monaboyd | Straight Translators, Chapter Eight

Title: Straight Translators
Author:

red_moon_rising (or Cai)
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please.
Note #1: I’m not fluent in German. Therefore, any German in this chapter is there because of wonderful people who don’t mind me pestering them. *smiles*
Note #2: Thanks ever so much to

arabella_o for the wonderful beta.

Arg: Did it yet again...Here is the link to my memories so that new readers don't have to go searching like whoa. *loves*

Billy left the living room, the sound of his shoes on the hardwood floor echoing loudly as he made his way down the front hall, through a side door, and up the stairs to his room. Picking a door at random he walked in and turned, twisting the lock with a satisfyingly loud click.

Leaning against the cool wooden panels, he sighed. He’d known when he’d opened his mouth downstairs that Dom hadn’t been serious. He’d known.

I thought you were someone else…

He hadn’t expected anything else, really. Because Dom was…well…he was Dom, and Dominic Monaghan didn’t make declarations of love. Dominic Monaghan didn’t do a lot of things that Billy wished he would.

But I’m not wishing for anything. I’ve got no expectations…

Never any expectations.

Billy remembered past conversations with Ali and how things always seemed to come back to Dom. Whether it was a random memory that was totally centered around Dom or a tangent that led to the German-speaking-wonder through various and sundry other friends.

Some things simply aren’t meant to work, he thought. He couldn’t help wondering as he pushed off the door and moved toward the bed if he was thinking about his relationship with Ali or his relationship with Dom.

Deciding he really didn’t want to find out where his mind had been going with that particular thought, Billy pulled himself up onto the bed and shuffled about until he had the covers wrapped tightly around him.

I am not, he told himself firmly, wrapped up like this in these stupid sheets because I want…well…because I want anything. They are simply very comfortable. That’s all…really and…who did he think I was?

“Gimme sommore, Vig,” Dominic slurred, extending his glass rather shakily toward the other man.

“Dom, I think you’ve had enough,” Viggo said gently, taking the tumbler from Dom’s slackening fingers and sitting it with a soft clink on the coffee table.

Dom raised his eyes hopefully and said, in a completely innocent tone that didn’t fool Viggo for a second, “Beer, then?”

Vig shook his head and replied, “No, Dom. You’ve had enough of everything. Why don’t you just lay down for a little while and Orlando can go check on Billy, alright?”

“Mm…verdammt…” Dom mumbled, slouching over again and pressing his face into the couch cushion.

Viggo waved Orlando out into the hall and sat in the chair he’d occupied earlier in the evening. He needed to think about several things, and Orlando was nothing if not distracting.

Orlando walked down the hall with all the spare rooms, muttering to himself about old men who thought they always knew best, even when they didn’t know anything at all about how much alcohol was enough for one evening. Then he sighed and took that thought back, grudgingly accepting the fact that Viggo was right after all. It was so bloody obvious now that he was looking for it that he was amazed he hadn’t seen it before.

Billy wanted Dom and Dom wanted Billy. It was so simply. He’d never understand why they couldn’t just get on with it and stop the angst and drama. Orlando snorted and reminded himself that it was Billy and Dom he was dealing with, and when had they ever made anything simple?

Not that you’ve much room to talk, Bloom, his mind piped up and he grimaced.

No, he hadn’t really resolved matters with Viggo, but things could be worse. They could be much worse, in fact.

We could be like them, all torn up inside and indecisive.

He ignored the part of his mind that chimed in with, And you’re not that at all, are you, Mr. Can’t-Make-Up-His-Mind-About-Whether-To-Shag-Him-Or-Not, huh?

Orlando padded quietly down the hall, twisting doorknobs and checking beds until he found a knob that wouldn’t twist. He knocked softly, hoping that Billy was either still conscious or that he was only sleeping lightly. When he didn’t get an answer he knocked a bit more loudly and waited until he heard a muffled, “Wha?” come from the other side of the thick wood.

“Billy?” He called, trying to channel a bit of Viggo and go for tact rather than brashness.

“Ah sed, ‘Wha,’ yoo daft cunt,” Billy grumbled as he opened the door, accent thickened almost beyond comprehension.

“Um. Hi,” Orlando said. He stared at Billy for a moment before continuing, “Well. Viggo wanted to know if you’d like to come down and…ah…have a bit more scotch?” He was almost positive that the sentence made sense. It should. He hadn’t had that much to drink…he didn’t think…

“No,” Billy answered tersely, trying to shut the door in Orlando’s face. Only his quick reflexes and a well-placed foot saved him from a bruised nose.

Maybe a bruised nose would be a good thing, he thought, considering the possibility of getting Viggo to kiss it and make it better. Not now, Bloom. You’ve got work to do.

“But Billy,” Orlando began, only to yelp when Billy shoved at the door. “Ow, ow, ow. Crushing the toes. You’re crushing my toes!”

“Then move your bloody foot, you stupid tosser!”

Orlando jerked his foot from between the door and the frame, once again barely avoiding a bruised nose. “Fine,” he yelled, not caring if he’d quit channeling Viggo, “Have it your way, you bloody prick!”

He stayed only long enough to hear, "I bloody well will!" before turning around and stalking downstairs. Or, at least, stalking as well as he could with injured toes.

Billy suffered from a momentary flash of guilt at having smashed Orlando’s toes in the door, but Orlando should have known better. Or, well, not known better, but he should have listened. Billy locked the door again and moved back to the bed.

