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lobelia321.
Title: Beer, Sweat and Tears
Author: Lobelia;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lobelia321
Fandom: Lord of the Rings rps
Pairing: Orlando Bloom / Dominic Monaghan
Rating: 18 / NC-17
Warnings: Unsatisfactory sex.
Archive: AO3; My niche.
Date posted: December 2010.
Words: 4659.
Feedback: Yes, please! Even if it is only one line -- one word, even!
Disclaimer: I do not know these people. This is a piece of amateur fiction, written for charitable purposes. None of this every happened. This makes me no money.
Author notes: This is, finally and only eleven months late, my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
help_haiti fic, won in fair bidding by the awesomely lovely and patient msilverstar, and seconded by the ever wonderfulzarah5.
It was difficult getting back into Dorli after all these years, and it took three false starts. At one point, Dom was a pizza delivery boy (400 words); and at another point, Dom was a desert warrior called Minic, sent to assassinate his nemesis, the beautiful and decadent Prince Orl... (10,000 words) However, none of these made it to the finish line. For whatever reason, the boys wanted to do this instead.
Summary: Dom is stuck in London because of snow and stays the night in Orli's Islington terrace.
Beer, Sweat and Tears
by Lobelia
The most severe snow showers in 25 years have hit the midlands, Wales and the north. Thousands of travellers are stranded, with airports closing at Manchester and Birmingham, and more closures expected. Northern train lines are operating at one-fifth capacity. The M4 saw tailbacks of up to 60 miles, caused by poor visibility and icy road conditions. The bad weather is due to spread to London and the south.
Orli Bloom peered through the kitchen window. A sheen of snow glinted in the darkness but nothing severe. All it did was muffle the sounds of traffic on the Caledonian Road. The houses opposite were silent and dark. Orli fished the teabag out from his steaming mug. The phone rang. Orli jumped. He dropped the teabag.
"Hi, mate. Where are you?"
"What, hello? Who is this?" Orli didn't recognise the number.
"Are you in London? Because I was really, really hoping... I'm at Heathrow. I've just got in from Paris. No, Frankfurt. They diverted us to Frankfurt. I can't keep track of it all. Man, I've been all over the place; all over the bloody map. Haven't had any sleep in days. I'm not in Frankfurt now, though. I'm at Terminal Two."
"Dom?" This wasn't Dom's number.
Except what would he know? The last time he'd used the number stored for Dom on his mobile had been sometime in some summer.
"They say they're shutting down the airports. Heathrow, Gatwick, City Airport. I never even planned to be here; I was going to go straight up to Manchester. Anyway, there's snow, apparently, but I've only seen the inside of airports for days and days; I've not seen any snow; I haven't seen the sun in days..." Krccchhhh.
"Dom? What's happening?"
"Yeah, yeah, I dropped the... It's total chaos here. There's people sleeping on the floor and in the toilets; man, it's insane. They've closed down King's Cross. Or Paddington. What's the one that goes to Manchester?"
"Dom. D'you need a place to crash?"
"The Eurostar, that was shut down too. Wrong type of ice or something. I haven't had a kip in like, forever."
"Get a cab, Dom. If there are any left. Islington. 22 Burness Close."
Orli's toes were moist inside his sodden sock. He chucked the dripping teabag into the sink. He missed; the bag hit the sill; outside, a dog peed against the fence. Orli looked at the time display on his mobile. Half-six. Threshers would still be open.
By the time the doorbell rang, it was close to midnight. Dom swayed on the threshold like a gutted fish. He sported a sports bag, a man bag, and a five-day beard. His skin was the colour of his eyes. "That was bumper to bumper. The driver took a shortcut or something; I don't know where we were headed. You got cash on you?" Without warning, his face broke into a crinkled grin. "Mate! How are you, anyway?" And lifted up his mouth to be kissed.
Was this how they greeted each other? Yes, yes, they always did this. Didn't they?
Used to do this.
Orli's lips remembered even if his mind didn't. His lips would have lingered but Dom pressed onto them a quick cold kiss, then stumbled past into the hallway. "I think it's about thirty quid? Have you got thirty quid on you? I am so tired. Wow, you have an upstairs and everything."
Orli scrambled around in pockets, wallets, drawers, then remembered the household stash and found fistfuls of coins.
When he came back inside after paying the driver, Dom had flopped onto the sofa bed in the back living room. His bags were strewn across the rug; his sweatshirt had ridden up over his navel; his arm was across his eyes. "What time is it?" The words slurred. Dom's voice sounded like dry moss. "Is it breakfast time?"
"Nah, mate." Orli tried to laugh. "More like dinner time."
"Dinner time," mimicked Dom. He sat up abruptly and squinted at the 40-watt bulb inside its mauve shade. "Dinner time. You mean tea time. You poor southern sod."
"Look," said Orli. His face felt all wrong. "D'you want something to eat?"
"Have you got any beer in the house? Or anything else? Vodka?"
"You don't want a pizza?"
"If I have anything to eat, I'll puke on your carpet. I have been in..." Dom counted on his fingers. "L.A. Detroit. La Guardia. Paris. Frankfurt. They cancelled all flights to England from Orly. Heathrow. I was supposed to be in Manchester 36 hours ago. Or something. What day is this?" Orli said, "I've got a Foster's somewhere." Of course he did. He had half a fridgeful.
It took Orli three tries to get the bottle open. He didn't bother with glasses. "Cheers," Orli said.
"Cheers."
"Happy birthday, by the way. Belatedly."
"Wow. You remembered."
"Course."
"That is so... sweet or something."
"Well. Something."
"I am so tired but you know that state you get into, when you're so tired you can't actually sleep? You're like, wired, but not in a good way."
"What's wired in a good way?"
"Happy birthday to you too, by the way."
"It's not my birthday for weeks yet..."
But he let himself be kissed, anyway. His stomach felt angry at the same time as his lips were keen. That, and the Foster's, made him want to be sick. Tongues were not involved.
"I thought coming this way the jet lag wasn't supposed to be so bad," said Dom. "I always get it much worse the other direction. You know what I mean? I'm not usually bothered going, what is it? West to east? But this time, it has totally done me in. I don't know where I am, or which way is up, or what I'm saying; I don't know what I'm doing here. But thanks, mate, for putting me up, thanks, real friend and all that. You got any weed?"
Orli said, "When was the last time we saw each other?"
