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monaboyd Aug. 9th, 2004 11:44 pm)
my-tea-tray.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Aug. 9th, 2004 11:44 pm)Title: Untitled 2
Disclaimer: Didn't happen.
Rating: The f-word, twice. Content-wise, probably PG? Somewhat angsty.
A/N: Argh, I know, it's rubbish. But ... don't you hate it when the bunnies hold you captive and make you stay awake until you've written it all down?
Billy tugs at the bottom of his lip with his teeth, a habit he unwittingly picked up from Dom.
"I don’t know how much longer I can do this."
"Do what?" Dom’s words sound rehearsed as he scuffs his foot on the carpet impatiently, glancing at his watch.
"This - us. As cliché as it sounds, things are different." The tension in Billy’s words spills into the silence between them. Dom looks up, and a flash of hope echoes throughout Billy’s brain as Dom’s eyes lock with his.
"Any chance we can finish this later?"
"Later?" Billy shakes his head in quiet disbelief, hope fading. "How much longer do you expect me to wait?" But Dom has already crossed the apartment and is reaching for the remote.
Three minutes later, a strangled cry erupts from the living room, followed by the roaring of the crowd on the television, and a loud clatter. In spite of himself, Billy reaches the door frame in less time than it takes him to decide to move his legs.
"You okay, Dommie?" His voice squeaks like a prepubescent boy.
"No, I’m fine ... ‘s just, Mikey, Bills, he’s scored!" He points a finger at the tv, looking back at with an elated expression on his face. English football players throw themselves at each other joyously on screen. Billy feels his cheeks redden with embarassment - he’s a mess - when Dom turns back around.
"That’s great," Billy manages, but his voice feels closed and odd. He can’t remember the last time Dom noticed his red, puffy eyes, or a tear lingering on his cheek. His instincts tell him that Dom is smiling contentedly, and Billy slips away.
The tv is turned up so loud that Billy knows, even if Dom had been listening for it, he can’t hear the folding of clothes, the zipping of bags, the emptiness of a closet that blares its silence into Billy’s ears. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at the dustballs in the corners, before another cry from the living room roars him back to conciousness.
"What is it?" he asks softly, standing in the doorway again.
"Portugal got two," Dom says, transfixed, eyes focused on the tv set. "But we’ve scored again, and now it’s gone to penalties. Fucking nerve-wracking, it is."
"Dom -" Billy starts, but can’t make himself progress. Dom doesn’t look at him.
"Fucking nerve-wracking," he repeats.
Billy sighs, and suddenly he’s gathering his bags, walking towards the front door of the apartment. As the tv set grows louder and he nears the living room doorway again, Dom speaks.
"Oh, God." It’s soft, imploring, searching for an answer. Billy stops, looking at him, half-heartedly hoping to see Dom’s gray-blue eyes fixed on him, filling with emotion, begging him to stay, pleading that he’s seen the error of his ways and intends to fix them. But it’s Dom’s sandy hair that greets him instead, mussed up in the back so it looks spikey and menacing.
"I’m leaving," Billy announces sadly, more expecting the walls to answer him than Dom. But there is a reply.
"I don’t believe it. We’ve lost."
Yes, thinks Billy, I think we finally have.
Disclaimer: Didn't happen.
Rating: The f-word, twice. Content-wise, probably PG? Somewhat angsty.
A/N: Argh, I know, it's rubbish. But ... don't you hate it when the bunnies hold you captive and make you stay awake until you've written it all down?
Billy tugs at the bottom of his lip with his teeth, a habit he unwittingly picked up from Dom.
"I don’t know how much longer I can do this."
"Do what?" Dom’s words sound rehearsed as he scuffs his foot on the carpet impatiently, glancing at his watch.
"This - us. As cliché as it sounds, things are different." The tension in Billy’s words spills into the silence between them. Dom looks up, and a flash of hope echoes throughout Billy’s brain as Dom’s eyes lock with his.
"Any chance we can finish this later?"
"Later?" Billy shakes his head in quiet disbelief, hope fading. "How much longer do you expect me to wait?" But Dom has already crossed the apartment and is reaching for the remote.
Three minutes later, a strangled cry erupts from the living room, followed by the roaring of the crowd on the television, and a loud clatter. In spite of himself, Billy reaches the door frame in less time than it takes him to decide to move his legs.
"You okay, Dommie?" His voice squeaks like a prepubescent boy.
"No, I’m fine ... ‘s just, Mikey, Bills, he’s scored!" He points a finger at the tv, looking back at with an elated expression on his face. English football players throw themselves at each other joyously on screen. Billy feels his cheeks redden with embarassment - he’s a mess - when Dom turns back around.
"That’s great," Billy manages, but his voice feels closed and odd. He can’t remember the last time Dom noticed his red, puffy eyes, or a tear lingering on his cheek. His instincts tell him that Dom is smiling contentedly, and Billy slips away.
The tv is turned up so loud that Billy knows, even if Dom had been listening for it, he can’t hear the folding of clothes, the zipping of bags, the emptiness of a closet that blares its silence into Billy’s ears. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at the dustballs in the corners, before another cry from the living room roars him back to conciousness.
"What is it?" he asks softly, standing in the doorway again.
"Portugal got two," Dom says, transfixed, eyes focused on the tv set. "But we’ve scored again, and now it’s gone to penalties. Fucking nerve-wracking, it is."
"Dom -" Billy starts, but can’t make himself progress. Dom doesn’t look at him.
"Fucking nerve-wracking," he repeats.
Billy sighs, and suddenly he’s gathering his bags, walking towards the front door of the apartment. As the tv set grows louder and he nears the living room doorway again, Dom speaks.
"Oh, God." It’s soft, imploring, searching for an answer. Billy stops, looking at him, half-heartedly hoping to see Dom’s gray-blue eyes fixed on him, filling with emotion, begging him to stay, pleading that he’s seen the error of his ways and intends to fix them. But it’s Dom’s sandy hair that greets him instead, mussed up in the back so it looks spikey and menacing.
"I’m leaving," Billy announces sadly, more expecting the walls to answer him than Dom. But there is a reply.
"I don’t believe it. We’ve lost."
Yes, thinks Billy, I think we finally have.
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From:
no subject
I love this. Such a simple idea, but so well written. Some beautiful descriptions within. Well done - fantastic! :)
From:
no subject
Really great. Funny what u picked as Dom's distraction. That game ahah I'm sure I was a nervous wreck that day.
Lovely work :D
From:
no subject
By Untitled 2, does that mean there's a part 1 floating around that I missed, or that it's your second untitled?