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urbanroutine.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-06-24 12:52 am
urbanroutine.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-06-24 12:52 am
(no subject)
Title: Can’t Hardly Wait
Pairing(s): BB/DM
Rating: PG-13 for slight pottymouth language and implied phonesex.
Disclaimer: Fiction. Figment. Fake.
Summary: Fluffy separation angst.
Feedback: Oh my, yes.
Content/Warnings: Uh, this is my first lotrps, and it’s unbeta’d. So please be gentle. Song lyrics and title courtesy of the Replacements, used without permission.
I should really dedicate it to my enabler,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
queenofalostart, even though it’s really nowhere near porny enough for her.
Crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
monaboyd
He peeks again at the two-faced, four-handed clock, what must be ages later. It’s a fancy two-zone clock, bought from one of those catalogs people ignore on airplanes. Now it’s prominently displayed upon his wall in Hawaii. Damn. Not even three minutes have passed since the last time he checked. Dom picks up the phone again, begins to press the sequence of numbers he’s written on his hand so many times he’s lost count. Again, he dials all but the last number, and drops the phone back in its cradle.
10:50 pm | 6:50 am
“Fuck me,” he mutters, with no real conviction. He fidgets around a little more, toys with the idea of watching the telly. He loathes a lot of American tv, ironically, as he’s a few short months away from being a prime time part of it. But that’s different, it’s more like cinema anyway, he reasons. And sneaks a glance at the clockfaces. No bloody willpower at all, just none.
He hates his own impatience on nights like this, when he aches to hear that familiar voice over the wires. Seven am is moderately acceptable, but clearly eight would be better. Dom knows that he must be sleeping, tucked cozily into the familiar bed so far away. Oceans away. He inhales deeply, imagining the scent of that bedroom, the smell of sweat and skin and sex making the sheets a little manky, all tangled around a somewhat dainty-yet-masculine tattooed ankle.
10:52 pm | 6:52 am
Can he wait another hour and eight minutes? Dom’s waited so long already. He hasn’t been sleeping much lately, but it’s been working perfectly for Lost. The more strung out the better, JJ said. Ah, convenient agony. He can’t stand this. His hands are itching, his ears burning. He gets up to put on a CD, and paces a bit, right in time with the drums, trying to ignore the excruciatingly far-apart ticks of the clock. He turns up the volume.
“Iwon’tlook Iwon’tlook Iwon’tlook Iwon’tlook...”
He looks. Of course he looks. Fucking clocks. Fuck them for showing him just how far apart they are.
10:55 pm | 6:55 am
Could he justify an unexpected early morning call? Dom knows that feeling, waking to the sound of a ringing phone, and he realizes that it often conjures an ominous feeling. A call in the still half-light of dawn is almost never good news, and he knows that this particular recipient has had far more than his fair share of upsetting telephone calls. Dom would never want to alarm, due to overeagerness and selfish whimsy. He’d hate it if even for a moment his beloved was to fear the phone lines, thinking they carried bad news instead of the love and longing Dom couldn’t wait to convey. Letters won’t cut it just now. He’d already written pages and pages on other such evenings in Hawaii and in LA, but not tonight. His head and his body are just too full of anxious energy, bursting at every seam, jumpier than ever, tapping long fingers on his thighs along with the music. How long could they go on like this?
I'll write you a letter tomorrow
Tonight I can't hold a pen
Someone's got a stamp that I can borrow
I promise not to blow the address again
Lights that flash in the evening,
Through a crack in the drapes
Jesus rides beside me
He never buys any smokes
Hurry up, hurry up, ain't you had enough of this stuff
Ashtray floors, dirty clothes, and filthy jokes
See you're high and lonesome
Try and try and try
Lights that flash in the evening,
Through a hole in the drapes
I'll be home when I'm sleeping
I can't hardly wait
I can't wait. Hardly wait.
10:58 pm | 6:58 am
He can’t wait. He curses himself, his whingy, needy inability to deny his every fucking impulse, and moves to grab the phone.
It rings before his fingers reach the handset. He manages a startled “H’lo?”
“Dommeh, s’me. I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”
“Ohhhhh Billy-boy, I’ve been jumping out of my skin all night, waiting for a godly hour to call Scotland.”
“Tha’s funny. Ah’ve been watching the clock meself, wondering what time the pubs close in Honolulu. Yer little fantasy island, eh Dom?”
“Fantasy indeed, i just sit here and think about you. Naked. Begging. Etcetera.”
“Ah, certainly. And ye don’t even really need the island, then, do ye? Just a comfortable place to pace and fidget and wank.”
Dom grins. “I miss you so much, Bill.”
“Yer an idiot, Dom.” He can hear the tenderness in Billy’s voice.
“You adore me, you think I’m bloody brilliant and sexy.”
“Well, aye. A brilliantly sexy idiot.” His tone grows more serious. “I miss ye too. I cannae wait to visit LA when ye get back there.”
Dom lets out a mock-groan. “Ahhh, more torturous clock-watching awaits me.” His cheeks are numb from smiling. “That’d be lovely. I can’t wait either.”
“So go on then. What are ye wearing?”
“Fuschia polka-dotty trousers and a ladies brassiere. The very supportive kind. Oh, and a snorkel.”
“Ohh, me favorite. And the tiara too?”
“ ‘Course. And you?”
“Nary a scrap.”
“Interrrresting.”
...