"Man." Dom took a draught from the bottle, and another, and a third. His Adam's apple jerked up and down. "Good question." He had a moist lower lip but didn't wipe the drops off.
"I didn't even recognise your phone number."
"It was in the summer."
"But not last summer."
"No. Not last summer."
"Not even summer before last."
"I dropped my cell down a hole."
Orli did almost laugh then. Almost. His neck went hot with the need to laugh. Instead, he squinted at his bottle and said, "Cell? You've been in the States too long."
"Don't tell me you still say mobile." Dom put on a toff accent. "Mow-bile. Yah."
"You sure you don't want a pizza?" Orli wanted to get back to the fridge.
"You know those holes in the street? Like a manhole. I just chucked it down one of those."
"Down the rabbit hole." Beer bubbled in Orli's stomach.
"Probably hit some bloke on his hard hat."
"Probably hit the mad hatter on his hat."
"Kerplunk. Probably hit the mad hat. Probably... Anyway, that was the end of that phone."
"I still have the number. We could ring it."
"Ring the mad rabbit!"
"Ring the hatter!" Orli let out a laugh, a high metallic burst of noise. It hurt his ears to laugh like this. "I'm going to have a pizza; I'm starving."
"I didn't know you had a whole terrace house. I thought you had a bedsit. It's so cool to have a house in London. That's what I should get, a base in London. I'm so tired of travelling all the time, for days and days." He fell back onto the sofa bed. The yellow-and-orange Ikea sheets rumpled, the pillow plopped to the floor.
The coffee table had an ashtray on it, and the Telegraph, and an empty milk carton, and three tea mugs, and an ipod, and a watch, and a bowl with encrusted Branflakes in it.
"You have a lounge," said Dom, "with a settee and a carpet and a table and curtains. This is like out of a sitcom. Awesome, Orlando, awesome."
Something flurried against the panes of the French windows. The heating gurgled.
"You even made up your guest bed for me. That's so... host-like or something."
"Not really," Orli said. "That's where I sleep."
"You sleep here, in the lounge? Where do I sleep, then? Don't tell me you even have a guest room and everything?"
Orli licked his lips. They tasted of hops. "I don't know where you're going to sleep. I haven't thought about that yet."
There was a slow pause.
"I've got a lodger," Orli said. "The lodger has the upstairs bedroom. I never go upstairs. I use the downstairs shower. I'm going to make that pizza now."
He stood up, walked into the kitchen, opened the freezer, pulled out the pizza, tore off the cardboard, got a knife, slit open the plastic film, plonked the pizza onto the worktop, threw the wrapping into the bin next to the clothes stand with his unironed laundry on it, turned on the oven, retrieved the cardboard box from the bin, read the instructions on how long the pizza had to be heated up, put his forehead against the fridge door.
Dom appeared in the hallway. He was vertical, more or less.
"You could've rung," said Orli.
"I did."
"When you got a new phone."
"Oh," said Dom. He held his beer bottle by the neck, swinging it between index and middle finger. His rings clinked against the glass. "I didn't know your number. It was on my old phone. The one that fell down the..."
"Hole. Yes, yes."
"Fuck, Orli." The bottle stopped swinging. "You don't need to be so anal about everything."
"Anal. You're saying I'm anal."
"Yeah, fucking anal."
The headlights of a car strafed the walls. Orli stood frozen between oven door and bin.
"So where's your lodger?" said Dom.
Orli straightened up. "My lodger's gone home for Christmas. That's why I can be here. London! Great to be here!"
"Must be!" all but yelled Dom. "Must be fabulous. Friends to see, people to meet! You must be busy all the time. Dinner engagements!"
"I am!" shouted Orli. "I was going out tonight, matter of fact. It's the snow; we had to cancel. They got stuck on the M11."
"What a pity. Instead, you had to be stuck with me. You and me on the same camp bed."
"I would've left the key out for you," Orli said nastily. "Under the mat." He banged open the oven door, tore the styrofoam circle off the bottom of the pizza and shoved the Margherita onto the wire rack.
"What's upstairs then?" said Dom.
"Are you having pizza or not? Or are you just having another beer? Because why not? You can barely stand up; don't tell me it's just jetlag. Here, have this one, and take a second bottle so we don't have to keep coming back for more."
"You're drunk yourself," said Dom.
"Whatever," said Orli. The tiles were cold under his socks. Had the thermostat turned itself off? Midnight. Pumpkin hour, glass slipper hour, witching bitching magic hour. "Look, we can't go upstairs. We can't snoop around inside the lodger's rooms."
"What the hell, why not?"
"Why not?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Okay then. You want to see my lodger's rooms?"
"Yeah. I do. I want to see your lodger's rooms."
"Okay then."
"Right."
"Let's go."
Every second step creaked. Dom went up the stairs first. He held a bottle in each hand but Orli had forgotten to open them. There was a dragonfly embroidered on the left back pocket of Dom's jeans.
"I don't know what he keeps in here," said Orli.
"Is it locked?"
Orli put his hand on the handle and pressed it down. "No." He pushed. The room was dark, and something hulked in it.
Dom hit the switch with one of the bottles. "Fuck me dead," he said.
The room was filled wall-to-wall with a plywood table construction, and on this plywood table construction was a maze of tiny-gauge railway tracks that wound their way past resin mountains, matchstick houses, plasticine people and cotton-wool trees.
"Wow," said Dom. He dropped his bottles. "Is that the 'on' switch?"
"Don't touch anything."
Something clicked, and a minuscule engine chugged into life. It pulled fifteen green-painted cars.
"One," said Dom, "two, three, four, five, six, seven, shit, twelve, thirteen, fifteen. I want to shrink and ride on this. You had no idea this stuff was in here?"
"We can't tinker with his things."
"I want to be that engine. I want to ride past all those mountains. Look at the pond; it's made from a mirror."
Orli reached for the lever at the same time as Dom reached for the points switch. Their arms collided. Dom smelled of stale cushions.
"Awesome," said Dom. "Don't you think? Don't you think this is awesome?"
"It's all right."
"Not half! Let's press this button here. Look, there's another train. On the siding."
Orli put out one hand to stop Dom but then he pulled the hand back again.
"Cool, cool, cool. I need to see this from up close. I need to eat these trains up. O my god, there's a drawbridge."
"Don't. Don't move stuff."
"Just this; I've just got to..."
"Leave it, will you." But Dom didn't, and now Orli did put his hand out, and Dom leaned across and twisted around, and Orli put his arm around Dom's middle.
