Introducing: Monaboyd Monday!

[monaboyd-mod.livejournal.com]

Hello monaboydians and welcome to your first Monaboyd Monday! These are a new part of monaboyd_month that we're pretty excited about, featuring awesome activities for all of you to play with together. You can even invite your friends who are not an official part of the fest this year!

Keep your eye on the community today- a few different things will be happening here. First up, however, is a round robin story!

A few very quick guidelines:
1. Continue the story by replying to lowest/most recent comment in a thread.

2. Multiple threads are fine! Feel free to branch off into another story at any time by replying to an appropriate comment.

3. All genres welcome, including crack.

4. Replies can be longer than a sentence, but please keep them relatively short. Imagine one of those games where you pass a paper around a circle and each write the next bit rather than a long-form tig.

5. Include content warnings in the subject line of your comment if necessary. If you are unsure about whether one is required, ask first. You can always post your comment as a new story branch if the thread you're on continues while you're waiting for a reply.

6. If your comment is the first to bring a story thread/branch to a rating of R or NC-17, please include that information in the subject line of the comment.

7. There is NO LIMIT to how much you can post. WRITE A LOT. BE SILLY. HAVE FUN.

The story begins:

It all started on a perfectly normal day when Billy, carrying two cups of totally innocuous tea, nudged open the door to Dom's trailer in a completely ordinary way, so really he could be forgiven for not seeing it coming.

and...go!

Comments

Questions about round robin go here

[monaboyd-mod.livejournal.com]

Questions about round robin go here

[moit.livejournal.com]

Dom was dancing to his favourite mix tape from Elijah. Just as Billy came through the door, Dom windmilled his arms in a spectacular dance move and clocked Billy right in the face, causing him to spill hot tea all over himself.

[rane-ab.livejournal.com]

Dom opened his mouth to apologise, and promptly burst out laughing instead.

'Well,' said Sean B, poking his head in at the commotion, 'If you still want that tea, looks like you're going to have to lick it off.'

'... the floor,' Billy added, scowling and holding his soaked shirt away from his chest.

'Yes, lick it off the floor, that's absolutely what I meant,' Sean grinned.

[helenybob.blogspot.com (from livejournal.com)]

Billy shot him a seething glare, "The tea was for Dom actually," he said.
"My point exactly," Sean beamed, "sorry Bill, did you think I was talking to you?"
Billy made a 'hmmph' sound and turned back to Dom, who was staring at the floor and blushing horribly.

[dizzydame.livejournal.com]

Billy takes pity on him and throws him a purposefully callous barb, because that's one thing they have in common - the fine art of sarcasm, and an inability to resist it. "Well, it was your fault, anyway, now wasn't it? I can see that agility training coming into good use."

"Still better than Doodle," he says, and just like that the brief moment of tension has passed. He's still awkwardly holding his t-shirt stretched out to keep it off of his skin, knowing it'll be sticky as it starts to dry. "Do you have another shirt? Preferably something without holes or silver tape?"

"My mum always said beggar's can't be choosers," Dom says, heading over to the small closet that he keeps a few outfits in.

"Your mum is a wise woman who somehow managed to still raise a bloody idiot," Billy says. "An idiot without tea. An idiot who has now caused me to also be without tea."

His tone makes it obvious what kind of crime that is. Dom throws him a shirt and Billy yanks the tea-drenched one over his head.

[rane-ab.livejournal.com]

To be fair, Billy probably shouldn't have stared mournfully at his shirt for quite that long (he can't decide what he regrets more: the shirt that's gone soft with wear and fits him just right, or the tea he'd been looked forward to at the end of a long day of shooting), or glared at Dom's quite that impressively (there's actually nothing wrong with Dom's shirt, but social expectations dictate that if something is Dom's, Billy has to scowl at it - and then act like it was his to begin with).

Still, he's a little taken aback when Dom slaps the sopping wet cloth against his chest and starts enthusiastically rubbing.

"So sorry, mate," Dom grins, "I don't know how I can make it up to you."

Water runs in rivulets down his chest and soaks the jeans he's only just slipped into while Dom mops his belly with entirely too much glee. Billy narrows his eyes and remembers their rule: everything's fair in war and costumelessness.