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fellowshippers2004-02-03 08:44 pm
perfect-oasis.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-03 08:44 pm
Ticket Stubs and Torn Jeans
Title: Ticket Stubs and Torn Jeans
Author: The Phantom Writer![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
silentnumbsmoke
Pairing: DM/BB
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. This is pure fiction.
Feedback: Feedback makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, so... yesh, please!
Notes: I wrote this at school. I was sitting there, my RPS binder (yes, I have an RPS binder!) in my lap, trying to think up new ideas for stories... and this popped out. It's not angst! Wow! A big change from my last story.
*patsairlia_vega on the back* Thank you!
Dom calls me a packrat. He teases me for saving anything that could have some sort of sentimental value or a memory attached to it. I save ticket stubs, programs from the theatre, letters, invitations… I even leave certain phone messages on my answering machine. Instead of deleting them, I get another tape. I have an old pair of jeans that are completely demolished. Grass stains, shredded, the zipper broken… I don’t keep it in my drawer with my other, useable clothing, but the point is, I still have it.
I didn’t use to save anything. I was the opposite of a packrat. I didn’t save anything, not even things that I needed to save.
Then I met Dominic. Immediately, I felt a connection. It didn’t take long before our strong friendship turned into something stronger; something unbreakable. That’s when I began to save anything and everything. Everything related to Dom, that is.
I have the checks from some of our dates at restaurants. Our first date. I look at the receipt and it all comes pouring back: what Dom was wearing, how nervous I was, the kiss that ended our night… Then I see the check from our one year anniversary date. Dom ate fetuccini alfredo. I don’t remember what I ate; I just remember being in love with Dom.
I’ve saved every single email he ever sent me, even if it just consisted of a single word. They always ended with some variation on ‘Love forever, Dom.’
The grass-stained pants? They were deemed worthless as pants after an energy-filled game of football, one-on-one with Dom. Both of us trying to run for the ball and be our own goalie, which ended in an American football-type tackle on Dom’s part. This, of course, resulted in sweaty, athletic sex right there on the football pitch. When we got home, Dom had to rip and cut the jeans off me because, after Dom’s lust-filled aggressions during our game, the fly was stuck. Yet… I saved the jeans. I smile whenever I see them, breathing in the scent of grass and Dom sex.
It may seem just a tad obsessive, but I don’t ever want to lose a single memory about or including Dom. So, to insure that nothing is forgotten, I save.
Dom may call me a packrat, but I don’t care. I have a lot of storage space in our house for these things, and these memories that my saving brings about always conjure up a smile or two. And, as I get older and I lose mental storage space, I need things to help spark back any and all Dom memories that are hiding in the dusty volumes of my mind.
Author: The Phantom Writer
silentnumbsmokePairing: DM/BB
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. This is pure fiction.
Feedback: Feedback makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, so... yesh, please!
Notes: I wrote this at school. I was sitting there, my RPS binder (yes, I have an RPS binder!) in my lap, trying to think up new ideas for stories... and this popped out. It's not angst! Wow! A big change from my last story.
*pats
airlia_vega on the back* Thank you!Dom calls me a packrat. He teases me for saving anything that could have some sort of sentimental value or a memory attached to it. I save ticket stubs, programs from the theatre, letters, invitations… I even leave certain phone messages on my answering machine. Instead of deleting them, I get another tape. I have an old pair of jeans that are completely demolished. Grass stains, shredded, the zipper broken… I don’t keep it in my drawer with my other, useable clothing, but the point is, I still have it.
I didn’t use to save anything. I was the opposite of a packrat. I didn’t save anything, not even things that I needed to save.
Then I met Dominic. Immediately, I felt a connection. It didn’t take long before our strong friendship turned into something stronger; something unbreakable. That’s when I began to save anything and everything. Everything related to Dom, that is.
I have the checks from some of our dates at restaurants. Our first date. I look at the receipt and it all comes pouring back: what Dom was wearing, how nervous I was, the kiss that ended our night… Then I see the check from our one year anniversary date. Dom ate fetuccini alfredo. I don’t remember what I ate; I just remember being in love with Dom.
I’ve saved every single email he ever sent me, even if it just consisted of a single word. They always ended with some variation on ‘Love forever, Dom.’
The grass-stained pants? They were deemed worthless as pants after an energy-filled game of football, one-on-one with Dom. Both of us trying to run for the ball and be our own goalie, which ended in an American football-type tackle on Dom’s part. This, of course, resulted in sweaty, athletic sex right there on the football pitch. When we got home, Dom had to rip and cut the jeans off me because, after Dom’s lust-filled aggressions during our game, the fly was stuck. Yet… I saved the jeans. I smile whenever I see them, breathing in the scent of grass and Dom sex.
It may seem just a tad obsessive, but I don’t ever want to lose a single memory about or including Dom. So, to insure that nothing is forgotten, I save.
Dom may call me a packrat, but I don’t care. I have a lot of storage space in our house for these things, and these memories that my saving brings about always conjure up a smile or two. And, as I get older and I lose mental storage space, I need things to help spark back any and all Dom memories that are hiding in the dusty volumes of my mind.
no subject
Awwwww! *sniff*
This is too sweet!
no subject