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fellowshippers2003-02-13 12:39 am
monkeyflower.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-02-13 12:39 am
Confessions of an Epicurean
Title: Confessions of an Epicurean
Author: MonkeyFlower
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: BB/DM
Feedback: Would kill for it! j/k!
Summary: Billy wants.
Warning: Flagrant use of adverbs. Proceed with caution.
1. Between yes and no is not maybe. It is never.
2. The inside of Billy’s mouth is abraded from last night’s bar hopping. Watching Dominic dance sinuously and lithely and crazily is thirsty work. Heavily salted nuts go well with beer, but Billy is a different kind of hungry.
3. "I like you in grey," Dom says, tapping his bare foot against the twenty foot fibreglass tree. They have been up here for four hours straight. "I like you," Billy thinks, and listens to the silence that stretches between them.
4. Billy isn’t a geographer but he thinks he would excel at it. He appreciates slopes and curves, depths and planes. He especially likes the insides of Dom’s wrists, their translucent fragile skin hiding evidence of a beating heart. He’s not sure how wrists have managed to eclipse all of Dom’s other noteworthy features: eyes with green and grey strands, floppy ears, square hands. Maybe it’s because wrists are safe to covet and sneak covert glances of, unlike the groove at the seam of Dom’s hip which Billy has seen only once or the contents of Dom’s ribcage which Billy sees every day but can’t bring himself to touch.
5. The sweetest oranges have smooth skin and give slightly when you squeeze them. The best melons sound hollow when you rap them with your knuckles. Billy sees Dom appraising him from behind a stand of ripe blueberries and wonders how to tell Dom that he is ready to be plucked.
6. Billy tries very hard to be serious and meditative. Yes, he is ‘the oldest hobbit’ and yes, sometimes he is filled with incredibly profound and wise thoughts but today he just wants to frolic naked through the forest, scare flocks of birds, lick things he shouldn’t, and have his dirty, nasty and irresponsible way with Dominic over and over again. Possibly not in that order. Probably not in that order.
7. "Cobra," Dom’s body says, as it flexes and stretches. Billy follows suit with distinctly less ease. Dom’s back arches fluidly and his head tips back. Toes point. It’s a dangerous thing, Dom’s body. Full of twisting sinews and taut muscles, all smoothed over and concealed by glistening skin. He likes to watch Dom’s lips as they cradle the consonants of his name. Dom’s tongue, however, is most deadly, whether it’s wielding profoundly tender words or slipping carelessly into Billy’s mouth.
8. Dominic is not dessert. Invariably, he does taste of almonds and salt and his words make his mouth decadent like cream. Each goodbye is bittersweet and like the best chocolate it lingers in the back of his palette, a constant reminder. But Dominic is not dessert. He is a tall drink after a long day, meant to be gripped by his long fragile neck and drank from again and again.
9. The world needs more words. This is the conclusion that Billy comes to as he swings a sword at a bobbing orange ball on a stick in a blue room while he wears latex feet and foam ears. He hasn’t seen Dom for hours now and misses him terribly. Yet ‘misses’ is somehow wrong, inadequate to capture the perfect longing in his bones, just the same way that ‘utter and abject terror’ insufficiently describes the way he felt after last night when Dom said, "I love you". Billy has never heard that word before, not from Dom and not spoken in that way with that enormous weight and passion and generosity of spirit behind it. Later, when his trailer is luminescent with pink and orange and gold and his cup of coffee is warm in his hands, when he’s turned all the words that Dom has taught him over the months around and around in his head until they’re worn and smooth around the edges, Billy allows himself the quietness needed to marvel in wonderment at the newness of this word and add it carefully to his vocabulary. He will apologize tomorrow. He will try to explain that ‘love’ seems somehow inadequate to describe the mix of tremulous hope and fluttery fears and simple, simple warmth that exists in him whenever he thinks of Dom. ‘Dom’, however, feels just right. The world needs more words, yes, and Billy needs to learn how to say them.
