November 3rd, 2005
|apple_pi||09:37 pm - Texas Two-step, Chapter 1|
Authors: A Texan and a Welsh girl, aka apple_pi and lord_alexander, aka Pi and Sal, aka make-believe Billy and Dom.
Rating: Let's just be honest and say NC-17, shall we? We'll get there soonish, I promise.
Pairing: A dash of Mona, a pinch of Boyd. (I'll have one of those, ta.)
Warnings: We are mad. In the Britishish sense of the word. Also: Pi has been to the area where this is set, but it's been a few (ten or so) years, so any geographical mistakes are hers and hers alone and frankly she is uninterested in hearing about them.
Contains: AU Billy and AU Dom, along with other assorted AU characters. Horses, some of which fart. Cacti. Whisky and guitars and other fun things. Muscle cramps and oblivious gay men and not-so-oblivious gay men and expensive sunglasses. Leather. Oh yes we did.
Whoever had the bright idea deserved to be shot, Dom reflected, a jarring headache buzzing insistently at the back of his left eye socket as the jeep rutted and bounced and thudded it's way along the World's Longest Unpaved Road (TM). Whoever had thought that this would turn out to be a relaxing holiday deserved to get shot in the head with that gun the Mexican was wearing. The gun had made Dom stare, then he'd realised that not that many inches away from the gun was something larger and more potently dangerous, so he'd averted his eyes upwards to the pale blue eyes of the Mexican. There was safety in staring at eyes the colour of the sky before it snowed rather than that frankly impressive todger encased in worn denim. Indeed, the wearing and fading of the material was such that the almost whiteness of the heavy fabric seemed to scream 'Hello! I am a truly ginormous penis! Worship me!' Not that Dom did worship penises--he wasn't that sort of cultist.
The person who'd thought this was a good idea, the person to blame, if blame was indeed to be levelled, was short, and had bleached tips on brownish hair, half-lidded blue eyes and an even lazier smile--not that he was currently smiling. He was sarcastic, good in bed, and far more fashionably dressed than his travelling companion. But then Dom was to blame for many things. Up Hella Ha in Shetland? Well, not the actual festival, but his and Billy's visit there? His fault. It wasn't exactly uneventful, considering Dom had almost been knocked over by some weird Viking type playing Poi with flaming barrels, and Billy had almost had a burning torch chucked at him at the burning of the boat, but it was a slightly singed Holiday to Remember. Algiers and selling Billy for four racing camels, before the owner came back complaining that the Scot was male. Sunburn in Turkey. Rampant yak in Tibet. Those horrid fucking spiders in Sydney. Accidental ladyboy shagging in Bangkok. All Dom's brilliant ideas, and he did admit that they had turned into fantastically dire catastrophes.
But then it was, indirectly, Billy's fault. Billy of the inhumanly pretty mouth and the humanly wonderful backside. Billy and his neat Scottish accent and neat little body that Dom wanted to molest quite wantonly. Billy: sensible, cultured Billy. That was a definite difference. While Billy had enjoyed Algiers for the impressive Moorish architecture, the Spanish influences, the flavour of the East, and the call of the Imam in the muezzin, Dom liked the beer, the rentboys, and the cheap leather shopping. It was a bargain for most things, and though he didn't pick up anything (rentboys, handbags, syphillis) he'd had a lovely wander around and almost married a carpet salesman. But that would have left sexy, delicious Billy on his own, so Dom had decided against it.
Though that idea was considerably more sensible than what they were currently doing. Especially as this entire vacation contained so many fetishing points that Dom was fairly vibrating off the seat. That could have been the Mexican's driving, however. He drove with one finger on the wheel, yakking away to no one in particular, one bronzed, muscled forearm hanging out of the open window of the Jeep. Dom reflected that he'd have made a very good London cab driver considering that the actual content of any taxi man, from Glasgow to Guatemala, basically was the same.
"You know ees not so easy for men to come eento Texas now, yeah? They ees tightening the border control and I ees saying to my boss, Meester Mortensen, I ees saying that we are not having the same calibre of cowboys on the ranch seence thees control, and he ees saying that we are needing the good cowboys, but all the best ees coming from Mexico and down in the south and we ees low on cowboys. I am Andy, I ees your cowboy for the weekend, Meester... Meester...?"
It was like talking to a comedy Mexican, and Dom couldn't help but grin.
"Monaghan, but I'm Dom alright? None of this Meester Monaghan stuff. And that one there, that's Billy."
"I remembering your names, Mee...Domeeneec!" Andy sounded triumphant, actually turning around in the driver's seat and narrowly missing running over an irate armadillo.