"Stop it," Orli said.
Dom leaned back against him. He held a wooden signal box in his right hand. "You stop it," he said.
There was a pulse in Dom's rib cage, just beneath Orli's wrist.
Dom wriggled. "What's that smell?" he said.
"The pizza. Shit."
It was no good. The cheese had dried up and the tomatoes were crisp black knots. "This is bad," said Orli.
"Very bad." Dom found the bottle opener.
"I've got another one. Four-cheese, I think."
"Very bad." Dom put the bottle to his mouth.
"D'you want another one?"
"Mhm."
"Or d'you want more beer?"
Dom drank.
"Or a vodka?"
Dom went on swigging.
"Maybe a 'nice cup of tea'?"
Dom grinned into the bottle neck.
"Or a shag?"
Dom coughed and spluttered.
It was almost worth the lurch in Orli's gut. "Or an aspirin? I can get you an aspirin."
"Did you say 'shag'?"
Orli's neck burned. He opened a drawer, pulled out a rubber band and a half-empty packet of paracetamol, closed it again.
"Is that an option?"
Orli stood still. He wound the rubber band around his let thumb.
"I didn't know that was an option. I didn't even know that was on the cards. Is it?"
"Could be," Orli told the rubber band.
"A shag?" Dom said. "A shag could be on the cards?"
Orli unwound the rubber band and looked at the red stripe around his thumb.
"So: a fuck? A fuck's an option? It's one of the choices here? As in: a beer, a pizza, or a fuck?"
"I didn't say 'or'."
"Right, okay. So it's a beer and then a pizza and then a fuck and then maybe an aspirin? No, I don't want a pizza; I don't want anything to eat; I feel dizzy."
Orli turned round, took the bottle out of Dom's hand and kissed him.
It was basically beer and spit and something salty, that's what it was.
Orli couldn't even tell whether it was nice or not. It just was.
Dom smelled a little, his five-day-bear scratched Orli on the chin, his tongue flicked and stabbed.
For there were tongues now.
Orli tried to quiet Dom's tongue with his own but it proved unquellable. It darted round Orli's mouth in jabs. Orli didn't like it; it was not his style of kissing; but he couldn't stop it either, nor could he seem to stop himself. He had to bend around Dom; get a grip on Dom's arm; push up Dom's sweatshirt with his other hand and press the heel of his hand into Dom's navel, against the furred skin around Dom's navel; into the damp heat of Dom's belly.
"Orli," said Dom. "Shit, man."
Orli wanted to be small, too, like the train upstairs, so that he could crawl into Dom's mouth and be swallowed whole. The space behind Orli's closed eyes was black, with flecks of blond.
"Relax," said Dom. He wriggled so that Orli's hands slipped from his arm and stomach. "Chill a little."
Orli's breath puffed. In the distance, a fire engine wailed.
"You don't have to be so uptight all the time," said Dom. "You can let go a bit. You don't have to be so driven."
"I'm not driven," said Orli. His jaw tensed up. Nobody could kiss with a tense jaw.
"You don't have to be so..."
"Anal?" snapped Orli. "So anal?"
"You don't actually have to do anything," said Dom.
"You're the one who's uptight," said Orli.
"Anyway. I'll take you up on it." Dom's face cracked into a grin. Which changed everything. "I'll take you up on the anal."
"That..." Now Orli laughed. It popped out, a bright quick laugh. "That is so corny, Monaghan."
"I am corny," said Dom. He turned his face and took a long draught while Orli put his hands on either side of him. Dom craned back his neck and drained the bottle, and Orli put his lips on Dom's Adam's apple, it had to be done. "This feels weird," said Dom, making his throat vibrate against Orli's mouth.
"That's because it is weird," Orli mumbled into Dom's neck.
"You're totally pissed, aren't you?" said Dom. "You went and bought a fridge full of beer and you started in on it hours before I got here, didn't you? What I'm wondering is, did you start drinking before I called because your dinner friends had cancelled or maybe don't even exist, or did you start in on the booze afte I'd called, maybe because I called, because... because I don't know what I'm saying, oh fuck, man."
"Take your clothes off," said Orli.
"I don't know. The room's sort of spinning."
"Get your kit off." Orli pulled at Dom's sweatshirt. He tugged at the top button of Dom's jeans.
"How many..." Dom hiccupped. "I haven't slept in days and days."
"Dom," Orli said. "Dom, Dom, Dom." He pulled at the zipper; he was undressing Dom. The sweatshirt bunched under Dom's armpits. Dom put his hands into Orli's hair; he pinched Orli's ears between his fingers; Dom's head hit the door frame. The clothes stand rocked; a shirt and a sock slipped off; the fridge shuddered. "I have to do this," Orli said. Dom wore tight underpants, with a broad elastic waistband, blue or black, Orli couldn't tell. He stopped mid-zipper and stared at the blond hairs on Dom's pale thighs.
"You're doing it again," said Dom. "You're being driven again."
"I just," said Orli.
"Where's that other beer?" said Dom and hoicked up his trousers.
"You didn't leave it upstairs?"
"Why do you even need a lodger?"
"Get it yourself. I'm making the pizza." Orli banged doors open and stumbled over a laundry pile. Empty bottles clinked in the corner of the kitchen.
"You haven't got a clue," said Dom. "You don't know your way around this house at all. You've probably not been here in years and years."
A frying pan slid from a shelf and crashed to the floor. Bags of pasta and lentils wobbled next to spices and squeezed-out tubes of tomato purée.
Dom opened the fridge. "Beer," he said. "There's beer in here. And more beer. And half an onion. I think I'll have the beer."
He stood, leaning against the closed fridge door, bottle in one hand, opener in the other. His cheeks were flushed; his jeans were half-undone.
"Look here," said Orli.
"What?" said Dom.
"You're a sorry git and an ugly bastard; you expect everything to happen for you; you just ring up out of the blue..."
"There's a snow catastrophe!"
"Look at you, you're a bloody wreck. Phone down a hole! I don't believe it; I don't believe you; fuck you."
"But a shag's not out of the question then?"
Orli looked around wildly, spotted a washing-up sponge, picked it up and hurled it at Dom. It bounced off Dom's nose and plopped onto the counter.
Dom looked at Orli.
Orli tried not to look at Dom. His lungs hurt.
