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monaboyd Mar. 7th, 2004 12:31 am)
chiflipgrl.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Mar. 7th, 2004 12:31 am)Title: “A Wasted Bottle of Whiskey”
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chiflipgrl
Pairing: Monaboyd, but with other parts mixed in. (Slight het, OMG!)
Rating: Um… R/NC-17? For language and sexual content?
Summary: “The days distract him from the nights...” Summary suckage. Aye. Oh, and tons of angst in this installment. You’ve been warned.
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys, and if this has ever really happened, I've got a bridge I'd like to sell ya...
Feedback: Go easy... I'm a beginner.
Author's Notes: This is Part Two of what will eventually be called the “Wasted” series, which, in its entirety, is dedicated to my wifeyrorylie. Part One is here. Mucho thanks to eosthilas for the BETA. Also, if you’d like to rec or post this on your website or something, be sure to let me know. I won’t give you a hard time; I’d just like to know where my fic is going. Thanks.
~~~~
"A Wasted Bottle of Whiskey"
It's a ritual he does every morning. Wakes up, relieves himself, picks up his guitar, and strums a few chords. He finds that he is able to remember his dreams in exact detail if he plays for a good ten minutes each morning. Only ten minutes, enough time to remember every pleasurable fantasy, every spine-chilling nightmare, and every excruciating nuance of Dom’s form that has invaded his sense as of late. It is at that point where he puts down the guitar and heads into the shower. “Might as well get on with my morning…”
The days distract him from the nights; nights which seem to never let him rest properly, what with the late night phone calls, the distracting thoughts, the knick-knacks strewn around his flat, all of which embodied the being, the spirit that was Dom. The dark brown face towels hanging in the pale-yellow bathroom (“You need something shit-like in this piss-colored room, Bill. It’s a loo, after all.”), the Anne Geddes sunflower baby photo hanging in his living room (“It brightens up the room! Need to get away from that dreary Glasgow weather, Billy.”), and the quite noticeable dent behind his bed’s headboard, caused by a bit too much passion after a long day of filming.
“Don’t worry about it, you twat,” Dom had mumbled into Billy’s stomach, his flushed and sated face resting comfortably against Billy’s warm skin. “I’ll fill it in with plaster or something.”
“You had better, Monaghan. It’s your fault, after all.”
“I’m not the one who said, ‘Harder, Dommie… Faster… Uunngghh…’” Billy then quieted the exaggeration by shoving a very naked Dom off of the bed.
It was as if a flash of light woke him out of his daydream. He blinks, realizing he is still sitting on the chair at the foot of the bed, staring at the tell-tale dent in the wall. He drops his head into his hands. Daydreaming is a part of his morning ritual as well.
The cheerful ring of his mobile phone causes his heart to sink even more. He knows exactly who is ringing him. He glances at the clock, which reads “9:43 AM”. “A wee early for a phone call from Dom…” He would rather not encounter any more phone calls anytime soon.
He forces himself to stand and walk over to his nightstand. Picking up the mobile, he reads the phone number ID. “020 726 77970”. He goes through his mental phone directory. “Don’t know that number… Oh, just answer it, you idiot.”
“Billy Boyd.”
“Good morning, William.”
“Where are you calling me from, Dom?” Billy creases his brow, inwardly curses himself for answering the phone.
“Camden Town, my friend.” He hears Dom exhale a long breath. “He should quit smoking…”
“Camden Town? Got a piercing or a new tattoo, did we?” He imagines Dom at a piercing studio, asking for a Prince Albert. He stifles his own snort.
“Remember that bird I was talking to you about?”
He sighs. “No, you cunt. You just wanked over the phone with me, talking about her, last night.” “Aye. What about her?”
“Name’s Caroline, by the way. I, ah…” He hears Dom’s smirk through the phone. “I met up with her at the pub last night. I’m ringing from her flat in Camden… You fill in the blanks.”
“Well, that’s just peachy, you bisexual, smug bastard…” “Wasn’t Elijah with you? Did you leave him by himself?”
Dom pauses. “Oh, shite… Elijah… Um…”
“He’s likely to have gotten himself gang-raped by big leather-bound bikers in a dark alley somewhere…”
“He might like that, Billy.”