The cocoon of warmth he’d managed to build up when he’d collapsed earlier had cooled after he’d gotten up to answer the door and he grumbled about it, pulling the blankets over his head. He wished today had never happened.

He wished he'd never felt the need to know what was on the fucking piece of paper. He wished he had just left it at “I live fat” and gone about his life as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

And I wish most of all that I hadn’t thought there might be something where there’s never been anything at all, he thought, letting the sheets settle securely around him.

Viggo was sitting silently, one foot propped up on the coffee table, when Orlando came limping back into the living room, a scowl fit to break china on his face.

Things evidently hadn’t worked out with Billy. He closed his eyes for a moment before steeling himself and standing up.

He shook his head when Orlando opened his mouth, motioning at Dominic. Dom’s chest was rising and falling slowly, his breathing even and calm. Orlando nodded and waited for Viggo to move the bottle of vodka away from Dom’s extended arm before he limped back the way he’d come. He stopped, though, when Viggo touched his arm in the front hall. Orlando turned around, foot held slightly off the ground, and waited.

“What happened?” Viggo asked in an almost-whisper, hand still resting on Orlando’s forearm.

“He slammed the door on my foot,” Orli replied indignantly, clamping his mouth shut when Viggo shushed him. He narrowed his eyes at Vig and whispered, “Well you bloody well asked, didn’t you?”

Orlando didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but Viggo’s finger running along his lower lip definitely wasn’t it. So he blinked, waiting for the hand to pull away and Vig to continue as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

But Viggo cupped his jaw and said, voice very soft, “I did ask. You should speak more gently. You’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, you know…”

Suddenly Orlando’s head was filled with wonderful images of honey-on-Viggo. He was sure his eyes glazed over. And he was just as sure that Viggo knew exactly where his mind had gone. Vig smiled and slid his hand away, tugging on an unkempt curl before taking hold of Orlando’s shoulder, turning him around, and nudging him toward the door to the stairs.

Orlando was proud of himself. He'd managed to stop himself from looking over his shoulder more than once, and that was only when they came to the top of the stairs and he had no idea where they were headed. When he turned Viggo stepped up behind him.

“My room,” Viggo murmured, breath ghosting over Orlando’s ear, “Is to the right.”

Orlando didn’t think he’d be able to breathe if Viggo said one more word. But Viggo didn’t, he just nodded to the right and smiled. Orlando turned, wondering what, exactly, would be happening tonight behind Vig’s door…

You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you Bloom? His mind was positively cackling and he didn’t know whether to shush it or encourage it.

Viggo watched as the fabric of Orlando's shirt shifted across his shoulders as they moved down the hallway toward his room. He didn’t know if what he was doing was particularly wise, but it felt right and he was much too tired to think about consequences. He’d bother with them in the morning.

He felt a twinge of pity for Dominic and Billy, but he’d tried his best to help them work through their problems. It was up to them, now, and he had other things to worry about…

Dominic stared at the bottle of vodka. He was glad that the two harmonious love-birds had finally shoved off, but they’d moved his vodka too far away and he wasn’t quite sure he’d be able to get it, given his present state.

But, he thought with the logic of one who is well and truly drunk, in my current state there’s no reason I shouldn’t try…

He flung his arm up in the general direction of the glass-topped table, thinking he might stand a chance at just knocking the bottle of vodka into a more reachable position.

He ended up just knocking it over onto the other side of the table.

“Scheiße und verdammt,” he growled, resigned. He levered himself up on wobbly arms and managed to get his feet under him. Sticking his arms out for balance, and to keep himself from smashing into something face-first if he fell over, Dom made his way around the coffee table to the vodka.

Lovely thing, vodka, he thought, stumbling around the other end of the low table and falling backward onto the couch.

He carefully unscrewed the top on the bottle and promptly fumbled it onto the floor.

Dominic decided that Viggo wouldn’t really mind if he drank the rest of the vodka, since the man was certainly able to afford another few hundred bottles, so he upended it and took a swig. Only a quick lowering of the bottle and a rapid exhale saved him from choking.

Bloody fucking vodka, he thought, glaring at the label. But he took another drink directly from the bottle and felt that it went down easier this time than it had before. He resolved to hit Vig over the head the next day for cutting his drinks with Sprite the entire night. Or was it Sierra Mist, he wondered before getting himself back on track.

Bloody fucking Vig, his mind supplied, but there wasn’t any fire behind it. More like, ‘Bloody fucking Billy,’ he thought, and there was a whole continent’s worth of fire behind that one.

Dom finished off the bottle and set it down beside the couch. Then he contemplated standing up and getting something else to drink, but decided against it, as he couldn’t feel his legs and didn’t think it would be wise to test out how well gravity really worked…

So he rolled over, clutching one of the cushions to his chest, and finally dropped into an exhausted sleep that had very little to do with actual tiredness and everything to do with the fact that he was on the couch and Billy was upstairs somewhere, all alone in a very large, very cold bed…

Translations:

German:
Verdammt – Damn
Scheiße und verdammt – Shit and damn

Well, lovies, chapter 9 is off to the beta (yes, file attached this time, I made sure *grins*) and chapter 10 isn't yet started. Should probably do that, yeah? But! Before that, I will do my German homework. And find out what kind of projecty-goodness I missed on Friday while I was...er...sick...*shifty eyes*

~Cai

Current Mood: awake
Current Music: Dido

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Date: 2004-03-07 07:40 am (UTC)

From:

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags