(no subject)
Lit today wasn't particularly spectacular, but with any luck I'll scrape through. So. Yes. Good day.
I wrote again! Woo! *is proud of myself* Domando. Which isn't my usual pairing, but hey. Challenges are fun-ner that way. For green_queen's Flashfic-a-thon challenge.
I don’t believe in Romeos or heroes anymore. - Life Got Cold (Girls Aloud)
“Dom.” Peter’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “Dominic, tell me you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“You broke my fucking fishbowl! Kitten’s dead!”
Orlando’s forehead was scrunched up in confusion. “You keep your cat in a fishbowl?”
“I broke your fishbowl?”
“No! Kitten! Kitten, my fucking goldfish, who is now *dead* on the fucking floor! And if you didn’t break it, Monaghan, who did?!”
“So that’s the crash we heard when I pushed you against the wall,” Orlando mused.
Dom took a small step back and looked fearfully at Peter, when he felt something small squish beneath his feet. He looked down, face contorting when he realized just what he’d stepped on, exactly. “Uh. Oops.”
Peter was purple in the face.
Orlando glanced at Dom, wincing at the miserable look on Dom’s face, Peter’s ‘you dig a fucking grave for my fucking fish right fucking now!’ still ringing in the air as they walked solemnly towards the rest of the crew, who would no doubt want to know what had happened.
“I guess we better start looking for a plot of land.”
Orlando swore Dom was about to throttle him.
“Oh. My god.” Orlando collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, letting the rain trickle down his face, without the slightest inclination of moving. “It is not supposed to take this much work to dig a grave for a *goldfish*.”
Dom hid a smirk. “No, it’s not. Maybe you just dug too deep.” He looked again at the 5 inch deep mark on the soil. “That’s a little deep for the goldfish, Orli.”
“Yeah, well.” Orlando was still lying on the ground, staring up into the open blue sky. “What if the fish started smelling bad? I mean, decomposition, mate. You have to be careful of the smell nowadays.”
Dom stifled his laughter, “Sure, mate,” and settled next to Orlando, still holding the umbrella over his own head, making sure he didn’t get too wet. “Well, you got us into a lot of trouble.”
“What!” Orlando pouted, defensively, “I wasn’t the clumsy tot who fell into a fishbowl without realizing it!”
“Yeah, you’re the idiot who pushed the clumsy tot right into it!”
“Sod off,” Orlando grumbled. “I already made up for it. I dug the whole grave alone.”
“Hey!” Dom was indignantly prodding Orlando’s stomach. “I was standing here next to you!”
“Holding the umbrella over your own head!”
Dom gave Orlando a halfway mischievous grin. “Oh well.”
“Kiss my ass, Dom.”
“My mouth isn’t big enough,” Dom laughed at Orlando, when the brunette rolled his eyes.
Orlando gave up arguing and nudged Dom, who threw the fish, none too gently, into the grave they’d dug, and then threw the umbrella over his shoulder, and lay down on the grass, letting the rain seep through his shirt.
Orlando stared at him in disbelief, watching the white-turned-translucent shirt clinging to Dom’s abs. “You held the umbrella up, all that time, and now you just lie down and get wet?!”
“Sod off,” Dom replied, lazily, tugging at Orlando to join him. “It’s comfortable.”
Orlando made a soft grunt of disbelief, and the two men lay in silence, letting the rain wash over them like a fine mist, feeling fresher and more alert than they’d done in the past few months. “So.” Orlando sat up, finally, and with a soft push, sent all the mud he’d dug up back to cover the grave, patting it down gently.
Dom sat up as well, and crawled over to help, mimicking Orlando’s movements. They were quiet for a time, and everything was peaceful. Then Dom looked up, and grinned and was about to say something when his hand brushed, very gently, over Orlando’s. There was a moment of silence, which was somehow awkward, and not, all at the same time.
Then they both looked up, and at, into, through each other, and Dom didn’t dare to breathe when Orlando said, “I always wanted to sit in the rain with someone, just talking or holding hands, you know?”
By silent agreement, they were now both sitting side by side, just looking at each other, Orlando with a faraway look in his eyes, mirrored by the intensity in Dom’s. “I always thought I’d find my fairytale ending, with the sunset and a prince on a white horse, come to take me away to a place where we’d be the only two people who exist. But then it never happened.” He looked up, and suddenly seemed tired, and very old. “And I guess I got tired of waiting.”
Dom just listened, nodded, and tried to move closer to Orlando without letting the other man realize it. When Orlando offered nothing else, he jumped, finally figuring that it was his turn to talk. “I’m not a prince, I don’t have a horse, and the sun isn’t setting,” he said softly, noting the slight inclination of Orlando’s head, indicating that he was listening, “but we are in the rain, and we are talking, and-” his hand slid to cover Orlando’s, gently, “I’m holding your hand.”
“So now all you need to do is kiss me,” Orlando pointed out, a small smile gracing his face. Then he frowned, slightly, “Do you want to?”
“If I do, would you let me?”
“All you have to do is-”
“Please.”
And it wasn’t what Orlando was looking for - not really - but he leaned in, touching his lips to Dom’s, who responded willingly, fingering Orlando’s hair as he did so.
And maybe it wasn’t the fairytale ending he’d always dreamed of, and maybe Dom was a little shorter than him, and maybe he hadn’t been swept off his feet onto a white horse per se, or ridden off to some distant place where they could love each other and forget everyone else ever existed. But, Orlando reflected, it was Dom.