2:22 am | 10:22 am
The hours fly by and Dom finally hangs up, glancing at the clock. He’s baffled at how quickly time has passed.
Pairing(s): BB/DM
Rating: PG-13 for slight pottymouth language and implied phonesex.
Disclaimer: Fiction. Figment. Fake.
Summary: Fluffy separation angst.
Feedback: Oh my, yes.
Content/Warnings: Uh, this is my first lotrps, and it’s unbeta’d. So please be gentle. Song lyrics and title courtesy of the Replacements, used without permission.
I should really dedicate it to my enabler,
queenofalostart, even though it’s really nowhere near porny enough for her.Crossposted to
monaboydHe peeks again at the two-faced, four-handed clock, what must be ages later. It’s a fancy two-zone clock, bought from one of those catalogs people ignore on airplanes. Now it’s prominently displayed upon his wall in Hawaii. Damn. Not even three minutes have passed since the last time he checked. Dom picks up the phone again, begins to press the sequence of numbers he’s written on his hand so many times he’s lost count. Again, he dials all but the last number, and drops the phone back in its cradle.
10:50 pm | 6:50 am
“Fuck me,” he mutters, with no real conviction. He fidgets around a little more, toys with the idea of watching the telly. He loathes a lot of American tv, ironically, as he’s a few short months away from being a prime time part of it. But that’s different, it’s more like cinema anyway, he reasons. And sneaks a glance at the clockfaces. No bloody willpower at all, just none.
He hates his own impatience on nights like this, when he aches to hear that familiar voice over the wires. Seven am is moderately acceptable, but clearly eight would be better. Dom knows that he must be sleeping, tucked cozily into the familiar bed so far away. Oceans away. He inhales deeply, imagining the scent of that bedroom, the smell of sweat and skin and sex making the sheets a little manky, all tangled around a somewhat dainty-yet-masculine tattooed ankle.
10:52 pm | 6:52 am
Can he wait another hour and eight minutes? Dom’s waited so long already. He hasn’t been sleeping much lately, but it’s been working perfectly for Lost. The more strung out the better, JJ said. Ah, convenient agony. He can’t stand this. His hands are itching, his ears burning. He gets up to put on a CD, and paces a bit, right in time with the drums, trying to ignore the excruciatingly far-apart ticks of the clock. He turns up the volume.
“Iwon’tlook Iwon’tlook Iwon’tlook Iwon’tlook...”
He looks. Of course he looks. Fucking clocks. Fuck them for showing him just how far apart they are.
10:55 pm | 6:55 am
Could he justify an unexpected early morning call? Dom knows that feeling, waking to the sound of a ringing phone, and he realizes that it often conjures an ominous feeling. A call in the still half-light of dawn is almost never good news, and he knows that this particular recipient has had far more than his fair share of upsetting telephone calls. Dom would never want to alarm, due to overeagerness and selfish whimsy. He’d hate it if even for a moment his beloved was to fear the phone lines, thinking they carried bad news instead of the love and longing Dom couldn’t wait to convey. Letters won’t cut it just now. He’d already written pages and pages on other such evenings in Hawaii and in LA, but not tonight. His head and his body are just too full of anxious energy, bursting at every seam, jumpier than ever, tapping long fingers on his thighs along with the music. How long could they go on like this?
I'll write you a letter tomorrow
Tonight I can't hold a pen
Someone's got a stamp that I can borrow
I promise not to blow the address again
Lights that flash in the evening,
Through a crack in the drapes
Jesus rides beside me
He never buys any smokes
Hurry up, hurry up, ain't you had enough of this stuff
Ashtray floors, dirty clothes, and filthy jokes
See you're high and lonesome
Try and try and try
Lights that flash in the evening,
Through a hole in the drapes
I'll be home when I'm sleeping
I can't hardly wait
I can't wait. Hardly wait.
10:58 pm | 6:58 am
He can’t wait. He curses himself, his whingy, needy inability to deny his every fucking impulse, and moves to grab the phone.
It rings before his fingers reach the handset. He manages a startled “H’lo?”
“Dommeh, s’me. I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”
“Ohhhhh Billy-boy, I’ve been jumping out of my skin all night, waiting for a godly hour to call Scotland.”
“Tha’s funny. Ah’ve been watching the clock meself, wondering what time the pubs close in Honolulu. Yer little fantasy island, eh Dom?”
“Fantasy indeed, i just sit here and think about you. Naked. Begging. Etcetera.”
“Ah, certainly. And ye don’t even really need the island, then, do ye? Just a comfortable place to pace and fidget and wank.”
Dom grins. “I miss you so much, Bill.”
“Yer an idiot, Dom.” He can hear the tenderness in Billy’s voice.
“You adore me, you think I’m bloody brilliant and sexy.”
“Well, aye. A brilliantly sexy idiot.” His tone grows more serious. “I miss ye too. I cannae wait to visit LA when ye get back there.”
Dom lets out a mock-groan. “Ahhh, more torturous clock-watching awaits me.” His cheeks are numb from smiling. “That’d be lovely. I can’t wait either.”
“So go on then. What are ye wearing?”
“Fuschia polka-dotty trousers and a ladies brassiere. The very supportive kind. Oh, and a snorkel.”
“Ohh, me favorite. And the tiara too?”
“ ‘Course. And you?”
“Nary a scrap.”
“Interrrresting.”
...
2:22 am | 10:22 am
The hours fly by and Dom finally hangs up, glancing at the clock. He’s baffled at how quickly time has passed.