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fellowshippers2003-12-05 12:58 pm
azrhiaz.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2003-12-05 12:58 pm
FIC, Gravel, Domorli, R-ish
Title: Gravel
Author: Azrhiaz
Pairing: Domorli – feel it, yo!
Rating: R-ish for the c word
Disclaimer: Fiction, completely. Author not implying otherwise.
Author’s notes: Happy birthday![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mcee! Thank you for making fandom bright,
or, er. Something else that sounds less sap-infested. *mwah* Also, props and a
memory-kiss to one Ian (pronounced EYE-an), my dearest, mohawk-bedecked love one
hot high school summer. He actually did this. More than once. Note to the kiddies:
do NOT try this at home, mmkay? Because, like, potential fatality and all.
It’s not Orli’s stupidest idea, but Dom thinks it comes close.
“You can’t go fuckin’ skateboarding in the middle of the road,” Dom says, exasperated. “Even if you don’t crack your bleedin’ skull open, Peter’ll have two litters of kittens if he finds out.” The lingering buzz from the evening’s earlier foray into the pub was fading quickly in the face of Orli, standing in the chrome-yellow glow of the parking lot’s street lamps, holding the battered skateboard he’d found there.
“It’s not really like skateboarding in the road, though, is it?” Orli says in an entirely reasonable tone. His long fingers are tracing over the peeling skull decal reverently, and Dom sees that even though Orli’s had more to drink than him, at least two shots of Goldschlager more, he’s got that strange Orli-focus going where he snapstight onto something, and there’s no room to sway or change your mind. “It’s more like…hitching a ride.”
Dom thinks this is going too far, although he has an idea that with that focus, it’s already too late. He makes a sudden dive for the skateboard in Orli’s grasp, but Orli snaps it up and away, out of reach, laughing, and the laughter is sparkling hot and bright and dangerous in his eyes.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid,” Orli says, and the laughter has faded out of his eyes now, faded down into something duller and taunting that still manages to cut.
Dom steps back away from Orli, his hands shoved into his jean pockets. Four cars are left in the parking lot, none of them theirs. Elijah had left two hours ago, and Billy with him. Dom and Orli had opted to stay and catch a cab. Dom’s fingers in his pockets feel around surreptitiously for the bills, trying to mentally tally whether or not he had enough to manage the fare alone. If Orli felt like killing himself, that was his business, wasn’t it?
“Oh, real mature, Orli,” Dom snorts, “like calling me a chicken is going to get me on that thing. Go fuck yourself.”
Orli’s grin is slow and cunning, and despite himself Dom feels a small hot place untwist in his guts.
“Isn’t it, though?” Orli says softly, flipping the skateboard down onto the ground and putting one foot on it.
Dom swallows hard and pulls his hands out of his pockets.
****************
Less than ten minutes later they are crouched down behind a bus-stop bench, adjacent to an intersection which, even at this time of night, is still relatively busy. Dom feels something sticky on his hand, and when he looks he sees that some asshole stuck gum on the bench and that gum is now plastered all over his thumb. He wipes it off on his jeans as best he can, repressing a shudder, and looks at Orli.
The lights here at the bus stop are brighter, covering Orli with a whiter gleam that only makes him seem hotter, amplified, and Dom thinks he can hear Orli’s nerves singing like the winding of a top, tighter and tighter.
“I’ll go first,” Orli says, and Dom had sort of assumed that was a given, but he thinks maybe things like this need to be spoken out loud. Sealing the contract, as it were. And just as the words death warrant pop into his head in lieu of contract Orli stands up and gets on the board, and before Dom can speak a big American SUV comes around the blind curve to the left. It slows down without quite stopping entirely-- California stop, Elijah called those—and Orli pushes off, crouching down on the board as he skips off the curb and reaches out, his hands grasping the shiny silver bumper of the black monstrosity.
He doesn’t look back, probably doesn’t have time, and then the SUV is going again, speeding through the intersection and pulling Orli along behind it. Dom stands, hardly daring to breathe, listening to Orli's Indian war cry fade into the darkened distance along with his flying form.
