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msilverstar

fic: Walking Backwards (1/3, DM/CA, R)

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Jun. 8th, 2006 | 07:13 pm
mood: thoughtful

Title: Walking Backwards (part 1 of 3)
Author: msilverstar and nienor__niniel
Pairing: Dom Monaghan / Christine Astin
Rating: this part, PG-13
Summary: Dom loves challenges, Christine is intrigued
Disclaimer: Not true: we made it up
Feedback: Yes, please


Hawaii, mid 2004

Christine sighs as she steps off the plane, tilting up her head and letting the balmy Hawaiian breeze play over her face. There's all the difference in the world between this and the midwest, where they flew to leave the kids with her family so they could have some time to themselves. It's been a rough few months since she delivered Isabella-- trying to deal with the new baby, get the weight off, and cope with Sean's constant schedule, which doesn't have room enough in it for half <, too, who likes the attention even more than Sean, even though he doesn't let on-- at least, not the same way Sean does. She slopes away towards the cargo hold, where ladders are being wheeled out, and bags tossed onto conveyors. They have more than she's willing to carry, but she can gather it, at least, while the boys sign and mug for the cameras.

Kicking himself for attracting attention, Dom shakes his head and shows the crowd his lei-covered arms, "Sorry, I'm a bit tied up!" He heads after Chris, hoping Sean will meet him there, slightly narked that his secret is out.

Christine catches sight of something scarlet out of the corner of her eye as she is tugging her makeup kit off the conveyor, and turns-- to find Dom incoming, with Sean several lengths back and closing; Dom managed to avoid the press of the crowd, but he didn't.

She smiles at Dom, amused, but not entirely willing to show it, wondering what sort of mischief he has up his sleeves. "Dominic," she greets him, her most motherly tone-- it's the only kind of authority that seems to leave him nonplussed.

"Ms. Christine," he carols back at her. She seems younger somehow, cos she's tired or maybe because this is his new home territory. He loops a couple of leis around her neck, and leans in to kiss her. Something's different, and it takes a few moments for him to realise that she's missing the mum smell. No formula or spit-up or nappy or even baby powder. Just woman, and a little perfume, and sweat from the trip.

Christine covers a smile, ducking behind her hair and covering by lifting a lei to scent the blossoms-- real flowers, thick and waxy, the sort you used to see on "Fantasy Island." Is Dom Mr. Roarke, or is he Tattoo? The thought amuses her, and she can't hide the smile anymore. She hands Dom her makeup case, not giving him a chance to say no, and reaches for the next suitcase as it thumps its way over the rollers. Sean ought to be catching them up any minute now, judging by the excited chatter of the crowd. "Thank you, Dominic." She drops the suitcase and goes fishing for a duffel bag that slides down the incline right behind it. "We brought too much, don't you think? Not that it's all mine-- Sean packed every pair of jeans he owns, I think. We should have brought Jeff to handle it all, but he deserves a vacation too."

Dom laughs at her blithering, suddenly more secure. "Aloha, baby," he purrs, and swings the case in his hand. He catches the eye of a brawny porter who ambles over with a cart and loads up all the cases with a flick of his wrist. Makes Dom feel fragile, though pleased he won't have to carry them all himself. Christine nods approvingly.

Sean comes up and there's all the fuss that seems to surround him, until they're finally in the car and on their way to the house. It's peculiar, they being the first ones to visit, and Dom's trying not to be nervous about the whole thing.

Christine likes Dom's convertible, and likes the way he takes the winding roads too fast, even though it's giving Sean fits. She lets the wind take her hair-- she'll worry about combing it later-- and turns her face up into the sun. Dom is acting strange, almost skittish; maybe he's never hosted guests before, or maybe it's the pressure of the new series getting to him. That's probably it; her sense for that kind of thing is honed sharp by Sean's mercurial moods. "Relax," she tosses over her shoulder to him. "We're on vacation."

"You are," Dom shoots back, but he's grinning into the wind, "I'm making the most expensive TV pilot ever and trying to keep them from thinking my entire vocabulary consists of 'bloody' and 'cor, blimey'." But it's brilliant and he can smell success from here. Sean's drowsing in the back and Dom says "Hang on," before he takes the next corner even faster, just for the thrill of it. "I love it here," he tells her, for no reason in particular.

