(![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
light-the-sky76.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
monaboyd Dec. 20th, 2005 07:04 pm)
light-the-sky76.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Dec. 20th, 2005 07:04 pm)Title: Three Ghosts 2/5
Author: light_the_sky76
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: R for language
Summary: Billy revisits
Disclaimer: Made up. A storystolen based on another story.
A/N: Betaed by indigo_blind. Thank you :)
Chapter one is here here
"Piss off." Billy flopped back onto the mattress and pulled the cover over his head.
"Bill." Viggo said patiently.
"No. I'm not playing. Tell Dom I don't want any part of his stupid game."
"Dom didn't send me."
The air was beginning to grow stuffy under the duvet, but Billy resolved not to be moved. "Elijah then."
"Wrong again."
"So who? Orli?"
"You know it's not like that."
"Okay," Billy said into the blanket covering his face, "if you are the Ghost of Christmas past where was Jacob Marley? Shouldn't he have turned up and rattled his chains at me?" Billy felt smug - he had Viggo now.
"You watch too much TV, Billy." A sigh. "I'll have to show you."
Billy was halfway through rolling his eyes when he heard Margaret's voice, "Billy!"
Thunderstruck, flailing and kicking, he pushed the duvet aside, then gaped. Shelves holding Mr Men books and Lego blocks lined the walls, the curtains at the windows had pictures of brightly coloured animals marching across them and Mr the Bear was sat patiently on the pillow.
"Recognise anything?" Viggo had never looked smugger.
"It's my room. My room when I was five." Billy was glad he was sitting because he didn't think his legs would support him. It wasn't real. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Yet somehow he was sat on the bed he used to sleep on as a child. A cold rush of panic washed down Billy's spine - perhaps he'd lost his mind?
"You haven't gone mad Billy; you're looking at shadows of the past. It's like a repeat, we can watch but we can't interact."
"Oh, well that's alright then. I haven't gone nuts; I'm just watching my life on UK Gold." Billy was proud of himself for being in enough control of his facilities to be sarcastic.
"Billy!" Margaret called again from downstairs.
"Come on. You can be as sarcastic as you like as long as you follow me."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me how you did this!"
Viggo shrugged.
"Everything is just how I remember it." He opened the window wide and leaned out. There was the back garden with the washing line stretching from end to end and the shed where his dad kept his tools. Billy used to help his dad in the garden sometimes, digging up potatoes and filling the watering can, and when they stopped for a break they would sit on upturned buckets and drink tea. He leaned out further and saw the tree in Christopher Quinn's garden – the one they used to try and climb before his mum caught them and yelled at them to get down before they broke their legs. Everything was there, everything.
"How did you do this? And why am I here?"
"I am the ghost of Christmas Past." Viggo said in answer to both question and left the room; without anything else to do Billy followed.
The smell of cooking grew as they climbed down the stairs. Billy stepped on the far right of the step third from the bottom, remembering how if you trod in the middle of the step it creaked.
"We three kings of Orient are," Billy froze; unable to move, as his Mother's voice came from the kitchen.
"Selling knickers three pence a pair." His father joined in.
"They're fantastic," both voices sang, "no elastic, why don’t you try a pair?"
A tugging sensation grew in Billy's chest. When he stepped into the dining room he would see them, young and happy, full of life. Billy longed to see that way again, but to not be able to talk to them …
Viggo held out his hand. "Bill."
One look at Viggo told Billy that there could be no other choice, and he stepped forwards.
The room glittered and glowed, silver and gold reflected the lights on the tree and the air smelled of pine and roast potatoes.
Billy's father was stood at the head of the table carving the turkey with his mother serving up mashed potato and vegetables. His Gran sat next to his mum with Margaret across the table from her and Billy by her side.
"Look how much hair I have."
As they dug into their meal Billy knelt beside his younger self watching him chatting to his mum about all the presents Father Christmas had brought him and what a good boy he must have been all year.
"There are so many things I'd like to tell him." His eyes never left the child's face. "Things I'd like to warn him about; opportunities I'd tell him not to miss; people to avoid and others to hold onto."
