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monaboyd Oct. 19th, 2003 01:40 pm)
shnookersgab.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Oct. 19th, 2003 01:40 pm)Title: Satisfied
Pairing: Dom/Billeh
Rating: Eh. PG-13 for non-explicit sex scene.
Summary: Billy examines why he and Dom work.
Archive: If you want it, take it O_O
Disclaimer: I wish.
A/N: I wrote this a couple months ago, before I really got into the pr0nyness that is Billeh/Dom. First RPS fic. Non-betad because I say so.
His eyes are like England, tainted by life and you feel almost guilty. You know yours can’t be much better because if Dom’s are like England than yours certainly are like Scotland, and Scotland is bleak and struggling. But then you see the spark, the blue amongst the gray and pity is the last thought from your mind because you see, too, your own spark reflected in his eyes, your own green amongst the pale hardships of your life. So then, you muse to yourself, England and Scotland are perfect for each other.
The first time you kiss Dom, your heart doesn’t melt right then and there and you know that taste of feeling they call bittersweet. The first time you kiss him you’re standing in a bathroom stall, and that is that. His lips are cracked and taste of metal because he bites them and you know that yours can’t be much better, because when you see Dom biting his lips, you bite yours too. You think it’s too odd to be a coincidence, so you run your tongue along them and they part.
His teeth are smooth and imperfect, just like him. You know yours can’t be much better; you ate too much candy when you were a kid and because of that five of your teeth are now coated in silver. But Dom doesn’t seem to mind, just as you don’t mind the way your tongue can slide in and out of the gaps in between his teeth. And you almost chuckle because it’s like a puzzle that’s missing a piece.
His skin is firm and warm, and for a moment you aren’t sure that this is really happening. Because how can Dom’s skin be so warm, so radiating, when you’re standing half-naked and it’s raining outside? You try reasoning it, but when Dom’s fingertips move to graze along your back and he suddenly jerks from the contact, you realize that yours can’t be much better. Your skin is worn and cold and covered in goose bumps, and when Dom’s palms move down your chest you are thankful for the warmth. Opposites do indeed attract.
His voice is a lot like his personality. Dom has a specific moangruntwhimper that he only releases when your hand is moving down, down, down until… there. Until he is completely satisfied. You imagine your own voice can’t be much better because it’s a lot like yourself as well. You don’t have a specific moangruntwhimper because you’re not specific, you’re not particular, and you’re definitely not demanding. You’re you, craving it now, and Dom’s Dom, saving himself for the definitive moments that make all the difference. But you suspect that’s why it works.
He is tight and hot, but most of all he’s ready. His eyes are shut, not squeezed shut but closed lazily and every eyelash trembles. And his lips are parted now, breath coming in tufts of smoke that fog the mirror. Teeth are clenched together and you can tell that he’s riding a wave for you, riding a wave that keeps building in strength and keeps building in power, and you know, you know, that he’s on the brink. The muscles in his stomach are rippling which means his skin isn’t firm, but about shatter like a breaking note. He’s not moaning, not grunting, not whimpering. He’s whispering your name… and you suddenly wish it could be love. But in the end you know that it’s just you and him. And he knows, and that’s why he cries out with release and when you look up and into the mirror, you see a tear. He’s just Dom, and you’re just Billy. And that’s fine.
Pairing: Dom/Billeh
Rating: Eh. PG-13 for non-explicit sex scene.
Summary: Billy examines why he and Dom work.
Archive: If you want it, take it O_O
Disclaimer: I wish.
A/N: I wrote this a couple months ago, before I really got into the pr0nyness that is Billeh/Dom. First RPS fic. Non-betad because I say so.
His eyes are like England, tainted by life and you feel almost guilty. You know yours can’t be much better because if Dom’s are like England than yours certainly are like Scotland, and Scotland is bleak and struggling. But then you see the spark, the blue amongst the gray and pity is the last thought from your mind because you see, too, your own spark reflected in his eyes, your own green amongst the pale hardships of your life. So then, you muse to yourself, England and Scotland are perfect for each other.
The first time you kiss Dom, your heart doesn’t melt right then and there and you know that taste of feeling they call bittersweet. The first time you kiss him you’re standing in a bathroom stall, and that is that. His lips are cracked and taste of metal because he bites them and you know that yours can’t be much better, because when you see Dom biting his lips, you bite yours too. You think it’s too odd to be a coincidence, so you run your tongue along them and they part.
His teeth are smooth and imperfect, just like him. You know yours can’t be much better; you ate too much candy when you were a kid and because of that five of your teeth are now coated in silver. But Dom doesn’t seem to mind, just as you don’t mind the way your tongue can slide in and out of the gaps in between his teeth. And you almost chuckle because it’s like a puzzle that’s missing a piece.
His skin is firm and warm, and for a moment you aren’t sure that this is really happening. Because how can Dom’s skin be so warm, so radiating, when you’re standing half-naked and it’s raining outside? You try reasoning it, but when Dom’s fingertips move to graze along your back and he suddenly jerks from the contact, you realize that yours can’t be much better. Your skin is worn and cold and covered in goose bumps, and when Dom’s palms move down your chest you are thankful for the warmth. Opposites do indeed attract.
His voice is a lot like his personality. Dom has a specific moangruntwhimper that he only releases when your hand is moving down, down, down until… there. Until he is completely satisfied. You imagine your own voice can’t be much better because it’s a lot like yourself as well. You don’t have a specific moangruntwhimper because you’re not specific, you’re not particular, and you’re definitely not demanding. You’re you, craving it now, and Dom’s Dom, saving himself for the definitive moments that make all the difference. But you suspect that’s why it works.
He is tight and hot, but most of all he’s ready. His eyes are shut, not squeezed shut but closed lazily and every eyelash trembles. And his lips are parted now, breath coming in tufts of smoke that fog the mirror. Teeth are clenched together and you can tell that he’s riding a wave for you, riding a wave that keeps building in strength and keeps building in power, and you know, you know, that he’s on the brink. The muscles in his stomach are rippling which means his skin isn’t firm, but about shatter like a breaking note. He’s not moaning, not grunting, not whimpering. He’s whispering your name… and you suddenly wish it could be love. But in the end you know that it’s just you and him. And he knows, and that’s why he cries out with release and when you look up and into the mirror, you see a tear. He’s just Dom, and you’re just Billy. And that’s fine.
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it was truly a brillant story and i printed it out and stuck it in my journal.
*luffs it*