It's beautiful," she agrees-- the jungle is lush and the water pure crystal blue. She can catch glimpses of sand and surf as they go, and she wants to lie on the pure black sand and let it bake the last of the midwest winter right out of her bones. "Does your place have a private beach? Sean says you surf. He hasn't since New Zealand, except for once when Elijah and Billy dragged him out."

Dom nods happily, and explains, "Surfing here is fantastic! My bit of beach is better for swimming, but there's a place down the road... fuckin' heaven. I'll get Sean out there somehow." Then, without quite meaning to ask, "Have you ever been? Surfing, I mean. I've seen you ski, and it's a lot like that."

Dom's words have the sound of a challenge, and Christine hesitates-- she doesn't want to back away from a challenge, not in front of Dom, who is all too quick to pounce on any sign of weakness. What's she supposed to say, "No, I haven't surfed; I spend all my time changing diapers?" Saying she'd run a fancy restaurant wasn't much better. She glances back at Sean, who has closed his eyes to ignore the drive. He's probably asleep; he's been on his feet for days again, and when he comes down, he can sleep for 15 or 18 hours at a time. "No, I wasn't much interested in surfing," she laughs, deliberately casual. "I was more into the leather scene when I was that age." There, let him chew on THAT.

That last bit, that little smile, has Dom gaping, but he recovers quickly, "Billy's older, and he surfs..." and maybe it is a bit of a challenge, but only because he has to think about things. Like how she'd look in leather. With spike heels. And gloves, long gloves, to-the-elbow leather gloves. And... maybe a corset. Fuck, he's gone all loopy, thinking those things. You just don't think that about a mate's wife.

She knows she's made a mistake the instant she says it, but there's no taking it back. "So Billy isn't into leather?" She may as well take the ball and run with it. ""It's always seemed to me extreme sports are just a form of sublimation -- channeling frustrated sexual energy to get rid of it." She tosses her hair back and adjusts her sunglasses.

"Adrenaline," Dom confides, slightly relieved to be onto a different topic "Orli pulls all the time, and he loves bungie jumping, and all that." He's silent for a few moments, negotiating curves, and says, "Surfing's not really extreme, not just about the thrill, yanno? There's a whole zen of it, being on the water, balancing, letting the wave carry you along. More like skiing than ski jumping," he finishes up, just as they turn into his drive. Perfect timing, and if he never hears the word 'leather' during this whole visit, he'll be thrilled.

Christine didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday, and she can spot an evasion when she sees it-- you don't live with Sean Astin for 11 years and not learn to spot one, not if you want to stay sane. She feels the sly smile stretching her mouth and knows it says what she won't say aloud . "Well, if adrenaline gets you off," she contents herself with, "I'm sure that's just fine. Very enjoyable."

Sean wakes up just then, and Dom is bloody grateful. He shows them round, and is glad everything looks reasonably tidy and all the porn is hidden. Before long, though, he lets them stumble to the guest room and nap.

All the talk of surfing and sex has got Dom quite roused, so he has a quick wank and goes out to work the rest of it off body surfing. Not as good as boarding but he wants to stay close. The waves pound him until he finally gets the rhythm, bends with the rush of water, and relaxes.

It's still light when Christine wakes up-- an all-too-familiar result of jet-lag. She yawns and stretches, noting that Sean is still out cold. It's not surprising. She tries not to make noise as she gets into the big suitcase and pulls out her bathing suit-- she doesn't wear bikinis anymore, not after two kids, but she has a nice coppery one-piece, strapless for a better tan. She puts it on, adds her sunglasses, and a mesh coverall. Some sunscreen, a towel, a floppy hat-- she's ready to go. After all, the beach is just beyond the terrace.

She steps out, gazing around and drinking in the scenery-- it looks like she has this piece of beach all to herself. Smiling, she steps into her sandals and strolls out onto the sand, breathing deep of the clean air. She can't see Dom, which doesn't mean he's not around, but she has a feeling he'll be a decent host, not smothering them with his presence.

