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fellowshippers2004-10-12 10:28 pm
glass-moment.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-10-12 10:28 pm
(no subject)
Title: Coming Home
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dom-centric Monaboyd
It is early morning when Dominic comes home. He doesn’t bother with the light, just waits for his eyes to adjust as he throws his jacket at an unoccupied hook. It falls to the floor, a pool of dark leather shadow. He sits on the couch in the living room and unlaces his shoes. When he finishes, he leans back and rests for a moment. He is tired. Exhausted, even. It isn’t oppressive, though. Many times he has collapsed here and had to force himself painfully to get up and make the seemingly endless trek to the bedroom. Not so tonight. Tonight is calm, and slightly surreal.
The window at the end of the hallway is open slightly, casting a dim light throughout the house. Dom peels off his shirt as he makes his way along, tossing it into a pile of what he hopes is dirty laundry by the basement stairs. He makes a stop in the bedroom. Heavy curtains are pulled over its three windows, making it seem pitch black in comparison tot he pale light of the hall. He feels his way over to the bedside table and drops what have been tonight’s accessories there with a muted clatter. Three rings, a leather cuff, a chain. One ring remains- the one that never, ever leaves his finger.
In the bathroom he finally turns on a light. There he strips the rest of the way as he waits for the shower to heat. There are alcohol soaked clothes in the cabinet for his eye makeup. Ducking his head under the faucet takes care of most of the gel.
On a whim, Dom lets the shower remain cool and steps in, feeling as if he is swimming. He stands there a long time, eyes closed, mouth open, letting the water cleanse him of smoke and perfume and camera flashes and high-pitched screams.
He gets out and stops in front of the mirror for a long moment, just looking at himself, bathed in the warm glow of the bathroom light. Droplets of water glisten all over his body. The two shades of his hair seem only vaguely different wen wet, like sun-dappled earth. He puts on a clean pair of shorts, knowing that he will be cold and not caring. He walks back to the bedroom and pauses in the doorway, watching spots dance on the darkness. He is cold, but it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, only…aware.
Dom crosses to the closest window and pulls back the curtain. Then he turns and studies the figure curled on the right side of the bed.
There are many differences between Billy and Dom. For one, Billy hates to be cold. He is wearing green flannel pants and a worn black t-shirt. The sheets are pulled ineffectually up to cover his bear forearms. Another example is their energy. Dom has a finite (if easily replenished) supply of energy. He fidgets all day and then remains still as a stone all night. Billy, on the other hand, bounces constantly when awake and twitches when asleep almost as much as Dom does every day. Tonight has been no exception. Covers and clothing alike are rumpled an twisted around him. He obviously tried to wait up and failed- his head is cushioned on an open novel, the pages creased under his cheek.
Dom tenderly removes it, marks the page, and lays it on the table. He pauses there, momentarily mesmerized by the way the open window makes Billy’s face into a study of moonlight and shadow. Then he climbs into bed, an arm around the other man’s waist, gathering him close. Billy makes a small contented noise in his sleep and burrows closer.
Here, at last, in the all-accepting darkness, Dom can let the last bit of his costume go. He isn’t sorry. Nor will he be sorry to pick everything back up in the morning. Both worlds are an equal part of him, loved, cherished, and separate. But just now there are no cameras to look at, no fans to please.
Even so, his smile just doesn’t seem to want to fade.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Dom-centric Monaboyd
It is early morning when Dominic comes home. He doesn’t bother with the light, just waits for his eyes to adjust as he throws his jacket at an unoccupied hook. It falls to the floor, a pool of dark leather shadow. He sits on the couch in the living room and unlaces his shoes. When he finishes, he leans back and rests for a moment. He is tired. Exhausted, even. It isn’t oppressive, though. Many times he has collapsed here and had to force himself painfully to get up and make the seemingly endless trek to the bedroom. Not so tonight. Tonight is calm, and slightly surreal.
The window at the end of the hallway is open slightly, casting a dim light throughout the house. Dom peels off his shirt as he makes his way along, tossing it into a pile of what he hopes is dirty laundry by the basement stairs. He makes a stop in the bedroom. Heavy curtains are pulled over its three windows, making it seem pitch black in comparison tot he pale light of the hall. He feels his way over to the bedside table and drops what have been tonight’s accessories there with a muted clatter. Three rings, a leather cuff, a chain. One ring remains- the one that never, ever leaves his finger.
In the bathroom he finally turns on a light. There he strips the rest of the way as he waits for the shower to heat. There are alcohol soaked clothes in the cabinet for his eye makeup. Ducking his head under the faucet takes care of most of the gel.
On a whim, Dom lets the shower remain cool and steps in, feeling as if he is swimming. He stands there a long time, eyes closed, mouth open, letting the water cleanse him of smoke and perfume and camera flashes and high-pitched screams.
He gets out and stops in front of the mirror for a long moment, just looking at himself, bathed in the warm glow of the bathroom light. Droplets of water glisten all over his body. The two shades of his hair seem only vaguely different wen wet, like sun-dappled earth. He puts on a clean pair of shorts, knowing that he will be cold and not caring. He walks back to the bedroom and pauses in the doorway, watching spots dance on the darkness. He is cold, but it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, only…aware.
Dom crosses to the closest window and pulls back the curtain. Then he turns and studies the figure curled on the right side of the bed.
There are many differences between Billy and Dom. For one, Billy hates to be cold. He is wearing green flannel pants and a worn black t-shirt. The sheets are pulled ineffectually up to cover his bear forearms. Another example is their energy. Dom has a finite (if easily replenished) supply of energy. He fidgets all day and then remains still as a stone all night. Billy, on the other hand, bounces constantly when awake and twitches when asleep almost as much as Dom does every day. Tonight has been no exception. Covers and clothing alike are rumpled an twisted around him. He obviously tried to wait up and failed- his head is cushioned on an open novel, the pages creased under his cheek.
Dom tenderly removes it, marks the page, and lays it on the table. He pauses there, momentarily mesmerized by the way the open window makes Billy’s face into a study of moonlight and shadow. Then he climbs into bed, an arm around the other man’s waist, gathering him close. Billy makes a small contented noise in his sleep and burrows closer.
Here, at last, in the all-accepting darkness, Dom can let the last bit of his costume go. He isn’t sorry. Nor will he be sorry to pick everything back up in the morning. Both worlds are an equal part of him, loved, cherished, and separate. But just now there are no cameras to look at, no fans to please.
Even so, his smile just doesn’t seem to want to fade.