Dom bent forward and picked up the sponge between his teeth. He straightened. He took a step into the room. He jutted his chin out.
Orli wanted to laugh but couldn't. A bottle rolled across the floor.
So Orli took the sponge in his own teeth. It was dry and tasted of Fairy liquid. He wanted to wretch.
Then he didn't know what to do. He just stood there, with the sponge in his mouth, until Dom came and took it off him and put his mouth there instead. Which is when Orli gave up and closed his eyes and forgot to stand up.
The tiles of the kitchen were hard and cold and bit gritty and a little sticky; a wadded-up sock dug into Orli's hip. Dom sat astride him. He could only see the underneath of Dom's chin and Dom's throat working, his hand around the bottle. Dom drank, then offered him the bottle but how could he drink in this position? He opened his mouth and Dom poured liquid inside; it went over his face; Dom wiped it off with the sponge. Everything lurched.
Dom's groin ground against his own. Orli knew what that was all about. He could do that bit. His hips did it of their own accord. He didn't even have to have input. If he just lay here, head against tile, black space behind eyelids, hands loose, cock hard. If he could just do that.
Dom didn't let him.
Dom pressed his tongue between Orli's lips. It was that insistent tongue, stupid, no focus, all over the shop.
Dom kissed, then he bit, then he yanked the button at the top of Orli's jeans out of its buttonhole, and all the other buttons, too, because Orli was wearing his new button-flies. These were no obstacle to Dom, nor were the boxers underneath. Both were soon around Orli's knees. Crumbs scratched Orli's bare buttocks.
Dom's hard cock pushed against Orli's hip. Now and again, Dom stopped to brace himself with one elbow and to gulp sloppy draughts from the bottle. A thick blue vein throbbed on the inside of his underarm, between wrist and elbow.
They made it to the sofa bed. The mattress was thin, and springs creaked. Snow whooshed against the window panes. Dom fucked Orli up the arse. Orli had no idea whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. It was just a thing.
Dom was completely inefficient. There were stops, then there were starts. Orli wanted it over with in some sort of smooth, non-noticeable way. Every time he thought that this might be it now, it wasn't. He held onto the side of the mattress with his right hand. The mauve lamp had toppled off its table. Orli was still wearing his socks and his shirt. A damp patch had formed on his collar, damp with Dom's spit where Dom sucked on his neck.
"Shit," said Dom.
Orli breathed into the sheet, face down.
"I'm not sure," said Dom. "I don't think this is going to happen."
Dom rolled off and left Orli prone, nude-arsed and breathless.
"I haven't slept. I haven't brushed my teeth. I haven't had a pee. I don't know what bloody time it is even."
"Does that matter?" Orli's voice was muffled by the bed. "Does it matter what time it is?"
"I need to ring people. My phone's out of juice and I can't remember if I packed the charger."
"Okay." Orli turned round.
Dom rifled through his sports bag. Orli looked at Dom's red cock, at half-mast, and at his dark balls and at his light-coloured, straggly pubic patch.
"You never threw your phone down a hole," Orli said. "You rang me from a pay phone."
"Where in hell is that bloody thing?"
"You unbelievable bastard."
"Do you have a converter plug?"
"I am sick of you. I am so sick of you." He was actually stabbing the mattress. The bedframe shook.
"I can ring a cab, if you want."
"It's the middle of the night."
"So?"
"You are such an idiot!" yelled Orli. Beer churned around in his innards, round and round.
"You're the one who wanted a shag," said Dom.
"Okay," said Orli. He took a deep breath. "Yes. That is true."
"Why?" said Dom. His head was down. He fiddled with a cable that appeared to be his mobile charge cord. "This phone is totally dead. I need a converter plug, US to UK."
"It seems a bit ironic, doesn't it, that we live in the same city and never see each other, and now you're here, half-way round the world?"
"L.A.'s a big place," Dom said.
Orli stared at the top of Dom's head. There was a spot right at the top from where some day, perhaps in five years, perhaps in a decade, baldness would start spreading.
"I don't know why," Orli said. He slumped against the crumpled blanket.
"Okay."
"I have no idea why I said that about the shag."
"That's cool."
"Right."
"Right."
Orli plucked at a thread in the duvet cover.
"Do we go on then?" said Dom.
"I thought it wasn't happening."
"For you, then. It could happen for you."
Orli sighed. He reached out an arm and if he stretched it to the utmost, he could just about touch Dom on the cheek.
"It doesn't matter," Orli said. "It's not important."
Dom's cheek was wet, from beer, from sweat, from tears, Orli couldn't tell.
Severe weather is hitting the greater London area. There are traffic warnings for the M25, the M11 and the M4, and the Dartford Tunnel is closed. All train services have been suspended for the next 24 hours. People are advised to keep their journeys to a minimum. The elderly in particular should take care when venturing outdoors as many London boroughs have already run out of grit. Conditions are likely to be icy. The children of London have enjoyed an early start to the holidays as nine out of ten schools were closed today. Snow continues to fall.
The end.
All original parts © Lobelia.
4659 words.
Link to this page: http://lobelia321.livejournal.com/716292.html
Title: Beer, Sweat and Tears
Author: Lobelia;
lobelia321Fandom: Lord of the Rings rps
Pairing: Orlando Bloom / Dominic Monaghan
Rating: 18 / NC-17
Warnings: Unsatisfactory sex.
Archive: AO3; My niche.
Date posted: December 2010.
Words: 4659.
Feedback: Yes, please! Even if it is only one line -- one word, even!
Disclaimer: I do not know these people. This is a piece of amateur fiction, written for charitable purposes. None of this every happened. This makes me no money.
Author notes: This is, finally and only eleven months late, my
help_haiti fic, won in fair bidding by the awesomely lovely and patient msilverstar, and seconded by the ever wonderfulzarah5. It was difficult getting back into Dorli after all these years, and it took three false starts. At one point, Dom was a pizza delivery boy (400 words); and at another point, Dom was a desert warrior called Minic, sent to assassinate his nemesis, the beautiful and decadent Prince Orl... (10,000 words) However, none of these made it to the finish line. For whatever reason, the boys wanted to do this instead.
Summary: Dom is stuck in London because of snow and stays the night in Orli's Islington terrace.
Beer, Sweat and Tears
by Lobelia
The most severe snow showers in 25 years have hit the midlands, Wales and the north. Thousands of travellers are stranded, with airports closing at Manchester and Birmingham, and more closures expected. Northern train lines are operating at one-fifth capacity. The M4 saw tailbacks of up to 60 miles, caused by poor visibility and icy road conditions. The bad weather is due to spread to London and the south.
