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fellowshippers2004-09-04 12:45 am
sophrosyne31.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-09-04 12:45 am
Repast, Dom/Billy, by Sophrosyne31
Title: Repast
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sophrosyne31
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: was the result of my missing lunch
Feedback: is the best condiment
A/N: this kinda follows what is kinda turning into a series of Dombilleh schmoops. Previous parts, such as they are, can be found here but it's not necessary to read them. These boys are always just wittering on like this.
Billy and Dom finally drag themselves out of bed on a Wednesday afternoon. They blink in the sunlight at the front door and dash across the road to a café.
“Christ,” Dom moans. “It’s so big out here.”
“It’s almost awful,” Billy says, sliding Dom’s bottom further across a booth seat before he sits opposite. The café is full of red bordello lamps and kitsch biscuit holders. The ceiling is painted with daisies. The table in front of them is laminated with Abstract Expressionist prints. Dom and Billy squint in the mélange of coloured lights spangling over them from a disco ball. It’s only 3 o’clock in the afternoon.
“I’m sure this is a good idea,” Billy continues, holding his temples worriedly. “Up and at ‘em, bushy-eyed and bright-tailed… Get us some grits and there’ll be no stopping us.”
”Are you mad?” Dom hisses. “You know I can only eat soft foods since that lip-nip you gave me yesterday. My god, the blood—!”
“Grits are soft, you galoot.” Billy tries to sit upright, then slumps in his seat across from Dom and starts to slide down towards the floor in an access of sudden ennui. His foot inadvertently molests Dom’s.
A waitress appears.
“Yeah?” She’s wearing a revealing pink silk petticoat and a green headscarf. Her shoes are red stilettos. She towers over the table.
“What kind of world is this?” Dom whispers loudly.
Billy sits up abruptly. “We’ll have some soft foods for my friend, and I’ll take the Double-Wham Late Late Liver-Killing Breakfast please.”
“Soft foods?” She looks at them with the infinite disdain of the thinly-dressed.
“Er—have you got any jam?” Dom asks shyly. His cheeks bloom with pink the colour of strawberry conserve.
The waitress peers at him. Obviously he reminds her of some kind of nocturnal mammal. She gives the two of them a perplexed stare and walks off.
“Billy, I’m frightened,” Dom says. He reaches tentatively across the table to take Billy’s hand. Billy clamps it rather quickly.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been out,” he says. “Um, I think we might have left our run a bit late. We’ve acclimatized to the bed situation. Are your ankles swelling too?”
The waitress clomps past and dumps a jar of jam on the table in front of Dom’s startled face. When she’s gone he twists off the lid as if it’s a bomb and he’s the sweating valiant sapper defusing it. He peers in, and then raises his face, beaming.
“It’s blackberry! Billy, it’s blackberry jam! Here! I’m so happy,” he says, and taking a spoon he tucks in. Big juicy bumpled spoonfuls of sticky goo disappear into his joyfully scrunching mouth. Billy watches, a look of mingled tenderness and horror on his face.
“You’ll not be taking anything else with that, then?” he inquires eventually.
“Mmmmmmmph” Dom says, face bent over the jar. He remembers to reach his hand forward and stroke Billy’s hair blindly. Unfortunately his fingers are already gluey with jam.
“I love you,” says Billy. “Oh Dom, how I love you.”
Dom scoops up a big gloop of jam and pokes the spoon at Billy’s lips. “Can I have a mushroom?” he asks, as a terrifying plateful of food clatters onto the table in front of Billy. There’s the clonk-clonk of the waitress stomping off again.
“I’ll even cut it up for you,” says Billy tenderly, and he slides a black, glistening bit of mushroom flesh between Dom’s lips with his fingers.
“Hmmm, interesting flavour mix,” mumbles Dom. “It reminds me of that bit of skin just behind your—”
The waitress clomps back and stops. “Everything ok there?” she snaps.
“My friend here,” says Billy grandly, emboldened by the fried egg in his mouth, “is a very eminent professor of jamology from an intercontinental university and he’d like to comment that—”
The waitress is gone again.
“It’s good, Bills,” says Dom earnestly. “I like it out here now.”
“I think we’re safe now,” says Billy around a mouthful of soggy spinach. A tiny tendril of bacon fat is attached to the corner of his shiny mouth. “But I miss our bed. It’s cold here.” His face falls nostalgically.
Dom looks at him. Waggles jammy fingers. He lunges across and kisses Billy’s lips. When he breaks the kiss their chins are both smeared with various greasy hues.
“Me too. ‘M tired now. Do you think these people deliver?”
Billy smiles up at him. Licks a strand of fried tomato skin from his teeth. “I hope they do, Dom. All this food has given me an appetite.”
They hold sticky hands across the table and grin. “I think I like you well-fed, Bills,” Dom says. “That little bit of podge on your tummy—”
“Shut your face,” Billy says, happily. “Or I’ll eat you like this mushroom—” and he munches a succulent slice with a big mushroom-eating grin on his face. Dom watches, enthralled.
They leave the rest on the plate. A big tip for the waitress on the table. A spoonful of jam carefully posed on top of the salt and pepper shakers. And smeary trails of fingerprints all over the tabletop.
Author:
sophrosyne31Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: was the result of my missing lunch
Feedback: is the best condiment
A/N: this kinda follows what is kinda turning into a series of Dombilleh schmoops. Previous parts, such as they are, can be found here but it's not necessary to read them. These boys are always just wittering on like this.