Should be getting back, Dom reminds himself. Rude to just bugger off too long. He leaves the water and shakes like a dog, scratches his arse under his board shorts, and wanders up the beach, squinting in the sun. He's pretty sure both Sean and Chris like sushi, and then suspects maybe he shouldn't take them because somehow thinking of Chris eating sushi makes him think of Chris in leather (is it the seaweed wrap?). Just that thought is boggling, he could have sworn he'd been getting enough sex but maybe not.

Which makes him grunt in surprise when he looks up and there she is, all bourgeois accoutrements, looking back at him with a kind of measuring gaze that makes him quite aware his shorts are riding low on his hips.

"Been surfing?" She is surprised to hear that amused, teasing tone coming from herself; maybe it's the sleek gleam of water on well-tanned flesh-- with no sign of a tan line, not even where his trunks have pulled low. She realizes she is looking at the dark line of hair that vanishes into them, and calmly turns to spread her towel.

"Bodysurfing," he answers absently, pinned by her gaze, willing his prick to stay down because the thin fabric won't hide a thing. She turns and gives him a lovely view of her lovely arse. At that, Dom gives up: he can't pretend any longer, he has a yen for her. Not that he'll do anything about it, but by god he's going to enjoy the fantasies.

"D'you want a hand with that," he asks, walking up beside her.

Christine hands him her bag, feeling a rush of something she hasn't felt in too long-- the power to attract a man who, if not actually dangerous, was at least forbidden. She likes it; she's missed that kind of thing while she was busy with diapers and dishes and keeping the world's most neurotic husband from ruin. She spreads her towel, aware of Dom's eyes on her, making a show of getting it smooth. Then she sits down on the half of the towel nearest the waves. "Pull up some towel, and you can put tanning lotion on my back."

It's a cliché but a good one. Dom grins -- he's been doing that a lot today -- and kneels on the towel behind her, flicking beads of water onto her back to hear her squeak. "M'fingers are are all wet," he explains innocently, drawing a line of water along her shoulder, sees her holding herself quite still. He continues, "Don't want to get the creme all watery." She's a challenge, won't even give a reaction, and he fucking loves challenges. He intends to see her a bit flustered, a bit hot and bothered.

Her eyes narrow as she waits for him to touch her; a gull wheels over the surf and she wonders how birds ever manage to make the trip out here, so far from land. Some of them sleep on the water, she supposes. Dom's hands are cool when they finally touch her, cool and slick and confident; she pretends she doesn't notice them in particular, reaching up to swipe her hair out of the way. "I didn't know you could surf without a board. Isn't that just called swimming?"

Dom's fingers follow hers, up along her neck and across her back, leaving smaller trails of water. He smoothes her hair over her shoulder and says, "No, it's catching the waves, riding them in, then going back and doing it all over again." His fingers, dry now, ghost back and forth along her bare shoulders. Her skin is soft and smooth to the touch: it tempts him to lick it, or kiss it, or maybe bite.

She stretches her shoulders, slow and luxuriant, and considers. "Sounds like something that would be much more fun to do with someone than alone." She catches sight of his fingers out of the corner of her eye-- there are bandaids on them, and it worries her. She's seen signs of several things that worry her-- maybe cutting or burning, maybe drug use-- in his recent PR photos. His hands are scarred. She catches one. "Did you hurt yourself?" She pauses not quite long enough for him to answer. "You aren't shooting up, are you, Dominic?"

"Fuck no!" Dom says, angrily, snatching his hands back. "Was just catching some insects, tore up my hands on the thorns, got a few bites." He's more narked at Chris than he would be at Sean, who sees the worst in everything. And so much for sexual fucking tension.

Christine thinks Dom is protesting too much; his voice has a note of something she can't quite identify underlying the anger. She certainly knows she's pissed him off; probably he doesn't think she's close enough to be privileged to ask that. She looks at him for a long moment, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "Calm down. I'm not a police officer, and I'm not looking to rat you out to Sean. I just wouldn't want to see you hurt yourself. This show is a big break, and even though success is great, the pressure can get ugly." She turns and looks out over the water. "Maybe we'll get you some gloves for Christmas. If your friends are worried, the paparazzi will have a field day, whether they're right or not, and they won't be asking questions because they care, either."