"If you told him he wouldn’t learn." Viggo's voice was steady and comforting and Billy wanted to cling to his words, holding them to him to keep him anchored.
"Ignorance can be bliss." Billy countered. He would give anything to keep the five year old before him safe. He ached knowing what dark times lay ahead for him.
"Not often."
Billy stood and slowly studied the people gathered around the table, trying to take in everything. His mother's laugh, the red highlights in her hair, the way she insisted that Billy and his sister try at least one sprout. His father's large work-worn hands, the way his eyes were exactly the same shade as Billy's own, the way he knew all the words to the rude versions of carols. "While shepherd washed their socks by night all watching ITV," he sang as he poured gravy on his potatoes, "the angel of the lord came down and switch to BBC."
Billy wanted to soak all it all in, absorb all of the sounds and smells of his families' Christmas so when he looked back his memory would be solid and clear: something tangible he could embrace.
"You had wonderful Christmases as a child." Viggo was leant against the fireplace carefully watching the scene before him. "You'll have nice memories."
Billy's eyes never left his family. "I do. But it wasn't like this forever. Before long there will be two empty seats at the table." He moved to stand behind his mother and father, wanting to reach over and touch them but afraid that his hand would pass through them as if they were smoke. "We tried to make each Christmas a good one, and we did; but we were all aware that there was something missing, even though we never talked about it."
His gran provided all the trimmings, decorations and a star on the top of the tree, turkey and stuffing and sprouts, Bing Crosby singing about snow, but Billy still felt his parents' absence keenly.
Billy's father held up his glass, "Happy Christmas everyone," and the whole family clinked their glasses together wishing each other joy.
"Have you seen enough Billy?"
"I could stay here forever and it still wouldn’t be enough," he met Viggo's eye, "but if it's time to go…" He wasn't ready to leave his parents behind, he never had been, but Viggo had more to show him.
"After you."
Billy turned and walked out of the door.
Instead of stepping into the hallway of his old home he found himself staring at Pete and Fran's front door. Coloured lights hung around the doorframe and from the roof and a Christmas tree groaning under the weight of tinsel and glittering baubles stood proudly by the door.
"Oh." It was woefully inadequate, but it was all Billy could manage.
From inside the house the sounds of a Christmas party could be heard - talking and laughter layered over seasonal songs, the occasional bang of a cracker and hoot of a paper trumpet.
Viggo rocked back onto his heels "Do you know where we are?"
"Of course, Pete and Fran's house, Lord of the Rings cast and crew Christmas party. The second Christmas we celebrated during filming."
They'd all been tired, Billy remembered, a band of exhausted brothers. They'd grown used to living in each other's pockets and knew each other's moods and idiosyncrasies. Billy had grown so used to waking up with a hobbit, or an elf, or a wizard snoozing next to him on set that it had long since stopped seeming odd. Usually Dom was the one nuzzling against his side for warmth, or stealing bacon from his plate, or handing him a cup of weak sugary tea – just the way he liked it. DomandBilly. BillyandDom. It was so familiar that Billy could hardly remember a time when he hadn't had Dom by his side.
Viggo gestured to the door, "Shall we?"
"Do I have any choice?"
Viggo's smile was serpentine.
The house was heaving with people; cast, crew, tech guys, stunt people, blacksmiths, goldsmiths, tailors; all of them mingling happily together. Billy followed Viggo through the throng.
They passed the living room where he spotted Elijah dancing to Little Saint Nick with Christine and Sean was dancing with Ali, Ian was sat on Orlando's knee in the corner regaling a gathered crowd with a story of one of his stage triumphs and Billy could hear, though he couldn't see, John and Peter discussing the finer points of Dwarf culture. "It's the beards!" John boomed.
"Keep up Billy." Viggo lead them though the crowd and into the kitchen, empty but for Dom stood leaning over a large saucepan.
"Hurry up with that, Dom, there are thirsty people waiting." Billy turned and was faced with a several years younger version of himself.
"Perfect mulled wine cannot be rushed, Bill." Dom replied without turning around. "It needs to be nurtured."