Billy and Dom finally drag themselves out of bed on a Wednesday afternoon. They blink in the sunlight at the front door and dash across the road to a café.
“Christ,” Dom moans. “It’s so big out here.”
“It’s almost awful,” Billy says, sliding Dom’s bottom further across a booth seat before he sits opposite. The café is full of red bordello lamps and kitsch biscuit holders. The ceiling is painted with daisies. The table in front of them is laminated with Abstract Expressionist prints. Dom and Billy squint in the mélange of coloured lights spangling over them from a disco ball. It’s only 3 o’clock in the afternoon.
“I’m sure this is a good idea,” Billy continues, holding his temples worriedly. “Up and at ‘em, bushy-eyed and bright-tailed… Get us some grits and there’ll be no stopping us.”
”Are you mad?” Dom hisses. “You know I can only eat soft foods since that lip-nip you gave me yesterday. My god, the blood—!”
“Grits are soft, you galoot.” Billy tries to sit upright, then slumps in his seat across from Dom and starts to slide down towards the floor in an access of sudden ennui. His foot inadvertently molests Dom’s.
A waitress appears.
“Yeah?” She’s wearing a revealing pink silk petticoat and a green headscarf. Her shoes are red stilettos. She towers over the table.
“What kind of world is this?” Dom whispers loudly.
Billy sits up abruptly. “We’ll have some soft foods for my friend, and I’ll take the Double-Wham Late Late Liver-Killing Breakfast please.”
“Soft foods?” She looks at them with the infinite disdain of the thinly-dressed.
“Er—have you got any jam?” Dom asks shyly. His cheeks bloom with pink the colour of strawberry conserve.
The waitress peers at him. Obviously he reminds her of some kind of nocturnal mammal. She gives the two of them a perplexed stare and walks off.
“Billy, I’m frightened,” Dom says. He reaches tentatively across the table to take Billy’s hand. Billy clamps it rather quickly.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been out,” he says. “Um, I think we might have left our run a bit late. We’ve acclimatized to the bed situation. Are your ankles swelling too?”
The waitress clomps past and dumps a jar of jam on the table in front of Dom’s startled face. When she’s gone he twists off the lid as if it’s a bomb and he’s the sweating valiant sapper defusing it. He peers in, and then raises his face, beaming.
“It’s blackberry! Billy, it’s blackberry jam! Here! I’m so happy,” he says, and taking a spoon he tucks in. Big juicy bumpled spoonfuls of sticky goo disappear into his joyfully scrunching mouth. Billy watches, a look of mingled tenderness and horror on his face.
“You’ll not be taking anything else with that, then?” he inquires eventually.
“Mmmmmmmph” Dom says, face bent over the jar. He remembers to reach his hand forward and stroke Billy’s hair blindly. Unfortunately his fingers are already gluey with jam.
“I love you,” says Billy. “Oh Dom, how I love you.”
Dom scoops up a big gloop of jam and pokes the spoon at Billy’s lips. “Can I have a mushroom?” he asks, as a terrifying plateful of food clatters onto the table in front of Billy. There’s the clonk-clonk of the waitress stomping off again.
“I’ll even cut it up for you,” says Billy tenderly, and he slides a black, glistening bit of mushroom flesh between Dom’s lips with his fingers.
“Hmmm, interesting flavour mix,” mumbles Dom. “It reminds me of that bit of skin just behind your—”
The waitress clomps back and stops. “Everything ok there?” she snaps.
“My friend here,” says Billy grandly, emboldened by the fried egg in his mouth, “is a very eminent professor of jamology from an intercontinental university and he’d like to comment that—”
The waitress is gone again.
“It’s good, Bills,” says Dom earnestly. “I like it out here now.”
“I think we’re safe now,” says Billy around a mouthful of soggy spinach. A tiny tendril of bacon fat is attached to the corner of his shiny mouth. “But I miss our bed. It’s cold here.” His face falls nostalgically.
Dom looks at him. Waggles jammy fingers. He lunges across and kisses Billy’s lips. When he breaks the kiss their chins are both smeared with various greasy hues.
“Me too. ‘M tired now. Do you think these people deliver?”
Billy smiles up at him. Licks a strand of fried tomato skin from his teeth. “I hope they do, Dom. All this food has given me an appetite.”
They hold sticky hands across the table and grin. “I think I like you well-fed, Bills,” Dom says. “That little bit of podge on your tummy—”
“Shut your face,” Billy says, happily. “Or I’ll eat you like this mushroom—” and he munches a succulent slice with a big mushroom-eating grin on his face. Dom watches, enthralled.
They leave the rest on the plate. A big tip for the waitress on the table. A spoonful of jam carefully posed on top of the salt and pepper shakers. And smeary trails of fingerprints all over the tabletop.
i miss our bed
Re: i miss our bed
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it's hard not to keep writing it! there's just so much witless dombilleh cuteness...
*wiggles*
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::loves::
::leaves smeary fingerprints::
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*in your ears*
*on your tummy*
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can i ask, how do you mean, an old you?
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it IS, apart from special decadent quince jam from a country fair, that's pretty good too. but a completely different genre of jam.
i guess i should have made a note for american readers that jam=jelly. they might be confused!
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*connives*