ext_46181 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2006-07-28 01:03 pm
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-07-28 01:03 pm
Fic: You Say Tomato, I Say You're Nutters
Title: You Say Tomato, I Say You're Nutters
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: Dom Monaghan/Josh Holloway
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is most decidedly untrue.
Summary: I've been sitting on this a while, unable to find a beta, and decided just to post it anyway. If there are any linguistic errors herein, please comment and let me know. As someone with a Southern accent who often uses British terms and confuses people due to my time abroad, this was a lot of fun to write. My first attempt at LOST RPS, and there's probably more where that came from.
A/N: I wasn't enitrely sure that crossovers are welcome on this comm, so if they're not, let me know and I'll take it off.
“Ta, mate.”
Josh raised his eyebrows as Dom took the proffered beer, icy cold from the large blue cooler on Matt’s deck. “You’re welcome.” Dom turned a bit, about to go off and find something to do, or some food, when Josh spoke again. “Why is it that you never just say ‘thanks,’ Monaghan?” he asked in his thick Georgia drawl, letting the A trail out. “It’s always ‘ta’ or ‘cheers’ or some other shit like that. You Brits don’t say thanks?”
“Not as a habit, no.” Dom quirked an eyebrow at him and leaned back on the cedar rail of the decking, bracing himself with the hand that did not hold the beer. One sandaled foot crossed over the other as he smiled slightly at his cast mate. “Not like your speech is exactly a model of correctness… Holloway.” His tone was mocking, as Dom never called cast mates by their last names. Josh grinned and took the bait.
“Sweetheart, people have been making fun of the way I talk since the beginning of time. Try a new one.”
“Right well, I’m just saying. You haven’t got much bargaining power in that area.”
“Not that the things I say are any weirder than your quirky little expressions,” Josh argued.
“Like what?”
“Like… what do you call the place where people put their cars?”
“A carpark? Or a garage,” he added, emphasizing the short “a” on the first syllable.
“Yeah, a parking deck.”
“All right. But at least I know how to say aluminium foil.”
Josh smirked and leaned forward, purposefully drawing out his words. “Al-u-min-um fuhl,” he retorted, stepping a bit closer and leaning against the same railing, his hip brushing Dom’s hand.
“And then there’s your food. I won’t even go into that. I mean you can’t even make a proper cup of tea…”
“Honey, with the stuff you drink we’d burn to death in Atlanta. And you do not diss sweet tea if you want to come out alive, boy.”
Dom grinned. “Well what about the other weird crap you eat? I’ve been to the South. They put peppers in their cheese and cook entire pigs on sticks…”
“Monaghan, have you ever tasted pimento cheese or barbeque? I think you’d be whistling a different tune, Sunshine.” Josh raised an eyebrow, and a bit of Sawyer came out in his voice.
“Right, well. At least I have my curse words right. I mean I’m not even going to say what you people call a bum bag…”
Josh squinted his eyes in confusion for a moment, thinking. “A bum bag? Oh, wait, you mean a fanny pack?”
Dom’s fingers went immediately his ears as he started humming. “La la la la la, I can’t hear you…”
“What? What’s wrong with fanny?”
“Josh! It doesn’t mean ‘bum,’ you wanker, it means, you know…”
“No, sugar, I don’t,” Josh replied with a very amused smile.
“Vagina!” Dom whispered, looking utterly scandalized, as if a female was going to appear over his shoulder at any moment and smack him.
“What? What’s the big deal with that, man? I mean, I assume you’re familiar with the organ,” Josh leered. Dom just frowned.
“I’m familiar with most all the organs, ta very much, but that doesn’t do anything to improve upon your vast ignorance of how wrong that term is in polite conversation…”
“Oh, come on! I’ve heard you say ‘cunt’ plenty of times, even as an adjective. I think ‘fanny’ clearly pales in comparison.”
Dom’s eyes still went a little wide at the word, and Josh had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. “I beg to differ. ‘Cunt’ is a widely used term, and highly inoffensive in comparison to the ‘f’ word…”
“What, fuck? You do know how to do that, right, Monaghan?” Josh asked sardonically, wiggling his eyebrows.
Dom was slightly more aware now of his hand, pressing hard against the little steel ornaments on Josh’s jeans. He slid it back, dangling uselessly behind them, and Josh’s thigh was almost instantly pressing against his own.
“Of course I know how, you sodding eejit.”
“Oh right, but you would call it ‘shagging,’ wouldn’t you?”
“The terms aren’t mutually exclusive,” Dom pointed out. “I could use either one.”
“Oh, really? How egalitarian of you,” Josh replied with a smirk. Dom did not miss the way Josh’s hand had also slipped between them and backwards, his fingers brushing Dom’s own in a mockingly polite version of courtship juxtaposed with their rather crude conversation.
“Well, at least I don’t say ‘make out’ all the time. You blokes sound like you’re perpetually twelve years old!”