Billy was lucky, mind. He'd fallen asleep the moment they'd arrived at Dallas/Ft. Worth, saying he had jet lag; Dom had slept through the six-seater plane ride to Midland, Texas, and now Billy was sleeping again. Dom thought. Considering they weren't that far behind on sleep, Dom had stayed awake for the through the trip from the airport to Ft. Davis, set a Texas town apparently made up solely of movie fronts, as it was too dusty, bleak, and ugly to be real. There they had met Andy. Andy, who was five-eight of muscled Mexican cowboy, who talked incessantly about Meester Mortensen, and who drove like a maniac. On the wrong side of the road. It would have been fine if Dom was properly enclosed and air-conditioned and such, but no, he had to go in this mostly open-topped, very rusty and dusty Jeep. Billy had pulled his Stetson over his face and fallen asleep again, and Dom, nervous in cars at the best of times, had had his heart, stomach, kidneys and most of his small intestine in his mouth ever since.
Then there was the threat of horses.
And Dom didn't even ride!
Stupid dude ranch holidays, he decided, Andy's babbling washing over him.
Dom was a city boy. He was all about cosmopolitanism, and renovated trendy wine bars, and filthy dives of pubs, and excellent public transport. He was Manchester United. He was hundreds of thousands of pounds of property, and elegant warehouse conversions. He was a city of culture boy, he was Commonwealth Games and Coronation Street. In other words, he was as City as ever there was a man, and it was blindingly obvious as he swung his legs from the Jeep and stood in the red-dust courtyard. There were lots of stables, and a low hacienda style house, and then?
There was bugger all apart from the distant cries of birds, Andy's chatter, and the low snort of a bored horse. The space was so empty that Dom quailed slightly, pressing against the Jeep for comfort, getting dust over the back of his seventy-quid jeans and designer shirt. It was as if someone had snatched him, in his Oakley sunglasses and expensive boots, snatched him away from the streets of Manchester where he belonged, and just dumped him in this barren, hostile environment. It felt so completely strange and alien that Dom gave a slight flinch when Billy, who looked less out of place though still rather too neat, climbed out to lean against the Jeep with him.
"Smart-mouthed Scottish fucker."
And now, added to the emptiness, was what Dom referred to, with invisible capital letters in his head, as The Billy Problem. Not that Billy was a problem; indeed, it was the complete opposite. Dom and his Scottish companion were very close, indeed so close that people were surprised they weren't actually shagging. A few drunken snogs, a bit of friendly groping on Dom's part, hands pinching arses and so on, but nothing serious or penis-related. And Dom liked Billy. No, he Liked Billy. If he could put what he felt in sparkly letters and with flashing lightbulbs, possibly with half-naked cheerleaders with no knickers on, he'd have done it. But then that would have told Billy. Which might have been a little awkward, as Billy wasn't so much gay as… well, straight. And Dom liked things to be smooth and unawkward and very easy indeed. It made life so much easier, and lessened the possibility of being left in the middle of nowhere by a puffed-up and disgusted Scot who'd run off with all the traveller's cheques and the passports.
It would just be easier to put the old moves on Billy when they were in Britain, preferably in Dom's flat, in the lounge. It meant that if he did get spurned Dom spoke the language and had his own cash. And if he wasn't spurned, it meant he wouldn't have far to go, either. It was only ten feet from there to his bedroom, which was very very useful indeed.
"It's very... um..."
"In a way."
The sky was huge. Dom had read about American skies, had seen the paintings, but above him was a blueness that was quite intense in the definite blue of it, and the brightness of the sun was dazzling, turning the sandy red earth into something more sepia in colour. The white hacienda seemed to shimmer in the heat haze, the rusted yellow jeep faded out into ochre, the horses dusty in the distant fields. It was bold, and massive, and very American in style. Used to Britain, so small and cosy with the weather--though Dom knew that for her size Britannia had the most tornados in the world each year--it was almost overwhelming.
Feeling like he needed to collapse into a heap, Dom slid down the side of the Jeep into the dust, staring up, only to have his view blocked by the man in black. No, it wasn't Johnny Cash, but a tall, raw-boned man with denim-blue eyes and strawberry blond hair.
"Is he dead?" the man asked Billy in a slightly nasal, slightly tainted American accent.
"We can only hope--he's complained the entire time."
Dom's expensive boot narrowly missed making Billy sing mezzo-soprano for the rest of his life.
So Dom seemed upset. Billy stared out the jeep at the heat-hazed landscape. They had landed at DFW and then got on a horrid puddle-jumper plane and flown another few thousand miles--wait. Did they use miles in this place? Yes. Alright then--another few thousand miles, with Dom sleeping and Billy half-sick from the plane and the insane pilot and the fact that he was high enough to be frightened of heights but not high enough to think of them as an abstract concept. So out had come the whisky bottle, which he'd sworn he'd save till he really needed it, like when he was dying of a rattlesnake bite and just wanted to numb himself, or when Dom had managed to alienate the governments of Mexico and the United States and they were on the run from the law a la Pancho Sanza. Erm. Pancho Villa? Yeah. Him. Anyhow, out had come the whisky, as Billy had decided that he might as well swill the stuff (despite its being ten-year-old Glenmorangie), because if he was about to die (while Dom snored and the pilot rambled on and on and on about the fact that the Texas constitution had more amendments than there were days of the year and this was obviously a sign of the End Times), he might as well do it drunk on good whisky. On decade-old Glenmorangie, as a matter of fact.
