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fellowshippers2004-09-28 12:01 am
sophrosyne31.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-09-28 12:01 am
Ficlet: A Very Small Excursion, Dom/Billy schmoop by Sophrosyne
A further part of my wee dombilleh schmoopfest. Links to previous bits, such as they are, are provided below.
Title: A Very Small Excursion
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sophrosyne31
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: M
Disclaimer: it's true that the Thai place down the road from me makes good chicken; all the rest is made up.
Feedback: only seems to produce more of this
A/N: god, yet again i seem to be making a series where i thought i wasn't. links, links: there are a whole lot of dombilleh schmoop here, and this other bit Repast and the most recent bit is Bed, Again.
Billy’s made it as far as the kitchen, after their nap, and is standing there looking with wonder at the fridge and scratching his belly. The evening’s coming on slowly and his stomach is growling. Behind him, in the dark hall, he can hear the flolloping and grunting sound of Dom dragging spare mattresses and duvets onto the floor to make their live-in bed. The whole house is to be covered in bedding. That way the next excursion out of bed won’t be as frightening.
The fridge holds a shriveled half of an onion, a jar of capers, icecubes shrunken to half their size, and an orange. He’s standing there, still staring into the blanched interior of the fridge and absently digging his nails into the orange peel, when Dom stomps in.
“There’s not enough pillows!” he announces dolefully. “We’ll have to go out again. Oh Bills, the world’s so full of weirdoes, I don’t want to go out there.”
“I’ll tie one of those baby harnesses on you,” says Billy reassuringly, “We don’t want to run any risks. And we’ll wear matching hats in case we get lost.”
“So many weirdoes,” Dom repeats, rummaging weakly in a lower cupboard. He fishes out a jar of mostly-dried mustard and pokes his finger in. He licks his finger, of course, and then lets out a yowl.
“Uh! Uh!” he says, his tongue sticking out like a horrible pink yellow-smeared tropical leaf.
“Oh my god!” Billy screams, and dashes to the sink. There are no glasses; he cups water in his hands and brings it spilling over to Dom. Dom’s horrible tongue laps at it. Billy’s eyes fill with sympathetic tears.
“But we’ll starve,” he says mournfully. “There are no food stuffs in here.”
”Tha’ shcary ca-eh wi’ uh jam?” Dom mumbles into Billy’s palm. The water’s all gone but he continues licking at the wet skin out of habit.
“They’re closed today. Goddammit, we’re going to have to forage.” Billy jerks his head up, trying to look jut-jawed and steely-eyed.
Just then there’s a tap at the door. Followed by a rather harder blunt kick, as if someone’s brought a dinosaur to visit. Billy and Dom freeze where they are, out of instinct.
“It’ll be that bloody American again,” Dom whispers. They cling to each other, Dom naked and still airing his tongue from time to time, breathing stertorously through his mouth; Billy half-dressed, nervously holding a pockmarked orange in one hand and holding out the other dabbed with mustard.
The door doesn’t make any more alarming sounds, however. A minute plods by, and Dom shuts his mouth and tiptoes to the door. He opens it, peeping fearfully at Billy over his shoulder.
There’s no one there, but on the step is a plastic bag tied in a knot at the top and reeking faintly of steam. Dom picks it up fastidiously and brings it back to the kitchen.
Inside are two containers of battered Thai chicken and mango sauce, some steamed rice, a jar of nutella, and a note.
You will die of too much sex. Some of us are very angry and envious. Viggo says you have followed a grand Irish tradition and ‘taken to the bed’. The rest of us say you’re fucking loser pussies. Come out, we need to mock you. Love, Elwood.
Billy’s eyes fill with tears again. “The dear boy,” he murmurs, pressing his head into Dom’s chest. He thinks this is the kind of scene that would end a lovely sentimental 1940s movie.
“The little fucker,” says Dom. “He knows I prefer pad thai. This is spite!”
“Oh shut up and find a fork,” says Billy, inhaling the ambrosial scent of solid food. "Or I’ll batter your pork,” and he makes a jaunty jab at Dom’s naked penis swinging past.
“Careful!” Dom sings coyly, delirious with food-smells. “Uh.” He stops. “There’s no cutlery.”
“We’ll just have to eat it caveman style,” Billy says, and digs his fingers into the bits of chicken.
“Why are we standing here in the cold? I think,” Dom says, tugging at Billy’s baggy pants-arse, wheedling, “we could eat it—”
“—in bed?” Billy says, going easily and holding the bag full of food. He’s limp with hunger and he has mango sauce in a very attractive smear down his chin.