10. In one of Billy’s fantasies, he comes home to a quiet house. It is very late. As he drops his bag onto the floor and toes off his shoes, he smells something spicy with a burnt undertone. He smiles secretly and hangs up his jacket. Dom must have made dinner. Burned dinner. Ordered Chinese take out. Billy ventures into the kitchen and sees the cartons and cheap wooden chopsticks on the table. Dom has already scraped smooth both sets of chopsticks; the first time they had take out together, Billy did it wrong and gave himself a splinter. Oh, Billy hasn’t lived that down yet but he doesn’t mind. He scarfs down a few bites of chow mein before following the flickering candlelight and the casually dropped items of clothing down the hall. A sock. Billy’s blue shirt that Dom borrowed several months back and never returned. Billy can hear water now, burbling and frothing. Another sock. Ooh, jeans. Billy strips down, tossing his clothes on the floor too. The taps are turned off and the silence is filled by the gentle lapping of water in the tub and Dom’s quickening breathing. Billy reaches the doorway and sees Dom’s shoulders dipping beneath the suds. The bathroom is aglow with pale candles and Billy feels lit from within. Dom’s smile warms him even more than the hot water and Dom tattoos it onto Billy’s neck with a kiss. Then there’s a tangle of limbs and mouths and exchanges of "missed you so much". There’s soapy water on the floor to clean up later, much later, after the bath has gone cool and the pull of sleep is too much, after the candles have all burned down and sputtered out with a curlicue of smoke. This is very good. It isn’t a particularly naughty or imaginative fantasy but its perfect ordinariness makes him smile or stub his toe on furniture or veer into oncoming traffic depending on the situation.
In reality, Billy comes home to a quiet house. It is very late. As he drops his bag onto the floor and toes off his shoes, he trips over Dominic’s sneakers in the darkness. Dominic’s socks are strewn on the couch and the trash hasn’t been taken out. There is cold pizza on the table, dishes in the sink, crumbs underfoot, and a handwritten note stuck to the fridge with a beer magnet that says, "Wake me up when you get home?" Billy stuffs the note into his pocket and quietly ascends the stairs.
This is much, much better.
The End
Author: MonkeyFlower
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: BB/DM
Feedback: Would kill for it! j/k!
Summary: Billy wants.
Warning: Flagrant use of adverbs. Proceed with caution.
1. Between yes and no is not maybe. It is never.
2. The inside of Billy’s mouth is abraded from last night’s bar hopping. Watching Dominic dance sinuously and lithely and crazily is thirsty work. Heavily salted nuts go well with beer, but Billy is a different kind of hungry.
3. "I like you in grey," Dom says, tapping his bare foot against the twenty foot fibreglass tree. They have been up here for four hours straight. "I like you," Billy thinks, and listens to the silence that stretches between them.
4. Billy isn’t a geographer but he thinks he would excel at it. He appreciates slopes and curves, depths and planes. He especially likes the insides of Dom’s wrists, their translucent fragile skin hiding evidence of a beating heart. He’s not sure how wrists have managed to eclipse all of Dom’s other noteworthy features: eyes with green and grey strands, floppy ears, square hands. Maybe it’s because wrists are safe to covet and sneak covert glances of, unlike the groove at the seam of Dom’s hip which Billy has seen only once or the contents of Dom’s ribcage which Billy sees every day but can’t bring himself to touch.
5. The sweetest oranges have smooth skin and give slightly when you squeeze them. The best melons sound hollow when you rap them with your knuckles. Billy sees Dom appraising him from behind a stand of ripe blueberries and wonders how to tell Dom that he is ready to be plucked.
6. Billy tries very hard to be serious and meditative. Yes, he is ‘the oldest hobbit’ and yes, sometimes he is filled with incredibly profound and wise thoughts but today he just wants to frolic naked through the forest, scare flocks of birds, lick things he shouldn’t, and have his dirty, nasty and irresponsible way with Dominic over and over again. Possibly not in that order. Probably not in that order.
7. "Cobra," Dom’s body says, as it flexes and stretches. Billy follows suit with distinctly less ease. Dom’s back arches fluidly and his head tips back. Toes point. It’s a dangerous thing, Dom’s body. Full of twisting sinews and taut muscles, all smoothed over and concealed by glistening skin. He likes to watch Dom’s lips as they cradle the consonants of his name. Dom’s tongue, however, is most deadly, whether it’s wielding profoundly tender words or slipping carelessly into Billy’s mouth.
8. Dominic is not dessert. Invariably, he does taste of almonds and salt and his words make his mouth decadent like cream. Each goodbye is bittersweet and like the best chocolate it lingers in the back of his palette, a constant reminder. But Dominic is not dessert. He is a tall drink after a long day, meant to be gripped by his long fragile neck and drank from again and again.
9. The world needs more words. This is the conclusion that Billy comes to as he swings a sword at a bobbing orange ball on a stick in a blue room while he wears latex feet and foam ears. He hasn’t seen Dom for hours now and misses him terribly. Yet ‘misses’ is somehow wrong, inadequate to capture the perfect longing in his bones, just the same way that ‘utter and abject terror’ insufficiently describes the way he felt after last night when Dom said, "I love you". Billy has never heard that word before, not from Dom and not spoken in that way with that enormous weight and passion and generosity of spirit behind it. Later, when his trailer is luminescent with pink and orange and gold and his cup of coffee is warm in his hands, when he’s turned all the words that Dom has taught him over the months around and around in his head until they’re worn and smooth around the edges, Billy allows himself the quietness needed to marvel in wonderment at the newness of this word and add it carefully to his vocabulary. He will apologize tomorrow. He will try to explain that ‘love’ seems somehow inadequate to describe the mix of tremulous hope and fluttery fears and simple, simple warmth that exists in him whenever he thinks of Dom. ‘Dom’, however, feels just right. The world needs more words, yes, and Billy needs to learn how to say them.