“Dom…”
Dom exhales another long breath. “I think I remember him ringing up Sean. Might have gone off with him for a wee shag.”
His frustration turns into frustration and worry. He rubs his eyes. “You think he went with Sean?”
“Poor bugger will be flattened in a second…”
“Dommie…”
“I love it when you call me ‘Dommie.’”
Dom’s lowered pitch stops him dead in his tracks. He feels Dom’s voice enter his ears, run down his spine, and rest comfortably in his groin.
“Dom…”
“Whoops… Hold on a sec, Bill.” He hears Dom whispering to someone in the background and a not-so-subtle movement of bed sheets. There is faint murmuring, a woman’s voice, then Dom’s soft chuckle.
“I know that chuckle.” Something dawns on him, whacks him in the eye. “He wouldn’t… I’m still on the bloody phone…”
“Dom?” He tries to hide the shift of panic fighting to climb out of his throat. “Dom…”
He hears the woman gasp. Dom’s growl.
“No, no, no… Please, no.”
“Dom!”
The gasps quickly change to heavy breaths. More shifting of sheets.
“Hang up the phone, Billy. Hang up the phone,” he tells himself aloud. He doesn’t know what they are doing. He knows, but mentally blockades himself from visualizing the scene. “Why is he doing this… why is he doing this?”
He starts to hear the headboard thumping against a wall. His eyes glance to the side, to his own dent in the wall.
“Dom!” He tries, and fails, to get Dom’s attention. Dom’s grunts becoming throaty choking sounds.
“He’s gonna come. He’s gonna come while fucking some girl’s brains out and with me on the fucking phone.” He still cannot bring himself to turn off his mobile.
Screaming. Screaming and moaning in utter pleasure. Dom’s name being shouted.
Then, silence.
He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears to flow backward and quench his dry throat. There is more shifting through the phone, then, Dom’s voice.
“Was it good for you?”
He can’t make himself respond in a humorous tone. His body shakes with anger, making his head spin and his eyes water.
“Billy?”
“Fuck you, Monaghan.” He almost whispers into the phone, adding a soft, bitter chuckle for good measure.
Dom laughs. “What?”
“I said ‘fuck… you…’” He swears his furniture has begun to do a shuffle dance along with the spinning room in front of him.
Dom snorts. “Aw, Billy… It was just a bit of fun.”
“This is your idea of fun, Dom? Is it? Fucking the living daylights out of someone else while your best mate sits here with his phone pressed to his ear??”
He reckons Dom finds it amusing, the twinge of redness in Billy’s tone. “You could have hung up the phone, you twat. It’s just a bit of fun, Bill. A game, really…”
His temper boils over, his skin turns red, and he knows it’s every bloody cell of his being attempting to jump out and into the phone to strangle Dom.
“A game?” He jumps to his feet, feels red-hot energy pulsating through his veins. “A fucking game? What the fuck kind of game are you playing? What the fuck are the rules? Does this mean I get to shag the living shit out of the next woman or bloke that passes my way? Would that makes things fair?”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you?” There is a hint of worry in Dom’s voice that Billy chooses to ignore.
“And what if I did? Shall I ring you the next time I go out to a pub and manage to charm the knickers off of someone? Or shall I just have you come over and watch?” He’s becoming sarcastic and childish. He had refused to ever sink to this level, but no longer cares about the consequences.
“Fuck you, Billy…” Dom says, incredulously.
“No, fuck you, Dom. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of this fucking game, this stunt you keep trying to pull with me. I’m tired of seeing you whore yourself around the world for pleasure, and then running to inform me of every, exact detail. I’m tired of you constantly grasping for attention and affection from fucking Elijah, of all people, when all you have to do ask-…“ He stops himself.
“Ask what, Billy?” Dom’s own temper has risen. “Say it, Billy. I want to hear you say it.”
He keeps quiet. The words have formed a clot in his brain, stopping all movement and activity.
Dom lowers the volume of his voice, yet adds daggers to his tone. “You know what, Bill? It’s not my game that I’m playing. It’s yours. Your game. The game of leading poor Dom on with the glances and the kisses and the affection, then turning around and saying that I’m just your ‘best mate.’ Best mates don’t have the connection we do, Billy. Best mates don’t feel for each other they way we do. Best mates don’t fuck each other they way we do.”