Orli Bloom peered through the kitchen window. A sheen of snow glinted in the darkness but nothing severe. All it did was muffle the sounds of traffic on the Caledonian Road. The houses opposite were silent and dark. Orli fished the teabag out from his steaming mug. The phone rang. Orli jumped. He dropped the teabag.
"Hi, mate. Where are you?"
"What, hello? Who is this?" Orli didn't recognise the number.
"Are you in London? Because I was really, really hoping... I'm at Heathrow. I've just got in from Paris. No, Frankfurt. They diverted us to Frankfurt. I can't keep track of it all. Man, I've been all over the place; all over the bloody map. Haven't had any sleep in days. I'm not in Frankfurt now, though. I'm at Terminal Two."
"Dom?" This wasn't Dom's number.
Except what would he know? The last time he'd used the number stored for Dom on his mobile had been sometime in some summer.
"They say they're shutting down the airports. Heathrow, Gatwick, City Airport. I never even planned to be here; I was going to go straight up to Manchester. Anyway, there's snow, apparently, but I've only seen the inside of airports for days and days; I've not seen any snow; I haven't seen the sun in days..." Krccchhhh.
"Dom? What's happening?"
"Yeah, yeah, I dropped the... It's total chaos here. There's people sleeping on the floor and in the toilets; man, it's insane. They've closed down King's Cross. Or Paddington. What's the one that goes to Manchester?"
"Dom. D'you need a place to crash?"
"The Eurostar, that was shut down too. Wrong type of ice or something. I haven't had a kip in like, forever."
"Get a cab, Dom. If there are any left. Islington. 22 Burness Close."
Orli's toes were moist inside his sodden sock. He chucked the dripping teabag into the sink. He missed; the bag hit the sill; outside, a dog peed against the fence. Orli looked at the time display on his mobile. Half-six. Threshers would still be open.
By the time the doorbell rang, it was close to midnight. Dom swayed on the threshold like a gutted fish. He sported a sports bag, a man bag, and a five-day beard. His skin was the colour of his eyes. "That was bumper to bumper. The driver took a shortcut or something; I don't know where we were headed. You got cash on you?" Without warning, his face broke into a crinkled grin. "Mate! How are you, anyway?" And lifted up his mouth to be kissed.
Was this how they greeted each other? Yes, yes, they always did this. Didn't they?
Used to do this.
Orli's lips remembered even if his mind didn't. His lips would have lingered but Dom pressed onto them a quick cold kiss, then stumbled past into the hallway. "I think it's about thirty quid? Have you got thirty quid on you? I am so tired. Wow, you have an upstairs and everything."
Orli scrambled around in pockets, wallets, drawers, then remembered the household stash and found fistfuls of coins.
When he came back inside after paying the driver, Dom had flopped onto the sofa bed in the back living room. His bags were strewn across the rug; his sweatshirt had ridden up over his navel; his arm was across his eyes. "What time is it?" The words slurred. Dom's voice sounded like dry moss. "Is it breakfast time?"
"Nah, mate." Orli tried to laugh. "More like dinner time."
"Dinner time," mimicked Dom. He sat up abruptly and squinted at the 40-watt bulb inside its mauve shade. "Dinner time. You mean tea time. You poor southern sod."
"Look," said Orli. His face felt all wrong. "D'you want something to eat?"
"Have you got any beer in the house? Or anything else? Vodka?"
"You don't want a pizza?"
"If I have anything to eat, I'll puke on your carpet. I have been in..." Dom counted on his fingers. "L.A. Detroit. La Guardia. Paris. Frankfurt. They cancelled all flights to England from Orly. Heathrow. I was supposed to be in Manchester 36 hours ago. Or something. What day is this?" Orli said, "I've got a Foster's somewhere." Of course he did. He had half a fridgeful.
It took Orli three tries to get the bottle open. He didn't bother with glasses. "Cheers," Orli said.
"Cheers."
"Happy birthday, by the way. Belatedly."
"Wow. You remembered."
"Course."
"That is so... sweet or something."
"Well. Something."
"I am so tired but you know that state you get into, when you're so tired you can't actually sleep? You're like, wired, but not in a good way."
"What's wired in a good way?"
"Happy birthday to you too, by the way."
"It's not my birthday for weeks yet..."
But he let himself be kissed, anyway. His stomach felt angry at the same time as his lips were keen. That, and the Foster's, made him want to be sick. Tongues were not involved.
"I thought coming this way the jet lag wasn't supposed to be so bad," said Dom. "I always get it much worse the other direction. You know what I mean? I'm not usually bothered going, what is it? West to east? But this time, it has totally done me in. I don't know where I am, or which way is up, or what I'm saying; I don't know what I'm doing here. But thanks, mate, for putting me up, thanks, real friend and all that. You got any weed?"
Orli said, "When was the last time we saw each other?"
"Man." Dom took a draught from the bottle, and another, and a third. His Adam's apple jerked up and down. "Good question." He had a moist lower lip but didn't wipe the drops off.
"I didn't even recognise your phone number."
"It was in the summer."
"But not last summer."
"No. Not last summer."
"Not even summer before last."
"I dropped my cell down a hole."
Orli did almost laugh then. Almost. His neck went hot with the need to laugh. Instead, he squinted at his bottle and said, "Cell? You've been in the States too long."
"Don't tell me you still say mobile." Dom put on a toff accent. "Mow-bile. Yah."
"You sure you don't want a pizza?" Orli wanted to get back to the fridge.
"You know those holes in the street? Like a manhole. I just chucked it down one of those."
"Down the rabbit hole." Beer bubbled in Orli's stomach.
"Probably hit some bloke on his hard hat."
"Probably hit the mad hatter on his hat."
"Kerplunk. Probably hit the mad hat. Probably... Anyway, that was the end of that phone."
"I still have the number. We could ring it."
"Ring the mad rabbit!"
"Ring the hatter!" Orli let out a laugh, a high metallic burst of noise. It hurt his ears to laugh like this. "I'm going to have a pizza; I'm starving."
"I didn't know you had a whole terrace house. I thought you had a bedsit. It's so cool to have a house in London. That's what I should get, a base in London. I'm so tired of travelling all the time, for days and days." He fell back onto the sofa bed. The yellow-and-orange Ikea sheets rumpled, the pillow plopped to the floor.