When the plane landed in one piece, Billy was pleasantly and blurrily surprised, but he followed Dom with firm footsteps (bootsteps?) to the jeep of the man who claimed to be from the Rocking Wraith Ranch. The man said he was Mexican. Said his name was Ahndeeeee. Did Mexicans have faded blue eyes? And sort of… well. You know. White-boy skin, though nicely tanned. And really nicely muscled forearms, nice enough that Billy could stare at them interestedly for several (hundred more) miles, from behind his sunglasses as the jeep bounced and careened over perfectly reasonably smooth highways and then not-so-reasonably potholed gravel and dirt roads.
Ahndeeeeeeeee was saying something. Had not, in fact, stopped saying something since they climbed into the jeep. Dom looked distinctly irritable. Maybe he was just angry because this Mexican fellow could talk faster than him--a novel experience for the Mancunian, Billy was certain. Certainly he never tried to speak faster than Dom; he just trailed along behind him, picking up the pieces and collecting the debris. It was a happy relationship for the most part, though Dom had never seemed to notice that Billy wanted to shag him senseless; Billy just sighed a bit (privately, him being a private sort of fellow) and wound Dom up tighter, and made sure they had enough lager on hand for when Dom fell apart.
Wait a mo; was Dom irritable because Billy was staring at the nicely muscled forearms? Billy blinked, accepted it as a valid theory, and shifted his stare to Dom's thighs. Also nicely muscled, and clad now in ridiculously costly designer jeans, and Billy thought about said thighs being clad in sweat and locked around his waist and sat back and smiled in a sort of unfocused way at the world. Eventually he pulled the hat--it was ridiculous, too, and of course Dom had bought it for him--over his eyes and fell asleep.
By the time the jeep rattled to a halt, Billy was feeling a lot more focused, mostly on having a piss and possibly throwing up violently.
He glanced at Dom; attempted to stand still and not do the international samba known as the I-Gotta-Pee Dance. Dom was looking cowed and peering through his (fucking hot) sunglasses at the sky; Billy kept his eyes determinedly on Dom. "Fuck," said his best mate.
Dom smirked at him, and Billy shifted against the side of the jeep as Ahndeeeeeeeeeee hurried away. Dom shivered, eyes back on the moonscape all round them. "It's very… um…"
Billy looked around. It looked like shite: rugged and dangerous, arid and forbidding and wild. Gorgeous, actually. "Beautiful?"
He saw Dom assimilate his drunken suggestion. (Though Dom presumably didn't know he was still quite pissed.) "In a way."
And see, that was why him and Dom were best mates. Dom could deal with Billy uttering the word "beautiful". He could deal with it when Billy was sober and wound him up to breaking point; he could deal with it when Billy was drunk and crawled into his bed naked. Dom could just deal, and Billy loved that about him. He watched Dom slide to the dirt, and was thinking of telling him just how much he loved him. Was interrupted by fucking John Wayne. If only John Wayne had been an incredibly sexy person with a square-jawed face and eyes the color of the white-washed blue sky and long lank hair and jeans that looked sewn on. If only, Billy thought. And of course if only John Wayne had been trailed by an eager and distinctly weird Mexican with (now Billy could see it) a fine arse and quite the large package in front, too.
"Is he dead?" Hotter John Wayne asked.
"We can only hope," Billy replied offhand, wishing he had a camera. "He's complained the entire time."
Dom lurched to his feet. "Fuck off," he said to Billy. "I'm fine. Just jetlagged and fucking ready for a kip, mate." He stuck his hand out at John. "Dom Monaghan."
"Billy Boyd," Billy offered, wondering if anyone would consider it rude if he whizzed on the nearest cactus. Which looked to be about three feet away. The cactus would probably consider itself lucky. Rain! the cactus would say, and burst into bloom. Billy Boyd, cactus-hero. He thought longingly about his life as a god to cactus everywhere.
"Viggo Mortenson," John Wayne said, shaking first Dom's then Billy's hands. Viggo? Well. Y'know. Americans. Had weird names a lot. "Right, just follow me, I'll show you to your room and you can have your, ah. Kip."
Ahndeeeeee followed behind; he carried Billy's suitcase and Dom's rucksack. Billy had removed his hands gently but firmly from the guitar case, and carried it himself.
