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fellowshippers2004-02-16 02:43 pm
thisisheaven.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-16 02:43 pm
Fic: "If you love enough, you'll lie a lot." (3/?) [Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<bb/dm>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.]
Fic: "If you love enough, you'll lie a lot." (3/?) <bb/dm>
Fic: "If you love enough, you'll lie a lot." (3/?) <bb/dm>
Title: "If you love enough, you'll lie a lot." (3/?)
Pairing: Monaboyd,
Rating: eventually NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em, wish I did. If this actually was true, we wouldn't be writing about it, the papers would.
Summary: "...and when you're gone, a part of me I never really see, is missing too."(Quoted to appease my slavedriver because she hates my summaries and says no one wants to read my story cause my summary is so awful.) Dom begins to explain.
Feedback: I haven't begged for comments yet, but I'd love to know if this story is making any sense and is interesting AT ALL.
AN: In a fit of depression I thought I'd start an angsty fic dedicated to the reason I even know what slash is...my roommate, favorite drunk of all time, lover of all that is angsty...my p-resh.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pre_expansion
Previous parts: One Two
When you come to you’re still in bed, and you notice that the room is much darker than it was last time you saw it. You lean over to check the time, 5:38 pm, and realize you’ve slept for another 8 hours. You stare around the cluttered room, hoping in a now recurring way that you’d find a sign of Billy somewhere. As you search, you notice a little scrap of yellow paper covered in Orlando’s scrawl saying he went out after you fell asleep and he’ll be back by 6. Momentarily glad that you aren’t going to have to answer any questions or keep up your strong façade, you push the covers away, determined to get up.
Feeling disgusting, you decide to get in the shower for the first time in what feels like days…you don’t know, maybe it has been. With a hesitant look in the mirror, which is starting to get shrouded in mist, you see your reflection. The eyeliner you wore last night has rubbed in thick circles around your eyes and runs down your face, tracing all too familiar patterns of tears not quite gone. In short, you look like some clown gone demented. You rub water on your face, resolving to shave, wash your hair and maybe even get a hair cut.
Besides, the only reason you were keeping you hair long was…well…for him. He loved running his fingers through it, said it was so soft and he loved how it tickled his shoulders when you would lie in bed together. And you loved how he would bury his fingers in your hair, pretending like he was guiding you down his body, when you were really the one in control.
“No, not this train of thought again,” you murmur to yourself. You wonder to yourself if there’s something psychologically wrong when getting hard brings tears to your eyes. You can’t even find the nerve to get it over with, but hey, you’re a masochist…you like the torture.
“Hey you wanker, you finally decided that rot and piss weren’t going to be the next big perfume?” Orlando jokes, as he walks into the bathroom announcing his return.
“Be out in a moment,” you yell back over the sound of water, glad for a distraction from your present thoughts.
“Made tea, come out to the kitchen when you’re done,” he replies.
Suddenly, the water becomes scalding hot and you yelp as you jump away from it. You hear snickering coming from the doorway and yell, “You’re going to pay for that you bloody bastard!” You can’t help but smile. It feels foreign on your face, like the smile lines that were once deeply etched across your cheeks were smoothed out and you had to redraw them all over again.
Getting out of the shower, you wrap the towel loosely around your waist and wipe off the mirror to look at yourself one more time. As you’d decided earlier, you like torturing yourself. Your eyes are bloodshot and when you relax your face it becomes an expression of trouble, disappointment, and heartbreak.
Running a comb through your hair, you decide maybe you won’t cut it just yet because when you close your eyes you can almost feel his hands brushing the back of your neck and rubbing your temples as he caresses your face. You can almost smell the laundry soap and outdoorsy masculine scent and hear the soft, relaxed breathing. But when you open your eyes, it’s only you in the mirror except now your eyes are filled with tears and your whole body is tense.
You walk out to the kitchen and sit down at the breakfast table, trying to stop thinking about it. About him.
Orlando rolls his eyes at you and says, “Thanks for putting on some clothes, mate.”