“Did, Dom. Did. We stopped doing that. If we continued, someone was going to get hurt. We both said that.”
“No, you said that. Well, you know what, Bills? Someone did get hurt. Me. Because you made the assumption that sex was all I was after with you. But it wasn’t. It’s not. But, that’s in the past now, isn’t it? So, now, I just get my rocks off with other people. Use substitutes, as it were. Something you should think of doing.”
Billy feels the daggers piercing every bit of his heart, listening to Dom.
“Oh, and Bill? Elijah’s next on my list.” Dom clicks off, leaving the phone line dead.
Billy sits and stares at his mobile, bereft of any words or emotions within him. He has only one course of action in his mind.
He walks into his kitchen and marches straight towards the cupboard above his sink. He swings open the door, grabs the unopened bottle of whiskey, slamming the door shut behind him.
~~~~~
“Did you just leave the phone on during that?” Caroline asks, draping a light blue robe around her body.
“Thought I’d give him a thrill…” Dom’s solemn tone overwhelms him. As much of a joke as he had meant to play, it had backfired horribly and left a sore knot in his empty stomach.
“Wanker.” She smirks, then smiles sympathetically at Dom. “You love him...” Dom’s eyes dart from the floor to Caroline’s soft face. “… and I’m just a one-night substitute.”
“N-no… That’s not what I… I meant…”
She laughs heartily. “It’s all right, you arse. God knows how many times I’ve been a substitute, and how many people have played substitute for me.”
Dom looks her over, her smooth skin, her wavy and tousled hair, her sparkling blue eyes. He drops his head down and slumps his shoulders forward.
Caroline sighs. She walks over to him, crouching to the floor in front of him. Placing her finger underneath his chin, she raises his head so that their eyes are level.
“Go to him.”
“He’s pissed at me…”
“Go to him, anyway.”
“… I’m pissed at him, too, for that matter…”
“Dominic…”
Dom pauses and sighs heavily. “I will.”
“Good.” She stands and kisses his forehead.
“I just have to ring someone first.”
“Suit yourself.” Caroline scoops up Dom’s jeans from the floor and tosses it to him. “Lock the door on your way out, yeah?”
Dom watches her disappear into the bathroom, while formulating the plot in his mind.
“It’ll help him… It’s only fair…,” he repeats to himself as he searches his mobile’s directory for Elijah’s number. Locating it, he wills his mind to keep silent as he presses the SEND button and waits for it to ring.
~~~~
“… ’Allo?” *Crash*
“Billy?? What the fuck was that?”
He glances over his shoulder and tries to focus his vision on the mess currently on the floor.
“The lampshade, I think it is. Er, was. Is this God ringing?”
“It’s Elijah, dude. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Such fucking language!” He collapses into his couch. “Americans.”
Elijah becomes worried. “Have you been drinking?”
“Ah! A smart American! Fuckin’ amazin’, that.” He takes another swig of the quickly disappearing golden liquid. “Of course I’m drinking, you little shit. I’m drowning my sorrows,” he adds with a low-voiced, dramatic flair.
Elijah sighs. “Dom called me.”
“Oh, yeah?” He shifts in his chair, every possible position as uncomfortable as the next. “And what did that tosser want?”
“It was just a game, Billy,” Elijah defends. “Dom’s little game.”
“No, Elijah. It was my game. My own!” He giggles to himself. “That’s one of your lines, eh? Melodramatic, little shit Hobbit… A little shit, who is defending a fellow little shit Hobbit for playing a game in which the first said little shit is the next fucking player!” He guffaws deliriously as he launches the half-full, now wasted glass bottle at the wall. His giggles quiet down as he watches the liquid and glass slide down to the floor.
“What are you talking about?” Elijah asks, exasperated.
“I don’t know anymore.” He drops his head back to the top of the couch cushion.
“I’m coming over.”
“Bring ‘round another bottle of whiskey, then. I do believe this one is now empty.” He gestures to the puddle seeping into his carpet.
“I’m not bringing you another bottle, Billy.”
“Then, piss off. I think I’ve got a reserve on hand, anyway.” He attempts to lift himself off of the couch.
