If You Can't Stand the Heat VI
Title: If You Can't Stand the Heat
Part(s): 6/?
Pairings: Monaboyd
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU
Disclaimers: I don't know them and I'm not affiliated with them.
Feedback: I love feedback of all kinds.
So, here we sit, the four of us, dubious looking drinks at the ready.
“What did you call this thing, Elijah? I mean, it looks very girly.”
Billy is alternately scowling at his drink and our energetic friend; he’s absolutely adorable when he’s grumpy. His little, furrowed brow and pouty frown just make me want to smooch away the lines and give him a proper nuzzle.
“It’s a cherry bomb. Didn’t I already tell you that? I did. I told you that several times. You just don’t want it. You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t try it.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t try it. Calm yourself, you wee beastie. Just. What the hell is it?”
“Oh! You mean what’s in it? Why didn’t you just say so? Silly man. See, they take cherries and they soak them in Everclear. After the cherries are all good and pickled they bottle them up. So, a cherry bomb is a shot of vodka with one of these really great cherries at the bottom. See? Ok. Now that we’ve cleared that up, it’s time to do the deed. Bottoms up!”
The damned thing burns all the way down but it’s not all that bad, in fact, it’s rather pleasant.
“Lij, what do we do with these cherries?”
Orlando is looking a little befuddled and dangling his cherry by its stem. Daft bugger.
“You eat it, dummy.”
“Oh yeah. Cheers.”
“You know, I can tie a knot in this cherry stem with my tongue. You want to see, Dom? Watch, it’s really easy, you just put it……..in yourt mousth and werk yourt thongue arouwtd it. Ith’s easthy. Hang onnna sethondth. I’ve almosstth gothit.”
And now Elijah is practically eating his stubby, little fingers, as his tongue jockeys for position. It looks rather uncomfortable and I can’t help but wonder why he can’t just put the stem into his mouth like a normal human being.
“God, Elijah. Stop it before you make us all sick. No one wants to see that. Let an expert show you how it’s done.”
Oh, good Lord. He’s not. He is.
He is!
If I weren’t so conscious of my entire body, I’m sure that my jaw would be hanging slack right about now. I don’t know if I can watch this. Oh, who am I kidding? My entire being longs to see this amazing feat of lingual dexterity.
With a nod to Elijah and a cheeky wink to me, Billy deftly pops the stem into his mouth.
A wink? He winked at me. What does that mean? And why is he looking at me? Isn’t he trying to teach Elijah?
And oh, the muscles in his neck and jaw are working, tense and then slack. It’s a slow, sinuous roll and I can only imagine the machinations of that tongue, as it sweeps over and around, under and across.
All of this, I could handle. What’s doing me in is the look of intense concentration, a look that just happens to be aimed in my general direction. I mean, I’m sure the concentration is actually on what’s in his mouth, but those eyes keep sliding down to the tabletop and then back up to lock with mine.
I have to get out of here. They must all be able to tell that I’m about to lose what little composure I had left. It’s too much.
And then, with a triumphant, little laugh and a grin, he’s spitting a perfectly tied loop into his hand and proudly showing it ‘round the table, as he pushes up and out of the booth.
“Well then. We’ve all had our drinks. May we leave now, Elijah? Please? Dom, I can handle Orlando if you can get the little guy, here, home.”
Speech is not really something that I’m capable of at the moment. I think that he melted my brain.
“Sure Billy. Dom can get me home. We’ll be fine. You guys be careful. Don’t let Orlando boss you around, either.”
Words coming back to me. Quick. Say something.
“Umm. See you tomorrow, Bill? Oh. Wait, we don’t have work, do we? Maybe, um, call me? You have my number, yeah?”
“Oh yes, Dominic. I've got your number.”
And with a smile, he’s gone, Orlando tagging behind and looking lost.
“Come on, Dom! Let’s go. Come on!”
“Give me a minute, would you, Lij?”
Think of something. For God’s sake, don’t tell him that you can’t get up because of the uncomfortable bulge in your trousers.
“It’s just, that shot made me a bit light-headed. Get me some water?”
“Sure! You want ice? A straw? Anything? I could get us something to eat, if you like.”
“No. Just the water is fine, thank you.”
The night air has cooled considerably and it’s done my head and my overheated frame some good.
Elijah is skipping along, like a monkey on crack and jabbering away, ninety to nothing. Really, I’m only halfway listening to what he’s saying and before I know it, we’re at his apartment.
Jittery little guy can’t even get his own door open.
“ Here, let me get it for you. You’re wound up tighter than a spring, young man.”
In the dim light, it’s hard to see what I’m doing, but I finally work the key into the right spot and with a snick, we’re in.
I’m prepared for the dark, coolness of the foyer, what I’m not prepared for is hot, little hands, pushing me against the wall and then skittering down my sides, spider-like, to grab the sharp bones of my hips.
“Um. Elijah, what are you doing?”
“You’ve got pretty eyes.”
And then his own eyes, luminous and glowing in the dim light, are inches from mine, sharply focused, alert and feral, and his mouth is hovering a hair’s breadth from my own. He’s so close that I can almost taste the alcohol on his breath and I can definitely taste the spicy, sharp tang of his cigarettes.