"So that's what you're doing, you're nurturing it. I thought you were taking a sly nip or two before you shared it out."
Dom spun round, his face full of exaggerated distress, "Me? Do a thing like that? How could you accuse your best mate of something like that? I'm wounded Bill."
"My best mate? I thought I accused you"
Billy took slow steady breaths as he watched the exchange; it was years since they had stood in Pete's kitchen having that conversation. So many things had happened since then, but there they were, large as life, sparing as thought it was the most natural thing in the world; which, Billy supposed, it was. He felt dizzy.
"If you just…" Billy said, moving toward Dom but he had only taken three steps when Dom held up his hand and yelled, "STOP!"
"What?" Billy watched himself search the room for the imminent threat Dom had suddenly spotted.
"Look up."
"Ah."
A sprig of mistletoe hung directly about Billy's head.
"Ah," Billy echoed as the shadow of himself watched the mistletoe spin slowly round and round.
A crash followed by laughter and applause sounded in the other room but it did nothing to disturb the stillness that had settled in the kitchen.
"It's tradition." Dom said, pushing himself away from the counter. "And who are we to ignore tradition?" He watched Billy silently, head titled to one side, eyes questioning, giving him a chance to make his excuses. When none came he took another step forward.
Oh Billy remembered that moment. Knowing that Dom was going to kiss him, watching him grow close, wondering how Dom would taste, if his lips would be soft, if his tongue would touch Billy's lips, if it would slip past, if he would moan. He remembered feeling his heart beating hard in his chest and how the indecision about whether or not he should reach for Dom made the muscles in his arms tense.
They were so close their chests touched. "Happy Christmas, Billy."
Dom's lips brushed his slowly and softly – almost innocently. They parted, both with their eyes still closed, feeling the other's breath move softly over their face, then kissed again. Boldly this time, more sure of the other's willingness, arms surrounding and fingers intertwining, bodies pushing together; overtaken by sensation.
Dom had tasted like red wine; he'd smelled like it too, the scent mixed with the herbs from the mulled wine. His lips had been soft, his tongue wicked, and he did moan.
"This was when I knew." Billy told Viggo, who he knew was waiting for him to speak. "This was the first time I kissed Dom and when I realised that I loved him, that I was in love with him. This was when everything changed. Dom has always said that we never would have got together if it hadn't been for that piece of mistletoe."
They had separated now; at least, they were no longer kissing. They were still wrapped in each other resting their foreheads together.
"I'll never ignore tradition again." Billy said and Dom laughed and stroked him fingers soothingly into Billy's hair.
"Glad to hear it."
"Dom!" Orlando's bellowed from the other room. "Mulled wine! Where's the mulled wine!"
"Orli has the world's worst timing." Dom rolled his eyes and broke away then and went to gather the saucepan from the stove.
"As well as the world's worst dress sense." Billy picked up some glasses and a ladle. "Shame really." He patted Dom's arse as he passed him on his way out of the kitchen. "Come on - let's see if we can get Lijah to laugh until eggnog comes out of his nose."
Billy hadn't seen the adoration in Dom's eyes has he had followed him out of the room all those years ago, but he saw it now, plain and pure.
"We were inseparable all evening, Dom and me. He kept holding my hand when he thought that no one was looking. But subtlety isn't one of Dom's gifts and by the end of the night everyone knew we were together. And they were glad for us."
Those first few weeks had been magical; exploring their new relationship, exploring each other's bodies. Billy learnt how to swear in German and Dom learnt what a Scotsman wears under his kilt.
"He loves you very much."
"I know."
"So why were you in bed alone on Christmas Eve?"
Billy faltered, feeling tired and cold in a rush. It was none of Viggo's business; it was none of anyone's business. This was insane!
"Was that what you brought me here to see?" he snapped. "Are we done here?"
Viggo nodded.
"Good, can I go home now?"
"If you want." Viggo reached over and flipped the kitchen light of and Billy was surrounded by darkness.
