ext_25025 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
marysiak.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2003-09-02 06:46 pm
marysiak.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-09-02 06:46 pm
I Am Billy Boyd's Pent Up Emotion
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marysiak
Title: I Am Billy Boyd's Pent Up Emotion
Rating: PG-13 I think
Characters: Dominic Monaghan, Billy Boyd.
Notes: This is a prequel of sorts to Learning to Be Free bytwinklypixie. It is AU LotRips set in the Fight Club universe.
He wasn't even sure how he had got here. He wasn't sure why he was still here. It was like a dream, his feet took him without asking and here he was in this blur of harsh light and dirty shadow and everywhere the misshapen forms of men with their issues written on their bodies. He interprets them.
This scar is my Mum leeaving me in the supermarket when I was 4 and not remembering for two hours.
This black eye is my father's drinking.
This burn is being teased at school.
This broken rib is when I can't explain why I want to die.
He isn't listening to what they are actually saying. He is watching the man who brought him here. The familiar British accent in the unfamiliar bar.
There the man looked as out of place as he did, more so even due to the bruised knuckles and the scarred face and the skinhead. Looking like some football thug who says he's going to see England play Germany but is really going to kick the shit out of the first foreigner to get in his way. He looked like he voted BNP until you saw his eyes and they weren't cold and twisted, they were bruised like his skin. Like a kicked animal. He'd asked him what he was doing in LA. He hadn't answered, just looked at him for a long moment then shrugged.
That was when his feet had started doing that thing. Because when the man had left he'd followed him and although the man had seen him he'd let him do it. He'd watched as his steps grew more purposeful, his shoulders more square, as they drew closer and closer to this place. And when they had entered and gone down the stairs to the bottom the man had spun on him and now the kicked animal was the starving predator and he had barked in his face, "The first rule of Fight Club is that no one talks about Fight Club!"
And Billy had been left standing there at the bottom of the stairs in shock as he spun away to prowl the room.
He was still prowling, ever now and then he caught his eye, in the centre of the room there was blood being spilled and he didn't have to ask any questions. He knew he was next and he knew it would be that man and he knew he was going to go through with it even if he never came back here again.
There was something under his skin. Something crawling to get out. And to get it out his skin needed to be cut open by the man who was coming towards him.
So he was stepping forward, stripping off shirt and shoes and watch, and they were in the centre of the circle.
He waited.
The blow was like nothing he could have imagined. He had never really fought. Been punched a few times but not like this, not with his consent and not with meaning. With the strength of a man who intended to hurt you. Not because you had looked at his girlfriend funny or spilled his pint or he had someone to impress. Because you needed him to do it and he needed to do it.
By the time Billy had finished contemplating this he had been punched twice more and he felt drunk. punch drunk. He almost giggled at the cliche. Then some instinct fired inside of him as he saw the man readying a fourth. He blocked it somehow and hit back. And that hurt too.
He had never thought much about the fact that a fight hurt whether you won or lost. But then you couldn't lose a fight that had no purpose other than to fight. Could you?
The man punched him so hard he saw waves and stars. Grabbed him round the neck and buried a fist in his stomach. He crumpled round it like an embrace and it felt like love. The smell of sweat felt like sex. The blood in his mouth tasted like come. He was winded and the lack of oxygen felt like an orgasm.
He grabbed the man in both arms, crushng them together, and head butted him. Glasgow kiss.
The man fell back and Billy spat blood at him.
Grabbed him by the ears, his nails digging into the skin, and headbutted him again.
Drew back his fist and punched him in the stomach.
He was on fire. His brain was on fire. Burning away thought and fear and longing and loneliness and insecurity and need. He could feel the fire spitting out his eyes, roaring in his ears. The edge of his vision were filled with smoke.
He screamed out a battle cry as he charged the man down onto the floor.
When the smoke cleared he was gasping like his lungs were burnt.
The man lay underneath him, conscious but only out of sheer tenacity.
One of his eyes was looking at him still out of a slit. It looked bruised like overkissed lips.
Billy leaned down and licked the sweat and blood off of one cheek. There were fingernail scratches there he didn't even remember making. He tasted like raw meat. Like food.
