monaboyd | A PWP

Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: DM/BB
Warnings: Very kinky.
Feedback: Please!
Beta: The wonderful rawiyaparand, who uses Track Changes and is therefore awesome :) If there are any errors, especially with commas, it is not her fault--for some reason when you copy-paste from Word it includes both original and corrected, and so I had to delete all the originals and probably missed some commas and such.
Disclaimer: These people do not belong to me and probably are not doing such wonderful things. Bummer.
Archive: Go ahead, just let me know.

     Squeak. Squeeaak. Dom walked painfully slowly through the living room of his own flat, trying not to wake the pleasantly snoring figure on the couch. Billy's light snores were almost melodic, the forest green fleece blanket tucked up under his chin and his hair sprouting out at all odd angles in the moonlight. One foot at a time, Dom crept to his bedroom, trying not to let the leather trousers he wore give him away. Squeeaaak.
     Dom breathed a sigh of relief when he successfully reached the bedroom, and, not bothering to shut the door behind him, slowly worked the metal teeth of his zip apart and sighed as he peeled the leather from his sweaty thighs. His skin was surprisingly cold, and the calloused pads of his fingers warm in contrast. He realized, when he had almost finished his task, that the order was a bit confused, and sighed, bending over to unlace his boots, trousers still around his ankles. And it was here, bending over his bootlaces, arse in the air, that he stood when he heard the sound.
     Rustle, rustle.
      Oh, shite.
     Billy's amused chortle made Dom's eyes go wide, and he perhaps looked even more ridiculous as he stuck his head between his legs to see, the blood rushing into his face, so that all Billy saw was a pale arse positioned high in the air, clad in some sort of black, feminine-looking underwear that left little to the imagination, the heels of a pair of black army boots with a puddle of black leather gathered around them, and Dom's cherry-pink face, the eyeliner smudged on his cheeks and white-blonde hair plastered to his head in a haphazard pattern. He smirked, again, and then stepped slowly forward, making Dom wonder what happened to his good, decent instinct to run in the other direction.
     But Billy wasn't running.
      Oh, no.
     Dom just stared as Billy lowered himself gently to his knee, face-to-face with Dom now, his green eyes glowing with edges of gold that Dom had never seen before.
     "Let me help," he murmured, and his accent rumbled thick and heady as his fingers deftly undid the laces Dom's black lacquered nails had quickly abandoned. Dom's body felt suddenly heavy, and it took some effort to stand again, step out of his boots with Billy's help, and kick off his trousers. And then, Billy rose to his feet again and they were less than an inch away, and he was feeling very vulnerable. "Big night out?" Billy whispered, a tinge of amusement in his voice. Why, oh why had he let the wanker stay on his sofa for the week? What in God's name was he thinking?"
     "Not really," Dom murmured, not sure what else to say. Billy's right hand crept up, up, up, oh so slowly, finally reaching out gingerly to caress the side of Dom's face, the tips of his fingers searching up into Dom's hair, which had fallen slightly in his eyes. Billy smoothed it away, and leaned forward again, placing a burning kiss to his forehead. Dom wondered, briefly, if there would be any way to hide his imminent arousal at this point, but Billy's vibrant smirk told him it was much, much too late, and sure enough Billy's eyes swept downward like a hawk's, or maybe a great eagle's, and why was Dom thinking of Lord of the Rings at a moment like this? Bloody Pete Jackson. Bloody, bloody...oh. It was just a caress, just a light, fleeting touch. He could almost pretend it hadn't happened, except it had, and curse his hips for following Billy's retreating hand in a completely instinctual movement. Billy smirked yet again and this time dropped a kiss to Dom's jaw, lingering longer than absolutely necessary.
     "Nice pants you've got there," Billy commented with a smile in his voice, and Dom just let his eyes squeeze shut. Go away, Boyd. You're just a figment of my imagination. Be gone! He cautiously opened his eyes. Billy was still there.
     "They're just pants." He tried to brush it off as, nonchalantly as possible as his best mate reached forward and helped him out of his shirt, but Billy wouldn't buy it.
     "You look like a whore." Billy's words were biting, and so why did Dom's little inner voice privately beg for him to say it again? Damn it, no. Not what we want. Not at all.
      "Fuck off."
      "That's for later," Billy whispered, and oh, there was no way to deny it now. That accent was clipped and thick with lust, Billy's eyes glazed over in a predatory gaze that Dom had never seen and was honestly just a little frightened of. A thumb traced over his cheek, and the pad was stained black, and then there was the swipe of Billy's tongue and he was licking his own thumb for God's sake, and why on this green earth was Dom so turned on by that action?