"Yeah, gloves in Hawaii, they'll think I'm Michael fucking Jackson," Dom shoots back, but he's not quite as angry. He sits back on his knees, and shrugs, "I just do stuff, Chris, I see something interesting and I reach for it, and sometimes, it bites back." All right, he can see the parallels, for fuck's sake.

He's not going to stop with insects just because of the show. It's his new shtick, something besides Hobbits for the press to tag him with, something he can talk about for hours. Fantastic that they came up with it, and being in Hawaii means there's just more to do.

It isn't a denial, and that's enough. Chris sighs, but she's obligated herself not to tell Sean-- not that he hasn't already got a damn good idea what's going on, himself. "You could wear them when you're collecting," she suggest neutrally. "That wouldn't make anyone think of Michael Jackson." A thought strikes her. "You don't have any of those things roaming loose in the house, do you?"

Laughing, Dom answers her last question, "No, they're in cages. There are a few geckos which visit sometimes, but they're cute and they don't bite." She's back to being a mum, shame about that. Nice while it lasted.

"Want some sunscreen now?" he asks, with none of the innuendo of before.

"Thanks, if you don't mind." She thinks it might do Sean some good to be woken out of sleep by something crawling on him-- but then again, she doesn't want to be woken that way herself, to the reassurance is a good thing. "Then maybe you can show me this 'bodysurfing' you do. Is it dangerous?"

Dom stops pouring out the creme, snorts, and shakes his head. "Don't pull that shit on me, you live in LA." He slathers the sunscreen on her back and shoulders, wishing she'd stop with the shite and treat him like a friend, not a kid. His chest hurts a little, like when Cate or Liv looks right past him. Liv, for chrissake, not the brightest light in the bunch.

Christine sighs. This is why she and Dom never warmed to each other in NZ-- he's got issues, and an axe to grind. Or maybe that's not fair; it's maybe more accurate to say he thinks he's got something to prove, and she always manages to rub him up the wrong way-- somewhat like Sean often does, come to think of it. "I grew up in the midwest, not California. I was too busy to take up surfing when I moved out there with Sean." She keeps the words mild, hoping he'll calm down. "I've heard of bodysurfing, yes, and I think I've watched people do it, but I was hinting around hoping you'd offer to show me how."

"Hints don't exactly work with me," Dom admits, "you have to whack me over the head with a spanner, more like." He does feel better, though. "Sure, I'll take you, today or any day." He stretches his arms and back, letting the warm air and sun and sound of the waves relax him. Hawaii is even more paradisiacal than New Zealand. "You can't go as far as on a board, but it's great, like being a fish."

"Don't you have to worry about undertow, or sand sharks, or sharp coral, or broken glass, or jellyfish, or bacteria in the water, or chemical spills, or any of a dozen other reasons Sean says not to go swimming in the ocean?" She flips him a grin and watches, admiring a little, as he moves-- he's bulked up a little since the Merry days. "I think I'd like to stop worrying for a while." She gets up and pads towards the water. "And I'd like to wash off some of the grime from the plane, too. We still have a couple of hours before supper, right?"

Oh-ho, far better. If she's snarking at Sean, she's stopped mothering for a bit. And giving him the eye again. Are they back on to flirting or whatever it is? It's like fucking whiplash, how fast she changes directions.

"Yeah, Sean's a prat, now's great," Dom says, enjoying the view of her curves as he scoots up behind her and heroically refrains from cupping her arse. They walk down to the water in friendly silence.

Dom is close enough behind her that Christine assumes she is on her way to forgiveness, and she relaxes, looking out at the waves. She's seen fair surf in LA, from a distance, but isn't sure what to expect in Hawaii. The waves here look pretty tame, but off to the sides, she can see larger ones. They're in a sheltered sort of cove, with an outcrop of lava and jungle breaking the worst force of the water. "What do we do? How far out should we go?" She's ambivalent about starting here-- it feels like a kiddy pool compared to the area he came from. On one hand, it's good to start small. On the other, she feels like a wuss, and she doesn't like that.

"Let's get wet first," Dom says, half innuendo and half laughter. She's truly nervous, wasn't taking the piss when she said she's never done this. It rather warms the cockles of his heart to be trustworthy enough to teach her. "It's nothing complicated, just letting the waves push you in, it's fun," he says, in what he hopes is a reassuring voice.