“We are going to be known for this one day,” Dom remarks as they take running jumps back into the stinky bed. He switches on a lamp against the twilight. “We’ll be famous for the great shag-a-thon of Dom and Billy.”
”We’ll be famous for being found dead in a rotten, reeking mess of sheets and decomposing chicken,” Billy snipes, since Dom’s bounced a perfectly good fingerful of food right out of his clutching fingers. He picks up the chunk of rice off the fetid sheet and shoves it in Dom’s mouth.
“That’ll be a wonderful end to my biography,” Dom muses. “I always knew I’d be a rock star.”
“You’re my star, Dommie,” Billy says, glowing now with bloodsugar.
“Will you eat me when I’m dead?” Dom asks. “Because that would really make for a story.” He reaches over and scoops up a handful of hot food. He juggles it from palm to palm, making fretful faces. His cheeks are pink with excitement.
Billy munches and swallows. “Will you be covered in mango sauce?”
“Maybe,” Dom says, and winks. “I think we should practise,” and he daubs some sauce on Billy’s tummy where it’s creased with sitting. Billy gives him a saucy look.
“God. I just thought of the worst pun on ‘saucy’, he says wonderingly.
Dom doesn’t answer; he’s busy finger-painting Billy with tribal patterns, his tongue poking out one corner of his mouth.
“Ah, this is the life,” Billy says, lying back with a battered chunk of chicken between his teeth. Dom extends his painting down past Billy’s waistband, tugging it off as he goes. A long line of tepid yellow goop appears on Billy’s cock.
“This is the life, my friend,” says Dom, and bends to do the washing up.
Title: A Very Small Excursion
Author:
sophrosyne31Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: M
Disclaimer: it's true that the Thai place down the road from me makes good chicken; all the rest is made up.
Feedback: only seems to produce more of this
A/N: god, yet again i seem to be making a series where i thought i wasn't. links, links: there are a whole lot of dombilleh schmoop here, and this other bit Repast and the most recent bit is Bed, Again.
Billy’s made it as far as the kitchen, after their nap, and is standing there looking with wonder at the fridge and scratching his belly. The evening’s coming on slowly and his stomach is growling. Behind him, in the dark hall, he can hear the flolloping and grunting sound of Dom dragging spare mattresses and duvets onto the floor to make their live-in bed. The whole house is to be covered in bedding. That way the next excursion out of bed won’t be as frightening.
The fridge holds a shriveled half of an onion, a jar of capers, icecubes shrunken to half their size, and an orange. He’s standing there, still staring into the blanched interior of the fridge and absently digging his nails into the orange peel, when Dom stomps in.
“There’s not enough pillows!” he announces dolefully. “We’ll have to go out again. Oh Bills, the world’s so full of weirdoes, I don’t want to go out there.”
“I’ll tie one of those baby harnesses on you,” says Billy reassuringly, “We don’t want to run any risks. And we’ll wear matching hats in case we get lost.”
“So many weirdoes,” Dom repeats, rummaging weakly in a lower cupboard. He fishes out a jar of mostly-dried mustard and pokes his finger in. He licks his finger, of course, and then lets out a yowl.
“Uh! Uh!” he says, his tongue sticking out like a horrible pink yellow-smeared tropical leaf.
“Oh my god!” Billy screams, and dashes to the sink. There are no glasses; he cups water in his hands and brings it spilling over to Dom. Dom’s horrible tongue laps at it. Billy’s eyes fill with sympathetic tears.
“But we’ll starve,” he says mournfully. “There are no food stuffs in here.”
”Tha’ shcary ca-eh wi’ uh jam?” Dom mumbles into Billy’s palm. The water’s all gone but he continues licking at the wet skin out of habit.
“They’re closed today. Goddammit, we’re going to have to forage.” Billy jerks his head up, trying to look jut-jawed and steely-eyed.
Just then there’s a tap at the door. Followed by a rather harder blunt kick, as if someone’s brought a dinosaur to visit. Billy and Dom freeze where they are, out of instinct.
“It’ll be that bloody American again,” Dom whispers. They cling to each other, Dom naked and still airing his tongue from time to time, breathing stertorously through his mouth; Billy half-dressed, nervously holding a pockmarked orange in one hand and holding out the other dabbed with mustard.
The door doesn’t make any more alarming sounds, however. A minute plods by, and Dom shuts his mouth and tiptoes to the door. He opens it, peeping fearfully at Billy over his shoulder.
There’s no one there, but on the step is a plastic bag tied in a knot at the top and reeking faintly of steam. Dom picks it up fastidiously and brings it back to the kitchen.
Inside are two containers of battered Thai chicken and mango sauce, some steamed rice, a jar of nutella, and a note.
