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monaboyd Aug. 13th, 2004 07:41 pm)
rane-ab.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Aug. 13th, 2004 07:41 pm)Title: In Dreams
Rating: PG-13? Light R?
Words: 561
Summary: Billy's dreams, nowadays, are about destruction.
Warnings: Um. For weirdness? Suggestion of suicide? Too much dreaming? Tired of the question marks yet?
Disclaimer: I should bloody well hope not.
Feedback: Would a snog do?
In his dreams, the sky is always blue. Billy would rather have it were green, or purple, or even stormy grey, but it's just plain blue.
He wakes up, and he's floating about five foot above his bed. He thinks that can't be right, he must be dreaming, and so he turns around on his back. The sky above him is stark blue, like a hot summer morning, and he can feel the warm air ripple and shiver beneath his back. And so he knows: this is reality. So when he suddenly falls, deep, deep, it must be dangerous and true and his heart stops right now oh God and he crashes screaming into his sheets.
***
His dreams, nowadays, are about destruction. He wakes up and he's flying, or perhaps swimming in the air like a stupid-looking, human fish. He's six foot above a dirty, narrow wooden bridge and he knows that's as high as he can go. But that's all right, because it's like magic and he's floating and happy and the air smells and tastes like fog underneath the clear, blue sky. And then he accidentally slips over the edge of the bridge and loses his momentum, crashing into the ice-cold (hot) water, and the violent current rips him apart.
***
Sometimes, he strangles a fish and then the water dissolves around him but the blood clings to his hands. It tastes like salt and copper and kiwis and it has no smell at all.
***
He thinks that maybe he would be better off dead, down a cliff or licking the blood off his wrists, but this shouldn't be happening now. He's not fourteen or fifteen and he doesn't think the world hates him and he's worthless (except when he does) or that he doesn't want to live. He wants (he wants) to but his life is falling apart underneath his fingers and he likes control so he shreds it to tiny bits with his hands and teeth sitting on the grass underneath a vibrant blue sky. He finds his life tastes a lot like cotton.
***
He wakes up and there's someone in his bed and it takes him a moment to realise it's not him. There's an arm over his chest and the barely-there pressure of skin against his lips, and when he opens his eyes the sky outside is a clean shade of blue. But it's still night and so Billy knows that this is a dream, and he almost smiles his victory yes but his mouth slips open instead. The dream smells like Dom's skin in warm air and the kiss tastes of the disgusting liquorice monkeys Dom used to favour so much and Billy thinks of Dom on the other side of the ocean, thinks dirty and moans and his hips jerk up. He can feel the empty hot air vibrating along his cock.
Then the dream shifts and Billy is naked on his front and there is weight on his back and heat from the tip of his earlobe down the centre of his spine pressing against his arse (oh fuck yes) and a sharp knee somewhere against his lower thigh, and he's humping the mattress and whimpering and drowning and somewhere in the corner of his fluttering eyes, his clock reads 10 a.m..
And strangely, Billy doesn't wake up then.
Rating: PG-13? Light R?
Words: 561
Summary: Billy's dreams, nowadays, are about destruction.
Warnings: Um. For weirdness? Suggestion of suicide? Too much dreaming? Tired of the question marks yet?
Disclaimer: I should bloody well hope not.
Feedback: Would a snog do?
In his dreams, the sky is always blue. Billy would rather have it were green, or purple, or even stormy grey, but it's just plain blue.
He wakes up, and he's floating about five foot above his bed. He thinks that can't be right, he must be dreaming, and so he turns around on his back. The sky above him is stark blue, like a hot summer morning, and he can feel the warm air ripple and shiver beneath his back. And so he knows: this is reality. So when he suddenly falls, deep, deep, it must be dangerous and true and his heart stops right now oh God and he crashes screaming into his sheets.
***
His dreams, nowadays, are about destruction. He wakes up and he's flying, or perhaps swimming in the air like a stupid-looking, human fish. He's six foot above a dirty, narrow wooden bridge and he knows that's as high as he can go. But that's all right, because it's like magic and he's floating and happy and the air smells and tastes like fog underneath the clear, blue sky. And then he accidentally slips over the edge of the bridge and loses his momentum, crashing into the ice-cold (hot) water, and the violent current rips him apart.
***
Sometimes, he strangles a fish and then the water dissolves around him but the blood clings to his hands. It tastes like salt and copper and kiwis and it has no smell at all.
***
He thinks that maybe he would be better off dead, down a cliff or licking the blood off his wrists, but this shouldn't be happening now. He's not fourteen or fifteen and he doesn't think the world hates him and he's worthless (except when he does) or that he doesn't want to live. He wants (he wants) to but his life is falling apart underneath his fingers and he likes control so he shreds it to tiny bits with his hands and teeth sitting on the grass underneath a vibrant blue sky. He finds his life tastes a lot like cotton.
***
He wakes up and there's someone in his bed and it takes him a moment to realise it's not him. There's an arm over his chest and the barely-there pressure of skin against his lips, and when he opens his eyes the sky outside is a clean shade of blue. But it's still night and so Billy knows that this is a dream, and he almost smiles his victory yes but his mouth slips open instead. The dream smells like Dom's skin in warm air and the kiss tastes of the disgusting liquorice monkeys Dom used to favour so much and Billy thinks of Dom on the other side of the ocean, thinks dirty and moans and his hips jerk up. He can feel the empty hot air vibrating along his cock.
Then the dream shifts and Billy is naked on his front and there is weight on his back and heat from the tip of his earlobe down the centre of his spine pressing against his arse (oh fuck yes) and a sharp knee somewhere against his lower thigh, and he's humping the mattress and whimpering and drowning and somewhere in the corner of his fluttering eyes, his clock reads 10 a.m..
And strangely, Billy doesn't wake up then.
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And it seems like it's the time for icon!love tonight. <3 to your icon. And to you. :D