“Stay exactly where you are.” He hears Elijah struggling to put on his coat with his phone to his ear. “I’ll be over there soon.”
“Gonna leave Sean all by his lonesome, are you?”
There is finally silence from Elijah. The still-coherent voice in his head registers the pause. “Low blow, you Scottish arsehole.” “Sorry, mate… I didn’t…”
“Sean’s back in LA with Christine. He left this morning.”
His heart breaks at Elijah’s voice. “Maybe we’ll keep each other company, eh, mate?”
He hears Elijah’s soft chuckle. “Yeah… Sit tight, Bill. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“With another bottle of whiskey.”
“Without another bottle of whiskey.” Elijah clicks off.
He presses the END button, and stares at the ceiling.
~~~~
*Knock, knock*
“Billy?” Elijah’s voice echoes off the hallway walls in front of Billy’s flat. “Billy, it’s Elijah. Let me in, man.”
There is silence from the door, and from beyond the door, Elijah discovers, pressing his ear to the wall. He sighs and begins to feel around the door frame for the telltale bump. Finding it, and flipping back the small patch of detached wallpaper, he removes the spare key to Billy’s flat.
“Huzzah.” Smirking, he unlocks the front door, meeting the apartment’s complete silence.
“Bill?” Elijah pokes his head into the kitchen, seeing it empty. He turns to check Billy’s bedroom when there is a dull crunch underneath his shoe. Shards of glass cover a damp spot on the carpet. Elijah crouches down to examine the mess.
“Whiskey, eh? Drunken bastard…” Elijah stands and huffs. Billy is no where to be seen or heard. He makes his way to the bedroom, finding it also devoid of any drunk, Scottish men. His worrying begins to heighten as he makes his way towards the bathroom. Breathing heavily, he slowly opens the door. Sprawled on his side, on the floor next to the toilet, is Billy, lying still.
“Oh, my God! Billy!” Elijah launches himself next to Billy’s side, and shakes Billy’s body furiously. “Holy shit, man! Wake up, Billy! Holy fuck! Wake up, man! Wake up!!”
Billy’s eyes shoot open as his vision swirls back into place. Amidst the vigorous shaking, he makes out two small, blue flashlights. Elijah’s eyes.
“Lijah! Geroff me, you cunt!” He shoves Elijah backwards, sees him land square on his backside.
“Um… ow!” Elijah’s eyes are wide open.
“What the fuck are you doing, mate?”
“Billy… You were out cold next to your toilet. You’ve been drinking all night. I thought you were dead!”
He looks at the blue flashlights, the toilet, and his clothes, which seem to be reeking of a smell similar to vomit.
“Oh, shite…”
Elijah stands. “Here… Let me help you up…”
“No, I got it.” He grips the side of his bathtub for leverage and lifts himself off the floor. He notices that he now has feelings in his legs.
“You smell like vomit.”
“Thank you, Captain Legolas,” he retorts, teeth clenched. “Bloody, smart-arse wanker…”
Elijah moves grab hold on Billy’s arm. “Hey, man… Let me help -…“
“Elijah.” He stares straight into the worried blue eyes. “I’m all right, mate. I think I sobered myself good and proper when I flushed the drunkenness down the toilet.” He stands up fully and sighs. “I think I need a bath.” Elijah blinks, stays quiet. “What, you’re not gonna offer help with that?”
Elijah’s eyes narrow. “I’ll go make you some tea.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.
Billy turns to run the water into the bath. Sighing heavily, he holds himself up, gripping the side of the tub. Dom’s voice echoes in his ear. ‘Elijah’s next.’ He stands up abruptly and begins removing his foul-smelling clothes.
“Fuck you, Dominic.”
~~~~
(Actual pr0n coming *snort* soon!)
Author:
chiflipgrlPairing: Monaboyd, but with other parts mixed in. (Slight het, OMG!)
Rating: Um… R/NC-17? For language and sexual content?
Summary: “The days distract him from the nights...” Summary suckage. Aye. Oh, and tons of angst in this installment. You’ve been warned.
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys, and if this has ever really happened, I've got a bridge I'd like to sell ya...
Feedback: Go easy... I'm a beginner.