"I bet you would look gorgeous in a collar," Billy mumbled idly, and Dom thought privately that Billy's voice was a bit like slow thunder, moving in over the plains with no regard for any living creature that might be affected by the coming storm. Certainly with no regard for Dom's cock, currently straining painfully against the fabric that encased it, threads threatening to pop. Billy's lips descended now to the hollow at the side of Dom's throat, and he sucked surprisingly roughly there, his tongue flicking out like a little slap, sending sharp jolts up Dom's spine. His body started, just slightly, snapping, tensing, and Billy grinned as he lifted his head, slowly, gazing at Dom through lidded eyes. "Gonna fuck you now, Dommie," he whispered in that rumbly thunder voice, and Dom just stared, his mouth temporarily paralyzed. No, no, that's not it mate. Straight, I am, straight as the Cardinal, except less celibate, and no, no, I like pussy, Boyd, not this, not your silky hard so fucking gorgeous cock sliding against my stomach and when did your shorts come off and why am I lying on my bed? Fuck! No! No... yes...yessss.
     Billy grinned a million-watt grin, and Dom realized that he had hissed the last syllable aloud, and oh fuck it all, how was he supposed to resist? Billy was a temptress, that was it, or a tempter at least, and he was absolutely powerless to his touches. Yes, that made sense. This didn't compromise his sexuality at all, in fact, it was just... oh. Oh, Jesus.
      "Fuck, Dommie. You lick your lips just like a slut. Pretty, pretty slut. Pretty boyslut." His accent was sin, and sex, and was that really Billy's teeth on his hipbone, grasping that hard? Something in Dom's brain vaguely registered that it was about half six in the morning Greenwich Mean Time, and what was it about the early hours of the morning that made everything so much more clear, so naked and obvious? What was it that just cleared the cobwebs out of his brain with the first threads of light, his hips bucking up off the mattress and something in his brain chanting 'oh yes, Billy, fuck me, use me, I am made for this. For you.' This shouldn't be right, but the dawn said it was, and who was he to argue with the dawn? It was the dawn, for God's sake. You couldn't lie at five in the morning.
      "Ohhhh... Billy... taste me," he whispered, and he wondered if those words had come from his own lips or somehow from something outside himself.
     "No," Billy bit out, and he was very disappointed, very disappointed indeed. Billy's body slithered lithely up his body instead, Billy's hand cupping his bulge oh so sweet-hot-painfully. Why couldn't he just take the bloody pants off, and give Dom a bit of relief? Billy, evidently, was not too big on relief, Dom decided as his ear was harshly bit and two fingers were shoved into his mouth. He didn't know why he was sucking but it was instinct, damn it, something in his head telling him to suck for all he was worth, to hollow out his cheeks and flutter his eyelids prettily at Billy and god damn it, if he was going to be a whore, well then, at least he would be a good one.
Billy groaned, and Dom knew he was having the desired effect, and he was proud. Proud, that is, for the two seconds Billy allowed him for coherent thought before ripping his pants off, ripping them to shreds, and God why had Dom never noticed the strength in Billy's hands? They seemed very, very strong now, as one hand pressed down tightly on Dom's chest and he reminded himself verbally to breathe, breathe, oh for God's sake please don't pass out now. The other hand, he realized, was creeping suspiciously downward. It brushed over his balls, just a butterfly touch, but he gasped and bucked, and Billy's grin was something straight from Satan. He was sure, somehow, that the devil himself had come down to earth and taught Billy a few things. Lucifer, he now knew, most certainly was taking up permanent residence in Glasgow.
     "Ohhhhhhh," he moaned, long and deep, as a single finger penetrated him, lubricated only by his own spit. It was tight, God, so tight, but he found that his body yielded after a minute without his giving it permission, and the kiss that Billy administered was so fucking sinful and wrong and decadent that his muscles relaxed on their own, turning into pudding, until a second finger slid in and he clenched down again and oh fuck, what was that twisting and why did it feel so goddamned good? Billy just grinned again, that evil, satanic grin, and added a third finger.
      "Whore," he spat out, and Dom just panted, eyes half open, mouth parted, lips sparkling with sweat and saliva.
     "Yes," he replied, surprisingly clear, and Billy growled, his fingers penetrating particularly deep, jabbing at an angle that made Dom's hips fly clear off the bed, and then something inside him just gave and Billy's fingers sank in as far as was possible, and God it was so tight and hot and just bliss. Dom whimpered pathetically when Billy removed his fingers, and he found that his head was shaking of its own accord, and Billy just laughed, the fucker.