How the hell do I get myself into these situations?
Part(s): 6/?
Pairings: Monaboyd
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU
Disclaimers: I don't know them and I'm not affiliated with them.
Feedback: I love feedback of all kinds.
So, here we sit, the four of us, dubious looking drinks at the ready.
“What did you call this thing, Elijah? I mean, it looks very girly.”
Billy is alternately scowling at his drink and our energetic friend; he’s absolutely adorable when he’s grumpy. His little, furrowed brow and pouty frown just make me want to smooch away the lines and give him a proper nuzzle.
“It’s a cherry bomb. Didn’t I already tell you that? I did. I told you that several times. You just don’t want it. You’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t try it.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t try it. Calm yourself, you wee beastie. Just. What the hell is it?”
“Oh! You mean what’s in it? Why didn’t you just say so? Silly man. See, they take cherries and they soak them in Everclear. After the cherries are all good and pickled they bottle them up. So, a cherry bomb is a shot of vodka with one of these really great cherries at the bottom. See? Ok. Now that we’ve cleared that up, it’s time to do the deed. Bottoms up!”
The damned thing burns all the way down but it’s not all that bad, in fact, it’s rather pleasant.
“Lij, what do we do with these cherries?”
Orlando is looking a little befuddled and dangling his cherry by its stem. Daft bugger.
“You eat it, dummy.”
“Oh yeah. Cheers.”
“You know, I can tie a knot in this cherry stem with my tongue. You want to see, Dom? Watch, it’s really easy, you just put it……..in yourt mousth and werk yourt thongue arouwtd it. Ith’s easthy. Hang onnna sethondth. I’ve almosstth gothit.”
And now Elijah is practically eating his stubby, little fingers, as his tongue jockeys for position. It looks rather uncomfortable and I can’t help but wonder why he can’t just put the stem into his mouth like a normal human being.
“God, Elijah. Stop it before you make us all sick. No one wants to see that. Let an expert show you how it’s done.”
Oh, good Lord. He’s not. He is.
He is!
If I weren’t so conscious of my entire body, I’m sure that my jaw would be hanging slack right about now. I don’t know if I can watch this. Oh, who am I kidding? My entire being longs to see this amazing feat of lingual dexterity.
With a nod to Elijah and a cheeky wink to me, Billy deftly pops the stem into his mouth.
A wink? He winked at me. What does that mean? And why is he looking at me? Isn’t he trying to teach Elijah?
And oh, the muscles in his neck and jaw are working, tense and then slack. It’s a slow, sinuous roll and I can only imagine the machinations of that tongue, as it sweeps over and around, under and across.
All of this, I could handle. What’s doing me in is the look of intense concentration, a look that just happens to be aimed in my general direction. I mean, I’m sure the concentration is actually on what’s in his mouth, but those eyes keep sliding down to the tabletop and then back up to lock with mine.
I have to get out of here. They must all be able to tell that I’m about to lose what little composure I had left. It’s too much.
And then, with a triumphant, little laugh and a grin, he’s spitting a perfectly tied loop into his hand and proudly showing it ‘round the table, as he pushes up and out of the booth.
“Well then. We’ve all had our drinks. May we leave now, Elijah? Please? Dom, I can handle Orlando if you can get the little guy, here, home.”
Speech is not really something that I’m capable of at the moment. I think that he melted my brain.
“Sure Billy. Dom can get me home. We’ll be fine. You guys be careful. Don’t let Orlando boss you around, either.”
Words coming back to me. Quick. Say something.
“Umm. See you tomorrow, Bill? Oh. Wait, we don’t have work, do we? Maybe, um, call me? You have my number, yeah?”
“Oh yes, Dominic. I've got your number.”
And with a smile, he’s gone, Orlando tagging behind and looking lost.
“Come on, Dom! Let’s go. Come on!”
“Give me a minute, would you, Lij?”
Think of something. For God’s sake, don’t tell him that you can’t get up because of the uncomfortable bulge in your trousers.
“It’s just, that shot made me a bit light-headed. Get me some water?”
“Sure! You want ice? A straw? Anything? I could get us something to eat, if you like.”
“No. Just the water is fine, thank you.”
The night air has cooled considerably and it’s done my head and my overheated frame some good.
Elijah is skipping along, like a monkey on crack and jabbering away, ninety to nothing. Really, I’m only halfway listening to what he’s saying and before I know it, we’re at his apartment.
Jittery little guy can’t even get his own door open.
“ Here, let me get it for you. You’re wound up tighter than a spring, young man.”
In the dim light, it’s hard to see what I’m doing, but I finally work the key into the right spot and with a snick, we’re in.
I’m prepared for the dark, coolness of the foyer, what I’m not prepared for is hot, little hands, pushing me against the wall and then skittering down my sides, spider-like, to grab the sharp bones of my hips.
“Um. Elijah, what are you doing?”
“You’ve got pretty eyes.”
And then his own eyes, luminous and glowing in the dim light, are inches from mine, sharply focused, alert and feral, and his mouth is hovering a hair’s breadth from my own. He’s so close that I can almost taste the alcohol on his breath and I can definitely taste the spicy, sharp tang of his cigarettes.
How the hell do I get myself into these situations?