The coffee table had an ashtray on it, and the Telegraph, and an empty milk carton, and three tea mugs, and an ipod, and a watch, and a bowl with encrusted Branflakes in it.
"You have a lounge," said Dom, "with a settee and a carpet and a table and curtains. This is like out of a sitcom. Awesome, Orlando, awesome."
Something flurried against the panes of the French windows. The heating gurgled.
"You even made up your guest bed for me. That's so... host-like or something."
"Not really," Orli said. "That's where I sleep."
"You sleep here, in the lounge? Where do I sleep, then? Don't tell me you even have a guest room and everything?"
Orli licked his lips. They tasted of hops. "I don't know where you're going to sleep. I haven't thought about that yet."
There was a slow pause.
"I've got a lodger," Orli said. "The lodger has the upstairs bedroom. I never go upstairs. I use the downstairs shower. I'm going to make that pizza now."
He stood up, walked into the kitchen, opened the freezer, pulled out the pizza, tore off the cardboard, got a knife, slit open the plastic film, plonked the pizza onto the worktop, threw the wrapping into the bin next to the clothes stand with his unironed laundry on it, turned on the oven, retrieved the cardboard box from the bin, read the instructions on how long the pizza had to be heated up, put his forehead against the fridge door.
Dom appeared in the hallway. He was vertical, more or less.
"You could've rung," said Orli.
"I did."
"When you got a new phone."
"Oh," said Dom. He held his beer bottle by the neck, swinging it between index and middle finger. His rings clinked against the glass. "I didn't know your number. It was on my old phone. The one that fell down the..."
"Hole. Yes, yes."
"Fuck, Orli." The bottle stopped swinging. "You don't need to be so anal about everything."
"Anal. You're saying I'm anal."
"Yeah, fucking anal."
The headlights of a car strafed the walls. Orli stood frozen between oven door and bin.
"So where's your lodger?" said Dom.
Orli straightened up. "My lodger's gone home for Christmas. That's why I can be here. London! Great to be here!"
"Must be!" all but yelled Dom. "Must be fabulous. Friends to see, people to meet! You must be busy all the time. Dinner engagements!"
"I am!" shouted Orli. "I was going out tonight, matter of fact. It's the snow; we had to cancel. They got stuck on the M11."
"What a pity. Instead, you had to be stuck with me. You and me on the same camp bed."
"I would've left the key out for you," Orli said nastily. "Under the mat." He banged open the oven door, tore the styrofoam circle off the bottom of the pizza and shoved the Margherita onto the wire rack.
"What's upstairs then?" said Dom.
"Are you having pizza or not? Or are you just having another beer? Because why not? You can barely stand up; don't tell me it's just jetlag. Here, have this one, and take a second bottle so we don't have to keep coming back for more."
"You're drunk yourself," said Dom.
"Whatever," said Orli. The tiles were cold under his socks. Had the thermostat turned itself off? Midnight. Pumpkin hour, glass slipper hour, witching bitching magic hour. "Look, we can't go upstairs. We can't snoop around inside the lodger's rooms."
"What the hell, why not?"
"Why not?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Okay then. You want to see my lodger's rooms?"
"Yeah. I do. I want to see your lodger's rooms."
"Okay then."
"Right."
"Let's go."
Every second step creaked. Dom went up the stairs first. He held a bottle in each hand but Orli had forgotten to open them. There was a dragonfly embroidered on the left back pocket of Dom's jeans.
"I don't know what he keeps in here," said Orli.
"Is it locked?"
Orli put his hand on the handle and pressed it down. "No." He pushed. The room was dark, and something hulked in it.
Dom hit the switch with one of the bottles. "Fuck me dead," he said.
The room was filled wall-to-wall with a plywood table construction, and on this plywood table construction was a maze of tiny-gauge railway tracks that wound their way past resin mountains, matchstick houses, plasticine people and cotton-wool trees.
"Wow," said Dom. He dropped his bottles. "Is that the 'on' switch?"
"Don't touch anything."
Something clicked, and a minuscule engine chugged into life. It pulled fifteen green-painted cars.
"One," said Dom, "two, three, four, five, six, seven, shit, twelve, thirteen, fifteen. I want to shrink and ride on this. You had no idea this stuff was in here?"
"We can't tinker with his things."
"I want to be that engine. I want to ride past all those mountains. Look at the pond; it's made from a mirror."
Orli reached for the lever at the same time as Dom reached for the points switch. Their arms collided. Dom smelled of stale cushions.
"Awesome," said Dom. "Don't you think? Don't you think this is awesome?"
"It's all right."
"Not half! Let's press this button here. Look, there's another train. On the siding."
Orli put out one hand to stop Dom but then he pulled the hand back again.
"Cool, cool, cool. I need to see this from up close. I need to eat these trains up. O my god, there's a drawbridge."
"Don't. Don't move stuff."
"Just this; I've just got to..."
"Leave it, will you." But Dom didn't, and now Orli did put his hand out, and Dom leaned across and twisted around, and Orli put his arm around Dom's middle.
"Stop it," Orli said.
Dom leaned back against him. He held a wooden signal box in his right hand. "You stop it," he said.
There was a pulse in Dom's rib cage, just beneath Orli's wrist.
Dom wriggled. "What's that smell?" he said.
"The pizza. Shit."
It was no good. The cheese had dried up and the tomatoes were crisp black knots. "This is bad," said Orli.
"Very bad." Dom found the bottle opener.
"I've got another one. Four-cheese, I think."
"Very bad." Dom put the bottle to his mouth.
"D'you want another one?"
"Mhm."
"Or d'you want more beer?"
Dom drank.
"Or a vodka?"
Dom went on swigging.
"Maybe a 'nice cup of tea'?"
Dom grinned into the bottle neck.
"Or a shag?"
Dom coughed and spluttered.
It was almost worth the lurch in Orli's gut. "Or an aspirin? I can get you an aspirin."
"Did you say 'shag'?"
Orli's neck burned. He opened a drawer, pulled out a rubber band and a half-empty packet of paracetamol, closed it again.
"Is that an option?"
Orli stood still. He wound the rubber band around his let thumb.
"I didn't know that was an option. I didn't even know that was on the cards. Is it?"
"Could be," Orli told the rubber band.
"A shag?" Dom said. "A shag could be on the cards?"