The spell snaps, and Dom starts running after Orli. He’d gone possibly three-quarters of a mile along the side of the road, feet tangling in overgrown weeds, when Orli jumped up from out of nowhere and grabbed him, planting a big, smacking kiss on his lips.
“Holy fucking shit, Dom, you have got to do it, man, that’s the best,” Orli begins, his words running over each other in his breathless excitement, and Dom finds he’s just a little excited too, excited and a little scared at what could have happened. At what just did happen. He looks at Orli, feeling a step or two behind current events, but if Orli meant anything by it, he can’t tell. He’s more wired than Dom has ever seen him, and the end result is that he’s so beautiful he’s almost impossible to look at, and Dom feels that little warm spot from earlier sink down and turn over in his cock. Suddenly he wants very much to see if the rest of Orli’s skin is glowing as much as his face,his exposed forearms with their swiveling wrists and hands trailing excited magic through the air, and he wants very much for Orli to kiss him again.
He reaches out and takes the skateboard from Orli. They don’t say another word on the walk back to the bus stop, but Dom feels his own nerves ramping up now, getting him ready.
Stupid, stupid, what the fuck are you doing? says a little voice inside his head. Dom thinks that little voice probably has a name tag marked “Mr. Self-Preservation” but he doesn’t have time for little voices, so he ignores it. When the get back to the bus stop he doesn’t have long to wait. A old Cadillac, faded burgundy, pulls up to the stop sign and stops completely. He has plenty of time to crouch down, imitating Orli, not thinking that he’s never even been on a skateboard, for fuck’s sake, wrapping his hands around the bumper tightly and shutting his eyes even more so.
Oh, please, he thinks, and that’s all he has time for before the Cadillac lurches forward and he nearly loses his balance immediately. In the space of two seconds he feels like he’s flying, wind whistling in his ears only partially drowning out the sound of the road crunching underneath his desperately spinning wheels. Exhaust fumes sting his eyes and coat his throat sour-black and he’s sucking desperately for oxygen when the Cadillac takes a corner sharply and the world tilts suddenly.
The skateboard shoots out from underneath his feet and the road reaches up so fast he can’t even blink and then he’s rolling, rolling, and it’s all blackred pain.
Need to get out of the road, the voice says, and Dom shakes his head, disoriented. When he figures out which way is up he starts crawling, and he just makes it off the blacktop when he hears Orli’s running footsteps.
“Dom! Dom! Christ, ah, fuck,” he says, and Dom feels Orli’s hand on his back, turning him over gently. A car passes by them with a soft whoosh, paying them no heed, not slowing down. There is no street lamp here, and for a moment Dom can’t see Orli. Then Orli comes into focus with the moon behind him, and there’s no excitement on his face now, only fear as he crouches down over Dom.
“I’m okay,” Dom croaks, and he thinks he really is, although he suspects he’ll be terribly sore tomorrow. His right knee feels twisty and gives off a dull throb when he flexes it.
“You have gravel in your face,” Orli says, and Dom reaches up and touches his cheek gingerly, feeling a stab of pain at the contact. His fingers register rough grit and wetness, and he brushes it aside. Suddenly that strikes him as oddly funny-- you have gravel in your face-- and he starts to laugh, thin and hysterical. Orli looks at him for a moment with a bemused expression, and then he starts to laugh, too, insane moonlit howling and he doesn’t seem terribly surprised when Dom jerks him down into an awkward kiss of clacking teeth that quickly slips into something more than friendly. Guess that’s a yes, Dom thinks as Orli presses down into him, the hard ridge of his cock imprinting Dom’s skin as surely as the gravel, and Dom just has time to think that he knows which one will scar.
Author: Azrhiaz
Pairing: Domorli – feel it, yo!
Rating: R-ish for the c word
Disclaimer: Fiction, completely. Author not implying otherwise.
Author’s notes: Happy birthday
mcee! Thank you for making fandom bright,or, er. Something else that sounds less sap-infested. *mwah* Also, props and a
memory-kiss to one Ian (pronounced EYE-an), my dearest, mohawk-bedecked love one
hot high school summer. He actually did this. More than once. Note to the kiddies:
do NOT try this at home, mmkay? Because, like, potential fatality and all.
