Fic: If you love enough, you'll lie a lot (DM/BB)

[thisisheaven.livejournal.com]

Title: "If you love enough, you'll lie a lot." (2/?)
Pairing: Monaboyd,
Rating: eventually NC-17
Disclaimer: Don't know 'em, wish I did. If this actually was true, we wouldn't be writing about it, the papers would.
Summary: Dom is reluctant to face reality.
AN: In a fit of depression I thought I'd start an angsty fic dedicated to the reason I even know what slash is...my roommate, favorite drunk of all time, lover of all that is angsty...my p-resh. pre_expansion

Previous parts: One



You wake up to the smell of strong coffee and a sweetly lilting voice. For a moment you think it is Billy and the urge to throw your arms around him and cry is so overpowering that you shudder. But then you listen closer and realize the voice carries a distinct British accent, not Billy’s soft Scottish. Most people who had ever heard Billy speak didn’t know his voice could be so soft. Exaggerated, thickly accented, commanding, yes, but loving and soothing and now you wanted to find your phone and listen to all the saved messages you had of Billy just rambling.

"You need to drink this, you drank and smoked way too much last night," Orlando says gently, as he offers you a mug. It is a voice that is rarely heard, but you and Orlando have bonded under some of the worst hangovers since the beginning of recorded alcohol consumption, and so he understands your current state of mind.

"You sound like me in Return of the King," is your weak attempt at a joke.

"Come on little hobbit, where’s this stamina I’ve heard of?" Orlando asks, as he smiles back at you.

You drop the act abruptly as you think of hobbits, which, as always, leads to Billy and New Zealand and movies and Billy and happiness and Billy. "Why did I have to wake up?" you ask, groaning.

"Because if you didn’t then I’d lose a drinking mate," says Orlando simply. But the look of worry and the way he possessively gives you an extra pillow to lean on makes you feel grateful for the bonds of this very special friendship.

This was the fourth day Orlando had been with you. He refused to leave, and secretly, you weren’t ready to be alone. You had drank yourself into a stupor after Billy had left and started crying as you felt the world crumbling down on top of you. Orlando had called you over and over again as soon as he heard about the break-up, and when you didn’t answer, had showed up five hours later angry and worried sick. You didn’t ask what strings were pulled for him to get to you on such short notice.

Upon finding you curled in a ball in the middle of Billy letters and Billy clothes and all the things you had ever stolen from Billy (chap stick, a soft grey shirt with a hole under the right arm that still faintly smelled like him, a packet of toothpicks he usually had in his car, a chewed pen cap, and a bed sheet on which he had written you a silly poem after the night of your first anniversary), he had immediately appointed himself caretaker. He did all he could now to keep you distracted until the point when you could face reality.

After you appreciatively sip the bitter coffee and your headache begins to subside, you glance up at Orlando who is sitting in a chair beside the bed, resembling a hospital nurse, thumbing through the newspaper. “So, has the world ended?” you ask, hoping to draw a laugh.

Orlando sighs and looks up, “This paper doesn’t say, but then again, it’s from yesterday. Let me check today’s and see what it says.”

“What’s up your arse?” you reply lightly.

“Oh nothing, just trying to find a bar we haven’t visited and donated generously to. But I think we might need to start driving out of town, because we’ve about tapped this town out,” Orlando says dryly.

You sit up and look questioningly at Orlando. “You don’t have to stay with me,” you say defensively, trying to intone strength, when you feel none.

Orlando threw down the paper and said, “You know, Elijah’s with him right now and he can’t stop talking about it. If you’re just going to live in a perpetual state of getting pissed then maybe I can see why…” Orlando stopped abruptly as he listened to the words, realizing how scathing they sounded. They practically hung in the air, which was already thick with tension and you know that his anger is not misplaced, though you wish it was.

As you stare at him, your vision slightly blurs at the edges, you feel your nose start to burn, and you realize your hands are shaking.

Orlando sighs again and walked over to the bed, lacing his fingers in yours. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m trying to be good at this, but it’s so hard watching you fall apart while I listen to Elijah, begging me to get you to fix this, as I hear Billy sobbing in the background.”

At the thought of Billy’s vibrant eyes clouded with tears, your heart, already in pieces, withers further and you feel like someone is choking you. You hear a gasp escape from your lips, and as if in pain, you fall back into the pillows, wanting to crawl into a black hole and die.

“mmmmm….Billy.”

“Dommie, I’m dreaming.”

“No you’re not. You’re waking up, waking up, waking up, waking up, because you want to enjoy me.”

“Hypnotizing me won’t work Merry.”

“But Pip! I want to be in your dreams with you, what are you dreaming?”

“You already are in my dreams, but I can’t be dreaming them if you wake me up in the middle of the night for a little extra action.”

Silence. An arm reaches out and brings you tightly against a warm and soft chest. You sigh contentedly. “OK, I don’t need anything else, just this. Don’t let me go.”

“Dommie, you’re mine and I’m yours. It’s impossible to let you go, you’re part of me.”

“You’re always so romantic when you’re tired.”

“And you’re always horny, so we’re perfect for each other.”

“Billy, now that doesn’t make sense. Horny and romantic don’t….” as you’re silenced by a sweet kiss. You feel warm breath against your cheek and then Billy’s head is buried into your neck.

“Sleep. Now. Dom,” he whispers.

You smile, these are the reasons you wake up at night.