     "Patience, slut," he whispered, and though those words would normally just make him laugh coming from Billy, he wasn't laughing now, and his eyes were wide and desperately wanting when Billy rolled the condom onto himself, slicking it up with lube and letting his eyes shut for just an instant as he languidly stroked his own cock. Dom tried to sit up, tried to help, but Billy's eyes flew open as if he had supernatural senses the second he moved, and a hand flew out and slammed him back to the bed, and then not-so-gentle hands were pushing his legs back, those strong, strong hands, and he was yielding and opening and trying to stretch just as far as he could, because he wanted to impress Billy, wanted to be good for him.
"Slut," Billy whispered again, and Dom groaned as he teased the entrance with the tip of his cock, Dom trying desperately to hold still. "My slut," Billy continued, and Dom moaned luxuriously, thinking that this admission was the best he had heard all evening. "My beautiful, wound up, desperate slut. Tell me what you want from me, Dominic," he commanded, and the slide of his full name off of Billy's tongue almost made Dom come right there.
      "Fuck me," he gasped, very clear in his intentions at this moment, hips keening forward, trying to take Billy in himself. "Please, Billy. Take me. Fuck me. I need it. I need you." Billy licked his lips almost imperceptibly at the babble that issued from Dom's lips at the slightest prompting, and smiled.
     "I think you're ready now, slut. Gorgeous slut," he whispered against Dom's lips, and then Dom was screaming, loudly, from somewhere outside of himself because he wanted this but something, someone that sounded strangely like him, was screaming as Billy breached his body, one long, deep stroke. He lifted Dom's hips with his hands, and he felt like a rag doll, Billy cradling his ass in his hands as Dom tried to push up on his elbows and help him. The angle, sure enough, was deeper, more intense, and the moment Billy had it the way he liked it he kept up a relentless pace, teeth stinging Dom back to the present and keeping him floating on the edge of consciousness, little love bites to his nipple and collarbone and ear.
He gasped, moaned, tried not to flail on the mattress, tried to give his movements purpose. He vaguely registered the tangle of one of Billy's hands in his hair and shrieked again when it pulled, tight, burning his scalp. "Love to hear you scream for me," Billy muttered against his throat, and Dom keened, moaned--such a dirty sound but God it felt good and Billy didn't seem to mind. "I'm going to make you come, Dommie. You're going to come so hard you can't pronounce your own name," he promised, dirtily, and Dom found himself nodding vigorously, reaching out with his own hands, cupping Billy's ass, trying to push him in even further. He was certain Billy could fuck his soul, at this point, if he tried hard enough.
     "C'mon, slut," Billy whispered, and Dom was barely aware of his own cock, pressed achingly against his stomach, but he was aware of Billy's hand, Billy's fingers, Billy's voice. It was the voice that brought him over the edge, that decadent, sensual, purr of an accent calling to the very deepest parts of his subconscious. "Make you mine, Dommie. Mine, mine. C'mon, Dominic. Come for me, now." And that "now," that single, whispered word, brought Dom along with it, screaming bloody hell, his neck snapping back, all his senses shocked into submission, his nerves tingling. His orgasm was way beyond his own control, and he didn't notice his own muscles clamping down on Billy, Billy's face burying into his neck, Billy's satisfied, guttural groan when he released his seed in white, hot spurts. He could barely breathe, or think, or see, as he was lowered gently against the pillows, as Billy pulled out of his body with a disappointing pop, and he mourned the loss.
Billy reached across his chest, deposited the condom in the rubbish bin, and surprisingly, rested his head on Dom's chest, grabbing Dom's hand and pulling his arm around Billy. He didn't seem to mind what he was lying in, that Dom's own come was slicking up his stomach as they cuddled, and Dom just lay there in complete awe as Billy's breathing became slower, even, regular. Billy needed comforting? Billy wanted to be held? What the fuck? But surprisingly, to his own brain, he didn't mind, and he even liked it. He liked having a role to play. He liked being fucked like Billy's own personal puppet, manipulated and positioned as Billy liked it, that was for goddamned sure, but he also liked holding Billy in his arms, stroking his hair, resting his lips unmoving against Billy's ear. He liked warm, sweat soaked skin against his own, and the smell of sex and the feel of muscle and sinew twisted into his own until their bodies blended as one mass and he wasn't sure where he ended and Billy began. It was cclichéd, sure, but he didn't give a fuck, and something about the early hours of the morning was honest. Something about those hours made him romantic. Tomorrow, he figured, they could wake up and get down to business about purchasing that collar. Dom smiled to himself, and kissed the crown of Billy's head, and drifted off into deep, undisturbed sleep.