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fellowshippers2004-01-08 04:47 pm
stumphed.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-01-08 04:47 pm
Monaboyd Ficlet
Title Counting
Author Joey
Pairing Monaboyd because it makes everything in the world okay.
Rating PG
Summary Billy lies in bed, counting...
Disclaimer I lived in a box on the street until I ate it. I own nothing.
Archived His Hands
A/N Written while listening to "Adagio for Strings" which is Billy's favorite melody. Somber music which pretty much was the tone for the story. Only the second LOTR thing I've written. Bit of angst, and definite fluff.
Billy stares up at his bedroom ceiling, pulling the blanket a bit tighter around him as the fan sends a blast of cool air his way.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
He doesn't need to count the large tiles. He knows there are 56 of them. Seven rows of eight across. He should instead try counting the number of times he's layed there in bed counting the tiles.
Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.
But he doesn't think of those nights. Those lonely nights, after one too many beers in which he has tried to drown out his thoughts. Nights where his mind doesn't seem to want to sleep and those blue grey eyes appear everytime he shut his own. Those eyes that he sees everywhere he looks when he's alone, thinking to himself. His only grip on reality would be to count the tiles. It wasn't until he counted every one that he would be able to get to sleep.
Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.
He doesn't think of those nights because this one is different. A smile tugs on the corners of his lips and he doesn't fight it. He lets out a soft sigh, aware that there is no alcohol on his breath tonight.
Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
He closes his eyes softly for a moment to see the eyes that had haunted his mind for so long. The eyes that made his bones ache with need and want. They're still there, but they're not dark and brooding. They're filled with a light and they're twinkling, showing the smile that is undoubtedly on their owners lips. Billy opens his eyes again and continues his count.
Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four...
"Bills... what are you doing?" The voice is sleepy. A murmer almost lost in the sound of the ceiling fan whooshing and clicking as it rocks back and forth.
"Nothing, Dom." He rolls over, abandoning his counting. He wraps his arms around the body next to him and burries his face in Dominic's neck. Dom's fingers trail along his arms, turning his skin to gooseflesh. His eyes feel heavy and he closes them. He doesn't need to finish counting tonight. He's already on his way to sleep.
Author Joey
Pairing Monaboyd because it makes everything in the world okay.
Rating PG
Summary Billy lies in bed, counting...
Disclaimer I lived in a box on the street until I ate it. I own nothing.
Archived His Hands
A/N Written while listening to "Adagio for Strings" which is Billy's favorite melody. Somber music which pretty much was the tone for the story. Only the second LOTR thing I've written. Bit of angst, and definite fluff.
Billy stares up at his bedroom ceiling, pulling the blanket a bit tighter around him as the fan sends a blast of cool air his way.
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.
He doesn't need to count the large tiles. He knows there are 56 of them. Seven rows of eight across. He should instead try counting the number of times he's layed there in bed counting the tiles.
Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two.
But he doesn't think of those nights. Those lonely nights, after one too many beers in which he has tried to drown out his thoughts. Nights where his mind doesn't seem to want to sleep and those blue grey eyes appear everytime he shut his own. Those eyes that he sees everywhere he looks when he's alone, thinking to himself. His only grip on reality would be to count the tiles. It wasn't until he counted every one that he would be able to get to sleep.
Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.
He doesn't think of those nights because this one is different. A smile tugs on the corners of his lips and he doesn't fight it. He lets out a soft sigh, aware that there is no alcohol on his breath tonight.
Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine.
He closes his eyes softly for a moment to see the eyes that had haunted his mind for so long. The eyes that made his bones ache with need and want. They're still there, but they're not dark and brooding. They're filled with a light and they're twinkling, showing the smile that is undoubtedly on their owners lips. Billy opens his eyes again and continues his count.
Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four...
"Bills... what are you doing?" The voice is sleepy. A murmer almost lost in the sound of the ceiling fan whooshing and clicking as it rocks back and forth.
"Nothing, Dom." He rolls over, abandoning his counting. He wraps his arms around the body next to him and burries his face in Dominic's neck. Dom's fingers trail along his arms, turning his skin to gooseflesh. His eyes feel heavy and he closes them. He doesn't need to finish counting tonight. He's already on his way to sleep.