FICLET: The Colors of Grief- 1/1- NC-17 for m/m sexual relations

[cheekyluv28.livejournal.com]

Title: The Colors of Grief
Author: Jen
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: NC17 for m/m sexual relations.
Summary: Billy helps Dom to feel again.
Warning: Grief over death, but not one of the main characters'. Rimming. (How's that for bizarre combinations?)
Feedback: Would be most warmly welcomed. : )
A/N: This entire thing was thought up and dashed off while listening to old-school Beastie Boys tunes. That says something very disturbing about my state of mind, undoubtedly, but I'm not quite sure what. If anyone on earth could tell me how the following even remotely equates to 'Brass Monkey' and 'Time to Get Ill', I'd be eternally grateful. I'll be waiting patiently over here in my padded cell... ; )







Billy looked in from the doorway, watching, worrying. Dom stood in the same place he had been coming to for days, staring dry-eyed at the blank canvas before him, willing his hand to move.

The call had come two weeks ago, the shrill ringing of the phone shattering the peaceful night. A random, freak accident- a car going too fast, a misstep on an icy road, a life gone in the blink of an eye.

Dom's spirit had died at the same moment.

His mum had been the one to teach him the solace of art. One day at the age of twelve, he'd arrived home overcome by furious, helpless tears. The big boys had set to bullying him again, singling him out for his quiet, sensitive ways, using words Dom had no meaning for yet, but which pierced his soul all the same. He couldn't take it out on his tormentors- he was too small, too afraid- so he struck back at Aureen's antique curio cabinet, demolishing a large percentage of her cherished treasures. Instead of punishing him, she had put a paintbrush in his hand, parked him in front of an easel, and instructed him not to move until his anger left him. "Let the feelings come out here instead, love.", she'd told him gently before leaving the room. "Paint the hurt all away." Dom had emerged four hours later, smeared from head to toe in color, painted trail of footprints marking his passage, eyes twinkling, proudly holding out his dripping masterpiece. Aureen had gaped at her ruined carpet, gaped even longer at her acrylic-soaked son...then had grinned from ear to ear and swept him up in a fierce hug. From that day forward, whenever he felt too small and afraid to face the dragon, he'd put the brush to canvas and let his heart do battle for him.

Since the phone call, he'd not eaten, not slept, not cried- just stood there, numb before the empty canvas, clutching the paintbrush, hand outstretched, desperately trying to make sense of the senseless.

Discovering that sometimes, the dragon won.

Billy watched as a drop of blood-red paint formed on the tip of a bristle and fell, spattering upon the hardwood floor.

The motion seemed to galvanize Dom; he hurled the brush across the room to rebound off the wall and his other hand shot out, furiously knocking the board from the easel, sweeping the palette to the floor. Billy wasn't frightened of Dom's anger, but the look in Dom's eyes terrified him; they held a dry, dead expression that not even his fury could eclipse.

Billy closed his own eyes for a moment, then walked forward and started to silently tidy up the mess. He patiently and carefully put everything back in its place, while Dom stood frozen again, staring straight ahead at the still-blank canvas.

"I can't do it- can't see it anymore. The color's gone out of everything, Bills."

It was the most Dom had said since that night, and the frightened, lost sound of his voice wrenched at Billy's soul. He walked around behind Dom, sliding his arms around Dom's bare chest. He tensed in Billy's embrace, and Billy's heart broke a little more.

There had been times in the past when they could not talk to each other, but the connection had never been severed entirely; even when words failed, they were always able to speak with a touch. Now, for the first time, Dom was denying himself even that comfort.

Billy didn't give up, just continued to hold on, laying his head softly on Dom's shoulder.

Dom remained unyiedling but did not pull away, and after a moment spoke again, in a desperate whisper. "Need to let it out of me...need to fucking feel again. Before, could always paint it away. Now, there's nothing there. Nothing at all."

Billy didn't know shite about painting, but he surely knew about loss.

And he knew Dom's heart.

