Guilty Pleasures

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Title: Guilty Pleasure
Author: light_the_sky76
Pairing: Billy & Dom
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Lies, all lies.
Feedback: Pretty please with sugar on
Author's Notes: beta-ed by the lovely indigo_blind





Guilty pleasures. The things Billy enjoys even thought he knows he shouldn't. In fact, part of the pleasure is the wicked shiver that comes from savouring something illicit.

Haribo. Sugary, and devoid of any nutritional value or ingredient that comes from a fruit or vegetable.

But they're sweet and chewy and remind Billy of the 10 pence mix-ups of his childhood. The gummy sweetness against his tongue conjures memories of little white bags holding carefully chosen cola bottles and chocolate mice.


The collective works of Andrew Lloyd Webber. Cheesy, appalling lyrics and wafer thin characterisation.

But so much fun to sing along to. Close Every Door and All I Ask Of You were perfect for shower karaoke. There was something satisfying about having “Let me be your shelter, let me be you light" rebounding back at him from the tile walls.


Watching Dom. Just watching him. Reading. Writing his journal. Drinking a cup of tea. Tying up his shoes. Deciding which dish to have from the menu. Watching Dom just being Dom.

"It's rude to stare, William." his gran would have told him. Dom was his friend; you didn't obsessively watch your friends talk on the phone. Billy was an adult, not a teenager with a crush.

But it was like being out on the moors and seeing a deer or a fox and standing, still as still so not to startle it, with the exquisite rare warmth of the company of a wild thing flowing through you.


Dom was stood studying the DVDs on the shelf. It was his turn to choose one, which was fine with Billy, ta for asking, since it meant he was able to watch Dom without fear of discovery or interruption.

Billy's eyes missed nothing. The teeth nibbling at the full bottom lip, the sweep then curve of Dom's neck, shoulders and back, the way his baggy jeans rode low on his slim hips, the bright green toenails of his bare feet.

"Bill?" Dom's voice jolted Billy back to his senses.

"Wha'?"

"This one?" Dom waved the DVD in his hand and raised an eyebrow impatiently. It apparently wasn't the first time he'd asked.

"Yeah, good choice."

"Right."

Disc inserted and copyright warnings skipped, Dom flopped next to Billy on the sofa.

Billy had seen the film before so only gave it a fraction of his attention. The rest of his awareness was focused beside him on the hand that was drumming a gentle rhythm against the thigh it rested on and the way Dom's head tilted ever so slightly to the right as the opening sequence of the thriller he'd chosen reflected in his eyes.

A quick tingle of pleasure pulsed through Billy's chest as he indulged.

He wondered sometimes that it the pleasures weren't forbidden, if one day he opened a newspaper to an article announcing that Haribo was full of fibre and vitamins C, E and B12, they would somehow loose their attraction. He would no longer yearn for the chewy texture and the sugary taste would turn to chalk on his tongue.

But then perhaps he would crave them all the more knowing that his enjoyment was legitimate and endorsed. Perhaps the gap left by the guilty thrill would be filled by something richer and ultimately more satisfying.

Perhaps.

But the day had been full, he was tired and the sofa was comfortable. Billy snuggled deeper into the cushions and his silence.

This wasn't the time for confessions

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