I Dub Thee. . . (2/3)
Author: ilikeme33a
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG
Warning: none
Words: 200
Summary: Something magical is afoot
Notes: This is the second of three fics that ponder the possible explaination into Dom’s nickname. This small series also represents my first foray into RPS writing.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated and adored.
Disclaimer: This work of fiction was produced through a wonderful overdose of PB& J and caffeine. The people represented within, do not belong to me nor anyone but themselves. Their personal lives and actions are their own, any insinuation within is purely made-up.
Dom is mesmerized.
The golden hairs upon Billy’s arm glisten softly with the myriad of neon lager signs suspended on the pub walls.
Dom knows he should be concentrating on the game, since it would decide if he would be buying the next round or not. So he snapped his attention back to the game as Billy bent low to line up the last ball on the table; the faerie lights were now not only dancing upon his arms, but were weaving through his spiky hair.
“Damn,” Billy swore “I thought I had it.”
Elijah, staggering after only a few, tries to snag the cue from Billy, but only succeeds in hitting Orlando with it.
“Owww!” Orlando attempts to give his teammate a scathing look, but fails miserably in his even drunker state.
Dom, now busy following Billy’s hand adjusting his pendant as it lay nestled in sparkling, glorious chest hair, missed the pixie-faced Elijah sinking the eight ball.
“Ha! Pay up Dom!” Elijah cried triumphantly.
But Dom, watching Billy pulling on his jacket to leave, ignores him and shrugs into his own coat.
“Dom?” This from Orlando “Hey, you owe us.”
“S’ blow me!” Dom tosses over his shoulder.
Pairing: BB/DM
Rating: PG
Warning: none
Words: 200
Summary: Something magical is afoot
Notes: This is the second of three fics that ponder the possible explaination into Dom’s nickname. This small series also represents my first foray into RPS writing.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated and adored.
Disclaimer: This work of fiction was produced through a wonderful overdose of PB& J and caffeine. The people represented within, do not belong to me nor anyone but themselves. Their personal lives and actions are their own, any insinuation within is purely made-up.
Dom is mesmerized.
The golden hairs upon Billy’s arm glisten softly with the myriad of neon lager signs suspended on the pub walls.
Dom knows he should be concentrating on the game, since it would decide if he would be buying the next round or not. So he snapped his attention back to the game as Billy bent low to line up the last ball on the table; the faerie lights were now not only dancing upon his arms, but were weaving through his spiky hair.
“Damn,” Billy swore “I thought I had it.”
Elijah, staggering after only a few, tries to snag the cue from Billy, but only succeeds in hitting Orlando with it.
“Owww!” Orlando attempts to give his teammate a scathing look, but fails miserably in his even drunker state.
Dom, now busy following Billy’s hand adjusting his pendant as it lay nestled in sparkling, glorious chest hair, missed the pixie-faced Elijah sinking the eight ball.
“Ha! Pay up Dom!” Elijah cried triumphantly.
But Dom, watching Billy pulling on his jacket to leave, ignores him and shrugs into his own coat.
“Dom?” This from Orlando “Hey, you owe us.”
“S’ blow me!” Dom tosses over his shoulder.