Author's Notes: This is Part Two of what will eventually be called the “Wasted” series, which, in its entirety, is dedicated to my wifey
rorylie. Part One is here. Mucho thanks to eosthilas for the BETA. Also, if you’d like to rec or post this on your website or something, be sure to let me know. I won’t give you a hard time; I’d just like to know where my fic is going. Thanks.~~~~
"A Wasted Bottle of Whiskey"
It's a ritual he does every morning. Wakes up, relieves himself, picks up his guitar, and strums a few chords. He finds that he is able to remember his dreams in exact detail if he plays for a good ten minutes each morning. Only ten minutes, enough time to remember every pleasurable fantasy, every spine-chilling nightmare, and every excruciating nuance of Dom’s form that has invaded his sense as of late. It is at that point where he puts down the guitar and heads into the shower. “Might as well get on with my morning…”
The days distract him from the nights; nights which seem to never let him rest properly, what with the late night phone calls, the distracting thoughts, the knick-knacks strewn around his flat, all of which embodied the being, the spirit that was Dom. The dark brown face towels hanging in the pale-yellow bathroom (“You need something shit-like in this piss-colored room, Bill. It’s a loo, after all.”), the Anne Geddes sunflower baby photo hanging in his living room (“It brightens up the room! Need to get away from that dreary Glasgow weather, Billy.”), and the quite noticeable dent behind his bed’s headboard, caused by a bit too much passion after a long day of filming.
“Don’t worry about it, you twat,” Dom had mumbled into Billy’s stomach, his flushed and sated face resting comfortably against Billy’s warm skin. “I’ll fill it in with plaster or something.”
“You had better, Monaghan. It’s your fault, after all.”
“I’m not the one who said, ‘Harder, Dommie… Faster… Uunngghh…’” Billy then quieted the exaggeration by shoving a very naked Dom off of the bed.
It was as if a flash of light woke him out of his daydream. He blinks, realizing he is still sitting on the chair at the foot of the bed, staring at the tell-tale dent in the wall. He drops his head into his hands. Daydreaming is a part of his morning ritual as well.
The cheerful ring of his mobile phone causes his heart to sink even more. He knows exactly who is ringing him. He glances at the clock, which reads “9:43 AM”. “A wee early for a phone call from Dom…” He would rather not encounter any more phone calls anytime soon.
He forces himself to stand and walk over to his nightstand. Picking up the mobile, he reads the phone number ID. “020 726 77970”. He goes through his mental phone directory. “Don’t know that number… Oh, just answer it, you idiot.”
“Billy Boyd.”
“Good morning, William.”
“Where are you calling me from, Dom?” Billy creases his brow, inwardly curses himself for answering the phone.
“Camden Town, my friend.” He hears Dom exhale a long breath. “He should quit smoking…”
“Camden Town? Got a piercing or a new tattoo, did we?” He imagines Dom at a piercing studio, asking for a Prince Albert. He stifles his own snort.
“Remember that bird I was talking to you about?”
He sighs. “No, you cunt. You just wanked over the phone with me, talking about her, last night.” “Aye. What about her?”
“Name’s Caroline, by the way. I, ah…” He hears Dom’s smirk through the phone. “I met up with her at the pub last night. I’m ringing from her flat in Camden… You fill in the blanks.”
“Well, that’s just peachy, you bisexual, smug bastard…” “Wasn’t Elijah with you? Did you leave him by himself?”
Dom pauses. “Oh, shite… Elijah… Um…”
“He’s likely to have gotten himself gang-raped by big leather-bound bikers in a dark alley somewhere…”
“He might like that, Billy.”
“Dom…”
Dom exhales another long breath. “I think I remember him ringing up Sean. Might have gone off with him for a wee shag.”
His frustration turns into frustration and worry. He rubs his eyes. “You think he went with Sean?”
“Poor bugger will be flattened in a second…”
“Dommie…”
“I love it when you call me ‘Dommie.’”
Dom’s lowered pitch stops him dead in his tracks. He feels Dom’s voice enter his ears, run down his spine, and rest comfortably in his groin.
“Dom…”
“Whoops… Hold on a sec, Bill.” He hears Dom whispering to someone in the background and a not-so-subtle movement of bed sheets. There is faint murmuring, a woman’s voice, then Dom’s soft chuckle.