You will die of too much sex. Some of us are very angry and envious. Viggo says you have followed a grand Irish tradition and ‘taken to the bed’. The rest of us say you’re fucking loser pussies. Come out, we need to mock you. Love, Elwood.
Billy’s eyes fill with tears again. “The dear boy,” he murmurs, pressing his head into Dom’s chest. He thinks this is the kind of scene that would end a lovely sentimental 1940s movie.
“The little fucker,” says Dom. “He knows I prefer pad thai. This is spite!”
“Oh shut up and find a fork,” says Billy, inhaling the ambrosial scent of solid food. "Or I’ll batter your pork,” and he makes a jaunty jab at Dom’s naked penis swinging past.
“Careful!” Dom sings coyly, delirious with food-smells. “Uh.” He stops. “There’s no cutlery.”
“We’ll just have to eat it caveman style,” Billy says, and digs his fingers into the bits of chicken.
“Why are we standing here in the cold? I think,” Dom says, tugging at Billy’s baggy pants-arse, wheedling, “we could eat it—”
“—in bed?” Billy says, going easily and holding the bag full of food. He’s limp with hunger and he has mango sauce in a very attractive smear down his chin.
“We are going to be known for this one day,” Dom remarks as they take running jumps back into the stinky bed. He switches on a lamp against the twilight. “We’ll be famous for the great shag-a-thon of Dom and Billy.”
”We’ll be famous for being found dead in a rotten, reeking mess of sheets and decomposing chicken,” Billy snipes, since Dom’s bounced a perfectly good fingerful of food right out of his clutching fingers. He picks up the chunk of rice off the fetid sheet and shoves it in Dom’s mouth.
“That’ll be a wonderful end to my biography,” Dom muses. “I always knew I’d be a rock star.”
“You’re my star, Dommie,” Billy says, glowing now with bloodsugar.
“Will you eat me when I’m dead?” Dom asks. “Because that would really make for a story.” He reaches over and scoops up a handful of hot food. He juggles it from palm to palm, making fretful faces. His cheeks are pink with excitement.
Billy munches and swallows. “Will you be covered in mango sauce?”
“Maybe,” Dom says, and winks. “I think we should practise,” and he daubs some sauce on Billy’s tummy where it’s creased with sitting. Billy gives him a saucy look.
“God. I just thought of the worst pun on ‘saucy’, he says wonderingly.
Dom doesn’t answer; he’s busy finger-painting Billy with tribal patterns, his tongue poking out one corner of his mouth.
“Ah, this is the life,” Billy says, lying back with a battered chunk of chicken between his teeth. Dom extends his painting down past Billy’s waistband, tugging it off as he goes. A long line of tepid yellow goop appears on Billy’s cock.
“This is the life, my friend,” says Dom, and bends to do the washing up.
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this is like the schmoop from heaven it really is! Im just laughing my arse of here and yep still at college!
STOP STARING AT ME PEOPLE!
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i live to encourage public snortling.
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Oooo i have my own little dom and billy, Billy's the little angel with his little hallow and dom's the little devil with his pitch fork. Oh those two are sooo inlove eh!
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Bless the 'Lijah providing sustenance for the schmoop yay
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omg is that a tough nugget of viggo i see coming?
love the icon, btw.
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*doffs hat*
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This series really is the best schmoop, ever, and this episode is fantabulous... er... fabtastic... er... woncredible... schmoopiful...
Indescribable!
I am now adopting the word, "flolloping". I shall fill out the appropriate forms at the courthouse and send out welcome announcements forthwith.
I shall be looking forward to as many of these as you choose to write, and shall cheerfully create miniature meals for miniature Dom and Billy as long as that will help keep this going!
Catherine
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thank you! i try to please. but i cannot take credit for 'flolloping', that is an hommage to the wondrous crack!fic of 'hitch hiker's guide to the galaxy' and some unfortunate (if i remember aright) mattresses... still, feel free to spread the love! it is a word you can use in almost every sentence.
my mini dom-and-billy are eagerly awaiting the mini baclava, sushi, pizza and bombe alaska you promise. just remember, the more they eat, the more they grow!
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Well, we must keep them appropriately fed for much shagging.
I thought "flolloping" sounded familiar! (And here I thought that miniature Dom and Billy had snuck in to say hello!) I'm still adopting it, though.
*Mini baklava coming along in a bit*
Catherine
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Schmoop-a-licious!!
...“I’ll tie one of those baby harnesses on you,” says Billy reassuringly, “We don’t want to run any risks. And we’ll wear matching hats in case we get lost.”...
...and that just melted my heart. Thank you for sharing these wonderful wee slices of bliss with us!
Re: Schmoop-a-licious!!
*puts matching propeller hats on them*