Various Monaboyd Drabbles

Strip Poker
200 words, PG-13.

“Whose idea was this?” Dom slouches in his chair, glaring at Billy over his cards.

“I believe that would be Elijah.” Who is sprawled half-dressed under the table, crisps in his hair, eyes closed, snoring blissfully. Billy lifts one eyebrow. “And now I believe you’d better show me what you have.” The eyebrow waggles obscenely.

“I fold. Arsehole.”

“You won’t be seeing my arsehole anytime soon, love. Stand up.”

“Why?”

“I have to decide what you’ll be removing.”

Dom sighs and stands, stretching his skinny frame.

“Socks or pants, pants or socks,” Billy hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully. He eyes the slight tent in Dom’s boxers, hiding his smile as Dom blushes from the ears down.

“Get on with it!” Dom’s voice is itchy and tough, his face caught between laughter and irritation.

“Pants, then,” Billy says, and watches appreciatively as Dom bends over and slides his green boxers down. He sits again, clad only in his socks, and shuffles the cards.

“Your time will come,” he growls.

Billy doesn’t answer, just leans back and crosses his ankles. “I’m just sorry you were actually wearing knickers for once.” His mouth quirks. “Makes it take ever so much longer.”

Dom… smiles.

Would You?
200 words, R.

“Kissing boys.”

“Boys?”

“Alright then, men. Scottish cunt.”

“All for it. Mancunian arsebandit.”

“…Alright. Would you do more than kiss a man?”

“Certainly.”

“Would you… lick him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Would you let him lick you?”

“Depends, dunnit? I’m a bit ticklish.”

“If he promised not to tickle you.”

“Then, yes.”

“Would you let a man… wank you?”

“Hmm. You’re looking a bit flushed, Mr. Monaghan.”

“…Would you?”

“Well… yeah. Bet a man would be good at it. Having the same gear and so on.”

“Would you let a man get you off with his mouth?”

“…Yes. On the same principle.”

“I see. … Now you look a bit flushed, Bills.”

“Do I?”

“…So. Kiss, lick, wank, suck–I don’t think I’ve ever seen your ears quite that shade of pink before, mate.”

“Any more questions?”

“How about… rimming. Would you let someone else rim you? Would you rim him?”

“Ah. Well, dunno as I’ve thought about it before, but I’m willing to try anything… twice. So, yes.”

“Fuck?”

“Fucker or fuckee?”

“Which would you prefer?”

“Only seems fair to try both, really. Don’t you think?”

“…Yes? … So. Billy. Would you kiss… me?”

“You can take that as a yes.”

“I did, actually.”

 

Collar
100 words, hard R or NC-17.

Sweat buzzed its way down your temple; you wanted so badly to touch the collar, but I’d bound your hands. I saw you crane your neck, swallow against the pressure. Saw your eyes go from blue to grey to black, your fingers tangle together and your thighs harden until you closed your eyes and relaxed with an effort, thinking about it.

I twisted your arms a little further and pressed inside another half-inch just to watch your eyelids crash down and the concentration flee from your face in a soft rush of heat.

No thinking is allowed here. Only reaction.

 

Crimes Against Fashion
100 words, PG-13.

“That’s an ugly sweater.”

“Coming from a walking fashion crime…” Billy muttered.

Dom sidled near. “It looks itchy.” He fingered the fabric. “And it’s bulky–makes you look fat.”

“Piss off.” Billy scowled, curlicue mouth pursed. “This is fine wool, you Philistine.”

Dom knotted his fists in it, lifting a section to examine. “What is that colour? Is it beige? Off-white? What?”

“Dominic–” Billy began.

Dom lifted the sweater up and over, wrestling it from Billy’s struggling form; he tossed it into a corner. “Now this,” he ran his hands down Billy’s bare chest, “this is much better.”

He pounced.

 

Yellow Cords of Doom
Billy/Dom/Andy, 150 words, R.

“I want a pair of those,” Dom murmured into Billy’s ear as they watched Andy on the stage.

Billy smirked. “You want what’s in ’em.”

Dom grinned, sharp and toothy. “Yeah, why not?”

