ext_86821 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
penelipeneli.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2003-07-19 12:48 am
penelipeneli.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-07-19 12:48 am
(no subject)
it's a club!fic!
pairing: d'or?
rating: pg-13 for sexy singing and hand placement.
disclaimer: this did sort of happen, but it involved fictional characters and was in a movie. and it didn't happen this way. or involve these people. or end up being so boy-on-boy sexy. um.
It's late but not late enough to warrant going home, and for some reason tonight they've ended up in a blues bar where an amazing black woman with unbelievable hair is singing Peter Frampton covers with a voice like a lifeline and Dom thinks, hey, isn't this a movie?
Orlando returns with their beers and by the third sip of his fresh bottle Dom is pretty sure that yeah, this is High Fidelity they're in, except John Cusack is nowhere to be seen, there's only Billy's grin and Orlando's relentless hipbones.
Now the goddess onstage is singing a song Dom vaguely remembers from his early radio-listening days and he peers around a swallow to see if what's happening to him is maybe happening to anyone else he know.
But it doesn't seem to be, and the beer goes down extra hard as he realizes it's a Peter Cetera song making him feel swoony, and who is this woman, anyway? Does she have a license for this? What is this anyway, Peter Cover Night? What's next, Peter Gabriel? Is she going to sing "Steam" in some breathy, heavy voice, and hypnotize Dom into confessing all sorts of horrible things?
What comes next isn't "Steam" but "Lady in Red" and this is too much, too much, that's it, Dom has to go. He can't be held responsible for what may or may not happen in this smoky den of blue lights and ill-begotten muted passion.
"All right, mates, I'm out of here," Dom manages, clapping his friends on their backs. "See you tomorrow."
"Wait," Orlando says, finishing the last swallow and setting down his bottle. "I'll come with you."
Dom shrugs into his jacket and as they cross into the street he feels Orlando's hand softly on the small of his back.
"Peter fucking Frampton," he spits, and looks around for help, but John Cusack is still not there, and what is there is Orlando's hand, softly pressing.
pairing: d'or?
rating: pg-13 for sexy singing and hand placement.
disclaimer: this did sort of happen, but it involved fictional characters and was in a movie. and it didn't happen this way. or involve these people. or end up being so boy-on-boy sexy. um.
It's late but not late enough to warrant going home, and for some reason tonight they've ended up in a blues bar where an amazing black woman with unbelievable hair is singing Peter Frampton covers with a voice like a lifeline and Dom thinks, hey, isn't this a movie?
Orlando returns with their beers and by the third sip of his fresh bottle Dom is pretty sure that yeah, this is High Fidelity they're in, except John Cusack is nowhere to be seen, there's only Billy's grin and Orlando's relentless hipbones.
Now the goddess onstage is singing a song Dom vaguely remembers from his early radio-listening days and he peers around a swallow to see if what's happening to him is maybe happening to anyone else he know.
But it doesn't seem to be, and the beer goes down extra hard as he realizes it's a Peter Cetera song making him feel swoony, and who is this woman, anyway? Does she have a license for this? What is this anyway, Peter Cover Night? What's next, Peter Gabriel? Is she going to sing "Steam" in some breathy, heavy voice, and hypnotize Dom into confessing all sorts of horrible things?
What comes next isn't "Steam" but "Lady in Red" and this is too much, too much, that's it, Dom has to go. He can't be held responsible for what may or may not happen in this smoky den of blue lights and ill-begotten muted passion.
"All right, mates, I'm out of here," Dom manages, clapping his friends on their backs. "See you tomorrow."
"Wait," Orlando says, finishing the last swallow and setting down his bottle. "I'll come with you."
Dom shrugs into his jacket and as they cross into the street he feels Orlando's hand softly on the small of his back.
"Peter fucking Frampton," he spits, and looks around for help, but John Cusack is still not there, and what is there is Orlando's hand, softly pressing.