| Sep. 2nd, 2003 @ 12:30 pm I Am Billy Boyd's Pent Up Emotion |
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Now Feeling: violent
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) _peapod has made me want to write fic.
Author: Marysia
Title: I Am Billy Boyd's Pent Up Emotion
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dominic Monaghan, Billy Boyd.
Notes: This is a prequel of sorts to Learning to Be Free. It is AU LotRips set in the Fight Club universe.
He wasn't even sure how he had got here. He wasn't sure why he was still here. It was like a dream, his feet had taken him without asking and here he was in this blur of harsh light and dirty shadow and everywhere the misshapen forms of men with their issues written on their bodies.
He interprets them... This scar is my Mum leaving me in the supermarket when I was 4 and not remembering for two hours. This black eye is my father's drinking. This burn is being teased at school. This broken rib is when I can't explain why I want to die.
He isn't listening to what they are actually saying. He is mostly watching the man who brought him here. That familiar British accent in that unfamiliar bar.
There the man had looked as out of place as Billy himself did, more so even thanks to the bruised knuckles and the scarred face and the skinhead. Looked like some football thug, who says he's going to see England play Germany, but is really going to kick the shit out of the first foreigner to get in his way.
He looked like he voted BNP, until you saw his eyes and they weren't cold and twisted, they were bruised like his skin. His eyes needed. Billy had asked him what he was doing in LA. He hadn't answered, just looked at him for a long moment then shrugged.
That was when his feet had started doing that thing. Because when the man had left he'd followed him and although the man had seen him he'd let him do it.
Billy had watched as the man's steps grew more purposeful, his shoulders more square, as they drew closer and closer to this place. And when they had entered and gone down the stairs to the bottom the man had spun on him and now the hungry animal was the starving predator and he had barked in his face, "The first rule of Fight Club is that no one talks about Fight Club!" And Billy had been left standing there at the bottom of the stairs, in shock, as he spun away to prowl the room.
He was still prowling, every now and then he caught Billy's eye. In the centre of the room there was blood being spilled and Billy didn't have to ask any questions. He knew he was next and he knew it would be with that man and he knew he was going to go through with it, even if he never came back here again.
There was something under his skin like a scream. Something crawling to get out. And to get it out his skin needed to be cut open by the man who was coming towards him now.
So he was stepping forward, he was stripping off his shirt and shoes and watch, and they were in the centre of the circle.
Billy waited.
The blow was like nothing he could have imagined. He had never really fought. Been punched a few times but not like this, with the strength of a man who intended to hurt you. Not because you had looked at his girlfriend funny or spilled his pint or he had someone to impress. Because you needed him to do it and he needed to do it and he wanted to do it and somehow, you wanted him to do it too.
By the time Billy had finished contemplating this he had been punched twice more and he felt drunk. punch drunk. He almost giggled. Then some instinct fired inside of him as he saw the man readying a fourth. He blocked it somehow and hit back. And that hurt too.
He had never thought much about the fact that a fight hurt whether you won or lost. But then you couldn't lose a fight that had no purpose other than to fight. Could you?
The man punched him so hard he saw waves and stars. Grabbed him round the neck and buried a fist in his stomach. He crumpled round it like an embrace and it felt a little like love. The smell of sweat reminded him of sex. The blood in his mouth tasted like being alive. He was winded and the lack of oxygen felt like the aftermath of an orgasm.
He grabbed the man with both arms, crushing them together, and head butted him. Glasgow kiss.
The man fell back and Billy spat blood at him. Grabbed him by the ears, his nails digging into the skin, and headbutted him again. Drew back his fist and punched him hard in the stomach.
Billy was on fire. His brain was on fire, burning away thought and fear and longing and loneliness and insecurity and need. He could feel the fire spitting out his eyes, roaring in his ears. The edges of his vision were filled with smoke and the twisted shapes of burning demons.
He screamed out a battle cry as he charged the man down onto the floor.
When the smoke cleared he was gasping like his lungs were seared. The man lay underneath him, conscious only out of sheer tenacity.
One of his eyes was looking at Billy still out of a slit. It looked bruised like overkissed lips. Hunger sated.
Billy leaned down and licked the sweat and blood off one cheek. There were fresh fingernail scratches there he didn't remember making.
The man tasted like raw meat. Like food.
He got up and left.
He would be going back. |