“I know that chuckle.” Something dawns on him, whacks him in the eye. “He wouldn’t… I’m still on the bloody phone…”
“Dom?” He tries to hide the shift of panic fighting to climb out of his throat. “Dom…”
He hears the woman gasp. Dom’s growl.
“No, no, no… Please, no.”
“Dom!”
The gasps quickly change to heavy breaths. More shifting of sheets.
“Hang up the phone, Billy. Hang up the phone,” he tells himself aloud. He doesn’t know what they are doing. He knows, but mentally blockades himself from visualizing the scene. “Why is he doing this… why is he doing this?”
He starts to hear the headboard thumping against a wall. His eyes glance to the side, to his own dent in the wall.
“Dom!” He tries, and fails, to get Dom’s attention. Dom’s grunts becoming throaty choking sounds.
“He’s gonna come. He’s gonna come while fucking some girl’s brains out and with me on the fucking phone.” He still cannot bring himself to turn off his mobile.
Screaming. Screaming and moaning in utter pleasure. Dom’s name being shouted.
Then, silence.
He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the tears to flow backward and quench his dry throat. There is more shifting through the phone, then, Dom’s voice.
“Was it good for you?”
He can’t make himself respond in a humorous tone. His body shakes with anger, making his head spin and his eyes water.
“Billy?”
“Fuck you, Monaghan.” He almost whispers into the phone, adding a soft, bitter chuckle for good measure.
Dom laughs. “What?”
“I said ‘fuck… you…’” He swears his furniture has begun to do a shuffle dance along with the spinning room in front of him.
Dom snorts. “Aw, Billy… It was just a bit of fun.”
“This is your idea of fun, Dom? Is it? Fucking the living daylights out of someone else while your best mate sits here with his phone pressed to his ear??”
He reckons Dom finds it amusing, the twinge of redness in Billy’s tone. “You could have hung up the phone, you twat. It’s just a bit of fun, Bill. A game, really…”
His temper boils over, his skin turns red, and he knows it’s every bloody cell of his being attempting to jump out and into the phone to strangle Dom.
“A game?” He jumps to his feet, feels red-hot energy pulsating through his veins. “A fucking game? What the fuck kind of game are you playing? What the fuck are the rules? Does this mean I get to shag the living shit out of the next woman or bloke that passes my way? Would that makes things fair?”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you?” There is a hint of worry in Dom’s voice that Billy chooses to ignore.
“And what if I did? Shall I ring you the next time I go out to a pub and manage to charm the knickers off of someone? Or shall I just have you come over and watch?” He’s becoming sarcastic and childish. He had refused to ever sink to this level, but no longer cares about the consequences.
“Fuck you, Billy…” Dom says, incredulously.
“No, fuck you, Dom. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of this fucking game, this stunt you keep trying to pull with me. I’m tired of seeing you whore yourself around the world for pleasure, and then running to inform me of every, exact detail. I’m tired of you constantly grasping for attention and affection from fucking Elijah, of all people, when all you have to do ask-…“ He stops himself.
“Ask what, Billy?” Dom’s own temper has risen. “Say it, Billy. I want to hear you say it.”
He keeps quiet. The words have formed a clot in his brain, stopping all movement and activity.
Dom lowers the volume of his voice, yet adds daggers to his tone. “You know what, Bill? It’s not my game that I’m playing. It’s yours. Your game. The game of leading poor Dom on with the glances and the kisses and the affection, then turning around and saying that I’m just your ‘best mate.’ Best mates don’t have the connection we do, Billy. Best mates don’t feel for each other they way we do. Best mates don’t fuck each other they way we do.”
“Did, Dom. Did. We stopped doing that. If we continued, someone was going to get hurt. We both said that.”
“No, you said that. Well, you know what, Bills? Someone did get hurt. Me. Because you made the assumption that sex was all I was after with you. But it wasn’t. It’s not. But, that’s in the past now, isn’t it? So, now, I just get my rocks off with other people. Use substitutes, as it were. Something you should think of doing.”
Billy feels the daggers piercing every bit of his heart, listening to Dom.
“Oh, and Bill? Elijah’s next on my list.” Dom clicks off, leaving the phone line dead.