They wade out till it's deep enough, a little cool down by their toes but not like LA. Dom dives in, paddles around Chris, clowns a bit to make her laugh and relax. She has a lovely laugh, rich and confident. Not like Evi or Maggie or any of the girls. He'd like to hear more of that laugh.

The water is warmer than she expected, soft and caressing, and the waves wash in slowly, not too powerful once they get past the break point. One lifts her off her feet and she gasps, reaching out for Dom instinctively, but before she can do more than clutch at his arm, her feet are touching the sand again. She flushes, embarrassed. "It picked me up. I guess that's what it's supposed to do, right?" She shakes her head; half her hair is wet now, so she ducks under the surface and comes up while exhaling, letting it stream sleekly down her back. "Am I supposed to try to get on top of it, get horizontal, or just stand here and bob?"

"Whatever turns you on, baby," Dom says in his sleaziest Pulp Fiction voice. He couldn't possibly let a straight line like that go unpunished. She laughs and pokes at him, which degenerates into splashing and tickling, like he'd treat a mate. Only better, cos she's got fabulous tits.

Christine finally ducks under the water to escape the merciless tickling, kicks away, and surfaces a little bit apart from Dom, still laughing at herself as much as him. "I'm very good at all of the above," she tells him, wiping water out of her eyes, but then she realizes her skin doesn't feel quite right, and the feeling of his eyes on her settles a split second before the knowledge that in the struggle, her bathing suit top has slipped down, and is floating around her ribs. She starts to duck under the waves, but some demon imp of mischief likes the way Dom is staring, so she reaches for it casually and takes her time about settling it snugly where it should be. "I've lost a little more weight than I thought," she says, and looks at him, almost daring him to make a smart remark.

Fucking magnificent tits Dom thinks, rather stunned. He's glad his own crotch is under water or she'd see what she does to him. He licks his dry lips, and wishes he could kiss her nipples, could watch her face as he teased and sucked. "Um," he says, not very intelligently. "Right. Bodysurfing. Start by swimming."

"Do I do that now, or wait for you to describe the whole process, first?" She hasn't missed his discomfort-- or his desire, and it gives her a pang of regret that she shouldn't grab that and run with it. To his credit, Dom is being as much of a gentleman as he's capable of being-- for Sean's sake. It's more courtesy than she'd given him credit for, but it's also... oddly frustrating. She likes making jaws drop, and she likes making guys step outside their boundaries so she can lead them around till she's satisfied, and then put them down. Another wave rolls in and picks her up, and she lets it drift her towards him again.

This is a stupid, dangerous game to play with one of Sean's friends, and she needs to think hard about whether she is going to play it, before she does something dumb and gets them all hurt. But.... well, she's no fool, and she's known for a long time that Sean hasn't been 100% faithful to her. Not since New Zealand. Not since Elijah. It rankles, sometimes, that he thinks he can hide the affair they're still having whenever they meet. It rankles that he can make time and she can't. It rankles that she's the mommy, the caretaker-- even the mommy for him, her husband.

There's something going on in her head that Dom can't possibly fathom, and he doesn't really want to. He's letting go of his old image of Chris, but is not sure what's replacing it. She shouldn't tease him like that, he knows that. Not Sean's wife, for chrissake. There's a coil of desire for her now, centred deep in his groin, and he's not sure what to do. Not that Sean's all that straight-and-narrow: Dom knows who's been shagging Lij, no matter what those gits on the Internet say about colours and shout-outs. Maybe she's a bit more open-minded than he thought. It's a satisfying idea and it settles him somehow.

"Swim first, then we'll try letting the waves push a bit," he instructs, slipping past her like a fish.

Christine does what he says, and soon she masters the art of riding the small waves inside the cove; she enjoys letting them push her, and enjoys the effort of trying to work against them to get back out again and ride the next one in. she feels Dom's eyes on her, and knows she's playing to him, ever so slightly-- turning her bottom up when she dives, standing in silhouette, shaking her hair so the light will catch the water, laughing-- but it's fun! It's fun she hasn't had in too long. She pinches her nipples in secret the next time she dives, so that she'll have headlights when she comes up, and she preens under his stormy grey stare. They've been out for at least an hour, and it won't be too much longer before they have to go in, wake Sean, and have some dinner.