Orli unwound the rubber band and looked at the red stripe around his thumb.
"So: a fuck? A fuck's an option? It's one of the choices here? As in: a beer, a pizza, or a fuck?"
"I didn't say 'or'."
"Right, okay. So it's a beer and then a pizza and then a fuck and then maybe an aspirin? No, I don't want a pizza; I don't want anything to eat; I feel dizzy."
Orli turned round, took the bottle out of Dom's hand and kissed him.
It was basically beer and spit and something salty, that's what it was.
Orli couldn't even tell whether it was nice or not. It just was.
Dom smelled a little, his five-day-bear scratched Orli on the chin, his tongue flicked and stabbed.
For there were tongues now.
Orli tried to quiet Dom's tongue with his own but it proved unquellable. It darted round Orli's mouth in jabs. Orli didn't like it; it was not his style of kissing; but he couldn't stop it either, nor could he seem to stop himself. He had to bend around Dom; get a grip on Dom's arm; push up Dom's sweatshirt with his other hand and press the heel of his hand into Dom's navel, against the furred skin around Dom's navel; into the damp heat of Dom's belly.
"Orli," said Dom. "Shit, man."
Orli wanted to be small, too, like the train upstairs, so that he could crawl into Dom's mouth and be swallowed whole. The space behind Orli's closed eyes was black, with flecks of blond.
"Relax," said Dom. He wriggled so that Orli's hands slipped from his arm and stomach. "Chill a little."
Orli's breath puffed. In the distance, a fire engine wailed.
"You don't have to be so uptight all the time," said Dom. "You can let go a bit. You don't have to be so driven."
"I'm not driven," said Orli. His jaw tensed up. Nobody could kiss with a tense jaw.
"You don't have to be so..."
"Anal?" snapped Orli. "So anal?"
"You don't actually have to do anything," said Dom.
"You're the one who's uptight," said Orli.
"Anyway. I'll take you up on it." Dom's face cracked into a grin. Which changed everything. "I'll take you up on the anal."
"That..." Now Orli laughed. It popped out, a bright quick laugh. "That is so corny, Monaghan."
"I am corny," said Dom. He turned his face and took a long draught while Orli put his hands on either side of him. Dom craned back his neck and drained the bottle, and Orli put his lips on Dom's Adam's apple, it had to be done. "This feels weird," said Dom, making his throat vibrate against Orli's mouth.
"That's because it is weird," Orli mumbled into Dom's neck.
"You're totally pissed, aren't you?" said Dom. "You went and bought a fridge full of beer and you started in on it hours before I got here, didn't you? What I'm wondering is, did you start drinking before I called because your dinner friends had cancelled or maybe don't even exist, or did you start in on the booze afte I'd called, maybe because I called, because... because I don't know what I'm saying, oh fuck, man."
"Take your clothes off," said Orli.
"I don't know. The room's sort of spinning."
"Get your kit off." Orli pulled at Dom's sweatshirt. He tugged at the top button of Dom's jeans.
"How many..." Dom hiccupped. "I haven't slept in days and days."
"Dom," Orli said. "Dom, Dom, Dom." He pulled at the zipper; he was undressing Dom. The sweatshirt bunched under Dom's armpits. Dom put his hands into Orli's hair; he pinched Orli's ears between his fingers; Dom's head hit the door frame. The clothes stand rocked; a shirt and a sock slipped off; the fridge shuddered. "I have to do this," Orli said. Dom wore tight underpants, with a broad elastic waistband, blue or black, Orli couldn't tell. He stopped mid-zipper and stared at the blond hairs on Dom's pale thighs.
"You're doing it again," said Dom. "You're being driven again."
"I just," said Orli.
"Where's that other beer?" said Dom and hoicked up his trousers.
"You didn't leave it upstairs?"
"Why do you even need a lodger?"
"Get it yourself. I'm making the pizza." Orli banged doors open and stumbled over a laundry pile. Empty bottles clinked in the corner of the kitchen.
"You haven't got a clue," said Dom. "You don't know your way around this house at all. You've probably not been here in years and years."
A frying pan slid from a shelf and crashed to the floor. Bags of pasta and lentils wobbled next to spices and squeezed-out tubes of tomato purée.
Dom opened the fridge. "Beer," he said. "There's beer in here. And more beer. And half an onion. I think I'll have the beer."
He stood, leaning against the closed fridge door, bottle in one hand, opener in the other. His cheeks were flushed; his jeans were half-undone.
"Look here," said Orli.
"What?" said Dom.
"You're a sorry git and an ugly bastard; you expect everything to happen for you; you just ring up out of the blue..."
"There's a snow catastrophe!"
"Look at you, you're a bloody wreck. Phone down a hole! I don't believe it; I don't believe you; fuck you."
"But a shag's not out of the question then?"
Orli looked around wildly, spotted a washing-up sponge, picked it up and hurled it at Dom. It bounced off Dom's nose and plopped onto the counter.
Dom looked at Orli.
Orli tried not to look at Dom. His lungs hurt.
Dom bent forward and picked up the sponge between his teeth. He straightened. He took a step into the room. He jutted his chin out.
Orli wanted to laugh but couldn't. A bottle rolled across the floor.
So Orli took the sponge in his own teeth. It was dry and tasted of Fairy liquid. He wanted to wretch.
Then he didn't know what to do. He just stood there, with the sponge in his mouth, until Dom came and took it off him and put his mouth there instead. Which is when Orli gave up and closed his eyes and forgot to stand up.
The tiles of the kitchen were hard and cold and bit gritty and a little sticky; a wadded-up sock dug into Orli's hip. Dom sat astride him. He could only see the underneath of Dom's chin and Dom's throat working, his hand around the bottle. Dom drank, then offered him the bottle but how could he drink in this position? He opened his mouth and Dom poured liquid inside; it went over his face; Dom wiped it off with the sponge. Everything lurched.
Dom's groin ground against his own. Orli knew what that was all about. He could do that bit. His hips did it of their own accord. He didn't even have to have input. If he just lay here, head against tile, black space behind eyelids, hands loose, cock hard. If he could just do that.
Dom didn't let him.
Dom pressed his tongue between Orli's lips. It was that insistent tongue, stupid, no focus, all over the shop.
Dom kissed, then he bit, then he yanked the button at the top of Orli's jeans out of its buttonhole, and all the other buttons, too, because Orli was wearing his new button-flies. These were no obstacle to Dom, nor were the boxers underneath. Both were soon around Orli's knees. Crumbs scratched Orli's bare buttocks.
