Fic: Of Sonnets and Poetry
Jun. 29th, 2007 02:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
silentdescanttitle: Of Sonnets and Poetry
pairing: Billy/Dom
rating: PG-13
wordcount: 660
warning: very fluffy and a bit sappy as well
summary: “How can you not like Shakespeare?”
disclaimer: this is completely untrue.
a/n: This is inspired by one of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rainbowcobweb’s lovely prompts, "This above all, to thine own self be true." I managed not to use that quote anywhere in the fic, but the quote inspired it nonetheless! :P
“But it's Shakespeare!” Dom said with a grand, sweeping hand gesture that nearly hit Billy in the face. “How can you not like Shakespeare?”
“I wouldn’t have thought you a Shakespeare type of person,” Billy replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Billy.” Dom sat up straight and cocked his head to the side. “I’m an actor. I’m English. I’ve memorized some bloody Shakespeare.” He looked down at Billy smugly.
“Memorized? Really?” Billy grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“What, now?” Dom asked, genuinely surprised. He really should’ve known that Billy would expect proof.
“Why not now?”
“I’m… I’m not dressed!” Dom cried, cringing at the lame excuse.
“You’ve no shame, Dommeh. Don’t let a bit of nudity stop you now. Besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Billy nestled back into his pillow, half-sitting and watching Dom through glinting eyes.
Grumbling, Dom crawled out of bed, stood up, and cleared his throat. He began, jokingly, “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’”
“Can’t do that one, Dom. Everyone knows that one.”
“Not everyone. I bet Elijah doesn’t know it.”
“He doesn’t count; he’s a child. Impress me, Dommeh.”
Dom bit his lip, thinking. “‘Against my love shall be—’”
“Another sonnet?” Billy interrupted mockingly.
“Oi, piss off! What do you want, then?” Dom settled his weight on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously mirroring Billy’s stance, though he was standing up and Billy was half-reclining against the headboard.
“Come on, Dominic, impress me.”
“I’ll impress you,” Dom said confidently after a moment. “But it won’t be Shakespeare.” Billy shrugged.
“Carry on. So far I’ve not been impressed,” Billy added, smiling to temper the statement. Even so, Dom glared at him. Billy’s lips quirked into a different sort of smile: a blatantly challenging one.
Dom licked his lips and dropped his hands to his sides. “Oh, the comfort— the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person—” He gave Billy a meaningful look, and Billy’s smile softened in return. “…having neither to weigh thoughts,” Dom cocked his head to the side, “nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are…”
Dom smoothly stepped closer to the bed and propped one knee on the mattress before continuing. “…chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take them,” a hand, and then another knee, joined the first knee on the bed as Dom crawled closer. “…and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then…”
Billy’s arms fell open and suddenly, Dom was in his lap. He curled his hands around Dom’s arms and tugged him closer.
“…with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away.”
Their lips met, and Billy finally closed his eyes, giving in to the sensation. His hands slid up until all ten fingers tangled in Dom’s hair and his palms gently cradled Dom’s head.
***
“That was impressive,” Billy finally conceded, nearly an hour later.
“I must say, Bill, you were quite impressive yourself.” Dom, nestled against Billy’s side, twisted to look up to Billy’s face. He kissed Billy’s chin awkwardly.
“I didn’t know you were such a poet, Dom.”
“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,” Dom replied, grinning. “Well, maybe not a lot. Maybe just a few. Or… maybe that was it. You probably know everything about me, now.”
Dom nudged his cheek against Billy’s fuzzy chest and reached down to lace their fingers together. He brought Billy’s hand up and kissed his knuckles softly.
“Lightly whisper and softly touch, your fingers to mine,” he murmured, not looking up at Billy this time. “Feelings that caress, gentle words, as your fingers touch mine. Lips that brush against, the fingers that touch mine. Close tightly and keep, your fingers to mine.”
“Always, Dommeh,” Billy said, his voice equally soft. He kissed the top of Dom’s head. “Love you too, y’know. Even if I don’t have the verses to show it.”
fin.
the poetry:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
-- Sonnet 18, Shakespeare
Against my love shall be as I am now
-- Sonnet 63, Shakespeare
Oh, the comfort—
the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person—
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,
but pouring them all right out,
just as they are,
chaff and grain together;
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping,
and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.
-- from "A Life for a Life", Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Lightly whisper and softly touch,
your fingers to mine.
Feelings that caress, gentle words,
as your fingers touch mine.
Lips that brush against,
the fingers that touch mine.
Close tightly and keep
your fingers to mine.
