good morning!
A little backstory on my Monaboyd Month contributions:
Earlier this month, I was preparing to take the GRE. While trying to frantically memorize 23807384050 vocabulary words I'd never seen, I decided it would be helpful to write short fics based on some of said vocabulary words. So that's what I did. I've got 14 GRE vocab fics ranging in length from drabbles to short fics. And let me tell you: I never forgot the definitions of these words. Thank you, Billy + Dom.
Here's the first pair of the day.
alchemy: a magical or wonderful transformation
Rated PG-13
Billy was Pippin. He just was. From his jittery hands to his big Granny Smith apple eyes to his gingery hair to his little neck drowning in his big woolen scarf.
How--and when--did it happen? Dom thought. And how did he miss it?
He spent almost every waking moment with Pi--Billy. Makeup, Feet, rehearsal, shooting, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, supper--fuck. Pippin was taking over Dom's inner monologue. Now he had two Pippins: one bouncing around in his head, chewing on a carrot, and another sitting across the table from him, eating a tuna sandwich and... looking at him like he was completely insane.
"Dom?" Pippin prompted softly.
Dom? Who's Dom? "Huh?"
"Everything alright?" He took another bite and continued with his mouth full: "You haven't touched your food."
Dom looked down at his identical tuna sandwich, then at Pippin, then at the group of men who walked past them carrying camera equipment. He shook his head like a wet dog. "Sorry. Forgot where I was for a minute."
He continued watching Billy eat as his stomach growled.
*
Later, after de-Feeting, Dom found himself staring at his friend again.
He sat in the chair opposite Dom, just like at lunch, but this time he was definitely not Pippin. Strong, steady fingers pulling on socks, deftly tying shoelaces. Slightly damp hair like dark stalks of wheat waving over locust eyes. Soft flannel shirt stretching over broad chest and shoulders as he threw his jacket around his back and slipped his arms through. He didn't bounce--he sauntered, straight up to the chair across from him, and in one fluid motion bent down to pick Dom's rucksack up off the floor and spoke a low, commanding, "C'mon then," in his ear.
Dom nearly jumped out of his chair, eyes wide. "'Kay, Bill."
*****
epicure: one devoted to sensual pleasure, particularly in food and drink
Rated PG-13 for some dirty español
It is so unbelievably crowded here. Billy's sure he hasn't felt this claustrophobic in a crowd of people since the ROTK premiere in Wellington. And even then, there was always someone right by his side, making sure he had his little circumference of space. Here, it takes them about twenty minutes to walk the length of a single block, and they have to press themselves quite intimately against several total strangers in order to do so.
"You don't walk Carnaval. It carries you!" Dom shouts in his ear above the madness, a wide smile in his voice.
Billy turns to his perpetual companion and takes in the wild blue eyes and the lithe hips that move playfully to the loud drums. Dom takes another sip of his sangría, taking care not to spill any as a few more strangers brush past speaking a fast, friendly language that makes Billy feel like he's baking right there on the cobbled street. "It suits you, Dom." Dom cuts his eyes at him, messy blonde head tilted to one side. "Spain."
*
The moon is full, yellow, and low, and Dom has acquired a masquerade mask, glittery sparkling green and deep purple obscuring half of his face and throwing more sparks into the fire he consistently emits just by living and breathing.
They pass a rumpled fellow dressed up as a condom, the word ¡Póntelo! scrawled in black paint across his torso. Dom throws his head back and laughs maniacally, stumbling a bit. Condom Man raises his cerveza to him and Dom shimmies in response.
He falls back into step with Billy just as four virile young pirates walk by. One locks his kohl-rimmed eyes with Billy's in such an intense manner that Billy is forced to look at his own feet.
"Que ojitos verdes," he comments, loud enough for Billy to hear but not directly to Billy. Dom cranes his neck to watch the pirate watch Billy as they pass.
"Y que culo, el otro," Pirate #2 mutters appraisingly as their footsteps fade.
Billy sticks his tongue out between his teeth and laughs to himself. Dom bumps his shoulder into Billy's clumsily. "What'd he say to you?"
"Something about my eyes."
Dom looks disappointed. "That's it?"
"Sí," Billy answers, letting Dom walk ahead of him a bit.
*
By 5am, the streets are practically deserted and Billy is practically dead. The feeling of dried sweat is crawling over their skin and the debris of thousands of Carnaval-goers' debauchery is sticking to the bottom of their shoes.
They manage to find seats among the large crowded food tent. Billy collapses and Dom retrieves a huge order of churros y chocolate, sneaking a churro and dipping it into the steaming thick almost-syrup before plopping the tray down and taking his seat across the table. Half-drunk and fully exhausted, he lets out a guttural moan at that first bite like he hasn't eaten in a week. He smiles goofily, his eyelids heavy. "Que rico."
Billy knows more Spanish than Dom from his time spent in Mexico, but Dom's always been better with accents, and two of the few words he knows sound like music rolling off his currently occupied tongue. Billy leans across the table and kisses him impulsively, and Dom's eyes widen before he feels his mouth curl into a smile around his friend's. When they break apart, Billy laughs, "Sí," chewing on a bit of Dom's churro.
*Translations:
¡Póntelo! - Put it on!
cerveza - beer
Que ojitos verdes - Such green eyes
Y que culo, el otro - And what an ass on the other one
Que rico - How delicious
To be followed by six more.