Dom's hard cock pushed against Orli's hip. Now and again, Dom stopped to brace himself with one elbow and to gulp sloppy draughts from the bottle. A thick blue vein throbbed on the inside of his underarm, between wrist and elbow.
They made it to the sofa bed. The mattress was thin, and springs creaked. Snow whooshed against the window panes. Dom fucked Orli up the arse. Orli had no idea whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. It was just a thing.
Dom was completely inefficient. There were stops, then there were starts. Orli wanted it over with in some sort of smooth, non-noticeable way. Every time he thought that this might be it now, it wasn't. He held onto the side of the mattress with his right hand. The mauve lamp had toppled off its table. Orli was still wearing his socks and his shirt. A damp patch had formed on his collar, damp with Dom's spit where Dom sucked on his neck.
"Shit," said Dom.
Orli breathed into the sheet, face down.
"I'm not sure," said Dom. "I don't think this is going to happen."
Dom rolled off and left Orli prone, nude-arsed and breathless.
"I haven't slept. I haven't brushed my teeth. I haven't had a pee. I don't know what bloody time it is even."
"Does that matter?" Orli's voice was muffled by the bed. "Does it matter what time it is?"
"I need to ring people. My phone's out of juice and I can't remember if I packed the charger."
"Okay." Orli turned round.
Dom rifled through his sports bag. Orli looked at Dom's red cock, at half-mast, and at his dark balls and at his light-coloured, straggly pubic patch.
"You never threw your phone down a hole," Orli said. "You rang me from a pay phone."
"Where in hell is that bloody thing?"
"You unbelievable bastard."
"Do you have a converter plug?"
"I am sick of you. I am so sick of you." He was actually stabbing the mattress. The bedframe shook.
"I can ring a cab, if you want."
"It's the middle of the night."
"So?"
"You are such an idiot!" yelled Orli. Beer churned around in his innards, round and round.
"You're the one who wanted a shag," said Dom.
"Okay," said Orli. He took a deep breath. "Yes. That is true."
"Why?" said Dom. His head was down. He fiddled with a cable that appeared to be his mobile charge cord. "This phone is totally dead. I need a converter plug, US to UK."
"It seems a bit ironic, doesn't it, that we live in the same city and never see each other, and now you're here, half-way round the world?"
"L.A.'s a big place," Dom said.
Orli stared at the top of Dom's head. There was a spot right at the top from where some day, perhaps in five years, perhaps in a decade, baldness would start spreading.
"I don't know why," Orli said. He slumped against the crumpled blanket.
"Okay."
"I have no idea why I said that about the shag."
"That's cool."
"Right."
"Right."
Orli plucked at a thread in the duvet cover.
"Do we go on then?" said Dom.
"I thought it wasn't happening."
"For you, then. It could happen for you."
Orli sighed. He reached out an arm and if he stretched it to the utmost, he could just about touch Dom on the cheek.
"It doesn't matter," Orli said. "It's not important."
Dom's cheek was wet, from beer, from sweat, from tears, Orli couldn't tell.
Severe weather is hitting the greater London area. There are traffic warnings for the M25, the M11 and the M4, and the Dartford Tunnel is closed. All train services have been suspended for the next 24 hours. People are advised to keep their journeys to a minimum. The elderly in particular should take care when venturing outdoors as many London boroughs have already run out of grit. Conditions are likely to be icy. The children of London have enjoyed an early start to the holidays as nine out of ten schools were closed today. Snow continues to fall.
The end.
All original parts © Lobelia.
4659 words.
Link to this page: http://lobelia321.livejournal.com/716292.html
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-17 11:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-23 02:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-06 10:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-18 01:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-18 08:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-18 08:55 pm (UTC)This hurts in the most beautiful way.
And I am so happy you wrote it.
(Also, I would totally love to see the drafts you didn't finish. But hey. I am also not really here, because this is the first slash story I read since, oh, late summer? Whenever Inception came out.)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:14 pm (UTC)Hah, I re-read those drafts after posting this and some of the AU may just about be salvageable. AU is easier because that whole rps characterisation doesn't apply but otoh you lose the essence of the Dom/Orli a bit.
It's so nice to hook up with a fellow post-lotripper who understands these matters!!!!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-18 10:45 pm (UTC)Dom was completely inefficient. There were stops, then there were starts. Orli wanted it over with in some sort of smooth, non-noticeable way. Every time he thought that this might be it now, it wasn't.
eta for better icon
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-23 01:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-19 07:58 am (UTC)this was heartbreaking. beautifully written, but heartbreaking..
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-19 10:04 am (UTC)The tension just rises and rises unbearably. The part where they are practically brawling over the trains! And over the pizza! Oh god!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-19 11:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 11:33 pm (UTC)Silly boys. Maybe giving them massages or letting them go to an amusement park or something else fun and relaxing would knock them back into shape? Thanks again for writing it, and have a great holiday season!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-20 04:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-22 10:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-24 09:30 pm (UTC)This is like going back in time. LJ must be the only site on the internet that never changes!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-02 10:35 am (UTC)*is incredibly chuffed*
But guess what? This is the first lotrips fic I have written since about 2003. And it was pulled out of me with blood, sweat and tears, and only to please peoples who had wished for it via Haiti charity fic (msilverstar paid $40 for this and it's been overdue since February 2010 and I've been feeling so guilty!!). It was not a good feeling revisiting these characters, odd as that may sound. It was not.
Fandoms I have wroted it since possibly you last looked:
• Harry Potter (mostly unposted)
• Football (I think you were still around then)
• Stargate Atlantis (I got obsessed, a bit; but not as with lotrips; nothing has ever hit that spot again. But all those boys are now so OLD. Dom is positively wizened. And Orlando has a baby. And Ian McKellen gave a talk 2 minutes' walk from my house. And the Duck just goes from strength to strength. Oh, and Peter Jackson is thin.)
• Um. That's about it. *looks under rug*
• oh god, I forgot German-gay-soap-fandom Verbotene Liebe (Forbidden Love!). I stayed up all night until 3.30 am to watch all of the gay-snippets downloaded onto youtube of an entire two seasons... (see icon)
• Inception. About half an hour ago. Hah.
• Though I was really, really tempted by Booker/Mitchell.
• And Moss/Roy from the IT Crowd.