Author: light_the_sky76
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: R for language
Summary: Billy revisits
Disclaimer: Made up. A story
A/N: Betaed by indigo_blind. Thank you :)
Chapter one is here here
"Piss off." Billy flopped back onto the mattress and pulled the cover over his head.
"Bill." Viggo said patiently.
"No. I'm not playing. Tell Dom I don't want any part of his stupid game."
"Dom didn't send me."
The air was beginning to grow stuffy under the duvet, but Billy resolved not to be moved. "Elijah then."
"Wrong again."
"So who? Orli?"
"You know it's not like that."
"Okay," Billy said into the blanket covering his face, "if you are the Ghost of Christmas past where was Jacob Marley? Shouldn't he have turned up and rattled his chains at me?" Billy felt smug - he had Viggo now.
"You watch too much TV, Billy." A sigh. "I'll have to show you."
Billy was halfway through rolling his eyes when he heard Margaret's voice, "Billy!"
Thunderstruck, flailing and kicking, he pushed the duvet aside, then gaped. Shelves holding Mr Men books and Lego blocks lined the walls, the curtains at the windows had pictures of brightly coloured animals marching across them and Mr the Bear was sat patiently on the pillow.
"Recognise anything?" Viggo had never looked smugger.
"It's my room. My room when I was five." Billy was glad he was sitting because he didn't think his legs would support him. It wasn't real. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. Yet somehow he was sat on the bed he used to sleep on as a child. A cold rush of panic washed down Billy's spine - perhaps he'd lost his mind?
"You haven't gone mad Billy; you're looking at shadows of the past. It's like a repeat, we can watch but we can't interact."
"Oh, well that's alright then. I haven't gone nuts; I'm just watching my life on UK Gold." Billy was proud of himself for being in enough control of his facilities to be sarcastic.
"Billy!" Margaret called again from downstairs.
"Come on. You can be as sarcastic as you like as long as you follow me."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me how you did this!"
Viggo shrugged.
"Everything is just how I remember it." He opened the window wide and leaned out. There was the back garden with the washing line stretching from end to end and the shed where his dad kept his tools. Billy used to help his dad in the garden sometimes, digging up potatoes and filling the watering can, and when they stopped for a break they would sit on upturned buckets and drink tea. He leaned out further and saw the tree in Christopher Quinn's garden – the one they used to try and climb before his mum caught them and yelled at them to get down before they broke their legs. Everything was there, everything.
"How did you do this? And why am I here?"
"I am the ghost of Christmas Past." Viggo said in answer to both question and left the room; without anything else to do Billy followed.
The smell of cooking grew as they climbed down the stairs. Billy stepped on the far right of the step third from the bottom, remembering how if you trod in the middle of the step it creaked.
"We three kings of Orient are," Billy froze; unable to move, as his Mother's voice came from the kitchen.
"Selling knickers three pence a pair." His father joined in.
"They're fantastic," both voices sang, "no elastic, why don’t you try a pair?"
A tugging sensation grew in Billy's chest. When he stepped into the dining room he would see them, young and happy, full of life. Billy longed to see that way again, but to not be able to talk to them …
Viggo held out his hand. "Bill."
One look at Viggo told Billy that there could be no other choice, and he stepped forwards.
The room glittered and glowed, silver and gold reflected the lights on the tree and the air smelled of pine and roast potatoes.
Billy's father was stood at the head of the table carving the turkey with his mother serving up mashed potato and vegetables. His Gran sat next to his mum with Margaret across the table from her and Billy by her side.
"Look how much hair I have."
As they dug into their meal Billy knelt beside his younger self watching him chatting to his mum about all the presents Father Christmas had brought him and what a good boy he must have been all year.
"There are so many things I'd like to tell him." His eyes never left the child's face. "Things I'd like to warn him about; opportunities I'd tell him not to miss; people to avoid and others to hold onto."
"If you told him he wouldn’t learn." Viggo's voice was steady and comforting and Billy wanted to cling to his words, holding them to him to keep him anchored.
"Ignorance can be bliss." Billy countered. He would give anything to keep the five year old before him safe. He ached knowing what dark times lay ahead for him.
