unautremonde: (Default)
[personal profile] unautremonde
Pairing: Dom/Dom/Dom/Dom...
Rating: PG with a side of crack.
Summary: Wham, bam! Dom's not in Kansas anymore.
Disclaimer: this is complete and utter crack. It's probably a step beyond fiction, with a good dose oof parody and it's all in the name of fun. So nothing implied besides the fact that I'm obviously not right in my head.
Author's Note: for [livejournal.com profile] thepsychicclam on her birthday. Enjoy, love! Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] rynalwyn for cheering me along and for the read-hrough. You both rock. ;-)

Ad Nauseam

Each of us is something of a schizophrenic personality
tragically divided against ourselves.

~Martin Luther King, Jr.

There’s the little lurch from the cabin, the ding of the opening doors before Dom can step outside of the stuffy lift, and then… wham, bam! Dom’s not in Kansas any more.

Not that Dom was in Kansas before. Because he wasn’t. He was… well, it’s not quite clear at the moment, but he’s pretty sure it didn’t involve a lift… or an elevator for that matter, since if he’d been in Kansas then yeah, he’d have been coming out of an elevator.

But he’s not. Or rather wasn’t. Wasn’t in Kansas, wasn’t on a lift… doesn’t know where the heck he’s managed to land.

He’s at least happy to know that he knows he’s not in Kansas, though, because wow, that would be fucked up. Fucked up and all shades of just freaky wrong and bloody hell, was that just him passing him by?

It’s like a very very bad dream. Not exactly a nightmare, because there aren’t any crazy fangirls and Elijah’s nowhere to be seen with his humongous large binder of CDs shouting “Dom! Dom! Come listen to this! It’s so cool!” There aren’t any zombies either, and yes, he checked first and he’s still wearing his trousers. So maybe not a nightmare, though definitely the weirdest kind of dream Dom’s ever experienced.

Dom's first instinct at taking in the scene is to check for mirrors, but no. There are no mirrors around. No mirrors and actually, it seems there are no walls either. It’s like the widest, biggest room Dom’s ever seen, goes on for miles and it’s packed. Crowded over with…


Dozens and dozens—maybe even hundreds—of Doms. Dom here, Dom there, Dom everywhere.

Dom is also very happy that wherever he is, it seems to be indoors, because the way his mouth is hanging, if this was outdoors he’d be swallowing flies by the gallon. It’s hard not to gape though, especially when Dom walks up to him—or was that Dom? It certainly looked like Dom at any rate—and snaps in a really thick cockney accent.

“Oi! Give us a fag, luv, will ya?”

If he wasn’t the one talking, Dom would think he sounds ridiculous… then again… he does sound ridiculous. He’s also pretty sure he’s never talked in such a thick accent before, though really, he can’t be certain now. After all, he did just come up to himself and ask for a cigarette in a decidedly strong Eliza Doolittle accent. No wonder he suddenly feels like answering something inane about the rain in Spain staying mainly in the plains.

Once he’s shared his remaining cigarettes with his Fair counterpart, Dom tries to walk further in and do a little bit of recon. As long as he’s stuck here and hasn’t found the yellow brick road, he might as well explore. The place is dizzying, though. He keeps talking to himself, doing double takes each time one of himself stops to ask something in a disturbing manner. There’s that one Dom who asks for the time with a French accent, the other Dom who only wears tight black leather and seems to be looking for Doms to join him in a narcissistic and kinky threesome… There’s weepy Dom and crazy Dom and sneaky Dom and about two dozens or more annoying Doms…

Dom doesn’t even know which one he is anymore… is he even the real Dom? Is he a pale copy of one of those other Doms? Is he that one over there wearing what appears to be Billy’s kilt over lovely lace garters, or is he that other one curled up on the sofa, looking wistfully at a picture of Elijah? Is he the one wearing too much eyeliner—so much so that his eyes are watering—or is he the one asking every passing Dom for a fiver?

Is he himself?

The further from the elevator he walks, the stranger he feels. The Doms here are even less defined than the ones he saw when he first set foot in the room earlier, there’s even one with such pale skin that he looks almost see-through. When Dom realizes he can actually see through see-through Dom, he starts freaking out for real.

Now that he’s noticed how freaky some of these Doms are, Dom can’t help but feel like the nightmare has finally caught up with him. He walks faster, tries to put as many Doms behind himself as he can but it’s hopeless. The more Doms he passes, the more Doms come up to him to say hi. If Hell existed, it would probably look a lot like this, he thinks.



