FIC: Pure Reason, Dom/Everyone, PG-13

[bibliotech.livejournal.com]

Title: Pure Reason
Author Name: Aralinde
Email and Site: Tooken
Fic Site: one for the shire!
Pairing: Dom/Everyone
Rating: PG-13
Date: May 4th
Summary: Dom was motivated by reason.
Disclaimer: I do not own these people (they own themselves). This is 100% fiction.
Notes: each section is a drabble of exactly 100 words.
Note the second: Part of the Everyone-verse.
X-posted to aralinde.







Dom was motivated by reason. He figured that there was a point to everything. You just had to look for it. And if you couldn’t find one—just make one up.


Elijah

Elijah was pure lust. Dom wanted him, and he had him. Simple as that. With Elijah, there was no need to analyze. No need to wait. It was just bodies against the wall, wandering hands and kisses that set their skin on fire. No conversation. No discussion. Just sex, and lots of it.

Elijah was a wet dream, the “I’ll do anything” from fantasy, painted in real life and flesh. He was trembling hands and the heat that curled around them.

Dom catches Elijah’s lower lip with his teeth. And tugs slightly. Just enough to let him know he’s serious.


Liv

Liv was relaxing. She was lazy afternoons in a king-sized bed with high-quality sheets. Fingers curled around his hand; slow, sweet kisses against his skin. Soft sighs and whispers in the late afternoon.

He knew that Liv hated to be called their princess. Hated to be set apart. But to Dom, Liv was a princess, for a thousand reasons that had nothing to do with filming. It was in her fluid grace, her sudden smiles. Her easy manner and husky laughter.

He won’t tell her any of this, though. Instead, he just rolls over, just enough to kiss her briefly.


Billy

Billy was for keeps. Billy was the boy you took home to Mother—if your mother was the type that could accept two boys in love. He was the world’s longest one-night stand, the “Billy” in BillyandDom.

Dom knew this from the beginning. Knew it, and gave in without a struggle. No matter what else—no matter whom else—there would always be Billy, underneath it all.

Billy whispers Dom’s name in his sleep. Dom traces Billy’s name over and over on his own skin.

Dom closed his eyes and wondered if this was what they called being “in love”.


Orlando

Orlando was seduction. What else could he be, with those long limbs and brown eyes? He was built for it. And Dom was more than willing to take advantage of it. More than happy with the results.

And when it’s over, Orlando seems—lost. As if he doesn’t know what to do when the game is over. Brown eyes, silently pleading.

Dom’s the one that holds him all night. Dom makes him coffee in the morning and smiles at him from the other end of the kitchen table.

Dom thinks that Orlando may be seduction itself. But he’s the seducer.


Viggo

Viggo was necessary. Dom tried to avoid the inevitable, but being near Viggo—and not having Viggo—was like trying to hold your breath underwater. Eventually, you have to breathe—or die.

Dom tries to hold his breath. He really does. But Viggo has a way of shifting shapes and molecules to suit himself, so that Dom has no choice but to give in—and kiss Viggo.

Surrender isn’t that bad, really. It’s just a matter of terms. You give a little, to get what you want. And right now, all Dom wants is Viggo’s hands. And lips. And look.


Sean

Sean was comfort. Sometimes, Dom just wanted someone to reassure him. Life gets hard, and we all want someone to tell us that we’re doing the best we can. Things will get better. We’ll make it through this.

Sean’s comfort comes with sweet kisses and heated looks. Long speeches and slow smiles. Sometimes Sean drives him up the wall. But Dom wouldn’t have him any other way.

Sean gives affection freely, asking nothing in return. And sometimes, Dom just wants someone to give without taking. Just love, without asking. To just—be, without being.

Sean could easily become a drug.




Karl

Karl was intriguing. Dom couldn’t read his mixed signals—the looks from across the room. The contempt on his face.

Karl is a bit of a challenge. But not much. It takes more than dirty looks to stop Dom Monaghan. And underneath it all is the desire to find out what those dirty looks are about—what they’re for.

And when he’s finally got him, alone, in his room—he can finally read that look for what it’s worth. The contempt and disgust wasn’t for him. It was for Karl.

Dom whispers in his ear, tells him that he understands.


Miranda

Miranda was accidental. Dom hadn’t meant to kiss her—she was his Golden Girl, all sunshine and dazzling teeth and bright eyes. His Eowyn—his brave and glorious hero. But he couldn’t help it—once you’ve seen the sun, you can’t look away. Until you go blind. Some things are just beyond reason.

Her kisses burn. All fever and flash—like holding fire in your hands. He hopes that she won’t turn to sunlight and flame beneath his fingers.

He hopes she won’t burn and fade away before his very eyes.

"Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young."*



Ian

Ian was the devil himself. All dark looks and sly smiles. Dom couldn’t help himself with that one. He just had to know the meaning behind those looks. Those easy smiles.

The thing about Ian is that he never gives himself away. And nothing that Dom does seems to break through that wall.

Sometimes there’s a look—a flash of understanding. Open eyes. And whoever Ian really is—that’s the closest that Dom will get to ever finding out.

But then it’s gone.

It doesn’t stop him from trying, though. What’s life without a little challenge every now and then?


Sean

Sean was dangerous. Dom knew it, and still he didn’t care. Sean’s fingers digging into his skin. Punishing. Bruising.

His kisses taste of blood. Sean’s fingers moving through his hair. Grabs it and pulls—hard. Later, he’ll see the marks on his skin, shaped like Sean’s fingers. Will trace them with his own.

It’s not that Sean hates him—Dom knows that now. But there’s something out there—something that makes Sean angry. Furious. And he needs to take it out on everyone that crosses his path.

Dom wonders if the danger lies in the pain—or in its acceptance.


Cate

Cate was erotic. Dom tells her that she was born too late—she should have been a Jazz Baby. She just laughs.

After that, he calls her his Jazz Baby. Murmurs it in her ear before sleep claims him for the night. Her scent in his sheets the next morning. Vanilla and sex.

But he can almost see her, swigging gin and dancing ‘til dawn. In a bright red dress that starts too low, and ends too high (to show off those fabulous legs).

If he could just catch her—if he looked fast enough—that’s how she looks now.


David

David was a challenge. Dom damn near had to hit him over the head and drag him home— ridiculous, really. Dom knew what those looks meant. David had to know what those looks meant.

Dom says that he’ll hold it against David. He won’t ever let him live it down. That David didn’t know what he wanted until it was right there, in his arms. That Dom was the one to grab him, kiss him. And lean back with that smile, as if to say, “Now it’s your turn.”

David says he doesn’t mind the teasing. And kisses him back.


Dom

Dom’s favorite reason for doing anything is because it’s there. Why jump off a bridge? Why not?

There’s a deeper, philosophical explanation for this that Dom can’t remember. He’d stay up nights and examine it, but he never sleeps alone. Doesn’t want to. 3 A.M. is a long time to be alone.

And that’s a reason, right there. A damn good one, at that.

Dom simply doesn’t want to be alone. When he’s alone, there’s no one to hear his voice. Distract him from himself. His thoughts.

He doesn’t know what he fears. But he’s afraid—simply because it’s there.


*John Webster.