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A Series of Unrelated Drabbles
Author: Pip
Pairings: Billy/Dom, Billy/Dom/Elijah, Merry/Pippin
Rating: Up to PG-13

First posted May, 2004

Billy accepted his pint. "Would ye look at the head on that? Work of art, that is."

"What would you know about good head?" Dom smirked, not lifting his red eyes. "Straight bloke, aren't you? So you keep insisting, anyway."

Billy's jaw clenched. He rose and left the table so abruptly he knocked the corner. His pint rocked, sloshing beer everywhere.

Orlando quickly steadied it. "Too far, Sblomie," he murmured.

"Shut up," Dom snapped.

"You're not helping your case with cracks like that," Orlando said, unoffended.

Dom stared at his glass. "I don't have a case," he muttered. "Not anymore."


First posted July, 2004

“That’s right, faggots, skip off home to Mommy,” the man sneered and turned away, badly underestimating at least one of them.

Billy stepped toward him menacingly, eyes narrowed, fingers twitching at his sides.

“Billy, no.” Dom grabbed his arm.

“Let me go. I could break his fucking head, Dom.”

“I know you could. Think of the press,” he said urgently.

Billy remained rigid. “I could fucking break him.”

“I know,” Dom said quietly. “Let’s go home. Please, Bills.”

Billy’s shoulders slumped, and Dom led him away. “I could have fucking broken him in two,” Billy whispered.

Dom nodded. “I know.”


First posted Aug, 2004

Elijah stared at Dom, then at Billy. Backed up until the edge of the counter bit into his arse.

“What do you mean—join you?” he asked, involuntarily shivering.

Billy spoke softly, unhurriedly. “We mean, ‘Lij, that we want you to stay tonight. With us.”

“You mean—with you?” he squeaked.

Dom chuckled, but made no move to close the distance. “Lightbulb, meet ‘Lijah. ‘Lijah, lightbulb.”

Billy shushed him.

“But—I didn’t know,” Elijah whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do,” Billy looked at him steadily.

Elijah swallowed, stepped toward them hesitantly. “Pancakes for breakfast?”

Strong arms pulled him in.


First posted Jan, 2005

Three stages in a relationship, three drabbles, you choose who's speaking.

2000

“Ever wonder why Pete hired you?”

“No. …Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why wouldn’t he, you git?”

“Why would he?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“…Forget it.”

“There are many reasons why Pete hired you. Shall I tell you…five?”

“No.”

“Five: because he knew you’d get along with everyone, virtually instantly.”

“Shut up—“

“Four: because of your height. Three: because of the way you talk.”

“That’s such bollocks—“

“Two: because of the way you look. And the number one reason: because you’re a fucking good actor. Pillock.”

“…D’you mean that?”

“That you’re a pillock?”

“Wanker.”

“Yes, I mean it. Every word.”




2001

“Ever wonder what you did to deserve all this?”

“Sometimes… You?”

“All the time.”

“What do you come up with?”

“Not much.”

“Yeah. ‘Cos really—this trilogy?”

“This cast?”

“This crew?”

“…You.”

“Jesus. When you say things like that—but…yeah. Yeah, you too.”

“Maybe I gave someone the best shag of their life.”

“What?”

“In a past life. Maybe that’s what I did to deserve this.”

“A shag.”

“Maybe not.”

“Couldn’t be. That was this life.”

“What?”

“Best shag of their life. That was me.”

“Oh. Oh, I see. Yeah, so it was.”

“Gobshite.”

“But you love me.”

“Yeah.”




2002

“Ever wonder what’s next?”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“Yeah. Every day.”

“For us?”

“Well…mostly work. This film, that play, this TV serial. What’ll be offered, and what’ll I choose?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Do you ever wonder what’s next for us?”

“…Sometimes.”

“And?”

“…And what?”

“Quit it. What do you think is next for us?”

“I don’t know. This is…not easy.”

“Believe me, I know. What do you want to be next for us?”

“I want to live with you. But—“

“I do, too.”

“…Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh. So…oh. Are we going to, then?”

“What do you think?”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”



First posted Feb, 2005

“Fuck off.”

Billy calmly said, “Not a chance, mate.” He sat beside Dom, laying his hand on Dom’s knees, which were pulled in protectively to his chest.

Dom smacked him away sharply. “Leave me alone.”

“I can’t leave you—not like this.”

“You bloody well can. Get the fuck out.”