So this would be enough.
-fin-
I wrote again! Woo! *is proud of myself* Domando. Which isn't my usual pairing, but hey. Challenges are fun-ner that way. For green_queen's Flashfic-a-thon challenge.
I don’t believe in Romeos or heroes anymore. - Life Got Cold (Girls Aloud)
“Dom.” Peter’s eyes were wide in disbelief. “Dominic, tell me you didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“You broke my fucking fishbowl! Kitten’s dead!”
Orlando’s forehead was scrunched up in confusion. “You keep your cat in a fishbowl?”
“I broke your fishbowl?”
“No! Kitten! Kitten, my fucking goldfish, who is now *dead* on the fucking floor! And if you didn’t break it, Monaghan, who did?!”
“So that’s the crash we heard when I pushed you against the wall,” Orlando mused.
Dom took a small step back and looked fearfully at Peter, when he felt something small squish beneath his feet. He looked down, face contorting when he realized just what he’d stepped on, exactly. “Uh. Oops.”
Peter was purple in the face.
Orlando glanced at Dom, wincing at the miserable look on Dom’s face, Peter’s ‘you dig a fucking grave for my fucking fish right fucking now!’ still ringing in the air as they walked solemnly towards the rest of the crew, who would no doubt want to know what had happened.
“I guess we better start looking for a plot of land.”
Orlando swore Dom was about to throttle him.
“Oh. My god.” Orlando collapsed onto the ground, exhausted, letting the rain trickle down his face, without the slightest inclination of moving. “It is not supposed to take this much work to dig a grave for a *goldfish*.”
Dom hid a smirk. “No, it’s not. Maybe you just dug too deep.” He looked again at the 5 inch deep mark on the soil. “That’s a little deep for the goldfish, Orli.”
“Yeah, well.” Orlando was still lying on the ground, staring up into the open blue sky. “What if the fish started smelling bad? I mean, decomposition, mate. You have to be careful of the smell nowadays.”
Dom stifled his laughter, “Sure, mate,” and settled next to Orlando, still holding the umbrella over his own head, making sure he didn’t get too wet. “Well, you got us into a lot of trouble.”
“What!” Orlando pouted, defensively, “I wasn’t the clumsy tot who fell into a fishbowl without realizing it!”
“Yeah, you’re the idiot who pushed the clumsy tot right into it!”
“Sod off,” Orlando grumbled. “I already made up for it. I dug the whole grave alone.”
“Hey!” Dom was indignantly prodding Orlando’s stomach. “I was standing here next to you!”
“Holding the umbrella over your own head!”
Dom gave Orlando a halfway mischievous grin. “Oh well.”
“Kiss my ass, Dom.”
“My mouth isn’t big enough,” Dom laughed at Orlando, when the brunette rolled his eyes.
Orlando gave up arguing and nudged Dom, who threw the fish, none too gently, into the grave they’d dug, and then threw the umbrella over his shoulder, and lay down on the grass, letting the rain seep through his shirt.
Orlando stared at him in disbelief, watching the white-turned-translucent shirt clinging to Dom’s abs. “You held the umbrella up, all that time, and now you just lie down and get wet?!”
“Sod off,” Dom replied, lazily, tugging at Orlando to join him. “It’s comfortable.”
Orlando made a soft grunt of disbelief, and the two men lay in silence, letting the rain wash over them like a fine mist, feeling fresher and more alert than they’d done in the past few months. “So.” Orlando sat up, finally, and with a soft push, sent all the mud he’d dug up back to cover the grave, patting it down gently.
Dom sat up as well, and crawled over to help, mimicking Orlando’s movements. They were quiet for a time, and everything was peaceful. Then Dom looked up, and grinned and was about to say something when his hand brushed, very gently, over Orlando’s. There was a moment of silence, which was somehow awkward, and not, all at the same time.
Then they both looked up, and at, into, through each other, and Dom didn’t dare to breathe when Orlando said, “I always wanted to sit in the rain with someone, just talking or holding hands, you know?”
By silent agreement, they were now both sitting side by side, just looking at each other, Orlando with a faraway look in his eyes, mirrored by the intensity in Dom’s. “I always thought I’d find my fairytale ending, with the sunset and a prince on a white horse, come to take me away to a place where we’d be the only two people who exist. But then it never happened.” He looked up, and suddenly seemed tired, and very old. “And I guess I got tired of waiting.”
Dom just listened, nodded, and tried to move closer to Orlando without letting the other man realize it. When Orlando offered nothing else, he jumped, finally figuring that it was his turn to talk. “I’m not a prince, I don’t have a horse, and the sun isn’t setting,” he said softly, noting the slight inclination of Orlando’s head, indicating that he was listening, “but we are in the rain, and we are talking, and-” his hand slid to cover Orlando’s, gently, “I’m holding your hand.”
“So now all you need to do is kiss me,” Orlando pointed out, a small smile gracing his face. Then he frowned, slightly, “Do you want to?”
“If I do, would you let me?”
“All you have to do is-”
“Please.”
And it wasn’t what Orlando was looking for - not really - but he leaned in, touching his lips to Dom’s, who responded willingly, fingering Orlando’s hair as he did so.
And maybe it wasn’t the fairytale ending he’d always dreamed of, and maybe Dom was a little shorter than him, and maybe he hadn’t been swept off his feet onto a white horse per se, or ridden off to some distant place where they could love each other and forget everyone else ever existed. But, Orlando reflected, it was Dom.
So this would be enough.
-fin-