Earlier this month, I was preparing to take the GRE. While trying to frantically memorize 23807384050 vocabulary words I'd never seen, I decided it would be helpful to write short fics based on some of said vocabulary words. So that's what I did. I've got 14 GRE vocab fics ranging in length from drabbles to short fics. And let me tell you: I never forgot the definitions of these words. Thank you, Billy + Dom.
Here's the first pair of the day.
alchemy: a magical or wonderful transformation
Rated PG-13
Billy was Pippin. He just was. From his jittery hands to his big Granny Smith apple eyes to his gingery hair to his little neck drowning in his big woolen scarf.
How--and when--did it happen? Dom thought. And how did he miss it?
He spent almost every waking moment with Pi--Billy. Makeup, Feet, rehearsal, shooting, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, supper--fuck. Pippin was taking over Dom's inner monologue. Now he had two Pippins: one bouncing around in his head, chewing on a carrot, and another sitting across the table from him, eating a tuna sandwich and... looking at him like he was completely insane.
"Dom?" Pippin prompted softly.
Dom? Who's Dom? "Huh?"
"Everything alright?" He took another bite and continued with his mouth full: "You haven't touched your food."
Dom looked down at his identical tuna sandwich, then at Pippin, then at the group of men who walked past them carrying camera equipment. He shook his head like a wet dog. "Sorry. Forgot where I was for a minute."
He continued watching Billy eat as his stomach growled.
*
Later, after de-Feeting, Dom found himself staring at his friend again.
He sat in the chair opposite Dom, just like at lunch, but this time he was definitely not Pippin. Strong, steady fingers pulling on socks, deftly tying shoelaces. Slightly damp hair like dark stalks of wheat waving over locust eyes. Soft flannel shirt stretching over broad chest and shoulders as he threw his jacket around his back and slipped his arms through. He didn't bounce--he sauntered, straight up to the chair across from him, and in one fluid motion bent down to pick Dom's rucksack up off the floor and spoke a low, commanding, "C'mon then," in his ear.
Dom nearly jumped out of his chair, eyes wide. "'Kay, Bill."
*****
epicure: one devoted to sensual pleasure, particularly in food and drink
Rated PG-13 for some dirty español
It is so unbelievably crowded here. Billy's sure he hasn't felt this claustrophobic in a crowd of people since the ROTK premiere in Wellington. And even then, there was always someone right by his side, making sure he had his little circumference of space. Here, it takes them about twenty minutes to walk the length of a single block, and they have to press themselves quite intimately against several total strangers in order to do so.
"You don't walk Carnaval. It carries you!" Dom shouts in his ear above the madness, a wide smile in his voice.
Billy turns to his perpetual companion and takes in the wild blue eyes and the lithe hips that move playfully to the loud drums. Dom takes another sip of his sangría, taking care not to spill any as a few more strangers brush past speaking a fast, friendly language that makes Billy feel like he's baking right there on the cobbled street. "It suits you, Dom." Dom cuts his eyes at him, messy blonde head tilted to one side. "Spain."
*
The moon is full, yellow, and low, and Dom has acquired a masquerade mask, glittery sparkling green and deep purple obscuring half of his face and throwing more sparks into the fire he consistently emits just by living and breathing.
They pass a rumpled fellow dressed up as a condom, the word ¡Póntelo! scrawled in black paint across his torso. Dom throws his head back and laughs maniacally, stumbling a bit. Condom Man raises his cerveza to him and Dom shimmies in response.
He falls back into step with Billy just as four virile young pirates walk by. One locks his kohl-rimmed eyes with Billy's in such an intense manner that Billy is forced to look at his own feet.
"Que ojitos verdes," he comments, loud enough for Billy to hear but not directly to Billy. Dom cranes his neck to watch the pirate watch Billy as they pass.
"Y que culo, el otro," Pirate #2 mutters appraisingly as their footsteps fade.
Billy sticks his tongue out between his teeth and laughs to himself. Dom bumps his shoulder into Billy's clumsily. "What'd he say to you?"
"Something about my eyes."
Dom looks disappointed. "That's it?"
"Sí," Billy answers, letting Dom walk ahead of him a bit.
*
By 5am, the streets are practically deserted and Billy is practically dead. The feeling of dried sweat is crawling over their skin and the debris of thousands of Carnaval-goers' debauchery is sticking to the bottom of their shoes.
They manage to find seats among the large crowded food tent. Billy collapses and Dom retrieves a huge order of churros y chocolate, sneaking a churro and dipping it into the steaming thick almost-syrup before plopping the tray down and taking his seat across the table. Half-drunk and fully exhausted, he lets out a guttural moan at that first bite like he hasn't eaten in a week. He smiles goofily, his eyelids heavy. "Que rico."
Billy knows more Spanish than Dom from his time spent in Mexico, but Dom's always been better with accents, and two of the few words he knows sound like music rolling off his currently occupied tongue. Billy leans across the table and kisses him impulsively, and Dom's eyes widen before he feels his mouth curl into a smile around his friend's. When they break apart, Billy laughs, "Sí," chewing on a bit of Dom's churro.
*Translations:
¡Póntelo! - Put it on!
cerveza - beer
Que ojitos verdes - Such green eyes
Y que culo, el otro - And what an ass on the other one
Que rico - How delicious
To be followed by six more.