10. In one of Billy’s fantasies, he comes home to a quiet house. It is very late. As he drops his bag onto the floor and toes off his shoes, he smells something spicy with a burnt undertone. He smiles secretly and hangs up his jacket. Dom must have made dinner. Burned dinner. Ordered Chinese take out. Billy ventures into the kitchen and sees the cartons and cheap wooden chopsticks on the table. Dom has already scraped smooth both sets of chopsticks; the first time they had take out together, Billy did it wrong and gave himself a splinter. Oh, Billy hasn’t lived that down yet but he doesn’t mind. He scarfs down a few bites of chow mein before following the flickering candlelight and the casually dropped items of clothing down the hall. A sock. Billy’s blue shirt that Dom borrowed several months back and never returned. Billy can hear water now, burbling and frothing. Another sock. Ooh, jeans. Billy strips down, tossing his clothes on the floor too. The taps are turned off and the silence is filled by the gentle lapping of water in the tub and Dom’s quickening breathing. Billy reaches the doorway and sees Dom’s shoulders dipping beneath the suds. The bathroom is aglow with pale candles and Billy feels lit from within. Dom’s smile warms him even more than the hot water and Dom tattoos it onto Billy’s neck with a kiss. Then there’s a tangle of limbs and mouths and exchanges of "missed you so much". There’s soapy water on the floor to clean up later, much later, after the bath has gone cool and the pull of sleep is too much, after the candles have all burned down and sputtered out with a curlicue of smoke. This is very good. It isn’t a particularly naughty or imaginative fantasy but its perfect ordinariness makes him smile or stub his toe on furniture or veer into oncoming traffic depending on the situation.
In reality, Billy comes home to a quiet house. It is very late. As he drops his bag onto the floor and toes off his shoes, he trips over Dominic’s sneakers in the darkness. Dominic’s socks are strewn on the couch and the trash hasn’t been taken out. There is cold pizza on the table, dishes in the sink, crumbs underfoot, and a handwritten note stuck to the fridge with a beer magnet that says, "Wake me up when you get home?" Billy stuffs the note into his pocket and quietly ascends the stairs.
This is much, much better.
The End
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It isn’t a particularly naughty or imaginative fantasy but its perfect ordinariness makes him smile or stub his toe on furniture or veer into oncoming traffic depending on the situation.
Veering into oncoming traffic...somehow, that was just perfect.
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also, this bit is wonderful: The world needs more words. This is the conclusion that Billy comes to as he swings a sword at a bobbing orange ball on a stick in a blue room while he wears latex feet and foam ears. He hasn’t seen Dom for hours now and misses him terribly. Yet ‘misses’ is somehow wrong, inadequate to capture the perfect longing in his bones, just the same way that ‘utter and abject terror’ insufficiently describes the way he felt after last night when Dom said, "I love you".
i think it so perfectly captures the way many of us feel. i frequently feel frustrated that i can't better articulate my feelings. i think one of the reasons i like this so much is that all of it feels so real. these are things that people feel all of the time and you've put it into words.
thank you so much for this story.
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(Rec'ced by
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That's all I can say.
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floppy ears
ok that is gonna stick with me... it just comes across with such endearment and love and ya know it's true. i love the fic, ya know all the deep stuff... fantasy vs. reality, the time progression, etc. etc. but i LOVE the floppy ears. from this point on anytime i ever hear someone comment on the size of dom's ears i shall correct them that they are not big! they are floppy and that is precisely why we love them.
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yum
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4. Billy isn’t a geographer but he thinks he would excel at it. He appreciates slopes and curves, depths and planes. He especially likes the insides of Dom’s wrists, their translucent fragile skin hiding evidence of a beating heart. He’s not sure how wrists have managed to eclipse all of Dom’s other noteworthy features: eyes with green and grey strands, floppy ears, square hands. Maybe it’s because wrists are safe to covet and sneak covert glances of, unlike the groove at the seam of Dom’s hip which Billy has seen only once or the contents of Dom’s ribcage which Billy sees every day but can’t bring himself to touch.
That hesitance is both intriguing and heartbreaking. The ending of the story as well, along with the fantasy (well, throughout :)) during the closing, just hurts. The wanting, but not needing or not giving elements are beautiful. :)