"Not often."
Billy stood and slowly studied the people gathered around the table, trying to take in everything. His mother's laugh, the red highlights in her hair, the way she insisted that Billy and his sister try at least one sprout. His father's large work-worn hands, the way his eyes were exactly the same shade as Billy's own, the way he knew all the words to the rude versions of carols. "While shepherd washed their socks by night all watching ITV," he sang as he poured gravy on his potatoes, "the angel of the lord came down and switch to BBC."
Billy wanted to soak all it all in, absorb all of the sounds and smells of his families' Christmas so when he looked back his memory would be solid and clear: something tangible he could embrace.
"You had wonderful Christmases as a child." Viggo was leant against the fireplace carefully watching the scene before him. "You'll have nice memories."
Billy's eyes never left his family. "I do. But it wasn't like this forever. Before long there will be two empty seats at the table." He moved to stand behind his mother and father, wanting to reach over and touch them but afraid that his hand would pass through them as if they were smoke. "We tried to make each Christmas a good one, and we did; but we were all aware that there was something missing, even though we never talked about it."
His gran provided all the trimmings, decorations and a star on the top of the tree, turkey and stuffing and sprouts, Bing Crosby singing about snow, but Billy still felt his parents' absence keenly.
Billy's father held up his glass, "Happy Christmas everyone," and the whole family clinked their glasses together wishing each other joy.
"Have you seen enough Billy?"
"I could stay here forever and it still wouldn’t be enough," he met Viggo's eye, "but if it's time to go…" He wasn't ready to leave his parents behind, he never had been, but Viggo had more to show him.
"After you."
Billy turned and walked out of the door.
Instead of stepping into the hallway of his old home he found himself staring at Pete and Fran's front door. Coloured lights hung around the doorframe and from the roof and a Christmas tree groaning under the weight of tinsel and glittering baubles stood proudly by the door.
"Oh." It was woefully inadequate, but it was all Billy could manage.
From inside the house the sounds of a Christmas party could be heard - talking and laughter layered over seasonal songs, the occasional bang of a cracker and hoot of a paper trumpet.
Viggo rocked back onto his heels "Do you know where we are?"
"Of course, Pete and Fran's house, Lord of the Rings cast and crew Christmas party. The second Christmas we celebrated during filming."
They'd all been tired, Billy remembered, a band of exhausted brothers. They'd grown used to living in each other's pockets and knew each other's moods and idiosyncrasies. Billy had grown so used to waking up with a hobbit, or an elf, or a wizard snoozing next to him on set that it had long since stopped seeming odd. Usually Dom was the one nuzzling against his side for warmth, or stealing bacon from his plate, or handing him a cup of weak sugary tea – just the way he liked it. DomandBilly. BillyandDom. It was so familiar that Billy could hardly remember a time when he hadn't had Dom by his side.
Viggo gestured to the door, "Shall we?"
"Do I have any choice?"
Viggo's smile was serpentine.
The house was heaving with people; cast, crew, tech guys, stunt people, blacksmiths, goldsmiths, tailors; all of them mingling happily together. Billy followed Viggo through the throng.
They passed the living room where he spotted Elijah dancing to Little Saint Nick with Christine and Sean was dancing with Ali, Ian was sat on Orlando's knee in the corner regaling a gathered crowd with a story of one of his stage triumphs and Billy could hear, though he couldn't see, John and Peter discussing the finer points of Dwarf culture. "It's the beards!" John boomed.
"Keep up Billy." Viggo lead them though the crowd and into the kitchen, empty but for Dom stood leaning over a large saucepan.
"Hurry up with that, Dom, there are thirsty people waiting." Billy turned and was faced with a several years younger version of himself.
"Perfect mulled wine cannot be rushed, Bill." Dom replied without turning around. "It needs to be nurtured."
"So that's what you're doing, you're nurturing it. I thought you were taking a sly nip or two before you shared it out."
Dom spun round, his face full of exaggerated distress, "Me? Do a thing like that? How could you accuse your best mate of something like that? I'm wounded Bill."