“And what, ‘snog’ doesn’t sound like something that’s supposed to be an auto part?” Josh rolled his eyes.
“That’s a ‘cog’! And at least I’m not a card-carrying member of the NRA!”
“I’m a card-carrying member of the ACLU, asshole.” Josh had been turning in increments as their conversation grew more heated, and now Dom was acutely aware of the thigh insinuating itself between his legs. Of course, presented with Josh’s hard, muscled body, it was either shamelessly press himself (admittedly, hard now) against Josh or fling himself backwards and headfirst over the balcony.
“Well, at least I don’t… eat pigs on sticks,” Dom argued, weakly, his tone a bit softer, a bit shaky.
“You said that one already,” Josh pointed out with a very Sawyer-esque smirk. Of course, Dom was pretty sure Sawyer wouldn’t be leaning this close to another bloke’s lips as he spoke, nor would he be steadily pressing his erection (erection? wait, where did that come from?) against Charlie’s thigh. Well… probably not, at least.
“You call a lift something that sounds vaguely like a shoe.”
“Yeah, still weak, buddy.” Dom gasped slightly as one of Josh’s hands settled comfortably on Dom’s lower back, slightly sweaty through his shirt as a side effect of the Hawaiian humidity, or maybe just his current position. The other hand, the one with the beer bottle in it, pressed coldly against the nape of Dom’s neck, and he leaned into the source of relief after the initial shock.
“Pecan.”
“Pee-kayn,” Josh replied with another smirk, emphasizing the first syllable.
“Tomahto.”
“Tomayto.”
“Pram.”
“Stroller.”
“Dummy.”
“You?”
“No, eejit.” Dom laughed lightly, fighting off some of the heavy, dark, erotic mist that seemed to have been lowering over them, and boldly placed his own hands on Josh’s hips, his own beer bottle neglected on the railing. His left hand, still quite cold, crept up under Josh’s shirt, settling just above his waist line, and Josh gasped. “I believe you call it a pacifier,” Dom whispered, his tone low. “She-dyool?”
“Ske-dyool.”
“Aubergine?”
“Eggplant. Fuck me,” Josh breathed, his left hand now firmly cupping Dom’s arse before Dom jumped slightly. “And keep talking,” he added in a growl, nipping at Dom’s earlobe and not caring that half the cast was probably watching.
“Ha! You like the accent! No wonder we’re having this conversation…”
“Shut up, asshole.” Josh’s lips swallowed Dom’s protest, and he sucked happily on Josh’s tongue, his hips canting shamelessly forward, before he pulled back slightly to whisper fondly against Josh’s lips.
“Arsehole.”
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairing: Dom Monaghan/Josh Holloway
Rating: R
Disclaimer: This is most decidedly untrue.
Summary: I've been sitting on this a while, unable to find a beta, and decided just to post it anyway. If there are any linguistic errors herein, please comment and let me know. As someone with a Southern accent who often uses British terms and confuses people due to my time abroad, this was a lot of fun to write. My first attempt at LOST RPS, and there's probably more where that came from.
A/N: I wasn't enitrely sure that crossovers are welcome on this comm, so if they're not, let me know and I'll take it off.
“Ta, mate.”
Josh raised his eyebrows as Dom took the proffered beer, icy cold from the large blue cooler on Matt’s deck. “You’re welcome.” Dom turned a bit, about to go off and find something to do, or some food, when Josh spoke again. “Why is it that you never just say ‘thanks,’ Monaghan?” he asked in his thick Georgia drawl, letting the A trail out. “It’s always ‘ta’ or ‘cheers’ or some other shit like that. You Brits don’t say thanks?”
“Not as a habit, no.” Dom quirked an eyebrow at him and leaned back on the cedar rail of the decking, bracing himself with the hand that did not hold the beer. One sandaled foot crossed over the other as he smiled slightly at his cast mate. “Not like your speech is exactly a model of correctness… Holloway.” His tone was mocking, as Dom never called cast mates by their last names. Josh grinned and took the bait.
“Sweetheart, people have been making fun of the way I talk since the beginning of time. Try a new one.”
“Right well, I’m just saying. You haven’t got much bargaining power in that area.”
“Not that the things I say are any weirder than your quirky little expressions,” Josh argued.
“Like what?”
“Like… what do you call the place where people put their cars?”
“A carpark? Or a garage,” he added, emphasizing the short “a” on the first syllable.
“Yeah, a parking deck.”
“All right. But at least I know how to say aluminium foil.”
Josh smirked and leaned forward, purposefully drawing out his words. “Al-u-min-um fuhl,” he retorted, stepping a bit closer and leaning against the same railing, his hip brushing Dom’s hand.
“And then there’s your food. I won’t even go into that. I mean you can’t even make a proper cup of tea…”
“Honey, with the stuff you drink we’d burn to death in Atlanta. And you do not diss sweet tea if you want to come out alive, boy.”