The yellow cords didn’t leave much to the imagination, and unless Andy was packing a bratwurst in there, he was hung like a fucking horse. He was in fine form, joking, laughing, doing the Gollum voice, and he bounced off to loud applause.

“Alright mate?” He grabbed Dom’s water and swallowed half a pint, his hair so black it was almost blue, reflecting the lights in flecks of electric green and claret.

“Couldn’t be better,” Dom purred, and Billy’s smile crinkled his eyes as he watched Dom herd Andy adroitly toward the dressing rooms. He shook his head and turned, scanning the backstage area for company.

Dom would be a while, and Andy didn’t stand a chance.

 

Lethe
200 words, PG.

“Lethe.”

“What?”

“The river of forgetfulness.”

“Where’s mine?”

“Where’s yours?”

“Where’s my share of the drugs you’re on.”

“Just. Y’know. The beer.”

“So what’re you going on about?”

“I keep forgetting things. How shitty it was to be on my feet for an hour at four a.m.”

“Ah.”

“How the glue itched. The cloak made me sneeze.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How grey the weather was.”

“Not as bad as home, though.”

“It’s no Hawaii.”

“Mm.”

“You want to forget anything about what’s going on now?”

“That jacket your wearing. Wouldn’ mind obliviating that ugly thing.”

“Piss off, Monaghan.”

“Love you, too, Boyd.”

Molestation
200 words, PG-13.

Dom eyed the coat. “You’re not going walking in that.”

“Why not?” Billy bent his head and nuzzled at the grey fur of the collar, then sneezed.

Dom sighed. “Firstly, it’s fur. Secondly, it’s hideous. Thirdly, it’s too big for you.”

“It’s fake fur, you git,” Billy said. “And it’s gorgeous. And it fits me perfectly.”

“Conceded, arguable, and very arguable,” Dom said. “You look like a kid playing dress-up.”

Billy glared. “I do not.”

“You do.” Dom grasped the collar and brought Billy toward him with a quick little yank. Billy squeaked. “You look like something a child molester would find irresistable.”

Billy breathed on Dom’s face, his pixy face gone far too sweet. “And do you want to molest me, Dominic?”

The younger man’s hands played with the zipper, tugging it down one tooth at a time. “As a matter of fact…” He slid his hands inside the coat and around Billy’s waist. “I do feel a spot of molestation coming on.” He grabbed tight, pulling Billy’s hips abruptly against his own.

“Eek! Stop or I’ll scream,” Billy whispered, grinning.

“Mmm. You’ll scream.” Dom tilted his head, and so did Billy, and there was screaming… a bit later.

Still

100 words, G.

“What do you think?” Dom propped his feet on the coffee table.

“Bit bright. But very shiny,” Billy added as Dom’s blue eyes fell. “They comfortable, then?”

“God, yeah.” Dom smiled, viewing his new trainers with absurd pleasure. “And the salesman recognized me–gave me a discount.”

“Was he disappointed that your feet weren’t large and hairy?” Billy sipped his coke, attention mostly on the telly again.

“No. He recognized me from Lost. Not sure he even knows I was a hobbit.”

“Are a hobbit,” Billy corrected, absently reaching to pat Dom’s denim-clad thigh. “Still are.”

“Yeah.” Dom grinned. “Still am.”

Scarlet
125 words, R.

My eyes slide closed as you peel the leather away from my hips; the trousers are so tight you couldn’t fit your hand down the front, which means they have to go. Your eyes are the exact green of the glass bottle on my kitchen windowsill; the green flares to black as you close your fingers around my hard-on. Your nose and cheeks are flushed, and I can feel my ears go scarlet to match as you lean to taste my neck.

“Good?” and you jostle me backward, pressing me against the wall with your body as you speak the word into my mouth, fingers squeezing and tugging so the breath all leaves my body in a rush.

“God, yeah.”

“Good.” Such a gorgeous smile.

Next Time
250 words, PG-13.

“I need scissors,” Dom said, sidling up to Viggo. “Do you have some on your pocketknife?”

Party noise swirled around them as Viggo nodded and pulled it from his back pocket. “Where’s Billy?”