Dom relaxes and enjoys the show she's putting on for him. And if he flirts and flexes his new arm muscles and shows off his flat stomach a bit, that's tit for tat. When she's overconfident and the wave sweeps her away, Dom gallantly rescues her, holds her out of the water, comforts her as she coughs. She feels good in his arms: warm, curvy, sexy.

She loses track of time, gradually edging out of the protection of the ridge that makes the cove, getting stronger waves-- and suddenly realizes, as Dom holds her and she coughs a bit on swallowed sea-water, that the sun is sinking behind the horizon, and the lights are on in the house. Sean is awake, and for a minute she feels a chill from the combination of the evening breeze and being in the water so long. There's a pang of guilt in her belly for having forgotten Sean-- but Dom is warm, and her breasts are against his chest and for a second she looks into his eyes, her lips half-parted to say they should be going in-- and she can't remember what she was going to say.

Her mouth is hypnotising, like a magician's watch. Dom can't look away. He wants to lean down and kiss her hard, suck her lips, bite at them until they're full and red. He knows that he can't, that she doesn't mean to tease him like that, she's his mate's wife. But he longs to, with a jolt of lust that sends his prick hard against her leg.

The feel of him hardening-- very nicely indeed-- startles her from the moment of reverie, and gives her a sense of control again-- his desire is something she knows how to deal with, perhaps better than her own. She doesn't let go, and her voice drops. "We'd better be getting back, don't you think?" she whispers. "I'm starving." She hears a little husk in her voice, and exults in the way the waves bob them, moving them against each other. She smiles, slow and warm, and then rapidly lets go and starts to swim back towards the shore-- long clean strokes between waves, working with them instead of fighting them, the way he's just shown her. She doesn't pause to see if he's following.

Dom stands there, frozen, head spinning. Whatever game she's playing, she's winning. He wants her, and he's going to have her one way or another, but probably on her terms. The hair on his back stands up, tingling. It will be worth it, he's sure of that. He swims back, catching up to Chris just before the water's low enough to walk in easily. Sliding by, he gropes her arse, not too hard, just enough to say he has her number. By the time she's done sputtering, he's far ahead, walking backwards onto the sand, laughing at her.

On to part 2

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Comments {7}

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from: tvillingar
date: Jun. 9th, 2006 07:23 am (UTC)
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I like this! It's not often people write from Christine's POV and the whole premise is quite intriguing. I like how neither of them is willing to jump each other blindly though they feel the burn. Can't wait to see what will happen next!

One thing, though:

...Isabella-- trying to deal with the new baby, get the weight off, and cope with Sean's constant schedule, which doesn't have room enough in it for half <, too, who likes the attention even more than Sean

There seems to be something missing in the middle?

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Lotripper

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from: msilverstar
date: Jun. 9th, 2006 06:08 pm (UTC)
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Thanks for the note, it was a copy-paste error and we're so glad you pointed it out!!

Glad you like it too. It was great to write, imagining how we could bring them together.

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my wings are like a shield of steel

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from: buckle_berry
date: Jun. 9th, 2006 09:35 am (UTC)
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I always liked the idea of a Dom/Christine pairing since Dom's relationship with Sean is reputedly so prickly. I really like the tension you're building up between them, and you Chris is an interesting character.

Looking forward to reading the next part :)

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Lotripper

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from: msilverstar
date: Jun. 9th, 2006 04:47 pm (UTC)
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Thank you! There may be a subconscious rivalry in Dom's attitude, especially in the next part...

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kaige68

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from: kaige68
date: Jun. 12th, 2006 01:36 am (UTC)
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Beautifully done. Both written so interesting and complex. Thank you for sharing.

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Phentalon

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from: phentalon
date: May. 29th, 2008 02:21 am (UTC)
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I really really love your slightlyskeezy!Dom, your phrasing and your slang is very natural and fun, I love your style generally ^^

I am in great anticipation to read the rest *scuttles away to do so*

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Lotripper

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from: msilverstar
date: May. 29th, 2008 03:41 am (UTC)
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Thank you so very much! It was a lot of fun to write. I wish nienor had not left LJ and taken down so much of her fic :-(

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