He picked up a brush and placed it in Dom's hand, gently wrapping his fingers around it, and whispered, "Close your eyes, Dommie."

Dom swiveled his head to look at him, stare still lifeless, voice filled with quiet, impotent rage. "Leave me alone, Billy."

Billy only held him more tightly, laying a tender kiss on his scruffy cheek. "Tha's th' one thing I'll never do, love. Mind m' now, and close them."

"This is fucking absurd, Boyd. Get off!", Dom snapped, but made no move to escape from Billy's arms or drop the brush.

"Shut it." Billy spoke quietly, but firmly. "Close them and paint, Dominic."

"If I close m' sodding eyes, I can't bloody see to paint, now can I?"

Dom's voice was still angry, but Billy could hear the pain behind the words, tinged now with a desperate sort of hope. He nuzzled closer and spoke softly against his neck, "You've never painted by what y' see, m'Dommie. Only by what y' feel." He slowly drew his hands down Dom's bare sides, fingertips caressing his skin. "Let me help y' feel again."

Dom went to speak, but Billy shushed him with a finger to the lips. Dom stayed rigid and unrelenting for long seconds, then Billy felt a whisper of breath, felt Dom's lips part ever so slightly to brush against his finger. It was a ghost of a kiss, but it was enough- the connection was there once again, no matter how tenuous.

After another moment, Dom relaxed fully in Billy's embrace and allowed his eyes to fall shut, but the paintbrush remained motionless.

Billy bent and placed a tender, open-mouthed kiss on his shoulder. "Let it be, Dom. Put th' pain t' paper, and let it go."

Dom made a small, sorrowful sound, then his hand moved towards the palette, brush dragging through paint. He raised it towards the canvas, but hesitated just before making contact, afraid of what was hiding behind the numbness. "Billy..."

"Hush, m'Dommie. I love you."

Those were the last words spoken between them; from then on, the silence was broken only by Dom's cries of need and the sound of the brush whispering steadily across canvas.

Billy closed his own eyes, moving over Dom's body by memory, working his way down slowly; tasting, soothing. He licked a path down Dom's spine, and Dom trembled beneath him, losing himself to the sensations.

Kneeling, Billy snaked a hand around Dom's waist, fingers caressing lightly over his stomach as he continued to kiss his way down his back, tongue dragging hotly across flesh, dipping briefly inside the waistband of Dom's low-slung jeans.

Dom's head fell back, he groaned low in his throat, his hips began to rock...but the brush's movements never stilled.

Billy's hand dropped from Dom's abdomen to the fly of his jeans, unbuttoning them and letting the fabric slide over his hips. Then he made good on his promise, tongue darting back out, not teasing this time but moving with slow, loving purpose, coaxing Dom open, soothing him. With every tender touch, a little more feeling seeped back in.

Billy spent long minutes on his knees, lips moving over skin, fingers slipping inside, caressing, driving Dom closer and closer to the edge with every soft stroke. Dom's cries grew harsh and plaintive, his hips bucked wildy against air, seeking the touch that would bring him release. But Billy remained tender and slow, holding back, giving Dom time enough to find himself again.

A few more moments passed and Dom was quivering uncontrollably, mewling with need, teetering on the brink. Billy finally relented, rising on trembling legs and embracing Dom once again from behind, placing a soft kiss on the side of his neck before reaching around and taking hold.

Dom thrust forward just once, then with a sobbing scream, tensed, his cock convulsing in Billy's hand, coming hot and hard over his fingers. The paintbrush slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor, and the dam finally broke.

"Ah, Christ...hurts, Bills. Nothing ever hurt like this. Miss her so fucking much..."

Billy opened his eyes and looked to the easel. The painting was a dark tempest of blacks and greys, acrylic dashed across the canvas in an angry, whirling stormcloud.

Even sightless, Dom had found the colors of grief.

Billy turned him in his arms and held on tight. "I know, love.", he whispered, kissing the tears from Dom's cheeks. "I know."





~ end.