Dom grinned. “Well what about the other weird crap you eat? I’ve been to the South. They put peppers in their cheese and cook entire pigs on sticks…”
“Monaghan, have you ever tasted pimento cheese or barbeque? I think you’d be whistling a different tune, Sunshine.” Josh raised an eyebrow, and a bit of Sawyer came out in his voice.
“Right, well. At least I have my curse words right. I mean I’m not even going to say what you people call a bum bag…”
Josh squinted his eyes in confusion for a moment, thinking. “A bum bag? Oh, wait, you mean a fanny pack?”
Dom’s fingers went immediately his ears as he started humming. “La la la la la, I can’t hear you…”
“What? What’s wrong with fanny?”
“Josh! It doesn’t mean ‘bum,’ you wanker, it means, you know…”
“No, sugar, I don’t,” Josh replied with a very amused smile.
“Vagina!” Dom whispered, looking utterly scandalized, as if a female was going to appear over his shoulder at any moment and smack him.
“What? What’s the big deal with that, man? I mean, I assume you’re familiar with the organ,” Josh leered. Dom just frowned.
“I’m familiar with most all the organs, ta very much, but that doesn’t do anything to improve upon your vast ignorance of how wrong that term is in polite conversation…”
“Oh, come on! I’ve heard you say ‘cunt’ plenty of times, even as an adjective. I think ‘fanny’ clearly pales in comparison.”
Dom’s eyes still went a little wide at the word, and Josh had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. “I beg to differ. ‘Cunt’ is a widely used term, and highly inoffensive in comparison to the ‘f’ word…”
“What, fuck? You do know how to do that, right, Monaghan?” Josh asked sardonically, wiggling his eyebrows.
Dom was slightly more aware now of his hand, pressing hard against the little steel ornaments on Josh’s jeans. He slid it back, dangling uselessly behind them, and Josh’s thigh was almost instantly pressing against his own.
“Of course I know how, you sodding eejit.”
“Oh right, but you would call it ‘shagging,’ wouldn’t you?”
“The terms aren’t mutually exclusive,” Dom pointed out. “I could use either one.”
“Oh, really? How egalitarian of you,” Josh replied with a smirk. Dom did not miss the way Josh’s hand had also slipped between them and backwards, his fingers brushing Dom’s own in a mockingly polite version of courtship juxtaposed with their rather crude conversation.
“Well, at least I don’t say ‘make out’ all the time. You blokes sound like you’re perpetually twelve years old!”
“And what, ‘snog’ doesn’t sound like something that’s supposed to be an auto part?” Josh rolled his eyes.
“That’s a ‘cog’! And at least I’m not a card-carrying member of the NRA!”
“I’m a card-carrying member of the ACLU, asshole.” Josh had been turning in increments as their conversation grew more heated, and now Dom was acutely aware of the thigh insinuating itself between his legs. Of course, presented with Josh’s hard, muscled body, it was either shamelessly press himself (admittedly, hard now) against Josh or fling himself backwards and headfirst over the balcony.
“Well, at least I don’t… eat pigs on sticks,” Dom argued, weakly, his tone a bit softer, a bit shaky.
“You said that one already,” Josh pointed out with a very Sawyer-esque smirk. Of course, Dom was pretty sure Sawyer wouldn’t be leaning this close to another bloke’s lips as he spoke, nor would he be steadily pressing his erection (erection? wait, where did that come from?) against Charlie’s thigh. Well… probably not, at least.
“You call a lift something that sounds vaguely like a shoe.”
“Yeah, still weak, buddy.” Dom gasped slightly as one of Josh’s hands settled comfortably on Dom’s lower back, slightly sweaty through his shirt as a side effect of the Hawaiian humidity, or maybe just his current position. The other hand, the one with the beer bottle in it, pressed coldly against the nape of Dom’s neck, and he leaned into the source of relief after the initial shock.
“Pecan.”
“Pee-kayn,” Josh replied with another smirk, emphasizing the first syllable.
“Tomahto.”
“Tomayto.”
“Pram.”
“Stroller.”
“Dummy.”
“You?”
“No, eejit.” Dom laughed lightly, fighting off some of the heavy, dark, erotic mist that seemed to have been lowering over them, and boldly placed his own hands on Josh’s hips, his own beer bottle neglected on the railing. His left hand, still quite cold, crept up under Josh’s shirt, settling just above his waist line, and Josh gasped. “I believe you call it a pacifier,” Dom whispered, his tone low. “She-dyool?”
“Ske-dyool.”
“Aubergine?”
“Eggplant. Fuck me,” Josh breathed, his left hand now firmly cupping Dom’s arse before Dom jumped slightly. “And keep talking,” he added in a growl, nipping at Dom’s earlobe and not caring that half the cast was probably watching.
“Ha! You like the accent! No wonder we’re having this conversation…”
“Shut up, asshole.” Josh’s lips swallowed Dom’s protest, and he sucked happily on Josh’s tongue, his hips canting shamelessly forward, before he pulled back slightly to whisper fondly against Josh’s lips.
“Arsehole.”