Is this it, then? Is this Hell? Maybe Dom should ask himself what he thinks about that particular theory…does he even Believe in Heaven and Hell? Does he believe in God? A couple of hours ago he would have said no… or maybe yes… but right now…

And if this is Hell, does it mean he’s managed to die without noticing?

Dom’s standing there frozen, a chill running down his spine at the thought of spending eternity with hundreds of him, when some inconsiderate Dom barrels right smack into him, sending him sprawling on the floor under himself. Ouch. This new version of him is wearing the heavy padded armour of an American football player and really, Dom wishes he would have stuck to good old soccer because that’s heavy and pointy in places and just generally extremely uncomfortable to be squished under.

“Sorry, dude, wasn’t looking. You okay?”

Football Dom sounds like Gary Cooper did in Saratoga Trunk and Dom winces. Maybe he’s not in Kansas but it looks like he might have ended up in Texas and wow, Dom can’t decide whether he’d rather be in Texas or in Hell. Probably Texas, but it’s still a close call. Not to mention that he seems to remember endless conversations with Elijah about the merits of soccer over American football, so it’s beyond him what he’d be doing dressed up as some all-American quarterback.

“Seriously, man, you ok?” Football Dom frowns at him and Dom takes his self’s concern as a good opportunity to ask what the heck is going on. Maybe this Dom can pinch him and he’ll find he truly is dreaming, though the pain in his butt and his sides from the fall doesn’t bode well.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. Can I ask you a question, though? Where are we?”

It’s not quite what he really wants to know but it’s a start. Football Dom smiles at him and laughs before answering, looking decidedly less concerned and more amused. “You’re new, here, aren’t ya? Come on, I’ll show ya around, introduce ya to a few of the guys.”

Dom stumbles dizzyingly after himself, feeling more and more unsettled and lost. He’s probably not dreaming, doesn’t believe he’s really in Hell… or in Texas for that matter. And most disturbingly, every single one of him is coming up to him, smiling and shaking his hand with a cheerful “hey, I’m Dom, nice to meet you.” It’s getting creepier by the minute and not one of him is answering the questions that are eating at his brain. Where the fuck is he and why? And most of all, how can he get out of this?

Dom’s mind is racing and his feet are slowly but surely catching up with the speed his brain is working at. He walks a little faster, pushes a little more roughly at the growing crowd around him, trying to shake off his own hands grabbing at his own arms. Football Dom’s Texas twang is still clinging to his heels, ringing in his ears like some ominous curse. “And this is Dom, he’s good with a gun. Dom here is more of an artist, keeps a lot to himself. As for Dom, he’s trying to get over a loss, so he’s a bit weepy—Elijah left him, you see—Dom wants to be a singer, even put together a band, and Dom is… Dom does… Dom… Dom…”

Dom starts running.

He runs and runs, not looking any further than his feet pounding the ground to the rhythm of hundreds of shouts flying after him. It’s like a litany, a string of DomDomDom that blend together to sound so much like doom that he knows he’s about to go mad. He runs, bumps into one Dom, another one, slips and slides and catches himself only to lose his footing again and crash to the floor. His head meets the hard concrete none too gently and his vision goes black, his hearing drowning to a dull thud of mumbled words.

The last thing he feels before being swallowed by darkness and silence is a hand on his shoulder shaking him frantically, a voice calling his name urgently.

"Dom! Dom! Come on, wake up luv, you’re having a nightmare.”

Dom shudders and breathes eagerly as he wakes and registers the hand shaking him to consciousness, the voice of his lover calling him back and out of one of the strangest dreams he’s ever had. He covers his eyes with a sweaty hand, trying to calm himself down with slow deep breaths and the warmth at his side.

“Oh, man. That was fucked up. That was the weirdest dream I ever had, I’m so glad it was just a dream, though.”

He grasps the hand drawing soothing circles on the skin of his shoulder and clings; happy to feel the strength in his lover’s grip. “I’m so glad you’re here, it was so disturbing, I was in that place, and I didn’t know where it was, and there were hundreds and hundreds of other…”

Dom opens his eyes slowly, looking up and straight at his lover’s face, gasping when he finds himself gazing at the loving eyes of…



November 2011

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