The inside of the hacienda (was that the right word? who cared?) was low-ceilinged and coolish, with fans turning lazily and an air conditioner whirring from one window. Viggo (Viggo? Again, Billy shook his head, if only mentally) led them through a lounge (massive furniture, animal heads on the walls with dusty glass eyes) and down a hall. "Here you go," he said, and opened the door to a single room with one large, high bed.
"Oi, I booked two rooms," Dom said weakly.
"Did you really?" Viggo pushed Andy forward so that Dom and Billy had to either go in or be mown down by the driver-turned-valet. "Sorry about that. This is all I have for a few days, until some other guests leave." Andy dropped the bags and slithered around Viggo to exit. (Billy blinked--had the Mexican pinched Viggo's arse?) Viggo was regarding them with the calm look of the hotelier whose customers have no other options within a two-hundred-mile radius; Dom looked at Billy, who shrugged. Sure.
Dom shrugged at Viggo. "Alright then, mate, just take the charge for two rooms off the card, right?"
"Of course," Viggo said. "Just let us know if you need anything." He shut the door.
Dom looked at Billy; Billy looked at Dom.
"Well." Billy set his guitar case gently in the corner. "Bagsies on the toilet." He sprinted for the tiled room.
Woohoo! New tig from Pi and Sal! Yay!
...ahem. Very promising, ladies, as always. There were so many bits that I liked (I said bits! *snicker* Indeed there are many bits in this that I like.)
Did I say yay?
Ohh... the boys are going to ride. *wink wink nudge nudge say no more, say no more*
I am obscenely excited about this!
*prances around gleefully*
*worships you both*
*bounces and claps hands like an excited five year-old*
*er, a horny, excited...never mind, that's so not right...*
Um. Hi. I like this muchly. Am eager for more. *waits patiently*
Thank you. :)
Four racing camels for one Billy? An absolute bargain.
*rummages through camel herd*
And 'Accidental ladyboy shagging in Bangkok'? We have to know!!
*waits eagerly for the next chapter*
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me há-ppiéééééééééééé, when skies are gray...
Wenches. The both of you.
*wiggles at images of sexy gay men on horseback*
|Date:||November 3rd, 2005 10:24 pm (UTC)|| |
YAY!! Cowboys!! Cactuses!!
Billy Boyd, cactus-hero. He thought longingly about his life as a god to cactus everywhere. LMFAO
Oh, this is just so fucking amazing already.
impatiently eagerly for more*
I LOVE it! When you and Sal get together a good (porny) time is guaranteed. I can't wait for more.
The two of you together are pure and utter genius.
It's funny. I would have thought Billy worth at least five camels and a goat. Live and learn, as I always say.
Woot!!!! A new ficcie from Pi and Sal
*does the happy dance*
Cant wait until the boys start riding - uh - the horses! Yeah, that's it.
*puts on most innocent face*
Whee! Pi and Sal fic!
*camps out to wait for more*
Delightful, and so very much UST... luckily, with you two around, I'm sure it won't last long.
Andy goosing Viggo! unexpected and fabulous :-)
I have just attracted rather an unwanted amount of attention by laughing until I fell out of my chair. (Note to self: Do not read in computer lab.)
I blame you two, with glee.
Oh boy oh boy I do believe this is gonna be fun. :D
If only, Billy thought.
If only, tarte thought.
Count me in on this. So in. *pitches tent in grounds of ranch*
I haven't even read it yet and I'm so excited. x.x
Ahndeeeeee. Spiders in Sydney. (Like this one
, perchance?) Chaps in chaps, one hopes, at some point during the proceedings. And the old no-room-at-the-inn scenario, which is one of my absolute faves. Bring on the debauchery!
i chortled out loud when i saw you two were going at it again. erhm...
yes, well. this little piece of fiction is off to a fabulous start. i wonder if andeeee went ahead, and told meester mortenson that the two new guests needed push in the right direction, and being a matchmaker, viggo put them in one room instead of two. ;0)
great start, girls. this is gonna be a fun romp. can't wait!!
Well. Now I know my Sunday's started off on the right foot. I'll just sit here and breathe until the excitement subsides. Cos there's only so much brilliance I can take at once, and the two of you tag-teaming definitely exceeds my levels of toleration :)
|Date:||November 7th, 2005 04:51 am (UTC)|| |
Dude, does one of you watch Stargate: Atlantis. If not... well I already knew I was obsessed.
This is so freakin' funny.
|Date:||November 8th, 2005 06:08 pm (UTC)|| |
*GLEE* What a sexcellent way to kick off the countdown to Gay Cowboy Month. *g*
|Date:||November 8th, 2005 08:39 pm (UTC)|| |
I LOVE YOU PLZ.
Yayness! Am a bit behind with my reading, but I love your collaborations! :-)