-- “Your Fingers To Mine”, anonymous
pairing: Billy/Dom
rating: PG-13
wordcount: 660
warning: very fluffy and a bit sappy as well
summary: “How can you not like Shakespeare?”
disclaimer: this is completely untrue.
a/n: This is inspired by one of
rainbowcobweb’s lovely prompts, "This above all, to thine own self be true." I managed not to use that quote anywhere in the fic, but the quote inspired it nonetheless! :P“But it's Shakespeare!” Dom said with a grand, sweeping hand gesture that nearly hit Billy in the face. “How can you not like Shakespeare?”
“I wouldn’t have thought you a Shakespeare type of person,” Billy replied, raising an eyebrow.
“Billy.” Dom sat up straight and cocked his head to the side. “I’m an actor. I’m English. I’ve memorized some bloody Shakespeare.” He looked down at Billy smugly.
“Memorized? Really?” Billy grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“What, now?” Dom asked, genuinely surprised. He really should’ve known that Billy would expect proof.
“Why not now?”
“I’m… I’m not dressed!” Dom cried, cringing at the lame excuse.
“You’ve no shame, Dommeh. Don’t let a bit of nudity stop you now. Besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” Billy nestled back into his pillow, half-sitting and watching Dom through glinting eyes.
Grumbling, Dom crawled out of bed, stood up, and cleared his throat. He began, jokingly, “‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’”
“Can’t do that one, Dom. Everyone knows that one.”
“Not everyone. I bet Elijah doesn’t know it.”
“He doesn’t count; he’s a child. Impress me, Dommeh.”
Dom bit his lip, thinking. “‘Against my love shall be—’”
“Another sonnet?” Billy interrupted mockingly.
“Oi, piss off! What do you want, then?” Dom settled his weight on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest, unconsciously mirroring Billy’s stance, though he was standing up and Billy was half-reclining against the headboard.
“Come on, Dominic, impress me.”
“I’ll impress you,” Dom said confidently after a moment. “But it won’t be Shakespeare.” Billy shrugged.
“Carry on. So far I’ve not been impressed,” Billy added, smiling to temper the statement. Even so, Dom glared at him. Billy’s lips quirked into a different sort of smile: a blatantly challenging one.
Dom licked his lips and dropped his hands to his sides. “Oh, the comfort— the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person—” He gave Billy a meaningful look, and Billy’s smile softened in return. “…having neither to weigh thoughts,” Dom cocked his head to the side, “nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are…”
Dom smoothly stepped closer to the bed and propped one knee on the mattress before continuing. “…chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take them,” a hand, and then another knee, joined the first knee on the bed as Dom crawled closer. “…and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then…”
Billy’s arms fell open and suddenly, Dom was in his lap. He curled his hands around Dom’s arms and tugged him closer.
“…with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away.”
Their lips met, and Billy finally closed his eyes, giving in to the sensation. His hands slid up until all ten fingers tangled in Dom’s hair and his palms gently cradled Dom’s head.
***
“That was impressive,” Billy finally conceded, nearly an hour later.
“I must say, Bill, you were quite impressive yourself.” Dom, nestled against Billy’s side, twisted to look up to Billy’s face. He kissed Billy’s chin awkwardly.
“I didn’t know you were such a poet, Dom.”
“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,” Dom replied, grinning. “Well, maybe not a lot. Maybe just a few. Or… maybe that was it. You probably know everything about me, now.”
Dom nudged his cheek against Billy’s fuzzy chest and reached down to lace their fingers together. He brought Billy’s hand up and kissed his knuckles softly.
“Lightly whisper and softly touch, your fingers to mine,” he murmured, not looking up at Billy this time. “Feelings that caress, gentle words, as your fingers touch mine. Lips that brush against, the fingers that touch mine. Close tightly and keep, your fingers to mine.”
“Always, Dommeh,” Billy said, his voice equally soft. He kissed the top of Dom’s head. “Love you too, y’know. Even if I don’t have the verses to show it.”
fin.
the poetry:
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
-- Sonnet 18, Shakespeare
Against my love shall be as I am now
-- Sonnet 63, Shakespeare
Oh, the comfort—
the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person—
having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words,
but pouring them all right out,
just as they are,
chaff and grain together;
certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them,
keep what is worth keeping,
and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.
-- from "A Life for a Life", Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Lightly whisper and softly touch,
your fingers to mine.
Feelings that caress, gentle words,
as your fingers touch mine.
Lips that brush against,
the fingers that touch mine.
Close tightly and keep
your fingers to mine.
-- “Your Fingers To Mine”, anonymous