“No, Dom.” Billy embraced him, grunting when a fist connected with his side.

“Let go!” Dom struggled, hard.

Billy only tightened his grip. “No. I won’t.”

A hand clutched at Billy’s shirt. “Let me go.”

“No.”

Dom began to shake. “It hurts, Billy.”

“I know.”

“Don’t let me go.”

“Never.”


First posted Feb, 2005

Word Count: 200
A/N: This is book-verse. Takes place while Pippin is leading Merry back into Minas Tirith after the Battle of Pelennor Fields. The italicized text is Tolkien's, from the chapter The Houses of Healing.

Pippin let Merry sink gently down onto the pavement in a patch of sunlight, and then he sat down beside him, laying Merry’s head in his lap. He felt his body and limbs gently, and took his friend’s hands in his own. The right hand felt icy to the touch.

“Don’t touch it,” Merry moaned. “It’s poisoned. I will poison you, Pip.”

“Shh , my dearest, bravest hobbit,” Pippin soothed. “Holding you is balm, not poison. You don’t know how I feared for you.”

“The sky grows dark. It’s over. He’s won, and we are lost. I’ll never see my Pippin again.”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck, it’s not over,” Pippin said urgently, dropping all pretense of lightheartedness. He gently gripped Merry’s chin in one hand and turned him until their eyes met. “I’ll care for you, in this life and beyond. No one could take you from me.”

“Help me, Pippin,” Merry breathed.

Pippin’s voice broke. “I will, my most beloved cousin. What shall I do?”

“Hold me.”

“I am, Merry. I am.”

“I can’t feel you. Why can’t I feel you, Pip?” he asked, his voice full of fear. “Please, let me feel you holding me as I die.”

“You are not dying, you fool of a Brandybuck!” Pippin sobbed. “Strider would have your guts for braces if he heard you, so stop your silliness this instant.” Nevertheless, he hoisted Merry higher, wrapping his arms around the limp body, and embraced him with all his might.

“Can’t feel you,” Merry whispered.


First posted Aug, 2005

"Billy, do I look fat?"

"Yes, Dom, you're enormous. I'm going to buy you a little blue jacket and red bow tie and no pants, and I'm going to call you Porky."

"Pillock."

"You asked."

"No, actually, I asked if I look fat. I didn't ask for you to take the piss."

"Aww, poor Dom is sensitive about being chubby."

"Fuck off, Boyd."

"You didn't even notice, did you?"

"Notice what?"

"That I just told you I was going to buy you an outfit that did not include pants."

"You really do love me."

"Yes, Dom, I really do."

"So. Little blue jacket, hmm?"

"Aye. And a little red bow tie."

"And no pants?"

"And no pants."

"Okay, Bills."

"Okay what? I can buy you a wee jacket and bowtie?"

"Yeah."

"But no pants?"

"Th-th-that's all, folks!"

"Idiot."


First posted Apr, 2006

Billy pressed the folded paper into Dom's hand. "Here. I wrote you a love letter."

"You did?" Dom's surprise turned to pleasure. "You wrote me a letter."

"I wrote you a love letter."

Dom held it tightly between his palms, fingertips against his lips.

Billy cocked his head. "Aren't you going to read it?"

"Yes. But first I have to absorb this. You. Wrote me. A letter."

"Are you mocking me?"

"No, Billy, I'm not mocking you. I'm filled with delight. You hate writing letters."

"I do," Billy nodded.

"So why did you write this?"

"Because you love receiving them."


First posted May, 2006

Dom sat on the fallen tree, toes clenching in his trainers. Ferns, palms, vines and nameless dark broad-leafed things surrounded him, and the scent of dark loamy earth and moss cooled him. Weighed down as he was, he tired easily, and it was all he could do not to sink right to the ground and stay there for an hour, a week, an eternity. But no, he would quickly be missed, the hue and cry would be raised. So on he would go, as he ever did, his back bending under a weight he didn't know how to carry.



Elijah lit another clove from the butt of his first. Smoke curled up blue around his head in the still, thick air. He coughed, and then laughed his high pitched laugh. "You sound like shit, dude. Where are you?" He held the phone with his left hand, the right stubbing out the old cigarette, the new one between his lips. "What the fuck're you doing there? Get your ass on the plane and come see me. No, no, I don't start filming until next month." His leg bounced up and down quickly, repeatedly. "Yeah. Come fucking see me, you dickhead."

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