“I know you’ve been trying to sneak a peak at my chest for days, just making it a little easier,” you reply. You wonder when your attempts at joking became so feeble and transparent and remember reading somewhere that sarcasm was the defense of the weak. How appropriate.
Sighing deeply, Orlando sits across from you and looks at you expectantly. You know you need to talk, to get it out, but you open your mouth and it feels like someone cut the cord controlling your voice box. You can’t make a sound. But then suddenly it all starts tumbling out, incoherent and unorganized, due to being pent up for what feels like years.
“Sorry Orli, just…so hard…feel like I’m choking all the time. I know it’s my fault, but no one will understand. How can they? They don’t know what he wants, but I had to do it. You see I knew there was something, it was there and I felt like everyday it got bigger and bigger…”
Orli puts his hand across the table and grasps your wrist. You look up and he says, “Slow down there, Dom, we’ve got all the time in the world. Take it one step at a time. What was getting bigger and bigger?”
“The lie,” you say shortly.
“What lie?” he asks, looking at you in confusion.
“My lie. I lied to him, to my Billy, how could I do that?” you ask yourself despairingly.
The grip on your wrist tightens, assuring you a little.
“What did you lie to Billy about, Dom?”
Pairing: Monaboyd,
Rating: eventually NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em, wish I did. If this actually was true, we wouldn't be writing about it, the papers would.
Summary: "...and when you're gone, a part of me I never really see, is missing too."
Feedback: I haven't begged for comments yet, but I'd love to know if this story is making any sense and is interesting AT ALL.
AN: In a fit of depression I thought I'd start an angsty fic dedicated to the reason I even know what slash is...my roommate, favorite drunk of all time, lover of all that is angsty...my p-resh.
pre_expansion Previous parts: One Two
When you come to you’re still in bed, and you notice that the room is much darker than it was last time you saw it. You lean over to check the time, 5:38 pm, and realize you’ve slept for another 8 hours. You stare around the cluttered room, hoping in a now recurring way that you’d find a sign of Billy somewhere. As you search, you notice a little scrap of yellow paper covered in Orlando’s scrawl saying he went out after you fell asleep and he’ll be back by 6. Momentarily glad that you aren’t going to have to answer any questions or keep up your strong façade, you push the covers away, determined to get up.
Feeling disgusting, you decide to get in the shower for the first time in what feels like days…you don’t know, maybe it has been. With a hesitant look in the mirror, which is starting to get shrouded in mist, you see your reflection. The eyeliner you wore last night has rubbed in thick circles around your eyes and runs down your face, tracing all too familiar patterns of tears not quite gone. In short, you look like some clown gone demented. You rub water on your face, resolving to shave, wash your hair and maybe even get a hair cut.
Besides, the only reason you were keeping you hair long was…well…for him. He loved running his fingers through it, said it was so soft and he loved how it tickled his shoulders when you would lie in bed together. And you loved how he would bury his fingers in your hair, pretending like he was guiding you down his body, when you were really the one in control.
“No, not this train of thought again,” you murmur to yourself. You wonder to yourself if there’s something psychologically wrong when getting hard brings tears to your eyes. You can’t even find the nerve to get it over with, but hey, you’re a masochist…you like the torture.
“Hey you wanker, you finally decided that rot and piss weren’t going to be the next big perfume?” Orlando jokes, as he walks into the bathroom announcing his return.
“Be out in a moment,” you yell back over the sound of water, glad for a distraction from your present thoughts.
“Made tea, come out to the kitchen when you’re done,” he replies.
Suddenly, the water becomes scalding hot and you yelp as you jump away from it. You hear snickering coming from the doorway and yell, “You’re going to pay for that you bloody bastard!” You can’t help but smile. It feels foreign on your face, like the smile lines that were once deeply etched across your cheeks were smoothed out and you had to redraw them all over again.
Getting out of the shower, you wrap the towel loosely around your waist and wipe off the mirror to look at yourself one more time. As you’d decided earlier, you like torturing yourself. Your eyes are bloodshot and when you relax your face it becomes an expression of trouble, disappointment, and heartbreak.