"My best mate? I thought I accused you"
Billy took slow steady breaths as he watched the exchange; it was years since they had stood in Pete's kitchen having that conversation. So many things had happened since then, but there they were, large as life, sparing as thought it was the most natural thing in the world; which, Billy supposed, it was. He felt dizzy.
"If you just…" Billy said, moving toward Dom but he had only taken three steps when Dom held up his hand and yelled, "STOP!"
"What?" Billy watched himself search the room for the imminent threat Dom had suddenly spotted.
"Look up."
"Ah."
A sprig of mistletoe hung directly about Billy's head.
"Ah," Billy echoed as the shadow of himself watched the mistletoe spin slowly round and round.
A crash followed by laughter and applause sounded in the other room but it did nothing to disturb the stillness that had settled in the kitchen.
"It's tradition." Dom said, pushing himself away from the counter. "And who are we to ignore tradition?" He watched Billy silently, head titled to one side, eyes questioning, giving him a chance to make his excuses. When none came he took another step forward.
Oh Billy remembered that moment. Knowing that Dom was going to kiss him, watching him grow close, wondering how Dom would taste, if his lips would be soft, if his tongue would touch Billy's lips, if it would slip past, if he would moan. He remembered feeling his heart beating hard in his chest and how the indecision about whether or not he should reach for Dom made the muscles in his arms tense.
They were so close their chests touched. "Happy Christmas, Billy."
Dom's lips brushed his slowly and softly – almost innocently. They parted, both with their eyes still closed, feeling the other's breath move softly over their face, then kissed again. Boldly this time, more sure of the other's willingness, arms surrounding and fingers intertwining, bodies pushing together; overtaken by sensation.
Dom had tasted like red wine; he'd smelled like it too, the scent mixed with the herbs from the mulled wine. His lips had been soft, his tongue wicked, and he did moan.
"This was when I knew." Billy told Viggo, who he knew was waiting for him to speak. "This was the first time I kissed Dom and when I realised that I loved him, that I was in love with him. This was when everything changed. Dom has always said that we never would have got together if it hadn't been for that piece of mistletoe."
They had separated now; at least, they were no longer kissing. They were still wrapped in each other resting their foreheads together.
"I'll never ignore tradition again." Billy said and Dom laughed and stroked him fingers soothingly into Billy's hair.
"Glad to hear it."
"Dom!" Orlando's bellowed from the other room. "Mulled wine! Where's the mulled wine!"
"Orli has the world's worst timing." Dom rolled his eyes and broke away then and went to gather the saucepan from the stove.
"As well as the world's worst dress sense." Billy picked up some glasses and a ladle. "Shame really." He patted Dom's arse as he passed him on his way out of the kitchen. "Come on - let's see if we can get Lijah to laugh until eggnog comes out of his nose."
Billy hadn't seen the adoration in Dom's eyes has he had followed him out of the room all those years ago, but he saw it now, plain and pure.
"We were inseparable all evening, Dom and me. He kept holding my hand when he thought that no one was looking. But subtlety isn't one of Dom's gifts and by the end of the night everyone knew we were together. And they were glad for us."
Those first few weeks had been magical; exploring their new relationship, exploring each other's bodies. Billy learnt how to swear in German and Dom learnt what a Scotsman wears under his kilt.
"He loves you very much."
"I know."
"So why were you in bed alone on Christmas Eve?"
Billy faltered, feeling tired and cold in a rush. It was none of Viggo's business; it was none of anyone's business. This was insane!
"Was that what you brought me here to see?" he snapped. "Are we done here?"
Viggo nodded.
"Good, can I go home now?"
"If you want." Viggo reached over and flipped the kitchen light of and Billy was surrounded by darkness.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Sorry! :)
I'm glad you're enjoying it
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
They were so close their chests touched. "Happy Christmas, Billy."
Dom's lips brushed his slowly and softly – almost innocently.
that was a wonderful first kiss. :happy sigh:
i'm enjoying this so much!
kerry =)
From:
no subject
Thank you.
*uses appropriate icon*
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
My God, you are brilliant!
From:
no subject
I like it.