| Title: Scar Author: Jo Pairing: Billy Boyd/Joaquin Phoenix Rating: PG Summary: Such a little thing... Disclaimer: Never happened. Made the entire thing up. Hell, I don't even know if Billy's ever met Joaquin. But it's nice to think about. Notes: Written for a) the Furor Scribendi obsession challenge and b) Cyndi's birthday. Yes, it's late, but it's here. :)
Billy knew this. He knew, but he was almost helpless to look away. There was just something about it that drew his eyes and had since they were introduced. And he didn't mean to stare now, but he couldn't help himself. It was just so...something. Which was exactly why he was glad the pub was dimly lit. And that he was shoved in the corner of the booth, squashed between Russell and the wall. Away from Joaquin. Completely out of reach. Because God only knew what he'd do if Joaquin caught him staring. It was rude to stare like he had been. But he hadn't meant it to be rude. Not at all. He was just so completely captivated by it that he found it impossible to look anywhere else. So, again, he lost the thread of the conversation. The story Russell was telling faded away to a muted buzz as Billy's eyes followed the trail that curved over Joaquin's upper lip. It added something to his face, Billy thought. Some indefinable quality that made him more open, more attainable...something that made the aching beauty of his face easier to bear. Beauty? Where the hell did that come from? Enough of that. Pull yourself together, Billy. You're too old for this shite. Distract yourself...and, for God's sake, stop staring at the man like he's a piece of meat. Meat... With an effort, Billy snatched his thoughts away from that image and took a long swallow of his beer. And tried to concentrate on the story Russell was in the midst of sharing. Something about how Joaquin got tangled in the cloak he wore during "Gladiator." Cloak...tangled...oh, God. Billy almost groaned aloud. Christ. He wasn't going to survive this. Not with images like that running through his head. But fuck if he could stop thinking about them...or that scar. Then he looked up, and his gaze collided with brilliant green eyes across the table. He watched lips twist upwards, curl into a smile. Damn. Just like that, he was ensnared again, lost in the perfect imperfection that was Joaquin. And he wondered how the scar would taste under his lips, how it would feel. Would it feel smooth and shiny? Taste hot? Or would it be something else entirely? He wondered. "Feel like getting out of here?" Startled, Billy looked up, then around, at Joaquin's words. The small party seemed to have broken up -- Paul chatting up some bird at the bar, Russell nowhere in sight, the rest of the guys wandering away. When did that happen? And how did he miss it? Billy wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was alone with Joaquin. "Billy?" What? Oh. "Um, sure." "Good." And Joaquin grinned. Billy's eyes were drawn back, like a magnet, to the scar. Once again, he wondered what it would taste like as the tip of his tongue slid along it. He stared and wondered how he could find out. Or if he could. He met Joaquin's eyes again. And something lurking in their depths told him that he just might.
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