He got up and left.
He would be going back.
marysiakTitle: I Am Billy Boyd's Pent Up Emotion
Rating: PG-13 I think
Characters: Dominic Monaghan, Billy Boyd.
Notes: This is a prequel of sorts to Learning to Be Free by
twinklypixie. It is AU LotRips set in the Fight Club universe.He wasn't even sure how he had got here. He wasn't sure why he was still here. It was like a dream, his feet took him without asking and here he was in this blur of harsh light and dirty shadow and everywhere the misshapen forms of men with their issues written on their bodies. He interprets them.
This scar is my Mum leeaving me in the supermarket when I was 4 and not remembering for two hours.
This black eye is my father's drinking.
This burn is being teased at school.
This broken rib is when I can't explain why I want to die.
He isn't listening to what they are actually saying. He is watching the man who brought him here. The familiar British accent in the unfamiliar bar.
There the man looked as out of place as he did, more so even due to the bruised knuckles and the scarred face and the skinhead. Looking like some football thug who says he's going to see England play Germany but is really going to kick the shit out of the first foreigner to get in his way. He looked like he voted BNP until you saw his eyes and they weren't cold and twisted, they were bruised like his skin. Like a kicked animal. He'd asked him what he was doing in LA. He hadn't answered, just looked at him for a long moment then shrugged.
That was when his feet had started doing that thing. Because when the man had left he'd followed him and although the man had seen him he'd let him do it. He'd watched as his steps grew more purposeful, his shoulders more square, as they drew closer and closer to this place. And when they had entered and gone down the stairs to the bottom the man had spun on him and now the kicked animal was the starving predator and he had barked in his face, "The first rule of Fight Club is that no one talks about Fight Club!"
And Billy had been left standing there at the bottom of the stairs in shock as he spun away to prowl the room.
He was still prowling, ever now and then he caught his eye, in the centre of the room there was blood being spilled and he didn't have to ask any questions. He knew he was next and he knew it would be that man and he knew he was going to go through with it even if he never came back here again.
There was something under his skin. Something crawling to get out. And to get it out his skin needed to be cut open by the man who was coming towards him.
So he was stepping forward, stripping off shirt and shoes and watch, and they were in the centre of the circle.
He waited.
The blow was like nothing he could have imagined. He had never really fought. Been punched a few times but not like this, not with his consent and not with meaning. With the strength of a man who intended to hurt you. Not because you had looked at his girlfriend funny or spilled his pint or he had someone to impress. Because you needed him to do it and he needed to do it.
By the time Billy had finished contemplating this he had been punched twice more and he felt drunk. punch drunk. He almost giggled at the cliche. Then some instinct fired inside of him as he saw the man readying a fourth. He blocked it somehow and hit back. And that hurt too.
He had never thought much about the fact that a fight hurt whether you won or lost. But then you couldn't lose a fight that had no purpose other than to fight. Could you?
The man punched him so hard he saw waves and stars. Grabbed him round the neck and buried a fist in his stomach. He crumpled round it like an embrace and it felt like love. The smell of sweat felt like sex. The blood in his mouth tasted like come. He was winded and the lack of oxygen felt like an orgasm.
He grabbed the man in both arms, crushng them together, and head butted him. Glasgow kiss.
The man fell back and Billy spat blood at him.
Grabbed him by the ears, his nails digging into the skin, and headbutted him again.
Drew back his fist and punched him in the stomach.
He was on fire. His brain was on fire. Burning away thought and fear and longing and loneliness and insecurity and need. He could feel the fire spitting out his eyes, roaring in his ears. The edge of his vision were filled with smoke.
He screamed out a battle cry as he charged the man down onto the floor.
When the smoke cleared he was gasping like his lungs were burnt.
The man lay underneath him, conscious but only out of sheer tenacity.
One of his eyes was looking at him still out of a slit. It looked bruised like overkissed lips.
Billy leaned down and licked the sweat and blood off of one cheek. There were fingernail scratches there he didn't even remember making. He tasted like raw meat. Like food.
He got up and left.
He would be going back.