http://ex-lur123.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
ex-lur123.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2004-05-09 06:06 am
ex-lur123.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-05-09 06:06 am
(no subject)
Title: Ink, And General Stupidity
Author: Laurenne
Pairing: Dom/Billy.
Rating: PG-13 for language, I s'pose.
Disclaimer: Fiction. That's all.
Summary: In which Dom needs another pen. (written off the top of my head, directly into the update box.)
"Stubborn little shit." Dom was growling at a pen, rather menacingly, and with more aggression than Billy had seen him express towards an actual person.
Black contrasted sharply against Dom's complexion, the dark cylindrical pen cap peeking out from between clenched teeth. It never managed to make its way to, say, the top of the pen -- where any normal person with a functioning brain would place it -- so when Dom complains about the misplaced item Billy would ignore him, or find him a new one.
Weeks later they'd roll out from beneath the couch and Dom would place the retrieved item in Billy's unwillingly open palm. "Here. I... I want you to have this." Dom's lower lip would tremble, (with the façade of overwhelming emotion or the effort not to laugh, Billy was never quite sure), and walk off without a second glance. Dom always failed to suppress his giggles, and he was in hysterics as soon as the cap connected with the back of his head. Billy hoped this somehow helped his throwing arm.
"Ow. For fuck's sake--Bill, go find me another, would you?" A faint clickthump.
Billy always took notice of the sound of things hitting carpet, because Dom got off on throwing things to the ground, or something. (Months ago he had left a mental note to bring that point up the next time he heard a thud. So much for mental notes. He always forgot.) Quite annoying, really.
"What's wrong with the one you have there?"
"Everything. Hates me, I don't know." He rubs at the space between his eyebrows as if this 'pen dilemma' was giving him a headache. Billy smirks.
"Why do you need a pen, anyway? Just get a pencil. Or. Just don't write whatever you're going to write."
"But it's important..." There's that whiny tone, Billy thinks. All falsetto-y and unintelligible...y.
He gets up from the ground, stumbles a bit, and then decides he'd rather stay on his knees. He crawls (like a fucking dog, Billy thinks, and nearly smirks again) until he situates himself directly in front of the couch, and tries to make himself as close to eye-level to Billy as possible. He places his hand on Billy's thigh, points and says, "Look at my hand. It's red. All red, because the ink won't come out. I have to keep digging the pen into my skin because it won't work and it taunts me and it makes me very sad, Billy. You don’t want me to be sad, do you? Billy? Bills?"
"You're fuckin' psycho, you know that?"
Dom grins. "Go find me another one, Billy. I'm useless, helpless, worthless, and every other 'less' word out there."
"What do you need to write?"
"A letter."
"On your hand?"
"I don't want to waste paper."
A defeated sigh, and Dom only grins wider when Billy 'accidentally' kicks him in the knee while standing up. "Fucking psycho, I swear..."
A pen hits the back of Dom's head for the third time that week, and he hops up, sprawls across the couch.
"Figures." Billy sighs again and sits on the arm, "Now, tell me what you're writing."
"Already told you."
"No. You didn't."
"A letter, remember? I only said it two minutes ago. Short-term memory is something to miss in your old age, isn't it?"
"Fuck you." Billy hides his smile while he scratches at his nose.
"Done."
"Let me see, before I beat the shit out of you."
"Calm down, calm down. I only wanted to tell you I love you."
" ... That's not even romantic. That's just stupid."
Dom scoffs, attempts to look insulted. "And I am left broken-hearted."
Author: Laurenne
Pairing: Dom/Billy.
Rating: PG-13 for language, I s'pose.
Disclaimer: Fiction. That's all.
Summary: In which Dom needs another pen. (written off the top of my head, directly into the update box.)
"Stubborn little shit." Dom was growling at a pen, rather menacingly, and with more aggression than Billy had seen him express towards an actual person.
Black contrasted sharply against Dom's complexion, the dark cylindrical pen cap peeking out from between clenched teeth. It never managed to make its way to, say, the top of the pen -- where any normal person with a functioning brain would place it -- so when Dom complains about the misplaced item Billy would ignore him, or find him a new one.
Weeks later they'd roll out from beneath the couch and Dom would place the retrieved item in Billy's unwillingly open palm. "Here. I... I want you to have this." Dom's lower lip would tremble, (with the façade of overwhelming emotion or the effort not to laugh, Billy was never quite sure), and walk off without a second glance. Dom always failed to suppress his giggles, and he was in hysterics as soon as the cap connected with the back of his head. Billy hoped this somehow helped his throwing arm.
"Ow. For fuck's sake--Bill, go find me another, would you?" A faint clickthump.
Billy always took notice of the sound of things hitting carpet, because Dom got off on throwing things to the ground, or something. (Months ago he had left a mental note to bring that point up the next time he heard a thud. So much for mental notes. He always forgot.) Quite annoying, really.
"What's wrong with the one you have there?"
"Everything. Hates me, I don't know." He rubs at the space between his eyebrows as if this 'pen dilemma' was giving him a headache. Billy smirks.
"Why do you need a pen, anyway? Just get a pencil. Or. Just don't write whatever you're going to write."
"But it's important..." There's that whiny tone, Billy thinks. All falsetto-y and unintelligible...y.
He gets up from the ground, stumbles a bit, and then decides he'd rather stay on his knees. He crawls (like a fucking dog, Billy thinks, and nearly smirks again) until he situates himself directly in front of the couch, and tries to make himself as close to eye-level to Billy as possible. He places his hand on Billy's thigh, points and says, "Look at my hand. It's red. All red, because the ink won't come out. I have to keep digging the pen into my skin because it won't work and it taunts me and it makes me very sad, Billy. You don’t want me to be sad, do you? Billy? Bills?"
"You're fuckin' psycho, you know that?"
Dom grins. "Go find me another one, Billy. I'm useless, helpless, worthless, and every other 'less' word out there."
"What do you need to write?"
"A letter."
"On your hand?"
"I don't want to waste paper."
A defeated sigh, and Dom only grins wider when Billy 'accidentally' kicks him in the knee while standing up. "Fucking psycho, I swear..."
A pen hits the back of Dom's head for the third time that week, and he hops up, sprawls across the couch.
"Figures." Billy sighs again and sits on the arm, "Now, tell me what you're writing."
"Already told you."
"No. You didn't."
"A letter, remember? I only said it two minutes ago. Short-term memory is something to miss in your old age, isn't it?"
"Fuck you." Billy hides his smile while he scratches at his nose.
"Done."
"Let me see, before I beat the shit out of you."
"Calm down, calm down. I only wanted to tell you I love you."
" ... That's not even romantic. That's just stupid."
Dom scoffs, attempts to look insulted. "And I am left broken-hearted."