Billy sits and stares at his mobile, bereft of any words or emotions within him. He has only one course of action in his mind.
He walks into his kitchen and marches straight towards the cupboard above his sink. He swings open the door, grabs the unopened bottle of whiskey, slamming the door shut behind him.
~~~~~
“Did you just leave the phone on during that?” Caroline asks, draping a light blue robe around her body.
“Thought I’d give him a thrill…” Dom’s solemn tone overwhelms him. As much of a joke as he had meant to play, it had backfired horribly and left a sore knot in his empty stomach.
“Wanker.” She smirks, then smiles sympathetically at Dom. “You love him...” Dom’s eyes dart from the floor to Caroline’s soft face. “… and I’m just a one-night substitute.”
“N-no… That’s not what I… I meant…”
She laughs heartily. “It’s all right, you arse. God knows how many times I’ve been a substitute, and how many people have played substitute for me.”
Dom looks her over, her smooth skin, her wavy and tousled hair, her sparkling blue eyes. He drops his head down and slumps his shoulders forward.
Caroline sighs. She walks over to him, crouching to the floor in front of him. Placing her finger underneath his chin, she raises his head so that their eyes are level.
“Go to him.”
“He’s pissed at me…”
“Go to him, anyway.”
“… I’m pissed at him, too, for that matter…”
“Dominic…”
Dom pauses and sighs heavily. “I will.”
“Good.” She stands and kisses his forehead.
“I just have to ring someone first.”
“Suit yourself.” Caroline scoops up Dom’s jeans from the floor and tosses it to him. “Lock the door on your way out, yeah?”
Dom watches her disappear into the bathroom, while formulating the plot in his mind.
“It’ll help him… It’s only fair…,” he repeats to himself as he searches his mobile’s directory for Elijah’s number. Locating it, he wills his mind to keep silent as he presses the SEND button and waits for it to ring.
~~~~
“… ’Allo?” *Crash*
“Billy?? What the fuck was that?”
He glances over his shoulder and tries to focus his vision on the mess currently on the floor.
“The lampshade, I think it is. Er, was. Is this God ringing?”
“It’s Elijah, dude. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Such fucking language!” He collapses into his couch. “Americans.”
Elijah becomes worried. “Have you been drinking?”
“Ah! A smart American! Fuckin’ amazin’, that.” He takes another swig of the quickly disappearing golden liquid. “Of course I’m drinking, you little shit. I’m drowning my sorrows,” he adds with a low-voiced, dramatic flair.
Elijah sighs. “Dom called me.”
“Oh, yeah?” He shifts in his chair, every possible position as uncomfortable as the next. “And what did that tosser want?”
“It was just a game, Billy,” Elijah defends. “Dom’s little game.”
“No, Elijah. It was my game. My own!” He giggles to himself. “That’s one of your lines, eh? Melodramatic, little shit Hobbit… A little shit, who is defending a fellow little shit Hobbit for playing a game in which the first said little shit is the next fucking player!” He guffaws deliriously as he launches the half-full, now wasted glass bottle at the wall. His giggles quiet down as he watches the liquid and glass slide down to the floor.
“What are you talking about?” Elijah asks, exasperated.
“I don’t know anymore.” He drops his head back to the top of the couch cushion.
“I’m coming over.”
“Bring ‘round another bottle of whiskey, then. I do believe this one is now empty.” He gestures to the puddle seeping into his carpet.
“I’m not bringing you another bottle, Billy.”
“Then, piss off. I think I’ve got a reserve on hand, anyway.” He attempts to lift himself off of the couch.
“Stay exactly where you are.” He hears Elijah struggling to put on his coat with his phone to his ear. “I’ll be over there soon.”
“Gonna leave Sean all by his lonesome, are you?”
There is finally silence from Elijah. The still-coherent voice in his head registers the pause. “Low blow, you Scottish arsehole.” “Sorry, mate… I didn’t…”
“Sean’s back in LA with Christine. He left this morning.”
His heart breaks at Elijah’s voice. “Maybe we’ll keep each other company, eh, mate?”
He hears Elijah’s soft chuckle. “Yeah… Sit tight, Bill. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“With another bottle of whiskey.”
“Without another bottle of whiskey.” Elijah clicks off.