It’s not Orli’s stupidest idea, but Dom thinks it comes close.
“You can’t go fuckin’ skateboarding in the middle of the road,” Dom says, exasperated. “Even if you don’t crack your bleedin’ skull open, Peter’ll have two litters of kittens if he finds out.” The lingering buzz from the evening’s earlier foray into the pub was fading quickly in the face of Orli, standing in the chrome-yellow glow of the parking lot’s street lamps, holding the battered skateboard he’d found there.
“It’s not really like skateboarding in the road, though, is it?” Orli says in an entirely reasonable tone. His long fingers are tracing over the peeling skull decal reverently, and Dom sees that even though Orli’s had more to drink than him, at least two shots of Goldschlager more, he’s got that strange Orli-focus going where he snapstight onto something, and there’s no room to sway or change your mind. “It’s more like…hitching a ride.”
Dom thinks this is going too far, although he has an idea that with that focus, it’s already too late. He makes a sudden dive for the skateboard in Orli’s grasp, but Orli snaps it up and away, out of reach, laughing, and the laughter is sparkling hot and bright and dangerous in his eyes.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were afraid,” Orli says, and the laughter has faded out of his eyes now, faded down into something duller and taunting that still manages to cut.
Dom steps back away from Orli, his hands shoved into his jean pockets. Four cars are left in the parking lot, none of them theirs. Elijah had left two hours ago, and Billy with him. Dom and Orli had opted to stay and catch a cab. Dom’s fingers in his pockets feel around surreptitiously for the bills, trying to mentally tally whether or not he had enough to manage the fare alone. If Orli felt like killing himself, that was his business, wasn’t it?
“Oh, real mature, Orli,” Dom snorts, “like calling me a chicken is going to get me on that thing. Go fuck yourself.”
Orli’s grin is slow and cunning, and despite himself Dom feels a small hot place untwist in his guts.
“Isn’t it, though?” Orli says softly, flipping the skateboard down onto the ground and putting one foot on it.
Dom swallows hard and pulls his hands out of his pockets.
****************
Less than ten minutes later they are crouched down behind a bus-stop bench, adjacent to an intersection which, even at this time of night, is still relatively busy. Dom feels something sticky on his hand, and when he looks he sees that some asshole stuck gum on the bench and that gum is now plastered all over his thumb. He wipes it off on his jeans as best he can, repressing a shudder, and looks at Orli.
The lights here at the bus stop are brighter, covering Orli with a whiter gleam that only makes him seem hotter, amplified, and Dom thinks he can hear Orli’s nerves singing like the winding of a top, tighter and tighter.
“I’ll go first,” Orli says, and Dom had sort of assumed that was a given, but he thinks maybe things like this need to be spoken out loud. Sealing the contract, as it were. And just as the words death warrant pop into his head in lieu of contract Orli stands up and gets on the board, and before Dom can speak a big American SUV comes around the blind curve to the left. It slows down without quite stopping entirely-- California stop, Elijah called those—and Orli pushes off, crouching down on the board as he skips off the curb and reaches out, his hands grasping the shiny silver bumper of the black monstrosity.
He doesn’t look back, probably doesn’t have time, and then the SUV is going again, speeding through the intersection and pulling Orli along behind it. Dom stands, hardly daring to breathe, listening to Orli's Indian war cry fade into the darkened distance along with his flying form.
The spell snaps, and Dom starts running after Orli. He’d gone possibly three-quarters of a mile along the side of the road, feet tangling in overgrown weeds, when Orli jumped up from out of nowhere and grabbed him, planting a big, smacking kiss on his lips.
“Holy fucking shit, Dom, you have got to do it, man, that’s the best,” Orli begins, his words running over each other in his breathless excitement, and Dom finds he’s just a little excited too, excited and a little scared at what could have happened. At what just did happen. He looks at Orli, feeling a step or two behind current events, but if Orli meant anything by it, he can’t tell. He’s more wired than Dom has ever seen him, and the end result is that he’s so beautiful he’s almost impossible to look at, and Dom feels that little warm spot from earlier sink down and turn over in his cock. Suddenly he wants very much to see if the rest of Orli’s skin is glowing as much as his face,his exposed forearms with their swiveling wrists and hands trailing excited magic through the air, and he wants very much for Orli to kiss him again.
