Not-quite-drabbles
Jul. 1st, 2010 09:09 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
glass-moment.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
monaboyd_monthBilly-is-a-bartender AU for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eff_reality
275 words. Dialogue-only.
"Hey, wait a second."
"Yes?"
"Oh good barkeep, aren't you going to ask me about my troubles?"
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Isn't that your job, though?"
"I don't know, you don't really look like the troubled type."
"Oh, I am troubled. So troubled. You see, I've developed something of a fondness for this particular man, but I don't know if he returns the sentiment."
"Very unique, your troubles. I might even go so far as to call them original."
"Why thank you. Here's the thing, though: this particular man happens to be a bartender. And so I thought perhaps you might give me some advice on how to proceed, seeing as you yourself also happen to be a bartender."
"What an amazing coincidence."
"Isn't it?"
"Well, let's see. Perhaps I know the man in question. We bartenders do keep track of one another, you know. Why don't you describe him?"
"Oh, well. He's on the small side, wears black a lot, gorgeous green eyes, Scottish accent, and a mouth that could keep a man up at night thinking about it, if you catch my drift."
"You're very forward, aren't you."
"It's part of my charm. So what do you think? Any bartenderly secrets to impart?"
"As it happens, I might know the man in question. If he is who I think he is, I believe he has a break in about half an hour at which point he might be intercepted out back, if you wanted to, em, press your suit."
"Ah, perfect. Thank you for your help. You are an excellent hearer of troubles."
"Well, you know. It's all part of the job."
sleepy Billy foreff_reality
100 words
Billy and Dom touch all the time, but that touching is a certain kind of touching. There's lots of climbing and poking and wrestling, arms around shoulders and possibly even a slapfight, although both of them will deny that until the day they die.
The thing is, there's also another kind of touch that Billy wants, and that's why he lies and says he's a heavy sleeper. Waking him is the only time Dom touches him a different way, slow and gentle and caring, hands delicate and voice low. Having to feign sleep is a low enough price for that.
"I want a pony." forsandelwood
300 words. Total crack.
Dom knows he's maybe been a little annoying, but he really doesn't have any idea what he wants for his birthday and to be honest, the people who kept asking were a little annoying too. Still, he might have used the "I want a pony!" line a few too many times.
He starts getting suspicious when no one seems to be available on the night of his birthday, and yet they're all clearly in a hurry to get somehwere. When he arrives home his door slightly ajar. A thorough search doesn't turn up any booby traps, so he walks cautiously inside, only to find a trail of what looks like hay leading down the hallway.
I hope they took the time to find something I wasn't allergic to, he thinks, gamely following the trail. At this point he's expecting to find his room filled with my little pony figurines or something of the sort.
What he's certainly not expecting is Billy, lying- tied, if he's not mistaken- spreadeagle on his stomach on Dom's bed in nothing but his boxers.
Someone has propped a saddle over his lower back.
"About time," he grumbles when Dom announces his presence by shouting with laughter. "There has got to be nothing in the world as scary as Viggo cackling while he rips your clothes off. To an audience. That has rope. Get me out of here, would you?"
"Oh, I don't know," says Dom. "I have about fifteen fantastic jokes about riding that it would just be a tragedy to let go to waste." His conscience only lasts about five seconds under the urge to to give Billy's arse a slap.
"Giddyup!" he manages before collapsing with laughter again.
Billy groans and buries his face in a pillow.
"I hate our friends," he says.
Prompt post is still open.
eff_reality275 words. Dialogue-only.
"Hey, wait a second."
"Yes?"
"Oh good barkeep, aren't you going to ask me about my troubles?"
"I wasn't planning on it."
"Isn't that your job, though?"
"I don't know, you don't really look like the troubled type."
"Oh, I am troubled. So troubled. You see, I've developed something of a fondness for this particular man, but I don't know if he returns the sentiment."
"Very unique, your troubles. I might even go so far as to call them original."
"Why thank you. Here's the thing, though: this particular man happens to be a bartender. And so I thought perhaps you might give me some advice on how to proceed, seeing as you yourself also happen to be a bartender."
"What an amazing coincidence."
"Isn't it?"
"Well, let's see. Perhaps I know the man in question. We bartenders do keep track of one another, you know. Why don't you describe him?"
"Oh, well. He's on the small side, wears black a lot, gorgeous green eyes, Scottish accent, and a mouth that could keep a man up at night thinking about it, if you catch my drift."
"You're very forward, aren't you."
"It's part of my charm. So what do you think? Any bartenderly secrets to impart?"
"As it happens, I might know the man in question. If he is who I think he is, I believe he has a break in about half an hour at which point he might be intercepted out back, if you wanted to, em, press your suit."
"Ah, perfect. Thank you for your help. You are an excellent hearer of troubles."
"Well, you know. It's all part of the job."
sleepy Billy for
eff_reality100 words
Billy and Dom touch all the time, but that touching is a certain kind of touching. There's lots of climbing and poking and wrestling, arms around shoulders and possibly even a slapfight, although both of them will deny that until the day they die.
The thing is, there's also another kind of touch that Billy wants, and that's why he lies and says he's a heavy sleeper. Waking him is the only time Dom touches him a different way, slow and gentle and caring, hands delicate and voice low. Having to feign sleep is a low enough price for that.
"I want a pony." for
sandelwood300 words. Total crack.
Dom knows he's maybe been a little annoying, but he really doesn't have any idea what he wants for his birthday and to be honest, the people who kept asking were a little annoying too. Still, he might have used the "I want a pony!" line a few too many times.
He starts getting suspicious when no one seems to be available on the night of his birthday, and yet they're all clearly in a hurry to get somehwere. When he arrives home his door slightly ajar. A thorough search doesn't turn up any booby traps, so he walks cautiously inside, only to find a trail of what looks like hay leading down the hallway.
I hope they took the time to find something I wasn't allergic to, he thinks, gamely following the trail. At this point he's expecting to find his room filled with my little pony figurines or something of the sort.
What he's certainly not expecting is Billy, lying- tied, if he's not mistaken- spreadeagle on his stomach on Dom's bed in nothing but his boxers.
Someone has propped a saddle over his lower back.
"About time," he grumbles when Dom announces his presence by shouting with laughter. "There has got to be nothing in the world as scary as Viggo cackling while he rips your clothes off. To an audience. That has rope. Get me out of here, would you?"
"Oh, I don't know," says Dom. "I have about fifteen fantastic jokes about riding that it would just be a tragedy to let go to waste." His conscience only lasts about five seconds under the urge to to give Billy's arse a slap.
"Giddyup!" he manages before collapsing with laughter again.
Billy groans and buries his face in a pillow.
"I hate our friends," he says.
Prompt post is still open.
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