where’s that?”
Dom grins, the same cheeky grin that he received earlier, and bends down to whisper two words into Billy’s ear on his way out the door. “My place.”
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“Check on the crack-whore.”
“And a fondness for Neil Diamond.”
“You’ve gone too far with that one, Dominic.
*snerk* I love it. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it. Buahah, it's as good as my inserting cultural references into almost all my stories that NOBODY ever gets before nobody knows culture. Absolute adoration for you.
And absolutely fucking brill, love. Oh my god, this is gorgeous and sexy and funny, believable and not perfect where everything goes right, is sexy and smooth, there's confusion and Dom biting his lip open, and that makes it perfect.
Going to be memoried and recc'd.
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I really like the use of drowning and wiping out as an allegory for falling in love. beautiful.
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And Billy taking the first step is nice. And Dom without a clue... :)
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Bloody hell, woman!
“I flatter myself that I’m a pretty good flirt,” the smug Scottish bastard continues blithely. “Something about my accent. Makes the birds crazy.” Oooh, he is such a tease! I love it. You've got them both down so perfectly, it's fabulous.
I love how you've taken this very cliche sort of fic and put a different sort of spin on it. I mean, so often people write these as inutterably angsty and whatever. But the humour in this is just brilliant! The horrible bar, Billy's lovely reaction to Dominic's confession that he's looking for some drunken crack-whore redneck bint to shag, his flirting, everything... it's hilarious. Really.
Overall- it's gorgeous and sexy and funny and not perfect, which makes a refreshing change, and... yeah.
*hearts*
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i loved it<3.
hah ignore me.
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no subject