Dom studiously avoided his gaze. “Ah, he’s. Erm.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s all tied up. Thanks, Vig.” He darted away, dodging through partygoers and taking the stairs two at a time.

Billy was right where Dom had left him. Of course he is, you git, Dom thought, leaping onto the bed without a word and fiddling until he got the tiny scissors out. Billy kept still as Dom sawed through the fabric; freed, he sat up and rubbed his wrists thoughtfully. “Whose knife is it?”

“Viggo’s,” Dom said, pushing the scissors carefully back into their little slot.

“And did yeh tell him just what yeh needed it for?”

“No, of course not!” Dom looked up, giggles warring with concern in his face. “Who knew stockings would knot up so well, yeah?”

Billy sighed, rolling his green eyes. “Yeh just had to go living up to your name, didn’t you?”

Dom grinned, pushing his hand through his hair. “You complaining?”

Billy crawled over him, naked thighs straddling Dom’s hastily donned trousers. “Not at all.” A kiss, slow and languorous and deep, and Billy pulled back to meet Dom’s gaze. “Just saying, next time, no nylons. And next time, I’ll do the tying up.”

Dom squeezed Billy’s bare arse. “I look forward to it.”

 

Efficient
200 words, PG.

Dom tugged the blue-jean jacket closer and shivered slightly. He jumped as a pair of familiar arms snaked around him, a round and pointy chin rested on his shoulder. “Cold?” Billy’s breath was hot in his ear, and Dom shivered again, for different reasons.

“Yeah. Probably ought to go back to the fire, but I can’t see the stars there.” Waves slapped onto the shore, and Dom leaned easily back into Billy, tilting his head to stare at the night sky.

“I thought it was always warm here,” Billy said, pushing his nose into Dom’s neck.

Dom snorted. “It’s not really cold, y’know. Just feels that way because it’s not blazing.”

Billy rocked him back and forth. “And you’re spoiled.”

“If you start telling me about how cold it is in Glasgow right now, I’ll beat you to death,” Dom replied, the corner of his mouth curving upward.

“Nope.” Billy pressed a moist kiss onto Dom’s neck. “Just thinking of ways to spoil you. And warm you up.”

“At one and the same time?” Dom sighed and let his head fall to the side.

“I’m nothing if not efficient,” Billy said.

“That you are.” Dom turned in his arms.

Only for You
300 words, R (language).

“You make a far better girl than me.”

“Piss off, Monaghan.” Billy squinted evilly, subsiding as Dom slapped his head lightly.

“Be still.” The corner of Dom’s tongue poked out as he dabbed at Billy’s jaw with the sponge. “There.” He straightened.

Heat and noise, bright light and the waxy scent of makeup; Orlando swanned by, looking prettier than any man should in a Cavalli prom dress, and Billy and Dom both watched him stride toward the backstage area. “Fucking Elves,” Billy groused, casting one last glance at the mirror. A pink-cheeked and sweet-lipped woman bearing a strong resemblance to Peregrin Took looked back; his gaze flicked to the odd-looking apparition of Dom in a Pamela Anderson wig behind him.

Dom grinned at him, eyes glittering black as sin and twice as tempting. “Finally, my eyeliner receives its due appreciation.”

Billy just snorted, standing and taking one cautious step in his silver fuck-me heels. “Only for you, Dominic,” he muttered.

“Not for me, Bill. For the trees. Two hundred people, two hundred bucks each–forty thousand dollars’ll buy a lot of rainforest.” He threaded his arm through Billy’s and led him toward the line of waiting celebrities, moving much more confidently than Billy, despite his three-inch Prada spikes.

“No, Dom, only for you.” They took their places behind Sting and Bono (Vera Wang and Versace, respectively), and Billy sighed morosely and adjusted one falsie. “Only for you would I shave my fucking legs.”

“Hobbits in thirty seconds,” a clipboard-toting attache said as she swept by.

“Billy.” Dom tightened his hand on Billy’s arm and blew a wisp of hair from his cheek, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “You are the gay bomb.”

“Fuck you, Dom.” Billy’s green eyes flashed with amusement and they strode out onto the catwalk.