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fellowshippers2004-05-17 10:28 am
glasgow-blue.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-05-17 10:28 am
Singularity
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<a href=” http://www.livejournal.com/users/glasgow_blue/6715.html”>Blue plate special #2</a>. For <user site="livejournal.com" user="queenofalostart">: <I>dock, lake, night, cold, “Did you hear that?”</I>
Title: Singularity
Pairing: Billeh/Dom
Dislclaimer: I. Am. Making. This. Shit. Up.
Word Count: 580
Crossposted to: <user site="livejournal.com" user="monaboyd">
<lj-cut text="The dock is rickety and narrow...">
The dock is rickety and narrow, sloping to the left at an angle steep enough to send Billy’s foot into the lake if he doesn’t pay attention. Dom makes a decent ballast, but the water is warm and Billy is long past the point of caring about his sneaker being full.
They’ve been out here for hours--long enough to watch the moon rise and start to fall again--and Dom gave up the battle with gravity a while ago, allowing the dock to roll him against Billy’s side. Now they are hip to hip, passing the last bottle of beer back and forth between them. Dom smells like soap and spice and he’s pleasantly toasty against Billy’s ribs. His breath rises and falls in time with the lap of the water.
Billy’s counting the stars, wishing he could put them into the empty bottles for safekeeping. He’s been thinking about feeling small in the face of the world around you--about Pippin’s lessons and how they have become his own, somehow. And the only thing to do about it, he decides, is to stash them away as souvenirs. Admitting they are the suns for other worlds where other people are lying on other docks counting his sun is just too much. Too big.
“D’you hear that?” Dom asks.
Inside, Astin and Elijah have been going at the stereo all night, alternating genres and decibel levels in some mad game of one-upmanship. Billy tuned them out somewhere between Radiohead and John Lennon, but he hears it now.
“Aye. Van Morrison.”
Dom hums along for a moment. “We were born before the wind. Also younger than the sun. That’s magnificent stuff, right there.”
Sometimes, Billy wonders how Dom can read his thoughts. Sometimes, he just knows it to be true and goes from there.
“I thought they would be different, down here,” he says. “The stars.”
Dom nods and passes the bottle back. There is one swallow left. “Some of them. The rest have different names. Different stories.”
Billy downs the last of the beer, swishes his foot in the lake, and watches the ripples dance through Orion on the surface. He’s not supposed to be in the sky in the summer. The Hunter comes in winter, up on the top side of the world. Up where it’s cold, now.
“The Maori call Orion Te-Hao-o-Rua,” Dom says. He rolls over and tugs at the greenstone pendant around Billy’s neck. “This came from him.”
“From Orion?”
Dom points to the water, poking one of the stars reflected there. “From Poutini--one of the stars. They call the stone pounamu and they believe it’s a living gift from the gods.”
Billy rolls that around in his head for a while, but before he can come up with something to say, Dom is yanking him to his feet.
“Let’s swim,” Dom says, shucking his clothes with rapid precision.
Soon, there is a pile on the dock at Billy’s feet. Dom grins like a madman, takes a running leap, and somersaults into the water, leaving Billy struggling to keep his balance on the pitching dock.
The water-stars are thrown into chaos in Dom’s wake; a miniature big bang right there beneath him. And something in the bedlam of it all clicks inside Billy’s head. In his gut, too. Before he knows it, his clothes are heaped with Dom’s and he’s sailing through the air in a dive.
When he breaks the surface, they’re both among the stars.
</lj-cut>
Title: Singularity
Pairing: Billeh/Dom
Dislclaimer: I. Am. Making. This. Shit. Up.
Word Count: 580
Crossposted to: <user site="livejournal.com" user="monaboyd">
<lj-cut text="The dock is rickety and narrow...">
The dock is rickety and narrow, sloping to the left at an angle steep enough to send Billy’s foot into the lake if he doesn’t pay attention. Dom makes a decent ballast, but the water is warm and Billy is long past the point of caring about his sneaker being full.
They’ve been out here for hours--long enough to watch the moon rise and start to fall again--and Dom gave up the battle with gravity a while ago, allowing the dock to roll him against Billy’s side. Now they are hip to hip, passing the last bottle of beer back and forth between them. Dom smells like soap and spice and he’s pleasantly toasty against Billy’s ribs. His breath rises and falls in time with the lap of the water.
Billy’s counting the stars, wishing he could put them into the empty bottles for safekeeping. He’s been thinking about feeling small in the face of the world around you--about Pippin’s lessons and how they have become his own, somehow. And the only thing to do about it, he decides, is to stash them away as souvenirs. Admitting they are the suns for other worlds where other people are lying on other docks counting his sun is just too much. Too big.
“D’you hear that?” Dom asks.
Inside, Astin and Elijah have been going at the stereo all night, alternating genres and decibel levels in some mad game of one-upmanship. Billy tuned them out somewhere between Radiohead and John Lennon, but he hears it now.
“Aye. Van Morrison.”
Dom hums along for a moment. “We were born before the wind. Also younger than the sun. That’s magnificent stuff, right there.”
Sometimes, Billy wonders how Dom can read his thoughts. Sometimes, he just knows it to be true and goes from there.
“I thought they would be different, down here,” he says. “The stars.”
Dom nods and passes the bottle back. There is one swallow left. “Some of them. The rest have different names. Different stories.”
Billy downs the last of the beer, swishes his foot in the lake, and watches the ripples dance through Orion on the surface. He’s not supposed to be in the sky in the summer. The Hunter comes in winter, up on the top side of the world. Up where it’s cold, now.
“The Maori call Orion Te-Hao-o-Rua,” Dom says. He rolls over and tugs at the greenstone pendant around Billy’s neck. “This came from him.”
“From Orion?”
Dom points to the water, poking one of the stars reflected there. “From Poutini--one of the stars. They call the stone pounamu and they believe it’s a living gift from the gods.”
Billy rolls that around in his head for a while, but before he can come up with something to say, Dom is yanking him to his feet.
“Let’s swim,” Dom says, shucking his clothes with rapid precision.
Soon, there is a pile on the dock at Billy’s feet. Dom grins like a madman, takes a running leap, and somersaults into the water, leaving Billy struggling to keep his balance on the pitching dock.
The water-stars are thrown into chaos in Dom’s wake; a miniature big bang right there beneath him. And something in the bedlam of it all clicks inside Billy’s head. In his gut, too. Before he knows it, his clothes are heaped with Dom’s and he’s sailing through the air in a dive.
When he breaks the surface, they’re both among the stars.
</lj-cut>