He presses the END button, and stares at the ceiling.
~~~~
*Knock, knock*
“Billy?” Elijah’s voice echoes off the hallway walls in front of Billy’s flat. “Billy, it’s Elijah. Let me in, man.”
There is silence from the door, and from beyond the door, Elijah discovers, pressing his ear to the wall. He sighs and begins to feel around the door frame for the telltale bump. Finding it, and flipping back the small patch of detached wallpaper, he removes the spare key to Billy’s flat.
“Huzzah.” Smirking, he unlocks the front door, meeting the apartment’s complete silence.
“Bill?” Elijah pokes his head into the kitchen, seeing it empty. He turns to check Billy’s bedroom when there is a dull crunch underneath his shoe. Shards of glass cover a damp spot on the carpet. Elijah crouches down to examine the mess.
“Whiskey, eh? Drunken bastard…” Elijah stands and huffs. Billy is no where to be seen or heard. He makes his way to the bedroom, finding it also devoid of any drunk, Scottish men. His worrying begins to heighten as he makes his way towards the bathroom. Breathing heavily, he slowly opens the door. Sprawled on his side, on the floor next to the toilet, is Billy, lying still.
“Oh, my God! Billy!” Elijah launches himself next to Billy’s side, and shakes Billy’s body furiously. “Holy shit, man! Wake up, Billy! Holy fuck! Wake up, man! Wake up!!”
Billy’s eyes shoot open as his vision swirls back into place. Amidst the vigorous shaking, he makes out two small, blue flashlights. Elijah’s eyes.
“Lijah! Geroff me, you cunt!” He shoves Elijah backwards, sees him land square on his backside.
“Um… ow!” Elijah’s eyes are wide open.
“What the fuck are you doing, mate?”
“Billy… You were out cold next to your toilet. You’ve been drinking all night. I thought you were dead!”
He looks at the blue flashlights, the toilet, and his clothes, which seem to be reeking of a smell similar to vomit.
“Oh, shite…”
Elijah stands. “Here… Let me help you up…”
“No, I got it.” He grips the side of his bathtub for leverage and lifts himself off the floor. He notices that he now has feelings in his legs.
“You smell like vomit.”
“Thank you, Captain Legolas,” he retorts, teeth clenched. “Bloody, smart-arse wanker…”
Elijah moves grab hold on Billy’s arm. “Hey, man… Let me help -…“
“Elijah.” He stares straight into the worried blue eyes. “I’m all right, mate. I think I sobered myself good and proper when I flushed the drunkenness down the toilet.” He stands up fully and sighs. “I think I need a bath.” Elijah blinks, stays quiet. “What, you’re not gonna offer help with that?”
Elijah’s eyes narrow. “I’ll go make you some tea.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.
Billy turns to run the water into the bath. Sighing heavily, he holds himself up, gripping the side of the tub. Dom’s voice echoes in his ear. ‘Elijah’s next.’ He stands up abruptly and begins removing his foul-smelling clothes.
“Fuck you, Dominic.”
~~~~
(Actual pr0n coming *snort* soon!)
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More coming soon, we swears.
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YOU DONT DO MORE I KEEEL YOU.
*skips away*
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DON'T KEEEEEL MEE!!
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I'm not nearly as nice: YOU DO EET OR I WILL KILL YOU DAIDER THEN DAID!
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ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT!!!!
*surrenders*
SOONOMGWTF!!
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Ev0l, sexeh Dommie. :D
Ah-thank you for readin'!
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Fix them! Fix them now! *g*
I'm enjoying this very much, and can't wait for the next part. You say it will have actual pr0n? Really?
::refreshes friends page::
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Thanks for reading!
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ISHALLPOSTTHENEXTPARTSOONOMGWTF!!!
Thank you, dahhhling!
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*runs off to BETA-then-post next part*
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More soon omg!
Thank for reading!!11!! :D
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Heh. Sorry 'bout the German.
Anyway... I love it! I want more... now! *stomps on the floor impatiently*
*sniffs* I don't like Dommie being so evil... *sniff, sniff* Poor Billeh.
Brilliant job!
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Thank you for readin'!!!
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dats gooooood
mmmmpron
*sits and waits for sequel*
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