Running a comb through your hair, you decide maybe you won’t cut it just yet because when you close your eyes you can almost feel his hands brushing the back of your neck and rubbing your temples as he caresses your face. You can almost smell the laundry soap and outdoorsy masculine scent and hear the soft, relaxed breathing. But when you open your eyes, it’s only you in the mirror except now your eyes are filled with tears and your whole body is tense.
You walk out to the kitchen and sit down at the breakfast table, trying to stop thinking about it. About him.
Orlando rolls his eyes at you and says, “Thanks for putting on some clothes, mate.”
“I know you’ve been trying to sneak a peak at my chest for days, just making it a little easier,” you reply. You wonder when your attempts at joking became so feeble and transparent and remember reading somewhere that sarcasm was the defense of the weak. How appropriate.
Sighing deeply, Orlando sits across from you and looks at you expectantly. You know you need to talk, to get it out, but you open your mouth and it feels like someone cut the cord controlling your voice box. You can’t make a sound. But then suddenly it all starts tumbling out, incoherent and unorganized, due to being pent up for what feels like years.
“Sorry Orli, just…so hard…feel like I’m choking all the time. I know it’s my fault, but no one will understand. How can they? They don’t know what he wants, but I had to do it. You see I knew there was something, it was there and I felt like everyday it got bigger and bigger…”
Orli puts his hand across the table and grasps your wrist. You look up and he says, “Slow down there, Dom, we’ve got all the time in the world. Take it one step at a time. What was getting bigger and bigger?”
“The lie,” you say shortly.
“What lie?” he asks, looking at you in confusion.
“My lie. I lied to him, to my Billy, how could I do that?” you ask yourself despairingly.
The grip on your wrist tightens, assuring you a little.
“What did you lie to Billy about, Dom?”
no subject
"It feels foreign on your face, like the smile lines that were once deeply etched across your cheeks were smoothed out and you had to redraw them all over again."
I love it! More please! xoxo-Pet
no subject
By the way, I've been a bad lurker. But now I'm forcing myself to comment on the stories that I like! *sigh* I'm getting there, slowly but surely. Sorry I haven't commented before!
Re:
I don't know if an author should say this, but that line was actually something I just came up with in thin air and I basically wrote half the chapter just to use it.
Thank you so much for commenting and I'm so glad you like it!!!
Re:
This is actually my first fic, so I wasn't sure if people would like it at all. But it's great to know that you're reading and liking it!
I promise more will come soon and I won't be mean like that again. I usually hate cliffhangers and I debated on leaving this one like it was, but I hope the next chapter makes up for it.
Thank you again for commenting :o)
no subject
*sorry for using so many !!! but I'm excited....lol*
Re:
Thank you for commenting and reading!! :o)
Re:
uses inappropriate icon
SLOTH! Dom's lackadaisical attitude will get him nowhere near our sparkling Billy. -5
I wonder what kind of bed sheets Dom has. I bet they aren't silken like Billy needs to maintain his beautiful skin. -2 for bad bed fashion. I bet Dom has a lime-green couch.
We should steal it.Ew. Billy wouldn't touch that with a ten foot pole and Elijah's dick.
That's right bitch. Billy says leave it long. Rawr. +3
It could be a psychological problem but I think may be that having a crooked cock could be uncomfortable when getting hard. Think of those long balloons that clown have. *pop* AAHAHHA.
God, what kind of ev0l person would turn on water when someone was in the shower? *shifty*
BLOODSHOT EYES!! DRUGS! [/edna] -2
What kind of hygiene manners is that Dom? I mean naked in the kitchen? Unless you are taking it on the table I see no need to risk contamination! And with Orlando there too? Doesn't Dom know that nekkid time is when you are alone? -5 for being a sick, nekkid weirdo.
I felt like everyday it got bigger and bigger…” That's what lube is for dude.
Lying to Billy = death.
--
Well Ham, another marvelous chapter. I really can't wait to
get to the dirty smut that took over the worldknow what happens next.*cracks whip*