He reaches out and takes the skateboard from Orli. They don’t say another word on the walk back to the bus stop, but Dom feels his own nerves ramping up now, getting him ready.
Stupid, stupid, what the fuck are you doing? says a little voice inside his head. Dom thinks that little voice probably has a name tag marked “Mr. Self-Preservation” but he doesn’t have time for little voices, so he ignores it. When the get back to the bus stop he doesn’t have long to wait. A old Cadillac, faded burgundy, pulls up to the stop sign and stops completely. He has plenty of time to crouch down, imitating Orli, not thinking that he’s never even been on a skateboard, for fuck’s sake, wrapping his hands around the bumper tightly and shutting his eyes even more so.
Oh, please, he thinks, and that’s all he has time for before the Cadillac lurches forward and he nearly loses his balance immediately. In the space of two seconds he feels like he’s flying, wind whistling in his ears only partially drowning out the sound of the road crunching underneath his desperately spinning wheels. Exhaust fumes sting his eyes and coat his throat sour-black and he’s sucking desperately for oxygen when the Cadillac takes a corner sharply and the world tilts suddenly.
The skateboard shoots out from underneath his feet and the road reaches up so fast he can’t even blink and then he’s rolling, rolling, and it’s all blackred pain.
Need to get out of the road, the voice says, and Dom shakes his head, disoriented. When he figures out which way is up he starts crawling, and he just makes it off the blacktop when he hears Orli’s running footsteps.
“Dom! Dom! Christ, ah, fuck,” he says, and Dom feels Orli’s hand on his back, turning him over gently. A car passes by them with a soft whoosh, paying them no heed, not slowing down. There is no street lamp here, and for a moment Dom can’t see Orli. Then Orli comes into focus with the moon behind him, and there’s no excitement on his face now, only fear as he crouches down over Dom.
“I’m okay,” Dom croaks, and he thinks he really is, although he suspects he’ll be terribly sore tomorrow. His right knee feels twisty and gives off a dull throb when he flexes it.
“You have gravel in your face,” Orli says, and Dom reaches up and touches his cheek gingerly, feeling a stab of pain at the contact. His fingers register rough grit and wetness, and he brushes it aside. Suddenly that strikes him as oddly funny-- you have gravel in your face-- and he starts to laugh, thin and hysterical. Orli looks at him for a moment with a bemused expression, and then he starts to laugh, too, insane moonlit howling and he doesn’t seem terribly surprised when Dom jerks him down into an awkward kiss of clacking teeth that quickly slips into something more than friendly. Guess that’s a yes, Dom thinks as Orli presses down into him, the hard ridge of his cock imprinting Dom’s skin as surely as the gravel, and Dom just has time to think that he knows which one will scar.
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This
isn'twasn't really my pairing of choice, but...Oh wow!!!! I loved this one!!!!!!! *bounce*
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Well, thank you very much indeed to you both! Am thrilled you liked it. *g*
<3
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Thank you muchly! Feedback much appreciated, as always. *g*
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Thank you muchly for the feedback-- am glad you liked it. :)
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Well, as long as you don't utterly forsake the Orlijah. Because it's still. so. pretty. ;)
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here (http://www.livejournal.com/users/earthmagik_fic/945.html), just bits I've been playing with that may become real stories, and there is at least one Orlijah bit in there :)
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Dude! Of course I want it!
*makes strange meeping gimme noises*
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http://cee.slashcity.com/public/
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WeI have catching up to do. I've co-written a couple of Viggorlis that might amuse you ...I plan to harass you with the Orlijah co-WIP
if it ever gets finishedsomeday. ;)Good to see you back!
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send me everything I missed!! send me wip!!! adding you right now!!
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Related comments in reply to yours in my LJ ...
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