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monaboyd Nov. 22nd, 2003 11:46 pm)
chucks-arecomfy.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Nov. 22nd, 2003 11:46 pm)Title: Aspirations
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chucks_arecomfy
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG13
Description: [AU] It's just the safety of routine. Always.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. Not real.
Author's Note: Written in Billy's point of view. It's weird...maybe.
There is hardly a word that can be made out through the torrent of constant sound. The sliding and notation long since memorized is now being replayed for all the crowd to absorb. My mind races as I gaze down at the people packed into the pit, the amps frequently reminding me of my cues as they spurt out the four and six string guitar rifts. Brushes and sticks pound away savagely at drums in the background.
I can feel the rush move through me…the raw energy. And when the music slows, I know what is coming. When the Mohawk clad kids in the front row pause their constant head banging, I’m aware of what is about to go down.
I’m a desolate scene of power. The single bullet in the loaded gun…the one pointed right at your fucking head, about to blow your mind.
The moment ends with the clear cut of my voice through the mic.
And once again, I am alert. The striking of my notes into the packed and heated club has an affect all its own. I’m bent over double with the strain of trying to force my stomach muscles to project my vocals, and I can feel the sweat pouring steadily down my body and drenching me.
This is what I was meant for. This is my reason to live.
So when the show’s over, and I find myself alone in an alleyway behind an unknown venue in an unknown town, my mind seeks to refuge those few pure moments of solace I felt while on stage.
I must look like a scene: sweat soaked and bloodstained from the harshness of crowd surfing. Hanging loosely between my chapped lips is a cigarette. It’s not there for any particular reason but to provide a manner of security in the dark. Familiar things help with unfamiliar situations. But since when did me seeking solitude ever become foreign?
The banging of metal echoes from the door behind me and catches my attention automatically.
You’re standing there, drumsticks twirling expertly between your long fingers. Light from inside the noisy scene surrounds your muscular frame. It’s not until the door swings closed, leaving us in darkness save for the flickering streetlight a few yards away, that I can really view you. I mean, actually take the image that is you in.
And I do.
With every touch, and taste…every noise that you make when I move to feel you…it’s like forming a sculpture. It’s a science that I have perfected, growing in skill each time we find ourselves in an alleyway behind an unknown venue in an unknown town.
Suddenly my reason for living changes, because it is right here and right now. Time is at a stand still and nothing else matters. Just you.
It’s funny how quickly our aspirations can alter.
I would have laughed at that…but my mouth was preoccupied in rediscovering yours.
The cigarette I had in it moments before, now lying on the ground below us, makes me think. You never liked it when I smoked.
I guess some things never change.
Author:
chucks_arecomfy Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG13
Description: [AU] It's just the safety of routine. Always.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue. Not real.
Author's Note: Written in Billy's point of view. It's weird...maybe.
There is hardly a word that can be made out through the torrent of constant sound. The sliding and notation long since memorized is now being replayed for all the crowd to absorb. My mind races as I gaze down at the people packed into the pit, the amps frequently reminding me of my cues as they spurt out the four and six string guitar rifts. Brushes and sticks pound away savagely at drums in the background.
I can feel the rush move through me…the raw energy. And when the music slows, I know what is coming. When the Mohawk clad kids in the front row pause their constant head banging, I’m aware of what is about to go down.
I’m a desolate scene of power. The single bullet in the loaded gun…the one pointed right at your fucking head, about to blow your mind.
The moment ends with the clear cut of my voice through the mic.
And once again, I am alert. The striking of my notes into the packed and heated club has an affect all its own. I’m bent over double with the strain of trying to force my stomach muscles to project my vocals, and I can feel the sweat pouring steadily down my body and drenching me.
This is what I was meant for. This is my reason to live.
So when the show’s over, and I find myself alone in an alleyway behind an unknown venue in an unknown town, my mind seeks to refuge those few pure moments of solace I felt while on stage.
I must look like a scene: sweat soaked and bloodstained from the harshness of crowd surfing. Hanging loosely between my chapped lips is a cigarette. It’s not there for any particular reason but to provide a manner of security in the dark. Familiar things help with unfamiliar situations. But since when did me seeking solitude ever become foreign?
The banging of metal echoes from the door behind me and catches my attention automatically.
You’re standing there, drumsticks twirling expertly between your long fingers. Light from inside the noisy scene surrounds your muscular frame. It’s not until the door swings closed, leaving us in darkness save for the flickering streetlight a few yards away, that I can really view you. I mean, actually take the image that is you in.
And I do.
With every touch, and taste…every noise that you make when I move to feel you…it’s like forming a sculpture. It’s a science that I have perfected, growing in skill each time we find ourselves in an alleyway behind an unknown venue in an unknown town.
Suddenly my reason for living changes, because it is right here and right now. Time is at a stand still and nothing else matters. Just you.
It’s funny how quickly our aspirations can alter.
I would have laughed at that…but my mouth was preoccupied in rediscovering yours.
The cigarette I had in it moments before, now lying on the ground below us, makes me think. You never liked it when I smoked.
I guess some things never change.
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From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Yes, band!Billy is definitely a turn on.
Very sexy Scottish voice.
Yum.From:
no subject
Speaking of sexy band boys [and good fuck, but they are]... you know in Dom's new movie he MIGHT be in a band? I get confused, I can't remember what me and my friend made up and what was fact. *L* Basically, the one I mean has Jason Behr from the old Roswell days in it [which could be disturbingly frankly but anyway] and he's in a band. Dom's staring too, so he might be as well, POINT BEING: DOM IN A BAND. Visuals of. I'll be dead. If it happens. *babbling*
From:
no subject
owhnemfjsdgjsdknm!!!!
*dies*
...
*dies again*
If he's in a band I'll laugh my ass of and then die from the sexiness.
I shit you not. ^.^
From:
no subject
Wow. I shall back away from the exclamation marks but HELL YES. I'll just sit there, mouth open, tapping at the poor person's arm next to me and proceeded to make strange noises. Man. Dom in a band is the ultimate sexiness.
I need fic nooow. If nobody else writes it I may have to. But... my productivity rate is nearly non-existant.